CHAPTER V
MEANWHILE, the unconscious subjects of Castel Vivalanti's 'apoplexies'were gaily installing themselves in their new, old dwelling. The happyhum of life had again invaded the house, and its walls once more echoedto the ring of a child's laughter. They were very matter-of-factpeople--these Americans, and they took possession of the ancestral homeof the Vivalanti as if it were as much their right as a seaside cottageat Newport. Upstairs Granton and Marietta were unpacking trunks andhampers and laying Paris gowns in antique Roman clothes-chests; in thevilla kitchen Francois was rattling copper pots and kettles, andanxiously trying to adapt his modern French ideas to a mediaeval Romanstove; while from every room in succession sounded the patter ofGerald's feet and his delighted squeals over each new discovery.
For the past two weeks Roman workmen and Castel Vivalanticleaning-women had been busily carrying out Mrs. Copley's orders. Theflorid furniture and coloured chandeliers of the latter Vivalanti hadbeen banished to the attic (or what answers to an attic in a Romanvilla), while the faded damask of a former generation had been dustedand restored. Tapestries covered the walls and hung over the balustradeof the marble staircase. Dark rugs lay on the red tile floors; carvedchests and antique chairs and tables of coloured marble, supported bygilded griffins, were scattered through the rooms. In the bedrooms theheavy draperies had been superseded by curtains of an airier texture,while wicker chairs and chintz-covered couches lent an un-Roman air ofcomfort to the rooms.
In spite of his humorous grumbling about the trials of moving-day, Mr.Copley found himself very comfortable as he lounged on the parapettoward sunset, smoking a pre-prandial cigarette, and watching theshadows as they fell over the Campagna. Gerald was already up to hiselbows in the fountain, and the ilex grove was echoing his happyshrieks as he prattled in Italian to Marietta about a marvelloustwo-tailed lizard he had caught in a cranny of the stones. Copleysmiled as he listened, for--Castel Vivalanti to the contrary--hislittle boy was very near his heart.
Marcia in the house had been gaily superintending the unpacking, andrunning back and forth between the rooms, as excited by her newsurroundings as Gerald himself.
'What time does Villa Vivalanti dine?' she inquired while on a flyingvisit to her aunt's room.
'Eight o'clock when any of us are in town, and half-past seven othernights.'
'I suppose it's half-past seven to-night, _alors!_ Shall I make a_grande toilette_ in honour of the occasion?'
'Put on something warm, whatever else you do; I distrust this climateafter sundown.'
'You're such a distrustful person, Aunt Katherine! I can't understandhow one can have the heart to accuse this innocent old villa ofharbouring malaria.'
She returned to her own room and delightedly rummaged out a dinner-gownfrom the ancient wardrobe, with a little laugh at the thought of themany different styles it had held in its day. Perhaps some other girlhad once occupied this room; very likely a young Princess Vivalanti,two hundred years before, had hung silk-embroidered gowns in this verywardrobe. It was a big, rather bare, delightfully Italian apartmentwith tall windows having solid barred shutters overlooking the terrace.The view from the windows revealed a broad expanse of Campagna andhills. Marcia dressed with her eyes on the landscape, and then stood along time gazing up at the broken ridges of the Sabines, glowing softlyin the afternoon light. Picturesque little mountain hamlets of batteredgrey stone were visible here and there clinging to the heights; and inthe distance the walls and towers of a half-ruined monastery stood outclear against the sky. She drew a deep breath of pleasure. To be anartist, and to appreciate and reproduce this beauty, suddenly struckher as an ideal life. She smiled at herself as she recalled somethingshe had said to Paul Dessart in the gallery the day before; she hadadvised him--an artist--to exchange Italy for Pittsburg!
Mr. Copley, who was strolling on the terrace, glanced up, and catchingsight of his niece, paused beneath her balcony while he quoted:--
'"But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun."'
Marcia brought her eyes from the distant landscape to a contemplationof her uncle; and then she stepped through the glass doors, and leanedover the balcony railing with a little laugh.
'You make a pretty poor Romeo, Uncle Howard,' she called down. 'I'mafraid the real one never wore a dinner-jacket nor smoked a cigarette.'
Mr. Copley spread out his hands in protest.
'For the matter of that, I doubt if Juliet ever wore a gown from--wherewas it--42, Avenue de l'Opera? How does the new house go?' he asked.
'Beautifully. I feel like a princess on a balcony waiting for thehunters to come back from the chase.'
'I can't get over the idea that I'm a usurper myself, and that therightful lord is languishing in a donjon somewhere in the cellar. Comedown and talk to me. I'm getting lonely so far from the world.'
