Gerald Fitzgerald: The Chevalier Part 35

'Is he better? Can I not see the Sister Constance,' asked she, in a low and liquid voice.

'He is no better; I believe he is far worse than yesterday. There was a young man here this moment who saw him, and whose interview, by the way, gave rise to grave speculation. There he is yonder--a strange-looking figure to call himself the friend of Gabriel Riquetti.'

'Who or what is he?' asked she eagerly.

'It is what none of us know, though, indeed, at the moment you came up, we had some thoughts of compelling him to declare. Need I tell you that there is grave suspicion of foul play here; many are minded to believe that Mirabeau has been poisoned. See how that fellow continues to stare at you, Gabrielle. Do you know him?'

Step by step, slowly, but with eyes riveted upon the object before him, Gerald had now approached the carriage, and stood within a few yards of it, his eyeb.a.l.l.s staring wildly, his lips apart, and every line of his face betraying the most intense astonishment. Nor was Gabrielle less moved: with her head protruded beyond the carriage-window, and her hair pushed suddenly back by some pa.s.sing impulse, she gazed wildly at the stranger.

'_Gherardi, Gherardi mio!_' cried she at last. 'Speak, and tell me if it be you.'

'Marietta, oh, Marietta!' said he, with a sigh, whose heartfelt cadence seemed eloquent in sorrow.

'Come with me. Come home with me, and you shall hear all, said she, in Italian, answering as it were the accents of his words.

The young man shook his head mournfully in reply, but never spoke.

'I tell you,' cried she, more pa.s.sionately, 'that you shall hear all. It is more than I have said to a confessor. Come, come,' and she flung open the door as she spoke.

'If you but knew how I have longed to see you, Marietta!' whispered he, in broken accents; 'but not thus, oh, not thus!'

'How, then, do you dare to judge me?' cried she, with flashing eyes; 'how presume to scoff at _my_ affluence, while _I_ have not dared to reflect upon _your_ poverty? Once, and for the last time, I say, come with me!'

Without another word he sprang to her side, the door was closed, and the carriage drove rapidly away, ere the staring crowd could express their amazement at what they had witnessed.

CHAPTER III. 'LA GABRIELLE'

By one of those inconsistencies which sway the popular mind in times of trouble, the gorgeous splendour and wasteful extravagance which were not permitted to an ancient n.o.bility were willingly conceded to those who now ministered to public amus.e.m.e.nt, and the costly magnificence which aided the downfall of a monarchy was deemed pardonable in one whose early years had been pa.s.sed in misery and in want.

It was in the ancient hotel of the Duc de Noailles that Gabrielle was lodged, and all the splendour of that princely residence remained as in the time of its former owners; even to the portraits of the haughty ancestry upon the walls, and the proud emblazonry of armorial bearings over doors and chimneys, nothing was changed; the embroidered crests upon chairs and tablecovers, the gilded coronets that ornamented every architrave and cornice, stood forth in testimony of those in whose honour those insignia were fashioned.

Preceding Gerald, and walking at a rapid pace, Gabrielle pa.s.sed through several splendid rooms, till she came to one whose walls, hung in purple velvet with a deep gold fringe, had an air of almost sombre magnificence, the furniture being all of the same grave tint, and even the solitary lamp which lighted the apartment having a gla.s.s shade of a deep purple colour.

'This is my chamber of study, Gherardi,' said she, as they entered.

'None ever come to disturb me when here. Here, therefore, we are alone to question and to reply to each other--to render account of the past and speculate on the future--and, first of all, tell me, am I changed?'

As she spoke she tossed aside her bonnet, and loosening her long hair from its bands, suffered it to fall upon her neck and shoulders in the wild ma.s.ses it a.s.sumed in girlhood. She crossed her arms, too, upon her breast in imitation of a gesture familiar to her, and stood motionless before him.

Long and steadfastly did Gerald continue to stare at her.. It was like the look of one who would read if he might every trait and lineament before him, and satisfy his mind what characters had time written upon a nature he had once known so well.

'You do not answer me,' said she at last; 'am I then changed?'

A faint low sigh escaped him, but he uttered no word.

'Be frank with me as a brother ought; tell me wherein is this change?

You thought me handsome once; am I less so?'

'Oh! no, no! not that, not that!' cried he pa.s.sionately; 'you are more beautiful than ever.'

'Is there in my expression aught that gives you grief? has the world written boldness upon my brow? or do you fancy that you can trace the cost of all the splendour around us in some faint lines of shame and sorrow? Speak, sir, and be honest with me.'

'I have no right to call you to such a reckoning, Marietta,' said he, half proudly.

'I know it, and would have resented had you dared to do it of a right; but I stand here as one equal to such questioning. It will be your own turn soon,' added she, smiling, 'and it will be well if you can stand the test so bravely.'

'I accept the challenge,' cried Gerald eagerly; 'I take you at your word. Some years back, Marietta, I left you poor, friendless, and a wayworn wanderer through the world. Our fortunes were alike in those days, and I can remember when we deemed the day a lucky one that did not send us supperless to bed. We had sore trials, and we felt them, though we bore them bravely. When we parted, our lot was misery, and now, what do I see? I find you in the splendour of a princely house; your dress that which might become the highest rank; the very jewels on your wrist and on your fingers a fortune. I know well,' added he, bitterly, 'that in this brief interval of time destiny has changed many a lot; great and glorious men have fallen; and mean, ign.o.ble, and unworthy ones have taken their places. You, however, as a woman, could have taken no share in these convulsions. How is it, then, that I see you thus?'

'Say on, sir,' said she, with a disdainful gesture; 'these words mean nothing, or more than they ought.'

He did not speak, but he bent his eyes upon her in reproachful silence.

'You lack the courage to say the word. Well, I 'll say it for you: Whose mistress are you to be thus splendidly attired? What generous patron has purchased this princely house--given you equipage, servants, diamonds?

Against how much have you bartered your heart? Who has paid the price?

Ay, confess it, these were the generous thoughts that filled your mind--these the delicate questions your timidity could not master. Well, as I have spoken, so will I answer them. Only remember this,' added she solemnly, 'when I have made this explanation, when all is told, there is an end for ever between us of that old tie that once bound us: we trust each other no more. It is for you to say if you accept this contract.'

Gerald was silent; if he could not master the suspicions that impressed him, as little could he resolve to forget for ever his hold upon Marietta. That she was one to keep her word he well knew; and if she decided to part, he felt that the separation was final. She watched him calmly, as he sat in this conflict with himself; so far from showing any sense of impatience at the struggle, she seemed rather to enjoy the painful difficulty of his position.

'Well, have you made your choice?' cried she at length, as with a slight smile she stood in front of him.

'It would be a treachery to my own heart, and to you, too, were I to say that all this magnificence I see here suggested no thought of evil. We were poor even to misery once, Marietta--I am still so; and well I know that in such wretchedness as ours temptation is triply dangerous. To tell me that you have yielded is, then, no more than to confess you were like others.'

'Of what, then, do you accuse me? Is it that I am Mirabeau's mistress?

Would that I were!' cried she pa.s.sionately; 'would that by my devotion I could share his love and give him all my own! You would cry shame upon me for this avowal. You think more highly of your own petty contrivances, your miserable attempts to sustain a mock morality--your boasted tie of marriage--than of the emotions that are born with you, that move your infancy, sway your manhood, and temper your old age. You hold that by such small cheats you supply the insatiable longings of the human heart. But the age of priestcraft is over; throne, altar, purple, sceptre, incense and all, have fled; and in the stead of man's mummeries we have installed Man himself, in the might of his intellect, the glorious grandeur of his great conceptions, and the n.o.ble breadth of his philanthropy; and who is the type of these, if not Gabriel Riquetti? His mistress! what have I not done to win the proud name? Have I not striven hard for it? These triumphs, as they call them, my great successes, had no other promptings. If my fame as an actress stands highest in Europe, it was gained but in his cause. Your great Alfieri himself has taught me no emotions I have not learned in my own deep love; and how shadowy and weak the poet's words beside the throbbing ecstasies of one true heart!

You ask for a confession: you shall have one. But why do you go? Would you leave me?'

'Would that we had never met again!' said Gerald sadly. 'Through many a dark and sad hour have I looked back upon our life, when, as little more than children, we journeyed days long together. I pictured to myself how the same teachings that nerved my own heart in trouble must have supported and sustained yours. If you knew how I used to dwell upon the memory of that time; its very privations were hallowed in my memory, telling how through all our little cares and sorrows our love sufficed us!'

'Our love,' broke she in scoffingly. 'What a mockery! The poor offspring of some weak sentimentality, the sickly cant of some dreamy sonneteer.

These men never knew what love was, or they had not dared to profane it by their tawdry sentiments. Is it in nature,' cried she wildly, 'to declare trumpet-tongued to the world the secrets on which the heart feeds to live, the precious thoughts that to the dearest could not be revealed? These are your poets! Over and over have I wished for you to tell you this--to tear out of your memory that wretched heresy we then believed a faith.'

'You have done your work well,' said he sorrowfully. 'Good-bye for ever!'

'I wish you would not go, Gherardi,' said she, laying her hand on his arm, and gazing at him with a look of the deepest meaning. 'To me, alone and orphaned, you represent a family and kindred. The old ties are tender ones.'

'Why will you thus trifle with me?' said he, half angrily.

'Is it to rekindle the flame you would extinguish afterward?'

'And why not return to that ancient faith? You were happier when you loved me--when I learned my verses by your side, and sang the wild songs of my own wild land. Do you remember this one; it was a favourite once with you?' And, turning to the piano, she struck a few chords, and in a voice of liquid melody sang a little Calabrese peasant song, whose refrain ended with the words--

'Ti am' ancor, ti am' ancor.'

'After the avowal you have made me, Marietta, it were base in me to be beguiled thus,' said he, moving away. 'You love another: be it so. Live in that love, and be happy.'

'This, too, Gherardi, we used to sing together,' said she, beginning another air. 'Let us see if your memory, of which you boast so much, equals mine. Come, this is your verse,' said she caressingly. 'Ah, fratello mio, how much more lovable you were long ago! I remember a certain evening, that glided into a long night, when we leaned together, with arms around each other's necks, out of a little window; it was a poor, melancholy street beneath, but to us it was like an alley between cedar-trees. Well, on that same night, you swore to me a vow of eternal love; you told me a miraculous story: that, though poor and friendless, you were of birth and blood; and that birth and blood meant rank and fortune in some long hereafter, for which neither of us was impatient.

It was on that same night you drew a picture to my mind of our life of happiness--a bright and gorgeous picture it was too--ay, and I believed it all; and yet, and yet--on the very day after you deserted me.' As she uttered the last words, her head fell upon his shoulder, and her long hair in waving ma.s.ses dropped down over his chest and on his arm; a violent sobbing seemed to choke her utterance, and her frame shook with a strong tremor.