Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 14 (24 page)

 
          
Gilbert's
arm was about his little wife to shield her from the pressure of the crowd, and
as they stood his hold unconsciously tightened, till, marveling at this unwonted
care, she looked up to thank him with a happy glance and discovered that his
eye rested on a single pair, kindling as they approached, keenly scanning every
gesture as they floated by, following them with untiring vigilance through the
many-colored mazes they threaded with such winged steps, while his breath
quickened, his hand kept time, and every sense seemed to own the intoxication
of the scene. Sorrowfully she too watched this pair, saw their grace, admired
their beauty, envied their happiness; for, short as her wedded life had been,
the thorns already pierced her through the roses, and with each airy revolution
of those figures, dark and bright, her discontent increased, her wonder
deepened, her scrutiny grew keener, for she knew no common interest held her
husband there, fascinated, flushed, and excited as if his heart beat responsive
to the rhythmic rise and fall of that booted foot and satin slipper. The music
ended with a crash, the crowd surged across the floor, and the spell was
broken. Like one but half disenchanted, Gilbert stood a moment, then remembered
his wife, and looking down met brown eyes, full of tears, fastened on his face.

 
          
"Tired
so soon, Babie?
Or in a pet because I cannot change myself
into a thistledown and float about with you, like Manuel and Pauline?"

 
          
"Neither;
I was only wishing that you loved me as he loves her, and hoping he would never
tire of her, they are so fond and charming now. How long have you known
them—and where?"

 
          
"I
shall have no peace until I tell you. I passed a single summer with them in a
tropical paradise, where we swung half the day in hammocks, under tamarind and
almond trees; danced half the night to music, of which this seems but a faint
echo; and led a life of luxurious delight in an enchanted climate, where all is
so beautiful and brilliant that its memory haunts a life as pressed flowers
sweeten the leaves of a dull book."

 
          
"Why
did you leave it then?"

 
          
"To marry you, child."

 
          
"That
was a regretful sigh, as if I were not worth the sacrifice. Let us go back and
enjoy it together."

 
          
"If
you were dying for it, I would not take you to
Cuba
. It would be purgatory, not paradise,
now."

 
          
"How
stern you look, how strangely you speak. Would you not go to save your own
life, Gilbert?"

 
          
"I
would not cross the room to do that, much less the sea."

 
          
"Why
do you both love and dread it? Don't frown, but tell me. I have a right to
know."

 
          
"Because the bitterest blunder of my life was committed
there—a blunder that I never can repair in this world, and may be damned for in
the next.
Rest satisfied with this, Babie, lest you prove like
Bluebeard's wife, and make another skeleton in my closet, which has enough
already."

 
          
Strange
regret was in his voice, strange gloom fell upon his face; but though rendered
doubly curious by the change, Mrs. Redmond dared not question further and,
standing silent, furtively scanned the troubled countenance beside her. Gilbert
spoke first, waking out of his sorrowful reverie with a start.

 
          
"Pauline
is coming. Say adieu, not au revoir, for tomorrow we must leave this
place."

 
          
His
words were a command, his aspect one of stern
resolve,
though the intensest longing mingled with the dark look he cast on the
approaching pair. The tone, the glance displeased his willful wife, who loved
to use her power and exact obedience where she had failed to win affection,
often ruling imperiously when a tender word would have made her happy to
submit.

 
          
"Gilbert,
you take no thought for my pleasures though you pursue your own at my expense.
Your neglect forces me to find solace and satisfaction where I can, and you
have forfeited your right to command or complain. I love Pauline, I am happy
with
her,
therefore I shall stay until we tire of one
another. I am a burden to you; go if you will."

 
          
"You
know I cannot without you, Babie. I ask it as a favor. For my sake, for your
own, I implore you to come away."

 
          
"Gilbert,
do you love her?"

 
          
She
seized his arm and forced an answer by the energy of her sharply whispered
question. He saw that it was vain to dissemble, yet replied with averted head,
"I did and still remember it."

 
          
"And
she? Did she return your love?"

 
          
"I
believed so; but she forgot me when I went. She married Manuel and is happy.
Babie,
let me go!"

 
          
"No!
you
shall stay and feel a little of the pain I feel
when I look into your heart and find I have no place there. It is this which
has stood between us and made all my efforts vain. I see it now and despise you
for the falsehood you have shown me, vowing you loved no one but me until I
married you, then letting me so soon discover that I was only an encumbrance to
your enjoyment of the fortune I possessed. You treat me like a child, but I
suffer like a woman, and you shall share my suffering, because you might have
spared me, and you did not. Gilbert, you shall stay."

 
          
"Be
it so, but remember I have warned you."

