At various times in my life I have thought myself to be at last on
the road to health and happiness, and this faith was never stronger
than during my honeymoon and the few weeks immediately following our
return home. I began by making a startling discovery: I loved Augusta
as much as she loved me. At first I refused to believe it. I enjoyed
the passing day, but expected the next to be altogether different.
But one day followed another, and they were all radiant with love and
kindness--Augusta’s naturally, but also, and this surprised me, my
own. Every morning renewed her tender affection and my equally tender
gratitude, which, if it was not love, was very like it. Who could have
foreseen it, that day I went limping from Ada to Alberta to arrive
at last at Augusta? I discovered that far from being a blind beast
driven by another’s will, I was a very clever man. When she saw my
astonishment, Augusta said:
“But why are you so surprised? Didn’t you know that marriage was like
this? I knew it, though I know so much less than you.”
I don’t remember now whether it was before or after I became so fond
of her that I formed the great hope that I might in the end grow like
Augusta, who was the personification of health. During our engagement
I had scarcely been conscious of this quality in her; I was far too
busy studying first myself and then Ada and Guido. The oil-lamp in that
drawing-room had never shed its rays on Augusta’s modest head of hair.
I have talked a lot about her blushes. When these faded, as naturally
as the colours of the dawn fade before the full rays of the sun,
Augusta walked boldly along the path so many of her sisters have
trodden before her on this earth; those who are content to find all
their happiness in law and order, or else to renounce it altogether.
Although I knew her security to be ill-founded, since I was its
foundation, I loved and adored it none the less. I felt obliged to
treat it with the same respect I had previously shown to spiritualism.
It might be true, and so might faith in human life.
One thing I found very startling: every word and every act of hers
showed that she believed in eternal life. She never said it in so many
words; but she was surprised once when I, who had hated superstitions
before I learned to love her, felt the need of reminding her of the
shortness of life. She knew that we must all die, but, now that we
were married, this did not prevent us from remaining together for
ever and ever. Did she not know then that when two people are united
in this world it is for such a short, infinitely short time, that one
can never understand how one has become so intimate, when there were
endless ages during which we had not known each other and there would
be endless ages again during which we shall never meet? I understood at
last the meaning of perfect health in a human being, when I realised
that for her the present was a tangible reality in which we could take
shelter and be near together. I tried to be admitted to this sanctuary
and to stay there, resolved not to laugh either at myself or her; for
my scepticism would only be a symptom of disease, and I must at least
beware of infecting someone who had given her life into my keeping. It
was my desire to protect her which made me behave for a while like a
normal human being.
She knew all about the things which drive a man to desperation, but
they seemed to change their nature when she regarded them. Even if
the world does go round, that is no reason for being seasick. On the
contrary, the world goes round but everything else stays in its place.
And these stationary things are of immense importance; a wedding-ring,
jewels and clothes--the black dress or the green, or the walking
costume which was hung in the wardrobe directly she got home; also her
evening dress which must on no account be worn in the daytime, and only
in the evening if I put on dress-clothes. Then there were the hours of
meals which must be rigidly observed, and also bedtime. All these hours
had a genuine existence and were always in their right place.
On Sunday she attended mass, and I sometimes went with her to see
what effect the contemplation of pain and death had on her. For her it
seemed not to exist, and the visit was a source of quiet refreshment to
her for the whole week. She used to go on certain feast-days too, which
she knew by heart. That was all; whereas if I had been religious I
should have ensured my everlasting happiness by stopping in church all
day long.
Even here below there were plenty of Powers that Be to reassure her.
There were Austrian and Italian officials who made the streets and
houses safe for people to live in, and I did my best to share her
admiration for them. Then there were the doctors, who had gone through
all their medical training in order to cure us if by some unhappy
chance we fell ill. I made daily use of the latter authorities; she
never did. And so I knew only too well how hideous my fate would be
when I should at last be struck down by a mortal disease, while she,
who was securely guarded both above and below, firmly believed that she
would find salvation.
I am trying to arrive at the source of her well-being, but I know that
I cannot succeed, for directly I start analysing it I seem to turn it
into a disease. And now that I have begun writing about it I begin to
wonder whether health like hers did not perhaps need some treatment or
training to correct it. But during all the years I lived with her such
a doubt never crossed my mind.
