CHAPTER IV.
SATAN.
Suddenly the sleeper awoke. She sat up with a sudden and graciousdignity of movement, her fair silken tresses falling in soft disorder.Then stretching herself, she yawned like a tigress in the rising sun.
Perhaps Gwynplaine breathed heavily, as we do when we endeavour torestrain our respiration.
"Is any one there?" said she.
She yawned as she spoke, and her very yawn was graceful. Gwynplainelistened to the unfamiliar voice--the voice of a charmer, its accentsexquisitely haughty, its caressing intonation softening its nativearrogance. Then rising on her knees--there is an antique statue kneelingthus in the midst of a thousand transparent folds--she drew thedressing-gown towards her, and springing from the couch stood upright.In the twinkling of an eye the silken robe was around her. The trailingsleeve concealed her hands; only the tips of her toes, with little pinknails like those of an infant, were left visible. Having drawn fromunderneath the dressing-gown a mass of hair which had been imprisoned byit, she crossed behind the couch to the end of the room, and placed herear to the painted mirror, which was, apparently, a door. Tapping theglass with her finger, she called, "Is any one there? Lord David? Areyou come already? What time is it then? Is that you, Barkilphedro?" Sheturned from the glass. "No! it was not there. Is there any one in thebathroom? Will you answer? Of course not. No one could come that way."
Going to the silver lace curtain, she raised it with her foot, thrust itaside with her shoulder, and entered the marble room. An agonizednumbness fell upon Gwynplaine. No possibility of concealment. It was toolate to fly. Moreover, he was no longer equal to the exertion. He wishedthat the earth might open and swallow him up. Anything to hide him.
She saw him. She stared, immensely astonished, but without the slightestnervousness. Then, in a tone of mingled pleasure and contempt, she said,"Why, it is Gwynplaine!" Suddenly with a rapid spring, for this cat wasa panther, she flung herself on his neck.
Suddenly, pushing him back, and holding him by both shoulders with hersmall claw-like hands, she stood up face to face with him, and began togaze at him with a strange expression.
It was a fatal glance she gave him with her Aldebaran-like eyes--aglance at once equivocal and starlike. Gwynplaine watched the blue eyeand the black eye, distracted by the double ray of heaven and of hellthat shone in the orbs thus fixed on him. The man and the woman threw amalign dazzling reflection one on the other. Both were fascinated--heby her beauty, she by his deformity. Both were in a measureawe-stricken. Pressed down, as by an overwhelming weight, he wasspeechless.
"Oh!" she cried. "How clever you are! You are come. You found out that Iwas obliged to leave London. You followed me. That was right. Your beinghere proves you to be a wonder."
The simultaneous return of self-possession acts like a flash oflightning. Gwynplaine, indistinctly warned by a vague, rude, but honestmisgiving, drew back, but the pink nails clung to his shoulders andrestrained him. Some inexorable power proclaimed its sway over him. Hehimself, a wild beast, was caged in a wild beast's den. She continued,"Anne, the fool--you know whom I mean--the queen--ordered me to Windsorwithout giving any reason. When I arrived she was closeted with heridiot of a Chancellor. But how did you contrive to obtain access to me?That's what I call being a man. Obstacles, indeed! there are no suchthings. You come at a call. You found things out. My name, the DuchessJosiana, you knew, I fancy. Who was it brought you in? No doubt it wasthe page. Oh, he is clever! I will give him a hundred guineas. Which waydid you get in? Tell me! No, don't tell me; I don't want to know.Explanations diminish interest. I prefer the marvellous, and you arehideous enough to be wonderful. You have fallen from the highestheavens, or you have risen from the depths of hell through the devil'strap-door. Nothing can be more natural. The ceiling opened or the flooryawned. A descent in a cloud, or an ascent in a mass of fire andbrimstone, that is how you have travelled. You have a right to enterlike the gods. Agreed; you are my lover."
Gwynplaine was scared, and listened, his mind growing more irresoluteevery moment. Now all was certain. Impossible to have any further doubt.That letter! the woman confirmed its meaning. Gwynplaine the lover andthe beloved of a duchess! Mighty pride, with its thousand baleful heads,stirred his wretched heart. Vanity, that powerful agent within us, worksus measureless evil.
