July 26, 2025 • 47 mins
Immerse yourself in the captivating narrative of Mattia Pascal, raised in a quaint Italian town reminiscent of the authors own childhood. Pascals carefree youth is marked by missed opportunities, slowly depleting his familys resources. Misfortune strikes in adulthood, as he is tricked into poverty and marries unhappily, a union further marred by sorrow. A daring escape to Monte Carlo sees him entrusting his fate to Lady Luck, who gifts him a new identity and the means to sustain it. Yet, as years pass, he finds himself yearning for his old life, only to discover hes a forgotten man in his own hometown. This novel by Pirandello elegantly weaves themes of identity and reality, peppered with wit and irony, masterfully narrated by Peter Tucker.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Section sixteen of the Late Matia Pascal by Luigi Pirandello,
translated by Arthur Livingstone. This is a LibriVox recording. All
LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information
or to volunteer, please contact LibriVox dot org. Chapter sixteen
Minerva's picture. Quite before the door was opened to my ring,
(00:22):
I knew that something serious had happened inside. I could
hear the voices of Papiano and Paliaria way out in
the street. It was the Caporalli woman who finally came,
pale and in great agitation to let me in. So
it's true, is it? She cried? Twelve thousand. I stopped
in my tracks, breathless, dismayed. Shipioni Papiano, the half whit,
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crossed the entry at just that moment, bare footed, his
shoes in his hand and his coat off. He too
was pale and frightened. I could hear his brother, Terensio,
vociferating violently. Well, call the police, call them, and be damned.
A flash of bitter anger at Adriana ran through me,
in spite of my prohibition, in spite of her promise
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she had spoken, who told you that I almost shouted
at miss Capporalli. Nothing of the kind. I have found
it again. The piano teacher looked at me in amazement.
The money found again. Really, Oh, thank god, thank god,
she exclaimed, raising her arms devoutly. Then she ran on
ahead of me into the dining room, where Papiano and
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old Danselma were screaming at each other at the tops
of their voices, while Adriana was weeping and sobbing. He's
found it, He's found it again, Sylvia called exultantly. Here
is mister Mays. Now he's gotten his money back. What's
that back? Really? The three of them stood there in
utter astonishment, Adriana and her father with flushed faces. However,
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while Papiano wild eyed ashen pale, seemed staggered at the news,
I eyed him fixedly for a second. I must have
been paler than he, and I was quivering from head
to toe. He could not meet my gaze. His body
seemed to sag at the knees. His brother's coat fell
from his grasp. I went close up to him and
held out my hand. I am so sorry, excuse me, please,
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and all the rest of you, no, cried Adriana indignantly,
but she pressed her handkerchief to her mouth. Papiano looked
at her and dared not offer me his hand again.
I said, I beg your pardon, and I forced my
clasp upon him for the satisfaction of sensing the tremor
that was vibrating through his whole body. His hand was
as limp as a rag. He had the look of
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a corpse, especially about his dead and glassy eyes. I
am extremely sorry, I added, for all the trouble, for
the very serious trouble I have caused you unintentionally. You
may be sure, not at all, Balliardi stammered, not at all,
or rather yes, if I may, you see it was
something that really, yes, it couldn't be. So there, delighted
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mister mais my congratulations. So glad you got it back
your money? Because Papiono passed his two hands over his
perspiring brow, ran his fingers through his hair, took a
deep breath, and then, turning his back to us, stood
looking through the French doors out upon the balcony. I
am like the man in the story, I began again, smiling.
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I was looking for the donkey, and I was on
its back all the time. I had the twelve thousand
lire in my pocket book. The joke is on me,
Adriana could not stand this. But you looked in your
pocket book and everywhere else in my presence. Why they're
in the cabinet, Yes, Signorina, I interrupted severely and firmly.
But I couldn't have looked carefully enough. Since now as
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you see, I have found the money. I ask your pardon, particularly, Signorina,
for this oversight on my part must have cost you
more suffering than any of the others. I hope, however,
that now no, no, no, cried Adriana, breaking into sobs
and dashing out of the room, with Silvia Capporrale pursuing her.
I don't understand, exclaimed Palliari, in amazement. Papiano turned angrily
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towards us. Well, anyhow, I'm going to clear out to day.
It would seem that now there is no further need
of of He gagged, as if his breath were giving out. Finally,
he decided to address me, though he did not have
the effrontery to look me in the eye. I I
couldn't believe me. I couldn't even say no when they
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right here. Why I went right after my brother who irresponsible,
sick as he is, who could be sure he might have?
I dragged him in here by the collar, a terrible scene.
I made him take off all his clothes to search him,
even under his shirt and in his shoes and stockings.
And he oh. At this point his voice choked again
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and his eyes filled with tears. Then he added, in
a broken husky tone, well they were able to see.
But of course, since you but after what has taken place,
I am going away. No you're not, I said, by
no means on my account. No, you must stay here.
I am the one who's going to move. If anybody
is why the idea, mister may said old Anselmo in
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sincere protest. Even Papiano, struggling with the tears he was
trying to suppress, made a negative gesture. At last he
was able to explain I was I was going away anyhow.
In fact, all this happened because I, without meaning anything
in the world, announced that I was intending to leave
on account of my brother, who really should not be
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kept at home any longer. Fact is the Marquis gave
me see for yourself. I have it here A letter
for the director of a sanatorium in Naples. I have
to go to Naples anyway for some more documents than
Marquess wants. And my sister in law, who holds you
quite properly in high, in the very highest esteem, jumps
up and says, no one is to leave the house,
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that every one of us should remain indoors, because you, well,
because you had discovered that to me her own brother.
You say, yes, sir, she said it to me. I
suppose because I poor, I grant you, but honest, after all,
I am under obligations to pay to my father in law.
Mister Polliari here, what in the world are you dreaming
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of now, exclaimed Polliari, interrupting, No, said Papiano, drawing up haughtily.
It's on my mind. I'm bearing it in mind, don't
you worry? And if I go away, poor poor Shipione,
Papiano seemed unable to control his feelings any longer and
burst into tears outright. Polliari, deeply moved and very much perplexed,
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did not know what to make of it all. Well,
what's Schippionic got to do with that? My poor little brother,
Papiano continued, with such a ring of sincerity in his
voice that even I felt a choke gathering in my throat.
I concluded that his emotion was due to an access
of remorse on account of his brother, whom he had
used in the venture, whom if I reported the matter
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to the police, he would have blamed for the theft,
and whom he had actually humiliated by the insulting search.
No one understood better than Papiano that I had not
recovered the stolen money. My unexpected declaration coming to save
him just when he was thinking himself lost and was
about to accuse Shipione, or, according to his premeditated plan,
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to suggest that the half wit alone could be responsible
for such a thing, had thrown him completely off his pins.
He was weeping now, either from an uncontrollable necessity for
giving some vent to his inner strain, or because he
felt that he could not face me except in tears.
These tears, clearly enough, were an overture of peace to me.
He was kneeling in humble surrender at my feet, but
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on one condition that I stick to what I had
said about finding the money again. For if profiting by
his present abasement, I were to return to my charge,
he would rise against me in a fury put it
this way, He did not know, he was never to
know anything at all about the theft. My generous falsehood
was saving only his brother, who, as I should understand,
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could not be punished anyhow. In view of the boy's
mental infirmity on his side, I should observe he was
pledging himself indirectly but clearly to repay the Paliari dowry.
All this I read in his tears. But at last
Anselmo's exhortations and my own prevailed upon him to master
his agitation. He said he would go to Naples, but
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return the moment he had found a good hospital for
his brother, cashed certain interests he owned in a business
he had recently started with a friend, and copied the
papers the Marquis needed. By the way, he concluded, turning
now to me, it had quite gone out of my mind.
The Marquess requested me to invite you for to day
if you are free, along with my father in law
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and Adriana. Oh that's a good idea, exclaimed Anselmo, without
letting him finish. Yes, we'll all go splendid. We have
a good excuse for a bit of diversion. Now what
do you say, mister Maes, shall we go so far
as I am concerned? I said, with a gesture of compliance, Well,
shall we make it four o'clock? Then Papiano proposed wipe
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his eyes for good. This time I went to my room,
My thoughts all on Adriana, who had answered my story
about the money by running away from a sinear's. Supposing
she should come now and demand an explanation, Certainly she
could not have believed what I said. What then, could
she be thinking that, in denying the theft, I had
intended to punish her for breaking her promise. Why had
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I done so, come to think of it, of course,
because the lawyer whom I had gone out to consult
before bringing criminal charges had assured me that she and
everybody else in the house would be brought under suspicion. She,
to be sure, had announced her willingness to face the scandal.
But I obviously could not allow that just for the
sake of twelve thousand lira. She accordingly could interpret such
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generosity on my part as a sacrifice made out of
love for her. Another humiliating lie forced upon me by
my circumstances, A loathsome lie which credited me with an
exquisite and delicate act of unselfishness, all the finer because
in no sense had she requested or desired it? Was
this the way I should reason? Why? No, not at all,
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Not at all? Was I crazy? Following the logic of
my necessary and inevitable falsehood, I could reach quite different
conclusions bosh, this notion of generosity, of sacrifice, of affection.
Could I engage the poor child's emotions any further? No,
I must suppress. I must strangle my own passion and
neither speak to Adriana again, nor look at her again
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in any intimate way. Well, in that case, how could
she reconcile my apparent generosity with the demeanor I should
henceforth maintain toward her? Along this line, I would be
forced to use her revelation of the theft, a revelation
which I repudiated at the first opportunity, as a pretext
for breaking off relations with her. But was there any
sense to that? No? There were but two possibilities. Either
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I had lost the money, in which case, why was
it I did not have the thief arrested, but instead
withdrew my affection from her, as though she were the
guilty one, or else I had really gotten my money back,
in which case, why should I cease loving her? A
sense of nausea, disgust, loathing for myself seized upon me.
At least I should be able to explain to her
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that there was no whit of kindness involved in the matter,
that I took no legal steps because I couldn't, because
I couldn't well, I would have to give some reason
I couldn't let it drop like that. Perhaps I had
stolen the money myself in the first place. Yes, she
might easily draw that conclusion. I could let her think so.
