As soon as she was outside the door she wiped away her own tears, wondering whether the violent emotional upheaval she had caused him might not after all be dangerous, and whether it would be advisable to have a doctor called. She went to the kitchen and cooked for his dinner all the most nourishing and comforting dishes she could devise; she prepared and warmed his bed, intending to put him into it as soon as, hand in hand with his daughter, he reappeared. But when the dinner table was already laid and there was still no sign of him, she crept back to the Marquise’s room to find out what on earth was going on. Putting her ear gently against the door and listening, she caught the last echo of some softly murmured words, spoken, as it seemed to her, by the Marquise; and looking through the keyhole she noticed that her daughter was even sitting on the Commandant’s lap, a thing he had never before permitted. And when finally she opened the door she saw a sight that made her heart leap with joy: her daughter, with her head thrown right back and her eyes tightly shut, was lying quietly in her father’s arms, while the latter, with tears glistening in his wide-open eyes, sat in the armchair, pressing long, ardent, avid kisses on to her mouth, just like a lover! His daughter said nothing, he said nothing; he sat with his face bowed over her, as if she were the first girl he had ever loved; he sat there holding her mouth near his and kissing her. Her mother felt quite transported with delight; standing unseen behind his chair, she hesitated to interrupt this blissful scene of reconciliation which had brought such joy back to her house. Finally, she approached her husband, and just as he was again stroking and kissing his daughter’s mouth in indescribable ecstasy, she leaned round the side of the chair and looked at him. When the Commandant saw her he at once lowered his eyes again with a cross expression and was about to say something; but she exclaimed: ‘Oh, what a face to make!’ And then she in her turn smoothed it out with kisses, and talked jestingly until the atmosphere of emotion was dispelled. She asked them both to come and have dinner, and as she led the way they walked along like a pair of betrothed lovers; at table the Commandant seemed very happy, though he still sobbed from time to time, ate and spoke little, gazed down at his plate, and caressed his daughter’s hand.
The question now was, who in the world would turn up at eleven o’clock on the following morning, for the next day to dawn would be the dreaded third. The Marquise’s father and mother, as well as her brother who had arrived to share in the general reconciliation, were decidedly in favour of marriage, if the person should be at least tolerably acceptable; everything within the realm of possibility would be done to ensure her happiness. If, on the other hand, the circumstances of the person in question should turn out to be such that even with the help of her family they would still fall too far short of the Marquise’s own, then her parents were opposed to her marrying him; they were resolved in that case to let her live with them as before and to adopt the child as theirs. It seemed, however, to be the Marquise’s wish to keep her promise in any case, provided the person were not a complete scoundrel, and thus at all costs to provide the child with a father. On the eve of the assignation her mother raised the question of how the visitor was to be received. The Commandant was of the opinion that the most suitable procedure would be, when eleven o’clock came, to leave the Marquise by herself. The latter however insisted that both her parents, and her brother as well, should be present, since she did not want to share any secrets with the expected person. She also thought that this would be his own wish, which in his answer he had seemed to express by suggesting her father’s house as the place for the meeting; and she added that she must confess to having been greatly pleased by this answer for that very reason. Her mother thought that under this arrangement the roles played by her husband and son would be most unseemly; she begged her daughter to consent to the two men being absent, but agreed to meet her wishes to the extent of being present herself when the person arrived. After the Marquise had thought it over for a little this last proposal was finally adopted. The night was then passed in a state of suspense and expectancy, and now the morning of the dreaded third had come. As the clock struck eleven both women were sitting in the reception room, festively attired as for a betrothal; their hearts were beating so hard that one could have heard them if the noises of daytime had ceased. The eleventh stroke of the clock was still reverberating when Leopardo entered, the groom whom the Commandant had hired from Tyrol. At the sight of him the women turned pale. ‘I am to announce Count F—, my lady,’ he said, ‘his carriage is at the door.’ ‘Count F—!’ they exclaimed simultaneously, thrown from one kind of consternation into another. The Marquise cried: ‘Shut the doors! We are not at home to him!’ She rose at once to lock the door of the room herself, and was in the act of thrusting out the groom as he stood in her way, when the Count entered, in exactly the same uniform, with the same decorations and weapons, as he had worn and carried on the day of the storming of the fortress. The Marquise felt she would sink into the ground from sheer confusion; she snatched up a handkerchief she had left lying on her chair and was about to rush off into a neighbouring room, when her mother, seizing her by the hand, exclaimed: ‘Giulietta –!’, and her thoughts seemed to stifle any further words. She stared straight at the Count, and repeated, drawing her daughter towards her: ‘Why, Giulietta, whom have we been expecting –?’ The Marquise, turning suddenly, cried: ‘Well? You surely cannot mean him –?’ She fixed on the Count such a look that it seemed to flash like a thunderbolt, and her face went deathly pale. He had gone down on one knee before her; his right hand was on his heart, his head meekly bowed, and there he remained, blushing scarlet and with downcast eyes, saying nothing. ‘Who else?’ exclaimed her mother, her voice almost failing. ‘Who else but him? How stupid we have been –!’ The Marquise stood over him, rigidly erect, and said: ‘Mother, I shall go mad!’ ‘Foolish girl,’ replied her mother, and she drew her towards her and whispered something into her ear. The Marquise turned away and collapsed on to the sofa with both hands pressed against her face. Her mother cried: ‘Poor wretched girl! What is the matter with you? What has happened that can have taken you by surprise?’ The Count did not move, but knelt on beside the Commandant’s wife, and taking the outermost hem of her dress in his hand he kissed it. ‘Dear, gracious, noble lady!’ he whispered, and a tear rolled down his cheek. ‘Stand up, Count,’ she answered, ‘stand up! Comfort my daughter; then we shall all be reconciled, and all will be forgiven and forgotten.’ The Count rose to his feet, still shedding tears. He again knelt down in front of the Marquise, gently took her hand as if it were made of gold and the warmth of his own might tarnish it. But she, standing up, cried: ‘Go away! go away! go away! I was prepared to meet a vicious man, but not – not a devil!’ And so saying she moved away from him as if he were a person infected with the plague, threw open the door of the room and said: ‘Call my father!’ ‘Giulietta!’ cried her mother in astonishment. The Marquise stared at them each in turn with annihilating rage; her breast heaved, her face was aflame; no Fury’s gaze could be more terrifying. The Commandant and his son arrived. ‘Father,’ said the Marquise, as they were in the act of entering the room, ‘I cannot marry this man!’ And dipping her hand into a vessel of holy water that was fastened to the door, she scattered it lavishly over her father, mother and brother, and fled.
The Commandant, disconcerted by this strange occurrence, asked what had happened, and turned pale when he noticed that Count F— was in the room at this decisive moment. His wife took the Count by the hand and said: ‘Do not ask; this young man sincerely repents all that has happened; give him your blessing, give it, give it – and all will still turn out for the best.’ The Count stood there utterly mortified. The Commandant laid his hand on his head; his eyelids twitched, his lips were as white as chalk. ‘May the curse of heaven be averted from your head!’ he exclaimed. ‘When are you intending to get married?’ ‘Tomorrow,’ answered the Marquise’s mother on the Count’s behalf, for the latter was unable to utter a word. ‘Tomorrow or today, whi
chever you like; I am sure no time will be too soon for my lord the Count, who has shown such admirable zeal to make amends for his wrongdoing.’ ‘Then I shall have the pleasure of seeing you tomorrow at eleven o’clock at the Church of St Augustine!’ said the Commandant; whereupon he bowed to him, asked his wife and son to accompany him to his daughter’s room, and left the Count to himself.
The Marquise of O and Other Stories Page 11