When we found ourselves alone in our room, he poured out his heart, and
exclaimed that it was a pity he could not publish in Padua the distich
and my answer.
"And why not?" I said.
"Because both are obscene."
"But they are sublime."
"Let us go to bed and speak no more on the subject. Your answer was
wonderful, because you cannot possibly know anything of the subject in
question, or of the manner in which verses ought to be written."
As far as the subject was concerned, I knew it by theory; for, unknown
to the doctor, and because he had forbidden it, I had read Meursius, but
it was natural that he should be amazed at my being able to write
verses, when he, who had taught me prosody, never could compose a single
line. 'Nemo dat quod non habet' is a false axiom when applied to mental
acquirements.
Four days afterwards, as we were preparing for our departure, my mother
gave me a parcel for Bettina, and M. Grimani presented me with four
sequins to buy books. A week later my mother left for St. Petersburg.
After our return to Padua, my good master for three or four months never
ceased to speak of my mother, and Bettina, having found in the parcel
five yards of black silk and twelve pairs of gloves, became singularly
attached to me, and took such good care of my hair that in less than six
months I was able to give up wearing the wig. She used to comb my hair
every morning, often before I was out of bed, saying that she had not
time to wait until I was dressed. She washed my face, my neck, my chest;
lavished on me childish caresses which I thought innocent, but which
caused me to, be angry with myself, because I felt that they excited me.
Three years younger than she was, it seemed to me that she could not
love me with any idea of mischief, and the consciousness of my own
vicious excitement put me out of temper with myself. When, seated on my
bed, she would say that I was getting stouter, and would have the proof
of it with her own hands, she caused me the most intense emotion; but I
said nothing, for fear she would remark my sensitiveness, and when she
would go on saying that my skin was soft, the tickling sensation made me
draw back, angry with myself that I did not dare to do the same to her,
but delighted at her not guessing how I longed to do it. When I was
dressed, she often gave me the sweetest kisses, calling me her darling
child, but whatever wish I had to follow her example, I was not yet bold
enough. After some time, however, Bettina laughing at my timidity, I
became more daring and returned her kisses with interest, but I always
gave way the moment I felt a wish to go further; I then would turn my
head, pretending to look for something, and she would go away. She was
scarcely out of the room before I was in despair at not having followed
the inclination of my nature, and, astonished at the fact that Bettina
could do to me all she was in the habit of doing without feeling any
excitement from it, while I could hardly refrain from pushing my attacks
further, I would every day determine to change my way of acting.
In the early part of autumn, the doctor received three new boarders; and
one of them, who was fifteen years old, appeared to me in less than a
month on very friendly terms with Bettina.
This circumstance caused me a feeling of which until then I had no idea,
and which I only analyzed a few years afterwards. It was neither
jealousy nor indignation, but a noble contempt which I thought ought not
to be repressed, because Cordiani, an ignorant, coarse boy, without
talent or polite education, the son of a simple farmer, and incapable of
competing with me in anything, having over me but the advantage of
dawning manhood, did not appear to me a fit person to be preferred to
me; my young self-esteem whispered that I was above him. I began to
nurse a feeling of pride mixed with contempt which told against Bettina,
whom I loved unknown to myself. She soon guessed it from the way I would
receive her caresses, when she came to comb my hair while I was in bed;
I would repulse her hands, and no longer return her kisses. One day,
vexed at my answering her question as to the reason of my change towards
her by stating that I had no cause for it, she, told me in a tone of
commiseration that I was jealous of Cordiani. This reproach sounded to
me like a debasing slander. I answered that Cordiani was, in my
estimation, as worthy of her as she was worthy of him. She went away
smiling, but, revolving in her mind the only way by which she could be
revenged, she thought herself bound to render me jealous. However, as
she could not attain such an end without making me fall in love with
her, this is the policy she adopted.
One morning she came to me as I was in bed and brought me a pair of
white stockings of her own knitting. After dressing my hair, she asked
my permission to try the stockings on herself, in order to correct any
deficiency in the other pairs she intended to knit for me. The doctor
had gone out to say his mass. As she was putting on the stocking, she
remarked that my legs were not clean, and without any more ado she
immediately began to wash them. I would have been ashamed to let her see
my bashfulness; I let her do as she liked, not foreseeing what would
happen. Bettina, seated on my bed, carried too far her love for
cleanliness, and her curiosity caused me such intense voluptuousness
that the feeling did not stop until it could be carried no further.
