Girgenti, November 30, 1859.
I awoke the following morning in the House of Gellias. Gellias was arich citizen of ancient Agrigentum. He was equally celebrated for hisgenerosity and for his wealth; and he endowed his native city with agreat number of free inns. Gellias has been dead for thirteen hundredyears; and nowadays there is no gratuitous hospitality among civilisedpeoples. But the name of Gellias has become that of a hotel in which, byreason of fatigue, I was able to obtain one good night's sleep.
The modern Girgenti lifts its high, narrow, solid streets, dominatedby a sombre Spanish cathedral, upon the side of the acropolis of theantique Agrigentum. I can see from my windows, half-way on the hillsidetowards the sea, the white range of temples partially destroyed. Theruins alone have some aspect of coolness. All the rest is arid. Waterand life have forsaken Agrigentine. Water--the divine Nestis of theAgrigentine Empedocles--is so necessary to animated beings that nothingcan live far from the rivers and the springs. But the port of Girgenti,situated at a distance of three kilometres from the city, has a greatcommerce. "And it is in this dismal city," I said to myself, "uponthis precipitous rock, that the manuscript of Clerk Alexander is to befound!" I asked my way to the house of Signor Michel-Angelo Polizzi, andproceeded thither.
I found Signor Polizzi, dressed all in white from head to feet, busycooking sausages in a frying-pan. At the sight of me, he let go thefrying-pan, threw up his arms in the air, and uttered shrieks ofenthusiasm. He was a little man whose pimply features, aquiline nose,round eyes, and projecting chin formed a very expressive physiognomy.
He called me "Excellence," said he was going to mark the day with awhite stone, and made me sit down. The hall in which we were representedthe union of the kitchen, reception-room, bedchamber, studio, andwine-cellar. There were charcoal furnaces visible, a bed, paintings, aneasel, bottles, strings of onions, and a magnificent lustre of colouredglass pendants. I glanced at the paintings on the wall.
"The arts! the arts!" cried Signor Polizzi, throwing up his arms againto heaven--"the arts! What dignity! what consolation! Excellence, I am apainter!"
And he showed me an unfinished Saint-Francis, which indeed could verywell remain unfinished for ever without any loss to religion or to art.Next he showed me some old paintings of a better style, but apparentlyrestored after a decidedly reckless manner.
"I repair," he said--"I repair old paintings. Oh, the Old Masters! Whatgenius, what soul!"
"Why, then," I said to him, "you must be a painter, an archaeologist,and a wine-merchant all in one?"
"At your service, Excellence," he answered. "I have a zucco here at thisvery moment--a zucco of which every single drop is a pearl of fire. Iwant your Lordship to taste of it."
"I esteem the wines of Sicily," I responded, "but it was not for thesake of your flagons that I came to see you, Signor Polizzi."
He: "Then you have come to see me about paintings. You are an amateur.It is an immense delight for me to receive amateurs. I am going to showyou the chef-d'oeuvre of Monrealese; yes, Excellence, his chef-d'oeuvre!An Adoration of Shepherds! It is the pearl of the whole Sicilianschool!"
I: "Later on I will be glad to see the chef-d'oeuvre; but let us firsttalk about the business which brings me here."
His little quick bright eyes watched my face curiously; and I perceived,with anguish, that he had not the least suspicion of the purpose of myvisit.
A cold sweat broke out over my forehead; and in the bewilderment of myanxiety I stammered out something to this effect:
"I have come from Paris expressly to look at a manuscript of the LegendeDoree, which you informed me was in your possession."
At these words he threw up his arms, opened his mouth and eyes to thewidest possible extent, and betrayed every sign of extreme nervousness.
"Oh! the manuscript of the 'Golden Legend!' A pearl, Excellence! a ruby,a diamond! Two miniatures so perfect that they give one the feelingof glimpses of Paradise! What suavity! Those colours ravished from thecorollas of flowers make a honey for the eyes! Even a Sicilian couldhave done no better!"
"Let me see it, then," I asked; unable to conceal either my anxiety ormy hope.
"Let you see it!" cried Polizzi. "But how can I, Excellence? I have notgot it any longer! I have not got it!"
And he seemed determined to tear out his hair. He might indeed havepulled every hair in his head out of his hide before I should have triedto prevent him. But he stopped of his own accord, before he had donehimself any grievous harm.
"What!" I cried out in anger--"what! you make me come all the way fromParis to Girgenti, by promising to show me a manuscript, and now, when Icome, you tell me you have not got it! It is simply infamous, Monsieur!I shall leave your conduct to be judged by all honest men!"
Anybody who could have seen me at that moment would have been able toform a good idea of the aspect of a furious sheep.
"It is infamous! it is infamous!" I repeated, waving my arms, whichtrembled from anger.
Then Michel-Angelo Polizzi let himself fall into a chair in the attitudeof a dying hero. I saw his eyes fill with tears, and his hair--untilthen flamboyant and erect upon his head--fall down in limp disorder overhis brow.
"I am a father, Excellence! I am a father!" he groaned, wringing hishands.
