Lucrezia Floriani, page 9
Karol was extraordinarily sensitive. Temperaments which are delicate and intense possess a kind of divination which often deceives them because it goes beyond the truth, but never falls short of it and which consequently seems magical when it hits the target.
“My friend,” he said to Salvator, trying to settle down quietly on his pillow, which was not easy because he was trembling like a man stricken with fever, “you are cruel. Yet God knows that I have suffered greatly on your account for the last three hours and that one suffers in proportion to the affection one has for people. I cannot endure the idea that you have committed a fault It is more cruel to me, it causes me more shame and regret than if I had committed it myself.”
“I don’t believe anything of the sort,” retorted Salvator coldly. “If you had a slightly improper thought you would blow out your brains. Consequently you are implacable when others think that way.”
“So I am not mistaken,” said Karol. “You have made that unhappy creature commit another indiscretion.”
“I am a blackguard, a villain, anything you say,” cried Salvator, sitting up in his bed and opening his curtains to see Karol as he spoke to him, “but that woman is an angel, I tell you, and so much the worse for you if you haven’t sufficient heart and mind to understand her.”
This was the first time that Salvator had uttered a harsh, insulting word to his friend. He was over-excited by the emotions of the evening and he could not endure this undeserved blame.
He had no sooner given vent to his resentment then he regretted it bitterly; for he saw Karol’s expressive face grow pale, change terribly and betray great pain.
“Listen, Karol,” said he, kicking the wall hard so as to make his bed move nearer to his friend’s, “don’t be angry, don’t be distressed. It is bad enough for me to have done so earlier this evening to a being whom I love almost as much as you, if that is possible. Pity me, scold me, I don’t mind, I deserve it; but don’t accuse this excellent and admirable woman. I shall tell you everything.”
And Salvator, unable to resist the silent domination of his friend, related to him most truthfully, in every slightest detail, all that had taken place between their hostess and him.
Karol listened to him with great inner emotion, a fact of which Salvator, carried away by his own confession, did not take sufficient notice. This description of the noble instincts and the reckless life of Madame Floriani was the final blow, and his imagination was deeply impressed by it He could picture her in the arms of the wretched Tealdo Soavi, then as the companion of a common actor, accommodating through kindness, degraded through nobility of soul And now he could see her insulted by the blind desires of this same good Salvator who, according to his own admission, would have been ready to make love to the maidservant at the inn at Iseo, if he had spent the night on the other side of the lake. Finally he pictured her in her bedroom, in the midst of her sleeping children. He saw her throughout as great by nature and degraded by life. He felt himself growing deathly cold and burning hot, leaping towards her and swooning at her approach. When Salvator had finished speaking, a cold sweat bathed Karol’s brow.
Why should the shrewd reader be surprised? Surely he has guessed already that Prince de Roswald had fallen madly in love, at first sight and for life, with Lucrezia Floriani!
I promised or rather threatened not to give the reader the pleasure of the smallest surprise throughout the whole of this book. It would have been fairly simple to conceal our hero’s sufferings before the explosion of an emotion increasingly unlikely and difficult to foresee. But the reader is not as simple as is believed and knowing the human heart just as well as those who write about it, knowing full well from his own experience that those loves which are reputed to be impossible are the very ones which burst forth with the greatest violence, he would not have been deceived by the would-be cunning of the novelist What would be the purpose then of trying the reader’s patience by skilful manoeuvres and false circumventions? He reads so many novels that he knows all the tricks of the trade and as far as I am concerned, I have resolved not to trifle with him, even if he should regard me as a simpleton and take it ill.