Or I could explain that I was a fugitive from persecution,
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a man in trouble, compelled to drop out of sight
and so unable to share his lot with a wife.
Lies lies, nothing but lies for that poor innocent creature. Well,
the truth perhaps a truth so improbable that even I,
who had lived it could hardly believe it. So could
I tell her such an absurd tale, such a disordered fancy.
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And in that case, to avoid one more lie, I
should have to confess that I had told nothing but
lies hitherto That would be all A truthful explanation could
possibly amount to, and it would neither make me less
of a scoundrel nor ease her suffering. I do believe that,
in the state of exasperation and disgust in which I
then found myself, I would have made a clean breast
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of everything to Adriana if, instead of sending Sylvia Capporall,
she had come to my room herself to tell me
why she had gone back on her promise not to talk.
For that matter, I knew already from what Papiano had said.
Miss Capporale added that Adriana was inconsolable. Why should she be,
I asked, with forced indifference, Because the piano teacher answered,
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she does not believe you have found the money. It
occurred to me, just then, an impulse, quite in harmony, moreover,
with my mood at the time, that one way out
of it would be to make Adriana lose all respect
for me, let her think me a hard, selfish, treacherous
trifler whom she could not love. That would serve me
right for the harm I had done her. She would
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be terribly hurt for a while, to be sure, but
in the end she would be the gainer. She doesn't
believe it how is that? And I smiled shrewdly at
the Caporele woman. Twelve thousand lira, Senora, that much money
doesn't grow on every bush? Do you think I would
be as cheerful as I am if I had really
lost it? But Adriana said, she tried to add nonsense,
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plain nonsense, I continued, interrupting, It's true that. Look, I
did suspect for a moment, but I also told miss
Palliari that I could not believe such a thing possible.
And in fact, well you say it for me. What
reason could I have for claiming I had recovered the
money if I hadn't. Miss Cappoorrele shrugged her shoulders. Perhaps
Adriana thinks you may have some reason, But I told
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you no, and no it is, I hurriedly interjected. Remember
it was a matter of twelve thousand lira. Now a
lira or two would not have made much difference. But
twelve thousand. My generosity is not so great as all that.
She must be thinking I'm a hero. When Sylvia Capporalli
went away to report to Adriana, I wrung my hands
and dug my teeth into my knuckles. Was that the
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way to go about it as it were, trying to
pay her for her crushed delusions in my regard with
the money they had stolen from me? Could anything be meaner, cheaper,
more cowardly? I thought of her in the next room, there,
raging at me, probably despising me, not being in a
position to understand that her grief was my grief too.
Yet that was the way it had to be. She
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had to hate me, despise me as I hated and
despised myself. What was more to increase that hatred and contempt?
I would now be very courteous toward Papiano, her enemy,
as though to compensate him in her eyes for the
suspicion's eye and she had had of him. And my
thief himself would be disconcerted, confounded, even to the point
of thinking me perhaps a lunatic. What was left? Could
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I do anything worse? Yes? One thing. We were going
to the Gilios that very day. I would begin paying
open court to Pepita Panto Gada. That will make you
scorn me more than ever, Adriana, I groaned, writhing on
my bed. What else? What else can I do for you?
Shortly after four o'clock, Old Anselmo, in formal dress, came
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and knocked on my door. I'm all ready, I called,
rising and throwing on my coat. Are you going that way?
Asked Paliari in astonishment. Why, I asked, But then I
noticed that I had on a Scottish cap with a
visa that I usually wore about the house. I put
it into my pocket and reached for my hat, while
Anselmore stood chuckling and chuckling to himself. Where are you going,
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mister Palliari, I asked, as he suddenly turned away. Why
I am as darft as you are, he answered, pointing
to his feet. I was going in my slippers. Just
step into the other room, mister Mace. Adriana is there,
and what is she coming to? She didn't want to,
called Paliari, moving along toward his quarters, but I made
her change her mind. She is in the dining room
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with her things on, with what cold and severe reproachfulness?
Miss Caporreles stared at me as I entered the room,
caught in her hopeless passion herself. She had been so
often comforted by this simple, inexperienced little child. Now that
Adriana understood what the world was like. Now that Adriana
had been hurt, Sylvia rushed, grateful and solicitous to her rescue.
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What right had I to make such a good and
pretty little child unhappy? As for herself Sylvia, neither good
nor pretty. Men might have some excuse for being mean
to her, but not to Adriana. Not to Adriana. This
she seemed to be saying with her eyes as she
invited me to survey the wreckage I had made in
the life beside her. And in truth, how pale, how
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bravely pale Adriana was. Her eyes were red with weeping.
What an anguished effort it must have cost to get
up and dress to go out for an afternoon with me,
notwithstanding the state of mind in which I went on
the party. The personality and the home of the Marquis
Gilio d'O letta aroused some curiosity in me. I knew
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the reason for his residence in Rome. He saw no
possible way to the restoration of the Kingdom of the
Two Sicilies except through the victory of the temporal power.
Once the Pope could recover his capital, the Kingdom of
Italy might go to pieces, and in the upset, who
could tell the marquis was not strong and prophesying one
thing at a time, attend to the job in front
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of you for the moment war without asking or giving quarter.
And in the clerical camp and his salon, in fact,
was the rallying place of the most intransigent prelates of
the courier and the most valorous lague champions of the Blacks.
On that day, however, we found no other callers. In
the vast and sumptuous drawing room, Conspicuous in the middle
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of the floor was a painter's easel with a canvas
about half finished. It was Minerva Pepita's lapdog, a black
little beast stretched out on a white soa, her pointed
snout resting on her two front paws. By Bernaldez, the
Spanish artist, announced Papiano gravely, as though he were making
an introduction that required an unusually low bow from the
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rest of us Pepeit Pantogarda came in, followed shortly by
her governess, Senora Candida. On previous occasions I had seen
these two women in the semi darkness of my room.
Now under a full light, Miss Pantogarda seemed a different woman,
not as a whole, perhaps, but in respect of her nose.
What had I ever seen that nose before? I had
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imagined it as a small, upturned affair, impudent rather than not.
But no, it was strong, robust aquiline, a stunning girl
all the same, dark complexion, flashing black eyes, coal black hair,
wavy and shiny, thin lips, sharp keen, sarcastic, bright red,
painted almost rather than fitted on her slender, shapely form,
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a dark dress with white lace work. The soft, placid
beauty of the blond Adriana faded under the brilliancy of
this superior glow, and bless me, at last I solved
the mystery of that steeple on Signora Candida's head. It was.
It was, first of all, a magnificent blondish wig of
waved hair, and pitched, if I may say so, on
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the wig a sort of tent, a broad light blue
kerchief for mantilla of silk that was drawn down and
knotted coyly under her chin. A magnificent frame, truly, for
such a plain, lean, angular, washed out face, which inches
of rouge and powder and so forth could not improve. Meantime,
Minerva was barking so vociferously that we were hardly able
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to exchange formalities. But the poor doggie was not barking
at us. She was barking at the easel and at
the white sofa, which she remembered as instruments of torture,
apparently the Protestant lament of an incensed soul. YELP, get
out of this room, yelp, get out of this room.
But the easel stood there, unperturbed on its three legs.
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So Minerva retreated slowly on her fore, barking, showing her teeth,
returning to the charge, retreating again in terrible commotion. A fat,
chubby body on four over slender legs, Minerva was not
a pretty dog many times, Grandmother I imagine. There was no
sparkle in her eyes, and her hair had turned gray
in places. On her back, just forward of her tail
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was a bare spot, resulting from the habit she had
of scratching herself furiously on the rungs of chairs, on
the corners of bookcases, on anything hard and sharp that
would reach that particular trouble. This I knew already. However, Finally,
Pepita seized Minerva by the nape of the neck and
tossed her at Senora Candida, scolding Chito, which was Panto
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Gadi's for Zitro shut up and don ignat siur Gilio
Dauletta came hurrying in. He trotted so round shouldered, he
bent almost double to an arm chair he always sat
next to a window, fell into his seat, brought his
cane to rest between his two legs, and finally sighed
a heavy sigh and smiled a wan smile at his
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mortal weariness. His face, clean shaven, shrunken, furrowed all over
with deep vertical wrinkles, was of a corpse like pallor
in contrast with his gleaming ardent, almost youthful eyes. Down
over his cheeks, his temples, and the sides of his head,
thick shags of hair trickled like tongues of wet ashes.
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Speaking in an obstrusive Neapolitan sing song, the marquis welcomed
us with great cordiality, asking his secretary to continue showing
me the mementos of which the room was full, all
testimonials of his fidelity to the Bourbon dynasty. Here was
a small framed picture, as I took it to be
curtained by a green cloth which bore in letters of gold,
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the legend nunnascondo or riparo alzami, I lege I conceal
not but defend, lift me and read. Marquis asked Papiano
to take down the picture and bring it to him.
It was not a picture at all, but a letter,
framed under glass, through which Pietro Aulois, writing in September
eighteen sixty, among the last CASPs of the two Sicilies,
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that is, invited the Marquis Gilio d'oletta to assume a
portfolio in the cabinet, which was destined never to take office.
In the margins was a transcript of the Marquess's acceptance,
a ringing document, the latter branding with infamy those men
of prominence in the realm who, in the moment of
supreme danger and anguish for their sovereign with the filibuster
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a Garibaldi hammering at the gates of Naples, declined to
shoulder the responsibilities of power. As the old Marquis enunciated
these documents allowed, he became so wrought up that I
could not help admiring him, although everything he said offended
my sensibilities. As an Italian. He too, besides, had been
a hero after his fashion, as I learned from a
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story he told in comment on a fleur de lis
in gilded wood that was also on show in the
parlor there. It happened on the fifth of September eighteen sixty.
The King was leaving the royal palace in an open
carriage attended only by the Queen and a few gentlemen
of the court, on the Via di Giagia. The carriage
was held up by a jam in the traffic in
front of a pharmacy which bore the sign of the
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Lilies of gold. A ladder running up to the side
of the building from the middle of the street was
the cause of the congestion. Carpenters were at work on
top of the ladder, removing the lilies from the front
of the shop. The King called the queen's attention to
that act of cowardice on the part of the druggist, who,
in more peaceful times had been only too glad to
haunt his royal brevet as an honor to his store well.