The duchess went on, "Since you are here, it is so decreed. I asknothing more. There is some one on high, or in hell, who brings ustogether. The betrothal of Styx and Aurora! Unbridled ceremonies beyondall laws! The very day I first saw you I said, 'It is he!' I recognizehim. He is the monster of my dreams. He shall be mine. We should givedestiny a helping hand. Therefore I wrote to you. One question,Gwynplaine: do you believe in predestination? For my part, I havebelieved in it since I read, in Cicero, Scipio's dream. Ah! I did notobserve it. Dressed like a gentleman! You in fine clothes! Why not? Youare a mountebank. All the more reason. A juggler is as good as a lord.Moreover, what are lords? Clowns. You have a noble figure; you aremagnificently made. It is wonderful that you should be here. When didyou arrive? How long have you been here? Did you see me naked? I ambeautiful, am I not? I was going to take my bath. Oh, how I love you!You read my letter! Did you read it yourself? Did any one read it toyou? Can you read? Probably you are ignorant. I ask questions, but don'tanswer them. I don't like the sound of your voice. It is soft. Anextraordinary thing like you should snarl, and not speak. You singharmoniously. I hate it. It is the only thing about you that I do notlike. All the rest is terrible--is grand. In India you would be a god.Were you born with that frightful laugh on your face? No! No doubt it isa penal brand. I do hope you have committed some crime. Come to myarms."
She sank on the couch, and made him sit beside her. They foundthemselves close together unconsciously. What she said passed overGwynplaine like a mighty storm. He hardly understood the meaning of herwhirlwind of words. Her eyes were full of admiration. She spoketumultuously, frantically, with a voice broken and tender. Her wordswere music, but their music was to Gwynplaine as a hurricane. Again shefixed her gaze upon him and continued,--
"I feel degraded in your presence, and oh, what happiness that is! Howinsipid it is to be a grandee! I am noble; what can be more tiresome?Disgrace is a comfort. I am so satiated with respect that I long forcontempt. We are all a little erratic, from Venus, Cleopatra, Mesdamesde Chevreuse and de Longueville, down to myself. I will make a displayof you, I declare. Here's a love affair which will be a blow to myfamily, the Stuarts. Ah! I breathe again. I have discovered a secret. Iam clear of royalty. To be free from its trammels is indeed deliverance.To break down, defy, make and destroy at will, that is true enjoyment.Listen, I love you."
She paused; then with a frightful smile went on, "I love you, not onlybecause you are deformed, but because you are low. I love monsters, andI love mountebanks. A lover despised, mocked, grotesque, hideous,exposed to laughter on that pillory called a theatre, has for me anextraordinary attraction. It is tasting the fruit of hell. An infamouslover, how exquisite! To taste the apple, not of Paradise, but ofhell--such is my temptation. It is for that I hunger and thirst. I amthat Eve, the Eve of the depths. Probably you are, unknown to yourself,a devil. I am in love with a nightmare. You are a moving puppet, ofwhich the strings are pulled by a spectre. You are the incarnation ofinfernal mirth. You are the master I require. I wanted a lover such asthose of Medea and Canidia. I felt sure that some night would bring mesuch a one. You are all that I want. I am talking of a heap of things ofwhich you probably know nothing. Gwynplaine, hitherto I have remaineduntouched; I give myself to you, pure as a burning ember. You evidentlydo not believe me; but if you only knew how little I care!"
Her words flowed like a volcanic eruption. Pierce Mount Etna, and youmay obtain some idea of that jet of fiery eloquence.
Gwynplaine stammered, "Madame--"
She placed her hand on his mouth. "Silence," she said. "I am studyingyou. I am unbridled desire, immaculate. I am a vestal bacchante. No manhas known me, and I
might be the virgin pythoness at Delphos, and haveunder my naked foot the bronze tripod, where the priests lean theirelbows on the skin of the python, whispering questions to the invisiblegod. My heart is of stone, but it is like those mysterious pebbles whichthe sea washes to the foot of the rock called Huntly Nabb, at the mouthof the Tees, and which if broken are found to contain a serpent. Thatserpent is my love--a love which is all-powerful, for it has brought youto me. An impossible distance was between us. I was in Sirius, and youwere in Allioth. You have crossed the immeasurable space, and here youare. 'Tis well. Be silent. Take me."
