Part 37 (1/2)
”No.”
”Oh, you must know her,--she is a great friend of Donna Sovrani's, and a witty and brilliant personage in herself. She is rather of your way of thinking, and so is out of favour with the Church. But that will not matter to you; and you will meet all the dissatisfied and enthusiastic of the earth in her salons! I will tell her to send you a card.”
Aubrey said something by way of formal acknowledgment, and then took his leave. He was singularly depressed, and his face, always quick to show traces of thought, had somewhat lost its former expression of eager animation. The wily Gherardi had for the time so influenced his sensitive mind as to set it almost to the tune of the most despairing of Tennyson's ”Two Voices”,
”A life of nothings, nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.”
What was the use of trying to expound a truth, if the majority preferred a lie?
”Will one bright beam be less intense, When thy peculiar difference Is cancelled in the world of sense?”
And Gherardi noted the indefinable touch of fatigue that gave the slight droop of the shoulders and air of languor to the otherwise straight slim figure as it pa.s.sed from his presence,--and smiled. He had succeeded in putting a check on unselfish ardour, and had thrown a doubt into the pure intention of enthusiastic toil. That was enough for the present. And scarcely had Aubrey crossed the threshold--scarcely had the echo of his departing footsteps died away--when a heavy velvet curtain in the apartment was cautiously thrust aside, and Monsignor Moretti stepped out of a recess behind it, with a dignity and composure which would have been impossible to any but an Italian priest convicted of playing the spy. Gherardi faced him confidently.
”Well?” he said, with a more exhaustive enquiry expressed in his look than in the simple e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.
”Well!” echoed Moretti, as he slowly advanced into the centre of the room, ”You have not done as much as I expected you would. Your arguments were clever, but not--to a man of his obstinacy, convincing.”
And sitting down, he turned his dark face and gleaming eyes full on his confrere, who with a shrug of his ma.s.sive shoulders expressed in his att.i.tude a disdainful relinquishment of the whole business.
”You have not,” pursued Moretti deliberately, ”grasped anything like the extent of this man Leigh's determination and indifference to results. Please mark that last clause,--indifference to results. He is apparently alone in the world,--he seems to have nothing to lose, and no one to care whether he succeeds or fails;--a most dangerous form of independence! And in his persistence and eloquence he is actually stopping--yes, I repeat it,--stopping and putting a serious check on the advancement of the Roman Catholic party. And of course any check just now means to us a serious financial loss both in England and America,--a deficit in Vatican revenues which will very gravely incommode certain necessary measures now under the consideration of His Holiness. I expected you to grasp the man and hold him,--not by intimidation but by flattery.”
”You think he is to be caught by so common a bait?” said Gherardi, ”Bah! He would see through it at once!”
”Maybe!” replied Moretti, ”But perhaps not if it were administered in the way I mean. You seem to have forgotten the chief influence of any that can be brought to bear upon the heart and mind of a man,--and that is, Woman.”
Gherardi laughed outright.
”Upon my word I think it would be difficult to find the woman suited to this case!” he said. ”But you who have a diplomacy deeper than that of any Jew usurer may possibly have one already in view?”
”There is now in Rome,” pursued Moretti, speaking with the same even deliberation of accent, ”a faithful daughter of the Church, whose wealth we can to a certain extent command, and whose charm is unquestionable,--the Comtesse Sylvie Hermenstein--”
Gherardi started. Moretti eyed him coldly.
”You are not stricken surely by the childlike fascination with which this princess of coquettes rules her court?” he enquired sarcastically.
”I?” echoed Gherardi, s.h.i.+fting his position so that Moretti's gaze could not fall so directly upon him. ”I? You jest!”
”I think not!” said Moretti, ”I think I know something about women--their capabilities, their pa.s.sions, their different grades of power. Sylvie Hermenstein possesses a potent charm which few men can resist, and I should not wonder if you yourself had been occasionally conscious of it. She is one of those concerning whom other women say 'they can see nothing in her'. Ah!” and Moretti smiled darkly, ”What a compliment that is from the majority of women to one! This woman Sylvie is unique. Where is her beauty? You cannot say--yet beauty is her very essence. She cannot boast perfection of features,--she is frequently hidden away altogether in a room and scarcely noticed. And so she reminds me of a certain flower known to the Eastern nations, which is difficult to find, because so fragile and small that it can scarcely be seen, but when it is found, and the scent of it unwittingly inhaled, it drives men mad!”
Gherardi looked at him with a broadly wondering smile.
”You speak so eloquently,” he said, ”that one would almost fancy--”
”Fancy nothing!” retorted Moretti quickly, ”Fancy and I are as far apart as the poles, except in the putting together of words, in which easy art I daresay I am as great an adept as Florian Varillo, who can write verses on love or patriotism to order, without experiencing a touch of either emotion. What a humbug by the way, that fellow is!--”
and Moretti broke off to consider this new point--”He rants of the honour of Italy, and would not let his finger ache for her cause! And he professes to love the 'Sovrani' while all Rome knows that Pon-Pon is his mistress!”
Gherardi wisely held his peace.
”The Comtesse Sylvie Hermenstein is the little magic flower you must use;” resumed Moretti, emphasising his words with an authoritative movement of his hand, ”Use her to madden Aubrey Leigh. Bring them together;--he will lose his head as surely as all men do when they come under the influence of that soft deep-eyed creature, with the full white breast of a dove, and the smile of an angel,--and remember, it would be an excellent thing for the Church if he could be persuaded to marry her,--there would be no more preaching then!--for the thoughts of love would outweigh the theories of religion.”