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He the Marquis D'auletta, happened to be passing at the moment,
and in a rage of indignant loyalty, he ran into
the shop, collared the offending pharmacist, pointed to the king
out in the street, spat in the man's face, and
went away, brandishing one of the fallen lilies as a trophy.
Viva il Rey. The Marquess was as proud of that
old shop sign as he was of this golden fleece,
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his keys as a gentleman of the King's chamber, his
trappings as a chevalier of Saint Gennaro, and all the
other decorations on display in the drawing room under two
full length portraits of their majesties, Ferdinand and Francis. Second,
as soon as I could, I broke away from Papiano
and Paliari to execute my base design. I approached Pepita Pantogada.
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It did not take me long to see that the
young lady was in a very bad humor with a
case of nerves. She first wanted to know what time
it was quatroimecho four thirty, very well, very well that
she was not overjoyed to find it was four thirty.
I gathered from the tone of the very wells and
from the voluble and in the circumstances bad mannered tirade,
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on which she then launched out against Italy in general
and against Rome in particular. Rome so stuck up over
its blessed glories of the past. The colosseum, What was
the colosseum? They had a colosseum tambiene in Spain, just
as big as just as old. And we don't swell
up and burst every time we walk by it. Pile
of dirty stone pied ramuerta. Anyhow, if you want to
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know what a theater is, come to Spain and see
one of our plazas detoros and your old paintings. Why
I'd rather have this picture of Minerva here that Bernaldez
is poking along trying to finish in time for kingdom. Come. Yes,
that was it. Pepita wanted that picture, and she wanted
it right away. It was four thirty and Bernaldez had
(25:30):
not appeared. She fidgeted around on her chair, rubbed her nose, opened,
and closed her hands, with her eyes fastened on the
drawing room door. At last, the butler announced Bernaldez, and
the painter came into the room, panting and perspiring, as
though he had had the run of his life. But
Pepeite's attitude at once changed with a flounce. She turned
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her back on him and stared the other way, affecting
an air of cool and collected indifference. Bernaldez went over
and shook hands with the marquis, bowed to us each
in turn, and then approached Pepita, speaking in Spanish and
begging pardon for his tardiness. Pepita now boiled over, and
when she spoke it was in a torrent of pantagades.
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First of all, you speak Italian, since these people do
not know Spanish, and I think it bad manners for
you to use Spanish with me. In the second place,
I care not for you for your picture, for you
come late, for your excuse for nothing. Bernaldez did the
best a fellow could do in such a case. He
smiled nervously, he bowed chivalrously. Finally, he asked if he
(26:33):
might resume work on the picture, since there would be
still an hour of light. As you say, she answered,
in the same manner, you paint the picture without me,
or you rub it all out. It is one to me.
Bernaldes bowed again and turned to Senora Candido, who was
still holding the dog Pepita had thrown into her arms.
Poor Minerva's hour of torture was beginning again, but her
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suffering was as nothing compared to that of her executioner.
To punish Bernaldez for being late, Pepeter began to flirt
with me, and with an ardor that seemed to me excessive,
even for the purpose I had in view. A glance
in Adriana's direction warned me of the extent of that
poor girl's distress. It could not, for that matter, have
been much greater than Minerva's, nor Manoel bernald Desert nor mine.
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I could feel my face flaming redder and redder, as
though I were intoxicated with the anger I knew I
was arousing in that unfortunate young man. I had no
pity for him, but just a fiendish delight in his torment.
My thoughts were all for Adriana. She was being hurt
to the quick, why should he not be? Also? In fact,
I seemed to feel that the more he suffered, the
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less her pain might be. Certain it was that the
air in the room was becoming electric, with a tension
that must soon reach the breaking point. It was Minerva
who brought on the storm. Since Pepeite was sitting with
her back to the easel and the sofa, the little
dog was not being cowed as usual by her mistress's
sharp eyes. So the moment the painter turned to his canvas,
(27:59):
Minerva would cautiously rised from her pose, and first one
pow forward and then another would eventually get her nose
and head under the cushions, as though she were trying
to hide. At any rate, when Bernaldez would turn round again,
he would find himself confronted not by his pose, but
by the hind legs and the curly upturned tail of
his unwilling subject. Several times already Senora Candida had put
(28:22):
Minerve in place again, Bernaldes fuming with rage meantime, and
commenting under his breath on a word of endearment that
he would catch every now and then from Pepita's conversation
with me, I say under his breath his remarks were
not always inaudible exactly, and more than once I was
tempted to inquire, did you say something, mister Bernaldez. Finally
(28:45):
his patience gave out, and he exploded, is pantogada? Will
you at least be kind enough to keep this little
bitch of yours where she belongs. Witch Witch, Witch cried Pepita,
jumping to her feet and turning upon the poor painter,
livered with rage. You dare call my dog a vitch,
But a dog doesn't mind coarse language. I was unhappily
(29:06):
prompted to observe. I didn't realize at the moment that
a man in bernald Is a state of excitement, might
catch an illusion when none in the least was intended.
I was not criticizing his choice of words, nor did
I even think that he might take my dog as
referring to himself. But he broke out my language is
no business of yours, monsieur. Under his fixed, aggressive, provoking stare,
(29:28):
I felt my temper begin to rise. I could not
help replying. I must say, signor Bernaldez, you may be
a great painter, what's the matter? Piped the marquess. Noticing
our hostile mood, Bernards dropped his brush and his palette
and strode over till his face was a few inches
from mine. A great painter, say what you are going
(29:48):
to say, monsieur, A great painter, Yes, but your manners
aren't all they might be, And besides, you frighten the dog.
There was a sting of contempt in the tone of
every word. I uttered, yes, said he, but we'll see
whether it's only four legged dogs that are afraid of me,
and he drew back. Peppita now began to shriek hysterically,
(30:11):
and she had technique enough to fall fainting into the
arms of Papiano and Sienora Candida. In the confusion, I
turned my attention naturally to the girl, whom they were
easing on a sofa, but I suddenly felt a clutch
on my arm. Bernalds was upon me. I was just
in time to parry the blow he had aimed at
my face and to throw him back with a hard push. Again,
(30:32):
he rushed, barely missing my cheek with a furious stroke.
It was my turn to attack, but Papiano and Palliari
had jumped between us. Bernalds was backing out of the room,
shaking his fist at me. Consider yourself thrashed, monsieur, consider
yourself thrashed. I am at your service at any time.
The people here know my address. The Marquess was standing
(30:53):
in front of his chair, trembling and shouting. I was
struggling to get free from Palliari and Papiano to pursue
my as the Marquis at last was able to make
himself heard. You are a gentleman, said he. You must
send two of your friends to settle your accounts with
this fellow. To me, he must explain how he dared
attack a guest of mine in my house. I was
(31:15):
quivering with excitement and barely had breath enough to wish
the Marquis good day. I left at once, followed by
Papiano and old Anselmo. Adriano remained to assist in reviving Pepita,
whom they had carried to another room. Now I had
the privilege of getting down on my knees to the
thief who had robbed me and asking him, along with Paliari,
to be my second. To whom else could I appeal me?
(31:39):
Asked Anselmo, in honest stupor me. Why, my dear mister
mays you must be joking me never in the world,
Why I know nothing about such business? All nonsense? Anyhow? Really, now,
isn't it you must? I retorted energetically, not choosing to
begin an argument at just that moment, you and mister
Pappa will be so good as to go at once
(32:01):
to that gentleman's house. I I not a single step,
my dear boy, ask me anything else at your service,
but just this, No, sir, not my line in the
first place, and anyhow, nonsense, nothing serious, little rumpus like that?
Why so excited? No, you're wrong, there, interrupted Papiano, noticing
(32:22):
my furious rage. It is a serious matter. Mister Mayes
has a right to demand satisfaction. In fact, he's in
honor bound to demand satisfaction. He's got to fight. He's
got to fight. So you then, I said, you go
with a friend of yours. I had not expected a
refusal from Papiano, but he opened his arms in a
gesture of apologetic helplessness. You know how I should like
(32:46):
to help you out, but you won't. I stormed, stopping
in the middle of the street. Wait, let me explain,
mister Maes, he answered, humbly. Just see listen, notice the
fix I'm in. Remember I'm bound hand and foot, secretary servant,
slave of the Marquis. What's that got to do with it?
The Marquis himself, don't you remember? Yes? I know, But
(33:09):
to morrow, a clerical and the party his private secretary
mixed up in a duel. The end of me, I
can tell you. And besides that little wench there, didn't
you get the point? Head over heels in love with Bernaldez.
To morrow they kiss and make up, and then where
do I stand? Eh? The end of me. So sorry,
(33:29):
mister Maes, but try to understand my position. Just as
I say so, you're both going to ditch me, I answered,
at my wits end, I don't know another soul here
in Rome. But listen, there's a way. There's a way.
Papiano hastened to advise. I was going to suggest you
see both my father in law here, and I would
find it difficult, impossible. In fact, you are right, no
(33:51):
question of that. You're right every reason to see it through.
Can't overlook a matter like this. Well, you just apply
to two officers in the army. They can't refused to
represent a gentleman in an affair of honor. You go
to them explain how it all happened. They often do
such favors for people not known in town. We had
reached the door of the house, so you won't very well,
(34:13):
I said to papiano, and I turned on my heel
without another word, walking away aimlessly, my brain reeling from
my overwrought emotion. Again, the thought of my crushing, my
annihilating impotence had taken possession of my whole consciousness. Could
a man in my circumstances fight a duel? Could I
never get it through my head that I could no
longer do one single blessed thing? Two army officers excellent,
(34:38):
but just as a starter, two very proper questions. Who
was I? Where did I come from? No? The plain
simple fact. People could spit on me, slap my face,
thrash me with a whip, and I could ask them
to lay on a little harder, please, But for Heaven's sake,
to be quiet about it. Two army officers, and let
me give them just the least wee little inkling of
(34:59):
my real status. Well, in the first place, they wouldn't
believe me, and who knows what they might suspect. In
the second place, I would be as badly off as
with Adriana. If they did believe, they would suggest I
come to life again. Since a dead man, what's the use?
