Giovanna reddened angrily, and wrung her hands,exclaiming in a high-pitched voice: "Well, anyhow, I shall certainly speak to him about that to-night, the nasty beast; I am going to tell him that at least he might pay for the rags I have on my back. Pay for them! Pay for them! May you be shot!"
"Don't speak so loud; don't get so excited, my soul. There is no use, I tell you, in losing your temper. What good will getting angry do you? Suppose he were to turn you out."
"Well, he may if he wants to; it would be better if he did. At least, I could work for myself then, instead of slaving for those accursed people. Ah, there she is, coming back," she added in a lower tone as the black-robed figure of Aunt Martina appeared in the open glare of the common. "Now, I'll get a scolding for leaving the house empty; she's afraid some one will steal her money. She has heaps of it, and she doesn't even know about it; she can't tell one note from another, nor the coins either. She has ten thousand lire,—yes, a thousand scudi——"
"No, my soul, two thousand."
"Well, two thousand, hidden away. And I am not allowed a drop of anything to refresh me, or to slake this burning thirst inside me!"
"It will all be yours," said Aunt Bachissia, "if you will only be patient and bide your time. When the angels come some day and carry her off to Paradise, it will all belong to you."
Giovanna cleared her throat, and rubbed it withone hand; then she resumed hotly: "They may drive me out if they want to, it makes no difference to me. Listen: the communal clerk says I am Brontu's wife, but it seems to me as though I were just living with him in mortal sin. Do you remember what sort of a marriage it was? Done secretly, in the dark almost; without as much as a dog present; no confections—nothing. And then Giacobbe Dejas—choke him!—laughing and yelling out: 'Here he comes, the beauty!' and then the 'beauty' came."
"Now you listen to me," said Aunt Bachissia in a low penetrating voice. "You are simply a fool. Upon my word, you always were, and you always will be. Why do you give up so? and for such trifles too? I tell you every poor daughter-in-law has got to live just as you are living. Your harvest-time will come; only be patient and obedient, and you will see it will all come out right. Moreover, just as soon as the baby is born I believe you will find that things are very different."
"No, nothing will be different. And then—if there were no children—they will only chain me faster to that stone that is dragging me down and trampling on me. Would you like to know something? Well, my real husband is Costantino Ledda, and——"
"And I'll stop your mouth! You are beside yourself, my soul; be quiet!"
"—and if he comes back," Giovanna went on,"I'll not be able to return to him on account of having children."
"I will stop your mouth," repeated Aunt Bachissia, trembling and rising to her feet with a movement as though she were about to put her threat into execution. There was no need, however, for Giovanna saw her mother-in-law coming across the common and broke off.
Aunt Martina, spinning as she walked, slowly approached the two women. "Taking the air?" she enquired, without raising her eyes from the whirling spindle.
"Fine air! The heat is suffocating. Ah, to-night we may get some rain," replied Aunt Bachissia.
"It undoubtedly is going to rain; let us hope there will be no thunder, I am so afraid of thunder. The devil empties out his bag of nuts then. I hope and trust Brontu will be in before evening. What shall we have for supper, Giovanna?"
"Whatever you like."
"Are you going to stay out here? Don't run any risks; it might be bad for you."
"What will be bad for me?"
"Why, the evening air; it is always a little damp. It is safer to stay inside; and you might be getting supper ready. There are some eggs, my daughter; eggs and tomatoes; prepare them for yourself and your husband; I am not hungry. Really, do you know," she continued, turning to Aunt Bachissia:"I have no appetite at all these days. Perhaps it is the weather."
"Perhaps it is the devil perched on your croup, and your own stinginess!" thought the other. Giovanna neither spoke nor moved; she seemed completely immersed in her own dismal thoughts.
"The 'panegyric' is to be at eleven to-morrow, such an inconvenient hour! Shall you go, Giovanna? It has always been at ten o'clock in other years."
"No; I shall not go," replied Giovanna in a dull tone. She was ashamed now to be seen in church.
"Yes, at that time it is apt to be warm; it is just as well that you should not go. But it seems to be raining," she added, holding out her hand. A big drop fell and spread among the hairs on its back. Tic, tic, tic,—other great drops came splashing down, on the motionless almond-tree, and on the ground, boring little holes in the sand of the common. At the same time the sky appeared to be lightening; there was a vivid gleam, and a great, yellow cloud, with markings of a darker shade, sailed slowly across the bronze background of the sky.
The women took refuge in their houses, and immediately afterwards the rain began to fall in earnest; a heavy, steady downpour, with neither wind nor thunder, but almost frightening in its violence. In ten minutes it was all over, but enough had fallen to soak the ground.
"God! Oh, God! Oh, San Costantino! Oh, Holy Assumption!" moaned Aunt Martina. "If Brontu is out in this he'll be like a drowned chicken," and she studied the heavens anxiously, though never for a moment ceasing to spin, while Giovanna began to prepare the supper. Listening to the clatter of the rain, she, too, felt a vague uneasiness; not, indeed, on her husband's account, but in dread of some unknown, indefinable evil.
All at once the yellow light that had accompanied the downpour melted in the west into a clear, pale blue sky; the rain stopped suddenly, the clouds opened and parted, skurrying off,—under one another, on top of one another—like a great crowd of people dispersing after a reunion. The light was sea-green; the air was fresh and reviving, filled with the odour of damp earth and of dried grass that has had a thorough soaking, and with the sound of shrill, foolish crowings of roosters mistaking this pale, clear twilight for the dawn. Then,—silence. Aunt Martina's black figure, eternally spinning on the portico, made a dark splotch against the green sky. Giovanna was lighting the fire, bending over the hearth, when a long, tremulous neigh broke on her ears; the tremor in the sound seemed to communicate itself to her, and she straightened herself up, trembling as well, and looked out. Brontu was arriving, and she was frightened—what about——? About everything and nothing at all.
