Night Letters

Night

Letters

For m a n y years presenter o f the ABC's 'Books and Writing' p r o g r a m m e , Robert Dessaix is w e l l k n o w n as an essayist, translator and literary c o m m e n t a t o r . In 1 9 9 4 h e edited Australian Gay and Lesbian Writing: An Anthology for Oxford University Press and i n t h e s a m e year published to critical acclaim A Mother's Disgrace, an autobiographical a c c o u n t o f his life as an a d o p t e d c h i l d and his eventual m e e t i n g w i t h his natural m o t h e r . He lives i n M e l b o u r n e .

Praise for Night Letters 'This b o o k c o u l d just as easily b e c a l l e d A Thousand ami One Nights, for if Scheherezade s p u n o u t her e n c h a n t i n g tales t o stave off h e r o w n d e a t h , t h e narrator o f this o n e puts us under his spell i n o r d e r t o fight against his m o r ­ tality - a n d i n the process t o discover h i s o w n c o m p l e x i d e n t i t y as it is reflected b y m e n and w o m e n , Italian s e d u c e r s a n d G e r m a n p r o f e s s o r s , a n d e v e n the water and s t o n e o f Venice' - E d m u n d W h i t e 'Witty, erudite, full o f passion a n d c o n s o l a t i o n ' - A n n e C h i s h o l m , C ; B o o k s o f t h e Year 'A n o v e l at o n c e b a r o q u e a n d picaresque, i n t e r s p e r s e d w i t h w r y m e

-»

t i o n s a n d e x o t i c tales t o l d by f e l l o w - t r a v e l l e r s . T h o u g h t h e c o n t e x t is notably contemporary ( m o d e r n - d a y homosexuality a n d t h e subtext of AIDS, a c r u m b l i n g European v e n e e r a n d a c u l t u r e struggling t o r e i n v e n t itself), Dessaix's m i n d is a n attic filled w i t h t h e h e i r l o o m s o f a n o l d e r l i t e r ­ ary tradition, replete w i t h e l e m e n t s o f a Jacobean revenge tragedy, e c h o e s o f T h o m a s M a n n , bits o f Christian t h e o l o g y a n d mystic t h e o s o p h y a n d , o f course, Dante's quest for paradise. Dessaix i n v o k e s a vast artistic i n h e r i t a n c e that, i f ti fails t o c u r e o u r ills, c o n s t r u c t s a narrative s o r i c h t h a t o n e w i l l ­ ingly s u c c u m b s t o its vibrant, a n d i n f o r m e d , v o i c e ' — Publishers Weekly 'Wry, chatty and surprisingly c h e e r f u l discourses o n heaven a n d hell, s e d u c t i o n a n d sex . . . his central insight is h a r d w o n a n d m o v i n g : t h a t life m a y b e l i v e d best as a voyage, n o t t o get s o m e w h e r e o r t o a c c u m u l a t e e x p e r i e n c e s b u t t o savour e a c h m o m e n t ' - New York Times Book Review 'Witty, b e g u i l i n g , e v e n e n c h a n t i n g . . . w i t h its b r i o a n d i n t e l l i g e n c e , its m a r v e l l i n g awareness o f the w o n d e r s o f o u r w o r l d and its s h a r p e n e d s e n s e o f o u r o w n e p h e m e r a l place a m o n g t h e m , Night Letters is a l u m i n o u s g e m ' - San Francisco Chronicle 'Exhilarating. T h e goads, the teasing, t h e q u e s t i o n m a r k s fired u p i n t o t h e a t m o s p h e r e m a k e any passive reading o f it q u i t e i m p o s s i b l e ' - Sydney Morning Herald

N i g h t Letters

A journey through Switzerland and Italy Edited and annotated by Igor Miazmov

ARCADIA BOOKS London

Arcadia Books Ltd 15-16 Nassau Street London 'WIN 7RE First published 1996 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd Copyright © Robert Dessaix 1996 First published in Great Britain in 1998 Robert Dessaix has asserted his moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British library. ISBN 1-900850-12-5 Printed in Finland by WSOY Cover adapted from an original design by Mary Callahan Cover painting: Carpaccio, Lion of Saint Mark (Venice, Palazzo Ducale), detail Author photograph by Greg Noakes

Arcadia Books distributors are as follows: in the UK and elsewhere in Europe: Turnaround Publishers Services Unit 3, Olympia Trading Estate Coburg Road London N22 6TZ in the USA and Canada: Dufour Editions, Inc. PO Box 7 Chester Springs, PA 19425-0007 in Australia: Tower Books PO Box 213 Brookvale, NSW 2100 in New Zealand: Addenda Box 78224 Grey Lynn Auckland

For Peter T i m m s

Extracts from Dante's Divine Comedy are from Mark Musa's translation o f Inferno ( P e n g u i n , 1 9 7 4 ) a n d Purgatory ( P e n g u i n , 1 9 8 5 ) a n d

from

t h e translation o f Paradise b y D o r o t h y L. Sayers a n d Barbara R e y n o l d s (Penguin, 1 9 6 2 ) . 'Copacabana' b y M a n i l o w , F e l d m a n , S u s s m a n © C o p y r i g h t 1 9 9 1 Careers M u s i c a n d BMG M u s i c Publishing. P e r m i s s i o n g r a n t e d b y M u s i c Sales Pty Ltd. 'I W i l l Survive' b y Gloria Gaynor © C o p y r i g h t 1 9 7 8 , 1 9 7 9 B i b o M u s i c Publishers a n d P e r r e n - V i b e s M u s i c I n c . P e r m i s s i o n granted b y M u s i c Sales Pty Ltd. 'YMCA'. W o r d s a n d m u s i c : M o r a l i / B e l o l o / W i l l i s . Lyrics p r o d u c e d b y p e r m i s s i o n : SCORPIO M u s i c , France.

Contents

PARTI Locarno Letters 1 Notes 96

PART II Vicenza letters 101 Notes 202

PART III Padua Letters 207 Notes 274

All these letters (if that is indeed what these d o c u m e n t s are) were written i n a first-floor r o o m i n the Hotel Arcadia i n Venice to a correspondent in Melbourne. For literary reasons this correspondent must remain anonymous. I have grouped the letters under the headings 'Locarno Letters', 'Vicenza Letters' and 'Padua Letters' because, although recorded i n Venice, the reflections contained in t h e m appear t o arise quite specifically from the authors brief sojourn i n each o f these three cities. Some passages o f a deeply personal nature, as well as references to matters o f n o conceivable interest to anybody apart from close acquaintances (details o f m e n u s and rail­ way timetables, complaints about the weather and the rates o f exchange, amorous encounters and the like) have b e e n omitted from this edited version. I have also taken the liberty o f standardizing the English i n the reported speech o f certain Italians and Germans the author encountered. As a non-native speaker myself, I considered I was ideally equipped t o make the necessary sensitive adjustments. Igor Miazmov Melbourne, 1996

Midway along the journey o f our life I w o k e to find myself i n a dark w o o d , for I had wandered off from the straight path. H o w hard it is to tell w h a t it w a s like, this w o o d o f wilderness, savage and stubborn (the thought o f it brings back all m y o l d fears), a bitter place! Death could scarce be bitterer. But if I w o u l d s h o w the g o o d that c a m e o f it I must talk about things other than the g o o d . Dante, Inferno, Canto I

Illness is the night-side of l i f e . . . Susan Sontag, Illness as Metaphor

P A R T

I

Locarno Letters

Venice, April 1st STREAKING T H R O U G H t h e j u n g l e o n a g a u d y l e o p a r d , cape billowing o u t b e h i n d m e as if I w e r e aflame, I have o n m y h e a d ( m y greying pate) - a n d this is vital - a hat, a black, g a r g a n t u a n fedora w i t h a d r o o p i n g b r i m , a n d s t r e a m i n g f r o m o n e side o f it is a cassowary feather (of all t h i n g s ) . A flash o f r e d a n d b l u e — a n d I a m g o n e ! S h o u l d I explain? P e r h a p s I s h o u l d , b e c a u s e o f all t h e t h i n g s I w a n t t o tell y o u , w h y I ' m n o w astride a l e o p ­ a r d is, t o m e at least, t h e m o s t i m p o r t a n t . I n e v e r k n o w w h e r e t o start w h e n I e x p l a i n . W h e r e s h o u l d I d i v e in? B e g i n w i t h t h e first s e n t e n c e , w a s Sterne's advice, a n d t r u s t t o A l m i g h t y G o d for t h e s e c ­ ond.* Sterne w a s a n inspired buttonholer, b u t even h e h a d t o b e g i n s o m e w h e r e . I c o u l d b e g i n , for instance, r i g h t h e r e i n b l u e - v e i n e d Venice, w i t h h e r glassy sky a n d b l o t c h e d facades recalling o l d b r o c a d e . I c a n s m e l l h e r r o t t i n g i n t h e n i g h t o u t s i d e m y w i n d o w . I've b e e n h e r e a l m o s t a w e e k n o w . O n t h e first n i g h t I c o u l d n ' t resist f o l l o w i n g t h a t zigzagging r o u t e f r o m t h e s t a t i o n

Locarno Letters

across t o t h e Rialto B r i d g e a n d t h e n o n t o St Mark's Square. D o y o u k n o w w h a t it r e m i n d e d m e o f at night? Those enchanted mazes I used to b e taken to at Christmas as a child in o n e or other of the big d e p a r t ­ m e n t s t o r e s - all t h o s e b r i g h t l y c o l o u r e d displays o f dolls a n d masks, everything glinting a n d gleaming in t h e beautiful, m e n a c i n g darkness, I c o u l d n ' t b e a r t o c o m e o u t T h e n , w i t h t h e wave o f s o m e w a n d - b o o m ! y o u ' r e o u t o f t h e m a z e a n d i n St Mark's S q u a r e , vast a n d m a g n i f i c e n t t o t h e p o i n t o f absurdity. A n d g l a r i n g at m e f r o m t h e p i n n a c l e o f St Mark's facade across t h e s q u a r e — t h e g o l d e n w i n g e d H o n o f t h e saint a n d t h e city. N o o t h e r city i n t h e w o r l d g a t h e r s y o u t o itself, t o its very heart, q u i t e so abruptly, surely. Ever since t h a t first m o m e n t I've actually f o u n d myself s k i r t i n g St Mark's Square, p r e f e r r i n g t o m a k e m y w a y a r o u n d t h e city a l o n g m o r e i n t i m a t e alleyways, t h r o u g h passage­ w a y s b e n e a t h t h e h o u s e s a n d across t h o s e b a r e little campielli. I d o n ' t m i n d g e t t i n g lost. I c o u l d b e g i n i n P a d u a just as well, w i t h

the

m o m e n t w h e n I b e n t t o kiss St A n t h o n y ' s c o l d t o m b - y o u w o u l d n ' t have a p p r o v e d , I d o n ' t myself. Or, f u r ­ t h e r back, w i t h t h e glass b o x I sat i n o n Vicenza railway station all o n e n i g h t . O r even L o c a r n o w h e r e this m a r ­ v e l l o u s b o g u s b a r o n e s s o n c e lived, M a d a m e T z i k o s d e St Leger, w h o c l a i m e d t o b e t h e l o v e - c h i l d o f Czar A l e x a n d e r II a n d b u i l t a p a r a d i s e i n m i n i a t u r e - or, rather, grew it, all g r e e n s a n d a p r i c o t s a n d s m o k y p i n k s , o n a tiny island i n t h e m i d d l e o f a lake. I sat i n h e r G a r d e n o f E d e n all o n e day.

-5B u t p e r h a p s I s h o u l d b e g i n e v e n f u r t h e r b a c k still, before the idea of corning to Europe entered m y head. Perhaps I should begin w i t h the Annunciation. (In a way, that's h o w I've c o m e t o t h i n k o f it.)

It m u s t b e

t h e effect o f s t a r i n g i n r e c e n t days at all t h o s e d e l i c a t e Italian d r e a m s o f a stricken, q u e a s y - l o o k i n g Virgin, i n a p i n k o r m a u v i s h G o t h i c Nazareth, t a k i n g i n t h e n e w s . ' A n d . . . s h e w a s t r o u b l e d at h i s saying, a n d cast i n h e r m i n d w h a t m a n n e r o f salutation this s h o u l d be.' As w e l l s h e m i g h t . B u t d o w n s w o o p s t h e d o v e o n a shaft o f light t o c o m f o r t her. A n d t h e A r c h a n g e l Gabriel, like a g a u d y c o u r t i e r , w i t h h i s r e d a n d g r e e n feathers, o n a m i s s i o n t o h i s master's mistress, raises a finger ( o r s o m e t i m e s t w o ) as if t o a d m o n i s h h e r for h e r fear a n d says, eyes d o w n c a s t , as d e m u r e as s h e is: ' T h o u h a s t f o u n d favour w i t h G o d . And, b e h o l d , t h o u shalt c o n ­ ceive i n t h y w o m b . . . ' Fra Angelico's is t h e b e s t b y far t o m y e y e - s o s u m p t u o u s l y grave, so graceful a n d e n c l o s e d , so r i d d e n w i t h elegant anxiety. H i s Gabriel's w i n g s are a d i s a p p o i n t i n g b r o w n , that's t h e o n l y thing. T h e r e w a s n o t h i n g gaudy a b o u t m y Gabriel: h e w a s C h i n e s e a n d w o r e a n e a t l y pressed s h i r t a n d

an

i m m a c u l a t e blazer. N o r w e r e h i s tidings a blessing. N o r d i d a d o v e glide d o w n t o w a r d s m e o n a g o l d e n b e a m - m o r e a d r y - m o u t h e d raven w i t h little y e l l o w eyes o n a b o l t o f b l a c k lightning. I t w a s a s h o c k . I r e m e m b e r h o w o n c e , at n i g h t over T h a i l a n d , o n e e n g i n e o n o u r p l a n e b u r s t i n t o flame w i t h a bang. T h e r e w a s d e a d silence i n t h e cabin. A n d i n t h e space o f t w o s e c o n d s e v e r y t h i n g a r o u n d m e w a s seared i n t o m y

Locarno Letters m e m o r y : t h e hiss o f t h e a i r - v e n t , t h e c r u m b s o n m y sweater, t h e s e n t e n c e I w a s r e a d i n g w h e n t h e w i n d o w lit u p w i t h flame: ' I n P o r t M o r e s b y o v e r n i g h t t h e r e w e r e t w o m o r e r e p o r t s . . . ' It w a s a b i t like t h a t w h e n m y Gabriel s p o k e t o m e . I w a s h e a r i n g h i s w o r d s , h i s five-word

fiat,

b u t I w a s seeing h i s fine C h i n e s e skin

a n d r e a d i n g t h e r e d label o n a small b r o w n b o t t l e : KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN.

It w a s a c o m p l e t e b o l t f r o m t h e b l u e . I h a d just t h o u g h t I'd see w h a t they h a d t o say. It h a d b e e n a n o r d i ­ n a r y M e l b o u r n e m o r n i n g i n S e p t e m b e r - a bit showery, a p o t o f tea, toast a n d honey, n o t h i n g special. (Again, all t h o s e m u s e u m Virgins leap t o m i n d u n b i d d e n : t h e r e t h e y are, just sitting a r o u n d , a fat little b o o k i n their laps, n o t h i n g m u c h g o i n g o n , a n d t h e n s u d d e n l y this. 'But h o w shall this be,' they m u r m u r , a l o o k o f p i n c h e d suspicion o n t h e i r feces, 'seeing I k n o w n o t a m a n ? ' ) N o p o i n t i n m y m u r m u r i n g 'virum non cognosco'. o f c o u r s e . T h e first few s e c o n d s w e r e like a n ecstasy a r a p ­ t u r e , so p u r e I a l m o s t w a s n ' t t h e r e . I ' m w r i t i n g this d o w n b e c a u s e it's a m o m e n t o u r f r i e n d s d o n ' t s p e a k of, o u r w r i t e r s d o n ' t w r i t e a b o u t . C h a r a c t e r s i n b o o k s , o u r h u s b a n d s , n e i g h b o u r s , a u n t s , float i n

from

the

w i n g s already k n o w i n g , already c h a n g e d . It's a m o m e n t o f s u c h s o l i t u d e , s u c h n a k e d n e s s , so u t t e r l y u n l i k e a n y o t h e r , t h a t w e t e n d t o l o o k away f r o m it politely as f r o m a n obscenity. If it is o b s c e n e it's b e c a u s e it leaves u s shamelessly s t r i p p e d o f o u r l e a r n t h u m a n i t y , as a n i ­ m a l , as i n s t i n c t u a l as a n y m o n k e y . Yet it's a m o m e n t that c o m e s in the e n d to almost everyone.

-7Then I imploded. Some people probably explode at this p o i n t , b u r s t i n g i n t o tears, a w a s h w i t h a n g e r a n d regret a n d fear a n d i m p o t e n c e . I c a n i m a g i n e , t o o , d e s ­ perately w a n t i n g t o drag t i m e b a c k w a r d s just by a s e c o n d o r t w o a n d r e r u n t h e scene w i t h different d i a ­ logue, n o w , b e f o r e it's t o o late: 'It l o o k s like t h a t flu that's g o i n g a r o u n d . . . t h e w o o z i n e s s , t h e l a c k

of

a p p e t i t e . . . Take a few days off, I'll w r i t e y o u o u t a p r e ­ s c r i p t i o n . . . ' Please say it again like t h a t . Please. T h a t d i d flash t h r o u g h m y m i n d . B u t t h e s e c o n d s t i c k e d o n , carrying m e w i t h t h e m . And I imploded. C r u m p l i n g , f o u n d e r i n g , caving i n , I k e p t o n e eye o n t h e face across f r o m m e . T h e face w a s alertly s e r e n e i n a w a y I k n e w , e v e n at a m o m e n t like that, I liked. P l u m m e t i n g , I fixed m y eyes o n h i s eyes, as if h e w e r e p e e r i n g d o w n i n t o t h e w e l l I w a s falling f u r t h e r i n t o . W h a t w a s h e t h i n k i n g at this instant? W h a t d i d h e see? S o m e t h i n g h e ' d s e e n m a n y t i m e s before, obviously, r i g h t h e r e i n front o f Mosby's Dictionary of Medical Terms. I f o u n d t h e n a m e Mosby faintly irritating, I r e m e m b e r , a n d w o n d e r e d if it s h o u l d r e a d Mobsby. H e ' d said w h a t h e h a d t o say. N o w I m u s t say s o m e ­ t h i n g , call b a c k u p t o h i m . M y t h r o a t w a s full o f p h l e g m . I c o u g h e d , b u t said n o t h i n g . I felt d i s e m ­ bowelled. And then the gentle questioning began a n d I t r i e d t o call b a c k u p t o h i m , y e t felt t o o c r u s h e d t o speak. T h e r e w o u l d n e e d t o b e m o r e tests, h e said, t o m a k e q u i t e s u r e . To m a k e a b s o l u t e l y c e r t a i n . W o u l d I p r e f e r t o have t h e m d o n e i n a couple o f weeks' t i m e w h e n

Locarno Letters h e c a m e b a c k f r o m holidays? For s o m e r e a s o n I t h o u g h t I w o u l d . I briefly p i c t u r e d h i m at K a k a d u a m o n g s t t h e c r o c o d i l e s a n d brolgas. I s u p p o s e t h a t s l o w e d m y fall, b u t d i d n ' t really h a l t it, I w a s still s l i d ­ i n g d o w n w a r d s i n t o blackness. After o n l y six o r seven s e c o n d s I w a s already i n a n o t h e r w o r l d . It l o o k e d a n d s m e l t a n d s o u n d e d t h e s a m e as t h e o n e I'd

just

h u r t l e d o u t of, b u t it meant s o m e t h i n g devastatingly dif­ ferent. O n c e s o m e years ago i n Tbilisi, Georgia, I w e n t t o see a s p e l l b i n d i n g p e r f o r m a n c e at R e z o Gabriadze's famous Marionette Theatre. In the darkened, crowded r o o m o n l y o n e t h i n g w a s real: t h e brilliantly c o s t u m e d m e d i e v a l scene blazing w i t h life i n a m a g i c a l b o x at o n e e n d o f t h e r o o m . For a n h o u r o r t w o n o t h i n g existed for u s b u t this jerky, m a n y - h u e d d r e a m - w o r l d . Its d i m e n s i o n s w e r e o u r d i m e n s i o n s , its t i m e o u r t i m e . S u d d e n l y t h e lights c a m e o n , a c u r t a i n w a s t h r o w n b a c k a n d t h e r e stood t h e g r i n n i n g p u p p e t e e r s , d a n g l i n g t h e i r p r i n c e s a n d w i z a r d s like c o r p s e s f r o m t h e i r fin­ gers. T h e y w e r e m o n s t r o u s , g r o t e s q u e , like fairytale giants. W e s h r a n k b a c k i n o u r seats, g a s p i n g i n a l a r m a n d w o n d e r - a n d t h e n l a u g h e d at ourselves, o f course, a n d shuffled a n d b l e w o u r n o s e s a n d fitted o u r s e l v e s b a c k i n t o o u r b o d i e s . B u t I've n e v e r f o r g o t t e n t h a t i n s t a n t a n e o u s d e s t r u c t i o n o f a w a y o f seeing, t h e n a u ­ seating jolt, t h e feeling of foolishness, t h e spectacle o f g a r i s h lifelessness w h e r e , o n l y t h e b l i n k o f a n eye before, t h e r e h a d b e e n , n o t plaster o f Paris b u t presences. Well, that's h o w I felt n o w . Is a n y t h i n g o f w h a t I w a s feeling c o m i n g across?

-9There h a d b e e n the memento mori w i t h Basil, o f course, that day just a w e e k o r t w o before w h e n I'd c o m e h o m e from w o r k a n d k n e l t t o p a t h i m ( h e w a s i n t h e s p h i n x p o s i t i o n bassets favour, at Peter's feet) a n d Peter h a d l o o k e d d o w n from t h e c o m p u t e r screen a n d said:'Your d o g s n o t very lively t o d a y ' I n d e e d n o t — h e w a s dead, a l t h o u g h w e refused to take it i n for a few m i n u t e s a n d talked a b o u t o t h e r things—Japan, I s e e m t o r e m e m b e r - as if the t i m e h a d n o t yet c o m e t o face t h e t r u t h . T h e n I stroked h i s soft head, s m o o t h i n g b a c k t h e folds o f skin I'd always loved playing w i t h , a n d h i s eyes o p e n e d a n d they w e r e dead. Helpless tenderness a n d grief. A n d w h e n it g r e w dark, Peter w e n t o u t a n d b u r i e d h i m i n t h e v e g ­ etable p a t c h b e h i n d the house, sobbing bitterly. I couldn't r e m e m b e r w h e t h e r I'd said g o o d b y e p r o p e r l y t h a t m o r n i n g o r n o t , so I called o u t g o o d b y e n o w from t h e d o o r i n t o t h e g a r d e n - 'Bye bye, Bas,' it w a s just s o m e ­ t h i n g I used t o call o u t t o h i m as I left e a c h day. I n t h e larger s c h e m e o f things y o u k n o w it's o f n o c o n s e q u e n c e - i n fact, d e a t h h a d c o m e kindly, w i t h n o p a i n o r fuss - b u t still y o u feel w o u n d e d a n d bereft. A n d r e m i n d e d . I t h o u g h t t h e n t h a t for Peter t h e r e w a s a s t r e n g t h , e v e n a c o m f o r t , i n b e i n g able t o say, as h e said t o m e later t h a t evening, 'Basil isn't.' Basils d e a d eyes c a m e b a c k t o stare at m e i n t h o s e first few seconds, n o t m e n a c i n g l y b u t as if t o say, ' T h i s is w h a t h e means.' After a w h i l e I r e m e m b e r saying s o m e t h i n g a b o u t n o t w a n t i n g t o g o t h r o u g h it all - I'd s e e n t h e s l o w decay a n d w a s t i n g away, as m a n y o f u s have, w a t c h e d t h e face b e c o m e a skull a n d t h e m i n d

Locarno Letters go haywire a n d worse - a n d at that m o m e n t I o p e n e d m y m o u t h a n d said I t h o u g h t I m i g h t t r y t o find a w a y t o avoid all t h a t , t h e r e w a s n o p o i n t . At t h a t m o m e n t , y o u see, I t h o u g h t y o u h a d t o c h o o s e b e t w e e n

fight­

i n g a n d giving i n , I h a d n o i d e a t h e r e w a s a n o t h e r way. It w a s o d d w a l k i n g o u t p a s t p e o p l e r e a d i n g m a g a ­ zines, t a l k i n g o n t h e t e l e p h o n e , r u m m a g i n g i n t h e i r bags a n d p e e l i n g M a r s Bars as if n o t h i n g h a d h a p p e n e d . W h a t s t r u c k m e w a s t h a t t h e y all t h o u g h t t h e y w e r e going s o m e w h e r e , t h e y w e r e all facing the front. D o n ' t y o u ever t h i n k , w h e n y o u see a b u s g o by, w i t h all t h o s e p e o p l e sitting u p i n it facing t h e front, t h e i r h a i r c o m b e d , t h e i r tickets i n t h e i r p o c k e t s , t h e i r s h o e s c h o ­ s e n t o m a t c h t h e i r coats, t h a t they think they're going somewhere? A n d t h a t it's l u d i c r o u s ? I e x p e c t y o u e i t h e r d o or you don't. I do. I w a l k e d d o w n t o t h e car w h e r e Peter w a s w a i t i n g b e h i n d t h e w h e e l . I d i d n ' t w a n t t h e m o m e n t ever t o a r r i v e , b u t k e p t w a l k i n g t o w a r d s it, o f c o u r s e . I c o u l d see h i m t h r o u g h t h e w i n d s c r e e n as I g o t closer, r e a d ­ i n g t h e p a p e r . I n just a few s e c o n d s I w o u l d h a v e t o w r e n c h h i m o u t o f t h a t life h e w a s sitting i n . I n s o m e s o r t o f w a y - a n d I d o n ' t m e a n t o s o u n d overly d r a ­ m a t i c , b u t finding t h e r i g h t w o r d s is difficult - I w a s a b o u t t o m a k e h i m sad forever. I've felt u n e a s y a b o u t w h i t e cars ever since, j u s t faintly, d e e p b e l o w t h e surface. W h i t e cars a n d t h a t m o m e n t are i n t e r t w i n e d . I o p e n e d t h e door, g o t i n a n d r e a c h e d for t h e s e a t - b e l t . O t h e r cars a n d t r u c k s w e r e s t r e a m i n g b y a n d , i n t h e s u d d e n sunlight, t h e w e t street

-11 w a s garish a n d noisy. "Well, w h a t d i d h e say?' P e t e r asked, folding t h e n e w s p a p e r a n d t h r o w i n g it over o n t o t h e b a c k seat. I scarcely h e s i t a t e d . ' H e says I've g o t it,' I said, using w o r d s that h a d only ever b e l o n g e d t o o t h e r p e o p l e , o u t t h e r e , n e v e r u s . ' H e says h e h a s t o d o m o r e tests, b u t he's s u r e . I feel he's sure.' T h e r e w a s - w e l l , y o u c a n i m a g i n e — a l o n g silence. Cars s w i s h e d b y i n t h e glare, a b i k e o r t w o . S o m e o n e l a u g h e d a b r u p t l y s o m e w h e r e just b e h i n d u s . A n d t h e n , w i t h o u t any practice, P e t e r said t h e m o s t m a r v e l l o u s t w o t h i n g s - n o s q u e e z e o f t h e h a n d , n o kiss, n o b a n a l sympathy, n o t even ' I ' m so sorry'. M u c h b e t t e r t h a n t h a t he

gently s a i d — a n d

it's given m e

immeasurable

s t r e n g t h : 'Well, first o f all, I'll stay b e s i d e y o u all t h e way. A n d t h e o t h e r t h i n g is t h a t I'll b e alright.' I b l i n k e d a b i t w e t l y a n d felt a w o n d e r f u l l i g h t e n ­ ing. I t o o k a d e e p b r e a t h . I'll be alright. T h a t w a s n ' t w h a t y o u w e r e s u p p o s e d t o say at all, n o t first off. B u t it w a s just right. T h e n w e w h e e l e d a r o u n d a n d w e n t h o m e , t e e t e r i n g b e t w e e n saying n o t h i n g a n d saying everything w e ' d never said. At h o m e I g o t sicker a n d it w a s a b i t o f a n i g h t m a r e , especially w i t h t h e d o g d e a d . Hellish, really. You d o n ' t w a n t t o k n o w a b o u t all that, I ' m sure, n o t r i g h t n o w . Besides, it's all b e e n said b e f o r e i n a t h o u s a n d different ways.

H o w heavy Venice is t o n i g h t . I c a n s m e l l it a n d h e a r it b e t t e r t h a n I c a n see it, a l t h o u g h if I p e e r t o t h e r i g h t o u t m y w i n d o w I c a n see a l i n e o f s i n k i n g palaces

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s t r e t c h i n g away d o w n t h e G r a n d Canal like a d i m l y lit, s o d d e n tapestry: T h e air is glassy a n d c o l d a n d full of clankings

and

thuddings

and

angry

motors.

My

G e r m a n professor is just crossing t h e b r i d g e t o w a r d s m e , t o p c o a t tightly b u t t o n e d as usual, scarf r i g h t u p a r o u n d h i s c h i n . N o b e r e t t o n i g h t . After a w i n t e r i n D o r t m u n d o r Stuttgart h e p r o b a b l y t h i n k s Venice is q u i t e m i l d . I w o n d e r w h e r e he's b e e n . He's d i s a p p e a r e d i n t o t h e foyer u n d e r n e a t h m y w i n d o w . I e x p e c t he's c o m p l a i n i n g a b o u t s o m e t h i n g again i n t h a t c o u r t e o u s , a l m o s t o v e r - r e f i n e d w a y h e has, o n e h a n d firmly g r i p ­ p i n g h i s s p l e n d i d black u m b r e l l a - t h e h e a t i n g , h i s laundry, t h e light o n t h e stairs, there's s u r e t o b e s o m e ­ thing. T h e d a r k - e y e d clerk — Angelo, I expect, at t h i s h o u r - will b e impertinently unhelpful, of course, a n d theatrically o f f - h a n d , w h i c h t h e professor e x p e c t s a n d takes a p e r v e r s e p l e a s u r e i n - I've w a t c h e d h i m at it several t i m e s . N o w he's c o m i n g u p t h e stairs, u m b r e l l a tapping o n the marble. His d o o r has snapped shut a n d he's sealed i n for t h e n i g h t . W h y d o p e o p l e like t h e professor c o m e s o u t h ? I n t h e breakfast r o o m t o m o r ­ r o w m o r n i n g , h i s b a c k t o t h e v i e w o u t across t h e b u s y e m b a n k m e n t , he'll s n a p o p e n h i s Frankfurter Allgemeine a n d start telling m e yet again h o w ' d e g e n e r a t e ' t h e Italians have b e c o m e ( o n e o f h i s favourite w o r d s ) — h e ' l l have s o m e awful e x p e r i e n c e t o r e c o u n t t o m e t o p r o v e h i s p o i n t . Civil society, h e ' l l say, h i s eye o n y o u n g E m i l i o w h o dispenses t h e coffee, h a s all b u t d i s a p ­ p e a r e d s o u t h o f t h e Alps. Yet h e s e e m s t o c o m e h e r e y e a r after year. It's a b i t o f a mystery.

Venice, 2nd April F O R YEARS I've h a d a c h i l d i s h fantasy w h i c h goes like this: o n e m o r n i n g I get u p a n d say t o myself, 'Today's t h e day.' (Significantly, this for m e is also w h a t t h e s u i ­ cide says w h e n t h e t i m e seems at last right, w h e n

finally

there's n o w h e r e left t o h i d e . ) W i t h o u t h u r r y i n g I p a c k a few t h i n g s i n a c a r r y - b a g - a l e a t h e r o n e , p l a i n b u t s m a r t i s h - s a u n t e r d o w n t o t h e t r a m - s t o p at t h e e n d o f t h e street (it's vital t h e r e b e n o sense o f b e i n g pressed) a n d sail off t o S p e n c e r Street Station as if I w e r e t a k i n g t h e m o r n i n g off t o d o a b i t o f s h o p p i n g i n t h e city. T h e r e at t h e s t a t i o n t h e real a d v e n t u r e begins. I l o o k at t h e i n d i c a t o r b o a r d t o see w h e r e trains are b o u n d

for a n d c o n s i d e r w h e r e

I might

go:

Adelaide? W a n g a r a t t a ? W a r r n a m b o o l ? G u i d e d b y a n i n f i n i t u d e o f tiny i m p u l s e s p u s h i n g m e this w a y a n d t h a t - m y p e n c h a n t for W s, for e x a m p l e , o r a s u d d e n p i c t u r e o f a m b l i n g u p Wangaratta's m a i n street o n e s u n n y m o r n i n g m o n t h s b e f o r e — I g o to W a n g a r a t t a . I n o s e a b o u t , drifting deliciously, c a t c h a b u s t o Albury,

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fly t o Sydney, e x a m i n e t h e i n d i c a t o r b o a r d at S y d n e y a i r p o r t , w a t c h H a r a r e a n d Osaka a n d A t h e n s a n d C o l o m b o n i c k i n g over, g o t o t h e ticket c o u n t e r w h e r e , p u s h e d a n d p u l l e d again b y m e m o r i e s so t a n g l e d I c o u l d never u n r a v e l t h e m all, I o p e n m y m o u t h a n d startle myself b y saying: 'Osaka.' F r o m Osaka t h e w a y s b r a n c h o u t o n c e m o r e , fork a n d fork again, a n d I a m b o r n e a l o n g o n m e m o r y , association, feeling

and

c h a n c e . Choice a n d w i l l assume a n e w m e a n i n g , s o m e ­ t h i n g closer t o desire - t h e desire to b e , o f c o u r s e , n o t t o have. I o n c e saw a film (I t h i n k it w a s G e o r g i a n ) a b o u t a p a i n t e d c h i n a p l a t e . T h i s plate, as I r e m e m b e r , sat t h r o u g h feuds a n d love-affairs a n d w a r s , w a s passed f r o m family t o family, f r o m c o u n t r y t o country, w a s d r o p p e d a n d c h i p p e d a n d lost a n d s t o l e n - it just was, i n t h e desiring eye o f t h e

film-maker.

I loved that film.

And I once m e t a m a n w h o claimed that sometimes, just t o take a h o l i d a y f r o m life, he'd seize o n s o m e o n e i n a c r o w d - a n y o n e , a m a n i n a b l u e coat, say - a n d f o l l o w h i m for h o u r s , o n a n d off trains, i n a n d o u t o f shops, i n lifts, across p a r k s . . . a n d w h a t u n b e a r a b l e bliss it w a s , for reasons h e c o u l d n ' t explain. It w a s like w a k ­ i n g u p w i t h o u t a self i n a n u n k n o w n country, h e said, w h i c h d i d n ' t e n l i g h t e n m e m u c h at t h e t i m e . T h i s is h o w I c o m e t o b e h e r e i n Venice t o n i g h t , y o u see. M o r e o r less. A n d , b e f o r e that, P a d u a . A n d , b e f o r e that, Vicenza, L o c a r n o a n d Z u r i c h . I t w a s t i m e , I d e c i d e d , t o live o u t m y fantasy, t o taste bliss w h i l e I c o u l d . A n d t h e r e still is a k i n d o f m a g i c for

the

- 15a n t i p o d e a n traveller i n s e t t i n g off f r o m h o m e i n t h e late a f t e r n o o n o n e day, b l u n d e r i n g a b o u t for a n h o u r o r t w o at s o m e S o u t h - E a s t Asian a i r p o r t i n t h e m i d ­ dle o f a n i n t e r m i n a b l e n i g h t , t o arrive as t h e s u n c o m e s u p n e x t m o r n i n g i n E u r o p e . It's a p r o f o u n d l y Taoist e x p e r i e n c e , especially (I i m a g i n e ) i n First Class: v o i d ­ ing o f t h e self, s u b m i s s i o n t o T h e Way, b o t h B e i n g a n d Doing quite o u t of your hands.* To tell y o u t h e t r u t h , I w i s h I'd d o n e it s o o n e r . I've lived m y life far t o o timidly, I n o w t h i n k , l o o k i n g b a c k N o t blandly, b u t t a k i n g t o o few risks. W h e n t h e r o a d h a s forked, I've a l m o s t always t a k e n t h e b e t t e r - l i t , b e t t e r - p a v e d way, a l t h o u g h I n o w suspect it's often t h e o t h e r way, t h e g r u b b y l a n e o r p a t h t h r o u g h t h e w o o d s , w h i c h m o s t ( I ' m searching for a grittier p h r a s e b u t fear I ' m left w i t h ) e n r i c h y o u r h u m a n i t y . Paradoxically, s p e a k i n g o f g r u b b y lanes: w h e n w e c a m e b a c k t o t h e h o u s e t h a t m o r n i n g f r o m t h e clinic, a n d w e r e s t a n d i n g n u m b l y w h e r e t h e breakfast t h i n g s a n d n e w s p a p e r s w e r e still lying like t h e stage-set

from

a different play, Peter t u r n e d t o m e a n d said: 'I d o n ' t i n a n y w a y b l a m e y o u . You c h o s e t o have a d v e n t u r e s . You w e r e u n l u c k y . I w a s n ' t . You w o u l d n ' t h a v e w a n t e d t o live y o u r life w i t h o u t t h o s e adventures.' N o b l a m e , n o pity. A fair e x c h a n g e - 1 t h i n k . I c a m e t o Z u r i c h , i n o t h e r w o r d s , m u c h as S t e r n e c a m e t o Calais, if y o u r e m e m b e r : for n o clear r e a s o n I a r r i v e d , p u t u p at a h o t e l , e n g a g e d o n e o r t w o p e o ­ p l e i n light b a n t e r a n d left.* O v e r l o o k i n g t h e hostilities b e t w e e n F r a n c e a n d England, S t e r n e s p e n t a n a l m o s t

Locarno Letters

perfectly eventless day i n Calais (an e n c o u n t e r w i t h t h e i n n k e e p e r , a m o n k a n d a lady w i t h 'a pleasurable d u c ­ tility a b o u t h e r ' ) a n d f o u n d t h e e x p e r i e n c e o f it fascinating. H i s gift, as h e k n e w , w a s a n infectious curiosity - a g e n t l e m a n ' s , b u t c u r i o s i t y n o n e t h e l e s s . 'Was I i n a desert,' h e w r o t e , 'I w o u l d find o u t w h e r e ­ w i t h i n it t o call f o r t h m y affections.' Arriving in Zurich you're deeply conscious that in essence n o t h i n g h a s h a p p e n e d t o y o u . I d o u b t anything can h a p p e n t o y o u i n Z u r i c h , a n y t h i n g s p o n t a n e o u s , that is, a n y t h i n g rash o r instinctual. A n d I've never b e e n a n y w h e r e so clothed i n m y life. As I w a l k e d beside t h e s p l e n d i d lake, against t h e s p l e n d i d b a c k d r o p o f spires a n d p r i n c e l y b a n k s a n d dwellings, I m a r v e l l e d at t h e clothes: t h e a s t r a k h a n coats, t h e fine w o o l l e n jackets, t h e tweeds, t h e silks, t h e linens, t h e m o h a i r scarves, the graceful b o o t s a n d shapely shoes, t h e gloves, h a t s a n d b e r e t s , t h e caps a n d capes a n d s w e a t e r s . . . Z u r i c h w a s s w a t h e d f r o m t o p t o toe, a n d t h e r e f o r e o d d l y flesh less. Later, i n a n o a k - p a n e l l e d coffee s h o p n e a r t h e station, w h e n a l o n g - t h r o a t e d I n d i a n leant over a n d s p o k e t o m e , it w a s like b e i n g sniffed at b y a n e x o t i c a n i m a l . ' I ' m a poet,' h e said, b r e a t h i n g o n m e spicily. ' D o y o u like p o e t r y ? ' 'Yes, some,' I said, c h a r m e d , b u t also vaguely a l a r m e d lest h e suddenly start reading a lot o f it o u t t o m e . T h e r e w a s a q u i v e r o f a s m i l e . S p r e a d o u t i n front o f h i m a m o n g s t the c u p s a n d ashtray w a s a n a s s o r t m e n t o f red, yellow, g r e e n a n d violet s h e e t s o f paper, covered i n m i n u t e calligraphy. ' W o u l d y o u like t o h e a r o n e ? ' h e

-17asked, g l a n c i n g u p . I ' l l translate it for y o u as I go.' H e d r e w a pile o f violet sheets t o w a r d s h i m , b r u s h i n g ash a n d d r o p s o f coffee off t h e m o n t o t h e floor w i t h long, e l e g a n t fingers. ' W h y t h e different c o l o u r s ? ' 'It's a q u e s t i o n o f m o o d . Different c o l o u r s have dif­ ferent energies, y o u see, a n d e a c h c o l o u r sets u p its o w n v i b r a t i o n s i n t h e soul.' H e b e n t over h i s p o e m s again a n d r a n a h a n d t h r o u g h h i s heavy, straight hair. 'Red, for e x a m p l e , is always for love p o e m s , g r e e n is for n a t u r e p o e m s — rivers, fishes, b i r d s a n d also b a t s - a n d y e l l o w is for p o e m s a b o u t city life. I have a w h o l e suite o f p o e m s a b o u t a b u s - d r i v e r , they are o n y e l l o w paper. B l u e is for t h e d r e a m i n g side.' ' A n d violet?' ' D r e a m i n g w i t h love also.' 1 see.' Raju - t h a t w a s t h e n a m e h e later w r o t e d o w n o n t h e b a c k o f a b u s - t i c k e t , a d d i n g a n illegible a d d r e s s i n M y s o r e - cleared h i s t h r o a t a n d r e a d : T h e m a t i n g cranes' cries p i e r c e d t h e hunter. His b o w - s t r i n g d r a w n taut, h e let fly h i s swift arrow. W i t h p o i s o n e d delight, as his shaft f o u n d its target, H e d r e a m t o f h i s love, pale breast heaving, B l e e d i n g o n silk, faithless a r m s r o u n d h e r lover, Twice pierced.

' T h a t s o u n d s m o r e t o m e like a r e d p o e m , ' I said, a little ungraciously. Raju i g n o r e d m y r e m a r k a n d

Locarno Letters p i c k e d u p a n o t h e r violet sheet. 'Listen, please.' Do not think that behind your fluttering ivory fan, Beneath your saffron and sandal paste, your swishing silks And your bangles clucking at m e like pigeons, I cannot see your breasts like bowls of beaten gold, Your eager, amber thighs, n o r hear your lilting cries, Nor smell your stickiness, n o r that I don't yearn To nudge your fan aside a n d make my trembling way Inside your soft frenzy. ' O h , certainly m o r e r e d t h a n b l u e , t h a t one,' I said. ' O f c o u r s e , t o a p p r e c i a t e m y p o e m s y o u really h a v e t o b e familiar w i t h Sanskrit poetry. Are y o u ? ' ' N o t familiar, no.' 'Haven't y o u even r e a d The Bhagavadgita?' ' N o , I ' m afraid I haven't.' 'A pity. I have r e a d t h e Bible.' ' D i d y o u enjoy it?' 'Parts o f it are v e r y good.' It w a s o n t h e t i p o f m y t o n g u e t o ask w h i c h parts, because t h e a n s w e r is always s o revealing: t h e m o m e n t o f betrayal, Calvary, t h e r a i s ­ i n g o f Lazarus, t h e p o o l at B e t h e s d a - it's very telling. B u t I t h o u g h t b e t t e r o f it a n d fiddled w i t h t h e sugar. T h e n h e talked a little a b o u t Mysore, w h i c h h e missed, a n d I r e m e m b e r e d sitting at n i g h t o n c e i n t h e sweet, fetid air i n a s q u a r e i n M y s o r e , c h i n k i n g s y r u p y tea i n t h e inky blackness a n d listening t o w a t e r trickling from a t a p i n t h e w a l l b e h i n d m e a n d bats s q u e a k i n g q u e r u ­ lously i n

t h e gigantic b a n y a n

filling

the

square.

-19Gook-gook, s o m e t h i n g k e p t calling f r o m t h e l a b y r i n t h o f b r a n c h e s o v e r h e a d , gook-gook, gook-gook. W h i t i s h fig­ u r e s m o v e d a b o u t i n t h e d a r k n e s s , bicycle b e l l s r a n g , a r a d i o crackled quietly. I c o u l d have sat t h e r e till d a w n . 'Did y o u like M y s o r e ? ' Raju asked. 'Yes, I d i d . It h a d a special k i n d o f a t m o s p h e r e . ' I c o u l d n ' t t h i n k h o w t o e x p l a i n w h a t it w a s a b o u t M y s o r e t h a t h a d cast a p a r t i c u l a r spell o n m e . ' I n its way,' I said, still playing w i t h t h e sugar, 'I f o u n d it q u i t e erotic. Do you k n o w w h a t I m e a n ? ' 'Erotic? Sexy?' ' N o , n o t really. A l m o s t t h e opposite.' Raju l o o k e d s u r p r i s e d . ' W h a t is t h e difference?' 'Well, t h e e r o t i c , it s e e m s t o m e , is always at o n e r e m o v e . O r t w o r e m o v e s o r even three.' 'From what?' 'Well, I s u p p o s e f r o m t h e sexual act. Like d a n c i n g o r h a n d s o r a c e r t a i n w a y o f talking. O r s m o k i n g a cigarette.' Raju w a s q u i t e u n f a z e d . 'But p e r h a p s t h e sexual act is also at o n e r e m o v e - o r t w o o r t h r e e - from s o m e ­ t h i n g else?' 'From what?' 'For t h e a n s w e r t o that,' h e said, s m o k e t r i c k l i n g from

h i s nostrils, ' y o u ' d n e e d t o h e a r m o r e o f m y

poetry.' 'The red?' ' R e d o r violet.' O n m y way back to the hotel through the late-night Z u r i c h streets w i t h t h e i r q u i e t t r a m s a n d p u r r i n g cars

Locarno Letters a n d softly lit w i n d o w s , I s t o p p e d o u t s i d e a stationer's s h o p . Ever since c h i l d h o o d stationers' s h o p s have filled m e w i t h w a r m feelings. I often w a n d e r i n just t o s m e l l t h e dry, p a p e r y smells, p i c k u p p a d s a n d n o t e b o o k s a n d eye t h e g r a d e d r o w s o f i n k s . People's lives are p o u r e d o u t o n t o all this, n e w b e g i n n i n g s i n t h e air. T h i s s h o p g l o w e d . It g l e a m e d . F r o m t h e exquisitely s h a r p e n e d p e n c i l s a n d l e a t h e r - b o u n d diaries i n t h e w i n d o w t o t h e trays o f c o l o u r e d c a r d b o a r d a n d r e a m s o f s n o w y p a p e r at t h e back, every i n c h o f this s h o p s p o k e o f o r d e r e d p r o s p e r i t y a n d w e l l - o i l e d wheels, o f lives lived comfortably, t i m e t a b l e s observed a n d slender g o l d n i b s p r e s s i n g i n t o t h i c k b o n d . It a t t r a c t e d m e , b u t n o t s e r i ­ ously. S o m e t h i n g w a s missing. It l o o k e d e m b a l m e d , n o p u l s e . T h e n all o f a s u d d e n a d r u n k l u r c h e d i n t o m e - quite well-dressed, moustachio'd - m u m b l e d s o m e ­ t h i n g a n d sat d o w n heavily.

And I thought

of

s o m e t h i n g Raju h a d said b a c k i n t h e c o f f e e - h o u s e , w h i l e l e c t u r i n g m e o n t h e evils o f m e a t - e a t i n g a n d ' w i n e - b i b b i n g ' , as h e called i t : ' W h e r e is t h e i r passion?' A n d h e r e he'd e m b r a c e d t h e w h o l e o f S w i t z e r l a n d i n a s w e e p i n g gesture a r o u n d t h e r o o m . ' I n s t e a d o f p a s ­ s i o n t h e y get d r u n k a n d e v e n c r o w a b o u t it. T h e y o n l y h a v e p a s s i o n for b a n k n o t e s , a n d even that's n o t p a s ­ s i o n , it's lust.' H e himself, o f course, s o m e m i g h t say, w a s in Z u r i c h for t h e m o n e y Still, r e m e m b e r i n g h i s w o r d s , I felt I k n e w w h a t w a s m i s s i n g f r o m t h e s t a ­ t i o n e r ' s s h o p . A n d I b e g a n t o feel t h a t it w o u l d v e r y shortly b e time to h e a d further south. S p e a k i n g o f w h i c h , Professor E s c h e n b a u m * w a s

-21 o d d l y d i s t r a c t e d at breakfast this m o r n i n g , I t h o u g h t , h i s c o l o u r r a t h e r h e c t i c a n d h i s m o v e m e n t s strangely u n t e t h e r e d (if that's t h e r i g h t w o r d ) - he's u s u a l l y so c o m p o s e d . O f course, h i s luggage is still missing, w h i c h m u s t b e t e r r i b l y u n s e t t l i n g , a n d h e g r u m b l e s a b o u t it constantly. All t h e same, h e h a d a full

programme

m a p p e d o u t for h i m s e l f for t h e day: t h e G h e t t o , w h i c h w a s a p p a r e n t l y t h e first g h e t t o i n E u r o p e - sealed off at dusk, t h e d r a w b r i d g e s closed, t h e gates l o c k e d f r o m t h e outside, even t h e w i n d o w s s h u t - ' t h e o r i g i n a l p r o ­ phylactic space', t h e Professor called it; t h e n t h e Doges' Palace - h e h a s a p a r t i c u l a r i n t e r e s t i n t h e p r i s o n cells called t h e Leads o n t h e far side o f t h e B r i d g e o f Sighs, t h e o n e s Casanova m i r a c u l o u s l y escaped f r o m - h e s e e m s very k n o w l e d g e a b l e a b o u t t h e Casanova legend; a n d , finally, t h e T i n t o r e t t o s at t h e Scuola d i San R o c c o . I h a d t o a d m i t I h a d n o real p l a n s for t h e day at all. I c o u l d see h e t h o u g h t this w a s s o m e k i n d o f m o r a l fail­ i n g i n m e . I w a s t e m p t e d t o t r y t o e x p l a i n w h y I've lost i n t e r e s t i n s c h e d u l e s a n d itineraries, b u t I d i d n ' t feel w e ' d really r e a c h e d t h e level o f i n t i m a c y w h e r e I c o u l d say t h e t h i n g s I'd n e e d t o say. It's b e e n very n o t i c e a b l e , t h o u g h : n o w t h a t t i m e s e e m s severely l i m ­ ited,

I've

lost

interest

in

ticking

things

off,

in

a c c u m u l a t i n g credit, i n 'laying u p treasures' o f any k i n d . F u n n i l y e n o u g h , I'd have t h o u g h t t h e o p p o s i t e . B u t n o , t i m e n o w is for beguiling, n o t for s p e n d i n g profitably.

Venice, 3rd April I WAS I N t h a t s m a l l local t r a i n t h a t c h u g s u p t h e v a l ­ ley

from

Locarno

to

Intragna,

such

a

dour,

s t o n y - l o o k i n g valley after t h e l u s h n e s s o f t h e lakeside at L o c a r n o - t h e p a l m s , t h e m a g n o l i a s , t h e m y r t l e s a n d gardenias, t h e d a m p , w a r m air. I'd d e c i d e d t o g o a n d see Patricia H i g h s m i t h * w h o lives at Tegna, h a r d l y a quarter of an h o u r u p the line. I t h o u g h t she m i g h t h a v e i n t e r e s t i n g t h i n g s t o say a b o u t d e a t h , h a v i n g d e s c r i b e d it f r o m every c o n c e i v a b l e angle. Sitting o p p o s i t e m e w a s a s m a r t l y dressed w o m a n i n h e r s i x ­ ties o r seventies w i t h soft, grey h a i r a n d a r e d a n d w h i t e silk scarf at h e r t h r o a t . I h a r d l y g l a n c e d at her, t o tell t h e t r u t h , S w i t z e r l a n d b e i n g full o f reserved, s m a r t l y attired older w o m e n , as y o u k n o w . I d i d n o t i c e h e r take a c o p y o f H i g h s m i t h ' s Little Tales of Misogyny o u t o f h e r bag, b u t that k i n d o f c o i n c i d e n c e d o t s all m y days, e s p e ­ cially w h e n I travel, a n d I gave it little t h o u g h t . T h e n t h e bizarrest t h i n g c a u g h t m y eye: p i n n e d t o t h e lapel o f h e r w e l l - c u t w h i t e l i n e n jacket w a s a tiny g o l d

-23b r o o c h . I t s t r u c k m e as r a t h e r I n d i a n i n its d e s i g n a n d I l o o k e d across at it m o r e carefully: it w a s a h u g e l y e n d o w e d m a l e c o p u l a t i n g w i t h a l a r g e - l i m b e d female, all i n exquisitely fine

detail—every bead

in

the

bracelets, every t o e p i c k e d o u t . I t w a s g l i n t i n g i n t h e sun. 'Lei sta guardando il mio amuleto,' s h e said w i t h a s m i l e . *E bello, vero?' 'Very striking,' I said. 'Is it I n d i a n ? ' ' A l m o s t certainly, b u t possibly not,' s h e said, still s m i l i n g i n a n u n d i s t u r b e d , a m u s e d s o r t o f way. 'It b e l o n g e d t o la baronessa, so it's h a r d t o say exactly.' ' W h i c h b a r o n e s s w o u l d t h a t b e ? ' I asked, still s t a r ­ t l e d b y t h e refined o b s c e n i t y o f t h e a m u l e t a d o r n i n g t h e ladylike, n o t t o say p r i m figure seated o p p o s i t e m e . She l a u g h e d . ' W h i c h b a r o n e s s ? You c a n ' t h a v e b e e n h e r e very long. H e r e t h e r e is o n l y o n e baronessa.' For a m o m e n t she studied m e a n d seemed disinclined to go o n . 'Haven't y o u h e a r d o f t h e Baroness d e St Léger?' I said n o , I h a d n ' t . 'She lived o n t h e Brissago Islands n e a r Ascona. H a v e n ' t y o u b e e n t h e r e yet? Paradise. A n d s h e c r e a t e d it all herself. You s h o u l d go.' I agreed, paradise b e i n g s o m e t h i n g t h a t interests m e . 'She w a s t h e d a u g h t e r o f a czar, y o u k n o w . O r s o t h e y say.' ' W h a t czar?' I asked. 'A Russian czar, naturally. Alexander II, t o b e precise.' 'It s o u n d s unlikely.' 'Everything a b o u t t h e Baroness w a s unlikely. D o y o u

Locarno Letters

believe i n ghosts, for e x a m p l e ? O n t h e n i g h t b e f o r e C h r i s t m a s every y e a r she d u e l l e d w i t h h e r h u s b a n d s ' g h o s t s — s h e h a d m a n y h u s b a n d s , y o u see, n o t all o f t h e m dead, b u t e n o u g h to m a k e it a l o n g - d r a w n - o u t evening. O n e w a s Albanian.' 'You s p e a k w o n d e r f u l English.' 'I am English.' ' H o w did you come by the amulet?' ' O h , that's a very l o n g story,' she said, s m i l i n g h e r w e l l - b r e d smile again. W e w e r e b e g i n n i n g t o slow d o w n a n d s h e p e e r e d o u t t h e w i n d o w . ' P o n t e Brolla. T h i s is m y station.' She s t o o d a n d t u r n e d t o m e . ' D o g o t o t h e islands. I really d o t h i n k y o u s h o u l d . It's t h e k i n d o f place y o u s h o u l d definitely see before y o u die.' And, very lighdy, she w a s g o n e . W h a t a p e c u l i a r t h i n g t o say — 'before y o u d i e ' . B u t p e r h a p s she'd m e a n t n o t h i n g b y it at all — just t h e u s u a l flippant aside a b o u t n e e d i n g t o see this o r t h a t i n o r d e r t o have a sense o f a c o m p l e t e life. B u t for s o m e m o n t h s n o w I'd felt free o f any n e e d t o live o u t a c o m p l e t e life, I h a r d l y k n e w w h a t it m e a n t any m o r e , so p e r h a p s I w a s just u n p r e p a r e d . I s t a r e d at t h e g r a n i t e cliffs r i c k e t y - r a c k e t i n g past. Tegna w a s t h e n e x t stop. T h e r e w a s a r u i n e d Celtic fortress u p t h e r e a m o n g s t t h e gorges s o m e w h e r e , I k n e w , a n d a n o l d R o m a n b r i d g e o r t w o as w e l l . It w a s u p h e r e s o m e w h e r e n o t all t h a t l o n g ago t h a t a m o t h e r h a d s t a b b e d h e r s o n t o d e a t h for n o t g o i n g t o Mass. 'I'd r a t h e r see h i m d e a d t h a n m i s s Mass,' she'd said. I t l o o k e d a b i t like t h a t k i n d o f place. There's a w o n d e r f u l m o m e n t o f unreality, d o n ' t y o u

-25t h i n k , w h e n y o u s t e p off a t r a i n at a n u n k n o w n sta­ t i o n far f r o m a n y w h e r e a n d t h e t r a i n clatters off r o u n d a b e n d i n t o silence a n d y o u ' r e left s t a n d i n g t h e r e , m o m e n t a r i l y w i t h o u t a self. A n d t h e n t h e s o u n d o f a m o t o r b i k e o r a b i r d o r a car d o o r s l a m m i n g r e a c h e s you and you r e m e m b e r w h y you're there and c o m ­ p o s e yourself a n d w a l k t o w a r d s t h e n e x t thing. T h e n e x t t h i n g i n Tegna w a s o d d . 'Be u n d e r t h e clock i n t h e m a i n s q u a r e at one,' Patricia H i g h s m i t h h a d said t o m e o n t h e t e l e p h o n e i n a k i n d o f diffident d r a w l . A n d so I w a s . It w a s a small, u n r e m a r k a b l e , greyish square, e m p t y at t h a t t i m e i n t h e a f t e r n o o n e x c e p t for t h e o d d p a t r o n o f t h e cafe o n o n e c o r n e r . T h e clock i n t h e s t u m p y campanile above m e c h i m e d o n e . Nobody. T h e s q u a r e w a s d e a d . T h e n after a few m i n u t e s I n o t i c e d a w o m a n ' s h e a d sticking o u t a r o u n d t h e c o r n e r o f a w a l l at o n e e n d o f t h e s q u a r e , s t a r i n g at m e . It v a n i s h e d for a s e c o n d a n d t h e n t h e w o m a n it b e l o n g e d t o r e a p p e a r e d a n d d u c k e d i n t o t h e p o s t office a few m e t r e s away. I h o p e d I h a d n ' t p r o v e d a d i s a p p o i n t m e n t . I d e c i d e d t o waylay h e r at t h e p o s t office d o o r . I m u s t have passed w h a t e v e r test it w a s Patricia Highsmith was applying to m e because I w a s quickly b u n d l e d i n t o a small Volkswagen Beetle a n d w e l u r c h e d off i n t h e d i r e c t i o n o f h e r h o u s e just o u t s i d e t h e v i l ­ lage. As w e g o t u p s p e e d she b e g a n t o d r i v e m o r e a n d m o r e erratically, c a r e e r i n g a r o u n d c o r n e r s o n

the

w r o n g side o f t h e r o a d a n d b o u n c i n g across a levelcrossing w i t h o u t l o o k i n g for trains. I n fact, m o s t o f t h e

Locarno

Letters

t i m e she s e e m e d t o have h e r quizzical eye o n m e . ' T h e locals d r i v e like m a n i a c s , o f course,' she said t o m e , glaring at a small r e d v a n p u t t e r i n g u p t h e h i l l t o w a r d s u s . 'It'll b e a m i r a c l e if I ' m n o t w i p e d off t h e r o a d o n e day b e f o r e I get h o m e . ' A n d she c h u c k l e d . It w a s a n o d d l y s u b u r b a n sort o f h o u s e i n c o n c r e t e b r i c k , n o t at all t h e sort o f h o u s e I'd t h o u g h t Patricia H i g h s m i t h w o u l d c h o o s e t o live i n . It h a d n o t h i n g o f t h e tasteful c h a r m , for instance, o f T o m Ripley's 'Belle O m b r e ' a b o u t it, a l t h o u g h she m u s t have b e e n m u c h wealthier t h a n she'd m a d e Ripley o u t to be.* T h e n again, h e r novels are often very s u b u r b a n (in a sense), c l u t ­ tered w i t h t h e details o f o r d i n a r y lives i n o r d i n a r y settings. A n d she herself — w h a t w a s m y m o t h e r ' s phrase? - d i d n o t take m u c h t r o u b l e w i t h herself. Long, greyb r o w n hair, a b r o w n i s h cardigan - t h e b o u t i q u e s a n d salons o f Locarno w e r e clearly n o t h e r s t a m p i n g - g r o u n d . O w l i s h is t h e w o r d that c o m e s t o m i n d , p e r h a p s because o f t h e slightly h o o d e d eyes. You never k n o w w h a t a n o w l h a s i n m i n d u n t i l t h e very last m o m e n t . I n fact, w e talked a b o u t t h e flatness i n h e r n o v e l s for a little w h i l e , t h e p i l i n g u p o f h u m d r u m detail, t h e sense o f a n eye, n e i t h e r m a l e v o l e n t n o r benevolent, r e g ­ i s t e r i n g everything. I recalled Ripley's b a n a l t e l e p h o n e conversations w i t h h i s wife, h i s lengthy travel a r r a n g e ­ m e n t s w h e n h e w a s g o i n g t o M o r o c c o o r Germany, t h e b a n a l i t i e s o f h i s p o s t c a r d s h o m e ( ' a n d t h e forsythia n e e d s w a t e r i n g now') - i n short, t h e everydayness o f h e r c h a r a c t e r s ' lives. 'Well, I c a n o n l y h o p e it isn't t e d i o u s t o read,' s h e

-27said, h e r eyes fixed o n m e f r o m t h e sofa. 'I t h i n k it b u i l d s u p t h e c h a r a c t e r i n t o a h u m a n being. I ' m t r y ­ i n g t o m a k e t h e c h a r a c t e r m o r e real. Ripley k n o w s it's a b s u r d - w r i t i n g a b o u t w a t e r i n g t h e forsythia a n d s o o n - b u t h e just feels like w r i t i n g it, so h e d o e s . B u t there's a n undertow, I s u p p o s e y o u c o u l d say.' I ' m t a k e n w i t h t h e w o r d ' u n d e r t o w ' . It describes exactly n o t o n l y t h e way H i g h s m i t h ' s drifters drift i n t o m u r d e r a n d revenge against t h e i r b e t t e r j u d g m e n t , a l m o s t innocently, b u t also h o w u n d e r n e a t h o u r o w n everyday lives - t h e s h o p p i n g a n d squabbles a n d w e e d ­ ing a n d trips t o t h e vet - there's a sense o f b e i n g dragged slowly off, n o t against o u r w i l l b u t regardless o f it. A n d fighting t h e u n d e r t o w , as c h i l d r e n are q u i c k t o learn, is n o t usually t h e best w a y o f getting b a c k t o t h e b e a c h . Floating a l o n g w i t h it, o n the o t h e r h a n d , can b e fatal. It's really t h e struggle, t h e a r g u m e n t w i t h oneself, t h a t interests this w o m a n , w h i c h is w h y she's so d r a w n t o Dostoevsky, a n d t o Crime and Punishment i n particular. ' I ' m n o t at all interested i n mysteries,' she said,'or p u z ­ zles - b o o k s y o u r e a d t o see h o w clever y o u a r e . T h a t d o e s n ' t h a p p e n t o i n t e r e s t m e at all.' 'I t h o u g h t y o u liked R u t h R e n d e l l , t h o u g h . ' 'I've r e a d a c o u p l e o f hers, yes. They w e r e q u i t e good.' A n d n o w t h e t e l e p h o n e starts t o r i n g i n a n a d j o i n ­ i n g r o o m . It's a l m o s t always like this. W h e n y o u ' r e d e s i r e d t h e w a y p e o p l e like Patricia H i g h s m i t h are — o r V i k r a m Seth o r Paul Auster o r G e o r g e Steiner o r M a r i o Vargas Llosa — s o m e o n e is forever at y o u to agree to something, consider something, go somewhere.

Locamo

Letters

V i k r a m Seth is b y far t h e m o s t e n t e r t a i n i n g i n these exchanges. 'But I d o n ' t w a n t t o g o t o Frankfurt,' Patricia H i g h s m i t h is saying w i t h a k i n d o f d r a w l i n g indiffer­ e n c e . ' W h y s h o u l d I go? I d o n ' t like Frankfurt, I d o n ' t like b o o k f a i r s . . . Well, that's just t o o bad.' Ironically, Highsmith's life is n o t u n l i k e t h e k i n d o f life h e r Ripley b e g a n m u r d e r i n g for. N o t as stylish, o f course, b u t civilized i n a way that attracted Ripley: the q u i c k trips t o Paris a n d L o n d o n , t h e sculptures a n d paintings i n t h e l i v i n g - r o o m (although Ripley w a s inclined to p r e ­ fer t h e forged t o t h e g e n u i n e ) , t h e t r a n q u i l bienséance just o u t s i d e a busy, chic resort a n d t h e financial security, t o p u t n o finer p o i n t o n it. T h e r e is even a h i n t o f Ripley's sexual neutrality i n Highsmith's plain m a n n e r , as well as o f his m e l l o w disconnectedness from o t h e r people's feel­ ings. Actually, disconnectedness is n o t q u i t e t h e r i g h t w o r d . I find myself c o m i n g b a c k t o owlishness. T h e h a n d s o m e , a m o r a l Ripley w a s greedy for t h e g o o d life (for himself), w h e r e a s it seems t o have l a n d e d i n Patricia H i g h s m i t h ' s lap. For s o m e r e a s o n

this

u n c h a r i s m a t i c w o m a n from F o r t W o r t h , Texas, b e g a n t a l k i n g at just t h e r i g h t m o m e n t a b o u t t h i n g s a p o s t C h r i s t i a n w o r l d w a s fascinated b y i n a language it revelled in: q u e s t i o n s o f g o o d a n d evil, g u i l t a n d i n n o ­ c e n c e a n d m o r a l a c t i o n i n a godless u n i v e r s e . 'Yes, it w a s g r e e d a n d selfishness t h a t m a d e h i m

murder

D i c k i e G r e e n l e a f as a y o u n g m a n , ' H i g h s m i t h said. ' H e envies Dickie's idle, w e a l t h y l i f e s t y l e . . . he's i m p r e s s e d b y w h a t h e sees as elegance, t h e r i g h t w a y o f d o i n g t h i n g s , t h e n i c e clothes, t h e g o o d l e a t h e r suitcases, t h e

-29m o n e y t o e n j o y leisure.' O n c e he's b l u d g e o n e d h i m t o d e a t h i n San R e m o , however, a n d gets t h e l e a t h e r s u i t ­ cases, t h e m o n e y a n d t h e n i c e clothes, he's c a u g h t i n t h e u n d e r t o w o f m o r e violence a n d lies - i n d e e d , lying surfaces. Yet a civilized life is a m a t t e r o f d e p t h , surely, n o t surfaces. O t h e r w i s e it's just civility, expensive m a n ­ n e r s . W e love all this i n t h e late t w e n t i e t h century. W e t a l k e d o n for a w h i l e a b o u t this a n d t h a t - h e r brilliant e r o t i c w r i t i n g i n Carol, for e x a m p l e , s o m e t h i n g she'd f o u n d difficult — a b o u t religion, publishing, a d o p ­ t i o n , all s o r t s o f things, b u t n o t a b o u t d e a t h . D e a t h is just a n e v e n t i n o t h e r p e o p l e ' s lives i n h e r b o o k s . H i g h s m i t h is i n t e r e s t e d i n guilt, n o t d e a t h , a n d t h e q u e s t i o n o f w h a t sort o f c o n s c i e n c e finds e v e r y t h i n g permissible. For Ripley, after all, g o i n g s h o p p i n g , w a t e r ­ i n g t h e g a r d e n a n d killing all h a v e m u c h t h e s a m e m o r a l w e i g h t . N o guilt o r b l a m e attaches t o Ripley, a n d n o t m u c h praise, either. I g o t b a c k t o L o c a r n o a little s h a k e n a n d n o t just by

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Volkswagen Beetle. She h a d rattled m e , a l t h o u g h I d o n ' t t h i n k she'd m e a n t to. It w a s chilly d o w n b y t h e lake, b u t I w e n t for a l o n g w a l k a l o n g t h e s h o r e i n t h e d u s k all t h e s a m e , t o let m y t h o u g h t s settle. At first, s t a r t i n g a t t h e wharf, y o u w a l k t h r o u g h l a n d s c a p e d g a r d e n s , t h e n t h r o u g h a little q u a r t e r o f w a i l e d villas, as silent as t h e grave, a n d t h e n y o u find yourself o n a t r e e - l i n e d p a t h w i t h t h e lake l a p p i n g o n t h e pebbles o n y o u r r i g h t a n d a line of old mansions in d a n k gardens o n y o u r left. T h e o d d jogger, a d o g o r t w o , b u t a p a r t f r o m t h a t

Locarno Letters

n o b o d y . T h e n , just as it b e c a m e dark, I c a m e t o t h e gates o f t h e Ca' d i F e r r o , a long, low, w h i t e b u i l d i n g w i t h a large s q u a r e s t o n e t o w e r at o n e e n d a n d a d a i n t y y e l l o w c h a p e l at t h e o t h e r . I w a s i n t r i g u e d . A p l a q u e at t h e l o c k e d gates said it h a d b e e n t h e b a r r a c k s o f a c a p t a i n f r o m t h e c a n t o n o f U r i ( o n t h e n o r t h e r n side o f t h e St G o t t h a r d Pass). A p p a r e n t l y this w a s w h e r e h e q u a r t e r e d h i s m e n , all m e r c e n a r i e s r e a d y t o s l a u g h t e r for w h o e v e r c o u l d pay t h e r i g h t p r i c e . I c o u l d h e a r r a u c o u s voices c o m i n g f r o m t h e l i g h t e d

first-floor

w i n d o w s . T h e y w e r e s h o u t i n g i n English. W e l l - f e d , p o w e r f u l voices. I l e a n e d against t h e PRIVATE P R O P ­ ERTY sign for a few m o m e n t s i n t h e d a r k , s t a r i n g at t h e brightly lit, b a r r e d w i n d o w s , t h e n t u r n e d a n d w a n ­ d e r e d b a c k t h e w a y I'd c o m e . O n c e it's d a r k i n L o c a r n o t h e massive, t a w n y

flanks

o f t h e m o u n t a i n s across t h e lake light u p w i t h t h o u ­ sands, t e n s o f t h o u s a n d s o f tiny lights, s o m e o f t h e m impossibly high u p in the wilderness of escarpments a n d s n o w - s t r e a k e d ravines n e a r t h e p e a k s . T h a t n i g h t t h e y e x c i t e d m e , I t h i n k b e c a u s e o f t h e sense o f t h o u ­ s a n d s o f unthought—of possibilities h i d i n g e v e r y w h e r e i n a m o n g s t t h e b a r r e n n e s s a n d t h e banality. O f course, t h i n k i n g like this a b o u t t h e lights w a s p a r t l y a w a y o f a r m i n g m y s e l f against t h e c o m i n g n i g h t , as is w r i t i n g t h e s e letters.

D u r i n g those first days b a c k i n S e p t e m b e r I w o k e n i g h t after n i g h t from chilling d r e a m s a b o u t b a n g i n g a r o u n d

-31i n a forest o f h a n g e d corpses. I'd stagger t o m y feet a n d w a l k i n circles, w r i n g i n g m y h a n d s . ( P e o p l e really d o w r i n g their hands.) I don't d o that any m o r e , b u t I d o w a k e u p feeling d e s p e r a t e t o b e c o m p a n i o n e d , t o feel present w i t h someone kind. Otherwise, in the night, any passing p h a n t o m c a n sink its t e e t h i n t o y o u r t h r o a t I n fact, I've b e e n g r o w i n g s u s p i c i o u s o f t h e w o r d ' s o l i ­ t u d e ' . It's s u c h a n e l e g a n t w o r d , so Latinate, it s o u n d s s o m e h o w so elevated, b u t it s e e m s t o m e t o r e q u i r e a c e r t a i n level o f e c o n o m i c i n d e p e n d e n c e a n d social status t o w o r k . O t h e r w i s e it's called loneliness, a b a n ­ d o n m e n t o r d e s e r t i o n . P e r h a p s it's a m a t t e r o f b a l a n c e . A few h o u r s a w e e k o f s o l i t u d e is e n o u g h for m e , preferably d u r i n g t h e day.

