“Think About It, Giacomino” (“Pensaci, Giacomino”)

Translated by Sarah Barrett

How to cite this work:

Pirandello, Luigi. “Think About It, Giacomino” (“Pensaci, Giacomino”), tr. Sarah Barrett. In Stories for a Year, eds. Lisa Sarti and Michael Subialka, Digital Edition, www.pirandellointranslation.org, 2024.

"Think About It, Giacomino!" ("Pensaci, Giacomino!") initially appeared in the daily newspaper Corriere della Sera on February 23, 1910, but it faced criticism and a negative reception from readers due to its “amoral” plot. Pirandello was even forced to issue an apology letter to the journal. Despite this setback, the story was later included in the miscellany collection titled Tercets (Terzetti), published by Treves in Milan in 1912. Subsequently, the short story was included in The Jar (La giara), the eleventh Collection of Stories for a Year, which was printed in Florence by Bemporad in 1928.

Like many stories exploring similar themes, "Think About It, Giacomino!" draws from Pirandello's personal experiences as a teacher at the Istituto Superiore di Magistero in Rome, a role he began as early as 1897. This influence is evident in the character of Professor Toti, the protagonist of the story. The narrative centers on a seventy-year-old high school teacher on the brink of retirement, who decides to marry young Maddalena, although she does not reciprocate his romantic feelings. Toti's motive is humorously altruistic, aiming to secure a better future for Maddalena by providing her with his pension despite those who question their unusual marital situation. The misfit that renders their relationship potentially comical is nevertheless counterbalanced by the sincerity of his genuine actions. But complications arise when Toti extends his generosity to Giacomino, one of his favored former students, by securing him a job at a local bank and permitting him to engage in a romantic relationship with Maddalena. Despite Toti's platonic affection for Maddalena, when she has a child with Giacomino this sparks scandal in their community. This prompts Toti to confront Giacomino, who is now engaged to another woman and wishes to sever ties with them. Unable to accept this disruption, Toti challenges Giacomino, leveraging his job and relationship as bargaining chips.

Given its present-tense narrative style and dialogic structure akin to stage dialogue, it is not surprising that Pirandello eventually adapted the story into a three-act play of the same title in 1916. Originally written in Sicilian dialect for the famous dialect actor Angelo Musco, the play premiered at the Teatro Nazionale in Rome with great success. It became part of Pirandello's venture into dialectal comedy for the stage, a phase that began in 1910 with The Vise (La morsa) and Sicilian Limes (Lumie di Sicilia), and continued with seminal works like Liolà in 1917 and Cap and Bells (Il berretto a sonagli) in 1918. These plays all feature iconic protagonists who challenge societal norms and advocate for rational existence free from prejudice. In the play adaptation of “Think About It, Giacomino!”, Professor Toti's character exhibits a more resolute nature, a stronger defiance against hypocrisy, and a deeper commitment to truth compared to the character in the short story. The play also seems to showcase the author's personal convictions more openly. The first act, for example, unfolds entirely at the school and focuses on Toti's pursuit of the janitor's pregnant daughter, involving a deceitful Jesuit priest as an additional character — an addition, relative to the short story, that highlights Pirandello's open critique of religious hypocrisy, a focus that resonates with other short stories including “In Defense of Mèola” (“Difesa del Mèola,” 1909), “The Lucky Ones” (“I fortunati,” 1911), and “Faith” (“La fede,” 1922).

The story thus found its long-lasting future through this dramatic form, as the play was later "translated" from dialect into Italian and presented to prominent Italian theater directors, eventually debuting in 1920 in an Italian-language production by Ugo Piperno. Subsequent revisions removed Sicilian influences, and definitive recognition came with Sergio Tofano's adaptation in 1932, followed by a film version directed by Gennaro Righelli in 1936, starring Angelo Musco.

The Editors

For three days, Professor Agostino Toti has been without that peace, that happiness in his house that by now he believes is his right.

He is about seventy years old, and one could not even call him a handsome old man. He is tiny, with a big bald head and no neck, his torso out of proportion with his two little bird legs... Yes, yes, of course Professor Toti knows this very well, and has absolutely no illusions; because of this, his pretty little wife Maddalena, who is not yet twenty-six years old, can love him for himself.

