Without answering, he took her arm, and, beckoning Count Paulo to his
side, led the princess to the circle of ladies.
Behind those closed curtains that still concealed the mysterious niche
it had meanwhile become stirring. Busy servants hastened hither and
thither, lighting the lamps and arranging the festoons and draperies. It
seems they had here erected a little stage, and the large wall-picture
that formed the background of this stage bore the appearance of a
decoration. A side curtain, serving as a partition, formed a second
room, which seemed destined for a sort of greenroom, in the centre of
which was a large and well-lighted mirror, and before it stood a young
woman regarding herself with the greatest attention, here plucking
at her dress and there arranging her train or an ornament. She was
evidently the one who was to appear upon the stage; her costume betrayed
it. It was not the fashionable costume of the day, such as was worn by
the distinguished ladies of Roman society; it was an ideal Greek
dress that seemed to have been made for the purpose of displaying and
rendering yet more voluptuous and enticing the great beauty of the
wearer.
She was very beautiful, this woman, with her sparkling black eyes
and dark shining hair, which had been gathered into a Grecian knot
behind--beautiful, with the laurel-wreath resting upon her high
forehead--beautiful, in the transparent Grecian robe which only so far
concealed the luxuriant forms of her full figure as to allow them to be
divined--beautiful, with those full, round, and entirely uncovered arms,
with their jewelled bracelets--beautiful, with her graceful neck, her
fully exposed, naked shoulders, and her voluptuously swelling bosom.
She was, in her appearance, a Greek, only her face was not Grecian. It
was wanting in the noble forms, the still cheerfulness and repose of
Grecian beauty, modest even in its voluptuousness. It was only the face
of a sensual and passionate Roman woman, and no Lais would have ventured
such a smile as played upon the dark-red lips of this Roman woman, or
such glowing glances as she shot like arrows from her dark eyes.
Standing before the glass, she viewed herself, her lips murmuring low
words, occasionally turning her eyes from the mirror to the little table
standing near it, upon which lay several open books.
What murmured she, and what read she in those books? Singular! she
was uttering single, isolated, unconnected words, which had nothing in
common with each other but the sound of melody; they were rhymes, but
without connection or sense, without inward mental correlation.
"So," she now said to herself, with a satisfied smile, "I am now
perfectly armed and prepared. All these rhymes ready for use, and I
have not to fear embarrassment in repeating any of them. Ah, they shall
admire me, these good Romans. I will animate and inflame them, and
excite all my enamored cardinals to such an ecstasy that they must
finally prevail upon the silly, obstinate old pope against his own will
to fulfil my only desire. I will attain my end, even if I am compelled
to pawn my honor and my salvation for it! Bah! honor; what can honor be
to a woman? Beauty is our honor, further nothing! And fair, it seems to
me, I yet am! And if I am fair," she more glowingly continued, after
a pause, "how comes it that Carlo has ceased to love me? Ah, the false
one, to betray and desert me when I love him most!"