Delphi collected works o.., p.357
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli, page 357
part #22 of Delphi Series Series
“Indeed no! I never turn the ordinances of Nature upside down, as I am sure I should get the worst of it if I made such an attempt. The night is for sleep — and I use it thankfully for that blessed purpose.”
“Some authors can only write at night though,” I said.
“Then you may be sure they only produce blurred pictures and indistinct characterization,” said Mavis— “Some I know there are, who invite inspiration through gin or opium, as well as through the midnight influences, but I do not believe in such methods. Morning, and a freshly rested brain are required for literary labour, — that is, if one wants to write a book that will last for more than one ‘season.’”
She accompanied us to the gate and stood under the porch, her big dog beside her, and the roses waving high over her head.
“At any rate work agrees with you,” — said Sibyl fixing upon her a long, intent, almost envious gaze— “You look perfectly happy.”
“I am perfectly happy,” — she answered, smiling— “I have nothing in all the world to wish for, except that I may die as peacefully as I have lived.”
“May that day be far distant!” I said earnestly.
She raised her soft meditative eyes to mine.
“Thank you!” she responded gently— “But I do not mind when it comes, so long as it finds me ready.”
She waved her hand to us as we left her and turned the corner of the lane, — and for some minutes we walked on slowly in absolute silence. Then at last Sibyl spoke —
“I quite understand the hatred there is in some quarters for Mavis Clare,” — she said— “I am afraid I begin to hate her myself!”
I stopped and stared at her, astonished and confounded.
“You begin to hate her —— you? — and why?”
“Are you so blind that you cannot perceive why?” she retorted, the little malign smile I knew so well playing round her lips— “Because she is happy! Because she has no scandals in her life, and because she dares to be content! One longs to make her miserable! But how to do it? She believes in a God, — she thinks all He ordains is right and good. With such a firm faith as that, she would be happy in a garret earning but a few pence a day. I see now perfectly how she has won her public, — it is by the absolute conviction she has herself of the theories of life she tries to instil. What can be done against her? Nothing! But I understand why the critics would like to ‘quash’ her, — if I were a critic, fond of whiskey-and-soda, and music-hall women, I should like to quash her myself for being so different to the rest of her sex!”
“What an incomprehensible woman you are, Sibyl!” I exclaimed with real irritation,— “You admire Miss Clare’s books, — you have always admired them, — you have asked her to become your friend, — and almost in the same breath you aver you would like to ‘quash’ her or to make her miserable! I confess I cannot understand you!”
“Of course you cannot!” she responded tranquilly, her eyes resting upon me with a curious expression, as we paused for an instant under the deep shade of a chestnut tree before entering our own grounds— “I never supposed you could, and unlike the ordinary femme incomprise, I have never blamed you for your want of comprehension. It has taken me some time to understand myself, and even now I am not quite sure that I have gauged the depths or shallownesses of my own nature correctly. But on this matter of Mavis Clare, can you not imagine that badness may hate goodness? That the confirmed drunkard may hate the sober citizen? That the outcast may hate the innocent maiden? And that it is possible that I, — reading life as I do, and finding it loathsome in many of its aspects, — distrusting men and women utterly, — and being destitute of any faith in God, — may hate, — yes hate,” — and she clenched her hand on a tuft of drooping leaves and scattered the green fragments at her feet— “a woman who finds life beautiful, and God existent, — who takes no part in our social shams and slanders, — and who in place of my self-torturing spirit of analysis, has secured an enviable fame and the honour of thousands, allied to a serene content? Why it would be something worth living for, to make such a woman wretched for once in her life! — but, as she is constituted, it is impossible to do it.”
She turned from me and walked slowly onward, — I following in a pained silence.
“If you do not mean to be her friend, you should tell her so,” — I said presently— “You heard what she said about pretended protestations of regard?”
“I heard,” — she replied morosely— “She is a clever woman, Geoffrey, and you may trust her to find me out without any explanation!”
As she said this, I raised my eyes and looked full at her, — her exceeding beauty was becoming almost an agony to my sight, and in a sudden fool’s paroxysm of despair I exclaimed —
“O Sibyl, Sibyl! Why were you made as you are!”
“Ah, why indeed!” she rejoined, with a faint mocking smile— “And why, being made as I am, was I born an Earl’s daughter? If I had been a drab of the street, I should have been in my proper place, — and novels would have been written about me, and plays, — and I might have become such a heroine as should cause all good men to weep for joy because of my generosity in encouraging their vices! But as an Earl’s daughter, respectably married to a millionaire, am a mistake of nature. Yet nature does make mistakes sometimes Geoffrey, and when she does they are generally irremediable!”