It is true that he took her into his home as an impoverished girl and raised her up, the daughter of the school’s caretaker. She has become the wife of this tenured professor of natural sciences, who within a few months will be entitled to the maximum pension.[1] Not only that, but he is also rich since inheriting an unexpected fortune two years ago, just like manna from heaven. The inheritance, of nearly two hundred thousand lire, came from a brother who long ago emigrated to Romania, and had then died a bachelor in that country.

It is not because of all this, however, that Professor Toti feels he is entitled to peace and laughter. He is philosophical: he knows that wealth alone is not enough to satisfy a young and beautiful wife.

If the inheritance had come before his marriage, perhaps he could have asked a little patience of Maddalena, so that she could be content in the knowledge that upon his death—which might not be too far in the future—she would be amply rewarded for her sacrifice in marrying an old man. But alas! Those two hundred thousand lire came too late, two years after the marriage, when ... when Professor Toti had already recognized in his philosophical way that the modest pension that he would be able to leave his wife was not enough to compensate her for her sacrifice.

Having accepted the situation, Professor Toti thinks he has reason to claim peace and happiness now, as never before, with the addition of this considerable inheritance. Even more so because he—a truly wise and respectable man—has not contented himself with benefiting his wife in financial terms but has also thought to provide benefit to … yes, to him, his good boy Giacomino, among the best students at his school, a shy, honest, careful young man, blond, handsome, and with the curly hair of an angel.

Yes indeed—he, the elderly Professor Agostino Toti, has done everything, he has thought of everything. Giacomino Delisi was out of work, and such idleness pained and humiliated the young man. Well, he, Professor Toti, had found him a job at the Banca Agricola,[2] where he had deposited his two hundred thousand lire inheritance.

There is now also a child at home—a little angel two and a half years old, to whom Toti has dedicated himself entirely, like a lovesick slave. Every day he can hardly wait until he has finished teaching at the school and can hasten home, to indulge all the whims of his tiny tyrant. In truth, after his inheritance, he could have retired, giving up the larger part of his pension and dedicating all his time to the child. But no! This would be wrong! He wants to carry his cross, which has always been so heavy, to the end! He has taken a wife for exactly this reason, so that he could hand over to someone else the benefit of an activity which has been a torment to him all his life!

Since he married with this single motive of benefiting an impoverished young woman, his love for her was almost strictly paternal. And he had started loving her more than ever in this fatherly way since the child had been born—a child who he would have preferred to call him ‘Grandfather’ rather than ‘Papa’. This innocent lie from the pure lips of the unknowing child causes him pain: it seems that even his love for the child is besmirched by it. But what can be done? He must accept with a kiss Ninì’s name for him—that ‘Papa’ which makes wicked-minded people snigger. They do not understand the tenderness of his feelings for the innocent child, his own happiness at the good things he has done for a woman, a decent young man, a little boy, and also for himself—of course!—also for himself. He has given himself the happiness of living out his final days in sweet and delightful company, walking along the gully like so, holding the hand of a little angel.

Let them laugh at him, let them laugh, all those wicked-minded people! Such easy, foolish laughter! Because they don’t understand ... because they cannot imagine themselves in his position. They notice only the comic—or rather the grotesque—in his situation, and they know nothing about his feelings!... [3] Well, what does it matter to him? He is happy.

Except ... for three days now ...

What can have happened? His wife’s eyes are swollen and red from weeping; she blames a bad headache; she will not come out of her room.

“Ah, the young! ... the young! ...” sighs Professor Toti, shaking his head, a sad, knowing little laugh in his eyes and on his lips. “Some cloud ... some storm in a teacup ...”

And he paces around the house with Ninì, upset, anxious, and even a little irritated, for ... well, really, he doesn’t deserve this from his wife and Giacomino. The young people are heedless of time passing: they have so much of it still in front of them. But for a poor old man, to lose even a day is a serious matter! And now it has been three days that his wife has left him like this in the house, buzzing about like a headless fly. She no longer delights him with the little songs and ariettas sung in her clear, expressive voice, nor does she lavish on him that care to which he has now become accustomed.

