The flood of words was unstoppable. He was deeply unhappy, small, chastened, tamed, defeated, devastated and needed to get things off his chest. They had already walked past the post office and were now retracing their steps. He was looking for sympathy from Cornélie, and he found it in the smiling attention with which she listened to his laments. She replied that it spoke well of Urania that she had a feeling for San Stefano.
“Oh, yes,” he conceded humbly. “She is very good. I would never have thought it. She’s a princess to her fingertips. It’s wonderful. But as for the ten million, the dream has gone! But my goodness, how well you look! You are more beautiful every time I see you. Do you know that you are a very beautiful woman? You must be very happy. You are an exceptional woman, I’ve said so all along. I don’t understand you … Can I be frank? Are we good friends? I don’t understand you. What you have just done, I find so terrible … It is unheard of in our world.”
“Your world is not mine, prince.”
“All right, but I expect your world takes the same view. And the calm way, the pride, the happiness with which you calmly do … what you feel like. I find it awesome. I’m amazed …Yet … it’s a shame. In my world people are very easy-going … But that is beyond the pale!”
“Prince, once again, I have no world. My world is my own circle.”
“I don’t understand … Tell me, how am I to tell Urania? Because I’d be delighted if you would visit us at San Stefano. Oh, come on, come, come and keep us company. I beg you. Have pity, do a good deed …But first tell me how I am to break it to Urania …”
She laughed. “What?”
“What they told me at Via dei Serpenti: that from now on your address was: Via del Babuino, Mr Van der Staal’s studio …”
Smiling, she looked at him almost pityingly.
“It is too difficult for you to tell her,” she replied, slightly condescendingly. “I’ll write to Urania myself to tell her and explain my behaviour to her.”
He was obviously relieved.
“That’s wonderful, excellent! And … will you be coming to San Stefano?”
“No, I can’t, really.”
“Why not?”
“I can no longer venture into the circles you live in, after my change of address,” she said, half-laughing, half-serious.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Listen,” he said. “You know our Roman society. Provided certain conventions are observed … everything is permitted.”
“Exactly, but it’s just those conventions that I am not observing …”
“Then that is very wrong of you. Believe me, I’m saying this as your friend.”
“I live according to my own laws and do not ask you to enter my world.”
He folded his hands.
“Yes, yes, I know that, you are a ‘new woman’. You are a law unto yourself. But I beg you, have pity on me. Have mercy on me. Come to San Stefano.”
She sensed a seductive edge in his voice and so said:
“Prince, even if it accorded with the conventions of your world … I would still not want to. I don’t want to leave Van der Staal.”
“You come first and he can come later. Urania would like to ask his advice on a number of artistic matters to do with her ‘refurbishment’ of San Stefano. We have many paintings there. From antiquity too. Come on, do it. I’m going to San Stefano tomorrow. Urania will join me in a week. I shall suggest she asks you soon …”
“Really, prince … I can’t at such short notice …”
“Why not?”
She looked at him for a long time.
“Shall I be very frank?”
“Of course.”
They had already passed the post office a number of times. The street was eerily quiet, and there were no pedestrians. He looked at her quizzically.
“Well then,” she said, “we are in serious financial difficulties. At the moment we have nothing. I have lost my capital and the little I have earned from writing an article has gone. Duco works hard, but he is engaged on a largescale work and is earning nothing. He is expecting money in a few months. But at the moment we have nothing Nothing at all. That’s why I went down to a shop by the Tiber this morning to ask how much the dealer would give for a couple of antique paintings that Duco wants to sell. He is reluctant to part with them. But there’s no alternative. So you see that I cannot come. I would not like to leave him, and than I have no money for the journey or a decent wardrobe …”
He looked at her. He had first been struck by her burgeoning beauty; he was now struck by the fact that her skirt was rather worn, her blouse was no longer fresh, although she was wearing a couple of roses in her belt.
“Gesù mio!” he exclaimed. “And you tell me that so calmly, so serenely …”
She smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
“What do you want me to do? Whine about it?”
“But you are a woman … a woman worthy of respect!” he exclaimed. “How is Van der Staal coping with it?”
“He’s a little depressed. He has never experienced financial problems. And it is stopping him from working with all his talent. But I hope I am some support to him in this unfortunate period. So you see, prince, that I cannot come to San Stefano.”
“But why did you not write to us? Why did you not ask us for money?”
“It is very sweet of you to say that, the idea never even occurred to us.”
“Too proud?”
“Too proud, yes.”
“But what a situation! What can I do to help you? Can I give you a few hundred lire? I have a few hundred on me. And I shall tell Urania that I have given them to you.”
“No, prince, thank you. I am very grateful, but I cannot accept.”
“Not from me?”
“No.”
“Not from Urania?”
“Not even from her.”
“Why?”
“I want to earn my money and cannot accept alms.”
“A fine principle. But only for now.”
“I shall stick to it.”
“May I say something?”
“What is it?”
“I admire you. More than that. I love you.”
She made a gesture with her hand and frowned.
“Why can’t I say that to you? An Italian does not keep his love hidden inside. I love you. You are more beautiful and nobler and loftier than I could ever imagine a woman … Don’t be angry: I am not asking anything of you. I’m a bad lot but at the moment I really feel something inside that you see on our old family portraits. A chance remaining atom of chivalry. I ask nothing of you. I am just saying to you, on behalf of Urania too: you can always count on us. Urania will be angry that you did not write to her.”
They went to the post office and she bought a few stamps.
“There go my last few soldi,” she said with a laugh and showed her empty purse. “We needed them for some letters to an exhibition-organising committee in London. Will you walk me home?”
She suddenly saw that there were tears in his eyes.
“Accept two hundred lire from me!” he begged.
She declined with a smile.