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diff --git a/old/54684-h/54684-h.htm b/old/54684-h/54684-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 2a7d201..0000000 --- a/old/54684-h/54684-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9805 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <title> -HOUSE BY THE-MEDLAR-TREE, By Giovanni Verga -</title> - <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" /> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .50em; margin-bottom: .50em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -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: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOUSE BY THE-MEDLAR-TREE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - HOUSE BY THE-MEDLAR-TREE - </h1> - <h2> - By Giovanni Verga - </h2> - <h3> - Translation By Mary A. Craig - </h3> - <h3> - An Introduction By W. D. Howells - </h3> - <h4> - New York: Harper & Brothers - </h4> - <h3> - 1890 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE HOUSE BY THE MEDLAR-TREE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> I. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> II. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> III. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> IV. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> V. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> VIII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> IX. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> X. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XI. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIII. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XIV. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XV. </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - INTRODUCTION. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>ny 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. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Vita dei Campi</i> - (“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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - W. D. Howells. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE HOUSE BY THE MEDLAR-TREE. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - I. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>nce 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, which was anchored in - the sand below the washing-tank by the side of Uncle Cola’s <i>Concetta</i> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>codino</i>, 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. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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! - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - * Macaroni of inferior quality. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - The Mangiacarubbe when she was at the tank, and Cousin Tudda’s Sara was - by, went on saying: - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - The others held their sides with laughing, and henceforth the envious - girls called ’Ntoni “pumpkin-head.” - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - * Coarse flat beans. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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!” - </p> - <p> - The <i>Provvidenza</i> 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, like a lamp. - Maruzza, with her baby in her arms, stood on the shore, without speaking, - while her husband loosed the sail, and the <i>Provvidenza</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - La Locca’s Menico, who was in the <i>Provvidenza</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - * Rocks rising straight out of the sea, separate from the shore. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - II. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n 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. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - Old Goosefoot sneered: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - He said to La Locca’s son: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “I ought to know how big it is; it lies along my vineyard,” said Padron - Cipolla, puffing himself like a turkey. - </p> - <p> - “You call that a vineyard? Four prickly-pears!” sneered Goosefoot. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>. - 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?” - </p> - <p> - On the road there was heard the sound of heavy carts, slowly passing. - </p> - <p> - “Night or day, somebody’s always going about the world,” said Cipolla a - little later on. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Before midnight the <i>Provvidenza</i> will have rounded the Cape of the - Mills, and the wind won’t trouble her any longer.” - </p> - <p> - Padron ’Ntoni thought of nothing but the <i>Provvidenza</i>, and - when they were not talking of her he said nothing, and sat like a post - among the talkers. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “That’s Don Giammaria,” said La Locca’s son, “disputing with Don Franco.” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>History - of the French Revolution</i>, 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Would you give him your granddaughter Mena?” said Cipolla at last, - turning to Padron ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “Each to his own business—leave the wolf to look after the sheep.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - La Longa, just as she came back from the beach, sat down at the window to - prepare the thread for the loom. - </p> - <p> - “Cousin Mena is not seen but heard, and she stays at the loom day and - night, like Sant’Agata,” said the neighbors. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Some of them, though, staring out of window, manage to catch the foolish - fish that pass,” said her cousin Anna from the opposite door. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “I saw her go down to the beach after broom to burn,” said Cousin Anna, - “and your son Alessio was with her too.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Sant’Agata!” they all cried, and made a great fuss over her. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Nunziata,” called out the neighbors, “were not you afraid at this - hour, so far from home?” - </p> - <p> - “I was with them,” said Alessio. “I was late washing with Cousin Anna, and - then I had nothing to light the fire with.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Nunziata,” called out Mena, from the doorstep, “when you’ve lighted - the fire come over here for a little.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - Sant’Agata laughed, and Nunziata said that to be precisely like a woman - Alfio only wanted a petticoat. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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!” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “If I was grown up I’d marry him, so I would, if they’d let me.” - </p> - <p> - Mena was going to say something herself, but she changed the subject - suddenly. - </p> - <p> - “Are you going to town for the All Souls’ festa?” - </p> - <p> - “No. I can’t leave the house all alone.” - </p> - <p> - “We are to go if the business of the lupins goes well; grandpapa says so.” - </p> - <p> - Then she thought a minute and added: - </p> - <p> - “Cousin Alfio, he’s going too, to sell his nuts at the fair.” - </p> - <p> - And the girls sat silent, thinking of the Feast of All Souls, and how - Alfio was going there to sell his nuts. - </p> - <p> - “Old Uncle Crucifix, how quietly he puts Vespa in his pocket,” began - Cousin Anna, all over again. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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! - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “You’d find the money fast enough if it was for schools or for - illuminations!” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “You never were at school, and you can manage your affairs well enough.” - </p> - <p> - “And I know my catechism, too,” said Uncle Crucifix, not to be behindhand - in politeness. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “At least if they’d light their lamps!” - </p> - <p> - “In these days one must look after one’s steps,” concluded Uncle Crucifix. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - Uncle Crucifix shrugged his shoulders again, and repeated “that he was an - honest man, that he didn’t mix himself up with it.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Honest men keep to their own business,” repeated Uncle Crucifix. - </p> - <p> - Instead, Uncle Tino, sitting up like a president on the church steps, went - on uttering wise sentences: - </p> - <p> - “Listen to me. Before the Revolution everything was different; Now the - fish are all adulterated; I tell you I know it.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - The son of La Locca sat listening, with his mouth open, scratching his - head. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - Padron ’Ntoni, with his nose in the air, observed, “If the - north-east wind doesn’t get up before midnight, the <i>Provvidenza</i> - will have time to get round the Cape.” - </p> - <p> - From the campanile overhead came the slow strokes of the deep bell. “One - hour after sunset!” observed Padron Cipolla. - </p> - <p> - Padron ’Ntoni made the holy sign, and replied, “Peace to the living - and rest to the dead.” - </p> - <p> - “Don Giammaria has fried vermicelli for supper,” observed Goosefoot, - sniffing towards the parsonage windows. - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “Eh, fried vermicelli to-night, Don Giammaria!” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Those fellows, I like them,” cried Uncle Crucifix. “I like those fellows - who look after honest men’s property!” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “Cousin Rocco is in good spirits to-night,” said Alfio Mosca from his - window, which looked quite dark and deserted. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, there you are, Cousin Alfio!” replied Mena, who had remained on the - landing waiting for her grandfather. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you not in good spirits?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, one wants so many things to put one in good spirits!” - </p> - <p> - Mena did not answer, and after a little Cousin Alfio added: - </p> - <p> - “To-morrow I’m going to town for a load of salt.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you going for All Souls?” asked Mena. - </p> - <p> - “Heaven knows! this year my poor little nuts are all bad.” - </p> - <p> - “Cousin Alfio goes to the city to look for a wife,” said Nunziata, from - the door opposite. - </p> - <p> - “Is that true?” asked Mena. - </p> - <p> - “Eh, Cousin Mena, if I had to look for one I could find girls to my mind - without leaving home.” - </p> - <p> - “Look at those stars,” said Mena, after a silence. “They say they are the - souls loosed from Purgatory going into Paradise.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-night!” said Mena. - </p> - <p> - The stars twinkled faster than ever, the “three kings” shone out over the - Fariglione, with their arms out obliquely like Saint Andrew. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> out at sea, nor of - the Festa of All Souls. - </p> - <p> - So thought Mena, waiting on the landing for grandpapa. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - III. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>fter 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. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “To-day” Daddy Goosefoot went about saying, “Padroni ’Ntoni is a - Protestant, like Don Franco the apothecary.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “The devils are out on the air,” said Santuzza, as she crossed herself - with the holy water. “A day to commit a mortal sin!” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “One must pray also for sinners,” said Santuzza; “that is what good people - are for.” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, which was out at sea, and of La Longa, who - would be left with five children. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “The fact is,” concluded Daddy Zuppiddu, “that this will be a black day - for the Malavoglia.” - </p> - <p> - “For my part,” added Goosefoot, “I shouldn’t care to be in Cousin - Bastianazzo’s shirt.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “He’s better off than poor old Bastianazzo just now,” said Rocco Spatu, - lighting his pipe at the door. - </p> - <p> - And without further reflection he put his hand in his pocket, and - permitted himself to give two centimes in alms. - </p> - <p> - “You are throwing your alms away, thanking God for being in safety from - the storm; there’s no danger of your dying like Bastianazzo.” - </p> - <p> - Everybody laughed at the joke, and then they all stood looking out at the - sea, that was as black as the wet rocks. - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “Fine providence this, eh, Padron ’Ntoni?” But he was a Protestant - and a Jew; all the world knew that. - </p> - <p> - La Locca’s son, who was out there with his hands in his empty pockets, - began: - </p> - <p> - “Uncle Crucifix is gone with old Goosefoot to get Padron ’Ntoni to - swear before witnesses that he took the cargo of lupins on credit.” - </p> - <p> - 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.. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Requiem aeternam</i>,” 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “What a misfortune!” they said among themselves in the street. “And the - boat was loaded—forty scudi worth of lupins!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - IV. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>De - profundis</i> for Bastianazzo too, when the funeral ceremony took place, - along with the other Brothers of the Happy Death, with the bag over his - head. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “Poor Cousin Maruzza, now her hard times are beginning.