She ceased; he trembled. Then she went on, smiling, "You see,Gwynplaine, to dream is to create; to desire is to summon. To build upthe chimera is to provoke the reality. The all-powerful and terriblemystery will not be defied. It produces result. You are here. Do I dareto lose caste? Yes. Do I dare to be your mistress--your concubine--yourslave--your chattel? Joyfully. Gwynplaine, I am woman. Woman is claylonging to become mire. I want to despise myself. That lends a zest topride. The alloy of greatness is baseness. They combine in perfection.Despise me, you who are despised. Nothing can be better. Degradation ondegradation. What joy! I pluck the double blossom of ignominy. Trampleme under foot. You will only love me the more. I am sure of it. Do youunderstand why I idolize you? Because I despise you. You are soimmeasurably below me that I place you on an altar. Bring the highestand lowest depths together, and you have Chaos, and I delight inChaos--Chaos, the beginning and end of everything. What is Chaos? A hugeblot. Out of that blot God made light, and out of that sink the world.You don't know how perverse I can be. Knead a star in mud, and you willhave my likeness."
She went on,--
"A wolf to all beside; a faithful dog to you. How astonished they willall be! The astonishment of fools is amusing. I understand myself. Am Ia goddess? Amphitrite gave herself to the Cyclops. _FluctivomaAmphitrite_. Am I a fairy? Urgele gave herself to Bugryx, a winged man,with eight webbed hands. Am I a princess? Marie Stuart had Rizzio. Threebeauties, three monsters. I am greater than they, for you are lower thanthey. Gwynplaine, we were made for one another. The monster that you areoutwardly, I am within. Thence my love for you. A caprice? Just so. Whatis a hurricane but a caprice? Our stars have a certain affinity.Together we are things of night--you in your face, I in my mind. As yourcountenance is defaced, so is my mind. You, in your turn, create me. Youcome, and my real soul shows itself. I did not know it. It isastonishing. Your coming has evoked the hydra in me, who am a goddess.You reveal my real nature. See how I resemble you. Look at me as if Iwere a mirror. Your face is my mind. I did not know I was so terrible. Iam also, then, a monster. O Gwynplaine, you do amuse me!"
She laughed, a strange and childlike laugh; and, putting her mouthclose to his ear, whispered,--
"Do you want to see a mad woman? look at me."
She poured her searching look into Gwynplaine. A look is a philtre. Herloosened robe provoked a thousand dangerous feelings. Blind, animalecstasy was invading his mind--ecstasy combined with agony. Whilst shespoke, though he felt her words like burning coals, his blood frozewithin his veins. He had not strength to utter a word.
She stopped, and looked at him.
"O monster!" she cried. She grew wild.
Suddenly she seized his hands.
