Free Her Husband by Luigi Pirandello

gesture. She watched herself live . With that suspended gesture she resembled a statue of an ancient orator she had seen (she didn’t know who he was) as she went up the steps of the Quirinal one day from Via Dataria. That orator, with a rolled parchment in one hand and the other hand outstretched in a solemn gesture, seemed astonished that he had remained there as stone for so many centuries, suspended in that attitude before all those people going up and down those steps. What a strange impression it had made on her! She had been in Rome only a few days. One February noon. Pale sun on the wet gray stones of the deserted Quirinal piazza. Only the sentryand a carabiniere at the Royal Palace door. (Perhaps at that time of day the king was yawning inside his palace.) Under the obelisk, among the great prancing horses, the fountain murmured. And, as though the encircling silence had suddenly spread into the distance, she had the impression that the incessant roar was her own sea. She turned: on the cordon in front of the palace she saw a chipper sparrow hopping around on the stone pavement, shaking its little head. Did it also feel a strange emptiness in that silence, like a mysterious pause in time and life, and, looking on it in fear, want reassurance?
    She was very familiar with this sudden and fortunately brief and silent sinking into the mysterious abyss. However, the impression of awful dizziness lasted a long time, in conflict with the stability of things (so misleading): ambitious and yet paltry appearances. The small, everyday life wandering among these appearances then seemed unreal to her, like a magic lantern show. Why give them importance? Why treat them with respect, that respect, that importance that Giustino wanted?
    And yet, one has to live. . . . Yes, she realized that he, her husband, was basically right and she was wrong to be that way. She must now do as he did. And she decided to do as he wished and let herself be led, conquering her distaste and making herself appear to favor what he had done and was doing for her.
    Poor Giustino! So economical and moderate. The expense of putting her on display didn’t even bother him…. That beautiful dress he had secretly bought and had altered for her! And now she had to go to Marchesa Lampugnani’s house against her will, squarely against her will? Yes, yes, she would go. Like a mannequin in that beautiful new dress: a mannequin not very presentable, not very … slender right now, but never mind! If he really believed it necessary, she was ready to go.
    “When?”
    Overjoyed at seeing her so compliant, Giustino told her that they would go the next evening.
    “But wait,” he added. “I don’t want you to be embarrassed. I know there are so many little formalities, so many … Yes, they are probablyeven foolish, as you think, but it’s good to know them, my dear. I’ll find out. To tell the truth I don’t have much faith in Signora Ely for these things.”
    And that evening after leaving the office, Giustino Boggiolo went off to make the visit he had promised Dora Barmis.

4

    Propped against the chest in the entry hall, a crutch. On the crutch, a felt hat. The double doors leading into the parlor were closed, and in the dim anteroom a yellowish green light was diffused through the checkered paper on the glass panels.
    “No, no, no. I told you no. Stop it!” He heard the angry shouts from inside.
    The maid, coming to open the door, was a little uncertain after this outburst whether it was the right moment to announce the new visitor.
    “Is this a bad time?” Giustino asked timidly.
    The maid shrugged her shoulders, then took heart and after knocking on the glass panel, she opened it: “There is a gentleman. . . .”
    “Boggiolo,” Giustino prompted in a low voice.
    “Ah, you Boggiolo? How nice! Come in, come in,” exclaimed Dora Barmis, inclining her head and quickly forcing a smile to replace the scornful, spiteful expression on her flushed