"My Dear,
"When I woke this morning I saw you lying before me, a boy asleep.
Your dark, curly head was turned away so that I could hardly reach
your beautiful forehead when I leaned across to kiss you. I gave you
no more than a butterfly kiss on your closed eyelids; I did not
venture to touch your lips, which were half open as you slept.
"The radiant weather calls me forth this morning. I shall sail away
in the very boat that brought us--how many weeks ago?--to this
island. With sail set, I shall make for Baveno. By the time you
wake I shall be in Milan; by the time you read this, I do not know
where I shall be.
"Do not try to find me. Did not your spirit leap towards me as,
masked, we danced together amid the many other masked couples that
night in the palace on the Piazza di Spagna? Did I not place my
fullest trust in you, a stranger, whose name was unknown to me just
as was mine to you? Did I not come with you willingly when, after
the ball, we left Rome and travelled together till we alighted on the
shores of this gracious lake? Let these dream days bask in their own
beauty. Do not try to find reasons for my flight. Do not follow me.
"We were unchallenged monarchs of the island, hedged in by laurel
groves, severed from the inquisitive eyes of the envious, united, you
and I, both by day and by night.
"Poems fell from your lips, my poet; and morning after morning I
found a fresh sonnet to my praise lying ambushed for my return in
ever-renewed hiding places in our garden. Why trouble to wake? Your
people are on your trail--I saw you trying to push your letters away
out of my sight! Soon, your money will run short, and after one day
of uneasiness, you would have to go to the town, a smile on your
lips, hoping to delude me.
"What of myself? How often I have heard you say half mockingly and
half in earnest: 'You are made for adventure.' Remember your own
words. The spirit of adventure runs in my veins and has even
affected you.
"Yesterday, in the gloaming, while we sat on the terrace watching the
circle of lights along the shores of the lake, you spoke softly to
me, gentle words that fell sweetly on my ears. Of a sudden, away
there on the mainland, two fiery eyes appeared, and a snake uncoiled
its glittering length alluringly beneath the precipitous side of the
mountain. Now it would disappear, now shine out again; at one moment
its voice would be stilled, to roar forth the instant after. It was
the train from the Simplon. Never before had it made such an
impression on me. I felt that this was the very snake, magical and
glowing, within whose coils I had been spirited through the world in
days gone by. That now it carried men and women who had sped away
from Paris in the morning and would awaken as day dawned to find
themselves in Milan. I could imagine them coming from far castles in
the Scottish highlands to seek the warm air of Palermo. Who were
they all and what plans had they for themselves? Unrest seethed
within me. I felt I must get away from this enchanted isle, that a
narrow arm of water was keeping me cloistered from the world, that
the hurly-burly was summoning me to the fray--whither I knew not.
"My grateful thanks to you! Nothing repeats itself; and, even if
fate should make our paths cross a second time, that which united us
this night can never recur, any more than the silent kisses I gave
you in farewell. Our island cannot be snatched from us: it is ours
now as it has been during all these weeks. I am taking no more than
the little mother-of-pearl box which contains your poems, and within
which your spirit lies at rest. Nothing else goes with me, for, if
they saw me packing up, your kindly old servants would want to know
my destination. Forgive me for leaving the clothes you gave me, the
clothes your appraising eye so often looked at as I dressed in the
morning, and which your ardent hands pulled from my limbs at night
with so much passion.
"In a minute or two Othello will, as usual, come down to the
landing-stage, and wag his tail expectantly, hoping to be taken on
board. I shall sail swiftly away before the wind, without turning
for a last look; I must keep watch over myself lest the unbidden
tears come to my eyes.
"The wind is blowing. Keep serene of heart, even though you may feel
sad; and remember the motto inscribed on the escutcheon of your soul.
Be grateful! Thank the gods, even as I do, for granting us this
sweetest of springtimes. Ave Poeta!
"DIANA."