Having recovered my calm, I bethought myself that I was guilty and
begged her forgiveness. She did not expect this, and, after considering
for a few moments, she told me kindly that the fault was entirely her
own, but that she never would again be guilty of it. And she went out of
the room, leaving me to my own thoughts.
They were of a cruel character. It seemed to me that I had brought
dishonour upon Bettina, that I had betrayed the confidence of her
family, offended against the sacred laws of hospitality, that I was
guilty of a most wicked crime, which I could only atone for by marrying
her, in case Bettina could make up her mind to accept for her husband a
wretch unworthy of her.
These thoughts led to a deep melancholy which went on increasing from
day to day, Bettina having entirely ceased her morning visits by my
bedside. During the first week, I could easily account for the girl's
reserve, and my sadness would soon have taken the character of the
warmest love, had not her manner towards Cordiani inoculated in my veins
the poison of jealousy, although I never dreamed of accusing her of the
same crime towards him that she had committed upon me.
I felt convinced, after due consideration, that the act she had been
guilty of with me had been deliberately done, and that her feelings of
repentance kept her away from me. This conviction was rather flattering
to my vanity, as it gave me the hope of being loved, and the end of all
my communings was that I made up my mind to write to her, and thus to
give her courage.
I composed a letter, short but calculated to restore peace to her mind,
whether she thought herself guilty, or suspected me of feelings contrary
to those which her dignity might expect from me. My letter was, in my
own estimation, a perfect masterpiece, and just the kind of epistle by
which I was certain to conquer her very adoration, and to sink for ever
the sun of Cordiani, whom I could not accept as the sort of being likely
to make her hesitate for one instant in her choice between him and me.
Half-an-hour after the receipt of my letter, she told me herself that
the next morning she would pay me her usual visit, but I waited in vain.
This conduct provoked me almost to madness, but my surprise was indeed
great when, at the breakfast table, she asked me whether I would let her
dress me up as a girl to accompany her five or six days later to a ball
for which a neighbour of ours, Doctor Olivo, had sent letters of
invitation. Everybody having seconded the motion, I gave my consent. I
thought this arrangement would afford a favourable opportunity for an
explanation, for mutual vindication, and would open a door for the most
complete reconciliation, without fear of any surprise arising from the
proverbial weakness of the flesh. But a most unexpected circumstance
prevented our attending the ball, and brought forth a comedy with a
truly tragic turn.
Doctor Gozzi's godfather, a man advanced in age, and in easy
circumstances, residing in the country, thought himself, after a severe
illness, very near his end, and sent to the doctor a carriage with a
request to come to him at once with his father, as he wished them to be
present at his death, and to pray for his departing soul. The old
shoemaker drained a bottle, donned his Sunday clothes, and went off with
his son.
I thought this a favourable opportunity and determined to improve it,
considering that the night of the ball was too remote to suit my
impatience. I therefore managed to tell Bettina that I would leave ajar
the door of my room, and that I would wait for her as soon as everyone
in the house had gone to bed. She promised to come. She slept on the
ground floor in a small closet divided only by a partition from her
father's chamber; the doctor being away, I was alone in the large room.
The three boarders had their apartment in a different part of the house,
and I had therefore no mishap to fear. I was delighted at the idea that
I had at last reached the moment so ardently desired.
The instant I was in my room I bolted my door and opened the one leading
to the passage, so that Bettina should have only to push it in order to
come in; I then put my light out, but did not undress. When we read of
such situations in a romance we think they are exaggerated; they are not
so, and the passage in which Ariosto represents Roger waiting for Alcine
is a beautiful picture painted from nature.
Until midnight I waited without feeling much anxiety; but I heard the
clock strike two, three, four o'clock in the morning without seeing
Bettina; my blood began to boil, and I was soon in a state of furious
rage. It was snowing hard, but I shook from passion more than from cold.
