No More Learning

Estrella - That as thou willest so be it. I am his.
Don Sancho-
And I am hers.
King -
What wants there further, then ?
Don Sancho
Accord.
Estrella
And this there could not be between us,
Living together.
Don Sancho
'Tis true; and therefore
I do absolve thee from thy promise.
Estrella -
So
From thine I do absolve thee. The slayer
To see forever of my brother, in bed,
At board, must needs afflict me.
Sancho- And me, to be forever with the sister
Of him I slew unjustly, holding him dear
As my own soul.
Estrella -
So then we are free?
Don Sancho
Yes.
Estrella - Then fare thee well.
Don Sancho
Farewell.
King -
Stay.
Estrella
My lord, the man
Who slew my brother, though I do adore him,
Can never be my husband.
[Exit.
Don Sancho
Nor I, my lord,
Because I adore her, do count it just
Her husband that I should be.
[Exit.
Translation of Mary J. Serrano.


## p. 15297 (#245) ##########################################

15297
GIOVANNI VERGA
(1840-)
BY NATHAN HASKELL DOLE
Ne of the chief representatives of so-called “realistic fiction
in Italy is Giovanni Verga, who was born in Catania, Sicily,
in 1840. His youth was spent in Florence and Milar; and
after living a number of years in his native district, he returned to
Milan, where he still resides. He has himself acknowledged that
his best inspiration has come from the places which he knew as a
boy. He has painted the Sicilian peasant with a master hand. The
keen jealousy that leads too frequently to the sudden flash of the sti-
letto; the grinding poverty which is in such contrast to the beauty of
the Sicilian landscape; the squalid sordidness that looks with greater
sorrow on the death of an ass than the death of wife or child; the
pathetic history of the girl who must go to her shame because life
offers no aid to the virtuous poor; the father deprived of his son
who must serve his time in the army,— all these motives are used by
Verga with consummate power. He understands the force of contrast.
He has a rapier wit; the laugh, sardonic too often, follows on the
heels of pathos. But it is pathos that is most frequently brought
into play,– pathos and the tragic. Few of his stories are not tragic.
There is no glamour of triumphant virtue. The drama always ends
with death and defeat.
The best known of Verga's works is the “Cavalleria Rusticana,'
which by reason of Mascagni's genius has become familiar to opera-
goers all over the world. The story is short; there are no words
wasted: for a moment the sky is bright, then the swift tropic storm
comes; one blinding flash, and all the ruin is accomplished. Verga's
Aights are generally short. His longest story — 'The Malavoglias).
is in reality a welding into one of a number of short stories. But
throughout there is the same minute study of the reality,-- the hard,
gloomy life of the peasant. Verga, in the introduction or proem to
one of his Sicilian tales, gives his notion of what fiction should be:
« The simple truth of human life,” he says, “will always make us thought-
ful; will always have the effectiveness of reality, of genuine tears, of the fevers
and sensations that have afflicted the flesh. The mysterious processes whereby
conflicting passions mingle, develop, and mature, will long constitute the chief
fascination in the study of that psychological phenomenon called the plot of 3
story, and which modern analysis tries to follow with scientific care through
XXVI-057


