THE ADORER
II. Peacock Plumes
"Aria Serena, guand'apar l'albore
E bianca neve scender senza vento ...
Ció passa la beltate ...
De la mia donna ...
... Non po' 'maginare
Ch'om d'esto monde l'ardisca amirare ...
Ed i' s'i' la sguardasse, ne morira."
Guido Cavalcanti.
It rained peacock plumes,
Pan, pan, pan,
The multicolored door glowed with flames.
The sky of the bed trembled towards an oarystis,
It rained peacock plumes,
Plumes of a white peacock.
The tower waved gracefully like a felucca undulating in the evening sea
breeze. And it was truly raining peacock plumes: Guido was astonished
and blew at them. He caught one in flight: it was white, with an orange
eye and luminous spaces. Ah! they all seemed to be looking at him:
they paused in front of him, they smiled, they fell, they died. As
they neared the earth, the wind spun them around a little, some dust
floated, then they disappeared; the passersby did not even raise their
heads.
The tower leaned over until it touched the ground: Guido leaped into
the street. He was not deceived. The peacock plumes had disappeared:
from below they could no longer be seen. It was a pity, for they were
pretty. He continued to walk in full liberty, his head high, full of
joy, watching the women. He passed under the madonna without emotion,
threw a glance towards the portal of the church, which he found as
ugly as a wagoner's gate, and of the Novella he only saw a madonna in
trappings, wholly devoid of attractions. Nevertheless he bowed to her.
The door was gay with oriental robes: a negro in white was ordering
some women into a curtained carriage; the women were caged like the
Carmelites of Saint-Augustine when they go to get food. One was in
blue, one in red, one in green, one in violet, and one in yellow.
The first four climbed into the carriage, laughing like children and
uttering rapid strange words. Guido, who had approached, saw that
each one bore, pinned to her monkish cloak, a label behind her head.
He deciphered the writing on the violet woman who was gesticulating a
little less than the others: _All eccellentissimo e nobilissimo signor
Ricardo Caraccioli_. So they had a certain destination! They were not
to be let free in the country among the grass, the bluebottles, the
poppies and crocuses? But what would the _seigneur_ Caraccioli do
with such flowerets? Guido knew him: he was a gentleman of exemplary
habits, the son of a cardinal, and nephew of the late pope. What would
he do with that young girl? A dialogue informed him:
"Are they all for the same most excellent _seigneur_?" asked a
subordinate officer who held a large book in his hand.
"All for the same man," the negro answered, "at least they are all
bound for the same name. Does it surprise you? But he will share them
with his friends. His only fear is that they will seek to quarrel with
him."
"Where are they from?"
"The devil only knows! We captured them off Algiers. A fine galley, all
gilded, with flowers, feathers and perfumes. The captain towed it to
Palerma, where he was able to dispose of it at a good price: that's his
privilege. These women were on it; three old women and eleven men, a
pasha, his equipage, keepers. No time was wasted: the men were thrown,
bound and bleeding, into the sea. What a crew of bandits, eh? Eleven
less and the old women thrown into the bargain."
"Five Turkish women," the other returned. "That's fifty ducats for the
king and a flask of wine for me...."
"Good, let us drink."
"... In women," continued the _doganiere_, "and in specie."
The negro paid. They drank at a nearby tavern, their eyes never
straying from their merchandise.
Guido understood that they were slaves destined for the harem of the
most illustrious Caraccioli. At Venice, where he had lived, it was
customary, since the Turks were pirating, to return the compliment.
If this was becoming popular in Naples, so much the better; he would
gather, into a little house, some Oriental women for his pleasure.
Guido was neither sufficiently naive nor spiteful to believe that the
most excellent hypocrite was carrying on the trade of fair eyes for his
friends. Well! he could do likewise: arm a vessel, dispatch it on long
cruises to the Barbary coasts, nourish the enlisted bandits with salty
provisions and the captive beauties with blancmange.... Ah! he suddenly
remembered: all his wealth had been confiscated by the crown! Not even
a ducat in his hose; not a sword, not a pistol to procure money on the
highway, and bareheaded as a Lazarite!
He would have to attend to this penury.
The office of the royal customs-house was opened and the overseer
was drinking to the fiscal ransom of the Algerian women: he entered.