Why should this woman who was no longer very young nor very beautiful, whose character was the exact opposite of Karol’s, whose indiscreet behaviour, unrestrained passions, tenderness of heart and boldness of mind seemed a violent protest against all the principles of society and established religion, why, in short, had the actress Floriani without wishing or even thinking of it succeeded in casting such a spell over Prince de Roswald? How did this man, so handsome, chaste, poetic, so fervent and refined in all his thoughts, affections and behaviour, fall suddenly and almost without a struggle under the sway of a woman worn out by so much emotional stress, disillusioned by so many things, sceptical and rebellious with regard to everything which he most respected, faithful to the point of fanaticism to ideas which he had always denied and would always deny in the future? This, I need scarcely say, is one of the most inexplicable problems in logic, but it is that part of my novel which is truest to life, since the lives of all poor human hearts offer each one of us a page, if not a whole volume, of this fatal experience.
Isn’t it possible that in the midst of her paradoxes Madame Floriani had laid her finger on the very heart of the truth when, as she spoke to Salvator Albani about love, she had said that generous or tender souls are condemned to love only those whom they pity and fear?
People have long said that love attracts the most opposite elements, and when Salvator reported to his young friend the slightly confused, wild but enthusiastic and possibly sublime theories of Lucrezia, it is certain that Karol felt that he had fallen beneath the law of this appalling fatality. The dread and horror which he felt were so violent and, at the same time, the fascination of which his presentiment had vaguely warned him waged such battles in his poor soul that he had not the strength to make the slightest remark to his friend.
“So we shall leave in an hour,” he said, at last “You can rest for an hour, Salvator. I do not feel sleepy. I shall wake you when it is daylight.”
Salvator, yielding to the urges of youth, fell soundly asleep, relieved no doubt to have opened his heart and given utterance to his emotions. He was not ashamed that he had made what a roué would have called a blunder with regard to Lucrezia. He was sincerely sorry for it, but knowing she was good and true, he counted on her forgiveness and did not make the rash vow never to attempt a similar move with other women.
Karol did not fall asleep. He became feverish and because he felt ill he tried to tell himself that the moral perturbance which he had just undergone was merely a symptom of physical illness. “These are mere hallucinations,” he kept on saying. “The latest new face I have come across on this journey has fixed itself in my brain and is now haunting my fevered thoughts like a phantasm. It could just as well have been any other person whose image tortured my insomnia in the same way.”
The early morning whitened the horizon and Karol arose so as to dress slowly before waking his friend; for he felt extremely weak and more than once he was obliged to sit down. When Salvator, observing the heightened colour of his cheeks and the occasional convulsive shiver that shook him asked if he was ill, he denied it, determined as he was that nothing should keep him here. The house was already astir, they had to cross the ground floor to reach the garden and the lakeside where they hoped to find a fishing boat. Just as they were setting foot outside, they found themselves face to face with Madame Floriani.
“Where are you going so quickly?” she asked, taking each of them by the hand. “They are putting the horses to my carriage and Celio, who drives delightfully, is looking forward greatly to being your coachman as far as Iseo. I don’t wish you to cross the lake at this time of the day. There is still a cool little mist which is very unhealthy, not so much” for you, Salvator, as for your friend, who is not very well. No, you are certainly not well, Monsieur de Roswald,” she went on, taking Karol’s hand again and holding it between both hers with the simplicity of maternal instinct. “I was struck a moment ago by the heat of your hand and I am afraid you are slightly feverish. The nights and mornings are cold here. Come in, come in, I insist While you are taking your chocolate, the coach will be ready, you will settle in it comfortably, and at Iseo you will meet the first rays of the sun, which will dispel the evil influence of the lake.”
“It is true, then, dear siren, that your mirror has a somewhat baleful influence?” said Salvator, allowing himself to be persuaded to return to the house. “My friend was saying only yesterday that he was conscious of it, but I did not believe it”
“If by mirror you mean the lake, dear Ulysses,” replied Lucrezia, laughing, “may I tell you that it is like every other lake and when one is not born on its shores, one must mistrust it a little. But I do not like the dryness of this hand,” said she, examining Karol’s pulse. “This little hand, for it is a woman’s hand … Che manina!” she exclaimed, turning to Salvator artlessly. “But take care; your friend is not well. I know what I am talking about; my children have had no other doctor but me.”
