And I said: “If the seriousness of life were not now confronting me”—and I didn’t add that I had been feeling this seriousness only a short time, since my resolution to marry—“I would have kept on transferring from one department to another.”
Then, to make them laugh, I remarked on a curious thing: I always dropped a subject just at the moment when I had to face examinations.
“A coincidence,” I said, with the smile of one who wants to hint he is telling a lie. And, indeed, the truth was that I had changed my courses in all seasons.
So I set out to win Ada and I continued my efforts to make her laugh at me, at my expense, forgetting that I had chosen her because of her seriousness. I am a bit eccentric, but to her I must have seemed downright unbalanced. The fault is not wholly mine, and this is clear from the fact that Augusta and Alberta, whom I had not chosen, judged me differently. But Ada, who at that very time was so serious that she was casting her beautiful eyes around in search of the man she would admit to her nest, was incapable of loving a person who made her laugh. She laughed, and she laughed for a long time, too long, and her laughter clothed in ridiculous garb the man who had provoked it. Hers was a genuine inferiority and in the end it was to harm her, but first it harmed me. If I had been able to keep silent at the right moment, perhaps things would have turned out differently. As least I would have given her time to speak and to reveal herself, and I could have steered clear of her.
The four girls were seated on the little sofa that could barely hold them, even though Anna was sitting on Augusta’s lap. They were beautiful, all together like that. I observed this with inner satisfaction, considering that I was magnificently headed toward admiration and love. Really beautiful! Augusta’s wan complexion served to heighten the dark color of the other girls’ hair.
I had mentioned the University, and Alberta, who was in her last year of upper school, talked about her studies. She complained of finding Latin very difficult. I said I wasn’t surprised, as it was not a language suited to women, and I actually thought that even in ancient Roman times the women spoke Italian. Whereas for me—I declared—Latin had been my favorite subject. A little later, however, I was foolish enough to quote a Latin saying, which Alberta had to correct. A real stroke of bad luck! I attached no importance to it, and informed Alberta that when she had perhaps a dozen semesters of university behind her, she would also have to be on her guard against quoting Latin tags.
Ada, who had recently spent some months in England with her father, observed that many girls there know Latin. Then, in the same serious voice, lacking any musicality, a bit deeper than one would have expected from her delicate figure, she said that English women were quite different from ours. They formed charitable organizations, and religious, even economic groups. Ada was urged to speak by her sisters, eager to hear again those things that seemed wondrous to young ladies of our city at that time. And to satisfy them, Ada told about those women who were club presidents or journalists, secretaries or political speakers, who mounted platforms to address hundreds of people without blushes or confusion when they were interrupted or when their arguments were contested. She spoke simply, with little color, with no intention of arousing wonder or laughter.
I loved her simple speech—I, who, when I opened my mouth, got things wrong or misled people because otherwise speaking would have seemed to me pointless. Without being an orator, I suffered from the disease of words. Words for me had to be an event in themselves and therefore could not be imprisoned in any other event.
But I harbored a special hatred for perfidious Albion, and I displayed it without fear of offending Ada, who, for that matter, had indicated neither hate nor love of England. I had spent some months there, but I hadn’t met any English person of good society, since, in traveling, I had misplaced some letters of introduction obtained from business acquaintances of my father’s. In London, therefore, I had frequented only a few French and Italian families, and in the end I decided that all the respectable people in that city came from the Continent. My knowledge of English was very limited. Still, with the help of my friends I could understand something of the life of those islanders and, especially, I learned of their dislike of all who are not English.
I described to the girls the fairly unpleasant impression I had derived from my stay amid enemies. I would, however, have stuck it out and put up with England for the six months my father and Olivi wanted to inflict on me so I could study English trade (which I never encountered because it is apparently conducted in recondite places), but then a disagreeable adventure had befallen me. I had gone into a bookseller’s to look for a dictionary. In that shop, on the counter, a big, magnificent Angora cat was lying, whose soft fur simply begged to be stroked. Well! Simply because I gently stroked him, he treacherously attacked me and badly scratched my hands. From that moment on, England was intolerable and the following day I was in Paris.
