The Devil in Love Page 6

  “Alvaro,” replied Biondetta, “astonished by your boldness, the necromancers decided to seek amusement from your humiliation and to use terror to reduce you to the state of an abject slave of their desires. As a foretaste of fear, they provoked you to conjure up the most powerful and redoubtable of all their spirits; and, with the help of those whose rank is subject to their own, they presented you with a sight which would have caused you to expire with terror, had the vigour of your spirit not caused their stratagem to turn against them.

  At your heroic countenance Sylphs, Salamanders, Gnomes and Undines, enchanted by your courage, resolved to give you the advantage over your enemies.

  I am a Sylph by origin, and one of the most extraordinary among their number. I appeared to you in the guise of the little bitch; I received your orders, and we all hastened to fulfill them. The more hauteur, resoluteness, nonchalance and intelligence you put into the regulation of your movements, the more our zeal and admiration for you increased.

  You ordered me to serve you as your page, to amuse you as a singer. I submitted joyfully, and tasted such sweet fruit in my obedience that I resolved to obey you for ever.

  Let us, I told myself, make a decision as to my state and happiness. Abandoned in the empty airs to inevitable uncertainty, denied sensation and enjoyment, a slave to the cabbalists’ spells, a creature of their whim, limited in my faculties as in my perceptions, should I waver further as to the choice of the means through which I could ennoble my essence?

  I am permitted to take on a body in order to associate myself with a wise man. Behold that man. If I lower myself to the condition of a mere woman, if through this voluntary change I lose the natural rights of the Sylph and the company of my companions, in exchange I shall enjoy the happiness of loving and of being loved. I shall serve my conqueror, I shall instruct him on the sublimeness of his being, of whose privileges he is ignorant. With the powers whose dominion I shall have relinquished, he will subdue all the spirits of the spheres. He is made to be king of the world, and I shall be its queen.

  These thoughts, more surprising than you might imagine in a being devoid of bodily substance, instantly convinced me.

  I would take on a woman’s body and abandon it only with life itself.

  When I had taken on a body, Alvaro, I perceived that I had a heart. I admired you, I loved you; but what was my state, when I saw in you only repugnance and hatred? I could neither change, nor even turn back; a victim of all the reverses your kind are subject to, having brought upon myself the anger of the spirits and the implacable hatred of the necromancers, without your protection I would have become the unhappiest being under the sun. What am I saying? I would be so still without your love.”

  The thousand graces of her face, her movements, the sound of her voice, added to the wonder of this compelling speech. I could understand nothing of what I was hearing. But what was comprehensible in this whole adventure?

  All this seemed like a dream, I told myself; but is human life anything else? I dreamed more curiously than the next man, that was all.

  I had seen her with my own eyes, awaiting all the succour that science could bring, almost at the gates of death, passing through all the stages of exhaustion and pain.

  Man was an assemblage of a little mud and water. Why should woman not be made of dew, terrestrial vapours and moonbeams, the concentrated remains of a rainbow?

  What is possible, what impossible?

  The result of my reflections was that I surrendered even more completely to my inclinations, while believing I was following my reason. I showered Biondetta with attentions, innocent caresses. She accepted them with an openness that enchanted me, with that natural modesty that needs no prior reflection or alarm.

  A month sped by, spent in intoxicating tenderness. Biondetta, entirely recovered, was able to accompany me everywhere on my outings. I had a riding habit made for her and wearing this garment, and a big plumed hat, she made all heads turn. Wherever we went, my beloved was inevitably the envy of all those fortunate citizens who people the enchanted banks of the Brenta in fine weather; even the women seemed to have forsworn the jealousy of which they are accused, whether conquered by a superiority they could not deny, or disarmed by a bearing which bespoke complete unawareness of its advantages.

  Known to all as the lover of so ravishing an object, my pleasure equalled my love, and I felt even more elated when I chanced to pride myself on the nature of its origin.

