Gilio hated the _villeggiatura_ at San Stefano, Every morning he
had to be up and dressed by six o'clock, with Prince Ercole, Urania
and the marchesa, to hear mass said by the chaplain in the private
chapel of the castle. After that, he did not know what to do with
his time. He had gone bicycling once or twice with Bob Hope, but the
young Far-Westerner had too much energy for him, like Bob's sister,
Urania. He flirted and argued a little with Cornélie, but secretly
he was still offended and angry with himself and her. He remembered
her first arrival that evening at the Palazzo Ruspoli, when she came
and disturbed his _rendez-vous_ with Urania. And in the _camera degli
sposi_ she had for the second time been too much for him! He seethed
with fury when he thought of it and he hated her and swore by all his
gods to be revenged. He cursed his own lack of resolution. He had been
too weak to use violence or force and there ought never to have been
any need to resort to force: he was accustomed to a quick surrender.
And he had to be told by her, that Dutchwoman, that his temperament did
not respond to hers! What was there about that woman? What did she mean
by it? He was so unaccustomed to thinking, he was such a thoughtless,
easy-going, Italian child of nature, so accustomed to let his life run
on according to his every whim and impulse, that he hardly understood
her--though he suspected the meaning of her words--hardly understood
that reserve of hers. Why should she behave so to him, this foreigner
with her demoniacal new ideas, who cared nothing about the world,
who would have nothing to do with marriage, who lived with a painter
as his mistress! She had no religion and no morals? _he_ knew about
religion and morals--she belonged to the devil; demoniacal was what she
was: didn't she know all about Aunt Lucia Belloni's manoeuvres? And
hadn't Aunt Lucia warned him lately that she was a dangerous woman, an
uncanny woman, a woman of the devil? She was a witch! Why should she
refuse? Hadn't he plainly seen her figure last night going through the
courtyard in the moonlight, beside Van der Staal's figure, and hadn't
he seen them opening the door that led to the terrace by the pergola?
And hadn't he waited an hour, two hours, without sleeping, until he saw
them come back and lock the door after them? And why did she love only
him, that painter? Oh, he hated him, with all the blazing hatred of his
jealousy; he hated her, for her exclusiveness, for her disdain, for her
constant jesting and flirting, as though he were a buffoon, a clown!
What was it that he asked? A favour such as she granted her lover! He
was not asking for anything serious, any oath or life-long tie; he
asked for so little: just one hour of love. It was of no importance: he
had never looked upon that as of much importance. And she, she refused
it to him! No, he did not understand her, but what he did understand
was that she disdained him; and he, he hated the pair of them. And
yet he was enamoured of her with all the violence of his thwarted
passion. In the boredom of that _villeggiatura_, to which his wife
condemned him in her new love for their ruined eyrie, his hatred and
the thought of his revenge formed an occupation for his empty brains.
Outwardly, he was the same as usual and flirted with Cornélie, flirted
even more than usual, to annoy Van der Staal. And, when his cousin,
the Contessa di Rosavilla--his "white" cousin, the lady-in-waiting to
the queen--came to spend a few days with them, he flirted with her too
and tried to provoke Cornélie's jealousy. He failed in this, however,
and consoled himself with the countess, who made up to him for his
disappointment. She was no longer a young woman, but represented the
cold, sculptured Juno type, with a rather foolish expression; she had
Juno eyes, protruding from their sockets; she was a leader of fashion
at the Quirinal and in the "white" world; and her reputation for
gallantry was generally known. She had never had a _liaison_ with Gilio
that had lasted for longer than an hour. She had very simple ideas on
love, without much variety. Her light-hearted depravity amused Gilio.
And flirting in the corners, with his foot on hers under her skirt,
Gilio told her about Cornélie, about Duco and about the adventure in
the _camera degli sposi_ and asked his cousin whether _she_ understood.
No, the Contessa di Rosavilla did not understand it any too well
either. Temperament? Oh, yes, perhaps _she--questa Cornelia--preferred_
fair men to dark: there _were_ women who had a preference! And Gilio
laughed. It was so simple, _l'amore_; there wasn't very much to be said
about it.
Cornélie was glad that Gilio had the countess to amuse him. She and
Duco interested themselves in Urania's plans; Duco had long talks with
the architect. And he was indignant and advised them not to rebuild
so much in that undistinguished restoration manner: it was lacking in
style, cost heaps of money and spoilt everything.
Urania was disconcerted, but Duco went on, interrupted the architect,
advised him to build up only what was actually falling to pieces and,
so far as possible, to confine himself to underpinning, reinforcing and
preserving. And one morning Prince Ercole deigned to walk through the
long rooms with Duco, Urania and Cornélie. There was a great deal to be
done, Duco considered, by merely repairing and artistically arranging
what at present stood thoughtlessly huddled together.
"The curtains?" asked Urania.
"Let them be," Duco considered. "At the most, new window-curtains; but
the old red Venetian damask: oh, let it be!"
It was so beautiful; here and there it might be patched, very
carefully. He was horrified at Urania's notion: new curtains! And the
old prince was enraptured, because in this way the restoration of
San Stefano would cost thousands less and be much more artistic. He
regarded his daughter-in-law's money as his own and preferred it to
her. He was enraptured: he took Duco with him to his library, showed
him the old missals, the old family books and papers, chatters and
deeds of gift, showed him his coins and his medals. It was all out of
order and neglected, first from lack of money and then from slighting
indifference; but now Urania wanted to reorganize the family museum
with the aid of experts from Rome, Florence and Bologna. The old
prince's interest revived, now that there was money. And the experts
came and stayed at the castle and Duco spent whole mornings in their
company. He enjoyed every moment of it. He lived in his enchantment
of the past, no longer in the days of antiquity, but in the middle
ages and the Renascence. The days were too short. And his love for San
Stefano became such that one day an archivist took him for the young
prince, for Prince Virgilio. At dinner that evening Prince Ercole told
the story. And everybody laughed, but Gilio thought the joke beyond
price, whereas the archivist, who was there at dinner, did not know how
to apologize sufficiently.