Three Plays Part 25

BELCREDI. It may be as you say, doctor, but that was my impression.

DOCTOR. I won't contradict you; but, believe me, it is only ... an impression.

BELCREDI. Pardon me, but he even said so, and quite clearly (_turning to the Marchioness_). Didn't he, Marchioness?

DONNA MATILDA (_turning round_). What did he say?... (_Then not agreeing_). Oh yes ... but not for the reason you think!

DOCTOR. He was alluding to the costumes we had slipped on.... Your cloak (_indicating the Marchioness_), our Benedictine habits.... But all this is childis.h.!.+

DONNA MATILDA (_turning quickly, indignant_). Childish? What do you mean, doctor?

DOCTOR. From one point of view, it is--I beg you to let me say so, Marchioness! Yet, on the other hand, it is much more complicated than you can imagine.

DONNA MATILDA. To me, on the contrary, it is perfectly clear!

DOCTOR (_with a smile of pity of the competent person towards those who do not understand_). We must take into account the peculiar psychology of madmen; which, you must know, enables us to be certain that they observe things and can, for instance, easily detect people who are disguised; can in fact recognize the disguise and yet believe in it; just as children do, for whom disguise is both play and reality. That is why I used the word childish. But the thing is extremely complicated, inasmuch as he must be perfectly aware of being an image to himself and for himself--that image there, in fact (_alluding to the portrait in the throne room, and pointing to the left_)!

BELCREDI. That's what he said!

DOCTOR. Very well then--An image before which other images, ours, have appeared: understand? Now he, in his acute and perfectly lucid delirium, was able to detect at once a difference between his image and ours: that is, he saw that ours were make-believes. So he suspected us; because all madmen are armed with a special diffidence. But that's all there is to it! Our make-believe, built up all round his, did not seem pitiful to him. While his seemed all the more tragic to us, in that he, as if in defiance--understand?--and induced by his suspicion, wanted to show us up merely as a joke. That was also partly the case with him, in coming before us with painted cheeks and hair, and saying he had done it on purpose for a jest.

DONNA MATILDA (_impatiently_). No, it's not that, doctor.

It's not like that! It's not like that!

DOCTOR. Why isn't it, may I ask?

DONNA MATILDA (_with decision but trembling_). I am perfectly certain he recognized me!

DOCTOR. It's not possible ... it's not possible!

BELCREDI (_at the same time_). Of course not!

DONNA MATILDA (_more than ever determined, almost convulsively_). I tell you, he recognized me! When he came close up to speak to me--looking in my eyes, right into my eyes--he recognized me!

BELCREDI. But he was talking of your daughter!

DONNA MATILDA. That's not true! He was talking of me! Of me!

BELCREDI. Yes, perhaps, when he said....

DONNA MATILDA (_letting herself go_). About my dyed hair!

But didn't you notice that he added at once: "or the memory of your dark hair, if you were dark"? He remembered perfectly well that I was dark--then!

BELCREDI. Nonsense! nonsense!

DONNA MATILDA (_not listening to him, turning to the doctor_). My hair, doctor, is really dark--like my daughter's! That's why he spoke of her.

BELCREDI. But he doesn't even know your daughter! He's never seen her!

DONNA MATILDA. Exactly! Oh, you never understand anything!

By my daughter, stupid, he meant me--as I was then!

BELCREDI. Oh, this is catching! This is catching, this madness!

DONNA MATILDA (_softly, with contempt_). Fool!

BELCREDI. Excuse me, were you ever his wife? Your daughter is his wife--in his delirium: Bertha of Susa.

DONNA MATILDA. Exactly! Because I, no longer dark--as he remembered me--but _fair_, introduced myself as "Adelaide,"

the mother. My daughter doesn't exist for him: he's never seen her--you said so yourself! So how can he know whether she's fair or dark?

BELCREDI. But he said dark, speaking generally, just as anyone who wants to recall, whether fair or dark, a memory of youth in the color of the hair! And you, as usual, begin to imagine things! Doctor, you said I ought not to have come! It's she who ought not to have come!

DONNA MATILDA (_upset for a moment by Belcredi's remark, recovers herself. Then with a touch of anger, because doubtful_). No, no ... he spoke of me... He spoke all the time to me, with me, of me....

BELCREDI. That's not bad! He didn't leave me a moment's breathing s.p.a.ce; and you say he was talking all the time to you? Unless you think he was alluding to you too, when he was talking to Peter Damiani!

DONNA MATILDA (_defiantly, almost exceeding the limits of courteous discussion_). Who knows? Can you tell me why, from the outset, he showed a strong dislike for you, for you alone? (_From the tone of the question, the expected answer must almost explicitly be: "because he understands you are my lover." Belcredi feels this so well that he remains silent and can say nothing_).

DOCTOR. The reason may also be found in the fact that only the visit of the d.u.c.h.ess Adelaide and the abbot of Cluny was announced to him. Finding a third person present, who had not been announced, at once his suspicions....

BELCREDI. Yes, exactly! His suspicion made him see an enemy in me: Peter Damiani! But she's got it into her head, that he recognized her....

DONNA MATILDA. There's no doubt about it! I could see it from his eyes, doctor. You know, there's a way of looking that leaves no doubt whatever.... Perhaps it was only for an instant, but I am sure!

DOCTOR. It is not impossible: a lucid moment....

DONNA MATILDA. Yes, perhaps ... And then his speech seemed to me full of regret for his and my youth--for the horrible thing that happened to him, that has held him in that disguise from which he has never been able to free himself, and from which he longs to be free--he said so himself!

BELCREDI. Yes, so as to be able to make love to your daughter, or you, as you believe--having been touched by your pity.

DONNA MATILDA. Which is very great, I would ask you to believe.

BELCREDI. As one can see, Marchioness; so much so that a miracle-worker might expect a miracle from it!

DOCTOR. Will you let me speak? I don't work miracles, because I am a doctor and not a miracle-worker. I listened very intently to all he said; and I repeat that that certain a.n.a.logical elasticity, common to all symptomatised delirium, is evidently with him much ... what shall I say?--much relaxed! The elements, that is, of his delirium no longer hold together. It seems to me he has lost the equilibrium of his second personality and sudden recollections drag him--and this is very comforting--not from a state of incipient apathy, but rather from a morbid inclination to reflective melancholy, which shows a ... a very considerable cerebral activity. Very comforting, I repeat! Now if, by this violent trick we've planned....

DONNA MATILDA (_turning to the window, in the tone of a sick person complaining_). But how is it that the motor has not returned? It's three hours and a half since....

DOCTOR. What do you say?

DONNA MATILDA. The motor, doctor! It's more than three hours and a half....

DOCTOR (_taking out his watch and looking at it_). Yes, more than four hours, by this!

DONNA MATILDA. It could have reached here an hour ago at least! But, as usual....

BELCREDI. Perhaps they can't find the dress....