 
          
An
exultant expression broke through the gloom of her husband's face as he
answered with the grim satisfaction of one who gave restraint to the mind, and
stood ready to follow whatever impulse should sway him next. His wife trembled
inwardly at what she had done, but was too proud to recall her words and felt a
certain bitter pleasure in the excitement of the new position she had taken,
the new interest given to her listless life.

 
          
Pauline
and Manuel found them standing silently together, for a moment had done the
work of years and raised a barrier between them never to be swept away.

 
          
Mrs.
Redmond spoke first, and with an air half resentful, half triumphant:

 
          
"Pauline,
this morose husband of mine says we must leave tomorrow. But in some things I
rule; this is one of them. Therefore we remain and go with you to the mountains
when we are tired of the gay life here. So smile and submit, Gilbert, else
these friends will count your society no favor. Would you not fancy, from the
aspect he thinks proper to assume, that I had sentenced him to a punishment,
not a pleasure?"

 
          
"Perhaps
you have unwittingly, Babie. Marriage is said to cancel the follies of the
past, but not those of the future, I believe; and, as there are many
temptations to an idle man in a place like this, doubtless your husband is wise
enough to own that he dares not stay but finds discretion the better part of
valor."

 
          
Nothing
could be softer than the tone in which these words were uttered, nothing
sharper than the hidden taunt conveyed, but Gilbert only laughed a scornful
laugh as he fixed his keen eyes full upon her and took her bouquet with the air
of one assuming former rights.

 
          
"My
dear Pauline, discretion is the last virtue I should expect to be accused of by
you; but if valor consists in daring all things, I may lay claim to it without
its 'better part,' for temptation is my delight—the stronger the better. Have
no fears for me, my friend. I gladly accept Babie's decree and, ignoring the
last ten years, intend to begin life anew, having discovered a sauce piquante
which will give the stalest pleasures a redoubled zest. I am unfortunate
tonight, and here is a second wreck; this I can rebuild happily. Allow me to do
so, for I remember you once praised my skill in floral architecture."

 
          
With
an air of eager gallantry in strange contrast to the malign expression of his
countenance, Gilbert knelt to regather the flowers which a careless gesture of
his own had scattered from their jeweled holder. His wife turned to speak to
Manuel, and, yielding to the unconquerable anxiety his reckless manner awoke,
Pauline whispered below her breath as she bent as if to watch the work,
"Gilbert, follow your first impulse, and go tomorrow."

 
          
"Nothing
shall induce me to."

 
          
"I
warn you harm will come of it." "Let it come; I am past fear
now."

 
          
"Shun
me for Babie's sake, if not for your own."

 
          
"Too
late for that; she is headstrong—let her suffer."

 
          
"Have
you no power, Gilbert?"

 
          
"None over her, much over you."

 
          
"We
will prove that!"

 
          
"We
will!" Rapidly as words could shape them, these questions and answers
fell, and with their utterance the last generous feeling died in Pauline's
breast; for as she received the flowers, now changed from a love token to a
battle gage, she saw the torn glove still crushed in Gilbert's hand, and
silently accepted his challenge to the tournament so often held between man and
woman—a tournament where the keen tongue is the lance, pride the shield,
passion the fiery steed, and the hardest heart the winner of the prize, which
seldom fails to prove a barren honor, ending in remorse.

 
          
For
several days the Cubans were almost invisible, appearing only for a daily
drive, a twilight saunter on the beach, or a brief visit to the ballroom, there
to enjoy the excitement of the pastime in which they both excelled. Their
apartments were in the quietest wing of the hotel, and from the moment of their
occupancy seemed to acquire all the charms of home. The few guests admitted
felt the atmosphere of poetry and peace that pervaded the nest which Love, the
worker of miracles, had built
himself
even under that
tumultuous roof. Strollers in the halls or along the breezy verandas often
paused to listen to the music of instrument or voice which came floating out
from these sequestered rooms. Frequent laughter and the murmur of conversation
proved that ennui was unknown, and a touch of romance inevitably enhanced the
interest wakened by the beautiful young pair, always together, always happy,
never
weary of the dolce far niente of this summer life.

 
          
In
a balcony like a hanging garden, sheltered from the sun by blossoming shrubs
and vines that curtained the green nook with odorous shade, Pauline lay
indolently swinging in a gaily fringed hammock as she had been wont to do in
Cuba
, then finding only pleasure in the luxury
of motion which now failed to quiet her unrest. Manuel had put down the book to
which she no longer listened and, leaning his head upon his hand, sat watching
her as she swayed to and fro with thoughtful eyes intent upon the sea, whose
murmurous voice possessed a charm more powerful than his own. Suddenly he
spoke:

 
          
"Pauline,
I cannot understand you! For three weeks we hurried east and west to find this
man, yet when found you shun him and seem content to make my life a heaven upon
earth. I sometimes fancy that you have resolved to let the past sleep, but the
hope dies as soon as born, for in moments like this I see that, though you
devote yourself to me, the old purpose is unchanged, and I marvel why you
pause."

