“Since then I have often thought that things are probably neither good nor bad, neither sad nor happy, in themselves; he who has sound, normal nerves, and a brain equally sound, reflects the things around him like a good mirror, and feels with comfort the impression of his conformity to nature; nowadays we who have nerves all upset and brains probably upset too, form deceptive reflections. And so, that time in Paris, sick and shut in, I was happy; and here, sound and strong, when toward nightfall, I look at the splendid skies, the palaces, the yellow walls that take an extraordinary tone, I feel that I am one of the most miserable men on the planet....”
ONE SUNDAY AFTERNOON
His lack of tranquillity led Cæsar to make absurd resolutions which he didn’t carry out.
One Sunday in the beginning of April, he went out into the street, disposed to take a walk outside of Rome, following the road anywhere it led. A hard, fine rain was falling, the sky was grey, the air mild, the streets were full of puddles, the shops closed; a few flower merchants were offering branches of almond in blossom.
Cæsar was very depressed. He went into a church to get out of the rain. The church was full; there were many people in the centre of it; he didn’t know what they were doing. Doubtless they were gathered there for some reason, although Cæsar didn’t understand what. Cæsar sat down on a bench, worn out; he would have liked to listen to organ music, to a boy choir. No ideas occurred to him but sentimental ones. Some time passed, and a priest began to preach. Cæsar got up and went into the street.
“I must get rid of these miserable impressions, get back to noble ideas. I must fight this sentimental leprosy.”
He started to walk with long strides through the sad, empty streets.
He went toward the river and met Kennedy, who was coming back, he told him, from the studio of a sculptor friend of his.
“You look like desolation. What has happened to you?”
“Nothing, but I am in a perfectly hellish humour.”