## p. 15298 (#246) ##########################################

15298
GIOVANNI VERGA
the hidden paths of often contradictory complications. We replace the
artistic method, to which we owe so many glorious masterpieces, by a differ-
ent method, more painstaking and more recondite: we willingly sacrifice the
effect of the catastrophe, of the psychological result, as it was seen through
an almost divine intuition by the great artists of the past; and we employ
instead a logical development, inexorably necessary, less unexpected, less dra-
matic, but not less fateful. We are more modest, if not more humble; but the
conquests that we make with our psychological verities will be none the less
useful to the art of the future.
I have a firm belief that the tri-
umph of the Novel, the completest and most human of all the works of art,
will increase until the affinity and cohesion of all its parts will be so perfect
that the process of its creation will remain a mystery like the development of
human passions themselves. I have a firm belief that the harmony of its
forms will be so absolute, the sincerity of its reality so evident, its method
and justification so deeply rooted, that the artist's hand will remain absolutely
invisible.
« Then the romance will seem to portray a real event; and the work of art
will apparently have come about by itself, spontaneously springing into birth,
and maturing like a natural fact, without any point of contact with its author.
It will not have preserved in its living form any stamp of the mind in which
it originated, any shade of the eye that beheld it, any trace of the lips that
murmured the first words of it as the creative fiat: it will exist by its own
reason, by the mere fact that it is as it should be and must be, palpitating
with life, and yet as immutable as a bronze statue, the author of which has
had the divine courage to eclipse himself, and disappear in his immortal
work. )
Verga's earlier stories show decidedly the influence of the French
school of fiction. His society novels are conventional and rather
vapid, with little native power manifested. Such stories as Helen's
Husband,' or 'Eros,' or 'Royal Tiger,' are no more valuable than the
average run of French novels. Some of them are over-sentimental,
as for instance the 'Storia di una Capinera. But his Sicilian stories
have an entirely different character. They smack of real life, and
take hold of the imagination. The little story here presented as a
specimen of Verga's realism may perhaps be regarded as morbid;
but at the same time it fulfills to the letter the programme laid down
in his literary creed quoted above. The story-teller has completely
effaced himself. You forget that you are reading fiction: it seems
like a transcript from life. Its dramatic power is none the less be-
cause it is so repressed. Much is left to the imagination; but the
effect of the passions here contrasted — love and jealousy — is clearly
seen by the desolation that follows, all the more pathetic because of
the relationships of the three protagonists.
119. 86


## p. 15299 (#247) ##########################################

GIOVANNI VERGA
15299
HOME TRAGEDY
ASA
all
at
.
C* Countess Bice was in a slow decline. Some attributed the
disease to constitutional feebleness; others to some deep-
seated disorder.
In the large bedroom where the lights were turned low,
although all that part of the town was illuminated as if for a
festival, the mother, pale as a sheet, was sitting beside the sick-
bed waiting for the doctor to come. She held in her feverish
hand her daughter's thin and glowing hand, and was talking to
her in that caressing accent and with that put-on smile where-
with we try to reply to the anxious and scrutinizing look of those
who are seriously ill. Melancholy conversations were these, which
under a pretended calmness concealed the dread of a fatal dis-
ease which was hereditary in the family, and had threatened
the countess herself after Bice was born; which brought back the
recollection of the hours of anxiety and worry attendant on the
infancy of the delicate little girl, and the worry caused by the
cruel presentiments which had almost choked down the woman's
natural mother-love, and palliated the husband's first steps astray
— that husband who had died young of a wasting illness, during
which he had suffered for years confined to his easy-chair.
Later, another passion had caused the widow to bloom out
in fresh youth. She had faded somewhat prematurely, what with
the cares of the feeble infant, and of that husband who was the
embodiment of a living death: it was a deep and secret affection,
a cause of uneasiness and jealousy, mingling itself with all her
mundane joys and apparently thriving upon them, and refining
them, rendering them more subtile, more intense, like a delicate
delight perfuming everything -a festa, a society woman's tri-
umph.
Then suddenly this other threatening cloud had arisen — her
daughter's illness darkening the bright skies of her happiness, and
seeming to spread over the heavy curtains of the sick girl's bed,
and to stretch out until it met with those former dark days;
her husband's long death struggle; the grave and anxious face of
the very same physician who had been in charge of the other
case; the tick-tock of the same clock which had marked the
hours of death, and now filled the whole chamber, the whole
house, with a gloomy presentiment. The words of the mother


