"For heaven's sake meet me tonight in the garden!"
VIII
As it turned out the
precaution had not been needed,
for three hours later, just as I had finished my dinner,
Miss Bordereau's niece appeared, unannounced, in the open
doorway of the room in which my simple repasts were served.
I remember well that I felt no surprise at
seeing her;
which is not a proof that I did not believe in her timidity.
It was
immense, but in a case in which there was a particular
reason for
boldness it never would have prevented her from
running up to my rooms. I saw that she was now quite full
of a particular reason; it threw her forward--made her seize me,
as I rose to meet her, by the arm.
"My aunt is very ill; I think she is dying!"
"Never in the world," I answered
bitterly. "Don't you be afraid!"
"Do go for a doctor--do, do! Olimpia is gone for the one we always have,
but she doesn't come back; I don't know what has happened to her.
I told her that if he was not at home she was to follow him where
he had gone; but
apparently she is following him all over Venice.
I don't know what to do--she looks so as if she were sinking."
"May I see her, may I judge?" I asked. "Of course I shall be
delighted to bring someone; but hadn't we better send my man instead,
so that I may stay with you?"
Miss Tita assented to this and I dispatched my servant for the best
doctor in the
neighborhood. I
hurrieddownstairs with her,
and on the way she told me that an hour after I quitted them
in the afternoon Miss Bordereau had had an attack of "oppression,"
a terrible difficulty in breathing. This had subsided but had left
her so exhausted that she did not come up: she seemed all gone.
I
repeated that she was not gone, that she would not go yet;
whereupon Miss Tita gave me a sharper sidelong glance than she
had ever directed at me and said, "Really, what do you mean?
I suppose you don't
accuse her of making believe!"
I forget what reply I made to this, but I grant that in my
heart I thought the old woman
capable of any weird maneuver.
Miss Tita wanted to know what I had done to her; her aunt had told
her that I had made her so angry. I declared I had done nothing--
I had been
exceedingly careful; to which my
companion rejoined
that Miss Bordereau had
assured her she had had a scene with me--
a scene that had upset her. I answered with some resentment
that it was a scene of her own making--that I couldn't think
what she was angry with me for unless for not
seeing my way
to give a thousand pounds for the
portrait of Jeffrey Aspern.
"And did she show you that? Oh, gracious--oh, deary me!"
groaned Miss Tita, who appeared to feel that the situation
was passing out of her control and that the elements of her
fate were thickening around her. I said that I would give
anything to possess it, yet that I had not a thousand pounds;
but I stopped when we came to the door of Miss Bordereau's room.
I had an
immensecuriosity to pass it, but I thought it my duty
to represent to Miss Tita that if I made the
invalid angry she
ought perhaps to be spared the sight of me. "The sight of you?
Do you think she can SEE?" my
companion demanded almost
with
indignation. I did think so but forebore to say it,
and I
softly followed my conductress.
I remember that what I said to her as I stood for a moment beside
the old woman's bed was, "Does she never show you her eyes then?
Have you never seen them?" Miss Bordereau had been divested
of her green shade, but (it was not my fortune to behold Juliana
in her nightcap) the upper half of her face was covered by the fall
of a piece of dingy lacelike
muslin, a sort of extemporized
hood which, wound round her head, descended to the end of her nose,
leaving nothing
visible but her white withered cheeks and
puckered mouth, closed
tightly and, as it were
consciously.
Miss Tita gave me a glance of surprise,
evidently not
seeing a reason
for my
impatience. "You mean that she always wears something?
She does it to
preserve them."
"Because they are so fine?"
"Oh, today, today!" And Miss Tita shook her head,
speaking very low.
"But they used to be magnificent!"
"Yes indeed, we have Aspern's word for that." And as I looked again
at the old woman's wrappings I could imagine that she had not wished
to allow people a reason to say that the great poet had overdone it.
But I did not waste my time in
considering Miss Bordereau, in whom
the appearance of
respiration was so slight as to suggest that no human
attention could ever help her more. I turned my eyes all over the room,
rummaging with them the closets, the chests of drawers, the tables.
Miss Tita met them quickly and read, I think, what was in them; but she did
not answer it, turning away
restlessly,
anxiously, so that I felt rebuked,
with reason, for a preoccupation that was almost
profane in the presence
of our dying
companion. All the same I took another look, endeavoring to
pick out mentally the place to try first, for a person who should wish
to put his hand on Miss Bordereau's papers directly after her death.
The room was a dire
confusion; it looked like the room of an old actress.
There were clothes
hanging over chairs, odd-looking
shabby bundles
here and there, and various pasteboard boxes piled together,
battered, bulging, and discolored, which might have been fifty years old.
Miss Tita after a moment noticed the direction of my eyes again and,
as if she guessed how I judged the air of the place (forgetting I
had no business to judge it at all), said, perhaps to defend herself
from the imputation of complicity in such untidiness:
"She likes it this way; we can't move things.
There are old bandboxes she has had most of her life."
Then she added, half
taking pity on my real thought,
"Those things were THERE." And she
pointed to a small,
low trunk which stood under a sofa where there was just room for it.
