was perhaps the most horrible I ever passed. Crushed with a sense of
uttermost fatigue, I could get no rest. From time to time a sort of
doze crept upon me, and I said to myself, “Now I shall sleep”; but on
the very edge of slumber, at the moment when I was falling into
oblivion, a hand seemed to pluck me back into consciousness. In the
same instant there gleamed before my eyes a little circle of fire,
which blazed and expanded into immensity, until its many-coloured glare
beat upon my brain and thrilled me with torture. No sooner was the
intolerable light extinguished than I burst into a cold sweat; an icy
river poured about me; I shook, and my teeth chattered, and so for some
minutes I lay in anguish, until the heat of fever re-asserted itself,
and I began once more to toss and roll. A score of times was this
torment repeated. The sense of personal agency forbidding me to sleep
grew so strong that I waited in angry dread for that shock which
aroused me; I felt myself haunted by a malevolent power, and rebelled
against its cruelty.
Through the night no one visited me. At eight in the morning a knock
sounded at the door, and there entered the waiter, carrying a tray with
my ordinary breakfast. “The Signore is not well?” he remarked, standing
to gaze at me. I replied that I was not quite well; would he give me
the milk, and remove from my sight as quickly as possible all the other
things on the tray. A glimpse of butter in its cheese-rind had given me
an unpleasant sensation. The goat’s milk I swallowed thankfully, and,
glad of the daylight, lay somewhat more at my ease awaiting Dr. Sculco.
He arrived about half-past nine, and was agreeably surprised to find me
no worse. But the way in which his directions had been carried out did
not altogether please him. He called the landlady, and soundly rated
her. This scene was interesting, it had a fine flavour of the Middle
Ages. The Doctor addressed mine hostess of the Concordia as “thou,”
and with magnificent disdain refused to hear her excuses; she, the
stout, noisy woman, who ruled her own underlings with contemptuous
rigour, was all subservience before this social superior, and whined to
him for pardon. “What water is this?” asked Dr. Sculco, sternly, taking
up the corked jar that stood on the floor. The hostess replied that it
was drinking water, purchased with good money. Thereupon he poured out
a little, held it up to the light, and remarked in a matter-of-fact
tone, “I don’t believe you.”
However, in a few minutes peace was restored, and the Doctor prescribed
anew. After he had talked about quinine and cataplasms, he asked me
whether I had any appetite. A vision of the dining-room came before me,
and I shook my head. “Still,” he urged, “it would be well to eat
something.” And, turning to the hostess, “He had better have a
beefsteak and a glass of Marsala.” The look of amazement with which I
heard this caught the Doctor’s eye. “Don’t you like bistecca?” he
inquired. I suggested that, for one in a very high fever, with a good
deal of lung congestion, beefsteak seemed a trifle solid, and Marsala
somewhat heating. “Oh!” cried he, “but we must keep the machine going.”
And thereupon he took his genial leave.
I had some fear that my hostess might visit upon me her resentment of
the Doctor’s reproaches; but nothing of the kind. When we were alone,
she sat down by me, and asked what I should really like to eat. If I
did not care for a beefsteak of veal, could I eat a beefsteak of
mutton? It was not the first time that such a choice had been offered
me, for, in the South, bistecca commonly means a slice of meat done
on the grill or in the oven. Never have I sat down to a bistecca
which was fit for man’s consumption, and, of course, at the Concordia
it would be rather worse than anywhere else. I persuaded the good woman
to supply me with a little broth. Then I lay looking at the patch of
cloudy sky which showed above the houses opposite, and wondering
whether I should have a second fearsome night. I wondered, too, how
long it would be before I could quit Cotrone. The delay here was
particularly unfortunate, as my letters were addressed to Catanzaro,
the next stopping-place, and among them I expected papers which would
need prompt attention. The thought of trying to get my correspondence
forwarded to Cotrone was too disturbing; it would have involved an
enormous amount of trouble, and I could not have felt the least
assurance that things would arrive safely. So I worried through the
hours of daylight, and worried still more when, at nightfall, the fever
returned upon me as badly as ever.
Dr. Sculco had paid his evening visit, and the first horror of
ineffectual drowsing had passed over me, when my door was flung
violently open, and in rushed a man (plainly of the commercial
species), hat on head and bag in hand. I perceived that the diligenza
had just arrived, and that travellers were seizing upon their bedrooms.
The invader, aware of his mistake, discharged a volley of apologies,
and rushed out again. Five minutes later the door again banged open,
and there entered a tall lad with an armful of newspapers; after
regarding me curiously, he asked whether I wanted a paper. I took one
with the hope of reading it next morning. Then he began conversation. I
had the fever? Ah! everybody had fever at Cotrone. He himself would be
laid up with it in a day or two. If I liked, he would look in with a
paper each evening—till fever prevented him. When I accepted this
suggestion, he smiled encouragingly, cried “Speriamo!” and clumped
out of the room.
I had as little sleep as on the night before, but my suffering was
mitigated in a very strange way. After I had put out the candle, I
tormented myself for a long time with the thought that I should never
see La Colonna. As soon as I could rise from bed, I must flee Cotrone,
and think myself fortunate in escaping alive; but to turn my back on
the Lacinian promontory, leaving the cape unvisited, the ruin of the
temple unseen, seemed to me a miserable necessity which I should lament
as long as I lived. I felt as one involved in a moral disaster; working
in spite of reason, my brain regarded the matter from many points of
view, and found no shadow of solace. The sense that so short a distance
separated me from the place I desired to see, added exasperation to my
distress. Half-delirious, I at times seemed to be in a boat, tossing on
wild waters, the Column visible afar, but only when I strained my eyes
to discover it. In a description of the approach by land, I had read of
a great precipice which had to be skirted, and this, too, haunted me
with its terrors: I found myself toiling on a perilous road, which all
at once crumbled into fearful depths just before me. A violent
shivering fit roused me from this gloomy dreaming, and I soon after
fell into a visionary state which, whilst it lasted, gave me such
placid happiness as I have never known when in my perfect mind. Lying
still and calm, and perfectly awake, I watched a succession of
wonderful pictures. First of all I saw great vases, rich with ornament
and figures; then sepulchral marbles, carved more exquisitely than the
most beautiful I had ever known. The vision grew in extent, in
multiplicity of detail; presently I was regarding scenes of ancient