Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  ‘Therefore,’ argued Delicia, with a fine disdain, ‘unless he ever takes it into his head to beat me, or fire a pistol at me, I have no cause of complaint against him, and must not complain. Then must I play the hypocrite and pretend to worship him still? No! That I cannot do; that I will not do. Perhaps he will agree to a separation—’ she paused and her face darkened; ‘if I make it financially worth his while!’

  It was the evening of her arrival at Broadstairs, and she was walking along by the shore, Spartan pacing majestically beside her. The after-glow of the sunken sun rested on the calm sea, and little waves, dimpling one over the other in long, fine lines, broke on the pebbly beach with a soft sound as of children’s laughter. Everything was very peaceful and beautiful, and by degrees her troubled mind became soothed and gently attuned to the symphonic vibrations of the eternal pulse of Nature for ever beating in answer to the voice of God. Some strong emotion in her own soul suddenly stirred and spoke as it were aloud in accents half-reproachful, half-consoling.

  ‘What is it you have lost?’ demanded the inward voice. ‘Love? But what do you understand by love? The transitory gleam of light that falls upon a fleck of foam and passes? Or the eternal glory of a deepening day whose summer splendours shall not cease? All that is of the earth must perish; choose therefore that which is of Heaven, and for which you were destined when God kindled first within your woman’s soul the fires of aspiration and endeavour! Nature is unrolled before you like an open book; humanity, with all its sufferings, needs and hopes, is here for you to help and comfort; self is a nothing in what you have to do; your earthly good, your earthly love, your earthly hopes are as the idle wind in the countings of eternity! Sail by the compass of the Spirit of God within you; and haply out of darkness, light shall come!’

  With dreamy, half-tearful eyes she looked out upon the darkening sea; the sense or a great solitude, a vast loneliness, encompassed her; and almost in unconscious appeal she laid her small, delicate, bare hand on Spartan’s shaggy head, who received the caress with a worshipping reverence in his brown eyes.

  ‘It is so hard, Spartan!’ she murmured, ‘So hard for a woman to be quite alone in the world! To work on, solitary, wearing a bitter laurel-crown that makes one’s brow ache; to be deprived, for no fault of one’s own, of all the kisses and endearments so freely bestowed on foolish, selfish, ungrateful, and frequently unchaste women — to be set apart in the cold Courts of Fame, — a white statue, with frozen lips and eyes staring down the illimitable ways of Death — Oh God! is not an hour of love worth all this chill renown!’

  Tears sprang to her eyes and blotted out the view of the darkening heavens and quiet sea. She turned blindly to move onward, when Spartan suddenly sprang forward with a deep bark of pleasure, and a man’s voice, low, and trembling with emotion, said hastily, —

  ‘Lady Carlyon, may I speak to you? I came after you from town. I thought I should find you here!’

  And looking up amazed, she found herself face to face with Paul Valdis.

  CHAPTER VIII

  For a moment she could not speak; astonishment and a lurking sense of indignation held her mute. He meanwhile caressing and endeavouring to soothe Spartan, who frolicked about him in an uncouth dance of joy, went on quickly, — .

  ‘I have followed you. I wanted to tell you all. Yesterday afternoon I saw that paragraph in Honesty; and last night I thrashed the writer of it within an inch of his life!’

  She raised her eyes with a faint, deprecating smile.

  ‘Yes,’ he continued, with an involuntary clenching of his hands, ‘I wish all the dirty scandalmongers of the Press were as sore and thoroughly well bruised as he is to-day! This morning I went to the editor of the paper on which he chiefly works, and told him the true character of the man he was employing, and how, under the name of “Brown” he was writing himself up in the press as the “poet” Aubrey Grovelyn, and a complete exposure of the rascal will be published to-morrow. This done, I drove straight to your house. The servants told me you had left early for Broadstairs, and that Lord Carlyon was out. Acting on an impulse, I came after you. We are preparing for a new piece at my theatre, as I daresay you have heard, and I am just now at comparative leisure. I knew nothing of your address, but this is a little place, and I imagined I should find you somewhere by the sea.’

  He stopped abruptly, almost breathlessly, looking at her with a world of speechless anxiety in his eyes. She met his gaze with a most untroubled calm.

  ‘I am afraid I do not quite understand you, Mr Valdis,’ she said gently. ‘What is it you are speaking of? The paragraph in Honesty? I have not given it a thought, I assure you, except to send it to my lawyers. They will know exactly what to do on my behalf. You have troubled yourself about it most needlessly. It is very good of you; but I thought you knew I never paid the slightest attention to what the journals say of me. They may call me a black woman, or a Cherokee squaw for all I care, and they may endow me with a dozen husbands and fifty grandchildren — I should never take the trouble to contradict them!’ She laughed a little, then regarded him intently. ‘You look quite ill. What have you been doing with yourself? Don’t imagine I am angry with you for coming — I am delighted. I was just beginning to feel very lonely and to wish I had a friend.’

  Her lip trembled suspiciously, but she turned her head aside that he might not see the emotion in her face.

