The Sorrows of Satan Part 37

A curious look came into her eyes,--a far-away strained look of hungry yearning, mingled, as I thought, with compa.s.sion for me.

"Yes, it is there!" she answered slowly--"And it is of our own mutual creation. I believe you have something n.o.bler in your nature, Geoffrey, than I have in mine,--an indefinable something that recoils from me and my theories despite your wish and will. Perhaps if you had given way to that feeling in time, you would never have married me. You speak of the loveliest side of love,--to me there is no lovely side,--it is all coa.r.s.e and horrible! You and I for instance,--cultured man and woman,--we cannot, in marriage, get a flight beyond the common emotions of Hodge and his girl!" She laughed violently, and shuddered in my arms.

"What liars the poets are, Geoffrey! They ought to be sentenced to life-long imprisonment for their perjuries! They help to mould the credulous beliefs of a woman's heart;--in her early youth she reads their delicious a.s.surances, and imagines that love will be all they teach,--a thing divine and lasting beyond earthly countings;--then comes the coa.r.s.e finger of prose on the b.u.t.terfly-wing of poesy, and the bitterness and hideousness of complete disillusion!"

I held her still in my arms with the fierce grasp of a man clinging to a spar ere he drowns in mid-ocean.

"But I love you Sibyl!----my wife, I love you!" I said, with a pa.s.sion that choked my utterance.

"You love me,--yes, I know, but how? In a way that is abhorrent to yourself!" she replied--"It is not poetic love,--it is man's love, and man's love is brute love. So it is,--so it will be,--so it must be.

Moreover the brute-love soon tires,--and when it dies out from satiety there is nothing left. Nothing, Geoffrey,--absolutely nothing but a blank and civil form of intercourse, which I do not doubt we shall be able to keep up for the admiration and comment of society!"

She disengaged herself from my embrace, and moved towards the house.

"Come!" she added, turning her exquisite head back over her shoulder with a feline caressing grace that she alone possessed, "You know there is a famous lady in London who advertises her saleable charms to the outside public by means of her monogram worked into the lace of all her window-blinds, thinking it no doubt good for trade! I am not quite so bad as that! You have paid dearly for me I know;--but remember I as yet wear no jewels but yours, and crave no gifts beyond those you are generous enough to bestow,--and my dutiful desire is to give you as much full value as I can for your money."

"Sibyl, you kill me!" I cried, tortured beyond endurance, "Do you think me so base----"

I broke off with almost a sob of despair.

"You cannot help being base," she said, steadily regarding me,--"because you are a man. I am base because I am a woman. If we believed in a G.o.d, either of us, we might discover some different way of life and love--who knows?--but neither you nor I have any remnant of faith in a Being whose existence all the scientists of the day are ever at work to disprove. We are persistently taught that we are animals and nothing more,--let us therefore not be ashamed of animalism. Animalism and atheism are approved by the scientists and applauded by the press,--and the clergy are powerless to enforce the faith they preach. Come Geoffrey, don't stay mooning like a stricken Parsifal under those pines,--throw away that thing which troubles you, your conscience,--throw it away as you have thrown the book I was lately reading, and consider this,--that most men of your type take pride and rejoice in being the prey of a bad woman!--so you should really congratulate yourself on having one for a wife!--one who is so broad-minded too, that she will always let you have your own way in everything you do, provided you let her have hers! It is the way all marriages are arranged nowadays,--at any rate in _our_ set,--otherwise the tie would be impossible of endurance. Come!"

"We cannot live together on such an understanding, Sibyl!" I said hoa.r.s.ely, as I walked slowly by her side towards the villa.

"Oh yes, we can!" she averred, a little malign smile playing round her lips--"We can do as others do,--there is no necessity for us to stand out from the rest like quixotic fools, and pose as models to other married people,--we should only be detested for our pains. It is surely better to be popular than virtuous,--virtue never pays! See, there is our interesting German waiter coming to inform us that dinner is ready; please don't look so utterly miserable, for we have not quarrelled, and it would be foolish to let the servants think we have."

