The Nice Old Man and the Pretty Girl Read online

  THE NICE OLD MAN AND THE PRETTY GIRL

  TRANSLATED FROM ITALIAN BY L. COLLISON-MORLEY

  ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN MILAN BY GIUSEPPE MORREALE, MILAN, 1929.

  ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN ENGLISH BY

  LEONARD AND VIRGINIA WOOLF AT THE HOGARTH PRESS, LONDON, 1930.

  © 2010 MELVILLE HOUSE PUBLISHING

  MELVILLE HOUSE PUBLISHING

  145 PLYMOUTH

  STREET

  BROOKLYN, NY 11201

  WWW.MHPBOOKS.COM

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE PAPERBACK EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

  SVEVO, ITALO, 1861–1928.

  [NOVELLA DEL BUON VECCHIO E DELLA BELLA FANCIULLA. ENGLISH]

  THE NICE OLD MAN AND THE PRETTY GIRL / ITALO SVEVO ;

  [TRANSLATED FROM ITALIAN BY L. COLLISON-MORLEY]

  P. CM.

  eISBN: 978-1-61219-083-9

  I. COLLISON-MORLEY, LACY, 1875– II. TITLE.

  PQ4841.C482N613 2010

  853′.8—DC22

  2010011967

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Other Titles in the Art of the Novella Series

  Titles in the Companion Series

  I

  THERE was a prelude to the adventure of the nice old man, but it developed almost without his being aware of it. During a short break in his work he had been obliged to see in his office an old woman who introduced him to a girl in whom she tried to interest him, her own daughter. They had been granted an interview because they brought a letter from a friend of his. Called off thus suddenly from his work, the old man could not get it altogether out of his mind. He looked in bewilderment at the note, trying to take it in and put an end to the interruption as soon as possible.

  The elder woman did not cease talking for a moment, but he caught or understood only a few short sentences: “The young woman was strong and intelligent, she could read and write, but she read better than she wrote.” Then a sentence struck him, because it was so odd: “My daughter will take any work for the whole day, provided she has the short time off she needs for her daily bath.” Finally the old woman made the remark which brought the scene to a swift close: “They are taking women as drivers and conductors on the trams now.”

  Quickly making up his mind, the old man wrote an introduction to the Manager of the Tramway Company and dismissed the two women. Left alone with his work, he interrupted it for a moment to think: “What on earth did that old woman mean by telling me that her daughter bathes every day?” He shook his head, smiling with an air of superiority. This shows that old men are really old when they have to do anything.

  II

  A tram was running down the long Viale di Sant’Andrea. The driver, a pretty girl of twenty, kept her brown eyes fixed on the broad, dusty road, bathed in sun. She enjoyed driving the car at full speed, so that the wheels creaked when she changed gear and the body of the crowded tram jolted. The avenue was empty, but as she sped along the girl never ceased pressing her small nervous foot on the lever that rang the bell. This she did not as a precaution, but because she was young enough to be able to turn her work into a game, and she enjoyed going a good pace and making a noise with this amusing toy. All children like shouting when they run. She was dressed in old coloured clothes, which made her great beauty look as if disguised. A faded red jacket left free her neck, which was massive in comparison with her small, rather pinched face; free, too, the clean-cut hollow that runs from the shoulder to the delicate curve of the breasts. The blue skirt was too short, perhaps because in the third year of the war there was a scarcity of material. The tiny foot looked naked in a small cloth shoe and the blue cap crushed her black curls, which were cut short. Judged only by her head she might have been a boy, if the pose of that alone had not betrayed coquettishness and vanity.

  On the footboard round the fair driver there were so many people that it was hardly possible to work the brakes. Among them was our old man. He had to bend backwards at some of the more violent jerks of the tram to prevent being shot on to the driver. He was dressed with great care, but in a sober style suited to his age. His appearance was really well bred and pleasing to the eye. Well-nourished though he was, among all these pale and anaemic people, there was nothing to give offence in him, because he was neither too fat nor too prosperous looking. From the colour of his hair and his short moustache you would have said he was sixty or rather less. There was no sign about him of an attempt to look younger. Years may be a hindrance to love, and for many years he had ceased to give it a thought, but they favour business, and he carried his years with pride, and, so to speak, youthfully.

  On the other hand he had the caution of his years, and he was not happy in that gigantic car driven at such a pace. The first word he spoke to the girl was one of warning: “Signorina!”

  At such polite language the girl turned her beautiful eyes towards him doubtfully, not being sure that he was addressing her. Her bright look gave the nice old man so much pleasure that his fears almost vanished. He changed the warning that would have had a touch of bitterness into a joke: “It makes no difference to me whether I am a minute or two sooner or later at the Tergesteo.” The people round him might believe that he was smiling at his own joke, but as a matter of fact his smile had been directed towards her eye, which had struck him as full of delicious impertinence and at the same time innocent. Beautiful women always strike us at first as intelligent. A beautiful complexion or a beautiful line are, in fact, the expression of the highest intelligence.

