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diff --git a/old/54615-0.txt b/old/54615-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 86bd623..0000000 --- a/old/54615-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11952 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Miracles of Antichrist, by Selma Lagerlöf - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Miracles of Antichrist - A Novel - -Author: Selma Lagerlöf - -Translator: Pauline Bancroft Flach - -Release Date: April 27, 2017 [EBook #54615] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST *** - - - - -Produced by MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - -The Miracles of Antichrist - - - - - BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR - - THE EMPEROR OF PORTUGALLIA - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_) - - JERUSALEM, A Novel - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_) - - THE STORY OF GÖSTA BERLING - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flach_) - - THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF NILS - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_) - - THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF NILS - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_) - - THE GIRL FROM THE MARSH CROFT - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_) - - THE LEGEND OF THE SACRED IMAGE - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_) - - THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flach_) - - CHRIST LEGENDS - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard_) - - FROM A SWEDISH HOMESTEAD - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Jessie Brochner_) - - INVISIBLE LINKS - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flach_) - - LILLIECRONA’S HOME - - (_Trans. from Swedish by Anna Barwell_) - - - - - THE MIRACLES - _of_ ANTICHRIST - - _A NOVEL_ - - FROM THE SWEDISH OF - SELMA LAGERLÖF - - TRANSLATED BY - PAULINE BANCROFT FLACH - - [Illustration] - - GARDEN CITY NEW YORK - DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY - 1919 - - _Copyright, 1899, by_ - DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY - - _All rights reserved, including that of - translation into foreign languages_ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - INTRODUCTION: - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I THE EMPEROR’S VISION 1 - - II ROME’S HOLY CHILD 9 - - III ON THE BARRICADE 19 - - FIRST BOOK - - I MONGIBELLO 25 - - II FRA GAETANO 39 - - III THE GOD-SISTER 48 - - IV DIAMANTE 62 - - V DON FERRANTE 64 - - VI DON MATTEO’S MISSION 71 - - VII THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 77 - - VIII TWO SONGS 113 - - IX FLIGHT 125 - - X THE SIROCCO 128 - - XI THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 156 - - SECOND BOOK - - I A GREAT MAN’S WIFE 185 - - II PANEM ET CIRCENSES 193 - - III THE OUTCAST 204 - - IV THE OLD MARTYRDOM 213 - - V THE LADY WITH THE IRON RING 226 - - VI FRA FELICE’S LEGACY 229 - - VII AFTER THE MIRACLE 252 - - VIII A JETTATORE 255 - - IX PALAZZO GERACI AND PALAZZO CORVAJA 270 - - X FALCO FALCONE 286 - - XI VICTORY 315 - - THIRD BOOK - - I THE OASIS AND THE DESERT 323 - - II IN PALERMO 329 - - III THE HOME-COMING 338 - - IV ONLY OF THIS WORLD 354 - - V A FRESCO OF SIGNORELLI 373 - - - - -The Miracles of Antichrist - - - - -INTRODUCTION - -“_When Antichrist comes, he shall seem as Christ_” - - - - -I - -THE EMPEROR’S VISION - - -It was at the time when Augustus was emperor in Rome and Herod was king -in Jerusalem. - -It happened once upon a time that a very great and holy night sank down -over the earth. It was the darkest night ever seen by man; it seemed -as if the whole earth had passed under a vault. It was impossible to -distinguish water from land, or to find the way on the most familiar -paths. And it could not be otherwise, for not a ray of light came from -the sky. All the stars stayed in their houses, and the fair moon kept her -face turned away. - -And just as intense as the darkness was the silence and the calm. The -rivers stood still in their course; the wind did not stir, and even the -leaves of the aspen ceased to tremble. Any one walking by the sea would -have found that the waves no longer broke on the shore, and the sand of -the desert did not crunch under the wanderer’s foot. Everything was as -if turned to stone and without motion, in order not to disturb the holy -night. The grass did not dare to grow, the dew could not fall, and the -flowers feared to exhale their perfume. - -During that night the beasts of prey did not hunt, the serpents did not -sting, the dogs did not bay. And what was even more wonderful, none of -the inanimate things would have disturbed the holiness of the night by -lending themselves to an evil deed. No false key could open a lock, and -no knife could shed blood. - -In Rome, on that very night, a little group of people came down from the -emperor’s palace on the Palatine and made their way over the Forum to -the Capitol. During the day just completed his councillors had asked the -emperor if they might not raise a temple to him on Rome’s holy mountain. -But Augustus had not immediately given his consent. He did not know -if it would be pleasing to the gods for him to possess a temple next -to theirs, and he had answered that he wished first to discover by a -nocturnal sacrifice to his genius what their wishes were. Followed by a -few faithful retainers, he was now on his way to perform that sacrifice. - -Augustus was carried in his litter, for he was old, and the long stairs -to the Capitol fatigued him. He held the cage of doves which was his -offering. Neither priests, nor soldiers, nor councillors accompanied him; -only his nearest friends. Torch-bearers walked in front of him, as if to -force a way through the darkness of the night, and behind him followed -slaves, carrying the tripod, the charcoal, the knives, the holy fire, and -everything needed for the sacrifice. - -On the way the emperor chatted gayly with his retainers, and none of -them noticed the infinite silence and calm of the night. It was only on -reaching the open place on the top of the Capitol, which had been thought -of for the new temple, that it was revealed to them that something -unusual was occurring. - -It could not be a night like any other, for on the edge of the cliff they -saw the strangest being. They thought at first that it was an old twisted -olive trunk; then they thought that an ancient statue from the temple of -Jupiter had wandered out on the cliff. At last they saw that it could -only be the old sibyl. - -They had never seen anything so old, so weather-beaten, and so gigantic. -If the emperor had not been there, they would have all fled home to their -beds. “It is she,” they whispered to each other, “who counts as many -years as there are grains of sand on her native shores. Why has she come -out of her cave to-night? What does she foretell to the emperor and to -the country, she who writes her prophecies on the leaves of trees, and -knows that the wind carries the words of the oracle to him who needs -them?” - -They were so terrified that all would have fallen on their knees with -their foreheads to the ground had the sibyl made the slightest movement. -But she sat as still as if she had been without life. Crouched on the -very edge of the cliff, and shading her eyes with her hand, she stared -out into the night. She sat there as if she had gone up on the hill the -better to see something happening far away. She alone could see something -in the black night! - -At the same moment the emperor and all his suite perceived how intense -the darkness was. Not one of them could see a hand’s-breadth in front -of him. And what a calm, what silence! They could not even hear the -rippling murmur of the Tiber. The air seemed to choke them; a cold sweat -came out on their foreheads, and their hands were stiff and powerless. -They thought that something dreadful must be impending. - -But no one liked to show that he was afraid, and everybody told the -emperor that it was a good omen; nature herself held her breath to greet -a new god. - -They urged Augustus to hurry, and said that the old sibyl had probably -come up from her cave to greet his genius. - -But the truth was that the old sibyl, engrossed in a vision, did not even -know that Augustus had come to the Capitol. She was transported in spirit -to a far distant land, where she thought she was wandering over a great -plain. In the darkness she kept striking her foot against something, -which she thought to be tufts of grass. She bent down and felt with her -hand. No, they were not tufts of grass, but sheep. She was walking among -great sleeping flocks of sheep. - -Then she perceived the fire of the shepherds. It was burning in the -middle of the plain, and she approached it. The shepherds were lying -asleep by the fire, and at their sides they had long, pointed staves, -with which they defended their flocks from wild beasts. But the little -animals with shining eyes and bushy tails, which crept forward to the -fire, were they not jackals? And yet the shepherds did not throw their -staves at them; the dogs continued to sleep; the sheep did not flee; and -the wild beasts lay down to rest beside the men. - -All this the sibyl saw, but of what was going on behind her on the -mountain she knew nothing. She did not know that people were raising -an altar, lighting charcoal, strewing incense, and that the emperor was -taking one of the doves out of the cage to make a sacrifice to her. -But his hands were so benumbed that he could not hold the bird. With a -single flap of her wings the dove freed herself, and disappeared into the -darkness of the night. - -When that happened, the courtiers looked suspiciously at the old sibyl. -They thought that it was she who was the cause of the misfortune. - -Could they know that the sibyl still thought she was standing by the -shepherds’ fire, and that she was now listening to a faint sound which -came vibrating through the dead silence of the night? She had heard it -for a long time before she noticed that it came from the sky, and not -from the earth. At last she raised her head, and saw bright, glistening -forms gliding about up in the darkness. They were small bands of angels, -who, singing, and apparently searching, flew up and down the wide plain. - -While the sibyl listened to the angels’ song, the emperor was preparing -for a new sacrifice. He washed his hands, purified the altar, and grasped -the other dove. But although he now made a special effort to hold it -fast, the bird slipped through his fingers, and swung itself up into the -impenetrable night. - -The emperor was appalled. He fell on his knees before the empty altar -and prayed to his genius. He called on him for strength to avert the -misfortunes which this night seemed to portend. - -Nothing of all this had the sibyl heard. She was listening with her -whole soul to the angels’ song, which was growing stronger and stronger. -At last it became so loud that it wakened the shepherds. They raised -themselves on their elbows, and saw shining hosts of silvery angels -moving in the darkness in long, fluttering lines, like birds of passage. -Some had lutes and violins in their hands; others had zithers and harps, -and their song sounded as gay as children’s laughter, and as free from -care as the trilling of a lark. When the shepherds heard it they rose up -to go to the village which was their home, to tell of the miracle. - -They went by a narrow, winding path, and the sibyl followed them. -Suddenly it became light on the mountain. A great, bright star kindled -over it, and the village on its top shone like silver in the starlight. -All the wandering bands of angels hastened thither with cries of -jubilation, and the shepherds hurried on so fast that they almost ran. -When they had reached the town they found that the angels had gathered -over a low stable near the gate. It was a wretched building, with roof of -straw, and the bare rock for one wall. Above it hung the star, and more -and more angels kept coming. Some of them placed themselves on the straw -roof, or settled down on the steep cliff behind the house; others hovered -over it with fluttering wings. High, high up, the air was lighted by -their shining wings. - -At the moment when the star flamed out over the mountain-village all -nature awoke, and the men who stood on the top of the Capitol were -conscious of it. They felt fresh, but caressing breezes; sweet perfumes -streamed up about them; the trees rustled; the Tiber murmured, the stars -shone, and the moon stood high in the heaven and lighted the world. -And out of the sky the two doves flew circling down, and lighted on the -emperor’s shoulders. - -When this miracle took place Augustus rose up with proud joy, but his -friends and his slaves fell on their knees. “Hail, Cæsar!” they cried. -“Your genius has answered you! You are the god who shall be worshipped on -the heights of the Capitol.” - -And the tribute which the men in their transport offered the emperor was -so loud that the old sibyl heard it. It waked her from her visions. She -rose from her place on the edge of the cliff, and came forward toward the -people. It seemed as if a dark cloud had risen up from the abyss and sunk -down over the mountain. She was terrifying in her old age. Coarse hair -hung in thin tufts about her head, her joints were thickened, and her -dark skin, hard as bark, covered her body with wrinkle upon wrinkle. - -Mighty and awe-inspiring, she advanced towards the emperor. With one hand -she seized his wrist, with the other she pointed towards the distant east. - -“Look,” she commanded, and the emperor raised his eyes and saw. The -heavens opened before his eyes and he looked away to the far east. And -he saw a miserable stable by a steep cliff, and in the open door some -kneeling shepherds. Within the stable he saw a young mother on her knees -before a little child, who lay on a bundle of straw on the floor. - -And the sibyl’s big, bony fingers pointed towards that poor child. - -“Hail, Cæsar!” said the sibyl, with a scornful laugh. “There is the god -who shall be worshipped on the heights of the Capitol.” - -Augustus shrank back from her as if from a maniac. - -But upon the sibyl fell the mighty spirit of the prophetess. Her dim eyes -began to burn, her hands were stretched towards heaven, her voice did not -seem to be her own, but rang with such strength that it could have been -heard over the whole world. And she spoke words which she seemed to have -read in the stars:-- - - “On the heights of the Capitol the redeemer of the world shall be - worshipped, - Christ or Antichrist, but no frail mortal.” - -When she had spoken she moved away between the terrified men, went slowly -down the mountain, and disappeared. - -Augustus, the next day, strictly forbade his people to raise him any -temple on the Capitol. In its place he built a sanctuary to the new-born -godchild and called it “Heaven’s Altar,” Aracoeli. - - - - -II - -ROME’S HOLY CHILD - - -On the summit of the Capitol stood a monastery occupied by Franciscan -monks. It was, however, less a monastery than a fortress. It was like a -watch-tower by the seashore, where watch was kept for an approaching foe. - -Near the monastery stood the magnificent basilica “Santa Maria in -Aracoeli.” The basilica was built because the sibyl had caused Augustus -to see Christ. But the monastery was built because they feared the -fulfilment of the sibyl’s prophecy; that Antichrist should come to be -worshipped on the Capitol. - -And the monks felt like warriors. When they went to church to sing and -pray, they thought that they were walking on ramparts, and sending -showers of arrows down on the assaulting Antichrist. - -They lived always in terror of Antichrist, and all their service was a -struggle to keep him away from the Capitolium. - -They drew their hats down over their eyes and sat and gazed out into -the world. Their eyes grew feverish with watching, and they continually -thought they discovered Antichrist. “He is here, he is there!” they -cried. And they fluttered up in their brown robes and braced themselves -for the struggle, as crows gather on a crag when they catch a glimpse of -an eagle. - -But some said: “What is the use of prayers and penitence? The sibyl has -said it. Antichrist must come.” - -Then others said, “God can work a miracle. If it was of no avail to -struggle, He would not have let the sibyl warn us.” - -Year after year the Franciscans defended the Capitol by penitences, and -works of charity, and the promulgation of God’s word. - -They protected it century after century, but as time went on, men -became more and more feeble and lacking in force. The monks said among -themselves: “Soon the kingdoms of the earth can stand no longer. A -redeemer of the world is needed as in the time of Augustus.” - -They tore their hair and scourged themselves, for they knew that he who -was to be born again must be the Antichrist, and that it would be a -regeneration of force and violence. - -As a sick man is tormented by his pain, so were they hunted by the -thought of Antichrist. And they saw him before them. He was as rich as -Christ had been poor, as wicked as Christ had been good, as honored as -Christ had been humiliated. - -He bore powerful weapons and marched at the head of bloody evil-doers. -He overturned the churches, murdered the priests, and armed people for -strife, so that brother fought against brother, and each feared his -neighbor, and there was no peace. - -And for every person of power and might who made his way over the sea of -time, they cried out from the watch-tower on the Capitol: “Antichrist, -Antichrist!” - -And for every one who disappeared, and went under, the monks cried: -“Hosanna!” and sang the “Te Deum.” And they said: “It is because of our -prayers that the wicked fall before they succeed in scaling the Capitol.” - -It was a hard punishment that in that beautiful monastery its monks could -never feel at rest. Their nights were heavier than their days. Then they -saw wild beasts come into their cells and stretch themselves out beside -them on their beds. And each wild beast was Antichrist. But some of the -monks saw him as a dragon, and others as a griffin, and others as a -sphinx. When they got up from their dreams they were as weak as after a -severe illness. - -The only comfort of these poor monks was the miracle-working image of -Christ, which was kept in the basilica of Aracoeli. When a monk was -frightened to desperation, he went into the church to seek consolation -from it. He would go through the whole basilica and into a well-guarded -chapel at the side of the great altar. There he lighted the consecrated -wax candles, and spoke a prayer, before opening the altar shrine, which -had double locks and doors of iron. And as long as he gazed at the image, -he remained upon his knees. - -The image represented a little babe, but he had a gold crown upon his -head, gold shoes upon his feet, and his whole dress shone with jewels, -which were given to him by those in distress, who had called on him for -help. And the walls of the chapel were covered with pictures, which -showed how he had saved from dangers of fire and shipwreck, how he had -cured the sick and helped all those who were in trouble. When the monk -saw it he rejoiced, and said to himself: “Praise be to God! As yet it is -Christ who is worshipped on the Capitol.” - -The monk saw the face of the image smile at him with mysterious, -conscious power, and his spirit soared up into the holy realms of -confidence. “What can overthrow you in your might?” he said. “What can -overthrow you? To you the Eternal City bends its knees. You are Rome’s -Holy Child. Yours is the crown which the people worship. You come in -your might with help and strength and consolation. You alone shall be -worshipped on the Capitol.” - -The monk saw the crown of the image turn into a halo, which sent out rays -over the whole world. And in whatever direction he followed the rays he -saw the world full of churches, where Christ was worshipped. It seemed -as if a powerful conqueror had shown him all the castles and fortresses -which defended his kingdom. “It is certain that you cannot fall,” said -the monk. “Your kingdom will be everlasting.” - -And every monk who saw the image had a few hours of consolation and -peace, until fear seized him again. But had the monks not possessed the -image, their souls would not have found a moment’s rest. - -Thus had the monks of Aracoeli, by prayers and struggles, worked their -way through the centuries, and there had never lacked for watchers; as -soon as one had been exhausted by terror and anxiety, others had hurried -forward to take his place. - -And although most of those who entered the monastery were struck down by -madness or premature death, the succession of monks never diminished, -for it was held a great honor before God to wage the war on Aracoeli. - -So it happened that sixty years ago this struggle still went on, and in -the degenerate times the monks fought with greater eagerness than ever -before, and awaited the certain coming of Antichrist. - -At that time a rich Englishwoman came to Rome. She went up to the -Aracoeli and saw the image, and he charmed her so that she thought she -could not live if she did not possess him. She went again and again up to -Aracoeli to see the image, and at last she asked the monks if she might -buy him. - -But even if she had covered the whole mosaic floor in the great basilica -with gold coins, the monks would not have been willing to sell her that -image, which was their only consolation. - -Still the Englishwoman was attracted beyond measure by the image, and -found no joy nor peace without it. Unable to accomplish her object by any -other means, she determined to steal the image. She did not think of the -sin she was committing; she felt only a strong compulsion and a burning -thirst, and preferred to risk her soul rather than to deny her heart the -joy of possessing the object of her longing. And to accomplish her end, -she first had an image made exactly like the one on Aracoeli. - -The image on Aracoeli was carved from olive wood from the gardens of -Gethsemane; but the Englishwoman dared to have an image carved from elm -wood, which was exactly like him. The image on Aracoeli was not painted -by mortal hand. When the monk who had carved him had taken up his -brushes and colors, he fell asleep over his work. And when he awoke, -the image was colored,--self-painted as a sign that God loved him. But -the Englishwoman was bold enough to let an earthly painter paint her elm -image so that he was like the holy image. - -For the false image she procured a crown and shoes, but they were not of -gold; they were only tin and gilding. She ordered ornaments; she bought -rings, and necklaces, and chains, and bracelets, and diamond suns--but -they were all brass and glass; and she dressed him as those seeking help -had dressed the true image. When the image was ready she took a needle -and scratched in the crown: “My kingdom is only of this world.” It was -as if she was afraid that she herself would not be able to distinguish -one image from the other. And it was as if she had wished to appease her -own conscience. “I have not wished to make a false Christ image. I have -written in his crown: ‘My kingdom is only of this world.’” - -Thereupon she wrapped herself in a big cloak, hid the image under it, and -went up to Aracoeli. And she asked that she might be allowed to say her -prayers before the Christchild. - -When she stood in the sanctuary, and the candles were lighted, and the -iron door opened, and the image showed itself to her, she began to -tremble and shake and looked as if she were going to faint. The monk who -was with her hurried into the sacristy after water and she was left alone -in the chapel. And when he came back she had committed the sacrilege. -She had exchanged the holy, miracle-working image, and put the false and -impotent one in his place. - -The monk saw nothing. He shut in the false image behind iron doors -and double locks, and the Englishwoman went home with the treasure of -Aracoeli. She placed him in her palace on a pedestal of marble and was -more happy than she had ever been before. - -Up on Aracoeli, where no one knew what injury they had suffered, they -worshipped the false Christ image as they had worshipped the true one, -and when Christmas came they built for him in the church, as was the -custom, a most beautiful niche. There he lay, shining like a jewel, on -Maria’s knees, and about him shepherds and angels and wise men were -arranged. And as long as he lay there children came from Rome, and the -Campagna, and were lifted up on a little pulpit in the basilica of -Aracoeli, and they preached on the sweetness and tenderness and nobleness -and power of the little Christchild. - -But the Englishwoman lived in great terror that some one would discover -that she had stolen the Christ image of Aracoeli. Therefore she confessed -to no one that the image she had was the real one. “It is a copy,” she -said; “it is as like the real one as it can be, but it is only copied.” - -Now it happened that she had a little Italian servant girl. One day when -the latter went through the room she stopped before the image and spoke -to him. “You poor Christchild, who are no Christchild,” she said, “if you -only knew how the real child lies in his glory in the niche in Aracoeli -and how Maria and San Giuseppe and the shepherds are kneeling before him! -And if you knew how the children place themselves on a little pulpit just -in front of him, and how they courtesy, and kiss their fingers to him, -and preach for him as beautifully as they can!” - -A few days after the little maid came again and spoke to the image. “You -poor Christchild, who are no Christchild,” she said, “do you know that -to-day I have been up in Aracoeli and have seen how the true child was -carried in the procession? They held a canopy over him, all the people -fell on their knees, and they sang and played before him. Never will you -see anything so wonderful!” - -And mark that a few days later the little maid came again and spoke to -the image: “Do you know, Christchild, who are not a real Christchild, -that it is better for you to stand where you are standing? For the real -child is called to the sick and is driven to them in his gold-laced -carriage, but _he_ cannot help them and they die in despair. And people -begin to say that Aracoeli’s holy child has lost his power to do good, -and that prayers and tears do not move him. It is better for you to stand -where you are standing than to be called upon and not to be able to help.” - -But the next night a miracle came to pass. About midnight a loud ringing -was heard at the cloister gate at Aracoeli. And when the gate-keeper did -not come quickly enough to open, some one began to knock. It sounded -clear, like ringing metal, and it was heard through the whole monastery. -All the monks leaped from their beds. All who had been tortured by -terrible dreams rose at one time, and believed that Antichrist was come. - -But when they opened the door--when they opened it! It was the little -Christ image that stood on the threshold. It was his little hand that -had pulled the bell-rope; it was his little, gold-shod foot that had -been stretched out to kick the door. - -The gate-keeper instantly took the holy child up in his arms. Then he saw -that it had tears in its eyes. Alas, the poor, holy child had wandered -through the town by night! What had it not seen? So much poverty and so -much want; so much wickedness and so many crimes! It was terrible to -think what it must have experienced. - -The gate-keeper went immediately to the prior and showed him the image. -And they wondered how it had come out into the night. - -Then the prior had the church bells rung to call the monks to the -service. And all the monks of Aracoeli marched into the great, dim -basilica in order to place the image, with all solemnity, back in its -shrine. - -Worn and suffering, they walked and trembled in their heavy homespun -robes. Several of them were weeping, as if they had escaped from some -terrible danger. “What would have happened to us,” they said, “if our -only consolation had been taken from us? Is it not Antichrist who has -tempted out Rome’s holy child from the sheltering sanctuary?” - -But when they came to set the Christ image in the shrine of the chapel, -they found there the false child; him who wore the inscription on his -crown: “My kingdom is only of this world.” - -And when they examined the image more closely they found the inscription. - -Then the prior turned to the monks and spoke to them:-- - -“Brothers, we will sing the ‘Te Deum,’ and cover the pillars of the -church with silk, and light all the wax candles, and all the hanging -lamps, and we will celebrate a great festival. - -“As long as the monastery has stood it has been a home of terror and a -cursed dwelling; but for the suffering of all those who have lived here, -God has been gracious. And now all danger is over. - -“God has crowned the fight with victory, and this that you have seen is -the sign that Antichrist shall not be worshipped on the Capitol. - -“For in order that the sibyl’s words should be carried out, God has sent -this false image of Christ that bears the words of Antichrist in its -crown, and he has allowed us to worship and adore him as if he had been -the great miracle-worker. - -“But now we can rest in joy and peace, for the sibyl’s mystic speech is -fulfilled, and Antichrist has been worshipped here. - -“Great is God, the Almighty, who has let our cruel fear be dispelled, and -who has carried out His will without the world needing to gaze upon the -false image made by man. - -“Happy is the monastery of Aracoeli that rests under the protection of -God, and does His will, and is blessed by His abounding grace.” - -When the prior had said those words he took the false image in his hands, -went through the church, and opened the great door. Thence he walked -out on the terrace. Below him lay the high and broad stairway with its -hundred and nineteen marble steps that leads down from the Capitol as if -into an abyss. And he raised the image over his head and cried aloud: -“Anathema Antikristo!” and hurled him from the summit of the Capitol down -into the world. - - - - -III - -ON THE BARRICADE - - -When the rich Englishwoman awoke in the morning she missed the image and -wondered where she should look for him. She believed that no one but -the monks of Aracoeli could have taken him, and she hurried towards the -Capitol to spy and search. - -She came to the great marble staircase that leads up to the basilica of -Aracoeli. And her heart beat wildly with joy, for on the lowest step lay -he whom she sought. She seized the image, threw her cloak about him, and -hurried home. And she put him back on his place of honor. - -But as she now sank into contemplation of his beauty, she found that the -crown had been dented. She lifted it off the image to see how great the -damage was, and at the same moment her eyes fell on the inscription that -she herself had scratched: “My kingdom is only of this world.” - -Then she knew that this was the false Christ image, and that the right -one had returned to Aracoeli. - -She despaired of ever again getting it into her possession, and she -decided to leave Rome the next day, for she would not remain there when -she no longer had the image. - -But when she left she took the forged image with her, because he reminded -her of the one she loved, and he followed her afterwards on all her -journeys. - -She was never at rest and travelled continually, and in that way the -image was carried about over the whole world. - -And wherever the image came, the power of Christ seemed to be diminished -without any one rightly understanding why. For nothing could look more -impotent than that poor image of elm wood, dressed out in brass rings and -glass beads. - -When the rich Englishwoman who had first owned the image was dead, he -came as an inheritance to another rich Englishwoman, who also travelled -continually, and from her to a third. - -Once, and it was still in the time of the first Englishwoman, the image -came to Paris. - -As he passed through the great city there was an insurrection. Crowds -rushed wildly screaming through the streets and cried for bread. They -plundered the shops and threw stones at the houses of the rich. Troops -were called out against them, and then they tore up the stones of the -street, dragged together carriages and furniture, and built barricades. - -As the rich Englishwoman came driving in her great travelling-carriage, -the mass of people rushed towards it, forced her to leave it, and dragged -the carriage up to one of the barricades. - -When they tried to roll the carriage up among all the thousand things of -which the barricade consisted, one of the big trunks fell to the ground. -The cover sprang open, and among other things out rolled the rejected -Christ image. - -The people threw themselves upon him to plunder, but they soon saw that -all his grandeur was imitation and quite worthless, and they began to -laugh at him and mock him. - -He went from hand to hand among the agitators, until one of them bent -forward to look at his crown. His eyes were attracted by the words which -stood scratched there: “My kingdom is only of this world.” - -The man called this out quite loudly, and they all screamed that the -little image should be their badge. They carried him up to the summit of -the barricade and placed him there like a banner. - -Among those who defended the barricade was one man who was not a poor -working-man, but a man of education, who had passed his whole life in -study. He knew all the want that tortured mankind, and his heart was full -of sympathy, so that he continually sought means to better their lot. For -thirty years he had written and thought without finding any remedy. Now -on hearing the alarm bell he had obeyed it and rushed into the streets. - -He had seized a weapon and gone with the insurgents with the thought that -the riddle which he had been unable to solve should now be made clear by -violence and force, and that the poor should be able to fight their way -to a better lot. - -There he stood the whole day and fought; and people fell about him, blood -splashed up into his face, and the misery of life seemed to him greater -and more deplorable than ever before. - -But whenever the smoke cleared away, the little image shone before his -eyes; through all the tumult of the fight it stood unmoved high up on the -barricade. - -Every time he saw the image the words “My kingdom is only of this world” -flashed through his brain. At last he thought that the words wrote -themselves in the air and began to wave before his eyes, now in fire, now -in blood, now in smoke. - -He stood still. He stood there with gun in hand, but he had stopped -fighting. Suddenly he knew that this was the word that he had sought -after all his life. He knew what he would say to the people, and it was -the poor image that had given him the solution. - -He would go out into the whole world and proclaim: “Your kingdom is only -of this world. - -“Therefore you must care for this life and live like brothers. And you -shall divide your property so that no one is rich and no one poor. You -shall all work, and the earth shall be owned by all, and you shall all be -equal. - -“No one shall hunger, no one shall be tempted to luxury, and no one shall -suffer want in his old age. - -“And you must think of increasing every one’s happiness, for there is no -compensation awaiting you. Your kingdom is only of this world.” - -All this passed through his brain while he stood on the barricade, and -when the thought became clear to him, he laid down his weapon, and did -not lift it again for strife and the shedding of blood. - -A moment later the barricade was stormed and taken. The victorious troops -dashed through and quelled the insurrection, and before night order and -peace reigned in the great city. - -The Englishwoman sent out her servants to look for her lost possessions, -and they found many, if not all. What they found first of all on the -captured barricade was the image ejected from Aracoeli. - -But the man who had been taught during the fight by the image began to -proclaim to the world a new doctrine, which is called Socialism, but -which is an Antichristianity. - -And it loves, and renounces, and teaches, and suffers like Christianity, -so that it has every resemblance to the latter, just as the false image -from Aracoeli has every resemblance to the real Christ image. - -And like the false image it says: “My kingdom is only of this world.” - -And although the image that has spread abroad the teachings is unnoticed -and unknown, the teachings are not; they go through the world to save and -remodel it. - -They are spreading from day to day. They go out through all countries, -and bear many names, and they mislead because they promise earthly -happiness and enjoyment to all, and win followers more than any doctrine -that has gone through the world since the time of Christ. - - - - -FIRST BOOK - -“_There shall be great want_” - - - - -I - -MONGIBELLO - - -Towards the end of the seventies there was in Palermo a poor boy whose -name was Gaetano Alagona. That was lucky for him! If he had not been one -of the old Alagonas people would have let him starve to death. He was -only a child, and had neither money nor parents. The Jesuits of Santa -Maria i Jesu had taken him out of charity into the cloister school. - -One day, when studying his lesson, a father came and called him from the -school-room, because a cousin wished to see him. What, a cousin! He had -always heard that all his relatives were dead. But Father Josef insisted -that it was a real Signora, who was his relative and wished to take him -out of the monastery. It became worse and worse. Did she want to take him -out of the monastery? That she could never do! He was going to be a monk. - -He did not at all wish to see the Signora. Could not Father Josef tell -her that Gaetano would never leave the monastery, and that it was of no -avail to ask him? No, Father Josef said that he could not let her depart -without seeing him, and he half dragged Gaetano into the reception-room. -There she stood by one of the windows. She had gray hair; her skin was -brown; her eyes were black and as round as beads. She had a lace veil on -her head, and her black dress was smooth with wear, and a little green, -like Father Josef’s very oldest cassock. - -She made the sign of the cross when she saw Gaetano. “God be praised, he -is a true Alagona!” she said, and kissed his hand. - -She said that she was sorry that Gaetano had reached his twelfth year -without any of his family asking after him; but she had not known that -there were any of the other branch alive. How had she found it out now? -Well, Luca had read the name in a newspaper. It had stood among those who -had got a prize. It was a half-year ago now, but it was a long journey to -Palermo. She had had to save and save to get the money for the journey. -She had not been able to come before. But she had to come and see him. -_Santissima madre_, she had been so glad! It was she, Donna Elisa, who -was an Alagona. Her husband, who was dead, had been an Antonelli. There -was one other Alagona, that was her brother. He, too, lived at Diamante. -But Gaetano probably did not know where Diamante was. The boy drew his -head back. No, she thought as much, and she laughed. - -“Diamante is on Monte Chiaro. Do you know where Monte Chiaro is?” - -“No.” - -She drew up her eyebrows and looked very roguish. - -“Monte Chiaro is on Etna, if you know where Etna is.” - -It sounded so anxious, as if it were too much to ask that Gaetano should -know anything about Etna. And they laughed, all three, she and Father -Josef and Gaetano. - -She seemed a different person after she had made them laugh. “Will you -come and see Diamante and Etna and Monte Chiaro?” she asked briskly. -“Etna you must see. It is the greatest mountain in the world. Etna is a -king, and the mountains round about kneel before him, and do not dare to -lift their eyes to his face.” - -Then she told many tales about Etna. She thought perhaps that it would -tempt him. - -And it was really true that Gaetano had not thought before what kind of -a mountain Etna was. He had not remembered that it had snow on its head, -oak forests in its beard, vineyards about its waist, and that it stood in -orange groves up to its knees. And down it ran broad, black rivers. Those -streams were wonderful; they flowed without a ripple; they heaved without -a wind; the poorest swimmer could cross them without a bridge. He guessed -that she meant lava. And she was glad that he had guessed it. He was a -clever boy. A real Alagona! - -And Etna was so big! Fancy that it took three days to drive round it and -three days to ride up to the top and down again! And that there were -fifty towns beside Diamante on it, and fourteen great forests, and two -hundred small peaks, which were not so small either, although Etna was so -big that they seemed as insignificant as a swarm of flies on a church -roof. And that there were caves which could hold a whole army, and hollow -old trees, where a flock of sheep could find shelter from the storm! - -Everything wonderful was to be found on Etna. There were rivers of which -one must beware. The water in them was so cold that any one who drank of -it would die. There were rivers which flowed only by day, and others that -flowed only in winter, and some which ran deep under the earth. There -were hot springs, and sulphur springs, and mud-volcanoes. - -It would be a pity for Gaetano not to see the mountain, for it was so -beautiful. It stood against the sky like a great tent. It was as gayly -colored as a merry-go-round. He ought to see it in the morning and -evening, when it was red; he ought to see it at night, when it was white. -He ought also to know that it truly could take every color; that it could -be blue, black, brown or violet; sometimes it wore a veil of beauty, like -a signora; sometimes it was a table covered with velvet; sometimes it had -a tunic of gold brocade and a mantle of peacock’s-feathers. - -He would also like to know how it could be that old King Arthur was -sitting there in a cave. Donna Elisa said that it was quite certain that -he still lived on Etna, for once, when the bishop of Catania was riding -over the mountain, three of his mules ran away, and the men who followed -them found them in the cave with King Arthur. Then the king asked the -guides to tell the bishop that when his wounds were healed he would come -with his knights of the Round Table and right everything that was in -disorder in Sicily. And he who had eyes to see knew well enough that -King Arthur had not yet come out of his cave. - -Gaetano did not wish to let her tempt him, but he thought that he might -be a little friendly. She was still standing, but now he fetched her a -chair. That would not make her think that he wanted to go with her. - -He really liked to hear her tell about her mountain. It was so funny that -it should have so many tricks. It was not at all like Monte Pellegrino, -near Palermo, that only stood where it stood. Etna could smoke like a -chimney and blow out fire like a gas jet. It could rumble, shake, vomit -forth lava, throw stones, scatter ashes, foretell the weather, and -collect rain. If Mongibello merely stirred, town after town fell, as if -the houses had been cards set on end. - -Mongibello, that was also a name for Etna. It was called Mongibello -because that meant the mountain of mountains. It deserved to be called so. - -Gaetano saw that she really believed that he would not be able to resist. -She had so many wrinkles in her face, and when she laughed, they ran -together like a net. He stood and looked at it; it seemed so strange. But -he was not caught yet in the net. - -She wondered if Gaetano really would have the courage to come to Etna. -For inside the mountain were many bound giants and a black castle, which -was guarded by a dog with many heads. There was also a big forge and a -lame smith with only one eye in the middle of his forehead. And worst of -all, in the very heart of the mountain, there was a sulphur sea which -cooked like an oil kettle, and in it lay Lucifer and all the damned. No, -he never would have the courage to come there, she said. - -Otherwise there was no danger in living there, for the mountain feared -the saints. Donna Elisa said that it feared many saints, but most Santa -Agata of Catania. If the Catanians always were as they should be to her, -then neither earthquake nor lava could do them any harm. - -Gaetano stood quite close to her and he laughed at everything she said. -How had he come there and why could he not stop laughing? It was a -wonderful signora. - -Suddenly he said, in order not to deceive her, “Donna Elisa, I am going -to be a monk.”--“Oh, are you?” she said. Then without anything more she -began again to tell about the mountain. - -She said that now he must really listen; now she was coming to the most -important of all. He was to fellow her to the south side of the mountain -so far down that they were near the castle of Catania, and there he would -see a valley, a quite big and wide oval valley. But it was quite black; -the lava streams came from all directions flowing down into it. There -were only stones there, not a blade of grass. - -But what had Gaetano believed about the lava? Donna Elisa was sure that -he believed that it lay as even and smooth on Etna as it lies in the -streets. But on Etna there are so many surprises. Could he understand -that all the serpents and dragons and witches that lay and boiled in -the lava ran out with it when there was an eruption? There they lay and -crawled and crept and twisted about each other, and tried to creep up -to the cold earth, and held each other fast in misery until the lava -hardened about them. And then they could never come free. No indeed! - -The lava was not unproductive, as he thought. Although no grass grew, -there was always something to see. But he could never guess what it was. -It groped and fell; it tumbled and crept; it moved on its knees, on its -head, and on its elbows. It came up the sides of the valley and down -the sides of the valley; it was all thorns and knots; it had a cloak of -spider’s-web and a wig of dust, and as many joints as a worm. Could it be -anything but the cactus? Did he know that the cactus goes out on the lava -and breaks the ground like a peasant? Did he know that nothing but the -cactus can do anything with the lava? - -Now she looked at Father Josef and made a funny face. The cactus was the -best goblin to be found on Etna; but goblins were goblins. The cactus was -a Turk, for it kept female slaves. No sooner had the cactus taken root -anywhere than it must have almond trees near it. Almond trees are fine -and shining signoras. They hardly dare to go out on the black surface, -but that does not help them. Out they must, and out they are. Oh, Gaetano -should see if he came there. When the almond trees stand white with their -blossoms in the spring on the black field among the gray cacti, they are -so innocent and beautiful that one could weep over them as over captive -princesses. - -Now he must know where Monte Chiaro lay. It shot up from the bottom of -that black valley. She tried to make her umbrella stand on the floor. -It stood so. It stood right up. It had never thought of either sitting -or lying. And Monte Chiaro was as green as the valley was black. It -was palm next palm, vine upon vine. It was a gentleman in a flowery -dressing-gown. It was a king with a crown on his head. It bore the whole -of Diamante about its temples. - -Some time before Gaetano had a desire to take her hand. If he only could -do it. Yes, he could. He drew her hand to him like a captured treasure. -But what should he do with it? Perhaps pat it. If he tried quite gently -with one finger, perhaps she would not notice it. Perhaps she would not -notice if he took two fingers. Perhaps she would not even notice if he -should kiss her hand. She talked and talked. She noticed nothing at all. - -There was still so much she wished to say. And nothing so droll as her -story about Diamante! - -She said that the town had once lain down on the bottom of the valley. -Then the lava came, and fiery red looked over the edge of the valley. -What, what! was the last day come? The town in great haste took its -houses on its back, on its head, and under its arms, and ran up Monte -Chiaro, that lay close at hand. - -Zigzagging up the mountain the town ran. When it was far enough up it -threw down a town gate and a piece of town wall. Then it ran round the -mountain in a spiral and dropped down houses. The poor people’s houses -tumbled as they could and would. There was no time for anything else. -No one could ask anything better than crowding and disorder and crooked -streets. No, that you could not. The chief street went in a spiral round -the mountain, just as the town had run, and along it had set down here -a church and there a palace. But there had been that much order that -the best came highest up. When the town came to the top of the mountain -it had laid out a square, and there it had placed the city hall and the -Cathedral and the old palazzo Geraci. - -If he, Gaetano Alagona, would follow her to Diamante, she would take him -with her up to the square on the top of the mountain, and show him what -stretches of land the old Alagonas had owned on Etna, and on the plain of -Catania, and where they had raised their strongholds on the inland peaks. -For up there all that could be seen, and even more. One could see the -whole sea. - -Gaetano had not thought that she had talked long, but Father Josef seemed -to be impatient. “Now we have come to your own home, Donna Elisa,” he -said quite gently. - -But she assured Father Josef that at her house there was nothing to see. -What she first of all wished to show Gaetano was the big house on the -corso, that was called the summer palace. It was not so beautiful as the -palazzo Geraci, but it was big; and when the old Alagonas were prosperous -they came there in summer to be nearer the snows of Etna. Yes, as she -said, towards the street it was nothing to see, but it had a beautiful -court-yard with open porticos in both the stories. And on the roof there -was a terrace. It was paved with blue and white tiles, and on every tile -the coat of arms of the Alagonas was burnt in. He would like to come and -see that? - -It occurred to Gaetano that Donna Elisa must be used to having children -come and sit on her knees when she was at home. Perhaps she would not -notice if he should also come. And he tried. And so it was. She was used -to it. She never noticed it at all. - -She only went on talking about the palace. There was a great state suite, -where the old Alagonas had danced and played. There was a great hall with -a gallery for the music; there was old furniture and clocks like small -white alabaster temples that stood on black ebony pedestals. In the state -apartment no one lived, but she would go there with him. Perhaps he had -thought that she lived in the summer palace. Oh, no; her brother, Don -Ferrante, lived there. He was a merchant, and had his shop on the lower -floor; and as he had not yet brought home a signora, everything stood up -there as it had stood. - -Gaetano wondered if he could sit on her knees any longer. It was -wonderful that she did not notice anything. And it was fortunate, for -otherwise she might have believed that he had changed his mind about -being a monk. - -But she was just now more than ever occupied with her own affairs. A -little flush flamed up in her cheeks under all the brown, and she made a -few of the funniest faces with her eyebrows. Then she began to tell how -she herself lived. - -It seemed as if Donna Elisa must have the very smallest house in the -town. It lay opposite the summer palace, but that was its only good -point. She had a little shop, where she sold medallions and wax candles -and everything that had to do with divine service. But, with all respect -to Father Josef, there was not much profit in such a trade now-a-days, -however it may have been formerly. Behind the shop there was a little -workshop. There her husband had stood and carved images of the saints, -and rosary beads; for he had been an artist, Signor Antonelli. And next -to the workshop were a couple of small rat-holes; it was impossible to -turn in them; one had to squat down, as in the cells of the old kings. -And up one flight were a couple of small hen-coops. In one of them -she had laid a little straw and put up a few hooks. That would be for -Gaetano, if he would come to her. - -Gaetano thought that he would like to pat her cheek. She would be sorry -when he could not go with her. Perhaps he could permit himself to pat -her. He looked under his hair at Father Josef. Father Josef sat and -looked on the floor and sighed, as he was in the habit of doing. He did -not think of Gaetano, and she, she noticed nothing at all. - -She said that she had a maid, whose name was Pacifica, and a man, whose -name was Luca. She did not get much help, however, for Pacifica was old; -and, since she had grown deaf, she had become so irritable that she could -not let her help in the shop. And Luca, who really was to have been a -wood-carver, and carve saints that she could sell, never gave himself -time to stand still in the workshop; he was always out in the garden, -looking after the flowers. Yes, they had a little garden among the stones -on Monte Chiaro. But he need not think it was worth anything. She had -nothing like the one in the cloister, that Gaetano would understand. But -she wanted so much to have him, because he was one of the old Alagonas. -And there at home she and Luca and Pacifica had said to one another: -“Do we ask whether we will have a little more care, if we can only get -him here?” No, the Madonna knew that they had not done so. But now the -question was, whether he was willing to endure anything to be with them. - -And now she had finished, and Father Josef asked what Gaetano thought -of answering. It was the prior’s wish, Father Josef said, that Gaetano -should decide for himself. And they had nothing against his going out -into the world, because he was the last of his race. - -Gaetano slid gently down from Donna Elisa’s lap. But to answer! That -was not such an easy thing to answer. It was very hard to say no to the -signora. - -Father Josef came to his assistance. “Ask the signora that you may be -allowed to answer in a couple of hours, Gaetano. The boy has never -thought of anything but being a monk,” he explained to Donna Elisa. - -She stood up, took her umbrella, and tried to look glad, but there were -tears in her eyes. - -Of course, of course he must consider it, she said. But if he had known -Diamante he would not have needed to. Now only peasants lived there, -but once there had been a bishop, and many priests, and a multitude of -monks. They were gone now, but they were not forgotten. Ever since that -time Diamante was a holy town. More festival days were celebrated there -than anywhere else, and there were quantities of saints; and even to-day -crowds of pilgrims came there. Whoever lived at Diamante could never -forget God. He was almost half a priest. So for that reason he ought to -come. But he should consider it, if he so wished. She would come again -to-morrow. - -Gaetano behaved himself very badly. He turned away from her and rushed to -the door. He did not say a word of thanks to her for coming. He knew that -Father Josef had expected it, but he could not. When he thought of the -great Mongibello that he never would see, and of Donna Elisa, who would -never come again, and of the school, and of the shut-in cloister garden, -and of a whole restricted life! Father Josef never could expect so much -of him; Gaetano had to run away. - -It was high time too. When Gaetano was ten steps from the door, he began -to cry. It was too bad about Donna Elisa. Oh, that she should be obliged -to travel home alone! That Gaetano could not go with her! - -He heard Father Josef coming, and he hid his face against the wall. If he -could only stop sobbing! - -Father Josef came sighing and murmuring to himself, as he always did. -When he came up to Gaetano he stopped, and sighed more than ever. - -“It is Mongibello, Mongibello,” said Father Josef; “no one can resist -Mongibello.” - -Gaetano answered him by weeping more violently. - -“It is the mountain calling,” murmured Father Josef. “Mongibello is like -the whole earth; it has all the earth’s beauty and charm and vegetation -and expanses and wonders. The whole earth comes at once and calls him.” - -Gaetano felt that Father Josef spoke the truth. He felt as if the earth -stretched out strong arms to catch him. He felt that he needed to bind -himself fast to the wall in order not to be torn away. - -“It is better for him to see the earth,” said Father Josef. “He would -only be longing for it if he stayed in the monastery. If he is allowed to -see the earth perhaps he will begin again to long for heaven.” - -Gaetano did not understand what Father Josef meant when he felt himself -lifted into his arms, carried back into the reception-room, and put down -on Donna Elisa’s knees. - -“You shall take him, Donna Elisa, since you have won him,” said Father -Josef. “You shall show him Mongibello, and you shall see if you can keep -him.” - -But when Gaetano once more sat on Donna Elisa’s lap he felt such -happiness that it was impossible for him to run away from her again. He -was as much captured as if he had gone into Mongibello and the mountain -walls had closed in on him. - - - - -II - -FRA GAETANO - - -Gaetano had lived with Donna Elisa a month, and had been as happy as a -child can be. Merely to travel with Donna Elisa had been like driving -behind gazelles and birds of paradise; but to live with her was to be -carried on a golden litter, screened from the sun. - -Then the famous Franciscan, Father Gondo, came to Diamante, and Donna -Elisa and Gaetano went up to the square to listen to him. For Father -Gondo never preached in a church; he always gathered the people about him -by fountains or at the town gates. - -The square was swarming with people; but Gaetano, who sat on the railing -of the court-house steps, plainly saw Father Gondo where he stood on -the curb-stone. He wondered if it could be true that the monk wore a -horse-hair shirt under his robes, and that the rope that he had about his -waist was full of knots and iron points to serve him as a scourge. - -Gaetano could not understand what Father Gondo said, but one shiver after -another ran through him at the thought that he was looking at a saint. - -When the Father had spoken for about an hour, he made a sign with his -hand that he would like to rest a moment. He stepped down from the steps -of the fountain, sat down, and rested his face in his hands. While the -monk was sitting so, Gaetano heard a gentle roaring. He had never before -heard any like it. He looked about him to discover what it was. And it -was all the people talking. “Blessed, blessed, blessed!” they all said at -once. Most of them only whispered and murmured; none called aloud, their -devotion was too great. And every one had found the same word. “Blessed, -blessed!” sounded over the whole market-place. “Blessings on thy lips; -blessings on thy tongue; blessings on thy heart!” - -The voices sounded soft, choked by weeping and emotion, but it was as if -a storm had passed by through the air. It was like the murmuring of a -thousand shells. - -That took much greater hold of Gaetano than the monk’s sermon. He did -not know what he wished to do, for that gentle murmuring filled him with -emotion; it seemed almost to suffocate him. He climbed up on the iron -railing, raised himself above all the others, and began to cry the same -as they, but much louder, so that his voice cut through all the others. - -Donna Elisa heard it and seemed to be displeased. She drew Gaetano down -and would not stay any longer, but went home with him. - -In the middle of the night Gaetano started up from his bed. He put on his -clothes, tied together what he possessed in a bundle, set his hat on his -head and took his shoes under his arm. He was going to run away. He could -not bear to live with Donna Elisa. - -Since he had heard Father Gondo, Diamante and Mongibello were nothing to -him. Nothing was anything compared to being like Father Gondo, and being -blessed by the people. Gaetano could not live if he could not sit by the -fountain in the square and tell legends. - -But if Gaetano went on living in Donna Elisa’s garden, and eating peaches -and mandarins, he would never hear the great human sea roar about him. -He must go out and be a hermit on Etna; he must dwell in one of the big -caves, and live on roots and fruits. He would never see a human being; he -would never cut his hair; and he would wear nothing but a few dirty rags. -But in ten or twenty years he would come back to the world. Then he would -look like a beast and speak like an angel. - -That would be another matter than wearing velvet clothes and a glazed -hat, as he did now. That would be different from sitting in the shop with -Donna Elisa and taking saint after saint down from the shelf and hearing -her tell about what they had done. Several times he had taken a knife and -a piece of wood and had tried to carve images of the saints. It was very -hard, but it would be worse to make himself into a saint; much worse. -However, he was not afraid of difficulties and privations. - -He crept out of his room, across the attic and down the stair. It only -remained to go through the shop out to the street, but on the last step -he stopped. A faint light filtered through a crack in the door to the -left of the stairs. - -It was the door to Donna Elisa’s room, and Gaetano did not dare to go any -further, since his foster mother had her candle lighted. If she was not -asleep she would hear him when he drew the heavy bolts on the shop door. -He sat softly down on the stairs to wait. - -Suddenly he happened to think that Donna Elisa must sit up so long at -night and work in order to get him food and clothes. He was much touched -that she loved him so much as to want to do it. And he understood what a -grief it would be to her if he should go. - -When he thought of that he began to weep. - -But at the same time he began to upbraid Donna Elisa in his thoughts. How -could she be so stupid as to grieve because he went. It would be such a -joy for her when he should become a holy man. That would be her reward -for having gone to Palermo and fetched him. - -He cried more and more violently while he was consoling Donna Elisa. It -was hard that she did not understand what a reward she would receive. - -There was no need for her to be sad. For ten years only would Gaetano -live on the mountain, and then he would come back as the famous hermit -Fra Gaetano. Then he would come walking through the streets of Diamante, -followed by a great crowd of people, like Father Gondo. And there would -be flags, and the houses would be decorated with cloths and wreaths. He -would stop in front of Donna Elisa’s shop, and Donna Elisa would not -recognize him and would be ready to fall on her knees before him. But so -should it not be; he would kneel to Donna Elisa, and ask her forgiveness, -because he had run away from her ten years ago. “Gaetano,” Donna Elisa -would then answer, “you give me an ocean of joy against a little brook of -sorrow. Should I not forgive you?” - -Gaetano saw all this before him, and it was so beautiful that he began to -weep more violently. He was only afraid that Donna Elisa would hear how -he was sobbing and come out and find him. And then she would not let him -go. - -He must talk sensibly with her. Would he ever give her greater pleasure -than if he went now? - -It was not only Donna Elisa, there was also Luca and Pacifica, who would -be so glad when he came back as a holy man. - -They would all follow him up to the market-place. There, there would be -even more flags than in the streets, and Gaetano would speak from the -steps of the town hall. And from all the streets and courts people would -come streaming. - -Then Gaetano would speak, so that they should all fall on their knees and -cry: “Bless us, Fra Gaetano, bless us!” - -After that he would never leave Diamante again. He would live under the -great steps outside Donna Elisa’s shop. - -And they would come to him with their sick, and those in trouble would -make a pilgrimage to him. - -When the syndic of Diamante went by he would kiss Gaetano’s hand. - -Donna Elisa would sell Fra Gaetano’s image in her shop. - -And Donna Elisa’s god-daughter, Giannita, would bow before Fra Gaetano -and never again call him a stupid monk-boy. - -And Donna Elisa would be so happy. - - * * * * * - -Ah … Gaetano started up, and awoke. It was bright daylight, and Donna -Elisa and Pacifica stood and looked at him. And Gaetano sat on the -stairs with his shoes under his arm, his hat on his head and his bundle -at his feet. But Donna Elisa and Pacifica wept. “He has wished to run -away from us,” they said. - -“Why are you sitting here, Gaetano?” - -“Donna Elisa, I wanted to run away.” - -Gaetano was in a good mood, and answered as boldly as if it had been the -most natural thing in the world. - -“Do you want to run away?” repeated Donna Elisa. - -“I wished to go off on Etna and be a hermit.” - -“And why are you sitting here now?” - -“I do not know, Donna Elisa; I must have fallen asleep.” - -Donna Elisa now showed how distressed she was. She pressed her hands over -her heart, as if she had terrible pains, and she wept passionately. - -“But now I shall stay, Donna Elisa,” said Gaetano. - -“You, stay!” cried Donna Elisa. “You might as well go. Look at him, -Pacifica, look at the ingrate! He is no Alagona. He is an adventurer.” - -The blood rose in Gaetano’s face and he sprang to his feet and struck out -with his hands in a way which astonished Donna Elisa. So had all the men -of her race done. It was her father and her grandfather; she recognized -all the powerful lords of the family of Alagona. - -“You speak so because you know nothing about it, Donna Elisa,” said the -boy. “No, no, you do not know anything; you do not know why I had to -serve God. But you shall know it now. Do you see, it was long ago. My -father and mother were so poor, and we had nothing to eat; and so father -went to look for work, and he never came back, and mother and we children -were almost dead of starvation. So mother said: ‘We will go and look for -your father.’ And we went. Night came and a heavy rain, and in one place -a river flowed over the road. Mother asked in one house if we might pass -the night there. No, they showed us out. Mother and children stood in the -road and cried. Then mother tucked up her dress and went down into the -stream that roared over the road. She had my little sister on her arm and -my big sister by the hand and a big bundle on her head. I went after as -near as I could. I saw mother lose her footing. The bundle she carried -on her head fell into the stream, and mother caught at it and dropped -little sister. She snatched at little sister and big sister was whirled -away. Mother threw herself after them, and the river took her too. I was -frightened and ran to the shore. Father Josef has told me that I escaped -because I was to serve God for the dead, and pray for them. And that was -why it was first decided that I was to be a monk, and why I now wish to -go away on Etna and become a hermit. There is nothing else for me but to -serve God, Donna Elisa.” - -Donna Elisa was quite subdued. “Yes, yes, Gaetano,” she said, “but it -hurts me so. I do not want you to go away from me.” - -“No, I shall not go either,” said Gaetano. He was in such a good mood -that he felt a desire to laugh. “I shall not go.” - -“Shall I speak to the priest, so that you may be sent to a seminary?” -asked Donna Elisa, humbly. - -“No; but you do not understand, Donna Elisa; you do not understand. I -tell you that I will not go away from you. I have thought of something -else.” - -“What have you thought of?” she asked sadly. - -“What do you suppose I was doing while I sat there on the stairs? I was -dreaming, Donna Elisa. I dreamed that I was going to run away. Yes, -Donna Elisa, I stood in the shop, and I was going to open the shop door, -but I could not because there were so many locks. I stood in the dark -and unlocked lock after lock, and always there were new ones. I made a -terrible noise, and I thought: ‘Now surely Donna Elisa will come.’ At -last the door opened, and I was going to rush out; but just then I felt -your hand on my neck, and you drew me in, and I kicked, and I struck you -because I was not allowed to go. But, Donna Elisa, you had a candle with -you, and then I saw that it was not you, but my mother. Then I did not -dare to struggle any more, and I was very frightened, for mother is dead. -But mother took the bundle I was carrying and began to take out what was -in it. Mother laughed and looked so glad, and I grew glad that she was -not angry with me. It was so strange. What she drew out of the bundle -was all the little saints’ images that I had carved while I sat with you -in the shop, and they were so pretty. ‘Can you carve such pretty images, -Gaetano?’ said mother. ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Then you can serve God by -it,’ said mother. ‘Do I not need to leave Donna Elisa, then?’ ‘No,’ said -mother. And just as mother said that, you waked me.” - -Gaetano looked at Donna Elisa in triumph. - -“What did mother mean by that?” - -Donna Elisa only wondered. - -Gaetano threw his head back and laughed. - -“Mother meant that you should apprentice me, so that I could serve God by -carving beautiful images of angels and saints, Donna Elisa.” - - - - -III - -THE GOD-SISTER - - -In the noble island of Sicily, where there are more old customs left than -in any other place in the south, it is always the habit of every one -while yet a child to choose a god-brother or god-sister, who shall carry -his or her children to be christened, if there ever are any. - -But this is not by any means the only use god-brothers and sisters have -of one another. God-brothers and sisters must love one another, serve one -another, and revenge one another. In a god-brother’s ear a man can bury -his secrets. He can trust him with both money and sweetheart, and not be -deceived. God-brothers and sisters are as faithful to each other as if -they were born of the same mother, because their covenant is made before -San Giovanni Battista, who is the most feared of all the saints. - -It is also the custom for the poor to take their half-grown children to -rich people and ask that they may be god-brothers and sisters to their -young sons and daughters. What a glad sight it is on the holy Baptist’s -day to see all those little children in festival array wandering through -the great towns looking for a god-brother or sister! If the parents -succeed in giving their son a rich god-brother, they are as glad as if -they were able to leave him a farm as an inheritance. - -When Gaetano first came to Diamante, there was a little girl who was -always coming in and out of Donna Elisa’s shop. She had a red cloak and -pointed cap and eight heavy, black curls that stood out under the cap. -Her name was Giannita, and she was daughter of Donna Olivia, who sold -vegetables. But Donna Elisa was her god-mother, and therefore thought -what she could do for her. - -Well, when midsummer day came, Donna Elisa ordered a carriage and drove -down to Catania, which lies full twenty miles from Diamante. She had -Giannita with her, and they were both dressed in their best. Donna Elisa -was dressed in black silk with jet, and Giannita had a white tulle dress -with garlands of flowers. In her hand Giannita held a basket of flowers, -and among the flowers lay a pomegranate. - -The journey went well for Donna Elisa and Giannita. When at last they -reached the white Catania, that lies and shines on the black lava -background, they drove up to the finest palace in the town. - -It was lofty and wide, so that the poor little Giannita felt quite -terrified at the thought of going into it. But Donna Elisa walked bravely -in, and she was taken to Cavaliere Palmeri and his wife who owned the -house. - -Donna Elisa reminded Signora Palmeri that they were friends from infancy, -and asked that Giannita might be her young daughter’s god-sister. - -That was agreed upon, and the young signorina was called in. She was a -little marvel of rose-colored silk, Venetian lace, big, black eyes, and -thick, bushy hair. Her little body was so small and thin that one hardly -noticed it. - -Giannita offered her the basket of flowers, and she graciously accepted -it. She looked long and thoughtfully at Giannita, walked round her, and -was fascinated by her smooth, even curls. When she had seen them, she ran -after a knife, cut the pomegranate and gave Giannita half. - -While they ate the fruit, they held each other’s hand and both said:-- - - “Sister, sister, sister mine! - Thou art mine, and I am thine, - Thine my house, my bread and wine, - Thine my joys, my sacrifice, - Thine my place in Paradise.” - -Then they kissed each other and called each other god-sister. - -“You must never fail me, god-sister,” said the little signorina, and both -the children were very serious and moved. - -They had become such good friends in the short time that they cried when -they parted. - -But then twelve years went by and the two god-sisters lived each in her -own world and never met. During the whole time Giannita was quietly in -her home and never came to Catania. - -But then something really strange happened. Giannita sat one afternoon -in the room back of the shop embroidering. She was very skilful and was -often overwhelmed with work. But it is trying to the eyes to embroider, -and it was dark in Giannita’s room. She had therefore half-opened the -door into the shop to get a little more light. - -Just after the clock had struck four, the old miller’s widow, Rosa -Alfari, came walking by. Donna Olivia’s shop was very attractive from -the street. The eyes fell through the half-open door on great baskets -with fresh vegetables and bright-colored fruits, and far back in the -background the outline of Giannita’s pretty head. Rosa Alfari stopped and -began to talk to Donna Olivia, simply because her shop looked so friendly. - -Laments and complaints always followed old Rosa Alfari. Now she was sad -because she had to go to Catania alone that night. “It is a misfortune -that the post-wagon does not reach Diamante before ten,” she said. “I -shall fall asleep on the way, and perhaps they will then steal my money. -And what shall I do when I come to Catania at two o’clock at night?” - -Then Giannita suddenly called out into the shop. “Will you take me with -you to Catania, Donna Alfari?” she asked, half in joke, without expecting -an answer. - -But Rosa Alfari said eagerly, “Lord, child, will you go with me? Will you -really?” - -Giannita came out into the shop, red with pleasure. “If I will!” she -said. “I have not been in Catania for twelve years.” - -Rosa Alfari looked delightedly at her; Giannita was tall and strong, her -eyes gay, and she had a careless smile on her lips. She was a splendid -travelling companion. - -“Get ready,” said the old woman. “You will go with me at ten o’clock; it -is settled.” - -The next day Giannita wandered about the streets of Catania. She was -thinking the whole time of her god-sister. She was strangely moved to be -so near her again. She loved her god-sister, Giannita, and she did it not -only because San Giovanni has commanded people to love their god-brothers -and sisters. She had adored the little child in the silk dress; she was -the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She had almost become her -idol. - -She knew this much about her sister, that she was still unmarried and -lived in Catania. Her mother was dead, and she had not been willing to -leave her father, and had stayed as hostess in his house. “I must manage -to see her,” thought Giannita. - -Whenever Giannita met a well-appointed carriage she thought: “Perhaps it -is my god-sister driving there.” And she stared at everybody to see if -any of them was like the little girl with the thick hair and the big eyes. - -Her heart began to beat wildly. She had always longed for her god-sister. -She herself was still unmarried, because she liked a young wood-carver, -Gaetano Alagona, and he had never shown the slightest desire to marry -her. Giannita had often been angry with him for that, and not least had -it irritated her never to be able to invite her god-sister to her wedding. - -She had been so proud of her, too. She had thought herself finer than the -others, because she had such a god-sister. What if she should now go to -see her, since she was in the town? It would give a lustre to the whole -journey. - -As she thought and thought of it, a newspaper-boy came running. -“_Giornale da Sicilia_,” he called. “The Palmeri affair! Great -embezzlements!” - -Giannita seized the boy by the neck as he rushed by. “What are you -saying?” she screamed. “You lie, you lie!” and she was ready to strike -him. - -“Buy my paper, signora, before you strike me,” said the boy. Giannita -bought the paper and began to read. She found in it without difficulty -the Palmeri affair. - -“Since this case is to be tried to-day in the courts,” wrote the paper, -“we will give an account of it.” - -Giannita read and read. She read it over and over before she understood. -There was not a muscle in her body which did not begin to tremble with -horror when she at last comprehended it. - -Her god-sister’s father, who had owned great vineyards, had been ruined, -because the blight had laid them waste. And that was not the worst. He -had also dissipated a charitable fund which had been intrusted to him. He -was arrested, and to-day he was to be tried. - -Giannita crushed the newspaper together, threw it into the street and -trampled on it. It deserved no better for bringing such news. - -Then she stood quite crushed that this should meet her when she came to -Catania for the first time in twelve years. “Lord God,” she said, “is -there any meaning in it?” - -At home, in Diamante, no one would ever have taken the trouble to tell -her what was going on. Was it not destiny that she should be here on the -very day of the trial? - -“Listen, Donna Alfari,” she said; “you may do as you like, but I must go -to the court.” - -There was a decision about Giannita. Nothing could disturb her. “Do you -not understand that it is for this, and not for your sake, that God has -induced you to take me with you to Catania?” she said to Rosa Alfari. - -Giannita did not doubt for a moment that there was something supernatural -in it all. - -Rosa Alfari must needs let her go, and she found her way to the Palace of -Justice. She stood among the street boys and riff-raff, and saw Cavaliere -Palmeri on the bench of the accused. He was a fine gentleman, with a -white, pointed beard and moustache. Giannita recognized him. - -She heard that he was condemned to six months’ imprisonment, and Giannita -thought she saw even more plainly that she had come there as an emissary -from God. “Now my god-sister must need me,” she thought. - -She went out into the street again and asked her way to the Palazzo -Palmeri. - -On the way a carriage drove by her. She looked up, and her eyes met those -of the lady who sat in the carriage. At the same moment something told -her that this was her god-sister. She who was driving was pale and bent -and had beseeching eyes. Giannita loved her from the first sight. “It is -you who have given me pleasure many times,” she said, “because I expected -pleasure from you. Now perhaps I can pay you back.” - -Giannita felt filled with devotion when she went up the high, white -marble steps to the Palazzo Palmeri, but suddenly a doubt struck -her. “What can God wish me to do for one who has grown up in such -magnificence?” she thought. “Does our Lord forget that I am only poor -Giannita from Diamante?” - -She told a servant to greet Signorina Palmeri and say to her that her -god-sister wished to speak to her. She was surprised when the servant -came back and said that she could not be received that day. Should she -be content with that? Oh, no; oh, no! - -“Tell the signorina that I am going to wait here the whole day, for I -must speak to her.” - -“The signorina is going to move out of the palace in half an hour,” said -the servant. - -Giannita was beside herself. “But I am her god-sister, her god-sister, -do you not understand?” she said to the man. “I must speak to her.” The -servant smiled, but did not move. - -But Giannita would not be turned away. Was she not sent by God? He must -understand, understand, she said, and raised her voice. She was from -Diamante and had not been in Catania for twelve years. Until yesterday -afternoon at four o’clock she had not thought of coming here. He must -understand, not until yesterday afternoon at four o’clock. - -The servant stood motionless. Giannita was ready to tell him the whole -story to move him, when the door was thrown open. Her god-sister stood on -the threshold. - -“Who is speaking of yesterday at four o’clock?” she said. - -“It is a stranger, Signorina Micaela.” - -Then Giannita rushed forward. It was not at all a stranger. It was her -god-sister from Diamante, who came here twelve years ago with Donna -Elisa. Did she not remember her? Did she not remember that they had -divided a pomegranate? - -The signorina did not listen to that. “What was it that happened -yesterday at four o’clock?” she asked, with great anxiety. - -“I then got God’s command to go to you, god-sister,” said Giannita. - -The other looked at her in terror. “Come with me,” she said, as if afraid -that the servant should hear what Giannita wished to say to her. - -She went far into the apartment before she stopped. Then she turned so -quickly towards Giannita that she was frightened. “Tell me instantly!” -she said. “Do not torture me; let me hear it instantly!” - -She was as tall as Giannita, but very unlike her. She was more delicately -made, and she, the woman of the world, had a much more wild and untamed -appearance than the country girl. Everything she felt showed in her face. -She did not try to conceal it. - -Giannita was so astonished at her violence that she could not answer at -first. - -Then her god-sister lifted her arms in despair over her head and the -words streamed from her lips. She said that she knew that Giannita had -been commanded by God to bring her word of new misfortunes. God hated -her, she knew it. - -Giannita clasped her hands. God hate her! on the contrary, on the -contrary! - -“Yes, yes,” said Signorina Palmeri. “It is so.” And as she was inwardly -afraid of the message Giannita had for her, she began to talk. She did -not let her speak; she interrupted her constantly. She seemed to be so -terrified by everything that had happened to her during the last days -that she could not at all control herself. - -Giannita must understand that God hated her, she said. She had done -something so terrible. She had forsaken her father, failed her father. -Giannita must have read the last account. Then she burst out again in -passionate questionings. Why did she not tell her what she wished to -tell her? She did not expect anything but bad news. She was prepared. - -But poor Giannita never got a chance to speak; as soon as she began, the -signorina became frightened and interrupted her. She told her story as if -to induce Giannita not to be too hard to her. - -Giannita must not think that her unhappiness only came from the fact of -her no longer having her carriage, or a box at the theatre, or beautiful -dresses, or servants, or even a roof over her head. Neither was it enough -that she had now lost all her friends, so that she did not at all know -where she should ask for shelter. Neither was it misfortune enough that -she felt such shame that she could not raise her eyes to any one’s face. - -But there was something else much worse. - -She sat down, and was silent a moment, while she rocked to and fro in -agony. But when Giannita began to speak, she interrupted her. - -Giannita could not think how her father had loved her. He had always had -her live in splendor and magnificence, like a princess. - -She had not done much for him; only let him think out delightful things -to amuse her. It had been no sacrifice to remain unmarried, for she had -never loved any one like her father, and her own home had been finer than -any one else’s. - -But one day her father had come and said to her, “They wish to arrest me. -They are spreading the report that I have stolen, but it is not true.” -Then she had believed him, and helped him to hide from the _Carabinieri_. -And they had looked for him in vain in Catania, on Etna, over the whole -of Sicily. - -But when the police could not find Cavaliere Palmeri, the people began -to say: “He is a fine gentleman, and they are fine gentlemen who help -him; otherwise they would have found him long ago.” And the prefect in -Catania had come to her. She received him smiling, and the prefect came -as if to talk of roses, and the beautiful weather. Then he said: “Will -the signorina look at this little paper? Will the signorina read this -little letter? Will the signorina observe this little signature?” She -read and read. And what did she see? Her father was not innocent. Her -father had taken the money of others. - -When the prefect had left her, she had gone to her father. “You are -guilty,” she said to him. “You may do what you will, but I cannot help -you any more.” Oh, she had not known what she said! She had always been -very proud. She had not been able to bear to have their name stamped with -dishonor. She had wished for a moment that her father had been dead, -rather than that this had happened to her. Perhaps she had also said it -to him. She did not rightly know what she had said. - -But after that God had forsaken her. The most terrible things had -happened. Her father had taken her at her word. He had gone and given -himself up. And ever since he had been in prison he had not been willing -to see her. He did not answer her letters, and the food that she sent -him he sent back untouched. That was the most dreadful thing of all. He -seemed to think that she wished to kill him. - -She looked at Giannita as anxiously as if she awaited her sentence of -death. - -“Why do you not say to me what you have to say?” she exclaimed. “You are -killing me!” - -But it was impossible for her to force herself to be silent. - -“You must know,” she continued, “that this palace is sold, and the -purchaser has let it to an English lady, who is to move in to-day. Some -of her things were brought in already yesterday, and among them was a -little image of Christ. - -“I caught sight of it as I passed through the vestibule, Giannita. They -had taken it out of a trunk, and it lay there on the floor. It had been -so neglected that no one took any trouble about it. Its crown was dented, -and its dress dirty, and all the small ornaments which adorned it were -rusty and broken. But when I saw it lying on the floor, I took it up and -carried it into the room and placed it on a table. And while I did so, -it occurred to me that I would ask its help. I knelt down before it and -prayed a long time. ‘Help me in my great need!’ I said to the Christchild. - -“While I prayed, it seemed to me that the image wished to answer me. I -lifted my head, and the child stood there as dull as before, but a clock -began to strike just then. It struck four, and it was as if it had said -four words. It was as if the Christchild had answered a fourfold _yes_ to -my prayer. - -“That gave me courage, Giannita, so that to-day I drove to the Palace of -Justice to see my father. But he never turned his eyes toward me during -the whole time he stood before his judges. - -“I waited until they were about to lead him away, and threw myself on -my knees before him in one of the narrow passages. Giannita, he let the -soldiers lead me away without giving me a word. - -“So, you see, God hates me. When I heard you speak of yesterday -afternoon at four o’clock, I was so frightened. The Christchild sends me -a new misfortune, I thought. It hates me for having failed my father.” - -When she had said that, she was at last silent and listened breathlessly -for what Giannita should say. - -And Giannita told her story to her. - -“See, see, is it not wonderful?” she said at the end. “I have not been in -Catania for twelve years, and then I come here quite unexpectedly. And I -know nothing at all; but as soon as I set my foot on the street here, I -hear your misfortune. God has sent a message to me, I said to myself. He -has called me here to help my god-sister.” - -Signorina Palmeri’s eyes were turned anxiously questioning towards her. -Now the new blow was coming. She gathered all her courage to meet it. - -“What do you wish me to do for you, god-sister?” said Giannita. “Do you -know what I thought as I was walking through the streets? I will ask her -if she will go with me to Diamante, I thought. I know an old house there, -where we could live cheaply. And I would embroider and sew, so that we -could support ourselves. When I was out in the street I thought that it -might be, but now I understand that it is impossible, impossible. You -require something more of life; but tell me if I can do anything for you. -You shall not thrust me away, for God has sent me.” - -The signorina bent towards Giannita. “Well?” she said anxiously. - -“You shall let me do what I can for you, for I love you,” said Giannita, -and fell on her knees and put her arms about her. - -“Have you nothing else to say?” asked the signorina. - -“I wish I had,” said Giannita, “but I am only a poor girl.” - -It was wonderful to see how the features of the young signorina’s face -softened; how her color came back and how her eyes began to shine. Now it -was plain that she had great beauty. - -“Giannita,” she said, low and scarcely audibly, “do you think that it is -a miracle? Do you think that God can let a miracle come to pass for my -sake?” - -“Yes, yes,” whispered Giannita back. - -“I prayed the Christchild that he should help me, and he sends you to me. -Do you think that it was the Christchild who sent you, Giannita?” - -“Yes, it was; it was!” - -“Then God has not forsaken me, Giannita?” - -“No, God has not forsaken you.” - -The god-sisters sat and wept for a while. It was quite quiet in the room. -“When you came, Giannita, I thought that nothing was left me but to kill -myself,” she said at last. “I did not know where to turn, and God hated -me.” - -“But tell me now what I can do for you, god-sister,” said Giannita. - -As an answer the other drew her to her and kissed her. - -“But it is enough that you are sent by the little Christchild,” she said. -“It is enough that I know that God has not forsaken me.” - - - - -IV - -DIAMANTE - - -Micaela Palmeri was on her way to Diamante with Giannita. - -They had taken their places in the post-carriage at three o’clock in the -morning, and had driven up the beautiful road over the lower slopes of -Etna, circling round the mountain. But it had been quite dark. They had -not seen anything of the surrounding country. - -The young signorina by no means lamented over that. She sat with closed -eyes and buried herself in her sorrow. Even when it began to grow light, -she would not lift her eyes to look out. It was not until they were quite -near Diamante that Giannita could persuade her to look at the landscape. - -“Look! Here is Diamante; this is to be your home,” she said. - -Then Micaela Palmeri, to the right of the road, saw mighty Etna, that cut -off a great piece of the sky. Behind the mountain the sun was rising, -and when the upper edge of the sun’s disc appeared above the line of the -mountain, it looked as if the white summit began to burn and send out -sparks and rays. - -Giannita entreated her to look at the other side. - -And on the other side she saw the whole jagged mountain chain, which -surrounds Etna like a towered wall, glowing red in the sunrise. - -But Giannita pointed in another direction. It was not that she was to -look at, not that. - -Then she lowered her eyes and looked down into the black valley. There -the ground shone like velvet, and the white Simeto foamed along in the -depths of the valley. - -But still she did not turn her eyes in the right direction. - -At last she saw the steep Monte Chiaro rising out of the black, -velvet-lined valley, red in the morning light and encircled by a crown -of shady palms. On its summit she saw a town flanked with towers, and -encompassed by a wall, and with all its windows and weather-vanes -glittering in the light. - -At that sight she seized Giannita’s arm and asked her if it was a real -town, and if people lived there. - -She believed that it was one of heaven’s cities, and that it would -disappear like a vision. She was certain that no mortal had ever passed -up the path that from the edge of the valley went in great curves over to -Monte Chiaro and then zigzagged up the mountain, disappearing through the -dark gates of the town. - -But when she came nearer to Diamante, and saw that it was of the earth, -and real, tears rose to her eyes. It moved her that the earth still held -all this beauty for her. She had believed that, since it had been the -scene of all her misfortunes, she would always find it gray and withered -and covered with thistles and poisonous growths. - -She entered poor Diamante with clasped hands, as if it were a sanctuary. -And it seemed to her as if this town could offer her as much happiness as -beauty. - - - - -V - -DON FERRANTE - - -A few days later Gaetano was standing in his workshop, cutting -grape-leaves on rosary beads. It was Sunday, but Gaetano did not feel it -on his conscience that he was working, for it was a work in God’s honor. - -A great restlessness and anxiety had come over him. It had come into his -mind that the time he had been living at peace with Donna Elisa was now -drawing to a close, and he thought that he must soon start out into the -world. - -For great poverty had come to Sicily, and he saw want wandering from -town to town and from house to house like the plague, and it had come to -Diamante also. - -No one ever came now to Donna Elisa’s shop to buy anything. The little -images of the saints that Gaetano made stood in close rows on the -shelves, and the rosaries hung in great bunches under the counter. And -Donna Elisa was in great want and sorrow, because she could not earn -anything. - -That was a sign to Gaetano that he must leave Diamante, go out into the -world, emigrate if there was no other way. For it could not be working to -the honor of God to carve images that never were worshipped, and to turn -rosary beads that never glided through a petitioner’s fingers. - -It seemed to him that, somewhere in the world, there must be a beautiful, -newly built cathedral, with finished walls, but whose interior yet stood -shivering in nakedness. It awaited Gaetano’s coming to carve the choir -chairs, the altar-rail, the pulpit, the lectern, and the shrine. His -heart ached with longing for that work which was waiting. - -But there was no such cathedral in Sicily, for there no one ever thought -of building a new church; it must be far away in such lands as Florida or -Argentina, where the earth is not yet overcrowded with holy buildings. - -He felt at the same time trembling and happy, and had begun to work with -redoubled zeal in order that Donna Elisa should have something to sell -while he was away earning great fortunes for her. - -Now he was waiting for but one more sign from God before he decided on -the journey. And this was that he should have the strength to speak to -Donna Elisa of his longing to go. For he knew that it would cause her -such sorrow that he did not know how he could bring himself to speak of -it. - -While he stood and thought Donna Elisa came into the workshop. Then he -said to himself that this day he could not think of saying it to her, for -to-day Donna Elisa was happy. Her tongue wagged and her face beamed. - -Gaetano asked himself when he had seen her so. Ever since the famine had -come, it had been as if they had lived without light in one of the caves -of Etna. - -Why had Gaetano not been with her in the square and heard the music? -asked Donna Elisa. Why did he never come to hear and see her brother, -Don Ferrante? Gaetano, who only saw him when he stood in the shop with -his tufts of hair and his short jacket, did not know what kind of a man -he was. He considered him an ugly old tradesman, who had a wrinkled face -and a rough beard. No one knew Don Ferrante who had not seen him on -Sunday, when he conducted the music. - -That day he had donned a new uniform. He wore a three-cornered hat with -green, red, and white feathers, silver on his collar, silver-fringed -epaulets, silver braid on his breast, and a sword at his side. And when -he stepped up to the conductor’s platform the wrinkles had been smoothed -out of his face and his figure had grown erect. He could almost have been -called handsome. - -When he had led _Cavalleria_, people had hardly been able to breathe. -What had Gaetano to say to that, that the big houses round the -market-place had sung too? From the black Palazzo Geraci, Donna Elisa had -distinctly heard a love song, and from the convent, empty as it was, a -beautiful hymn had streamed out over the market-place. - -And when there was a pause in the music the handsome advocate Favara, who -had been dressed in a black velvet coat and a big broad-brimmed hat and a -bright red necktie, had gone up to Don Ferrante, and had pointed out over -the open side of the square, where Etna and the sea lay. “Don Ferrante,” -he had said, “you lift us toward the skies, just as Etna does, and you -carry us away into the eternal, like the infinite sea.” - -If Gaetano had seen Don Ferrante to-day he would have loved him. At least -he would have been obliged to acknowledge his stateliness. When he -laid down his baton for a while and took the advocate’s arm, and walked -forward and back with him on the flat stones by the Roman gate and the -Palazzo Geraci, every one could see that he could well measure himself -against the handsome Favara. - -Donna Elisa sat on the stone bench by the cathedral, in company with the -wife of the syndic. And Signora Voltaro had said quite suddenly, after -sitting for a while, watching Don Ferrante: “Donna Elisa, your brother is -still a young man. He may still be married, in spite of his fifty years.” - -And she, Donna Elisa, had answered that she prayed heaven for it every -day. - -But she had hardly said it, when a lady dressed in mourning came into the -square. Never had anything so black been seen before. It was not enough -that dress and hat and gloves were black; her veil was so thick that it -was impossible to believe that there was a face behind it. Santissimo -Dio! it looked as if she had hung a pall over herself. And she had walked -slowly, and with a stoop. People had almost feared, believing that it was -a ghost. - -Alas, alas! the whole market-place had been so full of gayety! The -peasants, who were at home over Sunday, had stood there in great crowds -in holiday dress, with red shawls wound round their necks. The peasant -women on their way to the cathedral had glided by, dressed in green -skirts and yellow neckerchiefs. A couple of travellers had stood by the -balustrade and looked at Etna; they had been dressed in white. And all -the musicians in uniform, who had been almost as fine as Don Ferrante, -and the shining instruments, and the carved cathedral _façade_! And the -sunlight, and Mongibello’s snow top--so near to-day that one could -almost touch it--had all been so gay. - -Now, when the poor black lady came into the midst of it all, they had -stared at her, and some had made the sign of the cross. And the children -had rushed down from the steps of the town-hall, where they were riding -on the railing, and had followed her at a few feet’s distance. And even -the lazy Piero, who had been asleep in the corner of the balustrade, had -raised himself on his elbow. It had been a resurrection, as if the black -Madonna from the cathedral had come strolling by. - -But had no one thought that it was unkind that all stared at the black -lady? Had no one been moved when she came so slowly and painfully? - -Yes, yes; one had been touched, and that had been Don Ferrante. He had -the music in his heart; he was a good man and he thought: “Curses on all -those funds that are gathered together for the poor, and that only bring -people misfortune! Is not that poor Signorina Palmeri, whose father has -stolen from a charitable fund, and who is now so ashamed that she dares -not show her face?” And, as he thought of it, Don Ferrante went towards -the black lady and met her just by the church door. - -There he made her a bow, and mentioned his name. “If I am not mistaken,” -Don Ferrante had said, “you are Signorina Palmeri. I have a favor to ask -of you.” - -Then she had started and taken a step backwards, as if to flee, but she -had waited. - -“It concerns my sister, Donna Elisa,” he had said. “She knew your mother, -signorina, and she is consumed with a desire to make your acquaintance. -She is sitting here by the Cathedral. Let me take you to her!” - -And then Don Ferrante put her hand on his arm and led her over to Donna -Elisa. And she made no resistance. Donna Elisa would like to see who -could have resisted Don Ferrante to-day. - -Donna Elisa rose and went to meet the black lady, and throwing back her -veil, kissed her on both cheeks. - -But what a face, what a face! Perhaps it was not pretty, but it had -eyes that spoke, eyes that mourned and lamented, even when the whole -face smiled. Yes, Gaetano perhaps would not wish to carve or paint a -Madonna from that face, for it was too thin and too pale; but it is to be -supposed that our Lord knew what he was doing when he did not put those -eyes in a face that was rosy and round. - -When Donna Elisa kissed her, she laid her head down on her shoulder, and -a few short sobs shook her. Then she looked up with a smile, and the -smile seemed to say: “Ah, does the world look so? Is it so beautiful? Let -me see it and smile at it! Can a poor unfortunate really dare to look at -it? And to be seen? Can I bear to be seen?” - -All that she had said without a word, only with a smile. What a face, -what a face! - -But here Gaetano interrupted Donna Elisa. “Where is she now?” he said. “I -too must see her.” - -Then Donna Elisa looked Gaetano in the eyes. They were glowing and clear, -as if they were filled with fire, and a dark flush rose to his temples. - -“You will see her all in good time,” she said, harshly. And she repented -of every word she had said. - -Gaetano saw that she was afraid, and he understood what she feared. It -came into his mind to tell her now that he meant to go away, to go all -the way to America. - -Then he understood that the strange signorina must be very dangerous. -Donna Elisa was so sure that Gaetano would fall in love with her that she -was almost glad to hear that he meant to go away. - -For anything seemed better to her than a penniless daughter-in-law, whose -father was a thief. - - - - -VI - -DON MATTEO’S MISSION - - -One afternoon the old priest, Don Matteo, inserted his feet into newly -polished shoes, put on a newly brushed soutane, and laid his cloak in the -most effective folds. His face shone as he went up the street, and when -he distributed blessings to the old women spinning by the doorposts, it -was with gestures as graceful as if he had scattered roses. - -The street along which Don Matteo was walking was spanned by at least -seven arches, as if every house wished to bind itself to a neighbor. -It ran small and narrow down the mountain; it was half street and half -staircase; the gutters were always overflowing, and there were always -plenty of orange-skins and cabbage-leaves to slip on. Clothes hung on the -line, from the ground up to the sky. Wet shirt-sleeves and apron-strings -were carried by the wind right into Don Matteo’s face. And it felt horrid -and wet, as if Don Matteo had been touched by a corpse. - -At the end of the street lay a little dark square, and there Don Matteo -saw an old house, before which he stopped. It was big, and square, and -almost without windows. It had two enormous flights of steps, and two big -doors with heavy locks. And it had walls of black lava, and a “loggia,” -where green slime grew over the tiled floor, and where the spider-webs -were so thick that the nimble lizards were almost held fast in them. - -Don Matteo lifted the knocker, and knocked till it thundered. All the -women in the street began to talk, and to question. All the washerwomen -by the fountain in the square dropped soap and wooden clapper, and began -to whisper, and ask, “What is Don Matteo’s errand? Why does Don Matteo -knock on the door of an old, haunted house, where nobody dares to live -except the strange signorina, whose father is in prison?” - -But now Giannita opened the door for Don Matteo, and conducted him -through long passages, smelling of mould and damp. In several places in -the floor the stones were loose, and Don Matteo could see way down into -the cellar, where great armies of rats raced over the black earth floor. - -As Don Matteo walked through the old house, he lost his good-humor. He -did not pass by a stairway without suspiciously spying up it, and he -could not hear a rustle without starting. He was depressed as before some -misfortune. Don Matteo thought of the little turbaned Moor who was said -to show himself in that house, and even if he did not see him, he might -be said to have felt him. - -At last Giannita opened a door and showed the priest into a room. The -walls there were bare, as in a stable; the bed was as narrow as a nun’s, -and over it hung a Madonna that was not worth three soldi. The priest -stood and stared at the little Madonna till the tears rose to his eyes. - -While he stood so Signorina Palmeri came into the room. She kept her head -bent and moved slowly, as if wounded. When the priest saw her he wished -to say to her: “You and I, Signorina Palmeri, have met in a strange old -house. Are you here to study the old Moorish inscriptions or to look for -mosaics in the cellar?” For the old priest was confounded when he saw -Signorina Palmeri. He could not understand that the noble lady was poor. -He could not comprehend that she was living in the house of the little -Moor. - -He said to himself that he must save her from this haunted house, and -from poverty. He prayed to the tender Madonna for power to save her. - -Thereupon he said to the signorina that he had come with a commission -from Don Ferrante Alagona. Don Ferrante had confided to him that she -had refused his proposal of marriage. Why was that? Did she not know -that, although Don Ferrante seemed to be poor as he stood in his shop, -he was really the richest man in Diamante? And Don Ferrante was of an -old Spanish family of great consideration, both in their native country -and in Sicily. And he still owned the big house on the Corso that had -belonged to his ancestors. She should not have said no to him. - -While Don Matteo was speaking, he saw how the signorina’s face grew stiff -and white. He was almost afraid to go on. He feared that she was going to -faint. - -It was only with the greatest effort that she was able to answer him. The -words would not pass her lips. It seemed as if they were too loathsome -to utter. She quite understood, she said, that Don Ferrante would like -to know why she had refused his proposal. She was infinitely touched and -grateful on account of it, but she could not be his wife. She could -not marry, for she brought dishonor and disgrace with her as a marriage -portion. - -“If you marry an Alagona, dear signorina,” said Don Matteo, “you need not -fear that any one will ask of what family you are. It is an honorable -old name. Don Ferrante and his sister, Donna Elisa, are considered the -first people in Diamante, although they have lost all the family riches, -and have to keep a shop. Don Ferrante knows well enough that the glory -of the old name would not be tarnished by a marriage with you. Have no -scruples for that, signorina, if otherwise you may be willing to marry -Don Ferrante.” - -But Signorina Palmeri repeated what she had said. Don Ferrante should -not marry the daughter of a convict. She sat pale and despairing, as if -wishing to practise saying those terrible words. She said that she did -not wish to enter a family which would despise her. She succeeded in -saying it in a hard, cold voice, without emotion. - -But the more she said, the greater became Don Matteo’s desire to help -her. He felt as if he had met a queen who had been torn from her throne. -A burning desire came over him to set the crown again upon her head, and -fasten the mantle about her shoulders. - -Therefore Don Matteo asked her if her father were not soon coming out of -prison, and he wondered what he would live on. - -The signorina answered that he would live on her work. - -Don Matteo asked her very seriously whether she had thought how her -father, who had always been rich, could bear poverty. - -Then she was silent. She tried to move her lips to answer, but could not -utter a sound. - -Don Matteo talked and talked. She looked more and more frightened, but -she did not yield. - -At last he knew not what to do. How could he save her from that haunted -house, from poverty, and from the burden of dishonor that weighed her -down? But then his eyes chanced to fall on the little image of the -Madonna over the bed. So the young signorina was a believer. - -The spirit of inspiration came to Don Matteo. He felt that God had sent -him to save this poor woman. When he spoke again, there was a new ring in -his voice. He understood that it was not he alone who spoke. - -“My daughter,” he said, and rose, “you will marry Don Ferrante for your -father’s sake! It is the Madonna’s will, my daughter.” - -There was something impressive in Don Matteo’s manner. No one had ever -seen him so before. The signorina trembled, as if a spirit voice had -spoken to her, and she clasped her hands. - -“Be a good and faithful wife to Don Ferrante,” said Don Matteo, “and the -Madonna promises you through me that your father will have an old age -free of care.” - -Then the signorina saw that it was an inspiration which guided Don -Matteo. It was God speaking through him. And she sank down on her knees, -and bent her head. “I shall do what you command,” she said. - - * * * * * - -But when the priest, Don Matteo, came out of the house of the little Moor -and went up the street, he suddenly took out his breviary and began -to read. And although the wet clothes struck him on the cheek, and the -little children and the orange-peels lay in wait for him, he only looked -in his book. He needed to hear the great words of God. - -For within that black house everything had seemed certain and sure, but -when he came out into the sunshine he began to worry about the promise he -had given in the name of the Madonna. - -Don Matteo prayed and read, and read and prayed. Might the great God in -heaven protect the woman, who had believed him and obeyed him as if he -had been a prophet! - -Don Matteo turned the corner into the Corso. He struck against donkeys -on their way home, with travelling signorinas on their backs; he walked -right into peasants coming home from their work, and he pushed against -the old women spinning, and entangled their thread. At last he came to a -little, dark shop. - -It was a shop without a window which was at the corner of an old palace. -The threshold was a foot high; the floor was of trampled earth; the door -almost always stood open to let in the light. The counter was besieged by -peasants and mule-drivers. - -And behind the counter stood Don Ferrante. His beard grew in tufts; his -face was in one wrinkle; his voice was hoarse with rage. The peasants -demanded an immoderately high payment for the loads that they had driven -up from Catania. - - - - -VII - -THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE - - -The people of Diamante soon perceived that Don Ferrante’s wife, Donna -Micaela, was nothing but a great child. She could never succeed in -looking like a woman of the world, and she really was nothing but a -child. And nothing else was to be expected, after the life she had led. - -Of the world she had seen nothing but its theatres, museums, ball-rooms, -promenades, and race courses; and all such are only play places. She had -never been allowed to go alone on the street. She had never worked. No -one had ever spoken seriously to her. She had not even been in love with -any one. - -After she had moved into the summer palace she forgot her cares as gayly -and easily as a child would have done. And it appeared that she had the -playful disposition of a child, and that she could transform and change -everything about her. - -The old dirty Saracen town Diamante seemed like a paradise to Donna -Micaela. She said that she had not been at all surprised when Don -Ferrante had spoken to her in the square, nor when he had proposed to -her. It seemed quite natural to her that such things should happen in -Diamante. She had seen instantly that Diamante was a town where rich men -went and sought out poor, unfortunate signorinas to make them mistresses -of their black lava palaces. - -She also liked the summer-palace. The faded chintz, a hundred years old, -that covered the furniture told her stories. And she found a deep meaning -in all the love scenes between the shepherds and shepherdesses on the -walls. - -She had soon found out the secret of Don Ferrante. He was no ordinary -shop-keeper in a side street. He was a man of ambition, who was -collecting money in order to buy back the family estate on Etna and the -palace in Catania and the castle on the mainland. And if he went in short -jacket and pointed cap, like a peasant, it was in order the sooner to be -able to appear as a grandee of Spain and prince of Sicily. - -After they were married Don Ferrante always used every evening to put on -a velvet coat, take his guitar under his arm, and place himself on the -stairway to the gallery in the music-room in the summer-palace and sing -canzoni. While he sang, Donna Micaela dreamed that she had been married -to the noblest man in beautiful Sicily. - -When Donna Micaela had been married a few months her father was released -from prison and came to live at the summer palace with his daughter. He -liked the life in Diamante and became friends with every one. He liked -to talk to the bee-raisers and vineyard workers whom he met at the Café -Europa, and he amused himself every day by riding about on the slopes of -Etna to look for antiquities. - -But he had by no means forgiven his daughter. He lived under her roof, -but he treated her like a stranger, and never showed her affection. -Donna Micaela let him go on and pretended not to notice it. She could -not take his anger seriously any longer. That old man, whom she loved, -believed that he would be able to go on hating her year after year! He -would live near her, hear her speak, see her eyes, be encompassed by -her love, and he could continue to hate her! Ah, he knew neither her -nor himself. She used to sit and imagine how it would be when he must -acknowledge that he was conquered; when he must come and show her that he -loved her. - -One day Donna Micaela was standing on her balcony waving her hand to her -father, who rode away on a small, dark-brown pony, when Don Ferrante came -up from the shop to speak to her. And what Don Ferrante wished to say was -that he had succeeded in getting her father admitted to “The Brotherhood -of the Holy Heart” in Catania. - -But although Don Ferrante spoke very distinctly, Donna Micaela seemed not -to understand him at all. - -He had to repeat to her that he had been in Catania the day before, and -that he had succeeded in getting Cavaliere Palmeri into a brotherhood. He -was to enter it in a month. - -She only asked: “What does that mean? What does that mean?” - -“Oh,” said Don Ferrante, “can I not have wearied of buying your father -expensive wines from the mainland, and may I not sometimes wish to ride -Domenico?” - -When he had said that, he wished to go. There was nothing more to say. - -“But tell me first what kind of a brotherhood it is,” she said.--“What -it is! A lot of old men live there.”--“Poor old men?”--“Oh, well, not -so rich.”--“They do not have a room to themselves, I suppose?”--“No, -but very big dormitories.”--“And they eat from tin basins on a -table without a cloth?”--“No, they must be china.”--“But without a -table-cloth?”--“Lord, if the table is clean!” - -He added, to silence her: “Very good people live there. If you like to -know it, it was not without hesitation they would receive Cavaliere -Palmeri.” - -Thereupon Don Ferrante went. His wife was in despair, but also very -angry. She thought that he had divested himself of rank and class and -become only a plain shop-keeper. - -She said aloud, although no one heard her, that the summer palace was -only a big, ugly old house, and Diamante a poor and miserable town. - -Naturally, she would not allow her father to leave her. Don Ferrante -would see. - -When they had eaten their dinner Don Ferrante wished to go to the Café -Europa and play dominoes, and he looked about for his hat. Donna Micaela -took his hat and followed him out to the gallery that ran round the -court-yard. When they were far enough from the dining-room for her father -not to be able to hear them, she said passionately:-- - -“Have you anything against my father?”--“He is too expensive.”--“But you -are rich.”--“Who has given you such an idea? Do you not see how I am -struggling?”--“Save in some other way.”--“I shall save in other ways. -Giannita has had presents enough.”--“No, economize on something for -me.”--“You! you are my wife; you shall have it as you have it.” - -She stood silent a moment. She was thinking what she could say to -frighten him. - -“If I am now your wife, do you know why it is?”--“Oh yes.”--“Do you also -know what the priest promised me?”--“That is his affair, but I do what -I can.”--“You have heard, perhaps, that I broke with all my friends in -Catania when I heard that my father had sought help from them and had not -got it.”--“I know it.”--“And that I came here to Diamante that he might -escape from seeing them and being ashamed?”--“They will not be coming -to the brotherhood.”--“When you know all this, are you not afraid to do -anything against my father?”--“Afraid? I am not afraid of my wife.” - -“Have I not made you happy?” she asked.--“Yes, of course,” he answered -indifferently.--“Have you not enjoyed singing to me? Have you not liked -me to have considered you the most generous man in Sicily? Have you not -been glad that I was happy in the old palace? Why should it all come to -an end?” - -He laid his hand on her shoulder and warned her. “Remember that you are -not married to a fine gentleman from the Via Etnea!”--“Oh, no!”--“Up here -on the mountain the ways are different. Here wives obey their husbands. -And we do not care for fair words. But if we want them we know how to get -them.” - -She was frightened when he spoke so. In a moment she was on her knees -before him. It was dark, but enough light came from the other rooms for -him to see her eyes. In burning prayer, glorious as stars, they were -fixed on him. - -“Be merciful! You do not know how much I love him!” Don Ferrante -laughed. “You ought to have begun with that. Now you have made me angry.” -She still knelt and looked up at him. “It is well,” he said, “for you -hereafter to know how you shall behave.” Still she knelt. Then he asked: -“Shall I tell him, or will you?” - -Donna Micaela was ashamed that she had humbled herself. She rose and -answered imperiously: “I shall tell him, but not till the last day. And -you _shall_ not let him notice anything.” - -“No, I _shall_ not,” he said, and mimicked her. “The less talk about it, -the better for me.” - -But when he was gone Donna Micaela laughed at Don Ferrante for believing -that he could do what he liked with her father. She knew some one who -would help her. - - * * * * * - -In the Cathedral at Diamante there is a miracle-working image of the -Madonna, and this is its story. - -Long, long ago a holy hermit lived in a cave on Monte Chiaro. And this -hermit dreamed one night that in the harbor of Catania lay a ship loaded -with images of the saints, and among these there was one so holy that -Englishmen, who are richer than anybody else, would have paid its weight -in gold for it. As soon as the hermit awoke from this dream he started -for Catania. In the harbor lay a ship loaded with images of the saints, -and among the images was one of the holy Madonna that was more holy than -all the others. The hermit begged the captain not to carry that image -away from Sicily, but to give it to him. But the captain refused. “I -shall take it to England,” he said, “and the Englishmen will pay its -weight in gold.” The hermit renewed his petitions. At last the captain -had his men drive him on shore, and hoisted his sail to depart. - -It looked as if the holy image was to be lost to Sicily; but the hermit -knelt down on one of the lava blocks on the shore and prayed to God that -it might not be. And what happened? The ship could not go. The anchor -was up, the sail hoisted, and the wind fresh; but for three long days -the ship lay as motionless as if it had been a rock. On the third day -the captain took the Madonna image and threw it to the hermit, who still -lay on the shore. And immediately the ship glided out of the harbor. The -hermit carried the image to Monte Chiaro, and it is still in Diamante, -where it has a chapel and an altar in the Cathedral. - -Donna Micaela was now going to this Madonna to pray for her father. - -She sought out the Madonna’s chapel, which was built in a dark corner of -the Cathedral. The walls were covered with votive offerings, with silver -hearts and pictures that had been given by all those who had been helped -by the Madonna of Diamante. - -The image was hewn in black marble, and when Donna Micaela saw it -standing in its niche, high and dark, and almost hidden by a golden -railing, it seemed to her that its face was beautiful, and that it shone -with mildness. And her heart was filled with hope. - -Here was the powerful queen of heaven; here was the good Mother Mary; -here was the afflicted mother who understood every sorrow; here was one -who would not allow her father to be taken from her. - -Here she would find help. She would need only to fall on her knees and -tell her trouble, to have the black Madonna come to her assistance. - -While she prayed she felt certain that Don Ferrante was even at that -moment changing his mind. When she came home he would come to meet her -and say to her that she might keep her father. - - * * * * * - -It was a morning three weeks later. - -Donna Micaela came out of the summer palace to go to early mass; but -before she set out to the church, she went into Donna Elisa’s shop to -buy a wax candle. It was so early that she had been afraid that the shop -would not be open; but it was, and she was glad to be able to take a gift -with her to the black Madonna. - -The shop was empty when Donna Micaela came in, and she pushed the door -forward and back to make the bell ring and call Donna Elisa in. At last -some one came, but it was not Donna Elisa; it was a young man. - -That young man was Gaetano, whom Donna Micaela scarcely knew. For Gaetano -had heard so much about her that he was afraid to meet her, and every -time she had come over to Donna Elisa he had shut himself into his -workshop. Donna Micaela knew no more about him than that he was to leave -Diamante, and that he was always carving holy images for Donna Elisa -to have something to sell while he was earning great fortunes away in -Argentina. - -When she now saw Gaetano, she found him so handsome that it made her -glad to look at him. She was full of anxiety as a hunted animal, but no -sorrow in the world could prevent her from feeling joy at the sight of -anything so beautiful. - -She asked herself where she had seen him before, and she remembered that -she had seen his face in her father’s wonderful collection of pictures in -the palace at Catania. There he had not been in working blouse; he had -had a black felt hat with long, flowing, white feathers, and a broad lace -collar over a velvet coat. And he had been painted by the great master -Van Dyck. - -Donna Micaela asked Gaetano for a wax candle, and he began to look for -one. And now, strangely enough, Gaetano, who saw the little shop every -day, seemed to be quite strange there. He looked for the wax candle in -the drawers of rosaries and in the little medallion boxes. He could not -find anything, and he grew so impatient that he turned out the drawers -and broke the boxes open. The destruction and disorder were terrible. And -it would be a real grief to Donna Elisa when she came home. - -But Donna Micaela liked to see how he shook the thick hair back from his -face, and how his gold-colored eyes glowed like yellow wine when the sun -shines through it. It was a consolation to see any one so beautiful. - -Then Donna Micaela asked pardon of the noble gentlemen whom the great Van -Dyck had painted. For she had often said to them: “Ah, signor, you have -been beautiful, but you never could have been so dark and so pale and -so melancholy. And you did not possess such eyes of fire. All that the -master who painted you has put into your face.” But when Donna Micaela -saw Gaetano she found that it all could be in a face, and that the -master had not needed to add anything. Therefore she asked the noble old -gentlemen’s pardon. - -At last Gaetano had found the long candle-boxes that stood under the -counter, where they had always stood. And he gave her the candle, but -he did not know what it cost, and said that she could come in and pay -it later. When she asked him for something to wrap it in he was in such -trouble that she had to help him to look. - -It grieved her that such a man should think of travelling to Argentina. - -He let Donna Micaela wrap up the candle and watched her while she did it. -She wished she could have asked him not to look at her now, when her face -reflected only hopelessness and misery. - -Gaetano had not scrutinized her features more than a moment before he -sprang up on a little step-ladder, took down an image from the topmost -shelf, and came back with it to her. It was a little gilded and painted -wooden angel, a little San Michele fighting with the arch-fiend, which he -had created from paper and wadding. - -He handed it to Donna Micaela and begged her to accept it. He wished to -give it to her, he said, because it was the best he had ever carved. He -was so certain that it had greater power than his other images that he -had put it away on the top shelf, so that no one might see and buy it. -He had forbidden Donna Elisa to sell it except to one who had a great -sorrow. And now Donna Micaela was to take it. - -She hesitated. She found him almost too daring. - -But Gaetano begged her to look how well the image was carved. She saw -that the archangel’s wings were ruffled with anger, and that Lucifer was -pressing his claws into the steel plate on his leg? Did she see how San -Michele was driving in his spear, and how he was frowning and pressing -his lips together? - -He wished to lay the little image in her hand, but she gently pushed it -away. She saw that it was beautiful and spirited, she said, but she knew -that it could not help her. She thanked him for his gift, but she would -not accept it. - -Then Gaetano seized the image and rolled it in paper and put it back in -its place. - -And not until it was wrapped up and put away did he speak to her. - -But then he asked her why she came to buy wax candles if she was not a -believer. Did she mean to say that she did not believe in San Michele? -Did she not know that he was the most powerful of the angels, and that -it was he who had vanquished Lucifer and thrown him into Etna? Did she -not believe that it was true? Did she not know that San Michele lost a -wing-feather in the fight, and that it was found in Caltanisetta? Did she -know it or not? Or what did she mean by San Michele not being able to -help her? Did she think that none of the saints could help? And he, who -was standing in his workshop all day long, carving saints!