 
          
Her
eyes came back from their long gaze and settled on him full of an intelligence
which deepened his perplexity. "You have not learned to know me yet; death
is not more inexorable or time more tireless than I. This week has seemed one
of indolent delight to you. To me it has been one of constant vigilance and
labor, for scarcely a look, act, or word of mine has been without effect. At first
I secluded myself that Gilbert might contrast our life with his and, believing
us all and all to one another, find impotent regret his daily portion. Three
days ago accident placed an unexpected weapon in my hand which I have used in
silence, lest in spite of promises you should rebel and end his trial too soon.
Have you no suspicion of my meaning?"

 
          
"None.
You are more mysterious than ever, and I shall,
in truth, believe you are the enchantress I have so often called you if your
spells work invisibly."

 
          
"They
do not, and I use no supernatural arts, as I will prove to you. Take my
lorgnette that lies behind you, part the leaves where the green grapes hang
thickest, look up at the little window in the shadowy angle of the low roof
opposite, and tell me what you see."

 
          
"Nothing but a half-drawn curtain."

 
          
"Ah!
I must try the ruse that first convinced me. Do not show yourself, but watch,
and if you speak, let it be in Spanish."

 
          
Leaving
her airy cradle, Pauline bent over the balcony as if to gather the climbing
roses that waved their ruddy clusters in the wind. Before the third stem was
broken Manuel whispered, "I see the curtain move; now comes the outline of
a head, and now a hand, with some bright object in it. Santo Pablo! It is a man
staring at you as coolly as if you were a lady in a balcony. What prying rascal
is it?"

 
          
"Gilbert."

 
          
"Impossible!
He is a gentleman."

 
          
"If
gentlemen play the traitor and the spy, then he is one. I am not mistaken; for
since the glitter of his glass first arrested me I have watched covertly, and
several trials as successful as the present have confirmed the suspicion which
Babie's innocent complaints of his long absences aroused. Now do you comprehend
why I remained in these rooms with the curtains seldom drawn? Why I swung the
hammock here and let you sing and read to me while I played with your hair or
leaned upon your shoulder? Why I have been all devotion and made this balcony a
little stage for the performance of our version of the honeymoon for one
spectator?"

 
          
Still
mindful of the eager eyes upon her, Pauline had been fastening the roses in her
bosom as she spoke, and ended with a silvery laugh that made the silence
musical with its heartsome sound. As she paused, Manuel flung down the
lorgnette and was striding past her with ireful impetuosity, but the white arms
took him captive, adding another figure to the picture framed by the green arch
as she whispered decisively, "No farther! There must be no violence. You
promised obedience and I exact it. Do you think detection to a man so lost to
honor would wound as deeply as the sights which make his daily watch a torment?
Or that a blow would be as hard to bear as the knowledge that his own act has
placed you where you are and made him what he is? Silent contempt is the law
now, so let this insult pass, unclench your hand and turn that defiant face to
me, while I console you for submission with a kiss."

 
          
He
yielded to the command enforced by the caress but drew her jealously from
sight, and still glanced rebelliously through the leaves, asking with a frown,
"Why show me this if I may not resent it? How long must I bear with this
man? Tell me your
design,
else I shall mar it in some
moment when hatred of him conquers love of you."

 
          
"I
will, for it is tune, because though I have taken the first step you must take
the second. I showed you this that you might find action pleasanter than
rest,
and you must bear with this man a little longer for my
sake, but I will give you an amusement to beguile the time. Long ago you told
me that Gilbert was a gambler. I would not believe it then, now I can believe
anything, and you can convince the world of this vice of his as speedily as you
will."

 
          
"Do
you wish me to become a gambler that I may prove him one? I also told you that
he was suspected of dishonorable play—shall I load the dice and mark the cards
to catch him in his own snares?"

 
          
Manuel
spoke bitterly, for his high spirit chafed at the task assigned him; womanly
wiles seemed more degrading than the masculine method of retaliation, in which
strength replaces subtlety and speedier vengeance brings speedier satisfaction.
But Pauline, fast learning to play upon that mysterious instrument, the human
heart, knew when to stimulate and when to soothe.

 
          
"Do
not reproach me that I point out a safer mode of operation than your own. You
would go to Gilbert and by a hot word, a rash act, put your life and my
happiness into his hands, for though dueling is forbidden here, he would not
hesitate to break all laws, human or divine, if by so doing he could separate
us. What would you gain by it? If you kill him he is beyond our reach forever,
and a crime remains to be atoned for. If he kill you your blood will be upon my
head, and where should I find consolation for the loss of the one heart always
true and tender?"

