CARRIES ME ON BOARD THE VISPERA
Faces, even expressions, may lie, but eyes lie never.
A man may commit follies; but once cured, those follies expand his
nature. With a woman, alas! follies are always debasing. It was, I
knew, a folly to love him.
Life is always disappointing. The shattering of our idols, the
revelation of the shallowness of friendship, the losing faith in those
we love, and the witnessing of their fall from that pedestal whereon we
placed them in our own exalted idealization--all is disappointing.
I stood gazing after him as he strode down the great room with its
bejewelled, excited crowd, where the chevalier d’industrie and the
declassé woman jostled with the pickpocket, the professional thief, and
the men who gamble at Aix, Ostend, Namur, or Spa as the seasons come
and go, that strange assembly of courteous Italians, bearded Russians,
well-groomed Englishmen, and women painted, powdered, and perfumed;
those reckless beings qui péchent à froid, who sin not through the
senses but through indifference.
I held my breath; my heart beat so violently that I could hear it above
the babel of voices about me. I suffered the most acute agony. Of late
I had been always thinking of him--asleep, dreaming--always dreaming of
him. Always the same pang of regret was within my heart, regret that
I had allowed him to go away without a word, without telling him how
madly, despairingly, I loved him.
Life without him was a hopeless blank, yet it was all through my
vanity, my wretched pride, my invincible self-love. I was now careless,
indifferent, inconsequential, my only thought being of him. His
coldness, his disdain, was killing me. Yes, when his eyes had met mine
in surprise, they were strange, Sphinx-like, and mysterious.
Yet at that moment I did not care what he might say to me. I only
wished to hear him speaking to me: to hear the sound of his voice and
to know that he cared enough for me to treat me as a human being.
Ah, I trembled when I realized how madly I loved him, and how fierce
was my hatred of that woman who issued her orders and whom he obeyed.
I turned away with the Allens, while Ulrica cried delightedly that she
had won on 16, her favorite number. But I did not answer. My heart had
grown sick, and I went forth into the bright night air and down the
steps towards the “ascenseurs.”
On the steps a well-dressed young Frenchman was lounging, and as I
passed down I heard him humming to himself that gay, catchy chanson so
popular at the café concert:
“A bas la romance et l’idylle,
Les oiseaux, la forêt, le buisson,
Des marlous, de la grande ville,
Nous allons chanter la chanson!
V’la les dos, viv’nt les dos!
C’est les dos, les gros,
Les beaux,
A nous les marmites!
Grandes ou petites;
V’la les dos, viv’nt les dos;
C’est les dos, les gros,
Les beaux,
A nous les marmit’ et vivent les dos!”
I closed my ears to shut out the sound of those words. I remembered
Ernest--that look in his eyes, that scorn in his face, that disdain in
his bearing.
The truth was, alas! too plain. His love for me was dead. I was the
most wretched of women, of all God’s creatures.
I prayed that I might regard him--that I might regard the world--with
indifference, and yet I was sufficiently acquainted with the world and
its ways to know that to a woman the word indifference is the most evil
word in the language, that it is the most fatal of all sentiments, the
most deadly of all attitudes.
But Ernest, the man whose slave I was, despised me. He commanded my
love. Why could not I command his? Ah! because I was a woman, and my
face had ceased to interest him!
Bitter tears sprang to my eyes, but I managed to preserve my
self-control and enter the station-lift making an inward vow that never
again in my whole life would I set foot in that hated hell within a
paradise called Monte Carlo.
True, I was a woman who amused myself wherever amusement could be
obtained, but I still remained, as I had always been from those sweet
well-remembered days at the gray old convent in Florence, an honest
woman. At Monte Carlo the scum of the earth enjoy the flowers of the
earth. I detested its crowds; I held in abhorrence that wild, turbulent
avarice, and felt stifled in that atmosphere of gilded sin. No. I would
never enter there again. The bitter remembrance of that night would, I
knew, be too painful.
