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WOMAN’S FOLLY 
 
I betnemann'g 5nternational Xtbrarv?. ^ 
 
 Edited by EDMUND GOSSE. 
 
 Crown 8 z/o, in paper covers y is. 6 d.y or cloth limp, 3J. (>d. 
 
 1. IN GOD'S IV A Y. From the Norwegian of 
 
 Bjornstjerne Bjornson. 
 
 2. PIERRE AND JEAN. From the French of 
 
 Guy de Maupassant. 
 
 3. THE CHIEF JUSTICE. From the German 
 
 of Karl Emil Franzos. 
 
 4. WORK WHILE YE HA VE THE LIGHT. 
 
 From the Russian of Count Lyof Tolstoi. 
 
 5. FANTASY. From the Italian of Matilde 
 
 Serao. 
 
 6. FROTH. From the Spanish of Don Armando 
 
 Pat AmCi Vatt^tJc 
 
 7. FOOTSTEPS OF FATE. From the Dutch 
 
 of Louis Couperus. 
 
 8. PE PIT A JIMENEZ. From the Spanish of 
 
 Juan Valera. 
 
 9. THE COMMODORE'S DA UGHTERS. From 
 
 the Norwegian of Jonas Lie. 
 
 10. THE HERITAGE OF THE KURTS. From 
 
 the Norwegian of Bjornstjerne Bjornson. 
 
 11. LOU. From the German of Baron von 
 
 I^OBERTS* 
 
 12. DONA LUZ. From the Spanish of Juan 
 
 Valera. 
 
 13. THE JE W. From the Polish of Joseph I. 
 
 Kraszewski. 
 
 14. UNDER THE YOKE. From the Bulgarian 1 
 
 of Ivan Vazoff. ! 
 
 15. FAREWELL LOVE! From the Italian of 
 
 Matilde Serao. 
 
 16. THE GRANDEE. From the Spanish of Don 
 
 Armando Palacio Valdes. 
 
 17. A COMMON STORY. From the Russian of 
 
 Ivan Gontcharoff. 
 
 18. WOMAN'S FOLLY. From the Italian of 
 
 Gemma Ferruggia. 
 
 In preparation. 
 
 NIOBE. From the Norwegian of Jonas Lie. 
 
 Each Volume contains a specially written 
 Introduction by the Editor. 
 
 London : W. HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford St., W.C. 
 
WOMAN’S Folly 
 
 BY 
 
 GEMMA FERRUGGIA 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN 
 By HELEN ZIMMERN 
 
 LONDON 
 
 WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 
 189s 
 
 [Al^ rights resertied] 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/womansfollyOOferr 
 

 X 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 It is scarcely two years since Gemma Ferruggia, 
 \ the author of this novel, suddenly sprang into fame 
 by the publication of Folhe Muliebri^ which we 
 \ here present to English readers under the title of 
 I'' Woman's Folly, ^ She had already published several 
 novels, Verso il nulla^ Lldea^ L Enigma Soave^ but 
 ? these had attracted no particular notice. Follie 
 i Muliebri^ on the other hand, produced an extraor- 
 iv dinary sensation, and has been more widely read 
 ^than perhaps any other specimen of recent Italian 
 j^ fiction. Of the circumstances of Gemma Ferruggia^s 
 life I know nothing, but it is clear from her writings 
 - that she is familiar with country life in the northern 
 Impart of Italy. Follie Muliebri was published at 
 Q^^ilan in the summer of 1893. 
 
 ^ It is sometimes alleged that I am too partial to 
 
 ^ * The exact translation of these words would be “Feminine 
 Mad Tricks ” or “ Extravagances.” Miss Helen Zimmern must 
 t^not be held responsible for the more convenient English equi- 
 valent, or be supposed to have taken plural words for singular. 
 
VI 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 the novels which appear in this series of translations, 
 and claim for them a recognition in excess of their 
 merits. I shall certainly not err by any such 
 praise of Woman! s Folly ^ nor take upon myself the 
 dangerous task of pronouncing approval of it. It 
 emanates from a class of which England has lately 
 produced some striking and popular examples, the 
 class of the emancipated New Woman. All I claim 
 for it is that, in this class, it takes a foremost place. 
 It leaves George Egerton ” and Madam Sarah 
 Grand panting far behind. The New Woman has 
 not, I think, in any country, expressed herself with 
 more daring, and I think she never will. After 
 such a revelation of the sex, reaction must follow, 
 since the limits of iconoclasm have been reached. 
 The graven image called Man lies at the feet of 
 Gemma Ferruggia, and she has ground him to dust. 
 
 It would be presumptuous for a mere man to 
 comment on the ethics of a book which, like 
 Womafis Folly, is hedged about with femininity. 
 This novel is written by a lady, is dedicated by 
 name to a well-known Italian lady, who seems in 
 some occult way to have commanded its composition ; 
 it has been read with rapture by thousands of 
 Italian women, and an Englishwoman of letters has 
 translated it with enthusiasm. For a man to criti- 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 vii 
 
 cise IVoman^s Folly would be to intrude into the 
 mysteries of Ceres or push uninvited into the 
 Pioneer Club. To such a critic the authoress would 
 scornfully reply, in the words of her heroine, lo 
 contemplava me^ alP infuoride meP I am creating 
 out of my own heart types of womanhood, and 
 Woman has freed herself from the insulting bond- 
 age of male supervision.”) That is, of course, what 
 makes WomafPs Folly interesting, if interesting it is 
 found. 
 
 Yet the modest male may, without offence, draw 
 attention to the curious features of the masterpiece 
 revealed to him. He finds himself finally routed 
 and pulverised by Gemma Ferruggia. Her weaker 
 Northern sisters have acknowledged possibilities of 
 virtue, if not of usefulness, in man. They have so 
 far paltered with their consciences as to admit that 
 some very old men, now and then a clergyman, very 
 rarely an unsuccessful artist, occasionally a male of 
 the lower classes, may be not entirely vile. But to 
 the uplifted sensibilities of Gemma Ferruggia, 
 Man is wholly the accursed thing. In youth and in 
 age, in poverty and in wealth, handsome or ugly, 
 clever or stupid, the male is inevitably sordid, sen- 
 sual, treasonable, weak and criminal ; he touches 
 Woman but to tyrannise over or to defile her. He 
 
viii 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 no longer takes the role of Adam, but of the Serpent. 
 If Woman errs, becomes hysterical and degraded, 
 loses her self-respect, it is the fault of Man. She 
 would be of an Arcadian sweetness were it not for 
 him, and his is in her veins the inherited poison 
 which destroys her. 
 
 This is a very curious theory, and one developed 
 within the last few years. It has fed on the honey- 
 dew of Lombroso and Max Nordau, and has drunk 
 the milk of Hereditary Degeneration. A very quaint 
 feature about it is that it repeats, with a change of 
 sex, exactly what was said in the early Middle Ages 
 by the priests. Then Woman was the accursed 
 thing, from whom all the woes and disgrace of Man 
 proceeded ; then female eyes played the basilisk 
 and female tyrannies ate into the heart of the race. 
 The sterile theory is now reversed, and Man enjoys 
 the obloquy which he once cast on Woman. 
 Woman, herself, as reflected in the imagination of 
 Gemma Ferruggia, has lost her pastoral bloom, and 
 has attached to herself some very ugly qualities, 
 but that, no doubt, is owing to her long juxta- 
 position with the damning sex. 
 
 No one, I think, and not even a male reader, 
 will deny that Gemma Ferruggia wields a powerful 
 pen, or that she has a command of passion. Her 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 IX 
 
 novel is a study of three types of womanhood, each 
 of whom, in her peculiar way, loses the guerdon 
 of life by the excess of her own qualities. The 
 epigraph of Follte Muliebrt might be Christina 
 Rossetti^s splendid sonnet, Triad” : 
 
 “ Three sang of love together ; one with lips 
 Crimson, with cheeks and bosom in a glow, 
 
 Flushed to the yellow hair and finger-tips ; 
 
 And one there sang who soft and smooth as snow 
 Bloomed like a tinted hyacinth at a show; 
 
 And one was blue with famine after love, 
 
 Who, like a harpstring snapped, rang harsh and low 
 The burden of what those were singing of. 
 
 One shamed herself in love; one temperately 
 Grew gross in soulless love, a sluggish wife; 
 
 One famished died for love ; thus two of three 
 Took death for love and won him after strife ; 
 
 One droned in sweetness like a fattened bee : 
 
 All on the threshold, yet all short of life.” 
 
 EDMUND GOSSE, 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 Types 
 
 The Souls 
 
 PART II 
 
 PART III 
 
 The Death of a Soul 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 91 
 
 145 
 
PART I 
 
 TYPES 
 
 What Caterina Soave wrote to Doctor 
 Lorenzo Alvise, the famous Pro- 
 fessor of Psychiatry. 
 
PART I 
 TYPES 
 
 You are good : I want you also to be great. 
 
 It is not your science that has saved me, Doctor, 
 but your goodness ; your noble and eloquent words, 
 your liberal-minded actions ; your glances kindled 
 by enthusiasm for all that is pure and true, the 
 atmosphere of convincing honesty that surrounds 
 you — for you are impassioned and entrancing, like 
 almost all who are Utopians by conviction ! 
 
 Mistrust your great Utopia, my friend ; it bears 
 the semblance of truth, and is called science, 
 
 I, Caterina Soave, the sad and silent woman you 
 have saved, did not hesitate in the conception of 
 crime, felt no terror at the moment of the act, and did 
 not tremble for fear of punishment ; after the deed no 
 quiver ran through me when I embraced my little 
 son, I felt no agitation at the meeting with my sister 
 Lorenza, the miserable creature my deed has irrevo- 
 cably condemned, nor was I disturbed by the tragic 
 speech of my other sister, Luisa, that rebellious 
 daughter who now seems consumed by remorse. 
 
 What unnerved me was the terrible irony of 
 your belief in me. 
 
4 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 I kept silence, faithful to my convictions, strong 
 in my sense of justice ; I persistently refused to 
 speak before those who accused me, cursed me, and 
 threatened me. I was not alarmed, I did not care; 
 I knew already that the counsel for the prosecution, 
 with his imperfect general knowledge, knew better 
 than you ; but I did not weep because of what I 
 heard, I wept for astonishment and compassion 
 momentarily influenced by the sublimity of your 
 unconsciousness. 
 
 You alone, therefore, deserve to know. 
 
 Do you remember ? First came Luisa ; she 
 spoke at length, impressing the public by the 
 clearness of her evidence. I listened, and looked 
 at her tranquilly, knowing well that those deep, 
 tragic eyes of hers dare not fix themselves on me, 
 for my sister Luisa lied, lied to save me. Then 
 came Lorenza, the dreamer. Possibly, in her holy 
 but misguided affection for me, the poor girl thought 
 she was doing her duty to me in telling such a 
 mass of untruths ; I followed the convulsive move- 
 ments of her pallid lips, contaminated by these 
 falsehoods, I noticed the pitiful trembling of her 
 slender form, and the burden of her sacrifice in her 
 sorrowful eyes ; in every word, in every little action 
 of her thin and nervous hands, I could read the 
 sacrifice she was making. 
 
 If I had said to her,^^ You lie ! Remember God ! ” 
 the girl would have stopped instantly, and, burn- 
 ing with the truth, would instantly have betrayed 
 herself. 
 
 Many times, in horror at the deception, I was 
 
TYPES 
 
 5 
 
 on the point of interrupting Luisa, or of imposing 
 silence on Lorenza. During the whole, intermin- 
 able trial I felt no anxiety for my own safety ; I 
 was a calm and attentive spectator, full of curiosity, 
 keen of observation, genuine in my surprise. 
 
 I contemplated myself, outside of myself, as it 
 were another person. This was nothing new for 
 me ; I had always listened to myself and studied 
 myself; always, in every circumstance of my life, 
 I had foreseen events, waiting for them with a con- 
 viction of their inevitableness, feeling this double 
 life even to the extent of being irritated against 
 myself, as though another personality were opposed 
 to mine, forcing me to an active vigilance hateful in 
 its resistance, hateful in its futility. Perhaps you 
 think strife ensued ; on the contrary, there was 
 never any strife, I felt and still feel myself exist in 
 perfect accord of fatalism and conscience. 
 
 I wish you to know all — you, who described me 
 as a gloomy and hysterical creature, moved by an 
 irresistible power, impelled by a burst of sensual 
 jealousy I ? 
 
 And why did you believe the evidence of those 
 who saved me so unjustly ? You believed the words 
 of Luisa, cynical and resolute in her good intentions ; 
 you believed Lorenza, sinful despite her holy pur- 
 pose, you believed the poetic inventions of Gustavo 
 Mariani, Lorenza^s unstable lover, and the clumsy 
 falsehoods of my brother-in-law Antonio. 
 
 I will confess to you : I hate all those people who 
 lied for me. 
 
 What did my sisters say ? 
 
6 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 Caterina has always suffered from fearful con- 
 vulsions : when quite a child she would fling herself 
 on the ground for a mere nothing, foam at the 
 mouth, bite her hands, a prey to violent attacks of 
 unreasoning anger. 
 
 It is not true, it is not true. Caterina Soave is 
 a creature without nerves, a vigorous creature who 
 has never been ill, never. I like all that is healthy, 
 strong, and firm. When I was quite young I went 
 with my father to visit our farms ; I stayed for 
 hours and hours in the sun, I took part in the 
 peasants’ work, the most laborious occupations 
 were those that attracted me most ; I had always 
 a horror of meditation, a horror of a contemplative 
 life ; even now, when I find Lorenza on her knees, 
 lost in prayer, fainting before the crucifix, I am 
 filled with a sense of disgust that overcomes all 
 feelings of compassion. 
 
 Those fits of weeping, so common to women, are 
 unknown to me ; I did not weep at the death of my 
 father, I did not sob beside my mother’s corpse, for 
 all that is brought about by natural laws inspires 
 me with with deep respect, almost a holy respect. 
 I loved my parents calmly, and I obeyed them also ; 
 my sister Luisa, who fled from her home to marry 
 a common man, filled me with scorn and contempt, 
 but not with anger. 
 
 Anger is an ignoble sentiment ; it is worse, it is 
 a useless sentiment — Caterina Soave has a horror 
 of everything that is useless. 
 
 What did Gustavo Mariani say ? 
 
 ^^The accused, who is of a sensitive nature and 
 
TYPES 
 
 7 
 
 easily excited, has a most extraordinary hatred for 
 music ; often, at night, I have met her wandering 
 about the country, or standing motionless in the 
 moonlit fields ; she is fond of taking long rides 
 on horseback, from which she returns with scarlet 
 cheeks and flashing eyes — a prey to a sort of 
 nervous fever 
 
 The fool ! It is quite true that I prefer the 
 harmony of nature to the false notes of man^s 
 exaggerated imagination ; I mean the silent music, 
 joyful or sad, that is in all things unchangeable ; 
 it is very true that, weary of the sound of the 
 human voice, weary of the tyranny of the presence 
 of thinking beings, of persons who change their 
 loves, their localities, their ideas, I would visit 
 the things that are faithful to one place, the stones 
 in the torrent that never tire of the wild water 
 that kisses them as it rushes past, the turbulent 
 stream that never tires of kissing, the grass that 
 faithfully returns, springing up afresh year by 
 year. And it is true, too, that I returned cheer- 
 ful, not excited, from those long rides ; the wind 
 roughened my face and quickened my blood, and 
 put new vigour into me ; the sight of the country, 
 where eye and soul made such vast and marvel- 
 lous discoveries, reconciled me to life. But how 
 could they understand, those people, what they 
 chose to call the irresponsibility of my crime ? 
 
 ^^The father of the prisoner,’^ said my brother- 
 in-law Antonio, was of an authoritative character 
 — a sort of czar — who ill-treated his labourers, 
 and was inexorable in the matter of punishment. 
 
8 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 A sister of Caterina^s mother was an epileptic 
 subject, who became furious at the smell of certain 
 scents and the sight of certain colours/^ 
 
 Thus the wretch revenged himself on the dead. 
 My poor father, who believed, like me, in a great 
 human hierarchy ! And poor mother, so faithful 
 to the memory of Aunt Beatrice ! Perhaps that 
 is why I loved all strongly scented flowers ! 
 Perhaps that is why I have never worn light- 
 coloured dresses ? 
 
 No, Doctor, no. It was for no reasons of here- 
 dity that I killed my husband. 
 
 Now listen. From the time when you saved 
 me, two years ago, I set myself to overcome my 
 dislike to reading ; that dislike was so intense 
 that, until I was thirty years old, I remained 
 profoundly ignorant, but in the last two years I 
 have eagerly read everything that has been pro- 
 duced in that new species of literature which may 
 be called the apotheosis of crime; all the horrors 
 committed by murderers, studied in cold blood, 
 and described anatomically, made no impression 
 on me, but left me calm and unconvinced. I 
 studied books of science, which seemed to me 
 like romances ; I studied works of romance which 
 seemed as useless as those of science ; the former 
 appeared to me most imperfect, the latter appeared 
 paradoxical m their sentiments, and ironical and 
 ridiculous in what was supposed to represent the 
 positive view. 
 
 I read Lombroso ; I read La Fille Elisa ” by 
 Goncourt, and '^Giovanni Episcopo^^ and ^^L’ln- 
 
TYPES 
 
 9 
 
 nocente by Gabriele D’Annunzio ; also many 
 Russian books, great and impressive as the 
 steppes ; the dull romances of English literature, 
 and the coarse French romances which seem 
 schools for thieves and criminals, preaching revolt, 
 the knife, and the ambuscade. From all these 
 half-fearful, half-fascinating studies of crime I drew 
 one blunt and frank conclusion — none know them- 
 selves, the history of crime does not exist, all are 
 themselves criminals. There ! 
 
 Ah, c’est que je ne suis pas une fille ! (I write 
 this in French, for the bluntness of the corre- 
 sponding Italian expression disgusts and offends 
 me.) No ; je ne suis pas une fille comme Elisa, 
 cette femme perdue .... epileptic and sinful, half 
 through surprise at herself! In my family there 
 exist no strange laws of criminal heredity ; neither 
 does there exist any single point of sympathy 
 between me and those who obey the ignoble 
 instincts of sensual jealousy, for I never loved 
 my husband, nor felt myself drawn towards him 
 through any one of the senses. I remained faith- 
 ful to him, and that is sufficient ; and just so he 
 should have remained faithful to me. 
 
 Doctor, you will have to condemn me, in accord- 
 ance with all human laws, and that because I 
 committed murder, being fully conscious of my 
 deed. 
 
 Science will gain nothing from my story — and 
 even if it did, do you believe that one single crime 
 could influence in any way the history of the 
 future ? Of what use is it to know if one can- 
 
10 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 not escape the inevitable^ nor cure the irreme- 
 diable ? 
 
 I am going to tell my story to you, out of 
 respect for your honesty, which has been deceived 
 by false ideas — but to no one else. Know, then, 
 that for the last seven years I have felt the 
 approach of the inevitable moment when I should 
 be forced to kill Lodovico. 
 
 Doctor, believe it ; you should have let me be 
 condemned, you yourself should have condemned 
 me to the utmost penalty of the law. 
 
 You know that I still persist in calling myself 
 by my maiden name, for my husband’s name is 
 hateful to me, and it seems to me that, since his 
 death, I am re-acquiring the habits, almost the 
 thoughts, and almost living over again the events 
 of my strong and vigorous youth. In this new 
 virginity of spirit I do not wish to be the Signora 
 Rosalba ; I am Caterina Soave, justly simply 
 Donna Caterina, as I was called in my girlhood, 
 and as I am still called by the peasants here in my 
 old home. 
 
 The Soaves are a very old family, and have 
 always been country gentlemen, impatient of all 
 disturbance and of all innovations. Very few of 
 the family justified the gentleness of their name ; * 
 in the last century there still existed terrible hatred 
 between brothers — nay, it appears even that Don 
 Federico, my great-grandfather, murdered his 
 brother, Don Cesare, who for love’s sake had 
 * Soave means sweet. 
 
TYPES 
 
 1 1 
 
 abandoned his ecclesiastical career. Our home, a 
 vast seignorial abode, is, as it were, steeped in 
 memories. My father, Don Carlo, gave it the 
 character which it still preserves, a curious com- 
 bination of castle and modern habitation ; one side 
 like an inaccessible owfs nest, sombre and severe, 
 and the other like a fattoria pervaded by the spirit 
 of earnest work. From the gate, over which was a 
 coat-of-arms broken and chipped by stones thrown 
 at it by every idle passer-by, one entered the great 
 courtyard, which was embellished by a characteristic 
 well placed near the porch ; here, on slender stone 
 columns, rose, blackened and forbidding, the oldest 
 portion of the house. The porch led into an 
 immense hall with many windows, which looked 
 into the inner courtyard, and from whence a stair- 
 case, in very bad repair, led into the wild and 
 uncultivated but beautiful garden ; beyond the 
 garden, outside the great iron gates, lay the 
 meadows. 
 
 In winter-time, in the poorly-furnished, carpet- 
 less ground-floor rooms, bare of every modern 
 luxury, the wood burnt and roared in the huge 
 fireplaces, and the leaping flames seemed each like 
 a separate passion ardent and fierce. From the 
 windows was seen the garden, its plants and trees 
 all spectral and silver with snow, and the ground 
 a pure, untrodden carpet of dazzling whiteness, 
 over which the wind sometimes swept in wild and 
 furious gusts. In summer time the sun blazed 
 down on every part of it. Only in the evenings, 
 when the noisy sparrows fluttered round the open 
 
12 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 windows, and more especially later on, when some 
 inquisitive bat would fly in to visit the silent rooms, 
 the spirits came in too. 
 
 You do not believe in spirits, Doctor, but I do. 
 I believe in my spirits^ who come slowly, softly 
 round me in the darkness. 
 
 What was I saying ? Ah, yes ! I was saying 
 that Luisa, Lorenza, and I grew up with these 
 surroundings — So bare and barren,” said Luisa ; 
 
 So cold,” said Lorenza ; So austerely honest,” 
 said I — that I love those who pass their property 
 down from generation to generation, clinging to it for 
 centuries, and detest those who willingly part with it. 
 
 My father loved no one but me ; I alone under- 
 stood him, I alone comprehended his thoughts and 
 his feelings. My mother, who was of an angelic 
 goodness, wished only well to all, and lived in 
 ntense adoration of those belonging to her. 
 Although without education she had great natural 
 common-sense ; her husband had never admired her, 
 not even in the first years of their marriage, when 
 she came in all her bright and youthful beauty as a 
 bride to that still and melancholy house ; but never- 
 theless he had always approved of all she did, 
 and treated her with dignified respect and unswerv- 
 ing devotion. My brothers all died in early infancy, 
 and there remained only we three girls — Luisa, eight 
 years older than I ; myself, Caterina ; and Lorenza, 
 five years my junior. 
 
 My mother, ever patient, gave all her thoughts 
 to religious instruction ; my father, a man of high 
 culture and education, took every opportunity of 
 
TYPES 
 
 13 
 
 instructing us in practical matters. Twice a week 
 a professor came to us from the town, and then we 
 had long, wearisome days of study, lesson after 
 lesson, bewildering knowledge of various kinds 
 imparted in hurried and confused succession. The 
 Professor arrived early in the morning, dined with 
 us, and went away in the evening. An elderly 
 man was Professor Luigi Amati, a man of mediocre 
 intelligence, who irritated me as much as I irritated 
 him. I preferred my father, who taught me clearly 
 and concisely and without pedantic rules. Amati 
 understood this, and revenged himself by constantly 
 comparing me with Luisa, who was always an 
 attentive and diligent pupil. I knew I was no 
 genius, I was intelligent and nothing more ; I was 
 certainly better suited for a life of physical rather 
 than intellectual activity. Lorenza studied slowly 
 and quietly -we elder ones, but especially Luisa, 
 gave her all the help we could. 
 
 In my free hours I roamed about the fields ; I 
 was always out-of-doors, even in bad weather. 
 Luisa spent her time reading ; she had no fixed 
 rules, and took books of every description from the 
 library in the house. Lorenza, with her dreamy 
 disposition, stayed with our mother, who was very 
 musical and played a great deal. Sometimes, though 
 not often, I put my fingers in my ears and 
 silently watched the dear maternal face, into which 
 the harmony of music brought such a celestial light. 
 Then, in awe and amazement, I would turn from 
 the room and go out, and not return to the house 
 until a late houn 
 
14 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 I cared for neither music, nor literature, nor sculp- 
 ture. The simplest pictures hardly succeeded in 
 arresting my attention ; music irritated me ; literature 
 failed to rouse my enthusiasm. Oh, how angry Pro- 
 fessor Amati used to get when I showed my dis- 
 like for modern writers and my irreverence for the 
 classics! When I said that literary men of all times 
 and all countries appeared to me to be hysterical and 
 bilious, steeped in egoism, who wish to inspire 
 others, but refuse to let themselves be inspired by 
 the natural and simple motions that move the soul ! 
 When I said that Dante, enamoured of hatred, that 
 Petrarch, devoured by egoism, that Tasso, with his 
 wild ravings betwixt heaven and earth, and Ariosto, 
 the fantastic fool, did not, any of them, make me 
 throb with a single feeling of sympathy or convic- 
 tion ! I, myself, was always capable of constancy. 
 I had studied Latin that I might read the poems 
 saturated with pantheistic passion. So I listened 
 to Nature alone, with her sublime generosity, and 
 let her speak to me through her magical creative 
 power, through her apparent deaths and her mira- 
 culous resurrections. 
 
 Sculpture gave me, and gives me still, a sensa- 
 tion of terror ; to my mind it lacks colour and ex- 
 pression, and the soft delicacy that resembles life. 
 Sculpture always seemed to me a funeral kind of 
 art, belonging to world of deadly whiteness, a world 
 of blind and hollow-eyed people. Moreover, I have 
 never been able to overcome my repugnance to the 
 sight of the nude. Very few paintings — that I will 
 call clothed — inspire me with anything else than 
 
TYPES 
 
 15 
 
 respect for the artists who have known howto keep 
 to the truth. Thus, during our first years of study, 
 Luisa read, Lorenza dreamed, and I meditated. 
 
 And now Luisa is lost by her own deed, Lorenza 
 lives in agony, and I have done what I have done. 
 
 I will first tell you about Luisa, and will 
 describe to you the scene when she forswore 
 herself. 
 
 We had been out riding, my father and I, and 
 had passed many hours together, speaking little, 
 as was our custom, but always understanding each 
 other marvellously well. The vast landscape spoke 
 for us, and in the quiet hours of sunset the vague 
 odours of early spring were wafted in the air, while 
 to the dying February invisible violets lifted their 
 mysterious music of perfume. The eye wandered 
 over the sharply-defined line of the high road, the 
 snow-hardened earth, the trees still bare and leaf- 
 less, and followed the hedges, already masses of 
 young shoots ; it gazed into the changeless blue of 
 the sky, and then, lower down, but far away, 
 lingered lovingly on the broken, turquoise outline of 
 a chain of hills. The bare fields were discoloured 
 and dry, and made one think of a recent and ter- 
 rible fire — by a strange contrast the frozen snow 
 seemed to scorch the earth. Here and there it 
 still lay in glistening strips upon the ground, no 
 longer purely white, but frozen in masses, with 
 pools of murky water like dark mirrors, in places 
 half melted, crumbled, and broken. 
 
 These impressions, which stamp themselves 
 upon the mind, we did not interpret by means 
 
i6 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 of another’s thoughts — thoughts more or less 
 powerful — but we felt them by the force of our 
 own individualities, the healthy force of our own 
 bodies, and we were proud of it, my father and 
 I. Doctor, I have already told you that I believe 
 in spirits ; well, in the phenomena of spiritualism 
 I place first presentiments and dreams. On our 
 return, as I was dismounting in the courtyard 
 where the shadows lengthen insensibly, there 
 came over me that strange spiritual phenomenon 
 which may, perhaps, be classed rather as a pre- 
 sentiment. I felt a sudden impulse of anger 
 against some one, I did not know whom, some 
 cruel and invisible being, an evil spirit who was 
 preparing a terrible and irremediable catastrophe ; 
 and together with the sense of the irreparable, 
 a feeling of divine tenderness invaded my heart. 
 I felt distinctly and with certainty that that wave 
 of affection was directed towards my sweet mother. 
 In dismay, with an instinctive movement, I listened 
 intently, but I heard nothing ; there was a deadly 
 silence, only my eyes seem.ed to be offended by 
 some vague shadow which was slowly advancing 
 towards me. I entered the hall, and beside the 
 shuttered windows saw the little Lorenza, who 
 was seated on the ground singing to herself and 
 making a piece of furniture out of the painted 
 cardboard of her journal La Poupee Modele, When 
 she saw me, the little one lifted her blonde 
 head to smile at me, and her little, flexible, 
 childish voice continued to murmur its improvised 
 lullaby. I was quite calm when I stretched out 
 
TYPES 
 
 17 
 
 my hand to caress Lorenza^s golden locks, but 
 suddenly I felt myself obliged, as by some un- 
 known force, to look towards the corner where 
 my mother usually sat, working ; on the little table, 
 amongst the skeins of embroidery silk, was laid 
 a book. Then my hand — that which had intended 
 stroking the child’s golden hair, the right hand — 
 felt compelled to touch this book, to take it up, 
 and someone or something commanded me to read 
 its title. 
 
 It was Tennyson^s May Queen. 
 
 Instantly the strange spirit phenomenon was re- 
 peated ; an immense anger took possession of me ; 
 against whom ? and I was also filled with an over- 
 whelming tenderness for my mother. I shuddered. 
 
 Doctor, you cannot possibly even imagine how 
 I pity science, which laughs at these things. 
 What I tell you was so realj was so true, that 
 the memory of it, after eighteen years, is still 
 rooted in my mind, vivid and terrible, and is far 
 more real to me than the memory of the crime, 
 which is so much more recent and more awful. 
 I turned to leave the hall, re-crossed the porch, 
 and ran swiftly up to the first floor. I held the 
 train of my black riding-habit thrown over my 
 arm, I still wore my felt hat and carried my whip 
 in my gloved right hand. 
 
 As I opened the door of my mother’s room I 
 heard her gentle mournful voice exclaim : 
 
 How I suffer ! ” 
 
 (She always complained in English, I don’t 
 know why.) 
 
 B 
 
i8 
 
 WOMAN*S FOLLY 
 
 I Stopped, as though I had been struck. 
 
 ^'How I suffer 
 
 Oh mother mine, so sacredly dear to me, why 
 should you suffer ? 
 
 As if in answer to my unspoken question I 
 heard the dressing-room door open and my father’s 
 severe, calm voice inquire : 
 
 Who causes you suffering, Anna ? ” 
 
 There was no answer — I decided to enter. 
 Then I saw my poor mother leaning back help- 
 lessly in her armchair beside the window, which 
 she must have opened, feeling ill and with a 
 sudden sense of suffocation. I saw my father 
 standing motionless and dignified at the drawing- 
 room door, and I also saw my sister Luisa stand- 
 ing erect in the middle of the room, her magnificent 
 figure drawn up to its full height and quivering 
 with defiance. 
 
 Listen, Doctor Alvise. I have read what the 
 newspapers said about me at the time of the trial, 
 and I cannot imagine why they should have de- 
 scribed me as a sullen and dangerous beauty, 
 intensely passionate, a mysterious creature full of 
 strange and disquieting fascinations.” Oh, how I 
 laughed at those empty phrases, so presumptuous 
 and false, chosen at random from their stupid 
 modern jargon ! I was never beautiful, and even 
 Lorenza, with her fragile and flower-like delicacy, 
 cannot be called beautiful. But Luisa was mag- 
 nificent, with the distinctive beauty of an antique 
 goddess ; her features were regular, her brown 
 eyes were like two wonderful stars, and her small 
 
TYPES 
 
 19 
 
 mouth and bright red lips had the curved lines that 
 indicate a passionate nature. I never loved my 
 elder sister, but her strong, healthy beauty pleased 
 and attracted me. If you had seen her that 
 evening as she stood there, audacious and defiant, 
 she would have reminded you of a magnificent 
 tigress ready for a furious spring rather than on 
 her defence ; her face betrayed no feminine weak- 
 ness, for its expression was almost savage, and 
 her luxuriant black curls surrounded her proud 
 features as with a rich frame. She must have 
 been speaking for some time, for her whole body 
 quivered with agitation and all the wealth of her 
 hair had fallen down, a long thick braid rested on 
 her shoulder and the rebellious curls clung about 
 her neck and round her ears. 
 
 The calamitous and irreparable event, of which 
 I had been mysteriously forewarned, was about 
 to take place. 
 
 Who causes you suffering, Anna ? ” 
 
 My poor mother had made no answer. Evi- 
 dently Luisa was waiting to be questioned, and 
 from her attitude we would divine that her answer 
 would be decisive. By we, I mean my father, 
 my mother, and myself, for Luisa had already 
 ceased to belong to the family. It was, perhaps, 
 for this reason that Don Carlo Soave hesitated 
 before pronouncing this terrible sentence. 
 
 It is you then, Luisa, who would dishonour 
 us?” 
 
 And then we had to listen to a bitter stream of 
 sacrilegious words. 
 
20 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 Dishonour you ? ” began my sister in a tone of 
 biting irony, ‘‘ well, then, let us discuss this sup- 
 posed dishonour, since it appears I am to be 
 plagued with this melodramatic language/^ 
 
 My mother sighed piteously ; I could not believe 
 my ears, I dared not look at my father's blazing 
 eyes. Luisa ! What devil had entered into her 
 soul ? 
 
 I was seventeen years old at this time and 
 Luisa was twenty-five. 
 
 It was the first revelation I had ever had of 
 the violence which sensual love arouses in certain 
 natures, and my only feeling was one of disgust ; I 
 had no excuse for it, no pity, nothing but hatred 
 and contempt. 
 
 I love, I adore, I idolise Antonio Valenti ! " 
 cried the rebel, with a smile on her lips and a 
 flash of almost exalted pride in her eyes. 
 
 Hush ! Be quiet ! " entreated my mother in a 
 faint whisper, as if her strength had suddenly 
 forsaken her. 
 
 Go on ! " commanded my father. 
 
 Then I was frightened. I knew that fear- 
 inspiring tone of authority, that tone which I loved 
 for its strength and which seemed to me like an 
 intangible inheritance and which thrilled through 
 my very veins. 
 
 Ah, but she was not afraid, not she ; love had 
 given her courage for more terrible struggles still, 
 even for a long series of struggles, which are in 
 themselves an expiation, and into the first of which 
 she now boldly plunged. She continued : 
 
TYPES 
 
 21 
 
 \ 
 
 How can this dishonour you ? I do not under- 
 stand you. I never was and never shall be the 
 mistress of Antonio, of my Antonio, for I mean to 
 marry him and I will marry him ! ’’ 
 
 I was stunned, and I listened to her with a 
 feeling of nausea that seemed to strangle me, and 
 my mother had closed her sorrowful eyes as if in 
 horror ; only my father had the courage to look at 
 her, without moving an eyelid, had even the 
 strength to smile. But, oh my God ! What a 
 smile ! 
 
 She, the blasphemer, was as inexhaustible in 
 attack as in defence ; she seemed the inspired and 
 eloquent priestess of some unknown religion, of the 
 worship of liberty, a liberty absolute and outrageous. 
 Her faith, her ironical and miserable faith, that was 
 founded on the love of a man, flashed from her 
 eyes and glowed in her beautiful face, made her 
 powerful, magnificent and awful. 
 
 The nation may be free, the press free, the 
 elections free, thought free, worship free, everything 
 may be free except the heart ! It is absurd ! 
 
 Oh Lord, Lord ! who taught you to speak 
 so ? " murmured my mother. 
 
 Go on’* said my father again. 
 
 And Luisa never stopped. 
 
 How often have I thrown myself in your arms, 
 mother, with terrible fits of sobbing that seemed to 
 break my heart ! How often, mother, you can 
 say — tell them, you tell them ! I implored your 
 aid, did I not, I besought you to intercede with 
 father for me ? But it was no, no, always no. 
 
22 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 You were too weak to face the wrath which I now 
 must brave alone — you had only words of empty 
 piety with which to oppose the passion that was 
 devouring me. Religion, respect for parents, good 
 sense, dignity ! It’s a mediaeval tyranny that I 
 detest. I am of age ; I love, I am free. And I 
 am going away ; yes, I am going away. I am tired 
 of concealing a deep and noble love, and he is 
 right to doubt me, for I lie and I oblige him to lie — 
 oblige him .... him ! How long it has lasted ! 
 To go out at night, hardly daring to breathe, to 
 steal downstairs barefoot, like a thief, to slip out 
 into the garden and glide along the wall, to unbolt 
 the gate, to fall trembling into his arms for one 
 moment, to say farewell in agony of soul, with a 
 voice of terror, only to begin it all over again the 
 next night, and to renew the same base subterfuge. 
 It is unworthy of me who do not blush to love 
 him, and unworthy of him who is loyalty itself. 
 But now there has been enough of all that. So 
 far all that has passed between us has been chaste 
 and pure .... but to-morrow ? Who can I 
 have waited until now in a mad dream of expec- 
 tation, for I always hoped to obtain your consent. 
 
 A mad dream, truly ! ” exclaimed my father at 
 
 last. 
 
 Alas ! I know it. And it is for that reason I 
 am going away ! ” broke in Luisa. 
 
 I felt furiously angry ; suddenly, through all 
 this fierce eloquence, there was revealed to me a 
 shameful wrong which I had never even suspected. 
 I had often heard Antonio Valenti mentioned ; he 
 
TYPES 
 
 23 
 
 was one of our tenants, a curious type of peasant, 
 a creature excited by reading books ill-suited to his 
 imperfect education. I had been told that Valenti 
 talked of revolts, of strikes, of fantastic ideas of 
 right and wrong, posing ridiculously as the apostle 
 of a new era of absolute liberty, of an era of free 
 thought in a perfectly free society. I had been 
 told, too, of the hatred borne by the Valenti family 
 towards the palace people,” and of odious threat? 
 addressed to Carlo Soave, at which I had merely 
 laughed. It is not necessary to call oneself a 
 Socialist in order to be ungrateful, and the hatred 
 of those who receive benefits for those who bestow 
 them was too ancient a tale to make any impression 
 on me. 
 
 In every attempt to introduce an innovation I 
 have always discerned the influence of some dis- 
 torted and individual mind. Once I had even 
 noticed Antonio’s face ; he was standing in the 
 middle of a field that had just been reaped, giving 
 orders to a group of peasants who were his depend- 
 ants ; but his gestures were not those of a friend, 
 his voice was not that of a protector — they were 
 the accents and the gestures of a tyrant, and, taking 
 one despot with another, I prefer the so-called 
 tyranny of a gentleman. Thus, only half-educated 
 and half-capable of understanding his business, 
 Valenti was a dangerous man. One all-devouring 
 idea was hidden within his broad forehead ; in 
 his well-shaped and finely-modelled chin could be 
 read the evidence of a powerful obstinacy. Never 
 had there passed through my mind, however, the 
 
24 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 remotest suspicion of the truth. This creature of 
 an inferior race enamoured of a Soave ! Above all, 
 Luisa herself vulgarly in love ! 
 
 Go ! exclained my father, but without anger, 
 ‘'you only inspire me with compassion. 
 
 “ Oh, Carlo ! ” said mother in a voice of supplica- 
 tion and gentle humility. 
 
 Then he turned to her who had been for so 
 many }^ears his devoted companion, he took one of 
 her slender hands and raised it to his lips with a 
 gallantry that was full of emotion, saying in a low 
 and husky voice : 
 
 “ Be still, Anna, be still, oh my wife ! We have 
 but two daughters now.’^ 
 
 My mother burst into tears, while 1 stood by 
 trembling, humiliated by a disgrace which was none 
 of mine and which yet involved us all. 
 
 Luisa was evidently surprised at meeting with 
 so little opposition, and was silent. Meanwhile it had 
 grown dark in the room, and faces could no longer 
 be distinguished, but in the gloom I could see the 
 dim forms of those who were speaking, and the 
 impression of what was then said has remained in 
 my memory as something between a fantasy 
 and a reality. The fantastic impression was 
 agonising, and agonising, nay, cruel even, as the 
 reality. 
 
 “ Remember, Luisa,” said my father, “ that all is 
 now over between us.” 
 
 “ It is well,” answered this rebellious daughter, 
 without the slightest tremor in her voice. 
 
 “You will not have a penny of dowry.” 
 
TYPES 
 
 25 
 
 We do not want money ! ” The words rang 
 with pride and contempt. 
 
 You can carry away with you nothing belong- 
 ing to the house.'^ 
 
 That is what we both wish, Antonio and I ! 
 
 Neither the family lace nor your mother's 
 jewels, remember that ! ” 
 
 There was a short sarcastic laugh, and as I 
 thought lovingly of those precious things which 
 belonged to us all by inheritance, I heard these 
 biting words : 
 
 Such things can only please the mediaeval soul 
 of my sister Caterina." 
 
 Wretch !" I murmured in the darkness, moving 
 suddenly forward towards that sacrilegious voice 
 and raising my whip with instinctive violence. 
 
 I felt my arm seized by a small but vigorous 
 hand, and once more heard those ironical accents : 
 
 We are not in a country adapted to the gentle 
 discipline of the knout, Donna Caterina Soave ! " 
 
 Caterina ! " said my father in a tone of com- 
 mand. 
 
 I stopped, but my heart beat wildly with anger, 
 and my brain reeled with horror and indignation. 
 
 My mother, comprehending that all was over, 
 softly murmured the gentle prayer: 
 
 May God help her ! " 
 
 Amen," replied Luisa, but there was no faith 
 in the reply ; she turned towards the door and I 
 felt her dress brush mine as she passed me. 
 
 Poor and accursed ! " exclaimed the injured 
 father. 
 
26 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 But she who was departing for ever had the 
 last word. 
 
 Rich in love/’ she said, and blessed in my 
 love.” 
 
 We heard her descend the dark stairs quickly, as 
 if some magic light accompanied her flight. 
 
 My mother was still sobbing ; she feared my 
 father’s anger, and he remained silent. 
 
 Once again the door opened. 
 
 Oh, little mother, how dark it is ! ” said the 
 soft and dreamy voice of Lorenza ; are we not 
 going to say the rosary this evening ? ” 
 
 I heard the sound of the beads as the rosary 
 slipped through those dear hands, those dear and 
 trembling hands. 
 
 In the name of the Father . . . . ” began that 
 saintly woman, trembling with superstitious fear. 
 
 Of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,” continued 
 the old nobleman instantly. 
 
 ^^Amen,” added Lorenza and I devoutly, as 
 we knelt in the darkness. 
 
 This is for you. Doctor, for you who have spoken 
 of my passionate nature. 
 
 At twenty, not only did I know nothing of love, 
 not only had I no instinctive desire to love, but 
 anything like a love-story filled me with amused 
 astonishment, almost with compassion. With a 
 free mind and a tranquil heart I nursed my father, 
 who was no longer able to be my companion in my 
 long excursions. He was tormented by gout, and 
 even my presence scarcely seemed to console him. 
 
TYPES 
 
 27 
 
 To please him I read aloud books on botany, the 
 only sort of literature I could tolerate, though far 
 more seductive to me than the scientific explanations 
 of Jussieu and Linnaeus were the perpetual new 
 discoveries the fields afforded me. Meantime, 
 Lorenza, now fifteen, still occupied herself with 
 reading, as one reads books of devotion, the rapid 
 productions of that French school which has for 
 motto, Priere et Travail, What are they called ? 
 Books like Le Journal de Marguerite ; Marguerite 
 a Vingt Ans ; La Main de Velours; romances 
 in which it is always shown that obedience to the 
 Pope is the only obedience possible, and that a 
 noble young lady cannot be happy unless she 
 arrays herself in the cornets blancs de sceur de charite. 
 Once the whim seized me to take possession of one 
 of these papal books — Apres la Pluie le Beau TempSy 
 it was called, 1 think, by the Comtesse de Segur — 
 and I flung it out of the window into the moat, 
 where it was received with immense enthusiasm by 
 the frogs. 
 
 Lorenza cried about it. Not long afterwards 
 she was obliged to torment herself with bread 
 and milk of English manufacture, those tales that 
 every one regards as a penance : The Lamplighter y 
 Ladybirdy Mabel Vaughan, The Rose of Lebanon, 
 and a few innocent German novels by Marlitt. 
 Doctor, do you know anything more tiresome or 
 more useless than these books, which make you 
 assist at the cutting of innumerable pieces of 
 bread and butter, while the heroes and heroines drink 
 an absurd number of cups of tea during the course 
 
28 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 of three volumes, only to marry each other in the 
 idiotic manner at the end of the third ? 
 
 My mother was dead, and the house had grown 
 sadder and grimmer than ever. Lorenza^s light- 
 coloured gowns struck the only gay note in the 
 whole place, only the soft blue eyes of this uncon- 
 scious child spoke of hope and reflected the 
 wondrous light of her pure dreams. She had a 
 passion for dressing in white ; white muslin, costly 
 white woollen fabrics, or gleaming white moire, and 
 sometimes she would appear in pale blue or delicate 
 rose-colour. 
 
 These gowns worried me ; I could not bear to 
 look at them ; I could not endure seeing Lorenza 
 dressed in this way ; even in her exquisite grace 
 of movement there was, to me, something repellent. 
 From her body, so slender that it hardly seemed 
 solid, there seemed to emanate, as it were, the 
 atmosphere of a church. I felt as if she ought to 
 carry lilies in her waxen hands, masses of lilies, 
 and her pale lips often trembled and moved as 
 though in prayer. She always gave me the feeling 
 that I saw a vision ; silent, slight, and pale as a 
 shadow, she seemed not to belong to this world. 
 
 The city, which we had visited very seldom, 
 had no attractions for us, nor could it arouse any 
 enthusiasm in my savagely independent spirit or 
 in the meditative mind of Lorenza. 
 
 Until I was twenty-three I had never thought 
 of marriage, nor had any suitor presented himself 
 who interested me. Still, there came a day when 
 it seemed as if I could have loved. I particularly 
 
TYPES 
 
 29 
 
 wish you to know this. If there was ever, even 
 for a moment, anything like love in my life, it was 
 a sentiment absolutely Platonic ; a slight spasm of 
 the spirit, an acute regret, dominated instantly by 
 proud strength of will. Naturally tranquil and 
 chaste, I have never been tormented by the assaults 
 of sensuality. 
 
