The Laughter of Jove

Front matter

NEW FICTION A Peakland Faggot. By R. Murray Gilchrist. 2s. 6d. An African Millionaire. By Grant Allen. 6s. Convict 99. By Robert Leighton and Marie Connor Leighton. 3s. 6d. Little Stories about Women. By George Fleming. 3s. 6d. "Old Man's" Marriage. By G. B. Bukgin. 6s. One Man's View. By Leonard Merrick. 3s. 6d. Paul's Stepmother. By Ladv Troubridge. 3s. 6d. The Cub in Love. By R. S. Warren Bell. is. 6d. BY HELMUTH SCHWARTZE — te"' author of "AN IMPRESSIONIST DIARY," ETC. LONDON GRANT RICHARDS HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN ■' At lovers' perjuries they say lave laughs" Romeo and Juliet Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co. At the Ballantyne Press TO "LUCAS MALET ' this book IS DEDICATED IN very sincere friendship THE

Prologue

The hoarse roar and rattle of the Corso rose in an atmosphere of sun-glinted afternoon dust to the upper floor of the Palazzo del Castro. The rumbling of wheels, the cracking of whips, the cries of the "contadini " driving in carts full of vegetable produce, the buzz and hum of pedestrians, of " forestieri " armed with red books passing with more or less intelligence from one antique to the other, of officers dawdling and gossiping in the Piazza Colonna, of nondescript business and bourgeois people, hastening, so far as Romans can hasten, hither and thither on their daily errands, even sudden strains from the band on the Pincian Hill, wafted hither occasionally by the vagaries of the mild-scented wind, all ascended in a Wagnerian concord of discords to the upper floor of the Palazzo del Castro — ascended and were heard unconsciously, to be ever afterwards most con sciously remembered by two who sat within its centre room.

Not a big room, but a favourite one of the Marchesa's, the walls hung with cheerful crimson silk, the furniture light, gilt, Parisian, the ornaments of ormolu and costly china. Some photographs, chiefly of men, some silver trifles, some dishes of costly chocolates, comprised the final details of its decoration. No piano, and no books, nothing save perhaps occasional vases, a few filled with graceful boughs of fast-falling almond blossoms ; others with daffodils, anemones, and varied April flowers, suggested that its occupant's thoughts ever turned to A things concerning other worlds, or even lingered upon the realities of this. The Marchesa herself sat on a sofa, close to the gauze-draped window, shading with a black fan, from the intrusive rays of the setting sun, the glories of her red-gold hair and complexion of pearly whiteness.

She was dressed in mourning, than which no garb could have become her better. Hers was a clever, beautiful face, in shape a perfect oval, with eyes of tender blue and teeth of dazzling ivory. Only her mouth spoiled the general impression of charm — spoiled it at least for artists and for such as study physiognomy. A small minority, it is true, but one that knows that the real character of each individual is inscribed, not in the eyes, where expres sions can be made to come and go at will, but in the unchang ing curves and lines of lips and mouth. And this woman's mouth was small and mean, with thick animal lips, while the lines around suggested anything but sincerity or gentleness. By her side sat a youth of some twenty-four summers, tall, dark, with flashing eyes and sun-burnt skin, talking and pleading with eager vehemence and conviction.

They conversed in English, for the woman, though Italian absolutely in every detail of her appearance, in every movement of her body, and in every phase of her thought, yet had spent her childhood in her companion's native land and knew his language as per fectly as he did himself. He spoke now, pressing evidently some oft-urged point, spoke with a passionate weariness of voice and manner. " Will you not do what I ask ? " he said. " No moment could be fitter, none more suitable than the present. Your husband is away at Varese, whither his brother's death has taken him. Business will detain him there some days. What easier, what more simple than to come away with me now ? Let us go to the Tyrol, to France ; then write to him that you have gone for ever. He will not care ; not much at least.