One hour before day-break, unable to master any longer my impatience, I
made up my mind to go downstairs with bare feet, so as not to wake the
dog, and to place myself at the bottom of the stairs within a yard of
Bettina's door, which ought to have been opened if she had gone out of
her room. I reached the door; it was closed, and as it could be locked
only from inside I imagined that Bettina had fallen asleep. I was on the
point of knocking at the door, but was prevented by fear of rousing the
dog, as from that door to that of her closet there was a distance of
three or four yards. Overwhelmed with grief, and unable to take a
decision, I sat down on the last step of the stairs; but at day-break,
chilled, benumbed, shivering with cold, afraid that the servant would
see me and would think I was mad, I determined to go back to my room. I
arise, but at that very moment I hear some noise in Bettina's room.
Certain that I am going to see her, and hope lending me new strength, I
draw nearer to the door. It opens; but instead of Bettina coming out I
see Cordiani, who gives me such a furious kick in the stomach that I am
thrown at a distance deep in the snow. Without stopping a single instant
Cordiani is off, and locks himself up in the room which he shared with
the brothers Feltrini.
I pick myself up quickly with the intention of taking my revenge upon
Bettina, whom nothing could have saved from the effects of my rage at
that moment. But I find her door locked; I kick vigorously against it,
the dog starts a loud barking, and I make a hurried retreat to my room,
in which I lock myself up, throwing myself in bed to compose and heal up
my mind and body, for I was half dead.
Deceived, humbled, ill-treated, an object of contempt to the happy and
triumphant Cordiani, I spent three hours ruminating the darkest schemes
of revenge. To poison them both seemed to me but a trifle in that
terrible moment of bitter misery. This project gave way to another as
extravagant, as cowardly-namely, to go at once to her brother and
disclose everything to him. I was twelve years of age, and my mind had
not yet acquired sufficient coolness to mature schemes of heroic
revenge, which are produced by false feelings of honour; this was only
my apprenticeship in such adventures.
I was in that state of mind when suddenly I heard outside of my door the
gruff voice of Bettina's mother, who begged me to come down, adding that
her daughter was dying. As I would have been very sorry if she had
departed this life before she could feel the effects of my revenge, I
got up hurriedly and went downstairs. I found Bettina lying in her
father's bed writhing with fearful convulsions, and surrounded by the
whole family. Half dressed, nearly bent in two, she was throwing her
body now to the right, now to the left, striking at random with her feet
and with her fists, and extricating herself by violent shaking from the
hands of those who endeavoured to keep her down.
With this sight before me, and the night's adventure still in my mind, I
hardly knew what to think. I had no knowledge of human nature, no
knowledge of artifice and tricks, and I could not understand how I found
myself coolly witnessing such a scene, and composedly calm in the
presence of two beings, one of whom I intended to kill and the other to
dishonour. At the end of an hour Bettina fell asleep.
A nurse and Doctor Olivo came soon after. The first said that the
convulsions were caused by hysterics, but the doctor said no, and
prescribed rest and cold baths. I said nothing, but I could not refrain
from laughing at them, for I knew, or rather guessed, that Bettina's
sickness was the result of her nocturnal employment, or of the fright
which she must have felt at my meeting with Cordiani. At all events, I
determined to postpone my revenge until the return of her brother,
although I had not the slightest suspicion that her illness was all
sham, for I did not give her credit for so much cleverness.
To return to my room I had to pass through Bettina's closet, and seeing
her dress handy on the bed I took it into my head to search her pockets.
I found a small note, and recognizing Cordiani's handwriting, I took
possession of it to read it in my room. I marvelled at the girl's
imprudence, for her mother might have discovered it, and being unable to
read would very likely have given it to the doctor, her son. I thought
she must have taken leave of her senses, but my feelings may be
appreciated when I read the following words: "As your father is away it
is not necessary to leave your door ajar as usual. When we leave the
supper-table I will go to your closet; you will find me there."
When I recovered from my stupor I gave way to an irresistible fit of
laughter, and seeing how completely I had been duped I thought I was
cured of my love. Cordiani appeared to me deserving of forgiveness, and
Bettina of contempt. I congratulated myself upon having received a
lesson of such importance for the remainder of my life. I even went so
far as to acknowledge to myself that Bettina had been quite right in
giving the preference to Cordiani, who was fifteen years old, while I
was only a child. Yet, in spite of my good disposition to forgiveness,
the kick administered by Cordiani was still heavy upon my memory, and I
could not help keeping a grudge against him.
