naturally disobeyed her injunction and, shielded behind pillars, watched in the Church of Saint Cecilia, or of Saint Peter, or in yet some other, while Renata stayed whole hours bent in prayer, her eyes glued to the altar, hearing through the whole Holy Mass without a single movement. Despite the fact that the Faith is in our days strongly shaken by reform and heresies, nevertheless the temples were for the most part full, both of sorrowing souls come to seek comfort of the Almighty, and of idlers come from habit, or to meet a gossip, or to wink to a pretty neighbour. We were soon picked out as a strange couple by all this varied conglomeration, and it came to me to hear, bandied about in whispers, many and various stupid rumours regarding us. But Renata of course did not notice the curiosity she excited, and I paid no attention, for it gave me an inexpressible delight just to look at Renata and imbibe her image with my eyes, as the drunkard imbibes the juice of the vine with his lips. It was there and within those walls, as I stood listening to the rhythmic harmony of the organ and imagining at times that it was the Mexican forest that rustled around me, that the thought was born in me to take Renata beyond the Ocean, and I think to this day that, had I been able to execute this purpose, I could have saved both her life and her soul.
In these evenings, which we spent together, we now exchanged rôles, as champions fighting with rapiers exchange places, for it was I who became the listener and Renata untiringly talked to me about herself, comforting and torturing herself with reminiscences. Too well do I remember how in her rich room, by the light of two wax candles and with curtains drawn, we two would sit facing each other with glasses of Malvasia—for, though she refused food, Renata drank wine willingly—and thus spent almost whole nights through. Once more Renata made up her mind to talk to me of Count Heinrich, relating to me still further and further particulars about him, describing his eyes and his eyebrows, his hair and his body, repeating those of his words that she remembered, relating minute incidents of their lives, depicting to me their mutual caresses in such detail that my jealousy flared up like a burning flame. Renata began often to compare me with her lover, and she experienced the greatest joy in exposing to me all the baseness of my soul and all the commonness of my face, as compared with the angelic features of Madiël and the godliness of his thoughts. Not infrequently the exaltation created in Renata by her words once more discharged itself in an uncontrollable flood of tears, and we two would drink this mixture of Malvasia and tears, until at last I would carry the helpless Renata to her bed and, also crying, kiss her feet and the hem of her dress.
This life of ours also lasted about a week, and I suppose my heart would have borne the tension of continuous pain for no longer space. But the emotional ecstasy of Renata ended as suddenly as it was born, and thereafter she spent a whole Sunday kneeling nearly all day in the Church of the Holy Apostles, raining reproaches on me with especial cruelty in the evening—and on the Monday morning she changed to a tenderness, that was yet false by all appearances, and instead of going to Mass bade me walk with her, as in those other days of ours, to the Rhine. I went uneasy in heart, for in truth these present hours were only the outer image of our former friendliness, and only a make-shift of our recent intimacy. Though—as I often afterwards became convinced—Renata would many times say that which one could not regard as true, yet she did not know how to tell a lie, having schemed a lie, and her pretending was so obvious that it roused in my soul not so much indignation as compassion. I made no sign that I saw through her play-acting, and I waited to find out whither the plot would lead me, until, at home, Renata after many insignificant words said to
In these evenings, which we spent together, we now exchanged rôles, as champions fighting with rapiers exchange places, for it was I who became the listener and Renata untiringly talked to me about herself, comforting and torturing herself with reminiscences. Too well do I remember how in her rich room, by the light of two wax candles and with curtains drawn, we two would sit facing each other with glasses of Malvasia—for, though she refused food, Renata drank wine willingly—and thus spent almost whole nights through. Once more Renata made up her mind to talk to me of Count Heinrich, relating to me still further and further particulars about him, describing his eyes and his eyebrows, his hair and his body, repeating those of his words that she remembered, relating minute incidents of their lives, depicting to me their mutual caresses in such detail that my jealousy flared up like a burning flame. Renata began often to compare me with her lover, and she experienced the greatest joy in exposing to me all the baseness of my soul and all the commonness of my face, as compared with the angelic features of Madiël and the godliness of his thoughts. Not infrequently the exaltation created in Renata by her words once more discharged itself in an uncontrollable flood of tears, and we two would drink this mixture of Malvasia and tears, until at last I would carry the helpless Renata to her bed and, also crying, kiss her feet and the hem of her dress.
This life of ours also lasted about a week, and I suppose my heart would have borne the tension of continuous pain for no longer space. But the emotional ecstasy of Renata ended as suddenly as it was born, and thereafter she spent a whole Sunday kneeling nearly all day in the Church of the Holy Apostles, raining reproaches on me with especial cruelty in the evening—and on the Monday morning she changed to a tenderness, that was yet false by all appearances, and instead of going to Mass bade me walk with her, as in those other days of ours, to the Rhine. I went uneasy in heart, for in truth these present hours were only the outer image of our former friendliness, and only a make-shift of our recent intimacy. Though—as I often afterwards became convinced—Renata would many times say that which one could not regard as true, yet she did not know how to tell a lie, having schemed a lie, and her pretending was so obvious that it roused in my soul not so much indignation as compassion. I made no sign that I saw through her play-acting, and I waited to find out whither the plot would lead me, until, at home, Renata after many insignificant words said to
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