Gogol's Wife

by Tommaso Landolfi

  I shall avail myself of this moment of pause to advance an hypothesis: that the monkey had, probably more than once, watched the sacrifice which tonight he had crudely and impiously imitated. As we know, it was his habit to go out at night; and it is also true that in some places and at certain seasons the first Mass is said when it is still dark. Therefore, Tombo had had an opportunity to observe the ceremony from behind the fanlight, if by chance he had lingered outside; until one fine night he had been taken by the whim of trying to imitate those celebrants. And that was his first and last attempt. But as I have remarked before, I do not claim to explain anything in this obscure story.

  Since he had taken the quicker route, the animal got home before Nena. There he rushed back into his cage, pulled the door shut behind him (though this time he neglected to drop the latch) and slipped into his harness, though he got it twisted and too tight on one shoulder. When his returned mistress came into the kitchen, all of his limbs were seized by a violent tremor, yet nevertheless he flung himself down on his pallet and pretended to be asleep; but almost at once, as if convinced that such a ruse was futile, he opened his eyes again and stared at her beseechingly. Then he chittered faintly and made the gesture of tearing his hair, wishing perhaps by that act to confess his repentance. Nena did not say a word to him and acted as if she weren’t even aware of his presence.

  To the feverish questions of the two women who had remained behind, she simply said: “He must die.”

  6

  Lilla, partly supported by Bellonia, tried with all of her meager forces to plead Tombo’s case. Just as she had considered her sister’s consternation at the beast’s transgressions excessive, so now she thought excessive and cruel the projected punishment, which was the logical outcome of that consternation. Lamenting, sometimes even weeping a little, her bony face disfigured beyond what can be easily conceived by the average imagination, with her pince-nez awry, she pattered without a moment’s rest after Nena, laboring to present arguments in favor of the monkey, arguments which in the end were always the same ones. Unwilling at first to give any explanations, Nena decided to yield and began to argue along lines that seemed quite normal; but she remained adamant, and the upshot was the usual endless discussions.

  In substance Nena said that Lilla’s very arguments made the monkey’s case absolutely hopeless, and that precisely because Tombo was an animal he could and must be subjected to the fate of his peers. Animals, it is true, are entitled to the greatest indulgence, but only when it is a question of tolerable transgressions and venial sins. If they become harmful and dangerous, they must be destroyed. And this animal was not only harmful and dangerous, but something much worse—and here she avoided using the exact term. Besides—Lilla had said so herself—how could one control such a beast? If he didn’t do one thing he’d do another, and whatever precautions were taken, he would think up something to get around them. Not to mention the fact that the two of them would become the talk of the entire city (that’s what the old maid said), if they did not take quick and energetic steps; and not just the talk, but the very essence of opprobrium, and so outcasts in the eyes of all decent, Godfearing people. In fact—it is hard to explain how—a few hours after the event the story of the monkey who said Mass was being discussed all over the neighborhood. Other tenants, and almost completely unknown little old ladies, were already calling at the old maids’ apartment, on one pretext or another. And we won’t even mention all the traffic between their house and the convent.

  These were Nena’s arguments, and one can’t say that they weren’t better than her sister’s, and bound to convince someone who, like Lilla, hadn’t fully grasped how matters stood. For this lack of understanding, I might add in passing, I personally would not venture to blame the poor thing. Yet she, only half persuaded, could not resign herself. When, utterly surrendering, she unconsciously hit on the supreme argument and vaguely reminded Nena that Tombo was a sacred memento, indeed in a sense represented their dead brother, the latter retorted, almost spitefully, that Tombo was only a beast and did not represent anyone, and that if their brother were alive and had seen this beast perpetrate such an iniquity, he would certainly not hesitate to kill him. In the end, all that Lilla obtained was that, before executing the sentence and to set their consciences at rest, some holy man whom they both trusted would be consulted.