Augusta, Alberta, and also Signora Malfenti laughed heartily. Ada, on the contrary, was dumbfounded and thought she had misunderstood. Hadn’t it been the bookseller himself who had offended and scratched me? I had to repeat myself, which is always boring because repetitions never come off.
Alberta, the studious one, chose to come to my assistance.
The ancients had also allowed their decisions to be guided by the movements of animals.
I rejected her help. The English cat had not been acting as an oracle: it acted as destiny!
Ada, her great eyes wide, wanted further explanations: “And you felt the cat represented the entire English nation?”
I was really unlucky! While it was true, that story seemed to me as instructive and interesting as if it had been invented for some specific purpose. To understand it, wasn’t it enough to point out that in Italy, where I know and love so many people, the action of that cat would never have assumed such importance? But I didn’t say this, and I said, on the contrary: “Certainly no Italian cat would be capable of such a thing.”
Ada laughed for a long time, very long. My success seemed to me even too great because it diminished me, and I diminished my adventure with further explanations:
“The bookseller himself was amazed by the cat’s reaction: it behaved well with everyone else. The misadventure fell to my lot because I was who I was, or perhaps because I was Italian. It was really disgusting, as I said in English, and I had to escape.”
Here something happened that ought to have warned me and saved me. Little Anna, who till then had remained motionless, observing me, decided to express in a loud voice “what Ada felt. She cried: “Is it true you’re crazy? Completely crazy?”
Signora Malfenti threatened her: “Will you be quiet? Aren’t you ashamed, interrupting the grownups’ talk?”
The threat only worsened things. Anna shouted, “He’s crazy! He talks with cats! We should get some ropes, quickly, and tie him up!”
Augusta, flushed with dismay, stood up and carried her out, scolding her and at the same time apologizing to me. But again at the door the little viper was able to stare into my eyes, make a face, and shout: “They’ll tie you up! Wait and see!”
I had been assailed so unexpectedly that, for the moment, I could find no way of defending myself. I felt relieved, however, realizing that Ada was also sorry to hear her private feelings expressed in that way. The little girl’s impudence brought us closer.
Laughing heartily, I said that I possessed a certificate, with an official seal, that attested to my complete sanity. Thus they learned of the trick I played on my old father. I suggested bringing that certificate and showing it to little Annuccia.
When I made a move to leave, they wouldn’t permit it. First they wanted me to forget the scratches inflicted on me by that other cat. They kept me there with them, offering me a cup of tea.
No doubt I felt immediately, in some obscure way, that if I wanted to appeal to Ada I would have to be a bit different from what I was; I thought it would be easy for me to become what she wanted. We went on ta
lking about the death of my father, and it seemed to me that if I revealed the great sorrow that still oppressed me, the serious Ada might feel it with me. But at once, in my effort to resemble her, I lost my naturalness and therefore—as was quickly evident—I distanced myself from her. I said that the grief for such a loss was so great that if I were to have children I would try to make them love me less, so as to spare them great suffering later, at my passing. I was a bit embarrassed when the women asked me how I would act to achieve that aim. Maltreat them? Strike them?
Laughing, Alberta said, “The surest method would be to kill them.”
I saw that Ada was animated by a desire not to displease me. So she hesitated: but all her best efforts could not lead her beyond hesitation. At last she conceded that it was clearly my goodness that led me to think of organizing my children’s life in that way, but to her it seemed wrong to Uve only in preparation for death. I held my ground and asserted that death was the true organizer of life. I thought always of death, and therefore I had only one sorrow: the certainty of having to die. Everything else became of such scant importance that I accepted it all simply with a happy smile or with equally happy laughter. I let myself be carried away, saying things that were now less true, particularly because I was with her, already such an important part of my life. To tell the truth, I believe I said those things to her, meaning to let her know what a happy man I was. Often happiness had lent me a hand with women.