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, 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! - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “As if that mattered to Donna Rosolina now,” murmured Goosefoot. - </p> - <p> - 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! - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Santuzza’s lips drop nothing but honey,” observed Cousin Grace Goosefoot. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i> was lost, that was a real blessing, the - famine this year would be solid enough to cut with a knife.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “A nice piece of ground,” said Uncle Mangia-carubbe; “when it is well - worked it gives food enough for a whole year.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - Padron Cipolla, who had spoken with Padron ’Ntoni about the - marriage of his son Brasi and Mena, shook his head and said nothing. - </p> - <p> - “Then,” said Uncle Cola, “nobody’ll suffer but Uncle Crucifix, who loses - his lupins that he sold on credit.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “He looks like a bailiff making an inventory,” they sneered. - </p> - <p> - 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! - </p> - <p> - Padron Cipolla turned coolly away without a word; and, when everybody was - gone, the Malavoglia were left alone in the court. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” said Padron ’Ntoni, “we are ruined, and the best off of us - all is Bastianazzo, who doesn’t know it.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - The medlar-tree let fall dry leaves, and the wind blew them here and there - about the court. - </p> - <p> - “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.’” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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 <i>Concetta</i>, - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - V. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>ena 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Uncle Crucifix told me,” replied La Vespa; “I don’t tell lies!” - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i> - is in Maruzza’s dowry, and that there’s a mortgage of two francs a year on - the house.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “Eh!” cried La Vespa, losing patience, “if one listened to you nobody - would get married at all.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t care who gets married or who doesn’t, I want my own; I don’t care - for anything else.” - </p> - <p> - “If you don’t care about it, who should? I say—everybody isn’t like - you, always putting things off.” - </p> - <p> - “And are you in a hurry, pray?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s a bad year,” said Uncle Dumb-bell. “No one has time to think of such - things as those.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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! - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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! - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “The sea is salt,” she said, “and the sailor dies in the sea.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “And you do very well carrying the wine, do you not?” asked Mena. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad of it,” said Mosca; “so you won’t go away from the - neighborhood.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “The druggist’s is a good trade, too!” said Alfio Mosca. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - Alfio whipped the donkey, and wanted to get away as well, but— - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know; they give me the wine in barrel.” - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, - you know?” - </p> - <p> - “No; I was away, but Cousin Mena knew nothing of it.” - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, the Malayoglia can - get back where they were before, and Mena will again be a good match.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - The <i>Provvidenza</i> 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> again in her life. - </p> - <p> - “The hull will hold; something can be made of it yet,” pronounced Master - Zuppiddu, the calker, kicking the <i>Provvidenza</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Padron Fortunato, at last. “It’s better than setting fire to - her.” - </p> - <p> - “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.’” - </p> - <p> - The boys had installed themselves inside the <i>Provvidenza</i>, as well - as the other lads who insisted on climbing up into her, too. “When we have - mended the <i>Provvidenza</i> properly,” said Alessio, “she will be like - Uncle Cola’s <i>Concetta</i>;” 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: - </p> - <p> - “Wait till my brother ’Ntoni comes back!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “For my part,” said Luca, “I am quite willing to go for a soldier, instead - of ’Ntoni. Now, when he comes back, the <i>Provvidenza</i> can put - to sea again, and there’ll be no need of anybody.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - La Longa turned quite pale for joy; and they all ran into the kitchen to - see the letter. - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VI. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>toni 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. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “A widower is like a soldier,” added La Zuppidda; “a soldier’s love is - soon cold; at tap of drum, adieu, my lady!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “I know whom you love!” said ’Ntoni, with his hand on his hip. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.”. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “When Master Bastian has finished mending the <i>Provvidenza</i> we’ll get - her to sea again, and then we sha’n’t need to go out by the day,” said - Padron ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - 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!” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * The Great Bear. -</pre> - <p> - On board, the bark they chaffed ’Ntoni because Sara had jilted him. - While they were furling the sails, and the <i>Carmela</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - “When the Turk turns Christian the woman keeps her word,” said Uncle Cola. - </p> - <p> - “I have plenty of sweethearts, if I want them,” replied ’Ntoni; “at - Naples they ran after me.” - </p> - <p> - “At Naples you had a cloth coat and a cap with a name on it, and shoes on - your feet,” said Barabbas.. . - </p> - <p> - “Are the girls at Naples as pretty as the ones here?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “It must be a fine thing to live in those ports,” observed Barabbas. - </p> - <p> - “You on the left there, stop rowing!” called out Padron ’Ntoni.. