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diff --git a/old/54684-0.txt b/old/54684-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 343bca2..0000000 --- a/old/54684-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8320 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of House by The-Medlar-Tree, by Giovanni Verga - -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: House by The-Medlar-Tree - -Author: Giovanni Verga - -Commentator: W. D. Howells - -Translator: Mary A. Craig - -Release Date: May 8, 2017 [EBook #54684] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOUSE BY THE-MEDLAR-TREE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -HOUSE BY THE-MEDLAR-TREE - -By Giovanni Verga - -Translation By Mary A. Craig - -An Introduction By W. D. Howells - -New York: Harper & Brothers - -1890 - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - -INTRODUCTION. - -|Any one who loves simplicity or respects sincerity, any one who feels -the tie binding us all together in the helplessness of our common -human life, and running from the lowliest as well as the highest to the -Mystery immeasurably above the whole earth, must find a rare and tender -pleasure in this simple story of an Italian fishing village. I cannot -promise that it will interest any other sort of readers, but I do not -believe that any other sort are worth interesting; and so I can praise -Signor Verga’s book without reserve as one of the most perfect pieces of -literature that I know. - -When we talk of the great modern movement towards reality we speak -without the documents if we leave this book out of the count, for I can -think of no other novel in which the facts have been more faithfully -reproduced, or with a profounder regard for the poetry that resides -in facts and resides nowhere else. Signor Verdi began long ago, in his -_Vita dei Campi_ (“Life of the Fields”) to give proof of his fitness -to live in our time; and after some excursions in the region of French -naturalism, he here returns to the original sources of his inspiration, -and offers us a masterpiece of the finest realism. - -He is, I believe, a Sicilian, of that meridional race among whom the -Italian language first took form, and who in these latest days have done -some of the best things in Italian literature. It is of the far South -that he writes, and of people whose passions are elemental and whose -natures are simple. The characters, therefore, are types of good and of -evil, of good and of generosity, of truth and of falsehood. They are -not the less personal for this reason, and the life which they embody -is none the less veritable. It will be well for the reader who comes -to this book with the usual prejudices against the Southern Italians to -know that such souls as Padron ’Ntoni and Maruzza la Longa, with their -impassioned conceptions of honor and duty, exist among them; and that -such love idyls as that of Mena and Alfio, so sweet, so pure, and the -happier but not less charming every-day romance of Alessio and Nunziata, -are passages of a life supposed wholly benighted and degraded. This -poet, as I must call the author, does again the highest office of -poetry, in making us intimate with the hearts of men of another faith, -race, and condition, and teaching us how like ourselves they are in all -that is truest in them. Padron ’Ntoni and La Longa, Luca, Mena, Alfio, -Nunziata, Alessio, if harshlier named, might pass for New England types, -which we boast the product of Puritanism, but which are really the -product of conscience and order. The children of disorder who move -through the story--the selfish, the vicious, the greedy, like Don -Sylvestro, and La Vespa, and Goosefoot, and Dumb-bell, or the merely -weak, like poor ’Ntoni Malavoglia--are not so different from our -own images either, when seen in this clear glass, which falsifies and -distorts nothing. - -Few tales, I think, are more moving, more full of heartbreak than this, -for few are so honest. By this I mean that the effect in it is precisely -that which the author aimed at. He meant to let us see just what manner -of men and women went to make up the life of a little Italian town of -the present day, and he meant to let the people show themselves with the -least possible explanation or comment from him. The transaction of the -story is in the highest degree dramatic; but events follow one another -with the even sequence of hours on the clock. You are not prepared to -value them beforehand; they are not advertised to tempt your curiosity -like feats promised at the circus, in the fashion of the feebler novels; -often it is in the retrospect that you recognize their importance -and perceive their full significance. In this most subtly artistic -management of his material the author is most a master, and almost more -than any other he has the rare gift of trusting the intelligence of -his reader. He seems to have no more sense of authority or supremacy -concerning the personages than any one of them would have in telling -the story, and he has as completely freed himself from literosity as the -most unlettered among them. Under his faithful touch life seems mainly -sad in Trezza, because life is mainly sad everywhere, and because men -there have not yet adjusted themselves to the only terms which can -render life tolerable anywhere. They are still rivals, traitors, -enemies, and have not learned that in the vast orphanage of nature they -have no resource but love and union among themselves and submission to -the unfathomable wisdom which was before they were. Yet seen aright this -picture of a little bit of the world, very common and low down and far -off, has a consolation which no one need miss. There, as in every part -of the world, and in the whole world, goodness brings not pleasure, not -happiness, but it brings peace and rest to the soul and, lightens all -burdens; the trial and the sorrow go on for good and evil alike; only, -those who choose the evil have no peace. - -W. D. Howells. - - - - -THE HOUSE BY THE MEDLAR-TREE. - - - - -I. - -|Once the Malavoglia were as numerous as the stones on the old road to -Trezza; there were some even at Ognino and at Aci Castello, and good and -brave seafaring folk, quite the opposite of what they might appear to be -from their nickname of the Ill-wills, as is but right. In fact, in the -parish books they were called Toscani; but that meant nothing, because, -since the world was a world, at Ognino, at Trezza, and at Aci Castello -they had been known as Malavoglia, from father to son, who had always -had boats on the water and tiles in the sun. Now at Trezza there -remained only Padron ’Ntoni and his family, who owned the -_Provvidenza_, which was anchored in the sand below the washing-tank by -the side of Uncle Cola’s _Concetta_ and Padron Fortunato Cipolla’s bark. -The tempests, which had scattered all the other Malavoglia to the -four winds, had passed over the house by the medlar-tree and the boat -anchored under the tank without doing any great damage; and Padron -’Ntoni, to explain the miracle, used to say, showing his closed fist, -a fist which looked as if it were made of walnut wood, “To pull a good -oar the five fingers must help one another.” He also said, “Men are like -the fingers of the hand--the thumb must be the thumb, and the little -finger the little finger.” - -And Padron ’Ntoni’s little family was really disposed like the fingers -of a hand. First, he came--the thumb--who ordered the fasts and the -feasts in the house; then Bastian, his son, called Bastianazzo because -he was as big and as grand as the Saint Christopher which was painted -over the arch of the fish-market in town; and big and grand as he was, -he went right about at the word of command, and wouldn’t have blown -his nose unless his father had told him to do it. So he took to wife -La Longa when his father said to him “Take her!” Then came La Longa, a -little woman who attended to her weaving, her salting of anchovies, and -her babies, as a good house-keeper should do; last, the grandchildren -in the order of their age--’Ntoni, the eldest, a big fellow of twenty, -who was always getting cuffs from his grandfather, and then kicks a -little farther down if the cuffs had been heavy enough to disturb -his equilibrium; Luca, “who had more sense than the big one,” the -grandfather said; Mena (Filomena), surnamed Sant’Agata, because she was -always at the loom, and the proverb goes, “Woman at the loom, hen in the -coop, and mullet in January;” Alessio, our urchin, that was his -grandfather all over; and Lia (Rosalia), as yet neither fish nor flesh. -On Sunday, when they went into church one after another, they looked -like a procession. - -Padron ’Ntoni was in the habit of using certain proverbs and sayings -of old times, for, said he, the sayings of the ancients never lie: -“Without a pilot the boat won’t go;” “To be pope one must begin by being -sacristan,” or, “Stick to the trade you know, somehow you’ll manage to -go;” “Be content to be what your father was, then you’ll be neither a -knave nor an ass,” and other wise saws. Therefore the house by the -medlar was prosperous, and Padron ’Ntoni passed for one of the weighty -men of the village, to that extent that they would have made him a -communal councillor. Only Don Silvestro, the town-clerk, who was very -knowing, insisted that he was a rotten _codino_, a reactionary who went -in for the Bourbons, and conspired for the return of Franceschello, that -he might tyrannize over the village as he tyrannized over his own house. -Padron ’Ntoni, instead, did not even know Franceschello by sight, and -used to say, “He who has the management of a house cannot sleep when he -likes, for he who commands must give account.” In December, 1863, -’Ntoni, the eldest grandson, was called up for the naval conscription. -Padron ’Ntoni had recourse to the big-wigs of the village, who are -those who can help us if they like. But Don Giammaria, the vicar, -replied that he deserved it, and that it was the fruit of that satanic -revolution which they had made, hanging that tricolored handkerchief to -the campanile. Don Franco, the druggist, on the other hand, laughed -under his beard, and said it was quite time there should be a -revolution, and that then they would send all those fellows of the draft -and the taxes flying, and there would be no more soldiers, but everybody -would go out and fight for their country if there was need of it. Then -Padron ’Ntoni begged and prayed him, for the love of God, to make the -revolution quickly, before his grandson ’Ntoni went for a soldier, as -if Don Franco had it in his pocket, so that at last the druggist flew -into a rage. Then Don Silvestro, the town-clerk, dislocated his jaws -with laughter at the talk, and finally he said that by means of certain -little packets, slipped into certain pockets that he knew of, they might -manage to get his nephew found defective in some way, and sent back for -a year. Unfortunately, the doctor, when he saw the tall youth, told him -that his only defect was to be planted like a column on those big ugly -feet, that looked like the leaves of a prickly-pear, but such feet as -that would be of more use on the deck of ah iron-clad in certain rough -times that were coming than pretty small ones in tight boots; and so he -took ’Ntoni, without saying “by your leave.” La Longa, when the -conscripts went up to their quarters, trotted breathless by the side of -her long-legged son, reminding him that he must always remember to keep -round his neck the piece of the Madonna’s dress that she had given him, -and to send home news whenever any one came that way that he knew, and -she would give him money to buy paper. - -The grandfather, being a man, said nothing; but felt a lump in his -throat, too, and would not look his daughter-in-law in the face, so that -it seemed as if he were angry with her. So they returned to Aci -Trezza, silent, with bowed heads. Bastianazzo, who had unloaded the -_Provvidenza_ in a great hurry, went to meet them at the top of the -street, and when he saw them coming, sadly, with their shoes in their -hands, had no heart to speak, but turned round and went back with them -to the house. La Longa rushed away to the kitchen, longing to find -herself alone with the familiar saucepans; and Padron ’Ntoni said to -his son, “Go and say something to that poor child; she can bear it no -longer.” The day after they all went back to the station of Aci Castello -to see the train pass with the conscripts who were going to Messina, -and waited behind the bars hustled by the crowd for more than an hour. -Finally the train arrived, and they saw their boys, all swarming with -their heads out of the little windows like oxen going to a fair. The -singing, the laughter, and the noise made it seem like the Festa of -Trecastagni, and in the flurry and the fuss they forgot their aching -hearts for a while. - -“Adieu, ’Ntoni! Adieu, mamma! Addio. Remember! remember!” Near by, on -the margin of the ditch, pretending to be cutting grass for the calf, -was Cousin Tudda’s Sara; but Cousin Venera, the Zuppidda (hobbler), went -on whispering that she had come there to see Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni, -with whom she used to talk over the wall of the garden. She had seen -them herself, with those very eyes, which the worms would one day -devour. Certain it is that ’Ntoni waved his hand to Sara, and that she -stood still, with the sickle in her hand, gazing at the train as long as -it was there. To La Longa it seemed that that wave of the hand had been -stolen from her, and when she met Cousin Tudda’s Sara on the piazza -(public square), or at the tank where they washed, she turned her back -on her for a long time after. Then the train moved off, hissing and -screaming so as to drown the adieus and the songs. And then the curious -crowd dispersed, leaving only a few poor women and some poor devils that -still stood clinging to the bars without knowing why. Then, one by -one, they also moved away, and Padron ’Ntoni, guessing that his -daughter-in-law must have a bitter taste in her mouth, spent two -centimes for a glass of water, with lemon-juice in it, for her. Cousin -Venera, the Zuppidda, to comfort her gossip La Longa, said to her, “Now, -you may set your heart at rest, for, for five years you may look upon -your son as dead, and think no more about him.” - -But they did think of him all the time at the house by the medlar--now -it would be a plate too many which La Longa found in her hand when she -was getting supper ready; now some knot or other that nobody could tie -like ’Ntoni in the rigging--and when some rope had to be pulled -taut, or turn some screw, the grandfather groaning, “O-hi! O-o-o-o-hi!” - ejaculated: “Here we want ’Ntoni!” or “Do you think I have a wrist -like that boy’s?” The mother, passing the shuttle through the loom that -went one, two, three! thought of the boum, boum of the engine that -had dragged away her son, which had sounded ever since in her heart, -one!--two!--three! - -The grandpapa, too, had certain singular methods of consolation. “What -will you have? A little soldiering will do that boy good; he always -liked better to carry his two arms out a-walking of a Sunday than to -work with them for his bread.” Or, “When he has learned how salt the -bread is that one eats elsewhere he won’t growl any longer about the -minestra * at home.” - -* Macaroni of inferior quality. - -Finally, there arrived the first letter from ’Ntoni, which convulsed -the village. He said that the women oft there swept the streets with -their silk petticoats, and that on the mole there was Punch’s theatre, -and that they sold those little round cheeses, that rich people eat, for -two centimes, and that one could not get along without soldi; that did -well enough at Trezza, where, unless one went to Santuzza’s, at the -tavern, one didn’t know how to spend one’s money. - -“Set him up with his cheeses, the glutton,” said his grandfather. “He -can’t help it, though; he always was like that. If I hadn’t held him at -the font in these arms, I should have said Don Giammaria had put sugar -in his mouth instead of salt.” - -The Mangiacarubbe when she was at the tank, and Cousin Tudda’s Sara was -by, went on saying: - -“Certainly. Those ladies with the silk dresses waited on purpose for -Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni to steal him away. They haven’t got any -pumpkin-heads down there!” - -The others held their sides with laughing, and henceforth the envious -girls called ’Ntoni “pumpkin-head.” - -’Ntoni had sent his portrait, too; all the girls at the tank had seen -it, as Sara showed it to one after another, passing it under her apron, -and the Mangiacarubbe shivered with jealousy. He looked like Saint -Michael the Archangel with those feet planted on a fine carpet, and a -curtain behind his head, like that of the Madonna at Ognino; and he was -so handsome, so clean, and smooth and neat, that the mother that bore -him wouldn’t have known him; and poor La Longa was never tired of gazing -at the curtain and the carpet and that pillar, against which her -son stood up stiff as a post, scratching with his hand the back of a -beautiful arm-chair; and she thanked God and the saints who had placed -her boy in the midst of such splendors. She kept the portrait on the -bureau, under the glass globe which covered the figure of the Good -Shepherd; so that she said her prayers to it, the Zuppidda said, and -thought she had a great treasure on the bureau; and, after all, Sister -Mariangela, the Santuzza, had just such another (anybody that cared to -might see it) that Cousin Mariano Cinghialenta had given her, and she -kept it nailed upon the tavern counter, among the bottles. - -But after a while ’Ntoni got hold of a comrade who could write, and -then he let himself go in abuse of the hard life on board ship, the -discipline, the superiors, the thin rice soup, and the tight shoes. -“A letter that wasn’t worth the twenty centimes for the postage,” said -Padron ’Ntoni. La Longa scolded about the writing, that looked like a -lot of fishhooks, and said nothing worth hearing. - -Bastianazzo shook his head, saying no; it wasn’t good at all, and that -if it had been he, he would have always put nice things to please people -down there on the paper--pointing at it with a finger as big as the pin -of a rowlock--if it were only out of compassion for La Longa, who, since -her boy was gone, went about like a cat that had lost her kitten. -Padron ’Ntoni went in secret, first, to Don Giammaria, and then to Don -Franco, the druggist, and got the letter read to him by both of them; -and as they were of opposite ways of thinking, he was persuaded that -it was really written there as they said; and then he went on saying to -Bastianazzo and to his wife: - -“Didn’t I tell you that boy ought to have been born rich, like Padron -Cipolla’s son, that he might have nothing to do but lie in the sun and -scratch himself?” - -Meanwhile the year was a bad one, and the fish had to be given for -the souls of the dead, now that Christians had taken to eating meat on -Friday like so many Turks. Besides, the men who remained at home were -not enough to manage the boat, and sometimes they had to take La Locca’s -Menico, by the day, to help. The King did this way, you see--he took the -boys just as they got big enough to earn their living; while they were -little, and had to be fed, he left them at home. And there was Mena, -too; the girl was seventeen, and the youths began to stop and stare at -her as she went into church. So it was necessary to work with hands and -feet too to drive that boat, at the house by the medlar-tree. - -Padron ’Ntoni, therefore, to drive the bark, had arranged with Uncle -Crucifix Dumb-bell an affair concerning certain lupins * to be bought -on credit and sold again at Riposto, where Cousin Cinghialenta, the -carrier, said there was a boat loading for Trieste. In fact, the lupins -were beginning to rot; but they were all that were to be had at Trezza, -and that old rascal Dumb-bell knew that the _Provvidenza_ was eating her -head off and doing nothing, so he pretended to be very stupid, indeed. -“Eh! too much is it? Let it alone, then! But I can’t take a centime -less! I can’t, on my conscience! I must answer for my soul to God! I -can’t”--and shook his head till it looked in real earnest like a bell -without a clapper. This conversation took place at the door of the -church at Ognino, on the first Sunday in September, which was the -feast of Our Lady. There was a great concourse of people from all the -neighborhood, and there was present also Cousin Agostino Goosefoot, who, -by talking and joking, managed to get them to agree upon two scudi -and ten the bag, to be paid by the month. It was always so with Uncle -Crucifix, he said, because he had that cursed weakness of not being able -to say no. “As if you couldn’t say no when you like,” sneered Goosefoot. -“You’re like the--” And he told him what he was like. - -* Coarse flat beans. - -When La Longa heard of the business of the lupins, she opened her eyes -very wide indeed, as they sat with their elbows on the table-cloth after -supper, and it seemed as if she felt, the weight of that sum of forty -scudi on her stomach. But she said nothing, because women have nothing -to do with such things; and Padron ’Ntoni explained to her how, if the -affair was successful, there would be bread for the winter and ear-rings -for Mena, and Bastiano could go and come in a week from Riposto with La -Locca’s Menico. Bastiano, meantime, snuffed the candle and said -nothing. So the affair of the lupins was arranged, and the voyage of -the _Provvidenza_, which was the oldest boat in the village, but was -supposed to be very lucky. Maruzza had a heavy heart, but did not speak; -he went about indefatigably, preparing everything, putting the boat in -order, and filling the cupboard with provisions for the journey--fresh -bread, the jar with oil, the onions--and putting the fur-lined coat -under the deck. - -The men had been very busy all day with that usurer Uncle Crucifix, who -had sold a pig in a poke, and the lupins were spoiling. Dumb-bell -swore that he knew nothing about it, in God’s truth! “Bargaining is -no cheating,” was he likely to throw his soul to the pigs? And Goosefoot -scolded and blasphemed like one possessed--to bring them to agreement, -swearing that such a thing had never happened to him before; and he -thrust his hands among the lupins, and held them up before God and the -Madonna, calling them to witness. At last--red, panting, desperate--he -made a wild proposition, and flung it in the face of Uncle Crucifix (who -pretended to be quite stupefied), and of the Malavoglia, with the sacks -in their hands. “There! pay it at Christmas, instead of paying so much a -month, and you will gain two soldi the sack! Now make an end of it. Holy -Devil!” and he began to measure them. “In God’s name, one!” - -The _Provvidenza_ went off on Saturday, towards evening, when the Ave -Maria should have been ringing; only the bell was silent because Master -Cirino, the sacristan, had gone to carry a pair of new boots to Don -Silvestro, the town-clerk; at that hour the girls crowded like a -flight of sparrows about the fountain, and the evening-star was shining -brightly already just over the mast of the _Provvidenza_, like a -lamp. Maruzza, with her baby in her arms, stood on the shore, without -speaking, while her husband loosed the sail, and the _Provvidenza_ -danced on the broken waves by the Fariglione * like a duck. “Clear south -wind and dark north, go fearlessly forth,” said Padron ’Ntoni, from -the landing, looking towards the mountains, dark with clouds. - -La Locca’s Menico, who was in the _Provvidenza_ with Bastianazzo, called -out something which was lost in the sound of the sea. “He said you may -give the money to his mother, for his brother is out of work;” called -Bastianazzo, and that was the last word that was heard. - -* Rocks rising straight out of the sea, separate from the shore. - - - - -II. - - -|In the whole place nothing was talked of but the affair of the lupins, -and as La Longa returned with Lia from the beach the gossips came to -their doors to see her pass. - -“Oh, a regular golden business”! shouted Goose-foot, as he hitched along -with his crooked leg behind Padron ’Ntoni, who went and sat down -on the church-steps with Padron Fortunato Cipolla and Locca Menico’s -brother, who were taking the air there in the cool of the evening. -“Uncle Crucifix screamed as if you had been pulling out his -quill-feathers; but you needn’t mind that--he has plenty of quills, the -old boy. Oh, we had a time of it!--you can say as much for your part, -too, can’t you, Padron ’Ntoni? But for Padron ’Ntoni, you know, I’d -throw myself off the cliffs any day. So I would, before God! And Uncle -Crucifix listens to me because he knows what a big ladle means--a big -ladle, you know, that stirs a big pot, where there’s more than two -hundred scudi a year a-boiling! Why, old Dumb-bell wouldn’t know how to -blow his nose if I wasn’t by to show him!” - -La Locca’s son, hearing them talk of Uncle Crucifix, who was really his -uncle, because he was La Locca’s brother, felt his heart swelling with -family affection. - -“We are relations,” he repeated. “When I go there to work by the day he -gives me only halfwages and no wine, because we are relations.” - -Old Goosefoot sneered: - -“He does it for your good, so that you shouldn’t take to drinking, and -that he may have more money to leave you when he dies.” - -Then old Goosefoot went on amusing himself by speaking ill now of one -now of another, as it happened; but so good-humoredly, without malice, -that no one could catch him in anything actionable. - -He said to La Locca’s son: - -“Your uncle wants to nobble your Cousin Vespa [wasp] out of her -garden--trying to get her to let him have it for half what it’s -worth--making her believe he’ll marry her. But if La Vespa succeeds in -drawing him on, you may go whistle for your inheritance, and you’ll lose -the wages he hasn’t given you and the wine you didn’t drink.” - -Then they began to dispute--for Padron ’Ntoni insisted upon it that, -“after all, Uncle Dumb-bell was a Christian, and hadn’t quite thrown his -brains into the gutter, to go and marry his brother’s daughter.” - -“What has Christian to do with it, or Turk either?” growled Goosefoot. -“He’s mad, you mean! He’s as rich as a pig; what does he want of that -little garden of Vespa’s, as big as a nose-rag? And she has nothing but -that.” - -“I ought to know how big it is; it lies along my vineyard,” said Padron -Cipolla, puffing himself like a turkey. - -“You call that a vineyard? Four prickly-pears!” sneered Goosefoot. - -“Between the prickly-pears the vines grow; and if Saint Francis will -send us a good shower of rain, you’ll see if I don’t have some good -wine! To-day the sun went to bed loaded with rain, or with wind.” “When -the sun goes to bed heavy one must look for a west wind,” said Padron -’Ntoni. - -Goosefoot couldn’t bear Cipolla’s sententious way of talking, “thinking, -because he was rich, he must know everything, and could make the poor -people swallow whatever nonsense he chose to talk. One wants rain, and -one wants wind,” he wound up. “Padron Cipolla wants rain for his vines, -and Padron ’Ntoni wants a wind to push the poop of the _Provvidenza_. -You know the proverb, ‘Curly is the sea, a fresh wind there’ll be!’ -To-night the stars are shining, at midnight the wind will change. Don’t -you hear the ground-swell?” - -On the road there was heard the sound of heavy carts, slowly passing. - -“Night or day, somebody’s always going about the world,” said Cipolla a -little later on. - -Now that they could no longer see the sea or the fields, it seemed as -if there were only Trezza in the world, and everybody wondered where the -carts could be going at that hour. - -“Before midnight the _Provvidenza_ will have rounded the Cape of the -Mills, and the wind won’t trouble her any longer.” - -Padron ’Ntoni thought of nothing but the _Provvidenza_, and when they -were not talking of her he said nothing, and sat like a post among the -talkers. - -“You ought to go across the street to the druggist’s, where they are -talking politics. You’d make a fine figure among them. Listen how they -shout!” - -“That’s Don Giammaria,” said La Locca’s son, “disputing with Don -Franco.” - -The druggist was holding a conversation at the door of his shop with the -vicar and two or three others. As he was a cultured person he got the -newspaper, and read it, too, and let others read it; and he had the -_History of the French Revolution_, which he kept under the glass -mortar, because he quarrelled about it every day with Don Giammaria, the -vicar, to pass the time, and they got positively bilious over it, but -they couldn’t have lived a day without seeing each other. On Saturdays, -when the paper came, Don Franco went so far as to burn a candle for half -an hour, or even for a whole hour, at the risk of a scolding from his -wife, so as to explain his ideas properly, and not go to bed like a -brute, as Uncle Cipolla and old Malavoglia did. In the summer, besides, -there was no need of a candle, for they could stand under the lamp at -the door, when Mastro Cirino lighted it, and sometimes Don Michele, -the brigadier of the customs guard, joined them; and Don Silvestro, the -town-clerk, too, coming back from his vineyard? stopped for a moment. -Then Don Franco would say, rubbing his hands, that they were quite a -parliament, and go off behind his counter, passing his fingers through -his long beard like a comb, with a shrewd little grin, as if he were -going to eat somebody for his breakfast; and would let slip broken -phrases under his breath full of hidden meaning; so that it was plain -enough that he knew more than all the world put together. And Don -Giammaria couldn’t bear the sight of him, and grew yellow with fury and -spit Latin at him. Don Silvestro, for his part, was greatly amused to -see how he poisoned his blood “trying to straighten out a dog’s legs,” - he said, “without a chance of making a centime by it; he, at least, -didn’t lose his temper, as they did.” And for that reason they said in -the place that he had the best farms in Trezza--“that he had come to a -barefooted ragamuffin,” added old Goosefoot. He would set the disputants -at each other as if they had been dogs, and laughed fit to split his -sides with shrill cries of ah! ah! ah! like a cackling hen. - -Goosefoot went off again with the old story that if Don Silvestro had -been willing to stay where he belonged, it would be a spade he’d be -wielding now and not a pen. - -“Would you give him your granddaughter Mena?” said Cipolla at last, -turning to Padron ’Ntoni. - -“Each to his own business--leave the wolf to look after the sheep.” - -Padron Cipolla kept on nodding his head--all the more that there had -been some talk between him and Padron ’Ntoni of marrying Mena to his -son Brasi; if the lupin business went on well the dowry would be paid -down in cash, and the affair settled immediately. - -“The girl as she has been trained, and the tow as it has been spun,” - said Padron Malavoglia at last; and Padron Cipolla agreed “that -everybody in the place knew that La Longa had brought up her girl -beautifully, that anybody who passed through the alley behind the house -by the medlar at the hour at which they were talking could hear the -sound of Sant’Agata’s loom. Cousin Maruzza didn’t waste her oil after -dark, that she didn’t,” he said. - -La Longa, just as she came back from the beach, sat down at the window -to prepare the thread for the loom. - -“Cousin Mena is not seen but heard, and she stays at the loom day and -night, like Sant’Agata,” said the neighbors. - -“That’s the way to bring up girls,” replied Maruzza, “instead of -letting them stay gaping out the window. ‘Don’t go after the girl at the -window,’ says the proverb.” - -“Some of them, though, staring out of window, manage to catch the -foolish fish that pass,” said her cousin Anna from the opposite door. - -Cousin Anna (really her cousin this time, not only called so by way of -good-fellowship) had reason and to spare for this speech; for that -great hulking fellow, her son Rocco, had tacked himself on to the -Mangiacarubbe’s petticoat-tail, and she was always leaning out of the -window, toasting her face in the sun. - -Gossip Grazia Goosefoot, hearing that there was a conversation going on, -came to her door with her apron full of the beans she was shelling, and -railed about the mice, who had made her “sack like a sieve,” eating holes -all over it, as if they had had wits like Christians so the talk became -general because those accursed little brutes had done Maruzza all sorts -of harm, too. Cousin Anna had her house full of them, too, since she had -lost her cat, a beast worth its weight in gold, who had died of a kick -from Uncle Tino. - -“The gray cats are the best to catch mice; they’d go after them into a -needle’s eye.” “One shouldn’t open the door to the cat by night, for an -old woman at Aci Sant’Antonio got killed that way by thieves who stole -her cat three days before, and then brought her back half starved to mew -at the door, and the poor woman couldn’t bear to hear the creature out -in the street at that hour, and opened the door, and so the wretches got -in. Nowadays the rascals invent all sorts of tricks to gain their ends; -and at Trezza one saw faces now that nobody had ever seen on the coast; -coming, pretending to be fishing, and catching up the clothes that were -out to dry if they could manage it. They had stolen a new sheet from -poor Nunziata that way. Poor girl! robbing her, who worked so hard to -feed those little brothers that her father left on her hands when he -went off seeking his fortune in Alexandria, in Egypt. Nunziata was like -what Cousin Anna herself had been when her husband died and left her -with that houseful of little children, and Rocco, the biggest of them, -no higher than her knee. Then, after all the trouble of rearing him, -great lazy fellow, she must stand by and see the Mangiacarubbe carry him -off.” - -Into the midst of this gossiping came Venera la Zuppidda, wife to -Bastiano, the calker; she lived at the foot of the lane, and always -appeared unexpectedly, like the devil at the litany, who came from -nobody knew where, to say his say like the rest. - -“For that matter,” she muttered, “your son Rocco never helped you a bit; -if he got hold of a soldo he spent it at the tavern.” - -La Zuppidda knew everything that went on in the place, and for this -reason they said she went about all day barefoot, with that distaff that -she was always holding over her head to keep the thread off the gravel. -Playing the spy, she was; the spinning was only a pretext. “She always -told gospel truth--that was a habit of hers--and people who didn’t -like to have the truth told about them accused her of being a wicked -slanderer--one of those whose tongues dropped gall. ‘Bitter mouth spits -gall,’ says the proverb, and a bitter mouth she had for that Barbara -of hers, that she had never been able to marry, so naughty and rude she -was, and with all that, she would like to give her Victor Emmanuel’s son -for a husband. - -“A nice one she is, the Mangiacarubbe,” she went on; “a brazen-faced -hussy, that has called the whole village, one after another, under her -window [‘Choose no woman at the window,’ says the proverb); and Vanni -Pizzuti gave her the figs he stole from Mastro Philip, the ortolano, and -they ate them together in the vineyard under the almond-tree. I saw them -myself. And Peppi (Joe) Naso, the butcher, after he began to be jealous -of Mariano Cinghialenta, the carter, used to throw all the horns of the -beasts he killed behind her door, so that they said he combed his head -under the Mangiacarubbe’s window.” - -That good-natured Cousin Anna, instead, took it easily. “Don’t you know -Don Giammaria says it is a mortal sin to speak evil of one’s neighbors?” - -“Don Giammaria had better preach to his own sister Donna Rosolina,” - replied La Zuppidda, “and not let her go playing off the airs of a young -girl at Don Silvestro when he goes past the house, and with Don Michele, -the brigadier; she’s dying to get married, with all that fat, too, and -at her age! She ought to be ashamed of herself.” - -“The Lord’s will be done!” said Cousin Anna, in conclusion. “When my -husband died, Rocco wasn’t taller than this spindle, and his sisters -were all younger than he. Perhaps I’ve lost my soul for them. Grief -hardens the heart, they say, and hard work the hands, but the harder -they are the better one can work with them. My daughters will do as I -have done, and while there are stones in the washing-tank we shall have -enough to live on. Look at Nunziata--she’s as wise as an old grand-dame; -and she works for those babies as if she had borne them herself.” - -“And where is Nunziata that she doesn’t come back?” asked La Longa of -a group of ragged little fellows who sat whining on the steps of the -tumbledown little house on the opposite side of the way. When they heard -their sister’s name they began to howl in chorus. - -“I saw her go down to the beach after broom to burn,” said Cousin Anna, -“and your son Alessio was with her too.” - -The children stopped howling to listen, then began to cry again, all -at once; and the biggest one, perched like a little chicken on the top -step, said, gravely, after a while, “I don’t know where she is.” - -The neighbors all came out, like snails in a shower, and all along the -little street was heard a perpetual chatter from one door to another. -Even Alfio Mosca, who had the donkey-cart, had opened his window, and -a great smell of broom-smoke came out of it. Mena had left the loom and -come out on the door-step. - -“Oh, Sant’Agata!” they all cried, and made a great fuss over her. - -“Aren’t you thinking of marrying your Mena?” asked La Zuppidda, in a low -tone, of Maruzza. “She’s already eighteen, come Easter-tide. I know -her age; she was born in the year of the earthquake, like my Barbara. -Whoever wants my Barbara must first please me.” - -At this moment was heard a sound of boughs scraping on the road, and up -came Luca and Nun-ziata, who couldn’t be seen under the big bundle of -broom-bushes, they were so little. - -“Oh, Nunziata,” called out the neighbors, “were not you afraid at this -hour, so far from home?” - -“I was with them,” said Alessio. “I was late washing with Cousin Anna, -and then I had nothing to light the fire with.” - -The little girl lighted the lamp, and began to get ready for supper, the -children trotting up and down the little kitchen after her, so that she -looked like a hen with her chickens; Alessio had thrown down his -fagot, and stood gazing out of the door, gravely, with his hands in his -pockets. - -“Oh, Nunziata,” called out Mena, from the doorstep, “when you’ve lighted -the fire come over here for a little.” - -Nunziata left Alessio to look after her fire, and ran across to perch -herself on the landing beside Sant’Agata, to enjoy a little rest, hand -in hand with her friend. - -“Friend Alfio Mosca is cooking his broad beans now,” observed Nunziata, -after a little. “He is like you, poor fellow! You have neither of you -any one to get the minestra ready by the time you come home tired in the -evening.” - -“Yes, it is true that; and he knows how to sew, and to wash and mend his -clothes.” (Nunziata knew everything that Alfio did, and knew every inch -of her neighbor’s house as if it had been the palm of her hand.) “Now,” - she said, “he has gone to get wood, now he is cleaning his donkey,” and -she watched his light as it moved about the house. - -Sant’Agata laughed, and Nunziata said that to be precisely like a woman -Alfio only wanted a petticoat. - -“So,” concluded Mena, “when he marries, his wife will go round with the -donkey-cart, and he’ll stay at home and look after the children.” - -The mothers, grouped about the street, talked about Alfio Mosca too, and -how La Vespa swore that she wouldn’t have him for a husband--so said La -Zuppidda--“because the Wasp had her own nice little property, and wanted -to marry somebody who owned something better than a donkey-cart. She has -been casting sheep’s eyes at her uncle Dumb-bell, the little rogue!” - -The girls for their parts defended Alfio against that ugly Wasp; and -Nunziata felt her heart swell with contempt at the way they scorned -Alfio, only because he was poor and alone in the world, and all of a -sudden she said to Mena: - -“If I was grown up I’d marry him, so I would, if they’d let me.” - -Mena was going to say something herself, but she changed the subject -suddenly. - -“Are you going to town for the All Souls’ festa?” - -“No. I can’t leave the house all alone.” - -“We are to go if the business of the lupins goes well; grandpapa says -so.” - -Then she thought a minute and added: - -“Cousin Alfio, he’s going too, to sell his nuts at the fair.” - -And the girls sat silent, thinking of the Feast of All Souls, and how -Alfio was going there to sell his nuts. - -“Old Uncle Crucifix, how quietly he puts Vespa in his pocket,” began -Cousin Anna, all over again. - -“That’s what she wants,” cried La Zuppidda, in her abrupt way, “to be -pocketed. La Vespa wants just that, and nothing else. She’s always -in his house on one pretext or another, slipping in like a cat, with -something good for him to eat or drink, and the old man never refuses -what costs him nothing. She fattens him up like a pig for Christmas. I -tell you she asks nothing better than to get into his pocket.” - -Every one had something to say about Uncle Crucifix, who was always -whining, when, instead, he had money by the shovelful--for La Zuppidda, -one day when the old man was ill, had seen a chest under his bed as big -as that! - -La Longa felt the weight of the forty scudi of debt for the lupins, -and changed the subject; because “one hears also in the dark,” and they -could hear the voice of Uncle Crucifix talking with Don Giammaria, who -was crossing the piazza close by, while La Zuppidda broke off her abuse -of him to wish him good-evening. - -Don Silvestro laughed his hen’s cackle, and this fashion of laughing -enraged the apothecary, who had never had any patience for that matter; -he left that to such asses as wouldn’t get up another revolution. - -“No, you never had any,” shouted Don Giammaria to him; “you have no -place to put it.” And Don Franco, who was a little man, went into a -fury, and called ugly names after the priest which could be heard all -across the piazza in the dark. Old Dumb-bell, hard as a stone, shrugged -his shoulders, and took care to repeat “that all that was nothing to -him; he attended to his own affairs.” - -“As if the affairs of the Company of the Happy Death were not your -affairs,” said Don Giammaria, “and nobody paying a soldo any more. When -it is a question of putting their hands in their pockets these people -are a lot of Protestants, worse than that heathen apothecary, and let -the box of the confraternity become a nest for mice. It was positively -beastly!” - -Don Franco, from his shop, sneered at them all at the top of his voice, -trying to imitate Don Silvestro’s cackling laugh, which was enough to -madden anybody. But everybody knew that the druggist was a freemason, -and Don Giammaria called out to him from the piazza: - -“You’d find the money fast enough if it was for schools or for -illuminations!” - -The apothecary didn’t answer, for his wife just then appeared at the -window; and Uncle Crucifix, when he was far enough off not to be heard -by Don Silvestro, the clerk, who gobbled up the salary for the master of -the elementary school: - -“It is nothing to me,” he repeated, “but in my time there weren’t so -many lamps nor so many schools, and we were a deal better off.” - -“You never were at school, and you can manage your affairs well enough.” - -“And I know my catechism, too,” said Uncle Crucifix, not to be -behindhand in politeness. - -In the heat of dispute Don Giammaria lost the pavement, which he could -cross with his eyes shut, and was on the point of breaking his neck, and -of letting slip, God forgive us! a very naughty word. - -“At least if they’d light their lamps!” - -“In these days one must look after one’s steps,” concluded Uncle -Crucifix. - -Don Giammaria pulled him by the sleeve of his coat to tell him about -this one and that one--in the middle of the piazza, in the dark--of the -lamplighter who stole the oil, and Don Silvestro, who winked at it, -and of the Sindic Giufà, who let himself be led by the nose. Dumb-bell -nodded his head in assent, mechanically, though they couldn’t see each -other; and Don Giammaria, as he passed the whole village in review, -said: “This one is a thief; that one is a rascal; the other is a -Jacobin--so you hear Goosefoot, there, talking with Padron Malavoglia -and Padron Cipolla--another heretic, that one! A demagogue he is, with -that crooked leg of his”; and when he went limping across the piazza he -moved out of his way and watched him distrustfully, trying to find out -what he was after, hitching about that way. “He has the cloven foot like -the devil,” he muttered. - -Uncle Crucifix shrugged his shoulders again, and repeated “that he was -an honest man, that he didn’t mix himself up with it.” - -“Padron Cipolla was another old fool, a regular balloon, that fellow, -to let himself be blindfolded by old Goosefoot; and Padron ’Ntoni, -too--he’ll get a fall before long; one may expect anything in these -days.” - -“Honest men keep to their own business,” repeated Uncle Crucifix. - -Instead, Uncle Tino, sitting up like a president on the church steps, -went on uttering wise sentences: - -“Listen to me. Before the Revolution everything was different; Now the -fish are all adulterated; I tell you I know it.” - -“No, the anchovies feel the north-east wind twenty-four hours before it -comes,” resumed Padron ’Ntoni, “it has always been so; the anchovy is -a cleverer fish than the tunny. Now, beyond the Capo dei Mulini, they -sweep the sea with nets, fine ones, all at once.” - -“I’ll tell you what it is,” began old Fortunato. “It is those beastly -steamers beating the water with their confounded wheels. What will you -have? Of course the fish are frightened and don’t come any more; that’s -what it is.” - -The son of La Locca sat listening, with his mouth open, scratching his -head. - -“Bravo!” he said. “That way they wouldn’t find any fish at Messina nor -at Syracuse, and instead they came from there by the railway by quintals -at a time.” - -“For that matter, get out of it the best way you can,” cried Cipolla, -angrily. “I wash my hands of it. I don’t care a fig about it. I have my -farm and my vineyards to live upon, without your fish.” - -Padron ’Ntoni, with his nose in the air, observed, “If the north-east -wind doesn’t get up before midnight, the _Provvidenza_ will have time to -get round the Cape.” - -From the campanile overhead came the slow strokes of the deep bell. “One -hour after sunset!” observed Padron Cipolla. - -Padron ’Ntoni made the holy sign, and replied, “Peace to the living -and rest to the dead.” - -“Don Giammaria has fried vermicelli for supper,” observed Goosefoot, -sniffing towards the parsonage windows. - -Don Giammaria, passing by on his way home, saluted Goosefoot as well as -the others, for in such times as these one must be friends with those -rascals, and Uncle Tino, whose mouth was always watering, called after -him: - -“Eh, fried vermicelli to-night, Don Giammaria!” - -“Do you hear him? Even sniffing at what I have to eat!” muttered Don -Giammaria between his teeth; “they spy after the servants of God to -count even their mouthfuls--everybody hates the church!” And coming -face to face with Don Michele, the brigadier of the coast-guard, who was -going his rounds, with his pistols in his belt and his trousers thrust -into his boots, in search of smugglers, “They don’t grudge their suppers -to those fellows.” - -“Those fellows, I like them,” cried Uncle Crucifix. “I like those -fellows who look after honest men’s property!” - -“If they’d only make it worth his while he’d be a heretic too,” - growled Don Giammaria, knocking at the door of his house. “All a lot of -thieves,” he went on muttering, with the knocker in his hand, following -with suspicious eye the form of the brigadier, who disappeared in the -darkness towards the tavern, and wondering “what he was doing at the -tavern, protecting honest men’s goods?” - -All the same, Daddy Tino knew why Don Michele went in the direction of -the tavern to protect the interests of honest people, for he had spent -whole nights watching for him behind the big elm to find out; and he -used to say: - -“He goes to talk on the sly with Uncle Santoro, Santuzza’s father. -Those fellows that the King feeds must all be spies, and know all -about everybody’s business in Trezza and everywhere else; and old Uncle -Santoro, blind as he is, blinking like a bat in the sunshine, at the -tavern door, knows everything that goes on in the place, and could call -us by name one after another only by the footsteps.” Maruzza, hearing -the bell strike, went into the house quickly to spread the cloth on -the table; the gossips, little by little, had disappeared, and as the -village went to sleep the sea became audible once more at the foot of -the little street, and every now and then it gave a great sigh like a -sleepless man turning on his bed. Only down by the tavern, where the red -light shone, the noise continued; and Rocco Spatu, who made festa every -day in the week, was heard shouting. - -“Cousin Rocco is in good spirits to-night,” said Alfio Mosca from his -window, which looked quite dark and deserted. - -“Oh, there you are, Cousin Alfio!” replied Mena, who had remained on the -landing waiting for her grandfather. - -“Yes, here I am, Coz Mena; I’m here eating my minestra, because when -I see you all at table, with your light, I don’t lose my appetite for -loneliness.” - -“Are you not in good spirits?” - -“Ah, one wants so many things to put one in good spirits!” - -Mena did not answer, and after a little Cousin Alfio added: - -“To-morrow I’m going to town for a load of salt.” - -“Are you going for All Souls?” asked Mena. - -“Heaven knows! this year my poor little nuts are all bad.” - -“Cousin Alfio goes to the city to look for a wife,” said Nunziata, from -the door opposite. - -“Is that true?” asked Mena. - -“Eh, Cousin Mena, if I had to look for one I could find girls to my mind -without leaving home.” - -“Look at those stars,” said Mena, after a silence. “They say they are -the souls loosed from Purgatory going into Paradise.” - -“Listen,” said Alfio, after having also taken a look at the stars, “you, -who are Sant’Agata, if you dream of a good number in the lottery, tell -it to me, and I’ll pawn my shirt to put in for it, and then, you know, I -can begin to think about taking a wife.” - -“Good-night!” said Mena. - -The stars twinkled faster than ever, the “three kings” shone out over -the Fariglione, with their arms out obliquely like Saint Andrew. - -The sea moved at the foot of the street, softly, softly, and at long -intervals was heard the rumbling of some cart passing in the dark, -grinding on the stones, and going out into the wide world--so wide, so -wide, that if one could walk forever one couldn’t get to the end of it; -and there were people going up and down in this wide world that knew -nothing of Cousin Alfio, nor of the _Provvidenza_ out at sea, nor of the -Festa of All Souls. - -So thought Mena, waiting on the landing for grandpapa. - -Grandpapa himself came out once or twice on the landing, before closing -the door, looking at the stars, which twinkled more than they need have -done, and then muttered, “Ugly Sea!” Rocco Spatu howled a tipsy song -under the red light at the tavern. “A careless heart can always sing,” - concluded Padron ’Ntoni. - - - - -III. - - -|After midnight the wind began to howl as if all the cats in the place -had been on the roof, and to shake the shutters. The sea roared round -the Fariglione as if all the bulls of the Fair of Saint Alfio had been -there, and the day opened as black as the soul of Judas. In short, an -ugly September Sunday dawned--a Sunday in false September which lets -loose a tempest on one between the cup and the lip, like a shot from -behind a prickly-pear. The village boats were all drawn up on the beach, -and well fastened to the great stones under the washing-tank; so the -boys amused themselves by hissing and howling whenever there passed by -some lonely sail far out at sea, tossed amid mist and foam, dancing up -and down as if chased by the devil; the women, instead, made the sign -of the cross, as if they could see with their eyes the poor fellows who -were on board. - -Maruzza la Longa was silent, as behooved her; but she could not stand -still a minute, and went up and down and in and out without stopping, -like a hen that is going to lay an egg. The men were at the tavern, -or in Pizzuti’s shop, or under the butcher’s shed, watching the rain, -sniffing the air with their heads up. On the shore there was only Padron -’Ntoni, looking out for that load of lupins and his son Bastianazzo -and the _Provvidenza_, all out at sea there; and there was La Locca’s -son too, who had nothing to lose, only his brother Menico was out at sea -with Bastianazzo in the _Provvidenza_, with the lupins. Padron Fortunato -Cipolla, getting shaved in Pizzuti’s shop, said that he wouldn’t give -two baiocchi for Bastianazzo and La Locca’s Menico with the Provvidenza -and the load of lupins. - -“Now everybody wants to be a merchant and to get rich,” said he, -shrugging his shoulders; “and then when the steed is stolen they shut -the stable door.” - -In Santuzza’s bar-room there was a crowd--that big drunken Rocco Spatu -shouting and spitting enough for a dozen; Daddy Tino Goosefoot, Mastro -Cola Zuppiddu, Uncle Mangiacarubbe; Don Michele, the brigadier of the -coast-guard, with his big boots and his pistols, as if he were going -to look for smugglers in this sort of weather; and Mastro Mariano -Cinghialenta. That great big elephant of a man, Mastro Cola Zuppiddu, -went about giving people thumps in fun, heavy enough to knock down an -ox, as if he had his calker’s mallet in his hand all the time, and then -Uncle Cinghialenta, to show that he was a carrier, and a courageous man -who knew the world, turned round upon him, swearing and blaspheming. - -Uncle Santoro, curled all up in the corner of the little porch, waited -with out-stretched hand until some one should pass that he might ask for -alms. - -“Between the two, father and daughter, they must make a good sum on such -a day as this,” said Zuppiddu, “when everybody comes to the tavern.” - -“Bastianazzo Malavoglia is worse off than he is at this moment,” said -Goosefoot. “Mastro Cirino may ring the bell as much as he likes, to-day -the Malavoglia won’t go to church--they are angry with our Lord--because -of that load of lupins they’ve got out at sea.” - -The wind swept about the petticoats and the dry leaves, so that Vanni -Pizzuti, with the razor in his hand, held on to the nose of the man he -was shaving, and looked out over his shoulder to see what was going on; -and when he had finished, stood with hand on hip in the door-way, with -his curly hair shining like silk; and the druggist stood at his shop -door, under that big ugly hat of his that looked as if he had an -umbrella on his head, pretending to have high words with Don Silvestro, -the town-clerk, because his wife didn’t force him to go to church in -spite of himself, and laughed under his beard at the joke, winking at -the boys who were tumbling in the gutters. - -“To-day” Daddy Goosefoot went about saying, “Padroni ’Ntoni is a -Protestant, like Don Franco the apothecary.” - -“If I see you looking after that old wretch Don Silvestro, I’ll box your -ears right here where we are,” shouted La Zuppidda, crossing the piazza, -to her girl. “That one I don’t like.” - -La Santuzza, at the last stroke of the bell, left her father to take -care of the tavern, and went into church, with her customers behind her. -Uncle Santoro, poor old fellow, was blind, and didn’t go to the mass, -but he didn’t lose his time at the tavern, for though he couldn’t see -who went to the bar, he knew them all by the step as one or another went -to take a drink. - -“The devils are out on the air,” said Santuzza, as she crossed herself -with the holy water. “A day to commit a mortal sin!” - -Close by, La Zuppidda muttered Ave Marias mechanically, sitting on her -heels, shooting sharp glances hither and thither, as if she were on evil -terms with the whole village, whispering to whoever would listen to her: -“There’s Maruzza la Longa doesn’t come to church, and yet her husband -is out at sea in this horrid weather! There’s no need to wonder why -the Lord sends judgments on us. There’s even Menico’s mother comes to -church, though she doesn’t do anything there but watch the flies.” - -“One must pray also for sinners,” said Santuzza; “that is what good -people are for.” - -Uncle Crucifix was kneeling at the foot of the altar of the Sorrowing -Mother of God, with a very big rosary in his hand, and intoned his -prayers with a nasal twang which would have touched the heart of Satan -himself. Between one Ave Maria and another he talked of the affair of -the lupins, and of the _Provvidenza_, which was out at sea, and of La -Longa, who would be left with five children. - -“In these days,” said Padron Cipolla, shrugging his shoulders, “no one -is content with his own estate; everybody wants the moon and stars for -himself.” - -“The fact is,” concluded Daddy Zuppiddu, “that this will be a black day -for the Malavoglia.” - -“For my part,” added Goosefoot, “I shouldn’t care to be in Cousin -Bastianazzo’s shirt.” - -The evening came on chill and sad; now and then there came a blast of -north wind, bringing a shower of fine cold rain; it was one of those -evenings when, if the bark lies high and safe, with her belly in the -sand, one enjoys watching the simmering pot, with the baby between one’s -knees, and listening to the housewife trotting to and fro behind one’s -back. The lazy ones preferred going to the tavern to enjoy the Sunday, -which seemed likely to last over Monday as well; and the cupboards shone -in the firelight until even Uncle Santoro, sitting out there with his -extended hand, moved his chair to warm his back a little. - -“He’s better off than poor old Bastianazzo just now,” said Rocco Spatu, -lighting his pipe at the door. - -And without further reflection he put his hand in his pocket, and -permitted himself to give two centimes in alms. - -“You are throwing your alms away, thanking God for being in safety from -the storm; there’s no danger of your dying like Bastianazzo.” - -Everybody laughed at the joke, and then they all stood looking out at -the sea, that was as black as the wet rocks. - -Padron ’Ntoni had been going about all day, as if he had been bitten -by the tarantula, and the apothecary asked him if he wanted a tonic, and -then he said: - -“Fine providence this, eh, Padron ’Ntoni?” But he was a Protestant and -a Jew; all the world knew that. - -La Locca’s son, who was out there with his hands in his empty pockets, -began: - -“Uncle Crucifix is gone with old Goosefoot to get Padron ’Ntoni to -swear before witnesses that he took the cargo of lupins on credit.” - -At dusk Maruzza, with her little ones, went out on the cliffs to watch -the sea, which from that point could be seen quite well, and hearing -the moaning waves, she felt faint and sick, but said nothing. The little -girl cried, and these poor things, forgotten up there on the rocks, -seemed like souls in Purgatory. The little one’s cries made the mother -quite sick--it seemed like an evil omen; she couldn’t think what to do -to keep the child quiet, and she sang to her song after song, with a -trembling voice loaded with tears.. - -The men, on their way back from the tavern, with pot of oil or flask of -wine, stopped to exchange a few words with La Longa, as if nothing -had happened; and some of Bastianazzo’s special friends--Cipolla, for -example, or Mangiacarubbe--walking out to the edge of the cliff, and -giving a look out to see in what sort of a temper the old growler was -going to sleep in, went up to Cousin Maruzza, asking about her husband, -and staying a few minutes to keep her company, pipe in mouth, or talking -softly among themselves. The poor little woman, frightened by these -unusual attentions, looked at them with sad, scared eyes, and held her -baby tight in her arms, as if they had tried to steal it from her. At -last the hardest, or the most compassionate of them, took her by the -arm and led her home. She let herself be led, only saying over and over -again: “O Blessed Virgin! O Blessed Virgin Mary!” The children clung -to her skirts, as if they had been afraid somebody was going to steal -something from them too. When they passed before the tavern all the -customers stopped talking, and came to the door in a cloud of smoke, -gazing at her as if she were already a curiosity. - -“_Requiem aeternam_,” mumbled old Santoro, under his breath: “that poor -Bastianazzo always gave me something when his father let him have a -soldo to spend for himself.” - -The poor little thing, who did not even know she was a widow, went on -crying: “O Blessed Virgin! O Blessed Virgin! O Virgin Mary!” - -Before the steps of her house the neighbors were waiting for her, -talking among themselves in a low voice. When they saw her coming, Mammy -Goose-foot and her cousin Anna came towards her silently, with -folded hands. Then she wound her hands wildly in her hair, and with a -distracted screech rushed to hide herself in the house. - -“What a misfortune!” they said among themselves in the street. “And the -boat was loaded--forty scudi worth of lupins!” - - - - -IV. - - -|The worst part of it was that the lupins had been bought on credit, and -Uncle Crucifix was not content with “fair words and rotten apples.” He -was called Dumb-bell because he was deaf on one side, and turned that -side when people wanted to pay him with talk, saying, “the payment can -be arranged.” He lived by lending to his friends, having no other trade, -and for this reason he stood about all day in the piazza, or with his -back to the wall of the church, with his hands in the pockets of that -ragged old jacket that nobody would have given him a soldo for; but he -had as much money as you wanted, and if any one wanted ten francs he was -ready to lend them right off, on pledge, of course--“He who lends money -without security loses his friends, his goods, and his wits”--with the -bargain that they should be paid back on Sunday, in silver, with the -account signed, and a carlino more for interest, as was but right, for, -in affairs, there’s no friendship that counts. He also bought a whole -cargo of fish in the lump, with discount, if the poor fellow who had -taken the fish wanted his money down, but they must be weighed with his -scales, that were as false as Judas’s, so they said. To be sure, such -fellows were never contented, and had one arm long and the other short, -like Saint Francesco: and he would advance the money for the port taxes -if they wanted it, and only took the money beforehand, and half a pound -of bread per head and a little quarter flask of wine, and wanted no -more, for he was a Christian, and one of those who knew that for what -one does in this world one must answer to God. In short, he was a real -Providence for all who were in tight places, and had invented a hundred -ways of being useful to his neighbors; and without being a seaman, he -had boats and tackle and everything for such as hadn’t them, and lent -them, contenting himself with a third of the fish, and something for the -boat--that counted as much as the wages of a man--and something more for -the tackle, for he lent the tackle too; and the end was that the boat -ate up all the profits, so that they called it the devil’s boat. And -when they asked him why he didn’t go to sea, too, and risk his own skin -instead of swallowing everything at other people’s expense, he would -say, “Bravo! and if an accident happened, Lord avert it! and if I lost -my life who would attend to my business?” He did attend to his business, -and would have hired out his very shirt; but he wanted to be paid -without so much talk, and there was no use arguing with him because -he was deaf, and, more than that, wasn’t quite right in his head, and -couldn’t say anything but “Bargaining’s no cheating;” or, “The honest -man is known when pay-day comes.” - -Now his enemies were laughing in their sleeves at him, on account of -those blessed lupins that the devil had swallowed; and he must say a _De -profundis_ for Bastianazzo too, when the funeral ceremony took place, -along with the other Brothers of the Happy Death, with the bag over his -head. - -The windows of the little church flashed in the sunshine, and the sea -was smooth and still, so that it no longer seemed the same that had -robbed La Longa of her husband; wherefore the brothers were rather in -a hurry, wanting to get away each to his own work, now that the weather -had cleared up. This time the Malavoglia were all there on their knees -before the bier, washing the pavement with their tears, as if the dead -man had been really there, inside those four boards, with the lupins -round his neck, that Uncle Crucifix had given him on credit, because he -had always known Padron ’Ntoni for an honest man; but if they meant to -cheat him out of his goods on the pretext that Bastianazzo was drowned, -they might as well cheat our Lord Christ. By the holy devil himself, he -would put Padron ’Ntoni in the hulks for it!--there was law, even at -Trezza. - -Meanwhile Don Giammaria flung two or three asperges of holy-water on the -bier, and Mastro Cirino went round with an extinguisher putting out -the candles. The brothers strode over the benches with arms over their -heads, pulling off their habits; and Uncle Crucifix went and gave a -pinch of snuff to Padron ’Ntoni by the way of consolation; for, after -all, when one is an honest man one leaves a good name behind one and -wins Paradise, and this is what he had said to those who asked him about -his lupins: - -“With the Malavoglia I’m safe, for they are honest people, -and don’t mean to leave poor Bastianazzo in the claws of the devil.” - -Padron ’Ntoni might see for himself that everything had been done -without skimping in honor of the dead--so much for the mass, so much for -the tapers, so much for the requiem--he counted it all off on his big -fingers in their white cotton gloves; and the children looked with open -mouths at all these things which cost so much and were for papa--the -catafalque, the tapers, the paper-flowers; and the baby, seeing the -lights, and hearing the organ, began to laugh and to dance. - -The house by the medlar was full of people. “Sad is the house where -there is the ‘visit’ for the husband.” Everybody passing and seeing the -poor little orphaned Malavoglia at the door, with dirty faces, and hands -in their pockets, shook their heads, saying: - -“Poor Cousin Maruzza, now her hard times are beginning.” - -The neighbors brought things, as the custom is--macaroni, eggs, wine, -all the gifts of God that one could only finish if one was really -happy--and Cousin Alfio Mosca came with a chicken in his hands, “Take -this, Cousin Mena,” he said, “I only wish I’d been in your father’s -place--I swear it--at least I should not have been missed, and there -would have been none to mourn for me.” - -Mena, leaning against the kitchen door, with her apron over her face, -felt her heart beat as if it would fly out of her breast, like that of -the poor frightened bird she held in her hand. The dowry of Sant’Agata -had gone down, down in the _Provvidenza_, and the people who came to -make the visit of condolence in the house by the medlar looked round at -the things, as if they saw Uncle Crucifix’s claws already grasping at -them; some sat perched on chairs, and went off, without having spoken a -word, like regular stockfish as they were; but whoever had a tongue in -their heads tried to keep up some sort of conversation to drive away -melancholy, and to rouse those poor Malavoglia, who went on crying all -day long, like four fountains. Uncle Cipolla related how there was -a rise of a franc to a barrel in the price of anchovies, which might -interest Padron ’Ntoni if he still had any anchovies on hand; he -himself had reserved a hundred barrels, which now came in very well; -and he talked of poor Cousin Bastianazzo, too, rest his soul; how no -one could have expected it--a man like that, in the prime of life, and -positively bursting with health and strength, poor fellow! - -There was the sindaco, too, Master Croce Calta “Silk-worm”--called also -Giufà--with Don Silvestro, the town-clerk, and he stood sniffing with -nose in the air, so that people said he was waiting for the wind to see -what way to turn--looking now at one who was speaking, now at another, -as if he were watching the leaves in the wind, in real earnest, and -if he spoke he mumbled so no one could hear him, and if Don Silvestro -laughed he laughed too. - -“No funeral without laughter, no marriage without tears.” The -druggist’s wife twisted about on her chair with disgust at the trifling -conversation, sitting with her hands in her lap and a long face, as is -the custom in town under such circumstances, so that people became dumb -at the sight of her, as if the corpse itself had been sitting there, and -for this reason she was called the Lady. Don Silvestro strutted about -among the women, and started forward every minute to offer a chair to -some new-comer, that he might hear his new boots creak. “They ought to -be burned alive, those tax-gatherers!” muttered La Zuppidda, yellow as -a lemon; and she said it aloud, too, right in the face of Don Silvestro, -just as if he had been one of the tax-gatherers. She knew very well -what they were after, these bookworms, with their shiny boots without -stockings; they were always trying to slip into people’s houses, to -carry off the dowry and the daughters. ’Tis not you I want, my dear, -’tis your money. For that she had left her daughter Barbara at home. -“Those faces I don’t like.” - -“It’s a beastly shame!” cried Donna Rosolina, the priest’s sister, red -as a turke, fanning herself with her handkerchief; and she railed at -Garibaldi, who had brought in the taxes; and nowadays nobody could live -and nobody got married any more. - -“As if that mattered to Donna Rosolina now,” murmured Goosefoot. - -Donna Rosolina meanwhile went on talking to Don Silvestro of the lot of -work she had on her hands: thirty yards of warp on the loom, the beans -to dry for winter, all the tomato-preserve to be made. She had a secret -for making it, so that it kept fresh all winter; she always got the -spices from town on purpose, and used the best quality of salt. A house -without a woman never goes on well, but the woman must have brains, and -know how to use her hands as she did, not one of those little geese that -think of nothing but brushing their hair before the glass. “Long hair -little wit,” says the proverb, specially when the husband goes under the -water like poor Bastianazzo, rest his soul! - -“Blessed that he is!” sighed Santuzza, “he died on a fortunate day, a -day blessed by the Church--the eve of Our Lady of Sorrows--and now he’s -praying for us sinners, like the angels and the saints. Whom the Lord -loveth he chasteneth.’ He was a good man, one of those who mind their -own business, and don’t go about speaking ill of their neighbors, as so -many do, falling into mortal sin.” - -Maruzza, sitting at the foot of the bed, pale and limp as a wet rag, -looking like Our Lady of Sorrows herself, began to cry louder than ever -at this; and Padron ’Ntoni, bowed and stooping, looking a hundred -years older than he did three days before, went on looking and looking -at her, shaking his head, not knowing what to say, with that big thorn -Bastianazzo sticking in his breast as if a shark had been gnawing at -him. - -“Santuzza’s lips drop nothing but honey,” observed Cousin Grace -Goosefoot. - -“To be a good tavern-keeper,” said La Zuppidda, “one must be like that; -who doesn’t know his trade must shut his shop, and who can’t swim must -be drowned.” - -“They’re going to put a tax on salt,” said Uncle Mangiacarubbe. “Don -Franco saw it in the paper in print. Then they can’t salt the anchovies -any more, and we may just use our boats for firewood.” - -Master Turi, the calker, was lifting up his fist and his voice, “Blessed -Lord--” he began, but caught sight of his wife and stopped short. - -“With the dear times that are coming,” added Padron Cipolla, “this year, -when it hasn’t rained since Saint Clare, and if it wasn’t for this last -storm when the _Provvidenza_ was lost, that was a real blessing, the -famine this year would be solid enough to cut with a knife.” - -Each one talked of his own trouble to comfort the Malavoglia and show -them that they were not the only ones that had trouble. “Troubles old -and new, some have many and some have few,” and such as stood outside in -the garden looked up at the sky to see if there was any chance of more -rain--that was needed more than bread was. Padron Cipolla knew why it -didn’t rain any longer as it used to do, “It rained no longer on account -of that cursed telegraph-wire that drew all the rain to itself and -carried it off.” Daddy Tino and Uncle Mangiacarubbe at this stood -staring with open mouths, for there was precisely on the road to Trezza -one of those very telegraph-wires; but Don Silvestro began to laugh with -his hen’s cackle, ah! ah! ah! and Padron Cipolla jumped up from the wall -in a fury, and railed at “ill-mannered brutes with ears as long as an -ass’s.” Didn’t everybody know that the telegraph carried the news from -one place to another; this was because inside the wires there was a -certain fluid like the sap in the vines, and in the same way it sucked -the rain out of the sky and carried it off where there was more need of -it; they might go and ask the apothecary, who said it himself; and it -was for this reason that they had made a law that whoever broke the -telegraph-wire should go to prison. Then Don Silvestro had no more to -say, and put his tongue between his teeth. - -“Saints of Paradise! some one ought to cut down those telegraph-posts -and burn them!” began Uncle Zuppiddu, but no one listened to him, and to -change the subject looked round the garden. - -“A nice piece of ground,” said Uncle Mangia-carubbe; “when it is well -worked it gives food enough for a whole year.” - -The house of the Malavoglia had always been one of the first in Trezza, -but now--with Bastianazzo drowned, and ’Ntoni gone for a soldier, and -Mena to be married, and all those hungry little ones--it was a house -that leaked at every seam. - -“In fact what could it be worth, the house?” Every one stretched out his -neck from the garden, measuring the house with his eye, to guess at the -value of it, cursorily as it were. Don Silvestro knew more about it than -any one, for he had the papers safe in the clerk’s room at Aci Castello. - -“Will you bet five francs that all is not gold that glitters,” he said, -showing the shining new silver piece of money. He knew that there was -a mortgage of two francs the year, so he began to count on his fingers -what would be the worth of the house with the well and the garden and -all. - -“Neither the house nor the boat can be sold, for they are security for -Maruzza’s dowry,” said some one else; and they began to wrangle about it -until their voices might have been heard even inside, where the family -were mourning for the dead. “Of course,” cried Don Silvestro, like a -pistol-shot, “there’s the dowry mortgage.” - -Padron Cipolla, who had spoken with Padron ’Ntoni about the marriage -of his son Brasi and Mena, shook his head and said nothing. - -“Then,” said Uncle Cola, “nobody’ll suffer but Uncle Crucifix, who -loses his lupins that he sold on credit.” - -They all turned to look at old Crucifix, who had come, too, for -appearance’ sake, and stood straight up in a corner, listening to all -that was said, with his mouth open and his nose up in the air, as if he -was counting the beams and the tiles of the roof to make a valuation of -the house. The most curious stretched their necks to look at him from -the door, and winked at each other, as if to point him out. - -“He looks like a bailiff making an inventory,” they sneered. - -The gossips, who had got wind of the talk between Cipolla and Padron -’Ntoni about the marriage, said to each other that Maruzza must get -through her mourning, and then she could settle about that marriage of -Mena’s. But now La Longa had other things to think of, poor dear! - -Padron Cipolla turned coolly away without a word; and, when everybody -was gone, the Malavoglia were left alone in the court. - -“Now,” said Padron ’Ntoni, “we are ruined, and the best off of us all -is Bastianazzo, who doesn’t know it.” - -At these words Maruzza began to cry afresh, and the boys seeing the -grown-up people cry began to roar again, too, though it was three days -now since papa was dead. The old man wandered about from place to place, -without knowing what he was going to do. But Maruzza never moved from -the foot of the bed, as if she had nothing left that she could do. When -she spoke she only repeated, with fixed eyes, as if she had no other -idea in her head, “Now I’ve nothing more to do.” - -“No!” replied Padron ’Ntoni. “No! we must pay the debt to old -Dumb-bell; it won’t do to have people saying: Honest men when they grow -poor become knaves.” And the thought of the lupins drove the thorn of -Bastianazzo deeper into his heart. - -The medlar-tree let fall dry leaves, and the wind blew them here and -there about the court. - -“He went because I sent him,” repeated Padron ’Ntoni, as the wind -bears the leaves here and there, “and if I had told him to fling himself -head foremost from the Fariglione, he would have done it without a word. -At least he died while the house and the medlar-tree, even to the last -leaf, were his own; and I, who am old, am still here. ‘Long are the days -of the poor man.’” - -Maruzza said nothing, but in her head there was one fixed idea that beat -upon her brains, and gnawed at her heart--to know, if she might, what -had happened on that night; that was always before her eyes, and if she -shut them she seemed to see the _Provvidenza_ out by the Cape of the -Mills, where the sea was blue and smooth and sprinkled with boats, which -looked like gulls in the sunshine, and could be counted one by -one--that of Uncle Crucifix, the other of Cousin Barrabbas, Uncle Cola’s -_Concetta_, Padron Fortunato’s bark--that it swung her head to see; -and she heard Cola Zup-piddu singing fit to split his throat out of -his great bull’s lungs, while he hammered away with his mallet, and the -scent of the tar came on the air; and Cousin Anna thumped her linen on -the stone at the washing-tank, and she heard Mena, too, crying quietly -in the kitchen. - -“Poor little thing!” said the grandfather to himself, “the house has -come down about your cars too.” And he went about touching one by one -all the things that were heaped up in the corner, with trembling hands, -as old men do, and seeing Luca at the door, on whom they had put his -father’s big jacket, that reached to his heels, he said to him, “That’ll -keep you warm at your work--we must all work now--and you must help, for -we have to pay the debt for the lupins.” - -Maruzza put her hands to her ears that she might not hear La Locca, who, -perched on the landing behind the door, screamed all day long with her -cracked maniac’s voice, saying that they must give her back her son, and -wouldn’t listen to reason from anybody. - -“She goes on like that because she’s hungry,” said Cousin Anna, at last. -“Now old Crucifix is furious at them all about the lupins, and won’t -do anything for them. I’ll go and give her something to eat, and then -she’ll go away.” - -Cousin Anna, poor dear, had left her linen and her girls to go and help -Cousin Maruzza, who acted as if she were sick, and if they had left her -alone she wouldn’t have, lighted the fire or anything, but would have -left them all to starve. “Neighbors should be like the tiles on the roof -that carry water for each other.” Meanwhile the poor children’s lips -were pale for hunger. Nunziata came to help too, and Alessio--with his -face black from crying at seeing his mother cry--looked after the little -boys, crowding round him like a brood of chickens, that Nunziata might -have her hands free. - -“You know how to manage,” said Cousin Anna to her, “and you’ll have your -dowry ready in your two hands when you grow up.” - - - - -V. - - -|Mena did not know that there was an idea of marrying her to Padron -Cipolla’s Brasi “to make the mother forget her grief,” and the first -person to tell it her was Alfio Mosca, who, a few days later, came -to the garden gate, on his way back from Aci Castello, with his -donkey-cart. Mena replied, “It isn’t true, it isn’t true!” but she was -confused, and as he went on telling her all about how he had heard it -from La Vespa in the house of Uncle Crucifix, all of a sudden she turned -red all over. Cousin Alfio, too, lost countenance seeing the girl like -that, with her black kerchief over her head. He began to play with the -buttons of his coat, stood first on one leg, then on the other, and -would have given anything to get away. “Listen; it isn’t my fault; -I heard it in old Dumb-bell’s court while I was chopping up the -locust-tree that was blown down in the storm at the Santa Clara, you -remember. Now, Uncle Crucifix gets me to do chores for him, because -he won’t hear of La Locca’s son ever since his brother played him that -trick with the cargo of lupins.” Mena had the string of the gate in her -hand, but couldn’t make up her mind to open it. “And then if it isn’t -true, why do you blush?” She didn’t know, that was the truth, and she -turned the latch-string round and round. That person she knew only by -sight, and hardly that. Alfio went on telling her the whole litany of -Brasi Cipolla’s riches; after Uncle Naso, the butcher, he was the best -match in the place, and all the girls were ready to eat him up with -their eyes. Mena listened with all hers, and all of a sudden she made -him a low courtesy, and went off up the garden path to the house. - -Alfio, in a fury, went off and scolded La Vespa for telling him such a -lot of stupid lies, getting him into hot water with everybody. - -“Uncle Crucifix told me,” replied La Vespa; “I don’t tell lies!” - -“Lies! lies!” growled old Crucifix. “I ain’t going to damn my soul -for that lot! I heard it with these ears. I heard also that the -_Provvidenza_ is in Maruzza’s dowry, and that there’s a mortgage of two -francs a year on the house.” - -“You wait and you’ll see if I tell lies or not,” continued La Vespa, -leaning back against the bureau, with her hands on her hips, and looking -at him all the time with the wickedest eyes. “You men are all alike; -one can’t trust any of you.” Meanwhile Uncle Crucifix didn’t hear, -and instead of eating, went on talking about the Malavoglia, who were -talking of marriages in the family; but of the two hundred francs for -the lupins nobody heard a word. - -“Eh!” cried La Vespa, losing patience, “if one listened to you nobody -would get married at all.” - -“I don’t care who gets married or who doesn’t, I want my own; I don’t -care for anything else.” - -“If you don’t care about it, who should? I say--everybody isn’t like -you, always putting things off.” - -“And are you in a hurry, pray?” - -“Of course I am. You have plenty of time to wait, you’re so young; but -everybody can’t wait till the cows come home, to get married.” - -“It’s a bad year,” said Uncle Dumb-bell. “No one has time to think of -such things as those.” - -La Vespa at this planted her hands on her hips, and went off like a -railway-whistle, as if her own wasp’s sting had been on her tongue. - -“Now, listen to what I’m going to say. After all, my living is mine, and -I don’t need to go about begging for a husband. What do you mean by it? -If you hadn’t come filling my head with your flattery and nonsense, -I might have had half a thousand husbands--Vanni Pizzuti, and Alfio -Mos-ca, and my Cousin Cola, that was always hanging on to my skirts -before he went for a soldier, and wouldn’t even let me tie up my -stockings--all of them burning with impatience, too. They wouldn’t have -gone on leading me by the nose this way, and keeping me slinging round -from Easter until Christmas, as you’ve done.” - -This time Uncle Crucifix put his hand behind his ear to hear the better, -and began to smooth her down with good words: “Yes, I know you are a -sensible girl; for that I am fond of you, and am not like those fellows -that were after you to nobble your land, and then to eat it up at -Santuzza’s tavern.” - -“It isn’t true! you don’t love me. If you did you wouldn’t act this -way; you would see what I am really thinking of all the time--yes, you -would.” - -She turned her back on him, and still went on poking at him, as if -unconsciously, with her elbow. “I know you don’t care for me,” she said. -The uncle was offended by this unkind suspicion. “You say these things -to draw me into sin.” He began to complain. He not care for his own -flesh and blood!--for she was his own flesh and blood after all, as the -vineyard was, and it would have been his if his brother hadn’t taken it -into his head to marry, and bring the Wasp into the world; and for that -he had always kept her as the apple of his eye, and thought only of her -good. “Listen!” he said. “I thought of making over to you the debt -of the Malavoglia, in exchange for the vineyard, which is worth forty -scudi, and with the expenses and the interest may even reach fifty -scudi, and you may get hold even of the house by the medlar, which is -worth more than the vineyard.” - -“Keep the house by the medlar for yourself,” said she. “I’ll keep my -vineyard. I know very well what to do with it.” Then Uncle Crucifix also -flew into a rage, and said that she meant to let it be gobbled up by -that beggar Alfio Mosca, who made fish’s-eyes at her for love of the -vineyard, and that he wouldn’t have him about the house any more, and -would have her to know that he had blood in his veins, too. “I declare -if he isn’t jealous!” cried the Wasp. - -“Of course I’m jealous,” said the old man, “jealous as a wild beast;” - and he swore he’d pay five francs to whoever would break Alfio Mosca’s -head for him, but would not do it himself, for he was a God-fearing -Christian; and in these days honest men were cheated, for good faith -dwells in the house of the fool, where one may buy a rope to hang one’s -self; the proof of it was that one might pass and repass the house of -the Malavoglia till all was blue, until people had begun to make fun of -him, and to say that he made pilgrimages to the house by the medlar, as -they did who made vows to the Madonna at Ognino. The Malavoglia paid -him with bows, and nothing else; and the boys, if they saw him enter the -street, ran off as if they had seen a bugbear; but until now he hadn’t -heard a word of that money for the lupins--and All Souls was hard -at hand--and here was Padron ’Ntoni talking of his granddaughter’s -marriage! - -He went off and growled at Goosefoot, who had got him into this scrape, -he said to others; but the others said he went to cast sheep’s-eyes at -the house by the medlar-tree; and La Locca--who was always wandering -about there, because she had been told that her son had gone away in the -Malavoglia’s boat, and she thought he would come back that way, and she -should find him there--never saw her brother Crucifix without beginning -to screech like a bird of ill omen, making him more furious than ever. -“This one will drive me into a mortal sin,” cried Dumb-bell. - -“All Souls is not yet come,” answered Goosefoot, gesticulating, as -usual; “have a little patience! Do you want to suck Padron ’Ntoni’s -blood? You know very well that you’ve really lost nothing, for the -lupins were good for nothing--you know that.” - -He knew nothing; he only knew that his blood was in God’s hands, and -that the Malavoglia boys dared not play on the landing when he -passed before Goosefoot’s door. And if he met Alfio Mosca, with his -donkey-cart, who took off his cap, with his sunburnt face, he felt his -blood boiling with jealousy about the vineyard. “He wants to entrap my -niece for the sake of the vineyard,” he grumbled to Goosefoot. “A lazy -hound, who does nothing but strut round with that donkey-cart, and has -nothing else in the world. A starving beggar! A rascal who makes that -ugly witch of a niece of mine believe that he’s in love with her pig’s -face, for love of her property.” - -Meantime Alfio Mosca was not thinking of Vespa at all, and if he had any -one in his eye it was rather Padron ’Ntoni’s Mena, whom he saw every -day in the garden or on the landing, or when she went to look after the -hens in the chicken-coop; and if he heard the pair of fowls he had given -her cackling in the court-yard, he felt something stir inside of him, -and felt as if he himself were there in the court of the house by the -medlar; and if he had been something better than a poor carter he would -have asked for Sant’Agata’s hand in marriage, and carried her off in the -donkey-cart. When he thought of all these things he felt as if he had -a thousand things to say to her; and yet when she was by his tongue was -tied, and he could only talk of the weather, or the last load of wine -he had carried for the Santuzza, and of the donkey, who could draw four -quintals’ weight better than a mule, poor beast! - -Mena stroked the poor beast with her hand, and Alfio smiled as if it had -been himself whom she had caressed. “Ah, if my donkey were yours, Cousin -Mena!” And Mena shook her head sadly, and wished that the Malavoglia had -been carriers, for then her poor father would not have died. - -“The sea is salt,” she said, “and the sailor dies in the sea.” - -Alfio, who was in a hurry to carry the wine to Santuzza, couldn’t make -up his mind to go, but stayed, chatting about the fine thing it was to -keep tavern, and how that trade never fell off, and if the wine was -dear one had only to pour more water into the barrels. Uncle Santoro had -grown rich in that way, and now he only begged for amusement. - -“And you do very well carrying the wine, do you not?” asked Mena. - -“Yes, in summer, when I can travel by night and by day both; that way I -manage pretty well. This poor beast earns his living. When I shall -have saved a little money I’ll buy a mule, and then I can become a real -carrier like Master Mariano Cinghialenta.” - -The girl was listening intently to all that Alfio was saying, and -meanwhile the gray olive shook, with a sound like rain, and strewed the -path with little dry curly leaves. - -“Here is the winter coming, and all this we talk of is for the summer,” - said Goodman Alfio. Mena followed with her eyes the shadows of the -clouds that floated over the fields, as if the gray olive had melted and -blown away; so the thoughts flew through her head, and she said: - -“Do you know, Cousin Alfio, there is nothing in that story about Padron -Fortunato Cipolla, because first we must pay the debt for the lupins.” - -“I’m glad of it,” said Mosca; “so you won’t go away from the -neighborhood.” - -“When ’Ntoni comes back from being a soldier, grandfather and all of -us will help each other to pay the debt. Mamma has taken some linen to -weave for her ladyship.” - -“The druggist’s is a good trade, too!” said Alfio Mosca. - -At this moment appeared Cousin Venera Zup-pidda, with her distaff in her -hand. “O Heaven! somebody’s coming,” cried Mena, and ran off into the -house. - -Alfio whipped the donkey, and wanted to get away as well, but-- - -“Oh, Goodman Alfio, what a hurry you’re in!” cried La Zuppidda, “I -wanted to ask you if the wine you’re taking to Santuzza is the same she -had last time.” - -“I don’t know; they give me the wine in barrel.” - -“That last was vinegar--only fit for salad--regular poison it was; -that’s the way Santuzza gets rich; and to cheat the better, she wears -the big medal of the Daughters of Mary on the front of her dress. -Nowadays whoever wants to get on must take to that trade; else they go -backward, like crabs, as the Malavoglia have. Now they have fished up -the _Provvidenza_, you know?” - -“No; I was away, but Cousin Mena knew nothing of it.” - -“They have just brought the news, and Padron ’Ntoni has gone off to -the Rotolo to see her towed in; he went as if he had got a new pair of -legs, the old fellow. Now, with the _Provvidenza_, the Malayoglia can -get back where they were before, and Mena will again be a good match.” - -Alfio did not answer, for the Zuppidda was looking at him fixedly, with -her little yellow eyes, and he said he was in a hurry to take the wine -to Santuzza. - -“He won’t tell me anything,” muttered the Zuppidda, “as if I hadn’t seen -them with my eyes. They want to hide the sun with a net.” - -The _Provvidenza_ had been towed to shore, all smashed, just as she had -been found beyond the Cape of the Mills, with her nose among the rocks -and her keel in the air. In one moment the whole village was at the -shore, men and women together, and Padron ’Ntoni, mixed up with -the crowd, looked on like the rest. Some gave kicks to the poor -_Provvidenza_ to hear how she was cracked, as if she no longer belonged -to anybody, and the poor old man felt those kicks in his own stomach. -“A fine Providence you have!” said Don Franco to him, for he, too, had -come--in his shirt-sleeves and his great ugly hat, with his pipe in his -mouth--to look on. - -“She’s only fit to burn,” concluded Padron For-tunato Cipolla; and -Goodman Mangiacarubbe, who understood those matters, said that the boat -must have gone down all of a sudden, without leaving time for those on -board to cry “Lord Jesus, help us!” for the sea had swept away sails, -masts, oars, everything, and hadn’t left a single bolt in its place. - -“This was papa’s place, where there’s the new rowlock,” said Luca, who -had climbed over the side, “and here were the lupins, underneath.” - -But of the lupins there was not one left; the sea had swept everything -clean away. For this reason Maruzza would not leave the house, and never -wanted to see the _Provvidenza_ again in her life. - -“The hull will hold; something can be made of it yet,” pronounced Master -Zuppiddu, the calker, kicking the _Provvidenza_ too, with his great ugly -feet; “with three or four patches she can go to sea again; never be -fit for bad weather--a big wave would send her all to pieces--but for -‘long-shore fishing, and for fine weather, she’ll do very well.” Padron -Cipolla, Goodman Marigiacarubbe, and Cousin Cola stood by, listening in -silence. - -“Yes,” said Padron Fortunato, at last. “It’s better than setting fire to -her.” - -“I’m glad of it,” said Uncle Crucifix, who also stood looking on, with -his hands behind his back. “We are Christians, and should rejoice in -each other’s good-fortune. What says the proverb? ‘Wish well to thy -neighbor and thou wilt gain something for thyself.’” - -The boys had installed themselves inside the _Provvidenza_, as well as -the other lads who insisted on climbing up into her, too. “When we have -mended the _Provvidenza_ properly,” said Alessio, “she will be like -Uncle Cola’s _Concetta_;” and they gave themselves no end of trouble -pushing and hauling at her, to get her down to the beach, before the -door of Master Zuppiddu, the calker, where there were the big stones to -keep the boats in place, and the great kettles for the tar, and heaps of -beams, and ribs and knees leaning against the wall. Alessio was always -at loggerheads with the other boys, who wanted to climb up into the -boat, and to help to fan the fire under the kettle of pitch, and when -they pushed him he would say, in a threatening whine: - -“Wait till my brother ’Ntoni comes back!” - -In fact ’Ntoni had sent in his papers and obtained his leave--although -Don Silvestro, the town-clerk, had assured him that if he would stay on -six months longer as a soldier he would liberate his brother Luca from -the conscription. But ’Ntoni wouldn’t stay even six days longer, now -that his father was dead; Luca would have done just as he did if that -misfortune had come upon him while he was away from home, and wouldn’t -have done another stroke of work if it hadn’t been for those dogs of -superiors. - -“For my part,” said Luca, “I am quite willing to go for a soldier, -instead of ’Ntoni. Now, when he comes back, the _Provvidenza_ can put -to sea again, and there’ll be no need of anybody.” - -“That fellow,” cried Padron ’Ntoni, with great pride, “is just like -his father Bastianazzo, who had a heart as big as the sea, and as kind -as the mercy of God.” - -One evening Padron ’Ntoni came home panting with excitement, -exclaiming, “Here’s the letter; Goodman Cirino, the sacristan, gave it -to me as I came from taking the nets to Pappafave.” - -La Longa turned quite pale for joy; and they all ran into the kitchen to -see the letter. - -’Ntoni arrived, with his cap over one ear, and a shirt covered with -stars; and his mother couldn’t get enough of him, as the whole family -and all his friends followed him home from the station; in a moment the -house was full of people, just as it had been at the funeral of poor -Bastianazzo, whom nobody thought of now. - -Some things nobody remembers but old people, so much so that La Locca -was always sitting before the Malavoglia house, against the wall, -waiting for her Menico, and turning her head this way and that at every -step that she heard passing up or down the alley. - - - - -VI. - - -|Ntoni got back on a Sunday, and went from door to door saluting his -friends and acquaintances, the centre of an admiring crowd of boys, -while the girls came to the windows to look at him; the only one that -was not there was Mammy Tudda’s Sara. - -“She has gone to Ognino with her husband,” Santuzza told him. “She has -married Menico Trinca, a widower with six children, but as rich as a -hog. She married him before his first wife had been dead a month. God -forgive us all!” - -“A widower is like a soldier,” added La Zuppidda; “a soldier’s love is -soon cold; at tap of drum, adieu, my lady!” - -Cousin Venera, who went to the station to see if Mammy Tudda’s Sara -would come to say good-bye to Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni, because she -had seen them talking to each other over the vineyard wall, hoped to put -’Ntoni out of countenance by this piece of news. But time had changed -him too--“Out of sight, out of mind”--‘Ntoni now wore his cap over his -ear. - -“I don’t like those flirts who make love to two or three people at a -time,” said the Mangiacairubbe, pulling the ends of her kerchief tighter -under her chin, and looking as innocent as a Madonna. “If I were to love -anybody, I’d stick to that one, and would change, no, not for Victor -Emmanuel himself, or Garibaldi, even.” - -“I know whom you love!” said ’Ntoni, with his hand on his hip. - -“No, Cousin ’Ntoni, you don’t know; they have told you a lot of gossip -without a word of truth in it. If ever you are passing my door, just you -come in, and I’ll tell you the whole story.” - -“Now that the Mangiacarubbe has set her heart on Padron ’Ntoni’s -’Ntoni, it will be a real mercy for his cousin Anna if anything comes -of it,” said Cousin Venera. - -’Ntoni went off in high feather, swaggering with his hand on his hip, -followed by a train of friends, wishing that every day might be Sunday, -that he might carry his pretty shirts out a-walking. That afternoon he -amused himself by wrestling with Cousin Pizzuti, who hadn’t the fear of -God before his eyes (though he had never been for a soldier), and sent -him rolling on the ground before the tavern, with a bloody nose; but -Rocco Spatu was stronger than ’Ntoni, and threw him down. - -In short, ’Ntoni amused himself the whole day long; and while they -were sitting chatting round the table in the evening, and his mother -asked him all sorts of questions about one thing and another, and Mena -looked at his cap, and his shirt with the stars, to see how they were -made, and the boys, half asleep, gazed at him with all their eyes, his -grandfather told him that he had found a place for him, by the day, on -board Padron Fortunato Cipolla’s bark, at very good wages. - -“I took him for charity,” said Padron Fortunato to whoever would listen -to him, sitting on the bench in front of the barber’s shop. “I took him -because I couldn’t bear to say no when Padron ’Ntoni came to ask me, -under the elm, if I wanted men for the bark. I never have any need of -men, but ‘in prison, in sickness, and in need one knows one’s friends’; -with Padron ’Ntoni, too, who is so old that his wages are money thrown -away.”