by Italo Svevo
He was in fact a great chatterbox and admired by all except Alfonso who, though realizing the man’s ignorance, was impressed by his skill with words. Until late into the night he heard from his room the confabulations of the Lanuccis and the old woman declaring that she liked the manufacturer very much. But Rorli did not appear again. Perhaps he had guessed what was in the air and, when invited by Gustavo, excused himself, promised to come, and did not. But Gustavo had achieved a triumph of which he boasted for a long time.
Alfonso, to look as if he was doing his part, one day brought Miceni with the excuse of showing him his room. Used to greater ease and elegance, Miceni could not conceal his laughter before those bare walls, that enormous iron bed, and the little bedside table with a short leg.
Signora Lanucci made him sit down in the living-room and introduced him to her daughter, whom he greeted seated, with a slight nod of the head but in a friendly manner, used as he was to dealing with seamstresses.
But he paid her compliments and chatted away about things women like. He even admired Lucia’s dress and compared it to one he had seen worn by Signora Cancari, one of the richest ladies in town. He was a lady-killer for whom every woman was desirable and the inspiring of desire always a pleasure.
“Shall I suggest he stays on to supper?” Signora Lanucci asked Alfonso in an anguished voice, seeing that the party was going on too long.
“Do invite him! He won’t accept.”
Signora Lanucci embarrassedly invited him, warning him at once that the supper was modest, but that as there was enough to eat for five there would be enough for six.
Miceni refused with thanks and, realizing that the family was about to sit down to table, said goodbye. He went off accompanied by Alfonso, who was impatient to know what impression Lucia had made on him. It was flattering, for he had been anything but indifferent.
On the dark wooden stairs that led up to the first floor Miceni leaned confidentially on Alfonso’s arm and asked: “Have you had her?”
Alfonso protested indignantly.
“Now don’t get angry. If you’ve never really tried, that’s the only reason you haven’t succeeded, which you must admit makes you even sillier than I thought you. A girl of that class, put close to a young man who’s of better class, sooner or later throws herself at him, unless he shows he rejects her.”
It was impossible to be angry, and Alfonso ashamedly excused himself.
“She doesn’t attract me!”
“Really?” asked Miceni in surprise. “Then I can only deplore that your taste is not better developed.”
On his return the good comments about Miceni wasted by the Lanucci family made a painful impression on Alfonso. Lucia too let it be understood that she had quite taken to him. Alfonso looked at her to see whether she was really so desirable as she had seemed to Miceni. Certainly she was not utterly ugly. Lounging on an armchair made her waist look trim, and her puffed starched skirt improved her thinness.
One evening in April Alfonso left Annetta’s house at ten o’clock and met a breath of winter, a wind sharp as an arrow, which had risen only in the last hour or so. It whistled round the deserted streets of the old town and became frenzied where they narrowed. It fractured unfixed tiles, tore from roofs everything that was not firmly held or did not belong there. Cold as Alfonso was he took with him through the wind the happiness of a kiss stolen from Annetta.
He found the Lanucci family still at supper with a new guest, one Mario Gralli, overseer at a printers. This was a dark young man with small eyes but a hard proud look which showed him to be quick-witted and tenacious. He was introduced with the usual phrases, and Alfonso, ill-pleased at having to make the acquaintance of the whole neighbourhood, treated him coldly. Gralli got up to greet Alfonso, who was rather surprised to find him shorter than he had expected. He was dressed with care though in cheap materials; the usual yellowish neckband fitted his neck closely, and his cravat, though threadbare, was not soiled and was knotted with a certain care.
He spoke little and evidently unwillingly. He would throw a monosyllable in reply here and there, contenting himself by staring in the face of whomever spoke to him with a fixed but vague look. It was not Alfonso’s sort of embarrassment, of one who wanted to speak but did not know how, but calculated indifference. He went off shortly after Alfonso’s arrival, perhaps bothered by a new face when he had just begun to feel at home with the others. On his getting up, Alfonso thought he saw him drop Lucia’s hand, which he had been holding under the tablecloth. Had he got so far so soon?