I returned to Nice with a feeling that for me, now that Ernest had
drifted from me to become a placid gambler and was indifferent, life
had no further charm. The recollection of the days that followed can
never be torn from my memory, my brain, my soul. I smiled, though I was
wearing out my heart; I laughed even though bitter tears were ready to
start to my eyes, and I made pretence of being interested in things to
which I was at heart supremely indifferent. I courted forgetfulness,
but the oblivion of my love would not come. I never knew till then how
great was the passion a woman could conceive for a man, or how his
memory could ever arise, a ghost from the past to terrify the present.
That night as we drove from the station to the hotel Ulrica
accidentally touched my hand.
“How cold you are, dear!” she cried in surprise.
“Yes,” I answered, shivering.
I was cold; it was the truth. At thought of the man who had forsaken
me an icy chill had struck my heart--the chill of unsatisfied love, of
desolation, of blank, unutterable despair.
In due course our yachting gowns came home from the dressmaker’s,
--accompanied by terrifying bills, of course,--and a few days later
we sailed out of Villefranche harbor on board the Vispera. The party
was a well-chosen one, consisting mostly of youngish people, several
of whom we knew quite well, and ere the second day was over we had all
settled down to the usual routine of life on board a yacht. There was
no sensation of being cramped up, but, on the contrary, the decks were
broad and spacious, and the cabins perfect nests of luxury. The vessel
had been built on the Clyde according to its owner’s designs, and it
certainly was a miniature Atlantic liner.
Our plans had been slightly altered, for as the majority of the guests
had never been to Algiers it was resolved to make a run over there and
then coast along Algeria and Tunis and so on to Alexandria. As we
steamed away from Villefranche the receding panorama of the Littoral,
with its olive-covered slopes and great, purple, snow-capped Alps,
spread out before us, presenting a perfectly enchanting picture. We all
stood grouped on deck watching it slowly sink below the horizon. From
the first moment that we went on board all was gay, all luxurious, for
were we not guests of a man who, although absurdly economical himself,
was always lavish when he entertained? Everyone was loud in praise of
the magnificent appointments of the vessel, and dinner, at which its
owner presided, was a merry function.
I was placed next Lord Eldersfield, a pleasant, middle-aged, gray-eyed
man, who had recently left the army on succeeding to the title. He was,
I found, quite an entertaining companion, full of droll stories and
clever witticisms; indeed, he shone at once as the conversationalist of
the table.
“Have I been in Algiers before?” he repeated, in answer to a question
from me. “Oh, yes. It’s a place where one half the people don’t know
the other half.”
I smiled and wondered. Yet his brief description was, I afterwards
discovered, very true. The Arabs and the Europeans live apart and are
like oil and water, they never mix.
The days passed gayly, and were it not for constant thoughts of that
man who had loved me and forgotten I should have enjoyed myself.
Save for one day of mistral the trip across the Mediterranean proved
delightful, and for six days we remained in the white old City of the
Corsairs, where we went on excursions and had a most pleasant time.
We visited the Kasbah, drove to the Jardin d’Essai and to the pretty
village of St. Eugène, while several of the party went to visit friends
who were staying at the big hotels up at Mustapha. Life in Algiers was,
I found, most interesting after the Parisian artificiality and glitter
of Nice and Monte Carlo, and with Lord Eldersfield as my cavalier we
saw all that was worth seeing. We lounged in those gay French cafés
under the date-palms in the Place du Gouvernement, strolled up those
narrow, ladder-like streets in the old city, or mingled with those
crowds of mysterious-looking veiled Arab women who were bargaining for
their purchases in the market. All was fresh, all diverting.
As for Ulrica, she entered thoroughly into the spirit of the thing,
as she always did, and with Gerald usually as her escort went hither
and thither with her true tourist habit of poking about everywhere,
regardless of contagious diseases or the extensive variety of bad
smells which invariably exists in an Oriental town. Although each day
the party went ashore and enjoyed themselves, old Mr. Keppel never
accompanied them. He knew the place, he said, and had some business
affairs to attend to in the deck-house which he kept sacred to himself.
