Free Pleasure by Gabriele D'Annunzio Page A

friend of yours spoke to me so much about you at Lucerne last summer: Giulio Musèllaro. I was, I confess, a bit curious . . . Musèllaro also lent me your exceedingly rare
Fable of Hermaphrodite
to read, and gave me as a gift your etching of
Sleep,
a proof mark, a treasure. You have in me a cordial admirer. Remember that.
    She spoke, pausing now and again. Her voice was so caressing that it gave the impression almost of a carnal embrace; and she had that involuntary loving and voluptuous gaze that agitates all men and immediately provokes desire in them.
    A manservant announced:
    â€”Cavalier Sakumi!
    And the eighth and final dinner guest appeared.
    He was a secretary of the Japanese Legation, small in stature, yellowish, with protruding cheekbones, long and slanting eyes, veined with blood, over which his eyelids constantly blinked. His body was too broad compared with his too-thin legs; and he walked with his feet turned inward, as if a belt were wound tightly around his hips. The tails of his dress coat were too wide; his trousers had many creases; the tie he wore bore very visible signs of an inexpert hand. He looked like a
daimyo
6 hauled out of one of those suits of armor made of iron and lacquer that resemble the shells of monstrous crustaceans, then stuffed into the garments of a Western waiter. But even with his awkwardness he had a sharp expression, a kind of ironic refinedness at the corners of his mouth.
    Halfway through the reception room, he bowed. His
gibus
7 fell out of his hand.
    The Baroness of Isola, a small blonde, her forehead covered in curls, graceful and coquettish like a young ape, said in her piercing voice:
    â€”Come here, Sakumi, here, next to me!
    The Japanese cavalier went forward, smiling and bowing over and over again.
    â€”Will we see Princess Issé this evening? Donna Francesca of Ateleta asked him. She liked to gather in her salons the most bizarre exemplars of the exotic colonies in Rome, for the sake of picturesque variety.
    The Asiatic spoke a barbaric language, barely intelligible, of English, French, and Italian mixed together.
    Everyone, all at once, began to talk. It was almost a chorus, in the midst of which now and then there could be heard, like gushes of silver spurts, the fresh peals of laughter of the marchioness.
    â€”I have certainly seen you before; I don’t remember where, I don’t remember when, but I have certainly seen you, Andrea Sperelli said to the duchess, standing very straight in front of her. —While I was watching you walk up the stairs, in the depths of my memory an indistinct recollection was reawakening, something that took form following the rhythm of your ascent, like an image springing from a musical aria . . . I have not yet managed to see the memory clearly; but, when you turned around, I felt that your profile had an undoubted correspondence to that image. It could not be an augury; it was therefore a strange phenomenon of memory. I have most certainly seen you, before. Who knows! Maybe in a dream, maybe in a work of art, maybe in another world, in a previous existence . . .
    Uttering these last phrases, overly sentimental and chimeric, he laughed openly as if to thwart an incredulous or ironic smile from the woman. Elena, instead, remained serious. Was she listening or thinking about something else? Did she accept that kind of talk or was she mocking him with that seriousness? Did she mean to indulge the act of seduction initiated by him with such care, or was she withdrawing into indifference or uncaring silence? Was she, in short, able to be conquered by him or not? Andrea, perplexed, examined this mystery. In those who have the habit of seduction, especially the bold, this perplexity provoked by women who remain silent is well known.
    A manservant opened the great door that led into the dining hall.
    The marchioness placed her arm in that of Don Filippo del Monte and entered the hall first. The