At noon, as we were at dinner in the kitchen, where we took our meals on
account of the cold weather, Bettina began again to raise piercing
screams. Everybody rushed to her room, but I quietly kept my seat and
finished my dinner, after which I went to my studies. In the evening
when I came down to supper I found that Bettina's bed had been brought
to the kitchen close by her mother's; but it was no concern of mine, and
I remained likewise perfectly indifferent to the noise made during the
night, and to the confusion which took place in the morning, when she
had a fresh fit of convulsions.
Doctor Gozzi and his father returned in the evening. Cordiani, who felt
uneasy, came to inquire from me what my intentions were, but I rushed
towards him with an open penknife in my hand, and he beat a hasty
retreat. I had entirely abandoned the idea of relating the night's
scandalous adventure to the doctor, for such a project I could only
entertain in a moment of excitement and rage. The next day the mother
came in while we were at our lesson, and told the doctor, after a
lengthened preamble, that she had discovered the character of her
daughter's illness; that it was caused by a spell thrown over her by a
witch, and that she knew the witch well.
"It may be, my dear mother, but we must be careful not to make a
mistake. Who is the witch?"
"Our old servant, and I have just had a proof of it."
"How so?"
"I have barred the door of my room with two broomsticks placed in the
shape of a cross, which she must have undone to go in; but when she saw
them she drew back, and she went round by the other door. It is evident
that, were she not a witch, she would not be afraid of touching them."
"It is not complete evidence, dear mother; send the woman to me."
The servant made her appearance.
"Why," said the doctor, "did you not enter my mother's room this morning
through the usual door?"
"I do not know what you mean."
"Did you not see the St. Andrew's cross on the door?"
"What cross is that?"
"It is useless to plead ignorance," said the mother; "where did you
sleep last Thursday night?"
"At my niece's, who had just been confined."
"Nothing of the sort. You were at the witches' Sabbath; you are a witch,
and have bewitched my daughter."
The poor woman, indignant at such an accusation, spits at her mistress's
face; the mistress, enraged, gets hold of a stick to give the servant a
drubbing; the doctor endeavours to keep his mother back, but he is
compelled to let her loose and to run after the servant, who was
hurrying down the stairs, screaming and howling in order to rouse the
neighbours; he catches her, and finally succeeds in pacifying her with
some money.
After this comical but rather scandalous exhibition, the doctor donned
his vestments for the purpose of exorcising his sister and of
ascertaining whether she was truly possessed of an unclean spirit. The
novelty of this mystery attracted the whole of my attention. All the
inmates of the house appeared to me either mad or stupid, for I could
not, for the life of me, imagine that diabolical spirits were dwelling
in Bettina's body. When we drew near her bed, her breathing had, to all
appearance, stopped, and the exorcisms of her brother did not restore
it. Doctor Olivo happened to come in at that moment, and inquired
whether he would be in the way; he was answered in the negative,
provided he had faith.
Upon which he left, saying that he had no faith in any miracles except
in those of the Gospel.
Soon after Doctor Gozzi went to his room, and finding myself alone with
Bettina I bent down over her bed and whispered in her ear.
"Take courage, get well again, and rely upon my discretion."
She turned her head towards the wall and did not answer me, but the day
passed off without any more convulsions. I thought I had cured her, but
on the following day the frenzy went up to the brain, and in her
delirium she pronounced at random Greek and Latin words without any
meaning, and then no doubt whatever was entertained of her being
possessed of the evil spirit. Her mother went out and returned soon,
accompanied by the most renowned exorcist of Padua, a very ill-featured
Capuchin, called Friar Prospero da Bovolenta.
The moment Bettina saw the exorcist, she burst into loud laughter, and
addressed to him the most offensive insults, which fairly delighted
everybody, as the devil alone could be bold enough to address a Capuchin
in such a manner; but the holy man, hearing himself called an obtrusive
ignoramus and a stinkard, went on striking Bettina with a heavy
crucifix, saying that he was beating the devil. He stopped only when he
saw her on the point of hurling at him the chamber utensil which she had
just seized. "If it is the devil who has offended thee with his words,"
she said, "resent the insult with words likewise, jackass that thou art,
but if I have offended thee myself, learn, stupid booby, that thou must
respect me, and be off at once."