We had now reached our own grounds, and I walked, in miserable mood, beside her across the lawn towards the house.
“Sibyl,” — I said at last— “I had hoped you and Mavis Clare might be friends.”
She laughed.
“So we shall be friends I daresay, — for a little while” — she replied— “But the dove does not willingly consort with the raven, and Mavis Clare’s way of life and studious habits would be to me insufferably dull. Besides, as I said before, she, as a clever woman and a thinker, is too clear-sighted not to find me out in the course of time. But I will play humbug as long as I can. If I perform the part of ‘county lady’ or ‘patron,’ of course she won’t stand me for a moment. I shall have to assume a much more difficult rôle, — that of an honest woman!”
Again she laughed, — a cruel little laugh that chilled my blood, and paced slowly into the house through the open windows of the drawing-room. And I, left alone in the garden among the nodding roses and waving trees, felt that the beautiful domain of Willowsmere had suddenly grown hideous and bereft of all its former charm, and was nothing but a haunted house of desolation, — haunted by an all-dominant and ever victorious Spirit of Evil.
XXVIII
One of the strangest things in all the strange course of our human life is the suddenness of certain unlooked-for events, which, in a day or even an hour, may work utter devastation where there has been more or less peace, and hopeless ruin where there has been comparative safety. Like the shock of an earthquake, the clamorous incidents thunder in on the regular routine of ordinary life, crumbling down our hopes, breaking our hearts, and scattering our pleasures into the dust and ashes of despair. And this kind of destructive trouble generally happens in the midst of apparent prosperity, without the least warning, and with all the abrupt fierceness of a desert-storm. It is constantly made manifest to us in the unexpected and almost instantaneous downfall of certain members of society who have held their heads proudly above their compeers and have presumed to pose as examples of light and leading to the whole community; we see it in the capricious fortunes of kings and statesmen, who are in favour one day and disgraced the next, and vast changes are wrought with such inexplicable quickness that it is scarcely wonderful to hear of certain religious sects who, when everything is prospering more than usually well with them, make haste to put on garments of sackcloth, and cast ashes on their heads, praying aloud “Prepare us, O Lord, for the evil days which are at hand!” The moderation of the Stoics, who considered it impious either to rejoice or grieve, and strove to maintain an equable middle course between the opposing elements of sorrow and joy, without allowing themselves to be led away by over-much delight or over-much melancholy, was surely a wise habit of temperament. I, who lived miserably as far as my inner and better consciousness was concerned, was yet outwardly satisfied with the material things of life and the luxuries surrounding me, — and I began to take comfort in these things, and with them endeavoured to quell and ignore my more subtle griefs, succeeding so far in that I became more and more of a thorough materialist every day, loving bodily ease, appetizing food, costly wine, and personal indulgence to a degree that robbed me gradually of even the desire for mental effort. I taught myself moreover, almost insensibly, to accept and tolerate what I knew of the wanton side of my wife’s character, — true, I respected her less than the Turk respects the creature of his harem, — but like the Turk, I took a certain savage satisfaction in being the possessor of her beauty, and with this feeling, and the brute passion it engendered, I was fain to be content. So that for a short time at least, the drowsy satisfaction of a well-fed, well-mated animal was mine, — I imagined that nothing short of a stupendous financial catastrophe to the country itself could exhaust my stock of cash, — and that therefore there was no necessity for me to exert myself in any particular branch of usefulness, but simply to ‘eat drink and be merry’ as Solomon advised. Intellectual activity was paralysed in me, — to take up my pen and write, and make another and higher bid for fame, was an idea that now never entered my mind; I spent my days in ordering about my servants, and practising the petty pleasures of tyranny on gardeners and grooms, and in generally giving myself airs of importance, mingled with an assumption of toleration and benevolence, for the benefit of all those in my employ. I knew the proper thing to do, well enough! — I had not studied the ways of the over-wealthy for nothing, — I was aware that the rich man never feels so thoroughly virtuous as when he has inquired after the health of his coachman’s wife, and has sent her a couple of pounds for the outfit of her new-born baby. The much prated-of ‘kindness of heart’ and ‘generosity’ possessed by millionaires, generally amounts to this kind of thing, — and when, if idly strolling about my parklands, I happened to meet the small child of my lodge-keeper, and then and there bestowed sixpence upon it, I almost felt as if I deserved a throne in Heaven at the right hand of the Almighty, so great was my appreciation of my own good-nature. Sibyl, however, never affected this sort of county-magnate beneficence. She did nothing at all among our poor neighbours; — the clergyman of the district unfortunately happened to let slip one day a few words to the effect that “there was no great want of anything among his parishioners, owing to the continual kindness and attention of