Читать книгу The Inevitable - Louis Couperus - Страница 11

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It was Christmas Day, on which occasion the Marchesa Belloni entertained her boarders with a Christmas-tree in the drawing-room, followed by a dance in the old Guercino dining-room. To give a ball and a Christmas-tree was a custom with many hotel-keepers; and the pensions that gave no dance or Christmas-tree were known and numbered and were greatly blamed by the foreigners for this breach of tradition. There were instances of very excellent pensions to which many travellers, especially ladies, never went, because there was neither a dance nor a Christmas-tree at Christmas.

The marchesa realized that her tree was expensive and that her dance cost money too and she would gladly have found an excuse for avoiding both, but she dared not: the reputation of her pension, as it happened, depended on its worldliness and smartness, on the table-d’hôte in the handsome dining-room, where people dressed for dinner, and also on the brilliant party given at Christmas. And it was amusing to see how keen all the ladies were to receive gratis in their bill for a whole winter’s stay a trashy Christmas present and the opportunity of dancing without having to pay for a glass of orgeade and a bit of pastry, a sandwich and a cup of soup. Giuseppe, the old nodding major-domo, looked down contemptuously on this festivity: he remembered the gala pomp of his archducal evenings and considered the dance inferior and the tree paltry. Antonio, the limping porter, accustomed to his comparatively quiet life—fetching a visitor or taking him to the station; sorting the post twice a day at his ease; and for the rest pottering around his lodge and the lift—hated the dance, because of all the guests of the boarders, each of whom was entitled to invite two or three friends, and because of all that tiring fuss about carriages, when a good many of the visitors skipped into their vettura without tipping him. Round about Christmas, therefore, relations between the marchesa and her two principal dignitaries became far from harmonious; and a hail of orders and abuse would patter down on the backs of the old cameriere, crawling wearily up and downstairs with their hot-water-cans in their trembling hands, and of the young greenhorns of waiters, colliding with one another in their undisciplined zeal and smashing the plates. And it was only now, when the whole staff was put to work that people saw how old the cameriere were and how young the waiters and qualified as disgraceful and shocking the thrifty method of the marchesa in employing none but wrecks and infants in her service. The one muscular facchino, who was essential for hauling the luggage, cut an unexpected figure of virile maturity and robustness. But above everything the visitors detested the marchesa because of the great number of her servants, reflecting that now, at Christmas-time, they would have to tip every one of them. No, they never imagined that the staff was so large! Quite unnecessarily large too! Why couldn’t the marchesa engage a couple of strong young maids and waiters instead of all those old women and little boys? And there was much hushed plotting and confabulating in the corners of the passages and at meals, to decide on the tips to be given: they didn’t want to spoil the servants, but still they were staying all the winter; and therefore one lira was hardly enough and they hesitated between one lira twenty-five and one lira fifty. But, when they counted on their fingers that there were fully five-and-twenty servants and that therefore they were close on forty lire out of pocket, they thought it an awful lot and they got up subscription-lists. Two lists went round, one of one lira and one of twelve lire a visitor, the latter subscription covering the whole staff. On this second list some, who had arrived a month before and who had arranged to leave, entered their names for ten lire and some for six lire. Five lire was by general consent considered too little; and, when it became known that the grimy æsthetic ladies intended to give five lire, they were regarded with the greatest contempt.

It all meant a lot of trouble and excitement. As Christmas drew nearer, people streamed to the presepii set up by painters in the Palazzo Borghese: a panorama of Jerusalem and the shepherds, the angels, the Magi and Mary and the Child in the manger with the ox and the ass. They listened in the Ara Cœli to the preaching of little boys and girls, who by turns climbed the platform and told the story of the Nativity, some shyly reciting a little poem, prompted by an anxious mother; others, girls especially, declaiming and rolling their eyes with the dramatic fervour of little Italian actresses and ending up with a religious moral. The people and countless tourists stood and listened to the preaching; a pleasant spirit prevailed in the church, where the shrill young children’s voices were lifted up in oratory; there was laughter at a gesture or a point driven home; and the priests strolling round the church wore an unctuous smile because it was all so pretty and so satisfactory. And in the chapel of the Santo Bambino the miraculous wooden doll was bright with gold and jewels; and the close-packed multitude thronged to gaze at it.

