Part 27 (1/2)
Scaresby was, however, too busy in recounting his news to others to perceive the signals the old Princess held out; and it was only as her cha.s.seur, six feet three of green and gold, bent down to give her Highness's message, that the Major hurried off, in all the importance of a momentary scandal, to the side of her carriage.
”Here I am, all impatience. What is it, Scaresby? Tell me quickly,”
cried she.
”A smash, my dear Princess,--nothing more or less,” said he, in a voice which nature seemed to have invented to utter impertinences, so harsh and grating, and yet so painfully distinct in all its accents,--”as complete a smash as ever I heard of.”
”You can't mean that her fortune is in peril?”
”I suppose that must suffer also. It is her character--her station as one of us--that's s.h.i.+pwrecked here.”
”Go on, go on,” cried she, impatiently; ”I wish to hear it all.”
”All is very briefly related, then,” said he. ”The charming Countess, you remember, ran away with a countryman of mine, young Glencore, of the 8th Hussars; I used to know his father intimately.”
”Never mind his father.”
”That 's exactly what Glencore did. He came over here and fell in love with the girl, and they ran off together; but they forgot to get married, Princess. Ha--ha--ha!” And he laughed with a cackle a demon could not have rivalled.
”I don't believe a word of it,--I'll never believe it,” cried the Princess.
”That's exactly what I was recommending to the Mar-quesa Guesteni. I said, you need n't believe it. Why, how do we go anywhere, nowadays, except by 'not believing' the evil stories that are told of our entertainers.”
”Yes, yes; but I repeat that this is an infamous calumny. She, a Countess, of a family second to none in all Italy; her father a Grand d'Espagne. I 'll go to her this moment.”
”She'll not see you. She has just refused to see La Genori,” said the Major, tartly. ”Though, if a cracked reputation might have afforded any sympathy, she might have admitted _her_.”
”What is to be done?” exclaimed the Princess, sorrowfully.
”Just what you suggested a few moments ago,--don't believe it. Hang me, but good houses and good cooks are growing too scarce to make one credulous of the ills that can be said of their owners.”
”I wish I knew what course to take,” muttered the Princess.
”I'll tell you, then. Get half a dozen of your own set together to-morrow morning, vote the whole story an atrocious falsehood, and go in a body and tell the Countess your mind. You know as well as I, Princess, that social credit is as great a bubble as commercial; we should all of us be bankrupts if our books were seen. Ay, by Jove! and the similitude goes farther too; for when one old established house breaks, there is generally a crash in the whole community around it.”
While they thus talked, a knot had gathered around the carriage, all eager to hear what opinion the Princess had formed on the catastrophe.
Various were the sentiments expressed by the different speakers,--some sorrowfully deploring the disaster; others more eagerly inveighing against the infamy of the man who had proclaimed it. Many declared that they had come to the determination to discredit the story. Not one, however, sincerely professed that he disbelieved it.
Can it be, as the French moralist a.s.serts, that we have a latent sense of satisfaction in the misfortunes of even our best friends; or is it, as we rather suspect, that true friends.h.i.+p is a rarer thing than is commonly believed, and has little to do with those conventional intimacies which so often bear its name?
a.s.suredly of all this well-bred, well-dressed, and wellborn company, now thronging the courtyard of the palace and the street in front of it, the tone was as much sarcasm as sorrow, and many a witty epigram and smart speech were launched over a disaster which might have been spared such levity. At length the s.p.a.ce slowly began to thin. Slowly carriage after carriage drove off,--the heaviest grief of their occupants often being over a lost _soiree_, an unprofited occasion to display toilette and jewels; while a few, more reflective, discussed what course was to be followed in future, and what recognition extended to the victim.
The next day Florence sat in committee over the lost Countess. Witnesses were heard and evidence taken as to her case. They all agreed it was a great hards.h.i.+p,--a terrible calamity; but still, if true, what could be done?
Never was there a society less ungenerously prudish, and yet there were cases--this, one of them--which transgressed all conventional rule.
Like a crime which no statute had ever contemplated, it stood out self-accused and self-condemned. A few might, perhaps, have been merciful, but they were overborne by numbers. Lady Glencore's beauty and her vast fortune were now counts in the indictment against her, and many a jealous rival was not sorry at this hour of humiliation. The despotism of beauty is not a very mild sway, after all; and perhaps the Countess had exercised her rule right royally. At all events, it was the young and the good-looking who voted her exclusion, and only those who could not enter into compet.i.tion with her charms who took the charitable side. They discussed and debated the question all day; but while they hesitated over the reprieve, the prisoner was beyond the law. The gate of the palace, locked and barred all day, refused entrance to every one; at night, it opened to admit the exit of a travelling-carriage. The next morning large bills of sale, posted over the walls, declared that all the furniture and decorations-were to be sold.
The Countess had left Florence, none knew whither.
”I must really have those large Sevres jars,” said one.
”And I, the small park phaeton,” cried another.