Part 46 (1/2)
”What strange creatures men are!” she said satirically, ”Even you, clever, and gifted with an insight into human nature, seem to be actually surprised that our poor, pretty little Sylvie looks ill! With half Rome declaring that she WAS the mistress of Fontenelle, and the other half swearing itself black in the face that she IS the mistress of Gherardi, she certainly ought to be very happy, ought she not?
Indeed, almost dancing with the joy and consolation of knowing how pleasant her 'Society' friends are making her life for her!”
Aubrey's heart beat violently.
”Princesse,” he said, in a low tone of vibrating earnestness, ”If I thought--if I could think such abominable lies were told of her . . .”
”Chut!” And the Princesse smiled rather sadly,--”It is not like you to 'pretend,' Mr. Leigh--You DO know,--you MUST know--that a coa.r.s.e discussion over her name was the cause of the duel between the Marquis Fontenelle and that miserable vaurien of the stage, Miraudin,--gossip generously lays the two deaths at her door--and the poor child is as innocent of harm as the lilies we have just seen left to die in the darkness of St. Cecilia's tomb. The fact is, she came to Rome to escape the libertinage and amorous persecution of Fontenelle; and she never knew till the day she heard of his death, that he had followed her. Nor did I. In fact, I asked him to be my escort to Rome, and he refused.
Naturally I imagined he was still in Paris. So we were all in the dark,--and as often happens in such cases, when the world does not know whom to blame for a disaster, it generally elects to punish the innocent. All the Saints we have heard about this morning, bear witness to THAT truth!”
Aubrey lifted his eyes and looked yearningly at the sylph-like figure of Sylvie walking a little ahead of him with her friend Angela.
”I thought,” he said hesitatingly,--”I confess, I thought there might have been something between her and the late Marquis . . .”
”Of course there was something!” answered the Princesse impatiently, ”Oh, mon Dieu! Plus de sottises! There always IS something where Sylvie is, Mr. Leigh! She cannot smile or sing, or turn her head, or raise her eyes, or smell a bunch of violets, without some one of your audacious s.e.x conceiving the idea of making himself agreeable and indispensable to her. And when she will not compromise herself--(is that not your convenient little phrase?)--she is judged much more severely than if she had done so! And do you know why? Because you men can never endure defeat in love-matters! You would rather spread abroad the rumour that you had conquered, than confess that your libertinism had been perceived and repulsed with indignation and scorn! And I will tell you another thing if you do not know it. In the frequent destruction of an innocent woman's reputation. it is a rejected suitor who generally starts the first rumour and hands the lie over to debased women, knowing that THEY may be trusted to keep it up!”
Aubrey flushed, and winced under the lash of her cutting words. ”You are very cruel, Princesse!” he said, ”Surely unnecessarily bitterly cruel!”
”Cher philosophe, I have loved!” she replied, ”And that is why I am cruel. I have loved and have been deceived in love,--and that kind of thing often turns the most patient Griselda into an exceptionally fierce tiger-cat! I am not quite a tiger-cat,--but I confess I do not like one-sidedness in anything, Nature's tendency being to equalise--equalise--till we are all flattened down into one level,--the grave! At the present moment we are treading on a mixture of kings and saints and heroes,--all one soil you see, and rather marshy,--badly in need of draining at all times!” She laughed a little. ”Frankly, I a.s.sure you, it is to me the most deplorable arrangement that a true woman should be destined to give all the pa.s.sion and love of her life to one man, while the same man scatters his worthless affections about like halfpence among dozens of drabs! My dear Mr. Leigh, do not frown at me in that tragic way! I am not blaming YOU! I am not in the least inclined to put you in the general category,--at least not at present.
You do not look like the ordinary man, though you may be for all that!
Expression is very deceptive!” She laughed again, then added, ”Think of our sweet Angela, for instance! Unless a merciful Providence intervenes, she will marry Florian Varillo,--and no doubt he will make her invite Mademoiselle Pon-Pon to her house to dine and sleep!”
”She loves him!” said Aubrey simply.
”Yes, she loves him, because she deludes herself with the idea that he is worthy of love. But if she were to find him out her whole soul would indignantly repulse him. If she knew all _I_ know of him, she would rather embrace the mildewy skeleton of San Carlo Borromeo, with the great jewels glistening in his ghastly eye-sockets, than the well-fed, fresh coloured Florian Varillo!”
”If you fear for her happiness, why not warn her?” asked Aubrey.
”Warn her against the one creature she loves in the world?” said the Princesse, ”Thanks very much! I would rather not. She would never speak to me again, and I should lose every chance of comforting or helping her when affliction comes--as of course it is bound to come! Each individual man or woman makes his or her own life,--we poor 'friends'
can only stand and look on, waiting till they get into the muddle that we have always foreseen, and then doing our best to drag them out of it; but G.o.d Himself I think, could not save them from falling into the muddle in the first place. As for Sylvie, I have advised her to leave Rome and go back to Budapest at once.”
Aubrey started.
”Why?”
”Why? Can you ask? Because she is misjudged here on account of Fontenelle's death, and calumniated and wronged; because the women hate her for her beauty and wealth, and the men hate her too because she will not flatter them by accepting their ridiculous attentions. She will be much happier in her own home,--such a grand old castle it is!--a cl.u.s.ter of towers and broad battlements, with purple mountains in the background, and tall pine-trees everywhere . . .”
”It must be lonely for her!” said Aubrey quickly, ”She is so mignonne--so caressable--so made for love and care and tenderness--”
Here he broke off, vexed with himself for having said so much,--and his face flushed warmly. The Princesse stopped in her walk and looked at him straightly.
”Mr. Leigh,” she said, ”I think--I hope you are an honest man! And do you know the best advice I can give you?”
He answered no word, but his eyes questioned her meaning.
”Remain honest!” she said, smiling an answer to his look, ”Be true to your own instincts and highest impulses. Do not allow yourself to be swayed by opinion or rumour; stand clear of both,--and treat even a woman as you would treat a man!--squarely--candidly--faithfully!”
She moved on and rejoined her companions, and Aubrey followed. The Comtesse Hermenstein's carriage was waiting for her, and the Comtesse herself was just entering it with Angela Sovrani as he came up.
”Good-bye, Mr. Leigh,” she said gently, extending her hand, ”I may not see you again perhaps. I am going home to Buda this week.”