Miss Clare,” — and Sibyl never from that moment proffered any assistance. Now and then she took her graceful person into Lily Cottage and sat with its happy and studious occupant for an hour, — and occasionally the fair author herself came and dined with us, or had ‘afternoon tea’ under the branching elms on the lawn, — but even I, intense egotist as I was, could see that Mavis was scarcely herself on these occasions. She was always charming and bright of course, — indeed the only times in which I was able to partially forget myself and the absurdly increasing importance of my personality in my own esteem, were when she, with her sweet voice and animated manner, brought her wide knowledge of books, men, and things, to bear on the conversation, thus raising it to a higher level than was ever reached by my wife or me. Yet I now and then noticed a certain vague constraint about her, — and her frank eyes had frequently a pained and questioning look of trouble when they rested for any length of time on the enchanting beauty of Sibyl’s face and form. I, however, paid little heed to these trifling matters, my whole care being to lose myself more and more utterly in the enjoyment of purely physical ease and comfort, without troubling myself as to what such self-absorption might lead in the future. To be completely without a conscience, without a heart and without sentiment was, I perceived, the best way to keep one’s appetite, and preserve one’s health; — to go about worrying over the troubles of other people, or put one’s self out to do any good in the world, would involve such an expenditure of time and trouble as must inevitably spoil one’s digestion, — and I saw that no millionaire or even moderately rich man cares to run the risk of injuring his digestion for the sake of performing a kindness to a poorer fellow-creature. Profiting by the examples presented to me everywhere in society, I took care of my digestion, and was particular about the way in which my meals were cooked and served, — particular too, as to the fashion in which my wife dressed for those meals, — for it suited my supreme humour to see her beauty bedecked as suitably and richly as possible, that I might have the satisfaction of considering her ‘points’ with the same epicurean fastidiousness as I considered a dish of truffles or specially prepared game. I never thought of the stern and absolute law— “Unto whom much is given, even from him should much be required;” — I was scarcely aware of it in fact, — the New Testament was of all books in the world the most unfamiliar to me. And while I wilfully deafened myself to the voice of conscience, — that voice which ever and anon urged me in vain to a nobler existence, — the clouds were gathering, ready to burst above me with that terrific suddenness such as always seems to us who refuse to study the causes of our calamities, as astonishing and startling as death itself. For we are always more or less startled at death notwithstanding that it is the commonest occurrence known.
Towards the middle of September my ‘royal and distinguished’ house-party arrived and stayed at Willowsmere Court for a week. Of course it is understood that whenever the Prince of Wales honours any private residence with a visit, he selects, if not all, at any rate the greater part of those persons who are to be invited to meet him. He did so in the present instance, and I was placed in the odd position of having to entertain certain people whom I had never met before, and who, with the questionable taste frequently exhibited among the ‘upper ten,’ looked upon me merely as “the man with the millions,” the caterer for their provisions, and no more, — directing their chief attention to Sibyl, who was by virtue of her birth and associations one of their ‘set,’ and pushing me, their host, more or less into the background. However the glory of entertaining Royalty more than sufficed for my poor pride at that time, and with less self-respect than an honest cur, I was content to be snubbed and harassed and worried a hundred times a day by one or the other of the ‘great’ personages who wandered at will all over my house and grounds, and accepted my lavish hospitality. Many people imagine that it must be an ‘honour’ to entertain a select party of aristocrats, but I, on the contrary, consider that it is not only a degradation to one’s manlier and more independent instincts, but also a bore. These highly-bred, highly-connected individuals, are for the most part unintelligent, and devoid of resources in their own minds, — they are not gifted as conversationalists or wits, — one gains no intellectual advantage from their society, — they are simply dull folk, with an exaggerated sense of their own importance, who expect wherever they go, to be amused without trouble to themselves. Out of all the visitors at Willowsmere the only one whom it was really a pleasure to serve was the Prince of Wales himself, — and amid the many personal irritations I had to suffer from others, I found it a positive relief to render him any attention, however slight, because his manner was always marked by that tact and courtesy which are the best attributes of a true gentleman whether he be prince or peasant. In his own affable way, he went one afternoon to see Mavis Clare, and came back in high good-humour, talking for some time of nothing but the author of ‘Differences,’ and of the success she had achieved in literature. I had asked Mavis to join our party before the Prince came, as I felt pretty sure he would not have erased her name from the list of guests submitted to him, — but she would not accept, and begged me very earnestly not to press the point.
