Matilde Serao

“ Luigi Caracciolo came up to where the sisters were seated.
"Cesare has deserted you?" he asked, jestingly.
"He's gone to bet. He'll soon come back," said Anna.
"He's betting with the Contessa d'Alemagna," suggested Laura, with one of those perverse smiles which contrasted so oddly with the purity of her face.
"Then he'll not come back so soon," said Luigi, sitting down.
"Have you never seen the races before?" he asked.
"No, I have never seen them," said Anna.
"It's rather a tiresome sight," said he, pulling his blonde moustaches.
"It's interesting to see the people," said Anna. ”

“ In vain, I have passed whole days here, praying to my mother and to the Madonna to free me from these terrible, heavy, earthly chains that bind me to that longing to be loved, and that are killing me. No use, no use! My prayers have not been answered. I have come away from them with a greater ardour, a more intense longing, than ever. I am a woman. I am a woman who doesn't know how to lift herself above womanly things, who, womanlike, longs to be loved, and who will never, never be consoled for the love she cannot have."
After a long pause, he asked, "And what do you wish me to do, Anna?" ”

“ Nothing is better to relieve our little sorrows."
"Give me a cigarette, then," she said at once.
"Ah, you have little sorrows?"
"Who knows!" she sighed, putting aside her cigarette.
"You have no little sorrows, Laura?" asked Cesare.
"Neither little ones nor big ones."
"Who can boast of having never wept?" said Anna, with a melancholy accent.
"If we become sentimental, I shall take myself off," said Cesare.
"No, no, don't go away," Anna prayed him.
"I would remind you that we've got to pass our whole life-time together," said he, ironically, knocking off the ash of his cigarette. ”

“ On, on, the morning train hurried her, over the land, by the sea, between the white houses of Portici, the pink houses of Torre del Greco, the houses, pink, white, and yellow, of Torre Annunziata—on, on. And Anna, motionless in her corner, gazing out of the window, beheld a vague, delicious vision of flowers and stars and kisses and caresses; and an icy terror, a sense of imminent peril, lay upon her heart. Oh, yes! In a brilliant vision she saw a future of love, of passion and tenderness, a fire-hued vision of all that soul and body could desire ”

“ You are a ruin, in heart, in mind, in senses; you belong to the class of men who are rotten; you fill me with fright and with pity. I did not know that I was giving my hand to a corpse scented with heliotrope, that I was uniting my life to the mummy of a gentleman, whose vitiated senses could not be pleased by a young, beautiful, and loving wife, but must crave her sister, her pure, chaste, younger sister! Have you ever loved, Cesare? Have you ever for a moment felt the immensity of real love? In your selfishness you have made an idol of yourself, an idol without greatness. ”

“ For a moment consider calmly and carefully the present and the future. Anna, I am old, and you are young; and the discrepancy of our ages which now seems trifling to you, in ten years' time will seem terrible, for I can only decline, while you will grow to maturity. In your imagination you have conceived an ideal of me which doesn't correspond to the truth, and which the future will certainly correct, to your sorrow. Between our characters and our temperaments there is a profound gulf; we have no reason to believe that the future can close it up. ”

“ He was a man with a man's nerves, a man's senses, a man's heart; and he loved her ardently. But when again she begged him to fly with her, and he felt himself almost yielding, he made a great effort to resist her.
"I can't, Anna; I cannot," he said in a low voice.
"Then you wish me to die?"
"You won't die. You are young. You will live to be happy again."
"All is over for me, Giustino. This is death."
"No, it's not death, Anna."
"You talk like Cesare Dias," she cried, moving away from him. "You speak like a sceptic who has neither love nor faith. ”

“ Luigi was too expert a student of women not to interpret rightly her pallor, her emotion, her distress. He did not know, but he could easily guess that Anna wrote to Cesare every day, and that he responded rarely and briefly. He understood how heavy her long hours of solitude must be, amid the blue and green of the Sorrento landscape, passed in constant longing for her husband's presence. He understood perfectly that she was consumed by secret jealousy, and that he tortured her cruelly when by a word, or an insinuation he inspired her with new suspicions. ”

