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The Diary of a Man of Fifty



by Henry James









Florence; April 5th; 1874。They told me I should find Italy greatly 

changed; and in seven…and…twenty years there is room for changes。  

But to me everything is so perfectly the same that I seem to be 

living my youth over again; all the forgotten impressions of that 

enchanting time come back to me。  At the moment they were powerful 

enough; but they afterwards faded away。  What in the world became of 

them?  Whatever becomes of such things; in the long intervals of 

consciousness?  Where do they hide themselves away? in what unvisited 

cupboards and crannies of our being do they preserve themselves?  

They are like the lines of a letter written in sympathetic ink; hold 

the letter to the fire for a while and the grateful warmth brings out 

the invisible words。  It is the warmth of this yellow sun of Florence 

that has been restoring the text of my own young romance; the thing 

has been lying before me today as a clear; fresh page。  There have 

been moments during the last ten years when I have fell so 

portentously old; so fagged and finished; that I should have taken as 

a very bad joke any intimation that this present sense of juvenility 

was still in store for me。  It won't last; at any rate; so I had 

better make the best of it。  But I confess it surprises me。  I have 

led too serious a life; but that perhaps; after all; preserves one's 

youth。  At all events; I have travelled too far; I have worked too 

hard; I have lived in brutal climates and associated with tiresome 

people。  When a man has reached his fifty…second year without being; 

materially; the worse for wearwhen he has fair health; a fair 

fortune; a tidy conscience and a complete exemption from embarrassing 

relativesI suppose he is bound; in delicacy; to write himself 

happy。  But I confess I shirk this obligation。  I have not been 

miserable; I won't go so far as to say thator at least as to write 

it。  But happinesspositive happinesswould have been something 

different。  I don't know that it would have been better; by all 

measurementsthat it would have left me better off at the present 

time。  But it certainly would have made this differencethat I 

should not have been reduced; in pursuit of pleasant images; to 

disinter a buried episode of more than a quarter of a century ago。  I 

should have found entertainment morewhat shall I call it?more 

contemporaneous。  I should have had a wife and children; and I should 

not be in the way of making; as the French say; infidelities to the 

present。  Of course it's a great gain to have had an escape; not to 

have committed an act of thumping folly; and I suppose that; whatever 

serious step one might have taken at twenty…five; after a struggle; 

