confidence-第1节

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Confidence　by　Henry　James




CHAPTER　I

It　was　in　the　early　days　of　April；　Bernard　Longueville　had　been　spending　the　winter　in　Rome。　　He　had　travelled　northward　with　the　consciousness　of　several　social　duties　that　appealed　to　him　from　the　further　side　of　the　Alps；　but　he　was　under　the　charm　of　the　Italian　spring；　and　he　made　a　pretext　for　lingering。　He　had　spent　five　days　at　Siena；　where　he　had　intended　to　spend　but　two；　and　still　it　was　impossible　to　continue　his　journey。　He　was　a　young　man　of　a　contemplative　and　speculative　turn；　and　this　was　his　first　visit　to　Italy；　so　that　if　he　dallied　by　the　way　he　should　not　be　harshly　judged。　　He　had　a　fancy　for　sketching；　and　it　was　on　his　conscience　to　take　a　few　pictorial　notes。　There　were　two　old　inns　at　Siena；　both　of　them　very　shabby　and　very　dirty。　　The　one　at　which　Longueville　had　taken　up　his　abode　was　entered　by　a　dark；　pestiferous　arch…way；　surmounted　by　a　sign　which　at　a　distance　might　have　been　read　by　the　travellers　as　the　Dantean　injunction　to　renounce　all　hope。　The　other　was　not　far　off；　and　the　day　after　his　arrival；　as　he　passed　it；　he　saw　two　ladies　going　in　who　evidently　belonged　to　the　large　fraternity　of　Anglo…Saxon　tourists；　and　one　of　whom　was　young　and　carried　herself　very　well。　Longueville　had　his　shareor　more　than　his　shareof　gallantry；　and　this　incident　awakened　a　regret。　　If　he　had　gone　to　the　other　inn　he　might　have　had　charming　company：　　at　his　own　establishment　there　was　no　one　but　an　aesthetic　German　who　smoked　bad　tobacco　in　the　dining…room。　He　remarked　to　himself　that　this　was　always　his　luck；　and　the　remark　was　characteristic　of　the　man；　it　was　charged　with　the　feeling　of　the　moment；　but　it　was　not　absolutely　just；　it　was　the　result　of　an　acute　impression　made　by　the　particular　occasion；　but　it　failed　in　appreciation　of　a　providence　which　had　sprinkled　Longueville's　career　with　happy　accidentsaccidents；　especially；　in　which　his　characteristic　gallantry　was　not　allowed　to　rust　for　want　of　exercise。　He　lounged；　however；　contentedly　enough　through　these　bright；　still　days　of　a　Tuscan　April；　drawing　much　entertainment　from　the　high　picturesqueness　of　the　things　about　him。　　Siena；　a　few　years　since；　was　a　flawless　gift　of　the　Middle　Ages　to　the　modern　imagination。　No　other　Italian　city　could　have　been　more　interesting　to　an　observer　fond　of　reconstructing　obsolete　manners。　This　was　a　taste　of　Bernard　Longueville's；　who　had　a　relish　for　serious　literature；　and　at　one　time　had　made　several　lively　excursions　into　mediaeval　history。　　His　friends　thought　him　very　clever；　and　at　the　same　time　had　an　easy　feeling　about　him　which　was　a　tribute　to　his　freedom　from　pedantry。　He　was　clever　indeed；　and　an　excellent　companion；　but　the　real　measure　of　his　brilliancy　was　in　the　success　with　which　he　entertained　himself。　　He　was　much　addicted　to　conversing　with　his　own　wit；　and　he　greatly　enjoyed　his　own　society。　Clever　as　he　often　was　in　talking　with　his　friends；　I　am　not　sure　that　his　best　things；　as　the　phrase　is；　were　not　for　his　own　ears。　　And　this　was　not　on　account　of　any　cynical　contempt　for　the　understanding　of　his　fellow…creatures：　it　was　simply　because　what　I　have　called　his　own　society　was　more　of　a　stimulus　than　that　of　most　other　people。　And　yet　he　was　not　for　this　reason　fond　of　solitude；　he　was；　on　the　contrary；　a　very　sociable　animal。　　It　must　be　admitted　at　the　outset　that　he　had　a　nature　which　seemed　at　several　points　to　contradict　itself；　as　will　probably　be　perceived　in　the　course　of　this　narration。

