Antonio went out and came in, and always found her wrapped in her
homesick stupor, indifferent to everything about her.
"Let's take a walk, Regina!"
"Oh, no!"
"It would do you good."
"I am quite well."
"You can't be well. You are so dull. You don't care for me, that's
what it is!"
"Oh, yes, I do! And if I don't, how can I help it?"
Sometimes, indeed, she included even Antonio in the collective hatred
which she nourished against everything representative of the city.
At those moments he seemed an inferior person, bloodless and half
alive, one among all the other useless phantasms scarce visible in
the rain, through which she alone in her egotism and her pride loomed
gigantic.
But the warm and luminous spring came at last, and troops of men,
women and flower-laden children spread themselves through the
streets, in the depths of which Regina's short-sighted eyes fancied
silvery lakes. In the fragrant evenings, bathed it would seem in
golden dust, companies of women, fresh as flowers in their new spring
frocks, came down by Via Nazionale, by the Corso, by Via del Tritone.
Carriages passed heaped up with roses, red motor-cars flew by,
bellowing like young monsters drunk with light, and even they were
garlanded with flowers.
Regina walked and walked, on Antonio's arm, or sometimes alone; alone
among the crowd, alone in the wave of all those joyous women, whose
thoughtlessness she both envied and despised; alone among the smiling
parties of sisters, companions, friends, by not one of whom, however,
would she have been accompanied for anything in the world! One day,
as she was going up Piazza Termini, she saw Arduina in the famous
black silk dress with wrinkles on the shoulders. Regina would have
avoided her sister-in-law, but did not set about it soon enough.
"I've been to your house," said Arduina; "why are you never at home?
it's impossible to catch you. What are you always doing? Where have
you been? Even our mother complains of you. Why don't you have a
baby?"
"Why don't _you_? And where are _you_ going?" said Regina, with
sarcasm.
"I'm going to the Grand Hotel, to see a very rich English '_miss_.'
You can come too, if you like. She's worth it!"
Regina went, so anxious was she for something to do. The sunset
tinged the Terme and the trees with orange-red. From the gardens
came the cry of children and twitterings like the rustling of water
from innumerable birds. Higher than all else, above the transparent
vastness of the Piazza, above the fountain, which clear, luminous,
pearly, seemed an immense Murano vase, towered the Grand Hotel, its
gold-lettered name sparkling on its front like an epigraph on the
façade of a temple.
There was a confusion of carriages before the columns of the
entrance, of servants in livery, of gentlemen in tall hats, of
fashionably attired ladies. A royal carriage with glossy, jet-black
horses, was conspicuous among the others.
"It must be the Queen," said Arduina. "I'd like to wait!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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