Had no standing? Visa VI the Code of Honor so
I could swallow a good appetite to you, the insult
(35:20):
of Bernaldez, as I had swallowed the theft of Papiano.
Slink away, with my dignity wounded, my courage challenged yes,
with my face slapped, slink away like a coward, out
of sight, into the dark again, the dark of an
intolerable future, where I would be an object of hateful loathing,
even to myself future. Indeed, could there be any future?
(35:41):
How could I go on living? How endure the sight
of myself? No? Enough of this, Enough of this. I stopped, everything,
whirling dizzily about me, my legs giving way at the knees.
A sinister impulse rose suddenly in my heart, giving me
a cold shiver of horror from head to foot. But
before that, I said to myself, my brain rambling before that,
(36:04):
why not try if I should succeed, But try anyhow,
just to get back a little of my own self respect.
If I should succeed, not quite such a craven coward
in my own eyes. And what's there to lose by trying?
Why not try? I was a few blocks away from
the caffiarano. There there catch us, catch can the first
(36:26):
one I come to in my blind agony. I went
in in the outside room. Around a table sat five
or six artillery officers, and when one of them noticed
me standing there, pale, wild eyed, hesitating, I bowed to
him slightly and with faltering voice began, I'm sorry, excuse me,
Might I have a word with you. He was a
(36:47):
beardless young chap hardly graduated from the academy, it seemed
to me. He rose and came over toward me, answering
me courteously, What can I do for you, Senory? Why
it's this way? May I introduce myself Adriano? Mais I
am a stranger in town. I have no friends here.
I've had trouble a point of honor. I need a
(37:07):
couple of seconds. I don't know whom I could ask
if you and one of your friends. Surprised, perplexed, the
man stood looking at me for a time, then turning
to his comrades, he called Grillioti. GRILLIOTTI was a lieutenant
of the upper numbers, with an upcurled mustache, a monocle
crammed willy nilly into an eye socket, and smooth, well
(37:28):
massaged cheeks. He got up from his seat, still talking
to the men at the table, I noticed he spoke
with ours that were really w's, and stepped our way,
making a slight, somewhat constrained bow to me. The moment
I saw which man Grillioti was, I felt like saying
to my cadet, not that man, please, not that man.
But as I afterwards recognized, no one else in the
(37:50):
group could have been so well qualified for the task
in hand as he the articles of the Code of Chivalry.
He knew from a to z such a line of
talk as he gave me about my case, and all
that I must do, I was to telegraph, I forget
exactly what to a certain colonel, state my grievance, fix
the main points clearly, and then go in person to
see him, Savassandr see the colonel, That is precisely as
(38:13):
he GRILLIOTTI had done once before. He was not yet
in the army at the time when something similar had
happened to him in Pavia. It was because in these
matters of honor you see laws of chivalry, and so
on and so on, till my head was a whirl
of articles, precedents, courts of honor, and points well established
in practice. I had not liked the man from the
(38:36):
moment I set eyes on him. Imagine how I felt
now when confronted with this dissertation on chivalry. Finally I
could endure the strain no longer, and I exclaimed impatiently.
But my dear sir, that's all very well. You're quite right,
I dare say, But how will a telegram help in
my present situation? I am all alone here in a
strange city, and I want to fight a duel, understand,
(38:57):
right away, to morrow if possible, and without so much nonsense.
What difference does all this stuff make to me? I
mentioned the matter to you, gentlemen, in the hope, well,
excuse me, in the hope that I could get somewhere
without all this, all this fussing there. My outburst provoked
an answer from Grigliotti in the same tone, and we
(39:18):
were soon engaged in what amounted to a brawl, both
talking at the same time and at the top of
our lungs. But at a certain moment, loud gufforts of
ridicule from the officers about me brought me up short.
I turned and hurried away, My face aflame with indignant humiliation,
as though I had been whipped with a lash. Where
could I hide? The laughter of those soldiers seemed to
(39:38):
pursue me as I fled my hands to my head,
my brain in utter confusion. Should I go home? No,
I shuddered at the thought of that. I kept on walking, walking,
straight ahead, frantically. At last I noticed that I had
slackened my pace, And then finally I stopped to catch
my breath, to rest a little, for I had no
strength left to sustain the stinging smart of that ridge,
(40:00):
which kept pulsing through me in waves of frenzied vengefulness.
I say that I stopped. I did stop, and I
stood some moments without moving, my mind gradually becoming a blank.
Then I began walking again, but now I was strangely relieved.
All feelings of bitterness gone from my mind, a curious
stupor replacing them. Here was a shop window, bright with
(40:22):
its display of wares. I approached and studied the objects
with a meticulous, absorbing interest. The lights went out. The
stores all along the street were closing. Yes, they were
closing for me Eternally. People were going home, leaving me alone,
a solitary wanderer on deserted streets. All doors and windows closed,
all lights extinguished, silence and solitude for me eternally, I
(40:47):
moved along as the city went to sleep. Life itself
seemed to recede from about me, as though it were
something remote, intangible, without meaning or purpose. Had the sinister
intention matured spontaneously within me, I do not know. But
at last, involuntarily, guided as it were, by that inner determination,
(41:07):
I found myself on the Marguerita Bridge, leaning over the
parapet and gazing terror stricken down into the black, swirling stream.
Down there in that water. I shuddered, but it was
not with fear. It was a violent outburst of anger,
an uprising of all my instincts of life, in ferocious
hatred against those who were now bringing me here to
(41:28):
the end they had assigned me back in the flume
of the coops at Mirano. Yes, those women, Romilda and
the widow Pescatore, they had brought me to this pass.
I would never have thought of feigning suicide to get
rid of them. And yet now, after two years of
living like a ghost in the illusion of a life
beyond the death they had wished upon me here, I
(41:49):
was dragged by the collar to executing their sentence. Upon myself.
They were right, after all, I had really died like
the corpse they found. They were free of me, though
I was not free of them, and I rebelled. Could
I not get even with them? Somehow? Instead of killing
myself suicide? How could a dead man, ha ha, a
(42:11):
dead man commit suicide and nobody commit suicide? I straightened up,
as suddenly everything seemed strangely lucid and clear to me
get even with them? But what did that mean? It
meant going back to Mirano, didn't it. It meant shaking
off the lie that had throttled me. It meant coming
to life again to spite them, to chastise them with
(42:32):
my real name, my real personality, my very very real misfortunes.
Ah yes, but my present fix? Could I cut loose
from the present? That easily? Could I throw aside my
life in the via repetta, as one did a bundle
of rubbish for which there is no further use, No, no,
that I could not do. I knew I could not
do so. So I stood there in anguished bewilderment, uncertain
(42:56):
as to a decision. By chance, I put my hand
in my pocket, and my nervous fingers came in contact
with something which I did not at once recognize. With
an angry twitch, I pulled it out. It was the
cap that I had always worn on my trains and
about the house, the cap in which, to old Anselmo's delight,
I had started out to make my call on the Marquess,
(43:16):
and which I had thrust into my pocket. Distractedly, I
was about to toss the thing into the water, when
in a flash an idea came to me. Something I
had thought of long before on my trip from Alenga
to Turin rose clearly to my consciousness. Here I muttered,
almost involuntarily to myself. Here on the railing of this bridge,
my hat, my cane. Yes, just as they did on
(43:40):
the bank of the mill flom at Mirano. There Matia Pascal,
here i Adriano Mase did for tat I come to
life again, to their undoing. The joy that seized on
me amounted to an exultant, inspiring frenzy. Of course, of course,
to kill myself, the self which they had killed, would
(44:00):
be absurd, absurd. I must kill rather the ridiculous fiction
which had tortured and tormented me for two long years.
I must put an end to that wretch of an
Adriano Mase, who to live at all, had to be
a coward, a liar, a worthless, miserable outcast. Adriano Mase
a false name for a Mannikin with a brain of sawdust,
(44:20):
a heart of rags, and veins perhaps of rubber, with
colored water for a week, diluted blood away with such
an odious fiction, drown him as they had drowned Matia
Pascal exactly tit for tat first their turn, and now
mine Adriano Maes, a ghastly life springing from a ghastly lie.
Finish him then with another falsehood, just as gruesome, And
(44:43):
that was a way out of everything? What better reparation
could I make to Adriana for the wrong I had
done her? But could I swallow the insult from that
bore of a Spaniard, the coward assailing me there by surprise,
under conditions where a fight was impossible? Could I swallow it?
I the eye that was really I had not a
trace of fear for the man of that I was
(45:06):
sure he had not insulted me. He had insulted Adriano Maese. Well,
Adriano Maes could swallow anything, of course he could. Was
he not killing himself? Yes, that was the way, the
only way out. I was trembling from head to foot,
as though I were really about to kill someone, But
my brain was clear as crystal, my heart light with
a sudden buoyancy that was almost gay. I looked about
(45:29):
me over in that direction on the Lunguoterevere. Some one
must have noticed me standing on the bridge at that hour,
a policeman, perhaps on lookout for just such tragedies. I
had to make sure, so I walked along, first into
the Piazza de la Libertad, then along the river boulevard
the lungotere Vere de Melini. No one. I retraced my steps,
(45:52):
but before going out on the bridge again, I stopped
under a street lamp, in the shadow of some trees.
My note book. I tore out a page and wrote
on it in pencil, Adriano mase anything else, well, my
address perhaps, yes, and the date that would do that
would tell the whole story. Adriano mase his hat and
his cane. As for the rest, well, a few clothes
(46:14):
and a few books. I could leave them back at
the house. Nothing much. The money left from the robbery
I had with me. I stole along the bridge, bending
low behind the railings. My legs were shaking under me,
and my heart was all a throb. I selected the
darkest spot over the river, took off my hat, slipped
the note behind the ribbon, and set the hat with
(46:35):
my cane on the broad stone top of the parapet.
On my head, I crammed the cap I so luckily
had with me, the cap that had suggested to me
the means of my escape, and keeping to the shadows,
I moved stealthily away, sneaking along like a thief in
the dark, not daring to turn my head. End of
Section sixteen.