I made no answer. We entered the house, and dined,--Sibyl keeping up a perfect fire of conversation, to which I replied in mere monosyllables,--and after dinner we went as usual to sit in the illuminated gardens of the adjacent hotel, and hear the band. Sibyl was known, and universally admired and flattered by many of the people staying there,----and, as she moved about among her acquaintances, chatting first with one group and then with another, I sat in moody silence, watching her with increasing wonderment and horror. Her beauty seemed to me like the beauty of the poison-flower, which, brilliant in colour and perfect in shape, exhales death to those who pluck it from its stem. And that night, when I held her in my arms, and felt her heart beating against my own in the darkness, an awful dread arose in me,--a dread as to whether I might not at some time or other be tempted to strangle her as she lay on my breast----strangle her as one would strangle a vampire that sucked one's blood and strength away!

XXVII

We concluded our wedding-tour rather sooner than we had at first intended, and returned to England and Willowsmere Court, about the middle of August. I had a vague notion stirring in me that gave me a sort of dim indefinable consolation, and it was this,--I meant to bring my wife and Mavis Clare together, believing that the gentle influence of the gracious and happy creature, who, like a contented bird in its nest, dwelt serene in the little domain so near my own, might have a softening and wholesome effect upon Sibyl's pitiless love of a.n.a.lysis and scorn of all n.o.ble ideals. The heat in Warwickshire was at this time intense,--the roses were out in their full beauty, and the thick foliage of the branching oaks and elms in my grounds afforded grateful shade and repose to the tired body, while the tranquil loveliness of the woodland and meadow scenery, comforted and soothed the equally tired mind. After all, there is no country in the world so fair as England,--none so richly endowed with verdant forests and fragrant flowers,--none that can boast of sweeter nooks for seclusion and romance. In Italy, that land so over-praised by hysterical _poseurs_ who foolishly deem it admirable to glorify any country save their own, the fields are arid and brown, and parched by the too fervent sun,--there are no shady lanes such as England can boast of in all her shires,--and the mania among Italians for ruthlessly cutting down their finest trees, has not only actually injured the climate, but has so spoilt the landscape that it is difficult to believe at all in its once renowned, and still erroneously reported charm. Such a bower of beauty as Lily Cottage was in that sultry August, could never have been discovered in all the length and breadth of Italy. Mavis superintended the care of her gardens herself,--she had two gardeners, who under her directions, kept the gra.s.s and trees continually watered,--and nothing could be imagined more lovely than the picturesque old-fashioned house, covered with roses and tufts of jessamine that seemed to tie up the roof in festal knots and garlands, while around the building spread long reaches of deep emerald lawn, and bosky arbours of foliage where all the most musical song-birds apparently found refuge and delight, and where at evening a perfect colony of nightingales kept up a bubbling fountain of delicious melody.

I remember well the afternoon, warm, languid and still, when I took Sibyl to see the woman-author she had so long admired. The heat was so great that in our own grounds all the birds were silent, but when we approached Lily Cottage the first thing we heard was the piping of a thrush up somewhere among the roses,--a mellow liquid warble expressing 'sweet content,' and mingling with the subdued coo-cooings of the dove 'reviewers' who were commenting on whatever pleased or displeased them in the distance.

"What a pretty place it is!" said my wife, as she peeped over the gate, and through the odorous tangles of honeysuckle and jessamine--"I really think it is prettier than Willowsmere. It has been wonderfully improved."

We were shown in,--and Mavis, who had expected our visit did not keep us waiting long. An she entered, clad in some gossamer white stuff that clung softly about her pretty figure and was belted in by a simple ribbon, an odd sickening pang went through my heart. The fair untroubled face,--the joyous yet dreamy student eyes,--the sensitive mouth, and above all, the radiant look of happiness that made the whole expression of her features so bright and fascinating, taught me in one flash of conviction all that a woman might be, and all that she too frequently is not. And I had hated Mavis Clare!--I had even taken up my pen to deal her a wanton blow through the medium of anonymous criticism, ... but this was before I knew her,--before I realized that there could be any difference between her and the female scarecrows who so frequently pose as 'novelists' without being able to write correct English, and who talk in public of their 'copy' with the glibness gained from Grub Street and the journalists' cheap restaurant. Yes--I had hated her,----and now----now, almost I loved her! Sibyl, tall, queenly and beautiful, gazed upon her with eyes that expressed astonishment as well as admiration.