## p. 15300 (#248) ##########################################

15300
GIOVANNI VERGA
and of the daughter, though they tried to seem calm and gay,
died away like a sigh in the shadow of the infinite vault.
Suddenly the electric bell echoed through a long suite of
brilliant but deserted rooms.
A silent servant walking on his tiptoes preceded the doctor,
who was an old family friend, and seemed to be the only calm
person, while all the rest were full of anxiety. The countess
stood up, unable to hide her nervous agitation.
“Good evening I'm a little late to-day. I am just finishing
my round of calls. And how is the young lady ? ”
He had taken his seat by the bedside. Then when he had
asked to have the shade removed from the lamp, he began his
examination of the invalid, holding between his white, fat fingers
the girl's colorless, delicate wrist, and asking her the usual ques-
tions.
The countess replied with a slight tremor of anxiety in her
voice; Bice with monosyllables in a feeble tone, keeping her
bright restless eyes fixed on the doctor.
In the reception-room was heard the subdued sound of the
bell several times repeated, announcing other visitors; and the
chambermaid entered like a shadow to whisper into the count-
ess's ear the names of the intimate friends who had come to
inquire after the young countess.
Suddenly the doctor raised his head:
"Who is it that just entered the drawing-room ? ” he asked
with a certain vivacity.
"Marquis Danei," replied the countess.
“The usual medicine for to-night,” continued the doctor, as
if he had forgotten what he had asked. “We must take notice
at what hour the fever begins. Otherwise there is nothing new.
We must give time for the cure. ”
But he did not take his fingers off the girl's wrist, and he
fixed a scrutinizing look on her. She had closed her eyes.
The
mother waited anxiously. For a moment her daughter's brilliant
eyes looked into hers, and then a sudden flush of color glowed in
Bice's face.
« For heaven's sake, doctor, for heaven's sake! ” exclaimed the
countess in a supplicating voice, as she accompanied the doctor
into the drawing-room, paying no attention to the friends and
relatives who were waiting there chattering in low voices, how
do you think my daughter is this evening? Tell me the truth. ”
))


## p. 15301 (#249) ##########################################

GIOVANNI VERGA
15301
((
»
ous.
>>
SO
“Nothing new," he replied; "the usual touch of fever, the
usual nervous disturbance. "
But as soon as they had reached a small room on one side,
he planted himself directly in front of the countess, and said
brusquely:
« Your daughter is in love with this Signor Danei. ”
The countess uttered not a word in reply. Only she grew
horribly pale, and instinctively put her hand to her heart.
“I have been suspecting it for some time, continued the
doctor, with a sort of harsh outspokenness. “Now I am sure of
it. It makes a complication in her illness which on account of the
patient's extreme sensitiveness at this moment might become seri-
We must think it over. ”
« He!
That was the first word that escaped from the countess's lips.
It seemed to be spoken outside of her.
« Yes: her pulse told me so. Has she never shown any sign
of it? Have you never suspected anything of the sort ? »
“Never! Bice is so timid
"Does the Marquis Danei come to the house often? ”
The poor woman, under the keen penetrating eyes of this man
who seemed to have assumed the importance of a judge, stam-
mered, “Y-yes. "
“We doctors sometimes have the cure of souls,” added the
doctor with a smile. "Perhaps it was a fortunate thing that he
came while I was here. "
“But all hope is not lost, is it, doctor ? — for the love of
God! »
“No. It depends on circumstances. Good evening. ”
The countess remained a moment in that same room, which
was almost dark, wiping with her handkerchief the cold perspira-
tion that stood out on her temples. Then she went back through
the drawing-room swiftly, greeting her friends with a nod, and
scarcely looking at Danei, who was in a corner among the inti-
mates.
“ Bice! My daughter! The doctor thinks you are better
to-day: did you know it ? »
"Yes, mama! ” replied the girl gently, with that heart-chilling
indifference characteristic of those who are very ill.
“Some of our friends are here; they came on your account.
Would you like to see any of them ? »
(C