Salvator too wished to examine the prince’s pulse; but the latter pretended to be a little annoyed by this anxiety. Abruptly he pulled away from the count the hand which he had tremblingly abandoned to Madame Floriani “Please, my good Salvator,” said he, “do not try to persuade me that I am ill and do not remind me too much that I am never in good health. I slept rather badly, I am a little agitated, that’s all. The movement of the carriage will restore me. The signora is too kind,” he added, somewhat reluctantly and dryly, as if to say “I should be much obliged to you if you allowed me to leave as quickly as possible.”
Madame Floriani was struck by his tone; she looked at him in surprise and thought that the brevity of his speech was another indication of his fever. He was indeed suffering from a high degree of feverishness now, but Lucrezia in her simplicity was far from imagining that the seat of his disease was in his soul and that she was its cause.
A collation was served. While Salvator was eating with his usual hearty appetite, Karol was reluctantly having some coffee. Nothing could be more disagreeable to him at that moment, for he never took it But he felt so close to fainting that he insisted on giving himself some artificial strength so as to be able to depart without betraying his deep discomfort.
Indeed he thought he felt better after taking this stimulant, and the sight of Salvator losing all sense of time while overwhelming Madame Floriani with endless compliments made him keenly impatient In fact he was hard put to it not to interrupt him with spiteful words. At last the coach rolled to a halt on the gravel outside the house and the handsome Celio, leaping up with pleasure, seized the reins of two pretty little Corsican horses which were drawing a light carriage. An attentive faithful servant was sitting on the seat by his side.
Just as he was leaving Lucrezia, Count Albani, who truly loved her, felt a regret and an upsurge of affection which were translated into expansive and exaggerated caresses, as was his habit. After begging her forgiveness a thousand times in a low voice, he wrenched himself away from an emotion which, against his will, reminded him of the wrongs he had done her, for he took remarkable pleasure in kissing the cheeks, the soft hands and the velvety neck of his beautiful friend. She, without prudishness, yet without coquetry, tolerated these voluptuous and tender farewells, possibly with too much kindness and amusement for the liking of Karol, who at that moment felt that he hated her. So as not to see their final embrace which was almost passionate as far as his friend was concerned, he flung himself back into the furthest part of the carriage and averted his eyes. But just as they were setting off he encountered the face of Lucrezia close to the window. She was saying goodbye in a few friendly words and was offering him a box of chocolates. He took it mechanically and gave her a low, frigid bow, then flung the box peevishly on to the nearby seat.
Salvator did not notice the action. Half out of the carriage he was still throwing kisses to Madame Floriani and her little daughters who, having left their beds and still partly dressed, were waving gracefully to him with their pretty bare arms.
When there was nothing more to see than the trees and the walls of the villa, Salvator felt his warm Italian heart, so fickle, yet so sincere, swell and burst He covered his face with a handkerchief and shed a few tears. Then, ashamed of this sign of weakness and afraid of appearing ridiculous to his friend, he wiped his eyes, turned to him, slightly shamefaced, to say: “Come, don’t you agree that Madame Floriani is not exactly what you thought her?”
But the words died on his lips when he saw the drawn features and the livid pallor of his friend. Karol’s lips were as white as his cheeks, his eyes were glazed and lack-lustre, his teeth were clenched. Salvator called out to him and shook him, but to no avail; he neither felt nor heard anything; he had fainted. For a few moments Salvator hoped to restore him to consciousness by rubbing his hands. But seeing that he was icy cold and apparently dead, he was seized with sudden panic. He shouted to Celio, had the carriage stopped and opened all the doors to give him air. Everything was useless. Karol gave no other sign of life save deep sighs and convulsive shudders.
Young Celio who had his mother’s courage and presence of mind went back on to his seat, whipped up the horses and brought Prince Karol back to the house where fate had decreed that he should learn to know a new life.
11.
