Henry James - Henry James - The Complete Novels (The Greatest Novelists of All Time – Book 10)

“If I can in any way be of service to Mrs. Light, I shall be happy,” Rowland said.

“Well then, dear sir, Casa Light is in commotion. The signora is in trouble — in terrible trouble.” For a moment Rowland expected to hear that the signora’s trouble was of a nature that a loan of five thousand francs would assuage. But the Cavaliere continued: “Miss Light has committed a great crime; she has plunged a dagger into the heart of her mother.”

“A dagger!” cried Rowland.

The Cavaliere patted the air an instant with his finger-tips. “I speak figuratively. She has broken off her marriage.”

“Broken it off?”

“Short! She has turned the prince from the door.” And the Cavaliere, when he had made this announcement, folded his arms and bent upon Rowland his intense, inscrutable gaze. It seemed to Rowland that he detected in the polished depths of it a sort of fantastic gleam of irony or of triumph; but superficially, at least, Giacosa did nothing to discredit his character as a presumably sympathetic representative of Mrs. Light’s affliction.

Rowland heard his news with a kind of fierce disgust; it seemed the sinister counterpart of Christina’s preternatural mildness at Madame Grandoni’s tea-party. She had been too plausible to be honest. Without being able to trace the connection, he yet instinctively associated her present rebellion with her meeting with Mary Garland. If she had not seen Mary, she would have let things stand. It was monstrous to suppose that she could have sacrificed so brilliant a fortune to a mere movement of jealousy, to a refined instinct of feminine deviltry, to a desire to frighten poor Mary from her security by again appearing in the field. Yet Rowland remembered his first impression of her; she was “dangerous,” and she had measured in each direction the perturbing effect of her rupture. She was smiling her sweetest smile at it! For half an hour Rowland simply detested her, and longed to denounce her to her face. Of course all he could say to Giacosa was that he was extremely sorry. “But I am not surprised,” he added.

“You are not surprised?”

“With Miss Light everything is possible. Is n’t that true?”

Another ripple seemed to play for an instant in the current of the old man’s irony, but he waived response. “It was a magnificent marriage,” he said, solemnly. “I do not respect many people, but I respect Prince Casamassima.”

“I should judge him indeed to be a very honorable young man,” said Rowland.

“Eh, young as he is, he’s made of the old stuff. And now, perhaps he’s blowing his brains out. He is the last of his house; it’s a great house. But Miss Light will have put an end to it!”

“Is that the view she takes of it?” Rowland ventured to ask.

This time, unmistakably, the Cavaliere smiled, but still in that very out-of-the-way place. “You have observed Miss Light with attention,” he said, “and this brings me to my errand. Mrs. Light has a high opinion of your wisdom, of your kindness, and she has reason to believe you have influence with her daughter.”

“I— with her daughter? Not a grain!”

“That is possibly your modesty. Mrs. Light believes that something may yet be done, and that Christina will listen to you. She begs you to come and see her before it is too late.”

“But all this, my dear Cavaliere, is none of my business,” Rowland objected. “I can’t possibly, in such a matter, take the responsibility of advising Miss Light.”

The Cavaliere fixed his eyes for a moment on the floor, in brief but intense reflection. Then looking up, “Unfortunately,” he said, “she has no man near her whom she respects; she has no father!”

“And a fatally foolish mother!” Rowland gave himself the satisfaction of exclaiming.

The Cavaliere was so pale that he could not easily have turned paler; yet it seemed for a moment that his dead complexion blanched. “Eh, signore, such as she is, the mother appeals to you. A very handsome woman — disheveled, in tears, in despair, in dishabille!”

Rowland reflected a moment, not on the attractions of Mrs. Light under the circumstances thus indicated by the Cavaliere, but on the satisfaction he would take in accusing Christina to her face of having struck a cruel blow.

“I must add,” said the Cavaliere, “that Mrs. Light desires also to speak to you on the subject of Mr. Hudson.”

“She considers Mr. Hudson, then, connected with this step of her daughter’s?”

“Intimately. He must be got out of Rome.”

“Mrs. Light, then, must get an order from the Pope to remove him. It’s not in my power.”

The Cavaliere assented, deferentially. “Mrs. Light is equally helpless. She would leave Rome tomorrow, but Christina will not budge. An order from the Pope would do nothing. A bull in council would do nothing.”

“She’s a remarkable young lady,” said Rowland, with bitterness.

But the Cavaliere rose and responded coldly, “She has a great spirit.” And it seemed to Rowland that her great spirit, for mysterious reasons, gave him more pleasure than the distressing use she made of it gave him pain. He was on the point of charging him with his inconsistency, when Giacosa resumed: “But if the marriage can be saved, it must be saved. It’s a beautiful marriage. It will be saved.”

“Notwithstanding Miss Light’s great spirit to the contrary?”

“Miss Light, notwithstanding her great spirit, will call Prince Casamassima back.”

“Heaven grant it!” said Rowland.

“I don’t know,” said the Cavaliere, solemnly, “that heaven will have much to do with it.”

Rowland gave him a questioning look, but he laid his finger on his lips. And with Rowland’s promise to present himself on the morrow at Casa Light, he shortly afterwards departed. He left Rowland revolving many things: Christina’s magnanimity, Christina’s perversity, Roderick’s contingent fortune, Mary Garland’s certain trouble, and the Cavaliere’s own fine ambiguities.

Rowland’s promise to the Cavaliere obliged him to withdraw from an excursion which he had arranged with the two ladies from Northampton. Before going to Casa Light he repaired in person to Mrs. Hudson’s hotel, to make his excuses.

He found Roderick’s mother sitting with tearful eyes, staring at an open note that lay in her lap. At the window sat Miss Garland, who turned her intense regard upon him as he came in. Mrs. Hudson quickly rose and came to him, holding out the note.

“In pity’s name,” she cried, “what is the matter with my boy? If he is ill, I entreat you to take me to him!”

“He is not ill, to my knowledge,” said Rowland. “What have you there?”

“A note — a dreadful note. He tells us we are not to see him for a week. If I could only go to his room! But I am afraid, I am afraid!”

“I imagine there is no need of going to his room. What is the occasion, may I ask, of his note?”

“He was to have gone with us on this drive to — what is the place? — to Cervara. You know it was arranged yesterday morning. In the evening he was to have dined with us. But he never came, and this morning arrives this awful thing. Oh dear, I ’m so excited! Would you mind reading it?”

Rowland took the note and glanced at its half-dozen lines. “I cannot go to Cervara,” they ran; “I have something else to do. This will occupy me perhaps for a week, and you’ll not see me. Don’t miss me — learn not to miss me. R. H.”

“Why, it means,” Rowland commented, “that he has taken up a piece of work, and that it is all-absorbing. That’s very good news.” This explanation was not sincere; but he had not the courage not to offer it as a stop-gap. But he found he needed all his courage to maintain it, for Miss Garland had left her place and approached him, formidably unsatisfied.