Eleven Short Stories

A Dual-Language Book

Luigi Pirandello

• Publisher: Dover Publications
• Year: 2012
• eBook ISBN: 9780486120331
• Topic: Languages & Linguistics
• Subtopic: Italian Language
• Index: Languages & Linguistics

Winner of the 1934 Nobel Prize for literature, Luigi Pirandello (1867 - 1936) is best known for such landmark plays as Six Characters in Search of an Author. One of the great literary figures of the twentieth century, he also distinguished himself in a vast outpouring of short stories, poetry, novels, and essays. The stories often provided the seeds for later novels and plays.
The 11 tales included in this collection are among his best. Presented in the original Italian with excellent new English translations on facing pages, they offer students of Italian language and literature a unique learning aid and a treasury of superb fiction by a modern master.
The stories range in time from the earliest known tale, "Little Hut," a study of rural passions written in 1884, to "Mrs. Frola and Mr. Ponza, Her Son-in-Law," a quintessential Pirandello story about the relativity of truth and the impossibility of penetrating other people's minds. Published in 1917, it formed the basis of Pirandello's first major play, Right You Are If You Think You Are. In addition to these narratives, the volume also includes "Citrons from Sicily," "With Other Eyes," "A Voice," "The Fly," "The Oil Jar," "It's Not to be Taken Seriously," "Think it Over, Giacomino!," "A Character's Tragedy," and "A Prancing Horse."
Accompanying the stories are a biographical and critical introduction to Pirandello and his work, brief introductions to each of the stories and explanatory footnotes.

LUMIE DI SICILIA

—Teresina sta qui?

Il cameriere, ancora in maniche di camicia, ma già impiccato in un altissimo colletto, coi radi capelli ben lisciati e disposti sul cranio, inarcando le folte ciglia giunte che parevan due baffi spostati, rasi dal labbro e appiccicati lì per non perderli, squadrò da capo ai piedi il giovanotto che gli stava davanti sul pianerottolo della scala: campagnolo all’aspetto, col bavero del pastrano ruvido rialzato fin su gli orecchi e le mani paonazze, gronchie dal freddo, che reggevano un sacchetto sudicio di qua, una vecchia valigetta di là, a contrappeso.

—Chi è Teresina?

Il giovanotto scosse prima la testa per far saltare dalla punta del naso una gocciolina, poi rispose:

—Teresina, la cantante.

—Ah,—sclamò il cameriere con un sorriso d’ironico stupore:—Si chiama così, senz’altro, Teresina? E voi chi siete?

—C’è o non c’è?—domandò il giovanotto, corrugando le ciglia e sorsando pe’ l naso.—Ditele che c’è Micuccio e lasciatemi entrare.

—Ma non c’è nessuno,—riprese il cameriere col sorriso rassegato su le labbra.—La signora Sina Marnis è ancora in teatro e …

—Zia Marta pure?—lo interruppe Micuccio.

—Ah, lei è parente? Favorisca allora, favorisca … Non c’è nessuno. Anche lei a teatro, la Zia. Prima del tocco non ritorneranno. È la serata d’onore di sua … come sarebbe di lei, la signora? cugina, forse?

Micuccio restò un istante impacciato.

CITRONS FROM SICILY

“Is Teresina here?”

The servant—still in his shirt sleeves, but with his neck already squeezed into an extremely high collar and with his sparse hair carefully dressed and arranged on his cranium—raised his thick, joined eyebrows, which resembled a displaced mustache that had been shaved off his lips and pasted up there so he wouldn’t lose it, and examined from head to foot the young man standing in front of him on the staircase landing: a rustic from the look of him, with the collar of his rough overcoat raised up to his ears and his hands—purple, numbed with cold—holding a dirty little sack on one side and a small old suitcase on the other, as a counterweight.

“Who is Teresina?”

The young man first shook his head to get rid of a little water drop on the tip of his nose, then replied:

“Teresina, the singer.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the servant with a smile of ironic amazement: “That’s her name, just plain Teresina? And who are you?”¹

“Is she here or isn’t she?” asked the young man, knitting his brows and sniffling. “Tell her that Micuccio is here, and let me in.”

“But there’s no one here,” continued the servant with his smile congealed on his lips. “Madame Sina Marnis is still at the theater and …”

“Aunt Marta, too?” Micuccio interrupted him.

“Ah, you’re a relative, sir? In that case, step right in, step right in … No one’s at home. She’s at the theater, too, your aunt. They won’t be back before one. This is the benefit night² of your … what is she to you, the lady? Your cousin, perhaps?”

Micuccio stood there embarrassed for a moment.

---

¹The varying modes of address used by the servant when speaking to Micuccio are very important in this story; see the discussion of “you” in the Introduction, page xiii, footnote 2.

