Three Weeks Read online

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Now this Thursday was the night of the full moon. A cloudless morning skypromised a glorious evening.

  The lovers woke early, and had their breakfast on the loggia overlookingthe oleander garden. The lady was in an enchanting mood of sunshine, andno one could have guessed of the sorrow of her dawn vigil thoughts. She waswayward and playful--one moment petting Paul with exquisite sweetness, thenext teasing his curls and biting the lobes of his ears. She never left himfor one second--it seemed she must teach him still more subtle caresses,and call forth even new shades of emotion and bliss. All fear was banished,only a brilliant glory remained. She laughed and half-closed her eyes withprovoking smiles. She undulated about, creeping as a serpent over herlover, and kissing his eyelids and hair. They were so infinitely happy itwas growing to afternoon before they thought of leaving their loggia, andthen they started in the open gondola, and glided away through quaint,narrow canals until they came to the lagoon.

  "We shall not stay in the gondola long, my Paul," she said. "I cannot bearto be out of your arms, and our palace is fair. And oh! my beloved,to-night I shall feast you as never before. The night of our full moon!Paul, I have ordered a bower of roses and music and song. I want you toremember it the whole of your life."

  "As though I could forget a moment of our time, my sweet," said Paul. "Itneeds no feasts or roses--only whatever delights you to do, delights metoo."

  "Paul," she cooed after a while, during which her hand had lain in his andthere had been a soft silence, "is not this a life of joy, so smooth andgliding, this way of Venice? It seems far from ruffles and storms. I shalllove it always, shall not you? and you must come back in other years andstudy its buildings and its history, Paul--with your new, fine eyes."

  "We shall come together, my darling," he answered. "I should never wantanything alone."

  "Sweetheart!" she cooed again in his ears; and then presently, "Paul," shesaid, "some day you must read 'Salammbo,' that masterpiece of Flaubert's.There is a spirit of love in that which now you would understand--the lovewhich looked out of Matho's eyes when his body was beaten to jelly. It isthe love I have for you, my own--a love 'beyond all words or sense'--as oneof your English poets says. Do you know, with the strange irony of things,when a woman's love for a man rises to the highest point there is in italways an element of _the wife_? However wayward and tigerish andundomestic she may be, she then desires to be the acknowledged possessionand belonging of the man, even to her own dishonour. She desires toreproduce his likeness, she wants to compass his material good. She willthink of his food, and his raiment, and his well-being, and never of herown--only, if she is wise she will hide all these things in her heart, forthe average man cannot stand this great light of her sweetness, and whenher love becomes selfless, his love will wane."

  "The average man's--yes, perhaps so," agreed Paul. "But then, what does theaverage person of either sex know of love at all?"

  "They think they know," she said. "Really think it, but love like ourshappens perhaps once in a century, and generally makes history of somesort--bad or good."

  "Let it!" said Paul. "I am like Antony in that poem you read me lastnight. I must have you for my own, 'Though death, dishonour, anything youwill, stand in the way.' He knew what he was talking about, Antony! so didthe man who wrote the poem!"

  "He was a great sculptor as well as a poet," the lady said. "And yes, heknew all about those wonderful lovers better far than your Shakespeare did,who leaves me quite cold when I read his view of them. Cleopatra was to meso subtle, so splendid a queen."

  "Of course she was just you, my heart," said Paul. "You are her soul livingover again, and that poem you must give me to keep some day, because itsays just what I shall want to say if ever I must be away from you for atime. See, have I remembered it right?

  "'Tell her, till I see Those eyes, I do not live--that Rome to me Ishateful,--tell her--oh!--I know not what--That every thought and feeling,space and spot, Is like an ugly dream where she is not; All personsplagues; all living wearisome; All talking empty...'.

  "Yes, that is what I should say--I say it to myself now even in the shortwhile I am absent from you dressing!"

  The lady's eyes brimmed with tenderness. "Paul!--you do love me, my own!"she said.

