Lucky’s Reviews > The Late Mattia Pascal > Status Update

All the disgust and frictions that come when Need, like a scrawny black cat, nests in the ashes of a spent hearth, had made living together odious to us both. Could I, with eleven thousand lire, restore peace in our home and resuscitate that love wickedly killed at birth by the widow Pescatore? What folly!

In order to carry early fruit to the market and sell it at high prices, they gather apples or peaches or pears before they have reached the stage which makes them sound and flavorsome, and the vendors ripen them by the simple expedient of bruising them.

And this was how my spirit, still green, ripened to its maturity.

From time to time, a book or two would crash from the shelves, followed by rats as fat as rabbits.
To me they wére like Newton's apple.
"Eureka!" I shouted happily. "There's something for me to do while Romitelli is reading his Birnbaum."

I may say that, from that day on, I have made a habit of laughing at all my misfortunes and torments. At that moment I saw myself as an actor in a tragedy that could hardly have looked more comical: my mother had run out with that mad-woman; my wife was in the other room busy... we'll skip that! Marianna Pescatore there on the ground; and I myself... not knowing where to turn for my daily bread.

Beyond his respectable appear-ance, his fine manners, his elegant-gentleman façade, Berto had nothing to give his wife, not even a crumb of affection, which would probably have compensated her for any trouble that my poor mother's presence would have caused. Well, that's how God made him; God gave him only a tiny scrap of a heart. What could poor Berto do about it?

I was truly horrified at the sight of my mother in contact with the widow Pescatore. The sainted old lady was no longer unaware of her wrongs, but in my eyes she was in no way responsible for them. She just couldn't grasp the full extent of human wickedness.

(Madonna complex?)

Now what was to be done? Almost without hope, I began looking for some kind of occupation, to provide for the family's most pressing needs. I was no good at anything, and the reputation I had won by my youthful exploits and my idleness certainly didn't inspire anyone to give me a job.

The conclusion was self-evident: in the midst of all these fine people, I was the one who had caused the damage. And therefore I was the one who had to pay.

At first I refused, indignantly. Then, exhorted by my mother, who already foresaw our family's ruin and hoped that by marrying her enemy's niece, I might somehow be saved, I gave in and married Romilda.

(This man sees none of his faults…)

Why was I displaying such eagerness to marry off Romilda? For no reason. As I said: it was for the fun of dazzling Pomino. I went on talking, talking, and all the difficulties vanished. I was impetuous, I made light of everything. Perhaps this was why women loved me, despite my slightly off-center eye and a body like a log.

I'd like to know how he explained to his own conscience the thefts that he was carrying out against us all the time. Since, as I've said before, he wasn't in real need, he must have given himself some excuse, some justification. What I say is this: perhaps he stole simply to have some pleasure in life, poor man.