Section sixteen of the Late Matia Pascal by Luigi Pirandello,
translated by Arthur Livingstone. This is a LibriVox recording. All
LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information
or to volunteer, please contact LibriVox dot org. Chapter sixteen
Minerva's picture. Quite before the door was opened to my ring,
(00:22):
I knew that something serious had happened inside. I could
hear the voices of Papiano and Paliaria way out in
the street. It was the Caporalli woman who finally came,
pale and in great agitation to let me in. So
it's true, is it? She cried? Twelve thousand. I stopped
in my tracks, breathless, dismayed. Shipioni Papiano, the half whit,
(00:44):
crossed the entry at just that moment, bare footed, his
shoes in his hand and his coat off. He too
was pale and frightened. I could hear his brother, Terensio,
vociferating violently. Well, call the police, call them, and be damned.
A flash of bitter anger at Adriana ran through me,
in spite of my prohibition, in spite of her promise
(01:04):
she had spoken, who told you that I almost shouted
at miss Capporalli. Nothing of the kind. I have found
it again. The piano teacher looked at me in amazement.
The money found again. Really, Oh, thank god, thank god,
she exclaimed, raising her arms devoutly. Then she ran on
ahead of me into the dining room, where Papiano and
(01:27):
old Danselma were screaming at each other at the tops
of their voices, while Adriana was weeping and sobbing. He's
found it, He's found it again, Sylvia called exultantly. Here
is mister Mays. Now he's gotten his money back. What's
that back? Really? The three of them stood there in
utter astonishment, Adriana and her father with flushed faces. However,
(01:50):
while Papiano wild eyed ashen pale, seemed staggered at the news,
I eyed him fixedly for a second. I must have
been paler than he, and I was quivering from head
to toe. He could not meet my gaze. His body
seemed to sag at the knees. His brother's coat fell
from his grasp. I went close up to him and
held out my hand. I am so sorry, excuse me, please,
(02:14):
and all the rest of you, no, cried Adriana indignantly,
but she pressed her handkerchief to her mouth. Papiano looked
at her and dared not offer me his hand again.
I said, I beg your pardon, and I forced my
clasp upon him for the satisfaction of sensing the tremor
that was vibrating through his whole body. His hand was
as limp as a rag. He had the look of
(02:35):
a corpse, especially about his dead and glassy eyes. I
am extremely sorry, I added, for all the trouble, for
the very serious trouble I have caused you unintentionally. You
may be sure, not at all, Balliardi stammered, not at all,
or rather yes, if I may, you see it was
something that really, yes, it couldn't be. So there, delighted
(03:00):
mister mais my congratulations. So glad you got it back
your money? Because Papiono passed his two hands over his
perspiring brow, ran his fingers through his hair, took a
deep breath, and then, turning his back to us, stood
looking through the French doors out upon the balcony. I
am like the man in the story, I began again, smiling.
(03:21):
I was looking for the donkey, and I was on
its back all the time. I had the twelve thousand
lire in my pocket book. The joke is on me,
Adriana could not stand this. But you looked in your
pocket book and everywhere else in my presence. Why they're
in the cabinet, Yes, Signorina, I interrupted severely and firmly.
But I couldn't have looked carefully enough. Since now as
(03:42):
you see, I have found the money. I ask your pardon, particularly, Signorina,
for this oversight on my part must have cost you
more suffering than any of the others. I hope, however,
that now no, no, no, cried Adriana, breaking into sobs
and dashing out of the room, with Silvia Capporrale pursuing her.
I don't understand, exclaimed Palliari, in amazement. Papiano turned angrily
(04:04):
towards us. Well, anyhow, I'm going to clear out to day.
It would seem that now there is no further need
of of He gagged, as if his breath were giving out. Finally,
he decided to address me, though he did not have
the effrontery to look me in the eye. I I
couldn't believe me. I couldn't even say no when they
(04:25):
right here. Why I went right after my brother who irresponsible,
sick as he is, who could be sure he might have?
I dragged him in here by the collar, a terrible scene.
I made him take off all his clothes to search him,
even under his shirt and in his shoes and stockings.
And he oh. At this point his voice choked again
(04:47):
and his eyes filled with tears. Then he added, in
a broken husky tone, well they were able to see.
But of course, since you but after what has taken place,
I am going away. No you're not, I said, by
no means on my account. No, you must stay here.
I am the one who's going to move. If anybody
is why the idea, mister may said old Anselmo in
(05:10):
sincere protest. Even Papiano, struggling with the tears he was
trying to suppress, made a negative gesture. At last he
was able to explain I was I was going away anyhow.
In fact, all this happened because I, without meaning anything
in the world, announced that I was intending to leave
on account of my brother, who really should not be
(05:31):
kept at home any longer. Fact is the Marquis gave
me see for yourself. I have it here A letter
for the director of a sanatorium in Naples. I have
to go to Naples anyway for some more documents than
Marquess wants. And my sister in law, who holds you
quite properly in high, in the very highest esteem, jumps
up and says, no one is to leave the house,
(05:52):
that every one of us should remain indoors, because you, well,
because you had discovered that to me her own brother.
You say, yes, sir, she said it to me. I
suppose because I poor, I grant you, but honest, after all,
I am under obligations to pay to my father in law.
Mister Polliari here, what in the world are you dreaming
(06:13):
of now, exclaimed Polliari, interrupting, No, said Papiano, drawing up haughtily.
It's on my mind. I'm bearing it in mind, don't
you worry? And if I go away, poor poor Shipione,
Papiano seemed unable to control his feelings any longer and
burst into tears outright. Polliari, deeply moved and very much perplexed,
(06:34):
did not know what to make of it all. Well,
what's Schippionic got to do with that? My poor little brother,
Papiano continued, with such a ring of sincerity in his
voice that even I felt a choke gathering in my throat.
I concluded that his emotion was due to an access
of remorse on account of his brother, whom he had
used in the venture, whom if I reported the matter
(06:55):
to the police, he would have blamed for the theft,
and whom he had actually humiliated by the insulting search.
No one understood better than Papiano that I had not
recovered the stolen money. My unexpected declaration coming to save
him just when he was thinking himself lost and was
about to accuse Shipione, or, according to his premeditated plan,
(07:15):
to suggest that the half wit alone could be responsible
for such a thing, had thrown him completely off his pins.
He was weeping now, either from an uncontrollable necessity for
giving some vent to his inner strain, or because he
felt that he could not face me except in tears.
These tears, clearly enough, were an overture of peace to me.
He was kneeling in humble surrender at my feet, but
(07:37):
on one condition that I stick to what I had
said about finding the money again. For if profiting by
his present abasement, I were to return to my charge,
he would rise against me in a fury put it
this way, He did not know, he was never to
know anything at all about the theft. My generous falsehood
was saving only his brother, who, as I should understand,
(07:58):
could not be punished anyhow. In view of the boy's
mental infirmity on his side, I should observe he was
pledging himself indirectly but clearly to repay the Paliari dowry.
All this I read in his tears. But at last
Anselmo's exhortations and my own prevailed upon him to master
his agitation. He said he would go to Naples, but
(08:18):
return the moment he had found a good hospital for
his brother, cashed certain interests he owned in a business
he had recently started with a friend, and copied the
papers the Marquis needed. By the way, he concluded, turning
now to me, it had quite gone out of my mind.
The Marquess requested me to invite you for to day
if you are free, along with my father in law
(08:38):
and Adriana. Oh that's a good idea, exclaimed Anselmo, without
letting him finish. Yes, we'll all go splendid. We have
a good excuse for a bit of diversion. Now what
do you say, mister Maes, shall we go so far
as I am concerned? I said, with a gesture of compliance, Well,
shall we make it four o'clock? Then Papiano proposed wipe
(09:00):
his eyes for good. This time I went to my room,
My thoughts all on Adriana, who had answered my story
about the money by running away from a sinear's. Supposing
she should come now and demand an explanation, Certainly she
could not have believed what I said. What then, could
she be thinking that, in denying the theft, I had
intended to punish her for breaking her promise. Why had
(09:23):
I done so, come to think of it, of course,
because the lawyer whom I had gone out to consult
before bringing criminal charges had assured me that she and
everybody else in the house would be brought under suspicion. She,
to be sure, had announced her willingness to face the scandal.
But I obviously could not allow that just for the
sake of twelve thousand lira. She accordingly could interpret such
(09:45):
generosity on my part as a sacrifice made out of
love for her. Another humiliating lie forced upon me by
my circumstances, A loathsome lie which credited me with an
exquisite and delicate act of unselfishness, all the finer because
in no sense had she requested or desired it? Was
this the way I should reason? Why? No, not at all,
(10:06):
Not at all? Was I crazy? Following the logic of
my necessary and inevitable falsehood, I could reach quite different
conclusions bosh, this notion of generosity, of sacrifice, of affection.
Could I engage the poor child's emotions any further? No,
I must suppress. I must strangle my own passion and
neither speak to Adriana again, nor look at her again
(10:28):
in any intimate way. Well, in that case, how could
she reconcile my apparent generosity with the demeanor I should
henceforth maintain toward her? Along this line, I would be
forced to use her revelation of the theft, a revelation
which I repudiated at the first opportunity, as a pretext
for breaking off relations with her. But was there any
sense to that? No? There were but two possibilities. Either
(10:52):
I had lost the money, in which case, why was
it I did not have the thief arrested, but instead
withdrew my affection from her, as though she were the
guilty one, or else I had really gotten my money back,
in which case, why should I cease loving her? A
sense of nausea, disgust, loathing for myself seized upon me.
At least I should be able to explain to her
(11:14):
that there was no whit of kindness involved in the matter,
that I took no legal steps because I couldn't, because
I couldn't well, I would have to give some reason
I couldn't let it drop like that. Perhaps I had
stolen the money myself in the first place. Yes, she
might easily draw that conclusion. I could let her think so.
Or I could explain that I was a fugitive from persecution,
(11:36):
a man in trouble, compelled to drop out of sight
and so unable to share his lot with a wife.
Lies lies, nothing but lies for that poor innocent creature. Well,
the truth perhaps a truth so improbable that even I,
who had lived it could hardly believe it. So could
I tell her such an absurd tale, such a disordered fancy.
