Chapter XXVII

pets.Shewenttothegalleries,totheSistineChapelortotheStanzeofRaphaeland,lackingthehurryofthetouristandhissenseofduty,shewouldspendawholemorninginfrontofonepicture,orinacornerofsomeoldchurch,weavingwiththesightbeforeherthefantasiesofherimagination. Andwhenshefelttheneedofherfellow-men,BerthawenttothePincioandmingledwiththethrongthatlistenedtotheband.ButtheFranciscanmonkinhisbrowncowl,standingapart,wasafigureofsomeromanticplayandthesoldiersingayuniforms,theBersaglieriwiththeboldcock’sfeathersintheirhats,werethechorusofacomicopera.Andtherewereblack-robedpriests,someoldandfat,takingthesunandsmokingcigarettes,atpeacewiththemselvesandwiththeworldothersyoungandrestless,thefleshunsubduedshiningoutoftheirdarkeyes.Andeveryoneseemedashappyasthechildrenwhorompedandscamperedwithmerrycries. ButgraduallytheshadowsofthepastfellawayandBerthawasablemoreconsciouslytoappreciatethebeautyandthelifethatsurroundedher.Andknowingittransitoryshesetherselftoenjoyitasbestshecould.Careandyoutharewithdifficultyyokedtogether,andmercifultimewrapsinoblivionthemostgruesomemisery.Berthastretchedoutherarmstoembracethewondersofthelivingworld,andsheputawaythedreadfulthoughtthatitmustendsoquickly.Inthespringshespentlonghoursinthegardensthatsurroundthecity,wheretheremainsofancientRomemingledexoticallywiththehalftropicalluxuriance,andcalledforthnewandsubtleemotions.Theflowersgrewinthesarcophagiwithawildexuberance,wantoning,itseemed,inmockeryofthetombfromwhichtheysprang.Deathishideous,butlifeisalwaystriumphanttheroseandthehyacintharisefromman’sdecayandthedissolutionofmanisbutthesignalofotherbirth:andtheworldgoeson,beautifulandevernew,revellinginitsvigour. BerthawenttotheVillaMediciandsatwhereshecouldwatchthelightglowingonthemellowfa?adeoftheoldpalace,andSyrinxpeepingbetweenthereeds:thestudentssawherandaskedwhowasthebeautifulwomanwhosatsolongandsounconsciousoftheeyesthatlookedather.ShewenttotheVillaDoria-Pamphili,majesticandpompous,thefittingsummer-houseofprincesingorgeousclothes,ofbishopsandofcardinals.AndtheruinsofthePalatinewithitscypresstreessentherthoughtbackandback,andshepicturedtoherselfthegloryofbygonepower. Butthewildestgardenofall,thegardenoftheMattei,pleasedherbest.Herewereagreaterfertilityandagreaterabandonmentthedistanceandthedifficultyofaccesskeptstrangersaway,andBerthacouldwanderthroughitasifitwereherown.Shethoughtshehadneverenjoyedsuchexquisitemomentsasweregivenherbyitssolitudeanditssilence.Sometimesatroopofscarletseminaristssaunteredalongthegrass-grownavenues,vividcolouragainsttheverdure. Thenshewenthome,tiredandhappy,andsatatheropenwindowandwatchedthedyingsun.ThesunsetoverSt.Peter’s,andthemightycathedralwastransfiguredintoatempleoffireandgoldthedomewasradiant,formednolongerofsolidstones,butoflightandsunshine—itwasthecrownofapalaceofHyperion.Then,asthesunfelltothehorizon,St.Peter’sstoodoutindarkness,stoodoutinmajesticprofileagainstthesplendourofheaven.