Therefore he was excused.
“No, Miss Rosselli,” he had explained to me in confidence, “I’m no
sight-seer. If my guests enjoy seeing a few of the towns on the
Mediterranean I am quite contented, but I prefer to remain quiet here
rather than to be driving about in brakes and revisiting places that I
have already visited long ago.”
“Certainly,” I said. “You are under no obligation to these people. They
accept your kind hospitality, and the least they can do is to allow you
to remain in peace when you wish.”
“Yes,” he sighed. “I leave them in Gerald’s charge. He knows how to
look after them.”
And his face seemed sad and anxious, as though he were utterly forlorn.
Indeed, after a week at sea we saw but little of him. He lunched and
dined with us in the saloon each day, but never joined our musical
parties after dinner, and seldom, if ever, entered the smoking-room.
All knew him to be eccentric, therefore this apparent disregard for our
presence was looked upon as one of his peculiar habits. Upon Gerald
devolved the duty of acting as entertainer, and assisted by Ulrica,
myself, and old Miss Keppel he endeavored to make every one happy and
comfortable. Fortunately, the ubiquitous Barnes had by Gerald’s urgent
desire been left behind at the Villa Fabron.
As day by day we steamed up that blue, tranquil sea in brilliant
weather, with our bows ever set in the track of dawn, life was one
continual round of merriment from three bells, when we breakfasted,
until eight bells sounded for turning in. A yachting cruise is very apt
to become monotonous, but on the Vispera one had no time for ennui.
After Algiers we put in for a day at Cagliari, then visited Tunis, the
Greek islands, Athens, Smyrna, and Constantinople.
We had already been five weeks cruising--and five weeks in the
Mediterranean in spring are delightful--when one night an incident
occurred which was both mysterious and disconcerting. We were on our
way from Constantinople, and in the first dog-watch had sighted one of
the rocky headlands of Corsica. That evening dinner had been followed
by an impromptu dance which had proved a most successful affair. The
men were mostly dancers, except Lord Stoneborough, who was inclined to
obesity; and with the piano and a couple of violins played by a pair
of rather insipid sisters the dance was quite a jolly one. We even
persuaded old Mr. Keppel to dance, and although his was not a very
graceful terpischorean feat, nevertheless his participation in our fun
put every one in an exceedingly good humor.
Of course, the time had not passed without the usual gossip and
tittle-tattle which are inseparable from a yachting cruise. On board a
yacht people become quickly inventive, and the most astounding fictions
about one’s neighbors are whispered behind fans and books. I had heard
whispers regarding Ulrica and Gerald Keppel. Rumor had it that the old
gentleman had actually given his consent to their marriage, and as
soon as they returned to America the engagement would be announced.
Certain of the guests, with an air of extreme confidence, took me aside
and questioned me regarding it, but I merely responded that I knew
nothing and greatly doubted the accuracy of the rumor. More than once
that evening I had been asked whether it were true, and so persistent
seemed the rumor that I took Ulrica into my cabin and asked her
point-blank.
“My dear,” she cried, “have you really taken leave of your senses? How
absurd! Of course there’s nothing whatever between myself and Gerald.
He is amusing, that’s all.”
“You might do worse than marry him,” I laughed. “Remember, you’ve known
him a long time--four years, isn’t it?”
“Marry him! Never! Go and tell those prying persons, whoever they are,
that when I’m engaged I’ll put a paragraph in the papers all in good
time.”
“But don’t you think, Ulrica,” I suggested--“don’t you think that if
such is the case Gerald is rather too much in your society?”
“I can’t help him hanging around me, poor boy,” she laughed. “I can’t
be rude to him.”
That night I turned and turned in my narrow berth, but could not sleep.
The atmosphere seemed stifling in spite of the ventilators, and I
dare not open the port-hole, fearing a sudden douche, for a wind had
sprung up and we were rolling heavily. The jingle of the glasses on
the toilet-stand, the vibration, the throbbing of the machinery, the
tramping of the sailors overhead, the roar of the funnels, all rendered
sleep utterly impossible.