  I could not doubt but that she possessed the rarest knowledge, and I had reason to suppose that her aim was to bestow it upon me; but she talked to me only of everyday things, and seemed to have lost this other aim from view. “Biondetta,” I said one evening as we were walking on the terrace of my garden, “when some strangely flattering inclination persuaded you to link your fate with mine, you promised to make me worthy of you by imparting to me knowledge which is not vouchsafed to the common run of men. Do I seem to you unworthy of your attentions? Can a love as tender, as delicate as yours, have no desire to ennoble its object?”

  “Oh, Alvaro,” she replied, “I have been a woman for six months, and I feel that my passion has not lasted a day. Forgive me if the sweetest of sensations has intoxicated a heart which has never throbbed before. I would like to show you how to love as I love; and this sentiment alone would raise you above your kind. But human pride aspires to other enjoyments; its natural disquiet prevents it from laying hold of any happiness if it cannot envisage a greater one in the offing. Yes, Alvaro, I shall instruct you. I was forgetting my own interests, and happily; yet I must instruct you, for I must rediscover my greatness in your own; but it is not enough for you to promise to be mine: you must give yourself unreservedly and for ever.”

  We were seated upon a stretch of greensward, under a bower of honeysuckle at the end of the garden; I threw myself at her knees. “Dear Biondetta,” I said, “I swear unfailing devotion.”

  “No,” she said, “you do not know me; you must abandon yourself to me completely. That alone will reassure me and suffice.”

  I kissed her hand in an ecstasy of joy, and redoubled my vows; she countered them with her fears. In the heat of the conversation our heads bowed and our lips met… At that moment I felt myself seized by the coat-tails, and shaken by a strange force…

  It was my dog, a young great Dane I had been given, whom I amused daily by letting him play with my handkerchief. As he had escaped from the house the previous evening, I had had him tied up to prevent further mishap. He had just broken free of his chain, had found me, guided by his sense of smell, and was pulling me by the coat to demonstrate his joy and to encourage me to further frolics. In vain I sought to fend him off with my hands, with my commands: he ran around me and came back to me, barking. Finally defeated by his importunity, I seized him by the collar and led him back to the house.

  As I was returning to the bower to rejoin Biondetta, a servant walking almost on my heels informed me that dinner was served, so we went to take our places at table. A tête-à-tête might have been embarrassing for Biondetta, but fortunately a third person was present, a young nobleman who had come to spend the evening with us.

  The next day I went to Biondetta’s apartment determined to inform her of the serious reflections which had occupied me during the night. She was still in bed, and I sat down beside her.

  “Yesterday,” I said, “we almost engaged in an act which I might have regretted to the end of my days. My mother is insisting that I should marry. I could not be anyone but yours, and can make no serious commitment without her consent. Regarding you already as my wife, dear Biondetta, my duty is to respect you.”

  “Indeed! Must I not in turn respect you, Alvaro? But might not this sentiment be the canker of love?”

  “You are wrong,” I replied, “it is love’s zest…”

  “A fine zest, which brings you to me with so cool an air, and quite chills me! Ah, Alvaro, Alvaro! Fortunately I am free as air, I have neither father nor mother, and I would
love with all my heart without that particular zest. It is only natural that you should respect your mother; it is right that she should give her blessing to the union of our hearts, but why should blessing precede union? With you, prejudices are born for want of enlightenment and, whether through a process of reasoning or not, they render your conduct as inconsistent as it is bizarre. While subjected to real duties, you impose others upon yourself which are unnecessary or impossible to fulfill; in a word, you seek to stray from the true path in the pursuit of the object whose possession you most desire. Our union becomes dependent on the will of others. Who knows if dona Mencia will find me of sufficiently high lineage to ally myself with the house of Maravillas? And would I not feel belittled were I to have to secure you from her instead of possessing you of your own accord? Is it a man destined for great knowledge who is speaking to me, or a child just out of the mountains of the Estremadura? And must my sensitivities go unheeded because others’ are being considered more than my own? Alvaro, Alvaro! The Spanish notion of love is for ever being vaunted; yet the Spaniard will always demonstrate pride and arrogance rather than love!”

