“Reply” (“Risposta”)

Translated by Ben Faintych

How to cite this work:

Pirandello, Luigi. “Reply” (“Risposta”), tr. Ben Faintych. In Stories for a Year, eds. Lisa Sarti and Michael Subialka, Digital Edition, www.pirandellointranslation.org, 2023.

Initially published in the Milanese newspaper Corriere della Sera on February 4, 1912, “Reply” (“Risposta”) was later included in Black Shawl (Scialle nero) as the fourteenth story in the first Collection of Stories for a Year (Novelle per un anno), which was printed by Bemporad in Florence in 1922.

Originally divided into three sections, this story presents itself as an analytical report (the titular reply to an imagined communication from his friend), rather than a traditional tale. The narrator lists the reasons why his friend Marino should not feel hurt by the disappointing behavior of Anita, the girl he loves; and the implication is that this behavior has been communicated in previous correspondence. As a result, the actual sequence of events, the “story,” so to speak, of what has occurred between Marino and Anita is pushed into the background and only peeks through in fragmentary moments that eventually add up to a sufficiently complete picture for the reader to make sense of things. In this way, the structure of this short story prefigures Pirandello’s later experiments in form, particularly in his famous play Six Characters in Search of an Author (Sei personaggi in cerca d’autore, 1921/25), where the usual foreground (the dramatic love triangle, etc.) is pushed into the background and only emerges in recounted snippets as the Characters and Actors/Director argue over how to interpret those events. In “Reply,” the disagreement is ultimately over how to interpret Anita’s actions and the apparent contradiction they form with Marino’s idealized image of his beloved. Again prefiguring Six Characters, as well as other later works, the resolution to this disagreement comes in the form of a paradox in which everybody is right, if things are approached from the right perspective. What this entails, however, is understanding that the real problem is the belief that Anita has one single, fixed identity, and that she is the “same” Anita for everyone else. On the contrary, the sweet, innocent Anita whom Marino loves hardly looks like the passionate Anita who flirts with the womanizer, Nicolino. Anita is in fact one and many, and the side of her personality that emerges in each moment is only a part of what she is. Since the self has a fleeting nature, happiness will have to be found in the acceptance and recognition that identity is a fiction rather than a true, enduring reality. “Reply” thus anticipates the thematic core of Pirandello’s major theatrical works staging the crisis of identity and the “relativity” of truth, such as Right You Are (If You Think So) (Così è (se vi pare), 1917, Mrs. Morli, One and Two (La Signora Morli uno e due, 1920), Henry IV (Enrico IV, 1922), Each In His Own Way (Ciascuno a suo modo, 1924), As You Desire Me (Come tu mi vuoi, 1930), and Trovarsi (Finding Oneself, 1932).

The Editors

You’ve really vented your feelings well, my friend!

It is truly regrettable that, in opposition to your native disposition, you were unable to dedicate yourself to the Muses. What warmth in your expressions, and with such transparent evidence, in so few words, do you make places, facts, and people spring to life before one’s eyes!

You are devastated, you are indignant, my poor Marino; and I would not want my response to aggravate your pain and indignation. But you asked me to tell you frankly what I think about your case. I will do so to please you, though I am sure that I will displease you.

With your permission, I will proceed with my method. First, I will briefly summarize the facts, then give you my opinion with all the frankness you desire.

So let us continue in order.

I –– PEOPLE, CHARACTERISTICS, AND CONDITIONS

a) Miss Anita––Twenty-six years old (she barely looks twenty, fine, but for now she is well into her twenty-sixth year). Brunette; nocturnal eyes:

In her eyes the night gathers,

deep within them…

Coral lips; and that’s fine.

But her nose, my friend? You did not tell me about her nose. With a brunette, you must first look at her nose, and especially at the fins of her nose.

I am sure that Miss Anita’s nose is a bit upturned. I do not mean ugly; let us rather say that it is a little nose, but upturned. And with two rather fleshy fins, which broaden greatly when she clenches her teeth and stares into space, drawing through her nostrils a long, silent sigh.

Have you noticed how her eyes darken and change in color when she draws one of these silent sighs?

Miss Anita has suffered greatly because she is an intelligent woman. When her father was alive, she was comfortable; now, her father is dead, and she is poor. And twenty-six years old with an upturned nose and nocturnal eyes.

Let’s move on.

b) My friend Marino––Twenty-four years old, two less than Miss Anita, who for this reason perhaps looks barely twenty.

He too is poor and lost his father. Sad things, but special things when you have them in common with a loved one. Identities that appear to be predestinations!

But my friend Marino, orphaned and poor as he is, has a mother and a sister to support. Orphaned and poor, Miss Anita also has a mother, but she does not support her.

Commander Ballesi supports her mother.

Naturally, my friend Marino hates this Commander Ballesi.