Then he was told that Mario Gralli was the first real suitor for Lucia’s hand. For some time he had been a close friend of Gustavo’s, to whom he would give jobs of distributing newspapers, which Gustavo liked because of the five or six hours he spent in the printers, only one or two of which were work. Having so many hours for talking and nothing else to talk about, Gustavo spoke of his plans for his sister’s future and of the wish in the family to see her married as soon as possible. One day Lucia was invited by her brother to the printers to look at the machinery. She was dressed well as always, and Gralli seemed taken at once. He took her to see every machine. As they passed the workmen rose respectfully to their feet; what Mario liked most about Lucia so far was her appearance, while she liked to see him surrounded with such respect. So it was that the two found each other.
Gralli earned well and, as the girl was pleased, her parents could find no objection. Anyway, they had not been asked, because Gralli had declared to Gustavo that he could not formulate his request officially so soon, not within a year. He never in fact talked directly to the parents at all, but always through Gustavo. He got him to explain to them that his position was not yet secure enough because he had obtained it as a result of the sudden death of a superior, and he did not know if it would be confirmed. Gustavo added on his own the observation that it did not seem decent to insist on Mario making his request at once.
All this was described to Alfonso by Signora Lanucci. That same evening, with a jolly air, she told him how pleased they were with the match as she had always loved literature and a printer seemed to her very close to it. She went up to him again in the morning, as he was about to leave. At first, with the same air as the night before, and like a person with really happy news she said:
“It means some light for us at last.”
Suddenly she changed. She spoke of the great care needed about such a matter and, once she began complaining, went on to say that she did not like having to trust herself to Gustavo’s solutions and judgement. Eventually she began to sob desperately, declaring that she never thought she would have to hand over her daughter to someone she did not know. She had spent a bad night, and her pale features were discomposed; tumbled white hair increased her suffering air.
Alfonso tried to calm her by saying that Gralli had made an excellent impression on him.
Still weeping, she assured him that she liked Lucia’s future husband too, and added that she knew she was wrong to cry, as crying was a bad omen. But she was suffering too much and must confess the hopes she had nurtured in him since his entering their home; she could tell him now because her confidence could not possibly be taken for an attempt. Her sincerity surprised Alfonso. But she lied, Alfonso suspected, when she went on to say that Lucia had known nothing of her hopes. With touching sincerity she explained the reasons why she had hoped to see him fall in love with Lucia.
“I knew you. I’d have felt sure that even if things went badly with you both, you yourself would always have found patience enough to treat your wife gently. And when there are two, I figured, one is never really unhappy!”
Alfonso was not embarrassed about his attitude. More than once he had felt a desire, a very platonic desire, to make this poor old woman happy, and now he thought it right to pretend that he was sorry to be no longer able to do what he would not have done anyway.
“A lovely dream, yes, indeed!” said Alfonso, “but it could never have been realized as
my position is even more wretched and uncertain than Gralli’s. I’m penniless.”
When he was alone, he thought of Signora Lanucci’s sorrow. Amid her misfortunes the poor woman had pinned all her hopes on her daughter’s future, and this had made her meeker and happier. Now her hopes were dying. Her daughter was to have the same destiny as herself. She would be surrounded by a poverty-stricken family in no way better off than the one she was leaving.
“Signorina,” said Alfonso seriously to Lucia that evening, “I want to be the first to congratulate you, and do so at once.”
Lucia thanked him ceremoniously.
“There’s nothing to congratulate me on yet, as Mario hasn’t made his request officially”—she was already calling him by his Christian name—“but from you I can accept congratulations beforehand.”