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s the tide drives us up,” said ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “Sacrament!” replied ’Ntoni, with his oar in the air. “If you say - that again I’ll bring it down on your head.” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll go,” said ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “Go along, then! With Padron Fortunato’s money he’ll soon find another.” - </p> - <p> - “Prudence is for the master, patience for the man,” said Padron ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “A kick to whoever speaks first,” said Uncle Cola. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - First Goodman Mangiacarubbe let fly a kick at Uncle Cola, who had broken - silence himself after declaring the forfeit, and then answered: - </p> - <p> - “Since we are here, we may as well leave the net out a while longer.” - </p> - <p> - “The tide is coming from the open; that will help us,” said Padron ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “Ay, ay!” muttered Uncle Cola meanwhile. - </p> - <p> - Now that the silence was broken, Barabbas asked ’Ntoni Malavoglia - for a stump of a cigar. - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t but one,” said ’Ntoni, without thinking of the recent - quarrel, “but I’ll give you half of mine.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “They have nothing to do,” said ’Ntoni, “and they amuse themselves - by jumping about.” - </p> - <p> - “How good this cigar is!” said Barabbas. “Did you smoke these at Naples?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, plenty of them.” - </p> - <p> - “All the same, the corks are beginning to sink,” said Goodman - Mangiacarubbe. - </p> - <p> - “Do you see where the <i>Provvidenza</i> 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.” - </p> - <p> - “The sea is salt, and the sailor sinks in the sea,” replied ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Holloa, boys!” shouted Uncle Cola; “we must draw in the net, or the tide - will sweep it away.” - </p> - <p> - “O-hi! O-o-o-hi!” the crew began to vociferate, as they passed the rope - from hand to hand. - </p> - <p> - “Saint Francis!” cried Uncle Cola, “who would have thought that we should - have taken all this precious load in spite of the tide?” - </p> - <p> - The nets shivered and glittered in the sun, and all the bottom of the boat - seemed full of quicksilver. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “What are you grumbling about?” asked his grandfather. “Doesn’t Padron - Fortunato pay your day’s wages?” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>; 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. - </p> - <p> - “This story will end with a bailiff,” old Dumbbell went on saying to Don - Silvestro and to Don Giammaria, the vicar. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want to marry anybody who isn’t my equal,” answered Barbara. - “Marry with your equals and stay with your own.” - </p> - <p> - “I would willingly stay with your people, by Our Lady! if you were - willing, Cousin Barbara.” * - </p> - <p> - “Why do you talk to me in this way, Cousin ’Ntoni? Mamma is - spinning in the court; she will hear you.” - </p> - <p> - “I meant that those fagots are wet and won’t kindle. Let me do it.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it true you come down here to see the Mangiacarubbe when she comes to - the window?” - </p> - <p> - “I come for quite another reason, Cousin Barbara. I come to see how the <i>Provvidenza</i> - is getting on.” - </p> - <p> - “She is getting on very well, and papa says that by Christmas she will be - ready for sea.” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “At least you’ll remember how I melted the pitch for the <i>Provvidenza</i> - when you’re out at sea.” - </p> - <p> - Goosefoot prophesied that all the girls would want to rob her of him. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, or the house by the medlar-tree.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “Did this fine idea come to you in the night,” sneered Goosefoot, “that - you come waking me at dawn to tell it me?” - </p> - <p> - “I came to tell you about those cuttings, too; if you want them you may - come and take them.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you may send for the bailiff,” said Goose-foot; “but you must pay - the expenses.” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “Go away, you; you haven’t any nuts to play with. Now they’re going to - take away your house.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Prov-videnza</i>, - 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.” - </p> - <p> - Goosefoot began to scratch his head as soon as he saw them coming in - procession to speak to him. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” asked Maruzza, who was dying of impatience. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing! we need fear nothing!” replied Padron ’Ntoni, tranquilly. - </p> - <p> - “And the advocate?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, the advocate says we need fear nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “But what did he say?” persisted Maruzza. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, he knows how to talk! A man with whiskers! Blessed be those - twenty-five lire!” - </p> - <p> - “But what did he tell you to do?” - </p> - <p> - The grandfather looked at the grandson, and ’Ntoni looked back at - his grandfather. “Nothing,” answered Padron ’Ntoni; “he told us to - do nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “And the lupins?” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “So he told you not to pay?” - </p> - <p> - ’Ntoni scratched his head, and his grandfather added: - </p> - <p> - “It’s true, the lupins—we had them—we must pay for them.” - </p> - <p> - There was nothing to be said, now that the lawyer was no longer there; - they must pay. Padron ’Ntoni shook his head, muttering: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - The poor old man was confused; but his daughter-in-law cried silently - behind her apron. - </p> - <p> - “Then we must go to Don Silvestro,” concluded Padron ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - Don Silvestro, who understood law, was amusing himself by constructing a - trap-cage, intended as a present for the children of “her ladyship.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “We all bought the lupins together,” murmured the poor Longa. “And the - Lord has punished us all together by taking away my husband.” - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Then you can send for those beans that you said you wanted to sow,” said - Uncle Crucifix to Don Silvestro before he went away. - </p> - <p> - “All right! all right!” replied Don Silvestro. “We all know that for your - friends you have a heart as big as the sea.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hat 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Now you have taken away the <i>Provvidenza</i>, we shall not see you here - any more, Cousin ’Ntoni.