I did not see Laura the whole of yesterday, as she was not well.
She had caught a chill sitting out late on the balcony, and it had
affected her teeth. What a nuisance! Fortunately the day before
yesterday a doctor arrived who is to remain in attendance upon Mr.
Davis; otherwise I should not have a soul to speak to. He is a young
Italian, small of stature, very dark, with an enormous head and very
sharp eyes. He seems very intelligent. It is evident that from the
very first he has grasped the situation, and found it very natural,
for without hesitation he addressed me as the master of the house. I
could not help laughing when he came this morning and asked me whether
he could see the countess so that he might prescribe for her. They
have some very quaint notions in this country. Usually, when a married
woman is suspected to belong to somebody else, the world is in arms to
hunt and run her down, often with thoughtless cruelty. Here, on the
contrary, they worship at the altar of love, and one and all take
sides with and plot for the lover. I told the doctor I would see
whether the countess would see him. I penetrated into Laura's sanctum.
She received me unwillingly, because her face is a little swollen, and
she did not wish me to see her in that state. And in truth her face
reminded me of my old drawing lessons. I noticed even then that with
a modern face one may commit inaccuracies, change this or that, and
provided the expression, the idea of the face remain intact, the
likeness will not suffer. It is quite a different thing drawing from
the antique; the slightest inaccuracy, the least deviation, destroys
the harmony of the face and makes it different altogether. I had an
example in Laura. The swelling was very slight,--I scarcely noticed it
as she obstinately turned the sound part of her face to me; but as her
eyes were a little reddened, the eyelids heavier than usual, it was
not the same face, perfect in its harmony and beauty. Of course I did
not let her see this, but she received my greeting half-disturbed,
as if troubled with a bad conscience. Evidently according to her
principles toothache is a mortal sin.
Queer principles these, anyway! I too have the soul of an ancient
Greek, but beyond the Pagan there is something else in me. Laura will
be sometime very unhappy with her philosophy. I can understand that
one may make a religion of beauty in a general sense, but to make
a religion of one's own beauty is to prepare great unhappiness for
ourselves. What kind of religion is that which a simple toothache
undermines, and a pimple on the nose shatters into ruin?