 Hear me ! Hear me ! I will tell you all briefly. 
 I do not wish to slur over that divine memory ; I 
 will tell you before I come to that dark tragedy. 
 I must tell you, to explain, to demonstrate to you, 
 to persuade you how mistaken you have been. 
 
 Listen, Doctor. 
 
 I have already spoken to you, have I not, of my 
 passion for perfumes ? But I have not told you 
 of the particular influence which certain perfumes 
 have on me. A complex influence, a series of 
 phenomena of a character increasing in intensity. 
 It has the character of sweetness bordering upon 
 a spasm. First a healthy sensation of pleasure, 
 then a slight giddiness, a strange intoxication, 
 forms, dreams, flowers floating in space, and finally 
 a violent palpitation of the heart, a singing in the 
 ears, sharp pains in the temples, often really acute, 
 and sometimes loss of sight. For this reason I 
 almost always inhale with closed eyes. Truly a 
 strange and powerful intoxication ! So strange, so 
 powerful, that once I seriously thought that in 
 this way had been revealed to me the voluptuous 
 delirium of the embraces and the kisses that other 
 women find in love. 
 
 Once more I must tell you I have always 
 
30 
 
 WOMANS FOLLY 
 
 had forewarning of the approach of important 
 moments in my life. This is perhaps the cause of 
 another phenomenon, by means of which I seem 
 to have already seen people whom I meet for the 
 first time, to have already heard the sound of 
 certain voices, to have already lived through certain 
 critical moments. Often, at the approach of some 
 happy hour, it appeared to me that the air became 
 full of fragrance ; not the natural fragrance that 
 was borne in through the open windows from the 
 fresh country, or wafted from sweet-smelling 
 flowers kissed by the breeze, but they were over- 
 powering perfumes, imagined by a troubled brain, 
 artificial odours, mystical scents as of sandal-wood, 
 incense, or amber. Do you understand ? I en- 
 treat you to believe me ! This is no fantastic tale, 
 I swear to you ; it is reality. And it is this reality 
 which must undeceive you. 
 
 So it happened on that morning in June. 
 
 Fortunio was with me, the great Danish hound 
 that loved me. I remember that I stroked his 
 head, which was turned towards me with humble, 
 vigilant fidelity. Being tired, I had halted near 
 the torrent, and was watching the clear swift 
 waters in which the reflection of the sun and the 
 plants made moving spots, and patches of golden- 
 green light. The air was soft and cool, full of the 
 humming sound of insects and fluttering leaves, 
 and the chatter of the locusts in conversation with 
 the indefatigable crickets. How, I do not know, 
 but I became conscious that I was enveloped in 
 the perfume of amber, though the scent I had used 
 
TYPES 
 
 31 
 
 that morning was Russian violets. Fortunio, by 
 shaking himself, made me raise my eyes, and thus 
 it was that I saw htrUf unexpectedly, leaning against 
 a tree a few steps away from me. 
 
 How long had he been there ? Was he there 
 before I came, or had he come upon me accident- 
 ally ? 
 
 This man, young and handsome, whom I did not 
 know, this man of a noble and intelligent coun- 
 tenance, gazed at me with affectionate insistance. 
 Nor was I offended. From his eyes, of a peculiar 
 blue, there seemed to flow a stream of light, full of 
 enchantment. It was not the first time that I had 
 felt this magic influence, but when and where had 
 I had first known its sweetness ? 
 
 Romantic appearances have never affected me. I 
 made a kindly gesture of salutation, and in the 
 most natural manner interrogated this unknown 
 personage, whose eyes were still bent upon me 
 with that singular fixedness which endows a glance 
 with sadness. 
 
 '‘Who are you, sir ? ” 
 
 He started, bowed and smiled. 
 
 "Tell me, first, have I the honour of speaking to 
 Donna Caterina Soave ? 
 
 The voice was melodious, the accent slightly 
 foreign. 
 
 " Yes ; have you seen me before ? ” 
 
 " Many times. 
 
 The musical voice did not hesitate ; it only 
 trembled very slightly. 
 
 " When ? How ? ” 
 
32 
 
 fVOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 I questioned him calmly. It is certain that in 
 the country one does not experience that sense of 
 oppression under unusual circumstances which, 
 according to the few romances I have read, is the 
 case in modern drawing-rooms. 
 
 Here, in the meadows, in the wood, beside the 
 torrent .... for many days past. Once, in the 
 evening, I saw you leaning against your garden 
 gate ; the hour was late, and the moonlight fell 
 
 upon your face Ah, forgive me ; I forget 
 
 myself! Pardon me for daring to speak to you in 
 this way. It was a sort of watch I kept over you. 
 Do not be offended ; it was homage paid to the 
 fairy of this place, to which I am a stranger, and I 
 was happy in following you without disturbing 
 you. Fairies are always enveloped in their own 
 thoughts 
 
 I listened to him without the least sensation 
 of surprise. I knew that he would talk in that 
 way, with that smile of tender melancholy ; I knew 
 beforehand what he would say. 
 
 He continued : 
 
 To-day it was Victor Hugo whose magic 
 drew me to the stream, and I owe him a debt of 
 gratitude.’^ 
 
 He spoke his words meaningly, and approached 
 a few steps nearer to me, offering me a small book, 
 which I took without hesitation. I have had those 
 poems ever since ; I remember that the book was 
 open, and that, in a low voice, I read this verse : 
 
 “ II n’est rien sous le del qui n’ait sa loi secrete, 
 
 Son lieu cher et choisi, son abri, sa retraite, 
 
TYPES 
 
 33 
 
 Oil mille instincts profonds nous fixent nuit et jour ; 
 
 Le pecheur a la barque oii I’espoir I’accompagne, 
 
 Les cygnes ont le lac, les aigles la montagne, 
 
 Les toes ont I’amour . . . 
 
 I paused thoughtfully for a moment. 
 
 Les antes ont V amour . . . he repeated, in 
 a low voice. 
 
 We looked at each other in silence. 
 
 I turned over the pages of the beautiful little 
 book, stopping twice to read certain passages. The 
 first were the lines : 
 
 “ Hier la nuit d’ete qui nous pretait ses voiles 
 Etait digne de toi, tant elle avait d’etoiles! ” 
 
 Like that evening when the moon flooded your 
 face with her pale light, he murmured. 
 
 I was silent a moment, and then read again : 
 
 “ Oh ! n’insultez jamais une femme qui tombe ! 
 
 Qui sait sous quel fardeau la pauvre ame succombe ? ” 
 
 I closed the book indignantly, and gave it back 
 to him ; a guilty woman inspired with strong 
 repugnance. I gazed straight in front of me, and 
 there, as if evoked by the lines I had read, I saw 
 passing on the other side of the stream she who 
 had been Donna Luisa Soave. She had with her 
 her three children, whom I had never caressed, who 
 had no greeting for me, and who did not know 
 their grandfather. Six years had sufficed to fade 
 Luisa^s splendid beauty, but nevertheless, though 
 poorly dressed, with a shawl crossed over her 
 breast like a peasant-woman and a face of utter 
 
 c 
 
34 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 weariness, she was still proud and stately, and as 
 she passed me she looked at me defiantly, mag- 
 nificent in her terrible pride. 
 
 I shivered and grew red with shame, not because 
 the outcast might misinterpret my meeting with 
 htnty but for fear that he might know Luisa^s dark 
 story. I started with pleasure when I heard him 
 ask : 
 
 ^^Do you know Victor Hugo?^^ 
 
 No.^’ 
 
 Perhaps you do not care for poetry ? 
 
 ^^For neither poetry not prose, I confessed, 
 frankly. I never read and never write. 1 am 
 very ignorant,” I added, laughing. 
 
 He hesitated, half-surprised and half-amused. 
 You never write ? Really ? ” 
 
 No, really.” 
 
 But .... if I were to write to you ....?” 
 If you were to write to me,” I said, to draw 
 him on, guessing his meaning. 
 
 ^^Who knows, an important letter perhaps, a 
 letter that was a confession, requiring an answer 
 
 that might decide a man’s whole life ” 
 
 I should prefer to be asked verbally. I would 
 rather answer in person. I do not like writing ; 
 speech is better, believe me. That which is 
 written becomes almost always a falsehood by 
 implication or misunderstanding.” 
 
 The young man looked at me in some perplexity, 
 but he was greatly impressed. 
 
 Consequently,” he said at last, looking me 
 straight in the eyes, you would have the courage 
 
TYPES 
 
 35 
 
 to give an answer, even a cruel one, in per- 
 son ? ” 
 
 Yes, I should have the courage ; does that 
 surprise you ? ” 
 little.” 
 
 Does it surprise you that I should have the 
 courage to be truthful ? ” 
 
 Woman, as I have dreamed of her, is, above 
 all things, kind.” 
 
 So there is a question of sex even in the 
 matter of sincerity ? ” I asked, with ironical sur- 
 prise. 
 
 Oh, it is of no consequence ! ” he exclaimed 
 firmly, and then, in that voice which seemed an 
 echo from heaven, he added : 
 
 I like you just as you are.” 
 
 At that moment I became keenly aware of a 
 mysterious odour of amber. 
 
 Will you not tell me who you are ? ” I asked 
 with a smile. 
 
 My name is Wilfred Heyse,” he replied 
 simply. Then, after a long pause, he said: I 
 
 come from Berlin, I am a painter, and at this 
 moment the guest of my friend, Lodovico 
 Rosalba.” 
 
 Are you a Protestant ?” I asked anxiously. 
 
 My anxiety infected him with a mortal fear that 
 spread a pallor over his face and quenched the 
 light in those eyes I never can forget. 
 
 ‘^Yes . . . .” 
 
 I seemed to see my mother once more, my 
 sweet dead mother, who was so full of piety ; 1 
 
36 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 thought of my father and his religious beliefs, 
 profound, immovable, and, I know not how, the 
 pale lips of Lorenza, those lips that always seemed 
 to breathe a prayer, appeared as in a vision to me, 
 curved in disdainful compassion. 
 
 No ! I cried, stretching out my arms as 
 though to ward off the struggle I instinctively 
 foresaw, No ! 
 
 It is one of my firm convictions that every 
 struggle is inevitable. Why, therefore, should we 
 abandon ourselves to the easy bent of our minds, 
 why yield to the indignity of subterfuge, to the 
 cowardly humility of useless supplication, buoying 
 ourselves up with unworthy hopes, trusting to 
 time to bring about the changes we desire. 
 
 My father .... And then, the example of 
 Luisa .... Farewell ! 
 
 The word was almost a cry of grief that I flung 
 at him as I fled. He was, perhaps, too nobly 
 timid, or too adorably proud, since he did not 
 follow me, and I did not hear him call me back. 
 Perhaps he fully understood the uselessness of any 
 further appeal, and I never again beheld Wilfred 
 Heyse 
 
 Not a word of passion had been spoken, nor 
 might he, perchance, have been able to feel certain 
 that he loved me ; yet I feel convinced that he^ as 
 well as I, bears for ever the scar of a lost happi- 
 ness. 
 
 Wilfred Heyse. 
 
 Wilfred .... 
 
 Doctor, he never had my letter, the impassioned 
 
TYPES 
 
 37 
 
 letter of impatient desire. Neither he nor any 
 other. No one ever received a love-letter from 
 me. 
 
 Two years later, in obedience to my father^s will, 
 I was betrothed to Lodovico Rosalba, Wilfred^s 
 friend. This coincidence troubled me but slightly ; 
 I have ever found my greatest happiness in obedi- 
 ence to the laws imposed by blood and duty. 
 Very few words from Don Carlo Soave sufficed to 
 persuade his favourite child. 
 
 Caterina 
 
 Father?” 
 
 Do you know Lodovico Rosalba ? ” 
 
 I understood instantly, and I even smiled. 
 
 ^^Oh, dear father, how is it possible that I 
 should not know him ? The Rosalbas are the 
 richest proprietors in the neighbourhood, with the 
 exception of ourselves, and they are not people of 
 yesterday, I believe.” 
 
 At this the severe old gentleman himself ought 
 to have smiled. 
 
 And tell me, you sarcastic little person, do you 
 like Lodovico ? ” 
 
 Do you like him yourself, father ? ” I asked 
 instead of replying to the question. 
 
 What do you mean, you artful child ? ” 
 
 He has asked you for my hand, has he not ? ” 
 
 He has.” 
 
 ^'Well?” 
 
 Well, as you know, Lodovico is young, hand- 
 some, and rich ; some of his ideas are a little 
 different from ours, it is true, but neveitheless he 
 
38 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 is a paragon compared to the young men of the 
 present day. Besides, he adores you.’^ 
 
 Are you sure of that, father ? 
 
 Oh, that does not surprise me ! ” cried my 
 father proudly. 
 
 Poor father ! 
 
 Will he resign himself to a country life ? 
 
 ^^You will come to live here with me.^' 
 
 ^‘Then you may tell him that I accept him,” I 
 said, kneeling to crave his paternal blessing. 
 
 A few hours later Lodovico arrived. He knew 
 already that I had consented, and he threw’ a per- 
 fect shower of roses at my feet, gazing at me 
 tenderly. He embraced my father, who had 
 looked on at this little scene, greatly touched ; 
 then, turning to me again, he took my hands, 
 pressed them silently and raised them to his burn- 
 ing lips. That ardent touch aroused in me a pro- 
 found disgust, of which I instantly felt ashamed. 
 Lodovico was to be my husband, I owed him 
 obedience, respect, and, if not love, of which I was 
 perhaps incapable, at least affection. He did not 
 perceive the repulsion he aroused in me by his 
 kiss, the first innocent kiss on the hand. And 
 when, afterwards Oh, my God ! 
 
 I was glad, however, that he did not notice my 
 agitation, or did not rightly interpret it, and shortly 
 afterwards I consented to go with him into the 
 garden. Night was falling, the air was full of sad- 
 ness, although the spring was warm and sweet 
 with the scent of blossoms. The intricate masses 
 of the ancient trees, the paths overgrown by rank 
 
TYPES 
 
 39 
 
 grass, thick, of a damp dark green that was almost 
 brown, the uncultivated beds, the wild flowers of 
 strange, spontaneous growth, all had a bizarre 
 appearance, as if preparing for some mysterious 
 tragedy. 
 
 It was there that I listened for the first time, 
 to words of passion. 
 
 Thanks, Caterina ! I adore you, Caterina ! I 
 was afraid of you, afraid you would refuse me, but 
 instead of that you were kind, you said ‘ Yes ’ 
 immediately. My blessed lady ! Dear, dear lady 
 mine ! Now you are my bride, my darling bride. 
 Will you not tell me you love me ? Will you be 
 faithful to me ? Speak, Caterina, say something 
 to me, let me hear your voice. Will you love me ? 
 Will you be true to me ? ” 
 
 Yes,’’ I answered resolutely, and I felt that I 
 spoke the truth, that it would be so. 
 
 I looked at him, that being full of fancies, who 
 imagined at that moment that he loved me madly. 
 He was young and handsome ; I was already 
 bound to him by an inviolable promise of loyalty 
 and fidelity, and yet, when he drew nearer to me 
 as if attracted by me (observe this, as if attracted 
 by me, for all the while my spirit vigorously re- 
 pulsed him), when he bent his tall form in order to 
 see me better, to kiss me, and, yet more, when I 
 felt his mouth press mine, I experienced no excite- 
 ment, I only felt a thrill of horror, a sense of 
 suffocation, of insupportable physical suffering. It 
 seemed as though I had endured an ignoble con- 
 tact, had been the victim of a brutal insult. 
 
40 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 I pushed him back, extending my arms in des- 
 perate appeal. 
 
 Lodovico smiled ; somehow, it seemed to me, 
 that his smile was one of indulgent satisfaction, 
 which in that one second revealed to me with 
 crude frankness all the fatuity of the male sex, and 
 I shuddered thereat. 
 
 ^*Do you love me ?” asked Lodovico encircling 
 my waist with his strong arms ; do you love me ? 
 
 I started at the question, but did not answer. 
 
 Tell me, Caterina you love no other, do you ? 
 You have no fancies no memories ? he asked, in 
 a voice low with secret fear. 
 
 I love no one ; I have no memories, no 
 fancies.’^ 
 
 A silence fell on us then. 
 
 ^‘Wilfred Heyse ? insinuated Lodovico, pre- 
 sently, quivering with suspense. 
 
 What of him ? 
 
 I was so quiet that he was instantly reassured. 
 
 I know, I know,'^ he said, smiling, it was 
 quite a poetic affair ; Wilfred only spoke to you 
 
 once, but you, my proud, wild one Oh, 
 
 my darling, my darling ! I felt that his lips were 
 again approaching mine, I tried to avoid them, and 
 saw in his face an instantaneous, momentary look 
 of ferocity ; he might have been a miser whose 
 treasure was about to be stolen from him. 
 
 I was frightened, and, closing my eyes, I sub- 
 mitted to the pressure of another long, long kiss. 
 
 ^'Tell me, at least, that you will love me!” 
 entreated Lodovico, when he at last released me. 
 
TYPES 
 
 41 
 
 ^^Oh, I hope so!” I cried, clasping my hands 
 as a sign of fervent sincerity and prayer. 
 
 He smiled at me again, but he was wounded by 
 my want of faith and absence of enthusiasm. 
 
 After this first interview, when I was once more 
 alone, I felt a sense of liberation. I thought of 
 my mother and longed for her presence, but I did 
 not sob or weaken myself with vain tears, I only 
 thought of her with infinite and desperate yearn- 
 ing. 
 
 During the few months that preceded our 
 marriage I was able to become acquainted with 
 the character of my betrothed. I found that I 
 was bound to a man of weak and fantastic nature, 
 who required continual excitement to keep his 
 emotions and feelings alive. I felt humiliated by 
 the knowledge that, whilst he did not really love 
 me, he desired me with an ardour that was in 
 itself an insult. The conviction that a deception 
 had been played on my father filled me with pro- 
 found grief, but on no account would I have 
 retracted my word. When my glance fell on 
 the white hair of the only being who adored me 
 and understood me, when I marked the smiles of 
 the infirm and weary old man who was the only 
 creature I ever worshipped, I felt strong, endowed 
 with new courage, inflamed with an enthusiastic 
 love of obedience and duty. 
 
 I tried to conform to the strange things de- 
 manded of me by Lodovico. He had constantly 
 some new bizarre notions, some new folly to pro- 
 pose. Often, without meaning to do so, I said 
 
42 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 things that offended him, when he would turn 
 pale with vexation. Then I grew silent, but he 
 did not ask my pardon, and I submitted with as 
 good a grace as I could. 
 
 We enjoyed, Lodovico and I, every possible 
 liberty of seeing each other and talking together, 
 and we were allowed to walk out alone. Curiously 
 enough, this liberty distressed him ; in order to 
 please him I was obliged to grant him nocturnal 
 interviews, when he would wait for me in dark, 
 mysterious places, where the surroundings were 
 dreary and gloomy, and where I had to meet him 
 with noiseless steps, like a shadow, to give, as he 
 said, some touch of poetry to our union, which was 
 becoming bourgeoise for lack of obstacles to it. 
 
 But few rays of moonlight could penetrate 
 into the thick woods ; here and there, where the 
 branches and dense foliage opened, stars appeared 
 on high, like gleaming sparks of gold in an em- 
 broidered tapestry. 
 
 In such places, appropriate to a mystery which 
 our situation rendered ridiculous, Lodovico ad- 
 dressed me in a passionate language very differ- 
 ent from that which he employed in the daytime 
 in the rooms of our house, which he said were too 
 deserted and too severe. He whispered the most 
 flattering things, talked to me in the wildest way. 
 
 would fain carry thee away into an un- 
 known land,'^ he said, into a land created for 
 love. Caterina, do you understand ? Kate, Katie, 
 my Kitty .... no, no, Rina is better, Erina 
 better still.” 
 
TYPES 
 
 43 
 
 I listened in silence. Did he not perceive that 
 it repelled me to be called by other names than 
 that by which I had always been addressed by 
 lips dearer, far dearer to me than were his. My 
 name was not poetical enough for him, but 1 found 
 in it a poetry of the soul, an echo, as it were, of 
 my home. 
 
 Erina is better suited to you ; it might be the 
 name of some proud fairy like yourself, with black 
 velvet eyes like yours, and a wealth of black hair 
 like yours. This hair, this beautiful hair, I should 
 like to see it loosened, falling over your shoulders, 
 1 long to see you surrounded by the dusky splen- 
 dour of that unbound mass ; for, though perchance 
 you do not know it, or do not think of it, these 
 black and shining tresses are at the same time 
 magnificent and heavy. Do you understand ? 
 Ornaments of amber would suit you, jewels with 
 a reflection of pale gold. And your complexion, 
 too, has the faintest amber tone. Oh ! you are 
 beautiful, Erina, and I worship you ! But you, 
 my heart, of what are you thinking ? You are 
 so silent ; why do you never talk ? It would 
 seem as if you only tolerated me.” 
 
 And it was true ; I only tolerated that im- 
 petuous flow of words which gave me the impres- 
 sion as of a treacherous torrent, I tolerated the 
 glamour with which he surrounded me, but which 
 could not involve me. Yet I tried to be docile, 
 tried to love him, and felt that I never, never 
 should deceive him. 
 
 What could I say to him ? 
 
44 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 Then he would kiss me, ruffling my hair with 
 caresses that did not excite me, and yet intoxicated 
 him, an intoxication that ever increased in inten- 
 sity, and of whose progress I was fully sensible. 
 He continued to kiss me, with an endless succes- 
 sion of little kisses, of which he never wearied, a 
 long caress of covetous lips that passed lightly 
 over my cheeks, and clung to my mouth, and 
 touched my neck and behind my ears, to end 
 in a long, long, horrible pressure upon the nape. 
 
 I started, shivered, and trembled ; it was torture ; 
 sharp, scratching thorns that tore into my flesh 
 could not have hurt me more. 
 
 Even now, as I recall it all, I feel a sense of 
 nausea, an intense and profound disgust, all my 
 being thrills with a feeling of repulsion and revolt. 
 
 And you say. Doctor, that I killed Lodovico 
 from an impulse of sensual jealousy ? 
 
 It is not possible. Perhaps the crime was a 
 consequence of those very caresses to which I sub- 
 mitted from a sense of duty. 
 
 For this reason I strove to overcome the phy- 
 sical repugnance through which I suffered such un- 
 speakable tortures. 
 
 Lodovico’s vanity prevented him from perceiving 
 the heroism of my sacrifice ; he never suspected 
 the truth ; he was deceived as you were, and I 
 would have forgiven him. 
 
 It was treason that sealed his fate, his own 
 treason. 
 
 That evening . . . . 
 
TYPES 
 
 45 
 
 .... I have come to the moment whence 
 dates .... 
 
 It was a lonely evening in June, as calm and 
 fair as this. I had stayed to pray with Lorenza 
 in the deepening dusk, and had listened to her 
 weak voice trembling with emotion ; she was 
 agitated and excited even in her devotions by 
 the thought that the next day I should be a 
 bride. At last she flung her arms about my 
 neck and asked : 
 
 Are you thinking of mother ? 
 
 I answered, half-inaudibly : 
 
 Yes, I am thinking of her.’^ 
 
 Yet another question. 
 
 Will you always care for me ? 
 
 Yes ; always.*’ 
 
 If we were only at peace with Luisa ....*' 
 Hush ! ” I exclaimed, instantly interrupting the 
 girl’s weak voice. I stepped out into the portico, 
 and was watching the swallows as they chased each 
 other in and out between the columns. In memory 
 I can still hear their sharp cries. My dress seemed 
 to retain the perfume of the wisteria, which was in 
 full flower ; in the dark its graceful clusters could 
 be seen outlined one above another along their 
 slender stem, across the dark wall, clinging to the 
 old balcony and framing it in verdure, and I lingered 
 to inhale the scent. 
 
 The hour of my appointment with Lodovico drew 
 near. 
 
 I hesitated. 
 
 Why? 
 
46 
 
 WOMAN’S FOLLY 
 
 Will you tell me why I hesitated at that moment ? 
 
 Can your science by any chance explain that 
 hesitation ? 
 
 No. It cannot. Well, then .... 
 
 But what care I for science ? Listen, rather, to 
 what I have to say. 
 
 Every evening, for two months, had I gone to 
 that useless appointment ; I had always gone with 
 a tranquil heart and without any indecision. On 
 that evening, the last of all, I hesitated. I reached 
 the entrance gate, and, just as I was about to open 
 it, it seemed — nay, I was certain — that I felt on 
 my arm the pressure of a hand that drew me back. 
 Then there suddenly appeared to me the dear face 
 of my mother, bathed in tears, and at the same 
 moment I felt as if I had touched, as it floated past 
 me, the white mantle of a spirit. 
 
 Lodovico ! . . . . 
 
 Ah ! doubtless it was a mysterious warning ; an 
 unseen protector was striving to hinder me, was 
 protesting against what I was about to do. 
 
 I remembered the evening on which Luisa had 
 abjured all the good feelings that should have bound 
 her to her own people, and I shuddered. But he 
 who was to be my husband was waiting for me, 
 and it was my duty to obey him. 
 
 I hesitated no longer. 
 
 I went across the fields, and took one of the little 
 narrow paths that led through the ripe corn. By 
 some strange mental power, excited by my spiritual 
 warning, I seemed to see the fields as clearly as 
 though it had been daylight, as they lay before me. 
 
TYPES 
 
 47 
 
 fair and yellow, beneath the warm and fruitful 
 caresses of the sun. The grain glowed like flames 
 of gold, and in amongst it the soft blue cornflowers 
 were strewn here and there in masses, like delicate 
 poetry scattered amid the generous prose of Nature. 
 At last I reached the place we had agreed upon for 
 that evening. It was not in the dense wood that 
 we were to meet, but in the ruins. You know 
 them ; almost every country place has a castle, an 
 ex-convent, some dilapidated edifice or other to 
 show to strangers. Our ruins consist of a tumble- 
 down tower, into which it is impossible to enter, 
 and a large mass of stones of semicircular form, a 
 regular druidical heap, something between a tomb 
 and an altar. 
 
 Lodovico was there. 
 
 The sight of him brought me back to reality. 
 Everything around was white in the soft moonlight, 
 and we two, gazing at each other in agitation, our 
 features dimly visible, must have looked like spectres. 
 
 To-morrow, Erina,’’ he said, with passionate 
 impatience. 
 
 To-morrow, Lodovico,’’ I replied. 
 
 I thought he paused to listen to the calm intona- 
 tion of my voice. 
 
 Holding me to him, arm-in-arm, he drew me slowly 
 along. We walked among the grey stones that the 
 moon made white, sparkling, and almost luminous ; 
 in places they were sharp-cut at the edges, and 
 the light fell on them clearly and distinctly ; others 
 were smooth, like seats, and the light rested on them 
 gently and evenly. 
 
48 
 
 WOMAN’S FOLLY 
 
 '^To-morrow,” said Lodovico again, softly passing 
 his lips over my hair, 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 Do you think, suddenly asked the man to 
 whom I was about to belong, do you think, 
 my Kate, that you can always remain faithful to 
 me?^^ 
 
 I believe I can,” I answered, as I stood still, 
 and my eyes sought to look straight into his. 
 
 Oh, dear innocent ! Nothing is eternal here 
 below,” said Lodovico, sententiously. 
 
 I felt a chill run through my blood. 
 
 ‘^What do you mean?” I asked, impetuously 
 and angrily. 
 
 ‘4 mean, you quick-tempered one, that everything 
 must die, even love.” 
 
 But why, Lodovico, do you tell me this on the 
 eve of our marriage ? ” 
 
 Who knows ? ” he said, with a fatuous smile. 
 And he walked on again. But I stopped him ; 
 I felt chilled in my very soul. 
 
 What did you mean to say? What did you 
 mean to say ? ” 
 
 Nothing, my dearest ; nothing. That is, I 
 meant to say that everything must come to an end ; 
 life ceases, and love ceases first .... or changes.” 
 ^‘Lodovico ! ” 
 
 ^'Erina . . . .” 
 
 ^'No, no! do not come near me just now. I 
 want to know ; do you understand ? I want to 
 know, to ask about it ... . explain yourself!” 
 
 Question me, my queen,” 
 
TYPES 
 
 49 
 
 Love passes, I know; or better say love changes 
 its character with the years, and becomes a calm 
 affection/' 
 
 ^^Erina . . . 
 
 A tranquil affection, a mixture of devotion, of 
 habit, of respect. I saw this in my own home ; I 
 observed it with my own parents.” 
 
 Those were other days, my sweet darling.” 
 Other days ? Oh, do not speak so ! Love 
 changes, but fidelity remains. Other days ? Are 
 there any days set apart for treachery, then ? " 
 Words, fine words, my treasure!” 
 
 But we swear, Lodovico, we swear solemnly 
 before men piously, in church, at the altar, before 
 God 1 ” 
 
 ** How many, many useless, how many im- 
 possible things we swear, my sweetheart 1 ” 
 
 Do not speak so, do not, Lodovico ! ” I cried, 
 imploringly, do not speak so lightly 1 And it is you, 
 you, who dare to speak thus ; you who rave to me 
 of love and passion ! Well, then, listen ! I, you 
 understand, I, who have never murmured burning 
 words to you, I, who have never kissed you 
 madly . . . .” 
 
 No indeed, alas ! ” 
 
 I, who to-morrow shall swear eternal fidelity 
 to you, I will keep my oath, I will keep your 
 honour pure, safe and unsullied, ready to kill myself 
 sooner than betray you ! ” 
 
 Like Lucretia of Rome ! So much the 
 better ! ” laughed Lodovico, trying to embrace me. 
 
 I repulsed him, gasping and dismayed. For 
 
 D 
 
50 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 the first and only time in my life I had spoken 
 under the impulse of excitement, but soon regained 
 my self-possession. Listen to me,’^ I said, and 
 my voice was so deep and decided that I myself 
 trembled at the sound of it, ^^you admit already, 
 from this moment, the possibility of your betraying 
 me, do you not ? I tell you, then, that for a man 
 who professes to be in love this is as surprising 
 as it is odious/’ 
 
 But, Erina, what a tragic speech ! and all 
 about a mere joke ! ” 
 
 You were not joking ; I feel it, I know it. 
 You have said things which are very serious 
 when spoken on the eve of what you consider 
 your happiness. But enough of this. I am going 
 to tell you something much more serious, infinitely 
 more serious.” 
 
 Here I perceived that Lodovico looked at me 
 curiously and incredulously ; there was in his 
 gaze a manifest admiration for me, but no affec- 
 tion. 
 
 “ Listen to me, Lodovico, for I swear the truth 
 of what I am going to tell you upon my immortal 
 soul.” 
 
 ‘^You frighten me, Erina, you are so beautiful 
 and so terrible ! ” 
 
 I understood the ironical gallantry of his words, 
 and for a moment, conscious of the present, con- 
 scious of the future, I looked at him with genuine 
 pity. 
 
 I swear to you,” I continued very slowly, 
 ^Hhat if you dare to betray me, vilely, making 
 
TYPES 
 
 51 
 
 use of lies and subterfuges, such as are generally 
 employed with wretched women, I will kill you.” 
 
 For a moment it seemed to me as though the 
 only living thing there was that ineffable white 
 light, which was but a thing inanimate. Lodovico 
 stood motionless, his eyes fixed upon me in mute 
 astonishment. 
 
 Then suddenly he burst into a cynical laugh, 
 which sealed the doom of both himself and me. 
 As he approached to embrace me my spirit knew 
 that it was already preparing itself to commit 
 a crime. 
 
 Now began those seven long, interminable years 
 during which Time and I lay in wait for Lodovico 
 Rosalba. How could you ever talk of irresistible 
 force j Doctor ? 
 
 No criminal premeditation was ever more patient 
 than mine. It was not that he did not deceive 
 me in those long years. I knew how my husband 
 employed his time during the frequent trips he 
 made from the country to the city, but they 
 were vulgar relations with base women, low con- 
 nections that only lasted a few hours. It was 
 not for these I lay in wait. 
 
 Meanwhile, with devout resignation, with strict 
 conscientiousness, firm in my resolution to have 
 nothing to reproach myself with, I strove to con- 
 form to all my husband’s wishes, to humour his 
 caprices, to aid them with a patience that was 
 almost servile. My father watched me uneasily 
 from his invalid-chair, his eyes gleaming with 
 
 
52 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 remorse. The poor old man was now aware 
 of the mistake he had made, though no word 
 on the subject had ever passed between us ; only, 
 when we were alone, the invalid caressed me 
 as though I were an unhappy child. 
 
 Once I heard him murmur : 
 
 I am glad that Anna is dead ! '' that was all. 
 
 By Lodovico’s desire our house was transformed ; 
 as if by a general and tacit understanding, every- 
 body obeyed him. The servants, with whom he 
 was imperious and harsh, obeyed him ; Lorenza, 
 towards whom he showed a sort of insulting in- 
 dulgence, obeyed him ; I, too, obeyed him, readily 
 and silently. My father did not oppose him. 
 One day Lodovico said to me : 
 
 ^^You never read, or write, or think ; you are 
 perfectly ignorant.^* 
 
 It is a fact,^^ I answered, I never read or 
 write, and I am perfectly ignorant ; but I do 
 think.^’ 
 
 And, if I may ask, of what, for Heaven’s 
 sake, do you think, you taciturn lady ? ” 
 
 I was mute. 
 
 Of the moon, perhaps,” he said angrily. 
 
 Who knows ? ” 
 
 Caterina, you are monotonous.” 
 
 What must I do to please you ? ” I asked 
 with great humility. 
 
 Why do you dress like an abbess in an 
 historical romance ? Do as Lorenza does, be 
 young, wear bright colours.” 
 
 cannot,” I answered sadly. 
 
TYPES 
 
 53 
 
 ^^That is grievance number one. Further, you 
 take no interest in anything ; you don’t paint, 
 you don’t play, you v^on’t even listen to music ; 
 you know nothing and nobody ; neither Mozart, 
 nor Wagner, nor Beethoven can move you.” 
 
 Music hurts me,” I confessed. 
 
 That’s another grievance ! Oh Lord ! what 
 airs you give yourself. Do you know what you 
 are ? You are hysterical.” I looked at him in 
 surprise. 
 
 Certainly, my lady, an hysterical patient of 
 a new kind, tranquil and obstinate, a case to be 
 submitted to medical treatment ; a mummy of 
 the soul, a savage who could remain on horseback 
 all day long like a dweller in the desert. Of 
 the artistic soul you have nothing.” 
 
 Artistic!” I ventured to say, that is a very 
 generic word. What do you mean by an artist ? 
 One who believes he creates or one who flatters 
 himself that he interprets the so-called creation ? 
 Art appears to me a theft, a plagiarism of truth 
 and beauty. If Art could give us something 
 new ! But no, it is so difficult to invent 1 How- 
 ever original an author may appear, his scenes, 
 his creations, his personages are nothing but the 
 reflections of what he has read, seen, or met.” 
 Lodovico, who had listened to me with astonish- 
 ment, broke out into one of those laughs that 
 drove the blood back to my heart. 
 
 Listen to this uneducated creature who pre- 
 tends to give me a lecture on Art ! Dante, 
 Raphael, Michelangelo — are nothing 1 Zero 1 only 
 
54 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 plagiarists ! But there, there ! you are quite right 
 to hold your tongue/^ 
 
 And he burst into fresh laughter. 
 
 You are a silly woman ! 
 
 I am only an obedient and faithful wife,*^ I 
 replied. 
 
 The more fool you ! ” cried my husband in 
 sudden anger. 
 
 After that he went off and left me. I heard 
 him soon afterwards in Lorenza’s room ; they were 
 talking and laughing. I heard him ask her in a 
 loud voice for a sonata of Beethoven ^s, and I heard 
 a few chords struck. Then I rushed up to my 
 own room, put on my black riding-habit, my hat 
 with its waving black plumes, my gloves, and came 
 down again. There was no one in the stables ; I 
 took off my gloves, saddled my horse Vizir, who 
 neighed with delight, mounted, crossed the court- 
 yard at a gallop, and dashed forth with loose bridle 
 into the open country, the desert. 
 
 Ah, to fly ! To live alone in a distant, endless 
 desert — lost, lost for ever ! 
 
 Indecent pictures, immodest statues, strange 
 furniture, brackets, screens, curious stuffs, china of 
 all lands and kinds, costly glass, carpets that stifled 
 the sound of footsteps, curtains that cast an in- 
 supportable gloom and shadow .... I no longer 
 recognised my own house. As if to escape the 
 profanation which everywhere surrounded me, I 
 passed through the rooms with closed eyes ; I did 
 not wish to speak, did not wish to see. 
 
TYPES 
 
 55 
 
 Happy my father, who could not move from his 
 armchair ! Happy my infirm father, who passed 
 the whole day in his library and at night was 
 carried up to his bedroom, the only room respected 
 by this crazy modern innovation ! 
 
 Lodovico often brought strange people with him 
 from the city, who remained to dine with us. 
 Extraordinary men they were, elegantly dressed, 
 who talked of class privileges and cursed them, of 
 the disinherited, and of social reorganisation. We 
 looked at them, my father and I, wondering what 
 they could know about it, what these individuals in 
 tail-coats and pearl-grey gloves could know of the 
 miseries of the lower classes, of the apparent in- 
 justice dispensed by Divine Providence, mysterious 
 and all-seeing. And to such as these their oppressed 
 brethren were to trust their fate ! The ill-treated 
 populace, the insulted soil, the workmen, in whose 
 hands lay the industrial greatness not of our country 
 alone, but of all humanity ! 
 
 I never heard them say the word Fatherland, it 
 was always Humanity ! They brought it up at every 
 moment and for the most magnificent things ; for 
 a ** poor child who was contentedly herding geese ; 
 for a peasant woman going serenely to the well ; a 
 poor woman oppressed by the necessity .... of 
 drinking! for a countryman horribly bent'' under 
 a load of hay, of which he was not even thinking. 
 
 There will come a day,’^ said Lodovico, when 
 the oppressed will rule over their oppressors.” 
 
 ^‘Then,” I hazarded, ‘^things will only be reversed, 
 and the confusion will be still greater.” 
 
56 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 My husband regarded me compassionately. I 
 was obliged to listen to this sort of talk. 
 
 The finest music is that produced by the com- 
 bined sounds of the file, the plane, the chisel, and 
 the saw.” 
 
 But .... how about Wagner and Beethoven, 
 for my ignorance of whom I was reproved ? 
 
 No spectacle excels in touching grandeur that 
 of a mass of rags spread out in the sun, the many- 
 coloured livery of poverty.” 
 
 If the spectacle moved them so, why were they 
 so anxious to remove it from the face of the earth ? 
 Why did my husband pay such close attention to 
 his property ? Why had he not married a peasant 
 girl instead of a rich woman like me ? 
 
 One evening he introduced his cousin, Gustavo 
 Mariani, to us, and Lorenza immediately fell madly 
 in love with him. Ah, this foolish passion, awakened 
 between a W’oman whose ideas were bound by a 
 system of superstitious religious terror and a spirit 
 in revolt, exasperated against God and against 
 himself, I never could understand ! So long as 
 my father lived Lorenza did not dare to speak. I 
 afterwards learned that she had betrothed herself to 
 him secretly, that she adored Gustavo, and that she 
 would never have forsaken the man who called him- 
 self a mad poetj an audacious dreamer, 
 
 Gustavo and Lodovico understood one another. 
 Gustavo, wishing to convert me, once said : 
 
 Signora, we desire nothing but the amelioration 
 of the poorer classes.” 
 
 It is not a new idea ; Christ himself 
 
TYPES 
 
 57 
 
 Such an observation, which in you is simply 
 religious, becomes philosophical if we consider 
 Christ as the man who laid the first stone of 
 Socialism/^ 
 
 Horrified at this reply, I looked at Lorenza ; she 
 sat with half-closed eyes and a smile on her pale, 
 delicate lips. Had she not understood ? 
 
 The first stone ! Thinking it over I was re- 
 minded of Amatfs lessons : Theodolinda laid the 
 
 first stone, &c. 
 
 Gian Galeazzo laid the first stone.” Which ? 
 What of ? How puerile ! 
 
 Another time a conversation of this kind was 
 carried on in the presence of my aged father. 
 Gustavo, desirous of showing off, shouted and 
 gesticulated, cited Socrates, Whitman, Bebel, 
 Lassalle. But here came in unexpectedly an 
 interruption from Don Carlo Soave. 
 
 Signor Mariani, quotations are not so effective 
 as you suppose. Often a citation only indicates that 
 some one else has already had the same foolish idea.” 
 
 I looked at my father with surprise and pleasure. 
 Gustavo was silent, Lorenza turned pale. My 
 husband said nothing ; he never dared to contradict 
 his father-in-law. Woe to him if he had ! 
 
 When I told Lodovico that I was about to become 
 a mother, it seemed to me that our chamber was 
 filled with azure clouds and perfumed with incense, 
 that the place became purified, sanctified. My 
 husband^s joy was noisy and boyish, and I took 
 courage to hope, 
 
58 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 I understood later that not even the paternal 
 sentiment was strong in that frivolous nature ; 
 I understood that not even the birth of our little 
 son Rinaldo had been sufficient to save Lodovico, to 
 save me. 
 
 The moment, that moment, which could not be 
 avoided, for I had sworn, because it was an un- 
 avoidable punishment, a homage to justice, that 
 moment, I say, which I saw approaching with 
 terrible clearness year by year, I felt was no longer 
 far distant. 
 
 Early one morning, as my little Rinaldo was creep- 
 ing about the carpet of my room and I was listening 
 to his joyous little cries, like those of some happy 
 wild bird, Lodovico opened the door and stood still 
 for an instant on the threshold watching us. My 
 husband was clad in a fashionable light summer 
 suit and he had already taken his hat, gloves and 
 cane. His fatuous attitude did not deceive me in 
 the least ; he was acting ; he wished to dawdle a 
 little, to talk to the boy and question me. I 
 noticed his forced smile, his wandering glance ; I 
 understood ; he was in a hurry to be off, he had 
 one of his adventures on hand. 
 
 Why had he married me, this handsome young 
 man, created for the light loves of a day, for fan- 
 tastic attractions and sinful follies ? 
 
 Are you going out, Lodovico ? 
 
 Yes, my dearest.’^ 
 
 I was struck by the affected gentleness of his 
 voice. Was there something serious going on this 
 time, then ? A real affair, on account of which 
 
TYPES 
 
 59 
 
 some spark of remorse impelled him to affect a false 
 and unusual tenderness ? Ah, if he had but cast 
 aside all deception, if he had but boldly confessed ! 
 
 Must you go so early? 
 
 Most urgent business. I have had the horse 
 harnessed already ; I am going to town.’^ 
 
 Shall you come back to dinner ? 
 
 Impossible, Kitty ! I am sorry, but it is quite 
 impossible.” 
 
 Have you forgotten that you invited Gustavo ? ” 
 
 Oh, he is only my cousin ! Besides, you will 
 do the honours of the house, and he will have an 
 opportunity of gazing uninterruptedly at my sister- 
 in-law.” 
 
 As he said this he bent down to caress Rinaldino. 
 I remained silent, watching him. 
 
 How beautiful he is, the dear pet ! Do you 
 know, little wife, our baby is very pretty. He has 
 all his teeth now, has he not ? Does he sleep well 
 at night ? ” 
 
 Yes, he sleeps.” 
 
 Lodovico came close to me and began to stroke 
 my hair gently, pretending to play with my plaits, 
 which were not yet fastened up, but hung loose 
 over my shoulders. 
 
 This is the hair of a sorceress,” he murmured. 
 
 Suddenly I sprang up, and, drawing myself up to 
 my full height, I looked at my husband with so 
 resolute an expression that he grew pale. 
 
 What is the matter, Kitty ? ” 
 
 I could not answer him immediately ; I felt that 
 a great pallor overspread my face, I trembled, and 
 
6o 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 my lips quivered so that I was incapable of uttering 
 a single word. Then there occurred in me a strange 
 revulsion of feeling, a mixture of anger and surprise, 
 a species of intuition Avhich preceded the certain 
 knowledge of the fact, and without hesitation I 
 judged and condemned. 
 
 Might I ask what it is, Caterina ? he continued, 
 with uneasy impatience. 
 
 It seems to me . . . I began, making a vague 
 gesture with my hand as if to indicate somxething 
 floating in the air around us. 
 
 It seems to you ? . . . . ^^ 
 
 No, no ! I exclaimed, approaching him sternly, 
 it not only seems to me, but I am sure ! It is 
 you, is it, who have this perfume about you ? 
 
 What perfume ? he said, instinctively retreat- 
 ing a step and reddening slightly. 
 
 Once more, for an instant, I felt a sense of phy- 
 sical weakness ; I felt as if I were paralysed, as if 
 my arms hung down at my sides useless and im- 
 moveable, I experienced a sensation of weight in 
 the air, as though it were vitiated, contaminated, 
 then a torpor of the brain, and after that a necessity, 
 a fierce necessity of breaking invisible chains that 
 were torturing me. 
 
 What is it ? I asked at last. 
 
 But, good heavens ! Is it this poor scent that 
 you object to so strongly ? Who could have fore- 
 seen such a tragedy ? Is there any need to turn 
 pale and tremble in this way ? You make me laugh ! 
 You want to know what scent it is ? I don^t even 
 know myself ; it is a little bottle that I found in one 
 
TYPES 
 
 6i 
 
 of my drawers by chance. Wait, Kitty ! Now I will 
 divulge this tremendous secret ; I think it is ... . 
 3^es, it is white rose ! Are you satisfied now ? ” 
 
 ** White rose ? ” 
 
 ^^Or rosa bianca^ if you like that better. 
 
 Since when have you used this horrid scent ? 
 Oh, I see, you mean that it is a novelty ! You 
 are right, 1 am using it for the first time to-day. 
 Chance, a mere chance ; I don^t care for this sort of 
 thing, but it is a delicious scent all the same. Why 
 do you call it horrid ? You should use it yourself, 
 instead of that everlasting Russian violet^ 
 
 ‘‘ Never ! 
 