What importance I acquired in this little world of hers! I had to say
what I thought about every proposal, whether it concerned food or
clothes, people or books. I was obliged always to be doing something,
and I must say that I was not bored by it. I was collaborating in the
building up of a patriarchal family, and I myself was on the way to
becoming the patriarch I had previously hated, and who now stood to me
for an emblem of health. It is one thing to be a patriarch, and quite
another to be called on to revere someone else who has assumed that
position. I desired health for myself, and did not mind what happened
to those who were not patriarchs. During our honeymoon in particular, I
was prone to assume the dignified pose of an equestrian statue.
But even on our honeymoon I did not always find it easy to live up to
the model I had put before myself. Augusta wanted to see everything
just as if she had been on a voyage of instruction. It was not enough
to have been to the Pitti Palace, one had to go through all those
innumerable galleries, stopping at least a few minutes in front of each
work of art. I refused to go beyond the first room, and saw nothing
else; but it was sufficient fatigue inventing excuses for my laziness.
I spent a whole morning in front of the portraits of the founders of
the Medici family, and made the discovery that they were like Carnegie
and Vanderbilt. How very strange! Yet they belonged to my own race.
Augusta did not share my surprise. She knew what Yankees were, but she
did not yet quite know what I was.
But even her strength broke down at last, and she was obliged to give
up museums. I told her how once, when I was at the Louvre, I got in
such a rage with all these works of art that I very nearly smashed the
Venus of Milo in pieces. Augusta said:
“It is lucky one only has to visit museums on one’s honeymoon, and then
never again!”
And it is true that life lacks the monotony of museums. There come days
which seem worthy of being framed, but they are so full of conflicting
sounds, of line and colour and living, burning light that they never
become tedious.
Health impels people to action, and to take upon themselves a whole
world of worries. Directly the museums are closed one must begin buying
things. Though she had not lived in it, Augusta knew our house much
better than I did; she knew that a certain room had no looking-glass;
that another had no carpet, and that a statue would look so well in a
third. She bought a complete drawing-room set, and from every town we
visited we sent home at least one large packing-case. I could not help
thinking it would have been much more convenient and less tiresome to
buy everything in Trieste, for now we had to worry about having it sent
off, insured and passed through the Customs.
“But don’t you know that all goods have to travel? Aren’t you a
merchant yourself?” she inquired, laughing.
There was some truth in what she said.
“Goods have to travel in order to be sold and to make a profit,” I
retorted. “Failing that one lets them stay where they are, and does the
same oneself!”
But her enterprise was one of the things I liked best about her. It was
deliciously ingenuous; for one could know nothing about the history
of the world if one imagined one had made a good bargain simply by
acquiring something; it is when you come to sell it that you prove the
value of what you have acquired.
I thought I was on the road to perfect health. My pain was much better,
and my general condition was one of continued cheerfulness. It was
a duty I owed to Augusta, and which I had vowed to fulfil in those
memorable days, and it remained the only oath I never broke except
for a few brief moments when life laughed louder than I did. Our
relationship was a happy one from the first. I was always smiling at
what I thought was her ignorance, and she, who thought me so clever,
at my mistakes, which she flattered herself she could have avoided. I
remained outwardly cheerful even when my malady returned in full force.
I continued to smile as if the pain I suffered only tickled me.
In the course of our long journey through Italy I suffered a good deal,
in spite of my newly found health. We had started off without letters
of introduction, and many of the strangers we found ourselves amongst
seemed to me hostile. It was an absurd fear, but I could not get over
it. I might have been attacked, insulted or, what was worse, maligned,
and who would have defended me?
This fear became a positive panic, though fortunately no one, not even
Augusta, found out about it. I was in the habit of buying almost every
paper that was offered me in the street. One day when I was standing in
front of a newsvendor’s bench, it occurred to me that he might easily
take a dislike to me and have me arrested as a thief, because although
I had only bought one paper from him I had a number under my arm still
unopened, which I had bought from other newspaper boys. I hurried away,
followed by Augusta to whom I gave no reason for my sudden haste. I
made friends with a coachman and a guide, feeling that in their company
I was at least sure not to be accused of childish thefts.
