Inevitable

XIV

STILL A CALM CAME OVER CORNÉLIE now that her pamphlet was written. She unpacked her cases, made her rooms a little more comfortable and, feeling calmer, she copied out the pamphlet and as she did so improved her style, and even her ideas. After she had worked in the morning, she usually lunched in a little osteria and almost always met Duco van der Staal there, and ate with him at the same table. Usually she dined at Belloni, with the Van der Staals, as a distraction for the evening. At first the marchesa had not acknowledged her, though she tolerated her for dinner at three lire an evening, and slowly she began saying hello to Cornélie, with a bitter-sweet smile, having meanwhile re-let the two rooms on more favourable terms. And Cornélie, in her calmer mood, enjoyed dressing up in the evenings, going to Belloni, seeing Mrs Van der Staal and the girls, hearing stories about the drawing-rooms of Rome, and running her eye over the long tables. And she saw that the guests were different ones, as in a kaleidoscope of transient people. Rudyard had disappeared, owing the marchesa money, no one knew where. The Rothkirchs had gone to Greece, but Urania Hope was still there and sat next to the Marchesa Belloni and with on her other side the nephew, the Prince of Forte-Braccio, Duke of San Stefano, who dined regularly at Belloni. And Cornélie saw that it was like a conspiracy: the marchesa and the prince beleaguering the vain little American from both sides. On a later occasion Cornélie saw two monsignori sitting at the marchesa’s table in animated conversation with Urania, while the marchesa and the prince nodded in agreement. All the guests were talking about it, all eyes were looking in that direction, everyone spied on the manoeuvring and enjoyed the romance.

Only Cornélie was not amused; she had wanted to warn Urania about the marchesa, the prince and the monsignori who had taken Rudyard’s place, but especially about Marriage, even to a prince-duke. And becoming excited she talked to Mrs Van der Staal and the girls, repeating the words of her pamphlet, glowing, bright red with her young hatred against society and the world and people.

Dinner had ended; still talking animatedly she accompanied the Van der Staals — Mrs Van der Staal and the girls and Duco — to the drawing-room, sat down in a corner, continued her conversation, burst out at Mrs Van der Staal, who contradicted her, until she suddenly saw a fat lady — the girls had already nicknamed her the satin frigate — approaching and saying from a distance,

“I beg your pardon, but I wanted to say something … Look, I’ve been coming regularly to Belloni every winter for ten years, from November to Easter, and every evening after dinner — but only after dinner — I sit in this corner, at this table, in this place. So please excuse me, but would you mind if I sat in my usual place …”

And the ‘satin frigate’ smiled sweetly, but when the Van der Staals and Cornélie got up in speechless amazement, she flopped on to the couch with a rustle of satin, bobbed up and down on the springs for a moment, put her crochet work on the table as if planting an English flag on a colony, and said with her most charming smile:

“Very much obliged, thank you very much.”

Duco burst out laughing, the girls giggled, but the ‘satin frigate’ smiled benevolently at them. And still not quite aware what was happening, astonished but cheerful, they sat in another corner, the girls with irrepressible giggles. The two aesthetic ladies, in evening dress and woollens, who were sitting reading at the centre table closed their two books simultaneously, got up and left indignantly, because of all the laughter and talking in the drawing-room.

“It’s shameful!” they said aloud, and angular, arrogant and shabby they flounced out.

“Strange pair!” thought Duco smiling: “ghosts of people … their lines swirl through ours like arabesques. Why do they cross our lines with their petty movements, and why do those who might be most welcome to our soul never cross our path …”

He always accompanied Cornélie back to Via dei Serpenti in the evenings. They walked slowly through the silent deserted streets. Sometimes it was late, sometimes it was immediately after dinner, and then they walked down the Corso and he usually asked her to sit for a while at Aragno’s. She agreed and they had a cup of coffee together, in the cheerful, brightly-lit café, looking out at the evening bustle in the street. They said little, distracted by the passers-by and the customers in the café, but they both enjoyed being together for a moment, and felt in tune. Duco obviously did not give a thought to their liberal behaviour, but Cornélie thought of Mrs Van der Staal, and of how she would not approve and would not let either of her daughters do it: sit alone in a café with a gentleman at night. And Cornélie thought too of The Hague and smiled at the thought of her Hague acquaintances. And she looked at Duco … He sat calmly, happy to be sitting with her, and drank his coffee, said the occasional word and pointed out a passing character or beautiful woman … One evening, after dinner, he suggested going to the ruins; there was a moon, it was enchanting … But Mrs Van der Staal was frightened of malaria, and the girls of robbers; so they went alone, Duco and Cornélie. The streets were abandoned, the Colosseum loomed up like a black fortress in the night, but they went in, and through the open arches shone the moonlit blue of the night: in the circular pit of the arena, on one side black, in shadow, while on the other the moonlight poured in, like a white flood, like a waterfall, and it was as if the night were full of ghosts as though the Colosseum and the whole of Rome’s past were full of ghosts: emperors, gladiators and martyrs; shadows slunk around like prowling wild animals, a patch of light was like a naked woman, and the galleries seemed to roar with the throng … And yet there was nothing and they were alone, Duco and Cornélie, in the depths of the lofty gigantic ruin, half in shadow and half in light, and though she was not afraid, she was awed by the vast ghostly presence of the past, and moved closer to him and squeezed his arm and felt small, very small. He squeezed her hand for a moment, in his simple, easy way, as if to reassure her. And the night frightened her, the ghostliness oppressed her, the moon seemed to be at a dizzy height in the sky and to be growing to gigantic proportions and to be revolving like a silver wheel. He said nothing, he was in his dream, he saw the past before him … And silently they left, and he led her into the Forum through the arch of Titus. On the left rose the ruins of the imperial palaces, and around them stood the black fragments, the few remaining columns pointed upwards and the white moon stream flowed down like a ghostly sea from the sky. They met no one, but she was afraid and gripped his arm tighter. When they sat down for a moment on a piece of the foundations, she shivered with the cold. He was startled, said she must be sure not to catch cold, and they went on and left the Forum. He took her home, and she went up the stairs alone, striking a match to give some light in the dark stairwell. In her room she reflected that it was dangerous to go wandering through the ruins at night. She thought of how little Duco had said, not thinking of danger, lost in his nocturnal dream, peering into the awesome ghostly depths … Why … had he not gone alone? Why had he asked her along? She fell asleep after her thoughts had churned chaotically: the prince and Urania; the fat satin lady, the Colosseum and the martyrs, and Duco and Mrs Van der Staal … His mother was so ordinary, his sisters sweet but banal, and he … so odd! So simple, so without pretension, giving himself as he was; and for that reason so odd … He would be impossible in The Hague, among her friends … She smiled when she thought what he had said and how he had said it and he could be calmly silent, for minutes at a time, with a smile playing round his mouth, as if he were thinking of something beautiful …

But she must warn Urania.

And, exhausted, she fell asleep.