 The antique family lace, that sacred lace which 
 had lain so long in my mother’s drawers beside the 
 black cases that contained our splendid family 
 diamonds was always scented with Russian violet ; 
 an odour of violets pervaded the linen which for 
 years and years, according to our provident and 
 simple custom, had accumulated in the large store- 
 cupboards of the house ; when Lorenza, purest of 
 beings, passed through the rooms with her light 
 step, like a spirit, a perfume of violets floated about 
 her, emanating from her snowy garments ; even my 
 baby, through being always with us, carried and 
 caressed, had the same perfume on his soft cheeks 
 and in the brown rings of his curly hair. I thought 
 of all this tenderly, and in disgust exclaimed again 
 impulsively : 
 
 No, never ! ” 
 
 I understood instinctively that Lodovico, with 
 revolting cynicism, had proposed that I, that I, his 
 
62 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 wife^ should use the perfume of some other woman. 
 Oh, my God ! What woman ? Some impure crea- 
 ture, doubtless ; his mistress for certain. 
 
 As I stood motionless, looking at him indignantly, 
 my pupils dilated with horror at the ignoble idea, 
 he had the courage to ask me once again : 
 
 What is the matter ? adding with evident 
 vanity, ^^You suspect something, perhaps? Are 
 you jealous ? tell me, are you jealous ? 
 
 No, no, no ! I answered repeatedly, reflect- 
 ing on all the vileness of jealousy without love. 
 
 But you are, my dear ; so confess it. You are 
 suspicious, and a little jealous. But you are mis- 
 taken/^ 
 
 So saying, he approached in order to embrace 
 me, still talking as he did so. 
 
 ‘•Jealous, with those wonderful eyes, that im- 
 perial mouth, that fairy-like hair ! You are joking, 
 are you not ? Come, come, a woman as young 
 and beautiful as you are should not be jealous. You 
 should feel quite certain, you see.” 
 
 Certain ! 
 
 Oh, I was certain, quite certain ; but it was of 
 the deceit which every word of his rendered more 
 vulgar and mean. I could have adduced no proof, 
 yet I was as certain of it as of the existence of God. 
 It seemed as if a well of hatred sprang up in my 
 heart ; I scarcely comprehended it, but when, an 
 instant after, Lodovico bent down to kiss my 
 innocent child, to kiss him with lips polluted by 
 sin, 1 felt certain that I hated him. 
 
 1 will tell you, I will explain. 
 
TYPES 
 
 63 
 
 You cannot accuse me of exaggeration. Nothing 
 justified the conduct of the man who betrayed me, who 
 lied to me ; not passion, as you indulgently call 
 the brutality of the spirit and the senses ; remember 
 that before binding himself by an eternal oath he 
 had cynically predicted what would happen, there- 
 fore there could be no question of a fatal surprise 
 for him. Yet he dissembled — dissembled with 
 me, lied to me, who without loving him had re- 
 spected, obeyed, served him, who had subjugated 
 my whole being to a sense of duty to him, con- 
 straining my soul, which shuddered, constraining 
 my senses, which rebelled. And he dissembled, 
 lied to me, who had sworn to kill him and whose 
 duty it was to kill him. If at least he could have 
 kept silence ! If at least he had had the courage to 
 confess ! 
 
 Confession alone could have saved him. But 
 perhaps he could not keep silence, and the courage 
 to confess was not granted to him. It is impossible 
 to struggle against the Inevitable^ and in me the 
 consciousness of this inevitableness was so profound 
 that not only was there no struggle, but there was 
 no hesitation from the first conception of the 
 criminal idea until its execution. From that morn- 
 ing I felt that a clearly defined preparation was 
 going forward in my nature, of which I could 
 follow the progress step by step, a steady advance 
 towards the murder, of which I was perfectly con- 
 scious, but without horror. No, that which I had 
 to do aroused no feeling of horror in me ; that 
 would have been a weakness unworthy of me. 
 
64 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 Rather, in awaiting the terrible hour, 1 felt the 
 peculiar attitude of my mind, which was stoically 
 preparing itself for the deed. 
 
 Scarcely was Lodovico gone than I fastened up 
 my hair in feverish haste, took up my boy, carried 
 him out of the polluted chamber and gave him to 
 his nurse. I returned to the room, which seemed 
 impregnated with that accursed scent, and threw 
 wide open the two large windows. Useless, 
 useless ! Everywhere, it seemed to me, was the 
 perfume, that perfume of white rose : in the carpet, 
 the furniture, the picture of the Madonna ; it had 
 even crept into my hair, into the folds of my dress, 
 into my thoughts, into my heart ; it was every- 
 where ! Everywhere was the defiant breath of sin. 
 I changed my dress, rearranged my hair, went down 
 into the garden and wandered out into the country. 
 In vain, in vain ! 
 
 In vain the harmony of light and colour, the 
 living triumph of the flowers, the golden grain, the 
 impetuous rushing waters, the trilling, humming 
 and warbling of thousands and thousands of winged 
 creatures, visible, or secure in their simple hiding- 
 places ; in vain the stretch of emerald meadows, 
 glorious in the sunshine and sweet with the scent 
 of the new-mown grass and all the vitality of Nature 
 in her power. There still remained, dominating 
 everything, the hateful perfume of white rose. My 
 senses were shocked, as if that white rose had 
 turned itself by a horrible miracle into an unbear- 
 able colour, an insupportable combination of terrible 
 sounds, an infernal music. 
 
TYPES 65 
 
 Are you ill ? asked my father, when I entered 
 his room after an absence of some hours. 
 
 No/^ I answered, starting. 
 
 You are very pale,^^ said the dear voice, which 
 sounded weaker than usual, and sad, as it had 
 never been before. 
 
 I stayed out too long,’^ I said by way of 
 explanation. 
 
 I do not know how long the silence between us 
 lasted. 
 
 Caterina.^’ 
 
 What is it, father dear ? 
 
 Will you read me something ? 
 
 ‘^The ^ Imitation of Christ.^ 
 
 I looked at my father in astonishment ; this 
 reading aloud of religious books was in Lorenza^s 
 province. But I said nothing ; I went immediately 
 to get the book, which my sister kept in the little 
 oratory dedicated to the Madonna. I came back 
 with the little book bound in black morocco. 
 
 Don Carlo Soave took the book, placed the 
 marker — a piece of faded pink ribbon — in a certain 
 page and signed to me to read. 
 
 It was the chapter Of the Desire of Eternal Life.’’ 
 My voice trembled with an unknown emotion. 
 When I had finished I looked at my father ; he was 
 weeping. 
 
 This book was Anna’s,” he murmured, ^^you 
 will take care of it, afterwards ^ 
 
 I understood the significance of that afterwards. 
 I kissed the volume, and kissed the trembling hands 
 extended towards me in supreme benediction. 
 
 E 
 
66 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 But the thought I was to slay never left 
 me ; only I said to myself with calm decision, 
 Afterwards.’^ 
 
 That meant : 
 
 Afterwards when my father shall be dead.” 
 
 I knew, also, that this afterwards would be 
 soon. 
 
 I am still referring to the same day. 
 
 I overheard Gustavo Mariani, on rising from the 
 table, whisper to Lorenza, Valenti is preparing 
 something tremendous.” 
 
 Of what kind ? ” I inquired indifferently. 
 
 He is the leader of the strike,” replied 
 Gustavo. 
 
 What strike ? ” 
 
 The strike which was feared, at the forge.” 
 
 A strike was feared at our forge, you say ? 
 Lodovico knew it ? ” I asked with sudden at- 
 tention. 
 
 He knew it, certainly, but they w^ere such vague 
 reports ! ” 
 
 No matter, when there are suspicions of such a 
 nature one does not thus abandon one’s house ! ” I 
 cried indignantly. 
 
 Come, Donna Caterina, calm yourself. It is 
 probably a false alarm ; besides, the people must 
 raise its voice freely.” 
 
 This phrase made me laugh ; the occasion 
 made Gustavo’s words sound grotesquely rhe- 
 torical. 
 
 When your adorable people shall have com- 
 
TYPES 
 
 67 
 
 mitted one of its usual excesses, will you pacify 
 it ? I cried, ironically, to provoke the foolish 
 socialist. 
 
 Why not, Donna Caterina ? ” he said, reddening 
 with anger. 
 
 I saw Lorenza draw near as though to calm me, 
 and I stopped her with a glance. 
 
 In short, what makes you think there is going to 
 be a strike ? ” I began again. 
 
 I know that the workmen, incited by Va- 
 lenti ’’ 
 
 That vile traitor ! 
 
 Have threatened the manager of the forge/^ 
 
 Because he was guilty of having obeyed us, 
 guilty of doing his duty, is it not so ? And what 
 can they do to him, tell me? Surround him, 
 assault him, destroy his house, which is isolated 
 at the end of the village ! How brave ! They 
 can frighten him — yes, but that’s all ! An old 
 man ! Ah ! how cowardly, how vile ! Why do 
 they not come here to me ? ” 
 
 They say it is useless, that they have already 
 been.” 
 
 Two arrogant fellows came with the most 
 ridiculous pretensions : I simply laughed at them. 
 If they have the courage, let them all come ; come 
 up here.” 
 
 They will come,” said Gustavo, quietly. 
 
 Oh, Hol}^ Virgin ! ” murmured Lorenza. 
 
 ‘‘ Then you are sure of what you say ? ” I said 
 to Mariani, looking him sharply and closely in the 
 eyes. 
 
68 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 No, I am not sure/^ 
 
 ^^And now, after neglecting every means ox 
 preventing a revolt, what do you intend to do ? 
 
 Nothing ; I am not a proprietor, I have nothing 
 to protect. Whoever has nothing should let matters 
 take their own course ; one can never tell what 
 may result from revolution.’^ 
 
 At that moment I clearly read the thoughts of 
 Gustavo Mariani ; I understood him, and was ashamed 
 to be near such a man. 
 
 I went to the pale Lorenza, touched her arm, and 
 flung this reproach at her : 
 
 ^^You hear how he speaks and you are not in- 
 dignant ? Are you, then, no better than Luisa ? ” 
 The slender figure trembled convulsively. 
 
 Caterina, Caterina, how cruel you are ? ” mur- 
 mured her pale lips. 
 
 If you were in personal danger I would defend 
 you,” Gustavo assured us. 
 
 My sister smiled affectionately ; I smiled too, 
 but with contempt. 
 
 After all, they are but possibilities/’ said Lorenza 
 in a low voice. 
 
 We shall see,” I replied. 
 
 I went into the library, to my father. We had 
 been talking together for a few minutes, when our 
 old servant, Giuditta, suddenly threw open the 
 door, exclaiming : 
 
 Oh, Don Carlo ! Don Carlo ! ” 
 
 “ Here it comes ! ” I cried, springing to my 
 feet. 
 
TYPES 69 
 
 What comes ? What is happening ? asked 
 my father, in alarm. 
 
 ^‘The strike,’’ I said. 
 
 You know already, Donna Caterina ? ” gasped 
 Giuditta. Yes, my son Domenico came up as fast 
 as he could run to warn us. They are the work- 
 men from the forges ; they have been playing the 
 devil down there at the end of the village, the 
 manager has fled, they have smashed every window 
 in his house with a shower of stones, they have 
 broken down the door, and thrown out everything 
 they found inside. Something serious is feared ; 
 they may come up here perhaps ! And then ! 
 Oh, Don Carlo, shall I order Andrea to close the 
 great door ? ” 
 
 No, we are not afraid ! ” cried my father, mak- 
 ing an ineffectual attempt to rise. 
 
 But if they should come here, master ? They 
 have threatened us, there is danger. I am afraid 
 for Donna Caterina, for Donna Lorenza, for the 
 child ! ” 
 
 My God ! ” exclaimed the poor old man, looking 
 at me with an agonised glance. 
 
 Then I saw his venerable face covered with bitter 
 tears, and a wild, miserable rage filled my heart at 
 the thought of my husband who had left us thus, 
 without defence. 
 
 Where is Signor Gustavo ? ” I asked Giuditta, 
 who was inconsolable. 
 
 He has gone with Domenico to call the cara- 
 bineers.” 
 
 Two hours to go to the village .... and return. 
 
70 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 two hours before any help can reach us/^ murmured 
 my father, in despair. 
 
 ‘‘ Oh if only the master had been able to go him- 
 self to calm them ! They could have been quieted 
 with promises, with kind words, I know they could ; 
 Alas for us ! Alas for us ! 
 
 I was walking up and down in my agitation when 
 a sudden thought struck me, suggested by Giuditta^s 
 words. I stopped before my father, as if to fix my 
 resolve. 
 
 Hardly had I heard him say regretfully : 
 
 If I only had a son ! when I decided. 
 
 ''Tell Donna Lorenza to come here immediately,” 
 I ordered the old servant. Then, when my father 
 and I were alone ; 
 
 "Father!’^ I exclaimed, proudly, "you know I 
 have the courage of a man — you know it — you have 
 given me that courage. Do not distress yourself 
 any more ; I will go — shall I ? 
 
 He started, he understood. I read in his look — 
 my God, how often since have I seen that look, how 
 often have I recalled it with passionate longing ! — a 
 mixture of pride, surprise, paternal enthusiasm that 
 struggled with terror. 
 
 " No, Caterina, no ! ” cried his voice, but his eyes 
 blazed with contradiction. 
 
 "You will really go?’^ he asked presently, as 
 he began to yield, while his eyes were dim with 
 anxiety. " Caterina, will you go alone ? ” 
 
 " Yes, alone.” 
 
 "'It is too much, my brave daughter ! No, 
 
TYPES 
 
 71 
 
 My confidence will calm the rioters.’^ 
 
 ** And what will you say to them ? 
 
 I do not know, father ; God will inspire me.” 
 You are right, God will protect my child.” 
 
 We exchanged an intense look, full of religious 
 fervour and steadfast faith, an interchange of con- 
 fidence. 
 
 Lorenza came in, leading the child by the hand. 
 
 ^^Renza,” I said, remain here until my return. 
 You, Rinaldi, be good with grandpapa,” I added, 
 without glancing at my son. 
 
 Where are you going ? ” asked the frightened 
 
 boy. 
 
 I did not answer. I left the library in haste, 
 hurried up to that odious room, full of the perfume 
 of white rose, put on my riding-habit, and went 
 downstairs again. There I had to struggle with 
 Giuditta, who sobbed and implored me not to go, 
 and with Andrea, who refused to help me saddle 
 Vizir. When my foot was already in the stirrup 
 I heard Lorenza^s faint voice calling me ; she came 
 rushing downstairs, sent by my father, who had 
 repented and did not wish me to go. 
 
 But the phenomenon of my double personality 
 made it impossible for me to remain. It was no 
 longer in my power to obey, and while my spirit, 
 respectful and devoted, turned at the paternal call, 
 another spirit in me, longing to fight, was already 
 immovable from the idea of finding itself in the 
 midst of the rioters, and constrained me to spur 
 violently forward, abandoning my house and my 
 people. 
 
72 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 Now, my second spirit, stronger than the first, 
 though it excited me, also caused me pain. I cannot 
 explain myself clearly, I am afraid ; in short, figure 
 to yourself two personalities fused in each other, 
 yet quite distinct, of which one is inclined to kneel 
 and pray, while the other burns with an imperious 
 desire to discuss, to combat, to command. 
 
 In reality I detested these low people who had 
 risen in rebellion, yet they interested me. I longed 
 for once to study them at close quarters, to insult 
 them face to face, to live for one moment the 
 life of these men to whom we had given bread, and 
 who suddenly cursed and threatened us; L wanted 
 to hear curses and threats that I might smile and 
 defy them. I had no thought of danger ; there 
 seemed an attraction for me in this disorder, this 
 spectacle. 
 
 And why, tell me why the air continued to be 
 filled for me with that perfumed malediction which 
 had persecuted me since the morning ? It is of 
 all this I long to convince you — from this point 
 especially I wish to persuade you of even the 
 smallest fact, of every little item of thought. From 
 this point — that is to say, from the hour in which 
 I began to feel the physical sensation of the pass- 
 age of time, as it sped hour by hour, minute by 
 minute. 
 
 While Vizir lessened the distance before me, 
 while I felt the sensation of being awaited by those 
 who hated me, as if they already knew of my 
 coming, and while the space between us steadily 
 diminished, there still continued before, behind. 
 
TYPES 
 
 73 
 
 around me a wild dance of millions and millions of 
 white roses, invisible, infernal, heavenly, so fragrant 
 that they made me giddy. They preceded me, they 
 followed me, they drove me mad. Yes, I tell you 
 they were intoxicating, penetrating. Then suddenly, 
 as though their leaves had fallen, I felt myself 
 affronted by a burning rain of petals : there were 
 no roses ; they were invisible ; why, then, did I 
 feel so distinctly the stinging touch of those soft, 
 snowy, perfumed petals ? What torment, what a 
 pitiless persecution ! 
 
 Vizir leaped over the space before him, on and 
 on ; it seemed to me as though the plain fled into 
 the sunset, which was grand, for where the sun had 
 disappeared there remained in the sky great masses 
 of violet clouds and streaks of blood-red colour. It 
 was terrible, awful, but I was not discouraged by 
 it : a secret excitement impelled me towards those 
 who awaited me, who called me. And now I felt 
 most distinctly the sense of a call I must obey. 
 
 I met a small group of turbulent workmen, one 
 of whom carried a flag. They stopped for a moment 
 as I passed, mute with astonishment, then turned 
 and followed me, uttering threatening cries. I grew 
 more and more excited, and pulled so hard at Vizir^s 
 bit that the poor beast started off at a gallop. The 
 cowardly wretches behind, thinking I was flying, 
 grew furious. A stone ! ah. Heaven ! No, nothing ; 
 I am safe, Vizir is safe. Another stone ! Still un- 
 hurt. Ah, at last ! Here are the rest — no, only a 
 group of them. Further on I hear cries ; there is 
 the crowd of strikers. Courage, Vizir! Those 
 
74 
 
 W OMANIS FOLLY 
 
 who were following me shouted with savage de- 
 light : 
 
 Here she is, she has fallen into our hands ! 
 We^l eat her up alive ! 
 
 I had reached the cross roads. I could change 
 my course, could fly as they believed and feared I 
 should do. On, Vizir, on, towards the others, to 
 where they are, all of them, where I am awaited, 
 where I mean to go ! Long live my father, Don 
 Carlo Soave ! He is right, long may he live ! We 
 are not afraid. 
 
 Behind me I heard shouts and laughter. 
 
 Look at her ! She leads the way ; she defies 
 us ! Much she has to defy ! Hurrah, hurrah, the 
 brave lady ! It is our turn now ; forward the 
 mob ! Down with the rich ! Down with the 
 oppressors ! Death to the owners ! Come to 
 us, dear ; come to us ! We41 tame you finely ! 
 The Austrians left you here ! The Germans have 
 not all gone ! A clear understanding now, or 
 you^ll never get home alive, girl ! 
 
 I hear you, vile crew ! And one must make 
 concessions to this gang of thieves. 
 
 Oh, oh ! Here’s the Countess Matilda come 
 to fight us ! Where is Gregory VII. ? ” 
 
 With this ridiculous historical allusion my 
 brother-in-law Antonio checked Vizir’s wild course. 
 I recognised his voice immediately. Trembling 
 with hatred, I bent down to him and asked : 
 
 Are you the leader of this pack of fools ? ” 
 Softly, fair lady ! Don’t give yourself such 
 airs ! It’s useless to raise your whip ; I have 
 
TYPES 
 
 75 
 
 your beast by the bridle. Now, let us come 
 to terms ! That’s what you came for, isn’t 
 
 it?” 
 
 Oh, the fury, the insane fury that the sight of 
 him aroused in me ! The villain’s face that had 
 made us all blush with shame ; the man who had 
 seduced Luisa ; who had caused me to make my 
 first grim acquaintance with hatred ! Oh, how I 
 detested him; how willingly could I have scarred 
 his face if I had not foreseen the consequences, 
 for I did not forget it was Lodovico whom I had 
 to kill ! Now that I saw them, I was moved by 
 infinite pity (physical, not moral) for these plebeians 
 who surrounded me ; imploring rather than greedy, 
 deceived rather than corrupt. These people, these 
 furious people, I had known them once, in other 
 days, as they ought to have remained — humble, 
 devoted, and servile. Yes, they were devoted then, 
 these men. 
 
 Oh, Antonio Valenti ; wretch, wretch ! What 
 poison had you instilled in their hearts ? What 
 words, oh apostle of evil ! had you used against 
 God and their legitimate masters to exasperate 
 them to this revolt ; so unjust, so vile as to awake 
 positive horror ? 
 
 What is it you want ? ” I asked in a loud 
 voice. 
 
 Shorter working hours ! ” 
 
 Higher pay ! ” 
 
 Better treatment ! ” 
 
 They were furious voices, raised as though in 
 blasphemy. 
 
76 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 Shall we come and work for you ? I cried 
 ironically. 
 
 ^^She refuses! Refuses I I heard screamed 
 in threatening female tones. 
 
 Women too. My God, Thou wast merciful to 
 me, for amongst these voices it was impossible for 
 me to distinguish Luisa^s. Perhaps she was not 
 there. God help me to believe that she was not ! 
 
 ‘‘ Send them home ; send them all home ! I 
 called out to Valenti, Even while he made a 
 movement as if to seize me, I heard several voices 
 crying : 
 
 The carabineers ! The carabineers ! ” 
 
 But you, viper, are you going to make con- 
 cessions to those who serve you ? ” asked Antonio, 
 fixing me with his bloodshot eyes. 
 
 Justice, and nothing more.'^ 
 
 ‘^What? What?^^ 
 
 Justice,’^ I cried. “Go home, you women, go 
 home ; take you husbands home if you would not 
 have worse things happen ! ” 
 
 By this time the carabineers were close upon us. 
 Then I saw the worth of popular fury, the just 
 anger of the people, in the face of force. Valenti 
 left hold of Vizir’s bridle, shouting at me I know 
 not what threat. The others began to consult 
 amongst themselves, uncertain, casting suspicious 
 looks at Antonio ; some dispersed quietly, others 
 started to run across the fields. A few stones 
 came flying through the air in my direction, 
 thrown by some miserable, unknown hand. I 
 started Vizir off at a gallop again. The brigadier who 
 
TYPES 
 
 77 
 
 commanded the detachment of mounted carabineers 
 met me, pale and serious. 
 
 What imprudence ! Oh lady, what impru- 
 dence ! You will not go back alone ! ” 
 
 I smiled. I was obliged to return home escorted 
 by two carabineers, and on the way the roses 
 came back and surrounded me — the white roses 
 with falling leaves, turning into a white shower of 
 petals, delicate scorching petals. 
 
 I found Lorenza waiting for me in the court- 
 yard, talking in low tones to Gustavo. 
 
 I was instantly seized by the thought of my 
 father left all alone ; instantly I saw him, lying in 
 his chair, his head resting against its back, with 
 wide-open, staring eyes, dull eyes, dull and glassy, 
 with the last longing look, his features composed 
 in the austere and rigid gravity of death. I know 
 not what delirium seized me ; scarcely had I 
 dismounted when I screamed to Lorenza : 
 
 “You have let our father die! You haye let 
 him die alone 1 ” 
 
 I heard a cry of terror as I hastened thither, 
 where, in fact, he was awaiting me, as I had seen 
 him in that terrible vision of presentiment. 
 
 My child had fallen gently asleep on his knee. 
 For many hours I remained with him, with the 
 beloved dead ; then I left Lorenza and Giuditta to 
 pray in the chamber where the dear body reposed, 
 calm, for ever calm, illuminated by many tapers 
 burning in melancholy splendour. I had not wept ; 
 I could not ; I felt it was impossible for me to 
 weep. 
 
78 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 I went down to the courtyard ; a small table, 
 with a lamp on it, had been placed under the 
 portico, as the carabineers were staying all night, 
 fearing further disorder. Andrea, our old servant, 
 was sitting at the table with his elbows resting 
 upon it, sobbing, with his face hidden in his hands. 
 
 I approached him gently and laid my hand on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 Go upstairs, Andrea ; go and see him. He 
 looks as though he were sleeping.” 
 
 The old man obeyed. 
 
 To the carabineers, three young men, who gazed 
 at me steadily in silence, with respectful sympathy, 
 I said : 
 
 I do not wish my husband to hear anything 
 until I have spoken to him ; neither do I wish him 
 to see you at once.” 
 
 They retired into a corner of the courtyard where 
 not even the moonlight reached them. It was late ; 
 the night was calm, silent and beautiful ; the cold 
 stars shone in the dark-blue vault above, the full 
 moon with her pearly halo rode imperiously on 
 high. I did not pray, everything around me 
 seemed to be interceding for me ; the nocturnal 
 silence was a devotion ; all things prayed in a 
 silence blessed and sanctified by death ; a thought 
 of eternity was born, extended, and hovered over 
 all things, in all things. 
 
 I remained there long, waiting to destroy at one 
 blow the vanity of the man who should arrive, to 
 see his face change at the sudden and terrible news, 
 to throw down at one blow his whole edifice of lies. 
 
TYPES 
 
 79 
 
 A few minutes before Lodovico arrived I remem- 
 bered that Gustavo Mariani might anticipate me. 
 If he were already warned, if it were no longer in 
 my power to take him by surprise ! 
 
 And in fact it was so, he had already been told 
 everything. 
 
 When I saw his face in the light of the small 
 lamp burning under the portico it was not pale 
 with pity, it bore no look of sorrow, I saw a face 
 flushed with anger, contracted with a thousand 
 evil thoughts. 
 
 ^^Come upstairs !” he said roughly. 
 
 I followed him, desirous of remaining — until the 
 end — faithful to my duty as an obedient wife. It 
 was in the room he had contaminated that very 
 morning that the odious event occurred. And now 
 listen to what happened. I was with my husband, 
 and yet was not with him. In spirit I was in the 
 chamber of the dear departed, in truth I was really 
 there beside the bed whereon lay the motionless 
 figure ; Lorenza, Giuditta, and I were reciting the 
 same Latin prayer together, it was the Pater noster. 
 My body was beside my husband, my ears heard 
 his angry and insulting words ; who knows how 
 often I had heard them before, how often I had 
 been obliged to answer them ? But now I could 
 make no reply, for my lips were engaged in prayer, 
 there, beside the dead, my lips were forced piously 
 to repeat, Deliver us from temptation^ now^ and in 
 the hour of our death 
 
 Suddenly the delight and the torture of this 
 double existence, this double and imperfect vitality 
 
8o 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 was brutally interrupted ; I felt myself seized by 
 the arm, my soul was recalled to my body with 
 vigorous force, I ceased praying ; I heard the 
 words : 
 
 I forgive you the ridiculous folly of to-day for 
 the sake of what happened afterwards.’* 
 
 I uttered an indignant cry, then I was able to 
 speak, to question him. 
 
 ^‘And you who assure me, are you at peace? 
 Are you satisfied with what you have done to- 
 day ? ** 
 
 I never saw any one else turn so horribly pale. 
 I heard him lie again, I heard myself laughing, 
 laughing long. Perhaps he spoke again ; my body 
 remained beside him certainly, but I could neither 
 listen to him nor answer him. My soul had gone 
 back to pray by my father’s bedside ; we three 
 women were there, praying fervently, and the 
 tapers burned, burned, and the flickering flames 
 prayed also. My father was at rest. He^ that 
 man, was still talking, perhaps. 
 
 Lorenza had fainted ; Giuditta and I had 
 searched in vain for the bottle of ether — where 
 could it be } It must have been fate that put into 
 Giuditta’s mouth the words which led me to the 
 discovery, no, to the certainty, of what had troubled 
 my mind for months and months. 
 
 Donna Caterina, perhaps it is in master’s 
 room.” 
 
 Impossible, why should you suppose master 
 would keep ether in his room ? ” 
 
 But, who knows ! I thought it might, perhaps, 
 
TYPES 
 
 8r 
 
 be amongst the bottles on the shelf by the window. 
 Andrea may have found the bottle we are look- 
 ing for by chance, and put it there amongst the 
 others.” 
 
 I hesitated. Should I go into Lodovico^s room ? 
 Should I call Andrea and order him to search ? I 
 never entered that room where voluptuous luxury 
 reigned, and even the necessity of the moment did 
 not suffice to overcome my repugnance to a place so 
 opposed to all my tastes and ideas. 
 
 Meanwhile Giuditta bathed my sister^s forehead 
 with a handkerchief dipped in vinegar, moistening 
 her temples delicately, and speaking softly and affec- 
 tionately, as one does to a sick child. Lorenza 
 was still unconscious. I can still see the girl's 
 corpse-like face, surrounded by the pale aureole of 
 her fair hair. Nothing about her revealed a sign 
 of life, but still I could not move, I could not 
 decide. 
 
 % She is coming to ! ” cried the good old servant 
 — but it was not true, the swoon did not pass. 
 ^‘Oh, Signora, Signora, I am afraid! I must 
 call some one, I must make her swallow something 
 strong . . . . ” 
 
 Brandy,” I said, hoping it might suffice. I 
 went to my wardrobe, took the bottle of brandy 
 and poured a few drops on Lorenza's lips, as we 
 could not open her mouth. But with no result. 
 
 We must have the ether,” said the servant, 
 turning round in despair, ** go. Signora, go yourself 
 into master's room, I will stay here with Donna 
 Lorenza and keep her head raised.” 
 
 F 
 
82 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 ‘‘ I will go/^ I answered faintly. 
 
 And I went. 
 
 I am not observant, I am not even curious ; the 
 secret thoughts of others do not interest me ; I do 
 not care about the objects that surround me, but 
 often, suddeny, as if by a revelation, there has 
 been borne in on me by outward things the exact 
 picture of a soul. I now saw the soul of my 
 husband, my absent husband was there, present all 
 around me, and I beheld his soul, pensonified as it 
 were, laughing at me in everything. I see it still, I 
 feel it, the nausea of that moment comes back to 
 me. I see myself walking with steps rendered 
 noiseless by the soft carpet, walking in the dim 
 twilight produced by the short silken curtains of 
 the windows, a bluish twilight enhanced by the 
 reflection of the blue curtains and the smoke of the 
 cigarettes. What a place it was, noisome with 
 strange perfumes, with the smell of flowers dying 
 in the large porcelain vases ! 
 
 Doctor, let me hasten on, let me tell you the end 
 quickly. No, do not force me to dwell on details. 
 
 There .... 
 
 There .... Where ? 
 
 On the shelf, was it not ? Certainly, On the 
 small shelf near the window. Well, the bottle of 
 ether was not there. The letter was there instead. 
 
 Which ? 
 
 That letter ! The letter that had to be there. 
 
 I am writing from memory ; you know the letter 
 already, it was read at the trial ; never mind, Doctor, 
 let me write it down from memory ; the letter said : 
 
TYPES 
 
 83 
 
 Dear Heart, 
 
 The sovereign speaks, the happy slave 
 obeys. Here I am at the ^ Refuge,^ as you wished ; 
 here I am, not far away from you, exulting in the 
 thought that I can see you every evening, as you 
 promised, that I can steal you every evening from 
 her whom I hate and whom you do not love. Tell 
 me that you have never loved her ! Tell me this, 
 Lodovico, tell it me between the kisses of our great 
 passion. 
 
 Is it not true, oh my own, that I am thine, 
 wholly thine ? 
 
 ^^As for him, who is now far away, I care 
 nothing ! If you were jealous of him you would 
 be mistaken — you, my adored one, you who have 
 seen me smile proudly at the idea of danger. 
 
 Our love a sin ? 
 
 ‘Ht cannot be, oh my lover, and if it were, then 
 I should even bless sin ! 
 
 I have left the child with my mother-in-law 
 and have come here, they think, because I am ill 
 and tired. 
 
 Are you smiling, you of whom I think con- 
 stantly ? You know it is so, I am ill with love and 
 tired of everything that does not concern you. 
 
 I press my mouth to yours .... 
 
 Your Sara/’ 
 
 He She? 
 
 I know. Myself and Sara’s husband. I must 
 insist on the fact that I felt no rancour towards 
 Lodovico’s mistress ; on the contrary, I included 
 her in the same compassion I felt for myself. Was 
 
84 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 she not unhappy in loving a man like Lodovico 
 Rosalba, a man base enough to allow his mistress 
 to insult a wife like me ! 
 
 She ... . 
 
 He ... . 
 
 Do you remember that other person who was 
 wronged as I was ? I remember his loyal look, 
 which was in itself a reproof ; you do not believe 
 it, perhaps. That other person had the soul of 
 those who pardon the fault while suffering from it 
 and feeling its disgrace. He would have been 
 grateful to me if I had killed Sara, for I should 
 thus have saved him the open shame of forgiveness. 
 
 But, I repeat, I did not hate Sara, and the idea 
 of making myself the instrument of justice on be- 
 half of others has always been repugnant to me. 
 
 How long I remained with my eyes fixed upon 
 that letter that commanded me to punish I do not 
 know, but my sensations were terrible, because I 
 was fully aware that time was rushing towards the 
 fore-ordained, 
 
 I heard Lorenza^s voice : 
 
 Dear Caterina, do not search any longer, I am 
 better.’^ 
 
 I turned ; the pale girl was standing upright on 
 the threshold, leaning on the smiling Giuditta. 
 
 I laid the letter down on the shelf, there where 
 my husband^s tranquil imprudence had left it that 
 very morning, and went to my sister, whose gentle 
 eyes were turned towards me. In tiuth, no one 
 noticed any change in my expression ; on my cheek 
 appeared no flush of indignation, no pallor of horror 
 
TYPES 
 
 85 
 
 at the revelation. Nothing new had happened, only 
 the continuation drew near, the continuation that 
 was to lead to the end. 
 
 Talking with Lorenza, smiling at Rinaldo, going 
 about the house, giving the usual orders to the 
 servants, I was preparing myself for ... . 
 
 You understand ? 
 
 Now, when there remains very little more to 
 tell you, I have no strength to explain ; no physical 
 strength. Do you understand this, too ? 
 
 Lodovico did not come back at dinner-time. I 
 remember that the room on the ground-floor, with 
 the table richly laid, seemed to me gloomy in the 
 sunset-light ; my mourning dress felt too heavy 
 for my frame, which was tormented by some un- 
 known malady. 
 
 A year had not yet passed since my father’s death. 
 
 Wait, I remember something else ; as I sat in 
 my accustomed place the door opened to admit 
 Lorenza, another black figure, a shadow, with a 
 white face and a pale gold head. Did not the 
 black dress weigh on her too ? Was it not, for 
 her also, a thorn, a nail, a scourge ? Did she not 
 feel it cling about her like a material, suffocating 
 menace ? 
 
 Yet another point ; beside me stood the child, 
 laughing with wide-open mouth, a fresh rosy flower. 
 
 And now, Doctor, guess what was the last detail 
 of the scene, the detail which I retain clearly fixed 
 in my memory, but which I cannot describe to you, 
 the empty place^ the place which was to remain empty 
 for ever. 
 
86 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 A few hours yet, .... you comprehend ? 
 
 The few hours, during which I heard his voice 
 whisper to another those lying phrases that my ears 
 knew so well. 
 
 I swear to you, for the last time, it was not 
 jealousy that made me shudder. Jealousy, no ; 
 horror rather. 
 
 A few hours yet .... 
 
 But one little hour remained for him to live, 
 when, ready to depart, I turned instinctively to the 
 mirror — an extraordinary thing for me to do, who 
 hate mirrors as I hate photographs. I never see 
 myself reflected in the smooth surface, but another ; 
 a derisive personage, with gloomy eyes and a 
 strange, wild smile. That time, looking in the 
 glass, forcing myself to smile, I felt afraid of that 
 other, who had a burning glance and teeth of 
 odious whiteness. No, no ; that cruel face could 
 not be mine ! It was the other ^ whose eyes were 
 aflame, whose smile was murderous, and whose lips 
 were parted with a savage joy. 
 
 The other. Who ? 
 
 Then there began a clearly defined dualism in 
 which I calmly took part ; two silent voices uplifted 
 themselves in my spirit. I was as if divided into 
 two mysterious personalities ; the first commanded 
 imperiously, the second obeyed readily. 
 
 Thus spoke the first: 
 
 Go to the wardrobe with the secret springs, 
 touch that of the third drawer on the right, and you 
 will find . . . . ^' 
 
 Here the mysterious voice paused in fear. 
 
TYPES S7 
 
 then added in a tone of brutal command, ‘^Take 
 itr’ 
 
 The second went to the wardrobe, opened it, 
 touched the spring of the third drawer to the right, 
 then, shuddering, hesitated, and finally resolutely 
 took .... 
 
 Andrea had already harnessed the horse to my 
 little carriage, which stood ready for me in the 
 courtyard, over which the gathering dusk had 
 spread a soft, poetic cloud. 
 
 I sprang lightly into the carriage, took the reins, 
 and cracked the little whip, that hissed through the 
 air like a sarcasm. Before I passed through the 
 entrance-gate I heard the farewells. 
 
 A pleasant drive to you, Caterina ! 
 
 Good-bye, mamma ! 
 
 My sister and the boy ; they thought I was 
 going out for my usual solitary after-dinner 
 drive. 
 
 I left the village behind me. The country 
 through which I drove was dark ; the carriage 
 lamps looked like blood-shot eyes. Passing by 
 the cemetery, I — who was bent on an errand of 
 murder — thought of death with serenity, as of the 
 most just and natural attribute of humanity. 
 
 I knew the Refuge.^^ It was a villa in the 
 neighbouring village of Roccalta, a beautiful isolated 
 house near the Wood of the Cross, as the peasants 
 call it. 
 
 The little carriage rolled past another small and 
 silent cemetery, in which were millions of fire-flies 
 that looked like wandering stars. Again I medi- 
 
88 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 tated on the just mystery of death, with the most 
 tranquil serenity. 
 
 The Refuge.^^ 
 
 I pulled up my swift horse ; it was, as usual. 
 Vizir, who could not forget the free gallops of other 
 days. I got out of the carriage and tied the reins 
 to a tree. 
 
 Perfectly calm, I went up to the gate of the villa, 
 which was closed ; I passed through it and entered 
 the avenue that led on to a flight of stone steps. 
 Absolute silence reigned ; even the two mysterious 
 voices within me were quiet at last. 
 
 No one in the avenue, no one in the dimly- 
 lighted entrance hall. It was the very abode of 
 secret love. 
 
 In my right hand I held the revolver I had taken 
 from the drawer in the wardrobe — at a command 
 inexplicable, but expected and inevitable. 
 
 A door which led into a lighted room, a small 
 drawing-room, was open before me ; I went forward. 
 Turned towards the door, lying back in a lounging- 
 chair, was a woman ; I could plainly see her 
 splendid bust and her magnificent blond head ; at 
 her feet, resting his head upon her knees, with his 
 back turned towards me, was my husband. You 
 see, therefore, that all was ready, that all was wait- 
 ing for me. 
 
 And scarcely had I entered, when I felt myself 
 assailed by the familiar and insulting perfume of 
 white rose ; wherefore my hand did not tremble, 
 but struck the blow at once and suddenly. I shot 
 Lodovico in the back of his neck, where traitors are 
 shot. 
 
TYPES 
 
 89 
 
 I saw my husband’s head drop instantaneously, 
 then slide across the knees of the woman, who rose 
 up, shrieking with terror ; I saw my husband’s body 
 fall prostrate, face downwards, to the ground. I let 
 the woman escape while I went up to that ghastly 
 corpse and turned its face towards me, fearing it 
 might not be dead. 
 
 A thousand times over I would have killed him. 
 
 But now all was finished. I turned my back on 
 the dead man, and went alone, spontaneously, to 
 give myself up to human justice. 
 
 ISlow you know. 
 
 Doctor, believe me. You should have allowed 
 me to be condemned ; I ought to have been con- 
 demned to the utmost penalty of the law. 
 
 Now .... oh, now ! I do not know remorse, 
 and why should I feel it ? But I can no longer 
 look upon my son. 
 
 Because of his eyes. 
 
 Because of his eyes, which cannot be child-like, 
 which cannot be serene, for they resemble the eyes 
 of the man I killed. 
 
PART II 
 
 THE SOULS 
 
 The Idolater must perish, struck down 
 by his own Idol. 
 
PART II 
 
 THE SOULS 
 
 Some characteristic thoughts extracted from a 
 journal of Gustavo Marianfs : 
 
 I consider that he who is contented with 
 everything suffers from the torpor of life^ and he 
 who despises everything has its poison. To 
 despise is at least the exasperation caused by 
 regret ; it is better to be indifferent. 
 
 She loves me, without cause ; the fact humiliates 
 me. Woe to me were she to reason about it ! 
 Still, it would please me to give life to this woman^s 
 brain, it would please me to elevate in her to the 
 virtue of love that which men have defined as sin 
 and remorse. 
 
 ^‘Looking at her, I often note a curious psycho- 
 logical fact ; the absence of soul. • I then consider 
 her, not as a woman, but as a cold and perfect 
 work of art. 
 
 ‘^It is better so, better this profound ignorance. 
 An intelligent Lorenza might become odious to me. 
 
 I do not know what I am^ nor do I comprehend 
 well what I should be. This is what constitutes all 
 the adorable ingenuousness of the corruption of a 
 
94 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 Manon Lescaut. I do not love mercenary 
 courtesans ; they do not know how to abandon 
 themselves, they do not give themselves. They 
 concede themselves with fastidious self-conscious- 
 ness, with a fatal predominance of brain that 
 destroys every impulse of the soul and even every 
 sensual desire. Manon Lescaut arouses astonish- 
 ment, the good simple creature who so ingenuously 
 dishonours her family, so disinterestedly ruins her 
 lovers, and deceives them with such candour. Of 
 her, not of the sentimental female philosopher, the 
 friend of St. Preux, it should be said : 
 
 I love a woman who is ignorant, but also subtle 
 by aristocratic instinct.” 
 
 Long afterwards Donna Lorenza remembered 
 that morning. 
 
 It had been a morning of great religious fervour. 
 As a matter of fact, it would be incorrect to say that 
 Lorenza prayed, rather she remained for long hours 
 on her knees, listening to God: rarely did she dare 
 to talk with Him, It was not that she lacked the 
 capacity, she disdained it, disdained with deep- 
 rooted instinct any knowledge that might have 
 offended her childish creed, or offended her senses, 
 which were so pure that one might deem them 
 deficient. Lorenza arrested herself by impulse, 
 assisted by a want of natural curiosity, and by 
 pronounced contempt for speech. She might have 
 known and understood, but she did not try. She 
 was tranquil with others and tranquil in herself. 
 
 It was the same with her God. She felt Him 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 95 
 
 and thought of Him more than she invoked Him. 
 He could read her soul all the same, and would find 
 there a great material peace, a divine elevation of 
 thought, free from every earthly tie. 
 
 Later, much later, Donna Lorenza, who never 
 recalled anything, had a confused and sudden 
 delirium of remembrance, and amongst these in- 
 distinct recollections arose the exact vision of that 
 morning. It seemed to her that she was present 
 at something biblical and prophetic. 
 
 Slowly and invidiously fell the rain, creating the 
 grey colour that predominated in the little oratory ; 
 in the gloom the dull gilding of the small altar gave 
 out faint reflections like the pale gold of Lorenza's 
 hair. A melancholy perfume of invisible flowers, 
 which came from the dark niche where stood Santa 
 Lucia, filled the air, it was not possible to see the 
 saint, but she could be divined through the dark- 
 ness ; there was, besides, an odour of incense, 
 sweet and intermittent. 
 
 Lorenza was kneeling at the foot of the crucifix. 
 The rain, which she did not hear at the time, in 
 later days was tiresomely insistent in its continuity ; 
 as is often the case with memory, things unnoticed at 
 the time avenge themselves by reappearing in sharp 
 outline, a futile offering, as it were, to later contem- 
 plation. Those shadowy objects, sacred and sad ! 
 
 Accidentally the waxen hands had opened a 
 volume of Pmlletks d^Or^ turning the pages carelessly, 
 when the pure eyes fell casually on the sentence : 
 Idoldtre doit perir frappe par son idoleP 
 
 The girl ceased reading and trembled. 
 
96 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 She remained immovable a few minutes longer, 
 and then rose, as if to escape from the fear aroused 
 by a warning. She trimmed the lights on the 
 altar, and stretched her hands out confidently into 
 the darkness in search of the flowers that were 
 fading in the niche, which already gave forth a 
 dying perfume. 
 
 Turning towards the crucifix and seeing once 
 more the open volume on the reading desk, Lorenza 
 involuntarily saw the sentence, and again she 
 trembled. 
 
 Then, a mystic white figure, but with an ardour 
 that was almost human, she raised herself to her 
 full height, stretched out her arms and embraced 
 the huge crucifix, laying her sad virginal head 
 beside the drooping, suffering one of the sublime, 
 misunderstood One, saying to Him, in the ecstatic 
 style habitual to her when she ventured to speak: 
 My Lord, oh my Lord, Unique and Supreme 
 Good, pardon me ! Pardon me ! I love one of 
 Thy creations too well. 
 
 It is thus, it is thus ! 
 
 Under her breath Lorenza murmured : 
 
 One must not love the flesh, 1 know. My 
 God, my God, true Love that cannot deceive, by 
 the Divinity of Thy Being purge this idol from out 
 my heart and pardon thy unworthy servant.^^ 
 
 And then Lorenza fainted. 
 
 That was the evening Caterina killed Lodovico. 
 
 Such was the vision. 
 
 The trial was an eternity of suffering. Oh, the 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 97 
 
 hours of anguish passed with Rinaldo, a silent and 
 precocious child, able to guess even the meaning of 
 silence ! The despairing talks with Luisa, who 
 came to meet her sister, through the fields, as far 
 as the garden gate, but who would not enter the 
 house ! 
 
 She who had been a rebellious girl had become 
 a miserable woman, suffering hopelessly and in- 
 cessantly ; her poor face worn thin with sorrow, her 
 hair turned grey, her once vigorous figure bowed 
 with humiliation ; only in her eyes still burned the 
 fire of her old rebellious spirit. 
 
 The two sisters met without an embrace, without 
 a kiss ; they looked into each other’s eyes with 
 sadness, and walked on side by side. Lorenza was 
 not given to demonstrations of affection, and Luisa, 
 overcome now by her scruples, was restrained by 
 fear of profanation. 
 
