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PARTISAN REVIEW
air of belonging, even of ownership, had begun to invest him with
a curious and different dignity: he had, or had now, the aspect to
Roderick of a stout, prosperous and jovial business man, quite care–
fully dressed, in conservative business clothes: dark grey striped coat,
light grey flannel trousers, dark grey tie, white shirt. His coat, from
whose pocket papers protruded, was too tight over his stomach, his
sleeves drew up on his shirt, while the trousers were frayed:
this
had given the effect of shabbiness. But at the same time he had this
hearty soldierly quality about him, and this swift military walk of
Roderick's brother, a walk which carried him, and Tansy with
him,
often quite far ahead of Roderick's measured pace. They crossed the
forum obliquely and disappeared ahead of him amid some huge
blackened pillars.
"You see, Temple of Augustus," he was saying when Roder–
ick overtook them, "You see? Acorn and Laurel: force and power.
The Romans say, 'Each moment of love lost is a moment of hap–
piness spoiled... .' The Romans say, 'Life is a very long-a dream
with open eyes,' " he greeted Roderick, " 'when eyes closed all-a fin–
ished, all is-a dust. . . .' Lovers just like-a beasts. . . . They spend
life in honey, sweet life." "He means bees," Tansy explained to
Roderick, turning to him conspiratorily. "Beasts, bees.... Acorn,
laurel, butchers, fish beefmarket. Ventilation from sea, breeze come
inside, to smell out."
"Ah yes, said Roderick ...
((DeT Triumphbogen der Nero."
"What, darling?"
"The Arco di Nerone. Only I thought it sounded better
In
German."
"Si. Arco di Nerone ... The Romans say: 'Life is a series of
formalities, too seriously taken,'" the guide assured them, turning
round. He possessed an admirable name: Signor Salacci.
And there was no doubt about it, Roderick thought again, this
town, that both was and was not here, was obviously very real and
complete to the excellent Signor Salacci: he saw it all. And more–
over he was utterly adjusted to it.
In
a far realer sense than an actor
lives in his scene Signor Salacci
lived
here, in Pompeii. Meantime
these arches and temples and markets created and uncreated them–
selves before Roderick's eyes so that he almost began to see them with
the guide's eyes. What was strange was this tragic-tragic because