  She did not catch the words, but she was completely reassured by the smile that allowed no doubt as to the kindly feelings of the old man. She understood that he was uncomfortable standing and made room for him to lean upon the rail close by her. She kept on at breakneck speed to the Campo Marzo.

  Then the girl, looking at the nice old man as if asking him to agree with her, sighed: “Here’s where the real trouble begins.” And the tram began to jolt slowly and heavily over the rails.

  When a really young man falls in love, his love often sets up in his brain reactions that end by having nothing to do with his desire. How many young men who might enjoy peace and bliss in a hospitable bed, insist on abandoning at least their homes, in the belief that, in order to sleep with a woman, you must first conquer, create or destroy! Old men, on the other hand, who are said to be better protected against the passions, give themselves up to them in full knowledge and enter the bed of sin with no other precaution than a due regard for catching chills.

  Not that love is simple, even for old men. For them its motives are complicated. They know that they must make excuses. Our old man said to himself: “This is my first real adventure since the death of my wife.” In the language of the old an adventure is real when it involves the heart. It may be said that an old man is rarely young enough to be able to have an adventure that is not real, because this is an extension that serves to mask a weakness. Similarly, when weak men give a punch, they use not only the hand, the arm and the shoulder, but also the chest and the other shoulder. The blow is feeble owing to the excessive extension of the effort, while the adventure loses in distinctness and becomes more risky.

  Then the old man thought that it was the childlike eye of the girl that had conquered him. Old men, when they fall in love, always pass through a stage of paternity and each embrace is an act of
incest, carrying with it the bitter savour of incest.

  And the third important idea the old man had when he felt himself deliciously guilty and deliciously young, was: “My youth is returning.” So great is the selfishness of an old man that his thoughts do not remain fixed on the object of his love for a single moment without immediately turning back to contemplate himself. When he wants a woman, he is like king David, expecting to have his youth renewed by young girls.

  The old man of classical comedy who is convinced that he can rival youth must be very rare to-day, if indeed he still exists. My old man continued to soliloquise and said to himself: “Here is a girl I shall buy, if she is for sale.”

  “Tergesteo—Are you not getting off?” asked the girl before starting the tram. The nice old man, rather confused, looked at his watch. “I shall go on a little further,” he said.

  There was no longer a crowd, and he had no further excuse for remaining so near the girl. He stood up and leant back in a corner whence he could see her comfortably. She must have been aware that she was being looked at, because, when she was not busy driving, she examined him curiously.

  He asked her how long she had been at this tiring job. “A month.” It was not so very tiring, she said, just as she was forced to lean the whole of her small body against a lever to apply the brake, but sometimes very dull. Worst of all, the pay was not enough. Her father still worked, but with food at such a price, it was hard to make ends meet. And, still intent upon her work, she addressed him by his surname: “If you liked, it would be easy for you to find me something better.” She glanced quickly at him to judge from his expression the effect of her request.

  The sudden use of his own name gave the nice old man rather a shock. The name of an old man is always a little ancient, and therefore imposes obligations on its bearer. He concealed all traces of strain that might betray his desire in his face. He was not surprised that the girl should know his name, because nearly all the richest families had left town, and the few well-to-do ones remaining were the more conspicuous. He looked away and said with great seriousness: “It is rather difficult now, but I will think it over. What can you do?” She could read and write and do accounts. The only languages she knew were Triestine and Friulian.

  An old woman on the footboard began to laugh noisily: “Triestine and Friulian her only languages! Ah, that’s good!” The girl laughed too, and the old man, still rigid from his efforts to conceal the excitement within him, laughed unnaturally. The peasant woman, pleased to talk with a gentleman of his position, kept up a continual chatter, and the old man encouraged her the better to appear indifferent. At last she left them alone. At once the old man exclaimed: “When are you off duty?”

  “At nine in the evening.”

  “Well,” said the nice old man, “Come this evening. I am engaged tomorrow.” And he told her his address, which she repeated several times in order not to forget it.

  Old men are in a hurry, because the law of nature as to the limits of age is threatening them. This rendezvous, asked for in the guise of a protecting philanthropist and accepted with gratitude, sent the old man into the seventh heaven of delight. How circumstances were playing into his hands!

  But old men like to see clearly in business matters, and he could not yet bring himself to leave the footboard. Still doubting his luck, he asked himself anxiously: “Is this enough? Is there not something more to be done? Supposing she really believes that she has been asked to come for an introduction to get her another job?” He did not want to remain in a state of unnecessary excitement till the evening and would have liked to be more sure of his ground. But how utter the needful words without compromising his own family name, even with the girl, supposing that she really did not mean to take anything from him except a job? At bottom the position would have been the same had he been younger. But he was old. After a little experience, or even before they have had any, young men can get all they want, whereas the old man is a lover out of gear. The love-making machine within him is at least one little wheel short.

