The Old God

Translator's Note: Three years before he gained international recognition with the publication of the 1904 novel Il fu Mattia Pascal (The Late Mattia Pascal), and some two decades before he achieved worldwide celebrity with his 1921 play Sei personaggi in cerca d'autore (Six Characters in Search of an Author), Luigi Pirandello published the short story "Il vecchio dio" ("The Old God") in a Florentine literary magazine, Il Marzocco, on May 26, 1901. As this date falls so close to the turn of the century, it should not surprise us that the story, like Janus, looks both backward and forward. It concerns itself with the final days of a life caught up in the sense of overwhelming progress generated by the scientific discoveries of a newly begun era. Binding itself philosophically to the historical pessimism of Giacomo Leopardi, the story asks if such scientific "progress" truly marks the advance of civilization, or if it signifies, rather, the loss of the myths and illusions that, in bygone days, were necessary to human happiness. Pirandello reworks this theme in a surprising way, infusing it with the radical humor (born of ever-shifting points of view) that characterizes so much of his work.

Signor Aurelio, slim and slightly hunched in an ill-fitting cloth suit, umbrella at his shoulder and old Panama in hand, would set out each day to enjoy his counterfeit holiday.

He had discovered a place, one that would never have occurred to anyone. He smiled to himself at the thought of it, rubbing his small hands nervously.

Some go to the mountains, some to the seashore. But he was vacationing in the churches of Rome. And why not? Doesn't one feel cooler in a church than in any forest? And one enjoys a sainted peace there, as well. The forests have their trees; the churches have their columns and naves. In the forest, there are the shadows of the branches; in church, the shadow of the Lord.

"Ah, what can one do? One must take what comes."

A while back, he too used to summer in the countryside near Perugia, rich with its dense cypresses and, along the canal, the violet willows, elegant and slender, that spilled out such a sweet blue shade. And there was that magnificent villa, which contained a precious collection of objets d'art; oh, the enviable beauty of Casa Vetti.

Now he was left with churches in which to pass his vacation.

"Ah, what can one do? One must take what comes."

In all his years, he had never succeeded in visiting every one of Rome's most famous churches. This year, he would.

Along the pathway of life Signor Aurelio had lost his hopes, his illusions, his riches, and so many other things. All he had left was his faith in God, which was, amidst the anxious darkness of his ruined existence, like a small lantern. Hunched and apprehensive though he was, he protected his lantern from the chill wind of life's late disappointments. He wandered as one lost in the bustle of life, and no one cared about him anymore.

"It doesn't matter, God sees me!" he would say in self-exhortation.

And Signor Aurelio was sure of this, sure that God saw him because of his little lantern—so much so that the thought of his approaching death, rather than frightening him, actually comforted him.

The streets were almost deserted under the burning sun. But there was always someone, some street boy or cabby, who, seeing the old man pass by—shining head uncovered, with a light beard trembling on his chin and a gray mane trembling as well down the nape of his neck—would call out in jest, "Oh, look! A man with two beards: one in front, one in back!" In summertime, he could not stand to wear his hat on his head. He himself would laugh at the joke and would almost unwillingly hurry along his little partridge steps, in an effort to remove the temptation to further mockery on the part of idlers.

"Ah, what can one do...