  "Oh, why can't we go on and travel together, darling?" Paul continued. "Iwant you to show me the world--at least the best of Europe. In everycountry you would make me feel the spirit of the place. Let us go toGreece, and see the temples and worship those old gods. They knew aboutlove, did they not?"

  The lady leant back and smiled, as if she liked to hear him talk.

  "I often ask myself did they really know," she said. "They knew the wholematerial part of it at any rate. They were perhaps too practical to haveindulged in the mental emotions we weave into it now--but they were wise,they did not educate the wives and daughters, they realised that to performwell domestic duties a woman's mind should not be over-trained in learning.Learning and charm and grace of mind were for the others, the _hetaerae_ ofwhom they asked no tiresome ties. And in all ages it is unfortunately notthe simple good women who have ruled the hearts of men. Think of Periclesand Aspasia--Antony and Cleopatra--Justinian and Theodora--Belisarius andAntonina--and later, all the mistresses of the French kings--even, too,your English Nelson and Lady Hamilton! Not one of these was a man's idealof what a wife and mother ought to be. So no doubt the Greeks were right inthat principle, as they were right in all basic principles of art andbalance. And now we mix the whole thing up, my Paul--domesticity andlearning--nerves and art, and feverish cravings for the impossible new--sowe get a conglomeration of false proportions, and a ceaseless unrest."

  "Yes," said Paul, and thought of his mother. She was a perfectly domesticand beautiful woman, but somehow he felt sure she had never made hisfather's heart beat. Then his mind went back to the argument in what thelady had said--he wanted to hear more.

  "If this is so, that would prove that all the very clever women of historywere immoral--do you mean that?" he asked.

  The lady laughed.

  "Immoral! It is so quaint a word, my Paul! Each one sees it how theywill. For me it is immoral to be false, to be mean, to steal, to cheat, tostoop to low actions and small ends. Yet one can be and do all thosethings, and if one remains as well the faithful beast of burden to one man,one is counted in the world a moral woman! But that shining light ofhypocrisy and virtue--to judge by her sentiments in her writings--yourGeorge Eliot, must be classed as immoral because, having chosen her matewithout the law's blessing, she yet wrote the highest sentiments of Britishrespectability! To me she was being immoral _only_ because she wasdeliberately doing what--, again I say, judging by her writings--she feltmust be a grievous wrong. That is immoral--deliberately to still one'sconscience and indulge in a pleasure against it. But to live a life withone's love, if it engenders the most lofty aspirations, to me is highlymoral and good. I feel myself ennobled, exalted, because you are my lover,and our child, when it comes to us, will have a noble mind."

  The thought of this, as ever, made Paul thrill; he forgot all otherarguments, and a quiver ran through him of intense emotion; his eyes swamand he clasped more tightly her hand. The lady, too, leant back and closedher eyes.

  "Oh! the beautiful dream!" she said, "the beautiful, beautiful--certainly!Sweetheart, let us have done with all this philosophising and go back toour palace, where we are happy in the temple of the greatest of allGods--the God of Love!"

  Then she gave the order for home.

  But on the way they stopped at Jesurum's, and she supervised Paul'spurchases for his mother, and allowed him to buy herself some small gifts.And between them they spent a good deal of money, and laughed over it likehappy children. So when they got back to the palazzo there was joy intheir hearts like the sunlight of the late afternoon.

  She would not let Paul go on to the loggia overlooking the Grand Canal. Hehad noticed as they passed that some high screens of lilac-bushes had beenpla
ced in front of the wide arched openings. No fear of prying eyes fromopposite houses now! And yet they were not too high to prevent those in theloggia from seeing the moon and the sky. Their feast was preparingevidently, and he knew it would be a night of the gods.

  But from then until it was time to dress for dinner his lady decreed thatthey should rest in their rooms.

  "Thou must sleep, my Paul," she said, "so that thy spirit may be fresh fornew joys."

  And it was only after hard pleading she would allow him to have it thatthey rested on the other loggia couches, so that his closing eyes mightknow her near.