²The night, contractually set aside, on which a member of a dramatic or operatic troupe would perform his or her specialties and share in the box-office take.

—Non sono parente, … sono Micuccio Bonavino, lei lo sa … Vengo apposta dal paese.

A questa risposta il cameriere stimò innanzi tutto conveniente di ritirare il lei e riprendere il voi: introdusse Micuccio in una cameretta al bujo presso la cucina, dove qualcuno ronfava strepitosamente, e gli disse:

—Sedete qua. Adesso porto un lume.

Micuccio guardò prima dalla parte donde veniva quel ronfo, ma non poté discernere nulla; guardò poi in cucina, dove il cuoco, assistito da un guattero, apparecchiava da cena. L’odor misto delle vivande in preparazione lo vinse: n’ebbe quasi un’ebrietà vertiginosa: era poco men che digiuno dalla mattina; veniva da Reggio di Calabria: una notte e un giorno intero in ferrovia.

Il cameriere recò il lume, e la persona che ronfava nella stanza, dietro una cortina sospesa a una funicella da una parete all’altra, borbottò tra il sonno:

—Chi è?

—Ehi, Dorina, su!—chiamò il cameriere.—Vedi che c’è qui il signor Bonvicino …

—Bonavino,—corresse Micuccio che stava a soffiarsi su le dita.

—Bonavino, Bonavino … conoscente della signora. Tu dormi della grossa: suonano alla porta e non senti … Io ho da apparecchiare, non posso far tutto io, capisci?, badare al cuoco che non sa, alla gente che viene …

Un ampio sonoro sbadiglio, protratto nello stiramento delle membra e terminato in un nitrito per un brividore improvviso, accolse la protesta del cameriere, il quale s’allontanò esclamando:

—E va bene!

Micuccio sorrise, e lo seguì con gli occhi attraverso un’altra stanza in penombra fino alla vasta sala in fondo, illuminata, dove sorgeva splendida la mensa, e restò meravigliato a contemplare, finché di nuovo il ronfo non lo fece voltare a guardar la cortina.

Il cameriere, col tovagliolo sotto il braccio, passava e ripas-

“I’m not a relative … I’m Micuccio Bonavino, she knows … I’ve come on purpose from our hometown.”

Upon receiving this reply, the servant deemed it suitable above all else to take back the polite lei form of address and go back to the ordinary voi; he led Micuccio into a small unlighted room near the kitchen, where someone was snoring noisily, and said to him:

“Sit here. I’ll go and get a lamp.”

Micuccio first looked in the direction from which the snoring was coming, but couldn’t make out anything; then he looked into the kitchen, where the cook, aided by a scullery boy, was preparing a supper. The mingled aromas of the dishes being prepared overpowered him; their effect on him was like a heady intoxication; he had hardly eaten a thing since that morning; he had traveled from Reggio di Calabria:³ a night and a full day on the train.

The servant brought the lamp, and the person who was snoring in the room, behind a curtain hung from a cord between two walls, muttered sleepily:

“Who is it?”

“Hey, Dorina, get up!” the servant called. “Look, Mr. Bonvicino is here …”

“Bonavino,” Micuccio corrected him, as he blew on his fingers.

“Bonavino, Bonavino … an acquaintance of the mistress. You really sleep soundly: they ring at the door and you don’t hear it … I have to set the table; I can’t do everything myself, understand—keep an eye on the cook, who doesn’t know the ropes; watch for people who come to call …”

A big, loud yawn from the maid, prolonged while she stretched and ending in a whinny caused by a sudden shiver, was her reply to the complaint of the manservant, who walked away exclaiming:

“All right!”

Micuccio smiled and watched him depart across another room in semidarkness until he reached the vast, well-lit salon⁴ at the far end, where the splendid supper table towered; he kept on gazing in amazement until the snoring made him turn once more and look at the curtain.

The servant, with his napkin under his arm, passed back and

---

³In a later version, “from the province of Messina” (perhaps Reggio was thought of as the outset of the journey by rail).

⁴Although merely sala (room) in the story text, the site of the party is identified as a salone and reception room in the play based on the story.

sava borbottando or contro Dorina che seguitava a dormire or contro il cuoco che doveva esser nuovo, chiamato per l’avvenimento di quella sera, e lo infastidiva chiedendo di continuo spiegazioni. Micuccio, per non infastidirlo anche lui, stimò prudente di ricacciarsi dentro tutte le domande che gli veniva di rivolgergli. Avrebbe poi dovuto dirgli o fargli intendere ch’era il fidanzato di Teresina, e non voleva, pur non sapendone il perché lui stesso, se non forse per questo, che quel cameriere allora avrebbe dovuto trattar lui Micuccio da padrone, ed egli, vedendolo così disinvolto ed elegante, quantunque ancor senza marsina, non riusciva a vincer l’impaccio che già ne provava solo a pensarci. A un certo punto però, vedendolo ripassare, non seppe tenersi dal domandargli:

—Scusi … questa casa di chi è?

