Senso (And Other Stories) by Camillo Boito

Author:Camillo Boito [Boito, Camillo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781907650789
Publisher: Dedalus
Published: 2012-02-21T05:00:00+00:00

(Signor Giorgio’s manuscript ends here)

These papers were entrusted to me by Signor Giorgio three days after he arrived back in Turin. He had returned from Milan all but cured of his serious stomach ailment, and more active, more lively than before. I felt relieved. He wrote for a good part of the day, and when I asked him, ‘What is it that you’re writing so furiously, Signor Giorgio?’, he replied, ‘I’m writing my ugly confessions and doing my penance.’ Then he added in a most sad and resigned tone of voice, ‘My dear Maria, it’s a terrible penance!’

On the morning of the fourth day he was unable to get out of bed. He had a burning fever. After a long visit the doctor shook his head and as he left he said in my ear, ‘This is the end.’

Signor Giorgio could no longer swallow anything, not even diluted milk. And his fever continued more violently than ever. He was so weak, he could hardly lift his arm. He raved almost the whole time. He talked to himself under his breath. I often heard the names of Giorgetta and Signora Emilia, and at such moments his face would take on a blissful expression of bliss that reduced me to tears. Then his face would darken again, and he would close his eyes, as though some fearful image was tormenting him.

One evening, the seventh after Signor Giorgio’s return, a servant came to fetch me. My patient seemed to be asleep, and I dared to leave him alone just for a moment. There was a woman wanting to speak to him. She insisted, she shouted. What a woman! How vulgar she looked! How brazen in her speech and manners! Never had such a woman set foot in this house before. She claimed that Signor Giorgio owed her money, how much I don’t know, and that she had come from Milan specially to collect it. I tried to quieten her, and just so that she would go I promised to let her in the following morning. She seemed prepared to leave, but as I returned to the bedroom, she quietly followed behind me, and Signor Giorgio, who had woken up, saw her. I put my hands together and begged her not to move and not to speak.

In the pale glow of the night-lamp, my poor sick Giorgio stared at that despicable woman. His face grew serene, and he beckoned her close with his hand. ‘Emilia!’ he murmured. It was a sweet delirium, and certainly full of many fond images that could be seen on the dying man’s face. He wanted to say something, but he kept repeating certain words in such a faint voice that even I could not understand him. At last I managed to grasp that he was asking for the pearl necklace – a magnificent thing, his last present to Emilia, given to her a few days before she died. I took it from the cabinet and handed it to him.

He accepted it with both hands.

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