A Life

by Italo Svevo

  Only now did he begin to understand why, after reaching the goal at which he had been aiming for so long, he felt restless and disgusted instead of happy. This was not how he would have liked to achieve riches, even if he eventually resigned himself to receiving them from Annetta. He remembered his hopes of reaching the same goal by quite another route. Annetta was to have declared serenely that she loved him and realized she could not put her own destiny into better hands than his. He had recognized a long time ago that this dream was unlikely to be realized and had continued because drawn by sensuality not by any other aims. Annetta was the more to blame since the excuses he had found for himself did not exist for her. From beginning to end she had acted from sensuality and vanity. He had always had an urge to sweeten their love affair by words and ways; she had merely tolerated his love without showing she returned it. So eventually he had found his feelings about it becoming more similar to hers, ceasing, that is, when desire ceased.

  Yet what disturbed him more than any doubt was the compassion aroused in him by Annetta. She had been struck in her most vulnerable part, her pride, and sooner or later that would make her suffer horribly.

  Never had he felt so unhappy at the bank as he did that day, though after receiving that letter he worked fast and well as if wanting to be of some use to Signor Maller in compensation for his action against him. He met him in the passage and bowed deeply to make a good impression. In the afternoon Santo suddenly called him to see Signor Maller. He quivered. Maller very rarely needed to talk to him, and as he went, Alfonso thought that Annetta had already spoken, leaving him unprepared to cope with her father’s anger. But it turned out to be a matter of business. He was in such a state of embarrassment that Signor Maller looked at him with curiosity, certainly thinking that literature did not help its creators assume an easy bearing.

  His last daydreams had been based on this very fear, of being called by Signor Maller. He imagined him more pained by having to marry off his daughter to Alfonso than by her dishonour, and shouting jeers and insults which did not stop even when Alfonso declared that though he had behaved badly, the consequences need not be those drawn by Signor Maller, for if necessary he would withdraw and renounce Annetta while taking her secret to the grave. Ah, he could do very little to diminish the anger of Maller, who must blame him severely. But however much he wanted to impose his own conditions—to reject arrangements made under pressure of necessity—he had had no liberty in the matter at all. He had to submit to the will of those in whose hands his destiny lay.

  During the day he felt a burning need to confide in someone. It cost him a lot not to mention it all to Ballina, in whose room he spent half that day so as to avoid feeling so alone with his thoughts. He felt a need to hear the opinion of someone not blinded by Utopias as, so often, he had been himself. An average person might perhaps see it quite differently, a friend’s words could have lightened his conscience, even if they did not bring him to accept what did not suit him.

  But he was able to restrain himself with Ballina. White was leaving the bank the next day, and Alfonso brought his story up, changing names and details. He told him that a young man he knew had courted a girl much richer than himself who really did not want him, until she was caught in a pathological impulse, changed her mind from necessity and gave way. The young man, on achieving his desire, was hesitant to profit by his action and to place himself in circumstances which he foresaw would certainly not give him happiness.

  White looked at him with his calm gaze, unused to worrying about the troubles of others, and replied:

  “One needs more details. If the young man loves the girl, then it’s all fine; if he doesn’t, it’s very bad indeed.”

  He had put his finger right on the spot; now that the dilemma was expressed by others, Alfonso could not let it go without an answer—the dilemma tortured him throughout that morning. He had loved her but did not know if he still did. What had happened to destroy his affection? For no, he did not love her! His problem was solved, but he did not want to tell White so.

  “If he doesn’t love her,” continued White, “I advise him to cut it out regardless of any sense of obligation, because a marriage like that is always and in all circumstances inadvisable. I don’t know if your man thinks so, but there are still things which can’t be sold.”

  He spoke in grave tones, but Alfonso realized that his emotion was not aroused by the query he had put to him. White’s thoughts were elsewhere; obviously he could not turn his whole mind to answering Alfonso.

  White’s farewell was very affectionate. Alfonso was so predisposed to emotion that anything was enough to move him to tears, and the other, usually so cold, seemed to be in the same state. He told Alfonso that he did not know exactly to what port in the Levant he was being sent, but it was somewhere very very very far away, and at that repeated ‘very’ his voice broke with emotion.

  Alfonso, who still had half-an-hour between leaving the office and his appointment, walked home with him.

  “And the Signora …?” he asked, pointing towards White’s home.

  “She’s not coming with me … she doesn’t want to.”

  To cut things short and forestall any other question from Alfonso he changed the subject at once.

  “Ah. I’ve been much happier in this town than in Paris, and it’s sad having to leave it just to earn one’s bread. Oh. Maudit argent.” The French words made his imprecation sound more sincere. “If you wait for me, I’ll be down directly, and we can walk along together towards the station where there’s a family I must say goodbye to.”

  But Alfonso could not wait because he had just enough time to arrive in a proper manner shortly before the hour arranged.