A tiny gleam flashed out from Aunt Bachissia's cottage; by its light the old woman was endeavouring, with the aid of a rough broom, to sweep out the water that had poured over her threshold. The sky, beyond the yellow fields, looked like a stretch of still, green water; and in the foreground the almond-tree, glossy and dripping, dominated everything around it. Beneath the almond-tree, in the last gleam of daylight, Brontu appeared on horse-back; horse and rider alike black and steaming, and lagging along as though sodden and weighted by the deluge that had poured over them.
The two women came running out to meet him, uttering many expressions of horror, possibly a trifle exaggerated in tone, but he paid no attention to them.
"The devil! the devil! the devil!" he muttered, drawing his feet heavily out of the stirrups, and lifting first one and then the other. "Go to the devil who sent you!—My shoes are water-logged! Why don't you get to work?" he added crossly, marching off to the kitchen.
The two women began at once to unload the horse, and when Giovanna followed him a little later, he at once demanded something to drink, "to dry him." "Change your clothes," she told him.
But no, he did not want to change his clothes; he only wanted something to drink,—"to dry him"—he repeated, and grew angry when Giovanna would not get it for him. He ended, however, bydoing precisely as she said,—changed his clothes, took nothing to drink, and, while waiting for supper, sat carefully rubbing his wet hair on a towel, and combing it out.
"What a deluge! what a deluge!" he said. "A regular sea pouring straight out of heaven. Ah, I got my crust well softened this time!" He gave a little laugh. "How are you, Giovanna? All right, eh? Giacobbe Dejas sent all kinds of messages. You act like smoke in his eyes."
"You ought to stop his tongue," said Aunt Martina. "He's only a dirty serving-man; if you didn't let him take such liberties he would respect you more."
"I stopped more than his tongue; he wanted me to let him come in to-night. 'No,' I said; 'you'll stay where you are, and split.' He's coming in to-morrow, though."
"To-morrow? and why to-morrow? Ah, my son, you let yourself be robbed quite openly; you don't amount to anything!"
"Well, after all, to-morrow is the Assumption," said he, raising his voice, and putting the finishing touches to his hairdressing. "And Giacobbe is a relation, so let it rest. There, Giovanna, see how handsome I am!" He smiled at her, showing his splendid teeth.
He did, in truth, look so handsome, and clean, and radiant, with his shining locks and fresh colour, that Giovanna felt a momentary softening. Presentlyhe began to hum a foolish little song that children sing when it rains:
"'Rain! rain! rainRipe grapes, and figs——'"
And so, they all sat down to the evening meal in high good humour and contentment. Aunt Martina, excusing herself on the plea of having no appetite, ate nothing but bread, onions, and cheese; articles of diet, however, of which she happened to be particularly fond,—but this in no wise interfered with the general harmony of the supper. After they had finished Brontu asked Giovanna to go out with him for a little walk; just to ramble about with no particular object, among the paths and deserted lanes of the village.
The sky had completely cleared, a few flickering stars glimmered faintly from out its pellucid depths; and the air was full of the odour of dead grass and wet stones. Quantities of sand and mud had been washed over the paths, but Giovanna wore her skirts very short, and such heavily nailed shoes that they struck against the stones with a sound like metal. Brontu took hold of her arm and began to invent wonderful pieces of news, as his custom was when he wanted to interest her.
"Zanchine," said he, naming one of the men, "has found something. What do you suppose it is? A baby."
"When?"
"Why, to-day, I think. Zanchine was digging up a lentisk when he heard a 'wow, wow'; he looked, and there was a baby, only a few days old. Well, that wasn't so wonderful; but now comes the queer part. A little cloud suddenly came flying through the air, and swooped down on Zanchine and seized the baby. It was an eagle who had evidently stolen the baby somewhere and hidden it among the bushes, and when he saw Zanchine looking at it, he shot down and——"
"Get out!" said Giovanna. "I don't believe a single word you say."
"Make me rich, if it's not true."
"Get out, get out!" said Giovanna again impatiently, and Brontu, seeing that instead of being amused, she was out of humour, asked her if she had had a bad dream. She remembered the one she had told her mother of, and made no reply.
In this way they came to the other side of the village; that is, to the part where Isidoro Pane lived. A spectacle of indescribable loveliness lay spread before them. The moon, like a great golden face, gazed down from the silver-blue west; and the black earth, the wet trees, the slate-stone houses, the clumps of bushes, and the wild stretch of upland—everything, as far as the eye could reach, to the very utmost confines of the horizon, seemed bathed in a tender, half-tearful smile. The two young people passed close by the fisherman's hut; they could hear him singing. Brontu stopped.
"Come on," said Giovanna, dragging him by the arm.
"Wait a moment; I want to knock on the thing he calls his door."
"No," she said, trembling. "Come away, come on, I tell you; if you don't come, I'll leave you by yourself."
"Oh! yes, that's true; you and he have had a quarrel; I haven't, though; I'm going to knock on his door."
"I'm going on, then."
"He was singing the lauds of San Costantino," said Brontu, as he rejoined her a few moments later. "The one the saint gave him on the river-bank that time. That old man is stark mad."
On the following morning at about eleven o'clock, the religious services began in the church. They were set for this late hour so as to allow for the arrival of a young priest from Nuoro, a friend of Priest Elias's, who was to give a "panegyric" gratis to the people of Orlei. This panegyric was a great event, and in consequence, by ten o'clock the church overflowed with a gaily dressed throng of persons.