Venice, 4th April PROFESSOR ESCHENBAUM c a m e t o breakfast this m o r n i n g w i t h a c r e w - c u t - all t h e grey b u s h i n e s s h a s g o n e . I w a s taken aback, b u t I m u s t say it r a t h e r suits h i m . It h i g h ­ lights h i s s p l e n d i d s u n k e n eyes a n d even m a n a g e s to m a k e h i m l o o k a little m o r e tautly phallic t h a n h e u s e d to. He's a c u l t u r a l h i s t o r i a n (or s o m e t h i n g like t h a t ) , so I expect h e k n o w s w h a t he's doing. Emilio said s o m e ­ t h i n g t o h i m a b o u t it i n Italian, w h i c h I c o u l d n ' t catch, b u t I c o u l d tell the Professor w a s pleased. H e said he'd b e e n t o t h e Vivaldi c o n c e r t last n i g h t , t h e o n e at t h e Scuola G r a n d e di S. G i o v a n n i Evangelista - a m a g n i f i ­ c e n t b a r o q u e hall w i t h T i n t o r e t t o s all over t h e ceiling a n d walls. Vivaldi h i m s e l f played i n this very hall, as a m a t t e r o f fact. I w a s a b o u t t o say that I'd b e e n at t h e c o n c e r t myself a n d h a d n ' t s e e n h i m i n t h e a u d i e n c e , b u t I a m after all r a t h e r s h o r t - s i g h t e d , a n d h e d o e s l o o k very different w i t h h i s severe c r e w - c u t , a n d I d i d n ' t w a n t t o s o u n d as if I w a s t r y i n g t o c a t c h h i m o u t . So I d i d n ' t m e n t i o n it. H e w a s actually off t o G i u d e c c a

-33Island this m o r n i n g o n t h e vaporetto t o see t h e e x h i b i ­ t i o n o f m e d i e v a l t o r t u r e i n s t r u m e n t s . It's a w o n d e r f u l day for it - g l a s s - a n d - s t o n e , h a r d - e d g e d , t r a n s p a r e n t . T h e r e are racks, garottes, j a w - c r u s h e r s , even a n I r o n M a i d e n , a c c o r d i n g t o t h e hellish posters for it s t u c k u p all over Venice. Locarno, as y o u ' l l h a v e g a t h e r e d , w a s a l m o s t p a r a ­ dise. N o t exactly E d e n - at least, n o t i n n o c e n t - n o r t h e H o l y City o n t h e H i l l a h e a d , b u t a n earthly, h u m a n paradise, like t h e g a r d e n at t h e very t o p o f Dante's M o u n t o f P u r g a t o r y - Heaven's vestibule, so t o speak, r a t h e r t h a n t h e t h i n g itself* A little c o n t r i v e d , p e r h a p s , as is Dante's: its sparkling streams r u n b e t w e e n m u n i c i ­ pally grassed b a n k s , its leafy b o u g h s a r e p r u n e d a n d s h a p e d , its sleek d e n i z e n s a little t o o s m u g i n t h e i r blessedness. It c o m e s u p o n y o u suddenly, t o o , w h e n y o u take the train from Zurich: one m o m e n t you're in the N o r t h , w i t h its doleful, tired cities a n d t a m e d f a r m ­ lands, y o u slide t h r o u g h t h e fog i n t o t h e St G o t t h a r d t u n n e l , a n d w h e n y o u e m e r g e i n t o t h e light o n t h e o t h e r side y o u ' r e i n t h e S o u t h . It's like w a k i n g u p o n t h e o t h e r side o f t h e l o o k i n g - g l a s s - y o u ' r e still i n S w i t z e r l a n d b u t e v e r y t h i n g h a s c h a n g e d . You r a t t l e off d o w n a r o c k y gully t o w a r d s t h e lakes, t o w a r d s Italy, a n d y o u c a n feel y o u r s e l f e n t e r i n g , n o t just a different l a t i t u d e , b u t a different w o r l d w i t h different c o o r d i ­ n a t e s . To t h e east n o w is t h e Ganges, n o t t h e Urals, a n d t o t h e w e s t t h e Gates o f H e r c u l e s , n o t t h e L i v e r p o o l d o c k s . A n d even t h e b r e e z e s ( p e r h a p s it's just y o u r

Locarno Letters

i m a g i n a t i o n ) n o w s e e m t o b e l a d e n w i t h faint m e m ­ o r i e s o f Sicily a n d t h e B a r b a r y Coast. J u s t b e f o r e t h e p o i n t w h e r e t h e Italian frontier crosses Lake Maggiore, y o u find yourself w i n d i n g a l o n g t h e lakeshore a m o n g s t o l d w a l l e d gardens, c h u r c h e s a n d villas a n d t h e n y o u ' r e pulling into Locarno. It's o v e r w h e l m i n g l y beautiful. A l m o s t crushingly. I w a l k e d w i t h m y suitcase d o w n t h e hill f r o m t h e s t a ­ tion t o t h e lakeside, sat o n t h e w a l l a n d gazed across t h e w a t e r at t h e h o n e y c o m b o f m i n u t e h o u s e s ( c r e a m , p i n k , e g g - y o l k , even b l u e ) c l u s t e r e d o n t h e o p p o s i t e s h o r e w h e r e t h e m o u n t a i n s fall i n t o t h e lake. P e r h a p s it w a s just t h e s u n o r t h e m a g n o l i a b l o s s o m s o r t h e s m e l l o f w a r m soil again, b u t , w h a t e v e r t h e r e a s o n , I felt I'd settled b a c k i n t o m y b o d y - n o t a n e n t i r e l y c o m f o r t a b l e feeling i n m y case. I n o t i c e d a p p e t i t e w a s o n t h e b o i l again. I n fact, I ' m s u r e it's t h e r e t h e y s h o o t t h o s e cigarette c o m m e r c i a l s w h e r e t h e s k i - p l a n e l a n d s b e n e a t h t h e palazzo o n t h e p o i n t - l i t t l e h y m n s

to

a p p e t i t e , t o q u e n c h i n g it a n d t h e n q u e n c h i n g it again. O n e o f t h e reasons, it s t r u c k m e , t h a t b e a u t y o n this scale c a n cause a k i n d o f angst o r a c h e is that it r e m i n d s y o u t h a t y o u r everyday e x p e c t a t i o n s o f life h a v e b e e n t o o narrow, t o o colourless. So, even w h i l e y o u ' r e d r i n k ­ i n g i n t h e a b u n d a n t beauty, y o u feel a p a n g n o t u n l i k e grief. I d o , anyway, a n d I d o n ' t t h i n k I ' m t h e o n l y o n e . B u t L o c a r n o isn't p a r a d i s e s i m p l y b e c a u s e it's b e a u ­ tiful. After all, t h e w o r l d is full o f b e a u t i f u l places. It's paradise because of the balance: in Locarno the N o r t h a n d t h e S o u t h m e e t a n d n e i t h e r h a s q u i t e yet g o t t h e

-35u p p e r h a n d b e c a u s e , for a few m i l e s b e t w e e n t h e St G o t t h a r d Pass a n d t h e Italian b o r d e r , y o u ' r e m i r a c u ­ lously i n b o t h S w i t z e r l a n d a n d Italy at o n c e . H e r e civilization s e e m s t e m p e r e d b y Eros a n d Eros i n t u r n is t a u t e n e d a n d b r a c e d b y c o n t a c t w i t h t h e N o r t h e r n enemy. I n o t h e r w o r d s , Arcadia w i t h Swiss p l u m b i n g . (Speaking o f w h i c h , I t o o k a r o o m at t h e H o t e l G e r a n i o , just o p p o s i t e t h e s p o t w h e r e I sat o n t h e lake wall—not

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p r e m i s e s , o f c o u r s e . I s u p p o s e they t h i n k t h e n a m e is evocative e n o u g h . ) At M o n t e Verita, just a m i l e o r t w o away u p o n t h e hill b e h i n d Ascona, t h e y u s e d t o d e s c r i b e this m a r r y ­ ing of r e a s o n a n d d e e p feelings m o r e poetically: ' H e r e oak and camellia c o m e together - lime and mimosa, b i r c h a n d olive.' Have y o u ever h e a r d o f M o n t e Verita? Probably n o t , yet this little w o o d e d h i l l w a s a k i n d o f psychic ganglion at t h e b e g i n n i n g o f t h e c e n t u r y People s t r e a m e d to it f r o m all over t h e w o r l d : Frieda Lawrence, D.H. himself, H e r m a n n Hesse, I s a d o r a D u n c a n , H.G. Wells, Jawlenski - n o t m a n y o t h e r p a i n t e r s , as it h a p ­ p e n s , b u t h o r d e s o f w r i t e r s , m u s i c i a n s , dancers, healers, mystics, seers, c r a n k s a n d geniuses. Kafka w a s fasci­ nated, Jung

enthralled.

Suddenly, o n

the

second

m o r n i n g , after days o f feeling a t o u r i s t , I d e c i d e d t o s p e n d t h e day just n o s i n g a b o u t a n d w a n d e r e d u p t h e h i l l t o w h a t w a s left o f t h e o l d s e t t l e m e n t o n M o n t e Verita. Basically all t h a t r e m a i n s n o w is t h e m u s e u m i n t h e o l d Casa A n a t t a ( m e a n i n g 'Soul', o f c o u r s e H i n d u i s m w a s m u c h i n vogue h e r e i n t h e early decades

Locarno Letters

o f t h e c e n t u r y ) . For t w e n t y years o r so h e r e they p i p e d a n d d a n c e d n a k e d i n t h e m o o n l i g h t , they d r a n k h e r b s a n d u n d e r w e n t e a r t h - c u r e s , they devised p h o n e t i c spelling systems, t h e y w r i t h e d a n d l e a p t a n d s w i r l e d t o t h e b e a t o f p r i m i t i v e d r u m s , they w o r s h i p p e d t h e s u n a n d v o i d e d t h e self a n d sang songs t o t h e Great M o t h e r . T h e y let t h e i r sensual desires ( a l t h o u g h n o t t h e d e s i r e for roast b e e f o r crispy p o r k , b e i n g rigidly v e g ­ e t a r i a n ) b u b b l e u p freely a n d t h e n i n d u l g e d t h e m w i t h joy. T h e y t h u m b e d t h e i r n o s e s at Father a n d d a n c e d a r o u n d M o t h e r . T h i s w a s t h e Land o f Cockaigne.* It's all g o n e i n t o t h e d u s t b i n , o f c o u r s e . N o o n e r e m e m b e r s . Civilized society w o n i n t h e e n d . T h e r e are e c h o e s o f M o n t e Verita still i n m o d e r n d a n c e (so I ' m t o l d ) , a n d , o f c o u r s e , i n t h e novels w e still r e a d f r o m t h e b e g i n n i n g o f t h e century. I n fact, s o m e w o u l d say t h e aesthetics o f t h e T h i r d R e i c h w e r e i n f l u e n c e d b y M o n t e Verita i n a d i s t o r t e d k i n d o f w a y - t h e n a t u r e w o r s h i p , t h e cult o f t h e body, f o l k - w i s d o m t u r n e d i n t o t h e w i s d o m o f t h e Volk. By a n d large, t h o u g h , it's all b l o w n away i n t o n o t h i n g n e s s . It w a s still q u i t e w i n ­ t r y u p a m o n g s t t h e fir trees t h e m o r n i n g I w a s t h e r e a l m o s t eerie, all r u s t - b r o w n a n d black, n o s o u n d b u t t h e c r u n c h i n g o f d e a d leaves. D o w n t h e h i l l i n Ascona civilization w a s h u m m i n g a l o n g q u i t e nicely i n t h e s u n : s m a r t l y dressed families f r o m H e i d e l b e r g a n d M u n i c h w e r e strolling along t h e quayside i n flocks, set­ t i n g o u t o n s c h e d u l e d l a u n c h - t r i p s a r o u n d t h e lake, c o n s u m i n g m a s s - p r o d u c e d food i n c h i c cafes a n d s w a l l o w i n g p o w d e r s a n d pills expensively packaged i n

-37factories f u r t h e r n o r t h . D o w n t h e r e t h e h a p p i n e s s i n d u s t r y w a s i n full swing. I n Ascona there's still even a functioning Christian c h u r c h o r two, a n a t h e m a t o t h e s u n - w o r s h i p p e r s o n M o n t e Verita: t h e o n l y aspect o f C h r i s t i a n i t y t h e y felt k i n d l y t o w a r d s w a s t h e local cult o f m e Virgin Mary, w h i c h they saw as a d i m reflec­ t i o n o f t h e i r o w n r e v e r e n c e for t h e Great M o t h e r . O n t h e w h o l e , i n o t h e r w o r d s , d o w n t h e hill i n Ascona b o t h b o d y a n d s o u l w e r e still l o c k e d (by Father) i n a n i r o n cage a n d n a t u r e w a s still k e p t at bay - stared at t h r o u g h glass, p e r h a p s , o r t h e lens o f a c a m e r a , b u t largely s c r e e n e d o u t . I w e n t i n t o t h e creaking Casa Anatta ( w i t h its r e v o ­ l u t i o n a r y flat r o o f o r Flachdach) a n d b e g a n p o k i n g a b o u t a m o n g s t t h e o l d p h o t o g r a p h s o n t h e walls: d a n c i n g t r u t h - s e e k e r s , visitors f r o m I n d i a , r i t u a l i z e d p e r f o r ­ m a n c e s i n flowing Grecian r o b e s b r i n g i n g t o m i n d that ghastly play a b o u t t h e W o r l d Spirit i n Act O n e o f The Seagull. I w a s s t a n d i n g e x a m i n i n g a m a p o n t h e w a l l w h i c h showed that certain i m p o r t a n t magnetic

fields

m e e t r i g h t u n d e r L o c a r n o ( w h i c h is why, a c c o r d i n g t o t h e m i s s p e l t label, t h e L o c a r n o Pact, u s h e r i n g i n a n e w era o f i n t e r n a t i o n a l p e a c e a n d u n d e r s t a n d i n g , f o u n d itself b e i n g s i g n e d i n L o c a r n o r a t h e r

than

G o t h e n b e r g , say, o r H i g h W y c o m b e ) w h e n I h e a r d a voice just b e h i n d m e say: 'I w o n d e r e d if y o u m i g h t t u r n u p here.' I swivelled a r o u n d a n d saw t h e small, g o l d a m u l e t g l i n t i n g at m e i n t h e h a l f - d a r k . It w a s m y English f r i e n d f r o m t h e t r a i n . R a c h e l Berg s p e n t a m o r n i n g a w e e k , she t o l d m e ,

Locarno Letters h e l p i n g o u t a t t h e m u s e u m - t a l k i n g t o t h e visitors ( i n any o f several languages), selling b r o c h u r e s , even d u s t ­ ing and sweeping sometimes, she w a s o n e of a team. Yet, w i t h h e r e x p e n s i v e clothes, h e r f i n e - b o n e d face a n d severe h e l m e t o f greying hair, she d i d n ' t really s e e m t o b e l o n g t o t h e slightly daft w o r l d o f v a g a b o n d s o u l d a n c e r s a n d p s y c h i c healers I w a s l e a r n i n g a b o u t . ' A n d a r e y o u , w e r e y o u ' - h o w s h o u l d I p u t this? - 'are y o u i n t e r e s t e d i n t h e ideas b e h i n d M o n t e Verita?' I asked. ' T h e o s o p h y a n d so o n ? ' " T h e o s o p h y a n d s o on!' She l a u g h e d i n a n a b r u p t , English k i n d o f way. ' I ' m c u r i o u s a b o u t m a n y t h i n g s , let's say, hopelessly curious,' she said after a p a u s e . 'But n o , it's n o t so m u c h t h e p h i l o s o p h y t h a t d r a w s m e , it's m o r e t h e fact t h a t m y m o t h e r lived h e r e d u r i n g t h e First W o r l d War. A lot o f English p e o p l e , especially w o m e n , drifted i n a n d o u t o f M o n t e Verita i n t h o s e years, y o u k n o w , l o o k i n g f o r . . . w e l l , w h a t were t h e y l o o k i n g for? R e n e w a l o f the spirit, I s u p p o s e y o u m i g h t say, s o m e alternative t o t h e c u l t u r e o f w a r a n d t e c h ­ nology, all t h e t h i n g s t h e y felt w e r e d e a d e n i n g t h e spirit. A n d t h e w o m e n , o f c o u r s e , w e r e l o o k i n g for s o m e w h e r e . . . ' She l o o k e d away for a m o m e n t , as if a b o u t t o c h o o s e h e r w o r d s v e r y carefully. ' T h e w o m e n w e r e l o o k i n g for a place w h e r e they c o u l d live m o r e instinctively as w o m e n . I n t h o s e days, y o u

might

r e m e m b e r , w o m e n usually h a d t o c h o o s e b e t w e e n b e i n g sly a n d b e i n g servile - p e r h a p s m o s t w o m e n still d o . N o t h e r e i n S w i t z e r l a n d as a r u l e , I d a r e say, a l t h o u g h t h e r e are villages just a f e w m i l e s f r o m t h i s

-39h o u s e w h e r e i n t h a t r e g a r d little h a s c h a n g e d i n a t h o u s a n d years. B u t I ' m m a k i n g it all s o u n d r a t h e r dreary, a r e n ' t I? A n d actually it w a s all s o r t s o f t h i n g s b u t n e v e r that. I t h i n k at M o n t e Verità t h e y really believed they'd r e d i s c o v e r e d paradise.' By a b o u t 1 9 2 0 it w a s a p p a r e n t l y all over. F r e u d m a y have b e e n r i g h t w h e n h e said t h a t civilization w a s b u i l t u p o n 'renunciation o f instinct' b u t the u p s h o t

of

indulging instinct o n the hill b e h i n d Ascona was jeal­ ousy, c h a o s a n d incredibly tangled b l o o d - l i n e s . Rachel's father, I g a t h e r e d , w a s a G e r m a n p h o t o g r a p h e r w h o b l e w i n for a m o n t h o r t w o o n e s u m m e r a n d n e v e r left, a l t h o u g h t h e r e w e r e a p p a r e n t l y o t h e r w i s p i e r father-figures i n t h e w i n g s (herbalists a n d d a n c e i n s t r u c t o r s , a n d , as I r e m e m b e r , a d a s h i n g l y h a n d s o m e A n g l o - I n d i a n from D e h r a D u n w h o w a s translating the Bhagavadgita i n t o m o d e r n English, o r p e r h a p s it w a s G e r m a n ) . R a c h e l stayed w i t h h e r m o t h e r , t h o u g h , a n d when

the community broke u p moved back

to

England. She'd o n l y c o m e b a c k t o L o c a r n o t o live as a w i d o w after t h e S e c o n d W o r l d War. I ' m h a z y a b o u t t h e details n o w - i n d e e d , t h e r e w e r e n ' t m a n y . M y eye d u r i n g t h e storytelling w a s m o s t l y o n t h e c o n t o r t e d g o l d a m u l e t . It i n t r i g u e d m e . It s e e m e d t o d e p i c t a c h u b b y female figure, w i t h u p t u r n e d face a n d m i n u t e l y b e a d e d a n k l e t s , acrobatically e n t w i n e d w i t h a n eager m a l e figure, grasping h i s j u t t i n g p e n i s . 'Tell m e m o r e a b o u t t h e b a r o n e s s y o u m e n t i o n e d yesterday,' I said. ' H o w d i d she fit i n ? ' 'She d i d n ' t , really. She a l m o s t n e v e r c a m e h e r e . T h i s

Locarno Letters w a s n ' t h e r i d e a o f p a r a d i s e at all. She w a s t o o f o n d o f w h a t civilization h a d t o offer. B u t y o u ' r e w o n d e r i n g a b o u t m y amuleto, aren't y o u ? W h e r e it c o m e s from a n d w h y I w e a r it. It's very p r e c i o u s t o m e a n d it h a s a . . . w e l l , a l o n g s t o r y b e h i n d it.' She glanced d o w n at it briefly a n d t h e n asked m e w i t h a c o n f i d e n t s m i l e if it w a s a s t o r y I'd like t o hear. I said it w a s . ' A n d have y o u b e e n t o t h e Brissago Islands yet? D o y o u r e m e m b e r ? I t o l d y o u I t h o u g h t y o u s h o u l d see t h e m . ' I said I h a d n ' t yet, b u t d i d m e a n t o . 'Then w h y don't w e m e e t there t o m o r r o w m o r n ­ ing? A n d I'll tell y o u t h e s t o r y o f t h e b a r o n e s s a n d t h e a m u l e t . W h y n o t h e a r t h e s t o r y w h e r e it h a p p e n e d ? ' A n d so w e agreed t o m e e t i n w h a t s h e called t h e H e r b G a r d e n o n t h e Isola G r a n d e at eleven o'clock. 'You cross t h e island from t h e wharf, past all t h e stands o f b a m ­ b o o , t h e b a n a n a p a l m s a n d a lot o f H i m a l a y a n - l o o k i n g plants, a n d y o u ' l l see it p o k i n g o u t i n t o t h e lake. It's a tiny w a l l e d g a r d e n w i t h a lovely s q u a r e p o n d r i g h t i n t h e m i d d l e o f it, just t h e p l a c e t o sit if it's sunny. A n d I've g o t a feeling it w i l l be.' A n d it w a s , o f c o u r s e . I t a l m o s t always is i n p a r a d i s e . Speaking o f w h i c h , Professor E s c h e n b a u m says I absolutely m u s t g o a n d see t h e t o r t u r e e x h i b i t i o n i n t h e o l d c h u r c h o n G i u d e c c a Island. He's t e r r i b l y i n t r i g u e d b y t h e fact t h a t Giudecca is actually t h e n a m e o f a r e g i o n o f Lower H e l l — h e t h i n k s it's a great j o k e . If I'd ever k n o w n , I'd f o r g o t t e n . 'It's w h e r e souls a r e p u n i s h e d for t h e Sins o f t h e Leopard,' h e said w i t h a k i n d o f fastidious relish, leaving m e n o n e t h e wiser.

-41

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'Sins o f appetite c o m m i t t e d w i t h evil i n t e n t U t t e r r u b ­ bish, o f c o u r s e , b u t as a s y m b o l i c s t r u c t u r e . . . sehr nett, sehr pikant.' I've just h a d coffee w i t h h i m d o w n s t a i r s i n t h e bar, s e r v e d w i t h sullen grace b y Emilio, w h o h a s o n e o f t h o s e a s t o n i s h i n g Venetian faces - pale, refined, d r a w n , p a i n e d . A l m o s t like a m a s k , I said t o t h e Professor. Yes, h e said, a n d it w i l l d r o p off just as s u d ­ d e n l y at t h e age o f a b o u t t w e n t y - s i x , if n o t earlier. H e s e e m e d very frisky. H e w a s actually w e a r i n g a n Istrumenti di tortura T-shirt - I've n e v e r seen h i m o u t o f a silk tie before, even at breakfast - e m b l a z o n e d w i t h w h i p s a n d a g r u e s o m e spike for i m p a l e m e n t . 'You m u s t see it t o r e m i n d y o u o f h o w far w e ' v e c o m e , ' h e said i n t h a t slightly fussy w a y h e has, 'of h o w u n i m a g i n a b l y c r u e l h u m a n b e i n g s w e r e t o e a c h o t h e r n o t so l o n g ago. A n d w h y w e r e they so eager t o i n v e n t ever n e w w a y s o f inflicting e x c r u c i a t i n g p a i n o n e a c h o t h e r ? W h a t w e r e all these l e a d - t i p p e d w h i p s a n d spikes a n d s p i n e c r u s h e r s a n d r a c k s a n d w h e e l s for? For k e e p i n g p o w e r w h e r e it w a s , for s t o p p i n g c h a n g e , for l o c k i n g e v e r y ­ o n e a n d e v e r y t h i n g i n t o place, forever.' I t h o u g h t o f t h i n g s I c o u l d say i n reply, b u t s e n s e d t h i s w a s a p e r ­ f o r m a n c e r a t h e r t h a n a n e x c h a n g e a n d so said v e r y little. Besides, I fancied h i s a u d i e n c e w a s p e r h a p s m o r e E m i l i o t h a n myself, a l t h o u g h as far as I c o u l d g a t h e r E m i l i o h a d n o m o r e t h a n five o r six w o r d s o f English. I s t o o d u p t o go. 'Have y o u r e a d Dante's Inferno?' h e asked, clearly still engrossed i n t h o u g h t s o f sin a n d p u n i s h m e n t . ' N o ? You s h o u l d . H o g w a s h , o f c o u r s e , f r o m start t o finish, p h i l o s o p h i c a l l y speaking. A n d t h e

Locarno Letters

m a n w a s obviously a p a r a n o i d obsessive - all t h a t Beatrice business, for e x a m p l e , t h e m a n w a s ill - b u t as a treatise o n t h e C h r i s t i a n idea o f f r e e - w i l l , as w e l l as t h e suitable p u n i s h m e n t s for exercising it wrongly, it is q u i t e fascinating.' I h a d n ' t m u c h e n j o y e d Purgatory, b u t agreed I s h o u l d p e r h a p s b e g i n at t h e b e g i n n i n g . I said I'd l o o k o u t for a g o o d m o d e r n t r a n s l a t i o n . I ' m n o w u p i n m y r o o m , listening t o t h e vaporetto m o t o r s r o a r i n g , t h e i r h u l l s g r i n d i n g u p against t h e w h a r f - p o s t s , t h e k n o t s o f t o u r i s t s talking a n d l a u g h ­ i n g as t h e y stroll h o m e after d i n n e r . A n d I c a n h e a r a p i a n o h i g h u p i n t h e h o u s e across the laneway - s o m e ­ o n e ' s playing C h o p i n (I t h i n k it is), it s o u n d s like a n o c t u r n e , over a n d over again. I w e n t over t o t h e w i n ­ d o w t o see w h e r e it w a s c o m i n g from a n d c a u g h t sight o f t h e Professor s l i p p i n g o u t o n o n e o f h i s m i d n i g h t w a l k s i n t h e d i r e c t i o n o f t h e station. I t a u g h t h i m t h e w o r d 'constitutional' tonight a n d h e was extremely p l e a s e d w i t h it.

Venice, 5th April Y o u CAN ALMOST SPIT i n t o Italy f r o m t h e s o u t h e r n t i p o f t h e Isola G r a n d e . T h a t s w h y for c e n t u r i e s t h e r e w a s always a n e s t o r t w o o f s m u g g l e r s o n these islands. A n d n u n s as well, apparently. T h e L o m b a r d O r d e r o f t h e U m i l i a t e h a d a cloister h e r e i n t h e M i d d l e Ages, u n t i l t h r o w n o u t b y a saint for d e g e n e r a c y a n d a love o f luxury.* Seclusion, obviously, e v e n w i t h a w i n d o w t o a w i d e r w o r l d , is n o p r o o f against' t h e vicious streak' (I m e a n t h e v i p e r l u r k i n g i n t h e u n d e r g r o w t h ) . After all, as s o m e Jesuit o n c e sourly r e m a r k e d , t h e Terrestrial Paradise w a s n o t so m u c h e x e m p t f r o m sin as t h e place w h e r e s i n b e g a n . H e w a s inveighing, I t h i n k , against a n i m m o d e r a t e p a s s i o n i n Italy for g r a n d g a r d e n s . R a c h e l w a s w a i t i n g for m e as she'd p r o m i s e d i n t h e H e r b G a r d e n o n a s t o n e b e n c h i n t h e sun, s w a t h e d i n b l u e w o o l . It's a small island ( a l t h o u g h t h e bigger o f t h e t w o ) a n d it h a d n ' t t a k e n m e m o r e t h a n a few m i n ­ u t e s t o find m y w a y across it, u p past t h e r a t h e r g r a n d p i n k a n d grey Renaissance p a v i l i o n o n t h e k n o l l a n d

locamo

Letters

then d o w n through the rhododendrons, the Burmese p a l m s a n d figs t o t h e w a l l e d g a r d e n jutting i n t o t h e lake o n t h e o p p o s i t e side, just as she'd described. I'd p a u s e d t o w a t c h t h e p h e a s a n t s p i c k i n g a m o n g s t t h e shrubbery, t h e i r g o l d a n d black h o o d s sliding u p a n d d o w n against t h e teal a n d r e d o f t h e i r necks. It all s e e m e d flawlessly beautiful. I h a l f e x p e c t e d t o see m o o n - f a c e d h o u r i s i n b l u e silk flitting a m o n g s t t h e p a l m s a n d roses. T h e H e r b G a r d e n , a s u n n y hortus conclusus w i t h s t e p p e d p o o l , rectangular b e d s a n d s m a l l i v y - d r a p e d o p e n i n g s o n t o t h e lake outside, w a s n o t h i n g less t h a n Koranic. It w a s t h e raised g a r d e n w i t h i n T h e G a r d e n , t h e lush, s h a d e d a n d w e l l - w a t e r e d g a r d e n o f t h e Isola G r a n d e . T h e Arabs, I expect, h a d t h e i r o w n g o o d r e a ­ s o n s for p i c t u r i n g Paradise as a w a l l e d d o m a i n o f pomegranates and orange-trees, hyacinths and h o n e y ­ suckle, crossed b y rivers o f m i l k , honey, w a t e r a n d (yes) w i n e . I d o n ' t live i n a desert, b u t s o m e t h i n g a b o u t t h e Islamic vision appeals t o m e very strongly. O n reflec­ tion, I d o n ' t t h i n k it's t h e date p a l m s a n d roses that d r a w m e so m u c h , o r t h e silver c o m b s a n d b u r p s s m e l l i n g o f m u s k , o r t h e absence o f c h i l d r e n a n d s e m e n , o r even t h e p r e s e n c e o f h a n d s o m e serving y o u t h s (of w h o m t h e r e are several i n t h e pavilion o n t h e k n o l l , as it h a p ­ p e n s ) . N o , it h a s m o r e t o d o , I t h i n k , w i t h t h e vision o f i n t e r l o c k i n g enclosures, t h e cloistered, s e c l u d e d d e s i g n t h e M u s l i m vision entails - t h e firdaus o r djanna, as Arabs call Paradise, is after all a walled garden. B u t w h a t is it I w a n t t o k e e p o u t ? M i g h t it i n m y case b e t h e city? Yesterday, b y t h e w a y ( a n d this is à propos), I h a p p e n e d

- 4 5 -

t o see Tintoretto's terrifying vision o f Paradise i n t h e Doges' Palace h e r e i n Venice. Supposedly t h e largest o i l p a i n t i n g i n t h e w o r l d , it covers a w h o l e w a l l b e h i n d t h e r o s t r u m i n t h e Great C o u n c i l Hall. T h e r i g h t e o u s i n Tintoretto's version are t r a p p e d inside w h a t l o o k s like t h e u m p t e e n t h rehearsal for a n u n d e r f u n d e d b l o c k ­ b u s t e r musical, w i t h a h e r d o f joyless, sexless, a n x i o u s little s u p e r n u m e r a r i e s s t a m p e d i n g t o w a r d s t h e t w o badly dressed stars - n o p r o p s , appalling lighting, c o m e a s - y o u - w e r e costumes. W h o o n e a r t h c o u l d desire this? A n d m y m i n d w e n t b a c k t o t h e Viana Palace* i n C o r d o b a . (I love C o r d o b a — I ' m o n e o f those

who

secretly regret t h e M o o r s w e r e ever t h r o w n o u t o f Spain.) T h e r e y o u w a n d e r i n a n d o u t o f t h e w h i t e walled villa t h r o u g h a succession of courtyards, each o n e a gentle surprise: t h e aristocratic, a r c h e d R e c e p t i o n C o u r t y a r d ( n i g h t - b l o o m i n g jasmine, m u s k - r o s e a n d bougainvillaea c l i m b i n g u p t h e pillars); t h e t r a n q u i l Chapel C o u r t y a r d (for m e d i t a t i n g u n d e r t h e Seville o r a n g e - t r e e s ) ; t h e m a n y - c o r n e r e d Well C o u r t y a r d w i t h its M o o r i s h w a t e r - b u c k e t s , w a t e r e d b y a n u n d e r g r o u n d stream; d i e Maze C o u r t y a r d w i t h its circular f o u n t a i n at t h e centre o f t h e m a z e a n d its fragrant b o r d e r o f roses a n d a r u m s ; t h e Lady's C o u r t y a r d w i t h its r i n g o f cypresses a n d espaliered lemons; there's even a Courtyard o f t h e Cats, its h i g h walls a d o r n e d w i t h d o z e n s o f p o t s o f r e d a n d orange g e r a n i u m s . . . t h i r t e e n courtyards a n d g a r d e n s i n all, going off at o d d angles from e a c h other, higher, lower, inside, outside, t h e gateways softened w i t h Chinese wisteria, b e r g a m o t a n d c l i m b i n g roses. B u t t h e

Locarno Letters

best o f all is t h e Grille C o u r t y a r d : h e r e y o u can stand beside t h e p i n k m a r b l e f o u n t a i n , as t h e m a r q u i s e s a n d t h e i r guests u s e d t o d o i n earlier t i m e s , a n d l o o k o u t t h r o u g h w r o u g h t - i r o n grilles t o t h e d i r t y j u m b l e o f c o n c r e t e a n d b r i c k b e y o n d - t h e city. This w a s all infi­ nitely m o r e desirable t o m e t h a n T i n t o r e t t o s vision. Yet even h e r e a n h o u r is q u i t e e n o u g h . Well, w e m a y h a v e h a d n o silken c u s h i o n s t o sit o n i n o u r H e r b Garden that m o r n i n g , but w e were b o t h c o n s c i o u s , I t h i n k , R a c h e l a n d I, o f h o w close t o p e r ­ fection o u r h i d d e n m e e t i n g - p l a c e w a s . She b e g a n t o tell m e h e r s t o r y a l m o s t i m m e d i a t e l y . O n e o f t h e advantages o f b e i n g Australian is t h a t y o u are a k i n d o f b l a n k t o o t h e r p e o p l e , I u s u a l l y find, a n d so o f l i t ­ tle interest t o t h e m u n t i l t h e y h a v e w r i t t e n o n y o u . I've n e v e r felt a n y h o s t i l i t y t o w a r d s m e o n a c c o u n t o f w h e r e I c o m e f r o m , just a refreshing absence o f a n y i d e a o f w h a t it m i g h t m e a n a n d a n

indifference

t o w a r d s finding o u t . I d i d o n c e m e e t a p o s t m i s t r e s s i n C o r n w a l l , I m u s t say, w h o w a s m i l d l y i n t e r e s t e d i n Australia b e c a u s e s h e h a d a s o n living ' o u t t h e r e ' , b u t e v e n she c o u l d find n o h o o k t o h a n g a c o n v e r s a t i o n o n . I r a t h e r h o p e w e c a n k e e p it t h a t way. So R a c h e l b e g a n w r i t i n g o n m e .

-47THE STORY OF ANTONIETTA, BARONESS DE ST LÉGER, AND THE GOLDEN AMULET

Long ago in a city in southern India - centuries ago, when this island was little more than a bramble-covered rock, ringed by squalid fish­ ing villages, remote from the squabbles of dukes and popes and emperors - long, long ago not far from Mysore, right down near the very tip of India, a prince fell in love with an enchanting princess from a neighbouring court. Now, the prince had been born ill-starred and ugly. His legs were bandy, his skin was too pale, his cheeks were pitted and, to boot, he lisped—just slightly, but distinctly, and the flaw gave rise to mock­ ing smiles. In his favour he had a heart of softest gold. How could he win the attention, not to speak of the affections, of the princess he'd seen dallying with his sisters by the palace pond? He thought first of archery. He was an excellent archer. Yet, however unerringly his arrows found their mark at tournaments and on royal hunts, the princess never seemed to be amongst the throng of spectators. He would search for her face amongst the crowd but never find it. He thought of guile as well. H e thought of begging his sisters to suggest to the princess she spend a day and a night with them at the palace as their guest. But when all was said and done, he didn't trust them and feared their jibes. Then he hit upon a plan. He would send her a token of his feel­ ings, with despatch and in utmost secrecy. He had in mind no gaudy trinket - no common necklace strung from Coromandel pearls or anklet studded with Golconda diamonds — but the veiy impress, elo­ quent and graceful, of his longing. That night he dressed himself in simple merchants garb, slipped out of the palace by a garden gate

Locarno Letters and made his way into the lanes where the city's silversmiths and goldsmiths lived. There by the light of a single oil-lamp, swearing h i m to secrecy, he struck a deal with the most skilful craftsman in the city. Using only the most lustrous gold, the old m a n would fashion a m i t h u n a in exquisite detail - a Loving Couple, symbol of the Self that once was one and, from desiring, now was two, desir­ ing oneness. In those far-off times in that far-off place this kind of message was as plain as the moon in a cloudless sky. Seven nights later the prince went back to the goldsmith's shop, dressed in the same merchant's garb, and was astounded by the beauty of the amulet, glowing in the amber light of the oil-lamp. He rewarded the goldsmith handsomely, gave him a small camphor-wood box and told h i m to take the amulet in the box to the princess in the neighbouring city and tell her nothing but his name. And so the very next morning the goldsmith set out on foot for the palace a day's journey away. W h a t happened next is in dispute: some say he was waylaid by bandits and robbed of the amulet, some say he sold it to some merchants from the Malabar Coast, and some even say that as he lay admiring it by a stream a thieving raven flew off with it. The goldsmith wisely said nothing. The prince waited in vain for word from the princess, for some sign his arrow had found its mark. Receiving none, he began to pine, soon sickened and slowly faded away. The goldsmith, for his part, was struck blind all of a sud­ den, sat on a yellow scorpion and died. Now, some years later a Jewish merchant on the Malabar Coast named Yehudi took up his pen and added the m i t h u n a amulet to the list of goods he was sending to his brother in Yemen. The cargo of finest buckram, ginger, cinnamon and pearls arrived on the w i n ­ ter monsoon, eluding the swarms of corsairs, althoughYehudi himself by then was long dead, bitten on the hand by a yellow-eyed viper

-49nestling in a bale of cotton. The Yemenite brother, Abraham, knew of a number of wealthy men in the city who would take pleasure in the Loving Couple, but the matter was a delicate one at that time, given the reigning sultans public piety. So Abraham judged it more prudent to hide away the amulet in its sweet-smelling camphorwood box inside a stronger juniper box inside a cavity in the wall at the very top of his house in a lane behind the s o u k , at least until the times were more propitious. But rumours spread like d a m m u s a lizards in the sun, scurry­ ing through the s o u k and up the rocky hill to the sultans palace, which towered blue and white above the city. And the sultan, who was rich beyond all dreaming from the trade in stallions with the East, as well as from plundering caravans, sent a blue-black Abyssinian down into the city to summon the merchant to the palace. Tiring of his wives and catamites, the sultan had spent the winter* sick with lust for a Syrian dancing-girl, yet, dose himself as he might with Chinese herbs, infusions of bark and pastes and potions, and despite astrologers' mutterings and Bedouin spells and magic bangles, his member would not awake. The whisperings he'd heard of the power of the amulet pricked his interest and raised his hopes. Rumours of the sultan's lust and his attempts to whet it had, of course, long ago scuttled like skinks down the hill to the s o u k , so Abraham went up to the palace in the lively hope of striking a favourable bargain, the camphor box hidden deep in his robes. The sultan was delighted by the Loving Couple. He examined it in the box, examined it on a silken cushion, examined it in his hand. He liked the ample lifted thigh, the breasts both full and taut, the promise of pleasure in the jutting member. He closed his firm fist on it, warming the gold, and thought about his smooth-limbed Syrian. Yes, there were stirrings, he was sure, he could feel a trickle of warmth

Locarno Letters seep through his body, a gentle beating slowly growing more fervid. T must have this amulet' he said. But when the merchant tried to bargain with the sultan, he grew extremely angry. 'So you would try to s e l l me a graven image, a heathen charm?' he roared. 'Only to then boast about your price in the market and to your Jewish friends?' And he called the blue-black Abyssinian and had poor A b r a h a m thrown from the palace wall down into the dry ravine below where jackals prowled at night and vultures hovered in the sun. Now, the sultan's preparations for his secret night of love were very thorough: tapers filled the air with musk, pomegranates, figs and jujube berries lay piled in silver bowls on tiled tables, crushed ibex horn was sprinkled across the doorways, and two lutes could be heard through the trellis being plucked with subtle mellowness in the courtyard below. From the sultan's neck there hung the Hindu talisman on a silken thread. After sucking on juicy pomegranates and quaffing Persian wine, the couple lay back on the soft divan amongst the cushions, l a n ­ guorously alert and torpidly elated. After some time, when Aisha's lips began to tremble and her breath came sharply, they tried the Ostrich Tail, the Squatting Frog and even Archimedes' Screw, all to n o avail. Slithering and flapping like a dying fish, the sultan tried the Fluttering Butterfly, the Wailing Monkey and finally, foolishly, the Galloping Charger. Red in the face, then mauve, then white, he fell back on his cushions wheezing, hiccoughed twice and lay stone dead. Aisha, being of a practical cast of mind, more a falcon than a silly dove, however she might coo and undulate at certain ordained times, quickly pocketed the amulet, feasted on plums and slices of melon until the candles had burnt low, and then, with a sign to the Abyssinian to leave his master sleeping, she vanished down the hill to the maidan by the Covered Well from where, a few hours before sunrise, the caravans set out for the cities of the north.

-51 The Abyssinian caught her, of course, and slit her with his scimitar from groin to scalp, but not before she'd sold the amulet to a camel-driver bound for Ta'izz and thence for Cairo. He had cheated her shamelessly, as it happened, but as it turned out that mattered very little. It was not the camel-driver but his son who sold the amulet to a Jew in Cairo. The camel-driver had died of the plague in Mecca, choking on his vomit. The Jew, as Heaven wills these things, was none other than Abraham's and Yehudi s elder brother, Simon, the wiliest of the three, black-bearded, portly, pious, up to his ears in frankin­ cense, nutmeg and gold. He thought of softening his mistress's heart with it, of selling it to some Turk or even a Greek from Alexandria, but at that time trade with Sicily was flourishing. Ever since Roger (the Great Count's son) had set up his kingdom there, ships had been sailing for Palermo heaped with costly goods from the Levant and even further to the East. And Simon's agent there was his nephew Aaron, sharp as a knife and growing richer by the month. And so, like his brother Yehudi some years before on the distant Malabar Coast, Simon took up his pen and listed the amulet in his consignment to Palermo. And, as had befallen Yehudi, news of its safe arrival (Saracen pirates notwithstanding) never reached h i m because, on his way to the synagogue of Ben Ezra the following sabbath, he was kicked in the head by a shying horse and his neck was broken. Aaron, however, was well-pleased with the glinting charm and took to carrying it with him in his pocket both in Palermo and on his trips around the island. He would finger it there sometimes, strolling in the Saracen gardens or standing on his terrace above the sea, tracing with a kind of unaccustomed tenderness the sturdy arms and legs and upturned faces. It seemed to promise him something, something almost unbearably sweet, something at the same time faint and vigorous.

Locarno Letters A year or so after the amulet came into his possession, Aaron went to Messina, having business in the port there with some Jews from Naples The cold was wolfish, the town forsaken, so one evening when the winds off the frozen spine of Italy were biting into his very bones, Aaron turned in at a small establishment in a lane near the fish-market, seeking warmth and solace. La Conchiglia, as it was known, was as rosy and snug inside as the conch-shell hanging out­ side promised. L a m a m m a n a herself was rosy and plump on her Moorish divan, a dish of sticky confections beside her, although her girls appealed to a diversity of tastes: there was a slender, coal-black Ethiope, a German, solid as a statue (fetching in the candle-glow), a sullen Greek, and a prancing Neapolitan or two with rotten teeth, but Aaron decided on the Turk, who won h i m over with her ravish­ ing blend of brazenness and modesty. He liked the way she moved across the room, her fat, w a r m body and a spicy smell. She proved, in fact, a little indolent in her efforts on the grubby couch, but Aaron went out by the sign of the conch-shell feeling not displeased, and in some measure even warmed and soothed. It was only when he was dressing the next morning at his inn to leave for home that he found he was without his amulet. He was, like the far-off (now dead) Indian prince, at something of a loss: he couldn't show he'd ever had the piece with him and couldn't take steps to retrieve it without cover­ ing himself in shame. To bargain with l a m a m m a n a was clearly futile. Although it was still early morning, the amulet would doubt­ less be by now in very different hands. So Aaron set out from Messina much dispirited (for home, he thought, but actually for a ravine near the sanctuary of the Black Virgin where bandits cut his throat). Meanwhile, l a m a m m a n a , noticeably less rosy in the morning light, had sold the Loving Couple to a customer she knew well from Naples, a princeling' (as she was

-53fond of calling h i m ) of the Church, an exceedingly learned m a n , especially in all things Mohammedan - the art, the music and the doctrines as well, which he held up to ridicule in the most scathing and convincing way when roused, which he easily was, even at La Conchiglia and particularly in his cups. A few days later this e r u dite princeling carried his trophy off to Naples (escaping, by Gods grace, the earthquake which that very afternoon flattened the fishmarket, the church he'd prayed in and La Conchiglia, crushing the life out of l a m a m m a n a , the Turk, the Ethiope and the German, but not the Neapolitans w h o — g r a z i e

alia

Santa

Maria

V e r g i n e ! — were casting their nets down by the docks out in the open a t the time). H e was as well-read in the errors of the Hindus as in the heresies of the Mohammedans, having heard tales of the lascivious adornments in their temples along the Ganges (halfway between Jerusalem and the Mount of Purgatory, as he k n e w ) and prized the piece for m a n y years as precious evidence of the foulness in the souls of idol-worshippers, unredeemed and headed for the pit of Hell. One morning in an excellent temper, as he was passing Egg Castle, which as everyone knows the Angevins (at that time lords of Naples) had taken it into their heads to rebuild (and where Virgil's magic egg lies hidden to this day)*, he clambered up onto a shaky scaffold to get a better view of how the work was proceeding, slipped and tumbled into a vat of pitch. His books and jewels and paintings were seized that very afternoon in an unseemly mêlée in his less than monkish quarters. Men of the cloth and brothers and nieces and one or two ladies of Naples (having hastily thrown on black) all scrambled for mementoes of their revered friend. But no one thought to open up the wall where, in a dusty cavity, one or two objects lay hidden which, in a city distrustful of the Evil Eye and the power of unholy

Locarno Letters things, even our enlightened prelate judged it wise to keep well out of sight: a hair from the Caliph Alis head (the husband of Mahomet's daughter), a Persian book of lessons in the art of love and the small, gold amulet from India. And there they all stayed, believe it or not, for nigh on six hundred years.

' A n d that,' said Rachel, s o u n d i n g n o w m o r e h e r English self, 'is w h e n t h i n g s s t a r t e d t o get q u i t e interesting.' ' B u t d o y o u believe a n y o f it?' I asked after a m o m e n t ' s silence. 'I m e a n , t h e h a i r f r o m A l i s h e a d , those Jewish brothers, the crushed ibex h o r n , that mooning prince with bandy legs...' 'Believe it?' R a c h e l l o o k e d a m u s e d . 'All I've d o n e is tell y o u t h e story. I ' m n o t s u r e I k n o w w h a t it w o u l d m e a n t o say I believed it o r d i d n ' t . D o y o u r e m e m b e r w h a t K a n t o n c e said a b o u t ghosts?' I d i d n ' t , o f c o u r s e , h a v e t h e faintest i d e a w h a t K a n t h a d o n c e said a b o u t ghosts. ' H e said t h a t w h i l e h e w a s u n c o n v i n c e d b y a single ghost-story, s o m e h o w o r o t h e r h e w a s still c o n ­ v i n c e d b y t h e i d e a o f ghosts as a w h o l e . ' I w a s n o t s u r e q u i t e h o w far this g o t us.* 'For t h e n e x t p a r t , t h o u g h , t h e I t a l i a n p a r t , I t h i n k w e s h o u l d sit l o o k i n g i n t o Italy, d o n ' t y o u ? ' So w e left the H e r b Garden a n d walked a r o u n d by the avenue o f d a t e - p a l m s along the water's edge to a second raised g a r d e n , sitting squarely t h i s t i m e o n t h e s o u t h e r n m o s t p o i n t o f t h e Isola G r a n d e , w i t h seats affording a s p e c ­ t a c u l a r v i e w d o w n t h e lake i n t o Italy w h e r e

the

m o u n t a i n s a r e a l m o s t always a s o o t h i n g m i l k y b l u e .

Venice, 6th April I T ' S SO EASY t o believe i n m a g i c h e r e i n Venice. W h e n y o u first see t h e city f r o m t h e t r a i n it's like a m i r a g e , like a v i s i o n o f w i l d s p l e n d o u r s o m e s o r c e r e r h a s c o n ­ j u r e d u p far o u t t o sea.* B u t it's magical i n less o b v i o u s a n d b a n a l ways, t o o . Earlier tonight, for e x a m p l e , I w e n t r o a m i n g a r o u n d t h e lanes a n d alleys across t h e G r a n d Canal from t h e station, n o t far from t h e h o t e l . You cross t h a t b r i d g e j a m m e d w i t h tourists a n d p e d l a r s a n d t h e Africans selling belts a n d bags a n d m e c h a n i c a l p a n d a s a n d so o n , y o u t u r n a c o r n e r a n d i m m e d i a t e l y y o u ' r e p l u n g e d i n t o a m a z e of stony c h a s m s , e c h o i n g t o a m y r i a d o f tiny s o u n d s - heels clicking, dogs yapping, o l d m e n c o u g h i n g - a n d at o n e corner, lost, I s t o o d a n d lis­ t e n e d t o a s o n a t a floating d o w n from a w i n d o w h i g h u p i n t h e h o u s e across from m e , a n d I l o o k e d b a c k t h e w a y I'd c o m e a n d t h e i n k y canal I'd b e e n w a l k i n g beside s e e m e d at t h a t m o m e n t t o stretch o u t like a

flute-note

t o w a r d s t h e m o o n — I w a s b e w i t c h e d . By day, o f course, it's just a r a u c o u s , t a w d r y s h a m , like a stage-set w h e n

Locarno Letters

t h e h o u s e - l i g h t s c o m e u p , b u t at n i g h t it casts a spell o n y o u . You lose y o u r r e a s o n . I have to confess that I w a s prowling a r o u n d the d a r k ­ e n e d alleyways o f Venice because I thought, just for fun, I m i g h t tail t h e Professor a n d see w h e r e it is h e scurries off t o n i g h t after n i g h t o n h i s supposed 'constitutional'. I saw h i m set off u p t h e lane as I w a s leaning o n t h e w i n d o w s i l l t h i n k i n g a b o u t n o t h i n g at all. I a l m o s t d i d n ' t recognize h i m , t o tell y o u t h e t r u t h , because, o f all things, h e w a s w e a r i n g a leather-jacket a n d a black p e a k e d cap! Bought, n o d o u b t , i n o n e o f those stylish b o u t i q u e s b e h i n d St Mark's Square, b u t all t h e s a m e it w a s q u i t e a transformation. Barely s t o p p i n g t o think, I d a s h e d d o w n the stairs a n d u p t h e laneway after h i m . I w a s intrigued. I could still see his cap jogging along ahead o f m e o n t h e San S i m e o n Piccolo e m b a n k m e n t , a n d I caught sight of h i m jostling h i s w a y t h r o u g h the t h r o n g o n t h e b r i d g e i n front o f t h e station, b u t b y t h e t i m e I'd got u p a n d over t h e b r i d g e myself he'd g o n e - w h e t h e r u p i n t o the station to t h e left o r d o w n the Lista d i Spagna t o t h e r i g h t w h e r e t h e c r o w d s w e r e still milling a r o u n d t h e restaurants, I c o u l d n ' t tell. It d i d n ' t matter, it w a s just a r a t h e r childish fantasy I'd h a d — f o l l o w i n g s o m e o n e , going w h e r e I w a s led, u n e a r t h i n g a secret o r two. It w a s silly, really, so I m a d e m y w a y b a c k across the b r i d g e a n d w e n t for a w a l k alone.

B u t I w a s telling y o u Rachel's story o f t h e b a r o n e s s a n d t h e a m u l e t . Well, w e settled d o w n i n t o o u r c h a i r s o n

-57the

little

terrace

jutting

out

from

the

south­

w e s t e r n e n d o f t h e Isola G r a n d e like t h e p r o w o f a s h i p a n d gazed for a w h i l e at Italy. T h e ivy o n t h e walls, twisting in and o u t of white-flowering

clematis,

droops right d o w n to b r u s h the lapping water. I n August, R a c h e l t o l d m e , t h e h u g e o l d c o t o n e a s t e r just b e h i n d u s w a s always covered i n a c l o u d o f b r i g h t r e d b e r r i e s — w e l l w o r t h w a l k i n g all t h e w a y d o w n t o t h e t e r r a c e just t o see. 'But y o u have t o b e s u r e t o get h e r e b e f o r e t h e b l a c k b i r d s eat t h e m all.' 'Now, i n t h e s p r i n g o f 1872,' s h e said, after a t h o u g h t f u l p a u s e , h e r eyes fixed o n s o m e p o i n t i n t h e b l u e h a z e t o t h e s o u t h , 'a y o u n g schoolgirl f r o m St P e t e r s b u r g a r r i v e d w i t h h e r governess i n Messina. A c c o r d i n g t o t h e governess, t h e y w e r e h o p i n g t h e Italian s u n a n d M e d i t e r r a n e a n air w o u l d c u r e t h e girl's l u n g s - at least, that's w h a t she t o l d everybody. She w a s w e l l e d u c a t e d (for a s i x t e e n - y e a r - o l d girl). I n d e e d , she'd b e e n s t u d y i n g at t h e S m o l n y I n s t i t u t e i n St Petersburg, w h i c h i n those days w a s a s c h o o l for y o u n g ladies o f n o b l e b i r t h - it w a s specified i n t h e Institute's full tide. Have y o u h e a r d o f it? I w a s terribly i m p r e s s e d t h e first t i m e I saw it. It's a massive, s y m m e t r i c a l , Italianate b u i l d i n g - there's a t o u c h o f t h e P a l l a d i a n a b o u t it, as a m a t t e r o f fact - n e x t t o t h e o l d S m o l n y N u n n e r y . * L e n i n , o f c o u r s e , m a d e it t h e seat o f t h e Soviet G o v e r n m e n t after t h e R e v o l u t i o n , it w a s w h e r e they plotted the October uprising, something

the

Baroness w a s always careful t o p o i n t o u t i n later life. She h a d n ' t t h e slightest s y m p a t h y w i t h t h e Bolsheviks,

Locarno Letters b u t she prized any k i n d of connection w i t h . . . well, w i t h p e o p l e o f significance - n o t so m u c h p o w e r , I w o u l d say, as significance. I n fact, she u s e d t o c l a i m t h e Soviet m e t i n t h e very r o o m she'd s t u d i e d in, b u t t h a t m a y have b e e n a h e i g h t e n i n g o f t h e t r u t h . '"Beautiful" t o m e s e e m s n o t q u i t e t h e r i g h t w o r d t o describe A n t o n i e t t a Bayer, w h i c h is t h e n a m e she a r r i v e d i n Sicily w i t h . I've n o d o u b t t h e Italians called h e r "bella" a n d t h e G e r m a n s "schön" a n d so o n , b u t , l o o k ­ i n g n o w at h e r p o r t r a i t as a y o u n g w o m a n , I w o n d e r if "beautiful" q u i t e c a p t u r e s w h a t it w a s a b o u t h e r t h a t d r e w p e o p l e t o her. A n d p e o p l e w e r e certainly d r a w n t o her. I k n o w w h a t s h e l o o k e d like w h e n she w a s y o u n g - t h e r e a r e p o r t r a i t s b y Ranzoni* f r o m

that

p e r i o d , r a t h e r impressionistic a n d dreamy, b u t n o t s o b l u r r e d y o u can't see w h a t w a s striking a b o u t her. T h e p a i n t i n g I k n o w best s h o w s h e r at a n angle t o t h e artist, taming

h e r h e a d slightly t o l o o k straight at us. She's

w e a r i n g a h i g h , ruffled collar - lace, I s u p p o s e - w h i c h h e r loose, d a r k h a i r just r e a c h e s at t h e b a c k . H e r face is t h i n a n d q u i t e p o i n t e d w i t h large, h e a v y - l i d d e d , b r o w n eyes. It's o n e o f those d i s t u r b i n g faces w h i c h s e e m s t o b e saying, " I ' m h e r e w i t h y o u , yes, b u t I d o n ' t b e l o n g here."There's a w e l l - b r o u g h t - u p gracefulness t o h e r figure, of course, as you'd e x p e c t i n a y o u n g lady from Smolny, b u t also a h i n t o f s o m e t h i n g m o r e h o y d e n i s h just b e l o w t h e surface, s o m e t h i n g capricious a n d i m p u l s i v e . She w a s w h a t y o u call interesting - y o u k n o w , w i t h t h a t special k i n d o f stress o n t h e first syllable. 'She a n d h e r governess f o u n d lodgings i n Messina

-59i n t h e h o u s e o f a N e a p o l i t a n , a c e r t a i n G i u l i o Jaeger. G o o d n e s s k n o w s w h a t h e m a d e o f t h e m - t h e sickly lit¬ tle Russian aristocrat w i t h t h e G e r m a n n a m e a n d h e r p r i m c o m p a n i o n w i t h h e r h e a d i n F r e n c h novels. Day after w i n d y day t h e y s e e m e d t o have n o t h i n g m u c h t o d o e x c e p t stroll i n t h e s u n a n d t u r n t h e h e a d s o f Messina's i d l e r citizens. A p a r t from a n y t h i n g else, t h e r e w a s t h e q u e s t i o n o f w h o A n t o n i e t t a Bayer really w a s . I ' m s u r e Signor Jaeger t r i e d t o find o u t - w i t h s e n s i ­ tivity, o f course, b e i n g after all ( d i d I m e n t i o n this?) t h e A m e r i c a n C o n s u l i n Naples a n d , if anything, t o o d i p l o ­ m a t i c for h i s o w n g o o d — b u t i n t h e e n d h e w a s left t o m u l l over t h e s a m e sketchy versions o f h e r life all h e r o t h e r h u s b a n d s w e r e later offered. As far as w e k n o w , n o t o n e o f t h e m ever q u i t e g o t t o t h e b o t t o m o f it all. 'We d o know, however, that the m o r e bizarre r u m o u r s started right away i n 1872 i n Messina, over that first s u m ­ mer. It w a s the hairbrush, fairly clearly w h i c h started it a l l Antonietta's hairbrush was engraved w i t h a gold c r o w n a n d the letter A, a n d o n e m o r n i n g w h e n she was sitting o n t h e terrace b r u s h i n g h e r hair i n long, slow strokes (something Jaeger apparently found quite bewitching), h e asked h e r w h a t t h e c r o w n m e a n t Exactly h o w she answered h i m is n o t recorded, b u t t h e impression w a s left that she w a s n o t just of aristocratic blood (the daughter of s o m e noble Baltic n o b o d y called Bayer), b u t o f royal blood. And indeed, she later recorded h e r father's n a m e w i t h the Swiss a u t h o r i ­ ties as " A l e x a n d e r " - n o s u r n a m e (in the royal m a n n e r ) , no

family details. H e r mother's n a m e she gave as

''Wilhelmine"—again, n o s u r n a m e , n o other information.

Locarno Letters

'Well, t h e r u m o u r s p r e a d t h r o u g h M e s s i n a - a n d eventually t o Naples, R o m e a n d Switzerland, r e a c h i n g y o u h e r e this m o r n i n g over 1 2 0 y e a r s later — t h a t t h e e n c h a n t i n g A n t o n i e t t a Bayer w a s i n fact t h e illegiti­ m a t e d a u g h t e r o f Czar A l e x a n d e r II a n d a P r u s s i a n mistress. Certainly never d u r i n g h e r l o n g life d i d A n t o n i e t t a u t t e r a single syllable t o c o n t r a d i c t t h e r u m o u r . N o r b y t h e s a m e t o k e n d i d s h e offer a j o t o f e v i d e n c e t o s u p p o r t it. T h e i n t r i g u i n g t h i n g is t h a t it's perfectly possible. A l e x a n d e r is n o w r e m e m b e r e d for freeing t h e serfs a n d b u i l d i n g railways all over Russia. At t h e t i m e , t h o u g h , h e w a s n o t o r i o u s for h i s n u m e r ­ o u s affairs w i t h captivating y o u n g w o m e n ,

some

l o n g - l a s t i n g a n d scandalous, s o m e o f n o c o n s e q u e n c e at all. W h e t h e r t h e W i l h e l m i n e w h o c a u g h t t h e royal eye i n S e p t e m b e r , 1 8 5 5 , w a s o n e o f h i s m o r e p e r m a ­ n e n t liaisons o r m e r e l y a servant t o b e t a k e n advantage of, say, o r s o m e n o b l e m a n ' s n i e c e u p f r o m t h e Baltic p r o v i n c e s for a m o n t h , I d a r e say w e ' l l n e v e r k n o w I rather h o p e not. ' W h a t e v e r really h a p p e n e d , it's easy t o i m a g i n e a r r a n g e m e n t s b e i n g discreetly m a d e for t h e y o u n g A n t o n i e t t a t o b e e d u c a t e d at t h e S m o l n y I n s t i t u t e w i t h o t h e r y o u n g w o m e n o f b l o o d - A l e x a n d e r w a s , after all, a m a n o f s o m e c u l t u r e , t u t o r e d b y t h e great p o e t Z h u k o v s k y himself, a n d he'd h a v e t h o u g h t o f Smolny, I ' m sure, as a g e n t l e m a n l y g e s t u r e o n h i s p a r t . 'By t h e early 1870s, t h o u g h , w h e n A n t o n i e t t a w a s fifteen

o r sixteen, A l e x a n d e r c o u l d n ' t afford t o b e h a v e

i n q u i t e as cavalier a fashion as h e h a d w h e n n e w l y

-61 o n the throne. A student had tried to blow h i m u p s o m e years e a r l i e r — i n 1 8 6 6 , 1 t h i n k i t w a s — a n d ever since t h e n he'd l e d a m o r e c a u t i o u s , r e i n e d - i n sort o f life, relying heavily for advice o n m a t t e r s o f state o n t h e h e a d o f t h e Secret Police. A n d t h e r e w a s t r o u b l e b r e w i n g w i t h t h e Turks, as w e l l . I t h i n k h e t h o u g h t if h e p u t o n e foot w r o n g h e m i g h t fall a n d b r e a k h i s n e c k . At t h e s a m e t i m e h e w a s i n t h e m i d d l e o f a t u m u l t u o u s affair w i t h a v e r y y o u n g w o m a n — C a t h e r i n e s o m e o n e , I t h i n k it w a s . It h a d b e e n g o i n g o n for years a n d w a s g e t t i n g o u t o f hand.' In m y m i n d by this t i m e I was d e e p inside t h e W i n t e r Palace i n St Petersburg. T h e t a n g o f t h e w a x e d p a r q u e t f l o o r i n g w a s p i n c h i n g at m y n o s t r i l s . I h a d b e e n s e d u c e d . Rachel, however, t o m y s u r p r i s e , w a s b u s y fitting a cigarette i n t o a s m a l l a m b e r h o l d e r w i t h a gold b a n d at o n e e n d . 'Do y o u s m o k e ? I find it relieves t h e flatness at a b o u t this t i m e i n t h e afternoon.' I m u s t say s m o k i n g s u i t e d her. ' O f course,' s h e w e n t o n , 'it's a l m o s t i m p o s s i b l e for u s — w h a t shall I call us? N o r t h e r n e r s , p e r h a p s , t h e English, t h e D u t c h , t h e G e r m a n s , t h e c h i l d r e n

of

N o r t h e r n P r o t e s t a n t s - a l m o s t i m p o s s i b l e for u s t o understand h o w these things were viewed a century ago i n u p p e r - c l a s s circles i n Russia. D o y o u k n o w y o u r Tolstoy? O n e can't b e s u r e t h e s e days. Well, y o u m i g h t r e m e m b e r that electrifying scene i n Anna Karenina w h e r e A n n a , a fallen w o m a n , goes t o t h e o p e r a a n d speaks o p e n l y w i t h h e r lover, Vronsky, i n h e r b o x . St Petersburg is scandalized t o t h e v e r y m a r r o w o f its b o n e s . T h e

Locarno Letters

d i v i n e Patti is forgotten, c o m p l e t e l y

upstaged—the

t h e a t r e is a sea o f o p e r a - g l a s s e s t r a i n e d o n t h e o u t r a g e taking place i n t h e K a r e n i n b o x . I love that scene. Well, I a d o r e t h e w h o l e novel, a c t u a l l y ' W h y Anna Karenina i n p a r t i c u l a r ? ' 'Because it's a b o u t all t h e t h i n g s t h a t are i m p o r t a n t — still, over a c e n t u r y later. It's a b o u t different k i n d s o f p e o p l e t r y i n g t o b e h a p p y a n d , o n t h e w h o l e , failing. T h e e n t i r e novel, it strikes m e , is a b r i l l i a n t a t t a c k o n t h e n o t i o n o f h a p p i n e s s , w h i c h y o u r society a n d m i n e are, o f course, still d e v o t e d to. T h e y o u n g e r g e n e r a t i o n , I s o m e t i m e s t h i n k , e v e n feels affronted w h e n h a p p i ­ ness e l u d e s it - it t h i n k s it h a s a right t o it, for s o m e c u r i o u s reason, it t h i n k s h a p p i n e s s c a n b e legislated for. Bliss, n o w , is a v e r y different thing. B u t w e ' l l c o m e t o that. ' T h e s c a n d a l o u s t h i n g a b o u t t h e scene at t h e o p e r a , y o u see, w a s n o t t h e fact o f Anna's a d u l t e r y — s o c i e t y c o u l d n ' t f u n c t i o n without adultery, after all, b e c a u s e it's the only thing that allows people to be true to their feelings a n d k e e p t h e i n s t i t u t i o n o f m a r r i a g e f u n c ­ tioning. W i t h o u t a d u l t e r y h a l f t h e p o p u l a t i o n w o u l d g o m a d a n d s h o o t itself. Absolutely vital t o m a i n t a i n ­ i n g l a w a n d order, adultery. N o , it w a s n ' t t h e fact o f a d u l t e r y t h a t c a u s e d t h e o p e r a - g l a s s e s to swivel, it w a s Anna's failure t o o b s e r v e t h e p r o p r i e t i e s — t o l e a d a d e c e n t d o u b l e life, i n o t h e r w o r d s . It w a s t h e t h r e a t t o p u b l i c o r d e r . A n i g h t at t h e o p e r a w a s a k i n d o f r i t u a l p u b l i c display o f y o u r allegiance t o all t h o s e t h i n g s w h i c h k e p t society f u n c t i o n i n g s m o o t h l y a n d

-63t o y o u r advantage, especially m a r r i a g e . P e r h a p s it still is—I haven't b e e n for years. Sexual passion, t h e a n t i t h e ­ sis o f m a r r i e d love, b e l o n g e d o n t h e stage o r i n y o u r lover's b e d r o o m , it h a d n o b u s i n e s s f l a u n t i n g itself i n a b o x at t h e o p e r a . Are y o u m a r r i e d , b y t h e w a y ? I ' m v e r y m u c h i n favour o f it myself, always h a v e b e e n . It's often a b i t o n t h e d u l l side, b u t i t gave m e a t o e - h o l d against all t h o s e law-givers - b u r e a u c r a t s , g o v e r n m e n t s , t h e C h u r c h , o t h e r p e o p l e - it w a s a little space b e l o n g ­ i n g just t o m e . W i t h o u t it I feel b l o w n a b o u t , I m u s t say, a n d p u t u p o n . I c a n see y o u ' r e n o t c o n v i n c e d . 'Anyway, at t h e t i m e w e ' r e t a l k i n g a b o u t , A l e x a n d e r w a s s h o w i n g definite signs o f " g o i n g t o t h e o p e r a " , s o t o speak, just w h e n p u b l i c o r d e r ( f r o m t h e p o i n t o f v i e w o f t h e H e a d o f t h e Secret Police) n e e d e d t o b e s t r e n g t h e n e d - against t h e b o m b - t h r o w i n g nihilists, t h e volatile p e a s a n t s , t h e Turks, t h e

free-thinkers-there

w e r e e n e m i e s e v e r y w h e r e , it s e e m e d . A n d s o it m a y w e l l h a v e s e e m e d t h e ideal m o m e n t t o p a c k a c a p r i ­ c i o u s i l l e g i t i m a t e d a u g h t e r off t o Sicily, t o d e c l a r e h e r c o n s u m p t i v e a n d i n n e e d o f sea air a n d h o t s u n . T h e c o n s u m p t i o n , b y t h e way, s e e m s t o h a v e d i s a p p e a r e d a l m o s t instantly, a l t h o u g h she u s e d t o h a v e ' l u n g t r o u ­ bles', as s h e called t h e m vaguely, from t i m e t o t i m e t h r o u g h o u t h e r life. P e o p l e d i d . A n d , curiously, Jaeger s e e m s t o h a v e b e e n c o n v i n c e d s o o n after A n t o n i e t t a a n d h e r governess t o o k u p residence w i t h h i m t h a t t h e q u e s t i o n o f h i s guests r e t u r n i n g t o Russia w o u l d s i m ­ ply n e v e r arise. N o r d i d h e s e e m s u r p r i s e d t h a t n o n e o f h e r p r e s u m a b l y w e a l t h y family ever s e e m e d m o v e d

Locarno Letters

t o visit her. H e s e e m e d assured v e r y early o n t h a t t h i s w a s i n t h e o r d e r o f things. 'Equally w e l l , o f course, A n t o n i e t t a Bayer m a y h a v e b e e n just A n t o n i e t t a Bayer, d a u g h t e r o f s o m e Baltic G e r m a n o f m e a n s , sent t o Italy for h e r h e a l t h a n d left t o h e r o w n (very a d e q u a t e ) devices. I d o h o p e n o o n e ever m a n a g e s t o find o u t w h i c h v e r s i o n is t h e t r u e o n e . ' W h e n G i u l i o Jaeger w e n t b a c k at t h e e n d o f t h e s u m m e r t o h i s p o s t i n N a p l e s - n o t a little s m i t t e n , I m i g h t a d d , w i t h t h e exotic b i r d w h i c h h a d flown i n t o h i s cage — w i t h h e r wilfulness a n d ladylike m a n n e r s a n d elegant G e r m a n — Antonietta dismissed h e r gov­ e r n e s s a n d stayed o n i n Jaeger s h o u s e a l o n e w i t h a c o o k a n d a servant. T h i s w a s n o t q u i t e seemly, p o s ­ sibly, b u t Jaeger h a d left h e r u n d e r t h e w a t c h f u l eye o f h i s f r i e n d F e d e r i c o Stolte, w h o w a s r e n t i n g a h o u s e a litde

further

up

t h e hill. Stolte w a s a

wealthy

N e a p o l i t a n homme d'affaires w i t h a finger i n several q u i t e lucrative pies, a n d , a l t h o u g h h e w a s a l i t d e d a n d i f i e d , p e r h a p s , h e w a s b y n o m e a n s d u l l - w i t t e d . Now, o n e o f h i s great passions, ever s i n c e h e ' d b e e n a b o y a n d g o n e t o Venice w i t h h i s father, h a d b e e n M a r c o P o l o a n d h i s i n c r e d i b l e voyage t o Tartary. T h e r e w a s s o m e ­ t h i n g a b o u t t h e sheer h a p p e n s t a n c e o f it all, t h e a s t o u n d i n g e x t e n t of it i n time a n d across space, as w e l l as t h e h o b n o b b i n g w i t h k h a n s a n d p r i n c e s ,

the

Shangri-las and the death-defying adventures, w h i c h captivated h i m c o m p l e t e l y a n d h a d h i m r e a d i n g a n d r e r e a d i n g M a r c o Polo's a c c o u n t s i n t h e i r v a r i o u s v e r ­ sions u n t i l h e a l m o s t felt h e ' d b e e n at t h e c o u r t o f t h e

-65Great K h a n w i t h h i m six h u n d r e d years ago himself. ' O n the way h o m e from China, of course, the Polo b r o t h e r s s t o p p e d off i n India, w h e r e t h e y travelled for s o m e m o n t h s a r o u n d t h e very t o w n s a n d villages o u r m y s t e r i o u s l o v e l o r n p r i n c e k n e w so w e l l n e a r Mysore. (I h o p e y o u h a v e n ' t already f o r g o t t e n a b o u t h i m , h a v e y o u ? ) I n fact, a l t h o u g h it's h a r d t o p u t a d a t e t o all those tales I told y o u this m o r n i n g , w o r k i n g b a c k f r o m t h e Angevins at Egg Castle, t h e P o l o s m u s t have b e e n i n those p a r t s n o t s o v e r y l o n g after t h e mithuna a m u l e t w a s crafted. P e r h a p s - w h o k n o w s ? — o u r p r i n c e e v e n lived l o n g e n o u g h t o see t h e P o l o s r i d i n g stiffly b y o n e day, o r d i n e d w i t h t h e m o n o n e o f t h e i r forays i n t o t h e c o u n t r y s i d e . It d o e s h a p p e n , y o u k n o w , t h a t s o r t of t h i n g - rarely, o f course, b u t it h a p p e n s . "So, h a v i n g d e l v e d i n t o every aspect o f t h e P o l o s ' s t o r y w i t h t h e dilettante's p a s s i o n ( a n d there's n o n e p u r e r ) - t h e Arab t r a d e w i t h India, all t h e tall tales a b o u t gigantic pearls a n d t a r a n t u l a s p i d e r s a n d h o l y m e n — h a v e y o u ever r e a d t h e m ? — as w e l l as t h e art that h a d dazzled t h e m i n t h e t e m p l e s a n d palaces - Federico k n e w w h a t h e w a s gazing at w h e n h e first f o u n d t h e a m u l e t i n t h e cavity i n t h e w a l l o f h i s father's h o u s e i n Naples, exactly w h e r e the prelate h a d left it six h u n ­ d r e d years earlier. T h e h a i r h e o v e r l o o k e d , n a t u r a l l y e n o u g h , a n d t h e P e r s i a n b o o k o n t h e a r t o f love w a s i n d e c i p h e r a b l e , b u t t h e small, g o l d a m u l e t w a s s o m e ­ t h i n g h e recognized immediately. T h e h o u s e t h e Stoltes lived i n h a d , o f c o u r s e , b e e n r e b u i l t m a n y t i m e s , b u t o n e w a l l , t h e o n e w i t h t h e cavity, h a d s u r v i v e d f r o m

Locarno Letters earlier c e n t u r i e s m o r e o r less as it w a s . F e d e r i c o h a d d e c i d e d t o h a v e t h e w o r m - e a t e n p a n e l l i n g overlaying it t o r n o u t a n d replaced a n d , w h i l e t h e walls w e r e bare, h a d discovered t h e loose stone, w h i c h h a d shifted a l i t ­ tle i n v a r i o u s e a r t h q u a k e s over t h e years. N u d g i n g a n d p u s h i n g at it, h e c h a n c e d u p o n t h e cavity b e h i n d it.' R a c h e l p a u s e d . 'You k n o w , sitting h e r e w i t h t h e w o r l d g o i n g a b o u t its business r i g h t i n front o f o u r eyes like this, it's o d d l y m o r e difficult t o talk a b o u t t h e a m u l e t t h a n it w a s this m o r n i n g , cloistered, so t o speak, i n t h e H e r b G a r d e n , h a r d l y able t o see o u t . W h a t I m e a n t o say is t h a t for t h e first t i m e i n its journey, if w e ' r e t o believe t h e s t o r y as it's b e e n s p u n , s o m e o n e h a d c o m e i n t o possession o f t h e a m u l e t i n i n n o c e n c e - at least, that's h o w I've always u n d e r s t o o d it, a n d so, I t h i n k , d i d t h e Baroness. N o o n e u n t i l t h e n h a d t a k e n it a n d v a l u e d it for w h a t it really w a s . I n n o c e n t l y - o r as i n n o c e n t l y as t h e p r i n c e - F e d e r i c o gave t h e a m u l e t t o A n t o n i e t t a t h a t s u m m e r i n Messina, a n d just as i n n o c e n t l y she t o o k it, and, indeed, it seems at last, after all t h o s e c e n t u r i e s , t o h a v e f o u n d its m a r k a n d w o v e n its spell. 'It's h a r d t o k n o w q u i t e w h o m t o believe, b u t A n t o n i e t t a s e e m s to have b e e n like a rose eager t o leave the hothouse and p u t d o w n roots in the world o u t ­ side, a n d F e d e r i c o a p p e a r s t o have b e e n just t h e m a n t o t r a n s p l a n t her. At this distance it's all t o o easy, k n o w ­ i n g w h a t w e n o w k n o w a b o u t A n t o n i e t t a , t o suspect u l t e r i o r m o t i v e s i n h e r h a s t y a t t a c h m e n t t o h i m . By "ulterior", o f course, w e n o w a d a y s m e a n perfectly sound

-67m o t i v e s , s u c h as t h e desire for social p o s i t i o n , p r o p ­ e r t y a n d a life o f ease, b u t n o t love - w h a t e v e r t h a t might be. ' T h e y d e c l a r e d t h e m s e l v e s t o h a v e fallen i n love, naturally. A n d I have n o d o u b t t h e y h a d , a c c o r d i n g t o t h e i r lights. A n t o n i e t t a , as I've said, h a d t h a t exciting, a b o u t - t o - b l o o m q u a l i t y m e n find so b e g u i l i n g , t h e almost unbearably thrilling aura of c o n s u m p t i o n a n d a m i n d aquiver w i t h interest i n t h e world. I n a w o r d , s h e w a s w h a t t h e F r e n c h w o u l d call fatale - i n fact, t h e Russians say s o m e t h i n g similar, I u n d e r s t a n d , b u t I d o n ' t i m a g i n e y o u s p e a k Russian, it's as useless as F r e n c h a n d far less c h i c . At t h a t t i m e , y o u have t o r e m e m b e r , the Russians w e r e m u c h taken w i t h t h e idea o f t h e femme fatale - w e l l , y o u ' v e r e a d y o u r Dostoevsky, I expect, p e r h a p s even y o u r Turgenev, a l t h o u g h he's w i l d l y o u t o f favour n o w a d a y s , I k n o w . So p a r t o f A n t o n i e t t a ' s fatalité w a s d o u b t l e s s a g a m e she'd l e a r n t t o play as a f o r w a r d y o u n g t h i n g i n t h e salons o f St Petersburg. 'There seem to be n o photographs or portraits of Federico, b u t b y all a c c o u n t s h e w a s y o u n g , fair-haired, a n d h a d a fine profile, so i m p o r t a n t i n a g e n t l e m a n . Like m a n y m e n attracted t o femmes fatales, t h o u g h , t h e r e was something weak about him—"weak" was h o w they u s e d t o t h i n k o f it i n those days. W h a t they m e a n t , I suppose, w a s that n e e d i n s o m e m e n to invite h u m i l i ­ a t i o n , even cruelty, a n d t o take a k i n d o f e r o t i c p l e a s u r e i n it w h e n it c a m e . I n t h e c o m p a n y o f o t h e r m e n they c o u l d b e perfectly self-assured a n d self-possessed, b u t

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w i t h w o m e n , for s o m e r e a s o n , t h e y s e e m e d t o h u n g e r t o b e b e t r a y e d a n d w o u n d e d . I t h i n k that's w h a t aroused F e d e r i c o - t h e h i n t of humiliation in

the

wings.' She l o o k e d at m e briefly as if c o n s i d e r i n g if it m i g h t also b e w h a t a r o u s e d m e . 'Messina i n t h o s e days, needless t o say, w a s a dreary, c o r r u p t little t o w n - w e l l , it still is a dreary, c o r r u p t little t o w n - w i t h spectacular v i e w s across t h e strait t o Calabria. Antonietta, as y o u c a n i m a g i n e , w a s i m p a t i e n t to m o v e to Naples, c o n s u m p t i o n or n o c o n s u m p t i o n . T h e r e Federico o w n e d t h e r a t h e r s p l e n d i d villa o n t h e bay I w a s telling y o u a b o u t , a n d after a r a t h e r hastily a r r a n g e d m a r r i a g e c e r e m o n y A n t o n i e t t a Bayer b e c a m e its y o u t h f u l b u t e n c h a n t i n g mistress. H e r e at last w a s a garden Antonietta could c o m e into b l o o m in, a n d b l o o m she d i d . T h e r e w e r e sailing p a r t i e s t o Capri, excursions to Pompeii, sojourns at Sorrento

and

Ravello o n t h e A m a i n Coast, candlelit d i n n e r s at t h e villa i n Naples, a n d all a r o u n d h e r a c r o w d o f c u l t i ­ vated, well-travelled m e n a n d w o m e n eager t o feed h e r curiosity a b o u t t h e w o r l d w i t h all t h e latest ideas f r o m L o n d o n , Vienna, Paris a n d Berlin. A n d circling a b o u t h e r like a faithful s w a i n all this time, at t h e t h e a t r e a n d o n o u t i n g s t o villages i n t h e m o u n t a i n s , w a s G i u l i o Jaeger, t h e A m e r i c a n C o n s u l . ' T h e c o u p l e q u i c k l y h a d a d a u g h t e r - M a r i a Grazia Vera, a n i c e m i x t u r e o f t h e Italian a n d t h e Russian — a n d s o o n afterwards, i n 1 8 7 5 , a s o n . B u t s o m e t h i n g a b o u t t h e Stolte m é n a g e w a s n o t q u i t e right. A n t o n i e t t a t o o k t o travelling farther a n d farther afield w i t h o u t h e r

-69c o m p l i a n t husband, fetching u p i n R o m e o r i n o n e of t h e fashionable r e s o r t s a l o n g t h e coast i n t h e c o m p a n y o f often r a t h e r s h a d o w y y o u n g gallants w h o w e r e every b i t as interesting as she w a s . Eventually, o n a t r i p t o San R e m o w i t h h e r b a b y d a u g h t e r , s h e s i m p l y failed t o g o home. ' I n a sense, y o u m u s t a d m i t , it w a s a n e l e g a n t s o l u ­ t i o n - n o ugly scenes, n o s h o u t i n g o r threats, just a s l o w u n f u r l i n g o f a m o r e brightly c o l o u r e d self. B u t Federico w a s n o t d e n i e d t h e satisfaction o f o n e last h u m i l i a ­ t i o n . T w o days before h e r b i r t h d a y — i t w a s i n m i d - J u n e this h a p p e n e d , y o u see, a h e a d y m o m e n t i n San R e m o , b e c a u s e e v e r y o n e h a d just a r r i v e d for t h e season, b u t n o o n e h a d yet m a d e t h e i r first m o v e - A n t o n i e t t a sent a t é l é g r a m m e t o F e d e r i c o begging, i n d e e d i m p l o r i n g h i m t o c o m e . She c o u l d n ' t b e a r t o s p e n d h e r b i r t h d a y all a l o n e , s h e said, i n t h a t d r a m a t i c v e i n s h e w a s i n c l i n e d t o cultivate, i n a t o w n w h e r e she k n e w n o o n e . A n d so Federico, a r o u s e d , p e r h a p s , b y t h e p r o s p e c t o f a n a n n i h i l a t i n g scene, left i m m e d i a t e l y for San R e m o - a l o n g a n d e x h a u s t i n g journey, I m i g h t a d d ; it's u p o n t h e Riviera n e a r t h e F r e n c h border, it t o o k h i m t w o days a n d t w o n i g h t s t o get t h e r e . B u t b y n i n e o n t h e m o r n i n g o f h i s wife's b i r t h d a y t h e r e h e w a s , a little dishevelled ( b u t n o d o u b t appealingly) a n d a little o v e r w r o u g h t w i t h r e d - r i m m e d eyes, p r e s e n t i n g h i m ­ self at t h e d e s k o f t h e slightly d o w n - a t - h e e l H ô t e l d e s Bains, a s k i n g t o see Signora Stolte. ' " T h e signora h a s asked m e t o give y o u t h i s n o t e , signore," t h e d e s k - c l e r k said, w i t h t h e air o f s o m e b o d y

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w h o h a s b e e n w a i t i n g all m o r n i n g for just this m o m e n t ' F e d e r i c o o p e n e d t h e n o t e , t o o t i r e d t o sense t h a t a n y t h i n g w a s w r o n g . A n t o n i e t t a w a s p r o b a b l y just fin­ i s h i n g breakfast, o r p e r h a p s she'd g o n e t o t h e s t a t i o n b u t h a d m i s s e d h i m i n t h e c r o w d . H e had b e e n a l i t ­ tle d o w n c a s t , t o b e h o n e s t , w h e n h e failed t o find h e r w a i t i n g for h i m o n t h e p l a t f o r m .