  The two friends shook hands and looked each other in the eye for a wordless instant, White’s regular features very serious, his glasses almost sticking to his eyes. Then they both walked quickly away from each other, and Alfonso felt how important their separation was. Two beings who, by chance, had met, known and appreciated each other, were parting never to meet again. The definite leaving of a thing or person is always sad.

  It was now nearly dusk. Alfonso felt a deep melancholy. Now he was just beginning to realize how much he had lost in every respect by the night’s adventure. White was leaving, and he felt as if he had seen the last of a very important person in his life. He felt alone. What would his life be like now, when, twenty-four hours after achieving the goal for which he had lived, he realized it did not give him happiness?

  And yet he still desired Annetta. As the time came near when he was to see her again, he evoked her pretty face and examined with curiosity the impression it made. It was desire, but desire which took away none of his revulsion and seemed indeed to provide another reason to comprehend his own feelings. Now he could vaunt a hatred of his own misdeed, for in spite of desiring and loving Annetta he still felt disgust at the way he had won her. And in his gloom he was swept by pity for Annetta, realizing that by the events he regretted she was losing much more than him. This, he felt, formed the major part of his disgust.

  When he was close to the little square, he began to run, fearing he had arrived late. Annetta was not there yet. According to what she had written, she was to be in front of the library by the Law Courts. That evening he did not want to stand still for fear of indiscreet eyes and twice went slowly up and down the little slope. As he was beginning to climb it again, he heard a voice calling: “Signor Alfonso!”

  It was Francesca, not Annetta. She came towards him, her face slightly flushed, and greeted him in her usual level voice that was apt to sound wooden.

  “Up there,” and she pointed towards Villa Necker, “I’ve a carriage in which we could talk calmly, but I prefer to walk. Anyway, no one will recognize me.”

  Actually she was wrong, in spite of a heavy veil covering her face, and Alfonso thought that even at a great distance he could have recognized that thin body with its lithe movements in its flowing black dress.

  �
��What about Annetta?” he asked at last, remembering to show disappointment.

  She had begun to walk with small but quick steps towards Villa Necker up the slope where he had been breathless once before. She was two steps ahead so as to make passers-by think she was not in his company. Only after the Law Courts did she wait for him and answer his question. Annetta could not come and asked him to excuse her; her father had by an unfortunate coincidence taken it into his head to remain with her at the very time of the appointment. Francesca handed him a note from Annetta, a few words written hurriedly at the last moment.

  “I’ll read it afterwards,” he said impatiently when she showed that she wanted him to open it at once.

  “I don’t know what you think of me,” she said without blushes or hesitation, “but I’ve had the part of intermediary imposed on me; it’s the best I can do now for Annetta. We must reach the desired result as soon as possible.” This desired result must be marriage; it was her only hint and in no way necessary.

  “Annetta says …” went on Francesca, and the opening was enough to show that the message she had been charged to give would be followed by her own ideas and advice. Obviously Francesca had thought over all she wanted to tell him, and if she were to show doubts or surprise later, that would be because Alfonso’s attitude was so different from the one foreseen.

  Annetta had merely asked her to repeat what she had written. To avoid his having to face affronts, she wanted him to leave town for a while until he found everything settled on his return. The only new fact was that she had had occasion to talk to Cellani who would be giving him the required leave.

  Francesca interrupted herself, noticing Alfonso’s silence, which she interpreted with her usual quickness.

  “You’re against this plan, are you?” and with calm satisfaction she added, “Oh I foresaw that!”

  “No, I’m not against it,” exclaimed Alfonso, hesitating. What worried him most was his fear of Francesca noticing that he was not as interested in the whole matter as he should be. In a voice which tried to sound sad he added, “Will it be hard for Signorina Annetta to take the steps you mention?”

  “Why?”

  “Oh well! She might have some harsh words said to her?”

  He sounded angry because to one pretending it is particularly annoying not to be understood at once.

  “Annetta won’t care a bit about any harsh words on a matter so important to her, though it may not seem so to you, Signor Alfonso.”

  Her voice lent itself to irony. He felt that she had no suspicion how close she was to the truth in that rebuke, but her irony offended him all the same.

  “How important this matter is to me you can easily imagine, but I don’t like leaving Signora Annetta all alone battling here on my account!”

  She gave him a careful look.

  “So you don’t want to leave, then?”

  “I don’t want anything, but I’m allowed, I hope, to express what I like or don’t like”

  She looked disappointed.