  One of their habitual visitors, and perhaps also their spiritual director, was a certain elderly priest—or maybe he wasn’t a priest but something even higher in the ecclesiastical hierarchy—Monsignor Tostini. To this man was entrusted the final word on the decision to be taken. But to say “the final word” is probably going too far: it is quite possible that Nena was reserving for herself the right to act as she wished even if the Monsignor were to pronounce himself against her; for the time being, however, it did not cost her anything to grant her sister that satisfaction and, besides, she knew with whom she was dealing.

  Monsignor Tostini was—how shall I say?—a trifle deaf and had, as a result, a booming voice. He was one of those priests who like to think that they speak directly, without circumlocutions, and at the same time make a great show of tolerance and understanding for all human and non-human matters; who seem to value greatly and extol nature and all things created by our Lord; who pretend to look upon the failings of weak sinners with exemplary mildness; who must sometimes, alas, suffer outrages meekly; who have a sweet smile and speak about flights of swallows, church bells in the morning, their lungs expanding in the pure country air; who, on all occasions, wish to appear disposed to indulgence. In a word, one of those priests of whom people say: “Now there’s a holy man, he really follows in Christ’s footsteps!”—the typical specimen of a breed which none other can surpass in bombast and backwardness.

  Brought into the green living room, this Monsignor listened to both parties. Then, without immediately pronouncing himself and after some groans of doubtful interpretation, he launched into a speech which, from its very outset, was full of feeling, though its scope was so broad that one could not tell exactly where it was headed. It was, however, meant to praise God, through his creatures and in a general sort of way. But he was still picking his way through the exordium, when someone knocked at the door. It was another priest, whom the old maids called Father Alessio, tout court. He could still be considered a youth, ordained at the most the year before; blond and blue eyed. A timid priest who blushed easily and who, people already said, was very charitable, although he had lived in the town only a short time. He was a foreigner, a Swiss if I’m not mistaken. He had come to call for reasons which had nothing to do with those which had convoked the court in the living room, and of which he was unaware. Nonetheless, it seemed in place to ask him into the living room and, after having briefly informed him of the matter, invite him to take part in the debate.

  Tostini, who did not know him, was somewhat annoyed by the interruption, which occurred just when his eyes were beginning to become moist. When calm was re-established, he resumed his speech, but with such vast and unexpected ramifications that Lilla, who trembled for Tombo’s fate, gathered the courage to interrupt him when he paused to hawk into his handkerchief. Almost stuttering, she asked him whether he thought the monkey had to be killed. The Monsignor, driven into a corner, moaned and groaned but in the end was forced to pronounce himself. And he pronounced himself more or less in the following terms, leaving out, of course, the many meanderings of his eloquence:

  There are sins that can and must be forgiven, even some of the mortal sins. For instance, no one can fail to see that, horrible and dreadful as the sin of gluttony is, it is possible to find a way to excuse, if not to justify it: and in truth, to pay homage, even excessively, to the feast laid out by God is not always an irreparable fault. (This rather unorthodox magnanimity on Tostini’s part was not totally disinterested. But we’ll skip further elaboration on this point.) But for those sins which no decent soul can look upon without trembling, it is a different matter altoge
ther. Unspeakable sins; sins for which no remission can be hoped either from our Lord or from men; the sins which Dante had in mind when he said: “here mercy can live when it is quite dead” . . . the sins, in general and in particular, which offend the majesty of our Lord; and which all belong to a single and abominable category. To crush such sins and sinners is a glorious act. Where would the world, society and the individual end up if there existed souls so cowardly, or at any rate if they were the majority, as to tolerate this kind of sin? Now then, the monkey, insofar as he was an animal was no doubt entitled to greater indulgence; but, at the same time, precisely insofar as he was an animal, greater severity was admissable and excessive scruples could be excluded. For God created the beasts as man’s subjects and for his convenience. Therefore, the two exceptions cancelled each other out. “Not only was the consecrated host shattered,” Tostini ended, with a cry, “but it was shattered by bestial teeth! The altar of Christ has been befouled!” The conclusion was clear: thumbs down.

  Lilla swooned. Nena’s demeanor remained wholly composed and natural, indicating that there was nothing strange in a sensible person taking that stand. Yet she also looked slightly distracted, and distractedly, for the sake of politeness, she asked Father Alessio for his opinion.