--would he do -such a thing if there was no good in it? Did she believe that he was an -impostor? - -But as Donna Micaela was just as strong a believer as Gaetano, she -thought that his speech was unjust, and it irritated her to contradiction. - -“It sometimes happens that the saints do not help,” she said to him. And -when Gaetano looked unbelieving, she was seized by an uncontrollable -desire to convince him, and she said to him that some one had promised -her in the name of the Madonna that, if she was a faithful wife to Don -Ferrante, her father should enjoy an old age free of care. But now her -husband wished to put her father in a brotherhood, which was as wretched -as a poor-house and strict as a prison. And the Madonna had not averted -it; in eight days it would happen. - -Gaetano listened to her with the greatest earnestness. That was what -induced her to confide the whole story to him. - -“Donna Micaela,” he said, “you must turn to the black Madonna in the -Cathedral.” - -“So you think that I have not prayed to her?” - -Gaetano flushed and said almost with anger: “You will not say that you -have turned in vain to the black Madonna?” - -“I have prayed to her in vain these last three weeks--prayed to her, -prayed to her.” - -When Donna Micaela spoke of it she could scarcely breathe. She wanted to -weep over herself because she had awaited help each day, and each day -been disappointed; and yet had known nothing better to do than begin -again with her prayers. And it was visible on her face that her soul -lived over and over again what she had suffered, when each day she had -awaited an answer to her prayer, while the days slipped by. - -But Gaetano was unmoved; he stood smiling, and drummed on one of the -glass cases that stood on the counter. - -“Have you only _prayed_ to the Madonna?” he said. - -Only prayed, only prayed! But she had also promised her to lay aside all -sins. She had gone to the street where she had lived first, and nursed -the sick woman with the ulcerated leg. She never passed a beggar without -giving alms. - -Only prayed! And she told him that if the Madonna had had the power -to help her, she ought to have been satisfied with her prayers. She -had spent her days in the Cathedral. And the anguish, the anguish that -tortured her, should not that be counted? - -He only shrugged his shoulders. Had she not tried anything else? - -Anything else! But there was nothing in the world that she had not tried. -She had given silver hearts and wax candles. Her rosary was never out of -her hand. - -Gaetano irritated her. He would not count anything that she had done; he -only asked: “Nothing else? Nothing else?” - -“But you ought to understand,” she said. “Don Ferrante does not give me -so much money. I cannot do more. At last I have succeeded in getting some -silk and cloth for an altar cloth. You ought to understand!” - -But Gaetano, who had daily intercourse with the saints, and who knew -the power and wildness of enthusiasm that had filled them when they -had compelled God to obey their prayers, smiled scornfully at Donna -Micaela, who thought she could subjugate the Madonna with wax candles and -altar-cloths. - -He understood very well, he answered. The whole was clear to him. It -was always so with those miserable saints. Everybody called to them -for help, but few understood what they ought to do to get their prayers -granted. And then people said that the saints had no power. All were -helped who knew how they ought to pray. - -Donna Micaela looked up in eager expectation. There was such strength and -conviction in Gaetano’s words that she began to believe that he would -teach her the right words of salvation. - -Gaetano took the candle lying in front of her on the counter and threw it -down into the box again, and told her what she had to do. He forbade her -to give the Madonna any gifts, or to pray to her, or to do anything for -the poor. He told her that he would tear her altar-cloth to pieces if she -sewed another stitch on it. - -“Show her, Donna Micaela, that it means something to you,” he said, and -fixed his eyes on her with compelling force. “Good Lord, you must be -able to find something to do, to show her that it is serious, and not -play. You must be able to show her that you will not live if you are not -helped. Do you mean to continue to be faithful to Don Ferrante, if he -sends your father away? I know you do. If the Madonna has no need to fear -what you are going to do, why should she help you?” - -Donna Micaela drew back. He came swiftly out from behind the counter and -seized her coat sleeve. - -“Do you understand? You shall show her that you can throw yourself away -if you do not get help. You shall throw yourself into sin and death if -you do not get what you want. That is the way to force the saints.” - -She tore herself from him and went without a word. She hurried up the -spiral street, came to the Cathedral, and threw herself down in terror -before the altar of the black Madonna. - -That happened one Saturday morning, and on Sunday evening Donna Micaela -saw Gaetano again. For it was beautiful moonlight, and in Diamante it is -the custom on moonlight nights for all to leave their homes and go out -into the streets. As soon as the inhabitants of the summer palace had -come outside their door they had met acquaintances. Donna Elisa had taken -Cavaliere Palmeri’s arm, and the syndic Voltaro had joined Don Ferrante -to discuss the elections; but Gaetano came up to Donna Micaela because he -wished to hear if she had followed his advice. - -“Have you stopped sewing on that altar-cloth?” he said. - -But Donna Micaela answered that all day yesterday she had sewn on it. - -“Then it is you who understand what you are doing, Donna Micaela.” - -“Yes, now there is no help for it, Don Gaetano.” - -She managed to keep them away from the others, for there was something -she wished to speak to him about. And when they came to Porta Etnea, she -turned out through the gate, and they went along the paths that wind -under Monte Chiaro’s palm groves. - -They could not have walked on the streets filled with people. Donna -Micaela spoke so the people in Diamante would have stoned her if they had -heard her. - -She asked Gaetano if he had ever seen the black Madonna in the Cathedral. -She had not seen her till yesterday. The Madonna perhaps had placed -herself in such a dark corner of the Cathedral so that no one should be -able to see her. She was so black, and had a railing in front of her. No -one could see her. - -But to-day Donna Micaela had seen her. To-day the Madonna had had a -festival, and she had been moved from her niche. The floor and walls of -her chapel had been covered with white almond-blossoms, and she herself -had stood down on the altar, dark and high, surrounded by the white glory. - -But when Donna Micaela had seen the image she had been filled with -despair; for the image was no Madonna. No, she had prayed to no Madonna. -Oh, a shame, a shame! It was plainly an old heathen goddess. She had a -helmet, not a crown; she had no child on her arm; she had a shield. It -was a Pallas Athene. It was no Madonna. Oh, no; oh, no! - -It was like the people of Diamante to worship such an image. It was like -them to set up such a blasphemy and worship it! Did he know what was the -worst misfortune? Their Madonna was so ugly. She was disfigured, and she -had never been a work of art. She was so ugly that one could not bear to -look at her. - -And to have been deceived by all the thousand votive offerings that hung -in the chapel; to have been fooled by all the legends about her! To have -wasted three weeks in praying to her! Why had she not been helped? She -was no Madonna, she was no Madonna. - -They walked along the path on the town wall running around Monte Chiaro. -The whole world was white about them. A white mist wreathed the base of -the mountain, and the almond-trees on Etna were quite white. Sometimes -they passed under an almond-tree, which arched them over with its -glistening branches, as thickly covered with flowers as if they had been -dipped in a bath of silver. The moonlight shone so bright on the earth -that everything was divested of its color, and became white. It seemed -almost strange that it could not be felt, that it did not warm, that it -did not dazzle the eyes. - -Donna Micaela wondered if it was the moonlight that subdued Gaetano, -so that he did not seize her, and throw her down into Simeto, when she -cursed the black Madonna. - -He walked silent and quiet at her side, but she was afraid of what he -might do. In spite of her fear, she could not be silent. - -What she had still to say was the most dreadful of all. She said that she -had tried all day long to think of the real Madonna, and that she had -recalled to her mind all the images of her she had ever seen. But it had -all been in vain, because as soon as she thought of the shining queen of -heaven, the old black goddess came and placed herself between them. She -saw her come like a dried-up and officious old maid, and stand in front -of the great queen of heaven, so that now no Madonna existed for her any -longer. She believed that the latter was angry with her because she had -done so much for the other, and that she hid her face and her grace from -her. And, on account of the false Madonna, her father was now to suffer -misfortune. Now she would never be allowed to keep him in her home. Now -she would never win his forgiveness. Oh, God! oh, God! - -And all this she said to Gaetano, who honored the black Madonna of -Diamante more than anything else in the world. - -He now came close up to Donna Micaela, and she feared that it was her -last hour. She said in a faint voice, as if to excuse herself: “I am mad. -Grief is driving me mad. I never sleep.” - -But Gaetano’s only thought had been what a child she was, and that she -did not at all understand how to meet life. - -He hardly knew himself what he was doing when he gently drew her to him -and kissed her, because she had gone so astray and was such a helpless -child. - -She was so overcome with astonishment that she did not even think of -avoiding it. And she neither screamed nor ran away. She understood -instantly that he had kissed her as he would a child. She only walked -quickly on and began to cry. That kiss had made her feel how helpless and -forsaken she was, and how much she longed for some one strong and good to -take care of her. - -It was terrible that, although she had both father and husband, she -should be so forsaken that this stranger should need to feel sympathy for -her. - -When Gaetano saw her trembling with silent sobs, he felt that he too -began to shake. A strong and violent emotion took possession of him. - -He came close to her once more and laid his hand on her arm. And his -voice, when he spoke, was not clear and loud; it was thick and choked -with emotion. - -“Will you go with me to Argentina if the Madonna does not help you?” - -Then Donna Micaela shook him off. She felt suddenly that he no longer -talked to her as to a child. She turned and went back into the town. -Gaetano did not follow her; he remained standing in the path where he had -kissed her, and it seemed as if never again could he leave that place. - -For two days Gaetano dreamed of Donna Micaela, but on the third he came -to the summer palace to speak to her. - -He found her on the roof-garden, and instantly told her that she must -flee with him. - -He had thought it out since they parted. He had stood in his workshop and -considered everything that had happened, and now it was all clear to him. - -She was a rose which the strong sirocco had torn from its stem and -roughly whirled through the air, that she might find so much the better -rest and protection in a heart which loved her. She must understand -that God and all the saints wished and desired that they should love -one another, otherwise these great misfortunes would not have brought -her near to him. If the Madonna refused to help her, it was because she -wished to set her free from her promise of faithfulness to Don Ferrante. -For all the saints knew that she was his, Gaetano’s. She was created for -him; for him she had grown up; for him she was alive. When he kissed -her in the path in the moonlight he had been like a lost child who had -wandered long in the desert and now at last had come to the gate of his -home. He possessed nothing; but she was his home and his hearth; she was -the inheritance God had apportioned to him, the only thing in the world -that was his. - -Therefore he could not leave her behind. She must go with him; she must, -she must! - -He did not kneel before her. He stood and talked to her with clenched -hands and blazing eyes. He did not ask her, he commanded her to go with -him, because she was his. - -It was no sin to take her away; it was his duty. What would become of her -if he deserted her? - -Donna Micaela listened to him without moving. She sat silent a long time, -even after he had ceased speaking. - -“When are you going?” she asked at length. - -“I leave Diamante on Saturday.” - -“And when does the steamer go?” - -“It goes on Sunday evening from Messina.” - -Donna Micaela rose and walked away towards the terrace stairs. - -“My father is to go to Catania on Saturday,” she said. “I shall ask Don -Ferrante to be allowed to go with him.” She went down a few steps, as if -she did not mean to say anything more. Then she stopped. “If you meet me -in Catania, I will go with you whither you will.” - -She hurried down the steps. Gaetano did not try to detain her. A time -would come when she would not run away from him. He knew that she could -not help loving him. - -Donna Micaela passed the whole of Friday afternoon in the Cathedral. She -had come to the Madonna and thrown herself down before her in despair. -“Oh, Madonna mia, Madonna mia! Shall I be to-morrow a fugitive wife? Will -the world have the right to say all possible evil of me?” Everything -seemed equally terrible to her. She was appalled at the thought of -fleeing with Gaetano, and she did not know how she could stay with Don -Ferrante. She hated the one as much as the other. Neither of them seemed -able to offer her anything but unhappiness. - -She saw that the Madonna would not help. And now she asked herself if it -really would not be a greater misery to go with Gaetano than to remain -with Don Ferrante. Was it worth while to ruin herself to be revenged on -her husband? - -She suffered great anguish. She had been driven on by a devouring -restlessness the whole week. Worst of all, she could not sleep. She no -longer thought clearly or soundly. - -Time and time again she returned to her prayers. But then she thought: -“The Madonna cannot help me.” And so she stopped. - -Then she came to think of the days of her former sorrows, and remembered -the little image that once had helped her, when she had been in despair -as great as this. - -She turned with passionate eagerness to the poor little child. “Help me, -help me! Help my old father, and help me myself that I may not be tempted -to anger and revenge!” - -When she went to bed that night, she was still tormented and distressed. -“If I could sleep only one hour,” she said, “I should know what I wanted.” - -Gaetano was to start on his travels early the next morning. She came at -last to the decision to speak to him before he left, and tell him that -she could not go with him. She could not bear to be considered a fallen -woman. - -She had hardly decided that before she fell asleep. She did not wake -till the clock struck nine the next morning. And then Gaetano was already -gone. She could not tell him that she had changed her mind. - -But she did not think of it either. During her sleep something new and -strange had come over her. It seemed to her that in the night she had -lived in heaven and was filled with bliss. - - * * * * * - -What saint is there who does more for man than San Pasquale? Does it not -sometimes happen to you to stand and talk in some lonely place in the -woods or plains, and either to speak ill of some one or to make plans -for something foolish? Now please notice that just as you are talking -and talking you hear a rustling near by, and look round in wonder to see -if some one has thrown a stone. It is useless to look about long for the -thrower of the stone. It comes from San Pasquale. As surely as there is -justice in heaven, it was San Pasquale who heard you talking evil, and -threw one of his stones in warning. - -And any one who does not like to be disturbed in his evil schemes may not -console himself with the thought that San Pasquale’s stones will soon -come to an end. They will not come to an end at all. There are so many of -them that they will hold out till the last day of the world. For when San -Pasquale lived here on the earth, do you know by chance what he did, do -you know what he thought about more than anything else? San Pasquale gave -heed to all the little flint-stones that lay in his path, and gathered -them up into his bag. You, signor, you will scarcely stoop to pick up a -soldo, but San Pasquale picked up every little flint-stone, and when he -died, he took them all with him up to heaven, and there he sits now, and -throws them at everybody who thinks of doing anything foolish. - -But that is not by any means the only use that San Pasquale is to man. -It is he, also, who gives warning if any one is to be married, or if any -one is to die; and he even gives the sign with something besides stones. -Old Mother Saraedda at Randazzo sat by her daughter’s sick bed one night -and fell asleep. The daughter lay unconscious and was about to die, and -no one could summon the priest. How was the mother waked in time? How was -she waked, so that she could send her husband to the priest’s house? By -nothing else than a chair, which began to rock forward and back, and to -crack and creak, until she awoke. And it was San Pasquale who did it. Who -else but San Pasquale is there to think of such a thing? - -There is one thing more to tell about San Pasquale. It was of big -Cristoforo from Tre Castagni. He was not a bad man, but he had a bad -habit. He could not open his mouth without swearing. He could not say two -words without one of them being an oath. And do you think that it did -any good for his wife and neighbors to admonish him? But over his bed he -had a little picture representing San Pasquale, and the little picture -succeeded in helping him. Every night it swung forward and back in its -frame, swung fast or slow, as he had sworn that day. And he discovered -that he could not sleep a single night until he stopped swearing. - -In Diamante San Pasquale has a church, which lies outside the Porta -Etnea, a little way down the mountain. It is quite small and poor, but -the white walls and the red roof stand beautifully embedded in a grove of -almond-trees. - -Therefore, as soon as the almond-trees bloom in the spring, San -Pasquale’s church becomes the most beautiful in Diamante. For the -blossoming branches arch over it, thickly covered with white, glistening -flowers, like the most gorgeous garment. - -San Pasquale’s church is very miserable and deserted, because no service -can be held there. For when the Garibaldists, who freed Sicily, came to -Diamante, they camped in San Pasquale’s church and in the Franciscan -monastery beside it. And in the church itself they stabled brute beasts, -and led such a wild life with women and with gambling that ever since it -has been considered unhallowed and unclean, and has never been opened for -divine service from that time. - -Therefore it is only when the almond-trees are in bloom that strangers -and fine people pay attention to San Pasquale. For although the whole of -the slopes of Etna are white then with almond-blossoms, still the biggest -and the most luxuriant trees stand about the old, condemned church. - -But the poor people of Diamante come to San Pasquale the whole year -round. For although the church is always closed, people go there to get -advice from the saint. There is an image of him under a big stone canopy -just by the entrance, and people come to ask him about the future. No one -can foretell the future better than San Pasquale. - -Now it happened that the very morning when Gaetano left Diamante the -clouds had come rolling down from Etna, as thick as if they had been -dust from innumerable hosts, and they filled the air like dark-winged -dragons, and vomited forth rain, and breathed mists and darkness. It grew -so thick over Diamante that one could scarcely see across the street. -The dampness dripped from everything; the floor was as wet as the roof, -the doorposts and balustrades were covered with drops, the fog stood and -quivered in the passage-ways and rooms, until one would have thought them -full of smoke. - -That very morning, at an early hour, before the rain had begun, a rich -English lady started in her big travelling-carriage to make the trip -round Etna. But when she had driven a few hours a terrible rain began, -and everything was wrapped in mist. As she did not wish to miss seeing -any of the beautiful district through which she was travelling, she -determined to drive to the nearest town and to stay there until the storm -was over. That town was Diamante. - -The Englishwoman was a Miss Tottenham, and it was she who had moved into -the Palazzo Palmeri at Catania. Among all the other things she brought -with her in her trunks was the Christ image, upon which Donna Micaela had -called the evening before. For that image, which was now both old and -mishandled, she always carried with her, in memory of an old friend who -had left her her wealth. - -It seemed as if San Pasquale had known what a great miracle-worker -the image was, for it was as if he wished to greet him. Just as Miss -Tottenham’s travelling-carriage drove in through Porta Etnea, the bells -began to ring on San Pasquale’s church. - -They rang afterwards all day quite by themselves. - -San Pasquale’s bells are not much bigger than those that are used on -farms to call the work people home; and like them, they are hung under -the roof in a little frame, and set in motion by pulling a rope that -hangs down by the church wall. - -It is not heavy work to make the bells ring, but nevertheless they are -not so light that they can swing quite by themselves. Whoever has seen -old Fra Felice from the Franciscan monastery put his foot in the loop of -the rope and tread up and down to start them going, knows well enough -that the bells cannot begin to ring without assistance. - -But that was just what they were doing that morning. The rope was -fastened to a cleat in the wall, and there was no one touching it. Nor -did any one sit crouching on the roof to set them going. People plainly -saw how the bells swung backwards and forwards, and how the tongues hit -against the brazen throats. It could not be explained. - -When Donna Micaela awoke, the bells were already ringing, and she lay -quiet for a long time, and listened, and listened. She had never heard -anything more beautiful. She did not know that it was a miracle, but she -lay and thought how beautiful it was. She lay and wondered if real bronze -bells could sound like that. - -No one will ever know what the metal was that rang in San Pasquale’s -bells that day. - -She thought that the bells said to her that now she was to be glad; now -she was to live and love; now she was to go to meet something great and -beautiful; now she was never again to have regrets and never be sad. - -Then her heart began to dance in a kind of stately measure, and she -marched solemnly to the sound of bells into a great castle. And to whom -could the castle belong, who could be lord of such a beautiful place, if -not love? - -It can be hidden no longer: when Donna Micaela awoke she felt that she -loved Gaetano, and that she desired nothing better than to go with him. - -When Donna Micaela drew back the curtain from the window and saw the gray -morning, she kissed her hand to it and whispered: “You, who are morning -to the day when I am going away, you are the most beautiful morning I -have ever seen; and gray as you are, I will caress and kiss you.” - -But she still liked the bells best. - -By that you may know that her love was strong, for to all the others it -was torture to hear those bells, that would not stop ringing. No one -asked about them during the first half-hour. During the first half-hour -people hardly heard any ringing, but during the second and the third!!! - -No one need believe that San Pasquale’s little bells could not make -themselves heard. They are always loud and their clang seemed now to grow -and grow. It soon sounded as if the fog were filled with bells; as if the -sky hung full of them, although no one could see them for the clouds. - -When Donna Elisa first heard the ringing she thought that it was San -Giuseppe’s little bell, and then that it was the bell of the Cathedral -itself. Then she thought she heard the bell of the Dominican monastery -chime in, and at last she was certain that all the bells in the town rang -and rang all they could, all the bells in the five monasteries and the -seven churches. She thought that she recognized them all, until finally -she asked, and heard that it was only San Pasquale’s little bells that -were ringing. - -During the first hours, and before people generally knew that the bells -were ringing all by themselves, they noticed that the raindrops fell -in time to the sound of the bells, and that every one spoke with a -metallic voice. People also noticed that it was impossible to play on -mandolin and guitar, because the bells blended with the music and made -it ear-splitting; neither could any one read, because the letters swung -to and fro like bell-clappers, and the words acquired a voice, and read -themselves out quite audibly. - -Soon the people could not bear to see flowers on long stalks, because -they thought that they swung to and fro. And they complained that sound -came from them, instead of fragrance. - -Others insisted that the mist floating through the air moved in time with -the sound of the bells, and they said that all the pendulums conformed to -it, and that every one who went by in the rain tried to do likewise. - -And that was when the bells had only rung a couple of hours, and when the -people still laughed at them. - -But at the third hour the ringing seemed to increase even more, and then -some stuffed cotton into their ears, while others buried themselves under -pillows. But they felt just as distinctly how the air quivered with the -strokes, and they thought that they perceived how everything moved in -time. Those who fled up to the dark attic found the sound of the bells -clear and ringing there, as if they came from the sky; and those who fled -down into the cellar heard them as loud and deafening there as if San -Pasquale’s church stood under ground. - -Every one in Diamante began to be terrified except Donna Micaela, whom -love protected from fear. - -And now people began to think that it must mean something, because it was -San Pasquale’s bells that rang. Every one began to ask himself what the -saint foretold. Each had his own dread, and believed that San Pasquale -gave warning to him of what he least wished. Each had a deed on his -conscience to remember, and now thought that San Pasquale was ringing -down a punishment for him. - -Toward noon, when the bells still rang, everybody was sure that San -Pasquale was ringing such a misfortune upon Diamante that they might all -expect to die within the year. - -Pretty Giannita came terrified and weeping to Donna Micaela, and lamented -that it was San Pasquale who was ringing. “God, God, if it had been any -other than San Pasquale!” - -“He sees that something terrible is coming to us,” said Giannita. “The -mist does not prevent him from seeing as far as he will. He sees that an -enemy’s fleet is approaching in the bay! He sees that a cloud of ashes is -rising out of Etna which will fall over us and bury us!” - -Donna Micaela smiled, and thought that she knew of what San Pasquale -was thinking. “He is tolling a passing-bell for the beautiful -almond-blossoms, that are destroyed by the rain,” she said to Giannita. - -She let no one frighten her, for she believed that the bells were ringing -for her alone. They rocked her to dream. She sat quite still in the -music-room and let joy reign in her. But in the whole world about her was -fear and anxiety and restlessness. - -No one could sit at his work. No one could think of anything but the -great horror that San Pasquale foretold. - -People began to give the beggars more gifts than they had ever had; but -the beggars did not rejoice, because they did not believe they would -survive the morrow. And the priests could not rejoice, although they had -so many penitents that they had to sit in the confessional all day long, -and although gift upon gift was piled up on the altar of the saint. - -Not even Vicenzo da Lozzo, the letter-writer, was glad of the day, -although people besieged his desk under the court-house loggia, and were -more than willing to pay him a soldo a word, if they only might write a -line of farewell on this their last day to their dear ones far away. - -It was not possible to keep school that day, for the children cried the -whole time. At noon the mothers came, their faces stiff with terror, and -took their little ones home with them, so that they might at least be -together in misfortune. - -The apprentices at the tailors and shoe-makers had a holiday. But the -poor boys did not dare to enjoy it; they preferred to sit in their places -in the workshops, and wait. - -In the afternoon the ringing still continued. - -Then the old gate-keeper of the palazzo Geraci, where now no one lives -but beggars, and who is himself a beggar, and goes dressed in the most -miserable rags, went and put on the light-green velvet livery that he -wears only on saints’ days and on the king’s birthday. And no one could -see him sitting in the gateway dressed in that array without being -chilled with fear, for people understood that the old man expected that -no other than destruction would march in through the gate he was guarding. - -It was dreadful how people frightened one another. - -Poor Torino, who had once been a man of means, went from house to house -and cried that now the time had come when every one who had cheated and -beggared him would get his punishment. He went into all the little shops -along the Corso and struck the counter with his hand, saying that now -every one in the town would get his sentence, because all had connived to -cheat him. - -It was also terrifying to hear of the game of cards at the Café Europa. -There the same four had played year after year at the same table, and -no one had ever thought that they could do anything else. But now they -suddenly let their cards fall, and promised each other that if they -survived the horror of this day they would never touch them again. - -Donna Elisa’s shop was packed with people; to propitiate the saints and -to avert the menace, they bought all the sacred things that she had to -sell. But Donna Elisa thought only of Gaetano, who was away, and believed -that San Pasquale was warning her that he would be lost during the -voyage. And she took no pleasure in all the money that she was earning. - -When San Pasquale’s bells went on ringing the whole afternoon people -could hardly hold out. - -For now they knew that it was an earthquake which they foretold, and that -all Diamante would be wrecked. - -In the alleys, where the very houses seemed afraid of earthquakes, and -huddled together to support one another, people moved their miserable old -furniture out on the street into the rain, and spread tents of bed-quilts -over them. And they even carried out their little children in their -cradles, and piled up boxes over them. - -In spite of the rain, there was such a crowd on the Corso that it was -almost impossible to pass through. For every one was trying to go out -through Porta Etnea to see the bells swinging and swinging, and to -convince themselves that no one was touching the rope,--that it was -firmly tied. And all who came out there fell on their knees in the road, -where the water ran in streams, and the mud was bottomless. - -The doors to San Pasquale’s church were shut, as always, but outside the -old gray-brother, Fra Felice, went about with a brass plate, among those -who prayed, and received their gifts. - -In their turn the frightened people went forward to the image of San -Pasquale beneath the stone canopy, and kissed his hand. An old woman came -carefully carrying something under a green umbrella. It was a glass with -water and oil, in which floated a little wick burning with a faint flame. -She placed it in front of the image and knelt before it. - -Though many thought that they ought to try to tie up the bells, no one -dared to propose it. For no one dared to silence God’s voice. - -Nor did any one dare to say that it might be a device of old Fra Felice -to collect money. Fra Felice was beloved. It would fare badly with -whoever said such things as that. - -Donna Micaela also came out to San Pasquale and took her father with her. -She walked with her head high and quite without fear. She came to thank -him for having rung a great passion into her soul. “My life begins this -day,” she said to herself. - -Don Ferrante did not seem to be afraid either, but he was grim and angry. -For every one had to go in to him in his shop, and tell him what they -thought, and hear his opinion, because he was one of the Alagonas, who -had governed the town for so many years. - -All day terrified, trembling people came into his shop. And they all came -up to him and said: “This is a terrible ringing, Don Ferrante. What is to -become of us, Don Ferrante?” - -Even Ugo Favara, the splenetic advocate, came into the shop, and took -a chair, and sat down behind the counter. And Don Ferrante had him -sitting there all day, quite livid, quite motionless, suffering the most -inconceivable anguish without uttering a word. - -Every five minutes Torino-il-Martello came in and struck the counter, -saying that the hour had come in which Don Ferrante was to get his -punishment. - -Don Ferrante was a hard man, but he could no more escape the bells than -any other. And the longer he heard them, the more he began to wonder why -everybody streamed into his shop. It seemed as if they meant something -special. It seemed as if they wished to make him responsible for the -ringing, and the evil it portended. - -He had not spoken of it to any one, but his wife must have spread it -about. He began to believe that everybody was thinking the same, although -they did not dare to say it. He thought that the advocate was sitting and -waiting for him to yield. He believed that the whole town came in to see -if he would really dare to send his father-in-law away. - -Donna Elisa, who had so much to do in her own shop that she could not -come herself, sent old Pacifica continually to him to ask what he thought -of the bell-ringing. And the priest too came to the shop for a moment and -said, like all the others: “Did you ever hear such a terrible ringing, -Don Ferrante?” - -Don Ferrante would have liked to know if the advocate and Don Matteo -and all the others came only to reproach him because he wished to send -Cavaliere Palmeri away. - -The blood began to throb in his temples. The room swam now and then -before his eyes. People came in continually and asked: “Have you ever -heard such a terrible ringing?” But one never came and asked, and that -was Donna Micaela. She could not come when she felt no fear. She was -merely delighted and proud that the passion which was to fill her whole -life had come. “My life is to be great and glorious,” she said. And she -was appalled that till now she had been only a child. - -She would travel with the post-carriage that went by Diamante at ten -o’clock at night. Towards four, she thought, she must tell her father -everything, and begin his packing. - -But that did not seem hard to her. Her father would soon come to her in -Argentina. She would beg him to be patient for a few months, until they -could have a home to offer him. And she was sure that he would be glad to -have her leave Don Ferrante. - -She moved in a delicious trance. Everything that had seemed dreadful -appeared so no longer. There was no shame, no danger; no, none at all. - -She only longed to hear the rattling of the post-carriage. - -Then she heard many voices on the stairs leading from the court-yard to -the second floor. She heard a multitude of heavy feet tramping. She saw -people passing through the open portico that ran round the court-yard, -and through which one had to go to come into the rooms. She saw that they -were carrying something heavy between them, but she could not see what it -was, because there was such a crowd. - -The pale-faced advocate walked before the others. He came and said to her -that Don Ferrante had wished to drive Torino out of his shop; Torino had -cut him with his knife. It was nothing dangerous. He was already bandaged -and would be well in a fortnight. - -Don Ferrante was carried in, and his eyes wandered about the room, not in -search of Donna Micaela, but of Cavaliere Palmeri. When he saw him, he -let his wife know without a word, only by a few gestures, that her father -never would need to leave his house; never, never. - -Then she pressed her hands against her eyes. What, what! her father need -not go? She was saved. A miracle had come to pass to help her! - -Ah, now she must be glad, be content! But she was not. She felt the most -terrible pain. - -She could not go. Her father was allowed to remain, and so she must be -faithful to Don Ferrante. She struggled to understand. It was so. She -could not go. - -She tried to change it in some way. Perhaps it was a false conclusion. -She had been so confused. No, no, it was so, she could not. - -Then she became tired unto death. She had travelled and travelled the -whole day. She had been so long on the way. And she would never get -there. She sank down. A torpor and faintness came over her. There was -nothing to do but to rest after the endless journey she had made. But -that she could never do. She began to weep because she would never reach -her journey’s end. Her whole life long she would travel, travel, travel, -and never reach the end of her journey. - - - - -VIII - -TWO SONGS - - -It was the morning after the day when San Pasquale’s bells had rung; -and Donna Elisa sat in her shop and counted her money. The day before, -when everyone had been afraid, there had been an incredible sale in the -shop, and the next morning, when she had come down, she had at first -been almost frightened. For the whole shop was desolate and empty; the -medallions were gone, the wax candles were gone, and so were all the -great bunches of rosaries. All Gaetano’s beautiful images had been taken -down from the shelves and sold, and it was a real grief to Donna Elisa -not to see the host of holy men and women about her. - -She opened the money-drawer, and it was so full that she could hardly -pull it out. And while she counted her money she wept over it as if it -had all been false. For what good did it do her to possess all those -dirty lire and those big copper coins when she had lost Gaetano! - -Alas! she thought that if he had stopped at home one day more he would -not have needed to go, for now she was laden down with money. - -While she was counting she heard the post-carriage stop outside her door. -But she did not even look up; she did not care what happened, since -Gaetano was gone. Then the door opened, and the bell rang violently. She -only wept and counted. Then some one said: “Donna Elisa, Donna Elisa!” -And it was Gaetano! - -“But heavens! how can you be at home?” she cried.--“You have sold all -your images. I had to come home to carve new ones for you.”--“But how -did you find out about it?”--“I met the post-carriage at two o’clock in -the night. Rosa Alfari was in it, and she told me everything.”--“What -luck that you went down to the post-carriage! What luck that you happened -to think of going down to the post-carriage!”--“Yes; was it not good -fortune?” said Gaetano. - -In less than an hour Gaetano was again standing in his workshop; and -Donna Elisa, who had nothing at all to do in her empty shop, came -incessantly to the door to look at him. No, was he really standing there -and carving? She could not let five minutes pass without coming to look -at him. - -But when Donna Micaela heard that he was back she felt no joy, rather -anger and despair. For she was afraid that Gaetano would come to tempt -her. - -She had heard that a rich Englishwoman had come to Diamante the day the -bells rang. She was deeply affected when she heard that it was the lady -with the Christ image. He had therefore come as soon as she had called on -him. The rain and the bell-ringing were his work! - -She tried to rejoice her soul with the thought that there had been a -miracle for her sake. It would be more to her than all earthly happiness -and love to feel that she was surrounded by God’s grace. She did not -wish anything earthly to come and drag her down from that blessed rapture. - -But when she met Gaetano on the street he hardly looked at her; and when -she met him at Donna Elisa’s he did not take her hand and did not speak -to her at all. - -For the truth was that, although Gaetano had come home because it had -been too hard to go without Donna Micaela, he did not wish to tempt or to -persuade her. He saw that she was under the protection of the saints, and -she had become so sacred to him that he scarcely dared to dream of her. - -He wished to be near her, not in order to love her, but because he -believed that her life would blossom with holy deeds. Gaetano longed for -miracles, as a gardener longs for the first rose in the spring. - -But when weeks went by and Gaetano never tried to approach Donna Micaela, -she began to doubt, and to think that he had never loved her. She said -to herself that he had won the promise from her to flee with him only in -order to show her that the Madonna could work a miracle. - -If that were true, she did not know why he had not continued his journey -without turning back. - -That caused her anxiety. She thought that she could conquer her love -better if she knew whether Gaetano loved her. She weighed the pros and -cons, and she was more and more sure that he had never loved her. - -While Donna Micaela was thinking of this, she had to sit and keep Don -Ferrante company. He had lain sick a long time. He had had two strokes of -paralysis, and had risen from his sick-bed a broken man. All at once he -had become old and dull and afraid, so that he never dared to be alone. -He never worked in the shop; he was in every way a changed man. - -He had been seized with a great desire to be aristocratic and -fashionable. It looked as if poor Don Ferrante’s head was turned with -pride. - -Donna Micaela was very good to him, and sat hour after hour and chatted -with him. - -“Who could it be,” she used to ask, “who once stood in the market-place -with plumes on his hat, and braid on his coat, and sword at his side, -and who played so that people said that his music was as uplifting as -Etna, and as strong as the sea? And who caught sight of a poor signorina -dressed in black, who did not dare to show her face to the world, and -went forward to her and offered his arm? Who could it be? Could it be Don -Ferrante, who stands the whole week in his shop and wears a pointed cap -and a short jacket? No; that cannot be possible. No old merchant could -have done such a thing.” - -Don Ferrante laughed. That was just the way he liked to have her talk to -him. She would also tell him how it would be when he came to court. The -king would say this, and the queen would say that. “The old Alagonas have -come up again,” they would say at court. And who has brought up the race? -People will wonder and wonder. The Don Ferrante, who is a Sicilian prince -and Spanish grandee, is that the same man who stood in a shop in Diamante -and shouted at the teamsters? No, people will say, it cannot be the same. -It is impossible for it to be the same. - -Don Ferrante liked that, and wished to hear her talk so day in and day -out. He was never tired of listening, and Donna Micaela was very patient -with him. - -But one day while she was chatting, Donna Elisa came in. “Sister-in-law, -if you happen to own the ‘Legend of the Holy Virgin of Pompeii,’ will you -lend it to me?” she asked.--“What, are you going to begin to read?” asked -Donna Micaela.--“The saints preserve us! you know very well that I cannot -read. Gaetano is asking for it.” - -Donna Micaela did not own the “Legend of the Holy Virgin at Pompeii.” But -she did not say so to Donna Elisa; she went to her book-shelf and took a -little book, a collection of Sicilian love-songs, and gave it to Donna -Elisa, who carried the little book over to Gaetano. - -But Donna Micaela had no sooner done so before a lively regret seized -her. And she asked herself what she had meant by behaving so,--she who -had been helped by the little Christchild? - -She blushed with shame as she thought that she had marked one of the -little songs, one that ran thus:-- - - “For one single question’s answer longing, - Night I asked, and asked the daytime’s burning; - Watched the flight of birds, and swift clouds thronging, - In water strove to read the hot lead’s turning; - Leaves I counted plucked from many flowers, - Lured dark prophets forth, and sought their powers, - Till at last I called on Heaven above me: - ‘Doth he love me still, as once he loved me?’” - -She had hoped to get an answer to it. But it would serve her right if -no answer came. It would serve her right if Gaetano despised her and -thought her forward. - -Yet she had meant no harm. The only thing she had desired had been to -find out if Gaetano loved her. - -Several weeks again passed and Donna Micaela still sat with Don Ferrante. - -But one day Donna Elisa had tempted her out. “Come with me into my -garden, sister-in-law, and see my big magnolia-tree. You have never seen -anything so beautiful.” - -She had gone with Donna Elisa across the street and had come into her -court-yard. And Donna Elisa’s magnolia was like the shining sun, so that -people were aware of it even before they saw it. At a great distance the -fragrance lay and rocked in the air, and there was a murmuring of bees, -and a twittering of birds. - -When Donna Micaela saw the tree she could hardly breathe. It was very -high and broad, with a beautifully even growth, and its large, firm -leaves were of a fresh, dark green. But now it was entirely covered with -great, bright flowers, that lighted and adorned it so that it looked -as if dressed for a feast, and one felt an intoxicating joy streaming -forth from the tree. Donna Micaela almost lost consciousness, and a -new and irresistible power took possession of her. She drew down one -of the stiff branches, and without breaking it spread out the flower -that it bore, took a needle and began to prick letters on the flower -leaf. “What are you doing, sister-in-law?” asked Donna Elisa.--“Nothing, -nothing.”--“In my time young girls used to prick love-letters on the -magnolia-blossoms.”--“Perhaps they do it still.”--“Take care; I shall -look at what you have written when you are gone.”--“But you cannot -read.”--“I have Gaetano.”--“And Luca; you had better ask Luca.” - -When Donna Micaela came home, she repented of what she had done. Would -Donna Elisa really show the flower to Gaetano? No, no; Donna Elisa was -too sensible. But if he had seen her from the window of his workshop? -Well, he would not answer. She had made herself ridiculous. - -No, never, never again would she do such a thing. It was best for her not -to know. It was best for her that Gaetano did not ask after her. - -Nevertheless she wondered what answer she would get. But none came. - -So another week passed. Then it came into Don Ferrante’s mind that he -would like to go out for a drive in the afternoon. - -In the carriage-house of the summer palace there was an ancient state -carriage, which was certainly more than a hundred years old. It was very -high; it had a small, narrow body, which swung on leather straps between -the back wheels, which were as big as the water-wheels of a mill. It was -painted white, with gilding; it was lined with red velvet, and had a coat -of arms on its doors. - -Once it had been a great honor to ride in that carriage; and when the -old Alagonas had passed in it along the Corso, people had stood on their -thresholds, and crowded to their doors, and hung over balconies to see -them. But then it had been drawn by spirited barbs; then the coachman -had worn a wig, and the footman gold braid, and it had been driven with -embroidered silk reins. - -Now Don Ferrante wished to harness his old horses before the gala -carriage and have his old shopman take the place of coachman. - -When Donna Micaela told him that it could not be, Don Ferrante began to -weep. What would people think of him if he did not show himself on the -Corso in the afternoon? That was the last thing a man of position denied -himself. How could anyone know that he was a nobleman, if he did not -drive up and down the street in the carriage of the old Alagonas? - -The happiest hour Don Ferrante had enjoyed since his illness was when -he drove out for the first time. He sat erect and nodded and waved very -graciously to every one he met. And the people of Diamante bowed, and -took off their hats, so that they swept the street. Why should they not -give Don Ferrante this pleasure? - -Donna Micaela was with him, for Don Ferrante did not dare to drive alone. -She had not wished to go, but Don Ferrante had wept, and reminded her -that he had married her when she was despised and penniless. She ought -not to be ungrateful; she ought not to forget what he had done for her, -and ought to come with him. Why did she not wish to drive with him in his -carriage? It was the finest old carriage in Sicily. - -“Why will you not come with me?” said Don Ferrante. “Remember that I am -the only one who loves you. Do you not see that not even your father -loves you? You must not be ungrateful.” - -In this way he had forced Donna Micaela to take her place in the gala -carriage. - -But it was not at all as she had expected. No one laughed. The women -courtesied, and the men bowed as solemnly as if the carriage had been a -hundred years younger. And Donna Micaela could not detect a smile on any -face. - -No one in all Diamante would have wished to laugh; for every one knew -how Don Ferrante treated Donna Micaela. They knew how he loved her, and -how he wept if she left him for a single minute. They knew, too, that he -tormented her with jealousy, and that he trampled her hats to pieces, -if they became her, and never gave her money for new dresses, because -no other was to find her beautiful, and love her. But all the time he -told her that she was so ugly that no one but he could bear to look at -her face. And because every one in Diamante knew it all, no one laughed. -Laugh at her, sitting and chatting with a sick man! They are pious -Christians in Diamante, and not barbarians. - -So the gala-carriage in its faded glory drove up and down the Corso in -Diamante during the hour between five and six. And in Diamante it drove -quite alone, for there were no other fine carriages there; but people -knew that at that same time all the carriages in Rome drove to Monte -Pincio, all those in Naples to the Via Nazionale, and all in Florence to -the Cascine, and all in Palermo to La Favorita. - -But when the carriage approached the Porta Etnea for the third time, a -merry sound of horns was heard from the road outside. - -And through the gate swung a big, high coach in the English style. - -It was meant to look old-fashioned also. The postilion riding on the off -leader had leather trousers, and a wig tied in a pig-tail. The coach was -like an old diligence, with the body behind the coach box and seats on -the roof. - -But everything was new; the horses were magnificent, powerful animals, -carriage and harness shone, and the passengers were some young gentlemen -and ladies from Catania, who were making an excursion up Etna. And they -could not help laughing as they drove by the old gala-carriage. They -leaned over from where they sat on the high roof to look at it, and their -laughter sounded very loud and echoed between the high, silent houses of -Diamante. - -Donna Micaela was very unhappy. They were some of her old circle of -friends. What would they not say when they came home? “We have seen -Micaela Palmeri in Diamante.” And they would laugh and talk, laugh and -talk. - -Her life seemed so squalid. She was nothing but the slave of a fool. Her -whole life long she would never do anything but chat with Don Ferrante. - -When she came home she was quite exhausted. She was so tired and weak -that she could scarcely drag herself up the steps. - -And all the time Don Ferrante was rejoicing in his good fortune at having -met all those fine people, and having been seen in his state. He told her -that now no one would ask whether she was ugly, or whether her father had -stolen. Now people knew that she was the wife of a man of rank. - -After dinner Donna Micaela sat quite silent, and let her father talk to -Don Ferrante. Then a mandolin began to sound quite softly in the street -under the window of the summer palace. It was a single mandolin with -no accompaniment of guitar or violin. Nothing could be more light and -airy; nothing more captivating and affecting. No one could think that -human hands were touching the strings. It was as if bees and crickets and -grasshoppers were giving a concert. - -“There is some one again who has fallen in love with Giannita,” said Don -Ferrante. “That is a woman, Giannita. Any one can see that she is pretty. -If I were young I should fall in love with Giannita. She knows how to -love.” - -Donna Micaela started. He was right, she thought. The mandolin-player -meant Giannita. That evening Giannita was at home with her mother, but -otherwise she always lived at the summer palace. Donna Micaela had -arranged it so since Don Ferrante had been ill. - -But Donna Micaela liked the mandolin playing, for whomever it might be -meant. It came sweet, and soft, and comforting. She went gently into her -room to listen better in the dark and loneliness. - -A sweet, strong fragrance met her there. What was it? Her hands began to -tremble before she found a candle and a match. On her work-table lay a -big, widely opened magnolia-blossom. - -On one of the flower petals was pricked: “Who loves me?” And now stood -under it: “Gaetano.” - -Beside the flower lay a little white book full of love-songs. And there -was a mark against one of the little verses:-- - - “None have known the love that I have brought thee, - Silent, secret, born in midnight’s measure. - All my dreams have stolen forth and sought thee; - Miser-like, the while, I watched my treasure: - Tho’ the priest shall seek to shrive me, dying, - Silent I, nor needing him to speed me, - Bar the door, fling forth the key, and lying - Thus unshriven, go where death shall lead me.” - -The mandolin continued to play. There is something of open air and -sunlight in a mandolin; something soothing and calming; something of the -cheering carelessness of beautiful nature. - - - - -IX - -FLIGHT - - -At that time the little image from Aracoeli was still in Diamante. - -The Englishwoman who owned it had been fascinated by Diamante. She had -not been able to bring herself to leave it. - -She had hired the whole first floor of the hotel, and had established -herself there as in a home. She bought for large sums everything she -could find in the way of old pots and old coins. She bought mosaics, and -altar-pictures, and holy images. She thought that she would like to make -a collection of all the saints of the church. - -She heard of Gaetano, and sent him a message to come to her at the hotel. - -Gaetano collected what he had carved during the last few days and took -them with him to Miss Tottenham. She was much pleased with his little -images, and wished to buy them all. - -But the rich Englishwoman’s rooms were like the lumber-rooms of a museum. -They were filled with every conceivable thing, and there was confusion -and disorder everywhere. Here stood half-empty trunks; there hung cloaks -and hats; here lay paintings and engravings; there were guide-books, -railway time-tables, tea-sets, and alcohol lamps; elsewhere halberds, -prayer-books, mandolins, and escutcheons. - -And that opened Gaetano’s eyes. He flushed suddenly, bit his lips, and -began to repack his images. - -He had caught sight of an image of the Christchild. It was the outcast, -who was standing there in the midst of all the disorder, with his -wretched crown on his head and brass shoes on his feet. The color was -worn off his face; the rings and ornaments hanging on him were tarnished, -and his dress was yellowed with age. - -When Gaetano saw that, he would not sell his images to Miss Tottenham; he -meant simply to go his way. - -When she asked him what was the matter with him he stormed at her, and -scolded her. - -Did she know that many of the things she had about her were sacred? - -Did she know, or did she not know, that that was the holy Christchild -himself? And she had let him lose three fingers on one hand, and let the -jewels fall out of his crown, and let him lie dirty, and tarnished, and -dishonored! And if she had so treated the image of God’s own son, how -would she let everything else fare? He would not sell anything to her. - -When Gaetano burst out at her in that way Miss Tottenham was enraptured, -enchanted. - -Here was the true faith and the righteous, holy wrath. This young man -must become an artist. To England, he should go to England! She wished to -send him to the great master, her friend, who was trying to reform art; -to him who wished to teach people to make beautiful house-furnishings, -beautiful church-fittings, who wished to create a whole beautiful world. - -She decided and arranged, and Gaetano let her go on, because he would -rather now go away from Diamante. - -He saw that he could no longer endure to live there. He believed that it -was God leading him out of temptation. - -He went away quite unobserved. Donna Micaela scarcely knew anything of it -until he was gone. He had not dared to come and bid her good-bye. - - - - -X - -THE SIROCCO - - -After that two years passed quietly. The only thing that happened at -Diamante and in all Sicily was that the people grew ever poorer and -poorer. - -Then there came an autumn, and it was about the time when the wine was to -be harvested. - -At that time songs generally rise full-fledged to the lips; at that time -new and beautiful melodies stream from the mandolins. - -Then crowds of young people go out to the vineyards, and there is work -and laughter all day, dance and laughter all night, and no one knows what -sleep is. - -Then the bright ocean of air over the mountain is more beautiful than -at any other time. Then the air is full of wit; sparkling glances flash -through it; it gets warmth not only from the sun, but also from the -glowing faces of the young women of Etna. - -But that autumn all the vineyards were devastated by the phylloxera. No -grape-pickers pushed their way between the vines; no long lines of women -carrying heaped-up baskets on their heads wound up to the presses, and at -night there was no dancing on the flat roofs. - -That autumn no clear, light October air lay over the Etna region. As -if it had been in league with the famine, the heavy, weakening wind -from the Sahara came over from Africa, and brought with it dust and -exhalations that darkened the sky. - -Never, as long as that autumn lasted, was there a fresh mountain breeze. -The baleful Sirocco blew incessantly. - -Sometimes it came dry and heavy with sand, and so hot that they had to -shut doors and windows, and keep in their rooms, not to faint away. - -But oftener it came warm and damp and enervating. And the people felt no -rest; trouble left them neither by day nor by night, and cares piled upon -them like snow-drifts on the high mountains. - -And the restlessness reached Donna Micaela as she sat and watched with -her old husband, Don Ferrante. - -During that autumn she never heard any one laugh, nor heard a song. -People crept by one another, so full of anger and despair that they were -almost choked. And she said to herself that they were certainly dreaming -of an insurrection. She saw that they had to revolt. It would help no -one, but they had no other resource. - -In the beginning of the autumn, sitting on her balcony, she heard the -people talk in the street. They always talked of the famine: We have -blight in wheat and wine; there is a crisis in sulphur and oranges; all -Sicily’s yellow gold has failed. How shall we live? - -And Donna Micaela understood that it was terrible. Wheat, wine, oranges, -and sulphur, all their yellow gold! - -She began to understand, too, that the misery was greater than men could -bear long, and she grieved that life should be made so hard. She asked -why the people should be forced to bear such enormous taxes. Why should -the salt tax exist, so that a poor woman could not go down to the shore -and get a pail of salt water, but must buy costly salt in the government -shops? Why should there be a tax on palm-trees? The peasants, with anger -in their hearts, were felling the old trees that had waved so long over -the noble isle. And why should a tax be put on windows? What did they -want? Was it that the poor should take away their windows, move out of -their rooms, and live in cellars? - -In the sulphur-mines there were strikes and turbulence, and the -government was sending troops to force the people back to work. Donna -Micaela wondered if the government did not know that there was no -machinery in those mines. Perhaps it had never heard that children -dragged the ore up from the deep shafts. It did not know that these -children were slaves; it could not imagine that parents had sold them to -overseers. Or if the government did know it, why did it wish to help the -mine-owners? - -At one time she heard of a terrible number of crimes. And she began again -with her questions. Why did they let the people become so criminal? And -why did they let them be so poor and so ragged? Why must they all be so -ragged? She knew that any one living in Palermo or Catania did not need -to ask. But he who lived in Diamante could not help fearing and asking. -Why did they let the people be so poor that they died of hunger? - -As yet the summer was hardly over; it was no later in the autumn than the -end of October, and already Donna Micaela began to see the day when the -insurrection would break out. She saw the starved people come rushing -along the street. They would plunder the shops and they would plunder -the few rich men there were in the town. Outside the summer palace the -wild horde would stop, and they would climb up to the balcony and the -glass doors. “Bring out the jewels of the old Alagonas; bring out Don -Ferrante’s millions!” That was their dream,--the summer palace! They -believed that it was as full of gold as a fairy palace. - -But when they found nothing, they would put a dagger to her throat, to -make her give up the treasures that she had never possessed, and she -would be killed by the bloodthirsty crowds. - -Why could not the great land-owners stop at home? Why must they irritate -the poor by living in grand style in Rome and Paris? The people would not -be so bitter against them if they stayed at home; they would not swear -such a solemn and sacred oath to kill all the rich when the time should -come. - -Donna Micaela wished that she could have escaped to one of the big towns. -But both her father and Don Ferrante fell ill that autumn, and for their -sakes she was forced to remain where she was. And she knew that she would -be killed as an atonement for the sins of the rich against the poor. - -For many years misfortunes had been gathering over Sicily, and now they -could no longer be held back. Etna itself began to menace an eruption. At -night sulphurous smoke floated red as fire, and rumblings were heard as -far away as Diamante. The end of everything was coming. Everything was to -be destroyed at once. - -Did not the government know of the discontent? Ah, the government had -at last heard of it, and it had appointed a committee. It was a great -comfort to see the members of the committee come driving one fine day -along the Corso in Diamante. If only the people had understood that they -wished them well! If the women had not stood in their doorways and spat -at the fine gentlemen from the mainland; if the children had not run -beside the carriages and cried: “Thief, thief!” - -Everything they did only stirred up the revolt, and there was no one who -could control the people and quiet them. They trusted no officials. They -despised those least who only took bribes. But people said that many -belonged to the society of Mafia; they said that their one thought was to -extort money and acquire power. - -As time went on, several signs showed that something terrible was -impending. In the papers they wrote that crowds of working-men were -gathering in the larger towns and wandering about the streets. People -read also in the papers how the socialist leaders were going through the -country, and making seditious speeches. All at once it became clear to -Donna Micaela whence all the trouble came. The socialists were inciting -the revolt. It was their firebrand speeches that set the blood of the -people boiling. How could they let them do it? Who was king in Sicily? -Was his name Don Felice, or Umberto? - -Donna Micaela felt a horror which she could not shake off. It was as if -they had conspired especially against her. And the more she heard of the -socialists, the more she feared them. - -Giannita tried to calm her. “We have not a single socialist in -Diamante,” she said. “In Diamante no one is thinking of revolt.” Donna -Micaela asked her if she did not know what it meant when the old distaff -spinners sat in their dark corners, and told of the great brigands and -of the famous Palermo fisherman, Giuseppe Alesi, whom they called the -Masaniello of Sicily. - -If the socialists could once get the revolt started, Diamante would also -join in. All Diamante knew already that something dreadful was impending. -They had seen the ghost of the big, black monk on the balcony of the -Palazzo Geraci; they heard the owls scream through the night, and some -declared that the cocks crowed at sunset, and were silent at daybreak. - -One day in November Diamante was suddenly filled with terrible people. -They were men with the faces of wild beasts, with bushy beards, and -with big hands set on enormously long arms. Several of them wore wide, -fluttering linen garments, and the people thought that they recognized in -them famous bandits and newly freed galley-slaves. - -Giannita related that all these wild people lived in the mountain wastes -inland and had crossed Simeto and come to Diamante, because a rumor had -gone about that revolt had already broken out. But when they had found -everything quiet, and the barracks full of soldiers, they had gone away. - -Donna Micaela thought incessantly of those people, and expected them to -be her murderers. She saw before her their fluttering linen garments and -their brute faces. She knew that they were lurking in their mountain -holes, and waiting for the day when they should hear shots and the noise -of an outbreak in Diamante. Then they would fall upon the town with -fire and murder, and march at the head of all the starving people as the -generals and leaders in the plundering. - -All that autumn Donna Micaela had to nurse both her father and Don -Ferrante; for they lay sick month after month. People had told her, -however, that their lives were in no danger. - -She was very glad to be able to keep Don Ferrante alive, for it was her -only hope that at the last the people would spare him, who was of such an -old and venerated race. - -As she sat by their sick-beds, her thoughts went often in longing to -Gaetano, and many were the times when she wished that he were at home. -She would not feel such terror and fear of death if he stood once more in -his workshop. Then she would have felt nothing but security and peace. - -Even now, when he was so far away, it was to him her thoughts turned when -fear was driving her mad. Not a single letter had come from him since he -had gone away, so that sometimes she believed that he had forgotten her -entirely. At other times she was quite sure that he loved her, for she -felt herself compelled to think of him, and knew that he was near her in -thought, and was calling to her. - -That autumn she at last received a letter from Gaetano. Alas, such a -letter! Donna Micaela’s first thought was to burn it. - -She had gone up to the roof-garden in order to be alone when she read the -letter. She had once heard Gaetano’s declaration of love there. That had -not moved her. It had neither warmed her nor frightened her. - -But this letter was different. He prayed that she would come to him, be -his, give him her life. When she read it she was frightened at herself. -She felt how she longed to cry out into the air, “I am coming, I am -coming,” and set out. It drew her, carried her away. - -“Let us be happy!” he wrote. “We are losing time; the years are passing. -Let us be happy!” - -He described to her how they would live. He told her of other women who -had obeyed love and been happy. He wrote as temptingly as convincingly. - -But it was not the contents; it was the love that glowed and burned -in the letter which overcame her. It rose from the paper like an -intoxicating incense, and she felt it penetrate her. It was burning, -longing, speaking, in every word. - -Now she was no longer a saint to him, as she had been before. It came so -unexpectedly, after two years’ silence, that she was stunned. And she was -troubled because it delighted her. - -She had never thought that love was like this. Should she really like it? -She found with dismay that she did like it. - -And so she punished both herself and him by writing a severe reply. It -was moral, moral; it was nothing but moral! She was proud when she had -written it. She did not deny that she loved him, but perhaps Gaetano -would not be able to find the words of love, they were so buried in -admonitions. He could not have found them, for he wrote no more letters. - -But now Donna Micaela could no longer think of Gaetano as a shelter and a -support. Now he was more dangerous than the men from the mountains. - -Every day graver news came to Diamante. Everybody began to get out their -weapons. And although it was forbidden, they were carried secretly by -every one. - -All travellers left the island, and in their place one regiment after -another was sent over from Italy. - -The socialists talked and talked. They were possessed by evil spirits; -they could not rest until they had brought on the disaster! - -At last the ringleaders had decided on the day on which the storm was to -break loose. All Sicily, all Italy, was to rise. It was no longer menace; -it was reality. - -More and more troops came from the mainland. Most of them were -Neapolitans, who live in constant feud with the Sicilians. And now the -news came that the island had been declared in a state of siege. There -were to be no more courts of justice; only court-martials. And the people -said that the soldiers would be free to plunder and murder as they -pleased. - -No one knew what was to happen. Terror seemed to make every one mad. The -peasants raised ramparts in the hills. In Diamante men stood in great -groups on the market-place, stood there day after day, without going to -their work. There was something terrible in those groups of men dressed -in dark cloaks and slouch hats. They were all probably dreaming of the -hour when they should plunder the summer palace. - -The nearer the day approached when the insurrection was to break out, the -sicker Don Ferrante became; and Donna Micaela began to fear that he would -die. - -It seemed to her a sign that she was predestined to destruction, that she -was also losing Don Ferrante. Who would have any regard for her when he -was no longer alive? - -She watched over him. She and all the women of the quarter sat in silent -prayer about his bed. - -One morning, towards six o’clock, Don Ferrante died. And Donna Micaela -mourned him, because he had been her only protector, and the only one who -could have saved her from destruction; and she wished to honor the dead, -as is still the custom in Diamante. - -She had them drape the room where the body was lying with black, and -close all the shutters, so that the glad sunlight should not enter. She -had all the fires put out on the hearths, and sent for a blind singer to -come to the palace every day and sing dirges. - -She let Giannita care for Cavaliere Palmeri, so that she herself might -sit quiet in the death-room, among the other women. - -It was evening on the day of death before all preparations were -completed, and they were waiting only for the White Brotherhood to come -and take away the corpse. In the death-chamber there was the silence of -the grave. All the women of the quarter sat there motionless with dismal -faces. - -Donna Micaela sat pale with her great fear, and stared involuntarily at -the pall that was spread over the body. It was a pall which belonged to -the family; their coat of arms was heavily and gorgeously embroidered on -the centre, and it had silver fringes and thick tassels. The pall had -never been spread over any one but an Alagona. It seemed to lie there so -that Donna Micaela should not for a moment forget that her last support -had fallen, and that she was now alone, and without protection from the -infuriated people. - -Some one came in and announced that old Assunta had come. Old Assunta; -what did old Assunta want? Yes, it was she who came to sing the praises -of the dead. - -Donna Micaela let Assunta come into the room. She appeared just as she -looked every day, when she sat and begged on the Cathedral steps; the -same patched dress, the same faded headcloth, and the same crutch. - -Little and bent, she limped forward to the coffin. She had a shrivelled -face, a sunken mouth, and dull eyes. Donna Micaela said to herself that -it was incarnate helplessness and feebleness who had come into the room. - -The old woman raised her voice and began to speak in the wife’s name. - -“My lord is dead, and I am alone! He who raised me to his side is -dead! Is it not terrible that my home has lost its master?--Why are -the shutters of your windows closed? say the passers-by.--I answer, I -cannot bear to see the light, because my sorrow is so great; my grief is -three-fold.--What, are so many of your race carried away by the White -Brethren?