The building itself was painted in the most vivid colours—pink walls relieved by stripes of bright blue; a yellow wooden pulpit; and rows of lusty saints with red cheeks and blond hair, simpering from their pink niches like so many Teutonic worthies. San Costantino, however, the Patron Saint, was clad in armour, and his face looked dark and stern. This ancient statue was believed to perform miracles, and, according to local tradition, had been carved by San Nicodemus himself.
Through the wide-open door came a flood of sunshine, which, pouring over the congregation, enveloped them in a cloud of golden dust. At the other end of the church, where the altar stood, it seemed quite dark, notwithstanding the large M oflighted tapers, looking, with their motionless flames, like so many arrowheads stuck on shafts of white wood.
Priest Elias was celebrating Mass; and close by stood his friend, wearing a lace alb, and with a small, dark face like that of a shrewd child; he was singing away at the top of his voice, and all wondered to hear the little priest sing so loud, knowing that he was to preach as well. Most of the people had, indeed, come expressly to hear this sermon, and were paying scant attention to the Mass, being taken up with whispering and staring about them. True, the heat was suffocating, and clouds of insects made devotion difficult, even for the most pious. At last Priest Elias, having finished chanting the gospel, turned his pale, ascetic face towards the people, and his lips were seen to move. Just then the figure of Giacobbe Dejas appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the vivid, blue background of the sky. His usual mocking expression was changed to one of self-satisfaction. Aware that the priest was speaking, he paused on the threshold to listen, holding his long black cap in his hand; then, finding that he could distinguish nothing, he stepped inside and whispered to an old man with a long yellow beard, who stood near the door, to know what had been said.
"I don't know; I couldn't hear him; they make as much racket as if they were out in the square," said the old man querulously.
A tall, fresh-complexioned youth, with black hair and an aquiline nose, turned and stared at Giacobbe. Noting his unusual cleanliness, his new clothes, and general air of complacency, he grinned ill-naturedly.
"I think," said he, "that Priest Elias said the other priest was going to begin the panegyric now."
"Did you hear him say it?" asked the old man crossly.
"I didn't hear him say anything at all," replied the youth.
Giacobbe worked his way towards the front of the church, pushing in and out among the men, who turned to look at him as he pressed against them. Suddenly a silence fell on the crowd. The men all drew back against the walls, and the women sat down on the floor. In the centre of the church, where a stream of sunshine fell, was a sort of wooden bedstead, painted blue, and watched over by four little pink-cheeked cherubs, whose green, outstretched wings gave them the appearance of four emerald butterflies. On the bed, reposing with closed eyes upon brocade cushions, was a tiny Madonna. She was dressed entirely in white, with rings, necklaces, and earrings of gold—it was the Assumption. The dark, shrewd face of the little priest now appeared above the edge of the pulpit. Giacobbe regarded him fixedly for a moment, and then turned his right ear towards him so as to hear better.
"People of Orlei, brothers, sisters——" said the priest in a clear, childish treble—"asked to preachyou a little sermon on this solemn day——" Giacobbe liked the opening, but finding that he could hear very well without paying strict attention, he turned and began to observe the people, talking all the while to himself, though without losing any of the discourse.
"There's Isidoro Pane, the devil take him! if he hasn't got on new clothes too; I wonder if he is also thinking of getting married. Eh, eh! That fresh-looking fellow down there by the door was laughing at me; he saw how happy and prosperous I looked, and thought of course that I must be going to get married. Well, and what if I am? Is it any business of yours, you puppy? Can't I get married if I want to? I have a house of my own, and cattle too.[6]
"Eh, eh! my sister will die without heirs—God bless her!—there she is, looking like a pink, shiny, little wax doll. Who would ever suppose that she is older than I? She wants me to get a wife. Well, I am perfectly willing, but whom shall I get? I am not so easy to please, and then I'm afraid—I'm afraid—I'm afraid. With this new law—the devil roast all the lawyers—who in the world is one ever to trust? There's that precious young master of mine; there he is at this very minute, with thestamp of mortal sin on him. What is he doing here? Why don't they horsewhip him? Why don't they drive him out like a dog? And his old bird-of-prey mother too? The old jade, there she is! Why don't they drive both of them out?" "Ah," he thought presently, "that is true, though; if they turned every one out who did wrong, the church would soon be empty. But those two people, I hate them; I'd like to flog them till the blood came. I'm not bad, though; didn't I stay up at the folds only to-day, working to repair the damage made by yesterday's storm? Then, when I came down, there was Giovanna getting dinner all by herself. She was dirty, and ill, and unhappy. No holiday for her! The mother and son go off together, and she, the maid-servant, stays at home and does the work. Well, it serves her right—a bad woman! And yet, I do feel sorry for her sometimes. There, God help me, I do feel sorry for her. When I said something ugly to her just now, she never answered a word. After all, when you come to think of it, she's the mistress, and I'm the servant. But is it my fault if I can't help pitching into you sometimes, little spring bird? I can't bear the sight of you, and all the same I'm sorry for you, and that's the way it is. Now, we must listen to what the priest has to tell us. He's just like a sparrow; that's it, a sparrow singing in its nest."
"Brothers, sisters, beloved——" cried the little preacher in the soft Loguedorese dialect, whichsounds almost like Spanish, and waving his small white hands in the air—"the faith of Our Lady is the most ideal, the most sublime of all faiths. She, the gentle woman, daughter, wife, and Mother of Our Lord, mounted to heaven all radiant and fragrant as a chaplet of roses, and took her seat in glory amongst the angels and seraphim——"
"There's Priest Elias," thought Giacobbe, turning his little squint-eyes, which shone like metal in the bright light, towards the altar. "Yes, with his hands folded together, a boiled-milk priest, who can't preach anything except goodness and forgiveness, and all the time he has the Holy Books, and could strike right and left among the people if he chose to. Ah, if he had only threatened Giovanna Era——! He always looks as if he were in a dream, anyhow."