The coachman and I had certain obvious points in common. He was very
fond of the Castelli wines, and said that his feet would often swell
up suddenly. He went into hospital, and when he came out cured they
strongly advised him to give up drinking wine. So he made what he
called an iron resolution, because to guarantee its solidity he tied
a knot in his metal watch-chain. But when I knew him his chain was
hanging down on his stomach without any knot in it. I invited him to
come and stay with me at Trieste. I described the taste of our native
wine, which is so different from his, to make him feel his cure was
bound to be successful. He would not hear of it, and refused with an
expression of prophetic home-sickness on his face.
I made friends with the guide because I thought he seemed superior to
most of his class. It is not difficult to know more history than I do,
but even Augusta with her accuracy and her Baedeker, verified many of
his statements. He was young too, so took us at a good pace down the
streets lined with statues.
When I lost these two friends I left Rome. The coachman, who had had a
great deal of money from me, evidently wanted to show me that wine went
to his head sometimes, and threw us against a very solid old piece of
Roman masonry. The guide one day took it into his head to maintain that
the old Romans understood all about electricity and made great use of
it. He declaimed some Latin verses in proof of his statement.
At that time I was attacked by a slight illness from which I was never
to recover. It was a mere trifle; the fear of growing old, and above
all the fear of death. I think it arose out of a kind of jealousy. I
was only afraid of growing old because it brought me nearer to death.
While I was alive I was sure Augusta would never betray me, but I
pictured to myself that directly I was dead and buried, no sooner
would she have provided for my tomb to be kept in good order and the
necessary masses said, than she would look about for my successor, whom
she would then enthrone in the same sane and regular world as that in
which I now reigned supreme. Her splendid health would not perish just
because I was dead. I had such tremendous faith in her health that it
did not seem to me possible it should perish unless it were shattered
into fragments by an express train.
I remember one evening at Venice we were going in a gondola along one
of those canals whose profound silence is interrupted every now and
then by the light and noise of a thoroughfare suddenly crossing above
it. Augusta was on the look-out, as usual, and taking accurate note of
everything: a fresh, green garden rising above a dirty mudbank which
the retreating tide had laid bare; a campanile reflected in the turbid
water; a long dark lane with lights and people at the end of it. All I
could do in the darkness was to be uncomfortably conscious of myself. I
reminded her how time was passing and that she would soon be taking the
same honeymoon journey with someone else! I was so certain of it that
I felt as if I were telling her a story which had already happened.
And it seemed out of place that she should begin crying, in order to
prove to me that the story was untrue. Perhaps she had misunderstood
me, and thought I was accusing her of intending to murder me. Far from
it! To make my meaning clearer I described the way I should probably
die; my legs, in which the circulation was already poor, would become
gangrened, and the gangrene would spread and spread till it reached
a vital organ, indispensable to keeping my eyes open. I should have
to shut them, and ... adieu patriarch! Another one would have to be
produced.
She continued to sob and, amid the tremendous melancholy of that
canal, her sobbing seemed to me to be very significant. Had she
suddenly become aware of her own fearful strength and did it fill her
with despair? In that case all humanity ought to have joined in her
lamentation. But I discovered later that she had no conception of what
health really is. Health cannot analyse itself even if it looks at
itself in the glass. It is only we invalids who can know anything about
ourselves.
It was on that occasion that she told me how she had loved me even
before we met. She had loved me from the first moment that her father
had mentioned my name and spoken of me in the following terms: “Zeno
Cosini, a naïve youth who pricks up his ears when he hears of anything
doing in business, and at once puts it down in a notebook which he
promptly loses.” If I didn’t notice her confusion at our first meeting
it must have been because I was feeling rather confused myself.
I remembered how when I first saw Augusta I had been quite put off
by her plainness, seeing that I had fully expected to find there four
lovely girls whose names began with A. I now discovered that she had
loved me for a long time. But what did that prove? I could not alter my
opinion. I was sure that if I died she would choose someone else. When
she had become calmer she leaned closer to me and suddenly asked me,
laughing:
“Where should I turn for my second husband? Don’t you see how ugly I
am?”