## p. 15302 (#250) ##########################################

15302
GIOVANNI VERGA
»
“Who are here ? »
"Well, a number of them: your aunt Augusta, Signor Danei.
Shall they come in for a little moment ? »
Bice closed her eyes as if she were tired out, and she was so
pale that in the semi-darkness a faint tint of pink could be seen
mounting to her cheek.
“No, mama, I do not wish to see any one. ”
Through her closed eyelids, delicate as rose-leaves, she felt
her mother's keen and sorrowful eyes fixed upon her. Suddenly
she opened them, and flung her slender trembling arms around
her neck with an inexpressible mingling of confusion, tenderness,
and vexation. Mother and daughter held each other long in a
close embrace, without saying a word, weeping tears which they
would have been glad to hide.
The relatives and friends who were anxiously waiting to hear
about the invalid had the usual report from the countess, who
stood right in the middle of the drawing-room, unable to repress
an inward tension that now and again cut her breath short.
When they had all taken their departure, she and Danei re-
mained face to face. Many times during Bice's illness they had
been left alone together for a little time, as they were now, in
the window recess, exchanging a few words of comfort and hope,
or absorbed in a silence that blended their thoughts and minds
in the same painful preoccupation; sad and precious moments, in
which she gained the courage and the power to re-enter into the
close and lugubrious atmosphere of the sick-room with a smile of
encouragement.
She stood some time without opening her mouth, her hand
pressed to her forehead. She had such an expression of sadness
in her whole appearance that Danei did not know what to say.
At last he took her hand. She withdrew it. « Listen, Roberto.
I have something to tell you, something on which my daughter's
life depends. "
He waited, grave, a little anxious.
« Bice loves you. "
Danei looked confounded, gazing at the countess, who had
hidden her face in her hands and was sobbing.
“She ? It is impossible! Just consider! ”
The idea was suggested by the doctor, and now I am
sure of it. She is dying of love for you. ”
"I swear to you, I swear to you that -->
«No.
>


## p. 15303 (#251) ##########################################

GIOVANNI VERGA
15303
(
“I know it; I believe you; I have no need of seeking the
reason why my daughter loves you, Roberto,” exclaimed the
mother, sadly. And she sank down on the sofa. Roberto was
also agitated. He tried to take her hand again. She gently
withheld it.
"Anna!
“No, no! ” she replied resolutely. And the silent tears seemed
to furrow her delicate cheeks, as if years — years of grief and
punishment - had been suddenly thrust into her thoughtless
life.
The silence seemed insurmountable. At last Roberto mur-
mured, “What do you wish me to do? Tell me. ”
She looked at him with unspeakable anguish and perplexity,
and stammered, I don't know - I don't know. Let me go back
to her. Leave me alone! »
When the countess returned to the sick-room, her daughter's
eyes in the shadow of the curtain were fixed on her with such a
singularly ardent flame that her mother's blood seemed frozen
as she stood on the threshold.
“Mama! ” cried Bice, “who is in there now? ”
“No one, dear. ”
"Ah! stay with me, then. Don't leave me. ”
And the girl grasped her hands, trembling.
(Poor little girl! Poor dear! You will soon be well. Don't
you know the doctor said so ? »
“Yes, mama.
“And — and — you shall be happy. ” .
The daughter still looked at her mother in the same way.
« Yes, mama. ”
Then she closed her eyes, which seemed black in their sunken
sockets. A death-like silence followed. The mother gazed at that
pale and impenetrable face before her with keen eyes, flushing
and then turning pale.
Suddenly a deep pallor came over her face, and she cried in
an altered voice, "Bice! ”
Her breast heaved spasmodically as if something were strug-
gling with death within. Then she leaned over her daughter,
placing her feverish cheek upon the other cheek so thin and pale,
and whispered in her daughter's ear almost so low as to be un-
intelligible, “Do you hear, Bice? You love him ? »
>
»
((


