“Now I understand why Ada liked your travesty of Bach so much. You
played well, but you remember there used to be a notice up in the
streets of mediæval Florence: ‘_Gli otto probiscono di lordare._’”[2]
[2] Roughly: _It is forbidden to commit a nuisance._
The blow struck home and Guido turned red from the pain of it. He
replied gently, because he now lacked the support of his small
enthusiastic audience.
“Good God!” he began, in order to gain time. “Sometimes when one is
playing one gives way to caprice. Very few of them knew Bach, so I
thought I would modernise him a little for them.”
He seemed quite content with his idea; so was I, because by making such
an excuse he admitted he was in the wrong. This was quite enough to
mollify me, and besides, I would not for worlds have quarrelled with
Ada’s future husband; I told him I had rarely heard an amateur play so
well.
He was not satisfied; he said he could only be considered as an amateur
because he did not choose to rank as a professional.
Was that all he wanted? Very well; I agreed with him: it was obvious
that he could not be looked on as an amateur.
So we became friends again.
Then suddenly, out of the blue, he began talking against women. I
listened to him with open mouth. Now that I know him better, I realise
that he will plunge into an eloquent discussion on whatever subject,
directly he feels at his ease. I had spoken earlier about the luxury
the Malfenti girls were accustomed to, and he returned to the subject
and went on to discuss all the other bad qualities of women. I was
too tired to interrupt him. All I could do was to go on nodding my
head in agreement, and even this I found very fatiguing. Otherwise
I should certainly have protested. I know that I had every reason
to talk against women as represented by Ada, Alberta, and my future
mother-in-law; but he had no reason whatever for attacking the sex
which was solely represented for him by Ada who loved him.
He seemed to know a great deal, and tired as I was I listened to him
with admiration. It was not till long afterwards that I discovered he
had adopted the genial theories of the young suicide Weininger. While
he talked I seemed to receive a fresh revelation, as when I had heard
him play Bach. I almost wondered whether he was not trying to cure me
of my love. Otherwise why was he so anxious to convince me that women
were incapable either of genius or goodness? I think the cure might
have been efficacious if it had been administered by anyone but Guido.
But I remembered his theories and supplemented them later by reading
Weininger. They never do cure one, but it is well to keep them in mind
when one is running after women.
When he had finished his ice Guido felt the need of a breath of fresh
air, and persuaded me to join him in a walk to the outskirts of the
town.
I remember that for days past the whole city had been longing for
rain to cool the air, for the hot weather had begun unusually early.
Personally I had not even noticed the heat. This evening filmy white
clouds had begun to collect, the kind which are popularly supposed
to bring heavy rain; but a great moon was climbing up the sky,
which, where it was still clear, was intensely blue: one of those
full-cheeked moons which, also in the popular belief, are able to
devour the clouds. In fact one could see that as she climbed the clouds
dispersed and the sky became clear.
I tried to interrupt Guido’s continual chatter, which compelled me to
keep nodding my head and drove me to distraction, by telling him about
the kiss which the poet Zamboni thought he had seen in the moon; how
sweet that kiss seemed in the moon of our dark nights, when compared
with the injustice done me by Guido. As I talked, and shook off the
torpor produced by my continued assent, my pain seemed to grow less.
It was the reward of my rebellion, and I went on developing my line of
thought.
Guido was obliged to leave women alone for a while and look up at the
sky. But not for long! Directly he discovered with my help the pale
woman’s face in the moon he resumed his argument with a witticism at
which he laughed loudly, though no one laughed with him in the deserted
street:
“What a lot of things that woman sees! It’s a pity that being a woman
she can’t remember them.”
It was part of his theory (or Weininger’s) that women can never have
genius because they have no memory.
We reached the bottom of the Via Belvedere. Guido said a climb would do
us good. I again consented to go with him. At the top, by one of those
impulses more common to quite young boys, he stretched himself out on
the wall which separated the upper road from the one below. He thought
he was being very courageous to run the risk of falling thirty feet. I
was horrified at first when I saw him in such a perilous position; then
I recalled the system I had myself evolved that very evening in a burst
of inspiration, in order to escape from my depression, and I began to
pray fervently that he might fall.
