the madonna of the future- 第6部分

for　holy　water。　　The　drawing　represented　a　very　young　child；　entirely

naked；　half　nestling　back　against　his　mother's　gown；　but　with　his　two

little　arms　outstretched；　as　if　in　the　act　of　benediction。　　It　was

executed　with　singular　freedom　and　power；　and　yet　seemed　vivid　with

the　sacred　bloom　of　infancy。　　A　sort　of　dimpled　elegance　and　grace；

mingled　with　its　boldness；　recalled　the　touch　of　Correggio。　　〃That's

what　he　can　do！〃　said　my　hostess。　　〃It's　the　blessed　little　boy　whom

I　lost。　　It's　his　very　image；　and　the　Signor　Teobaldo　gave　it　me　as　a

gift。　　He　has　given　me　many　things　besides！〃



I　looked　at　the　picture　for　some　time　and　admired　it　immensely。

Turning　back　to　Theobald　I　assured　him　that　if　it　were　hung　among　the

drawings　in　the　Uffizi　and　labelled　with　a　glorious　name　it　would

hold　its　own。　　My　praise　seemed　to　give　him　extreme　pleasure；　he

pressed　my　hands；　and　his　eyes　filled　with　tears。　　It　moved　him

apparently　with　the　desire　to　expatiate　on　the　history　of　the

drawing；　for　he　rose　and　made　his　adieux　to　our　companion；　kissing

her　band　with　the　same　mild　ardour　as　before。　　It　occurred　to　me　that

the　offer　of　a　similar　piece　of　gallantry　on　my　own　part　might　help

me　to　know　what　manner　of　woman　she　was。　　When　she　perceived　my

intention　she　withdrew　her　hand；　dropped　her　eyes　solemnly；　and　made

me　a　severe　curtsey。　　Theobald　took　my　arm　and　led　me　rapidly　into

the　street。



〃And　what　do　you　think　of　the　divine　Serafina？〃　he　cried　with

fervour。



〃It　is　certainly　an　excellent　style　of　good　looks！〃　I　answered。



He　eyed　me　an　instant　askance；　and　then　seemed　hurried　along　by　the

current　of　remembrance。　　〃You　should　have　seen　the　mother　and　the

child　together；　seen　them　as　I　first　saw　themthe　mother　with　her

head　draped　in　a　shawl；　a　divine　trouble　in　her　face；　and　the　bambino

pressed　to　her　bosom。　　You　would　have　said；　I　think；　that　Raphael　had

found　his　match　in　common　chance。　　I　was　coming　in；　one　summer　night；

from　a　long　walk　in　the　country；　when　I　met　this　apparition　at　the

city　gate。　　The　woman　held　out　her　hand。　　I　hardly　knew　whether　to

say；　'What　do　you　want？'　or　to　fall　down　and　worship。　　She　asked　for

a　little　money。　　I　saw　that　she　was　beautiful　and　pale；　she　might

have　stepped　out　of　the　stable　of　Bethlehem！　　I　gave　her　money　and

helped　her　on　her　way　into　the　town。　　I　had　guessed　her　story。　　She；

too；　was　a　maiden　mother；　and　she　had　been　turned　out　into　the　world

in　her　shame。　　I　felt　in　all　my　pulses　that　here　was　my　subject

marvellously　realised。　　I　felt　like　one　of　the　old　monkish　artists

who　had　had　a　vision。　　I　rescued　the　poor　creatures；　cherished　them；

watched　them　as　I　would　have　done　some　precious　work　of　art；　some

lovely　fragment　of　fresco　discovered　in　a　mouldering　cloister。　　In　a

monthas　if　to　deepen　and　sanctify　the　sadness　and　sweetness　of　it

allthe　poor　little　child　died。　　When　she　felt　that　he　was　going　she

held　him　up　to　me　for　ten　minutes；　and　I　made　that　sketch。　　You　saw　a

feverish　haste　in　it；　I　suppose；　I　wanted　to　spare　the　poor　little

mortal　the　pain　of　his　position。　　After　that　I　doubly　valued　the

mother。　　She　is　the　simplest；　sweetest；　most　natural　creature　that

ever　bloomed　in　this　brave　old　land　of　Italy。　　She　lives　in　the