"Gwynplaine, I am the throne; you are the footstool. Let us join on thesame level. Oh, how happy I am in my fall! I wish all the world couldknow how abject I am become. It would bow down all the lower. The moreman abhors, the more does he cringe. It is human nature. Hostile, butreptile; dragon, but worm. Oh, I am as depraved as are the gods! Theycan never say that I am not a king's bastard. I act like a queen. Whowas Rodope but a queen loving Pteh, a man with a crocodile's head? Sheraised the third pyramid in his honour. Penthesilea loved the centaur,who, being now a star, is named Sagittarius. And what do you say aboutAnne of Austria? Mazarin was ugly enough! Now, you are not only ugly;you are deformed. Ugliness is mean, deformity is grand. Ugliness is thedevil's grin behind beauty; deformity is the reverse of sublimity. It isthe back view. Olympus has two aspects. One, by day, shows Apollo; theother, by night, shows Polyphemus. You--you are a Titan. You would beBehemoth in the forests, Leviathan in the deep, and Typhon in the sewer.You surpass everything. There is the trace of lightning in yourdeformity; your face has been battered by the thunderbolt. The jaggedcontortion of forked lightning has imprinted its mark on your face. Itstruck you and passed on. A mighty and mysterious wrath has, in a fit ofpassion, cemented your spirit in a terrible and superhuman form. Hell isa penal furnace, where the iron called Fatality is raised to a whiteheat. You have been branded with it. To love you is to understandgrandeur. I enjoy that triumph. To be in love with Apollo--a fineeffort, forsooth! Glory is to be measured by the astonishment itcreates. I love you. I have dreamt of you night after night. This is mypalace. You shall see my gardens. There are fresh springs under theshrubs; arbours for lovers; and beautiful groups of marble statuary byBernini. Flowers! there are too many--during the spring the place is onfire with roses. Did I tell you that the queen is my sister? Do what youlike with me. I am made for Jupiter to kiss my feet, and for Satan tospit in my face. Are you of any religion? I am a Papist. My father,James II., died in France, surrounded by Jesuits. I have never feltbefore as I feel now that I am near you. Oh, how I should like to passthe evening with you, in the midst of music, both reclining on the samecushion, under a purple awning, in a gilded gondola on the soft expanseof ocean! Insult me, beat me, kick me, cuff me, treat me like a brute! Iadore you."
Caresses can roar. If you doubt it, observe the lion's. The woman washorrible, and yet full of grace. The effect was tragic. First he feltthe claw, then the velvet of the paw. A feline attack, made up ofadvances and retreats. There was death as well as sport in this game ofcome and go. She idolized him, but arrogantly. The result was contagiousfrenzy. Fatal language, at once inexpressible, violent, and sweet. Theinsulter did not insult; the adorer outraged the object of adoration.She, who buffeted, deified him. Her tones imparted to her violent yetamorous words an indescribable Promethean grandeur. According toAEschylus, in the orgies in honour of the great goddess the women weresmitten by this evil frenzy when they pursued the satyrs under thestars. Such paroxysms raged in the mysterious dances in the grove ofDodona. This woman was as if transfigured--if, indeed, we can term thattransfiguration which is the antithesis of heaven.
Her hair quivered like a mane; her robe opened and closed. The sunshineof the blue eye mingled with the fire of the black one. She wasunearthly.
Gwynplaine, giving way, felt himself vanquished by the deep subtilty ofthis attack.
"I love you!" she cried. And she bit him with a kiss.
Homeric clouds were, perhaps, about to be required to encompassGwynplaine and Josiana, as they did Jupiter and Juno. For Gwynplaine tobe loved by a woman who could see and who saw him, to feel on hisdeformed mouth the pressure of divine lips, was exquisite andmaddening. Before this woman, full of enigmas, all else faded away inhis mind. The remembrance of Dea struggled in the shadows with weakcries. There is an antique bas-relief representing the Sphinx devouringa Cupid. The wings of the sweet celestial are bleeding between thefierce, grinning fangs.
Did Gwynplaine love this woman? Has man, like the globe, two poles? Arewe, on our inflexible axis, a moving sphere, a star when seen from afar,mud when seen more closely, in which night alternates with day? Has theheart two aspects--one on which its love is poured forth in light; theother in darkness? Here a woman of light, there a woman of the sewer.Angels are necessary. Is it possible that demons are also essential? Hasthe soul the wings of the bat? Does twilight fall fatally for all? Issin an integral and inevitable part of our destiny? Must we accept evilas part and portion of our whole? Do we inherit sin as a debt? Whatawful subjects for thought!
Yet a voice tells us that weakness is a crime. Gwynplaine's feelings arenot to be described. The flesh, life, terror, lust, an overwhelmingintoxication of spirit, and all the shame possible to prid
e. Was heabout to succumb?
She repeated, "I love you!" and flung her frenzied arms around him.Gwynplaine panted.
Suddenly close at hand there rang, clear and distinct, a little bell. Itwas the little bell inside the wall. The duchess, turning her head,said,--
"What does she want of me?"