  ‘I have always been your friend,’ said Valdis, huskily, ‘but — you were offended with me.’

  She sighed.

  ‘Oh, yes, I was! I am not now. Circumstances alter cases, you know. I did not want to look bad fortune in the face till I was forced to do so, and I resented your attempt to tear the bandage from my eyes. But it’s all right now — I am no longer blind. I wish I were!’

  ‘It is my turn to say I don’t understand,’ said Valdis, wonderingly. ‘I thought you would naturally be as annoyed at that insolent paragraph as I was — and I took instant means to punish—’

  ‘Oh, the paragraph again!’ murmured Delicia, wearily. ‘What does it matter? If the newspapers said you were me, or I were you, or that we had been married and separated, or that we danced a hornpipe together on the sly whenever we could get a chance, why should we care? Who that has any common sense cares for the half-crown or five-shilling paragraphist? And who, having brains at all, pays any attention to society journalism?’

  ‘Brains or no brains,’ said Valdis, hotly, ‘it does one good to thrash a liar now and then, whether he be in journalism or out of it, and I have given Mr Brown, alias Aubrey Grovelyn, good cause to remember me this time. I only hope he’ll have sufficient spirit left to summon me for assault, that I may defend myself and state openly in a court of justice what a precious rascal he is!’

  ‘Aubrey Grovelyn!’ echoed Delicia, with a half smile, ‘why, that’s the man the press has been “booming” lately, isn’t it? Calling him a “second Shakespeare and Milton combined?” Oh, dear! And you have actually beaten this marvel of the ages!’

  She began to laugh — the natural vivacity of her nature asserted itself for a moment, and her face lightened with all that brilliant animation which gave it its chiefest charm. Valdis looked at her, and, despite the heat of his own conflicting emotions, smiled.

  ‘Yes, I have beaten him like a dog,’ he responded, ‘though why I should do the noble race to which Spartan belongs, a wrong by mentioning it in connection with a creature like Grovelyn, I do not know. Spartan, old boy, I ask your pardon! The booming you speak of, Lady Carlyon, has in every instance been done by Grovelyn himself. It is he and he alone who has styled himself “Shakespeare and Milton redivivus,” and his self-log-rolling scheme was so cunningly devised that it was rather difficult to find him out. But I have been on the watch some time, and have hunted him down at last. He has been on the staff of the Daily Chanticleer for two years as Alfred Brown, and in that character has managed to work up “a new poet” in Aubrey Grovelyn, the said Aubrey Grovelyn being himself. I underst
and, however, that it is not at all an original idea on his part; the same thing has been and is being done by several other fellows like him. But you are not listening, Lady Carlyon. I suppose I am boring you—’

  ‘Not at all,’ and Delicia turned her eyes upon him kindly; ‘and you mistake, — I was listening very attentively. I was thinking what miserable tricks and mean devices some people will stoop to in order to secure notoriety. I do not speak of fame — fame is a different thing, much harder to win, much heavier to bear.’

  Her voice sank into a melancholy cadence, and Valdis studied her delicate profile in the darkening light with passionate tenderness in his eyes. But he did not speak, and after a little pause she went on dreamily, more to herself than to him, —

  ‘Notoriety is a warm, noisy thing — personified, it is like a fat, comfortable woman who comes into your rooms perspiring, laughing, talking with all the gossip of the town at her tongue’s end, who folds you in her arms whether you like it or not, and tells you you are a “dear,” and wants to know where you get your gowns made and what you had for dinner — the very essence of broad and vulgar good humour! Fame is like a great white angel, who points you up to a cold, sparkling, solitary mountain-top away from the world, and bids you stay there alone, with the chill stars shining down on you. And people look up at you and pass; you are too far off for the clasp of friendship; you are too isolated for the caress of love; and your enemies, unable to touch you, stare insolently, smile and cry aloud, “So you have climbed to the summit at last! Well, much good may it do you! Stay there, live there, and die there, as you must, alone for ever!” And I think it is hard to be alone, don’t you?’

  Her words were tremulous, and Valdis saw tears in her eyes. They had wandered on unconsciously, and were close to the pier, which was deserted save for the weather-beaten old mariner, who sat in his little box at the entrance waiting for the pennies that were rather slow in coming in at that particular time of year. Valdis passed himself and his companion through the turn-stile, and they walked side by side on towards the solemn shadows of the murmuring sea.

  ‘Now that we have a few minutes together, you can surely tell me what it is that has gone wrong with you, Lady Carlyon,’ he said, his rich voice softening to a great tenderness. ‘I am your friend, as you know. I imagined that your displeasure at that paragraph in Honesty would have been very great, and justly so; but I begin to fear it is something more serious that makes you seem so unlike yourself—’

  She interrupted him by a light touch on his arm.

  ‘Is that true? Do you find me changed?’

  And she raised her eyes trustingly to his. He met that confiding look for a moment, then turned away lest the deep love of his soul should be betrayed.

  ‘You are not changed in appearance — no!’ he said slowly, ‘You are always lovely. But there is a great sadness in your face. I cannot help seeing that.’

  She laughed a little, then sighed.