. - -“He’s old, but he knows his business,” replied, old Goosefoot. “His -wages are by no means thrown away, and his grandson is a fellow that any -one might be glad to get away from him--or from you, for that matter.” - -“When Master Bastian has finished mending the _Provvidenza_ we’ll get -her to sea again, and then we sha’n’t need to go out by the day,” said -Padron ’Ntoni. - -In the morning, when he went to wake his grandson, it wanted two hours -to dawn, and ’Ntoni would have preferred to remain under the blankets; -when he came yawning out into the court, the Three Sticks were still -high over Ognino, and the Puddara * shone on the other side, and all the -stars glittered like the sparks under a frying-pan. “It’s the same thing -over again as when I was a soldier and they beat the reveille on deck,” - growled ’Ntoni. “It wasn’t worth while coming home, at this rate!” - -“Hush,” said Alessio. “Grandpapa is out there getting ready the tackle; -he’s been up an hour already,” but Alessio was a boy just like his father -Bastiànazzo, rest his soul! Grandfather went about here and there in -the court with his lantern; outside could be heard the people passing -towards the sea, knocking at the doors as they passed to rouse -their companions. All the same, when they came to the shore, where the -stars were mirrored in the black smooth sea, which murmured softly on the -stones, and saw here and there the lights of the other boats, ’Ntoni, -too, felt his heart swell within him. “Ah,” he exclaimed, with a mighty -stretch of his arms, “it is a fine thing to come back to one’s own home. -This sea knows me.” And Pa-dron ’Ntoni said, “No fish can live out of -water,” and “For the man who is born a fish the sea waits.” - - * The Great Bear. - -On board, the bark they chaffed ’Ntoni because Sara had jilted him. -While they were furling the sails, and the _Carmela_ was rowed slowly -round and round, dragging the big net after her like a serpent’s tail, -“‘Swine’s flesh and soldier’s faith last but a little while,’ for that -Sara threw you over,” they said to him. - -“When the Turk turns Christian the woman keeps her word,” said Uncle -Cola. - -“I have plenty of sweethearts, if I want them,” replied ’Ntoni; “at -Naples they ran after me.” - -“At Naples you had a cloth coat and a cap with a name on it, and shoes -on your feet,” said Barabbas.. . - -“Are the girls at Naples as pretty as the ones here?” - -“The girls here are not fit to hold a candle to those in Naples. I -had one with a silk dress, and red ribbons in her hair, an embroidered -corset, and gold epaulets like the captain’s. A fine, handsome girl who -brought her master’s children out to walk, and did nothing else.” - -“It must be a fine thing to live in those ports,” observed Barabbas. - -“You on the left there, stop rowing!” called out Padron ’Ntoni.. - -“Blood of Judas! You’ll send the bark onto the net,” shouted Uncle -Cola from the helm. “Will you stop chattering! Are we here to scratch -ourselves or to work?” - -“It’s the tide drives us up,” said ’Ntoni. - -“Draw in there, you son of a pig; your head is so full of those queens -of yours that you’ll make us lose the whole day,” shouted Barabbas. - -“Sacrament!” replied ’Ntoni, with his oar in the air. “If you say that -again I’ll bring it down on your head.” - -“What’s all this?” cried Uncle Cola from the helm. “Did you learn when -you were a soldier not to hear a word from anybody?” - -“I’ll go,” said ’Ntoni. - -“Go along, then! With Padron Fortunato’s money he’ll soon find another.” - -“Prudence is for the master, patience for the man,” said Padron -’Ntoni. - -’Ntoni continued to row, growling all the while, as he could not -get up and walk away; and Cousin Mangiacarubbe, to put an end to the -quarrelling, said it was time for breakfast. - -At that moment the sun was just rising, and a draught of wine was -pleasant in the cold air which began to blow. So the boys began to set -their jaws at work, with flask between their knees, while the bark moved -slowly about inside the ring of corks. - -“A kick to whoever speaks first,” said Uncle Cola. - -Not to be kicked, they all began to chew like so many oxen, watching the -waves that came rolling in from the open sea and spreading out without -foam, those green billows that on a fair sunny day remind one of a black -sky and a slate-colored sea. - -“Padron Cipolla will be swearing roundly at us to-night,” said Uncle -Cola; “but it isn’t our fault. In this fresh breeze there’s no chance of -fish.” - -First Goodman Mangiacarubbe let fly a kick at Uncle Cola, who had broken -silence himself after declaring the forfeit, and then answered: - -“Since we are here, we may as well leave the net out a while longer.” - -“The tide is coming from the open; that will help us,” said Padron -’Ntoni. - -“Ay, ay!” muttered Uncle Cola meanwhile. - -Now that the silence was broken, Barabbas asked ’Ntoni Malavoglia for -a stump of a cigar. - -“I haven’t but one,” said ’Ntoni, without thinking of the recent -quarrel, “but I’ll give you half of mine.” - -The crew of the bark, leaning their backs against the bench, with hands -behind their heads, hummed snatches of songs under their breath, each on -his own account, to keep himself awake, for it was very difficult not to -doze in the blazing sun; and Ba-rabbas snapped his fingers at the fish -which leaped flashing out of the water. - -“They have nothing to do,” said ’Ntoni, “and they amuse themselves by -jumping about.” - -“How good this cigar is!” said Barabbas. “Did you smoke these at -Naples?” - -“Yes, plenty of them.” - -“All the same, the corks are beginning to sink,” said Goodman -Mangiacarubbe. - -“Do you see where the _Provvidenza_ went down with your father?” said -Barabbas to ’Ntoni; “there at the Cape, where the sun glints on those -white houses, and the sea seems as if it were made of gold.” - -“The sea is salt, and the sailor sinks in the sea,” replied ’Ntoni. - -Barabbas passed him his flask, and they began to mutter to each other -under their breath against Uncle Cola, who was a regular dog for the -crew of the bark, watching everything they said and did; they might as -well have Padron Cipolla himself on board. - -“And all to make him believe that the boat couldn’t get on without him,” - added Barabbas; “an old spy. Now he’ll go saying that it is he that has -caught the fish by his cleverness, in spite of the rough sea. Look how -the nets are sinking; the corks are quite under water; you can’t see -them.” - -“Holloa, boys!” shouted Uncle Cola; “we must draw in the net, or the -tide will sweep it away.” - -“O-hi! O-o-o-hi!” the crew began to vociferate, as they passed the rope -from hand to hand. - -“Saint Francis!” cried Uncle Cola, “who would have thought that we -should have taken all this precious load in spite of the tide?” - -The nets shivered and glittered in the sun, and all the bottom of the -boat seemed full of quicksilver. - -“Padron Fortunato will be contented now,” said Barabbas, red and sweaty, -“and won’t throw in our faces those few centimes he pays us for the -day.” - -“This is what we get,” said ’Ntoni, “to break our backs for other -people; and then when we have put a few soldi together comes the devil -and carries them off.” - -“What are you grumbling about?” asked his grandfather. “Doesn’t Padron -Fortunato pay your day’s wages?” - -The Malavoglia were mad after money: La Longa took in weaving and -washing; Padron ’Ntoni and his grandsons went out by the day, and -helped each other as best they could; and when the old man was bent -double with sciatica, he stayed in the court and mended nets and tackle -of all kinds, of which trade he was a master. Luca went to work at the -bridge on the railroad for fifty centimes a day, though ’Ntoni said -that wasn’t enough to pay for the shirts he spoiled by carrying loads -on his back--but Luca didn’t mind spoiling his shirts, or his shoulders -either; and Alessio went gathering crabs and mussels on the shore, and -sold them for ten sous the pound, and sometimes he went as far as Ognino -or the Cape of the Mills, and came back with his feet all bloody. -But Goodman Zuppiddu wanted a good sum every Saturday for mending the -_Provvidenza_; and one wanted a good many nets to mend, and rolls of -linen to weave, and crabs at ten sous the pound, and linen to bleach, -too, with one’s feet in the water, and the sun on one’s head, to make up -two hundred francs. All Souls was come, and Uncle Crucifix did nothing -but promenade up and down the little street, with his hands behind his -back, like an old basilisk. - -“This story will end with a bailiff,” old Dumbbell went on saying to Don -Silvestro and to Don Giammaria, the vicar. - -“There will be no need of a bailiff, Uncle Crucifix,” said Padron -’Ntoni, when he was told what old Dumb-bell had been saying. “The -Malavoglia have always been honest people, and have paid their debts -without the aid of a bailiff.” - -“That does not matter to me,” said Uncle Crucifix, as he stood against -the wall of his court measuring the cuttings of his vines; “I only know -I want to be paid.” - -Finally, through the interposition of the vicar, Dumb-bell consented to -wait until Christmas, taking for interest that sixty-five francs which -Maruzza had managed to scrape together sou by sou, which she kept in an -old stocking hid under the mattress of her bed. - -“This is the way it goes,” growled Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni; “we work -night and day for old Crucifix. When we have managed to rake and scrape -a franc we have to give it to old Dumbbell.” - -Grandfather, with Maruzza, consoled each other by building castles in -the air for the summer, when there would be anchovies to be salted, and -Indian figs at ten for eight centimes; and they made fine projects of -going to the tunny-fishing, and the fishing for the sword-fish--when one -gains a good sum by the day--and in the mean time Cousin Bastian would -have put the _Provvidenza_ in order. The boys listened attentively, with -elbows on their knees, to this discourse, as they sat on the landing, or -after supper; but ’Ntoni, who had been in foreign ports, and knew the -world better than the others, was not amused by such talk, and preferred -going to lounge about the tavern, where there was a lot of people who -did nothing, and old Uncle Santoro the worst of them, who had only that -easy trade of begging to follow, and sat muttering Ave Marias; or he -went down to Master Zuppiddu’s to see how the _Provvidenza_ was getting -on, to have a little talk with Barbara, who came out with fagots for the -fire under the kettle of pitch, when Cousin ’Ntoni was there. - -“You’re always busy, Cousin Barbara,” said ’Ntoni; “you’re the right -hand of the house; it’s for that your father doesn’t want to get you -married.” - -“I don’t want to marry anybody who isn’t my equal,” answered Barbara. -“Marry with your equals and stay with your own.” - -“I would willingly stay with your people, by Our Lady! if you were -willing, Cousin Barbara.” * - -“Why do you talk to me in this way, Cousin ’Ntoni? Mamma is spinning -in the court; she will hear you.” - -“I meant that those fagots are wet and won’t kindle. Let me do it.” - -“Is it true you come down here to see the Mangiacarubbe when she comes -to the window?” - -“I come for quite another reason, Cousin Barbara. I come to see how the -_Provvidenza_ is getting on.” - -“She is getting on very well, and papa says that by Christmas she will -be ready for sea.” - -As the Christmas season drew on the Malavoglia were always in and out of -Master Bastiano Zuppiddu’s court. Meanwhile the whole place was assuming -a festive appearance; in every house the images of the saints were -adorned with boughs and with oranges, and the children ran about in -crowds after the pipers who came playing before the shrines, with the -lamps before the doors; only in the Malavoglia’s house the statue of the -Good Shepherd stood dark and unadorned, while Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni -ran here and there like a rooster in the spring. And Barbara Zuppidda -said to him: - -“At least you’ll remember how I melted the pitch for the _Provvidenza_ -when you’re out at sea.” - -Goosefoot prophesied that all the girls would want to rob her of him. - -“It’s I who am robbed,” whined Uncle Crucifix. “Where am I to get the -money for the lupins if ’Ntoni marries, and they take off the dowry -for Mena, and the mortgage that’s on the house, and all the burdens -besides that came out at the very last minute? Christmas is here, but no -Malavoglia.” - -Padron ’Ntoni went to him in the piazza, or in his own court, and said -to him: “What can I do if I have no money? Wait till June, if you will -do me that favor; or take the boat, or the house; I have nothing else.” - -“I want my money,” repeated Uncle Crucifix, with his back against the -wall. “You said you were honest people; you can’t pay me with talk about -the _Provvidenza_, or the house by the medlar-tree.” - -He was ruining both body and soul, had lost sleep and appetite, and -wasn’t even allowed to relieve his feelings by saying that the end of -this story would be the bailiff, because if he did Padron ’Ntoni sent -straightway Don Giammaria or Don Silvestro to beg for pity on him; and -they didn’t even leave him in peace in the piazza, where he couldn’t go -on his own business without some one was at his heels, so that the whole -place cried out on the devil’s money. With Goosefoot he couldn’t talk, -because he always threw in his face that the lupins were rotten, and -that he had done the broker for him. “But that service he could do me!” - said he, suddenly, to himself; and that night he did not sleep another -wink, so charmed was he with the discovery. And he went off to Goosefoot -as soon as it was day, and found him yawning and stretching at his house -door. “You must pretend to buy my debt,” he said to him, “and then we -can send the officers to Malavoglia, and nobody will call you a usurer, -or say that yours is the devil’s money.” - -“Did this fine idea come to you in the night,” sneered Goosefoot, “that -you come waking me at dawn to tell it me?” - -“I came to tell you about those cuttings, too; if you want them you may -come and take them.” - -“Then you may send for the bailiff,” said Goose-foot; “but you must pay -the expenses.” - -Before every house the shrines were adorned with leaves and oranges, -and at evening the candles were lighted, when the pipers played and sang -litanies, so that it was a festa everywhere. The boys played at games -with hazel-nuts in the street; and if Alessio stopped, with legs apart, -to look on, they said to him: - -“Go away, you; you haven’t any nuts to play with. Now they’re going to -take away your house.” - -In fact, on Christmas eve the officer came in a carriage to the -Malavoglia’s, so that the whole village was upset by it; and he went and -left a paper with a stamp on it on the bureau, beside the image of the -Good Shepherd. - -The Malavoglia seemed as if they all had been struck by apoplexy at -once, and stayed in the court, sitting in a ring, doing nothing; and -that day that the bailiff came there was no table set in the house of -the Malavoglia. - -“What shall we do?” said La Longa. Padron ’Ntoni did not know what -to say, but at last he took the paper, and went off with his two eldest -grandsons to Uncle Crucifix, to tell him to take the _Prov-videnza_, -which Master Bastiano had just finished mending; and the poor old man’s -voice trembled as it did when he lost his son Bastianazzo. “I know -nothing about it,” replied Dumb-bell. “I have no more to do with? the -business. I’ve sold my debt to Goosefoot, and you must manage it the -best way you can with him.” - -Goosefoot began to scratch his head as soon as he saw them coming in -procession to speak to him. - -“What’ do you want me to do?” answered he; “I’m a poor devil, I need the -money, and I can’t do anything with the boat. That isn’t my trade; but -if Uncle Crucifix will buy it, I’ll help you to sell it. I’ll be back -directly.” - -So the poor fellows sat on the wall, waiting and casting longing glances -down the road where old Goosefoot had disappeared, not daring to look -each other in the face. At last he came limping slowly along (he got on -fast enough when he liked, in spite of his crooked leg). “He says it’s -all broken, like an old shoe; he wouldn’t hear of taking it,” he -called out from a distance. “I’m sorry, but I could do nothing.” So the -Malavoglia went off home again with their stamped paper. - -But something had to be done, for that piece of stamped paper lying on -the bureau had power, they had been told, to devour the bureau and the -house, and the whole family into the bargain. - -“Here we need advice from Don Silvestro,” suggested Maruzza. “Take these -two hens to him, and he’ll be sure to know of something you can do.” - -Don Silvestro said there was no time to be lost, and he sent them to a -clever lawyer, Dr. Scipione, who lived in the street of the Sick-men, -opposite Uncle Crispino’s stable, * and was young, but, from what he had -been told, had brains enough to put in his pocket all the old fellows, -who asked five scudi for opening their mouths, while he was contented -with twenty-five lire. - -The lawyer was rolling cigarettes, and he made them come and go two or -three times before he would let them come in. The finest thing about -it was that they all went in procession, one behind the other. At first -they were accompanied by La Longa, with her baby in her arms, as she -wished to give her opinion, too, on the subject; and so they lost a -whole day’s work. When, however, the lawyer had read the papers, and -could manage to understand something of the confused answers which he -had to tear as if with pincers from Padron ’Ntoni, while the others -sat perched up on their chairs, without daring even to breathe, he began -to laugh heartily, and the Malavoglia laughed too, with him, without -knowing why, just to get their breath. “Nothing,” replied the lawyer; -“you need do nothing.” And when Padron ’Ntoni told him again that the -bailiff had come to the house: “Let the bailiff come every day if he -likes, so the creditors will the sooner tire of the expense of sending -him. They can take nothing from you, because the house is settled on -your son’s wife; and for the boat, we’ll make a claim on the part of -Master Bastiano Zuppiddu. Your daughter-in-law did not take part in -the purchase of the lupins.” The lawyer went on talking without drawing -breath, without scratching his head even, for more than twenty-five -lire, so that Padron ’Ntoni and his grandson felt a great longing to -talk too, to bring out that fine defence of theirs of which their -heads were full; and they went away stunned, overpowered by all these -wonderful things, ruminating and gesticulating over the lawyer’s speech -all the way home. Maruzza, who hadn’t been with them that time, seeing -them come with bright eyes and rosy faces, felt herself relieved of a -great weight, and with a serene aspect waited to hear what the advocate -had said. But no one said a word, and they all stood looking at each -other. - -“Well?” asked Maruzza, who was dying of impatience. - -“Nothing! we need fear nothing!” replied Padron ’Ntoni, tranquilly. - -“And the advocate?” - -“Yes, the advocate says we need fear nothing.” - -“But what did he say?” persisted Maruzza. - -“Ah, he knows how to talk! A man with whiskers! Blessed be those -twenty-five lire!” - -“But what did he tell you to do?” - -The grandfather looked at the grandson, and ’Ntoni looked back at -his grandfather. “Nothing,” answered Padron ’Ntoni; “he told us to do -nothing.” - -“We won’t pay anything,” cried ’Ntoni, boldly, “because they can’t -take either the house or the Provvidenza. We don’t owe them anything.” - -“And the lupins?” - -“The lupins! We didn’t eat them, his lupins; we haven’t got them in our -pockets. And Uncle Crucifix can take nothing from us; the advocate -said so, said he was spending money for nothing.” There was a moment’s -silence, but Maruzza was still unconvinced. - -“So he told you not to pay?” - -’Ntoni scratched his head, and his grandfather added: - -“It’s true, the lupins--we had them--we must pay for them.” - -There was nothing to be said, now that the lawyer was no longer there; -they must pay. Padron ’Ntoni shook his head, muttering: - -“Not that, not that! the Malavoglia have never done that. Uncle Crucifix -may take the house and the boat and everything, but we can’t do that.” - -The poor old man was confused; but his daughter-in-law cried silently -behind her apron. - -“Then we must go to Don Silvestro,” concluded Padron ’Ntoni. - -And with one accord, grandfather, grandchildren, and daughter-in-law, -with the little girl, proceeded once more in procession to the house of -the communal secretary, to ask him how they were to manage about paying -the debt, and preventing Uncle Crucifix from sending any more stamped -paper to eat up the house and the boat and the family. - -Don Silvestro, who understood law, was amusing himself by constructing a -trap-cage, intended as a present for the children of “her ladyship.” - -He did not do as the lawyer did, he let them talk and talk, continuing -silently to sharpen his reeds and fasten them into their places. At last -he told them what was necessary. “Well, now, if Madam Maruzza is willing -to put her hand to it, everything may be arranged.” The poor woman -could not guess where she was to put her hand. “You must put it into the -sale,” said Don Silvestro to her, “and give up your dotal mortgage, -although you did not buy the lupins.” - -“We all bought the lupins together,” murmured the poor Longa. “And the -Lord has punished us all together by taking away my husband.” - -The poor ignorant creatures, motionless on their chairs, looked at each -other, and Don Silvestro laughed to himself. Then he sent for Uncle -Crucifix, who came gnawing a dried chestnut, having just finished his -dinner, and his eyes were even more glassy than usual. From the very -first he would listen to nothing, declaring that he had nothing to do -with it, that it was no longer his affair. “I am like the low wall that -everybody sits and leans on as much as he pleases; because I can’t -talk like an advocate, and give all my reasons properly, my property -is treated as if I had stolen it.” And so he went on grumbling and -muttering, with his back against the wall, and his hands thrust into his -pockets; and nobody could understand a word he said, on account of the -chestnut which he had in his mouth. Don Silvestro spoiled a shirt by -sweating over the attempt to make him understand how the Malavoglia were -not to be called cheats if they were willing to pay the debt, and if the -widow gave up her dotal rights. The Malavoglia would be willing to give -up everything but their shirts sooner than go to law; but if they were -driven to the wall they might begin to send stamped paper as well as -other people; such things have happened before now. “In short, a little -charity one must have, by the holy devil! What will you bet that if you -go on planting your feet like a mule in this you don’t lose the whole -thing?” - -And Uncle Crucifix replied, “If you take me on that side I haven’t -any more to say.” And he promised to speak to old Goosefoot. “For -friendship’s sake I would make any sacrifice.” Padron ’Ntoni could -speak for him, how for friendship’s sake he had done as much as that -and more; and he offered him his open snuffbox, and stroked the baby’s -cheek, and gave her a chestnut. “Don Silvestro knows my weakness; I -don’t know how to say no. This evening I’ll speak to Goosefoot, and tell -him to wait until Easter, if Cousin Maruzza will put her hand to it.” - Cousin Maruzza did not know where her hand was to be put, but said that -she was ready to put it immediately. - -“Then you can send for those beans that you said you wanted to sow,” - said Uncle Crucifix to Don Silvestro before he went away. - -“All right! all right!” replied Don Silvestro. “We all know that for -your friends you have a heart as big as the sea.” - -Goosefoot, while any one was by, wouldn’t hear of any delay, and -screamed and tore his hair and swore they wanted to reduce him to his -last shirt, and to leave him without bread for the winter, him and -his wife Grace, since they had persuaded him to buy the debt of the -Malavoglia, and that those were five hundred lire, one better than -another, that they had coaxed him out of, to give them to Uncle -Crucifix. His wife Grace, poor thing, opened her eyes very wide, because -she couldn’t tell where all that money had come from, and put in a good -word for the Malavoglia, who were all good people, and everybody in the -vicinity had always known they Were honest. And Uncle Crucifix himself -now began to take the part of the Malavoglia. “They have said they will -pay; and if they don’t they will let you have the house; Madam Maruzza -will put her hand to it. Don’t you know that in these days if you want -your own you must do the best you can?” Then Goosefoot put on his jacket -in a great hurry, and went off swearing and blaspheming, saying that his -wife and old Crucifix might do as they pleased, since he was no longer -master in his own house. - - - - -VII. - -|That was a black Christmas for the Malavoglia. Just then Luca had to -draw his number for the Conscription--a low number, too, like a poor -devil as he was--and he went off without many tears; they were used to -it by this time. This time, also, ‘’Ntoni accompanied his brother, -with his cap over his ear, so that it seemed as if it were he who was -going away, and he kept on saying that it was nothing, that he had been -for a soldier himself. That day it rained, and the street was all one -puddle. - -“I don’t want you to come with me,” repeated Luca to his mother; “the -station is a long way off.” And he stood at the door watching the rain -come down on the medlar-tree, with his little bundle under his arm. Then -he kissed the hands of his mother and his grandfather, and embraced Mena -and the children. - -So La Longa saw him go away, under the umbrella, accompanied by all his -relations, jumping from stone to stone, in the little alley that was -all one puddle; and the boy, who was as wise as his grandfather himself, -turned up his trousers on the landing, although he wouldn’t have to wear -them any more when he got his soldier-clothes. “This one won’t write -home for money when he is down there,” thought the old man; “and if -God grants him life he will bring up once more the house by the -medlar-tree.” But God did not grant him life, just because he was that -sort of a fellow; and when there came, later on, the news of his death, -a thorn remained in his mother’s heart because she had let him go away -in the rain, and had not accompanied him to the station. - -“Mamma,” said Luca, turning back, because his heart bled to leave her so -silent, on the landing, looking like Our Lady of Sorrows, “when I come -back I’ll let you know first, and then you can come and meet me at the -station.” - -And these words Maruzza never forgot while she lived; and till her death -she bore also that other thorn in her heart, that her boy had not been -present at the festa that was made when the _Provvidenza_ was launched -anew, while all the place was there, and Barbara Zuppidda came out with -the broom to sweep away the shavings. “I do it for your sake,” she said -to Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni; “because it is your Providence.” - -“With the broom in your hand, you look like a queen,” replied ’Ntoni. -“In all Trezza there is not so good a housewife as you.” - -“Now you have taken away the _Provvidenza_, we shall not see you here -any more, Cousin ’Ntoni.” - -“Yes, you will. Besides, this is the shortest way to the beach.” - -“You come to see the Mangiacarubbe, who always goes to the window when -you pass.” - -“I leave the Mangiacarubbe for Rocco Spatu. I have other things in my -mind.” - -“Who knows what you have in your mind--those pretty girls in foreign -parts, perhaps?” - -“There are pretty girls here, too, Cousin Barbara, and I know one very -well.” - -“Really?” - -“By my soul!” - -“What do you care?” - -“I care! Yes, that I do; but she doesn’t care for me, because there are -certain dandies who walk under her window with varnished boots.” - -“I don’t even look at those varnished boots, by the Madonna of Ognino! -Mamma says that varnished boots are only fit to devour the dowry and -everything else; and some fine day I shall go out with my distaff, and -make him a scene, that Don Silvestro, who won’t leave me in peace.” - -“Do you mean that seriously, Cousin Barbara?” - -“Yes, indeed I do!” - -“That pleases me right well,” said ’Ntoni. - -“Listen; let’s go down to the beach on Monday, when mamma goes to the -fair.” - -“On Mondays I never shall have a chance to breathe, now that the -_Provvidenza_ has been launched.” - -Scarcely had Master Turi said that the boat was in order, than Padron -’Ntoni went off to start her with his boys and all the neighbors; and -the _Provvidenza_, when she was going down to the sea, rocked about on -the stones as if she were sea-sick among the crowd. - -“This way, here!” called out Cousin Zuppiddu, louder than anybody; but -the others shouted and struggled to push her back on the ways as she -rocked over on the stones. “Let me do it, or else I’ll just take the -boat up in my arms like a baby, and put her in the water myself.” - -“Master Turi is capable of doing it, with those arms of his,” said some -one; or else, “Now the Malavoglia will be all right again.” - -“That devil of a Cousin Zuppiddu has lucky fingers,” they exclaimed. -“Look how he has put her straight again, when she was like an old shoe.” - And in truth the _Provvidenza_ did seem quite another boat-shining with -new pitch, and with a bright red line along her side, and on the prow -San Francesco, with his beard that seemed to have been made of tow, so -much so that even La Longa had made peace with the _Provvidenza_, whom -she had never forgiven, for coming back to her without her husband; but -she made peace for fright, now that the bailiff had been in the house. - -“Viva San Francesco!” called out every one as the _Provvidenza_ passed; -and La Locca’s son called out louder than anybody, in the hope that -now Padron ’Ntoni would hire him by the day, instead of his brother -Menico. Mena stood on the landing, and once more she cried for joy; -and, at last, even La Locca got up like the rest, and followed the -Malavoglia. - -“O Cousin Mena, this is a fine day for all of you,” said Alfio Mosca to -her from his window opposite. “It will be like this when I can buy my -mule.” - -“And will you sell your donkey?” - -“How can I? I’m not rich, like Vanni Pizzuti; if I were, I swear I -wouldn’t sell him, poor beast! If I had enough to keep another person, -I’d take a wife, and not live here alone like a dog.” - -Mena didn’t know what to say, and Alfio added: “Now that the -_Provvidenza_ has put to sea again, you’ll be married to Brasi Cipolla.” - -“Grandpapa has said nothing about it.” - -“He will. There’s still time. Between now and your marriage who knows -how many things may happen, or by what different roads I shall drive my -cart? I have been told that in the plain, at the other side of the -town, there is work for everybody on the railroad. Now that Santuzza -has arranged with Master Philip for the new wine, there is nothing to be -done here.” - -Meanwhile the _Provvidenza_ had slipped into the sea like a duck, -with her beak in the air, and danced on the green water, enjoying its -coolness, while the sun glanced on her shining side. Padron ’Ntoni -enjoyed it, too, with his hands behind his back, and his legs apart, -drawing his brows together, as sailors do when they want to see clearly -in the sunshine; for it was a fine winter’s day, and the fields were -green and the sea shining and the deep blue sky had no end. So return -the sunshine and the sweet winter mornings for the eyes that have wept, -to whom the sky has seemed black as pitch; and so all things renew -themselves like the _Provvidenza_, for which a few pounds of tar and a -handful of boards sufficed to make her new once more; and the eyes that -see not these things are those that are done with weeping and are closed -in death. - -“Bastianazzo is not here to see this holiday!” thought Maruzza, as she -went to and fro, arranging things in the house and about the loom--where -almost everything had been her husband’s work on Sundays or rainy -days--and those hooks and shelves he had fixed in the wall with his own -hands. Everything in the house was full of him, from his water-proof -cape in the corner to his boots under the bed, that were almost new. -Mena, setting up the warp, had a sad heart, too, for she was thinking of -Alfio, who was going away, and would have sold his donkey, poor beast! -for the young have short memories, and have only eyes for the rising -sun; and no one looks westward save the old, who have seen the sun rise -and set so many times. - -“Now that the _Provvidenza_ has put to sea again,” said Maruzza at last, -noticing that her daughter was still pensive, “your grandfather has -begun to go with Master Cipolla again; I saw them this morning, from the -landing, before Peppi Naso’s shed.” - -“Padron Fortunato is rich, and has nothing to do, and stays all day in -the piazza,” answered Mena. - -“Yes, and his son Brasi has plenty of the gifts of God. Now that we have -our boat, and our men no longer need to go out by the day to work for -others, we shall get out of this tangle; and if the souls in Purgatory -will help us to get rid of the debt for the lupins, we shall be able to -think of other things. Your grandfather is wide-awake, don’t you fear, -and he won’t let you feel that you have lost your father. He will be -another father to you.” - -Shortly after arrived Padron ’Ntoni, loaded with nets, so that he -looked like a mountain, and you couldn’t see his face. “I’ve been to get -them out of the bark,” he said, “and I must look over the meshes, for -to-morrow we must rig the _Provvidenza_.” - -“Why did you not get ’Ntoni to help you?” answered Maruzza, pulling at -one end of the net, while the old man turned round in the middle of the -court, like a winder, to unwind the nets, which seemed to have no end, -and looked like a great serpent trailing along. - -“I left him there at the barber’s shop; poor boy, he has to work all -the week, and it is hot even in January with all this stuff on one’s -shoulders.” Alessio laughed to see his grandfather so red, and bent -round like a fish-hook, and the grandsire said to him, “Look outside -there; there is that poor Locca; her son is in the piazza, with nothing -to do, and they have nothing to eat.” Maruzza sent Alessio to La Locca -with some beans, and the old man, drying his forehead with the sleeve of -his shirt, added: - -“Now that we have our boat, if we live till summer, with the help of -God, we’ll pay the debt.” - -He had no more to say, but sat under the medlar-tree looking at his -nets, as if he saw them filled with fish. - -“Now we must lay in the salt,” he said after a while, “before they raise -the tax, if it is true it is to be raised. Cousin Zuppiddu must be -paid with the first money we get, and he has promised that he will then -furnish the barrels on credit.” - -“In the chest of drawers there is Mena’s linen, which is worth five -scudi,” added Maruzza. - -“Bravo! With old Crucifix I won’t make any more debts, because I have -had a warning in the affair of the lupins; but he will give us thirty -francs for the first time we go out with the _Provvidenza_.” - -“Let him alone!” cried La Longa. “Uncle Crucifix’s money brings ill -luck. Just this last night I heard the black hen crowing.” - -“Poor thing!” cried the old man, smiling as he watched the black hen -crossing the court, with her tail in the air and her crest on one side, -as if the whole affair were no business of hers. “She lays an egg every -day, all the same.” - -Then Mena spoke up, and coming to the door, said, “There is a basketful -of eggs, and on Monday, if Cousin Alfio goes to Catania, you can send -them to market.” - -“Yes, they will help to pay the debt,” said Padron ’Ntoni; “but you -can eat an egg yourselves now and then if you feel to want it.” - -“No, we don’t need them,” said Maruzza, and Mena added, “If we eat them -they won’t be sold in the market by Cousin Alfio; and now we will put -duck’s eggs under the setting hen. The ducklings can be sold for forty -centimes each.” Her grandfather looked her in the face, and said: - -“You’re a real Malavoglia, my girl!”. - -The hens scratched in the sand of the court, in the sun, and the setting -hen, looking perfectly silly, with the feather over her beak, shook -herself in a corner under the green boughs in the garden, along the -wall, there was more linen bleaching, with a stone lying on it to keep -it from blowing away. “All this is good to make money,” said Pa-dron -’Ntoni, “and, with the help of God, we shall stay in our house. ‘My -house is my mother.’” - -“Now the Malavoglia must pray to God and Saint Francis for a plentiful -fishing,” said Goose-foot meanwhile. - -“Yes, with the times we’re having,” exclaimed Padron Cipolla, “they must -have sown the cholera for the fish in the sea, I should think.” - -Mangiacarubbe nodded, and Uncle Cola began to talk of the tax that they -wanted to put on salt, and how, if they did that, the anchovies might be -quiet, and fear no longer the wheels of the steamers, for no one would -find it worth his while to fish for them any more. - -“And they have invented something else,” added Master Turi, the calker: -“to put a duty on pitch.” Those to whom pitch was of no importance had -nothing to say, but Zuppiddu went on shouting that he should shut up -shop, and whoever wanted a boat mended might stuff the hole with his -wife’s dress. Then they began to scold and to swear. - -At this moment was heard the scream of the engine, and the big wagons of -the railway came rushing out all of a sudden from the hole they had made -in the hill, smoking and fuming as if the devil was in them. “There!” - cried Padron Fortu-nato, “the railroad one side and the steamers -the other, upon my word it’s impossible to live in peace at Trezza -nowadays.” - -In the village there was the devil to pay when they wanted to put the -tax upon pitch. * La Zup-pidda, foaming at the mouth, mounted upon her -balcony, and went on preaching that this was some new villany of Don -Silvestro, who wanted to bring the whole place to ruin, because they -(the Zup-piddus) wouldn’t have him for a husband for their daughter; -they wouldn’t have him even for a companion in the procession, neither -she nor her girl! When Madam Venera spoke of her daughter’s husband it -always seemed as if she herself were the bride. - -Master Turi Zuppiddu tramped about the landing, mallet in hand, -brandishing his chisel as if he wanted to shed somebody’s blood, and -wasn’t to be held even by chains. The bile ran high from door to door, -like the waves of the sea in a storm. Don Franco rubbed his hands, with -his great ugly hat on his head, saying that the people was raising its -head; and seeing Don Michele pass with pistols hanging at his belt, -laughed in his face. The men, too, one by one, allowed themselves -to be worked up by their womankind, and began hunting each -other up, to try and rouse each other to fury, losing the whole -day standing about in the piazza, with arms akimbo and open mouths, -listening to the apothecary, who went on speechifying, but under -his breath, for fear of his wife up-stairs, how they ought to make a -revolution if they weren’t fools, and not to mind the tax on salt or the -tax on pitch, but to clear off the whole thing, for the king ought to be -the people. Instead, some turned their backs, muttering, “He wants to be -king himself; the druggist belongs to those of the revolution who want -to starve the poor people.” And they went off to the inn to Santuzza, -where there was good wine to heat one’s head, and Master Cinghialenta -and Rocco Spatu made noise enough for ten. - - * Dazio (French, octroi), tax on substances entering a town, - levied by the town-council. - -The good wine made them shout, and shouting made them thirsty (for the -tax had not yet been raised on the wine), and such as had much shook -their fists in the air, with shirt-sleeves rolled up, raging even at the -flies. - -Vanni Pizzuti had closed his shop door because no one came to be shaved, -and went about with his razor in his pocket, calling out bad names from -a distance, and spitting at those who went about their own business with -oars on their backs, shrugging their shoulders at the noise. - -Uncle Crucifix (who was one of those who attended to their own affairs, -and when they drew his blood with taxes, held his tongue for fear of -worse, and kept his bile inside of him) was never seen in the piazza -now, leaning against the wall of the bell-tower, but kept inside his -house, reciting Paternosters and Ave Marias to keep down his rage -against those who were making all the row--a lot of fellows who wanted -to put the place to sack, and to rob everybody who had twenty centimes -in his pocket. - -Whoever, like Padron Cipolla, or Master Filippo, the ortolano, had -anything to lose stayed shut up at home with doors bolted, and didn’t -put out even their noses; so that Brasi Cipolla got a rousing cuff from -his father, who found him at the door of the court, staring into the -piazza like a great stupid codfish. The big fish stayed under water -while the waves ran high, and did not make their appearance, not even -those who were, as Venera said, fish-heads, but left the syndic with his -nose in the air, counting his papers. - -“Don’t you see that they treat you like a pup-pet?” screamed his -daughter Betta, with her hands on her hips. “Now that they have got -you into a scrape, they turn their backs on you, and leave you alone -wallowing in the mud; that’s what it means to let one’s self be led by -the hose by that meddling Don Silvéstro.” - -“I’m not led by the nose by anybody,” shouted the Silk-worm. “It is I -who am syndic, not Don Silvestro.” - -Don Silvestro, on the contrary, said the real syndic was his daughter -Betta, and that Master Croce Calta wore the breeches by mistake. He -still went about and about, with that red face of his, and Rocco Spatu -and Cinghialenta, when they saw him, went into the tavern for fear of -a mess, and Vanni Pizzuti swore loudly, tapping his razor in his -breeches-pocket all the time. Don Silvestro, without noticing them, went -to say a word or two to Uncle Santoro, and put two centimes into his -hand. - -“The Lord be praised!” cried the blind man. “This is Don Silvestro, -the secretary; none of these others that come here roaring and thumping -their stomachs ever give a centime in alms for the souls in Purgatory, -and they go saying they mean to kill your syndic and the secretary; -Vanni Pizzuti said it, and Rocco Spatu and Master Cinghialenta. Vanni -Pizzuti has taken to going without shoes, not to be known; but I know -his step all the same, for he drags his feet along the ground, and -raises the dust like a flock of sheep passing by.” - -“What is it to you?” cried his daughter, when Don Silvestro was gone. -“These affairs are no business of ours. The inn is like a seaport--men -come and go, and one must be friendly with all and faithful to none, for -that each one has his own soul for himself, and each must look out for -his own interests, and not make rash speeches about other people. Cousin -Cinghialenta and Rocco Spatu spend money in our house. I don’t speak of -Pizzuti, who sells absinthe, and tries to get away our customers.” - -Cousin Mosca was among those who minded their own business, and passed -tranquilly through the piazza with his cart, amid the crowd, who were -shaking their fists in the air. - -“Don’t you care whether they put on the hide tax?” asked Mena when she -saw him come back with his poor donkey panting and with drooped ears. - -“Yes, of course I care; but to pay the tax the cart must go, or they’ll -take away the ass, and the cart as well.” - -“They say they’re going to kill them all. Grandpapa told us to keep the -door shut, and not to open it unless they come back. Will you go out -tomorrow too?” - -“I must go and take a load of lime for Master Croce Calta.” - -“Oh, what are you going to do? Don’t you know he’s the syndic, and -they’ll kill you too?” - -“He doesn’t care for them, he says. He’s a mason, and he has to -strengthen the wall of Don Filippo’s vineyard; and if they won’t have -the tax on pitch Don Silvestro must think of something else.” - -“Didn’t I tell you it was all Don Silvestro’s fault?” cried Mammy -Venera, who was always about blowing up the fires of discord, with her -distaff in her hand. “It’s all the affair of that lot, who have nothing -to lose, and who don’t pay a tax on pitch because they never had so much -as an old broken board at sea. It is all the fault of Don Silvestro,” - she went on screeching to everybody all over the place, “and of that -meddling scamp Goose-foot, who have no boat, either of them, and live -on their neighbors, and hold out the hat to first one and then another. -Would you like to know one of his tricks? It isn’t a bit true that he -has bought the debt of Uncle Crucifix. It’s all a lie, got up between -him and old Dumb-bell to rob those poor creatures. Goosefoot never even -saw five hundred francs.” - -Don Silvestro, to hear what they said of him, went often to the tavern -to buy a cigar, and then Rocco Spatu and Vanni Pizzuti would come out -of it blaspheming; or he would stop on the way home from his vineyard -to talk with Uncle Santoro, and heard in this way all the tale of -the fictitious purchase by Goosefoot; but he was a “Christian” with a -stomach as deep as a well, and all things he left to sink into it. He -knew his own business, and when Betta met him with his mouth open worse -than a mad dog, and Master Croce Calta let slip his usual expression, -that it didn’t matter to him, he replied, “What’ll you bet I don’t just -go off and leave you?” And went no more to the syndic’s house; but on -the Sunday appointed for the meeting of the council Don Silvestro, after -the mass, went and planted himself in the town-hall, where there had -formerly been the post of the National Guard, and began tranquilly -mending his pens in front of the rough pine table to pass away the time, -while La Zuppidda and the other gossips vociferated in the street, while -spinning in the sun, swearing that they would tear out the eyes of the -whole lot of them. - -Silk-worm, as they had come all the way to Master Filippo’s vineyard -to call him, couldn’t do less than move. So he put on his new overcoat, -washed his hands, and brushed the lime off his clothes, but wouldn’t go -to the meeting without first calling for Don Stefano to come to him. -It was in vain that his daughter Betta took him by the shoulders, and -pushed him out of the door, saying to him that they who had cooked the -broth ought to eat it, and that he ought to let the others do as they -liked, that he might remain syndic. This time Master Calta had seen the -crowd before the town-hall, distaffs in hand, and he planted his feet on -the ground worse than a mule. “I won’t go unless Don Silvestro comes,” - he repeated, with eyes starting out of his head. “Don Silvestro will -find some way out of it all.” - -At last Don Silvestro came, with a face like a wall, humming an air, -with his hands behind his back. “Eh, Master Croce, don’t lose your head; -the world isn’t going to come to an end this time!” Master Croce -let himself be led away by Don Silvestro, and placed before the pine -council-table, with the glass inkstand in front of him; but there was no -council, except Peppi Naso, the butcher, all greasy and red-faced, who -feared nobody in the world, and Messer Tino Piedipassera (Goosefoot). - -“They have nothing to lose,” screamed La Zuppidda from the door, “and -they come here to suck the blood of the poor, worse than so many -leeches, because they live upon their neighbors, and hold the sack for -this one and that one to commit all sorts of villanies. A lot of thieves -and assassins.” - -“See if I don’t slit your tongue for you!” shouted Goosefoot, beginning -to rise from behind the pine-wood table. - -“Now we shall come to grief!” muttered Master Croce Giufà. - -“I say! I say! what sort of manners are these? You’re not in the -piazza,” called out Don Silvestro. “What will you bet I don’t kick out -the whole of you? Now I shall put this to rights.” - -La Zuppidda screamed that she wouldn’t have it put to rights, and -struggled with Don Silvestro, who pulled her by the hair, and at last -ended by thrusting her inside her own gate. When they were at last alone -he began: - -“What is it you want? What is it to you if we put a tax on pitch? It -isn’t you or your husband that will have to pay it, but those who come -to have their boats mended. Listen to me: your husband is an ass to make -all this row and to quarrel with the town-council, now when there is -another councillor to be chosen in the room of Padron Cipolla or Master -Mariano, who are of no use, and your husband might come in.” - -“I know nothing about it,” answered La Zuppidda, becoming quite calm in -an instant. “I never mix myself up in my husband’s affairs. I know he’s -biting his hands with rage. I can do nothing but go and tell him, if the -thing is certain.” - -“Certain? of course it is--certain as the heavens above, I tell you! Are -we honest men or not? By the holy big devil!” - -La Zuppidda went straight off to her husband, who was crouching in the -corner of the court carding tow, pale as a corpse, swearing that they’d -end by driving him to do something mad. To open the sanhedrim and try if -the fish would bite, there were still wanting Padron Fortunato Cipolla -and Master Filippo, the market-gardener, who stayed away so long that -the crowd began to get bored--so much so that the gossips began to spin, -sitting on the low wall of the town-hall yard. At last they sent word -that they couldn’t come; they had too much to do; the tax might be -levied just as well without them. - -“Word for word what my daughter Betta said,” growled Master Croce Giufà. - -“Then get your daughter Betta to help you,” exclaimed Don Silvestro. -Silk-worm said not another word audibly, but continued to mutter between -his teeth. - -“Now,” said Don Silvestro, “you’ll see that the Zuppiddi will come and -ask me to take their daughter Barbara, but they’ll have to go on -asking.” - -The meeting was closed without deciding upon anything. The clerk wanted -time to get up his subject. In the mean while the clock struck twelve, -and the gossips quickly disappeared. The few that stayed long enough to -see Master Cirino shut the door and put the key in his pocket went away -to their own work, some this way, some that, talking as they went of the -dreadful things that Goosefoot and La Zuppidda had been saying. In the -evening Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni heard of this bad language, and, -“Sacrament!” if he wouldn’t show Goosefoot that he had been for a -soldier! He met him, just as he was coming from the beach, near the -house of the Zuppiddi, with that devil’s club-foot of his, and began to -speak his mind to him--that he was a foul-mouthed old carrion, and that -he had better take care what he said of the Zuppiddi; that their doings -was no affair of his. Goosefoot didn’t keep his tongue to himself -either. - -“Holloa! do you think you’ve come from foreign parts to play the master -here?” - -“I’ve come to slit your weasand for you if you don’t hold your tongue!” - -Hearing the noise, a crowd of people came to the doors, and a great -crowd gathered; so that at last they took hold of each other, and -Goosefoot, who was sharp as the devil he resembled, flung himself on -the ground all in a heap with ’Ntoni Malavoglia, who thus lost all the -advantage which his good legs might have given him, and they rolled over -and over in the mud, beating and biting each other as if they had been -Peppi Naso’s dogs, so that ’Ntoni had to be pulled into the Zuppiddi’s -court with his shirt torn off his back, and Goose-foot was led home -bleeding like Lazarus. - -“You’ll see!” screamed out again Gossip Venera, after she had slammed -the door in the faces of her neighbors--“you’ll see whether I mean to be -mistress in my own house. I’ll give my girl to whomsoever I please!” - -The girl ran off into the house, red as a turkey, with her heart beating -as fast as a spring chicken’s. - -“He’s almost pulled off your ear!” said Master Bastiano, as he poured -water slowly over ’Ntoni’s head; “bites worse than a dog, does Uncle -Tino.” ’Ntoni’s eyes were still full of blood, and he was set upon -vengeance. - -“Listen, Madam Venera!” he said, in the hearing of all the world. “If -your daughter doesn’t take me, I’ll never marry anybody.” And the girl -heard him in her chamber. - -“This is no time to speak of such things, Cousin ’Ntoni; but if your -grandfather has no objection, I wouldn’t change you, for my part, for -Victor Emmanuel himself.” - -Master Zuppiddu, meanwhile, said not a word, but handed ’Ntoni a towel -to dry himself with; so that ’Ntoni went home that night in a high -state of contentment. - -But the poor Malavoglia, when they heard of the fight with Goosefoot, -trembled to think how they might at any moment expect the officer to -turn them out-of-doors; for Goosefoot lived close by, and of the money -for the debt they had only, after endless trouble, succeeded in putting -together about half. - -“Look what it means to be always hanging about where there’s a -marriageable girl!” said La Longa to ’Ntoni. “I’m sorry for Barbara!” - -“And I mean to marry her,” said ’Ntoni. - -“To marry her!” cried the grandfather. “And who am I? And does your -mother count for nothing? When your father married her that sits there, -he made them come and tell me first. Your grandmother was then alive, -and they came and spoke to us in the garden under the fig-tree. Now -these things are no longer the custom, and the old people are of no -use. At one time it was said, ‘Listen to the old, and you’ll make no -blunders.’ First your sister Mena must be married--do you know that?” - -“Cursed is my fate!” cried ’Ntoni, stamping and tearing his hair. -“Working all day! Never going to the tavern! Never a soldo in one’s -pocket! Now that I’ve found a girl to suit me, I can’t have her! Why did -I come back from the army?” - -“Listen!” cried old ’Ntoni, rising slowly and painfully in consequence -of the racking pain in his back. “Go to bed and to sleep--that’s the -best thing for you to do. You should never speak in that way in your -mother’s presence.” - -“My brother Luca, that’s gone for a soldier, is better off than I am,” - growled ’Ntoni as he went off to bed. - - - - -VIII. - -Luca, poor fellow, was neither better off nor worse. He did his duty -abroad, as he had done it at home, and was content. He did not often -write, certainly--the stamps cost twenty centimes each--nor had he sent -his portrait, because from his boyhood he had been teased about his -great ass’s ears; instead, he every now and then sent a five-franc -note, which he made out to earn by doing odd jobs for the officers. -The grandfather had said, “Mena must be married first.” It was not -yet spoken of, but thought of always, and now that the money was -accumulating in the drawer, he considered that the anchovies would cover -the debt to Goosefoot, and the house remain free for the dowry of -the girl. Wherefore he was seen sometimes talking quietly with Padron -Fortunato on the beach while waiting for the bark, or sitting in the sun -on the church steps when no one else was there. - -Padron Fortunato had no wish to go back from his word if the girl had -her dowry, the more that his son always was causing him anxiety by -running after a lot of penniless girls, like a stupid as he was. “The -man has his word, and the bull has his horns,” he took to repeating -again. Mena had often a heavy heart as she sat at the loom, for girls -have quick senses. And now that her grandfather was always with Padron -Fortunato, and she so often heard the name Cipolla mentioned in the -house, it seemed as if she had the same sight forever before her, as if -that blessed Christian Cousin Alfio were nailed to the beams of the loom -like the pictures of the saints. One evening she waited until it was -quite late to see Cousin Alfio come back with his donkey-cart, holding -her hands under her apron, for it was cold and all the doors were -shut, and not a soul was to be seen in the little street; so she said -good-evening to him from the door. - -“Will you go down to Biccocca at the first of the month?” she asked him, -finally. - -“Not yet; there are still a hundred loads of wine for Santuzza. -Afterwards, God will provide.” - -She knew not what to say while Cousin Alfio came and went in the little -court, unharnessing the donkey and hanging the harness on the knobs, -carrying the lantern to and fro. - -“If you go to Biccocca we shall not see each other any more,” said Mena, -whose voice was quite faint. - -“But why? Are you going away too?” - -The poor child could not speak at all at first, though it was dark and -no one could see her face. - -From time to time the neighbors could be heard speaking behind the -closed doors, or children crying, or the noise of the platters in some -house where supper was late; so that no one could hear them talking. - -“Now we have half the money we want for old Goosefoot, and at the -salting of the anchovies we can pay the other half.” - -Alfio, at this, left the donkey in the court and came out into the -street. “Then you will be married after Easter?” - -Mena did not reply. - -“I told you so,” continued Alfio. “I saw Padron ’Ntoni talking with -Padron Cipolla.” - -“It will be as God wills,” said Mena. “I don’t care to be married if I -might only stay on here.” - -“What a fine thing it is for Cipolla,” went on Mosca, “to be rich enough -to marry whenever he pleases, and take the wife he prefers, and live -where he likes!” - -“Good-night, Cousin Alfio,” said Mena, after stopping a while to gaze at -the lantern hanging on the wicket, and the donkey cropping the nettles -on the wall. Cousin Alfio also said good-night, and went back to put the -donkey in his stall. - -Among those who were looking after Barbara was Vanni Pizzuti, when he -used to go to the house to shave Master Bastiano, who had the sciatica; -and also Don Michele, who found it a bore to do nothing but march around -with the pistols in his belt when he wasn’t behind Santuzza’s counter, -and went ogling the pretty girls to pass away the time. Barbara at first -returned his glances, but afterwards, when her mother told her -that those fellows were only loafing around to no purpose--a lot of -spies--all foreigners were only fit to be flogged--she slammed the -window in his face--mustache, gold-bordered cap and all; and Don Michele -was furious, and for spite took to walking up and down the street, -twisting his mustache, with his cap over his ear. On Sunday, however, he -put on his plumed hat, and went into Vanni Pizzuti’s shop to make eyes -at her as she went by to mass with her mother. Don Silvestro also -took to going to be shaved among those who waited for the mass, and -to warming himself at the brazier for the hot water, exchanging saucy -speeches with the rest. “That Barbara begins to hang on ’Ntoni -Malavoglia’s hands,” he said. “What will you bet he doesn’t marry her -after all? There he stands, waiting, with his hands in his pockets, -waiting for her to come to him.” - -At last, one day, Don Michele said: - -“If it were not for the cap with the border, I’d make that ugly scamp -’Ntoni Malavoglia hold the candle for me--that I would.” - -Don Silvestro lost no time in telling ’Ntoni everything, and how Don -Michele, the brigadier, who was not the man to let the flies perch on -his nose, had a grudge against him. - -Goosefoot, when he went to be shaved and heard that Don Michele would -have given him something to get rid of ’Ntoni Malavoglia, ruffled -himself up like a turkey-cock because he was so much thought of in the -place. Vanni Pizzuti went on, saying: “Don Michele would give anything -to have the Malavoglia in his hands as you have. Oh, why did you let -that row with ’Ntoni pass off so easily?” - -Goosefoot shrugged his shoulders, and went on warming his hands over the -brazier. Don Silvestro began to laugh, and answered for him: - -“Master Vanni would like to pull the chestnuts out of the fire with -Goosefoot’s paws. We know already that Gossip Venera will have nothing -to say to foreigners or to gold-bordered caps, so if ’Ntoni Malavoglia -were out of the way he would be the only one left for the girl.” - -Vanni Pizzuti said nothing, but he lay awake the whole night thinking -of it. “It wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” he thought to himself; -“everything depends upon getting hold of Goosefoot some day when he is -in the right sort of humor.” - -It came that day, once when Rocco Spatu was nowhere to be seen. -Goosefoot had come in two or three times rather late, to look for him, -with a pale face and starting eyes, too; and the customs guard had -been seen rushing here and there, full of business, smelling about like -hunting-dogs with noses to the ground, and Don Michele along with them, -with pistols in belt and trousers thrust into his boots. - -“You might do a good service to Don Michele if you would take ’Ntoni -Malavoglia out of his way,” said Vanni to Papa Tino, as he stood in -the darkest corner of the shop buying a cigar. “You’d do him a famous -service, and make a friend of him for life.” - -“I dare say,” sighed Goosefoot. He had no breath that evening, and said -nothing more. - -In the night were heard shots over towards the cliffs called the Rotolo -and along all the beach, as if some one were hunting quail. “Quail, -indeed!” murmured the fisher-folk as they started up in bed to listen. -“Two-legged quail, those are; quail that bring sugar and coffee and silk -handkerchiefs that pay no duty. That’s why Don Michele had his boots in -his trousers and his pistols in his belt.” - -Goosefoot went as usual to the barber’s shop for his morning glass -before the lantern over the door had been put out, but that next morning -he had the face of a dog that has upset the kettle. He made none of his -usual jokes, and asked this one and that one why there had been such -a devil of a row in the night, and what had become of Rocco Spatu and -Cinghialenta, and doffed his cap to Don Michele, and insisted on -paying for his morning draught. Goosefoot said to him: “Take a glass of -spirits, Don Michele; it will do your stomach good after your wakeful -night. Blood of Judas!” exclaimed Goosefoot, striking his fist on the -counter and feigning to fly into a real rage, “it isn’t to Rome that -I’ll send that young ruffian ’Ntoni to do penance.” - -“Bravo!” assented Vanni. “I wouldn’t have passed it over, I assure you; -nor you, Don Michele, I’ll swear.” - -Don Michele approved with a growl. - -“I’ll take care that ’Ntoni and all his relations are put in their -places,” Goosefoot went on threatening. “I’m not going to have the whole -place laughing at me. You may rest assured of that much, Don Michele.” - And off he went, limping and blaspheming, as if he were in a fearful -rage, while all the time he was saying to himself, “One must keep -friends with all these spies,” and ruminating on how he was to make a -friend of Santuzza as well, going to the inn, where he heard from Uncle -Santoro that neither Rocco Spatu nor Cin-ghialenta had been there; then -went on to Cousin Anna’s, who, poor thing, hadn’t slept a wink, and -stood at her door looking out, pale as a ghost. There he met the Wasp, -who had come to see if Cousin Anna had by chance a little leaven. - -“Today I must speak with your uncle Dumbbell about the affair you know -of,” said Goosefoot. Dumb-bell was willing enough to speak of that -affair which never came to an end, and “When things grow too long -they turn into snakes.” Padron ’Ntoni was always preaching that -the Malavoglia were honest people, and that he would pay him, but he -(Dumb-bell) would like to know where the money was to come from. In -the place, everybody knew to a centime what everybody owned, and those -honest people, the Malavoglia, even if they sold their souls to the -Turks, couldn’t manage to pay even so much as the half by Easter; and to -get possession of the house one must have stamped paper and all sorts of -expenses; that he knew very well. - -And all this time Padron ’Ntoni was talking of marrying his -granddaughter. He’d seen him with Padron Cipolla, and Uncle Santoro had -seen him, and Goosefoot had seen him too; and he, too, went on doing the -go-between for Vespa and that lazy hound Alfio Mosca, that wanted to get -hold of her field. - -“But I tell you that I do nothing of the sort!” shouted Goosefoot in his -ear. “Your niece is over head and ears in love with him, and is always -at his heels. I can’t shut the door in her face, out of respect for you, -when she comes to have a chat with my wife; for, after all, she is your -niece and your own blood.” - -“Respect! Pretty sort of respect! You’ll chouse me out of the field -with your respect.” - -“Among them they’ll chouse you out of it. If the Malavoglia girl marries -Brasi Cipolla, Mosca will be left out in the cold, and will take to -Vespa and her field for consolation.” - -“The devil may have her for what I care,” called put old Crucifix, -deafened by Uncle Tino’s clatter. “I don’t care what becomes of her, a -godless cat that she is. I want my property. I made it of my blood; and -one would think I had stolen it, that every one takes it from me--Alfio -Mosca, Vespa, the Malavoglia. I’ll go to law and take the house.” - -“You are the master. You can go to law if you like.” - -“No, I’ll wait until Easter--‘the man has his word, and the bull has his -horns;’ but I mean to be paid up to the last centime, and I won’t listen -to anybody for the least delay.” - -In fact, Easter was drawing near. The hills began once more to clothe -themselves with green, and the Indian figs were in flower. The girls -had sowed basil outside the windows, and the white butterflies came to -flutter about it; even the pale plants on the sea-shore were starred -with white flowers. In the morning the red and yellow tiles smoked in -the rising sun, and the sparrows twittered there until the sun had set. - -And the house by the medlar-tree, too, had a sort of festive air: the -court was swept, the nets and cords were hung neatly against the wall, -or spread on drying-poles; the garden was full of cabbages and lettuce, -and the rooms were open and full of sunshine, that looked as if it too -were content. All things proclaimed that Easter was at hand. The elders -sat on the steps in the evening, and the girls sang at the washing-tank. -The wagons began again to pass the high-road by night, and at dusk -there began once more the sound of voices in conversation in the little -street. - -“Cousin Mena is going to be married,” they said; “her mother is busy -with her outfit already.” - -Time had passed--and all things pass away with time, sad things as well -as sweet. Now Cousin Maruzza was always busy cutting and sewing all -sorts of household furnishing, and Mena never asked for whom they were -intended; and one evening Brasi Cipolla was brought into the house, with -Master Fortunato, his father, and all his relations. - -“Here is Cousin Cipolla, who is come to make you a visit,” said Padron -’Ntoni, introducing him into the house, as if no one knew anything -about it beforehand, while all the time wine and roasted pease were -made ready in the kitchen, and the women and the girls had on their best -clothes. - -That evening Mena looked exactly like Sant’-Agata, with her new dress -and her black kerchief on her head, so that Brasi never took his eyes -off her, but sat staring at her all the evening like a basilisk, sitting -on the edge of his chair, with his hands between his knees, rubbing them -now and then on the sly for very pleasure. - -“He is come with his son Brasi, who is quite a big fellow now,” - continued Padron ’Ntoni. - -“Yes, the children grow and shoulder us into the ground,” answered -Padron Fortunato. - -“Now you’ll take a glass of our wine--of the best we have, and a few -dried pease which my daughter has toasted. If we had only known you were -coming we might have had something ready better worth your acceptance.” - -“We happened to be passing by,” said Padron Cipolla, “and we said, -‘Let’s go and make a visit to Cousin Maruzza.’” - -Brasi filled his pockets with dried pease, always looking at the girl, -and then the boys cleared the dish in spite of all Nunziata, with the -baby in her arms, could do to hinder them, talking all the while among -themselves softly as if they had been in church. The elders by this -time were in conversation together under the medlar, all the gossips -clustering around full of praises of the girl--how she was such a good -manager, and kept the house neat as a new pin. “The girl as she is -trained, and the flax as it is spun,” they quoted. - -“Your granddaughter is also, grown up,” said Padron Fortunato; “it is -time she was married.” - -“If the Lord sends her a good husband I ask nothing better,” replied -Padron ’Ntoni. - -“The husband and the bishop are chosen by Heaven,” added Cousin La -Longa. - -Mena sat by the young man, as is the custom, but she never lifted her -eyes from her apron, and Brasi complained to his father, when they came -away, that she had not offered him the plate with the dried pease. - -“Did you want more?” interrupted Padron Fortunate when they were out of -hearing. “Nobody could hear anything for your munching like a mule at a -sack of barley. Look if you haven’t upset the wine on your new trousers, -lout! You’ve spoiled a new suit for me.” - -Padron ’Ntoni, in high spirits, rubbing his hands, said to his -daughter-in-law: “I can hardly believe that everything is so happily -settled. Mena will want for nothing, and now we can put in order all our -other little matters, and you may say the old daddy was right when he -said, ‘Tears and smiles come close together.’” - -That Saturday, towards evening, Nunziata came in to get a handful of -beans for the children, and said: “Cousin Alfio goes away to-morrow. -He’s packing up all his things.” - -Mena turned white, and stopped weaving. - -In Alfio’s house there was a light. Everything was topsy-turvy. He came -a few minutes after, knocking at the door, also with a very white face, -and tying and untying the knot of the lash of his whip, which he held in -his hand. - -“I’ve come to say good-bye to you all, Cousin Maruzza, Padron ’Ntoni, -the boys, and you too, Cousin Mena. The wine from Aci Catena is -finished. Now Santuzza will get it from Master Filippo. I’m going to -Biccocca, where there is work to be got for my donkey.” - -Mena said nothing; only the mother spoke in reply to him: “Won’t you -wait for Padron ’Ntoni? He will be glad to see you before you go.” - -So Cousin Alfio sat down on the edge of a chair, whip in hand, and -looked about the room, in the opposite direction to that where Mena was. - -“Now, when are you coming back?” said La Longa. - -“Who knows when I shall come back? I shall go where my donkey carries -me. As long as there is work I shall stay; but I should rather come back -here if I could manage to live anyhow.” - -“Take care of your health, Cousin Alfio; I’ve been told that people die -like flies of the malaria down there at the Biccocca.” - -Alfio shrugged his shoulders, saying there was nothing to be done. “I -would much rather not have gone away from here.” He went on looking at -the candle. “And you say nothing to me, Cousin Mena?” - -The girl opened her mouth two or three times as if to speak, but no -words came; her heart beat too fast. - -“And you, too, will leave the neighborhood when you are married,” - added Alfio. “The world is like an inn, with people coming and going. -By-and-by everybody will have changed places, and nothing will be the -same as it was.” So saying, he rubbed his hands and smiled, but with -lips only--not in his heart. - -“Girls,” said La Longa, “go where Heaven appoints them to go. When they -are young they are gay and have no care; when they go into the world -they meet with grief and trouble.” - -Alfio, after Padron ’Ntoni and the boys had come back, and he had -wished them also good-bye, could not make up his mind to go, but stood -on the threshold, with his whip under his arm, shaking hands now with -one, now with another--with Cousin Maruzza as well as the rest--and went -on repeating, as people do when they are going for a long journey, and -are not sure of ever coming back, “Pardon me if I have been wanting in -any way towards any of you.” The only one who did not take his hand was -Sant’Agata, who stayed in the dark corner by the loom. But, of course, -that is the proper way for girls to behave on such occasions. - -It was a fine spring evening, and the moon shone over the court and the -street, over the people sitting before the doors and the girls walking -up and down singing, with their arms around each other’s waists. Mena -came out, too, with Nunziata; she felt as if she should suffocate in the -house. - -“Now we sha’n’t see Cousin Alfio’s lamp any more in the evenings,” said -Nunziata, “and the house will be shut up.” - -Cousin Alfio had loaded his cart with all the wares he was taking away -with him, and now he was tying up the straw which remained in the manger -into a bundle, while the pot bubbled on the fire with the beans for his -supper. - -“Shall you be gone before morning, Cousin Alfio?” asked Nunziata from -the door of the little court. - -“Yes. I have a long way to go, and this poor beast has a heavy load. I -must let him have a rest in the daytime.” - -Mena said nothing, but leaned on the gate-post, looking at the loaded -cart, the empty house, the bed half taken down, and the pot boiling for -the last time on the hearth. - -“Are you there too, Cousin Mena?” cried Alfio as soon as he saw her, and -left off what he was engaged upon. - -She nodded her head, and Nunziata ran, like a good house-keeper as she -was, to skim off the pot, which was boiling over. - -“I am glad you are here; now I can say goodbye to you, too.” - -“I came here to see you once more,” she said, with tears in her voice. -“Why do you go down there where there is the malaria?” - -Alfio began to laugh from the lips outward, as he did when he went to -say good-bye to them all. - -“A pretty question! Why do I go there? and why do you marry Brasi -Cipolla? One does what one can, Cousin Mena. If I could have done as I -wished to do, you know what I would have done.” - -She gazed and gazed at him, with eyes shining with tears. - -“I should have stayed here where the very walls are my friends, and -where I can go about in the night to stable my donkey, even in the dark; -and I should have married you, Cousin Mena--I have held you in my heart -this long while--and I shall carry you with me to the Biccocca, and -wherever I may go. But this is all useless talk, and one must do what -one can. My donkey, too, must go where I drive him.” - -“Now farewell,” said Mena at last. “I, too, have something like a thorn -here within me.... And now when I see this window always shut, it -will seem as if my heart were shut too, as if it were shut inside the -window--heavy as an oaken door. But so God wills. Now I wish you well, -and I must go.” - -The poor child wept silently, hiding her eyes with her hand, and -went away with Nunziata to sit and cry under the medlar-tree in the -moonlight. - - - - -IX. - - -|Neither the Malavoglia nor any one else in the town had any idea what -Goosefoot and Uncle Crucifix were hatching together. On Easter Day -Pa-dron ’Ntoni took out the hundred lire which were amassed in the -bureau drawer, and put on his Sunday jacket to carry them to Uncle -Crucifix. - -“What, is it all here?” said he. - -“It can’t yet be all, Uncle Crucifix; you know how much it costs us to -get together a hundred lire. But ‘better half a loaf than no bread,’ and -‘paying on account is no bad pay.’ Now the summer is coming, and with -God’s help we’ll pay off the whole.” - -“Why do you bring it to me? You know I have nothing more to do with it; -it is Cousin Goosefoot’s affair.” - -“It is all the same; it seems always to me as if I owed it to you, -whenever I see you. Cousin Tino won’t say no, if you ask him to wait -until the Madonna del’Ognino.” - -“This won’t even pay the expenses,” said old Dumb-bell, passing the -money through his fingers. “Go to him yourself and ask him if he’ll wait -for you; I have nothing more to do with it.” - -Goosefoot began to swear, and to fling his cap on the ground after his -usual fashion, vowing that he had not bread to eat, and that he could -not wait even until Ascension-tide. - -“Listen, Cousin Tino!” said Padron ’Ntoni, with clasped hands, as if -he were praying to our Lord God, “if you don’t give me at least until -Saint Giovanni, now that I have to marry my granddaughter, it would be -better that you should stab me with a knife and be done with it.” - -“By the holy devil!” cried Uncle Tino, “you make me do more than I can -manage. Cursed be the day and the hour in which I mixed myself up in -this confounded business.” And he went off, tearing at his old cap. - -Padron ’Ntoni went home, still pale from the encounter, and said to -his daughter-in-law, “I’ve got off this time, but I had to beg him as if -I had been praying to God,” and the poor old fellow still trembled. But -he was glad that nothing had come to Padron Cipolla’s ears, and that the -marriage was not likely to be broken off. - -On the evening of the Ascension, while the boys were still dancing -around the post with the bonfire, the gossips were collected around the -Malavoglia’s balcony, and Cousin Venera Zuppidda was with them to listen -to what was said, and to give her opinion like the rest. Now, as Padron -’Ntoni was marrying his granddaughter, and the _Provvidenza_ was on -her legs once more, everybody was ready to put a good face on it with -the Malavoglia--for nobody knew anything of what Goosefoot had in his -head to do, not even Cousin Grace, his wife, who went on talking with -Cousin Maruzza just as if her husband had nothing on his mind. ’Ntoni -went every evening to have a chat with Barbara, and had confided to her -that his grandfather had said, “First we must marry Mena.” - -“And I come next,” concluded ’Ntoni. After this Barbara had given to -Mena the pot of basil, all adorned with carnations, and tied up with -a fine red ribbon, which was the sign of particular friendship between -girls; and everybody made a great deal of Sant’Agata--even her mother -had taken off her black kerchief, because it is unlucky to wear mourning -in the house where there is a bride, and had written to Luca to give him -notice that Mena was going to be married. She alone, poor girl, seemed -anything but gay, and everything looked black to her, though the fields -were covered with stars of silver and of gold, and the girls wove -garlands for Ascension, and she herself went up and down the stairs -helping her mother to hang the garlands over the door and the windows. - -While all the doors were hung with flowers, only that of Cousin Alfio, -black and twisted awry, was always shut, and no one came to hang the -flowers there for the Ascension. - -“That coquette Sant’Agata,” Vespa went about saying in her furious way, -“she’s managed at last to send that poor Alfio Mosca out of the place.” - Meanwhile they had made a new gown for Sant’-Agata, and were only -waiting until Saint John’s Day to take the silver dagger out of her -braids of hair, and part it over her forehead, before she went to -church, so that every one who saw her pass said, “Lucky girl!” - -Padron Cipolla at this time sat for whole evenings together with Padron -’Ntoni, on the church steps, talking of the wondrous doings of the -_Provvidenza_. - -Brasi was always hanging about the street near the Malavoglia, with his -new clothes on; and soon after it was known all over the place that on -that Sunday coming Cousin Grace Goosefoot was going herself to part the -girl’s hair, and to take out the silver dagger from her braids--because -Brasi Cipolla had lost his mother--and the Malavoglia had asked Cousin -Grace on purpose to please her husband, and they had asked also Uncle -Crucifix and all the neighborhood, and all their relations and friends -without exception. - -Cousin Venera la Zuppidda made no end of a row because she hadn’t been -asked to dress the bride’s hair--she, who was going to be a connection -of the Malavoglia--and her girl had a sweet-basil friendship with Mena, -so much so that she had made up a new jacket for Barbara in a hurry, not -expecting such an affront. ’Ntoni prayed and begged in vain that they -would not take it up like that, but pass it over. Cousin Venera, with -her hair ready dressed, but with her hands covered with flour, for she -had begun to make the bread, so that she didn’t mean to go to the party -at the Malavoglia, replied: - -“You wanted Goosefoot’s wife, keep her! Or her or me; we can’t stay -together. The Malavoglia know very well that they have chosen Madam -Grace only because of the money they owe her husband. Now they are hand -and glove with old Tino since Padron Cipolla made him make it up with -Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni after that affair of the fight. They would -lick his boots because they owe him that money on the house,” she went -on scolding. “They owe my husband fifty lire too, for the _Provvidenza_. -To-morrow I mean to make them pay it.” - -“Do let them alone, mother,” supplicated Barbara. But she was in the -pouts too, because she couldn’t wear her new jacket, and she was -almost sorry she had spent the money for the basil-plant for Mena; and -’Ntoni, who had come to take her home with him, had to go off alone, -quite chapfallen, looking as if his new coat were too big for him. -Mother and daughter stood looking out of the court, where they were -putting the bread in the oven, listening to the noise going on at the -house by the medlar, for the talking and laughing could be heard quite -plainly where they were, putting them in a greater rage than ever. - -The house was full of people, just as it had been at the time of -Bastianazzo’s death, and Mena, without her dagger, and with her hair -parted in the middle, looked quite differently; so that the gossips all -crowded around her and made such a chattering that you couldn’t have -heard a cannonade. Goosefoot went on talking nonsense to the women, and -made them laugh as if he had been tickling them; while all the time the -lawyer was getting ready the papers, although Uncle Crucifix had said -that there was time enough yet to send the summons. Even Padron Cipolla -permitted himself a joke or two, at which no one laughed but his son -Brasi; and everybody spoke at once; while the boys struggled on the -floor for beans and chestnuts. Even La Longa, poor woman, had forgotten -her troubles for the moment, so pleased was she; and Padron ’Ntoni sat -on the low wall, nodding his head in assent to everybody and smiling to -himself. - -“Take care that this time you don’t give your drink to your trousers, -which are not thirsty,” said Padron Cipolla to his son. - -“The party is given for Cousin Mena,” said Nunziata, “but she doesn’t -seem to enjoy it as the others do.” - -At which Cousin Anna made as if she had dropped the flask which she had -in her hand, in which there was still nearly a half-pint of wine, and -called out: “Here’s luck, here’s luck! ‘Where there are shards there is -feasting,’ and ‘Spilled wine is of good omen.’” - -“A little more and I should have had it on my new trousers this time -too,” growled Brasi, who, since his misfortune to his new clothes, had -become very cautious. - -Goosefoot sat astride of the wall, with the glass between his legs (it -seemed to him as if he were already the master, because of that, summons -he meant to send), and called out, “To-day there’s nobody at the tavern, -not even Rocco Spatu; today all the fun’s here, the same as if we were -at Santuzza’s.” - -From the wall where he sat Goosefoot could see a group of people who -stood talking together by the fountain, with faces as serious as if the -world were coming to an end. At the druggist’s shop there were the usual -idlers with the journal, talking and shaking their fists in each other’s -faces, as if they were coming to blows the next minute; while Don -Giammaria laughed, and took snuff with a satisfaction visible even at -that distance. - -“Why didn’t Don Silvestro and the vicar come?” asked Goosefoot. - -“I told them to, but they appear to have something particular to do,” - answered Padron ’Ntoni. - -“They’re over there at the shop, and there’s a fuss as if the man with -the numbers of the lottery had come. What the deuce can have happened?” - -An old woman rushed across the piazza, screaming and tearing her hair as -if at some dreadful news; and before Pizzuti’s shop there was a crowd -as thick as if an ass had tumbled under his load there; and even the -children stood outside listening, open-mouthed, not daring to go nearer. - -“For my part I shall go and see what it is,” said Goosefoot, coming -slowly down off the wall. - -In the group, instead of a fallen ass, there were two soldiers of the -marine corps, with sacks on their shoulders and their heads bound up, -going home on leave, who had stopped on their way at the barber’s to get -a glass of bitters. They were telling how there had been a great battle -at sea, and how ships as big as all Aci Trezza, full as they could -hold of soldiers, had gone down just as they were; so that their tales -sounded like those of the men who go about recounting the adventures -of Orlando and the Paladins of France on the marina at Catania, and the -people stood as thick as flies in the sun to listen to them. - -“Maruzza la Longa’s son was also on board the _Red d’Italia_” observed -Don Silvestro, who had also drawn near to listen with the rest. - -“Now I’ll go and tell that to my wife,” cried Master Cola Zuppiddu, -“then she’ll be sure to go to Cousin Maruzza. I don’t like coolnesses -between friends and neighbors.” - -But meanwhile the poor Longa knew nothing about it, and was laughing and -amusing herself among her relations and friends. - -The soldier seemed never tired of talking, and gesticulated with his -arms like a preacher. - -“Yes, there were Sicilians--there were men from every place you can -think of. But, mind you, when the calls pipe to the batteries, one minds -neither north nor south, and the guns all talk the same language. Brave -fellows all, and with strong hearts under their shirts. I can tell you, -when one has seen what I have seen with these eyes, how those boys stood -up to their duty, by Our Lady! one feels that one has a right to cock -one’s hat.” - -The youth’s eyes were wet, but he said it was only because the bitters -were so strong. - -“It seems to me those fellows are all mad,” said Padron Cipolla, blowing -his nose with great deliberation. “Would you go and get yourself killed -just because the King said to you, ‘Go and be killed for my sake?’” - -All the evening there was talking and laughing and drinking in the -Malavoglia’s court in the bright moonlight, and when nearly everybody -was tired, and they sat chewing roasted beans, with their backs against -the wall, some of them singing softly among themselves, they began -talking about the story that the two soldiers on leave had been telling. -Padron Fortunato had gone away early, taking with him his son in his -new clothes. “Those poor Malavoglia,” said he, meeting Dumb-bell in the -piazza; “God have mercy on them! It seems as if they were bewitched. -They have nothing but ill luck.” - -Uncle Crucifix scratched his head in silence. It was no affair of -his any more. Goosefoot had taken charge of it, but he was sorry for -them--really he was, in earnest. - -The day after the rumor began to spread that there had been a great -battle at sea, over towards Trieste, between our ships and those of the -enemy. Nobody knew how many there were, and many people had been killed. -Some told the story in one way, some in another--in pieces, as it were, -and broken phrases. The neighbors came with hands under their aprons -to ask Cousin Maruzza whether that were not where Luca was, and looked -sadly at her as they did so. The poor woman began to stand at the door -as they do when a misfortune happens, turning her head this way and -that, or looking down the road towards the turn, as if she expected her -father-in-law and the boys back from the sea before the usual time. Then -the neighbors would ask her if she had had a letter from Luca lately, or -how long it had been since he had written. In truth she had not thought -about the letter, but now she could not sleep nor close her eyes the -whole night, thinking always of the sea over towards Trieste, where -that dreadful thing had happened; and she saw her son always before her, -pale, immovable, with sad, shining eyes, and it seemed as if he nodded -his head at her as he had done when he left her to go for a soldier. And -thinking of him, she felt as if she had a burning thirst herself, and -a burning heat inside that was past description. Among all the stories -that were always going in the village she remembered one of some sailors -that had been picked up after many hours, just in time to save them from -being devoured by the sharks, and how in the midst of all that water -they were dying of thirst. And as she thought of how they were dying of -thirst in the midst of all that water, she could not help getting up -to drink out of the pitcher, and lay in the dark with wide-open eyes, -seeing always that mournful vision. - -As days went on, however, there was no more talk of what had happened, -but as La Longa had no letter, she began to be unable either to work or -to stay still; and she was always wandering from house to house as if -so she hoped to hear of something to ease her mind. “Did you ever see -anything so like a cat who has lost her kitten?” asked the neighbors -of each other. And Padron ’Ntoni did not go to sea, and followed his -daughter-in-law about as if he had been a dog. Some one said to him, “Go -to Catania, that is a big place; they’ll be able to tell you something -there.” - -In that big place the poor old man felt more lost than he ever did out -at sea by night when he didn’t know which way to point his rudder. At -last some one was charitable enough to tell him to go to the captain -of the port, who would be certain to know all about it. There, after -sending them from Pilate to Herod and back again, he began to turn over -certain big books and run down the lists of the dead with his finger. -When he came to one name, La Longa, who had scarcely heard what went on, -so loudly did her ears ring, and was listening as white as the sheet of -paper, slipped silently down on the floor as if she had been dead. - -“It was more than forty days ago,” said the clerk, shutting up the list -“It was at Lissa. Had not you heard of it yet?” - -They brought La Longa home in a cart, and she was ill for several days. -Henceforward she was given to a great devotion to the Mother of Sorrows, -who is on the altar of the little chapel; and it seemed to her as if the -long corpse stretched on the mother’s knees, with blue ribs and bleeding -side, was her Luca’s own portrait, and in her own heart she felt the -points of the Madonna’s seven sharp swords. Every evening the devotees, -when they came to church for the benediction, and Don Cirino, when he -went about shaking his keys before shutting up for the night, found her -there in the same place, with her face bent down upon her knees, and -they called her, too, the _Mother of Sorrows_. - -“She is right,” they said in the village. “Luca would have been back -before long, and there would have been the thirty sous a day more to the -good for the family. ‘To the sinking ship all winds blow contrary.’” - -“Have you seen Padron ’Ntoni’?” added Goosefoot. “Since his grandson’s -death he looks just like an old owl. The house by the medlar is full of -cracks and leaks, and every one who wants to save his money had better -look out for himself.” - -La Zuppidda was always as cross as a fury, and went on muttering that -now the whole family would be left on ’Ntoni’s hands. This time any -girl might think twice about marrying him. - -“When Mena is married,” replied ’Ntoni, “grandpapa will let us have -the room up-stairs.” - -“I’m not accustomed to live in a room up-stairs, like the pigeons,” - snapped out Barbara, so savagely that her own father said to ’Ntoni, -looking about as he walked with him up the lane, “Barbara is growing -just like her mother; if you don’t get the better of her now, you’ll -lead just such a life as I do.” - -The end was that Goosefoot swore his usual oath by the big holy devil -that this time he would be paid. Midsummer was come, and the Malavoglia -were once more talking of paying on account because they had not got -together the whole sum, and hoped to pick it up at the olive harvest. -He had taken those pence out of his own mouth, and hadn’t bread to -eat--before God he hadn’t. He couldn’t live upon air until the olive -harvest. - -“I’m sorry, Padron ’Ntoni,” he said, “but what will you have? I must -think of my own interest first. Even Saint Joseph shaved himself first, -and then the rest.” - -“It will soon be a year that it has been going on,” added Uncle -Crucifix, when he was growling with Uncle Tino alone, “and not one -centime of interest have I touched. Those two hundred lire will hardly -cover the expenses. You’ll see that at the time of olives they’ll put -you off till Christmas, and then till Easter again. That’s the way -people are ruined. But I have made my money by the sweat of my brow. -Now one of them is in Paradise, the other wants to marry La Zuppidda; -they’ll never be able to get on with that patched-up old boat, and they -are trying to marry the girl. They never think of anything but marrying, -those people; they have a madness for it, like my niece Vespa. Now, when -Mena is married you’ll see that Mosca’ll come back and carry her off, -with her field.” - -He wound up by scolding about the lawyer, who took such a time about the -papers before he sent in the summons. - -“Padron ’Ntoni will have been there to tell him to wait,” suggested -Goosefoot. “With an ounce of pitch one can buy ten such lawyers as -that.” - -This time he had quarrelled seriously with the Malavoglia, because La -Zuppidda had taken his wife’s clothes out of the bottom of the tank -and had put hers in their place. Such a mean thing as that he could not -bear; La Zuppidda wouldn’t have thought of it if she hadn’t got that -pumpkin-head of a ’Ntoni Malavoglia behind her, a bully that he was. -A good-for-nothing lot they were, the Malavoglia, and he didn’t want to -see any more of them, swearing and blaspheming as his wont was. - -The stamped paper began to rain in on them, and Goosefoot declared that -the lawyer couldn’t have been content with the bribe Padron ’Ntoni had -given him to let them alone, and that proved what a miser he was; and -how much he was to be trusted when he promised to pay what he owed -people. Padron ’Ntoni went back to the town-clerk and to the lawyer -Scipione, but he laughed in his face and told him that he was a fool for -his pains; that he should never have let his daughter-in-law give in to -it, and as he had made his bed so he must lie down. - -“Woe to the fallen man who asks for help!” - -“Listen to me,” suggested Don Silvestro. “You’d better let them have the -house; if not, they’ll take the _Provvidenza_ and everything else, even -to the hair off your head; and you lose all your time, besides, running -backward and forward to the lawyer.” - -“If you give up the house quietly,” said Goose-foot to the old man, -“we’ll leave you the _Provvidenza_, and you’ll be able to earn your -bread and will remain master of your ship, and not be troubled with any -more stamped paper.” - -After all, Cousin Tino wasn’t such a bad fellow. He went on talking to -Padron ’Ntoni as if it hadn’t been his affair at all, passing his -arm over his shoulder and saying to him, “Pardon me, brother, I am more -sorry than you are; it goes to my heart to turn you out of your house, -but what can I do? I’m only a poor devil; I’m not rich, like Uncle -Crucifix. If those five hundred lire hadn’t come actually out of my -very mouth, I would never have troubled you about them--upon my word I -wouldn’t.” - -The poor old man hadn’t the courage to tell his daughter-in-law that -she must go “quietly” out of the house by the medlar-tree. After so many -years that they had been there, it was like going into banishment, or -like those who had gone away meaning to come back, and had come back no -more. And there was Luca’s bed there, and the nail where Bastianazzo’s -pea-jacket used to hang. But at last the time came that they had to -move, with all those poor sticks of furniture, and take them out of -their old places, where each left a mark on the wall where it had -stood, and the house without them looked strange and unlike itself. They -carried their things out by night into the sexton’s cottage, which they -had hired, as if everybody in the place didn’t know that now the house -belonged no more to them but to Goosefoot, and that they had to move -away from it. But at all events no one saw them carrying their things -from one house to the other. Every time the old man pulled out a nail, -or moved a cupboard from the corner where it was used to stand, he shook -his poor old head. Then the others, when all was done, sat down upon a -heap of straw in the middle of the room to rest, and looked about here -and there to see if anything had been forgotten. But the grandfather -could not stay inside, and went out into the court in the open air. But -there, too, was the scattered straw and broken crockery and coils of old -rope, and in a corner the medlar-tree and the vine hanging in clusters -over the door. “Come, boys, let’s go. Sooner or later we must,” and -never moved. - -Maruzza looked at the door of the court out of which Luca and -Bastianazzo had gone for the last time, and the lane where she had -watched her boy go off through the rain, with his trousers turned up, -and then thought how the oil-skin cape had hidden him from her view. -Cousin Alfio Mosca’s window, too, was shut close, and the vine hung over -the way, so that every one who passed by plucked off its grapes. - -Each one had something in the house which it was specially hard to -leave, and the old man, in passing out, laid his head softly, in the -dark, on the old door, which Uncle Crucifix had said was in need of a -good piece of wood and a handful of nails. - -Uncle Crucifix had come to look over the house, and Goosefoot with him, -and they talked loud in the empty rooms, where the voices rang as if -they had been in a church. - -Cousin Tino hadn’t been able to live all that time upon air, and had -sold everything to old Dumb-bell to get back his money. - -“What can I do Cousin Malavoglia?” he said, passing his arm over his -shoulder. “You know I’m only a poor devil, and can’t spare five hundred -lire. If you had been rich I’d have sold the house to you.” - -But Padron ’Ntoni couldn’t bear to go about the house like that, with -Goosefoot’s arm on his shoulder. Now Uncle Crucifix was come with the -carpenter and the mason and a lot of people, who ran about the place as -if they had been in the public square, and said, “Here must go bricks, -here a new beam, here the floor must all be done over,” as if they had -been the masters. And they talked, too, of whitewashing it all over, and -making it look quite a different thing. - -Uncle Crucifix went about kicking the straw and the broken rubbish out -of the way, and picking up off the floor a bit of an old hat that had -belonged to Bastianazzo, he flung it out of the window into the garden, -saying it was good for manure. The medlar-tree rustled softly meanwhile, -and the garlands of daisies, now withered, that had been put up at -Whitsuntide, still hung over the windows and the door. - -From this time the Malavoglia never showed themselves in the street or -at church, and went all the way to Aci Castello to the mass, and no one -spoke to them any more, not even Padron Cipolla, who went about saying: -“Padron ’Ntoni had no right to play me such a trick as that. That was -real cheating to let his daughter-in-law give up her rights for the sake -of the debt for the lupins.” - -“Just what my wife says,” added Master Zuppiddu. “She says even the dogs -in the street wouldn’t have any of the Malavoglia now.” - -All the same, that young heathen Brasi howled and swore that he wanted -Mena; she had been promised him, and he would have her, and he stamped -and stormed like a baby before a toyshop at a fair. - -“Do you think I stole my property, you lazy hound, that you want to -fling it away with a lot of beggars?” shouted his father. - -They even took back Brasi’s new clothes, and he worked out his -ill-temper by chasing lizards on the down, or sitting astride of -the wall by the washing-tank, swearing that he wouldn’t do a hand’s -turn--no, that he wouldn’t, not if they killed him for it, now that -they wouldn’t give him his wife, and they had taken back even his -wedding-clothes. Fortunately, Mena couldn’t see him looking as he did -now, for the Malavoglia always kept the door shut down there at the -sexton’s cottage, which they had hired, in the black street near the -Zuppiddi; and if Brasi chanced to see any of them, if it were ever -so far off, he ran to hide himself behind a wall or among the -prickly-pears. - -Mena was quite tranquil, however--there was so much to do in the new -house, where they had to find places for all the old things, and where -there was no longer the medlar-tree; nor could one see Cousin Anna’s -door, or Nunziata’s. Her mother watched over her like a brooding bird -while they sat working together, and her voice was like a caress when -she said to her, “Give me the scissors,” or, “Hold this skein for me”; -so that the child felt it in her inmost heart, now that every one turned -away from them; but the girl sang like a lark, for she was but eighteen, -and at that age, if the sun do but shine, everything seems bright and -the singing of the birds is in one’s heart. Besides, she had never -really cared for “that person,” she said to her mother in a whisper as -they bent together over the loom. Her mother had been the only one who -had really understood her, and had had a kind word for her in that hard -time. At least if Cousin Alfio had been there he would not have turned -his back upon them. - -So goes the world. Every one must look out for himself, and so said -Cousin Venera to Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni--“Every one must see to -his own beard first, and then to the others. Your grandfather gives you -nothing; what claim has he on you? If you marry, that means that you -must set up house for yourself, and what you earn must be for your own -house and your own family. ‘Many hands are a blessing, but not all in -one dish.’” - -“That would be a fine thing to do, to be sure,” answered ’Ntoni. “Now -that my relations are on the street, am I to throw them over? How is -my grandfather to manage the _Provvidenza_ and to feed them all without -me?” - -“Then get out of it the best way you can!” exclaimed La Zuppidda, -turning away from him to hunt over the drawers, or in the kitchen, -upsetting everything here and there, making believe to be ever so busy, -not to have to look him in the face. “I didn’t steal my daughter. You -can go on by yourselves, because you are young and strong and can work, -and have your trade at your finger-ends--all the more now that there are -so few young men, with this devil of a conscription sweeping off all the -village every year; but if I’m to give you the dowry to spend it on your -own people, that’s another affair. I mean to give my daughter to -one husband, not to five or six, and I don’t mean she shall have two -families on her shoulders.” - -Barbara, in the other room, feigned not to hear, and went on plying her -shuttle briskly all the time. But if ’Ntoni appeared at the door, -she cast down her eyes and wouldn’t look at him. The poor fellow turned -yellow and green and all sorts of colors, for she had caught him, like a -limed sparrow, with those great black eyes of hers, and then she said -to him after her mother was gone, “I’m sure you don’t love me as much as -you do your own people!” and began to cry, with her apron over her head. - -“I swear,” exclaimed ’Ntoni, “I wish I could go back to soldiering -again!” and tore his hair and thumped himself in the head, but couldn’t -come to any decision one way or the other, like the pumpkin-head that he -was. - -“Then,” cried the Zuppidda, “come, come! each to his own home!” And her -husband went on repeating: - -“Didn’t I tell you I didn’t choose to have a fuss?” - -“You be off to your work!” replied she. “You know nothing about it.” - -’Ntoni, every time he went to the Zuppiddi, found them in an -ill-humor, and Cousin Venera went on throwing in his face that time that -his people had asked Goosefoot’s wife to dress Mena’s hair--and a fine -hair-dressing they’d made of it!