  I had seen extraordinary scenes in my time but I was quite unprepared for this one. I wanted to explain my respect for my mother which was prescribed by duty but inspired even more by gratitude and attachment. My protestations went unheeded. “I did not become a woman for nothing, Alvaro: I gave myself to you freely and I wish you to give yourself in the same way. Let dona Mencia dissaprove afterwards, if she is deprived of reason. Talk of this no more. I am respected, we respect one another, everyone is respected – with all this respect, I am becoming unhappier that when I was shunned.” And she began to sob.

  Luckily mine was a proud character, and this trait protected me from the impulse of weakness which was drawing me to Biondetta’s feet in an attempt to disarm this unreasonable anger, and to stem those tears the mere sight of which threw me into a state of despair. I retired to my study, and had someone chained me to a chair at that moment, they would have been doing me a service. At last, fearing the outcome of the struggle, I ran to my gondola, encountering one of Biondetta’s serving women on the way. “I am going to Venice, “ I told her, “I am needed there for the furthering of the lawsuit brought about by Olympia;" and I left then and there, a prey to galloping unease, ill-pleased with Biondetta and even more so with myself, seeing that my only remaining options were cowardly or desperate.

  When I reached the city, I landed at the first calle; I rushed bewildered through all the alleys on my way, not even noticing that a frightful storm was brewing and that I should start to think about finding shelter. It was midday, and soon I was caught in a downfall of heavy rain mingled with copious hail. I saw an open door before me, that of the church of the great Franciscan convent, and took refuge within.

  My first reflection was that it had taken an incident of this kind to drive me into a church for the first time since my stay in Venice; the second was to make good this total forgetfulness of my duties.

  At last, wishing to drag myself from my thoughts, I considered the paintings and attempted to look at the monuments, embarking on a sort of voyage of discovery around the nave and choir.

  Finally I came to an obscure chapel lit by a lamp, since daylight could not reach it: a monument at the end of this chapel struck me deeply.

  Two genies were laying a female form into a tomb of white marble, while two others were weeping nearby. All the figures were of white marble, and their natural brightness, heightened by the contrast with the surrounding gloom, reflecting the faint light of the lamp, seemed to make them shine with a light of their own, which itself illuminated the chapel’s end.

  I approached and contemplated the figures; they seemed to me wonderfully proportioned, full of expression and executed in a most accomplished manner.

  I gazed upon the head of the main figure, and what did I see? It was as though I were looking at a portrait of my mother. I was seized by a sharp yet tender pain, a holy sense of respect.

  “Oh mother! Does this cold simulacrum here take on your beloved appearance in order to warn me that my lack of affection and the disorder of my life will lead you to the grave? Oh most estimable of women? Though he may be adrift, your Alvaro still acknowledges that you hold sway over his heart. He would rather die a thousand deaths than stray from the obedience he owes you. Alas, I am devoured by the most tyrannical of passions: which it is now impossible for me to master. You have just spoken to my heart and, if I must banish it, teach me how I may do so without it costing me my life.”

  While forcefully uttering this urgent invocation, I had prostrated myself with my face to the ground, and in this attitude I awaited the reply which I was almost certain I would receive, so transported was I.

  I reflect now, though I was in no state to do so then, that on all occasions when we need especial help in regulating our conduct, if we ask for it strongly enough (even though our wishes may not be granted), at least, in the desire to receive it, we enable ourselves to draw upon the resources of our prudence. Here is what mine duly proposed to me:

  “You must put a sense of duty, and considerable physical space, between your passion and yourself; events will enlighten you.”

  “Let us depart,” I said, rising hastily, “I shall open my heart to my mother, I shall put myself once more in her beloved care.”