and with a violent effort; and however one's conduct might appear to 

be justified by events; there would always remain a certain element 

of regret; a certain sense of loss lurking in the sense of gain; a 

tendency to wonder; rather wishfully; what MIGHT have been。  What 

might have been; in this case; would; without doubt; have been very 

sad; and what has been has been very cheerful and comfortable; but 

there are nevertheless two or three questions I might ask myself。  

Why; for instance; have I never marriedwhy have I never been able 

to care for any woman as I cared for that one?  Ah; why are the 

mountains blue and why is the sunshine warm?  Happiness mitigated by 

impertinent conjecturesthat's about my ticket。



6th。I knew it wouldn't last; it's already passing away。  But I have 

spent a delightful day; I have been strolling all over the place。  

Everything reminds me of something else; and yet of itself at the 

same time; my imagination makes a great circuit and comes back to the 

starting…point。  There is that well…remembered odour of spring in the 

air; and the flowers; as they used to be; are gathered into great 

sheaves and stacks; all along the rugged base of the Strozzi Palace。  

I wandered for an hour in the Boboli Gardens; we went there several 

times together。  I remember all those days individually; they seem to 

me as yesterday。  I found the corner where she always chose to sit

the bench of sun…warmed marble; in front of the screen of ilex; with 

that exuberant statue of Pomona just beside it。  The place is exactly 

the same; except that poor Pomona has lost one of her tapering 

fingers。  I sat there for half an hour; and it was strange how near 

to me she seemed。  The place was perfectly emptythat is; it was 

filled with HER。  I closed my eyes and listened; I could almost hear 

the rustle of her dress on the gravel。  Why do we make such an ado 

about death?  What is it; after all; but a sort of refinement of 

life?  She died ten years ago; and yet; as I sat there in the sunny 

stillness; she was a palpable; audible presence。  I went afterwards 

into the gallery of the palace; and wandered for an hour from room to 

room。  The same great pictures hung in the same places; and the same 

dark frescoes arched above them。  Twice; of old; I went there with 

her; she had a great understanding of art。  She understood all sorts 

of things。  Before the Madonna of the Chair I stood a long time。  The 

face is not a particle like hers; and yet it reminded me of her。  But 

everything does that。  We stood and looked at it together once for 

half an hour; I remember perfectly what she said。



8th。Yesterday I felt blueblue and bored; and when I got up this 

morning I had half a mind to leave Florence。  But I went out into the 

street; beside the Arno; and looked up and downlooked at the yellow 

river and the violet hills; and then decided to remainor rather; I 

decided nothing。  I simply stood gazing at the beauty of Florence; 

and before I had gazed my fill I was in good…humour again; and it was 

too late to start for Rome。  I strolled along the quay; where 

something presently happened that rewarded me for staying。  I stopped 

in front of a little jeweller's shop; where a great many objects in 

mosaic were exposed in the window; I stood there for some minutesI 

don't know why; for I have no taste for mosaic。  In a moment a little 

girl came and stood beside mea little girl with a frowsy Italian 

head; carrying a basket。  I turned away; but; as I turned; my eyes 

happened to fall on her basket。  It was covered with a napkin; and on 

the napkin was pinned a piece of paper; inscribed with an address。  

This address caught my glancethere was a name on it I knew。  It was 

very legibly writtenevidently by a scribe who had made up in zeal 

what was lacking in skill。  Contessa Salvi…Scarabelli; Via 

Ghibellinaso ran the superscription; I looked at it for some 

moments; it caused me a sudden emotion。  Presently the little girl; 

becoming aware of my attention; glanced up at me; wondering; with a 

pair of timid brown eyes。



〃Are you carrying your basket to the Countess Salvi?〃 I asked。



The child stared at me。  〃To the Countess Scarabelli。〃



〃Do you know the Countess?〃



〃Know her?〃 murmured the child; with an air of small dismay。



〃I mean; have you seen her?〃



〃Yes; I have seen her。〃  And then; in a moment; with a sudden soft 

smile〃E bella!〃 said the little girl。  She was beautiful herself as 

she said it。



〃Precisely; and is she fair or dark?〃



The child kept gazing at me。  〃Biondabionda;〃 she answered; looking 

about into the golden sunshine for a comparison。



〃And is she young?〃



〃She is not younglike me。  But she is not old likelike〃



〃Like me; eh?  And is she married?〃



The little girl began to look wise。  〃I have never seen the Signor 

Conte。〃



〃And she lives in Via Ghibellina?〃



〃Sicuro。  In a beautiful palace。〃



I had one more question to ask; and I pointed it with certain copper 

coins。  〃Tell me a littleis she good?〃



The child inspected a moment the contents of her little brown fist。  

〃It's you who are good;〃 she answered。



〃Ah; but the Countess?〃 I repeated。



My informant lowered her big brown eyes; with an air of conscientious 

meditation that was inexpressibly quaint。  〃To me she appears so;〃 

she said at last; looking up。



〃Ah; then; she must be so;〃 I said; 〃because; for your age; you are 

very intelligent。〃  And having delivered myself of this compliment I 

walked away and left the little girl counting her soldi。



I walked back to the hotel; wondering how I could learn something 

about the Contessa Salvi…Scarabelli。  In the doorway I found the 

innkeeper; and near him stood a young man whom I immediately 

perceived to be a compatriot; and with whom; apparently; he had been 

in conversation。



〃I wonder whether you can give me a piece of information;〃 I said to 

the landlord。  〃Do you know anything about the Count Salvi…


Scarabelli?〃



The landlord looked down at his boots; then slowly raised his 

shoulders; with a melanch

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