It appeared to be a queer, superannuated
coffer, of painted wood,
with
elaborate handles and shriveled straps and with the color
(it had last been endued with a coat of light green) much rubbed off.
It
evidently had
traveled with Juliana in the olden time--
in the days of her adventures, which it had shared.
It would have made a strange figure arriving at a modern hotel.
"WERE there--they aren't now?" I asked, startled by
Miss Tita's implication.
She was going to answer, but at that moment the doctor came in--
the doctor whom the little maid had been sent to fetch and whom she
had at last overtaken. My servant, going on his own
errand, had met
her with her
companion in tow, and in the sociable Venetian spirit,
retracing his steps with them, had also come up to the
threshold of Miss
Bordereau's room, where I saw him peeping over the doctor's shoulder.
I motioned him away the more
instantly that the sight of his prying
face reminded me that I myself had almost as little to do there--
an admonition confirmed by the sharp way the little doctor looked at me,
appearing to take me for a rival who had the field before him.
He was a short, fat, brisk gentleman who wore the tall hat of his
profession and seemed to look at everything but his patient.
He looked particularly at me, as if it struck him that I
should be better for a dose, so that I bowed to him and left
him with the women, going down to smoke a cigar in the garden.
I was
nervous; I could not go further; I could not leave the place.
I don't know exactly what I thought might happen, but it seemed
to me important to be there. I wandered about in the alleys--
the warm night had come on--smoking cigar after cigar and looking
at the light in Miss Bordereau's windows. They were open now,
I could see; the situation was different. Sometimes the light moved,
but not quickly; it did not suggest the hurry of a crisis.
Was the old woman dying, or was she already dead? Had the doctor
said that there was nothing to be done at her
tremendous age but to
let her quietly pass away; or had he simply announced with a look
a little more
conventional that the end of the end had come?
Were the other two women moving about to perform the offices that
follow in such a case? It made me
uneasy not to be nearer, as if I
thought the doctor himself might carry away the papers with him.
I bit my cigar hard as it came over me again that perhaps there
were now no papers to carry!
I wandered about for an hour--for an hour and a half.
I looked out for Miss Tita at one of the windows, having a
vague idea that she might come there to give me some sign.
Would she not see the red tip of my cigar moving about in the dark
and feel that I wanted eminently to know what the doctor had said?
I am afraid it is a proof my anxieties had made me gross that I
should have taken in some degree for granted that at such an hour,
in the midst of the greatest change that could take place
in her life, they were uppermost also in Miss Tita's mind.
My servant came down and spoke to me; he knew nothing save
that the doctor had gone after a visit of half an hour.
If he had stayed half an hour then Miss Bordereau was still alive:
it could not have taken so much time as that to enunciate
the
contrary. I sent the man out of the house; there were moments
when the sense of his
curiosity annoyed me, and this was one of them.
HE had been watching my cigar tip from an upper window,
if Miss Tita had not; he could not know what I was after and I
could not tell him, though I was
conscious he had fantastic
private theories about me which he thought fine and which I,
had I known them, should have thought offensive.
I went
upstairs at last but I ascended no higher than the
sala. The door of Miss Bordereau's
apartment was open,
showing from the
parlor the dimness of a poor candle.
I went toward it with a light tread, and at the same moment
Miss Tita appeared and stood looking at me as I approached.
"She's better--she's better," she said, even before I had asked.
"The doctor has given her something; she woke up, came back to life
while he was there. He says there is no immediate danger."
"No immediate danger? Surely he thinks her condition strange!"
"Yes, because she had been excited. That affects her dreadfully."
"It will do so again then, because she excites herself.
She did so this afternoon."
"Yes; she mustn't come out any more," said Miss Tita, with one of her lapses
into a deeper placidity.
"What is the use of making such a remark as that if you begin to rattle
her about again the first time she bids you?"
"I won't--I won't do it any more."
"You must learn to
resist her," I went on.
"Oh, yes, I shall; I shall do so better if you tell me it's right."
"You mustn't do it for me; you must do it for yourself.
It all comes back to you, if you are frightened."
"Well, I am not frightened now," said Miss Tita cheerfully.
"She is very quiet."
"Is she
conscious again--does she speak?"
"No, she doesn't speak, but she takes my hand. She holds it fast."
'Yes," I rejoined, "I can see what force she still has
by the way she grabbed that picture this afternoon.
But if she holds you fast how comes it that you are here?"
Miss Tita hesitated a moment; though her face was in deep shadow (she had her
back to the light in the
parlor and I had put down my own candle far off,
near the door of the sala), I thought I saw her smile ingenuously.
"I came on purpose--I heard your step."
"Why, I came on
tiptoe, as inaudibly as possible."
"Well, I heard you," said Miss Tita.
"And is your aunt alone now?"
"Oh, no; Olimpia is sitting there."
On my side I hesitated. "Shall we then step in there?"
And I nodded at the
parlor; I wanted more and more to be
on the spot.
"We can't talk there--she will hear us."
I was on the point of replying that in that case we would
sit silent, but I was too
conscious that this would not do,
as there was something I desired
immensely to ask her.
So I proposed that we should walk a little in the sala, keeping
more at the other end, where we should not
disturb the old lady.
Miss Tita assented unconditionally; the doctor was coming again,