Мария Корелли - Скорбь сатаны / The sorrows of Satan. Уровень 4

“You should have been an orator,” I said, rising and pacing the room to and fro in vexation. “But to me your words are not consoling, and I do not think they are true. Fame is easily enough secured.”

“Pardon me,” said Lucio with a deprecatory gesture. “Notoriety is easily secured – very easily. A few critics who have dined with you, will give you notoriety. But fame is the voice of the whole civilized public of the world.”

“The public!” I echoed contemptuously. “The public only care for trash.”

“It is a pity you should appeal to it then,” he responded with a smile. “If you think so little of the public why give it anything of your brain? The public is the author’s best friend and truest critic. But if you prefer to despise, I tell you what to do. Print just twenty copies of your book and present these to the leading reviewers. When they write about you (as they will do – I’ll take care of that) let your publisher advertise ‘First and Second Large Editions’ of the new novel by Geoffrey Tempest, are bought, one hundred thousand copies having been sold in a week!”

I laughed.

“It is a plan of action of many modern publishers,” I said. “But I don’t like it. I’ll win my fame legitimately if I can.”

“You can’t!” declared Lucio with a serene smile. “It’s impossible. You are too rich. That is not legitimate in literature.”

I went over to my table, rolled up my corrected proofs and directed them to the printers.

The door opened and closed – Lucio was gone. I remained alone. We had now been together for nearly a month, and I was no closer to the secret of his actual nature than I had been at first. Yet I admired him more than ever.

Rimanez and I went to the theater. We had entered the Earl of Elton’s box between the first and second acts of the play, and the Earl himself, an unimpressive, bald-headed, red-faced old gentleman, with fuzzy white whiskers, had risen to welcome us. His daughter had not moved. A minute or two later when he addressed her sharply, saying “Sibyl! Prince Rimanez and his friend, Mr. Geoffrey Tempest,” she turned her head and honoured us both with the chill glance. Her exquisite beauty smote me dumb and foolish. Lucio spoke to her, and I listened.

“At last, Lady Sibyl,” he said, bending towards her deferentially. “At last I have the honour of meeting you. I have seen you often, as one sees a star, – at a distance.”

She smiled, – a smile so slight and cold that it scarcely lifted the corners of her lovely lips.

“I do not think I have ever seen you,” she replied. “But my father speak of you constantly. So his friends are always mine.”

He bowed.

“To merely speak to Lady Sibyl Elton is sufficient to make the man happy,” he said. “To be her friend is to discover the lost paradise.”

She flushed. Rimanez turned to me, and placed a chair just behind hers.

“Will you sit here Geoffrey?” he suggested. “I want to have a business chat with Lord Elton.”

She smiled encouragingly as I approached her.

“You are a great friend of Prince Rimanez?” she asked softly, as I sat down.

“Yes, we are very intimate,” I replied. “He is a delightful companion.”

The curtain rose and the play was resumed. A very questionable play, about the ‘woman with the past’. I felt disgusted at the performance and looked at my companions. There was no sign of disapproval on Lady Sibyl’s fair countenance. Her father was bending forward eagerly.

“England has progressed!” said Rimanez.

“But, these women you know,” exclaimed Lord Elton, “these poor souls with a past – are very interesting!”

“Very!” murmured his daughter. “In fact it seems that for women with no such ‘past’ there can be no future! Virtue and modesty are quite out of date.”

I leaned towards her, half whispering,

“Lady Sibyl, I am glad to see this wretched play offends you.”

She turned her deep eyes on me in mingled surprise and amusement.

“Oh no, it doesn’t,” she declared. “I have seen so many like it. And I have read so many novels on just the same theme! I assure you, I am quite convinced that the so-called ‘bad’ woman is the only popular type with men. She gets all the enjoyment possible out of life, she frequently makes an excellent marriage. It is quite a mistake for women to be respectable, – they are dull.”

“Ah, now you are only joking!” I said with an indulgent smile. “You know that in your heart you think very differently!”

She made no answer, as just then the curtain went up again. At that very instant she turned to me and said,

“You are the famous Mr. Tempest, are you not?”

“Famous?” I echoed with a deep sense of gratification. “Well, I am scarcely that, yet! My book is not published.”

Her eyebrows arched themselves surprisedly.

“Your book? I did not know you had written one. When I asked if you were the famous Mr. Tempest, I meant to say were you the great millionaire.”

I bowed.

“How delightful it must be for you to have so much money!” she said. “And you are young too, and good-looking.”

I smiled.

“You are very kind, Lady Sibyl!”

“Why?” she asked laughing, such a delicious low laugh. “Because I tell you the truth? You are young and you are good-looking! Millionaires are generally such appalling creatures. And now tell me about your book!”

The performance was over. We all left the box together. Lucio and I raised our hats in farewell, and the Elton equipage rolled away. As we drove off, Lucio peered inquisitively at me and said,

“Well?”

I was silent.

“Don’t you admire her?” he went on. “I must confess she is cold, but snow often covers volcanoes! She has good features, and a naturally clear complexion.”

“She is perfectly beautiful,” – I said emphatically. “The dullest eyes must see that. There is not a fault to be found with her. And she is wise and cold.”

“Geoffrey, there are no obstacles in the way of your wooing and winning her, if such is your desire. Geoffrey Tempest, millionaire, will be a welcome suitor. Poor Lord Elton’s affairs are in a bad way – he is almost ruined. The American woman who is boarding with him…”

“Boarding with him!” I exclaimed.

Lucio laughed heartily.

“The Earl and Countess of Elton give the prestige of their home and protection to Miss Diana Chesney, the American, for the trifling sum of two thousand guineas per annum.”

“What a state!” I said, half angrily.

“Geoffrey, my friend, you are really amazingly inconsistent! Six weeks ago, what were you? A mere poor scribbler. Now, as millionaire, you think contemptuously of an Earl, because he is boarding an American heiress and launching her into society where she would never get without him. And you aspire, or probably mean to aspire to the hand of the Earl’s daughter, as if you yourself were a descendant of kings!”

“My father was a gentleman,” I said, with hauteur, “and a descendant of gentlemen. We were never common folk.”

Lucio smiled.

“I do not doubt it, my dear fellow. But a simple ‘gentleman’ is below – or above – an Earl. Which side will you choose? It really doesn’t matter nowadays. You occupy a good position, since you have money. And you do not know how it was made.”

“True!” I answered meditatively. Then, with a sudden flash of recollection I added,

“By the way I never told you that my deceased relative imagined that he had sold his soul to the devil, and that this vast fortune of his was the material result!”

Lucio laughed.

“No! Not possible!” he exclaimed derisively. “What an idea! Imagine any sane man believing in a devil! Ha, ha, ha! Well, well! The folly of human imaginations will never end! Here we are!”