  I returned to my usual inn, looked for a carriage and, without encumbering myself with a retinue, I took the road to Turin to enter Spain via France; but first I put a three hundred zecchino note, drawn on my bank, in a packet, along with the following letter:

  TO MY DEAR BIONDETTA

  “I am tearing myself away from you, my dear Biondetta, and it would be like tearing myself from life itself, were my heart not comforted by the hope of the speediest return. I am going to see my mother: inspired by your charming idea, I shall win her over, and return with her consent to our forming a union which is certain to make my happiness. Pleased to have fulfilled my duty before giving myself over entirely to love, I shall devote the rest of my life to you. You will be making the acquaintance of a Spaniard, my Biondetta; you may judge from his conduct that, if he obeys the duties of honour and of family ties, he can also satisfy the other duties. Observing the happy outcome of his old-fashioned ideas, you will not judge his attachment to them as mere pride. I cannot doubt your love, which swore total obedience to me, but I shall recognize this love even further through your gentle acquiescence to views whose sole object is our common happiness. I am sending you only what may be needed for the upkeep of our house. From Spain I shall send you what I think to be worthy of you, in the expectation that the keennest tenderness ever will bring you back your slave for eternity.”

  I was on the road to Estremadura: the year was at its loveliest and everything seemed to lend itself to my impatience to reach my native country. I could already make out the bell towers of Turin when, a somewhat dishevelled poste-chaise having passed my vehicle, it stopped and afforded me a glimpse, through a window, of a woman gesticulating and on the point of climbing out.

  My postillion stopped of his own accord; I got out, and found Biondetta in my arms, where she remained in a swoon, having been able to utter but these few words: “Alvaro! You abandoned me!”

  I carried her to my chaise, the only place where I could seat her comfortably, since fortunately it had two seats. I did all I could to help her to breath more easily, freeing her of those garments that were incommoding her and, supporting her in my arms, I continued my journey in a state that may be imagined.

  We stopped at the first respectable inn, and I had Biondetta carried into the most comfortable room, where I had her laid upon a bed, and sat down beside her. I had ordered spirits and elixirs of the kind suited to dispelling a fainting fit, and at last she opened her eyes.

  “Once again, someone is seeking my death,” she said; “someone will soon be satisfied.”

  “What injustice,” I retorted. “Some whim causes yo
u to refuse to accede to certain steps that I sincerely feel necessary on my part. I would be in danger of failing in my duty if I could not hold out against you, and I am exposing myself to unpleasantness and remorse which might trouble the tranquillity of our union. I chose to escape in order to seek my mother’s consent…”

  “And why did you not inform me of your intention, cruel one? Have I not vowed to obey you? But to abandon me alone, without protection, to the vengeance of the enemies I have made myself on your behalf, to expose me, as a result of your action, to the most humiliating affronts….”

  “Explain yourself, Biondetta. Might someone have dared…”

  “And what might anyone be risking with a being of my sex, deprived of any authority as I am, and lacking all assistance? The base Bernardillo had followed us to Venice; hardly had you disappeared than, having ceased to fear you, powerless against me since I became yours but still able to stir the imagination of those in my service, he had your house on the Brenta besieged by phantoms of his own making. My women servants abandoned me in alarm. According to a general rumour, backed up by a number of letters, a sprite had carried off a captain of the King’s guard in Naples and brought him to Venice. People maintained that I was this sprite, and indeed it seemed more or less established by this evidence. Everyone shrank from me in horror. I begged for assistance, for compassion, but found none. At last gold succeeded in obtaining what human decency was denied, I was sold a very poor chaise for a high price; I found guides and postillions, and followed you…”

  My resolve seemed about to weaken at the tale of Biondetta’s misfortunes. “I could not foresee events of this kind,” I said. “I had seen you as the object of the consideration and respect of all the inhabitants of the banks of the Brenta; could I have imagined that what seemed so rightfully earned would be withdrawn from you in my absence? Oh Biondetta! you are so clear-sighted; should you not have foreseen that by thwarting views as reasonable as mine, you would drive me to desperate solutions. Why…”