(11:57):
And in that case, to avoid one more lie, I
should have to confess that I had told nothing but
lies hitherto That would be all A truthful explanation could
possibly amount to, and it would neither make me less
of a scoundrel nor ease her suffering. I do believe that,
in the state of exasperation and disgust in which I
then found myself, I would have made a clean breast
(12:17):
of everything to Adriana if, instead of sending Sylvia Capporall,
she had come to my room herself to tell me
why she had gone back on her promise not to talk.
For that matter, I knew already from what Papiano had said.
Miss Capporale added that Adriana was inconsolable. Why should she be,
I asked, with forced indifference, Because the piano teacher answered,
(12:39):
she does not believe you have found the money. It
occurred to me, just then, an impulse, quite in harmony, moreover,
with my mood at the time, that one way out
of it would be to make Adriana lose all respect
for me, let her think me a hard, selfish, treacherous
trifler whom she could not love. That would serve me
right for the harm I had done her. She would
(13:00):
be terribly hurt for a while, to be sure, but
in the end she would be the gainer. She doesn't
believe it how is that? And I smiled shrewdly at
the Caporele woman. Twelve thousand lira, Senora, that much money
doesn't grow on every bush? Do you think I would
be as cheerful as I am if I had really
lost it? But Adriana said, she tried to add nonsense,
(13:22):
plain nonsense, I continued, interrupting, It's true that. Look, I
did suspect for a moment, but I also told miss
Palliari that I could not believe such a thing possible.
And in fact, well you say it for me. What
reason could I have for claiming I had recovered the
money if I hadn't. Miss Cappoorrele shrugged her shoulders. Perhaps
Adriana thinks you may have some reason, But I told
(13:46):
you no, and no it is, I hurriedly interjected. Remember
it was a matter of twelve thousand lira. Now a
lira or two would not have made much difference. But
twelve thousand. My generosity is not so great as all that.
She must be thinking I'm a hero. When Sylvia Capporalli
went away to report to Adriana, I wrung my hands
and dug my teeth into my knuckles. Was that the
(14:08):
way to go about it as it were, trying to
pay her for her crushed delusions in my regard with
the money they had stolen from me? Could anything be meaner, cheaper,
more cowardly? I thought of her in the next room, there,
raging at me, probably despising me, not being in a
position to understand that her grief was my grief too.
Yet that was the way it had to be. She
(14:29):
had to hate me, despise me as I hated and
despised myself. What was more to increase that hatred and contempt?
I would now be very courteous toward Papiano, her enemy,
as though to compensate him in her eyes for the
suspicion's eye and she had had of him. And my
thief himself would be disconcerted, confounded, even to the point
of thinking me perhaps a lunatic. What was left? Could
(14:53):
I do anything worse? Yes? One thing. We were going
to the Gilios that very day. I would begin paying
open court to Pepita Panto Gada. That will make you
scorn me more than ever, Adriana, I groaned, writhing on
my bed. What else? What else can I do for you?
Shortly after four o'clock, Old Anselmo, in formal dress, came
(15:16):
and knocked on my door. I'm all ready, I called,
rising and throwing on my coat. Are you going that way?
Asked Paliari in astonishment. Why, I asked, But then I
noticed that I had on a Scottish cap with a
visa that I usually wore about the house. I put
it into my pocket and reached for my hat, while
Anselmore stood chuckling and chuckling to himself. Where are you going,
(15:40):
mister Palliari, I asked, as he suddenly turned away. Why
I am as darft as you are, he answered, pointing
to his feet. I was going in my slippers. Just
step into the other room, mister Mace. Adriana is there,
and what is she coming to? She didn't want to,
called Paliari, moving along toward his quarters, but I made
her change her mind. She is in the dining room
(16:01):
with her things on, with what cold and severe reproachfulness?
Miss Caporreles stared at me as I entered the room,
caught in her hopeless passion herself. She had been so
often comforted by this simple, inexperienced little child. Now that
Adriana understood what the world was like. Now that Adriana
had been hurt, Sylvia rushed, grateful and solicitous to her rescue.
(16:24):
What right had I to make such a good and
pretty little child unhappy? As for herself Sylvia, neither good
nor pretty. Men might have some excuse for being mean
to her, but not to Adriana. Not to Adriana. This
she seemed to be saying with her eyes as she
invited me to survey the wreckage I had made in
the life beside her. And in truth, how pale, how
(16:46):
bravely pale Adriana was. Her eyes were red with weeping.
What an anguished effort it must have cost to get
up and dress to go out for an afternoon with me,
notwithstanding the state of mind in which I went on
the party. The personality and the home of the Marquis
Gilio d'O letta aroused some curiosity in me. I knew
(17:09):
the reason for his residence in Rome. He saw no
possible way to the restoration of the Kingdom of the
Two Sicilies except through the victory of the temporal power.
Once the Pope could recover his capital, the Kingdom of
Italy might go to pieces, and in the upset, who
could tell the marquis was not strong and prophesying one
thing at a time, attend to the job in front
(17:29):
of you for the moment war without asking or giving quarter.
And in the clerical camp and his salon, in fact,
was the rallying place of the most intransigent prelates of
the courier and the most valorous lague champions of the Blacks.
On that day, however, we found no other callers. In
the vast and sumptuous drawing room, Conspicuous in the middle
(17:51):
of the floor was a painter's easel with a canvas
about half finished. It was Minerva Pepita's lapdog, a black
little beast stretched out on a white soa, her pointed
snout resting on her two front paws. By Bernaldez, the
Spanish artist, announced Papiano gravely, as though he were making
an introduction that required an unusually low bow from the
(18:11):
rest of us Pepeit Pantogarda came in, followed shortly by
her governess, Senora Candida. On previous occasions I had seen
these two women in the semi darkness of my room.
Now under a full light, Miss Pantogarda seemed a different woman,
not as a whole, perhaps, but in respect of her nose.
What had I ever seen that nose before? I had
(18:34):
imagined it as a small, upturned affair, impudent rather than not.
But no, it was strong, robust aquiline, a stunning girl
all the same, dark complexion, flashing black eyes, coal black hair,
wavy and shiny, thin lips, sharp keen, sarcastic, bright red,
painted almost rather than fitted on her slender, shapely form,
(18:58):
a dark dress with white lace work. The soft, placid
beauty of the blond Adriana faded under the brilliancy of
this superior glow, and bless me, at last I solved
the mystery of that steeple on Signora Candida's head. It was.
It was, first of all, a magnificent blondish wig of
waved hair, and pitched, if I may say so, on
(19:20):
the wig a sort of tent, a broad light blue
kerchief for mantilla of silk that was drawn down and
knotted coyly under her chin. A magnificent frame, truly, for
such a plain, lean, angular, washed out face, which inches
of rouge and powder and so forth could not improve. Meantime,
Minerva was barking so vociferously that we were hardly able
(19:42):
to exchange formalities. But the poor doggie was not barking
at us. She was barking at the easel and at
the white sofa, which she remembered as instruments of torture,
apparently the Protestant lament of an incensed soul. YELP, get
out of this room, yelp, get out of this room.
But the easel stood there, unperturbed on its three legs.
(20:03):
So Minerva retreated slowly on her fore, barking, showing her teeth,
returning to the charge, retreating again in terrible commotion. A fat,
chubby body on four over slender legs, Minerva was not
a pretty dog many times, Grandmother I imagine. There was no
sparkle in her eyes, and her hair had turned gray
in places. On her back, just forward of her tail
(20:26):
was a bare spot, resulting from the habit she had
of scratching herself furiously on the rungs of chairs, on
the corners of bookcases, on anything hard and sharp that
would reach that particular trouble. This I knew already. However, Finally,
Pepita seized Minerva by the nape of the neck and
tossed her at Senora Candida, scolding Chito, which was Panto
(20:46):
Gadi's for Zitro shut up and don ignat siur Gilio
Dauletta came hurrying in. He trotted so round shouldered, he
bent almost double to an arm chair he always sat
next to a window, fell into his seat, brought his
cane to rest between his two legs, and finally sighed
a heavy sigh and smiled a wan smile at his
(21:08):
mortal weariness. His face, clean shaven, shrunken, furrowed all over
with deep vertical wrinkles, was of a corpse like pallor
in contrast with his gleaming ardent, almost youthful eyes. Down
over his cheeks, his temples, and the sides of his head,
thick shags of hair trickled like tongues of wet ashes.
(21:28):
Speaking in an obstrusive Neapolitan sing song, the marquis welcomed
us with great cordiality, asking his secretary to continue showing
me the mementos of which the room was full, all
testimonials of his fidelity to the Bourbon dynasty. Here was
a small framed picture, as I took it to be
curtained by a green cloth which bore in letters of gold,
(21:48):
the legend nunnascondo or riparo alzami, I lege I conceal
not but defend, lift me and read. Marquis asked Papiano
to take down the picture and bring it to him.
It was not a picture at all, but a letter,
framed under glass, through which Pietro Aulois, writing in September
eighteen sixty, among the last CASPs of the two Sicilies,
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that is, invited the Marquis Gilio d'oletta to assume a
portfolio in the cabinet, which was destined never to take office.
In the margins was a transcript of the Marquess's acceptance,
a ringing document, the latter branding with infamy those men
of prominence in the realm who, in the moment of
supreme danger and anguish for their sovereign with the filibuster
(22:32):
a Garibaldi hammering at the gates of Naples, declined to
shoulder the responsibilities of power. As the old Marquis enunciated
these documents allowed, he became so wrought up that I
could not help admiring him, although everything he said offended
my sensibilities. As an Italian. He too, besides, had been
a hero after his fashion, as I learned from a
(22:53):
story he told in comment on a fleur de lis
in gilded wood that was also on show in the
parlor there. It happened on the fifth of September eighteen sixty.
The King was leaving the royal palace in an open
carriage attended only by the Queen and a few gentlemen
of the court, on the Via di Giagia. The carriage
was held up by a jam in the traffic in
front of a pharmacy which bore the sign of the
(23:14):
Lilies of gold. A ladder running up to the side
of the building from the middle of the street was
the cause of the congestion. Carpenters were at work on
top of the ladder, removing the lilies from the front
of the shop. The King called the queen's attention to
that act of cowardice on the part of the druggist, who,
in more peaceful times had been only too glad to
haunt his royal brevet as an honor to his store well.