"No one," continued the little preacher, standing erect in the yellow pulpit, "no one has ever been able to say that he failed to get anything he asked in true faith from Our Most Holy Lady. She, the Lily of the Valley, the Mystical Rose of Jericho——"
But the audience was growing weary. The women, seated on the floor like beds of ranunculuses and poppies, were beginning to stir uneasily, and had ceased to listen. The young priest understood, and brought his discourse to a close, with a general benediction, which included the entire gathering of persons who, while ostensibly listening to the wordof God, were, for the most part, wholly taken up with their own and their neighbours' affairs.
Priest Elias, arousing from his dream, resumed the celebration of the Mass. He alone, with possibly Isidoro Pane, had listened to the sermon, and the latter, so soon as the Mass was concluded, began to sing the lauds, his clear, sweet voice flowing out like a stream of limpid water rippling among rocks and flowering moss.
The young stranger listened with ecstasy to those liquid tones; the old fisherman's venerable figure, his long, flowing beard, and gentle eyes, and the bone rosary clasped between his knotted fingers, recalling certain pilgrims he had seen in Rome.
He wanted to meet the old man, and Priest Elias, accordingly, stopped him at the church door. Giacobbe, who was watching, was almost consumed with envy at the sight of the fisherman standing in friendly conversation with the two priests.
"What the thunder were they saying to you?" he demanded as the other came up.
"They wanted me to dine with them," said Isidoro, with some show of importance.
"Oh! they wanted you to dine with them, did they? So, my little spring bird, you are getting to be somebody, it seems. Well, you come along with me."
"To the Dejases'? Not I!" exclaimed Isidoro in a tone of horror.
"No, no; I'm not going to eat with those childrenof the devil to-day. I'm going home, so come along."
It was past midday as the two men set off for Aunt Anna-Rosa's house. The sun, pouring down on the narrow streets, had dried the mud, and the moisture on the trees. In all directions people could be seen dispersing to their homes, and the heavy tread of the shepherds resounded on the stone pavements. Children, dressed in their Sunday-best, peeped from over tumble-down walls, and through open doors glimpses could be caught of dark interiors, with here and there a copper saucepan shining from a wall like some huge medal suspended there. Thin curls of smoke floated up through the clear atmosphere, and the music of a mouth-organ, issuing from a usually deserted courtyard, sounded as though it were coming from the bowels of the earth, where some melancholy old Fate was solacing herself.
The entire village wore an unaccustomed air of gaiety, and yet this very festal look, the wide-open doors, the wreaths of smoke, the children, so ill at ease at their holiday attire, the sound of the mouth-organ, the bare, unshaded houses exposed to the full glare of the noontide sun—all combined to produce an effect of profound melancholy. Giacobbe led the way to his sister's house, and they all three dined together. The little woman, herself widowed and childless, adored her brother, and still referred to him as "my little brother." But thenshe loved all her kind, without distinction, and her eyes, slightly crossed, of no colour in particular, and as pure and liquid as two tiny lakes illuminated by the moon, were as innocent as the eyes of a nursing child. She knew that evil existed, but was frightened merely at the thought of men committing sin. One of the great sorrows of her life had been Giovanna's divorce and re-marriage—her own foster-child, as it were! And to think that she had actually lent them the money for the wedding outfit——!
Giacobbe dearly loved to tease her.
"Here's our friend Isidoro," he cried, as the party seated themselves at table. "He is thinking of getting married, and has come to consult you."
"Bless me, Isidoro Pane, and are you really going to be married?"
"Oh! go along, go along," said the fisherman good-humouredly.
"So you don't care about marrying?" cried Giacobbe, holding a piece of roast meat in both hands, and tearing it apart with teeth that were still sound and strong. "Well, you are a dirty beast. Do you know, sister, he has lovers, all the same."
"I don't believe that."
"It's true, though; take me to heaven if it's not. Yes, he has lovers who suck his blood."
The others laughed like two children at this humourous allusion to Isidoro's leeches. Giacobbe began to cut his meat with a sharp knife, holdingit between his teeth and left hand, and muttering that it was as tough as the devil's ear, while his sister and the guest, having once begun, were ready to laugh at everything. Giacobbe's mood, however, suddenly changed, and for some reason which he himself was at a loss to explain, his good spirits of a few hours before deserted him.
"When we have finished, I'll take you to see my 'palace,'" he said. "It will be done in a few days now, and if I wanted to I could rent it right away, but I don't want to; I intend to live in it myself."
"Then you are not going to hire out any more?"
"No, not after a little while; I have worked enough. I have been working for forty years; do you take that in? Yes, it's forty years. No one can say I stole the money I have laid away for my old age."
"And you are going to marry?"
"Poh! Who is there to marry me? I should despise any young woman who was willing to, and I won't have an old one, not I. Take something more to drink, Isidoro Pane."
"You must want to make me tipsy!—well, as it's a holiday—here's to the bride and groom!"
"What bride and groom?"
"Giacobbe Dejas and Bachissia Era!" said the fisherman, who was waxing merry.
Giacobbe made a quick movement as though to throw himself upon him.
"I'll knock out your brains!" he cried, his eyes flashing with anger.
"Ah, you murderer!" laughed the other.
"Hush, hush! One should not say such things," said Aunt Anna-Rosa.
Giacobbe drank off a couple of glasses of wine, and then laughed in rather a forced way, looking sideways at his sister and the fisherman. "See here," he said suddenly; "why don't you two get married? Isidoro Pane, my sister is rich, and you see how fresh she is, just like the hip of a wild rose. You'd think she had found some magic herb and made an ointment to preserve her skin."
"God bless you! How queer you are sometimes!" exclaimed the little woman.
