W. Somerset Maugham: Novels, Short Stories, Plays & Travel Sketches (33 Titles In One Edition). Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

      IV

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       Next day we went to Donna Giulia's.

      'Who is she?' I asked Matteo, as we walked along.

      'A widow!' he answered shortly.

      'Further?' I asked.

      'The scandal of Forli!'

      'Most interesting; but how has she gained her reputation?'

      'How do I know?' he answered, laughing; 'how do women usually gain their reputations? She drove Giovanni dall' Aste into his grave; her rivals say she poisoned him—but that is a cheerful libel, probably due to Claudia Piacentini.'

      'How long has she been a widow?'

      'Five or six years.'

      'And how has she lived since then?'

      Matteo shrugged his shoulders.

      'As widows usually live!' he answered. 'For my part, I really cannot see what inducement a woman in that position has to be virtuous. After all, one is only young once, and had better make the best use of one's youth while it lasts.'

      'But has she no relations?'

      'Certainly; she has a father and two brothers. But they hear nothing or care nothing. Besides, it may be only scandal after all.'

      'You talked as if it were a fact,' I said.

      'Oh, no; I only say that if it is not a fact she is a very foolish woman. Now that she has a bad reputation, it would be idiotic not to live up to it.'

      'You speak with some feeling,' I remarked, laughing.

      'Ah,' answered Matteo, with another shrug of the shoulders, 'I laid siege to the fort of her virtue—and she sallied and retired, and mined and countermined, advanced and drew back, so that I grew weary and abandoned the attack. Life is not long enough to spend six months in politeness and flattery, and then not be sure of the reward at the end.'

      'You have a practical way of looking at things.'

      'With me, you know, one woman is very like another. It comes to the same in the end; and after one has kicked about the world for a few years, one arrives at the conclusion that it it does not much matter if they be dark or fair, fat or thin....'

      'Did you tell all this to Donna Giulia?' I asked.

      'More or less.'

      'What did she think of it?'

      'She was cross for a while. She wished she had yielded sooner, when it was too late; it served her right!'

      We had arrived at the house, and were ushered in. Donna Giulia greeted us very politely, gave me a glance, and began talking again to her friends. One could see that the men round her were more or less in love, for they followed every motion with their eyes, disputing her smiles, which she scattered in profusion, now upon one, now upon another.... I saw she delighted in adulation, for the maker of any neat compliment was always rewarded with a softer look and a more charming smile.

      Matteo surpassed the others in the outrageousness of his flattery; I thought she must see that he was laughing at her, but she accepted everything he said quite seriously, and was evidently much pleased.

      'Are you not glad to be back in Forli?' she said to him.

      'We all delight to tread the ground you walk on.'

      'You have grown very polite during your absence.'

      'What other result could have been, when I spent my time thinking of the lovely Giulia.'

      'I am afraid you had other thoughts in Naples: they say that there the women are all beautiful.'

      'Naples! My dear lady, I swear that during all the time I have been away I have never seen a face to compare with yours.'

      Her eyes quite shone with pleasure. I turned away, finding the conversation silly. I thought I would do without the pleasant looks of Madonna Giulia, and I decided not to come to her again. Meanwhile, I began talking to one of the other ladies in the room and passed the time agreeably enough.... In a little while Giulia passed me, leaning on the arm of one of her admirers. I saw her glance at me, but I took no notice. Immediately afterwards she came again, hesitating a moment, as if she wished to say something, but passed on without speaking. I thought she was piqued at my inattention to her, and, with a smile, redoubled my attentions to the lady with whom I was talking.

      'Messer Filippo!' Donna Giulia called me, 'if you are not too engaged, will you speak to me for one moment?'

      I approached her smiling.

      'I am anxious to hear of your quarrel with Ercole Piacentini. I have heard quite ten different stories.'

      'I am surprised that the insolence of an ill-bred fellow should rouse such interest.'

      'We must talk of something in Forli. The only thing I hear for certain is that he insulted you, and you were prevented from getting satisfaction.'

      'That will come later.'

      She lowered her voice and took my arm.

      'But my brother tells me that Checco d'Orsi has made you promise to do nothing.'

      'I shall get my revenge—having to wait for it will only make it sweeter.'

      Then, supposing she had nothing further to say to me, I stood still, as if expecting her to leave me. She looked up suddenly.

      'Am I incommoding you?' she said.

      'How could you!' I replied gallantly.

      'I