I could see poor Doctor Gozzi blushing; the friar, however, held his
ground, and, armed at all points, began to read a terrible exorcism, at
the end of which he commanded the devil to state his name.
"My name is Bettina."
"It cannot be, for it is the name of a baptized girl."
"Then thou art of opinion that a devil must rejoice in a masculine name?
Learn, ignorant friar, that a devil is a spirit, and does not belong to
either sex. But as thou believest that a devil is speaking to thee
through my lips, promise to answer me with truth, and I will engage to
give way before thy incantations."
"Very well, I agree to this."
"Tell me, then, art thou thinking that thy knowledge is greater than
mine?"
"No, but I believe myself more powerful in the name of the holy Trinity,
and by my sacred character."
"If thou art more powerful than I, then prevent me from telling thee
unpalatable truths. Thou art very vain of thy beard, thou art combing
and dressing it ten times a day, and thou would'st not shave half of it
to get me out of this body. Cut off thy beard, and I promise to come
out."
"Father of lies, I will increase thy punishment a hundred fold."
"I dare thee to do it."
After saying these words, Bettina broke into such a loud peal of
laughter, that I could not refrain from joining in it. The Capuchin,
turning towards Doctor Gozzi, told him that I was wanting in faith, and
that I ought to leave the room; which I did, remarking that he had
guessed rightly. I was not yet out of the room when the friar offered
his hand to Bettina for her to kiss, and I had the pleasure of seeing
her spit upon it.
This strange girl, full of extraordinary talent, made rare sport of the
friar, without causing any surprise to anyone, as all her answers were
attributed to the devil. I could not conceive what her purpose was in
playing such a part.
The Capuchin dined with us, and during the meal he uttered a good deal
of nonsense. After dinner, he returned to Bettina's chamber, with the
intention of blessing her, but as soon as she caught sight of him, she
took up a glass full of some black mixture sent from the apothecary, and
threw it at his head. Cordiani, being close by the friar, came in for a
good share of the liquid-an accident which afforded me the greatest
delight. Bettina was quite right to improve her opportunity, as
everything she did was, of course, put to the account of the unfortunate
devil. Not overmuch pleased, Friar Prospero, as he left the house, told
the doctor that there was no doubt of the girl being possessed, but that
another exorcist must be sent for, since he had not, himself, obtained
God's grace to eject the evil spirit.
After he had gone, Bettina kept very calm for six hours, and in the
evening, to our great surprise, she joined us at the supper table. She
told her parents that she felt quite well, spoke to her brother, and
then, addressing me, she remarked that, the ball taking place on the
morrow, she would come to my room in the morning to dress my hair like a
girl's. I thanked her, and said that, as she had been so ill, she ought
to nurse herself. She soon retired to bed, and we remained at the table,
talking of her.
When I was undressing for the night, I took up my night-cap, and found
in it a small note with these words: "You must accompany me to the ball,
disguised as a girl, or I will give you a sight which will cause you to
weep."
I waited until the doctor was asleep, and I wrote the following answer:
"I cannot go to the ball, because I have fully made up my mind to avoid
every opportunity of being alone with you. As for the painful sight with
which you threaten to entertain me, I believe you capable of keeping
your word, but I entreat you to spare my heart, for I love you as if you
were my sister. I have forgiven you, dear Bettina, and I wish to forget
everything. I enclose a note which you must be delighted to have again
in your possession. You see what risk you were running when you left it
in your pocket. This restitution must convince you of my friendship."
CHAPTER III
Bettina Is Supposed to Go Mad--Father Mancia--The Small-pox--I Leave
Padua
Bettina must have been in despair, not knowing into whose hands her
letter had fallen; to return it to her and thus to allay her anxiety,
was therefore a great proof of friendship; but my generosity, at the
same time that it freed her from a keen sorrow, must have caused her
another quite as dreadful, for she knew that I was master of her secret.
Cordiani's letter was perfectly explicit; it gave the strongest evidence
that she was in the habit of receiving him every night, and therefore
the story she had prepared to deceive me was useless. I felt it was so,
and, being disposed to calm her anxiety as far as I could, I went to her
bedside in the morning, and I placed in her hands Cordiani's note and my
answer to her letter.
