I tell you all this so that you many not be surprised if my recollections have become a little mixed up.But from the moment I first saw you at a distance this evening, I felt--in fact I knew--that I had seen you before.Now the question is, 'Where was it that I saw you?' You are not then, either the geologist or the provision-merchant?""No, Madame," I replied, "I am neither the one nor the other; and I am sorry for it--since you have had reason to esteem them.There is really nothing about me worthy of your interest.I have spent all my life poring over books, and I have never traveled: you might have known that from my bewilderment, which excited your compassion.I am a member of the Institute.""You are a member of the Institute! How nice! Will you not write something for me in my album? Do you know Chinese? I would like so much to have you write something in Chinese or Persian in my album.I will introduce you to my friend, Miss Fergusson, who travels everywhere to see all the famous people in the world.She will be delighted....Dimitri, did you hear that?--this gentleman is a member of the Institute, and he has passed all his life over books."The prince nodded approval.
"Monsieur," I said, trying to engage him in our conversation, "it is true that something can be learned from books; but a great deal more can be learned by travelling, and I regret that I have not been able to go round the world like you.I have lived in the same house for thirty years and I scarcely every go out.""Lived in the same house for thirty years!" cried Madame Trepof;"is it possible?"
"Yes, Madame," I answered."But you must know the house is situated on the bank of the Seine, and in the very handsomest and most famous part of the world.From my window I can see the Tuileries and the Louvre, the Pont-Neuf, the towers of Notre-Dame, the turrets of the Palais de Justice, and the spire of the Sainte-Chapelle.All those stones speak to me; they tell me stories about the days of Saint-Louis, of the Valois, of Henri IV., and of Louus XIV.Iunderstand them, and I love them all.It is only a very small corner of the world, but honestly, Madame, where is there a more glorious spot?"At this moment we found ourselves upon a public square--a largo steeped in the soft glow of the night.Madame Trepof looked at me in an uneasy manner; her lifted eyebrows almost touched the black curls about her forehead.
"Where do you live then?" she demanded brusquely.
"On the Quai Malaquais, Madame, and my name is Bonnard.It is not a name very widely known, but I am contented if my friends do not forget it."This revelation, unimportant as it was, produced an extraordinary effect upon Madame Trepof.She immediately turned her back upon me and caught her husband's arm.
"Come, Dimitri!" she exclaimed, "do walk a little faster.I am horribly tired, and you will not hurry yourself in the least.We shall never get home....As for you, monsieur, your way lies over there!"She made a vague gesture in the direction of some dark vicolo, pushed her husband the opposite way, and called to me, without even turning her head.
"Adieu, Monsieur! We shall not go to Posilippo to-morrow, nor the day after, either.I have a frightful headache!...Dimitri, you are unendurable! will you not walk faster?"I remained for the moment stupefied, vainly trying to think what Icould have done to offend Madame Trepof.I had also lost my way, and seemed doomed to wander about all night.In order to ask my way, I would have to see somebody; and it did not seem likely that I should find a single human being who could understand me.In my despair I entered a street at random--a street, or rather a horrible alley that had the look of a murderous place.It proved so in fact, for I had not been two minutes in it before I saw two men fighting with knives.They were attacking each other more fiercely with their tongues than with their weapons; and Iconcluded from the nature of the abuse they were showering upon each other that it was a love affair.I prudently made my way into a side alley while those two good fellows were still much too busy with their own affairs to think about mine.I wandered hopelessly about for a while, and at last sat down, completely discouraged, on a stone bench, inwardly cursing the strange caprices of Madame Trepof.
"How are you, Signor? Are you back from San Carlo? Did you hear the diva sing? It is only at Naples you can hear singing like hers."I looked up, and recognised my host.I had seated myself with my back to the facade of my hotel, under the window of my own room.
Monte-Allegro, November 30, 1859.
We were all resting--myself, my guides, and their mules--on a road from Sciacca to Girgenti, at a tavern in the miserable village of Monte-Allegro, whose inhabitants, consumed by the mal aria, continually shiver in the sun.But nevertheless they are Greeks, and their gaiety triumphs over all circumstances.A few gather about the tavern, full of smiling curiosity.One good story would have sufficed, had I known how to tell it to them, to make them forget all the woes of life.They had all a look of intelligence! and their women, although tanned and faded, wore their long black cloaks with much grace.
Before me I could see old ruins whitened by the sea-wind--ruins about which no grass ever grows.The dismal melancholy of deserts prevails over this arid land, whose cracked surface can barely nourish a few shriveled mimosas, cacti, and dwarf palms.Twenty yards away, along the course of a ravine, stones were gleaming whitely like a long line of scattered bones.They told me that was the bed of a stream.
