THE STORY OF MY MARRIAGE (continued 3)

Then an idea came to me which seemed important enough to be compared to the great moon climbing up the sky and sweeping it clean. I had got engaged to Augusta just in order to have a good night. How should I be able to sleep if I killed Guido? This thought saved both of us. I felt I must instantly change my position, for it was my being above Guido which tempted me to kill him. I dropped on my knees, and crouched so low that my head was almost touching the ground.

“Oh the pain! The pain!” I screamed.

Guido was so startled that he sprang to his feet, begging to know what was the matter. I went on moaning in a lower tone, without paying any attention to his question. I knew why I was moaning; it was because I had wanted to kill him, and partly, perhaps, because I had not the courage to do so. The pain and my groans excused everything. It seemed to me that I was crying out that it was not my fault if I hadn’t been able to do it. It was entirely the fault of my illness and this pain of mine. But as a matter of fact I distinctly remember that the pain went away completely at that moment, and that my groans were simply a piece of play-acting to which I tried in vain to give some context by remembering the pain I had suffered and attempting to reproduce its effect on me. But all my efforts were in vain; it would only return at its own time.

As usual Guido had various hypotheses ready to hand. Amongst others he suggested that it was probably the same pain as that which had been produced by my fall in the café. I thought the idea a good one and agreed.

He took me affectionately by the arm and helped me to rise. Then still supporting me and helping me as much as he could, he led me down the short incline. When we had got to the bottom I said I felt better and thought that with the help of his arm I might manage to go a little quicker. And so at last I was really on my way to bed! For the first time that day I experienced a genuine satisfaction in the thought that Guido was working for me; he was, in fact, almost carrying me. It was after all I who was imposing my will on him.

We found a chemist open, and he insisted on getting me a sleeping draught to take to bed. He built up a whole theory of actual pain and the exaggerated idea one had of it, the pain being increased by the sense of exasperation which it had in the first instance produced. That small bottle was the beginning of my collection of drugs, and it was appropriate that it should have been chosen for me by Guido.

To give a more solid foundation to his theory he argued that I must have been suffering from that pain for some days past. I was sorry I could not agree with him. I said I had felt no pain whatever at the Malfentis that evening. It was impossible that I should have suffered just at the moment when my long-dreamed-of hopes were realised.

I was anxious in all sincerity to be like what I had claimed to be, and kept on repeating to myself:

“I love Augusta, I don’t love Ada; I love Augusta, and this evening my long-dreamed-of hopes were realised.”

We continued to walk through the moonlit streets. I think that Guido at last found my weight rather too much, for he became silent. He suggested however seeing me home to bed, which I refused; when at last the door of my own house shut behind me I gave a sigh of relief. No doubt Guido uttered a similar sigh.

I went up the stairs four at a time, and was in bed in less than ten minutes. I fell asleep at once, and during the short time I was awake I thought neither of Ada nor Augusta, but only of Guido who had been so kind and patient. It is true I could not forget that I had wanted to kill him such a short time before, but that was of no importance, because the thing no one knows about and which leaves no trace does not exist.

Next day I went in some trepidation to my fiancée’s house. I was uncertain whether the pledges I had taken the evening before had really the importance which I attached to them. I soon discovered they had for everyone present. Augusta had by no means forgotten she was engaged; in fact to her it seemed much more definite than to me.

It was a tedious engagement. I felt as if I had broken it off several times and patched it up again by a great effort, and I am surprised that nobody seemed to notice it. I never felt in the least as if I were going to get married, but apparently I played the part of a fond lover to everyone’s satisfaction. I never missed an opportunity of kissing Ada’s sister and clasping her to my breast. Augusta submitted dutifully to my embraces, and I behaved fairly well, but only because Signora Malfenti never left us alone for more than a few minutes at a time. My bride was much less ugly than I had imagined, and it was by kissing her that I discovered her chief beauty: that she blushed so readily. Whenever I kissed her a flame was lit in my honour, and I continued to kiss her more out of scientific curiosity than with the ardour of a lover.

But I felt desire for her too, which made the time pass rather less heavily. It was fortunate that Augusta and her mother did not allow my flame to burn itself out all at once, as I could often have wished. How could I have gone on living then? At least my desire gave me the same feeling of excitement each time I mounted the steps as when I had gone there, as I thought, to win Ada. When I counted an uneven number I promised myself that I would show Augusta that day what an engagement really might be. I pictured myself doing something violent which would completely restore my sense of freedom. That was all I really wanted, and it is curious that when Augusta realised what I was after she should have read it as a sign that I was passionately in love.

As far as I can remember that period was divided into two phases. During the first Signora Malfenti often used to send Alberta to chaperone us, or made little Anna and her governess do lessons in the drawing-room. Ada was never there, and I persuaded myself that I was glad of it, though I dimly remember thinking once that it would have given me great satisfaction to kiss Augusta in front of Ada. With what ardour I would have done it too!