He'd b e e n p i c t u r ­

i n g h e r standing waving i n h e r English jacket a n d b o o t s . '"Federico, I have changed my mind," t h e n o t e r e a d , " I can no longer see you and would be grateful if you would leave San Remo immediately. Antonietta."

' F e d e r i c o felt a t first t h a t h e d i d n ' t exist. F r o m u p s t a i r s h e c o u l d h e a r t h e v a g u e c l i n k i n g o f coffeec u p s a n d a w o m a n ' s voice t a l k i n g l o u d l y i n G e r m a n , b u t it w a s like s o u n d s from a n o t h e r w o r l d . T h e n h e h e a r d h i m s e l f say n u m b l y : " T h a n k y o u , b u t I m u s t s p e a k t o Signora Stolte. C a n s o m e o n e please s h o w m e t o h e r r o o m ? " T h e vile clerk, w h o w a s i m m a c u l a t e l y dressed i n a m a r o o n jacket a n d freshly p r e s s e d w h i t e shirt, c o u l d

barely

suppress his

glee. H e

knew.

O b v i o u s l y h e k n e w everything. " I ' m sorry, signore, b u t t h e signora h a s given strict i n s t r u c t i o n s t h a t she n o t b e d i s t u r b e d today." W h a t else d i d t h i s sleek, s m i r k i n g y o u t h k n o w ? W h o was a l l o w e d t o d i s t u r b t h e signora? F e d e r i c o w a s d i m l y a w a r e o f a r i g h t t o say, " B u t I a m h e r h u s b a n d , I d e m a n d t h a t y o u s h o w m e t o m y wife's r o o m , " b u t all o f a s u d d e n h e felt so c r u s h e d , so

finally

b r o k e n a n d discarded, t h a t h e k n e w t h e s e w e r e w o r d s h e w o u l d n e v e r say. H e s t a r e d at t h e m a r b l e floor for a m o m e n t , felt grief b e g i n t o c l a w at h i s t h r o a t , p i c k e d

-71 u p h i s valise, t u r n e d o n h i s h e e l a n d left. As it h a p ­ p e n e d , h e n e v e r saw h i s wife again. A n d after t h e i r little s o n d r o w n e d - d r o w n e d stupidly at a s w i m m i n g c a r n i ­ val i n t h e bay n e a r t h e i r h o m e - h e lost all taste for life a n d b e c a m e a m y s t e r i o u s r e c l u s e . ' T h e r e w a s , as it h a p p e n e d , o n e visitor t h a t J u n e m o r n i n g t h a t t h e o b n o x i o u s clerk had b e e n i n s t r u c t e d t o s h o w u p . H e k n e w h i m w e l l . H e w a s a tall, q u i t e imposing-looking young m a n , fair-skinned, i m p e c ­ cably t u r n e d o u t a c c o r d i n g t o t h e w e a t h e r , w h o m t h e clerk referred t o as la zucca pelata because, a l t h o u g h f i n e featured, h e w a s as b a l d as a c o o t . W h e n h e g o t t o Antonietta's r o o m , h e found h e r unusually distraught. She'd b e e n w e e p i n g , obviously, a n d w a s still i n h e r Chinese m o r n i n g g o w n , w h o s e greenish s h e e n l e n t h e r face a disagreeable h u e . She w o u l d n e i t h e r a l l o w h e r ­ self t o b e c o m f o r t e d n o r e x p l a i n t h e s o u r c e o f h e r distress. Baby M a r i a h a d b e e n a n n o y i n g h e r w i t h h e r c r y i n g a n d w h i n i n g for a w e e k o r m o r e , it w a s t r u e , a n d she'd b e e n h a v i n g t r o u b l e sleeping, b u t she s e e m e d d i s i n c l i n e d t o h i r e a n a n n y — p e r h a p s that's all it w a s , h e t h o u g h t , t h e c o n s t a n t i r r i t a t i o n o f t h e fretful c h i l d . ' I n fact, A n t o n i e t t a h a d b e e n t r y i n g t o d e c i d e for a m o n t h or m o r e w h e t h e r or n o t to divorce Federico a n d m a r r y G u i d o Mozzi. O n t h e o n e h a n d G u i d o w a s wealthy, w i t h interests i n S o u t h A m e r i c a a n d N e w York, k i n d l y a n d g o o d - n a t u r e d w i t h a lively m i n d , w h i l e o n t h e other h a n d . . . well, h e w a s q u i t e simply terribly bald. N o t balding, o r w i t h t h i n n i n g h a i r o n t h e c r o w n , o r w i t h o n l y a m o n k i s h fringe circling h i s scalp, b u t

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completely, o n e h u n d r e d p e r c e n t , d i n n e r - p l a t e b a l d n o t a w h i s k e r i n sight. It w a s n o t t h a t A n t o n i e t t a d i d not

find

G u i d o attractive (she d i d , a l m o s t

over­

w h e l m i n g l y ) , it w a s just t h a t b a l d n e s s o n t h i s scale o v e r s h a d o w e d a n y o t h e r qualities h e m i g h t h a v e h a d - it w a s a q u e s t i o n o f b a l a n c e a n d taste. ' I n t h e e n d she s e n t off a n o t h e r t é l é g r a m m e , t h i s time t o h e r faithful friend Giulio Jaeger i n Naples. Like Federico, h e also i m m e d i a t e l y left for San R e m o a n d a r r i v e d at t h e H ô t e l des Bains d u r i n g breakfast. T h i s time t h e clerk h a d instructions t o s h o w h i m u p i m m e ­ diately. A n t o n i e t t a p o u r e d h e r h e a r t o u t t o h e r o l d f r i e n d - she'd r e a d so m a n y novels d e t a i l i n g t h i s scene t h a t she d i d n ' t get a w o r d w r o n g - a n d t h e c o n s u l t o o k a c o m f o r t i n g stance, p a t i e n t w i t h h e r tears a n d vacil­ lations, sensitive t o h e r d e s p e r a t i o n , insistent t h a t g o o d c o u l d c o m e o u t o f t h e m u d d l e she w a s i n . O n t h e o n e h a n d Federico was a n h o n o u r a b l e m a n w h o w o u l d p r o v i d e for h e r well, a n d t h e father o f h e r s o n , w h o m she scarcely m i s s e d b u t w a s a t t a c h e d t o ; o n t h e o t h e r h a n d s h e w a s passionately i n love w i t h G u i d o Mozzi, w h o w a s just as h o n o u r a b l e a n d able t o p r o v i d e , b u t also . . . w e l l , s h e obviously desired G u i d o i n a w a y she'd n e v e r d e s i r e d Federico. B u t h e w a s startlingly b a l d . 'The solution

to Antonietta's d i l e m m a

proved

u t t e r l y s i m p l e : she w e n t b a c k t o N a p l e s w i t h G i u l i o Jaeger a n d m a r r i e d h i m . T h e w i d o w e r a n d h i s e x o t i c y o u n g w i f e m a d e a b r i l l i a n t c o u p l e a n d over t h e n e x t few years t h e y s e e m t o h a v e l e d a g l i t t e r i n g life i n N a p l e s a n d R o m e . At t h e spa i n A l b a n o t h e y m e t F r a n z

-73Liszt, for e x a m p l e , w h o q u i c k l y b e c a m e a n i n t i m a t e friend and Antonietta's music teacher - h e even d e d i ­ cated a s m a l l w o r k t o her, as a m a t t e r o f fact, k i n d l y calling h e r h i s "best p u p i l " . Liszt w a s clearly fascinated b y A n t o n i e t t a - t h a t febrile, q u e s t i n g , volatile q u a l i t y she h a d , t o g e t h e r w i t h all t h e social graces a n d a n i n f i ­ nitely c u r i o u s m i n d - it w a s like w a t c h i n g a s o n g - b i r d fluttering

i n its gilded cage, l o n g i n g t o b e let o u t . H o w

Liszt, I imagine, w o u l d have loved t o ease t h e little d o o r o p e n . H e u s e d t o visit t h e Jaegers all t h e t i m e o n t h e p r e t e x t o f giving t h e i r s o n G i u l i o A n t o n i o English lessons. 'After s u r p r i s i n g l y few years - A n t o n i e t t a w a s still o n l y in. h e r m i d - t w e n t i e s - t h e w a n d e r i n g

started

again: staying o n i n R o m e a l o n e , t r i p s t o F l o r e n c e t h a t g r e w l o n g e r a n d longer, e x t e n d e d stays w i t h friends i n Tuscany, u n t i l o n e day A n t o n i e t t a w a s i n fact living i n Milan w i t h h e r daughter, w h i l e h e r h u s b a n d s w e r e liv­ i n g w i t h t h e i r s o n s i n N a p l e s . At least t h e r e w a s n o scandal. T h e n o n e n i g h t at t h e o p e r a ( a n d this is p a r t l y w h a t t h e o p e r a w a s for, I k n o w ) A n t o n i e t t a h a d o n e o f t h o s e m e e t i n g s she c a m e m o r e a n d m o r e t o believe w e r e "fated" - 1 see y o u smiling, y o u p r o b a b l y find t h e w h o l e n o t i o n quaint, b u t y o u have to r e m e m b e r that i n . . . w h a t w a s it? 1880 o r t h e r e a b o u t s i n c e r t a i n c i r ­ cles it w a s t a k e n for g r a n t e d t h a t o u r lives w e r e s h a p e d b y all sorts o f thrilling u n s e e n forces - spirit-forces, d i e stars, m a g n e t i c waves, q u i t e a h e a d y brew. I n St P e t e r s ­ b u r g , for instance, w h e n A n t o n i e t t a w a s a girl, t h e r e was an absolute epidemic of ectoplasm, table-turning

Locarno Letters

a n d voices from t h e b e y o n d . N o s o i r é e w a s c o m p l e t e w i t h o u t a foreign m e d i u m o r t w o a m o n g t h e guests a n d lévitation w a s r o u t i n e . 'Anyway, A n t o n i e t t a w a s always i n c l i n e d t o see p a t ­ t e r n s i n h e r life s h e h a d n ' t w i l l e d , a n d s h e loved t o tell t h e s t o r y o f h o w she'd b e e n g o i n g u p t h e stairs at t h e o p e r a - h o u s e as t h e B a r o n h a d b e e n slowly c o m i n g d o w n a n d h o w t h e i r eyes h a d m e t a n d she'd s i m p l y known. If y o u asked h e r w h a t it w a s she'd k n o w n , she'd just l a u g h a n d give a flick o f h e r h a n d . It w a s n ' t , she said, t h e officer's u n i f o r m t h a t h a d a r o u s e d her, a n d it w a s n ' t t h e a b u n d a n t b l a c k h a i r a n d t r i m b e a r d , it w a s t h e tread, s h e always said, o n t h e c a r p e t e d stairs, t h e light, stalking t r e a d a n d t h e eyes. T h e y w e r e eyes, s h e always said, w h i c h s e e m e d t o h a v e k n o w n h e r for a t h o u s a n d years - that's t h e sort o f t h i n g s h e said. T h e n a f e w days later ( a n d t h e n u m b e r o f days always d e p e n d e d o n h e r m o o d w h e n she told t h e story) h e g o t i n t o h e r c o m p a r t m e n t i n t h e t r a i n t o Bologna. N o t a w o r d passed b e t w e e n t h e m , apparently, b u t again she felt e l a t e d b y h i s light, l o n g - l i m b e d p r e s e n c e a n d felt h i s eyes b r u s h over h e r from t i m e t o time as h e t u r n e d t h e pages o f h i s n e w s p a p e r . Refined a n i m a l i t y is always so seductive. A n d w h e n , after a n h o u r o r so o f silence, h e suddenly s t o o d u p a n d w a s g o n e w i t h n o t h i n g m o r e t h a n t h e faintest o f n o d s , s h e felt (she u s e d t o say) as y o u d o w h e n a cat gets u p from b e s i d e y o u i n a n e m p t y h o u s e a n d silently v a n i s h e s - again, that's t h e s o r t o f t h i n g she said, y o u see, a n d i n a w a y y o u k n o w w h a t s h e m e a n t . W h e n a cat leaves y o u like t h a t , it's

-75s u d d e n l y everywhere, if y o u see w h a t I m e a n . I c a n see y o u d o n ' t . At any rate, t h e pale, b l a c k - h a i r e d officer w a s A n t o n i e t t a ' s b l a c k cat. ' T h e i r t h i r d m e e t i n g w a s i n a pasticceria a n d m u c h less tense, a n d A n t o n i e t t a always s p o k e o f it as if it w a s a m e r e f o r m a l i t y w h i c h h a d t o b e g o n e t h r o u g h for t h e sake o f social d e c o r u m . T h i s t i m e t h e y s p o k e politely, establishing f r i e n d s i n c o m m o n , a n d I g a t h e r s h e a l l o w e d h i m t o c a r r y s o m e parcels for h e r t o h e r d o o r . J u s t a y e a r after t h e n i g h t at t h e o p e r a - " A n d I n e v e r went t o t h e o p e r a , that's t h e thing," s h e u s e d t o say, "I h a t e d t h e o p e r a , I can't t h i n k w h y I w a s t h e r e " — A n t o n i e t t a m a r r i e d h e r Irish b a r o n , R i c h a r d F l e m y n g o f St Leger, a n d c a m e at last, as it w e r e , i n t o h e r estate. There

was

something

almost

Hindu,

something

B r a h m i n a b o u t t h e w a y she saw t h e w o r l d , I s o m e ­ t i m e s t h i n k , as if she believed she w a s born, n o t so m u c h t o r u l e i n s o m e k i n g d o m o f h e r o w n , as t o b e h i g h priestess, t o h o l d s w a y — t h a t w a s h e r destiny, h e r p r o p e r place. Liszt h a d called h e r "la reine des îles de Brissago" a n d t h e locals h e r e called h e r all sorts o f t h i n g s — la principessa, die Märchenkönigin, as w e l l as w i t c h , o f c o u r s e . Back i n St P e t e r s b u r g s o m e t h i n g h a d o b v i o u s l y g o n e awry, s o m e t h i n g h a d g o t o u t o f kilter, b u t n o w , thanks to her Irish baron, a n adjustment h a d b e e n m a d e a n d s h e c o u l d b e herself. 'Like a t r u e B r a h m i n , A n t o n i e t t a w a s n e v e r i n t e r ­ ested i n w e a l t h as s u c h . W e a l t h t o h e r w a s m o r e like air o r water, it w a s just s o m e t h i n g s h e h a d a r i g h t t o a n d o n l y o f i n t e r e s t if it w a s i n s h o r t supply. W i t h

Locarno Letters

R i c h a r d it w a s n e v e r i n s h o r t supply. T h e St Legers, as p e r h a p s y o u k n o w , h a d h o u s e s all over

Ireland-

D u b l i n , Cork, Tipperary, as m a n y as fifty i n D u b l i n a l o n e , I've h e a r d . R i c h a r d w a s t h e distant d e s c e n d a n t o f Sir A n t h o n y Saint Leger - n o o n e r e m e m b e r s w h o h e w a s n o w a d a y s , b u t h e w a s Viceroy o f Ireland, it w a s h e w h o p e r s u a d e d t h e Irish P a r l i a m e n t t o b e s t o w o n H e n r y VIII t h e title o f King o f Ireland, a n d r e w a r d e d t h e I r i s h chieftains for r e n o u n c i n g t h e P o p e b y giving t h e m l a n d a n d titles. M a r y T u d o r g o t r i d o f h i m very smartly, needless t o say. It all l o o k s r a t h e r g r u b b y t o us, I s u p p o s e , b u t A n t o n i e t t a felt she'd e n t e r e d a fairytale. After t h e y w e r e m a r r i e d they lived for a w h i l e i n Ireland, as w e l l as in Italy a n d Switzerland, a n d always i n great style. T h e y h a d a s o n t h e y called J a m e s , a n d M a r i a , o f course, Federico's d a u g h t e r , w a s still w i t h them. 'It m u s t have b e e n w h i l e they w e r e staying w i t h t h e P r i n c e s Trubetzkoi* at t h e Villa A d a o n Lake Maggiore h e r e that they first saw these islands. I can i m a g i n e h o w t h e y m u s t have a p p e a l e d t o A n t o n i e t t a . She w a s n e a r i n g thirty, she h a d h e r p r i n c e , n o w all she n e e d e d w a s a r e a l m - a k i n g d o m a n d a castle. Travelling u p a n d d o w n t h e lake t o L o c a r n o , as t h e y d i d f r o m time t o t i m e , I c a n i m a g i n e h o w s h e m u s t have l o o k e d across at these t w o small islands, covered i n b r a m b l e s a n d l o w bushes, w i t h t h e o l d L o m b a r d n u n n e r y h a l f - h i d d e n b y ivy a n d h o l m - o a k s at o n e e n d o f t h e larger o n e . She m u s t have t h o u g h t t o herself: "I c o u l d take possession o f t h o s e islands a n d t u r n t h e m i n t o paradise."

-77'Travelling o n w a s w h a t she d i d t h r o u g h o u t h e r life, she w a s always travelling o n . Even o n h e r d e a t h b e d at n i n e t y - o n e , y o u k n o w , she w a s b u s y l e a r n i n g Greek, forging o n w a r d s i n t o s o m e u n k n o w n w o r l d . B u t at t w e n t y - n i n e , m a r r i e d for t h e t h i r d t i m e , s h e d e c i d e d t o cast a n c h o r , as it w e r e , r i g h t h e r e w h e r e w e ' r e sit­ ting. She b o u g h t t h e islands i n 1 8 8 5 a n d s o o n after moved into the nunnery w i t h Richard and the two c h i l d r e n . She called h e r s e l f B a r o n e s s - s u c h a n i n t r i guingly vague title, a l m o s t m e a n i n g l e s s i n t h i s p a r t o f t h e w o r l d — a n d r e n a m e d t h e islands St Léger, p r o ­ n o u n c e d i n t h e F r e n c h fashion. 'You k n o w , I envy A n t o n i e t t a t h a t m o m e n t w h e n s h e first a r r i v e d o n t h e i s l a n d - s h e m u s t h a v e b e e n r o w e d over i n o n e o f t h o s e fishermen

flat-bottomed

boats the

h e r e fished f r o m , t e r r i b l y d a n g e r o u s , a c t u ­

ally, t h e y capsized i n t h e slightest w i n d . I c a n see h e r stepping out of the boat and walking u p to the house . . . H o w often d o e s any o f u s h a v e a m o m e n t like t h a t i n o u r lives? O f c o m p l e t e r e n e w a l , a m o m e n t w h e n e v e r y t h i n g h a s a n e w b e g i n n i n g . It's a n illusion, n a t u ­ rally — it's w h a t they t h o u g h t they c o u l d d o over t h e r e i n Ascona, o n M o n t e Verità — t h r o w o u t father, t h r o w o u t science, t h r o w o u t civilization, a n d b e g i n again as if it w e r e t h e d a w n o f t i m e . Yes, it's a c o m p l e t e i l l u ­ sion, every b e g i n n i n g is just a n o t h e r k i n d o f e n d i n g , b u t it's a n illusion I'd love t o b e inside, if o n l y once.' Italy w a s c l o u d i n g over i n t h e s o u t h . R a c h e l fell c o m f o r t a b l y silent a n d gazed across t h e c h o p p y lake at t h e m o u n t a i n s h e m m i n g i n t h e s o u t h e r n r e a c h e s o f

Locarno L e t t e r s t h e lake. Occasionally there'd b e a flash o f s u n l i g h t off t h e w i n d o w o f a car w i n d i n g swiftly u p t h e r o a d c u t i n t o t h e cliffs above t h e w a t e r . S o m e w h e r e a m o t o r w o u l d s u d d e n l y s p l u t t e r i n t o life, s o m e o n e w o u l d shout something into the wind. ' W h y d o n ' t w e go u p t o t h e house? It's getting chilly,' Rachel said. 'We'll o r d e r coffee a n d s o m e posticcini - t h e tea's n o t w o r t h d r i n k i n g - a n d I'll tell y o u t h e rest o f A n t o n i e t t a ' s story. A n d t h e a m u l e t s , if you've h a v e n ' t forgotten all a b o u t it.' A n d so w e set off a l o n g t h e m a i n allée t o w a r d s t h e h o u s e . T h e g l i m p s e o f s t r i p e d a w n i n g s t h r o u g h t h e trees w a s q u i t e inviting.

Sitting h e r e n o w i n m y h o t e l - r o o m i n Venice, w h e r e it's s u d d e n l y piercingly c o l d a n d m o o n l e s s , I ' m feel­ i n g o d d l y stilled by m y m e m o r i e s of t h e stories R a c h e l t o l d m e . I can't h e l p r e m e m b e r i n g those first few days of raw anguish

(there's really n o o t h e r

word—it

w a s n ' t d e p r e s s i o n , it w a s a n g u i s h a n d d r e a d ) w h e n w o r d s like ' r e n e w a l ' a n d ' b e g i n n i n g ' lost all t h e i r sense. I n fact, I actually r e m e m b e r t h i n k i n g h o w p o i n t l e s s b u y i n g a n e w s h i r t o r scarf w o u l d be, h o w s h o p p i n g for n e w c l o t h e s o r a n e w t e a p o t o r c a r p e t w o u l d b e s o m e t h i n g I c o u l d forget a b o u t forever, like d o i n g t h e Asian c o o k i n g c o u r s e o r p o l i s h i n g u p m y G e r m a n . T h e r e c o u l d b e n o r e n e w a l , just g r o w i n g d e c r e p i t u d e , r o t t e n n e s s a n d death. T h e first t i m e I left t h e h o u s e a n d w e n t w i t h Peter t o sit for a w h i l e i n a café

on

B r u n s w i c k Street, it w a s c r u s h i n g l y p a i n f u l t o listen

-79t o all t h o s e soigné y o u n g m e n a n d w o m e n w i t h t h e i r s h i n i n g s k i n a n d s h i n i n g h a i r a n d s h i n i n g eyes t a l k i n g i n clear, assertive voices a b o u t w h a t they'd b e d o i n g n e x t w e e k , n e x t m o n t h o r n e x t year, a b o u t t h e h o l i ­ days c o m i n g u p i n Bali a n d t h e n e w j o b F i o n a o r B e n o r J a s o n h a d just g o t for himself. I felt like a scaly b a g o f filth a b o u t t o split a n d o o z e all over t h e t e r r a - c o t t a tiles. I t h o u g h t t h e y m u s t b e able t o sniff m e r o t t i n g , I felt like a n affront t o t h e m a n d w o n d e r e d w h y t h e y h a d n ' t asked for m e t o b e r e m o v e d . T h e y w e r e all going somewhere, y o u see, a n d that's w h a t I c o u l d n ' t b e a r t o l o o k at. It w a s p a r t i c u l a r l y difficult for t h e first f e w w e e k s b e c a u s e m y C h i n e s e Gabriel w a s g o i n g o n a fortnight's h o l i d a y (to Kakadu, as a m a t t e r o f fact, w h e r e I'd always m e a n t t o g o s o m e t i m e ) a n d so c o u l d n ' t b o t h d o t h e necessary tests a n d give m e t h e results himself, a n d for s o m e o b s c u r e r e a s o n I can't fully e x p l a i n I felt strongly t h a t , w h e n t h e day c a m e , I w a n t e d t o h e a r t h e n e w s from

h i m a n d n o o n e else. W a i t i n g like t h a t is i n d e ­

scribable. I s u p p o s e it's like w a i t i n g for a g r e n a d e s o m e o n e ' s tossed y o u t o g o off i n y o u r h a n d - a n d it e n d s u p t a k i n g t h r e e w e e k s . O f c o u r s e , paradoxically, y o u ' v e n e v e r felt m o r e alive i n y o u r l i f e — t o every s o u n d , every flicker o f m o v e m e n t , every s k e r r i c k o f m e a n i n g i n every w o r d y o u h e a r said. T h e o t h e r t h i n g t h a t w a s difficult w a s t h e i l l u s i o n t h a t y o u m u s t e i t h e r fight o r flee - n o w . That's t h e c h o i c e . You m u s t take u p a r m s , d o battle, refuse t o s u r ­ r e n d e r , fight it, c o n q u e r it, g o d o w n fighting, m a r s h a l

Locarno Letters

y o u r resources, g o o n t h e a t t a c k . . . t h e m e t a p h o r s are endless. O r else flee - i g n o r e it, m e d i t a t e , take u p b u s h w a l k i n g , yoga, live a n o r m a l life, c o m m i t s u i c i d e . . . I h a d a hellish d r e a m o n e n i g h t at a b o u t t h i s t i m e o f r u n n i n g t h r o u g h t h e j u n g l e a h e a d o f a p r o w l i n g cat o f s o m e k i n d — n o w a l e o p a r d , n o w a l i o n — a n d it h a d its y e l l o w eye o n m e . W h e n e v e r I t r i e d t o r u n faster it w o u l d p a d u p closer b e h i n d m e , playing w i t h m e b u t carelessly deadly i n its i n t e n t . It stank o f d e a d flesh. I t h o u g h t o f just d r o p p i n g t o t h e g r o u n d a n d letting it tear m e a p a r t a n d s w a l l o w m e . W h y t r y t o escape? W h y p r o l o n g t h e agony? Any a t t e m p t t o fight t h e a n i ­ m a l w a s obviously d o o m e d - a d m i r a b l e

in

some

o l d - f a s h i o n e d way, p e r h a p s , b u t pointless. I w a s n o m a t c h . T h e n I saw o p e n i n g u p n o t far a h e a d o f m e a k i n d o f t u n n e l i n t h e jungle, n o t u n l i k e a railway t u n ­ n e l , b u t w i t h n o light at t h e o t h e r e n d . I h a d t o d e c i d e n o w w h e t h e r t o t u r n a n d face t h e l e o p a r d o r w h e t h e r to r u n into the darkness of the t u n n e l a n d h o p e I m i g h t give h i m t h e slip. M o r e likely, o f c o u r s e , h e ' d slink i n after m e , s m e l l m e o u t a n d tear m e l i m b f r o m bloody l i m b . . . I haven't b e e n d r e a m i n g t h a t d r e a m i n r e c e n t m o n t h s b e c a u s e I d o n ' t t h i n k I see m y c h o i c e s any m o r e i n q u i t e that l i g h t — a t least, n o t d u r i n g m y better m o m e n t s .

Venice, 7th April ISLANDS A R E N ' T just islands, a r e they. I m e a n , t h e y ' r e n o t just b i t s o f l a n d s u r r o u n d e d b y water, t h e y also s t a n d for s o m e t h i n g less tangible, always h a l f - d e s i r e d . W h e n y o u l o o k across t h e w a t e r a n d see a n island, p a r t o f y o u always w a n t s t o g o t h e r e , d o n ' t y o u find? I c a n ' t h e l p t h i n k i n g it's g o t s o m e t h i n g t o d o w i t h s u d d e n resolution. There you are

floundering

in the middle

o f all t h a t e d d y i n g , featureless water, w i t h u n s e e n h o r ­ r o r s y o u c a n o n l y guess at p r o w l i n g b e n e a t h

the

surface, w h e n s u d d e n l y a n island a p p e a r s o n t h e h o r i ­ z o n : s u c h a blessedly fixed p o i n t , a place o f l o n g e d - f o r release f r o m a n x i e t y a b o u t d i s o r d e r a n d aimlessness, n o t to m e n t i o n the lurking monsters of the subcon­ scious. So a n y island, even t h e flattest o r r o c k i e s t o r m o s t b a r r e n , s e e m s b e a u t i f u l . It's t h e self w e ' d like t o b e . D a n t e , o f c o u r s e , if y o u recall, says t h a t P u r g a t o r y is a n i s l a n d — H e l l is d e e p i n t h e e a r t h a n d H e a v e n b e y o n d time a n d space, b u t Purgatory, t h e r e a l m o f t h o s e w h o have n o t wilfully s i n n e d , is a n island. T h e r e

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r e a s o n still h a s s o m e h o p e o f b e c o m i n g vision. Certainly for A n t o n i e t t a , Baroness d e St Léger, these islands w e r e h e r s o u l m a d e flesh, t h e y w e r e t h e i n c a r ­ n a t i o n o f w h o she t h o u g h t she w a s — a n d o f h e r l o n g i n g for o r d e r e d p e a c e at last. ' M y s m a l l b i t o f e a r t h l y p a r a d i s e ' she u s e d t o call it i n English. I n m a n y w a y s t h e Baroness w a s a ' t r o u b l e d soul', as Rachel p u t it o n c e w e w e r e sitting comfortably again at a table o n t h e t e r r a c e i n t h e pavilion t h a t h a d b e e n t h e Baroness's h o m e . 'Yes, she'd m a r r i e d w e l l at last, she w a s u n i m a g i n a b l y w e a l t h y a n d she w a s t h e m i s t r e s s o f h e r o w n d o m a i n , t w o o f t h e loveliest islands i n t h e m o s t m a g n i f i c e n t lake i n t h e m i d d l e o f w h a t m a n y w o u l d t h i n k o f as the G a r d e n o f Eden. Yet she w a s t r o u ­ b l e d . T h e r e w a s t h e d e a t h o f h e r s o n b y Federico, o f course, and t h e n the sudden death of h e r son by R i c h a r d , little J a m e s . I t h i n k she always lived w i t h d i e sense o f p e o p l e s l i p p i n g away f r o m h e r i n t o n o t h i n g -all

the people

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h e r c h i l d h o o d , as w e l l

as

Federico, G u i d o , Giulio, h e r sons - a n d yes, y o u c o u l d have said t o h e r : "Well, y o u ' v e s t e e r e d y o u r

boat

erratically, n o w o n d e r a l m o s t everyone's fallen o v e r ­ b o a r d . " B u t t h a t w o u l d o n l y have m a d e it w o r s e . H e r sense o f r u d d e r l e s s n e s s a n d loss w a s o v e r w h e l m i n g . ' A n d so she set a b o u t o r d e r i n g h e r little p a r a d i s e o n t h e Isola G r a n d e h e r e . She h i r e d g a r d e n e r s a n d s t a r t e d clearing t h e island o f t h e b r a m b l e s c h o k i n g every n o o k a n d c r a n n y a n d killing off t h e v i p e r s s l i t h ­ e r i n g e v e r y w h e r e - t h e r e are actually still s o m e left: d i d y o u see t h e n o t i c e w a r n i n g p e o p l e t o w a t c h o u t for

-83t h e m b y t h a t p o n d d o w n t h e r e at t h e b o t t o m o f t h e steps? She also started m a k i n g t h e o l d n u n n e r y h a b ­ itable - w h i t e w a s h i n g t h e w a l l s , p u t t i n g o n a s t r o n g roof, o r d e r i n g s t r o n g n e w d o o r s a n d w i n d o w s - y o u actually n e e d t h e m i n w i n t e r h e r e w h e n t h e w i n d s off t h e alps c a n a l m o s t s w e e p y o u off y o u r feet. She repaired the old harbour and bought some

new

r o w i n g - b o a t s a n d a s m a l l y a c h t . I n just t w o m o n t h s t h e family w a s able t o m o v e i n . 'So i n all sorts o f ways this w a s a very g o o d t i m e for A n t o n i e t t a . H e r joy w a s a little "soured", as she u s e d t o p u t it, b y a r g u m e n t s a n d difficulties w i t h t h e g a r d e n ­ ers she t o o k o n , b u t t h e n A n t o n i e t t a h a d a r g u m e n t s a n d difficulties w i t h everyone, t h e r e w a s n o t h i n g u n u s u a l a b o u t t h a t She laid o u t t h e p a t h w a y s that criss-cross t h e island, t h e p r o m e n a d e w i t h its thick s t o n e walls a r o u n d t h e i s l a n d s c i r c u m f e r e n c e a n d t h e c e n t r a l w a l k w e just c a m e a l o n g l i n k i n g t h e h o u s e w i t h t h e terrace at t h e e n d . T h e n s h e h a d soil i n vast q u a n t i t i e s b r o u g h t over from t h e m a i n l a n d a n d , w i t h t h e aid o f b o o k s a n d g a r ­ d e n i n g magazines she o r d e r e d

from

as far away as

L o n d o n , she b e g a n t o direct t h e p l a n t i n g o f h e r Eden. ' W h a t e v e r h e r p e n c h a n t for t h e o c c u l t a n d m y s t i ­ cal, A n t o n i e t t a d e St Léger w a s also a c h i l d o f h e r

times

i n other, m o r e rational ways, so t h e g a r d e n she designed b a l a n c e d fantasy w i t h a v i s i o n o f usefulness. There's n o t h i n g especially playful a b o u t t h e g a r d e n , n o p a t h s t h a t w i n d a r o u n d just for t h e sake o f w i n d i n g . It's i n fact a m i n i a t u r e b o t a n i c a l g a r d e n , p l a n t e d o u t w i t h s p e c i m e n s from all five c o n t i n e n t s . T h e relatively m i l d

Locarno Letters

c l i m a t e h e r e a l l o w s for t h a t , y o u see. Because it's n e i ­ t h e r c o l d n o r h o t , it's n o t like a n y w h e r e a n d s o a little b i t like e v e r y w h e r e . So t h e g a r d e n s w e r e a p l a c e t o l e a r n i n as m u c h as t o t a k e y o u r ease i n . O h , s h e called t h e m h e r " p l e a s u r e g r o u n d s " , it's t r u e , a n d h a d a t e r ­ r i b l e time c o n v i n c i n g t h e g a r d e n e r s she h i r e d locally that a garden d i d n o t have t o b e a n orchard, did n o t have t o p r o d u c e fruit a n d vegetables, b u t c o u l d equally as usefully "feed t h e s o u l " instead. ( T h a t w a s h e r p h r a s e . ) Still, t h e i d e a o f r a t i o n a l u s e w a s always t h e r e at t h e b a c k o f h e r m i n d , c o u n t e r b a l a n c i n g a n y n o t i o n o f u n e a r n e d d e l i g h t o r l e t t i n g n a t u r e off t h e leash. 'A daughter, J o a n , w a s b o r n a b o u t a year after t h e y m o v e d t o t h e island, a n d for t h e n e x t few years, at least o n t h e surface, t h e B a r o n a n d Baroness d e St Léger m u s t h a v e s e e m e d t o m a n y i n t h e villages o n t h e l a k e s h o r e t o b e living a n idyllic life. T h e t u n n e l u n d e r t h e St G o t t h a r d Pass w a s n o w o p e n , so it w a s easy t o visit L o c a r n o from t h e n o r t h as w e l l as from t h e s o u t h , a n d t h e " h e r m i t a g e " , as t h e B a r o n e s s called h e r h o m e o n t h e island, w a s c o n s t a n t l y full o f guests from all over E u r o p e , a n d e v e n f u r t h e r afield. ' I t s h a r d t o say exactly w h e n e v e r y t h i n g w e n t a w r y again, b u t it d i d . A n t o n i e t t a u s e d t o say s h e felt c u r s e d , t r a p p e d i n o n e o f t h e o u t e r circles o f Hell. She w a n t e d s o m u c h , o f course, a n d s h e w a n t e d it so passionately. I n 1 8 9 3 h e r d a u g h t e r M a r i a Grazia Vera died, t h e d a u g h t e r w h o ' d g o n e t o San R e m o w i t h her, a n d t h e n t o M i l a n - h e r first c h i l d . She d i e d o f a b r o n c h i a l c o n ­ d i t i o n h e r e o n this i s l a n d a t just n i n e t e e n years o f age.

-85T h i s d e a t h , m o r e t h a n a n y other, s e e m e d t o b r e a k Antonietta's s p i r i t . . . n o , those are n o t t h e r i g h t words.' R a c h e l w a s l o o k i n g away from m e , across t h e s h a l l o w s t o w h e r e t h e H e r b G a r d e n w e ' d sat i n earlier p o k e d o u t from b e h i n d s o m e g i a n t figs. I c o u l d see it w a s i m p o r t a n t t o h e r for s o m e r e a s o n t o find t h e r i g h t w o r d s . ' N o , it w a s n ' t so m u c h that h e r s p i r i t w a s b r o ­ k e n . . . H e r spirit w a s soured, she b e c a m e . . . well, y o u w o n ' t like this w o r d , b u t she b e c a m e s o u l - s i c k . It's n o t t h e k i n d o f w o r d w e feel c o m f o r t a b l e w i t h today, is it? B u t n o n e o f t h e m o d e r n w o r d s s e e m s q u i t e r i g h t - "depressed" (she wasn't depressed), "anguished", " d i s ­ turbed", "unbalanced" - n o n e of t h e m quite captures h e r state o f m i n d after M a r i a d i e d . 'She h a d M a r i a b u r i e d i n t h e w a l l o f t h e h o u s e — t h i s h o u s e , w h o s e t e r r a c e w e ' r e sitting o n — a n d w h e n t h a t b e c a m e k n o w n i n t h e villages r o u n d

about...

w e l l , as y o u c a n i m a g i n e , t h e priests, t h e

fishermen's

wives, t h e c h i l d r e n , t h e s h o p k e e p e r s , e v e r y o n e b e g a n t o s p e a k o f h e r as a sorceress, a n d tales b e g a n t o s p r e a d o f every k i n d o f o c c u l t orgy t a k i n g p l a c e i n t h e s e c l u ­ s i o n o f t h e o l d n u n n e r y . T h e n it w a s discovered t h a t the body of h e r young son James h a d b e e n removed from t h e c e m e t e r y a n d also sealed u p inside o n e o f t h e walls a n d t h e w h o l e lakeshore w a s u p i n a r m s . T h e g a r ­ d e n e r s a n d servants w o u l d g o b a c k t o t h e i r villages at n i g h t w i t h stories o f c a n d l e - l i t p a g a n m a s k s a p p e a r ­ i n g o n t h e walls, m y s t e r i o u s d a r k - s k i n n e d visitors s p e a k i n g s t r a n g e languages c o m i n g t o stay, c r o c k e r y falling off t h e shelves o f its o w n a c c o r d , r i t u a l s b y

Locarno

Letters

firelight, s e a n c e s . . . t h e Q u e e n o f t h e Isles w a s g r a d u ­ ally t u r n i n g i n t o n e c r o m a n c e r , siren a n d w i t c h , all rolled into one. ' A n d w h e n o n e day t h e B a r o n left for Naples, n e v e r t o r e t u r n , t h e fairytales b e c a m e even m o r e extravagant. O f c o u r s e , from o n e p o i n t o f v i e w t h e r e w a s s o m e ­ thing rather amusing about the way her three husbands a n d s o n w e r e n o w all g a t h e r e d f o r l o r n l y i n N a p l e s — a n d t h e B a r o n actually f o u n d h i m s e l f a p o s i t i o n at t h e U n i t e d States c o n s u l a t e t h e r e - w h i l e t h e Baroness a n d h e r s u r v i v i n g d a u g h t e r J o a n c o n t i n u e d t o live t h e i r b i z a r r e fantasy life o n t h e i r islands h e r e o n Lake Maggiore, s u r r o u n d e d b y c o n s p i r i n g servants

and

g u a r d - d o g s . M o r e a n d m o r e guests c a m e t o stay, m o r e a n d m o r e often t h e h o u s e w a s t h r o w n o p e n t o t h r o n g s o f revellers a n d t h e Isola G r a n d e w o u l d b e s w a r m i n g for days at a t i m e w i t h p r i n c e s a n d p l a y w r i g h t s a n d singers a n d m u s i c i a n s - a n d c o o k s a n d b o a t m e n a n d valets a n d g a r d e n e r s , w h o b a c k i n Brissago a n d Ascona a n d L o c a r n o n a t u r a l l y t o l d a n d r e t o l d ever m o r e fan­ tastic versions o f w h a t they h a d seen. A m o n g t h e guests o n e s u m m e r a b o u t t h r e e years after t h e B a r o n h a d d i s ­ a p p e a r e d w a s a n A l b a n i a n a r i s t o c r a t called P e r i k l e s Tzikos, a tall, s w a r t h y p a s h a o f a m a n o u t f i t t e d i n L o n d o n w h o b r o u g h t h i s silver service w i t h h i m , engraved, like A n t o n i e t t a ' s h a i r b r u s h , w i t h a royal c r o w n a n d h i s o w n initials. T h i s w a s t h e k i n d o f refined exoticism that appealed to the Baroness a n d she m a r ­ r i e d h i m a l m o s t i m m e d i a t e l y . After a d e c e n t i n t e r v a l s h e a d d e d Tzikos t o h e r title: t h e B a r o n e s s Tzikos d e St

-87Léger. It u n d o u b t e d l y h a d a c e r t a i n r i n g t o it, d i d n ' t it? That's a b o u t all it d i d have, t h o u g h . 'In 1903, o n o n e of those w i n d y w i n t e r nights w h e n t h e trees a r e all tossing a n d t h e waves a r e c r a s h ­ i n g against t h e s e a - w a l l s a n d it's h a r d t o m a k e o u t anything in the gloom, there were sudden gun-shots a n d hysterical s c r e a m i n g a n d J o a n d i s a p p e a r e d f r o m t h e island. T h e r e w e r e p o l i c e r e p o r t s a n d even a c o u r t case, b u t w h a t exactly h a p p e n e d is still n o t c o m p l e t e l y clear. P r e s u m a b l y t h e B a r o n h a d a b d u c t e d h i s d a u g h ­ ter w i t h h e l p f r o m o n e o r m o r e o f t h e g a r d e n e r s — r e s c u e d h e r from h e r m a d , n e c r o m a n c i n g m o t h e r , as h e ' d h a v e t h o u g h t o f her. A n t o n i e t t a n e v e r s a w h e r d a u g h t e r again. ' N o t so very l o n g after t h a t h e r A l b a n i a n p r i n c e died. He was b u r i e d o n the m a i n l a n d according to O r t h o d o x rites, w i t h a n i c o n o f t h e Virgin i n h i s a r m s and one or two o r n a m e n t s around his neck encrusted w i t h p r e c i o u s stones. S o m e t i m e later t h e grave w a s dug u p and the icon and ornaments were removed. T h e local villagers w e r e n a t u r a l l y i n n o d o u b t a b o u t w h o h a d r o b b e d t h e grave. ' A n d so t h e fairytale w a s over. O h , t h e g a r d e n e r s k e p t g a r d e n i n g for a n o t h e r t w e n t y years o r so, t h e magnolias and myrtles and hydrangeas kept b l o o m ­ ing, t h e c o p s e A n t o n i e t t a h a d p l a n t e d just d o w n t h e r e b e y o n d t h e l a w n t h i c k e n e d a n d b e c a m e a forest i n m i n i a t u r e - d i d y o u w a l k t h r o u g h it? It's eerie, isn't it? You feel as if y o u c o u l d get lost i n it, b u t it's h a r d l y a m i n u t e ' s w a l k away

from

all t h e s e p e o p l e s i t t i n g

Locarno Letters d r i n k i n g c a p p u c c i n o s . Yes, t h e p r e t e n c e o f a n earthly p a r a d i s e w a s m a i n t a i n e d , a n d t h e h o u s e b e c a m e even m o r e o f a palazzo t h a n it h a d b e e n — V e n e t i a n glass everywhere

(vases, goblets, l a m p s h a d e s ) ,

Etruscan

beakers, glazed tiles f r o m Bassano o n all t h e d o w n s t a i r s floors, lots o f m i l k y g r e e n c e l a d o n f r o m C h i n a , fres­ c o e s o n t h e walls, religious p a i n t i n g s f r o m F r a n c e a n d Italy—she h a d a w o n d e r f u l M a d o n n a from P a d u a w i t h a g o l d e n n i m b u s , f o u r t e e n t h - c e n t u r y , so she s a i d — a n d lots o f m i r r o r s a n d tapestries a n d p a i n t i n g s b r o u g h t over from I r e l a n d . A n d i n t h e l i b r a r y t h e r e w e r e r a r e e d i t i o n s o f all sorts of b o o k s : a s i x t e e n t h - c e n t u r y c o o k ­ b o o k u s e d b y t h e Pope's c o o k i n t h e Vatican, for e x a m p l e , a n d a n a n c i e n t m i n i a t u r e e d i t i o n o f Dante's Divine Comedy. M y m o t h e r t o l d m e h o w she'd b e e n s h o w n t h r o u g h t h e h o u s e o n c e b y t h e Baroness, t w o baskets full o f keys i n h e r h a n d s , a n d as t h e y c a m e t o e a c h d o o r she'd carefully u n l o c k it a n d t h e n l o c k it again b e h i n d t h e m . It w a s h e r castle a n d for t w e n t y years after Perikles died she lived t h e r e as if u n d e r siege. 'Just b e f o r e C h r i s t m a s every year a c e r t a i n c l i m b ­ i n g rose called M a r é c h a l N i e l u s e d t o flower just n e a r t h e m a i n d o o r - a m i r a c l e , really, a l m o s t as if t h e sea­ s o n s d i d n ' t exist i n h e r k i n g d o m . A n t o n i e t t a saw it as s o m e k i n d o f sign. " T h e m a r s h a l h a s arrived," she'd say, a n d after t h a t she'd scarcely leave t h e h o u s e u n t i l after C h r i s t m a s . T h e l e g e n d is t h a t o n C h r i s t m a s Eve she'd o r d e r t h e table set s u m p t u o u s l y for e i g h t a n d d i s m i s s h e r staff as s o o n as e v e n i n g fell. I c a n a l m o s t believe it really w a s like that, it a c c o r d s s o perfectly w i t h h e r

-89w h i m s i c a l n a t u r e a n d taste for t h e t h e a t r i c a l . A n d a l t h o u g h n o o n e ever s e e m e d e i t h e r t o r o w over t o t h e island o r t o leave, t h e w i n d o w s w o u l d blaze all n i g h t w i t h light, t h e r e ' d b e m u s i c , t h e occasional s o u n d o f raised voices, s h a d o w y s h a p e s o u t l i n e d against t h e b l i n d s . . . Well, h e r e I b e g i n t o w o n d e r , b u t w h o a m I t o say? I w a s n ' t t h e r e . T h e r u m o u r g r e w t h a t o n t h e n i g h t b e f o r e C h r i s t m a s every year s h e s u m m o n e d t h e s h a d e s o f h e r Seven H u s b a n d s — she actually o n l y h a d four, n o t all o f t h e m d e a d , a n d I w o n d e r , s h o u l d t h e r e b e any t r u t h b e h i n d t h e legend, if s h e h a d t h e table set for h e r four h u s b a n d s a n d t h r e e d e a d c h i l d r e n it's n o t i m p o s s i b l e . T h e r u m o u r s w e r e s o o n e m b e l l ­ i s h e d w o n d r o u s l y , n e e d l e s s t o say: it w a s said, for example, that each husband had to bring w i t h h i m s o m e p r e c i o u s object - a n e c k l a c e o r a b e j e w e l l e d c h a r m , a silver b r o o c h , p e r h a p s - a n d give it t o her, a n d w h e n o n e year the Baron c a m e e m p t y - h a n d e d she challenged h i m to a duel a n d beheaded h i m w i t h the Abyssinian sword, a n d a t h o u s a n d m i l e s away i n N a p l e s t h e u n f o r t u n a t e B a r o n d i e d . W h i c h h e d i d , I m u s t say Rachel smiled in a suddenly quite w a r m way a n d l o o k e d straight at m e . ' B u t y o u ' r e w o n d e r i n g w h a t b e c a m e o f t h e a m u l e t , a r e n ' t y o u . You're w o n d e r i n g h o w t h e a m u l e t fits i n . Well, I c a n tell y o u n o w , y o u ' l l u n d e r s t a n d . O n e s u m m e r t h e Baroness j o i n e d a p a r t y o f h i k e r s a n d p i c n i c k e r s setting o u t for d i e h i d d e n lake r i g h t u p n e a r t h e p e a k o f t h a t m o u n t a i n just r o u n d t o t h e r i g h t - if y o u l e a n f o r w a r d a bit, y o u c a n j u s t see it. N o ? It d o e s n ' t m a t t e r - believe m e , it's t h e r e . She

Locarno

Letteis

usually h a d n o t h i n g t o d o w i t h t h e M o n t e Verita c r o w d — t o h e r t h e y w e r e t o o m u c h o f a rabble, living i n caves a n d h u t s they'd b u i l t t h e m s e l v e s a n d d e s p i s i n g all t h e t r a p p i n g s o f civilization s h e herself craved. M e a n w h i l e , t o t h e m she a p p e a r e d little m o r e t h a n t h e batty, d e g e n ­ e r a t e face o f t h e p a t r i a r c h a l civilization t h e y w e r e all trying t o escape. Yet t h e y i n feet h a d q u i t e a lot i n c o m ­ m o n : lives lived o u t w i t h p a s s i o n a n d s t r o n g feelings, a n u n e n d i n g c e l e b r a t i o n o f t h e e r o t i c a n d seductive, a n interest i n p h i l o s o p h i e s t h e Christian c h u r c h p o u r e d a n a t h e m a o n , a love o f n a t u r e r a t h e r t h a n cities - q u i t e a lot. Anyway, o n t h i s p a r t i c u l a r m o r n i n g , m y father a n d the Baroness found themselves in the same party - the Baroness o n a mule, of course, and m y father o n f o o t It t o o k a b o u t five h o u r s t o r e a c h t h e l a k e — e v e n today it's a day's o u t i n g t h e r e a n d b a c k - a n d I s u p p o s e A n t o n i e t t a w a s e x p e c t i n g s o m e s o r t o f e l e g a n t déjeuner sur l'herbe, s o m e t h i n g just faintly d i s r e p u t a b l e , given t h e p r e s e n c e o f t h e c o n t i n g e n t from M o n t e Verità, yet styl­ ish, a n d s o s h e w a s w e a r i n g h e r I n d i a n a m u l e t . I n fact t h e r e w a s n o herbe at t h e lake at all—it just nestles t h e r e , u l t r a m a r i n e a n d sparkling, a m o n g s t t h e b a r r e n r o c k s . ' W a l k i n g b e s i d e h e r a t o n e p o i n t , m y father n o t i c e d t h e a m u l e t a n d , b e i n g m u c h t a k e n u p at t h e time w i t h t h e M o n t e Verità p h i l o s o p h y

of seeking

paradise

t h r o u g h t h e senses a n d Tantric yoga a n d so o n , h e asked t h e B a r o n e s s t o tell h i m a b o u t it, c u r i o u s t o h e a r w h a t t h e m y s t e r i o u s principessa m i g h t allow herself t o say. Well, i n t h e g r i p o f I d o n ' t k n o w w h a t m o o d o n t h a t day, w h a t m i x t u r e o f d e v i l m e n t , d e s p a i r a n d defiance, s h e

-91b e g a n t o tell h i m t h e s t o r y I h a v e t o l d y o u - t h e I n d i a n p r i n c e , t h e Y e m e n i t e Jew, t h e sultan, t h e synagogue, t h e b r o t h e l i n Messina, Vergil's Egg, e v e r y t h i n g . A n d as t h e y m a d e their way higher a n d higher u p the m o u n t a i n , m y father fell m o r e a n d m o r e u n d e r t h e spell o f t h e lady o n t h e m u l e a n d t h e a m u l e t o n h e r breast. Eventually, o f course, t h e y c a m e t o t h e h i d d e n lake, t h e Baroness d i s m o u n t e d a n d , h a v i n g

finished

h e r tale,

w e n t d o w n t o t h e e d g e o f t h e lake, w h i c h lies q u i t e still, as if m a d e o f glass, i n e v e n t h e h i g h e s t w i n d s , a n d u n p i n n e d t h e a m u l e t . T h e n , t o m y father's a s t o n i s h ­ m e n t , she t h r e w it o u t i n t o t h e lake.' Rachel fitted a n o t h e r cigarette i n t o its a m b e r h o l d e r b u t d i d n ' t light it. 'We're really at t h e e n d o f t h e s t o r y - a n d just as well, p e r h a p s , b e c a u s e t h e last ferry w i l l b e leaving s o o n a n d w e m u s t b e o n it.' ' W h y d o y o u t h i n k s h e t h r e w it i n t o t h e lake?' 'I t h i n k s h e t h o u g h t t h a t it w a s t i m e t o step off t h e t r e a d m i l l , time t o b r e a k t h e circle o f desire a n d d i s ­ a p p o i n t m e n t . I ' m n o t s u r e if s h e really believed s h e n e e d e d t o get r i d o f t h e a m u l e t t o d o t h a t - p r o b a b l y not, in h e r heart of hearts, b u t there are times, aren't t h e r e , w h e n a little r i t u a l h e l p s . W h a t e v e r t h e case, i t w o r k e d , i n a sense. She g a r d e n e d q u i e t l y for a f e w years, a n d t h e n after t h e w a r she sold t h e islands a n d slowly slid i n t o poverty, m o s t l y b e c a u s e o f legal b a t ties she l o s t — s h e w a s e v e n r e d u c e d t o b e g g i n g for m o n e y for cigarettes. Eventually s h e h a d n o t h i n g left at all, a p a r t f r o m a few o d d s a n d e n d s : a r i n g o r t w o , several o d d glasses, p a r t o f a necklace, a n d t h e Q u e e n

Locarno Letters

o f R u m a n i a ' s b l o u s e - she refused t o give t h a t u p . I n N o v e m b e r 1 9 4 0 s h e a r r i v e d o n e n i g h t at a h o s p i t a l i n I n t r a g n a - that's just a little p a s t w h e r e y o u g o t off t h e t r a i n t h e o t h e r day at Tegna - a n d that's w h e r e s h e stayed, i n a r o o m facing n o r t h , for eight years u n t i l she d i e d . T h e y t r i e d t o p u t h e r i n r o o m s facing i n o t h e r d i r e c t i o n s , b u t s h e insisted o n d u e n o r t h . She h a d a n o l d P o r t u g u e s e c o m p a s s she p u l l e d o u t as t h e y s h o w e d h e r e a c h r o o m , so she k n e w t h e r i g h t r o o m w h e n she c a m e t o it. H a r d l y a n y o n e e v e n k n e w s h e w a s t h e r e . H e r r e m a i n s w e r e r e b u r i e d h e r e o n t h e island s o m e years ago, b u t still n o o n e k n o w s she's here.'* 'It's r a t h e r a sad ending,' I said. ' O h , d o y o u really t h i n k so?' Rachel t a p p e d o u t h e r cigarette a n d l o o k e d at m e very directly, w h i c h she'd scarcely d o n e at all w h i l e telling m e h e r story. 'Endings, I s u p p o s e , are always "sad" i n s o m e c o n v e n t i o n a l sense, b u t I d o n ' t t h i n k t h e e n d i n g t o Antonietta's story is par­ ticularly sad. W o u l d it h a v e b e e n " h a p p i e r " if she'd died, say, t w e n t y years earlier? O r forty, w h e n s h e lost Perikles? O r s u r r o u n d e d b y a c h o r u s o f c h i l d r e n a n d h u s b a n d s ? A n t o n i e t t a Bayer w a s a t r o u b l e d soul c r a v ­ i n g bliss. She t h o u g h t s h e c o u l d create p a r a d i s e - b u y it, b u i l d it, m a r r y it, m a k e it h a p p e n - b u t all s h e g o t was intermittent happiness. Happiness has nothing to d o w i t h bliss. I'll h a v e t h i s last cigarette, shall I? A n d t h e n w e ' l l go.' I like w a t c h i n g w o m e n o f a c e r t a i n age s m o k e , especially (for s o m e r e a s o n ) i n a h a t , a l o n e . 'I h a d a Sufic p h a s e once,' s h e said, h e r eyes o n t h e s m o k e c u r l i n g u p f r o m t h e s m o u l d e r i n g tip. ' M y

-93A s c o n a n r o o t s , y o u see - w e w e r e always l o o k i n g for w a y s t o t h u m b o u r noses at Christianity. Well, t h e r e w a s a Sufic saying I r e a d s o m e w h e r e w h i c h stayed w i t h m e : " O God, if I w o r s h i p y o u i n fear o f HelL b u r n m e there; a n d if I w o r s h i p y o u i n h o p e o f Paradise, s h u t its gates against me."* You d o n ' t have t o believe i n H e a v e n o r H e l l t o see w h a t t h e Sufis w e r e g e t t i n g at.' I m a d e a m e n t a l n o t e t o give this f u r t h e r t h o u g h t , a l t h o u g h I d o u b t I ' m a n a t u r a l Sufi. 'But w h a t a b o u t t h e a m u l e t ? ' I said. It w a s n i g g l i n g away at m e . 'It clearly d i d n ' t stay i n t h e lake.' 'Well, n o , obviously n o t O f course, t h e closer y o u get t o us h e r e today, the less certain everything becomes—have y o u noticed that? Thirteenth-century Naples, o n the other h a n d , is n o t a p r o b l e m , everything's as clearly etched a n d c o l o u r e d - i n as i n a Botticelli. W h a t m y father said h a p ­ p e n e d is this—but h e w a s a Jungian, y o u m u s t r e m e m b e r , as almost everyone was at M o n t e Verità, m o s d y i n a rather sloppy k i n d o f way.* W h a t h e said h a p p e n e d w a s that h e started to have a recurring d r e a m that the a m u l e t . . . d o n ' t smile i n that superior way, even stranger things w i l l h a p p e n t o y o u if y o u let t h e m . . . that the a m u l e t was call­ ing to h i m from the lake, asking t o b e b r o u g h t back d o w n t h e m o u n t a i n i n t o the w o r l d again - it w a n t e d , h e said, t o get o n w i t h its journey.' ' W h e r e w a s it going?' R a c h e l s m i l e d . ' W h a t c a n I say? H o m e , I suppose.' 'To I n d i a ? ' ' W h y b e so literal? N o , n o t necessarily t o I n d i a . I n d i a is b e s i d e t h e point.'

Locarno Letters 'Well, w h a t is t h e p o i n t ? ' ' M y father w o u l d h a v e said t h a t t h e p o i n t w a s u n d e r s t a n d i n g desire.' T h i s s e e m e d i n c r e d i b l y w i s h y w a s h y a n d vague t o m e . ' H e w o u l d ' v e said t h a t t h e p o i n t is t o desire t o be, n o t t o have. A n d t h a t t h e a m u l e t w o u l d n o t deliver its blessing u n t i l this p o i n t h a d b e e n understood.' 'It c o u l d b e a l o n g journey. So y o u r father fished it o u t o f t h e lake?' 'Yes, h e d i d . H e w e n t b a c k u p t h e m o u n t a i n o n e day - h e says h e w e n t t h r e e t i m e s , b u t I suspect h e m a y just h a v e b e e n e n t e r i n g i n t o t h e s p i r i t o f t h e story a n d s w a m a r o u n d i n t h e lake u n t i l h e f o u n d it, w e d g e d b e t w e e n t w o w h i t e stones. H e c a m e h e r e t o see m e a b o u t a year b e f o r e h e d i e d . I t w a s n ' t a m a u d l i n o c c a ­ sion, as y o u m i g h t t h i n k , i t w a s n ' t o v e r s h a d o w e d b y any sense that this w a s t o b e o u r last m e e t i n g , a l t h o u g h w e b o t h k n e w it w a s a significant m e e t i n g . . . a n d h e gave m e t h e a m u l e t , a n d t o l d m e t h e story t h e Baroness h a d t o l d h i m , a n d said t h a t w h e n I w a s r e a d y t o pass it o n , I s h o u l d d o so.' ' B u t y o u ' v e n e v e r felt m o v e d t o ? ' ' O h , I've t h o u g h t s o m e t i m e s t h a t t h e m o m e n t h a s c o m e , yes,' s h e said, *but e i t h e r I still h a v e s o m e t h i n g t o l e a r n o r else I h a v e n ' t y e t m e t t h e r i g h t p e r s o n . There's n o h u r r y . B u t w e really o u g h t t o b e g e t t i n g d o w n t o t h e wharf, m y friend — that's t h e ferry y o u c a n h e a r now.'

-95S t e a m i n g b a c k t o L o c a r n o i n t h e fading light, w e c h a t ­ t e d a b o u t this a n d t h a t - b o o k s , m o s t l y - a n d I t r i e d t o see if R a c h e l w a s w e a r i n g t h e a m u l e t t o d a y u n d e r h e r coat, b u t c o u l d n ' t . J u s t as w e l l , p e r h a p s . I d o n ' t k n o w if I'll ever see h e r again - these days I d o n ' t m a k e l o n g t e r m p l a n s . I n a n y case, I ' m n o t at all s u r e w e n e e d t o see e a c h o t h e r again. Too often i n m y life, I t h i n k , I've t r i e d t o h o l d o n t o a c q u a i n t a n c e s a n d feelings w h i c h I s h o u l d have a l l o w e d just t o b e w h a t t h e y first w e r e s o m e t h i n g t o enjoy a n d m o v e o n from. W h e n s h e left m e t o w a l k u p t h e h i l l from t h e w h a r f t o t h e r a i l w a y station, I actually felt a little surge o f

freedom

and

energy, as if I'd floated d o w n t o e a r t h again after r a t h e r t o o l o n g i n t h e air. I'd h a d e n o u g h abracadabra for o n e day. I w a l k e d off q u i t e briskly t o w a r d s t h e m a i n s q u a r e l o o k i n g for s o m e t h i n g t o eat - it's always a joy n o w a ­ days t o feel hungry, it's so r a r e - forgetting that i n t e r m s o f restaurants I w a s n o w a tourist i n Italy. W h o o n e a r t h started t h e r u m o u r t h a t y o u c a n d i n e w e l l i n a n Italian r e s t a u r a n t ? Pasta, veal, fish, lettuce, fish, veal, pasta, d u m p e d o n t h e table w i t h a surliness t h a t takes y o u r b r e a t h away. H a d t h e t r e n d - s e t t e r s never eaten Japanese? H e r e i n Venice I've at last f o u n d a Chinese r e s t a u r a n t w h e r e they k n o w w h a t dining means. I t h i n k I k n o w w h e r e t h e Professor goes at n i g h t , b y t h e way, leaving h i s r i m l e s s g o l d spectacles b e h i n d . I e x p e c t he's t h e r e n o w as I w r i t e . B u t it's n o t t h e Professor I w a n t t o tell y o u a b o u t just a t t h e m o m e n t - it's w h a t h a p p e n e d t o m e after R a c h e l left. F r o m t h e Garden of Eden I w a s swept d o w n into hell.

Notes Sterne's advice: Laurence Sterne in Tristram Shandy, a novel posing as autobiography. Taoist experience: see LaoTzu's Tao Te Ching (The Book of the Way and Its Power). Reference is being made here, presumably, t o the concept o f wu wei, o n w h i c h the author seems to have a fairly shaky grasp. Steme in Calais: a rather sweeping oversimplification o f Sterne's description o f his short stay in Calais at the b e g i n ­ n i n g o f A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy ( 1 7 6 8 ) , a b o o k sometimes seen as an example o f p o s t - m o d e r n travelwriting before its time and sometimes as a disguised meditation o n God, given that Sterne died almost i m m e d i ­ ately after its publication. Certainly, Sterne does s e e m to be asking w h y w e are here (or there). It is very litde read nowadays. Professor Eschenbaum: actually Dr Heinrich Eschenbaum, w h o has acquired a modest reputation for himself as an historian at the Westfälische Wilhelmsuniversität in Münster, Germany. His published works include Psychosexuelle Stereotypen der italienischen Kunst in der frühen Renaissance (Munich, 1 9 7 2 ) , Geschlechtsbezogene Aspekte der Magie im Europa des Mittelalters (Hamburg, 1975) and his renowned Gegen den Mystizismus: eine multifaktorielle, systemische Untersuchung der esoterisch-mystischen Pseudowissenschaft im Europa der Renaissance. More recently, his Pädagogik/Pädophilie (Berlin, 1992) understandably caused considerable controversy in certain circles. The journal Zeitschrift für europäische Soziologie described it as ' a n . . . u n d e n i a b l e . . . contribution'. Patricia Highsmith: the w e l l - k n o w n American writer o f murder mysteries, very popular w i t h the p o s t - m o d e r n set because, although there is almost always a murder, there is rarely any

-97mystery. Her works, w h i c h are all about 'moral spaces', include Strangers on a Train (filmed by Alfred Hitchcock), the Ripley series and o n e lesbian novel Carol. The murder o f Dickie Greenleaf at San Remo, m e n t i o n e d later in the inter­ view, is i n the first Ripley novel, The Talented Mr Ripley ( 1 9 5 5 ) . Little Tales of Misogyny ( 1 9 7 4 ) is a collection o f stories about characters w h o get caught u p i n their o w n fictions and per­ ish as a result. Gore Vidal thinks very highly o f her work, as did Graham Greene. She lived for the last thirty years o f her life i n France and Switzerland. She died i n 1 9 9 5 . 'Belle Ombre': the elegantly comfortable residence o f her shady hero Tom Ripley in Villeperce, near Fontainebleau south o f Paris. It incorporates all the trappings o f gracious living (multiple bathrooms, original paintings, b o w l s o f freshly cut flowers)

as imagined by the m i d d l e classes.