Marcia disappeared from the balcony and reappeared three minutes lateron the loggia. She paused on the top step and slowly turned around inorder to take in the whole affect. The loggia, in its rehabilitation,made an excellent lounging-place for a lazy summer morning. It wasfurnished with comfortably deep Oriental rush chairs, a crimson rug andawnings, and, at either side of the steps, white azaleas growing inmarble cinerary urns.
'Isn't this the most fun you ever had, Uncle Howard?' she inquired asshe brought her eyes back to Mr. Copley waiting on the terrace below.'We'll have coffee served out here in the morning, and then when itgets sunny in the afternoon we'll move to the end of the terrace underthe ilex trees. Villa Vivalanti is the most thoroughly satisfying placeI ever lived in.' She ran down the steps and joined him. 'Aren't thoselittle trees nice?' she asked, nodding toward a row of oleanders rangedat mathematical intervals along the balustrade. 'I think that AuntKatherine and I planned things beautifully!'
'If every one were as well pleased with his own work as you appear tobe, this would be a contented world. There's nothing like the beautifulenthusiasm of youth.'
'It's a very good thing to have, just the same,' said Marcia,good-naturedly; 'and without mentioning any names, I know one man whowould be less disagreeable if he had more of it.'
'None of that!' said her uncle. 'Our pact was that if I stoppedgrumbling about the villa being so abominably far from Rome, you werenot to utter any--er----'
'Unpleasant truths about Mr. Sybert? Very well, I'll not mention himagain; and you'll please not refer to the thirty-nine kilometres--it'sa bargain. Gerald, I judge, has found the fountain,' she added as adelighted shriek issued from the grove.
'And a menagerie as well.'
'If he will only keep them out of doors! I shall dream of findinglizards in my bed.'
'If you only dream of them you will be doing well. I dare say the placeis full of bats and lizards and owls and all manner of ruin-hauntingcreatures.'
'You're such a pessimist, Uncle Howard. Between you and Aunt Katherine,the poor villa won't have a shred of character left. For my part, Iapprove of it all--particularly the ruins. I am dying to explorethem--do you think it's too late to-night?'
'Far too late; you'd get malaria, to say nothing of missing dinner.Here comes Pietro now to announce the event.'
As the family entered the dining-room they involuntarily paused on thethreshold, struck by the contrast between the new and the old. In thedays of Cardinal Vivalanti the room had been the chapel, and it stillcontained its Gothic ceiling, appropriately redecorated to its new useswith grape-wreathed trellises, and, in the central panelling, Bacchuscrowned with vines. The very modern dinner-table, with its glass andsilver and shaded candles, looked ludicrously out of place in the long,dusky, vaulted apartment, which, in spite of its rakish frescoes,tenaciously preserved the air of a chapel. The glass doors at the endwere thrown wide to a little balcony which overlooked the garden andthe ilex grove; and the room was flooded with a nightingale's song.
Marcia clasped her hands ecstatically.
'Isn't this
perfect? Aren't you glad we came, Aunt Katherine? I feellike forgiving all my enemies! Uncle Howard, I'm going to be lovely toMr. Sybert.'
'Don't promise anything rash,' he laughed. 'You'll get acclimated in aday or two.'
Gerald, in honour of the occasion, and because Marietta, under thestress of excitement, had forgotten to give him his supper, was allowedto dine _en famille_. Elated by the unwonted privilege and by his newsurroundings, he babbled gaily of the ride in the cars and the littleboys who turned 'summelsorts' by the roadside, and of the beautifultwo-tailed lizard of the fountain, whose charms he dwelt on lovingly.But he had missed his noonday nap, and though he struggled bravelythrough the first three courses, his head nodded over the chicken andsalad, and he was led away by Marietta still sleepily boasting, in ablend of English and Italian, of the _bellissimi animali_ he wouldcatch _domane_ morning in the fountain.
'It is a pity,' said Marcia, as the sound of his prattle died away,'Gerald hasn't some one his own age to play with.'
'Yes, it is a pity,' Copley returned. 'I passed a lonely childhoodmyself, and I know how barren it is.'
'That is the chief reason that would make me want to go back to NewYork,' said his wife.
Her husband smiled. 'I suppose there are children to be found outsideof New York?'
'There are the Kirkups in Rome,' she agreed; 'but they are soboisterous; and they always quarrel with Gerald whenever they come toplay with him.'
'I am not sure, myself, but that Gerald quarrels with them,' returnedher husband. However fond he might be of his offspring, he cherished nomotherly delusions. 'But perhaps you are right,' he added, withsomething of a sigh. 'It may be necessary to take him back to Americabefore long. I myself have doubts if this cosmopolitan atmosphere itthe best in which to bring up a boy.'