The second phase began when Guido’s engagement to Ada was made public and Signora Malfenti, like the practical woman she was, put the two couples together in the drawing-room to look after each other.

I know that Augusta professed herself completely satisfied with me during the first phase. When I was not trying to kiss her I became extraordinarily talkative. Talkativeness was an absolute necessity to me. I even invented fresh opportunities by persuading myself that as I was going to marry Augusta I ought to undertake her education. I trained her in gentleness, affection and, above all, fidelity. I don’t remember exactly what form I gave to my sermons, though she has reminded me of some of them, for she never forgot them. She listened to me with the utmost deference and attention. Once in an outburst of eloquence I declared that if she ever should discover that I had been unfaithful to her it would be her duty to pay me back in the same coin. She indignantly protested that she would not even betray me with my own permission, and that if I were unfaithful to her she would only take the liberty to weep.

I think that these sermons, the content of which was really quite unimportant, nevertheless had a good effect on my marriage. They certainly had a considerable influence on Augusta’s mind. Her fidelity was never put to the proof because she never knew when I had been unfaithful to her, but her affection and gentleness remained unchanged during the long years we lived together, just as she had promised me they should.

When Guido became engaged I initiated the second phase of my engagement with the following pronouncement: “Now I have completely recovered from my love for Ada.” I thought up to then that Augusta’s blushes had been enough to cure me, but one can never be completely cured! The memory of those blushes made me think that now the same sort of thing would go on between Ada and Guido. Surely that would be more efficacious still in putting a stop to my desire. My desire to rape Augusta belongs to the first phase. I was much less excited during the second. Signora Malfenti had certainly been wise in arranging for our supervision at the cost of so little trouble to herself.

I remember that I once began jokingly to kiss Augusta. Guido, instead of laughing at me, began kissing Ada in his turn. I thought it showed very little delicacy on his part, because he did not kiss chastely, as I had done owing to their presence, but he kissed Ada full on the mouth, caressing her with his tongue. I had got used by that time to thinking of Ada as a sister, but I was not prepared to see her being treated like that. Nor do I think I should have tolerated it if I had been her brother.

After that I never kissed Augusta again when Guido was there. Guido, however, tried on one occasion to draw Ada to him, but she resisted this time, and he never made another attempt.

I only dimly remember the many, many evenings we spent together. The scene which was repeated ad infinitum impressed itself thus on my mind: we were all four sitting round the delicately carved Venetian table, on which was burning an oil-lamp with a green shade, which threw everything into shadow except the embroidery on which the girls were engaged: Ada on a handkerchief and Augusta on something in a little round frame. I can hear Guido holding forth, and it must frequently have happened that I was the only person he could find to agree with him. I remember too Ada’s black wavy hair, on which the light fell in such a way as to produce green and yellow tones in it.

We discussed that effect, and also the real colour of her hair. Guido, who understood painting as well, explained to us how to analyse colours. I have never forgotten that lesson on colour, and to this day, when I want to understand the colour of a landscape, I half close my eyes until most of the lines disappear and the lights alone remain, which in their turn fade away into one real colour. But when I undertake an analysis like this, immediately after the real images there appears on my retina, as by a physical reaction, the yellow and green lights in the black hair on which my eye had its first lesson in observation.

I can never forget one evening, which was notable for an expression of jealousy on Augusta’s part immediately followed by a serious indiscretion on mine. To teaze us Guido and Ada had retired to the far end of the drawing-room and were sitting at the Louis Quatorze table, so that I got a crick in the neck through turning round to talk to them. Augusta said:

“Leave them alone; they really are making love!”

Without thinking of what I was saying, I replied in a low voice that I doubted it, because Guido didn’t like women. It was a sort of excuse for having interrupted their love-making by my conversation. But it was malicious and indiscreet to let Augusta know how Guido talked about women when he was alone with me, as of course he never did with any other members of the family. The thought of what I had said gave me a bad taste in my mouth for several days, whereas I can truthfully say that the thought that I had wanted to kill Guido did not upset me even for an hour. But to kill someone, even treacherously, is more manly than to wound a friend by betraying his confidence.

But Augusta did wrong to be jealous of Ada even then. It was not in order to see Ada that I was twisting my neck round like that. Guido’s eloquence helped to while the time away. I had become quite fond of him already, and passed part of every day with him. I had a further tie of gratitude to him for his high opinion of me, which he communicated to the others. Even Ada would now listen to what I said with great attention.