## p. 15304 (#252) ##########################################

15304
GIOVANNI VERGA
»
(
((
Bice suddenly opened her eyes wide; her face was all aflame.
And with those wide-open and almost frightened eyes, fascinated
by her mother's tearful face, she stammered with an indescribable
accent of bitterness, and as it were of reproach, “O mama!
”
Then the hapless woman, feeling that accent and that excla-
mation penetrate to the very depths of her heart, had the cour-
age to add, “Danei has asked for your hand. ”
"O mama! O mama ! ” said the girl, again and again, with the
same beseeching and agonized tone, wrapping the sheet around
her with a sense of shame. “Mamma mia! »
The countess, who seemed as if she were on the verge of
fainting, stammered, “But if you do not love him — if you do not
love him -say so— tell me — »
The girl listened, palpitating, anxious, moving her lips without
uttering a word, with her eyes wide open, and seeming too large
for her wasted face, gazing into her mother's eyes. Suddenly as
her mother bent over her, she threw her arms around her neck,
trembling all over, pressing her with all the power of her slender
arms, with an effusion that told the whole story.
The mother, in an impulse of despairing love, sobbed, "You
shall get well, you shall get well. ”
And she also trembled convulsively.
The next day the countess was waiting for Danei in her bou-
doir, sitting near the grate and stretching toward the fire her
hands that were so white that they seemed bloodless, and with
her eyes fixed the flames. What thoughts, what visions,
what recollections, were passing before those eyes! The first time
that she had felt disturbed at the sight of Roberto- the silence
that had unexpectedly come upon them — the first words of
love that he had whispered in her ear as he bent his head, and
lowered his voice — the delicious quickening of the pulse that sent
the color to her cheeks and neck as she saw him waiting in the
vestibule of the Apollo to see her pass, handsome, elegant, in her
white satin mantellina. Then afterwards, the long rose-colored
day-dreams in that very spot, the palpitating intense joys, the
feverish expectation, during those hours when Bice was taking
her music-lesson or drawing
Now at the sound of the bell she arose with a nervous tre-
mor; and immediately by an effort of the will she sat down again
with her hands crossed on her lap.
on
-


## p. 15305 (#253) ##########################################

GIOVANNI VERGA
15305
(
>>
The marquis stood hesitatingly on the threshold. She stretched
out her burning hand, but avoided looking at him. As soon as
Danei, not knowing what to think, inquired for Bice, the countess
replied after a brief silence, “Her life is in your hands. "
“For the love of God, Anna— you are mistaken! Bice is mis-
taken! It cannot be! It cannot be! »
The countess shook her head sadly: “No, I am not mistaken!
She has confessed to me. The doctor says that her recovery
depends-on that! )
«On what? ”
Her only reply was to look into his eyes with her eyes glow-
ing with fever. Then, under the influence of that look, his first
word, impetuous, almost brusque, was, “Oh! - No!
She clasped her hands.
“No, Anna! Just consider. It cannot be. You are mistaken,”
said the marquis again in violent agitation.
Tears choked her voice. Then she stretched out her hands
toward Roberto without saying a word, as in those happy days
no more. Only her face, with its expression of anguish and of
agonizing entreaty, had entirely changed in twenty-four hours.
Roberto bent his head down to hers.
Both of them were upright and loyal souls, in the worldly
sense of the word, so far as it means being sincere in every
act. Since Fate had seen fit to humble these proud and worthy
heads, they were for the first time required to face a result that
abruptly upset all their logic and showed its falsity. The count-
ess's revelation had overwhelmed Danei with a sort of stupor.
At this moment, as he thought the matter over, he was terri-
fied; and in that contest of loves and duties, under the reserve
imposed upon both of them by their relationships which ren-
dered it more difficult, he found himself at a complete loss. He
spoke of themselves, of the past, of the future so full of peril;
he tried to hit upon phrases and words that should smooth the
way for his arguments, lest by their harshness they should offend
or wound a single one of those sentiments so delicate and com-
plicated.
“But just imagine, Anna! Such a marriage is out of the
question! ”
She knew not what to say. She merely murmured, “My
daughter! my daughter! ”
>


