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when photography and other conveniences have annihilated surprise。
Miss Bordereau sailed with her family on a tossing brig；
in the days of long voyages and sharp differences； she had her
emotions on the top of yellow diligences； passed the night
at inns where she dreamed of travelers' tales； and was struck；
on reaching the Eternal City； with the elegance of Roman pearls
and scarfs。 There was something touching to me in all that；
and my imagination frequently went back to the period。
If Miss Bordereau carried it there of course Jeffrey Aspern
at other times had done so a great deal more。 It was a much
more important fact； if one were looking at his genius critically；
that he had lived in the days before the general transfusion。
It had happened to me to regret that he had known Europe at all；
I should have liked to see what he would have written without
that experience； by which he had incontestably been enriched。
But as his fate had ordered otherwise I went with him
I tried to judge how the Old World would have struck him。
It was not only there； however； that I watched him； the relations
he had entertained with the new had even a livelier interest。
His own country after all had had most of his life； and his muse；
as they said at that time； was essentially American。
That was originally what I had loved him for： that at a period
when our native land was nude and crude and provincial；
when the famous 〃atmosphere〃 it is supposed to lack was not
even missed； when literature was lonely there and art and form
almost impossible； he had found means to live and write like one
of the first； to be free and general and not at all afraid；
to feel； understand； and express everything。
V
I was seldom at home in the evening； for when I attempted to
occupy myself in my apartments the lamplight brought in a swarm
of noxious insects； and it was too hot for closed windows。
Accordingly I spent the late hours either on the water
（the moonlight of Venice is famous）； or in the splendid square
which serves as a vast forecourt to the strange old basilica
of Saint Mark。 I sat in front of Florian's cafe； eating ices；
listening to music； talking with acquaintances： the traveler
will remember how the immense cluster of tables and little chairs
stretches like a promontory into the smooth lake of the Piazza。
The whole place； of a summer's evening； under the stars and with
all the lamps； all the voices and light footsteps on marble
（the only sounds of the arcades that enclose it）； is like an open…air
saloon dedicated to cooling drinks and to a still finer degustation
that of the exquisite impressions received during the day。
When I did not prefer to keep mine to myself there was always
a stray tourist； disencumbered of his Baedeker； to discuss them with；
or some domesticated painter rejoicing in the return of the season
of strong effects。 The wonderful church； with its low domes and
bristling embroideries； the mystery of its mosaic and sculpture；
looking ghostly in the tempered gloom； and the sea breeze passed
between the twin columns of the Piazzetta； the lintels of a door no
longer guarded； as gently as if a rich curtain were swaying there。
I used sometimes on these occasions to think of the Misses Bordereau
and of the pity of their being shut up in apartments which in the Venetian
July even Venetian vastness did not prevent from being stuffy。
Their life seemed miles away from the life of the Piazza； and no doubt
it was really too late to make the austere Juliana change her habits。
But poor Miss Tita would have enjoyed one of Florian's ices； I was sure；
sometimes I even had thoughts of carrying one home to her。
Fortunately my patience bore fruit； and I was not obliged to do
anything so ridiculous。
One evening about the middle of July I came in earlier than usual
I forget what chance had led to thisand instead of going up to my
quarters made my way into the garden。 The temperature was very high；
it was such a night as one would gladly have spent in the open air；
and I was in no hurry to go to bed。 I had floated home in my gondola；
listening to the slow splash of the oar in the narrow dark canals；
and now the only thought that solicited me was the vague reflection
that it would be pleasant to recline at one's length in the fragrant
darkness on a garden bench。 The odor of the canal was doubtless
at the bottom of that aspiration and the breath of the garden；
as I entered it； gave consistency to my purpose。 it was delicious
just such an air as must have trembled with Romeo's vows when he stood
among the flowers and raised his arms to his mistress's balcony。
I looked at the windows of the palace to see if by chance
the example of Verona （Verona being not far off） had been followed；
but everything was dim； as usual； and everything was still。
Juliana； on summer nights in her youth； might have murmured down
from open windows at Jeffrey Aspern； but Miss Tita was not a poet's
mistress any more than I was a poet。 This however did not prevent
my gratification from being great as I became aware on reaching
the end of the garden that Miss Tita was seated in my little bower。
At first I only made out an indistinct figure； not in the least
counting on such an overture from one of my hostesses；
it even occurred to me that some sentimental maidservant had stolen
in to keep a tryst with her sweetheart。 I was going to turn away；
not to frighten her； when the figure rose to its height and I
recognized Miss Bordereau's niece。 I must do myself the justice to say
that I did not wish to frighten her either； and much as I had longed
for some such accident I should have been capable of retreating。
It was as if I had laid a trap for her by coming home earlier than
usual and adding to that eccentricity by creeping into the garden。
As she rose she spoke to me； and then I reflected that perhaps；
secure in my almost inveterate absence； it was her nightly practice
to take a lonely airing。 There was no trap； in truth； because I
had had no suspicion。 At first I took for granted that the words
she uttered expressed discomfiture at my arrival； but as she
repeated themI had not caught them clearlyI had the surprise
of hearing her say； 〃Oh； dear； I'm so very glad you've come！〃
She and her aunt had in common the property of unexpected speeches。
She came out of the arbor almost as if she were going to throw
herself into my arms。
I hasten to add that she did nothing of the kind； she did not even
shake hands with me。 It was a gratification to her to see me
and presently she told me whybecause she was nervous when she
was out…of…doors at night alone。 The plants and bushes looked
so strange in the dark； and there were all sorts of queer sounds
she could not tell what they werelike the noises of animals。
She stood close to me； looking about her with an air of greater security
but without any demonstration of interest in me as an individual。
Then I guessed that nocturnal prowlings were not in the least her habit；
and I was also reminded （I had been struck with the circumstance
in talking with her before I took possession） that it was impossible
to overestimate her simplicity。
〃You speak as if you were lost in the backwoods；〃 I said； laughing。
〃How you manage to keep out of this charming place when you have only three
steps to take to get into it is more than I have yet been able to discover。
You hide away mighty well so long as I am on the premises； I know；
but I had a hope that you peeped out a little at other times。
You and your poor aunt are worse off than Carmelite nuns in their cells。
Should you mind telling me how you exist without air； without exercise；
without any sort of human contact？ I don't see how you carry on the common
business of life。〃
She looked at me as if I were talking some strange tongue； and her
answer was so little of an answer that I was considerably irritated。
〃We go to bed very earlyearlier than you would believe。〃
I was on the point of saying that this only deepened the mystery when she
gave me some relief by adding； 〃Before you came we were not so private。
But I never have been out at night。〃
〃Never in these fragrant alleys； blooming here under your nose？〃
〃Ah；〃 said Miss Tita； 〃they were never nice till now！〃 There was
an unmistakable reference in this and a flattering comparison；
so that it seemed to me I had gained a small advantage。
As it would help me to follow it up to establish a sort of
grievance I asked her why； since she thought my garden nice；
she had never thanked me in any way for the flowers I had been
sending up in such quantities for the previous three weeks。
I had not been discouragedthere had been； as she would
have observed； a daily armful； but I had been brought up
in the common forms and a word of recognition now and then
would have touched me in the right place。