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CHAPTER III
"Our house is very far from the center, but the little canal
is very comme il faut."
"It's the sweetest corner of Venice and I can imagine nothing more charming,"
I hastened to reply. The old lady's voice was very thin and weak, but it
had an agreeable, cultivated murmur, and there was wonder in the thought
that that individual note had been in Jeffrey Aspern's ear.
"Please to sit down there. I hear very well,"
she said quietly, as if perhaps I had been shouting at her;
and the chair she pointed to was at a certain distance.
I took possession of it, telling her that I was perfectly
aware that I had intruded, that I had not been properly
introduced and could only throw myself upon her indulgence.
Perhaps the other lady, the one I had had the honor of seeing
the day before, would have explained to her about the garden.
That was literally what had given me courage to take a step
so unconventional. I had fallen in love at sight with the whole place
(she herself probably was so used to it that she did not know
the impression it was capable of making on a stranger), and I
had felt it was really a case to risk something. Was her own
kindness in receiving me a sign that I was not wholly out in
my calculation? It would render me extremely happy to think so.
I could give her my word of honor that I was a most respectable,
inoffensive person and that as an inmate they would be barely
conscious of my existence. I would conform to any regulations,
any restrictions if they would only let me enjoy the garden.
Moreover I should be delighted to give her references, guarantees;
they would be of the very best, both in Venice and in England
as well as in America.
She listened to me in perfect stillness and I felt that she was looking
at me with great attention, though I could see only the lower part
of her bleached and shriveled face. Independently of the refining
process of old age it had a delicacy which once must have been great.
She had been very fair, she had had a wonderful complexion.
She was silent a little after I had ceased speaking; then she inquired,
"If you are so fond of a garden why don't you go to terra firma,
where there are so many far better than this?"
"Oh, it's the combination!" I answered, smiling; and then,
with rather a flight of fancy, "It's the idea of a garden
in the middle of the sea."
"It's not in the middle of the sea; you can't see the water."
I stared a moment, wondering whether she wished to convict me of fraud.
"Can't see the water? Why, dear madam, I can come up to the very gate
in my boat."
She appeared inconsequent, for she said vaguely in reply
to this, "Yes, if you have got a boat. I haven't any;
it's many years since I have been in one of the gondolas."
She uttered these words as if the gondolas were a curious
faraway craft which she knew only by hearsay.
"Let me assure you of the pleasure with which I would put mine at
your service!" I exclaimed. I had scarcely said this, however, before I
became aware that the speech was in questionable taste and might also do me
the injury of making me appear too eager, too possessed of a hidden motive.
But the old woman remained impenetrable and her attitude bothered me
by suggesting that she had a fuller vision of me than I had of her.
She gave me no thanks for my somewhat extravagant offer but remarked that the
lady I had seen the day before was her niece; she would presently come in.
She had asked her to stay away a little on purpose, because she herself wished
to see me at first alone. She relapsed into silence, and I asked myself
why she had judged this necessary and what was coming yet; also whether
I might venture on some judicious remark in praise of her companion.
I went so far as to say that I should be delighted to see her again:
she had been so very courteous to me, considering how odd she must
have thought me--a declaration which drew from Miss Bordereau another
of her whimsical speeches.
"She has very good manners; I bred her up myself!" I was on the point
of saying that that accounted for the easy grace of the niece, but I
arrested myself in time, and the next moment the old woman went on:
"I don't care who you may be--I don't want to know; it signifies very
little today." This had all the air of being a formula of dismissal,
as if her next words would be that I might take myself off now that she had
had the amusement of looking on the face of such a monster of indiscretion.
Therefore I was all the more surprised when she added, with her soft,
venerable quaver, "You may have as many rooms as you like--if you will
pay a good deal of money."
I hesitated but for a single instant, long enough to ask
myself what she meant in particular by this condition.
First it struck me that she must have really a large sum
in her mind; then I reasoned quickly that her idea of a large
sum would probably not correspond to my own. My deliberation,
I think, was not so visible as to diminish the promptitude
with which I replied, "I will pay with pleasure and of course
in advance whatever you may think is proper to ask me."
"Well then, a thousand francs a month," she rejoined instantly,
while her baffling green shade continued to cover her attitude.
The figure, as they say, was startling and my logic had been at fault.
The sum she had mentioned was, by the Venetian measure of such matters,
exceedingly large; there was many an old palace in an out-of-the-way
corner that I might on such terms have enjoyed by the year.
But so far as my small means allowed I was prepared to spend money,
and my decision was quickly taken. I would pay her with a smiling face
what she asked, but in that case I would give myself the compensation
of extracting the papers from her for nothing. Moreover if she had asked
five times as much I should have risen to the occasion; so odious would
it have appeared to me to stand chaffering with Aspern's Juliana.
It was queer enough to have a question of money with her at all.
I assured her that her views perfectly met my own and that on the morrow
I should have the pleasure of putting three months' rent into her hand.
She received this announcement with serenity and with no apparent sense
that after all it would be becoming of her to say that I ought to see
the rooms first. This did not occur to her and indeed her serenity
was mainly what I wanted. Our little bargain was just concluded
when the door opened and the younger lady appeared on the threshold.
As soon as Miss Bordereau saw her niece she cried out almost gaily,
"He will give three thousand--three thousand tomorrow!"
Miss Tita stood still, with her patient eyes turning from one
of us to the other; then she inquired, scarcely above her breath,
"Do you mean francs?"
"Did you mean francs or dollars?" the old woman asked of me at this.
"I think francs were what you said," I answered, smiling.
"That is very good," said Miss Tita, as if she had become conscious
that her own question might have looked overreaching.
"What do YOU know? You are ignorant," Miss Bordereau remarked;
not with acerbity but with a strange, soft coldness.
"Yes, of money--certainly of money!" Miss Tita hastened to exclaim.
"I am sure you have your own branches of knowledge,"
I took the liberty of saying, genially. There was something
painful to me, somehow, in the turn the conversation had taken,
in the discussion of the rent.
"She had a very good education when she was young.
I looked into that myself," said Miss Bordereau.
Then she added, "But she has learned nothing since."
"I have always been with you," Miss Tita rejoined very mildly,
and evidently with no intention of making an epigram.
"Yes, but for that!" her aunt declared with more satirical force.
She evidently meant that but for this her niece would never have got
on at all; the point of the observation however being lost on Miss Tita,
though she blushed at hearing her history revealed to a stranger.
Miss Bordereau went on, addressing herself to me: "And what time will
you come tomorrow with the money?"
"The sooner the better. If it suits you I will come at noon."
"I am always here but I have my hours," said the old woman,
as if her convenience were not to be taken for granted.
"You mean the times when you receive?"
"I never receive. But I will see you at noon, when you come
with the money."
"Very good, I shall be punctual;" and I added, "May I shake hands with you,
on our contract?" I thought there ought to be some little form, it would
make me really feel easier, for I foresaw that there would be no other.
Besides, though Miss Bordereau could not today be called personally attractive
and there was something even in her wasted antiquity that bade one stand at
one's distance, I felt an irresistible desire to hold in my own for a moment
the hand that Jeffrey Aspern had pressed.
For a minute she made no answer, and I saw that my proposal
failed to meet with her approbation. She indulged in no movement
of withdrawal, which I half-expected; she only said coldly,
"I belong to a time when that was not the custom."
I felt rather snubbed but I exclaimed good humoredly to Miss Tita,
"Oh, you will do as well!" I shook hands with her while she replied,
with a small flutter, "Yes, yes, to show it's all arranged!"
"Shall you bring the money in gold?" Miss Bordereau demanded,
as I was turning to the door.
I looked at her for a moment. "Aren't you a little afraid,
after all, of keeping such a sum as that in the house?"
It was not that I was annoyed at her avidity but I was really
struck with the disparity between such a treasure and such
scanty means of guarding it.
"Whom should I be afraid of if I am not afraid of you?"
she asked with her shrunken grimness.
"Ah well," said I, laughing, "I shall be in point of fact a protector and I
will bring gold if you prefer."
"Thank you," the old woman returned with dignity and with an inclination
of her head which evidently signified that I might depart. I passed
out of the room, reflecting that it would not be easy to circumvent her.
As I stood in the sala again I saw that Miss Tita had followed me,
and I supposed that as her aunt had neglected to suggest that I should
take a look at my quarters it was her purpose to repair the omission.
But she made no such suggestion; she only stood there with a dim, though not
a languid smile, and with an effect of irresponsible, incompetent youth
which was almost comically at variance with the faded facts of her person.
She was not infirm, like her aunt, but she struck me as still more helpless,
because her inefficiency was spiritual, which was not the case with Miss
Bordereau's. I waited to see if she would offer to show me the rest
of the house, but I did not precipitate the question, inasmuch as my plan
was from this moment to spend as much of my time as possible in her society.
I only observed at the end of a minute:
"I have had better fortune than I hoped. It was very kind of her to see me.
Perhaps you said a good word for me."
"It was the idea of the money," said Miss Tita.
"And did you suggest that?"
"I told her that you would perhaps give a good deal."
"What made you think that?"
"I told her I thought you were rich."
"And what put that idea into your head?"
"I don't know; the way you talked."
"Dear me, I must talk differently now," I declared.
"I'm sorry to say it's not the case."
"Well," said Miss Tita, "I think that in Venice the forestieri,
in general, often give a great deal for something that after all isn't much."
She appeared to make this remark with a comforting intention, to wish to
remind me that if I had been extravagant I was not really foolishly singular.
We walked together along the sala, and as I took its magnificent
measure I said to her that I was afraid it would not form a part of my
quartiere. Were my rooms by chance to be among those that opened into it?
"Not if you go above, on the second floor," she answered with a little
startled air, as if she had rather taken for granted I would know
my proper place.
"And I infer that that's where your aunt would like me to be."
"She said your apartments ought to be very distinct."
"That certainly would be best." And I listened with respect
while she told me that up above I was free to take whatever I liked;
that there was another staircase, but only from the floor on which
we stood, and that to pass from it to the garden-story or to come
up to my lodging I should have in effect to cross the great hall.