## p. 15306 (#254) ##########################################

15306
GIOVANNI VERGA
(
(
"Well! Do you wish me to go away? do you wish me to
leave you forever? You know what a sacrifice I should make!
Well, do you wish it ? ”
"If you did, she would die. ”
Roberto hesitated before bringing forth his last resource.
Then lowering his voice he said, “Well, then -- then nothing
remains but to confess everything. ”
The mother grew rigid with a nervous spasm; her fingers
clutched the arms of the easy-chair; and she replied in a muffled
voice, bending her head, "She knows it - she suspects! ”
"And in spite of it ? ” asked Danei after a brief silence.
“It would kill her. I made her believe that she was mis.
taken. ”
“And she believed you ? »
“Oh! ” exclaimed the countess with a sad smile, "love is cred-
ulous. She believed me! ”
"And you ? ” he demanded, with a quiver which he could not
control betraying itself in his voice.
“I have already sacrified everything for my daughter. ” Then
she extended her hand and added, “Do you perceive how calm I
am?
(
(
"Are you certain that you will always be as calm ? ”
She replied, "I am. " And he felt a chill at the roots of his
hair, at the back of his head.
He arose staggering, and his head sank on his chest.
<Listen, Roberto. Now it is the mother who embraces you:
Anna is dead! Think of my daughter; love her for me and for
her own sake. She is pure and beautiful as an angel. Happi.
ness will bring back all her bloom. You will love her as you
have never loved before. Forget everything that has passed; be
calm!
Roberto grew pale as death, and answered never a word.
The engagement of the Contessina Bice was officially an-
nounced a few days after she was regarded as fairly convales.
cent.
Friends and relatives came to congratulate her on these two
fortunate events. The Marquis Danei was a most suitable per-
son; and if any one indiscreetly remarked on the disparity in age
between them, or made any other disparaging remark, a chorus
of ladies unanimously arose in scandalized protest against such
criticisms.


## p. 15307 (#255) ##########################################

GIOVANNI VERGA
15307
The girl was really returning to health, and growing radi-
ant with new life, sincerity, credulity, oblivion, – the frank egoism
of happiness, which found an answering chord in the heart of the
mother, who found sufficient strength even to smile upon them.
The doctor rubbed his hands, grumbling, “I deserve no thanks.
I do like Pilate. This blessed time of youth laughs at science.
Now here is my prescription: the spring at San Remo or at
Naples; the summer at Pegli or Leghorn; a trip to Rome for
the carnival — and a handsome little son to complete the cure. ”
When Bice wanted to take her mother along with her, the
countess replied, "No. The doctor and I have nothing whatever
to do with your journey. All my desire is that you may be
(
happy. ”
And she smiled on the newly engaged pair with her rather
pathetic smile. The daughter from time to time flashed a keen
look, as it were involuntarily, first at her mother and then at
her lover. When she heard her mother say these words, she,
without knowing why, threw her arms tightly round her and hid
her face in her bosom.
The countess had said that this should be her last festival;
and at the wedding ceremony, when the rooms were brilliant
with lights and crowded with friends and relatives, her pale deli-
cate cheeks really reminded them of the days when they used to
come and inquire for Bice. Roberto, when he kissed the count-
ess's hand, could not hide a certain anxiety. Afterwards, when
the last guest had departed, and the only carriage left was the
marquis's little coupé at the entrance, and the hack had taken
their luggage to the station, and Bice had gone to change her
gown,—the countess and Roberto were left alone for a moment.
"Make her happy! ” she said.
Danei was nervous: he kept fingering the button on his over-
coat and taking off his gloves. He made no remark.
Mother and daughter held each other in a long and tender
embrace. At last the countess almost brusquely pushed her
daughter away, saying, “It's late. You will lose your train. Go,
(C
go! ”
The Countess Orlandi had coughed a little that winter, and
had occasionally called in the doctor; who, with the desire not
to frighten her, scolded her for being in the habit of spending
the morning in church, “to save her soul at the expense of her
body," he would say. The worthy man pretended to make light
>


