“Nessun visse giammai più di me lieto;
Nessun vive più tristo e giorni e notti.”
“No, he has not forgotten me,” Clelia told herself with a transport of joy. “That fine soul is not inconstant!”
“Esser po in prima ogni impossibil cosa
Ch’altri che morte od ella sani il colpo
Ch’Amor co’ suoi begli occhi al cor m’impresse,”
Clelia ventured to repeat to herself these lines of Petrarch.
The Princess withdrew immediately after supper; the Prince had gone with her to her room and did not appear again in the reception rooms. As soon as this became known, everyone wished to leave at once; there was complete confusion in the anterooms; Clelia found herself close to Fabrizio; the profound misery depicted on his features moved her to pity. “Let us forget the past,” she said to him, “and keep this reminder of friendship.” As she said these words, she held out her fan so that he might take it.
Everything changed in Fabrizio’s eyes; in an instant he was another man; the following day he announced that his retreat was at an end, and returned to occupy his magnificent apartment in the palazzo Sanseverina. The Archbishop said, and believed, that the favour which the Prince had shown him in admitting him to his game had completely turned the head of this new saint: the Duchessa saw that he had come to terms with Clelia. This thought, coming to intensify the misery that was caused her by the memory of a fatal promise, finally decided her to absent herself for a while. People marvelled at her folly. What! Leave the court at the moment when the favour that she enjoyed appeared to have no bounds! The Conte, perfectly happy since he had seen that there was no love between Fabrizio and the Duchessa, said to his friend: “This new Prince is virtue incarnate, but I have called him ‘that boy’: will he ever forgive me? I can see only one way of putting myself back in his good books, that is absence. I am going to show myself a perfect model of courtesy and respect, after which I shall be ill, and shall ask leave to retire. You will allow me that, now that Fabrizio’s fortune is assured. But will you make me the immense sacrifice,” he added, laughing, “of exchanging the sublime title of Duchessa for another greatly inferior? For my own amusement, I am leaving everything here in an inextricable confusion; I had four or five workers in my various Ministries, I placed them all on the pension list two months ago, because they read the French newspapers; and I have filled their places with blockheads of the first order.
“After our departure, the Prince will find himself in such difficulties that, in spite of the horror that he feels for Rassi’s character, I have no doubt that he will be obliged to recall him, and I myself am only awaiting an order from the tyrant who disposes of my fate to write a letter of tender friendship to my friend Rassi, and tell him that I have every reason to hope that presently justice will be done to his merits.”
XXVII
This serious conversation was held on the day following Fabrizio’s return to the palazzo Sanseverina; the Duchessa was still overcome by the joy that radiated from Fabrizio’s every action. “So,” she said to herself, “that little saint has deceived me! She has not been able to hold out against her lover for three months even.”
The certainty of a happy ending had given that pusillanimous creature, the young Prince, the courage to love; he knew something of the preparations for flight that were being made at the palazzo Sanseverina; and his French valet, who had little belief in the virtue of great ladies, gave him courage with respect to the Duchessa. Ernesto V allowed himself to take a step for which he was severely reproved by the Princess and all the sensible people at court; to the populace it appeared to set the seal on the astonishing favour which the Duchessa enjoyed. The Prince went to see her in her palazzo.
“You are leaving,” he said to her in a serious tone which the Duchessa thought odious; “you are leaving, you are going to play me false and violate your oath! And yet, if I had delayed ten minutes in granting you Fabrizio’s pardon, he would have been dead. And you leave me in this wretched state! When but for your oath I should never have had the courage to love you as I do! Have you no sense of honour, then?”
“Think for a little, Prince. In the whole of your life has there been a period equal in happiness to the four months that have just gone by? Your glory as Sovereign, and, I venture to think, your happiness as a man, have never risen to such a pitch. This is the compact that I propose; if you deign to consent to it, I shall not be your mistress for a fleeting instant, and by virtue of an oath extorted by fear, but I shall consecrate every moment of my life to procuring your happiness, I shall be always what I have been for the last four months, and perhaps love will come to crown friendship. I would not swear to the contrary.”
“Very well,” said the Prince, delighted, “take on another part, be something more still, reign at once over my heart and over my States, be my Prime Minister; I offer you such a marriage as is permitted by the regrettable conventions of my rank; we have an example close at hand: the King of Naples has recently married the Duchessa di Partana. I offer you all that I have to offer, a marriage