All the visitors at Belloni’s bought bunches of holly in the Piazza di Spagna to adorn their rooms with; and some, such as the Baronin van Rothkirch, set up a private Christmas-tree in their own rooms. On the evening before the great party one and all went to admire these private trees, going in and out of one another’s rooms; and all the boarders wore a kind, festive smile and welcomed everybody, however much at other times they might quarrel and intrigue against one another. It was universally agreed that the Baronin had taken great pains and that her tree was magnificent. Her bedroom had been cleverly metamorphosed into a boudoir, the beds draped to look like divans, the wash-hand-stands concealed; and the tree was radiant with candles and tinsel. And the Baronin, a little sentimentally inclined, for the season reminded her of Berlin and her lost domesticity, opened her doors wide to everybody and was even offering the two æsthetic ladies sweets, when the marchesa, also smiling, appeared at the door, with her bosom moulded in sky-blue satin and with even larger crystals than usual in her ears. The room was full: there were the Van der Staals, Cornélie, Rudyard, Urania Hope and other guests going in and out, so that it became impossible to move and they stood packed together or sat on the draped beds of the mother and daughter. The marchesa led in beside her an unknown young man, short, slender, with a pale olive complexion and with dark, bright, witty, lively eyes. He wore dress-clothes and displayed the vague good manners of a beloved and careless viveur, distinguished and yet conceited. And she proudly went up to the Baronin, who kept prettily wiping her moist eyes, and with a certain arrogance presented:

“My nephew, Duca di San Stefano, Principe di Forte-Braccio....”

The well-known Italian name sounded from her lips in the small, crowded room with deliberate distinctness; and all eyes went to the young man, who bowed low before the Baronin and then looked round the room with a vague, ironical glance. The marchesa’s nephew had not yet been seen at the hotel that winter, but everybody knew that the young Duke of San Stefano, Prince of Forte-Braccio, was a nephew of the marchesa’s and one of the advertisements for her pension. And, while the prince talked to the Baronin and her daughter, Urania Hope stared at him as a miraculous being from another world. She clung tight to Cornélie’s arm, as though she were in danger of fainting at the sight of so much Italian nobility and greatness. She thought him very good-looking, very imposing, short and slender and pale, with his carbuncle eyes and his weary distinction and the white orchid in his button-hole. She would have loved to ask the marchioness to introduce her to her chic nephew, but she dared not, for she thought of her father’s stockinet-factory at Chicago.

The Christmas-tree party and the dance took place the following night. It became known that the marchesa’s nephew was coming that evening too; and a great excitement reigned throughout the day. The prince arrived after the presents had been taken down from the tree and distributed and made a sort of state entry by the side of his aunt, the marchesa, into the drawing-room, where the dancing had not yet begun, though the guests were sitting about the room, all fixing their eyes on the ducal and princely apparition.

Cornélie was strolling with Duco van der Staal, who to his mother’s and sisters’ great surprise had fished out his dress-clothes and appeared in the big hall; and they both observed the triumphant entry of la Belloni and her nephew and laughed at the fanatically upturned eyes of the English and American ladies. They, Cornélie and Duco, sat down in the hall on two chairs, in front of a clump of palms, which concealed one of the doors of the drawing-room, while the dance began inside. They were talking about the statues in the Vatican, which they had been to see two days before, when they heard, as though close to their ears, a voice which they recognized as the marchesa’s commanding organ, vainly striving to sink into a whisper. They looked round in surprise and perceived the hidden door, which was partly open, and through the open space they faintly distinguished the slim hand and black sleeve of the prince and a piece of the blue bosom of la Belloni, both seated on a sofa in the drawing-room. They were therefore back to back, separated by the half-open door. They listened for fun to the marchesa’s Italian; the prince’s answers were lisped so softly that they could scarcely catch them. And of what the marchesa said they heard only a few words and scraps of sentences. They were listening quite involuntarily, when they heard Rudyard’s name clearly pronounced by the marchesa.