(23:36):
He the Marquis D'auletta, happened to be passing at the moment,
and in a rage of indignant loyalty, he ran into
the shop, collared the offending pharmacist, pointed to the king
out in the street, spat in the man's face, and
went away, brandishing one of the fallen lilies as a trophy.
Viva il Rey. The Marquess was as proud of that
old shop sign as he was of this golden fleece,
(23:58):
his keys as a gentleman of the King's chamber, his
trappings as a chevalier of Saint Gennaro, and all the
other decorations on display in the drawing room under two
full length portraits of their majesties, Ferdinand and Francis. Second,
as soon as I could, I broke away from Papiano
and Paliari to execute my base design. I approached Pepita Pantogada.
(24:21):
It did not take me long to see that the
young lady was in a very bad humor with a
case of nerves. She first wanted to know what time
it was quatroimecho four thirty, very well, very well that
she was not overjoyed to find it was four thirty.
I gathered from the tone of the very wells and
from the voluble and in the circumstances bad mannered tirade,
(24:45):
on which she then launched out against Italy in general
and against Rome in particular. Rome so stuck up over
its blessed glories of the past. The colosseum, What was
the colosseum? They had a colosseum tambiene in Spain, just
as big as just as old. And we don't swell
up and burst every time we walk by it. Pile
of dirty stone pied ramuerta. Anyhow, if you want to
(25:10):
know what a theater is, come to Spain and see
one of our plazas detoros and your old paintings. Why
I'd rather have this picture of Minerva here that Bernaldez
is poking along trying to finish in time for kingdom. Come. Yes,
that was it. Pepita wanted that picture, and she wanted
it right away. It was four thirty and Bernaldez had
(25:30):
not appeared. She fidgeted around on her chair, rubbed her nose, opened,
and closed her hands, with her eyes fastened on the
drawing room door. At last, the butler announced Bernaldez, and
the painter came into the room, panting and perspiring, as
though he had had the run of his life. But
Pepeite's attitude at once changed with a flounce. She turned
(25:52):
her back on him and stared the other way, affecting
an air of cool and collected indifference. Bernaldez went over
and shook hands with the marquis, bowed to us each
in turn, and then approached Pepita, speaking in Spanish and
begging pardon for his tardiness. Pepita now boiled over, and
when she spoke it was in a torrent of pantagades.
(26:12):
First of all, you speak Italian, since these people do
not know Spanish, and I think it bad manners for
you to use Spanish with me. In the second place,
I care not for you for your picture, for you
come late, for your excuse for nothing. Bernaldez did the
best a fellow could do in such a case. He
smiled nervously, he bowed chivalrously. Finally, he asked if he
(26:33):
might resume work on the picture, since there would be
still an hour of light. As you say, she answered,
in the same manner, you paint the picture without me,
or you rub it all out. It is one to me.
Bernaldes bowed again and turned to Senora Candido, who was
still holding the dog Pepita had thrown into her arms.
Poor Minerva's hour of torture was beginning again, but her
(26:54):
suffering was as nothing compared to that of her executioner.
To punish Bernaldez for being late, Pepeter began to flirt
with me, and with an ardor that seemed to me excessive,
even for the purpose I had in view. A glance
in Adriana's direction warned me of the extent of that
poor girl's distress. It could not, for that matter, have
been much greater than Minerva's, nor Manoel bernald Desert nor mine.
(27:17):
I could feel my face flaming redder and redder, as
though I were intoxicated with the anger I knew I
was arousing in that unfortunate young man. I had no
pity for him, but just a fiendish delight in his torment.
My thoughts were all for Adriana. She was being hurt
to the quick, why should he not be? Also? In fact,
I seemed to feel that the more he suffered, the
(27:38):
less her pain might be. Certain it was that the
air in the room was becoming electric, with a tension
that must soon reach the breaking point. It was Minerva
who brought on the storm. Since Pepeite was sitting with
her back to the easel and the sofa, the little
dog was not being cowed as usual by her mistress's
sharp eyes. So the moment the painter turned to his canvas,
(27:59):
Minerva would cautiously rised from her pose, and first one
pow forward and then another would eventually get her nose
and head under the cushions, as though she were trying
to hide. At any rate, when Bernaldez would turn round again,
he would find himself confronted not by his pose, but
by the hind legs and the curly upturned tail of
his unwilling subject. Several times already Senora Candida had put
(28:22):
Minerve in place again, Bernaldes fuming with rage meantime, and
commenting under his breath on a word of endearment that
he would catch every now and then from Pepita's conversation
with me, I say under his breath his remarks were
not always inaudible exactly, and more than once I was
tempted to inquire, did you say something, mister Bernaldez. Finally
(28:45):
his patience gave out, and he exploded, is pantogada? Will
you at least be kind enough to keep this little
bitch of yours where she belongs. Witch Witch, Witch cried Pepita,
jumping to her feet and turning upon the poor painter,
livered with rage. You dare call my dog a vitch,
But a dog doesn't mind coarse language. I was unhappily
(29:06):
prompted to observe. I didn't realize at the moment that
a man in bernald Is a state of excitement, might
catch an illusion when none in the least was intended.
I was not criticizing his choice of words, nor did
I even think that he might take my dog as
referring to himself. But he broke out my language is
no business of yours, monsieur. Under his fixed, aggressive, provoking stare,
(29:28):
I felt my temper begin to rise. I could not
help replying. I must say, signor Bernaldez, you may be
a great painter, what's the matter? Piped the marquess. Noticing
our hostile mood, Bernards dropped his brush and his palette
and strode over till his face was a few inches
from mine. A great painter, say what you are going
(29:48):
to say, monsieur, A great painter, Yes, but your manners
aren't all they might be, And besides, you frighten the dog.
There was a sting of contempt in the tone of
every word. I uttered, yes, said he, but we'll see
whether it's only four legged dogs that are afraid of me,
and he drew back. Peppita now began to shriek hysterically,
(30:11):
and she had technique enough to fall fainting into the
arms of Papiano and Sienora Candida. In the confusion, I
turned my attention naturally to the girl, whom they were
easing on a sofa, but I suddenly felt a clutch
on my arm. Bernalds was upon me. I was just
in time to parry the blow he had aimed at
my face and to throw him back with a hard push. Again,
(30:32):
he rushed, barely missing my cheek with a furious stroke.
It was my turn to attack, but Papiano and Palliari
had jumped between us. Bernalds was backing out of the room,
shaking his fist at me. Consider yourself thrashed, monsieur, consider
yourself thrashed. I am at your service at any time.
The people here know my address. The Marquess was standing
(30:53):
in front of his chair, trembling and shouting. I was
struggling to get free from Palliari and Papiano to pursue
my as the Marquis at last was able to make
himself heard. You are a gentleman, said he. You must
send two of your friends to settle your accounts with
this fellow. To me, he must explain how he dared
attack a guest of mine in my house. I was
(31:15):
quivering with excitement and barely had breath enough to wish
the Marquis good day. I left at once, followed by
Papiano and old Anselmo. Adriano remained to assist in reviving Pepita,
whom they had carried to another room. Now I had
the privilege of getting down on my knees to the
thief who had robbed me and asking him, along with Paliari,
to be my second. To whom else could I appeal me?
(31:39):
Asked Anselmo, in honest stupor me. Why, my dear mister
mays you must be joking me never in the world,
Why I know nothing about such business? All nonsense? Anyhow? Really, now,
isn't it you must? I retorted energetically, not choosing to
begin an argument at just that moment, you and mister
Pappa will be so good as to go at once
(32:01):
to that gentleman's house. I I not a single step,
my dear boy, ask me anything else at your service,
but just this, No, sir, not my line in the
first place, and anyhow, nonsense, nothing serious, little rumpus like that?
Why so excited? No, you're wrong, there, interrupted Papiano, noticing
(32:22):
my furious rage. It is a serious matter. Mister Mayes
has a right to demand satisfaction. In fact, he's in
honor bound to demand satisfaction. He's got to fight. He's
got to fight. So you then, I said, you go
with a friend of yours. I had not expected a
refusal from Papiano, but he opened his arms in a
gesture of apologetic helplessness. You know how I should like
(32:46):
to help you out, but you won't. I stormed, stopping
in the middle of the street. Wait, let me explain,
mister Maes, he answered, humbly. Just see listen, notice the
fix I'm in. Remember I'm bound hand and foot, secretary servant,
slave of the Marquis. What's that got to do with it?
The Marquis himself, don't you remember? Yes? I know, But
(33:09):
to morrow, a clerical and the party his private secretary
mixed up in a duel. The end of me, I
can tell you. And besides that little wench there, didn't
you get the point? Head over heels in love with Bernaldez.
To morrow they kiss and make up, and then where
do I stand? Eh? The end of me. So sorry,
(33:29):
mister Maes, but try to understand my position. Just as
I say so, you're both going to ditch me, I answered,
at my wits end, I don't know another soul here
in Rome. But listen, there's a way. There's a way.
Papiano hastened to advise. I was going to suggest you
see both my father in law here, and I would
find it difficult, impossible. In fact, you are right, no
(33:51):
question of that. You're right every reason to see it through.
Can't overlook a matter like this. Well, you just apply
to two officers in the army. They can't refused to
represent a gentleman in an affair of honor. You go
to them explain how it all happened. They often do
such favors for people not known in town. We had
reached the door of the house, so you won't very well,
(34:13):
I said to papiano, and I turned on my heel
without another word, walking away aimlessly, my brain reeling from
my overwrought emotion. Again, the thought of my crushing, my
annihilating impotence had taken possession of my whole consciousness. Could
a man in my circumstances fight a duel? Could I
never get it through my head that I could no
longer do one single blessed thing? Two army officers excellent,
(34:38):
but just as a starter, two very proper questions. Who
was I? Where did I come from? No? The plain
simple fact. People could spit on me, slap my face,
thrash me with a whip, and I could ask them
to lay on a little harder, please, But for Heaven's sake,
to be quiet about it. Two army officers, and let
me give them just the least wee little inkling of
(34:59):
my real status. Well, in the first place, they wouldn't
believe me, and who knows what they might suspect. In
the second place, I would be as badly off as
with Adriana. If they did believe, they would suggest I
come to life again. Since a dead man, what's the use?