Bright mind, burning heart. Flowing speech, charming, fascinating, like the gaze of his beautiful cerulean eyes.. Let’s say that my friend Marino is the day and Miss Anita, the night. He has the yellow of the sun in his hair and the blue of the sky in his eyes; in her eyes are two stars, and in her hair, the night. It seems to me that, speaking with a poet, I could not express myself any better.

Let us continue.

Forced by necessity to be wise, my friend Marino cannot commit the folly, as long as the present conditions last (and they will last for a while!), of taking on the burden of another woman; so he must let go of the one that weighs on him less.

Perhaps this third weight would make those other two feel lighter, those which he cannot, nor would he ever dare, let go of.

But there are those who think that three cannot sit comfortably and agreeably on the shoulders of one. And he too, wise by necessity, must recognize this.

c) Commander Ballesi––An old friend of the dearly departed. That is, of Anita’s late father. Sixty-six years old. A little man, through and through, with little legs like two fingers, but armed with imperious little studs. Big head, big drooping mustache, under which not only his mouth disappears, but also his chin, since it can be said that Commander Ballesi has quite a chin. Thick, frowning eyelashes, and a thick finger often in his nose. That finger thinks. The hairs of his eyelashes also think. And like a cannon loaded with thoughts, Commander Ballesi thinks. The financial fortunes of the new Italy lie in his little iron fists.[1]

Now, one will never know how or why Commander Ballesi believed all of a sudden that he had to convert his fatherly love for Miss Anita into another kind of love. And he asked for it in marriage.

Miss Anita tore apart many tissues that day, with her hands and with her teeth. More than resentment, she felt shame, disgust, horror. Her mother cried. And why did her mother cry? For joy, she said. But for joy, provided that one cries, one cries a little bit, then one laughs. Miss Anita’s mother cried a lot and does not laugh anymore. Honni soit qui mal y pense. [2]

And we come to the final character.

d) Nicolino Respi––Thirty years old, robust, athletic, famous swimmer and roughrider, rower, fencer; and impudent, ignorant as an Indian fowl; manager of a gambling den, womanizer… Speak freely, my friend, speak freely: I can handle it. I know Nicolino Respi and share your assessment and indignation. But do not assume, from this, that he is to blame.

Does that mean I blame you? No. Miss Anita? Of course not. Oh God, let me tell you, let me follow my method. Believe me, my friend, your case is an ancient one. What is new and original here is only my method, and the explanation I will give you.

Let us continue in order.

II –– THE PLACE AND THE EVENT

Anzio beach, in the summer, on a moonlit night.[3]

You gave me such a description that I do not dare to describe it myself. Only, too many stars, my friend. With an almost full moon, one can see only a few stars in the night sky. But a poet can ignore these things of reality. A poet can see the stars even when others cannot see them, and conversely, he can unsee so many other things, which all the others see.[4]

Commander Ballesi has rented a small villa on the beach, and Miss Anita is swimming with her mother.

Busy in Rome, the Commander comes and goes. Nicolino Respi stays in Anzio, to swim and to gamble; and every morning in the water, and every evening on the green carpet, he makes a display of his skills.

Miss Anita must dampen the flame of her resentment, so she lingers for a long time in the water. She certainly cannot compete with Nicolino Respi, but as a good swimmer, she nevertheless distances herself from the shore in competition with him one morning. They go and go. All the swimmers anxiously follow their race from the beach, first with their naked eyes, then with binoculars.

Eventually, her mother can no longer watch; she begins to fidget, to tremble. Oh God, how will her daughter swim back from so far now? Certainly her energy will not be enough… Oh God, oh God! Where is she? How distant she is… one cannot see her anymore… We must send help immediately, God forbid! a speedboat, a speedboat! someone must save her right away!

And she creates such a commotion on the beach that, in the end, two brave young men heroically jump onto a motorboat, and off they go.

Divine inspiration! Because Miss Anita, shortly after the young men have left, is seized by a cramp in her leg and gives a cry; Nicolino Respi rushes to her aid with two strokes and holds her afloat; but Miss Anita is about to faint and clings desperately to his neck; Nicolino sees himself lost; he is about to drown with her; in a frenzy, he gives her a ferocious bite on the neck to free himself. And Miss Anita goes limp; he can now support her; his strength is about to fail him when the motorboat arrives. The rescue is complete.

But Miss Anita needs more than a week to recover from Nicolino Respi’s bite on her neck.

These bites are impressions that remain, my dear Marino!

For several days, whenever she moves her neck, Miss Anita cannot deny that Nicolino Respi bites well. And that bite cannot displease her because she owes to it her salvation.

Truly, this is all backstory.