By the time Andreas had read the letter a third time he found himself
on the landing-stage. An instinct urged him towards the water, her
special element, and kept him away from the height whence, above the
cypresses that barred the view from below, he might gaze southward
over the lake. From that little eminence he could have seen Baveno
and the coast line. Othello, who had not left Andreas's side the
whole morning, stood beside the young man and endeavoured to lap the
waves as they plashed over the landing-stage. But always, before his
red tongue could reach them, the waters had withdrawn again.
Now, from round a rocky point, a little boat came in sight. It had
come from the direction of Pallanza and another thirty strokes of the
oars would bring it ashore. The great dog pricked up his ears as the
oarsman waved a hand in greeting. Andreas leaped to his feet, and
hailed the new arrival.
"Nikolai!"
"Andreas!" exclaimed a melodious voice in response.
"You, here?" A cross-fire of surmises rushed through the poet's
brain. Uneasiness as to why his friend had come over the waters to
intrude upon his solitude. This sudden arrival at such a moment
seemed to smack of intrigue.
"Nikolai," he thought, "dearest of friends; Nikolai the wise, could
he have lent himself to a plot of any kind? No, no, it cannot be!"
The feeling of mistrust was ephemeral, and Andreas soon pulled
himself together, remembering his duties as host and as master of the
island. Nikolai threw him the painter, and while tying it to the
bollard, Andreas said with a note of irritation in his voice:
"This is a surprise!"
Nikolai was quick to perceive his friend's momentary annoyance. He
felt quite unembarrassed as he thought: "Ah, well, these lovers'
moods change from day to day!" Then, turning to Andreas, he asked
courteously:
"Am I disturbing you? Don't you want my company after all?"
These words made Andreas yet more uneasy, for he concluded from them
that Diana's flight was known to his friend and had, therefore, been
planned some time ago. He stretched out his hand to help Nikolai to
land, and as he did so he said:
"In what way could you ever disturb me, old man?"
At his master's first call across the water towards the oncoming
boat, Othello had changed his bark of warning to a soft whine; and
until the two men clasped hands, the dog's attitude had been one of
alert defiance. Now he followed the two friends as they made their
way up hill towards the house. He sniffed at their heels and at the
leather satchel the oarsman held trailing from his hand. Both young
men endeavoured to conceal their emotion behind a flow of
conventional banalities. The new arrival continued to expatiate at
frequent intervals upon the beauties of the island, while Andreas
asked again and again if his friend had had a comfortable journey.
At length Nikolai exclaimed:
"Of course I took the very first train from Milan, the eight o'clock,
the sooner to be with you...."
Andreas stopped in his walk, looked squarely into his friend's grey
eyes, and asked in surprise:
"Do you mean to say that you've come in answer to a summons?"
Even more amazed than his interlocutor, Nikolai delved into his
pockets and after a little search produced a telegram which he handed
over, saying:
"Didn't you send this?"
Andreas read the message: "Baveno. Please come as soon as possible
to the little island to see your friend Andreas."
A light of understanding flashed through the poet's mind. Diana,
herself fleeing from him, had sent his best friend to his side in
order that the crushing solitude he would experience in the garden of
their love might be rendered more bearable by Nikolai's presence. He
stood stock still for a moment, biting his lips. Then he fondled
Othello's head, as if by this caress he might compensate himself for
the lack of a touch from Diana's loving hand. At length, steadying
his voice with difficulty as he uttered the name of his mistress, he
said:
"No. This must have been sent by Diana."
His friend was silent. Both men turned to go up the terrace steps.
"Have you quarrelled?"
"No."
"Where's she gone off to?"
"I don't know. She has sent you here to comfort me, no doubt."
Then, hoping to conceal his wound, he added wryly: "Rather a painful
mission, eh?"
Nikolai glanced at him and, cogitating upon the young man's equivocal
situation, mused: "Least said, soonest mended!"
"What do you say to half an hour's row?" said Andreas coming suddenly
to a halt. "Are you hungry? No? Hi! Domenico! Get the boat out!"
