Inevitable (16 page)

T
HEY WERE IN THE
large gloomy dining-room, with the almost black
arazzi
, with the almost black waffle ceiling, with all the almost black statuary; with the black monumental fireplace, and above it, in black marble, the family coat of arms. The candlelight of two large silver candelabras gave only a faint glow on the damask and glass. But apart from that the over-large room was plunged into shadowy darkness, in the corners intensified with masses of deep shadow, thinner shadow wafting from the ceiling, like an evaporation of dark velvet that floated above the candlelight in atoms. The timeless antiquity of Stefano weighed oppressively here as a feeling of reverence, together with a melancholy of black silence and black pride. Words sounded muffled here. This had remained exactly as it had always been, this was like a shrine to their distinguished tradition, in which Urania would not dare to change anything, as if she scarcely dared speak or eat. They waited for a moment, until a double door was opened. And a tall, grey old man came in like a ghost, his arm through the arm of the clergyman next to him. Old Prince Ercole approached slowly and with dignity, while the chaplain adjusted his step to that slow dignified pace. He wore a long black coat, with an ample old-fashioned cut, which hung in folds about him, with something of the air of a tabard, and on his gleaming grey hair, slightly wavy at the neck, a black velvet skull cap. He was treated with
great respect. First the
marchesa
, then Urania, whom he kissed very slowly on the forehead—as if consecrating her; then Gilio approached him and subserviently kissed his father’s hand. The old man nodded at young Hope, who bowed and turned to look at Cornélie. Urania introduced her. And as if giving an audience, the old prince said a few friendly words to her and asked whether she liked Italy. When Cornélie had answered, Prince Ercole sat down and gave his cap to Giuseppe, who received it with a deep bow. Then they all sat down: the
marchesa
with the chaplain opposite Prince Ercole, who sat between Cornélie and Urania, Robert Hope next to his sister.

“No one can see my calves,” he whispered to his sister.

“Sh!” said Urania.

Giuseppe, reviving now that he had been restored to his former dignity, filled the plates ceremoniously with soup at an old dresser. He was obviously back in his element here; he was visibly grateful to Urania; he had an expression of deep contentment and in his tailcoat looked like an old diplomat. He amused Cornélie, who thought back to Belloni, when he became impatient when guests did not arrive, when he exploded at the green young waiters, whom the
marchesa
employed because of their cheapness. When two lackeys had brought round the soup, the chaplain stood up and said the
benedicite
. Still not a word was said. The soup was eaten in silence, while the three servants stood motionless. The spoons tapped against the plates and the
marchesa
smacked her lips. The candelabra occasionally trembled and the shadow fell more oppressively from the ceiling, like an evaporation of velvet. Then the prince turned to the
marchesa
. And he
addressed everyone in turn, with a friendly, condescending dignity, in French, in Italian. The conversation became slightly more general, but the prince continued to take the lead. And he was very friendly towards Urania, Cornélie noticed … But Cornélie remembered Gilio’s words: papa almost had a stroke because Hope Senior haggled about Urania’s dowry. Ten million? Five million? Less than three million! Dollars? Lire!! And the old prince suddenly appeared to her as the grizzled, selfish embodiment of San Stefano’s glory and aristocratic pride, seemed to her the living ghost of that shadowy past, that she had felt that afternoon, gazing with Urania into the deep, blue lake: the demanding ghost; the ghost that demanded millions, the ghost that demanded new viability; a spectral parasite, who had sold his depreciated symbols to the vanity of a new commercial company, but for all his distinction could not cope with the cunning of a businessman. Their princess’s and duchess’s title for less than three million lire! Papa had almost had a stroke … Gilio had said. And Cornélie, in the measured, affable stiffness of the conversation led by Prince Ercole, looked from the old prince-duke—of seventy—to the young, fresh-faced Westerner—of eighteen—and looked from him to Prince Gilio: the hope of the old family, their only hope. Here in the gloom of this dining-room, where he was bored, and in addition still out of humour, she saw him as small, insignificant, insubstantial, a scrawny, distinguished
bon
viveur
, his carbuncle eyes, which could twinkle merrily with perverse wit, were focused beneath the drooping eyelids on his plate, at which he picked listlessly.

She felt sorry for him, and she thought of the gold
bridal chamber … She despised him a little. She did not regard him as a man, he could not achieve what he wanted: she regarded him more as a naughty boy. And he must be jealous of Robert, she thought: of his fresh blood that tingled in his cheeks, of his broad shoulders and broad chest. But he still amused her. He could be charming, jolly and witty, quick-witted and sharp, when in a bright mood: quick-tongued and quick-witted. She liked him well enough. And he was good-hearted. The bracelet and particularly the thousand lire. She still thought of them with affection; how moved she had been, during that walk, back and forth past the post office; moved by his letter and his generous help. There was no substance in him, to her he was not a man: but he was witty and he had a very good heart. She liked him, as a friend and a pleasant companion. How dejected and out of humour he was. But then why did he venture on those crazy assaults …?

