"Tu mihi, tu certè (memini), Græcine, negabas,
Uno posse aliquem tempore amare duas."
When I had heard all this, I questioned Guy about his own affairs. He
was not very communicative, though he seemed perfectly happy and hopeful
as to the future. He said that his marriage was not to take place till
the autumn, when Miss Brandon's brother (they were orphans) was expected
to return from India. I could not help asking what Flora Bellasys
thought of it.
Livingstone bit his lip and frowned slightly as he answered, "Well,
there _was_ a scene--rather a tempestuous one, to speak the truth, but
we are perfectly good friends now. I wonder if she ever really expected
me to marry her? She is the most amusing person alive to flirt with, but
as for serious measures--" He shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"Perhaps she _has_ something to complain of; but if she has any
conscience at all, she ought to recognize the _lex talionis_."
I was not convinced or satisfied, but it was useless to pursue the
subject then.
"Will you ride to-day?" Guy asked. "There are always horses for you
here. I should like to introduce you to Constance. We shall be in the
Park about five."
I accepted willingly, and left him soon afterward.
A little after the hour he had named I saw Livingstone's tall figure
turn the corner of Kensington Gardens, riding on Miss Brandon's right;
on her left was her uncle, Mr. Vavasour, her usual escort.
She was rarely lovely, certainly, as I was sure she would be, for Guy's
taste in feminine beauty was undisputed. Her features were delicate, but
very clearly cut; the nose and chin purely Grecian in their outline; the
dark gray eyes met you with an earnest, true expression, as if they had
nothing to conceal. Her broad Spanish hat suited her well, shading as it
did cheeks slightly flushed by exercise, and shining tresses of that
color which with us is nameless, and which across the Channel they
call--_blond cendré_. Her hand was strikingly perfect, even in its
gauntlet. It might have been modeled from that famous marble fragment of
which the banker-poet was so proud, and which Canova kissed so often.
There is a face which always reminds me of hers, though the figure in
the portrait is far more matured and developed than Constance's willowy
form--the picture of Queen Joanna of Naples in the Palazzo Doria.
I have stood before it long, trying in vain to read the riddle of the
haughty lineaments, and serene, untroubled eyes. Gazing at these, who
could guess the story of that most guilty woman and astute
conspirator--unbridled in sensuality--remorseless in statecraft--who
counted her lovers by legions, and saw, unmoved, her chief favorite torn
limb from limb on the rack?
But this is no singular instance. Marble and canvas are more discreet
than the mask of the best trained living features. Messalina and Julia
look cold and correct enough since they have been turned into stone.
Only by the magic of her smile and by the glory of her golden hair do we
recognize her who, if all tales are true, might have given a tongue to
the walls of the Vatican. We forget the Borgia, with her laboratory of
philtres and poisons--we only think that never a duke of all his royal
race brought home a lovelier bride than Alfonso of Ferrara.
Perhaps it is best so. Why should a mark be set upon those whom, it may
be, history has condemned unrighteously? Let us not be more uncharitable
than the painter or the sculptor, but pass on without pausing to
reflect--_Desinit in piscem_.
If one had wanted to find a fault in Constance Brandon's beauty, I
suppose it would have been that her forehead was too high, and her lips
too thin and decided in their expression, especially when compressed
under any strong feeling. But this defect it would have been hard to
discover on this first occasion of our meeting. She looked so bright and
joyous, and the light from her face seemed reflected on Guy's dark
features, softening their stern outline, and making them radiant with a
proud happiness. She received me very cordially, and I well remember the
pleasant impression left on my ear by the first sound of her voice, soft
and low as Cordelia's. In these two attributes it resembled that of
Flora Bellasys, yet their tones were essentially different--as different
as is to the taste a draft of pure sparkling water from one of strong
sweet wine. We had taken two or three turns, when a large party
approached us, in the centre of whom I recognized instantly Miss
Bellasys. If possible, she looked handsomer than ever as she swept by at
a sharp canter, sitting square and firmly, but yielding just enough to
the stride of the horse--perfectly erect, but inimitably lithe and
graceful.
Nothing in her demeanor betrayed the faintest shade of emotion; but I
remembered the old maxim of the fencing-school--"Watch your enemy's
eyes, not his blade;" and I caught Flora's, as she raised her head after
returning our salutation, before she had time to discipline them
thoroughly. I saw them glitter with defiant hatred as they lighted on
her rival. I saw them melt with passionate eagerness as for one brief
moment they followed Guy's retreating figure and averted face. Half of
Mohun's warning became superfluous after that. I was in no danger of
being deceived by "Miss Bellasys taking things pleasantly."
Yet, as time wore on, the idea forced itself on me more and more that
Livingstone's choice was in some respects a mistake. They were _not_
suited to each other. Constance was as unsuspicious and as free from
commonplace jealousies as the merest child; but some of her lover's
proceedings did not please her, and she told him so, perhaps without
attending sufficiently to the "_suaviter in modo_"; for, when it was a
question of duty, real or fancied, to herself and to others, she was
rigid as steel. Besides this, she was a strict observer of all Church
canons and rituals; and more than once, when Guy had proposed some plan,
a vigil, or matins, or vespers came in the way. She did all for the
best, I am certain, and judged herself far more severely than she did
others, but she could not guess how any thing like an admonition or a
lecture grated on the proud, self-willed nature that from childhood had
been unused to the slightest control. To speak the truth, too, she was
not exempt from that failing which brought ruin on the brightest of the
angels, and punishment eternal on the Son of the Morning; so that pride
may often have checked the evidence of the deep love she really felt,
and made her manner seem constrained and cold.
I only guess all this; for neither then, nor at any future time, did I
ever hear from Guy the faintest whisper of accusation or complaint.
I do not think he contradicted her often; I am quite sure it never came
to a quarrel or even a dispute. They were not a couple likely to indulge
in the _amantium iræ_; but sometimes, after quitting her, his brow was
so ominously overcast that it would have gladdened the very heart of
Flora Bellasys to have seen it. Once, I remember, after sitting some
time in silence, his eyes turned toward a table, where, among other
letters, lay a little triangular note unopened. He broke the seal and
read it through, frowning still heavily; after a few moments of what
looked like hesitation, he seemed to come to a decision, and burned it
slowly at the flame of his spirit-lamp. Then he rose and shook all his
mighty limbs--as the Danite Titan might have done before his locks were
shorn--and sat down again with a long-drawn sigh, as of relief. I longed
to interpose with a warning word, for in the handwriting I recognized
the _griffe_ of the fatal Delilah. But I knew how dangerous it was to
attempt interference with Guy; and besides, this time, I felt sure he
had escaped the toils. Yet my heart sank as I thought of the seductions
and temptations that the future might have in store. I could hardly
keep my temper that evening when I saw at the Opera Flora
Bellasys--triumphant, as if she could guess what the morning's work had
been--and then thought of the single, guileless heart whose happiness
she was plotting to overthrow.
She and Guy met constantly, for he still went every where, often
accompanied by his _fiancée_. They seemed to be on the most ordinary
footing of old acquaintances, though it was remarked that no one could
be said to have succeeded to the post of grand vizier at the Bellasys
court, vacated by Livingstone. I can not trace the threads of the web of
Circe. She concealed them well at the time; and since--between the
knowledge of them and me is drawn the veil of a terrible remorse, which
I have never tried to penetrate.
I can only tell the end, which came very speedily.