Thoughtful and hesitant, she confessed that she was not fond of such a state of mind. Diminishing the value of life, we also jeopardized life more than Mother Nature intended. What Ada had really told me was that I was not the man for her, but I had managed, all the same, to make her thoughtful and hesitant, and that seemed to me a success.
Alberta quoted an ancient philosopher who supposedly resembled me in his interpretation of life, and Augusta said that laughter was a wonderful thing. Her father, too, had a great store of laughter.
“Because he likes good business,” Signora Malfenti said, laughing.
I finally broke off that unforgettable visit.
There is nothing more difficult in this world than to achieve a marriage exactly the way you want it. So much is clear from my case, where the decision to marry long antedated the choice of a betrothed. Why didn’t I go out and see countless girls before settling on one? No! It actually seemed I would dislike seeing too many women, and I was reluctant to tire myself. But even after choosing the girl, I might have examined her a bit more closely and made sure at least that she would be willing to meet me halfway, as they never fail to do in romantic novels with happy endings. On the contrary, I selected the girl with the deep voice and the slightly unruly but severely coiffed hair, and I thought, serious as she was, she wouldn’t refuse an intelligent man like me, well-to-do, not ugly, and of good family. From the very first words we exchanged, I sensed something discordant, but discord is the road to unison. I should confess what I thought: She must remain as she is, because I like her this way and I will be the one who changes, if she wishes. All things considered, I was quite unenterprising because it’s surely easier to change oneself than to reshape others.
In a very short time the Malfenti family became the center of my life. I spent every evening with Giovanni, who, after introducing me into his home, had become also more cordial and intimate with me. It was this cordiality that made me aggressive. At first I visited his ladies once a week, then more than once, until finally I was going to his house every day, spending several afternoon hours there. I had numerous excuses to become a fixture in that household, and I believe I am right in declaring that they were also offered to me. Sometimes I took my violin with me and spent a few hours making music with Augusta, the only one in the house who played the piano. It was a pity Ada didn’t play, and it was a pity I played the violin so badly, and to make matters still worse, Augusta wasn’t much of a musician, either. I had to eliminate some bars of every piece because they were too difficult, on the false pretext that I hadn’t touched the violin for a long time. The pianist is almost always superior to the amateur violinist, and Augusta had a fair technique, but I, who played so much worse than she, couldn’t say I was pleased with her and I thought: If I could play as well as Augusta, how much better I would play! While I was judging her, the others were judging me and, as I learned later, not favorably. Then Augusta would gladly have repeated our performance, but I realized that Ada had been bored and so I pretended several times to have forgotten my violin at home. Afterwards Augusta never mentioned it again.
Unfortunately I didn’t spend with Ada only the hours I passed in that house. She soon accompanied me throughout the day. She was the woman I had chosen, she was therefore already mine, and I adorned her with all my dreams, so that the prize of my life would appear more beautiful to me. I adorned her, I bestowed on her all the many qualities I lacked and whose need I felt, because she was to become not only my companion but also my second mother, who would adopt me for a whole lifetime of manly struggle and victory.
In my dreams I also beautified her physically before handing her over to others. In reality, I pursued many women in my life, and many of them also allowed themselves to be overtaken. In my dreams I captured them all. Naturally I don’t beautify them by changing their features, but I act like a friend of mine, a very refined painter who, when he portrays beautiful women, thinks intensely also of some other beautiful thing, for example of a piece of lovely porcelain. A dangerous dream, because it can endow the dreamed-of women with new power and, when seen again in the light of reality, they retain something of the fruits and flowers and porcelain with which they were clad.