She spoke to him now and then, but she was unable to cheer him up. For that matter the conversation dragged on, stiffly and affably, still led by Prince Ercole. Dinner was coming to an end and Prince Ercole rose up. He received his cap from the hands of Giuseppe, all of them said goodbye to him, the doors were opened, and on the chaplain’s arm Prince Ercole withdrew. Gilio disappeared angrily. The
marchesa
, still shuddering at the thought of Cornélie, disappeared and under her dress pointed the
gettatura
at her. And Urania took Cornélie and Robert back to her drawing-room. All three breathed more easily. They spoke freely, in English now: the young man said despairingly that he was not eating enough, that
he did not dare eat until his hunger was assuaged, and Cornélie laughed, finding his healthy appetite appealing, while Urania hunted for rusks for him and a piece of cake, left from tea, and promised him bread and meat before they went to bed. And they relaxed their minds after the solemn dinner. Urania said that they never saw the old prince except at dinner, but she always visited him in the mornings, stayed and talked to him for an hour or so or played chess with him. Otherwise he played chess with the chaplain. She had a busy life, Urania. The reorganisation of the household, formerly left to a poor blood relation, now living in a
pensione
in Rome, took up a lot of her time: in the mornings she discussed the details with Prince Ercole, who despite his seclusion, was completely
au courant
. Then she had the consultations with her Roman architect on the restoration of the castle: these sometimes took place in the old prince’s study. Then she was commissioning the building of a large institution in the town, an
albergo dei poveri
, a home for elderly men and women, for which Hope Senior was giving her separate funds: when she first came to San Stefano, she had been struck by the run-down, collapsing houses and cottages in the poor districts, leprous and scrofulous with dirt, eaten up by their own destitution, where a whole population vegetated like mushrooms. She was now having a home built for the elderly, and on the estate she provided work for the young and able-bodied, she concerned herself with neglected children and had founded a new school. She talked about all this quite simply, cutting the cake for her brother Robert, who was tucking in with relish after the etiquette of dinner. She invited Cornélie to
accompany her the following day to see the work on the
albergo
, the new school, run by two clergymen from Rome, recommended to her by the
monsignori
.

Through the pointed arch windows one could see the dim shape of the town below, and in the sultry summer night, strewn with stars, the silhouette of the cathedral rose up. And Cornélie thought: it is not only for ghosts and shadows that she has come here, the rich American girl, who was so mad about the aristocracy—“so nice”—the child, who collected samples of the queen’s ball gowns—an album that she now kept hidden as a ‘black’ princess, the girl who tripped across the Forum in her light linen tailored jacket, and understood neither ancient Rome nor the new future that was dawning …

And now that Cornélie was returning to her own room through the silent brooding night of the castle of San Stefano, she thought: I write, but she does things. I dream and think, but she teaches the children, even though it is with a priest: she feeds and houses old men and women.

Then, in her room, looking out over the lake in the summer night sprinkled with stars, she reflected that she would like to be rich too and to have a wide scope of action. Because as it was she had no scope, no money and … she longed only for Duco, and he must not leave her alone for too long, in this castle, amid all this gloomy grandeur, which oppressed her with the weight of centuries.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
Urania’s chambermaid was leading Cornélie outside through a warren of galleries to where they were to have breakfast, when she met Gilio on the stairs. The maid turned back.

“I still need guidance to find my way around,” laughed Cornélie.

He grunted something.

“How did you sleep, prince?”

He grunted again.

“Really, prince, that bad temper has to change. Do you hear? It
has to
. I insist, I don’t want to see any more sulking today, and hope you will resume as soon as possible your merry, witty tone of conversation, which I appreciate in you.”

He muttered.

“Goodbye, prince,” said Cornélie abruptly.

And she retraced her steps.

“Where are you going?” he asked

“To my room. I shall take breakfast in my room.”

“But why?”

“Because I don’t like you as a host.”

“You don’t?”

“No I don’t. Yesterday you insult me, I defend myself, you persist in being coarse, I am immediately as agreeable as usual, give you my hand and even a kiss. At dinner you sulk with me in the rudest possible way. You go to your
room without wishing me good night. This morning you meet me without saying hello. You grunt and sulk like a naughty child. There is an angry look in your eyes, you look bilious. Indeed, you look awful. It’s very unflattering. You are most unpleasant, rough, impolite, and small-minded. I have no wish to breakfast with you in such a mood … And I’m going to my room.”

“No,” he begged.

“Oh yes,”

“No, no.”

“Well then, change your attitude. Force yourself, stop thinking about your defeat, and be nice to me. You are acting like the injured party, whereas I’m the injured party. But I can’t sulk and I’m not petty. I can’t act in a petty way. I forgive you, forgive me too. Say something affectionate, say something nice.”

“I’m mad about you.”