 Only Luisa spoke. 
 
 Pray, Lorenza, pray you, who are innocent ; 
 only your prayers and those of my son Vincenzo 
 can save us. We are all guilty except you, for you 
 are purity itself.” 
 
 Lorenza was silent. The repentant sister con- 
 tinued : 
 
 Have you no horror of me ? Do you forgive 
 me?” 
 
 The other shook her head at the word horror, 
 and gave a sign of assent at that of pardon, smiling 
 sweetly. 
 
 What good you do me, dear ! You love me ! 
 Caterina does not ; Caterina loves neither you nor me.” 
 
 G 
 
98 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 Do not accuse her ! begged Lorenza several 
 times. 
 
 I do not accuse, but I remember and note. You 
 are better than we are . . . .” 
 
 The pure young sister did not deny this assertion, 
 for she nourished in her soul the cold and self-con- 
 scious pride of religious natures. 
 
 Yet I hope she will be acquitted.’^ 
 
 Is there any hope ? asked Lorenza’s eyes. 
 ^^Yes,” replied Luisa, have spoken to the 
 lawyer and I have spoken to Dr. Alvise.^^ 
 
 Lorenza’s eyes grew clouded ; Luisa interpreted 
 the sign. 
 
 You doubt it, sister ; so do I. This pretence 
 of madness weighs on me. Caterina is not mad, 
 she is proud. She and I were both indomitably 
 proud, a different form of pride certainly, but Lucifer 
 has always ruled us both. I wish I knew if she is 
 cast down as I am ; perhaps not. She and I have 
 ruined the family ; she did not defend me, but I 
 forgive her. We must defend her, save her, she is 
 our sister ; you will, will you not ? ” 
 
 Lorenza shuddered at the thought of a falsehood, 
 but her spirit inclined to illimitable pardon ; not the 
 sins of others horrified her, but the possibility of an 
 inevitable sin of her own. 
 
 When Caterina is acquitted we must persuade 
 her to go away. It will be difficult to induce her 
 to move. Time will pass, and in a very few years 
 I hope Gustavo will marry you.’^ 
 
 A faint tinge of rose-colours spread over the face 
 of the mystic. 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 99 
 
 Do you think he will marry you ? 
 
 Lorenza trembled and grew pale again. 
 
 He never speaks to you of marriage, does he ? 
 But he loves you ; he is an honest man, he will 
 marry you for the sake of your purity. You will 
 be happy, for God is just. God bless you and your 
 children ! ” 
 
 What long silences fell between one sentence 
 and another ! It seemed as though the persons of 
 whom they spoke were already phantoms, like the 
 memory of the murdered man, and that their shadows 
 slowly followed the steps of the repentant woman 
 and the frightened girl. 
 
 He never appears to you ? The dead man, I 
 mean.” 
 
 Lorenza would not hear this mentioned. She 
 said, in a low voice : 
 
 Hush, hush ! ” 
 
 Then they separated at the end of the village. 
 Luisa had to bear the cross she had laid upon 
 herself. Lorenza bore the heavy cross imposed by 
 the Divine Will ; and down there, in the prison, 
 Donna Caterina Soave neither prayed nor hoped, 
 did not even think, but waited with proud fatalism. 
 
 For the first time Lorenza ran to meet her tdol; 
 he embraced her, drawing her into his eager arms, 
 and she, for the first time, allowed herself to be 
 kissed on the lips. Then in the mind of Gustavo 
 was born a singular regret, a secret and unconfessed 
 exasperation ; it seemed to him that doubt, 
 humiliation, the discouragement of defeat, a burn- 
 
100 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 ing humiliation, would be preferable to the triumph 
 of possession. 
 
 A strange thing this certain vision of possession 
 in a near future, nor could he have explained how 
 he was able to divine it intuitively in the seraphic 
 grace of the girl's momentary abandonment of 
 herself. Her slender arms were gently laid around 
 his neck, her pallid lips had yielded for an instant 
 to the contact with those she so dearly loved .... 
 a timid bond, a timid concession, but, nevertheless, 
 all interest had already ceased and nothing remained 
 for him but a tiresome dread of what was to come. 
 This dread was truly monstrous and selfish, con- 
 sidering the moment and considering the long desire 
 that had preceded it. And how, all at once, had 
 all uncertainty come to an end ? And why did he 
 suddenly credit this mystic creature with the courage 
 of surrendering herself ? Did he not love her, did 
 he not respect her ? 
 
 Perhaps the long waiting had worn out the idea 
 of future pleasure, perhaps he had loved her too 
 long in dreams, and while she related to him how 
 Caterina was acquitted, pouring out a stream of 
 excited words, as though intoxicated by her unusual 
 eloquence, trembling with joy, chattering like a 
 child, Gustavo wondered at himself that he did not 
 draw her once again to his breast, that he could 
 not find a single word of love. Had he exhausted 
 them all ? But when, how } Yes, all, in dreams, 
 in a prolonged dream from the first moment. Thus 
 the imagination had been powerful enough to 
 destroy all real enjoyment, every really possible 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 lOI 
 
 thing had become tasteless and useless, things dead 
 and ended, nor was there even a desire for their 
 resuscitation. 
 
 Through how many phases that imaginary love 
 had passed ! He had been able to live upon it for 
 so many years, assailed by gusts of passion, swayed 
 by barren thoughts of material interest, by motives 
 of over- mastering curiosity, of profound discourage- 
 ment, of yearning after the impossible. It was as 
 though, with an intensity both brutal and tender, 
 he had, in Lorenza, loved various personalities ; the 
 creature of his youthful dreams, the rich girl, the 
 sweet mystic, the poor deserted soul, and the woman 
 from whom he was separated by innumerable 
 barriers. 
 
 Lorenza continued talking, talking incessantly, 
 intoxicated with her own words, as sometimes 
 happens to the timid when they abandon their 
 habitual reserve. 
 
 And Gustavo remembered with dry distinctness 
 what had been to him a confused joy, his soufs 
 deep delight ; he remembered that his very suffer- 
 ings had also been dear to him, he had the clear 
 consciousness that he had enjoyed even bitter 
 humiliations. He had joyfully borne even insults 
 
 for her, for her ! How cruel Donna Caterina had 
 always been ! How terrible the silent, latent scorn 
 of Don Carlo Soave ! 
 
 Here he recalled the words of Lodovico Rosalba, 
 his lively cousin, weary of his matrimonial chains : 
 
 ^^Be patient, Gustavo, the old man cannot live 
 long, and then you can marry my litttle sister-in-law.’’ 
 
102 
 
 WOMAN’S FOLLY 
 
 They returned to his mind, and now, after the 
 tragic end, they seemed even more vulgar still. 
 
 And Don Carlo Soave had died, and soon after- 
 wards Lodovico had died too. Died murdered. 
 These things had been tremendous barriers, all of 
 them. 
 
 Had they perhaps dismayed him ? Had they 
 not inspired him with a bitter longing to triumph ? 
 A raging desire for victory was united to furious 
 anger against fate ; it seemed as though he had 
 engaged in a sordid struggle with occult powers, 
 and, curiously enough, vanity was the outcome of 
 this incessant struggle. 
 
 He had never spoken to her of love ; he knew 
 he was beloved, knew that she had loved him 
 from the very first. 
 
 Until the death of Don Carlo Soave he had 
 desired her as one desires and waits for a gentle 
 girl to whom one is betrothed, watching her move 
 about with dreamy slowness, hearing but rarely 
 her low and gentle voice, looking for her smile, 
 that was so sweet as to be almost sad. In thought 
 he had spoken to her, invoking her, like a mystic 
 spouse. Then, while waiting for the expiration 
 of the term of mourning, there had occurred the 
 terrible event which had destroyed for ever all 
 hope of marriage. 
 
 Never, never would he connect himself with a 
 woman like Caterina. Every theor}^ fell prostrate 
 before the indelible fact of that murder ; the in- 
 dulgence of the judges availed not, the excuse of 
 madness availed not, even interest was not able to 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 103 
 
 overcome the repulsion with which the idea of a 
 connection with the Soave family inspired him. 
 
 And Lorenza was innocent, .... no, not even 
 that availed. 
 
 Nor had the suspense ceased ; it had only 
 changed its character. 
 
 It was no longer desire ; Gustavo longed for 
 Lorenza, longed for her ardently, as a lover may, 
 as one may long for a woman who is already won, 
 and the whole period of Caterina^s trial was for 
 Gustavo an interval of passion, in which the figure 
 of Lorenza appeared to him no longer as in the 
 faint clouds of a dream, but as an actual person, 
 and, still more brutally, as one who had belonged 
 to him a long time, bound to him by right and 
 habit. Ah, if Lorenza could have read the 
 troubled thoughts of the man she loved ! It would 
 have seemed to her as though her soul was plunged 
 into a cruel nightmare. But Lorenza was ab- 
 sorbed in herself, and her visions, chaste and 
 unchangeable, never revealed to her aught but 
 a symbolical white bridal robe and the snowy folds 
 of a wedding veil. When Luisa interrogated her, 
 with the latent doubts of a soul inured to the 
 realities of life, the girl trembled. But it was only 
 a fleeting impression speedily dispelled by a return 
 of blind faith. 
 
 It is truly a mystery, this powerful faith in a 
 beloved person. Lorenza believed in Gustavo 
 with an ironical and impulsive feeling of security ; 
 there was actually a confusion in her mind between 
 the love for God and the love for man ; to her they 
 
104 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 were both beliefs that had no need of material aid, 
 triumphing over silence and absence. Gustavo's 
 watchful love, which had never been revealed in 
 words, resembled the indefinite joys of which the 
 Church speaks, as the faithful promise of an in- 
 visible Divinity. Beside him who despoiled her 
 of all chastity, who offended her cruelly, though 
 tacitly, in the most brutal manner, Lorenza, the 
 virgin no longer in her first youth, but who in 
 thought had remained a child, believing marriage to 
 be a simple union of souls, though yearning with 
 vague longings for the joys of motherhood. Into 
 this dream within a dream she had thrown so much 
 ingenuous passion that to her everything seemed to 
 be arranged. She cherished her vision so long 
 that a declaration of love, a demand in marriage, 
 would have seemed useless and would have sur- 
 prised her. Wherefore, in her adorable certainty, 
 in her unhappy illusion, it was she who said with 
 girlish impulsiveness : 
 
 Caterina is acquitted, you can marry me ! 
 We will go away, far away, wherever you like, and 
 we shall be so happy ! " 
 
 How did the idea of the last comedy flash 
 through his mind, as Lorenza, tired after her long 
 speech, approached to lean her head upon his 
 shoulder ? 
 
 The last comedy, or was it not rather the last 
 act of one long comedy ? He beheld the whole ardour 
 of its action, with the clearness of a thing long 
 pondered, imagining he had suddenly become an 
 actor, while in reality he only needed to finish a 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 105 
 
 part in which he had shown himself a patient and 
 true histrionic. 
 
 In a tone of supreme discouragement Gustavo 
 replied to Lorenza: 
 
 A delusion, my poor darling, it is impossible, 
 impossible/' 
 
 The fair head, which had bowed itself on his 
 shoulder as it bowed itself in religious meditation, 
 was raised, and he could see in her face, could read 
 in her eyes, that he had struck her to the heart. 
 But the pallor of that face, the light of those eyes 
 so full of love and terror, did not fill him with 
 the infinite pity the sufferings of those we truly 
 love arouse in us. He rather felt a sharp im- 
 patience, a strong desire to hurry, to make an end 
 of it. 
 
 Ah, while he was speaking, passing his sacri- 
 legious hands over her sweet face, reciting to that 
 suffering countenance a cold sentence of death, 
 what did he not observe ? He noticed the hair, 
 with its pale golden tint, already beginning to grow 
 thin about the pure brow, on the temples and 
 round the ears, which anaemia made transparent 
 and waxen ; the lips, too, pale, of a hue like withered 
 roses ; the veins which showed plainly in an in- 
 tricate net of sickly blue ; the lack-lustre eyes, 
 which seemed sick with nostalgia for the sun. 
 Nothing escaped him ; he examined her, judged 
 her, sickly, no longer young, a vanquished, ex- 
 hausted creature, and he already felt a physical 
 repulsion, a dread of disgust, at the thought of 
 embracing that thin frame whose shoulders had no 
 
io6 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 softness of outline, whose elbows were sharp, and 
 whose bosom he divined would be the poor tortured 
 bosom of a mature virgin. He wondered that he 
 had even longed after her. Perhaps he had still 
 continued to see her as she was when first they 
 met, slight but graceful, perhaps the havoc wrought 
 by time had been so gradual that he had not 
 noticed it. But now the evidence of this natural 
 but cruel change was odious and insupportable to 
 him. 
 
 The touch of the poor thin clammy hands, the 
 lips that no longer tempted love, the too slender 
 waist that seemed as if it were bending, breaking — 
 no, no, he wished for her no longer, he would have 
 none of her. No, he did not want her, and skil- 
 fully, with a slowness that was a positive pain to 
 him by reason of his profound and increasing 
 disgust, Gustavo put Lorenza aside, put her away 
 gradually with visible respect, as if recalling her to 
 her former reserved attitude, and dryly and firmly 
 repulsed her. 
 
 Lorenza stood immovable in pained astonish- 
 ment. Had she been the only one who loved ? 
 Had she deceived herself? Had she mistaken a 
 simple fraternal tenderness for love ? And was 
 Gustavo^s constancy, friendship, only friendship ? 
 And she had thrown her arms around his neck, 
 had kissed him on the mouth, she herself had 
 offered herself to him! It was a Divine punish- 
 ment, she felt it must be so, she was sure of it 1 
 She ought to have belonged to God ; to God, who 
 had shown her the fleeting nature of man^s love. 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 107 
 
 Had she not witnessed Luisa’s punishment ? Had 
 she not seen Caterina, the person so faithful to 
 duty, the woman so rigidly honest, the impeccable 
 par excellence j descend even to crime in exasperation 
 at a man’s falsehood ? She should have given 
 herself to God. 
 
 And yet .... Gustavo had embraced her, had 
 kissed her, it seemed to her, ever, that he had 
 clasped her with loving arms, and that his lips 
 had been pressed on hers with an ardour that had 
 shaken her through and through. 
 
 Yes, yes. And now, it was not of friendship, 
 not of brotherly affection that he spoke. Why, 
 then, such coldness in his eyes ? Why such com- 
 posure in his gestures ? Why had his voice, 
 which had been sad, grown so hard, as though 
 contradicting the gentleness of his words ? 
 
 Lorenza, it is not possible. I tell you this 
 with all the grief of a decisive moment ; I tell it 
 you in sacred seriousness, as a dying man might 
 speak. Yes, you have divined, I have long loved 
 you, I love you even now, when we must part for 
 
 ever Do not turn pale, I implore you ! 
 
 You should understand, be calm, be resigned ; you 
 should be strong, for you are purity itself, and 
 have the light of faith in you. I would have 
 abjured all my views, all, and you know what 
 those views are. I am a socialist, and free love 
 alone seems to me just and perfect. Free love, 
 do you understand, dear saint ? Without a 
 priest, without legal formula. It makes you 
 shudder, does it not ? I see you do not admit. 
 
io8 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 do not know such a thing, divine innocent that 
 you are ! For your sake I would have forgotten 
 everything, I would have married you, but the 
 crime has made even this impossible. When we 
 resolve to follow the ways of other men we accept 
 all their prejudices ; we marry a woman, and 
 marry the obscure ideas of centuries. Think of 
 it ! It is cruel, but just, according to your own 
 ideas, according to your own scruples. Caterina 
 killed my cousin Lodovico, I can no longer marry 
 you ; the dead man stands between us. Do you 
 understand, my poor martyr ? ” 
 
 Without doubt the crown of martyrdom, the 
 Christian crown of thorns, was being laid upon 
 the head of the poor little being, who let her arms 
 fall heavily by her sides, assenting to, and accep- 
 ting the chastisement. 
 
 ^'Dear Lorenza, forgive me. If you had had 
 the courage to keep silent I could still have 
 remained beside you, helping and sustaining you, 
 as I have done until to-day. I might still have 
 remained for a time Your sister returns to- 
 morrow ; you know she has refused to leave this 
 place. Besides, it would be monstrous selfishness 
 to take you away.” 
 
 It does not matter, it does not matter,” mur- 
 mured Lorenza, with trembling lips. 
 
 Oh, gentle and deceived one, I can never 
 forgive myself ! ” 
 
 ^^Take me away, take me away, I cannot live 
 without you ! ” implored the poor creature. 
 
 It is not possible.” 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 109 
 
 ^^And why? Why?’’ 
 
 ^^What would your conscience say if you were 
 in my place ? Would not the memory of the dead 
 assail you ? ” 
 
 The blow was well directed ; Lorenza shivered. 
 But the words of the deepest perfidy were still to 
 come : 
 
 Nor can I expect you to embrace my theories 
 all at once ; that which to me is natural and moral 
 repels you. I should always respect you, I should 
 adore you for the sacrifice you had made, but the 
 world would call you .... 
 
 Enough, Gustavo, enough ! ” she entreated, 
 hoping to be spared the word. 
 
 But he pronounced it. 
 
 The world would call you my mistress.” 
 
 Oh, Holy Virgin, help me ! ” cried Lorenza, in 
 desperation, bursting at last into sobs. 
 
 Farewell, then.” 
 
 ^^You are going, you are going?” 
 
 I must go.” 
 
 I will not let you go ! ” 
 
 Gustavo paused to look at her in astonishment ; 
 where had she found that unfamiliar voice, that 
 imperious tone ? Did she, by chance, possess 
 another and a stronger soul, hitherto unknown ? 
 Had her silence and her gentleness been one long 
 piece of acting ? Ah, she was already losing her 
 courage ; not for her was proud revolt, not for her 
 imperious command ; she was born for passive 
 obedience and for resignation. 
 
 There was nothing new to discover, it was all 
 
no 
 
 W OMANIS FOLLY 
 
 over, he could go. He smiled sadly as he gazed 
 at her. She retained that smile in her soul. 
 
 The last hours of that terrible day were passed 
 by Lorenza in a condition of complete mental and 
 moral exhaustion, but in the evening, when she 
 went across the fields to meet Luisa, and when 
 she saw that other unhappy figure waiting for 
 her, Lorenza burst into passionate sobs, and threw 
 herself into the arms of her eldest sister. 
 
 What is the matter, Renza ? What has 
 happened ? ” asked Luisa in consternation, trying 
 to look into the face of her she still considered a 
 child, but she could hardly see her by the faint 
 light of the stars. Those sobs breaking the 
 
 silence of the night, those tears like an innocent 
 child’s, which Lorenza shed without ceasing, so 
 that they streamed over her hands and bathed the 
 face of her sister, against whom she leaned, and to 
 whom she drew still closer and closer, her manifest 
 despair and speechless anguish, filled Luisa with 
 indescribable grief. 
 
 ^^Oh, Renza, Renza, dear child, what is it? 
 Are you unhappy ? Ought we not all to be 
 
 happy ? Caterina is coming home to-morrow.” 
 
 It is not that, no, it is not that,” said Lorenza, 
 in a broken whisper. 
 
 '^Have you not seen Gustavo to-day?” asked 
 Luisa, with the gentle and melancholy indulgence 
 of those who have known passion. 
 
 At the name of the beloved a great trembling 
 seized Lorenza ; the sister started, she understood. 
 Tell me all,” she said in a tone of command. 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 111 
 
 Lorenza, thus ordered, replied : 
 
 He will not have me, he will not have me 
 now.” 
 
 Not have you now ? And why ? Tell me all, 
 
 I want to know everything. How was it ? What 
 did he say to you ? Don^t cry any more. I won’t 
 have it, you should not weep for a man. Speak ! ” 
 
 She was no longer the Luisa that life has 
 chastised and broken ; she became once more, for 
 a moment, the indomitable, passionate woman who 
 with such energy had scorned and wounded many 
 hearts for the sake of the happiness of one adored 
 soul. At the sight of Lorenza’s anguish she felt a 
 bitterness greater than all other bitterness, never 
 had her heart been so wrung, not even by her own 
 sufferings, not even when Caterina abused herself 
 to commit a crime. Even the pure life of the 
 sweetest, the most innocent of creatures must be 
 overwhelmed by the sins of others. 
 
 Speak ! ” 
 
 And Lorenza, subjugated as though by fascina- 
 tion, related the scene that had taken place that 
 morning, tasting once again its humiliations, its 
 surprises, and its grief. She described it faithfully, 
 truthfully, and her sister, with the experience of 
 one who has proved the depths of human selfish- 
 ness, quickly interpreted the meaning of her tale. 
 
 ^^You were not, then, bound by a secret 
 promise ? ” asked Luisa when Lorenza had finished 
 her sad story. 
 
 No, no ! I deceived myself, I was hasty and 
 imprudent.” 
 
TI2 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 ** I do not wish you to accuse yourself ! ” 
 
 ‘‘But . . . 
 
 “ No, Renza, hush ! And it was to you that he 
 dared to speak of free love ? To a saint like you ? ” 
 
 “Luisa! He . . , 
 
 “ When we all looked upon you as betrothed 
 to that coward, who compromised you by his 
 attentions ! Not you alone have been deceived, 
 child, Mariani has deceived us all. The truth is, 
 he grew tired, like all the others, more than all 
 the others, do you understand ? Because the 
 others were brutal, but he was acting a sentimental 
 comedy. 
 
 “Oh no! No, Luisa! It was because of 
 Caterina . . . 
 
 “ Child, child that you are ! You can believe 
 that ! And why did he not mention me too ? 
 Why did he not think of giving my fault also as a 
 reason ? The severe moralist no doubt forgot 
 that, the great apostle of new and generous ideas 
 overlooked an important argument . . . 
 
 “ Do not speak like that, do not speak in that 
 way of him ! ” entreated Lorenza. 
 
 “ Neither would I listen to my mother ! mur- 
 mured Luisa, falling back into the melancholy calm 
 that had grown habitual to her with time. 
 
 The two sisters moved on, walking for a while 
 through the dark fields. There seemed vibrations 
 all around them ; was it the leaves on the trees 
 shaken by the breeze ? Was it the tall grass up- 
 raising itself after bending under their steps as 
 though complaining of being trodden under foot? 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 H3 
 
 It was a poem of death. Suddenly, by a common 
 impulse, the two women halted. Luisa drew 
 Lorenza gently towards herself and began to talk to 
 her tenderly, in the silent darkness, stroking her 
 hair and putting her lips close to her ear, while 
 Lorenza listened in deepest discouragement. 
 
 It may be so, Caterina and I may in truth have 
 been the cause of your misfortune ; it may be so. 
 I, as the eldest, ask your forgiveness humbly, I 
 ask forgiveness for her and for myself. I ought 
 not to have been so violent, I know — I know it all. 
 When those we love are blamed, those whom, by a 
 decree of fate, we love despite all others, it is as 
 though others made the faults of those dear ones 
 our own. Forgive me, I was violent, for I love 
 you so much, so much, do you know ? ” 
 
 Oh, Luisa, Luisa,” and again the tears began 
 to flow over Lorenza^s cheeks. 
 
 But what will you do now ? You will be 
 strong, will you not ? You will pray } ” 
 
 I will pray.” 
 
 Perhaps you may forget, who knows ! ” 
 
 I can never forget, Luisa.” 
 
 God might have spared you ! ” 
 
 Hush, Luisa, hush ! ” 
 
 And what will Caterina say to-morrow ? Shall 
 you tell her everything, as you have told 
 me ? ” 
 
 If she asks I shall tell her everything, as I 
 have told you.” 
 
 Oh, Lorenza, tell me that you will take com- 
 fort, tell me that ! ” 
 
WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 1 14 
 
 I hope to feel resigned, later on, after a long 
 time perhaps, who knows ! ” 
 
 The weary voice betrayed that the words were 
 not true, that there was no hope, that resignation 
 would never come. 
 
 Listen, Renza ; now, when Caterina has re- 
 turned, we shall not be able to see each other so 
 often, I shall lose a great comfort, my Renza ! 
 
 Never mind, Luisa, I will come secretly every 
 night, just the same ; these meetings do me so 
 much good, also ! 
 
 Blessings on you, my poor, dear child ! 
 
 That evening Luisa accompanied Lorenza as far 
 as the half-opened gate of Casa Soave. Then, 
 while the poor child with difficulty pushed open the 
 heavy house-door, as the hinges groaned dismally, 
 and the bell gave a cracked tinkle, Donna Luisa 
 was assailed by bitter memories, by the vision of 
 an evening now long gone by, an agonising memory, 
 an insupportable vision, which arrested every word 
 of comfort upon her lips. 
 
 Good-bye,^^ she said in a choking voice, as she 
 turned away and walked rapidly along the road 
 she had come. To Lorenza, who had turned to 
 answer her parting salute, it seemed as though the 
 darkness had engulfed her despairing shadow. 
 
 Lorenza crossed the courtyard, passed through 
 the portico, pushed open the glass-door and found 
 herself in the hall. Without calling a servant she 
 lighted the great hanging lamp ; a dim light fell on 
 her and showed her pale face, which still bore the 
 traces of tears. 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 115 
 
 Are you crying, auntie ? asked Rinaldo’s 
 voice, do you not know that mamma is coming 
 home to-morrow ? ’’ 
 
 Lorenza looked up startled, and her eyes fell on 
 the pretty little figure of her nephew. 
 
 Oh, darling, were you here alone in the dark ? 
 Giuditta is busy, and mademoiselle is playing 
 the piano ; mademoiselle is very happy. Are you 
 not happy, too, auntie ? 
 
 Yes, I am very happy too.” 
 
 Mademoiselle plays well, does she not ? Is 
 she very clever, mademoiselle ? ” 
 
 Very clever, darling, very.” 
 
 For the first time now she noticed the sounds of 
 music which came from the next room. It was 
 many years since Casa Soave had awakened to 
 harmonious echoes, and these sounds seemed so 
 strange now, amidst the deep silence. She listened 
 for a moment and then explained : 
 
 Beethoven.” 
 
 After a little while, kissing the child's curls, she 
 said, Ask mademoiselle to put you to bed.” 
 
 The boy, who was accustomed to strict obedience, 
 threw his arms around her neck. 
 
 Good night, auntie.” 
 
 Good night, little angel.” 
 
 Hardly had Rinaldo gone to or three steps when 
 he returned and said gently : 
 
 Be good, auntie, and play something whilst I 
 am saying my prayers. I like it so much ! I 
 shall hear you, one can hear up there in the 
 nursery.” 
 
Il6 
 
 WOMAN’S FOLLY 
 
 Yes, dear, go now, go and sleep.” 
 
 But listen, play me that long, long melancholy 
 thing.” 
 
 '^Yes, my treasure, yes,” consented Lorenza, 
 smiling sadly, without guessing what the long, 
 long melancholy thing,” might be. 
 
 When, after a few minutes, she sat down to 
 the piano, it seemed as if sad music flowed spon- 
 taneously from her transparent fingers ; it was 
 an improvisation, an unconscious creation of a 
 mystic character, mingled with snatches of pro- 
 fane harmony, sudden snatches instantly drowned 
 by the ascetic wave, sobs of passion which 
 broke through here and there, and high aspira- 
 tions, and the thought of God. Lorenza was 
 an artist, but she was, above all, a woman who 
 loved and suffered. Music was not for her 
 the delicious vortex which might have absorbed 
 and saved the soul of a man, it was but an 
 attempt to obtain tranquillity, and scarcely had 
 the echo of the last note passed awa}^ than 
 Lorenza, moved by an irresistible impulse of 
 human love, began to weep once more. Who 
 knows ! Perhaps no woman will ever be a per- 
 fect artist, because she will never be enough of an 
 egotist. 
 
 It is better so. 
 
 Another passage from Gustavo^s diary : 
 
 ** I did not believe that the angelic butterfly could 
 talk and rave like the others. She spoke first ; 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 117 
 
 the golden threads of the mystic spell are broken 
 for ever/’ 
 
 Caterina, dressed all in black and very calm, 
 had resumed her habit of walking about the 
 house, giving the most exact orders, doubtless 
 carr3ung out a plan she had long had in her 
 mind. 
 
 Giuditta obeyed silently ; Andrea obeyed with 
 evident satisfaction, assisted by some young men 
 from the village who cast timid glances at 
 Caterina. Lorenza remained for a while watch- 
 ing the work, then took refuge in the library 
 with Rinaldo and mademoiselle. But a painful 
 confusion reigned in the heart of the mystic, 
 — to her surprise she found herself thinking; 
 she was no longer sunk in contemplation, she 
 reasoned, she questioned. Caterina was not 
 changed in the least ; what was it that upheld 
 her pride ? It was not prayer, it was not the 
 clear consciousness of having nothing wherewith 
 to reproach herself. Nor did she really cherish 
 in her soul a monstrous pleasure at having per- 
 formed a repulsive duty. How could such a 
 strong, resisting pride exist now ? Poor Lorenza ! 
 Never would she be able to comprehend ; not 
 for her the problems of dark minds. There was 
 in her spirit such depths of humility that she even 
 felt impelled to accuse herself of sins that were 
 not her own. She would never have found 
 happiness in self-exaltation, but rather in forgetful- 
 ness of herself and of her own aspirations. Ah, 
 
Ii8 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 if only Gustavo had wished it I Still, in spite 
 of everything, the thought of Gustavo had the 
 splendour of the sun. It seemed to her that by 
 some strange mystery the darkness had come from 
 the sun. This, in truth, was Lorenza^s thought put 
 into words. 
 
 Caterina, inflexible and firm, was always present 
 as the great changes went on ; that is to say, the 
 house, by her orders, re- assumed its aspect of 
 many years before — the drawing-rooms were 
 cleared, the carpets were taken up, the pictures and 
 curtains taken down, the statues, nicknacks and 
 modern furniture removed. 
 
 Every now and then Caterina would say : 
 
 ^^Take all that to the top-story.’^ Or with a 
 scornful air : Put those ridiculous things in the 
 
 garret. 
 
 Giuditta trembled at these orders ; the good 
 but superstitious old soul feared the vengeance of 
 the murdered man. Andrea, who remembered the 
 house as it had been in the days of Anna 
 and Don Carlo Soave, without waiting for orders 
 substituted the old furniture for the new, and gave 
 back to everything the aspect of the good old 
 times. Caterina smiled silently at the servant who 
 remembered. 
 
 She had killed the man ; she now destroyed all 
 traces of his sojourn there. 
 
 Thus she found herself, at last, before the door 
 of the room that had been Lodovico Rosalba’s. 
 Giuditta, who held the bunch of keys, stopped, 
 hesitating and frightened. 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 119 
 
 Caterina turned resolutely to Andrea. 
 
 Open the door/^ she commanded. She herself 
 remained on the threshold, waiting until the 
 shutters should be unbarred and the windows 
 thrown open. Then she looked all round at- 
 tentively, without a tremor, but she did not go 
 in. 
 
 No one has been in here ? she asked, turning 
 suddenly. 
 
 No one,” replied Giuditta in a low voice. 
 
 That is well ; take everything away and leave 
 the room empty.” 
 
 She remained on the threshold until all was 
 finished, moving aside whenever it was needful to 
 leave the passage free to those who were carrying 
 out the things. When the last piece of furni- 
 ture had disappeared, she herself, with her 
 small strong hand, closed the door and locked 
 it. 
 
 Bring me the account-books,” she said to 
 Andrea. 
 
 Seeing her so calm, the old servant trembled as 
 he obeyed her. 
 
 Donna Caterina examined the books attentively, 
 made some corrections here and there, asked for 
 explanations, and from time to time lifted her clear 
 scrutinising eyes, fixing them with habitual cold- 
 ness on Andrea’s face. 
 
 At last the lady said : I am content with you ; 
 
 you may go.” 
 
 Giuditta and Andrea, quite dazed, left her as 
 she desired. And when she was alone, Donna 
 
120 
 
 IVOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 Caterina, slowly, slowly, made the circuit of the 
 whole house, taking possession of it once more. 
 
 What did she say to Rinaldo ? was poor 
 Luisa^s first question that evening. 
 
 Lorenza sighed. 
 
 How she must have kissed and embraced him, 
 poor baby ! ” continued Luisa, who had strong 
 maternal instincts. I had not a moment^s peace 
 to-day for thinking of you all ! Will you not tell 
 me anything, dear ? Has Gustavo come back ? Has 
 Caterina asked for him ? Won’t you speak, Renza ? ” 
 I cannot speak — not yet,” sorrowfully mur- 
 mured the sweet mouth, and strove vainly to 
 restrain its sobs. 
 
 Luisa asked no more questions. The evening 
 was bright with moonlight and as fair as the 
 previous evening had been dark. The usual walk 
 was prolonged some hours ; the two sisters went 
 slowly along the country roads, protected by the 
 calm smile of the moon. There was no move- 
 ment, no sound near them, the striking of the 
 hours alone broke the silence. 
 
 They sat down for a few minutes on the trunk 
 of a fallen tree. 
 
 Then Lorenza explained : 
 
 She kissed the boy and me, hurriedly, re- 
 arranged the house, examined the accounts . . . . ” 
 What ? ” 
 
 Then she walked all over the house again, and 
 at table she asked me, ironically, how it stood with 
 Gustavo’s love.” 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 I2I 
 
 ‘‘Ah! Well? And you?” 
 
 “ I told her all ; she laughed, and sneered both 
 at him and at me.” 
 
 “ She did not comfort you ? ” 
 
 “ She derided me, that was all.” 
 
 “ She said nothing, not one word ? ” 
 
 “Yes; she said, ‘it would be vile and odious to 
 go on loving him,' I felt as if I should die. Per- 
 haps it may be vile and odious, but most certainly 
 I love him still, and shall love him for ever.” 
 
 “ My poor Renza 1 ” 
 
 “ And tell me, Luisa, you who have loved . . . . ” 
 Luisa felt her heart melting with tenderness, “ even 
 if Gustavo had lied, if his renunciation had been 
 a proof of scant affection, or even of the entire 
 absence of love, if .... in short, would that be 
 a sufficient reason for loving him no longer ? 
 Does the inconstancy of others justify our own ? ” 
 Luisa was struck with admiration and pity. 
 
 “You alone, of the Soaves, have understood the 
 meaning of love,” she said gravely. “This is true 
 love ; you love and ask nothing. I tremble to 
 think of what you will suffer in the future.” 
 
 “I am not afraid; if I had been the traitor, I 
 should have been afraid,” answered Lorenza, who 
 had the pride of humility. And she rose to 
 go. 
 
 “ Good-bye till to morrow evening,” said Luisa. 
 
 “ Farewell,” murmured the other. 
 
 “Answer me,” entreated Luisa, also rising, and 
 with a sudden tremor in her voice, “ will you come 
 to-morrow evening ? ” 
 
122 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 Lorenza, surprised, assented with eyes and 
 speech : Certainly I will come/^ 
 
 And as if she were talking to herself, she added, 
 I don^t know why Caterina avoids looking at the 
 child/^ 
 
 Ah ! was all Luisa said. 
 
 And they parted. 
 
 When Lorenza reached the end of the meadows, 
 and was about to push open the great iron gate, 
 she heard her name called in a low voice. But 
 however low the voice, she recognised it, and 
 stopped instantly, saying in gentle tones : 
 
 ** Is that you, Gustavo ? God protect you ! 
 
 God guard you, dear one ! Are you surprised 
 to see me again ? ” 
 
 ‘‘No, Gustavo, I was sure you would come 
 back.^^ 
 
 “ There is no hope, Lorenza.” 
 
 “ I have not hope, but I was certain you would 
 return.” 
 
 “Then you do not blame me ? You believe me, 
 you understand me ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Gustavo, yes.” 
 
 A momentary wave of feeling passed over the 
 spirit of the actor, ready for the last scene. 
 
 “ I was not strong enough, dear dream of my 
 youth. I longed to see you once again.” 
 
 Lorenza opened her arms, and then folded them 
 on her breast, as though in prayer. 
 
 “ Are you going, Gustavo ? ” 
 
 “I am going.” 
 
 “ For ever ? ” 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 123 
 
 I am going to Germany ; I can make a 
 position for myself there. Wilfred Heyse is ex- 
 pecting me.^^ 
 
 When you come back . . . . ” 
 
 I shall not come back, dear — never, never.^’ 
 
 God help us ! 
 
 Lorenza, dear saint, I have a favour to ask of 
 you.’' 
 
 ^‘Ask it, Gustavo.” 
 
 I want a remembrance of the dead, something 
 that was Lodovico’s to take away with me.” 
 
 Not now, it is too late. If you would return 
 to-morrow evening, secretly . . . . ” 
 
 If I would return ....?” 
 
 ^^You could choose for yourself; I will take 
 you upstairs where all the things that belonged to 
 him have been placed.” 
 
 I will come at eight o’clock,” he said, turning 
 to go. 
 
 Good-bye till to-morrow,” whispered Lorenza, 
 trembling with hope. 
 
 Farewell,” said Gustavo. 
 
 Donna Caterina had been awaiting her sister for 
 a long time. 
 
 ^^You have adopted the poetic habit of taking 
 lonely walks at night, have you ? ” said the proud 
 and haughty woman. 
 
 Lorenza grew red. 
 
 I beg your pardon, I did not suppose you would 
 be waiting for me.” 
 
 ^Ms it true that every evening you see the 
 person whom our father cursed ? ” 
 
124 
 
 WOMAN’S FOLLY 
 
 Caterina ! ” 
 
 ‘^Answer me, is it true ? 
 
 Who told you this, Caterina ? 
 
 I wish to know if it is true ; you know that 
 I will not allow anything that is beneath our 
 dignity/^ 
 
 You will never forgive, then ? ” 
 
 Never.’^ 
 
 Mother . . . 
 
 Would never have disobeyed our father/^ 
 
 Caterina, be merciful, we all have need of 
 pardon and pity/^ 
 
 Enough. I will allow no treason, remember. 
 Not even your treason to the holy and venerated 
 memory of my father.^^ 
 
 What profanation ! exclaimed Gustavo Mariani, 
 as he and Lorenza entered the glass gallery on the 
 top floor of the house. 
 
 They had left the faithful Giuditta at the foot of 
 the winding staircase that led up to it. Lorenza 
 placed the lamp on a Japanese lacquered table and 
 seated herself in a high-backed armchair. 
 
 What profanation ! repeated Gustavo, as he 
 looked around him. 
 
 They had thrown everything down there in a 
 heap, carpets, furniture, works of art, and the 
 result was a strange confusion, something between 
 Vandalism and a bric-a-brac shop. Through the 
 long glass gallery the moon shed her cold, silvery 
 light everywhere and over everything ; Gustavo, 
 obeying an artistic impulse, extinguished the lamp, 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 125 
 
 which threw a discordant note of colour into that 
 soft silver light — Lorenza started, and then sat 
 there motionless. With her white dress and 
 pale gold hair, she looked like Ophelia, and 
 her faithful eyes followed Gustavo unweariedly. 
 He appeared to be setting a scene ; seized with 
 infinite pity for all these things thrown there 
 and deserted, spreading out a piece of carpet, 
 arranging the Turkish cushions, setting up the 
 chairs, lifting the ornaments from the ground 
 and placing them on the Japanese table, propping 
 up pictures against the backs of chairs, until 
 he had improvised a room. Then he decided 
 
 to choose something from amongst the arms and 
 statuettes. 
 
 Take them all, take them all,” said Lorenza in 
 a low voice. 
 
 No, no, I only want one thing of his, something 
 that was very dear to him.” 
 
 He did not hurry himself. This tenderness for 
 the dead man, a tenderness which made his voice 
 tremble, wrung the girFs heart. 
 
 Take a picture, then ; he was very fond of 
 pictures — choose one and I will send it you to- 
 morrow.” 
 
 Mariani finally decided on a landscape of the 
 Dutch school, but still he did not seem in any 
 haste to go. Lorenza felt as if she must count 
 her moments of happiness, few enough, certainly. 
 
 The scene pleased him ; it was wrapped in a 
 soft mist like a vision, there was a dreamy light, 
 and all outlines were confused and faint ; he went 
 
126 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 to one of the windows and opened it, as though to 
 allow the moon to enter and reign supreme. He 
 looked down into the wild garden, bright with the 
 silver light ; then he turned and leaned against the 
 window with the seductive moonlight falling upon 
 his head and shoulders. 
 
 ^^How can Caterina remain here? How can 
 she stay quietly in this house ? ” said Gustavo 
 suddenly with a genuine shudder. 
 
 If she knew . . . .’^ sighed Lorenza. 
 
 Do you acknowledge her right to judge you ? 
 he asked indignantly. 
 
 I have no one but her,’^ said the girl humbly. 
 You have your soul, you have the rectitude of 
 your own judgment.*^ 
 
 It is not enough.^’ 
 
 The judgment of a woman who has committed 
 murder is worthless, the sentiment of obedience 
 should not be strained too far. I hate Caterina.^* 
 Have pity, Gustavo, have pity.^' 
 
 '' I have no pity, save for you.” 
 
 And no love ? ” 
 
 I must not.” 
 
 ‘‘ Then it is settled, you are really going ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Lorenza.” 
 
 I want to tell you something serious, Gus- 
 tavo.” 
 
 Speak.” 
 
 Something very serious.” 
 
 Tell me.” 
 
 She rose and went close to him. 
 
 I have decided to leave home.” 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 127 
 
 Ah ! exclaimed Gustavo, alarmed by the idea 
 that Lorenza intended to follow him. 
 
 I wish to become a nun/’ she said slowly and 
 recklessly. 
 
 Ah ! ” said Gustavo again, surprised and 
 interested. 
 
 He gazed at her for a moment — a slender, ascetic 
 figure dressed in white — ^it was a type^ and it 
 pleased him. 
 
 Do you approve of it ? ” asked Lorenza, 
 trembling. 
 
 Oh yes.” 
 
 ^^You approve of it !” she cried with a burst of 
 grief. 
 
 You were born for this, you sweet martyr, to 
 love God, to forget yourself in prayer. You have 
 a mystic soul, you were not made for earthly affec- 
 tions, for human passions, you are not for love, but 
 for adoration.” 
 
 I adore you,” said Lorenza, drawing closer to 
 him who refused her love. Gustavo thought some 
 passionate, unknown voice was speaking. 
 
 You believe so now, but when you have 
 followed your true vocation you will think of me 
 no longer, or will look upon me as a dream.” 
 
 I adore you ! ” repeated the girl, growing 
 excited. 
 
 It is not true, it is not true ! ” 
 
 Gustavo ! ” 
 
 It is not true, I don’t believe it,” denied the 
 young man, striving to keep her at a distance. 
 
 But she would not let him, she drew close 
 
128 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 enough to him to place her face against his, putting 
 her little hands on his shoulders and looking into 
 his eyes, which grew troubled and would not 
 endure her scrutiny. 
 
 Gustavo, look at me.’’ 
 
 No, no, I will not.” 
 
 ‘‘ Look at me — do not go away — I want you to 
 tell me again, do you really believe I do not love 
 you ? ” 
 
 No, you do not love me — let me go ! I don^t 
 believe you, I don’t believe you,” answered Gustavo, 
 rendered brutal by impatience, beginning to feel an 
 instinctive terror, and wishing at all hazards to 
 repulse Lorenza. 
 
 To be misunderstood by those we love is truly 
 the deepest wound, the heaviest cross of life, the 
 cup of supreme bitterness, and the most cruel trial 
 reserved for those who give themselves entirely. 
 The Christian soul of Lorenza, even though tempered 
 by grief, could not bear it. And while her spirit lost 
 itself in a fatal path of error wherein it could not ar- 
 rest itself, the feeble body acquired a violent nervous 
 force and cluifg obstinately to Gustavo, who was 
 stunned and exasperated by what had happened. 
 
 Delirious, beside herself, the girl now covered 
 his face with kisses, murmuring fond and tender 
 words, telling him in soft and rambling tones the 
 sweet folly of her love, telling it with ardent kisses 
 that she rained unceasingly upon him, kisses which 
 communicated her growing distraction to him, 
 kindling his blood and inspiring him with infinite 
 dread. 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 129 
 
 No, Lorenza, no ; this is delirium. It will pass ; 
 you will be persuaded. If you loved me now, if 
 you had loved me ever, you would not have acted 
 as you did ; you would have given yourself to me 
 of your own free will, forgetful of all human pre- 
 judice and law ! 
 
 Ah ! then it was that he understood, with a last 
 gleam of reason, that these words had ruined 
 Lorenza, that she actually offered herself, gave her- 
 self in wild desperation. Clinging to him, pressing 
 to his her mouth, suddenly grown keen and insati- 
 able of kisses, she drew, she lured him into an 
 abyss of passion, telling him that nothing mattered 
 now, the world was of no account, and she would 
 give him the proof of her absorbing love. She 
 became the seducer now ; she it was who seduced him 
 who once had devised to seduce her and had now 
 grown weary of the pursuit. Seduction was in the 
 air, it penetrated his marrow, it intoxicated his 
 brain, destiny willed it, and the silence, the soft 
 faint light, the strange luxury of his surroundings, 
 conspired together against him. This palpitating 
 body which abandoned itself to him, no longer 
 inspired him with repulsion, but with burning 
 desire, mingled with curiosity and rage. This 
 
 was another woman, a woman whose race was 
 transfigured by tears and love, a woman with 
 blazing eyes and scorching lips. 
 
 He fiercely seized her, then, this other woman, 
 who revealed herself to him and desired to be his. 
 He encircled her with vigorous arms, lifted her, 
 and bore her to where the carpet was spread, to 
 
 1 
 
130 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 where, by a strange disposition of fate, he had pre- 
 pared everything ; and a wild burst of emotion 
 and irony seized him. He could have wept aloud. 
 Gently on the soft cushions he laid the frail body, 
 so torn by delirium and passion, and gazed at her 
 an instant. She was white, all white — white dress 
 and white face. Then he took for his own that 
 other woman who had surprised and led him on. 
 
 And never once were her arms unlaced from 
 round his neck. 
 
 One last passage from Gustavo Mariani^s diary, 
 written that same night : 
 
 I am certainly asleep still. Sad sleep and bad 
 dreams. I shall leave at once, I do not wish to 
 wake up here.’^ 
 
 Giuditta awoke and started. How was it she 
 found herself still there, at the foot of the little 
 staircase ? Had Donna Lorenza not come down ? 
 Of course she had, at that hour ! It was dawn. 
 But how had she passed her without awakening 
 her ? The old woman trembled and shivered ; 
 how many hours had she been there, sitting on the 
 lowest step ? 
 
