Read Online The Nonexistent Knight by Italo Calvino - Free Book Online
Authors: Italo Calvino
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She shouts at him, does not appreciate him. He does not know that is part of her game. Around them are pavilions of the Frankish army, pennants in the wind, rows of horses eating fodder at last. Retainers prepare the paladins’ meals. The latter, waiting for the dinner hour, are grouped around watching Bradamante at archery with the boy. Says Bradamante, “You hit the target all right but it's always by chance!”
“By chance? But I don’t put an arrow wrong!”
“If you didn’t put a hundred arrows wrong it would still be by chance!”
“What isn’t by chance then? Who can do anything but by chance?”
On the edge of the field Agilulf was slowly passing. On his white armor hung a long black mantle. He was walking along like one who wants to avoid looking but knows he is being looked at himself, and thinks he should show that he does not care, while on the other hand he does, though in a different way than others may think.
“Sir knight, come and show him how ...” Bradamante’s voice had lost its usual contemptuous tone and her bearing its arrogance. She took two paces towards Agilulf and offered him the bow with an arrow already set in it.
Slowly Agilulf came closer, took the bow, drew back his cloak, put one foot behind the other and moved arms and bow forward. His movements were not those of muscles and nerves concentrating on a good aim. He was ordering his forces by will power, setting the tip of the arrow at the invisible line of the target; he moved the bow very slightly and no more, and let fly. The arrow was bound to hit the target. Bradamante cried, “A fine shot!”
Agilulf did not care, he held tight in his iron fist the still quivering bow. Then he let it fall and gathered his mantle around him, holding it close in both fists against his breastplate; and so he moved off. He had nothing to say and had said nothing.
Bradamante set her bow again, raised it with taut arms, shook the ends of her hair on her shoulders. “Who or who else could shoot such a neat bow? Whoever else could be so exact and perfect as he in his every act?” So saying she kicked away the grassy tufts and broke her arrows against palisades. Agilulf was already far off and did not turn. His iridescent crest was bent forward as if he were walking bent with arms tight across his steel chest, his black cloak dragging.
Of the warriors gathered around one or two sat on the grass to enjoy the scene of Bradamante’s frenzy. “Since she’s fallen in love with Agilulf like this the poor girl hasn’t had a moment’s peace...”
“What? What’s that you say?” Raimbaut had caught the phrase, and gripped the arm of the man who had spoken.
“Hey you, little chick, puff your chest out for our little paladiness if you like! Now she only likes armor that’s clean inside and out! Don’t you know she is head over heels in love with Agilulf?”
“But how can that be ... Agilulf ... Bradamante ... How?”
“How? Well, if a girl has had enough of every man who exists, her only remaining desire could be for a man who doesn’t exist at all...”
Raimbaut found it was becoming a kind of natural instinct, in every moment of doubt and discouragement, to feel he wanted to consult the knight in the white armor. He felt this now, but did not know if he was to ask his advice again or face him as a rival.
“Hey, blondie, isn’t he a bit of a lightweight for bed?” her fellow warriors called. Now Bradamante must be in a real decline. As if once upon a time anyone would have dared talk to her in that tone!
“Say,” insisted the cheeky voices, “suppose you strip him, what d’you get?” and they roared with laughter.
Raimbaut felt a double anguish at hearing Bradamante and the knight spoken of so and rage at realising that he did not come into the discussion at all and that no one considered him in the least connected with it.
Bradamante had now armed herself with a whip and was swirling it in the air to disperse bystanders,
“By chance? But I don’t put an arrow wrong!”
“If you didn’t put a hundred arrows wrong it would still be by chance!”
“What isn’t by chance then? Who can do anything but by chance?”
On the edge of the field Agilulf was slowly passing. On his white armor hung a long black mantle. He was walking along like one who wants to avoid looking but knows he is being looked at himself, and thinks he should show that he does not care, while on the other hand he does, though in a different way than others may think.
“Sir knight, come and show him how ...” Bradamante’s voice had lost its usual contemptuous tone and her bearing its arrogance. She took two paces towards Agilulf and offered him the bow with an arrow already set in it.
Slowly Agilulf came closer, took the bow, drew back his cloak, put one foot behind the other and moved arms and bow forward. His movements were not those of muscles and nerves concentrating on a good aim. He was ordering his forces by will power, setting the tip of the arrow at the invisible line of the target; he moved the bow very slightly and no more, and let fly. The arrow was bound to hit the target. Bradamante cried, “A fine shot!”
Agilulf did not care, he held tight in his iron fist the still quivering bow. Then he let it fall and gathered his mantle around him, holding it close in both fists against his breastplate; and so he moved off. He had nothing to say and had said nothing.
Bradamante set her bow again, raised it with taut arms, shook the ends of her hair on her shoulders. “Who or who else could shoot such a neat bow? Whoever else could be so exact and perfect as he in his every act?” So saying she kicked away the grassy tufts and broke her arrows against palisades. Agilulf was already far off and did not turn. His iridescent crest was bent forward as if he were walking bent with arms tight across his steel chest, his black cloak dragging.
Of the warriors gathered around one or two sat on the grass to enjoy the scene of Bradamante’s frenzy. “Since she’s fallen in love with Agilulf like this the poor girl hasn’t had a moment’s peace...”
“What? What’s that you say?” Raimbaut had caught the phrase, and gripped the arm of the man who had spoken.
“Hey you, little chick, puff your chest out for our little paladiness if you like! Now she only likes armor that’s clean inside and out! Don’t you know she is head over heels in love with Agilulf?”
“But how can that be ... Agilulf ... Bradamante ... How?”
“How? Well, if a girl has had enough of every man who exists, her only remaining desire could be for a man who doesn’t exist at all...”
Raimbaut found it was becoming a kind of natural instinct, in every moment of doubt and discouragement, to feel he wanted to consult the knight in the white armor. He felt this now, but did not know if he was to ask his advice again or face him as a rival.
“Hey, blondie, isn’t he a bit of a lightweight for bed?” her fellow warriors called. Now Bradamante must be in a real decline. As if once upon a time anyone would have dared talk to her in that tone!
“Say,” insisted the cheeky voices, “suppose you strip him, what d’you get?” and they roared with laughter.
Raimbaut felt a double anguish at hearing Bradamante and the knight spoken of so and rage at realising that he did not come into the discussion at all and that no one considered him in the least connected with it.
Bradamante had now armed herself with a whip and was swirling it in the air to disperse bystanders,
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