Even Ninì has become very solemn, as though he understands that his mother is no longer able to care for him. The professor leads the child from one room to another, and he hardly has to bend down to give him his hand, they are so similar in size; he carries him to the pianoforte, touches a key here and there, gives a little snort, followed by a yawn. Then he sits, plays at galloping Ninì on his knees, and then gets up again, feeling that he is caught among thorns. He has tried five or six times to persuade his young wife to talk to him.

“Ill, eh? Do you feel really ill?”

Little Maddalena continues to refuse to say a word to him. Weeping, she begs him to pull down the blinds on the balcony and to take Ninì away. She wants to stay alone in the darkness.

“It’s your head, is it?”

Poor girl, her head is hurting so badly. My goodness, the quarrel must have been serious.

Professor Toti goes to the kitchen to try talking to the serving girl, and thus obtaining some news of her mistress. But he ends up going round in circles, for he knows that the girl doesn’t like him; the ugly idiot speaks ill of him outside the house, like all the others, and holds him up to ridicule. He fails to discover anything from her either.

It is then that Professor Toti makes a heroic resolution: he brings Ninì to his mother and asks her to dress him properly.

“Why?” she asks.

“I shall take him for a little walk,” he replies. “Today is a holiday ... he’s getting bored here, poor boy!”

His mother is not happy about it. She knows that the common people laugh when they see the old professor holding the child by the hand; she knows that some insolent layabout will eventually say to him, “Your son looks so much like you, Professor!”

But Professor Toti insists.

“No, a little walk, a little walk...”

And he goes with the child to Giacomino Delisi’s house. The latter lives with an unmarried sister who has been a mother to him. At first, ignorant of the circumstances of Professor Toti’s generosity, Signorina Agata was very grateful to him. Now, however—as a deeply religious woman—she sees him as no more and no less than a devil who has led her Giacomino into mortal sin.

Professor Toti has to wait a good while with the little boy in front of the door, after having rung the bell. Signorina Agata came to look through the spyhole and then disappeared. Doubtless she has gone to warn her brother about the visitors, and now she will return to tell him that Giacomino is not at home.

There she is, dressed in black, pale as death, with reddened eyes, stiff, severe. As soon as she opens the door, trembling all over, she upbraids the professor.

“What? ... Excuse me ... now you even come to his house? ... And what is this I see—the child too? You have brought the child too?”

Professor Toti does not expect a welcome of this sort. He is stunned; he looks at Signorina Agata, he looks at the little boy, he smiles and stutters:

“B-but ... why? ... What is wrong? ... Can I not ... not ... come and ...?”

“He’s not here!” she answers hurriedly, in a dry, hard tone. “Giacomino is not here.”

“Very well,” said Professor Toti, inclining his head. “But you, Signorina ... pardon me, but... you treat me in a manner which ... I don’t know what to say! I do not believe I have done anything, to your brother or to you ...”

“Listen, Professor,” Signorina Agata interrupts him, her manner slightly softer. “We ... please believe that we are very grateful; but even you should understand ...”

Professor Toti half-closes his eyes, begins once more to smile; he lifts a hand and then taps himself several times on the chest with the tips of his fingers, to let her know that, when it comes to understanding, she can rely on him.

“I am old, Signorina Agata,” he says, “and I understand ... I understand many things! And above all, I understand this: that it is necessary to allow certain types of madness to evaporate, and that when misunderstandings arise, the best thing is to explain ... to explain, Signorina, to explain frankly, without subterfuge or anger. Do you not agree?”

“Of course, yes …” Signorina Agata admits, or at least in the abstract.

“So,” continues Professor Toti, “let me come in, and call Giacomino for me.”

“What if he isn’t here?”

“Do you understand? No. You should not tell me that he is not here. Giacomino is at home, and you must call him. We will clarify the situation calmly ... calmly, I say! I am old, and I understand everything, for I too have been young, Signorina Agata. Calmly, I tell you. Let me enter.”

Ushered into the modest drawing room, Professor Toti seats himself, with Ninì between his knees, resigning himself to waiting there some time while the sister persuades Giacomino to appear.

“No, Ninì—come here! ... Good boy!” he says at intervals to the child, who would like to go to a little table on which some porcelain trinkets sparkle. Meanwhile his mind is lost in wondering what on earth could have happened in his own house that was so serious, but that he had not noticed at all. Maddalenina is such a good young woman! What can she have done wrong to provoke such strong and bitter resentment, even here, from Giacomino’s sister?