From that dangerous vantage-ground he still went on preaching against
women. He said that they always needed toys like children, only more
costly ones. I remembered Ada saying how fond she was of jewellery, so
perhaps he was really meaning her! Then a fearful idea came to me. Why
shouldn’t I make Guido fall those thirty feet? Wouldn’t it be only fair
to do away with someone who was taking Ada away from me without loving
her? For a moment it seemed to me that when I had killed him I should
be able to run straight to Ada and receive my reward. On that strange,
moonlight night I felt as if she were present and could hear Guido
insulting her. I must confess that for a moment I really did think of
killing Guido! I was standing by him as he lay at full length on the
low wall, and I speculated coldly on how I had better take hold of him,
so as to be sure of being successful. Then I saw that I should have
no need to take hold of him at all. He was lying with his arms folded
behind his head, and it would only need a sudden good push to throw him
completely off his balance.
Then an idea came to me which seemed important enough to be compared
to the great moon climbing up the sky and sweeping it clean. I had got
engaged to Augusta just in order to have a good night. How should I be
able to sleep if I killed Guido? This thought saved both of us. I felt
I must instantly change my position, for it was my being above Guido
which tempted me to kill him. I dropped on my knees, and crouched so
low that my head was almost touching the ground.
“Oh the pain! The pain!” I screamed.
Guido was so startled that he sprang to his feet, begging to know what
was the matter. I went on moaning in a lower tone, without paying any
attention to his question. I knew why I was moaning; it was because
I had wanted to kill him, and partly, perhaps, because I had not the
courage to do so. The pain and my groans excused everything. It seemed
to me that I was crying out that it was not my fault if I hadn’t been
able to do it. It was entirely the fault of my illness and this pain
of mine. But as a matter of fact I distinctly remember that the pain
went away completely at that moment, and that my groans were simply a
piece of play-acting to which I tried in vain to give some context by
remembering the pain I had suffered and attempting to reproduce its
effect on me. But all my efforts were in vain; it would only return at
its own time.
As usual Guido had various hypotheses ready to hand. Amongst others he
suggested that it was probably the same pain as that which had been
produced by my fall in the café. I thought the idea a good one and
agreed.
He took me affectionately by the arm and helped me to rise. Then still
supporting me and helping me as much as he could, he led me down the
short incline. When we had got to the bottom I said I felt better and
thought that with the help of his arm I might manage to go a little
quicker. And so at last I was really on my way to bed! For the first
time that day I experienced a genuine satisfaction in the thought that
Guido was working for me; he was, in fact, almost carrying me. It was
after all I who was imposing my will on him.
We found a chemist open, and he insisted on getting me a sleeping
draught to take to bed. He built up a whole theory of actual pain and
the exaggerated idea one had of it, the pain being increased by the
sense of exasperation which it had in the first instance produced. That
small bottle was the beginning of my collection of drugs, and it was
appropriate that it should have been chosen for me by Guido.
To give a more solid foundation to his theory he argued that I must
have been suffering from that pain for some days past. I was sorry I
could not agree with him. I said I had felt no pain whatever at the
Malfentis that evening. It was impossible that I should have suffered
just at the moment when my long-dreamed-of hopes were realised.
I was anxious in all sincerity to be like what I had claimed to be, and
kept on repeating to myself:
“I love Augusta, I don’t love Ada; I love Augusta, and this evening my
long-dreamed-of hopes were realised.”
We continued to walk through the moonlit streets. I think that Guido
at last found my weight rather too much, for he became silent. He
suggested however seeing me home to bed, which I refused; when at last
the door of my own house shut behind me I gave a sigh of relief. No
doubt Guido uttered a similar sigh.
I went up the stairs four at a time, and was in bed in less than ten
minutes. I fell asleep at once, and during the short time I was awake
I thought neither of Ada nor Augusta, but only of Guido who had been
so kind and patient. It is true I could not forget that I had wanted
to kill him such a short time before, but that was of no importance,
because the thing no one knows about and which leaves no trace does not
exist.