"Yes; you two had better marry; I wish it. My sister is rich; all my property will go to her, because I am going to die first. Somehow, I don't quite know why, but I feel as though I were going to die soon; I feel as though I were going to be killed——"
"Oh, nonsense! If it happens to-day, it will come from drinking too much."
"Dear little brother, what on earth are you talking about? In the name of the wretched souls in purgatory, don't say such things," said his sister, greatly distressed.
"You have no enemies," said Isidoro. "And besides, only those perish by the sword who have used the sword."
"Well, I have slaughtered many and many an innocent, unoffending fellow-creature," replied Giacobbe seriously, burying his mouth in a slice of watermelon. "You don't believe me? Sheep and lambs without number!" and he lifted his face, streaming with the pink juice, and laughed.
Dinner over, the two men went off to look at the new house.
Its two stories—the ground-floor and one above it—were divided into four large bedrooms, a kitchen, and a stable; these accommodations being deemed sufficient to earn for it the title of "palace," not alone from Giacobbe, but from the entire neighbourhood as well.
"Do you see this? Have you noticed that?" Giacobbe kept calling out, drawing attention to every detail and corner of his property; his clean-shaven face, devoid even of eyebrows, growing, meanwhile, almost youthful in its enthusiasm.
"You had better marry my sister," he said presently. "This house will be hers some day."
"You are making fun of me," replied the other. "Because I am poor, you think you can laugh at me as much as you like."
The wooden floors filled the simple soul with awe, and he hardly dared to walk on them. Giacobbe, on the contrary, seemed to enjoy stamping about in his great hobnailed boots, and making as much noise as he could in the big, empty rooms, all redolent of fresh plaster.
The two men paused for a moment at an open window, whose stone sill, baked by the sun, felt hot to the touch. The house stood high, and below them, in black shadow, lay the village, looking like a heap of charcoal beneath the green veil of trees. All about stretched the yellow plain, and, beyond, the great violet-grey sphinxes reared themselves against a cloudless sky. The bell of the little church, clamouring insistently, broke in on the noontide heat and stillness, and the sound was like metal striking against stone, as though far off, in the rocky heart of those huge sphinxes, a drowsy giant were wielding his pick. "Why don't you want to marry my sister?" said Giacobbe again. "This house will belong to her, and this will be her bedroom; here at this very window you could smoke your pipe——"
"I never smoke; do let me be," said the fisherman impatiently. The other's talk began to annoy him.
"I'm not joking, you old lizard," retorted Giacobbe. "Only you are such a dull beggar that you can't even tell that I'm not."
"Listen," said Isidoro. "You have given me my dinner to-day, and so you think you have a right to make game of me. Now, I tell you this, if you want me to be grateful for it, you had better leave me alone."
Giacobbe stared at him for a moment; then he burst into a loud laugh.
"Come on," he cried; "let's have something to drink."
They went out, and Giacobbe led the way to the tavern, but the other refused to enter, saying that it was time for him to be getting back to the church.
In the tavern Giacobbe found Brontu and a number of others playingmorra, their arms flung out in tense attitudes, and all shouting the numbers at the tops of their lungs.
Before five o'clock, the hour set for the procession, they were all quite tipsy, Giacobbe more so than any one: notwithstanding which fact he insisted upon grasping his master by the arm, being firmly under the impression that without his aid, the other would not be able to walk. He then invited the whole company to adjourn to his "palace" to view the procession. A little later, accordingly, the big, empty rooms echoed to the sound of hoarse voices, bursts of aimless laughter, and uncertain footsteps. The windows were all thrown wide open, and quickly filled with wild, bearded faces.
Giacobbe and Brontu were standing at the same window where the old fisherman had been shortly before. By this time the sun had left it, but the sill was still warm, while below them and beyond, the village, and the plain, and the mountains were striped with long bars of ever lengthening shadows.
"Cu, cu!" shouted Brontu, staring out withround eyes. This was so intensely humourous that the others all began imitating him, each one making as much noise as possible. The house resounded with the uproar; a crowd gathered in the street below, and presently the drunkards within and those without began to exchange abusive epithets, followed by spitting and stone-throwing.
On a sudden, however, complete silence fell; a sound of low, mournful chanting was heard approaching, and immediately after a double line of white, phantom-like figures appeared at the end of the street, preceded by a silver cross held aloft against the blue background of the sky. The men in the street fell back against the walls, the heads at the windows were lowered, and every one uncovered.
One of the white-robed brotherhood, boys for the most part who, when the ceremonies were over, would receive three soldi each and a slice of watermelon, knocked at the door of the new house as he passed, and the others followed his example.
"Curse you!" yelled Giacobbe furiously, leaning far out of the window. "Boors! walking in the procession, are you?" and he was about to spit on them, but Brontu prevented him, telling him it would not do.
Now came the green brocade standard, with its hundred variegated ribbons and gilded staff; and next the Madonna of the Assumption, extended with closed eyes on her portable couch, covered withnecklaces and rings that looked like relics of the bronze age, and watched over by the four green cherubs.
On each of the four sides, walking beside the bearers, was a man wearing a white tunic and carrying in his arms a child dressed as an angel. They were charming little creatures, two blond and two brunette, and they chattered gaily with one another, shouting to make themselves heard. One of them, tickled under the knee by the man who carried him, squirmed and wriggled, one wing hanging limply down.
The sight of these children touched some finer emotion in Brontu, Giacobbe, and the others, and bending their knees, they crossed themselves devoutly. The children, for their part, gazed up at the windows, and one of them, recognising an uncle in the group, flung a red confetto at him, which, missing fire, fell back into the road.
Priest Elias and the little stranger from Nuoro came next, wearing brocade and lace robes, pale and handsome in their bravery. They walked with clasped hands and rapt faces, chanting in Latin.
