The Gentleman from San Francisco (Bunin)
Short summary
The early 20th century. A wealthy American travels to Europe with his family for two years of leisure after decades of hard work. Arriving first to southern Italy aboard the luxurious steamer Atlantis, he anticipates enjoying local culture, museums, classical music, and youthful companionship, as suitable for his station and age.
Despite the family's expectations, the weather in Naples remains cold, rainy, and unpleasant, prompting them to depart for Capri. Seasick and miserable aboard a small steamer, the Gentleman arrives feeling unwell. After checking into their hotel and preparing for dinner with unusual excitement, he goes downstairs to the reading-room.
While reading the newspaper in the hotel, he suddenly experiences a fatal seizure: "He lunged forward, wanted to breathe—and rattled wildly. His lower jaw dropped, and his mouth shone with gold fillings... and all his body, writhing, with heels scraping up the carpet, slid down to the floor."
He lunged forward, wanted to breathe—and rattled wildly. His lower jaw dropped, and his mouth shone with gold fillings... and all his body, writhing, with heels scraping up the carpet, slid down to the floor.
His death inconveniences hotel guests, and the family faces abrupt coldness, now being considered undesirable guests. Early the next morning, his remains are hastily transported back to the mainland. Soon he departs Italy for America aboard the very same luxurious liner Atlantis, this time concealed from the passengers, alone and forgotten at the bottom of the ship's hold.
Detailed summary
Division into chapters is editorial.
The wealthy American's European travel plans
An unnamed wealthy businessman from San Francisco decided to embark on a two-year pleasure trip to Europe with his wife and daughter. After years of hard work building his fortune through factories that employed thousands of Chinese workers, he felt entitled to enjoy the fruits of his labor and share these pleasures with his family.
The Gentleman from San Francisco—nobody either in Capri or Naples ever remembered his name—was setting out with his wife and daughter for the Old World, to spend there two years of pleasure.
His wife, though not particularly sensitive to cultural experiences, was an enthusiastic traveler like many elderly American women. His daughter, somewhat delicate and no longer young, needed the trip for her health and the possibility of meeting a suitable husband, perhaps even a millionaire.
He was fully convinced of his right to rest, to enjoy long and comfortable travels... Because, in the first place he was rich, and in the second place, notwithstanding his fifty-eight years, he was just starting to live.
The Gentleman from San Francisco had meticulously planned their extensive itinerary. They would spend December and January in southern Italy enjoying the sun, antiquities, and perhaps the attention of young Neapolitan girls. Carnival would be celebrated in Nice and Monte Carlo among select society. March would be devoted to Florence, followed by Passion Week in Rome, then Venice, Paris, bullfights in Seville, bathing in Britain, and finally Greece, Constantinople, Egypt, and possibly Japan on their return journey.
The luxurious journey aboard the Atlantis
The journey began in late November aboard the magnificent liner Atlantis. Despite stormy weather with icy darkness and wet snow, the ship maintained steady progress. The vessel was filled with important passengers and resembled an expensive European hotel with all modern conveniences, including a night refreshment bar, Turkish baths, and a newspaper printed on board.
The boat, the famous Atlantis, resembled a most expensive European hotel with all modern equipments... so that the days aboard the liner passed in the most select manner.
Life aboard the Atlantis followed a strict routine. Passengers rose early to bugle calls, took coffee or chocolate, exercised in marble baths, and proceeded to breakfast. Morning activities included strolling on deck, playing games, and enjoying refreshments. After lunch, passengers rested on lounge chairs until tea time at five o'clock. Dinner, announced by bugle calls at seven, consisted of nine elaborate courses.
The ship's captain rarely emerged from his chambers. He was an imposing figure who resembled an idol in his uniform with broad gold stripes.
While the ocean heaved dangerously outside and the siren howled mournfully, passengers dined in luxury, entertained by an excellent string band. Among the distinguished guests were an ambassador, a millionaire, a famous Spanish author, and an international beauty of questionable reputation. Also present was an exquisite couple who seemed deeply in love, though only the captain knew they were hired by the steamship company to play this role.
As the gloomy and sultry depths of the inferno, as the ninth circle, was the submerged womb of the steamer, where gigantic furnaces roared... bathed in their own corrosive dirty sweat, and lurid with the purple-red reflection of flame.
In stark contrast to the luxury experienced by the passengers, deep in the ship's hold, men worked in hellish conditions, stoking enormous furnaces that powered the vessel through the treacherous waters. These laborers toiled half-naked, bathed in sweat and illuminated by the red glow of flames, while above them the wealthy passengers sipped cognac and enjoyed their privileged existence.