memory　of　her　child；　in　her　gratitude　for　the　scanty　kindness　I　have

been　able　to　show　her；　and　in　her　simple　religion！　　She　is　not　even

conscious　of　her　beauty；　my　admiration　has　never　made　her　vain。

Heaven　knows　that　I　have　made　no　secret　of　it。　　You　must　have

observed　the　singular　transparency　of　her　expression；　the　lovely

modesty　of　her　glance。　　And　was　there　ever　such　a　truly　virginal

brow；　such　a　natural　classic　elegance　in　the　wave　of　the　hair　and　the

arch　of　the　forehead？　　I　have　studied　her；　I　may　say　I　know　her。　　I

have　absorbed　her　little　by　little；　my　mind　is　stamped　and　imbued；

and　I　have　determined　now　to　clinch　the　impression；　I　shall　at　last

invite　her　to　sit　for　me！〃



〃'At　lastat　last'？〃　I　repeated；　in　much　amazement。　　〃Do　you　mean

that　she　has　never　done　so　yet？〃



〃I　have　not　really　hadaa　sitting；〃　said　Theobald；　speaking　very

slowly。　　〃I　have　taken　notes；　you　know；　I　have　got　my　grand

fundamental　impression。　　That's　the　great　thing！　　But　I　have　not

actually　had　her　as　a　model；　posed　and　draped　and　lighted；　before　my

easel。〃



What　had　become　for　the　moment　of　my　perception　and　my　tact　I　am　at　a

loss　to　say；　in　their　absence　I　was　unable　to　repress　a　headlong

exclamation。　　I　was　destined　to　regret　it。　　We　had　stopped　at　a

turning；　beneath　a　lamp。　　〃My　poor　friend；〃　I　exclaimed；　laying　my

hand　on　his　shoulder；　〃you　have　DAWDLED！　　She's　an　old；　old　woman

for　a　Madonna！〃



It　was　as　if　I　had　brutally　struck　him；　I　shall　never　forget　the

long；　slow；　almost　ghastly　look　of　pain；　with　which　he　answered　me。



〃Dawdled？old；　old？〃　he　stammered。　　〃Are　you　joking？〃



〃Why；　my　dear　fellow；　I　suppose　you　don't　take　her　for　a　woman　of

twenty？〃



He　drew　a　long　breath　and　leaned　against　a　house；　looking　at　me　with

questioning；　protesting；　reproachful　eyes。　　At　last；　starting

forward；　and　grasping　my　arm〃Answer　me　solemnly：　　does　she　seem　to

you　truly　old？　　Is　she　wrinkled；　is　she　faded；　am　I　blind？〃



Then　at　last　I　understood　the　immensity　of　his　illusion　how；　one　by

one；　the　noiseless　years　had　ebbed　away　and　left　him　brooding　in

charmed　inaction；　for　ever　preparing　for　a　work　for　ever　deferred。

It　seemed　to　me　almost　a　kindness　now　to　tell　him　the　plain　truth。

〃I　should　be　sorry　to　say　you　are　blind；〃　I　answered；　〃but　I　think

you　are　deceived。　　You　have　lost　time　in　effortless　contemplation。

Your　friend　was　once　young　and　fresh　and　virginal；　but；　I　protest；

that　was　some　years　ago。　　Still；　she　has　de　beaux　restes。　　By　all

means　make　her　sit　for　you！〃　I　broke　down；　his　face　was　too　horribly

reproachful。



He　took　off　his　hat　and　stood　passing　his　handkerchief　mechanically

over　his　forehead。　　〃De　beaux　restes？　　I　thank　you　for　sparing　me　the

plain　English。　　I　must　make　up　my　Madonna　out　of　de　beaux　restes！

What　a　masterpiece　she　will　be！　　Oldold！　　Oldold！〃　he　murmured。



〃Never　mind　her　age；〃　I　cried；　revolted　at　what　I　had　done；　〃never

mind　my　impression　of　her！　　You　have　your　memory；　your　notes；　your

genius。　　Finish　your　picture　in　a　month。　　I　pronounce　it　beforehand　a

masterpiece；　and　I　hereby　offer　you　for　it　any　sum　you　may　choose　to

ask。〃



He　stared；　but　he　seemed　scarcely　to　understand　me。　　〃Oldold！〃　he

kept　stupidly　repeating。　　〃If　she　is　old；　what　am　I？　　If　her　beauty

has　faded；　wherewhere　is　my　strength？　　Has　life　been　a　dream？　　Have