He never really loved you, never understood * you have never been anything to each other but two partners in a business transaction, as you have often told me. And he, old enough to be your father. Oh Flavia," he continued, with a catch in his voice, " come with me, come with me if you care for me at all. I don't believe you understand love such as mine. It fills my heart to the exclusion of aught else. You are my only reality in life, waking or sleeping; others are only phantoms; about them there is nothing tangible or substantial. Away from you every hour spent is one of suffering ; your every expression, the turn of your head, the raising of your eyes, are all burnt in on my brain. I am sick with this fearful love. Flavia, I must have satisfaction. You must be my wife." He groaned in the intensity of his passion and clenched his hands convulsively.

Flavia del Castro turned to him. " You must have satisfaction," she said in low distinct tones. " Cuthbert, have I not proved my love, as much as woman can, have I not " " Yes, yes," he broke in upon her, " it is true, you have given me all. But how ? That is just it — this secrecy — this concealment degrades you and degrades me. I have no com punction, no regret, nothing but joy in what the world would call our sin. Sin, forsooth ! Love such as ours is beyond all mortal laws, beyond the heavy touch of moralists and preachers. But I want to blazon our ' sin ' to the world. I want you openly to come to me, to leave the man who is nothing to you, who needs you not, for the man you love, the man who would give every drop of blood in his body to procure you one moment's happiness. There is nothing to regret, nothing to be ashamed of in such an action, but in our present life there is.

To come here, as it were, under false pretences, to meet your husband on so-called friendly terms, it is vile, horrible, and to be endured no longer. Come with me, Flavia, come with me. He will divorce you, and then soon, in a few months, you will be my wife in the sight of man, even as you are now in the sight of heaven." Overpowered by emotion he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it fervently. There was a moment's pause. All during his passionate speeches the woman had sat strangely unmoved, a slight contraction of the eyebrows, a restless puckering of the mouth, alone betraying any sign of emotion. Now at last she spoke, very gently and quietly. " The Catholic Church allows no divorce," she said, " ah," as he was about to interrupt her, " I know what you would add — ' but the law does.' Yes, but if I am not a good Catholic — nor a strict Catholic — I am still a Catholic.

I could not marry you, if the Church refused its consent. Then what remains to us ? A life of open or of secret sin ? " "Neither," he cried, springing to his feet, "neither. If your Church allows no divorce, if you will not leave it and become a Protestant, still we can live together openly as man and wife. What matter the mumblings of a priest ? — the decrees and promulgements of tedious lawyers — how can they affect our union ? Only let us be as one in the sight of the world, let us carve out our lives together, and leave this hideous secrecy and mystery behind. Let us have done with it once and for all." The Marchesa rose, too, and walked towards the window, stood there one moment, gazing down with trembling lips into the narrow street below*. When she turned she was very pale and tears stood in her eyes.

" Sit down, my dear," she said quietly. He did so, wondering, and she stood before him, her back to the window, her fingers nervously twining about and around each other. " Let us have done with it once and for all," she repeated. " Those were your words just now. Yes, Cuthbert, my love, my friend, let us. Not only with this secrecy and mystery, but with our sin itself. For it is sin, and the sin is eating into my very heart, corroding my very life. We have been wrong, wicked, but it is not too late to regret, to repent. Let us do that. Ah, God knows, no man will ever be to me what you are, you will be first in my thoughts, my prayers always, but for His sake, for my soul's sake, if you love me, let us part and part for ever." Cuthbert Stapylton rose to his feet in sudden terror. Had he heard aright ?

Drawn and rigid, his face looked down on hers, stained now with struggling tears. Suddenly she fell on her knees before him with clasped hands. " Don't let us talk, don't let us argue," she cried ; " each knows what the other feels. That is enough. I have told you at last what I have meant to tell for many weeks. Spare me more suffering, more pain. In giving you up I give up every glimpse of heaven on this earth, but I must. You said just now that you would give every drop of blood in your body to procure me one moment's happiness. Will you not do less than that to save me from eternal torture hereafter ? " She clasped her face in her hands and sobbed bitterly. As for Cuthbert, he realised through a mist of sick faintness and heart-tearing agony that the end had suddenly come. The love of his life desired him to go, and he knew that he should go.

