falseness, for any lie. A great part of his strength lay in his hypocrisy.â
Part of Sperelliâs charm for women is his ability to make each one feel, in spite of much contrary evidence, that she is the only woman he has truly loved and will ever love: âHe spoke to her in a low voice, kneeling, so close that it seemed he wanted to drink in her breath. His ardor was sincere, while his words sometimes lied.â DâAnnunzio understands that eroticism is very much an affair of the mind and a matter of perception. He describes the way in which his conquest of Elena suddenly raises his status in the eyes of other women in the Roman aristocracy:
The contagion of desire is a very frequent phenomenon in modern societies. A man who has been loved by a woman of singular esteem excites the imagination in other women; and each one burns with desire to possess him, out of vanity and curiosity, competing with the others. The appeal of Don Giovanni is more in his fame than in his person.
At one point, when he is courting another woman, Maria, while also trying to win back Elena, Sperelli attends a concert with Maria and then notices Elena looking at them both, a gaze that is not lost on Maria either. Sperelli senses that a little jealousy may push the reluctant Elena back into his arms, while having a similar effect on Maria. âHe was therefore on his way toward a double conquest,â DâAnnunzio writes. As Sperelli imagines this âdouble conquest,â the two women become melded in his mind and transformed into a third:
How strange, Elenaâs tones in Donna Mariaâs voice! A crazy thought flashed into his head. That voice could be, for him, the element of an imaginative work: by virtue of such an affinity, he could fuse the two beauties in order to possess a third, imaginary one, more complex, more perfect, more
real
because she was ideal . . .
For DâAnnunzio the erotic life and the life of the literary imagination are one and the same, and imaginary reality is the most real.
Although only twenty-six at the time of the novelâs publication, DâAnnunzio firmly resisted any attempts on his publisherâs part to cut or soften
Pleasure.
Curiously, the passage that his publisher was most worried about was not an erotic one but a brief cryptic allusion to a painful contemporary political event: the slaughter of Italian troops at the hands of Ethiopian soldiers at Dogali, an inglorious moment in Italyâs inglorious effort at African colonization. Politics hardly figures at all in
Pleasure,
and we experience the defeat at Dogali (which occurred just before DâAnnunzio wrote the novel) in the form of a noisy rabble that slows down Sperelliâs carriage. Sperelli dismisses the event by saying, âAll for four hundred brutes, who died brutally!â
When his publisher suggested the line would offend patriotic sentiment, DâAnnunzio reacted with apparent outrage: âThat phrase is spoken by Andrea Sperelli and not by Gabriele DâAnnunzio, and it fits well in the mouth of that monster.â
Sperelli was thus a perfect foil for DâAnnunzio, a character he could both inhabit and disown as needed, hero and monster.
Perhaps with DâAnnunzio in mind, Luigi Pirandello, a writer of a very different kind, wrote, âLife: either you live it or you write it. I have never lived it except by writing.â This was a division DâAnnunzio did not accept: he lived writing and wrote living, a dynamic and explosive combination that lasted for about twenty years, until his public life crowded out his writing.
ALEXANDER STILLE
Pleasure
Â
To Francesco Paolo Michetti
This book, composed in your house as a welcome guest, comes to you as an offering of thanks, as an
ex-voto.
1
In the tiredness of the long and heavy exertion, your presence was as fortifying and consoling to me as the sea. In the disgust that follows the painful and captious contrivance