THE ADORER
II. Peacock Plumes
"Aria Serena, guand'apar l'albore
E bianca neve scender senza vento ...
Ció passa la beltate ...
De la mia donna ...
... Non po' 'maginare
Ch'om d'esto monde l'ardisca amirare ...
Ed i' s'i' la sguardasse, ne morira."
Guido Cavalcanti.
It rained peacock plumes,
Pan, pan, pan,
The multicolored door glowed with flames.
The sky of the bed trembled towards an oarystis,
It rained peacock plumes,
Plumes of a white peacock.
The tower waved gracefully like a felucca undulating in the evening sea breeze. And it was truly raining peacock plumes: Guido was astonished and blew at them. He caught one in flight: it was white, with an orange eye and luminous spaces. Ah! they all seemed to be looking at him: they paused in front of him, they smiled, they fell, they died. As they neared the earth, the wind spun them around a little, some dust floated, then they disappeared; the passersby did not even raise their heads.
The tower leaned over until it touched the ground: Guido leaped into the street. He was not deceived. The peacock plumes had disappeared: from below they could no longer be seen. It was a pity, for they were pretty. He continued to walk in full liberty, his head high, full of joy, watching the women. He passed under the madonna without emotion, threw a glance towards the portal of the church, which he found as ugly as a wagoner's gate, and of the Novella he only saw a madonna in trappings, wholly devoid of attractions. Nevertheless he bowed to her.
The door was gay with oriental robes: a negro in white was ordering some women into a curtained carriage; the women were caged like the Carmelites of Saint-Augustine when they go to get food. One was in blue, one in red, one in green, one in violet, and one in yellow. The first four climbed into the carriage, laughing like children and uttering rapid strange words. Guido, who had approached, saw that each one bore, pinned to her monkish cloak, a label behind her head. He deciphered the writing on the violet woman who was gesticulating a little less than the others: All eccellentissimo e nobilissimo signor Ricardo Caraccioli. So they had a certain destination! They were not to be let free in the country among the grass, the bluebottles, the poppies and crocuses? But what would the seigneur Caraccioli do with such flowerets? Guido knew him: he was a gentleman of exemplary habits, the son of a cardinal, and nephew of the late pope. What would he do with that young girl? A dialogue informed him:
"Are they all for the same most excellent seigneur?" asked a subordinate officer who held a large book in his hand.
"All for the same man," the negro answered, "at least they are all bound for the same name. Does it surprise you? But he will share them with his friends. His only fear is that they will seek to quarrel with him."
"Where are they from?"
"The devil only knows! We captured them off Algiers. A fine galley, all gilded, with flowers, feathers and perfumes. The captain towed it to Palerma, where he was able to dispose of it at a good price: that's his privilege. These women were on it; three old women and eleven men, a pasha, his equipage, keepers. No time was wasted: the men were thrown, bound and bleeding, into the sea. What a crew of bandits, eh? Eleven less and the old women thrown into the bargain."
"Five Turkish women," the other returned. "That's fifty ducats for the king and a flask of wine for me...."
"Good, let us drink."
"... In women," continued the doganiere, "and in specie."
The negro paid. They drank at a nearby tavern, their eyes never straying from their merchandise.
Guido understood that they were slaves destined for the harem of the most illustrious Caraccioli. At Venice, where he had lived, it was customary, since the Turks were pirating, to return the compliment. If this was becoming popular in Naples, so much the better; he would gather, into a little house, some Oriental women for his pleasure. Guido was neither sufficiently naive nor spiteful to believe that the most excellent hypocrite was carrying on the trade of fair eyes for his friends. Well! he could do likewise: arm a vessel, dispatch it on long cruises to the Barbary coasts, nourish the enlisted bandits with salty provisions and the captive beauties with blancmange.... Ah! he suddenly remembered: all his wealth had been confiscated by the crown! Not even a ducat in his hose; not a sword, not a pistol to procure money on the highway, and bareheaded as a Lazarite!
He would have to attend to this penury.
