"Three shadows!" exclaimed Miriam--"three separate shadows, all so black
and heavy that they sink in the water! There they lie on the bottom,
as if all three were drowned together. This shadow on my right is
Donatello; I know him by his curls, and the turn of his head. My
left-hand companion puzzles me; a shapeless mass, as indistinct as the
premonition of calamity! Which of you can it be? Ah!"
She had turned round, while speaking, and saw beside her the strange
creature whose attendance on her was already familiar, as a marvel and
a jest; to the whole company of artists. A general burst of laughter
followed the recognition; while the model leaned towards Miriam, as she
shrank from him, and muttered something that was inaudible to those who
witnessed the scene. By his gestures, however, they concluded that he
was inviting her to bathe her hands.
"He cannot be an Italian; at least not a Roman," observed an artist. "I
never knew one of them to care about ablution. See him now! It is as
if he were trying to wash off' the time-stains and earthly soil of a
thousand years!"
Dipping his hands into the capacious washbowl before him, the model
rubbed them together with the utmost vehemence. Ever and anon, too,
he peeped into the water, as if expecting to see the whole Fountain of
Trevi turbid with the results of his ablution. Miriam looked at him,
some little time, with an aspect of real terror, and even imitated him
by leaning over to peep into the basin. Recovering herself, she took up
some of the water in the hollow of her hand, and practised an old form
of exorcism by flinging it in her persecutor's face.
"In the name of all the Saints," cried she, "vanish, Demon, and let me
be free of you now and forever!"
"It will not suffice," said some of the mirthful party, "unless the
Fountain of Trevi gushes with holy water."
In fact, the exorcism was quite ineffectual upon the pertinacious demon,
or whatever the apparition might be. Still he washed his brown, bony
talons; still he peered into the vast basin, as if all the water of that
great drinking-cup of Rome must needs be stained black or sanguine; and
still he gesticulated to Miriam to follow his example. The spectators
laughed loudly, but yet with a kind of constraint; for the creature's
aspect was strangely repulsive and hideous.
Miriam felt her arm seized violently by Donatello. She looked at him,
and beheld a tigerlike fury gleaming from his wild eyes.
"Bid me drown him!" whispered he, shuddering between rage and horrible
disgust. "You shall hear his death gurgle in another instant!"
"Peace, peace, Donatello!" said Miriam soothingly, for this naturally
gentle and sportive being seemed all aflame with animal rage. "Do him no
mischief! He is mad; and we are as mad as he, if we suffer ourselves to
be disquieted by his antics. Let us leave him to bathe his hands till
the fountain run dry, if he find solace and pastime in it. What is it to
you or me, Donatello? There, there! Be quiet, foolish boy!"