From the way she had spoken he grasped quite conclu sively that their intimacy had become a terror to her, that she conceived it as mortal sin. No argument, no discussion would alter her opinion. If all these many months, in the hey-day of their passion, his reasoning had not persuaded her to take his view of the case, it could not in this hour. She was a woman, weak and prejudiced. That he had always known. His feeling of triumphant joy in their coming together spiritual and physical she had never shared, never realised. The first overpowering happiness of their confirmed love had merely stupefied what she deemed her moral sense. Now, at the mere idea of a decisive and final step, the latter had re asserted itself with renewed vigour. The old superstitious terror of the Church's anger, of the wrath hereafter, had re turned in full force.

Rome accepted the Marchesa as the most bigoted, even if the most remiss of Catholics. Cuthbert did not blame her ; he did not think of argument or protesta tion during the minutes which ensued after her passionate prayer for release. She still lay half fallen forward on the floor before him, occasional rending sobs convulsively shaking her figure. Cuthbert looked at her, and at the door. An iron circlet seemed to compress his brains ; the atmosphere was charged with a dull inexpressible misery. Yet was his chief thought, should he have physical strength to get up and say good-bye and go out of that door, down the stairs ? Where to, and what for? Those questions seemed for the moment but details. The countless bells without called pathetically to evening prayer, and the sun over the Eternal City sank lower and lower amid cloud cushions of crimson and gold.

At last he found his voice, or rather a dry parched echo thereof. "Flavia," he said slowly, "you wish me to go— you really wish us to part for ever ? " She raised her head and gazed at him with terrified, startled eyes. " Yes, yes," she murmured hoarsely : " for ever, for ever — for my soul's sake." He rose. A numbness stiffened his limbs. What did it mean, this "for ever"? He knew, he foresaw; it meant the loss of all joy, all interest in life, the collapse of his dearest hopes, the stultifying of every ambitious wish, the practical ruin of his existence. With Flavia by his side he felt he could have achieved much, could have won success, esteem, and friendship wherever he went. For then these would have been worth the gaining. But without her of what avail were all the world's goods or all its blessings ?

Nevertheless no thought of combating her wish to break with him entered his head. He knew how intensely she loved him, he knew he believed the value of the sacrifice which she desired to make for her soul's sake. He was quick to divine and understand ; in her passionate outburst and brief prayer to himself he had grasped all that must have gone before. With her convictions and her views would not their continued intimacy proceeding on the same lines as hitherto become at last positively repellent to her? And indeed for such a continuation he would himself have given nothing. His love was too great and overpowering for him to continue to degrade it to the level of what the world would term a common intrigue. Flavia must be all or nothing to him. She had decided with unusual intensity of purpose to be nothing.

Well, " so mote it be." And before him he saw the slow enduring agony of years. " I will go at once," he said in dull accents, and she rose from her crouching position to sink back on the sofa she had occupied at the beginning of their interview. " I won't say, Flavia," he continued brokenly, " that if you alter your mind you know where to find me ; you know that my love, my entire devotion, remains — will always remain — the same. For I don't believe you ever will alter your mind." " I shall not," she replied in firm tones, still dragging at her handkerchief. "Still," Cuthbert continued, "if you don't you know what I shall feel ; you know what you have been to me : the one woman I have loved, worshipped with my whole heart and soul. I suppose I shall get through the future somehow. I am not a coward and I shan't kill myself.