The girl's spirit and talent had won my esteem; I could no longer
despise her; I saw in her only a poor creature seduced by her natural
temperament. She loved man, and was to be pitied only on account of the
consequences. Believing that the view I took of the situation was a
right one, I had resigned myself like a reasonable being, and not like a
disappointed lover. The shame was for her and not for me. I had only one
wish, namely, to find out whether the two brothers Feltrini, Cordiani's
companions, had likewise shared Bettina's favours.
Bettina put on throughout the day a cheerful and happy look. In the
evening she dressed herself for the ball; but suddenly an attack of
sickness, whether feigned or real I did not know, compelled her to go to
bed, and frightened everybody in the house. As for myself, knowing the
whole affair, I was prepared for new scenes, and indeed for sad ones,
for I felt that I had obtained over her a power repugnant to her vanity
and self-love. I must, however, confess that, in spite of the excellent
school in which I found myself before I had attained manhood, and which
ought to have given me experience as a shield for the future, I have
through the whole of my life been the dupe of women. Twelve years ago,
if it had not been for my guardian angel, I would have foolishly married
a young, thoughtless girl, with whom I had fallen in love: Now that I am
seventy-two years old I believe myself no longer susceptible of such
follies; but, alas! that is the very thing which causes me to be
miserable.
The next day the whole family was deeply grieved because the devil of
whom Bettina was possessed had made himself master of her reason. Doctor
Gozzi told me that there could not be the shadow of a doubt that his
unfortunate sister was possessed, as, if she had only been mad, she
never would have so cruelly ill-treated the Capuchin, Prospero, and he
determined to place her under the care of Father Mancia.
This Mancia was a celebrated Jacobin (or Dominican) exorcist, who
enjoyed the reputation of never having failed to cure a girl possessed
of the demon.
Sunday had come; Bettina had made a good dinner, but she had been
frantic all through the day. Towards midnight her father came home,
singing Tasso as usual, and so drunk that he could not stand. He went up
to Bettina's bed, and after kissing her affectionately he said to her:
"Thou art not mad, my girl."
Her answer was that he was not drunk.
"Thou art possessed of the devil, my dear child."
"Yes, father, and you alone can cure me."
"Well, I am ready."
Upon this our shoemaker begins a theological discourse, expatiating upon
the power of faith and upon the virtue of the paternal blessing. He
throws off his cloak, takes a crucifix with one hand, places the other
over the head of his daughter, and addresses the devil in such an
amusing way that even his wife, always a stupid, dull, cross-grained old
woman, had to laugh till the tears came down her cheeks. The two
performers in the comedy alone were not laughing, and their serious
countenance added to the fun of the performance. I marvelled at Bettina
(who was always ready to enjoy a good laugh) having sufficient control
over herself to remain calm and grave. Doctor Gozzi had also given way
to merriment; but begged that the farce should come to an end, for he
deemed that his father's eccentricities were as many profanations
against the sacredness of exorcism. At last the exorcist, doubtless
tired out, went to bed saying that he was certain that the devil would
not disturb his daughter during the night.
On the morrow, just as we had finished our breakfast, Father Mancia made
his appearance. Doctor Gozzi, followed by the whole family, escorted him
to his sister's bedside. As for me, I was entirely taken up by the face
of the monk. Here is his portrait. His figure was tall and majestic, his
age about thirty; he had light hair and blue eyes; his features were
those of Apollo, but without his pride and assuming haughtiness; his
complexion, dazzling white, was pale, but that paleness seemed to have
been given for the very purpose of showing off the red coral of his
lips, through which could be seen, when they opened, two rows of pearls.
He was neither thin nor stout, and the habitual sadness of his
countenance enhanced its sweetness. His gait was slow, his air timid, an
indication of the great modesty of his mind.
When we entered the room Bettina was asleep, or pretended to be so.
Father Mancia took a sprinkler and threw over her a few drops of holy
water; she opened her eyes, looked at the monk, and closed them
immediately; a little while after she opened them again, had a better
look at him, laid herself on her back, let her arms droop down gently,
and with her head prettily bent on one side she fell into the sweetest
of slumbers.