## p. 15308 (#256) ##########################################

15308
GIOVANNI VERGA
of the matter, so as to encourage her, but in reality he was anx-
ious; thus each of them almost deceived the other with a feigned
gayety, though they both felt that the trouble was serious.
Bice wrote that she was well, that she was having a delight-
ful time, that she was so happy; and later she hinted vaguely at
a coming event which would hasten their return before the end
of the year.
»
The countess telegraphed her to do nothing, but to await the
event where they were, protesting that she feared the journey
might be deleterious for her daughter. Later she said she would
come and join her. But she did not start, inventing a thousand
excuses, putting off from day to day the journey as if she dreaded
it. Telegram followed telegram. At last Roberto had a dispatch:
«Shall arrive to-night. ”
The first person whom Anna saw on the platform of the sta-
tion when she arrived was Roberto, who was waiting for her.
She pressed her muff spasmodically to her heart, as if she found
it hard to breathe. The marquis kissed her gloved hand and
gave her his arm while she whispered, “Bice — how is she ? »
—
“Bice is well,” he replied, — "as well as could be expected.
-
She will be so glad to see you. "
It seemed as if he were trying to choose the right words.
He kept his eyes turned to the door, impatient to be at home.
They passed swiftly by rows of brightly lighted houses and shops.
Then they went into darkness as they crossed a square. Both
instinctively kept at a distance and were silent.
Bice came hurrying forward to meet her mother, and threw
herself on her neck with a storm of kisses and disconnected
words. She was nervous, and Roberto gave her his arm to help
her up-stairs. The countess followed, being herself weary, and
loaded down under her heavy fur cloak.
When they met in the parlor by daylight, she was struck by
Bice's appearance: by her loose dressing-sack, by her blue-veined
hands, resting on the arms of the easy-chair into which she had
sunk down as if exhausted, but radiant with serene happiness,
Roberto bent down to whisper something in her ear. Without
being aware of it, they kept going aside gladly, to indulge in
little private conferences near the fireplace, the flames of which
cast a roseate aureole around them; in their self-absorption far
from the world, far from every one, forgetful of everything
else.


## p. 15309 (#257) ##########################################

GIOVANNI VERGA
15309
After the first excitement of that evening, the countess seemed
calmer. When she and Roberto chanced to be alone together,
and he talked,- talked as if he were afraid of silence, — she list-
ened with an abstracted smile, leaning back in her easy-chair
near the fire, which lighted up her dark hair, and her fine profile,
which in contrast with the light seemed like a cameo.
But a cloud seemed to hover between mother and daughter
in the intimacy of the family: an annoying and insurmountable
coolness which quenched all affectionate confidences; an embarrass-
ment that rendered disquieting all Roberto's acts of politeness
toward either of them, and sometimes even his presence with
them - as if it were a shadow of the past, clouding the daughter's
eyes, sending the color from the mother's cheeks, and even dis-
turbing Roberto from time to time. A tinge of bitterness could
be detected in the simplest words, in smiles which expected no
return, in glances which passed from one to the other full of
suspicion.
One evening when Bice had retired earlier than usual, and
Roberto had remained in the parlor with the countess to keep
her company, silence suddenly fell between them with a strange
sense of impending evil. Anna was standing with bent head
before the dying fire, shivering from time to time; and the lamp
placed on the mantelpiece threw golden reflections on the masses
of her hair, on the delicate nape of her neck, which seemed also
to be lighted up with wandering flames. As Roberto stooped
over to pick up the tongs, she gave a sudden start and bade him
good-night, saying that she felt weary. The marquis accom-
panied her to the door: he also felt the impulse of a vague
uneasiness. At that instant Bice appeared looking like a ghost,
clad in a white dressing-sack. Mother and daughter looked at
each other, and the former stood speechless, almost breathless.
Roberto, the least embarrassed of the three, asked, “What is the
matter, Bice ? »
“ Nothing. I couldn't go to sleep. What time is it? »
“It is not late. Your mother was just going to bed; she said
she felt tired. ”
"Ah! ” replied Bice. "Ah! ” That was all she said.
Anna, still trembling, murmured with a sad smile, “Yes, I am
tired; at my age
my children! »
"Ah! ” said Bice again.
(
>