  “Yes, yes,” Tostini agreed benevolently, “what does my dear brother in Christ think of this?”

  The young priest, who until then had remained deferentially silent, blushed deeply and shifted in his chair, clearing his throat timidly.

  “Well, I don’t know,” he said, with a marked foreign accent, “but . . . but it seems to me that the monkey is innocent.”

  “What?” three voices cried out in unison, or rather four, since Bellonia had in the meantime slipped into the room and sat down next to the door. As for Tostini, he cried “What?” because he actually hadn’t heard, and indeed cupped his hand around his ear, smiling obtusely.

  “Yes . . . Father Alessio resumed, startled, “I mean . . . it’s not his fault.”

  “You mean to say that what the monkey has done is not his fault?” said the Monsignor, who had heard this time, with unruffled benevolence. “Yes and no. I understand what you’re trying to say: a monkey is an unknowing brute. Nevertheless, anyone who sins is a sinner. Besides, don’t forget that when a priest forgives a sin (and not all sins can be forgiven, as I have explained before) he does not do so for nothing or, as we say, gratis et amore Dei. Though in harmony with the precept which reads: ‘The Lord does not desire the sinner’s death, but rather that he repent and live,’ we always try, and always should try, to crush the sin instead of the sinner; it is no less true that the forgiven sin is forgiven on certain conditions, that its expiation, its proper punishment, must follow. And this never fails, and is all the more dreadful when it occurs only in the sinner’s soul. Eh, it would be a fine thing if any sin at all, any offense to the Eternal, to the Lord of all and everything, went unavenged! But here, my dear young man, in exchange for what would we forgive this animal for its iniquitous sin? Who do you think should pay for it, eh? Now just try,” Tostini added, with paternal joviality, “just try to spread the Gospel among the monkeys! I say this simply to meet you halfway, at least to the point of admitting that the sinner’s conversion per se is sufficient to redeem the sin. And yet, I ask again, should or should not this conversion be at least accompanied by great pangs of conscience? Which are . . . the punishment . . . ahem, ahem . . . and which, in the case at hand, can not . . . ahem . . . take place. Is that clear?”

  Since his speech was getting out of hand, the Monsignor stopped to catch his breath. Besides, it must be said that he was impatiently awaiting the coffee, for around that time of day he felt a trifle faint; but in the gravity of the moment the women had forgotten about it.

  “Well, what do you say, my dear young man?” he added.

  Father Alessio could feel his ears redden indecorously. He felt that if he spoke he would stammer. He was also a bit afraid of what he might say, and Tostini’s paternal tone irritated him; so he shifted on his chair, coughing weakly, and did not say a word. But that’s not how Tostini saw it. “Well, my dear young man? Speak up, speak freely,” he repeated. No doubt the young priest’s timidity amused him and confirmed him in his assurance.

  “Well,” said Alessio at last, stammering as he had foreseen, but with a faint note of irritation in his voice, which he had foreseen only in part, “Well, you are again speaking of sin . . . you said before that the monkey is entitled to greater indulgence. But why only greater? Rather, to all possible indulgence. What does a poor monkey know about your altars and your consecrated hosts? . . .

  “Father!” cried Nena.

  “Father!” cried Lilla.

  Bellonia muttered something under her breath. Monsignor Tostini wasn’t quite sure that he’d actually heard the last sentence and cried, “What? what?” . . . craning forward and still smiling, just to be on the safe side. Actually, Father Alessio’s expression was rather strong, but he had uttered it only because a more felicitous one hadn’t come to him, and with an intention which he went on to explain.

  All of them, after a pause, cried: “Your altars, your hosts!”

  “But, of course . . . I meant to say ours . . . I said yours just referring to those which you, Monsignor, had spoken of”—and here the young man sighed with deep-felt emotion.