In the evening Alfonso fell asleep unusually early, after enduring for two hours the mortal boredom of the Lanuccis and of Gralli’s company. It pained him to see the future husband so lacking in wit or ideas; but he realized that the mother suffered this too, and he realized that Lucia did not notice and liked her future husband as he was, dignifiedly silent.
Alfonso drew the coverlet up to his chin and at the conclusion of a long reflection on human destiny murmured: “Man should be able to live twice; once for himself and once for others.”
If he’d had two lives, he thought, he would dedicate one to the Lanuccis’ happiness.
XIV
ONE EVENING Annetta announced to Alfonso that her brother Federico was to arrive a few days later. She was warning him beforehand so that he should be ready to behave as prudently as possible. Federico was devoted to her and while he was in town would be unlikely ever to leave her side. So Alfonso was to be very careful, because to arouse the slightest suspicion in Federico would mean their having to stop seeing each other.
Alfonso promised all that she asked him. That evening she had allowed him much, and he wanted to be equally yielding; he even asked if she would prefer him to suspend his visits during that time and declared himself ready to agree. She did not ask as much as that, because such a sudden interruption might itself arouse suspicions. She did not find it necessary to say that she would be sorry not to see him all that time.
In a way Alfonso and Annetta’s relations had become less affectionate. She had never told him that she loved him. He had let himself say so, but even he no longer felt a need to repeat it, nor did she notice the lack. It seemed because of this that their bearing had become more frank and that they were in a tacit agreement which did not really exist—for Alfonso was still hoping for something else and had realized, regretfully, that the road he was taking could lead to the conquest of a concubine but not of a mistress or a wife.
In other people’s presence he had the air of a suitor, shooting glances, paying compliments or asking to be alone with her for a second to say a word. When they were alone at last, she would tell him with a smile that he sometimes thought faintly ironical, that he could speak. Without opening his mouth he would draw her to him and kiss her frantically. She defended herself at a certain point, but with the calm energy of self-confidence. After Alfonso became more prudent in the presence of those whose suspicions Annetta feared, they never had a dispute. She almost seemed readier to become his mistress than his wife; his behaviour angered her in public, not when they were alone.
When Alfonso was told in the office of Federico’s arrival, the news produced a strange impression of alarm in him. Gradually he had won the friendship of all those who frequented the Mallers. It had been a slow and difficult conquest which seemed to have succeeded mainly by luck, by Macario’s gift of his esteem, rather than by the respect accorded him by that little ignoramus Annetta. Now someone new intervened, a person used to making decisions according to unknown criteria. He was to be feared since Annetta feared him on Alfonso’s account. Federico was certainly a man of ambition who would start by despising him.
That evening he did not go to Annetta’s; he did not want to show himself too soon. By next evening it seemed a century since he had seen her, and, ingenuously thinking that it must seem so to others, he went to call at the Mallers.
He found only Francesca and made a face, as if finding a liquid bitter after swallowing it. Francesca understood.
“For just one evening,” she said to him with a smile, “you must put up with talking to me about Annetta. She’s had to go out with Signor Federico. Now listen! Tell me something about your relations with Annetta.” She waited in silence for him to talk, while he remained silent, surprised by the strange preamble which Francesca seemed to be hoping would draw confidences from him.
“I thought you’d like to talk about Annetta, and you can with me, since, as I hope you’ve realized, I’m her confidante.” She tried to give him a proof of her knowing all. “But never do that on the landing again!” she said with a laugh, threatening with her white hand, the best feature of her body. She was alluding to the embrace which long ago Alfonso had stolen from Annetta on the landing.
This proof that she had given was enough, particularly because he felt a strong need to talk about Annetta and to complain about her. So he said that he was not at all satisfied about his relations with Annetta, as Francesca called them: Annetta was not as he had hoped.
“You’ve really no reason for complaining,” observed Francesca in a tone which sounded to him ironical. “You don’t seem to appreciate your good luck as much as you should.”
