He became quite mad; it seemed to him that, as they leaned their heads together, they were kissing each other, there, before his eyes. “That is impossible in my presence,” he told himself; “my wits have gone astray. I must calm myself; if I behave rudely, the Duchessa is quite capable, simply out of injured vanity, of following him to Belgirate; and there, or on the way there, a chance word may be spoken which will give a name to what they now feel for one another; and after that, in a moment, all the consequences.
“Solitude will render that word decisive, and besides, once the Duchessa has left my side, what is to become of me? And if, after overcoming endless difficulties on the Prince’s part, I go and show my old and anxious face at Belgirate, what part shall I play before these people both mad with happiness?
“Here even what else am I than the terzo incomodo?” (That beautiful Italian language is simply made for love: Terzo incomodo, a third person when two are company.) What misery for a man of spirit to feel that he is playing that execrable part, and not to be able to muster the strength to get up and leave the room!
The Conte was on the point of breaking out, or at least of betraying his anguish by the discomposure of his features. When in one of his circuits of the room he found himself near the door, he took his flight, calling out, in a genial, intimate tone: “Goodbye, you two!—One must avoid bloodshed,” he said to himself.
The day following this horrible evening, after a night spent half in compiling a detailed sum of Fabrizio’s advantages, half in the frightful transports of the most cruel jealousy, it occurred to the Conte that he might send for a young servant of his own; this man was keeping company with a girl named Cecchina, one of the Duchessa’s personal maids, and her favourite. As good luck would have it, this young man was very sober in his habits, indeed miserly, and was anxious to find a place as porter in one of the public institutions of Parma. The Conte ordered the man to fetch Cecchina, his mistress, instantly. The man obeyed, and an hour later the Conte appeared suddenly in the room where the girl was waiting with her lover. The Conte frightened them both by the amount of gold that he gave them, then he addressed these few words to the trembling Cecchina, looking her straight in the face:
“Is the Duchessa in love with Monsignore?”
“No,” said the girl, gaining courage to speak after a moment’s silence. … “No, not yet, but he often kisses the Signora’s hands, laughing, it is true, but with real feeling.”
This evidence was completed by a hundred answers to as many furious questions from the Conte; his uneasy passion made the poor couple earn in full measure the money that he had flung them: he ended by believing what they told him, and was less unhappy. “If the Duchessa ever has the slightest suspicion of what we have been saying,” he told Cecchina, “I shall send your lover to spend twenty years in the fortress, and when you see him again his hair will be quite white.”
Some days elapsed, during which Fabrizio in turn lost all his gaiety.
“I assure you,” he said to the Duchessa, “that Conte Mosca feels an antipathy for me.”
“So much the worse for His Excellency,” she replied with a trace of temper.
This was by no means the true cause of the uneasiness which had made Fabrizio’s gaiety vanish. “The position in which chance has placed me is not tenable,” he told himself. “I am quite sure that she will never say anything, she would be as much horrified by a too-significant word as by an incestuous act. But if, one evening, after a rash and foolish day, she should come to examine her conscience, if she believes that I may have guessed the feeling that she seems to have formed for me, what part should I then play in her eyes? Nothing more nor less than the casto Giuseppe!” (An Italian expression alluding to the ridiculous part played by Joseph with the wife of the eunuch Potiphar.)
“Should I give her to understand by a fine burst of confidence that I am not capable of serious affection? I have not the necessary strength of mind to announce such a fact so that it shall not be as like as two peas to a gross impertinence. The sole resource left to me is a great passion left behind at Naples; in that case, I should return there for twenty-four hours: such a course is wise, but is it really worth the trouble? There remains a minor affair with someone of humble rank at Parma, which might annoy her; but anything is preferable to the appalling position of a man who will not see the truth. This course may, it is true, prejudice my future; I should have, by the exercise of prudence and the purchase of discretion, to minimise the danger.” What was so cruel an element among all these thoughts was that really Fabrizio loved the Duchessa far above anyone else in the world. “I must be very clumsy,” he told himself angrily, “to have such misgivings as to my ability to persuade her of what is so glaringly true!” Lacking the skill to extricate himself from this position, he grew sombre and sad. “What would become of me, Great God, if I quarrelled with the one person in the world for whom I feel a passionate attachment?” From another point of view, Fabrizio could not bring himself to spoil so delicious a happiness by an indiscreet word. His position abounded so in charm! The intimate friendship of so beautiful and attractive a