--No, none of my race is dead, but I have lost my husband, my -husband, my husband!” - -Old Assunta needed to say no more. Donna Micaela burst into lamentations. -The whole room was filled with the sound of weeping from the sympathetic -women; for there is no grief like losing a husband. Those who were -widows thought of what they had lost, and those who were not as yet -widows thought of the time when they would not be able to go on the -street, because no husband would be with them; when they would be left to -loneliness, poverty, oblivion; when they would be nothing, mean nothing; -when they would be the world’s outcast children because they no longer -had a husband; because nothing any longer gave them the right to live. - - * * * * * - -It was late in December, the days between Christmas and the New Year. - -There was still the same danger of insurrection, and people still heard -terrifying rumors. It was said that Falco Falcone had gathered together -a band of brigands in the quarries, and that he was only waiting for the -appointed day to break into Diamante and plunder it. - -It was also whispered that the people in several of the small mountain -towns had risen, torn down the custom’s offices at the town-gates, and -driven away the officials. - -People said too that troops were passing from town to town, arresting all -suspicious people, and shooting them down by hundreds. - -Every one said that they must fight. They could not let themselves be -murdered by those Italians without trying to make some resistance. - -During all this, Donna Micaela sat tied to her father’s sick-bed, just as -she had sat before by Don Ferrante’s. She could not escape from Diamante, -and terror so grew within her that she was nothing but one trembling fear. - -The last and worst of all the messages of terror that reached her had -been about Gaetano. - -For when Don Ferrante had been dead a week Gaetano had come home. And -that had not caused her dismay; it had only made her glad. She had -rejoiced in at last having some one near her who could protect her. - -At the same time she decided that she could not receive Gaetano if he -came to see her. She felt that she still belonged to the dead. She would -rather not see Gaetano until after a year. - -But when Gaetano had been at home a week without coming to the summer -palace, she asked Giannita about him. “Where is Gaetano? Has he perhaps -gone away again, since no one speaks of him?” - -“Alas, Micaela,” answered Giannita, “the less people speak of Gaetano, -the better for him.” - -She told Donna Micaela, as if she was telling of a great shame, that -Gaetano had become a socialist. - -“He has been quite transformed over there, in England,” she said. “He no -longer worships either God or the saints. He does not kiss the priest’s -hand when he meets him. He says to every one that they shall pay no more -duties at the town-gates. He encourages the peasants not to pay their -rent. He carries weapons. He has come home to start a rebellion, to help -the bandits.” - -She needed to say no more to chill Donna Micaela with a greater terror -than she had ever felt before. - -It was this that the sultry days of the autumn had portended. It would be -he who would shake the bolt from the clouds. Why had she not understood -it long ago? - -It was a punishment and a revenge. It would be he who would bring the -misfortune! - -During those last days she had been calmer. She had heard that all the -socialists on the island had been put in prison, and all the little -insurrection fires lighted in the mountain towns had been quickly choked. -It looked almost as if the rebellion would come to nothing! - -But now the last Alagona was come, and him the people would follow. Life -would enter into those black groups on the market-place. The men in the -linen garments would climb up out of the quarries. - - * * * * * - -The next evening Gaetano spoke in the market-place. He had sat by the -fountain, and had seen how the people came to get water. For two years -he had foregone the pleasure of seeing the slender girls lift the heavy -water-jars to their heads and walk away with firm, slow step. - -But it was not only the young girls who came to the fountain; there were -people of all ages. And when he saw how poor and unhappy most of them -were, he began to talk to them of the future. - -He promised them better times soon. He said to old Assunta that she -hereafter should get her daily bread without needing to ask alms of any -one. And when she said that she did not understand how that could be, -he asked her almost with anger if she did not know that now the time -had come when no old people and no children should be without care and -shelter. - -He pointed to the old chair-maker, who was as poor as Assunta, and -moreover very sick, and he asked if she believed that the people would -endure much longer having no support for the poor, and no hospitals. -Could she not understand that it was impossible for such things to -continue? Could they not all understand that hereafter the old and the -sick should be cared for? - -He also saw some children who, as he knew, lived on cresses and sorrel, -which they gathered on the river-banks and by the roadside, and he -promised that henceforward no one should need to starve. He laid his hand -on the children’s heads, and swore as solemnly as if he were prince of -Diamante, that they should never again want for bread. - -They knew nothing in Diamante, he said; they were ignorant; they did not -understand that a new and blessed time had come; they believed that this -old misery would continue forever. - -While he was thus consoling the poor, more and more had gathered about -him, and he suddenly sprang up, placed himself on the steps of the -fountain, and began to speak. - -How could they, he said, be so foolish as to believe that nothing -better would come? Should the people, who possessed the whole earth, be -content to let their parents starve, and their children grow up to be -good-for-nothings and criminals? - -Did they not know that there were treasures in the mountains, and in the -sea, and in the ground? Had they never heard that the earth was rich? Did -they think that it could not feed its children? - -They should not murmur among themselves, and say that it was impossible -to arrange matters differently. They should not think that there must be -rich and poor. Alas, they understood nothing! They did not know their -Mother Earth. Did they think that she hated any of them? They had lain -down on the ground and heard the earth speak? Perhaps they had seen her -make laws? They had heard her pass sentence? She had commanded some to -starve, and some to die of luxury? - -Why did they not open their ears and listen to the new teachings pouring -through the world? Would they not like to have a better life? Did they -like their rags? Were they satisfied with sorrel and cresses? Did they -not wish to possess a roof over their heads? - -And he told them that it made no difference, no difference, if they -refused to believe in the new times that were coming. They would come in -spite of it. They did not need to lift the sun up from the sea in the -morning. The new times would come to them as the sun came, but why would -they not be ready to meet them? Why did they shut themselves in, and fear -the new light? - -He spoke long in the same strain, and more and more of the poor people of -Diamante gathered about him. - -The longer he continued, the more beautiful became his speech and the -clearer grew his voice. - -His eyes were full of fire, and to the people looking up at him, he -seemed as beautiful as a young prince. - -He was one of the race of once powerful lords, who had possessed means -to shower happiness and gold on everybody within their wide lands. They -believed him when he said that he had happiness to give them. They felt -comforted, and rejoiced that their young lord loved them. - -When he had finished speaking they began to shout, and call to him that -they wished to follow him and do what he commanded. - -He had gained ascendency over them in a moment. He was so beautiful and -so glorious that they could not resist him. And his faith seized and -subdued. - -That night there was not one poor person in Diamante who did not believe -that Gaetano would give him happy days, free from care. That night -they called down blessings on him, all those who lived in sheds and -out-houses. That night the hungry lay down with the sure belief that the -next day tables groaning under many dishes would stand spread for them -when they awoke. - -For when Gaetano spoke, his power was so great that he could convince -an old man that he was young, and a freezing man that he was warm. And -people felt that what he promised must come. - -He was the prince of the coming times. His hands were generous, and -miracles and blessings would stream down over Diamante, now that he had -come again. - - * * * * * - -The next day, towards sunset, Giannita came into the sick-room and -whispered to Donna Micaela: “There is an insurrection in Paternó. They -have been shooting for several hours, and you can hear them as far away -as here. Orders for troops have already gone to Catania. And Gaetano says -that it will break out here, too. He says that it will break out in all -the towns of Etna at one time.” - -Donna Micaela made a sign to Giannita to stay with her father, and she -herself went across the street and into Donna Elisa’s shop. - -Donna Elisa sat behind the counter with her frame, but she was not -working. The tears fell so heavy and fast that she had ceased to -embroider. - -“Where is Gaetano?” said Donna Micaela, without any preamble. “I must -speak to him.” - -“God give you strength to talk to him,” answered Donna Elisa. “He is in -the garden.” - -She went out across the court-yard and into the walled garden. - -In the garden there were many narrow paths winding from terrace to -terrace. There was also a number of arbors and grottos and benches. And -it was so thick with stiff agaves, and close-growing dwarf palms, and -thick-leaved rubber-plants, and rhododendrons, that it was impossible to -see two feet in front of one. Donna Micaela walked for a long time on -those innumerable paths before she could find Gaetano. The longer she -walked, the more impatient she became. - -At last she found him at the farther end of the garden. She caught sight -of him on the lowest terrace, built out on one of the bastions of the -wall of the town. There sat Gaetano at ease, and worked with chisel and -hammer on a statuette. When he saw Donna Micaela, he came towards her -with outstretched hands. - -She hardly gave herself time to greet him. “Is it true,” she said, “that -you have come home to be our ruin?” He began to laugh. “The syndic has -been here,” he said. “The priest has been here. Are you coming too?” - -It wounded her that he laughed, and that he spoke of the priest and the -syndic. It was something different, and more, that she came. - -“Tell me,” she said, stiffly, “if it is true that we are to have an -uprising this evening.”--“Oh, no,” he answered; “we shall have no -uprising.” And he said it in such a voice that it almost made her sorry -for him. - -“You cause Donna Elisa great grief,” she burst out.--“And you too, do I -not?” he said, with a slight sneer. “I cause you all sorrow. I am the -lost son; I am Judas. I am the angel of justice who is driving you from -that paradise where people eat grass.” - -She answered: “Perhaps we think that what we have is better than -being shot by the soldiers.”--“Yes, of course; it is better to starve -to death. We are used to that.”--“Nor is it pleasant to be murdered -by bandits.”--“But why for Heaven’s sake have any bandits, if you -do not want to be murdered by them?”--“Yes, I know,” she said, more -passionately, “that you want all the rich to perish.” - -He did not answer immediately; he stood and bit his lips, so as not to -lose his temper. “Let me talk with you, Donna Micaela!” he said at last. -“Let me explain it to you!” - -At the same time he put on a patient expression. He talked socialism with -her, so clear and simple that a child could have understood. - -But she was far from being able to follow it. Perhaps she could have, but -she did not wish to. She did not wish just then to hear of socialism. - -It had been so wonderful to her to see him. The ground had rocked under -her; and something glorious and blessed had passed through and quite -overcome her. “God, it is he whom I love!” she said to herself. “It is -really he.” - -Before she had seen him she had known very well what she would say to -him. She would have led him back to the faith of his childhood. She -would have shown him that those new teachings were detestable and -dangerous. But then love came. It made her confused and stupid. She could -not answer him. She only sat and wondered that he could talk. - -She wondered if he was much handsomer now than formerly. Formerly she had -not been confused at all when she saw him. She had never been attracted -to that extent. Or was it that he had become a free, strong man? She was -frightened when she felt how he subdued her. - -She dared not contradict him. She dared not even speak, for fear of -bursting into tears. Had she dared to speak, she would not have talked -of public affairs. She would have told him what she had felt the day the -bells rang. Or she would have prayed to be allowed to kiss his hand. She -would have told him how she had dreamed of him. She would have said that -if she had not had him to dream of she could not have borne her life. She -would have begged to be allowed to kiss his hand in gratitude, because he -had given her life all these years. - -If there was to be no uprising, why did he talk socialism? What had -socialism to do with them, sitting alone in Donna Elisa’s garden? She sat -and looked along one of the paths. Luca had put up wooden arches on both -sides of it, and up these climbed garlands of light rose-shoots, full of -little buds and flowers. One always wondered whither one was coming when -one went along that path. And one came to a little weather-beaten cupid. -Old Luca understood things better than Gaetano. - -While they sat there the sun set, and Etna grew rosy-red. It was as if -Etna flushed with anger at what was going on in Donna Elisa’s garden. -It was at sunset, when Etna glowed red, that she had always thought of -Gaetano. It seemed as if they both had been waiting for it. And they had -both arranged how it would be when Gaetano came. She had only feared that -he would be too fiery, and too passionately wild. And he talked only of -those dreadful Socialists, whom she detested and feared. - -He talked a long time. She saw Etna grow pale and become bronze-brown, -and then the darkness came. She knew that there would be moonlight. There -she sat quite still, and hoped for help from the moonlight. She herself -could do nothing. She was entirely in his power. But when the moonlight -came, it did not help either. He continued to talk of capitalists and -working-men. - -Then it seemed to her as if there could be but one explanation for all -this. He must have ceased to love her. - -Suddenly she remembered something. It was a week ago. It was the same -day that Gaetano had come home. She had come into Giannita’s room, but -she had walked so softly that Giannita had not heard her. She had seen -Giannita stand as if in ecstasy, with up-stretched arms and up-turned -face. And in her hands she held a picture. First she carried it to her -lips and kissed it, then she lifted it up over her head and looked up to -it in rapture. And the picture had been of Gaetano. - -When Donna Micaela had seen that, she had gone away as silently as she -had come. She had only thought then that Giannita was to be pitied if -she loved Gaetano. But now, when Gaetano only talked socialism, now she -remembered it. - -Now she began to think that Gaetano also loved Giannita. She remembered -that they were friends from childhood. He had perhaps loved her a long -time. Perhaps he had come home to marry her. Donna Micaela could say -nothing; she had nothing to complain of. It was scarcely a month since -she wrote to Gaetano that it was not right of him to love her. - -He now leaned towards her, enchained her glance, and actually compelled -her to listen to what he was saying. - -“You shall understand; you shall see and understand, Donna Micaela! What -we need here in the South is a regeneration, a pulling up by the roots, -such as Christianity was in its time. Up with the slaves; down with the -masters! A plow which turns up new social furrows! We must sow in new -earth; the old earth is impoverished. The old surface furrows bear only -weak, miserable growth. Let the deep earth come up to the light, and we -shall see something different! - -“See, Donna Micaela, why does socialism live; why has it not gone under? -Because it comes with a new word. ‘Think of the earth,’ it says, just as -Christianity came with the word, ‘Think of heaven.’ Look about you! Look -at the earth; is it not all that we possess? Let us therefore establish -ourselves here so that we shall be happy. Why, why, has no one thought of -it before? Because we have been so busy with that Hereafter. Let us leave -the Hereafter! The earth, the earth, Donna Micaela! Ah, we socialists, we -love her! We worship the sacred earth,--the poor, despised mother, who -wears mourning because her children yearn for heaven. - -“Believe me, Donna Micaela,” he said, “it will be accomplished in less -than seven years. In the year nineteen hundred it will be ready. Then -martyrs will have bled; then apostles will have spoken; then shall crowds -upon crowds have been won over! We, the rightful sons of the earth, shall -have the victory! And she shall lie before us in all her loveliness; she -shall bring us beauty, bring us pleasure, bring us knowledge, bring us -health!” - -Gaetano’s voice began to tremble, and tears quivered in his eyes. He went -forward to the edge of the terrace, and he stretched out his arms as if -to embrace the moonlit earth. “You are so dazzlingly beautiful,” he said, -“so dazzlingly beautiful!” - -And Donna Micaela for a moment thought she felt his grief over all -the sorrow that lay under the surface of beauty. She saw life full -of vice and suffering, like a dirty river filled with the stench of -uncleanliness, wind through the glistening world of beauty. - -“And no one can enjoy you,” said Gaetano; “no one can dare to enjoy you. -You are untamed, and full of whims and anger. You are uncertainty and -peril; you are sorrow and pain; you are want and shame; you are the force -that grinds; you are everything terrible that can be named, because the -people have not wished to make you better. - -“But your day will come,” he said, triumphantly. “Some day they will turn -to you with all their love; they will not turn to a dream, which gives -nothing and is good for nothing.” - -She interrupted him roughly. She began to fear him more and more. - -“So it is true that you have had no success in England?” - -“What do you mean?” - -“People say that the great master, to whom Miss Tottenham sent you, has -said that you--” - -“What has he said?” - -“That you and your images suited Diamante, but nowhere else.” - -“Who says such things?” - -“People think so, because you are so changed.” - -“Since I am a socialist.” - -“Why should you be one if you had been successful?” - -“Ah, why--? You do not know,” he continued, with a laugh, “that my master -in England himself was a socialist. You do not know that it was he who -taught me these opinions--” - -He paused, and did not go on with the controversy. He went over to -the bench where he had been sitting when she came, and brought back a -statuette. He handed it to Donna Micaela. He seemed to wish to say: “See -for yourself if you are right.” - -She took it, and held it up in the moonlight. It was a Mater Dolorosa in -black marble. She could see it quite plainly. - -She could also recognize it. The image had her own features. It -intoxicated her for a moment. In the next she was filled with horror. He, -a socialist; he, an unbeliever; he dared to create a Madonna! And he had -given the image her features! He entangled her in his sin! - -“I have done it for you, Donna Micaela,” he said. - -Ah, since it was hers! She threw it out over the balustrade. It struck -against the steep mountain side; fell deeper and deeper; broke loose -stones, and certainly shattered itself to pieces. At last a splash was -heard down in Simeto. - -“What right have you to carve Madonnas?” she asked Gaetano. - -He stood silent. He had never seen Donna Micaela thus. - -In the moment when she rose up before him she had become tall and -stately. The beauty that always came and went in her, like an uneasy -guest, was enthroned in her face. She looked cold and inflexible; a woman -to win and conquer. - -“Then you still believe in God, since you carve Madonnas?” she said. - -He breathed hurriedly. Now it was he who was paralyzed. He had been a -believer himself. He knew how he had wounded her. He saw that he had -forfeited her love. He had made a terrible, infinite chasm between them. - -He must speak, must win her over to his side. - -He began again, but feebly and falteringly. - -She listened quietly for a while. Then she interrupted him almost -compassionately. - -“How did you become so?” - -“I thought of Sicily,” he said submissively. - -“You thought of Sicily,” she repeated thoughtfully. “And why did you come -home?” - -“I came home to cause an insurrection.” - -It was as if they had spoken of an illness, a chill, that he had -contracted, and that could quite easily be cured. - -“You came home to be our ruin,” she said, sternly. - -“As you will; as you will,” he said, complying. “You can call it so. As -everything is going now, you are certainly right to call it so. Ah, if -they had not given me false information; if I had not come a week too -late! Is it not like us Sicilians to let the government anticipate us? -When I came the leaders were already arrested, the island garrisoned with -forty thousand men. Everything lost!” - -It sounded strangely blank when he said that “everything lost.” And for -that which never could be anything, he had lost happiness. His opinions -and principles seemed to him now to be dry cobwebs, which had captured -him. He wished to tear himself away to come to her. She was the only -reality, the only thing that was his. So he had felt before. It came back -now. She was the only thing in the world. - -“They are, however, fighting to-day in Paternó.” - -“There has been a disagreement by the town-gate,” he said. “It is -nothing. If I had been able to inflame all Etna, the whole circle of -towns round about Etna! Then they would have understood us! they would -have listened to us! Now they are shooting down a few hungry peasants to -make a few hungry mouths the less. They do not yield an inch to us.” - -He strove to break through his cobwebs. Could he venture to go up to her, -to tell her that all that was of no importance? He did not need to think -of politics. He was an artist; he was free! And he wanted to possess her! - -Suddenly it seemed as if the air trembled. A shot echoed through the -night, then another and another. - -She came forward to him and grasped his wrist. “Is that the uprising?” -she asked. - -Shot upon shot came thundering. Then were heard the cries and din of a -crowd rushing down the street. - -“It is the uprising; it must be the uprising! Ah, long live socialism!” - -He was filled with joy. Entire faith in his belief came back to him. He -would win her too. Women have never refused to belong to the victor. - -They both hurried without another word through the garden to the door. -There Gaetano began to swear and call. He could not get out. There was no -key in the lock. He was shut into the garden. - -He looked about. There were high walls on three sides, and on the fourth -an abyss. There was no way out for him. But from the town came a terrible -noise. The people were rushing up and down; there were shots and cries. -And they heard them yell: “Long live freedom! Long live socialism!” He -threw himself against the door, and almost shrieked. He was imprisoned; -he could not take part. - -Donna Micaela came up to him as quickly as she could. Now, since she had -heard him, she no longer thought of keeping him back. - -“Wait, wait!” she said. “I took the key.” - -“You, you!” he said. - -“I took it when I came. It occurred to me that I could keep you shut in -here if you should want to cause an uprising. I wished to save you.” - -“What folly!” he said, and snatched the key from her. - -While he stood and fumbled to find the key-hole, he still had time to say -something. - -“Why do you not want to save me now?” - -She did not answer. - -“Perhaps so that your God may have a chance to destroy me.” - -She was still silent. - -“Do you not dare to save me from His wrath?” - -“No, I do not dare,” she said quietly. - -“You believers are terrible!” he said. - -He felt that she threw him aside. It froze him, and took away his -courage, that she did not make a single attempt to persuade him to stay. -He turned the key forward and back without being able to open the door, -paralyzed by her standing there pale and cold behind him. - -Then he suddenly felt her arms about his neck and her lips seeking his. - -At the same moment the door flew open and he rushed away. He would not -have her kisses, which only consecrated him to death. She was as terrible -as a spectre to him with her ancient faith. He rushed away like a -fugitive. - - - - -XI - -THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO - - -When Gaetano rushed away, Donna Micaela stood for a long time in Donna -Elisa’s garden. She stood there as if turned to stone, and could neither -feel nor think. - -Then suddenly the thought came that Gaetano and she were not alone in the -world. She remembered her father lying sick, whom she had forgotten for -so many hours. - -She went through the gate of the court-yard out to the Corso, which lay -deserted and empty. Tumult and shots were still audible far away, and she -said to herself that they must be fighting down by Porta Etnea. - -The moon shed its clear light on the façade of the summer-palace, and it -amazed her that at such an hour, and on such a night, the balcony doors -stood open, and the window shutters were not closed. She was still more -surprised that the gate was standing ajar, and that the shop-door was -wide open. - -As she went in through the gate, she did not see the old gate-keeper, -Piero, there. The lanterns in the court-yard were not lighted, and there -was not a soul to be seen anywhere. - -She went up the steps to the gallery, and her foot struck against -something hard. It was a little bronze vase, which belonged in -the music-room. A few steps higher up she found a knife. It was a -sheath-knife, with a long, dagger-like blade. When she lifted it up a -couple of dark drops rolled down from its edge. She knew that it must be -blood. - -And she understood too that what she had feared all the autumn had now -happened. Bandits had been in the summer-palace for plunder. And everyone -who could run away had run away; but her father, who could not leave his -bed, must be murdered. - -She could not tell whether the brigands were not still in the house. But -now, in the midst of danger, her fears vanished; and she hurried on, -unheeding that she was alone and defenceless. - -She went along the gallery into the music-room. Broad rays of moonlight -fell upon the floor, and in one of those rays lay a human form stretched -motionless. - -Donna Micaela bent down over that motionless body. It was Giannita. She -was murdered; she had a deep, gaping wound in her neck. - -Donna Micaela laid the body straight, crossed the hands over the breast, -and closed the eyes. In so doing, her hands were wet with the blood; and -when she felt that warm, sticky blood, she began to weep. “Alas, my dear, -beloved sister,” she said aloud, “it is your young life that has ebbed -away with this blood. All your life you have loved me, and now you have -shed your blood defending my house. Is it to punish my hardness that God -has taken you from me? Is it because I did not allow you to love him whom -I loved that you have gone from me? Alas, sister, sister, could you not -have punished me less severely?” - -She bent down and kissed the dead girl’s forehead. “You do not believe -it,” she said. “You know that I have always been faithful to you. You -know that I have loved you.” - -She remembered that the dead was severed from everything earthly, that it -was not grief and assurances of friendship she needed. She said a prayer -over the body, since the only thing she could do for her sister was to -support with pious thoughts the flight of the soul soaring up to God. - -Then she went on, no longer afraid of anything that could happen to -herself, but in inexpressible terror of what might have happened to her -father. - -When she had at last passed through the long halls in the state apartment -and stood by the door to the sick-room, her hands groped a long time for -the latch; and when she had found it, she had not the strength to turn -the key. - -Then her father called from his room and asked who was there. When she -heard his voice and knew that he was alive, everything in her trembled, -and burst, and lost its power to serve her. Brain and heart failed her -at once, and her muscles could no longer hold her upright. She had still -time to think that she had been living in terrible suspense. And with a -feeling of relief, she sank down in a long swoon. - -Donna Micaela regained consciousness towards morning. In the meantime -much had happened. The servants had come out of their hiding-places, and -had gone for Donna Elisa. She had taken charge of the deserted palace, -had summoned the police, and sent a message to the White Brotherhood. -And the latter had carried Giannita’s body to her mother’s house. - -When Donna Micaela awoke, she found herself lying on the sofa in a room -next her father’s. No one was with her, but in her father’s room she -heard Donna Elisa talking. - -“My son and my daughter,” said Donna Elisa, sobbing; “I have lost both my -son and my daughter.” - -Donna Micaela tried to raise herself, but she could not. Her body still -lay in a stupor, although her soul was awake. - -“Cavaliere, Cavaliere,” said Donna Elisa, “can you understand? The -bandits come here from Etna, creeping down to Diamante. The bandits -attack the custom-house and shout: ‘Long live Socialism!’ They do it only -to frighten people away from the streets and to draw the Carabiniere down -to Porta Etnea. There is not a single man from Diamante who has anything -to do with it. It is the bandits who arrange it all, to be able to -plunder Miss Tottenham and Donna Micaela, two women, Cavaliere! What did -those officers think at the court-martial? Did they believe that Gaetano -was in league with the bandits? Did they not see that he was a nobleman, -a true Alagona, an artist? How could they have sentenced him?” - -Donna Micaela listened with horror, but she tried to imagine that she was -still dreaming. She thought she heard Gaetano ask if she was sacrificing -him to God. She thought she answered that she did. Now she was dreaming -of how it would be in case he really had been captured. It could be -nothing else. - -“What a night of misfortune!” said Donna Elisa. “What is flying about -in the air, and making people mad and confused? You have seen Gaetano, -Cavaliere. He has always been passionate and fiery, but it has not been -without intelligence; he has not been without sense and judgment. But -to-night he throws himself right into the arms of the troops. You know -that he wanted to cause an uprising; you know that he came home for -that. And when he hears the shooting, and some one shouting, ‘Long live -Socialism!’ he becomes wild, and beside himself. He says to himself, -‘That is the insurrection!’ and he rushes down the street to join it. -And he shouts the whole time, ‘Long live Socialism!’ as loud as he can. -And so he meets a great crowd of soldiers, a whole host. For they were -on their way to Paternó, and heard the shooting as they passed by, and -marched in to see what was going on. And Gaetano can no longer recognize -a soldier’s cap. He thinks that they are the rebels; he thinks that they -are angels from heaven, and he rushes in among them and lets them capture -him. And they, who have already caught all the bandits sneaking away with -their booty, now lay hands on Gaetano too. They go through the town and -find everything quiet; but before they leave, they pass sentence on their -prisoners. And they condemn Gaetano like the others, condemn him like -those who have broken in and murdered women. Have they not lost their -senses, Cavaliere?” - -Donna Micaela could not hear what her father answered. She wished to ask -a thousand questions, but she was still paralyzed and could not move. She -wondered if Gaetano had been shot. - -“What do they mean by sentencing him to twenty-nine years’ -imprisonment?” said Donna Elisa. “Do you think that he can live so long, -or that any one who loves him can live so long? He is dead, Cavaliere; as -dead for me as Giannita.” - -Donna Micaela felt as if strong fetters bound her beyond escape. It was -worse, she thought, than to be tied to a pillory and whipped. - -“All the joy of my old age is taken from me,” said Donna Elisa. “Both -Giannita and Gaetano! I have always expected them to marry each other. -It would have been so suitable, because they were both my children, and -loved me. For what shall I live now, when I have no young people about -me? I was often poor when Gaetano first came to me, and people said to me -that I should have been better off alone. But I answered: ‘It makes no -difference, none, if only I have young people about me.’ And I thought -that when he grew up he would find a young wife, and then they would have -little children, and I would never need to sit a lonely and useless old -woman.” - -Donna Micaela lay thinking that she could have saved Gaetano, but had -not wished to do so. But why had she not wished? It seemed to her quite -incomprehensible. She began to count up to herself all her reasons for -permitting him to rush to destruction. He was an atheist; a socialist; he -wished to cause a revolt. That had outweighed everything else when she -opened the garden gate for him. It had crushed her love also. She could -not now understand it. It was as if a scale full of feathers had weighed -down a scale full of gold. - -“My beautiful boy!” said Donna Elisa, “my beautiful boy! He was already -a great man over there in England, and he came home to help us poor -Sicilians. And now they have sentenced him like a bandit. People say that -they were ready to shoot him, as they shot the others. Perhaps it would -have been better if they had done so, Cavaliere. It had been better to -have laid him in the church-yard than to know that he was in prison. How -will he be able to endure all his suffering? He will not be able to bear -it; he will fall ill; he will soon be dead.” - -At these words, Donna Micaela roused herself from her stupor, and got up -from the sofa. She staggered across the room and came in to her father -and Donna Elisa, as pale as poor murdered Giannita. She was so weak that -she did not dare to cross the floor; she stood at the door and leaned -against the door-post. - -“It is I,” she said; “Donna Elisa, it is I--” - -The words would not come to her lips. She wrung her hands in despair that -she could not speak. - -Donna Elisa was instantly at her side. She put her arm about her to -support her, without paying any attention to Donna Micaela’s attempt to -push her away. - -“You must forgive me, Donna Elisa,” she said, with an almost inaudible -voice. “I did it.” - -Donna Elisa did not heed much what she was saying. She saw that she had -fever, and thought that she was delirious. - -Donna Micaela’s lips worked; she plainly wished to say something, but -only a few words were audible. It was impossible to understand what she -meant. “Against him, as against my father,” she said, over and over. And -then she said something about bringing misfortune on all who loved her. - -Donna Elisa had got her down on a chair, and Donna Micaela sat there and -kissed her old, wrinkled hands, and asked her to forgive her what she had -done. - -Yes, of course, of course, Donna Elisa forgave her. - -Donna Micaela looked her sharply in the face with great, feverish eyes, -and asked if it were true. - -It was really true. - -Then she laid her head on Donna Elisa’s shoulder and sobbed, thanked her, -and said that she could not live if she did not obtain her forgiveness. -She had sinned against no one so much as against her. Could she forgive -her? - -“Yes, yes,” said Donna Elisa again and again, and thought that the other -was out of her head from fever and fright. - -“There is something I ought to tell you,” said Donna Micaela. “I know it, -but you do not know it. You will not forgive me if you hear it.” - -“Yes, of course I forgive you,” said Donna Elisa. - -They talked in that way for a long time without understanding each other; -but it was good for old Donna Elisa to have some one that night to put to -bed, comforted and dosed with strengthening herbs and drops. It was good -for her to still have some one to come and lay her head on her shoulder -and cry away her grief. - - * * * * * - -Donna Micaela, who had loved Gaetano for nearly three years without a -thought that they could ever belong to each other, had accustomed herself -to a strange kind of love. It was enough for her to know that Gaetano -loved her. When she thought of it, a tender feeling of security and -happiness stole through her. “What does it matter; what does it matter?” -she said, when she suffered adversity. “Gaetano loves me.” He was always -with her, cheering and comforting her. He took part in all her thoughts -and undertakings. He was the soul of her life. - -As soon as Donna Micaela could get his address, she wrote to him. She -acknowledged to him that she had firmly believed that he had gone to -misfortune. But she had been so much afraid of what he proposed to -accomplish in the world that she had not dared to save him. - -She also wrote how she detested his teachings. She did not dissemble at -all to him. She said that even if he were free she could not be his. - -She feared him. He had such power over her that, if they were united, he -would make her a socialist and an atheist. Therefore she must always live -apart from him, for the salvation of her soul. - -But she begged and prayed that in spite of everything he would not cease -to love her. He must not; he must not! He might punish her in any way he -pleased, if only he did not cease to love her. - -He must not do as her father had. He had perhaps reason to close his -heart to her now, but he must not. He must be merciful. - -If he knew how she loved him! If he knew how she dreamed of him! - -She told him that he was nothing less than life itself to her. - -“Must I die, Gaetano?” she asked. - -“Is it not enough that those opinions and teachings part us? Is it not -enough that they have carried you to prison? Will you also cease to love -me, because we do not think alike? - -“Ah, Gaetano, love me! It leads to nothing; there is no hope in your -love, but love me; I die if you do not love me.” - -Donna Micaela had hardly sent off the letter before she began to wait for -the answer. She expected a stormy and angry reply, but she hoped that -there would be one single word to show her that he still loved her. - -But she waited several weeks without receiving any letter from Gaetano. - -It did not help her to stand and wait every morning for the -letter-carrier out on the gallery, and almost break his heart because he -was always obliged to say that he did not have anything for her. - -One day she went herself to the post-office, and asked them, with the -most beseeching eyes, to give her the letter she was expecting. It -must be there, she said. But perhaps they had not been able to read -the address; perhaps it had been put into the wrong box? And her soft, -imploring eyes so touched the postmaster that she was allowed to look -through piles of old, unclaimed letters, and to turn all the drawers in -the post-office upside down. But it was all in vain. - -She wrote new letters to Gaetano; but no answer came. - -Then she tried to believe what seemed impossible. She tried to make her -soul realize that Gaetano had ceased to love her. - -As her conviction increased, she began to shut herself into her room. She -was afraid of people, and preferred to sit alone. - -Day by day she became more feeble. She walked deeply bent, and even her -beautiful eyes seemed to lose their life and light. - -After a few weeks she was so weak that she could no longer keep up, but -lay all day on her sofa. She was prey to a suffering that gradually -deprived her of all vital power. She knew that she was failing, and she -was afraid to die. But she could do nothing. There was only one remedy -for her, but that never came. While Donna Micaela seemed to be thus -quietly gliding out of life, the people of Diamante were preparing to -celebrate the feast of San Sebastiano, that comes at the end of January. - -It was the greatest festival of Diamante, but in the last few years it -had not been kept with customary splendor, because want and gloom had -weighed too heavily on their souls. - -But this year, just after the revolt had failed, and while Sicily was -still filled with troops, and while the beloved heroes of the people -languished in prison, they determined to celebrate the festival with all -the old-time pomp; for now, they said, was not the time to neglect the -saint. - -And the pious people of Diamante determined that the festival should be -held for a week, and that San Sebastiano should be honored with flags and -decorations, and with races and biblical processions, illuminations, and -singing contests. - -The people bestirred themselves with great haste and eagerness. There -was polishing and scrubbing in every house. They brought out the old -costumes, and they prepared to receive strangers from all Etna. - -The summer-palace was the only house in Diamante where no preparations -were made. Donna Elisa was deeply grieved at it, but she could not induce -Donna Micaela to have her house decorated. “How can you ask me to trim a -house of mourning with flowers and leaves?” she said. “The roses would -shed their petals if I tried to use them to mask the misery that reigns -here.” - -But Donna Elisa was very eager for the festival, and expected much good -to result from honoring the saint as in the old days. She could talk of -nothing but of how the priests had decorated the façade of the Cathedral -in the old Sicilian way, with silver flowers and mirrors. And she -described the procession: how many riders there were to be, and what high -plumes they were to have in their hats, and what long, garlanded staves, -with wax candles at the end, they were to carry in their hands. - -When the first festival day came, Donna Elisa’s house was the most -gorgeously decorated. The green, red, and white standard of Italy waved -from the roof, and red cloths, fringed with gold, bearing the saint’s -initials, were spread over the window-sills and balcony railings. Up -and down the wall ran garlands of holly, shaped into stars and arches, -and round the windows crept wreaths made of the little pink roses from -Donna Elisa’s garden. Just over the entrance stood the saint’s image, -framed in lilies, and on the threshold lay cypress-branches. And if one -had entered the house, one would have found it as much adorned on the -inside as on the outside. From the cellar to the attic it was scoured and -covered with flowers, and on the shelves in the shop no saint was too -small or insignificant to have an everlasting or a harebell in his hand. -Like Donna Elisa, every one in penniless Diamante had decorated along -the whole street. In the street above the house of the little Moor there -was such an array of flags that it looked like clothes hung out to dry -from the earth to the sky. Every house and every arch carried flags, and -across the streets were hung ropes, from which fluttered pennant after -pennant. - -At every tenth step the people of Diamante had raised triumphal arches -over the street. And over every door stood the image of the saint, framed -in wreaths of yellow everlastings. The balconies were covered with red -quilts and bright-colored table-cloths, and stiff garlands wound up the -walls. - -There were so many flowers and leaves that no one could understand how -they had been able to get them all in January. Everything was crowned -and wreathed with flowers. The brooms had crowns of crocuses, and each -door-knocker a bunch of hyacinths. In windows stood pictures with -monograms, and inscriptions of blood-red anemones. - -And between those decorated houses the stream of people rolled as mighty -as a rising river. It was not the inhabitants of Diamante alone who were -honoring San Sebastiano. From all Etna came yellow carts, beautifully -ornamented and painted, drawn by horses in shining harness, and loaded -down with people. The sick, the beggars, the blind singers came in great -crowds. There were whole trains of pilgrims, unhappy people, who now, -after their misfortunes, had some one to pray to. - -Such numbers came that the people wondered how they all would ever find -room within the town walls. There were people in the streets, people -in the windows, people on the balconies. On the high stone steps sat -people, and the shops were full of them. The big street-doors were thrown -wide, and in the openings chairs were arranged in a half-circle, as in a -theatre. There the house-owners sat with their guests and looked at the -passers-by. - -The whole street was filled with an intoxicating noise. It was -not only the talking and laughter of the people. There were also -organ-grinders standing and turning hand-organs big as pianos. There -were street-singers, and there were men and women who declaimed Tasso in -cracked, worn-out voices. There were all kinds of criers, the sound of -organs streamed from all the churches, and in the square on the summit -of the mountain the town band played so that it could be heard over all -Diamante. - -The joyous noise, and the fragrance of the flowers, and the flapping of -the flags outside Donna Micaela’s window had power to wake her from her -stupor. She rose up, as if life had sent for her. “I will not die,” she -said to herself. “I will try to live.” - -She took her father’s arm and went out into the street. She hoped -that the life there would mount to her head so that she might forget -her sorrow. “If I do not succeed,” she thought, “if I can find no -distraction, I must die.” - -Now in Diamante there was a poor old stone-cutter, who had thought of -earning a few soldi during the festival. He had made a couple of small -busts out of lava, of San Sebastiano and of Pope Leo XIII. And as he knew -that many in Diamante loved Gaetano, and grieved over his fate, he also -made a few portraits of him. - -Just as Donna Micaela came out into the street she met the man, and he -offered her his wretched little images. - -“Buy Don Gaetano Alagona, Donna Micaela,” said the man; “buy Don Gaetano, -whom the government has put in prison because he wished to help Sicily.” - -Donna Micaela pressed her father’s arm hard and went hurriedly on. - -In the Café Europa the son of the innkeeper stood and sang canzoni. He -had composed a few new ones for the festival, and among others some about -Gaetano. For he could not know that people did not care to hear of him. - -When Donna Micaela passed by the café and heard the singing, she stopped -and listened. - -“Alas, Gaetano Alagona!” sang the young man. “Songs are mighty. I shall -sing you free with my songs. First I will send you the slender canzone. -He shall glide in between your prison-gratings, and break them. Then I -will send you the sonnet, that is fair as a woman, and which will corrupt -your guards. I will compose a glorious ode to you, which will shake the -walls of your prison with its lofty rhythms. But if none of these help -you, I will burst out in the glorious epos, that has hosts of words. Oh, -Gaetano, mighty as an army it marches on! All the legions of ancient Rome -would not have had the strength to stop it!” - -Donna Micaela hung convulsively on her father’s arm, but she did not -speak, and went on. - -Then Cavaliere Palmeri began to speak of Gaetano. “I did not know that he -was so beloved,” he said. - -“Nor I,” murmured Donna Micaela. - -“To-day I saw some strangers coming into Donna Elisa’s shop, and begging -her to be allowed to buy something that he had carved. She had left only -a couple of old rosaries, and I saw her break them to pieces and give -them out bead by bead.” - -Donna Micaela looked at her father like a beseeching child. But he did -not know whether she wished him to be silent or to go on speaking. - -“Donna Elisa’s old friends go about in the garden with Luca,” he said, -“and Luca shows them Gaetano’s favorite places and the garden beds -that he used to plant. And Pacifica sits in the workshop beside the -joiner’s-bench, and relates all sorts of things about him, ever since he -was--so big.” - -He could tell no more; the crush and the noise became so great about him -that he had to stop. - -They meant to go to the Cathedral. On the Cathedral steps sat old -Assunta, as usual. She held a rosary in her hands and mumbled the same -prayer round the whole rosary. She asked the saint that Gaetano, who had -promised to help all the poor, might come back to Diamante. - -As Donna Micaela walked by her, she distinctly heard: “San Sebastiano, -give us Gaetano! Ah, in your mercy; ah, in our misery, San Sebastiano, -give us Gaetano!” - -Donna Micaela had meant to go into the church, but she turned on the -steps. - -“There is such a crowd there,” she said, “I do not dare to go in.” - -She went home again. But while she had been away, Donna Elisa had watched -her opportunity. She had hoisted a flag on the roof of the summer-palace; -she had spread draperies on the balconies, and as Donna Micaela came -home, she was fastening up a garland in the gateway. For Donna Elisa -could not bear to have the summer-palace underrated. She wished no honor -to San Sebastiano omitted at this time. And she feared that the saint -would not help Diamante and Gaetano if the palace of the old Alagonas did -not honor him. - -Donna Micaela was pale as if she had received her death warrant, and bent -like an old woman of eighty years. - -She murmured to herself: “I make no busts of him; I sing no songs about -him; I dare not pray to God for him; I buy none of his beads. How can he -believe that I love him? He must love all these others, who worship him, -but not me. I do not belong to his world, he can love me no longer.” - -And when she saw that they wished to adorn her house with flowers, it -seemed to her so piteously cruel that she snatched the wreath from Donna -Elisa and threw it at her feet, asking if she wished to kill her. - -Then she went past her up the stairs to her room. She threw herself on -the sofa and buried her face in the cushions. - -She now first understood how far apart she and Gaetano were. The idol of -the people could not love her. - -She felt as if she had prevented him from helping all those poor people. - -How he must detest her; how he must hate her! - -Then her illness came creeping back over her. That illness which -consisted of not being loved! It would kill her. She thought, as she lay -there, that it was all over. - -While she lay there, suddenly the little Christchild stood before her -inward eye. He seemed to have entered the room in all his wretched -splendor. She saw him plainly. - -Donna Micaela began to call on the Christchild for help. And she was -amazed at herself for not having turned before to that good helper. It -was probably because the image did not stand in a church, but was carried -about as a museum-piece by Miss Tottenham, that she remembered him only -in her deepest need. - - * * * * * - -It was late in the evening of the same day. After dinner Donna Micaela -had given all her servants permission to go to the festival, so that she -and her father were alone in the big house. But towards ten o’clock her -father rose and said he wished to hear the singing-contest in the square. -And as Donna Micaela did not dare to sit alone, she was obliged to go -with him. - -When they came to the square they saw that it was turned into a theatre, -with lines upon lines of chairs. Every corner was filled with people, and -it was with difficulty that they found places. - -“Diamante is glorious this evening, Micaela,” said Cavaliere Palmeri. The -charm of the night seemed to have softened him. He spoke more simply and -tenderly to his daughter than he had done for a long time. - -Donna Micaela felt instantly that he spoke the truth. She felt as she had -done when she first came to Diamante. It was a town of miracles, a town -of beauty, a little sanctuary of God. - -Directly in front of her stood a high and stately building made of -shining diamonds. She had to think for a moment before she could -understand what it was. - -Yet it was nothing but the front of the Cathedral, covered with flowers -of stiff silver and gold paper and with thousands of little mirrors stuck -in between the flowers. And in every flower was hung a little lamp with a -flame as big as a fire-fly. It was the most enchanting illumination that -Donna Micaela had ever seen. - -There was no other light in the market-place, nor was any needed. That -great wall of diamonds shone quite sufficiently. The black Palazzo Geraci -was flaming red, as if it had been lighted by a conflagration. - -Nothing of the world outside of the square was visible. Everything below -it was in the deepest darkness, and that made her think again that she -saw the old enchanted Diamante that was not of the earth, but was a -holy city on one of the mounts of heaven. The town-hall with its heavy -balconies and high steps, the long convent and the Roman gate were again -glorious and wonderful. And she could hardly believe it was in that town -that she had suffered such terrible pain. - -In the midst of the great crowd of people, no chill was felt. The winter -night was mild as a spring morning; and Donna Micaela began to feel -something of spring in her. It began to stir and tremble in her in a way -which was both sweet and terrible. It must feel so in the snow-masses on -Etna when the sun melts them into sparkling brooks. - -She looked at the people who filled the market-place, and was amazed at -herself that she had been so tortured by them in the forenoon. She was -glad that they loved Gaetano. Alas, if he had only continued to love her, -she would have been unspeakably proud and happy in their love. Then she -could have kissed those old callous hands that made images of him and -were clasped in prayers for him. - -As she was thinking this, the church-door was thrown open and a big, flat -wagon rolled out of the church. Highest on the red-covered wagon stood -San Sebastiano by his stake, and below the image sat the four singers, -who were to contest. - -There was an old blind man from Nicolosi; a cooper from Catania, who -was considered to be the best improvisatore in all Sicily; a smith -from Termini, and little Gandolfo, who was son to the watchman in the -town-hall of Diamante. - -Everybody was surprised that Gandolfo dared to appear in such a difficult -contest. Did he do it perhaps to please his betrothed, little Rosalia? No -one had ever heard that he could improvise. He had never done anything in -his whole life but eat mandarins and stare at Etna. - -The first thing was to draw lots among the competitors, and the lots fell -so that the cooper should come first and Gandolfo last. When it fell so -Gandolfo turned pale. It was terrible to come last, when they all were to -speak on the same subject. - -The cooper elected to speak of San Sebastiano, when he was a soldier of -the legion in ancient Rome, and for his faith’s sake was bound to a stake -and used as a target for his comrades. After him came the blind man, who -told how a pious Roman matron found the martyr bleeding and pierced with -arrows, and succeeded in bringing him back to life. Then came the smith, -who related all the miracles San Sebastiano had worked in Sicily during -the pest in the fifteenth century. They were all much applauded. They -spoke many strong words of blood and death, and the people rejoiced in -them. But every one from Diamante was anxious for little Gandolfo. - -“The smith takes all the words from him. He must fail,” they said. - -“Ah,” said others, “little Rosalia will not take the engagement ribbon -out of her hair for that.” - -Gandolfo shrunk together in his corner of the wagon. He grew smaller -and smaller. Those sitting near could hear how his teeth chattered with -fright. - -When his turn came at last, and he rose and began to improvise, he was -very bad. He was worse than any one had expected. He faltered out a -couple of verses, but they were only a repetition of what the others had -said. - -Then he suddenly stopped and gasped for breath. In that moment the -strength of despair came to him. He straightened himself up, and a slight -flush rose to his cheeks. - -“Oh, signori,” said little Gandolfo, “let me speak of that of which I am -always thinking! Let me speak of what I always see before me!” - -And he began unopposed and with wonderful power to tell what he himself -had seen. - -He told how he who was son to the watchman of the town-hall had crept -through dark attics and had lain hidden in one of the galleries of the -court-room the night the court-martial had been held to pass sentence on -the insurgents in Diamante. - -Then he had seen Don Gaetano Alagona on the bench of the accused with a -lot of wild fellows who were worse than brutes. - -He told how beautiful Gaetano had been. He had seemed like a god to -little Gandolfo beside those terrible people about him. And he described -those bandits with their wild-beast faces, their coarse hair, their -clumsy limbs. He said that no one could look into their eyes without a -quiver of the heart. - -Yet, in all his beauty, Don Gaetano was more terrible than those people. -Gandolfo did not know how they dared to sit beside him on the bench. -Under his frowning brows his eyes flashed at his fellow-prisoners with -a look which would have killed their souls, if they like others had -possessed such a thing. - -“‘Who are you,’ he seemed to ask, ‘who dare to turn to plundering and -murder while you call on sacred liberty? Do you know what you have done? -Do you know that on account of your devices I am now a prisoner? And it -was I who would have saved Sicily!’” And every glance he cast at them was -a death warrant. - -His eyes fell on all the things that the bandits had stolen and that -were now piled up on a table. He recognized them. Could he help knowing -the clocks and the silver dishes from the summer-palace? could he help -knowing the relics and coins that had been stolen from his English -patroness? And when he had recognized the things, he turned to his -fellow-prisoners with a terrible smile. “‘You heroes! you heroes!’ said -the smile; ‘you have stolen from two women!’” - -His noble face was constantly changing. Once Gandolfo had seen it -contracted by a sudden terror. It was when the man sitting nearest to him -stretched out a hand covered with blood. Had he perhaps had a sudden idea -of the truth? Did he think that those men had broken into the house where -his beloved lived? - -Gandolfo told how the officers who were to be the judges had come in, -silent and grave, and sat down in their places. But he said when he had -seen those noble gentlemen his anxiety had diminished. He had said to -himself that they knew that Gaetano was of good birth, and that they -would not sentence him. They would not mix him up with the bandits. No -one could possibly believe that he had wished to rob two women. - -And see, when the judge called up Gaetano Alagona his voice was without -hardness. He spoke to him as to an equal. - -“But,” said Gandolfo, “when Don Gaetano rose, he stood so that he could -see out over the square. And through the square, through this same -square, where now so many people are sitting in happiness and pleasure, a -funeral procession was passing. - -“It was the White Brotherhood carrying the body of the murdered Giannita -to her mother’s house. They walked with torches, and the bier, carried -on the bearers’ shoulders, was plainly visible. As the procession passed -slowly across the market-place, one could recognize the pall spread over -the corpse. It was the pall of the Alagonas adorned with a gorgeous coat -of arms and rich silver fringes. When Gaetano saw it, he understood that -the corpse was of the house of Alagona. His face became ashy gray, and -he reeled as if he were going to fall. - -“At that moment the judge asked him: ‘Do you know the murdered woman?’ -And he answered: ‘Yes.’ Then the judge, who was a merciful man, -continued: ‘Was she near to you?’ And then Don Gaetano answered: ‘I love -her.’” - -When Gandolfo had come so far in his story, people saw Donna Micaela -suddenly rise, as if she had wished to contradict him, but Cavaliere -Palmeri drew her quickly down beside him. - -“Be quiet, be quiet,” he said to her. - -And she sat quiet with her face hidden in her hands. Now and then her -body rocked and she wailed softly. - -Gandolfo told how the judge, when Gaetano had acknowledged that, had -shown him his fellow-prisoners and asked him: “‘If you loved that woman, -how can you have anything in common with the men who have murdered her?’” - -Then Don Gaetano had turned towards the bandits. He had raised his -clenched hand and shaken it at them. And he had looked as if he had -longed for a dagger, to be able to strike them down one after another. - -“‘With those!’” he had shouted. “‘Should I have anything in common with -those?’” - -And he had certainly meant to say that he had nothing to do with robbers -and murderers. The judge had smiled kindly at him, as if he had only -waited for that answer to set him free. - -But then a divine miracle had happened. - -And Gandolfo told, how among all the stolen things that lay on the table, -there had also been a little Christ image. It was a yard high, richly -covered with jewels and adorned with a gold crown and gold shoes. Just at -that moment one of the officers bent down to draw the image to him; and -as he did so, the crown fell to the floor and rolled all the way to Don -Gaetano. - -Don Gaetano picked up the Christ-crown, held it a moment in his hands and -looked at it carefully. It seemed as if he had read something in it. - -He did not hold it more than one minute. In the next the guard took it -from him. - -Donna Micaela looked up almost frightened. The Christ image! He was there -already! Should she so soon get an answer to her prayer? - -Gandolfo continued: “But when Don Gaetano looked up, every one trembled -as at a miracle, for the man was transformed. - -“Ah, signori, he was so white that his face seemed to shine, and his eyes -were calm and tender. And there was no more anger in him. - -“And he began to pray for his fellow-prisoners; he began to pray for -their lives. - -“He prayed that they should not kill those poor fellow-creatures. He -prayed that the noble judges should do something for them that they might -some day live like others. ‘We have only this life to live,’ he said. -‘Our kingdom is only of this world.’ - -“He began to tell how those men had lived. He spoke as if he could read -their souls. He pictured their life, gloomy and unhappy as it had been. -He spoke so that several of the judges wept. - -“The words came strong and commanding, so that it sounded as if Don -Gaetano had been judge and the judges the criminals. ‘See,’ he said, -‘whose fault is it that these poor men have gone to destruction? Is it -not you who have the power who ought to have taken care of them?’ - -“And they were all dismayed at the responsibility he forced upon them. - -“But suddenly the judge had interrupted him. - -“‘Speak in your own defence, Gaetano Alagona,’ he said; ‘do not speak in -that of others!’ - -“Then Don Gaetano had smiled. ‘Signor,’ he said, ‘I have not much more -than you with which to defend myself. But still I have something. I have -left my career in England to make a revolt in Sicily. I have brought over -weapons. I have made seditious speeches. I have something, although not -much.’ - -“The judge had almost begged him. ‘Do not speak so, Don Gaetano,’ he had -said. ‘Think of what you are saying!’ - -“But he had made confessions that compelled them to sentence him. - -“When they told him that he was to sit for twenty-nine years in prison, -he had cried out: ‘Now may her will be done, who was just carried by. May -I be as she wished!’ - -“And I saw no more of him,” said little Gandolfo, “for the guards placed -him between them and led him away. - -“But I, who heard him pray for those who had murdered his beloved, made a -vow that I would do something for him. - -“I vowed to recite a beautiful improvisation to San Sebastiano to induce -him to help him. But I have not succeeded. I am no improvisatore; I could -not.” - -Here he broke off and threw himself down, weeping aloud before the image. -“Forgive me that I could not,” he cried, “and help him in spite of it. -You know that when they sentenced him I promised to do it for his sake -that you might save him. But now I have not been able to speak of you, -and you will not help him.” - -Donna Micaela hardly knew how it happened, but she and little Rosalia, -who loved Gandolfo, were beside him at almost the same moment. They -drew him to them, and both kissed him, and said that no one had spoken -like him; no one, no one. Did he not see that they were weeping? San -Sebastiano was pleased with him. Donna Micaela put a ring on the boy’s -finger and round about him the people were waving many-colored silk -handkerchiefs, that glistened like waves of the sea in the strong light -from the Cathedral. - -“Viva Gaetano! viva Gandolfo!” cried the people. - -And flowers and fruits and silk handkerchiefs and jewels came raining -down about little Gandolfo. Donna Micaela was crowded away from him -almost with violence. But it never occurred to her to be frightened. She -stood among the surging people and wept. The tears streamed down her -face, and she wept for joy that she could weep. That was the greatest -blessing. - -She wished to force her way to Gandolfo; she could not thank him enough. -He had told her that Gaetano loved her. When he had quoted the words, -“Now may her will be done who was just carried by,” she had suddenly -understood that Gaetano had believed that it was she lying under the pall -of the Alagonas. - -And of that dead woman he had said: “I love her.” - -The blood flowed once more in her veins; her heart beat again; her tears -fell. “It is life, life,” she said to herself, while she let herself be -carried to and fro by the crowd. “Life has come again to me. I shall not -die.” - -They all had to come up to little Gandolfo to thank him, because he had -given them some one to love, to trust in, to long for in those days of -dejection, when everything seemed lost. - - - - -SECOND BOOK - -“_Antichrist shall go from land to land and give bread to the poor_” - - - - -I - -A GREAT MAN’S WIFE - - -It was in February, and the almond-trees were beginning to blossom on the -black lava about Diamante. - -Cavaliere Palmeri had taken a walk up Etna and had brought home a big -almond branch, full of buds and flowers and put it in a vase in the -music-room. - -Donna Micaela started when she saw it. So they had already come, the -almond-blossoms. And for a whole month, for six long weeks, they would be -everywhere. - -They would stand on the altar in the church; they would lie on the -graves, and they would be worn on the breast, on the hat, in the hair. -They would blossom over the roads, in the heaps of ruins, on the black -lava. And every almond-flower would remind her of the day when the bells -rang, when Gaetano was free and happy, and when she dreamed of passing -her whole life with him. - -It seemed to her as if she never before fully understood what it meant -that he was shut in and gone, that she should never see him again. - -She had to sit down in order not to fall; her heart seemed to stop, and -she shut her eyes. - -While she was sitting thus she had a strange experience. - -She is all at once at home in the palace in Catania. She is sitting in -the lofty hall reading, and she is a happy young girl, Signorina Palmeri. -A servant brings in a wandering salesman to her. He is a handsome young -fellow with a sprig of almond-blossoms in his button-hole; on his head he -carries a board full of little images of the saints, carved in wood. - -She buys some of the images, while the young man’s eyes drink in all the -works of art in the hall. She asks him if he would like to see their -collections. Yes, that he would. And she herself goes with him and shows -him. - -He is so delighted with what he sees that she thinks that he must -be a real artist, and she says to herself that she will not forget -him. She asks where his home is. He answers: “In Diamante.”--“Is -that far away?”--“Four hours in the post-carriage.”--“And with the -railway?”--“There is no railway to Diamante, signorina.”--“You must build -one.”--“We! we are too poor. Ask the rich men in Catania to build us a -railway!” - -When he has said that he starts to go, but he turns at the door and -comes and gives her his almond-blossoms. It is in gratitude for all the -beautiful things she has let him see. - -When Donna Micaela opened her eyes she did not know whether she had been -dreaming or whether perhaps once some such thing had really happened. -Gaetano could really have been some time in the Palazzo Palmeri to sell -his images, although she had forgotten it; but now the almond-blossoms -had recalled it. - -But it was no matter, no matter. The important thing was that the young -wood-carver was Gaetano. She felt as if she had been talking to him. She -thought she heard the door close behind him. - -And it was after that that it occurred to her to build a railway between -Catania and Diamante. - -Gaetano had surely come to her to ask her to do it. It was a command from -him, and she felt that she must obey. - -She made no attempt to struggle against it. She was certain that Diamante -needed a railway more than anything else. She had once heard Gaetano say -that if Diamante only possessed a railway, so that it could easily send -away its oranges and its wine and its honey and its almonds, and so that -travellers could come there conveniently, it would soon be a rich town. - -She was also quite certain that she could succeed with the railway. She -must try at all events. It never occurred to her not to. When Gaetano -wished it, she must obey. - -She began to think how much money she herself could give. It would not go -very far. She must get more money. That was the first thing she had to do. - -Within the hour she was at Donna Elisa’s, and begged her to help her -arrange a bazaar. Donna Elisa lifted her eyes from her embroidery. -“Why do you want to arrange a bazaar?”--“I mean to collect money for -a railway.”--“That is like you, Donna Micaela; no one else would have -thought of such a thing.”--“What, Donna Elisa? What do you mean?”--“Oh, -nothing.” - -And Donna Elisa went on embroidering. - -“You will not help me, then, with my bazaar?”--“No, I will not.”--“And -you will not give a little contribution towards it?”