  “Well, well, let’s not go into it,” Tostini said, still benevolent. “But I have already answered, it seems to me, this objection. Agreed, the monkey did not know what he was doing, but at this rate. . . . To get to the point, a horrible sin has been committed. Who, I ask once more, must pay for it, in your opinion? What are we to do with this sin, my boy? You certainly don’t have any hope that the monkey will repent? And God, my boy, is infinitely merciful and good, but he is also a righteous God and just as he gives so much for so much, he also demands so much for so much.”

  The two “my boy’s” had irritated Father Alessio even more than the many “my dear young man’s”; nevertheless, gripping the arms of his chair, he managed to speak softly.

  “Yes, but . . . besides, that’s not what I meant. And in any case . . . after all, it’s man who invented sin.”

  “What’s that? What’s that?” cried Nena, who had heard him quite clearly; and Lilla echoed her.

  “Please, my dear ladies, don’t get excited!” Tostini intervened, losing a trifle of his smile. “My young brother and fellow priest could be right, if by invented he means committed. There’s no doubt that man had no need to sin to be happy in Eden; indeed, with his disobedience, he has prepared for himself a lifetime and in certain cases—God save us all from such a fate—an eternity of torment. Nevertheless the concept, the notion of sin comes to us directly and precisely from God; after all, from whom else could it come? Didn’t He, by means of His Divine Son, teach us what is good and what is evil? Did not He grant us the ability to choose freely between one and the other? And in so doing, my dear young man, He has drawn our attention to sin (so that we should beware of it), to sin which prevents us from acting according to His intentions. . . .”

  “Yes, but,” Father Alessio repeated, gaining courage as his irritation mounted, “but what has a monkey got to do with all this? Your, I mean to say our, morality, may perhaps be all right for men, but not for animals. Animals do not have . . . our famous free will.”

  “Perhaps . . . famous . . . indeed!” The Monsignor grunted, losing another ounce of his smile. “But how many times, my blessed child, must I say it,” he resumed, scanning his words in a singsong, “that the sin would subsist even if by chance the sinner did not exist. And our sacrosanct duty is to extirpate it no matter under which guise it manifests itself and no matter by which means. Here we have a sinner—even if he does not know that he has sinned—and I say if. . . . Now look, you’re even confusing me. Besides, now that I come to think of it, what do you mean by declaring that animals do not have free will? You don’t, I hope, mean to say that if the monkey has c
ommitted his horrible crime, he has done so by God’s will? Because beings who do not possess free will can only follow the will of God: the Devil’s will only counts in the hearts of men—unfortunately, it does count. Now, my boy, would you dare to assert such a possibility?”

  “I don’t care, and yet . . .”

  “You don’t care! And what don’t you care about, may I ask?”

  But this ridiculous interruption, due to Tostini’s partial deafness, had a magical effect on Father Alessio. Everything which he had swallowed at the start of the conversation, and everything which had not yet seemed to him completely clear, suddenly came to his lips with unexpected and unrestrainable violence; the young man was set free. Forced to raise his voice a tone higher, and with his vocal chords and his brain kindling each other (so that the expression of his ideas acquired a vehemence which was new even to him), he became more and more excited and at last attained a state of drunken elation.

  7

  “What do you mean—and yet,” Nena had asked coldly.

  “What are you saying? Do you realize that you are blaspheming?” Lilla had timidly ventured. And Bellonia grumbled something to show her indignation. While Tostini, completely at sea, still thought it might help to regard the young man with an ironic air. Pressed from all sides, the young priest burst out with nearly childish vexation and obstinacy.

  “I’m blaspheming? So much the worse if I am! But I’m not blaspheming, you needn’t worry. Instead, you, all of you, are blaspheming. What God are you talking about? God is not what you think He is. God is, Monsignor, just like myself, just like that monkey, alien to your complicated accounts of give and take! God has nothing to do with your or, let’s say, our moral institutions, our altars, our consecrated hosts. I’m not saying that He is above or below these things. I say, however, that they do not belong to Him, that they are not pertinent to Him or at least no more so than any other thing, any other quality of man, beast or star. God is not a god of justice. He is not merciful either. He is not bad and He is not good . . .”