Towards the end of the last chapter the reader will have anticipated that Prince de Roswald would develop an illness which would compel him to remain at the Villa Floriani. I hope you do not consider the incident extraordinary and that is why I do not pass over it in silence.
If I had made a mystery of it, how would the development of this story remain true to life? It is evident that if there is something fatal about great passions, the fulfilment of this fatality is always explained and supported by very natural circumstances. If by symptoms preceding the illness, and if by the overwhelming nature and disorder of the illness itself, Karol had not been predisposed and constrained to come under the influence of passion, it is probable that he would have resisted the attacks of this strange and wild emotion.
He did not resist because he was indeed very ill and because for several weeks Madame Floriani almost never left his bedside. This excellent woman, as much from friendship for Salvator Albani as in obedience to a feeling of religious hospitality, made it her duty to nurse the prince, just as she would have done for his best friend or one of her own children.
In this time of trial Providence had indeed sent to Karol the person most capable of helping and saving him. Lucrezia Floriani had an almost miraculous instinct for judging the condition of a patient and the treatment he required. Perhaps this instinct was merely a matter of memory. At the age of ten, in this same house of which she was now mistress, she had been a servant, just a servant of her godmother, the Signora Ranieri, a sickly, nervous woman whom she had nursed with a love, devotion and tenderness beyond her age. This was the primary reason for the signora’s affection for her which went as far as securing for her an education above her station and later wishing to marry her to her son.
So Lucrezia had learned very early to be a nurse and almost a doctor when the necessity arose. Later she had had sick friends, sick children and sick servants, as everyone is likely to have, and she had tended them herself, as everyone does not do. By making passionate efforts to discover what could relieve them and by noting attentively and scrupulously the good or bad effects of any particular medical treatment, she had acquired some very sound ideas on what suits different physical constitutions, and an excellent memory for infinite detail. She remembered the harm which had been done to her beloved mistress by the rule-of-thumb methods of the Italian doctors; she was convinced that after she herself had left the village, they had killed her. So she did not wish to summon them for the prince and she took it upon herself to treat him.
Salvator was very frightened at the responsibility which she wanted to assume and which weighed heavily on him too. But Madame Floriani’s confident and courageous character won the day. Salvator wearied her with his anxieties and indecision; so she sent him away from the sick-room, saying: “Go and look after the children, amuse them, take them for walks and forget that your friend is ill; for I assure you that you are utterly useless with your childish, anxious solicitude. I shall look after him. He is my responsibility, I shan’t leave him for a single minute.”
Salvator had great difficulty in keeping calm. Karol’s prostration terrified him and seemed to call for prompt and active help.
Madame Floriani had seen such nervous phenomena before and when she looked at the prince’s delicate hands, his white transparent skin and his fine, silky hair, the whole picture both collectively and in detail was so significant that she easily recognised certain similarities between his and Signora Ranieri’s illness which did not deceive her woman’s heart.
Her main object was to calm Karol without weakening him, and being convinced that for such highly sensitive constitutions there are magnetic influences of a superior order which elude common observation, she often summoned her children to the prince’s bedside, when once she had made sure that his condition was not contagious. She believed that the presence of those strong, young, healthy beings would have a mysterious beneficent power, both morally and physically, which would kindle the flickering flame of life in the young patient.
And who can say with certainty that she was deluding herself in this matter? Whether or no the imagination plays a considerable part in nervous illness, the fact remains that Karol breathed more easily when the children were there and their pure breath, mingled with that of their mother, made the air seem easier and milder to his fevered breast We are prepared to accept that patients experience repugnance when they are approached by people who fill them with disgust and anxiety, consequently we should also recognise the physical well-being which they feel when they are cared for or merely surrounded by beings who are sympathetic and pleasant-featured. If, when our last hour comes, instead of the sinister trappings of death we could bring down celestial figures to surround our bed and lull us with the music of the seraphim, we should endure the bitter moment of death without effort or agony.
