Cornélie was glad that Gilio had the countess. With Duco she took an interest in Urania’s plans; he had conversations with the architect. And Duco was indignant and advised against refurbishing in that unstylish restoration manner — it cost a fortune, and ruined everything.
Urania was taken aback, but Duco continued, rubbished the architect, advised her to restore only what was really collapsing, but to prop up, support and preserve as much as possible. And one morning Prince Ercole deigned to walk through the long rooms with Duco, Urania and Cornélie. One could do so much — argued Duco — by simply regularly maintaining and artistically arranging what was at present piled up unthinkingly. The curtains? asked Urania. Leave them, said Duco: at most new net curtains, but the old red Venetian damask … Oh, leave it, leave it: it was so beautifuclass="underline" here and there, with great care, it could be repaired! And the old prince was delighted, because the restoration of San Stefano, done in this way, would cost thousands less and be more artistic: he regarded his daughter-in-law’s money as his own and he loved it even more than he loved her. He was delighted: he took Duco with him to the library: he showed him the old missals; the old family books and documents, charters and gifts; he showed him his coins and medals. It was all a mess, neglected, disregarded at first because of lack of money and then out of indifference, but now Urania wanted to reorganise the family museum with scholars from Rome, Florence and Bologna. The old prince was in favour, now that there was money again. And the scholars came and stayed at the castle, and Duco was tied up with them for whole mornings. He was in his element. He lived in an enchantment with the past, no longer the Classical past, but the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. The days were too short. And his love for San Stefano was so great that once an archivist took him for the young prince: Prince Virgilio. At dinner Prince Ercole told the anecdote. Everyone laughed, but Gilio found the joke simply priceless, while the archivist, who was at the table, did not know how to make himself small enough to atone.
XXXIX
GILIO HAD TAKEN THE ADVICE of his cousin, the Countess di Rosavilla. Immediately after dinner he crept outside, and walked through the pergola as far as the rotunda, through which moonlight fell as if into a white dish. But there was shadow behind some caryatids and there he hid. He waited for an hour. But the night slept, the caryatids slept, standing motionless and supporting the canopy of leaves. He cursed and crept inside. He walked down the corridors on tiptoe and listened at Van der Staal’s door. There was no sound, but perhaps he was asleep …?
But Gilio crept down another corridor, and listened at Cornélie’s door. He held his breath … Yes, there was the sound of voices. They were together! Together!! He clenched his fists and went back, But why was he getting excited! He knew about their affair, didn’t he? Why should they not be together here? And he knocked at the countess’s door …
The following evening he again waited at the rotunda. But they did not come. After a few evenings, as he sat waiting, fighting down his irritation, he saw them approaching. He saw Duco closing the terrace gate behind him: the lock creaked rustily in the distance. He saw them approaching slowly in the light, then fading in the shadow and emerging again into the moonlight. She sat on a marble bench … How happy they seemed! He was jealous of their happiness; mainly jealous of him. And how soft and tender she was, she who thought him, Gilio, fit only for amusement, for flirting with: a clown; she, the demonic woman, was angelic with the man she loved! She leaned towards her lover with a smiling caress, with a curving of her arm, and an approach of her lips, with a fervently enfolding motion, with such a velvety languor of love, that he would never have suspected in her, with her cold, joking flirting with him, Gilio. Now she was leaning on Duco’s arm, on his chest, her face against his … Oh her kiss, how it set Gilio aflame and enraged him! This was no longer her icy sensual indifference to him, Gilio, in the camera degli sposi! And he could no longer contain himself: he would at least disrupt this moment of love. And trembling with nervousness, he emerged from behind the caryatid, and went towards them through the rotunda. They did not see him immediately, lost as they were in each other’s eyes … But suddenly they started, both at once; their arms dropped to their sides, and they stood up on a single movement and saw him approaching, obviously not recognising him at once. Only when he was very close did they recognise him and they looked at him silently in alarm, waiting to hear what he had to say. He made an ironic bow.
“A lovely evening, isn’t it? The view is so lovely from the pergola at night. You’re right to come and enjoy it. I hope I’m not disturbing you with my unexpected presence!”
His trembling voice was so malevolently quarrelsome that they could be in no doubt about his intense displeasure.
“Of course not, prince!” replied Cornélie, regaining her composure. “Although I’m puzzled as to what you’re doing here at this hour.”
“And what are you doing here at this hour?”
“What am I doing here? I’m sitting here with Van der Staal …”
“At this hour?”
“At this hour! What do you mean, prince, what are you getting at?”
“What am I getting at? That the pergola is closed at night.”
“Prince,” said Duco, “I don’t like your tone.”
“And I don’t like you at all …”
“If you were not my host, I’d give you a slap in the face …” Cornélie held Duco’s arm back: the prince cursed and clenched his fists.
“Prince,” she said. “It’s obvious that you want to provoke a scene with us. Why? What objection do you have to my meeting Van der Staal here at night? Firstly, our affair is no secret to you. And secondly, I consider it unworthy of you to come and spy on us here.”
“Unworthy? Unworthy?” He was incapable of controlling himself any longer. “I’m unworthy, petty, coarse, and not a real man, I don’t have the kind of temperament that suits you? His temperament suits you all right, doesn’t it? I heard the sound of your kiss. Devil! Devil! Demon! No one has ever insulted me like you. I have never put up with as much from anybody. I won’t any longer! You struck me, demon, devil! He, he threatens to hit me. My patience is at an end. I can’t bear your refusing me, in my own house, what you grant to him … He is not your husband! He is not your husband! I have just as much right as he has, and if he reckons that he has more right than I do, then I hate him! …”
And he flew at Duco in blind fury, attacking his throat. The assault was so unexpected that Duco stumbled. They wrestled together, both furious. All their suppressed antipathy exploded into rage. They did not hear Cornélie’s entreaties, they punched each other, encircled each other’s arms and legs, chest pressed against chest. Then Cornélie saw something flash. In the light she saw the prince draw a knife. But the very movement gave Duco the advantage; he seized the prince’s wrist in a grip of iron and forced him to the ground, pressed his knee firmly against Gilio’s chest and with the other hand grasped his throat.