Lucia bowed her head and stared fixedly at her hands, which she clasped
together convulsively. The frown was deeper and a bitter expression
settled around her pretty mouth. Then she whispered hoarsely:
"Who is it?"
Now once and for all I saw the hopelessness of my endeavor. But I went
on.
"First contemplate generalities, Lucia, and from those judge the
particular. Do you know the truth which I indicated? Do you disagree
with any one of the general facts that I cited?"
But she followed the train of her thoughts:
"Is it Countess Thorn?"
This was a well-known, mundane beauty who, it was said, had come to
live at The Hague on my account.
"What motive have you, Lucia, for being anxious to know the person that
gives me so much happiness? You care for me, don't you? What feelings
should one cherish toward some one who makes a beloved person happy and
does him good beyond measure?"
Lucia laughed, a short, scornful laugh of contempt. She glanced at me
swiftly and furtively.
"Come, Vico, make an end now with these miserable sophisms. I always
thought that you were better than other men. But I knew that this was
hanging over my head just as it threatens every woman. That you
disappoint me so now, you, that is terrible enough. But don't make it
worse by foolish self-deception of this sort and by childish nonsense,
as though I ought to be thankful to her who has destroyed my domestic
happiness. That only makes you sink still deeper in my esteem."
Only then I really felt the absolute impossibility of what I had
attempted. But I did not regret it and I resolved resolutely to
persist. It was essential to the clearing of my life from falsehood at
which I had so hopefully begun. I did not answer directly, and she went
on.
"I appreciate it, Vico, that you immediately speak to me about it. That
is what I expected of you as a gentleman. But then do speak openly and
loyally too, without these wretched sophistries. Tell me what I have a
right to know. Tell me who it is. Let me know what I have to hope and
to fear. Tell me ? how bad it is. Say it as directly as possible, so
that I may know whether it is but a passing infatuation or ... worse.
That I may know what awaits us - we ... and our children."
At these last words her voice began to tremble and the tears came.
Falteringly, in my anxiety to be well understood, I continued:
"It is wholly unlike a passing infatuation. If you call the reverse of
this 'bad,' then it is as bad as you can possibly imagine, or worse ?"
"0 Lord!" Lucia sobbed into her handkerchief. "Who is it then? Who? ?
Do I know her?
"No! You don't know her at all."
"Not?" she pronounced this with great astonishment. "Does she live at
The Hague? Have you known her long? Is she a person of rank?"
"She does not live at The Hague, Lucia, but in a little provincial town
of Holland. I have known her only a very short time. Her rank is
housekeeper in a hotel - thus no rank."
Lucia looked up, surprise and relief on her tearful countenance.
"0 Vico! is it that? But then ?" She paused, reflected, shook her head.
And then again: "How is it possible? ? What unhappy creatures men are!
Is she young and pretty?" . . .
Drily and coolly I answered:
"I could say neither one nor the other exactly. I don't believe that
you would think her pretty, but I do think she is quite young."
"Haven't I been a good wife to you, then, Vico? Wherein did I fall
short?"
"In nothing, dear Lucia; you have been a good and excellent wife to me.
I appreciate it, and am grateful for it. I tried also to be a good
husband to you."
"That you have been too, Vico. Until now I have had nothing to reproach
you for. And we were just so happy. Vittoria was to make her début this
winter. Guido is entirely well again. Oh! that this should never fail
to happen! How alike all men are in that respect."
"Forgive me, Lucia, I realize that you have much to forgive. But I was
not happy. I feigned happiness for your sake."
"And what was it you missed? Was I not enough for you? Must a man then
have always fresh excitement? Am I growing too old?"
"No, dear Lucia, it is nothing of all that. It isn't that by any means.
But I see no possibility of making you understand it. I was spiritually
unhappy and often longed for death. I wanted something that you could
not give me."
"Poor man, but why didn't you speak sooner? Why didn't you warn me?"
"Because it would have been useless."