Dante Alighieri: the reference is to the third and final part of Purgatory, Book II of his Divine Comedy, in w h i c h the Pilgrim reaches the Garden o f Eden at the t o p o f the M o u n t o f Purgatory. If it had not been for Adam's breach o f contract, h u m a n i t y could have passed directly from here to Paradise proper. Since the breach few even make it this far. Everyone is 'happy' here (beatitudmem hums vitae), mostly i n ways that w o u l d s e e m infinitely tedious to m o d e r n sensibilities, although n o o n e here has yet been vouchsafed the bliss (beatitudinem vitae aeternae) that c o m e s from seeing God. Interestingly, according to Dante's cosmography, the M o u n t o f Purgatory, w h i c h sprang u p i n response to Lucifer's plunge into the earth's core, is situated in the 'watery h e m i ­ sphere' opposite Jerusalem, w h i c h w o u l d place it east o f N e w Zealand and south o f Tahiti. Land of Cockaigne : a mythic land of instant gratification o f all desires. The Land o f Cockaigne (or Cockayne) is n o t a Utopia

- it

involves

no

structured social

vision w i t h supporting

L o c a m o Letters rituals, as does, for example, Dante's vision o f Paradise or St Augustine's o f the City o f God. M o n t e Veritas connection w i t h m o d e r n counterculture is w e l l - d o c u m e n t e d i n Martin Green's Mountain of Truth: the counterculture begins—Ascona, 1900-1920 (Tufts University, 1 9 6 8 ) . The Umiliate and the Jesuit the Umiliate (the Humiliates) were expelled from the island by St Charles B o r r o m e o ( 1 5 3 8 - 8 4 ) , r e n o w n e d for his g o o d works amongst the poor. In fact, the i m m e n s e l y wealthy and powerful B o r r o m e o family, i n the person o f the delightfully n a m e d Lancellotto Borromeo, already o w n e d Isola Bella and Isola di San Vittore ( n o w Isola Madre) at the Italian e n d o f the lake, the s o called Borromean Islands, w h i c h Ruskin called 'the Eden o f Italy' and Stendhal, a little lamely, 'one o f the m o s t beautiful places i n the world'. Turgenev w a s entranced beyond words, as well. Wordsworth's sister, o n the other hand, called the gardens o n the islands 'the peak o f absurdity' and the English painter o f alpine scenes W i l l i a m Brockedon w r o t e h o m e that they exhibited 'the extravagance o f a rich m a n w i t h the taste o f a confectioner'. The Viano Palace: a

fifteenth-century

palace i n the Santa

Marina de Aguas Santas district o w n e d by various n o b l e Cordoba families, including the Fernandez de Cordoba, the Figueroa and Saavedra families and n o w the property o f the Cordoba Provincial Savings Bank. The Saavedra family m o t t o was 'Suffer i n order to live'. Spent the winter sick with lust the Sultan may have b e e n f o l l o w ­ ing the advice o f the Emir Kai-Ka'us ibn Iskander in his eleventh-century Book of Counsel: 'In s u m m e r devote thyself to boys, and in winter to women.' The climatic reasons for this curious advice are n o w h e r e explained. Egg Castle: presumably the Castel dell'Ovo at Naples, r e m o d ­ elled by the Angevins i n 1 2 7 4 , i n w h i c h the poet Virgil is

-99said t o have h i d d e n a magic egg. If the egg is ever broken, the castle w i l l b e destroyed. I was not quite sure how far this got us: not, i n this commentator's view, very far at all. Rachel Berg's story is best construed as a sad m i s h m a s h o f Orientalist stereotyping, primitive m o r a l ­ izing and mysticism o f the m o s t banal kind. O n internal evidence (quarrelling popes, Roger II, the Yemeni trade w i t h India, Egg Castle) the story purports t o o p e n i n about 1 2 1 0 or perhaps as late as 1 2 1 5 . W h i l e the basic 'facts' o f the story as related by Rachel Berg ( m o n s o o n s , pirates, buckram, Jewish traders, the Angevins and so o n ) are n o t inconsistent w i t h k n o w n historical 'facts', there is n o evidence w h a t s o ­ ever adduced here t o verify that this was the history o f this particular amulet. Indeed, under the circumstances, it is dif­ ficult t o imagine h o w there could have b e e n any. Sorcerer has conjured up: hardly an original response: cf. Byron's o f t - q u o t e d lines from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto IV: I saw from out the wave her structure rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand. This n o w rather hackneyed Romantic reaction t o Venice has b e e n reinforced by Turner's dreamlike evocation o f Venice i n n u m e r o u s paintings, sketches and water-colours. In fact, in the late twentieth century Venice appears t o be precisely w h a t it is: a messy conglomeration o f dilapidated buildings and port faculties i n the shadow o f massive petrochemical installations. Smolny Institute: this institute, set u p by the Society for the Education o f Young Ladies o f N o b l e Birth, originally o p e n e d i n the N u n n e r y itself, designed by Rastrelli and called the Tar or Pitch N u n n e r y i n Russian because it w a s built o n the site w h e r e pitch was distilled and stored for the St Petersburg shipyard. The building Antonietta Bayer claims t o have studied i n w a s designed by another Italian, Giacomo

L o c a r n o Letters Quarenghi, and o p e n e d as the Smolny Institute in 1 8 0 9 . The Petrograd Soviet o f Workers' and Soldiers' Deputies m o v e d there i n August 1917. Lenin arrived o n 25 October that year and Smolny remained the seat o f government until the c a p ­ ital w a s m o v e d to M o s c o w i n March 1 9 1 8 . Ranzoni: Daniele Ranzoni ( 1 8 4 3 - 8 9 ) , studied at the Art Academy in Cremona, lived in London and at Intra at the Italian end o f Lake Maggiore, s o m e 5 0 kilometres south o f the Brissago Islands. Princes Trubetzkoi: Pavel Petrovich (Paolo) and Pyotr Petrovich (Pietro), b o t h born in Italy and b o t h painters. Their Villa Ada at Intra at the Italian end o f Lake Maggiore w a s curi­ ously n a m e d , since in Russian the n a m e can m e a n 'Villa o f Hell'. ' . . . still no one knows she's here': i n fact, the life o f Antonietta Bayer is very w e l l - k n o w n indeed, including the fact o f her reburial. Many articles and even books have b e e n written about b o t h her and her islands. It is true, however, that facts are hard to distinguish from r u m o u r and malicious untruths in the many retellings o f her life, and w h o l e areas o f it remain clouded in mystery. Rachel Berg's version strikes m e as n o m o r e reliable than any other. Sufis: a paraphrase o f a w e l l - k n o w n precept o f the eighthcentury mystic Rabfa al-'Adawiyya. Carl Jung: Jung was deeply interested in Ascona and analyzed Otto Gross, o n e o f the founders o f Monte Verità, at Burghölzli in 1908. His thoughts o n Gross and M o n t e Verità are recorded in his notes o n Gross and in his correspon­ dence w i t h Freud, w h o became increasingly hostile to Gross and the Monte Verità m o v e m e n t .

P A R T

II

Vicenza Letters

Venice, 8th April STRANGELY E N O U G H , t h e t h i n g I r e m e m b e r m o s t dis¬ tinctly a b o u t t h a t T h u r s d a y a f t e r n o o n i n M e l b o u r n e is s t a n d i n g i n front o f t h e fresh p a s t a s h o p i n Lygon Street* s t a r i n g at t h e a m a z i n g a r r a y o f different p a s ­ tas i n t h e w i n d o w : squiggly, g r e e n , c u r l e d , creamy, p i l l o w - s h a p e d , p i n k i s h . . . It w a s five m i n u t e s t o f o u r a n d I w a s o n m y w a y t o t h e clinic t o h e a r t h e

final

verdict. I ' m n o t at all f o n d o f p a s t a b u t , k n o w i n g t h e r e w a s n o t h i n g at h o m e for d i n n e r t h a t n i g h t , I t h o u g h t I'd b e t t e r c o n c e n t r a t e a n d b u y s o m e t h i n g n o w , b e c a u s e a f t e r w a r d s it m i g h t b e difficult t o p u t m y m i n d t o it. I t h a d b e e n a t e n s e b u t u n d r a m a t i c last w e e k b e t w e e n t h e tests a n d t h e v e r d i c t O n t h e o n e h a n d y o u m u s t stack t h e dishwasher, clean o u t t h e b i r d - b a t h a n d d e c i d e w h e t h e r o r n o t t o w a t c h Seinfeld, w h i l e o n t h e o t h e r h a n d s o m e t h i n g inside y o u h a s s h r u n k , y o u c a r e e q u a l l y l i t d e a b o u t everything, e x c e p t c o m i n g t o t e r m s w i t h dying. I r o n i n g , R w a n d a , just m i s s i n g t h e t r a m — t h e y all m e a n t as little as e a c h o t h e r . O r as m u c h .

V i c e n z a Letters

There's little u r g e n c y t o a n y t h i n g any m o r e ( o d d l y e n o u g h ) . It's n o t a completely u n p l e a s a n t feeling. I n a f u n n y w a y t h e w e e k h a d b e g u n o n a n off-key n o t e . O u r friends H a r r y a n d Jill (let's call t h e m ) c a m e t o d i n n e r o n t h e S u n d a y evening. At o n e p o i n t i n t h e evening H a r r y s t a r t e d telling t h e s t o r y o f B r u c e C h a t w i n ' s s l o w d e c l i n e . He'd a p p a r e n t l y b e e n a g o o d f r i e n d o f Chatwin's, w h o , even w h i l e h e w a s dying, w o u l d often p i c k u p t h e p h o n e a n d call H a r r y i n Australia. It w a s a l o n g s t o r y — t h e illness i n India, t h e t w o - h o u r struggles t o get t o t h e b a t h r o o m a n d b a c k u n a i d e d , every tiny, ghastly detail. T h e c o n s e n s u s , o f course, w a s t h a t C h a t w i n h a d Aids, a l t h o u g h

the

m o m e n t Harry m e n t i o n e d the w o r d o n the telephone, t h e calls ceased. A t a b o o h a d b e e n b r o k e n . Very English. T h e striking t h i n g a b o u t B r u c e C h a t w i n stories ( a n d Harry's w a s n o e x c e p t i o n ) is h o w consistently t h e m a l e tellers o f these tales e m p h a s i s e h i s physical beauty. It's a vital e l e m e n t i n t h e story, p a r t o f its u n d e n i a b l e power. C h a t w i n w a s astoundingly beautiful, apparently, startlingly, even b r e a t h takingly b e a u t i f u l - n o t h a n d ­ s o m e (that's n o t t h e w o r d t h a t s p r i n g s t o h i s friends' lips), b u t beautiful. Is t h e r e a difference? M e n usually skirt a r o u n d t h e t o p i c o f a n o t h e r m a n ' s physical beauty, o f course, very often c l a i m i n g they're o b l i v i o u s t o it, e v e n u n s u r e o f w h a t it c o u l d m e a n . O n c e a m a n is dead, however, a n d if h i s b e a u t y s o m e h o w e n h a n c e s t h e tragic n a r r a t i v e o f h i s d e a t h , it m a y b e m e n t i o n e d . I n d e e d , t h e r e is a l m o s t a c o m p u l s i o n t o m a k e m e n ­ t i o n o f it. I n t h e case o f diseases s u c h as C h a t w i n ' s is

- 105 r u m o u r e d t o b e , b e a u t y b e c o m e s a flaw inviting i n f e c ­ t i o n . O r as F r e u d p u t it, N a t u r e d e s t r o y s u s t h r o u g h t h e v e r y t h i n g s t h a t o c c a s i o n e d o u r satisfaction.* I fixed m y eyes o n H a r r y a n d listened t o t h e s t o r y o f m o u n t i n g decay a n d disability, feeling as t h e m i n ­ u t e s t i c k e d b y as if I w e r e b e i n g slowly w i n c h e d i n t o t h e m a w s o f s o m e infernal m a c h i n e a n d c r u s h e d . Peter c o u l d n ' t s t a n d it a n d w e n t i n t o t h e k i t c h e n t o stack plates. T h e n Jill f o l l o w e d h i m , a n d I w a s left facing H a r r y across t h e d i n i n g - r o o m table, c a u g h t u p i n t h e toils o f h i s tale o f d e a t h . It w a s a n i d i o t i c s i t u a t i o n : I felt I m i g h t m a k e H a r r y feel a w k w a r d b y i n t e r r u p t ­ ing, yet h e , I p r e s u m e , w a s u n a w a r e a n y t h i n g at all w a s a m i s s . O v e r t i m e I l e a r n t t o h a n d l e this k i n d o f s i t u a ­ t i o n m o r e adroitly. T h e n e x t m o r n i n g , still feeling a little scarified, I w e n t b a c k t o w o r k for t h e first time i n several w e e k s . W h y n o t ? Even if t i m e is l i m i t e d , y o u have t o do s o m e ­ t h i n g , y o u can't sit at h o m e just w r i t i n g y o u r m e m o i r s a n d p u t t i n g y o u r affairs i n o r d e r . ( I n fact, I refuse t o p u t m y affairs i n order, t o c l e a n o u t t h e c u p b o a r d i n t h e b e d r o o m , get t h e side gate r e h u n g , s o r t o u t m y tax a n d generally tidy u p . It's a t e m p t a t i o n , b u t I refuse t o start crafting a n e a t e n d i n g t o m y life, as if I w e r e s o m e m i n o r s h o r t story. T h e m o r e loose e n d s t h e better.) Besides, t h e r e w a s a l u r e : I actually h a d a n i n t e r v i e w w i t h S a l m a n R u s h d i e l i n e d u p for t h a t first day b a c k . H o w e n l i v e n i n g h i s s c u r r y i n g w i t was, h i s p a s s i o n for s p i n n i n g stories a n d r u n n i n g off i n u n e x p e c t e d d i r e c ­ t i o n s . H e g a t h e r e d m e u p a n d t o o k flight w i t h m e i n

Vicenza

Letters

tow, a n d for n e a r l y a n h o u r I forgot a b o u t r o t t i n g a n d d e a t h . Well, t o b e h o n e s t , y o u n e v e r c o m p l e t e l y f o r ­ get. I t s wearying. Have y o u h e a r d t h e s o u n d a b l a c k b i r d m a k e s w h e n it sees a cat slink i n t o t h e y a r d ? It's a ceaseless, low, s l o w

t w i t . . . t w i t . . . t w i t . . . almost

m u r m u r e d , if a b i r d c a n m u r m u r . S h a r p - c l a w e d d e a t h is o n t h e p r o w l . That's t h e k i n d o f m u r m u r I h e a r i n m y e a r all t h e t i m e . Craving w a s o n e o f t h e t h i n g s w e t a l k e d a b o u t t h a t day. I s u p p o s e I r e m e m b e r that, r a t h e r t h a n all t h e m o r e i m p o r t a n t l i t e r a r y t h i n g s w e discussed, b e c a u s e it s h o n e a light o n s o m e t h i n g t h a t w a s s t i r r i n g i n t h e d a r k e r r e a c h e s o f m y o w n m i n d at t h a t t i m e . All t h e stories i n t h e b o o k i n f r o n t o f m e w e r e a b o u t desire - for h a p p i n e s s , riches, h o m e , p o w e r over o t h e r s - a n d a b o u t h o w intoxicatingly easy it is t o m a n i p u l a t e desire, t o m o u l d it i n t o craving. W h a t is t h e difference? Is t h e r e o n e , e x c e p t i n degree? ( H a d I t o o o f t e n

craved?)

D e s i r i n g t o b e is o n e t h i n g ( t o k n o w , t o s e e ) , c r a v i n g t o h a v e q u i t e a n o t h e r . A n d t h e m o r e y o u crave, t h e m o r e y o u m u s t force t h e c o m p l i c i t y o f o t h e r s , t h e m o r e w a r p e d y o u r love for o t h e r s , t h e m o r e v u l n e r ­ able y o u a r e t o t h e loss o f everything. Yet h o w q u i c k e n e d y o u feel w h e n y o u crave, h o w galvanized, e x h i l a r a t e d , h o w close t o ecstasy. T h e w o n d e r f u l t h i n g a b o u t desire i n Rushdie's s t o ­ r i e s is t h e w a y it destroys absurdity. T h e lover k n o w s it, t h e s a i n t i n h i s cell k n o w s it, e v e n t h e h o u s e w i f e c h o o s i n g a n e w toaster k n o w s it. A n d C h r i s t o p h e r C o l u m b u s k n o w s it (in R u s h d i e s story): if Isabella, w h o

-107eats like a h o r s e a n d is d e v o u r i n g S p a i n city b y city, w i l l s e n d h i m w e s t ' b e y o n d t h e Edge o f T h i n g s ' as h e desires, give h i m s h i p s t h a t h e m i g h t cast h i s g l i t t e r ­ i n g eye o n t h e g o l d e n paradise h e k n o w s m u s t h e there, t h e n life is r a d i a n t w i t h m e a n i n g . O t h e r w i s e h e m u s t retire from m e a n i n g and accept that the philosophers a r e r i g h t : life is a b s u r d . A n d s o h e 'dogs h e r footsteps, h o p i n g for t h e ecstasy o f h e r glance', h o p i n g for c o n ­ summation, rapture. 'Absurdity a n d t h e n e e d for m e a n i n g are t h i n g s I've b e e n w r i t i n g a b o u t forever, really R u s h d i e said t o m e . ' O n t h e first p a g e o f Midnight's Children t h e n a r r a t o r says t h a t m o r e t h a n a n y t h i n g else h e fears a b s u r d i t y a n d t h e n h e tells this h u g e , r a m b l i n g " s h a g g y - d o g s t o r y " as a w a y o f i n v e n t i n g a m e a n i n g for h i s o w n life — a m e a n i n g w h i c h , even as h e talks h i m s e l f i n t o it, h e fears it m a y n o t actually have.' W e all k n o w t h e feeling. Talking t o R u s h d i e w a s like a n elixir. By t h e Thursday, all t h e s a m e , I w a s feeling a little scratchy. I w a s a c h i n g w i t h t h e w a i t i n g , sighing a lot a n d m a k i n g s m a l l ' o h ' n o i s e s at o d d t i m e s . I d i d n ' t tell Peter t h a t this w a s t h e day - w h y have t w o o f u s feel­ i n g like this? At a b o u t t h r e e o ' c l o c k I left w o r k a n d t o o k t h e t r a m n o r t h t o Lygon Street, w o n d e r i n g ( h o w c o u l d y o u h e l p it?) w h a t sorts o f m e e t i n g s a n d c o n ­ versations m y f e l l o w - p a s s e n g e r s m i g h t b e travelling t o w a r d s . A r r i v i n g a little early, I sat for a few m i n u t e s at a table o n t h e p a v e m e n t , s i p p i n g a coffee a n d l i s ­ t e n i n g t o a h o s t o f sentences f o r m a n d fade i n m y h e a d : If the news were good, he'd have rung me this morning, s o . . . His

Vicenza Letters silence means nothing, he wouldn't tell me anything over the phone . . . If he smiles too brightly when he first sees me in the waitingroom, then . . . If it's good news, he'll tell me right there as soon as I stand up to follow h i m . . . If he says nothing but my name and smiles briefly, then . . . If it's good news, I'll levitate, I'll fly out the window, I'll be home in two seconds and fling open the door and we'll be so happy we'll burst, I can see i t . . . A n d I c o u l d a c t u ­ ally feel m y h e a r t - b e a t

g r o w stronger

with

the

i m a g i n e d joy o f it all. I crossed over t o t h e fresh pasta s h o p , b o u g h t t h e e v e n i n g m e a l a n d m a d e m y w a y t o t h e clinic. I u s u ­ ally like t o flick t h r o u g h trashy p o p u l a r m a g a z i n e s i n w a i t i n g - r o o m s - a s u r r e p t i t i o u s snuffle i n t h e t r o u g h o f m i n d l e s s n e s s a n d perfect b o d i e s - b u t felt b l a n k today a n d sat staring straight ahead. Eventually h e c a m e o u t , Chinese a n d i m m a c u l a t e , a n d said s i m p l y ' R o b e r t ' w i t h t h e briefest o f s m i l e s as h e p i c k e d u p m y file a n d u s h e r e d m e i n t o h i s r o o m . I sat d o w n b e s i d e h i s desk. T h i s w a s it. I l o o k e d u p at h i m , scarcely t r y i n g t o r e a d h i s face. I k n e w . H e sat d o w n close to m e . 'I have b a d n e w s , I ' m sorry. T h e tests are positive,' h e said, gently. I d i d c r u m p l e a b i t t h e n - 1 d i d n ' t cry, I t h i n k I felt t o o c r u s h e d to cry, a l t h o u g h later at t h e c i n e m a I c r i e d at e v e r y t h i n g t h a t h a p p e n e d a n d it w a s n ' t e v e n a p a r ­ ticularly sad m o v i e . T h e n I said t h e o d d e s t t h i n g — a n d I r e m e m b e r t h e exact w o r d s b e c a u s e I c a u g h t myself c h o o s i n g t h e m carefully. ' I ' m sorry' I said, 'that it fell t o y o u t o tell me.' H e l o o k e d a b i t startled, b u t I m e a n t it: at t h a t m o m e n t I w a s s t r u c k w i t h h o w u n b e a r a b l e

- 109 it m u s t b e for h i m t o sit b e s i d e p e o p l e like this, w e e k i n a n d w e e k o u t , a n d have t o say w h a t he'd just said t o m e . I'd w a n t e d it t o b e h i m , t h o u g h , if it h a d t o b e anybody. ' I ' m s o r r y ' h e said again, 'it's h o r r i b l e n e w s , I know.' A n d t h e n ( a l t h o u g h I w a s s p i n n i n g again, a l m o s t s u r ­ p r i s e d t o see m y feet still o n t h e g r o u n d ) I h e a r d h i s voice saying m o r e things, q u i t e g r a p h i c t h i n g s

I

d i d n ' t w a n t t o hear, c o u l d n ' t really b e a r t o hear. You w o n ' t w a n t t o h e a r t h e m , either. A n d t h e n I w a s w a l k ­ i n g h o m e again, barely c o n n e c t e d t o t i m e a n d space, s h r u n k e n i n t o t h e tiniest d o t . I s t o p p e d at lights, crossed r o a d s , passed b l o c k s o f flats, b u t I w a s n ' t t h e r e . F r o m w h e r e v e r I was, I just k e p t a n eye o n t h e m o v ­ i n g d o t , like a n a n t at t h e b o t t o m o f a p i t . T h i s w a s a low point. T h e lowest p o i n t c a m e , t h o u g h , w h e n I g o t t o t h e f r o n t d o o r . T h r o u g h t h e w i n d o w t o o n e side I c o u l d see Peter w o r k i n g at h i s c o m p u t e r . I w o u l d g o i n a n d q u i c k l y say w h a t h a d to b e said. Again. T h e r e w a s a c t u ­ ally a s m a l l p o i n t o f e t i q u e t t e I h a d t o n e g o t i a t e h e r e . Peter h a d t o g o o u t w i t h i n m i n u t e s , at five o'clock, t o give a l e c t u r e s o m e w h e r e . T h e p o i n t w a s w h e t h e r I s h o u l d tell h i m w h e n h e g o t h o m e o r straight away. I n e i t h e r case, t h e n e x t t w o h o u r s w o u l d b e h a r r o w ­ i n g for o n e o f u s . I f o u n d m y s e l f telling h i m . I t o l d h i m i n t w o o r t h r e e w o r d s , s t a r i n g at t h e p o i n t o n t h e floor w h e r e Basil h a d lain q u i t e d e a d n o t l o n g b e f o r e . T h e r e w a s a heavy silence. S o m e t i m e s y o u ' r e d r a i n e d to the p o i n t w h e r e n o t h i n g inside you moves.

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Thinking b a c k to that afternoon, I expect I senti­ m e n t a l i z e d t h e figure o f t h e d o c t o r . D o c t o r s , after all, a r e a l m o s t t h e o n l y p e o p l e w e a l l o w t o t a l k directly o f d e a t h . It can't b e pleasurable, b u t , like a s m a l l c h i l d , a d o c t o r is given leave t o sit a n d t a l k t o y o u i n d e t a i l a b o u t y o u r dying, if n o t y o u r b e i n g d e a d . I n its w a y it's q u i t e refreshing. E v e r y o n e else, y o u s o o n discover, w h e t h e r sad, c o n c e r n e d , e x c i t e d ( a n d t h a t d o e s h a p ­ p e n ) o r m e r e l y a n x i o u s t h a t y o u g o w i t h o u t leaving a m e s s b e h i n d y o u , t e n d s t o talk t o y o u a b o u t e v e r y t h i n g else e x c e p t d e a t h . P e o p l e regularly assure y o u w i t h relief h o w w e l l y o u l o o k , for instance, p a r t i c u ­ larly seizing o n a s u n t a n

(as if still

functioning

p i g m e n t s w e r e s o m e k i n d o f m i r a c l e ) as a sign t h a t e v e r y t h i n g is basically normal. S o m e t i m e s , feeling t h e y s h o u l d at least a c k n o w l e d g e y o u r s i t u a t i o n , t h e y tell y o u stories from t h e i r o w n e x p e r i e n c e , frequently t e r ­ rifying, occasionally a d d i n g a n i n q u i r y a b o u t practical matters, a question about what treatments you might be undertaking or contemplating... but not a word a b o u t y o u r d y i n g o r b e i n g d e a d . N o t as a r u l e . N o o n e m i n d s t a l k i n g a b o u t d e a t h as a statistic i n Bosnia, o r hospices for t h e t e r m i n a l l y ill, o r q u o t i n g a p o e t o r t w o ('Because I c o u l d n o t s t o p for D e a t h - / H e k i n d l y s t o p p e d for m e - ' a n d so o n ) * o r e v e n W o o d y Allen,* b u t n o o n e m u c h feels c o m f o r t a b l e t a l k i n g a b o u t dying and being dead. I n a c o u n t r y like Australia a t t h e e n d o f t h e t w e n t i e t h c e n t u r y d e a t h i n t h e s e senses is a b l a n k for e a c h t o fill i n i n secret, as h e o r s h e sees fit. I d o n ' t t h i n k there's a n y t a b o o o n t h e subject, I j u s t

-111d o n ' t t h i n k p e o p l e q u i t e k n o w w h a t t o say. T h e r e ' s little t h e m a t e r i a l i s t o r a t h e i s t can say, after all, a p a r t from a n expression o f s o r r o w a n d s u p p o r t , yet t o s p e a k i n t e r m s o t h e r t h a n t h e strictly m a t e r i a l i s t c a u s e s e x c r u c i a t i n g e m b a r r a s s m e n t i n m o s t circles, u n l e s s , o f course, y o u ' r e discussing A b o r i g i n a l beliefs,

when

everyone n o d s politely a n d tolerantly w h i l e thinking privately t h e y s o u n d e v e n sillier t h a n t h e C h r i s t i a n o r I s l a m i c varieties. To talk a b o u t d y i n g a n d b e i n g d e a d m a k e s u s i n t o l e r a b l y a n x i o u s , I t h i n k , n o t just a b o u t o u r o w n e v e n t u a l fate, b u t a b o u t t h e p o i n t l e s s n e s s o f o u r o w n p r e s e n t lives. Yet w e ' r e l i v i n g t h e m , briefly, a n d to spend too m u c h time contemplating a n d p r e p a r ­ i n g ourselves for t h e a e o n s w h e n w e w o n ' t b e s e e m s as futile as all t h e o t h e r t h i n g s w e d o . All t h e s a m e , s o m e t i m e s I d o b r i n g t h e subject u p myself. After all, u n l e s s y o u c o n s i d e r it, h o w c a n y o u k n o w h o w best t o live n o w ? W i t h o u t t h i n k i n g t h r o u g h w h a t death m e a n s to you, aren't y o u walking b a c k ­ w a r d s t o w a r d s a precipice? M u c h better, surely, t o w a l k facing w h a t ' s ahead, s t e p p i n g f o r w a r d s w i t h care, j u d g ­ ing y o u r footing a n d pace.

I t h i n k it's a l m o s t m o r n i n g , I t h i n k I've w r i t t e n r i g h t t h r o u g h t h e n i g h t . 'The tender tint of orient sapphire, suffusing the still reaches of the s k y . . . ' Isn't t h a t beautiful?* A n d s o m e h o w very Venetian because t h e East d o e s steal over y o u h e r e . It u s e d t o c o m e i n s h i p s l a d e n w i t h c o t t o n s , silks a n d spices, a n d it w a s from h e r e M a r c o P o l o sailed

Vicenza Letters off t o Cathay a n d I n d i a six h u n d r e d years ago o n h i s visit to the c o u r t of Kubilai Khan. I n fact, t h e r e are s o m e w o n d e r f u l j u t t i n g p o i n t s i n Venice w h e r e y o u c a n still s t a n d o n a squally day, s q u i n t i n g i n t o t h e m o r n i n g s u n , convinced a fleet o f galleys from Acre o r B y z a n t i u m will h o v e i n t o sight at any m o m e n t — just h o l d y o u r b r e a t h a n d they'll c o m e s k i m m i n g h o m e t o w a r d s y o u , sails furled, t w o h u n d r e d oars striking t h e water, circling a n d s t r i k i n g again. Yesterday m o r n i n g , after sitting for a w h i l e o n a h o t , e m p t y s q u a r e (all w a s h e d - o u t b r o w n s a n d w h i t e s ) t u c k e d i n b e h i n d Santa M a r i a della Salute, I strolled o u t o n t o t h e e m b a n k m e n t just a l o n g

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c r o w n e d b y that gigantic g o l d e n orb, r i g h t o n t h e very p o i n t , at t h e e n t r a n c e t o t h e G r a n d Canal, m y spirits w e r e s u d d e n l y fired b y a k i n d o f m a d e x h i l a r a t i o n . R o u n d St George's Island they m u s t have c o m e i n t h o s e days, r i g h t t o t h e p o i n t I w a s n o w s t a n d i n g o n , gazing e a s t A n d t h e b r e e z e m u s t have b e e n p e r f u m e d w i t h n u t m e g a n d c i n n a m o n , saffron a n d p e p p e r , a n d scores o f strange languages m u s t have s w a r m e d i n t h e air. A n d u p b y t h e Rialto Bridge t h e bags o f gold a n d silver m u s t have b e e n dragged from t h e s t r o n g r o o m s , t h e m o n e y ­ lenders rubbing their hands, w h i l e the m i d d l e m e n , victuallers, w h o r e s a n d p e d l a r s r e a d i e d themselves t o ply t h e i r t r a d e . T i m e s i m p l y c r u m p l e d . I have n o idea h o w l o n g I s t o o d t h e r e - it h a r d l y m a t t e r s . I c a n s m e l l breakfast w a f t i n g u p t h e stairs. I n fact, I c a n s m e l l h u n d r e d s o f breakfasts w a f t i n g t h r o u g h m y

- 113w i n d o w from all t h e k i t c h e n s a n d cafés a l o n g t h e lanes a n d e m b a n k m e n t s r o u n d a b o u t . U n f o r t u n a t e l y , at this time of t h e m o r n i n g t h e a r o m a o f fresh b r e a d a n d cof­ fee is always m i x e d w i t h t h e sickly s t i n k o f garbage. I n Elizabethan t i m e s a n English traveller I d i p p e d i n t o w r o t e that t h e streets o f Venice w e r e so m i r a c u l o u s l y clean that ' o n e m i g h t w a l k a b o u t w i t h n o t h i n g o n one's feet b u t silk s t o c k i n g s a n d satin slippers.'* Well, she's b e c o m e q u i t e s q u a l i d i n h e r o l d age. I m i g h t avoid Professor E s c h e n b a u m this m o r n i n g b y taking breakfast s o m e w h e r e else. S o m e t h i n g h a p ­ p e n e d last n i g h t w h i c h h a s left m e feeling a w k w a r d . At a b o u t ten o'clock as I w a s m a k i n g m y w a y b a c k across t h e b r i d g e i n front o f t h e station from m y evening m e a l I n o t i c e d the Professor pass m e i n the c r o w d h e a d e d the o t h e r way. H e h a d o n h i s stylish n e w leather-jacket z i p p e d u p to t h e throat, charcoal jeans a n d h i s peaked cap. I didn't think he'd noticed m e in the t h r o n g o f p e d ­ lars, pickpockets a n d a m b l i n g tourists swarrning this way a n d that across t h e b r i d g e , a n d o n t h e s p u r of t h e m o m e n t I decided to see w h e r e h e w a s off to. Just for fun, as a caprice, a n a d v e n t u r e . I ' m s u r e that's all it was. H e s t r o d e a l o n g at a p u r p o s e f u l p a c e t h r o u g h t h e c r o w d s t o w a r d s t h e Rialto for q u i t e s o m e distance, b u t it w a s easy e n o u g h t o k e e p m y eye o n h i m . It b u o y e d m e u p , it q u i c k e n e d m y p u l s e - h e so b e n t t o h i s p u r ­ p o s e w h i l e I, n o t w i t h o u t i n t e n t , w a s d r a w n a l o n g i n h i s w a k e . H e w a s t h e w r i s t , i n a sense, w h i l e I w a s t h e w h i p , recoiling a n d flying i n fitful arcs at his c o m m a n d . W h e n h e t u r n e d left off t h e Strada N u o v a

into

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quieter, d a r k e r laneways, t h e c r o w d s t h i n n e d

out

abruptly. I n a n instant all t h e smaller s o u n d s c a m e b a c k - keys d r o p p i n g , a s p o o n o n a plate, a sigh b e h i n d a s h u t t e r - a n d t h e air s m e l t s u d d e n l y d a n k again. I c o u l d see h i m a h e a d o f m e passing i n a n d o u t o f s m a l l shafts of light - t h e d o o r w a y of a backstreet hotel, a bakery w i n d o w , a streetlight. H e w o u l d v a n i s h t o t h e left i n t o a n a r r o w e r lane, a n d t h e n v a n i s h again t o t h e r i g h t . I t h o u g h t h e m i g h t d i s a p p e a r i n t o t h i n air, b u t t h e n s o m e w h e r e a h e a d o f m e I'd g l i m p s e h i s l e a t h e r - j a c k e t g l e a m i n g briefly as h e passed a w i n d o w o r d o o r a n d q u i c k e n m y p a c e . W h e r e c o u l d h e b e going? I w a s just b e g i n n i n g t o w o n d e r h o w w i s e it h a d b e e n t o e m b a r k o n this little a d v e n t u r e , a n d h o w l o n g it w o u l d t a k e m e t o find m y w a y b a c k t h r o u g h t h e m a z e o f laneways a n d canals, w h e n , t u r n i n g a c o r n e r t o t h e f o o t o f a s m a l l b r i d g e , I f o u n d h i m s t a n d i n g i n front o f m e , h a n d s i n h i s jacket p o c k e t s , s t a r i n g m e s t r a i g h t i n t h e eye. Maddeningly, h e d i d n ' t u t t e r a syllable. W h a t h e w a s s u p p o s e d t o say w a s ' W h y are y o u f o l l o w i n g m e ? ' o r ' W h a t is t h e m e a n i n g o f this?' - t h e r e a r e several stock phrases - a n d t h e n I w o u l d n o r m a l l y choose a stock r e s p o n s e (feigning a s t o n i s h m e n t , asking h i m t o m i n d h i s o w n business, a d m i t t i n g c a n d i d l y a n d d i s armingly to m y idiotic p r a n k - t h e r e are m a n y ) . But h e said absolutely n o t h i n g . H e just s t o o d t h e r e i n t h e d a r k n e s s a n d stared at m e . I o p e n e d m y m o u t h t o say s o m e t h i n g b u t n o t h i n g c a m e o u t . After a few s e c o n d s , utterly u n n e r v e d , I t u r n e d a r o u n d a n d w a l k e d b a c k t h e w a y I t h o u g h t I'd c o m e .

-115 So y o u c a n see I ' m n o t a n x i o u s t o g o d o w n t o breakfast this m o r n i n g a n d m e e t h i s eyes again. I ' m feeling s h e e p i s h . I still d o n ' t k n o w w h a t t o say t o h i m . O f c o u r s e , I've b e e n i n v e n t i n g all s o r t s o f u n t r u e a n d h a l f - t r u e t h i n g s t o say, s o m e o f t h e m q u i t e i n g e n i o u s , b u t p e r h a p s I s h o u l d c h o o s e m y m o m e n t a n d j u s t tell h i m t h e t r u t h . It's just t h a t I ' m n o t yet c o m p l e t e l y s u r e w h a t it is.

Venice, 9th April I C A N ' T IMAGINE h o w t h i n g s c o u l d have g o n e so w r o n g t h e day I left L o c a r n o . T h e r e w e r e n o o m e n s at all. It w a s a n o t h e r idyllic m o r n i n g o n Lake Maggiore - s u n , ease, p a l m - t r e e s , b o a t s o n t h e lake - a n d I m a d e a v e r y leisurely start. I k n e w it w a s time t o drift o n , I c o u l d feel it w a s t h e m o m e n t t o e x p e r i e n c e s o m e t h i n g else, b u t I w a s n ' t i n t h e m o o d t o m a p o u t a n i t i n e r ­ a r y o r set myself g o a l s — n o t initially, n o t as I w a s p a c k i n g t o leave. I t h i n k I w a s i n a vaguely Taoist m o o d t h a t m o r n i n g - y o u k n o w , let t h e p a t t e r n appear, d o n ' t strive t o craft it, gravity is t h e r o o t o f lightness a n d so o n a n d so forth. O n t h e o t h e r h a n d , y o u have t o decide w h i c h t r a i n t o c a t c h a n d get o n it.* P e r h a p s , f r o m t h e C h i n e s e p o i n t o f view, that's w h e r e I m a d e m y first m i s t a k e . For s o m e r e a s o n I got B o l o g n a o n t h e b r a i n . W a i t i n g w i t h m y case at t h e sta­ t i o n I w a s flicking t h r o u g h m y M i c h e l i n g u i d e t o Italy a n d g o t s t u c k o n B o l o g n a : 'long, a r c a d e d streets l i n e d b y s u m p t u o u s 1 4 t o 17C palaces', s q u a r e s o f r a r e

-117beauty, m e d i e v a l t o w e r s . . . I ' m partial t o towers, I m u s t say, a n d B o l o g n a a p p e a r e d t o have t w o o f t h e l e a n i n g k i n d . I ' m n o t absolutely s u r e w h y I feel so d r a w n t o t o w e r s . Professor E s c h e n b a u m says ( a n d I've discussed it w i t h h i m , he's e n c y c l o p a e d i c ) t h a t it c o u l d , o b v i ­ ously, r e p r e s e n t a p u b l i c c e l e b r a t i o n o f t h e p h a l l u s ' w h i c h y o u m a y find irresistible for r e a s o n s o f y o u r o w n ' (as h e p u t it) or, s t r i k i n g a m o r e F r e u d i a n n o t e , it c o u l d s t a n d for t h e s u p r e m a c y i n civilized society o f sight over t h e lower, m o r e a n i m a l faculties, s u c h as smell, w h o s e d o m a i n is still i n t h e street b e l o w - a n d , certainly, I w a s always faintly i r k e d b y Basil's indiffer­ e n c e t o t h e view o n o u r a f t e r n o o n w a l k s , t h e s p l e n d i d vistas afforded o n every side b y t h e E d i n b u r g h o r Fitzroy G a r d e n s , for e x a m p l e , a n d t h e w a y h e w o u l d focus i n s t e a d o n o l d pizza b o x e s a n d d r i e d t u r d s . T h e Professor o n t h e w h o l e , t h o u g h , favoured B a r d i e s ' theory of the

city tower:* it's t h e

city-dweller's

b e l v e d e r e , t u r n i n g t h e cityscape b a c k i n t o n a t u r e , allowing us to reinterpret our denatured surroundings as a k i n d o f g a r d e n . H m m m , I said. O r possibly, h e said, for y o u it's a n exciting a m a l g a m o f all t h r e e . Anyway, I love c l i m b i n g t o w e r s a n d I l o c k e d o n t o t h e Asinelli a n d G a r i s e n d a t o w e r s as t w o I m u s t g o u p . I p i c t u r e d t h e m a n d t h e n set off from L o c a r n o d e t e r ­ m i n e d t o take myself t o B o l o g n a . You glide t h r o u g h m o r e m o u n t a i n s for a little w h i l e t o w a r d s t h e Italian border. Very picturesque, very Swiss. Even t h e s n o w - d r i f t s l o o k s t r e w n t h e r e b y s o m e o n e w i t h taste. T h e m a n w i t h d i e f o o d trolley

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t r u n d l i n g u p t h e aisle. That's w h e n I h a d m y first i n t i ­ m a t i o n t h a t s o m e t h i n g h a d g o n e askew: h e w o u l d n ' t a c c e p t m y Swiss francs. It w a s a n Italian t r a i n , h e said, a n d it m i g h t b e S w i t z e r l a n d o u t s i d e , b u t i n s i d e it w a s Italy. I t w a s lire o r n o t h i n g . I w a s a b i t p e c k i s h - it w a s early a f t e r n o o n a n d I'd h a d n o t h i n g t o eat o r d r i n k for four o r five h o u r s - b u t I k e p t m y sense o f p r o p o r t i o n a n d d e c i d e d i t w o u l d d o m e n o h a r m at all t o w a i t u n t i l I g o t t o Bologna. I n d e e d , p e r h a p s fasting b e f o r e B o l o g n a w a s t h e t h i n g t o d o - it w a s f a m o u s for b e i n g w h a t m y M i c h e l i n g u i d e called 'a s a n c t u a r y o f g o o d fare'. T h e m o m e n t y o u cross t h e b o r d e r i n t o Italy, y o u realize s o m e t h i n g is deeply w r o n g . You coast d o w n i n t o C o m o o n y o u r expensively u p h o l s t e r e d seat a n d s u d ­ d e n l y t h r o u g h t h e t i n t e d glass, y o u see t h e First Circle o f Hell. C r o w d e d a r o u n d d i e lake i n a b r o w n i s h h a z e are scores o f tower-blocks, pitted w i t h tiny, b o x - l i k e b a l ­ conies like a p o x . H i g h u p above t h e c a r - c h o k e d streets y o u c a n see w o m e n leaning o u t from a m o n g s t t h e i r w a s h i n g , staring dismally d o w n at t h e garish j u m b l e o f c o n c r e t e a n d glass h e m m i n g t h e m in. N o w a n d again, as y o u d e s c e n d l o w e r a n d l o w e r t o w a r d s t h e lake, y o u g l i m p s e a n o l d villa o r t w o a n d a stand o f straggly trees a m o n g s t t h e sprawling car sales yards a n d factories a n d r o a d - s i d e restaurants. To say I h a d t h e sensation o f b e i n g ' u p o n t h e b r i n k o f grief's abysmal valley'* is p r o b a b l y t o o m e l o d r a m a t i c , b u t t h e line d o e s c o m e n o w i n t o m y head—it's o n e I u n d e r l i n e d last night, that's w h a t p a p e r ­ backs are for - a n d I w a s definitely alive t o t h e forsaken

-119air o f t h e place w e w e r e g o i n g d o w n i n t o . I ' m n o t sure w h a t it s e e m e d forsaken by exactly, b u t i n m y D a n t e s q u e m o o d this evening I'd probably say b y h o p e . ' I n this alone w e suffer: c u t off f r o m h o p e , w e live o n i n desire.' Little t o r m e n t , just sightlessness i n t h e b r o a d e s t sense, a n d vague wellings o f desire, very striking i n s u c h p a n o r a m i c surroundings. I t h i n k , like m a n y p e o p l e , g o i n g b a c k c e n t u r i e s , I'd n u r t u r e d t h e illusion t h a t h e r e i n t h e S o u t h , o n t h i s s u n n i e r side o f t h e ice-barrier, N a t u r e i n s o m e b l u r r e d sense still t o o k t h e u p p e r h a n d . T h e R o m a n s , I k n o w , t o o k t h e o p p o s i t e v i e w : n o r t h o f t h e Alps w a s b r u t e N a t u r e ' s d o m a i n , a l a n d o f a u r o c h s a n d elks a n d w i l d haired G e r m a n s wearing n o t h i n g b u t pelts a n d bark, as if s p r u n g from t h e very e a r t h , m a r a u d i n g a n d p l u n ­ d e r i n g a m o n g s t their bogs a n d gloomy, h a u n t e d w o o d s ; s o u t h o f t h e Alps, o n t h e o t h e r h a n d , as t h e R o m a n s w o u l d have it, t h e l a n d w a s c l e a r e d a n d s h a p e d , t h e lawless, Etruscan-infested forests h a d b e e n t u r n e d i n t o timber,

s t o n e cities h a d r i s e n u p , laws h a d b e e n w r i t ­

ten, civilization h a d t a k e n r o o t a n d subtle m i n d s w r o t e verse a n d p h i l o s o p h i z e d . Silk, as S i m o n S c h a m a h a s said, i n s t e a d o f fur, m a r b l e i n s t e a d o f w o o d , g o l d i n s t e a d o f i r o n , a n d 'elegant i r o n y ' i n s t e a d o f c r u d e reality.* That's n o t t h e m y t h a n y m o r e , t h o u g h , is it? N o w it's t h e N o r t h , surely, w h i c h s t a n d s for civilization t r i ­ u m p h a n t , for t h e r e g u l a t i o n o f h u m a n b e h a v i o u r a n d t h e e n v i r o n m e n t i n s u c h a w a y as t o b a n i s h u n t a m e d n a t u r e from h u m a n e x p e r i e n c e entirely. I n fact, y o u

Vicenza Letters c o u l d live o u t a w h o l e c o m f o r t a b l e lifetime i n M u n i c h o r A m s t e r d a m a n d never suspect t h e r e w a s s u c h a t h i n g as N a t u r e . H e r e i n t h e S o u t h , o n t h e o t h e r h a n d , p e o ­ p l e are at least s u p p o s e d t o b e m o r e i n t u n e w i t h t h e i r instincts a n d passions, l e t t i n g t h e m flower for g o o d o r evil, refining t h e i r a n i m a l i t y b u t o n l y t o h e i g h t e n t h e p l e a s u r e o f b e i n g h u m a n , n o t t o e x t i n g u i s h it. T h e c u l t o f death, the obsession w i t h food a n d the savouring o f sexual p a s s i o n — a t least i n t h e s e w a y s t h e S o u t h k e e p s t h e m e m o r y o f N a t u r e alive. However, i n its m o r e p r i m a l f o r m y o u s o o n discover t h a t N a t u r e h a s virtually d i s a p p e a r e d . As y o u r o l l o n d o w n t o w a r d s M i l a n , a n h o u r o r so s o u t h o f t h e b o r d e r , t h e scene o f devastation b e c o m e s a l m o s t o v e r w h e l m i n g . It's n o t h o w w e t h i n k o f Italy, is it? O u r h e a d s s w i m w i t h images

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balustrades, d o m e d c h u r c h e s , palaces, o r n a t e fountains, streets o f severe Palladian t o w n - h o u s e s , s u n n y piazze... a n d all t h o s e t h i n g s are t h e r e , o f c o u r s e , s q u e e z e d i n a m o n g s t t h e i n d u s t r i a l p a r k s , t h e s h a b b y forests o f high-rise apartments, the abandoned wrecks,

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d i l a p i d a t e d f a r m s t e a d s a n d stinking, steel-grey rivers. N o w a n d again y o u see a tiny c o p s e o f bedraggled trees a w a i t i n g t h e a x e b e s i d e t h e railway line, a n d o c c a ­ sionally y o u c a t c h sight o f a n a n c i e n t c h u r c h

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campanile a m o n g s t t h e g i a n t n e o n signs a n d h i d e o u s h u m a n a n t h e a p s , b u t b y a n d large this l a n d h a s b e e n macadamized

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c r o p p e d , b u i l t o n , sprayed, p o l l u t e d a n d p o i s o n e d t o the p o i n t w h e r e N a t u r e has b e e n entirely obliterated.

-121A n i m a l i t y m a y still b e alive a n d w e l l i n t h e Italian p s y ­ c h e , b u t a c t u a l a n i m a l s a n d b i r d s are n o w h e r e t o b e seen, a p a r t from t h e o d d l a p d o g a n d caged canary, w h i c h h a v e as m u c h t o d o w i t h N a t u r e as a D u t c h t u l i p . You p u l l i n t o M i l a n o C e n t r a l e i n a state o f s h o c k , o r at least I d i d . O r w a s I just feeling r a t t y from n o t h a v i n g e a t e n all day? I w a s certainly feeling trapped. I h u n g over t h e l o w ­ e r e d w i n d o w i n t h e c o r r i d o r a n d stared o u t i n t o t h e e c h o i n g g l o o m o f t h e c a v e r n o u s station. I w a s b e g i n ­ n i n g t o feel i n d i s c r i m i n a t e l y h u n g r y — p e a n u t s , h a l f a c h i c k e n , a b a r o f c h o c o l a t e , a n y t h i n g w o u l d d o . B u t it w a s s i m p l y t o o risky t o d a s h u p t h e p l a t f o r m t o c h a n g e m o n e y a n d b u y a r o l l o r b o t t l e d d r i n k . U p at t h e far e n d o f t h e p l a t f o r m I c o u l d see p e o p l e m i l l i n g a r o u n d t h e k i o s k s a n d bars. L o u d - s p e a k e r s w e r e b o o m i n g , w h e e l s w e r e screeching, p e o p l e w e r e h u r r y i n g , s t r u g ­ g l i n g w i t h packages a n d suitcases. A w a t c h f u l a n x i e t y w a s i n t h e air. B u t I ' m a c o w a r d w h e n it c o m e s t o leav­ i n g w a i t i n g trains. I can never forget h o p p i n g off a t r a i n o n c e a r o u n d m i d n i g h t i n d e e p e s t Bulgaria t o b u y a q u i c k s n a c k i n t h e s t a t i o n buffet - 1 w a s o n l y g o n e for t w o minutes, b u t w h e n I got back the platform w a s e m p t y . Just t h e infinite n i g h t , t w o d y i n g

fluorescent

lights a n d m e . T h e very w o r d 'Bulgaria' still m a k e s m e feel o b s c u r e l y a l a r m e d . W i t h n o w a r n i n g (as far as I c o u l d tell) w e s t a r t e d t o slide o u t o f M i l a n o C e n t r a l e i n t o t h e o r a n g e g l o w o u t s i d e . T h e scabby, b l i g h t e d b u i l d i n g s c r e a k e d past as w e p i c k e d u p speed, all b a t h e d i n a h e l l i s h

red-

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y e l l o w glare t h a t s e e m e d t o leave n o s h a d o w s . I t u r n e d from the w i n d o w and looked back into m y c o m p a r t ­ m e n t . G o o d shoes, silk blouses, suave jackets. S m a r t l y coiffed h e a d s i n m a g a z i n e s w i t h n o text. N o

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seemed to notice m e c o m e back in. Two h o u r s of h u n g e r u n t i l B o l o g n a . M y m i n d w a s firmly fixed o n Bologna. T h e w o m a n i n t h e spotless l i n e n suit w a s e a t ­ ing Smarties. T h e l i v i d - l o o k i n g s u n set q u i c k l y i n its sky o f fiery c h e m i c a l s a n d t h e w o r l d w e n t dark. I w a s feeling a b i t h o m e s i c k . P a r d y it w a s t h e sense that every i n c h o f t h e landscape I w a s travelling across w a s k n o w n - t r o d d e n o n , m e a s u r e d o u t , m a r c h e d across, f o u g h t over, b u i l t o n , p l o u g h e d u p , t r a n s f o r m e d , disciplined. T h i s is w e a r y i n g , it g r i n d s y o u d o w n . Q u i t e u n t y p i c a l l y for m e , i m a g e s s t a r t e d to cross m y m i n d o f b u s h l a n d o u t ­ side M e l b o u r n e - thickly w o o d e d hills scarcely s t e p p e d o n i n m i l l e n n i a , e s c a r p m e n t s gazed at b u t

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c l i m b e d , views o u t across valleys w i t h n o h o u s e o r r o a d i n sight, c o c k a t o o s s q u a w k i n g s o m e w h e r e u p b e h i n d y o u i n t h e trees. W a l k off u p a gully a n d y o u c a n h e a r small, u n s e e n a n i m a l s s c u t t l i n g off a m o n g s t t h e ferns a n d fallen b r a n c h e s . T u r n t h e o t h e r w a y a n d y o u c a n a l m o s t m a k e o u t t h e skyscrapers g l i n t i n g i n t h e h a z e d o w n b y t h e bay. I w a s g e t t i n g i r r a t i o n a l a n d m a u d l i n . Partly, t h o u g h , I w a s feeling g r o u n d d o w n b y t h e sudden, obvious pointlessness of w h a t I w a s doing. W h e n life stretches o u t w i t h o u t a foreseeable e n d t o it, y o u d o n ' t m i n d d o i n g t h i n g s y o u k n o w are u l t i ­ m a t e l y p o i n t l e s s — r e a d i n g yet a n o t h e r detective novel,

-123watching yet another episode of s o m e

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serial, h a v i n g d i n n e r w i t h p e o p l e y o u ' r e n o t m u c h i n t e r e s t e d i n , s p e n d i n g a day vegetating o n t h e b e a c h . You can give t h e s e t h i n g s p o i n t , if it really w o r r i e s y o u , by linking t h e m to other things whose point you haven't got a r o u n d t o q u e s t i o n i n g yet: p u z z l i n g over w h o t h e m u r d e r e r is relieves y o u r anxiety a b o u t social c h a o s ; at d i n n e r w i t h J u l i e a n d K e n y o u at least get t o h e a r a b o u t t h e P e r s i a n c a r p e t sale n e x t w e e k e n d i n St Kilda; a n d a day at t h e b e a c h s e n d s y o u b a c k t o w o r k w i t h r e n e w e d energy. W h y i n t h e i r t u r n any o f these tilings m a t t e r is s o m e t h i n g y o u c a n k e e p p u s h i n g f u r ­ t h e r i n t o t h e f u t u r e : y o u n e e d t h e Persian c a r p e t t o m a k e t h e l i v i n g - r o o m l o o k friendlier, y o u n e e d t o w o r k t o pay t h e bills a n d feel f u l f i l l e d . . . a n d so o n . W h e n a n e n d t o life is perfectly foreseeable, e v e r y ­ thing's telescoped. At least, i n m y case it is. There's s i m p l y n o t m u c h left to p u s h m e a n i n g o n t o any m o r e . (Except a n o t h e r d i m e n s i o n - t h e future, God, that k i n d o f tiring - very tempting.) I n t h e first few days after t h a t d i s m a l Thursday, m e a n i n g s t o p p e d r i g h t w h e r e I s t o o d . I r e m e m b e r t h i n k i n g ( w i t h relief) t h a t I d i d n ' t care a scrap a b o u t w h e t h e r o r n o t I w r o t e a n o t h e r b o o k , g o t t h e n e w b a t h r o o m c u p b o a r d s b u i l t , ever really u n d e r ­ s t o o d p o s t s t r u c t u r a l i s m , ever travelled again, even ( a n d this m a y s u r p r i s e y o u ) w h e t h e r o r n o t I ever saw a w h o l e lot o f p e o p l e I loved again. I'd t h o u g h t q u i t e t h e o p p o s i t e . I'd t h o u g h t , if it ever h a p p e n e d t o m e , I'd d o w h a t all t h o s e c o u r a g e o u s m e n a n d w o m e n I'd r e a d a b o u t i n b i o g r a p h i e s a n d n e w s p a p e r articles d i d a n d

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w r i t e o n i n agony u n t i l t h e last l i n e w a s finally d o w n , jet off a r o u n d t h e w o r l d t o q u i c k l y say g o o d b y e t o p e o p l e a n d places t h a t h a d m e a n t a lot t o m e , m a k e myself r e a d a list o f great b o o k s , m a k e every p r e c i o u s m o m e n t o f consciousness c o u n t Well, it wasn't like t h a t at all. Urgency, i n fact, w a s t h e first t h i n g t o d r o p away. It h a d g o n e w i t h i n h o u r s a n d h a s n e v e r really c o m e b a c k . I d o n ' t even r u n for t h e t r a m any m o r e . I w a l k m u c h m o r e slowly. I feel m u c h m o r e like a p o i n t i n space t h a n a b o d y g o i n g s o m e w h e r e . So it's t h e m o m e n t I ' m living t h r o u g h I m u s t invest w i t h m e a n ­ i n g — w a i t i n g for t h e n e x t t r a m , w a t c h i n g p i g e o n s p e c k i n g for b r e a d c r u m b s , l o o k i n g at s o m e o n e ' s face. It c h a n g e s t h e e x p e r i e n c e o f t i m e . It h a s t o d o w i t h an awkward concept: good. C o o p e d u p i n t h a t railway c o m p a r t m e n t , gliding t h r o u g h the darkness towards Bologna, grubby a n d ratty a n d g n a w e d at b y hunger, it w a s h a r d t o feel h i g h m i n d e d . It just felt u n c o m f o r t a b l e a n d pointless. W o u l d I really lie o n m y d e a t h - b e d t h i n k i n g : 'Well, at least I saw Bologna'? W h a t , o u t o f interest, w o u l d I lie o n m y d e a t h - b e d thinking? W o u l d I have a m i l l i o n - v o l t vision o f eternity, like Tolstoys I v a n Ilyich a n d a C o v e n t r y c l e a n i n g - l a d y I o n c e saw o n television? If I'd b e e n o n a Russian t r a i n , I c o u l d just conceivably have b r o u g h t the matter u p w i t h m y companions in the compart­ m e n t . M y Italian f e l l o w - travellers, t o b e frank, l o o k e d i m p e r v i o u s t o any i n t r u s i o n , even v i o l e n t d e a t h o n t h e c a r p e t at t h e i r f e e t W h a t w a s w r o n g w i t h t h e m ? I t h o u g h t Italians w e r e s u p p o s e d t o live life like o n e l o n g

- 125 carnival, b r i m m i n g over w i t h heartfelt s o n g a n d a n i ­ m a l passions. A n d w h e r e w a s Bologna? W e a r r i v e d eventually, o f c o u r s e . A n o t h e r

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b o o m i n g cavern. I w a l k e d off d o w n t h e p l a t f o r m q u i t e smartly, a n t i c i p a t i n g a t r a n s f o r m a t i o n : m o n e y , a r o o m i n a characterful h o t e l , g o o d food, a stroll off t h e leash. As it t u r n e d o u t , it w a s h e r e t h i n g s b e g a n t o g o s e r i ­ o u s l y awry. T h e e x c h a n g e b o o t h w a s s h u t . Chiuso. I stared at t h e n o t i c e h a n g i n g o n t h e glass d o o r , t o o k a d e e p b r e a t h a n d h e a d e d off for t h e Left Luggage. It w a s o p e n ( s p u r t o f o p t i m i s m ) , b u t y o u h a d t o pay a fee i n a d v a n c e ( d e e p e s t d e j e c t i o n ) . I surveyed t h e r a u c o u s b e d l a m a r o u n d m e a n d d e c i d e d I h a d n o c h o i c e : I w o u l d have t o l u g m y suitcase i n t o t h e city a n d l o o k for l o d g i n g s street b y street. I've n e v e r felt s u c h a n o u t s i d e r as I d i d i n B o l o g n a t h a t n i g h t . This w a s Bologna la Gram - t h e fleshy city, t h e p l u m p a n d fleshly city, t h e city o f g o o s e - f a t a n d greasy juices, o f fatty cheeses a n d sausages stuffed i n t o pigs' t r o t t e r s . T r u d g i n g a l o n g t h e r o s e - c o l o u r e d arcades, I stared at t h e s m a r t c r o w d s i n t h e cafés a n d trattorie, l a u g h i n g , talking, s m o k i n g a n d g o b b l i n g d o w n t h e i r tagliatelle, t h e i r tortellini w i t h c h i c k e n b r a i n s , t h e i r eels, t h e i r tarts a n d t h e i r c h o c o l a t e m e r i n g u e s . T h e s m e l l o f r o a s t e d m e a t s a n d coffee a n d fried b r e a d w a s t h i c k i n t h e air. A p a t c h o f s e m i - d a r k n e s s a n d t h e n a n o t h e r splash o f g o l d e n light: I'd rest t h e suitcase a n d gaze w i t h vague r e s e n t m e n t at t h e refined a b u n d a n c e o n display b e h i n d t h e glass, t h e d e d i c a t i o n t o a p p e t i t e . P e o p l e

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m o r e perfect t h a n p a i n t i n g s m a d e t h e i r w a y a r o u n d me. T h e n snap! Right outside a butcher s s h o p the h a n d l e o n m y suitcase b r o k e . T w o feet from m y n o s e , h a n g i n g b y t h e door, w a s a w h o l e d e a d deer. I w a t c h e d t w o a n c i e n t , b l a c k - c l a d w i d o w s p o k i n g a r o u n d like a p a i r o f b l o a t e d flies a m o n g s t t h e p i l e s o f d e a d flesh— t h e forest o f salami, feathered d u c k s a n d p h e a s a n t s , b o a r s ' h e a d s , c a p o n s , sides o f b a c o n , t u r k e y s ( p l u c k e d , o b s c e n e l y w h i t e ) , t h e trays o f l e a k i n g b r a i n s , t h e slabs o f v e a l . . . I s t o o d t h e r e stock-still for a very l o n g t i m e . Dragging a n d p u l l i n g at t h e suitcase, I s p e n t t h e n e x t h o u r or m o r e plodding and stumbling around the streets o f B o l o g n a l o o k i n g for a h o t e l - a pensione, a rooming-house, a

five-star

palace,

anything—that

w o u l d take m e i n for t h e n i g h t . N o t h i n g . T h e clerks b e h i n d t h e i r p o l i s h e d desks barely b o t h e r e d t o raise t h e i r eyes t o l o o k at m e . I w a s b e g i n n i n g t o stagger. S o m e o n e asked m e if I w a s Polish. I n t h e e n d a n o l d m a n standing smoking by the d o o r of a back-street h o t e l t o l d m e I w a s w a s t i n g m y t i m e . 'C'è la fiera,' h e said, 'there's a fair o n . T h e r e are n o r o o m s i n B o l o g n a — non trovi nulla. G o b a c k t o t h e station a n d take t h e t r a i n t o a n o t h e r t o w n - M o d e n a , Ferrara, Faenza, Florence, a n y w h e r e . You'll find n o t h i n g h e r e . Niente, capito?' It w a s a. l o n g t r e k b a c k t o t h e s t a t i o n w i t h t h e b r o k e n s u i t case. M y spirits w e r e b a d l y b a t t e r e d . A n d t h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g i n t h e air b a c k at t h e s t a t i o n I d i d n ' t like, as w e l l : a feeling o f v a c a n t m e n a c e , o f m e n p r o w l i n g , h a n d s i n p o c k e t s , s h a r p - e y e d . I g o t o n t o t h e first t r a i n

-127I saw. It w a s g o i n g t o Verona. I w e n t t o Verona. W e t r u n d l e d t h r o u g h n o t h i n g n e s s for a b o u t t w o h o u r s (I n o w realize, l o o k i n g b a c k ) b u t a t t h e t i m e I felt so d i s c o n n e c t e d from w h o a n d w h e r e I w a s t h a t I d i d n ' t e x p e r i e n c e it as a t w o - h o u r t r i p . It w a s infinite. Strange a m b e r lights j e r k e d across t h e w i n d o w ' s b l a c k square. I w a t c h e d back-to-front people c o m e a n d go t h e w r o n g w a y i n t h e glass. T h e d i m l y lit carriage w a s a l m o s t e m p t y . A m a n w h o s e b r e a t h s m e l t o f violets s p o k e t o m e for a w h i l e , b u t I c o u l d barely m a k e o u t w h a t h e w a s talking a b o u t - s o m e t h i n g a b o u t Lucrezia Borgia's perfect navel a n d h o w tortellini g o t t h e i r n a m e , o r p e r h a p s it w a s a b o u t s o m e o n e else's navel, tagliatelle a n d Lucrezia Borgia's hair.* A cheerful w o m a n i n a b r i l ­ l i a n t floral dress h a n d e d o u t religious tracts. S o m e o n e b e h i n d m e w a s speaking Japanese. W e all sat there, fisheyed, n o t even w a i t i n g t o arrive. B u t w e d i d . I felt a little surge o f h o p e as I s c r a m b l e d d o w n

from

t h e t r a i n at Verona. I h a d s u d d e n m e m o r i e s o f t h r o w ­ i n g b a c k s h u t t e r s years ago t o l o o k d o w n o n a sunlit m a r k e t square, w i t h b o x e s o f fruit o f every c o l o u r stacked u n d e r s t r i p e d awnings. Plates o f s p i n a c h a n d n u t m e g , risotto w i t h clams. S o m e t h i n g a b o u t Ostrogoths. Verona w o u l d d o . D o w n s t a i r s i n t h e grubby, y e l l o w station vestibule, however, it t o o k o n a n o t h e r aspect. Stalking, p a d d i n g , p r o w l i n g , slinking, s t r u t t i n g all a r o u n d m e was a bizarre collection of highly painted w h o r e s , a l m o s t all o f t h e m i n t h i g h - l e n g t h l e a t h e r b o o t s a n d vividly c l a s h i n g c o l o u r s - yellows, c h e r r y p i n k s , blacks a n d oranges. H o w tall they w e r e , t o o , h o w

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at h o m e i n t h e i r flesh. Circling a m o n g s t t h e m a n d l o i ­ tering by the doors were clutches of unsmiling m e n - s w a r t h y m e n , black m e n , N o r t h Africans, s m o k i n g a n d w a t c h i n g . Everyone g l e a m e d . S o m e o n e ' s t i n n y r a d i o w a s playing trashy m u s i c w i t h a heavy beat. O u t s i d e I c o u l d see t h e r e w e r e s m u d g e s o f fog a r o u n d t h e s t r e e t - l i g h t s . Conscious t h a t I h a d b e e n n o t e d , I k i c k e d a n d p u s h e d m y suitcase over t o t h e d o o r w a y a n d p e e r e d o u t . O f c o u r s e — I h a d forgotten: t h e sta­ t i o n w a s s o m e w a y f r o m t h e t o w n itself. B e t w e e n m e a n d t h e t o w n t h e r e w a s a gulf of d a r k p a r k l a n d s . T h e roadway linking us was completely empty. I looked r o u n d at t h e garish, restless c r o w d i n t h e vestibule, sniffing t h e s o u r n e s s i n t h e air. T h e y l o o k e d at m e a n d d r e w o n t h e i r cigarettes, a n d I k n e w I'd n e v e r m a k e iL I w a s b e g i n n i n g t o feel I'd careered r i g h t off the rails. Back I w e n t , p u s h i n g a n d d r a g g i n g t h e hateful, l u m p i s h suitcase, past t h e m o c k i n g eyes a n d m u t t e r ­ i n g lips, u p t h e stairs t h e w a y I'd c o m e . I felt h o l l o w a n d c h o k e d all at o n c e . A t r a i n p u l l e d i n . I struggled a b o a r d . W e slid o u t o f t h e station, across a river a n d i n t o t h e darkness again, i n t o t h a t timeless, r o c k i n g clickety-clack. T h e carriage w a s all b u t e m p t y . It w a s g e t t i n g q u i t e late. N o b o d y s p o k e . W h e n w e finally clattered i n t o t h e light again a n d d r e w s c r e e c h i n g t o a h a l t , I c l i m b e d o u t . I w o u l d stay h e r e . T h e sign said VICENZA. It m e a n t n e x t t o n o t h i n g t o m e t h a t first grey m o m e n t o n t h e e m p t y p l a t f o r m . By s u n r i s e , believe m e , it m e a n t a g o o d deal.