"The devil!" exclaimed Giacobbe suddenly. "If there isn't that dirty old Isidoro Pane! You'd suppose he was running the whole procession; I'm going to spit on him."
"No, you're not," commanded Brontu.
Giacobbe coughed to attract the fisherman's attention, but the other did not so much as raise his eyes,continuing to intone the prayers to which the people responded as with a single voice.
The surging, vari-coloured crowd had flowed together behind the procession, and above the sea of heads could still be seen the swaying silver cross. The men had all uncovered,—bald heads, shining with perspiration, mops of thick black hair, rough, curly pates,—and then the gay head-kerchiefs of the women, some with black grounds and yellow squares, others striped with red, or covered with green spots,—all surmounting flushed faces, flashing eyes, white bodices crossed on the breast, red, gesticulating hands. Gradually the crowd thinned; an old cripple came limping along, then a woman with two children hanging to her skirts, then three old women—a child with a yellow flower in its mouth—the street grew empty and silent; the noise, and movement, and colour receding in waves, and growing ever fainter as the low, melancholy cadence of the chanted invocations died away in the distance.
As the last sounds ceased, two cat's paws appeared on the wall opposite Giacobbe's house, followed by a little, white face, with wide startled eyes, then the animal leaped on the wall, and sat staring intently down into the street.
"Too late!" cried Brontu, waving a salute.
The others shouted with laughter, and when Giacobbe presently told them it was time to be off, they refused to go. The host, thereupon, seizing a lath covered with plaster, tried to drive themout, and the entire troop of rough, bearded men began to run from room to room, pushing one another by the shoulders, yelling, tumbling over each other, and shrieking with laughter like so many schoolboys. Driven forth at length, they continued their horseplay in the street, until Giacobbe, having locked the door and put the key in his pocket, led the way back to the tavern. At dusk Brontu and the herdsman, supporting one another, appeared at the white house.
Aunt Martina was sitting on the portico with her hands beneath her apron, reciting the rosary. When her eyes fell on the two men she remained perfectly still and silent, but her lips tightened, and she shook her head ever so slightly, as though to say: "Truly, a fine sight!"
"Where is Giovanna?" demanded Brontu.
"She went to her mother's."
"Oh! she went to her mother's, the old harpy's? Well, she's always going there, curse her."
"Don't shout so, my son."
"I will; I'll shout as much as I like; I'm in my own house," and turning towards the common, he began to call at the top of his voice:
"Giovanna! Giovanna!"
Giovanna appeared at the door of the cottage, and started to cross the common hastily with an alarmed air; as she drew near, however, her expression changed to one of annoyance and disgust. Pausing in front of the two men, she regarded themwith a look of undisguised scorn. Giacobbe laughed, but Brontu reddened to the tips of his ears with anger.
"Well," she demanded; "what is the matter? Have you got the colic?"
"He would have got it pretty soon if you hadn't come," said Giacobbe.
Brontu opened his mouth and his lips moved, but no sounds came forth, and his anger presently died away as senselessly as it had come.
"Well——" he stammered. "I wanted you. We have hardly seen each other all day. What were you doing at your mother's? Who was there?"
"Who was there?" she repeated, in a tone of intense bitterness. "Why, no one. Who would you expect to find at our house?"
"Why, San Costantino might come—t—o—o—gi—i—i—ve you—u a po—em——" sang Giacobbe thickly. "Have you ever seen San Costantino? Well, there's Isidoro Pane—he's perfectly crazy—he doesn't like you; no, indeed, he doesn't, and—and——"
"Shut up; hold your tongue!" said Aunt Martina. "And the sheepfolds left all this time to take care of themselves! That's the way you attend to your master's business! You're all alike, accursed thieves!"
Giacobbe sprang forward, erect and livid; and Giovanna, fearing that he was really going to strike the old woman, stepped quickly between them. Heturned, however, without saying a word, and sat down, but with so lowering an expression that Giovanna remained near her mother-in-law in an attitude of protection.
Brontu, on the contrary, was struck with the idea that his mother deserved a rebuke.
"What sort of manners are these?" he demanded in a tone that was intended to be severe. "Why, you treat people as though—as though—as though they were beasts—everybody! To-day—to-day—no, yesterday was a holiday. If he chose to get drunk, what business was that of yours?"
"I got drunk on poison," remarked Giacobbe.
"Yes, poison," agreed Brontu. "And I did too. And there's another thing. I'm tired of all this, mother and wife—and the whole business. So there! I'm going away. I'm going to spend the night with him in his palace. After all, we are relations, and—and——"
"Say it right out!" shouted Giacobbe. "You may be my heir; that's what you mean! Ha, ha, ha!"
He laughed boisterously, emitting sounds that were more like the howls of a wild beast than human laughter. Brontu, trying to imitate him, only succeeded in producing a noise like the cry of some happy animal in the springtime.
Giovanna felt herself grow sick with dread; she was afraid of the rapidly approaching darkness, of the solitude that enwrapped the common, of thepresence of these two men whom wine had turned into quarrelsome beasts. "The excommunication," she thought, "has fallen on us all: on this servant, who dares to defy his master; on the son, who upbraids his mother; on me, Giovanna, who loathe and despise them one and all!"
Aunt Martina arose, went into the kitchen, and lit the candle. Giovanna followed her and set about preparing the supper. When it was ready they all sat down together, and for a little while everything went well. Presently Brontu began to tell of how they had watched the procession from the windows of Giacobbe's "palace," his account of their foolish doings bringing a smile to his mother's lips. Then he tried to put his arm around his wife, but Giovanna's heart was full of gall. For her the holiday had been, if anything, sadder than an ordinary day; she had worked hard, she had not been to church, she had not so much as changed her dress; and yet, the moment she had allowed herself to go for a little recreation to the cottage,—the scene alike of her greatest misery and of her most intense happiness,—she had been ordered back as peremptorily as a dog is told to return to its kennel. Consequently, she was in no mood for endearments, and repulsed Brontu's proffered caress, telling him he was drunk.