 And supposing Donna Lorenza were still up 
 there ? What if she had been suddenly taken ill, 
 and had called to her in vain ? And what had 
 become of Signor Gustavo ? 
 
 am a useless old woman said Giuditta to 
 herself, as she began to ascend the steep and 
 tortuous stair. I cannot keep awake, but I hope 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 131 
 
 Donna Lorenza has been in her little bed a long 
 time.” And she smiled, as though she thought of 
 the slumber of a child. 
 
 But Donna Lorenza was still up there. She was 
 standing immovable in the centre of the gallery, 
 with her white dress re-arranged about her, 
 so pale, so desperate, with a thousand terrors 
 mirrored in her wide-open eyes, that Giuditta 
 thought she beheld a spectre. In the opaline light 
 of the dawn the old servant saw the rumpled carpet, 
 the disordered cushions. Lorenza must have fallen 
 there. 
 
 Oh, forgive me, signora, forgive me ! I fell 
 asleep, and you have certainly been very ill.” 
 
 Silence ! ” was the scarcely audible reply. 
 Giuditta gazed at her in amazement, as she 
 approached with the step and motion of an auto- 
 maton, with rigid face and staring eyes. 
 
 ‘‘Swear to me that you will say nothing about 
 this night, Giuditta. Swear it.” 
 
 “ I swear it, Donna Lorenza,” said the old 
 woman, trembling with the fear that she had under- 
 stood what had occurred. 
 
 “ You know me, Giuditta ; you know . . . .” 
 
 “ I know that you are good, that I care for you, 
 and that you let me love you as if you were my 
 own daughter. Did I not carry you in my arms 
 when you were a little child ? ” 
 
 The remembrance of the innocent days of the 
 past, awakened by Giuditta^s simple words, pierced 
 Lorenza’s heart, but brought her the relief of 
 tears. 
 
132 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 Giuditta was glad ; she preferred this long fit oi 
 weeping to the dreadful calmness, the rigidity of 
 heretofore. 
 
 “ Donna Lorenza, speak to me. I will say 
 nothing ; I will tell nobody. I am faithful to you, 
 and you know it ; but relieve my heart. Some- 
 thing has happened here.^^ 
 
 ‘‘ God has forsaken me ! ’’ cried the weeping girl 
 at last, and she could say nothing more, not even 
 when, later on, Giuditta took her to her cell-like 
 little room and laid her in her white bed, comfort- 
 ing her with motherly words. 
 
 ‘^God has forsaken me! God has forsaken 
 me 1 
 
 Nothing more, nothing but this ; and the cry 
 became a prayer, a lament, a whisper, until the sun 
 penetrated through the closed blinds, and she 
 mercifully fell asleep, like a child, her face wet 
 with tears, and her thin fair hair spread over the 
 pillow, the humble halo of a saint — a saint still and 
 for ever. 
 
 The awakening was cruel. The woman reviewed 
 with pitiless severity the error committed by the 
 girl ; the religious question was silenced now, 
 almost effaced by the disastrous defeat of human 
 pride. She saw the whole abyss into which she 
 had fallen, and measured the depth of it ; she had 
 ruined herself in the miserable desire to prove her 
 love to a man who did not want her ; he had not 
 taken her voluntarily, but only accepted her in a 
 feverish tumult of the senses. It seemed to her, 
 therefore, as if she had deserved it all deepest 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 m 
 
 scorn and complete desertion. She did not assure 
 him, but shivered with horror at herself. Never- 
 theless, she expected him for two days ; it was like 
 a prolongation of her sin, but it did not last long. 
 She had come to a decision ; she could no longer 
 remain there, offending the unsullied memories of 
 the house. She profaned Caterina, the only one of 
 the sisters who had not yielded to the weakness of 
 the flesh ; she profaned mademoiselle, a young girl 
 who was most scrupulous in the discharge of her 
 duties ; she profaned the child. She offended by 
 her presence the servants who thought her inno- 
 cent ; she even felt as if she insulted the sense- 
 less objects around her. Everything awakened 
 her remorse, even things that could know nothing 
 about her. 
 
 Luisa, seeing her no more, was consumed with 
 fear. 
 
 On the morning of the third day Lorenza could 
 bear it no longer ; she felt as if she were suffocat- 
 ing, dying ; it was too much. She went in search 
 of Caterina, and, throwing herself at her feet, con- 
 fessed everything^ 
 
 You gave yourself to that scoundrel ! " shrieked 
 Caterina, starting back in horror. She closed the 
 door and windows ; this great, this immense, un- 
 expected disgrace must go no further, it must be 
 buried there. Then the austere woman turned to- 
 wards her penitent sister, who was prostrate with 
 desperation, and said brutally : 
 
 Finish ! 
 
 But few words remained to be said. She was 
 
134 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 silent, her strength abandoned her, and she sank 
 upon the floor. 
 
 Caterina looked down with disgust on the miser- 
 able body stretched there ; she felt not the slightest 
 pity. She asked : 
 
 Have you told all ? ” 
 have told all.” 
 
 Inflexible in the icy calm of her contempt, Caterina 
 questioned her further : 
 
 Have you come to any resolution ? ” 
 
 Lorenza rose, utterly, hopelessly crushed, morally 
 dead. 
 
 The missionary men, who are now lodging at 
 the convent of the Benedictines, leave to-morrow. 
 I shall go with them.” 
 
 Caterina breathed freely. She had nothing to 
 say to the sister who was departing for ever. 
 
 Will you forgive me, Caterina ? ” 
 
 There was a moment’s pause. Lorenza waited 
 supplicatingly. 
 
 ‘‘Yes,” replied the woman who did not under- 
 stand the sin. 
 
 “ Will you kiss me for the last time ? ” 
 
 “ No,” was the immediate answer of the woman 
 who hated sin and punished it. 
 
 “ Oh, Caterina . . . . ” 
 
 “ Hush ! go, go.” 
 
 It was an order born of repulsion. Lorenza 
 shivered from head to foot as she heard it. With 
 outstretched, imploring arms she moved backwards 
 towards the door and vanished. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, mademoiselle opened the door 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 135 
 
 suddenly, and just showed her face inside, pale with 
 fear, saying : 
 
 Donna Lorenza is very ilV^ 
 
 Caterina did not move. 
 
 Later on little Rinaldo came in. He went up to 
 his mother, and said : 
 
 The doctor is with auntie. They have all left 
 me alone, let me stay with you, mamma.^^ 
 
 And he climbed into her lap, stroking her face 
 with his little hands, with lingering, soft caresses. 
 Suddenly Donna Caterina rose, and put the child 
 down, crying : 
 
 Don't look at me ! Don’t look at me ! ” 
 
 Then, for the first time, she burst into wild, 
 delirious sobs. It was a violent manifestation of 
 grief. 
 
 In the afternoon Giuditta went secretly to tell 
 Luisa. There was no time to be lost ; the depar- 
 ture of the future missionary was fixed for the next 
 day at an early hour. 
 
 Luisa seemed thunderstruck ; she grew almost 
 crazy as she listened to Giuditta's story, but, more 
 than by Gustavo's cowardly desertion, more than by 
 the revelation of what had taken place on that fatal 
 evening, she was horrified by the thought that 
 Lorenza, wearied and defeated, was going away 
 for ever. The departure must be prevented at all 
 hazards ; the poor, sick girl must not be allowed to 
 sacrifice and condemn herself, the poor creature who 
 of a surety had ruined herself, and been lost in a 
 moment of unconsciousness. Luisa was sure of this ; 
 
136 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 the miserable, guilty child must not be punished, 
 and if she were sent away it would be her death. 
 
 And was God just ? Was He just ? 
 
 Was it humane to allow the sacrifice to be com- 
 pleted in solitude, far away, in deepest penitence ? 
 Could two women like Caterina and Luisa allow 
 Lorenza to punish herself with such inexorable 
 blindness ? 
 
 Ah ! these two they had drawn more than one 
 heart into the orbit of the blindest, the most 
 egotistical pride, but the poor flower who had 
 faded during the most spotless waiting, had done 
 no one any harm ; she had been a lily in the 
 desert, the sole poetry of the house, a poem of 
 the sweetest resignation, a star in the darkest 
 night. And ought they to forget that Lorenza had 
 been sublime with regard to the faults of others, 
 greater, even, than in the generosity of pardon, for 
 she had always kept silence and forgotten ? Luisa 
 was seized with fear ; an intense maternal yearning 
 took possession of her. In her mind^s eye she saw 
 Lorenza in the monastic dress, her pallid, bloodless 
 face whiter and colder than the white nun’s hood 
 that she wore, her weak shoulders weighed down 
 by the rough, heavy tunic, her frail body encircled 
 by the knotted girdle of the order ; she saw her 
 face, the compassionate face of Lorenza, with those 
 lips, that had always been pale, half-opened, arched 
 in slow agony, two delicate bows of faintest rose- 
 colour. And thus she would die. 
 
 We will prevent it, will we not, Giuditta ? We 
 are indulgent, we have loved. 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 137 
 
 And the old servant assented, nodding her head, 
 her sunken lips trembling convulsively with sup- 
 pressed sobs ; the old servant who had loved them 
 all three, and had wept equally for Caterina, who 
 knew not how to love, for Luisa, who had loved 
 too well, and for Lorenza, who had confused the 
 Divine with the human love. 
 
 We will prevent it.'* 
 
 But she knew not how, and, in a desperate 
 tension of mind, she sought the means, standing 
 in the narrow deserted lane, before the door of the 
 peasant dwelling which had been hers for so many 
 years. She stood there, gazing with the look of a 
 dying eagle at the sun, which was sinking slowly 
 behind the hedges in the distance. Then something, 
 an idea, came into the black eyes, which brightened 
 and flashed with new recklessness. She had decided, 
 and, bending towards Giuditta, she said : 
 
 '‘Now go. I thank you for coming here." 
 
 "Well, then . . . ." 
 
 " You will see me later at the castle," she ex- 
 plained, hurriedly. 
 
 And as the old woman appeared to be struck 
 motionless by astonishment, Luisa, not wishing to 
 betray her feelings in her face, turned and went into 
 the house. 
 
 She began to dress in the vast room that had 
 been her nuptial chamber, and as she put on the 
 black-silk gown that she had not worn for such a 
 long, long time, she was struck by the vulgarity of 
 her surroundings. What a miserable place ! The 
 huge, high bed with its coverlet of raw silk, the 
 
138 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 common chest of drawers, the massive wardrobe, 
 the walnut press, and, at the head of the bed, the 
 little vessel of holy water and the branch of olive. 
 On the bed lay the dress she had just taken off, 
 looking like a person who had flung herself down 
 in despair and with outstretched arms. From the 
 kitchen-garden beneath the open window came a 
 scent of herbs, a confused humming, and a wave 
 of hot air. 
 
 The house, deserted at that hour, was quiet. 
 Some one would return before long ; she must make 
 haste. 
 
 Shame and fear seized her, and she sat down for 
 a moment on the chest, faint and giddy. Without 
 thinking of what she was doing she had put on 
 the gold ornaments of the Casa Valenti,* but the 
 instant she noticed them she took them off — the 
 earrings, the brooch, the massive chain — and in 
 her hurry to get away she laid them down on the 
 chest, as being the nearest place. Instinctively she 
 had taken off her wedding-ring also. 
 
 She went down the wooden stairs, and as she 
 passed the kitchen she saw her daughter Lucia 
 moving to and fro, putting things in order. The 
 girfs eyes, which were black and brilliant, rested 
 for a moment on her mother. Those eyes made 
 Luisa shiver. 
 
 When did you come back, Lucia ? 
 
 A moment ago.” 
 
 * Every well-to-do peasant family possesses a set of gold 
 ornaments, which descends to the eldest son’s wife. 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 139 
 
 The young voice, which had not a tone of 
 sweetness in it, made Luisa shiver again. 
 
 I must go out on important business ; take 
 care of the house.” 
 
 The girl did not answer. 
 
 As Luisa went across the fields a man^s voice 
 from behind the hedge made her start violently : 
 Oh mother, where are you going in all that 
 splendour ? To find me a wife, perhaps ? ” 
 
 Luisa stopped and smiled ; it was her son 
 Peppino, the eldest, a handsome and vigorous 
 youth. He wore a grey felt hat, a maroon-velvet 
 shooting jacket, and carried a gun slung across 
 his shoulders. He had his mothers dark eyes, 
 a bronzed countenance, and a big, healthy, sensual 
 mouth, which smiled readily and disclosed small, 
 white, cruel-looking teeth. 
 
 I am going to Roccalta on business,” said 
 Luisa, looking at her son with pride. 
 
 May I come with you, mother ? ” 
 
 No.” 
 
 Mysteries,” exclaimed Peppino, laughing. 
 
 Mysteries,” repeated Luisa, walking on. 
 Peppino stood still for an instant to look at her 
 as she walked, and then it was the son who smiled 
 with pride as he admired his mother’s tall figure. 
 
 All the humility which Luisa had felt on the 
 way vanished as the decisive moment approached. 
 As she neared the castle she seemed to regain 
 her wild and defiant youth, which would certainly 
 have ruined the cause she came to defend. What 
 was the cause of this change, so contrary to the 
 
140 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 desire she earnestly felt to pray and implore ? 
 Was the humility which moves and conquers 
 never to be possible with her ? ” 
 
 As she crossed the courtyard of the Casa Soave, 
 Donna Luisa saw Andrea bending over the edge 
 of the well and drawing up a heavy bucket of 
 water. The servant gave a cry of surprise when 
 he saw her, but she had already passed through 
 the portico and was crossing the hall with long, 
 firm steps, calmly and proudly. 
 
 In the drawing-room, Giuditta was laying the 
 table under mademoiselle's composed superin- 
 tendence. 
 
 Mais . . . . ” said the young French lady, 
 stopping short at the sight of Luisa, 
 
 Let her pass, Donna Caterina is expecting 
 heiV^ said Giuditta, exchanging a glance of intelli- 
 gence with Luisa as she told the falsehood. 
 
 '^Je ne savais pas, et je vous demande mille 
 fois pardon. Madame Catherine est dans sa 
 chambre,^’ added mademoiselle courteously. 
 
 C^est bien, je vous remercie,^^ answered the 
 proud Luisa as she was about to ascend the stairs. 
 
 File est vraiment royale ! ” thought the French 
 girl, quite captivated, presque une czarine.” 
 
 ‘‘ Come in,^^ said Caterina, when she heard a 
 knock at the door. 
 
 And the surprise was too great, even for her. 
 Rinaldo was with her, sitting in a little chair ; 
 his mother took him by the hand and Jed him 
 to the landing, saying : 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 141 
 
 Go downstairs, Nino, I am coming down, too, 
 very soon.” 
 
 Luisa followed the child with kindly looks, 
 and her eyes dwelt on the little figure that re- 
 minded her of another loved and slender one, 
 that of Vincenzo, who was a student at the semi- 
 nary in the nearest town. 
 
 This remembrance filled her heart with pas- 
 sionate tenderness, and yet at the same time it 
 ached, as with remorse. Why ? 
 
 Let me hear what you have to say,” said 
 Caterina, as she returned and remained standing 
 in the middle of the room. 
 
 Luisa drew herself up proudly to her full height, 
 then, remembering instantly, she conquered her 
 pride and said in a low and gentle voice : 
 
 I pray you to listen to me patiently, Caterina, 
 for I have come to speak about Lorenza, our 
 youngest sister, with whom we ought to be gentle 
 and to whom we owe indulgence.” 
 
 A shade of annoyance came into Caterina’s 
 eyes and a look of disgust passed over her tragic 
 and regular face. But she said nothing, only 
 waited. 
 
 I know Lorenza looks upon you as the real 
 mistress of the house, I know that it is you 
 only whom she obeys. It is right that it should 
 be so, and it is to you, therefore, that I appeal 
 to prevent her going away to-morrow.” 
 
 ^^You came here to tell me this — you? 
 
 For this. I have come for the first time, 
 for the last time, after so many years, to entreat 
 
142 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 you to do this, Caterina ; you alone can prevent 
 this departure, and you ought to, Caterina/^ 
 
 I have a very clear idea of duty, and you 
 know it. I see no duty here. I refuse/’ 
 
 You refuse ? Oh, think what you are doing, 
 Caterina ! Remember that she is ill and in 
 despair.” 
 
 She has sinned, and must atone for her sin.” 
 But ever since she has been in this world 
 she has atoned for the sins of others, the sins 
 of severity, the sins of desertion, but you and 
 I have punished her quite enough ; . . . . think 
 of it ! ” 
 
 ‘^It is possible that the example before her 
 has been fatal ; but whose example, yours or 
 mine ? ” 
 
 The cruelty was too great, there was too 
 much scorn written on Caterina’s face, a calm, im- 
 passible face on which the morning’s tears had 
 left no traces. Luisa understood ; this woman, 
 madly tenacious of foolish, legendary, traditional 
 ideas of duty, had not been softened by her crime ; 
 on the contrary, the weaknesses of others were 
 no excuse for indulgence, but only served to 
 destroy all the terrors that surrounded her own 
 past. To this had Caterina come — she glorified 
 assassination. 
 
 Oh, my sister, my sister, forget ! Be good 
 and forget ! Let us spare Lorenza ; use your 
 authority over her, by the memory of our father 
 and mother I implore you.” 
 
 It is late for you to remember them Luisa.” 
 
THE SOULS 
 
 143 
 
 Does the sweetness of pardon not exist for 
 you, then ? Shall you always be inexorable ? 
 
 I hate what is useless, and forgiveness is use- 
 less ; forgiveness is weakness, forgiveness does not 
 destroy the past.” 
 
 But it softens the present.” 
 
 Memory is stronger than the passing moment.” 
 ‘‘Do not entrench yourself behind a barrier of 
 empty sentences, Caterina, whilst a creature who 
 loves us is preparing to die.” 
 
 “ To expiate is not to die.” 
 
 “ Do not argue. Did we argue ? Did Lorenza 
 and I argue when we went to defend you without 
 belief in what we said ? ” 
 
 “ Without belief ? There, you see, you are two 
 weak natures born for falsehood. I did not ask to 
 be defended and you know it. We have talked 
 enough, I think ; I have said I will not prevent 
 Lorenza taking the right course. That is suffi- 
 cient.” 
 
 “ Then you refuse altogether ? ” 
 
 “ Altogether and for ever.” 
 
 “Oh, how I hate you!” cried Luisa in ex- 
 asperation, and recovering the impetuous energy 
 she had lost. And the other fixed her dark, flash- 
 ing eyes upon her, satisfied and indomitable. 
 
 ♦ “I knew it,” she said, “ I prefer you like that, 
 for now you are the real Luisa.” 
 
 The last moment of this sisters^ struggle, a 
 terrible, mediaeval, atavistic thing, was approaching ; 
 they both felt it, equally and intuitively. 
 
 Luisa advanced a few steps. 
 
144 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 ‘‘ You are going to let an innocent child depart 
 she asked. 
 
 The menacing voice did not alarm Caterina ; 
 without moving, with the instinctive, infallible 
 perverseness inborn in certain feminine natures, 
 she found the answer: 
 
 ^^Lorenza is not a child, she is nearly thirty 
 years old and she is not innocent. Your son 
 Vincenzo is truly an innocent child, yet you have 
 already condemned him, and you are going to make 
 a priest of him.” 
 
 Luisa seemed dumbfounded, attacked thus at 
 the most painful and tragical point of her strong 
 maternal feelings. 
 
 But what do you know ? ” she asked breath- 
 lessly, her heart beating with unconquerable 
 terror. 
 
 Ah, you see ! ” exclaimed Caterina in hateful 
 triumph. Then she said quietly : 
 
 I know nothing. I guess, 
 
 The sister fled, vanquished. 
 
 She began to run ; she lost herself in the wide 
 country which lay gorgeous and grand beneath the 
 sunset, all red as though it were on fire. 
 
PART III 
 
 THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 Rich in Love ? Blessed by Love ? 
 
 K 
 

PART III 
 
 THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 You are beautiful ! 
 
 These were the words of Luisa’s love for Antonio, 
 and in this, probably, lay the strength of that 
 passion, powerful and concentrated admiration for 
 his physical beauty. She had always looked at 
 him rather than listened to him ; she had not 
 sought to reach his soul, she had admired him as a 
 living statue. It had been like a flash of lightning; 
 at mass in the little church, while Donna Anna 
 prayed, while Caterina, standing erect, fixed her 
 cold eyes on the officiating priest, and the child 
 Lorenza had prostrated herself almost to the 
 ground in the intense humility of invocation, Luisa, 
 absent-minded, turned casually to look at the 
 right-hand side of the nave, where the men sat, 
 and two other black eyes met her own, two other 
 victorious eyes. 
 
 Later on, the same fascination had constrained 
 her to stop in the deserted lane. Curiously 
 enough, there had remained imprinted on her 
 memory the picture of the big stones between 
 which the grass grew in tall tufts, and of the 
 
148 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 broken wall of a neighbouring garden over which 
 peeped the top branches of a peach-tree in blossom. 
 Trembling in the air, the soft rosy flowers seemed to 
 smile continuously. But few words were spoken. 
 
 Donna Luisa is much noticed at mass.” 
 
 You think so ? ” 
 
 Donna Luisa has not been conscious of it, 
 perhaps ? ” 
 
 I do not notice those who waste their time.” 
 ‘^When those who gaze do not deserve to be 
 noticed, on account of their inferior position.” 
 
 Such things make no difference to me.” 
 
 I know it, and it is for that I love you.” 
 ^^Ahl” 
 
 Good evening, Donna Luisa.” 
 
 This was all that time. 
 
 Then came a blank period in her recollections. 
 In truth, she had never been able to explain to 
 herself how she allowed herself to be drawn into 
 these nocturnal meetings, which had become 
 regular arrangments, and had decided the course 
 of her whole life. She had been unable to follow, 
 step by step, the concessions made by her soul 
 and by her senses, the double concession of her- 
 self which had caused her to hate her own home, 
 and long for flight. Again, of these meetings she 
 did not remember the poison that wrought con- 
 version ; she had absorbed Antonio^s words un- 
 consciously, and, little by little, they had 
 penetrated into her brain, her nerves, her blood, 
 and she had repeated them faithfully at the 
 moment of action, like one in ecstasy, with un- 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 149 
 
 expected enthusiasnij with tones of conviction, as 
 though Luisa were really imbued with new and 
 subversive theories, while all the time it was one 
 single fascination that explained her actions, and 
 this fascination was absolutely material, a worship, 
 pagan and unconferred, of Antonio’s masculine 
 beauty. Invisible caresses reached her, even when 
 distant from his gaze, from his lips whence flowed 
 the language of rhetoric, from his fascinating smile, 
 from his determined expression both dominating 
 and irritating, as if his mouth had by some strange 
 chance obtained the power of sight. 
 
 When she had appeared before him unexpectedly 
 on the evening of her flight, all she had said was. 
 Here I am.” 
 
 She had spoken in a firm voice, without a 
 tremor, without a sign of a struggle ; and she had 
 stood expecting him to clasp her, closing her eyes 
 in the strength of her desire, awaiting his kisses, 
 awaiting the caresses of which she had dreamed, 
 Luisa could not wait until the usual hour ; she 
 had gone to the end of the village, as far as the 
 fattoria^ and Antonio, stepping up to the door of 
 the vast hall on the ground-floor, as though obey- 
 ing an irresistible call which had made itself heard 
 in the silence, beheld her there, leaning against a 
 tree, with her face turned to the entrance. She 
 instantly quitted the tree, and advanced under 
 cover of the shadow to the luminous patch formed 
 by the door. This light had flashed up suddenly 
 behind Antonio’s shoulders. Who had lighted the 
 lamp in the ground-floor room ? 
 
150 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 Here I am/^ 
 
 Antonio, paralysed by surprise, had not moved 
 a step towards the passion-torn woman. It is 
 true he had talked of ties to be severed, of chains 
 to be broken, of inextinguishable love ; neverthe- 
 less, in the face of the irreparable act fear seized 
 hold of him, dominating even the pride of his 
 successful apostolate and his masculine self-love. 
 He felt surprise and anxiety, and another fear, an 
 immediate, half-physical one, caused by the vicinity 
 of his mother. He heard her moving about in the 
 room that had been suddenly lighted up, he heard 
 her familiar footstep which engraved itself on his 
 soul like a reproof and a bitter prediction. 
 
 What should he say to the old peasant, so strict 
 in her ideas of duty, simple, and faithful to the old 
 laws of fidelity and obedience ? 
 
 He had no thought of a kiss, but the selfish one 
 of remedying what had happened, of preventing 
 the fulfilment of the inevitable. With this idea 
 he argued and already accused Luisa of pushing 
 matters too far. He did not love her for the im- 
 prudence that had led her to come to him without 
 warning ; no, he had not intended this, she had 
 misunderstood him by passively anticipating an 
 event concerning which he had conceived very 
 different and more definite hopes. 
 
 Here I am.^^ 
 
 You here, Luisa ! Mother is within ; take care,^* 
 
 I was coming to her ; I have come to remain. 
 Take me to your mother, Antonio ; you promised me 
 her affection and protection.'* 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 51 
 
 Not now, Luisa, not now.” 
 
 Now or to-morrow, is it not the same ? ” 
 
 Go home, I entreat you, go home.” 
 
 Do you not want me ? ” 
 
 Yes, I want you. But not now — be reason- 
 able, Luisa.” 
 
 I cannot return to the castle ; I have fled — 
 / have left them for ever^ 
 
 Then a desperate anger uprose in his heart ; in 
 a hard voice he replied : 
 
 Wait for me here, I must tell my mother.” 
 
 He retreated into the house, closing the door. 
 She stood waiting for him in the courtyard, shiver- 
 ing in the darkness, realising at last what it was 
 she desired. But the idea of going home, of im- 
 ploring forgiveness, never even occurred to her. 
 
 Some minutes passed ; a streak of light ap- 
 proached the ill-closed door, and there followed 
 other tiny bright gleams further off, seen through 
 the closed shutters on the ground floor. Two 
 agitated voices could be heard ; that of the son 
 alternately supplicating and masterful, that of the 
 mother full of surprise and reproach. 
 
 There was a silence, then the door was opened 
 again. 
 
 ‘‘Come,” said Antonio, as he reappeared. 
 
 The girl entered ; seeing no one, she asked : 
 “Your mother ? ” 
 
 “ She will come later, perhaps ; she is angry.” 
 Luisa sank down on a straw chair, her eyes 
 turned towards Antonio, thinking that it could not 
 be he who was thus seized by an impulse to cry 
 
152 
 
 IVOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 out and bring accusations against the world, to cry 
 out against himself, moved by sudden sharp contempt. 
 
 ‘‘You have not even kissed me, Antonio; now 
 I understand, you do not love me.” 
 
 Luisa . . . .” 
 
 You are ready to do nothing that you 
 promised, I understand. So you are not strong, 
 after all ! ” 
 
 Luisa . . . . ” 
 
 What has happened displeases you ? Speak ! ” 
 Luisa . . . . ” 
 
 Thus he replied to her, giving her no expla- 
 nations, calling her three times by name in various 
 tones of anger, anxiety, and affection. Nothing 
 more, 
 
 ‘‘ At least, call your mother ; tell her that I wish 
 to speak to her, that she must not hate me, I will 
 be good and humble.” 
 
 When she saw he did not move she repeated 
 her request, breaking the sad and painful silence. 
 
 ^*Call your mother, Antonio.” 
 
 Call your mother.” 
 
 Finally the young man approached the door, 
 which opened into a long dark corridor, and with 
 the peculiar peasant tenderness, called, nay invoked, 
 repeatedly : 
 
 Oh mother, come mother ! ” 
 
 She had at last decided to appear, her eyes red 
 with recent tears, her bronzed face, framed in thin 
 grey hair, was distorted and trembling with indig- 
 nation. The first words she found to say to her 
 future daughter-in-law were : 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 153 
 
 Oh, sposa, sposa ! Oh, bride ! you do not 
 bring us peace ! Misery and shame enter with 
 you.:' 
 
 Mother, forgive us ! ” 
 
 Marietta, I will love you as though you were 
 my mother.” 
 
 Silence, bride, silence. You knew not how to 
 obey your own mother, who is my mistress. God 
 cannot bless you. Antonio, you have ruined us 
 all.” 
 
 I will work, mother.” 
 
 ^‘You have plenty to say for yourselves, you 
 young people, but before love should come respect 
 for father and mother. You have lost your head ; 
 to-morrow they will send us away ! To-morrow I 
 shall have to leave this house. Ah, you did not 
 think of Don Carious anger ! But I think of it. 
 You did not stop to remember that they would 
 send away this poor old woman who for so many 
 years served Casa Soave ! I must go, do you 
 understand ? They will send me away ! My son 
 was not like this ; you made him lose his head ! 
 You alone wished to be the mistress ! ” 
 
 Oh, Marietta, no, no ! ” 
 
 ^^And they will send me away to-morrow, most 
 certainly they will ! ” 
 
 Here the scene became painful in the extreme. 
 Luisa stood erect, staring fixedly at the people 
 and things around her, while Antonio was shaken 
 with increasing despair, and Marietta rushed 
 screaming about the room, clinging to the furniture 
 in desperation, as if she wished to penetrate into 
 
154 
 
 WOMAN’S FOLLY 
 
 the walls, into the very bricks of that house, 
 impelled by that tenacious material affection for 
 a locality which is so characteristic of a peasant. 
 
 Mother, calm yourself, mother ; be calm ! ” 
 
 No, she could not listen, would not be per- 
 suaded. She was full of grief at the thought of 
 having laboured so hard for so many years, in 
 order suddenly to see shattered the result of all 
 her fidelity — the shock was too great and had 
 come upon her too suddenly. The manifestations 
 of this grief seemed as though they would never 
 stop, could never end. Still standing, and begin- 
 ning to find herself overpowered by the vision of 
 a future struggle approaching inexorably, Luisa 
 already doubted Antonio^s love, he who did not 
 know how to defend her. Perhaps she felt a 
 whispered warning of the death of her own love 
 for him in the near future. 
 
 It was late that night before Marietta would at 
 last consent to retire to bed. Her son accom- 
 panied her up to her room. Luisa heard them 
 long afterwards, speaking like two persons who 
 were quarrelling, walking up and down and causing 
 the wooden floor to creak above her head. 
 
 She waited, by the light of the smoky little 
 lamp, in the large ground-floor room. When 
 
 Antonio reappeared, with a white face, the girl 
 rose. She, too, was pale ; she moved to meet 
 him, but could not speak — not a word. Only 
 at the door of the little bedroom conceded her 
 by a forced hospitality, Luisa recovered her feel- 
 ings. She flung herself on Antonio^s sturdy breast, 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 155 
 
 encircling him with her arms and saying, After 
 all, you are mine, I am not afraid. You are 
 beautiful ; oh, how beautiful you are ! ” 
 
 As was expected, Don Carlo Soave gave the 
 Valentio warning ; this happened on the morning 
 of the next day. 
 
 They entered the service of the Marchesi Rovere, 
 who were good but not rich, and drew little, al- 
 most nothing in fact, from their small possessions. 
 Still, the fattoria^ which became the home of Luisa 
 Valenti, was pretty ; there was a rustic serenity 
 about it that was not without charm, and the girfs 
 fancy might have been attracted by it, had it not 
 been for the hostility of her mother-in-law. Yet 
 she could find nothing wherewith to reproach 
 Luisa — she never alluded to her former position, 
 she even seemed to despise it, changing her dress 
 and manners, taking up voluntarily all the occu- 
 pations of her new position, adapting herself to 
 her surroundings, nay, more, attending to her novel 
 duties as though they were her choice. It was 
 thus that Antonio once more fell under the charm 
 of that tall figure, which looked all the more regal 
 in the useless humility of the simple peasant's 
 dress ; it was a new beauty, which acquired power 
 by force of contrast. 
 
 During the first months of their marriage Luisa 
 and Antonio went out together to look after the 
 field work. This was the pretext, in reality it 
 was, by tacit understanding, to escape Marietta's 
 vigilance. They walked quickly, in the lanes, in 
 the fields, beside the torrent, side by side, with- 
 
156 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 out Stopping, now and then exchanging a furtive 
 glance. She wore a short cotton petticoat, a 
 red handkerchief tied over her black hair, and 
 a shawl which half covered her shoulders was 
 crossed over her bosom and knotted behind her 
 waist. But it was easy to see she was, even thus, 
 a lady — it seemed as though, for a joke, she had 
 put on peasant’s costume. Seeing her thus, he 
 perceived in her new seductions which flattered 
 his ambitious peasant soul. Her face, bronzed by 
 the sun’s keen rays, brought out in relief the 
 glow of her crimson lips, and her white teeth, 
 which she showed when she laughed. The bronze 
 colour of her face reached her chin and toned off 
 towards her throat, where it marked a sharp line, 
 showing suddenly, where the shawl opened above 
 her breast, the white, firm, healthy skin of a strong 
 young being. Further, there were her little hands, 
 also sun-burnt, like a glove which reached the wrist 
 and faded towards the elbow, while beneath the 
 cotton skirt appeared the tiny feet, which retained 
 all the aristocracy of their minute elegance which 
 Luisa refused to sacrifice in the peasant’s wooden 
 shoes. 
 
 Antonio always gave orders in his commanding 
 voice, with the tone of severity usual to him. He 
 superintended the peasants and directed the work. 
 Luisa stopped to speak to the women, who were 
 shy with her. She did not disdain to take up the 
 hoe, to loosen the earth, to inspect the bundles of 
 hay, to bend down and caress the babies left lying 
 in the shade of the hedges by their mothers, whose 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 157 
 
 astonished eyes reflected the blazing sun which so 
 exhausted their parents. They passed on through 
 the cornfields, through the furrows, along the 
 narrow paths. Luisa^s skirt brushed against the 
 fragile stems, sweeping over groups of iris, blue 
 eyes set in the golden light of the sun, over the 
 blood-red bunches of big poppies. She would 
 sometimes gather one of these, placing it in her 
 breast, whilst biting the stalk of another. Thus 
 they went on, Luisa in front, Antonio following, 
 devouring her with his eyes. They would pause 
 in the depths of the grove ; here at least they were 
 really alone, here they truly belonged to each other 
 without fear of surprise. Around them grew the 
 wild tall grass and slender young trees, whose 
 branches kissed and interlaced, mingling their thick 
 leaves. There was an endless murmur, a confused 
 hum, countless warblings ; here were colossal 
 spider-webs, houses of finest filaments gilded by 
 the rays of the sun, here was an enervating and 
 all-pervading perfume of flowering acacias. 
 
 Here all was love, love all-subduing, all-com- 
 manding. She would throw herself on the green- 
 sward and turn to him with half-closed eyes, and 
 he grew tender as he noted the rays of love that 
 filtered through the long black lashes. Then at 
 last a spark of gratitude awoke in his heart ; after 
 all, she has sacrificed herself for him. He had 
 almost commanded this sacrifice, and she had made 
 it with a strength that was marvellous, for her 
 renunciation was so complete that it appeared like 
 entire forgetfulness. He had never heard her 
 
158 
 
 WOMAN’S FOLLY 
 
 complain, never had the bitterness of contrast 
 brought a word to those burning lips which only 
 seemed to long for kisses, nothing but kisses. Oh, 
 they deserved them, for the sake of their power and 
 their beauty, and he longed to intoxicate, to stun, 
 to suffocate her with kisses, mingled with wild 
 words of passion, words savage and tender, such as 
 Luisa loved to hear. 
 
 And she always returned his kisses, in her pagan 
 adoration. 
 
 “ I love you, I adore you ; kiss me again, you are 
 beautiful, beautiful.” 
 
 They returned home at dusk, when everything at 
 the fattoria was about to rest for the night. 
 Marietta was in the courtyard, meeting the cattle 
 returning from pasture. She watched the grave 
 cows as they passed, counted the sheep, the goats, 
 and the restless pigs, and then closed the 
 stables. 
 
 Luisa approached her respectfully. 
 
 “ Good evening, mother.” 
 
 “ Sposa, good evening.” 
 
 Antonio passed, saying too : 
 
 “ Good evening, mother.” 
 
 The old peasant woman smiled diffidently, the 
 smile of a peasant who believes firmly in God and 
 still more firmly in the works of the devil. She 
 returned into the house to attend to the supper. 
 Luisa assisted her, passing to and fro from the 
 orchard to the kitchen, where the great kettle sang 
 its familiar song, from the little courtyard where the 
 hens were about to go to roost, to the kitchen, 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 159 
 
 where she set the table, humbly asking to be 
 allowed to work and to assist yet more. 
 
 Marietta refused to yield, to let herself be 
 touched, her jealousy caused her to think : 
 
 Luisa would be mistress here.*' 
 
 Her blunt good sense made her reason with her- 
 self : 
 
 Now, I cannot reprove her, and as long as the 
 love lasts .... Witch ! She eats up my son's 
 time. Witch ! Witch ! Wait until you tire of 
 being a peasant ; yes, yes, now I say nothing. 
 As long as love lasts ! " 
 
 Marietta dwelt with bitter joy on this thought of 
 the death of love. 
 
 Afterwards ! " 
 
 This was how it came about. Marietta had a 
 presentiment. Marietta thought of the future, and 
 that was what she could not forgive her daughter- 
 in-law. 
 
 The future. 
 
 But what future ? 
 
 It was the hour of bedtime. With the same 
 respect, the same gentleness, Luisa approached her 
 mother-in-law, saluting her and wishing her : 
 
 ‘VGood night, mother." 
 
 And the old woman replied, with her invariable 
 diffidence : 
 
 '' Good night, sposa." 
 
 The painful question of money made itself 
 manifest with the birth of Peppino — manifest, for 
 it had always been present covertly. Every now 
 
i6o 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 and again, when Luisa was not there, Marietta 
 would take her son aside and say to him : 
 
 ‘‘ Are you not thinking about the money ? 
 Antonio had always thought about it, eagerly, 
 but he was a speechmaker and was ashamed to 
 confess it. He feigned indignation. 
 
 You know right well that I never think about 
 it.” 
 
 Marietta winced ; there was ever present with 
 her that belief in the devil which overcame her 
 faith in God. 
 
 ‘‘ As you like, my dear son ; it may be so, but I 
 do not believe it.” 
 
 ‘‘ Mother, you offend me ! ” 
 
 ‘‘ Nonsense ! You must have reckoned upon it, 
 even if you did not know it.” 
 
 “ What do you mean ? ” 
 
 “ Your wife might make us rich, you know that 
 well.” 
 
 ‘‘ Be quiet, mother ; money from Casa Soave 
 shall never enter here ! ” 
 
 “ All money is alike, my dear son, and to give 
 your mother peace you may well think of it.” 
 
 ‘‘ I am here to help you.” 
 
 ‘‘All very well, as far as you go. But certainly 
 it is not with the fine words you learned in those 
 few years at school .... no, certainly it is not 
 with those fine words that you will help your 
 mother. Go ! you are an ungrateful son ! ” 
 
 “ Mother ! ” 
 
 “ You have forgotten all my sacrifices.” 
 
 “ I swear to you . . . . ” 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 i6i 
 
 Do not swear, go to — do not swear. When 
 your father died I ought to have listened to the 
 priest, I ought to have taken you away from the 
 school directly and made you work like the others. 
 Instead, I took the bread out of my own mouth, I 
 worked myself to skin and bone to send you to 
 town ; you wanted to study, to turn the world 
 upside down, to do I know not what, and you 
 came back to me with no wish to do anything, full 
 of mad ideas — you are neither a peasant nor a 
 scholar ! ” 
 
 I will go to America, I will go abroad and seek 
 my fortune/^ 
 
 Well ! well ! I thought you had found an 
 America here when you made this fine mar- 
 riage.^' 
 
 “ I did not marry Luisa for her money.” 
 
 Then why did you bring her here into my 
 house ? ” 
 
 We married because we loved each other ? ” 
 
 One cannot eat love, my son. The Signor 
 Marchese is kind, but with the Roveres it is not 
 possible to earn anything. Don Carlo, who knows 
 when he will die? There will be money then, 
 but I shall not be here ! Meantime, life is very 
 hard ! ” 
 
 I will go to America, mother.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ That's a fine song you've learnt ! And when 
 will you go ? ” 
 
 At once ! ” 
 
 A pretty business ! With a wife like yours, 
 and a little child ! And, tell me, do you never 
 
 L 
 
WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 162 
 
 think of your mother ? Will you let me die like a 
 dog ? ” 
 
 I shall go alone.” 
 
 “ I understand ; you will desert us all three, you 
 will let your mother and your son die of hunger. 
 That other one will save herself ; she has run away 
 once, she will take flight again.” 
 
 “ That is enough, mother ; do you hear ? Enough 
 of this !” 
 
 “ I am your mother, and I will speak. Listen to 
 me ! Stay and take care of your wife ; keep close 
 to her, that woman wants watching.” 
 
 “ Luisa is a good woman.” 
 
 “ Now ; but when you are gone . . . . ” 
 
 “ She is safe with you, mother.” 
 
 “ I am too old to play guardian.” 
 
 “ There is no need, she knows I should kill 
 her.” 
 
 “ But why will you not arrange things other- 
 wise ? ” 
 
 “There is nothing else to be done.” 
 
 “Let that proud thing bow her head. If Don 
 Carlo refuses she might always have recourse to 
 Donna Anna, who is an angel.” 
 
 “ She cannot apply to her, she is ill ; she never 
 leaves the house, does not even go to mass.” 
 
 “ But there are the sisters. Donna Caterina . . . .” 
 “ Mother, do not talk to me of Donna Caterina, 
 she is wicked.” 
 
 “ Donna Lorenza . ...” 
 
 “ She is a child, and stupid besides.” 
 
 “Try, nevertheless; speak to your wife.” 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 163 
 
 ** I have already said no/' 
 
 ** I shall speak to her." 
 
 I forbid you, mother ; I forbid you ! " 
 
 What did this violent outburst of anger mean ? 
 Disinterestedness ? No. A fear of distressing 
 Luisa's love ? No, nor dignity either. It was the 
 terror of the sham apostle, the fear of being un- 
 masked. 
 
 And the mother, who understood, found the 
 vulgar invective adapted to this vulgar fear. 
 
 You will not really, you will not ? " 
 
 I will not, I will not." 
 
 Then you will die of hunger ! " 
 
 Do not drive me out of my senses ! I have 
 told you that I will work." 
 
 ** For yourself, but you will let others die of 
 hunger." 
 
 Ah, by the most Holy ! Ah, miserable that I 
 am ! Ah, by .... " 
 
 Antonio Valenti departed in pique^ departed 
 without faith, without security, trusting to chance, 
 departed in the stupid mania of creating for himself 
 a sort of halo in the eyes of his mother, who 
 exasperated him, and of his wife, of whom he 
 began to tire. At the moment of parting a feeling 
 of anger dominated the pain of separation ; he felt 
 as if he hated those two women. 
 
 It was they who obliged him to go — they, his 
 mother and his wife. He detested them because 
 unconsciously they had forced him to take this 
 step, the one humiliating him by insults, the 
 
164 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 Other humiliating him by dignified force of char- 
 acter. 
 
 Antonio Valenti departed for very shame and 
 stupid pride, staying away nearly two years. 
 
 These two years of waiting became engraven on 
 the heart, the mind, the senses of Luisa. 
 
 Marietta’s persecution began immediately. She 
 tormented her daughter-in-law with a thousand 
 accusations, trying to prove that she, and she 
 alone, was the cause of Antonio’s unfortunate 
 absence. Yes, yes, it was due to the misplaced 
 pride of Luisa, who would not appeal to her own 
 people to aid her new family ; she was a bad wife, 
 a bad mother, a bad daughter-in-law. 
 
 Surprise and indignation endowed Luisa with 
 heroic powers of silence. 
 
 Marietta appeared disarmed, but it was only 
 seeming. She continued her persecutions, which 
 had only changed their character. The furious 
 flow of words had given place to a constant and 
 active espionage, for ever vigilant, and rendered yet 
 more dangerous by great dissimulation. 
 
 Nothing escaped the concentrated violence of this 
 unjust hatred. Every word spoken by Luisa, every 
 look, every smile, the colour of her gowns, the 
 kerchief she knew how to tie so prettily over her 
 black hair, her coming and going — all, all were 
 observed and judged as sins. If she was attentive 
 to the child, if she caressed him, if she paid him 
 less attention, if afterwards she was inclined to 
 exaggerated tenderness or to careless neglect, if she 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 165 
 
 went to church in the evening and withwhom — all this 
 was watched, and in silence, while Luisa felt herself 
 surrounded by an ever-increasing pitiless hostility. 
 
 Whither had fled her passionate pride ? And 
 how quickly was her love for the absent dying ? 
 
 Whither had vanished the dreams of riches ? 
 
 There did exist, in very truth, an inexorable law 
 of punishment against which strength of character 
 was shattered, and which turned patience and self- 
 forgetfulness into ironical and useless qualities. 
 
 Ah, the little arms of Peppino were sweet and 
 heavenly things ! She placed them round her 
 neck like a fresh, living necklace of purity ! She 
 tightened them around her throat, giving herself up 
 to the pure pleasure, pressing her mouth, which 
 longed to sob, on the smiling, rosy face of the 
 child, and finding therein the sweetest distraction. 
 
 Beyond the fatforia^ on the other side of the 
 garden, stood a pretty little house, a sort of chalet. 
 In front of the house was a small garden, with 
 well-kept paths and symmetrical beds, the noisy 
 poetry of a fountain rose in the centre, and a 
 handsome iron gate with gilt spikes enclosed the 
 whole. 
 
 This pretty little house belonged to Gabriele dei 
 Rovida, a handsome young man of whom strange 
 tales were told in the neighbourhood. 
 