Venice, 10th April I ' V E HAD a w o n d e r f u l day h e r e i n Venice today, just n o s i n g a b o u t . T h e r e are n o o k s a n d c o r n e r s h e r e , q u i t e forsaken b y t h e tourists, w e l l away f r o m t h e g r u b b y r e m a i n s o f g r a n d e u r o n t h e m a i n canals, w h i c h a r e perfect for t h e a m b l e r i n a p e n s i v e m o o d . I've s t o o d t h i n k i n g today o n several o f those little v a u l t e d b r i d g e s o n o b s c u r e canals, w a t c h i n g splashes o f light f r o m t h e w a t e r b e l o w o p e n i n g a n d closing like fans o n the s t o n e w a l l s o f t h e h o u s e s . I sat t h i n k i n g w i t h a r o l l a n d cof­ fee for over a n h o u r o n a silent, y e l l o w i s h s q u a r e , w a t c h i n g a little t e r r i e r d a r t i n a n d o u t o f its d o o r ­ w a y every few m i n u t e s t o see w h a t m i g h t b e g o i n g o n , if anything. N o t h i n g w a s g o i n g o n . N o t so m u c h as a cat stirring. There's a p a r a d o x w h i c h I've b e e n m u l l i n g over. W h a t s t r u c k m e w a s this: o n t h e o n e h a n d Venice s e n t M a r c o P o l o t o Cathay a n d S u m a t r a , i n s p i r i n g C o l u m b u s t o sail w e s t a n d discover t h e A m e r i c a s ; t r a d e d w i t h India, Egypt a n d England; w a s h o m e t o m u l t i t u d e s o f G e r m a n s , D a l m a t i a n s , A r m e n i a n s , Turks

Vicenza Letters a n d Persians; yet o n t h e o t h e r h a n d it w a s a closed soci­ ety, r i d d l e d w i t h spies a n d double-agents, w h i c h l o c k e d u p its foreigners at n i g h t for fear o f c o n t a m i n a t i o n . Venice e v e n p o l i c e d h o w its citizens dressed, f o r b i d ­ d i n g lace a n d o t h e r vanities, decreeing t h a t m e n ' s shirts b e c l o s e d a t t h e t h r o a t , lest e v e n a g l i m p s e o f i n t i m a t e flesh a n d h a i r i n f l a m e t h e passions. It h i t s y o u i n t h e eye, o f course, at t h e Doges' Palace: G o t h i c a r c h e s , Classical s c u l p t u r e s , B y z a n t i n e roofs, Egyptian obelisks, Renaissance façades - 'all civilizations have t h e i r c u l m i n a t i o n here,' y o u ' r e b e i n g told, 'this is t h e c e n t r e o f t h e civilized w o r l d . 'Yet s u n k d e e p i n t h e h e a r t o f this c e n t r e o f t h e w o r l d is a p r i s o n , t h e Pozzi ( t h e Wells), a n d n e x t d o o r , r e a c h e d b y t h e B r i d g e o f Sighs, is a vast c o m p l e x o f d a n k , c r a m p e d cells called t h e N e w P r i s o n , w i t h t h e d r e a d e d Piombi ( t h e Leads) o n t h e t o p floor u n d e r t h e l e a d e d roof. H o w e v e r m a n y Norwegian tourists in p r i m a r y colours t r a m p t h r o u g h t h e m , the smell of death a n d hopelessness will never b e e r a d i c a t e d . Casanova w a s i m p r i s o n e d h e r e o n t h e charge of being a magician. N o t that anyone bothered t o tell h i m t h a t , a p p a r e n t l y : forty p o l i c e m e n w e r e s e n t t o seize h i m , h e w a s m a r c h e d i n past t h e g a r r o t t i n g m a c h i n e a n d l o c k e d u p i n solitary c o n f i n e m e n t for n i n e t y - s e v e n days, w i t h o u t b e i n g t o l d w h a t t h e c h a r g e was. It w a s o n l y w h e n t h e Lisbon e a r t h q u a k e m a d e t h e ceiling b e a m s i n h i s cell w a r p a n d t u r n t h a t h e b e g a n t o h o p e t h a t o n e d a y s o m e h o w a w a y t o escape w o u l d p r e s e n t itself.* Professor E s c h e n b a u m w a s telling m e a b o u t all this

-131 i n s o m e detail just this a f t e r n o o n i n t h e h o t e l bar. W e s e e m t o have p a t c h e d u p o u r little m i s u n d e r s t a n d i n g — o r at least h e s e e m s t o b e acting as if n o t h i n g h a p p e n e d . E m i l i o h a d a s c o r c h m a r k from t h e i r o n o n h i s o t h e r ­ w i s e spotless shirt. It m a d e h i m l o o k q u i t e fetching. A m i n o r i m p e r f e c t i o n is always so seductive, especially if it h i n t s at a story - t h e faint trace o f a scar, t h e m o s t d i s ­ creet o f l i m p s . T h e flawless t e a - b o w l is less beautiful, after all, a c c o r d i n g t o t h e Japanese, t h a n t h e t e a - b o w l w i t h a slight d i s t o r t i o n t o its r o u n d n e s s , just as a full m o o n is less beautiful t h a n a h a l f - m o o n

glimpsed

t h r o u g h cloud, a c h e r r y - t r e e i n full b l o o m less b e a u t i ­ ful t h a n c h e r r y - t r e e s a b o u t t o blossom, pristinely r a k e d pebbles less beautiful t h a n pebbles s t r e w n w i t h faded flowers.*

Emilio m a y w e l l have less a p p e a l i n g i m p e r ­

fections (less accidental o n e s — t h a t is, m o r e w i l l e d ) b u t i n t h e b a r i n t h e late a f t e r n o o n light as h e c a m e t o w a r d s u s w i t h h i s tray o f sparkling glasses t h e m i s h a p w i t h t h e i r o n w a s w o r k i n g t o h i s advantage. W h e n I m e n t i o n e d t o t h e Professor m y t h o u g h t s a b o u t o p e n i n g a n d closing, e x p a n s i o n a n d c o n t r a c t i o n , as c o n t r a d i c t o r y i m p u l s e s i n Venetian life, h e g o t q u i t e a n i m a t e d , as I'd r a t h e r t h o u g h t h e m i g h t — h e s e e m s p a r t i a l t o abstractions. H e w a s p r o v o k e d i n t o t a l k i n g t o m e for q u i t e a w h i l e a b o u t t h e Venetian G h e t t o , t h e o l d f o u n d r y n o t far from t h e p r e s e n t r a i l w a y station. O n c e t h e J e w s w e r e all b a c k i n s i d e at d u s k , h e said, t h e d r a w b r i d g e s w e r e raised, t h e gates l o c k e d a n d t h e s h u t t e r s o n t h e o u t e r w i n d o w s closed. Police p a t r o l s circled all n i g h t . T h e streets a r o u n d t h e R o m a n g h e t t o

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Letters

w e r e gated s h u t as w e l l , b u t i n R o m e J e w i s h n e s s c o u l d q u i t e easily leak o u t i n t h e city - w i t h o u t canals defile­ m e n t o f the Christian body could n o t be completely p r e v e n t e d . I n Venice at n i g h t t h e g h e t t o w a s a sealedoff island. Christians w e r e safe f r o m t h e p o l l u t i n g sensuality o f t h e Jew. A n d t h e Jew, it m u s t b e said, w a s safe f r o m t h e v i o l e n c e o f t h e m a r a u d i n g C h r i s t i a n mobs.* 'But it w a s n ' t just J e w s w h o w e r e l o c k e d u p at night,' t h e Professor

said, t a p p i n g t h e table. ' T h e

G e r m a n s fared even w o r s e . T h e y w e r e s h u t u p every e v e n i n g i n t h e F o n d a c o Tedesco d o w n n e a r t h e Rialto - s a m e t h i n g : d o o r s l o c k e d , s h u t t e r s closed, security p a t r o l s - b u t they also h a d spies p l a c e d i n s i d e t h e building. At least t h e Jews w e r e left t o t h e i r o w n devices within

their

p r i s o n . All foreigners,

in

fact - t h e

A r m e n i a n s , t h e Turks, t h e A l b a n i a n s - w e r e segregated like lepers. At n i g h t ' H e w a s w a i t i n g , I c o u l d tell, for m e t o ask a n i n t e l ­ ligent q u e s t i o n a b o u t why. ' W h y ? ' I asked. N o d o u b t t h e a n s w e r w o u l d involve t h e O t h e r , a n d possibly Transgression. 'The key h e said (I k n e w there'd b e a key),'is s e d u c ­ tion.' E m i l i o p u t a b o w l o f n u t s o n t h e table. His h a n d w a s still q u i t e delicate, n o t yet a paw. 'Venice w a s h a u n t e d for c e n t u r i e s b y t h e desire to b e s e d u c e d — a n d t h e fear of b e i n g p o l l u t e d . She's fallen, o f c o u r s e - she fell c e n t u r i e s ago, t h e g h e t t o s w e r e n o h e l p at all. N o w , t h e r e are t w o k i n d s o f s e d u c t i o n . Venice w a s l o n g

- 133 a c c u s t o m e d t o t h e first k i n d — a l l t h o s e r i t u a l i z e d displays o f licentiousness, t h e carnival, t h e r e s p e c t a b l e c o u r t e s a n s i n t h e i r palazzi, t h e n a k e d y o u t h s floating i n g o n d o l a s o n t h e canal. T h e s e t h i n g s m a y b e a t h r e a t t o virginity, b u t Venice, w h i l e n o t a w h o r e , w a s b y n o m e a n s a virgin. I n fact, I w o u l d say t h a t this s o r t o f s p o r t c o n f i r m e d Venice i n h e r u l t i m a t e v i r t u e . T h e s e g a m e s o f s e d u c t i o n w e r e always just g a m e s , k e e p i n g m a r r i a g e intact, p o w e r w h e r e it b e l o n g e d a n d g o o d ­ ness i n t h e h a n d s o f t h e C h u r c h . O f c o u r s e , eventually laws h a d t o b e passed t o m a k e s u r e v i r t u o u s Venetian w o m e n c o u l d n o t b e confused w i t h t h o s e m e r e l y p r o ­ v i d i n g a t e m p o r a r y service. So prostitutes, for e x a m p l e , w e r e f o r b i d d e n t o w e a r silk, p e a r l necklaces, g o l d o r silver. D i d y o u k n o w that? I n fact, like J e w i s h w o m e n , t h e y w e r e m a d e q u i t e early t o w e a r y e l l o w scarves i n p u b l i c , n o t so m u c h t o s t i g m a t i z e t h e m , as t o w a r n all t h e players. 'But there's another, m u c h m o r e d a n g e r o u s k i n d of seduction. That's t h e k i n d w h e r e , for t h e pleasure, m u c h stands t o b e lost. It's t h e k i n d o f s e d u c t i o n that takes a h o l d o n t h e affections a n d leads t o betrayal. T h i s is t h e sort that Venice w a s o n c o n s t a n t g u a r d against. W i t h t h e desire for spices a n d silks a n d gold c a m e a sense o f t h e seductiveness of w h a t lay b e h i n d those things - t h e c u l ­ tures, t h e religions, t h e secrets, t h e ways o f living. A n d it w a s all covered i n a cloak o f erotic pleasure because, at r o o t , Venice k n e w she w a s t r e m b l i n g o n t h e b r i n k o f r a v i s h m e n t . M u s t n ' t t o u c h ! To t o u c h c o u l d b e fatal! A n d

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Letteis

s o t h e priests t h u n d e r e d a n d t h e C h u r c h called l e w d a n y t h i n g t h a t w a s n o t Catholic—Jews w e r e lascivious a n d r i d d e n w i t h syphilis, Turks w e r e fornicators a n d rapists, O r i e n t a l s practised m o n s t r o u s sexual rites a n d so o n . T h e o u t s i d e r is always i n t h e final analysis a s e x u a l t h r e a t because he is so desirable. N o t Eskimos, o f course, o r Finns, because t h e r e is n o h e a t i n t h e m , b u t just a b o u t a n y b o d y else. Casanova is a n o t h e r p r i m e example.' 'I d o n ' t k n o w m u c h a b o u t h i m . I d o n ' t t h i n k I even saw t h e movie.' 'Brilliant m a n ! Dangerously brilliant! D a n g e r o u s because h e w a s so b r i l l i a n t - c o m p o s e r , p o e t , writer, d i p l o m a t , inventor, c o n f i d a n t o f cardinals a n d p r i n c e s . H e w a s a t h e o r i s t o f t h e occult, a free-thinker, a m a s o n a n d a linguist - h e w a s a w i t i n h a l f t h e languages o f Europe, even Russian a n d w h a t n o t . Yet w h a t d o w e h e a r o f h i m ? T h a t h e w a s a philanderer, t h a t h e m a d e love t o h u n d r e d s o f w o m e n , seduced n u n s a n d virgins, c u c k o l d e d d u k e s - that h e w a s a sexual threat a n d irresistible seducer. B u t this is n o t w h y h e w a s a danger, this is n o t w h y h e w a s interesting. H e c u c k o l d e d t h e C h u r c h that's w h y h e w a s interesting. H e w a s i n c a r c e r a t e d for heresy, n o t for adultery. Yes, h i s sin w a s o n e o f Eros, b u t w e i n o u r vulgar w a y m a k e h i s sin sexual. S o m e t i m e s I t h i n k w e h u m a n b e i n g s w i l l n e v e r get t h e point.' ' W h a t is t h e p o i n t ? ' I t h o u g h t t h e q u e s t i o n w a s a n i c e m i x t u r e o f n a ï v e affability a n d m o c k profundity. T h e Professor r e a c h e d o u t a n d c h o s e a n u t . I c a u g h t t h e glint o f t h e s u n o n t h e soft g o l d o f h i s bracelet. ' T h e p o i n t ? ' h e asked after c h e w i n g o n it for a

-135 m o m e n t o r t w o . ' C o m e w i t h m e . I'll s h o w y o u s o m e ­ t h i n g a n d t h e n tell y o u a story.' I ' m w a r m i n g t o t h e Professor. He's g o t m o r e sides t o h i m t h a n at first a p p e a r s . T h a t c l e n c h e d q u a l i t y y o u n o t i c e w h e n y o u first m e e t h i m is b y n o m e a n s t h e w h o l e story. H e tips E m i l i o outrageously. H e t o o k m e o u t s i d e , a l o n g t h e e m b a n k m e n t , t h e n r i g h t , t h e n left, across a b r i d g e o r t w o , t h r o u g h a sotto-portego, u p a l a n e w a y . . . All t h o s e campi a n d calli a n d cord a n d salizzade, it w a s dizzying, I felt as if I'd b e e n s p u n r o u n d a n d r o u n d a t h o u s a n d times a n d t h e n t o l d t o o p e n m y eyes. ' T h e r e ! ' said t h e Professor, p o i n t i n g across t h e c a n a l w e ' d e m e r g e d b e s i d e t o a slender, f o u r - s t o r e y e d palazzo i n t h e Renaissance style. T h e t h r e e u p p e r floors e a c h h a d a r o w o f t h r e e h i g h w i n d o w s o n t h e left i n a r c h e d e m b r a s u r e s , t h e n a s q u a r e o f b l a n k w a l l , still s m u d g e d w i t h earlier d e c o r a t i o n s , a n d t h e n i n t h e r i g h t - h a n d c o r n e r a single i d e n t i c a l w i n d o w . Pleasingly s y m m e t ­ r i c a l a n d o u t o f k i l t e r all at o n c e . At w a t e r level w a s a g r i m , r o t t i n g w o o d e n gate, g r e e n i s h - b l a c k , flanked b y two narrow barred windows. I waited to hear what w o u l d c o m e n e x t . A faint p l a s h i n g b r o k e t h e silence. It w a s like leaves b r u s h i n g against glass. ' T h a t w a s t h e h o u s e o f C a m i l l a Scamozzi,' said t h e Professor, 'la ninfa, as s h e w a s k n o w n - t h e n y m p h . Let m e tell y o u a b o u t h e r a n d a b o u t this house.' So w e sat d o w n o n t h e l o w e r steps o f t h e s m a l l b r i d g e a r c h i n g over t h e c a n a l a n d i n t h e f a d i n g l i g h t t h e Professor t o l d m e , w i t h a w e a l t h o f d e t a i l I m a y h a v e difficulty recalling, t h e s t o r y o f

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THE DISAPPEARING COURTESAN

Imagine to yourself a May night in Venice when dwellings like this one were stylishly new and the Grand Canal was 'the most splen­ did street in the world', as the French Ambassador once put it (with unaccustomed generosity), aflame with sumptuously painted, goldencrusted palaces, aswarm with gleaming dolphin-tailed gondolas in every colour — red, blue, yellow, turquoise, even black - their uphol­ stery edged in the finest bonelace. Even so, despite the curving vistas of flamboyant Gothic p a l a z z i , the floating markets, the fleets of gal­ leys and the vast domed churches, on this particular night Venice was no longer at her most resplendent. Indeed, ever since the Turks had seized Constantinople almost a century before, she had felt her power and wealth decline.Vasco da Gama had only made things worse by discovering a route to the East around Africa.* The world was no longer quite her oyster - a delicious moment in any city's his­ tory, don't you agree? It's a May night, as I mentioned, and down near the fishmarket, not exactly amongst the stews but not, by the same token, on one of the more fashionable c a l l i , either - no nightingales hung up in their cages outside the shops to sweeten the air, you under­ stand, and few wigged ladies strolling with their maids through these streets - on this May night down by the fish-market a simply dressed woman fetched up with her young daughter at the door of a m o d ­ est inn. They had just arrived from Vicenza and had been directed to the inn by a tout on the quay. There was nothing particularly remark­ able about them at first glance, not that anyone much would have paid them particular attention - Venice, after all, was awash then as it is now with day visitors and tourists and traders from towns

- 137 as close as Padua, just over the horizon, and as far as Bruges and Isfahan.There were guided tours to see Constantine's thumb and St Catherine's a r m , there were package tours to the Orient. Panders and touts on every corner were ready to sell you the Holy Land or a night in an inn or change your money or find you a strumpet. If you were a m a n of quality with a fat enough purse, they might offer you an evening with a lady of refinement, adept at both Petrarch's sonnets and Turkish politics, as well as at simulating passion. They might even produce a printed catalogue for your perusal, with services and charges all boldly listed and portraits inserted here and there of the most fashionable ladies to whet your appetite. So Donna Scamozzi (as she styled herself) and her tender daugh­ ter would have passed almost unnoticed in the streets of Venice, had it not been, perhaps, for the striking comeliness of young Camilla's face. Her skin was pale, if not alabaster-white, her long hair was fairish and prettily dressed, her dark eyes were bold but not insolent and she carried herself, even at her young age, with an erectness and ease which must have caught more than one passing eye. As Donna Scamozzi raised her fist to rap on the inn door, she can hardly have foreseen just how far and for how many years the knocking would echo.* W h e n the innkeeper's wife saw Donna Scamozzi and her daugh­ ter at the door, before a single word had been spoken, she knew instantly what kind of guests they would be: they would require a second-floor room with large, shuttered windows overlooking the street .The innkeeper's wife had had guests like these before. They were profitable, but as often as not more trouble than they were worth, to put it mildly. Yet there was something about this pair that the innkeeper's wife rather took to. The two women talked frankly for a while in the dingy parlour while Camilla sat stock-still and silent, watching them. Then they climbed the creaking stairs, candle held

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aloft, to inspect the room giving onto the street. Once the shutters had been flung back it was remarkably light and spacious, if bare. A colourful rug, something Mohammedan, would make a nice touch, Donna Scamozzi thought, and, of course, a bedspread - something special, something chaste but warming . . . roses, perhaps, red roses and violets. The pillow-cases could wait, but the bedspread was vital. Downstairs in the parlour again, after speaking even more frankly, Donna Scamozzi took the room. Since her looks had faded abruptly in her thirty-third year. Donna Scamozzi had worked in a Vicenza bakery, but it was a struggle. Occasionally, at a fair or market, she might make a few s c u d i plying her old trade,* but something in her resisted 'opening her quiver to every arrow', as it was thought of then. She hankered after a way of life that offered her a little more dignity. W h e n Camilla turned twelve and her young body showed some signs of promise, Donna Scamozzi's thoughts rose above fairgrounds and bakeries. W h e n she turned thir­ teen and her breasts became rounder and firmer, her hair stayed fair and the skin on her cheekbones grew taut, Donna Scamozzi's thoughts became even airier and she watched her daughter like a hawk. W h e n she turned fourteen and her thighs had grown plumper and her breasts had attained the perfect balance of softness and firmness - inviting but not brazen - Donna Scamozzi knew steps must be taken without delay. The best prospects were undoubtedly offered by Rome, not simply because, like armies, the clergy made abundant and avid use of har­ lots, but because of the quality of the churchmen in Rome, their wealth, their immense power, their willingness to reward a woman not just handsomely, but magnificently, with houses, retinues, villas, vineyards, dowries, pearls, diamonds, silks and extravagant furnishings. At a w k ­ ward times they would even reward them with convenient murders.* Rome knew the meaning of the word c o r t i g i a n a . *

-139 There were drawbacks to Rome, however. The journey there was long and dangerous, the city itself had not long ago been sacked and was still half in ruins, and the competition for men of means was, if anything, too fierce.Venice was much closer, much larger, a much more splendid, gracious city, and it was crowded all the year round with foreigners, seafarers, adventurers and men it was easy to take advan­ tage of. Straight after Holy Week, which they observed with a particular passion that year, Donna Scamozzi and her daughter set off for Venice. The innkeepers wife and Donna Scamozzi wasted no time. The rug and the bedspread were bought the next morning, the sheets were scented with lavender and Camilla herself was dressed in a long, highbreasted cotton gown. Her hair was braided and coiled on her head and her skin was washed with lemon water. Then, as evening drew on, the three women took up position behind the drawn shutters and peered with close attention at the traffic in the street below. Donna Scamozzi said very little, while Camilla said nothing at all, but the innkeepers wife buzzed like a bee. 'That's Carlo Strozzi — pay no attention to the satin doublet and gold chains, he's ruined, not a ducat to his name . . . Ah! W a i t a m i n u t e . . . here's Giulio Montecchio, can't be more than twenty-two, his father's in silk, his brother's a . . . no, I think he's just passing . . . Bruno Gualdo, the Cardinal's preno¬ tary, what's he doing here, unless a little bird told him? . . . Sshh! he's looking u p . . . you could do a lot worse . . . and a lot better, if the truth be known. Now this pair looks likely, I ' m trying to place the one on the left, the tall, dark-haired o n e . . . I ' m sure we've had dealings b e f o r e . . . dressed like a prince, all that velvet and crushed s a t i n . . . still, that doesn't mean m u c h . . . they're looking up, hold your breath . . . sturdy figure, strong jaw, I wouldn't mind being bedded by that one m y s e l f . . '. And so, until the light faded and the figures in the street became

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just shadows, the women stood peering down through the slats at the sauntering men - the peacocks, the Wades, the old men with dyed hair, the young bloods jostling and displaying their jaunty feathers. Some were just out roaming restlessly, but others had already heard rumours about the beauty behind the shutters. The innkeeper's wife had told the laundress, the bakers boy, the butcher and the wineseller, who in turn had told the maids and stewards in a dozen or so of the grander houses, who in turn had told the chamberlains and majordomos, who in turn . . . well, suffice it to say that, long before the afternoon grew cooler and clouded over, all Venice (in other words, three or four score men of substance, taste and whetted appetite) was aware that a virgin of outstanding quality and refinement was presently at such-and-such an inn in such-and-such a street care­ fully considering her prospects. Well before sunset the street was aquiver with men eyeing the shuttered windows of the inn and, with an edgy sensuality, each other. On that first afternoon, however, there was no reason to open the shutters. The innkeeper's wife, who was not unpractised in these rituals, advised her two guests to take their time and choose with utmost care. The first m a n was the trickiest, the most perilous, the most vital of all. He must be exactly right for their purposes. To be right, in the opinion of the innkeeper's wife, he should be young (and so vigor­ ous) but not a stripling (and so under his father's thumb), he should be lithe and strong (to defend her against other cocks on the walk) but not brutishly robust (and so dangerous to cross), rich (to pro­ vide her with comfortable apartments) but not beyond all measure (and so difficult to tie down), unattached (except to a wife or much older lady) but susceptible to strong feelings. He should also be honourable, respected and well-connected. A man such as this would make an excellent beginning.

-141 It was on the third afternoon that the innkeepers wife saw Lorenzo Cordellini stroll elegantly to a spot directly in front of the shuttered window, turn his fine, youthful head to gaze up towards them and then stroll slowly on out of sight. 'The fish, my dears, has swum into our net,' she said, putting a hand out to touch Camilla's bare shoulder. 'If that one comes back, we should fling the shutters wide.' Five minutes ticked past. Across the street a group of garishly dressed youths pushed and grabbed at each other and egged each other on. A priest knocked at the door opposite and vanished inside. Then, just as the sky went from green to a deeper blue, Lorenzo Cordellini sauntered back up the street, stopped again right in front of the window and turned his whole body around to face the unseen women above. 'Now.'' whispered the innkeeper's wife. The two women sank back on either side of the window and Camilla, her face serene but k n o w ­ ing, pushed at the shutters until she stood in a shaft of pale light from the street. In her hand was a book, not unlike the original Virgins, and it was some minutes before she raised her eyes from its pages to look into the face of the man below her. She didn't smile, but he did, doffing his cap and nodding with a brisk mixture of good humour and complicity which made Camilla catch her breath. Neither spoke. He was all in black, except for the silver buckles on his shoes, and stood strangely, stockinged legs slightly apart, as if ready to spring. 'Read your book, girl!' the innkeeper's wife whispered hoarsely. 'Don't be so bold! Turn a page or two and then leave the window . . . slowly . . . that's

right...

Perfect! A little saucy for the

first time, b u t . . . well, we'll see. Now we wait! Donna Scamozzi closed the shutters without looking at Lorenzo, although she was dying to, and the women went downstairs to the parlour to wait. Camilla asked for a little wine.

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The innkeeper's wife was quite flushed with excitement and kept speaking in a rasping whisper even though there was no need to at all. If (as she was sure he was) the young gallant at the window was one of the Cordellini brothers, then their three-day wait had been more than justified. Banking, pepper, cotton, two monsignors, a villa on the river Brenta . . . A wife? Of course. And two sons. He adored all three. Perfection. At nine o'clock there was a knock at the door. The innkeeper's wife walked with exaggerated dignity to open it. All Donna Scamozzi could see in the blackness of the doorway was a long, pale face, hanging there like a misshapen moon. There was a murmuring, a smile — almost a grin — and then the face was gone. Camilla could see nothing. The innkeepers wife came back to the parlour swollen with pleasure. 'Signor Cordellini would be pleased to make the acquaintance of my enchanting guests,' she said, affect­ ing a slight Tuscan accent. 'And has agreed to dine with us here tomorrow evening . . . with that end in view! And then the women laughed. Even Camilla smiled, but mainly at the accent. W h e n Lorenzo drew his gloves off at the door the next evening, Camilla was struck by the whiteness of his hands. Delicately longfingered, they seemed to h e r to shine against the black velvet of his doublet

and close-fitting breeches. She raised her eyes to his strong-jawed face, framed by dark hair brushed with silver. She was touched to see, in the papery-fine skin around his eyes, signs of faint embarrassment. He'd brought two companions with him, not so much to give h i m courage as to guard against the manipulations of Camilla's mother and the mistress of the house. One was jolly and one w i t ­ tily morose, inclined to quote Ariosto at some length. Camilla had been elaborately instructed: she was to laugh prettily at any jokes, never throwing back her head and squawking with hilarity; she was

-143to hold her food daintily between thumb and third finger, never belch­ ing; she should offer no bawdy comments of her own, but smile demurely a t others'; she should refrain from the slightest show of malice, but be amused by others' barbs; she should temper her virtue and modesty with gayness and a promising willingness to please. For (he moment an appreciation of her gallant's skills in poetry would have to serve in place of an ability to quote moving sonnets w i t h ­ out faltering. It was a lot to ask. There was partridge roasted on coals of garlic and peaches in liqueur. After the peaches and another glass or two of a rather fruity wine, Camilla yawned coyly, covering her mouth. There was a brief moment of silence and then Lorenzo asked if he might 'light the young lady's way upstairs'. Donna Scamozzi said it would be much appre­ ciated, the stairs being steep and so easy to slip on. And so Lorenzo took a candle in his fine, white hands and led the way into the dark­ ness of the stairwell. Camilla noticed how soft his lips were, for all the hardness of his bluish jaw. Only the swish and rustle of her gown broke the silence on the stairs. At the door of her room he reached out to turn the handle, still saying nothing, and gently pushed open the door. Little could be seen in the guttering light except the rose-covered mounds and hollows of the sumptuous bedspread, filling, seemingly, half the room. 'And might I spend a moment or two more with you, s i g n o r i n a ? It would please me very much! Camilla looked at the smooth fingers holding the can¬ dle—was it the flame that made them seem to tremble? - and looked at the corner of his lips where a teasing grin was just beginning, and said: 'No, you might not, s i g n o r e ! 'Might I then steal just one kiss, do you suppose?"No, s i g n o r e , you might not!'Ah!' Lorenzo said, and Camilla thought that it was quite the most enchanting and bewitch­ ing 'ah!' she'd ever heard come from a man's throat.

Vicenza Letters The next day the shutters were opened again, twice, and again next evening there was partridge roasted on cloves of garlic and peaches in liqueur. W h e n Lorenzo knocked again at ten o'clock and came alone into the parlour, he was civil to his dashing rivals (a tall Flemish count with flaxen hair and a spruce young coxcomb from the ducal palace) but his smile was stiff and his hands stayed gloved. The women could sense the tension between the three male bodies.W h e n the pert yawn came, it was the cocky young ducal notary who went upstairs with the candle. He came down again soon enough, though, his feath­ ers slightly ruffled. Too boyish, surely, too impish. It was taunting. The day after that the shutters opened just once more, and when Lorenzo came into the parlour to stand by the fireplace he found h i m ­ self in the company not only of Camilla, her mother and the innkeeper's wife, the count from Antwerp and the palace cockerel, but of a gaunt English lord and his two rosy-cheeked nephews, both drunk by this time and beginning to paw. Only comfits and winebottles littered the table, but the smell of roast pork was still heavy in the air. Camilla's eyes were downcast. She gave h i m no sign.W h e n the yawn came, though, something fired his blood and he said, with a slight tremor in his voice:'Might I light your way to your room, s i g n o r i n a ? ' And this time Camilla spoke for herself. 'Please do, Signor Cordellini. Thank you. ' A n d so once more he found himself reaching for the door-handle, once more pushing the door open onto the lush, red roses of the hilly bedspread and once more, with the merest catch in his voice this time, asking:'And might I spend a few more moments with you t o n i g h t . . . before you fall asleep?' And tonight she said he might and took him by his long, pale hand and drew h i m into the sweet-smelling room with its dancing shadows. He kissed her lightly on the hps and then, without another word, stretched out two fingers towards the wick and pinched it.

- 145 Downstairs in the parlour the women's m a i n task was to keep their guests hopeful that the evening's entertainment was not quite at an end, which in fact it largely was. In the room overlooking the street Camilla's main task was to show willingness in general together with unwillingness in the particulars. Lorenzo must go back down the stairs dissatisfied, but pleased with himself - which, after a time which was shorter than he'd hoped but longer than Donna Scamozzi thought prudent, he did. The English lord and his nephews, the Flemish count and the ducal coxcomb examined h i m in the firelight and, jig­ gling their knees and twirling their moustaches, laid bets with themselves about Lorenzo's success and their own immediate chances. Once Lorenzo had left, however, with (it must be said) a certain spring in his step, they were all turned out into the street. The next evening passed much as the one before had, except that instead of the lord, the count and the coxcomb, Lorenzo found h i m ­ self nodding to a prelate from Parma, a silk merchant he knew well and the coxcomb's elder brother, who was so overdressed he looked like an Englishman. And on this occasion he came much closer to his goal, tonguing and squeezing and caressing Camilla in hidden places he had to imagine because it was so dark, while teaching her gently to make him shudder and quiver, to undo first the pearl but­ tons on his shirt, to let her fingers linger for a moment, circling, on the lightly muscled skin . . . In fact, as the daughter of a fairground whore Camilla needed no lessons at all and only wondered at Lorenzo's reticence. And liked it and began to feel faint tremors of passion. It was on the evening after that that things were to be brought to a head. W h e n Lorenzo arrived at the inn, there was no fire in the par­ lour, no foreign counts or lords or barons, no Venetian merchants or bankers or ducal notaries, not even a bottle of wine or plate of sliced melon on the table. Lorenzo felt a twinge of apprehension. The innkeeper's

Vicenza Letters wife with a strange, preoccupied air fetched Donna Scamozzi, who came down the stairs to greet him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile. 'I'm so sorry we can't receive you tonight, s i g n o r e , but we must make an early start in the morning, you understand, and Camilla is already sleeping. It's been such a pleasure

to..'.

'You're leaving in the morning?' Lorenzo felt what he was later to call a shard of ice in his heart. His long, pale face and bluish jaws grew even paler and more bluish. Donna Scamozzi thought he looked devastatingly handsome at that moment. If it had not been such a delicate one she'd have tried to draw it out. 'Yes, before sunrise. It's such a long journey, it's 'Are you going back to Vicenza?' 'Well, not exactly,no. We've accepted an offer f r o m . . . a gentle­ man in Parma to . . . ' Donna Scamozzi had practised all these phrases dozens of times but they still came out in a tangle. 'We've decided to avail ourselves of the kind offer of a gentleman from Parma

to...

avail ourselves, so to speak, o f . . . ' So! thought Lorenzo, his blood up. 'Donna Scamozzi,' he said, almost without thinking,'you mustn't go to Parma, I won't let you go to Parma - why Parma? You'll be stifled by the heat. I'll find a house for you here in Venice. I insist you stay.' And he had that deli­ cious, foolish feeling of not having finished yet, of needing to finish, come what may, of having tasted and now needing to eat, even if it should poison him. A sudden memory of the aroma of lavender, hot wax and freshly laundered sheets pinched his nostrils. 'Well, perhaps we could delay our departure for a day or two while these arrangements a r e . . . ' Donna Scamozzi was not accus­ tomed to such nuanced bargaining. T i l come for you tomorrow night. You have m y word! And h e turned to go.

-147'You're leaving so quickly? Would you not, perhaps, like to see Camilla before you go?' Lorenzo looked her straight in the eye. 'No, if she's asleep, let her sleep. She will need her rest. ' A n d with a slight bow he was gone. Lorenzo Cordellini was true to his word J u s t after sunset on the following day he sent two servants to accompany Donna Scamozzi and Camilla to their new apartments. Their gondola glided under this very bridge right up to those wooden gates which were drawn open and in the chilly shimmer of torchlight on water he took Camilla's hand and helped her onto the stone staircase. The gates creaked shut. Camilla shivered in the greenish blackness. They went upstairs. That night they ate quail in a delicate sauce and drank Spanish malmsey, and to the sounds of a lute being gently plucked Camilla let her eyes wander over the tapestries and bookcases, the velvetcovered chairs, the vases of porphyry and serpentine on the cornices. And when he took her to their room and rolled geranium-pink silk stockings up her legs (since there were none to roll down), she laughed for the first time and felt impelled to plant h i m in herself quickly, however awkward and painful that might be, and she became his mistress. That summer in this house we're looking at centuries later was like a voyage over the horizon, like an eventful journey to outlandish places she'd never dreamt existed, and when she sailed back into port, so to speak, at about the time of the Feast of the Virgin, in early September, she felt as if the girl who had stepped by torchlight into the watery darkness that May night and eaten quail to lute-notes belonged in another life, someone else's. By September she knew a dozen sonnets off by heart, went to church with two pages, could con­ verse with scholars and well-travelled merchants (or at least gracefully

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let them converse with her) - in a word, she was becoming a lady. Patient work was still needed on her speech, of course, and Lorenzo engaged a young seminarian from Florence to school Vicenza out of her. It counted for nothing when she was angry or excited, but at suppers and in church she spoke now with a kind of eccentric ele­ gance (when called upon to speak) which Lorenzo was not alone in finding utterly disarming. In the arts of love Camilla became proficient, but was rarely ardent. She knew those hours she spent with Lorenzo were in some way the pivot on which everything else she enjoyed turned, but something ran­ kled. It wasn't that Lorenzo was brutal or unfeeling — in fact, he was amazingly playful, given his serious mien, especially of an afternoon; nor did she find his body unappealing — he was lean and vigorous and when he was half-clothed (especially) amongst the quilts and pil­ lows she often felt a frenzy to have h i m naked; nor was he ungenerous or overly demanding; nor did he apparently spy on her or enquire too persistently about how she spent her d a y s . . . No, her lack of ardour, her slight detachment stemmed more from her conviction that t h i s w a s n o t i t — a feeling so vague it almost has no name, yet in a way so powerful it almost needs none. Barely out of childhood, she was left with nothing to desire. Her niche in the edifice of Venetian society was not only a gilded one, but revered and necessary. She stood in it like an exquisite alabaster statue. Sometimes she felt like top­ pling to the floor and smashing into ten thousand pieces. Upstairs on the fourth floor, in her room backing onto the dingy c a m p i e l l o at the rear, Donna Scamozzi measured these changes in mood and temper and bided her time. By the Feast of the Virgin she knew the moment to act was about to arrive.

- 149' A n d p e r h a p s it's t h e m o m e n t for u s t o act as well,' said t h e Professor, s m i l i n g broadly, w h i c h w a s o d d . It h a d i n fact g r o w n q u i t e d a r k , I realized, l o o k i n g a r o u n d , a n d a l t h o u g h it w a s n ' t exactly cold, it w a s b e c o m i n g t o o chilly t o sit o n a b r i d g e . T h e Professor w a s t r y i n g t o r e a d t h e t i m e o n h i s w a t c h , b u t it h a d a b l a n k face, w i t h o u t n u m e r a l s , a n d h e w a s h a v i n g t o s q u i n t . 'Let's find s o m e w h e r e cosy t o eat,' h e said, a n d w e d i d , just a stone's t h r o w away o n t h e very campiello D o n n a Scamozzi h a d l o o k e d o u t o n all t h o s e c e n t u r i e s ago. T h e w a i t e r s w e r e r u d e a n d sloppy a n d t h e food w a s s o m e sort of peasant concoction Americans

and

E u r o p e a n s (apart from t h e F r e n c h ) u n a c c o u n t a b l y take d e l i g h t i n - basically flour a n d w a t e r i n a s a u c e — b u t I h a r d l y n o t i c e d , I w a s s p e l l b o u n d b y t h e Professor's story. T o m o r r o w n i g h t I'll g o t o t h e C h i n e s e a n d eat properly.

Venice, 11th April As

A CULTURAL

h i s t o r i a n , t h e Professor

doesn't

believe i n t r u t h , apparently, o r d o e s n ' t believe it's k n o w a b l e , o r doesn't believe it's i m p o r t a n t - s o m e t h i n g a l o n g those lines, I gather - a n d that, h e t o l d m e , is p r e ­ cisely w h y h e likes t o h o l i d a y i n t h e S o u t h . 'Here,' h e said, c h e w i n g o n b i t s o f l e a t h e r y

flour-and-water

m o i s t e n e d w i t h a t o m a t o sauce, 'they have n o d o u b t s a b o u t t r u t h a t all a n d it's b a l m t o m y soul, i n w h i c h I also d o n ' t believe. H e r e I ' m off t h e leash, h e r e I c a n b e w i c k e d . H e r e m y l a w s d o n o t apply. For t w o w e e k s . It's p a r a d i s e . W h a t d o y o u k n o w a b o u t t h e Assassins?' ' W h i c h assassins?' ' T h e sect o f t h e Assassins - Persia, t w e l f t h century. N o t m u c h , I gather. W h e n t h e r e i g n o f t h e founder, H a s s a n Sabbah, c a m e t o a n e n d , a R e d e e m e r a p p e a r e d , t o lift t h e y o k e o f h a r s h laws from t h e p e o p l e . O n e m o r n i n g i n 1 1 6 2 , i n t h e s q u a r e i n A l a m u t , a fortress t o w n o n a m o u n t a i n p e a k a n d t h e Assassins' seat o f p o w e r , this R e d e e m e r , also called Hassan, s t o o d u p a n d

-151d e c l a r e d t h e Law n u l l a n d v o i d b e c a u s e Paradise h a d n o w b e e n a t t a i n e d , t h e y h a d finally e a r n e d it, it w a s theirs, t h e r e i n A l a m u t . I n fact, n o t o n l y w a s e v e r y t h i n g t h a t h a d o n c e b e e n f o r b i d d e n n o w allowed, b u t e v e r y ­ t h i n g t h a t h a d o n c e b e e n a d u t y - p r a y i n g five t i m e s a day, for e x a m p l e , a b s t a i n i n g f r o m w i n e — w a s n o w f o r b i d d e n as a sign o f d o u b t t h a t this w a s n o w Paradise. That's w h y I c o m e h e r e for m y h o l i d a y s . M y l a w s a r e all n u l l a n d void, t r u t h exists, t h e b o d y is n o t a b o o k t o b e w r i t t e n i n , e x p l a i n e d a n d a r g u e d over, b u t a self t o b e lived o u t , e x p e r i e n c e d . That's w h y I c o m e h e r e . It's m y r e d e m p t i o n . ' At t h a t m o m e n t , t h o u g h , I d i d n ' t w a n t t o h e a r a b o u t Assassins o r r e d e m p t i o n o r w h y G e r m a n s h o l i ­ day i n Venice, I w a n t e d to h e a r a b o u t w h a t h a p p e n e d t o Camilla. ' W h a t a b o u t Lorenzo's wife?' I asked r a t h e r abruptly. ' W h a t d i d s h e t h i n k o f t h e a r r a n g e m e n t ? ' 'Well, as far as w e know, h i s wife, Isabella, spent that s u m m e r o n t h e river Brenta outside Padua w i t h h e r sons, w h o w e r e just reaching a frisky age. Talk m u s t have reached her, o f course, o f h e r husband's infatuation, t h e house o n the canal, the clothes a n d necklaces a n d bracelets a n d so o n . . . doubtless, r u m o u r r e a c h e d h e r at h e r villa and, doubtless, she w a s less t h a n overjoyed b y w h a t she heard. But y o u m u s t r e m e m b e r that i n Venice at this time this k i n d o f a r r a n g e m e n t w a s n o t o n l y c o m m o n , b u t almost de rigueur i n powerful circles. Corning from Flanders, Isabella m a y have taken a different, less kindly view. Still, it w a s t h e k i n d o f a r r a n g e m e n t w h i c h k e p t marriage, i n particular, stable a n d bearable, k e p t family alliances, a n d

V i c e n z a Letters

all t h e m o n e y that h u n g o n t h e m , firmly i n place. It h a d t h e a d d e d advantage that it k e p t sin o n t h e boil, officially speaking, w h i c h w a s pleasing t o t h e C h u r c h . After all, w i t h o u t sin, like doctors w i t h o u t disease, t h e C h u r c h is reduced to social w o r k a n d psychotherapy a n d there's p r e ­ cious little social p o w e r in t h a t It seems o d d t o us, b u t i n those days t h e c h u r c h e s of Venice w e r e always full of prostitutes a n d courtesans a n d their retinues. Simple parishioners at certain o f the m o r e fashionable Venetian c h u r c h e s could hardly squeeze t h r o u g h t h e d o o r o n Sunday m o r n i n g s because o f t h e c r u s h o f stately cortigiane i n their silks a n d furs w i t h their page-boys, m a i d s a n d m a j o r d o m o s i n tow, their c r o w d s o f a d m i r e r s a n d favourites jostling to display themselves a n d w i n a p r o m i s ­ ing smile o r a bejewelled h a n d o n t h e s h o u l d e r o r elbow. N o , Lorenzo's a r r a n g e m e n t , a l t h o u g h expensive, w a s the very c e m e n t o f Venetian life, trussing u p the Christian b o d y as it aged a n d fell apart. This k i n d o f a r r a n g e m e n t channelled desire w i t h t h e u t m o s t d e c o r u m . ' B u t this w a s a lecture, n o t a story. I n e e d e d a story, p r o b a b l y b e c a u s e t h e story o f m y o w n life is i n d a n ­ ger o f p e t e r i n g o u t i n a series o f i n c o m p l e t e sentences, t h e m a i n t h r e a d w e l l a n d t r u l y frayed. 'You s e e m e d t o b e h i n t i n g t h a t D o n n a Scamozzi w a s a b o u t t o m a k e a move,' I said, p u s h i n g aside t h e r e m n a n t s o f s o m e t i n n e d fruit from Australia. 'A m o v e ? Ah, yes,' t h e Professor said, settling b a c k i n h i s c h a i r a n d s t u d y i n g t h e stale b r e a d c r u m b s . . .

-153By September Donna Scamozzi was ready to start playing a more complicated game. Needless to say, it was a more dangerous game because the penalties for losing could be more painful - being stabbed to death was not out of the question, for example, not to mention hideous disfigurement and a variety of other punishments — but the rewards for winning were so enticing: p a l a z z i , villas, brilliant soci­ ety, cardinals, a m b a s s a d o r s . . . they were rewards Donna Scamozzi believed it was worth taking risks for. As the weather grew cooler, Camilla took to receiving certain guests in her salon, almost always gentlemen well-connected in the city who brought her gifts and made interesting proposals, and Camilla would entertain them, sitting on her green velvet sofa, with poetry, gossip, sweet confections and sometimes a musical interlude. Lorenzo was vaguely piqued, but also vaguely aroused by the atmos­ phere of courteous lust in the candlelit salon. At any event, he raised no definite objections to these more and more frequent gatherings. Camilla, out of the corner of her eye, would sometimes see his long, white fingers drumming on the table while some callow ambassador's secretary paid her court, but if she turned to him and whispered some­ thing tender in his ear, he would almost always smile and let his fingers rest. By the time the first fogs of winter settled on the city, Camilla was offering certain guests rather more than a Petrarch sonnet or two and an apricot cooked in honey, especially in the early after­ noon when she had the house more or less to herself. By the Feast of the Nativity she was ready to take the next step: when Lorenzo arrived at the door onto the c a m p i e l l o one night, he found it locked and barred with two strapping ruffians posted on each side. There were two more on the bridge over the canal. None of them spoke. He didn't lower himself to speak to them. A viola was playing behind

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a shuttered window. He strode off on his long legs into the bitter dark, and as he strode he began to burn, very slowly, with a faint hiss you could almost hear. Upstairs in her green and gold salon Camilla hardly heard the viola. Nor could she really follow the story her companion for the evening was telling her, about his recent trip to Lyons. All she had the heart to do was listen for the arrival of Lorenzo. But she heard nothing. Donna Scamozzi quickly cast her net wide, pulling in wealthy underwriters, cotton merchants, wool merchants, wine merchants and owners of transport and packing companies. They were mostly dull, but unstinting. The less generous amongst them were robbed in a gentlemanly way by the ruffians at the door. It was asking for trouble, of course, to stay too much longer in the Cordellini house.Women were murdered for less. Although there was no lack of earnest admirers, they all seemed vexingly happy with arrangements as they stood — this one of a Monday, that one of a Tuesday, this one of a Wednesday, usually with friends. One liked a candlelit supper à d e u x of a Thursday, another a monstrously hearty table of a Friday evening, with whole boars and peacocks on maiolica dishes amongst jugs of snow-water and Spanish wine. Some liked to read poetry, some liked to dance, some liked to quiz priests, some liked to moon and eat chestnuts. Rodrigo Buffi, who was half-Spanish and came on Saturdays, liked almost everything. He was plumpish, subtly lame in one leg and had a red beard, and, like most plump, red-bearded men with just the hint of a limp, he was as light as a cloud in the wind on his feet. Camilla found h i m sweet as an orange. H e called her his sugared almond and his beauteous nymph, being given to that sort of endearment. She called h i m in return her mandolin and ox-muzzle, which delighted h i m hugely.*

-155 So, when one April night towards dawn the Scamozzi household erupted in murderous riot, it was to Rodrigo the half-Spaniard that Donna Scamozzi glided off down the canal to seek swift help from. W h a t had happened was this: at midnight the ruffians had had instructions to let pass a certain young m a n called Guido, whose fam­ ily had grown rich on weaving and dyeing, but not long before midnight another spirited young m a n called Donato, just back from Ferrara and inclined to be frolicsome, arrived at the door on the c a m p i e l l o and begged to be admitted. He thumped and sang and knelt and cried out with throaty extravagance until the door was unlocked and he was allowed to bound up the stairs. No sooner, h o w ­ ever, had he bitten her neck and been pushed away like a playful, strong puppy, than there was more banging at the door downstairs: Guido had arrived a little early. Donato rushed to the window giv­ ing onto the c a m p i e l l o and roared abuse down at the caped figure by the doorway below. Guido, stung to the quick, roared a string of coarse threats back up at the wild-haired figure in the window and demanded he be admitted. Donato, reeling back from the torrent of foul language, recoiled, sprang to the window and spat down into Guido s upturned face. Guido gagged, clawed at his face and ran off into the darkness to gather support. W i t h i n minutes a crowd of r a u ­ cous, jostling young men was banging and heaving a t the door, weapons jangling. Camilla could hear Guido's staccato threats echo­ ing around the square: 'I'll scar you, whore!* I'll slash you open! I'll slice off your lips! I ' l l . . . ' Donato he promised to impale and cas­ trate. Donato's curses and imprecations from various windows became a little high-pitched, since he and the men of the household were outnumbered and virtually unarmed. Al though he liked a good stoush and the smell of men bashing men, he knew this was a real a r l a s s e he'd slid into, a Venetian stand-up or double-cross. Not only were

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harlots' faces ripped from ear to ear at moments like these, but good men such as himself were often garrotted and r u n through as well, blades were held to throbbing veins on n e c k s . . . Foreseeing all this, unmiraculously, Donna Scamozzi, as I said, had long since glided off to hammer at the half-Spaniard's door. W h i l e Guido and his deadly little band of friends were forcing their way up the stairs against the ruffians, Donato and one or two of the less faint-hearted servants, Rodrigo was handing Camilla into the care of his boatman, and by the time more men came bound­ ing into the c a m p i e l l o and knives began to flash and drip, chests of fine dresses and jewels and carpets and silverware and earrings and silks and velvets and satins were being loaded creaking onto yet more gondolas, and by the time the curtains were torched and men started leaping into the canal, the Scamozzis were far away in another p a l a z z o on an even wider waterway in a noticeably more elegant part of the city. The spring months with Rodrigo were little short of blissful. In the high-ceilinged salon hung with Flemish tapestries there were nights spent dancing the pavane (Rodrigo's spirits soared when he danced), listening to madrigals (so beautiful they cut you to the heart), watching playlets and sketches, some d a s e s o l o (Rodrigo wept and roared with laughter), reading aloud from the best-loved poets, and arguing about the Turks and the Jews and whether or not the New World was paradise. The rooms in their new residence were abuzz with dozens of accents and tongues, alive with strange scents and exotically textured garments. Time took on a different shape. W h e n , at the height of summer, the Count first appeared at one of Rodrigo s musical evenings and let his gaze rest rather too insis­ tently on Camillas pale shoulders and coiled plaits, following the droop of her pearls to where they were rising and falling slowly on

- 157 her tout, white breasts, Donna Scamozzi made a note. The Count was from one of the city's richest families, flamboyant in a restrained sort of way, not in his first youth but still handsome with strong, white teeth and a magnificent, gleaming aquiline nose. Well before the autumn drizzle began, after very little commotion - just enough to keep the city's interest pricked — Camilla and her mother, preceded by a caravan of truly Arabian proportions, were comfortably in resi­ dence in a splendid p a l a z z o on the corner of two canals. From the balcony overlooking the spacious c a m p o behind, where Camilla sometimes rested her head on a gold-embroidered cushion to bleach her hair, she could gaze across at the magnificent whitedomed church

that towered above the square, watching

the

flower-sellers and the melon-sellers, the priests and friars and other townspeople who came and went and gathered in the doorways and on the steps to talk and bargain. Sometimes young blades, alone or with companions, would call out to her, half-mockingly, halfamorously, begging to be favoured with a smile, a kiss, an hour alone with her — or not alone, the choice was hers. Sometimes she enjoyed the banter, but sometimes it wearied her and she'd drift back inside to play with her wicked parrot or bid her black dwarf amuse her with some of his magic tricks. Once in the late afternoon she even saw Lorenzo stride across the square below. She felt a little quaking deep inside her then, a tiny, trembling knot of fear and . . . not love exactly, but something more like crushed delight. If she stood in her sunlit boudoir and looked about her, as she sometimes did, she would say to herself that she was happy: she was cared for generously by the Count; she went to church in a silk cape lined with white fox; she slept in sheets smelling of civet and musk; she dined on oysters and pheasant and pomegranates surrounded by wealthy merchants, wits, poets and t r a v e l l e r s . . . yet some clock inside

Vicenza Letters her had stopped ticking, some spring inside her had come uncoiled, some voice almost out of earshot kept whispering something to her about this s t i l l n o t b e i n g i t . Something was missing that had nothing to do with happiness. One afternoon late the following summer, when she was strolling with her maid along a street of silversmiths behind St M a r k s Square, a young m a n in a gaudy velvet suit leapt from a window above her and landed at her feet. Camilla gasped with fright and swayed back on her high heels, clutching at her maid's shoulder. The young m a n grinned foolishly, begged a thousand pardons and, with a quick glance back up at the window, darted off down the street and was soon lost in the throng. W h e n she looked up, the window was a dark square. She was about to walk on, with a w r y comment to her maid, when the figure of a woman with a scarlet headband appeared fleetingly above them in the square of the window, peered down anxiously and quickly drew the panes closed, vanishing back into the dark. A n a r ­ row escape, she thought to herself, and smiled. They hadn't walked on more than a hundred paces when the young m a n leapt out in front of her again, bowed theatrically and grinned. 'Please forgive me, s i g n o r a , I ' m sorry I startled you, I was called away suddenly and - how should I put it? — most unexpectedly! He had an appealing head of bright red curls, fuller lips than a young man usually had, a wiry frame and a slightly slurred accent which Camilla couldn't quite place but found enchanting nonetheless. She laughed. 'I admire your agility! she said, briefly considering his stockinged calves,'if not your timing.' 'My timing,' the young m a n said, a little too quickly, fixing her with his gentian-blue eyes, 'was defter than you might imagine.' Camilla reddened slightly despite herself and flapped her fan. W h e n he asked if he might accompany her and her maid a t least as far

-159 as the bridge, Camilla felt a flush of pleasure and said he most cer­ tainly might not. He might, however, call on her the following evening, joining the company for an entertainment with bagpipes, cornets and v i o l e d a b r a c c i o and possibly a juggler or two. He said he would. How light his tread was as he made off through the crowd. And how red his curls. Camilla kept them in v i e w — b o b ­ bing, ducking, swerving - for far longer than she'd meant to. As a consequence, it wasn't with the svelte Lorenzo, white-skinned and practised in his passion, that Camilla fell in love; nor was it with Rodrigo, who was always twirling like a top, whipped along by little storms of rapture and strong feeling; nor was it with the eagle-nosed Count with his taste for muted luxury; nor was it with any of the other men who pressed their attentions on her every day. This one was too smooth-tongued, that one too self-admiring, this one's virility too sculpted, that one's charm too unctuous. Or per­ haps that wasn't it at all, perhaps none of that really mattered. Whatever the reason for falling or not falling in love, in the course of just two or three days Camilla fell up to her eyebrows in love with (he red-headed, blue-eyed Alberto, who had landed at her feet like a wicked, sharp-eyed monkey, up to all sorts of tricks. At first, like everyone, she fell in love with what she'd seen (the cheek, the litheness, the virile zaniness),so different from the ordered manliness she spent her days manipulating. And then she quickly fell in love with what she had not seen (which was far more d a n ­ gerous) and hungered to see it. Each day when he called at a time when she knew she would be alone, she sat a little closer to her brightly coloured prey, who always sat by the small table covered in green velvet in the centre of the room. From her divan she gradu­ ally moved across the room towards him, first to her deep Spanish armchair, and from there to the Turkish footstool, and from there to

Vicenza Letters a high-backed chair on É e opposite side of the velvet-covered table. Once there, she was close enough to reach over once or twice and take his gold neck-chain in her hand to admire it, allowing his longlashed eyes as she did so to burrow down into the milky depths revealed behind the embroidered damask folds of her dress. Once or twice he leant close enough for her to smell his breath, but that was all he did. Although his eyes never left her, he seemed to be parry­ ing her every thrust. The feeling of hunger might have passed, as it usually does, if it had been fed. W h e n desire is fed, after all, it either grows fat and spills over into kindness and generosity, or else it is quenched and grows drowsy. Starved, of course, it just withers away. W i t h a taunt­ ing insouciance Alberto, in those early days, did neither: on the contrary, he made her ravenous in a thousand l i t t l e ways - feed­ ing her morsels, touching, smiling, promising, suddenly appearing and then vanishing again - but never offered her a feast. So he might come through the door with two or three friends one afternoon, kiss her hand in a mocking, foreign way, make merry with his friends and then disappear again suddenly, borne away by a larger life; he might give his word that he'd come to see her at a certain hour, then send a breezy note, procrastinating vaguely - affectionately, but always vaguely; he might make her glow with whispered nothings in her ear, but spend the evening noisily playing cards with other visitors. And so Camilla was left with a simmering greediness she despised in herself but could not rise above. Donna Scamozzi was irritated by her daughter's infatuation and contemplated having the young colt taught a sharp lesson and sent packing. Camilla's value, after all, was in her ability to p l a y at love — to tease and toy and dally, to recite sonnets with feeling, but pre­ cisely not to l o v e . The Count, for his part, felt riled by Camilla's

-161 inattention and snappish moods and thought of sending her away to one of his estates in the hills for a month or two to distract her and calm her nerves. Their glittering s e r a t e were now fraught with sulky silences, long, heart-felt sighs and flimsy excuses to leave the company and flee upstairs. Then something happened to turn their peevishness into dismay. In desperation one morning, alone with her hairdresser, Maddalena, Camilla gave vent to her misery, hoping Maddalena, with her many skills, might suggest a way out. Standing behind her, Maddalena s eyes narrowed with pleasure and she wound Camillas hair so tightly her scalp ached. 'You must help me, Maddalena. I know you know about these things,' Camilla said, straining against the pulling of her hair. And, indeed, Maddalena did. In fact, the bleach­ ing and brushing and curling of hair was the least of what Maddalena knew. As a r u f f i a n a of many years' standing, she had a finger in many a juicy Venetian pie, arranging for certain men to dine at cer­ tain tables, for certain wives to take interesting advantage of their husbands' occasional absences and for the intimate education at the hands of accomplished teachers of the scions of well-to-do fami­ lies. A little overpainted, Maddalena looked on her hairdressing as little more than a means to more profitable ends. Although it was none of these skills that interested Camilla that morning — she was pinning her hopes on knowledge of a more arcane kind — it was pre­ cisely these skills which made the next few moments so pleasurable for Maddalena and so horrifying for Camilla. 'Do you not know who Alberto is?' Maddalena asked in a low voice just behind Camilla's right ear. ' W h o he is? Well, no, not exactly. He travels for his father, I think. I gather he's been living in Flanders. And he paints, he said. He's promised to . . . '

Vicenza Letters 'And do you not know who his father is?' 'His father? No. Cotton or something, I think.' 'Yes, cotton. His father, you see, is Lorenzo Cordellini! This was whispered right into the ear. Camilla sat bolt upright as if stung. Her mind swam. 'Lorenzo? But the red hair, the blue eyes...' As if they mattered. 'He's the image of his mother! But even prettier, Maddalena thought, although didn't say so. 'It's the Flemish blood. It's the other son, Aldo, who looks like Lorenzo and has his moods! Dizzy with a kind of panicky grief, Camilla tore herself from the chair and went to the window. She stared down into the water in the canal, green at this hour and flecked with sunlight. Above the roofs across from her window the sky was meshed with strands of cloud, as if somebody had been up early raking them. It was impos­ sible. It smelt of blood. She could feel her throat tightening, filling with an aching sweetness. 'Does he know?' she said after a while. 'Does Alberto know who I am?' 'I imagine he does, my dear, yes! Camilla groaned. 'But Lorenzo has heard nothing?' 'I imagine not, my dear, no! Camilla stood staring at the combed clouds. After some moments she said:'What shall I do, Maddalena? Tell me what I should do! 'We'll lock the door, my dear, when we're finished! Maddalena said, still standing behind the chair, 'and have a little look at what the cards say! Like a sleepwalker, Camilla drifted back into her chair. In fact, the cards made Maddalena draw her breath in sharply, then widen her eyes, then smile a pursed smile, then call on Jesus and all the saints and then sit back wheezing with her eyes closed. 'Well?' said Camilla, after a little pause, her smooth, young hand

-163 on her throat. ' W h a t do they say?' 'They say! said Maddalena, as if from far away behind a m o u n ­ tain,'that his soul is wandering in a wasteland swarming with evil spirits, squinting at him with murderous intent. I see soot-black souls hanging like bats from barren branches, twisting and squealing as he fosses with delight at his horrid fate. I see a lake of bile and a bloodthirsty boatman, pale as a g h o s t . . . ' 'Yes, yes, Maddalena, but what should I d o ? ' Camilla was feel­ ing ill with fear and hopeless desire. Bloodthirsty boatmen, soot-black souls - this smelt of sulphur and the Devil. Camilla wanted to know what she should now do. 'We must find a lure for his soul, Camilla. We must lure h i m out of the wasteland and into . . ! ' W h a t sort of lure?' Maddalena was still fossicking about behind her mountain, and took some time to answer. 'Bring m e a thumb-nail clipping, a drop of his sweat and a lock of his hair.* Bring them soon,' she said, her eyes still closed. 'And bring m e a pearl and a sliver of amber shaped like a teardrop. And bring them soon.' Then she opened her eyes, scooped up her cards and made ready to leave. 'Maddalena, I ' m afraid. If it works and Lorenzo finds o u t . . . ' 'Let us first cast our lure' she said, casting more than one lure herself, 'and wait to see what happens! The pearl and sliver of amber took no more than a moment's thought to obtain, but the hair, the thumb-nail clipping and drop of sweat took a little more scheming. A whole week went by before Camilla could lock the door of her boudoir again and lay the ingre­ dients out for Maddalena on the low inlaid table beside her chair. After drawing the curtains, Maddalena crushed and burnt the hair, the clipping and the sweat-soaked silk handkerchief in a small bowl,

Vicenza Letters added a paste of nightshade, foxglove and musk-seeds, squeezed the mixture into a tiny blue glass phial and told Camilla to bury it in earth until the moon was full and then smear it, while Diana the huntress was riding high in the sky, on the tip of Alberto's penis. 'Plant h i m quickly inside you, my dear, and watch him rear and buck for you until the next full moon. It's up to you how you use your whip and reins! 'But how can I be sure of coaxing him to bed me on that night?' 'As the moon rises, drop this pearl and this piece of amber into a glass of wine. Make sure he drinks it looking at the moon. He'll have you on your back, my dear, before he's finished the glass! Maddalena cackled briefly, remembering the pleasure of being thrown back on a bed in the dark by a trim, half-naked youth. It was a very faded memory. Camilla did exactly as she'd been instructed. Miraculously, the smell of sulphur turned to orange-blossom and lilac, and Alberto seemed indeed to change and love her. The morsels multiplied and became a banquet. Slowly, step by tiny step, Camilla could feel her­ self passing into that blissful state where she no longer desired Alberto himself so much as she desired no longer to desire h i m , just to be with him - or at least she had some inkling of what it might feel like to desire h i m in that way. Donna Scamozzi, meanwhile, was beside herself with fury and apprehension. The Count was running out of patience as well, and, when he was told who the red-haired monkey was and how he had been snared, he became rigid with fear, locked Camilla in an upstairs room and told her she would stay there until the Devil had been starved out of her. A gloom seeped into the house and stayed there all winter. Alberto, less monkeyish now, was at first stricken with despair.

- 165 His pride wounded, he cast about for ways to pass word to Camilla of his undying fidelity, his smouldering rage, his oath to free her he gleaned wonderful phrases for all these emotions from the poets - but she seemed out of reach, immured like a nun. Quite a few of his friends counselled h i m to leave Camilla to her fate and not tempt his own.Yet there was something in his feelings for her that would not die away like a guttering candle, something innocent. It was as if she were his means of knowing something good. He watched his father's face all through that winter, but noticed nothing. If Lorenzo knew about what had happened, he gave no sign of it at all. By the same token, with time his love for Camilla became like a poem he kept in his heart as he began to live life to the full again. Even in the fastness of her locked room at the top of the p a l a z z o Camilla eventually heard of his attachments first to this and then to that young lady. She dreamt over and over again of his long-legged, fiery-headed

body leaping from a window to land at her feet. She

heard h i m whisper to her again:'You are my red-hot butterfly!' No one had ever called her anything more beautiful. W h e n in the early spring Camilla was first allowed to leave the house to take the air, on rounding a crooked corner of the church she found herself staring straight into the eyes of Lorenzo Cordellini, not an arm's length from her nose. 'Lorenzo!' she said, startled, but with a sad eagerness to please, to look into eyes which had looked on Alberto, to touch a hand which had perhaps touched his. Lorenzo hesitated for the blink of an eye, smiled, doffed his cap and gave a shallow bow. 'I hear you've been unwell, Camilla,' he said. Camilla blushed. Could he know the cause? God forbid. 'Y-yes, I have,'she stammered,'but it was nothing serious. It's been so damp and cold! Lorenzo nodded, but scarcely smiled. 'Come and see me, Lorenzo. W h y don't you come and see me? You often seem to pass

Vicenza Letters this way! He appeared to consider her impromptu invitation for a moment or two in his pale, deliberate way and then soften. 'Perhaps I will, Camilla, if that's what you'd like.' 'Do, Lorenzo, please! W h y was she saying these things? W h a t 7

could come of i t W h y court danger? Because she must have news. She watched h i m walk away with the light, almost animal step she knew so well. W h e n he came to the house not long afterwards, he seemed to be in an oddly heightened mood. Dressed in a loose silk shirt and tight breeches, with his jacket slung over his shoulders, he had a gay air to h i m which Camilla scarcely recognized. He even kissed her differently, urgently but without deep feeling, with one hand behind her neck, his long fingers in her hair. 'Let's go out on the lagoon', he said, stepping back and looking around h i m without comment. 'It's sunny, the wind's w a r m - it will do you good! Camilla felt her spirits lift. And so they glided off down the canal, past the gilded and painted p a l a z z i , the floating melon market, the cloisters and towers of St George's Island and out across the busy lagoon, quite choppy in the easterly breeze, towards the low line of the Lido, dodging the waterfowlers and fishermen. Camilla had the feeling everyone whose love is thwarted has at such times: a frantic longing to turn back mixed with a submissive desire for gentleness. They came at length to a small village towards the southern end of the Lido, and Lorenzo suggested they refresh themselves at a small inn by the waters edge. After a glass of wine or two

Camilla felt

more at peace. After the eels with spinach in nutmeg she could feel the pull to return slacken. And after the blackberry tarts and Lambrusco with its whiff of violets she felt a fondness growing in her for the smooth-skinned, strong-jawed m a n who had gently taken

-167her small hands in his, and did not resist when he whispered to her that they might take a room upstairs for an hour or two for old times' sake. It was a vile room, cramped and smelling of grubby linen, but Camilla felt too drained of strong feelings to make a fuss. She sank onto the bed beside Lorenzo and kissed h i m almost chastely, press­ ing her lips into the w a r m sockets of his eyes. Then she licked h i m just beneath his jawbone and nibbled the tender skin behind his earlobe. He groaned softly. Then, easing himself off the bed away from her, he held up a finger as if asking her to wait and said: 'I need to have a word with the innkeeper - we don't want to be disturbed. Stay there, don't move! I'll be back in a moment.' Camilla smiled and lay back amongst the pillows. She heard h i m run lightly down the stairs. For the first time in many months she could feel a cocoon of tenderness being woven around her. The footsteps that came back up the stairs were heavier on cruder soles. The m a n who came into the room was taller and dressed in rough fisherman's garb. He flung himself on her and, nuzzling and dribbling in her ear, he raped her with savage fervour. He was fol­ lowed by his wiry brother, who stank of dead fish and whispered honeyed filth into her ear until he gagged with pleasure. He was fol­ lowed by his son, who then ground into her face while two of his reeking companions busied themselves between her aching legs. They were followed by the wine-merchant and his spindly assistant and they were followed by the pastry cook and his idiot son. And Camilla bled and retched and wailed, but they stopped her mouth with their thrusting bodies, clawed at her, beat her, spat on her, opening her up again and again and again to their gouging and jabbing and r a m ­ ming and churning. And as the afternoon turned into night footsteps kept following footsteps up the stairs until Camilla lost count of the

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men who came into the room to rape and grunt filth at her and hold her for others to do the same.* W h e n towards midnight the bandy-legged butcher's boy left her and staggered noisily down the stairs, there was silence. Camilla was a tiny leaden ball, no bigger than a pinhead, floating in empty black­ ness. No docks told the time where Camilla was. Camilla was no longer Camilla. No mention was made to the Count of Lorenzo. But not out of Christian charity. Life at the Counts p a l a z z o returned to its normal flow, to the relief of Donna Scamozzi, the Count and Iris circle. If anything, Camilla appeared gayer and more self-assured than before her wretched infection with love. There was a certain brittleness, per­ haps, to her manners and grace, which had not shown itself before, but a touch of glossiness and fragility is not unattractive in a spir­ ited woman. There was little need for Camilla to spend many hours alone. A few weeks before St Anthonys Eve Camilla called again for Maddalena. As she braided and decked her hair, Camilla spoke with her about the festivities the Count had planned for the saints day and certain requirements of her own she believed Maddalena might like to assist her with. This time, however, there was to be no need of potions or unguents, no need of screech-owls' hearts or fennelstalks sprinkled with blood and urine, no need of any kind of spell or divination. This time the skills she was in need of were far more down-to-earth. The very day before St Anthony's Eve, with Maddalena's invalu­ able help, Camilla wrote Alberto Cordcllini a carefully worded letter. An hour later, again with Maddalena's help, she wrote another care­ fully worded letter to his father. Then the two women began their

- 169careful preparations for the festivities the following evening. In this intricate dance no dancer must stumble. By sunset the next evening the crowd in the s a l o n e g r a n d e was in a frolicsome mood. In the glow of chandeliers and torches women in exquisite gowns from Milan and Mantua drifted amongst men who owned half of Venice, resplendent in silk and satin and African gold. Maids, servants, dwarves and pages of every hue swarmed beneath the Flemish tapestries. Two monkeys chased each other in and out of the doorways, parrots shrieked. Whole roasted swans lay on the table, each feather in place, amongst boars and deer and suck­ ling pigs, pheasants and thrushes and quail by the score, vast dishes of oysters and mountains of melons. Jugglers juggled, fiddlers fid­ dled, and painted actors sang songs of lust and unrequited passion:

Stringi'l b r a m o s o a m a n t e e stretta aggiungi Le l a b b r a a l e s u e l a b b r a , e'1 v i v o s p i r t o Suggi d e l ' a l m a a m a t a , e d e l t u o s p i r t o . . .*

Soon after midnight there was a ripple of slightly drunken laugh­ ter when the Count announced the next d i v e r t i m e n t o : wondrous wizard, clairvoyant and conjurer, supreme maestro of the magical arts, Claudio Coccola would now demonstrate, before the very eyes of the distinguished s i g n o r i and s i g n o r e , a feat never before seen in Venice and known only to a handful of grand masters from the Levant, where Signore Coccola had spent many years studying at the feet

of...

Here there were raucous calls from the throng to stop saucing the goose and to 'bring the trickster on'. It was only when the magician appealed like a puff of smoke a t the far end of the hall that the crowd noticed four large carved coffers standing in a row a few paces out from the wall. ' S i g n o r i

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e s i g n o r e , for your amusement and edification I a m about to work the impossible. Tonight, here under your very eyes, I a m about to make one of you disappear! Here there were several hoots of derision and a surge of disrespectful giggling, but Claudio Coccola swept on unde­ terred, fixing the crowd lolling at the table and gathered in knots around the walls with a penetrating stare. 'You will observe, ladies and gentlemen! he went on, 'that at this end of this (magnificent) hall there are no windows! He strode with one of his black-clad assis­ tants over to the tapestry draping the wall behind h i m and together they lifted it to show that, indeed, there were no hidden windows, doors or other exits in the white-washed wall. 'And I must have com­ plete silence during the weaving of my spell, ladies and gentleman, or else' - and complete silence actually fell - T cannot guarantee that the one who disappears will be able to return - the spirits m a y take offence!At this point there was one muffled guffaw from a group of young men clustered by the main doorway, but on the whole the crowd seemed to be entering into the spirit of what was about to happen. 'And so, ladies and gentlemen, I now call upon the following four ladies to come forward and stand each upon one coffer!The magi­ cian closed his eyes and raised one hand to his forehead as if listening for the names to come to him. 'Lucrezia Niccolini!' (Applause from the assembled throng — Venice herself would sooner disappear than Lucrezia Niccolini, one of the city's grandest and most ravishing c o r ­ t i g i a n e , a must on the itinerary of every visiting Englishman. Lucrezia swished forward in her flowing blue satin and was helped up onto the first chest.) 'Ortensia Campanella!' (Half the room wished Ortensia w o u l d disappear - for good. All the same, there was goodnatured applause as she tripped across in her black velvet to stand on her allotted chest Such a vixen.) 'Grazia Sardo!' (She blew farewell

- 171 kisses to the crowd as she made her way to her chest. The pearls looped through her hair were the fattest in the room.) 'And, lastly, Camilla Scamozzi!' (Roars of approval now - she was, after all, in a sense the evening's ostessa — and she looked radiant in her long white gown trimmed with gold. Her hair looked strikingly different this night - Maddalena had evidently been busy: it was parted and fell in heavy, golden loops to each side of her head and across her cheeks. Her expression was utterly serene.) 'One of these lovely ladies will, when I utter the magic syllable, vanish from among us. And I remind you: I must have complete silence during the casting of the spell or else the soul of the disappearing lady will be in mortal danger!' (Breaths were held in anticipation.) Meanwhile, as instructed, moored below in the shadows on the side canal, was a small, green gondola, and in it was the seated fig­ ure of a single man, head cowled. It was Lorenzo Cordcllini. And in the pocket of his cape was the letter from Camilla, a letter whose simple womanly words had fired an arrow straight into his seething heart: M y dear Lorenzo! I a m w i t h o u t h o p e - give m e h o p e ! I a m a prisoner i n this h o u s e , Lorenzo, c h a i n e d t o t h e m o n s t r o u s desires o f m y master a n d t o m y mother's greed. I see n o w h o w heartlessly I d i s h o n o u r e d y o u and w h y the b l e m i s h o n y o u r m a n h o o d had t o b e w i p e d away. But m y suffering has its source n o t just i n m y slavery t o others' passions, n o r i n t h e s h a m e I e n d u r e d that y o u m i g h t b e shameless, b u t i n m y o w n aching a n d u n w o r t h y desire to find favour i n y o u r sight o n c e m o r e a n d to t e n d again t o y o u r n e e d s as y o u deserve.

Vicenza Letters If y o u w i l l o n l y r e s c u e m e from t h i s p r i s o n h o u s e , w h e r e I a m every day m i s u s e d , I s w e a r i n G o d ' s n a m e t o r e p a y y o u m o s t sweetly i n w a y s y o u h a r d l y d a r e d r e a m of. T o m o r r o w , j u s t after m i d n i g h t , I shall c o m e t o t h e gate o n t h e side c a n a l . H a v e m e r c y o n m e , L o r e n z o . C. Camilla knew that the best lies are shot through with profound truths. Upstairs in the s a l o n e g r a n d e Claudio was holding his hands aloft for complete silence. 'Lower the candelabra!' he called, and sev­ eral servants ran to ring it down. 'Extinguish all other candles and torches!' he cried, and again servants ran to snuff the candles and torches. The candelabra which had hung above him hit the floor at his feet with a jolt. His face floated above the flickering lights as if under­ water. ' A l l e b a f n i n ! ' he suddenly cried out hoarsely, and his two pale hands fluttered above him in the shadows. The crowd shuddered. ' A l l e b a f h i n ! ' he cried again in the silence, and the strange words ricocheted from wall to wall high up near the ceiling. The four women stood silently behind him in the gloom, their faces like four pale moons. Then he reached out with a long snuffer and snuffed one can¬ dle. ' A l l e b a f n i ! ' he cried. Again he snuffed out a candle, this time with the cry ' A l l e b afn!' And as one by one the candles were extin­ guished, and the darkness grew thicker, and eyes widened, and breaths were held, he barked into the blackness:

A U e b af! A l l e b a! Alleb! AUe!

- 173 All! Al! A!

The last candle went out — pfsst! — and there was a swishing and rustling - w h o o o o s h ! - as of vast rushing wings beating high up amongst the ceiling-beams. Down tumbled a huge brocaded curtain, hitting the floor with an echoing thud. Apart from a tiny knfì knfì knfì (a minor countess sneezing from the dust) all was silence. In an ill-lit, oak-lined ante-chamber just beyond one of the side doors Alberto was waiting, shivering in the unheated air, waiting for his adventure to begin. Like his father in the gondola below, he, too, had a letter in his pocket. He knew what it said off by heart:

M y dearest Alberto! I a m w i t h o u t h o p e — please give m e h o p e ! I a m a prisoner i n this h o u s e , Alberto, c h a i n e d t o the m o n s t r o u s desires o f m y master a n d t o m y mother's greed. If y o u w i l l o n l y rescue m e

from

this p r i s o n h o u s e , w h e r e every day I a m m i s u s e d , I p r o m i s e t o repay y o u m o s t sweetly i n ways y o u hardly dare d r e a m of. Tomorrow, just after m i d n i g h t , I shall c o m e t o y o u i n disguise i n t h e oak r o o m n e x t to t h e great hall. Wait for m e there as s o o n as Claudio t h e m a g i c i a n b e g i n s h i s tricks. C.

