It was six o'clock in the morning before Miss Milray sent Clementina
home in her carriage. She would have kept her to breakfast, but
Clementina said she ought to go on Mrs. Lander's account, and she wished
to go on her own.
She thought she would steal to bed without waking her, but she was
stopped by the sound of groans when she entered their apartment; the
light gushed from Mrs. Lander's door. Maddalena came out, and blessed
the name of her Latin deity (so much more familiar and approachable than
the Anglo-Saxon divinity) that Clementina had come at last, and poured
upon her the story of a night of suffering for Mrs. Lander. Through her
story came the sound of Mrs. Lander's voice plaintively reproachful,
summoning Clementina to her bedside. “Oh, how could you go away and
leave me? I've been in such misery the whole night long, and the docta
didn't do a thing for me. I'm puffectly wohn out, and I couldn't make
my wants known with that Italian crazy-head. If it hadn't been for the
portyary comin' in and interpretin', when the docta left, I don't know
what I should have done. I want you should give him a twenty-leary note
just as quick as you see him; and oh, isn't the docta comin'?”
Clementina set about helping Maddalena put the room, which was in an
impassioned disorder, to rights; and she made Mrs. Lander a cup of her
own tea, which she had brought from S. S. Pierces in passing through
Boston; it was the first thing, the sufferer said, that had saved her
life. Clementina comforted her, and promised her that the doctor should
be there very soon; and before Mrs. Lander fell away to sleep, she was
so far out of danger as to be able to ask how Clementina had enjoyed
herself, and to be glad that she had such a good time.
The doctor would not wake her when he came; he said that she had been
through a pretty sharp gastric attack, which would not recur, if she ate
less of the most unwholesome things she could get, and went more into
the air, and walked a little. He did not seem alarmed, and he made
Clementina tell him about the dance, which he had been called from to
Mrs. Lander's bed of pain. He joked her for not having missed him; in
the midst of their fun, she caught herself in the act of yawning, and
the doctor laughed, and went away.
Maddalena had to call her, just before dinner, when Mrs. Lander had been
awake long enough to have sent for the doctor to explain the sort of
gone feeling which she was now the victim of. It proved, when he came,
to be hunger, and he prescribed tea and toast and a small bit of steak.
Before he came she had wished to arrange for going home at once, and
dying in her own country. But his opinion so far prevailed with her that
she consented not to telegraph for berths. “I presume,” she said, “it'll
do, any time before the icebugs begin to run. But I d' know, afta this,
Clementina, as I can let you leave me quite as you be'n doin'. There was
a lot of flowas come for you, this aftanoon, but I made Maddalena put
'em on the balcony, for I don't want you should get poisoned with 'em in
your sleep; I always head they was dangerous in a person's 'bed room. I
d' know as they are, eitha.”
Maddalena seemed to know that Mrs. Lander was speaking of the flowers.
She got them and gave them to Clementina, who found they were from some
of the men she had danced with. Mr. Hinkle had sent a vast bunch of
violets, which presently began to give out their sweetness in the warmth
of the room, and the odor brought him before her with his yellow hair,
scrupulously parted at the side, and smoothly brushed, showing his
forehead very high up. Most of the gentlemen wore their hair parted in
the middle, or falling in a fringe over their brows; the Russian's was
too curly to part, and Lord Lioncourt had none except at the sides.
She laughed, and Mrs. Lander said, “Tell about it, Clementina,” and she
began with Mr. Hinkle, and kept coming back to him from the others. Mrs.
Lander wished most to know how that lord had got down to Florence; and
Clementina said he was coming to see her.
“Well, I hope to goodness he won't come to-day, I a'n't fit to see
anybody.”
“Oh, I guess he won't come till to-morrow,” said Clementina; she
repeated some of the compliments she had got, and she told of all Miss
Milray's kindness to her, but Mrs. Lander said, “Well, the next time,
I'll thank her not to keep you so late.” She was astonished to hear
that Mr. Ewins was there, and “Any of the nasty things out of the hotel
the'e?” she asked.
“Yes,” Clementina said, “the'e we'e, and some of them we'e very nice.
They wanted to know if I wouldn't join them, and have an aftanoon of our
own here in the hotel, so that people could come to us all at once.”
She went back to the party, and described the rest of it. When she came
to the part about the Russian, she told what he had said of American
girls being fond of money, and wanting to marry foreign noblemen.
Mrs. Lander said, “Well, I hope you a'n't a going to get married in a
hurry, anyway, and when you do I hope you'll pick out a nice American.”
“Oh, yes,” said Clementina.
Mrs. Lander had their dinner brought to their apartment. She cheered
up, and she was in some danger of eating too much, but with Clementina's
help she denied herself. Their short evening was one of the gayest;
Clementina declared she was not the least sleepy, but she went to bed at
nine, and slept till nine the next day.