The exorcist, standing by the bed, took out his pocket ritual and the
stole which he put round his neck, then a reliquary, which he placed on
the bosom of the sleeping girl, and with the air of a saint he begged
all of us to fall on our knees and to pray, so that God should let him
know whether the patient was possessed or only labouring under a natural
disease. He kept us kneeling for half an hour, reading all the time in a
low tone of voice. Bettina did not stir.
Tired, I suppose, of the performance, he desired to speak privately with
Doctor Gozzi. They passed into the next room, out of which they emerged
after a quarter of an hour, brought back by a loud peal of laughter from
the mad girl, who, when she saw them, turned her back on them. Father
Mancia smiled, dipped the sprinkler over and over in the holy water,
gave us all a generous shower, and took his leave.
Doctor Gozzi told us that the exorcist would come again on the morrow,
and that he had promised to deliver Bettina within three hours if she
were truly possessed of the demon, but that he made no promise if it
should turn out to be a case of madness. The mother exclaimed that he
would surely deliver her, and she poured out her thanks to God for
having allowed her the grace of beholding a saint before her death.
The following day Bettina was in a fine frenzy. She began to utter the
most extravagant speeches that a poet could imagine, and did not stop
when the charming exorcist came into her room; he seemed to enjoy her
foolish talk for a few minutes, after which, having armed himself 'cap-
a-pie', he begged us to withdraw. His order was obeyed instantly; we
left the chamber, and the door remained open. But what did it matter?
Who would have been bold enough to go in?
During three long hours we heard nothing; the stillness was unbroken. At
noon the monk called us in. Bettina was there sad and very quiet while
the exorcist packed up his things. He took his departure, saying he had
very good hopes of the case, and requesting that the doctor would send
him news of the patient. Bettina partook of dinner in her bed, got up
for supper, and the next day behaved herself rationally; but the
following circumstance strengthened my opinion that she had been neither
insane nor possessed.
It was two days before the Purification of the Holy Virgin. Doctor Gozzi
was in the habit of giving us the sacrament in his own church, but he
always sent us for our confession to the church of Saint-Augustin, in
which the Jacobins of Padua officiated. At the supper table, he told us
to prepare ourselves for the next day, and his mother, addressing us,
said: "You ought, all of you, to confess to Father Mancia, so as to
obtain absolution from that holy man. I intend to go to him myself."
Cordiani and the two Feltrini agreed to the proposal; I remained silent,
but as the idea was unpleasant to me, I concealed the feeling, with a
full determination to prevent the execution of the project.
I had entire confidence in the secrecy of confession, and I was
incapable of making a false one, but knowing that I had a right to
choose my confessor, I most certainly never would have been so simple as
to confess to Father Mancia what had taken place between me and a girl,
because he would have easily guessed that the girl could be no other but
Bettina. Besides, I was satisfied that Cordiani would confess everything
to the monk, and I was deeply sorry.
Early the next morning, Bettina brought me a band for my neck, and gave
me the following letter: "Spurn me, but respect my honour and the shadow
of peace to which I aspire. No one from this house must confess to
Father Mancia; you alone can prevent the execution of that project, and
I need not suggest the way to succeed. It will prove whether you have
some friendship for me."
I could not express the pity I felt for the poor girl, as I read that
note. In spite of that feeling, this is what I answered: "I can well
understand that, notwithstanding the inviolability of confession, your
mother's proposal should cause you great anxiety; but I cannot see why,
in order to prevent its execution, you should depend upon me rather than
upon Cordiani who has expressed his acceptance of it. All I can promise
you is that I will not be one of those who may go to Father Mancia; but
I have no influence over your lover; you alone can speak to him."
She replied: "I have never addressed a word to Cordiani since the fatal
night which has sealed my misery, and I never will speak to him again,
even if I could by so doing recover my lost happiness. To you alone I
wish to be indebted for my life and for my honour."
This girl appeared to me more wonderful than all the heroines of whom I
had read in novels. It seemed to me that she was making sport of me with
the most barefaced effrontery. I thought she was trying to fetter me
again with her chains; and although I had no inclination for them, I
made up my mind to render her the service she claimed at my hands, and
which she believed I alone could compass. She felt certain of her
success, but in what school had she obtained her experience of the human
heart? Was it in reading novels? Most likely the reading of a certain
class of novels causes the ruin of a great many young girls, but I am of
opinion that from good romances they acquire graceful manners and a
knowledge of society.