Giacobbe, thereupon, laughed delightedly, which irritated Giovanna as much as it angered Brontu.
"What are you laughing at, you mangy cur?" demanded the latter.
"I might say I am not as mangy as you are yourself. But then, I—I want to say that—that—well, I'm laughing because I choose to."
"Eh! I can laugh too."
"Fools!" said Giovanna scornfully. "You make me sick, both of you."
At this Brontu, quite beside himself, suddenly turned on her:
"What is the matter with you, anyhow?" he demanded in a hard voice. "One would really like to know. Here you are, living on me, and when I offer to kiss you you fly out at me. You ought to be thankful to kiss the very ground under my feet; do you hear me?"
Giovanna grew livid. "What!" she hissed. "Am I treated any better than a servant in this house?"
"Well, a servant; all right, you can just stay one. What else should you be, woman?"
Giacobbe's squint-eyes sparkled at this, but Giovanna, rising to her feet, proceeded to pour out all the concentrated bitterness of the past months. Addressing her husband and mother-in-law, she called them slave-drivers and tyrants; threatened to go away, to kill herself; cursed the hour she had entered that house, and, in the transport of her rage, even revealed the debt to Giacobbe's sister.
At this, the herdsman fell to laughing softly to himself, murmuring words of half-mocking reproach addressed to Aunt Anna-Rosa. On a sudden, however, his face grew black; the sombre figure of Aunt Bachissia appeared in the doorway; she had heard her daughter's angry voice resounding through the stillness of the evening, and had come at once.
"Here," said Aunt Martina, perfectly unmoved, "is your daughter, gone mad to all appearances."
Brontu, completely sobered, was signing urgently to his mother-in-law to come forward and try to calm the furious woman, and Aunt Bachissia was about to do so when Giacobbe suddenly leaped to his feet and threw himself in front of her with an ugly scowl.
"Get out of here!" he ordered, pointing to the door.
"And are you the master?" asked Aunt Bachissia ironically.
"Get out, I tell you," he repeated, and, as she continued to advance, he laid hold of her.
She shook him off, and he went out himself instead, and, sitting down on the portico, tried to laugh; but, odd to relate, instead of laughter, he presently found himself shaking all over with dry, convulsive sobs.
Time passed on. The sky and weather changed with the changing seasons, but among the inhabitants of the little village all remained much as usual. In the course of the winter Giovanna gave birth to a weak, puling girl-baby, which did nothing but cry. Doctor Porra, or Pededda, as he still continued to be called, came all the way from Nuoro expressly to stand for the poor little creature. He arrived in a carriage, bundled up like a bale of clothing, his rosy face beaming as usual. Quite a number of persons had assembled to see him, and he distributed smiles and greetings indiscriminately to all who would have them, assuring a group of Brontu's friends who had gone to meet him, that he remembered perfectly seeing all of them at Nuoro. This gratified them immensely, all but one, that is, who said he had never been to Nuoro. "It is of no consequence," said the lawyer cheerfully, "I am sure to see you there some day." This was a somewhat equivocal assurance, as it seldom happened that any of them went to Nuoro except on law business; however, the man was highly pleased.
Aunt Bachissia, watching the new arrival divesthimself of his greatcoat, shawl, and various other wraps, thought that he looked more than ever like amagia.
"You seem to have grown stouter," she said, looking at the layers of clothing.
"Oh! this is a mere nothing," he replied. At which they all laughed delightedly.
The baptism was to be conducted with great pomp, and Aunt Martina, probably for the first time in her life, slackened the strings of her purse, and sent to Nuoro for wines and sweets of the best quality. She could not sleep the night before, however, and passed a wretched day, tormented by the fear that some of the delicacies might be spirited away. On the morning of the ceremony Giovanna got up early and helped her mother-in-law to prepare the macaroni for dinner; then she went back to bed, where she remained in a sitting posture, propped up by pillows, and with the bedclothes drawn up about her waist. Above that she wore her blouse and bodice, and she had on her wedding coif and bridal kerchief. She looked somewhat pale, but very handsome, her great eyes seeming larger even than usual.
The table was set in the bedchamber, and covered with a linen cloth, which Aunt Martina now took out from her chest for the first time since it had been bought.
The ceremony was to take place at about eleven o'clock of a very cold morning. From the palesky a thick, white vapour fell, enveloping the village and all the surrounding country in a misty veil. The narrow streets were deserted, and here and there frozen puddles lay like pieces of broken, dirty glass. An absolute silence reigned in the open space before the Dejases' house, opposite which the almond tree stretched its bare, black limbs against the misty background.
All at once the common was invaded by a troop of urchins, bundled up in ragged garments and odds and ends of fur; with fringed, red caps on their heads, and wearing old boots, some of them almost as large as the little persons who wore them. Groups of people stood about, principally shivering women, coughing and sneezing and smelling of soot and smoke. Then the baptismal procession appeared. First came two children looking solemn and important, and carrying candles from which red ribbons fluttered; these were followed by the woman with the infant wrapped in shawls, and covered with a piece of greenish brocade, like the standard of San Costantino.