Mrs. Lander, the doctor confessed, the second morning, was more shaken
up by her little attack than he had expected; but she decided to see
the gentleman who had asked to call on Clementina. Lord Lioncourt did
not come quite so soon as she was afraid he might, and when he came he
talked mostly to Clementina. He did not get to Mrs. Lander until just
before he was going. She hospitably asked him what his hurry was, and
then he said that he was off for Rome, that evening at seven. He was
nice about hoping she was comfortable in the hotel, and he sympathized
with her in her wish that there was a set-bowl in her room; she told him
that she always tried to have one, and he agreed that it must be very
convenient where any one was, as she said, sick so much.
Mr. Hinkle came a day later; and then it appeared that he had a mother
whose complaints almost exactly matched Mrs. Lander's. He had her
photograph with him, and showed it; he said if you had no wife to carry
round a photograph of, you had better carry your mother's; and Mrs.
Lander praised him for being a good son. A good son, she added, always
made a good husband; and he said that was just what he told the young
ladies himself, but it did not seem to make much impression on them. He
kept Clementina laughing; and he pretended that he was going to bring
a diagram of his patent right for her to see, because she would be
interested in a gleaner like that; and he said he wished her father
could see it, for it would be sure to interest the kind of man Mrs.
Lander described him to be. “I'll be along up there just about the time
you get home, Miss Clementina. When did you say it would be?”
“I don't know; pretty ea'ly in the spring, I guess.”
She looked at Mrs. Lander, who said, “Well, it depends upon how I git up
my health. I couldn't bea' the voyage now.”
Mr. Hinkle said, “No, best look out for your health, if it takes all
summer. I shouldn't want you to hurry on my account. Your time is my
time. All I want is for Miss Clementina, here, to personally conduct
me to her father. If I could get him to take hold of my gleaner in New
England, we could make the blueberry crop worth twice what it is.”
Mrs. Lander perceived that he was joking; and she asked what he wanted
to run away for when the young Russian's card came up. He said, “Oh,
give every man a chance,” and he promised that he would look in every
few days, and see how she was getting along. He opened the door after he
had gone out, and put his head in to say in confidence to Mrs. Lander,
but so loud that Clementina could hear, “I suppose she's told you who
the belle of the ball was, the other night? Went out to supper with
a lord!” He seemed to think a lord was such a good joke that if you
mentioned one you had to laugh.
The Russian's card bore the name Baron Belsky, with the baron crossed
out in pencil, and he began to attack in Mrs. Lander the demerits of the
American character, as he had divined them. He instructed her that
her countrymen existed chiefly to make money; that they were more
shopkeepers than the English and worse snobs; that their women were
trivial and their men sordid; that their ambition was to unite their
families with the European aristocracies; and their doctrine of liberty
and equality was a shameless hypocrisy. This followed hard upon her
asking, as she did very promptly, why he had scratched out the title on
his card. He told her that he wished to be known solely as an artist,
and he had to explain to her that he was not a painter, but was going to
be a novelist. She taxed him with never having been in America, but he
contended that as all America came to Europe he had the materials for a
study of the national character at hand, without the trouble of crossing
the ocean. In return she told him that she had not been the least
sea-sick during the voyage, and that it was no trouble at all; then he
abruptly left her and went over to beg a cup of tea from Clementina, who
sat behind the kettle by the window.
“I have heard this morning from that American I met in Pompeii” he
began. “He is coming northward, and I am going down to meet him in
Rome.”
Mrs. Lander caught the word, and called across the room, “Why, a'n't
that whe'e that lo'd's gone?”
Clementina said yes, and while the kettle boiled, she asked if Baron
Belsky were going soon.
“Oh, in a week or ten days, perhaps. I shall know when he arrives. Then
I shall go. We write to each other every day.” He drew a letter from his
breast pocket. “This will give you the idea of his character,” and he
read, “If we believe that the hand of God directs all our actions, how
can we set up our theories of conduct against what we feel to be his
inspiration?”
“What do you think of that?” he demanded.
“I don't believe that God directs our wrong actions,” said Clementina.
“How! Is there anything outside of God?
“I don't know whether there is or not. But there is something that
tempts me to do wrong, sometimes, and I don't believe that is God.”
The Russian seemed struck. “I will write that to him!”
“No,” said Clementina, “I don't want you to say anything about me to
him.”
“No, no!” said Baron Belsky, waving his band reassuringly. “I would not
mention your name!”
Mr. Ewins came in, and the Russian said he must go. Mrs. Lander tried
to detain him, too, as she had tried to keep Mr. Hinkle, but he was
inexorable. Mr. Ewins looked at the door when it had closed upon him.
Mrs. Lander said, “That is one of the gentlemen that Clementina met the
otha night at the dance. He is a baron, but he scratches it out. You'd
ought to head him go on about Americans.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Ewins coldly. “He's at our hotel, and he airs
his peculiar opinions at the table d'hote pretty freely. He's a
revolutionist of some kind, I fancy.” He pronounced the epithet with
an abhorrence befitting the citizen of a state born of revolution and a
city that had cradled the revolt. “He's a Nihilist, I believe.”
Mrs. Lander wished to know what that was, and he explained that it was a
Russian who wanted to overthrow the Czar, and set up a government of the
people, when they were not prepared for liberty.
“Then, maybe he isn't a baron at all,” said Mrs. Lander.
