Уильям Моэм - The Making of a Saint

I was making my way through the crowd, watching the various people, giving a word here and there or a nod, and I thought that life was really a very amusing thing. I felt mightily pleased with myself, and I wondered where my good friend Claudia was; I must go and pay her my respects.

'Filippo!'

I turned and saw Scipione Moratini standing by his sister, with a number of gentlemen and ladies, most of them known to me.

'Why are you smiling so contentedly?' he said. 'You look as if you had lost a pebble and found a diamond in its place.'

'Perhaps I have; who knows?'

At that moment I saw Ercole Piacentini enter the room with his wife; I wondered why they were so late. Claudia was at once seized upon by one of her admirers, and, leaving her husband, sauntered off on the proffered arm. Ercole came up the room on his way to the Count. His grim visage was contorted into an expression of amiability, which sat on him with an ill grace.

'This is indeed a day of rejoicing,' I said; 'even the wicked ogre is trying to look pleasant.'

Giulia gave a little silvery laugh. I thought it forced.

'You have a forgiving spirit, dear friend,' she said, accenting the last word in recollection of what I had said to her. 'A truly Christian disposition!'

'Why?' I asked, smiling.

'I admire the way in which you have forgiven Ercole for the insults he has offered you; one does not often find a gentleman who so charitably turns his other cheek to the smiter!'

I laughed within myself; she was trying to be even with me. I was glad to see that my darts had taken good effect. Scipione interposed, for what his sister had said was sufficiently bitter.

'Nonsense, Giulia!' he said. 'You know Filippo is the last man to forgive his enemies until the breath is well out of their bodies; but circumstances—'

Giulia pursed up her lips into an expression of contempt.

'Circumstances. I was surprised, because I remembered the vigour with which Messer Filippo had vowed to revenge himself.'

'Oh, but Messer Filippo considers that he has revenged himself very effectively,' I said.

'How?'

'There are more ways of satisfying one's honour than by cutting a hole in a person's chest.'

'What do you mean, Filippo?' said Scipione.

'Did you not see as he passed?'

'Ercole? What?'

'Did you not see the adornment of his noble head, the elegant pair of horns?'

They looked at me, not quite understanding; then I caught sight of Claudia, who was standing close to us.

'Ah, I see the diamond I have found in place of the pebble I have lost. I pray you excuse me.'

Then as they saw me walk towards Claudia they understood, and I heard a burst of laughter. I took my lady's hand, and bowing deeply, kissed it with the greatest fervour. I glanced at Giulia from the corner of my eyes and saw her looking down on the ground, with a deep blush of anger on her face. My heart leapt for joy to think that I had returned something of the agony she had caused me.

The evening grew late and the guests began to go. Checco, as he passed me, asked,—

'Are you ready?'

'Yes!' I said, accompanying him to Girolamo and the Countess to take our leave.

'You are very unkind, Checco,' said the Countess. 'You have not come near me the whole evening.'

'You have been so occupied,' he answered.

'But I am not now,' she replied, smiling.

'The moment I saw you free I came to you.'

'To say good–bye.'

'It is very late.'

'No, surely; sit down and talk to me.'

Checco did as he was bid, and I, seeing he meant to stay longer, sauntered off again in search of friends. The conversation between Checco and the Countess was rather hindered by the continual leave–takings, as the people began to go away rapidly, in groups. I sat myself down in a window with Matteo, and we began comparing notes of our evening; he told me of a new love to whom he had discovered his passion for the first time.

'Fair wind, foul wind?' I asked, laughing.

'She pretended to be very angry,' he said, 'but she allowed me to see that if the worst came to the worst she would not permit me to break my heart.'

I looked out into the room and found that everyone had gone, except Ercole Piacentini, who was talking to the Count in undertones.

'I am getting so sleepy,' said Matteo. We went forward to the Countess, who said, as she saw us come,—

'Go away, Matteo! I will not have you drag Checco away yet; we have been trying to talk to one another for the last half–hour, and now that we have the chance at last I refuse to be disturbed.'

'I would not for worlds rob Checco of such pleasure,' said Matteo; adding to me, as we retired to our window, 'What a nuisance having to wait for one's cousin while a pretty woman is flirting with him!'

'You have me to talk to—what more can you want!'

'I don't want to talk to you at all,' he answered, laughing.

Girolamo was still with Ercole. His mobile eyes were moving over the room, hardly ever resting on Ercole's face, but sometimes on us, more often on Checco. I wondered whether he was jealous.

At last Checco got up and said Good–night. Then Girolamo came forward.

'You are not going yet,' he said. 'I want to speak with you on the subject of those taxes.'

It was the first time he had mentioned them.

'It is getting so late,' said Checco, 'and these good gentlemen are tired.'

'They can go home. Really, it is very urgent.'

Checco hesitated, and looked at us.

'We will wait for you,' said Matteo.

Girolamo's eyes moved about here and there, never resting a moment, from Checco to me, from me to Matteo, and on to his wife, and then on again, with extraordinary rapidity—it was quite terrifying.

'One would think you were afraid of leaving Checco in our hands,' said the Countess, smiling.

'No,' returned Matteo; 'but I look forward to having some of your attention now that Checco is otherwise occupied. Will you let me languish?'

She laughed, and a rapid glance passed between her and the Count.

'I shall be only too pleased,' she said, 'come and sit by me, one on each side.'

The Count turned to Ercole.

'Well, good–night, my friend,' he said. 'Good–night!'

Ercole left us, and Girolamo, taking Checco's arm, walked up and down the room, speaking. The Countess and Matteo commenced a gay conversation. Although I was close to them I was left alone, and I watched the Count. His eyes fascinated me, moving ceaselessly. What could be behind them? What could be the man's thoughts that his eyes should never rest? They enveloped the person they looked at—his head, every feature of his face, his body, his clothes; one imagined there was no detail they had not caught; it was as if they ate into the very soul of the man.

The two men tramped up and down, talking earnestly; I wondered what they were saying. At last Girolamo stopped.

'Ah, well, I must have mercy on you; I shall tire you to death. And you know I do not wish to do anything to harm you.'

Checco smiled.

'Whatever difficulty there has been between us, Checco, you know that there has never on my part been any ill–feeling towards you. I have always had for you a very sincere and affectionate friendship.'

And as he said the words an extraordinary change came over him. The eyes, the mobile eyes, stopped still at last; for the first time I saw them perfectly steady, motionless, like glass; they looked fixedly into Checco's eyes, without winking, and their immobility was as strange as their perpetual movement, and to me it was more terrifying. It was as if Girolamo was trying to see his own image in Checco's soul.

We bade them farewell, and together issued out into the silence of the night; and I felt that behind us the motionless eyes, like glass, were following us into the darkness.