## p. 15310 (#258) ##########################################

15310
GIOVANNI VERGA
Then the mother, growing pale as death, as if choked by
unspeakable anguish, added with the same melancholy smile,
“Don't you believe me? Don't you believe, Bice? ” And lifting
her hair a little from her temples, she showed her that the locks
underneath were all white.
"Oh, it is a long time-- a long, long time!
Bice, with an affectionate impulse, threw her arms around her
neck, and hid her face without saying another word. And her
mother's hands could feel how she was all trembling. Roberto,
who felt as if he were on pins and needles, had turned to go
out, seeing that his presence must be annoying under the circum-
stances. At that instant his eyes and Anna's met. He Aushed,
and for a moment there seemed to flash forth a recollection of
the past.
(
The Countess Anna spent two weeks in her daughter's house,
feeling all the time that she was an outsider, not only to Bice
but also to Roberto. How changed they were! When he gave
her his arm to go out to the dining-room — when Bice addressed
her as “mama” without looking at her, and blushed when she
spoke of her husband -
“Forget! — Be calm! ” she had said to Roberto, and neither
the one nor the other had forgotten at all.
She shut her eyes and shuddered at the thought. Sometimes,
suddenly, she was overwhelmed by flashes of anger, of a strange
unreasoning jealousy. He had robbed her of her daughter's
heart! This man had taken everything from her!
One evening a great commotion was heard in the house. Car-
riages and servants were dispatched hastily in various directions.
The physician and a woman came anxiously, and were instantly
ushered into Bice's apartment. And not one came after her; her
own daughter did not wish her to be present at this crisis of
her life. No, no one of them had forgotten! When the man
himself came to announce the birth of her granddaughter! when
she saw him trembling and radiant - no, she had never seen him
look that way before; — when she saw him by Bice's bedside,
where the young mother lay pale as if she were dead, and his
eyes filled with love for her alone, when his eyes looked only
at her! — then she felt an implacable hatred toward this man,
who caressed her daughter in her presence, and who even at that
moment received Bice's answering smile.


## p. 15311 (#259) ##########################################

GIOVANNI VERGA
15311
>
When they gave her name to the little granddaughter, and she
held the child in her arms at the baptismal service, she said with
a smile, “Now I can die. ”
Bice was slow in recovering her strength. Her delicate organ-
ism was still shaken. In the long days of convalescence, dark
thoughts came to her mind, - moods of fierce and unreasonable
irritation, of melancholy, as if she were neglected by every one.
Then she would give her husband a strange look out of her
clouded eyes and say, “Where have you been ?
Where are you
going? Why do you leave me alone? ”
Everything hurt her feelings: she even seemed to be jealous
of the relics of beauty which her mother still possessed. And
one day, trying to hide the eagerness which in spite of her
gleamed in her eyes, she went so far as to ask her when she
intended to go home.
• The mother bent her head as if under the weight of an inevi.
table punishment.
But afterwards Bice became her natural self, and seemed to
be asking forgiveness of them all by means of affectionate words
and kisses. As soon as she was able to leave her bed, the count-
ess set the day of her departure. When they bade each other
farewell at the station, both mother and daughter were deeply
affected: they kissed each other, and at the last moment, were as
unable to say a word as if they never expected to meet again!
The countess reached home late at night, deeply depressed,
benumbed with cold.