"Why? Tell me what you missed. Let me try to give you what you long
for. I will do what I can for you. What is it? What has this ? other
that I should not be able to give? Can I not prevent you from sinking
so deeply? Can I not save you from this sin? It is only two weeks you
say that you have known her - can it be that in so short a time you
should be so irretrievably lost? Let me help you."
Deeply pathetic was the expression of eager helplessness with which she
gazed at me beseechingly. And deeper my hopelessness of making her
understand what had happened.
"I not only have known her but a very short time, Lucia, but have even
only spoken to her twice, and never touched her - except her hand. And
yet ?"
"What!" said Lucia, with vehement and happy amazement. "Is it nothing
more? A spirit friendship?"
"A spirit love, I would rather say."
"With a hotel maid? I believe you, Vico; you do not lie. I know you as
a man of honor. Men have such phantasies. And ? and ?" with whispered
emphasis and wide, searching eyes: "will it remain so?"
"No, Lucia, I don't want to deceive you. It certainly will not remain
so."
Then she rose and walked about the room in violent emotion.
"Oh, but my God, Vico, what possesses you? You are contemplating the
greatest wrong, the deepest offence to me, the disgrace of your family,
the eternal ruin of your soul - you can easily turn back, nothing yet
is lost, and you don't want to! You don't want to! Is this woman a
witch then? An enchantress? Oh, now I know that you have no religion!
Now I see what it is to have no religion."
I did not answer, and in my mind I compared the two spirit-worlds that
here confronted one another, weighing the one against the other. And
there is none who reads this and has read the preceding chapter, not
even you, dear reader of original mind, but shall waver on this subtle
boundary line. And yet in his heart he shall have to choose and range
himself on one side or the other. For we human beings may proudly raise
ourselves above good and evil, saying that no sin may be accounted as
guilt to our frail short-sighted nature - the choice, the terrible
irrevocable choice, with every irrevocable second, is not spared us,
and must be made.
My choice was made. I no longer wavered, but I pondered on the awful
power that forces us to choose where we can yet distinguish so poorly,
that relentlessly pushes us on into the dense fog with its dimly
gleaming lights.
Lucia however interpreted my silence as irresolution, and with the
exertion of all her powers she attempted a desperate attack upon my
heart. She threw herself down on her knees before me, sobbing and
crying and kissing my hands. She begged and implored me to have pity,
if not with her then at least with the children and with myself.
Then I said:
"Dear Lucia, no more than you have the power to change day into night
for me or night into day, no more can you make me call the light that I
see darkness or deter me from following it. I can only leave you this
choice: do you wish me to deceive you, or would you have me be upright?
In the latter case you must control yourself, for the more I see you
suffer, the stronger grows the temptation not to be upright toward you."
It was even more the tone in which I uttered them than perhaps my words
that made her realize that she had nothing more to hope for.
She got up and dried her tears. Then recovering herself, she said:
"I see, Vico, that a Satanic charm has been cast upon you. Of course I
desire your uprightness. I shall endeavor to bear everything and to
make the best of it and I shall pray for you."
"Thank you, Lucia," said I, rising.
But she came and stood in front of me.
"Yes, but . . . what now?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, not entering sufficiently into her
thought-life.
"You now put me into a position which I have known only from hearsay
and never thought myself to experience. Thousands of women live in this
position, that I know. But you will surely have so much consideration
for me, that you will spare me as much as possible. That after all I
may duly claim from you."
"Of course, Lucia, I shall spare you as much as possible."
"I do not ask it for myself, but for our children. You will respect my
good name, won't you? You won't bring public disgrace upon us? You
won't drag the honor of our family, the name of our children into the
streets?"
The intuitive tactics of a woman are like those of a shrewd and careful
general, who saves his best troops until the battle seems almost lost.
I felt that now she had declared herself ready to yield in the main
point, I could refuse her no concession.
"What do you demand of me, Lucia?"
"That all this remains a secret between us. That you avoid all public
scandal. That before the world our household remains as it was."