“I haven’t noticed. If you are mad about me, be friendly, polite, cheerful and witty. I demand it from you as my host.”

“I shan’t sulk any more … but I love you so much! And you hit me.”

“Can you never forgive that act of self-defence?”

“No, never!”

“Farewell, then.”

She turned on her heel.

“No, no, don’t go back. Come with me to the pergola, where we are having breakfast. I ask your forgiveness. I shall no longer be rude or petty. You, you are not petty. You are the most remarkable woman I know. I worship you.”

“Worship me in silence then, and amuse me.”

His eyes, his black carbuncle eyes, began to revive, to fill with laughter; his face lost its wrinkles and brightened.

“I am too unhappy to be amusing.”

“I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Really, I’m unhappy, I’m suffering …”

“Poor prince!”

“You won’t believe me. You never take me seriously. I simply have to be your clown, your jester. And I love you, and must not hope? Tell me, must I never hope?”

“Not much.”

“You are merciless, and so severe.”

“I have to be severe with you, you’re just like a naughty boy … Oh, I see the pergola. So you promise me you will mend your ways?”

“I’ll be good.”

“And amusing.”

He sighed.

“
Povero
Gilio!” he sighed. “Poor clown!”

She laughed. Urania and Robert Hope were in the pergola. The pergola, overgrown with a grapevine and a pink baby’s breath with pendant bunches of pink flowers, was supported by a line of caryatids and hermes—nymphs, satyrs and fauns—whose upper bodies ended in a slim sculptured pedestal and who with raised hands supported the flat canopy of leaves and flowers; while in the middle there was an open rotunda like an outdoor temple, the circular balustrade of which was also borne by caryatids and where an ancient sarcophagus had been converted into a cistern. In the pergola a table had been laid for breakfast; they were having breakfast without old
Prince Ercole and the
marchesa
was breakfasting in her room. It was eight o’clock, a morning freshness was still wafting up from the lake, a haze of blue velvet was still covering the hills like down, among which the lake sank as if in gently curving channels like an oval dish.

“Oh, how beautiful it is here!” cried Cornélie delightedly.

Breakfast was a sunny and cheerful meal, after
yesterday
’s black and gloomy dinner. Urania was very excited about her
albergo
, which she was shortly to visit with Cornélie. Gilio was his old amiable self and Bob ate heartily. And afterwards when Bob went cycling, Gilio actually came to town with the ladies. They drove down the road from the castle in a landau at walking pace. The sun grew hotter and the old town loomed up white, creamy white and grey white with houses like stone mirrors in which the sun was reflected; the squares like wells into which the sun poured its glowing heat. The coachman stopped at the works for the
albergo
, they got out and the builder approached dutifully, while the sweating masons looked at the prince and princess. It was sweltering hot. Gilio constantly wiped his forehead, and took refuge behind Cornélie’s parasol. But Urania was a bundle of vitality and interest, quick and energetic in her white piqué suit, with her white matelot hat under her white parasol, she tripped across beams past piles of bricks and cement with her builder, listened to explanations and gave advice, did not always agree, pulled a knowing face; said that she did not like such and such dimensions, did not believe what the builder was assuring her, that as the building progressed she would come to terms with the dimensions, shook her head, impressed this and impressed that on him,
all in rapid, not entirely correct and staccato Italian, which she chewed between her teeth. But Cornélie found her adorable, charming; Cornélie found her the Princess di Forte-Braccio. There was no doubt about it. While Gilio, frightened of dirtying his light flannel suit and yellow shoes on the plaster, stayed under the shade of the parasol, puffing with the warmth, uninterested, his wife was indefatigable, did not worry about her white skirt acquiring a dirty hem, and she talked to the builder with such sureness of touch, lively but dignified that it commanded respect. Where had the child learned this? From where had she got her ability to assimilate? And from where did she get that love for San Stefano, that love for the poor? How had this American girl acquired the talent to fulfil her exalted new position so well?
Ammirabile
! was Gilio’s verdict and he whispered it to Cornélie. He was not blind to her qualities. He thought Urania was wonderful, outstanding; she never ceased to surprise him. No Italian woman from his circles would have behaved in that way. And they loved her. The servants at the castle loved her, Giuseppe would go through fire for her, the builder admired her, the masons watched her go with respect, because she was so clever and knew so much and was so good to them in their misery.
Ammirabile
! said Gilio. But he was puffing. He knew nothing about stones, beams and dimensions and did not know from where Urania had got her technical eye. She was tireless. She went right round the site, while he looked up imploringly at Cornélie. And finally, in English, he asked his wife in heaven’s name to call it a day. They got in, the builder said goodbye, and the workmen followed suit with a show of gratitude and affection.

And they drove to the cathedral, which Cornélie wanted to see, and where Gilio, while Urania kindly showed her round, asked his ladies for mercy, and sat down on the altar steps, arms hanging over his knees, in order to cool off.