Next day I went in some trepidation to my fiancée’s house. I was
uncertain whether the pledges I had taken the evening before had really
the importance which I attached to them. I soon discovered they had for
everyone present. Augusta had by no means forgotten she was engaged; in
fact to her it seemed much more definite than to me.
It was a tedious engagement. I felt as if I had broken it off several
times and patched it up again by a great effort, and I am surprised
that nobody seemed to notice it. I never felt in the least as if I were
going to get married, but apparently I played the part of a fond lover
to everyone’s satisfaction. I never missed an opportunity of kissing
Ada’s sister and clasping her to my breast. Augusta submitted dutifully
to my embraces, and I behaved fairly well, but only because Signora
Malfenti never left us alone for more than a few minutes at a time. My
bride was much less ugly than I had imagined, and it was by kissing
her that I discovered her chief beauty: that she blushed so readily.
Whenever I kissed her a flame was lit in my honour, and I continued to
kiss her more out of scientific curiosity than with the ardour of a
lover.
But I felt desire for her too, which made the time pass rather less
heavily. It was fortunate that Augusta and her mother did not allow my
flame to burn itself out all at once, as I could often have wished.
How could I have gone on living then? At least my desire gave me the
same feeling of excitement each time I mounted the steps as when I had
gone there, as I thought, to win Ada. When I counted an uneven number I
promised myself that I would show Augusta that day what an engagement
really might be. I pictured myself doing something violent which would
completely restore my sense of freedom. That was all I really wanted,
and it is curious that when Augusta realised what I was after she
should have read it as a sign that I was passionately in love.
As far as I can remember that period was divided into two phases.
During the first Signora Malfenti often used to send Alberta to
chaperone us, or made little Anna and her governess do lessons in the
drawing-room. Ada was never there, and I persuaded myself that I was
glad of it, though I dimly remember thinking once that it would have
given me great satisfaction to kiss Augusta in front of Ada. With what
ardour I would have done it too!
The second phase began when Guido’s engagement to Ada was made public
and Signora Malfenti, like the practical woman she was, put the two
couples together in the drawing-room to look after each other.
I know that Augusta professed herself completely satisfied with me
during the first phase. When I was not trying to kiss her I became
extraordinarily talkative. Talkativeness was an absolute necessity
to me. I even invented fresh opportunities by persuading myself that
as I was going to marry Augusta I ought to undertake her education.
I trained her in gentleness, affection and, above all, fidelity. I
don’t remember exactly what form I gave to my sermons, though she has
reminded me of some of them, for she never forgot them. She listened
to me with the utmost deference and attention. Once in an outburst of
eloquence I declared that if she ever should discover that I had been
unfaithful to her it would be her duty to pay me back in the same coin.
She indignantly protested that she would not even betray me with my own
permission, and that if I were unfaithful to her she would only take
the liberty to weep.
I think that these sermons, the content of which was really quite
unimportant, nevertheless had a good effect on my marriage. They
certainly had a considerable influence on Augusta’s mind. Her fidelity
was never put to the proof because she never knew when I had been
unfaithful to her, but her affection and gentleness remained unchanged
during the long years we lived together, just as she had promised me
they should.
When Guido became engaged I initiated the second phase of my engagement
with the following pronouncement: “Now I have completely recovered from
my love for Ada.” I thought up to then that Augusta’s blushes had been
enough to cure me, but one can never be completely cured! The memory of
those blushes made me think that now the same sort of thing would go
on between Ada and Guido. Surely that would be more efficacious still
in putting a stop to my desire. My desire to rape Augusta belongs to
the first phase. I was much less excited during the second. Signora
Malfenti had certainly been wise in arranging for our supervision at
the cost of so little trouble to herself.
I remember that I once began jokingly to kiss Augusta. Guido, instead
of laughing at me, began kissing Ada in his turn. I thought it showed
very little delicacy on his part, because he did not kiss chastely,
as I had done owing to their presence, but he kissed Ada full on the
mouth, caressing her with his tongue. I had got used by that time to
thinking of Ada as a sister, but I was not prepared to see her being
treated like that. Nor do I think I should have tolerated it if I had
been her brother.