"To think that you are the famous Mavis Clare!" she said, smiling, as she held out her hand--"I always heard and knew that you did not look at all literary, but I never quite realized that you could be exactly what I see you are!"

"To look literary does not always imply that you _are_ literary!"

returned Mavis, laughing a little--"Too often I am afraid you will find that the women who take pains to _look_ literary are ignorant of literature! But how glad I am to see you, Lady Sibyl! Do you know I used to watch you playing about on the lawns at Willowsmere when I was quite a little girl?"

"And I used to watch you,"--responded Sibyl--"You used to make daisy-chains and cowslip-b.a.l.l.s in the fields opposite on the other side of the Avon. It is a great pleasure to me to know we are neighbours. You must come and see me often at Willowsmere."

Mavis did not answer immediately,--she busied herself in pouring out tea and dispensing it to both of us. Sibyl, who was always on the alert for glimpses of character, noticed that she did not answer, and repeated her words coaxingly.

"You will come, will you not? As often as you like,--the oftener the better. We must be friends, you know!"

Mavis looked up then, a frank sweet smile in her eyes.

"Do you really mean it?" she asked.

"Mean it!" echoed Sibyl--"Why, of course I do!"

"How can you doubt it!" I exclaimed.

"Well, you must both forgive me for asking such a question"--said Mavis still smiling--"But you see you are now among what are called the 'county magnates,' and county magnates consider themselves infinitely above all authors!" She laughed outright, and her blue eyes twinkled with fun. "I think many of them estimate writers of books as some sort of strange outgrowth of humanity that is barely decent. It is deliciously funny and always amuses me,--nevertheless, among my many faults, the biggest one is, I fancy, pride, and a dreadfully obstinate spirit of independence. Now, to tell you the truth, I have been asked by many so-called 'great' people to their houses, and when I _have_ gone, I have generally been sorry for it afterwards."

"Why?" I asked--"They honour themselves by inviting you."

"Oh, I don't think they take it in that way at all!" she replied, shaking her fair head demurely--"They fancy they have performed a great act of condescension,--whereas it is really I who condescend, for it is very good of me, you know, to leave the society of the Pallas Athene in my study for that of a flounced and frizzled lady of fashion!" Her bright smile again irradiated her face and she went on--"Once I was asked to luncheon with a certain baron and baroness who invited a few guests "to meet me," so they said. I was not introduced to more than one or two of these people,--the rest sat and stared at me as if I were a new kind of fish or fowl. Then the baron showed me his house, and told me the prices of his pictures and his china,--he was even good enough to explain which was Dresden and which was Delft ware, though I believe, benighted author as I am, I could have instructed him equally on these, and other matters. However I managed to smile amicably through the whole programme, and professed myself charmed and delighted in the usual way;--but they never asked me to visit them again,--and, (unless indeed they wanted me to be impressed with their furniture-catalogue) I can never make out what I did to be asked at all, and what I have done never to be asked any more!"

"They must have been _parvenus_,"--said Sibyl indignantly--"No well-bred people would have priced their goods to you, unless they happened to be Jews."

Mavis laughed--a merry little laugh like a peal of bells,--then she continued--

"Well, I will not say who they were,--I must keep something for my 'literary reminiscences' when I get old! Then all these people will be named, and go down to posterity as Dante's enemies went down to Dante's h.e.l.l! I have only told you the incident just to show you why I asked you if you meant it, when you invited me to visit you at Willowsmere.

