B007P4V3G4 EBOK (8 page)

Until that moment, I had not, to be honest, fully realised what
the mysteriousness of this consignment of books might mean. Put
on the spot a little, I looked round until I managed to answer Mr
Maccari, in a fortunate bit of improvisation, that not only had I
known my good friend Raoul a long time and had even worked
for him a while, but that, moreover, I, in my own name, should like
to order a few books of similar kind from the firm as well. This
made all further doubt evaporate and it was now possible to settle
matters of business apace. I ordered some three additional books,
all with my own name as being the authors, for which I wrote the
titles down on a note which was slipped attentively towards me
across the counter: Anthologica Poetarurn Maritima, Descriptions des
Iles Franco-Italiennes and - why not - my Poesies de Circonstances. Mr Maccari was convinced of the importance of the commission
and no less of my trustworthiness. Payment was not even due
until delivery. After all, it was already exceptionally kind that I had
declared myself prepared, as an act of kindness between friends, to
advance the invoice value for Raoul, too. We parted most cordially
and I hurried from the chill little alley towards the warm afternoon
sun.

Except for viewing Livorno and its surroundings, I had just
three things to do during the next two weeks. The books, fifteen
in all, would have to be collected ere long; I had to book my
passage to Argentere but not letter would have
to be written to the Bibliotheca Sarrazina to announce my coming
to the island.

My letter, addressed to M. le Professeur Dr R. Sarrazin was, though I
say it myself, a rather well thought-out piece of work. I wrote to him
that I had learned he was an authority in the field of the history of
Argentera and that, apparently, he had written a number of
indispensable works on the subject which, however, were hard to
obtain on the mainland. I myself was a young poet who, on the basis
of a historical interest in 'his' island, was considering devoting a long
epic poem to Argentera, a task for which his help and documentation
would be of the greatest possible value to me. In short, also given the
laborious postal communications and the fact that I now happened to
be in the neighbourhood, I dared hope that I might come and visit
him by the next ship to arrive after his receiving this letter, to request
his hospitality and co-operation for a number of days. At the same
time, I would have the opportunity to hand him a package which our
common acquaintance Guido Maccari wished to give to me to take
along, destined for his renowned Bibliotheca Sarrazina, rightly famed
in all comers of, et cetera, et cetera, and, please, would he be assured
of my sentiments of highest esteem and deepest respect. I wrote the
letter in French and sent it by the weekly mail packet in the direction
of Marseille. I could not possibly expect a reply for, when in just
under a fortnight's time the scheduled service Marseille-Livorno
would call at Argentera again to collect his possible reply, I would
already be on the ship crossing in the opposite direction on its way
to the island. Sarrazin could not refuse my request, therefore; he
probably would be suspicious, though. And rightly so.

A good week and a half after my first visit, I stood once again
in the dark workshop of no. 11, Calle delle XV Settembre. Mr Maccari packed all fifteen books very carefully, my own works
separate from the pile destined for Sarrazin. He showed each one
to me before it disappeared in wrapping paper, proudly displaying
the cover-toolings on the smooth linen and the tinted endpapers.
Doing so, he could not stop himself each time from lovingly
allowing the hundreds and hundreds of blank pages to fan out
between thumb anu index finger. He visibly relished his own
bookbinding work and I, in my turn, relished the perfectly serious
comedy brought to light here, the precise and rapt attention that,
craftsman-like, had been given to the execution of nothing but a
farce. In other words, I was looking forward to conversation, face
to face, with the so-learned librarian who collected these pseudobooks around him like a phantom collection of soulless works.

Next day, I bore the heavy packages as well as my suitcase to
the harbour, there to take the ship to Argentere. Once again, I was
surprised at the almost complete lack of clear instructions for
passengers to Argentere and, moreover, it turned out that, as a
non-inhabitant of the island, I would have to pay full passage to
Marseille. That official obstruction, however, I gladly endured for
my surprise voyage. And I was in an exceptionally light-hearted
mood. Mindful of my learned host, I'd had myself fitted out in
Livorno with a classic, pale-grey suit. In some way or other, I was
sure that the old-fashioned gentleman in the sand-coloured suit I
had seen two weeks earlier on the berthing pier of Argentera had
been none other than Sarrazin, and I wanted to try to gain his
confidence the moment we greeted one another.