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you will. Besides, this is the shortest way to the beach.” - </p> - <p> - “You come to see the Mangiacarubbe, who always goes to the window when you - pass.” - </p> - <p> - “I leave the Mangiacarubbe for Rocco Spatu. I have other things in my - mind.” - </p> - <p> - “Who knows what you have in your mind—those pretty girls in foreign - parts, perhaps?” - </p> - <p> - “There are pretty girls here, too, Cousin Barbara, and I know one very - well.” - </p> - <p> - “Really?” - </p> - <p> - “By my soul!” - </p> - <p> - “What do you care?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean that seriously, Cousin Barbara?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, indeed I do!” - </p> - <p> - “That pleases me right well,” said ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “Listen; let’s go down to the beach on Monday, when mamma goes to the - fair.” - </p> - <p> - “On Mondays I never shall have a chance to breathe, now that the <i>Provvidenza</i> - has been launched.” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, - when she was going down to the sea, rocked about on the stones as if she - were sea-sick among the crowd. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, 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. - </p> - <p> - “Viva San Francesco!” called out every one as the <i>Provvidenza</i> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “And will you sell your donkey?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - Mena didn’t know what to say, and Alfio added: “Now that the <i>Provvidenza</i> - has put to sea again, you’ll be married to Brasi Cipolla.” - </p> - <p> - “Grandpapa has said nothing about it.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile the <i>Provvidenza</i> 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “Now that the <i>Provvidenza</i> 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.” - </p> - <p> - “Padron Fortunato is rich, and has nothing to do, and stays all day in the - piazza,” answered Mena. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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: - </p> - <p> - “Now that we have our boat, if we live till summer, with the help of God, - we’ll pay the debt.” - </p> - <p> - He had no more to say, but sat under the medlar-tree looking at his nets, - as if he saw them filled with fish. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “In the chest of drawers there is Mena’s linen, which is worth five - scudi,” added Maruzza. - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Let him alone!” cried La Longa. “Uncle Crucifix’s money brings ill luck. - Just this last night I heard the black hen crowing.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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: - </p> - <p> - “You’re a real Malavoglia, my girl!”. - </p> - <p> - 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.’” - </p> - <p> - “Now the Malavoglia must pray to God and Saint Francis for a plentiful - fishing,” said Goose-foot meanwhile. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * Dazio (French, octroi), tax on substances entering a town, - levied by the town-council. -</pre> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not led by the nose by anybody,” shouted the Silk-worm. “It is I who - am syndic, not Don Silvestro.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “I must go and take a load of lime for Master Croce Calta.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, what are you going to do? Don’t you know he’s the syndic, and they’ll - kill you too?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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). - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “See if I don’t slit your tongue for you!” shouted Goosefoot, beginning to - rise from behind the pine-wood table. - </p> - <p> - “Now we shall come to grief!” muttered Master Croce Giufà. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Certain? of course it is—certain as the heavens above, I tell you! - Are we honest men or not? By the holy big devil!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Word for word what my daughter Betta said,” growled Master Croce Giufà. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Holloa! do you think you’ve come from foreign parts to play the master - here?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve come to slit your weasand for you if you don’t hold your tongue!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - The girl ran off into the house, red as a turkey, with her heart beating - as fast as a spring chicken’s. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “And I mean to marry her,” said ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “My brother Luca, that’s gone for a soldier, is better off than I am,” - growled ’Ntoni as he went off to bed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VIII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span> - uca, 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Will you go down to Biccocca at the first of the month?” she asked him, - finally. - </p> - <p> - “Not yet; there are still a hundred loads of wine for Santuzza. - Afterwards, God will provide.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “If you go to Biccocca we shall not see each other any more,” said Mena, - whose voice was quite faint. - </p> - <p> - “But why? Are you going away too?” - </p> - <p> - The poor child could not speak at all at first, though it was dark and no - one could see her face. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Now we have half the money we want for old Goosefoot, and at the salting - of the anchovies we can pay the other half.” - </p> - <p> - Alfio, at this, left the donkey in the court and came out into the street. - “Then you will be married after Easter?” - </p> - <p> - Mena did not reply. - </p> - <p> - “I told you so,” continued Alfio. “I saw Padron ’Ntoni talking with - Padron Cipolla.” - </p> - <p> - “It will be as God wills,” said Mena. “I don’t care to be married if I - might only stay on here.” - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - At last, one day, Don Michele said: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - Goosefoot shrugged his shoulders, and went on warming his hands over the - brazier. Don Silvestro began to laugh, and answered for him: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “I dare say,” sighed Goosefoot. He had no breath that evening, and said - nothing more. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “Bravo!” assented Vanni. “I wouldn’t have passed it over, I assure you; - nor you, Don Michele, I’ll swear.” - </p> - <p> - Don Michele approved with a growl. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Respect! Pretty sort of respect! You’ll chouse me out of the field with - your respect.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “You are the master. You can go to law if you like.