“Did your fiancé kiss you a great deal? Did he kiss you like I do?”
She laughed because I prevented her talking. I saw my predecessor
pointing me the way.
It was long past the hour when I ought to have been home for luncheon.
And I wanted to go. It was enough for that day. I was very far from
feeling the remorse which had kept me awake during the night, and the
unrest which had driven me to Carla had entirely disappeared. But I was
not calm. Perhaps it is my fate never to be so. I felt no misgivings,
because now Carla had promised me as many kisses as I wanted, under the
name of friendship; and that could not injure Augusta in any way. Then
I thought I had discovered the cause of the discontent which as usual
sent dim pains winding through my body. Carla was seeing me in a false
light. Carla might despise me for being so eager for her kisses when I
was in love with Augusta! Carla who admitted liking me so much because
she had such need of me!
I determined to win her esteem, and said something which I shall always
remember as a cowardly crime, a treason committed of my own free will,
without any need and with nothing to be gained by it.
I was almost at the door when I said to Carla, with the unperturbed air
of someone who feels there is something he ought just to say:
“Copler told you of my love for my wife. It is true I admire her very
much.”
Then I told her in every detail the story of my marriage; how I had
fallen in love with Augusta’s elder sister, who would have nothing to
do with me because she was in love with someone else; how I had tried
then to marry one of the other sisters, who also refused me, and how I
had at last to resign myself to marrying her.
Carla believed it all at once. Later on I heard that Copler, who
knew something about the story, had given her some rather inaccurate
details, which I now corrected or confirmed.
“Is your wife very pretty?” she asked, thoughtfully.
“That is a matter of taste,” I answered.
Some restraining principle was still at work in me. I had said I
admired my wife, but I had not yet said that I did not love her. I had
not said that I thought her pretty, but neither had I said that I might
not think her so. At the moment it seemed to me that I was being very
truthful; now I know that in those few words I betrayed all women and
all love, both mine and theirs.
To tell the truth I was still not quite at my ease; something else was
lacking. I remembered my envelope of good intentions, and offered it
to Carla. She opened it and gave it back to me, saying that a few days
ago Copler had brought the month’s money and that she had no need of
money for the moment. This only increased my anxiety, for it was an old
idea of mine that a really dangerous woman will not accept a small sum
of money. She saw that something was troubling me, and with a charming
naïveté which I appreciate now for the first time, she asked me for a
few kronen to buy some plates they had had the misfortune to break in
the kitchen.
Then something happened which left an indelible trace on my memory.
Just as I was going I kissed her again, and this time she returned my
kisses with the utmost fervour. The poison had worked. She said naïvely:
“I love you because you are so good that you are not even spoilt by
being rich.”
Then she added with a slight touch of malice:
“I know now that you must not be kept waiting, but that otherwise you
are not at all dangerous.”
On the landing she said:
“Can I send the singing-master and Copler to the devil?”
As I ran quickly downstairs I replied:
“We will see about that.”
So there was still something in our relationship which remained
unsettled; everything else had been put on a perfectly firm basis.
I found this so upsetting that when I got out into the street I began
going in the opposite direction to my own house. I almost felt as if I
must go back again at once and explain something else to Carla: namely
my love for Augusta. I easily could, because I had never said that I
did not love her. Only, in telling that perfectly true story, I had
forgotten to tell the end, which was that I now really loved Augusta.
Carla concluded that I really did not love her, and that was why she
had returned my kiss so passionately, sealing it by a declaration of
love. I felt now that but for that episode it would have been easier
for me to have borne Augusta’s trustful gaze. And to think that so
short a while ago I had been glad to hear that Carla knew of my love
for my wife, and that by her own wish the adventure I had gone in
search of was offered me in the form of friendship flavoured with
kisses!
I sat down on a seat in the Giardino Pubblico, and absent-mindedly
traced the date with my stick on the gravel. Then I laughed bitterly;
I knew that that date would by no means mark the end of my betrayals.
In fact only the beginning. Where could I find strength not to go back
to the woman I desired so much, and who was waiting for me? Besides, I
had already incurred a debt, a debt of honour. I had taken her kisses,
and all that I had been allowed to give in return was the cost of some
crockery! I was actually bound to Carla now by an unpaid debt.
