[p 415]
XXXVI
“From the moment I saw Lucio Rimânez”—went on Sibyl’s ‘dying speech’—“I abandoned myself to love and the desire of love. I had heard of him before from my father who had (as I learned to my shame) been indebted to him for monetary assistance. On the very night we met, my father told me quite plainly that now was my chance to get ‘settled’ in life. ‘Marry Rimânez or Tempest, whichever you can most easily catch,’ he said—‘The prince is fabulously wealthy—but he keeps up a mystery about himself and no one knows where he actually comes from,—besides which he dislikes women;—now Tempest has five millions and seems an easy-going fool,—I should say you had better go for Tempest.’ I made no answer and gave no promise either way. I soon found out however that Lucio did not intend to marry,—and I concluded that he preferred to be the lover of many women, instead of the husband of one. I did not love him any the less for this,—I only resolved that I would at least be one of those who were happy enough to share his passion. I married the man Tempest, feeling that like many women I knew, I should when safely wedded, have greater liberty of action,—I was aware that most modern men prefer an amour with a married woman to any other kind of liaison,—and I thought Lucio would have readily yielded to the plan I had pre-conceived. But I was mistaken,—and out of this mistake comes all my perplexity, pain and bewilderment I cannot understand [p 416] why my love,—beloved beyond all word or thought,—should scorn me and repulse me with such bitter loathing! It is such a common thing now-a-days for a married woman to have her own lover, apart from her husband de convenance! The writers of books advise it,—I have seen the custom not only excused but advocated over and over again in long and scientific articles that are openly published in leading magazines. Why then should I be blamed or my desires considered criminal? As long as no public scandal is made, what harm is done? I cannot see it,—it is not as if there were a God to care,—the scientists say there is no God!
· · · · ·
I was very startled just now. I thought I heard Lucio’s voice calling me. I have walked through the rooms looking everywhere, and I opened my door to listen, but there is no one. I am alone. I have told the servant not to disturb me till I ring; ... I shall never ring! Now I come to think of it, it is singular that I have never known who Lucio really is. A prince, he says—and that I can well believe,—though truly princes now-a-days are so plebeian and common in look and bearing that he seems too great to belong to so shabby a fraternity. From what kingdom does he come?—to what nation does he belong? These are questions which he never answers save equivocally.
· · · · ·
I pause here, and look at myself in the mirror. How beautiful I am! I note with admiration the deep and dewy lustre of my eyes and their dark silky fringes,—I see the delicate colouring of my cheeks and lips,—the dear rounded chin with its pretty dimple,—the pure lines of my slim throat and snowy neck,—the glistening wealth of my long hair. All this was given to me for the attraction and luring of men, but my love, whom I love with all this living, breathing, exquisite being of mine, can see no beauty in me, and rejects me with such scorn as pierces my very soul. I have knelt to him,—I have prayed to him,—I have worshipped him,—in vain! Hence it comes that I must die. Only one thing he said [p 417] that had the sound of hope, though the utterance was fierce, and his looks were cruel,—‘Patience!’ he whispered—‘we shall meet ere long!’ What did he mean?—what possible meeting can there be now, when death must close the gate of life, and even love would come too late!
· · · · ·
I have unlocked my jewel-case and taken from it the deadly thing secreted there,—a poison that was entrusted to me by one of the physicians who lately attended my mother. ‘Keep this under lock and key,’ he said, ‘and be sure that it is used only for external purposes. There is sufficient in this flask to kill ten men, if swallowed by mistake.’ I look at it wonderingly. It is colourless,—and there is not enough to fill a teaspoon, ... yet ... it will bring down upon me an eternal darkness, and close up for ever the marvellous scenes of the universe! So little!—to do so much! I have fastened Lucio’s wedding-gift round my waist,—the beautiful snake of jewels that clings to me as though it were charged with an embrace from him,—ah! would I could cheat myself into so pleasing a fancy! ... I am trembling, but not with cold or fear,—it is simply an excitation of the nerves,——an instinctive recoil of flesh and blood at the near prospect of death.... How brilliantly the sun shines through my window!—its callous golden stare has watched so many tortured creatures die without so much as a cloud to dim its radiance by way of the suggestion of pity! If there were a God I fancy He would be like the sun,—glorious, changeless, unapproachable, beautiful, but pitiless!
· · · · ·
Out of all the various types of human beings I think I hate the class called poets most. I used to love them and believe in them; but I know them now to be mere weavers of lies,—builders of cloud castles in which no throbbing life can breathe, no weary heart find rest. Love is their chief motive,—they either idealize or degrade it,—and of the love we women long for most, they have no conception. They can only sing of brute passion or ethical impossibilities,—of [p 418] the mutual great sympathy, the ungrudging patient tenderness that should make love lovely, they have no sweet things to say. Between their strained æstheticism and unbridled sensualism, my spirit has been stretched on the rack and broken on the wheel, ... I should think many a wretched woman wrecked among love’s disillusions must curse them as I do!