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The Aspern Papers-Part1_HENRY JAMES(1843-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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that had lingered on into our time had been unheeded by us.

Every one of Aspern's contemporaries had, according to



our belief, passed away; we had not been able to look into

a single pair of eyes into which his had looked or to feel



a transmitted contact in any aged hand that his had touched.

Most dead of all did poor Miss Bordereau appear, and yet she



alone had survived. We exhausted in the course of months

our wonder that we had not found her out sooner, and the



substance of our explanation was that she had kept so quiet.

The poor lady on the whole had had reason for doing so.



But it was a revelation to us that it was possible to keep

so quiet as that in the latter half of the nineteenth century--



the age of newspapers and telegrams and photographs and interviewers.

And she had taken no great trouble about it either:



she had not hidden herself away in an undiscoverable hole;

she had boldly settled down in a city of exhibition.



The only secret of her safety that we could perceive was that

Venice contained so many curiosities that were greater than she.



And then accident had somehow favored her, as was shown

for example in the fact that Mrs. Prest had never happened



to mention her to me, though I had spent three weeks

in Venice--under her nose, as it were--five years before.



Mrs. Prest had not mentioned this much to anyone;

she appeared almost to have forgotten she was there.



Of course she had not the responsibilities of an editor.

It was no explanation of the old woman's having eluded us to say



that she lived abroad, for our researches had again and again

taken us (not only by correspondence but by personal inquiry)



to France, to Germany, to Italy, in which countries, not counting

his important stay in England, so many of the too few years



of Aspern's career were spent. We were glad to think at least

that in all our publishings (some people consider I believe



that we have overdone them), we had only touched in passing

and in the most discreet manner on Miss Bordereau's connection.



Oddly enough, even if we had had the material (and we often

wondered what had become of it), it would have been the most



difficult episode to handle.

The gondola stopped, the old palace was there; it was a house of the class



which in Venice carries even in extreme dilapidation the dignified name.

"How charming! It's gray and pink!" my companion exclaimed;



and that is the most comprehensivedescription of it.

It was not particularly old, only two or three centuries;



and it had an air not so much of decay as of quiet discouragement,

as if it had rather missed its career. But its wide front,



with a stone balcony from end to end of the piano nobile or most

important floor, was architectural enough, with the aid of various



pilasters and arches; and the stucco with which in the intervals

it had long ago been endued was rosy in the April afternoon.



It overlooked a clean, melancholy, unfrequented canal,

which had a narrow riva or convenient footway on either side.



"I don't know why--there are no brick gables," said Mrs. Prest,

"but this corner has seemed to me before more Dutch than Italian,



more like Amsterdam than like Venice. It's perversely clean,

for reasons of its own; and though you can pass on foot scarcely anyone



ever thinks of doing so. It has the air of a Protestant Sunday.

Perhaps the people are afraid of the Misses Bordereau.



I daresay they have the reputation of witches."

I forget what answer I made to this--I was given up to two



other reflections. The first of these was that if the old lady

lived in such a big, imposing house she could not be in any



sort of misery and therefore would not be tempted by a chance

to let a couple of rooms. I expressed this idea to Mrs. Prest,



who gave me a very logical reply. "If she didn't live in a big

house how could it be a question of her having rooms to spare?



If she were not amply lodged herself you would lack ground

to approach her. Besides, a big house here, and especially



in this quartier perdu, proves nothing at all:

it is perfectly compatible with a state of penury.



Dilapidated old palazzi, if you will go out of the way for them,

are to be had for five shillings a year. And as for the people






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