Or perhaps it is not. It is, and it is not. Because everything depends on where and how one trims the facts.[5]

When you, my Marino, arrived in Anzio on that magnificent moonlit evening with death in your heart, to have one final meeting with Miss Anita, already officially engaged to Commander Ballesi, the impression of Niccolino Respi’s teeth was still on her neck.

By your own confession, she followed you meekly along the beach, losing herself with you in the distance of the deserted sands, up to the great, sandstone cliff, then down beneath it. Both of you, under the moon, arm in arm, intoxicated by the ocean breeze and dazed by the soft, perpetual roar of the silver foam.

What did you tell her? I know, of all your love and torment; and you proposed she rebel against the infamous imposition of that hateful old man and accept your poverty.

But she, my friend, inflamed, upset, tormented by your words, could not accept your poverty; she wanted, instead, to accept your love and avenge herself with it in advance, that same evening, against the infamous imposition of the old man, who wanted to pay himself long benefits over her as a usurer.

Honestly and nobly, you prevented her from exacting this revenge.

I believe you, my friend: you will have escaped like a madman.[6] But to Miss Anita, left alone in the sand, in the shade of the cliff, and in the dust of your agitated escape along the beach and under the moon, I assure you, you did not seem a madman. You seemed a fool and a villain.

And unfortunately, my poor Marino, Nicolino Respi, he who bit and saved Miss Anita, was enjoying the beautiful moonlight from the cliff that evening, in silence thanks to your empty pockets and foolish escape.

From up above, three words and a laugh were enough for him:

“What a fool, right Miss?”

And he jumped down.

Shortly thereafter, together with Commander Ballesi, who had arrived late from Rome by car, you had the satisfaction of surprising Nicolino Respi, who was arm in arm with Miss Anita under the moon.

You, on the way there, and he, on the way back. Which was sweeter, the departure or the return?

And here, my friend, we now come to the original point.

III –– EXPLANATION

You believe, my dear Marino, that you have suffered a terrible disillusionment because you suddenly saw a Miss Anita who was horribly different from the one you knew, from what she was for you. You are now quite sure that Miss Anita was someone other than the one you knew.

Very good. Miss Anita certainly is another. Not only that; but many, many others, my friend, as many others as there are those who know her and who she knows.[7] Your fundamental error, do you know where it lies? In your belief that, despite being another as you believe, and many others as I believe, Miss Anita is still not the one you knew.

Miss Anita is that, and another, and many others, because what she is for me is not what she is for you, nor what she is for her mother, nor for Commander Ballesi, and nor for all the others who know her, each in their own way.[8]

Now, look. Each, as he knows her, gives to her––isn’t it true?––a reality. My friend, these many realities thus “really” make Miss Anita, and not only so to speak, one for you, one for me, one for her mother, one for Commander Ballesi, and so on; even if each of us has the illusion that the true Miss Anita is only the one we know; and she too, indeed she above all, has the illusion of being one, always the same, for everyone.

Do you know where this illusion comes from, my friend? From our belief, in good faith, that we are fully ourselves in our every act, every time, while unfortunately this is not the case at all. We realize this when, due to a tragic incident, we are suddenly hooked and suspended to a single act among the many we commit; we become well aware, I mean to say, that not all of ourselves are in that act, and that it would be an atrocious injustice to judge ourselves from that act alone, to hook and suspend ourselves to it as if to the stocks, for our entire existence, as if we ourselves amounted to this act alone.[9]

Now you, my friend, are committing this injustice against Miss Anita.

You surprised her in a different reality from the one you gave her, and you now want to believe that her real reality is not the beautiful one you gave her before, but this ugly one in which you and Commander Ballesi surprised her on her return from the cliff with Nicolino Respi.

It’s not for nothing, my friend, that you did not tell me about Miss Anita’s upturned nose!

That little nose did not belong to you. That little nose was not from your Anita. Yours were her nocturnal eyes, her passionate heart, her refined intelligence. Not that daring little nose with rather fleshy fins.

That little nose was still quivering at the memory of Nicolino Respi’s bite. That little nose wanted to avenge itself for the hateful imposition of the old Commander Ballesi. You did not allow it to take its revenge with you, so it did just that with Nicolino.

Who knows how those nocturnal eyes now cry, and how that passionate heart bleeds, and how that refined intelligence revolts: that is to say, everything about her that belongs to you.

Ah, believe me, Marino, it was much sweeter for her to go to the cliff with you than it was for her to return from it with Nicolino.

You must be persuaded and willing to imitate the Commander who––as you will see––will forgive and marry Miss Anita.

But do not expect her to be one and all for you. She will most sincerely be one for you: and she will be another for Commander Ballesi, no less sincerely. Because there is not only one Miss or Misses Anita, my friend.

It will not be nice, but that is how it is.

And see to it that Nicolino Respi, showing his teeth, does not plan another visit to that upturned nose.