Yes, I should probably be allowed a certain time in which to putrefy
peacefully.
But the fear of growing old never left me, and always on account of
my fear of handing over my wife to someone else. That fear was not
diminished even when I was unfaithful to her, and was not increased by
the thought of losing my mistress for the same reason. That was quite
a different matter, totally unrelated to the first. When the fear of
death assailed me I turned to Augusta for comfort, as children hold out
the hand they have hurt to their mother to be kissed. She always found
some fresh words of comfort. On our honeymoon she promised me thirty
more years of youth; nor does she promise less to-day. I knew only too
well that those weeks of happiness during our honeymoon had brought me
sensibly nearer to the terrifying spectre of death. Augusta might say
what she would, my account was soon settled: every week I drew nearer
to that one week.
When I saw that I was falling a prey too often to the same distress of
mind, I thought I must not wear her out by continually repeating the
same things to her, so to let her know that I wanted comforting I would
only murmur: “Poor Cosini!” She knew then exactly what was troubling
me and hastened to envelope me in the warmth of her affection. So I
always succeeded in being comforted by her even when the cause of my
distress was quite different. One day, when I was feeling quite ill at
the thought of having been unfaithful to her, I murmured by mistake:
“Poor Cosini!” I was glad that I had, for it was infinitely sweet to be
comforted by her even in a case like that.
On our return from the honeymoon I had the pleasant surprise of living
in a warmer, more comfortable house than I had ever known before.
Augusta introduced all the conveniences which they had in her own
house, but a great many others as well, which she herself invented. The
bathroom, which within living memory had always been at the end of a
long passage, about half a mile from one’s bedroom, was now next door
and contained a great supply of taps. Then she had turned a tiny room
next to the dining-room into a coffee-room. The floor was covered with
rugs, with several great leather arm-chairs, and here we spent half
an hour every day after our meals. Contrary to my wishes it had every
convenience for smoking. Even my little study, though I tried to keep
it as it was, underwent several changes. I was afraid I should hate it
if any changes were made in it, but I found, on the contrary, that only
now had it become habitable. Augusta had arranged the light so that I
could read sitting at the table, lounging in the arm-chair or lying on
the sofa. There was a music-stand too for my violin, with a little lamp
of its own which shone on the music without hurting one’s eyes. There
too, against my will, I was surrounded by every convenience for smoking
comfortably.
All these improvements necessitated a good deal of building and a
certain amount of disorder which was disturbing to our peace. For
Augusta, who was working for eternity, the brief inconvenience no doubt
did not matter, but it was a very different thing for me. I strongly
opposed the idea of putting up a private laundry in the garden, which
would actually have involved building a little house. Augusta assured
me that a home laundry was essential to the children’s health. But as
there were no children yet, I didn’t see why I must be inconvenienced
by them before they arrived. In any case she brought into the old house
a feeling of the open air; her love was like the swallow’s, whose first
thought is for its nest.
But I played the lover too, and used to bring her home flowers and
jewellery. My life had been entirely changed by marriage. After a few
feeble efforts I gave up trying to dispose of my time as I pleased, and
kept to the most rigid time-table. In this respect my education made
great strides. One day, soon after our return from the honeymoon, I
innocently let myself be persuaded not to go home to lunch, and after
eating something at a bar stayed out till the evening. When I got home
I found Augusta had had no lunch herself, and was quite faint from
hunger. She did not reproach me, but I could not make her see that she
had done wrong herself. She declared, quietly but firmly, that if I
didn’t let her know I wasn’t coming back she would always wait lunch
for me, even till dinner. That was no joke! Another time a friend
persuaded me to stay out till two in the morning. I found Augusta
sitting up for me, with her teeth chattering because the stove had
gone out. She caught a slight chill in consequence, which stamped that
lesson on my mind.
One day I decided to make her a splendid present: I decided to work!