“Oh, I believe he has a right to his title,” Ewins answered. “It's a
German one.”
He said he thought that sort of man was all the more mischievous on
account of his sincerity. He instanced a Russian whom a friend of his
knew in Berlin, a man of rank like this fellow: he got to brooding
upon the condition of working people and that kind of thing, till he
renounced his title and fortune and went to work in an iron foundry.
Mr. Ewins also spoke critically of Mrs. Milray. He had met her in Egypt;
but you soon exhausted the interest of that kind of woman. He professed
a great concern that Clementina should see Florence in just the right
way, and he offered his services in showing her the place.
The Russian came the next day, and almost daily after that, in the
interest with which Clementina's novel difference from other American
girls seemed to inspire him. His imagination had transmuted her simple
Yankee facts into something appreciable to a Slav of his temperament. He
conceived of her as the daughter of a peasant, whose beauty had charmed
the widow of a rich citizen, and who was to inherit the wealth of her
adoptive mother. He imagined that the adoption had taken place at a
much earlier period than the time when Clementina's visit to Mrs. Lander
actually began, and that all which could be done had been done to efface
her real character by indulgence and luxury.
His curiosity concerning her childhood, her home, her father and mother,
her brothers and sisters, and his misunderstanding of everything she
told him, amused her. But she liked him, and she tried to give him some
notion of the things he wished so much to know. It always ended in a
dissatisfaction, more or less vehement, with the outcome of American
conditions as he conceived them.
“But you,” he urged one day, “you who are a daughter of the fields and
woods, why should you forsake that pure life, and come to waste yourself
here?”
“Why, don't you think it's very nice in Florence?” she asked, with eyes
of innocent interest.
“Nice! Nice! Do we live for what is nice? Is it enough that you have
what you Americans call a nice time?”
Clementina reflected. “I wasn't doing much of anything at home, and
I thought I might as well come with Mrs. Lander, if she wanted me so
much.” She thought in a certain way, that he was meddling with what was
not his affair, but she believed that he was sincere in his zeal for
the ideal life he wished her to lead, and there were some things she had
heard about him that made her pity and respect him; his self-exile and
his renunciation of home and country for his principles, whatever they
were; she did not understand exactly. She would not have liked never
being able to go back to Middlemount, or to be cut off from all her
friends as this poor young Nihilist was, and she said, now, “I didn't
expect that it was going to be anything but a visit, and I always
supposed we should go back in the spring; but now Mrs. Lander is
beginning to think she won't be well enough till fall.”
“And why need you stay with her?”
“Because she's not very well,” answered Clementina, and she smiled, a
little triumphantly as well as tolerantly.
“She could hire nurses and doctors, all she wants with her money.”
“I don't believe it would be the same thing, exactly, and what should I
do if I went back?”
“Do? Teach! Uplift the lives about you.”
“But you say it is better for people to live simply, and not read and
think so much.”
“Then labor in the fields with them.”
Clementina laughed outright. “I guess if anyone saw me wo'king in the
fields they would think I was a disgrace to the neighbahood.”
Belsky gave her a stupified glare through his spectacles. “I cannot
understand you Americans.”
“Well, you must come ova to America, then, Mr. Belsky”--he had asked her
not to call him by his title--“and then you would.”
“No, I could not endure the disappointment. You have the great
opportunity of the earth. You could be equal and just, and simple and
kind. There is nothing to hinder you. But all you try to do is to get
more and more money.”
“Now, that isn't faia, Mr. Belsky, and you know it.”
“Well, then, you joke, joke--always joke. Like that Mr. Hinkle. He wants
to make money with his patent of a gleaner, that will take the last
grain of wheat from the poor, and he wants to joke--joke!”
Clementina said, “I won't let you say that about Mr. Hinkle. You don't
know him, or you wouldn't. If he jokes, why shouldn't he?”
Belsky made a gesture of rejection. “Oh, you are an American, too.”
She had not grown less American, certainly, since she had left home;
even the little conformities to Europe that she practiced were traits of
Americanism. Clementina was not becoming sophisticated, but perhaps she
was becoming more conventionalized. The knowledge of good and evil in
things that had all seemed indifferently good to her once, had crept
upon her, and she distinguished in her actions. She sinned as little
as any young lady in Florence against the superstitions of society; but
though she would not now have done a skirt-dance before a shipful of
people, she did not afflict herself about her past errors. She put on
the world, but she wore it simply and in most matters unconsciously.
Some things were imparted to her without her asking or wishing, and
merely in virtue of her youth and impressionability. She took them from
her environment without knowing it, and in this way she was coming by an
English manner and an English tone; she was only the less American for
being rather English without trying, when other Americans tried so hard.
In the region of harsh nasals, Clementina had never spoken through her
nose, and she was now as unaffected in these alien inflections as in the
tender cooings which used to rouse the misgivings of her brother Jim.
When she was with English people she employed them involuntarily, and
when she was with Americans she measurably lost them, so that after half
an hour with Mr. Hinkle, she had scarcely a trace of them, and with Mrs.
Lander she always spoke with her native accent.