Had no standing? Visa VI the Code of Honor so
I could swallow a good appetite to you, the insult
(35:20):
of Bernaldez, as I had swallowed the theft of Papiano.
Slink away, with my dignity wounded, my courage challenged yes,
with my face slapped, slink away like a coward, out
of sight, into the dark again, the dark of an
intolerable future, where I would be an object of hateful loathing,
even to myself future. Indeed, could there be any future?
(35:41):
How could I go on living? How endure the sight
of myself? No? Enough of this, Enough of this. I stopped, everything,
whirling dizzily about me, my legs giving way at the knees.
A sinister impulse rose suddenly in my heart, giving me
a cold shiver of horror from head to foot. But
before that, I said to myself, my brain rambling before that,
(36:04):
why not try if I should succeed, But try anyhow,
just to get back a little of my own self respect.
If I should succeed, not quite such a craven coward
in my own eyes. And what's there to lose by trying?
Why not try? I was a few blocks away from
the caffiarano. There there catch us, catch can the first
(36:26):
one I come to in my blind agony. I went
in in the outside room. Around a table sat five
or six artillery officers, and when one of them noticed
me standing there, pale, wild eyed, hesitating, I bowed to
him slightly and with faltering voice began, I'm sorry, excuse me,
Might I have a word with you. He was a
(36:47):
beardless young chap hardly graduated from the academy, it seemed
to me. He rose and came over toward me, answering
me courteously, What can I do for you, Senory? Why
it's this way? May I introduce myself Adriano? Mais I
am a stranger in town. I have no friends here.
I've had trouble a point of honor. I need a
(37:07):
couple of seconds. I don't know whom I could ask
if you and one of your friends. Surprised, perplexed, the
man stood looking at me for a time, then turning
to his comrades, he called Grillioti. GRILLIOTTI was a lieutenant
of the upper numbers, with an upcurled mustache, a monocle
crammed willy nilly into an eye socket, and smooth, well
(37:28):
massaged cheeks. He got up from his seat, still talking
to the men at the table, I noticed he spoke
with ours that were really w's, and stepped our way,
making a slight, somewhat constrained bow to me. The moment
I saw which man Grillioti was, I felt like saying
to my cadet, not that man, please, not that man.
But as I afterwards recognized, no one else in the
(37:50):
group could have been so well qualified for the task
in hand as he the articles of the Code of Chivalry.
He knew from a to z such a line of
talk as he gave me about my case, and all
that I must do, I was to telegraph, I forget
exactly what to a certain colonel, state my grievance, fix
the main points clearly, and then go in person to
see him, Savassandr see the colonel, That is precisely as
(38:13):
he GRILLIOTTI had done once before. He was not yet
in the army at the time when something similar had
happened to him in Pavia. It was because in these
matters of honor you see laws of chivalry, and so
on and so on, till my head was a whirl
of articles, precedents, courts of honor, and points well established
in practice. I had not liked the man from the
(38:36):
moment I set eyes on him. Imagine how I felt
now when confronted with this dissertation on chivalry. Finally I
could endure the strain no longer, and I exclaimed impatiently.
But my dear sir, that's all very well. You're quite right,
I dare say, But how will a telegram help in
my present situation? I am all alone here in a
strange city, and I want to fight a duel, understand,
(38:57):
right away, to morrow if possible, and without so much nonsense.
What difference does all this stuff make to me? I
mentioned the matter to you, gentlemen, in the hope, well,
excuse me, in the hope that I could get somewhere
without all this, all this fussing there. My outburst provoked
an answer from Grigliotti in the same tone, and we
(39:18):
were soon engaged in what amounted to a brawl, both
talking at the same time and at the top of
our lungs. But at a certain moment, loud gufforts of
ridicule from the officers about me brought me up short.
I turned and hurried away, My face aflame with indignant humiliation,
as though I had been whipped with a lash. Where
could I hide? The laughter of those soldiers seemed to
(39:38):
pursue me as I fled my hands to my head,
my brain in utter confusion. Should I go home? No,
I shuddered at the thought of that. I kept on walking, walking,
straight ahead, frantically. At last I noticed that I had
slackened my pace, And then finally I stopped to catch
my breath, to rest a little, for I had no
strength left to sustain the stinging smart of that ridge,
(40:00):
which kept pulsing through me in waves of frenzied vengefulness.
I say that I stopped. I did stop, and I
stood some moments without moving, my mind gradually becoming a blank.
Then I began walking again, but now I was strangely relieved.
All feelings of bitterness gone from my mind, a curious
stupor replacing them. Here was a shop window, bright with
(40:22):
its display of wares. I approached and studied the objects
with a meticulous, absorbing interest. The lights went out. The
stores all along the street were closing. Yes, they were
closing for me Eternally. People were going home, leaving me alone,
a solitary wanderer on deserted streets. All doors and windows closed,
all lights extinguished, silence and solitude for me eternally, I
(40:47):
moved along as the city went to sleep. Life itself
seemed to recede from about me, as though it were
something remote, intangible, without meaning or purpose. Had the sinister
intention matured spontaneously within me, I do not know. But
at last, involuntarily, guided as it were, by that inner determination,
(41:07):
I found myself on the Marguerita Bridge, leaning over the
parapet and gazing terror stricken down into the black, swirling stream.
Down there in that water. I shuddered, but it was
not with fear. It was a violent outburst of anger,
an uprising of all my instincts of life, in ferocious
hatred against those who were now bringing me here to
(41:28):
the end they had assigned me back in the flume
of the coops at Mirano. Yes, those women, Romilda and
the widow Pescatore, they had brought me to this pass.
I would never have thought of feigning suicide to get
rid of them. And yet now, after two years of
living like a ghost in the illusion of a life
beyond the death they had wished upon me here, I
(41:49):
was dragged by the collar to executing their sentence. Upon myself.
They were right, after all, I had really died like
the corpse they found. They were free of me, though
I was not free of them, and I rebelled. Could
I not get even with them? Somehow? Instead of killing
myself suicide? How could a dead man, ha ha, a
(42:11):
dead man commit suicide and nobody commit suicide? I straightened up,
as suddenly everything seemed strangely lucid and clear to me
get even with them? But what did that mean? It
meant going back to Mirano, didn't it. It meant shaking
off the lie that had throttled me. It meant coming
to life again to spite them, to chastise them with
(42:32):
my real name, my real personality, my very very real misfortunes.
Ah yes, but my present fix? Could I cut loose
from the present? That easily? Could I throw aside my
life in the via repetta, as one did a bundle
of rubbish for which there is no further use, No, no,
that I could not do. I knew I could not
do so. So I stood there in anguished bewilderment, uncertain
(42:56):
as to a decision. By chance, I put my hand
in my pocket, and my nervous fingers came in contact
with something which I did not at once recognize. With
an angry twitch, I pulled it out. It was the
cap that I had always worn on my trains and
about the house, the cap in which, to old Anselmo's delight,
I had started out to make my call on the Marquess,
(43:16):
and which I had thrust into my pocket. Distractedly, I
was about to toss the thing into the water, when
in a flash an idea came to me. Something I
had thought of long before on my trip from Alenga
to Turin rose clearly to my consciousness. Here I muttered,
almost involuntarily to myself. Here on the railing of this bridge,
my hat, my cane. Yes, just as they did on
(43:40):
the bank of the mill flom at Mirano. There Matia Pascal,
here i Adriano Mase did for tat I come to
life again, to their undoing. The joy that seized on
me amounted to an exultant, inspiring frenzy. Of course, of course,
to kill myself, the self which they had killed, would
(44:00):
be absurd, absurd. I must kill rather the ridiculous fiction
which had tortured and tormented me for two long years.
I must put an end to that wretch of an
Adriano Mase, who to live at all, had to be
a coward, a liar, a worthless, miserable outcast. Adriano Mase
a false name for a Mannikin with a brain of sawdust,
(44:20):
a heart of rags, and veins perhaps of rubber, with
colored water for a week, diluted blood away with such
an odious fiction, drown him as they had drowned Matia
Pascal exactly tit for tat first their turn, and now
mine Adriano Maes, a ghastly life springing from a ghastly lie.
Finish him then with another falsehood, just as gruesome, And
(44:43):
that was a way out of everything? What better reparation
could I make to Adriana for the wrong I had
done her? But could I swallow the insult from that
bore of a Spaniard, the coward assailing me there by surprise,
under conditions where a fight was impossible? Could I swallow it?
I the eye that was really I had not a
trace of fear for the man of that I was
(45:06):
sure he had not insulted me. He had insulted Adriano Maese. Well,
Adriano Maes could swallow anything, of course he could. Was
he not killing himself? Yes, that was the way, the
only way out. I was trembling from head to foot,
as though I were really about to kill someone, But
my brain was clear as crystal, my heart light with
a sudden buoyancy that was almost gay. I looked about
(45:29):
me over in that direction on the Lunguoterevere. Some one
must have noticed me standing on the bridge at that hour,
a policeman, perhaps on lookout for just such tragedies. I
had to make sure, so I walked along, first into
the Piazza de la Libertad, then along the river boulevard
the lungotere Vere de Melini. No one. I retraced my steps,
(45:52):
but before going out on the bridge again, I stopped
under a street lamp, in the shadow of some trees.
My note book. I tore out a page and wrote
on it in pencil, Adriano mase anything else, well, my
address perhaps, yes, and the date that would do that
would tell the whole story. Adriano mase his hat and
his cane. As for the rest, well, a few clothes
(46:14):
and a few books. I could leave them back at
the house. Nothing much. The money left from the robbery
I had with me. I stole along the bridge, bending
low behind the railings. My legs were shaking under me,
and my heart was all a throb. I selected the
darkest spot over the river, took off my hat, slipped
the note behind the ribbon, and set the hat with
(46:35):
my cane on the broad stone top of the parapet.
On my head, I crammed the cap I so luckily
had with me, the cap that had suggested to me
the means of my escape, and keeping to the shadows,
I moved stealthily away, sneaking along like a thief in
the dark, not daring to turn my head. End of
Section sixteen.
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