The Russian was quick to perceive that his friend fought shy of the
house, and readily acquiesced in the plan. Soon the two of them were
facing each other in the boat, one at the oars while his comrade
steered. Andreas was still in his dressing-gown, hatless; Nikolai in
white trousers, blue blazer, and a tight-fitting cap. They eyed one
another surreptitiously, yet each was aware of his companion's
scrutiny. Andreas's countenance made a strong appeal to Nikolai. It
was a wilful face, crowned with a wealth of curly hair, which was not
quite in keeping with the gentle curve of the mouth. He thought:
"I can well understand why women should prefer him to me."
Andreas, for his part, gazed fixedly at Nikolai, trying to extract
the secret of his soul by a contemplation of his facial
characteristics. Accustomed to reading people at a glance, he jumped
now to the conclusion that the high cheek-bones prevalent among the
Slavs denoted fanatical asceticism, the deep-set eyes betokened
moderation in enjoyment, the thin, long nose must signify
cautiousness when dealing with fellow mortals, the fine, rather thin
growth of hair must prove that the owner had early experienced the
joys of the flesh, the reticence of his deportment and the noble
lines of the hand that lay on the gunwale showed him to be a man of
taste and of aristocratic birth. The poet said to himself:
"I have known all this from the first day of our acquaintance."
"Shall we land?" The voice broke in on the silence as the boat
neared Isola Madre.
Slowly the two friends climbed the hill. The morning freshness still
pervaded the air. A bird trilled its rapture from bushes which
scattered their leaves with lavish generosity over the yellow path,
while, all around, the glittering expanse of the lake sent up dappled
reflections amid the green. The youths strode forward on a carpet of
moss and closely cropped ivy. At length they reached the warmer part
of the island, passed through the flower-decked forest of
rhododendrons, disappeared among thickets of pink camellias, brushed
away the dew from the tall sprays of meadowsweet, and emerged amid
the mimosas whose arid branches waved their ochre-tinted plumes like
immense powder-puffs in the air. Sedate, delicate, and elastic, like
well-trained German countesses, the cedars thrust their dark heads
upward towards the sky, and the laurels, their branches constrained
on espalier frames, or fettered together to form bouquets, or clipped
into shapes and figurines, stretched out arms imploringly as if in
longing for their leaves to be used to cool the fevered brows of
inspired poets.
No word was spoken as the two friends slowly climbed the hill. Every
turn in the path, every plant, every shade and sound and smell,
brought the beloved woman visibly and palpably before Andreas's eyes.
Here they had wandered together; this was her very world. She had
felt all these things, had spoken of them romantically or with
worldly wisdom, with irreverence or mystery, just as the spirit moved
her. And all she said was impregnated with such a power of
imaginative faculty as is only to be found as a rule among children
of exceptional gifts.
They had reached the pergola of Chinese tea-roses through whose
yellow blossoms glimpses of Monte Rosa could be seen amid a
white-and-blue landscape. Suddenly Andreas came to a standstill,
laid his hand affectionately on his companion's shoulder, and began
talking as if the latter had actively participated in his whole train
of thought. As he spoke he gesticulated, and his voice was agitated
as if he were experiencing the excitement of a new discovery.
"An atmosphere of freedom envelops her--do you understand that,
Nikolai? Freedom such as--such as hovers around that mountain over
there, so that it can rear its crest of ice upward towards the sun,
such as pervades this pergola whose roses have graciously permitted a
gardener's hand to twine their shoots round the trellis, such freedom
as the warm surface of this lake exhales at noon and yet enables it
at midnight to mirror the coldly shining stars. Do you realize what
it is we are ever in search of? Perfect art accompanied by innocent
cheer. Fullness, mystery hand in hand with absolute clarity, the
appropriate mood to every hour; wisdom and foolishness, surmise and
knowledge, the past freed from sorrow, the magical recipe which will
enable us to be bold and modest at one and the same moment, the
masters of life and the servitors of fate.... Do you know Diana?"
He threw the four words at his friend as if they were a ball for
Nikolai to catch. Before the Russian could answer, he exclaimed:
"You have seen her once, she told me so. Just once; for a few
minutes. But that would be long enough for you to realize
everything...."