My surprise was great, therefore, when upon the ship's arrival in
Argentera's little harbour there was no Dr Sarrazin to be seen at all
to meet me. Instead, I was awaited by two gendarmes. They
declared that they had been given instruction to accompany me to
the notary of the island who had been charged with the execution
of the last will and testament of their most learned fellow citizen,
Dr Sarrazin, who had tragically met his death six days ago now. If
I wouldn't mind following the two gentlemen? In order to render
this easier, they both took a heavy package of books under an arm
and with the shock of the news still in my
three of us walked in the direction of the village, watched by a
group of children who had been standing there waving off the
ferry which had already departed again. The blank-paged books for
the Bibliotheca Sarrazina, all guilt and regret, haunted my head.

The notary did not know the secret of Dr Raoul Sarrazin; this, at
first, I believed I could read from his almost ageless face. We were
sitting in his study on either side of a large, old, clerk's desk, and
he spoke continually of the tremendous learnedness of Sarrazin,
much lamented by all; of the enormous importance of the Bibliotheca
Sarrazina he had founded for the knowledge of the political and
natural history of Argentera; of the occasionally absentminded yet
always affable academician himself who, selflessly, had put his
talent, indeed his entire life in service of the historiography of the
island and its inhabitants. What had the community been able to
set against this in reward? Too little, far too little. True, the library
was housed in one of the most beautiful villas on the
former town hall which had been made available for the purpose -
and the librarian had been the guest of the Pensione Minatore, the
culinary pride of the island, for his hot meals each day and, lastly,
he had received a modest monthly stipend from a legacy purposed
to that end, in order to be able to carry out his historical and
literary work and to fund the necessary purchases of books. But
these were trifles; they paled by comparison with the great worth
such a unique man as Sarrazin had had to Argentera, the island
where he had lived and worked from his fifth to his eighty-second
year. Thus, still, the notary, speaking in solemn tones and leaving
no space for any interruption. I should, therefore, he continued,
pressing his fingertips together, consider it an exceptional honour
that Dr Raoul Sarrazin, born, then and then, in Montpellier,
unmarried, last residing at 15, Rue Sarrazin, Argentera, deceased,
then and then, ditto; that Dr Raoul Sarrazin, that is, by his last will
and testament, drawn up the same day upon which his life was
broken off so abruptly, had left all his possessions and privileges to
none other than me. Though still burdened with the tragic events
of the previous week that had led to all this, it was nevertheless a
privilege for the notary to be the first to congratulate me now in
my new capacity as the custodian of the Bibliotheca Sarrazina.

To say that I was perplexed is to put it mildly. I had been
expecting all kinds of things, but not this. I had assumed that
Sarrazin would be something of an elderly eccentric, with his
library of blanks, and I had not really wished to do him any harm.
He would have had those three empty books from me as a present,
inscribed with a dedication, if need be, in which I would assure him
of my great admiration, and afterwards I would have bid farewell
again to the island with its extraordinary chronicler. What exactly had my letter brought about in him? And to what extent was this
notary acquainted with everything? Or was the library most
definitely a serious place of study and documentation and had I
brought a cruel misunderstanding into being? Thus I tormented
myself with feverish questions. The ship would only be going in a
week's time; I had not a clue as to what was in store for me, and
an expectant silence was being maintained on the opposite side of
the desk.

A little dumbfounded, I stammered that I felt deeply honoured
and filled with gratitude, but that at the same time I regarded the
prospective post as probably too elevated an assignment. Without
heeding the contents of my response, the notary got up energetically, shook my hand at great length, and handed me a sealed
envelope originating from my illustrious predecessor. Repeating
good wishes and congratulations, he then saw me with
my packages and luggage, as I on parting the
wooden house situated two hundred metres further on, to which
he solemnly handed me the key. Bibliotheca Sarrazina, Dr R.
Sarrazin, I read the by now familiar imprint on the envelope, as I
walked along.

