“L’ altra vedete ch’ha fatto alla guancia
Della sua palma, sospirando, letto.”
——《炼狱》第七篇
当乔治四世仍然统治着温莎的私室，当威灵顿公爵担任首相，而文西先生是米德尔马契旧自治市的市长时，卡苏朋夫人，娘家姓多萝西娅·布鲁克，已经踏上了她的罗马蜜月之旅。在那个年代，世人总体上对善恶的认识比现在要少四十年。旅行者通常不会在头脑或口袋里装满基督教艺术的详细信息；甚至当时最杰出的英国批评家也将开满鲜花的圣母升天墓误认为是画家想象中的一个装饰花瓶。浪漫主义，那个曾用爱与知识填补了一些沉闷空白的思潮，尚未用它的酵母渗透时代，进入每个人的食物；它仍在发酵，作为一股独特而热烈的活力，存在于罗马某些长发的德国艺术家身上，而其他国籍的年轻人在他们附近工作或闲逛时，有时会被这蔓延的运动所感染。
一个晴朗的早晨，一位头发并非过分长，但浓密卷曲，装束上完全是英国风格的年轻人，刚从梵蒂冈的观景殿转过身来，正从相邻的圆形前厅眺望壮丽的群山景色。他全神贯注，以至于没有注意到一个黑眼睛、充满活力的德国人走近他，把手放在他肩上，用浓重的外国口音说：“快来！否则她就要换姿势了。”
敏捷应声而至，两人轻盈地沿着墨勒阿格雕像走去，朝向那个大厅，那里躺着被称为克利奥帕特拉的阿莉阿德尼雕像，大理石雕琢出她丰腴的美，衣袍如花瓣般轻柔地缠绕在她身上。他们正好看到另一个身影靠在一座底座旁，旁边就是那尊躺卧的大理石像：一个呼吸着、盛开的少女，她的身形不逊于阿莉阿德尼，身穿灰黄色的贵格会式长袍；她的长斗篷系在领口，向后甩到手臂上，一只未戴手套的美丽的手托着脸颊，将白色海狸皮帽向后推了推，那帽子在她简单地编成的深棕色头发周围形成了一圈光晕。她并没有在看那雕像，大概也没有在想它：她的大眼睛梦幻般地盯着地板上的一缕阳光。但她意识到两个陌生人突然停下，似乎在欣赏克利奥帕特拉，于是没有看他们，立即转身走向在远处大厅里闲逛的女仆和向导。
“你觉得这个对比如何？”德国人问道，在朋友脸上寻找赞赏，但不等回答又滔滔不绝地说下去，“那边躺着古典的美，即使在死亡中也不像尸体，而是停留在感官完美的完全满足中；而这里站着的是呼吸着生命的美，胸膛里承载着基督教世纪的意识。但她应该打扮成修女；我觉得她看起来几乎像你说的贵格会教徒；在我的画里，我会把她打扮成修女。不过，她结婚了；我在她那神奇的左手上看到了婚戒，否则我还以为那个苍白的牧师是她父亲呢。我一会儿前看见他和她分开，刚才我发现她摆出了那个美妙的姿势。想想看！他也许很有钱，而且可能想要她的肖像。啊，追她已经没用了——她走了！我们跟着她回家吧！”
“不，不，”他的同伴微微皱眉说。
“你很奇怪，拉迪斯拉夫。你似乎被击中了。你认识她吗？”
“我知道她嫁给了我的表亲，”威尔·拉迪斯拉夫说，心事重重地漫步穿过大厅，而他的德国朋友走在旁边，热切地看着他。
“什么！那个牧师？他看起来更像叔叔——一种更有用的亲戚。”
“他不是我叔叔。我告诉你，他是我的远房表亲，”拉迪斯拉夫有些恼怒地说。
“美，美。别发火。你不会因为我认为第二表亲夫人是我见过的最完美的年轻圣母而生气吧？”
“生气？胡说。我只见过她一次，在离开英国之前，我的表亲介绍我们认识，只有几分钟。那时他们还没结婚。我不知道他们来罗马了。”
“但你现在要去看他们——你会找出他们的地址——既然你知道名字。我们去邮局吧？而且你可以谈谈肖像的事。”
“见鬼，瑙曼！我不知道我该做什么。我可没你这么厚脸皮。”
“呸！那是因为你是个业余爱好者。如果你是艺术家，你会把第二表亲夫人看作被基督教情感赋予生命的古典形式——一种基督教安提戈涅——被精神激情控制的感官力量。”
“是啊，而且你画她，是她存在的首要结果——神性进入更高层次的完成，几乎在覆盖你那块画布的过程中耗尽。你喜欢的话，我就是业余：我可不认为整个宇宙都在向着你那幅画的模糊意义努力。”
“但确实如此，我亲爱的！——只要是通过我，阿道夫·瑙曼来努力：这一点是肯定的，”好脾气的画家说着，把手放在拉迪斯拉夫肩上，对他语气中莫名的怒意毫不在意，“你看！我的存在预设了整个宇宙的存在——不是吗？我的职能是画画——而作为一个画家，我有一个完全天才的想法，把你的祖姑母或第二代祖母作为绘画题材；因此，宇宙正通过我这个钩子或爪子伸出来，向着那幅画努力——不对吗？”
“但如果另一个爪子，以我的形式，努力阻挠它呢？——那么情况就不那么简单了。”
“一点也不：斗争的结果是一样的——画成或画不成——逻辑上。”
威尔无法抗拒这种平和的态度，脸上的阴云化作阳光般的笑容。
“来吧，我的朋友——你会帮忙的？”瑙曼满怀希望地说。
“不，胡说，瑙曼！英国女士可不是随随便便给人当模特的。而且你想用你的画表达太多东西。你只会画出一幅或好或坏的肖像，背景每个行家都会给出不同的理由赞成或反对。女人的肖像是什么？你的绘画和雕塑终究是差劲的东西。它们扰乱并钝化概念，而不是提升它们。语言才是更精妙的媒介。”
“是的，对于那些不会绘画的人来说，”瑙曼说，“你说得完全正确。我没有建议你去画画，我的朋友。”
这位和蔼的艺术家话中带刺，但拉迪斯拉夫不愿表现出被刺痛。他继续说着，仿佛没听见。
“语言给予更完整的图像，模糊反而更好。毕竟，真正的视觉在内心；而绘画以一种顽固的缺陷盯着你。我尤其觉得女性形象如此。仿佛女人只是有颜色的表面！你必须等待动态和语调。她们连呼吸都有差异：她们时刻变化。——比如你刚才看到的这个女人：请问，你怎么画她的声音？但她的声音比她表现出来的任何东西都神圣得多。”
“我明白了，我明白了。你嫉妒了。没人可以设想能画出你的理想。这很严重，我的朋友！你的祖姑母！‘侄子当叔叔’在悲剧意义上——可怕！”
“瑙曼，如果你再称那位女士为我的姑母，我们就要吵架了。”
“那该怎么称呼她？”
“卡苏朋夫人。”
“好。假设我不管你怎么想，还是认识了她，而且发现她非常希望被画呢？”
“是啊，假设吧！”威尔·拉迪斯拉夫以轻视的低声说，意在结束这个话题。他意识到自己为可笑的小事生气，而其中一半是他自己造成的。他为什么要为卡苏朋夫人大惊小怪？然而他觉得关于她，发生了什么事。有些性格在戏剧中不断为自己制造冲突和节点，而没有人准备好与它们一起演出。它们敏感的反应会撞击那些无辜地安静下来的对象。
“L’ altra vedete ch’ha fatto alla guancia
Della sua palma, sospirando, letto.”
—_Purgatorio_, vii.
When George the Fourth was still reigning over the privacies of
Windsor, when the Duke of Wellington was Prime Minister, and Mr. Vincy
was mayor of the old corporation in Middlemarch, Mrs. Casaubon, born
Dorothea Brooke, had taken her wedding journey to Rome. In those days
the world in general was more ignorant of good and evil by forty years
than it is at present. Travellers did not often carry full information
on Christian art either in their heads or their pockets; and even the