We had a gloomy luncheon. Augusta did not ask why I was so late, and
I did not tell her. I was afraid of betraying myself; all the more
because during my short walk from the Gardens to my house I had toyed
with the idea of telling her everything, so that the story of my
treason was probably written on my honest face, for all to read. That
would have been the only way of saving myself. If I had told her all I
should have put myself under her protection and supervision. It would
have been so decisive a step that I should have been able in good faith
to put down the date of that day as one on which I had made a great
step towards a clean and healthy life.
We talked of various indifferent things. I tried to be gay, but I could
not even pretend to be affectionate. She was utterly taken aback; she
was certainly waiting for an explanation which never came.
Then she left me, to go on with her great work of putting the winter
clothes away in special wardrobes. I often caught sight of her during
the afternoon at the end of the long passage, intent on her work, with
the servant to help her.
I was restless, and wandered about between my bedroom and the bathroom.
I should have liked to call to Augusta and tell her I loved her, which
would have been quite enough for her, poor innocent! Instead of which I
went on thinking and smoking.
I passed naturally through various phases. There was even a moment in
which my virtuous mood was interrupted by acute impatience for the next
day to come so that I might hasten to Carla again. Perhaps even this
desire had some good resolution behind it. The great difficulty was to
make up my mind to do my duty entirely by myself. It was unthinkable
really that I should get my wife to collaborate with me by confessing
everything to her. There remained only Carla on whose lips I might seal
my oath with one last kiss. But who was Carla? Not even her vengeance
was the greatest danger I ran with her! The very next day she would
probably become my mistress; who could tell what the consequences
might be? All I knew about her was what I had heard from that idiot
Copler, and a more cautious person, Olivi for instance, would never
have dreamt of undertaking any business transaction on information
supplied by him.
All Augusta’s work in my house, wholesome and admirable as it was,
had been wasted. The drastic cure of matrimony, undertaken by me in
my eager quest for health, had failed. I was worse off than ever, and
wedded to my own and other people’s misfortunes.
Later on, when I had really become Carla’s lover, my thoughts would go
back to that melancholy afternoon, and I could not understand why I had
not been capable of the manly resolution which would have prevented my
plunging deeper in.
I had deplored my own infidelity so much beforehand that you would
have thought I might easily have avoided it. It is easy to laugh at
anyone for being wise after the event, but it is almost as useless to
be wise before it. During those hours of torment I wrote the date of
the day in my dictionary against the letter C (Carla) with the comment:
“Last betrayal.” But my first actual infidelity, which led to all the
subsequent ones, only took place on the following day.
Late in the afternoon, having nothing better to do, I took a bath. I
felt as if my whole body were soiled and I must wash the dirt away.
When I was in my bath I thought: “If I am to get quite clean I should
need to dissolve in this water.” I dressed again, but was so utterly
without will-power that I did not even dry myself properly. It was
getting dusk, and I stood by the window watching the new green leaves
on the trees in my garden. I began to shiver, and thought with a
certain satisfaction that perhaps I had got fever. It was not death I
desired, but an illness which would serve as an excuse for doing what I
wanted or which would prevent my doing it.
After having hesitated for so long Augusta at last came to look for
me. When I saw her so gentle and so completely without ill-feeling my
shivering fit grew worse and my teeth began to chatter. Much alarmed,
she forced me to go to bed at once. My teeth were still chattering
from cold, but I knew now that I had not got any fever and refused to
let her send for the doctor. I begged her to put out the light and to
sit beside me without talking. I don’t know how long we remained like
that; I gradually got warm again and recovered a certain degree of
confidence. But my mind was in such a state of confusion that when she
again spoke of sending for the doctor I told her that I knew what had
made me unwell and would tell her about it later on. I had returned to
my first resolution to confess everything to her. There was no other
way in which I could relieve my mind of its burden.
