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it is a difficult effort: when we excel, others must not recognize our excellence. If someone were to
become famous for his ability to disguise himself, as actors do, all would know that he is not what he
pretends to be. But concerning the true, excellent dissimulators, who have existed and exist still, we have
no information.
 And note further, added Senor de Salazar,  that while you are being invited to dissimulate, you are not
invited to remain dumb as a fool. On the contrary. You will learn to do with a clever word what you
cannot do with open speech: to move in a world that favors appearance, and with all the ra-pidity of
eloquence to be the weaver of words of silk. If arrows can pierce the body, words can pierce the soul.
Make natural in yourself what in Padre Emanuele s machine is mechanical art.
 But, sir, Roberto said,  Padre Emanuele s machine seems to me an image of Genius, which does not
aim at striking or seducing but at discovering and revealing connections between things, and therefore
becoming a new instrument of truth.
 This is for philosophers. But for fools use Genius to awe, and you will earn acceptance. Men love to be
awed. If your fate and your fortune are decided not on the field but in the halls of the court, a good point
scored in conversation will be more fruitful than a victorious attack in battle. The prudent man with an
elegant phrase extricates himself from any com-plication, and can use his tongue with the lightness of a
feather. Most things can be paid for with words.
 You are expected at the gate, Salazar, said Saletta. And so ended for Roberto that unexpected lesson
in life and wis-dom. He was not edified by it, but he was grateful to his two teachers. They had explained
to him many of the era s mys-teries, never mentioned at La Griva.
CHAPTER 12
ThePassions of theSoul
Asall his illusions collapsed, Roberto fell prey to an amorous obsession.
It was now the end of June, and it was quite hot; for about ten days the first rumors had been spreading
about a case of plague in the Spanish camp. Munitions were growing scarce in the city; the soldiers were
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being issued only fourteen ounces of black bread daily, and for a pint of wine from the Casalesi you had
to pay three florins, that is to say twelve reales. Salazar from the camp and Saletta from the city had
alternated visits to arrange the ransoming of officers captured by both sides in the course of combat, and
the ransomed had to swear an oath not to take up arms again. There was more talk of that captain rising
in the diplomatic world, Mazzarini, to whom the pope had entrusted negotiations.
Some hopes, some sorties, and the game of the reciprocal destruction of tunnels: thus the indolent siege
progressed.
While waiting for the negotiations or for the relief army, the bellicose spirits grew calmer. Some Casalesi
decided to go outside of the walls to harvest those fields of wheat spared by horses and wagons,
heedless of the weary musket fire from the distant Spaniards. But not all were unarmed: Roberto saw a
young peasant woman, tall and tawny, whoat intervals in-terrupted her work with the sickle, crouched
among the rows of grain, and raised a culiver, holding it like a veteran soldier, pressing the butt against
her red cheek, to fire at the trouble-makers. The Spaniards, irked by the shots of that warrior Ceres,
returned fire, and a ball grazed the girl s wrist. Bleeding now, she fell back, but did not cease firing or
shouting at the enemy. When she was finally almost below the walls, some Spaniards apostrophized her:
 Puta de los franceses! To which she replied,  Yes, I m the Frenchmen s whore, but I m not yours!
That virginal figure, that quintessence of ripe beauty and martial fury, joined to the hint of shamelessness
with which the insult had crowned her, kindled the boy s senses.
That day he combed the streets of Casale, eager to renew the vision: he questioned the peasants,
learned that the girl s name according to some was Anna Maria Novarese, according to others
Francesca, and in one tavern they told him she was twenty, she came from the country, and was carrying
on with a French soldier.  She s a good girl, that Francesca, a very good girl, they said with a knowing
leer, and to Roberto his beloved seemed all the more desirable as she was again praised in li-centious
tones.
A few evenings later, passing a house, he glimpsed her ina. dark room on the ground floor. To enjoy the
faint breeze that barely mitigated the Monferrino sultriness, she was seated at the window, in the light of
an unseen lamp placed near the sill. At first he failed to recognize her because her lovely hair was wound
around her head; just two locks escaped, falling over her ears. Only her face could be seen: bent slightly,
a single, pure oval beaded with a few drops of sweat, it seemed the real lamp in that penumbra.
At a little low table she was occupied with some sewing, on which her intent gaze rested, so she did not
notice the youth, who stepped back to peer at her from a corner, crouch-ing against the wall. His heart
pounding in his breast, Roberto noticed that her lip was shaded by blond down. Suddenly she raised a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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