A Capillary Crime, and Other Stories — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
A Capillary Crime, and Other Stories
John Stuart Mill · en
Nearly twenty years ago I made my first visit to Rome, long before it
became the centre of the commercial and political activity of Italy, and
while it was yet unspoiled for the antiquarian, the student, the artist,
and the traveller. Never shall I forget the first few hours I spent
wandering aimlessly through the streets--so far as I then knew, a total
stranger in the city, with no distinct plan of remaining there, and with
only the slight and imperfect knowledge of the place that one gains from
the ordinary travellers’ descriptions. The streets, the houses, the
people, the strange sounds and stranger sights, the life so entirely
different from what I had hitherto seen--all this interested me greatly.
Far more powerful and far more vivid and lasting, however, was the
impression of an inconceivable number of presences--I hesitate to call
them spirits--not visible, of course, nor tangible, but still
oppressing me mentally and morally, exactly the same as my physical
self is often crushed and overpowered in a great assembly of people. I
walked about, visited the cafés and concert-halls, and tried in various
ways to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of ghostly company, but was
unsuccessful, and went to my lodgings much depressed and nervous. I took
my note-book, and wrote in it: “Rome has been too much lived in. Among
the multitude of the dead there is no room for the living.” It seemed
then a foolish memorandum to write, and now, as I look at the
half-effaced pencil lines, I wonder why I was not ashamed to write it.
Yet there it is before me, a witness to my sensations at the time, and
the scrawl has even now the power to bring up to me an unpleasantly
vivid memory of that first evening in Rome.
After a few days passed in visiting the galleries and the regular sights
of the town, I began to look for a studio and an apartment, and finally
found one in the upper story of a house on the Via di Ripetta. Before
moving into the studio, I met an old friend and fellow-artist, and, as
there was room enough for two, gladly took him in with me.