TheRose
洛根·皮爾索爾·史密斯/LoganPearsallSmith
Theoldladyhadalwaysbeenproudofthegreatrose-treeinhergarden,andwasfondoftellinghowithadgrownfromacuttingshehadbroughtyearsbeforefromItaly,whenshewasf?irstmarried.SheandherhusbandhadbeentravellingbackintheircarriagefromRome(itwasbeforethetimeofrailways),andonabadpieceofroadsouthofSienatheyhadbrokendown,andhadbeenforcedtopassthenightinalittlehousebytheroadside.Theaccommodationwaswretchedofcourse;shehadspentasleeplessnight,andrisingearlyhadstood,wrappedup,atherwindow,withthecoolairblowingonherface,towatchthedawn.Shecouldstill,afteralltheseyears,rememberthebluemountainswiththebrightmoonabovethem,andhowafar-offtownononeofthepeakshadgraduallygrownwhiterandwhiter,tillthemoonfaded,themountainsweretouchedwiththepinkoftherisingsun,andsuddenlythetownwaslitasbyanillumination,onewindowafteranothercatchingandref?lectingthesun』sbeams,tillatlastthewholelittlecitytwinkledandsparkledupintheskylikeanestofstars.
Thatmorning,f?indingtheywouldhavetowaitwhiletheircarriagewasbeingrepaired,theyhaddriveninalocalconveyanceuptothecityonthemountain,wheretheyhadbeentoldtheywouldf?indbetterquarters;andtheretheyhadstayedtwoorthreedays.ItwasoneoftheminiatureItaliancitieswithahighchurch,apretentiouspiazza,afewnarrowstreetsandlittlepalaces,perched,allcompactandcomplete,onthetopofamountain,withinanenclosureofwallshardlylargerthananEnglishkitchengarden.Butitwasfulloflifeandnoise,echoingalldayandallnightwiththesoundsoffeetandvoices.
TheCafeofthesimpleinnwheretheystayedwasthemeeting-placeofthenotabilitiesofthelittlecity;theSindaco,theavvocato,thedoctor,andafewothers;andamongthemtheynoticedabeautiful,slim,talkativeoldman,withbrightblackeyesandsnow-whitehair—tallandstraightandstillwiththef?igureofayouth,althoughthewaitertoldthemwithpridethattheContewasmoltovecchio—wouldinfactbeeightyinthefollowingyear.Hewasthelastofhisfamily,thewaiteradded—theyhadoncebeengreatandrichpeople—buthehadnodescendants;infactthewaitermentionedwithcomplacency,asifitwereastoryonwhichthelocalityprideditself,thattheContehadbeenunfortunateinlove,andhadnevermarried.
Theoldgentleman,however,seemedcheerfulenough;anditwasplainthathetookaninterestinthestrangers,andwishedtomaketheiracquaintance.Thiswassooneffectedbythefriendlywaiter;andafteralittletalktheoldmaninvitedthemtovisithisvillaandgardenwhichwerejustoutsidethewallsofthetown.Sothenextafternoon,whenthesunbegantodescend,andtheysawinglimpsesthroughdoorwaysandwindows,blueshadowsbeginningtospreadoverthebrownmountains,theywenttopaytheirvisit.Itwasnotmuchofaplace,asmall,modernized,stuccovilla,withahotpebblygarden,andinitastonebasinwithtorpidgoldf?ish,andastatueofDianaandherhoundsagainstthewall.Butwhatgaveaglorytoitwasagiganticrose-treewhichclamberedoverthehouse,almostsmotheringthewindows,andf?illingtheairwiththeperfumeofitssweetness.Yet,itwasaf?inerose,theContesaidproudlywhentheypraisedit,andhewouldtelltheSignoraaboutit.Andastheysatthere,drinkingthewineheofferedthem,healludedwiththecheerfulindifferenceofoldagetohisloveaffair,asthoughhetookforgrantedthattheyhadheardofitalready.