At last, however, I could stand it no longer, and, rising, I dressed,
putting on a big driving-coat, with a thick shawl about my head, and
went up on deck. The fresh air might perhaps do me good, I thought. At
any rate, it was a remedy worth trying.
The night, so brilliant a couple of hours before, had become dark and
stormy, the wind was so boisterous that I walked with difficulty,
and the fact that the awnings had been reefed showed that Davis, the
skipper, anticipated a squall.
The deck was deserted. Only on the bridge could I see, above the strip
of sheltering canvas, two shadowy figures in oilskins keeping watch
ahead. Save for those heads I was utterly alone. On my way towards
the stern I passed the small deck-house which old Mr. Keppel reserved
as his own den. The green-silk blinds were always drawn across the
port-holes and the door always remained locked. No one ever entered
there, although many had been the speculations regarding the private
cabin when we had first sailed.
The millionaire himself had, however, given an explanation one day at
luncheon.
“I always reserve, both in my houses and here on board the Vispera, one
room as my own. I hope all of you will excuse me this. As you know, I
have a good many affairs to attend to, and I hate to have my papers
thrown into disorder.”
Personally, I suspected him of having a lathe there and of pursuing his
hobby of ivory-turning, but the majority of the guests accepted his
explanation that this deck-house was his study, and that he did not
wish them to pry there.
More than once Ulrica had expressed to me wonder regarding the reason
the cabin remained always closed and its curtains always drawn. Every
woman dearly loves a mystery, and, like myself, Ulrica, when she
discovered anything suspicious, never rested until she had formed some
theory or other.
She had one day mentioned the fact to Gerald, who in my presence had
given what appeared to me the true explanation.
“It’s merely one of the guv’nor’s eccentricities. The fact is that
on the outward voyage from New York he bought some antique Moorish
furniture and ivory carving in Tangier and has it stored in there until
we return. I’ve seen it myself--beautiful things. He says he intends to
sell them at a profit to a dealer in London,” whereat we laughed.
Knowing how the old gentleman practised economy sometimes, I had
accepted this as the truth.
But as, gripping the rail to prevent being thrown down by the rolling
of the ship, I passed along the side of the deck-house I was surprised
to see a light within. The curtains of green silk were still drawn, but
the light could, nevertheless, be seen through them, and it seemed to
me strange that any one should be there at that hour of the night. I
placed my face close to the screwed-down port-hole, but the curtain had
been so well drawn that it was impossible to see within. Then, moving
quietly, I examined the other three round, brass-bound windows, but all
were as closely curtained as the first.
I fancied I heard voices as I stood there and tried to distinguish the
words, but the roar of the funnels and howling of the wind drowned
every other sound.
What if my host caught me prying? His private affairs were surely no
business of mine, therefore I was about to turn away, when suddenly
I experienced an extraordinary desire to peep inside that forbidden
chamber. I walked around it again stealthily, for fortunately I was in
thin slippers.
While standing there in hesitation I noticed that upon the low roof was
a small ventilator which had been raised to admit air. What if I could
get a peep down there? It was an adventurous climb for a woman hampered
by skirts as I was; but I searched for means to mount, and found them
in a low iron staple to which some cords of the rigging were attached
and a brass rail which afforded rather insecure foothold. After some
effort I succeeded in scrambling to the top, but not before I found
myself beneath the eye of the officer on the bridge. Fortunately I was
behind him, but if he had occasion to turn towards the stern he must
discover me.
Having risked so much, however, I was determined to make further
endeavors, and leaning across the small roof I placed my face close to
the open ventilator and peered down into the locked cabin.
Next second I drew back with a start, holding my breath. A loud
exclamation of dismay escaped me, but the sound was swallowed up in the
noises of the boisterous night.
The sight I witnessed below me in that small deck-house held me rigid
as one petrified.