Arrival in Naples and disappointments
At Gibraltar, the sun finally appeared, bringing a sense of early spring. A new passenger boarded, arousing general interest—a hereditary prince of an Asian state traveling incognito. Though not handsome, with his spectacles and sparse black mustache, he was modest and inoffensive.
In the Mediterranean, winter returned with waves crested with snow-white foam. As they approached Naples, passengers crowded the decks, many donning fur-trimmed coats. The daughter of the Gentleman from San Francisco stood beside the prince, who had been introduced to her the previous evening. Though he was not handsome, she was captivated by him, her heart beating with incomprehensible rapture at his proximity.
Upon arrival in Naples, the Gentleman from San Francisco was greeted with the same pomp as other wealthy tourists. He confidently dismissed local porters and ragamuffins, choosing instead the automobile of the same hotel where the prince would likely stay.
Life in Naples quickly established a routine. Mornings began with breakfast in a gloomy dining room, followed by excursions to museums and churches. Luncheon was taken at San Martino, where the daughter once nearly became ill with joy, thinking she had spotted the prince. Afternoons included tea at the hotel, followed by elaborate dinners that were the highlight of each day.
The dinners, as usual, were the crowning event of the day. Everyone dressed as if for a wedding... so abundant were the dishes, the wines, the table-waters, sweetmeats, and fruit, that at about eleven o'clock in the evening the chambermaids would take to every room rubber hot-water bottles, to warm the stomachs of those who had dined.
However, December proved disappointing in Naples. Unprecedented rains and cold weather plagued the region, with snow in Athens and tourists fleeing the cold of Palermo. The morning sun would give way to gray skies and cold rain by midday. The city seemed dirty and narrow, the museums dull, and the stench of fish from the quay was overwhelming. The family began to quarrel in the mornings, though their daughter remained enthusiastic despite occasional headaches.
The fateful journey to Capri
Hearing that Sorrento and Capri offered better weather, blooming lemon trees, and purer morals, the family decided to visit Capri before settling in Sorrento. They planned to see Tiberius' palaces, the Blue Grotto, and listen to pipers from Abruzzi who sang praises to the Virgin during the month of the Nativity.
The day of departure proved memorable. Heavy fog concealed Vesuvius and the sea, with Capri completely invisible. The small steamer tossed violently, causing the family to lie prostrate in the saloon. The lady believed she was dying, while her daughter turned deathly pale, holding a slice of lemon between her teeth. The gentleman lay flat on his back, his face darkening and his head aching furiously after days of heavy drinking.
Rain lashed the windows as the wind howled through the masts. At each stop—Castellamare, Sorrento—the ship heaved frighteningly, with the coastal scenery appearing to swing up and down. Finally, in the twilight, the black mass of Capri loomed closer, with small red lights visible at its base. The wind grew softer and warmer as golden light from harbor lanterns stretched across the waves.
After disembarking, the family boarded the funicular railway, ascending past vineyards and orange trees. Though Capri was damp and dark that evening, it had temporarily revived for the steamer's arrival. At the top of the ascent, a crowd awaited to receive the luggage of the Gentleman from San Francisco, who was immediately distinguished from the other arrivals—some disheveled Russians and economical German youths in Tirolese costumes.
Upon reaching the hotel, the Gentleman from San Francisco was startled to recognize the proprietor as someone he had seen in a dream the previous night. Though momentarily unsettled, he quickly dismissed this coincidence, mentioning it jestingly to his wife and daughter as they walked along the corridor.
Death in a foreign land
The family was assigned the suite recently vacated by a high personage, Reuss XVII, who had spent three weeks on Capri. They were provided with the most beautiful chambermaid, a distinguished-looking footman, and the smartest waiter, Luigi, a tremendous buffoon who had seen much of life.
The maître d'hôtel soon arrived to inquire about dinner arrangements, informing them that Mediterranean lobsters and pheasants were available. He also mentioned that Carmela and Giuseppe, famous throughout Italy, would perform the tarantella that evening. The Gentleman from San Francisco, still feeling the effects of seasickness, looked forward to his meal with anticipation.
After the maître d'hôtel departed, the Gentleman from San Francisco began his elaborate preparations for dinner. He shaved, washed, and arranged his artificial teeth before dressing in his formal attire. Despite the floor still seeming to rock beneath him, he persisted in his toilette, struggling particularly with his collar stud. Finally dressed, he examined himself in the mirror, muttering, "It is awful..." without elaborating on what troubled him.