Yes, I shall get through. But that will be just all. In leaving me, Flavia, you are turning out all the lights of my life. Not even a little candle is left to illuminate its darkness. Well, you can't help your views. Forget me as quickly as you can. I can hardly wish anything more unselfish than that. So — good bye." He turned towards her with an expression of such dumb, hopeless agony in his eyes that she dared not face them. She took from a table a small ivory crucifix and pressed it into his hands. " My love, my love ! " she murmured, " keep this in memory of me. God will understand ; our terrible sacrifice to-day will condone our sin. Farewell." He bent suddenly and kissed her full on the lips. His own were as ice pressed upon fire. Then in a moment, with no look behind him, he was gone.

Flavia sat on for some few moments wearing the same fretful, puckered expression as earlier in the afternoon. At last, with a sudden stretching movement of relief, she got up, and snatching a dark-red rose from one of the vases, crushed it between her teeth with a light low laugh of triumph. The Marchesa del Castro was we"ll known as an accomplished actress, but she had never acted so successfully, never so entirely lost herself in her role, as upon that afternoon. Cuthbert Stapylton's was no ordinary nature. He combined an intense capability for love and devotion with an almost equally intense instinct of purity. Left alone at the age of sixteen, with a large fortune, to the care of heedless and indifferent guardians, he had steered his own life with practi cally complete success till the moment of his meeting with the Marchesa del Castro.

At Harrow and at Cambridge he had shown decided gifts of heart and intellect. His friends had been well chosen, his absurdities few, his vices nil, and his sense of humour strong. And to say this is to say much of a youth with strong individuality — a youth, moreover, from boyhood upwards practically his own master. What had kept him so entirely straight in his dealings with women was his sincere conviction that whereas Love consecrates any union and renders many "sins," so termed, actions perfectly moral and justifiable, on the other hand the mere satisfaction of the desire of the eyes without the desire of the soul, degrades a man to the level of the beasts. Not that he took a strict view of the subject so far as others were concerned. It was one, he said, upon which, in common with most, every man must decide for himself.

And therefore he smiled at his friends' amours, and was polite and amiable to such of their " lights of love " as he had occasion or necessity to meet. It will perhaps be wondered in what manner he strove to satisfy the yearning to give and receive love and affection, which so especially characterised him. In two ways. He had several women intimates, being one of those few men who, because they really think exactly as women do concerning the moral question, are capable of being devoted friends, and nothing more, to members of the other sex. But apart from this, Cuthbert had at school and college one particular " chum," upon whom he chiefly expended the honest devotion and attachment of his nature. The latter — George Edmonds by name — had been first entrusted to his care at Harrow by anxious relations, friends of Cuthbert's guardians.

He was delicate and fragile, unfitted for the rough buffets of a public school, and Cuthbert, essentially strong and manly, had gladly taken him under his wing, fought many of his battles, heartily scolded him for his many weaknesses, and at Cambridge kept him from too great an indulgence in cards and other follies. George was gentle and dependent on sympathy, Cuthbert strong and sympathetic. The one leaned against the other, and of course the one who was leant against cared most and gave most. Each year, from boyhood upwards, knitted them more closely together, and when they left the 'Varsity it was at Cuthbert's suggestion that George adopted diplomacy as a profession. Through the latter's influence also he was nominated, and, having passed his examination, was ap pointed, after some months' routine at the Foreign Office, to the Embassy at Rome, the Ambassador of which capital happened at that time to be a connection of Cuthbert's. And this appointment acted as finger-post to the disastrous path and terrible catastrophe which Cuthbert had since pursued.

He had gone to Rome to visit his friend in October, meaning to sail from Brindisi on a voyage round the world before devoting himself to politics at home. Here, almost at once, he had met the Marchesa del Castro, one of the most beautiful and most fascinating women in Rome, married to a dull, unintelligent husband. With her he had fallen desperately in love, and it is to be remembered in love for the first time in his life. In love, too, with every instinct of body and soul, and of such a body and such a soul, both strung to highest pitch. The Marchesa had very soon responded to his feelings, as entirely as such a woman can respond. Few would have remained impervious to so ardent and romantic an adorer, one, too, so entirely out of the common. A woman does not always appreciate being the first acknowledged love in a grown man's life.

