"de Musset, Alfred - Tizianello" - читать интересную книгу автора (Musset Alfred De)

of joy.
The first bridal night, in fact, to an active imagination must be one of the
greatest possible pleasures, for it is preceded by no trouble. Philosophers
insist, it is true, that trouble gives more relish to the pleasure she
accompanies, but Pippo thought that a strong sauce did not make fish any the
fresher. He liked easy possession, but he did not wish it gross, and unhappily
it is an almost invariable law that exquisite pleasure is dearly bought. But the
marriage night is an exception to this rule. It is a unique circumstance in
life, which at the same time satisfies the two longings most dear to a man,
indolence and lust. It brings to a young man's bedroom a woman crowned with
flowers, who ignores love, and whose mother has attempted, since she was
fifteen, to ennoble her soul and to adorn her spirit. To obtain a look from this
beautiful creature you might perhaps have to beg for a whole year; nevertheless,
to possess this treasure, the husband has only to open his arms. The mother is
absent and God himself allows it. If on awakening from such a beautiful dream
one finds one is not married, who would not wish to do it every night ?
Pippo did not regret not having questioned the negress, for a servant, in such a
case, can not help but praise her mistress were she even uglier than sin, and
the two words let fall by the Signora Dorothee were sufficient. He would only
have liked to know if she was a blonde or a brunette. To form an idea of a
woman, when one knows she is beautiful, nothing is more important than to know
the color of her hair. Pippo hesitated for a long time between the two colors;
finally, so as to be at peace, he imagined her hair to be auburn.
But he was then unable to determine the color of her eyes. Had she been a
brunette he would have supposed them blackЧblue if she were blonde. He pictured
them as blue, not that clear and undefined blue that is by turn both gray and
greenish, but that azure blue like the sky, which in moments of passion takes a
more somber hue and becomes as dark as a raven's wing.
Hardly had these charming eyes appeared before him with a tender and profound
look, than his imagination encircled them with a brow white as snow, and two
cheeks as rosy as the rays of the sun on the summit of the Alps. Between these
two cheeks, as soft as a peach, he imagined he saw a tapering nose like that of
the ancient bust which has been called "Greek Love." Underneath, a vermilion
mouth, neither too large nor too small, allowed a fresh and voluptuous breath to
escape between two rows of pearls. The chin was well formed and slightly
rounded, the expression frank but somewhat haughty. On a rather long neck, which
was smooth and of an ivory white, this gracious and altogether sympathetic[2]
head was softly poised like a flower on its stem. As for this beautiful image,
created by imagination, it only lacked being real. "She is coming," thought
Pippo, "she will be here when day arrives;" and what is not the least surprising
part of his strange dream was that unknowingly he had just painted his future
mistress's portrait exactly.
[2 SimpaticaЧAn Italian word which has no equivalent in our language, perhaps
because our character does not possess the equivalent of what it expresses.]
When the State Frigate, which guards the entrance to the Port, fired a gun to
indicate six in the morning, Pippo saw that the light from his lamp was becoming
reddish and that the glass in his window was of a light-blue tint. He
immediately went to the casement. This time he no longer looked around him with
half-closed eyes. Although he had not slept, he never felt more free and active.
Dawn began to show itself, but Venice was still sleeping: that lazy home of