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قراءة كتاب The Marble Faun; Or, The Romance of Monte Beni - Volume 2
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The Marble Faun; Or, The Romance of Monte Beni - Volume 2
THE MARBLE FAUN,
or The Romance of Monte Beni
BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
Volume II. In Two Volumes
Contents
THE MARBLE FAUN, VOLUME II.
CHAPTER XXIV CHAPTER XXV CHAPTER XXVI CHAPTER XXVII CHAPTER XXVIII CHAPTER XXIX CHAPTER XXX CHAPTER XXXI CHAPTER XXXII CHAPTER XXXIII CHAPTER XXXIV CHAPTER XXXV CHAPTER XXXVI CHAPTER XXXVII CHAPTER XXXVIII CHAPTER XXXIX CHAPTER XL CHAPTER XLI CHAPTER XLII CHAPTER XLIII CHAPTER XLIV CHAPTER XLV CHAPTER XLVI CHAPTER XLVII CHAPTER XLVIII CHAPTER XLIX CHAPTER L |
THE TOWER AMONG THE APENNINES SUNSHINE THE PEDIGREE OF MONTE BENI MYTHS THE OWL TOWER ON THE BATTLEMENTS DONATELLO'S BUST THE MARBLE SALOON SCENES BY THE WAY PICTURED WINDOWS MARKET-DAY IN PERUGIA THE BRONZE PONTIFF'S BENEDICTION HILDA'S TOWER THE EMPTINESS OF PICTURE GALLERIES ALTARS AND INCENSE THE WORLD'S CATHEDRAL HILDA AND A FRIEND SNOWDROPS AND MAIDENLY DELIGHTS REMINISCENCES OF MIRIAM THE EXTINCTION OF A LAMP THE DESERTED SHRINE THE FLIGHT OF HILDA'S DOVES A WALK ON THE CAMPAGNA THE PEASANT AND CONTADINA A SCENE IN THE CORSO A FROLIC OF THE CARNIVAL MIRIAM, HILDA, KENYON, DONATELLO |
CONCLUSION
THE MARBLE FAUN
Volume II
CHAPTER XXIV
THE TOWER AMONG THE APENNINES
It was in June that the sculptor, Kenyon, arrived on horseback at the gate of an ancient country house (which, from some of its features, might almost be called a castle) situated in a part of Tuscany somewhat remote from the ordinary track of tourists. Thither we must now accompany him, and endeavor to make our story flow onward, like a streamlet, past a gray tower that rises on the hillside, overlooking a spacious valley, which is set in the grand framework of the Apennines.
The sculptor had left Rome with the retreating tide of foreign residents. For, as summer approaches, the Niobe of Nations is made to bewail anew, and doubtless with sincerity, the loss of that large part of her population which she derives from other lands, and on whom depends much of whatever remnant of prosperity she still enjoys. Rome, at this season, is pervaded and overhung with atmospheric terrors, and insulated within a charmed and deadly circle. The crowd of wandering tourists betake themselves to Switzerland, to the Rhine, or, from this central home of the world, to their native homes in England or America, which they are apt thenceforward to look upon as provincial, after once having yielded to the spell of the Eternal City. The artist, who contemplates an indefinite succession of winters in this home of art (though his first thought was merely to improve himself by a brief visit), goes forth, in the summer time, to sketch scenery and costume among the Tuscan hills, and pour, if he can, the purple air of Italy over his canvas. He studies the old schools of art in the mountain towns where they were born, and where they are still to be seen in the faded frescos of Giotto and Cimabue, on the