  “Oh, so that’s how it is? … Listen, I’ll be frank. I see no reason why you should leave. Annetta is mistress at home, and at her first words, if she says them properly, any opposition will collapse. So neither Annetta nor you need fear any affronts.” Then seeing him hesitating and surprised, “I don’t know how to win your trust in so short a time, but I need to. You are about to do something silly, and I want to prevent it. So listen to me, follow my advice, don’t leave.” She told him how fond she was of him, how she always remembered his village and the year she had spent there and his mother whom she had so loved, all in her gentle, calm, cold voice that was incapable of pretence. “So trust me, don’t leave.” And she went on talking. She told him that because it was him she had been pleased to learn that Annetta loved him, but had Annetta given herself like that to anyone else, she would never have forgiven herself as it could only have happened because she had not had the courage to ask Maller to intervene and cut short a flirtation which she knew had already begun. “I made a mistake, but if the result of my mistake is to be your marriage to Annetta, I can’t say I regret it. I’ll find myself rewarded for my own mistake.”

  They were at the top of the slope. Instead of looking where they were going their attention was all on each other. Almost instinctively Alfonso made to cross the square because if they went straight on they would be going through a busy street, but she made him turn aside.

  “The carriage is waiting for me there.”

  “But why should I act against Annetta’s express wishes?”

  “Well, as you yourself have said, a man doesn’t leave his post like that.” She was accepting an argument whose flimsiness she would have destroyed a short time ago. “And what is more, to do so would not be wise.”

  So she was advising him to remain in case of any danger to a match which she had already shown was much wanted by herself. For the second time she was giving advice, becoming worse than an accomplice, an instigator. He felt turned to ice.

  “I can never oppose Signorina Annetta’s wishes. I shall obey her orders or desires most scrupulously.”

  He spoke in the tone of someone wanting to cut short the conversation. He brought up no arguments himself; he had made up his mind and did not bother to think where the passive obedience of which he spoke would get him.

  She looked at him in astonishment, not quite sure of having heard properly. Then she spoke again, and for the first time Alfonso heard her voice angry; it was still faint but now broken by panting and when it rose lost all sweetness.

  “But suppose that by following Annetta’s advice you expose to great danger the happiness you’re so sure of? What sort of love d’you think you’ve inspired in her, that of the ladies of old which resisted all obstacles and lasted for ever,” and she gave a forced laugh. “You’re confident enough to leave her here exposed to her father and to her relatives’ advice, are you? Do go if you want to, and return after only a week. You’ll find yourself just a little petty-clerk at the Maller bank again, and Annetta won’t even remember she ever knew you.” The words came from her mouth compact as a cry. She went on more calmly, “I know what the Mallers are like. D’you think that when Annetta is told what she has forgotten today, just for one day, d’you think she’ll still remain faithful?”

  “I do!” said Alfonso calmly.

  This was a solution he had not thought of during the long day, but as soon as Francesca brought it up, he realized it to be likeliest and best. Was it not almost certain in fact that Annetta’s ambition, forgotten for a short time, would soon regain the place it had always occupied till then? It was a good solution because, while before he had feared being forced into the part of betrayer, now all of a sudden he became the betrayed with no other obligation than to grant a generous pardon, which was easy and agreeable to do.

  “Then all is lost for you!” said Francesca in a voice calm for an instant to make her words more serious. “I don’t understand your reasons for acting like this, and I don’t care to; if you leave town even for a few days, you’ll never see Annetta again.”

  “I must leave if Annetta orders me.”

  “What I’m telling you is so obvious that either you don’t care about Annetta at all, or you have suddenly lost the use of your reason.”

  She spoke at random without reflecting much on what she had said, and Alfonso sensed that, but it did not make him forget to answer words which had struck him on the raw.

  “Annetta is as important to me as the light in my own eyes,” he was pleased with the phrase. “But I don’t want to steal her love; I want it to be given spontaneously.” Then he managed to find the right intonation and words. “A love which could cease in a week would be of no use to me, and now that you’ve brought up the doubt, if Annetta hadn’t suggested this journey, I would have myself.”

  She laughed contemptuously.

  “You’ve found a way of calling your own coldness ‘dignity’ .”

  She was right again; she
had hit by chance on the word which most offended him and to give herself the satisfaction of offending him again insisted on it blindly.

  He remained utterly calm. Only once did he become agitated when, tired of seeing the argument always repeating itself, he made the mistake of declaring that discussion between them was useless because if he did not leave, he would have to find good reasons to convince Annetta. In one breath she suggested ten. Alfonso was alarmed, as the possibility flashed into his mind that he could be forced to stay; he recognized his error, and without losing himself in refuting Francesca’s suggestions, went on protesting with an obstinacy like that of people with few ideas, such as peasants, that he would just carry out Annetta’s wishes without probing into whether she was right or not. He was making a love-match, he repeated in order to go on talking longer, he was making a love-match and did not want to be shrewd about it like someone acting from self-interest.

  She was walking two steps ahead of him again and seemed to have given up trying to convince him. Suddenly she slowed down, wondering again if he distrusted her. It was not a reasonable supposition, but she had been thrown off balance by the shock of having to leave him without obtaining what had seemed to her so easy. She acted without consideration, following her first impulse.

  She began to explain why she was taking such an interest in his fate, and her calm voice must have hidden the great inner agitation that had brought her to such a confession.