"What did she say?" asked Nikolai, trying to recall the incidents of
the encounter.
They sat down on two wrought-iron chairs which they found tilted
against the balustrade of the uppermost terrace. Andreas threw one
leg over the other, rested his elbows on the parapet, and propped up
his head while his eyes travelled over the waters. Then his
attention was caught by a stray branch which he carefully plaited
into the trellis-work lest it should be broken. Though he was
unaware of it, he had assumed Diana's characteristic pose. Without
stirring, he resumed the thread of his discourse.
"One day, when I was sorting some papers, your photo tumbled out on
to the floor. She picked it up and said: 'I know this face.' To
which I replied: 'He's a friend of mine.'--'That's a good thing,'
said she, 'I met him once, not so very long ago'--you know how vague
she is about dates, and how definite is her remembrance of
places--'it must have been in Milan last autumn, one day as I came
out of the twilit cathedral. I was wearied with the darkness, and
the mass I had been attending. Nevertheless the square with its
noisy trams and people and loafing youths, disgusted me. Where could
I creep away to quietude? I questioned the oracle. Should I go to
right or left? Since the next comer approached me from the left, I
determined to go in that direction. The oracle was favourable, for
from the narrow street a shop-front beckoned me. I was rooted to the
spot. Huge butterflies from Brazil were spread before me in cases.
Their wings might have been made of precious stones, so dazzling were
the colours. I seemed to be entering into a night of stars'--you are
laughing?"
"I am only laughing because," protested Nikolai, "I remember standing
at her side, studying the fearless line of her profile and marvelling
at the fervour of her contemplation."
"At last she saw you and spoke to you," continued Andreas.
"'Conosce quello, Signore?' said a clear voice in my ear," and
Nikolai, too, seemed unconsciously to assume one of Diana's
characteristic poses. "But I had to admit that I knew nothing about
them."
Andreas had not heard his friend's words. Yet he gathered Diana's
question together as if it were some costly jewel worth studying in a
good light. He turned the phrase over this way and that, untiringly
reiterating: "Conosce quello, Signore? Conosce quello?"
Nikolai awaited his friend's pleasure in silence. At length, Andreas
roused himself from his reverie with a laugh.
"Do forgive me! What else did she say? She never told me. All she
confided to me was that, when you and she were looking at the
specimens together and were talking about them, she had been struck
by the melodiousness of your voice and by the fine shape of your hand
as it rested on the glass."
"But the really remarkable thing was yet to come," exclaimed Nikolai.
"At my request for information, she pointed to this specimen and to
that, telling me the place in South America whence it came, the
nature of the forests it inhabited, together with the lakes and
swamps it needed for its well-being; she distinguished species from
varieties; indeed, had I not surprised the initial look of
imaginative delight she had cast on the scintillating assembly, I
might have fancied her a member of a zoological academy--and
incontinently taken to flight!"
Andreas nodded his appreciation, and said encouragingly:
"Well, and what did she say next?"
"She stretched out her hand towards me, and, with a look that glanced
at me and then back to the butterflies again, in a tone that was
charmingly candid and yet ambiguous, at once delighting me and
imposing a barrier to further advance, she said: 'Beautiful!' Her
lips remained slightly apart, and her curls were lifted in the breeze
as she turned to go."
"You did not try to discover who she was?"
"I do not wantonly pry into the secrets of fate! Still, destiny held
something in store for me. A week later, as I was leaving Countess
Borromeo's, she came in, and the footman announced her name."
"I told her yours while she was here," observed Andreas. Then,
impetuously, he held his hand out to his friend. Nikolai grasped it
warmly, and said:
"When I learned last February that you and she had vanished after the
carnival ball..."
"Were you uneasy?" interrupted Andreas with some acerbity, trying to
withdraw his hand. Nikolai resisted the attempt, maintaining a firm
grip and laying his left hand affectionately on the back of his
friend's right.
"On the contrary, I felt perfectly happy. Remembering that you are a
poet, I thought: 'He could not have fallen into better hands!'"