Descending the terrace to the garden, the guests had dispersed among the shady paths and under the vine-covered trellises. The night breeze was damp and warm, touching the long lashes on delicate eyelids like lips brushing them in a caress. The invisible stars of the jasmine perfumed the darkness; the rich fragrance of fruit, too, was even stronger than in the island gardens. A vivid power of fertility emanated from this narrow trace of cultivated earth, which appeared like a place of exile, surrounded by a girdle of water, and, like an exiled soul, all the more intense. "Do you wish me to remain here? Shall I return after the others have gone? Say quickly! It is late!"
"No, no, Stelio, I beg of you! It is late—it is too late! You yourself say it is."
La Fosacarina's voice was full of mortal terror. Her white arms and shoulders trembled in the shadows. She wished at once to refuse and to yield; she wished to die, yet she wished to feel his strong embrace. She trembled more and more; her teeth chattered slightly, for a glacial stream seemed to submerge her, chilling her from head to foot. The strange emotion caused a fancy that her very limbs were ready to break, and she was conscious that the stiffness of her set features had even changed the sound of her voice. And still she longed at once to die and to be loved; still, over her terror, her chill, her body no longer young, hung the terrible sentence the beloved had pronounced, which she herself had repeated: "It is late—it is too late!"
"Your promise, your promise, Perdita! I will not be put off!"
The tide, swelling like a full, fair throat, the estuary, lost in darkness and death, the City, when illumined by the twilight fire, the water flowing in the invisible clepsydra, the bronze bells with their vibrations reaching to the sky, the eager wish, the contracted lips, lowered eyelids, feverish hands, all recurred with the memory of the silent promise. With wild ardor he longed to clasp that being, whose knowledge of all things was immeasurably deep and rich.
"No, I will not be put off!"
His ardor had come to him from far-distant ages, from the most ancient origins, the primitive simplicity of sudden unions, the antique mystery of sacred furies. Like the horde that was possessed by the enchantment of the gods, and descended the mountain side, tearing up trees, rushing on with blind fury, momentarily increasing, its numbers swelled by other madmen, spreading madness in its way, and finally becoming one vast bestial yet human multitude, impelled by a monstrous will, so the crudest of instincts urged him on, confusing all his ideas in a dizzy whirl. And what most attracted him in that wandering and despairing woman, whose knowledge was deep and rich, was the consciousness that she was a being oppressed by the eternal servitude of her nature, destined to succumb to the sudden convulsions of her sex; a being who soothed the fever of stage life in sensuous repose, the fiery actress, who passed from the frenzied plaudits of the multitude to the embrace of a lover; the Dionysian creature who chose to crown her mysterious rites as they were crowned in the ancient orgies.
His amorous madness was now immeasurable, and was a mingling of cruelty, jealousy, poetry and pride. He regretted that he never had sought her after some dramatic triumph, warm from the breath of the people, breathless and disheveled, showing the traces of the tragic soul that had wept and cried in her, with the tears of that alien spirit still damp on her agitated face. As by a flash of light, he had a sudden vision of her reclining, at rest, yet full of the power that had drawn forth a howl from the monster, panting like a M?nad after the dance, athirst and weary.
"Ah, do not be cruel!" entreated the woman, who felt in the voice of the beloved, and read in his eyes, the madness that possessed him. From the burning gaze of the young man she shrank with pathetic modesty. His insistence hurt the sensitive delicacy of her spirit. She recognized in it all that there was of mere selfish impulse; she well knew that he thought of her as something poisonous and corrupt, with memories of many loves, a wandering, implacable temptress. She divined the sudden grudgingness, jealousy and feverish resentment that had blazed up in the long-beloved friend, to whom she had consecrated all of herself that was most precious and most sincere, preserving the perfection of that sentiment by her steadfast refusal to break down all barriers. Now, all was lost; all was suddenly devastated, like a fair domain at the mercy of rebellious and vindictive slaves. Then, almost as if she were passing through the last agonies of death, her whole bitter and stormy past rose before her: that life of struggle and pain, bewilderment, effort, passion, and triumph. She felt all its heavy burden weighing on her, and recalled the ineffable joy, the feeling of mingled terror and freedom, with which, in her far-distant youth, she had given her first, fresh love to the man who had deceived her. And through her mind passed the image of herself, that maiden who had disappeared, who perhaps was still dreaming in some solitary place, or weeping, or promising herself future happiness. "Too late—it is too late!" The irrevocable word rang continually in her ears like the reverberation of the bronze bells.
"Do not be cruel, Stelio!" she repeated, white and delicate as the swansdown that encircled her shoulders. She seemed suddenly to have shorn herself of her power, to have become slight and weak, to have assumed a secret, tender personality, easy to kill, to destroy, to immolate as a bloodless sacrifice.
"No, Perdita, I will not be cruel," he stammered, suddenly discomposed by her face and voice, his heart stirred with human pity, arising from the same depths that had harbored his wilder instincts. "Pardon me! Forgive!"
He would have liked to take her in his arms that moment, to nurse her, console her, let her weep on his breast, and to dry her tears. He felt that he no longer recognized her, that some unknown creature stood before him, infinitely humble and sad, deprived of all strength. His pity and remorse were like the emotion we feel if we unwillingly hurt or offend an invalid or a child—some lonely and inoffensive little being.
"Pardon me!"
He would have liked to kneel, to kiss her feet in the grass, to murmur little fond phrases in her ear. He bent toward her and touched her hand. She started violently, opened wide her large eyes upon him; then lowered her eyelids and stood motionless. Shadows seemed to gather under her arched brows, throwing into relief the curve of her cheeks. Again the glacial wave submerged her.
Voices arose from the guests dispersed about the garden, then a long silence followed.
Presently a crunching of gravel, as if trodden by a heavy foot, was heard, followed by another long silence. Soon a confused clamor was heard coming from the canals; the jasmine's fragrance was heavier than before, as a heart in suspense quickens in movement. The night seemed fraught with miracles, and eternal forces worked harmoniously between the earth and the stars.
"Pardon me! If my love oppresses you, I will continue to stifle it; I will even renounce it forever, and obey you. Perdita! Perdita! I will forget all that your eyes said to me a little while ago, in the midst of the idle talk. What embrace, what caress could more wholly unite our souls? All the passion of the night threw us together. I received your soul like a wave. And now it seems that never again can I separate my heart from yours, nor can you separate yours from mine. Together we must go forward to meet I know not what mysterious dawn...."
He spoke in a low tone, with absolute abandon, having become for the moment a vibrating substanc............