The reasons for her occupying that position are not always — indeed very seldom — the same as in Cuthbert's case. But Flavia was clever; she was swift to grasp a certain originality, a certain strain of complete unworldliness domi nating Cuthbert's character, and quick to play up to it. Within the terribly brief space of a fortnight she had gained her desire, and he had unconsciously gained his. The high minded boy, against whom all his life no common scandal had ever been adduced, in the twinkling of an eye, as it were, both in the spirit and in the letter, had broken the seventh Commandment. Not that this fact troubled himself. As has been said, he held very individual views upon the moral question, and, as he had told Flavia in their last interview, did not now feel in the very least degraded.

On the contrary, his attitude had been one of absolute happiness and pride, marred alone by the torturing necessity of veiling his love in secrecy so long as Flavia remained the acknowledged wife of Del Castro. Well, it was finished now, that seven months idyll which had been his. Gone from him was the woman who had caused every human being, every human occupation, to become, he believed for ever, as of no account, without savour, without interest. Dimly, dully he realised this, as he left the Palazzo del Castro with upright mien. Instinctively desiring to speak with George Edmonds, the sole confidant of his affairs, he hailed a victoria and bade the driver hasten to the British Embassy. Arrived at that most modern and undignified of official residences, he at once sought his friend, bursting into the latter's apartment with but scant ceremony.

George rose with a nervous, curiously-expectant manner, crying out, " Good God Cuthbert, what's up ? You look as if you had seen a ghost." Cuthbert sank restlessly into an armchair; the gathering dusk seeming to enfold and envelop him in tender fellow feeling. The other made no further inquiries, but, quietly mixing his friend a strong brandy and soda, placed it beside him with a silent invitation to drink. Then he himself, with his back to the fast fading light, sat down. Cuthbert moved, gulped down the fiery compound at a single draught, then, staring straight before him, said slowly : " It's all up. We have parted." "You have parted ? " " Yes, for ever." After a few minutes : " For what reason ? " George inquired anxiously. " For what reason ? for no reason ; for every reason ; for her soul's sake."

Cuthbert laughed half mockingly. "By-the bye, she didn't seem to trouble much about mine." This was quite true ; in their interview Flavia, with a lack of artistic tact, had almost omitted any expression of sympathy as to the eventual fate of her lover's spiritual part, so much occupied was she with the intention of saving her own. But then, of course, he was a heretic. " Yes," Cuthbert went on, " she was concerned about her soul. She thought we had been wrong, incurred mortal sin. And she wouldn't leave her husband, wouldn't come away with me. So there, it's all over, everything's over, and it's no good talking about it." " Oh, Cuthbert," George began, " I'm so sorry." " Oh, shut up, please. I really can't stand sympathy, not even yours, my boy. I want to do something hard, something cruel ; that would help me ; if I could knock some one down, or trample on something, oh, my God " And with a dry gasp the poor fellow buried his face in the cushions of the chair.

George looked at him with an almost frightened expression, then rose gently, drew to the curtains and lit a heavily shaded lamp. The light in the room was as dim as it well could be. "Come," Cuthbert said suddenly, "aren't you surprised? astonished ? You don't seem to be." George started. " No," he said, after a moment's pause, " lam not, altogether. Of course, you see, I knew all about it from the beginning. You remember how it came about that I couldn't help knowing. The Marchesa knows that I know. So perhaps she has never troubled to dissimulate before me. And I have noticed how troubled and wretched she has looked of late. These Catholics are curiously religious, in their own way. But, Cuthbert, perhaps — indeed I am sure it is best so ; your prospects, your future " "For God's sake, George," Cuthbert interrupted fiercely, " don't you begin talking all that d d nonsense.