After that I never kissed Augusta again when Guido was there. Guido,
however, tried on one occasion to draw Ada to him, but she resisted
this time, and he never made another attempt.
I only dimly remember the many, many evenings we spent together. The
scene which was repeated _ad infinitum_ impressed itself thus on my
mind: we were all four sitting round the delicately carved Venetian
table, on which was burning an oil-lamp with a green shade, which threw
everything into shadow except the embroidery on which the girls were
engaged: Ada on a handkerchief and Augusta on something in a little
round frame. I can hear Guido holding forth, and it must frequently
have happened that I was the only person he could find to agree with
him. I remember too Ada’s black wavy hair, on which the light fell in
such a way as to produce green and yellow tones in it.
We discussed that effect, and also the real colour of her hair. Guido,
who understood painting as well, explained to us how to analyse
colours. I have never forgotten that lesson on colour, and to this
day, when I want to understand the colour of a landscape, I half
close my eyes until most of the lines disappear and the lights alone
remain, which in their turn fade away into one real colour. But when
I undertake an analysis like this, immediately after the real images
there appears on my retina, as by a physical reaction, the yellow and
green lights in the black hair on which my eye had its first lesson in
observation.
I can never forget one evening, which was notable for an expression
of jealousy on Augusta’s part immediately followed by a serious
indiscretion on mine. To teaze us Guido and Ada had retired to the far
end of the drawing-room and were sitting at the Louis Quatorze table,
so that I got a crick in the neck through turning round to talk to
them. Augusta said:
“Leave them alone; they really _are_ making love!”
Without thinking of what I was saying, I replied in a low voice that I
doubted it, because Guido didn’t like women. It was a sort of excuse
for having interrupted their love-making by my conversation. But it was
malicious and indiscreet to let Augusta know how Guido talked about
women when he was alone with me, as of course he never did with any
other members of the family. The thought of what I had said gave me a
bad taste in my mouth for several days, whereas I can truthfully say
that the thought that I had wanted to kill Guido did not upset me even
for an hour. But to kill someone, even treacherously, is more manly
than to wound a friend by betraying his confidence.
But Augusta did wrong to be jealous of Ada even then. It was not in
order to see Ada that I was twisting my neck round like that. Guido’s
eloquence helped to while the time away. I had become quite fond of him
already, and passed part of every day with him. I had a further tie
of gratitude to him for his high opinion of me, which he communicated
to the others. Even Ada would now listen to what I said with great
attention.
Every evening I waited for the sound of the supper gong with a certain
impatience. The chief thing I remember about those suppers is my
constant indigestion. I ate too much from the sheer necessity of doing
something. I made many fond speeches to Augusta, when my mouth was not
too full to admit of it, and her parents might easily have got the
unpleasant impression that my greediness interfered with my affection.
They were surprised to find that when I came back from my honeymoon
my appetite was much smaller. It disappeared directly I was no longer
compelled to act a passion I did not feel. It is unpardonable to let
the bride’s parents see you treat her coldly just when you are supposed
to be preparing to go to bed with her! Augusta particularly remembers
the affectionate things I whispered to her, sitting at that table; I
must have invented marvellous ones between one mouthful and another,
and I am amazed when they are repeated to me, for they never sound as
if I could possibly have said them.
Even my father-in-law, that rogue Giovanni, was taken in, and as long
as he lived he would always quote my love for his daughter (meaning, of
course, Augusta) whenever he wanted to give an example of a “_grande
passion_.” He smiled beatifically, good father that he was, but he none
the less rather despised me for it; because, according to him, no real
man would entrust his fate to the hands of a woman, or fail to see that
there were other women in the world besides his own wife. Which shows
that I was not always judged quite fairly.
My mother-in-law, on the other hand, never really believed in my love,
even when Augusta was gradually beginning to believe in it herself.