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Cousin Mena is going to be married,” they said; “her mother is busy with - her outfit already.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “He is come with his son Brasi, who is quite a big fellow now,” continued - Padron ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, the children grow and shoulder us into the ground,” answered Padron - Fortunato. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “We happened to be passing by,” said Padron Cipolla, “and we said, ‘Let’s - go and make a visit to Cousin Maruzza.’” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Your granddaughter is also, grown up,” said Padron Fortunato; “it is time - she was married.” - </p> - <p> - “If the Lord sends her a good husband I ask nothing better,” replied - Padron ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “The husband and the bishop are chosen by Heaven,” added Cousin La Longa. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.’” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - Mena turned white, and stopped weaving. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Now, when are you coming back?” said La Longa. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Take care of your health, Cousin Alfio; I’ve been told that people die - like flies of the malaria down there at the Biccocca.” - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - The girl opened her mouth two or three times as if to speak, but no words - came; her heart beat too fast. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Now we sha’n’t see Cousin Alfio’s lamp any more in the evenings,” said - Nunziata, “and the house will be shut up.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Shall you be gone before morning, Cousin Alfio?” asked Nunziata from the - door of the little court. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Are you there too, Cousin Mena?” cried Alfio as soon as he saw her, and - left off what he was engaged upon. - </p> - <p> - She nodded her head, and Nunziata ran, like a good house-keeper as she - was, to skim off the pot, which was boiling over. - </p> - <p> - “I am glad you are here; now I can say goodbye to you, too.” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - Alfio began to laugh from the lips outward, as he did when he went to say - good-bye to them all. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - She gazed and gazed at him, with eyes shining with tears. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - IX. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>either 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. - </p> - <p> - “What, is it all here?” said he. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Why do you bring it to me? You know I have nothing more to do with it; it - is Cousin Goosefoot’s affair.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - Padron Cipolla at this time sat for whole evenings together with Padron ’Ntoni, - on the church steps, talking of the wondrous doings of the <i>Provvidenza</i>. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i>. - To-morrow I mean to make them pay it.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Take care that this time you don’t give your drink to your trousers, - which are not thirsty,” said Padron Cipolla to his son. - </p> - <p> - “The party is given for Cousin Mena,” said Nunziata, “but she doesn’t seem - to enjoy it as the others do.” - </p> - <p> - 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.’” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Why didn’t Don Silvestro and the vicar come?” asked Goosefoot. - </p> - <p> - “I told them to, but they appear to have something particular to do,” - answered Padron ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “For my part I shall go and see what it is,” said Goosefoot, coming slowly - down off the wall. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Maruzza la Longa’s son was also on board the <i>Red d’Italia</i>” - observed Don Silvestro, who had also drawn near to listen with the rest. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - But meanwhile the poor Longa knew nothing about it, and was laughing and - amusing herself among her relations and friends. - </p> - <p> - The soldier seemed never tired of talking, and gesticulated with his arms - like a preacher. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - The youth’s eyes were wet, but he said it was only because the bitters - were so strong. - </p> - <p> - “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?’” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Mother of Sorrows</i>. - </p> - <p> - “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.’” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “When Mena is married,” replied ’Ntoni, “grandpapa will let us have - the room up-stairs.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - He wound up by scolding about the lawyer, who took such a time about the - papers before he sent in the summons. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Woe to the fallen man who asks for help!” - </p> - <p> - “Listen to me,” suggested Don Silvestro. “You’d better let them have the - house; if not, they’ll take the <i>Provvidenza</i> and everything else, - even to the hair off your head; and you lose all your time, besides, - running backward and forward to the lawyer.” - </p> - <p> - “If you give up the house quietly,” said Goose-foot to the old man, “we’ll - leave you the <i>Provvidenza</i>, 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “Just what my wife says,” added Master Zuppiddu. “She says even the dogs - in the street wouldn’t have any of the Malavoglia now.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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.’” - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i> and to feed them all - without me?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “Then,” cried the Zuppidda, “come, come! each to his own home!” And her - husband went on repeating: - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t I tell you I didn’t choose to have a fuss?” - </p> - <p> - “You be off to your work!” replied she. “You know nothing about it.” - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - “Then, Cousin Venera, if you speak in this way, I suppose you mean, ‘I - don’t want you in my house any longer.’” - </p> - <p> - ’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?” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “You may say good-bye to it all, Cousin Barbara, but I can’t. Love isn’t - over so easily as that with me.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew it would come to this when they took our house, and everybody - turned their backs on us.” - </p> - <p> - “Listen, Cousin ’Ntoni. My mother may come at any minute, and it - won’t do for her to find you here.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “What’s the matter?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing. Only I’m a poor miserable devil.” - </p> - <p> - “And what can be done for you, if you are a poor miserable devil? We must - go on as we come into the world.