  However, the old man was not inventing, but remembering. He remembered how at twenty, that is to say, forty years ago, before his marriage, he had whispered to a woman (much older than the tram-girl before him) who, on some flimsy pretext and in the presence of others, had already promised to come, in a low, but agitated voice a repetition of the invitation: “Will you come?’ The words would have sufficed. But here the street, which envies the love of the young and laughs at that of the old, was watching him, and there must therefore be no trace of emotion in his voice.

  As he was leaving the tram he said to the girl: “Then I shall expect you this evening at nine.” Afterwards, as he remembered, he became aware that his voice, whether on account of the street or of his passion, had shaken. But he did not notice it at once, and when the girl answered: “Of course, I shan’t forget to turn up,” as she raised her eyes for a moment from the tram-lines and turned them towards him, it seemed to him that her promise had been made to the philanthropist. But, as he thought it over, all was as clear as forty years ago. The flash of her eye revealed the imp in her, as his own voice had revealed his anxiety. Without a doubt they understood each other. Mother Nature was graciously allowing him to love once again and for the last time.

  III

  The old man went off towards the Tergesteo with a more elastic step. He felt very fit, did the nice old man. Perhaps he had been without all that for too long. He had had so much to do that he had forgotten something which his system, still young, really needed. Feeling so fit, he could no longer have any doubt on the subject.

  He was late when he reached the Tergesteo, so he had to hurry to the telephone to make up for lost time. For half an hour business absorbed his undivided attention. This calm was another source of satisfaction to him. He remembered how, when a young man, waiting had been such a torture and a delight to him that afterwards the pleasure awaited had paled by comparison. His calm seemed to him a proof of strength, and here he was certainly wrong.

  When he had done his business he went towards the hotel where he always ate, like many other men of means who thus husbanded the supplies they had hoarded. He continued his self-examination as he walked. The desire within him was virile in its calmness, but complete. He had no scruples and he did not even remember how, when a young man, as became a person of refinement, every adventure of the kind had stirred within his breast the whole question of good and evil. He saw only one side of the problem, and it seemed to him that what he proposed taking was but his due, if only as a compensation for the long time during which he had been deprived of pleasure so great. As a rule most old men certainly believe that they have many rights and only rights. Knowing that they are beyond the reach of any education, they think they may live in accordance with the needs of their system. The nice old man sat down at the table with a desire for assimilating food that suggested real youth. “Lucky,” he thought. “The glorious cure begins.”

  Yet, late in the afternoon, when, after leaving the office, the old man, in order to escape the dreary wait at home, went for a long walk by the sea and the jetty, there was a slight moral stirring in his breast which did not subside without leaving a trace in his heart. Not that this had the very least influence on the course of events, for, like other men, whether old or young, he did as he pleased, though he knew better.

  The summer sunset was bright and pale. The sea, swollen, weary and motionless, looked colourless against the sky, still bright. The outlines of the mountains, dropping towards the Friulian plain, stood out clearly. There were even glimpses of the Hermada, and the air could be felt quivering with the ceaseless fire of the guns.

  Every sign of the war that struck the old man reminded him, with a pang, that, thanks to it, he was making so much money. The war brought him wealth and humiliation. That day he thought: “And I am trying to seduce a girl of the people that is suffering and bleeding up there!” He had long grown accustomed to the remorse caused by his busi
ness success and he continued to make money, in spite of his remorse. His part of seducer was a new one and therefore the moral resistance was fresher and more intense. New crimes cannot be reconciled so easily with one’s own highest moral convictions, and it takes time to make the two lie down together in amity, but there is no need for despair. Meanwhile there, on the jetty, within sight of the Hermada in flames, the nice old man gave up the idea. He would find his girl some healthy job and would be nothing but the philanthropist to her.

  The hour of the meeting had nearly come. The moral struggle had made the task of waiting for her even less difficult. The idea of the philanthropist went home with the nice old man, though it left him the step of a conqueror which he had put on that morning as he left the footboard of the tram.

  Even at home he did not abandon his purpose, but his actions belied it. To offer the girl a little supper was hardly the work of a philanthropist. He opened tins of nice food and prepared a choice little cold supper. On the table, between two glasses, he put a bottle of champagne. The time, however, was not very long.

  Then the girl came. She was much better dressed than in the morning, but that did not alter matters, because she could not have made herself more desirable. In the presence of the sweets and the champagne the old man assumed a paternal aspect, to which the girl paid no attention, because she kept her innocent eyes fixed on the good supper. He told her he meant to have her taught a little German, which was necessary for the work, and then she made a remark that was decisive. She declared that she was ready to work the whole day on condition that she was allowed half an hour off for her bath.

  The old man began to laugh: “Then we have known each other a long time. Are not you the girl who came to me with your mother? … How is the dear lady?”

  The remark was really decisive, first of all because he learnt from it that they had known each other some time. Duration gives an adventure a more serious aspect. Then also the guarantee of the daily bath is, especially for an old man, of obvious importance. Even now he could hardly have understood, had he thought of it, why the girl’s mother had mentioned the bath. The pose of the philanthropist vanished. He looked into her eyes laughing, as if meaning to laugh at his own moral struggles, seized her by the hand and drew her to him.