--“One who has so -lately lost her husband,” answered Donna Elisa, “ought not to trifle.” - -Donna Micaela saw that Donna Elisa was angry with her for some reason -or other, and that she therefore would not help her. But there must be -others who would understand; and it was a beautiful plan, which would -save Diamante. - -But Donna Micaela wandered in vain from door to door. However much she -talked and begged, she gained no partisans. - -She tried to explain, she used all her eloquence to persuade. No one was -interested in her plans. - -Wherever she came, people answered her that they were too poor, too poor. - -The syndic’s wife answered no. Her daughters were not allowed to sell -at the bazaar. Don Antonio Greco, who had the marionette theatre, would -not come with his dolls. The town-band would not play. None of the -shop-keepers would give any of their wares. When Donna Micaela was gone -they laughed at her. - -A railroad, a railroad! She did not know what she was thinking of. There -would have to be a company, shares, statutes, concessions. How should a -woman manage such things? - -While some were content to laugh at Donna Micaela, some were angry with -her. - -She went to the cellar-like shop near the old Benedictine monastery, -where Master Pamphilio related romances of chivalry. She came to ask him -if he would come to her bazaar and entertain the public with Charlemagne -and his paladins; but as he was in the midst of a story, she had to sit -down on a bench and wait. - -Then she noticed Donna Concetta, Master Pamphilio’s wife, who was sitting -on the platform at his feet knitting a stocking. As long as Master -Pamphilio was speaking, Donna Concetta’s lips moved. She had heard his -romances so many times that she knew them by heart, and said the words -before they had passed Master Pamphilio’s lips. But it was always the -same pleasure to her to hear him, and she wept, and she laughed, as she -had done when she heard him for the first time. - -Master Pamphilio was an old man, who had spoken much in his day, so that -his voice sometimes failed him in the big battle-scenes, when he had to -speak loud and fast. But Donna Concetta, who knew it all by heart, never -took the word from Master Pamphilio. She only made a sign to the audience -to wait until his voice came back. But if his memory failed him, Donna -Concetta pretended that she had dropped a stitch, raised the stocking to -her eyes, and threw him the word behind it, so that no one noticed it. -And every one knew that although Donna Concetta perhaps could have told -the romances better than Master Pamphilio, she would never have been -willing to do such a thing, not only because it was not fitting for a -woman, but also because it would not give her half so much pleasure as -to listen to dear Master Pamphilio. - -When Donna Micaela saw Donna Concetta, she fell to dreaming. Oh, to sit -so on the platform, where her beloved was speaking; to sit so day in and -day out and worship. She knew whom that would have suited. - -When Master Pamphilio had finished speaking Donna Micaela went forward -and asked him to help her. It was hard for him to say no, on account of -the thousand prayers that were written in her eyes. But Donna Concetta -came to his rescue. “Master Pamphilio,” she said, “tell Donna Micaela of -Guglielmo the Wicked.” And Master Pamphilio began. - -“Donna Micaela,” he said, “do you know that once there was a king in -Sicily whose name was Guglielmo the Wicked? He was so covetous that he -took all his subjects’ money. He commanded that every one possessing gold -coins should give them to him. And he was so severe and so cruel that -they all had to obey him. - -“Well, Donna Micaela, Guglielmo the Wicked wished to know if any one had -gold hidden in his house. Therefore he sent one of his servants along the -Corso in Palermo with a beautiful horse. And the man offered the horse -for sale, and cried loudly: ‘Will be sold for a piece of gold; will be -sold for a piece of gold!’ But there was no one who could buy the horse. - -“Yet it was a very beautiful horse, and a young nobleman, the Duke of -Montefiascone, was much taken by him. ‘There is no joy for me if I cannot -buy the horse,’ said he to his steward. ‘Signor Duca,’ answered his -steward, ‘I can tell you where you can find a piece of gold. When your -noble father died and was carried away by the Capucins, according to the -ancient custom I put a piece of gold in his mouth. You can take that, -signor.’ - -“For you must know, Donna Micaela, that in Palermo they do not bury the -dead in the ground. They carry them to the monastery of the Capucins, and -the monks hang them up in their vaults. Ah, there are so many hanging in -those vaults!--so many ladies, dressed in silk and cloth of silver; so -many noble gentlemen, with orders on their breasts; and so many priests, -with cloak and cap over skeleton and skull. - -“The young duke followed his advice. He went to the Capucin monastery, -took the piece of gold from his father’s mouth and bought the horse with -it. - -“But you understand that the king had only sent his servant with the -horse in order to find out if any one still had any money. And now the -duke was taken before the king. ‘How does it happen that you still have -gold pieces?’ said Guglielmo the Wicked.--‘Sire, it was not mine; it was -my father’s.’ And he told how he had got the piece of gold. ‘It is true,’ -said the king. ‘I had forgotten that the dead still had money.’ And he -sent his servants to the Capucins and had them take all the gold pieces -out of the mouths of the dead.” - -Here old Master Pamphilio finished his story. And now Donna Concetta -turned to Donna Micaela with wrathful eyes. “It is you who are out with -the horse,” she said. - -“Am I? am I?” - -“You, you, Donna Micaela! The government will say: ‘They are building -a railway in Diamante. They must be rich.’ And they will increase our -taxes. And God knows that we cannot pay the tax with which we are already -loaded down, even if we should go and plunder our ancestors.” - -Donna Micaela tried to calm her. - -“They have sent you out to find out if we still have any money. You -are spying for the rich; you are in league with the government. Those -bloodsuckers in Rome have paid you.” - -Donna Micaela turned away from her. - -“I came to talk to you, Master Pamphilio,” she said to the old man. - -“But I shall answer you,” replied Donna Concetta; “for this is a -disagreeable matter, and such things are my affair. I know what is the -duty of the wife of a great man, Donna Micaela.” - -Donna Concetta became silent, for the fine lady gave her a look which was -so full of jealous longing that it made her sorry for her. Heavens, yes, -there had been a difference in their husbands; Don Ferrante and Master -Pamphilio! - - - - -II - -PANEM ET CIRCENSES - - -In Diamante travellers are often shown two palaces that are falling into -ruins without ever having been completed. They have big window-openings -without frames, high walls without a roof, and wide doors closed with -boards and straw. The two palaces stand opposite each other on the -street, both equally unfinished and equally in ruins. There are no -scaffoldings about them, and no one can enter them. They seem to be only -built for the doves. - -Listen to what is told of them. - -What is a woman, O signore? Her foot is so little that she goes through -the world without leaving a trace behind her. For man she is like his -shadow. She has followed him through his whole life without his having -noticed her. - -Not much can be expected of a woman. She has to sit all day shut in like -a prisoner. She cannot even learn to spell a love-letter correctly. She -cannot do anything of permanence. When she is dead there is nothing to -write on her tombstone. All women are of the same height. - -But once a woman came to Diamante who was as much above all other women -as the century-old palm is above the grass. She possessed lire by -thousands, and could give them away or keep them, as she pleased. She -turned aside for no one. She was not afraid of being hated. She was the -greatest marvel that had ever been seen. - -Of course she was not a Sicilian. She was an Englishwoman. And the first -thing she did when she came was to take the whole first floor of the -hotel for herself alone. What was that for her? All Diamante would not -have been enough for her. - -No, all Diamante was not enough for her. But as soon as she had come she -began to govern the town like a queen. The syndic had to obey her. Was it -not she who made him put stone benches in the square? Was it not at her -command that the streets were swept every day? - -When she woke in the morning all the young men of Diamante stood waiting -outside her door, to be allowed to accompany her on some excursion. They -had left shoemaker’s awl and stone-cutter’s chisel to act as guides to -her. Each had sold his mother’s silk dress to buy a side-saddle for his -donkey, so that _she_ might ride on it to the castle or to Tre Castagni. -They had divested themselves of house and home in order to buy a horse -and carriage to drive her to Randazzo and Nicolosi. - -We were all her slaves. The children began to beg in English, and the -old blind women at the hotel door, Donna Pepa and Donna Tura, draped -themselves in dazzlingly white veils to please her. - -Everything moved round her; industries and trades grew up about her. -Those who could do nothing else dug in the earth for coins and pottery -to offer her. Photographers moved to the town and began to work for her. -Coral merchants and hawkers of tortoise-shell grew out of the earth about -her. The priests of Santa Agnese dug up the old Dionysius theatre, that -lay hidden behind their church, for her sake; and every one who owned a -ruined villa unearthed in the darkness of the cellar remains of mosaic -floors and invited her by big posters to come and see. - -There had been foreigners before in Diamante, but they had come and -gone, and no one had enjoyed such power. There was soon not a man in the -town who did not put all his trust in the English signorina. She even -succeeded in putting a little life into Ugo Favara. You know Ugo Favara, -the advocate, who was to have been a great man, but had reverses and came -home quite broken. She employed him to take care of her affairs. She -needed him, and she took him. - -There has never been a woman in Diamante who has done so much business -as she. She spread out like green-weed in the spring. One day no one -knows that there is any, and the next it is a great clump. Soon it was -impossible to go anywhere in Diamante without coming on her traces. She -bought country houses and town houses; she bought almond-groves and -lava-streams. The best places on Etna to see the view were hers as well -as the thirsting earth on the plain. And in town she began to build two -big palaces. She was to live in them and rule her kingdom. - -We shall never see a woman like her again. She was not content with -all that. She wished also to fight the fight with poverty, O signore, -with Sicilian poverty! How much she gave out each day, and how much she -gave away on feast-days! Wagons, drawn by two pairs of oxen, went down -to Catania and came back piled up with all sorts of clothing. She was -determined that they should have whole clothes in the town where she -reigned. - -But listen to what happened to her; how the struggle with poverty ended -and what became of the kingdom and the palace. - -She gave a banquet for the poor people of Diamante, and after the banquet -an entertainment in the Grecian theatre. It was what an old emperor might -have done. But who has ever before heard of a woman doing such a thing? - -She invited all the poor people. There were the two blind women from the -hotel-door, and old Assunta from the Cathedral steps. There was the man -from the post-house, who had his chin bound up in a red cloth on account -of cancer of the face; and there was the idiot who opens the iron doors -of the Grecian theatre. All the donkey-boys were there, and the handless -brothers, who exploded a bomb in their childhood and lost their fingers; -and the man with the wooden leg, and the old chair-maker who had grown -too old to work, both were there. - -It was strange to see them creep out of their holes, all the poor in -Diamante. The old women who sit and spin with distaffs in the dark -alleys were there, and the organ-grinder, who has an instrument as big -as a church-organ, a wandering young mandolinist from Naples with a body -full of all possible deviltries. All those with diseased eyes and all -the decrepit; those without a roof over their heads; those who used to -collect sorrel by the roadside for dinner; the stone-cutter, who earned -one lira a day and had six children to provide for,--they had all been -invited and were present at the feast. - -It was poverty marshalling its troops for the English signorina. Who has -such an army as poverty? But for once the English signorina could conquer -it. - -She had something to fight with too and to conquer with. She filled the -whole square with loaded tables. She had wine-skins arranged along the -stone bench that lines the wall of the Cathedral. She had turned the -deserted convent into a larder and kitchen. She had all the foreign -colony in Diamante dressed in white aprons, to serve the courses. She had -all of Diamante who are used to eating their fill, wandering to and fro -as spectators. - -Ah, spectators, what did she not have for spectators? She had great Etna -and the dazzling sun. She had the red peaks of the inland mountains and -the old temple of Vulcan, that was now consecrated to San Pasquale. And -none of them had ever seen a satisfied Diamante. None of them had ever -before happened to think how much more beautiful they themselves would be -if the people could look at them without hunger hissing in their ears and -trampling on their heels. - -But mark one thing! Although that signorina was so wonderful and so -great, she was not beautiful. And in spite of all her power, she was -neither charming nor attractive. She did not rule with jests, and she did -not reward with smiles. She had a heavy, clumsy body, and a heavy, clumsy -disposition. - -The day she gave food to the poor she became a different person. A -chivalrous people live in our noble island. Among all those poor people -there was not one who let her feel that she was exercising charity. They -worshipped her, but they worshipped her as a woman. They sat down at the -table as with an equal. They behaved to her as guests to their hostess. -“To-day I do you the honor to come to you; to-morrow you do me the -honor to come to me. So and not otherwise.” She stood on the high steps -of the town-hall and looked down at all the tables. And when the old -chair-maker, who sat at the head of the table, had got his glass filled, -he rose, bowed to her and said: “I drink to your prosperity, signorina.” - -So did they all. They laid their hands on their hearts and bowed to her. -It would have perhaps been good for her if she had met with such chivalry -earlier in life. Why had the men in her native land let her forget that -women exist to be worshipped? - -Here they all looked as if they were burning with a quiet adoration. Thus -are women treated in our noble island. What did they not give in return -for the food and the wine that she had offered them? They gave youth and -light-heartedness and all the dignity of being worth coveting. They made -speeches for her. “Noble-hearted signorina, you who have come to us from -over the sea, you who love Sicily,” and so on, and so on. She showed that -she could blush. She no longer hid her power to smile. When they had -finished speaking, the lips of the English signorina began to tremble. -She became twenty years younger. It was what she needed. - -The donkey-boy was there, who carries the English ladies up to Tre -Castagni, and who always falls in love with them before he parts from -them. Now his eyes were suddenly opened to the great benefactress. It is -not only a slender, delicate body and a soft cheek that are worthy to be -adored, but also strength and force. The donkey-boy suddenly dropped -knife and fork, leaned his elbows on the table, and sat and looked -at her. And all the other donkey-boys did the same. It spread like a -contagion. It grew hot with burning glances about the English signorina. - -It was not only the poor people who adored her. The advocate, Ugo Favara, -came and whispered to her that she had come as a providence to his poor -land and to him. “If only I had met such a woman as you before,” he said. - -Fancy an old bird which has sat in a cage for many years and become rough -and lost all the gloss of his feathers. And then some one comes and -straightens them out and smooths them back. Think of it, signore! - -There was that boy from Naples. He took his mandolin and began to sing -his very best. You know how he sings; he pouts with his big mouth and -says ugly words. He usually is like a grinning mask. But have you seen -the angel in his eyes? An angel which seems to weep over his fall and is -filled with a holy frenzy. That evening he was only an angel. He raised -his head like one inspired by God, and his drooping body became elastic -and full of proud vitality. Color came into his livid cheeks. And he -sang; he sang so that the notes seemed to fly like fireflies from his -lips and fill the air with joy and dance. - -When it grew dark they all went over to the Grecian theatre. That was -the finishing touch to the entertainment. What did she not have to offer -there! - -She had the Russian singer and the German variété artists. She had the -English wrestlers and the American magician. But what was that compared -to all the rest: the silvery moonlight and the place and its memories? -Those poor people seemed to feel like the Greeks and leaders of fashion -when they once more took their places on the stone-benches of their own -old theatre and from between the tottering pillars looked out at the most -beautiful panorama. - -Those poor people did not stint; they shared all the pleasure they -received. They did not spare jubilation; there was no stopping their -hand-clapping. The performers left the platform with a wealth of praise. - -Some one begged the English signorina to appear. All the adoration was -meant for her. She ought to stand face to face with it and feel it. And -they told her how intoxicating it was, how elevating, how inflaming. - -She liked the proposal. She immediately agreed. She had sung in her -youth, and the English never seem to be afraid to sing. She would not -have done it if she had not been in a good mood, and she wished to sing -for those who loved her. - -She came as the last number. Fancy what it was to stand on such an old -stage! It was where Antigone had been buried alive and Iphigenia had been -sacrificed. The English signorina stepped forward there to receive every -conceivable honor. - -It stormed to meet her as soon as she showed herself. They seemed to wish -to stamp the earth to pieces to honor her. - -It was a proud moment. She stood there with Etna as a background and -the Mediterranean as wings. Before her on the grass-grown benches was -sitting conquered poverty, and she felt that she had all Diamante at her -feet. - -She chose “Bellini,” our own “Bellini.” She too wished to be amiable and -so she sang “Bellini,” who was born here under Etna; “Bellini” whom we -know by heart, note for note. - -Of course, O signore, of course she could not sing. She had mounted the -tribune only to receive homage. She had come in order to let the love of -the people find an outlet. And now she sang false and feebly. And the -people knew every note. - -It was that mandolinista from Naples. He was the first to grimace and to -take a note as false as that of the English signorina. Then it was the -man with the cancer, who laughed till he laughed his neckcloth off. Then -it was the donkey-boy, who began to clap his hands. - -Then they all began. It was madness, but that they did not understand. -It is not in the land of the old Greeks that people can bear barbarians -who sing false. Donna Pepa and Donna Tura laughed as they had never -done before in their lives. “Not one true note! By the Madonna and San -Pasquale, not one true note!” - -They had eaten their fill for once in their lives. It was natural that -intoxication and madness should take hold of them. And why should they -not laugh? She had not given them food in order to torture their ears -with files and saws. Why should they not defend themselves by laughing? -Why should they not mimic and hiss and scream? Why should they not lean -backward and split their sides with laughter? They were not the English -signorina’s slaves, I suppose. - -It was a terrible blow to her. It was too great a blow for her to -understand. Were they hissing her? It must be something happening among -them; something that she could not see. She sang the aria to its end. -She was convinced that the laughter was for something with which she had -nothing to do. - -When she had finished a sort of storm of applause roared over her. At -last she understood. Torches and the moonlight made the night so bright -that she could see the rows of people twisting with laughter. She heard -the scoffs and the jests now, when she was not singing. They were for -her. Then she fled from the stage. It seemed to her that Etna itself -heaved with laughter, and that the sea sparkled with merriment. - -But it grew worse and worse. They had had such a good time, those poor -people; they had never had such a good time before, and they wished -to hear her once again. They called for her; they cried: “Bravo! Bis! -Da capo!” They could not lose such a pleasure. She, she was almost -unconscious. There was a storm about her. They screamed; they roared to -get her in. She saw them lift their arms and threaten her to get her in. -All at once it was all turned into an old circus. She had to go in to be -devoured by monsters. - -It went on; it went on; it became wilder and wilder. The other performers -were frightened and begged her to yield. And she herself was frightened. -It looked as if they would have killed her if she did not do what they -wished. - -She dragged herself on the stage and stood face to face with the crowd. -There was no pity. She sang because they all wished to be amused. That -was the worst. She sang because she was afraid of them and did not dare -not to. She was a foreigner and alone, and she had no one to protect her, -and she was afraid. And they laughed and laughed. - -Screams and cries, crowing and whistling accompanied the whole aria. No -one had mercy on her. For the first time in her life she felt the need of -mercy. - -Well, the next day she resolved to depart. She could not endure Diamante -any longer. But when she told the advocate, Favara, he implored her to -stay for his sake and made her an offer of marriage. - -He had chosen his time well. She said yes, and was married to him. But -after that time she built no more on her palaces; she made no struggle -against poverty; she cared nothing to be queen in Diamante. Would you -believe it? She never showed herself on the street; she lived indoors -like a Sicilian. - -Her little house stood hidden away behind a big building, and of herself -no one knew anything. They only knew that she was quite changed. No -one knew whether she was happy or unhappy; whether she shut herself in -because she hated the people, or because she wished to be as a Sicilian -wife ought to be. - -Does it not always end so with a woman? When they build their palaces -they are never finished. Women can do nothing that has permanence. - - - - -III - -THE OUTCAST - - -When Donna Micaela heard how the poor people had hooted Miss Tottenham -out, she hurried to the hotel to express her condolence. She wished to -beg her not to judge those poor creatures by what they had done when they -had been put out of their heads with pleasure and wine. She would beg her -not to take her hand from Diamante. She herself did not care very much -for Miss Tottenham, but for the sake of the poor--She would say anything -to pacify her. - -When she came to the hotel Etna, she saw the whole street filled with -baggage-wagons. So there was no hope. The great benefactress was going -away. - -Outside the hotel there was much sorrow and despair. The two old blind -women, Donna Pepa and Donna Tura, who had always sat in the hotel -court-yard, were now shut out, and they were kneeling before the door. -The young donkey-driver, who loved all young English ladies, stood with -his face pressed against the wall and wept. - -Inside the hotel the landlord walked up and down the long corridor, -raging at Providence for sending him this misfortune. “Signor Dio,” he -mumbled, “I am beggared. If you let this happen, I will take my wife by -the hand and my children in my arms and throw myself with them down into -Etna.” - -The landlady was very pale and humble. She scarcely dared to lift her -eyes from the ground. She would have liked to creep about on her knees to -prevail upon the rich signorina to remain. - -“Do you dare to speak to her, Donna Micaela?” she said. “May God help -you to speak to her! Alas! tell her that the Neapolitan boy, who was the -cause of the whole misfortune, has been turned out of the town. Tell her -that they all wish to make amends. Speak to her, signora!” - -The landlady took Donna Micaela to the Englishwoman’s drawing-room and -went in with her card. She came back immediately and asked her to wait a -few minutes. Signorina Tottenham was having a business talk with Signor -Favara. - -It was the very moment when the advocate Favara asked Miss Tottenham’s -hand in marriage; and while Donna Micaela waited she heard him say quite -loud: “You must not go away, signorina! What will become of me if you go -away? I love you; I cannot let you go. I should not have dared to speak -if you had not threatened to go away. But now--” - -He lowered his voice again, but Donna Micaela would hear no more and -went away. She saw that she was superfluous. If Signor Favara could not -succeed in keeping the great benefactress, no one could. - -When she went out again through the gateway the landlord was standing -there quarrelling with the old Franciscan, Fra Felice. He was so -irritated that he not only quarrelled with Fra Felice, he also drove him -from his house. - -“Fra Felice,” he cried, “you come to make more trouble with our great -benefactress. You will only make her more angry. Go away, I tell you! You -wolf, you man-eater, go away!” - -Fra Felice was quite as enraged as the landlord, and tried to force -his way past him. But then the latter took him by the arm, and without -further notice marched him down the steps. - -Fra Felice was a man who had received a great gift from his Creator. In -Sicily, where everybody plays in the lottery, there are people who have -the power to foretell what numbers will win at the next drawing. He who -has such second sight is called “polacco,” and is most often found in -some old begging monk. Fra Felice was such a monk. He was the greatest -polacco in the neighborhood of Etna. - -As every one wished him to tell them a winning tern or quartern, he was -always treated with great consideration. He was not used to be taken by -the arm and be thrown into the street, Fra Felice. - -He was nearly eighty years old and quite dried-up and infirm. As he -staggered away between the wagons, he stumbled, trod on his cloak, and -almost fell. But none of the porters and drivers that stood by the door -talking and lamenting had time that day to think of Fra Felice. - -The old man tottered along in his heavy homespun cloak. He was so thin -and dry that there seemed to be more stiffness in the cloak than in the -monk. It seemed to be the old cloak that held him up. - -Donna Micaela caught up with him and gently drew the old man’s arm -through her own. She could not bear to see how he struck against the -lamp-posts and fell over steps. But Fra Felice never noticed that she -was looking after him. He walked and mumbled and cursed, and did not know -but that he was as much alone as if he sat in his cell. - -Donna Micaela wondered why Fra Felice was so angry with Miss Tottenham. -Had she been out to his monastery and taken down frescos from the walls, -or what had she done? - -Fra Felice had lived for sixty years in the big Franciscan monastery -outside the Porta Etnea, wall to wall with the old church San Pasquale. - -Fra Felice had been monk there for thirty years, when the monastery was -given up and sold to a layman. The other monks moved away, but Fra Felice -remained because he could not understand what selling the house of San -Francisco could mean. - -If laymen were to come there, it seemed to Fra Felice almost more -essential that at least one monk should remain. Who else would attend to -the bell-ringing, or prepare medicines for the peasant women, or give -bread to the poor of the monastery? And Fra Felice chose a cell in a -retired corner of the monastery, and continued to go in and out as he had -always done. - -The merchant who owned the monastery never visited it. He did not care -about the old building; he only wanted the vineyards belonging to it. So -Fra Felice still reigned in the old monastery, and fastened up the fallen -cornices and whitewashed the walls. As many poor people as had received -food at the monastery in former days, still received it. For his gift of -prophecy Fra Felice got such large alms as he wandered through the towns -of Etna that he could have been a rich man; but every bit of it went to -the monastery. - -Fra Felice had suffered an even greater grief than for the monastery on -account of the monastery church. It had been desecrated during war, with -bloody fights and other atrocities, so that mass could never be held -there. But that he could not understand either. The church, where he had -made his vows, was always holy to Fra Felice. - -It was his greatest sorrow that his church had fallen entirely into ruin. -He had looked on when Englishmen had come and bought pulpit and lectern -and choir chairs. He had not been able to prevent collectors from Palermo -coming and taking the chandeliers and pictures and brass hooks. However -much he had wished it, he had not been able to do anything to save his -church. But he hated those church-pillagers; and when Donna Micaela saw -him so angry, she thought that Miss Tottenham had wished to take some of -his treasures from him. - -But the fact was that now, when Fra Felice’s church was emptied, and -no one came any more to plunder there, he had begun to think of doing -something to embellish it once more, and he had had his eye on the -collection of images of the saints in the possession of the rich English -lady. At her entertainment, when she had been kind and gentle towards -every one, he had dared to ask her for her beautiful Madonna, who had a -dress of velvet and eyes like the sky. And his request had been granted. - -That morning Fra Felice had swept and dusted the church, and put flowers -on the altar, before he went to fetch the image. But when he came to the -hotel, the Englishwoman had changed her mind; she had not been at all -willing to give him the valuable Madonna. In its stead she had given him -a little ragged, dirty image of the Christchild, which she thought she -could spare without regret. - -Ah, what joy and expectation old Fra Felice had felt, and then had been -so disappointed! He could not be satisfied; he came back time after time -to beg for the other image. It was such a valuable image that he could -not have bought it with all that he begged in a whole year. At last the -great benefactress had dismissed him; and it was then that Donna Micaela -had found him. - -As they went along the street, she began to talk to the old man and won -his story from him. He had the image with him, and right in the street -he stopped, showed it to her, and asked her if she had ever seen a more -miserable object. - -Donna Micaela looked at the image for a moment with stupefaction. Then -she smiled and said: “Lend me the image for a few days, Fra Felice!” - -“You can take it and keep it,” said the old man. “May it never come -before my eyes again!” - -Donna Micaela took the image home and worked on it for two days. When she -then sent it to Fra Felice it shone with newly polished shoes; it had a -fresh, clean dress; it was painted, and in its crown shone bright stones -of many colors. - -He was so beautiful, the outcast, that Fra Felice placed him on the empty -altar in his church. - - * * * * * - -It was very early one morning. The sun had not risen, and the broad sea -was scarcely visible. It was really very early. The cats were still -roaming about the roofs; no smoke rose from the chimneys; and the mists -lay and rolled about in the low valley round the steep Monte Chiaro. - -Old Fra Felice came running towards the town. He ran so fast that he -thought he felt the mountain tremble beneath him. He ran so fast that the -blades of grass by the roadside had no time to sprinkle his cloak with -dew; so fast that the scorpions had no time to lift their tails and sting -him. - -As the old man ran, his cloak flapped unfastened about him, and his rope -swung unknotted behind. His wide sleeves waved like wings, and his heavy -hood pounded up and down on his back, as if it wished to urge him on. - -The man in the custom-office, who was still asleep, woke and rubbed his -eyes as Fra Felice rushed by, but he had no time to recognize him. The -pavements were slippery with dampness; beggars lay and slept by the high -stone steps with their legs heedlessly stretched out into the street; -exhausted domino-players were going home from the Café reeling with -sleep. But Fra Felice hastened onward regardless of all obstructions. - -Houses and gateways, squares and arched-over alleys disappeared behind -old Fra Felice. He ran half-way up the Corso before he stopped. - -He stopped in front of a big house with many heavy balconies. He seized -the door-knocker and pounded until a servant awoke. He would not be quiet -till the servant called up a maid, and the maid waked the signora. - -“Donna Micaela, Fra Felice is downstairs. He insists on speaking to you.” - -When Donna Micaela at last came down to Fra Felice, he was still panting -and breathless, but there was a fire in his eyes, and little pale roses -in his cheeks. - -It was the image, the image. When Fra Felice had rung the four-o’clock -matins that morning he had gone into the church to look at him. - -Then he had discovered that big stones had loosened from the dome just -over the image. They had fallen on the altar and broken it to pieces, but -the image had stood untouched. And none of the plaster and dust that had -tumbled down had fallen on the image; it was quite uninjured. - -Fra Felice took Donna Micaela’s hand and told her that she must go with -him to the church and see the miracle. She should see it before any one, -because she had taken care of the image. - -And Donna Micaela went with him through the gray, chilly morning to his -monastery, while her heart throbbed with eagerness and expectation. - -When she arrived and saw that Fra Felice had told the truth, she said to -him that she had recognized the image as soon as she had caught sight of -it, and that she knew that it could work miracles. “He is the greatest -and gentlest of miracle-workers,” she said. - -Fra Felice went up to the image and looked into its eyes. For there is a -great difference in images, and the wisdom of an old monk is needed to -understand which has power and which has not. Now Fra Felice saw that -this image’s eyes were deep and glowing, as if they had life; and that on -its lips hovered a mysterious smile. - -Then old Fra Felice fell on his knees and stretched his clasped hands -towards the image, and his old shrivelled face was lighted by a great -joy. - -It seemed to Fra Felice all at once as if the walls of his church were -covered with pictures and purple hangings; candles shone on the altar; -song sounded from the gallery; and the whole floor was covered with -kneeling, praying people. - -All imaginary glory would fall to the lot of his poor old church, now -that it possessed one of the great miracle-working images. - - - - -IV - -THE OLD MARTYRDOM - - -From the summer-palace in Diamante many letters were sent during -that time to Gaetano Alagona, who was in prison in Como. But the -letter-carrier never had a letter in his bag from Gaetano addressed to -the summer-palace. - -For Gaetano had gone into his life-long imprisonment as if it had been a -grave. The only thing he asked or desired was that it should give him the -grave’s forgetfulness and peace. - -He felt as if he were dead; and he said to himself that he did not wish -to hear the laments and wails of the survivors. Nor did he wish to be -deceived with hopes, or be tempted by tender words to long for family and -friends. Nor did he wish to hear anything of what was happening in the -world, when he had no power to take part and to lead. - -He found work in the prison, and carved beautiful works of art, as he -had always done. But he never would receive a letter, nor a visitor. He -thought that in that way he could cease to feel the bitterness of his -misfortunes. He believed that he would be able to teach himself to live a -whole life within four narrow walls. - -And for that reason Donna Micaela never had a word of answer from him. - -Finally she wrote to the director of the prison and asked if Gaetano was -still alive. He answered that the prisoner she asked about never read a -letter. He had asked to be spared all communications from the outside -world. - -So she wrote no more. Instead she continued to work for her railway. She -hardly dared to speak of it in Diamante, but nevertheless she thought -of nothing else. She herself sewed and embroidered, and she had all her -servants make little cheap things that she could sell at her bazaar. In -the shop she looked up old wares for the tombola. She had Piero, the -gate-keeper, prepare colored lanterns; she persuaded her father to paint -signs and placards; and she had her maid, Lucia, who was from Capri, -arrange coral necklaces and shell boxes. - -She was not at all sure that even one person would come to her -entertainment. Every one was against her; no one would help her. They did -not even like her to show herself on the streets or to talk business. It -was not fitting for a well-born lady. - -Old Fra Felice tried to assist her, for he loved her because she had -helped him with the image. - -One day, when Donna Micaela was lamenting that she could not persuade any -one that the people ought to build the railway, he lifted his cap from -his head and pointed to his bald temples. - -“Look at me, Donna Micaela,” he said. “So bald will that railway make -your head if you go on as you have begun.” - -“What do you mean, Fra Felice?” - -“Donna Micaela,” said the old man, “would it not be folly to start on a -dangerous undertaking without having a friend and helper?” - -“I have tried enough to find friends, Fra Felice.” - -“Yes, men!” said the old man. “But how do men help? If any one is going -fishing, Donna Micaela, he knows that he must call on San Pietro; if any -one wishes to buy a horse, he can ask help of San Antonio Abbate. But if -I want to pray for your railway, I do not know to whom I shall turn.” - -Fra Felice meant that the trouble was that she had chosen no patron saint -for her railway. He wished her to choose the crowned child that stood out -in his old church as its first friend and promoter. He told her that if -she only did that she would certainly be helped. - -She was so touched that any one was willing to stand by her that she -instantly promised to pray for her railway to the child at San Pasquale. - -Fra Felice got a big collection-box and painted on it in bright, distinct -letters: “Gifts for the Etna Railway,” and he hung it in his church -beside the altar. - -It was not more than a day after that that Don Antonio Greco’s wife, -Donna Emilia, came out to the old, deserted church to consult San -Pasquale, who is the wisest of all the saints. - -During the autumn Don Antonio’s theatre had begun to fare ill, as was to -be expected when no one had any money. - -Don Antonio thought to run the theatre with less expense than before. He -had cut off a couple of lamps and did not have such big and gorgeously -painted play-bills. - -But that had been great folly. It is not at the moment when people are -losing their desire to go to the theatre that it will answer to shorten -the princesses’ silk trains and economize on the gilding of the king’s -crowns. - -Perhaps it is not so dangerous at another theatre, but at a marionette -theatre it is a risk to make any changes, because it is chiefly -half-grown boys who go to the marionette theatre. Big people can -understand that sometimes it is necessary to economize, but children -always wish to have things in the same way. - -Fewer and fewer spectators came to Don Antonio, and he went on -economizing and saving. Then it occurred to him that he could dispense -with the two blind violin-players, Father Elia and Brother Tommaso, who -also used to play during the interludes and in the battle-scenes. - -Those blind men, who earned so much by singing in houses of mourning, -and who took in vast sums on feast-days, were expensive. Don Antonio -dismissed them and got a hand-organ. - -That caused his ruin. All the apprentices and shop-boys in Diamante -ceased to go to the theatre. They would not sit and listen to a -hand-organ. They promised one another not to go to the theatre till Don -Antonio had taken back the fiddlers, and they kept their promise. Don -Antonio’s dolls had to perform to empty walls. - -The young boys who otherwise would rather go without their supper than -the theatre, stayed away night after night. They were convinced that they -could force Don Antonio to arrange everything as before. - -But Don Antonio comes of a family of artists. His father and his brother -have marionette theatres; his brothers-in-law, all his relations are -of the profession. And Don Antonio understands his art. He can change -his voice indefinitely; he can manœuvre at the same time a whole army -of dolls; and he knows by heart the whole cycle of plays founded on the -chronicles of Charlemagne. - -And now Don Antonio’s artistic feelings were hurt. He would not be forced -to take back the blind men. He wished to have the people come to his -theatre for his sake, and not for that of the musicians. - -He changed his tactics and began to play big dramas with elaborate -mountings. But it was futile. - -There is a play called “The Death of the Paladin,” which treats of -Roland’s fight at Ronceval. It requires so much machinery that a puppet -theatre has to be kept shut for two days for it to be set up. It is so -dear to the public that it is generally played for double price and to -full houses for a whole month. Don Antonio now had that play mounted, but -he did not need to play it; he had no spectators. - -After that his spirit was broken. He tried to get Father Elia and Brother -Tommaso back, but they now knew what their value was to him. - -They demanded such a price that it would have been ruin to pay them. It -was impossible to come to any agreement. - -In the small rooms back of the marionette theatre they lived as in a -besieged fortress. They had nothing else to do but to starve. - -Donna Emilia and Don Antonio were both gay young people, but now they -never laughed. They were in great want, but Don Antonio was a proud man, -and he could not bear to think that his art no longer had the power to -draw. - -So, as I said, Donna Emilia went down to the church of San Pasquale to -ask the saint for good advice. It had been her intention to repeat nine -prayers to the great stone-image standing outside of the church, and -then to go; but before she had begun to pray she had noticed that the -church-door stood open. “Why is San Pasquale’s church-door open?” said -Donna Emilia. “That has never happened in my time,”--and she went into -the church. - -The only thing to be seen there was Fra Felice’s beloved image and the -big collection-box. The image looked so beautiful in his crown and his -rings that Donna Emilia was tempted forward to him, but when she came -near enough to look into his eyes, he seemed to her so tender and so -cheering that she knelt down before him and prayed. She promised that -if he would help her and Don Antonio in their need, she would put the -receipts of a whole evening in the big box that hung beside him. - -After her prayers were over, Donna Emilia concealed herself behind the -church-door, and tried to catch what the passers-by were saying. For if -the image was willing to help her, he would let her hear a word which -would tell her what to do. - -She had not stood there two minutes before old Assunta of the Cathedral -steps passed by with Donna Pepa and Donna Tura. And she heard Assunta say -in her solemn voice: “That was the year when I heard ‘The Old Martyrdom’ -for the first time.” Donna Emilia heard quite distinctly. Assunta really -said “The Old Martyrdom.” - -Donna Emilia thought that she would never reach her home. It was as if -her legs could not carry her fast enough, and the distance increased as -she ran. When she finally saw the corner of the theatre with the red -lanterns under the roof and the big illustrated play-bills, she felt as -if she had gone many miles. - -When she came in to Don Antonio, he sat with his big head leaning on his -hand and stared at the table. It was terrible to see Don Antonio. In -those last weeks he had begun to lose his hair; on the very top of his -head it was so thin that the skin shone through. Was it strange, when he -was in such trouble? While she had been away he had taken all his puppets -out and inspected them. He did that now every day. He used to sit and -look at the puppet that played Armida. Was she no longer beautiful and -beguiling? he would ask. And he tried to polish up Roland’s sword and -Charlemagne’s crown. Donna Emilia saw that he had gilded the emperor’s -crown again; it was for at least the fifth time. But then he had stopped -in the midst of his work and had sat down to brood. He had noticed it -himself. It was not gilding that was lacking; it was an idea. - -As Donna Emilia came into the room, she stretched out her hands to her -husband. - -“Look at me, Don Antonio Greco,” she said. “I bear in my hands golden -bowls full of ripe figs!” - -And she told how she had prayed, and what she had vowed, and what she had -been advised. - -When she said that to Don Antonio, he sprang up. His arms fell stiffly -beside his body, and his hair raised itself from his head. He was seized -with an unspeakable terror. “‘The Old Martyrdom’!” he screamed, “‘The Old -Martyrdom’!” - -For “The Old Martyrdom” is a miracle-play, which in its time was given -in all Sicily. It drove out all other oratorios and mysteries, and was -played every year in every town for two centuries. It was the greatest -day of the year, when “The Old Martyrdom” was performed. But now it is -never played; now it only lives in the people’s memory as a legend. - -In the old days it was also played in the marionette theatres. But now it -has come to be considered old-fashioned and out-of-date. It has probably -not been played for thirty years. - -Don Antonio began to roar and scream at Donna Emilia, because she -tortured him with such folly. He struggled with her as with a demon, who -had come to seize him. It was amazing; it was heartrending, he said. How -could she get hold of such a word? But Donna Emilia stood quiet and let -him rave. She only said that what she had heard was God’s will. - -Soon Don Antonio began to be uncertain. The great idea gradually took -possession of him. Nothing had ever been so loved and played in Sicily, -and did not the same people still live on the noble isle? Did they -not love the same earth, the same mountains, the same skies as their -forefathers had loved? Why should they not also love “The Old Martyrdom”? - -He resisted as long as he could. He said to Donna Emilia that it would -cost too much. Where could he get apostles with long hair and beards? He -had no table for the Last Supper; he had none of the machinery required -for the entry, and carrying of the cross. - -But Donna Emilia saw that he was going to give in, and before night -he actually went to Fra Felice and renewed her vow to put the receipts -of one evening in the box of the little image, if it proved to be good -advice. - -Fra Felice told Donna Micaela about the vow, and she was glad, and at the -same time anxious how it would turn out. - -Through all the town it was known that Don Antonio was mounting “The Old -Martyrdom,” and every one laughed at him. Don Antonio had lost his mind. - -The people would have liked well enough to see “The Old Martyrdom,” if -they could have seen it as it was played in former days. They would have -liked to see it given as in Aci, where the noblemen of the town played -the kings and the servants, and the artisans took the parts of the Jews -and the apostles; and where so many scenes from the Old Testament were -added that the spectacle lasted the whole day. - -They would have also liked to see those wonderful days in Castelbuoco, -when the whole town was transformed into Jerusalem. There the mystery was -given so that Jesus came riding to the town, and was met with palms at -the town-gate. There the church represented the temple at Jerusalem and -the town-hall Pilate’s palace. There Peter warmed himself at a fire in -the priest’s court-yard; the crucifixion took place on a mountain above -the town; and Mary looked for the body of her son in the grottoes of the -syndic’s garden. - -When the people had such things in their memory how could they be content -to see the great mystery in Don Antonio’s theatre? - -But in spite of everything, Don Antonio worked with the greatest -eagerness to prepare the actors and to arrange the elaborate machinery. - -And behold, in a few days came Master Battista, who painted placards, and -presented him with a play-bill. He had been glad to hear that Don Antonio -was going to play “The Old Martyrdom;” he had seen it in his youth, and -had great pleasure in it. - -So there now stood in large letters on the corner of the theatre: “‘The -Old Martyrdom’ or ‘The Resurrected Adam,’ tragedy in three acts by -Cavaliere Filippo Orioles.” - -Don Antonio wondered and wondered what the people’s mood would be. The -donkey-boys and apprentices who passed by his theatre read the notice -with scoffs and derision. It looked very black for Don Antonio, but in -spite of it he went on faithfully with his work. - -When the appointed evening came, and the “Martyrdom” was to be played, no -one was more anxious than Donna Micaela. “Is the little image going to -help me?” she asked herself incessantly. - -She sent out her maid, Lucia, to look about. Were there any groups of -boys in front of the theatre? Did it look as if there were going to be a -crowd? Lucia might go to Donna Emilia, sitting in the ticket-office, and -ask her if it looked hopeful. - -But when Lucia came back she had not the slightest hope to offer. There -was no crowd outside the theatre. The boys had resolved to crush Don -Antonio. - -Towards eight o’clock Donna Micaela could no longer endure sitting -at home and waiting. She persuaded her father to go with her to the -theatre. She knew well that a signora had never set her foot in Don -Antonio’s theatre, but she needed to see how it was going to be. It would -be such a dizzily great success for her railway if Don Antonio succeeded. - -When Donna Micaela came to the theatre it was a few minutes before eight, -and Donna Emilia had not sold a ticket. - -But she was not depressed; “Go in, Donna Micaela!” she said; “we shall -play at any rate, it is so beautiful. Don Antonio will play it for you -and your father and me. It is the most beautiful thing he has ever -performed.” - -Donna Micaela came into the little hall. It was hung with black, as the -big theatres always were in the old days when “The Old Martyrdom” was -given. There were dark, silver-fringed curtains on the stage, and the -little benches were covered with black. - -Immediately after Donna Micaela came in, Don Antonio’s bushy eyebrows -appeared in a little hole in the curtain. “Donna Micaela,” he cried, as -Donna Emilia had done, “we shall play at any rate. It is so beautiful, it -needs no spectators.” - -Just then came Donna Emilia herself, and opened the door, and -courtesying, held it back. It was the priest, Don Matteo, who entered. - -“What do you say to me, Donna Micaela?” he said, laughing. “But you -understand; it is ‘The Old Martyrdom.’ I saw it in my youth at the big -opera in Palermo; and I believe that it was that old play that made me -become a priest.” - -The next time the door opened it was Father Elia and Brother Tommaso, -who came with their violins under their arms and felt their way to their -usual places, as quietly as if they had never had any disagreement with -Don Antonio. - -The door opened again. It was an old woman from the alley above the house -of the little Moor. She was dressed in black, and made the sign of the -cross as she came in. - -After her came four, five other old women; and Donna Micaela looked at -them almost resentfully, as they gradually filled the theatre. She knew -that Don Antonio would not be satisfied till he had his own public back -again,--till he had his self-willed, beloved boys to play for. - -Suddenly she heard a hurricane or thunder. The doors flew open,--all at -the same time! It was the boys. They threw themselves down in their usual -places, as if they had come back to their home. - -They looked at one another, a little ashamed. But it had been impossible -for them to see one old woman after another go into their theatre to see -what was being played for them. It had been quite impossible to see the -whole street full of old distaff-spinners in slow procession toward the -theatre, and so they had rushed in. - -But hardly had the gay young people reached their places before -they noticed that they had come under a severe master. Ah, “The Old -Martyrdom,” “The Old Martyrdom!” - -It was not given as in Aci and in Castelbuoco; it was not played as at -the opera in Palermo; it was only played with miserable marionettes with -immovable faces and stiff bodies; but the old play had not lost its -power. - -Donna Micaela noticed it already in the second act during the Last -Supper. The boys began to hate Judas. They shouted threats and insults at -him. - -As the story of the Passion went on, they laid aside their hats and -clasped their hands. They sat quite still, with their beautiful brown -eyes turned towards the stage. Now and then a few tears dropped. Now and -then a fist was clenched in indignation. - -Don Antonio spoke with tears in his voice; Donna Emilia was on her knees -at the entrance. Don Matteo looked with a gentle smile at the little -puppets and remembered the wonderful spectacle in Palermo that had made -him a priest. - -But when Jesus was cast into prison and tortured, the young people were -ashamed of themselves. They too had hated and persecuted. They were like -those pharisees, like those Romans. It was a shame to think of it. Could -Don Antonio forgive them? - - - - -V - -THE LADY WITH THE IRON RING - - -Donna Micaela often thought of a poor little dressmaker whom she had -seen in her youth in Catania. She dwelt in the house next to the Palazzo -Palmeri, sitting always in the gateway with her work, so that Donna -Micaela had seen her a thousand times. She always sat and sang, and she -had certainly only known a single canzone. Always, always she sang the -same song. - -“I have cut a curl from my black hair,” she had sung. “I have unfastened -my black, shining braids, and cut a curl from my hair. I have done it -to gladden my friend, who is in trouble. Alas, my beloved is sitting in -prison; my beloved will never again twine my hair about his fingers. I -have sent him a lock of my hair to remind him of the silken chains that -never more will bind him.” - -Donna Micaela remembered the song well. It seemed as if it had sounded -through all her childhood to warn her of the suffering that awaited her. - - * * * * * - -Donna Micaela often sat at that time on the stone steps of the church of -San Pasquale. She saw wonderful events take place far off on that Etna so -rich in legends. - -Over the black lava glided a railway train on newly laid shining rails. -It was a festival train; flags waved along the road; there were wreaths -on the carriages; the seats were covered with purple cushions. At the -stations the people stood and shouted: “Long live the king! long live the -queen! long live the new railway!” - -She heard it so well; she herself was on the train. Ah, how honored, how -honored she was! She was summoned before the king and queen; and they -thanked her for the new railway. “Ask a favor of us, princess!” said the -king, giving her the title that the ladies of the race of Alagona had -formerly borne. - -“Sire,” she answered, as people answer in stories, “give freedom to the -last Alagona!” - -And it was granted to her. The king could not say no to a prayer from her -who had built that fine railway, which was to give riches to all Etna. - - * * * * * - -When Donna Micaela lifted her arm so that her dress-sleeve slid up, one -saw that she wore as a bracelet a ring of rusty iron. She had found it -in the street, forced it over her hand, and now she always wore it. -Whenever she happened to see or touch it, she grew pale, and her eyes -no longer saw anything of the world about her. She saw a prison like -that of Foscari in the doge’s palace in Venice. It was a dark, narrow, -cellar-like hole; light filtered in through a grated aperture; and from -the wall hung a great bunch of chains, which wound like serpents round -the prisoner’s legs and arms and neck. - -May the saint work a miracle! May the people work! May she herself soon -have such praise that she can beg freedom for her prisoner! He will die -if she does not hurry. May the iron ring eat incessantly into her arm, so -that she shall not forget him for a second. - - - - -VI - -FRA FELICE’S LEGACY - - -When Donna Emilia opened the ticket-office to sell tickets for the second -performance of “The Old Martyrdom,” the people stood in line to get -places; the second evening the theatre was so overcrowded that people -fainted in the crush, and the third evening people came from both Adernó -and Paternó to see the beloved tragedy. Don Antonio foresaw that he -would be able to play it a whole month for double price, and with two -performances every evening. - -How happy they were, he and Donna Emilia, and with what joy and gratitude -they laid twenty-five lire in the collection-box of the little image! - -In Diamante the incident caused great surprise, and many came to Donna -Elisa to find out if she believed that the saint wished them to support -Donna Micaela. - -“Have you heard, Donna Elisa,” they said, “that Don Antonio Greco has -been helped by the Christchild in San Pasquale, because he promised to -give the receipts of one evening to Donna Micaela’s railway?” - -But when they asked Donna Elisa about it, she shut her mouth and looked -as if she could not think of anything but her embroidery. - -Fra Felice himself came in and told her of the two miracles the image had -already worked. - -“Signorina Tottenham was very stupid to let the image go, if it is such a -miracle-worker,” said Donna Elisa. - -So they all thought. Signorina Tottenham had owned the image many years, -and she had not noticed anything. It probably could not work miracles; it -was only a coincidence. - -It was unfortunate that Donna Elisa would not believe. She was the only -one of the old Alagonas left in Diamante, and the people followed her, -more than they themselves knew. If Donna Elisa had believed, the whole -town would have helped Donna Micaela. - -But Donna Elisa could not believe that God and the saints wished to aid -her sister-in-law. - -She had watched her since the festival of San Sebastiano. Whenever any -one spoke of Gaetano, she turned pale, and looked very troubled. Her -features became like those of a sinful man, when he is racked with the -pangs of conscience. - -Donna Elisa sat and thought of it one morning, and it was so engrossing -that she let her needle rest. “Donna Micaela is no Etna woman,” she said -to herself. “She is on the side of the government; she is glad that -Gaetano is in prison.” - -Out in the street at that same moment people came carrying a great -stretcher. On it lay heaped up a mass of church ornaments; chandeliers -and shrines and reliquaries. Donna Elisa looked up for a moment, then -returned to her thoughts. - -“She would not let me adorn the house of the Alagonas on the festival -of San Sebastiano,” she thought. “She did not wish the saint to help -Gaetano.” - -Two men came by dragging a rattling dray on which lay a mountain of red -hangings, richly embroidered stoles, and altar pictures in broad, gilded -frames. - -Donna Elisa struck out with her hand as if to push away all doubts. It -could not be an actual miracle which had happened. The saint must know -that Diamante could not afford to build a railway. - -People now came past driving a yellow cart, packed full of music-stands, -prayer-books, praying-desks and confessionals. - -Donna Elisa woke up. She looked out between the rosaries that hung -in garlands over the window panes. That was the third load of church -furnishings that had passed. Was Diamante being plundered? Had the -Saracens come to the town? - -She went to the door to see better. Again came a stretcher, and on it lay -mourning-wreaths of tin, tablets with long inscriptions, and coats of -arms, such as are hung up in churches in memory of the dead. - -Donna Elisa asked the bearers, and learned what was happening. They were -clearing out the church of Santa Lucia in Gesù. The syndic and the town -council had ordered it turned into a theatre. - -After the uprising there had been a new syndic in Diamante. He was a -young man from Rome, who did not know the town, but nevertheless wished -to do something for it. He had proposed to the town-council that Diamante -should have a theatre like Taormina and other towns. They could quite -easily fit up one of the churches as a play-house. They certainly had -more than enough, with five town churches and seven monastery churches; -they could easily spare one of them. - -There was for instance the Jesuits’ church, Santa Lucia in Gesù. The -monastery surrounding it was already changed to a barracks, and the -church was practically deserted. It would make an excellent theatre. - -That was what the new syndic had proposed, and the town-council had -agreed to it. - -When Donna Elisa heard what was going on she threw on her mantilla and -veil, and hurried to the Lucia church, with the same haste with which one -hurries to the house where one knows that some one is dying. - -“What will become of the blind?” thought Donna Elisa. “How can they live -without Santa Lucia in Gesù?” - -When Donna Elisa reached the silent little square, round which the -Jesuits’ long, ugly monastery is built, she saw on the broad stone -steps that extend the whole length of the church front, a row of ragged -children and rough-haired dogs. All of them were leaders of the blind, -and they cried and whined as loud as they could. - -“What is the matter with you all?” asked Donna Elisa. “They want to take -our church away from us,” wailed the children. And thereupon all the dogs -howled more piteously than ever, for the dogs of the blind are almost -human. - -At the church-door Donna Elisa met Master Pamphilio’s wife, Donna -Concetta. “Ah, Donna Elisa,” she said, “never in all your life have you -seen anything so terrible. You had better not go in.” - -But Donna Elisa went on. - -In the church at first she saw nothing but a white cloud of dust. But -hammer-strokes thundered through the cloud, for some workmen were busy -breaking away a big stone knight, lying in a window niche. - -“Lord God!” said Donna Elisa, and clasped her hands together; “they are -tearing down Sor Arrigo!” And she thought how tranquilly he had lain in -his niche. Every time she had seen him she had wished that she might be -as remote from disturbance and change as old Sor Arrigo. - -In the church of Lucia there was still another big monument. It -represented an old Jesuit, lying on a black marble sarcophagus with a -scourge in his hand and his cap drawn far down over his forehead. He was -called Father Succi, and the people used to frighten their children with -him in Diamante. - -“Would they also dare to touch Father Succi?” thought Donna Elisa. She -felt her way through the plaster dust to the choir, where the sarcophagus -stood, in order to see if they had dared to move the old Jesuit. - -Father Succi still lay on his stone bed. He lay there dark and hard, -as he had been in life; and one could almost believe that he was still -alive. Had there been doctors and tables with medicine-bottles and -burning candles beside the bed, one would have believed that Father Succi -lay sick in the choir of his church, waiting for his last hour. - -The blind sat round about him, like members of the family who gather -round a dying man, and rocked their bodies in silent grief. There were -both the women from the hotel court-yard, Donna Pepa and Donna Tura; -there was old Mother Saraedda, who ate the bread of charity at the house -of the Syndic Voltaro; there were blind beggars, blind singers, blind of -all ages and conditions. All the blind of Diamante were there, and in -Diamante there is an incredible number who no longer see the light of the -sun. - -They all sat silent most of the time, but every now and then one of them -burst into a wail. Sometimes one of them felt his way forward to the -monk, Father Succi, and threw himself weeping aloud across him. - -It made it all the more like a death-bed that the priest and Father Rossi -from the Franciscan monastery were there and were trying to comfort the -despairing people. - -Donna Elisa was much moved. Ah, so often she had seen those people happy -in her garden, and now to meet them in such misery! They had won pleasant -tears from her when they had sung mourning-songs over her husband, Signor -Antonelli, and over her brother, Don Ferrante. She could not bear to see -them in such need. - -Old Mother Saraedda began to speak to Donna Elisa. - -“I knew nothing when I came, Donna Elisa,” said the old woman. “I left -my dog outside on the steps and went in through the church door. Then I -stretched out my arm to push aside the curtain over the door, but the -curtain was gone. I put my foot down as if there were a step to mount -before the threshold, but there was no step. I stretched out my hand -to take the holy water; I courtesied as I went by the high altar; and I -listened for the little bell that always rings when Father Rossi comes to -the mass. Donna Elisa, there was no holy water, no altar, no bell; there -was nothing!” - -“Poor thing, poor thing,” said Donna Elisa. - -“Then I hear how they are hammering and pounding up in a window. ‘What -are you doing with Sor Arrigo?’ I cry, for I hear instantly that it is in -Sor Arrigo’s window. - -“‘We are going to carry him away,’ they answer me. - -“Just then the priest, Don Matteo, comes to me, takes me by the hand, and -explains everything. And I am almost angry with the priest when he says -that it is for a theatre. They want our church for a theatre! - -“‘Where is Father Succi?’ I say instantly. ‘Is Father Succi still here?’ -And he leads me to Father Succi. He has to lead me, for I cannot find -my way. Since they have taken away all the chairs and praying-desks and -carpets and platforms and folding steps, I cannot find my way. Before, I -found my way about here as well as you.” - -“The priest will find you another church,” said Donna Elisa. “Donna -Elisa,” said the old woman, “what are you saying? You might as well say -that the priest can give us sight. Can Don Matteo give us a church where -we see, as we saw in this? None of us needed a guide here. There, Donna -Elisa, stood an altar; the flowers on it were red as Etna at sunset, and -we saw it. We counted sixteen wax-lights over the high altar on Sundays, -and thirty on festival days. We could see when Father Rossi held the -mass here. What shall we do in another church, Donna Elisa? There we -shall not be able to see anything. They have extinguished the light of -our eyes anew.” - -Donna Elisa’s heart grew as warm as if molten lava had run over it. It -was certainly a great wrong they were doing to those blind unfortunates. - -So Donna Elisa went over to Don Matteo. - -“Your Reverence,” she said, “have you spoken to the syndic?” - -“Alas, alas, Donna Elisa,” said Don Matteo, “it is better for you to try -to talk to him than for me.” - -“Your Reverence, the syndic is a stranger; perhaps he has not heard of -the blind.” - -“Signor Voltaro has been to him; Father Rossi has been to him; and I too, -I too. He answers nothing but that he cannot change what is decided in -the town Junta. We all know, Donna Elisa, that the town Junta cannot take -back anything. If it has decided that your cat shall hold mass in the -Cathedral, it cannot change it.” - -Suddenly there was a movement in the church. A large blind man came in. -“Father Elia!” the people whispered, “Father Elia!” - -Father Elia was the head man of the company of blind singers, who always -collected there. He had long white hair and beard, and was beautiful as -one of the holy patriarchs. - -He, like all the others, went forward to Father Succi. He sat down beside -him, and leaned his head against the coffin. - -Donna Elisa went up to Father Elia and spoke to him. “Father Elia,” she -said, “_you_ ought to go to the syndic.” - -The old man recognized Donna Elisa’s voice, and he answered her, in his -thick, old-man’s tones:-- - -“Do you suppose that I have waited to have you say that to me? Don’t you -know that my first thought was to go to the syndic?” - -He spoke with such a hard and distinct voice that the workmen stopped -hammering and listened, thinking some one had begun to preach. - -“I told him that we blind singers are a company, and that the Jesuits -opened their church for us more than three hundred years ago, and gave us -the right to gather here to select new members and try new songs. - -“And I said to him that there are thirty of us in the company; and that -the holy Lucia is our patroness; and that we never sing in the streets, -only in courts and in rooms; and that we sing legends of the saints and -mourning-songs, but never a wanton song; and that the Jesuit, Father -Succi, opened the church for us, because the blind are Our Lord’s singers. - -“I told him that some of us are _recitatori_, who can sing the old songs, -but others are _trovatori_, who compose new ones. I said to him that we -give pleasure to many on the noble isle. I asked him why he wished to -deprive us of life. For the homeless cannot live. - -“I said to him that we wander from town to town through all Etna, but the -church of Lucia is our home, and mass is held here for us every morning. -Why should he refuse us the comfort of God’s word? - -“I told him that the Jesuits once changed their attitude towards us and -wished to drive us away from their church, but they did not succeed. We -received a letter from the Viceroy that we might hold our meetings in -perpetuity in Santa Lucia in Gesù. And I showed him the letter.” - -“What did he answer?” - -“He laughed at me.” - -“Can none of the other gentlemen help you?” - -“I have been to them, Donna Elisa. All the morning I have been sent from -Herod to Pilatus.” - -“Father Elia,” said Donna Elisa with lowered voice, “have you forgotten -to call on the saints?” - -“I have called on both the black Madonna and San Sebastiano and Santa -Lucia. I have prayed to as many as I could name.” - -“Do you think, Father Elia,” said Donna Elisa, and lowered her voice -still more, “that Don Antonio Greco was helped, because he promised money -to Donna Micaela’s railway?” - -“I have no money to give,” said the old man, disconsolately. - -“Still, you ought to think of it, Father Elia,” said Donna Elisa, -“since you are in such straits. You ought to try if, by promising the -Christ-image that you yourself and all who belong to your company will -speak and sing of the railway, and persuade people to give contributions -to it, you may keep your church. We do not know if it can help, but one -ought to try every possible thing, Father Elia. It costs nothing to -promise.” - -“I will promise anything for your sake,” said the old man. - -He laid his old blind head again against the black coffin, and Donna -Elisa understood that he had given the promise in his desire to be left -in peace with his sorrow. - -“Shall I present your vow to the Christ-image?” she said. - -“Do as you will, Donna Elisa,” said the old man. - - * * * * * - -That same day old Fra Felice had risen at five o’clock in the morning -and begun to sweep out his church. He felt quite active and well; but -while he was working it seemed as if San Pasquale, sitting with his -bag of stones outside the church-door, had something to say to him. He -went out, but there was nothing the matter with San Pasquale; quite the -contrary. Just then the sun glided up from behind Etna, and down the dark -mountain-sides the rays came hurrying, many-colored as harp-strings. When -the rays reached Fra Felice’s old church they turned it rosy red; rosy -red were also the old barbaric pillars that held up the canopy over the -image, and San Pasquale with his bag of stones, and Fra Felice himself. -“We look like young boys,” thought the old man; “we have still long years -to live.” - -But as he was going back into the church, he felt a sharp pressure at -his heart, and it came into his mind that San Pasquale had called him -out to say farewell. At the same time his legs became so heavy that he -could hardly move them. He felt no pain, but a weariness which could mean -nothing but death. He was scarcely able to put his broom away behind the -door of the sacristy; then he dragged himself up the choir, lay down on -the platform in front of the high altar, and wrapped his cloak about him. - -The Christ-image seemed to nod to him and say: “Now I need you, Fra -Felice.” He lay and nodded back: “I am ready; I shall not fail you.” - -It was only to lie and wait; and it was beautiful, Fra Felice thought. -He had never before in all his life had time to feel how tired he was. -Now at last he might rest. The image would keep up the church and the -monastery without him. - -He lay and smiled at the thought that old San Pasquale had called him out -to say good-morning to him. - -Fra Felice lay thus till late in the day, and dozed most of the time. No -one was with him, and a feeling came over him that it would not do to -creep in this way out of life. It was as if he had cheated somebody of -something. That woke him time after time. He ought of course to get the -priests, but he had no one to send for them. - -While he lay there he thought that he shrank together more and more. -Every time he awoke he thought that he had grown smaller. He felt as if -he were quite disappearing. Now he could certainly wind his cloak four -times about him. - -He would have died quite by himself if Donna Elisa had not come to ask -help for the blind of the little image. She was in a strange mood when -she came, for she wished of course to get help for the blind, but yet she -did not wish Donna Micaela’s plans to be promoted. - -When she came into the church she saw Fra Felice lying on the platform -under the altar, and she went forward and knelt beside him. - -Fra Felice turned his eyes towards her and smiled quietly. “I am going -to die,” he said, hoarsely; but he corrected himself and said: “I am -permitted to die.” - -Donna Elisa asked what the matter was, and said that she would fetch help. - -“Sit down here,” he said, and made a feeble attempt to wipe away the dust -on the platform with his sleeve. - -Donna Elisa said that she wished to fetch the priests and sisters of -charity. - -He seized her skirt and held her back. - -“I want to speak to you first, Donna Elisa.” - -It was hard for him to talk, and he breathed heavily after each word. -Donna Elisa sat down beside him and waited. - -He lay for a while and panted; then a flush rose to his cheeks; his eyes -began to shine, and he spoke with ease and eagerness. - -“Donna Elisa,” said Fra Felice, “I have a legacy to give away. It has -troubled me all day. I do not know to whom I shall give it.” - -“Fra Felice,” said Donna Elisa, “do not concern yourself with such a -thing. There is no one who does not need a good gift.” - -But now when Fra Felice’s strength had returned, he wished, before he -made up his mind about the legacy, to tell Donna Elisa how good God had -been to him. - -“Has not God been great in his grace to make me a _polacco_?” he said. - -“Yes, it is a great gift,” said Donna Elisa. - -“Only to be a little, little _polacco_ is a great gift,” said Fra Felice; -“it is especially useful since the monastery has been given up, and when -my comrades are gone or dead. It means having a bag full of bread before -one even stretches out one’s hand to beg. It means always seeing bright -faces, and being greeted with deep reverences. I know no greater gift -for a poor monk, Donna Elisa.” - -Donna Elisa thought how revered and loved Fra Felice had been, because he -had been able to predict what numbers would come out in the lottery. And -she could not help agreeing with him. - -“If I came wandering along the road in the heat,” said Fra Felice, “the -shepherd came to me and went with me a long way, and held his umbrella -over me as shelter against the sun. And when I came to the laborers in -the cool stone-quarries, they shared their bread and their bean-soup -with me. I have never been afraid of brigands nor of _carabinieri_. The -official at the custom-house has shut his eyes when I went by with my -bag. It has been a good gift, Donna Elisa.” - -“True, true,” said Donna Elisa. - -“It has not been an arduous profession,” said Fra Felice. “They spoke to -me, and I answered them; that was all. They knew that every word has its -number, and they noticed what I said and played accordingly. I never knew -how it happened, Donna Elisa; it was a gift from God.” - -“You will be a great loss to the poor people, Fra Felice,” said Donna -Elisa. - -Fra Felice smiled. “They care nothing for me on Sunday and Monday, when -there has just been a drawing,” he said. “But they come on Thursday -and Friday and on Saturday morning, because there is a drawing every -Saturday.” - -Donna Elisa began to be anxious, because the dying man thought of nothing -but that. Suddenly there flashed across her memory thoughts of one and -another who had lost in the lottery, and she remembered several who had -played away all their prosperity. She wished to turn his thoughts from -that sinful lottery business. - -“You said that you wished to speak of your will, Fra Felice.” - -“But it is because I have so many friends that it is hard for me to know -to whom I shall give the legacy. Shall I give it to those who have baked -sweet cakes for me, or to those who have offered me artichokes, browned -in sweet oil? Or shall I bequeath it to the sisters of charity who nursed -me when I was ill?” - -“Have you much to give away, Fra Felice?” - -“It will do, Donna Elisa. It will do.” - -Fra Felice seemed to be worse again; he lay silent with panting breast. - -“I had also wished to give it to all poor, homeless monks, who had lost -their monasteries,” he whispered. - -And then after thinking for a while: “I should also have liked to give it -to the good old man in Rome. He, you know, who watches over us all.” - -“Are you so rich, Fra Felice?” said Donna Elisa. - -“I have enough, Donna Elisa; I have enough.” - -He closed his eyes, and rested for a while; then he said:-- - -“I want to give it to everybody, Donna Elisa.” - -He acquired new strength at the thought; a slight flush was again visible -in his cheeks, and he raised himself on his elbow. - -“See here, Donna Elisa,” he said, while he thrust his hand into his cloak -and drew out a sealed envelope, which he handed to her, “you shall go and -give this to the syndic, to the syndic of Diamante. - -“Here, Donna Elisa,” said Fra Felice, “here are the five numbers that win -next Saturday. They have been revealed to me, and I have written them -down. And the syndic shall take these numbers and have them fastened up -on the Roman Gate, where everything of importance is published. And he -shall let the people know that it is my testament. I bequeath it to the -people. Five winning numbers, a whole quintern, Donna Elisa!” - -Donna Elisa took the envelope and promised to give it to the syndic. She -could do nothing else, for poor Fra Felice had not many minutes left to -live. - -“When Saturday comes,” said Fra Felice, “there will be many who will -think of Fra Felice. ‘Can old Fra Felice have deceived us?’ they will ask -themselves. ‘Can it be possible for us to win the whole quintern?’ - -“On Saturday evening there is a drawing on the balcony of the town-hall -in Catania, Donna Elisa. Then they carry out the lottery-wheel and -table, and the managers of the lottery are there, and the pretty little -poor-house child. And one number after another is put into the lucky -wheel until they are all there, the whole hundred. - -“All the people stand below and tremble in expectation, as the sea -trembles before the storm-wind. - -“Everybody from Diamante will be there, and they will stand quite pale -and hardly daring to look one another in the face. Before, they have -believed, but not now. Now they think that old Fra Felice has deceived -them. No one dares to cherish the smallest hope. - -“Then the first number is drawn, and I was right. Ah, Donna Elisa, they -will be so astonished they will scarcely be able to rejoice. For they -have all expected disappointment. When the second number comes out, there -is the silence of death. Then comes the third. The lottery managers will -be astonished that everything is so quiet. ‘To-day they are not winning -anything,’ they will say. ‘To-day the state has all the prizes.’ Then -comes the fourth number. The poor-house child takes the roll from the -wheel; and the marker opens the roll, and shows the number. Down among -the people it is almost terrible; no one is able to say a word for joy. -Then the last number comes. Donna Elisa, the people scream, they cry, -they fall into one another’s arms and sob. They are rich. All Diamante is -rich--” - -Donna Elisa had kept her arm under Fra Felice’s head and supported him -while he had panted out all this. Suddenly his head fell heavily back. -Old Fra Felice was dead. - - * * * * * - -While Donna Elisa was with old Fra Felice, many people in Diamante had -begun to trouble themselves about the blind. Not the men; most of the men -were in the fields at work; but the women. They had come in crowds to -Santa Lucia to console the blind, and finally, when about four hundred -women had gathered together, it occurred to them to go and speak to the -syndic. - -They had gone up to the square and called for the syndic. He had come out -on the balcony of the town-hall, and they had prayed for the blind. The -syndic was a kind and handsome man. He had answered them pleasantly, -but had not been willing to yield. He could not repeal what had been -decided in the town Junta. But the women were determined that it should -be repealed, and they remained in the square. The syndic went into the -town-hall again, but they stayed in the square and called and prayed. -They did not intend to go away till he yielded. - -While this was going on, Donna Elisa came to give the syndic Fra Felice’s -testament. She was grieved unto death at all the misery, but at the same -time she felt a bitter satisfaction, because she had received no help -from the Christchild. She had always believed that the saints did not -wish to help Donna Micaela. - -It was a fine gift she had received in San Pasquale’s church. Not only -could it not help the blind, but it was in a fair way to ruin the whole -town. Now what little the people still possessed would go to the lottery -collector. There would be a borrowing and a pawning. - -The syndic admitted Donna Elisa immediately, and was as calm and polite -as always, although the women were calling in the square, the blind were -bemoaning themselves in the waiting-room, and people had run in and out -of his room all day. - -“How can I be at your service, Signora Antonelli?” he said. Donna Elisa -first looked about and wondered to whom he was speaking. Then she told -about the testament. - -The syndic was neither frightened nor surprised. “That is very -interesting,” he said, and stretched out his hand for the paper. - -But Donna Elisa held the envelope fast and asked: “Signor Sindaco, what -do you intend to do with it? Do you intend to fasten it to the Roman -Gate?” - -“Yes; what else can I do, signora? It is a dead man’s last wish.” - -Donna Elisa would have liked to tell him what a terrible testament it -was, but she checked herself to speak of the blind. - -“Padre Succi, who directed that the blind should always be allowed in his -church, is also a dead man,” she interposed. - -“Signora Antonelli, are you beginning with that too?” said the syndic, -quite kindly. “It was a mistake; but why did no one tell me that the -blind frequent the church of Lucia? Now, since it is decided, I cannot -annul the decision; I cannot.” - -“But their rights and patents, Signor Sindaco?” - -“Their rights are worth nothing. They have to do with the Jesuits’ -monastery, but there is no longer such a monastery. And tell me, Signora -Antonelli, what will become of me if I yield?” - -“The people will love you as a good man.” - -“Signora, people will believe that I am a weak man, and every day I shall -have four hundred laborers’ wives outside the town-hall, begging now for -one thing, now for another. It is only to hold out for one day. To-morrow -it will be forgotten.” - -“To-morrow!” said Donna Elisa; “we shall never forget it.” - -The syndic smiled, and Donna Elisa saw that he thought that he knew the -people of Diamante much better than she. - -“You think that their hearts are in it?” he said. - -“I think so, Signor Sindaco.” - -Then the syndic laughed softly. “Give me that envelope, Signora.” - -He took it and went out on the balcony. - -He began to speak to the women. “I wish to tell you,” he said, “that I -have just now heard that old Fra Felice is dead, and that he has left a -legacy to you all. He has written down five numbers that are supposed -to win in the lottery next Saturday, and he bequeaths them to you. No -one has seen them yet. They are lying here in this envelope, and it is -unopened.” - -He was silent a moment to let the women have time to think over what he -had said. - -Instantly they began to cry: “The numbers, the numbers!” - -The syndic signed to them to be silent. - -“You must remember,” he said, “that it was impossible for Fra Felice -to know what numbers will be drawn next Saturday. If you play on these -numbers, you may all lose. And we cannot afford to be poorer than we -are already here in Diamante. I ask you therefore to let me destroy the -testament without any one seeing it.” - -“The numbers,” cried the women, “give us the numbers!” - -“If I am permitted to destroy the testament,” said the syndic, “I promise -you that the blind shall have their church again.” - -There was silence in the square. Donna Elisa rose from her seat in the -hall of the court-house and seized the back of her chair with both hands. - -“I leave it to you to choose between the church and the numbers,” said -the syndic. - -“God in heaven!” sighed Donna Elisa, “is he a devil to tempt poor people -in such a way?” - -“We have been poor before,” cried one of the women, “we can still be -poor.” - -“We will not choose Barabbas instead of Christ,” cried another. - -The syndic took a match-box from his pocket, lighted a match, and brought -it slowly up to the testament. - -The women stood quiet and let Fra Felice’s five numbers be destroyed. The -blind people’s church was saved. - -“It is a miracle,” whispered old Donna Elisa; “they all believe in Fra -Felice, and they let his numbers burn. It is a miracle.” - - * * * * * - -Later in the afternoon Donna Elisa again sat in her shop with her -embroidery frame. She looked old as she sat there, and there was -something shaken and broken about her. It was not the usual Donna Elisa; -it was a poor, elderly, forsaken woman. - -She drew the needle slowly through the cloth, and when she wished to take -another stitch she was uncertain and at a loss. It was hard for her to -keep the tears from falling on her embroidery and spoiling it. - -Donna Elisa was in such great grief for to-day she had lost Gaetano -forever. There was no more hope of getting him back. - -The saints had gone over to the side of the opponent, and worked miracles -in order to help Donna Micaela. No one could doubt that a miracle had -happened. The poor women of Diamante would never have been able to stand -still while Fra Felice’s numbers burned if they had not been bound by a -miracle. - -It made a poor soul so old and cross to have the good saints help Donna -Micaela, who did not like Gaetano. - -The door-bell jingled violently, and Donna Elisa rose from old habit. -It was Donna Micaela. She was joyful, and came toward Donna Elisa with -outstretched hands. But Donna Elisa turned away, and could not press her -hand. - -Donna Micaela was in raptures. “Ah, Donna Elisa, you have helped my -railway. What can I say? How shall I thank you?” - -“Never mind about thanking me, sister-in-law!” - -“Donna Elisa!” - -“If the saints wish to give us a railway, it must be because Diamante -needs it, and not because they love _you_.” - -Donna Micaela shrank back. At last she thought she understood why Donna -Elisa was angry with her. “If Gaetano were at home,” she said. She stood -and pressed her hand to her heart and moaned. “If Gaetano were at home he -would not allow you to be so cruel to me.” - -“Gaetano?--would not Gaetano?” - -“No, he would not. Even if you are angry with me because I loved him -while my husband was alive, you would not dare to upbraid me for it if he -were at home.” - -Donna Elisa lifted her eyebrows a little. “You think that he could -prevail upon me to be silent about such a thing,” she said, and her voice -was very strange. - -“But, Donna Elisa,” Donna Micaela whispered in her ear, “it is -impossible, quite impossible not to love him. He is beautiful; don’t you -know it? And he subjugates me, and I am afraid of him. You must let me -love him.” - -“Must I?” Donna Elisa kept her eyes down and spoke quite shortly and -harshly. - -Donna Micaela was beside herself. “It is I whom he loves,” she said. “It -is not Giannita, but me, and you ought to consider me as a daughter; -you ought to help me; you ought to be kind to me. And instead you stand -against me; you are cruel to me. You do not let me come to you and talk -of him. However much I long, and however much I work, I may not tell you -of it.” - -Donna Elisa could hold out no longer. Donna Micaela was nothing but a -child, young and foolish and quivering like a bird’s heart,--just one to -be taken care of. She had to throw her arms about her. - -“I never knew it, you poor, foolish child,” she said. - - - - -VII - -AFTER THE MIRACLE - - -The blind singers had a meeting in the church of Lucia. Highest up in the -choir behind the altar sat thirty old, blind, men on the carved chairs -of the Jesuit fathers. They were poor, most of them; most of them had a -beggar’s wallet and a crutch beside them. - -They were all very earnest and solemn; they knew what it meant to be -members of that holy band of singers, of that glorious old Academy. - -Now and then below in the church a subdued noise was audible. The blind -men’s guides were sitting there, children, dogs, and old women, waiting. -Sometimes the children began to romp with one another and with the dogs, -but it was instantly suppressed and silenced. - -Those of the blind who were _trovatori_ stood up one after another and -spoke new verses. - -“You people who live on holy Etna,” one of them recited, “men who live -on the mountain of wonders, rise up, give your mistress a new glory! She -longs for two ribbons to heighten her beauty, two long, narrow bands of -steel to fasten her mantle. Give them to your mistress, and she will -reward you with riches; she will give gold for steel. Countless are the -treasures that she in her might will give them who assist her.” - -“A gentle worker of miracles has come among us,” said another. “He stands -poor and unnoticed in the bare old church, and his crown is of tin, and -his diamonds of glass. ‘Make no sacrifices to me, O ye poor,’ he says; -‘build me no temple, all ye who suffer. I will work for your happiness. -If prosperity shines from your houses, I shall shine with precious -stones; if want flees from the land, my feet will be clothed in golden -shoes embroidered with pearls.’” - -As each new verse was recited, it was accepted or rejected. The blind men -judged with great severity. - -The next day they wandered out over Etna, and sang the railway into the -people’s hearts. - - * * * * * - -After the miracle of Fra Felice’s legacy, people began to give -contributions to the railway. Donna Micaela soon had collected about a -hundred lire. Then she and Donna Elisa made the journey to Messina to -look at the steam-tram that runs between Messina and Pharo. They had no -greater ambition; they would be satisfied with a steam-tram. - -“Why does a railway need to be so expensive?” said Donna Elisa. “It -is just an ordinary road, although people do lay down two steel rails -on it. It is the engineer and the fine gentlemen who make a railway -expensive. Don’t trouble yourself about engineers, Micaela! Let our good -road-builders, Giovanni and Carmelo, build your railway.” - -They carefully inspected the steam-tramway to Pharo and brought back all -the knowledge they could. They measured how wide it ought to be between -the rails, and Donna Micaela drew on a piece of paper the way the rails -ran by one another at the stations. It was not so difficult; they were -sure they would come out well. - -That day there seemed to be no difficulties. It was as easy to build a -station as an ordinary house, they said. Besides, more than two stations -were not needed; a little sentry-box was sufficient at most of the -stopping-places. - -If they could only avoid forming a company, taking fine gentlemen into -their service, and doing things that cost money, their plan of the -railway would be realized. It would not cost so much. The ground they -could certainly get free. The noble gentlemen who owned the land on Etna -would of course understand how much use of the railway they would have, -and would let it pass free of charge over their ground. - -They did not trouble themselves to stake out the line beforehand. They -were going to begin at Diamante and gradually build their way to Catania. -They only needed to begin and lay a little piece every day. It was not so -difficult. - -After that journey they began the attempt to build the road at their own -risk. Don Ferrante had not left a large inheritance to Donna Micaela, -but one good thing that he had bequeathed her was a long stretch of -lava-covered waste land off on Etna. Here Giovanni and Carmelo began to -break ground for the new railway. - -When the work began, the builders of the railway possessed only one -hundred lire. It was the miracle of the legacy that had filled them with -holy frenzy. - -What a railway it would be, what a railway! - -The blind singers were the share-collectors, the Christ-image gave the -concession, and the old shop woman, Donna Elisa, was the engineer. - - - - -VIII - -A JETTATORE - - -In Catania there was once a man with “the evil eye,” a _jettatore_. He -was almost the most terrible _jettatore_ who had ever lived in Sicily. -As soon as he showed himself on the street people hastened to bend their -fingers to the protecting sign. Often it did not help at all; whoever met -him could prepare himself for a miserable day; he would find his dinner -burned, and the beautiful old jelly-bowl broken. He would hear that his -banker had suspended payments, and that the little note that he had -written to his friend’s wife had come into the wrong hands. - -Most often a _jettatore_ is a tall, thin man, with pale, shy eyes and -a long nose, which overhangs and _hacks_ his upper lip. God has set -the mark of a parrot’s beak upon the _jettatore_. Yet all things are -variable; nothing is absolutely constant. This _jettatore_ was a little -fellow with a nose like a San Michele. - -Thereby he did much more harm than an ordinary _jettatore_. How much -oftener is one pricked by a rose than burned by a nettle! - -A _jettatore_ ought never to grow up. He is well off only when he is a -child. Then he still has his little mamma, and she never sees the evil -eye; she never understands why she sticks the needle into her finger -every time he comes to her work-table. She will never be afraid to kiss -him. Although she has sickness constantly in the house, and the servants -leave, and her friends draw away, she never notices anything. - -But after the _jettatore_ has come out into the world, he often has a -hard time enough. Every one must first of all think of himself; no one -can ruin his life by being kind to a _jettatore_. - -There are several priests who are _jettatori_. There is nothing strange -in that; the wolf is happy if he can tear to pieces many sheep. They -could not very well do more harm than by being priests. One need only ask -what happens to the children whom he baptizes, and the couples whom he -marries. - -The _jettatore_ in question was an engineer and wished to build railways. -He had also a position in one of the state railway buildings. The -state could not know that he was a _jettatore_. Ah, but what misery, -what misery! As soon as he obtained a place on the railway a number of -accidents occurred. When they tunnelled through a hill, one cave-in after -another; when they tried to lay a bridge, breach upon breach; when they -exploded a blast, the workmen were killed by the flying fragments. - -The only one who was never injured was the engineer, the _jettatore_. - -The poor fellows working under him! They counted their fingers and limbs -every evening. “To-morrow perhaps we will have lost you,” they said. - -They informed the chief engineer; they informed the minister. Neither -of them would listen to the complaint. They were too sensible and too -learned to believe in the evil eye. The workmen ought to mind better what -they were about. It was their own fault that they met with accidents. - -And the gravel-cars tipped over; the locomotive exploded. - -One morning there was a rumor that the engineer was gone. He had -disappeared; no one knew what had become of him. Had some one perhaps -stabbed him? Oh, no; oh, no! would any one have dared to kill a -_jettatore_? - -But he was really gone; no one ever saw him again. - -It was a few years later that Donna Micaela began to think of building -her railway. And in order to get money for it, she wished to hold a -bazaar in the great Franciscan monastery outside Diamante. - -There was a cloister garden there, surrounded by splendid old pillars. -Donna Micaela arranged little booths, little lotteries, and little places -of diversion under the arcades. She hung festoons of Venetian lanterns -from pillar to pillar. She piled up great kegs of Etna wine around the -cloister fountain. - -While Donna Micaela worked there she often conversed with little -Gandolfo, who had been made watchman at the monastery since Fra Felice’s -death. - -One day she made Gandolfo show her the whole monastery. She went through -it all from attic to cellar, and when she saw those countless little -cells with their grated windows and whitewashed walls and hard wooden -seats, she had an idea. - -She asked Gandolfo to shut her in in one of the cells and to leave her -there for the space of five minutes. - -“Now I am a prisoner,” she said, when she was left alone. She tried the -door; she tried the window. She was securely shut in. - -So that was what it was to be a prisoner! Four empty walls about one, the -silence of the grave, and the chill. - -“Now I can feel as a prisoner feels,” she thought. - -Then she forgot everything else in the thought that possibly Gandolfo -might not come to let her out. He could be called away; he could be -taken suddenly ill; he could fall and kill himself in some of the dark -passage-ways. Many things could happen to prevent him from coming. - -No one knew where she was; no one would think of looking for her in that -out-of-the-way cell. If she were left there for even an hour she would go -mad with terror. - -She saw before her starvation, slow starvation. She struggled through -interminable hours of anguish. Ah, how she would listen for a step; how -she would call! - -She would shake the door; she would scrape the masonry of the walls with -her nails; she would bite the grating with her teeth. - -When they finally found her she would be lying dead on the floor, and -they would find everywhere traces of how she had tried to break her way -out. - -Why did not Gandolfo come? Now she must have been there a quarter of an -hour, a half-hour. Why did he not come? - -She was sure that she had been shut in a whole hour when Gandolfo came. -Where had he been such a long time? - -He had not been long at all. He had only been away five minutes. - -“God! God! so that is being a prisoner; that is Gaetano’s life!” She -burst into tears when she saw the open sky once more above her. - -A while later, as they stood out on an open _loggia_, Gandolfo showed her -a couple of windows with shutters and green shades. - -“Does any one live there?” she asked. - -“Yes, Donna Micaela, some one does.” - -Gandolfo told her that a man lived there who never went out except at -night,--a man who never spoke to any one. - -“Is he crazy?” asked Donna Micaela. - -“No, no; he is as much in his right mind as you or I. But people say that -he has to conceal himself. He is afraid of the government.” - -Donna Micaela was much interested in the man. “What is his name?” she -said. - -“I call him Signor Alfredo.” - -“How does he get any food?” she asked. - -“I prepare it for him,” said Gandolfo. - -“And clothes?” - -“I get them for him. I bring him books and newspapers, too.” - -Donna Micaela was silent for a while. “Gandolfo,” she said, and gave him -a rose which she held in her hand, “lay this on the tray the next time -you take food to your poor prisoner.” - -After that Donna Micaela sent some little thing almost every day to the -man in the monastery. It might be a flower, a book or some fruit. It was -her greatest pleasure. She amused herself with her fancies. She almost -succeeded in imagining that she was sending all these things to Gaetano. - -When the day for the bazaar came, Donna Micaela was in the cloister early -in the morning. “Gandolfo,” she said, “you must go up to your prisoner -and ask him if he will come to the entertainment this evening.” - -Gandolfo soon came back with the answer. “He thanks you very much, Donna -Micaela,” said the boy. “He will come.” - -She was surprised, for she had not believed that he would venture out. -She had only wished to show him a kindness. - -Something made Donna Micaela look up. She was standing in the cloister -garden, and a window was thrown open in one of the buildings above her. -Donna Micaela saw a middle-aged man of an attractive appearance standing -up there and looking down at her. - -“There he is, Donna Micaela,” said Gandolfo. - -She was happy. She felt as if she had redeemed and saved the man. And it -was more than that. People who have no imagination will not understand -it. But Donna Micaela trembled and longed all day; she considered how she -would be dressed. It was as if she had expected Gaetano. - -Donna Micaela soon had something else to do than to dream; the livelong -day a succession of calamities streamed over her. - -The first was a communication from the old Etna brigand, Falco Falcone:-- - - DEAR FRIEND, DONNA MICAELA,--As I have heard that you intend - to build a railway along Etna, I wish to tell you that with my - consent it will never be. I tell you this now so that you need - not waste any more money and trouble on the matter. - - Enlightened and most nobly born signora, I remain - - Your humble servant, - - FALCO FALCONE. - - Passafiero, my sister’s son, has written this letter. - -Donna Micaela flung the dirty letter away. It seemed to her as if it were -the death sentence of the railway, but to-day she would not think of it. -Now she had her bazaar. - -The moment after, her road-builders, Giovanni and Carmelo, appeared. They -wished to counsel her to get an engineer. She probably did not know what -kind of ground there was on Etna. There was, first, lava; then there was -ashes; and then lava again. Should the road be laid on the top layer of -lava, or on the bed of ashes, or should they dig down still deeper? About -how firm a foundation did a railway need? They could not go ahead without -a man who understood that. - -Donna Micaela dismissed them. To-morrow, to-morrow; she had no time to -think of it to-day. - -Immediately after, Donna Elisa came with a still worse piece of news. - -There was a quarter in Diamante where a poverty-stricken and wild people -lived. Those poor souls had been frightened when they heard of the -railway. “There will be an eruption of Etna and an earthquake,” they had -said. Great Etna will endure no fetters. It will shake off the whole -railway. And people said now that they ought to go out and tear up the -track as soon as a rail was laid on it. - -A day of misfortune, a day of misfortune! Donna Micaela felt farther from -her object than ever. - -“What is the good of our collecting money at our bazaar?” she said -despondingly. - -The day promised ill for her bazaar. In the afternoon it began to rain. -It had not rained so in Diamante since the day when the clocks rang. -The clouds sank to the very house-roofs, and the water poured down from -them. People were wet to the skin before they had been two minutes in the -street. Towards six o’clock, when Donna Micaela’s bazaar was to open, it -was raining its very hardest. When she came out to the monastery, there -was no one there but those who were to help in serving and selling. - -She felt ready to cry. Such an unlucky day! What had dragged down all -these adversities upon her? - -Donna Micaela’s glance fell on a strange man who was leaning against a -pillar, watching her. Now all at once she recognized him. He was the -_jettatore_--the _jettatore_ from Catania, whom people had taught her to -fear as a child. - -Donna Micaela went quickly over to him. “Come with me, signor,” she said, -and went before him. She wished to go so far away that no one should hear -them, and then she wished to beg of him never to come before her eyes -again. She could do no less. He must not ruin her whole life. - -She did not think in what direction she went. Suddenly she was at the -door of the monastery church and turned in there. - -Within, it was almost dark. Only by the Christ-image a little oil lamp -was burning. - -When Donna Micaela saw the Christ-image she was startled. Just then she -had not wished to see him. - -He reminded her of the time when his crown had rolled to Gaetano’s feet, -when he had been so angry with the brigands. Perhaps the Christ-image did -not wish her to drive away the _jettatore_. - -She had good reason to fear the _jettatore_. It was wrong of him to come -to her entertainment; she must somehow be rid of him. - -Donna Micaela had gone on through the whole church, and now stood and -looked at the Christ-image. She could not say a word to the man who -followed her. - -She remembered what sympathy she had lately felt for him, because a -prisoner, like Gaetano. She had been so happy that she had tempted him -out to life. What did she now wish to do? Did she wish to send him back -to captivity? - -She remembered both her father and Gaetano. Should this man be the third -that she-- - -She stood silent and struggled with herself. At last the _jettatore_ -spoke:-- - -“Well, signora, is it not true that now you have had enough of me?” - -Donna Micaela made a negative gesture. - -“Do you not desire me to return to my cell?” - -“I do not understand you, signor.” - -“Yes, yes, you understand. Something terrible has happened to you to-day. -You do not look as you did this morning.” - -“I am very tired,” said Donna Micaela, evasively. - -The man came close up to her as if to force out the truth. Questions and -answers flew short and panting between them. - -“Do you not see that all your festival is likely to be a failure?”--“I -must arrange it again to-morrow.”--“Have you not recognized me?”--“Yes, -I have seen you before in Catania.”--“And you are not afraid of the -_jettatore_?”--“Yes, formerly, as a child.”--“But now, now are you not -afraid?” She avoided answering him. “Are you yourself afraid?” she said. -“Speak the truth!” he said, impatiently. “What did you wish to say to me -when you brought me here?” - -She looked anxiously about her. She had to say something; she must have -something to answer him. Then a thought occurred to her which seemed to -her quite terrible. She looked at the Christ-image. “Do you require it?” -she seemed to ask him. “Shall I do it for this strange man? But it is -throwing away my only hope.” - -“I hardly know whether I dare to speak of what I wish of you,” she said. -“No, you see; you do not dare.”--“I intend to build a railway; you know -that?”--“Yes, I know.”--“I want you to help me.”--“I?” - -Now that she had made a beginning, it was easier for her to continue. She -was surprised that her words sounded so natural. - -“I know that you are a railroad builder. Yes, you understand of course -that with my railroad no pay is given. But it would be better for you -to help me work than to sit shut in here. You are making no use of your -time.” - -He looked at her almost sternly. “Do you know what you are saying?”--“It -is of course a presumptuous request.”--“Just so, yes, a presumptuous -request.” - -Thereupon the poor man began to try to terrify her. - -“It will go with your railway as with your festival.” Donna Micaela -thought so too, but now she thought that she had closed all ways of -escape for herself; now she must go on being good. “My festival will soon -be in full swing,” she said calmly. - -“Listen to me, Donna Micaela,” said the man. “The last thing a man ceases -to believe good of is himself. No one can cease to have hope for himself.” - -“No; why should he?” - -He made a movement as if he were impatient with her confidence. - -“When I first began to think about the thing,” he said, “I was easily -consoled. ‘There have been a few unfortunate occurrences,’ I said to -myself, ‘so you have the reputation, and it has become a belief. It is -the belief that has made the trouble. People have met you, and people -have believed that they would come to grief, and come to grief they did. -It is a misfortune worse than death to be considered a _jettatore_, but -you need not yourself believe it.’” - -“It is so absurd,” said Donna Micaela. - -“Yes, of course, whence should my eyes have got the power to bring -misfortune? And when I thought of it I determined to make a trial. I -travelled to a place where no one knew me. The next day I read in the -paper that the train on which I had travelled had run over a flagman. -When I had been one day in the hotel, I saw the landlord in despair, and -all the guests leaving. What had happened? I asked. ‘One of our servants -has been taken with small-pox.’ Ah, what a wretched business! - -“Well, Donna Micaela, I shut myself in and drew back from all intercourse -with people. When a year had passed I had found peace. I asked myself why -I was shut in so. ‘You are a harmless man,’ I said; ‘you wish to hurt no -one. Why do you live as miserably as a criminal?’ I had just meant to go -back to life again, when I met Fra Felice in one of the passages. ‘Fra -Felice, where is the cat?’--‘The cat, signor?’--‘Yes, the monastery cat, -that used to come and get milk from me; where is he now?’--‘He was caught -in a rat-trap.’--‘What do you say, Fra Felice?’--‘He got his paw in a -steel trap and he could not get loose. He dragged himself to one of the -garrets and died of starvation.’ What do you say to that, Donna Micaela?” - -“Was it supposed to be your fault that the cat died?” - -“I am a _jettatore_.” - -She shrugged her shoulders. “Ah, what folly!” - -“When some time had passed, again the desire to live awoke within me. -Then Gandolfo knocked on my door, and invited me to your festival. Why -should I not go? It is impossible to believe that one brings misfortune -only by showing one’s self. It was a festival in itself, Donna Micaela, -only to get ready and to take out one’s black clothes, brush them, and -put them on. But when I came down to the scene of the festival, it was -deserted; the rain streamed in torrents; your Venetian lanterns were -filled with water. And you yourself looked as if you had suffered all -life’s misfortunes in a single day. When you looked at me you became -ashy gray with terror. I asked some one: ‘What was Signora Alagona’s -maiden name?’--‘Palmeri.’--‘Ah, Palmeri; so she is from Catania. She has -recognized the _jettatore_.’” - -“Yes, it is true; I recognized you.” - -“You have been very friendly, very kind, and I am distressed to have -spoiled your festival. But now I promise you that I shall keep away both -from your entertainment and your railway.” - -“Why should you keep away?” - -“I am a _jettatore_.” - -“I do not believe it. I cannot believe it.” - -“I do not believe it either. Yes, yes, I believe. Do you see, people say -that no one can have power over a _jettatore_ who is not as great in evil -as he. Once, they say, a _jettatore_ looked at himself in the glass, -and then fell down and died. Well, I never look at myself in the glass. -Therefore I believe it.” - -“I do not believe it. I think I almost believed it when I saw you out -there. Now I do not believe it.” - -“Perhaps you will let me work on your railway?” - -“Yes, yes, if you only will.” - -He came again close up to her, and they exchanged a few short sentences. -“Come forward to the light; I wish to see your face!”--“You think that -I am dissembling.”--“I think that you are polite.”--“Why should I be -polite to you?”--“That railway means something to you?”--“It means life -and happiness to me.”--“How is that?”--“It will win one who is dear to -me.”--“Very dear?” - -She did not reply, but he read the answer in her face. - -He bent his knee to her, and sank his head so low that he could kiss the -hem of her dress. “You are good; you are very good. I shall never forget -it. If I were not who I am, how I would serve you!” - -“You _shall_ serve me,” she said. And she was so moved by his misfortunes -that she felt no more fear of his injuring her. - -He sprang up. “I will tell you something. You cannot go across the floor -without stumbling if I look at you.” - -“Oh!” she said. - -“Try!” - -And she tried. She was very much frightened, and had never felt so -unsteady as when she took her first step. Then she thought: “If it were -for Gaetano’s sake, I could do it.” And then it was easy. - -She walked to and fro on the church floor. “Shall I do it again?” He -nodded. - -As she was walking, the thought flashed through her brain: “The -Christchild has taken the curse from him, because he is to help me.” She -turned suddenly and came back to him. - -“Do you know, do you know? you are no _jettatore_!” - -“Am I not?” - -“No, no!” She took him by the shoulders and shook him. “Do you not see? -do you not understand? It is taken from you.” - -Little Gandolfo’s voice was heard in the path outside the church. “Donna -Micaela, Donna Micaela, where are you? There are so many people, Donna -Micaela. Do you hear; do you hear?” - -“Is it no longer raining?” said the _jettatore_, in an uncertain voice. - -“It is not raining; how could it be raining? The Christ-image has taken -the curse from you because you are going to work for his railway.” - -The man reeled and grasped at the air with his hands. “It is gone. Yes, I -think it is gone. Just now it was there. But now--” - -He wished again to fall on his knees before Donna Micaela. - -“Not to me,” she said; “to him, to him.” She pointed to the Christ-image. - -But nevertheless he fell down before her. He kissed her hands, and with a -voice broken by sobs he told her how every one had hated and persecuted -him, and how much misery life had brought him hitherto. - -The next day the _jettatore_ went out on Etna and staked out the road. -And he was no more dangerous than any one else. - - - - -IX - -PALAZZO GERACI AND PALAZZO CORVAJA - - -At the time when the Normans ruled in Sicily, long before the family of -Alagona had come to the island, the two magnificent buildings, Palazzo -Geraci and Palazzo Corvaja, were built in Diamante. - -The noble Barons Geraci placed their house in the square, high up on the -summit of Monte Chiaro. The Barons Corvaja, on the other hand, built -their home far down the mountain and surrounded it with gardens. - -The black-marble walls of Palazzo Geraci were built round a square -court-yard, full of charm and beauty. A long flight of steps, passing -under an arch adorned with an escutcheon, led to the second story. Not -entirely round the court-yard, but here and there in the most unexpected -places, the walls opened into little pillared loggias. The walls were -covered with bas-reliefs, with speckled slabs of Sicilian marble and with -the coats of arms of the Geraci barons. There were windows also, very -small, but with exquisitely carved frames; some round, with panes so -small that they could be covered with a grape leaf; some oblong, and so -narrow that they let in no more light than a slit in a curtain. - -The Barons Corvaja did not try to adorn the court-yard of their palace, -but on the lower floor of the house they fitted up a magnificent hall. -In the floor was built a basin for gold-fish; in niches in the walls -fountains covered with mosaic, in which clear water spouted into gigantic -shells. Over it all, a Moorish vaulted roof, supported on slender -pillars, with twining vines in mosaic. It was a hall whose equal is only -to be seen in the Moorish palace in Palermo. - -There was much rivalry and emulation during all the time of building. -When Palazzo Geraci put forth a balcony, Palazzo Corvaja acquired its -high Gothic bay-windows; when the roof of Palazzo Geraci was adorned with -richly carved battlements, a frieze of black marble, inlaid with white a -yard wide, appeared on Palazzo Corvaja. The Geraci house was crowned by -a high tower; the Corvaja had a roof garden, with antique pots along the -railing. - -When the palaces were finished the rivalry began between the families who -had built them. The houses seemed to breed hostility and strife for all -who lived in them. A Baron Geraci could never agree with a Baron Corvaja. -When Geraci fought for Anjou, Corvaja fought for Manfred. If Geraci -changed sides, and supported Aragoni, Corvaja went to Naples, and fought -for Robert and Joanna. - -But that was not all. It was an understood thing that when Geraci found a -son-in-law, Corvaja had to increase his power by a rich marriage. Neither -of the families could rest. They had to vie with each other while eating, -while amusing themselves, while working. The Geraci came to the court of -the Bourbons in Naples, not out of desire of distinction, but because the -Corvaja were there. The Corvaja on the other hand had to grow grapes and -mine sulphur, because the Geraci were interested in agriculture and the -working of mines. When a Geraci received an inheritance some old relative -of the Corvaja had to lie down and die, so that the honor of the family -should not be hazarded. - -Palazzo Geraci was always kept busy counting its servants, in order not -to let Palazzo Corvaja lead. But not only the servants, but the braid -on the caps, the harnesses and the horses. The pheasant feather on the -heads of the Corvaja leaders must not be an inch higher than that on -the Geraci. Their goats must increase in the same proportion, and the -Geraci’s oxen must have just as long horns as the Corvaja’s. - -In our time one might have expected an end to the enmity between the two -palaces. In our time there are just as few Corvaja in the one palace as -there are Geraci in the other. - -The Geraci court-yard is now a dirty hole, which contains donkey-stalls -and pig-styes and chicken houses. On the high steps rags are dried and -the bas-reliefs are broken and mouldy. In one of the passage-ways a -trade in vegetables is carried on, and in the other shoes are made. The -gate-keeper looks like the most ragged of beggars, and from cellar to -attic live none but poor and penniless people. - -It is no better in Palazzo Corvaja. There is not a vestige of the mosaic -left in the big hall; only bare, empty arches. No beggars live there, -because the palace is principally in ruins. It no longer raises its -beautiful façade with the carved windows to the bright Sicilian sky. - -But the enmity between Geraci and Corvaja is not over. In the old days -it was not only the noble families themselves who competed with one -another; it was also their neighbors and dependents. All Diamante is -to this day divided into Geraci and Corvaja. There is still a high, -loop-holed wall running across the town, dividing the part of Diamante -which stands by the Geraci from that which has declared itself for the -Corvaja. - -Even in our day no one from Geraci will marry a girl from Corvaja. And a -shepherd from Corvaja cannot let his sheep drink from a Geraci fountain. -They have not even the same saints. San Pasquale is worshipped in Geraci, -and the black Madonna is Corvaja’s patron saint. - -A man from Geraci can never believe but that all Corvaja is full of -magicians, witches, and werewolves. A man from Corvaja will risk his -salvation that in Geraci there are none but rogues and pick-pockets. - -Donna Micaela lived in the Geraci district, and soon all that part of the -town were partisans of her railway. But then Corvaja could do no less -than to oppose her. - -The inhabitants of Corvaja specially disliked two things. They were -jealous of the reputation of the black Madonna, and therefore did not -like to have another miracle-working image come to Diamante. That was -one thing. The other was that they feared that Mongibello would bury all -Diamante in ashes and fire if any one tried to encircle it with a railway. - -A few days after the bazaar Palazzo Corvaja began to show itself hostile. -Donna Micaela one day found on the roof-garden a lemon, which was so -thickly set with pins that it looked like a steel ball. It was Palazzo -Corvaja, that was trying to bewitch as many pains into her head as there -were pins in the lemon. - -Then Corvaja waited a few days to see what effect the lemon would have. -But when Donna Micaela’s people continued to work on Etna and stake out -the line, they came one night and pulled everything up. And when the -stakes were set up again the next day, they broke the windows in the -church of San Pasquale and threw stones at the Christ-image. - - * * * * * - -There was a long and narrow little square on the south side of Monte -Chiaro. On both the long sides stood dark, high buildings. On one of -the short sides was an abyss; on the other rose the steep mountain. The -mountain wall was arranged in terraces, but the steps were crumbled and -the marble railings broken. On the broadest of the terraces rose the -stately ruins of Palazzo Corvaja. - -The chief ornament of the square was a beautiful, oblong water-basin -which stood quite under the terraces, close to the mountain wall. It -stood there white as snow, covered with carvings, and full of clear, cold -water. It was the best preserved of all the former glories of the Corvaja. - -One beautiful and peaceful evening two ladies dressed in black came -walking into the little square. For the moment it was almost empty. The -two ladies looked about them, and when they saw no one they sat down on -the bench by the fountain, and waited. - -Soon several inquisitive children came forward and looked at them, and -the older of the two began to talk to the children. She began to tell -them stories: “It is said,” and “It is told,” and “Once upon a time,” -she said. - -Then the children were told of the Christchild who turned himself into -roses and lilies when the Madonna met one of Herod’s soldiers, who had -been commanded to kill all children. And they were told the legend of how -the Christchild once had sat and shaped birds out of clay, and how he -clapped his hands and gave the clay pigeons wings with which to fly away -when a naughty boy wished to break them to pieces. - -While the old lady was talking, many children gathered about her, and -also big people. It was a Saturday evening, so that the laborers were -coming home from their work in the fields. Most of them came up to the -Corvaja fountain for water. When they heard that some one was telling -legends they stopped to listen. Both the ladies were soon surrounded by a -close, dark wall of heavy, black cloaks and slouch hats. - -Suddenly the old lady said to the children: “Do you like the -Christchild?” “Yes, yes,” they said, and their big, dark eyes -sparkled.--“Perhaps you would like to see him?”--“Yes, we should indeed.” - -The lady threw back her mantilla and showed the children a little -Christ-image in a jewelled dress, and with a gold crown on his head and -gold shoes on his feet. “Here he is,” she said. “I have brought him with -me to show you.” - -The children were in raptures. First they clasped their hands at the -sight of the image’s grave face, then they began to throw kisses to it. - -“He is beautiful, is he not?” said the lady. - -“Let us have him! Let us have him!” cried the children. - -But now a big, rough workman, a dark man with a bushy, black beard, -pushed forward. He wished to snatch away the image. The old lady had -barely time to thrust it behind her back. - -“Give it here, Donna Elisa, give it here!” said the man. - -Poor Donna Elisa cast one glance at Donna Micaela, who had sat silent and -displeased the whole time by her side. Donna Micaela had been persuaded -with difficulty to go to Corvaja and show the image to the people there. -“The image helps us when it wills,” she said. “We shall not force -miracles.” - -But Donna Elisa had been determined to go, and she had said that the -image was only waiting to be taken to the faithless wretches in Corvaja. -After everything that he had done, they might have enough faith in him to -believe that he could win them over also. - -Now she, Donna Elisa, stood there with the man over her, and she did not -know how she could prevent him from snatching the image away. - -“Give it to me amicably, Donna Elisa,” said the man, “otherwise, by God, -I will take it in spite of you. I will hack it to small pieces, to small, -small pieces. You shall see how much there will be left of your wooden -doll. You shall see if it can withstand the black Madonna.” - -Donna Elisa pressed against the mountain wall; she saw no escape. She -could not run, and she could not struggle. “Micaela!” she wailed, -“Micaela!” - -Donna Micaela was very pale. She held her hands against her heart, as she -always did when anything agitated her. It was terrible to her to stand -opposed to those dark men. These were they of the slouch hats and short -cloaks of whom she had always been afraid. - -But now, when Donna Elisa appealed to her, she turned quickly, seized the -image and held it out to the man. - -“See here, take it!” she said defiantly. And she took a step towards him. -“Take it, and do with it what you can!” - -She held the image on her outstretched arms, and came nearer and nearer -to the dark workman. - -He turned towards his comrades. “She does not believe that I can do -anything to the doll,” he said, and laughed at her. And the whole group -of workmen slapped themselves on the knee and laughed. - -But he did not take the image; he grasped instead the big pick-axe, which -he held in his hand. He drew back a few steps, lifted the pick over his -head, and stiffened his whole body for a blow which was to crush at once -the entire hated wooden doll. - -Donna Micaela shook her head warningly. “You cannot do it,” she said, and -she did not draw the image back. - -He saw that nevertheless she was afraid, and he enjoyed frightening her. -He stood longer than was necessary with uplifted pick. - -“Piero!” came a cry shrill and wailing. - -“Piero! Piero!” - -The man dropped his pick without striking. He looked terrified. - -“God! it is Marcia calling!” he said. - -At the same moment a crowd of people came tumbling out of a little -cottage which was built among the ruins of the old Palazzo Corvaja. -There were about a dozen women and a carabiniere, who were fighting. -The carabiniere held a child in his arms, and the women were trying to -drag the child away from him. But the policeman, who was a tall, strong -fellow, freed himself from them, lifted the child to his shoulder, and -ran down the terrace steps. - -The dark Piero had looked on without making a movement. When the -carabiniere freed himself, he bent down to Donna Micaela and said -eagerly: “If _the little one_ can prevent that, all Corvaja shall be his -friend.” - -Now the carabiniere was down in the square. Piero made a sign with his -hand. Instantly all his comrades closed in a ring round the fugitive. He -turned squarely round. Everywhere a close ring of men threatened him with -picks and shovels. - -All at once there was terrible confusion. The women who had been -struggling with the carabiniere came rushing down with loud cries. The -little girl, whom he held in his arms, screamed as loud as she could and -tried to tear herself away. People came running from all sides. There -were questionings and wonderings. - -“Let us go now,” said Donna Elisa to Donna Micaela. “Now no one is -thinking of us.” - -But Donna Micaela had caught sight of one of the women. She screamed -least, but it was instantly apparent that it was she whom the matter -concerned. She looked as if she was about to lose her life’s happiness. - -She was a woman who had been very beautiful, although all freshness now -was gone from her, for she was no longer young. But hers was still an -impressive and large-souled face. “Here dwells a soul which can love and -suffer,” said the face. Donna Micaela felt drawn to that poor woman as to -a sister. - -“No, it is not the time to go yet,” she said to Donna Elisa. - -The carabiniere asked and asked if they would not let him come out. - -No, no, no! Not until he let the child go! - -It was the child of Piero and his wife, Marcia. But they were not the -child’s real parents. The trouble arose from that. - -The carabiniere tried to win the people over to his side. He tried to -convince, not Piero nor Marcia, but the others. “Ninetta is the child’s -mother,” he said; “you all know that. She has not been able to have the -child with her while she was unmarried; but now she is married, and -wishes to have her child back. And now Marcia refuses to give her the -boy. It is hard on Ninetta, who has not been able to have her child with -her for eight years. Marcia will not give him up. She drives Ninetta away -when she comes and begs for her child. Finally Ninetta had to complain -to the syndic. And the syndic has told us to get her the child. It is -Ninetta’s own child,” he said appealingly. - -But it had no great effect on the men of Corvaja. - -“Ninetta is a Geraci,” burst out Piero, and the circle stood fast round -the carabiniere. - -“When we came here to fetch the child,” said the latter, “we did not -find him. Marcia was dressed in black, and her rooms were draped with -black, and a lot of women sat and mourned with her. And she showed us the -certificate of the child’s death. Then we went and told Ninetta that her -child was in the church-yard. - -“Well, well, a while afterwards I went on guard here in the square. I -watched the children playing there. Who was strongest, and who shouted -the loudest, if not one of the girls? ‘What is your name?’ I asked her. -‘Francesco,’ she answered instantly. - -“It occurred to me that that girl, Francesco, might be Ninetta’s boy, -and I stood quiet and waited. Just now I saw Francesco go into Marcia’s -house. I followed, and there sat the girl Francesco and ate supper with -Marcia. She and all the mourners began to scream when I appeared. Then -I seized Signorina Francesco and ran. For the child is not Marcia’s. -Remember that, signori! He is Ninetta’s. Marcia has no right to him.” - -Then at last Marcia began to speak. She spoke in a deep voice which -compelled every one to listen, and she made only a few, but noble -gestures. Had she no right to the child? But who had given him food and -clothing? He had been dead a thousand times over if she had not been -there. Ninetta had left him with La Felucca. They knew La Felucca. To -leave one’s child to her was the same as saying to it: “You shall die.” -And, moreover, right? right? What did that mean? The one whom the boy -loved had a right to him. The one who loved the boy had a right to him. -Piero and she loved the boy like their own son. They could not be parted -from him. - -The wife was desperate, the husband perhaps even more so. He threatened -the carabiniere whenever he made a movement. Yet the carabiniere seemed -to see that the victory would be his. The people had laughed when he -spoke of “Signorina Francesco.” “Cut me down, if you will,” he said to -Piero. “Does it help you? Will you retain the child for that? He is not -yours. He is Ninetta’s.” - -Piero turned to Donna Micaela. “Pray to him to help me.” He pointed to -the image. - -Donna Micaela instantly went forward to Marcia. She was shy and trembled -for what she was venturing, but it was not the time for her to hold back. -“Marcia,” she whispered, “confess! Confess,--if you dare!” The startled -woman looked at her. “I see it so well,” whispered Donna Micaela; “you -are as alike as two berries. But I will say nothing if you do not wish -it.” “He will kill me,” said Marcia. “I know one who will not let him -kill you,” said Donna Micaela. “Otherwise they will take your child from -you,” she added. - -All were silent, with eyes fixed on the two women. They saw how Marcia -struggled with herself. The features of her strong face were distorted. -Her lips moved. “The child is mine,” she said, but in so low a voice that -no one heard it. She said it again, and now it came in a piercing scream: -“The child is mine!” - -“What will you do to me when I confess it?” she said to the man. “The -child is mine, but not yours. He was born in the year when you were at -work in Messina. I put him with La Felucca, and Ninetta’s boy was there -too. One day when I came to La Felucca she said, ‘Ninetta’s boy is -dead.’ At first I only thought: ‘God! if it had been mine! Then I said -to La Felucca: ‘Let my boy be dead, and let Ninetta’s live.’ I gave La -Felucca my silver comb, and she agreed. When you came home from Messina -I said to you: ‘Let us take a foster child. We have never been on good -terms. Let us try what adopting a child will do.’ You liked the proposal, -and I adopted my own child. You have been happy with him, and we have -lived as if in paradise.” - -Before she finished speaking the carabiniere put the child down on the -ground. The dark men silently opened their ranks for him, and he went his -way. A shiver went through Donna Micaela when she saw the carabiniere -go. He should have stayed to protect the poor woman. His going seemed to -mean: “That woman is beyond the pale of the law; I cannot protect her.” -Every man and woman standing there felt the same: “She is outside of the -law.” - -One after another went their way. - -Piero, the husband, stood motionless without looking up. Something fierce -and dreadful was gathering in him. Rage and suffering were gathering -within him. Something terrible would happen as soon as he and Marcia were -alone. - -The woman made no effort to escape. She stood still, paralyzed by the -certainty that her fate was sealed, and that nothing could change it. She -neither prayed nor fled. She shrank together like a dog before an angry -master. The Sicilian women know what awaits them when they have wounded -their husbands’ honor. - -The only one who tried to defend her was Donna Micaela. Never would she -have begged Marcia to confess, she said to Piero, if she had known what -he was. She had thought that he was a generous man. Such a one would -have said: “You have done wrong; but the fact that you confess your sin -publicly, and expose yourself to my anger to save the child, atones for -everything. It is punishment enough.” A generous man would have taken the -child on one arm, put the other round his wife’s waist, and have gone -happy to his home. A signor would have acted so. But he was no signor; he -was a bloodhound. - -She talked in vain; the man did not hear her; the woman did not hear her. -Her words seemed to be thrown back from an impenetrable wall. - -Just then the child came to the father, and tried to take his hand. -Furious, he looked at the boy. As the latter was dressed in girl’s -clothes, his hair smoothly combed and drawn back by the ears, he saw -instantly the likeness to Marcia, which he had not noticed before. He -kicked Marcia’s son away. - -There was a terrible tension in the square. The neighbors continued to go -quietly and slowly away. Many went unwillingly and with hesitation, but -still they went. The husband seemed only to be waiting for the last to go. - -Donna Micaela ceased speaking; she took the image instead and laid it in -Marcia’s arms. “Take him, my sister Marcia, and may he protect you!” she -said. - -The man saw it, and his rage increased. It seemed as if he could no -longer contain himself till he was alone. He crouched like a wild beast -ready to spring. - -But the image did not rest in vain in the woman’s arms. The outcast moved -her to an act of the greatest love. - -“What will Christ in Paradise say to me, who have first deceived my -husband, and then made him a murderer?” she thought. And she remembered -how she had loved big Piero in the days of her happy youth. She had not -then thought of bringing such misery upon him. - -“No, Piero, no, do not kill me!” she said eagerly. “They will send you to -the galleys. You shall be relieved of seeing me again without that.” - -She ran towards the other side of the square, where the ground fell away -into an abyss. Every one understood her intention. Her face bore witness -for her. - -Several hurried after her, but she had a good start. Then the image, -which she still carried, slipped from her arms and lay at her feet. She -stumbled over it, fell, and was overtaken. - -She struggled to get away, but a couple of men held her fast. “Ah, let me -do it!” she cried; “it is better for him!” - -Her husband came up to her also. He had caught up her child and placed -him on his arm. He was much moved. - -“See, Marcia, let it be as it is,” he said. He was embarrassed, but his -dark, deep-set eyes shone with happiness and said more than his words. -“Perhaps, according to old custom, it ought to be so, but I do not care -for that. Look, come now! It would be a pity for such a woman as you, -Marcia.” - -He put his arm about Marcia’s waist, and went towards his house in the -ruins of Palazzo Corvaja. It was like a triumphal entry of one of the -former barons. The people of Corvaja stood on both sides of the way and -bowed to him and Marcia. - -As they went past Donna Micaela, they both stopped, bowed deep to her, -and kissed the image which some one had given back to her. But Donna -Micaela kissed Marcia. “Pray for me in your happiness, sister Marcia!” -she said. - - - - -X - -FALCO FALCONE - - -The blind singers have week after week sung of Diamante’s railway, and -the big collection-box in the church of San Pasquale has been filled -every evening with gifts. Signor Alfredo measures and sets stakes on -the slopes of Etna, and the distaff-spinners in the dark alleys tell -stories of the wonderful miracles that have been performed by the little -Christ-image in the despised church. From the rich and powerful men who -own the land on Etna comes letter after letter promising to give ground -to the blessed undertaking. - -During these last weeks every one comes with gifts. Some give building -stone for the stations, some give powder to blast the lava blocks, -some give food to the workmen. The poor people of Diamante, who have -nothing, come in the night after their work. They come with shovels and -wheelbarrows and creep out on Etna, dig the ground, and ballast the road. -When Signor Alfredo and his people come in the morning they believe that -the Etna goblins have broken out from their lava streams and helped on -the work. - -All the while people have been questioning and asking: “Where is the king -of Etna, Falco Falcone? Where is the mighty Falco who has held sway on -the slopes of Etna for five and twenty years? He wrote to Don Ferrante’s -widow that she would not be allowed to construct the railway. What did -he mean by his threat? Why does he sit still when people are braving his -interdiction? Why does he not shoot down the people of Corvaja when they -come creeping through the night with wheelbarrows and pickaxes? Why does -he not drag the blind singers down into the quarry and whip them? Why -does he not have Donna Micaela carried off from the summer-palace, in -order to be able to demand a cessation in the building of the railway as -a ransom for her life?” - -Donna Micaela says to herself: “Has Falco Falcone forgotten his promise, -or is he waiting to strike till he can strike harder?” - -Everybody asks in the same way: “When is Etna’s cloud of ashes to fall on -the railway? When will Mongibello cataracts tear it away? When will the -mighty Falco Falcone be ready to destroy it?” - -While every one is waiting for Falco to destroy the railway, they talk a -great deal about him, especially the workmen under Signor Alfredo. - -Opposite the entrance to the church of San Pasquale, people say, stands -a little house on a bare crag. The house is narrow, and so high that -it looks like a chimney left standing on a burnt building site. It is -so small that there is no room for the stairs inside the house; they -wind up outside the walls. Here and there hang balconies and other -projections that are arranged with no more symmetry than a bird’s nest on -a tree-trunk. - -In that house Falco Falcone was born, and his parents were only poor -working-people. In that miserable hut Falco learned arrogance. - -Falco’s mother was an unfortunate woman, who during the first years of -her marriage brought only daughters into the world. Her husband and all -her neighbors despised her. - -The woman longed continually for a son. When she was expecting her fifth -child she strewed salt every day on the threshold and sat and watched who -should first cross it. Would it be a man or a woman? Should she bear a -son or a daughter? - -Every day she sat and counted. She counted the letters in the month -when her child was to be born. She counted the letters in her husband’s -name and in her own. She added and subtracted. It was an even number; -therefore she would bear a son. The next day she made the calculation -over again. “Perhaps I counted wrong yesterday,” she said. - -When Falco was born his mother was much honored, and she loved him on -account of it more than all her other children. When the father came -in to see the child he snatched off his cap and made a low bow. Over -the house-door they set a hat as a token of honor, and they poured -the child’s bath water over the threshold, and let it run out into -the street. When Falco was carried to the church he was laid on his -god-mother’s right arm; when the neighbors’ wives came to look after his -mother they courtesied to the child sleeping in his cradle. - -He was also bigger and stronger than children generally are. Falco had -thick hair when he was born, and when he was a week old he already had -a tooth. When his mother laid him to her breast he was so wild that she -laughed and said: “I think that I have brought a hero into the world.” - -She was always expecting great achievements from Falco, and she put -pride into him. But who else hoped anything of him? Falco could not -even learn to read. His mother tried to take a book and teach him the -letters. She pointed to A, that is the big hat; she pointed to B, that -is the spectacles; she pointed to C, that is the snake. That he could -learn. Then his mother said: “If you put the spectacles and the big hat -together, it makes Ba.” That he could not learn. He became angry and -struck her, and she let him alone. “You will be a great man yet,” she -said. - -Falco was dull and bad-tempered in his childhood and youth. As a child, -he would not play; as a youth, he would not dance. He had no sweetheart, -but he liked to go where fighting was to be expected. - -Falco had two brothers who were like other people, and who were much -more esteemed than he. Falco was wounded to see himself eclipsed by his -brothers, but he was too proud to show it. His mother was always on his -side. After his father’s death she had him sit at the head of the table, -and she never allowed any one to jest with him. “My oldest son is the -best of you all,” she said. - -When the people remember it all they say: “Falco is proud. He will make -it a point of honor to destroy the railway.” - -And they have hardly terrified themselves with one story before they -remember another about him. - -For thirty long years, people say, Falco lived like any other poor -person on Etna. On Monday he went away to his work in the fields with -his brothers. He had bread in his sack for the whole week, and he made -soup of beans and rice like every one else. And he was glad on Saturday -evening to be able to return to his home. He was glad to find the table -spread, with wine and macaroni, and the bed made up with soft pillows. - -It was just such a Saturday evening. Falco and Falco’s brothers were on -their way home; Falco, as usual, a little behind the others, for he had a -heavy and slow way of walking. But look, when the brothers reached home, -no supper was waiting, the beds were not made, and the dust lay thick -on the threshold. What, were all in the house dead? Then they saw their -mother sitting on the floor in a dark corner of the cottage. Her hair was -drawn down over her face, and she sat and traced patterns with her finger -on the earth floor. “What is the matter?” said the brothers. She did not -look up; she spoke as if she had spoken to the earth. “We are beggared, -beggared.” “Do they want to take our house from us?” cried the brothers. -“They wish to take away our honor and our daily bread.” - -Then she told: “Your eldest sister has had employment with Baker Gasparo, -and it has been good employment. Signor Gasparo gave Pepa all the bread -left over in the shop, and she brought it to me. There has been so much -that there was enough for us all. I have been happy ever since Pepa found -that employment. It will give me an old age free from care, I thought. -But last Monday Pepa came home to me and wept; Signora Gasparo had turned -her away.” - -“What had Pepa done?” asked Nino, who was next younger to Falco. - -“Signora Gasparo accused Pepa of stealing bread. I went to Signora -Gasparo and asked her to take Pepa back. ‘No,’ she said, ‘the girl is -not honest.’ ‘Pepa had the bread from Signor Gasparo,’ I said; ‘ask him.’ -‘I cannot ask him,’ said the signora; ‘he is away, and comes home next -month.’ ‘Signora,’ I said, ‘we are so poor. Let Pepa come back to her -place.’ ‘No,’ she said; ‘I myself will leave Signor Gasparo if he takes -that girl back.’ ‘Take care,’ I said then; ‘if you take bread from me, I -will take life from you.’ Then she was frightened and called others in, -so that I had to go.” - -“What is to be done about it?” said Nino. “Pepa must find some other -work.” - -“Nino,” said Mother Zia, “you do not know what that woman has said to the -neighbors about Pepa and Signor Gasparo.” - -“Who can prevent women from talking?” said Nino. - -“If Pepa has nothing else to do, now she might at least have cooked -dinner for us,” said Turiddo. - -“Signora Gasparo has said that her husband let Pepa steal bread that she -should--” - -“Mother,” interrupted Nino, red as fire, “I do not intend to have myself -put in the galleys for Pepa’s sake.” - -“The galleys do not eat Christians,” said Mother Zia. - -“Nino,” said Pietro, “we had better go to the town to get some food.” - -As they said it they heard some one laugh behind them. It was Falco who -laughed. - -A while later Falco entered Signora Gasparo’s shop and asked for bread. -The poor woman was frightened when Pepa’s brother came into the shop. -But she thought: “He has just come from his work. He has not been home -yet. He knows nothing.” - -“Beppo,” she said to him, for Falco’s name was not then Falco, “is the -harvest a good one?” And she was prepared not to have him answer. - -Falco was more talkative than usual, and immediately told her how -many grapes had already been put through the press. “Do you know,” he -continued, “that a farmer was murdered yesterday.”--“Alas, yes, poor -Signor Riego; I heard so.” And she asked how it had happened. - -“It was Salvatore who did it. But it is too dreadful for a signora to -hear!”--“Oh, no, what is done can be and is told.” - -“Salvatore went up to him in this way, signora.” And Falco drew his knife -and laid his hand on the woman’s head. “Then he cut him across the throat -from ear to ear.” - -As Falco spoke, he suited the action to the word. The woman did not even -have time to scream. It was the work of a master. - -After that, Falco was sent to the galleys, where he remained five years. - -When the people tell of that, their terror increases. “Falco is brave,” -they say. “Nothing in the world can frighten him away from his purpose.” - -That immediately made them think of another story. - -Falco was taken to the galleys in August, where he became acquainted with -Biagio, who afterwards followed him through his whole life. One day he -and Biagio and a third prisoner were ordered to go to work in the fields. -One of the overseers wished to construct a garden around his house. They -dug there quietly, but their eyes began to wander and wander. They were -outside the walls; they saw the plain and the mountains; they even saw up -to Etna. “It is the time,” whispered Falco to Biagio. “I will rather die -than go back to prison,” said Biagio. Then they whispered to the other -prisoner that he must stand by them. He did not wish to do so, because -his time of punishment was soon up. “Else we will kill you,” they said, -and then he agreed. - -The guard stood over them with his loaded rifle in his hand. On account -of their fetters, Falco and Biagio hopped with feet together over to the -guard. They swung their shovels over him, and before he had time to think -of shooting he was thrown down, bound, and had a clump of earth in his -mouth. Thereupon the prisoners pried open their chains with the shovels, -so that they could take a step, and crept away over the plain to the -hills. - -When night came Falco and Biagio abandoned the prisoner whom they had -taken with them. He was old and feeble, so that he would have hindered -their flight. The next day he was seized by the carabinieri, and shot. - -They shudder when they think of it. “Falco is merciless,” they say. They -know that he will not spare the railway. - -Story after story comes to frighten the poor people working on the -railway on the slopes of Etna. - -They tell of all the sixteen murders that Falco has committed. They tell -of his attacks and plunderings. - -There is one story more terrifying than all the others together. - -When Falco escaped from the galleys he lived in the woods and caves, and -in the big quarry near Diamante. He soon gathered a band about him, and -became a wonderful and famous brigand hero. - -All his family were held in much greater consideration than before. They -were respected, as the mighty are respected. They scarcely needed to -work, for Falco loved his relations and was generous to them. But he was -not lenient towards them; he was very stern. - -Mother Zia was dead, and Nino was married and lived in his father’s -cottage. It happened one day that Nino needed money, and he knew no -better way than to go to the priest,--not Don Matteo, but to old Don -Giovanni. “Your Reverence,” said Nino to him, “my brother asks you for -five hundred lire.” “Where shall I find five hundred lire?” said Don -Giovanni. “My brother needs them; he must have them,” said Nino. - -Then old Don Giovanni promised to give the money, if he only were given -time to collect it. Nino was hardly willing to agree to that. “You can -scarcely expect me to take five hundred lire from my snuff-box,” said -Don Giovanni. And Nino granted him three days’ respite. “But beware of -meeting my brother during that time,” he said. - -The next day Don Giovanni rode to Nicolosi to try to claim a payment. Who -should he meet on the way but Falco and two of his band. Don Giovanni -threw himself from his donkey and fell on his knees before Falco. “What -does this mean, Don Giovanni?”--“As yet I have no money for you, Falco, -but I will try to get it. Have mercy upon me!” - -Falco asked, and Don Giovanni told the whole story. “Your Reverence,” -said Falco, “he has been deceiving you.” He begged Don Giovanni to go -with him to Diamante. When they came to the old house Don Giovanni rode -in behind the wall of San Pasquale, and Falco called Nino out. Nino came -out on one of the balconies. “Eh, Nino!” said Falco, and laughed. “You -have cheated the priest out of money?” “Do you know it already?” said -Nino. “I was just going to tell it to you.” - -Now Falco became sterner. “Nino,” he said, “the priest is my friend, and -he believes that I have wished to rob him. You have done very wrong.” He -suddenly put his gun to his shoulder and shot Nino down, and when he had -done so he turned to Don Giovanni, who had almost fallen from his donkey -with terror. “You see now, your Reverence, that I had no part in Nino’s -designs on you!” - -And that happened twenty years ago, when Falco had not been a brigand for -more than five years. - -“Will Falco spare the railway,” people say, as they tell it, “when he did -not spare his own brother?” - -There was yet more. - -After Nino’s murder there was a vendetta over Falco. Nino’s wife was -so terrified when she found her husband dead that half her body became -paralyzed, and she could no longer walk. But she took her place at the -window in the old cottage. There she has sat for twenty years with a gun -beside her, and waited for Falco. And of her the great brigand has been -afraid. For twenty years he has not gone past the home of his ancestors. - -The woman has not deserted her post. No one ever goes to the church of -San Pasquale without seeing her revengeful eyes shining behind the panes. -Who has ever seen her sleep? Who has seen her work? She could do nothing -but await her husband’s murderer. - -When people hear that, they are even more afraid. Falco has luck on his -side, they think. The woman who wishes to kill him cannot move from her -place. He has luck on his side. He will also succeed in destroying the -railway. Fortune has never failed Falco. The carabinieri have hunted, but -have never been able to catch him. The carabinieri have feared Falco more -than Falco has feared the carabinieri. - -People tell a story of a young carabiniere lieutenant who once pursued -Falco. He had arranged a line of beaters and hunted Falco from one -thicket to another. At last the officer was certain that he had Falco -shut in in a grove. A guard was stationed round the wood, and the -officer searched the covert, gun in hand. But however much he searched, -he saw no Falco. He came out, and met a peasant. “Have you seen Falco -Falcone?”--“Yes, signor; he just went by me, and he asked me to greet -you.”--“_Diavolo!_”--“He saw you in the thicket, and he was just going -to shoot you, but he did not do so, because he thought that perhaps it -was your duty to prosecute him.”--“_Diavolo! Diavolo!_”--“But if you try -another time--”--“_Diavolo! Diavolo! Diavolo!_” - -Do you think that lieutenant came back? Do you not think that he -instantly sought out a district where he did not need to hunt brigands? - -And the workmen on Etna asked themselves: “Who will protect us against -Falco? He is terrible. Even the soldiers tremble before him.” - -They remember that Falco Falcone is now an old man. He no longer plunders -post-wagons; he does not carry off land-owners. He sits quiet generally -in the quarry near Diamante, and instead of robbing money and estates, he -takes money and estates under his protection. - -He takes tribute from the great landed proprietors and guards their -estates from other thieves, and it has become calm and peaceful on Etna, -for he allows no one to injure those who have paid a tax to him. - -But that is not reassuring. Since Falco has become friends with the -great, he can all the more easily destroy the railway. - -And they remember the story of Niccola Galli, who is overseer on the -estate of the Marquis di San Stefano on the southern side of Etna. Once -his workmen struck in the middle of the harvest time. Niccola Galli was -in despair. The wheat stood ripe, and he could not get it reaped. His -workmen would not work; they lay down to sleep at the edge of a ditch. - -Niccola placed himself on a donkey and rode down to Catania to ask his -lord for advice. On the way he met two men with guns on their shoulders. -“Whither are you riding, Niccola?” - -Before Niccola had time to say many words they took his donkey by the bit -and turned him round. “You must not ride to the Marquis, Niccola?”--“Must -I not?”--“No; you must ride home.” - -As they went along, Niccola sat and shook on his donkey. When they were -again at home the men said: “Now show us the way to the fields!” And -they went out to the laborers. “Work, you scoundrels! The marquis has -paid his tribute to Falco Falcone. You can strike in other places, but -not here.” That field was reaped as never before. Falco stood on one side -of it and Biagio on the other. The grain is soon harvested with such -overseers. - -When the people remember that, their terror does not decrease. “Falco -keeps his word,” they say. “He will do what he has threatened to do.” - -No one has been a robber chief as long as Falco. All the other famous -heroes are dead or captives. He alone keeps himself alive and in his -profession by incredible good fortune and skill. - -Gradually he has collected about him all his family. His brothers-in-law -and nephews are all with him. Most of them have been sent to the galleys, -but not one of them thinks whether he suffers in prison; he only asks if -Falco is satisfied with him. - -In the newspapers there are often accounts of Falco’s deeds. Englishmen -thrust a note of ten lire into their guide’s hand if he will show them -the way to Falco’s quarry. The carabinieri no longer shoot at him, -because he is the last great brigand. - -He so little fears to be captured that he often comes down to Messina -or Palermo. He has even crossed the sound and been in Italy. He went to -Naples when Guglielmo and Umberto were there to christen a battle-ship. -He travelled to Rome when Umberto and Margherita celebrated their silver -wedding. - -The people think of it all, and tremble. “Falco is loved and admired,” -the workmen say. “The people worship Falco. He can do what he will.” - -They know too that when Falco saw Queen Margherita’s silver wedding, it -pleased him so much that he said: “When I have lived on Etna for five and -twenty years, I shall celebrate my silver wedding with Mongibello.” - -People laughed at that and said that it was a good idea of Falco’s. For -he had never had a sweetheart, but Mongibello with its caves and forests -and craters and ice-fields had served and protected him like a wife. To -no one in the world did Falco owe such gratitude as to Mongibello. - -People ask when Falco and Mongibello are going to celebrate their silver -wedding. And people answer that it will be this spring. Then the workmen -think: “_He is coming to destroy our railway on the day of Mongibello_.” - -They are filled with doubt and terror. They soon will not dare to work -any more. The nearer the time approaches when Falco is to celebrate his -union with Mongibello, the more there are who leave Signor Alfredo. Soon -he is practically alone at the work. - - * * * * * - -There are not many people in Diamante who have seen the big quarry on -Etna. They have learned to avoid it because Falco Falcone lives there. -They have been careful to keep out of range of his gun. - -They have not seen the great hole in Mongibello’s side from which their -ancestors, the Greeks, took stone in remote times. They have not seen the -beautifully colored walls, and the mighty rocks that look like ruined -pillars. Perhaps they do not know that on the bottom of the quarry grow -more magnificent flowers than in a conservatory. There it is no longer -Sicily; it is India. - -In the quarry are mandarin trees, so yellow with fruit that they look -like gigantic sun-flowers; the camellias are as big as tambourines; and -on the ground between the trees lie masses of magnificent figs and downy -peaches embedded in fallen rose-leaves. - -One evening Falco is sitting alone in the quarry. Falco is busy making a -wreath, and he has beside him a mass of flowers. The string he is using -is as thick as a rope; he holds his foot on the ball so that it shall not -roll away from him. He wears spectacles, which continually slip too far -down his hooked nose. - -Falco is swearing horribly, for his hands are stiff and callous from -incessantly handling a gun, and cannot readily hold flowers. The fingers -squeeze them together like steel tongs. Falco swears because the lilies -and anemones fall into little pieces if he merely looks at them. - -Falco sits in his leather breeches and in the long, buttoned-up coat, -buried in flowers like a saint on a feast-day. Biagio and his nephew, -Passafiore, have gathered them for him. They have piled up in front of -him an Etna of the most beautiful flowers of the quarry. Falco can choose -among lilies and cactus-flowers and roses and pelargoniums. He roars at -the flowers that he will trample them to dust under his leather sandals -if they do not submit themselves to his will. - -Never before has Falco Falcone had to do with flowers. In the whole -course of his life he has never tied a nosegay for a girl, or plucked a -rose for his button-hole. He has never even laid a wreath on his mother’s -grave. - -Therefore the delicate flowers rebel against him. The flower sprays are -entangled in his hair and in his hat, and the petals have caught in his -bushy beard. He shakes his head violently, and the scar in his cheek -glows red as fire as it used to do in the old days, when he fought with -the carabinieri. - -Still the wreath grows, and thick as a tree-trunk it winds round Falco’s -feet and legs. Falco swears at it as if it were the steel fetters that -once dragged between his ankles. He complains more, when he tears himself -on a thorn or burns himself on a nettle, than he did when the whip of the -galley guard lashed his back. - -Biagio and Passafiore, his nephew, do not dare to show themselves; they -lie concealed in a cave till everything is ready. They laugh at Falco -with all their might, for such wailings as Falco’s have not sounded in -the quarry since unhappy prisoners of war were kept at work there. - -Biagio looks up to great Etna, which is blushing in the light of the -setting sun. “Look at Mongibello,” he says to Passafiore; “see how it -blushes. It must guess what Falco is busy with down in the quarry.” And -Passafiore answers: “Mongibello has probably never thought that it would -ever have anything on its head but ashes and snow.” - -But suddenly Biagio stopped laughing. “It is not well, Passafiore,” he -said. “Falco has become too proud. I am afraid that the great Mongibello -is going to make a fool of him.” - -The two bandits look one another in the eyes questioningly. “It is well -if it is only pride,” says Passafiore. - -But now they look away at the same moment, and dare say no more. The same -thought, the same dread has seized them both. Falco is going mad. He is -already mad at times. It is always so with great brigand chiefs; they -cannot bear their glory and their greatness; they all go mad. - -Passafiore and Biagio have seen it for a long time, but they have borne -it in silence, and each has hoped that the other has seen nothing. Now -they understand that they both know it. They press each other’s hands -without a word. There is still something so great in Falco. Both of them, -Passafiore and Biagio, will take care that no one shall perceive that he -is no longer the man he was. - -Finally Falco has his wreath ready; he hangs it on the barrel of his gun -and comes out to the others. All three climb out of the quarry, and at -the nearest farm-house they take horses in order to come quickly to the -top of Mongibello. - -They ride at full gallop so that they have no chance to talk, but as they -pass the different farms they can see the people dancing on the flat -roofs. And from the sheds, where the laborers sleep at night, they hear -talk and laughter. There happy, peaceful people are sitting, guessing -conundrums and matching verses. Falco storms by, such things are not for -him. Falco is a great man. - -They gallop towards the summit. At first they ride between almond-trees -and cactus, then under plane-trees and stone-pines, then under oaks and -chestnut-trees. - -The night is dark; they see nothing of the beauty of Mongibello. They do -not see the vine-encircled Monte Rosso; they do not see the two hundred -craters that stand in a circle round Etna’s lofty peak like towers round -a town; they do not see the endless stretches of thick forest. - -In Casa del Bosco, where the road ends, they dismount. Biagio and -Passafiore take the wreath and carry it between them. As they walk along, -Falco begins to talk. He likes to talk since he has grown old. - -Falco says that the mountain is like the twenty-five years of his life -that he has passed there. The years that founded his greatness had -blossomed with deeds. To be with him then had been like going through -an endless arbor, where lemons and grapes hung down overhead. Then his -deeds had been as numerous as the orange-trees round Etna’s base. When -he had come higher the deeds had been less frequent, but those he had -executed had been mighty as the oaks and chestnut-trees on the rising -mountain. Now that he was at the summit of greatness, he scorned to act. -His life was as bald as the mountain top; he was content to see the -world at his feet. But people ought to understand that, if he should now -undertake anything, nothing could resist him. He was terrible, like the -fire-spouting summit. - -Falco walks before and talks; Passafiore and Biagio follow him in silent -terror. Dimly they see the mighty slopes of Mongibello with their towns -and fields and forests spread out beneath them. And Falco thinks that he -is as mighty as all that! - -As they struggle upwards they are beset with a growing feeling of -dread. The gaping fissures in the ground; the sulphur smoke from the -crater, which rolls down the mountain, too heavy to rise into the air; -the explosions inside the mountain; the incessant, gently rumbling -earthquake; the slippery, rough ice-fields crossed by gushing brooks; -the extreme cold, the biting wind,--make the walk hideous. And Falco -says that it is like him! How can he have such things in his soul? Is it -filled with a cold and a horror to be compared to Etna’s? - -They stumble over blocks of ice, and they struggle forward through snow -lying sometimes a yard deep. The mountain blast almost throws them down. -They have to wade through slush and water, for through the day the sun -has melted a mass of snow. And while they grow stiff with cold, the -ground shakes under them with the everlasting fire. - -They remember that Lucifer and all the damned are lying under them. They -shudder because Falco has brought them to the gates of Hell. - -But nevertheless beyond the ice-field they reach the steep cone of ashes -on the very summit of the mountain. Here they drag themselves up, walking -on sliding ashes and pumice-stone. When they are half way up the cone -Falco takes the wreath, and motions to the others to wait. He alone will -scale the summit. - -The day is just breaking, and as Falco reaches the top the sun is -visible. The glorious morning light streams over Mongibello and over the -old Etna brigand on its summit. The shadow of Etna is thrown over the -whole of Sicily, and it looks as if Falco, standing up there, reached -from sea to sea, across the island. - -Falco stands and gazes about him. He looks across to Italy; he fancies -he sees Naples and Rome. He lets his glance pass over the sea to the land -of the Turk to the east and the land of the Saracen to the south. He -feels as if it all lay at his feet and acknowledged _his_ greatness. - -Then Falco lays the wreath on the summit of Mongibello. - -When he comes down to his comrades he solemnly presses their hands. As -he leaves the cone they see that he picks up a piece of pumice-stone, -and puts it in his pocket. Falco takes with him a souvenir of the most -beautiful hour of his life. He has never before felt himself so great as -on the top of Mongibello. - -On that day of happiness Falco will do no work. The next day, he says, he -will begin the undertaking of freeing Mongibello from the railway. - - * * * * * - -There is a lonely farm-house on the road between Paternó and Adernó. It -is quite large, and it is owned by a widow, Donna Silvia, who has many -strong sons. They are bold people who dare to live alone the whole year -in the country. - -It is the day following the one when Falco crowned Mongibello. Donna -Silvia is sitting on the grass-plot with her distaff; she is alone; there -is no one else at home on the farm. A beggar comes softly creeping in -through the gate. - -He is an old man with a long, hooked nose which hangs down over his upper -lip, a bushy beard, pale eyes with red eyelids. They are the ugliest eyes -imaginable; the whites are yellowish, and they squint. The beggar is -tall and very thin; he moves his body when he walks, so that it looks as -if he wriggled forward. He walks so softly that Donna Silvia does not -hear him. The first thing she notices is his shadow, which, slender as a -snake, bends down towards her. - -She looks up when she sees the shadow. Then the beggar bows to her and -asks for a dish of macaroni. - -“I have macaroni on the fire,” says Donna Silvia. “Sit down and wait; you -shall have your fill.” - -The beggar sits down beside Donna Silvia, and after a while they begin to -chat. They soon talk of Falco. - -“Is it true that you let your sons work on Donna Micaela’s railway?” says -the beggar. - -Donna Silvia bites her lips together, and nods an assent. - -“You are a brave woman, Donna Silvia. Falco might be revenged on you.” - -“Then he can take revenge,” says Donna Silvia. “But I will not obey one -who has killed my father. He forced him to escape from prison in Augusta, -and my father was captured and shot.” - -And so saying she rises and goes in to get the food. - -As she stands in the kitchen she sees the beggar through the window, -sitting and rocking on the stone-bench. He is not quiet for a moment. And -in front of him writhes his shadow, slender and lithe as a snake. - -Donna Silvia remembers what she had once heard Caterina, who had been -married to Falco’s brother, Nino, say. “How will you recognize Falco -after twenty years?” people had asked her. “Should I not recognize the -man with the snake-shadow?” she answered. “He will never lose it, long -as he may live.” - -Donna Silvia presses her hand on her heart. There in her yard Falco -Falcone is sitting. He has come to be revenged because her sons work on -the railway. Will he set fire to the house, or will he murder her? - -Donna Silvia is shaking in every limb as she serves up her macaroni. - -Falco begins to find the time long as he sits on the stone-bench. A -little dog comes up to him and rubs against him. Falco feels in his -pocket for a piece of bread, but he finds only a stone, which he throws -to the dog. - -The dog runs after the stone and brings it back to Falco. Falco throws it -again. The dog takes the stone again, but now he runs away with it. - -Falco remembers that it is the stone he picked up on Mongibello, and goes -after the dog to get it back. He whistles to the dog, and it comes to him -instantly. “Drop the stone!” The dog puts its head on one side and will -not drop it. “Ah, give me the stone, rascal!” The dog shuts its mouth. It -has no stone. “Let me see; let me see!” says Falco. He bends the dog’s -head back and forces it to open its mouth. The stone lies far in under -the gums, and Falco tries to force it out. Then the dog bites him, till -the blood flows. - -Falco is terrified. He goes in to Donna Silvia. “I hope your dog is -healthy,” he says. - -“My dog? I have no dog. It is dead.”--“But the one running outside?”--“I -do not know which one you mean,” she says. - -Falco says nothing more, nor does he do Donna Silvia any harm. He simply -goes his way, frightened; he thinks that the dog is mad, and he fears -hydrophobia. - - * * * * * - -One evening Donna Micaela sits alone in the music-room. She has put out -the lamp and opened the balcony doors. She likes to listen to the street -in the evening and at night. No more smiths and stone-cutters and criers -are heard. There is song, laughter, whispering, and mandolins. - -Suddenly she sees a dark hand laid on the balcony railing. The hand drags -up after it an arm and a head; within a moment a whole human being swings -himself into the balcony. She sees him plainly, for the street-lamps are -still burning. He is a small, broad-shouldered, bearded fellow, dressed -like a shepherd, with leather sandals, a slouch hat, and an umbrella tied -to his back. As soon as he is on his feet he snatches his gun from his -shoulder and comes into the room with it in his hands. - -She sits still without giving a sign of life. There is no time either to -summon help or to escape. She hopes that the man will take what he wishes -to take, and go away without noticing her, sitting back in the dark room. - -The man puts his gun down between his legs, and she hears him scratching -with a match. She shuts her eyes. He will believe that she is asleep. - -When the robber gets the match lighted, he sees her instantly. He coughs -to wake her. As she remains motionless, he creeps over to her and -carefully stretches out a finger towards her arm. “Do not touch me! do -not touch me!” she screams, and can no longer sit still. The man draws -back instantly. “Dear Donna Micaela, I only wanted to wake you.” - -There she sits and shakes with terror, and he hears how she is sobbing. -“Dear signora, dear signora!” he says. “Light a candle that I can see -where you are,” she cries. He scratches a new match, lifts the shade and -chimney off the lamp, and lights it as neatly as a servant. He places -himself again by the door, as far from her as possible. Suddenly he goes -out on the balcony with his gun. “Now the signora cannot be afraid any -longer.” - -But when she does not cease weeping he says: “Signora, I am Passafiore; -I come with a message to you from Falco. He no longer wishes to destroy -your railway.” - -“Have you come to jest with me?” she says. - -Then the man answers, almost weeping: “Would God that it were a jest! -God! that Falco were the man he has been!” - -He tells her how Falco went up Mongibello and crowned its top. But the -mountain had not liked it; it had now overthrown Falco. A single little -piece of pumice-stone from Mongibello had been enough to overthrow him. - -“It is all over with Falco,” says Passafiore. “He goes about in the -quarry, and waits to fall ill. For a week he has neither slept nor eaten. -He is not sick yet, but the wound in his hand does not heal either. He -thinks that he has the poison in his body. ‘Soon I shall be a mad dog,’ -he says. No wine nor food tempt him. He takes no pleasure in my praising -his deeds. ‘What is that to talk about?’ he says. ‘I shall end my life -like a mad dog.’” - -Donna Micaela looked sharply at Passafiore. “What do you wish me to do -about it? You cannot mean that I am to go down into the quarry to Falco -Falcone?” - -Passafiore looks down and dares not answer anything. - -She explains to him what that same Falco has made her suffer. He has -frightened away her workmen. He has set himself against her dearest wish. - -All of a sudden Passafiore falls on his knees. He dares not go a step -nearer to her than he is, but he falls on his knees. - -He implores her to understand the importance of it. She does not know, -she does not understand who Falco is. Falco is a great man. Ever since -Passafiore was a little child he has heard of him. All his life long he -has longed to come out to the quarry and live with him. All his cousins -went to Falco; his whole race were with him. But the priest had set his -heart that Passafiore should not go. He apprenticed him to a tailor; only -think, to a tailor! He talked to him, and said that he should not go. It -was such a terrible sin to live like Falco. Passafiore had also struggled -against it for many years for Don Matteo’s sake. But at last he had not -been able to resist; he had gone to the quarry. And now he has not been -with Falco more than a year before the latter is quite destroyed. It is -as if the sun had gone out in the sky. His whole life is ruined. - -Passafiore looks at Donna Micaela. He sees that she is listening to him, -and understands him. - -He reminds Donna Micaela that she had helped a _jettatore_ and an -adulteress. Why should she be hard to a brigand? The Christ-image in San -Pasquale gave her everything she asked for. He was sure that she prayed -to the Christchild to protect the railway from Falco. And he had obeyed -her; he had made Mongibello’s pumice-stone break Falco’s might. But now, -would she not be gracious, and help them, that Falco might get his health -again, and be an honor to the land, as he had been before? - -Passafiore succeeds in moving Donna Micaela. All at once she understands -how it is with the old brigand in the dark caves of the quarry. She sees -him there, waiting for madness. She thinks how proud he has been, and how -broken and crushed he now is. No, no; no one ought to suffer so. It is -too much, too much. - -“Passafiore,” she exclaims, “tell me what you wish. I will do whatever I -can. I am no longer afraid. No, I am not at all afraid.” - -“Donna Micaela, we have begged Falco to go to the Christchild and ask for -grace. But Falco will not believe in the image. He will not do anything -but sit still and wait for the disaster. But to-day, when I implored him -to go and pray, he said: ‘You know who sits and waits for me in the old -house opposite the church. Go to her, and ask her if she will give me the -privilege to go by her into the church. If she gives her permission, then -I shall believe in the image, and say my prayers to him.’” - -“Well?” questions Donna Micaela. - -“I have been to old Caterina, and she has given her permission. ‘He shall -be allowed to go into San Pasquale without my killing him,’ she said.” - -Passafiore is still on his knees. - -“Has Falco already been to the church?” asks Donna Micaela. - -Passafiore moves somewhat nearer. He wrings his hands in despair. “Donna -Micaela, Falco is very ill. It is not alone that about the dog; he was -ill before.” And Passafiore struggles with himself before he can say it -out. At last he acknowledges that although Falco is a very great man, -he sometimes has attacks of madness. He had not spoken of old Caterina -alone; he had said: “If Caterina will let me go into the church, and if -Donna Micaela Alagona comes down into the quarry and gives me her hand, -and leads me to the church, I will go to the image.” And from that no one -had been able to move him. Donna Micaela, who was greatest and holiest of -women, must come to him, or he would not go. - -When Passafiore has finished, he remains kneeling with bowed head. He -dares not look up. - -But Donna Micaela does not hesitate a second, since there has been -question of the Christ-image. She seems not to think of Falco’s being -already mad. She does not say a word of her terror. Her faith in the -image is such that she answers softly, like a subdued and obedient -child:-- - -“Passafiore, I will go with you.” - -She follows him as if walking in her sleep. She does not hesitate to go -with him up Etna. She does not hesitate to climb down the steep cliffs -into the quarry. She comes, pale as death, but with shining eyes, to the -old brigand in his hole in the cliff and gives him her hand. He rises up, -ghastly pale as she, and follows her. They do not seem like human beings, -but like spectres. They move on towards their goal in absolute silence. -Their own identity is dead, but a mightier spirit guides and leads them. - -Even the day after it seems like a fairy tale to Donna Micaela that she -has done such a thing. She is sure that her own compassion, or pity, or -love could never have made her go down into the brigands’ cave at night -if a strange power had not led her. - -While Donna Micaela is in the robber’s cave, old Caterina sits at her -window, and waits for Falco. She has consented, almost without their -needing to ask her. - -“He shall go in peace to the church,” she says. “I have waited for him -twenty years, but he shall go to the church.” - -Soon Falco comes by, walking with Donna Micaela’s hand in his. Passafiore -and Biagio follow him. Falco is bent; it is plain that he is old and -feeble. He alone goes into the church; the others remain outside. - -Old Caterina has seen him very plainly, but she has not moved. She sits -silent all the time Falco is inside the church. Her niece, who lives with -her, believes that she is praying and thanking God because she has been -able to conquer her thirst for revenge. - -At last Caterina asks her to open a window. “I wish to see if he still -has his snake shadow,” she says. - -But she is gentle and friendly. “Take the gun, if you wish,” she says. -And her niece moves the gun over to the other side of the table. - -At last Falco comes from the church. The moonlight falls on his face, -and Caterina sees that he is unlike the Falco she remembered. The -terrible moroseness and arrogance are no longer visible in his face. He -comes bent and broken; he almost inspires her with pity. - -“_He_ helps me,” he says aloud to Passafiore and Biagio. “He has promised -to help me.” - -The brigands wish to go, but Falco is so happy that he must first tell -them of his joy. - -“I feel no buzzing in my head; there is no burning, no uneasiness. He is -helping me.” - -His comrades take him by the hand to lead him away. - -Falco goes a few steps, then stops again. He straightens himself up, and -at the same time moves his body so that the snake shadow writhes and -twists on the wall. - -“I shall be quite well, quite well,” he says. - -The men drag him away, but it is too late. - -Caterina’s eyes have fallen on the snake shadow. She can control herself -no longer; she throws herself across the table, takes the gun, shoots -and kills Falco. She had not intended to do it, but when she saw him it -was impossible for her to let him go. She had cherished the thought of -revenge for twenty years. It took the upper hand over her. - -“Caterina, Caterina,” screams her niece. - -“He only asked me to be allowed to go in peace _into_ the church,” -answers the old woman. - -Old Biagio lays Falco’s body straight, and says with a grim look:-- - -“He would be quite well; quite well.” - - - - -XI - -VICTORY - - -Far back in ancient days the great philosopher Empedokles lived in -Sicily. He was the most beautiful and the most perfect of men; so -wonderful and so wise that the people regarded him as an incarnate god. - -Empedokles owned a country-place on Etna, and one evening he prepared a -feast there for his friends. During the repast he spoke such words that -they cried out to him: “Thou art a god, Empedokles; thou art a god!” - -During the night Empedokles thought: “You have risen as high as you can -rise on earth. Now die, before adversity and feebleness take hold of -you.” And he wandered up to the summit of Etna and threw himself into the -burning crater. “When no one can find my body,” he thought, “the people -will say that I have been taken up alive to the gods.” - -The next morning his friends searched for him through the villa and on -the mountain. They too came up to the crater, and there they found by the -crater’s mouth Empedokles’ sandal. They understood that Empedokles had -sought death in the crater in order to be counted among the immortals. - -He would have succeeded had not the mountain cast up his shoe. - -But on account of that story Empedokles’ name has never been forgotten, -and many have wondered where his villa could have been situated. -Antiquaries and treasure-seekers have looked for it; for the villa of the -wonderful Empedokles was naturally filled with marble statues, bronzes, -and mosaics. - -Donna Micaela’s father, Cavaliere Palmeri, had set his heart on solving -the problem of the villa. Every morning he mounted his pony, Domenico, -and rode away to search for it. He was armed as an investigator, with a -scraper in his belt, a spade at his side, and a big knapsack on his back. - -Every evening, when Cavaliere Palmeri came home, he told Donna Micaela -about Domenico. During the years that they had ridden about on Etna, -Domenico had become an antiquary. Domenico turned from the road as soon -as he caught sight of a ruin. He stamped on the ground in places where -excavations should be made. He snorted scornfully and turned away his -head if any one showed him a counterfeit piece of old money. - -Donna Micaela listened with great patience and interest. She was sure -that in case that villa finally did let itself be found Domenico would -get all the glory of the discovery. - -Cavaliere Palmeri never asked his daughter about _her_ undertaking. He -never showed any interest in the railway. It seemed almost as if he were -ignorant that she was working for it. - -It was not singular however; he never showed interest in anything that -concerned his daughter. - -One day, as they both sat at the dining-table, Donna Micaela all at once -began to talk of the railway. - -She had won a victory, she said; she had finally won a victory. - -He must hear what news she had received that day. It was not merely to be -a railway between Catania and Diamante, as she first had thought; it was -to be a railway round the whole of Etna. - -By Falco’s death she had not only been rid of Falco himself, but now the -people believed also that the great Mongibello and all the saints were on -her side. And so there had arisen an agitation of the people to make the -railway an actuality. Contributions were signed in all the towns of Etna. -A company was formed. To-day the concession had come; to-morrow the work -was to begin in earnest. - -Donna Micaela was excited; she could not eat. Her heart swelled with joy -and thankfulness. She could not help talking of the tremendous enthusiasm -that had seized the people. She spoke with tears in her eyes of the -Christchild in the church of San Pasquale. - -It was touching to see how her face shone with hope. It was as if she -had, besides the happiness of which she was speaking, a whole world of -bliss in expectation. - -That evening she felt that Providence had guided her well and happily. -She perceived that Gaetano’s imprisonment had been the work of God to -lead him back to faith. He would be set free by the miracles of the -little image, and that would convert him so that he would become a -believer as before. And she might be his. How good God was! - -And while this great bliss stirred within her, her father sat opposite -her quite cold and indifferent. - -“It was very extraordinary,” was all he said. - -“You will come to-morrow to the ceremony of the laying of the -foundations?” - -“I do not know; I have my investigations.” - -Donna Micaela began to crumble her bread rather hastily. Her patience was -exhausted. She had not asked him to share her sorrows, but her joys; he -must share her joys! - -All at once the shackles of submission and fear, which had bound her ever -since the time of his imprisonment, broke. - -“You who ride so much about Etna,” she said with a very quiet voice, -“must have also come to Gela?” - -The cavaliere looked up and seemed to search his memory. “Gela, Gela?” - -“Gela is a village of a hundred houses, which is situated on the southern -side of Monte Chiaro, quite at its foot,” continued Donna Micaela, with -the most innocent expression. “It is squeezed in between Simeto and the -mountain, and a branch of the river generally flows through the principal -street of Gela so that it is very unusual to be able to pass dry-shod -through the village. The roof of the church fell in during the last -earthquake, and it has never been mended, for Gela is quite destitute. -Have you really never heard of Gela?” - -Cavaliere Palmeri answered with inexpressible solemnity: “My -investigations have taken me up the mountain. I have not thought of -looking for the great philosopher’s villa in Gela.” - -“But Gela is an interesting town,” said Donna Micaela, obstinately. “They -have no separate out-houses there. The pigs live on the lower floor, the -people one flight up. There is an endless number of pigs in Gela. They -thrive better than the people, for the people are almost always sick. -Fever is always raging there; malaria never leaves it. It is so damp that -the cellars are always under water, and it is wrapped in swamp mists -every night. In Gela there are no shops and no police, nor post-office, -nor doctor, nor apothecary. Six hundred people are living there forgotten -and brutalized. You have never heard of Gela?” She looked honestly -surprised. - -Cavaliere Palmeri shook his head. “Of course I have heard the name--” - -Donna Micaela cast a questioning glance on her father. She then bent -quickly forward towards him, and drew out of his breastpocket a small, -bent knife, such a knife as is used to prune grape-vines. - -“Poor Empedokles,” she said, and all at once her whole face sparkled -with fun. “You may believe you have mounted to the gods, but Etna always -throws up your shoe.” - -Cavaliere Palmeri sank back as if shot. - -“Micaela!” he said, feebly fencing like some one who does not know how he -shall defend himself. - -But she was instantly as serious and innocent as before. “I have been -told,” she said, “that Gela a few years ago was on the way to ruin. All -the people there grow grapes, and when the phylloxera came and destroyed -their vineyards, they almost starved to death. The Agricultural Society -sent them some of those American plants that are not affected by the -phylloxera. The people of Gela set them out, but all the plants died. How -could the people of Gela know how to tend American vines? Well, some one -came and taught them.” - -“Micaela!”--it came almost like a wail. Donna Micaela thought that her -father already looked like a conquered man, but she continued as if she -had noticed nothing. - -“_Some one came_,” she said with strong emphasis, “and he had had new -vines sent out. He began to plant them in their vineyards. They laughed -at him; they said that he was mad. But look, his vines grew and lived; -they did not die. And he has saved Gela.” - -“I do not think that your story is entertaining, Micaela,” said Cavaliere -Palmeri with an attempt to interrupt her. - -“It is quite as entertaining as your investigations,” she said, calmly. -“But I will tell you something. One day I went into your room to get a -book on antiquities. Then I found that all your bookshelves were full of -pamphlets about the phylloxera, about the cultivation of grapes, about -wine-making.” - -The cavaliere twisted on his chair like a worm. “Be silent; be silent!” -he said feebly. He was more embarrassed than when he was accused of theft. - -Now all the suppressed fun shone once more in her eyes. - -“I sometimes looked at the letters you sent off,” she continued. “I -wished to see with what learned men you corresponded. It surprised me -that the letters were always addressed to presidents and secretaries of -Agricultural Societies.” - -Cavaliere Palmeri was unable to utter a word. Donna Micaela enjoyed his -helplessness more than can be described. - -She looked him steadily in the eyes. “I do not believe that Domenico -has yet learned to recognize a ruin,” she said with emphasis. “The -dirty children of Gela play with him every day, and feed him with -water-cresses. Domenico seems to be a god in Gela, to say nothing of -his--” - -Cavaliere Palmeri seemed to have an idea. - -“Your railway,” he said; “what did you say about your railway? Perhaps I -really can come to-morrow.” - -Donna Micaela did not listen to him. She took up her pocket-book. - -“I have here a counterfeit old coin,” she said,--“a ‘Demarata’ of nickel. -I bought it to show Domenico. He is going to snort.” - -“Listen, child!” - -She did not answer his attempts to make amends. Now the power was hers. -It would take more than that to pacify her. - -“Once I opened your knapsack to look at your antiquities. The only thing -there was an old grape-vine.” - -She was full of sparkling gayety. - -“Child, child!” - -“What is it to be called? It does not seem to be investigating. Is it -perhaps charity; is it perhaps atonement--” - -Cavaliere Palmeri struck with his clenched fist on the table so that -the glasses and plates rang. It was unbearable. A dignified and solemn -old gentleman could not endure such mockery. “As surely as you are my -daughter, you must be silent now.” - -“Your daughter!” she said, and her gayety was gone in an instant; “am -I really your daughter? The children in Gela are allowed to caress at -least Domenico, but I--” - -“What do you wish, Micaela, what do you want?” - -They looked at one another, and their eyes simultaneously filled with -tears. - -“I have no one but you,” she murmured. - -Cavaliere Palmeri opened his arms unconditionally to her. She rose -hesitatingly; she did not know if she saw right. - -“I know how it is going to be,” he said, grumblingly; “not one minute -will I have to myself.” - -“To find the villa?” - -“Come here and kiss me, Micaela! To-night is the first time since we left -Catania that you have been irresistible.” - -When she threw her arms about him it was with a hoarse, wild cry which -almost frightened him. - - - - -THIRD BOOK - -“_And he shall win many followers_” - - - - -I - -THE OASIS AND THE DESERT - - -In the spring of 1894 the Etna railway was begun; in the autumn of 1895 -it was finished. It went up from the shore, made a circuit round the -mountain in a wide half-circle, and came down again to the shore. - -Trains come and go every day, and Mongibello lies subdued and makes no -sign. Foreigners pass with amazement through the black, distorted lava -streams, through the groves of white almond-trees, through the dark old -Saracen towns. “Look, look! is there such a land on earth!” they say. - -In the railway carriages there is always some one telling of the time -when the Christ-image was in Diamante. - -What a time! What a time! Each day new miracles were performed. They -cannot tell of them all, but he brought as much happiness to Diamante as -if the hours of the day had been dancing maidens. People thought that -Time had filled his hour-glass with shining sands of gold. - -If any one had asked who reigned in Diamante at that time, the answer -would have been that it was the Christ-image. Everything was done -according to his will. No one took a wife, or played in a lottery, or -built himself a house without consulting him. - -Many knife-thrusts were spared for the image’s sake, many old feuds -settled, and many bitter words were never uttered. - -The people had to be good, for they observed that the image helped those -who were peaceable and helpful. To them he granted the pleasant gifts of -happiness and riches. - -If the world had been as it ought to be, Diamante would soon have become -a rich and powerful town. But instead, that part of the world which did -not believe in the image destroyed all his work. All the happiness he -scattered about him was of no avail. - -The taxes were constantly increased, and took all their money. There was -the war in Africa. How could the people be happy when their sons, their -money, and their mules had to go to Africa? The war did not go well; one -defeat followed another. How could they be happy when their country’s -honor was at stake? - -Especially after the railway had been finished was it manifest that -Diamante was like an oasis in a great desert. An oasis is exposed to the -drifting sands of the desert and to robbers and wild beasts. So was also -Diamante. The oasis would have to spread over the whole desert to feel -secure. Diamante began to believe that it could never be happy until the -whole world worshipped its Christ-image. - -It now happened that everything that Diamante hoped and strove for was -denied it. - -Donna Micaela and all Diamante longed to get Gaetano back. When the -railway was ready Donna Micaela went to Rome and asked for his release, -but it was refused her. The king and the queen would have liked to help -her, but they could not. You know who was minister then. He ruled Italy -with a hand of iron; do you think that he allowed the king to pardon a -rebellious Sicilian? - -The people also longed that the Christchild of Diamante should have the -adoration that was his due, and Donna Micaela sought an audience for -his sake with the old man in the Vatican. “Holy Father,” she said, “let -me tell you what has been taking place in Diamante on the slopes of -Etna!” And when she had told of all the miracles performed by the image, -she asked the pope to have the old church of San Pasquale purified and -consecrated, and to appoint a priest for the worship of the Christchild. - -“Dear Princess Micaela,” said the pope, “those incidents of which you -speak, the church dares not consider miracles. But you need not at all -despair. If the Christchild wishes to be worshipped in your town, he will -give one more sign. He will show Us his will so plainly that We shall not -need to hesitate. And forgive an old man, my daughter, because he has to -be cautious!” - -A third thing the people of Diamante had hoped. They had expected at last -to hear something from Gaetano. Donna Micaela journeyed also to Como, -where he was held prisoner. She had letters of recommendation from the -highest quarters in Rome, and she was sure that she would be allowed -to speak to him. But the director of the prison sent her to the prison -doctor. - -The latter forbade her to speak to Gaetano. - -“You wish to see the prisoner?” he said. “You shall not do it. Do you say -that he loves you and believes you to be dead? Let him think it! Let him -believe it! He has bowed his head to Death. He suffers no longing. Do you -wish him to know that you are alive, so that he may begin to long? You -wish, perhaps, to kill him? I will tell you something; if he begins to -long for life, he will be dead within three months.” - -He spoke so positively that Donna Micaela understood that she must give -up seeing Gaetano. But what a disappointment, what a disappointment! - -When she came home, she felt like one who has dreamt so vividly that he -cannot, even after he is awake, rouse himself from his visions. She could -not realize that all her hopes had been a mockery. She surprised herself -time after time thinking: “When I have saved Gaetano.” But now she no -longer had any hope of saving him. - -She thought now of one, now of another enterprise, on which she wished to -embark. Should she drain the plain, or should she begin to quarry marble -on Etna. She hesitated and wondered. She could not keep her mind on -anything. - -The same indolence that had taken possession of Donna Micaela crept -through the whole town. It was soon plain that everything that depended -on people who did not believe in the Christchild of Diamante was badly -managed and unsuccessful. Even the Etna railway was conducted in the -wrong way. Accidents were happening constantly on the steep inclines; -and the price of the tickets was too high. The people began to use the -omnibuses and post wagons again. - -Donna Micaela and others with her began to think of carrying the -Christ-image out into the world. They would go out and show how he -gave health and subsistence and happiness to all who were quiet and -industrious and helped their neighbor. If people could once see, they -would certainly be converted. - -“The image ought to stand on the Capitol and govern the world,” said the -people of Diamante. - -“All those who govern us are incapable,” said the people. “We prefer to -be guided by the holy Christchild.” - -“The Christchild is powerful and charitable; if he ruled us, the poor -would be rich, and the rich would have enough. He knows who wish to do -right. If he should come to power, they who now are ruled would sit in -the parliament. He would pass through the world like a plough with a -sharp edge, and that which now lies unprofitable in the depths would then -bear harvests.” - -Before their longed-for plans came to pass, however, in the first days -of March, 1896, the news of the battle at Adna arrived. The Italians -had been defeated, and several thousands of them were killed or taken -prisoners. - -A few days later there was a change of ministry in Rome. And the man who -came to power was afraid of the rage and despair of the Sicilians. To -pacify them he pardoned out several of the imprisoned socialists. The -five for whom he thought the people longed most were set free. They were -Da Felice, Bosco, Verro, Barbato and Alagona. - -Ah, Micaela tried to be glad when she heard it. She tried not to weep. - -She had believed that Gaetano was in prison because the Christ-image was -to break down the walls of his cell. He was sent there by the grace of -God, because he had to be forced to bow his head before the Christchild -and say: “My Lord and my God.” - -But now it was not the image which had freed him; he would come out the -same heathen as before; the same yawning chasm would still exist between -them. - -She tried to be glad. It was enough that he was free. What did she or her -happiness matter in comparison to that! - -But it happened so with everything for which Diamante had hoped and -striven. - -The great desert was very cruel to the poor oasis. - - - - -II - -IN PALERMO - - -At last, at last, it is one o’clock at night. Those who are afraid to -oversleep rise from their beds, dress themselves and go out into the -street. - -And those who have sat and hung over a café table till now start up when -they hear steps echo on the stone pavements. They shake the drowsiness -from their bodies and hurry out. They mingle in the swiftly increasing -stream of people, and the heavy feet of Time begin to move a little -faster. - -Mere acquaintances press each other’s hands with heartfelt warmth. It -is plain that the same enthusiasm fills all souls. And the most absurd -people are out; old university professors, distinguished noblemen and -fine ladies, who otherwise never set their foot in the street. They are -all equally joyous. - -“God! God! that he is coming, that Palermo is to have him back again!” -they say. - -The Palermo students, who have not moved from their usual headquarters in -Quattro Canti all night, have provided torches and colored lanterns. They -were not to be lighted till four o’clock, when the man they expected was -to come; but about two o’clock one or two of them begin to try whether -their torches burn well. Then they light everything and greet the flames -with cheers. It is impossible to stand in darkness when so much joy is -burning within them. - -In the hotels the travellers are waked and urged to get up. “There is a -festival in Palermo to-night, O signori!” - -The travellers ask for whom. “For one of the socialists whom the -government has pardoned out of prison. He is coming now in the steamer -from Naples.”--“What kind of a man is he?”