Letters from Switzerland and Travels in Italy

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

While my guide was explaining to the old widow Balsamo, who sat in the corner, the cause of our visit, and in consequence of the deafness of the good old woman, had frequently to repeat his words, I had time to observe the room and the rest of its occupants. A young girl, of about sixteen years of age, well grown, whose features, however, the small-pox had robbed of all expression, was standing at the window; by her side a young man, whose unpleasant countenance, sadly disfigured by the small-pox, also struck me. In an arm-chair, opposite the window, sat, or rather reclined, a sick and sadly deformed person, who seemed to be afflicted with a sort of torpor.

When my guide had made himself understood, they compelled us to sit down. The old woman put some questions to me, which I required to have interpreted before I could answer them, as I was not very familiar with the Sicilian dialect.

Palermo—Count Cagliostro.

I was pleased with the examination, which, during this conversation, I made of the old woman. She was of middle size, but of a good figure; over her regular features an expression of calmness was diffused, which people usually enjoy who are deprived of hearing; the tone of her voice was soft and agreeable.

I answered her questions, and my answers had, in their turn, to be interpreted to her.

The slowness of such a dialogue gave me an opportunity of weighing my words. I told her that her son having been acquitted in France, was at present in London, where he had been well received. The joy which she expressed at this news was accompanied with exclamations of a heartfelt piety, and now, as she spoke louder and slower I could understand her better.

In the meanwhile her daughter had come in, and had seated herself by the side of my guide, who faithfully repeated to her what I had been saying. She had tied on a clean apron, and arranged her hair under a net. The more I looked at her, and compared her with her mother, the more surprised was I at the difference of their persons. A lively, healthy sensibility spoke in every feature of the daughter; she was, in all probability, about forty years old. With lovely blue eyes, she looked cautiously around, without, however, my being able to trace the least symptom of suspicion. As she sat, her figure seemed to promise greater height than it showed when she stood up; her posture bespoke determination; she sat with her body bent forwards, and her hands resting on her knees. Moreover, her full, rather than sharp profile, reminded me of the portraits of her brother, which I had seen in engravings. She asked me several questions about my travels: about my purpose in visiting Sicily, and would persuade herself that I should most assuredly come back again, and keep with them the Festival of S. Rosalie.

The grandmother having, in the mean time, put some questions to me, while I was busied in answering them, the daughter was speaking in a half whisper to my guide; so that my curiosity was stimulated to ask what they were talking about. Upon this he said, Donna Capitummino was just telling him that her brother owed her fourteen once. In order to facilitate his rapid departure from Palermo, she had redeemed some of his things which were in pawn; but since then she had not heard a word from him, nor received any money, nor help of any kind, although, as she had heard, he possessed great wealth, and kept a princely establishment. Would I not engage on my return, at the first favourable moment to remind him of this debt, and to get him to make them an allowance—nay, would I not take a letter to him, or at least frank one to him? I offered to do so. She asked me where I lived? and where she could send me the letter. I avoided giving her my address, and engaged to call myself for the letter on the evening of the next day.

She then recounted to me her pitiable situation: she was a widow, with three children: one girl was being educated in a nunnery, the other was here at home; and her son was gone to school. Besides these three children she had her mother on her hands, for whose support she must provide, and besides all this, out of Christian love she had taken into her house the unfortunate sick person-and thus augmented her miseries—all her industry scarcely sufficed to furnish herself and children with the very barest necessaries. She well knew that God would reward all such good works; still she could not help sighing beneath the heavy burthen she had so long borne.

The young people joined in the conversation, and the dialogue became livelier. While I was speaking to the others I heard the old woman ask her daughter if I belonged to their holy religion. I was able to observe that the daughter skilfully parried the question by assuring her mother (as well as I could make out her words) that the stranger appeared well disposed towards them; and that it was not proper to question any one all at once on this point.