When the dinner gong sounded, he checked on his wife and daughter, who needed a few more minutes to prepare. He then proceeded downstairs, looking for the reading room. On his way, he passed servants who pressed against the wall as he walked by, not acknowledging them. After purchasing a large Manila cigar, he passed through the winter terrace and entered the reading room, where a disheveled German was rustling newspapers.
Taking a seat in a leather armchair, the Gentleman from San Francisco put on his pince-nez and began reading a newspaper. Suddenly, the lines before him blazed up in a glassy sheen, his neck swelled, his eyes bulged, and his pince-nez fell off. He lunged forward, struggling to breathe, and collapsed to the floor, fighting desperately against an invisible foe.
Had the German not been present, the incident might have been hushed up. Instead, he raised the alarm, causing panic among the diners. The proprietor rushed about, trying to assure guests it was merely a fainting spell, but no one heeded him. The Gentleman from San Francisco was carried to room No. 43, the smallest and coldest room at the end of the bottom corridor, where he continued to struggle until his daughter and wife arrived, the latter fully dressed for dinner. Shortly thereafter, he ceased moving.
The rattling ceased. And slowly, slowly under their eyes a pallor spread over the face of the deceased, his features began to grow thinner, more transparent... with a beauty which might have suited him long ago...
Within fifteen minutes, the hotel settled down, though the evening was ruined. Guests finished their dinner in silence with injured expressions. The tarantella was canceled, and most guests retreated to the bar. The Gentleman from San Francisco lay on a cheap iron bed under coarse blankets, an ice bag on his forehead, his face growing cold and his breathing ceasing. The doctor confirmed his death with a whispered "Già, è morto!"
His wife asked that the deceased be moved to his own room, but the proprietor refused, explaining coldly in French that he valued the suite highly and that news of a death there would spread throughout Capri, making it impossible to rent the rooms again.
"Oh no, madame," hastily replied the proprietor, politely, but coldly... "That is absolutely impossible." Adding by way of explanation, that he valued that suite of rooms highly, and that should he accede to madame's request...
The body's return journey
The proprietor announced that the corpse must be removed at dawn, as the police had been notified. When the wife asked about obtaining a coffin, he replied that none was available, suggesting instead that an English soda-water box might serve if the divisions were removed.
That night, the deceased remained alone in the dark room, with blue stars glancing at him through the window and a cricket chirping in the wall. In the corridor, chambermaids sat mending items when Luigi appeared with a heap of clothes. Mimicking the Gentleman's voice, he mockingly called out, "Yes, come in..." causing the chambermaids to dissolve into silent laughter.
At dawn, a long box was carried into room No. 43. Soon after, it was transported in a one-horse cab down the winding road to the sea. The driver, a weakly fellow who had gambled away his money the previous night, was cheered by this unexpected fare. The little steamer was already sounding its final hoots as the porter in the cab was overtaken by an automobile carrying the lady and her daughter, both pale with swollen eyes from a sleepless night.
Within ten minutes, the steamer departed, bearing away from Capri forever the family from San Francisco. Peace and tranquility returned to the island, which two thousand years ago had been home to the infamous Emperor Tiberius. While tourists still came to view the ruins of his stone house, on this morning they remained asleep in their hotels, including the tall old boatman Lorenzo, famous throughout Italy as a model for many paintings.
Meanwhile, two Abruzzi mountaineers descended from Anacapri, one carrying a bagpipe and the other a wooden flute. As they paused halfway down to play before a grotto containing a statue of the Mother of God, their music offered naive and joyous praises to the sun, the morning, and to Her who would intercede for all who suffer in this malicious yet lovely world.
After many humiliations and much neglect, the body of the Gentleman from San Francisco was finally loaded onto the same renowned vessel that had so recently carried him with honor to Europe. Now, however, he was hidden in the dark hold in a tar-coated coffin. As the ship passed Capri at night, its lights slowly disappeared into the darkness of the sea, while aboard the liner, dancing continued in the bright halls as usual.
And no one knew that this couple had long since grown weary of shamly tormenting themselves with their beatific love-tortures... nor did anyone know of that thing which lay deep, deep below at the very bottom of the dark hold...
For several nights, the ship continued through storms that swept the ocean. The Devil watched from Gibraltar as the vessel disappeared into the night. Though the blizzard battered the ship, it remained enduring and majestic, guided by the captain in his quarters and powered by the massive machinery below. In the luxurious middle decks, elegant crowds enjoyed music and entertainment, while the hired lovers performed their routine of feigned passion, all unaware of what lay in the darkness far below them.