I　worshipped　too　longhave　I　loved　too　well？〃　　The　charm；　in　truth；

was　broken。　　That　the　chord　of　illusion　should　have　snapped　at　my

light　accidental　touch　showed　how　it　had　been　weakened　by　excessive

tension。　　The　poor　fellow's　sense　of　wasted　time；　of　vanished

opportunity；　seemed　to　roll　in　upon　his　soul　in　waves　of　darkness。

He　suddenly　dropped　his　head　and　burst　into　tears。



I　led　him　homeward　with　all　possible　tenderness；　but　I　attempted

neither　to　check　his　grief；　to　restore　his　equanimity；　nor　to　unsay

the　hard　truth。　　When　we　reached　my　hotel　I　tried　to　induce　him　to

come　so。



〃We　will　drink　a　glass　of　wine；〃　I　said；　smiling；　〃to　the　completion

of　the　Madonna。〃



With　a　violent　effort　he　held　up　his　head；　mused　for　a　moment　with　a

formidably　sombre　frown；　and　then　giving　me　his　hand；　〃I　will　finish

it；〃　he　cried；　〃in　a　month！　　No；　in　a　fortnight！　　After　all；　I　have

it　HERE！〃　　And　he　tapped　his　forehead。　　〃Of　course　she's　old！　　She

can　afford　to　have　it　said　of　hera　woman　who　has　made　twenty　years

pass　like　a　twelvemonth！　　Oldold！　　Why；　sir；　she　shall　be　eternal！〃



I　wished　to　see　him　safely　to　his　own　door；　but　he　waved　me　back　and

walked　away　with　an　air　of　resolution；　whistling　and　swinging　his

cane。　　I　waited　a　moment；　and　then　followed　him　at　a　distance；　and

saw　him　proceed　to　cross　the　Santa　Trinita　Bridge。　　When　he　reached

the　middle　he　suddenly　paused；　as　if　his　strength　had　deserted　him；

and　leaned　upon　the　parapet　gazing　over　into　the　river。　　I　was

careful　to　keep　him　in　sight；　I　confess　that　I　passed　ten　very

nervous　minutes。　　He　recovered　himself　at　last；　and　went　his　way；

slowly　and　with　hanging　head。



That　I　had　really　startled　poor　Theobald　into　a　bolder　use　of　his

long…garnered　stores　of　knowledge　and　taste；　into　the　vulgar　effort

and　hazard　of　production；　seemed　at　first　reason　enough　for　his

continued　silence　and　absence；　but　as　day　followed　day　without　his

either　calling　or　sending　me　a　line；　and　without　my　meeting　him　in

his　customary　haunts；　in　the　galleries；　in　the　Chapel　at　San　Lorenzo；

or　strolling　between　the　Arno　side　and　the　great　hedge…screen　of

verdure　which；　along　the　drive　of　the　Cascine；　throws　the　fair

occupants　of　barouche　and　phaeton　into　such　becoming　reliefas　for

more　than　a　week　I　got　neither　tidings　nor　sight　of　him；　I　began　to

fear　that　I　had　fatally　offended　him；　and　that；　instead　of　giving　a

wholesome　impetus　to　his　talent；　I　had　brutally　paralysed　it。　　I　had

a　wretched　suspicion　that　I　had　made　him　ill。　　My　stay　at　Florence

was　drawing　to　a　close；　and　it　was　important　that；　before　resuming　my

journey；　I　should　assure　myself　of　the　truth。　　Theobald；　to　the　last；

had　kept　his　lodging　a　mystery；　and　I　was　altogether　at　a　loss　where

to　look　for　him。　　The　simplest　course　was　to　make　inquiry　of　the

beauty　of　the　Mercato　Vecchio；　and　I　confess　that　unsatisfied

curiosity　as　to　the　lady　herself　counselled　it　as　well。　　Perhaps　I

had　done　her　injustice；　and　she　was　as　immortally　fresh　and　fair　as

be　conceived　her。　　I　was；　at　any　rate；　anxious　to　behold　once　more

the　ripe　enchantress　who　had　made　twenty　years　pass　as　a　twelvemonth。

I　repaired　accordingly；　one　morning；　to　her　abode；　climbed　the

interminable　staircase；　and　reached　her　door。　　It　stood　ajar；　and　as

I　hesitated　whether　to　en