He　entertained　himself　greatly　with　his　reflections　and　meditations　upon　Sienese　architecture　and　early　Tuscan　art；　upon　Italian　street…life　and　the　geological　idiosyncrasies　of　the　Apennines。　If　he　had　only　gone　to　the　other　inn；　that　nice…looking　girl　whom　he　had　seen　passing　under　the　dusky　portal　with　her　face　turned　away　from　him　might　have　broken　bread　with　him　at　this　intellectual　banquet。　　Then　came　a　day；　however；　when　it　seemed　for　a　moment　that　if　she　were　disposed　she　might　gather　up　the　crumbs　of　the　feast。　　Longueville；　every　morning　after　breakfast；　took　a　turn　in　the　great　square　of　Siena　the　vast　piazza；　shaped　like　a　horse…shoe；　where　the　market　is　held　beneath　the　windows　of　that　crenellated　palace　from　whose　overhanging　cornice　a　tall；　straight　tower　springs　up　with　a　movement　as　light　as　that　of　a　single　plume　in　the　bonnet　of　a　captain。　　Here　he　strolled　about；　watching　a　brown　contadino　disembarrass　his　donkey；　noting　the　progress　of　half　an　hour's　chaffer　over　a　bundle　of　carrots；　wishing　a　young　girl　with　eyes　like　animated　agates　would　let　him　sketch　her；　and　gazing　up　at　intervals　at　the　beautiful；　slim　tower；　as　it　played　at　contrasts　with　the　large　blue　air。　After　he　had　spent　the　greater　part　of　a　week　in　these　grave　considerations；　he　made　up　his　mind　to　leave　Siena。　But　he　was　not　content　with　what　he　had　done　for　his　portfolio。　Siena　was　eminently　sketchable；　but　he　had　not　been　industrious。　On　the　last　morning　of　his　visit；　as　he　stood　staring　about　him　in　the　crowded　piazza；　and　feeling　that；　in　spite　of　its　picturesqueness；　this　was　an　awkward　place　for　setting　up　an　easel；　he　bethought　himself；　by　contrast；　of　a　quiet　corner　in　another　part　of　the　town；　which　he　had　chanced　upon　in　one　of　his　first　walksan　angle　of　a　lonely　terrace　that　abutted　upon　the　city…wall；　where　three　or　four　superannuated　objects　seemed　to　slumber　in　the　sunshine　the　open　door　of　an　empty　church；　with　a　faded　fresco　exposed　to　the　air　in　the　arch　above　it；　and　an　ancient　beggar…woman　sitting　beside　it　on　a　three…legged　stool。　The　little　terrace　had　an　old　polished　parapet；　about　as　high　as　a　man's　breast；　above　which　was　a　view　of　strange；　sad…colored　hills。　　Outside；　to　the　left；　the　wall　of　the　town　made　an　outward　bend；　and　exposed　its　rugged　and　rusty　complexion。　There　was　a　smooth　stone　bench　set　into　the　wall　of　the　church；　on　which　Longueville　had　rested　for　an　hour；　observing　the　composition　of　the　little　picture　of　which　I　have　indicated　the　elements；　and　of　which　the　parapet　of　the　terrace　would　form　the　foreground。　　The　thing　was　what　painters　call　a　subject；　and　he　had　promised　himself　to　come　back　with　his　utensils。　This　morning　he　returned　to　the　inn　and　took　possession　of　them；　and　then　he　made　his　way　through　a　labyrinth　of　empty　streets；　lying　on　the　edge　of　the　town；　within　the　wall；　like　the　superfluous　folds　of　a　garment　whose　wearer　has　shrunken　with　old　age。　He　reached　his　little　grass…grown　terrace；　and　found　it　as　sunny　and　as　private　as　before。　　The　old　mendicant　was　mumbling　petitions；　sacred　and　profane；　at　the　church　door；　but　save　for　this　the　stillness　was　unbroken。　　The　yellow　sunshine　warmed　the　brown　surface　of　the　city…wall；　and　lighted　the　hollows　of　the　Etruscan　hills。　　Longueville　settled　himself　on　the　empty　bench；　and；　arranging　his　little　portable　apparatus；　began　to　ply　his　brushes。　　He　worked　for　some　time　smoothly　and　rapidly；　with　an　agreeable　sense　of　the　absence　of　obstacles。　It　seemed　almost　an　interruption　when；　in　the　silent　air；　he　heard　a　distant　bell　in　the　town　strike　noon。　　Shortly　after　this；　there　was　another　interruption。　　The　sound　of　a　soft　footstep　caused　him　to　look　up；　whereupon　he　saw　a　young　woman　standing　there　and　bending　her　eyes　upon　the　graceful　artist。　A　second　glance　assured　him　that　she　was　that　nice　girl　whom　he　had　seen　going　into　the　other　inn　with　her　mother；　and　suggested　that　she　had　just　emerged　from　the　little　church。　He　suspected；　howeverI　hardly　know　whythat　she　had　been　looking　at　him　for　some　moments　before　he　perceived　her。　It　would　perhaps　be　impertinent　to　inquire　what　she　thought　of　him；　but　Longueville；　in　the　space　of　an　instant；　made　two　or　three　reflections　upon　the　young　lady。　One　of　them　was　to　the　effect　that　she　was　a　handsome　creature；　but　that　she　looked　rather　bold；　the　burden　of　the　other　was　thatyes；　decidedlyshe　was　a　compatriot。　　She　turned　away　almost　as　soon　as　she　met　his　eyes；　he　had　hardly　time　to　raise　his　hat；　as；　after　a　moment's　hesitation；　he　proceeded　to　do。　　She　herself　appeared　to　feel　a　certain　hesitation；　she　glanced　back　at　the　church　door；　as　if　under　the　impulse　to　retrace　her　steps。　　She　stood　there　a　moment　longer　long　enough　to　let　him　see　that　she　was　a　person　of　easy　attitudes　and　then　she　walked　away　slowly　to　the　parapet　of　the　terrace。　Here　she　stationed　herself；　leaning　her　arms　upon　the　high　stone　ledge；　presenting　her　back　to　Longueville；　and　gazing　at　rural　Italy。　　Longueville　went　on　with　his　sketch；　but　less　attentively　than　before。　　He　wondered　what　this　young　lady　was　doing　there　alone；　and　then　it　occurred　to　him　that　her　companionher　mother；　presumablywas　in　the　church。　The　two　ladies　had　been　in　the　church　when　he　arrived；　women　liked　to　sit　in　churches；　they　had　been　there　more　than　half　an　hour；　and　the　mother　had　not　enough　of　it　even　yet。　The　young　lady；　however；　at　present　preferred　the　view　that　Longueville　was　painting；　he　became　aware　that　she　had　placed　herself　in　the　very　centre　of　his　foreground。　　His　first　feeling　was　that　she　would　spoil　it；　his　second　was　that　she　would　improve　it。　　Little　by　little　she　turned　more　into　profile；　leaning　only　one　arm　upon　the　parapet；　while　the　other　hand；　h