It is hard for me to tell about my courtship of Ada. There came a long period in my life when I made an effort to forget that stupid adventure, which actually shamed me, with the shame that makes you shout and protest: No! I wasn’t such a jackass! Well, then, who was it? But protest also affords some relief, and I persisted. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I had acted like that ten years earlier, when I was twenty! But to be punished for such asininity simply because I had decided to marry seems to me downright unjust. I, who had already undergone every kind of adventure, always conducted with an enterprising spirit bordering on insolence, now had become again the timid youth who strives to graze his beloved’s hand, perhaps without her noticing, then adores the part of his own body honored by such contact. This adventure, which was the purest of my life, I remember even today, when I am an old man, as the most despicable. It was out of place, out of time, the whole business, as if a boy of ten were to grope the breast of his wet-nurse. Disgusting!
How to explain, then, my long hesitation in speaking clearly and saying to the girl: Make up your mind!? Do you want me or don’t you? When I went to that house I was arriving there from my dreams; I counted the steps that led me to that upper floor, telling myself that if their number was odd it would prove she loved me, and it was always odd because there were forty-three of them. I arrived at her side buoyed by this confidence, but I ended up speaking of something quite different. Ada had not yet found the opportunity to convey her disdain to me, and I remained silent! I, too, in Ada’s place, would have received that youth of thirty with a swift kick in the behind!
I must say that in some respects I didn’t resemble exactly the lovesick twenty-year-old, waiting in silence for his beloved to throw her arms around his neck. I awaited nothing of the sort. I was going to speak, but not yet. If I didn’t go ahead, it was because of some doubts about myself. I was waiting to become nobler, stronger, worthier of my divine maiden. That could happen any day. Why not wait?
I am ashamed also of not having realized in time that I was heading for such a disaster. I was dealing ‘with the simplest of girls, but thanks to my dreams of her, she appeared to me as the most consummate flirt. My enormous bitterness was unjust, when she finally made me see that she wanted nothing to do with me. But I had intermingled dreams and reality so closely that I was unable to convince myse
lf she had never kissed me.
Misunderstanding women is a clear sign of scant virility. Before, I had never been mistaken, and I have to think that I was wrong about Ada, because from the very beginning I had established a false rapport with her. I had set out not to win her but to marry her, an unusual path for love to take, a very broad path, a very comfortable path, but one that doesn’t lead to the goal, close though it may be. Love achieved in this way lacks the principal ingredient: the subjugation of the female. Thus the male prepares for his role in a great inertia that can affect all his senses, including sight and hearing.
I took flowers daily to all three girls, and on all three I lavished my fatuities and, above all, with incredible thoughtlessness, I daily regaled them with my autobiography.
Everyone tends to remember the past with greater fervor as the present gains greater importance. It is said, indeed, that the dying, in their final fever, review their whole lives. My past now gripped me with the violence of a last farewell because I had the feeling I was moving far away from it. And I talked always about this past to the three girls, encouraged by the close attention of Augusta and Alberta, an attention that perhaps disguised Ada’s lack of interest, of which I am unsure. Augusta, with her sweet nature, was easily moved, and Alberta listened to my descriptions of student japes, her cheeks flushed with the desire to experience similar adventures in the future.
A long time afterwards I learned from Augusta that none of the three girls had believed my stories were true. To Augusta they seemed all the more precious because, as I had invented them, they were more mine than if fate had visited them upon me. To Alberta the part she didn’t believe was still enjoyable because she received some excellent hints. The only one outraged by my lies was the serious Ada. For all my efforts I achieved the result of that marksman who hit the bullseye, but of the target next to his.
And yet to a great extent those stories were true. I can’t at this point say to what extent because, as I had told them to many other women before the Malfenti daughters, through no wish of mine, they had changed and become more expressive. They were true inasmuch as I could not have told them in any other version. Today it’s of no importance to me to prove their veracity. I wouldn’t want to undeceive Augusta, who loves to consider them my invention. As for Ada, I believe that by now she has changed her mind and considers them true.