Professor Toti, who has up to now believed it to be a passing tiff, begins to worry and to fear the worst.

Oh, here is Giacomino at last! Heavens, his expression has changed so much! He seems so upset! And why? Ah, surely not ... He looks coldly at the little boy, who runs towards him with his little hands outstretched, shouting:

“Giamì! Giamì!”

“Giacomino!” Professor Toti says, in wounded reproof.

“What do you want to say to me, Professor?” Giacomino mutters quickly, avoiding the other’s gaze. “I am ill ... I was in bed ... I am not well enough to talk, I can’t even bear to see anyone ...”

“But the child?!”

“Here,” says Giacomino; and he bends down to kiss Ninì.

“Are you ill?” Professor Toti addresses him again, somewhat consoled by that kiss. “That is what I thought. And that is why I came. Your head, eh? Sit down, sit down ... Let’s talk about it. Here, Ninì... Giamì has hurt himself, do you understand? That’s right, darling, he’s hurt himself ... here, poor Giamì. Be good; we’ll go home now. I wanted to ask you,” he adds, turning once more to Giacomino, “whether the director of the Agricultural Bank has said anything to you.”

“No, why?” says Giacomino, becoming even more uncomfortable.

“Because yesterday I talked to him about you,” replies Professor Toti with a mysterious little smile. “Your salary is not very large, my son. And you know that a word from me..."

Giacomino twists in his chair, and clenches his fists so tightly that his nails embed themselves in his palms.

“Professor, I am grateful to you,” he says, “but please do me the favor, the kindness, of no longer disturbing yourself on my account!”

“Is that what you want?” Professor Toti responds, with that little smile still on his lips. “Well done! We no longer need anyone, is that it? But what if it pleased me to do something? My dear young man, if I no longer need to look after you, who would you suggest I look after? I am old, Giacomino! And for the old—unless they are egotistical—for the old, who have made such efforts, as I have, to get somewhere in life, it is a pleasure to see young people, as deserving as you, make their way in life through their own efforts; and we old people rejoice in their happiness, in their hopes, in the position they are gradually establishing for themselves in society. So I feel for you ... well, you know this ... I consider you as a son ... What is it? Are you weeping?”

In fact, Giacomino has hidden his face in his hands, and is sobbing as if trying to hold back an outburst of grief. Ninì stares at him in shock, then, turning back to the professor, he says:

“Giamì, bua...”

The professor stands up and makes as if to place a hand on Giacomino’s shoulder; but the latter leaps to his feet, almost as though disgusted, his face contorted as if by a sudden proud resolve, and he shouts in exasperation:

“Don’t come near me! Professor, go away, I beg you, go away! You are making me suffer the agony of hell! I do not deserve this affection that you show me, and I do not want it, I do not want it ... For God’s sake, go, take the child with you, and forget that I exist!”

Professor Toti is dumbfounded; he asks:

“But why?”

“I’ll tell you, then!” replies Giacomino. “I am engaged to be married, Professor! Do you understand? I am engaged to be married!”

Professor Toti sways as if he has been struck on the head; lifting his hands, he stammers:

“You? En ... engaged to be married?”

“Yes indeed,” says Giacomino. “And so, it is all over ... it is over forever! You will understand that I can no longer ... see her here ...”

“Are you chasing me away?” Professor Toti asks, his voice barely audible.

“No!” Giacomino hastens to reply sadly. “But it is best if you ... if you go away, Professor ..."

Go away? The professor collapses onto the chair. His legs feel as if they have given way beneath him. He puts his head between his hands and groans:

“Oh God! Oh, what a disaster! Oh, poor me, poor me! But when was this? How did this happen? And you said nothing? To whom are you engaged?”

“It happened here, Professor... a little while ago ...” says Giacomino, “with a poor orphan, like me ... a friend of my sister ...”

Professor Toti looks at him with an exhausted gaze, gaping, and can hardly find his voice:

“So … so … so everything is going to be forgotten ... just like that ... it is no longer to be thought about ... nothing ... nothing will matter anymore ...”