 
          
With
the inexplicable prescience which sometimes foreshadows coming ills, she clung
to him as if a vision of the future dimly swept before her, but he only saw the
solicitude it was a sweet surprise to find he had awakened, and in present
pleasure forgot past pain.

 
          
"You
shall not suffer from this man any grief that I can shield you from, rest
assured of that, my heart. I will be patient, though your ways are not mine,
for the wrong was yours, and the retribution shall be such as you decree."

 
          
"Then
hear your task and see the shape into which circumstances have molded my
design. I would have you exercise a self-restraint that shall leave Gilbert no
hold upon you, accept all invitations like that which you refused when we
passed him on the threshold of the billiard room an hour ago, and seem to find
in such amusements the same fascination as himself. Your skill in games of
chance excels his, as you proved at home where these pastimes lose their
disreputable aspect by being openly enjoyed. Therefore I would have you whet
this appetite of his by losing freely at first—he will take a grim delight in
lessening the fortune he covets—then exert all your skill till he is deeply in
your debt. He has nothing but what is doled out to him by Babie's father, I
find; he dare not ask help there for such a purpose; other resources have
failed else he would not have married; and if the sum be large enough, it lays
him under an obligation which will be a thorn in his flesh, the sharper for
your knowledge of his impotence to draw it out. When this is done, or even
while it is in progress, I would have you add the pain of a new jealousy to the
old. He neglects this young wife of his, and she is eager to recover the
affections she believes she once possessed. Help her, and teach Gilbert the
value of what he now despises. You are young, comely, accomplished, and
possessed of many graces more attractive than you are conscious of; your
southern birth and breeding gift you with
a winning
warmth of manners in strong contrast to the colder natures around you; and your
love for me lends an almost tender deference to your intercourse with all
womankind. Amuse, console this poor girl, and show her husband what he should
be; I have no fear of losing your heart nor need you fear for hers; she is one
of those spaniel-like creatures who love the hand that strikes them and fawn
upon the foot that spurns them."

 
          
"Am
I to be the sole actor in the drama of deceit? While I woo Babie, what will you
do, Pauline?"

 
          
"Let
Gilbert woo me—have patience till you understand my meaning; he still loves me
and believes I still return that love. I shall not undeceive him yet, but let
silence seem to confess what I do not own in words. He fed me with false
promises, let me build my life's happiness on baseless hopes, and rudely woke
me when he could delude no longer, leaving me to find I had pursued a shadow. I
will do the same. He shall follow me undaunted, undeterred by all obstacles,
all ties; shall stake his last throw and lose it, for when the crowning moment
comes I shall show him that through me he is made bankrupt in love, honor,
liberty, and hope, tell him I am yours entirely and forever, then vanish like
an ignis-fatuus, leaving him to the darkness of despair and defeat. Is not this
a better retribution than the bullet that would give him peace at once?"

 
          
Boy,
lover, husband though he was, Manuel saw and stood aghast at the baleful spirit
which had enslaved this woman, crushing all generous impulses, withering all
gentle charities, and making her the saddest spectacle this world can show—one
human soul rebelling against Providence, to become the nemesis of another.
Involuntarily he recoiled from her, exclaiming, "Pauline! Are you
possessed of a devil?"

 
          
"Yes!
One that will not be cast out till every sin, shame, and sorrow mental
ingenuity can conceive and inflict has been heaped on that man's head. I
thought I should be satisfied with one accusing look, one bitter word; I am
not, for the evil genii once let loose cannot be recaptured. Once I ruled it,
now it rules me, and there is no turning back. I have come under the law of
fate, and henceforth the powers I possess will ban, not bless, for I am driven
to whet and wield them as weapons which may win me success at the price of my
salvation. It is not yet too late for you to shun the spiritual contagion I
bear about me. Choose now, and abide by that choice without a shadow of
turning, as I abide by mine. Take me as I am; help me willingly and
unwillingly; and in the end receive the promised gift—years like the days you
have called heaven upon earth. Or retract the vows you plighted, receive again
the heart and name you gave me, and live unvexed by the stormy nature time
alone can tame. Here is the ring. Shall I restore or keep it, Manuel?"

 
          
Never
had she looked more beautiful as she stood there, an image of will, daring,
defiant, and indomitable, with eyes darkened by intensity of emotion, voice
half sad, half stern, and outstretched hand on which the wedding ring no longer
shone. She felt her power, yet was wary enough to assure it by one bold appeal
to the strongest element of her husband's character: passions, not principles,
were the allies she desired, and before the answer came she knew that she had
gained them at the cost of innocence and self-respect.