She wanted me to, and I also thought that work would be good for my
health. It is natural that someone who has no time to be ill actually
is less ill. So I went to business, and if I did not persevere it was
really not my fault. I went with the best intentions and in the most
humble frame of mind. I never suggested taking over the management of
the business; all I wanted was to be allowed to keep the register. That
huge book, with its rows of neat entries like street after street of
houses, filled me with respect, so that my hand trembled as I wrote in
it.
Olivi’s son, a well-dressed youth who wore glasses and was learned in
all the commercial sciences, took over my education, and I have nothing
to complain of as to his thoroughness. He bored me a good deal with
his science of economics and theory of supply and demand, which seemed
to me much more obvious than he would admit. But he showed a certain
respect for his employer, which I welcomed all the more as it was clear
he could not have learnt it from his father. Respect for property was,
no doubt, part of his science of economics. He never upbraided me
for the frequent mistakes I made in the entries; but he was inclined
to attribute them to ignorance, and gave me explanations which were
superfluous.
Unfortunately, seeing business done gave me the desire to do some on my
own account. Instead of the register it was always my own purse which
I saw before me, and when I entered something to a client on the debit
side I felt as if I were wielding the croupier’s shovel and collecting
the money scattered over the table.
Young Olivi showed me the letters as they came in, and I read them very
carefully with the idea that I should probably understand them better
than anyone else. One day a quite ordinary offer aroused my passionate
interest. Even before reading it I was conscious of a sensation very
like the secret presentiment which sometimes comes to me at the
gaming-table. That presentiment is difficult to describe. It consists
in a certain expansion of the lungs, which makes one breathe the air
with rapture, however smoky it may be. But there is something else;
you know in a flash that everything will go well with you directly you
double your pool. It takes some practice to appreciate this at once;
one needs to have left the gaming-table with empty pockets, and the
horrible sense of having missed one’s opportunity; then one never lets
it slip again. And if you have once missed it there is no more hope
for that day; for the cards avenge themselves on you. But it is much
more excusable to miss it sitting at the gaming-table than sitting
peacefully in front of the register. Something at once cried out in me:
“Buy that dried fruit immediately!”
I discussed it modestly with Olivi, though of course I did not mention
its being an inspiration. Olivi replied that he only took on that
sort of thing at somebody else’s risk, in the hope of a small profit.
He thus completely excluded the possibility of inspiration from my
affairs, and reserved it entirely for a third party.
During the night my conviction only grew stronger: there could be no
doubt about my having a presentiment. My breathing became so violent
that it actually prevented my getting off to sleep. Augusta saw I was
worried about something and insisted on knowing the reason. She at once
shared my inspiration, and even went so far as to murmur sleepily:
“Aren’t you the master?”
Next morning, before I went out, she said to me thoughtfully: “It is no
good upsetting Olivi. Would you like me to speak to father about it?”
I said no, for I knew that Giovanni did not set much store by
inspirations either.
I arrived at the office fully determined to fight for my idea, if
only to avenge myself for having slept so badly. The duel lasted till
midday, after which the offer no longer held good. Olivi obstinately
refused to consider it and silenced me with the usual remark:
“Perhaps you wish to curtail the authority with which your dear father
entrusted me.”
I was furious, and went on turning over the leaves of my register,
fully resolved never to interfere again in business. But the taste of
the sultana remained in my mouth and I inquired daily at the Tergesteo
what the price of it was. I thought of nothing else. It rose very, very
slowly, as if it were gathering itself together for a spring. Then in
a single day it went up with an enormous leap. The vintage had been
very poor and they had just realised the fact. What a strange thing
inspiration is! I had not foreseen the poor vintage, only the increase
in price. The cards were avenging themselves. Meanwhile I had lost all
interest in my register and all respect for my teachers, especially
as Olivi did not seem to be quite so confident now that he had acted
wisely. It was my turn to laugh, and chaffing Olivi became my principal
occupation.
The same offer was made to us again, this time at almost double the
price. To put me in a good humour Olivi asked my advice, whereupon I
triumphantly replied that I would never dream of eating raisins at that
price. Olivi was offended and muttered:
“I am only abiding by the system I have followed all my life.” And
he went off to try and find a buyer. He found one for a much smaller
quantity, and, still with the best intentions, came back and said to me
hesitatingly:
“Shall I provide the stock for this small amount, do you think?”