On the other side of the heavy, carved door from where he stood, wraith-like figures were scurrying — one, two, three, four, how many were there? There was cooing and moaning, sighing and groaning. Then the maestro boomed:'Light the torches!'As the room filled with

Vicenza Letters light, slowly, in patches, two of his assistants dragged at the brocaded curtain which came loose from its beam on the ceiling and fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. In the flickering half-light beyond the piles of brocade which his assistants began gathering up, stood the four mysterious trunks. Every eye in the room was fixed on them. 'Lucrezia Niccolini, come forth!' Claudio cried. An assistant lifted the lid and out stepped a dazed Lucrezia, smiling and dusting her breast. 'Ortensia Campanella, come forth!'Claudio cried, and Ortensia rose from her box, looking slightly disappointed not to have disap­ peared. 'Grazia Sardo, come forth!' Claudio cried, and Grazia, too, stood up and stepped out of her box, adjusting her pearl loops and bowing to the crowd. One box was still closed. Every eye in the room was fixed on it. Claudio paused for effect. 'Camilla Scamozzi, come forth!' he cried. The assistant pushed back the lid, the crowd gasped: out of the box stepped Giulia Giacomini, looking startled in a neckto-toe puce dress. Giulia, notorious from Santa Chiara to the Arsenal, had not even been invited to the festivities. She looked around her in dazed amazement and began to sob. A wave of spiritual terror passed over the room. Camilla Scamozzi had disappeared.

I smiled indulgently. I n t h e absence of miracles, a t o u c h o f l e g e r d e m a i n c a n b e s o satisfying. ' O f c o u r s e , i n itself,' s a i d t h e P r o f e s s o r , ' t h e m a g i ­ cian's t a w d r y trick w a s h a r d l y interesting. W h a t

was

interesting, a n d scandalized t h e Venetians for years t o c o m e , w a s that Camilla Scamozzi never reappeared.' ' W h a t d o y o u m e a n ? ' I said. 'She clearly

didn't

v a n i s h i n t o t h i n air.' 'I m e a n t h a t

from

t h e m o m e n t t h a t final A! w a s

-175 u t t e r e d a n d t h e last c a n d l e w a s snuffed o u t , n o o n e ever s a w C a m i l l a Scamozzi again.' I w a s i m p r e s s e d . 'But w h a t a b o u t L o r e n z o a n d h i s son? C a n w e b e sure o n e o f t h e m didn't abduct her?' T h e Professor s m i l e d . ' Q u i t e sure,' h e said. ' W e k n o w h o w t h e e v e n i n g e n d e d for t h e m . It e n d e d c r u e l l y — I e v e n feel s o r r y for t h e h a p l e s s A l b e r t o . Presumably, t h e little r u s e t h a t C a m i l l a a n d M a d d a l e n a w o r k e d o u t b e t w e e n t h e m , w i t h t h e magician's h e l p , w o r k e d l i k e this: o n e o f C l a u d i o s n o n d e s c r i p t assistants w a s i n fact t h e n o t o r i o u s Giulia - a c o m f o r t at o n e t i m e o r o t h e r t o h a l f t h e y o u t h s i n Venice a n d b o u g h t , n o d o u b t , for just a f e w scudi. W h e n t h e c u r t a i n d r o p p e d , G i u l i a l e t h e r h a i r o u t from u n d e r h e r c a p a n d p o p p e d i n t o t h e t r u n k w h e r e h e r n e c k - t o - t o e g o w n w a s w a i t i n g for h e r . O n c e t h e o t h e r t h r e e w o m e n w e r e safely i n s i d e t h e i r t r u n k s , Camilla, w e m u s t take it, t h r e w off h e r w i g a n d g o w n , leaving h e r dressed i n a n assistant's black velvet. W i t h Giulia's b l a c k c a p o n h e r s h o r n h e a d s h e w a s just o n e o f several y o u n g lads g r a p p l i n g w i t h t h e b r o c a d e - h e r g o w n a n d w i g h i d d e n i n its folds - a n d , d i s t r a c t e d b y t h e d r a m a C l a u d i o w a s o r c h e s t r a t i n g as t h e lights c a m e u p , n o o n e p a i d any a t t e n t i o n t o t h e b o y i n black, possibly w i t h M a d d a l e n a ' s h e l p , d r a g g i n g the brocade into the a n t e - c h a m b e r where Alberto was w a i t i n g . O n c e t h e d o o r w a s closed it m u s t b e a s s u m e d t h a t Camilla c o n v i n c e d A l b e r t o t o p u t o n h e r dress a n d w i g over h i s s h i r t a n d b r e e c h e s a n d m e e t h e r i n t h e g o n d o l a b e l o w w h e r e s h e w o u l d b e w a i t i n g for h i m in a cape and h o o d - p e r h a p s o n the grounds that

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otherwise h e m a y b e recognized and pursued. In any event, h e d i d as h e w a s told, fled d o w n t h e stairs t o t h e gate o n t h e side canal a n d j o i n e d t h e c a p e d

figure

i n t h e g o n d o l a . T h e t w o figures e m b r a c e d passionately - i n d e e d , w i t h s u c h passion that w i t h i n m o m e n t s e a c h f o u n d t h e m a n i n t h e other. Stricken w i t h h o r r o r , e a c h t o r e t h e disguise f r o m h i s s u p p o s e d lover a n d . . . w e l l , y o u c a n i m a g i n e t h e h e a r t - w r e n c h i n g disgust t h a t m u s t h a v e seized t h e m b o t h . I n s t e a d o f a lover's embrace from his creamy-skinned n y m p h , Alberto f o u n d h i m s e l f b e i n g sexually fondled b y b i s b l u e - j a w e d father. A n d i n s t e a d o f o n e o f Venice's m o s t desirable young w o m e n , Lorenzo found himself tongue

to

tongue w i t h his o w n treacherous son in w o m e n ' s clothing.' T h e Professor p a u s e d t o i m a g i n e t h e s c e n e w i t h w h a t I h a d t h e feeling w a s faint p l e a s u r e . ' L o r e n z o w a s appalled, naturally, a n d , i n t h e h e a t o f the m o m e n t , t h r e w himself backwards w i t h a foul c u r s e a n d f u m b l e d w i t h t h o s e long, w h i t e h a n d s o f h i s for h i s k n i f e t o kill A l b e r t o o n t h e spot. B u t t h e b o a t capsized a n d b o t h m e n t u m b l e d i n t o t h e water. O n l y Lorenzo s c r a m b l e d ashore. Alberto w a s d r o w n e d . It w a s later alleged b y a passing g o n d o l i e r t h a t L o r e n z o h a d poled his son u n d e r until h e drowned, b u t n o o n e k n o w s for s u r e . H e left Venice for g o o d just a few days later. C a m i l l a d e s t r o y e d h i m a n d d e s t r o y e d h i s family. O f course, f r o m m y p o i n t o f view, h e w a s r e p a i d v e r y m u c h i n h i s o w n coin.' 'And the Count? Maddalena? T h e magician? W h a t happened to them?'

- 177 'Well, at first, as y o u m i g h t expect, t h e festivities s i m p l y w e n t o n i n m u c h t h e s a m e v e i n for a w h i l e there was dancing, m o r e eating a n d drinking, s o m e larking about by the younger guests—but t h e n the C o u n t b e c a m e a n x i o u s : w h e r e w a s Camilla? W h y h a d s h e n o t c o m e b a c k ? To b e g i n w i t h , h e b l a m e d t h e m a g i c i a n w h o , also t o b e g i n w i t h , t h i n k i n g it w a s all just a lark, b l a m e d t h e m i n o r c o u n t e s s for sneezing. (She n e v e r sneezed again, b y t h e w a y — I've r e a d h e r m e m o i r s . ) T h e C o u n t t h e n t h r e a t e n e d t o have C l a u d i o seized

for

sorcery—a

serious

offence

in

early

Renaissance Venice, y o u u n d e r s t a n d - at w h i c h p o i n t Claudio ceased t o b e a m a g i c i a n a n d b l a m e d everything o n M a d d a l e n a , t h e ruffiana. Just as t h e C o u n t w a s a b o u t t o have M a d d a l e n a seized a n d unpleasantly q u e s t i o n e d , Camilla's b o d y w a s f o u n d d r o w n e d i n t h e canal— e x c e p t t h a t it w a s n ' t Camilla, o f course, it w a s A l b e r t o Cordcllini. T h e r e w a s u p r o a r , naturally, from t h e rafters to the waterline. W h y was Alberto

freakishly

dressed

i n Camilla's clothes? For t h a t matter, w h y w a s h e dead? H e h a d n ' t even b e e n a guest at t h e party. A n d w h e r e o n e a r t h w a s Camilla? 'As

time

w e n t by, a n d n o trace w a s f o u n d

of

Camilla, t h e C o u n t h a d C l a u d i o t h r o w n i n t o p r i s o n , m a i n l y t o satisfy h i s t o t t e r i n g sense o f h o n o u r . D o n n a Scamozzi w a s t h r o w n o u t o n t h e street a n d e n d e d u p s i n g i n g i n taverns i n Vicenza. M a d d a l e n a , o n t h e o t h e r h a n d , w e n t from s t r e n g t h t o s t r e n g t h : w h e n t h e C o u n t t h r e a t e n e d t o have h e r b u r n t as a w i t c h , s h e s w o r e t o b u r y h i m u n d e r a m o u n t a i n o f spells a n d curses - bats'

Vicenza Letters h e a r t s a n d cauls a n d cankers, I've g o t t h e details s o m e ­ w h e r e — a n d , h a l f - b e l i e v i n g her, h e p r u d e n t l y left h e r u n t o u c h e d . T h e w h o l e affair e n h a n c e d h e r r e p u t a t i o n i m m e a s u r a b l y , as y o u m i g h t i m a g i n e . W i t h i n m o n t h s half o f Venice w a s calling o n h e r for spells a n d p o t i o n s . She d i e d a r i c h w o m a n . If t h e r e w a s a n y o n e w h o w i s h e d C a m i l l a n e v e r t o reappear, it w a s M a d d e l e n a t h e ruffiana. A n d it s e e m s s h e w a s g r a n t e d h e r wish.' I w a n t e d t o ask w h a t t h e Professor t h o u g h t h a d h a p p e n e d t o Camilla. W h e r e h a d s h e fled? W h a t h a d b e c o m e o f h e r ? W h a t could b e c o m e o f a y o u n g w o m a n a l o n e w i t h o n l y a c o u r t e s a n ' s skills i n

sixteenth-

c e n t u r y Italy? H a d s h e t a k e n t h e veil? B u t i n t h e e n d I d i d n ' t ask. At s o m e level I d i d n ' t w a n t t o h e a r h i s list o f r a t i o n a l c o n j e c t u r e s . For u s t h e s t o r y o f C a m i l l a Scamozzi m u s t e n d w i t h t h e w h o o s h o f a c u r t a i n o n St A n t h o n y ' s Eve. For u s , i n t h e absence o f f u r t h e r r e l i ­ able i n f o r m a t i o n , t h a t h a s t o b e e n o u g h . A n d so w e sat o n i n silence for a w h i l e w i t h o u r t h o u g h t s a n d t h e n went h o m e to bed.

Venice, 12 th April I ' V E BEEN F I N D I N G it h a r d , I m u s t say, t o r e s p o n d t o all t h e m o r a l b o o k k e e p i n g i n Inferno, w h i c h I've b e e n r e a d i n g o n t h e Professor's advice. B e h i n d t h e p o e t r y a n d t h e d r a m a is a finely c a l i b r a t e d s y s t e m o f d i v i n e t i t - f o r - t a t w i t h n o appeal. I d o n ' t u n d e r s t a n d w h y this k i n d o f s c h o o l - p l a y g r o u n d b u l l y i n g is called Justice. T h e T h i r d C a n t o is very affecting, all t h e s a m e . It's a b o u t t h e vestibule o f hell, just i n s i d e t h e gates, a n d it's full o f ' s a d souls w h o lived a life / b u t lived it w i t h n o b l a m e a n d w i t h n o praise', m i x e d w i t h a 'repulsive c h o i r of angels / n e i t h e r faithful n o r unfaithful t o their G o d , / w h o u n d e c i d e d s t o o d b u t for t h e m s e l v e s ' . N o t e v e n H e l l w i l l take t h e m i n a n d ' t h e w o r l d w i l l n o t r e c o r d t h e i r h a v i n g b e e n t h e r e ' . T h e y ' r e left, a c c o r d ­ i n g t o D a n t e , t o r u s h a b o u t aimlessly for all e t e r n i t y behind various banners, dripping with p u s and stung b y h o r n e t s . It's a w a r n i n g t o get b e h i n d a b a n n e r w h i l e y o u can. B u t w h i c h o n e ? I felt I'd e n t e r e d t h e Doleful City t h a t n i g h t i n

Vicenza Letters

Vicenza, m a k e n o m i s t a k e . W h e n y o u e m e r g e from t h e passageway u n d e r t h e r a i l w a y tracks, y o u find y o u r ­ self i n a s o r t o f drafty vestibule l i n k i n g t h e street a n d t h e first p l a t f o r m . I s t o o d b y m y b a t t e r e d suitcase a n d s u r v e y e d t h e scene. M y h e a r t b e g a n t o s i n k again immediately. I was alone once m o r e in the yellowish g l o o m amongst knots of smoking, staring m e n i n windcheaters

and

jeans.

Strung

out

along

the

balustrade at t h e t o p o f t h e brass-railed staircase I'd just c o m e u p w a s a n a s s o r t m e n t o f b o o t e d girls i n garish c o l o u r s , a cigarette s m o u l d e r i n g i n e a c h r i g h t h a n d . T h e r a n g e i n t h i g h s w a s a s t o n i s h i n g : beefy, pudgy, stringy,

sculpted,

leanly

muscled,

ebony,

chalky,

stockinged, b a r e a n d b u t t e r y s m o o t h . S o m e o f t h e girls h a d j u t t i n g Adam's apples. O v e r b y t h e closed Left Luggage c o u n t e r s t o o d a d w a r f i n a g r e e n b e a n i e w i t h a r a d i o c l a m p e d t o h i s ear. N o o n e s e e m e d t o b e c a t c h ­ i n g a t r a i n . P u s h i n g m y case p a s t t h e c l u m p s o f m e n , I r e a c h e d t h e d o o r w a y o n t o t h e street a n d p e e r e d o u t . T h e city g l o w e d d i m l y b e y o n d a n o t h e r p a r k s u n k i n d a r k n e s s . T h e r o a d w a y c u t t i n g t h r o u g h it - a d e s e r t e d t u n n e l o f a m b e r light - l o o k e d like a t r a p . I s t a r t e d t o spiral d o w n again. B u t at t h e b o t t o m o f m y h o l l o w n e s s w a s a little b i t o f grit. T h e n e x t t h i n g t o d o w a s t o g r a b h o l d o f t h e suitcase a n d drag it o u t i n t o t h e n i g h t t o w a r d s t h e city, s o I d i d it. Past t h e sinister s k e l e t o n o f a f u n - p a r k , s t r e w n i n the m o o n l i g h t b e h i n d t h e spindly birchtrees, p a s t c l u t c h e s o f m o t i o n l e s s figures o n p a r k b e n c h e s , t h e tips o n t h e i r cigarettes b r i g h t e n i n g a n d fading like

-181 e x c i t e d insects i n t h e blackness. Slowly I e m e r g e d i n t o t h e light again, i n t o o n e o f t h o s e areas o f c a r p a r k s a n d five-storeyed

drabness encircling the old t o w n w h e r ­

ever y o u g o i n Italy. It w a s late. P e o p l e w e r e d r i f t i n g h o m e w a r d s i n beautifully dressed g r o u p s , w e l l - f e d , talking l o u d l y all at o n c e . T h e r e w e r e n o h o t e l s . I turned right into the old town, into the Corso A n d r e a Palladio. A h e a d o f m e s t r e t c h e d a n i l l u m i n a t e d cavalcade o f Palladian m a g n i f i c e n c e : g r a n d p o r t a l s , c o l u m n e d façades, a l o n g a r c a d e o f graceful, s i m p l e a r c h e s . A n d above m e r o w s o f elegant, tall w i n d o w s , discreedy balustraded a n d s u r m o u n t e d by h a l f - m o o n a n d t r i a n g u l a r p e d i m e n t s . Off I t r u n d l e d across t h e f a n n e d cobbles, g l a n c e d at askance b y t h e c h i c y o u n g t h i n g s i n t h e i r blacks a n d navy b l u e s a n d w h i t e s , towards the heart of the old town, where somewhere t h e r e m u s t b e a r o o m , s o m e w h e r e there m u s t b e a m a n b e h i n d a d e s k w h o w o u l d say: 'Certainly w e h a v e a r o o m — l e t m e h e l p y o u w i t h y o u r luggage.' U n i t e d C o l o r s o f B e n e t t o n . A n t i c o Bar d e l Corso w i t h m o u t h ­ w a t e r i n g filo p a s t r y i n t h e w i n d o w , d u s t e d w i t h s w e e t p o w d e r . Luisa Spagnoli w o m e n ' s fashions (all b u m b l e ­ b e e y e l l o w a n d b l a c k ) . Charme w o m e n ' s l i n g e r i e . A florists. T h e smell o f chocolate a n d coffee. M y eyes w e r e b e g i n n i n g t o s w i m w i t h h u n g e r a n d dislocation. After a b o u t a n h o u r o f l u r c h i n g f o r w a r d w i t h t h e case a n d s t o p p i n g , l u r c h i n g f o r w a r d again a n d s t a n d ­ i n g heaving w h i l e I regained m y strength, I c a m e t o t h e H o t e l Vicenza, t u c k e d u p a little side-street w i t h a l i g h t still b u r n i n g i n t h e vestibule. A l m o s t speechless w i t h

Vicenza Letters fatigue, I s t u m b l e d i n a n d faced t h e badly shaven m a n sitting just o u t s i d e t h e p o o l o f light o n t h e r e c e p t i o n desk. N o , n o r o o m s . N o n e i n Vicenza. A n o t h e r fair. T h e city w a s c r a m m e d w i t h visitors. (Was it o n e o f t h o s e traditional Italian fairs, I w o n d e r e d sourly, w h e r e b l i n d ­ folded contestants t r i e d t o b a s h i n a turkey s h e a d w i t h l o n g staves?) Hopeless. Silence. T h e n h e said: 'Are y o u R u m a n i a n ? ' N o . 'Polish?' N o . ' H u n g a r i a n ? ' N o . ' W h a t a r e y o u ? ' Australian. 'Ah.' H e b e n t f o r w a r d i n t o t h e light, ' S h o w m e y o u r passport.' H e b l e w a spiral o f s m o k e i n t o t h e air as h e e x a m i n e d it. 'Australian. P e r h a p s t o m o r ­ r o w I w i l l have a room.' For t h e Citizen o f N o w h e r e a n e i t h e r h o t n o r cold r e c e p t i o n . ' C o m e b a c k t o m o r r o w . Leave m e y o u r p a s s p o r t ' W h y ? ' W i t h o u t p a s s p o r t n o r o o m . ' M y t u r n t o say 'ah'. Alright. I'd sleep i n a d o o r ­ way, curl u p i n a p o r t i c o , b i d e m y t i m e till d a w n a n d t h e n c o m e b a c k . I felt a l m o s t n o t h i n g , just n u m b n e s s . I h a u l e d m y case o u t t h e d o o r a n d d o w n t o t h e n e x t c o r n e r . T h e r e , like a gaudy stage-set, t h e m a i n piazza o p e n e d u p i n front o f m e , d r e n c h e d i n a m b e r light, heavily, s u m p t u o u s l y beautiful. B e a c h e d all a l o n g o n e side like a n u p t u r n e d boat e n c r u s t e d w i t h t w o tiers o f c o l u m n e d m a r b l e a r c h e s is Palladio's massive Court, o r Basilica, as h e called it i n t h e Roman style. Leaning m a d l y u p h i l l at o n e e n d is a medieval red-brick tower w i t h a belfry a n d c l o c k p e r c h e d o n t o p a n o r n a t e , octagonal folly. T h e clock s h o w e d m i d n i g h t . I w a s n ' t m a g i c k e d away t o a palace i n t h e hills, h o w e v e r . I n o t e d t h e p a c k s of raucous y o u t h s r o a m ­ i n g across t h e piazza, b u t h a d n ' t t h e strength left t o m o v e

-183 o n . I c u r l e d u p o n t h e g r o u n d b e s i d e m y suitcase i n a n alcove l e a d i n g i n t o a m e n ' s c l o t h i n g s h o p r i g h t o n t h e s q u a r e . H a r d l y h a d I closed m y eyes, t h o u g h , w h e n t w o p o l i c e m e n c a m e a n d s t o o d b e s i d e m e . 'Non puoi dormire qui,' o n e said, ' y o u c a n ' t sleep here.' I e x p l a i n e d t h e r e w e r e n o r o o m s t o b e h a d . "Then y o u m u s t g o b a c k t o t h e railway station,' h e said. 'You'll b e safer t h e r e t h a n h e r e . Qui è pericoloso - d a n g e r o u s . You c a n ' t s l e e p here.' O d d l y p o l i t e . T h e n t h e y w e r e s u d d e n l y g o n e . So b a c k I w e n t , at a snail's p a c e . L u r c h , s t o p , l u r c h , stop, l u r c h , stop. Back past Charme w o m e n ' s lingerie, Valli silk e m p o r i u m , Luisa Spagnoli's b u m b l e b e e fashions, t h e A n t i c o Bar del Corso, t h e b a n k s , t h e s h u t t e r e d cafés, t h e U n i t e d Colors o f B e n e t t o n . Left t o w a r d s t h e s t a t i o n s q u a t t i n g at t h e b o t t o m o f its e m p t y t u n n e l o f light. N o o n e s p o k e t o m e , n o o n e l o o k e d a t m e . P e r h a p s I'd t h i n n e d t o t h e p o i n t o f n o t h i n g n e s s . P e r h a p s I'd failed t o exist. After a very l o n g t i m e I c a m e o u t o f t h e g a t h e r i n g fog i n t o t h e e c h o i n g vestibule o f Vicenza railway station. P a n d a e m o n i u m . I n t h e m i d d l e o f t h e h a l l t w o tall black w o m e n in red h o t - p a n t s were screeching and clawing at e a c h other. Packs o f s m i l i n g m e n w e r e g a t h e r i n g a r o u n d t h e m , h a n d s i n p o c k e t s , tense a n d elated. The dwarf in the green beanie was masturbating e n e r getically i n a c o r n e r b y t h e overflowing trash cans. O n e of the whores toppled backwards to the s h r i e k i n g like a b a n s h e e , t r y i n g t o g r a p p l e h e r

ground, flailing

rival d o w n w i t h her. T w o trains screamed t h r o u g h o u t side i n o p p o s i t e d i r e c t i o n s . A b l a c k w i n d f r o m t h e

Vicenza

Letters

tracks billowed t h r o u g h t h e hall, sending grit a n d p a p e r whirling. A n d circling t h r o u g h t h e m ê l é e , w h e e l i n g a n d t u r n i n g , restless like p a n t h e r s , w e r e y o u n g m e n w i t h shaven b u l l e t - h e a d s , t o r n jeans a n d perfect bodies, their singlets d r a w n tight against t h e i r n i p p l e s . T h e y all h a d that n i g h t l o o k i n t h e i r eyes, eyeing, eyeing. Two p o l i c e m e n r a n past a l o n g t h e p l a t f o r m , s h o u t i n g ,

and

disappeared. T h r e e or four girls drifted over to m e , c o o i n g at m e i n husky, faded voices. T h e y clustered a r o u n d m e , s o u r - s m e l l i n g , breathy, t h e i r h a n d s c r e e p i n g over m y chest a n d m y t i g h t e n i n g s t o m a c h , fingering m y pockets, s t r o k i n g t h e b a c k s o f m y legs. They w e r e m u r muring

sugary

things, fig-sweet

things,

figs

and

b a n a n a s , t h r o u g h c a n d i e d lips. Sweet, l e w d g i b b e r i s h . They were boys. O n the c o r n e r w h e r e the vestibule o p e n e d o u t o n t o the platform was a glassed-in b o x of a r o o m , w i t h three magnificent h i g h d o o r s f r a m e d i n w o o d a n d brass giving o n t o t h e vestibule o n o n e side a n d d i e p l a t f o r m o n t h e o t h e r . P e a c o c k - b e a u t i f u l , aloof, u n m o v e d , a y o u n g m a n w i t h coal-black h a i r a n d loose-fitting, stylish c l o t h e s s t o o d like a s e n t i n e l r i g h t o n t h e c o r n e r . N o w a n d again h e w o u l d raise a p a l e h a n d a n d r u n it t h r o u g h h i s hair. A glint o f g o l d o n t h e w r i s t . I s h o o k off t h e h a n d s c r a w l i n g i n t o m y c l o t h e s a n d m a d e for t h e glass b o x . It w a s t h e First Class W a i t i n g R o o m . O n c e inside, having s w u n g t h e heavy d o o r to, I c o l lapsed

i n t o a plastic chair, c o n s i d e r e d

the

dado

(avoiding o t h e r eyes) a n d t o o k s t o c k o f m y s i t u a t i o n . I felt as if I'd h a d a n accident, as if I'd s t u m b l e d i n t o a

- 185 pit. T h e m a g n o l i a s a n d s u n n y jetties o f L o c a r n o s e e m e d t o b e l o n g t o a different m e , a n o t h e r life, far above m e i n t h e light. W a s I at t h e b o t t o m yet? W a s t h e r e g o o d t o b e s q u e e z e d o u t o f this h o l l o w m o m e n t ? I h a t e d m y suitcase. I h a d c o m p a n y i n t h e First Class W a i t i n g R o o m at t w o o'clock i n t h e m o r n i n g . O n t h e c h a i r s b e n e a t h t h e d a d o sat a n a n c i e n t , dishevelled m a n w i t h a w a l k i n g stick, a b l a c k - s t o c k i n g e d y o u n g w o m a n i n a b l u e c o a t r e a d i n g a b o o k a n d a priest w i t h h i s eyes closed. Trains r o a r e d t h r o u g h o u t s i d e a n d t h e glass p a n e s rattled. T h e police m a d e a n o t h e r dash u p the platform into the darkness o n the right. There was a crescendo of h o w l ­ i n g a n d s h o u t i n g . N o o n e i n o u r glass b o x s h o w e d any sign o f n o t i c i n g . Back t h e p o l i c e c a m e , s t r o n g - a r m i n g t w o Arabs a l o n g i n f r o n t o f t h e m . O n e o f t h e Arabs b e g a n v o m i t i n g d o w n h i s chest, c h o k i n g a n d c o n ­ vulsing. A p u n k i s h - l o o k i n g m a n i n a y e l l o w singlet started t o g r i n d h i s c r o t c h against t h e glass, barely s m i l ­ ing. T h e n h e b e g a n p i c k i n g h i s n o s e a n d w a n d e r e d off. I w a t c h e d h i m go, s t a r i n g after h i m t h r o u g h t h e glass, and couldn't help wondering h o w many of us here t o n i g h t w o u l d fairly s o o n b e d e a d . H o w m a n y o f t h e p r a n c i n g , jiggling, cackling figures b e y o n d t h e glass w e r e already r o t t i n g away inside? At t h r e e o ' c l o c k t w o fiercely h a n d s o m e p o l i c e m e n c a m e i n a n d asked e a c h o f u s w h e r e w e w e r e g o i n g a n d e x a m i n e d o u r tickets. I e x p l a i n e d I h a d n o ticket a n d why, a n d again t h e y w e r e o d d l y p o l i t e . I d i d n ' t interest t h e m At t h r e e - t h i r t y they c a m e i n a n d forcibly

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r e m o v e d t h e o l d m a n w i t h t h e w a l k i n g stick, p u t t i n g h i m o n a train and slamming the d o o r b e h i n d h i m . H e d i d n ' t w a n t to go. By f o u r o ' c l o c k t h e w o m a n i n b l u e h a d g o n e as well. O n l y t h e p r i e s t a n d I w e r e left. O u t s i d e i n t h e vestibule t h e c r o w d h a d

thinned.

Pressing m y s e l f against t h e glass I c o u l d see a figure i n t h e far doorway, s i l h o u e t t e d against t h e r e d d i s h g l o w o f t h e foggy city, gyrating to a crackly t h u m p - t h u m p t h u m p c o r n i n g from s o m e b o d y ' s r a d i o . A fleshy w h o r e w a s lolling a l m o s t n a k e d o n a b e n c h against o n e w a l l , casting sluttish glances r a t h e r fruitlessly at a g r o u p o f m e n i n leather-jackets. A b u n c h o f b l a c k h e a r t e d Arabs w a s s m o k i n g stony-faced u n d e r t h e sign saying BAR. T h e sickly s t e n c h o f latrines w a s s e e p i n g u n d e r t h e d o o r . T h e p r i e s t said s u d d e n l y : 'You k n o w , if y o u flew away from h e r e at t h e speed o f light, k e e p i n g y o u r eyes o n t h a t clock, it w o u l d stay four o ' c l o c k forever. Have y o u ever t h o u g h t o f that?' At f o u r - t h i r t y h e left w i t h ­ o u t a n o t h e r w o r d . W h a t a d i s p i r i t i n g day. T h e vestibule o u t s i d e w a s n o w e m p t y . W h y h a d I felt so m e n a c e d a n d disgusted b y w h a t I'd seen o u t there? W h y h a d I n e e d e d t o r e t r e a t b e h i n d t h e glass? Was I so v e r y different? Is t h e r e a n y difference at all b e t w e e n us? O f course, w e b e h a v e differently i n p u b ­ lic: m y desires a n d fantasies a r e d e c e n t l y c l o t h e d a n d w e l l - s p o k e n , I s i d e - t r a c k t h e m constantly, dressing t h e m u p a n d s e n d i n g t h e m o u t i n t o t h e w o r l d as a p a s ­ s i o n for t h e a t r e o r

friendship

o r travel o r Sanskrit

p o e t r y - sociable, l i f e - e n h a n c i n g , w e l l - b e h a v e d . Yet, t o b e h o n e s t , d e e p inside, t h e l a n g u a g e t h e y u s e is n o t so

-187different f r o m t h e s h r i e k s a n d m u t t e r i n g s I h e a r d i n t h e vestibule. D e e p inside t h e y ' r e n o b e t t e r - b e h a v e d t h a n t h e w h o r e s a n d p i m p s a n d lean, singleted y o u t h s b e y o n d t h e glass. Yet t h e y a r e d e b a u c h e d a n d I a m n o t . I a m civilized a n d , b r o a d l y s p e a k i n g , v i r t u o u s . Professor

Eschenbaum

would

say

(and

we've

t o u c h e d o n it) t h a t t h e difference b e t w e e n u s is s i m ­ ply t h a t I a m socially p r i v i l e g e d , w i t h

abundant

o p p o r t u n i t i e s to e x p e n d m y sexual energies i n w a y s useful t o society, a n d generously r e w a r d e d , w h e r e a s t h e m e n a n d w o m e n i n t h e vestibule are n o t . So sex for t h e m is just a c t e d o u t as sex. M y m o t h e r , o n t h e o t h e r h a n d , if pressed, w o u l d probably p u t it differently. She'd n o d o u b t h o l d t h e v i e w t h a t t h e sexual i n s t i n c t i n h u m a n s n e e d s t o b e r e f i n e d a n d elevated above t h e p u r e l y a n i m a l d r i v e t h r o u g h love, affection, feeling, t h e i n t e r p l a y (ideally) o f ideas a n d desires a n d m e m o r i e s o f all k i n d s . O t h e r w i s e , she'd a l m o s t certainly say, it w o u l d b e just ' a n i m a l '

—misdirected,

gross. I n o t h e r

w o r d s (to lead h e r o n ) it w o u l d smell o f death, o f u l t i ­ m a t e n o t h i n g n e s s - a n d I m e a n smell. Sensuality i n o u r c u l t u r e is s m e l l a n d physical feeling, w i t h taste t h r o w n i n a little h i g h e r u p t h e scale. Seeing a n d h e a r i n g a r e n o t 'sensual' - have y o u n o t i c e d ? Singing y o u r b e l o v e d a l o v e - s o n g is several n o t c h e s above snuffling i n h e r a r m p i t . At this m o m e n t I d o n ' t k n o w w h a t I t h i n k . Except this: I a m still n o t q u i t e c o n v i n c e d t h a t w h a t drives u s is a desire t o c o p u l a t e . It s o m e t i m e s s e e m s t o m e t h a t t h a t is n o less a d r e s s i n g - u p , a fetishization, o f yet a n o t h e r , m o r e f u n d a m e n t a l

desire t h a n

a

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Letters

p a s s i o n for g a r d e n i n g o r lightly h a i r e d calves is a d i s ­ p l a c e m e n t o f t h e desire t o fuck. Just s o m e t i m e s . I ' m n o t convinced there's s u c h a thing as p u r e sexual desire, p u l s a t i n g away d o w n t h e r e s o m e w h e r e u n d e r all t h e layers o f c o n v e n t i o n , all t h e d r e s s i n g - u p . O f course, o n c e y o u start p e e l i n g off t h e layers o f desire, w h o k n o w s w h e r e y o u m i g h t e n d u p ? D o e s t h e o n i o n have a core? Professor E s c h e n b a u m w i l l have n o t r u c k w i t h this line o f a r g u m e n t at all. Mysticism, h e calls it. H e c a n b e scathing a b o u t a n y t h i n g h e c o n s i d e r s ' p s e u d o scientific'. I c o u l d n ' t h e l p casting m y m i n d back, i n t h e e m p t i ­ ness o f m y glass b o x , t o t h e c e n t r a l p a n e l o f Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights, w h i c h I saw i n the Prado last t i m e I w a s t h e r e . You m u s t r e m e m b e r it because I sent y o u t h e jigsaw t o slave over. It m u s t have t a k e n y o u w e e k s t o fit it all together, did it? All those slender, almost b i r d ­ like

white

bodies

frolicking

nude

(and

innocently, surely, b y t w e n t i e t h - c e n t u r y

rather

standards)

a m o n g s t those surreal giant balls a n d spires a n d fishy shapes. I n t h e very c e n t r e o f t h e p a n e l , I s e e m t o r e m e m b e r , there's a cavalcade o f n a k e d m a l e r i d e r s o n horses, pigs, c o w s a n d goats circling w i t h m e n a c e a p o o l full of g o l d e n - h a i r e d w o m e n , t h e i r b a r e skin l u m i ­ n o u s l y w h i t e a n d alluring. It all l o o k s fairly joyless to m e , if y o u k n o w w h a t I m e a n , as d i d t h e scene b e y o n d t h e glass—mesmerically exciting, carefree, b u t joyless - as, I m u s t say, t h e m a n i c u r e d G a r d e n o f Eden l o o k s i n Bosch's l e f t - h a n d p a n e l : G o d , a d e e p l y p l a i n m a n w h o is p r e s e n t i n g a scrawny Eve t o a n u n d e r n o u r i s h e d ,

-189e f f e m i n a t e - l o o k i n g A d a m , l o o k s t e r m i n a l l y depressed. So w h a t b r i n g s joy? It's h a r d n o t t o a n s w e r w i t h t h e English w o r d love, isn't it? Professor E s c h e n b a u m says there's n o s u c h thing, language h a s led u s astray— it's just a g r a b - b a g o f v a r i o u s e m o t i o n s a n d desires w e ' v e s t u c k a label saying LOVE o n for c o n v e n i e n c e . O n e t h i n g I realize n o w l o o k i n g b a c k i n m y m i n d at Bosch's t r i p t y c h is that, just like N o r t h e r n Italy, N a t u r e is totally absent. Even i n t h e G a r d e n o f E d e n o n t h e l e f t - h a n d p a n e l y o u have a E u r o p e a n p a r k , w i t h all t h e l a w n s m o w n , a n d p l o m p i n g a giraffe, a n e l e ­ p h a n t a n d a d e e r o r t w o d o w n i n t h e m i d d l e o f it d o e s n ' t fool anybody. It is totally static, like

the

Baroness's b o t a n i c a l g a r d e n i n Lake Maggiore - n o t h ­ i n g is g r o w i n g , n o t h i n g

is c h a n g i n g , n o t h i n g

is

organically c o n n e c t e d t o a n y t h i n g else. It's b e e n said, apparently, t h a t w h a t B o s c h w a s really d o i n g i n h i s Garden of Earthly Delights w a s q u i t e heretical: h e w a s d e p i c t i n g a n a t t e m p t t o live life as if t h e Fall h a d n e v e r h a p p e n e d , as if,

through

committing

carnal

sins

shamelessly, m e n a n d w o m e n m i g h t r e g a i n t h e p a r a ­ dise they'd enjoyed b e f o r e t h e Fall a n d p a r a d o x i c a l l y w i p e sin out.* It r i n g s a bell w i t h m e , I m u s t say. I u s e d t o find t h e n o t i o n , p o p u l a r w i t h s o m e religious sects, that u n i n h i b i t e d sexual i n d u l g e n c e w a s s o m e h o w ' l i b ­ erating', a n d even s a c r a m e n t a l , r a t h e r o f f e n s i v e — h o w c o u l d orgiastic i m m e r s i o n i n c a r n a l p l e a s u r e s b r i n g y o u closer t o G o d ? Isn't t o b e ' p r e s e n t i n t h e b o d y ' t o b e 'absent f r o m t h e Lord', f r o m Spirit? Now, t h o u g h , I t h i n k I at least h a v e a n i n k l i n g o f w h a t t h o s e sects

Vicenza Letters w e r e i m p e l l e d by. I n m a n y o f us, i n c l u d i n g myself, as t h e c e n t u r y d r a w s t o a close I think, t h e r e h a s b e e n a desire t o w i p e o u t all sense of sin a n d s h a m e a n d regain a p r e - r e l i g i o u s paradise w h e n e v e r w e i n d u l g e ourselves sexually. We've w a n t e d t o d e - s c h o o l ourselves. It's w o r k e d a n d h a s n ' t w o r k e d , b o t h . It certainly h a s n ' t brought us m u c h wisdom about what to do about death.* I s h o u l d p u t m y p e n aside n o w — I ' m b e c o m i n g t o o m a u d l i n a n d introspective. P e r h a p s t o m o r r o w I s h o u l d g o s h o p p i n g o r take a b o a t o u t t o M u r a n o a n d w a t c h t h e m b l o w i n g glass - t a k e myself o u t o f myself. There's actually n o t h i n g m u c h to do i n Venice, I've d i s ­ covered, e x c e p t l o o k . You d o n ' t d o a n y t h i n g h e r e as s u c h , y o u just g o t o see things. That's m o d e r n travel for y o u . Full o f m o v e m e n t b u t n o t h i n g actually happens. I ' m b e g i n n i n g t o h a n k e r for travel o f a different k i n d .

Venice, 13th April I D I D N ' T G O t o M u r a n o today. I d i d n ' t really g o a n y ­ w h e r e . I c a u g h t t h e vaporetto d o w n t o t h e A c c a d e m i a m e a n i n g t o s p e n d t h e m o r n i n g l o o k i n g at G r e a t Paintings, b u t w h e n I g o t t h e r e I f o u n d all d e s i r e t o l o o k at t h i n g s h a d v a n i s h e d . F o r a w h i l e I just s t o o d o n t h e b r i d g e t h a t crosses i n f r o n t o f t h e gallery a n d stared back u p the sweep of the Grand Canal the way I'd c o m e - all those sinking palaces, l i n e d u p like a bevy o f venal, d e c r e p i t d u c h e s s e s at a b a l l . A g e r i a t r i c h a r ­ l e q u i n a d e , that's w h a t it l o o k e d like i n t h e clear l i g h t o f day. I t r i e d sitting w i t h Inferno i n a s u n n y c o r n e r I c a m e across n o t far from t h e gallery, b u t m y h e a r t w a s n ' t really even i n that. It w a s n ' t d e p r e s s i o n , b y t h e way, a w o r d p e o p l e u s e far t o o lightly, I t h i n k , so m u c h as t h a t feeling o f r u d d e r l e s s n e s s t h a t c o m e s over m e s o m e t i m e s . All t h a t circling, circling, l o o k i n g a n d t a l k ­ i n g a n d flapping o f t h e a r m s - t o w h a t e n d , exactly? E v e r y o n e h a s s u c h conflicting i d e a s a b o u t h o w t o live w h e n mortality's breathing o n the back of y o u r neck.

Vicenza Letters Take o u r g y m group, for example. You have t o b e ill to join o u r g y m g r o u p at t h e hospital I m e a n ill. O r is it 'ill'? Vacancies occasionally occur t h r o u g h death a few yards away i n t h e special w a r d . This m a k e s l o n g - t e r m m e m ­ bers o f t h e g r o u p nervous. 'Haven't seen Geoff for a couple o f weeks.' 'Geoff's gone. Tuesday last w e e k I t h i n k it was— anyway, it was t h e day I t o o k t h e car in. Perhaps it w a s Monday.' Everyone keeps right o n lifting, stretching, strain­ ing, pacing. There's n o t a skerrick o f sentimentality i n t h e air here. After all those short stories I'd read a n d A m e r i c a n plays I'd seen I'd expected a m o r e sensitive, feeling a t m o s ­ phere, a k i n d of slightly m a w k i s h bravery. N o o n e h e r e is b e i n g brave. They're just living - a n d s o m e of t h e m w i t h a certain p a n a c h e . Half o f u s m i g h t b e dead by Christmas, b u t there's J a m i e o n Knee Extension gabbling i n t o his m o b i l e p h o n e , legs jerking stiffly u p a n d d o w n , there's Carl o n B e n c h Press straining to lift a n d lower, lift a n d l o w e r to t h e beat o f t h e Village People, Dave o n Treadmill, p o u n d i n g along at a m e t r e a second, n o t m o v i n g a n inch. Y-MCA (de-boomdy-kiomdy-boonidy) Y-MCA (de-boomdy-boomdyboomdy)... Everyone's really i n t o t h e electronic t h u m p . T h e supervisor is beaming. It's fun to stay at the Y-MCA, Its fun to stay at the Y-MCA, They have ev-er-y-THiNG For young MEN to enjOY You can hang out with ALI THE

BOYS

- 193 It's fun to stay at t h e . . . T h e n it's All C h a n g e - a m I o n Wall Pulleys already? Jamie's o n T r e a d m i l l n o w ( l o o k i n g a b i t p u r p l e a r o u n d t h e gills t o d a y ) , t r y i n g t o m a k e b r e e z y c o n v e r s a t i o n w i t h t h e n e w g u y w h o ' s o n t h e Exercise Bike a n d clearly c u t s h i s o w n hair. Her name was LOLA, She was a SHOWgirl, With yellow FMmers in her hair, And her dress goin' down to THERE . . . W h e n w e g e t t o The hottest spot north of Havana, e v e r y o n e starts singing a n d h u m m i n g along. There's a C a r m e n M i r a n d a h a t s p r o u t i n g from every h e a d . Music and pas­ sion were always the fashion at the CO-PA . . . I a m n o t t o o o l d for this, this is n o t m a c a b r e . T h e n it's g r o u p s t r e t c h i n g t o 'I W i l l Survive'. I n n e r t h i g h - STRETCH, STRETCH. O t h e r leg - STRETCH, STRETCH. T o u c h t h e floor - STRETCH, STRETCH. N o s e t o k n e e - STRETCH, STRETCH.

O t h e r k n e e - STRETCH, STRETCH. R O W S o f t a u t b u m s , t a u t q u a d s , t a u t calves. S o m e o n e guffaws. I've got all my life to live, And I've got all my love to give, And I'll survive, I will survive, IWILLSURVIVE . . .

( N o singing a l o n g at this p o i n t . ) T h e n it's t i m e f o r a

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Letters

little tai c h i just t o get t h e h e a r t b e a t b a c k t o n o r m a l . It's t h e W h i t e C r a n e today. W e all flow. Very c e n t r i n g . A n d t h e n it's over. For a n h o u r o r so t h e r e w e all felt v e r y alive. There's a b i t o f friendly c h a t as a r u l e as w e get dressed, b u t n o t h i n g t o o c o n f r o n t i n g , n o t h i n g gushy. ' G e t t i n g s o m e funny m a r k s o n m y a r m , ' s o m e o n e said as w e g o t c h a n g e d t h e w e e k I left t o g o away. ' L o o k s like t h e Big A t o me,' Dave said, g l a n c i n g across as h e b u t t o n e d h i s shirt. ' T h i n k so?' A n d t h a t w a s that. I even m o m e n t a r i l y w o n d e r e d w h a t t h e Big A w a s . S o m e o n e t o l d a j o k e a b o u t t h e difference b e t w e e n a m o s q u i t o a n d a poofter. T h e n w e all drifted off. B e h i n d t h e m a t ­ i n g calls o f t h e h o s p i t a l p e a c o c k s y o u c a n just m a k e o u t t h e s o u n d o f t h e Village P e o p l e still at it. Y-MCA (deboomdy-boomdy-boomdy) Y-MCA . . . Voices from a v a n i s h e d w o r l d , w h e n y o u c o m e t o t h i n k a b o u t it. For the m o s t part these are m e n I suppose you'd say I h a v e little i n c o m m o n w i t h , b u t there's a n utterly sane, slightly s e l f - m o c k i n g g o o d h u m o u r a b o u t t h e w a y t h e y face t h e i r m o r t a l i t y w h i c h e n l i v e n s m e every t i m e I see t h e m . After a w h i l e y o u start t o p i e c e t o g e t h e r stories o f c o n s i d e r a b l e suffering b y a n y o n e ' s standards - p a r t n e r s a n d friends d e a d a n d dying, fathers saying 'I have n o son', b o d i e s collapsing painfully over a n d over again, d e m e n t i a , b o t c h e d suicide, lives lived o u t i n s q u a l i d r o o m i n g - h o u s e s . . . y e t t h e r e t h e y are twice a week, in their shorts a n d runners, w i t h very little self-pity, h a v i n g a stab at staying alive. It's n o t c o u r a g e , it's s o m e t h i n g else. 'I'd like a n o t h e r dog,' G a r y

-195said t o m e o n c e , "but it d o e s n ' t s e e m a g o o d idea, really, d o e s it? W h o ' l l l o o k after it? M y b r o t h e r ' s just as likely t o h a v e it p u t d o w n . I've still g o t t h e cat, o f c o u r s e . You d o n ' t w o r r y so m u c h a b o u t cats.' W h o is w o r r y i n g a b o u t Gary? 'We've g o t t o move,' J a m i e said o n c e , 'it's all w r o n g w h e r e w e a r e . We've g o t t o find s o m e w h e r e w h e r e J o h n will b e h a p p y t o stay o n alone. I t h i n k that's i m p o r t a n t . T h i s t i m e it m u s t b e s o m e w h e r e h e c a n get u p t h e n e x t m o r n i n g a n d say t o himself: "I w a n t t o stay h e r e , t h i s is w h e r e I belong." ' I felt a little b u r n ­ i n g i n m y t h r o a t w h e n h e said that, b u t h e d i d n ' t . O n e o r t w o o f t h e m e n s e e m t o Uve totally for b e i n g ill:

Monday-gym,

Tuesday - a c t i o n

committee,

W e d n e s d a y - g y m , T h u r s d a y - h y d r o t h e r a p y , Friday n e w s l e t t e r . . . Being ill gives m e a n i n g t o everything, it's at t h e h e a r t o f every c o n v e r s a t i o n , it's t h e r e a s o n for h a v i n g breakfast a n d t u r n i n g t h e key t o start t h e car. It's as if life lived w i t h o u t this disease w o u l d lose all its gravity a n d significance. There's s o m e t h i n g else I've n o t i c e d a t o u r Special C i r c u i t T r a i n i n g Class: t h e theatricality o f b e i n g ill. I d o n ' t just m e a n b y t h i s t h e d r a m a t i c devices t h e ill a d o p t t o give m e a n i n g t o t h e i r s u f f e r i n g — t h e a c t i n g o u t o f tragic, a n d s o m e t i m e s c o m i c , p l o t s , c o m p l e t e w i t h dialogue from Hollywood melodramas, a Bed of P a i n at c e n t r e stage w i t h l o t s o f p l u m p p i l l o w s , h e a r t w r e n c h i n g farewells a n d so o n — n o n e o f t h a t s e e m s u n r e a s o n a b l e , I d a r e say it l e n d s m e a n i n g t o w h a t w o u l d o t h e r w i s e b e u n b e a r a b l y m e a n i n g l e s s , relieving t h e awful plotlessness o f o u r o r d i n a r y lives. B u t it's n o t

Vicenza Letters w h a t I m e a n . N o , w h a t i n t r i g u e s m e is s o m e t h i n g closer t o w h a t J u n g ( w a s it?) p r e s u m a b l y m e a n t w h e n h e said t h a t t h e g o d s h a d b e c o m e m e r e diseases, t h e w a y illness is u s e d t o theatricalize m o r t a l i t y i t s e l f - a r u n n y n o s e , a w r e n c h e d ankle, t h e flu, a n y t h i n g w i l l d o , it d o e s n ' t have t o b e a b r a i n t u m o r . W h a t e v e r it is, it's a n i n t i m a t i o n o f t e r m i n a l decay, surely, it's m a t t e r sickening u n t o death. I think w e k n o w that and cope w i t h it w i t h a flurry o f theatrical r i t u a l s - s o m e m o r e h a m m e d - u p a n d operatic t h a n others. H o w ineluctably c o m i c a f r i e n d l o o k s i n h i s h o s p i t a l b e d w i t h h i s leg h o i s t e d u p i n t h e air, encased i n plaster. A t h r e e - l e g g e d dog, a b a n d a g e d h e a d , a crookedly k n i t n o s e - y o u can't h e l p sniggering. T h e v e r y w o r d 'prosthesis' is a j o k e . E v e r y t h i n g f r o m e u c a l y p t u s - s c e n t e d tissues t o w h e e l ­ c h a i r s a n d c o l o s t o m y bags b e c o m e s a p r o p i n a n elaborate

danse macabre, b o t h

acknowledging

the

a p p r o a c h of d e a t h a n d m a k i n g a feint o f w a r d i n g it off. N o o n e w a n t s t o slink off like a cat a n d face d e a t h in a black hole, alone, w i t h o u t an audience. It's h a r d t o steer a c o u r s e a m o n g s t all t h e different w a y s o f living. N o w I drift this way, n o w that. I have a m a g n e t i c n o r t h , t h o u g h , if I m i g h t p u t it like that. It h a s t o d o , n o t w i t h e x p a n d i n g , b u t w i t h d e e p e n i n g m o m e n t s . I circle a r o u n d b u t h o m e b a c k i n o n that. It w i l l s o u n d r i d i c u l o u s t o y o u , p e r h a p s , b u t I d o things t h e s e days m u c h m o r e for t h e i n t e n s i t y o f b e i n g t h e r e now, I pay a t t e n t i o n , I a m p r e s e n t . I d o n ' t g o t o

films

o r w a t c h seagulls o r talk with a f r i e n d in order to ( d o t d o t dot) so m u c h any m o r e — i n order to learn, i n

- 197 o r d e r t o retell, i n o r d e r t o r e c o n s t r u c t , i n o r d e r t o tick t h i n g s off i n s o m e list i n m y h e a d . I t r y s i m p l y t o b e m o r e i n t e n s e l y t h e r e , t o m a k e it g o o d ( w h a t e v e r it is) o r else b e s o m e w h e r e else. I t d o e s n ' t always w o r k . B u t that's w h y y o u ' l l c a t c h m e s o m e t i m e s just sitting s t a r ­ i n g at t h e p i g e o n s i n t h e b i r d - b a t h . I ' m i n t h a t slimy b i r d - b a t h w i t h t h e m , m y consciousness is p i g e o n shaped. 'Seizing t h e day' s e e m s infantile t o m e all o f a s u d d e n , as if at t h e e n d o f it all I w e r e g o i n g t o get a m a r k o u t o f t e n for w h a t I'd achieved. W h o d i d I ever i m a g i n e w a s giving m a r k s ? It's n o t t h e number o f things, surely, b u t t h e quality. It's t h e subtlety o f y o u r v i s i o n that casts a spell o n t i m e , n o t t h e n u m b e r of things y o u see. That's t h e d i r e c t i o n t h e n e e d l e o n m y c o m p a s s points to. T o m o r r o w I shall definitely get o u t a n d a b o u t . P e r h a p s t h e Professor w o u l d like t o g o s o m e w h e r e w i t h m e - h e ' d b e t h e perfect c o m p a n i o n t o s p e n d a n h o u r o r t w o w i t h i n t h e A c c a d e m i a , for e x a m p l e m u c h o f it is h i s p e r i o d - just so long as w e d o n ' t s p e n d h a l f t h e m o r n i n g i n front o f v a r i o u s St Sebastians. He's o u t again t o n i g h t , l o o k i n g sleek as a seal i n h i s s m a r t n e w l e a t h e r g e t - u p . I saw h i m hesitate o n t h e c o r n e r just b e l o w m y w i n d o w a b o u t a n h o u r ago, w o n d e r ­ i n g w h i c h w a t e r y d i r e c t i o n t o set o u t i n . I w o n d e r if I'll h e a r a n a c c o u n t o f t h e e v e n i n g over croissants a n d jam in the morning.

Venice, 14th April S O M E T H I N G AWFUL h a p p e n e d t o t h e Professor last n i g h t . H e d i d n ' t c o m e d o w n t o breakfast, so I k n o c k e d o n h i s d o o r a b o u t m i d - m o r n i n g , j u s t t o c h e c k t h a t all w a s w e l l . T h e r e h e w a s , p r o p p e d u p i n b e d , h i s face b l u e w i t h b r u i s e s , o n e eye closed, h i s h p s split a n d swollen, h i s s h o u l d e r i n a sling. A n d h e l o o k e d t o m e —I have t o say it - s u d d e n l y v e r y o l d . 'I m u s t l o o k like a corpse,' h e said, t r y i n g t o s m i l e . ' W h o d i d this t o y o u ? H o w d i d it h a p p e n ? ' H e sat b a c k for a m o m e n t o r t w o , considering, p e r ­ h a p s , w h e t h e r h e w o u l d b r u s h t h e q u e s t i o n aside o r tell m e t h e t r u t h . 'It's m y o w n fault, I t o o k a risk. Yesterday I asked E m i l i o if h e k n e w o f . . . a club, y o u know, somewhere I could

find...

people w h o enjoy

w h a t I enjoy. H e u n d e r s t o o d . H e t o l d m e a b o u t a p l a c e I c o u l d go. So I w e n t t h e r e . It w a s a l o n g way.' Speaking slowly, h e gave m e s o m e i d e a o f w h a t s o r t o f p l a c e it w a s — r e d lighting, m i r r o r s , a p i t c h - b l a c k m a z e , g l e a m ­ i n g torsos, harnesses, g r o a n s a n d cries, soft, d i s c o r d a n t

-199m u s i c — h e l l disguised as p a r a d i s e — o r s h o u l d t h a t b e t h e o t h e r w a y a r o u n d ? ' I t s t h e o n l y sort o f p l a c e i n t h e w o r l d I c a n s t o p thinking,' h e said, ' a n d just be.' 'Be w h a t ? ' H e d i d n ' t w a n t t o answer — o r p e r h a p s h i s h p s w e r e t o o s o r e . 'Just be,' h e said again eventually, a n d I left it at that. ' B u t I left i n a b i t o f a daze,' h e said, ' w h e n I d i d finally leave. Too m u c h e x c i t e m e n t for a n o l d m a n ! ' A r u e f u l , c r o o k e d s m i l e . ' A l t h o u g h t h e r e , y o u see, I w a s n ' t o l d , I w a s n ' t a n y t h i n g b e c a u s e i n t h e r e it's all s m e l l a n d t o u c h , y o u can't see a t h i n g , n o o n e speaks.' ' W h a t h a p p e n e d w h e n y o u left?' T d o n ' t s u p p o s e I'd g o n e a h u n d r e d m e t r e s , p r o b ­ ably i n t h e w r o n g d i r e c t i o n , w h e n t h e s e y o u n g m e n , t h r e e o r four o f t h e m , j u m p e d o u t from b e h i n d a c o r ­ ner a n d . . . beat a n d kicked m e a n d . . . took m y watch, m y g o l d bracelet, m y m o n e y a n d m y b e a u t i f u l n e w l e a t h e r - j a c k e t . That's h o w I dislocated - is t h a t w h a t y o u s a y ? — m y s h o u l d e r : I w a s t r y i n g t o h a n g o n t o it. Ach, verdammte Schweinehunde!' 'Have y o u b e e n t o t h e p o l i c e ? ' 'Don't be ridiculous! " W h e r e were you

going?

W h e r e h a d y o u b e e n ? " To t h e m I'd b e just a c o n ­ t e m p t i b l e o l d finocchio, a despicable foreign q u e e r — they'd p r o b a b l y just k i c k m e s o m e m o r e . ' T h e n all o f a s u d d e n h e s e e m e d t o g r o w u n c o m f o r t a b l e , as if h e ' d p e r h a p s l e t t o o m u c h slip. H i s o l d self-possession r e t u r n e d . H e b r u s h e d aside m y offers t o b r i n g h i m a c u p o f tea o r s o m e t h i n g t o eat a n d I t h o u g h t i t b e s t t o leave h i m a l o n e for a w h i l e . All t h e s a m e , I d e c i d e d

V i c e n z a Letters

t o p u t off t h e g l a s s - b l o w i n g e x p e d i t i o n a n d k e e p a n eye o n h i m . It's h a r d t o c o m f o r t m e n , d o n ' t y o u t h i n k ?

I m a d e m y p e a c e w i t h Vicenza, b y t h e way. T h e s u n c a m e u p , o r d i n a r y travellers b e g a n t o m i l l a r o u n d t h e s t a t i o n , t h e e x c h a n g e b u r e a u o p e n e d , I ate t w o b r e a k fasts o n e after t h e o t h e r a n d t h e n c a u g h t a taxi t o t h e h o t e l just b e h i n d t h e piazza. I n t h e e n d I s p e n t several days t h e r e . Vicenza is a delightful little t o w n — o r , at least, t h e o l d p a r t o n t h e h i l l is. Every s e c o n d b u i l d i n g s e e m s t o have b e e n designed b y Palladio. C h u r c h e s , c o l u m n e d palaces, cloisters, o r a t o r i o s , a n c i e n t gateways, l o d g e s — t h e o l d t o w n o n its h i l l is like a stage-set, e x c e p t t h a t p e o p l e are living i n a m o n g s t it, y o u c a n w a l k in a n d o u t of their ancient courtyards a n d smell their meals cooking and watch t h e m hanging o u t their w a s h i n g . ( A n d t h e stage-set, o f c o u r s e , a t t h e f a m o u s Teatro O l i m p i c o , is like a t o w n - t h e m a i n s q u a r e a n d five streets o f Thebes, trompe-l'œil at its m o s t seductive.) After a w h i l e , set, t o w n a n d trompe-l'œil all b e g a n t o m e r g e i n m y h e a d . B u t I d i d like it. N o o n e s p o k e t o m e for t h e t h r e e days I w a s t h e r e e x c e p t t h e M o r o c c a n w a i t e r at t h e café o n t h e m a i n piazza. H e w a s a n e m b a r rassingly h a n d s o m e y o u n g m a n w i t h a d i s a r m i n g p u r p l e scar i n t h e soft, b r o w n s k i n u n d e r h i s r i g h t eye. H e l o o k e d as if h e m i g h t w e l l h a v e s p e n t t h e p r e v i o u s e v e n i n g i n t h e vestibule o f t h e railway s t a t i o n at t h e b o t t o m o f t h e hill. H e w a s a l m o s t w h a t I m i g h t call refreshingly racist: h e t o l d m e h e d e s p i s e d b l a c k s a n d

-201 Italians m o s t o f all, b u t also t h e F r e n c h a n d

the

G e r m a n s . H e h a d n e v e r h e a r d o f Australians. I k e p t i m a g i n i n g h i m s t a n d i n g against a w h i t e w a l l i n b l i n d ­ i n g s u n s o m e w h e r e i n Africa w i t h a b r i l l i a n t b l u e h e a d - s c a r f h a l f - c o v e r i n g h i s face. A c e r t a i n a m o u n t o f s t e r e o t y p i n g is u n a v o i d a b l e . It w a s o n a b o u t t h e f o u r t h day I felt I h a d at last r e a c h e d a n u n d e r s t a n d i n g , if I m i g h t p u t it like that, w i t h Vicenza, a n d so I d r o v e off t o d i e s t a t i o n i n a taxi w i t h m y n e w suitcase. P a d u a a p p e a r e d t o b e o n l y h a l f a n h o u r away, so I w e n t t o P a d u a . P a d u a — G i o t t o , St A n t h o n y s Cathedral, t h e Botanical G a r d e n s — I t h o u g h t m i g h t s o o t h e m y s o u l - i n w h i c h , naturally, w e d o n o t believe, b u t they d i d o n c e i n P a d u a . I ' m n o t sure P a d u a actually d i d s o o t h e m y s o u l . W h a t it d i d is s o m e t h i n g I ' m still c o m i n g t o t e r m s w i t h . Professor E s c h e n b a u m is feeling a l o t p e r k i e r t h i s evening, b y t h e way. H i s b u n g eye h a s o p e n e d .

Notes Lygon Street Melbourne's b e s t - k n o w n 'Italian' street, complete w i t h fake piazza and campanile. Coffee o f a quality unimaginable in Europe, and certainly never tasted in England, can be drunk here i n a string o f pavement cafés over a kilometre long. Sigmund Freud: in The Future of an Illusion, his misconceived but utterly telling diatribe against what he imagined religion t o be. 'Because I could not stop for Death': as can be deduced from the punctuation, these lines are from a p o e m by Emily Dickinson. A truculent reference at this point to Dylan Thomas' sublime p o e m 'Do not g o gentle into that g o o d night' ('Rage, rage, a g a i n s t . . . ' etc., etc.), m u c h quoted at the funerals o f heavy drinkers and described by the author as 'psychologically puerile and emotionally petulant', has b e e n omitted in the interests o f g o o d taste. Woody Allen: the usual line from Woody Allen, regularly q u o t e d i n an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, is: 'I'm n o t afraid to die. I just don't w a n t t o be there w h e n it happens.' Quintessentially p o s t - m o d e r n , but t o o succinctly profound for its o w n good, s o m e m i g h t say. "The tender tint of orient sapphire...' : from Dante's Purgatory, Canto I. Elizabethan traveller: James H o w e l l i n his Instructions for Forraine Travel ( 1 6 4 2 ) . What h e w a s actually alluding t o was the effect o f the absence o f horses i n Venice. Other kinds o f filth and m u c k may have struck h i m as simply i n the order o f things and n o t w o r t h c o m m e n t i n g o n . Taoist mood: this kind o f N e w Age garbage actually has little t o d o w i t h Taoism and quite a lot t o d o w i t h the abdication o f responsibility for one's actions.

-203Barthes' theory: outlined in his article "The Eiffel Tower', available i n English i n A Bardies Reader, edited by Susan Sontag. 'upon the brink of griefs abysmal valley': this and the following quotation ( i n this alone we suffer...') are from Dante's Inferno, Canto IV, w h i c h the author w a s presumably reading o n Dr Eschenbaum's earlier advice. Actually, o n e suspects h e may in fact have b e e n reading D.H. Lawrence s somewhat slight, highly impressionistic sketch Twilight in Italy (referring to the period 1 9 1 2 - 1 3 ) w i t h rather m o r e attention than h e was reading Dante. Lawrence was also deeply disenchanted b y his first v i e w o f Lake Como, c o m i n g d o w n into Italy after visit­ ing the very same Locarno: 'it must have been wonderful w h e n the Romans came there,' h e wrote. ' N o w it is all villas. I think only the sunrise is still wonderful, s o m e t i m e s . . . N o w it is cosmopolitan, the cathedral is like a relick [sic], a m u s e u m object, everywhere stinks o f mechanical m o n e y pleasure . . . Always there was the same purpose stinking i n it all, the mechanising, the perfect mechanising o f h u m a n life.' Simon Schauta: in his Landscape and Memory. Interestingly e n o u g h , as Schama points out, for all their disdain o f the barbaric, m e a d - s w i l l i n g Germans in their forests, the Romans still thought o f Arcadia as a grove. Desire for the living forest kept throbbing away like a morbid vein, refusing t o die, however m u c h they m o c k e d and felled and burnt. In the living forest there was s o m e consolation for mortality, w h i c h m e r e masonry could n o t provide. The desire for it seems quite dead now, though. Lucrezia Borgia: in fact, or allegedly, it is tagliatelle w h i c h are named after Lucrezia Borgia's flaxen tresses, while tortellini or 'ladies' navels' were named by a pastry cook in honour o f his master's daughter's navel, which he compared o n close inspection to Venus's, especially w h e n stuffed with cheese and accompanied by a sauce o f veal, ham, turkey, chicken brains and egg.

V i c e n z a Letters Lisbon earthquake: the massive earthquake w h i c h gave Casanova such h o p e struck Portugal, Spain and Morocco o n 1st November 1755, killing 6 2 , 0 0 0 people. Tea-bowls: the author is here referring to the Japanese wabi aesthetic o f the tea ceremony, and may have b e e n reading Essays in Idleness: the Tsurezuregusa of Kenko, Yoshida Kenko being o n e o f the m o s t n o t e d exemplars o f this aesthetic. Obviously this ideal o f beauty grew out o f specific social circumstances w h i c h hardly apply in twentieth-century Italian hotel bars. The Ghetto: the period the Professor was apparently principally referring to was the sixteenth century. The plan to segregate Jews in the Ghetto N u o v o was first put forward in 1515 and the Ghetto Vecchio was opened for m o r e Jews in 1 5 4 1 . Most but not all Venetian Jews were forced to live in it. Vasco da Gama: the Phoenicians had actually circumnavigated Africa clockwise from east to west in about 6 0 0 BC, as is well documented, but for s o m e reason it took over 2,000 years for the information to filter through. Henry the Navigator thought h e was onto something w h e n h e reached Sierra Leone in 1444, but the Phoenicians had taken the same anti­ clockwise route and gone further in 4 5 0 BC. And Europe had been bedecking herself in Zimbabwean gold for centuries before Vasco da Gama 'discovered' his sea-route to India, something every last Arab trader and his camel must have worked out for themselves generations earlier. Europeans, o f course, habitually define the k n o w n as what they know. She can hardly have foreseen... : obviously she can not have foreseen. Indeed, it is the appearance o f hackneyed clichés o f this kind in the text o f this story (clichés and m o c k medieval c o m m o n p l a c e s w h i c h n o German historian worth his salt could possibly have descended to) w h i c h alerts us to the radically reconstructed nature o f this narrative, w h o s e source the reader w o u l d d o well to remain sceptical about.

-205Scudi for plying her old trade: the going rate in Venice i n the 1530s was 5 scudi (or 'crowns') for an embrace, 25 scudi for 'normal business' and 5 0 scudi for what was termed 'the transaction i n its entirety'. Some sort o f service was apparently available from the c o m m o n e r type o f prostitute for as little as o n e scudo, but what it consisted o f is hard to determine. Rome: in 1566, w h e n Pope Pius V ordered the expulsion o f prostitutes from R o m e and the Papal States, it is estimated that n o less than o n e third o f the population o f R o m e c o n ­ sisted o f prostitutes, courtesans, pimps, panders and their dependents. Needless to say, the expulsion order eventually had to be rescinded t o avert e c o n o m i c and social catastro­ phe. The Church needed prostitution, b o t h to service the sexual needs o f her celibate clergy and to supply sinners t o w h o m redemption could then be marketed. Cortigiana: literally a female courtier, the w o r d is translated as courtesan' i n English. The heyday o f the courtesan in R o m e was under popes Alexander VI (Rodrigo Borgia) and Leo X (Lorenzo the Magnificent's son, Giovanni de' Medici) u p until the sack o f R o m e in 1527. In Venice the courtesan flourished throughout the sixteenth century and the practice had s o m e currency until the end o f the eighteenth century. Mandolin and ox-muzzle: childish puns in Italian o n his w o r d s o f endearment for her. I'll scar you: a reference to the h i d e o u s habit o f revenge scar­ ring s o m e t i m e s inflicted o n courtesans and prostitutes w h o deceived their clients. The w o m a n so scarred w o u l d be referred to as sfregiata. Lock of hair: pubic hair was considered the m o s t effective kind o f hair in these circumstances. Easy access to it was, however, part o f the problem the spell was usually being cast in the first place to solve.

V i c e n z a Letters Camilla lost count: Camilla w a s almost certainly raped thirty-one times over about six hours in an enactment o f the traditional Venetian trentuno. A more vicious version o f the revenge mass rape was the so-called trentuno reale ('a royal thirty-one') w h i c h in fact involved being raped by seventy-nine m e n . Stringi*] bramoso... : 'Squeeze to yourself your greedy lover and join / Your lips tightly to his, and / Suck the living spirit from his beloved s o u l . . . ' The Full: as scholars have long pointed out, the so-called Fall, if the Bible is to be believed, has nothing to d o w i t h sex, b u t w i t h a k n o w l e d g e o f g o o d and evil. The account in Genesis, as is obvious to anyone w h o cares to read it w i t h an unprejudiced m i n d , is an explanation o f w h y h u m a n s are c o n d e m n e d to toil and sorrow all their lives, n o t a s e r m o n o n the sinfulness o f sexual activity. The Christian Church, needless to say, could see n o leverage in what Genesis actu­ ally said and, o n the basis o f nothing at all, propagated its o w n version o f events, creating untold misery for h u m a n i t y and u n t o l d power and wealth for itself in the process. Bosch: i n point o f fact, w e can safely ignore the m o d i s h American idea w h i c h seems so to attract our author that Hieronymus Bosch was susceptible to heresy in any form whatsoever. Bosch was an active Catholic all his life and from the age o f about thirty-five until his death a pious m e m b e r o f the Brotherhood o f Our Lady in the provincial Netherlandish t o w n o f 's-Hertogenbosch. Attempts to link Bosch w i t h such heretical groups as the Brethren o f the Free Spirit (also called Adamites) w h o included sexual p r o m i s ­ cuity amongst their religious rites, are d o o m e d to failure. There can be n o doubt that for Bosch the price ( w h i c h seems high) to b e paid for cavorting i n the Garden o f Earthly Delights was eternal damnation, as graphically illustrated i n the right-hand panel o f the triptych.

