Джозеф Конрад - Suspense

“Well, it’s all over,” said Cosmo, “and what has it done? The smoke hangs about yet, and I cannot see, but how do you feel?”

Madame de Montevesso, leaning on her elbow on the mantel–piece, with one foot on the fender, looked down at the ashes in which a spark gleamed here and there.

“I feel a little cold,” she said, “and dazed perhaps. One doesn’t know where to look.”

Cosmo got up and made a step forward. His voice, however, was subdued. “Formerly there was a man.”

“A man, yes. One couldn’t help looking towards him. There was something unnatural in that uniqueness, but do you know, Cosmo, the man was nothing. You smile, you think you hear a Royalist speaking, a woman full of silly aristocratic prejudice; a woman who sees only a small Corsican squire who hadn’t even the sense to catch the opportunity by the hair as it flew by and be the restorer of the Bourbon dynasty. You imagine all that of me! … Of me!”

She kept her pose, desolate, as if looking down at the ashes of a burnt–up world.

“I don’t think you could be stupid if you tried,” he said. “But if the man was nothing, then what has done it?”

Madame de Montevesso remained silent for a while before murmuring the word “Destiny,” and only then turned her head slightly towards Cosmo. “What are you staring at in that corner?” she asked, after another period of silence.

“Was I staring?” he said with a little start. “I didn’t know. Your words evoked a draped figure with an averted head.”

“Then it wasn’t that,” she said, looking at him with friendly eyes. “Whatever your fancy might have seen, it was not Destiny. One must live a very long time to see even the hem of her robe. Live a very, very long time,” she repeated in a tone of such weariness, tinged by fear, that Cosmo felt impelled to step forward, take up the hand that hung by her side, and press it to his lips. When released it fell slowly to its previous position. But Madame de Montevesso did not move.

“That’s very nice,” she said “It was a movement of sympathy. I have had very little of that in my life. There is something in me that does not appeal to the people with whom I live. My father, of course, loves me; but that is not quite the same thing. Your father, I believe, sympathised with the child, and I am touched to see that the son seems to understand something of the woman; of an almost old woman.”

Cosmo would have been amused at the tone of unaffected conviction in which she called herself an old woman, had it not been for the profound trouble on that young face bent downwards, and at the melancholy grace of the whole attitude of that woman who had once been the child Adèle; a foreign, homeless child, sheltered for a moment by the old walls of his ancestral home, and the sharer of its life’s stately intimacies.

“No,” he said, marvelling that so much bitter experience should have been the lot of such a resplendent figure. “No. Destiny works quick enough. We are both still young, and yet think of what we have already seen.”

He fancied she had shuddered a little. He felt abashed at the thought of what she had lived through, how she had been affected in her daily life by what to him had been only a spectacle after all, though his country had played its part, the impressive part of a rock upraising its head above the flood. But he continued: “Why, the Man of Destiny himself is young yet. You must have seen him many times.”

“No. Once or twice a year I went to the Tuileries in the company of some reconciled Royalist ladies, and very much against my wish. It was expected from Madame de Montevesso, and I always came away thankful to think that it was over for a time. You could hardly imagine how dull that empire time was. All hopes were crushed. It was like a dreadful overdressed masquerade with the everlasting sound of the guns in the distance. Every year I spent a month with my husband to save appearances. That was in the bond. He used then to invite all the provincial grandees for a series of dinners. But even in the provinces one felt the sinister moral constraint of that imperial glory. No doubt all my movements were noticed and recorded by the proper people. Naturally I saw the emperor several times. I saw him also in theatres, in his carriage driving about, but he spoke to me only once.”

“Only once,” exclaimed Cosmo under his breath.

“You may imagine I tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, and I did not belong to the Court. It was on the occasion of a ball given to the Princess of Baden. There was an enormous crowd. Early in the evening I found myself standing in the front row in the Galerie de Diane, between two women who were perfect strangers to me. By and by the Court came in, the empress, the princess, the chamberlains, in full dress, and took their places on a platform at the end. In the intervals of dancing the emperor came down alone, speaking only to the women. He wore his imperial dress of red velvet, laced in all the seams, with white satin breeches, with diamonds on the hilt of his sword and the buckles of his shoes, and on his cap with white plumes. It was a well–designed costume, but with his short thick figure and the clumsiness of his movements, he looked to me frightful and like a mock king. When he came opposite me he stopped. I am certain he knew who I was, but he asked me my name. I told him.

“‘Your husband lives in his province?’

“‘Yes, sire.’

“‘Your husband employs much labour, I hear. I am grateful to him for giving work to the people. This is the proper use of wealth. Hasn’t he served in the English army in India?’

“His tone was friendly. I said I didn’t know that, but I did know that he had fought against them there.

“He smiled in a fascinating manner and said: ‘That’s very possible. A soldier of fortune. He is a native of Piedmont, is he not?’

“‘Yes, sire.’

“‘But you are French, entirely French. We have a claim on you. How old are you?’

“I told him. He said: ‘You look younger.’ Then he came nearer to me and speaking in a confidential tone said: ‘You have no children. I know, I know. It isn’t your fault, but you should try to make some other arrangement. Believe me, I am giving you good advice.’

“I was dumb with astonishment. He gave me again a very gracious smile and went on. That is the only conversation I ever had with the emperor.”

She fell silent with downcast eyes, then she added: “It was very characteristic of him.” Cosmo was mainly struck by the fact that he knew so little of her, that this was the first intimation he had of the Montevessos being childless. He had never asked himself the question before, but this positive, if indirect, statement was agreeable to him.

“I did not make any other arrangements,” began Madame de Montevesso with a slightly ironic intonation. “I was only too thankful to be left alone. At the time the Russian campaign began, I paid my annual visit to Monsieur de Montevesso. Except for the usual entertainments to local people, I was alone with Count Helion, and as usual, when we were quite alone, he behaved in a tolerable way. There was nobody and nothing that could arouse his jealousy and the dormant hatred he nurses for me deep down in his heart. We had only one slight discussion, at the end of which he admitted, gnashing his teeth, that he had nothing to reproach me with except that I was what I was. I told him I could not help it, and that as things were, he ought rather to congratulate himself on that fact. He gave me only a black look. He can restrain himself wonderfully when he likes. Upon the whole I had a quiet time. I played and sang to myself, I read a little, I took long walks, I rode almost every day attended by Bernard. That wasn’t so agreeable. You remember Bernard?”