“ We shall be so happy! You will see. Happier than any one in the world!"
"So happy!" murmured Giustino, faithful but sad.
"And may Heaven help us," she concluded, fervently, putting out her hand to leave him.
He took her hand, and his pressure of it was a silent vow; but it was the vow of a friend, of a brother, simple and austere.
She moved slowly away, as if tired. He remained where he was, waiting a little before returning to his own terrace. Not until some ten minutes had passed, during which he heard no sound, no movement, could he feel satisfied that Anna had safely reached her room. ”

“ It is stronger than I am," said Anna, and her anguish seemed to suffocate her.
"Tell me nothing, then, darling. I understand. I'm only a poor servant; but I love you so. And I want to tell you, Anna, that there are no sorrows that can't be outlived."
"If Heaven doesn't help me, my sorrow will kill me."
"The only irremediable sorrow in this world is the death of some one whom we love," said Stella, shaking her head. ”

“ You see, you have nothing to say to justify your insults."
"Oh, Madonna, Madonna, give me strength," prayed Anna, wringing her hands.
"Do you see?" asked Laura. "You've called me here to vilify my innocence."
"Laura," said poor Anna, trembling, "Laura, it's no guess of mine, no inference, that you are my husband's mistress. I have not read it in any anonymous letter. No servant has told me it. In such a case as this no one has a right to believe an anonymous letter or a servant's denunciation. One cannot on such grounds withdraw one's respect from a person whom one loves." ”

“ Oh, Laura, Laura, you who were so pure and beautiful, you who are worthy of a young man's love, why do you throw away your life and your honour for Cesare?"
"But you? Don't you also love him? You too are young. Yet didn't you love him so desperately that you would gladly have died, if he hadn't married you? I have followed your example, that is all. As you love him, I love him, Anna. We are sisters, and the same passion burns in our veins." ”

“ In those days the man she cared for was so absolute in his devotion to her, she had not tasted the bitterness of jealousy, a bitterness beyond the bitterness of gall and wormwood, a poison from whose effects those who truly love never recover.
But who was she, the woman that so powerfully attracted Cesare as to make him forget his child! The Contessa d'Alemagna, perhaps. Yes, it must be she—that dark lady, with the blue eyes, the wonderful toilets, the youthful colour, the vivacious manner; she was indeed an irresistible enchantress. Poor Anna! ”

“ Anna, who had hitherto inspired him only with that disdain which practical men feel for sentimentalists, now moved him to compassion, as a defenceless being exposed to all the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. And during his drive from Naples to Pompeii he promised himself that he would be very kind to her, very gentle. If she had flown from her home, it was doubtless because the love that Giustino Morelli bore her had appeared greater to her than the love of her own people; and doubtless, too, there are hearts to whom love is as necessary as bread is to the body. ”

“ My sister's guilty love, your caprice, my despair, all are in the mud, among the most disgusting human garbage, where there is no spiritual light, no cry of sorrow, where everything is permissible, where the man expires and the beast triumphs. Do you know what you are, Cesare?"
"No, I don't know. But if you can tell me, I shall be indebted for the favour."
"You are a man without heart, without conscience; a soul without greatness and without enthusiasm; you are a lump of flesh, exhausted by unworthy pleasures and morbid desires. ”

“ Laura had undone her. The whole long scene between them repeated itself over and over in her mind; again she passed from tears to anger, from jealousy to pleading affection; again she saw her sister's pure white face, and the cynical smile that disfigured it, and its hard incapacity for pity, fear, or contrition. Laura had overthrown her, conquered her, undone her. Anna had gone to her, strong in her outraged rights, strong in her offended love, strong in her knowledge of her sister's treachery ”

“ Cesare's face cleared. He had won a victory.
"Anna," he went on, "every time that you allow yourself to be carried away by sentimentalism, that you employ exaggerated expressions, that you indulge in emotional rhetoric, I assure you, you displease me greatly. How ridiculous if life were to be passed in saying of people, houses, landscapes, flowers, 'I adore them!' Don't you see what a convulsive, hysterical frame of mind that is? As if life were nothing but a smile, a tear, a kiss! ”