We stayed like this for some time in silence. At last I noticed that
Augusta had got up from her arm-chair and was coming towards me. I was
frightened: perhaps she had guessed everything. She took my hand and
stroked it, then she laid her own hand lightly on my head to feel if it
was very hot, and said at last:
“You must have known it would come! Why did it take you so dreadfully
by surprise?”
These strange words puzzled me, especially as they were accompanied by
a smothered sob. It was clearly not my adventure she was alluding to.
For how could I have foreseen that, or that it would effect me as it
had? I asked, rather abruptly:
“What do you mean? What ought I to have known would come?”
She murmured in some confusion:
“That Guido’s father would come for Ada’s wedding.”
At last I understood; she thought that my suffering was caused by
Ada’s coming marriage. I honestly felt that she was wronging me; I was
not guilty of such a crime as that. I felt as pure and innocent as
a new-born babe, and freed at once from every pang of conscience, I
sprang out of bed:
“You mean to say that you think I am ill on account of Ada’s marriage?”
I cried. “You must be mad! Ever since I married you I have never given
her a thought. I had even forgotten that the Señor had arrived to-day!”
I hugged and kissed her with the utmost devotion, and with such obvious
sincerity that she was ashamed of her suspicions.
Every cloud vanished from her face too and we went to supper feeling
quite famished. At the table where we had sat together so miserably a
few hours ago we behaved now like two friends out on a holiday.
She reminded me that I had promised to tell her what had upset me.
I invented a disease which was to enable me to do whatever I wanted
without feeling guilty. I told her that whilst I was sitting with
the two old gentlemen that morning I had begun to feel profoundly
depressed. Then I had gone to fetch the spectacles which the oculist
had ordered me. Perhaps that emblem of old age had added to my
depression. I had been walking about the streets for hours and hours. I
touched on some of the fancies which had made me suffer so much before,
and there was even a shadow of a confession in some of the things I
said. I don’t remember what connexion it was supposed to have with my
imaginary disease, but I reminded her how our blood kept on turning
and turning, how it held us upright and made us capable of thought and
action, and therefore of sin and remorse. She could not understand that
I was referring to Carla, but I felt as if I had told her.
After supper I put on my spectacles and pretended to read the paper for
quite a long while, but I found the glasses made everything go misty.
I felt slightly excited as if I had been drinking. I said I could not
understand what I was reading. I continued to play the invalid.
I hardly slept at all that night. I longed passionately to hold Carla
in my arms. I desired her and her only, the girl with thick, untidy
locks and a voice that was so musical when it was allowed to choose
its own note. She had become more desirable still because of all I had
suffered on her account. All night long an iron resolution kept me
company. I would be absolutely frank with Carla before possessing her;
I would tell her the whole truth of my relations with Augusta. I could
not help laughing to myself, it seemed so odd to set out to win one
lady with a declaration of love for another on your lips! Perhaps Carla
would resume her former attitude of passivity! But what difference
would that make? At the moment nothing she could do would diminish the
value of her submission, and of that I felt absolutely sure.
Next morning while I was dressing, I murmured to myself the words I
was going to say to her. Before she gave herself to me Carla had got
to know that Augusta’s character and good health (I would explain to
her at length what I meant by health--that also was to be part of her
education) had succeeded in winning not only my respect but my love.
I was so busy preparing my long and elaborate speech, while drinking my
coffee, that Augusta received no other token of affection than a light
kiss before I went out. What matter since I was hers! I was going to
Carla to kindle my passion for _her_.
I was so relieved to find Carla alone and expecting me that directly
I got into her room I drew her to me and embraced her passionately. I
was horrified by the rigour with which she repulsed me. She was almost
violent! She would not let me touch her, and I stood open-mouthed in
the middle of the room, a prey to bitter disappointment.
But Carla quickly recovered herself and whispered:
“Don’t you see that you have left the door open and someone is going
downstairs?”
I assumed the bearing of a formal visitor till the intruder had passed.
Then we shut the door. She grew pale when she saw me turn the key in
the lock. Now everything was clear between us. A little while after,
when I had her fast in my arms, she murmured faintly:
“Do you want it? Do you really want it?”
It was enough. She wanted it too. I instantly replied:
“What else should I want?”