  ‘I should have made a very bad actress,’ she said; ‘I cannot put a complete disguise on my thoughts. You are right; I am sad; as sad as any woman can be in the world. I have lost my husband’s love.’

  He started.

  ‘You have heard all, then; — you know?’

  She stopped in her walk and faced him steadily.

  ‘What! is it common gossip?’ she asked. ‘Does all the town chatter of what I, till a few days ago, was ignorant of? If so, then, alas! poor Delicia!’

  Her eyes flashed suddenly.

  ‘Tell me, is it possible that Lord Carlyon has so far forgotten himself as to make his attentions to La Marina open and manifest, thus allowing his wife to become an object for the pity and mockery of society?’

  ‘Lady Carlyon,’ replied Valdis, ‘your friends sought to warn you long ago, but you would not listen. Your own nature, pure and lofty as it is, rejected what you deemed mere scandalous rumour. You resented with the noble confidence of a true wife the least word of suspicion against Lord Carlyon. When I ventured to hint that your confidence was misplaced, you dismissed me from your presence. I do not say you were wrong; you were right. The worthy wife of a worthy husband is bound to act as you did. But suppose the husband is not worthy, and the wife deceives herself as to his merits, it is for her own sake, for her honour and her self-respect that she should be persuaded to realise the fact and take such steps as may prevent her from occupying a false position. And now you know—’

  ‘Now I know,’ interrupted Delicia, with a vibrating passion in her voice, ‘what is the use of it? What am I to do? What can I do? A woman is powerless in everything which relates to her husband’s infidelity merely. I can show no bruises, no evidence of ill-treatment; then what is my complaint about? “Go home, silly woman,” says the law, “and understand that if your husband chooses to have a new love every day, you cannot get separated from him, provided he is civil to you; man has licence which woman has not.” And so on, and so on, with their eternal jargon! Paul Valdis, you can act emotions and look tragedies; but have you ever realised the depth or the terror of the dumb, dreadful dramas of a woman’s broken heart? No! I don’t think that even you, with all your fine, imaginative sympathy, can reach thus far. Do you know why I came away from home to-day and made straight for the sea, — the great, calm sea which I knew would have the gentleness to drown me if the pain became too bitter to bear? Nay, do not hold me!’ For Valdis, struck by the complete breakdown of her reserve, and the brilliant wildness of her eyes, had unconsciously caught her arm. ‘There is no danger, I assure you. I have not been given my faith in God quite vainly; and there is so much of God’s thought in the beauty of ocean, that even to contemplate it has made me quieter and stronger; I shall not burden it with my drifting body yet! But do you know, can you guess why I came here and avoided meeting my husband to-day?’

  Valdis shook his head, profoundly moved himself by her strong emotion.

  ‘Lest I should kill him!’ she said in a thrilling whisper. ‘I was afraid of myself! I thought that if I had to see him enter my room with that confident smile of his, that easy manner, that grace of a supreme conceit swaying his every movement, while I all the time knew the fraud he was practising on me, the hypocrisy of his embrace, the lie of his kiss on my lips, I might, in the rush of remembering how I had loved him, murder him! It was possible; I knew it; I realised it; I confessed it before God as a sin; but despite of prayer and confession, the devil’s thought remained! — I might do it in a moment of fury, — in a moment when wronged love clamoured for vengeance and would listen to no appeal, — and so I fled from temptation; but now I think the sea and air have absorbed all my evil desires, for they have gone! — and I shall try to be content now, content with solitude, till I die!’

  Valdis was still silent. She leant over the pier, looking dreamily down into the darkly-heaving sea.

  ‘Life at best is such a little thing!’ she said, ‘One wonders sometimes what it is all for! You see crowds of men and women rushing hither and thither, building this thing, destroying that, scheming, contriving, studying, fretting, working, courting, marrying, bringing up their children, and it is quite appalling to think that the same old road has been travelled over and over again since the very beginning! All through the Ptolemies and the Cæsars, — imagine! Exactly the same old monotonous course of human living and dying! What a waste it seems! Optimists say we have progressed; but then are we sure of that? And then one wants to know where the progression leads to; if we are going forward, what is the “forward?” Myself, I think the great charm of life is love; without love life is really almost valueless, and surely not worth the trouble of preserving. Don’t you agree with me?’

  She looked up, and, looking, saw his eyes filled with such an intensity of misery as touched and startled her. He made a slight gesture of appeal.

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t speak to me like this!’ he whispered; ‘You torture me!’

  She still gazed at him, half wondering, half fearing. He was silent for a few
minutes, then resumed slowly in quiet tones.

  ‘You are so candid in your own nature that you can neither wear a disguise yourself nor see when it is worn by others,’ he said; ‘and just as you have never suspected your husband of infidelity, you have never suspected me — of love. I suppose you, with the majority, have looked upon me as merely the popular mime of the moment, feigning passions I cannot feel, and dividing what purely human emotions my life allows me still to enjoy, among the light wantons of the stage, who rejoice in a multitude of lovers. It is possible you would never believe me capable of a deep and lasting love for any woman?’