Prospects ? future ? If there is one person who should understand me a little, it is yourself. You know I'm not like other men. I've staked my all on one die — and lost it." George replied nothing, and vaguely his friend felt that the sympathy offered him was out of tune, entirely different to that which he had unconsciously expected. He rose impatiently. " What are you going to do ? " George asked anxiously. " Do ? Going out ; to dine at the Delinis, to the French Embassy afterwards, to little Hasslers later to play cards. I am going to drink and talk, and laugh, anything I can so as not to think to-night. I have some strength of purpose left. If I think to-night I shall — well — I don't know what I shall do. To-morrow, in the clear light, I shall be calmer perhaps, shall take a more reasonable view," he laughed harshly.

" They say that every trouble seems easier ouce slept upon. Chi lo sa ? " " Surely you will not stop in Rome ? " " Is it likely ? No. I shall go off to the Rockies, I think to shoot bears. So melodramatic of me, wouldn't it be?" with a sneer at himself, " quite the correct action for the deserted lover. He always does that in books and plays, or is always going to, which, after all, is rather different. George, there is only one single drop of comfort in my bitter cup to-night, and that a selfish one." " What is it ? " " This. Flavia and I shall meet no more. But at least I know that even as she is the one woman in all the world for me, so am I the one man in the world for her. I told her as we parted to forget me. Silly fool ! As if she could, as if — even with her religious scruples — she would wish to do so.

Forget the almost superhuman love I have had for her, forget the trust, the adoration ! No, she will never forget, neither shall I. That is my sole comfort." George bent his head ; his lips moved as if he wished to say something. At length the words came. " To feel that must be comfort indeed. Many men have been sacrificed, as you are sacrificed now, not as the victim of a religious conviction, but to make way for a new lover. That must be infinitely worse." He spoke dubiously at last. " No doubt," Cuthbert returned coldly, " still for such I can feel but little sympathy. They must have chosen the object of their love with a strange lack of head and heart. Surely they deserve their fate." " Ah," acquiesced the other, with a sigh which may be described as clenched, " possibly." " What's the matter with you to-night, George ?

" Cuthbert cried roughly. " I feel something strange, something curious in the atmosphere. You don't seem to understand — to " " You have just said I was not to offer you any sympathy," George replied, " you could not bear it. As to not under standing " He advanced towards Cuthbert with outstretched hand- The latter took it quickly, pressed it for a moment. " Yes," he said, wearily, " no doubt it is my fault. I can't see clearly to-night. I am dazed, unstrung. Good-bye, my boy. Of course I know you're sorry for me. You must be. You've known me all my life, and know what an idiot I ve always been about any one I've even only liked. This oh damn— good-bye. See you at the Embassy ; to-morrow we will talk properly," and passing his hand across his eyes, with a quick movement, Cuthbert went away.

He had not left five minutes before a note was brought to George. The latter turned up the lamp hastily. It threw a strong light on his weak, handsome face, which wore a half-terrified, half-relieved expression. He read, and as he did so, shivered. Evidently his feelings as to the communication were divided. Towards twelve o'clock that night all the Roman world surged up the marble staircase, and through the lofty saloons of the Palazzo Farnese, where the French Ambassador was holding his farewell reception. The people of the Court, members of all the Embassies, the leaders of the foreign colonies, one by one passed before their Excellencies with gracious speech and smile. Musicians made sweet harmonies in the central hall, from whose ceiling Caraccio's frescoes gazed in sombre dignity upon the restless moving crowd beneath.

Cuthbert passed through the apartments with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, contrary to his wont gossiping foolishly, bitterly, arousing attention by his change of manner and demeanour. " Cosa fa il Signore Stapylton sta sera," demanded one of the other, while shoulders were shrugged, eyebrows raised, and knowing glances exchanged between many present. Cuthbert and George came across one another soon after the supper-room had been opened, the fair beauty of the latter en hanced by the official dress he had had to don for the occasion. " Going already ? Not coming on to Hasslers ? " Cuthbert asked with apparent carelessness. " No. I am seedy," George replied, with a curious mechanism of manner, " our talk has upset me, I think. Where shall we meet to-morrow ? " " Come to me at the Bristol at ten."