--“His name is Bosco, and the -people love him.” - -There are preparations everywhere in the night for his sake. One of the -goatherds on Monte Pellegrino is busy tying little bunches of blue-bells -for his goats to wear in their collars. And as he has a hundred goats, -and they all wear collars--But it must be done. His goats could not -wander into Palermo the next morning without being adorned in honor of -the day. - -The dressmakers have had to sit at their work till midnight to finish all -the new dresses that are to be worn that morning. And when such a little -dressmaker has finished her work for others, she has to think of herself. -She puts a couple of plumes in her hat and piles up bunches of ribbon a -yard high. To-day she must be beautiful. - -The long rows of houses begin to be illuminated. Here and there a rocket -whizzes up. Fire-crackers hiss and snap at every street corner. - -The flower shops along Via Vittorio Emanuele are emptied again and again. -Always more, more of the white orange-blossoms! All Palermo is filled -with the sweet fragrance of the orange-blossoms. - -The gate-keeper in Bosco’s house has no peace for a moment. Magnificent -cakes and towerlike bouquets are incessantly passing up the stairway, and -poems of welcome and telegrams of congratulation are constantly coming. -There is no end to them. - -The poor bronze emperor on the Piazza Bologna, poor, ugly Charles the -Fifth, who is forlorn and thin and wretched as San Giovanni in the -desert, has in some inscrutable manner got a bunch of flowers in his -hand. When the students standing on Quattro Canti, quite near by, hear of -it, they march up to the emperor in a procession, light him with their -torches, and raise a cheer for the old despot. And one of them takes his -bunch of flowers to give it to the great socialist. - -Then the students march down to the harbor. - -Long before they get there their torches are burnt out, but they do not -care. They come with arms about each other’s necks, singing loudly, and -sometimes breaking off in their song to shout: “Down with Crispi! Long -live Bosco!” The song begins again, but it is again broken off, because -those who cannot sing throw their arms round the singers and kiss them. - -Guilds and corporations swarm out of the quarters of the town where the -same trade has been carried on for more than a thousand years. The masons -come with their band of music and their banner; there come the workers in -mosaic; here come the fishermen. - -When the societies meet, they salute one another with their banners. -Sometimes they take time to stop and make speeches. Then they tell of -the five released prisoners, the five martyrs whom the government at -last has given back to Sicily. And all the people shout: “Long live -Bosco! Long live Da Felice! Long live Verro! Long live Barbato! Long live -Alagona!” - -If any one who has had enough of the life in the streets comes down to -the harbor of Palermo, he stops and asks: “What place is this? Madonna -Santissima, where am I?” - -For he has expected to find the harbor still deserted and dark. - -All the boats and skiffs in the harbor of Palermo have been taken by -different societies and unions. They are floating about in the harbor, -richly hung with colored Venetian lights, and every minute great bunches -of rockets are sent up from them. - -Over the heavy thwarts priceless rugs and hangings have been spread, and -on them sit ladies, the beautiful Palermo ladies, dressed in light silks -and shaded velvets. - -The small craft glide about on the water, now in big groups, now -separately. From the big ships rise masts and oars covered with pennants -and lights, and the little harbor steam-launches dart about with funnels -wreathed in flowers. - -Beneath it all the water lies and shines and mirrors and reflects, so -that the light from one lantern becomes a stream of brightness, and the -drops that fall from the oars are like a rain of gold. - -Round about the harbor stand a hundred thousand, a hundred and fifty -thousand people, quite delirious with joy. They kiss one another; they -raise shouts of rapture, and they are happy, happy. They are beside -themselves with joy. Many of them cannot keep from weeping. - -Fire, that is joy. It is good that fires can be lighted. Suddenly a great -blaze flames up on Monte Pellegrino, just over the harbor. Mighty flames -burst from all the pointed mountain walls surrounding the town. There are -fires on Monte Falcone, on San Martino, on the mountain of The Thousands, -where Garibaldi passed. - -Far out on the sea comes the big Naples steamer. And on the steamer is -Bosco, the socialist. - -He cannot sleep that night. He has gone up from his cabin, and paces to -and fro on the deck. And then his old mother, who has journeyed to Naples -to meet him, comes from her cabin to keep him company. But he cannot -talk with her. He is thinking that he will soon be at home. Ah, Palermo, -Palermo! - -He has been in prison over two years. They have been two years of -suffering and longing, and has it been of any good? That is what he -wishes to know. Has it been of benefit that he has been faithful to -the cause, and gone to prison? Has Palermo thought of him? Have his -sufferings won the cause a single follower? - -His old mother sits crouched on the gangway, and shivers in the chill -of the night. He has asked her, but she knows nothing of such things. -She speaks of little Francesco and little Lina, how they have grown. She -knows nothing of what he is struggling for. - -Now he comes to his mother, takes her by the wrist, leads her to the -railing, and asks her if she sees anything far away to the south. She -looks out over the water with her dim eyes, and sees only the night, only -the black night on the water. She does not see at all that a cloud of -fire is floating on the horizon. - -Then he begins to walk again, and she creeps down under cover. He does -not need to talk to her; it is joy enough to have him home again after -only two years’ absence. He was condemned to be away for twenty-four. -She had not expected ever to see him again. But now the king has showed -grace. For the king is a good man. If only he were allowed to be as good -as he wished! - -Bosco walks across the deck, and asks the sailors if they do not see the -golden cloud on the horizon. - -“That is Palermo,” say the seamen. “There is always a bright light -floating over it at night.” - -It cannot be anything that concerns him. He tries to persuade himself -that nothing is being done for him. He can hardly expect every one all at -once to have become socialists. - -But after a while he thinks: “Still there must be something unusual going -on. All the sailors are gathering forward at the bow.” - -“Palermo is burning,” say the seamen. - -Yes, that is what it must be.--It is because he has suffered so terribly -that he expects something should be done for him. - -Then the sailors see the fires on the mountains. - -It cannot be a conflagration. It must be some saint’s day. They ask one -another what day it is. - -He, too, tries to believe that it is some such thing. He asks his mother -if it is a feast-day. They have so many of them. - -They come nearer and nearer. The thundering sound of the festival in the -great city meets them. - -“All Palermo is singing and playing to-night,” says one. - -“A telegram must have come of a victory in Africa,” says another. - -No one has a thought that it can be for his sake. He goes and places -himself at the stern in order not to see anything. He will not deceive -himself with false hopes. Would all Palermo be illuminated for a poor -socialist? - -Then his mother comes and fetches him. “Do not stand there! Come and see -Palermo! It must be a king who is coming there to-day. Come and look at -Palermo!” - -He considers a moment. No, he does not think that any king is visiting -Sicily just now. But he cannot dare to think, when no one else, not even -his mother-- - -All at once every one on the steamer gives a loud cry. It sounds almost -like a cry of distress. A big cutter has steered right down on them and -now glides along by the steamer’s side. - -The cutter is all flowers and lights; over the railing hang red and white -silken draperies, everybody on board is dressed in red and white. Bosco -stands on the steamer and looks to see what that beautiful messenger -brings. Then the sail turns, and on its white surface shines to meet him: -“Long live Bosco!” - -It is his name. Not a saint’s, not a king’s, not the victorious -general’s! The homage is for no other on the steamer. His name, his name! - -The cutter sends up some rockets; a whole cloud of stars rain down, and -then it is gone. - -He enters the harbor, and there is jubilation and enthusiasm and cheering -and adoration. People say: “We do not know how he will be able to live -through it.” - -But as soon as he realizes the homage, he feels that he does not at all -deserve it. He would like to fall on his knees before those hundred and -fifty thousand people who pay him homage and pray to them for forgiveness -that he is so powerless, that he has done nothing for them. - - * * * * * - -As though by a special fate, Donna Micaela is in Palermo that night. She -is there to start one of those new undertakings which she thinks she -ought to organize in order to retain life and reason. She is probably -there either on account of the draining or of the marble quarry. - -She is down at the harbor; like all the others. People notice her as she -pushes her way forward to the edge of the water: a tall, dark woman, with -an air of being some one, a pale face with marked features and imploring, -longing, passionate eyes. - -During the reception in the harbor, Donna Micaela is fighting out a -strange struggle. “If it were Gaetano,” she thinks, “could I, could I-- - -“If it were for him all these people were rejoicing, could I--” - -There is so much joy--a joy the like of which she has never seen. The -people love one another and are like brothers. And that not only because -a socialist is coming home, but because they all believe that the earth -will soon be happy. “If he were to come now, while all this joy is -roaring about me,” she thinks. “Could I, could I--” - -She sees Bosco’s carriage trying to force a way through the crowd. It -moves forward step by step. For long moments it stands quite still. It -will take several hours to come up from the harbor. - -“If it were he, and I saw every one crowding round him, could I forbear -from throwing myself into his arms? Could I?” - - * * * * * - -As soon as she can work her way out of the crowd she takes a carriage, -drives out of Palermo, and passes through the plain of Conca d’Oro to the -big Cathedral of the old Norman kings in Monreale. - -She goes in, and stands face to face with the most beautiful image -of Christ that human art has created. High up in the choir sits the -blessing-giving Christ in glowing mosaic. He is mighty and mysterious and -majestic. Without number are they who make a pilgrimage to Monreale in -order to feel the consolation of gazing upon his face. Without number are -they who in far distant lands long for him. - -The ground rocks under any one who sees him for the first time. His eyes -compel the knees of the foreigner to bend. Without being conscious of it -the lips falter: “Thou, God, art God.” - -About the walls of the temple glow the great events of the world in -wonderful mosaic pictures. They only lead to him. They are only there to -say: “All the past is his; all the present belongs to him, and all the -future.” - -The mysteries of life and death dwell within that head. - -There lives the spirit which directs the fate of the world. There glows -the love which shall lead the world to salvation. - -And Donna Micaela calls to him: “Thou son of God, do not part me from -thee! Let no man have power to part me from thee!” - - - - -III - -THE HOME-COMING - - -It is a strange thing to come home. While yet on the journey, you cannot -at all realize how strange it will be. - -When you come down to Reggio on the Strait of Messina, and see Sicily -emerge from the sea like a bank of fog, you are at first almost -impatient. “Is it nothing else?” you say. “It is only a land like all -others.” - -And when you disembark at Messina you are still impatient. Something -ought to have happened while you have been away. It is dreadful to be met -by the same poverty, the same rags, the same misery as when you went away. - -You see that the spring has come. The fig-trees are again in leaf; the -grape-vines send out tendrils which grow yards long in a few hours, and a -mass of peas and beans are spread out on the fruit-stands by the harbor. - -If you glance towards the heights above the town, you see that the gray -cactus plants that climb along the edges of the cliffs are covered with -blood-red flowers. They have blossomed everywhere like little, glowing -flames. It looks as if the flower cups had been filled with fire, which -now is breaking out. - -But, however much the cactus blossoms, it is still gray and dusty and -cobwebby. You say to yourself that the cactus is like Sicily. However -many springs it may blossom, it is still the gray land of poverty. - -It is hard to realize that everything has remained quiet and the same. -Scylla and Charybdis ought to have begun to roar as in former days. The -stone giant in the Girgenti temple should have risen with reconstructed -limbs. The temple of Selinunto ought to have raised itself from its -ruins. All Sicily should have awakened. - -If you continue your journey from Messina down the coast, you are still -impatient. You see that the peasants are still ploughing with wooden -ploughs and that their horses are just as thin and broken and jaded. - -Yes, everything is the same. The sun sheds its light over the earth like -a rain of color; the pelargoniums bloom at the roadside; the sea is a -soft pale blue, and caresses the shore. - -Wild mountains with bold peaks line the coast. Etna’s lofty top shines in -the distance. - -You notice all at once that something strange is taking place. All your -impatience is gone. Instead you rejoice in the blossoming earth and in -the mountains and in the sea. You are reclaimed by the beautiful earth -as a bit of her lost property. There is no time to think of anything but -tufts and stones. - -At last you approach your real home, the home of your childhood. What -wicked thoughts have filled your mind while you have been away! You never -wished to see that wretched home again, because you had suffered too much -there. And then you see the old walled town from afar, and it smiles at -you innocently, unconscious of its guilt. “Come and love me once more,” -it says. And you can only be happy and grateful because it is willing to -accept your love. - -Ah, when you go up the zigzag path that leads to the gate of the town! -The light shade of the olive-tree falls over you. Was it meant as a -caress? A little lizard scampers along a wall. You have to stop and -look. May not the lizard be a friend of your childhood who wishes to say -good-day? - -Suddenly a fear strikes you. Your heart begins to throb and beat. You -remember that you do not know what you may be going to hear when you come -home. No one has written letters; you have received none. Everything that -recalled home you have put away. It seemed the most sensible way, since -you were never to come home again. Up to that moment your feelings for -your home have been dead and indifferent. - -But in that moment you do not know how you can bear it if everything is -not exactly the same on the mountain of your birth. It will be a mortal -blow if there is a single palm missing on Monte Chiaro or if a single -stone has loosened from the town wall. - -Where is the big agave at the turn of the cliff? The agave is not -there; it has blossomed and been cut down. And the stone bench at the -street-corner is broken. You will miss that bench; it has been such a -pleasant resting-place. And look, they have built a barn on the green -meadow under the almond-trees. You will never again be able to stretch -out there in the flowering clover. - -You are afraid of every step. What will you meet next? - -You are so moved that you feel that you could weep if a single old -beggar-woman has died in your absence. - -No, you did not know that to come home was so strange. - -You came out of prison a few weeks ago, and the torpor of the prison -still has possession of you. You hardly know if you will take the trouble -to go home. Your beloved is dead; it is too terrible to tear your longing -from its grave. So you drift aimlessly about, and let one day pass like -the next. At last you pluck up courage. You must go home to your poor -mother. - -And when you are there, you feel that you have been longing for every -stone, every blade of grass. - - * * * * * - -Ever since he came into the shop Donna Elisa has thought: “Now I will -tell him of Micaela. Perhaps he does not even know that she is alive.” -But she puts it off from minute to minute, not only because she wishes to -have him for a while to herself alone, but also because as soon as she -mentions Micaela’s name he will fall into the anguish and misery of love. -For Micaela will not marry him; she has said so to Donna Elisa a thousand -times. She would like to free him from prison, but she will not be the -wife of an atheist. - -Only for one half-hour will Donna Elisa keep Gaetano for herself; only -for one half-hour. - -But even so long she may not sit with his hand in hers, asking him a -thousand questions, for the people have learned that he has come. All at -once the whole street is full of those who wish to see him. Donna Elisa -has bolted the door, for she knew that she would not have him in peace a -moment after they had discovered him, but it was of little avail. They -knock on the windows, and pound on the door. - -“Don Gaetano,” they cry; “Don Gaetano!” - -Gaetano comes laughing out to the steps. They wave their caps and cheer. -He hurries down into the crowd, and embraces one after another. - -But that is not what they wish. He must go up on the steps and make a -speech. He must tell them how cruel the government has been to him, and -how he has suffered in prison. - -Gaetano laughs still, and stations himself on the steps. “Prison,” he -says; “what is it to talk about? I have had my soup every day, and that -is more than many of you can say.” - -Little Gandolfo swings his cap and calls to him: “There are many more -socialists in Diamante now than when you went away, Don Gaetano.” - -“How else could it be?” he laughs. “Everybody must become a socialist. Is -socialism anything dreadful or terrible? Socialism is an idyl. It is an -idyl of one’s own home and happy work, of which every one dreams from his -childhood. A whole world filled with--” - -He stops, for he has cast a glance towards the summer-palace. There -stands Donna Micaela on one of the balconies, and looks down at him. - -He does not think for a moment that it is an illusion or a hallucination. -He sees instantly that she is flesh and blood. But just for that -reason--and also because the prison life has taken all his strength from -him, so that he cannot be considered a well person-- - -He feels a terrible difficulty in holding himself upright. He clutches -in the air with his hands, tries to get support from the door-post, but -nothing helps. His legs give way under him; he slides down the steps and -strikes his head on the stones. - -He lies there like one dead. - -Every one rushes to him, carries him in, runs after surgeon and doctor, -prescribes, talks, and proposes a thousand ways to help him. - -Donna Elisa and Pacifica get him finally into one of the bedrooms. Luca -drives the people out and places himself on guard before the closed door. -Donna Micaela, who came in with the others, was taken first of them all -by the hand and led out. She was not allowed to stay in at all. Luca had -himself seen Gaetano fall as if from a blow on the temple when he caught -sight of her. - -Then the doctor comes, and he makes one attempt after another to rouse -Gaetano. He is not successful; Gaetano lies as if turned to stone. The -doctor thinks that he received a dangerous blow on the head when he fell. -He does not know whether he will succeed in bringing him to life. - -The swoon in itself was nothing, but that blow on the hard edge of the -stone steps-- - -In the house there is an eager bustle. The poor people outside can only -listen and wait. - -There they stand the livelong day outside Donna Elisa’s door. There stand -Donna Concetta and Donna Emilia. No love has been lost between them in -former times, but to-day they stand beside one another and mourn. - -Many anxious eyes peer in through the windows of Donna Elisa’s house. -Little Gandolfo and old Assunta from the Cathedral steps, and the poor -old chair-maker, stand there the whole afternoon without tiring. It is so -terrible that Gaetano is going to die just when they have got him back -again. - -The blind stand and wait as if they expected him to give them their -sight, and the poor people, both from Geraci and Corvaja, are waiting to -hear how it will turn out for their young lord, the last Alagona. - -He wished them well, and he had great strength and power. If he could -only have lived-- - -“God has taken his hand from Sicily,” they say. “He lets all those perish -who wish to help the people.” - -All the afternoon and evening, and even till midnight, the crowd of -people are still outside Donna Elisa’s house. At precisely twelve o’clock -Donna Elisa throws open the shop-door and comes out on the steps. “Is he -better?” they all cry at the sight of her.--“No, he is not better.” - -Then there is silence; but at last a single trembling voice asks: “Is he -worse?”--“No, no; he is not worse. He is the same. The doctor is with -him.” - -Donna Elisa has thrown a black shawl over her head and carries a lantern -in her hand. She goes down the steps to the street, where the people are -sitting and lying, closely packed one beside one another. She makes her -way quietly through them. - -“Is Gandolfo here?” she asks. “Yes, Donna Elisa.” And Gandolfo comes -forward to her. - -“You must come with me and open your church for me.” - -Every one who hears Donna Elisa say that, understands that she wishes -to go to the Christchild in the church of San Pasquale and pray for -Gaetano. They rise and wish to go with her. - -Donna Elisa is much touched by their sympathy. She opens her heart to -them. - -“I will tell you something,” she says, and her voice trembles -exceedingly. “I have had a dream. I do not know how I could sleep -to-night. But while I was sitting at the bedside, and was most anxious, -I did fall asleep. I had scarcely closed my eyes before I saw the -Christchild before me in his crown and gold shoes, as he stands out in -San Pasquale. And he spoke in this way to me: ‘Make the unhappy woman who -is on her knees praying in my church your son’s wife, then Gaetano will -be well.’ He hardly had time to say it before I awoke, and when I opened -my eyes, I seemed to see the Christchild disappearing through the wall. -And now I must go out and see if any one is there. - -“But now you all hear that I vow that if there is any woman out in the -church of San Pasquale, I shall do what the image commanded me. Even if -it is the poorest girl from the street, I shall take charge of her and -make her my son’s wife.” - -When Donna Elisa has spoken, she and all those who have waited in the -street go out to San Pasquale. The poor people are filled with shuddering -expectation. They can scarcely contain themselves from rushing by Donna -Elisa, in order to see if there is any one in the church. - -Fancy if it is a gypsy girl who has sought shelter there for the night! -Who can be in the church at night except some poor, homeless wanderer? -Donna Elisa has made a terrible vow. - -At last they come to Porta Etnea, and from there they go quickly, -quickly down the hill. The saints preserve us, the church door is open! -Some one really is there. - -The lantern shakes in Donna Elisa’s hand. Gandolfo wishes to take it from -her, but she will keep it. “In God’s name, in God’s name,” she murmurs as -she goes into the church. - -The people crowd in after her. They almost crush one another to death in -the door, but their excitement keeps them silent, no one says a word. All -gaze at the high altar. Is any one there? Is any one there? The little -hanging-lamp over the image shines pitifully faint. Is any one there? - -Yes, some one is there. There is a woman there. She is on her knees, -praying, and her head is so deeply bent that they cannot see who she is. -But when she hears steps behind her she lifts her long, bowed neck and -looks up. It is Donna Micaela. - -At first she is frightened and starts up as if she wished to escape. -Donna Elisa is also frightened, and they look at one another as if they -had never met before. Then Donna Micaela says in a very low voice: “You -have come to pray for him, sister-in-law.” And the people see her move a -little way along so that Donna Elisa may have room directly in front of -the image. - -Donna Elisa’s hand trembles so that she has to set the lantern down on -the floor, and her voice is quite hoarse as she says: “Has none other but -you been here to-night, Micaela?”--“No, none other.” - -Donna Elisa has to support herself against the wall to keep from falling, -and Donna Micaela sees it. She is instantly beside her and puts her -arm about her waist. “Sit down, sit down!” She leads her to the altar -platform and kneels down in front of her. “Is he so ill? We will pray for -him.” - -“Micaela,” says Donna Elisa, “I thought that I should find help -here.”--“Yes, you shall see, you will.”--“I dreamed that the image -came to me, that he came to me and said that I was to come here.”--“He -has also helped us many times before.”--“But he said this to me: ‘Make -the unhappy woman who is on her knees praying before my altar your -son’s wife, then your son will be well.’”--“What do you say that he -said?”--“I was to make her who was kneeling and praying out here my son’s -wife.”--“And you were willing to do it? You did not know whom you would -meet!” - -“On the way I made a vow--and those who followed me heard it--that -whoever it might be, I would take her in my arms and lead her to my home. -I thought that it was some poor woman whom God wished to help.”--“It is -one indeed.”--“I was in despair when I saw that there was no one here but -you.” - -Donna Micaela does not answer; she gazes up at the image. “Is it your -will? Is it your will?” she whispers anxiously. - -Donna Elisa continues to bemoan herself. “I saw him so plainly, and -he has never deceived before. I thought that some poor girl who had -no marriage portion had prayed to him for a husband. Such things have -happened before. What shall I do now?” - -She laments and bewails; she cannot get away from the thought that it -ought to be a poor woman. Donna Micaela grows impatient. She takes her -by the arm and shakes her. “But Donna Elisa, Donna Elisa!” - -Donna Elisa does not listen to her; she continues her laments. “What -shall I do? what shall I do?” - -“Why, make the poor woman who was kneeling and praying here your son’s -wife, Donna Elisa!” - -Donna Elisa looks up. Such a face as she sees before her! So bewitching, -so captivating, so smiling! - -But she may not look at it for more than a second. Donna Micaela hides it -instantly in Donna Elisa’s old black dress. - - * * * * * - -Donna Micaela and Donna Elisa go together into the town. The street -winds so that they cannot see Donna Elisa’s house until they are quite -near. When it at last comes into view they see that the shop windows are -lighted up. Four gigantic wax-candles are burning behind the bunches of -rosaries. - -Both the women press each other’s hands. “He lives!” one whispers to the -other. “He lives!” - -“You must not tell him anything about what the image commanded you to -do,” says Donna Micaela to Donna Elisa. - -Outside the shop they embrace one another and each goes her own way. - -In a little while Gaetano comes out on the steps of the shop. He stands -still for a moment and breathes in the fresh night air. Then he sees how -lights are burning in the dark palace across the street. - -Gaetano breathes short and panting; he seems almost afraid to go further. -Suddenly he dashes across like some one going to meet an unavoidable -misfortune. He finds the door to the summer-palace unlocked, takes the -stairs in two bounds, and bursts open the door to the music-room without -knocking. - -Donna Micaela is sitting there, wondering if he will come now in the -night or the next morning. Then she hears his step outside in the -gallery. She is seized with terror; how will he be? She has longed so -unspeakably for him. Will he really be so that all that longing will be -satisfied? - -And will no more walls rise between them? Will they for once be able to -tell each other everything? Will they speak of love, and not of socialism? - -When he opens the door she tries to go to meet him, but she cannot; she -is trembling in every limb. She sits down and hides her face in her hands. - -She expects him to throw his arms about her and kiss her, but that he -does not do. It is not Gaetano’s way to do what people expect of him. - -As soon as he could stand upright he has thrown on his clothes to come -to see her. He is apparently wildly gay when he comes now. He would -have liked her to take it lightly also. He will not be agitated. He had -fainted in the forenoon. He could stand nothing. - -He stands quietly beside her until she regains her composure. “You have -weak nerves,” he says. That is actually all he says. - -She and Donna Elisa and every one is convinced that he has come to clasp -her in his arms and say that he loves her. But just for that reason it is -impossible for Gaetano. Some people are malicious; it is their nature -never to do just what they ought to do. - -Gaetano begins to tell her of his journey; he does not speak even of -socialism, but talks of express-trains and conductors and curious -travelling companions. - -Donna Micaela sits and looks at him; her eyes beg and implore more and -more eagerly. Gaetano seems to be glad and happy to see her, but why can -he not say what he has to say? - -“Have you been on the Etna railway?” she asks. - -“Yes,” he answers, and begins quite unconstrainedly to speak of the -beauty and usefulness of the road. He knows nothing of how it came to be. - -Gaetano is saying to himself that he is a brute. Why does he not speak -the words for which she is longing? But why is she sitting there so -humbly? Why does she show that he needs only to stretch out his hand and -take her? He is desperately, stormily happy to be near her, but he feels -so sure of her, so certain. It is so amusing to torture her. - -The people of Diamante are still standing outside in the street, and they -all feel as great a happiness as if they had given away a daughter in -marriage. - -They have been patient till now in order to give Gaetano time to declare -himself. But now it surely must be accomplished. And they begin to -shout:-- - -“Long live Gaetano! long live Micaela!” - -Donna Micaela looks up with inexpressible dismay. He surely must -understand that she has nothing to do with it. - -She goes out to the gallery and sends Luca down with the request that -they will be silent. - -When she comes back, Gaetano has risen. He offers her his hand; he wishes -to go. - -Donna Micaela puts out her hand almost without knowing what she is doing. -But then she draws it back; “No, no,” she says. - -He wishes to go, and who knows whether he will come again on the morrow. -She has not been able to talk to him; she has not been able to say a word -to him of all that she wished to say. - -Surely there was no need for them to be like ordinary lovers. That man -had given her life all its life for many years. Whether he spoke to her -of love or not was of no importance; yet she wishes to tell him what he -has been to her. - -And now, just now. One has to make the most of one’s opportunities when -Gaetano is in question. She dares not let him go. - -“You must not go yet,” she says. “I have something to say to you.” - -She draws forward a chair for him; she herself places herself a little -behind him. His eyes are too gay to-night, they trouble her. - -Then she begins to speak. She lays before him the great, hidden treasures -of her life. They were all the words he had said to her and all the -dreams he had set her to dreaming. She had not lost one. She had -collected and saved them up. They had been the only richness in her poor -life. - -In the beginning she speaks fast, as if repeating a lesson. She is afraid -of him; she does not know whether he likes her to speak. At last she -dares to look at him. He is serious now, no longer malicious. He sits -still and listens as if he would not lose a syllable. Just now his face -was sickly and ashen, but now it suddenly changes. His face begins to -shine as though transfigured. - -She talks and talks. She looks at him, and now she is beautiful. How -could she help being beautiful? At last she can speak out to him, she -can tell him how love came to her and how it has never left her since. -Finally she can tell him how he has been all the world to her. - -Words cannot say enough; she takes his hand and kisses it. - -He lets her do it without moving. The color in his cheeks grows no -deeper, but it becomes clearer, more transparent. She remembers Gandolfo, -who had said that Gaetano’s face was so white that it shone. - -He does not interrupt her. She tells him about the railway, speaks of one -miracle after another. He looks at her now and then. His eyes glow at the -sight of her. He is not by any means making fun of her. - -She wonders exceedingly what is passing in him. He looks as if what -she said was nothing new to him. He seems to recognize everything she -says. Could it be that his love for her was the same as that she felt -for him? Was it connected with every noble feeling in him? Had it been -the elevating power in his life? Had it given wings to his artistic -powers? Had it taught him to love the poor and the oppressed? Is it once -more taking possession of him, making him feel that he is an artist, an -apostle, that nothing is too high for him? - -But as he is still silent she thinks that perhaps he will not be tied to -her. He loves her, but possibly he wishes to be a free man. Perhaps he -thinks that she is not a suitable wife for a socialist. - -Her blood begins to boil. She thinks that he perhaps believes that she is -sitting there and begging for his love. - -She has told him almost everything that has happened while he has been -away. Now she suddenly breaks off in her story. - -“I have loved you,” she says. “I shall always love you, and I think that -I should like you to tell me once that you love me. It would make the -parting easier to bear.” - -“Would it?” he says. - -“Can I be your wife?” she says, and her voice trembles with indignation. -“I no longer fear your teachings as I did; I am not afraid of your poor; -I wish to turn the world upside down, I, as well as you. But I am a -believer. How can I live with you if you do not agree with me in that? Or -perhaps you would win me to unbelief? Then the world would be dead for -me. Everything would lose its meaning, its significance. I should be a -miserable, destitute creature. We must part.” - -“Really!” he turns towards her. His eyes begin to glow with impatience. - -“You may go now,” she says quietly; “I have said to you everything I -wished to say. I should have wished that you had something to say to me. -But perhaps it is better as it is. We will not make it harder to part -than it need be.” - -One of Gaetano’s hands holds her hands firmly and closely, the other -holds her head still. Then he kisses her. - -Was she mad, that she could think that he would let anything, anything in -the world, part them now? - - - - -IV - -ONLY OF THIS WORLD - - -As she grew up everybody said of her: “She is going to be a saint, a -saint.” - -Her name was Margherita Cornado. She lived in Girgenti on the south side -of Sicily, in the great mining district. When she was a child her father -was a miner; later he inherited a little money, so that he no longer -needed to work. - -There was a little, narrow, miserable roof-garden on Margherita Cornado’s -house in Girgenti. A small and steep stairway led up to it, and one had -to creep out through a low door. But it was well worth the trouble. When -you reached the top you saw not only a mass of roofs, but the whole -air over the town was gaily crowded with the towers and façades of all -Girgenti’s churches. And every façade and every tower was a quivering -lace-work of images, of loggias, of glowing canopies. - -And outside the town there was a wide plain which sloped gently down -towards the sea, and a semicircle of hills that guarded the plain. The -plain was glittering red; the ocean was blue as enamel; the hillsides -were yellow; it was a whole orient of warmth and color. - -But there was even more to be seen. Ancient temples were dotted about -the valley. Ruins and strange old towers were everywhere, as in a fairy -world. - -As Margherita Cornado grew up, she used to spend most of her days there; -but she never looked out over the dazzling landscape. She was occupied -with other things. - -Her father used to tell her of the life in the sulphur mines at Grotte, -where he had worked. While Margherita Cornado sat on the airy terrace, -she thought that she was incessantly walking about the dark mine veins, -and finding her way through dim shafts. - -She could not help thinking of all the misery that existed in the mines; -especially she thought of the children, who carried the ore up to the -surface. “The little wagons,” they called them. That expression never -left her mind. Poor, poor little wagons, the little mine-wagons! - -They came in the morning, and each followed a miner down into the mine. -As soon as he had dug out enough ore, he loaded the mine-wagon with a -basket of it, and then the latter began to climb. Several of them met on -the way, so that there was a long procession. And they began to sing:-- - - “One journey made in struggling and pain, - Nineteen times to be travelled again.” - -When they finally reached the light of day, they emptied their baskets -of ore and threw themselves on the ground to rest a moment. Most of them -dragged themselves over to the sulphurous pools near the shaft of the -mine and drank the pestiferous water. - -But they soon had to go down again, and they gathered at the mouth of -the mine. As they clambered down, they cried: “Lord and God, have mercy, -have mercy, have mercy!” - -Every journey the little wagons made, their song grew more feeble. They -groaned and cried as they crawled up the paths of the mine. - -The little wagons were bathed in perspiration; the baskets of ore ground -holes in their shoulders. As they went up and down they sang:-- - - “Seven more trips without pause for breath, - The pain of living is worse than death.” - -Margherita Cornado had suffered for those poor children all her own -childhood. And because she was always thinking of their hardships, people -believed that she would be a saint. - -Neither did she forget them as she grew older. As soon as she was grown, -she went to Grotte, where most of the mines are, and when the little -wagons came out into the daylight, she was waiting for them by the shaft -with fresh, clean water. She wiped the perspiration from their faces, and -she dressed the wounds on their shoulders. It was not much that she could -do for them, but soon the little wagons felt that they could not go on -with their work any day that Margherita Cornado did not come and comfort -them. - -But unfortunately for the little wagons, Margherita was very beautiful. -One day one of the mining-engineers happened to see her as she was -relieving the children, and instantly fell very much in love with her. - -A few weeks after, Margherita Cornado stopped coming to the Grotte mines. -She sat at home instead and sewed on her wedding outfit. She was going -to marry the mining-engineer. It was a good match, and connected her with -the chief people of the town, so she could not care for the little wagons -any longer. - -A few days before the wedding the old beggar, Santuzza, who was -Margherita’s god-mother, came and asked to speak to her. They betook -themselves to the roof-garden in order to be alone. - -“Margherita,” said the old woman, “you are in the midst of such happiness -and magnificence that perhaps there is no use speaking to you of those -who are in need and sorrow. You have forgotten all such things.” - -Margherita reproved her for speaking so. - -“I come with a greeting to you from my son, Orestes. He is in trouble, -and he needs your advice.” - -“You know that you can speak freely to me, Santuzza,” said the girl. - -“Orestes is no longer at the Grotte mines; you know that, I suppose. He -is at Racalmuto. And he is very badly off there. Not that the pay is so -bad, but the engineer is a man who grinds down the poor to the last drop -of blood.” - -The old woman told how the engineer tortured the miners. He made them -work over time; he fined them if they missed a day. He did not look after -the mines properly; there was one cave-in after another. No one was -secure of his life as long as he was under earth. - -“Well, Margherita, Orestes had a son. A splendid boy; just ten years old. -The engineer came and wished to buy the boy from Orestes, and set him to -work with the little wagons. But Orestes said no. His boy should not be -ruined by such work. - -“Then the engineer threatened him, and said that Orestes would be -dismissed from the mine.” - -Santuzza paused. - -“And then?” asked Margherita. - -“Yes, then Orestes gave his son to the engineer. The next day the boy -got a whipping from him. He beat him every day. The boy grew more and -more feeble. Orestes saw it, and asked the engineer to spare the boy, -but he had no mercy. He said that the boy was lazy, and he continued to -persecute him. And now he is dead. My grandson is dead, Margherita.” - -The girl had quite forgotten all her own happiness. She was once more -only the miner’s daughter, the protector of the little wagons, the poor -child who used to sit on the bright terrace and weep over the hardships -of the black mines. - -“Why do you let the man live?” she cried. - -The old woman looked at her furtively. Then she crept close to her with a -knife. “Orestes sends you this with a thousand questions,” she said. - -Margherita Cornado took the knife, kissed the blade, and gave it back -without a word. - -It was the evening before the wedding. The parents of the bridegroom were -awaiting their son. He was to come home from the mines towards night; but -he never came. Later in the night a servant was sent to the Grotte mines -to look for him, and found him a mile from Girgenti. He lay murdered at -the roadside. - -A search for the murderer was immediately instituted. Strict examinations -of the miners were held, but the culprit could not be discovered. There -were no witnesses; no one could be prevailed upon to betray a comrade. - -Then Margherita Cornado appeared and denounced Orestes, who was the son -of her god-mother, Santuzza, and who had not moved to Racalmuto at all. - -She did it although she had heard afterwards that her betrothed had -been guilty of everything of which Santuzza had accused him. She did it -although she herself had sealed his doom by kissing the knife. - -She had hardly accused Orestes before she repented of it; she was filled -with the anguish of remorse. - -In another land what she had done would not have been considered a crime, -but it is so regarded in Sicily. A Sicilian would rather die than be an -informer. - -Margherita Cornado enjoyed no rest either by night or by day. She had a -continual aching feeling of anguish in her heart, a great unhappiness -dwelt in her. - -She was not severely judged, because every one knew that she had loved -the murdered man and thought that Santuzza had been too cruel towards -her. No one spoke of her disdainfully, and no one refused to salute her. - -But it made no difference to her that others were kind to her. Remorse -filled her soul and tortured her like an aching wound. Orestes had -been sentenced to the galleys for life. Santuzza had died a few weeks -after her son’s sentence had been passed, and Margherita could not ask -forgiveness of either of them. - -She called on the saints, but they would not help her. It seemed as if -nothing in the world could have the power to free her from the horror of -remorse. - -At that time the famous Franciscan monk, Father Gondo, was sojourning in -the neighborhood of Girgenti. He was preaching a pilgrimage to Diamante. - -It did not disturb Father Gondo not to have the pope acknowledge the -Christ-image in the church of San Pasquale as a miracle-worker. He had -met the blind singers on his wanderings and had heard them tell of the -image. Through long, happy nights he had sat at the feet of Father Elia -and Brother Tommaso, and from sunset to sunrise they had told him of the -image. - -And now the famous preacher had begun to send all who were in trouble -to the great miracle-worker. He warned the people not to let that holy -time pass unheeded. “The Christchild,” he said, “had not hitherto been -much worshipped in Sicily. The time had come when he wished to possess -a church and followers. And to effect it he let his holy image perform -miracle after miracle.” - -Father Gondo, who had passed his novitiate in the monastery of Aracoeli -on the Capitol, told the people of the image of the Christchild that -was there, and of the thousand miracles he had performed. “And now that -good little child wishes to be worshipped in Sicily,” said Father Gondo. -“Let us hesitate no longer, and hasten to him. For the moment heaven is -generous. Let us be the first to acknowledge the image! Let us be like -the shepherds and wise men of the East; let us go to the holy child -while he is still lying on his bed of straw in the miserable hut!” - -Margherita Cornado was filled with a new hope when she heard him. She was -the first to obey Father Gondo’s summons. After her others joined him -also. Forty pilgrims marched with him through the plateaus of the inland -to Diamante. - -They were all very poor and unhappy. But Father Gondo made them march -with song and prayer. Soon their eyes began to shine as if the star of -Bethlehem had gone before them. - -“Do you know,” said Father Gondo, “why God’s son is greater than all the -saints? Because he gives the soul holiness; because he forgives sins; -because he grants to the spirit a blessed trust in God; because his -kingdom is not of this world.” - -When his little army looked tired, he gave them new life by telling them -of the miracles the image had performed. The legends of the blind singers -were like cooling drinks and cheering wine. The poor wanderers in the -barren lands of Sicily walked with a lighter step, as if they were on -their way to Nazareth to see the carpenter’s son. - -“He will take all our burdens from us,” said Father Gondo. “When we come -back our hearts will be freed from every care.” - -And during the wandering through the scorched, glowing desert, where no -trees gave cooling shade, and where the water was bitter with salt and -sulphur, Margherita Cornado felt that her heart’s torments were relieved. -“The little king of heaven will take away my pain,” she said. - -At last, one day in May, the pilgrims reached the foot of the hill of -Diamante. There the desert stopped. They saw about them groves of -olive-trees and fresh green leaves. The mountain shone; the town shone. -They felt that they had come to a place in the shadow of God’s grace. - -They toiled joyfully up the zigzag path, and with loud and exultant -voices sang an old pilgrims’ song. - -When they had gone some way up the mountain, people came running from -Diamante to meet them. When the people heard the monotonous sound of the -old song, they threw aside their work and hurried out. And the people of -Diamante embraced and kissed the pilgrims. - -They had expected them long ago; they could not understand why they -had not come before. The Christ-image of Diamante was a wonderful -miracle-worker; he was so compassionate, so loving that every one ought -to come to him. - -When Margherita Cornado heard them she felt as if her heart was already -healed of its pain. All the people of Diamante comforted her and -encouraged her. “He will certainly help you; he helps every one,” they -said. “No one has prayed to him in vain.” - -At the town-gate the pilgrims parted. The townspeople took them to their -homes, so that they might rest after their journey. In an hour they were -all to meet at the Porta Etnea in order to go out to the image together. - -But Margherita had not the patience to wait a whole hour. She asked her -way out to the church of San Pasquale and went there alone before all the -others. - -When Father Gondo and the pilgrims came out to San Pasquale an hour -later, they saw Margherita Cornado sitting on the platform by the high -altar. She was sitting still and did not seem to notice their coming. But -when Father Gondo came close up to her, she started up as if she had lain -in wait for him and threw herself upon him. She seized him by the throat -and tried to strangle him. - -She was big, splendidly developed and strong. It was only after a severe -struggle that Father Gondo and two of the pilgrims succeeded in subduing -her. She was quite mad, and so violent that she had to be bound. - -The pilgrims had come in a solemn procession; they sang, and held burning -candles in their hands. There was a long line of them, for many people -from Diamante had joined them. Those who came first immediately stopped -their singing; those coming after had noticed nothing and continued their -song. But then the news of what had happened passed from file to file, -and wherever it came the song stopped. It was horrible to hear how it -died away and changed into a low wail. - -All the weary pilgrims realized that they had failed in their coming. All -their laborious wanderings had been in vain. They were disappointed in -their beautiful hopes. The holy image would have no consolation to offer -them. - -Father Gondo himself was in despair. It was a more severe blow to him -than to any one else, for each one of the others had only his own sorrow -to think of, but he bore the sorrows of all those people in his heart. -What answer could he give to all the hopes he had awakened in them? - -Suddenly one of his beautiful, child-like smiles passed over his face. -The image must wish to test his faith and that of the others. If only -they did not fail, they would certainly be helped. - -He began again to sing the pilgrim song in his clear voice and went up to -the altar. - -But as he came nearer to the image, he broke off in his song again. He -stopped and looked at the image with staring eyes. Then he stretched out -his hand, took the crown and brought it close to his eyes. “It is written -there; it is written there,” he murmured. And he let the crown fall from -his hand and roll down on the stone floor. - -From that moment Father Gondo knew that the outcast from Aracoeli was -before him. - -But he did not immediately cry it out to the people, but said instead, -with his usual gentleness,-- - -“My friends, I wish to tell you something strange.” - -He told them of the Englishwoman who had wished to steal the Christ-image -of Aracoeli. And he told how the image had been called Antichrist and had -been cast out into the world. - -“I still remember old Fra Simone,” said Father Gondo. “He never showed me -the image without saying: ‘It was this little hand that rang. It was this -little foot that kicked on the door.’ - -“But when I asked Fra Simone what had become of the other image, he -always said: ‘What should have become of him? The dogs of Rome have -probably dragged him away and torn him to pieces.’” - -When Father Gondo had finished speaking, he went, still quite slowly and -quietly, and picked up the crown that he had just let fall to the floor. - -“Now read that!” he said. And he let the crown go from man to man. The -people stood with their wax-candles in their hands and lighted up the -crown with them. Those who could read, read; the others saw that at least -there was an inscription. - -And each one who had held the crown in his hand instantly extinguished -his candle. - -When the last candle was put out, Father Gondo turned to his pilgrims -who had gathered about him. “I have brought you here,” he said to them, -“that you might find one who gives the soul peace and an entry to God’s -kingdom; but I have brought you wrong, for this one has no such thing to -give. His kingdom is only of this world. - -“Our unfortunate sister has gone mad,” continued Father Gondo, “because -she came here and hoped for heavenly benefits. Her reason gave way when -her prayers were not heard. He could not hear her, for his kingdom is -only of this world.” - -He was silent a moment, and they all looked up at him to find out what -they ought to think of it all. - -He asked as quietly as before: “Shall an image which bears such words in -its crown any longer be allowed to desecrate an altar?” - -“No, no!” cried the pilgrims. The people of Diamante stood silent. - -Father Gondo took the image in his hands and carried it on his -outstretched arms through the church and towards the door. - -But although the Father had spoken gently and humbly, his eyes had rested -the whole time sternly and with compelling force on the crowd of people. -There was not one there whom he had not subdued and mastered by the -strength of his will. Every one had felt paralyzed and without the power -of thinking independently. - -As Father Gondo approached the door, he stopped and looked around. One -last commanding glance fell on the people. - -“The crown also,” said Father Gondo. And the crown was handed to him. - -He set the image down and went out under the stone canopy that protected -the image of San Pasquale. He whispered a word to a couple of pilgrims, -and they hurried away. They soon came back with their arms full of -branches and logs. They laid them down before Father Gondo and set them -on fire. - -All who had been in the church had crowded out. They stood in the yard -outside the church, still subdued, with no will of their own. They saw -that the monk meant to burn their beloved image that helped them so, and -yet they made no resistance. They could not understand themselves why -they did not try to save the image. - -When Father Gondo saw the fire kindle and therefore felt that the image -was entirely in his power, he straightened himself and his eyes flashed. - -“My poor children,” he said gently, and turned to the people of Diamante. -“You have been harboring a terrible guest. How is it possible for you not -to have discovered who he is? - -“What ought I to believe of you?” he continued more sternly. “You -yourselves say that the image has given you everything for which you -have prayed. Has no one in Diamante in all these years prayed for the -forgiveness of sins and the peace of the soul? - -“Can it be possible? The people of Diamante have not had anything to pray -for except lottery numbers and good years and daily bread and health and -money. They have asked for nothing but the good of this world. Not one -has needed to pray for heavenly grace. - -“Can it really be? No, it is impossible,” said Father Gondo joyfully, -as if filled with a sudden hope. “It is I who have made a mistake. The -people of Diamante have understood that I would not lay the image on the -fire without asking and investigating about it. You are only waiting for -me to be silent to step forward and give your testimony. - -“Many will now come and say: ‘That image has made me a believer;’ and -many will say: ‘He has granted me the forgiveness of sins;’ and many will -say: ‘He has opened my eyes, so that I have been able to gaze on the -glory of heaven.’ They will come forward and speak, and I shall be mocked -and derided and compelled to bear the image to the altar and acknowledge -that I have been mistaken.” - -Father Gondo stopped speaking and smiled invitingly at the people. A -quick movement passed through the crowd of listeners. Several seemed to -have the intention of coming forward and testifying. They came a few -steps, but then they stopped. - -“I am waiting,” said the Father, and his eyes implored and called on the -people to come. - -No one came. The whole mass of people was in wailing despair that they -would not testify to the advantage of their beloved image. But no one did -so. - -“My poor children,” said Father Gondo, sadly. “You have had Antichrist -among you, and he has got possession of you. You have forgotten heaven. -You have forgotten that you possess a soul. You think only of this world. - -“Formerly it was said that the people of Diamante were the most religious -in Sicily. Now it must be otherwise. The inhabitants of Diamante are -slaves of the world. Perhaps they are even infidel socialists, who love -only the earth. They can be nothing else. They have had Antichrist among -them.” - -When the people were accused in such a way, they seemed at last to be -about to rise in resistance. An angry muttering passed through the ranks. - -“The image is holy,” one cried. “When he came San Pasquale’s bells rang -all day.” - -“Could they ring for less time to warn you of such a misfortune?” -rejoined the monk. - -He went on with his accusations with growing violence. “You are -idolaters, not Christians. You serve him because he helps you. There is -nothing of the spirit of holiness in you.” - -“He has been kind and merciful, like Christ,” answered the people. - -“Is not just that the misfortune?” said the Father, and now all of a -sudden he was terrible in his wrath. “He has taken the likeness of Christ -to lead you astray. In that way he has been able to weave his web about -you. By scattering gifts and blessings over you, he has lured you into -his net and made you slaves of the world. Or is it not so? Perhaps some -one can come forward and say the contrary? Perhaps he has heard that some -one who is not present to-day has prayed to the image for a heavenly -grace.” - -“He has taken away the power of a _jettatore_,” said one. - -“Is it not he who is as great in evil as the _jettatore_ who has power -over him?” answered the father, bitterly. - -They made no other attempts to defend the image. Everything that they -said seemed only to make the matter worse. - -Several looked round for Donna Micaela, who was also present. She stood -among the crowd, heard and saw everything, but made no attempt to save -the image. - -When Father Gondo had said that the image was Antichrist she had been -terrified, and when he showed that the people of Diamante had only asked -for the good of this world, her terror had grown. She had not dared to do -anything. - -But when he said that she and all the others were in the power of -Antichrist, something in her rose against him. “No, no,” she said, “it -cannot be so.” If she should believe that an evil power had governed her -during so many years, her reason would give way. And her reason began to -defend itself. - -Her faith in the supernatural broke in her like a string too tightly -stretched. She could not follow it any longer. - -With infinite swiftness everything of the supernatural that she herself -had experienced flashed through her mind, and she passed sentence on it. -Was there a single proven miracle? She said to herself that there were -coincidences, coincidences. - -It was like unravelling a skein. From what she herself had experienced -she passed to the miracles of other times. They were coincidences. They -were hypnotism. They were possibly legends, most of them. - -The raging monk continued to curse the people with terrible words. She -tried to listen to him to get away from her own thoughts. But all she -thought was that what he said was madness and lies. - -What was going on in her? Was she becoming an atheist? - -She looked about for Gaetano. He was there also; he stood on the church -steps quite near the monk. His eyes rested on her. And as surely as if -she had told him it, he knew what was passing in her. But he did not -look as if he were glad or triumphant. He looked as if he wished to stop -Father Gondo, to save a little vestige of faith for her. - -Donna Micaela’s thoughts had no mercy. They went on and robbed her soul. -All the glowing world of the supernatural was destroyed, crushed. She -said to herself that no one knew anything of celestial matters, nor could -know anything. Many messages had gone from earth to heaven. None had gone -from heaven to earth. - -“But I will still believe in God,” she said, and clasped her hands as if -still to hold fast the last and best. - -“Your eyes, people of Diamante, are wild and evil,” said Father Gondo. -“God is not in you. Antichrist has driven God away from you.” - -Donna Micaela’s eyes again sought Gaetano’s. “Can you give a poor, -doubting creature something on which to live?” they seemed to ask. His -eyes met hers with proud confidence. He read in her beautiful, imploring -eyes how her trembling soul clung to him for support. He did not doubt -for a moment that he would be able to make her life beautiful and rich. - -She thought of the joy that always met him wherever he showed himself. -She thought of the joy that had roared about her that night in Palermo. -She knew that it rose from the new faith in a happy earth. Could that -faith and that joy take possession of her also? - -She wrung her hands in anguish. Could that new faith be anything to her? -Would she not always feel as unhappy as now? - -Father Gondo bent forward over the fire. - -“I say to you once more,” he cried, “if only one person comes and says -that this image has saved his soul, I will not burn it.” - -Donna Micaela had a sudden feeling that she did not wish the poor image -to be destroyed. The memory of the most beautiful hours of her life was -bound to it. - -“Gandolfo, Gandolfo,” she whispered. She had just seen him beside her. - -“Yes, Donna Micaela.” - -“Do not let him burn the image, Gandolfo!” - -The monk had repeated his question once, twice, thrice. No one came -forward to defend the image. But little Gandolfo crept nearer and nearer. - -Father Gondo brought the image ever closer to the fire. - -Involuntarily Gaetano had bent forward. Involuntarily a proud smile -passed over his face. Donna Micaela saw that he felt that Diamante -belonged to him. The monk’s wild proceedings made Gaetano master of -their souls. - -She looked about in terror. Her eyes wandered from face to face. Was -the same thing going on in all those people’s souls as in her own? She -thought she saw that it was so. - -“Thou, Antichrist,” said Father Gondo, threateningly, “dost thou see that -no one has thought of his soul as long as thou hast been here? Thou must -perish.” - -Father Gondo laid the outcast on the pyre. - -But the image had not lain there more than a second before Gandolfo -seized him. - -He caught him up, lifted him high above his head, and ran. Father Gondo’s -pilgrims hurried after him, and there began a wild chase down Monte -Chiaro’s precipices. - -But little Gandolfo saved the image. - -Down the road a big, heavy travelling-carriage came driving. Gandolfo, -whose pursuers were close at his heels, knew nothing better to do than to -throw the image into the carriage. - -Then he let himself be caught. When his pursuers wished to hurry after -the carriage, he stopped them. “Take care; the lady in the carriage is -English.” - -It was Signora Favara, who had at last wearied of Diamante and was -travelling out into the world once more. And she was allowed to go away -unmolested. No Sicilian dares to lay hands on an Englishwoman. - - - - -V - -A FRESCO OF SIGNORELLI - - -A week later Father Gondo was in Rome. He was granted an interview with -the old man in the Vatican and told him how he had found Antichrist -in the likeness of Christ, how the former had entangled the people of -Diamante in worldliness, and how he, Father Gondo, had wished to burn -him. He also told how he had not been able to lead the people back to -God. Instead, all Diamante had fallen into unbelief and socialism. No one -there cared for his soul; no one thought of heaven. Father Gondo asked -what he should do with those unfortunate people. - -The old pope, who is wiser than any one now living, did not laugh at -Father Gondo’s story; he was deeply distressed by it. - -“You have done wrong; you have done very wrong,” he said. - -He sat silent for a while and pondered; then he said: “You have not seen -the Cathedral in Orvieto?”--“No, Holy Father.”--“Then go there now and -see it,” said the pope; “and when you come back again, you shall tell me -what you have seen there.” - -Father Gondo obeyed. He went to Orvieto and saw the most holy Cathedral. -And in two days he was back in the Vatican. - -“What did you see in Orvieto?” the pope asked him. - -Father Gondo said that in one of the chapels of the Cathedral he -had found some frescoes of Luca Signorelli, representing “The Last -Judgment.” But he had not looked at either the “Last Judgment” or at the -“Resurrection of The Dead.” He had fixed all his attention on the big -painting which the guide called “The Miracles of Antichrist.” - -“What did you see in it?” asked the pope. - -“I saw that Signorelli had painted Antichrist as a poor and lowly man, -just as the Son of God was when he lived here on earth. I saw that he had -dressed him like Christ and given him Christ’s features.” - -“What more did you see?” said the pope. - -“The first thing that I saw in the fresco was Antichrist preaching so -that the rich and the mighty came and laid their treasures at his feet. - -“The second thing I saw was a sick man brought to Antichrist and healed -by him. - -“The third thing I saw was a martyr proclaiming Antichrist and suffering -death for him. - -“The fourth thing I saw in the great wall-picture was the people -hastening to a great temple of peace, the spirit of evil hurled from -heaven, and all men of violence killed by heaven’s thunderbolts.” - -“What did you think when you saw that?” asked the pope. - -“When I saw it, I thought: ‘That Signorelli was mad. Does he mean that in -the time of Antichrist evil shall be conquered, and the earth become holy -as a paradise?’” - -“Did you see anything else?” - -“The fifth thing I saw depicted in the painting was the monks and priests -piled up on a big bonfire and burned. - -“And the sixth and last thing I saw was the Devil whispering in -Antichrist’s ear, and suggesting to him how he was to act and speak.” - -“What did you think when you saw that?” - -“I said to myself: ‘That Signorelli is not mad; he is a prophet. -Antichrist will certainly come in the likeness of Christ and make a -paradise of the world. He will make it so beautiful that the people will -forget heaven. And it will be the world’s most terrible temptation.’” - -“Do you understand now,” said the pope, “that there was nothing new in -all that you told me? The Church has always known that Antichrist would -come, armed with the virtues of Christ.” - -“Did you also know that he had actually come, Holy Father?” asked Father -Gondo. - -“Could I sit here on Peter’s chair year after year without knowing that -he has come?” said the pope. “I see starting a movement of the people, -which burns with love for its neighbor and hates God. I see people -becoming martyrs for the new hope of a happy earth. I see how they -receive new joy and new courage from the words ‘Think of the earth,’ as -they once found them in the words ‘Think of heaven.’ I knew that he whom -Signorelli had foretold had come.” - -Father Gondo bowed silently. - -“Do you understand now wherein you did wrong?” - -“Holy Father, enlighten me as to my sin.” - -The old pope looked up. His clear eyes looked through the veil of chance -which shrouds future events and saw what was hidden behind it. - -“Father Gondo,” he said, “that little child with whom you fought in -Diamante, the child who was merciful and wonder-working like Christ, that -poor, despised child who conquered you and whom you call Antichrist, do -you not know who he is?” - -“No, Holy Father.” - -“And he who in Signorelli’s picture healed the sick, and softened the -rich, and felled evil-doers to the earth, who transformed the earth to a -paradise and tempted the people to forget heaven. Do you not know who he -is?” - -“No, Holy Father.” - -“Who else can he be but the Antichristianity, socialism?” - -The monk looked up in terror. - -“Father Gondo,” said the pope, sternly, “when you held the image in your -arms you wished to burn him. Why? Why were you not loving to him? Why did -you not carry him back to the little Christchild on the Capitolium from -whom he proceeded? - -“That is what you wandering monks could do. You could take the great -popular movement in your arms, while it is still lying like a child -in its swaddling clothes, and you could bear it to Jesus’ feet; and -Antichrist would see that he is nothing but an imitation of Christ, and -would acknowledge him his Lord and Master. But you do not do so. You -cast Antichristianity on the pyre, and soon he in his turn will cast you -there.” - -Father Gondo bent his knee. “I understand, Holy Father. I will go and -look for the image.” - -The pope rose majestically. “You shall not look for the image; you shall -let him go his way through the ages. We do not fear him. When he comes -to storm the Capitol in order to mount the throne of the world, we shall -meet him, and we shall lead him to Christ. We shall make peace between -earth and heaven. But you do wrong,” he continued more mildly, “to hate -him. You must have forgotten that the sibyl considered him one of the -redeemers of the world. ‘On the heights of the Capitol the redeemer of -the world shall be worshipped, Christ or Antichrist.’” - -“Holy Father, if the miseries of this world are to be remedied by him, -and heaven suffers no injury, I shall not hate him.” - -The old pope smiled his most subtle smile. - -“Father Gondo, you will permit me also to tell you a Sicilian story. The -story goes, Father Gondo, that when Our Lord was busy creating the world, -He wished one day to know if He had much more work to do. And He sent San -Pietro out to see if the world was finished. - -“When San Pietro came back, he said: ‘Every one is weeping and sobbing -and lamenting.’ - -“‘Then the world is not finished,’ said Our Lord, and He went on working. - -“Three days later Our Lord sent San Pietro again to the earth. - -“‘Everyone is laughing and rejoicing and playing,’ said San Pietro, when -he came back. - -“‘Then the world is not finished,’ said Our Lord, and He went on working. - -“San Pietro was dispatched for the third time. - -“‘Some are weeping and some are laughing,’ he said, when he came back. - -“‘Then the world is finished,’ said Our Lord. - -“And so shall it be and continue,” said the old pope. “No one can save -mankind from their sorrows, but much is forgiven to him who brings new -courage to bear them.” - - -THE END - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Miracles of Antichrist, by Selma Lagerlöf - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST *** - -***** This file should be named 54615-0.txt or 54615-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/6/1/54615/ - -Produced by MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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