 It was no romance, that is to say, there had been 
 a romance in the beginning, but after the mystery 
 ceased all seemed natural. He was a foundling 
 brought up by the Rovidas, rich tenant farmers of 
 
WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 1 66 
 
 the neighbouring village of Roccalta ; he had been 
 a servant, an underling, then all at once he had 
 freed himself with cold-blooded determination from 
 all ties of gratitude, and had become a self-made 
 man. It was said he had enriched himself by 
 smuggling, not a difficult thing to do so near to 
 Switzerland. First he had bought a small horse, 
 then a little carriage, then he began to breed dogs, 
 which were often chased and sometimes paid for 
 their masters cleverness with their lives. He had 
 assistants too, a sort of battalion of dependants. 
 Finally he had bought land, and had built himself 
 the little house. 
 
 This house, with its door always closed, its green 
 blinds always down, its garden always deserted, 
 breathed an air of mystery, but of romantic mys- 
 tery. 
 
 There lives the invisible princess,” said the 
 peasants, as they passed. 
 
 And they laughed, remembering Gabriele^s taciturn 
 old servant, his only companion, the only inhabitant 
 of the cottage during the master’s long absences. 
 Some years ago he had taken to travelling, always 
 returning more elegant and more eccentric than 
 before. He might then be seen walking about the 
 country, never greeting his companions of other 
 days, not heeding even the richer people of the 
 place, for whom, however, he had a certain smile 
 that hovered between cunning and contempt. 
 
 Nothing led people to suppose that he was bad, 
 nothing gave them cause to believe that he was 
 good. He was handsome and silent, that was all, 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 167 
 
 two qualities which made the girls turn to look 
 after him as he passed. 
 
 Little by little the peasant was transformed into 
 the gentleman, transformed in dress, walk, and 
 manner. Some held that the handsome Gabriele 
 dei Rovida had found his parents, who were rich 
 and distinguished people, others held that he had 
 extended the limits of his trade. No one could 
 speak evil of him with any certainty. 
 
 Thus there was no real romance, scarcely even an 
 appearance of mystery. 
 
 That year Gabriele was absent all winter. 
 When he reappeared in the village one May 
 morning, the first person he saw, as he sat by the 
 fountain in his garden, was Luisa Valenti. He 
 saw her in the distance, through the iron gate, 
 beyond the low wall of the neighbouring orchard. 
 He noticed her standing on the wooden balcony of 
 the fattoria as she was hanging out the clothes, 
 drawn up to her full height, raising herself on 
 tiptoe to reach the line suspended between the 
 posts. The bright sun shone on her red kerchief, 
 her black hair, and her beautiful face. Gabriele 
 gazed at her as though she had been close beside 
 him, distinguishing her beauty and her proud 
 bearing. She, though distant, felt the sensation 
 of being looked at, and turned towards the orchard, 
 but seeing no one, she drew back and disappeared. 
 
 Months passed before Gabriele thought of her 
 again. 
 
 Then he beheld her one evening as she was 
 return ing’^Trom church, carrying Peppino in her 
 
i68 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 arms. She seemed to him a Mater Dolorosa. But 
 this time also Luisa did not notice Gabriele, 
 
 Nevertheless the young man, much impressed, 
 followed her to the door of the fattoria^ and after- 
 wards could not banish her from his thoughts. 
 Several evenings in succession he stationed himself 
 in the lane, hoping, as she passed again that way, 
 to see that melancholy mother holding a beautiful 
 boy in her arms. But she did not pass again. 
 Had she changed her road, or did she no longer 
 go to church in the evening ? The other women, 
 returning in groups from Benediction, laughing and 
 talking, glanced at each other in astonishment on 
 seeing Gabriele, and turned to look at him. A few 
 girls walking alone, decorated with the blue ribbon 
 of the daughters of Mary, brushed by him without 
 seeing him, leaving behind them a vague perfume 
 of incense, which seemed to emanate from their 
 clothes. After them followed the few men who 
 went to church in the evening. They were, for 
 the most part, old men, wearing the linen habit and 
 cord of the brotherhood. But she never passed 
 him again. 
 
 In the course of the day Gabriele halted several 
 times before the big gate of the fattoria^ as though 
 by accident, looking into the courtyard. At the 
 foot of the gigantic walnut-tree a few hens were 
 scratching, superintended by a majestic cock ; carts, 
 with their shafts raised, looking like Turks at 
 prayer, ladders leaning against the wall or the 
 haystacks ; these he saw, but never a living 
 soul. Ard Gabriele would come away feeling 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 169 
 
 weary, as though exhausted by some great moral 
 struggle. 
 
 Then came the afternoon when an inspiration 
 seized him. He was standing beside the low wall 
 that divided the garden of the chalet from the 
 orchard of the fattoriaj and across the wall could 
 be heard the joyous cries of a happy child. It 
 was this innocent and noisy infantile gaiety that 
 gave birth to his idea. 
 
 It must certainly be Peppino who was shouting 
 thus, and probably his mother was not far distant. 
 Indeed, as soon as he had accomplished the easy 
 scramble over the low wall, Gabriele perceived 
 Luisa, her back turned towards him, sitting on a 
 grass-grown step. He guessed that she was smiling, 
 and truly so she was, smiling at Peppino, who 
 came towards her all alone, up the little path, 
 balancing himself with difficulty on his inexpert 
 little legs. Tottering thus he looked like a Chinese 
 figure, and as he stumbled along he was seized 
 with the convulsive delight of a child who is half- 
 afraid and half-amused at his own fear. 
 
 Gabriele divined the maternal smile, and thought 
 of the light that must be playing in her eyes. He 
 closed his own instinctively, like a person who is 
 dazzled. 
 
 Luisa was not wearing her usual red kerchief, 
 hence her black braids were visible ; the uncovered 
 nape of her neck showed a soft curve, her shoulders 
 had a staturesque outline. Hardly had the child 
 reached her when Gabriele called out : 
 
 Donna Luisa ! 
 
170 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 How long it was since any one had named her 
 thus ! She gave an angry start, put the child on 
 the ground, and turned quickly with flashing eyes. 
 
 You, Signor Gabriele ? What do you want 
 with me ? 
 
 The young man looked at her with such ardour 
 that her eyelids quivered, as though she felt the 
 effect of a fierce light. 
 
 I wish to speak to you.*^ 
 
 On your own account ? 
 
 No, for some one at the Castle.” 
 
 Luisa grew pale. 
 
 Tell me what it is ! ” she cried, not suspecting 
 the falsehood. 
 
 Not now, your mother-in-law must know 
 nothing.” 
 
 That is true. And when, then ? ” 
 
 Come this evening for a moment.” 
 
 Where to ? ” 
 
 To the little door opening into the fields.” 
 
 I will come at nine ; will that do ? ” 
 
 ^Wery well ; do not fail, it is something very 
 important.” 
 
 Madonna ! ” murmured Luisa, while the young 
 man slid skilfully down the other side of the wall, 
 not wishing to weaken the strong impression he 
 had made. 
 
 At nine o’clock Luisa crossed the courtyard, 
 which was dark and quiet, pushed open the small 
 wooden door and found herself in the orchard, 
 which was also dark and plunged in silence. 
 Keeping close to the wall, she reached the second 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 171 
 
 wooden door, which opened into the fields, and 
 hardly had she opened it when the tall and elegant 
 form of Gabriele appeared before her. Then for 
 the first time her suspicions were aroused. 
 
 '^Good evening, Donna Luisa. 
 
 I salute you, Signor Gabriele. Is it Donna 
 Caterina, my sister, who has sent you ? 
 
 No.^^ 
 
 ** It is Donna Anna, perhaps ? and there was a 
 tremor in the voice which had once found such 
 angry tones in which to reproach her mother^s weak- 
 ness. 
 
 No, Donna Luisa. 
 
 ** Speak, in God’s name ! 
 
 Suddenly Gabriele seized her hand and said : 
 Yes, I wanted to speak to you ; to tell you that 
 I love you madly, that you have bewitched me, and 
 that you must love me too.^^ 
 
 Ah ! 
 
 ^‘Do not be frightened, my beauty, do not 
 scream ; listen ! Remember that you must love 
 me, because my love for you is great enough to 
 burn up your heart as well as mine.” 
 
 If you do not let me go I will scream and will 
 call for help ! ” 
 
 No ; you will not scream and will not call for 
 help, because Gabriele will not let you.” 
 
 I beg you, I pray you, let me go ! ” 
 
 Dearest, with that frightened voice of yours 
 you will make me commit some great act of folly ! 
 Dearest, you must swear that you will come back 
 to-morrow night.” 
 
172 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 Go away, I hate the sight of you ! Oh, heaven ! 
 You think so now, but you will end by loving 
 me, I tell you, because you will not let me die ! I 
 shall come back every night until I have persuaded 
 you.” 
 
 '' Never, never, never ! ” 
 
 Yes, you will come. I shall be here every 
 evening to wait for you, and you will not be able 
 to bear the thought of my standing here at this 
 gate, waiting, languishing for you, dying for you, 
 like a desperate and doomed man.” 
 
 No ! ” 
 
 ‘‘ You will end by coming.” 
 
 ‘‘ No, no, no.” 
 
 “ Do not say no again, if you do not wish me to 
 kiss that mouth that is killing me ! ” 
 
 She was silent, paralysed ; but it was useless, 
 for Gabriele took her suddenly by the shoulders 
 and kissed her, kissed her passionately on the 
 mouth, and she felt unable to resist. 
 
 Look at her, how frightened she is, this 
 darling, all because of a kiss. Where is the harm ? 
 I am as good as Valenti ! ” 
 
 Ah, there was the rub ! As good as Valenti, 
 Terrible, terrible words, which had been spoken as 
 if to show her that indignation was useless, since 
 she had voluntarily abased herself and brought her- 
 self down to the level of this adventure. 
 
 I am as good as Valenti. 
 
 Six dreadful words, which were at one and the 
 same time an insult, an explanation, and a justi- 
 fication. 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 173 
 
 Until to-morrow night, my joy, my beauty/’ 
 
 Never ; I hate you ! ” 
 
 We shall see, we shall see, my sweet.” 
 
 At last ! She had closed again that accursed 
 little door ; she could go in and think that she had 
 dreamed, and pray to be allowed to forget her 
 dream. 
 
 When her daughter-in-law reappeared in the 
 kitchen, Marietta cried : 
 
 Oh, Sposa, how pale you are ! ” 
 
 I feel ill.” 
 
 I can see it. And where have you come 
 from ? ” 
 
 From the orchard.” 
 
 Or from the fields ? ” 
 
 From the orchard.” 
 
 From the fields, I think,” said Marietta em- 
 phasising her words. 
 
 Luisa looked at her mother-in-law, startled. 
 
 You think what is false,” replied the young 
 daughter-in-law. 
 
 I will make you pay for those words,” said 
 Marietta, revealing her true self. 
 
 ^^You think I have sinned?” asked Luisa, and 
 her words were the cry of an honest soul that fears 
 the future. 
 
 Either you have done wrong or you will do it,” 
 answered the old woman. 
 
 It pleases you to be a bird of ill-omen,” mut- 
 tered Luisa bitterly. 
 
 I tell you, Sposa, that you were the bird of ill- 
 omen when you entered my house. You have 
 
174 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 taken my son^s love and respect from me, and now 
 you have sent him far away to . . . 
 
 Oh, mother, take care v/hat you say/’ 
 
 To rob him of his honour. Rather take care, 
 you, woman without thought and without religion.” 
 
 ** Holy Virgin, protect me ! ” 
 
 Only now you remember the Madonna ? ” 
 
 I have none left, no one who loves me ! ” 
 
 Weep by all means ! You would have it so ! ” 
 It is true, I would have it so ; you are right. 
 It is just. Ah, my poor Peppino, my poor 
 Peppino ! ” 
 
 “ You are setting a fine example to your son ! ” 
 
 “But I have done nothing wrong ! I swear it ! ” 
 
 “ Done wrong — you ? What a notion ! You are 
 
 a saint I have always wanted to tell you 
 
 that you are a saint.” 
 
 Launching these ironical words at her, the 
 mother-in-law left the room, leaving Luisa quite 
 dazed. When the poor girl could collect her 
 senses again she ascended the stairs to her bed- 
 room and kissed the child, who was sleeping peace- 
 fully. She then opened the window and leaned 
 out into the fresh night air. Opposite, in the pretty 
 cottage, there was ?ilso a lighted window, only one, 
 and in the light Luisa saw a shadow that waved a 
 greeting towards the farmhouse, and could perceive 
 that it was the shadow of a man. 
 
 She hastily closed the window, and then threw 
 herself on her bed, sobbing like a creature in 
 torment. 
 
 Several evenings passed. 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 175 
 
 But recollection, instead of fading, grew stronger 
 in Luisa^s brain. She was no longer angry, no 
 longer indignant, her revolted morality was no 
 longer offended. And with the death of the pain- 
 ful surprise, a curious change occurred. All the 
 actuality of that scene was recalled, strong and 
 interesting, in clear outline. Working beside her 
 mother-in-law, who never spoke to her, Luisa once 
 more saw Gabriele^s fine face bent towards her, 
 once more she felt the pressure of his hands and 
 felt her shoulders seized with that tender yet savage 
 passion which at bottom pleased her, for it was like 
 her own. She saw again the flashing eyes which 
 reflected the audacious thoughts, the sensual lips 
 ready to commit the audacity, and once again, in 
 this involuntary evocation, she felt the scorching 
 contact of that kiss. She seemed to burn all over, 
 the excitement brought a flush into her cheeks and 
 suffused her neck with a deeper colour and she 
 trembled visibly. 
 
 ** You must love me^ because my love for you 
 is great enough to burn up your heart as well as 
 mine.^^ 
 
 A sudden terror caused her to start. If this 
 should really happen ? But how could she be so 
 wicked as even to imagine it possible ? Was her 
 pagan worship of beauty about to ruin her a 
 second time ? 
 
 I am as good as Valenti ! ” 
 
 Ah ! Gabriele was much handsomer than Antonio ! 
 Handsomer ! She even dared to think of this ! 
 she, an honest woman who had a child to love. 
 
176 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 You will end by coming ! ” 
 
 God would not allow her to fulfil this evil 
 prophecy ; she would break the sinful charm, 
 would smother the nascent seduction. 
 
 And did he really come every evening ? Was 
 he really so madly constant ? Had he been again 
 sometimes ? Had he stayed away ? If ... . 
 
 Was it true ? Had she really no power to 
 resist thinking of that person who was perhaps 
 awaiting her ? 
 
 You will not be able to bear the thought^ know- 
 ing that I am here at this door waiting for you, 
 languishing for yoUy dyings like a desperate and 
 doomed manP 
 
 Languishing. Dying. 
 
 They were the sort of words Antonio made use 
 of in his love-making. Familiar words, which 
 could deceive her no longer. She knew then, 
 knew too well, what they were worth and that she 
 could not count on them. Therefore the charm 
 lay not in them ; it was no delirium born of the 
 exaltation produced by what had been said. 
 There was, then, in the birth of this second 
 passion, a force stronger than that which had 
 first led her astray. How could she despise her- 
 self enough, knowing already that she would be so 
 vile as to go to Gabriele ? 
 
 No. 
 
 Perhaps not. 
 
 Perhaps he had already ceased to come ; per- 
 haps he had never returned at all. 
 
 How many evenings had passed since that one ? 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 
 Better have done with it. Then thtie came an 
 evening when Luisa, tired of the inward struggle, 
 rose from her seat, to all appearance calm. She 
 wished to make sure, to know, to know whether 
 the danger of sin was a foolish terror, or whether 
 she was on the point of finding herself face to face 
 with the inevitable sin. 
 
 She walked slowly across the kitchen, slowly 
 mounted the stairs up to the first floor, mounted 
 to the second story more rapidly, and flew up the 
 little flight leading to the garret. She placed her 
 small lamp on the floor ; she felt half-choked, and 
 remained quiet for a moment, then, with infinite 
 precautions, she opened the shutters of the single 
 window. 
 
 Gabriele would certainly never suppose that she 
 had gone up there to look for him. 
 
 She hesitated a while. Surely he was not 
 there, could not be ; he had certainly grown tired 
 by now. Ah, how she would thank God if it 
 were so ! 
 
 She decided ; leaned her head out, looked, saw 
 nothing .... looked again. 
 
 He was there. 
 
 Marietta had been ill some days, and Luisa 
 nursed her with untiring patience. The eyes of 
 the sick woman persistently followed every move- 
 ment of the younger one, and often, when fixed 
 on her daughter-in-law, there came into Marietta's 
 eyes an expression of intense hatred. When 
 Luisa approached the door to leave the room, 
 
 M 
 
178 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 called elsewhere by various occupations, the old 
 woman struggled with a lively sense of anxiety. 
 Oh, not to be able to follow her, to play the spy, 
 to persecute her still ! Where was she going ? 
 
 Day by day the sick woman grew weaker, every 
 day it became more difficult for her to speak, from 
 hour to hour the paralysis progressed. Where 
 was Luisa, where did she go when she was not 
 beside her ? This was the question that tor- 
 mented Marietta, this was the thought that was 
 bitter as wormwood to her soul. And if she 
 should lose the use of speech ? If she were not 
 able to warn Antonio ? If she were to die with- 
 out leaving a trace of her hatred behind her ? To 
 die without avenging herself! Not to know how 
 to write, not to have any one to confide in ... . 
 ah, yes ! The priest. 
 
 But the priest would have remained silent by 
 the obligation of pardon; the duties of his mission. 
 
 Had Luisa both God and the devil on her 
 side ? 
 
 In very deed the sick woman lost the powder of 
 speech suddenly, as the doctor had predicted, when 
 asking for something to drink. Then Marietta's 
 eyes became fearful ; she kept them always open, 
 and there was no pain, no terror in them, only 
 hatred. When Luisa approached the bedside, and 
 met this terrible gaze she shuddered from head to 
 foot. 
 
 Then there came a moment when Luisa, placed 
 between these two tortures — the incessant attrac- 
 tion towards sin and those eyes which cursed l:er 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 179 
 
 — felt an over-mastering need of love, a need of 
 kisses and caresses, a need of finding herself with 
 some person who would at least give her the illu- 
 sion of love. 
 
 It was nine o’clock in the evening, the hour 
 when Gabriele waited for her. 
 
 A peasant neighbour was upstairs attending to 
 the sick woman. Luisa could go out without fear, 
 and she went. 
 
 As usual, he was waiting for her; directly he 
 saw her he gave a deep sigh, but the only words 
 he spoke were : You have made me suffer 
 
 much.” 
 
 Then he seized her hand abruptly and kissed 
 it, and, still holding her hand, drew her after him 
 with a gentleness of which she would not have 
 supposed him capable, and which completed her 
 conquest. 
 
 It seemed as if Luisa would have halted a 
 little. Did she wish to go back ? Did she repent ? 
 Gabriele passed his arm round her waist, still 
 drawing her on. 
 
 Come, darling, come.” 
 
 Where are we going ? ” 
 
 '^To my house. Come, darling.” 
 
 Gabriele,” murmured Luisa, surprised at finding 
 herself unintentionally calling him by name. 
 
 Dear Treasure ! ” 
 
 They were already at the garden gate. 
 
 When they entered the lighted entrance hall 
 Gabriele left hold of Luisa, still gazing at her with 
 blazing eyes and blissful excitement. He then put 
 
WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 I So 
 
 up the door-chain, returned to her, and taking her 
 in his arms like a child, although she was tall and 
 strong, carried her upstairs and, still holding her in 
 his arms, he entered the sitting-room and placed 
 her on a sofa. For a moment she let her eyes 
 wander around the room, dazzled and stupefied by 
 the luxury that surrounded her ; Gabriele smiled. 
 She felt weary, so weary, and stretching herself out 
 full length on the sofa, she laid her dark head 
 against the cushions, their silken rustle murmured 
 in her ears, and she closed her eyes. 
 
 Then Gabriele smiled again, and drew nearer, 
 nearer, yet nearer. Strange to tell, this athlete 
 was gentleness itself in all sensual matters. He 
 kissed her softly, softly, on her closed eyelids, on 
 her neck and cheeks, gently undoing her braids of 
 hair. At last he sought her lips, and ceased 
 there. Those dark, loosened tresses were like a 
 mystic helmet. 
 
 After loving the man, to whom she abandoned 
 herself entirely, she began also to love his home. 
 When the first intoxication of the senses had 
 passed, Luisa looked around, conquered by the 
 charm of outward things. It was a detailed 
 elegance that reigned here, studied in trifles rather 
 than in mass. It was evident that these objects 
 had been acquired little by little, perhaps one by 
 one, and placed there, with the love of collecting ; 
 arms, antique plates, precious cups, furniture of 
 voluptuous suggestion. How had he been able to 
 buy all this ? How had this foundling accumulated 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 i8i 
 
 such riches, he who had been brought up frugally on 
 the limited generosity of a family ’’of tenant-farmers ? 
 
 This did not resemble the austere wealth of the 
 Castle, the severe, antique magnificence of the 
 Soaves ; it was modern, a medley, fantastic and 
 luxurious, rather than in perfect taste. But it 
 pleased Luisa ; she liked men of statuesque beauty, 
 and, perhaps because of the contrast, she liked 
 objects that were bizarre, 
 
 Gabriele, who possessed the ingenuous vanity 
 of the self-made man, watched her resting, still 
 extended on the sofa. 
 
 You like it, do you not ? he asked. 
 
 Yes, I like it.^^ 
 
 '‘You did not think 1 was so rich ? 
 
 " No, I did not expect it.” 
 
 The reply evidently flattered him. 
 
 " Yet it does not satisfy me, it is not enough ; I 
 want to be enormously rich.” 
 
 She continued to look about her, then, rising at 
 last, she began to rebraid her hair, while he con- 
 tinued his confidences, which were those of a 
 lonely, ambitious, and fastidious man. 
 
 "If you knew, Luisa, how I require luxury ; 
 nothing ever satisfies me. I have always been like 
 that. I am not yet thirty ; I can do much. I 
 have a passion for luxury; it is in my blood. 
 When I travel I am consumed by a fever to know, 
 to purchase. I should like to have everything, 
 everything ! It is in the blood, I tell you. Ah, 
 when I make up my mind to a thing, when I am 
 really resolved ! ” 
 
WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 182 
 
 As he spoke his dark blue eyes grew almost 
 fierce. It was evident he was a being capable of 
 anything to gain his ends. Luisa^s soul was not 
 revolted, her passionate soul was not indignant. 
 And why ? Because her soul was absent. 
 
 It is in the blood, for I am a bastard.^* 
 
 He said this in the same proud tones an aristocrat 
 might use in speaking of his forbears. 
 
 And my father must be a prince.” 
 
 It pleased him to think this, perhaps he believed 
 it. 
 
 I do not mind being a bastard, you know. 
 Fewer ties, my dear, no duties ; one manages for 
 oneself without owing thanks to any one. My 
 money is as good as a certificate of birth.” 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 If I met my mother I should laugh in her face, 
 I should not care if my mother were to die of 
 hunger. Each in his turn, 3"ou see ! ” 
 
 His was a logical cynicism. Luisa^s soul re- 
 mained absent. 
 
 When she wished to get up, to go away, it was 
 no, no, he did not want her to go so soon ; she 
 must take something — sweets, wine ; for since she 
 understood him she must stay on, he had so much 
 yet to say. He loved none but her, she alone 
 pleased him ; according to him, they had many 
 points of contact in character, had shown almost 
 the same courage — she in lowering herself, he in 
 upraising himself. 
 
 Nor did even this comparison offend Luisa ; who 
 knows, perhaps she did not even listen. She 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOVL 183 
 
 Stroked Gabriele’s hair as he knelt before her, 
 trying to force her into accepting some refreshment 
 with persistent gallantry. 
 
 A drop of malaga, Luisa, a biscuit — at least a 
 drop of malaga ; don’t make me angry, Luisa.” 
 
 She refused. There was only one thing she 
 cared to know — whether, in truth, he had waited 
 for her every night. 
 
 Why, certainly, every night.” 
 
 Many hours ? ” 
 
 Many hours.” 
 
 When she heard this reply she kissed him once 
 more on the lips. But how could he be so patient ? 
 
 He ended by laughing at this curiosity, this 
 astonishment. 
 
 A great deed, verily ! Fancy, I passed many 
 nights stretched on the grass, many nights I lay in 
 ambush surrounded by danger, with revenue officers 
 at my heels, fearing neither imprisonment nor 
 death ! And you wonder that I have patience 
 to wait for the only woman who ever stirred my 
 heart ! ” 
 
 One idea only was clear to Luisa, the flattering 
 thought of his material constancy. Thus she did 
 not stop to note the brutality betrayed in this 
 obstinate and characteristic smuggler’s pride. 
 
 Would you like to take something away with 
 you ? Tell me.” 
 
 No, Gabriele.” 
 
 ^‘Ask me for something; do you really want 
 nothing ? ” 
 
 Nothing.” 
 
i84 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 '‘Another time, then, for you will return, will 
 you not ? 
 
 " Yes, I will return/^ 
 
 She promised this unhesitatingly, knowing she 
 would not be able to resist the desire to return. 
 
 This absence of hesitation and of repentance 
 pleased him, and he told her so. She had now 
 risen definitely and was really leaving. While 
 Gabriele was accompanying her back Luisa was 
 amazed to find herself so tranquil. Truly, since 
 the soul was absent, the mind and senses were in a 
 state of absolute calm, nay, indeed, the mind was 
 satisfied, and the senses, almost dominated by the 
 sin, were reposing. 
 
 In front of the little door, Luisa, embracing him 
 for the last time, heard the clock strike and 
 shuddered. 
 
 It was midnight. 
 
 Hardly had she entered the kitchen when she 
 found herself confronted by the woman who had 
 been left to watch Marietta. 
 
 " Oh, Signora Luisa, we have been looking for 
 you all over ! 
 
 " I was taken ill in the orchard. 
 
 ‘‘Oh, poor dear Signora! you have done too 
 much these last days ; go to bed at once. We 
 were looking for you because Marietta is certainly 
 very ill ; if you only saw her eyes ! 
 
 Luisa started. 
 
 ‘‘ Eyes like those of the damned ! I was afraid 
 to stay alone ; I called Monica, and then Rosetta 
 came too ; they are up there now. You go 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 185 
 
 Straight to bed, Signora, we will look after 
 Marietta/^ 
 
 Luisa hesitated a moment, then terror at the 
 throught of again meeting those terrible eyes, 
 that now had a right to accuse her, overcame her 
 pity. She went upstairs in the dark, passed 
 the sick woman^s door on tiptoe, and entered her 
 own room. 
 
 The calm breathing of the child was audible. 
 
 Ah, no ! she could not immediately look at the 
 innocent little face. She undressed in the dark, 
 and before she slept she felt a passing horror of 
 herself. 
 
 She returned every evening for months and 
 months, attracted by Gabriele, attracted by the 
 objects in that house. During the day she re- 
 mained constantly with Marietta, who no longer 
 frightened her because her eyes had become ex- 
 tinguished also, and were henceforth incapable of 
 reflecting any thought or expression at all. It 
 was the death-agony prolonged for months ; it 
 was a body which Luisa tended with a gratitude 
 that was natural yet terrible, a silent hymn of 
 gratitude to this dying body, almost motionless, 
 which had let the soul escape and could no longer 
 work harm. 
 
 Could no longer work harm, .... what a 
 relief! what a fierce sense of freedom 1 
 
 No one suspected Luisa ; she knew how to 
 appear so active, so skilful in all those occupations 
 which now inspired her with disgust. Absolute 
 
WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 1 86 
 
 disgust. She did all this because she forced 
 herself to believe that by day she was tormented 
 in dreams ; thus she could drag through the 
 hours until evening ; she liked to awaken then 
 to love. Whether this were love of the soul 
 or of the senses she did not stop to consider — 
 she knew just enough of it to feel its life and 
 not enough to suffer its corrosion, which originates 
 in the canker of self-analysis. This, for her, was 
 love, and it sufficed her. 
 
 Thus, pretending to dream by day, Luisa awoke, 
 in a pagan way, at evening, when she found 
 herself beside Gabriele. When all believed her 
 to be sleeping, worn out by the fatigues of the 
 day, and the women watching beside the invalid 
 chanted her praises in low voices, she was with 
 her lover, staying with him many hours and 
 holding strange colloquies. They spoke of Val- 
 enti, who rarely wrote and who might return 
 any day ; it was not known if he had made money 
 out there, or how he lived. They talked of him 
 calmly, while Gabriele smoked and turned over 
 the leaves of illustrated magazines, French and 
 English. He did not understand them, but, like 
 a child, he was pleased with the pictures and 
 invented fantastic translations suggested by the 
 expressions of the figures. 
 
 Luisa, when interrogated, corrected and ex- 
 plained, but she would not do it always ; she had 
 forgotten many English words .... among the 
 many things she had forgotten. So much the better, 
 she had grown coarse. Yes, so much the better ! 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 187 
 
 She touched the silken curtains, the refined 
 Luisa, she who had forgotten her soul, to educate 
 her senses ; she placed her hand upon the satins, 
 on the velvet armchairs, rolling up the sleeves 
 of her dress that her arms, her elbows, might 
 come in contact with that smooth softness, might 
 feel the yielding caress of the velvet. She liked 
 to drink coffee out of delicate china cups with 
 thin brims, to sip liqueur, drop by drop, from 
 tiny glasses of real crystal, she even tried to smoke 
 cigarettes. 
 
 You were born for luxury, Gabriele told her, 
 ^*you should have been a queen ; you have missed 
 your way,” and he smiled as he spoke. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, enjoying the 
 present moment with no thought of the future. 
 She afforded herself, gave herself; Gabriele in- 
 spired her with no moral modesty. She grew 
 to love him more and more, completely enchanted, 
 losing her head in ecstasy through the total ab- 
 sence of impediments, as another might have been 
 excited by the prolonged anguish of an obstinate 
 refusal. 
 
 For months and months matters proceeded thus, 
 until the return of Valenti was imminent, and 
 Marietta was dying ; her son was to find her 
 dead. 
 
 Gabriele no longer spoke of going away ; often, 
 without letting his intentions be suspected, he 
 dreamed of selling his house and possessions and 
 flying with Luisa, She did not divine this ; she 
 went on in the usual way, dreaming her bad dream 
 
WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 1 88 
 
 by day and waking at night when the hour of 
 sin approached for which she longed. 
 
 Reality reasserted its rights over her when 
 she noticed .... 
 
 It came over her one evening, and, quivering 
 in every limb, she put her hands on his shoulders 
 and, looking into his eyes, she told him all. 
 
 He was not a man to be easily moved, and as 
 he really loved her he was not even annoyed. 
 Indeed his eyes kindled, he was seized by a 
 wild impulse of love, he was glad. 
 
 ** Ah, truly, now I am happy ! Now I will 
 carry you off directly, both of you/^ he cried, 
 what is there to be afraid of? Both, you, and he 
 or she. Are you not glad ? Tell me the truth, did 
 you not expect it ? Did you not know I loved 
 you so much ? You did not think me capable of 
 that ! Are you not glad ? Do not you want to come 
 away with Gabriele ? Do you not trust me ? 
 
 Luisa gazed at him, thunderstruck. Go away 
 with him ? Another flight, another rending of ties 
 of blood. 
 
 ^‘Will you not come? Why do you not an- 
 swer ? Are you not happy with Gabriele ? 
 
 Yes, I am happy with you.” 
 
 Then consent.” 
 
 I do not know.” 
 
 ‘^What, not know! I can give you riches, 
 love, peace, I offer to make you mine, to take 
 you away for ever, and you tell me you .... 
 do not know. Either you do not love me, or 
 you doubt my word.” 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 189 
 
 Neither the one nor the other/^ 
 
 Then explain yourself, strange being that you 
 are ! Explain yourself ; you will drive me mad 
 with your mysteries.’^ 
 
 Do not be angry, Gabriele/^ 
 
 '' Then speak.” 
 
 “ I am ready to come with you . . . . ” 
 
 “ At last ! ” 
 
 '‘Yes, but 
 "But?” 
 
 " I repeat that I am ready to abandon all and 
 everything if you will let me bring Peppino.” 
 
 "Peppino? The son of that other man? 
 Never. Ah, my God ! ” 
 
 " Peppino is mine ; I will not leave him.” 
 
 " What are you asking ? Do you suppose that 
 I have water in my veins, that I will quietly let 
 myself die of jealousy, while .... No, no, that 
 I never could bear. The companionship of a child 
 of mine with a child of the other ! You have not 
 yet discovered, then, that I am capable of com- 
 mitting murder, I am so jealous ? ” 
 
 " Then I shall be obliged to bid you farewell.” 
 
 " Farewell to me ? But — but, Luisa, it is not 
 possible. I have a right to help you, to love you, 
 to think for my child.” 
 
 " Gabriele, if you are savage in jealousy I am 
 savage in motherhood. I have a fierce love for 
 Peppino, and I shall have the same for our child. 
 I will never abandon my children. Remember 
 this ! ” 
 
 " I shall steal my child from you, so take care ! ” 
 
190 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 ^‘You will not ruin me because I have loved 
 you, Gabriele ? 
 
 You will ruin yourself by remaining here. 
 Is not Antonio coming ? Antonio will avenge 
 himself. You see that it is not possible for you 
 to stay.’^ 
 
 Will you let me bring Peppino ? ” 
 
 Curses on the boy ! 
 
 Gabriele!^’ 
 
 No ! a thousand times no ! 
 
 Permit it, Gabriele, permit it ! He is little ; he 
 will not remember ; he will grow fond of you and 
 will believe you to be his father.^^ 
 
 Luisa ! I have said no ! In God^s name do 
 not make me blaspheme ; do not change my love 
 into poison.” 
 
 Then all is over, Gabriele.” 
 
 Oh, Luisa, obstinate woman ; and wherefore ? ” 
 
 Because, between my son and you, I choose 
 my son.” 
 
 ^‘You choose ruin.” 
 
 Perhaps not. This month is drawing to a 
 close, and we expect Antonio in the first fortnight 
 of next month.” 
 
 You would make him believe 
 
 It is possible ; no one suspects me ; he will 
 believe me. I am ready to do anything to save 
 my little ones.” 
 
 Which means that instead of being killed by 
 Antonio you will be killed by me ; for, take note, 
 I am not disposed to renounce either you or ... . 
 our child.” 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 191 
 
 Kill me ? I am not afraid ; I prefer that/’ 
 
 “ Oh, Luisa, be good, be good ; come with me, 
 come with me ! ” 
 
 Accept Peppino.” 
 
 ‘‘No.” 
 
 “ Enough of words, Gabriele.” 
 
 “ What do you mean ? ” 
 
 “ But few evenings remain to our love.” 
 
 “ Do you think I will let it all end like this ? ” 
 
 “ Do not threaten me any more. I have de- 
 cided.” 
 
 “ I, too, have decided, and to do something 
 desperate.” 
 
 He began to entreat again the next night, and 
 for many nights afterwards. It was a constant 
 change from supplication to menace, from the 
 sweetest promises to the most atrocious threats, 
 revelations of a vicious temperament mingled with 
 boyish tenderness. Luisa was immovable, and her 
 resistance grew easier now that she had, as it 
 were, found herself again. She replied invariably 
 in the monotonous tone that was the outcome of 
 her obstinate idea : 
 
 “ Take Peppino.” 
 
 And Gabriele would grow exasperated and en- 
 raged. 
 
 “ No, no ! stop this. I want what belongs to 
 me ; that is what I want ! I have said no ! Must 
 I persuade you with a knife in my hand ? ” 
 
 It was a curious mystery that, owing to her 
 contemplation of the event which was about to 
 happen, thinking of this little creature who was 
 
WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 192 
 
 the issue of a crime, Luisa began to lose interest in 
 Gabriele. The mother took the place of the mis- 
 tress blinded by passion, and became a reason- 
 ing being, who armed herself with coldness and 
 became possessed of immovable seriousness which 
 perhaps marked the first beginnings of disgust. 
 Little by little physical fascination vanished and a 
 catastrophe was in preparation which would be 
 abrupt and decisive. This catastrophe would show 
 Luisa the barrenness of that connection. Gabriele 
 persisted in his refusal to accept Peppino, but this 
 was almost a relief, for only thus could she find an 
 excuse for depriving him of the other child. It 
 was better to trust herself to Antonio, who, though 
 a calculating egotist, was an honest man. Because, 
 from that hour when she kneWj whenever Gabriele 
 spoke of riches or ambitious projects Luisa 
 shuddered with indignation and terror which rose 
 above the old indifference. Where the mistress 
 had listened with indulgence, where the mistress 
 had let things pass almost unnoticed, the mother 
 judged herself and him remorselessly and pro- 
 nounced a verdict of guilty^ and in her thoughts 
 distinctly, without restriction, called him .... a 
 thief! 
 
 Thief! Yes, yes, let him refuse, let him go 
 away at once, let him leave her free and alone 
 immediately, free to confide herself to Antonio for 
 the atonement. 
 
 She never doubted that she ought to expiate her 
 sin ; on the contrary, she felt a kind of bitter joy 
 in the thought of her punishment and was glad of 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 193 
 
 it. She would attain it by outrageous lying, but 
 she would attain it, she was convinced. Had she 
 not expiated minute by minute, as though her lips 
 had absorbed, drop by drop, all the poison of a 
 cup of bitterness, had she not expiated always, in 
 every instant of her past ? Such was her life ; 
 periods of ecstatic unconsciousness, and immediately 
 succeeding periods in which she discounted both 
 exaltation and unconsciousness. She would now 
 expiate once more; she must save the little one, 
 remove it from the influence of a thief. 
 
 Don Carlo Soave’s predictions had not proved 
 false ; poverty had come, the curse had fallen ; his 
 daughter, Donna Luisa, had given herself to a thief, 
 she had belonged to a smuggler, had Donna 
 Luisa .... No! This he could not have ex- 
 pected, not even Don Carlo, with all his prophecies ! 
 Nor could the pious, silent Donna Anna have 
 foreseen this when she let herself die in sadness 
 and prayer. 
 
 Luisa had promised to visit Gabriele up to the 
 eve of Antonio^s return, and this night arrived. It 
 was a scene never to be forgotten. 
 
 Gabriele received Luisa with the smile of a 
 person who anticipates a struggle, that will, how- 
 ever, have a happy end. He approached her with 
 that smile still on his lips, saying : 
 
 If you are willing all is ready. I have ar- 
 ranged everything; we can leave immediately.’^ 
 
 She was very weary and let herself fall heavily 
 on the divan — her face was like that of a corpse, 
 only her eyes were brilliant in their dark sockets. 
 
 N 
 
194 
 
 WOMAN’S FOLLY 
 
 Marietta is in her death-agony/^ she said. 
 
 What does that horrid, vindictive old woman 
 matter to you ? 
 
 I cannot abandon her in her last hours. 
 
 I ask you for the last time, Luisa, will you 
 come ? 
 
 ‘^No, Gabriele.” 
 
 ** And why not ? ” and he began to swear bru- 
 tally, his fists clenched, his eyes flaming, his face 
 distorted with fury. 
 
 She turned upon him suddenly, undismayed 
 thereat, and asked, Why ? Have you, then, 
 changed your mind ? ” 
 
 No.” 
 
 Will you change it ? ” 
 
 No, by Heaven ! ” 
 
 Neither will I.” 
 
 ** Take care ! ” 
 
 I am not afraid of you, Gabriele,” 
 
 He approached her brutally, as if intending 
 some act of violence. Perhaps he meant to strike 
 her. She did not stir, she let him seize her wrists 
 and grip them hard without saying a word, only she 
 grew still more intensely pale and her black eyes 
 in their livid sockets shot forth savage gleams. 
 
 Then he suddenly became a supplicant — let 
 go her wrists, and kissed her hands, apparently 
 repentant ; praying, imploring, repeating words of 
 love, sitting beside her, enclosing her with loving 
 arms, breaking into sobs, and bathing her neck 
 and face with his tears. She remained immove- 
 able, saying nothing, nothing at all. Then Gabriele 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 changed again, and appeared as though he con- 
 sented and was resigned. 
 
 Since you will not, it must be borne. It is a 
 sign that you love me no longer, that you no 
 longer care for me. You are tired of Gabriele, 
 his kisses and caresses please you no more ! And 
 I who am going mad for you ! But I shall be 
 calm — you will see, I shall be calm. At least 
 accept some money — look, just this ; it will be 
 useful to you. Do not despise it; let me at least be 
 at rest on this point. I shall never see you again, 
 but I wish to be assured that our little one wants 
 nothing. You have no right to refuse — take it, 
 take it.^^ 
 
 Tenderly, as though choked by tears, he placed 
 the bank-notes in her bosom, between her gown 
 and her shawl. Luisa closed her eyes and shud- 
 dered — a thief s money ! No, she would never 
 use it. 
 
 He was tired of being gentle, and again flew 
 into a rage. 
 
 So you accept it ! So you do not care ! 
 And you abandon me ? You will let me die of 
 desperation, longing for you, calling for you both ? 
 Then you should not have told me, you see. 
 And do you think I will yield, will consent to this 
 without playing the devil, without . . . . *^ 
 
 He shook her by the arms, exasperated by her 
 silence, which made her seem immovable. He 
 could have rent her, bitten her, torn her in pieces. 
 
 Do you really want to be killed ? ” 
 
 He bent over her, close, close, with a face so 
 
WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 196 
 
 terrible, with eyes so dreadful, that she really 
 thought she was lost and had but a few minutes 
 more to live. 
 
 But she did not flinch, even with that certain 
 expectation of death at her heart. 
 
 Then Gabriele laughed in a dreadful manner, 
 sneering at her, abusing her in the most outrageous 
 language. Then he seized her shoulders, pushed 
 her in front of him to the door and dragged her 
 downstairs. In the entrance hall he was overcome 
 by a final fit of tenderness, and, embracing her, he 
 kissed her furiously with kisses that were almost 
 bites. At last, hurling at her yet one more terrible 
 epithet, he pushed her out-of-doors. 
 
 She fled like an escaped prisoner. When she 
 reached the house and her own room she felt that 
 she had accomplished an odious task, thj fruit of 
 her guilt, that she had done for ever with Gabriele. 
 What a relief! Suddenly she felt that money in 
 her breast ; going to the wardrobe, she opened 
 the deepest drawer and threw in the banknotes, 
 at the back, the very back. When she had closed 
 the wardrobe again she breathed more freely. She 
 could have cried. 
 
 That night Marietta died. 
 
 It was a torment, that preference shown by 
 Antonio for the little Lucia ; Luisa’s torture now 
 came thence, from that blind preference. All dan- 
 ger was over — Gabriele was gone for ever and 
 Antonio believed in her ; but that preference, it 
 was an irony of fate, an insupportable torture. 
 
 Valenti, who had returned home penniless, bore 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 197 
 
 his mother’s death with a resignation that perhaps 
 arose from a secret sense of relief. There would 
 be no more family quarrels ; the attention Luisa 
 had bestowed on Marietta, an attendance of which 
 all spoke with genuine admiration and sincere 
 enthusiasm, touched him — the birth of Lucia, a 
 somewhat premature birth, it is true, after but 
 seven months, and which had nearly cost Luisa 
 her life, had made him very content. It appeared 
 as though his travels had inspired him with the 
 will to work and with love for his family, though it 
 had rendered his character even harsher still with 
 regard to all social relations. 
 
 He was more socialist than ever, after his 
 manner of understanding socialism, because, at 
 bottom, his theories very much resembled those of 
 an ardent anarchist. 
 
 In invective, certainly, he was not wanting; of 
 maledictions on the privileged classes he was not 
 sparing. He did not care to contemplate a social 
 revolution unless it came as a time of vengeance, 
 a time of blood and massacre, dictated by an in- 
 exorable law of punition. 
 
 With the exception of Donna Anna, who had 
 died like a saint, the Castle people were classified by 
 Antonio Valenti by the most disparaging names. 
 Nothing could stop his constant abuse of the 
 Soaves, not even Luisa’s perpetual silence, the 
 most significant of remonstrances. Nothing — Don 
 
 Carlo was a malicious old man^ Donna Caterina a 
 degenerate creature^ Donna Lorenza a being devoted 
 to stupidity. 
 
198 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 Luisa, it is true, had abandoned them all, but 
 she was still a Soave in the depths of her soul, 
 and her heart bled at this abuse, it was torn 
 by grief as though with pincers, and above 
 all, when Antonio, thinking to do her honour, 
 said : 
 
 You do not even seem like a Soave ! 
 
 Then, above all, she was hurt. 
 
 But all this faded before the derisive bitterness 
 of that preference for Lucia. Antonio had her 
 always about him, was ready to satisfy all the 
 little caprices of the already imperious baby ; he 
 gave her the tenderest names, calling her con- 
 tinually : 
 
 Little bird of gold, father^s treasure, star of 
 Paradise.’’ 
 
 When Lucia cried, saying that she wanted this 
 thing, asking pettishly for that, Antonio would smile 
 and say : ‘‘Just like her father ! She is my child all 
 over, the little rogue,” 
 
 Luisa was ready to faint with shame. Sometimes 
 with a forced smile, she would say to her husband : 
 “ That child has positivel}^ bewitched you ! ” 
 Then he would retort : 
 
 “ Is my wife jealous ? ” 
 
 Luisa’s face darkened. 
 
 “ No, Antonio, but I am sorry for Peppino.” 
 
 “ I am fond of him too, poor child ! I love 
 him too, but he is not so like me, you see.” 
 
 Ah, Heaven ! Always this unconscious irony 
 that plunged a dagger^ in her heart. 
 
 “ You will spoil Lucia.” 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 199 
 
 “ And you, Peppino.” 
 
 Oh, Antonio, do be serious/^ 
 
 Now you have begun to preach, Luisa; I avoid 
 church on purpose not to hear the priest, and my 
 wife takes up the part of the curate ! Oh, wife, be 
 quiet ! ’’ And he laughed long and loudly, tossing 
 in his arms little Lucia, who clapped her hands 
 excitedly. 
 
 Peppino is pained by your preference.^' 
 
 Peppino has an ugly nature; it is your business 
 to correct him." 
 
 It should be his father's." 
 
 No, Signora, it is yours, you, to whom he 
 is all the world ; Peppino here, Peppino there, all 
 day long." 
 
 ^^But . . . ." 
 
 Yes, because he is a boy and you want to make 
 something great of him." 
 
 Antonio ! " 
 
 Luisa." 
 
 '‘You distress me." 
 
 " Oh, what a big word." 
 
