But where now was Dorothy’s body?  We were fifty miles, seventy-five miles, a hundred miles from the unmarked spot of burial.  She had sunk fathoms into the abyss.  The bell on the boat had rung the midnight, then one o’clock.  I heard it toll for two—­then I slept.  I awoke hearing little Reverdy sobbing.  I stood out of the berth and tried to comfort him.  Then we dressed and went to breakfast.  Whatever happens there must be coffee and toast.  Then I walked the deck and longed for land.

We changed boats at Cherbourg.  Then a dreary voyage to Naples.  We hurried through the noise and colorful disorder of Naples and drove by carriage to Rome.  We entered the same gate through which Milton and Goethe had passed, into the Piazza di Spagna.  At the foot of the steps leading to Trinita di Monti—­here where the foreigners stayed, the English quarter.  I found accommodations in a pension.  First there was the unpacking, and little Reverdy had to be kept comforted, if possible; I must start him in school too.  Life must always go on.  I became sensible of many bells.  The strange noises of a civilization wholly unknown to me came up through my window.  I looked out upon the Piazza di Spagna, knowing nothing of its history.  Who would be my friends here?  Back of me was nearly a quarter of a century in America and before me what?

CHAPTER LII

Our pension was all that could be desired.  Mr. and Mrs. Winchell were here from America, from Connecticut.  She was about twenty-seven; he was nearly sixty.  They were on their way around the world, stopping in Rome for some months.  She was studying painting under an artist who also taught etching.  In this way I came under the instruction of Luca, who had a studio not far from the Piazza di Spagna, and also into daily association with Mrs. Winchell.

First little Reverdy had to be placed in school and given a tutor.  Before doing this I took him around the city, and we saw together some of the churches:  S. Maria del Popolo, S. Giovanna dei Laterano, S. Angelo, S. Paolo.  I took him to the Pantheon, the Coliseum, to St. Peter’s, into the Vatican.  Thus I gained my first impressions; and on these rounds I found the courier Serafino Maletesta, who became a source of so much interest and delight to me.

My mornings were spent in Luca’s studio; my afternoons in sightseeing with Serafino, in which Mr. and Mrs. Winchell joined, though infrequently by him.  He was ageing and not well.  And often from the beginning Mrs. Winchell and I set off together with Serafino to explore museums, visit the Palatine, drive to the edge of the city where the Alban hills were plainer across the Campagna, as level as a prairie around Jacksonville.

I was struggling with Italian, carrying on such conversation as I could with Serafino, and with Mrs. Winchell, who was growing proficient in the language.