October 10, 1859.
I awaited Signor Polizzi's reply with ill-contained impatience. I couldnot even remain quiet; I would make sudden nervous gestures--open booksand violently close them again. One day I happened to upset a bookwith my elbow--a volume of Moreri. Hamilcar, who was washing himself,suddenly stopped, and looked angrily at me, with his paw over his ear.Was this the tumultuous existence he must expect under my roof? Hadthere not been a tacit understanding between us that we should live apeaceful life? I had broken the covenant.
"My poor dear comrade," I made answer, "I am the victim of a violentpassion, which agitates and masters me. The passions are enemies ofpeace and quiet, I acknowledge; but without them there would be no artsor industries in the world. Everybody would sleep naked on a dung-heap;and you would not be able, Hamilcar, to repose all day on a silkencushion, in the City of Books."
I expatiated no further to Hamilcar on the theory of the passions,however, because my housekeeper brought me a letter. It bore thepostmark of Naples and read as follows:
"Most Illustrious Sir,--I do indeed possess that incomparable manuscriptof the 'Golden Legend' which could not escape your keen observation.All-important reasons, however, forbid me, imperiously, tyrannically, tolet the manuscript go out of my possession for a single day, for even asingle minute. It will be a joy and pride for me to have you examine itin my humble home in Girgenti, which will be embellished and illuminatedby your presence. It is with the most anxious expectation of your visitthat I presume to sign myself, Seigneur Academician,
"Your humble and devoted servant
"Michel-Angelo Polizzi,
"Wine-merchant and Archaeologist at Girgenti, Sicily."
Well, then! I will go to Sicily:
"Extremum hunc, Arethusa, mihi concede laborem."
The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard Page 7