“I like the Prince,” — she had said— “Most people like him who know him, — but I do not always like those who surround him, — pardon me for my frankness! The Prince of Wales is a social magnet, — he draws a number of persons after him who by dint of wealth, if not intelligence, can contrive to ‘push’ into his set. Now I am not an advocate of ‘push’ — moreover I do not care to be seen with ‘everybody’; — this is my sinful pride you will say, or as our American cousins would put it, my ‘cussedness.’ But I assure you, Mr Tempest, the best possession I have, and one which I value a great deal more even than my literary success, is my absolute independence, and I would not have it thought, even erroneously, that I am anxious to mix with the crowd of sycophants and time-servers who are only too ready to take advantage of the Prince’s good-nature.”
And, acting upon her determination, she had remained more than ever secluded in her cottage-nest of foliage and flowers during the progress of the week’s festivities, — the result being, as I have stated, that the Prince ‘dropped in’ upon her quite casually one day, accompanied by his equerry, and probably for all I knew, had the pleasure of seeing the dove ‘reviewers’ fed, and squabbling over their meal.
Much as we had desired and expected the presence of Rimânez at our gathering, he did not appear. He telegraphed his regrets from Paris, and followed the telegram by a characteristic letter, which ran thus: —
My dear Tempest.
You are very kind to wish to include me, your old friend, in the party you have invited to meet His Royal Highness, and I only hope you will not think me churlish for refusing to come. I am sick to death of Royalties, — I have known so many of them in the course of my existence that I begin to find their society monotonous. Their positions are all so exactly alike too, — and moreover have always been alike from the days of Solomon in all his glory, down to the present blessed era of Victoria, Queen and Empress. One thirsts for a change; at least I do. The only monarch that ever fascinated my imagination particularly was Richard Cœur de Lion; there was something original and striking about that man, and I presume he would have been well worth talking to. And Charlemagne was doubtless, as the slangy young man of the day would observe, ‘not half bad.’ But for the rest, — un fico! Much talk is there made about Her Majesty Elizabeth, who was a shrew and a vixen and blood-thirsty withal, — the chief glory of her reign was Shakespeare, and he made kings and queens the dancing puppets of his thought. In this, though in nothing else, I resemble him. You will have enough to do in the entertainment of your distinguished guests, for I suppose there is no amusement they have not tried, and found more or less unsatisfactory, and I am sorry I can suggest nothing particularly new for you to do. Her Grace the Duchess of Rapidryder is very fond of being tossed in a strong table-cloth between four able-bodied gentlemen of good birth and discretion, before going to bed o’ nights, — she cannot very well appear on a music-hall stage you know, owing to her exalted rank, — and this is a child-like, pretty and harmless method of managing to show her legs, which she rightly considers, are too shapely to be hidden. Lady Bouncer, whose name I see in your list, always likes to cheat at cards, — I would aid and abet her in her aim if I were you, as if she can only clear her dressmaker’s bill by her winnings at Willowsmere, she will bear it in mind, and be a useful social friend to you. The Honourable Miss Fitz-Gander who has a great reputation for virtue, is anxious, for pressing and particular reasons, to marry Lord Noodles, — if you can move on matters between them into a definite engagement of marriage before her lady-mother returns from her duty-visits in Scotland, you will be doing her a good turn, and saving society a scandal. To amuse the men I suggest plenty of shooting, gambling, and unlimited smoking. To entertain the Prince, do little, — for he is clever enough to entertain himself privately with the folly and humbug of those he sees around him, without actually sharing in the petty comedy. He is a keen observer, — and must derive infinite gratification from his constant study of men and manners, which is sufficiently deep and searching to fit him for the occupation of even the throne of England. I say ‘even,’ for at present, till Time’s great hour-glass turns, it is the grandest throne in the world. The Prince reads, understands, and secretly laughs to scorn the table-cloth vagaries of the Duchess of Rapidryder, the humours of my Lady Bouncer and the nervous pruderies of the Honourable Miss Fitz-Gander. And there is nothing he will appreciate so much in his reception as a lack of toadyism, a sincere demeanour, an unostentatious hospitality, a simplicity of speech, and a total absence of affectation. Remember this, and take my advice for what it is worth. Of all the Royalties at present flourishing on this paltry planet, I have the greatest respect for the Prince of Wales, and it is by reason of this very respect that I do not intend, on this occasion at any rate, to thrust myself upon his notice. I shall arrive at Willowsmere when your ‘royal’ festivities are over. My homage to your fair spouse, the Lady Sibyl, and believe me,