“ Cesare Dias called daily after luncheon, at two o'clock, an hour when men of the world have absolutely nothing to do, for visits are not in order till four. The girls waited for him every afternoon; Laura with her appearance of being above all earthly trifles, showing neither curiosity nor eagerness; Anna with a secret anxiety because he would bring her a sense of calmness and strength, a breath of the world's air, and especially because he seemed so firm, so imperturbable, that she found it restorative merely to look at him, as weaklings find restorative the sight of those who are robust. ”

“ Anything is better than the galleys.
"I know that what I propose is very grave. According to the common judgment of mankind a young girl who elopes is everlastingly dishonoured. In spite of the sanctity of marriage, suspicion never leaves her. I know that I am throwing away a great deal for a dream of love. But that is my strange and cruel destiny—the destiny which has given me a fortune and taken away my father; given me a heart eager for affection and cut me off from all affection; given me the dearest and at the same time the least loving sister! ”

“ She spoke nervously, and kept her eyes inquiringly fixed upon Cesare's face. He, on the other hand, was calm and superior. He behaved as if he had never been away. He had the good sense not to mention Luigi Caracciolo; and Anna, who was waiting for that name as for an occasion to show her submissiveness, was disconcerted. Dias appeared to have forgotten the ingratitude with which he had reproached her. He had the countenance of a man too magnanimous to bear a grudge. And Anna was more than ever disconcerted by such unmerited generosity. ”

“ She lay back in her easy-chair, with closed eyes, and dreamed of his coming. She felt an immense need of him, to have him there beside her, to hold his hand in hers, to lean her head upon his shoulder in sweet, deep peace, listening to the beating of his heart, supported by his arms, while his breath fell upon her hair, her eyelids, her lips. A dream of love; vivid and languid, full of delicate ardour and melancholy desire.
She surprised herself murmuring his name. "Cesare, Cesare," she said, trembling with love at the sound of her own voice. ”

“ Anna was as good as her word, and on her return to Naples shut herself up in solitude and silence, receiving no one, visiting no one, spending much of her time in her own room, going in the morning for long walks in the hope of tiring herself out, speaking but little, and living in a sort of moral somnolence that seemed to dull her sorrows. Her husband and sister continued to enjoy their liberty, as they had enjoyed it at Sorrento. She left them to themselves. ”

“ Overcoming the tumult of her heart, Anna alone answered them. Stella Martini was silent, and Laura, with her eyes half shut, listened without speaking.
"Stagno is a great artist; he is immensely talented," observed Luigi Caracciolo, with a bland smile, passing his fingers slowly through his blonde beard.
"And so much feeling—so much sentiment," added Anna.
"To say that he is talented, that he is an artist, is enough," replied Cesare Dias, with an accent in which severity was tempered by politeness. ”

“ Think a little, Anna. Our souls were made for each other; but our persons are placed in such different circumstances, separated by so many things, such great distances, that not even a miracle could unite them. You accuse me of being a traitor to our love, which is our strength; but is it unworthy of us to conquer ourselves in such a pass? Anna, Anna, it is I who lose everything ”

“ He'll not come at all," replied Anna, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.
"He's so kind, and he has promised. He will come."
"I don't believe it," Anna answered sadly.
Indeed, he neither came nor wrote. The first fortnight of July had passed; the bathing season had already begun. Sorrento was full of people. In the evening, till late into the night, from every window, from every balcony, and from the big brilliantly lighted drawing-rooms of the hotels, came the sounds of singing and dancing, the tinkling of mandolines, the laughter of women—a gay, passionate, summer music. ”

“ I'm a human earthly woman, like all others—more than others."
"Then why do you suffer?"
"Because love is very bitter."
"What love?"
"All love. It is bitterer than aloes, bitterer than gall, bitter in life and in death."
There was another outburst of applause, and the crowd began to move. The races of the first day were over.
Anna looked for her husband. He appeared presently, with Laura on his arm.
"You leave your wife to the most melancholy solitude," said Caracciolo, laughing.
"I was sure you would keep her company, you're such a true friend to me," laughed Cesare. ”

“ I leave my bed at the dead of night, steal out during my sister's sleep—out of my room, out of my house, like a guilty servant, so that they might call me the lowest of the low. I do all this to come to you; and you are thinking of speculations, of what the world will say about you. Oh, how strong you are, you men! How well you know your way; how straight you march, never listening to the voices that call to you, never feeling the hands that try to stop you—nothing, nothing, nothing! ”

“ Luigi Caracciolo's name was in everybody's mouth; everybody talked about him to her—Laura, Stella Martini, the Marchesa Scibilla. She shrugged her shoulders, without answering. Her silence seemed like a consent; but it is easy to guess that it was really only a means of concealing her unpleasant thoughts.
When, however, it was her guardian who mentioned Caracciolo, vaunting not only his charm, but also the seriousness of his character, she became excessively nervous. ”

“ On several occasions, Cesare twitted her on the subject of her continual melancholy, demanding its cause; but Anna, smarting under his sarcasms, could not answer him. One day, in great irritation, he declared that she had no right to go about posing as a victim, for she wasn't a victim, and her sentimental vapourings bored him immensely.
"Ah, I bore you; I bore you," cried Anna, shaking with suppressed sobs.
"Yes, unspeakably. And I hope that some day or another you'll stop boring me, do you hear?"
"I had better die. That would be best," she sighed.
"But can't you live and be less tiresome? ”

“ And now she stood up before him like a white, desolate phantom, impelled by sorrow to wander the earth on a quest that can never have an end.
But he had a desperate courage, though it [10] forced him to break with the only woman he had ever loved.
"Cesare Dias was right, my dearest Anna. I couldn't answer him. I'm a poor young fellow, without a farthing."
"Love is stronger than money."
"I am a commoner, I have no title to give you."
"Love is stronger than a title."
"Everything is against our union, Anna."
"Love is stronger than everything; stronger even than death." ”

“ Anna bowed her head, as if oppressed by the heat and by the music, but really from a sense of self-contempt and humiliation. There was a looking-glass behind her. She was sorry now that she hadn't made an inspection of herself in it, on entering the box. She had forgotten her own face. Fantastically, she imagined it as brown and scarred, and hideously pallid. Her white frock made it worse. She registered a silent vow that she would always hereafter wear black. Only blonde women could afford to dress in white.
"You have dropped your fan," said Cesare Dias, stooping to recover it. ”

“ But Laura did not come, though she had been called. Anna sent her maid. "She would come at once; she was dressing," was the reply. They waited for her a few minutes longer; and when she appeared in the doorway, dazzling in white, with her golden hair in a rich coil on the top of her head, Anna cried, "Laura, Cesare has come."
Cesare rose and advanced to meet his sister-in-law. She gave him her hand, and he kissed it. But he saw that she was offering her face; then he embraced her, kissing her cheek, which was like the petal of a camellia. ”

“ He was persevering, with a gentle, continuous, untiring perseverance that nothing could overcome, neither Anna's silence, nor her coldness, nor her melancholy. She often spoke to him of Cesare, and with so much feeling in her voice that he turned pale, wounded in his pride, disappointed in his desire, yet not despairing, for it is always a hopeful sign when a woman loves, even though she loves another. Then the only difficulty (though an immense one) is to change the face of the man she loves to your own, by a sort of sentimental sleight of hand. ”

“ So, on the stage, Raoul and Valentina, victims of an irrepressible but impossible passion, were calling upon Heaven for death, praying to be allowed to die in their divine moment of love. Anna, recoiling from the thought of the future, with its inevitable vicissitudes, struggles, tears, and disappointments, realised the fascination of death. Involuntarily, she looked at Cesare. He smiled upon her, and thereat she too smiled, like his faithful image in a mirror. And her sublime longing to die, disappeared before the reality of his smile. ”

“ The woman who says too much is lost. Once upon a time, six months ago for instance, she would have endured such a reproof from no one, such a bitter reference to her past; she would have retorted hotly, especially if the speaker had been Cesare Dias. But now! So weakened was she by her illness and her sorrow, there was not a fibre in her that resented it; her blood slept in her veins; her heart contained nothing but penitence. "The woman who says too much is lost!" Cesare Dias was right. ”