He continued, sobbing:
"My son Rafael--the son of my poor wife, for whose death I have beenmourning fifteen years--Rafael, Excellence, wanted to settle at Paris;he hired a shop in the Rue Lafitte for the sale of curiosities. I gavehim everything precious which I had--I gave him my finest majolicas;my most beautiful Urbino ware; my masterpieces of art; what paintings,Signor! Even now they dazzle me with I see them only in imagination! Andall of them signed! Finally, I gave him the manuscript of the 'GoldenLegend'! I would have given him my flesh and my blood! An only son,Signor! the son of my poor saintly wife!"
"So," I said, "while I--relying on your written word, Monsieur--wastravelling to the very heart of Sicily to find the manuscript of theClerk Alexander, the same manuscript was actually exposed for sale in awindow in the Rue Lafitte, only fifteen hundred yards from my house?"
"Yes, it was there! that is positively true!" exclaimed Signor Polizzi,suddenly growing calm again; "and it is there still--at least I hope itis, Excellence."
He took a card from a shelf as he spoke, and offered it to me, saying,
"Here is the address of my son. Make it known to your friends, and youwill oblige me. Faience and enameled wares; hangings; pictures. He hasa complete stock of objects of art--all at the fairest possibleprices--and everything authentic, I can vouch for it, upon my honour! Goand see him. He will show you the manuscript of the 'Golden Legend.' Twominiatures miraculously fresh in colour!"
I was feeble enough to take the card he held out to me.
The fellow was taking further advantage of my weakness to make mecirculate the name of Rafael Polizzi among the Societies of the learned!
My hand was already on the door-knob, when the Sicilian caught me by thearm; he had a look as of sudden inspiration.
"Ah! Excellence!" he cried, "what a city is this city of ours! It gavebirth to Empedocles! Empedocles! What a great man what a great citizen!What audacity of thought! what virtue! what soul! At the port over thereis a statue of Empedocles, before which I bare my head each time that Ipass by! When Rafael, my son, was going away to found an establishmentof antiquities in the Rue Lafitte, at Paris, I took him to the port, andthere, at the foot of that statue of Empedocles, I bestowed upon him mypaternal benediction! 'Always remember Empedocles!' I said to him. Ah!Signor, what our unhappy country needs to-day is a new Empedocles! Wouldyou not like me to show you the way to his statue, Excellence? I willbe your guide among the ruins here. I will show you the temple ofCastor and Pollux, the temple of the Olympian Jupiter, the temple ofthe Lucinian Juno, the antique well, the tomb of Theron, and the Gateof Gold! All the professional guides are asses; but we--we shall makeexcavations, if you are willing--and we shall discover treasures! I
knowthe science of discovering hidden treasures--the secret art of findingtheir whereabouts--a gift from Heaven!"
I succeeded in tearing myself away from his grasp. But he ran after meagain, stopped me at the foot of the stairs, and said in my ear,
"Listen, Excellence. I will conduct you about the city; I will introduceyou to some Girgentines! What a race! what types! what forms! Siciliangirls, Signor!--the antique beauty itself!"
"Go to the devil!" I cried at last, in anger, and rushed into thestreet, leaving him still writhing in the loftiness of his enthusiasm.
When I had got out of his sight, I sank down upon a stone, and began tothink, with my face in my hands.
"And it was for this," I said to myself--"it was to hear suchpropositions as this that I came to Sicily! That Polizzi is simply ascoundrel, and his son another; and they made a plan together to ruinme." But what was their scheme? I could not unravel it. Meanwhile, itmay be imagined how discouraged and humiliated I felt.
A merry burst of laughter caused me to turn my head, and I saw MadameTrepof running in advance of her husband, and holding up something whichI could not distinguish clearly.
She sat down beside me, and showed me--laughing more merrily all thewhile--an abominable little paste-board box, on which was printed ared and blue face, which the inscription declared to be the face ofEmpedocles.
"Yes, Madame," I said, "but that abominable Polizzi, to whom I adviseyou not to send Monsieur Trepof, has made me fall out for ever withEmpedocles; and this portrait is not at all of a nature to make me feelmore kindly to the ancient philosopher."
"Oh!" declared Madame Trepof, "it is ugly, but it is rare! These boxesare not exported at all; you can buy them only where they are made.Dimitri has six others just like this in his pocket. We got them so asto exchange with other collectors. You understand? At none o'clock thismorning we were at the factory. You see we did not waste our time."
"So I certainly perceive, Madame," I replied, bitterly; "but I have lostmine."
I then saw that she was a naturally good-hearted woman. All hermerriment vanished.
"Poor Monsieur Bonnard! poor Monsieur Bonnard!" she murmured.
And, taking my hand in hers, she added:
"Tell me about your troubles."
I told her about them. My story was long; but she was evidently touchedby it, for she asked me quite a number of circumstantial questions,which I took for proof of her friendly interest. She wanted to know theexact title of the manuscript, its shape, its appearance, and its age;she asked me for the address of Signor Rafael Polizzi.
And I gave it to her; thus doing (O destiny!) precisely what theabominable Polizzi had told me to do.
It is sometimes difficult to check oneself. I recommenced my plaints andmy imprecations. But this time Madame Trepof only burst out laughing.
"Why do you laugh?" I asked her.
"Because I am a wicked woman," she answered.
And she fled away, leaving me all disheartened on my stone.
The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard Page 12