With these words, Giacomino feels the accusation of ungratefulness thrown back in his face, and he rebels, his face clouded with anger:

“Excuse me! Did you want me for a slave?”

“I ... a slave?” Professor Toti interrupts now, his voice breaking. “I? How can you say that? I, who have made you the master of my house? Ah, that—that is real ingratitude. Has it perhaps benefited me to do good to you? What have I gained from it, except for the scorn of all the stupid people who cannot understand the emotions I feel? Well, you don’t understand, even you did not understand, the feelings of a poor old man, near the end of his life, who was content and at ease to leave everything as it was, a little family in comfortable conditions ... Happy? I’m seventy years old: I could die tomorrow, Giacomino! You must have taken leave of your senses, my son. I am leaving you everything, here ... What are you searching for? I still don’t know, I don’t want to know who your fiancée is. If you chose her yourself, she is probably an honest young woman, for you are a good man. But think ... just think ... it is impossible that you could have made a better choice, Giacomino, from every point of view ... I’m not just talking about the comfortable life you are certain to enjoy. You already have your little family, with no one else in it except for me—and I will not be there for long. I am of no significance ... what difficulty do I present for you? I am like your father ... I can even, if you wish ... for your peace of mind ... But tell me how it came about? What happened? How did you get your head turned so suddenly? Tell me! Tell me ...”

And Professor Toti goes up to Giacomino as if to take his arm and shake him; but Giacomino withdraws into himself, almost shuddering, and protects himself.

“Professor!” he shouts. “How can you not understand, how do you not realize that all of your generosity ...”

“Well?”

“Leave me alone! Don’t make me say it! How do you not understand that some things can only be arranged in secret, and are impossible to do openly, when you are aware, when all the neighbors are laughing?”[4]

“So it’s the neighbors?” exclaims the professor. “And you ..."

“Leave me alone!” Giacomino repeats, in a crescendo of anger, shaking his fists in the air. “Look! There are plenty of other young men who need help, Professor!”

Toti is wounded to his very soul by these remarks, which are horribly and unjustly offensive to his wife. He grows pale and livid with rage. Shaking, he says:

“Maddalenina is young, but God knows she is honest! You know that! Maddalenina could die because of this ... your wickedness has wounded her here, in her heart ... where else do you think that she feels it? Here, here, you ungrateful wretch! And to make matters worse, you insult her? Do you feel no shame? Do you show no remorse in my presence? Can you tell me that to my face? You? Do you think that she can jump from one to another, just like that, as if it were nothing? The mother of this little boy? What are you saying? How can you speak in this way?”

Giacomino stares at him, thunderstruck, astonished.

“Me?” he says. “But, Professor, it is you, excuse me, how can you speak in this way? Are you being serious?”

Professor Toti claps both hands to his mouth, squeezes shut his eyes, shakes his head violently, and lets out a desperate cry. Then Ninì too begins to weep. The professor hears him, and runs to embrace him.

“Ah, my poor Ninì ... what a calamity, what ruination! And what will become of your mama now? And of you, my Ninì, with a little mother like yours, with no experience or guidance ... Ah, what misery!”

He raises his head, and, fixing his tearful gaze on Giacomino:

“I weep,” he says, “because I am the one who feels remorse. I protected you, I welcomed you into my home, I always spoke so well of you to her, I ... I took away any anxiety she might have about loving you ... and now, when she really loves you ... the mother of this little boy ... you...”

He suddenly stops, then, proud, resolute, feverish:

“Take care, Giacomino!” he says. “I am quite capable of presenting myself, holding this little boy by the hand, at the house of your fiancée!”

“But Professor, Professor, do you really want to subject yourself to ridicule?”

“Ridicule?”[5] shouts the professor. “What do you think that matters to me, compared to the ruin of a poor woman, your own ruin, the ruin of an innocent creature? Come, come, Ninì, it’s time to go. Let us go.”

Giacomino bars their way:

“Professor, you will not do this!”

“I will do it!” shouts Professor Toti, his face grim. “And in order to stop you marrying, I’m also capable of getting you dismissed from the Bank. I will give you three days.”

And, turning on the doorstep, holding the little boy’s hand:

“Think about it, Giacomino! Think about it!”