Having made up my mind to shew her every kindness in my power, I took an
opportunity, as we were undressing for the night, of telling Doctor
Gozzi that, for conscientious motives, I could not confess to Father
Mancia, and yet that I did not wish to be an exception in that matter.
He kindly answered that he understood my reasons, and that he would take
us all to the church of Saint-Antoine. I kissed his hand in token of my
gratitude.
On the following day, everything having gone according to her wishes, I
saw Bettina sit down to the table with a face beaming with satisfaction.
In the afternoon I had to go to bed in consequence of a wound in my
foot; the doctor accompanied his pupils to church; and Bettina being
alone, availed herself of the opportunity, came to my room and sat down
on my bed. I had expected her visit, and I received it with pleasure, as
it heralded an explanation for which I was positively longing.
She began by expressing a hope that I would not be angry with her for
seizing the first opportunity she had of some conversation with me.
"No," I answered, "for you thus afford me an occasion of assuring you
that, my feelings towards you being those of a friend only, you need not
have any fear of my causing you any anxiety or displeasure. Therefore
Bettina, you may do whatever suits you; my love is no more. You have at
one blow given the death-stroke to the intense passion which was
blossoming in my heart. When I reached my room, after the ill-treatment
I had experienced at Cordiani's hands, I felt for you nothing but
hatred; that feeling soon merged into utter contempt, but that sensation
itself was in time, when my mind recovered its balance, changed for a
feeling of the deepest indifference, which again has given way when I
saw what power there is in your mind. I have now become your friend; I
have conceived the greatest esteem for your cleverness. I have been the
dupe of it, but no matter; that talent of yours does exist, it is
wonderful, divine, I admire it, I love it, and the highest homage I can
render to it is, in my estimation, to foster for the possessor of it the
purest feelings of friendship. Reciprocate that friendship, be true,
sincere, and plain dealing. Give up all nonsense, for you have already
obtained from me all I can give you. The very thought of love is
repugnant to me; I can bestow my love only where I feel certain of being
the only one loved. You are at liberty to lay my foolish delicacy to the
account of my youthful age, but I feel so, and I cannot help it. You
have written to me that you never speak to Cordiani; if I am the cause
of that rupture between you, I regret it, and I think that, in the
interest of your honour, you would do well to make it up with him; for
the future I must be careful never to give him any grounds for umbrage
or suspicion. Recollect also that, if you have tempted him by the same
manoeuvres which you have employed towards me, you are doubly wrong, for
it may be that, if he truly loves you, you have caused him to be
miserable."
"All you have just said to me," answered Bettina, "is grounded upon
false impressions and deceptive appearances. I do not love Cordiani, and
I never had any love for him; on the contrary, I have felt, and I do
feel, for him a hatred which he has richly deserved, and I hope to
convince you, in spite of every appearance which seems to convict me. As
to the reproach of seduction, I entreat you to spare me such an
accusation. On our side, consider that, if you had not yourself thrown
temptation in my way, I never would have committed towards you an action
of which I have deeply repented, for reasons which you do not know, but
which you must learn from me. The fault I have been guilty of is a
serious one only because I did not foresee the injury it would do me in
the inexperienced mind of the ingrate who dares to reproach me with it."
Bettina was shedding tears: all she had said was not unlikely and rather
complimentary to my vanity, but I had seen too much. Besides, I knew the
extent of her cleverness, and it was very natural to lend her a wish to
deceive me; how could I help thinking that her visit to me was prompted
only by her self-love being too deeply wounded to let me enjoy a victory
so humiliating to herself? Therefore, unshaken in my preconceived
opinion, I told her that I placed implicit confidence in all she had
just said respecting the state of her heart previous to the playful
nonsense which had been the origin of my love for her, and that I
promised never in the future to allude again to my accusation of
seduction. "But," I continued, "confess that the fire at that time
burning in your bosom was only of short duration, and that the slightest
breath of wind had been enough to extinguish it. Your virtue, which went
astray for only one instant, and which has so suddenly recovered its
mastery over your senses, deserves some praise. You, with all your deep
adoring love for me, became all at once blind to my sorrow, whatever
care I took to make it clear to your sight. It remains for me to learn how that virtue could be so very dear to you, at the very time that Cordiani took care to wreck it every night." |
|
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기