He did appreciate his good luck as he should, but it did not seem to him very great. He asked Francesca to tell him the exact terms in which love had been spoken, on that occasion at least. Francesca asserted that she could not remember and so could not do as he asked.
“You know,” inquired Alfonso very seriously, “that she’s never told me she loved me? I really don’t know if Annetta loves or despises me.”
Francesca seemed about to laugh at Alfonso’s confidence, then became very serious and let drop a thought spoken out loud: “All the Mallers are like that. Coldness is a family characteristic.”
Alfonso did not forget this phrase, which seemed to him a confirmation of the rumours about Francesca and her relations with Maller. Who else in the family could she have known to be cold in love?
“But this much is certain,” went on Francesca, “Annetta is not making fun of you, and I can say that I’ve never seen her as she is now.” Then she at once changed the subject, apparently wanting Alfonso too to consider her as a kind of attentive governess. “If I don’t tell Maller all about it, as is my duty, it’s because I trust your and Annetta’s honesty of character.” But she warned him not to flatter himself too much about Annetta’s love which, she hinted, could suddenly die. It was the first love affair of the kind she had had, but its conclusion could be foreseen, and again Alfonso thought he noticed something bitter in her smile.
“I never flatter myself nowadays, I know it’s only a joke.” He was playing the strong man, but speaking with difficulty.
Francesca exclaimed with maternal compassion: “Is this not a moment for you to return home? Haven’t you realized yet that this city is not for you?”
“Why?” asked Alfonso, touched at this sympathy.
“If you don’t understand, I can’t explain. I’d willingly live in the country too, and would give much, oh so much, never to have left your village, which is our village, isn’t it?”
They looked at each other with sudden tenderness. The similarity of their fates drew them together and stirred them.
Francesca said she wanted to give him some advice and asked him to listen to it and follow it as if it came from his mother. This preamble made Alfonso very hopeful, and he was greatly disappointed when she merely said that she could not understand why he went on worrying his head about Annetta, when he was bound to recognize in the end that it took quite other arts than his to infuse life and passion into such a statue. She advised him to behave exactly as Annetta asked him to, coldly.
Was
this her great piece of advice? It was advice already given by Annetta herself though not in the same words; and he presumed it was being repeated by her desire. Perhaps Francesca took her duties as chaperone more seriously than he had previously recognized, and was telling him this in order to lessen the danger threatening Annetta.
As they were saying goodbye, Francesca’s language changed and she said two or three short phrases whose importance he did not at once understand.
“Can’t you see that caresses not followed up destroy all influence over us women of the men who give them? All that kissing! Just the way to get no further!”
She gave him a searching look to see if he had understood, and winking to explain what she had said, she smiled—an accomplice’s smile.
This was her advice! Alfonso had not understood it yet but already realized that his suppositions of Francesca’s intentions were mistaken. This amazed him. Perhaps these last phrases had been pronounced thoughtlessly, but it was more likely that all the other phrases had been said to mask these same ideas and to give the impression of a person only making a mistake in language. That aspect had been betrayed by her diffident searching glance and by her sly smile. Alfonso had been given some advice, and its purpose was obviously not to draw him away from Annetta but to show him a way of winning her.
He was not being advised to do something entirely new to him; and this reminded him of the pretence of coldness which Annetta had wanted to give the hero of their novel, which she said would conquer their heroine’s hesitations. It was just the sort of coldness suggested by Francesca. The advice was good. It would be pleasant to follow it because, even if it did not lead him to the victory foreseen by Francesca, he did at least hope to achieve what he wanted, the conquest of Annetta’s affections. At once he began hoping to achieve more by the behaviour suggested than by the aggressive one he had followed so far. For a long time the pleasure of being able to hug and kiss Annetta had not compared to the bitterness of her brusque word or cold greeting. The mere intention of his assuming such a bearing reduced his nervous tension and released him from the daily struggle in which he had been engaged for a year, a struggle always with the same result, neither victory nor definite defeat.