The office of the royal customs-house was opened and the overseer was drinking to the fiscal ransom of the Algerian women: he entered. The arrant employees of His Majesty were drowsing pen in hand, of course. He pushed another door, though perceived: a third one, and the treasure. From a very fine collection of garments, hose, cloaks, swords, pistols and French hats, he provided himself with a quite gallant outfit, added a remarkable piece of Alençon silk, a little string for the women, and some rope for the silent strangulation of the cashier. It was a small matter to pass through the three doors where pleasant dreams were stirring, and he found him a little farther away. His sleep was hardly broken: a little movement of the hands, nothing more. Without being very rich, the royal coffer was still interesting. He placed it in his pockets, untied the rope, returned it to its place, and strolled out.
On the threshold, the doganiere saluted him:
"Does Your Excellency deign to be pleased?"
"Yes, yes," Guido replied. "These gentlemen are polite. Here," he added, taking out a ducat, "go and drink with this."
The negro counted his women: one, two, three, four.... "All's well. No, I should have five. Let us count them: one, two, three, four, five."
The carriage departed.
"I love you, my lord, let us go!"
The yellow Algerian, appearing before him like a radiant caprice, had taken him by the hand.
"As soon as I saw you," she continued, "I hid myself so as not to be led away with the others, for I belong to you, I am your slave. My name is Pavona."
"But," asked Guido, "how were you able to see me with your closed eyes, for I know that, under your hood, your eyes are closed!"
"It is true," said Pavona. "You know me then?"
"Yes, I know you, you are she who was destined me to vanquish the Novella's disdain. When I beseeched her love, the consent of her passion, so many times confessed and yet never decisive, she closed her eyes, she said: 'No.' And I said: 'Well, I will love other eyes so that the eyes of the Novella might weep and be merciful to me.' Then her eyelashes lifted and I grew pale with fright: instead of the blue and gentle irises, I saw strange eyes like those designed on the plumes of a peacock, a white peacock."
"I do not understand anything of this," said Pavona. "I never open my eyes, for a very simple reason. I cannot. But I shall love you well all the same, you see!"
"You have never tried!"
"To open my eyes? No, and for what purpose, since I have none. Wait, I remember an oracle sung to me by the Bohemian woman, formerly, when I was very little. It had this refrain:
But when some one to you will say
'I love you!' sight will come your way."
Guido found this very natural.
They stopped at a rich tavern, dazzling as a palace, and they were received like princely persons.
Preceded by a servant, they climbed, climbed, climbed, as though to the sky.
"Carry me, Guido, or I will be quite tired," said Pavona.
Guido took her in his arms. They climbed, climbed, as though towards the sky.
"Kiss me, Guido, or I shall grow quite bored," said Pavona.
Guido kissed the closed eyelashes. They climbed, climbed, climbed, as though towards the sky.
"Here," said the servant at last, "is the apartment of Your Highnesses."
The multicolored door truly glowed with flames, for it was of silver and studded with diamonds.
"It is heaven's door," said Pavona. "I wish to open it myself."
She entered first, holding Guido by the hand.
There was a very agreeable blue dimness in the chamber: the couch, at the end, defined itself under heavy draperies.
Fondlings and caressings: Guido felt himself burn with desire, and Pavona, quite determined, returned his kisses, ardor for ardor.
"I love you," Guido cried.
Pavona opened her eyes.
They were fearful. They were like the eyes designed on the plumes of a peacock, a white peacock.
Guido swooned and awoke in his cell, an assassin, a thief, a perjurer.
"I am a wretch," he thought, after a moment, "a wretch unworthy of his own pity. The crimes one commits in dreaming, one is really capable of committing. What occurs in the dream lay dormant in the caves of the will, or rather, they are prophecies and the celestial admonition of an irrevocable predestination. Ah! rather to have been criminal than to live in the certitude of a future crime. I accept the weight of my mortal sins: by degrees penitence will dissolve them like a sack of salt by the rain, and my shoulders will straighten again, delivered. Pardon me, most holy madonna, and punish me."
Ah! l'amour est terrible et je souffre d'aimer!
Comment bénir encore tes adorables pieds?
Comment, d'un front souille par des lèvres de femme,
Recevoir le divin sourire où joue ton âme?
Comment bénir encore tes adorables pieds?