Quickly, with the noise of a spring door, the silver panel, with thegolden crown chased on it, opened. A compartment of a shaft, lined withroyal blue velvet, appeared, and on a golden salver a letter. Theletter, broad and weighty, was placed so as to exhibit the seal, whichwas a large impression in red wax. The bell continued to tinkle. Theopen panel almost touched the couch where the duchess and Gwynplainewere sitting.
Leaning over, but still keeping her arm round his neck, she took theletter from the plate, and touched the panel. The compartment closed in,and the bell ceased ringing.
The duchess broke the seal, and, opening the envelope, drew out twodocuments contained therein, and flung it on the floor at Gwynplaine'sfeet. The impression of the broken seal was still decipherable, andGwynplaine could distinguish a royal crown over the initial A. The tornenvelope lay open before him, so that he could read, "To Her Grace theDuchess Josiana." The envelope had contained both vellum and parchment.The former was a small, the latter a large document. On the parchmentwas a large Chancery seal in green wax, called Lords' sealing-wax.
The face of the duchess, whose bosom was palpitating, and whose eyeswere swimming with passion, became overspread with a slight expressionof dissatisfaction.
"Ah!" she said. "What does she send me? A lot of papers! What aspoil-sport that woman is!"
Pushing aside the parchment, she opened the vellum.
"It is her handwriting. It is my sister's hand. It is quite provoking.Gwynplaine, I asked you if you could read. Can you?"
Gwynplaine nodded assent.
She stretched herself at full length on the couch, carefully drew herfeet and arms under her robe, with a whimsical affectation of modesty,and, giving Gwynplaine the vellum, watched him with an impassioned look.
"Well, you are mine. Begin your duties, my beloved. Read me what thequeen writes."
Gwynplaine took the vellum, unfolded it, and, in a voice tremulous withmany emotions, began to read:--
"MADAM,--We are graciously pleased to send to you herewith, sealed andsigned by our trusty and well-beloved William Cowper, Lord HighChancellor of England, a copy of a report showing forth the veryimportant fact that the legitimate son of Linnaeus Lord Clancharlie hasjust been discovered and recognized, bearing the name of Gwynplaine, inthe lowest rank of a wandering and vagabond life, among strollers andmountebanks. His false position dates from his earliest days. Inaccordance with the laws of the country, and in virtue of his hereditaryrights, Lord Fermain Clancharlie, son of Lord Linnaeus, will be this dayadmitted, and installed in his position in the House of Lords.Therefore, having regard to your welfare, and wishing to preserve foryour use the property and estates of Lord Clancharlie of Hunkerville, wesubstitute him in the place of Lord David Dirry-Moir, and recommend himto your good graces. We have caused Lord Fermain to be conducted toCorleone Lodge. We will and command, as sister and as Queen, that thesaid Fermain Lord Clancharlie, hitherto called Gwynplaine, shall be yourhusband, and that you shall marry him. Such is our royal pleasure."
While Gwynplaine, in tremulous tones which varied at almost every word,was reading the document, the duchess, half risen from the couch,listened with fixed attention. When Gwynplaine finished, she snatchedthe letter from his hands.
"Anne R," she murmured in a tone of abstraction. Then picking up fromthe floor the parchment she had thrown down, she ran her eye over it. Itwas the confession of the shipwrecked crew of the _Matutina_, embodiedin a report signed by the sheriff of Southwark and by the lordchancellor.
Having perused the report, she read the queen's letter over again. Thenshe said, "Be it so." And calmly pointing with her finger to the door ofthe gallery through which he had entered, she added, "Begone."
Gwynplaine was petrified, and remained immovable. She repeated, in icytones, "Since you are my husband, begone." Gwynplaine, speechless, andwith eyes downcast like a criminal, remained motionless. She added, "Youhave no right to be here; it is my lover's place." Gwynplaine was like aman transfixed. "Very well," said she; "I must go myself. So you are myhusband. Nothing can be better. I hate you." She rose, and with anindescribably haughty gesture of adieu left the room. The curtain in thedoorway of the gallery fell behind her.