Read Online The Complete Symphonies of Adolf Hitler by Reggie Oliver - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Reggie Oliver
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myself was getting cold and weary and was about to rise when something huge and monstrous sat down beside me.
‘I wanted to leave but I felt transfixed by this cold and malignant presence: something told me that he was the one last vision to which I would be subjected. It was a man who had quitted his life in his sixties: I was in the company of a being bloated by experience.
‘ “Allow me to introduce myself, Signor,” he said. “I am the Count of San Gimigniano. My family is the ancient one of Contarini. When I was young I had wealth and position; more importantly I had the assurance to know what I wished to do with my powers. I determined to use them to experience everything, to drain, as you might say, the cup of pleasure to the dregs. I was a fine looking young man, made many conquests, and married well. Yet I was never satisfied. Was it Augustine who declared himself restless until he found rest in God? I too was restless until I could rest in the perfect enjoyment of pleasure. I counted myself a saint of sensuality, a mystic of the flesh.
‘ “My search took me to strange places, earning me the hatred and disapproval of many small-minded moralisers. My wife eventually refused to speak to me and I was shunned by my own people, but this did not matter to me. I was a seeker who was still wealthy, so I moved to Naples. There, as I grew old, my body was scarred by the scourges and diseases of my quest, but my appetite remained undiminished.
‘ “It is a fact that the older one becomes the more one seeks out youth, perhaps because it has properties that can revive the old. It is also a fact—a most regrettable one—that the young so seldom appreciate what the old can give to them in the way of wisdom and experience. All too often one is forced to pay heavily for what might previously have come to one joyously, freely given and freely taken.
‘ “I became in my latter years fascinated by the concept of purity; so I made it my mission to seek it out and capture it. There may be some foolish and mean-spirited people who would see this as a corrupt and corrupting thing, but I did not. I took to going to church—a practice which I took less than seriously in my youth—and found myself especially beguiled by the sacramental rite of the first communion in which young boys and girls dressed in virginal white come to taste of the body and the blood of Jesus for the first time.
‘ “I was in the Duomo one Sunday watching this adorable ceremony when I saw her. She was no more than twelve years old and her face was like a flower. I was captivated. To me she was the beatific vision to which the saints of old laid claim. Oh, she was pure and sweet, and I felt that I could be pure and sweet with her! I paid my old friend the sacristan a few scudi to discover the name of the blessed infant and where she lived.
‘ “I found to my joy that she was an orphan, a foundling, that her name was Maria and that she was cared for in a convent by the Sisters of San Pancrazio. This was the most infernal good luck, because I happened to know one of the Sisters, a certain Sister Marta. Our past association was such that, by means of bribery and threats of disclosure, she was persuaded to obtain access for me to this Maria. I was in Paradise, but the girl was to be my crucifixion and downfall.
‘ “I presented myself to the Convent of San Pancrazio as a benevolent elderly gentleman of means who wished to do something good for the girl, to aid her prospects in life. And so I would have done, had fate given me the chance. I visited her several times in the convent and managed to gain her trust, even, I think, her love. I then initiated legal proceedings to adopt her as my daughter, but the Mother Superior, a cursed, meddling old woman must have made enquiries as to my reputation, and she suddenly denied me all access to my Maria. By this time, you must understand, Maria had driven me half mad with passion. I swear she had
‘I wanted to leave but I felt transfixed by this cold and malignant presence: something told me that he was the one last vision to which I would be subjected. It was a man who had quitted his life in his sixties: I was in the company of a being bloated by experience.
‘ “Allow me to introduce myself, Signor,” he said. “I am the Count of San Gimigniano. My family is the ancient one of Contarini. When I was young I had wealth and position; more importantly I had the assurance to know what I wished to do with my powers. I determined to use them to experience everything, to drain, as you might say, the cup of pleasure to the dregs. I was a fine looking young man, made many conquests, and married well. Yet I was never satisfied. Was it Augustine who declared himself restless until he found rest in God? I too was restless until I could rest in the perfect enjoyment of pleasure. I counted myself a saint of sensuality, a mystic of the flesh.
‘ “My search took me to strange places, earning me the hatred and disapproval of many small-minded moralisers. My wife eventually refused to speak to me and I was shunned by my own people, but this did not matter to me. I was a seeker who was still wealthy, so I moved to Naples. There, as I grew old, my body was scarred by the scourges and diseases of my quest, but my appetite remained undiminished.
‘ “It is a fact that the older one becomes the more one seeks out youth, perhaps because it has properties that can revive the old. It is also a fact—a most regrettable one—that the young so seldom appreciate what the old can give to them in the way of wisdom and experience. All too often one is forced to pay heavily for what might previously have come to one joyously, freely given and freely taken.
‘ “I became in my latter years fascinated by the concept of purity; so I made it my mission to seek it out and capture it. There may be some foolish and mean-spirited people who would see this as a corrupt and corrupting thing, but I did not. I took to going to church—a practice which I took less than seriously in my youth—and found myself especially beguiled by the sacramental rite of the first communion in which young boys and girls dressed in virginal white come to taste of the body and the blood of Jesus for the first time.
‘ “I was in the Duomo one Sunday watching this adorable ceremony when I saw her. She was no more than twelve years old and her face was like a flower. I was captivated. To me she was the beatific vision to which the saints of old laid claim. Oh, she was pure and sweet, and I felt that I could be pure and sweet with her! I paid my old friend the sacristan a few scudi to discover the name of the blessed infant and where she lived.
‘ “I found to my joy that she was an orphan, a foundling, that her name was Maria and that she was cared for in a convent by the Sisters of San Pancrazio. This was the most infernal good luck, because I happened to know one of the Sisters, a certain Sister Marta. Our past association was such that, by means of bribery and threats of disclosure, she was persuaded to obtain access for me to this Maria. I was in Paradise, but the girl was to be my crucifixion and downfall.
‘ “I presented myself to the Convent of San Pancrazio as a benevolent elderly gentleman of means who wished to do something good for the girl, to aid her prospects in life. And so I would have done, had fate given me the chance. I visited her several times in the convent and managed to gain her trust, even, I think, her love. I then initiated legal proceedings to adopt her as my daughter, but the Mother Superior, a cursed, meddling old woman must have made enquiries as to my reputation, and she suddenly denied me all access to my Maria. By this time, you must understand, Maria had driven me half mad with passion. I swear she had
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