"September 19th. Midnight.
"ANANIA, MY NINO,—I have waited for you till this moment trembling with grief and love; but you have not come. Perhaps you are never coming any more, and I write to you at this sweet hour of our meetings with death in my heart and tears in my eyes which have not yet wept themselves out. The pale moon is sinking in a clouded heaven, the night is sad, it seems to me that all creation is oppressed by the ill-fortune which has crushed our love.
"Anania, why did you deceive me?
"As you say, I knew what you were, and I loved you just because I am above vulgar prejudice, and I wished to make up to you for the injustice of fate. But I believed you also were superior to prejudice, and were giving up all for me as I had given up all for you. Now, it seems, I have been deceived. You have deceived me, hiding your real sentiments. I believed and I still believe, that you knew your mother was alive and even where she was, and what sort of life she was leading (indeed, every one knew that!) but that you had no affection for this unnatural mother, who had deserted you, and was your misfortune and dishonour. You considered her dead for you and for every one. And I was quite sure that if ever she thrust herself upon your notice, which I suppose is what has happened, you would not condescend even to look at her. But on the contrary, you want to drive away her who has loved you so many years and will always love you, and to sacrifice your life and your honour to one, who (if she hadn't had an easy place to drop you into) was quite ready to kill you, or to leave you in a wood or a wilderness, a prey to starvation and terror, just that she might set herself free!
"But why should I write all this? Surely you know it? Why do you try to deceive me? Why do you appeal to sentiments which I can't possibly entertain, and which I don't believe you entertain yourself? You aren't going to do this stupid thing out of affection or out of generosity—I'm sure you really hate the woman—but just out of regard to these same vulgar prejudices which 'were invented by men to make all equally miserable.' Yes, yes! You want to sacrifice yourself and to ruin me, only for the glory of saying, 'I've done my duty!' You are a silly boy, your dreams are dangerous, and what's worse, ridiculous. People may praise you to your face; behind your back they will laugh at your simplicity.
"Anania, be yourself, be kind to yourself and to me. Be a man! No, I don't bid you abandon your mother if she's weak and unhappy (though she abandoned you). We can help her, give her some money, but we must keep her at arm's length. I won't have her coming between us and upsetting our life. I won't. You see I don't deceive you, Anania. I can't in the most distant way admit the possibility of living with her. It would be hideous, a daily tragedy. Better to die once for all, and have done with it, than die daily of resentment and disgust. I might pity the wretched creature, but I should never love her. If you persist in this mad idea, you'll make me loathe her even worse than before. This is my last word; aid her, but keep her far away, so that I may never lay eyes on her, so that our world in which we live may ignore her existence.
"I daresay she'll prefer to be out of your sight. Your presence ought to mean to her continual remorse. You say she has grown old with grief and privation, that she's poor and ill. Well, it's all her own fault. It's much better for you and for herself that she should be like that; for then she can't go roaming about the world and inflicting more disgrace upon you. But she, who didn't hesitate to outrage you when she was young and strong, mustn't now make a weapon of her weakness and want to destroy your happiness. No! no! you must never permit such a thing. No, no, it's impossible you should act upon such a fatal aberration! Unless it is that you don't love me any longer, and seek an excuse to——But I am not going to doubt you and your loyalty and your love. Don't be so wicked and cruel to me, when I have sacrificed to you all my youth, and all my dreams, and all my future.
"There! I tell you I'm crying as I write. Remember our love, our first kiss, our oaths, our plans—all—all. Don't reduce all that to a handful of ashes; don't kill me with disappointments, don't act so that afterwards you will repent your madness. If you won't listen to me, consult any sensible persons, and they'll all tell you not to be ungrateful and wicked and vain-glorious.
"Why, only yesterday you told me you had called my name from the summit of the Gennargentu, and proclaimed your love eternal and superior to all other human passion! Were you lying? and only yesterday? Why do you treat me like this? What have I done to deserve it? Have you forgotten that I love you? Have you forgotten that evening when I stood at the window and you threw me a flower after kissing it? I keep that flower to sew it into my wedding-dress, and I say keep, because I am sure that you really are going to be my bridegroom, and that you don't intend to kill your Margherita (remember your sonnet), and that we are going to be so happy alone together in our own little house.
"It is I, who am waiting for a word of hope from you at once. Tell me it's all a horrid dream. Tell me you have recovered your reason, and are sorry for having made me suffer.