most brilliant English critic of the day mistook the flower-flushed
tomb of the ascended Virgin for an ornamental vase due to the painter’s
fancy. Romanticism, which has helped to fill some dull blanks with love
and knowledge, had not yet penetrated the times with its leaven and
entered into everybody’s food; it was fermenting still as a
distinguishable vigorous enthusiasm in certain long-haired German
artists at Rome, and the youth of other nations who worked or idled
near them were sometimes caught in the spreading movement.
One fine morning a young man whose hair was not immoderately long, but
abundant and curly, and who was otherwise English in his equipment, had
just turned his back on the Belvedere Torso in the Vatican and was
looking out on the magnificent view of the mountains from the adjoining
round vestibule. He was sufficiently absorbed not to notice the
approach of a dark-eyed, animated German who came up to him and placing
a hand on his shoulder, said with a strong accent, “Come here, quick!
else she will have changed her pose.”
Quickness was ready at the call, and the two figures passed lightly
along by the Meleager, towards the hall where the reclining Ariadne,
then called the Cleopatra, lies in the marble voluptuousness of her
beauty, the drapery folding around her with a petal-like ease and
tenderness. They were just in time to see another figure standing
against a pedestal near the reclining marble: a breathing blooming
girl, whose form, not shamed by the Ariadne, was clad in Quakerish gray
drapery; her long cloak, fastened at the neck, was thrown backward from
her arms, and one beautiful ungloved hand pillowed her cheek, pushing
somewhat backward the white beaver bonnet which made a sort of halo to
her face around the simply braided dark-brown hair. She was not looking
at the sculpture, probably not thinking of it: her large eyes were
fixed dreamily on a streak of sunlight which fell across the floor. But
she became conscious of the two strangers who suddenly paused as if to
contemplate the Cleopatra, and, without looking at them, immediately
turned away to join a maid-servant and courier who were loitering along
the hall at a little distance off.
“What do you think of that for a fine bit of antithesis?” said the
German, searching in his friend’s face for responding admiration, but
going on volubly without waiting for any other answer. “There lies
antique beauty, not corpse-like even in death, but arrested in the
complete contentment of its sensuous perfection: and here stands beauty
in its breathing life, with the consciousness of Christian centuries in
its bosom. But she should be dressed as a nun; I think she looks almost
what you call a Quaker; I would dress her as a nun in my picture.
However, she is married; I saw her wedding-ring on that wonderful left
hand, otherwise I should have thought the sallow _Geistlicher_ was her
father. I saw him parting from her a good while ago, and just now I
found her in that magnificent pose. Only think! he is perhaps rich, and
would like to have her portrait taken. Ah! it is no use looking after
her—there she goes! Let us follow her home!”