The arrant employees of His Majesty were drowsing pen in hand, of
course. He pushed another door, though perceived: a third one, and
the treasure. From a very fine collection of garments, hose, cloaks,
swords, pistols and French hats, he provided himself with a quite
gallant outfit, added a remarkable piece of Alençon silk, a little
string for the women, and some rope for the silent strangulation of the
cashier. It was a small matter to pass through the three doors where
pleasant dreams were stirring, and he found him a little farther away.
His sleep was hardly broken: a little movement of the hands, nothing
more. Without being very rich, the royal coffer was still interesting.
He placed it in his pockets, untied the rope, returned it to its place,
and strolled out.
On the threshold, the _doganiere_ saluted him:
"Does Your Excellency deign to be pleased?"
"Yes, yes," Guido replied. "These gentlemen are polite. Here," he
added, taking out a ducat, "go and drink with this."
The negro counted his women: one, two, three, four.... "All's well. No,
I should have five. Let us count them: one, two, three, four, five."
The carriage departed.
"I love you, my lord, let us go!"
The yellow Algerian, appearing before him like a radiant caprice, had
taken him by the hand.
"As soon as I saw you," she continued, "I hid myself so as not to be
led away with the others, for I belong to you, I am your slave. My name
is Pavona."
"But," asked Guido, "how were you able to see me with your closed eyes,
for I know that, under your hood, your eyes are closed!"
"It is true," said Pavona. "You know me then?"
"Yes, I know you, you are she who was destined me to vanquish the
Novella's disdain. When I beseeched her love, the consent of her
passion, so many times confessed and yet never decisive, she closed
her eyes, she said: 'No.' And I said: 'Well, I will love other eyes so
that the eyes of the Novella might weep and be merciful to me.' Then
her eyelashes lifted and I grew pale with fright: instead of the blue
and gentle irises, I saw strange eyes like those designed on the plumes
of a peacock, a white peacock."
"I do not understand anything of this," said Pavona. "I never open my
eyes, for a very simple reason. I cannot. But I shall love you well all
the same, you see!"
"You have never tried!"
"To open my eyes? No, and for what purpose, since I have none. Wait, I
remember an oracle sung to me by the Bohemian woman, formerly, when I
was very little. It had this refrain:
But when some one to you will say
'I love you!' sight will come your way."
Guido found this very natural.
They stopped at a rich tavern, dazzling as a palace, and they were
received like princely persons.
Preceded by a servant, they climbed, climbed, climbed, as though to the
sky.
"Carry me, Guido, or I will be quite tired," said Pavona.
Guido took her in his arms. They climbed, climbed, as though towards
the sky.
"Kiss me, Guido, or I shall grow quite bored," said Pavona.
Guido kissed the closed eyelashes. They climbed, climbed, climbed, as
though towards the sky.
"Here," said the servant at last, "is the apartment of Your Highnesses."
The multicolored door truly glowed with flames, for it was of silver
and studded with diamonds.
"It is heaven's door," said Pavona. "I wish to open it myself."
She entered first, holding Guido by the hand.
There was a very agreeable blue dimness in the chamber: the couch, at
the end, defined itself under heavy draperies.
Fondlings and caressings: Guido felt himself burn with desire, and
Pavona, quite determined, returned his kisses, ardor for ardor.
"I love you," Guido cried.
Pavona opened her eyes.
They were fearful. They were like the eyes designed on the plumes of a
peacock, a white peacock.
Guido swooned and awoke in his cell, an assassin, a thief, a perjurer.
"I am a wretch," he thought, after a moment, "a wretch unworthy of his
own pity. The crimes one commits in dreaming, one is really capable of
committing. What occurs in the dream lay dormant in the caves of the
will, or rather, they are prophecies and the celestial admonition of
an irrevocable predestination. Ah! rather to have been criminal than
to live in the certitude of a future crime. I accept the weight of my
mortal sins: by degrees penitence will dissolve them like a sack of
salt by the rain, and my shoulders will straighten again, delivered.
Pardon me, most holy madonna, and punish me."
Ah! l'amour est terrible et je souffre d'aimer!
Comment bénir encore tes adorables pieds?
Comment, d'un front souille par des lèvres de femme,
Recevoir le divin sourire où joue ton âme?
Comment bénir encore tes adorables pieds?