 She felt as though she were suffocating. Going 
 in search of the boy, she would press him to her 
 heart, and beg his pardon in the humblest way, 
 under her breath, in deserted corners, outside in 
 the orchard, far away in the lonely silence of the 
 country, so softly that not even the air knew what 
 she said. 
 
 The boy, who adored his mother, grew up bold, 
 tall, and strong. He resembled Luisa; she fairly 
 worshipped him with a concentrated humility, an 
 
200 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 ingenuous maternal admiration, while she often felt 
 impelled to use inflexible severity towards Lucia 
 who already had the eyes of a cold and magnificent 
 woman. She watched her, almost spied on her, 
 noticing the awakening, the smallest developments 
 even, of that rebellious character, making compari- 
 son, finding resemblances, trembling and then 
 assuring herself after of suspecting an innocent 
 being, a pure little creature who had a right to all 
 her tenderness. 
 
 And yet 
 
 I love Peppino too, but he is not so like 
 me, you see.'' Poor Antonio. For this reason, 
 when she looked at her husband, she felt, not 
 a re-birth of love — for true love there had never 
 been — nor a return of passion, but a sense that 
 overpowered her whole soul with an ineffable 
 weakness and a dissolving tenderness, and it was 
 this which decided the last change in her, born 
 of remorse. 
 
 It was a complete revulsion, which marked, 
 not the progress in corruption, a decay of memories, 
 but a new phase, a return, instead, to the ideas 
 of her girlhood, a flood of old thoughts which 
 swamped the newer ones, the good and limited 
 ideas of bygone days, those which had entered 
 into her blood with the first words spoken, suffo- 
 cating the acquired ideas, annulling them and 
 marking the last change in her character. The 
 days that were spent thus seemed as though they 
 avenged the past, destroying as they did without 
 restriction every subversive theory and leaving 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 201 
 
 in her memory decisive, implacable, deeply-graven 
 traces of the events that had occurred, the thoughts 
 that had led to these irremediable consequences, 
 these visible effects, as though placed there to 
 mark an interminable path of remorse. 
 
 This last transformation began when Luisa 
 discovered for the third time that she was a 
 mother : a new dignity mingled with a hope 
 of salvation which had both a mystical and an 
 entirely material character. The thought that she 
 might give birth to another girl was insupportable ; 
 it was a period of fear and prayer. At times 
 during the day, Luisa, surprised by sudden 
 anxiety, would leave her work half done and let 
 herself be invaded by a flood of thoughts, re- 
 maining for hours lost in the contemplation of 
 the future. Another girl ? Antonio would pro- 
 bably love her less than Lucia, and other com- 
 parisons would arise, yet another irony, more 
 odious than the first. If at least the Madonna 
 would grant her a boy ! If at least might be 
 granted to her this difference between her own 
 true children and .... 
 
 Her own true children ? But was not Lucia 
 equally hers ? And had she not, perhaps, greater 
 rights, being in a secret sense hers only? It did 
 not appear so to her ; very curiously she had 
 come to consider the little girl as an intruder, 
 she seemed to her a thing of Gabriele^s, the per- 
 sonification of a hateful sin ; she would always 
 take care of her, but love her .... no, never. 
 These unjust thoughts were suggested by an un- 
 
202 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 reasoning logic, but Luisa’s whole temperament 
 was illogical. In every action, whether guided 
 by good or evil impulses, she would always 
 exceed measure ; to define her with a word, she 
 was always excessive. 
 
 She once more turned to prayer, praying with 
 intense fervour, invoking the memory of Donna 
 Anna when her face was transfigured by the 
 sound of music or by long ascetic meditations. 
 She went to hear mass every day, caused candles 
 to be burnt for her in the church, erected in 
 her bedroom a little altar to the Madonna, whose 
 image was hardly visible, so smothered was it in 
 flowers and little lamps. 
 
 Antonio noticed it all, but did not hinder her. 
 In him, too, a transformation had taken place ; 
 he had grown tired, the man of the past reappeared 
 but rarely and then only for short intervals ; 
 the apostle had utterly disappeared, leaving in 
 his place a different man, who dreamed away his 
 life in silent mediocrity. 
 
 He never reproved Luisa, who now worked 
 but seldom, who forgot everything appertaining 
 to the present and had returned to her habits 
 of the past, moved by her fears of the future. 
 He worked for both, without conviction and with- 
 out love, because it pleased him thus to drown his 
 enthusiasms and the anger he felt against the ills of 
 the world which once burned in his brain and soul. 
 
 He had not the heart to scold Luisa, every 
 reproof would have died on his lips when he 
 looked at her. Each day that passed diminished 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 203 
 
 her beauty, marked a noticeable change, seemed 
 to point a diminution of her attractions by a 
 painful progress of hours and minutes. That 
 splendid beauty was withering, passing away, 
 had already become a memory. The black hair 
 fell off in handfuls, was turning grey ; the light 
 of the eyes faded ; the burning lips made for 
 voluptuous kisses turned pale, shrivelled and dried 
 up. Then the cheeks grew hollow and the tall 
 figure bent as though vanquished. 
 
 Thus was transformed that glowing beauty 
 Antonio had loved with the egotistic pride of 
 proprietorship. No, he had not the heart to scold 
 her, he could scold her no more. 
 
 She began to long for things impossible to 
 obtain. She would fain have plucked flowers to 
 pieces, touched silk, contemplated the stars, but 
 she was ashamed to own this, and was consumed 
 by unsatisfied desire. If she could but have 
 talked with little Lorenza, could behold her weary, 
 angelic face ! If she could once more see her 
 home, the beautiful, lordly dwelling ! Talk to the 
 servants, talk to the furniture, obtain forgiveness, 
 if only from these things. 
 
 She wanted a boy. A plan, suggested by 
 religious terror, now began to take shape in her 
 thoughts. This plan defined itself and took the 
 character of a promise, a vow, a sacrifice. If it 
 were a boy she would make him a priest, she would 
 make of him an instrument of grace and pardon, 
 renouncing him, vowing him to the priesthood, 
 offering him to God. 
 
204 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 The exaltation which in Caterina took the form 
 of burning desire for punishment, which in Lorenza 
 lighted the mystic flame of self-atonement, invaded 
 also the spirit of Luisa, who exaggerated all things. 
 In her new ardour, as though it were not enough 
 that she mortified herself, she extended her 
 condemnation to another soul of which she had 
 no right to dispose. To Caterina it had sufficed to 
 slay, to Lorenza to forget herself. Luisa, in order 
 to expiate, needed herself and another being, who 
 was innocent. 
 
 It proved, indeed, to be a boy. She called him 
 Vincenzo, that he might bear the name of a saint 
 who had pity on children, in order that afterwards, 
 even if he should know the truth, he might have 
 pity on Lucia, 
 
 From his infancy Vincenzo was an ascetic ; with 
 gentle sadness he lent himself to the role of little 
 saint which his mother imposed on him with kind 
 but peremptory attentions ; Luisa carried out her 
 secret programme and Vincenzo docilely obeyed his 
 mother. He had the melancholy temperament of 
 a delicate boy, constrained to be quiet by the want 
 of physical .strength. He somewhat resembled his 
 aunt Lorenza ; he, too, had thin pale lips and light 
 golden hair that curled round his little sad face. He 
 would watch the other boys at play, closing his mouth 
 with a serious air, without envy, almost with suffer- 
 ing. He had melancholy ways unsuited to his age ; 
 he would lay his head upon his arm, gazing into space, 
 as though oppressed already by many thoughts. 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 205 
 
 Antonio had a great and paternal pity for him ; 
 he would take him in his arms as if he were 
 something fragile, calling him hts philosopher. 
 
 He would say to him at times : Oh, little old 
 
 man, my poor little old man ! You do not seem 
 like a son of mine, you are so frail and slender ! 
 No, you are not like me, nor like Peppino, nor 
 even like Lucia. See here, Luisa, how could you 
 give me a son so thin and delicate ! He is like 
 wax, a puff of wind would blow him away.^^ 
 
 Luisa^s heart was wrung ; she looked at the boy, 
 fearful lest God should take him away from her as 
 a punishment. Then Vincenzo would smile at her, 
 and she would make him promises, which always 
 referred to things of the Church. She would make 
 him a white dress for the procession ; she would 
 buy him a golden circlet to put on his head that 
 he might represent St, John the Baptist; she would 
 give him a basket that he might strew roses along 
 the road, in church, and on the piazza. 
 
 But what do you want to make of him ? A 
 priest ? asked Antonio who was listening. 
 
 And why not ? '' answered Luisa, fearful that 
 her face would betray her. 
 
 Oh, I don’t care ! Do as you like. Priest or 
 soldier, no matter which, so long as you make an 
 honest man of him ! With the health he has, 
 poor little old man, he will never be any good in 
 the fields.” 
 
 That is what I say.” 
 
 Certainly. Do you know what I think ? ” 
 What?” 
 
2o6 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 I think that if my mother, rest her soul, had 
 been alive, she would have been pleased with 
 you/’ 
 
 “ You think so ? ” 
 
 ^‘Imagine, at one time she wanted me to be 
 a priest ! She proposed it seriously. Lord, what 
 an idea ! She was glad afterwards that she had 
 not succeeded when she saw me making love 
 to all the girls in the place. Just think what 
 a big sin you would have made me commit, 
 Luisa, if I had become a priest and had met 
 you afterwards ! ’’ 
 
 Antonio, hush ! 
 
 “ Why, where’s the harm ? ” 
 
 Lucia is listening to us.” 
 
 In fact, that child was always about, listening, 
 always about them, silent, with wide-open eyes and 
 attentive ears. No one ever heard her come ; she 
 would approach swiftly and noiselessly, like a cat, 
 and slip away like a lizard. She had the cunning 
 silence of a little spy, eyes sharp and ready like 
 a thief’s, eyes which gleamed at the sight of 
 objects and looked icily on people. She was 
 the true daughter of Gabriele ! She beat Peppino, 
 who was three years her elder ; nay, she did 
 more than beat him, she hurt him cruelly, in- 
 tentionally, pinching him, pulling out locks of 
 his hair, scratching him, digging into his llesh 
 with her sharp nails, that seemed poisoned. Pep- 
 pino despised her a little, with the pride of 
 the male who can avenge himself and will not. 
 But for Vincenzo, Lucia felt a real hatred, a 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 207 
 
 hatred born of jealousy ; he had come to rob 
 her of so many caresses, she detested him. When 
 she was alone with the child and no one could 
 see her, she derided him for his weakness. If 
 Peppino appeared at such moments there would 
 occur an impressive little scene. Peppino idolised 
 Vincenzo ; he would grow fierce in order to 
 defend him ; his anger was like his father’s, 
 furious and honest. He would throw Lucia on 
 the ground and hold her there, forcing her to 
 ask pardon. She would refuse, calling him ugly 
 names, with hoarse, tearless sobs of savage, con- 
 centrated fury ; she was like a wild beast caught 
 in a snare, a caged creature struggling in its 
 weakness. 
 
 When she was offered anything Lucia neither 
 answered nor accepted ; she would take the gift and 
 carry it straight away hurriedly with covetous action, 
 fearing lest repentance might frustrate the giver’s 
 generous intention. If she was given fruit she 
 hid it in some unknown corner till it accumulated ; 
 then she would go and look at it, lamenting 
 it if decayed. She ate nothing but stolen fruit ; 
 she liked that best. She liked difficult conquests, 
 even dangerous ones ; she shook the peach-trees 
 with the vigour of a boy, and climbed into the 
 boughs as nimbly as a squirrel. 
 
 She was not affectionate ; she was fond of 
 Antonio because he spoiled her ; she had sudden 
 fits of tenderness for Luisa when she found 
 her alone. If Vincenzo was near, or if Luisa 
 was talking to Peppino, the little girl turned her 
 
2o8 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 head the other way as though in despair, and 
 would not look. 
 
 She asked her mother in a choking voice : 
 
 Why do you not love me only ? 
 
 Nor was her tenderness of a childish kind, 
 it seemed rather that of a passionate woman ; 
 her caresses were sweet, her kisses lingering, 
 as though the handsome Gabriele had transmitted 
 them into her blood. Luisa would shiver and 
 try to send the little one away, persuading her 
 to be moderate, to be quieter. 
 
 Lucia would then be taken with little convul- 
 sive attacks, making scenes, such as did not suit 
 her age. Involuntarily the mother made compari- 
 sons, remembering the resemblance to Gabriele, 
 which each day became more manifest, a moral 
 resemblance that caused her to suffer more than 
 if it had been a physical likeness, though that 
 would have been much more dangerous. 
 
 Luisa had never dared to touch Gabriele’s money 
 in order to satisfy Lucia’s caprices. It seemed to 
 her that there was a great mortfication in making 
 the child depend entirely upon Valenti. It was 
 accursed money that ! But when it came to be a 
 question of sending Vincenzo to the Seminary, Luisa 
 thought she could sanctify part of this money by 
 using it for the person who was to be the inter- 
 mediary of grace. To Valenti she spoke of wonder- 
 ful savings, she made him think that the parish 
 priest had helped her. He asked no further ques- 
 tions. 
 
 Vincenzo and Lorenza prayed, Luisa repented. 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 209 
 
 Would punishment be averted ? Must it take its 
 course ? 
 
 Ah, me, what stations of suffering ! How many, 
 how many more before reaching the last ? What 
 endless grief before the evening came, the evening 
 on which .... 
 
 In Luisa’s memory these awful recollections 
 succeeded thus. Antonio had an outburst of his 
 old ideas, the last, which drew him into taking part 
 in the riot and inciting the strike at the Soave 
 furnaces. It had been a bad year, a year of hard- 
 ship, and Antonio had acted through hatred of 
 Caterina. Then came the murder committed by 
 Caterina, the trial, and her acquittal. Then Lorenza’s 
 fall, followed by her sacrifice, the fall which resulted 
 in the departure of the poor girl. 
 
 Thus they followed each other, a death, a murder, 
 a desertion, a man of whom they had heard nothing 
 more, perhaps another death. 
 
 Then a long period of fear. 
 
 Most dominant, during this long period, was the 
 fear awakened by Lucia. 
 
 How beautiful was Gabriele’s daughter! How 
 beautiful had grown the living proof of that distant, 
 yet unforgotten, sin ! Gabriele’s daughter, yes. Yet 
 how distinct in the revelation of that savage character 
 were the two impressions, how clearly could be 
 discerned in various tendencies the mark of the 
 mother as well ! Ah, no, Luisa could no longer 
 deceive herself ; she and Gabriele lived in their 
 offspring as though they had inoculated it with 
 
 o 
 
210 
 
 IVOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 their evil qualities only, with all their bad qualities. 
 It seemed as though they had decided to live again 
 in Lucia, to pass into her blood, to leave her as an 
 inheritance the instincts which had made of the 
 one a creature of impulse, of the other a criminal, 
 with intervals of transitory passion. And with the 
 progress of years it seemed as though the paternal 
 legacy disappeared to a certain extent to give place 
 to a greater resemblance to the mother^s character. 
 The passion for accumulating and hiding, the desire 
 after small acts of revenge nourished in patient 
 silence, the tendency to petty thefts, to cruelty 
 towards the weak — all this gave place to a desire to 
 please. 
 
 It was a longing which knew no rest, and which 
 would most certainly not stop at playful conflicts of 
 innocent coquetry ; it was a longing which kept her 
 continually preoccupied with her own person and 
 with every kind of ornament. She wished to please 
 every one without distinction, whilst always nourish- 
 ing the thought of a final choice in which beauty 
 and strength should predominate. 
 
 No spiritual thoughts ever troubled her. Lucia 
 seemed devoid of soul, and no one could reproach 
 her for the lack of it. Those two who had 
 brought her into the world had endowed her with 
 a beautiful body only, and an evilly-disposed brain. 
 She tended her person with great complacency, and 
 occupied her mind with barren projects. She was 
 a curious type, a cross between a peasant and a 
 lady, such as pleased Antonio. When better times 
 came, after the death of Don Carlo, he made her 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 211 
 
 Study a little, but he wished her to remain a Valenti, 
 and thus it was that Lucia remained, also materially, 
 the natural result of that guilty passion whose traces 
 seemed to obey a fatal law. 
 
 They still remained at the fattora of the Roveres, 
 as Antonio had insisted on doing so, because 
 Antonio, as he grew older, retained nothing of his 
 former character. He was no longer even weary, 
 only apathetic ; the smallest change exasperated 
 him. 
 
 Peppino, of only mediocre intelligence, was, 
 nevertheless, persistently energetic in his work. 
 He was the one who provided for all, a robust 
 man of simple tastes, devoid of ideas, of absolutely 
 primitive principles — principles which made him in- 
 exorable in uprightness. He had a frank contempt 
 for Lucia, which alarmed Luisa. With regard to 
 that, however, even Antonio would rouse himself to 
 complain of Lucia. Turning to his wife he would 
 say with a sigh : 
 
 am afraid that girl is going to be a good- 
 for-nothing. You were right, Luisa, I spoiled her 
 too much. I don’t understand, though, neither my 
 mother nor you .... there never were any light 
 women in Casa Valenti. You keep watch over 
 her ? ” 
 
 Always.” 
 
 ^‘And .... what do you think ? ” 
 
 Well, so far.” 
 
 Perhaps we are wrong to be alarmed.” 
 
 God grant it ! ” 
 
 What a beautiful creature, though ! ” 
 
212 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 Too beautiful/^ 
 
 Too beautiful, in truth. 
 
 When Vincenzo came home for the vacations 
 Luisa had some hopes. The young priest had so 
 gentle, so convincing a way of speaking ! If Lucia 
 had only listened to him ! But no sooner did 
 Vincenzo approach a religious topic, such as the 
 perils of the world, or the vanity of earthly things, 
 than Lucia either went out or listened with lips 
 tightly closed, and with an evil expression on her 
 face and a look of ironical wonder in her eyes, 
 which seemed to swim in a marvellous flood of 
 azure. The young priest, who knew not the 
 tortures of temptation, would grow excited, his eyes 
 seemed dazed in an ascetic wave, his face, feminine 
 in its sweetness, was transfigured, his long, thin 
 hands shook in gesticulation as if from suppressed 
 emotion, all his slender body in its fluttering black 
 habit trembled. 
 
 A saint ! ” thought Antonio. 
 
 A saint ! whispered the mother, mentally 
 thanking God. 
 
 Instead, he was an unconscious and pious victim, 
 a sacrifice who consumed himself in prayer, a 
 splendid intelligence imprisoned in the fetters of 
 dogma. 
 
 Do you hear him, Lucia ? '' 
 
 Lucia, did you hear ? 
 
 Antonio and Luisa would ask. 
 
 I heard. Well, and what of it ? 
 
 How, what of it ? 
 
 ** 5uch sermons are all very well in convents,” 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 213 
 
 They suit you very well, you brazen girl ! 
 
 I don^t want to be a nun/^ 
 
 Who proposed any such thing, my sister ? 
 
 I do not intend to be killed by savages, I can 
 tell you/^ 
 
 But, Lucia . . . . ” 
 
 I am not in the least like my Aunt Lorenza, 
 and, besides, she was old, and it would have been 
 difficult for her to marry ; that is the secret of her 
 vocation.” 
 
 Lucia I ” 
 
 I know what I say.” 
 
 '' What ? Speak up ! What ? ” 
 
 ^‘That certain tales do very well for children, but 
 not for a girl like me.” 
 
 Lucia ! ” 
 
 Ohj excuse me ! I am young, I want to amuse 
 myself ; preaching bores me.” 
 
 Take care what you do, sister.” 
 
 “ Be easy, Vincenzo, be sure I will take care.” 
 And she laughed loudly. 
 
 You mean 
 
 mean .... nothing.” 
 
 A fine answer ! ” said Peppino ironically. 
 
 If you want another, here’s one : you have 
 the fields, Vincenzo has his rosary, and I have my 
 plans.” 
 
 Nice plans ! ” 
 
 ^‘They are well worth yours, it’s only a ques- 
 tion of taste. Vincenzo does not care for girls ; 
 now, I like young men very much.” 
 
 The young priest blushed, Luisa was indig- 
 
214 
 
 WOMAN’S FOLLY 
 
 nant, Peppino smiled scornfully, and Antonio was 
 furious. 
 
 The girl let the hurricane sweep over her with- 
 out a tremor ; at last she asked : 
 
 ** Have you done ? ” 
 
 And then : 
 
 '‘Now I can go” 
 
 And she went off indifferently, leaving them in 
 consternation, all four of them. 
 
 The affair remained a secret until the last 
 moment. Nothing, nothing, there had been 
 nothing in Lucia that could cause them to divine 
 or to awaken suspicion. Nothing, not a word, 
 not an indication, not the least excitement. 
 
 Nothing for the mother who yet feared and 
 watched ; nor for Antonio, who doubted and then 
 accused himself for doubting; nor for Peppino, 
 who instinctively distrusted his sister ; nor for 
 Vincenzo, who seemed to have an intuition of sin 
 in others. So impassible was Lucians face, so 
 profound her dissimulation, that it had become 
 her second nature, a tranquil, unalterable, natural 
 perverseness, the outcome of one who had been 
 led astray, and of one who was degenerate. 
 
 She, too, like her mother, had stooped, but she 
 had gone still lower — to the very dregs. Not with 
 the desire to dominate as sovereign — ah, no, not in 
 the least ; but from instinctive love of vulgarity. 
 And on this account, when Anselmo showed him- 
 self more common than usual, rougher, more brutal 
 
THE DEATH OP A SOUL ^15 
 
 in his jealousy, she had curious thrills of pleasure. 
 It was she who excited him ; it pleased her to see 
 him angry, to hear his threats, to see his face 
 darken with suspicion. When he grasped her 
 wrists so tightly that red rings remained impressed 
 on them like bracelets of blood, Lucia laughed 
 convulsively in short gasps ; it pleased her to 
 laugh like that. She teased him, plagued him, 
 excited him, made him suffer the torments of the 
 damned, inventing the most exaggerated stories of 
 absurd fancies in order to cause him suffering. 
 That was Lucians delight ; she measured love by 
 pain and anger. She knew well that he adored 
 her to desperation : when she saw him furious 
 she felt more sure of him. Instead of frightening 
 her it calmed her nerves and soothed them. Such 
 was her love, a whirlwind of the senses and per- 
 verse caprice. 
 
 Anselmo Agostini was a very Hercules, of a 
 robust and perfect beauty. In the village he was 
 called The Giant, They were all afraid of him ; 
 he consorted with the worst young ruffians, spent 
 many hours at the tavern, was violent and quarrel- 
 some, and was said to have ^Hove in his blood.^^ 
 In fact, when Lucia tormented him, he had a sup- 
 plicating way, the prayer of a brutal Colossus. 
 
 Stop ! Get along now, stop that. I shall end 
 by crushing you to bits ; I see blood.” 
 
 Then she would answer with provocative smiles : 
 ** You see blood ? I like blood-colour.” 
 
 He was a pedlar ; she would go to meet him 
 at a distance in the neighbouring villages, would 
 
2i6 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 travel miles and miles along the road to be like 
 him, and because she liked that sort of vagabond- 
 ism. She went through the woods, by the narrow 
 paths, skirted the fields, glided alongside the 
 hedges, strained her eyes to look for him coming, 
 with his box on his broad shoulders. She was 
 afraid of nothing ; she pushed aside the long trails 
 of bramble and thorny branches without taking any 
 care of her hands, which were scratched and bleed- 
 ing ; she threw stones at the snakes, leaped 
 ditches, or sprang boldly into them, not caring 
 if the water reached her knee ; there was some- 
 thing of the gipsy in her. 
 
 When he saw her coming to meet him with her 
 adventurous smile, he felt his heart palpitate with 
 savage pride, but she soon found means to poison 
 his joy. 
 
 They plunged into the depths of the woods ; he 
 watched her as she walked in front of him, with 
 movement which reminded him now of a cat, now 
 of a serpent. They halted amongst the pines, 
 where she would raise her beautiful face, inhaling 
 the resinous odour with dilated nostrils. Or she 
 opened his packs of merchandise, trying the many- 
 coloured handkerchiefs on her head and round 
 her neck, putting on a whole shopful of sham 
 jewellery, making the glassy sheen of mock 
 diamonds and the pale red of false rubies glitter 
 in the sun. Or she would throw herself on the 
 grass, face downwards, when her shoulders and 
 all her beautiful body looked terribly seductive. 
 She would watch in the bushes the movements of 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 217 
 
 small living things — shining beetles, and other 
 small bright creatures, piercing them with pins, 
 cruelly, swiftly, surely. 
 
 And all the while she talked, saying things both 
 true and false, things that aroused a desire to kill 
 her. 
 
 This morning, when crossing the piazza, I 
 saw . . . . ” 
 
 Here she would pause. 
 
 Saw whom ? ” 
 
 The druggist Carlino.^^ 
 
 Ah ; did he speak to you ? 
 
 Yes.” 
 
 What did he say ? Tell me ! ” 
 
 Don^t be in such a hurry.” 
 
 Tell me, will you ? ” 
 
 I tell you not to be in a hurry.” 
 
 Ah, by . . . . ! ” 
 
 He talked nonsense ; he called me Rosebud. 
 There, is that enough for you ? ” 
 
 And you ? ” 
 
 I ? That^s pretty ! I, what ? ” 
 
 '^You won’t make me believe you said nothing.” 
 Oh, certainly I did ! ” 
 
 Flirt ! You answered him ? ” 
 
 I answered him, ^ You are a stupid ! ’ Do 
 you like that ? And now I say the same to you.” 
 Then Anselmo would give a sigh of relief and 
 bend over her to kiss her neck, saying : 
 
 ‘‘You infamous thing ! You’ll drive me mad.” 
 And he laughed at himself. 
 
 But she, who had only one pin for the insects 
 
2i8 
 
 n^OMAN’S FOLLY 
 
 which she transfixed with such cruel skill, had a 
 whole armoury of daggers and poniards for the 
 heart of her lover. 
 
 ^^You are wrong to be jealous of Carlino ; I 
 don^t care for him, he has ears like a donkey.^' 
 
 ‘‘ You like me better, don’t you ? Say, Lucia ? ” 
 ^^You? Let’s see, I’ll tell you. I am fond of 
 you, but . . . . ” 
 
 But .... what sort of a * but ’ is this ? ” 
 But, I like Emilio Guzzetti better.” 
 
 Ah, wretch I ” 
 
 ^^For that matter, he makes eyes at me too.” 
 
 The dog ! I’ll beat him half to death ! ” 
 
 Oh, my dear fellow, if you were to beat all the 
 boys who look at me ! ” 
 
 So it pleases you — eh ? ” 
 
 I don’t say no.” 
 
 Stop talking about it.” 
 
 You ask questions, I answer you.” 
 
 Then you like it ? ” 
 
 Yes, I like it.” 
 
 I shall end by stabbing you.” 
 
 This was what he always said. The knife, it 
 seemed, was to liberate Anselmo ; he made these 
 ferocious promises to her as if to calm himself. 
 She was not at all impressed ; she would laugh, or 
 she would begin to sing, lying on the turf, resting 
 her head on her arms, that made a white arch round 
 her black hair, her face turned to the blue sky and 
 her eyes gazing into the space above her. Anselmo 
 listened to the simple love-songs that she sang so 
 artlessly with a voice that was less cold in singing, 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 219 
 
 but nevertheless recalled her somewhat harsh tones. 
 He watched her rosy mouth, her white, palpitating 
 throat, he felt as though he could have stifled her 
 with caresses, suffocated her in an embrace. She 
 intuitively felt the danger, but it amused her, and 
 audaciously she launched into the air the notes of 
 her gipsy song. 
 
 Suddenly she rose, resuming her ramble through 
 the wood, amongst the young trees, the thorny 
 plants and brambles, liking to feel her dress caught 
 by them, to feel herself dragged back, as it were, 
 by these impediments. 
 
 She would say : 
 
 Even the thorns, too, desire me, the bushes 
 want to hold me back, to make love to me.’^ 
 
 And Anselmo would answer : 
 
 It is you, Lucia, who are a big thorn that has 
 transfixed itself in my heart.” 
 
 ^^Then take the big thorn out of your heart, the 
 big thorn will go and pierce some one else.” 
 
 I cannot, I cannot ! ” 
 u Xry/» 
 
 Witch that you are, you know well that I 
 cannot ! ” 
 
 I know it, I know it.” 
 
 ^^And that is why it amuses you to torment the 
 man who loves you. Ah, witch, witch ! ” 
 
 ** The big thorn wants to pierce deeper and 
 deeper and deeper.” 
 
 It cannot go deeper than it has gone.” 
 
 We shall see.” 
 
 Do you want to kill me ? ” 
 
220 
 
 WOMAWS FOLLY 
 
 Who knows ! 
 
 It is rather I who will kill you, from jealousy, 
 if you betray me.” 
 
 We shall see, we shall see.” 
 
 Do you mean to betray me ? ” 
 
 Who knows ! Who knows ! ” 
 
 Oh, infamous witch, are you at it again ! ” 
 
 In this wise there were constant renewals of 
 love, jealousy, provocation, ceaseless renewals of 
 insults and caresses, a great tormenting passion. 
 
 There were moments when Anselmo felt tempted 
 to make an end of it all — once and for ever to with- 
 draw himself from this witchery. He had already 
 caused so much pain to his poor old mother, the 
 only being who loved him, the extent of whose 
 forgiveness was endless — was he, perhaps, to go to 
 the galleys for the sake of a woman who did not 
 love him ? But here Anselmo was in error ; if 
 she had not loved him, why should the strange girl 
 have given herself to him, trusted in him, risked 
 everything for him ? To meet him, to see him, 
 she overcame every difficulty, broke through all 
 obstacles. They both of them knew that they 
 were in continual danger, for Antonio and Peppino 
 were not men to be played with ; but the most 
 audacious, the boldest, by force of indifference, was 
 Lucia. 
 
 And to what purpose, if she had not loved 
 him ? 
 
 Thus the chain was refastened, the nail driven 
 yet deeper in. 
 
 There came a day when Anselmo saw that which 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 221 
 
 gave him a right to be jealous. It seemed to him 
 that he heard certain words, and had experienced 
 in consequence a great and unexpected shock, 
 because since some little time the cunning girl had 
 ceased to torment him with lies. This meant, then, 
 that Lucia could only find words to invent tales ; 
 truth made her silent, her powers of invention fell 
 short when there was really something to hide. 
 But she was not less assiduous with Anselmo ; she 
 was as attentive as before, she ceased to torment 
 him with imaginary stories, and seemed to have 
 grown almost affectionate. 
 
 Anselmo had the patience to wait. Winter 
 came, and henceforth there were no more walks in 
 the meadows, no more meetings in shady paths, no 
 more love-making in woods, which now looked like 
 a mass of black skeletons. They exchanged sly 
 looks in church, met in the barns and in deserted 
 huts scattered among the naked fields ; they passed 
 long hours in these fragile buildings, hearing the 
 rain beat down on the wooden roofs covered with 
 straw, or watching the snow falling through the 
 open door. The cold penetrated inside, they could 
 hear the long-drawn lament of the wind, it seemed 
 as if they were lost in the silence — the world 
 forgetting, by the world forgot.” 
 
 Luisa put no hindrances in her way and raised 
 no objection to her long absences. The three 
 Soave girls had been accustomed to enjoy liberal 
 permission to go out in all weathers, so it seemed 
 natural to her, and Lucia had always shown a 
 preference for tempest over calm, for rainy days 
 
222 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 over sunny ones. Further, there were matrimonial 
 projects in the air ; there was an excellent match 
 in view — Lucia had been spoken to and had shown 
 herself inclined for it. How pleased the mother 
 was, she even began to hope once more ! 
 
 But Anselmo, who had such patience in waiting, 
 now knew with certainty. 
 
 It was a Sunday, after Christmas. The young 
 man was waiting for Lucia at the turn of the road 
 that led to the fattoria of the Roveres. When he 
 saw her he went up to her carelessly, as though 
 he had not come there on purpose but found 
 himself by chance obliged to greet her. The girl 
 frowned ; Anselmo had never before been so near 
 to the home of his sweetheart. 
 
 Signora Lucietta.” 
 
 What is it you want ? 
 
 I must speak to you.” 
 
 Not here, surely.” 
 
 Of course not ; come this evening to the 
 Guzzetti^s little barn, the one that marks the short 
 cut to Roccalta.” 
 
 ril be there after church. Have you anything 
 nice to tell me ? ” 
 
 Something very nice,” replied Anselmo in a 
 quivering voice. 
 
 She did not notice the strange tones in which he 
 spoke, and, smiling, would have passed on, but he 
 detained her a moment, asking : 
 
 And you, have you nothing to say to me ? ” 
 
 ? No, indeed.” 
 
 No ? ” 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 223 
 
 Why no. You’re a fine sort of a fellow, truly ! 
 Good-bye till to-night ; but mind, I can’t stay long, 
 Vincenzo is here until Epiphany, and then there are 
 always sermons.” 
 
 “ Very well — all right. Till to-night, then.” 
 Good-bye, cat.” 
 
 Good-bye, snake.” 
 
 After supper Lucia went to dress for church. 
 When she came back into the kitchen, her beautiful 
 face framed by a dark shawl, Antonio instantly 
 asked : 
 
 You are not going to church alone, are you ? ” 
 No, father ; mother’s coming later with Rosetta; 
 I’m going on with Mariannina.” 
 
 But come home with mother, I beg,” said 
 Antonio, who sat crouching in the ingle-nook. 
 
 All right, I’ll come back with mother,” replied 
 Lucia, opening the door and disappearing. 
 
 She traversed the courtyard. It was snowing ; 
 she passed on lightly, a black shadow on the white 
 carpet, to call Mariannina, who was just ready. 
 The two girls went into church together. It was 
 full of incense, and in the church stood many 
 people who all took part in the drama that was 
 about to be enacted ; people who had been present 
 at the prologue, others who were to take part in 
 the action, others, again, who were supernumeraries, 
 and some who were characters in the epilogue. In 
 the Casa Soave pew sat Donna Caterina, looking 
 straight at the altar. People always observed her 
 with wonder, almost with terror. Beside her stood 
 Rinaldo, a slender, melancholy youth. Next to it 
 
224 
 
 IVOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 was the Rosalba pew, it was enipt}^ ; then, further 
 on, that of the Mariani^s, empty also. In the centre 
 of the church, amidst the crowd of women, stood 
 Luisa, with bent head, thinking of Vincenzo, who 
 was praying at the altar with the other priests. 
 Amongst the group of young girls stood Lucia, 
 looking about her with cold, bright eyes ; Mariannina 
 stood beside her, absorbed in prayer ; she did not 
 trouble Lucia, who turned for an instant towards 
 the right-hand side of the nave, the men’s side, 
 which was fuller than usual, as the male members 
 of the population were all at home for Christmas. 
 The girl made an almost imperceptible sign of 
 intelligence to Anselmo, who was leaning against a 
 pillar. He replied by another imperceptible 
 gesture, which she alone perceived. Turning her 
 head towards the altar, Lucia looked at another 
 young man and cast down her eyes, the young 
 man also lowered his eyelids and looked down. 
 
 It was impossible that Antonio should have seen, 
 nor did he ; but it was as if he saw — he started, and 
 trembled violently. 
 
 The church was odorous with incense, full of 
 harmony, ringing with the notes of the organ. 
 
 When Mariannina, crossing herself for the last 
 time, turned round in search of her companion, 
 Lucia had disappeared. Lucia was already at the 
 barn, waiting for Anselmo. The snow was falling 
 thick and fast, shimmering white in the darkness, 
 and the cold was intense. She waited a few 
 minutes before Anselmo came. He greeted her in 
 a hoarse voice, embraced her, and kissed her on the 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 225 
 
 mouth repeatedly, then clasped her with one long, 
 lingering kiss. 
 
 And the snow continued to fall fast, thick, white, 
 ceaselessly, in the silence and darkness. 
 
 You had all this to tell me ? ” she asked at 
 last, drawing herself away. 
 
 Oh, Lucia ! ” 
 
 ^'But it is the usual thing/^ she said ironically. 
 Are you tired of the usual thing ? ” 
 
 I ? No. Why ? 
 
 They were silent in the infinite silence and dark- 
 ness. 
 
 ''Let me kiss you again implored the young man. 
 " Kiss me, if you like,” replied Lucia calmly, 
 presenting her lips with indifference. 
 
 As he kissed her wildly, like one who is des- 
 perate, she asked : 
 
 " What is the matter with you ? ” 
 
 " Is it true that you are going to be married ? ” 
 
 " I know nothing of it.” 
 
 " You would consent ? ” 
 
 " Well, it’s just possible,” she replied cynically, 
 " I might be in danger of doing it.” 
 
 " You would be in great danger/’ he said 
 gloomily. 
 
 Lucia did not understand ; she shrugged her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " I am going home.” 
 
 " But are you not afraid ? ” 
 
 " Of whom ? ” 
 
 " Of me.” 
 
 "And why should I be afraid of you ? ” 
 
 p 
 
226 
 
 WOMANS S FOLLY 
 
 Because you are betraying me ! 
 
 “ You make me laugh/' 
 
 ‘ What do you mean ? ” 
 
 What I say — you make me laugh. 
 
 ‘‘ Then you really want that stab ? 
 
 Don^t make me laugh so, Anselmo ! 
 
 Who will laugh last, Lucia ? 
 
 ‘‘ I shall/^ 
 
 ‘‘Are you quite sure ? 
 
 “ Yes, because you will convince yourself that 
 you are mistaken.” 
 
 “ Will you tell me that you love me still ? ” 
 
 “ Get along, stupid ! If I hadn^t loved you I 
 shouldn't have come to you. Why am I here this 
 evening — tell me that ? ” 
 
 Anselmo had a gleam of hope ; ah, yes, why 
 should she have come ? 
 
 She gave him another kiss. 
 
 “ Good night, bear,” she said, turning away. 
 
 “ Snake, good night,” replied Anselmo, almost 
 cheerfully. 
 
 She ran off at full speed. He never followed her 
 — that was understood ; but that evening he could 
 not help himself, he went after her with the step of 
 a spy. Heavens ! What a hurry Lucia was in ! 
 And where was she turning to now ? Not going 
 home ? Oh, God ! oh, God ! Down the little road 
 that led straight to the shrine of the Madonna ; at 
 the end of that road stood Ihe other man awaiting 
 her. Anselmo seemed to see his face as plainly as 
 if it had been day. Now he did not care whether 
 he was seen or not, he only cared to reach Lucia. 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 227 
 
 She, terrified, divining all, ran straight into perdi- 
 tion, in the hope of reaching the other man and of 
 being defended. 
 
 Instead, Anselmo caught her just in front of the 
 shrine, and the blood-red light of the lamp suspended 
 before the sacred image fell on them both. 
 
 He sprang at her with one bound, and, stabbing 
 her with his knife, merely said : 
 
 So this is the way you go home, is it ? Take 
 that ? 
 
 Luisa, returning home, found Antonio preparing 
 to light the lamp to go to bed. 
 
 Where is Lucia ? asked the old man. 
 
 I thought she had come home before me. She 
 must have stayed with Mariannina, or she will come 
 on with Peppino and Don Vincenzo.^’ ^ 
 
 ^VWell, good-night, Luisa. 
 
 Good-night, my old man.’^ 
 
 Left alone, Luisa mended and blew up the fire. 
 Curiously enough, she felt her soul at peace that 
 evening, as though she were filled with a beneficent 
 sense of rest. She sat down by the fire to await 
 the return of her children. Vincenzo, what a 
 comfort he was ! And Peppino, such a handsome 
 young man — so serious, so respectful ! And how 
 obedient he was besides, attending church and stay- 
 ing at home nearly every evening. 
 
 Lucia, too, was perhaps not as bad as they 
 thought her ; it seemed she was improving, that 
 
 * Priests bear the title of Don by courtesy. 
 
228 
 
 IVOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 she had decided to accept the future they had 
 chosen for her. Ah, if she only would ! 
 
 The door was opened violently ; Luisa started. 
 
 Who’s that? ” she called, turning round. But 
 she had hardly caught sight of Peppino than she 
 rushed to meet him, so terribly changed was his face. 
 
 My God ! what has happened to you ? ” 
 
 He looked round. 
 
 Where is Lucia ? ” he asked. 
 
 Lucia? With Vincenzo, I believe; she must 
 have gone into the sacristy, and be waiting there.” 
 
 Ah, no, mother, no ! ” 
 
 But what is there to be scared at ? She may 
 be at Mariannina’s.” 
 
 Peppino did not wait for her to finish, but rushed 
 out and knocked at Rosetta’s door. A rapid dialogue 
 ensued. 
 
 Who’s there ? ” asked the peasant woman from 
 within. 
 
 I, Peppino ; has your daughter come back ? ” 
 
 She has.” 
 
 Alone?” 
 
 Yes, alone.” 
 
 ^^Oh, God in heaven!” cried Peppino, turning 
 from the door and re-entering his own home. 
 
 Well ? ” asked Luisa, in agonised tones, as he 
 reappeared. 
 
 ''Well, she’s not there, not there, and I knew 
 well she could not be. They have told me the 
 truth, you understand ? The truth, and I — stupid 
 beast — would not believe it I ” 
 
 " What is it, what is it you would not believe ? ” 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 229 
 
 Some one stopped me in the street just now, 
 some one who is well informed, who knows all the 
 particulars, some one who wants to be revenged, 
 you understand ? 
 
 Oh, speak, tell me what you mean ? ” 
 
 Peppino stopped in front of Luisa, all trembling, 
 and said : 
 
 Oh, mother, we have done wrong ; we should 
 have looked after her better, should never have left 
 her — never ! ” 
 
 Lucia . . . 
 
 ** Is the mistress of Anselmo Agostini/^ 
 
 Yes, yes, it is true ! She has come to that ! 
 And we would have married her to an honest man ! 
 The mistress of Anselmo Agostini ! And that is 
 not all, is not all ; he is not the only one/^ 
 
 Oh God ! oh God !” murmured Luisa, thunder- 
 struck. 
 
 It seems she has another as well — she has both 
 of them ; perhaps she is afraid, she deceives them 
 both ; perhaps she is afraid of Anselmo, who is 
 capable of killing her.” 
 
 ** For mercy’s sake, Peppino ! ” 
 
 I shall do something desperate, I know I shall, 
 mother ! ” 
 
 Oh, remember that she is your sister.” 
 
 I shall beat her like a dog ; but one of those 
 two must be got rid of, one or the other.” 
 
 He took down his gun from the rack. 
 
 For your mother’s sake, Peppino, do not go out!” 
 implored the wretched woman in a choking voice. 
 
/ 
 
 230 IVOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 ** Let go ! Somebody must pay/^ cried Peppino, 
 furiously, going towards the door. 
 
 What is the matter ? ” called old Antonio’s 
 voice, from above. 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and Vincenzo’s 
 ascetic figure appeared ; he caught the meaning of 
 the scene at a glance- — saw his mother with clasped 
 hands, Peppino with his gun, ready to go out, 
 understood his father’s question. Instinctively he 
 guessed the truth. 
 
 It’s nothing, father,” he said, raising his voice. 
 
 This voice, so respected, calmed Antonio imme- 
 diately. 
 
 Is it you, Don Vincenzo ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ It is I, father.” 
 
 ^^Ah, that’s right. Good-night.” 
 
 The young priest turned to his brother, who had 
 paused, perplexed. His face grew majestic and 
 severe ; he advanced a few steps, and said in a low 
 tone : 
 
 For shame ! Obey your mother.’' 
 
 ‘^But . . . .” 
 
 For shame, I say ! Give me the gun.” 
 
 Don Vincenzo . . . . ” 
 
 ** The gun, directly ! ” imposed the ascetic, with 
 the energy of his apostolic mission. 
 
 Peppino let the gun be taken from him like a 
 child. 
 
 And now,” added the priest, in a gentler voice, 
 ask mother’s forgiveness.” 
 
 She held out her arms anxiously, her lips quiver- 
 ing with sobs, and her eyes veiled with tears, ready 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 231 
 
 to meet her favourite child half-way. Peppino 
 threw himself into her arms, as if to escape from 
 the sight of a crime. 
 
 Don Vincenzo contemplated the group calmly. 
 
 ** I should like to know . ...” he said. 
 
 Then Luisa dropped into a chair, and the tears 
 flowed freely over her distressed countenance. 
 Peppino told his brother all he knew. 
 
 We must wait, must forgive ; we may find a 
 remedy with the help of God ! ” concluded the priest, 
 whose heart bled all the same. 
 
 ^‘She will listen to you,” said Peppino, whose 
 face was convulsed with grief. 
 
 Don Vincenzo went to take a book, drew near 
 to the table, and prepared to pray. Peppino sat 
 down silently by the door. Luisa looked at her 
 son, who had renounced his vengeance ; at her 
 other son, who, disposing himself to pardon, had 
 still the strength to pray whilst waiting. She felt 
 both pride and tenderness. But the thought of 
 the absent one was stronger than tenderness or 
 pride, and a terrible quarter of an hour began. 
 They only waited a quarter of an hour, while 
 Vincenzo found courage in letting his soul wander 
 amidst the consolations of religious meditation, while 
 Peppino, materially subdued, awaited with certainty 
 the calamity that was approaching. Luisa had fifteen 
 minutes of a horrible vision. 
 
 Fifteen minutes of a horrible vision : looking into 
 the fire, as though attracted by the leaping flame, 
 gazing at the living red flame that was expiring. 
 
232 
 
 WOMAN'S FOLLY 
 
 It was her reason that was dying, and she felt it 
 slowly die as the prayer proceeded. 
 
 She was alone in the solitary house, too rebellious 
 to be loved by her gentle mother, too rebellious to 
 be loved by her imperious father. She beheld once 
 more her father and Caterina, who silently under- 
 stood each other, who loved each other like the 
 mirror and its reflection ; she saw her mother, 
 sweet and quiet, with Lorenza on her knees, or 
 seated at the piano. Donna Anna played classical 
 music. And how was it that delicate harmonies 
 now floated around Luisa ? Beethoven, Schumann, 
 that music. Ah, God ! Luisa thought she had com- 
 pletely forgotten it ! But no, no, it was her mother 
 who was playing, softly, softly, a well-known 
 romance of Schumann's. Then her mother sang, 
 too, softly, softly, sad songs in English. How sad 
 the garden looked through the closed glass doors, 
 how deserted was the meadow beyond ! Once 
 more Schumann, sad and obscure. Vague chords, 
 lost notes, notes found again in this extreme agony. 
 The wisteria trailed over the old balcony ; Donna 
 Caterina came out, dressed all in black, Donna 
 Luisa was reading in the library a confused medley 
 of old books, classical books, or books of mediocre 
 worth. 
 