P A R T

I I I

Padua Letters

Venice, 15 th April I T M U S T BE o n e o f t h e m o s t l u m i n o u s l y b e a u t i f u l r o o m s i n t h e w o r l d . It's so b l u e , t h i s small, v a u l t e d P a d u a n c h a p e l , s o d y n a m i c a l l y graceful, so . . . ( I ' m at a loss for w o r d s ) . . . so optical. It w a s b u i l t b y t h e Scrovegni family i n a b o u t 1 3 0 0 , so it's called t h e Scrovegni Chapel, b u t n o o n e ever says that, e v e r y o n e calls it t h e G i o t t o Chapel. It's a m i r a c l e . I w e n t t h e r e straight f r o m t h e station. As a r u l e , I gather, it's likely t o b e infested w i t h A m e r i c a n s e x c l a i m i n g at t h e e m o t i o n a l e x p e r i e n c e they're h a v i n g against t h e b a c k g r o u n d o f Giotto's fres­ coes — y o u k n o w t h e sort o f t h i n g I m e a n , it's t e r r i b l y distracting - b u t I w a s fortunate: o n t h e m o r n i n g I v i s ­ i t e d it, t h e c h a p e l w a s a l m o s t e m p t y a n d q u i t e silent. I n fact, I w a s d o u b l y f o r t u n a t e : it w a s t h e Feast o f t h e A n n u n c i a t i o n , t h e day o n w h i c h , a l m o s t 7 0 0 years ago, t h e c h a p e l w a s d e d i c a t e d t o t h e Virgin. It w a s also o n t h e Feast o f t h e Virgin t w o years later t h a t it w a s c o n ­ secrated, w i t h t h e clergy lavishly arrayed i n v e s t m e n t s

Padua

Letters

b o r r o w e d f r o m St Mark's Treasury i n Venice. A n d , o f course,

Giotto

has

painted

a

superb

but

grim

A n n u n c i a t i o n o n e i t h e r side o f t h e t r i u m p h a l a r c h i n f r o n t o f t h e apse - o n t h e left a p a l e m u l b e r r y Gabriel a n d o n t h e r i g h t a p a l e m u l b e r r y Virgin, heavily braided, small b o o k thoughtful

in one

hand, looking

very

i n d e e d . There's n o q u e s t i o n t h a t

she's

a c c e p t e d t h e Divine W i l l i n a w e l l - b r o u g h t - u p s o r t o f way, b u t she's l o o k i n g a n y t h i n g b u t p l e a s e d . As y o u stand i n t h a t s o m b r e b l u e light, gazing a b o u t y o u a n d above y o u at t h e series o f scenes from t h e lives o f M a r y a n d h e r p a r e n t s a n d son, y o u c a n ' t h e l p b e i n g s t r u c k b y . . . well, b y t h e c o b a l t b l u e

everywhere,

naturally, i n t h e skies, t h e m a n t l e s a n d c o v e r i n g t h e v a u l t e d ceiling, b u t , m o r e significantly, b y Giotto's sense o f a W i l l b e i n g e n a c t e d , inexorably, irresistibly, w i t h m o u n t i n g d r a m a . F r o m t h e v e r y first p i n k a n d b l u e s q u a r e , w h e r e J o a c h i m , Mary's father, is d r i v e n

from

t h e t e m p l e b y t h e H i g h Priest R u b e n for b e i n g w i t h ­ o u t offspring (a h e i n o u s sin i n J e w i s h eyes), t o t h e spectacular, g o l d - e n c r u s t e d Last J u d g m e n t covering t h e chapel's e n t i r e e n d w a l l , y o u feel a d y n a m i s m at w o r k , a s p i r i t u a l e n g i n e t u r n i n g , t u r n i n g . G o o d is i n travail a n d , d e s p i t e everything - t h e H i g h Priest, H e r o d , Judas, Pilate, d e a t h i t s e l f - it w i l l give b i r t h t o m o r e g o o d . Indeed, there seems to be a dynamic fulcrum to each scene, c u t t i n g across e a c h picture, so that at e a c h instant i n t h i s d r a m a t h e c a u g h t m o m e n t is r e a l . O n l y H e l l w a s a d i s a p p o i n t m e n t . It's i n t h e l o w e r r i g h t - h a n d c o r n e r o f t h e Last J u d g m e n t , just above t h e

- 211 d o o r y o u c o m e i n by, a n d s o m e suspect i t s ' f r o m t h e s c h o o l o f r a t h e r t h a n G i o t t o . Lucifer is sitting t h e r e , a b l u e - g r e y m o n s t e r , s u r r o u n d e d b y devils t o r t u r i n g t h e n a k e d d a m n e d , b u t it all l o o k s a b i t h a l f - h e a r t e d t o m e , n o t terrifying i n t h e least. I w o n d e r w h a t D a n t e t h o u g h t o f it - h e m u s t h a v e s e e n it - i n fact, h e b e g a n w r i t i n g Inferno w i t h i n just a y e a r o r t w o o f t h e chapel's c o n s e c r a t i o n . I n d e e d , there's t h a t slightly b a c k - h a n d e d c o m p l i m e n t t o G i o t t o i n Purgatory: Once Cimabue thought to hold the field as painter; Giotto n o w is all the rage, d i m m i n g the lustre of the other s fame.* Ï also w o n d e r , w i t h a h i n t o f malice, if it w a s this v e r sion of Hell Dante h a d i n m i n d w h e n h e consigned the father o f Giotto's p a t r o n t o it. There's little d o u b t t h a t it's Reginaldo Scrovegni, father o f t h e chapel's builder, c r o u c h i n g i n t o r m e n t o n t h e very e d g e o f t h e Seventh Circle w i t h t h o s e t w o o t h e r usurers, ' p a i n . . . b u r s t i n g f r o m t h e i r eyes'. (He's t h e o n e w i t h t h e w h i t e m o n e y bag s t a m p e d w i t h t h e Scrovegnis' blue, p r e g n a n t - l o o k i n g sow.) I m e a n , t h e Seventh Circle w a s n o joke - it w a s o n t h e very e d g e o f t h e Pit itself, d e e p inside t h e fearful City o f Dis. It w a s w h e r e t h e violent w e r e cast—those guilty o f violence against themselves, against their n e i g h b o u r s , against G o d , art a n d n a t u r e . Perhaps D a n t e k n e w s o m e t h i n g a b o u t Reginaldo Scrovegni w e ' r e u n a w a r e o f - simple usury wouldn't seem to merit punishment o n q u i t e this scale. There's a r u m o u r that Enrico actually

Padua Letters

h a d t h e c h a p e l b u i l t as a plea for h i s father's s o u l — i n vain, it w o u l d appear, from Dante's p o i n t o f view. This s m a l l b l u e r o o m is alight w i t h stories, they're crackling away i n every corner. Can I tell you, b y the way, w h i c h o f t h e paintings I liked best? I loved the o n e w h e r e t h e angel is trying t o squeeze t h r o u g h a tiny h i g h w i n d o w into St Ann's b e d ­ room

to

announce

her

miraculous

motherhood

to

her

—the window is far too small and her pink wings are get­ ting c a u g h t She looks like a cat burglar i n fancy dress. It moved me much more than most of the Gabriels I've seen —much more human and real. But most of all I liked the Flowering o f the Rods. W h a t a w o n d e r f u l n o t i o n ! I n a m i n i a t u r e temple, its c o l u m n s a n d arches so delicately w r o u g h t you'd think it was carved from ivory, a r e d - r o b e d priest stands b e h i n d a n altar draped in Florentine silk. He's taking rods from the h a n d s of a g r o u p of y o u n g m e n l i n ­ ing u p o n the left of t h e painting u n d e r t h e usual cobalt sky. H e has declared, apparently, that Mary will m a r r y t h e m a n w h o s e r o d bursts into flower! (Of all t h e y o u n g m e n p u s h i n g forward w i t h their r o d s outstretched, only Joseph, interestingly e n o u g h , seems to b e hesitating—he's h o l d i n g h i s r o d t o h i s c h e s t ) In the n e x t painting, just to the r i g h t having h a n d e d over their rods, the y o u n g m e n a n d the priest kneel in prayer for the flowering. W e k n o w w h o s e prayer w a s answered. I find these paintings almost divinely erotic, if y o u k n o w w h a t I m e a n — e r o t i c in the m o s t interesting sense: electrifying a w h o l e w e b o f pleasure p o i n t s inside y o u by talking a r o u n d the p o i n t refusing t o n a m e n a m e s a n d defining t h e target b y never

- 213 hitting iL A n d t h e flowering - w h a t a brilliant idea! Your w o r t h , y o u r p r o m i s e are n o t m e a s u r e d b y strength o r stoutness, b u t by y o u r capacity for creativity. This is t h e sign of y o u r blessedness. O t h e r panels m a y b e m o r e masterfully p a i n t e d ( I ' m n o judge), b u t t h e Flowering of the Rods w a s t h e o n e I liked best. For s o m e r e a s o n o r o t h e r P a d u a s e e m s t o m a k e p e o p l e cross. M y t h e o r y is that P a d u a fails to b e t r u l y magnificent a n d this m a k e s p e o p l e peevish. True, there's the

Giotto

chapel,

St Anthony's

Basilica

(a

vast

R o m a n e s q u e - G o t h i c pile), the university (once Europe's greatest), t h e w o r l d s first b o t a n i c a l g a r d e n , s o m e p i c ­ turesque squares a n d graceful, curving, p o r t i c o e d streets, all c h i a r o s c u r o , all b r o w n s a n d o c h r e s a n d i n k y blacks. B u t there's n o t h i n g to sweep y o u off y o u r feet. A n d h a l f a n h o u r to the east, r e m e m b e r , y o u have Venice, a n h o u r t o t h e w e s t Verona, to t h e n o r t h t h e A l p s . . . Padua, sit­ t i n g sedately i n its ' m a r s h y fens' just o u t o f sight o f all this s p l e n d o u r , all this refulgence, just can't c o m p e t e . Indeed, it scarcely tries. Petrarch, Dante, Galileo, G o e t h e - they all visited a n d w o r k e d i n Padua, b u t n o n e o f t h e m ever fell i n love w i t h it, w e n o t i c e , n o t even Casanova, w h o w a s a s t u d e n t t h e r e . I n fact, D a n t e w a s q u i t e r u d e a b o u t it i n Inferno i n t h a t slightly snide w a y h e has s o m e t i m e s : h e seems t o suggest (in C a n t o XV) t h a t P a d u a h a d a r e p u t a t i o n for s o d o m y i n h i s day ( a l o n g w i t h B r u g e s ) . As a m a t t e r o f fact, t h e r e w a s a w h i f f o f licentiousness still h a n g i n g a b o u t it s o m e 3 0 0 years later. T h e Elizabethan traveller W i l l i a m L i t h g o w famously r e m a r k e d that t h e ' m o n s t r o u s

filthinesse'

of

P a d u a Letters

beastly s o d o m y is n o t h i n g m o r e t h a n 'a pleasant p a s ­ t i m e ' a m o n g t h e Paduans, w h o even 'sing s o n e t s o f t h e b e a u t y a n d p l e a s u r e o f t h e i r Bardassi, o r b u g g e r e d boyes.'* P e r h a p s L i t h g o w fell i n t o l e w d c o m p a n y . I c e r ­ tainly saw n o sign o f u n c o n v e n t i o n a l b e h a v i o u r o f a n y k i n d i n Padua, n o sign o f a n y o n e going against the grain. All y o u n g m e n have carefully b a r b e r e d five o ' c l o c k shadows, all m i d d l e - a g e d w o m e n have highly c o l o u r e d , stiffly b r u s h e d a n d l a c q u e r e d hair. T h e graffiti is s t a n ­ d a r d , i n t e r n a t i o n a l graffiti. I n a w a y it w a s q u i t e restful. A r o u n d m i d d a y I sat for a w h i l e o n t h e colourful Piazza delle Erbe, w a t c h i n g dogs a n d hair-do's. Spring flowers e v e r y w h e r e o n t h e square - m i m o s a , forsythia, polyanthus, very gay. W h a t t r o u b l e d m e slightly, t h o u g h , w a s t h e feeling that I w a s t u r n i n g i n t o a tourist all o f a sudden. There's n o t h i n g wrong w i t h b e i n g a tourist, I s u p ­ pose. It's just that, sitting t h e r e o n t h e square i n the s u n b y a little fountain, I c o u l d n ' t h e l p feeling regretful that travel i n t h e o l d sense w a s n o w o u t o f t h e question—trav­ elling t o w h e t y o u r appetite, t o p i q u e y o u r hunger, n o t to satisfy it. D o y o u k n o w w h a t I m e a n ? Over a n d over again I t h i n k o f s o m e t h i n g I o n c e h e a r d Paul Bowles say about travel: w h e n h e first glimpsed Tangiers o n the h o r i ­ zon, sailing t o w a r d s it, t h e t h o u g h t s t r u c k h i m that this m i g h t t u r n o u t t o b e w h e r e he'd at last find w i s d o m a n d ecstasy. (And i n a w a y h e did, of course.) W i s d o m a n d ecstasy U n d e r s t a n d i n g plus bliss. R o m a n t i c self-delusion, y o u m i g h t say. To w h i c h I m i g h t say: so w h a t ? O n e o f t h e things that a n n o y s m e a b o u t b e i n g a tourist is m y o w n c o m p l i c i t y i n ticking things off T h e

- 215 Giottos—done, C h u r c h o f t h e H e r m i t s - done, Piazza d e i Signori—done, a n d so o n . W h o cares? Like s o m e medieval p i l g r i m , t h e r e I w a s amassing credit p o i n t s w i t h . . . w h o m , exactly? To w h o m w o u l d I p r e s e n t m y r e p o r t card? There's s o m e t h i n g suspiciously religious i n t h e m o s t conservative sense a b o u t m o d e r n t o u r i s m . At least w h e n y o u travel a l o n e t h e t e m p t a t i o n t o tick t h i n g s off is w e a k e n e d . W h e n y o u ' r e a l o n e ( i n Padua, say) y o u ' r e less likely t o give i n t o t h e n a r k y little voice telling y o u y o u should see St Anthony's t o m b , y o u must l o o k at t h e 'remarkable loggias o f t h e Law Courts' (why?), y o u ought at least t o l o o k i n o n St G e o r g e s Oratory. W h y s h o u l d I? y o u can say t o yourself. I n t h e infinitude o f t h e c o s ­ m o s w h a t difference w i l l it m a k e w h e t h e r I d o o r I don't? I like sitting h e r e , just l o o k i n g at t h e r e d - t i l e d roofs a n d t h e tinted, buttressed hair. I'll just sit. A n d I d i d for a w h i l e . B u t t h e r e w e r e t w o o t h e r things i n P a d u a I felt I really d i d o w e it t o myself t o see, however infinite the cosmos. They were, after all, at h a n d . O n e w a s St A n t h o n y s Basilica, w h e r e t h e saint's relics are e n t o m b e d - il Santo, they call it h e r e for s h o r t - a n d o n e w a s the O r t o Botanico, the first a t t e m p t i n t h e w o r l d t o p a t t e r n paradise scientifically. I b e g a n t o t h i n k that, if I m o v e d smartly, w h i c h I a m o u t o f t h e h a b i t o f d o i n g n o w a d a y s , I m i g h t even see b o t h before

nightfall,

leaving t h e n e x t day - a n d , i n d e e d , t h e rest o f m y life— unplanned. The mere thought of unplanned time makes m e e u p h o r i c - like free-falling from a n a e r o p l a n e .

Padua Letters

Professor E s c h e n b a u m , b y t h e way, is feeling m u c h b r i g h t e r this e v e n i n g - h i s lips less swollen, h i s b r u i s e s less t e n d e r - a n d I t h i n k h i s s e l f - e s t e e m is b e g i n n i n g t o reassert itself. B u t he's d e c i d e d t o leave i n a day o r t w o , just as s o o n as h e feels u p t o it. H e n e e d s t h e k i n d o f c o m f o r t y o u c a n o n l y get at h o m e - n o t t h a t h e p u t it like that, I ' m just surmising. W h e n w e h a d coffee e a r ­ lier this evening a n d h e told m e h i s plans, w e s o m e h o w o r o t h e r g o t o n t o t h e subject o f w h y w e travel a n d w h a t w e ' r e seeking w h e n w e d o . I e x p e c t he's i n t h e m o o d n o w t o l o o k b a c k o n h i s f o r t n i g h t i n Venice a n d ask h i m s e l f w h a t it m e a n t . I t o l d h i m a b o u t Paul B o w l e s — t h e w i s d o m a n d t h e ecstasy. H e

sneered

slightly. 'Personally,' h e said, T find all t h e w i s d o m I n e e d i n t h e l i b r a r y o f t h e Westfälische W i l h e l m s u n i v e r s i t ä t i n M ü n s t e r . A n d as for ecstasy—Verzückung, Ekstase - i n m y o p i n i o n it's a pathological state best avoided, e x c e p t i n s h o r t , c o n t r o l l e d b u r s t s . A n d if I d o w a n t it, I c a n easily b u y it. 'Too s m u g b y half, I w a s thinking t o myself. It m a y have b e e n t h e a n t i - i n f l a m m a t o r i e s talking, they c a n m a k e y o u very tetchy. ' B u t surely,' I said, ' w h a t e v e r w o r d s y o u m i g h t like t o use, it's for s o m e t h i n g like w i s d o m a n d ecstasy t h a t y o u yourself c o m e t o Venice. I n fact, o n l y the o t h e r day, w h e n y o u w e r e telling m e a b o u t t h e d i s a p p e a r i n g courtesan, you admitted y o u c a m e here because here p e o p l e still believe i n t r u t h . I n a way, Venice is like a t i m e - m a c h i n e for y o u , it s e e m s t o m e . B a l m t o y o u r s o u l , y o u said it w a s . A n d t h e n , as a m a t t e r o f fact, y o u t o l d m e a b o u t t h e Assassins - d o n ' t y o u r e m e m b e r ? -

- 217 -

a n d a b o u t h o w t h e y d e c l a r e d Paradise t o h a v e a r r i v e d a n d h o w Paradise w a s l a w l e s s . . . ' 'Yes, yes, o f c o u r s e I r e m e m b e r , ' h e said, signalling E m i l i o for s o m e t h i n g s t r o n g e r t o g o w i t h h i s coffee. H e paused, h i s eye o n Emilio. 'Actually, m o r e t h a n a n y ­ t h i n g else, I t h i n k I ' m p u r s u i n g forgetfulness. B u t i n a way I suppose you've got a point. In a way I suppose I am l o o k i n g f o r . . . w h a t w o r d c a n I u s e ? . . . r e enchantment—yes, r e - e n c h a n t m e n t - w h e n I c o m e to Venice. Or, t o p u t it differently, I a d m i t I seek b a l m for m y d i s e n c h a n t m e n t . A n d s o I play at b o w i n g d o w n b e f o r e t h e i r l e w d gods. B u t n o t , as y o u see, w i t h m u c h success. I t h i n k I m u s t really b e l o n g i n Münster.' H e fiddled

for a w h i l e w i t h t h e amaretti. ' B u t w h i l e I, if I

m a y say so, a m infected w i t h n o r t h e r n g o o d sense a n d reason, y o u s e e m t o m e infected w i t h s o m e t h i n g a l t o ­ g e t h e r m o r e dangerous.' 'And w h a t m i g h t that be?' 'Mysticism. You s e e m t o have a disturbingly m y s t i ­ cal b e n t . After all, it is t h e e n d of t h e t w e n t i e t h century, a n d you're n o t u n e d u c a t e d . As far as I ' m c o n c e r n e d , y o u see, mysticism is just a variety o f narcissism - a sort o f cosmic, oceanic narcissism, w h e r e t h e self e x p a n d s t o e m b r a c e t h e w h o l e universe. Infantile, really, t o b e p e r ­ fectly f r a n k Actually, i n y o u r fashion, I t h i n k you're really far m o r e dissolute t h a n I a m . You w h o r e after mystical m o m e n t s , w h i l e I . . . well, I b u y e n c h a n t m e n t o f a m o r e basic, a d u l t k i n d . T h e spell m a y n o t last long, it's t r u e , b u t at least there's p l e n t y m o r e for sale. B u t w h o r i n g is w h o r i n g . I d o n ' t t h i n k y o u s h o u l d feel superior. ' D i d I?

Padua

Letters

'Tell m e , h a v e y o u r e a d Paradise yet?' h e asked. ' T h e Dante?' 'Well, n o , I've o n l y just g o t t o t h e e n d o f Inferno.* It's n o t a n easy read.' 'I think y o u m i g h t like Paradise. I can't stand it myself, m o s t l y b e c a u s e I can't s t o m a c h Beatrice. To tell y o u t h e t r u t h , I find h e r priggish. She r e m i n d s m e o f a M ü n s t e r society hostess all agog because t h e surprise guest o f t h e e v e n i n g is n o n e o t h e r t h a n G o d . B u t unless y o u b e h a v e impeccably, she w o n ' t take y o u upstairs a n d i n t r o d u c e you, she'll leave y o u m i l l i n g a r o u n d downstairs w i t h t h e rest o f t h e r i f f - r a f f - all d u k e s a n d a r c h b i s h o p s , o f course, b u t i n heavenly t e r m s riff-raff. N o , I d o n ' t like h e r at all. So s m u g a b o u t m o v i n g i n t h e h i g h e s t circles. O h , I k n o w , she's s u p p o s e d t o b e Dante's l i n k t o God, h i s c h a n n e l t o k n o w i n g a n d s o o n a n d so forth, b u t I ' m u n c o n v i n c e d . Basically, Beatrice w a s Dante's a d u l t e r o u s passion—I m e a n t h e actual Beatrice, the F l o r e n t i n e lady —and this a t t e m p t o f h i s t o t r a n s f o r m a n o r d i n a r y s e x ­ u a l fixation i n t o a mystical vision o f G o d strikes m e as just so m u c h self-deluding poetry. W h y t h e Virgin M a r y w o u l d listen t o Beatrice a n d g r a n t D a n t e e t e r n a l sal­ v a t i o n I can't i m a g i n e . Again, it s e e m s t o b e all a m a t t e r o f w h o y o u k n o w . B u t y o u m a y like it. There's a k i n d o f g n o s t i c i s m a b o u t it I have a feeling m a y a p p e a l t o you.' I w a s n ' t c o m p l e t e l y s u r e w h a t gnosticism w a s b u t f o r e b o r e t o say so at t h a t precise p o i n t i n t h e c o n v e r ­ sation. We've agreed t o have a farewell l u n c h t o g e t h e r b e f o r e h e leaves. I ' m l o o k i n g f o r w a r d t o it.

Venice, 16th April I HAD AN i l l u m i n a t i n g e x p e r i e n c e i n St A n t h o n y ' s Basilica t h a t a f t e r n o o n i n P a d u a . It w a s n o t , p e r h a p s , q u i t e t h e e x p e r i e n c e St A n t h o n y m i g h t have h o p e d for me, but illuminating nonetheless. T h e n a r r o w streets a r o u n d t h e Basilica a r e actually q u i t e e m p t y i n t h e early afternoon, spookily e m p t y a n d s t o n y a n d b r o w n . (I t h i n k t h e t o u r i s t b u s e s m u s t a p p r o a c h it f r o m a n o t h e r d i r e c t i o n , d r i v i n g straight i n off s o m e r i n g - r o a d . ) So I w a s i n s o m e t h i n g o f a reverie w h e n I s u d d e n l y t u r n e d a c o r n e r a n d saw all t h o s e q u e e r c u p o l a s , steeples a n d m i n a r e t s filling t h e sky just a h e a d o f m e , like a vision o f B y z a n t i u m . To b e frank, it w a s a b i t like a n Eastern b a z a a r inside as w e l l — h u n ­ d r e d s o f p e o p l e s c u r r y i n g a b o u t like a n t s a m o n g s t t h e g l e a m i n g displays at t h e b o t t o m o f a vast, g l o o m y vault. I sat. I ' m always s t r u c k i n large c h u r c h e s w i t h

how

u n a b a s h e d l y unspiritual t h e y are. It's as if t h e spiritually m i n d e d a m o n g s t t h e clergy, if t h e r e ever w e r e any, h a d

Padua L e t t e r s given u p o n it all l o n g ago a n d d e c i d e d t o g o w i t h t h e flesh. Perhaps they still n u r t u r e a h o p e , as D a n t e clearly d i d o f Beatrice, t h a t t h r o u g h t h e flesh t h e spirit m i g h t yet b e r e d e e m e d - a v e r y faint h o p e , I'd have said, for visitors t o St A n t h o n y ' s Basilica. H e r e t h e flesh is o n s h o w i n all its glory: i n r o w s o f perfect, erotically s c u l p t e d b o d i e s , i n s u m p t u o u s p a i n t i n g s , aglow w i t h w h i t e skin, i n t h e h e a d y smells, i n

the

welling

c a c o p h o n y o f s o u n d s , i n t h e m y r i a d textures—stony, silky, sticky, coarse, cold, w a r m , finely w o v e n — s e d u c ­ i n g n o t just t h e eye, b u t p r i c k i n g at y o u r h u n g e r t o touch. I didn't catch the o d o u r of r e d e m p t i o n waft­ ing amongst the columns, however - except in the p u r e l y m a r k e t sense o f t h e w o r d . Still, for all that, I c o u l d n ' t h e l p feeling, as I sat o n m y r i c k e t y c h a i r a n d gazed u p a n d a r o u n d m e , a k i n d o f vague r e g r e t that, for t h e m o s t p a r t , b u i l d i n g s like t h i s Basilica have b e c o m e little m o r e t h a n m u s e u m s , r e l i g i o u s t h e m e - p a r k s for t h e c u r i o u s . At Salisbury C a t h e d r a l i n W i l t s h i r e , for e x a m p l e , t h e g a m e is u p entirely. Have y o u ever b e e n there? T h e

brochure

assures y o u t h a t ' t h e C a t h e d r a l is v e r y m u c h a living c h u r c h . . . t h e visitor b e c o m e s p a r t o f t h e life o f t h e C a t h e d r a l ' , b u t i n p o i n t o f fact there's a n o t i c e at t h e d o o r directing those w h o wish to w o r s h i p or pray to take t h e m s e l v e s e l s e w h e r e , if t h e y w o u l d n ' t m i n d . If t h e y insist o n g o i n g i n , there's a n o b l i g a t o r y a n d p r e ­ cisely specified d o n a t i o n , payable at t h e glass b o o t h b e s i d e t h e e n t r a n c e . H e r e i n Venice, t o o , t h e o t h e r day w h e n I w a s w a n d e r i n g past Santa M a r i a Gloriosa d e i

-221 Frari—it's t h e h u b o f t h i s area, i n a way, a n d I'm f o r ­ ever navigating m y w a y a r o u n d its massive b u l k — I noticed crowds of young Danes and God k n o w s w h o else p u s h i n g t h e i r w a y m e r r i l y past t h e sign i n six l a n ­ guages begging visitors t o w a i t o u t s i d e u n t i l t h e service g o i n g o n inside w a s over. I p e e r e d t h r o u g h t h e d o o r ­ w a y i n t o t h e b o o m i n g cavern inside. W h a t a c a r n i v a l ! T h e r e w e r e t o u r i s t s cavorting f r o m ceiling t o floor, flashlights

popping, touts touting and a group

of

F r e n c h s c h o o l c h i l d r e n trailing a r o u n d p i c k i n g t h e i r n o s e s , a l m o s t faint w i t h b o r e d o m . M e a n w h i l e , h u d ­ d l e d i n o n e c o r n e r o f t h e apse w a s a t i n y c l u t c h o f p a r i s h i o n e r s trying t o c o m m u n i c a t e w i t h t h e Almighty. T h e organist w a s o n t h e i r side, I have t o say. H e w a s jubilantly trying to obliterate the h e a t h e n w i t h great s u r g i n g waves o f t h u n d e r o u s , d i v i n e s o u n d . C h u r c h e s h a v e always b e e n m a r k e t p l a c e s , I k n o w —I d a r e say that's w h y C h r i s t i a n artists k e e p o n p a i n t ­ i n g Jesus casting t h e m o n e y - c h a n g e r s o u t o f t h e t e m p l e — a n d they've always b e e n a m a g n e t for t h e u n h o l y , for all t h e shysters a n d knaves i n t h e city. That's n o t w h a t m a d e m e feel regretful, sitting at t h e b o t t o m o f t h a t v a u l t i n St A n t h o n y ' s i n P a d u a . Let t h e m all c o m e . N o , w h a t s t i r r e d m y feelings o f regret w a s t h e

over­

whelming

living

impression

that

some

sort

of

c o n t i n u i t y h a s b e e n b r o k e n , irreparably, t h a t w h a t b r o u g h t all t h i s alive a n d gave it a d e v e l o p i n g m e a n ­ i n g is n o l o n g e r t h e r e . It c a n ' t b e e x p e r i e n c e d as alive a n y m o r e . You c a n r e s t o r e t h e frescoes as m u c h as y o u like, p r i n t g u i d e b o o k s , r i d t h e c h u r c h o f i n a u t h e n t i c

Padua L e t t e r s

a c c r e t i o n s — i t w o n ' t u l t i m a t e l y m a k e a n y difference because it's d e a d now, t h e spirit t h a t i n h a b i t e d t h e place a n d g r e w w i t h it h a s fled. T o u r i s t s w a n t a n e m b a l m e d body, n o t a b o d y b r o u g h t b a c k t o life. N o t t h a t I'd p r o b ­ ably h a v e m u c h liked t h e s p i r i t o f t h e p l a c e if I'd e n c o u n t e r e d it. All t h e s a m e , I h a v e a feeling t h a t its loss g o e s p a r t o f t h e w a y t o e x p l a i n i n g w h y t h e streets in behind

t h e Basilica a r e u n u t t e r a b l y

beautiful,

e m b o d y i n g a s h a r e d love o f t h e city a n d w h a t it s t o o d for, w h i l e t h e streets a r o u n d t h e s t a t i o n are, as t h e y a r e e v e r y w h e r e , alienating, s h a r i n g n o t h i n g . Actually, t h e r e w a s o n e p o i n t i n t h e c h u r c h , n o t so far f r o m w h e r e I w a s sitting, w h e r e a t i n y p u l s e still s e e m e d t o b e beating. I n a n o r n a t e alcove i n t h e n o r t h ­ e r n w a l l s t o o d St A n t h o n y ' s c a r v e d t o m b . I m i g h t w e l l h a v e o v e r l o o k e d it if it h a d n ' t b e e n for t w o t h i n g s : t h e l i n e o f s e r i o u s - l o o k i n g p e o p l e f o r m i n g t o t h e left o f it a n d passing i n b e h i n d it, a n d a c o n v e r s a t i o n t h a t w a s g o i n g o n i n t h e r o w directly b e h i n d m e . ' T h a t m u s t b e h i s t o m b over there.' It w a s a m i d d l e - a g e d w o m a n ' s voice a n d t h e a c c e n t s t r u c k m e as r e g i o n a l - Leeds? Sheffield? 'Yes, I c a n see t h a t ' A w o m a n travelling c o m p a n ­ ion, b y t h e s o u n d o f it, f r o m s o m e w h e r e close t o h o m e . ' T h e r e ' s n o n o t i c e , b u t t h a t m u s t b e it.' 'Yes, I c a n see that.' ' W h y d o y o u s u p p o s e t h e y ' r e all l i n i n g u p ? ' 'Well, h o w w o u l d I k n o w ? I ' m n o t a m i n d - r e a d e r . I'll l o o k it u p i n t h e b o o k if y o u like.' 'Yes, l o o k it u p , D o r i s , t h e y ' r e o b v i o u s l y u p

to

- 223 something. W e m i g h t as w e l l k n o w w h a t i t is.' 'According to ancient tradition to kiss t h e . . . ' ' D o n ' t r e a d it all o u t , D o r i s , for God's sake—just tell me.' 'Well, apparently, if y o u kiss t h e s a r c . . . s a r c . . . if y o u kiss t h e t o m b , t h e s a i n t m a y h e a l y o u o f y o u r ills. O r so it says here.' 'May heal you? Do you mean he'll consider it?' 'I'm only reading out what it says in the book. Don't get t h i n g y w i t h m e a b o u t it.' 'For g o o d n e s s ' sake, t h e t h i n g s p e o p l e w i l l believe! Talk a b o u t h o o d w i n k i n g t h e p u b l i c . J u s t l o o k a t t h e m all - daft, every last o n e o f t h e m . T h e C h u r c h h a s got a l o t t o a n s w e r for, i n m y o p i n i o n . ' 'You d o n ' t feel i n c l i n e d , t h e n ? ' ' I n c l i n e d ? C e r t a i n l y n o t . As if I w o u l d . ' ' N o , I ' m n o t i n c l i n e d , either. A l t h o u g h I s u p p o s e s o m e m i g h t say y o u ' d h a v e n o t h i n g t o lose.' 'Your self-respect, that's w h a t y o u ' d h a v e t o lose, D o r i s . Self-respect.' 'I t h i n k I lost t h a t a l o n g t i m e ago. N o , actually, I s u p p o s e y o u ' r e r i g h t . T h e r e ' d b e n o point.' 'Obviously there'd b e n o p o i n t . He's s t o n e d e a d . A n d e v e n if h e was listening, I d o n ' t e x p e c t h e ' d p u t h i m ­ self o u t over m y i n g r o w i n g toenails, d o y o u ? ' 'Well, y o u d o n ' t k n o w , d o y o u , u n l e s s y o u give it a go. H e m i g h t . F o r all y o u k n o w h e m i g h t b e sick t o d e a t h o f b l i n d n e s s a n d l u n g - c a n c e r a n d q u i t e fancy a quick...' ' O h , Doris, d o n ' t t r y t o b e facetious, it's h a r d l y t h e

Padua Letters

t i m e n o r t h e place. I'm n o t g o i n g u p a n d that's that. You d o w h a t y o u like, b u t , personally, if y o u d o , I d o n ' t k n o w h o w y o u ' l l live w i t h yourself? 'I s u p p o s e y o u ' r e right.' 'Obviously I ' m r i g h t . N o w , d o y o u w a n t t o see t h e H i g h Altar o r n o t ? Give m e t h e b o o k . Bronze bas-reliefs by Donatello. It says h e r e it's magnificent.' 'Alright, I s u p p o s e w e s h o u l d , t h e n . Isn't D o n a t e l l o the o n e w h o did the horse out the

front?'

"Well, it'll b e i n t h e b o o k — I ' m n o t a w a l k i n g encyclopaedia.' A n d off they set, w i t h m u c h scraping o f c h a i r s a n d g r o a n i n g a b o u t b a c k s a n d legs, t o i n s p e c t t h e m a g n i f i ­ c e n t H i g h Altar b y D o n a t e l l o . I d i d n ' t h a v e a b o o k m i n e w a s i n m y luggage at t h e station. I'd followed t h e i r r e a s o n i n g w i t h close a t t e n t i o n , as it h a p p e n e d , because, w h e n y o u ' r e q u i t e a l o n e a n d h a v e n ' t s p o k e n w i t h a n y o n e for h o u r s (as c a n h a p p e n all t o o often w h e n y o u travel a l o n e ) , o t h e r s ' c o n v e r ­ sations c a n fill y o u r h e a d as if t h e y w e r e y o u r o w n . A n d so t h e y left m e o n m y c h a i r feeling b o t h d r a w n , like Doris, a n d n o t i n c l i n e d at all, like h e r c o m p a n ­ i o n , b o t h at t h e s a m e t i m e . As D o r i s h a d p o i n t e d o u t , w h a t w a s t h e r e t o lose? A n d as h e r c o m p a n i o n h a d r e t o r t e d , t h e r e w a s y o u r self-respect. I k e p t m y eye o n t h e line o f believers, b u t d i d n ' t b u d g e . O n t h e o n e h a n d I d i d n ' t believe, e v e n for a m o m e n t , t h a t kissing a slab of marble b e h i n d w h i c h were gathered the b o n e s of a t h i r t e e n t h - c e n t u r y P o r t u g u e s e cleric c o u l d effect even a m i n o r m i r a c l e - it c o u l d n ' t because t h e universe

-225d i d n ' t w o r k like that. (As far as I knew.) O n t h e o t h e r h a n d , p e r h a p s t h e c h a n g e o f h e a r t it w o u l d take t o p l a n t t h e kiss m i g h t i n d e e d d o a tiny b i t o f g o o d m i g h t o p e n u p m y m i n d t o t h e possibility o f g o o d , or, t o b e c o m p l e t e l y cynical, s e n d a s p u r t o f s o m e c h e m i c a l o r o t h e r s u r g i n g t h r o u g h m y veins, giving a q u i c k b o o s t t o t h e i m m u n e system. N o t t h a t o n e h a s t o b e c o m p l e t e l y r a t i o n a l all t h e t i m e , surely. I s u d ­ d e n l y fancied a n i r r a t i o n a l escapade. I w e n t u p a n d joined the queue. As w e i n c h e d o u r w a y t o w a r d s t h e r e a r o f t h e sar­ c o p h a g u s , a friar i n a b l a c k r o b e w i t h a w h i t e c o r d a r o u n d h i s waist w a s s t a n d i n g w a t c h i n g us, n o t w h o l l y benevolently, as if h e suspected s o m e o f u s m i g h t b e p l o t t i n g a w i l d act o f sacrilege. W i t h e a c h step t o w a r d s t h e t o m b t h e voices i n m y h e a d g r e w m o r e agitated: I t ' s a farce! G o away!' 'Kiss it - w h a t d o e s it m a t t e r ? A b l i n d i n g shaft o f light m a y . . ."Rubbish! You k n o w it's r u b b i s h . W h y p a n d e r t o superstition? Have s o m e selfrespect.' ' N o w y o u ' r e h e r e , just d o it, t h r o w y o u r h a t i n t h e ring.' Was t h e friar eyeing m e w i t h p a r t i c u l a r apprehension? T h e n it w a s m y t u m . I stepped u p , stared at t h e life­ less m a r b l e for a m o m e n t — a n d w a l k e d o n o u t past t h e l u g u b r i o u s friar. I couldn't d o it. It wasn't m y w a y Newly e m b o l d e n e d , w i t h a definite spring i n m y step, I crossed t h e nave a n d m a d e m y way o u t i n t o t h e cloisters. Cloisters—I

love

t h e m . That's p r o b a b l y

partly

b e c a u s e , t o all i n t e n t s a n d p u r p o s e s , w e d o n ' t have t h e m i n Australia, so they're strange a n d e x o t i c t o m e ,

Padua Letters like Balinese temples.* B u t it's also p a r t l y b e c a u s e o f m y ( n o d o u b t F r e u d i a n ) love o f t h e e n c l o s e d g a r d e n , t h e hortus conclusus, a n d t h e p e r m i s s i o n it gives y o u t o b e a l o n e w i t h y o u r t h o u g h t s , t o spiral i n w a r d s for a c h a n g e , t o take y o u r t i m e , d e t a c h e d f r o m t h e t i m e ­ k e e p i n g o f t h e w o r l d o u t s i d e . You secretly h o p e , i n a cloister, t h a t y o u r m o n o l o g u e m i g h t p r o v e t o b e a d i a ­ l o g u e w i t h God, b u t o u r cleverest m i n d s assure u s t h a t this is a vain a n d d i m - w i t t e d h o p e . N o d o u b t t h e y ' r e r i g h t , at least i n t h e i r o w n t e r m s . T h e cloistered g a r d e n , if I m i g h t p u t it like this, is like a n o t h e r , m o r e i n t a c t self. 'A garden inclosed is my sis­ ter, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed... Awake, 0 north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out.' F r o m Solomon's Song.* It is also a l i t ­ tle Eden, r e m i n d i n g y o u o f w h a t y o u o n c e w e r e o r m i g h t have been, a n d sheltering y o u w h i l e y o u c o n ­ t e m p l a t e it. Ideally, o f c o u r s e , like t h e w a l l e d g a r d e n I sat i n a f e w w e e k s ago w i t h R a c h e l o n Lake Maggiore, there's a w i n d o w i n t h e w a l l , o r p e r h a p s a gated d o o r ­ way, r e m i n d i n g y o u o f t h e w i l d e r n e s s o u t s i d e . Yes, t h e p e r f e c t m e d i e v a l hortus conclusus always h a d a claire voie t o t h e outside world. A n d , i n fact, as t i m e w e n t o n , p e o ­ p l e b e g a n t o l o o k o u t m o r e t h a n i n , w o n d e r i n g if Paradise m i g h t h e m o r e i n u n t o u c h e d w i l d e r n e s s t h a n in

the miniature

mirroring

o f God's

perfection.

Certainly, i n Australia n o w a d a y s t h e G a r d e n o f E d e n is s o u g h t i n t h e rainforests o f Far N o r t h Q u e e n s l a n d a n d t h e deserts o f Central Australia, n o t i n t h e Royal Botanic G a r d e n s i n M e l b o u r n e , h o w e v e r idyllic t h e y m a y b e .

-227As y o u k n o w , I ' m h a v i n g t r o u b l e a d a p t i n g t o this m o r e m o d e r n view, b u t I am trying. As I've c o m e t o expect, St Anthony's cloisters t u r n e d o u t to b e n o m o r e spiritually n o u r i s h i n g than clois­ ters a n y w h e r e

i n E u r o p e t h e s e days, d e s p i t e

the

f r a g m e n t s o f Giotto's frescoes o n t h e walls. O n S u n d a y m o r n i n g s i n W e s t m i n s t e r Abbey, for e x a m p l e , t h e y ' r e full o f t o u r i s t s s a m p l i n g coffees o f t h e w o r l d as p a r t o f t h e Coffee Club's activities, a n d h e r e i n P a d u a t h e cloisters w e r e littered w i t h notices a b o u t t h e v i d e o d i s ­ play, t h e s o u v e n i r s h o p , t h e m u s e u m a n d t h e toilets. Taiwanese a n d Swedish t o u r i s t s sat a b o u t r e a d i n g t h e i r guide-books and taking photographs of each other against a b a c k g r o u n d t h e y h a d n o b a c k g r o u n d i n . It w a s dispiriting. I felt w h a t u s e d t o b e called disconso­ late. W i t h a vague sense o f f o r e b o d i n g I h e a d e d off towards the m u s e u m . By t h e t i m e I c a m e o u t o f t h e m u s e u m I w a s feel­ i n g positively merry. If y o u ever g o t o Padua, d o n ' t m i s s t h e m u s e u m at t h e Basilica. All I k n e w a b o u t St Anthony before I w e n t in was that h e was the p a t r o n saint o f p e o p l e i n d i r e straits, especially t h e s h i p ­ w r e c k e d , b u t , given

the paucity of

shipwrecked

Catholics n o w a d a y s , I'd i m a g i n e d (if I'd t h o u g h t a b o u t it at all) t h a t t h e saint's uses m u s t have b e c o m e severely restricted. N o t h i n g c o u l d b e f u r t h e r f r o m t h e t r u t h . A p a r t f r o m a few glass cases full o f ecclesiastical regalia, w h i c h didn't m u c h interest m e , the m u s e u m

was

m a i n l y given over t o w o r k s o f a r t s e n t i n b y p e o p l e f r o m all over t h e w o r l d w h o h a d b e e n r e s c u e d f r o m

Padua Letters

adversity b y t h e i n t e r c e s s i o n o f t h e saint. It w a s fascin a t i n g : t h e r e w e r e p a i n t i n g s o f p e o p l e falling f r o m balconies, falling u n d e r trains a n d cars, falling i n t o fires, falling i n t o t h e sea - falling, falling, b u t always s c o o p e d u p at t h e last m i n u t e b y St Anthony. A n d d o t t e d a b o u t a m o n g s t t h e p a i n t i n g s a n d s a m p l e r s a n d sketches w e r e various c r u t c h e s a n d o t h e r aids to t h e infirm, discarded t h a n k s t o t h e saint's i n t e r v e n t i o n . For t h e m o s t p a r t t h e p a i n t i n g s w e r e dreadful - naïve, a m a t e u r i s h , often g a r ish - b u t at t h e s a m e t i m e t h e y w e r e s o m e h o w utterly d i s a r m i n g , t o u c h i n g , a n i m a t i n g , d e e p l y felt. T h e s e p e o p l e , f r o m Nigeria, C h i n a , Italy, India, P e r u , p e r h a p s even Sweden, I don't remember, were speaking to m e f r o m a w o r l d I'd h a r d l y k n o w n existed, a w o r l d w i t h c o m p l e t e l y different laws from m y world's, w h e r e g o o d c o u l d s u d d e n l y i r r u p t i n t o a scene o f evil a n d d e s p a i r a n d t r i u m p h absolutely. A n d i n o n e c o r n e r o f e a c h w o r k t h e artists h a d i n s c r i b e d PGR, w h i c h m e a n s , apparently, per grazie ricevute - for grace received.* I w a s m o v e d t o p o p i n t o t h e St A n t h o n y s h o p a t t a c h e d to t h e c h u r c h a n d get a tract o r p a m p h l e t a b o u t h i m . I d o n ' t believe i n saints, o f course, o r s u p e r n a t u r a l p r e s e n c e s o r intercession w i t h G o d , b u t I felt t h a t w h i l e I w a s t h e r e I'd just like t o see t h e p i c t u r e filled o u t a little. A r m e d w i t h a little r e d - c o v e r e d b o o k let I'd c o m e u p o n a m o n g s t all t h e slides a n d videos a n d o t h e r d e v o t i o n a l m a t e r i a l i n t h e s h o p , I sat d o w n i n a café across t h e s q u a r e f r o m t h e Basilica a n d b e g a n t o p e r u s e it. I w a s actually q u i t e k e e n t o get o n , as I t h o u g h t o f it, a n d visit t h e f a m o u s b o t a n i c a l g a r d e n s

-229t u c k e d away just i n b e h i n d t h e Basilica n o t t w o m i n ­ u t e s ' w a l k away, b u t I b e c a m e q u i c k l y e n g r o s s e d i n St Anthony. First o f all, I ' m t e r r i b l y glad I d i d n ' t kiss t h e s a r ­ c o p h a g u s . St Anthony, it t u r n e d o u t , is n o t m y k i n d o f saint at all. Well, n o o n e is m y k i n d o f saint, b u t least o f all t h i s P o r t u g u e s e . I'd b e t h e last p e r s o n o n e a r t h h e ' d have b o t h e r e d t o bless. A n d , secondly, w h o e v e r w r i t e s this k i n d o f g u m p f s h o u l d b e shot.* A p a r t f r o m the o d d male adolescent battling w i t h the temptation t o m a s t u r b a t e , it c o u l d c o n v i n c e n o b o d y . A n d , s p e a k ­ i n g o f t e m p t a t i o n , b y t h e way, this is n o t t h e St A n t h o n y w h o w a s so famously t e m p t e d - t h a t w a s St A n t h o n y t h e h e r m i t a n d h o g - k e e p e r , w h o lived a t h o u s a n d years earlier i n E g y p t N o relation. This St Anthony, St A n t h o n y o f P a d u a , w a s , i n m y view, a n a l t o g e t h e r u n s a v o u r y character. Apparently h i s m o t h e r used t o c r o o n songs o f d e v o ­ t i o n t o t h e Virgin M a r y t o h i m i n h i s c r a d l e . T h a t w a s i n Lisbon i n 1 1 9 5 . I n a sense, h e n e v e r r e c o v e r e d . At t h e age o f fifteen, as w e m i g h t e x p e c t o f t h e s o n o f p i o u s n o b l e s , h e w a s p r o s t r a t i n g h i m s e l f a t t h e feet o f h i s Heavenly M o t h e r b e f o r e

t h e altar o f

Lisbon

C a t h e d r a l , b e g g i n g t o b e saved f r o m ' t e m p t a t i o n ' - b y w h i c h I take it t h e b o o k l e t ' s a u t h o r m e a n t t h e u r g e n t desire to c o p u l a t e . Lisbon, as h e p o i n t s o u t , w a s a r e m a r k a b l y 'dissolute' city at t h e t i m e , literally p u l l u ­ lating w i t h fleshly e n t i c e m e n t s , mainly, h e says, because o f t h e r u l e o f t h e Saracens, w h o h a d b e e n p u s h e d f u r ­ t h e r s o u t h o n l y a few d e c a d e s earlier. So all t h e

Padua Letters necessary

elements

were

present

for

the

young

F e r d i n a n d (as h e w a s c h r i s t e n e d ) t o convert h i s p e r ­ s o n a l n e u r o s i s i n t o s o m e t h i n g grander, s o m e t h i n g m o r e universal, a n d t o deflect h i s carefully cultivated h a t r e d o f h i m s e l f o n t o C h r i s t e n d o m ' s t w o greatest e n e m i e s at t h e t i m e : t h e M u s l i m s a n d t h e h e r e t i c s . A few y e a r s later at t h e H o l y Cross M o n a s t e r y at Coimbra in the north, w h e r e the mountains m e e t the p l a i n , h e h a p p e n e d t o m e e t five Franciscan friars w h o w e r e a b o u t t o set o u t for M o r o c c o t o p r e a c h t o t h e h e a t h e n . T h i s w a s a fateful m e e t i n g , steadying h i s flapping

l i b i d o a n d h a r n e s s i n g it t o t h e great a n d m a g ­

nificent p u r p o s e h e h u n g e r e d for. W h e n t h e b o d i e s o f t h e five friars a r r i v e d b a c k i n C o i m b r a a s h o r t w h i l e later, t h e i r skulls b r u t a l l y c l o v e n b y t h e scimitar o f t h e E m i r o f M o r o c c o himself, t h e y o u n g A n t h o n y — a n d h e now

called

himself

Anthony,

having

become

a

Franciscan friar h i m s e l f at a m o n a s t e r y a b o u t a m i l e f r o m t h e H o l y Cross - resolved t o b e c o m e a C h r i s t i a n m a r t y r i n t h e p i t c h e d b a t t l e against t h e Saracens. H i s s e l f - r e n u n c i a t i o n , i n o t h e r w o r d s , or, if y o u like, h i s d e n i a l o f life, w a s a b o u t t o t a k e t h e e x t r e m e f o r m ( f r o m m y p o i n t o f v i e w ) , i n t h e fervent h o p e o f t h e richest r e w a r d o n offer i n t h e universe. 'For our light afflic­ tion,' as P a u l w r o t e t o t h e C o r i n t h i a n s , 'which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.' B u t isn't t h i s t h e n lust u n d e r a n o t h e r n a m e ? Whatever

t h e case, G o d w a s n o t

fooled. T h e

M o h a m m e d a n Mission to Morocco was a c o m p l e t e disaster. Y o u n g A n t h o n y failed t o c o n v e r t a single

-231M u s l i m s o u l t o C h r i s t - i n fact, h e failed t o d e l i v e r a single s e r m o n . I n t h e e n d h e fell ill w i t h a 'fever'—a cover-all t e r m w e d o n ' t a l l o w any m o r e , I n o t i c e — a n d set o u t for h o m e . At least h i s skull w a s

intact.

P r o v i d e n c e d e c r e e d , however, t h a t h e n e v e r r e a c h P o r t u g a l . Instead, a s t o r m b l e w h i s s h i p o n t o r o c k s o n t h e Sicilian coast. After r e s t i n g u p i n Messina for a w h i l e — a t exactly t h e t i m e t h e Baroness's a m u l e t

found

its b r i e f resting place there, b y t h e way, it's o d d t h e p a t terns that appear in hindsight, a l t h o u g h they m e a n n o t h i n g — h e m a d e h i s w a y t o Assisi w h e r e h e b e c a m e involved i n t h e C h u r c h ' s c a m p a i g n against its o t h e r e n e m y , t h e h e r e t i c . So, as I w o u l d see it, at t h i s p o i n t t h e m a s o c h i s t w a s t r a n s f o r m e d i n t o t h e sadist. I n e i t h e r case s o m e t h i n g w a s very w r o n g w i t h t h e w a y h e loved b o t h himself and the world. T h i s is really w h a t I can't forgive h i m for. Well, it's h a r d l y a m a t t e r o f forgiveness, o f c o u r s e — w h o a m I t o forgive o r n o t t o forgive? It's b e s i d e t h e p o i n t . B u t this is w h a t t u r n s m e r i g h t against h i m . H e r e s y t o m e is sacred. H e r e s y is t h e r o g u e g e n e t i c m u t a t i o n t h a t m a k e s t h e species m u l t i p l y . H e r e s y is t h e v e r y s o u r c e o f all t h e c o l o u r s a n d s h a p e s a n d p a i n a n d joy i n t h e w o r l d . T h o s e w h o w o u l d s t a m p it o u t a r e m y e n e m i e s . I n p o i n t o f fact, n o o n e i n Assisi p a i d m u c h a t t e n t i o n t o t h e y o u n g P o r t u g u e s e for a w h i l e , n o t u n t i l t h e Bishop of Bologna t o o k a liking t o h i m a n d sent h i m t o Forlì. That's w h e r e h e really g o t i n t o h i s stride, a p p a r ently, after s t e p p i n g i n o n e d a y t o give a n i m p r o m p t u s e r m o n w h e n t h e p r e a c h e r fell ill. Before l o n g , t e n s o f

Padua

Letters

thousands of people were crowding out the church a n d t h e s q u a r e b e y o n d to h e a r h i m t h u n d e r against the h e r e t i c s . They'd cover w h o l e hillsides, a c c o r d i n g t o m y b o o k l e t , straining to h e a r h i s inspired

fulminations.

The

H a m m e r o f t h e Heretics, t h e y called h i m , a n d h i s anvil w a s Catholic d o c t r i n e . I n t h e s h o r t t e r m , as w e k n o w , t h e c a m p a i g n w a s m a r v e l l o u s l y successful. T h e s e w e r e t h e years, after all, w h e n t h e evil flower o f t h e Albigensian h e r e s y w a s b l o o m i n g lushly all over s o u t h e r n F r a n c e a n d n o r t h ­ e r n I t a l y — t h e Cathars, t h e W a l d e n s i a n s , as w e l l as various m i n o r

sects. By

1 2 0 0 , for

instance,

the

Waldensians h a d n o fewer t h a n six bishoprics i n n o r t h ­ e r n Italy. M e r e p r e a c h i n g , however, p r o v e d insufficient —it w a s physical e x t e r m i n a t i o n , e n c o u r a g e d a n d i n p a r t o r g a n i z e d b y t h e C h u r c h , w h i c h w a s m o s t effective (the g o o d o l d w h o l e s a l e massacre), as well as t h e

tight­

e n i n g n o o s e o f t h e I n q u i s i t i o n a little later. A n t h o n y p r e a c h e d all over s o u t h e r n F r a n c e a n d n o r t h e r n Italy d u r i n g t h e m o s t c r u c i a l years o f this m u r d e r o u s c r u ­ sade a n d so, i n m y eyes, m u s t s h a r e i n t h e b l a m e for t h e h o r r e n d o u s a n d , ultimately, p o i n t l e s s suffering it caused. (Pointless b e c a u s e i n t h e l o n g t e r m , o f c o u r s e , t h e c a m p a i g n failed utterly—heresy, a l t h o u g h n o t i n t h e Albigensian f o r m , h a s t r i u m p h e d . ) M y m o r a l o u t r a g e is t h e p r o d u c t o f t h e t i m e s I live in, I k n o w . It's i n t e r e s t i n g t o n o t e t h a t i n Dante's Inferno n o o n e is d a m n e d for killing. I n o t h e r w o r d s , i n t h e early f o u r t e e n t h c e n t u r y i n n o r t h e r n Italy, a h u n d r e d years o r so after St A n t h o n y died, killing h u m a n beings

-233-

d o e s n o t s e e m t o have b e e n r e g a r d e d as m u c h o f a sin i n itself, unless basely m o t i v a t e d , m o t i v a t e d b y m i s ­ placed love, for e x a m p l e — o f money, fame, possessions, self a n d so o n . So suicides, p i m p s , a d u l t e r e r s , t h e fraudulent, the p r o u d , the gluttonous, the violent, s o d o m i t e s , those w h o forgot t o say ' M a r y ' as t h e y d i e d —all these are d a m n e d for all e t e r n i t y t o u n s p e a k a b l e tortures,

while

killing

as such, d e s p i t e

the

Ten

C o m m a n d m e n t s , d o e s n ' t s e e m t o offend a n y o n e . It clearly failed t o offend St Anthony. For that m a t t e r , o f course, millions of ideologues in o u r o w n

times,

i n c l u d i n g lots o f c h a r m i n g , w e l l - e d u c a t e d p e o p l e w e all enjoy h a v i n g d i n n e r w i t h , have failed t o b e deeply offended b y t h e massacres c a r r i e d o u t i n t h e n a m e o f t h e i r o w n i d e o l o g y i n t h e i r o w n lifetimes. Regretful, saddened, m a d e uneasy—but n o t outraged. W h e n you c h o p w o o d , they explain tranquilly, p o u r i n g themselves a little m o r e c h a r d o n n a y , c h i p s fly. Oblivious of his complicity in mass murder, the p o p u l a t i o n s o f t h e t o w n s t h e saint visited

were

i m p r e s s e d w i t h a series o f miracles: at R i m i n i , for instance, w h e n t h e W a l d e n s i a n h e r e t i c s r u d e l y w a l k e d o u t o n h i s s e r m o n , h e called o n t h e fishes o f t h e sea t o listen t o h i m i n s t e a d - a n d , i n d e e d , t h e fishes d i d l i n e u p t o l e n d a n ear, t h e i r little fishy h e a d s p o k i n g u p above t h e waves o f t h e Adriatic; i n Bourges i n France, t h e m u l e b e l o n g i n g to s o m e d o u b t i n g J e w s p r e f e r r e d t h e h o s t St A n t h o n y offered it t o t h e oats its o w n e r s t h r u s t at it - a n d t h e J e w s o f B o u r g e s r e j o i c e d a n d w e r e c o n v e r t e d ; h e d r a n k p o i s o n given h i m b y

Padua Letters

h e r e t i c s w i t h n o ill effect; t h e L o r d o f C h â t e a u n e u f w a s a m a z e d t o see h i m c r a d l i n g t h e C h r i s t C h i l d i n h i s a r m s . A n d s o it goes o n , d e g e n e r a t i n g i n o u r t i m e s i n t o f i n d i n g lost p e n - k n i v e s a n d golf-balls. It all s m a c k s o f s o m e t h i n g I d e e p l y dislike. J u s t b e f o r e h e d i e d (of d r o p s y ) A n t h o n y is said t o h a v e b u r s t i n t o song: Hail, Glorious Lady, Virgin seated above the stars. Hail, Mother of my Saviour. Presumably, it h a s m o r e of a r i n g to it i n Italian - o r w a s it i n P o r t u g u e s e ? At any rate, this last s o n g r o u n d s off t h e n a r r a t i v e v e r y nicely, I t h i n k , r e t u r n i n g u s t o h i s first m u s i c a l e x p e r i e n c e i n h i s m o t h e r s a r m s i n Lisbon. H e d i e d just o u t s i d e P a d u a , a c c o r d i n g t o m y b o o k l e t , 'his face i r r a d i a t e d b y a sweet s m i l e ' . H e w a s d e c l a r e d a saint practically o n t h e s p o t a n d i n 1 9 4 6 t h e P o p e a w a r d e d h i m t h e p o s t h u m o u s title o f Doctor evangelicus. Sitting t h e r e at t h a t café table across t h e s q u a r e f r o m t h e Basilica's o r n a t e façade, I c o u l d have wept. From disenchantment*

Professor E s c h e n b a u m , b y t h e way, w a s n o t at all i n t e r ­ ested i n h e a r i n g a b o u t St A n t h o n y o f P a d u a - h e ' s strictly Renaissance, w h e r e a s t h e saint w a s M i d d l e Ages. (I love t h e w a y h e says Renaissance w i t h a G e r m a n a c c e n t —delicious.) H e w a s m o r e i n t e r e s t e d i n m y m o m e n t o f t e m p t a t i o n at t h e Basilica, since h i s w h o l e p u r p o s e

-235i n c o m i n g t o Italy, as I've m e n t i o n e d , is t o give i n t o t e m p t a t i o n . N o t , I t h i n k , t h a t St A n t h o n y w o u l d h a v e m u c h t e m p t e d h i m . I t s instinct he's m o r e l u r e d by, n o t t h e r e n u n c i a t i o n o f instinct. I t o l d h i m a b o u t m y e x p e ­ r i e n c e i n t h e Basilica this a f t e r n o o n i n t h e h o t e l bar. He's d e c i d e d n o t t o leave u n t i l t o m o r r o w , b y t h e way, w h e n h e h o p e s h i s a r m w i l l b e a little s t r o n g e r - y o u n e e d all t h e a r m s y o u can get w h e n y o u ' r e lugging suit­ cases o n a n d off trains. It's t h e i d e a l p l a c e t o sit a n d talk, that bar. For m y p a r t , I h a v e a perfect v i e w o u t over t h e e m b a n k m e n t a n d t h e canal a n d I c a n w a t c h t h e Venetians w a l k i n g by. (It's o n e o f t h e u n a c k n o w l ­ e d g e d d e l i g h t s o f Venice, i n m y o p i n i o n , w a t c h i n g p e o p l e walking. E v e r y o n e h a s t o w a l k — u p a n d d o w n , i n a n d o u t , along, across. It's endlessly diverting.) A n d t h e Professor, for h i s p a r t , h a s a perfect v i e w o f E m i l i o . I w a t c h e d h i m w a t c h i n g E m i l i o easing o n e

finger

d o w n b e t w e e n h i s collar a n d h i s n e c k , r u b b i n g a t t h e s p o t w h e r e t h e s t a r c h e d e d g e o f t h e collar b i t e s i n t o h i s skin. The Professor's attitude t o Emilio seems to have c h a n g e d a fraction over t h e p a s t day o r t w o . P e r h a p s it's b e c a u s e he's leaving, p e r h a p s it's s o m e t h i n g else. It's n o t s o m e t h i n g I c a n easily p u t m y finger o n , b u t t h e o l d p e r e m p t o r i n e s s h a s faded, there's a l m o s t a h i n t o f m e e k n e s s i n h i s b e h a v i o u r t o w a r d s h i m , w h i l e at t h e s a m e t i m e E m i l i o s e e m s increasingly o f f - h a n d , b u t o n p u r p o s e . It m a k e s m e slightly u n c o m f o r t a b l e .

Venice, 17 th Aprii ALL I HAD t o d o t o see t h e Botanical G a r d e n t h a t a f t e r n o o n i n P a d u a w a s get u p f r o m m y table a n d w a l k across t h e s q u a r e . I'd f o u n d it o n t h e m a p a n d it w a s tantalizingly close, i n b e h i n d t h e Basilica, just a stone's t h r o w away. B u t I d i d n ' t d o i t I'd r e a d a b o u t it, t h o u g h t a b o u t it, i m a g i n e d it a n d m a d e a m e n t a l n o t e t o visit it o n e day, b u t w h e n t h e m o m e n t c a m e — a n d t h e r e w e r e still a c o u p l e o f h o u r s o f daylight l e f t — I stayed g l u e d t o m y seat i n t h e s h a d o w o f St Anthony's. It's n o t u n l i k e n o t w a n t i n g t o finish Dante's Paradise ( w h i c h I am q u i t e enjoying, t h e Professor w a s r i g h t , I ' m afraid). I d o like t o p o s t p o n e c u l m i n a t i o n . A n d t h e O r t o B o t a n i c o i n P a d u a w a s c o n c e i v e d as t h e c u l m i ­ n a t i o n o f s o m e t h i n g — w h a t , exactly, it's h a r d t o say at t h i s distance. B u t i n 1 5 4 5 , w h e n P a d u a w a s Venice's c e n t r e o f l e a r n i n g - it's just across t h e fields, after all, f r o m t h e seat o f t h e M o s t S e r e n e R e p u b l i c — s o m e o n e h a d t h e i d e a o f ' collecting t h e w h o l e w o r l d i n a s i n ­ gle c h a m b e r ' . * N e e d l e s s t o say, t h e idea o f t h e b o t a n i c a l

-237g a r d e n h a d existed for t h o u s a n d s o f y e a r s — A r i s t o t l e h a d o n e , as d i d M o n t e z u m a i n Mexico, n o t t o m e n ­ t i o n every s e c o n d Renaissance p r i n c e i n I t a l y — b u t it w a s t h e P a d u a n s w h o c o n c e i v e d o f t h e first t r u l y modern b o t a n i c a l g a r d e n , a g a r d e n w h i c h , n o w t h a t t h e w h o l e w o r l d w a s k n o w n , c o u l d reflect b o t h t h e w o n ­ d r o u s b r e a d t h o f G o d s c r e a t i o n a n d its o r d e r , b o t h at t h e s a m e t i m e . ( T h e ' w h o l e w o r l d ' , I n e e d scarcely a d d , d i d n o t , to t h e E u r o p e a n m i n d , i n c l u d e A u s t r a l i a — n o r d o e s it t o this day, t o all i n t e n t s a n d p u r p o s e s . W e r e m a i n a k i n d o f Estonia o f t h e S o u t h Seas, a n o t w h o l l y unsatisfactory state o f affairs.) H e n c e i n P a d u a t h e a l m o s t mystical p a t t e r n i n g o f t h e p a r t e r r e s : circles w i t h i n s q u a r e s w i t h i n circles—infinite variety, b u t enclosed infinitude, w h i c h is geometrically possible, b y t h e way, a n d n o t a c o n t r a d i c t i o n i n t e r m s . A n d t h e c i r ­ cles a n d s q u a r e s w e r e a r r a n g e d i n this c i r c u l a r g a r d e n i n four s q u a r e d - o f f g r o u p s : Asia, Africa, E u r o p e a n d t h e Americas, across w h i c h c o n t i n e n t s G o d h a d apparently, i n H i s w i s d o m , scattered t h e glories o f t h e o r i g i n a l G a r d e n o f Eden, since n o explorer, n o t even C o l u m b u s , had

succeeded

in

locating

it

in

one

place-

M e s o p o t a m i a , Venezuela, they l o o k e d e v e r y w h e r e . A n d , a l t h o u g h it t o o k forty years t o c o m p l e t e , t h e g a r d e n s w e r e even d e s i g n e d i n o n e fell s w o o p , i n c o n s c i o u s i m i t a t i o n o f God's d r a m a t i c a l l y s u d d e n c r e a t i o n o f t h e G a r d e n o f Eden. So m a k e n o m i s t a k e a b o u t it: w h a t w a s b e c k o n i n g m e f r o m b e y o n d St A n t h o n y ' s spires a n d d o m e s w a s n o t h i n g less t h a n t h e r e c r e a t i o n o f Paradise. H e r e , as

Padua

Letters

t h e P a d u a n s m i g h t have s e e n it, i n n o c e n c e a n d sin¬ lessness

h a d b e e n r e c o n s t i t u t e d , h e r e w e m i g h t all

b e c o m e n e w A d a m s before t h e fall, w a n d e r i n g a m o n g s t God's trees a n d flowers ( n o fanged a n i m a l s i n evidence, a n d certainly n o r u t t i n g ) b e f o r e sex, b e f o r e g r e e d , before toil. B u t I t u r n e d away, I d i d n ' t go. I just sat t h e r e with m y cappuccino and thought glumly about h o w I d i d n ' t believe in Edenic visions o r regained i n n o c e n c e . N o r d i d I believe t h a t t h e O r t o B o t a n i c o h a d m u c h t o d o w i t h N a t u r e - it w a s a b o o k a b o u t N a t u r e , a n e n c y ­ c l o p a e d i a o f N a t u r e , n o t N a t u r e itself. I felt t h a t w a s a b o o k I'd already leafed t h r o u g h m o r e t h a n o n c e . I n fact, b o t a n i c a l gardens aren't really g a r d e n s at all, o f any kind. They s o m e h o w contrive to b e neither orchards, n o r flower g a r d e n s , n o r k i t c h e n g a r d e n s , n o r p h y s i c k g a r d e n s , n o r even p a r k s . T h e y ' r e static, n o t h i n g ' s h a p ­ p e n i n g — n o flowers are b e i n g p i c k e d , n o fruit e a t e n , n o m e d i c i n e s b o i l e d u p , there's n o o n e p i c n i c k i n g o r a d m i r i n g t h e view. It's a m u s e u m , n o t a g a r d e n . Paradise w a s n e v e r a m u s e u m . So, i n s t e a d o f h e a d i n g off across t h e s q u a r e t o w a r d s t h e g a r d e n , I w e n t t h e o t h e r way, b a c k t h r o u g h t h e o l d city t o w a r d s t h e sta­ t i o n . N o t h i n g d i v e r t e d m e , so I e v e n t u a l l y c a m e t o t h e s t a t i o n . I r e t r i e v e d m y luggage, w e n t u p o n t o t h e p l a t ­ f o r m a n d g o t o n t h e first t r a i n t h a t c a m e a l o n g — t o Venice. A c o u p l e o f h u n d r e d years ago, I s e e m t o r e m e m ­ b e r r e a d i n g s o m e w h e r e , t h e stylish w a y t o a p p r o a c h Venice f r o m Padua, especially i n s u m m e r a n d a u t u m n , w a s b y s a l o o n - b a r g e a l o n g t h e River B r e n t a , d r i f t i n g

-239past all t h o s e Renaissance m a n s i o n s w i t h t h e i r e l a b o ­ r a t e topiary, f o u n t a i n s a n d frescoed walls. As e v e n i n g fell t h e w a t e r w a y w a s t r a n s f o r m e d i n t o a t u n n e l lit b y g l o w - w o r m s . T h e a p p r o a c h b y rail is m o r e prosaic, t o say t h e very least, b u t even crossing t h e l a g o o n t o Venice b y t r a i n filled m e w i t h a k i n d o f w a r m e x c i t e m e n t , a peaceful e x u b e r a n c e I've felt n o w h e r e else.

I've g o t w h e e l s o n m y n e w suitcase, so w h e n I g o t t o Venice, h a r d l y h a l f a n h o u r ' s j o u r n e y away, I w a s able to w a l k away f r o m t h e station as if I k n e w w h e r e I w a s g o i n g a n d lose myself i n that dizzying m a z e o f laneways a n d canals across t h e b r i d g e from t h e station forecourt, l o o k i n g for a h o t e l . There's a

flamboyant

vulgarity, a

sort of decadent, almost c a m p theatricality a b o u t the scene that greets y o u w h e n y o u w a l k o u t o f t h e s t a ­ t i o n a n d find y o u r s e l f s t a n d i n g r i g h t o n t h e G r a n d Canal—it's invigorating, b u t it also m a k e s y o u w a n t t o l a u g h . T h e set is g r a n d o p e r a b u t t h e a c t i o n is p u r e vaudeville. W h e n y o u leave t h e e m b a n k m e n t a n d w a n ­ d e r off u p o n e o f t h e d r a b s i d e - s t r e e t s , it's a l m o s t like s u d d e n l y t u r n i n g off a r a t t l i n g

film-projector—in

an

i n s t a n t there's silence, s o b r i e t y a n d a g e - o l d serenity. O n l y t h e s m e l l s s e e m t o waft i n after y o u . Bliss. I've actually b e e n b a c k t o t h e s t a t i o n t o n i g h t t o say g o o d b y e t o Professor E s c h e n b a u m . I p u t h i m o n t h e Paganini Express t o D o r t m u n d . I t w a s n ' t s a d — e v e r y ­ t h i n g t h a t n e e d e d t o b e said h a d b e e n said. H e d i d n ' t want m e to bother accompanying him, but with his

Padua

Letters

delicate a r m I c o u l d see h e w a s g o i n g t o h a v e t r o u b l e w i t h h i s cases, so I insisted. I d o n ' t i m a g i n e w e ' l l ever m e e t again. These days I try h a r d t o m a k e things w o r t h ­ w h i l e for w h a t they are now, w i t h o u t c o n s i d e r i n g w h a t t h e y m a y l e a d t o o r w h e t h e r w h a t I've b e e n e x p e r i ­ e n c i n g c a n b e r e c a p t u r e d . Needless t o say, I s h o u l d have lived m o r e like t h a t all along, b u t y o u d o n ' t , d o y o u , w h e n y o u t h i n k o f y o u r life as a n a l m o s t infinitely l o n g c o n t i n u u m . I h a t e t o t h i n k h o w often I've failed t o n o t i c e w h a t w a s h a p p e n i n g t o m e at t h e t i m e b e c a u s e m y m i n d w a s t a k e n u p w i t h p r e p a r i n g t o retell it o r r e p e a t it o r i n s o m e o t h e r w a y c o n s i d e r its r a m i f i c a ­ t i o n s . Too often I've b e e n like t h o s e p e o p l e y o u get t r a p p e d w i t h at cocktail parties, forever l o o k i n g over y o u r s h o u l d e r t o see w h o t h e y m i g h t talk t o n e x t . It isn't p u t t i n g t h e Professor o n t h e t r a i n m y m i n d g o e s b a c k t o t o n i g h t , all t h e s a m e , a l t h o u g h I've b e e n t h i n k i n g a b o u t h i m all evening, r a t t l i n g a l o n g , n o doubt, somewhere u p in the mountains n o r t h of M i l a n . N o , it's o u r last c o n v e r s a t i o n t h a t w i l l stay w i t h m e , t h e o n e w e h a d over o u r farewell l u n c h earlier this a f t e r n o o n . It t u r n e d o u t t o b e all a b o u t Casanova. A l t h o u g h h e w a s n ' t Renaissance ( h e w a s t h e e i g h t e e n t h c e n t u r y i n c a r n a t e ) , I k n e w t h e Professor w a s interested i n h i m because o f t h e conversation w e h a d a b o u t p r i s ­ o n s a few days a g o — d o y o u r e m e m b e r ? Casanova w a s t h e m o s t f a m o u s p r i s o n e r ever i n c a r c e r a t e d u n d e r t h e n o t o r i o u s Leads. And, i n fact, it w a s t h e q u e s t i o n o f h i s f a m e t h a t s p a r k e d o u r c o n v e r s a t i o n . It w a s a p a r a d o x , surely, I said, t h a t t h e t w o m o s t f a m o u s Venetians o f

-241 all t i m e , M a r c o P o l o a n d Casanova, w e r e virtually f o r ­ g o t t e n i n Venice i t s e l f - just t r y t o b u y a b o o k a b o u t e i t h e r o f t h e m i n a Venetian b o o k s h o p , for e x a m p l e , it's far easier i n M e l b o u r n e . T h e Professor objected t h a t t h e r e w e r e p l e n t y o f o t h e r f a m o u s Venetians—Vivaldi, Titian, T i n t o r e t t o , h e r e e l e d off a w h o l e list o f t h e m i n t h a t slightly t i r e s o m e , a c a d e m i c w a y o f h i s — t o w h i c h I said that, yes, they w e r e all f a m o u s , m i l l i o n s h a d h e a r d o f t h e m , b u t it w a s o n l y M a r c o P o l o a n d Casanova w h o h a d b e c o m e , as it w e r e , s y m b o l s o f s o m e t h i n g m u c h larger t h a n t h e m s e l v e s . ' I c o n i c , y o u m e a n , ' said t h e Professor a n d I r e l u c t a n t l y agreed t h a t that p r o b a b l y w a s w h a t I m e a n t . Vivaldi w a s f a m o u s for h i s m u s i c , let's say, b u t Casanova a n d M a r c o P o l o h a d c o m e t o r e p r e s e n t e n t i r e . . . 'Mentalités,' said t h e Professor. Exactly. ' W h y d o y o u t h i n k t h a t is?' T h e Professor neatly d e t a c h e d o n e side o f h i s sole f r o m its s k e l e t o n . We'd d e c i d e d t o l u n c h s o m e w h e r e Very Expensive t o m a r k w h a t w a s a r a t h e r special o c c a ­ s i o n a n d w e r e sitting b e h i n d glass o n t h e very e d g e o f t h e G r a n d Canal. W h i l e h e c o n s i d e r e d carefully h o w t o r e s p o n d , I d r a n k i n t h e scene b e y o n d t h e glass, t h a t a s t o n i s h i n g cavalcade o f d a i n t y s t o n e façades, w h e e l ­ i n g slowly r o u n d t o w a r d s t h e Rialto t o d i s a p p e a r i n a n e x p l o s i o n o f d o m e s , t o w e r s a n d crazed r o o f - l i n e s . T think,' h e said, c h e w i n g thoughtfully, 'it's because e a c h of t h e m represents o n e i m p o r t a n t kind of journeying. Yes, I ' m s u r e that's why. A l m o s t o p p o s i t e k i n d s , i n fact. A n d j o u r n e y i n g is, after all, so f u n d a m e n t a l t o t h e w a y

Padua Letters w e h u m a n s t h i n k o f ourselves a n d assign o u r lives a m e a n i n g . Every s e c o n d b o o k y o u r e a d is a b o u t s o m e k i n d o f journey, really, isn't it? A n d w e c o n s t a n t l y t a l k a b o u t p a t h s i n life - ways, r o a d s , progress, stages a n d so o n - all travel m e t a p h o r s , w h e n y o u think a b o u t it. I w o u l d say t h a t M a r c o P o l o a n d Casanova h a v e c o m e t o s t a n d for c o m p l e t e l y different w a y s o f travelling— a n d therefore o f living o u t y o u r life.' I w a s w o n d e r ­ i n g h o w I c o u l d p r o v o k e h i m t o say m o r e . Watching a n overloaded vaporetto chugging towards the station, I tried t o recall for a m o m e n t that very funny passage i n A Sentimental Journey w h e r e Sterne lists all t h e different k i n d s o f travellers he's observed—you m u s t have r e a d it, it's a delicious little burst o f pseudo-scientific n o n s e n s e . It c a m e t o m i n d because I've b e e n p i c k i n g Sterne u p a n d r e a d i n g bits a n d pieces from the j o u r n e y almost every day for w e e k s — o n trains, over lunch, before I fall asleep—he's a m a r v e l l o u s a n t i d o t e t o Dante. T h e w r i t i n g is so n e r v y a n d s e l f - m o c k i n g t h a t it's a l m o s t i m p o s s i b l e t o w o r k o u t exactly w h a t he's say­ ing, t o b e h o n e s t , a l t h o u g h clearly at s o m e level he's m o u n t i n g a defence o f h i s o w n k i n d o f travelling—the sentimental k i n d . M o s t p e o p l e ( h e s e e m s t o b e saying) travel ( a n d h e m e a n s t o t h e C o n t i n e n t ) o u t o f b o r e ­ d o m ('idleness', h e calls it, so m u c h m o r e aristocratic), curiosity ( w h i c h is n e v e r p r o p e r l y fed), i m b e c i l i t y (I s u p p o s e h e m e a n s p e o p l e w h o can't t h i n k o f a n y t h i n g b e t t e r t o d o ) o r else s o m e k i n d o f necessity—to escape c r e d i t o r s , t o i m p r o v e t h e i r m i n d s , b e c a u s e t h e y have b e e n s e n t a b r o a d b y s o m e o n e else a n d so o n . You g e t

-243t h e feeling S t e r n e finds all t h e s e r e a s o n s for travel i n s o m e w a y o r o t h e r vain a n d misguided a n d thinks t h e s e k i n d s o f travellers w o u l d d o just as w e l l t o stay at h o m e — e s p e c i a l l y if they're English. (Lesser b r e e d s are h a r d l y c o n s i d e r e d — t h i s w a s 1 7 6 8 o r t h e r e a b o u t s . ) N o w , t h e sentimental traveller, o n t h e o t h e r h a n d , s u c h as S t e r n e h i m s e l f w a s , o r affected t o b e , is a n a l t o g e t h e r m o r e m o d e r n c r e a t u r e — i n fact, L a u r e n c e S t e r n e m a y w e l l h a v e b e e n t h e first t r u e e x a m p l e o f t h e species. T h e s e n t i m e n t a l traveller travels s i m p l y i n o r d e r t o o b s e r v e t h e m o t i o n o f h i s o w n sensibilities. ( P e o p l e are awfully s n o o t y a b o u t t h e w o r d 'sensibilities' t h e s e days. D o y o u m e a n 'feelings'? t h e y ask q u e r u l o u s l y . If so, say 'feelings'. B u t I t h i n k it's q u i t e a useful w o r d , I think

it indicates, as t h e s i m p l e w o r d

'feelings'

doesn't, a self-awareness a n d even a p p r e c i a t i o n o f w h a t y o u feel, as w e l l as a k i n d o f pleasure, w h i c h m a y i n d e e d b e u n w h o l e s o m e l y effete, i n t h e w a y t h e dif­ ferent c u r r e n t s o f feeling y o u experience w o r k t o g e t h e r a n d against e a c h o t h e r t o p r o d u c e a w h o l e — a n e m o ­ t i o n a l self, if y o u like. A n d so I t e n d t o m i n k w h a t Sterne really m e a n t b y ' s e n t i m e n t a l traveller' w a s 'sensi­ b l e traveller' i n t h e o l d - f a s h i o n e d sense.)