Every evening I waited for the sound of the supper gong with a certain impatience. The chief thing I remember about those suppers is my constant indigestion. I ate too much from the sheer necessity of doing something. I made many fond speeches to Augusta, when my mouth was not too full to admit of it, and her parents might easily have got the unpleasant impression that my greediness interfered with my affection. They were surprised to find that when I came back from my honeymoon my appetite was much smaller. It disappeared directly I was no longer compelled to act a passion I did not feel. It is unpardonable to let the bride’s parents see you treat her coldly just when you are supposed to be preparing to go to bed with her! Augusta particularly remembers the affectionate things I whispered to her, sitting at that table; I must have invented marvellous ones between one mouthful and another, and I am amazed when they are repeated to me, for they never sound as if I could possibly have said them.

Even my father-in-law, that rogue Giovanni, was taken in, and as long as he lived he would always quote my love for his daughter (meaning, of course, Augusta) whenever he wanted to give an example of a “grande passion.” He smiled beatifically, good father that he was, but he none the less rather despised me for it; because, according to him, no real man would entrust his fate to the hands of a woman, or fail to see that there were other women in the world besides his own wife. Which shows that I was not always judged quite fairly.

My mother-in-law, on the other hand, never really believed in my love, even when Augusta was gradually beginning to believe in it herself. For many years she continued to eye me distrustfully, uncertain as to the fate of her favourite daughter. That is another reason why I am certain she was really leading me on during the days which preceded my engagement. It was impossible to deceive her, for she must have known my state of mind better than I did myself.

At last came the day appointed for my marriage, and that very day a final doubt assailed me. I was supposed to be with Augusta by eight o’clock in the morning, but at a quarter to eight I was still in bed, smoking furiously, and looking out of my window at the sun which was shining brightly for the first time that winter. I meditated deserting Augusta! The absurdity of my marriage became evident now that I no longer wanted to remain close to Ada. Nothing tremendous could happen supposing I failed to keep my appointment! Besides: Augusta had been a charming fiancée, but one could never know how she would behave directly she was married. Supposing she were suddenly to call me an idiot for having let myself be caught like that?

Fortunately Guido came in at this point, and far from rebelling, I apologised for being late, saying that I thought another hour had been fixed for the wedding. Instead of reproaching me Guido started talking about himself and telling me of the many times he had missed an appointment, out of absent-mindedness. Even in that respect he wanted to prove himself superior to me! I had no time to stop and listen to him: I wanted to be off. And so I actually had to run to my wedding.

All the same I arrived very late. No one reproached me, and all except Augusta were satisfied with Guido’s explanations. She was so pale that the colour had even left her lips. Even though I could not say I loved her I would on no account have wished to hurt her. I tried to repair my fault, and was so foolish as to give at least three reasons for my being late. That was too many, and showed so clearly what I must have been thinking about in my bed as I lay watching the wintry sun, that our departure for the church had to be delayed to allow time for Augusta to recover herself.

My “yes” at the altar was very distrait, because I felt so sorry for Augusta that I was busy evolving a fourth explanation of my delay, which seemed to me the best of them all.

However, when we left the church I saw that the colour had quite come back to Augusta’s cheeks. I was really rather annoyed at this, because my “yes” ought not to have been enough to reassure her as to my love. I was quite ready to treat her very roughly, supposing she had now recovered sufficiently to call me a fool for letting myself be caught. But instead of that, she took advantage of a moment when we were left alone, to say with tears in her eyes:

“I shall never forget that you married me, though you did not love me.”

I did not protest, because it was so obvious that I could not. But I embraced her tenderly and compassionately.

After that the matter was never discussed again between us, for marriage is much simpler than being engaged. Once one is married, one no longer talks about love, and if ever one feels the need to do so the senses intervene and enforce silence. But animal instinct may have become so humanised as to undergo a complicated process of falsification, and it may happen that as one bends over a woman’s head one evokes a light which is not there. You close your eyes, and the woman becomes someone else, to change back to herself again when you have left her. It is to her that all your gratitude is due, especially if the effort was successful. And so, if I had to be born again, (Mother Nature is capable of anything) I would willingly marry Augusta, but would never choose to be engaged to her.

At the station Ada offered me her cheek for a fraternal kiss. I had not noticed her before among all the crowd who had come to see us off, and I thought at once: “Yes, it is you who are responsible for this!” I put my lips close to her veiled cheek, taking care not to touch it with them. It was the first satisfaction I had known that day, and for one instant I realised the advantage my marriage gave me. I had avenged myself by refusing to profit by the only opportunity I had ever had of kissing Ada! But when the train had started and I was sitting by Augusta, I was not sure of having acted rightly. I was afraid I might have prejudiced my friendship with Guido. But I suffered more still as I reflected that perhaps Ada had not even noticed that I had not kissed the cheek she had held out to me.

She had noticed it, but I only discovered this some months later, when I saw her and Guido off from the same station. She kissed all the others. But to me she held out her hand, though very cordially. I shook it coldly. Her revenge came too late, for in the meantime the circumstances had completely changed. After I returned from my honeymoon we had been on the most friendly terms as brother and sister, so that her refusing to kiss me was quite inexplicable.