 That church nave and Antonio's eyes, the stony 
 little lane, the low garden-wall, the rosy flush of 
 the blossoming peach-tree, at last the kiss on her 
 mouth, the flight .... 
 
 The black habit of the young priest brushed 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 233 
 
 against Luisa. Vincenzo stepped into the court- 
 yard to look out. She turned round and fixed her 
 eyes on the door. There was no one. Vincenzo 
 once more returned to his prayers. Again Luisa’s 
 wild eyes turned to the contemplation of the blood- 
 red flame. 
 
 .... The flight. Marietta. Implacable Marietta. 
 Why did Antonio go away ? How many faces 
 passed before her in procession through the leaping 
 flame ? A face full of inexpressible grief and 
 
 resignation, a waxen face Sister Maria 
 
 Regina, once Donna Lorenza Soave. Was she still 
 alive ? The face of him who had been Lodovico 
 Rosalba ; he kept his eyes closed ; he must have 
 a small, bloody hole in the back of his neck ; his 
 neck must be pierced by a revolver-bullet. Donna 
 Caterina had killed him out of jealousy, so that he 
 might pass into eternal life in the midst of his 
 mortal sin. Horrible ! The assizes, the interroga- 
 tion, the defence. Lorenza, who loved Gustavo. 
 
 Once more the sad, mystic refrain from 
 Schumann. 
 
 .... The deposition, the defence, the acquittal. 
 And Gustavo, who no longer would have Lorenza. 
 Then Donna Luisa, no, simply Luisa, went to entreat 
 of her who had slain a man. But the murderess 
 said: No, no, expiation is not death. Pardon is 
 
 a weakness. Memory is stronger than the passing 
 moment P 
 
234 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 Those words were spoken by Donna Caterina, 
 and then Donna Luisa — no, Luisa, just simply Luisa 
 — fled in desperation. And the sky was red, 
 burning with the sunset ; the country was all red. 
 Was it burning ? Was it on fire ? 
 
 When did that happen ? When ? Before or 
 after ? 
 
 Donna Anna sang too, softly, softly, in a weak 
 voice, sad songs in English. 
 
 Donna Luisa ! . . . . Who called her thus 
 once again, in the vision ? No one ever called 
 her so now ! It was Gabriele. Gabriele’s eyes 
 tempted her ; she was obliged to go to him, obliged 
 to, Enough to burn up your hearty tooP 
 
 Do not say no again ^ if you do not wish me to 
 kiss this mouthy which is killing meP 
 
 Gabriele’s love had kindled, had burnt up her 
 senses ; and the mouth he had kissed so oft, so 
 oft ... • 
 
 The wisteria grew all round the antique bal- 
 cony ; Donna Caterina came out there, dressed all 
 in black. 
 
 Something in the blood. Its true I am a bastard. 
 If I met my mother I should laugh in her face!^ 
 
 Oh, horror, horror ! A thief, a smuggler ! He 
 resembled — no, not Lucia, the same character. She 
 and Gabriele had created that pretty monster of 
 perversity. Vincenzo was their salvation. And 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 235 
 
 Peppino, he was adored. But it was Vincenzo who 
 must save her. 
 
 The waxen face of Sister Maria Regina, who 
 had been Donna Lorenza Soave. Was she still 
 alive ? 
 
 Salvation was impossible, impossible, because 
 she had not yet confessed ; yes, yes, that was why. 
 She should have confessed at once ; instead, she 
 had gone on lying, so many years ! 
 
 Confession ! Confession ! 
 
 This was why the prayers of Vincenzo and 
 Lorenza availed nothing. God punished her 
 because she had not confessed. And why had she 
 not remedied everything immediately, telling Antonio 
 all ? Should she confess all to the poor old man, 
 who believed in her ? 
 
 Lodovico must have a small bloody hole in the 
 back of his neck, his neck must be pierced with a 
 revolver-ball. Donna Caterina had killed him, out 
 of jealousy, so that he might pass into eternal life 
 in the midst of his mortal sin. Horror ! Horror ! 
 
 To confess^ after so many years ? Why not ? 
 There is always time for repentance ; it is never 
 too late to implore forgiveness of God. 
 
 Don Vicenzo said the same. It was an obses- 
 sion, a madness that caught her by the throat, a 
 wild longing to humiliate herself, instantly, to cry 
 out her own shame, humbling herself before her 
 children, before her husband. 
 
236 
 
 WOMAN^S FOLLY 
 
 It was her reason in its death agony. 
 
 The refrain from Schumann, the rosy blossoms 
 of the peach-tree, the wisteria, Gustavo would not 
 have Lorenza, would not have her now. Gabriele 
 was waiting ; he wanted to kill her, did Gabriele, 
 Gabriele^s daughter had a lover, had two. She 
 was lost, was Gabriele^s daughter. 
 
 She must confess immediately, at all costs. 
 Immediately. 
 
 Here she is,” said Vincenzo, with a start. 
 The mother rose to her feet and looked towards 
 the door with scared eyes. Peppino rose too. 
 
 The young priest opened the door and stood at 
 one side, as if to receive and admit her who had 
 need of pardon. In the dark frame of the open 
 door the heavy flakes of snow were seen, falling 
 thickly, rapidly. 
 
 They had certainly heard the gate of the court- 
 yard noisily closed. Was no one coming ? Ah yes, 
 there she was. It was she, Lucia, staggering in, 
 with dim eyes and bleeding neck. The young 
 priest received her in his arms, while the mother 
 uttered a cry of terror. He carried her carefully 
 to a chair, and understanding that it was the end, 
 said quickly, Think of God” ; then turning to his 
 brother he ordered him to Go and call father.” 
 To Luisa he said, ^‘Courage, mother,” and once 
 more he leaned over the wounded girl to speak to 
 her of God. 
 
THE DEATH OF A SOUL 
 
 237 
 
 What has happened ? asked Vincenzo gently. 
 
 Lucia neither moved nor spoke. 
 
 Do you forgive him ? asked Vincenzo. 
 
 Lucia opened her lips and said something, but 
 they could not understand. Then she closed her 
 mouth and did not move again. 
 
 Luisa gave a shriek when she saw Antonio burst 
 into sobs over Lucia’s body. 
 
 No, Antonio, no ! Do not weep, she is not 
 your child, that one. She is not your child ! 
 Vincenzo and Peppino are your children.” 
 
 The old man rose up to his full height, terrible 
 to see, while Peppino drew back shocked. 
 
 ^‘Yes, they are yours, but Lucia is Gabriele’s 
 daughter.” 
 
 The old man approached her, an angry and 
 threatening figure, ready to strike her. But the 
 young priest sprang towards his mother, caught 
 her in his arms, and dragging, almost carrying her 
 away, cried out : 
 
 ‘‘ Pardon, father, pardon ! In God’s name, 
 father. And you, mother, be silent — oh, be silent!” 
 
 But Luisa continued to struggle in her son’s 
 arms and to accuse herself. 
 
 “ Lucia is Gabriele’s daughter — Gabriele’s 
 
 daughter ! ” 
 
 And she continued to scream, seized and over- 
 powered by the madness of that desperate and 
 useless confession. 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co 
 London and Edinburgh 
 
1beirieinanii’0 3 ntecnational Xibrarij 
 
 Edited by EDMUND GOSSE 
 
 The Time#. — “ ‘ Heinemann’s International Library’ is a venture that 
 deserves encouragement. It is an undoubted advantage for English readers to 
 obtain access in their own tongue to works of fiction which have become popular 
 among other European peoples.” 
 
 Each Volume has an Introduction specially written by the Editor 
 
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 I 
 
 IN GOD’S WAY 
 
 From the Norwegian of 
 
 BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON 
 
 The Saturday Review* — “ ‘ In God’s Way ’ is an admirable 
 example of the famous Norwegian novelist’s imaginative art in its 
 latest and most interesting phase of development. The English 
 reader could desire no better introduction to contemporary foreign 
 fiction than this notable novel. 
 
 II 
 
 PIERRE AND JEAN 
 
 From the French of 
 
 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 
 
 The Academy. — “It is a relief to turn from ... to Clara 
 Bell’s excellent translation of Guy de Maupassant’s artistic romance 
 with its subdued but singular charm. Not a page is wasted by 
 this master of his craft, not a paragraph expended where a brief 
 sentence would suffice, not a touch laid that could be dispensed 
 with. One may read ‘Pierre and Jean’ with pleasure apart from 
 the interest of the story ; it has all the satisfying completeness 
 inevitable to a work wherein the author has known exactly the 
 effect he wished to produce, with tact and skill to apply that 
 knowledge extremely well,” 
 
HEINEMANN'S INTERNATIONAL LIBRARY 
 
 III 
 
 THE CHIEF JUSTICE 
 
 From the German of 
 
 KARL EMIL FRANZOS 
 
 The Literary World,— The story is striking, and power- 
 fully told.» 
 
 The Scotsman, — “It will be read with interest by every one 
 who takes it up.” 
 
 Manchester Guardian, — “Simple, forcible, intensely 
 tragic.” 
 
 IV 
 
 WORK WHILE YE HAVE THE 
 LIGHT 
 
 From the Russian of 
 Count LEO TOLSTOY 
 
 Daily Telegraph, — “It is a powerful tale of Roman days, 
 when Christianity was despised, persecuted, and spreading.’^ 
 
 The Scotsman, — “ It is impossible to convey any adequate 
 idea of the simplicity and force with which the work is unfolded. 
 No one who reads the book will dispute the sincerity of its author’s 
 convictions or his greatness as a writer.” 
 
 V 
 
 FANTASY 
 
 From the Italian of 
 
 M ATILDE SERAO 
 
 The Guardian, — “The strength of the book lies in its 
 marvellous analysis, in its absolute truth, in its variety of detail, 
 in its artistic treatment, in its representation of passion. The 
 scenes and the people live before us ; the book is not a record of 
 events, it is the accurate picture of four souls. It may, in fact, be 
 said to rank with the masterpieces of the modern French school.” 
 
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 VI 
 
 FROTH 
 
 From the Spanish of 
 
 Don ARMANDO PALACIO VALDES 
 
 Daily Telegraph, — “Vigorous and powerful in the highest 
 degree. It abounds in forcible delineation of character, and 
 describes scenes with rare and graphic strength.” 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. — “As a striking picture of life as it is, 
 Froth’ ranks with the finest productions of modern realists.” 
 
 VII 
 
 FOOTSTEPS OF FATE 
 
 From the Dutch of 
 
 LOUIS COUPERUS 
 
 The Gentlewoman. — “The consummate art of the writer 
 prevents this tragedy from sinking to melodrama. Not a single 
 situation is forced, or a circumstance exaggerated. 
 
 Daily Chronicle. — “It is a powerfully realistic story, which 
 has been excellently translated from the Dutch by Clara Bell.” 
 
 VIII 
 
 PEPITA JIME'NEZ 
 
 From the Spanish of 
 
 JUAN VALERA 
 
 The Guardian. — “The book is full of glowing descriptions 
 and of colour, the characters are vivid and original.” 
 
 Pictorial World, — “The story is magnificently told.” 
 
 The Queen.— have a complete picture of Spanish types 
 of character, their fervour, so unlike our slower sympathies, their 
 mysticism, their tone of rhetoric and hyperbole, their extravagance 
 of passion, all characteristics so opposed to our own ; and reading 
 of them we realise how great is the difference between us and 
 inhabitants of southern lands, and reading we are fascinated.” 
 
 Q 
 
4 
 
 HEINEMANN'S INTERNATIONAL LIERARV 
 
 IX 
 
 THE 
 
 COMMODORE’S DAUGHTERS 
 
 From the Norwegian of 
 
 JONAS LIE 
 
 The Times. — “ ‘ The Commodore’s Daughters,’ by Jonas Lie, 
 translated by H. L. Brackstad and Gertrude Hughes, gives English 
 readers, for the first time, an opportunity of making acquaintance 
 with a Norwegian novelist whose fiction is even more widely read 
 by his countrymen than that of Bjdmson. ... To learn as much 
 about the ideas and habits of Norwegian middle-class society as it 
 teaches us, we should have to master the language and spend a year 
 in Norway as guests.” 
 
 X 
 
 THE 
 
 HERITAGE OF THE KURTS 
 
 From the Norwegian of 
 
 BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. — “A most fascinating as well as a 
 powerful book.” 
 
 Black and White.— principles of heredity form the 
 motif oi this extraordinary clever book. . . . The mark of a strong 
 creative poetic faculty are over the whole of this most powerful and 
 interesting novel.” 
 
 XI 
 
 LOU 
 
 From the German of 
 
 Baron ALEXANDER VON ROBERTS 
 
 The Speaker. — "A tender little book. Pure in sentiment 
 as in style, ‘ Lou ’ ought to have a warm welcome from the British 
 public.” 
 
 Truth. — “By far the most interesting story I have read of late 
 is * Lou.’ It is the story of a Nubian slave bought in Cairo, to be 
 thrown adrift in Paris, and it is worked up with an art so consum- 
 mate that it is difficult not to think it French. ... A most brilliant 
 and engrossing story.” 
 
 Literary World. — “A really interesting and powerful story.” 
 
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 5 
 
 XII 
 
 DONA L U Z 
 
 From the Spanish of 
 
 JUAN VALERA 
 
 The Scotsman, — " It is a charming study of a Spanish lady. 
 ... In handling the passionate situations the author shows all the 
 power of observation, all the psychological skill, and all the fidelity 
 to the life of his own country which made his first novel so remark- 
 able a success. The most serious matters of the heart, whether in 
 love or in religion, are treated with a union of gravity and gaiety 
 possible only in a Castilian writer, and the book as a whole is as 
 enjoyable a story as any in the richly-furnished series in which it 
 appears.’^ 
 
 XIII 
 
 THE JEW 
 
 From the Polish of 
 
 JOSEPH IGNATIUS KRASZEWSKI 
 
 The Scotsman, — " It is a powerfully-written tale, in which 
 the interest culminates in the Polish rising of 1865. It is permeated 
 with v.arm patriotic feeling. . . . Much of the story relates to the 
 revolt, and in the narrative a good deal is said of Russian cruelty 
 and oppression. The novel was well wor:hy of translation, and 
 many English readers will be pleased to open a new domain, not 
 entirely of fiction, but of social life in a part of Europe of which but 
 little, on the whole, is known.” 
 
 XIV 
 
 UNDER THE YOKE 
 
 From the Bulgarian of 
 
 IVAN VAZOFF 
 
 The Academy, — “ The first Bulgarian novel translated into 
 English whets our appetite for more, and it will not be difficult to 
 agree with Mr. Gosse’s enthusiastic forewords in its praise. As a 
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 by one who speaks with authority, of the stirring events which 
 preceded the deliverance of Bulgaria, it is valuable.” 
 
 Daily Telegraph, — “A powerful and pathetic story. . . . 
 May be safely pronounced an interesting and valuable addition to 
 that admirable series of fictional works ‘ Heinemann’s International 
 Library.’ ” 
 
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 XV 
 
 FAREWELL LOVE! 
 
 From the Italian of 
 
 MATILDE SERAO 
 
 Vanity Fa/r.—“ Without question this is a very remarkable 
 book, written by a very remarkable woman. Famous in Italy, she 
 is but little known in this country. A realist without the coarseness 
 of Zola and full of passion, which in this book, at all events, never 
 degenerates into sensuality. . . . The book is one of great vigour 
 and powerful interest, sustaining its interest to the last.” 
 
 XVI 
 
 THE GRANDEE 
 
 From the Spanish of 
 
 Don ARMANDO PALACIO VALDES 
 
 Daily Chronicle. — “Considering the popularity Russian fic- 
 tion has acquired with us in recent years, it is remarkable that the 
 great Spanish novelists have not been equally hailed. At least one 
 of them, namely Valdes, is worthy of a place beside Turgenieff, 
 Dostoiersky, and Tolstoi. . . . ‘The Grandee,’ now before us, shows 
 the author at yet another style of work. The scene of his story is 
 laid in a quiet provincial town of Spain, and its narrow upper circle 
 is thrown open to us. In his descriptions Valdes displays a strong 
 sense of, humour and each of his characters stands out most vividly 
 upon a minutely careful yet unlaboured background.” 
 
 XVII 
 
 A COMMON STORY 
 
 From the Russian of 
 
 IVAN GONTCHAROFF 
 
 Daily Telegraph. — “The story before us is exactly described 
 by its title. It deals with common things, but in the way in 
 which such matters are treated by genius equipped with introspec- 
 tive and descriptive faculties of the highest order. With equal 
 lucidity and subtlety it depicts the struggle between the ‘new spirit’ 
 that came from the West in consequence of Peter the Great’s 
 reforms, and the instinctive resistance of the national Russian 
 character against that stream of foreign influence.” 
 
 London : WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford St., W.C. 
 
Uele^rspbtc 
 
 SunlockSf London, 
 
 21 Bedford Street, tv.c. 
 
 March iSgj 
 
 A LIST OF 
 
 Mr william HEINEMANN’S 
 Publications 
 
 The Books mentioned in this List can 
 be obtained to order by any Book- 
 idler if not in stock, or -will be sent 
 by the Publisher on 'teceipt of the 
 published price and postage. 
 
5n&ej of Butboro 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Alexander 
 
 , . 22 
 
 Anstey 
 
 . . 10 
 
 Arbuthnot 
 
 • 9 
 
 Atherton . 
 
 . 23 
 
 Baddeley . 
 
 • 7» H 
 
 Balestier . 
 
 . 16, 24 
 
 Barrett 
 
 i7» 23 
 
 Battershall 
 
 • 17 
 
 Behrs 
 
 • • 7 
 
 Bendall 
 
 . . 14 
 
 BjSrnson . 
 
 , 20, 21 
 
 Bowen 
 
 . IS 
 
 Boyesen . 
 
 • 9 
 
 Briscoe 
 
 . 24 
 
 Brown 
 
 . . 12 
 
 Brown and Griffiths . 14 
 
 Buchanan . 
 
 9» 13. 23, 24 
 
 Butler 
 
 . 15 
 
 Caine (Hall) 
 
 12, 17, 22 
 
 Caine (R.)* 
 
 . • 14 
 
 Cambridge 
 
 . . 22 
 
 Chester 
 
 . . 10 
 
 Clarke 
 
 . . 18 
 
 Colmore . 
 
 . . 23 
 
 Colomb 
 
 . . 9 
 
 Compayre 
 
 . 15 
 
 Coppee 
 
 . 24 
 
 Couperus . 
 
 . . 21 
 
 Crackanthorpe . . 24 
 
 Davidson . 
 
 • 15 
 
 Dawson . 
 
 . . T4 
 
 De Goncourt 
 
 . 6 
 
 De Joinville 
 
 . 6 
 
 De Quincey 
 
 . 8 
 
 Dixon 
 
 . • 17 
 
 Dowson 
 
 • 17 
 
 Eeden 
 
 . . 11 
 
 Ellwanger , 
 
 . . T.I 
 
 Ely . 
 
 . • 9 
 
 Farrar 
 
 . • 9 
 
 Fitch 
 
 . . 15 
 
 Fleming , 
 
 . . 16 
 
 Forbes 
 
 . . 9 
 
 F othergill . 
 
 . . 22 
 
 Franzos 
 
 . . 21 
 
 Frederic . 
 
 . 9, 22 
 
 Furtwangler 
 
 • 3 
 
 Garmo 
 
 • 15 
 
 Garner 
 
 • 9 
 
 Gaulot 
 
 • 7 
 
 Gilchrist . 
 
 . 18 
 
 Gontcharoff 
 
 . . 2T 
 
 Gore 
 
 . 14 
 
 Gosse 
 
 10, 13, 14, 18 
 
 Grand 
 
 . T7 
 
 Gray (Maxwell) 
 
 PAGE 
 
 • 17 
 
 Griffiths . 
 
 . 14 
 
 Hall . 
 
 . 14 
 
 Hanus . 
 
 . 15 
 
 Harland . 
 
 . 24 
 
 Harris 
 
 • 17 
 
 Hauptmann 
 
 . 13 
 
 Heine 
 
 7. 8 
 
 Henderson 
 
 . 24 
 
 Heussey . 
 
 . 7 
 
 Hichens . 
 
 . 19 
 
 Holdsworth 
 
 . 19 
 
 Howard . 
 
 . II 
 
 Hughes 
 
 . 15 
 
 Hungerford 
 
 18, 22 
 
 Hyne 
 
 . i8 
 
 Ibsen 
 
 . 13 
 
 Ingersoll , 
 
 . 12 
 
 Irving 
 
 . 13 
 
 Jaeger 
 
 • 7 
 
 Keary 
 
 . 11 
 
 Keeling , 
 
 . 17 
 
 Kennedy . 
 
 . 23 
 
 Kimball . 
 
 . 14 
 
 Kipling 
 
 . 18 
 
 Knight 
 
 . 10 
 
 Kraszewski 
 
 • 21 
 
 Kroeker . 
 
 . 14 
 
 Landor 
 
 . 5 
 
 Le Caron . 
 
 . 7 
 
 Lee (Vernon) 
 
 . 18 
 
 Leland 
 
 . 8 
 
 Lie . 
 
 . 21 
 
 Linton 
 
 . 16 
 
 Locke 
 
 . 17 
 
 Lowe 
 
 7 > 9 
 
 Lowry 
 
 . 24 
 
 Lynch 
 
 . 22 
 
 Maartens . 
 
 . 23 
 
 Macnab 
 
 • 17 
 
 M aeterlinck 
 
 . 13 
 
 Malot 
 
 . 16 
 
 Masson 
 
 . 6 
 
 Maude 
 
 • 9 
 
 Maupassant 
 
 . 21 
 
 Maurice . 
 
 • 9 
 
 Merriman . 
 
 . 10 
 
 Michel . 
 
 • 4 
 
 Mitford 
 
 . 22 
 
 Monk 
 
 . 19 
 
 Moore 
 
 • 17 
 
 Murray 
 
 • 9 
 
 Nordau . 
 
 . 5 
 
 N orris 
 
 . 18 
 
 Ogilvie . , 
 
 . • 13 
 
 Ollphant , 
 
 PAGE 
 . lO 
 
 Ouida 
 
 . 17 
 
 Palacio-Vald<5s . 
 
 . 21 
 
 Pearce 
 
 . 18 
 
 Pendered . 
 
 . 16 
 
 Pennell . 
 
 • 9 
 
 Phelps 
 
 • 23 
 
 Philips 
 
 . 24 
 
 Pinero 
 
 • 13 
 
 Pugh 
 
 • 19 
 
 Ralmond , , 
 
 • 19 
 
 Rawnsley , , 
 
 . 12 
 
 Rembrandt • 
 
 • 4 
 
 Renan , , 
 
 • 9 
 
 Richter , , 
 
 . 10 
 
 Riddell . 
 
 • 23 
 
 Rives 
 
 • 23 
 
 Roberts (A. von) 
 
 . 21 
 
 Roberts (C. G. D.) 
 
 . T2 
 
 Robinson . 
 
 . 16 
 
 Saintsbury 
 
 . 5 
 
 Salaman (J. S.) 
 
 • 9 
 
 Salaman (M. C.) 
 
 . 10 
 
 Sarcey 
 
 . 7 
 
 Scidmore . 
 
 . 12 
 
 Scudamore 
 
 • 9 
 
 Serao 
 
 . 21 
 
 Sergeant . , 
 
 . 22 
 
 Steel . . • 
 
 • 17 
 
 Stevenson. • 
 
 • 17 
 
 Street . • 
 
 . 24 
 
 Tadema . . 
 
 . 19 
 
 Tallent5’re . 
 
 . 10 
 
 Tasma 
 
 . 22 
 
 Thompson 
 
 . 12 
 
 Thurston . 
 
 . 14 
 
 Tirebuck . 
 
 . 16 
 
 Tolstoy . 7, 10, 
 
 i3> 21 
 
 Tree . 
 
 • 13 
 
 Turgenev . 
 
 . 20 
 
 Valera 
 
 . 21 
 
 Vazoff 
 
 . 21 
 
 Wagner 
 
 • 9 
 
 Waliszewski 
 
 . 6 
 
 Ward 
 
 • 23 
 
 Warden 
 
 . 24 
 
 Waugh 
 
 . 8 
 
 Weitemeyer 
 
 . 12 
 
 West 
 
 . 15 
 
 Whistler . 
 
 . 11 
 
 White 
 
 • 23 
 
 Whitman . 
 
 . 12 
 
 Williams , 
 
 . II 
 
 Wood 
 
 . 18 
 
 Zangwill . lOj 
 
 . 16, 18 
 
 Zola . 
 
 II, 24 
 
 Z Z. . . 
 
 . x6 
 
MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST, 
 
 3 
 
 MASTERPIECES OF GREEK 
 SCULPTURE. 
 
 A SERIES OF ESSAYS ON THE HISTORY OF ART. 
 
 BY ADOLF FURTWANGLER. 
 
 Authorised Translation. Edited by Eug^inie Sellers. 
 
 With 19 full -page and 200 text Illustrations.. In One Volume. 
 
 4to, cloth, 3s. net. 
 
 %♦ Also an idition de luxe on Japanese vellum, limited to 50 
 numbered copies. In Two Volumes, price ;^io los. net. 
 
 The TIMES. — *‘In very many ways the translation is an im- 
 provement on the original. We sincerely hope it will be read by 
 English students in the Universities and elsewhere.’^ 
 
 The ST. JAMESES GAZETTE.— Not alone students of 
 archaeology, but artists, and collectors of choice books will revel in 
 this sumptuous volume. The fine series of masterpieces of Greek 
 sculpture here faultlessly reproduced is unequalled, whether in 
 instructive arrangement or in perfection of the mechanical process. 
 The illustrations are, almost without exception, photographically 
 reproduced from the statues themselves (either the originals or 
 casts), and we thus obtain the maximum of exact fidelity. 
 
 “ But this is much more than a book of beautiful pictures : it is a 
 critical study of the chief schools of Greek sculpture in its highest 
 development by a scholar of acknowledged authority. No more 
 suggestive or, to s udents, fascinating essays on Greek art have 
 appeared for many years ; nothing so comprehensive and at the 
 same time so strictly first-hand has been achieved since the days of 
 Winckleman, or at least K. O. Muller ; though it is obvious that 
 without the guiding influence of the late but ever-to-be lamented 
 Brunn no such minute critical study would have been possible. 
 
 “ Miss Sellers’ edition is in every way a real improvement upon the 
 original German edition of a year or two ago. She has rearranged 
 the materials, and thus achieved a lucidity and continuity of argu- 
 ment which were much less conspicuous in the German.” 
 
 The DAILY CHRONICLE. — ‘‘The fame of these masterly 
 essays has grown in Germany since their first appearance to such a 
 point that even in that country of learned rivalries they are admitted 
 to be a paramount authority in their own sphere.” 
 
4 
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 REMBRANDT: 
 
 SEVENTEEN OF HIS MASTERPIECES 
 
 FROM THE COLLECTION OF HIS PICTURES IN THE 
 CASSEL GALLERY. 
 
 Reproduced in Photogravure by the Berlin Photographic Company. 
 
 With an Essay 
 
 By FREDERICK WEDMORE. 
 
 In large portfolio 27J inches x 20 inches. 
 
 The first twenty five impressions of each plate are numbered aftd sigytedf 
 and of these only fourteen are for sale in England at the net price of Twenty 
 Guineas the set. The Price of the impressions after the first twenty five is 
 Twelve Guineas net, per set. 
 
 The TIMES. — ‘‘ The renderings have been made with extreme 
 care, and, printed as they are upon peculiarly soft Japanese paper, 
 they recall in a remarkable way the richness and beauty of the 
 originals.*’ 
 
 REMBRANDT: 
 
 HIS LIFE, HIS WORK, AND HIS TIME. 
 
 BY 
 
 EMILE MICHEL, 
 
 MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE OF FRANCE. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 FLORENCE SIMMONDS. 
 
 EDITED AND PREFACED BY 
 
 FREDERICK WEDMORE. 
 
 A re-issue in 16 Monthly Parts, price 2s. 6d. net, per Part. 
 
 A few copies of the First Edition are still on sale, price 2s, 
 net ; also of the Edition de Luxe (printed on Japanese vellum 
 with India proof duplicates of the photogravures^ price j^i2 12s. 
 net. 
 
 The TIMES. — ‘‘This very sumptuous and beautiful book has 
 long been expected by all students of Rembrandt, for M. Emile 
 Michel, the chief French authority on the Dutch School of Paint- 
 ing, has been known to be engaged upon it for many years 
 
 Merely to look through the reproductions in M. Michel’s book is 
 enough to explain the passionate eagerness with which modern 
 collectors carry on their search after Rembrandt’s drawings, and 
 the great prices which are paid for them.” 
 
MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 s 
 
 COREA, OR CHO-SEN, ' 
 
 THE LAND OF THE MORNING CALM. 
 
 By a. henry SAVAGE-LANDOR. 
 
 With 38 Illustrations from Drawings by the Author, and a Portrait. 
 
 Demy 8vo, i8s. 
 
 7/u Reahn. — Mr. Landor’s book .... is of extreme value, 
 for he has used his eyes, his pen, and his brush to picture scenes 
 and natural characteristics, which in all probability will be vastly 
 modified by the events of the immediate years.” 
 
 The Morning Post . — “ The book contains a great deal of matter 
 which is entirely new, and cannot fail to attract considerable atten- 
 tion at the present time, when so little is known about Corea and 
 the Coreans.” 
 
 CORRECTED IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 ESSAYS ON VICTORIAN WRITERS. 
 
 By GEORGE SAINTSBURY, 
 
 Crown 8vo, gilt top, 7s. 6d. 
 
 The Times . — “ He knows that in thirty years the general opinion 
 has had time to clarify itself and to assimilate itself more or less to 
 
 the more instructed opinion of the wise and the select From 
 
 this point of view there is not a little to be said for Mr. Saintsbury^s 
 method; his application of it is .... instructive.” 
 
 DEGENERATION. 
 
 By max NORDAU. 
 
 Translated from the Second Edition of the German work. 
 
 In One Volume, demy 8vo, 17s. net. 
 
 The Standard . — “ A most suggestive, a most learned, and (may 
 we add?) a most entertaining volume.” 
 
 The Daily Chronicle . — “A powerful, trenchant, savage attack 
 on all the leading literary and artistic idols of the time by a man of 
 great intellectual power, immense range of knowledge, and the 
 
 possessor of a lucid style This remarkable and stirring 
 
 book, which is sure to be vehemently attacked, but which cannot 
 be ignored.” 
 
 A 2 
 
6 
 
 MR, WILLIAM HEINEMANN^S LIST. 
 
 IRecent ipublicatione^ 
 
 MY PARIS NOTE-BOOK. By the Author of “An Englhh- 
 
 man in Paris.’* In One Volume, demy 8vo. Price 14s. 
 
 The Daily Telegraph.—** One of those exceptionally delightful books the 
 manifold fascinations of w hich it is difficult to exemplify by quotation.” 
 
 Galignani s Messenger. — “Want of space forbids us to make further 
 quotations from the good things in which the book abounds.” 
 
 EDMUND AND JULES DE GONCOURT. Letters and 
 
 Leaves from their Journals. Selected. In Two Volumes, 8vo. With 
 Eight Portraits, 32s. 
 
 The Realm. — “It is impossible to Indicate the immense variety of enter- 
 taining and often profoundly interesting matter which these volumes contain.” 
 
 MEMOIRS (VIEUX SOUVENIRS) OF THE PRINCE 
 
 DE JOINVILLE. Translated from the French by Lady Mary Loyd. 
 With 78 Illustrations from drawings by the Author. In One Volume, 
 demy 8vo, 15s. net. 
 
 The Times. — “ They are written in the breezy style of a sailor.” 
 
 The St. James's Gazette.— is one of the most entertaining volumes of 
 memoirs that have appeared within recent years.” 
 
 The Glasgow Herald. — “ A very storehouse of anecdotes and Incidents that 
 carry the reader along, and have all the charm of a bright and sparkling con- 
 versation.” 
 
 NAPOLEON AND THE FAIR SEX. (Napoleon et les 
 
 Femmes). From the French of Fr6d6ric Masson. In One Volume, 
 demy 8vo. With Ten Portraits, is';. net. 
 
 The Daily Chronicle. — “ The author shows that this side of Napoleon’s 
 life must be understood by those who would realize the manner of man he was.” 
 
 THE STORY OF A THRONE. Catherine II. of Russia. 
 
 From the French of K. Waltszewski, Author of “The Romance of an 
 Empress.” With a Portrait. In Two Volumes, demy 8vo, 28s. 
 
 The World. — “No novel that ever was written could compete with this 
 historical monograph in absorbing interest.” 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF AN EMPRESS. Catherine II. of 
 
 Russia. By K. Waliszewski. Translated from the French. Second 
 Edition. In One Volume, 3 vo. With Portrait. Price 7J. 6d, 
 
 The Tunes.—*' This book Is based on the confessions of the Empress her- 
 self; it gives striking pictures of the condition of the contemporary Russia 
 which she did so much to mould as well as to expand. ... Few stories in 
 history are more romantic than that of Catherine II. of Russia, with its 
 mysterious incidents and thrilling episodes ; few characters present more curious 
 problems.” 
 
MR, WILLIAM HEINEMANN^S LIST, 
 
 7 
 
 A FRIEND OF THE QUEEN. Marie Antoinette and 
 
 Count Fersen. By Paul Gaulot. Translated from the French by 
 Mrs. Cashel Hoey. In Two Volumes, 8vo. With Two Portraits. 
 Price 245“. 
 
 The Times. — M. Gaulot’s work tells, with new and authentic details, the 
 romantic story of Count Fersen’s devotion to Marie Antoinette, of his share in 
 the celebrated Flight to Vare.nnes and in many other well-known episodes of 
 the unhappy Queen’s life,’* 
 
 ALEXANDER III. OF RUSSIA. By Charles Lowe, 
 
 M. A., Author of “Prince Bismarck: an Historical Biography.” Crown 
 8vo, with Portrait in Photogravure, 6 j. 
 
 The Athenceum . — “A most interesting and valuable volume.” 
 
 The Academy . — “Written with great care and strict impartiality.” 
 
 PRINCE BISMARCK. An Historical Biography. By 
 
 Charles Lowe, M.A. With Portraits. Crown 8vo, 6 s. 
 
 VILLIERS DE LUSLE ADAM: His Life and Works. 
 From the French of Vicomte Robert du Pontavice de Heussey. 
 By Lady Mary Loyd. With Portrait and Facsim-ile. Crown 8vo, cloth, 
 lo^. 6d. 
 
 THE LIFE OF HENRIK IBSEN. By Henrik J^ger. 
 
 Translated by Clara Bell. With the Verse done into English from the 
 Norwegian Original by Edmund Gosse. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6^. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF MIDDLE LIFE. By Francisque 
 Sarcey. Translated by E. L. Carey. In One Volume, 8vo. With 
 Portrait. 10s. 6 d, 
 
 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN THE SECRET SERVICE. 
 
 The Recollections of a Spy. By Major Henri le Caron. With New 
 Preface. 8vo, boards, price 2s. 6d., or cloth, 3.9. 6 d. 
 
 *♦* The Library Edition^ with Portraits and Facsimiles, ^vo. 14^., is still' 
 on sale. 
 
 THE FAMILY LIFE OF HEINRICH HEINE. Illus- 
 trated by one hundred and twenty- two hitherto unpublished letters ad- 
 dressed by him to different members of his family. Edited by his nephew, 
 Baron Ludwig von Embden, and translated by Charles Godfrey 
 Leland. In One Volume, 8vo, with 4 Portraits. 12^. 6 d. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF COUNT LEO TOLSTOY. 
 
 Together with a Letter to the Women of France on the “ Kreutzer 
 Sonata.’* By C. A. Behrs. Translated from the Russian by C. E. 
 Turner, English Lecturer in the University of St. Petersburg. In One 
 Volume, 8vo. With Portrait. lo^. 6 d. 
 
 QUEEN JOANNA I. OF NAPLES, SICILY, AND 
 
 JERUSALEM ; Countess of Provence, Forcalquier, and Piedmont. An 
 Essay on her Times. By St. Clair Baddeley. Imperial 8vo. With 
 Numerous Illustrations. i6j. 
 
8 
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 CHARLES III. OF NAPLES AND URBAN VL; also 
 
 CECCO D’ASCOLI, Poet, Astrologer, Physican. Two Historical Essays. 
 By St. Clair Baddeley. With Illustrations, 8vo, cloth, ioj. 6 d. 
 
 DE QUINCEY MEMORIALS. Being Letters and other 
 
 Records here first Published, with Communications from Coleridge, The 
 Wordsworths, Hannah More, Professor Wilson, and others. Edited 
 with Introduction, Notes, and Narrative, by Alexander H. Japp, LL.D., 
 F.R.S.E. In two volumes, demy 8vo, cloth, with Portraits, 30?. net. 
 
 MEMOIRS. By Charles Godfrey Leland (Hans Breit- 
 
 mann). Second Edition. In One Volume, 8vo. With Portrait. Price 
 TS. 6 d, 
 
 ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. A Study of Ilis Life and 
 
 Work. By Arthur Waugh, B.A. Oxon. With Twenty Illustrations 
 from Photographs specially taken for this Work. Five Portraits, and 
 Facsimile of Tennyson’s MS. Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, or uncut, 6y, 
 
 THE PROSE WORKS OF HEINRICH HEINE. 
 
 Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland, M.A., F.R.L.S. (Hans 
 Breitmann). In Eight Volumes. 
 
 The Library Edition, in crown 8vo, cloth, at 5J. per volume. Each volume of 
 this edition is sold separately. The Cabinet Edition, in special binding, 
 boxed, price £-2 10s. the set. The Large Paper Edition, limited to 100 
 Numbered Copies, price per volume net, will only be supplied to 
 subscribers for the Complete W ork. 
 
 I. FLORENTINE NIGHTS, SCHNABELEWOPSKI, 
 
 THE RABBI OF BACHARACH, and SHAKE- 
 SPEARE’S MAIDENS AND WOMEN. 
 
 II. , III. Pictures of travel. 1823-1828. 
 
 IV. THE SALON. Letters on Art, Music, Popular Life, 
 
 and Politics. 
 
 V. , VI. GERMANY. 
 
 VIL, VIII. FRENCH AFFAIRS. Letters from Paris 1832, 
 
 and Liitetia. 
 
 THE POSTHUMOUS WORKS OF THOMAS DE 
 
 QUINCEY. Edited with Introduction and Notes from the Author’s 
 Original MSS., by Alexander H. Japp, LL.D, F.R.S.E., &c. Crown 
 8vo, cloth, 6 j. each. 
 
 I. SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS. With other Es.says. 
 
 II. CONVERSATION AND COLERIDGE. With other 
 
 Essays. ; 
 
MR, WILLIAM HEINEMANN^S LIST, 
 
 9 
 
 A COMMENTARY ON THE WORKS OF HENRIK 
 
 IBSEN. By Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen, Author of “Goethe and 
 Schiller/* “ Essays on German Literature,” &z. Crown 8vo, cloth, 
 •js. (id. net. 
 
 THE JEW AT HOME. Impressions of a Summer and 
 Autumn Spent with Him in Austria and Russia. By Joseph Pennell. 
 With Illustrations by the Author. 4to, cloth, 5^. 
 
 THE NEW EXODUS. A Study of Israel in Russia. By 
 
 Harold Frederic. Demy 8vo, Illustrated, i6^. 
 
 THE GREAT W AR OF i8g — . A Forecast. By Rear- 
 
 Admiral CoLOMB, Col. Maurice, R.A., Captain Maude, Archibald 
 Forbes, Charles Lowe, D. Christie Murray, and F. Scudamore. 
 In One Volume, large 8vo. With numerous Illustrations, 12^. 6d, 
 
 THE COMING TERROR. And other Essays and Letters. 
 
 By Robert Buchanan. Second Edition. Demy 8vo, cloth, 12s. 6 d, 
 
 STUDIES OF RELIGIOUS HISTORY. By Ernest 
 
 Renan, late of the French Academy. In One Volume, 8vo, js. 6 d, 
 
 THE ARBITRATOR’S MANUAL. Under the London 
 
 Chamber of Arbitration. Being a Practical Treatise on the Power and 
 Duties of an Arbitrator, with the Rules and Procedure of the Court of 
 Arbitration, and the Forms. By Joseph Seymour Salaman, Author of 
 “Trade Marks,” &c. Fcap. 8vo, ■^s. 6 d. 
 
 MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND OBSERVANCES: Their 
 
 Origin and Signification. By Leopold Wagner, Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 ARABIC AUTHORS: A Manual of Arabian History and 
 Literature. By F. F. Arbuthnot, M.R.AS., Author of “ Early Ideas,’* 
 “Persian Portraits,” &c. 8vo, cloth, 5^. 
 
 THE LABOUR MOVEMENT IN AMERICA. By 
 
 Richard T. Ely, Ph.D., Associate in Political Economy, Johns Hopkins 
 University. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5^. 
 
 THE SPEECH OF MONKEYS. By Professor R. L. 
 
 Garner. Crown 8vo, ^s. 6 d, 
 
 THE PASSION PLAY AT OBERAMMERGAU, 1890. 
 
 By F. W. Farrar, D.D., F.R.S., Archdeacon and Canon of Westminster, 
 &c. &c. 4to, cloth, 2s, (id. 
 
10 
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST, 
 
 THE WORD OF THE LORD UPON THE WATERS 
 
 Sermons read by His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Germany, while 
 at Sea on his Voyages to the Land of the Midnight Sun. Composed by 
 Dr. Richter, Army Chaplain, and Translated from the German by John 
 R. McIlraith. 4to, cloth, 2 S. 6d, 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS WITHIN YOU. 
 
 Christianity not as a Mystic Religion but as a New Theory of Life. By 
 Count Leo Tolstoy. Translated from the Russian by Constance 
 Garnett. Library Edition, in two volumes, crown 8vo, los. Also a 
 Popular Edition in One Volume, cloth, 2S. 6d. 
 
 MR. PUNCHES POCKET IBSEN. A Collection of some 
 
 of the Master’s best known Dramas, condensed, revised, and slightly re- 
 arranged for the benefit of the Earnest Student. By F. Anstey, Author 
 of “Vice Versa," “Voces Populi," &c. With Illustrations, reproduced 
 by permission, from Punch, and a new Frontispiece, by Bernard Part- 
 ridge. i6mo, cloth, 3J. 6d. 
 
 FROM WISDOM COURT. By Henry Seton Merriman 
 and Stephen Graham Tallentyre. With 30 Illustrations by 
 E. CouRBOiN. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3^. 6d, 
 
 THE OLD MAIDS’ CLUB. By I. Zangwill, Author of 
 
 “ Children of the Ghetto," &c. Illustrated by F. H. Townsend. Crown 
 8vo, cloth, 3^. 6d, 
 
 WOMAN— THROUGH A MAN’S EYEGLASS. By 
 
 Malcolm C. Salaman, With Illustrations by Dudley Hardy. Crown 
 8vo, cloth, 3^. 6d. 
 
 STORIES OF GOLF. Collected by William Knight and 
 
 T. T. Oliphant. With Rhymes on Golf by various hands ; also Shake- 
 speare on Golf, &c. Enlarged Edition. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 GIRLS AND WOMEN. By E. Chester. Pott 8vo, cloth, 
 
 2s. 6d., or gilt extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 QUESTIONS AT ISSUE. Essays. By Edmund Gosse. 
 
 Crown 8vo, buckram, gilt top, js. 6d. 
 
 A Lunited Edition on Large Paper, 2$s, net. 
 
 GOSSIP IN A LIBRARY. By Edmund Gosse, Author of 
 
 “ Northern Studies," &c. Third Edition. Crown 8vo, buckram, gilt top, 
 ^s. 6d. 
 
 *** A Limited Edition on Large Paper, 25s. net. 
 
MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 II 
 
 THE ROSE : A Treatise on the Cultivation, History, Family 
 
 Characteristics, &c., of the Various Groups of Roses. With Accurate 
 Description of the Varieties now Generally Grown. By H. B. Ell- 
 WANGER. With an Introduction by George H. Ellwanger. lemo, 
 cloth, 5^. 
 
 THE GARDEN’S STORY ; or, Pleasures and Trials of an 
 Amateur Gardener. By G. H. Ellwanger. With an Introduction by the 
 Rev. C. WoLLEY Dod. i2mo, cloth, with Illustrations, 5^. 
 
 THE GENTLE ART OF MAKING ENEMIES. As 
 
 pleasingly exemplified in many instances, wherein the serious ones of this 
 earth, carefully exasperated, have been prettily spurred on to indiscretions 
 and unseemliness, while overcome by an undue sense of right. By 
 J, M‘Neill Whistler. A New Edition. Pott 4to, half-cloth, xos. 6 d. 
 
 A CATALOGUE OF THE ACCADEMIA DELLE 
 
 BELLE ARTI AT VENICE. With Biographical Notices of the 
 Painters and Reproductions of some of their Works. Edited by E. M. 
 Keary. Crown Svo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net ; paper, 2s. net. 
 
 THE HOURS OF RAPHAEL, IN OUTLINE. 
 
 Together with the Ceiling of the Hall where they were originally painted. 
 By Mary E. Williams. Folio, cloth, £2 2s. net. 
 
 3l6ooh0 for preaentation. 
 
 A BATTLE AND A BOY. By Blanche Willis Howard. 
 With Thirty-nine Illustrations by A. Mac-Niell-Barbour. Crown Svo, 
 cloth gilt, 6s. 
 
 THE ATTACK ON THE MILL. By Emile Zola. With 
 
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12 
 
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 13 
 
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M 
 
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 15 
 
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MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 21 
 
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 IN GOD’S WAY. From the Norwegian of BjOrnstjerne 
 
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 THE CHIEF JUSTICE. From the German of Karl Emil 
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22 
 
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MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 23 
 
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