Then the godfather appeared, his round little face rosy and smiling as ever, emerging from the folds of his big coat and black-and-white shawl. With him walked the godmother, one of Aunt Martina's daughters, a lank young woman with a long, narrow face, who reminded one of a shadow seen at sunset. She had to lean down in order to reach her companion's ear. With the godparents came Brontu,freshly shaven and gay, and behind them followed a group of friends and relatives, marching along in step, with a noise like the tramp of horses' hoofs. Last of all came the godmother's servant-maid, a shivering creature blue with cold; she carried a small basin under one arm, and kept both hands buried in the pockets of her gown. From time to time she thrust out her tongue to catch the drops that kept running down from her nose. The boys trotted alongside, forming two wings to the procession, their eyes eagerly fixed upon the godfather, who returned their gaze with an amused stare and hailed them jocosely:
"Why, hello! you here? What are you looking for, little hedgehogs?"
"He's lame," said one.
"Hush, keep quiet, or he won't give us anything!"
The procession passed on; the faces of the urchins fell; some of them were angry, and others seemed on the verge of tears.
"Crippl——" one began to call, but stopped suddenly. The godfather had pitched a handful of copper coins into the air, and the whole troop flung themselves after them, yelling, tumbling over one another, pushing, fighting, struggling, rolling over and over, almost upsetting the maid-servant, who instantly began to deal out blows and curses in greater proportion even than the coins themselves. Fresh handfuls of money and renewedscuffling by an ever-increasing crowd of ragamuffins continued to the very doors of the church, where Priest Elias stood awaiting the party and listening to something the red-robed sacristan was urging upon him. The sacristan was, in fact, afraid that Priest Elias, with his usual kindly indulgence, might be persuaded to return to the house with the baptismal party, whereas it was the custom of the neighbourhood for the priest to do that only in cases where the parents had been united by religious ceremony: he was, therefore, exhorting the other to practise severity with Brontu, with the godparents, with the whole company in fact. "Your Honour," said he, "will surely not return to the house with this infant? Why, it is almost illegitimate! On no account should such respect be paid to it."
"Go and see if they are coming," said the priest.
"They are not in sight yet. No, your Honour will not go."
"And how about you? Shall you not go?" enquired the priest with a slight smile.
"Oh! with me it is an altogether different matter; I go on account of the sweetmeats, not to do honour to that rabble."
At this moment the company came in sight, and the ceremony presently began. No sooner had the baby's bald little red head been uncovered than it began to emit sounds like the bleating of a hoarse kid. The godfather stood by smiling, with a lighted taper in his hand, doing his best to remember thecreed, Giovanna having implored him to recite it conscientiously, so that the baptism might be valid.
Almost the entire crowd of urchins had followed the party inside the church, and there was a pattering like rats running about, as the sacristan would chase them all out, only presently to come stealing back.
The woman who had carried the baby, and the maid-servant with the basin, seated themselves on the steps of a side altar, where they anxiously awaited the godfather's present. At last the service was over, the tips had been given, the baby wrapped up again, and Brontu and his friends stood waiting awkwardly for the priest, who had gone into the sacristy to remove his robes. Would he come back or not? Was he going to the house with the newly baptised infant or no? There was an uncomfortable pause, and then, as he did not appear, the procession set out somewhat mournfully on the return journey, followed by the triumphant sacristan, to whom Brontu would dearly have liked to administer blows in place of the expected sweets.
All along the route the people came out to see them go by, and many faces, especially those of the women, lighted up with ill-natured smiles as they perceived that the priest was not there. Poh! It was like the baptism of a bastard!
Giovanna, albeit not really expecting the priest, grew a shade paler when the company invaded herchamber without him. She kissed the little purple creature sadly, feeling as though the outlook for the poor child was very dark indeed.
"I remembered every word of the creed from beginning to end," announced the godfather. "Happy mother, your child will be a wonder, as tall as its godmother and as gay as its godfather!"
"If only it may be as prosperous as its godfather," murmured Giovanna.
"And now," cried the young man, joyously clapping his hands, "come to dinner. What a pleasant custom it is! Upon my honour, it is a charming custom!" And he clapped his hands again, as though calling a crowd of children.
They all took their places at table, where the macaroni, which had already been served, was to be followed by a beautiful roast pig exhaling an odour of rosemary.
It was only a few days after the baptism that a strange though not unprecedented event occurred in Orlei.
Near Isidoro Pane's hut was an ancient dungheap, abandoned for so long that it had become almost petrified. It was covered with a growth of sickly-looking vegetation, and emitted no odour, looking like some sort of artificial mound.
One evening at about dusk, while the fisherman was preparing his supper, he heard sounds in the direction of this mound, and went to the door tosee what they were. The weather was cold, and in the clear, greenish twilight he saw a group of black figures, chiefly women, advancing, singing to the accompaniment of some instrument.
Isidoro understood what it was and went to meet them. The women, about twenty in all, old and young, were chanting in a melancholy monotone, with sudden breaks and changes, a weird song or exorcism against the bite of a tarantula; while a blind beggar, a pallid young man, miserably clad in soiled and ragged woman's clothing, accompanied them on a primitive instrument called aserraia—a sort of cithern, made out of a dried sow's bladder.
There were only three other men in the party, and in one of these, with a flushed, feverish face, and one hand bound up, the fisherman recognised Giacobbe Dejas.
Isidoro advanced, and joining the party laid one finger on the bandaged hand, Giacobbe, meanwhile, gazing at him wildly, his eyes transfixed with terror.
"Are you afraid you are going to die from a tarantula bite? No, no," said Isidoro, smiling.
The women continued their chant. There were seven widows, seven wives, and seven maids. One of the widows was Giacobbe's sister. She walked at his side, fresh and pink as ever, notwithstanding her wild state of alarm and anxiety; and her shrill little voice, like the note of a lively cricket, trilled and trembled high above all the others.
"He is suffering," said one of the men to Isidoro in a low tone.
"Ah?" said the fisherman gravely.
The words chanted by the women ran as follows: