The Devil in Love Page 3

A frisson ran through my veins, and my hair bristled on my head. Hardly had I finished, than a window opened up in front of me, at the top of the vault: a flood of light more dazzling than that of day poured in through the opening; a camel’s head, as hideous in size as in shape, appeared at the window; the ears in particular were disproportionately large. The odious phantom opened its muzzle and, in tones assorting with the rest of the apparition, answered me: “Che vuoi?” (What is it you wish?)

  I was quite unequal to the situation; I do not know what bolstered my courage and prevented me from falling into a faint at that sight and at the even more dreadful sound which echoed in my ears.

  I felt the need to rally my forces; a cold sweat was threatening to dissipate them; I steadied myself. The soul must indeed be many-mansioned and prodigiously resilient; a throng of feelings, ideas and reflections spoke to my heart and passed through my mind simultaneously.

  The revolution was achieved, I had mastered my terror, I fixed the spectre boldly.

  “What do you mean, oh brazen one, by appearing in this hideous guise?”

  The phantom hesitated for a moment:

  “You summoned me,” it said in a quieter tone.

  “Does the slave,” I queried, “try to frighten his master? If you come here to receive my orders, you should adopt a fitting shape and a submissive tone.”

  “Master,” the phantom asked me, “in what form should I present myself to be agreeable to you?”

  The first idea that came into my head being that of a dog, “Come in the form of a spaniel,” I told him. Hardly had I given the order, than the fearful camel lengthened its neck by sixteen feet, lowered its head right down into the middle of the room, and spewed up a white spaniel with soft silky hair and ears down to the ground.

  The window had shut again, the camel had disappeared, and all that remained under the dimly-lit vault was the dog, and me.

  He was going round the circle, wagging his tail, and gambolling.

  “Master,” he addressed me, “I would lick the tips of your feet, but the impassible circle around you prevents my doing so.”

  My confidence had soared to the point of audacity: I left the circle, I held out my foot, the dog licked it; I made a gesture to pull its ears, it rolled over on to its back as though to ask forgiveness; I saw that it was a little bitch.

  “Get up,” I told it; “I forgive you; as you see, I have company; the other gentlemen are waiting some way off; their stroll has probably made them thirsty, I wish to give them a cold collation; we need fruit, preserves, ice cream, Greek wine; let there be no misunderstanding: the room must be lit and decorated in a modest but seemly fashion. Towards the end of the meal, you will enter as a virtuoso of great talent, carrying a harp; I shall let you know when to appear. Be careful to play your part well, put expression into your song, and decency and restraint into your bearing…”

  “I shall obey, master, but under what condition?”

  “Upon that of obeying, slave. Obey, without a word, or else…”

  “You do not know me, master, or you would treat me less harshly: I might perhaps stipulate one sole condition: that I succeed in disarming you.”

  The dog had scarcely finished than, turning on my heel, I saw my orders executed more promptly than a scene being changed at the Opera. The walls of the vault, previously black, dank and moss-covered, took on a gentle hue, a pleasing form: we were now in a hall of mottled marble, roofed with a semi-circular arch supported by columns. Eight crystal girandoles, each with three candles, cast a bright even light.

  One moment afterwards, the table and sideboard were in place and were loaded with all the trimmings for our feast; the fruits and preserves were of the rarest and most savorous, and beautiful to behold. The porcelain of the serving plates and on the sideboard was from Japan. The little bitch rushed all about the room, performing a thousand curvets around me as though to hasten the process, and asked me whether I was satisfied.

  “Excellent, Biondetta,” I told her; “take a livery and go and tell the other gentlemen that I am awaiting them, and that they are served.”

  Hardly had I turned my gaze away for a moment, than I saw a smartly attired page wearing my livery, holding a lighted candelabra; shortly afterwards he returned, leading my companions, the Fleming and his two friends. Though prepared by the page’s arrival and announcement for something out of the ordinary, they were nonetheless unprepared for the change that had been wrought upon the place where they had left me. If I had not been occupied by other thoughts, I would have been more than amused at their surprise; it was expressed by cries of amazement and by their expressions and their attitudes.

  “Gentlemen,” I said to them, “you have travelled a long way on my behalf, and we still have to return to Naples: I thought that you might not be displeased by this little banquet, and that you would excuse the absence of choice and quantity in consideration of the extempore nature of the occasion.”

  My cool demeanour disconcerted them even more than the change of scene and the sight of the elegant collation to which they found themselves bidden. I noticed this and, determined speedily to conclude an adventure of which I was inwardly mistrustful, I resolved to gain as much advantage from it as possible, if necessary even by exaggerating the gaiety which lies at the root of my character.

  I pressed them to take their places at table; the page drew up the chairs with wonderful promptitude. We took our seats; I had filled the glasses and handed round the fruit; my mouth alone opened and closed to eat and talk, the others’ remained agape; nonetheless I pressed them to start upon the fruit; my confidence convinced them. I proposed a toast to the loveliest courtesan in Naples, and we drank to her health. I talked of a new opera, of a recently arrived Roman improvvisatrice whose talents were the talk of the court. I held forth upon various pleasing attainments, upon music and sculpture; and I had occasion to have them agree on the beauty of certain marbles embellishing the salon. One bottle was emptied, and replaced by an even better one. The page was everywhere at once, and the service never flagged for an instant. I cast a covert glance in his direction: imagine Cupid decked out as a page; my companions were ogling him in their turn with looks bespeaking mingled surprise, pleasure and disquiet. The monotony of this situation annoyed me; I saw that it was time to break it.

  “Biondetto,” I said to the page, “signora Fiorentina promised to grant us a moment; go and see if she has arrived yet.” Biondetto left the room.

  Before my guests had even had time to feel astonishment at the bizarre nature of the message, a door to the salon opened and Fiorentina entered holding her harp; she was attired in a modest, flowing garment, a travelling hat with a flimsy veil over her eyes; she set her harp down beside her, and greeted us with ease and grace: “Signor don Alvaro,” she said, “I was not warned that you had company; I would not have presented myself dressed as I am; these gentlemen must forgive me, I am merely passing through.”

  She sat down, and we vied in offering her what remained of our little banquet, which she accepted out of pure politeness.

  “What, Madame?” I asked her, “you are not staying in Naples? Can we not keep you here?”

  “A long-standing engagement forces me to leave, sir; I was kindly received in Venice last carnival-time; I had to promise to return, and I have received advance payment; otherwise, I would not have been able to resist the advantages which the court here offers me, and the hope of earning the approbation of the Neapolitan nobility, whose taste distinguishes it above that of all Italy.”

  The two Neapolitans bowed to acknowledge their praise, so struck by the scene’s verisimilitude that they began rubbing their eyes. I pressed the virtuoso to allow us to hear a sample of her talent. She had a cold, she was tired, she pleaded; she rightly feared that she might sink in our estimation. At last she was persuaded to execute an obbligato recitative and a moving little aria which ended the third act of the opera in which she was to make her debut.

  She took her harp
and began to play; her hands were small, slender and dimpled, at once pink and white, their fingers, oh so slightly rounded at the tips, were fringed with nails whose shape and grace were inconceivable; we were all taken by surprise , and felt ourselves to be at the most delicious concert. As she sang, I realized that a powerful voice does not necessarily have greater soulfulness, greater expressiveness, than a soft one: never had gentle voice stirred more emotion. I was moved to the depths of my being, and almost forgot that I was the creator of the charms which ravished me.

  The singer addressed the tender expression of her recitative and song to me. The fire of her gaze pierced through the veil; its sweetness and persistence were indescribable; those eyes were not unknown. At last, fitting together the features as the veil allowed me to glimpse them, I recognized in Fiorentina that rascal Biondetto; but the elegance of her figure was shown to much more striking advantage in the guise of a woman than in the costume of a page.

  When the singer had finished, we gave her due applause. I wanted to engage her to execute a lively arietta so that we could admire the diversity of her talents.

  “No,” she answered; “in my present state of mind I would acquit myself poorly; besides, you must have noticed the effort required to obey you. My voice has been affected by the journey, it is husky. I think you should know that I am leaving tonight. A hired coachman brought me here, I am dependent on him; I beg you to accept my excuses, and to allow me to retire.” With these words, she stood up and was about to carry off her harp. I took it from her, accompanied her to the door and rejoined the company.

  I had intended to inspire gaiety, and I saw constraint on their faces; I had recourse to the Cyprus wine. I found it delicious, it gave me back my strength, my presence of mind; I drank more deeply and, as the hour was becoming late, I told my page, who had reappeared at his place behind my seat, that he should summon my carriage. Biondetto promptly went out to execute my orders.

  “You have a carriage here?” Soberano asked me.

  “Yes,” I replied, “I gave orders that I should be followed, and I thought that if our party continued into the night, you would not be averse to returning in comfort. Let us drink more wine, we have no need to fear false steps on our return.”

  My words were scarcely out of my mouth, than the page was back with two well-turned-out attendants, superbly attired in my livery. “Senor Don Alvaro,” said Biondetto, “I was unable to have your carriage brought any closer; it awaits you outside the surrounding debris.” We arose, Biondetto and the attendants preceding us, and walked towards the carriage.

  As we could not walk four abreast between the plinths and broken columns, Soberano, who found himself alone at my side, shook my hand: “You have given us fine entertainment, my friend; you will pay a price for it.”

  “My friend,” I answered, “I am delighted if you enjoyed it; it was my pleasure.”

  We now arrived at the carriage; here we found two other attendants, a coachman, a postillion, a country carriage all at my command, as comfortable as one could wish. I did the honours and, light of heart, we took the road to Naples.

  For a time we kept silent; at last our silence was broken by one of Soberano’s friends. “I will not ask you your secret, Alvaro; but you must have reached a very singular agreement; no one has ever been served as you are; and during the forty years I have been at work, I have never obtained a quarter of the favours you have been shown in a single evening. I am talking about your being offered the most sublime vision possible, while our eyes are more often offended than delighted… still, you know your own business; at your age one is too greedy to allow oneself time to reflect, and one is over-hasty in one’s enjoyment.”

  Bernardillo, for such was his name, was taking pleasure in the sound of his own voice, and gave me time to ponder my reply.

  “I do not know,” I answered him, “how I have managed to bring such distinguished favours upon myself; I sense that they will be short-lived, and my consolation will be that I have shared them with my good friends.” It was clear that I was being somewhat guarded, and our conversation ceased.

  However, silence led to reflection: I recalled what I had seen and done; I compared the words of Soberano and Bernardillo, and concluded that I had just emerged from the tightest corner into which vain curiosity and temerity had ever lured a young man of my condition.

  I was not uneducated: until the age of thirteen I had been raised under the eyes of don Bernardo Maravillas, my father, an irreproachable man of gentle birth, and by dona Mencia, my mother, the most religious and estimable woman in all Estremadura. “Oh mother!” I said to myself. “What would you think of your son if you could see him now? But I shall mend my ways, I give you my word.”

  Meanwhile the carriage was approaching Naples. I accompanied Soberano’s friends back to their homes. He and I returned to our quarters. My elegant carriage somewhat dazzled the guard, but the charms of Biondetto, who was on the box, made an even greater impression on the onlookers.

  The page dismissed carriage and servants, took a torch from the attendant’s hand and walked through the barracks to lead me to my apartments. My valet, even more astonished than the rest, was trying to question me about the new retinue I had just flaunted. “That will do, Carlo,” I told him, going into my room. “I do not need you now; go and rest, I shall speak to you to-morrow.”

  Wishing to conclude this adventure, I withdrew for a moment to take pause for reflection. I cast my eyes upon the page, while his own were fixed upon the ground; the colour rose to his cheeks under my gaze; his countenance revealed unease and much emotion; at last I took it upon myself to speak.

  “Biondetto, you have served me well, indeed, with grace; but as you were paid in advance, I think we are quits.”

  “Don Alvaro is too noble to believe that he could dismiss me thus…”

  “If you have done more than the necessary, if I still owe you something, name your figure; but I do not say that you will be paid forthwith. My current quarterage is quite used up; I owe at the gaming table, at the inn, at the tailor’s…”

  “This lightness is ill-timed.”

  “If I drop this jesting, it will be to ask you to retire, for it is late and I must go to bed.”

  “And you would send me off so uncivilly at this hour? I would never have expected this treatment from a Spanish gentleman. Your friends know that I am here, your soldiers and your servants have seen me and have divined my sex. If I were but a courtesan, you would have some consideration for the proprieties required by my estate; but your behaviour towards me is insulting; any woman would be humiliated by it.”

  “So now you elect to become a woman to earn yourself favours? Well then! To avoid the scandal of your departure, kindly show yourself due respect and retire through the keyhole.”

  “What? Truly, might you suggest, not knowing who I am….”

  “Could I fail to?”

  “You do not know, I tell you, you are merely heeding your preconceptions. But whoever I am, I am at your feet, with tears in my eyes; I am beseeching you as an inferior. Temerity greater than your own, excusable perhaps, since you are its object, has to-day caused me to brave everything, to sacrifice all, in order to obey you, to surrender and to follow you. I have allowed the most cruel passions, the most implacable emotions, to arise, and I am in danger: my only remaining protection comes from you, my only safe haven is your room. Would you close it against me? Shall it be said the a Spanish gentleman has shown such harshness, such baseness to one who has sacrificed all for him – a sensitive soul, a defenceless being lacking all other help – in a word, a person of my sex?”

  I drew back as best I could to extricate myself from this predicament; but she was embracing my knees and following me on her own. Finally I found myself against the wall. “Get up,” I said to her, “unwittingly you have just taken me up on my oath. When my mother gave me my first sword, she made me swear, on its hilt, that I would serve women all my life, and not displease a sing
le one. Had she known, then…”

  “Whatever the reason, oh cruel one, allow me to remain in your room.”

  “The unusual nature of the affair, and my desire to conclude this whole bizarre adventure, lead me to agree. Try to dispose yourself so that I may neither see nor hear you; at the first word, at the first movement which might cause me concern, I shall raise my voice to ask you in your turn: Che vuoi?”

  I turned from her and went to my bed to undress. “Shall I help you?” I was asked. “No, I am a soldier and need no assistance.” Whereupon I climbed into bed.

  Through the gauze of my curtains I saw the alleged page arranging a threadbare rug he had found in a wardrobe in a corner of my room. He sat down upon it, undressed completely, wrapped himself up in a cloak of mine that had been lying on a chair, turned out the light, and there the scene ended, for the moment; soon to begin again in my bed, where sleep evaded me.

  It was as though the portrait of the page were pinned to the ceiling of the bed, and upon its four posters; I saw only him. I tried in vain to link the ravishing object with the idea of the frightful phantom; the first apparition served merely to heighten the charm of the second.

  The melodious song which I had heard under the vault, the sound of that ravishing voice, that speech which seemed to come from the heart, still echoed in my own.

  Ah Biondetta, I said to myself, if only you were not an imaginary being; if only you were not that hideous dromedary!

  But what was I allowing myself to be drawn into? I had triumphed over fear, now let us stamp out a more dangerous emotion. What quarter could I expect? Would not such a being always be the creature of its own origins?

  The ardour of those sweet and touching glances was a cruel poison. That perfectly formed mouth, so red, so fresh and apparently so innocent, opened only to utter deceits. That heart, if heart it were, would warm only for betrayal.

  While I was giving myself over to reflections occasioned by the various impulses with which I was seized, the moon, which had climbed to the height of the hemisphere in a cloudless sky, was darting its rays into my chamber through three large casements.