“And who besides?” asked the prince, softly.

“An English miss,” said the marchesa. “Miss Taylor: she’s sitting over there, by herself in the corner. A simple little soul.... The Baronin and her daughter.... The Dutchwoman: a divorcée.... And the pretty American.”

“And those two very attractive Dutch girls?” asked the prince.

The music boom-boomed louder; and Cornélie and Duco did not catch the reply.

“And the divorced Dutchwoman?” the prince asked next.

“No money,” the marchesa answered, curtly.

“And the young baroness?”

“No money,” la Belloni repeated.

“So there’s no one except the stocking-merchant?” asked the prince, wearily.

La Belloni became cross, but Cornélie and Duco could not understand the sentences which she rattled out through the boom-booming music. Then, during a lull, they heard the marchesa say:

“She is very pretty. She has tons and tons of money. She could have gone to a first-class hotel but preferred to come here because, as a young girl travelling by herself, she was recommended to me and finds it pleasanter here. She has the big sitting-room to herself and pays fifty lire a day for her two rooms. She does not care about money. She pays three times as much as the others for her wood; and I also charge her for the wine.”

“She sells stockings,” muttered the prince, obstinately.

“Nonsense!” said the marchesa. “Remember that there’s nobody at the moment. Last winter we had rich English titled people, with a daughter, but you thought her too tall. You’re always discovering some objection. You mustn’t be so difficult.”

“I think those two little Dutch dolls attractive.”

“They have no money. You’re always thinking what you have no business to think.”

“How much did Papa promise you if you....”

The music boomed louder.

“ ... makes no difference.... If Rudyard talks to her.... Miss Taylor is easy.... Miss Hope....”

“I don’t want so many stockings as all that.”

“ ... very witty, I dare say.... If you don’t care to....”

“No.”

“ ... then I retire.... I’ll tell Rudyard so.... How much?”

“Sixty or seventy thousand: I don’t know exactly.”

“Are they urgent?”

“Debts are never urgent!”

“Do you agree?”

“Very well. But mind, I won’t sell myself for less than ten millions.... And then you get....”

They both laughed; and again the names of Rudyard and Urania were pronounced.

“Urania?” he asked.

“Yes, Urania,” replied la Belloni. “Those little Americans are very tactful. Look at the Comtesse de Castellane and the Duchess of Marlborough: how well they bear their husbands’ honours! They cut an excellent figure. They are mentioned in every society column and always with respect.”

“ ... All right then. I am tired of these wasted winters. But not less than ten millions.”

“Five.”

“No, ten.”

The prince and the marchesa had stood up to go. Cornélie looked at Duco. He laughed:

“I don’t quite understand them,” he said. “It’s a joke, of course.”

Cornélie was startled:

“A joke, you think, Mr. van der Staal?”

“Yes, they’re humbugging.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I do.”

“Have you any knowledge of human nature?”

“Oh, no, none at all!”

“I’m getting it, gradually. I believe that Rome can be dangerous and that an hotel-keeping marchesa, a prince and a Jesuit....”

“What about them?”

“Can be dangerous, if not to your sisters, because they have no money, but at any rate to Urania Hope.”

“I don’t believe it for a moment. It was all chaff. And it doesn’t interest me. What do you think of Praxiteles’ Eros? I think it the most divine statue that I ever saw. Oh, the Eros, the Eros! That is love, the real love, the predestined, fatal love, begging forgiveness for the suffering which it causes.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“No. I have no knowledge of human nature and I have never been in love. You are always so definite. Dreams are beautiful, statues are delightful and poetry is everything. The Eros expresses love completely. The love of the Eros is so beautiful! I could never love so beautifully as that.... No, it does not interest me to understand human nature; and a dream of Praxiteles, lingering in a mutilated marble torso, is nobler than anything that the world calls love.”

She knitted her brows; her eyes were sombre.

“Let us go to the dancers,” she said. “We are so out of it all here.”