This was an immense point gained; I foresaw that it would
constitute my whole leverage in my relations with the two ladies.
When I asked Miss Tita how I was to manage at present to find
my way up she replied with an access of that sociable shyness
which constantly marked her manner.
"Perhaps you can't. I don't see--unless I should go with you."
She evidently had not thought of this before.
We ascended to the upper floor and visited a long succession of
empty rooms. The best of them looked over the garden; some of the others
had a view of the blue lagoon, above the opposite rough-tiled housetops.
They were all dusty and even a little disfigured with long neglect,
but I saw that by spending a few hundred francs I should be able
to convert three or four of them into a convenient habitation.
My experiment was turning out costly, yet now that I had all
but taken possession I ceased to allow this to trouble me.
I mentioned to my companion a few of the things that I should put in,
but she replied rather more precipitately than usual that I might
do exactly what I liked; she seemed to wish to notify me that the
Misses Bordereau would take no overt interest in my proceedings.
I guessed that her aunt had instructed her to adopt this tone, and I
may as well say now that I came afterward to distinguish perfectly
(as I believed) between the speeches she made on her own responsibility
and those the old lady imposed upon her. She took no notice of the unswept
condition of the rooms and indulged in no explanations nor apologies.
I said to myself that this was a sign that Juliana and her niece
(disenchanting idea!) were untidy persons, with a low Italian standard;
but I afterward recognized that a lodger who had forced an entrance
had no locus standi as a critic. We looked out of a good
many windows, for there was nothing within the rooms to look at,
and still I wanted to linger. I asked her what several different objects
in the prospect might be, but in no case did she appear to know.
She was evidently not familiar with the view--it was as if she
had not looked at it for years--and I presently saw that she was
too preoccupied with something else to pretend to care for it.
Suddenly she said--the remark was not suggested:
"I don't know whether it will make any difference to you,
but the money is for me."
"The money?"
"The money you are going to bring."
"Why, you'll make me wish to stay here two or three years."
I spoke as benevolently as possible, though it had begun to act
on my nerves that with these women so associated with Aspern
the pecuniary question should constantly come back.
"That would be very good for me," she replied, smiling.
"You put me on my honor!"
She looked as if she failed to understand this, but went on:
"She wants me to have more. She thinks she is going to die."
"Ah, not soon, I hope!" I exclaimed with genuine feeling.
I had perfectly considered the possibility that she would destroy
her papers on the day she should feel her end really approach.
I believed that she would cling to them till then, and I think
I had an idea that she read Aspern's letters over every night
or at least pressed them to her withered lips. I would have
given a good deal to have a glimpse of the latter spectacle.
I asked Miss Tita if the old lady were seriously ill, and she
replied that she was only very tired--she had lived so very,
very long. That was what she said herself--she wanted to die
for a change. Besides, all her friends were dead long ago;
either they ought to have remained or she ought to have gone.
That was another thing her aunt often said--she was not
at all content.
"But people don't die when they like, do they?" Miss Tita inquired.
I took the liberty of asking why, if there was actually enough money
to maintain both of them, there would not be more than enough in case
of her being left alone. She considered this difficult problem
a moment and then she said, "Oh, well, you know, she takes care of me.
She thinks that when I'm alone I shall be a great fool, I shall not know
how to manage."
"I should have supposed that you took care of her.
I'm afraid she is very proud."
"Why, have you discovered that already?" Miss Tita cried with the glimmer
of an illumination in her face.
"I was shut up with her there for a considerable time, and she struck me,
she interested me extremely. It didn't take me long to make my discovery.
She won't have much to say to me while I'm here."
"No, I don't think she will," my companion averred.
"Do you suppose she has some suspicion of me?"
Miss Tita's honest eyes gave me no sign that I had touched a mark.
"I shouldn't think so--letting you in after all so easily."
"Oh, so easily! she has covered her risk. But where is it
that one could take an advantage of her?"
"I oughtn't to tell you if I knew, ought I?" And Miss Tita added,
before I had time to reply to this, smiling dolefully, "Do you
think we have any weak points?"
"That's exactly what I'm asking. You would only have to mention
them for me to respect them religiously."
She looked at me, at this, with that air of timid but candid
and even gratified curiosity with which she had confronted me
from the first; and then she said, "There is nothing to tell.
We are terribly quiet. I don't know how the days pass.
We have no life."
"I wish I might think that I should bring you a little."
"Oh, we know what we want," she went on. "It's all right."
There were various things I desired to ask her: how in the world
they did live; whether they had any friends or visitors,
any relations in America or in other countries. But I judged such
an inquiry would be premature; I must leave it to a later chance.
"Well, don't YOU be proud," I contented myself with saying.
"Don't hide from me altogether."
"Oh, I must stay with my aunt," she returned, without looking at me.
And at the same moment, abruptly, without any ceremony of parting,
she quitted me and disappeared, leaving me to make my own way downstairs.
I remained a while longer, wandering about the bright desert (the sun was
pouring in) of the old house, thinking the situation over on the spot.
Not even the pattering little serva came to look after me, and I
reflected that after all this treatment showed confidence.
Content of CHAPTER III [Henry James' novel: The Aspern Papers]
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