Sterne's

ostensible p u r p o s e i n r a b b i t i n g o n t o t h e p o i n t o f i n c o ­ h e r e n c e a b o u t all t h e s e categories a n d s u b - c a t e g o r i e s o f traveller is t o m a k e h i s r e a d e r reflect o n w h a t k i n d o f traveller h e (again, this w a s 1 7 6 8 ) m i g h t b e . A n o t h e r tiling: w h e n y o u step b a c k f r o m t h a t s i n ­ gle passage i n A Sentimental Journey a n d consider t h e p i c t u r e o f t h e s e n t i m e n t a l traveller w h i c h emerges (a little

Padua

Letters

dishevelled) f r o m the r e c o r d as a w h o l e , y o u can't h e l p n o t i c i n g h o w suffused w i t h eroticism this Yorkshire p a r ­ son's a c c o u n t o f t h e voyaging o f h i s sensibilities t u r n e d o u t t o b e . I d o n ' t m e a n this i n just t h e o b v i o u s sense t h a t t h e b o o k is full o f quivering e n c o u n t e r s w i t h filles de chambre a n d seductive ladies, b u t also i n t h e less o b v i ­ o u s sense that h i s use of English is never less t h a n flirtatious: d o t t e d w i t h i n n o c e n t double-entendres, it c o n ¬ stantly p r o m i s e s satisfaction a n d t h e n a b r u p t l y twirls a r o u n d lightly a n d trips off i n t h e o p p o s i t e direction. H e teases his reader like a lover o n every page, t u r n i n g h i s chastity i n t o s o m e t h i n g a l m o s t positively lewd. N o n e of this is particularly i n t e r e s t i n g i n itself, I s u p p o s e , b u t I r e m e m b e r s u s p e c t i n g w h e n I r e a d this passage that s e n t i m e n t a l travelling is p r o b a b l y always e r o t i c - i n s o m e sense. B u t w h i c h o n e ? Actually, w h a t m y c o m p a n i o n w e n t o n t o say, s i l h o u e t t e d as h e w a s against t h e s h i m m e r i n g , s w a r m i n g a r c h o f t h e P o n t e degli Scalzi, h a p p e n e d to c h i m e i n very aptly w i t h m y reflections o n s e n t i m e n t a l travelling. P e r h a p s that w a s n o t a c o m p l e t e c o i n c i d e n c e since S t e r n e w a s a c o n ­ t e m p o r a r y o f Casanova's - and, for that matter, P o l o w a s a c o n t e m p o r a r y o f Dante's, w h o h a s also b e e n very m u c h o n m y m i n d these past few days, as y o u ' l l have g a t h e r e d . (Interestingly e n o u g h , D a n t e c o n t r i v e d t o i g n o r e h i s i l l u s t r i o u s c o n t e m p o r a r y utterly, a l t h o u g h h e m a n a g e d t o get i n a l i n e o r t w o o n a l m o s t every o t h e r Italian w h o h a d ever lived. I ' m s u r e t h e r e are t h e o r i e s a b o u t why.) 'Have y o u ever r e a d M a r c o Polo's Travels?' t h e

- 245 Professor asked, d e t a c h i n g t h e s e c o n d side o f h i s sole from the skeleton. 'Well, n o , I've o n l y r e a d a b o u t h i m , really 'You probably s h o u l d n ' t b o t h e r — I ' m sure y o u ' d b e d i s a p p o i n t e d . I n any case, y o u w o u l d n ' t b e r e a d i n g M a r c o Polo, you'd b e r e a d i n g Rustichello, t h e scribe h e r e c o u n t e d h i s travels t o i n p r i s o n i n Genoa,

and

Rustichello, w h o w r o t e it all d o w n i n a strange Italianate sort o f French, t o o k e n o r m o u s liberties w i t h t h e text. H e even w e n t so far as t o plagiarize h i m s e l f — w i t h o u t any a c k n o w l e d g e m e n t h e stuck bits o f o t h e r things h e ' d w r i t t e n , especially about King Arthur, right i n t o the m i d dle o f t h e M a r c o Polo. M i n d y o u , if a n y o n e n e e d e d recasting i n t h e r o l e of k n i g h t errant, it w a s M a r c o Polo. D e e p d o w n h e s e e m s t o have b e e n a n unforgivably d u l l m a n — e v e n Rustichello c o u l d n ' t disguise t h a t ' Professor E s c h e n b a u m p i c k e d very lightìy at a t o o t h w i t h a t o o t h pick, his o t h e r h a n d d a n g l i n g over t h e b a c k o f h i s chair. H e w a s waiting, I felt, for m e t o register s o m e surprise. ' H e w a s a m o n g s t t h e first E u r o p e a n s ever t o p e n e t r a t e t h e M o n g o l c o u r t at K a r a k o r u m , that's so, a n d p e r h a p s t h e very first t o visit Peking. H e served Kubilai K h a n — t h e K h a n o f Khans—for seventeen years, h e travelled all over China as h i s envoy, t o o k p a r t i n sieges a n d battles, a n d by the t i m e h e r e t u r n e d h o m e h a d travelled m o r e w i d e l y across t h e e a r t h t h a n any o t h e r h u m a n b e i n g i n history. Palestine, Persia, Kashmir, China, B u r m a , Java, I n d i a . . . it w a s a staggering a c h i e v e m e n t As a m a t t e r o f fact, s o m e o f t h e p a t h s h e t o o k w e r e n o t t r o d d e n again b y E u r o p e a n s u n t i l t h e n i n e t e e n t h century.

Padua

letters

'Yet w h a t h e felt a b o u t crossing t h e P a m i r s o r t h e G o b i Desert o r living i n t h i r t e e n t h - c e n t u r y P e k i n g h e d o e s n ' t say I n fact, h e gives little i n d i c a t i o n o f w h a t a n y o n e felt o r t h o u g h t a b o u t anything. H e barely e v e n m e n t i o n s w h a t Kubilai K h a n l o o k e d like! N o , w h a t Messer M a r c o P o l o travelled for w a s t o assess t h e t r a d e possibilities o f t h e c o u n t r i e s h e passed t h r o u g h a n d n o t m u c h m o r e . Productivity, a n d t h e local c u s t o m s t h a t m i g h t affect it, h o w e a c h state w a s r u l e d , w h o w a s a Saracen, a n idolater, a C h r i s t i a n a n d so o n — a l l p o l i t i ­ cally i m p o r t a n t - these w e r e t h e things M a r c o P o l o n o t e d d o w n a n d v e r y little else. There's n o sign at all t h a t h i s t h i n k i n g c h a n g e d a b o u t a n y t h i n g — h e left Italy as a n Italian teenager a n d r e t u r n e d t o Italy t w e n t y years later as Italian as h e ' d left it. N o t h i n g h e saw s e e m s t o have h a d t h e slightest effect o n h i s m e d i e v a l Italian v i e w o f t h e w o r l d . T h i s t o m e is a l m o s t as a m a z i n g as h i s itinerary. H e h e a r s g h o s t a r m i e s i n t h e desert, w a n ­ d e r s t h r o u g h B u d d h i s t m o n a s t e r i e s , finds a lake full o f pearls, escapes f r o m b r i g a n d s a n d w i l d a n i m a l s , m e e t s yogis, lives a m o n g s t p e o p l e so different from Venetians h e m i g h t as w e l l h a v e b e e n o n Mars, is s u r r o u n d e d b y every

kind

of

wonder

and

curiosity

(one

of

h i s favourite w o r d s ) — y e t y o u have a l m o s t n o sense o f h i s b e i n g present i n t h e s e places. So w e a k is t h e sense o f h i s p r e s e n c e t h a t it's a l m o s t i m p o s s i b l e t o w o r k o u t w h a t p a r t s o f h i s s t o r y reflected h i s o w n e x p e r i e n c e a n d w h a t p a r t s b o r r o w e d r e p o r t s . D i d h e ever g o t o Madagascar o r just h e a r tales a b o u t it? W a s h e ever i n J a p a n ? O r i n Zanzibar? D i d h e ever fall i n love? W a s

-247h e ever afraid? I m p o s s i b l e n o w t o say. H e travelled t o c o m p i l e a dossier o n t r a d i n g w i t h t h e East, s o it h a r d l y m a t t e r s w h e t h e r he's s p e a k i n g from p e r s o n a l e x p e r i ­ e n c e o r just passing o n i n f o r m a t i o n from o t h e r sources. H e just s t a r t e d at t h e b e g i n n i n g a n d e n d e d at t h e e n d —all v e r y linear. You c o u l d n ' t w r i t e a b o o k like h i s nowadays.' 'All t h e s a m e , it s e n t C o l u m b u s o u t across t h e Atlantic' 'Yes, that's t r u e , b u t , again, n o t i n s e a r c h o f e x p e r i ­ e n c e , b u t o f w e a l t h . T h e s e m e n travelled t o accumulate t h i n g s , n o t t o e x p e r i e n c e b e i n g alive.' 'Surely y o u ' r e b e i n g a little h a r s h ? ' 'Of course I a m — I ' m having l u n c h w i t h you, n o t w r i t i n g a b o o k . You're confusing genres.' H e s m i l e d . His l i p m u s t b e o n t h e m e n d . 'All I ' m saying is t h a t o u t o f t h i s r a t h e r n a r r o w - m i n d e d b u t o b s e r v a n t Venetian trader we've constructed s o m e o n e m u c h m o r e to o u r liking: a n a d v e n t u r i n g k n i g h t e r r a n t , b r a v i n g u n i m ­ aginable perils t o b r i n g t h e light o f E u r o p e t o t h e p a g a n East, d i s c o v e r i n g t r e a s u r e troves so vast E u r o p e h a d n o t i m e t o p l u n d e r t h e m all, r e t u r n i n g h o m e after t w e n t y years, v i r t u e intact, t h e b a n n e r o f Christ soiled b u t still unfurled,

to

a tumultuous welcome.

Rustichello

r e c o r d s d i a m o n d s , r u b i e s a n d e m e r a l d s spilling

from

t h e s e a m s o f t h e Polos' g a r m e n t s w h e n t h e y g o t b a c k t o V e n i c e — p r o o f that they had travelled well. A n d , i n a way, I s u p p o s e t h e y h a d . Essentially, t h o u g h , w h a t I ' m say­ i n g is t h a t Messer M a r c o P o l o h a d n o t been a n y w h e r e ' (A b i t p r e c i o u s , I t h o u g h t . ) ' A n d it m a y

sound

Padua Letters churlish, o f m e t o say so, b u t , o n t h e subject o f h i s p o w e r s o f o b s e r v a t i o n , h e failed t o r e m a r k o n t h e fact that t h e Chinese d r a n k tea, h a d discovered p r i n t i n g a n d b u i l t t h e Great Wall.' H e called t h e w a i t e r over a n d o r d e r e d a selection o f gelati. ' A n d Casanova? H o w w a s h e different, i n y o u r opinion?' T h e Professor considered m e carefully. ' I n every way, m y friend, i n every w a y - i n h o w h e w r o t e , i n w h a t h e l o o k e d for, i n h o w h e loved, i n h i s n o t i o n o f h a p p i ­ ness. I suspect y o u m i g h t like Casanova v e r y m u c h . ' ' W h a t m a k e s y o u t h i n k so?' 'Because h i s obsessions w e r e y o u r obsessions, that's w h y ' I was surprised—I'd

t h o u g h t Casanova

was

m a i n l y obsessed w i t h s e d u c i n g n u n s . ' A n d w h a t w e r e h i s obsessions, w o u l d y o u say?' ' T i m e , for a start. I n fact, above a l l — t i m e . O f course, o n t h e face o f it, h e w a s little m o r e t h a n a w a n d e r i n g p h i l a n d e r e r . F r o m R o m e t o St Petersburg, f r o m Paris t o Prague, if y o u play h i s life b a c k like a film, all y o u ' l l see is a series o f s e d u c t i o n s - n u n s , m a i d s , p r o s t i t u t e s , duchesses, h e w a s even r e a d y t o have a g o at C a t h e r i n e t h e Great, b u t t h e a r r a n g e m e n t fell t h r o u g h . H e h a d a n u n q u e n c h a b l e h u n g e r for sexual e x p e r i e n c e , there's n o d o u b t a b o u t it, a n d t o m o s t p e o p l e t o d a y — a n d w e m u s t r e m e m b e r w e live i n far m o r e r i g o r o u s l y m o r a l t i m e s t h a n h e d i d — h i s a t t i t u d e t o sexual e x p e r i e n c e m u s t a p p e a r gross. B u t b e n e a t h t h e surface s o m e t h i n g m u c h m o r e . . . yes, I w o u l d e v e n say "refined", w a s g o i n g o n . You have t h e i m p r e s s i o n , w h e n y o u r e a d h i s

-249m e m o i r s , that m u c h m o r e than the m e r e accumula­ t i o n o f o r g a s m s w a s g o i n g o n - that c o u l d have b e e n achieved i n m u c h simpler, m o r e s t r a i g h t f o r w a r d ways, after all, w i t h o u t all t h a t theatricality a n d d a n g e r a n d t h o s e w i l d d a s h e s across E u r o p e . A n d I ' m c o n v i n c e d that at t h e r o o t of all these c o p u l a t i o n s i n carriages a n d palaces a n d i n n s all over E u r o p e w a s a n obsession w i t h t h e secret o f time.' T h e Professor w a s g e s t u r i n g w i t h h i s s p o o n as h e w a r m e d t o h i s subject a n d little flecks o f i c e - c r e a m w e r e l a n d i n g o n t h e tablecloth a n d m y i r o n e d , c r e a m shirt. 'I see,' I said. 'Yes, I ' m c o m p l e t e l y c o n v i n c e d of it. You see, w h e n Casanova w a s just a small b o y o f seven o r eight, h i s m o t h e r t o o k h i m to see a sorcerer o n t h e island o f M u r a n o t o c u r e h i m o f nosebleeds. Interestingly, it w o r k e d — t h e m u m b o j u m b o worked, the nosebleeds s t o p p e d , t h e b o y w a s c u r e d . Now, I t h i n k this e x p e r i ­ e n c e h a d a p r o f o u n d effect o n Casanova. I t h i n k it s o w e d t h e seed of certainty i n h i s m i n d t h a t t h e r e w a s a secret k n o w l e d g e h e w a s a t t u n e d t o w h i c h w o u l d reveal q u i t e a different m e a n i n g b e h i n d everyday f u n c ­ t i o n s a n d events. I d o n ' t t h i n k that certainty ever left h i m . You m u s t r e m e m b e r that apart f r o m b e i n g a c a r d sharp, s w i n d l e r a n d u n p r i n c i p l e d adventurer, Casanova w a s also h i g h l y a d e p t i n astrology a n d t h e cabbalistic arts. I n fact, w h a t the I n q u i s i t o r s c l a i m e d t h e y w e r e m o s t o u t r a g e d by i n t h e Casanova case w a s h i s c o r ­ ruption

of

prominent

Venetians

with

occult

P a d u a Letters

k n o w l e d g e . T h e y sent t h e i r spy, t h e jeweller M a n u c c i , t o h i s h o u s e h e r e i n Venice t o b o r r o w b o o k s o n t h e c a b ­ bala

and

Casanova

fell

straight

into

their

trap,

enthusiastically s h o w i n g M a n u c c i h i s extensive l i b r a r y o n these subjects. So, all t h r o u g h h i s life, r i g h t u p u n t i l h e d i e d as l i b r a r i a n t o a m i n o r c o u n t i n B o h e m i a , I t h i n k h e p u r s u e d sexual pleasure, n o t so m u c h for its o w n sake ( a l t h o u g h a n o r g a s m is a n o r g a s m ) , as i n t h e h o p e o f b r e a k i n g t h r o u g h s o m e h o w t o a different o r d e r o f bliss.' H e glanced across at m e h e r e t o see if this n e w t u r n i n t h e conversation h a d c a u g h t m y a t t e n t i o n . 'You see, a p a r t f r o m a n y t h i n g else, h i s sexual tastes i n v i t e d difficulty a n d a c e r t a i n a m o u n t o f fairly c o m ­ plicated

choreography.

For

public

consumption,

n e e d l e s s t o say, he's b e e n p r e s e n t e d as a n indefatigable d e v o u r e r o f w o m e n , o n e after a n o t h e r , q u i t e i n d i s ¬ c r i m i n a t e l y - w h o r e , novice, m o t h e r o f ten, it m a d e n o difference, a c c o r d i n g t o t h e t r a d i t i o n a l p i c t u r e o f h i m . But, i n p o i n t o f fact, Casanova's predilections w e r e q u i t e specific: h e always p r e f e r r e d w h a t have b e e n r e f e r r e d t o as ' s i d e - d i s h e s ' , w o m e n w i t h s o m e k i n d o f h a n d i ­ c a p — p h y s i c a l , social, it m a d e little

difference—the

lesbian, t h e c h a p e r o n e d m a i d e n , t h e n u n , t h e t r a n s ­ vestite, t h e o n e - e y e d a n d so o n . H e also f o u n d t a l k i n g d u r i n g sex h i g h l y e r o t i c — s e x u a l l y s t i m u l a t i n g talk, I m e a n , w h i c h is m u c h h a r d e r t o c o m e b y t h a n m o s t p e o p l e i m a g i n e — a n d that's w h y h e d i d n ' t b o t h e r s l e e p ­ i n g w i t h England's m o s t f a m o u s courtesan, Kitty Fisher: t h e y h a d n o t o n g u e i n c o m m o n . I n a n y case, it a p p e a r s t h e self-assured, attractive w o m a n o f t h e w o r l d h e l d

-251 little i n t e r e s t for h i m , e x c e p t as a r u n g o n t h e social l a d d e r h e w a s always c l i m b i n g . N o r d i d h e have m u c h s t o m a c h for s e d u c i n g w o m e n affected b y a l c o h o l o r c o u r t e s a n s for w h o m h e w o u l d b e s i m p l y a n o t h e r c u s ­ t o m e r . Even a t t h i s level, I w o u l d c o n t e n d , t h e r e w a s s o m e m o t i f of "breaking through".' I w a s feeling less t h a n c o n v i n c e d b y t h e p i c t u r e t h e Professor w a s p a i n t i n g o f Casanova. N o t a p h i l a n d e r ­ i n g ratbag, apparently, b u t y e t a n o t h e r s u b v e r t e r o f p a r a d i g m s . T h e r e w a s little p o i n t i n saying a n y t h i n g , t h o u g h , b e c a u s e t h e Professor w a s i n full flight. 'Yet, as w e n o w k n o w , h i s sexuality w a s even m o r e transgressive t h a n that.' (I k n e w t h e w o r d 'transgres¬ sive' w o u l d c o m e u p eventually.) ' I n m o d e r n t e r m s Casanova w a s at t h e very least b i s e x u a l a n d possibly even that w o r d doesn't adequately describe his sexual shape.' If I l o o k e d sceptical at t h e t u r n t h e m o n o l o g u e h a d taken, it w a s b e c a u s e I h a d h e a r d this line s o o f t e n b e f o r e — e v e r y o n e f r o m Jesus t o T o m Cruise, it t u r n s o u t , w a s ' o n e o f u s ' . Really? W h o w o u l d b e n e x t ? M a o Tse T u n g a n d

Charles d e Gaulle? 'It's documented,'

Professor E s c h e n b a u m said, h a v i n g n o t e d m y e x p r e s ­ s i o n , ' e x t e n s i v e l y documented. I n fact, it's i n h i s m e m o i r s i n h i s o w n h a n d . There's t h e d e l i c i o u s i n c i d e n t i n St P e t e r s b u r g w h e r e h e politely p u s h e s a w i l l i n g F r e n c h a d v e n t u r e s s aside t o address h i m s e l f t o a c e r t a i n C a p t a i n L u n i n w h o w a s e m p l o y i n g all t h e t i m e h o n o u r e d m e t h o d s to arouse his drinking c o m p a n i o n - m i l i t a r y s h i r t o p e n t o t h e navel, progressive display o f o t h e r " t r e a s u r e s " , as Casanova p u t s it, a little m a n l y

Padua Letters horseplay. "I w a s n ' t indifferent," h e w r o t e later, " a n d s a w n o r e a s o n t o p r e t e n d I was." T w o h u n d r e d years later few p u b l i c figures w o u l d w r i t e a b o u t t h e m s e l v e s w i t h s u c h refreshing c a n d o u r . A n d b e f o r e t h e w h i t e c h e s t e d C a p t a i n L u n i n there'd b e e n a s w a r t h y Turk o r t w o i n C o n s t a n t i n o p l e — a c e r t a i n I s m a i l i n particular, I s e e m t o r e m e m b e r , c a u g h t h i s fancy t h e r e - a n d h e was

on

intimate

terms

with

several

notorious

s o d o m i t e s , i n c l u d i n g b o t h t h e Duc d'Elboeuf a n d t h e Duke of Maddaloni, n o t to m e n t i o n a fellow-prisoner called C a m i l l e (a m a n ' s n a m e i n F r e n c h , as y o u m a y k n o w ) a n d a c e r t a i n X at D u n k i r k . N o , it's q u i t e clear t h a t Casanova t o o k v o l u p t u o u s p l e a s u r e i n b o t h m a l e a n d female b o d i e s — a s d i d h i s m o r e f a m o u s p r o t o t y p e D o n J u a n , b y t h e way. D i d y o u k n o w that? O h , yes, t h e Spanish k e p t it q u i e t for c e n t u r i e s , b u t t h e a w k w a r d fact is t h a t t h e i r f a m o u s D o n J u a n d e Tassis, C o u n t o f V i l l a m e d i a n a a n d living i c o n o f m a l e h e t e r o s e x u a l desire - h e w a s s u p p o s e d l y e x e c u t e d b y P h i l i p IV for sniffing a r o u n d t h e q u e e n — w a s i n fact t h e chief, el jefe supremo, o f a secret h o m o s e x u a l r i n g discovered i n M a d r i d i n 1622.' T h a t w a s a s u r p r i s i n g tidbit. 'But w h a t d o e s it matter?' I said. ' W h a t is y o u r p o i n t ? ' 'Matter? O f c o u r s e it m a t t e r s ' H e p u s h e d b a c k h i s c h a i r a n d stared for a m o m e n t over h i s s h o u l d e r at t h e t e e m i n g canal b e y o n d t h e glass. ' I n t h e first place, it's clear n o w t h a t G i a c o m o Casanova w a s i m p r i s o n e d u n d e r t h e Leads n o t just for c o r r u p t i n g t h e y o u t h o f Venice w i t h a t h e i s m a n d F r e e m a s o n r y , n o t just for "outrages against t h e h o l y r e l i g i o n " a n d p r a c t i s i n g

-253necromancy, b u t also, q u i t e importantly, because h e w a s h o m o s e x u a l l y i n v o l v e d w i t h t h r e e p o w e r f u l Venetian m e n — S e n a t o r Bragadin, o f c o u r s e , a b l i n d d o n k e y c o u l d see that, as w e l l as t h e t w o M a r c o s — D a n d a l o a n d B a r b a r o . T h e s e w e r e h i s t h r e e V e n e t i a n . . . w h a t is t h e w o r d I ' m l o o k i n g for?' 'Sugar-daddies, perhaps?' ' T h a t s o u n d s r i g h t , yes. T h e I n q u i s i t i o n , y o u see, w h i l e it c o u l d tolerate m u r d e r , robbery, g r e e d a n d c o r ­ r u p t i o n q u i t e happily, c o u l d n o t tolerate s u c h a flagrant attack o n t h e v e r y f o u n d a t i o n o f Venetian society: t h e heterosexual family. All p o w e r a n d w e a l t h relied o n t h e m a i n t e n a n c e o f its forms.' ' A n d Casanova c o c k e d a s n o o k at t h e m . ' 'I b e g y o u r p a r d o n ? ' 'Transgressed.' 'Exactly 'But w h a t h a s any o f t h a t t o d o w i t h t i m e ? ' 'Ah!' h e said, o b v i o u s l y pleased I'd n o t lost t r a c k o f h i s a r g u m e n t . 'Yes, t i m e . This is w h e r e I t h i n k M a r c o P o l o a n d Casanova r e p r e s e n t s u c h different t y p e s o f traveller, s u c h different m e n t a l i t i e s . P o l o discovered p a r a d i s e over there, y o u see, h e travelled t h e r e a n d t h e n c a m e b a c k . Casanova discovered p a r a d i s e in the travel­ ling, if y o u see w h a t I m e a n — i t w a s n ' t s o m e w h e r e y o u could c o m e b a c k f r o m . P o l o flew w i t h t h e a r r o w o f t i m e , h e p o i n t e d f o r w a r d a n d s i m p l y lived o n e day after t h e n e x t . As w e all d o , at least m o s t o f u s m o s t o f t h e t i m e . Today h e is i n Kashmir, h e travels forty days a n d arrives i n Kashgar. H e s p e n d s so m a n y days i n

Padua Letters

Kashgar a n d t h e n travels so m a n y days t o t h e n e x t t o w n —and so o n . H e e x p e r i e n c e s life as a s e q u e n c e of events, episodically. Casanova, b y w a y o f contrast, I t h i n k e x p e r i e n c e d life q u i t e differently. M y i m p r e s s i o n is t h a t h e zigzagged t h r o u g h t i m e i n s e a r c h o f

timeless

m o m e n t s , blissful i n s t a n t s w h e n t h e past a n d f u t u r e ceased t o exist for h i m — t h e o n l y k i n d of spiritual p e r ­ fection h e c o u l d c o n c e i v e of. H i s lust for a n o t h e r m o m e n t , always a n o t h e r m o m e n t , w a s h i s w a y o f t r y ­ ing t o blur these timeless points into continuous, a m o r p h o u s r a p t u r e . H e w a s n ' t h u n t i n g for h a p p i n e s s , i n o t h e r w o r d s , w h i c h is always e p i s o d i c , h e w a s t r y ­ i n g t o e x p e r i e n c e bliss.' H e p a u s e d t o see w h a t k i n d o f effect h i s r e a s o n i n g h a d h a d o n m e . ' A n d m o r e t h a n that, I w o u l d m a i n t a i n t h a t this difference b e t w e e n t h e t w o m e n w a s c o n n e c t e d w i t h t h e i r sexuality' 'Well, n o w a d a y s everything is s u p p o s e d t o b e c o n ­ nected w i t h your sexuality T h e Professor w a s u n d e t e r r e d b y a n y faint bleats from m y side o f t h e table. ' A l t h o u g h sex is n e v e r m e n ­ t i o n e d b y Polo, e x c e p t from t i m e t o t i m e as a s t r a n g e foreign c u s t o m , like w o r s h i p p i n g idols, w e c a n b e s u r e w i t h o u t b e i n g t o l d t h a t M a r c o Polo's sexuality w a s e n t i r e l y c o n v e n t i o n a l . You k n o w as y o u r e a d h i m t h a t this m a n h a s a sense o f c a u s e a n d effect, i n d e e d o f responsibility a n d c o n s e q u e n c e , w h i c h is inseparable from t h e p a t r i a r c h a l mentality.' ' W h y d o y o u e m p h a s i s e r e s p o n s i b i l i t y like that? Surely y o u ' r e n o t suggesting t h a t a sense o f r e s p o n ­ sibility h a s a n y t h i n g t o d o w i t h sexual o r i e n t a t i o n ? '

-255'Because o n e o f t h e first t h i n g s y o u n o t i c e a b o u t Casanova is t h e l a c k o f any i d e a o f c o n s e q u e n c e o r r e s p o n s i b i l i t y — a n d , as I say, t h i s is c o n n e c t e d w i t h h i s s e x u a l identity. At e a c h s e d u c t i o n h e s e e m e d t o d r a w a m a g i c circle a r o u n d himself, a circle o f r a p t u r e a n d v o l u p t u o u s pleasure, w i t h n o links to anyone or a n y ­ t h i n g o u t s i d e it. I n fact, I s u s p e c t o n e o f t h e r e a s o n s h e h a d t o k e e p e s c a p i n g f r o m city t o city w a s t o m a k e s u r e these m o m e n t s had n o c o n s e q u e n c e s , a t least for h i m . A n d yes, I am suggesting s o m e c o n n e c t i o n b e t w e e n responsibility a n d sexual identity, I s u p p o s e . It's a cliché, I k n o w , a t e d i o u s s u b u r b a n p l a t i t u d e , b u t n o t totally without foundation. The androgyne, the homosexual, t h e sexual d e l i n q u e n t is always l o o k e d at askance b y n e i g h b o u r s a n d a u n t s as behaving irresponsibly. They're always so relieved w h e n y o u b u y a h o u s e , take o n c o m ­ m i t m e n t s , g e t a. l o a n f r o m t h e b a n k , settle down—act responsibly, like o t h e r p e o p l e . T h e r e w i l l always b e s o m e t h i n g a b o u t t h e bisexual a n d h o m o s e x u a l m a l e w h i c h favours a p i c a r e s q u e e x i s t e n c e — a n d s o m e t h i n g a b o u t a p i c a r e s q u e existence w h i c h w i l l always h a v e h o m o s e x u a l overtones.' I w a s a b o u t t o object t h a t this s o u n d e d highly d u b i ­ o u s t o m e , if n o t c o m p l e t e h o g w a s h , w h e n t h e tea a r r i v e d . I t w a s n ' t tea at all, o f c o u r s e , i n o u r sense o f t h e w o r d , b u t t h e Professor s e e m e d q u i t e h a p p y w i t h it, e n j o y i n g t h e little r i t u a l s a c c o m p a n y i n g tea w h i c h coffee can't c o m p e t e w i t h , T h e r e w e r e a c o u p l e o f t h o s e b o n e - d r y Italian b i s c u i t s t o g o w i t h it. ' A n d , s p e a k i n g o f escaping f r o m p l a c e t o p l a c e , I

Padua Letters

d o n ' t t h i n k Casanova's a s t o n i s h i n g escape f r o m t h e Leads m a k e s m u c h sense, either, unless y o u u n d e r s t a n d h o w d r i v e n h e w a s t o k e e p circulating, k e e p

flowing,

k e e p l e t t i n g t h i n g s h a p p e n t o h i m . N o o n e , naturally, w a n t s to b e shut u p in prison, everyone w a n t s to be set free, b u t n o o n e h a d ever escaped from t h e Doge's p r i s o n s before, n o t a single p r i s o n e r h a d ever b r i b e d o r d u g o r b o r e d h i s w a y o u t o f t h o s e h i d e o u s cells. You d i d visit t h e m , b y t h e way, d i d n ' t y o u ? ' 'Yes, I d i d . I m u s t say it w a s a little h a r d t o p i c t u r e w h a t it m u s t have b e e n like t o b e a p r i s o n e r there, w i t h all t h o s e s t r a p p i n g F i n n s a n d C a n a d i a n s

striding

t h r o u g h t h e m w i t h k n a p s a c k s o n t h e i r b a c k s , b u t still, yes...' 'Well, d i d y o u n o t i c e h o w l o w t h e ceilings w e r e , for instance? N o w , Casanova w a s e x t r e m e l y tall—that's p a r t l y w h y h e w a s t h o u g h t t o b e so " h a n d s o m e " , a n almost meaningless t e r m in the abstract—he

was

a l m o s t h a l f a m e t r e taller t h a n t h e ceiling i n h i s cell. C a n y o u i m a g i n e t h e t o r t u r e o f s p e n d i n g m o n t h after m o n t h b e n t over like t h a t , listening t o t h e c o n s t a n t s c r e a m i n g a n d cursing, w a t c h i n g t h e s t r e a m o f fellow p r i s o n e r s passing y o u r cell o n t h e i r w a y t o e x e c u t i o n , n o t t o m e n t i o n t h e filthy food, t h e f o u l - s m e l l i n g d i s ­ eased b o d i e s , t h e s c o r p i o n s , rats a n d spiders? A n d t h e s h o c k i n g t h i n g w a s t h a t this cesspool lay festering b e n e a t h b u i l d i n g s of s u c h astoundingly graceful b e a u t y a t t h e h e a r t o f Europe's m o s t magically b e a u t i f u l city. As y o u suffered y o u k n e w t h a t just a few steps away— literally h a l f a d o z e n s t e p s away o n t h e o t h e r side o f

-257t h o s e massive w a l l s — p r i n c e s a n d d u k e s w e r e c o n f e r ­ ring

in

panelled

rooms

hung

with

magnificent

paintings, tourists were parading u p a n d d o w n the e m b a n k m e n t w a t c h i n g ships glide i n t o p o r t from cities h a l f a w o r l d away, life i n all its r i c h n e s s w a s i n full swing. W h o w o u l d n ' t w a n t t o escape?' T h e Professor p a u s e d again a n d gazed over h i s s h o u l d e r for a m o m e n t at t h e h u g e g r e e n d o m e o f St S i m e o n P i c c o l o a little f u r t h e r u p t h e canal o n t h e o p p o s i t e side. T h e r e w e r e d o z e n s o f black g o n d o l a s w i t h b r i g h t l y c o l o u r e d c u s h ­ i o n s b o b b i n g a b o u t i n front o f t h e c h u r c h steps. 'But it w a s impossible,' h e said, t u r n i n g b a c k t o face m e again, ' n o t just difficult, b u t i m p o s s i b l e . M e n far m o r e p o w e r f u l t h a n Casanova h a d failed. M e n far s t r o n g e r a n d m o r e athletic t h a n Casanova h a d failed. Everyone h a d failed. Yet it w a s Casanova, t h e dandy, t h e effete b o o k w o r m a n d d e g e n e r a t e s c o u n d r e l w h o s u c ­ c e e d e d . W h y ? Well, h e w a s lucky, o f c o u r s e , b u t , over a n d above that, h e w a s d r i v e n b y h i s s p i n n i n g n a t u r e t o k e e p s p i n n i n g — o r else t o p p l e o n t o h i s side a n d die. H e also d e v e l o p e d a p p a l l i n g p i l e s i n p r i s o n , w h i c h , as y o u m a y k n o w , c a n d r i v e y o u t o a n y extremity. Piles have b e e n u n a c c o u n t a b l y o v e r l o o k e d i n t h e h i s t o r y o f c o m p u l s i v e personalities, i n m y o p i n i o n . As a m a t t e r o f fact, I p e r s o n a l l y believe there's s u c h a t h i n g as a h a e m o r r h o i d a l character and, until w e c o m e to terms w i t h that, a lot o f strange b e h a v i o u r i n h u m a n h i s t o r y w i l l r e m a i n a mystery. ' H a e m o r r h o i d s apart, however, I still t h i n k Casanova c o u l d s o m e h o w n o t c o n c e i v e o f h i m s e l f as a p r i s o n e r .

Padua Letters

Have y o u h e a r d t h e s t o r y o f t h e d e a d a r m ? It's trivial, really, b u t everyone m e n t i o n s it because, subconsciously, w e all k n o w it h a s a larger m e a n i n g t h a n at

first

appears. S o o n after h e w a s incarcerated, Casanova w o k e u p o n e night h o r r o r - s t r u c k because there seemed to b e a d e a d m a n lying b e s i d e h i m . C r y i n g o u t i n shock, h e t r i e d t o p u s h t h e c o r p s e away f r o m h i m , b u t it w o u l d n ' t b u d g e , it s e e m e d b o u n d t o h i m . H e b r o k e i n t o a c o l d sweat. T h e n , g r a p p l i n g w i t h t h e d e a d flesh, h e realized all o f a s u d d e n t h a t it w a s n ' t a corpse, it was his o w n n u m b a r m . A nasty m o m e n t , b u t only w o r t h recording, surely, because Casanova's real fear w a s t h a t p r i s o n h a d k i l l e d off h i s vital p a r t s . T h a t b i t s o f h i m w e r e dead.' ' W h i c h bits?' 'Haven't y o u b e e n listening?' I h a d b e e n , b u t t h e Professor's m i n d d a r t e d a b o u t all over t h e p l a c e w i t h s u c h alacrity t h a t I w a s b e g i n n i n g t o get left b e h i n d . P r i s o n , h i s p o i n t s e e m e d t o b e , o r at least t h e Doge's p r i s o n , w a s d e a t h t o s e d u c t i o n . 'You c a n forget t h e p r i s o n p o r n o g r a p h y y o u m a y have c o m e across,' h e said airily, g e s t u r i n g

dismissively, 'that's

just

a

sado­

m a s o c h i s t i c fantasy.' T h e r e w a s , h e said, clearly r o o m for a c e r t a i n a m o u n t o f r a p e a n d s e x u a l assault i n t h e Doge's cells, apparently, b u t Casanova, despite h i s diverse tastes, s e e m s t o have b e e n i n t e r e s t e d less i n c o e r c i o n t h a n i n s e d u c t i o n , a n d for t h a t t h e r e w a s a l m o s t n o o p p o r t u n i t y at all. You w e r e l o c k e d i n y o u r cell w i t h a s t i n k i n g c o m p a n i o n o r t w o for m o n t h s o n e n d a n d u n d e r those c o n d i t i o n s s e d u c t i o n can't w o r k — t h e r e ' s

-259n o w h e r e t o escape t o a f t e r w a r d s a n d t h e professional s e d u c e r m u s t always b e able t o m o v e o n . B u t it w a s n ' t just t h e directly sexual p a r t s o f h i m w h i c h w e r e t h r e a t e n e d w i t h d e a t h , a c c o r d i n g t o t h e Professor, it w a s t h o s e o t h e r sides o f h i s n a t u r e h e ' d b e e n s p e a k ­ i n g a b o u t — h i s p i c a r e s q u e side, h i s c o n s t a n t n e e d for contingency, for t h i n g s t o h a p p e n t o h i m . P r i s o n , I c o u l d q u i t e see, p u t s a n e n d t o c o n t i n g e n c y , every m i n u t e o f t h e day b e i n g m o r e o r less p r e d i c t a b l e , s c h e d u l e d . ' A n d , o f course, I w o u l d say t h a t p r i s o n is an utterly sequential experience, in the Marco Polo sense,' t h e Professor said. ' O n e day follows another, dates are crossed off o n e after a n o t h e r o n t h e w a l l . P r i s o n is t i m e . ' For Casanova, if t h e Professor's v i e w w a s t h e r i g h t o n e , this, above all, w a s i n t o l e r a b l e . 'So h e escaped. To this day n o o n e q u i t e believes h i s s t o r y — t h e drilling, t h e sheets, t h e l e a d tiles, t h e g o n ­ d o l a — i t s e e m s i m p o s s i b l e . Yet it is t r u e t h a t o n e day h e w a s i n p r i s o n a n d t h e n e x t h e w a s n o t . T h i s at least is t r u e . A n d d o y o u k n o w w h e r e h e s p e n t h i s first n i g h t of freedom? I n the house of a policeman w h o w a s o u t all n i g h t l o o k i n g for h i m . W h a t flair! W h a t p a n a c h e ! ' A n d for t h e

first

t i m e since w e ' d m e t

Professor

E s c h e n b a u m l a u g h e d — a s h o r t little b a r k o f a l a u g h , but not a humourless one. ' H e w a s c o c k i n g a snook.' 'I b e g y o u r p a r d o n ? ' 'Just a n e x p r e s s i o n . Tell m e , w h a t s o r t o f traveller are you?' H e s m i l e d , m o r e t o h i m s e l f t h a n for m e a n d a

Padua Letters

little ruefully. I t h o u g h t h o w m u c h I liked h i m . 'Sadly,' h e said, 'I d o n ' t t h i n k I ' m a n y k i n d o f traveller, really. I w i s h I w e r e . B u t I t h i n k I've t u r n e d o u t t o b e just a vacationer. P e r h a p s w h e n I r e t i r e . . . ' B u t I c o u l d see h e d i d n ' t really believe it w o u l d h a p p e n . ' S p e a k i n g o f travelling, I t h i n k it's t i m e I w e n t b a c k t o t h e h o t e l . T h e r e a r e still a few t h i n g s I n e e d t o a t t e n d to.' So w e drifted off b a c k across t h e b r i d g e t o w a r d s t h e h o t e l a n d I c o u l d feel s o m e t h i n g I'd t a k e n great pleasure in coming to an end.

Sitting at m y desk h e r e t o n i g h t i n m y r o o m , t h i n k i n g b a c k over all these things, I even feel a little bereft. It w i l l pass. Professor E s c h e n b a u m , like R a c h e l a n d like w r i t i n g t o y o u , has h e l p e d m e b e f r i e n d a p a r t of myself I o n l y h a d a n o d d i n g a c q u a i n t a n c e w i t h before. A n d they've h e l p e d ease m y c o n s t a n t anxiety, t o o , t h a t n o w o r d s c a n b e f o u n d t o say c e r t a i n difficult t h i n g s . N o w o r d s m a y b e q u i t e a d e q u a t e , b u t t h e r e are w o r d s a n d t h e y ' r e w o r t h saying. T o m o r r o w , I ' m q u i t e c o n v i n c e d , e v e r y t h i n g w i l l l o o k p a i n t e d i n fresh c o l o u r s .

Venice, 18th April. I ' V E FELT ODDLY b e c a l m e d

all day. It w a s p a r t l y

because I finished r e a d i n g Paradise, I ' m s u r e - a n d if t h a t d i d n ' t b r i n g y o u t o a p o i n t o f a b s o l u t e stillness, n o t h ­ i n g w o u l d . And, t o b e frank, it's partly because Professor E s c h e n b a u m w a s n o t at breakfast. W h a t h a p p e n s at breakfast c a n c o l o u r t h e w h o l e day, d o n ' t y o u find? So I d o n ' t really h a v e m u c h o f any m o m e n t t o r e p o r t t o n i g h t . ( I n d e e d , l o o k i n g b a c k over the past few w e e k s , I realize h o w essentially eventless they've b e e n — a b i t like A s c h e n b a c h ' s h o l i d a y i n Venice: a p a r t f r o m s o m e difficulties w i t h h i s luggage, n o t h i n g really h a p p e n e d t o h i m t h a t w a s n ' t p u r e fantasy.)* To tell t h e t r u t h , t h o u g h , s o m e t h i n g d i d h a p p e n at breakfast a n d it gave m e a nasty shock. E m i l i o , w h o w a s strangely frisky this m o r n i n g , leant across t h e table t o p o u r m y coffee a n d , as h e d i d so, h i s s t a r c h e d cuff slid a n i n c h o r t w o u p h i s a r m . As y o u k n o w , I ' m q u i t e t a k e n w i t h w r i s t s - w h e n a sleeve b e g i n s t o r i d e u p a f o r e a r m , I c a n ' t h e l p glancing at t h e n a k e d w r i s t - s o

Padua Letters m y eye fell o n Emilio's surprisingly slender b u t s i n e w y w r i s t . A n d t h e r e , t o m y a s t o n i s h m e n t , g l o w i n g against the s m o o t h , pale skin, w a s Professor E s c h e n b a u m s gold bracelet! I ' m s u r e it w a s h i s b e c a u s e it's m a d e from a n o l d w a t c h - c h a i n , so t h e g o l d is q u i t e soft a n d s o m e o f t h e l i n k s are slightly m i s s h a p e n . M y m o u t h w e n t dry. I w o n d e r e d if t h e r e s p o n s i b l e t h i n g t o d o w o u l d b e t o r e p o r t it t o s o m e b o d y o r o t h e r — t h e m a n a g e r ? t h e p o l i c e ? — b u t i n t h e e n d I d e c i d e d it w a s all t o o u n p l e a s a n t a n d fraught w i t h difficulty, so I've d o n e nothing... I w a s n ' t really p r e p a r e d for Paradise, b y t h e w a y I s p e n t m o s t o f t h e m o r n i n g r e a d i n g it, w h e r e possible i n t h e s u n , b u t it's o v e r w h e l m i n g . I w a s n ' t b o r e d t o tears, as Schiller r e p o r t e d l y w a s , b u t I d i d feel I'd p u t myself t o sea i n a b o a t w h i c h w a s far t o o small—I k e p t p e e r i n g b a c k over m y s h o u l d e r longingly at t h e s h o r e . You n e e d s u c h e r u d i t i o n , n o t to m e n t i o n a k i n d o f stillness, t o g e t h e r w i t h a n u n t e t h e r e d i m a g i n a t i o n , t o m a k e t h e slightest sense o f it, that it a l m o s t s e e m s a n i m p e r t i n e n c e t o b e r e a d i n g it at all. You n e e d to k n o w something

about

fourteenth-century

cosmology,

m e d i e v a l Italian history, Aquinas, theological a r g u m e n t in the late M i d d l e Ages, Christian mysticism, and, I s u p ­ pose, s o m e t h i n g

about

contemporary

cosmology,

Italian l i t e r a t u r e a n d even Teilhard d e C h a r d i n t o p u t it all i n perspective. It's all t o o m u c h . Yet, i n s o m e ways, t h e b o o k is about g r a d u a l l y suffusing m e r e

human

k n o w i n g w i t h timeless seeing ( u n t i l y o u see as y o u are s e e n — w h i c h d o e s n ' t so m u c h d e m o l i s h as p u t t o o n e

-263-

side t h e l o n g d r a w n - o u t m o d e r n a r g u m e n t s a b o u t subjectivity a n d o b j e c t i v i t y — n o t , I ' m sure, t h a t t h e learned souls involved i n these arguments w o u l d b e r e m o t e l y interested i n Dante's mystical views). As D a n t e says t o o n e o f h i s ancestors i n t h e Heaven o f Mars,'Love a n d i n t e l l i g e n c e / Achieved t h e i r e q u i p o i s e i n e a c h o f y o u / W h e n first y o u saw t h e P r i m e Equivalence.' ( W o n d e r f u l w o r d , e q u i p o i s e ' . ) I n o t h e r w o r d s (I take it) desire a n d r e a s o n w o r k i n u n i s o n o n c e y o u ' v e c a u g h t s o m e g l i m p s e o f t h e Reality t h a t is s e e i n g y o u . A n d t h i s is w i s d o m . Even k n o w i n g n e x t to n o t h i n g a b o u t all those things I s h o u l d k n o w s o m e t h i n g a b o u t — A q u i n a s a n d Teilhard d e C h a r d i n a n d t h e P t o l e m a i c system a n d so o n — I c a n see t h a t seeing is t h e s o u r c e o f bliss i n Dante's Paradise. It's m o r e i m p o r t a n t t h a n love, at least t o b e g i n w i t h . "Their blessedness,' Beatrice says to D a n t e i n h e r slightly i r r i t a t i n g , s c h o o l - m i s t r e s s y w a y ( a l t h o u g h I knowD a n t e sees i n h e r t h e i m a g e a n d likeness o f G o d ) , 'is s h o w n t o c o m e / F r o m s e e i n g . . . N o t loving, w h i c h is s u b s e q u e n t . T h e i r s u m / O f m e r i t is t h e m e a s u r e o f their s i g h t . . . ' So love follows, o n c e you've seen, it w o u l d seem. Actually, t h a t q u o t a t i o n is

from

C a n t o XXVIII,

w h i c h t o o k m e b y s u r p r i s e . A l t h o u g h h e h a s n ' t yet b e e n v o u c h s a f e d — a n d t h e b o o k is full o f vouchsafing o f o n e k i n d o r a n o t h e r , a n a r r a n g e m e n t I'd like t o k n o w m o r e a b o u t — a vision o f t h e River o f T i m e t u r n i n g i n t o a n e t e r n a l circle, it's i n this C a n t o D a n t e sees G o d o r A b s o l u t e Reality n o t as a supersaint, w h i c h I'd h a d

?adua

Letters

a n u n c o m f o r t a b l e feeling h e w a s g o i n g t o d o , b u t as a n infinitely r a d i a t i n g P o i n t , so b r i g h t it sears t h e eyes. I n o t h e r w o r d s , G o d is b o t h n o w h e r e a n d e v e r y w h e r e at o n e a n d t h e s a m e t i m e — ' w h e r e ' a n d ' w h e n ' n o l o n g e r applying. His reality, so to speak, is a l m o s t purely m a t h e m a t i c a l — o r d o I m e a n g e o m e t r i c a l ? It exists as Principle, r a t h e r t h a n p e r s o n , as Beatrice a n d t h e saints still d o . T h e idea o f Point, a n d t h e r e l a t i o n s h i p b e t w e e n a p o i n t a n d straight lines a n d circles, is o n e I m u s t c o n ­ template m o r e , instead of thinking constantly about l u n c h , t r a i n t i m e t a b l e s a n d t h e h a v o c i n m y veins. O r is it a m a t t e r o f e i t h e r / o r ? If I'd h a d m y w i t s a b o u t m e , I'd h a v e s e e n t h e P o i n t c o m i n g b e c a u s e i n t h e p r e v i o u s C a n t o Beatrice (just after St Peter h a s finished f o a m i n g at t h e m o u t h i n n o t a v e r y heavenly w a y a b o u t t h e p r e s e n t P o p e ) s u m s u p this m a t h e m a t i c a l v i e w q u i t e beautifully: T h e nature o f the universe w h i c h stills T h e centre and revolves all else, from here, As from its starting-point, all m o v e m e n t wills.

This heaven it is w h i c h has n o o t h e r ' w h e r e ' T h a n t h e D i v i n e Mind; 'tis b u t i n that M i n d That love, its spur, and t h e p o w e r it rains inhere.

H o w I w i s h I c o u l d r e a d that i n Italian. A n d h o w I w i s h I c o u l d talk t o s o m e b o d y a b o u t it a t m y o w n level.

-265I n t h e early a f t e r n o o n I w e n t for a last s w e e p t h r o u g h t h e Peggy G u g g e n h e i m — M a g r i t t e s , M o n d r i a n s , Gorkys, Pollocks - q u i t e a relief after w e e k s o f altarpieces, b r o o d i n g M a d o n n a s a n d Last S u p p e r s . It w a s n ' t u n l i k e t h e relief I felt w h e n I s t u m b l e d o n M e m l i n g ' s Portrait of a Young Man i n t h e A c c a d e m i a t h e o t h e r day, as a m a t ­ ter of fact. After all those Cecil B. d e Mille extravaganzas, all t h a t flesh i n p a i n , all t h o s e T i n t o r e t t o s a n d Bellinis a n d Venezianos a n d d e a t h , s u d d e n l y - a n d y o u ' d o n l y have t o b l i n k t o m i s s i t — h e r e w a s this small, c a l m s q u a r e o f Flemish sobriety, a n u n a s s u m i n g realism ( n o t just i n d i e painting's style, b u t i n t h e y o u n g m a n ' s level­ h e a d e d gaze) a n d a P r o t e s t a n t a l o n e n e s s — I

could

h a r d l y tear m y s e l f away f r o m it.* I ' m n o t q u i t e s u r e w h y it h a d t h e effect o n m e it d i d , b u t , strangely e n o u g h , it w a s w h i l e I w a s s t a n d i n g i n front o f t h i s p a i n t i n g t h a t I h a d m y first i n k l i n g t h a t t h e t i m e t o g o h o m e w a s d r a w i n g near. T h e r o o m s o f t h e G u g g e n h e i m , w h i c h is a single¬ storeyed e i g h t e e n t h - c e n t u r y palazzo r e v a m p e d i n t h e taste o f Peggy G u g g e n h e i m ( M o d e r n G r a c i o u s ) , give o n t o a c o u r t y a r d i n Istrian m a r b l e w i t h steps d o w n t o t h e canal. I sat h e r e n e a r t h e y a w n i n g l i o n s a n d t h o u g h t a b o u t h o p e . J u s t across t h e canal f r o m m e t o t h e r i g h t w a s o n e o f t h e world's greatest sights: t h e extravagant p i n k c o n f e c t i o n

o f t h e Doges' Palace,

t h e s w a r m o f ferries a n d g o n d o l a s at t h e e d g e o f t h e Piazzetta San M a r c o , t h e g l e a m i n g w h i t e loggia o f t h e M a r c i a n a Library, t h e s o a r i n g r e d b u l k o f t h e campanile o n St Mark's S q u a r e - b o r d e r i n g o n t h e s u b l i m e , like

P a d u a Letters

an hallucination o r bubble of memory, b u t curiously lifeless. P e r h a p s it w a s just m y s o m b r e m o o d . For a n h o u r o r s o I gazed across at it b u t d i d n ' t see it. I c o u l d just as w e l l h a v e b e e n at h o m e , s t a r i n g at m y irises. ( W h i c h really s h o u l d b e d u g u p a n d separated, I've just r e m e m b e r e d , o r else they'll h a r d l y flower at all n e x t s u m m e r - d o y o u k n o w if it's b e e n d o n e ? ) W h a t I w a s t h i n k i n g a b o u t , as a m a t t e r o f fact, w a s h o p e - n o t for t h e first t i m e t h e s e past few m o n t h s , b u t w i t h clearer focus. T h e r e ' s s o m e t h i n g vaguely d u l l a b o u t h o p e as a subject t o give y o u r m i n d to. ' H o p e ' is a vaguely d u l l w o r d , d o n ' t y o u t h i n k ? You have t o m a k e a sort o f fishm o u t h t o say i t N o sizzle t o it at a l l 'Faith', o n t h e o t h e r h a n d , causes all k i n d s o f i n t e r n a l t e n s i o n s , w h i l e ' c h a r ­ ity', especially if b y that w o r d y o u u n d e r s t a n d ' l o v e ' . . . well, w e never stop thinking about it in o n e f o r m o r another, d o w e . Yet t h e q u e s t i o n o f h o p e — w h a t t o have h o p e i n , h o w t r u s t i n g l y — i s q u i t e a n a g o n i z i n g o n e for s o m e o n e i n m y s i t u a t i o n . (It's a n important q u e s t i o n for D a n t e , I discovered, b u t n o t , i n m y sense, a n agonizing o n e because h e k n o w s w h a t to have h o p e i n a n d h o w s t r o n g l y t o h o p e : ' H o p e . . . is c e r t a i n t y o f bliss / To c o m e , w h i c h G o d b y grace t o u s c o n c e d e s / A n d for o u r p r e v i o u s m e r i t promises.' F r o m h o p e , r o o t e d i n faith, g r o w s love. It's n o t a p u z z l e t o h i m . ) Right f r o m t h e beginning, from t h e first w o r d s m y Chinese Gabriel spoke t o m e , I've felt t o r n b e t w e e n h o p i n g a n d . . . n o t s o m u c h despair as resignation. Everyone is careful, y o u notice, n o t t o give y o u t o o m u c h h o p e o f survival b e y o n d t h e very s h o r t - t e r m , because t h e

-267statistics s h o w t h a t l o n g - t e r m survival is unlikely. But is l o n g - t e r m survival w h a t y o u s h o u l d b e h o p i n g for? Is that w h a t I s h o u l d live b y n o w , today? S h o u l d anyone? W h a t , then, s h o u l d I h o p e for? W h a t (to p a r a p h r a s e Dante's n o t i o n o f faith) is realistic? It's n o t , after all, m e r e l y a m a t t e r o f h o p i n g for a fine day o n Sunday o r h o p i n g t h e meal's n o t overcooked. This is H o p i n g w i t h a capital H I ' m talking a b o u t N o t h o p i n g saps y o u o f all w i l l a n d dulls y o u r joy i n w h a t ' s h a p p e n i n g n o w . There's hardly any p o i n t i n p u t t i n g o n e foot i n front o f t h e o t h e r if y o u have n o h o p e of g o o d . Despite all t h e w i s e c o u n ­ sel t o disregard n e w s flashes i n the p o p u l a r press, a n d despite m y o w n d e e p - s e a t e d distrust o f p u r e l y m a t e r i a l solutions t o c o m p l e x p r o b l e m s , I have t o a d m i t I feel a n e w spring i n m y step w h e n I r e a d s o m e h o p e f u l r e p o r t i n t h e n e w s p a p e r a b o u t p r o m i s i n g trials o r success w i t h s o m e n e w treatment. It's like a stay o f execution. I n t h e e n d you'll d i e — w e all w i l l — b u t n o t n o w , n o t yet. I ' m i n a b i t of a m u d d l e a b o u t it all. I n t h e e n d I t h i n k all I can d o - a n d this w o u l d n ' t b e everyone's choice, by a long chalk - is n e i t h e r t o h o p e n o r t o despair, b u t t o b e alive t o g o o d now. To see, p e r h a p s D a n t e w o u l d have said. N o w . To s o m e o n e i n t h e p i n k o f health, w i t h d e a t h a l o n g w a y off b e y o n d t h e h o r i z o n , that w a y o f t h i n k i n g m u s t s e e m fatuous—just abstract gibberish. Frankly, I d o n ' t t h i n k it's for t h e m t o judge. I n m y e x p e r i e n c e it r o o t s m e i n d i e w o r l d w i t h a n intensity I've never felt before—well, m o s t o f t h e t i m e . O r s o m e o f t h e t i m e . W h e n I can see it all i n the p r o p e r l i g h t A n o t h e r jolt tonight: o n m y w a y u p h e r e t o m y r o o m

Padua Letters

to w r i t e to y o u (and listen t o Venice a n d smell Venice t h r o u g h m y w i n d o w like a b l i n d m a n ) I w e n t across t o the desk i n t h e foyer to ask Angelo s o m e trivial question o r o t h e r — I k n e w h e w o u l d n ' t k n o w the answer, b u t he's dishy t o t h e p o i n t o f self-parody, a n d k n o w s he's dishy i n that very Latin way, a n d I enjoy w a t c h i n g h i m t u g at his cuffs t o m a k e sure they stick o u t just the right length b e y o n d h i s sleeves—a little b i t o f harmless theatre. Well, h e tugged at his cuffs, as I k n e w h e would, b u t n o t quickly e n o u g h for m e t o miss t h e O m e g a o n his w r i s t It w a s the Professors. I ' m absolutely positive it was his because it caught m y eye m o r e t h a n o n c e w h i l e the Professor w a s wearing if it h a d a completely blank, black face, t h e slen­ derest of silver h a n d s and the o n e w o r d OMEGA inscribed at the top. N o n u m e r a l s , n o date window, nothing. W h e n I saw it, I s t o p p e d talking i n m i d - s e n t e n c e , f o u n d myself looking h i m straight i n the eye a n d t h e n m u r m u r e d s o m e t h i n g a b o u t its n o t b e i n g i m p o r t a n t a n d w a l k e d off in a daze. It's s o u r i n g m y w h o l e attitude to this hotel, this business. It's m o r e t h a n unsettling. Across t h e alleyway someone's playing s o m e t h i n g f r o m "The W e l l - T e m p e r e d Klavier' a g a i n - I ' m sure that's w h a t it is, o n e o f t h e preludes, p e r h a p s . So soothing, a l t h o u g h there's a keenness, a n alertness to it as well, like water r u n n i n g over pebbles. Water-borne, fugitive. I h e a r d it playing earlier w h e n I w e n t o u t for m y late-night stroll There's a h a l f - m o o n tonight, etching t h e b l e a c h e d stone of t h e city i n t o t h e d e e p b l u e - b l a c k o f its sky a n d shadows. P e o p l e floated b y like puffs o f s m o k e .

Fenice, 19th April I ' V E Q U I T E DECIDED t o m o v e o n . I ' m r e c e i v i n g l i t ­ t l e signals. First o f all, I w a s d o w n o n t h e vaporetto p o n t o o n earlier this evening, w a i t i n g t o c l i m b a b o a r d t h e N u m b e r O n e t o t h e Rialto, w h i c h w a s r a m m i n g t h e p o n t o o n w i t h m u c h clanking a n d g r o a n i n g o f t i m ­ b e r s as u s u a l , w h e n w h o s h o u l d I see r i g h t i n front o f m e w a i t i n g t o get off b u t Professor E s c h e n b a u m ! M y m i n d k a l e i d o s c o p e d , I felt q u i t e s h a k e n . Grey c r e w c u t , h i g h f o r e h e a d , t a u t features, stylish l e a t h e r - j a c k e t . . . b u t it w a s Giorgio, t h e n i g h t p o r t e r , a r r i v i n g for w o r k H e c a u g h t m y eye a n d k n e w I knew, b u t h e c o u l d h a r d l y n o w s i m p l y take t h e jacket off. H i s Buona sera! as h e p u s h e d past w a s just a little t o o b r i g h t a n d sparkling. B u t it's n o t just that. T h i s m o r n i n g , for t h e first t i m e i n s o m e weeks, I w a s suddenly conscious o f feeling tired o f . . . n o t E u r o p e , exactly, b u t t h e a c c u m u l a t i o n o f s t o ­ ries, battles,

treaties,

families,

duchies,

paintings,

c h u r c h e s , palaces—all t h e things t h e a n t i p o d e a n finds

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so exciting o n arrival. A n d 'tired' is t h e w r o n g w o r d as w e l l — p e r h a p s saturated is a b e t t e r w o r d , t h e sort o f feel­ i n g t h a t c o m e s over y o u at t h e e n d o f a n e v e n i n g o f l o o k i n g at y o u r g r a n d p a r e n t s ' p h o t o g r a p h a l b u m s , lis­ t e n i n g t o all t h e i r h a l f - r e m e m b e r e d stories a b o u t t h i s w e d d i n g a n d that house a n d those cousins a n d that h o l i d a y i n N e w Zealand. It isn't t h a t there's n o t a l o t o f w i s d o m i n w h a t t h e y have t o say, a n d it's n o t t h a t t h e i r stories cast n o light o n y o u r o w n life a n d w h o you've b e c o m e , it's just that at s o m e p o i n t i n t h e evening y o u desperately n e e d t o get o u t o f t h e h o u s e a n d w a l k along the beach in the dark or go outside into the gar­ d e n a n d c l o w n a b o u t w i t h t h e dog. G o i n g t o E u r o p e is always like visiting t h e g r a n d p a r e n t s t o m e — f a s c i n a t ­ ing, h e a r t - w a r m i n g ( s o m e t i m e s ) , b u t y o u k n o w they really haven't t h e faintest idea a b o u t , let a l o n e r e s p e c t for, t h e things t h a t m o v e you a n d they're n e v e r g o i n g t o c h a n g e . O h , t h e y m i g h t get a n e w - f a n g l e d m i c r o w a v e o r t r a d e i n t h e car for s o m e t h i n g sleeker, b u t u l t i m a t e l y they'll always talk d o w n t o y o u . Well, at s o m e p o i n t i n t h e evening, I n e e d t o m o v e o n . I haven't b e e n d r e a m ­ i n g o f g u m - t r e e s o r koalas o r a n y t h i n g , b u t I d i d feel a p u l l this m o r n i n g b a c k t o a place w h e r e I t h i n k I c a n live m o r e diversely t h a n h e r e , if I u s e m y i m a g i n a t i o n , w h e r e I c a n b e 'civilized' (define myself against n a t u r e ) in m o r e enriching and dangerous ways—and where, I have t o say, I d o t h i n k that o n t h e w h o l e , all things c o n ­ sidered, a n d a l l o w i n g for a m u l t i t u d e o f e x c e p t i o n s , p e o p l e are a little k i n d e r t o o n e a n o t h e r . Love, passion, creativity,

intelligence,

knowledge—all

terribly

-271 i m p o r t a n t , o f c o u r s e . By c o m p a r i s o n , k i n d n e s s (like h o p e ) s e e m s a trifle d u l l , a v e r y s e c o n d - r a t e , s u b u r b a n s o r t o f virtue, I s u p p o s e . Well, I t h i n k it's u n d e r v a l u e d . I d o n ' t w a n t t o live w i t h o u t i t W h a t really c o n v i n c e d m e , t h o u g h , t h a t m y t i m e h e r e h a d c o m e full circle w a s , o f all things, t h e l i o n s . I w a s m o o c h i n g a r o u n d St M a r k ' s Square, t h i n k i n g I c o u l d h a r d l y leave Venice w i t h o u t f o r m a l l y saying goodbye to this square of squares, w h e n I b e c a m e aware that wherever I looked w a s a lion—winged, naturally, b u t still fierce e n o u g h . * T h e r e w a s a g o l d o n e o n t h e b l u e t y m p a n u m above t h e c e n t r a l a r c h o f St Mark's, a n d a n o t h e r o n e over t o m y left, also g o l d o n b l u e , at t h e v e r y t o p o f t h e C l o c k Tower. A n d o n t o p o f t h e c o l u m n directly i n f r o n t o f m e , g o l d against t h e b l u e sky. A n d over t o m y r i g h t , above t h e e n t r a n c e t o t h e Doges' Palace ( i n w h i t e , c a r v e d stone, t h i s t i m e ) . A n d f u r t h e r over, r i g h t d o w n b y t h e w a t e r o n t h e Piazzetta, a massive p r a n c i n g l i o n o n t o p o f a h u g e m a r b l e m o n o l i t h — S t Mark's C o l u m n . A n d i n t h a t funny, s p i r a l l i n g w a y t h e m i n d s o m e t i m e s m o v e s i n , m y thoughts swooped round and round and d o w n to s o m e t h i n g I said t o y o u w h e n I first b e g a n w r i t i n g f r o m Venice, I s e e m t o r e m e m b e r . I t w a s p r o m p t e d b y t h a t d r e a m I h a d i n t h e early days w h e n m y distress w a s q u i t e i n t e n s e — t h a t d r e a m a b o u t crashing t h r o u g h t h e jungle w i t h a lion o r l e o p a r d p a d d i n g a l o n g b e h i n d m e , t e n s e d t o p o u n c e . A n d t h e p o i n t o f that d r e a m w a s t h e c h o i c e I t h o u g h t I h a d b e t w e e n bravely facing t h e l i o n ( a n d l e t t i n g it t e a r m e t o pieces) a n d k e e p i n g o n

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r u n n i n g . F i g h t i n g o r fleeing, i n o t h e r w o r d s , a l t h o u g h i n t h e d r e a m I k n e w that, even if I fled, I'd eventually b e c o r n e r e d i n a d e a d - e n d . Well, t h e n i g h t I first set out from h o m e , I had another dream, and what I m e a n t t o say t o y o u w h e n I s p o k e o f j u n g l e cats a n d cassowary p l u m e s w a s that, i n this d r e a m , I n e i t h e r faced t h e l i o n n o r k e p t o n r u n n i n g — I l e a p t o n t o its b a c k , s t u c k a h a t o n m y h e a d a n d r o d e off o n it. I r o d e it. Yes, it's t r u e , w i t h m y h e a r t i n m y m o u t h , b u t also w i t h t r u e exultation. A n d I m e a n t these letters to you to b e part of that exultation.

[ P o s t c a r d f r o m t h e Peggy G u g g e n h e i m C o l l e c t i o n 'Donna

che

cammina/Woman

Giacometti.]

Venice,

20th April

I ' m o n t h e way. R.

walking',

Alberto

Padua t e t t e r s Notes

Dante: Canto XI, lines 9 4 - 6 . These lines are part of the painter Oderisis lamentation o n the 'empty glory' of all earthly fame, w h i c h is 'but a gust of w i n d / that blows about, shifting this way and that, / and as it changes quarter, changes name.' An oddly Tolstoyan view, as a matter of fact. Oderisi was right to feel bitter: he had turned out to be a complete nobody from a small Umbrian town of n o significance (Gubbio). Giotto's l u s ­ tre, o n the other hand, apart from a brief d i m m i n g during the seventeenth century, has n o t only remained constant, but in some regards grown m o r e brilliant. William Lithgow: in his Rare Adventures and Painful Peregrinations. In Lithgow's day the climate in Padua was liberal to the point of lawlessness: even m u r d e r was punishable by mere banishment, never m i n d about the odd sexual misdemeanour. Inferno: the reader will have observed that, for reasons of his own, the author has been reading The Divine Comedy out of sequence. The correct sequence is, naturally, Inferno, Purgatory, Paradise. Cloisters: the Universities of Sydney and Melbourne in fact both have pleasing cloisters built in the nineteenth century. They were conceived, presumably, as a faint antipodean reverberation of the European monastic tra­ dition of contemplative scholarship. In this they failed. Introspection is n o t a valued part of the Australian ethos which instead highlights movement outwards, dialogue, polyphony and engagement w i t h the world, rather than meditation or monologue. Consequently, these cloisters are normally referred to as 'quadrangles'. Solomon's Song: from Chapter 4, verses 12 and 16, i n the

-275King James version of the Bible. The Church's exegetes were perversely m i n d e d to interpret this 'inclosed garden' [sic] w i t h its abundance of spikenard, saffron, frankin­ cense, myrrh, aloes and henna, as a reference to the Virgin Mary. However unlikely this may seem, our author seems just as perversely attracted to the n o t i o n of the enclosed garden as a virginal place - virginal, yet at the same t i m e s o m e h o w seeded w i t h the promise of fruition. For grace received: other visitors have been less moved by the For grace received paraphernalia than o u r author. Writing at the end of the sixteenth century, Joseph Addison, w h o passed through Padua while o n a tour of the Continent, snorted w i t h disdain at the 'wretched daubings, i m p e r t i ­ n e n t inscriptions, hands, legs, and arms of wax, w i t h a thousand idle offerings of the same nature' w h i c h h e found at the Basilica. Gumpf: Australian readers interested i n sampling the k i n d of ' g u m p f ' the author has in m i n d might care to read The World's Favourite: St Anthony of Padua by Rev. Marius McAuliffe (Australian Catholic Truth Society, Melbourne, 1942). St Anthony: b o r n 1195, died 1231, canonized 1232, feast day 13 June. The rather flippant account of his life given above is at variance w i t h m o r e sober and scholarly inter­ pretations such as S. Clasen's St Anthony, Doctor of the Gospel (1961) and M. Purcell's Saint Anthony and His Times (1960), w h i c h serious readers should consult for m o r e accurate information. The heyday of the Albigensians, so called because the t o w n of Albi i n southern France was a centre of their activity, was the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Heavily influenced by Bogomil missionaries from the Balkans, their dualistic teachings were antisacerdotal, n o n trinitarian and anti-materialistic. The initiated (the

Padua Letters so-called Perfect) abjured the material world and all sex­ ual activity as evil, praying to reunite the soul w i t h God. The Church was particularly antagonistic to the emphasis these heretics laid o n asceticism, poverty and purity, as well as their rejection of the Church hierarchy and its connections w i t h worldly power. The Waldensians were the only heretics from this period to survive: small Waldensian congregations still exist i n b o t h the United States and i n Italy. 'Collecting the whole world...': G. Porro, in fact. See his L'horto de i semplici di Padova (1591). Aschenbach, Gustav von: the central character in Thomas Mann's Death in Venice. The author's summation of the action i n the novel is misleadingly reductive. Hans Memling: painting in Bruges, this G e r m a n - b o r n painter was oddly popular with Italian merchants living in Flanders, despite the almost complete absence of narrative in his flat, rather passionless portraits. Since h e died i n 1494 there was n o question of his being a Protestant. Winged lion: the winged Hon was the symbol of St Mark, the patron saint of Venice, and came in time to be the symbol of the Republic.