—Nostra, finché ci siamo,—gli rispose in fretta il cameriere.

E Micuccio rimase a tentennar la testa.

Perbacco, era vero dunque! La fortuna acciuffata. Affaroni. Quel cameriere che pareva un gran signore, il cuoco e il guattero, quella Dorina che ronfava di là: tutta servitù a gli ordini di Teresina … Chi l’avrebbe mai detto?

Rivedeva col pensiero la soffitta squallida, laggiù laggiù, a Messina, dove Teresina abitava con la madre … Cinque anni addietro, in quella soffitta lontana, se non fosse stato per lui, mamma e figlia sarebbero morte di fame. E lui, lui, aveva scoperto quel tesoro nella gola di Teresina! Ella cantava sempre, allora, come una passera dei tetti, ignara del suo tesoro: cantava per dispetto, cantava per non pensare alla miseria, a cui egli cercava di sovvenire alla meglio, non ostante la guerra che gli facevano in casa i genitori, la madre specialmente. Ma poteva egli abbandonar Teresina in quello stato, dopo la morte del padre di lei? abbandonarla perché non aveva nulla, mentre lui, bene o male, un posticino ce l’aveva, di sonator di flauto nel concerto comunale? Bella ragione! e il cuore?

Ah, era stata una vera ispirazione del cielo, un suggerimento della fortuna, quel por mente alla voce di lei, quando nessuno ci badava, in quella bellissima giornata d’aprile, presso la finestra dell’abbaino che incorniciava vivo vivo l’azzurro del cielo. Teresina canticchiava un’appassionata arietta siciliana, di cui a Micuccio sovvenivano ancora le tenere parole. Era triste Teresina, quel giorno, per la recente morte del padre e

forth, muttering now about Dorina, who went on sleeping, now about the cook, who was most likely a new man, called in for that evening’s event, and who was annoying him by constantly asking for explanations. Micuccio, to avoid annoying him further, deemed it prudent to repress all the questions that he thought of asking him. He really ought to have told him or given him to understand that he was Teresina’s fiancé, but he didn’t want to, though he himself didn’t know why, unless perhaps it was because the servant would then have had to treat him, Micuccio, as his master, and he, seeing him so jaunty and elegant, although still without his tailcoat, couldn’t manage to overcome the embarrassment he felt at the very thought of it. At a certain point, however, seeing him pass by again, he couldn’t refrain from asking him:

“Excuse me … whose house is this?”

“Ours, as long as we’re in it,” the servant answered hurriedly.

And Micuccio sat there shaking his head.

By heaven, so it was true! Opportunity seized by the forelock. Good business. That servant who resembled a great nobleman, the cook and the scullery boy, that Dorina snoring over there: all servants at Teresina’s beck and call … Who would ever have thought so?

In his mind he saw once again the dreary garret, way down in Messina, where Teresa used to live with her mother … Five years earlier, in that faraway garret, if it hadn’t been for him, mother and daughter would have died of hunger. And he, he had discovered that treasure in Teresa’s throat! She was always singing, then, like a sparrow on the rooftops, unaware of her own treasure: she would sing to annoy, she would sing to keep from thinking of her poverty, which he would try to alleviate as best he could, in spite of the war his parents waged with him at home, his mother especially. But could he abandon Teresina in those circumstances, after her father’s death?—abandon her because she had nothing, while he, for better or worse, did have a modest employment, as flute player in the local orchestra? Fine reasoning!—and what about his heart?

Ah, it had been a true inspiration from heaven, a prompting of fortune, when he had paid attention to that voice of hers, when no one was giving it heed, on that very beautiful April day, near the garret window that framed the vivid blue of the sky. Teresina was singing softly an impassioned Sicilian arietta, the tender words of which Micuccio still remembered. Teresina was sad, that day, over the recent death of her father and over his family’s stubborn opposi-

per l’ostinata opposizione dei parenti di lui; e anch’egli—ricordava—era triste, tanto che gli erano spuntate le lagrime, sentendola cantare. Pure tant’altre volte l’aveva sentita, quell’arietta; ma cantata a quel modo, mai. N’era rimasto così colpito, che il giorno appresso, senza prevenire né lei né la madre, aveva condotto seco su nella soffitta il direttore del concerto, suo amico. E così erano cominciate le prime lezioni di canto; e per...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Acknowledgment
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Introduction
• Capannetta
• Lumie di Sicilia
• Con altri occhi
• Una voce
• La mosca
• La giara
• Non è una cosa seria
• Pensaci, Giacomino!
• La tragedia d’un personaggio
• La rallegrata
• La signora Frola e il signor Ponza, suo genero