"One to be trusted, on the whole.It is quick, but it is generous.
I have known it to breathe flame and fury at ten o'clock in the evening, and soft, sweet music early on the morrow.It 's a very entertaining temper to observe.I, fortunately, can do so dispassionately, for I 'm the only person in the place he has not quarreled with.""Has he then no society? Who is Miss Garland, whom you asked about?""A young girl staying with his mother, a sort of far-away cousin;a good plain girl, but not a person to delight a sculptor's eye.
Roderick has a goodly share of the old Southern arrogance;he has the aristocratic temperament.He will have nothing to do with the small towns-people; he says they 're 'ignoble.'
He cannot endure his mother's friends--the old ladies and the ministers and the tea-party people; they bore him to death.
So he comes and lounges here and rails at everything and every one."This graceful young scoffer reappeared a couple of evenings later, and confirmed the friendly feeling he had provoked on Rowland's part.
He was in an easier mood than before, he chattered less extravagantly, and asked Rowland a number of rather naif questions about the condition of the fine arts in New York and Boston.
Cecilia, when he had gone, said that this was the wholesome effect of Rowland's praise of his statuette.Roderick was acutely sensitive, and Rowland's tranquil commendation had stilled his restless pulses.
He was ruminating the full-flavored verdict of culture.Rowland felt an irresistible kindness for him, a mingled sense of his personal charm and his artistic capacity.He had an indefinable attraction--the something divine of unspotted, exuberant, confident youth.
The next day was Sunday, and Rowland proposed that they should take a long walk and that Roderick should show him the country.
The young man assented gleefully, and in the morning, as Rowland at the garden gate was giving his hostess Godspeed on her way to church, he came striding along the grassy margin of the road and out-whistling the music of the church bells.
It was one of those lovely days of August when you feel the complete exuberance of summer just warned and checked by autumn.
"Remember the day, and take care you rob no orchards," said Cecilia, as they separated.
The young men walked away at a steady pace, over hill and dale, through woods and fields, and at last found themselves on a grassy elevation studded with mossy rocks and red cedars.Just beneath them, in a great shining curve, flowed the goodly Connecticut.
They flung themselves on the grass and tossed stones into the river;they talked like old friends.Rowland lit a cigar, and Roderick refused one with a grimace of extravagant disgust.He thought them vile things; he did n't see how decent people could tolerate them.
Rowland was amused, and wondered what it was that made this ill-mannered speech seem perfectly inoffensive on Roderick's lips.He belonged to the race of mortals, to be pitied or envied according as we view the matter, who are not held to a strict account for their aggressions.
Looking at him as he lay stretched in the shade, Rowland vaguely likened him to some beautiful, supple, restless, bright-eyed animal, whose motions should have no deeper warrant than the tremulous delicacy of its structure, and be graceful even when they were most inconvenient.
Rowland watched the shadows on Mount Holyoke, listened to the gurgle of the river, and sniffed the balsam of the pines.
A gentle breeze had begun to tickle their summits, and brought the smell of the mown grass across from the elm-dotted river meadows.
He sat up beside his companion and looked away at the far-spreading view.
It seemed to him beautiful, and suddenly a strange feeling of prospective regret took possession of him.Something seemed to tell him that later, in a foreign land, he would remember it lovingly and penitently.
"It 's a wretched business," he said, "this practical quarrel of ours with our own country, this everlasting impatience to get out of it.
Is one's only safety then in flight? This is an American day, an American landscape, an American atmosphere.It certainly has its merits, and some day when I am shivering with ague in classic Italy, I shall accuse myself of having slighted them."Roderick kindled with a sympathetic glow, and declared that America was good enough for him, and that he had always thought it the duty of an honest citizen to stand by his own country and help it along.He had evidently thought nothing whatever about it, and was launching his doctrine on the inspiration of the moment.The doctrine expanded with the occasion, and he declared that he was above all an advocate for American art.
He did n't see why we should n't produce the greatest works in the world.
We were the biggest people, and we ought to have the biggest conceptions.
The biggest conceptions of course would bring forth in time the biggest performances.We had only to be true to ourselves, to pitch in and not be afraid, to fling Imitation overboard and fix our eyes upon our National Individuality."I declare," he cried, "there 's a career for a man, and I 've twenty minds to decide, on the spot, to embrace it--to be the consummate, typical, original, national American artist!
It 's inspiring!"
Rowland burst out laughing and told him that he liked his practice better than his theory, and that a saner impulse than this had inspired his little Water-drinker.Roderick took no offense, and three minutes afterwards was talking volubly of some humbler theme, but half heeded by his companion, who had returned to his cogitations.
At last Rowland delivered himself of the upshot of these.
"How would you like," he suddenly demanded, "to go to Rome?"Hudson stared, and, with a hungry laugh which speedily consigned our National Individuality to perdition, responded that he would like it reasonably well.