E. Delafield - The Collected Works of E. M. Delafield (Illustrated Edition)

"But certainly, my dear son," she replied courteously.

Zella, fresh from the Lloyd-Evans household, where such social amenities as were habitual to the Baronne and her family would certainly have been stigmatized as foreign at the best, and affected at the worst, became slightly bewildered. She felt as though she had been suddenly thrust into a new world, whose standards, though more in accord with those of her own perceptions than were those of the world she had just left, were nevertheless slightly unfamiliar. With characteristic adaptability she made haste to readjust her point of view.

It did not take Zella long to recognize that the whole of her Aunt Stéphanie's enthusiasms were centred upon the Catholic Church and Classical Art. She seldom spoke to Zella of the former, although they visited many churches together, where Zella knelt silently beside the devoutly inclined figure of her aunt, in front of gaudily decked altars erected before coloured plaster statues that seemed to Zella for the most part masterpieces of bad taste. She could not understand how Tante Stéphanie, who loved beauty, could be moved to enthusiasm before these unlife-like representations of men and women whom Zella, with a scepticism quite unconsciously imbibed from her parents, cynically supposed to have been medieval impostors or mythical creations of a crafty and superstitious priesthood.

It may be supposed that Stéphanie de Kervoyou, praying earnestly and hopefully as she daily did, that the gift of faith might be vouchsafed to her beloved brother and his little daughter, remained unconscious of the thoughts passing through the youthful mind of her niece as they explored one church after another.

"Look, Zella," said Stéphanie, in the Roman Forum.

The sky was brilliant above them, and Zella saw massive stones and innumerable ruins all round. She gazed silently, thinking more of what she should presently say about it, than of what lay before her eyes. It was all very wonderful, and one slender section of an arch, three rough pillars with two great stones laid over them, stood out prominently above the surrounding groups of masonry. Zella wondered if she should admire that. Presently Tante Stéphanie pointed to it, and said:

"That is one of the most beautiful things in Rome— the Arch of Titus. It was built by the Emperor when "•

The explanation was unheard by Zella, who was lost in the vexation of not having trusted to her own artistic perceptions, and shown Tante Stéphanie, by a well-timed exclamation of enthusiastic admiration, how capable she was of instinctively seizing upon the best, without waiting to have it pointed out to her.

Zella's own artistic perceptions, however, were not to be implicitly relied upon, and on more than one occasion she received proof of this. Her cry of admiration at sight of the great glittering Memoriale to Victor Emmanuel /at the corner of the Piazza Venezia was a genuine and spontaneous tribute to the garish beauty of the huge white and gilt erection standing out in bold relief against the brilliant blue of the sky. But Tante Stéphanie, after y the delicate silence that Zella had learnt to be her only

method of expressing disagreement or disapproval, said in the low, diffident voice that nevertheless carried the unmistakable weight of sincerity:

"You know, the Memoriale is hardly considered a very good specimen of architecture. Some of the statuary is good, in the modern style, but you can see for yourself— those little pillars and columns that support nothing at all, and have no raison d'etre, what do they mean ?" "Nothing, of course," said Zella in tones of conviction. But she was inwardly vexed and distressed at having appeared ignorant and wanting in artistic perception. One might surely have assumed with safety that any building in Rome was a suitable object for admiration, thought Zella with some indignation.

When the Baronne, with the peculiarly abrupt manner that was characteristic of her, and that always made Zella nervous, asked her what she liked best in Rome, Zella could only stammer agitatedly:

"Oh, St. Peter's, I think, and—and the Forum." "Ah, young people like size. To be sure, they are very beautiful, and you will like St. Peter's more and more as you go there oftener. It is not learnt at one visit, nor at two. And what about modern Italy's little effort—the Victor Emmanuel monument?" inquired the Baronne, with twinkling eyes.

Zella might have taken warning from her tone, but she felt with relief that here she was sure of her ground, and replied with aplomb:

"Oh, well, of course some of the statues are nice; but as a whole I did not like the architecture much—there are so many little pillars and columns that seem to have no raison d'etre."

She felt that her judgment was, at all events where Grand'mère was concerned, triumphantly vindicated, and was proportionately disconcerted when the Baronne broke into her short, abrupt laugh.

"I understood, on the contrary, that you had admired it this morning, and personally I am inclined to agree with you. It is only Stéphanie who is so ultra-fastidious, with her love of the ancient. The Memoriale, to my mind, is a fine bit of contrast with the old grey buildings all round, and the blue sky behind; but I know little of architecture," said the Baronne, shrugging her shoulders. "But you, Zella, you should learn to have the courage of your own opinions, my good little one."

Zella, though much out of countenance, was impelled to speak in her own defence.

"You see, Grand'mère, I know I make mistakes. I do not know much about art yet," said Zella reluctantly; "but my taste is being formed every day, isn't it?"

The last aphorism was her father's, uttered by him the day before.

"That is perfectly true, and I did not intend to hurt your feelings, child," said the Baronne gravely and politely. "If your taste in art was perfect at fourteen years old, you would be a little miracle; and we do not want miracles, excepting those sanctioned by the Church. But it is better to make an occasional mistake in good faith than to derive your opinions wholesale from another source, however reliable."

"Yes, Grand'mère, I see."

Zella felt grateful to the Baronne for immediately leaving the subject.

It was a continual surprise to her that neither her grandmother nor her aunt ever seemed to have any desire of improving the occasion. To her father's unvarying indulgence she was used, but it was gratifying always to be treated by Grand'mère and Tante Stéphanie as though she were a grown-up person, fully entitled to the consideration due from one adult to another. All that was required of her were certain rather old-fashioned forms of respect to which she had been brought up as a matter of course, and those outward expressions of good-breeding which were almost as natural to Zella as to the Baronne herself. In two months' time Zella felt as though her life at Boscombe and at Villetswood belonged equally to some dream-like and far-remote past, and as though the routine of her days in Rome would constitute the remainder of her life. She did no lessons, excepting an hour's French reading every afternoon to her grandmother, when, to her secret surprise and annoyance, her French accent was subject to frequent corrections. Her father undertook to teach her Italian, and set about it by speaking Italian at meals whenever he remembered it; and the most educational items in Zella's days were the long expeditions to churches, galleries, and museums, with her Aunt Stéphanie. And never did Zella acknowledge to herself that these expeditions generally seemed to her wearisome, and merely the lengthy and necessary preliminary that must be gone through before the welcome interruption of tea.

Table of Contents

THEY spent Christmas in Rome.