For many years she continued to eye me distrustfully, uncertain as to
the fate of her favourite daughter. That is another reason why I am
certain she was really leading me on during the days which preceded my
engagement. It was impossible to deceive her, for she must have known
my state of mind better than I did myself.
At last came the day appointed for my marriage, and that very day a
final doubt assailed me. I was supposed to be with Augusta by eight
o’clock in the morning, but at a quarter to eight I was still in bed,
smoking furiously, and looking out of my window at the sun which was
shining brightly for the first time that winter. I meditated deserting
Augusta! The absurdity of my marriage became evident now that I no
longer wanted to remain close to Ada. Nothing tremendous could happen
supposing I failed to keep my appointment! Besides: Augusta had been
a charming fiancée, but one could never know how she would behave
directly she was married. Supposing she were suddenly to call me an
idiot for having let myself be caught like that?
Fortunately Guido came in at this point, and far from rebelling, I
apologised for being late, saying that I thought another hour had
been fixed for the wedding. Instead of reproaching me Guido started
talking about himself and telling me of the many times he had missed an
appointment, out of absent-mindedness. Even in that respect he wanted
to prove himself superior to me! I had no time to stop and listen to
him: I wanted to be off. And so I actually had to run to my wedding.
All the same I arrived very late. No one reproached me, and all except
Augusta were satisfied with Guido’s explanations. She was so pale that
the colour had even left her lips. Even though I could not say I loved
her I would on no account have wished to hurt her. I tried to repair
my fault, and was so foolish as to give at least three reasons for
my being late. That was too many, and showed so clearly what I must
have been thinking about in my bed as I lay watching the wintry sun,
that our departure for the church had to be delayed to allow time for
Augusta to recover herself.
My “yes” at the altar was very distrait, because I felt so sorry for
Augusta that I was busy evolving a fourth explanation of my delay,
which seemed to me the best of them all.
However, when we left the church I saw that the colour had quite come
back to Augusta’s cheeks. I was really rather annoyed at this, because
my “yes” ought not to have been enough to reassure her as to my love.
I was quite ready to treat her very roughly, supposing she had now
recovered sufficiently to call me a fool for letting myself be caught.
But instead of that, she took advantage of a moment when we were left
alone, to say with tears in her eyes:
“I shall never forget that you married me, though you did not love me.”
I did not protest, because it was so obvious that I could not. But I
embraced her tenderly and compassionately.
After that the matter was never discussed again between us, for
marriage is much simpler than being engaged. Once one is married,
one no longer talks about love, and if ever one feels the need to
do so the senses intervene and enforce silence. But animal instinct
may have become so humanised as to undergo a complicated process of
falsification, and it may happen that as one bends over a woman’s
head one evokes a light which is not there. You close your eyes,
and the woman becomes someone else, to change back to herself again
when you have left her. It is to her that all your gratitude is due,
especially if the effort was successful. And so, if I had to be born
again, (Mother Nature is capable of anything) I would willingly marry
Augusta, but would never choose to be engaged to her.
At the station Ada offered me her cheek for a fraternal kiss. I had
not noticed her before among all the crowd who had come to see us off,
and I thought at once: “Yes, it is you who are responsible for this!”
I put my lips close to her veiled cheek, taking care not to touch it
with them. It was the first satisfaction I had known that day, and for
one instant I realised the advantage my marriage gave me. I had avenged
myself by refusing to profit by the only opportunity I had ever had
of kissing Ada! But when the train had started and I was sitting by
Augusta, I was not sure of having acted rightly. I was afraid I might
have prejudiced my friendship with Guido. But I suffered more still as
I reflected that perhaps Ada had not even noticed that I had not kissed
the cheek she had held out to me.
She had noticed it, but I only discovered this some months later,
when I saw her and Guido off from the same station. She kissed all
the others. But to me she held out her hand, though very cordially.
I shook it coldly. Her revenge came too late, for in the meantime
the circumstances had completely changed. After I returned from my
honeymoon we had been on the most friendly terms as brother and sister,
so that her refusing to kiss me was quite inexplicable.