--licking Cousin Tino’s boots because -of that twopenny business of the house, and he’d taken the house all the -same. - -“Then, Cousin Venera, if you speak in this way, I suppose you mean, ‘I -don’t want you in my house any longer.’” - -’Ntoni meant to play the man, and did not show himself again for two -or three days. But little Lia, who knew nothing of all this chatter, -still continued to go to play in the court at Cousin Venera’s, as they -had taught her to do in the days when Barbara used to give her chestnuts -and Indian figs for love of her brother ’Ntoni, only now they gave her -nothing. And La Zuppidda said to her: “Have you come here to look for -your brother? Does your mother think we want to steal your precious -brother?” - -Things came to such a pass that La Longa and La Venera did not speak, -and turned their backs upon each other if they met at church. - -’Ntoni, bewitched by Barbara’s eyes, went back to stand before the -windows, trying to make peace, so that Cousin Venera threatened to fling -water over him one time or another; and even her daughter shrugged her -shoulders at him, now that the Malavoglia had neither king nor kingdom. - -And she said it to his face, too, to be rid of him, for he stood like -a dog always in front of the window, and might stand in the way of a -better match, too, if any one were to come that way for her. - -“Now then, Cousin ’Ntoni, ‘the fish of the sea are destined for those -who shall eat them’; let’s make up our minds to say good-bye, and have -it over.” - -“You may say good-bye to it all, Cousin Barbara, but I can’t. Love isn’t -over so easily as that with me.” - -“Try. I guess you can manage it. There’s nothing like trying. I wish you -all the good in the world, but leave me to look after my own affairs, -for I am already twenty-two.” - -“I knew it would come to this when they took our house, and everybody -turned their backs on us.” - -“Listen, Cousin ’Ntoni. My mother may come at any minute, and it won’t -do for her to find you here.” - -“Yes, yes, I know; now that they’ve taken our house, it isn’t fair.” - Poor ’Ntoni’s heart was full; he couldn’t bear to part from her like -that. But she had to go to the fountain to fill her pitcher, and she -said adieu to him, walking off quickly, swaying lightly as she went; -for though they were called hobblers because her great-grandfather had -broken his leg in a collision of wagons at the fair of Trecastagni, -Barbara had both her legs, and very good ones too. - -“Adieu, Cousin Barbara,” said the poor fellow; and so he put a -stone over all that had been, and went back to his oar like a -galley-slave--and galley-slave’s work it was from Monday morning till -Saturday night--and he was tired of wearing out his soul for nothing, -for when one has nothing, what good can come of driving away from -morning till night, with never a dog to be friends with one either, and -for that he had had enough of such a life. He preferred rather to do -nothing at all, and stay in bed, as if he were sick, as they did on -board ship when the service was too hard, for the grandpapa wouldn’t -come to pull him and thump him like the ship’s doctor. - -“What’s the matter?” he asked. - -“Nothing. Only I’m a poor miserable devil.” - -“And what can be done for you, if you are a poor miserable devil? We -must go on as we come into the world.” - -He let himself be loaded down with tackle, like a beast of burden, and -the whole day long never opened his mouth except to growl and to swear. - -On Sunday ’Ntoni went hanging about the tavern, where people did -nothing but laugh and amuse themselves; or else he sat for whole hours -on the church steps, with his chin in his hands, watching the people -passing by, and pondering over this hard life, where there was nothing -to be got by doing anything. - -At least on Sunday there was something that cost nothing--the sun, the -standing idle with hands in one’s pockets; and then he grew tired even -of thinking of his hard fate, and longing to bask again in the strange -places he had seen when he was a soldier, and with the memory of which -he amused himself on working-days. He only cared to lie like a lizard -basking in the sun. And when the carters passed, sitting on their -shafts, he muttered, “They have an easy time of it, driving about like -that all day long and when some poor little old woman came from the -town, bent down under her heavy burden like a tired donkey, lamenting -as she went, as is the manner of the old, he said to her, by way of -consolation: - -“I would be willing to take your work, my sister; after all, it is like -going out for a walk.” - -Padron ’Ntoni would go off to old Crucifix, saying to him over and -over again, at least a hundred times: “You know, Uncle Crucifix, if we -can manage to put the money together for the house you must sell it to -us and to nobody else, for it has always belonged to the Malavoglia, and -‘his own nest every bird likes best,’ and I long to die in my own bed. -‘Blest is he who dies in the bed where he was born.’” - -Uncle Crucifix muttered something which sounded like “Yes,” not to -compromise himself, and then would go off and put a new tile or a patch -of lime on the wall of the court, to make an excuse for raising the -price of the house. - -Uncle Crucifix would reassure him in this way: “Never fear, never fear; -the house won’t run away, you know. Only keep an eye upon it. Every one -should keep an eye upon whatever he sets store by.” And once he went on, -“Isn’t your Mena going to be married?” - -“She shall be married when it shall please God,” replied Padron -’Ntoni. “For my part, I should be glad if it were to be to-morrow.” - -“If I were you I would give her to Alfio Mosca; he’s a nice young -fellow, honest and hard-working, always looking out for a wife -everywhere he goes; it is the only fault he has. Now they say he’s -coming back to the place. He’s cut out for your granddaughter.” - -“But they said he wanted to marry your niece Vespa.” - -“You too! You too!” Dumb-bell began to scream, in his cracked voice. -“Who says so? That’s all idle chatter. He wants to get hold of her -ground, that’s what he wants! A pretty thing that would be! How would -you like me to sell your house to somebody else?” - -And Goosefoot, who was always hanging about the piazza, ready to put -in his oar whenever he saw two people talking together, broke in with, -“Vespa has Brasi Cipolla in her head just now, since his marriage with -Sant’Agata is broken off. I saw them with my own eyes walking down the -path by the stream together.” - -“A nice lot, eh?” screamed Uncle Crucifix, quite forgetting his -deafness. “That witch is the devil himself. We must tell Padron -Fortunato about it, that we must. Are we honest men, or are we not? -If Padron Fortunato doesn’t look out, that witch of a niece of mine will -carry off his son before his eyes, poor old fellow.” - -And off he ran up the street like a madman. In less than ten minutes -Uncle Crucifix had turned the place topsy-turvy, wanting to call Don -Michele and his guest to look up his niece; for, after all, she was his -niece, and belonged to him, and wasn’t Don Michele paid to look after -what belonged to honest men? Everybody laughed to see Padron Cipolla -running hither and thither, panting like a dog with his tongue out, -after his great lout of a son, and said it was no more than he deserved -that his son should be snapped up by the Wasp when he thought Victor -Emmanuel’s daughter hardly good enough for him, and had broken off with -the Malavoglia without even saying “by your leave.” - -Mena had not put on mourning, however, when her marriage went off; on -the contrary, she began once more to sing at her loom, and while she -was helping to salt down the anchovies in the fine summer evenings, -for Saint Francis had sent that year such a provision as never was--a -_passage_ of anchovies such as no one could remember in any past year, -enough to enrich the whole place; the barks came in loaded, with the men -on board singing and shouting and waving their caps above their heads -in sign of success to the women and children who waited for them on the -shore. - -The buyers came from the city in crowds, on foot, on horseback, and in -carts and wagons, and Goosefoot hadn’t even time to scratch his head. -Towards sunset there was a crowd like a fair, and cries and jostling and -pushing so as no one ever saw the like. In the Malavoglia’s court the -lights were burning until midnight, as if there were a festa there. The -girls sang, and the neighbors came to help their cousin Anna’s daughters -and Nunziata, because every one could earn something, and along the wall -were four ranges of barrels all ready prepared, with stones on the top -of them. - -“I wish the Zuppidda were here now!” exclaimed ’Ntoni, sitting on the -stones to make weight, and folding his arms; “then she would see that we -can manage for ourselves as good as anybody, and snap our fingers at Don -Michele and Don Silvestro.” - -The buyers ran after Padron ’Ntoni with money down in their hands. -Goosefoot pulled him by the sleeve, saying, “Now’s your time; make your -profit while you can.” - -But Padron ’Ntoni would only answer: “Wait till All Saints, that’s the -time to sell anchovies. No, I won’t take earnest-money. I don’t mean to -be tied; I know how things will go.” And he thumped on the barrels with -his fist, saying to his grandchildren: “Here is your house and Mena’s -dowry; and the old house is ready to take you to its arms. Saint Francis -has been merciful. I shall close my eyes in peace.” - -At the same time they had made all their provision for the -winter--grain, beans, oil--and had given earnest to Don Filippo for a -little wine for Sundays. Now they were tranquil once more. Father and -daughter-in-law began once more to count the money in the stocking, -and the barrels ranged against the wall of the court, and made their -calculations as to what more was needed for the house. Maruzza knew the -money, coin from coin, and said, “This from the oranges and eggs; this -from Ales-sio for work at the railroad; this Mena earned at the loom;” - and she said, too, “Each has something here from his own work.” - -“Did I not tell you,” said Padron ’Ntoni, “that to pull a good oar -all the five fingers must help each other? Now there is but little more -needed.” And then he would go off into a corner with La Longa, and -they would have a great confabulation, looking from time to time at -Sant’Agata, who deserved, poor child, that they should talk of her, -because she had neither word nor will of her own, and attended to her -work, singing softly under her breath like a bird on its nest before the -break of morning; and only when she heard the carts pass on the highroad -in the evening she thought of Cousin Alfio Mosca’s cart, that was -wandering about the wide world, she knew not where; and then she -stopped singing. - -In the whole place nothing was seen but men carrying nets and women -sitting in their doors pounding salt and broken bricks together; and -before every door was a row of tiny barrels, so that it was a real -pleasure to a Christian to snuff the precious odor as he passed, and for -a mile away the breath of the gifts of the blessed Saint Francis floated -on the breeze; there was nothing talked of but anchovies and brine, -even in the drug-store, where all the affairs of all the world were -discussed. Don Franco wanted to teach them a new way of salting down, -a receipt which he had found in a book. They turned their backs on -him, and left him storming like a madman. Since the world was a world, -anchovies had always been cured with salt and pounded bricks. - -“The usual cry! My grandfather used to do it,” the druggist went on -shouting at them. “You want nothing but tails to be complete asses! What -is to be done with such a lot as this? And they are quite contented, -too, with Master Croce Giufà (which means oaf), because he has always -been syndic; they would be capable of saying that they didn’t want a -republic because they had never seen one.” This speech he repeated to -Don Silvestro on a certain occasion when they had a conversation without -witnesses. That is to say, Don Franco talked, and Don Silvestro listened -in silence. He afterwards learned that Don Silvestro had broken with -Betta, the syndic’s daughter, because she insisted on being syndic -herself; and her father let her wear the breeches, so that he said white -to-day and black to-morrow. - - - - -X. - - -|Ntoni went out to sea every blessed day, and had to row, tiring his -back dreadfully. But when the sea was high, and fit to swallow them all -at one gulp--them, the _Pravvidenza_, and everything else--that boy -had a heart as brave as the sea itself--“Malavoglia blood!”--said his -grandfather; and it was fine to see him at work in a storm, with the -wind whistling through his hair, while the bark sprang over the big -waves like a porpoise in the spring. - -The _Provvidenza_ often ventured out into blue water, old and patched -though she was, after that little handful of fish which was hard to -find, now that the sea was swept from side to side as if with brooms. -Even on those dark days when the clouds hung low over Agnone, and -the horizon to the east was full of black shadows, the sail of the -Provvidenza might be seen like a white handkerchief against the -leaden-colored sea, and everybody said that Padron ’Ntoni’s people -went out to look for trouble, like the old woman with a lamp. - -Padron ’Ntoni replied that he went out to look for bread; and when the -corks disappeared one by one in the wide sea, gleaming green as grass, -and the houses of Trezza looked like a little white spot, so far off -were they, and there was nothing all around them but water, he began to -talk to his grandsons in sheer pleasure. La Longa and the others would -come down to the beach to meet them on the shore as soon as they saw the -sail rounding the Fariglione; and when they too had been to look at the -fish flashing through the nets, and looking as if the bottom of the boat -were full of molten silver; and Padron ’Ntoni replied before any one -had asked, “Yes, a quintal or a quintal twenty-five” (generally right, -even to an ounce); and then they’d sit talking about it all the evening, -while the women pounded salt in the wooden mortars; and when they -counted the little barrels one by one, and Uncle Crucifix came in to -see how they had got on, to make his offer, so, with his eyes shut; and -Goosefoot came too, screaming and scolding about the right price, and -the just price, and so on; then they didn’t mind his screaming, because, -after all, it was a pity to quarrel with old friends; and then La -Longa would go on counting out sou by sou the money which Goosefoot had -brought in his handkerchief, saying, “These are for the house; these are -for the every-day expenses,” and so on. Mena would help, too, to pound -the salt and to count the barrels, and she should get back her blue -jacket and her coral necklace, that had been pawned to Uncle Crucifix; -and the women could go back to their own church again, for if any young -man happened to look after Mena, her dowry was getting ready. - -“For my part,” said ’Ntoni, rowing slowly, slowly round and round, -so that the current should not drive him out of the circle of the net, -while the old man pondered silently over all these things--“for my part, -all I wish is that hussy Barbara may be left to gnaw her elbows when we -have got back our own again, and may live to repent shutting the door in -my face.” - -“In the storm one knows the good pilot,” said the old man. “When we are -once more what we have always been, every one will bear a smooth face -for us, and will open their doors to us once more.” - -“There were two who did not shut their doors,” said Alessio, “Nunziata -and our cousin Anna.” - -“‘In prison, in poverty, and in sickness one finds one’s friends’; for -that may the Lord help them, too, and all the mouths they have to feed!” - -“When Nunziata goes out on the downs to gather wood, or when the rolls -of linen are too heavy for her, I go and help her too, poor little -thing,” said Alessio. - -“Come and help now to pull in this side, for this time Saint Francis has -really sent us the gift of God!” and the boy pulled and puffed, with his -feet braced against the side of the boat, so that one would have thought -he was doing it all himself. Meanwhile ’Ntoni lay stretched on the -deck singing to himself, with his hands under his head, watching the -white gulls flying against the blue sky, which had no end, it rose -so pure and so high, and the _Provvidenza_ rushed on the green waves -rolling in from farther than the eye could see. - -“What is the reason,” said Alessio, “that the sea is sometimes blue -and sometimes green and then white, then again black as the sand of the -beach, and is never all one color, as water should be?” - -“It is the will of God,” replied the grandfather, “so the mariner can -tell when he may safely put out to sea, and when it is best to stay on -shore.” - -“Those gulls have a fine time of it, flying in the air; they need not -fear the waves when the wind is high.” - -“But they have nothing to eat, either, poor beasts.” - -“So every one has need of good weather, like Nunziata, who can’t go to -the fountain when it rains,” concluded Alessio. - -“Neither good nor bad weather lasts forever,” observed the old man. - -But when bad weather came, and the mistral blew, and the corks went -dancing on the water all day long as if the devil were playing the -violin for them, or if the sea was white as milk, or bubbling up as if -it were boiling, and the rain came pouring down upon them until evening, -so that no wraps were proof against it, and the sea went frying all -about them like oil in the pan, then it was another pair of shoes--and -’Ntoni was in no humor for singing, with his hood down to his nose, -bailing out the _Provvidenza_, that filled faster than he could clear -out the water, and the grandpapa went on repeating, “White sea, sirocco -there’ll be!” or “Curly sea, fresh wind!” as if he had come there only -to learn proverbs; and with these blessed proverbs, too, he’d stand in -the evening at the window looking out for the weather, with his nose in -the air, and say, “When the moon is red it means wind; when it is clear, -fine weather; when it is pale it means rain.” - -“If you know it is going to rain,” said ’Ntoni, one day, “why do we go -out, while we might stay in bed an hour or two longer?” - -“‘Water from the sky, sardines in the net,’” answered the old man. - -Later on ’Ntoni began to curse and swear, with the water half up to -his knees. - -“This evening,” said his grandfather, “Maruzza will have a good fire -ready for us, and we shall soon be quite dry.” - -And at dusk when the _Provvidenza_, with her hull full of the gifts -of God, turned towards home, with her sail puffing out like Donna -Rosolina’s best petticoat, and the lights of the village came twinkling -one by one from behind the dark rocks as if they were beckoning to each -other, Padron ’Ntoni showed his boys the bright fire which burned in -La Longa’s kitchen at the bottom of the tiny court in the narrow black -street; for the wall was low, and from the sea the whole house was -visible, with the tiles built into a shed for the hens, and the oven on -the other side of the door. - -“Don’t you see what a blaze La Longa has got up for us?” said he, in -high spirits; and La Longa was waiting for them, with the baskets -ready. When they were brought back empty there wasn’t much talking; -but instead, if there were not enough, and Alessio had to run up to the -house for more, the grandfather would put his hands to his mouth and -shout, “Mena! Oh, Mena!” And Mena knew well what it meant, and they -all came down in procession--she, Lia, and Nunziata, too, with all her -chicks behind her; then there was great joy, and nobody minded cold or -rain, and before the blazing fire they sat talking of the gifts of God -which Saint Francis had sent them, and of what they would do with the -money. - -But in this desperate game men’s lives are risked for a few pounds of -fish; and once the Malavoglia were within a hair’s-breadth of losing -theirs all at once, as Bastianazzo had, for the sake of gain, when they -were off Agnone as the day drew to a close, and the sky was so dark that -they could not even see Etna, and the winds blew and swept up the waves -so close about the boat that it seemed as if they had voices and could -speak. - -“Ugly weather,” said Padron ’Ntoni. “The wind turns like a silly -wench’s head, and the face of the sea looks like Goosefoot’s when he is -hatching some hateful trick.” - -The sea was as black as the beach, though the sun had not yet gone down, -and every now and then it hissed and seethed like a pot. - -“Now the gulls have all gone to sleep,” said Alessio. - -“By this time they ought to have lighted the beacon at Catania,” said -’Ntoni; “but I can’t see it.” - -“Keep the rudder always north-east,” ordered the grandfather; “in half -an hour it will be darker than an oven.” - -“On such evenings as this it is better to be at Santuzza’s tavern.” - -“Or asleep in your bed, eh?” said the old man; “then, you should be a -clerk, like Don Silvestro.” - -The poor old fellow had been groaning all day with pain. “The weather is -going to change,” he said; “I feel it in my bones.”. - -All of a sudden it grew so black that one couldn’t even see to swear. -Only the waves, as they rolled past the _Provvidenza_, shone like -grinning teeth ready to devour her; and no one dared speak a word in -presence of the sea, that moaned over all its waste of waters. - -“I’ve an idea,” said ’Ntoni, suddenly, “that we had better give the -fish we’ve caught to-day to the devil.” - -“Silence!” said his grandfather; and the stern voice out of that -darkness made him shrink together like a leaf on the bench where he sat. - -They heard the wind whistle in the sails of the _Provvidenza_, and the -ropes ring like the strings of a guitar. Suddenly the wind began to -scream like the steam-engine when the train comes out from the tunnel in -the mountain above Trezza, and there came a great wave from nobody knew -where, and the _Provvidenza_ rattled like a sack of nuts, and sprang up -into the air and then rolled over. - -“Down with the sail--down!” cried Padron ’Ntoni. “Cut away, cut away!” - -’Ntoni, with the knife in his mouth, scrambled like a cat out on the -yard, and standing on the very end to balance himself, hung over the -howling waves that leaped up to swallow him. - -“Hold on, hold on!” cried the old man to him, through all the thunder -of the waves that strove to tear him down, and tossed about the -_Provvidenza_ and all that was inside her, and flung the boat on her -side, so that the water was up to their knees. “Cut away, cut away!” - called out the grandfather again. - -“Sacrament!” exclaimed ’Ntoni; “and what shall we do without the sail, -then?” - -“Stop swearing; we are in the hands of God now.” - -Alessio, who was grasping the rudder with all his force, heard what his -grandfather said, and began to scream, “Mamma, mamma, mamma!” - -“Hush!” cried his brother, as well as he could for the knife in his -teeth. “Hush, or I’ll give you a kick.” - -“Make the holy sign, and be quiet,” echoed the grandfather, so that the -boy dared not make another sound. - -Suddenly the sail fell all at once in a heap, and ’Ntoni drew it in, -furling it light, quick as a flash. - -“You know your trade well, as your father did before you,” said his -grandfather. “You, too, are a Malavoglia.” - -The boat righted and gave one leap, then began to leap about again among -the waves. - -“This way the rudder, this way; now it wants a strong arm,” said Padron -’Ntoni; and though the boy, too, clung to it like a cat, the boat -still sprang about, and there came great waves sweeping over it that -drove them against the helm, with force enough nearly to knock the -breath out of them both. - -“The oars!” cried ’Ntoni; “pull hard, Alessio; you’re strong enough -when it comes to eating; just now the oars are worth more than the -helm.” - -The boat creaked and groaned with the strain of the oars pulled by those -strong young arms; the boy, standing with his feet braced against the -deck, put all his soul into his oar as well as his brother. - -“Hold hard!” cried the old man, who could hardly be heard at the other -side of the boat, over the roaring of the wind and the waves. “Hold on, -Alessio!” - -“Yes, grandfather, I do,” replied the boy. - -“Are you afraid?” asked ’Ntoni. - -“No, he’s not,” answered his grandfather for him; “but we must commend -ourselves to God.” - -“Holy devil!” exclaimed ’Ntoni. “Here one ought to have arms of iron, -like the steam-engine. The sea is getting the best of it.” - -The grandfather was silent, listening to the blast. - -“Mamma must by this time have come to the shore to watch for us.” - -“Don’t talk about mamma now,” said the old man; “it is better not to -think about her.” - -“Where are we now?” asked ’Ntoni after some time, hardly able to speak -for fatigue. - -“In God’s hands,” answered the grandfather. - -“Then let me cry!” exclaimed Alessio, who could bear it no longer; and -he began to scream aloud and to call for his mother at the top of his -voice, in the midst of the noise of the wind and of the sea, and neither -of them had the heart to scold him. - -“It’s all very well your howling, but nobody can hear you, and you had -best be still,” said his brother at last, in a voice so changed and -strange that he hardly knew it himself. “Now hush!” he went on; “it is -best for you and best for us.” - -“The sail!” ordered Padron ’Ntoni. “Put her head to the wind, and then -leave it in the hands of God.” - -The wind hindered them terribly, but at last they got the sail set, and -the _Provvidenza_ began to dance over the crests of the waves, leaning -to one side like a wounded bird. - -The Malavoglia kept close together on one side, clinging to the rail. At -that moment no one spoke, for, when the sea speaks in that tone no one -else dares to utter a word. - -“Only Padron,” ’Ntoni said, “Over there they are saying the rosary for -us.” - -And no one spoke again, and they flew along through the wild tempest and -the night, that had come on as black as pitch. - -“The light on the mole!” cried ’Ntoni; “do you see it?” - -“To the right!” shouted Padron ’Ntoni; “to the right! It is not the -light on the mole. We are driving on shore! Furl, furl!” - -“I can’t,” cried ’Ntoni; “the rope’s too wet.” His voice was hardly -to be heard through the storm, so tired he was. “The knife, the knife! -quick, Alessio!” - -“Cut away, cut away!” - -At that moment a crash was heard; the _Pravvidenza_ righted suddenly, -like a still spring let loose, and they were within one of being flung -into the sea; the spar with the sail fell across the deck, snapped like -a straw. They heard a voice which cried out as if some one were hurt to -death. - -“Who is it? Who called out?” demanded ’Ntoni, aiding himself with his -teeth and the knife to clear away the rigging of the sail, which had -fallen with the mast across the deck, and covered everything. Suddenly -a blast of wind took up the sail and swept it whistling away into the -night. Then the brothers were able to disengage the wreck of the mast, -and to fling it into the sea. The boat rose up, but Padron ’Ntoni did -not rise, nor did he answer when ’Ntoni called to him. Now, when the -wind and the sea are screaming their worst together, there is nothing -more terrible than the silence which comes instead of the voice which -should answer to our call. - -“Grandfather! grandfather!” called out Alessio, too; and in the silence -which followed the brothers felt the hair rise up on their heads as if -it had been alive. The night was so black that they could not see from -one end of the boat to the other, and Alessio was silent from sheer -terror. The grandfather was stretched in the bottom of the boat with his -head broken. ’Ntoni found him at last by groping about for him, and -thought he was dead, for he did not move, nor even breathe. The helm -swung from side to side, while the boat leaped up and then plunged -headlong into the hollows of the waves. - -“Ah, Saint Francis de Paul! Ah, blessed Saint Francis!” cried the boys, -now that they knew nothing else to do. And Saint Francis mercifully -heard while he passed through the whirlwind helping his flock, and -spread his mantle under the _Provvidenza_ just as she was ready to crash -like a rotten nut on the “Cliffs of the Domes,” under the lookout of -the coast-guard. The boat sprang over the rocks like a colt, and ran -on shore, burying her nose in the sand. “Courage, courage!” cried the -guards from the shore; “here we are, here we are!” and they ran here and -there with lanterns, ready to fling out ropes. - -At last one of the ropes fell across the _Provvidenza_, which trembled -like a leaf, and struck ’Ntoni across the face like a blow from a -whip, but not the gentlest of caresses could have seemed sweeter to him -at that moment. - -“Help, help!” he cried, catching at the rope, which ran so fast that he -could hardly hold it in his hands. Alessio came to his assistance -with all his force, and together they gave it two turns around the -rudder-post, and those on shore drew them in. - -Padron ’Ntoni, however, gave no sign of life, and when the light -was brought they found his face covered with blood, and the grandsons -thought him dead, and tore their hair. But after an hour or two arrived -Don Michele, Rocco Spatu, Vanni Pizzuti, and all the idlers that had -been at the tavern when the news had come, and by force of rubbing and -of cold water they brought him to himself, and he opened his eyes. The -poor old man, when he heard where he was, and that there wanted less -than an hour to reach Trezza, asked them to carry him home on a ladder. -Maruzza, Mena, and the neighbors, screaming and beating their breasts in -the piazza, saw him arrive like that, stretched out on the ladder, pale -and still, as if he had been dead. - -“’Tis nothing, ’Tis nothing!” called out Don Michele, at the head -of the crowd. “’Tis only a slight thing.” And he went off to the -druggist’s for the Thieves’ vinegar. Don Franco came himself with it, -holding the bottle with both hands; and Goose-foot, too, came running, -and his wife and Dumbbell and the Zuppiddi and Padron Cipolla and all -the neighborhood, for at such a time all differences are forgotten; -there came even poor La Locca, who always went wherever there was a -crowd or a bustle, by night or by day, as if she never slept, but was -always seeking her lost Menico. So that the people were crowded in the -little street before the Malavoglia’s house as if a corpse had been -there, and their cousin Anna had to shut the door in their faces. - -“Let me in, let me in!” cried Nunziata, pounding with her fist on the -door, having run over only half dressed. “Let me in to see what has -happened to Cousin Maruzza!” - -“What good was it sending us for the ladder if we can’t come in and see -what’s going on?” shouted the son of La Locca. - -The Zuppidda and the Mangiacarubbe had forgotten all the hard words that -had passed between them, and stood chatting before the door, with hands -under their aprons. Yes, it was always so with this trade, and it was -bound to finish this way one day or another. Whoever marries their -daughter to a seafaring man is sure to see her come back to the house -a widow, and with children into the bargain; and if it had not been for -Don Michele there would have remained not one of the Malavoglia to carry -on the family. The best thing to do was to do nothing, like those people -who got paid for just that--like Don Michele, for example; why, he -was as big and as fat as a canon, and he ate as much as ten men, and -everybody smoothed him down the right way; even the druggist, that was -always railing at the King, took off his great ugly black hat to him. - -“It will be nothing,” said Don Franco, coming out of the house; “we have -bandaged his head properly; but if fever doesn’t come on, I won’t answer -for him.” - -Goosefoot insisted on going in “because he was one of the family, -almost,” and Padron Fortunato, and as many more as could manage to pass. - -“I don’t like the looks of him a bit!” pronounced Padron Cipolla, -shaking his head. “How do you feel, Cousin ’Ntoni?” - -For two or three days Padron ’Ntoni was more dead than alive. The -fever came on, as the apothecary had said it would, but it was so strong -that it went nigh to carry the wounded man off altogether. The poor old -fellow never complained, but lay quiet in his corner, with his white -face and his long beard, and his head bound up. He was only dreadfully -thirsty; and when Mena or La Longa gave him to drink, he caught hold of -the cup with both trembling hands, and clung to it as if he feared it -would be taken from him. - -The doctor came every morning, dressed the wound, felt his pulse, looked -at his tongue, and went away again shaking his head. - -At last there came one evening when the doctor shook his head more sadly -than ever; La Longa placed the image of the Madonna beside the bed, and -they said their rosary around, it, for the sick man lay still, and never -spoke, even to ask for water, and it seemed as if he had even ceased to -breathe. - -Nobody went to bed that night, and Lia nearly broke her jaws yawning, so -sleepy was she. The house was so silent that they could hear the glasses -by the bedside rattle when the carts passed by on the road, making -the watchers by the sick man start; so passed the day, too, while the -neighbors stood outside talking in low tones, and watching what went on -through the half-door. Towards evening Padron ’Ntoni asked to see each -member of his family one by one, and looking at them with dim, sunken -eyes, asked them what the doctor had said. ’Ntoni was at the head of -the bed, crying like a child, for the fellow had a kind heart. - -“Don’t cry so!” said his grandfather, “don’t cry. Now you are the head -of the house: Think how they are all on your hands, and do as I have -done for them.” - -The women began to cry bitterly, and to tear their hair, hearing him -speak in that way. Even little Lia did the same, for women have no -reason at such times, and did not notice how the poor man’s face worked, -for he could not endure to see them grieve for him in that way. But the -weak voice continued: - -“Don’t spend money for me when I am gone. The Lord will know that you -have no money, and will be content with the rosary that Mena and Maruzza -will say for me. And you, Mena, go on doing as your mother has done, for -she is a saint of a woman, and has known well how to bear her sorrows; -and keep your little sister under your wing as a hen does her chickens. -As long as you cling together your sorrows will seem less bitter. Now -’Ntoni is a man, and before long Alessio will be old enough to help -you too.” - -“Don’t talk like that, don’t! for pity’s sake, don’t talk so!” cried the -women, as if it were of his own free-will that he was leaving them. He -shook his head sadly, and replied: - -“Now I have said all I wished to say, I don’t mind. Please turn me on -the other side. I am tired. I am old, you know; when the oil is burned -out the lamp goes out too.” - -Later on he called ’Ntoni, and said to him: - -“Don’t sell the _Provvidenza_, though she is so old; if you do you will -have to go out by the day, and you don’t know how hard it is when Padron -Cipolla or Uncle Cola says to you, ‘There’s nobody wanted on Monday.’ -And another thing I want to say to you, ’Ntoni. When you have put by -enough money you must marry off Mena, and give her to a seaman like her -father, and a good fellow like him. And I want to say, also, when you -shall have portioned off Lia, too, try and put by money to buy back the -house by the medlar-tree. Uncle Crucifix will sell it if you make it -worth his while, for it has always belonged to the Malavoglia--and -thence your father and Luca went away, never to return.” - -“Yes, grandfather, yes, I will,” promised ’Ntoni, with many tears. And -Alessio also listened gravely, as if he too had been a man. - -The women thought the sick man must be wandering, hearing him go on -talking and talking, and they went to put wet cloths on his forehead. - -“No,” said Padron ’Ntoni, “I am in right senses. I only want to finish -what I have to say before I go away from you.” - -By this time they had begun to hear the fishermen calling from one door -to another, and the carts began to pass along the road. “In two hours it -will be day,” said Padron ’Ntoni, “and you can go call Don Giammaria.” - -Poor things! they looked for day as for the Messiah, and went to the -window every few minutes to look for the dawn. At last the room grew -lighter, and Padron ’Ntoni said, “Now go call the priest, for I want -to confess.” - -Don Giammaria came when the sun had already risen; and all the -neighbors, when they heard the bell tinkle in the black street, went -after it, to see the viaticum going to the Malavoglia. And all went in, -too; for when the Lord is within the door can be shut upon nobody; so -that the mourning family, seeing the house full of people, dared not -weep nor cry; while Don Giammaria muttered the prayers between his -teeth, and Master Cirino put a candle to the lips of the sick man, who -lay pale and stiff as a candle himself. - -“He looks just like the patriarch Saint Joseph, in that bed, with -that long beard,” said Santuzza, who arranged all the bottles and -straightened everything, for she was always about when Our Lord went -anywhere--“Like a raven,” said the druggist. - -The doctor came while the vicar was still there, and at first he wanted -to turn his donkey round and go home again. “Who told you to call the -priest?” he said; “that is the doctor’s affair, and I am astonished that -Don Giammaria should have come without a certificate. Do you know what? -There is no need of the priest--he’s better--that’s what he is.” - -“It is a miracle, worked by Our Lady of Sorrows,” cried La Longa; “Our -Lady has done this for us, for Our Lord has come too often to this -house.” - -“Ah, Blessed Virgin! Ah, Holy Virgin!” exclaimed Mena, clasping her -hands; “how gracious art thou to us!” And they all wept for joy, as if -the sick man were quite ready to get up and be off to his boat again. - -The doctor went off growling. “That’s always the way. If they get well -it is Our Lady has saved them; if they die, it is we who have killed -them.” - -“Don Michele is to have the medal for throwing the rope to the -_Provvidenza_, and there’s a pension attached to it,” said the druggist. -“That’s the way they spend the people’s money!” - -Goosefoot spoke up in defence of Don Michele, saying that he had -deserved the medal, and the pension, too, for he had gone into the -water up to his knees, big boots and all, to save the Malavoglia--three -persons. “Do you think that a small thing--three lives?--and was within -a hair’s-breath of losing his own life, too, so that everybody was -talking of him: and on a Sunday, when he put on his new uniform, the -girls couldn’t take their eyes off him, so anxious were they to see if -he really had the medal or not.” - -“Barbara Zuppidda, now that she’s got rid of that lout of a Malavoglia, -won’t turn her back on Don Michele any more,” said Goosefoot. “I’ve -seen her with her nose between the shutters when he’s passed along the -street.” - -’Ntoni, poor fellow, as long as they couldn’t do without him, had -run hither and thither indefatigably, and had been in despair while -his grandfather was so ill. Now that he was better, he took to lounging -about, with his arms akimbo, waiting till it was time to take the -_Provvidenza_ to Master Zup-piddu to be mended, and went to the tavern -to chat with the others, though he hadn’t a sou to spend there, and told -to this one and that one how near he had been to drowning, and so passed -the time away, lounging and spitting about, doing nothing. When any one -would pay for wine for him he would get angry about Don Michele, and say -he had taken away his sweetheart; that he went every evening to talk -to Barbara at the window; that Uncle Santoro had seen him; that he had -asked Nunziata if she hadn’t seen Don Michele pass by the black street. - -“But, blood of Judas! my name isn’t ’Ntoni Malavoglia if I don’t put a -stop to that. Blood of Judas!” - -It amused the others to see him storm and fume, so they paid for him to -drink on purpose. San-tuzza, when she was washing the glasses, turned -her back upon them so as not to hear the oaths and the ugly words that -were always passing among them, but hearing Don Michele’s name, she -forgot her manners, and listened with all her ears. She also became -curious, and listened to them with open mouth, and gave Nunziata’s -little brother and Ales-sio apples or green almonds to get out of them -what had passed in the black street. Don Michele swore there was no -truth in the story, and often in the evening, after the tavern was shut, -they might be still heard disputing, and her voice would be audible, -screaming, “Liar! Assassin! Miscreant! Thief!” and other pretty names; -so much so that Don Michele left off going to the tavern at all, and -used to send for his wine instead, and drink it by himself at Vanni -Pizzuti’s shop. - - - - -XI. - - -|One day ’Ntoni Malavoglia, lounging about as usual, had seen two -young men who had embarked some years before at Riposto in search of -fortune, and had returned from Trieste, or from Alexandria, in short, -from afar off, and were spending and swaggering at the tavern--grander -than Cousin Naso the butcher, or than Padron Cipolla. They sat astride -of the benches joking with the girls and pulling innumerable silk -handkerchiefs out of their pockets, turning the place upsidedown. - -’Ntoni, when he came home at night, found nobody there but the women, -who were changing the brine on the anchovies and chatting with the -neighbors, sitting in a circle on the stones, and passing away the -time by telling stories and guessing riddles, which amused greatly the -children, who stood around rubbing their sleepy eyes. Padron ’Ntoni -listened too, and watched the strainer with the fresh brine, nodding -his head in approval when the stories pleased him, or when the boys were -clever at guessing the riddles. - -“The best story of all,” said ’Ntoni, “is that of those two fellows -who arrived here to-day with silk kerchiefs that one can hardly believe -one’s eyes to look at, and such a lot of money that they hardly look at -it when they take it out of their pockets. They’ve seen half the world, -they say. Trezza and Aci Castello put together are not to be compared -to what they’ve seen. I’ve seen the world too, and how people in those -parts don’t sit still salting anchovies, but go round amusing themselves -all day long, and the women, with silk dresses and more rings and -necklaces than the Madonna of Ognino, go about the streets vying with -each other for the love of the handsome sailors.” - -“The worst of all things,” said Mena, “is to leave one’s own home, where -even the stones are one’s friends, and when one’s heart must break to -leave them behind one on the road. ‘Blest is the bird that builds his -nest at home!’” - -“Brava, Sant’Agata!” said her grandfather; “that is what I call talking -sense.” - -“Yes,” growled ’Ntoni, “and when we have sweated and steamed to build -our nest we haven’t anything left to eat; and when we have managed to -get back the house by the medlar we shall just have to go on wearing out -our lives from Monday to Saturday, and never do anything else.” - -“And don’t you mean to work any more? What do you mean to do--turn -lawyer?” - -“I don’t mean to turn lawyer,” said ’Ntoni, and went off to bed in -high dudgeon. - -But from that time forth he thought of nothing but the easy, wandering -life other fellows led; and in the evening, not to hear all that idle -chatter, he stood by the door with his shoulders against the wall, -watching the people pass, and meditating on his hard fate; at least one -was resting against the fatigues of to-morrow, when must begin again -over and over the same thing, like Cousin Mosca’s ass, that when they -brought the collar reached out his neck to have it put on. “We’re all -asses!” he muttered; “that’s what we are--asses! beasts of burden.” And -it was plainly enough to be seen that he was tired of that hard life, -and longed to leave it, and go out into the world to make his fortune, -like those others; so that his mother, poor woman, was always stroking -him on the shoulder, and speaking to him in tones that were each like a -caress, looking at him with eyes full of tears, as if she would read -his very soul. But he told her there was no cause to grieve, that it was -better he should go, for himself and for the rest of them, and when he -came back they would all be happy together. - -The poor mother never closed her eyes that night, and steeped her pillow -with tears. At last the grandfather himself perceived it, and called his -grandson outside the door, under the shrine, to ask him what ailed him. - -“What is it, my boy?” he said. “Tell your grandpapa; do, that’s a good -boy.” - -’Ntoni shrugged his shoulders; but the old man went on nodding his -head, and seeking for words to make himself understood properly. - -“Yes, yes! you’ve got some notion in your head, boy! some new notion or -other. ‘Who goes with lame men limps himself before long.’” - -“I’m a poor miserable devil, that’s what it is.” - -“Well, is that all? You knew that before. And what am I, and what was -your father? ‘He is the richest who has the fewest wants. Better content -than complaint.’” - -“Fine consolation, that is!” - -This time the old man found words, for they were in his heart, and so -came straight to his lips. - -“At least, don’t say it to your mother.” - -“My mother! She would have done better not to have brought me into the -world, my mother!” - -“Yes,” assented Padron ’Ntoni, “it would have been better she had not -borne you, if you are to begin to talk in this way.” - -For a minute ’Ntoni didn’t know what to say, then he began: “Well, I -mean it for your good, too--for you, for my mother, for us all. I want -to make her rich, my mother! that’s what I want. Now we’re tormenting -ourselves for the house, and for Mena’s dowry; then Lia will grow up, -and she’ll want a dowry too, and then a bad year will throw us all back -into misery. I don’t want to lead this life any longer. I want to change -my condition and to change yours. I want that we should be rich--mamma, -Mena, you, Alessio, all of us.” - -Padron ’Ntoni opened his eyes very wide and listened, pondering, to -this discourse, which he found very hard to understand. “Rich!” he said, -“rich! And what shall we do when we are rich?” ’Ntoni scratched his -head, and began to wonder himself what he should do in such a case. “We -should do what other people do,” he said--“go and live in town, and do -nothing, and eat meat.” - -“In town! go and live in town by yourself. I choose to die where I was -born;” and thinking of the house where he was born, which was no longer -his, he let his head drop on his breast. “You are but a boy; you don’t -know what it is,” he said; “you don’t know, you don’t know! When you can -no longer sleep in your own bed, or see the light come in through your -own window, you’ll see what it is. I am old, and I know!” The poor old -man coughed as if he would suffocate, with bent shoulders, shaking -his head sadly. “‘His own nest every bird likes best.’ Look at those -swallows; do you see them? They have always made their nest there, and -they still return to make it there, and never go away.” - -“But I am not a swallow,” said ’Ntoni. “I am neither a bird nor -a beast. I don’t want to live like a dog on a chain, or like Cousin -Alfio’s ass, or like a mule in a mill, that goes round and round, -turning the same wheel forever. I don’t want to die of hunger in a -corner, or to be eaten up by sharks.” - -“Thank God, rather, that you were born here, and pray that you may not -come to die far from the stones that you know. ‘Who changes the old for -the new changes for the worse all through.’ You are afraid of work, are -afraid of poverty; I, who have neither your youth nor your strength, -fear them not. ‘The good pilot is known in the storm.’ You are afraid -of having to work for your bread, that is what ails you! When my father, -rest his soul, left me the _Provvidenza_ and five mouths to feed, I was -younger than you are now, and I was not afraid; and I have done my duty -without grumbling; and I do it still, and I pray God to help me to do it -as long as I live, as your father did, and your brother Luca, blessed -be their souls! who feared not to go and die where duty led them. Your -mother, too, has done hers, poor little woman, hidden inside four walls; -and you know not the tears she has shed, nor how many she sheds now, -because you want to go and leave her; nor how in the morning your sister -finds her sheets wet with tears. And nevertheless she is silent, and -does not talk of you nor of the hard things you say to her; and she -works, and puts together her provision, poor busy little ant that she -is; and she has never done anything else all her life long--before she -had so many tears to shed, and when she suckled you at her breast, and -before you could go alone, or the temptation had come over you to go -wandering like a gypsy about the world.” - -The end of it was that ’Ntoni began to cry like a child, for at bottom -the boy had a good heart; but the next day it began all over again. In -the morning he took the tackle unwillingly on his shoulder, and went off -to sea growling, “Just like Cousin Alfio’s ass: at daybreak I have to -stretch out my neck to see if they are coming to load me.” After they -had thrown the net he left Alessio to move the oars slowly, so as to -keep the boat in its place; and folding his arms, looked out into the -distance to where the sea ended, towards those great cities where people -did nothing but walk about and amuse themselves; or thought of the two -sailors who had come back thence, and had now for some time been gone -away from the place; but it seemed to him that they had nothing to do -but to wander about the world from one town to another, spending the -money they had in their pockets. In the evening, when all the tackle was -put away, they let him wander about as he liked, like a houseless dog, -without a soldo to bless himself with, sooner than see him sit there as -sulky as a bear. - -“What ails you, ’Ntoni?” said La Longa, looking timidly into his face, -with her eyes shining with tears, for she knew well enough, poor woman, -what it was that ailed him. “Tell me, tell your mother.” He did not -answer, or answered that nothing ailed him. But at last he did tell her -that his grandfather and the rest of them wanted to work him to death, -and he could bear it no longer. He wanted to go away and seek his -fortune like other people. - -His mother listened, with her eyes full of tears, and could not speak in -reply to him, as he went on weeping and stamping and tearing his hair. - -The poor creature longed to answer him, and to throw her arms round his -neck, and beg him not to go away from her, but her lips trembled so that -she could not utter a word. - -“Listen,” she said at last; “you may go, if you will do it, but you -won’t find me here when you come back, for I am old now and weak, and I -cannot bear this new sorrow.” - -’Ntoni tried to comfort her, saying he would soon come back with -plenty of money, and that they would all be happy together. Maruzza -shook her head sadly, saying that no, no, he would not find her when he -came back. - -“I feel that I am growing old,” she said. “I am growing old. Look at me. -I have no strength now to weep as I did when your father died, and your -brother. If I go to the washing I come back so tired that I can hardly -move; it was never so before. No, my son, I am not what I was. Once, -when I had your father and your brother, I was young and strong. The -heart gets tired too, you see; it wears away little by little, like old -linen that has been too often washed. I have no courage now; everything -frightens me. I feel as one does when the waves come over his head when -he is out at sea. Go away if you will, but wait until I am at rest.” - -She was weeping, but she did not know it; she seemed to have before her -eyes once more her husband and her son Luca as she had seen them when -they left her to return no more. - -“So you will go, and I shall see you no more,” she said to him. “The -house grows more empty every day; and when that poor old man, your -grandfather, is gone, too, in whose hands shall I leave those orphan -children? Ah, Mother of Sorrows!” - -She clung to him, with her head against his breast, as if her boy were -going to leave her then and there, and stroked his shoulder and his -cheeks with her trembling hands. Then ’Ntoni could resist her no -longer, and began to kiss her and to whisper gently in her ear: - -“No, no! I won’t go if you say I must not. Look at me! Don’t talk so, -don’t. Well, I’ll go on working like Cousin Mosca’s ass, that will be -thrown into a ditch to die when he’s too old to work any more. Are you -contented now? Don’t cry, don’t cry any more. Look at my grandfather how -he has struggled all his life, and is struggling still to get out of the -mud, and he will go on so. It is our fate.” - -“And do you think that everybody hasn’t troubles of their own? ‘Every -hole has its nail; new or old, they never fail.’ Look at Padron Cipolla -how he has to run here and to watch there, not to have his son Brasi -throwing all the money he has saved and scraped into Vespa’s lap! And -Master Filippo, rich as he is, trembling for his vineyard every time it -rains. And Uncle Crucifix, starving himself to put soldo upon soldo, -and always at law with this one or with that. And do you think those two -foreign sailors that you saw here, and that put all this in your head -with their talk of strange countries, do you think they haven’t their -own troubles too? Who knows if they found their mothers alive when they -got home to their own houses? And as for us, when we have bought back -the house by the medlar, and have our grain in the hutch and our beans -for the winter, and when Mena is married, what more shall we want? When -I am under the sod, and that poor old man is dead too, and Alessio is -old enough to earn his bread, go wherever you like. But then you won’t -want to go, I can tell you; for then you will begin to know what we feel -when we see you so obstinate and so determined to leave us all, even -when we do not speak, but go on in our usual way. Then you will not find -it in your heart to leave the place where you were born, where the very -stones know you well, where your own dead will lie together under the -marble in the church, which is worn smooth by the knees of those who -have prayed so long before Our Mother of Sorrows.” - -’Ntoni, from that day forth, said no more of going away, or of growing -rich; and his mother watched him tenderly, as a bird watches her young, -when she saw him looking sad or sitting silently on the door-step, with -his elbows on his knees. And the poor woman was truly a sad sight to -see, so pale was she, so thin and worn; and when her work was over -she too sat down, with folded hands, and her back bent as badly as -her father-in-law’s. But she knew not that she herself was going for -a journey--that journey which leads to the long rest below the smooth -marble in the church--and that she must leave behind her all those she -loved so well, who had so grown into her heart that they had worn it all -away, piece by piece, now one and now another. - -At Catania there was the cholera, and everybody that could manage it ran -away into the country here and there among the villages and towns in the -neighborhood. And at Ognino, and at Trezza, too, these strangers, who -spent so much money, were a real providence. But the merchants pulled a -long face, and said that it was almost impossible to sell even a dozen -barrels of anchovies, and that all the money had disappeared on account -of the cholera. “And don’t people eat anchovies any more?” asked -Goosefoot. But to Padron ’Ntoni, who had them to sell, they said that -now there was the cholera, people were afraid to eat anchovies, and all -that kind of stuff, but must eat macaroni and meat; and so it was best -to let things go at the best price one could get. That hadn’t been -counted in the Malavoglia’s reckoning. Hence, not to go backward, crab -fashion, needs must that La Longa should go about from house to house -among the foreigners, selling eggs and fresh bread, and so on, while -the men were out at sea, and so put together a little money. But it -was needful to be very careful, and not take even so much as a pinch of -snuff from a person one did not know. Walking on the road, one must go -exactly in the middle--as far away as possible from the walls, where one -ran the risk of coming across all sorts of horrors; and one must never -sit down on the stones or on the wall. La Longa, once, coming back from -Aci Gastello, with her basket on her arm, felt so tired that her legs -were like lead under her, and she could hardly move, so she yielded -to temptation, and rested a few minutes on the smooth stones under the -shade of the fig-tree, just by the shrine at the entrance of the town; -and she remembered afterwards, though she did not notice it at the time, -that a person unknown to her--a poor man, who seemed also very weary and -ill--had been sitting there a moment before she came up. In short, she -fell ill, took the cholera, and returned home pale and tottering, as -yellow as a gilded heart among the votive offerings, and with deep black -lines under her eyes; so that when Mena, who was alone at home, saw her, -she began to cry, and Lia ran off to gather rosemary and marshmallow -leaves. Mena trembled like a leaf while she was making up the bed, and -the sick woman, sitting on a chair, with pallid face and sunken eyes, -kept on saying, “It is nothing, don’t be frightened; as soon as I have -got into bed it will pass off,” and tried to help them herself; but -every minute she grew faint, and had to sit down again. “Holy Virgin!” - stammered Mena. “Holy Virgin, and the men out at sea! Holy Virgin, help -us!” and Lia cried with all her might. - -When Padron ’Ntoni came back with his grandsons, and they saw the -door half shut, and the light inside the shutters, they tore their hair. -Maruzza was already in bed, and her eyes, seen in that way in the dusk, -looked hollow and dim, as if death had already dimmed their light; -and her lips were black as charcoal. At that time neither doctor nor -apothecary went out after sunset, and even the neighbors barred their -doors, and stuck pictures of saints over all the cracks, for fear of the -cholera. So Cousin Maruzza had no help except from her own poor people, -who rushed about the house as if they had been crazy, watching her -fading away before their eyes, in her bed, and beat their heads against -the wall in their despair. Then La Longa, seeing that all hope was gone, -begged them to lay upon her breast the lock of cotton dipped in holy oil -which she had bought at Easter, and said that they must keep the light -burning, as they had done when Padron ’Ntoni had been so ill that they -thought him dying, and wanted them all to stay beside her bed, that she -might look at them until the last moment with those wide eyes that no -longer seemed to see. Lia cried in a heart-breaking way, and the others, -white as the wall, looked in each other’s faces, as if asking for help, -where no help was; and held their hands tight over their breasts, that -they might not break out into loud wailing before the dying woman, who, -none the less, knew all that they felt, though by this time she saw them -no longer, and even at the last felt the pain of leaving them behind. -She called them one by one by name, in a weak and broken voice, and -tried to lift her hand to bless them, knowing that she was leaving them -a treasure beyond price. - -“’Ntoni,” she repeated, “’Ntoni, to you, who are the eldest, I leave -these orphans!” And hearing her speak thus while she was still alive, -they could not help bursting out into cries and sobs. - -So they passed the night beside the bed, where Maruzza now lay without -moving, until the candle burned down in the socket and went out. And the -dawn came in through the window, pale like the corpse, which lay with -features sharpened like a knife, and black, parched lips. But Mena never -wearied of kissing those cold lips, and speaking as if the dead could -hear. ’Ntoni beat his breast and cried, “O mother! O mother! and you -have gone before me, and I wanted to leave you!” And Alessio never will -forget that last look of his mother, with her white hair and pinched -features; no, not even when his hair has grown as white as hers. - -At dusk they came to take La Longa in a hurry, and no one thought of -making any visits; for every one feared for their life. And even Don -Giammaria came no farther than the threshold, whence he dispensed the -holy water, holding his tunic about his knees tight, lest it should -touch anything in the house--“Like a selfish monk as he was,” said the -apothecary. He, on the contrary, had they brought him a prescription -from the doctor, would have given it them, would even have opened the -shop at night for the purpose, for he was not afraid of the cholera; -and said, besides, that it was all stuff and nonsense to say that the -cholera could be thrown about the streets or behind the doors. - -“A sign that he spreads the cholera himself,” whispered the priest. For -that reason the people of the place wanted to kill the apothecary; -but he laughed at them, with the cackling laugh he had learned of Don -Silvestro, saying, “Kill me! I’m a republican! If it were one of those -fellows in the Government, now, I might find some use in doing it, but -what good would it do me to spread the cholera?” But the Malavoglia were -left alone with the bed whence the mother had been carried away. - -For some time they did not open the door after La Longa had been taken -away. It was a blessing that they had plenty to eat in the house--beans -and oil--and charcoal too, for Padron ’Ntoni, like the ants, had made -his provision in time of plenty; else they might have died of hunger, -for no one came to see whether they were alive or dead. Then, little by -little, they began to put their black neckerchiefs on and to go out into -the street, like snails after a storm, still pale and dazed-looking. The -gossips, remaining aloof, called out to them to ask how it had happened; -for Cousin Maruzza had been one of the first to go. And when Don -Michele, or some other personage who took the King’s pay, and wore a -gold-bordered cap, came their way, they looked at him with scared eyes, -and ran into the house. There was great misery, and no one was seen in -the street, not even a hen; and Don Cirino was never seen anywhere, and -had left off ringing at noon and at the Ave Maria, for he too ate the -bread of the commune, and had five francs a month as parish beadle, and -feared for his life, for was not he a Government official? And now Don -Michele was lord of the whole place, for Pizzuti and Don Silvestro and -the rest hid in their burrows like rabbits, and only he walked up and -down before the Zuppidda’s closed door. It was a pity that nobody saw -him except the Malavoglia, who had no longer anything to lose, and so -sat watching whoever passed by, sitting on the door-step, with their -elbows on their knees. Don Michele, not to take his walk for nothing, -looked at Sant’Agata, now that all the other doors were shut; and did it -all the more to show that great hulking ’Ntoni that he wasn’t afraid -of anybody, not he. And besides, Mena, pale as she was, looked a real -Sant’Agata; and the little sister, with her black neckerchief, was -growing up a very pretty girl. - -It seemed to poor Mena that twenty years had fallen suddenly on her -shoulders. She watched Lia now, as La Longa had watched her, and kept -her always close at her side, and had all the cares of the house on her -mind. She had grown into a habit of remaining alone in the house with -her sister while the men were at sea, looking from time to time at that -empty bed. When she had nothing to do she sat, with her hands in her -lap, looking at the empty bed, and then she felt, indeed, that her -mother had left her; and when she heard them say in the street such an -one is dead, or such another, she thought so they heard “La Longa is -dead”--La Longa, who had left her alone with that poor little orphan, -with her black neckerchief. - -Nunziata or their Cousin Anna came now and then, stepping softly, and -with sad looks, and saying nothing, would sit down with her on the -door-step, with hands under their aprons. The men coming back from the -fishing stepped quickly along, looking carefully from side to side, with -the nets on their shoulders. And no one stopped anywhere, not even the -carts at the tavern. - -Who could tell where Cousin Alfio’s cart was now? or if at this moment -he might not lie dying of cholera behind a hedge, that poor fellow, who -had no one belonging to him. Sometimes Goosefoot passed, looking half -starved, glanced about him, as if he were afraid of his shadow; or Uncle -Crucifix, whose riches were scattered here and there, and who went to -see if his debtors were likely to die and to cheat him out of his money. -The sacrament went by, too, quickly, in the hands of Don Giammaria, with -his tunic fastened up, and a barefooted boy ringing the bell before -him, for Don Cirino was nowhere to be seen. That bell, in the deserted -streets, where no one passed, not a dog, and even Don Franco kept his -door half shut, was heart-rending. The only person to be seen, day or -night, was La Locca, with her tangled white hair, who went to sit before -the house by the medlar-tree, or watched for the boats on the shore. Even -the cholera would have none of her, poor old thing. - -The strangers had flown as birds do at the approach of winter, and no -one came to buy the fish. So that every one said, “After the cholera -comes the famine.” Padron ’Ntoni had once more to dip into the money -put away for the house, and day by day it melted before his eyes. But he -thought of nothing, save that Maruzza had died away from her own house; -he could not get that out of his head. ’Ntoni, too, shook his head -every time it was necessary to use up the money. Finally, when the -cholera was at an end, and there only remained about half of the money -put together with such pains and trouble, he began to complain that such -a life as that he could not bear--eternally saving and sparing, and then -having to spend for bare life; that it was better to risk something, -once for all, to get out of this eternal worry, and that there, at -least, where his mother had died in the midst of that hideous misery, he -would stay no longer. - -“Don’t you remember that your mother recommended Mena to you?” said -Padron ’Ntoni. - -“What good can I do to Mena by staying here?--tell me that.” - -Mena looked at him timidly, but with eyes like her mother’s, where one -could read her heart, but she dared not speak. Only once, clinging to -the jamb of the door, she found courage to say: “I don’t ask for help, -if only you’ll stay with us. Now that I haven’t my mother, I feel like -a fish out of water; I don’t care about anything. But I can’t bear the -idea of that orphan, Lia, who will be left without anybody if you go -away; like Nunziata when her father left her.” - -“No,” said ’Ntoni, “no, I can do nothing for you if I stay here; the -proverb says ‘Help yourself and you’ll be helped.’ When I have made -something worth while I’ll come back, and we’ll all be happy together.” - -Lia and Alessio opened their large round eyes, and seemed quite dazzled -by this prospect, but the old man let his head fall on his breast. “Now -you have neither father nor mother, and can do as it seems best to you,” - he said at last. “While I live I will care for these children, and when -I die the Lord must do the rest.” - -Mena, seeing that ’Ntoni would go, whether or not, put his clothes in -order, as his mother would have done, and thought how “over there,” in -strange lands, her brother would be like Alfio Mosca, with no one to -look after him. And while she sewed at his shirts, and pieced his coats, -her head ran upon days gone by, and she thought of all that had passed -away with them with a swelling heart. - -“I cannot pass the house by the medlar now,” she said, as she sat by her -grandfather; “I feel such a lump in my throat that I am almost choking, -thinking of all that has happened since we left it.” - -And while she was preparing for her brother’s departure she wept as if -she were to see him no more. At last, when everything was ready, the -grandpapa called his boy to give him a last solemn sermon, and much good -advice as to what he was to do when he was alone and dependent only -on his own discretion, without his family about him to consult or to -condole with him if things, went wrong; and gave him some money too, in -case of need, and his own pouch lined with leather, since now he was old -he should not need it any more. - -The children, seeing their brother preparing for departure, followed him -silently about the house, hardly daring to speak to him, feeling as if -he had already become a stranger. - -“Just so my father went away,” said Nunziata, who had come to say -good-bye to ’Ntoni, and stood with the others at the door. After that -no one spoke. - -The neighbors came one by one to take leave of Cousin ’Ntoni, and -then stood waiting in the street to see him start. He lingered, with -his bundle on his shoulder and his shoes in his hand, as if at the -last moment his heart had failed him. He looked about him as if to fix -everything in his memory, and his face was as deeply moved as any there. -His grandfather took his stick to accompany him to the city, and Mena -went off into a corner, where she cried silently. - -“Come, come, now,” said ’Ntoni. “I’m not going away forever. We’ll say -I’m going for a soldier again.” Then, after kissing Mena and Lia, and -taking leave of the gossips, he started to go, and Mena ran after him. -with open arms, weeping aloud, and crying out, “What will mamma say? -What will mamma say?” as if her mother were alive and could know what -was taking place. But she only said the thing which dwelt most strongly -in her memory when ’Ntoni had spoken of going away before; and she -had seen her mother weep, and used to find her pillow in the morning wet -with tears. - -“Adieu, ’Ntoni!” Alessio called after him, taking courage now he was -gone, and Lia began to scream. - -“Just so my father went,” said Nunziata, who had stayed behind the -others at the door. - -’Ntoni turned at the corner of the black street, with his eyes full of -tears, and waved his hand to them in token of farewell. Mena then closed -the door and went to sit down in a corner with Lia, who continued to sob -and cry aloud. “Now another one is gone away from the house,” she -repeated. “If we had been in the house by the medlar it would seem as -empty as a church.” - -Mena, seeing her dear ones go away, one after the other, felt, indeed, -like a fish out of water. And Nunziata, lingering there beside her, with -the little one in her arms, still went on saying, “Just so my father -went away, just so!” - - - - -XII. - - -|Padron ’Ntoni, now that he had no one but Alessio to help him with -the boat, had to hire some one by the day--Cousin Nunzio, perhaps, who -had a sick wife and a large family of children; or the son of La Locca, -who came whining to him behind the door that his mother was starving, -and that his uncle Crucifix would give them nothing, because, he said, -the cholera had ruined him, so many of his debtors had died and had -cheated him out of his money, and he had taken the cholera himself. “But -he hadn’t died,” added the son of La Locca, and shook his head ruefully. -“Now we might have plenty to live on, I and my mother and all the -family, if he had died. We stayed two days with Vespa, nursing him, -and it seemed as if he were dying every minute, but he didn’t die after -all.” However, the money that the Malavoglia gained day by day was often -not enough to pay Cousin Nunzio or the son of La Locca, and they were -obliged to take up those precious coins so painfully put together to -buy back the house by the medlar-tree. Every time Mena went to take -the stocking from under the mattress she and her grandfather sighed. La -Locca’s son was not to blame, poor fellow--he would have done four men’s -work sooner than not give the full worth of his wages--it was the fish, -that would not let themselves be caught. And when they came ruefully -home empty, rowing, with loosened sails, he said to Padron ’Ntoni: -“Give me wood to split, or fagots to bind; I will work until midnight, -if you say so, as I did with my uncle. I don’t want to steal the wages -from you.” - -So Padron ’Ntoni, after having thought the matter over carefully, -consulted Mena as to what was to be done. She was clear-headed, like her -mother, and she was the only one left for him to consult--the only one -left of so many! The best thing was to sell the _Provvidenza_, which -brought in nothing, and only ate up the wages of Cousin Nunzio or the -son of La Locca to no purpose; and the money put aside for the house was -melting away, little by little. The _Provvidenza_ was old, and always -needed to be mended every now and then to keep her afloat. Later, if -’Ntoni came back and brought better fortune once more among them, they -might buy a new boat and call that also the _Provvidenza_. - -On Sunday he went to the piazza, after the mass, to speak to Goosefoot -about it. Cousin Tino shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, said that -the _Provvidenza_ was good for nothing but to put under the pot, and -talking in this way he drew him down to the shore. The patches, he said, -could be seen under the paint, like some women he knew of with wrinkles -under their stays; and went on kicking her in the hull with his lame -foot. Besides, the trade was going badly; rather than buy, everybody was -trying to sell their boats, much better than the Provvidenza. And who -was going to buy her? Padron Cipolla didn’t want old stuff like that. -This was an affair for Uncle Crucifix. But at this moment Uncle Crucifix -had something else on his hands--with that demon-ridden Vespa, who was -tormenting his soul out running after all the marriageable men in the -place. At last, for old friendship’s sake, he agreed to go and speak -to Uncle Crucifix about it, if he found him in a good humor---if Padron -’Ntoni were really anxious to sell the _Provvidenza_ for an old song; -for, after all, he, Goosefoot, could make Uncle Crucifix do anything he -liked. In fact, when he did speak of it--drawing him aside towards the -horse-trough--Uncle Crucifix replied with shrugs and frantic shakings -of his head, till he looked like one possessed, and tried to slip out -of Goosefoot’s hands. Cousin Tino, poor man, did his best--caught him -by the coat and held him by force; shook him, to make him give his -attention; put his arm round his neck, and whispered in his ear: “Yes, -you are an ass if you let slip such a chance! Going for an old song, -I tell you! Padron ’Ntoni sells her because he can’t manage her any -longer, now his grandson is gone. But you could put her into the hands -of Cousin Nunzio, or of your own nephew, who are dying of hunger, and -will work for next to nothing. Every soldo she gains will come into -your pocket. I tell you, you are a fool. The boat is in perfectly good -condition--good as new. Old Padron ’Ntoni knew very well what he was -about when he had her built. This is a real ready money business--as -good as that of the lupins, take my word for it!” - -But Uncle Crucifix wouldn’t listen to him--almost crying, with his -yellow hatchet-face uglier than ever since he had nearly died of the -cholera--and tried to get away, even to the point of leaving his jacket -in Uncle Tino’s hands. - -“I don’t care about it,” said he; “I don’t care about anything. You -don’t know all the trouble I have, Cousin Tino! Everybody wants to suck -my blood like so many leeches. Here’s Vanni Pizzuti running after Vespa, -too; they’re like a pack of hunting-dogs.” - -“Why don’t you marry her yourself? After all, is she not your own blood, -she and her field? It will not be another mouth to feed, not at all! She -has a clever pair of hands of her own, she is well worth the bread she -eats, that woman. You’ll have a servant without wages, and the land will -be yours. Listen, Uncle Crucifix: you’ll have another affair here as -good as that of the lupins.” - -Padron ’Ntoni meanwhile waited for the answer before Pizzuti’s shop, -and watched the two who were discussing his affairs, like a soul in -purgatory. Now it seemed as if everything were at an end, now they began -again, and he tried to guess whether or no Uncle Crucifix would consent -to the bargain. Goosefoot came and told him how much he had been able -to obtain for him, then went back to Uncle Crucifix--going backward -and forward in the piazza like the shuttle in the loom, dragging his -club-foot behind him, until he had succeeded in bringing them to an -agreement. - -“Capital!” he said to Padron ’Ntoni; then to Uncle Crucifix, “For an -old song, I tell you!” And in this way he managed the sale of all the -tackle, which, of course, was no longer of any use to the Malavoglia, -now that they had no boat; but it seemed to Padron ’Ntoni that they -took away his very heart from within him, as he saw them carry away the -nets, the baskets, the oars, the rope--everything. - -“I’ll manage to get you a position by the day, and your grandson Alessio -too, never fear,” said Goosefoot to Padron ’Ntoni; “but you mustn’t -expect high wages, you know! ‘Strength of youth and wisdom of age.’ For -my assistance in the bargaining I trust to your good-will.” - -“In time of famine one eats barley bread,” answered Padron ’Ntoni. -“Necessity has no nobility.” - -“That’s right, that’s right! I understand,” replied Goosefoot, and away -he went, in good earnest, to speak to Padron Cipolla at the drug-store, -where Don Silvestro had at last succeeded in enticing him, as well as -Master Filippo and a few other bigwigs, to talk over the affairs of the -Commune--for after all, the money was theirs, and it is silly not to -take one’s proper place in the government when one is rich and pays more -taxes than all the rest put together. - -“You, who are rich, can afford a bit of bread to that poor old Padron -’Ntoni,” suggested Goosefoot. “It will cost you nothing to take him on -by the day, him and his grandson Alessio. You know that he understands -his business better than any one else in the place, and he will be -content with little, for they are absolutely without bread. It is an -affair worth gold to you, Padron Fortunato; it is indeed.” - -Padron Fortunato, caught as he was just at that propitious moment, could -not refuse; but after higgling and screwing over the price--for, now -that the times were so bad, he really hadn’t work for any more men--he -at last made a great favor of taking on Padron ’Ntoni. - -“Yes, I’ll take him if he’ll come and speak to me himself. Will you -believe that they are out of temper because I broke off my son’s -marriage with Mena? A fine thing I should have made of it! And to be -angry about it! What could I do?” - -Don Silvestro, Master Filippo, Goosefoot himself--all of them, in -fact--hastened to say that Padron Fortunato was quite right. - -Mena, meanwhile, did not even put her nose at the window, for it was -not seemly to do so now that her mother was dead and she had a black -kerchief on her head; and, besides, she had to look after the little -one and to be a mother to her, and she had no one to help her in -the housework, so that she had to go to the tank to wash and to the -fountain, and to take the men their luncheon when they were at work on -land; so that she was not Sant’Agata any longer, as in the days when no -one ever saw her and she was all day long at the loom. In these days she -had but little time for the loom. Don Michele, since the day when the -Zuppidda had given him such a talking to from her terrace, and had -threatened to put out his eyes with her distaff, never failed to pass -by the black street; and sometimes he passed two or three times a day, -looking after Barbara, because he wasn’t going to have people say that -he was afraid of the Zuppidda or of her distaff; and when he passed the -house where the Malavoglia lived he slackened his pace, and looked in to -see the pretty girls who were growing up at the Malavoglia’s. - -In the evening, when the men came back from sea, they found everything -ready for them: the pot boiling on the fire, the cloth ready on the -table--that table that was so large for them, now that they were so few, -that they felt lost at it. They shut the door and ate their supper in -peace; then they sat down on the door-step to rest after the fatigues -of the day. At all events, they had enough for the day’s needs, and -were not obliged to touch the money that was accumulating for the house. -Pa-dron ’Ntoni had always that house in his mind, with its closed -windows and the medlar-tree rising above the wall. Maruzza had not been -able to die in that house, nor perhaps should he die there; but the -money was beginning to grow again, and his boys at least would go back -there some day or other, now that Alessio was growing into a man, and -was a good boy, and one of the true Malavoglia stamp. When they had -bought back the house, and married the girls, if they might get a boat -again they would have nothing more to wish for, and Padron ’Ntoni -might close his eyes in peace. - -Nunziata and Anna, their cousin, came to sit on the stones with them in -the evenings to talk over old times, for they, too, were left lonely and -desolate, so that they seemed like one family. Nun-ziata felt as if she -were at home in the house, and came with her brood running after her, -like a hen with her chickens. Alessio, sitting down by her, would say, -“Did you finish your linen?” or “Are you going on Monday to Master -Filippo to help with the vintage? Now that the olive harvest is coming -you’ll always find a day’s work somewhere, even when you haven’t any -washing to do; and you can take your brother, too; they’ll give him two -soldi a day.” Nunziata talked to him gravely, and asked his advice with -regard to her plans, and they talked apart together, as if they had -already been a gray-haired old couple. - -“They have grown wise in their youth because they have had so much -trouble,” said Padron ’Ntoni. “Wisdom comes of suffering.” - -Alessio, with his arms round his knees like his grandfather, asked -Nunziata, “Will you have me for a husband when I grow up?” - -“Plenty of time yet to think about that,” replied she. - -“Yes, there’s time, but one must begin to think about it now, so that -one may settle what is to be done. First, of course, we must marry Mena, -and Lia when she is grown up. Lia wants to be dressed like a woman now, -and you have your boys to find places for. We must buy a boat first; the -boat will help us to buy the house. Grandfather wants to buy back the -house by the medlar, and I should like that best, too, for I know my way -all about it, even in the dark, without running against anything; and -the court is large, so that there’s plenty of room for the tackle; and -in two minutes one is at the sea. Then, when my sisters are married, -grandfather can stay with us, and we’ll put him in the big room that -opens on the court, where the sun comes in; so, when he isn’t able to -go to sea any longer, poor old man! he can sit by the door in the court, -and in the summer the medlar-tree will make a shade for him. We’ll take -the room on the garden. You’ll like that? The kitchen is close by, -so you’ll have everything under your hand, won’t you? When my brother -’Ntoni comes back we’ll give him that room, and we’ll take the one -up-stairs; there are only the steps to climb to reach the kitchen and -the garden.” - -“In the kitchen there must be a new hearth,” said Nunziata. “The last -time we cooked anything there, when poor Cousin Maruzza was too unhappy -to do it herself, we had to prop up the pot with stones.” - -“Yes, I remember,” said Alessio, sitting with his chin in his hands, and -nodding gravely, with wide dreamy eyes as if he saw Nunziata at the fire -and his poor mother weeping beside the bed. - -“And you, too,” said he, “can find your way in the dark about the house -by the medlar, you have been there so often. Mamma always said you were -a good girl.” - -“Now they have sown onions in the garden, and they’re grown as big as -oranges.” - -“Do you like onions?” - -“I must; I have no choice. They help the bread down, and they are cheap. -When we haven’t money enough to buy macaroni we always eat them--I and -my little ones.” - -“For that they sell so well. Uncle Crucifix doesn’t care about planting -cabbages or lettuce at the house by the medlar, because he has them at -his own house, and so he puts nothing there but onions. But we’ll plant -broccoli and cauliflower. Won’t they be good, eh?” - -The girl, with her arms across her knees, curled upon the threshold, -looked out with dreaming eyes, as well as the boy; then after a while -she began to sing, and Alessio listened with all his ears. At last she -said, “There’s plenty of time yet.” - -“Yes,” assented Alessio; “first we must marry Mena and Lia, and we must -find places for the boys, but we must begin to talk it over now.” - -“When Nunziata sings,” said Mena, coming to the door, “it is a sign that -it will be fair weather, and we can go to-morrow to wash.” - -Cousin Anna was in the same mind, for her field and vineyard was the -washing-tank, and her feast-days were those on which she had her hands -full of clothes to be washed; all the more now that her son Rocco was -feasting himself every day, after his fashion, at the tavern, trying -to drown his regret for the Mangiacarubbe, who had thrown him over for -Brasi Cipolla, like a coquette as she was. - -“‘It’s a long lane that has no turning,’” said Padron ’Ntoni. “Perhaps -this may bring your son Rocco to his senses. And it will be good for my -’Ntoni, too, to be away from home for a while; for when he comes back, -and is tired of wandering about the world, everything will seem as it -should be, and he will not complain any more. And if we succeed in once -more putting our own boat at sea--and it’s putting our own beds in the -old places that we know so well--you will see what pleasant times we -shall have resting on the door-steps there, when we are tired after our -day’s work, when the day has been a good one. And how bright the light -will look in that room where you have seen it so often, and have known -all the faces that were dearest to you on earth! But now so many are -gone, and never have come back, that it seems as if the room would be -always dark, and the door shut, as if those who are gone had taken the -key with them forever. ’Ntoni should not have gone away,” added the -old man, after a long silence. “He knew that I was old, and that when I -am gone the children will have no one left.” - -“If we buy the house by the medlar while he is gone,” said Mena, “he -won’t know it, and will come here to find us.” - -Padron ’Ntoni shook his head sadly. “But there’s time enough yet,” he -said at last, like Nun-ziata; and Cousin Anna added, “If ’Ntoni comes -back rich he can buy the house.” - -Padron ’Ntoni answered nothing, but the whole place knew that ’Ntoni -would come back rich, now he had been gone so long in search of fortune; -and many envied him already, and wanted to go in search of fortune too, -like him. In fact they were not far wrong. They would only leave a few -women to fret after them, and the only ones who hadn’t the heart to -leave their women were that stupid son of La Locca, whose mother was -what everybody knew she was, and Rocco Spatu, whose soul was at the -tavern. Fortunately for the women, Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni was -suddenly discovered to have come back, by night, in a bark from Catania, -ashamed to show himself, as he had no shoes. If it were true that he had -come back rich he had nowhere to put his money, for his clothes were all -rags and tatters. But his family received him as affectionately as if he -had come back loaded with gold. His sisters hung round his neck, crying -and laughing for joy, and ’Ntoni did not know Lia again, so tall she -was, and they all said to him, “Now you won’t leave us again, will you?” - -The grandfather blew his nose and growled, “Now I can die in peace--now -that these children will not be left alone in the world.” - -But for a whole week ’Ntoni never showed himself in the street. Every -one laughed when they saw him, and Goosefoot went about saying, “Have -you seen the grand fortune that Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni has brought -home?” And those who had not been in such a terrible hurry to make up -their bundles of shirts and stockings, to leave their homes like a lot -of fools, could not contain themselves for laughing. - -Whoever goes in search of fortune and does not find it is a fool. -Everybody knows that. Don Silvestro, Uncle Crucifix, Padron Cipolla, -Master Filippo, were not fools, and everybody did their best to please -them, because poor people always stand with their mouths open staring -at the rich and fortunate, and work for them like Cousin Mosca’s ass, -instead of kicking the cart to pieces and running off to roll on the -grass with heels in the air. - -The druggist was quite right when he said that it was high time to kick -the world to pieces and make it over again. And he himself, with his big -beard and his fine talk about making the world over again, was one of -those who had known how to make a fortune, and to hold on to it too, and -he had nothing to do but to stand at his door and chat with this one and -that one; for when he had done pounding that little bit of dirty water -in his mortar his work was finished for the day. That fine trade he had -learned of his father--to make money out of the water in the cistern. -But ’Ntoni’s grandfather had taught him a trade which was nothing but -breaking one’s arms and one’s back all day long, and risking one’s life, -and dying of hunger, and never having, a day to one’s self when one -could lie on the grass in the sun, as even Mosca’s ass could sometimes -do; a real thieves’ trade, that wore one’s soul out, by Our Lady! And -he for one was tired of it, and would rather be like Rocco Spatu, who at -least didn’t work. And for that matter he cared nothing for Barbara, nor -Sara, nor any other girl in the world. They care for nothing but fishing -for husbands to work worse than dogs to give them their living, and buy -silk handkerchiefs for them to wear when they stand at their doors of a -Sunday with their hands on their full stomachs. He’d rather stand there -himself, Sunday and Monday too, and all the other days in the week, -since there was no good in working all the time for nothing. So ’Ntoni -had learned to spout as well as the druggist--that much at least he had -brought back from abroad--for now his eyes were open like a kitten’s -when it is nine days old. “The hen that goes in the street comes home -with a full crop.” If he hadn’t filled his crop with anything else, he -had filled it with wisdom, and he went about telling all he had learned -in the piazza in Pizzuti’s shop, and also at Santuzza’s tavern. Now -he went openly to the tavern, for after all he was grown up, and his -grandfather wasn’t likely to come there after him and pull his ears, and -he should know very well what to say to anybody who tried to hinder him -from going there after the little pleasure that there was to be had. - -His grandfather, poor man, instead of pulling his ears, tried to touch -his feelings. “See,” he said, “now you have come, we shall soon be able -to manage to get back the house.” Always that same old song about the -house. “Uncle Crucifix has promised not to sell it to any one else. Your -mother, poor dear, was not able to die there. We can get the dowry for -Mena on the house. Then, with God’s help, we can set up another boat; -because, I must tell you, that at my age it is hard to go out by the -day, and obey other people, when one has been used to command. You were -also born of masters. Would you rather that we should buy the boat first -with the money, instead of the house? Now you are grown up, and can -have your choice, because you have seen more of the world, and should be -wiser than I am now I am old. What would you rather do?” - -He would rather do nothing, that’s what he would rather do. What did -he care about the boat or the house? Then there would come another bad -year, another cholera, some other misfortune, and eat up the boat and -the house, and they would have to begin all over again, like the ants. -A fine thing! And when they had got the boat and the house, could they -leave off working, or could they eat meat and macaroni every day? While -instead, down there where he had been, there were people that went about -in carriages everyday; that’s what they did. People beside whom Don -Franco and the town-clerk were themselves no better than beasts of -burden, working, as they did, all day long, spoiling paper and beating -dirty water in a mortar. At least he wanted to know why there should be -people in the world who had nothing to do but to enjoy themselves, -and were born with silver spoons in their mouths, and others who had -nothing, and must drag a cart with their teeth all their lives. Besides -which, that idea of going out by the day was not at all to his taste; he -was born a master--his grandfather had said so himself. He to be ordered -about by a lot of people who had risen from nothing, who, as everybody -in the place knew, had put their money together soldo after soldo, -sweating and struggling! He had gone out by the day only because his -grandfather took him, and he hadn’t strength of mind to refuse. But when -the overseer stood over him like a dog, and called out from the stern, -“Now, then, boy, what are you at?” he felt tempted to hit him over the -head with the oar, and he preferred to weave baskets or to mend nets, -sitting on the beach, with his back against a stone, for then if he -folded his arms for a minute nobody called out at him. - -Thither came also Rocco Spatu to yawn and stretch his arms, and Vanni -Pizzuti, between one customer and another, in his idle moments; and -Goosefoot came there too, for his business was to mix himself up with -every conversation that he could find in search of bargaining; * and -they talked of all that happened in the place. - -* Senserie--a sort of very small brokerage, upon which a tiny percentage -is paid. - -From one thing to another they got talking of Uncle Crucifix, who had, -they said, lost more than thirty scudi, through people that had died -of the cholera and had left pledges in his hands. Now, Dumb-bell, not -knowing what to do with all these ear-rings and finger-rings that had -remained on his hands, had made up his mind to marry Vespa; the thing -was certain, they had been seen to go together to write themselves up at -the Municipality, in Don Silvestro’s presence. - -“It is not true that he is marrying on account of the jewellery,” said -Goosefoot, who was in a position to know; “the things are of gold or of -silver, and he could go and sell them by weight in the city; he would -have got back a good percentage on the money he had lent on them. He -marries Vespa because she took him to the Municipality to show him the -paper that she had had drawn up, ready to be signed before the notary, -with Cousin Spatu here, now that the Mangiacarubbe has dropped him for -Brasi Cipolla. Excuse me. Eh, Cousin Rocco?” - -“Oh, I don’t mind, Cousin Tino,” answered Rocco Spatu. “It is nothing to -me; for whoever trusts to one of those false cats of womankind is worse -than a pig. I don’t want any sweetheart except Santuzza, who lets -me have my wine on credit when I like, and she is worth two of the -Mangiacarubbe any day of the week. A good handful, eh, Cousin Tino?” - -“Pretty hostess, heavy bill,” said Pizzuti, spitting in the sand. - -“They all look out for husbands to work for them,” added ’Ntoni. -“They’re all alike.” - -“And,” continued Goosefoot, “Uncle Crucifix ran off panting to the -notary, with his heart in his mouth. So he had to take the Wasp after -all.” - -Here the apothecary, who had come down to the beach to smoke his pipe, -joined in the conversation, and went on pounding in his usual way upon -his usual theme that the world ought to be put in a mortar and pounded -to pieces, and made all over again. But this time he really might -as well have pounded dirty water in his mortar, for not one of them -understood a word he said, unless, perhaps, it were ’Ntoni. He at -least had seen the world, and opened his eyes, like the kittens; when he -was a soldier they had taught him to read, and for that reason he, too, -went to the drug-shop door and listened when the newspaper was read, and -stayed to talk with the druggist, who was a good-natured fellow, and did -not give himself airs like his wife, who kept calling out to him, “Why -will you mix yourself up with what doesn’t concern you?” - -“One must let the women talk, and manage things quietly,” said Don -Franco, as soon as his wife was safe up-stairs. He didn’t mind taking -counsel even with those who went barefoot, provided they didn’t put -their feet on the chairs, and explained to them word for word all -that there was printed in the newspaper, following it with his finger, -telling them that the world ought to go, as it was written down there. - - - - -XIII. - - -|Padron ’Ntoni, when his grandson came home to him drunk in the -evening, did his best to get him off to bed without letting him be -seen by the others, because such a thing had never been known among the -Malavoglia, and old as he was, it brought the tears to his eyes. When he -got up by night to call Alessio to go out to sea, he let the other one -sleep; for that matter, he wouldn’t have been of any use if he had gone. -At first ’Ntoni was ashamed of himself, and went down to the landing -to meet them with bent head. But little by little he grew hardened, and -said to himself, “So I shall have another Sunday to-morrow, too!” - -The poor old man did everything he could think of to touch his heart, -and even went so far as to take a shirt of his to Don Giammaria to be -exorcised, which cost him thirty centimes. - -“See,” he said to ’Ntoni, “such things were never known among the -Malavoglia! If you take the downward road, like Rocco Spatu, your -brother and your sister will go after you. ‘One black sheep spoils the -flock.’ And those few pence which we have put together with such pains -will all go again--‘for one fisherman the boat was lost ‘--and what -shall we do then?” - -’Ntoni stood with his head down, or growled something between his -teeth; but the next day it was the same thing over again; and once he -said: - -“At least if I lose my head, I forget my misery.” - -“What do you mean by misery? You are young, you are healthy, you -understand your business; what do you want more? I am old, your brother -is but a boy, but we have pulled ourselves out of the ditch. Now, if you -would help us we might become once more what we were in other days; not -happy as we were then, for the dead cannot return to us, but without -other troubles; and we should be together, ‘like the fingers of a hand,’ -and should have bread to eat. If I close my eyes once for all, what is -to become of you? See, now I tremble every time we put out to sea, lest -I should never come back. And I am old!” - -When his grandfather succeeded in touching his heart ’Ntoni would -begin to cry. His brother and sisters, who knew all, would run away and -shut themselves up, almost as if he were a stranger, or as if they -were afraid of him; and his grandfather, with his rosary in his hand, -muttered, “O blessed soul of Bastianazzo! O soul of my daughter-in-law -Maruzza! pray that a miracle may be worked for us.” When Mena saw him -coming, with pale face and shining eyes, she met him, saying, “Come this -way; grandfather is in there!” and brought him in through the little -door of the kitchen; then sat down and cried quietly by the hearth; so -that at last one evening ’Ntoni said, “I won’t go to the tavern again, -no, not if they kill me!” and went back to his work with all his former -good-will; nay, he even got up earlier than the rest, and went down to -the beach to wait for them while it wanted still two hours to day; the -Three Kings were shining over the church-tower, and the crickets could -be heard trilling in the vineyards as if they had been close by. The -grandpapa could not contain himself for joy; he went on all the time -talking to him, to show how pleased he was, and said to himself, “It -is the blessed souls of his father and his mother that have worked this -miracle.” - -The miracle lasted all the week, and when Sunday came ’Ntoni wouldn’t -even go into the piazza, lest he should see the tavern even from a -distance, or meet his friends, who might call him. But he dislocated his -jaws yawning all that long day, when there was nothing to be done. He -wasn’t a child, to go about among the bushes on the down, singing, like -Nunziata and his brother Alessio; or a girl, to sweep the house, like -Mena; nor was he an old man, to spend the day mending broken barrels or -baskets, like his grandfather. He sat by the door in the little street, -where not even a hen passed by the door, and listened to the voices and -the laughter at the tavern. He went to bed early to pass the time, and -got up on Monday morning sulky as ever. His grandfather said to him, “It -would be better for you if Sunday never came, for the day after you are -just as if you were sick.” That was what would be best for him--that -there should not even be Sunday to rest in; and his heart sank to think -that every day should be like Monday. So that when he came back from the -fishing in the evening, he would not even go to bed, but went about -here and there bemoaning his hard fate, and ended by going back to the -tavern. At first when he used to come home uncertain of his footing, he -slipped in quietly, and stammered excuses, or went silently to bed; but -now he was noisy, and disputed with his sister, who met him at the door -with a pale face and red eyes, and told him to come in by the back way, -for that grandfather was there. - -“I don’t care,” he replied. The next day he got up looking wretchedly -ill, and in a very bad humor, and took to scolding and swearing all day -long. - -Once there was a very sad scene. His grandfather, not knowing what to -do to touch his heart, drew him into the corner of the little room, -with the doors shut that the neighbors might not hear, and said to him, -crying like a child, the poor old man! “Oh, ’Ntoni, don’t you remember -that here your mother died? Why should you disgrace your mother, turning -out as badly as Rocco Spatu? Don’t you see how poor Cousin Anna works -all the time for that big drunkard of a son of hers, and how she weeps -at times because she has not bread to give to her other children, and -has no longer the heart to laugh? ‘Who goes with wolves turns wolf,’ and -‘who goes with cripples one year goes lame the next.’ Don’t you remember -that night of the cholera that we were all gathered around that bed, and -she confided the children to your care?” - -’Ntoni cried like a weaned calf, and said he wished he could die, too; -but afterwards he went back--slowly, indeed, and as if unwillingly, but -still he did go back--to the tavern, and at night, instead of coming -home, he wandered about the streets, and leaned against the walls, half -dead with fatigue, with Rocco Spatu and Cinghialenta; or he sang and -shouted with them, to drive away his melancholy. - -At last poor old Padron ’Ntoni got so that he was ashamed to show -himself in the street. His grandson, instead, to get rid of his sermons, -came home looking so black that nobody felt inclined to speak to him. -As if he didn’t preach plenty of sermons to himself; but it was all the -fault of his fate that he had been born in such a state of life. And -he went off to the druggist, or to whoever else would listen to him, to -exhaust himself in speeches about the injustice of everything that there -was in this world; that if a poor fellow went to Santuzza’s to drink -and forget his troubles, he was called a drunkard; while those who drank -their own wine at home had no troubles, nor any one to reprove them or -hunt them off to work, but were rich enough for two, and did not need -to work, while we were all the sons of God, and everybody ought to share -and share alike. - -“That fellow has talent,” said the druggist to Don Silvestro or Padron -Cipolla or to anybody else whom he could find. “He sees things in the -lump, but an idea he has. It isn’t his fault if he doesn’t express -himself properly, but that of the Government, that leaves him in -ignorance.” For his instruction he lent him the _Secolo_ (the _Age_) and -the _Gazette of Catania_. - -But ’Ntoni very soon got tired of reading; first, because it was -troublesome, and because while he was a soldier they had made him learn -to read by force; but now he was at liberty to do as he liked, and, -besides, he had forgotten a good deal of it, and how the words came one -after another in printing. And all that talk in print didn’t put a penny -in his pocket. What did it matter to him? Don Franco explained to him -how it mattered to him; and when Don Michele passed across the piazza he -shook his head at him, winking, and pointed out to him how he came after -Donna Rosolina as well as others, for Donna Rosolina had money, and gave -it to people to get herself married. - -“First we must clear away all these fellows in uniform. We must make a -revolution, that’s what we must do.” - -“And what will you give me to make the revolution?” - -Don Franco shrugged his shoulders, and went back to his mortar, for -talking to such people as that was just beating water with a pestle, -neither more nor less, he said. - -But Goosefoot said, as soon as ’Ntoni’s back was turned, “He ought to -get rid of Don Michele, for another reason--he’s after his sister; but -’Ntoni is worse than a pig now that Santuzza has taken to keeping -him.” Goosefoot felt Don Michele to be a weight on his mind since -that active official had taken to looking askance at Rocco Spatu and -Cinghialenta and himself whenever he saw them together; for that he -wanted to get rid of him. - -Those poor Malavoglia had come to such a pass that they were the talk -of the place, on account of their brother. Now, everybody knew that Don -Michele often walked up and down the black street to spite the Zuppidda, -who was always mounting guard over her girl, with her distaff in her -hand. And Don Michele, not to lose time, had taken to looking at Lia, -who had now become a very pretty girl and had no one to look after her -except her sister, who would say to her, “Come, Lia, let us go in; it is -not nice for us to stand at the door now we are orphans.” - -But Lia was vain, worse than her brother ’Ntoni, and she liked to -stand at the door, that people might see her pretty flowered kerchief, -and have people say to her, “How pretty you look in that kerchief, -Cousin Lia!” while Don Michele devoured her with his eyes Poor Mena, -while she stood at the door waiting for her drunken brother to come -home, felt so humbled and abased that she wanted the energy to order her -sister to come in because Don Michele passed by, and Lia said: - -“Are you afraid he will eat me? Nobody wants any of us now that we have -got nothing left. Look at my brother, even the dogs will have nothing to -say to him!” - -If ’Ntoni had a spark of courage, said Goosefoot, he would get rid of -that Don Michele. But ’Ntoni had another reason for wishing to get rid -of Don Michele. Santuzza, after having quarrelled with Don Michele, had -taken a fancy to ’Ntoni Malavoglia for that fashion he had of wearing -his cap, and of swaggering a little when he walked, that he had learned -when he was a soldier, and used to hide for him behind the counter the -remains of the customers’ dinners, and to fill his glass as well now and -then on the sly. In this way she kept him about the tavern, as fat and -as sleek as the butcher’s dog. ’Ntoni meantime discharged himself, to -a certain extent, of his obligation to her by taking her part, sometimes -even to the extent of thumps, with those unpleasant people who chose to -find fault with their bills, and to scold and swear about the place for -ever so long before they would consent to pay them. With those who were -friends with the hostess, on the contrary, he was chatty and pleasant, -and kept an eye on the counter, too, while Santuzza went to confession; -so that every one there liked him and treated him as if he were at home. -All but Uncle Santoro, who looked askance at him, and muttered, between -one Ave Maria and another, against him, and how he lived upon his girl -like a canon, without lifting a finger; Santuzza replying that she was -the mistress, and if it were her pleasure to keep ’Ntoni Malavoglia -for herself as fat as a canon, she should do it; she had no need of -anybody. - -“Yes, yes,” growled Uncle Santoro, when he could get her for a minute by -herself. “You always need Don Michele! Master Filippo has told me time -and again that he means to have done with it, that he won’t keep -the wine in the cellar any longer, and we must get it into the place -contraband.” - -“Don Filippo must attend to his own affairs. But I tell you once for -all, that if I have to pay the duty twice over, I won’t have Don Michele -here again. I won’t, I won’t!” - -She could not forgive Don Michele the ugly trick he had played her with -the Zuppidda, after all that time that he had lived like a fighting-cock -at the tavern for love of his uniform; and ’Ntoni Malavoglia, with no -uniform at all, was worth ten of Don Michele; whatever she gave to him -she gave with all her heart. In this way ’Ntoni earned his living, -and when his grandfather reproved him for doing nothing, or his sister -looked gravely at him with her large melancholy eyes, he would reply: - -“And do I ask you for anything? I don’t spend any money out of the -house, and I earn my own bread.” - -“It would be better that you should die of hunger,” said his -grandfather, “and that we all fell dead on the spot.” - -At last they spoke no more to each other, turning their backs as they -sat. Padron ’Ntoni was driven to silence sooner than quarrel with -his grandson, and ’Ntoni, tired of being preached to, left them there -whining, and went off to Rocco Spatu and Cousin Vanni, who at least were -jolly? and could find every day some new trick to play off on somebody. -They found one, one day, which was to serenade Uncle Crucifix the night -of his marriage with his niece Vespa, and they brought under his windows -all the crew, to whom Uncle Crucifix would no longer lend a penny, with -broken pots and bottles, sheep’s bells, and whistles of cane, making the -devil’s own row until midnight; so that Vespa got up the next morning -rather greener than usual, and railed at that hussy of a Santuzza, in -whose tavern all that noisy raff had got up that nasty trick; and it was -all out of jealousy she had done it, because she couldn’t get married -herself as Vespa had. - -Everybody laughed at Uncle Crucifix when he appeared in the piazza in -his new clothes, yellow as a corpse, and half frightened out of his wits -at Vespa and the money she had made him spend for his new clothes. Vespa -was always spending and spilling, and if he had left her alone would -have emptied his money-bags in a fortnight; and she said that now she -was mistress, so that there was the devil to pay between them every day. -His wife planted her nails in his face, and screamed that she was going -to keep the keys herself; that she didn’t see why she should want a bit -of bread or a new kerchief worse than she did before; and if she had -known what was to come of her marriage, with such a husband, too! she -would have kept her fields and her medal of the Daughters of Mary. And -he screamed, too, that he was ruined; that he was no longer master in -his own house; that now he had the cholera in his house in good earnest; -that they wanted to kill him before his time, to waste the money that he -had spent his life in putting together! He, too, if he had known how -it would be, would have seen them both at the devil, his wife and her -fields, first; that he didn’t need a wife, and they had frightened him -into taking Vespa, telling him that Brasi Cipolla was going to run off -with her and her fields. Cursed be her fields! - -Just at this point it came out that Brasi Cipolla had allowed himself to -be taken possession of by the Mangiacarubbe, like a great stupid lout as -he was; and Padron Fortunato was always hunting for them up and down on -the heath, in the ravine, under the bridge, everywhere, foaming at the -mouth, and swearing that if he caught them he would kick them as long -as he could stand, and would wring his son’s ears off for him. -Uncle Crucifix, at this, became quite desperate, and said that the -Mangiacarubbe had ruined him by not running off with Brasi a week -sooner. “This is the will of God!” he said, beating his breast. “The -will of God is that I should have taken this Wasp to expiate my sins.” - And his sins must have been heavy, for the Wasp poisoned the bread in -his mouth, and made him suffer the pains of purgatory both by day and by -night. - -The neighbors never came near the Malavoglia now, any more than if the -cholera were still in the house; but left her alone, with her sister in -her flowered kerchief, or with Nunziata and her cousin Anna, when they -had the charity to come and chat with her a bit. As for Anna, she was -as badly off as they were with her drunkard of a son, and now everybody -knew all about it; and Nunziata, too, who had been so little when that -scamp of a father of hers had deserted her and gone elsewhere to seek -his fortune. The poor things felt for each other, for that very reason, -when they talked together, in low tones, with bent heads and hands -folded under their aprons, and also when they were silent, each absorbed -in her own pain. - -“When people are as badly off as we are,” said Lia, speaking like a -grown-up woman, “every one must take care of one’s self, and look after -one’s own interests.” - -Don Michele, every now and then, would stop and joke with them a little, -so that the girls got used to his gold-bound cap, and were no longer -afraid of him; and, little by little, Lia began to joke with him -herself, and to laugh at him; nor did Mena dare to scold her, or to -leave her and go into the kitchen, now they had no mother, but stayed -with them crouching on the door-step, looking up and down the street -with her tired eyes. Now that they were deserted by the neighbors, they -felt their hearts swell with gratitude towards Don Michele, who, with -all his uniform, did not disdain to stop at the Malavoglia’s door for a -chat now and then. And if Don Michele found Lia alone he would look into -her eyes, pulling his mustaches, with his gold-bound cap on one side, -and say to her, “What a pretty girl you are, Cousin Malavoglia!” - -Nobody else had ever told her that, so she turned as red as a tomato. - -“How does it happen that you are not yet married?” Don Michele asked her -one day. - -She shrugged her shoulders, and answered that she did not know. - -“You ought to have a dress of silk and wool, and long ear-rings; and -then, upon my word, there’d be many a fine city lady not fit to hold a -candle to you.” - -“A dress of silk and wool would not be a proper thing for me, Don -Michele,” replied Lia. - -“But why? Hasn’t the Zuppidda one? And the Mangiacarubbe, now that she -has caught Brasi Cipolla, won’t she have one too? And Vespa, too, can -have one if she likes.” - -“They are rich, they are.” - -“Cruel fate!” cried Don Michele, striking the hilt of his sword with his -fist. “I wish I could win a tern in the lottery, Cousin Lia. Then I’d -show you what I’d do.” - -Sometimes Don Michele would add, “Permit me,” with his hand to his cap, -and sit down near them on the stones. Mena thought he came for Barbara, -and said nothing. But to Lia Don Michele swore that he did not come -there on account of Barbara, that he never had, that he never should, -that he was thinking of quite a different person--did not Cousin Lia -know that? And he rubbed his chin and twisted his mustaches and stared -at her like a basilisk. The girl turned all sorts of colors, and got up -to run into the house; but Don Michele caught her by the hand, and said: - -“Do you wish to offend me, Cousin Malavoglia? Why do you treat me in -this way? Stay where you are; nobody means to eat you.” - -So, while they were waiting for the men to come back from sea, they -passed the time, she in the door, and Don Michele on the stones, -breaking little twigs to pieces because he did not know what to do with -his hands. Once he asked her, “Would you like to go and live in town?” - -“What should I do in town?” - -“That’s the place for you! You were not meant to live here with these -peasants, upon my honor! You are of a better sort than they are; you -ought to live in a pretty little cottage, or in a villa, and to go to -the marina, or to the promenade when there is music, dressed prettily, -as I should like to see you--with a pretty silk kerchief on your head, -and an amber necklace. Here I feel as if I were living in the midst -of pigs. Upon my honor I can hardly wait for the time when I shall be -promoted, and recalled to town, as they have promised me, next year.” - -Lia began to laugh as if it were all a joke, shaking her shoulders -at the idea. She, who didn’t know even what silk kerchiefs or amber -necklaces were like. - -Then one day Don Michele drew out of his pocket, with great mystery, -a fine red and yellow silk kerchief wrapped up in a pretty paper, and -wanted to make a present of it to Cousin Lia. - -“No, no!” said she, turning fiery red. “I wouldn’t take it, no, not if -you killed me.” - -Don Michele insisted. “I did not expect this, Cousin Lia; I do not -deserve this.” But after all, he had to wrap the kerchief once more in -the paper and put it back into his pocket. - -After this, whenever she caught a glimpse of Don Michele, Lia ran off -to hide herself in the house, fearing that he would try to give her the -kerchief. It was in vain that Don Michele passed up and down the street, -the Zuppidda screaming at him all the time; in vain that he stretched -his neck peering into the Malavoglia’s door; no one was ever to be seen, -so that at last he made up his mind to go in. The girls, when they saw -him standing before them, stared, open-mouthed, trembling as if they had -the ague, not knowing what to do. - -“You would not take the silk kerchief, Cousin Lia,” he said to the girl, -who turned red as a poppy, “but I have come all the same, because I like -you all so much. What is your brother ’Ntoni doing now?” - -Now Mena turned red too, when he asked what her brother ’Ntoni was -doing, for he was doing nothing. And Don Michele went on: “I am afraid -he will do something that you will not like, your brother ’Ntoni. I am -your friend, and I take no notice; but when another brigadier comes in -my place he will be wanting to know what your brother is always about -with Cinghialenta and that other pretty specimen, Rocco Spatu, down by -the Rotolo in the evening, or walking about the downs, as if they had -nothing to do but to wear out their shoes. Look after him well, Cousin -Mena, and listen to what I tell you tell him not to go so much with that -meddling old wretch Goosefoot, in Vanni Pizzuti’s shop, for we know -everything; and he will come to harm among them. The others are old -foxes. And you had better tell your grandfather to stop him from walking -so much up and down the beach, for the beach is not meant to walk about -on; and the cliffs of the Rotolo have ears, tell him; and one can see -very well, even without glasses, the boats that put out from there at -dusk, as if they were going to fish for bats. Tell him this, Cousin -Mena; and tell him, too, that this warning comes from one who is your -friend. As for Master Cinghialenta, and Rocco Spatu, and Vanni Pizzuti -as well, we have our eye on them. Your brother trusts old Goosefoot, but -he does not know that the coastguards have a percentage on smuggled -goods, and that they always manage to get hold of some one of a gang, -and give him a share to spy on them that they may be surprised.” - -Mena opened her eyes still wider, and turned pale, without quite -understanding all this long speech; but she had been trembling already -for fear that her brother would get into trouble with the men in -uniform. Don Michele, to give her courage, took her hand, and went on: - -“If it came to be known that I had warned you, it would be all over with -me. I am risking my uniform in telling you this, because I am so fond of -all you Malavoglia. But I should be very sorry if your brother got into -trouble. No, I don’t want to meet him some night in some ugly place -where he has no business; no, I wouldn’t have it happen to catch a booty -worth a thousand francs, upon my honor I wouldn’t.” - -The poor girls hadn’t a moment’s peace after Don Michele had warned them -of this new cause of anxiety. They didn’t shut their eyes of a night, -waiting behind the door for their brother, sometimes until very late, -trembling with cold and terror, while he went singing up and down the -streets with Rocco Spatu and the rest of the gang, and the poor girls -seemed to hear the cries and the shots as they had heard them that night -when there was the talk of hunting two-legged quail. - -“You go to bed, and to sleep,” said Mena to her sister; “you are too -young for such things as this.” - -To her grandfather she said nothing, for she wished to spare him this -fresh trouble, but to ’Ntoni, when she saw him a little more quiet -than usual, sitting at the door with his chin upon his hands, she took -courage to say: “What are you doing, going about with Rocco Spatu and -Cinghialen-ta? You have been seen with them at the Rotolo and on the -downs. And beware of Goosefoot. Remember how Jesus said to John, ‘Beware -of them whom God has marked.’” - -“Who told you that?” said ’Ntoni, leaping up as if he were possessed. -“Tell me who told you.” - -“Don Michele told me,” she answered, with tearful eyes. “He told me that -you should beware of Goosefoot, and that to catch the smugglers they had -to get information from some one of the gang.” - -“He told you nothing else?” - -“No, he told me nothing else.” - -Then ’Ntoni swore that there wasn’t a word of truth in the whole of -it, and told her she mustn’t tell his grandfather. Then he got up and -went off in a hurry to the tavern to drown his worries in wine, and if -he met any of the fellows in uniform he gave them a wide berth. After -all, Don Michele really knew nothing about it, and only talked at random -to frighten him because he was jealous about San-tuzza, who had turned -him (Don Michele) out of the house like a mangy dog. And, in short, he -wasn’t afraid either of Don Michele or of any of his crew, that were -paid to suck the blood of the people. A fine thing, to be sure! Don -Michele had no need to help himself in that fashion, fat and sleek as he -was, and he must needs try to lay hands on some poor helpless devil -or other if he tried to get hold of a stray five-franc piece. And that -other idea, too, that to get anything in from outside the country one -must pay the duty, as if the things had been stolen! And Don Michele and -his spies must come poking their noses into it. They were free to take -whatever they liked, and were paid for doing it; but others, if they -tried at the risk of their lives to get their goods on shore, were -treated worse than thieves, and shot down like wolves with pistols and -carbines. But it never was a sin to rob thieves. Don Giammaria said so -himself in the druggist’s shop. And Don Franco nodded, beard and all, -and sneered that when they got a republic there would be no more such -dirty work as that. - -“Nor of those devil’s officials,” added the vicar. - -“A lot of idle fellows who are paid for carrying guns about!” snarled -the druggist, “like the priests, who take forty centimes for saying -a mass. Tell us, Don Giammaria, how much capital do you put into the -masses that you get paid for?” - -“About as much as you put into that dirty water that you make us pay the -eyes out of our heads for,” said the priest, foaming at the mouth. - -Don Franco had learned to laugh like Don Silvestro, just on purpose to -put Don Giammaria into a passion; and he went on, without listening to -him: - -“Yes, in half an hour their work is done, and they can amuse themselves -for the rest of the day, just the same as Don Michele, who goes flitting -about like a great ugly bird all day long, now that he doesn’t keep the -benches warm at Santuzza’s any more.” - -“For that, he has taken it up with me,” interposed ’Ntoni; “and he is -as cross as a bear, and goes swaggering about, because he has a sabre -tied to him. But, by Our Lady’s blood! one time or another, I’ll beat -it about his head, that sabre of his, to show him how much I care for it -and for him.’ - -“Bravo!” exclaimed the druggist. “That’s the way to talk! The people -ought to show their teeth. But not here; I don’t want a fuss in my shop. -The Government would give anything to get me into a scrape, but I don’t -care to have anything to do with their judges and tribunals and the rest -of their machinery.” - -’Ntoni Malavoglia raised his fist in the air, and swore that he was -going to have done with it, once for all, if he went to the galleys for -it--for the matter of that, he had nothing to lose. Santuzza no longer -looked upon him as she formerly did, so much had her father obtained -of her, always whining and wheedling at her between one Ave Maria and -another, since Master Filippo had left off keeping his wine in their -cellar. He said that the customers were thinning off like flies at Saint -Andrew’s Day, now they no longer found Master Filippo’s wine, which they -had drunk ever since they were babies. Uncle Santoro kept on saying -to his daughter: “What do you want with that great useless ’Ntoni -Malavoglia always about the place? Don’t you see that he is eating you -out of house and home, to no purpose? You fatten him like a pig, and -then he goes off and makes eyes at Vespa or the Mangiacarubbe, now that -they are rich;” or he said, “Your customers are leaving you because you -always have ’Ntoni after you, so that nobody has a chance to laugh -or talk with you or, He’s so dirty and ragged that he is a shame to be -seen; the place looks like a stable, and people don’t want to drink out -of the glasses after him. Don Michele looked well at the door, with his -cap with the gold braid. People like to drink their wine in peace when -they have paid for it, and they like to see a man with a sabre at the -door, and everybody took off their caps to him, and nobody was likely to -deny a debt to you while he was about. Now that he doesn’t come, Master -Filippo doesn’t come either. The other day he was passing, and I wanted -him to come in, but he said it was of no use now, for he couldn’t get -anything in contraband any longer, now you had quarrelled with Don -Michele--which is neither good for the soul nor for the body. People -are beginning to murmur already, and to say that the charity you give to -’Ntoni is not blameless, and if it goes on the vicar may hear of it, -and you may lose your medal.” - -At first Santuzza held out, for, as she said, she was determined to be -mistress in her own house; but afterwards she began to see things in -another light, and no longer treated ’Ntoni as she used to do. If -there was anything left at meals she did not give it to him, and she -left the glasses dirty, and gave him no wine; so that at last he began -to look cross, and then she told him that she didn’t want any idle -fellows about the place, and that she and her father earned their bread, -and that he ought to do the same. Couldn’t he help a bit about the -house, chopping wood or blowing up the fire, instead of always shouting -and screaming about, or sleeping with his head on his arms, or else -spitting about everywhere so that one didn’t know where to set one’s -foot? ’Ntoni for a while did chop the wood, or blew the fire, which -he preferred, as it was easier work. But he found it hard to work like -a dog, worse than he did at home, and be treated like a dog into the -bargain, with hard words and cross looks--and all for the sake of the -dirty plates they gave him to lick. - -At last, one day when Santuzza had just come back from confession, he -made a scene, complaining that Don Michele had begun to hover about the -house again, and that he had waited for her in the piazza when she came -home from church, and that Uncle Santoro had called to him when he -heard his voice as he was passing, and had followed him as far as Vanni -Pizzuti’s shop, feeling the walls with his stick. Santuzza flew into -a passion, and said that he had come on purpose to bring her into sin -again, and make her lose her communion. - -“If you are not pleased you can go,” she said. “Did I say anything when -I saw you running after Vespa and the Mangiacarubbe, now that they have -got themselves married?” - -But ’Ntoni swore there wasn’t a word of truth in it, that he didn’t go -running after any women, and that she might spit in his face if she saw -him speaking to either of them. - -“No, you won’t get rid of him that way,” said Uncle Santoro. “Don’t you -see that he won’t leave you because he lives at your expense? You won’t -get him out unless you kick him out. Master Filippo has told me that he -can’t keep his new wine any longer in the barrels, and that he won’t -let you have it unless you make it up with Don Michele, and help him to -smuggle it in as he used to do.” And he went off after Master Filippo to -Vanni Pizzuti’s shop, feeling his way along the walls with his stick. - -His daughter put on haughty airs, protesting that she never would -forgive Don Michele after the ugly trick he had played her. - -“Let me manage it,” said Uncle Santoro. “I assure you I can be discreet -enough about it. Don’t believe I will ever let you go back and lick Don -Michele’s boots. Am I your father, or not?” - -’Ntoni, since Santuzza had begun to be rude to him, was obliged to -look somewhere else for his dinner, for he was ashamed to go home--where -all the time his people were thinking of him with every mouthful they -ate, feeling almost as if he were dead too; and they did not even spread -the cloth any more, but sat scattered about the room with the plates on -their knees. - -“This is the last blow for me, in my old age,” said his grandfather, and -those who saw him pass, bent down with the nets on his shoulders, on his -way to his day’s work, said to each other: - -“This is Padron ’Ntoni’s last winter. It will not be long before those -orphans are left quite alone in the world.” - -And Lia, when Mena told her to stay in the house when Don Michele passed -by, answered, with a pout: “Yes, it is worth while staying in the house, -for such precious persons as we are! You needn’t be afraid anybody ‘ll -want to steal us.” - -“Oh, if your mother were here you wouldn’t talk in that way,” murmured -Mena. - -“If my mother were here I shouldn’t be an orphan, and shouldn’t have to -take care of myself. Nor would ’Ntoni go wandering about the streets, -until it is a shame to hear one’s self called his sister. And not a soul -would think of taking ’Ntoni Malavoglia’s sister for a wife.” - -’Ntoni, now that he was in bad luck, was not ashamed to show himself -everywhere with Rocco Spatu, and with Cinghialenta, on the downs and by -the Rotolo, and was seen whispering to them mysteriously, like a lot of -wolves. Don Michele came back to Mena, saying, “Your brother will play -you an ugly trick some day, Cousin Mena.” Mena was driven to going out -to look for her brother on the downs, or towards the Rotolo, or at the -door of the tavern, sobbing and crying, and pulling him by the sleeve. -But he replied: - -“No, it is all Don Michele; he is determined to ruin me, I tell you. -He is always plotting against me with Uncle Santoro. I have heard them -myself in Pizzuti’s shop; and that spy said to him, ‘And if I come back -to your daughter, what kind of a figure shall I cut?’ And Uncle Santoro -answered, ‘But when I tell you that the whole place will by that time be -dying of envy of you?’” - -“But what do you mean to do?” asked Mena, with her pale face. “Think of -our mother, ’Ntoni, and of us who have no one left in the world!” - -“Nothing! I mean to put Santuzza to shame, and him too, as they go to -the mass, before all the world. I mean to tell them what I think of -them, and make them a laughing-stock for everybody. I fear nobody in the -world. And the druggist himself shall hear me.” - -In short, it was useless for Mena to weep or to beg. He went on saying -that he had nothing to lose, and the others should look after themselves -and not blame him; that he was tired of that life, and meant to end it, -as Don Franco said. And since he was not kindly received at the tavern, -he took to lounging about the piazza, especially on Sundays, and sat -on the church-steps to see what sort of a face those shameless wretches -would wear, trying to deceive not only the world, but Our Lord and the -Madonna under their very eyes. - -Santuzza, not wishing to meet ’Ntoni, went to Aci Castello to mass -early in the morning, not to be led into temptation. ’Ntoni watched -the Mangia-carubbe, with her face wrapped in her mantle, not looking to -the right or to the left, now she had caught a husband. Vespa, all over -flounces, and with a very big rosary, went to besiege Heaven that she -might be delivered from her scourge of a husband, and ’Ntoni snarled -after them: “Now that they have caught husbands, they want nothing more. -They’ve somebody to see that they have plenty to eat.” Uncle Crucifix -had lost even his devotional habits since he had got Vespa on his -shoulders; he kept away from church, to be free from her presence at -least for so long a time, to the great peril of his soul. - -“This is my last year!” he whined. And now he was always running after -Padron ’Ntoni and the others who were badly off. “This year I shall -have hail in my vineyard, you’ll see; I shall not have a drop of wine!” - -“You know, Uncle Crucifix,” replied Padron ’Ntoni, “as soon as you -like, I am ready to go to the notary for that affair of the house, and I -have the money here.” - -That one cared for nothing but his house, and other people’s affairs -were nothing to him. - -“Don’t talk to me of the notary, Padron ’Ntoni. If I hear any one -speak of a notary I am reminded of the day when I let Vespa drag me -before one. Cursed be that day!” - -But Cousin Goosefoot, who smelled a bargain, said to him, “That witch -of a Wasp, after your death, may be capable of selling the house by the -medlar for next to nothing; isn’t it better that you should finish up -your own affairs while you can?” And Uncle Crucifix would reply: “Yes, -yes, I’ll go to the notary; but you must let me make some profit on the -affair. Look how many losses I have had!” And Goosefoot, feigning to -agree with him, would add, “That witch of a wife of yours must not know -that you have the money, or she might twist your neck for the sake of -spending it in necklaces and new gowns.” And he went on: “At least -the Mangiacarubbe does not throw her money away, now she has caught a -husband. Look how she comes to church in a cotton gown!” - -“I don’t care for the Mangiacarubbe; but I know she and all the other -women ought to be burned alive. They are only put in the world for our -damnation. Do you believe that she doesn’t spend the money? That’s all -put on to take in Padron Fortunato, who goes about declaring that he’d -rather marry a girl himself out of the street than let his money go to -that beggar, who has stolen his son from him. I’d give him Vespa, for my -part, if he wanted her! They’re all alike! And woe to whoever gets one -for his misfortune! The Lord help him! Look at Don Michele, who goes up -and down the black street after Donna Rosolina! What does he need more, -that one? Respected, well paid, fat, and comfortable! Well, he goes -running after a woman, looking for trouble with a lantern, for the sake -of the vicar’s few soldi after his death!” - -“No, he doesn’t go for Donna Rosolina, no,” said Goosefoot, winking -mysteriously. “Donna Rosolina may take root on her terrace among her -tomatoes, with her eyes like a dead fish’s. Don Michele doesn’t care for -the vicar’s money. I know what he goes to the black street for.” - -“Then, what will you take for the house?” asked Padron ’Ntoni, -returning to the subject. - -“We’ll see, we’ll see when we go to the notary,” replied old Crucifix. -“Now let me listen to the blessed mass;” and so he sent him off for that -time. - -“Don Michele has something else in his head,” repeated Goosefoot, -running his tongue out behind Padron ’Ntoni’s back, and making a sign -towards his grandson, who was leaning against the wall, with a ragged -jacket over one shoulder, and casting furious looks at Uncle Santoro, -who had taken to coming to mass to hold out his hand to the faithful in -the intervals of muttered Glorias and Ave Marias, knowing them all very -well as they passed him on their way out, saying to one, “The Lord bless -you;” to another, “God give you health;” and as Don Michele passed, -he said to him, “Go to her, she is waiting for you in the garden. Holy -Mary, pray for us! Lord be merciful to me a sinner!” When Don Michele -began to go back to the tavern people said: “Look if the cat and -dog haven’t made friends! There must have been some reason for their -quarrelling. And Master Filippo has gone back too. He seems to have been -fonder of Don Michele than of Santuzza! Some people wouldn’t care to be -alone, even in Paradise.” - -Then ’Ntoni Malavoglia was furious, finding himself hustled out of the -tavern worse than a mangy dog, without even a penny in his pocket to pay -to go and drink in spite of Don Michele and his mustaches, and sit -there all day long for the sake of plaguing them, with his elbows on the -table. Instead of which he was obliged to spend the day in the street, -like a dog with his tail between his legs and his nose to the ground, -muttering, “Blood of Judas! one day there’ll be an upsetting there, that -there will.” - -Rocco Spatu and Cinghialenta, who always had more or less money, laughed -in his face from the door of the tavern, pointing their fingers at him, -or came out to talk to him in low tones, pulling him by the arm in the -direction of the downs, or whispering in his ear. He hesitated always -about giving them an answer, like a fool as he was. Then they would -come down upon him both at once. “You deserve to die of hunger, there in -sight of the door, and to have us sneering at you worse than Don Michele -does, you faint-hearted wretch, you!” - -“Blood of Judas! don’t talk like that,” cried ’Ntoni, shaking his -fist in the air; “or else some day something new will happen, that there -will!” - -But the others went sneering off and left him, until at last they -succeeded in putting him into such a fury that he came straight into the -middle of the tavern among them all, pale as a corpse, with his hand -on his hip, and on his shoulder his old worn jacket, which he wore as -proudly as if it had been a velvet coat, turning his blazing eyes about -the room, looking out for somebody. Don Michele, out of respect for his -own uniform, pretended not to see him, and made as if he would go away; -but ’Ntoni, seeing that Don Michele was not in the humor for fighting, -became outrageously insolent, sneering at him and at Santuzza, and -spitting out the wine which he drank, swearing that it was poison, and -baptized besides, for Santuzza had mixed it with water, and they were -simply fools to go into such a place as that to throw away their money; -and that was the reason why he had left off coming there. Santuzza, -touched in her weakest point, could no longer command her temper, and -flew out at him, saying that he didn’t come because they wouldn’t have -him, that they were tired of keeping him for charity, and they had had -to use the broom-handle to him before he’d go, a great hungry dog! -And ’Ntoni began to rage and storm, roaring and flinging the glasses -about, which, he said, they had put out to catch that other great -codfish in uniform, but he would bring his wine out at his nose for him; -he wasn’t afraid of anybody. - -Don Michele, white with rage, with his cap on one side, stammered, -“This will end badly, will end badly!” while Santuzza rained flasks and -glasses upon both of them. At last they flew at each other with their -fists, until they both rolled on the floor like two dogs, and the others -went at them with kicks and thumps trying to part them, which at last -Peppi Naso, the butcher, succeeded in doing by dint of lashing them with -the leather strap which he took off his trousers, which took the skin -off wherever it touched. - -Don Michele brushed off his uniform, picked up his sabre, which he had -lost in the scuffle, and went out, only muttering something between his -teeth, for his uniform’s sake. But ’Ntoni Malavoglia, with the -blood streaming from his nose, called out a lot of bad names after -him--rubbing his nose with his sleeve meanwhile, and swearing that he -would soon give him the rest of it. - - - - -XIV. - - -|Ntoni Malavoglia did meet Don Michele, and “gave him his change,” and a -very ugly business it was. It was by night, when it rained in torrents, -and so dark that even a cat could have seen nothing at the turn on the -down which leads to the Rotolo, whence those boats put out so quietly, -making believe to be fishing for cod at midnight, and where ’Ntoni and -Rocco Spatu, and Cinghialenta and other good-for-nothing fellows -well known to the coast-guard, used to hang about with pipes in their -mouths--the guards knew those pipes well, and could distinguish them -perfectly one from another as they moved about among the rocks where -they lay hidden with their guns in their hands. - -“Cousin Mena,” said Don Michele, passing once more down the black -street--“Cousin Mena, tell your brother not to go to the Rotolo of -nights with Cinghialenta and Rocco Spatu.” - -But ’Ntoni would not listen, for “the empty stomach has no ears”; and -he no longer feared Don Michele since he had rolled over with him hand -to hand on the floor of the tavern, and he had sworn, too, to “give him -the rest of it,” and he would give him the rest of it whenever he met -him; and he wasn’t going to pass for a coward in the eyes of Santuzza -and the rest who had been present when he threatened him. “I said I’d -give him the rest when I met him next, and so I will; and if he chooses -to meet me at the Rotolo, I’ll meet him at the Rotolo!” he repeated to -his companions, who had also brought with them the son of La Locca. They -had passed the evening at the tavern drinking and roaring, for a tavern -is like a free port, and no one can be sent out of it as long as they -have money to pay their score and to rattle in their pockets. Don -Michele had gone by on his rounds, but Rocco Spatu, who knew the law, -said, spitting and leaning against the wall the better to balance -himself, that as long as the lamp at the door was lighted they could not -turn them out. “We have a right to stay so long!” he repeated. ’Ntoni -Malavoglia also enjoyed keeping Santuzza from going to bed, as she sat -behind her glasses yawning and dozing. In the mean time Uncle Santoro, -feeling his way about with his hands, had put the lamp out and shut the -door. - -“Now be off!” said Santuzza, “I don’t choose to be fined, for your sake, -for keeping my door open at this hour.” - -“Who’ll fine you? That spy Don Michele? Let him come here, and I’ll -pay him his fine! Tell him he’ll find ’Ntoni Malavoglia here, by Our -Lady’s blood.” - -Meanwhile the Santuzza had taken him by the shoulders and put him out -of the door: “Go and tell him yourself, and get into scrapes somewhere -else. I don’t mean to get into trouble with the police for love of your -bright eyes.” - -’Ntoni, finding himself in the street in this unceremonious fashion, -pulled out a long knife, and swore that he would stab both Santuzza and -Don Michele. Cinghialenta was the only one who had his senses, and -he pulled him by the coat, saying: “Leave them alone now! Have you -forgotten what we have to do to-night?” - -La Locca’s son felt greatly inclined to cry. - -“He’s drunk,” observed Spatu, standing under the rain-pipe. “Bring him -here under the pipe; it will do him good.” - -’Ntoni, quieted a little by the drenching he got from the rain-pipe, -let himself be drawn along by Cinghialenta, scolding all the while, -swearing that as sure as he met Don Michele he’d give him what he had -promised him. All of a sudden he found himself face to face with Don -Michele who was also prowling in the vicinity, with his pistols at his -belt and his trousers thrust into his boots. ’Ntoni became quite calm -all of a sudden, and they all stole off silently in the direction of -Vanni Pizzuti’s shop. When they reached the door, now that Don Michele -was no longer near them, ’Ntoni insisted that they should stop and -listen to what he had to say. - -“Did you see where Don Michele was going? and Santuzza said she was -sleepy!” - -“Leave Don Michele alone, can’t you?” said Cin-ghialenta; “that way he -won’t interfere with us.” - -“You’re all a lot of cowards,” said ’Ntoni. - -“You’re afraid of Don Michele.” - -“To-night you’re drunk,” said Cinghialenta, “but I’ll show you whether -I’m afraid of Don Michele. Now that I’ve told my uncle, I don’t mean -to have anybody coming bothering after me, finding out how I earn my -bread.” - -Then they began to talk under their breath, drawn up against the wall, -while the noise of the rain drowned their voices. Suddenly the clock -struck, and they all stood silent, counting the strokes. - -“Let’s go into Cousin Pizzuti’s,” said Cinghialenta. “He can keep his -door open as late as he likes, and doesn’t need to have a light.” - -“It’s dark, I can’t see,” said La Locca’s son. - -“We ought to take something to drink,” said Rocco Spatu, “or we shall -break our noses on the rocks.” - -Cinghialenta growled: “As if we were just out for our pleasure! Now -you’ll be wanting Master Vanni to give you a lemonade.” - -“I have no need of lemonade,” said ’Ntoni. “You’ll see when I get to -work if I can’t manage as well as any of you.” - -Cousin Pizzuti didn’t want to open the door at that hour, and replied -that he had gone to bed; but as they wouldn’t leave off knocking, and -threatened to wake up the whole place and bring the guards into the -affair, he consented to get up, and opened the door, in his drawers. - -“Are you mad, to knock in that way?” he exclaimed. “I saw Don Michele -pass just now.” - -“Yes; we saw him too.” - -“Do you know where he came from?” asked Pizzuti, looking sharply at him. - -’Ntoni shrugged his shoulders; and Vanni, as he stood out of the way -to let them pass, winked to Rocco and Cinghialenta. “He’s been at the -Malavoglia’s,” he whispered. “I saw him come out.” - -“Much good may it do him!” answered Cinghialenta; “but ’Ntoni ought to -tell his sister to keep him when we have anything to do.” - -“What do you want of me?” said ’Ntoni, thickly. - -“Nothing to-night. Never mind. To-night we can do nothing.” - -“If we can do nothing to-night, why did you bring me away from the -tavern?” said Rocco Spatu. “I’m wet through.” - -“It was something else that we were speaking of;” and Vanni continued: -“Yes, the man has come from town, and he says the goods are there, but -it will be no joke trying to land them in such weather as this.” - -“So much the better; no one will be looking out for us.” - -“Yes, but the guards have sharp ears, and mind you, it seems to me that -I heard some one prowling about just now, and trying to look into the -shop.” - -A moment’s silence ensued, and Vanni, to put an end to it, brought out -three glasses and filled them with bitters. - -“I don’t care about the guard!” cried Rocco Spatu, after he had drunk. -“So much the worse for them if they meddle in my business. I’ve got a -little knife here that is better than all their pistols, and makes no -noise, either.” - -“We earn our bread the best way we can,” said Cinghialenta, “and don’t -want to do anybody harm. Isn’t one to get one’s goods on shore where one -likes?” - -“They go swaggering about, a lot of thieves, making us pay double for -every handkerchief that we want to land, and nobody shoots them,” added -’Ntoni Malavoglia. “Do you know what Don Giammaria said? That to rob -thieves was not stealing. And the worst of thieves are those fellows in -uniform, who eat us up alive.” - -“I’ll mash them into pulp!” concluded Rocco Spatu, with his eyes shining -like a cat’s. - -But this conversation did not please La Locca’s son at all, and he set -his glass down again without drinking, white as a corpse. - -“Are you drunk already?” asked Cinghialenta. - -“No,” he replied, “I did not drink.” - -“Come into the open air; it will do us all good. Good-night.” - -“One moment,” cried Pizzuti, with the door in his hand. “I don’t mean -for the money for the bitters; that I have given you freely, because -you are my friends; but listen, between ourselves, eh? If you are -successful, mind, I am here, and my house. You know I’ve a room at the -back, big enough to hold a ship-load of goods, and nobody likely to -think of it, for Don Michele and his guards are hand-and-glove with me. -I don’t trust Cousin Goosefoot; the last time he threw me over, and put -everything into Don Silvestro’s house. Don Silvestro is never contented -with a reasonable profit, but asks an awful price, on the ground that -he risks his place; but I have no such motive, and I ask no more than -is reasonable. And I never refused Goosefoot his percentage, either, and -give him his drinks free, and shave him for nothing. But, the devil take -him! if he plays me such a trick again I’ll show him that I am not to be -fooled in that way. I’ll go to Don Michele and blow the whole business.” - -“How it rains!” said Spatu. “Isn’t it going to leave off to-night?” - -“With this weather there’ll be no one at the Rotolo,” said La Locca’s -son. “Wouldn’t it be better to go home?” - -’Ntoni, Rocco, and Cinghialenta, who stood on the door-step listening -in silence to the rain, which hissed like fish in the frying-pan, -stopped a moment, looking into the darkness. - -“Be still, you fool!” cried Cinghialenta, and Vanni Pizzuti closed the -door softly, after adding, in an undertone: - -“Listen. If anything happens, you did not see me this evening. The -bitters I gave you out of good-will, but you haven’t been in my house. -Don’t betray me; I am alone in the world.” - -The others went off surlily, close to the wall, in the rain. “And that -one, too!” muttered Cinghialenta. “And he’s to get off because he has -nobody in the world, and abuses Goosefoot. At least Goosefoot has a -wife. And I have a wife, too. But the balls are good enough for me.” - -Just then they passed, very softly, before Cousin Anna’s closed door, -and Rocco Spatu murmured that he had his mother, too, who was at that -moment fast asleep, luckily for her. “Whoever can stay between the -sheets in this weather isn’t likely to be about, certainly,” concluded -Cousin Cinghialenta. - -’Ntoni signed to them to be quiet, and to turn down by the alley, so -as not to pass before his own door, where Mena or his grandfather might -be watching for him, and might hear them. - -Mena was, in truth, watching for her brother behind the door, with her -rosary in her hand; and Lia, too, without saying why she was there, but -pale as the dead. And better would it have been for them all if ’Ntoni -had passed by the black street, instead of going round by the alley. Don -Michele had really been there a little after sunset, and had knocked at -the door. - -“Who comes at this hour?” said Lia, who was hemming on the sly a certain -silk kerchief which Don Michele had at last succeeded in inducing her to -accept. - -“It is I, Don Michele. Open the door; I must speak to you; it is most -important.” - -“I can’t open the door. They are all in bed but my sister, who is -watching for my brother ’Ntoni.” - -“If your sister does hear you open the door it is no matter. It is -precisely of ’Ntoni I wish to speak, and it is most important. I don’t -want your brother to go to the galleys. But open the door; if they see -me here I shall lose my place.” - -“O blessed Virgin!” cried the girl. “O blessed Virgin Mary!” - -“Lock him into the house to-night when he comes back. But don’t tell him -I told you to. Tell him he must not go out. He must not!” - -“O Virgin Mary! O blessed Mary!” repeated Lia, with folded hands. - -“He is at the tavern now, but he must pass this way. Wait for him at the -door, or it will be the worse for him.” - -Lia wept silently, lest her sister should hear her, with her face hidden -in her hands, and Don Michele watched her, with his pistols in his belt, -and his trousers thrust into his boots. - -“There is no one who weeps for me or watches for me this night, Cousin -Lia, but I, too, am in danger, like your brother; and if any misfortune -should happen to me, think how I came to-night to warn you, and how I -have risked my bread for you more than once.” - -Then Lia lifted up her face, and looked at Don Michele with her large -tearful eyes. “God reward you for your charity, Don Michele!” - -“I haven’t done it for reward, Cousin Lia; I have done it for you, and -for the love I bear to you.” - -“Now go, for they are all asleep. Go, for the love of God, Don Michele!” - -And Don Michele went, and she stayed by the door, weeping and praying -that God would send her brother that way. But the Lord did not send him -that way. All four of them--’Ntoni, Cinghialenta, Rocco Spatu, and -the son of La Locca--went softly along the wall of the alley; and when -they came out upon the down they took off their shoes and carried them -in their hands, and stood still to listen. - -“I hear nothing,” said Cinghialenta. - -The rain continued to fall, and from the top of the cliff nothing could -be heard save the moaning of the sea below. - -“One can’t even see to swear,” said Rocco Spatu. “How will they manage -to climb the cliff in this darkness?” - -“They all know the coast, foot by foot, with their eyes shut. They are -old hands,” replied Cinghialenta. - -“But I hear nothing,” observed ’Ntoni. - -“It’s a fact, we can hear nothing,” said Cinghialenta, “but they must -have been there below for some time.” - -“Then we had better go home,” said the son of La Locca. - -“Since you’ve eaten and drunk, you think of nothing but getting home -again, but if you don’t be quiet I’ll kick you into the sea,” said -Cinghialenta to him. - -“The fact is,” said Rocco, “that I find it a bore to spend the night -here doing nothing. Now we will try if they are here or not.” And he -began to hoot like an owl. - -“If Don Michele’s guard hears that they will be down on us directly, for -on these wet nights the owls don’t fly.” - -“Then we had better go,” whined La Locca’s son, but nobody answered him. - -All four looked in each other’s faces though they could see nothing, and -thought of what Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni had just said. - -“What shall we do?” asked La Locca’s son. - -“Let’s go down to the road; if they are not there we may be sure they -have not come,” suggested Cinghialenta. - -’Ntoni, while they were climbing down, said, “Goosefoot is capable of -selling the lot of us for a glass of wine.” - -“Now you haven’t the glass before you, you’re afraid,” said -Cinghialenta. - -“Come on! the devil take you! I’ll show whether I’m afraid.” - -While they were feeling their way cautiously down, very slowly, for fear -of breaking their necks in the dark, Spatu observed: - -“At this moment Vanni Pizzuti is safe in bed, and he complained of -Goosefoot for getting his percentage for nothing.” - -“Well,” said Cinghialenta, “if you don’t want to risk your lives, stay -at home and go to bed.” - -’Ntoni, reaching down with his hands to feel where he should set his -foot, could not help thinking that Master Cinghialenta would have done -better not to say that, because it brought to each the image of his -house, and his bed, and Mena dozing behind the door. That big tipsy -brute, Rocco Spatu, said at last, “Our lives are not worth a copper.” - -“Who goes there?” they heard some one call out, all at once, behind the -wall of the high-road. “Stop! stop! all of you!” - -“Treachery! treachery!” they began to cry out, rushing off over the -cliffs without heeding where they went. - -But ’Ntoni, who had already climbed over the wall, found himself face -to face with Don Michele, who had his pistol in his hand. - -“Blood of Our Lady!” cried Malavoglia, pulling out his knife. “I’ll show -you whether I’m afraid of your pistol!” - -Don Michele’s pistol went off in the air, but he himself fell like a -bull, stabbed in the chest. ’Ntoni tried to escape, leaping from rock -to rock like a goat, but the guards caught up with him, while the balls -rattled about like hail, and threw him on the ground. - -“Now what will become of my mother?” whined La Locca’s son, while they -tied him up like a trussed chicken. - -“Don’t pull so tight!” shouted ’Ntoni. “Don’t you see I can’t move?” - -“Go on, go on, Malavoglia; your hash is settled once for all,” they -answered, driving him before them with the butts of their muskets. - -While they led him up to the barracks tied up like Our Lord himself, and -worse, and carried Don Michele too, on their shoulders, he looked here -and there for Rocco Spatu and Cinghialenta. “They have got off!” he said -to himself. “They have nothing more to dread, but are as safe as Vanni -Pizzuti and Goosefoot are, between their sheets. Only at my house no one -will sleep, now they have heard the shots.” - -In fact, those poor things did not sleep, but stood at the door and -watched in the rain, as if their hearts had told them what had happened; -while the neighbors, hearing the shots, turned sleepily over in their -beds and muttered, yawning, “We shall know to-morrow what has happened.” - Very late when the day was breaking, a crowd gathered in front of -Vanni Pizzuti’s shop, where the light was burning and there was a great -chattering. - -“They have caught the smuggled goods and the smugglers too,” recounted -Pizzuti, “and Don Michele has been stabbed.” - -People looked at the Malavoglia’s door, and pointed with their fingers. -At last came their cousin Anna, with her hair loose, white as a sheet, -and knew not what to say. Padron ’Ntoni, as if he knew what was -coming, asked, “’Ntoni, where’s ’Ntoni?” - -“He’s been caught smuggling; he was arrested last night with La Locca’s -son,” replied poor Cousin Anna, who had fairly lost her head. “And they -have killed Don Michele.” - -“Holy Mother!” cried the old man, with his hands to his head; and Lia, -too, was tearing her hair. Padron ’Ntoni, holding his head with both -hands, went on repeating, “Ah, Mother! Ah, Mother, Mother!” - -Later on Goosefoot came, with a face full of trouble, smiting his -forehead. “Oh, Padron ’Ntoni, have you heard? What a misfortune! I -felt like a wet rag when I heard it.” - -Cousin Grace, his wife, really cried, poor woman, for her heart ached to -see how misfortunes rained upon those poor Malavoglia. - -“What are you doing here?” asked her husband, under his breath, drawing -her away from the window. “It is no business of yours. Now it isn’t safe -to come to this house; one might get mixed up in some scrape with the -police.” - -For which reason nobody came near the Malavoglia’s door. Only Nunziata, -as soon as she heard of their trouble, had confided the little ones to -their eldest brother, and her house door to her next neighbor, and went -off to her friend Mena to weep with her; but then she was still such a -child! The others stood afar off in the street staring, or went to the -barracks, crowding like flies, to see how Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni -looked behind the grating, after having stabbed Don Michele; or else -they filled Pizzuti’s shop, where he sold bitters, and was always -shaving somebody, while he told the whole story of the night before, -word for word. - -“The fools!” cried the druggist, “the fools, to let themselves be -taken.” - -“It will be an ugly business for them,” added Don Silvestro; “the razor -itself couldn’t save them from the galleys.” - -And Don Giammaria went up close to him and said under his nose: - -“Everybody that ought to be at the galleys doesn’t go there!” - -“By no means everybody,” answered Don Silvestro, turning red with fury. - -“Nowadays,” said Padron Cipolla, yellow with bile, “the real thieves -rob one of one’s goods at noonday and in the middle of the piazza. They -thrust themselves into one’s house by force, but they break open neither -doors nor windows.” - -“Just as ’Ntoni Malavoglia wanted to do in my house,” added La -Zuppidda, sitting down on the wall with her distaff to spin hemp. - -“What I always said to you, peace of the angels!” said her husband. - -“You hold your tongue, you know nothing about it! Just think what a day -this would have been for my daughter Barbara if I hadn’t looked out for -her!” - -Her daughter Barbara stood at the window to see how Padron ’Ntoni’s -’Ntoni looked in the middle of the police when they carried him to -town. - -“He’ll never get out,” they all said. “Do you know what there is written -on the prison at Palermo? ‘Do what you will, here you’ll come at last,’ -and ‘As you make your bed, you must lie down.’ Poor devils!” - -“Good people don’t get into such scrapes,” screamed Vespa. “Evil -comes to those who go to seek it. Look at the people who take to that -trade--always some scamp like La Locca’s son or Malavoglia, who won’t do -any honest work.” And they all said yes, that if any one had such a son -as that it was better that the house should fall on him. Only La Locca -went in search of her son, and stood screaming in front of the barracks -of the guards, saying that she would have him, and not listening to -reason; and when she went off to plague her brother Dumb-bell, and -planted herself on the steps of his house, for hours at a time, with her -white hair streaming in the wind, Uncle Crucifix only answered her: “I -have the galleys at home here! I wish I were in your son’s place! What -do you come to me for? And he didn’t give you bread to eat either.” - -“La Locca will gain by it,” said Don Silvestro; “now that she has no one -to work for her, they will take her in at the poor-house, and she will -be well fed every day in the week. If not, she will be left to the -chanty of the commune.” - -And as they wound up by saying, “Who sows the wind will reap the -whirlwind,” Padron Fortunato added: “And it is a good thing for Padron -’Ntoni too. Do you think that good-for-nothing grandson of his did not -cost him a lot of money? I know what it is to have a son like that. Now -the King must maintain him.” - -But Padron ’Ntoni, instead of thinking of saving those soldi, now -that his grandson was no longer likely to spend them for him, kept -on flinging them after him, with lawyers and notaries and the rest of -it--those soldi which had cost so much labor, and had been destined for -the house by the medlar-tree. - -“Now we do not need the house nor anything else,” said he, with a face -as pale as ’Ntoni’s own when they had taken him away to town, with his -hands tied, and under his arm the little bundle of shirts which Mena -had brought to him with so many tears at night when no one saw her. -The whole town went to see him go in the middle of the police. His -grandfather had gone off to the advocate--the one who talked so -much--for since he had seen Don Michele, also, pass by in the carriage -on his way to the hospital, as yellow as a guinea, and with his uniform -unbuttoned, he was frightened, poor old man, and did not stop to find -fault with the lawyer’s chatter as long as he would promise to untie his -grandson’s hands and let him come home again; for it seemed to him that -after this earthquake ’Ntoni would come home again, and stay with them -always, as he had done when he was a child. - -Don Silvestro had done him the kindness to go with him to the lawyer, -because, he said, that when such a misfortune as had happened to the -Malavoglia happened to any Christian, one should aid one’s neighbor with -hands, and feet too, even if it were a wretch fit only for the galleys, -and do one’s best to take him out of the hands of justice, for that was -why we were Christians, that we should help our neighbors when they need -it. The advocate, when he had heard the story, and it had been explained -to him by Don Silvestro, said that it was a very good case, “a case for -the galleys certainly”--and he rubbed his hands--“if they hadn’t come to -him.” - -Padron ’Ntoni turned as white as a sheet when he heard of the galleys, -but the advocate clapped him on the shoulder and told him not to be -frightened, that he was no lawyer if he couldn’t get him off with four -or five years’ imprisonment. - -“What did the advocate say?” asked Mena, as she saw her grandfather -return with that pale face, and began to cry before she could hear the -answer. - -The old man walked up and down the house like a madman, saying, “Ah, why -did we not all die first?” Lia, white as her smock, looked from one to -the other with wide dry eyes, unable to speak a word. - -A little while after came the summonses as witnesses to Barbara Zuppidda -and Grazia Goosefoot and Don Franco, the druggist, and all those who -were wont to stand chattering in his shop and in that of Vanni Pizzuti, -the barber; so that the whole place was upset by them, and the people -crowded the piazza with the stamped papers in their hands, and swore -that they knew nothing about it, as true as God was in heaven, because -they did not want to get mixed up with the tribunals. Cursed be ’Ntoni -and all the Malavoglia, who pulled them by the hair into their scrapes. -The Zuppidda screamed as if she had been possessed. “I know nothing -about it; at the Ave Maria I shut myself into my house, and I am not -like those who go wandering about after such work as we know of, or who -stand at the doors to talk with spies.” - -“Beware of the Government,” added Don Franco. “They know that I am a -republican, and they would be very glad to get a chance to sweep me off -the face of the earth.” - -Everybody beat their brains to find out what the Zuppidda and Cousin -Grace and the rest of them could have to say as witnesses on the trial, -for they had seen nothing, and had only heard the shots when they were -in bed, between sleeping and waking. But Don Silvestro rubbed his hands -like the lawyer, and said that he knew because he had pointed them out -to the lawyer, and that it was much better for the lawyer that he had. -Every time that the lawyer went to talk with ’Ntoni Malavoglia Don -Silvestro went with him to the prison if he had nothing else to do; and -nobody went at that time to the Council, and the olives were gathered. -Padron ’Ntoni had also tried to go two or three times, but whenever he -got in front of those barred windows and the soldiers who were on guard -before them, he turned sick and faint, and stayed waiting for them -outside, sitting on the pavement among the people who sold chestnuts -and Indian figs; it did not seem possible to him that his ’Ntoni could -really be there behind those grated windows, with the soldiers guarding -him. The lawyer came back from talking with ’Ntoni, fresh as a rose, -rubbing his hands, and saying that his grandson was quite well, indeed -that he was growing fat. Then it seemed to the poor old man that his -grandson was with the soldiers. - -“Why don’t they let him go?” he asked over and over again, like a parrot -or like a child, and kept on asking, too, if his hands were always tied. - -“Leave him where he is,” said Doctor Scipione. “In these cases it is -better to let some time pass first. Meanwhile he wants for nothing, as -I told you, and is growing quite fat. Things are going very well. Don -Michele has nearly recovered from his wound, and that also is a very -good thing for us. Go back to your boat, I tell you; this is my affair.” - -“But I can’t go back to the boat, now ’Ntoni is in prison--I can’t -go back! Everybody looks at me when I pass, and besides, my head isn’t -right, with ’Ntoni in prison.” - -And he went on repeating the same thing, while the money ran away like -water, and all his people stayed in the house as if they were hiding, -and never opened the door. - -At last the day of trial arrived, and those who had been summoned -as witnesses had to go--on their own feet if they did not wish to be -carried by force by the carbineers. Even Don Franco went, and changed -his ugly hat, to appear before the majesty of justice to better -advantage, but he was as pale as ’Ntoni Malavoglia himself, who stood -inside the bars like a wild beast, with the carbineers on each side of -him. Don Franco had never before had anything to do with the law, and -he trembled all over at the idea of going into the midst of all those -judges and spies and policemen, who would catch a man and put him in -there behind the bars like ’Ntoni Malavoglia before he could wink. - -The whole village had gone out to see what kind of a figure Padron -’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni would make behind the bars in the middle of the -carbineers, yellow as a tallow-candle, not daring to look up for fear -of seeing all those eyes of friends and acquaintances fixed upon him, -turning his cap over and over in his hands while the president, in his -long black robe and with napkin under his chin, went on reading a long -list of the iniquities which he had committed from the paper where they -were written down in black and white. Don Michele was there too, also -looking yellow and ill, sitting in a chair opposite to the “Jews” (as -they would call the jury), who kept on yawning and fanning themselves -with their handkerchiefs. Meanwhile the advocate kept on chatting with -his next neighbor as if the affair were no concern of his. - -“This time,” murmured the Zuppidda in the ear of the person next -her, listening to all those awful things that ’Ntoni had done, “he -certainly won’t get off the galleys.” - -Santuzza was there too, to say where ’Ntoni had been, and how he had -passed that evening. - -“Now I wonder what they’ll ask Santuzza,” murmured the Zuppidda. -“I can’t think how she’ll answer so as not to bring out all her own -villanies.” - -“But what is it they want of us?” asked Cousin Grazia. - -“They want to know if it is true that Don Michele had an understanding -with Lia, and if ’Ntoni did not stab him because of that; the advocate -told me.” - -“Confound you!” whispered the druggist, furiously, “do you all want to -go to the galleys? Don’t you know that before the law you must always -say no, and that we know nothing at all?” - -Cousin Venera wrapped herself in her mantle, but went on muttering: “It -is the truth. I saw them with my own eyes, and all the town knows it.” - -That morning at the Malavoglia’s house there had been a terrible scene -when the grandfather, seeing the whole place go off to see ’Ntoni -tried, started to go after them. - -Lia, with tumbled hair, wild eyes, and her chin trembling like a baby’s, -wanted to go too, and went about the house looking for her mantle -without speaking, but with pale face and trembling hands. - -Mena caught her by those hands, saying, pale as death herself, “No! you -must not go--you must not go!” and nothing else. The grandfather added -that they must stay at home and pray to the Madonna; and they wept so -that they were heard all the length of the black street. The poor old -man had hardly reached the town when, hidden at a corner, he saw his -grandson pass among the carbineers, and with trembling limbs went to sit -on the steps of the court-house, where every one passed him going up and -down on his business. Then it came over him that all those people were -going to hear his grandson condemned, and it seemed to him as if he were -leaving him alone in the piazza surrounded by enemies, or out at sea -in a hurricane, and so he, too, amid the crowd, went up the stairs, and -strove, by rising on his tiptoes, to see through the grating and past -the shining bayonets of the carbineers. ’Ntoni, however, he could not -see, surrounded as he was by such a crowd of people; and more than ever -it seemed to the poor old man that his grandson was one of the soldiers. - -Meanwhile the advocate talked and talked and talked, until it seemed -that his flood of words ran like the pulley of a well, up and down, -up and down, without ceasing. No, he said; no, it was not true that -’Ntoni Malavoglia had been guilty of all those crimes. The president -had gone about raking up all sorts of stories--that was his business, -and he had nothing to do but to get poor helpless fellows into scrapes. -But, after all, what did the president know about it? Had he been there, -that rainy night, in the pitch darkness, to see what ’Ntoni Malavoglia -was about? “In the poor man’s house he alone is in the wrong, and the -gallows is for the unlucky.” The president went on looking at him calmly -with his eye-glasses, leaning his elbows on his papers. Doctor Scipione -went on asking where were the goods, who had seen the goods that was -what he wanted to know; and since how long had honest men been forbidden -to walk about at whatever hour they liked, especially when they had a -little too much wine in their heads to get rid of. - -Padron ’Ntoni nodded his head at this, or said, “Yes, yes,” with tears -in his eyes, and would have liked to hug the advocate, who had called -’Ntoni a blockhead. Suddenly he lifted his head. That was good; what -the lawyer had just said was worth of itself fifty francs. He said that -since they wanted to drive them to the wall, and to prove plain as two -and two make four that they had caught ’Ntoni Malavoglia in the act, -with the knife in his hand, and had brought Don Michele there before -them with his stupid face, well, then, “How are you to prove that it was -’Ntoni Malavoglia who stabbed him? Who knows that it was he? Who can -tell that Don Michele didn’t stab himself on purpose to send ’Ntoni -Malavoglia to the galleys? Do you really want to know the truth? -Smuggled goods had nothing to do with it. Between ’Ntoni Malavoglia -and Don Michele there was an old quarrel--a quarrel about a woman.” And -Padron ’Ntoni nodded again in assent, for didn’t everybody know, and -wasn’t he ready to swear before the crucifix, too, that Don Michele was -furious with jealousy of ’Ntoni since Santuzza had taken a fancy to -him, and then meeting Don Michele by night, and after the boy had been -drinking, too? One knows how it is when one’s eyes are clouded with -drink. The advocate continued: - -“You may ask the Zuppidda, and Dame Grazia, and a dozen more witnesses, -if it is not true that Don Michele had an understanding with Lia, -’Ntoni Malavoglia’s sister, and he was always prowling about the black -street in the evening after the girl. They saw him there the very night -on which he was stabbed.” - -Padron ’Ntoni heard no more, for his ears began to ring, and at that -moment he caught sight of ’Ntoni, who had sprung up behind the bars, -tearing his cap like a madman, and shaking his head violently, with -flashing eyes, and trying to make himself heard. The by-standers took -the old man out, supposing that he had had a stroke, and the guards -laid him on a bench in the witnesses’ room and threw water in his face. -Later, while they were taking him down-stairs tottering and clinging -to their arms, the crowd came pouring out like a torrent, and they were -heard to say, “They have condemned him to five years in irons.” At that -moment ’Ntoni came out himself, deadly pale, handcuffed, in the midst -of the carbineers. - -Cousin Grazia went off home, running, and reached there sooner than the -others, panting with speed, for ill news always comes on wings. Hardly -had she caught sight of Lia, who stood waiting at the door like a soul -in purgatory, than she caught her by both hands, exclaiming: “Wretched -girl! what have you done? They have told the judge that you had an -understanding with Don Michele, and your grandfather had a stroke when -he heard it.” Lia answered not a word any more than if she had not heard -or did not care. She only stared with wide eyes and open mouth. At last -she sank slowly down upon a chair, as if she had lost the use of her -limbs. So she remained for many minutes without motion or speech, while -Cousin Grazia threw water in her face until she began to stammer, “I -can’t stay here! I must go--I must go away!” Her sister followed her -about the room, weeping and trying to catch her by the hands, while she -went on saying to the cupboard and to the chairs, like a mad creature, -“I must go!” - -In the evening, when her grandfather was brought home on a cart, and -Mena, careless now whether she were seen or not, went out to meet him, -Lia went first into the court and then into the street, and then went -away altogether, and nobody ever saw her any more. - - - - -XV. - - -|People said that Lia was gone to live with Don Michele; that the -Malavoglia, after all, had nothing left to lose, and Don Michele would -give her bread to eat. Padron ’Ntoni was of no use to anybody any -more. He did nothing but wander about, bent almost double, and uttering -at intervals proverbs without sense or meaning, like, “A hatchet for the -fallen tree”; “Who falls in the water gets wet”; “The thinnest horse -has the most flies”; and when they asked him why he was always wandering -about, he said, “Hunger drives the wolf out of the wood,” or, “The -hungry dog fears not the stick,” but no one asked how he was, or seemed -to care about him, now he was reduced to such a condition. They teased -him, and asked him why he stood waiting with his back against the -church-tower, like Uncle Crucifix when he had money to lend; or sitting -under the boats which were drawn up on the sand, as if he had Padron -Fortunato’s bark out at sea. And Padron ’Ntoni replied that he was -waiting for Death, who would not come to take him, for “Long are the -days of the unhappy.” No one in the house ever spoke of Lia, not even -Sant’Agata, who, if she wished to relieve her feelings, went and wept -beside her mother’s bed when she was alone in the house. Now this house, -too, had become as wide as the sea, and they were lost in it. The money -was gone with ’Ntoni, Alessio was always away here or there at work, -and Nunziata used to be charitable enough to come and kindle the -fire when Mena used to have to go out towards evening and lead her -grandfather home in the dusk, because he was half blind. Don Silvestro -and others in the place said that Alessio would do better to send -his grandfather to the poor-house, now that he was of no more use -to anybody; but that was the only thing that frightened the poor old -fellow. Every time that Mena led him out by the hand in the morning to -take him where the sun shone, “to wait for Death,” he thought that they -were leading him to the poor-house, so silly was he grown, and he went -on stammering, “But will Death never come?” so that some people used to -ask him, laughing, where he thought Death had gone. - -Alessio came back every Saturday night and brought all his money and -counted it out to his grandfather, as if he had still been reasonable. -He always replied, “Yes, yes,” and nodded his head, and they always had -to hide the little sum under the mattress, in the old place, and told -him, to please him, that they were putting it away to buy back the house -by the medlar-tree, and that in a year or two they should have enough. -But then the old man shook his head obstinately, and replied that now -they did not need the house, and that it would have been better if there -had never been the house of the Malavoglia, now that the Malavoglia were -all scattered here and there. Once he called Nunziata aside under -the almond-tree, when no one was by, and seemed to be anxious to say -something very important; but he moved his lips without speaking, and -seemed to be seeking for words, looking from side to side. “Is it true -what they say about Lia?” he said at last. - -“No,” replied Nunziata, crossing her hands on her breast, “no; by the -Madonna of Ognino, it is not true!” - -He began to shake his head, with his chin sunk on his breast. “Then why -has she run away, too? Why has she run away?” - -And he went about the house looking for her, pretending to have lost -his cap, touching the bed and the cupboard, and sitting down at the loom -without speaking. “Do you know,” he asked after a while--“do you know -where she is gone?” But to Mena he said nothing. Nunziata really did not -know where she was, nor did any one else in the place. - -One evening there came and stopped in the black street Alfio Mosca, with -the cart, to which was now harnessed a mule; and he had had the fever at -Bicocca and had nearly died, so that his face was yellow as saffron, and -he had lost his fine, straight figure, but the mule was fat and shining. - -“Do you remember when I went away to Bicocca?--when you were still in -the house by the medlar?” he asked. “Now everything is changed, for ‘the -world is round, some swim and some are drowned.’” This time they had not -even a glass of wine to offer him in welcome. - -Cousin Alfio knew where Lia was--he had seen her with his own eyes, -looking just as Cousin Mena used to when she used to come to her window -and he talked to her from his. For which reason he sat still, looking -from one thing to another, looking at the furniture and at the walls, -and feeling as if the loaded cart were lying on his breast, while he -sat without speaking beside the empty table, to which they no longer sat -down to eat the evening meal. - -“Now I must go,” he repeated, finding that no one spoke to him. “When -one has left one’s home it is better never to come back, for everything -changes while one is away, and even the faces that meet one are changed, -so that one feels like a stranger.” - -Mena continued silent. Meanwhile Alessio began to tell him how he had -made up his mind to marry Nunziata as soon as he had put together a -little money, and Alfio replied that he was quite right, if Nunziata had -also saved a little money, for that she was a good girl, and everybody -knew her in the place. So even do our nearest and dearest forget us when -we are no longer here, and each thinks of his own affairs and of bearing -the burden which God has given him, like Alfio Mosca’s ass, poor beast, -who was sold, and gone no one knew where. - -Nunziata had her own dowry by this time, for her brothers were growing -big enough to earn their own bread, and even to put by now and then a -soldo; and she had never bought jewellery or good clothes for herself, -for, she said, gold was for rich people, and white clothes it was -nonsense to buy while she was still growing. - -By this time she was grown up, a tall, slight girl with black hair and -deep sweet eyes, that had never lost the look they wore when she found -herself deserted by her father, with all her little brothers on her -hands, whom she had reared through all those years of care and trouble. -Seeing how she had pulled through all these troubles--she and her -little brothers, and she a slip of a thing “no bigger than the -broom-handle”--every one was glad to speak to her and to notice her -if they met her in the street. “The money we have,” she said to Cousin -Alfio, who was almost like a relation, they had known him so long. “At -All Saints my eldest brother is going to Master Filippo as hired man, -and the second to Padron Cipolla, in his place. When we have found a -place for Turi I shall marry, but I must wait until I am older and my -father gives his consent.” - -“But your father doesn’t even think whether you are alive or dead,” said -Alfio. - -“If he were to come back now,” said Nunziata, calmly, in her sweet -voice, sitting quietly with her hands on her knees, “he would stay, -because now we have some money.” - -Then Cousin Alfio repeated to Alessio that he would do well to marry -Nunziata, now that she had money. - -“We shall buy back the house by the medlar,” added Alessio; “and -grandfather will live with us. When the others come back they will live -there too, and if Nunziata’s father comes, there will also be room for -him.” - -No one spoke of Lia, but they all thought of her as they sat with arms -on their knees, looking into the moonlight. - -Finally Cousin Mosca got up to go, because his mule shook his bells -impatiently, almost as if he had known who it was whom Cousin Alfio had -met, and whom they did not expect, at the house by the medlar-tree. - -Uncle Crucifix expected that the Malavoglia would come to him about that -house by the medlar, which had been lying all this time on his hands as -if nobody cared to have it; so that he had no sooner heard that Alfio -Mosca was come back to the place than he went after him to ask him -to speak to the Malavoglia and induce them to settle the affair, -forgetting, apparently, that he had been so jealous of Alfio Mosca, when -he went away, that he had wished to break his ribs with a big stick. - -“Listen, Cousin Alfio,” said Dumb-bell. “If you’ll arrange that affair -of the house with the Malavoglia, when they have the money, I’ll give -you enough to pay for the shoes you’ll wear out going between us.” - -Cousin Alfio went to speak to the Malavoglia, but Padron ’Ntoni shook -his head and said, “No; now we should not know what to do with the -house, for Mena is not likely to marry, and there are no Malavoglia -left. I am still here, because the afflicted have long lives. But when -I am gone Alessio will marry Nunziata, and they will go away from the -place.” - -He, too was going away. The greater part of the time he passed in bed, -like a crab under the pebbles, crying out with pain. “What have I to do -here?” he stammered, and he felt as if he was robbing them of the -food they gave him. In vain did Mena and Alessio seek to persuade him -otherwise. He repeated that he was robbing them of their food and of -their time, and made them count the money hidden under the mattress, and -if it grew less, he muttered: “At least if I were not here you would not -need to spend so much. There is nothing left for me to do here, and it -is time I was gone.” - -The doctor, who came to feel his pulse, said that it was better they -should take him to the hospital, for where he was he wore out his own -life, and theirs too, to no purpose. Meanwhile the poor old man looked -from one to the other trying to guess what was said, with sad faded -eyes, trembling lest they should send him to the poor-house. Alessio -would not hear of sending him to the poor-house, and said that while -there was bread for any of them, there was for all; and Mena, for her -part, also said no, and took him out into the sun on fine days, and sat -down by him with her distaff, telling him stories as she would have done -to a child, and spinning, when she was not obliged to go to wash. She -talked to him also of what they would do if any little providential -fortune were to happen to them, to comfort him, telling him how they -would buy a calf at Saint Sebastian, and how she would be able to cut -grass enough to feed it through the winter. In May they would sell it -again at a profit; and she showed him the brood of chickens she had, -and how they came picking about their feet as they sat in the sun and -rolling in the dust of the street. With the money they would get for the -chickens they would buy a pig, so as not to lose the fig-peelings or the -water in which the macaroni had been boiled, and at the end of the year -it would be as if they had been putting money in a money-box. The old -man, with his hands on his stick, gave approving nods, looking at the -chickens. He listened so attentively that at last he got so far as to -say that if they had got back the house by the medlar they could have -kept the pig in the court, and that it would bring a certain profit with -Cousin Naso. At the house by the medlar-tree there was also the stable -for the calf, and the shed for the hay, and everything. He went on, -recalling one thing after another, looking about him with sunken eyes -and his chin upon his stick. Then he would ask his granddaughter under -his breath, “What was it the doctor said about the hospital?” - -And Mena would scold him as if he were a child, saying to him, “Why do -you think about such things?” - -He was silent, and listened quietly to all she said. But then he -repeated, “Don’t send me to the hospital, I’m not used to it.” - -At last he ceased to get out of bed, and the doctor said that it was all -over with him, and that he could do no more, but that he might live like -that for years, and that Alessio and Mena, and Nunzi-ata, too, would -have to give up their day’s work to take care of him; for that if there -were not some one near him the pigs might eat him up if the door were -left open. - -Padron ’Ntoni understood quite well what was said, for he looked at -their faces one after another with eyes that it would break one’s heart -to see; and the doctor was still standing on the door-step with Mena, -who was weeping, and Alessio, who said no, and stamped and stormed when -he signed to Nunziata to come near him, and whispered to her: - -“It will be better to send me to the hospital; here, I am eating them -out of house and home. Send me away some day when Mena and Alessio -are gone out. They say no, because they have the good heart of the -Malavoglia, but I am eating up the money which should be put away for -the house; and then the doctor said that I might live like this for -years, and there is nothing here for me to do. But I don’t want to live -for years down there at the hospital.” - -Nunziata began to cry, and she also said no, until all the neighborhood -cried out upon them for being proud, when they hadn’t bread to eat. They -ashamed to send their grandfather to the hospital, when the rest were -scattered about here and there, and in such places, too! - -So it went on, over and over, and the doctor kept on saying that it was -of no use, his coming and going for nothing; and when the gossips came -to stand round the old man’s bed, Cousin Grazia, or Anna, or Nunziata, -he went on saying that the fleas were eating him up. Padron ’Ntoni did -not dare to open his mouth, but lay there still, worn and pale. And as -the gossips went on talking among themselves, and even Nunziata could -not answer them, one day when Alessio was not there he said, at last: - -“Go and call Cousin Alfio Mosca, that he may do me the charity to carry -me to the hospital in his cart.” - -So Padron ’Ntoni went away to the hospital in Alfio Mosca’s cart--they -had put the mattress and pillows in it--but the poor sick man, although -he said nothing, looked long at everything while they carried him to the -cart one day when Alessio was gone to Riposto, and they had sent Mena -away on some pretext, or they would not have let him go. In the black -street, when they passed before the house by the medlar-tree, and while -they were crossing the piazza, Padron ’Ntoni continued to look about -him as if to fix everything in his memory. Alfio led the mule on -one side, and Nunziata--who had left Turi in charge of the calf, the -turkeys, and the fowls--walked on the other side, with the bundle of -shirts under her arm. Seeing the cart pass, every one came out to look -at it, and watched it until it was out of sight; and Don Silvestro said -that they had done quite right, and that it was for that the commune -paid the rate for the hospital; and Don Franco would also have made his -little speech if Don Silvestro had not been there. “At least that poor -devil will be left in peace,” said Uncle Crucifix. - -“Necessity abases nobility,” said Padron Cipolla, and Santuzza repeated -an Ave Maria for the poor old man. Only the cousin Anna and Cousin Grace -Goosefoot wiped their eyes with their aprons as the cart moved slowly -away, jolting on the stones. But Uncle Tino chid his wife: “What are you -whining about? Am I dead? What is it to you?” - -Alfio Mosca, as he guided the cart, related to Nunziata how and where -he had seen Lia, who was the image of Sant’Agata; and he even yet could -hardly believe that he had really seen her, and his voice was almost -lost as he spoke of it, to while the time, as they walked along the -dusty road. “Ah, Nunziata! who would have thought it when we used to -talk to each other from the doors, and the moon shone, and we heard -the neighbors talking in front, and Sant’Agata’s loom was going all day -long, and those hens that knew her as soon as she opened the door, and -La Longa, who called her from the court, and everything could be heard -in my house as plainly as in theirs. Poor Longa! See, now, that I have -my mule and everything just as I wished, and I wouldn’t have believed it -would have happened if an angel had told me; now I am always thinking of -those old times and the evenings when I heard all your voices when I was -stabling my donkey, and saw the light in the house by the medlar, which -is now shut up, and how when I came back I found nothing as I left it, -and Cousin Mena so changed! When one leaves one’s own place it is better -never to come back. See, I keep thinking, too, about that poor donkey -that worked for me so long, and went on always, rain or shine, with his -bent head and his long ears. Now who knows where they drive him, by what -rough ways, or with what heavy loads, and how his ears hang down lower -than ever, and he snuffs at the earth which will soon cover him, for he -is old, poor beast?” Padron ’Ntoni, stretched on the mattress, heard -nothing, and they had put a covering drawn over canes on the cart, so -that it seemed as if they were carrying a corpse. - -“For him it is best that he should not hear,” continued Cousin Alfio. -“He felt for ’Ntoni’s trouble, and it would be so much worse if he -ever came to hear how Lia has gone.” - -“He asked me about her often when we were alone,” said Nunziata. “He -wanted to know where she was.” - -“She is worse off than her brother is. We, poor things, are like sheep; -we go where we see others go. You must never tell any one, especially -any one in our place, where I saw Lia, for it would kill Sant’Agata. She -recognized me, certainly, when I passed where she stood at the door, -for she turned white and then red, and I whipped my mule to get past as -quick as I could, and I am sure that poor thing would rather have had -the cart go over her, or that I might have been driving her the -corpse that her grandfather seems. Now the family of the Malavoglia is -destroyed, and you and Alessio must bring it up again.” - -“We have the money for the plenishing. At Saint John’s Day we shall sell -the calf.” - -“Bravo! So, when the money is put away there won’t be the chance of -losing it in a day, as you might if the calf happened to die--the Lord -forbid! Here we are at the first houses of the town, and you can wait -for me here if you don’t want to come to the hospital.” - -“No. I want to go too, so at least I shall see where they put him, and -he will have me with him to the last moment.” - -Padron ’Ntoni saw them even to the last moment, and while Nunziata -went away with Alfio Mosca, slowly, slowly, down the long, long room, -that seemed like a church, he accompanied them with his eyes, and then -turned on his side and moved no more. Cousin Alfio and Nunziata rolled -up the mattress and the cover, and got into the cart and drove home over -the long dusty road in silence. - -Alessio beat his head with his fists and tore his hair when he found -his grandfather no longer in his bed, and when they brought home his -mattress rolled up, and raved at Mena as if it had been she who had sent -him away. But Cousin Alfio said to him: “What will you have? The house -of the Malavoglia is destroyed, and you and Nunziata must set it going -again.” - -He wanted to go on talking about the money and about the calf, of which -he and the girl had been talking as they went to town; but Mena and -Alessio would not listen to him, but sat, with their heads in their -hands and eyes full of tears, at the door of the house, where they were -now alone, indeed. Cousin Alfio tried to comfort them by talking of the -old days of the house by the medlar-tree, when they used to talk to each -other from the doors in the moonlight, and how all day long Sant’Agata’s -loom was beating, and the hens were clucking, and they heard the voice -of La Longa, who was always busy. Now everything was changed, and when -one left one’s own place it was best, he said, never to come back; for -even the street was not the same, now there was no one coming there for -the Mangiacarubbe; and even Don Silvestro never was seen waiting for the -Zuppidda to fall at his feet; and Uncle Crucifix was always shut up in -the house looking after his things or quarrelling with Vespa; and even -in the drug shop there wasn’t so much talking since Don Franco had -looked the law in the face and shut himself in to read the paper, and -pounded all his ideas up into his mortar to pass away the time. Even -Padron Cipolla no longer wore out the steps of the church by sitting -there so much since he had had no peace at home. - -One fine day came the news that Padron Fortu-nato was going to be -married, in order that the Mangiacarubbe might not devour his substance -in spite of him, for that he now no longer wore out the church-steps, -but was going to marry Barbara Zuppidda. “And he said matrimony was like -a rat-trap,” growled Uncle Crucifix. “After that I’ll trust nobody.” - -The curious girls said that Barbara was going to marry her grandfather, -but sensible people like Peppi Naso and Goosefoot, and Don Franco, too, -murmured: “Now Venera has got the better of Don Silvestro, and it is -a great blow for Don Sil-vestro, and it would be better if he left the -place. Hang all foreigners! Here no foreigners ever really take root. -Don Silvestro will never dare to measure himself with Padron Cipolla.” - -“What did he think?” screamed Venera, with her hands on her hips--“that -he could starve me into giving him my girl? This time I will have my -way, and I have made my husband understand as much. ‘The faithful dog -sticks to his own trough.’ We want no foreigners in our house. Once we -were much better off in the place--before the strangers came to write -down on paper every mouthful that one ate, or to pound marsh-mallows -in a mortar, and fatten on other people’s blood. Then everybody -knew everybody and what everybody did, and what their fathers and -grandfathers had done, even to what they had to eat; if one saw a person -pass one knew where they were going, and the fields and the vineyards -belonged to the people who were born among them, and the fish didn’t -let themselves be caught by just anybody. In those days people didn’t go -wandering here and there and didn’t die in the hospital.” - -Since everybody was getting married, Alfio Mosca would have been glad to -marry Cousin Mena, who had no longer any prospect of marrying, since -the Malavoglia family was broken up, and Cousin Alfio could not now be -called a bad match for her, with the mule which he had bought; so he -ruminated, one Sunday, over all the reasons which could give him courage -to speak to her as he sat by her side in front of the door with his -back against the wall, breaking twigs off the bushes to give himself a -countenance and pass away the time. She watched the people passing by, -which was her way of keeping holiday. - -“If you are willing to take me now, Cousin Mena,” he said at last, “I am -ready, for my part.” - -Poor Mena did not even turn red, feeling that Cousin Alfio had guessed -that she had been willing to have him at the time when they were going -to give her to Brasi Cipolla--so long ago that time appeared, and she -herself so changed! - -“I am old now, Cousin Alfio,” she said; “I shall never marry.” - -“If you are old, then I am old too, for I was older than you were when -we used to talk to each other from’ the windows, and it seems as if it -was but yesterday, I remember it all so well. But it must be eight years -ago. And now, when your brother Alessio is married, you will be left -alone.” - -Mena drew her shoulders together with Cousin Anna’s favorite gesture, -for she too had learned to do God’s will and not complain; and Cousin -Alfio, seeing this, went on: “Then you do not care for me, Cousin Mena, -and I beg you to forgive my asking you to marry me. I know that you are -above me, for you are the daughter of a ship-master; but now you have -nothing, and when your brother marries you will be left alone. I have my -mule and my cart, and I would let you want for nothing, Cousin Mena--but -pardon the liberty I have taken.” - -“You have not taken a liberty, Cousin Alfio, nor am I offended; I would -have said yes to you when we had the _Provvidenza_ and the house by the -medlar-tree if my relations had been willing, and God knows what I had -in my heart when you went away to Bicocca with the donkey-cart; and it -seems as if I could see still the light in the stable, and you piling -all your things in the little cart in the court before your house. Do -you remember?” - -“Indeed, I do remember. Then, why do you not take me now, when I have -the mule instead of the donkey, and your family will not say no?” - -“I am too old to marry,” said Mena, with her head bent down. “I am -twenty-six years old, and it is too late for me to marry now.” - -“No, that is not the reason you will not marry me,” said Alfio, with -bent head as well as she. “You won’t tell me the real reason;” and they -went on breaking the twigs, without speaking or looking at each other. -When he got up to go away, with drooping shoulders and bent head, Mena -followed him with her eyes as long as she could see him, and then looked -at the wall opposite and sighed. - -As Alfio Mosca said, Alessio had taken Nunziata to wife, and had bought -back the house by the medlar-tree. - -“I am too old to marry,” said Mena; “get married you, who are still -young,” and so she went up into the upper room of the house by the -medlar, like an old saucepan, and had set her heart at rest, waiting -until Nunziata should give her children to be a mother to. They had the -hens in the chicken-coop, and the calf in the stable, and the fodder and -the wood in the shed, and the nets and all sorts of tackle hanging up, -just as Padron ’Ntoni had described them; and Nunziata had planted -cabbages and cauliflowers in the garden, with those slender arms of -hers, that no one would have dreamed could have bleached such yards and -yards of linen, or that such a slip of a creature could have brought -into the world those rosy fat babies that Mena was always carrying about -the place, as if she had borne them, and was their mother in very truth. - -Cousin Mosca shook his head when he saw her pass, and turned away with -drooping shoulders. - -“You did not think me worthy of the honor of marrying you,” he said once -when they were alone, and he could bear it no longer. - -“No, Cousin Alfio,” answered Mena, with starting tears. “I swear it by -the soul of this innocent creature in my arms; that is not my motive. -But I cannot marry.” - -“And why should you not marry, Cousin Mena?” - -“No, no,” repeated Cousin Mena, now nearly-weeping outright. “Don’t make -me say it, Cousin Alfio! Don’t make me speak. If I were to marry now -people would begin to talk again of my sister Lia, so that no one can -marry a girl of the Malavoglia after what has happened. You yourself -would be the first to repent of doing it. Leave me; I shall never marry, -and you must set your heart at rest.” - -So Cousin Alfio set his heart at rest, and Mena continued to carry her -little nephews in her arms, almost as if her heart, too, were at rest; -and she swept out the room up-stairs, to be ready for the others when -they came back--for they also had been born in the house. “As if -they were gone on journeys from which any one ever came back!” said -Goosefoot. - -Meanwhile Padron ’Ntoni was gone--gone on a long journey, farther than -Trieste, farther than Alexandria in Egypt, the journey whence no man -ever yet came back and when his name fell into the talk, as they sat -resting, counting up the expenses of the week, or making plans for the -future, in the shade of the medlar-tree, with the plates upon their -laps, a silence fell suddenly upon them, for they all seemed to have the -poor old man before their eyes, as they had seen him the last time they -went to visit him, in that great wide chamber, full of beds in long -rows, where they had to look about before they could find him, and the -grandfather waited for them as the souls wait in purgatory, with his -eyes fixed on the door, although he now could hardly see, and went on -touching them to be sure that they were really there and still said -nothing, though they could see by his face that there was much he wished -to say; and their hearts ached to see the suffering in his face, which -he could not tell them. When they told him, however, how they had got -back the house by the medlar, and were going to take him back to Trezza -again, he said yes, yes with his eyes, to which the light came back once -more, and he tried to smile, with that smile of those who smile no more -or who smile for the last time, which stays, planted in the heart like a -knife. - -And so it was with the Malavoglia when they went on Monday with Alfio -Mosca’s cart to bring back their grandfather, and found that he was -gone. Remembering all these things, they left the spoons on their -plates, and went on thinking and thinking of all that had happened, and -it all seemed dark, as it was, under the shade of the medlar-tree. Now -when their cousin Anna came to spin a little while with her gossips, she -had white hair and had lost her cheerful laugh, because she had no time -to be gay, now that she had all that family on her shoulders, and Rocco, -too; and every day she had to go hunting him up, about the streets or -in front of the tavern, and drive him home like a vagabond calf. And -the Malavoglia had also two vagabonds; and Alessio went on beating his -brains to think where they could be, by what burning hot roads, white -with dust, that they had never yet come back after all that long, long -time. . - -Late one evening the dog began to bark behind the door of the court, and -Alessio himself, who went to open the door, did not know ’Ntoni--who -had come back with a bag under his arm--so changed was he, covered with -dust, and with a long beard. When he had come in, and sat down in a -corner, they hardly dared to welcome him. He did not seem like himself -at all, and looked about the walls as if he saw them for the first time; -and the dog, who had never known him, barked at him without stopping. -They gave him food, and he bent his head over the plate, and ate and -drank as if he had not seen the gifts of God for days and days, in -silence; but the others could not eat for sadness. Then ’Ntoni, when -he had eaten and rested a while, took up his bag to go. - -Alessio had hardly dared to speak, his brother was so changed. But -seeing him take his bag again, in act to go, his heart leaped up into -his breast, and Mena said, in a wild sort of way: - -“You’re going?”’ - -“Yes,” replied ’Ntoni. - -“And where will you go?” asked Alessio. - -“I don’t know. I came to see you all. But since I have been here the -food seems to poison me. Besides, I can’t stay here, where everybody -knows me, and for that I came at night. I’ll go along way off, where -nobody knows me, and earn my bread.” - -The others hardly dared to breathe, for their hearts felt as if they -were held in a vice, and they felt that he was right in speaking as he -did. ’Ntoni stood at the door looking about him, not being able to -make up his mind to go. - -“I will let you know where I am,” he said at last; and when he was -in the court under the medlar-tree, where it was dark, he said, “And -grandfather?” - -Alessio did not answer. ’Ntoni was silent, too, for a while, and then -said: - -“I did not see Lia.” - -And as he waited in vain for the answer, he added, with a quiver in his -voice, as if he were cold, “Is she dead, too?” - -Still Alessio did not answer. Then ’Ntoni, who was under the -medlar-tree, with his bag in his hand, sat down, for his legs trembled -under him, but rose up suddenly, stammering, “Adieu; I must go.” - -Before going away he wanted to go over the house to see if everything -were in its old place; but now he who had had the heart to leave them -all, and to stab Don Michele, and to pass five years in prison, had not -the heart to pass from one room into another unless they bade him do it. -Alessio, who saw in his eyes that he wanted to see all the place, took -him into the stable to show him the calf Nunziata had bought, which was -fat and sleek; and in a corner there was the hen with her chickens; then -he took him in the kitchen, where they had made a new oven, and into the -room beside it, where Mena slept with Nunziata’s children, who seemed -to her like her own. ’Ntoni looked at everything, and nodded his head, -saying, “There grandfather would have put the calf, and here the hens -used to be, and here the girls slept when there was the other one--” But -there he stopped short, and looked about him, with tears in his eyes. -At that moment the Mangiacarubbe passed by, scolding Brasi Cipolla, her -husband, at the top of her voice, and ’Ntoni said, “That one has found -a husband, and now when they have done quarrelling they will go back to -their own house to sleep.” - -The others were silent, and all the village was still, only now and then -was heard the closing of some door; and Alessio at last found courage to -say: - -“If you will, you, too, have a house to sleep in. The bed is here, kept -on purpose for you.” - -“No,” replied ’Ntoni, “I must go away. There is my mother’s bed here, -too, that she wetted with her tears when I wanted to go and leave her. -Do you remember the pleasant talks we used to have in the evenings while -we were salting the anchovies? and Nunziata would give out riddles for -us to guess, and mamma was there, and Lia, and all of us, and we could -hear the whole village talking, as if we had been all one family. And I -was ignorant, and knew no better then than to want to get away; but now -I know how it all was, and I must go, I must go.” - -He spoke at that moment with his eyes fixed on the ground, and his head -bent down between his shoulders. The Alessio threw his arms round his -neck. - -“Adieu,” repeated ’Ntoni. “You see that I am right in saying that I -must go. Adieu. Forgive me, all of you.” - -And he went, with his bag under his arm; then, when he was in the middle -of the piazza, now dark and deserted, for all the doors were shut, -he stopped to hear if they would shut the door of the house by the -medlar-tree, while the dog barked behind and told him in that sound that -he was alone in the midst of the place. Only the sea went on murmuring -to him the usual story, down there between the Fariglione--for the sea -has no country, either, and belongs to whoever will pause to listen to -it, here or there, wherever the sun dies or is born; and at Aci Trezza -it has even a way of its own of murmuring, which one can recognize -immediately, as it gurgles in and out among the rocks, where it breaks, -and seems like the voice of a friend. - -Then ’Ntoni stopped in the road to look back at the dark village, and -it seemed as if he could not bear to leave it, now that he “knew all,” - and he sat down on the low wall of Master Filippo’s vineyard. - -He sat there for a long time, thinking of many things, looking at the -dark village, and listening to the murmur of the sea below. He sat there -until certain sounds that he knew well began to be heard, and voices -called to each other from the doors, and shutters banged, and steps -sounded in the dark streets. On the beach at the bottom of the piazza -lights began to twinkle. He lifted his head and looked at the Three -Kings, which glowed in the sky, and the Puddara, announcing the dawn, as -he had seen it do so many times. Then he bent down his head once more, -thinking of all the story of his life. Little by little the sea grew -light, and the Three Kings paled in the sky, and the houses became -visible, one after another, in the streets, with their closed doors, -that all knew each other; only before Vanni Pizzuti’s shop there was -the lamp, and Rocco Spatu, with his hands in his pockets, coughing -and spitting. “Before long Uncle Santoro will open the door,” thought -’Ntoni, “and curl himself up beside it and begin his day’s work.” He -looked at the sea again, that now had grown purple, and was all covered -with boats that had begun the day’s work, too, then took his bag, and -said: “Now it is time I should go, for people will be beginning to pass -by. But the first man of them all to begin his day’s work has been Rocco -Spatu.” - - -THE END. - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's House by The-Medlar-Tree, by Giovanni Verga - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOUSE BY THE-MEDLAR-TREE *** - -***** This file should be named 54684-0.txt or 54684-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/6/8/54684/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided 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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