'I should have wished him to spend a winter in Paris for his French,'said Mrs. Copley, plaintively; 'but I dare say he can learn it later.Marcia didn't begin till she was twelve, and she has a very goodaccent, I am sure.'
Mr. Copley twisted the handle of his glass in silence.
'I suppose, after all,' he said finally, to no one in particular, 'ifyou manage to bring up a boy to be a decent citizen you've donesomething in the world.'
'I don't know,' Marcia objected, with a half-laugh. 'If one man, whomwe will suppose is a decent citizen, brings up one boy to be a decentcitizen, and does nothing else, I don't see that much is gained to theworld. Your one man has merely shifted the responsibility.'
Mr. Copley shrugged a trifle. 'Perhaps the boy might be better able tobear it.'
'Of course it would be easier for the man to think so,' she agreed.'But if everybody passed on his responsibilities there wouldn't be muchprogress. The boys might do the same, you know, when they grew up.'
Mrs. Copley rose, 'If you two are going to talk metaphysics, I shall gointo the salon and have coffee alone.'
'It's not metaphysics; it's theology,' her husband returned. 'Marcia isdeveloping into a terrible preacher.'
'I know it,' Marcia acknowledged. 'I'm growing deplorably moral; Ithink it must be the Roman air.'
'It doesn't affect most people that way,' her uncle laughed. 'I don'tcare for any coffee, Katherine. I will smoke a cigarette on the terraceand wait for you out there.'
He disappeared through the balcony doors, and Marcia and her auntproceeded to the salon.
Marcia poured the coffee, and her aunt said as she received her cup, 'Ireally believe your uncle is getting tired of Rome and will be ready togo back before long.'
'I don't believe he's tired of Rome, Aunt Katherine. I think he's justa little bit--well, discouraged.'
'Nonsense, child! he has nothing to be discouraged about; he is simplygetting restless again. I know the signs! I've never known him to stayas long as this in one place before. I only hope now that he will notthink of any ridiculous new thing to do, but will be satisfied to goback to New York and settle down quietly like other people.'
'It seems to me,' said Marcia, slowly, 'as if he might do more goodthere, because he would understand better what the people need. Thereare plenty of things to be done even in New York.'
'Oh, yes; when he once got settled he would find any amount of thingsto take up his time. He might even try yachting, for a change; I amsure that keeps men absorbed.'
Marcia sipped her coffee in silence and glanced out of the window ather uncle, who was pacing up and down the terrace with his hands in hispockets. He looked a rather lonely figure in the half-darkness. Itsuddenly struck her, as she watched him, that she did not understandhim; she had scarcely realized before that there was anything tounderstand.
Mrs. Copley set her cup down on the table, and Marcia rose. 'Let's goout on the terrace, Aunt Katherine.'
'You go out, my dear, and I will join you later. I want to see ifGerald is asleep. I neglected to have a crib sent out for him, and thedear child thrashes around so--what with a bed four feet high and astone floor----'
'It would be disastrous!' Marcia agreed.
She crossed the loggia to the terrace and silently fell into stepbeside her uncle. It was almost dark, and a crescent moon was hanginglow over the top of Guadagnolo. A faint lemon light still tinged thewest, throwing into misty relief the outline of the Alban hills. Theilex grove was black--gruesomely black--and the happy song of thenightingales and the splashing of the fountain sounded uncanny comingfrom the darkness; but the white, irregular mass of the villa formed acheerful contrast, with its shining lights, which threw squares ofbrightness on the marble terrace and the trees.
Marcia looked about with a deep breath. 'It's beautiful, isn't it,Uncle Howard?' They paused a moment by the parapet and stood lookingdown over the plain. 'Isn't the Campagna lovely,' she added, 'halfcovered with mist?'
'Yes, it's lovely--and the mist means death to the peasants who livebeneath it.'
She exclaimed half impatiently:
'Uncle Howard, _why_ can't you let anything be beautiful here withoutspoiling it by pointing out an ugliness beneath?'
'I'm sorry; it isn't my fault that the ugliness exists. Look upon themist as a blessed dew from heaven, if it makes you any happier.'
'Of course I should rather know the truth, but it seems as if theItalians are happy in spite of things. They strike me as the happiestpeople I have ever seen.'
'Ah, well, perhaps they are happier than we think.'
'I'm sure they are,' said Marcia, comfortably. 'Anglo-Saxons,particularly New Englanders, and most particularly Mr. Howard Copley,worry too much.'
'It's at least a fault the Italians haven't learned,' he replied. 'But,after all, as you say, it may be the better fortune to have less andworry less--I'd like to believe it.'