By now, I have been staying some considerable time already as
resident and custodian of the late Dr Raoul Sarrazin's house, filled
to the rafters with volumes of books. Everywhere I am treated
with the greatest respect as one who is so learned and gifted that
he has been singled out to be his successor by the founder of the
Bibliotheca Sarrazina in person. The circumstance that I was already
in situ only a few days after old Sarrazin's tragic death, to take
over the responsibilities entrusted to me, has only reinforced
everybody's esteem and my immediate succession has, moreover,
emphasised once more, so it seems, that the work in the library
may in no possible way remain unattended.

The letter from he had signed the epistle in friendship
- handed to me across the grave, was of such a directness and
lucidity one would almost not expect from an eighty-two-year-old.
The tone, too, with which he bids me welcome and gives me a few
bits of practical advice is one so remote from the fact that, when
writing, he was barely separated by a day from the moment of his
death, that I harbour some doubts about the entire tale of his
sudden demise. According to the official version, confirmed by
several inhabitants upon my enquiry, Sarrazin fell from a rock during a walk, probably in search of rare stones, and plunged into
the sea. I, for myself, question whether Sarrazin did indeed die or,
for instance, whether he is hiding somewhere, hand in glove with
the notary who wields control over the means of the Bibliotheca
Sarrazina. But what relevance have these insinuations now that I
have made life and work here so much my own that a return is
barely imaginable any longer? My sole, be it luxurious problem, is
absolutely not financial in live, eat and drink for free,
and receive my monthly stipend on top of rather one of
having practically nothing to do. The entire Bibliotheca Sarrazina -
consisting, apart from my living accommodation, of four rooms, all
walls filled from floor to ceiling with volumes of
nothing but bound, blank paper. All these imposing volumes, in
leather, in linen, with tooled gold-leaf, in octavo or god-knows
how finely and variedly executed, are locked away behind sturdy
little doors with glass or mesh in front, so no one other than
myself ever takes one out.

I walk across the island a lot, which gets explained as being
'scientific investigations'; my conversation is attended to most
gravely, and everyone wishes to be on the right side of me, for
they know that I am at work on a new volume of the Description de
la vie quotidienne en Argentera. It is barely possible to obtain a
newspaper here, let alone a recent one, so that my supposed
descriptions of daily life on the island have authority ahead of
events. I generally get up quite late in the morning, have some
fruit from the garden belonging to the house, and bread that is set
out ready for me. In the afternoons I mainly stay inside, away from
the hot sun, and in the evening I will take a short walk and
subsequently dine in the only restaurant here, Pensione Minatore,
where I am given friendly but, in awe of my thoughts, silent
service. I will then sit smoking till late in the balmy evenings on
the veranda of my house which offers a view out to sea.

Honesty compels me to say that I do leaf through one of my
thousands of books at times, homing in on a title which stirs my
curiosity. Almost without exception, these are sound volumes of
splendour, full of creamy white paper. From time to time there are
questions to be answered, too: people who drop by about something, or a tourist, once in a blue moon, who wishes to view the
Bibliotheca Sarrazina. For a small consideration, I will then show
them round and without exception they will be astounded by the
temple of learning which this teeny-weeny island appears to house. At a given moment, I will have to write to Maccari in Livorno to
have some new books shipped out. It is expected, of course, that I
publish something from time to time. With the first three works I
already carried with me at the time of my arrival here - years ago,
it can seem to me, now and then - I can make do for a while,
though. Last month, my Poesies de Circonstances were released in
public. In Pensione Minatore, the notary presented me with the first
(and sole) copy and read out (ostensibly) the personal dedication
on the title page: A mon cher maitre, Dr Raoul Sarrazin, le bienfaiteur
regrette de notre tie d'Argentera. Upon which the proprietress of the
pensione burst into tears and general applause ensued. That same
evening, the book was solemnly given its place in Room IV of the
Bibliotheca Sarrazina, Case 9, third shelf from the bottom.