Because the baron and baroness I have spoken of 'gushed' over me and my poor books to such an extent that you would have fancied I was to be for evermore one of their dearest friends,--and they _didn't_ mean it! Other people I know embrace me effusively and invite me to their houses, and _they_ don't mean it! And when I find out these shams, I like to make it very clear on my own side that I do not seek to be embraced or invited, and that if certain great folks deem it a 'favour' to ask me to their houses, I do not so consider it, but rather think the 'favour' is entirely on my part if I accept the invitation. And I do not say this for my own self at all,--self has nothing to do with it,--but I do say it and strongly a.s.sert it for the sake of the dignity of Literature as an art and profession. If a few other authors would maintain this position, we might raise the standard of letters by degrees to what it was in the old days of Scott and Byron. I hope you do not think me too proud?"

"On the contrary, I think you are quite right"--said Sibyl earnestly--"And I admire you for your courage and independence. Some of the aristocracy are, I know, such utter sn.o.bs that often I feel ashamed to belong to them. But as far as we are concerned, I can only a.s.sure you that if you will honour us by becoming our friend as well as neighbour, you shall not regret it. Do try and like me if you can!"

She bent forward with a witching smile on her fair face. Mavis looked at her seriously and admiringly.

"How beautiful you are!" she said frankly--"Everybody tells you this of course,--still, I cannot help joining in the general chorus. To me, a lovely face is like a lovely flower,--I must admire it. Beauty is quite a divine thing, and though I am often told that the plain people are always the good people, I never can quite believe it. Nature is surely bound to give a beautiful face to a beautiful spirit."

Sibyl, who had smiled with pleasure at the first words of the open compliment paid her by one of the most gifted of her own s.e.x, now flushed deeply.

"Not always, Miss Clare,"--she said, veiling her brilliant eyes beneath the droop of her long lashes--"One can imagine a fair fiend as easily as a fair angel."

"True!" and Mavis looked at her musingly,--then suddenly laughing in her blithe bright way, she added--"Quite true! Really I cannot picture an ugly fiend,--for the fiends are supposed to be immortal, and I am convinced that immortal ugliness has no part in the universe. Downright hideousness belongs to humanity alone,--and an ugly face is such a blot on creation that we can only console ourselves by the reflection that it is fortunately perishable, and that in course of time the soul behind it will be released from its ill-formed husk, and will be allowed to wear a fairer aspect. Yes, Lady Sibyl, I will come to Willowsmere; I cannot refuse to look upon such loveliness as yours as often as I may!"

"You are a charming flatterer!" said Sibyl, rising and putting an arm round her in that affectionate coaxing way of hers which seemed so sincere, and which so frequently meant nothing--"But I confess I prefer to be flattered by a woman rather than by a man. Men say the same things to all women,--they have a very limited repertoire of compliments,--and they will tell a fright she is beautiful, if it happens to serve their immediate purpose. But women themselves can so hardly be persuaded to admit that any good qualities exist either inwardly or outwardly in one another, that when they do say a kind or generous thing of their own s.e.x it is a wonder worth remembering. May I your study?"

Mavis willingly a.s.sented,--and we all three went into the peaceful sanctum where the marble Pallas presided, and where the dogs Tricksy and Emperor were both ensconced,--Emperor sitting up on his haunches and surveying the prospect from the window, and Tricksy with a most absurd air of importance, imitating the larger animal's att.i.tude precisely, at a little distance off. Both creatures were friendly to my wife and to me, and while Sibyl was stroking the St Bernard's ma.s.sive head, Mavis said suddenly,

"Where is the friend who came with you here first, Prince Rimanez?"

"He is in St Petersburg just now,"--I answered--"But we expect him in two or three weeks to stay with us on a visit for some time."

"He is surely a very singular man,"--said Mavis thoughtfully--"Do you remember how strangely my dogs behaved to him? Emperor was quite restless and troublesome for two or three hours after he had gone."

And in a few words, she told Sibyl the incident of the St Bernard's attack upon Lucio.

"Some people have a natural antipathy to dogs,"--said Sibyl, as she heard--"And the dogs always find it out, and resent it. But I should not have thought Prince Rimanez had an antipathy to any creatures except--women!"