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “I would be willing to take your work, my sister; after all, it is like - going out for a walk.” - </p> - <p> - 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.’” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “But they said he wanted to marry your niece Vespa.” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>passage</i> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - X. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>toni 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 <i>Pravvidenza</i>, 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. - </p> - <p> - The <i>Provvidenza</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “There were two who did not shut their doors,” said Alessio, “Nunziata and - our cousin Anna.” - </p> - <p> - “‘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!” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i> rushed on the green waves rolling in - from farther than the eye could see. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Those gulls have a fine time of it, flying in the air; they need not fear - the waves when the wind is high.” - </p> - <p> - “But they have nothing to eat, either, poor beasts.” - </p> - <p> - “So every one has need of good weather, like Nunziata, who can’t go to the - fountain when it rains,” concluded Alessio. - </p> - <p> - “Neither good nor bad weather lasts forever,” observed the old man. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “‘Water from the sky, sardines in the net,’” answered the old man. - </p> - <p> - Later on ’Ntoni began to curse and swear, with the water half up to - his knees. - </p> - <p> - “This evening,” said his grandfather, “Maruzza will have a good fire ready - for us, and we shall soon be quite dry.” - </p> - <p> - And at dusk when the <i>Provvidenza</i>, 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Now the gulls have all gone to sleep,” said Alessio. - </p> - <p> - “By this time they ought to have lighted the beacon at Catania,” said ’Ntoni; - “but I can’t see it.” - </p> - <p> - “Keep the rudder always north-east,” ordered the grandfather; “in half an - hour it will be darker than an oven.” - </p> - <p> - “On such evenings as this it is better to be at Santuzza’s tavern.” - </p> - <p> - “Or asleep in your bed, eh?” said the old man; “then, you should be a - clerk, like Don Silvestro.” - </p> - <p> - 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.”. - </p> - <p> - All of a sudden it grew so black that one couldn’t even see to swear. Only - the waves, as they rolled past the <i>Provvidenza</i>, 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. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve an idea,” said ’Ntoni, suddenly, “that we had better give the - fish we’ve caught to-day to the devil.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - They heard the wind whistle in the sails of the <i>Provvidenza</i>, 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> rattled like a sack of nuts, and sprang - up into the air and then rolled over. - </p> - <p> - “Down with the sail—down!” cried Padron ’Ntoni. “Cut away, - cut away!” - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Sacrament!” exclaimed ’Ntoni; “and what shall we do without the - sail, then?” - </p> - <p> - “Stop swearing; we are in the hands of God now.” - </p> - <p> - Alessio, who was grasping the rudder with all his force, heard what his - grandfather said, and began to scream, “Mamma, mamma, mamma!” - </p> - <p> - “Hush!” cried his brother, as well as he could for the knife in his teeth. - “Hush, or I’ll give you a kick.” - </p> - <p> - “Make the holy sign, and be quiet,” echoed the grandfather, so that the - boy dared not make another sound. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly the sail fell all at once in a heap, and ’Ntoni drew it - in, furling it light, quick as a flash. - </p> - <p> - “You know your trade well, as your father did before you,” said his - grandfather. “You, too, are a Malavoglia.” - </p> - <p> - The boat righted and gave one leap, then began to leap about again among - the waves. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, grandfather, I do,” replied the boy. - </p> - <p> - “Are you afraid?” asked ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “No, he’s not,” answered his grandfather for him; “but we must commend - ourselves to God.” - </p> - <p> - “Holy devil!” exclaimed ’Ntoni. “Here one ought to have arms of - iron, like the steam-engine. The sea is getting the best of it.” - </p> - <p> - The grandfather was silent, listening to the blast. - </p> - <p> - “Mamma must by this time have come to the shore to watch for us.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t talk about mamma now,” said the old man; “it is better not to think - about her.” - </p> - <p> - “Where are we now?” asked ’Ntoni after some time, hardly able to - speak for fatigue. - </p> - <p> - “In God’s hands,” answered the grandfather. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “The sail!” ordered Padron ’Ntoni. “Put her head to the wind, and - then leave it in the hands of God.” - </p> - <p> - The wind hindered them terribly, but at last they got the sail set, and - the <i>Provvidenza</i> began to dance over the crests of the waves, - leaning to one side like a wounded bird. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Only Padron,” ’Ntoni said, “Over there they are saying the rosary - for us.” - </p> - <p> - And no one spoke again, and they flew along through the wild tempest and - the night, that had come on as black as pitch. - </p> - <p> - “The light on the mole!” cried ’Ntoni; “do you see it?” - </p> - <p> - “To the right!” shouted Padron ’Ntoni; “to the right! It is not the - light on the mole. We are driving on shore! Furl, furl!” - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “Cut away, cut away!” - </p> - <p> - At that moment a crash was heard; the <i>Pravvidenza</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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. - </p> - <p> - At last one of the ropes fell across the <i>Provvidenza</i>, 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “’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. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t like the looks of him a bit!” pronounced Padron Cipolla, shaking - his head. “How do you feel, Cousin ’Ntoni?” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - The doctor came every morning, dressed the wound, felt his pulse, looked - at his tongue, and went away again shaking his head. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - Later on he called ’Ntoni, and said to him: - </p> - <p> - “Don’t sell the <i>Provvidenza</i>, 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.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, grandfather, yes, I will,” promised ’Ntoni, with many tears. - And Alessio also listened gravely, as if he too had been a man. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “Don Michele is to have the medal for throwing the rope to the <i>Provvidenza</i>, - and there’s a pension attached to it,” said the druggist. “That’s the way - they spend the people’s money!” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - ’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 <i>Provvidenza</i> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “But, blood of Judas! my name isn’t ’Ntoni Malavoglia if I don’t - put a stop to that. Blood of Judas!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XI. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>ne 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. - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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!’” - </p> - <p> - “Brava, Sant’Agata!” said her grandfather; “that is what I call talking - sense.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “And don’t you mean to work any more? What do you mean to do—turn - lawyer?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t mean to turn lawyer,” said ’Ntoni, and went off to bed in - high dudgeon. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, my boy?” he said. “Tell your grandpapa; do, that’s a good - boy.” - </p> - <p> - ’Ntoni shrugged his shoulders; but the old man went on nodding his - head, and seeking for words to make himself understood properly. - </p> - <p> - “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.’” - </p> - <p> - “I’m a poor miserable devil, that’s what it is.” - </p> - <p> - “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.’” - </p> - <p> - “Fine consolation, that is!” - </p> - <p> - This time the old man found words, for they were in his heart, and so came - straight to his lips. - </p> - <p> - “At least, don’t say it to your mother.” - </p> - <p> - “My mother! She would have done better not to have brought me into the - world, my mother!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” assented Padron ’Ntoni, “it would have been better she had - not borne you, if you are to begin to talk in this way.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “’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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you remember that your mother recommended Mena to you?” said Padron - ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “What good can I do to Mena by staying here?—tell me that.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “Adieu, ’Ntoni!” Alessio called after him, taking courage now he - was gone, and Lia began to scream. - </p> - <p> - “Just so my father went,” said Nunziata, who had stayed behind the others - at the door. - </p> - <p> - ’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.” - </p> - <p> - 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!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>adron ’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.” - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>, - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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 <i>Provvidenza</i>. - </p> - <p> - 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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 <i>Provvidenza</i> 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!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “In time of famine one eats barley bread,” answered Padron ’Ntoni. - “Necessity has no nobility.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - Don Silvestro, Master Filippo, Goosefoot himself—all of them, in - fact—hastened to say that Padron Fortunato was quite right. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “They have grown wise in their youth because they have had so much - trouble,” said Padron ’Ntoni. “Wisdom comes of suffering.” - </p> - <p> - Alessio, with his arms round his knees like his grandfather, asked - Nunziata, “Will you have me for a husband when I grow up?” - </p> - <p> - “Plenty of time yet to think about that,” replied she. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Now they have sown onions in the garden, and they’re grown as big as - oranges.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you like onions?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “‘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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - * Senserie—a sort of very small brokerage, upon which a tiny - percentage is paid. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “Pretty hostess, heavy bill,” said Pizzuti, spitting in the sand. - </p> - <p> - “They all look out for husbands to work for them,” added ’Ntoni. - “They’re all alike.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XIII. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>adron ’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!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - ’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: - </p> - <p> - “At least if I lose my head, I forget my misery.” - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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 <i>Secolo</i> (the <i>Age</i>) and the <i>Gazette - of Catania</i>. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “First we must clear away all these fellows in uniform. We must make a - revolution, that’s what we must do.” - </p> - <p> - “And what will you give me to make the revolution?” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “And do I ask you for anything? I don’t spend any money out of the house, - and I earn my own bread.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be better that you should die of hunger,” said his grandfather, - “and that we all fell dead on the spot.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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! - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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!” - </p> - <p> - Nobody else had ever told her that, so she turned as red as a tomato. - </p> - <p> - “How does it happen that you are not yet married?” Don Michele asked her - one day. - </p> - <p> - She shrugged her shoulders, and answered that she did not know. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “A dress of silk and wool would not be a proper thing for me, Don - Michele,” replied Lia. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “They are rich, they are.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - “What should I do in town?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “No, no!” said she, turning fiery red. “I wouldn’t take it, no, not if you - killed me.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “You go to bed, and to sleep,” said Mena to her sister; “you are too young - for such things as this.” - </p> - <p> - 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.’” - </p> - <p> - “Who told you that?” said ’Ntoni, leaping up as if he were - possessed. “Tell me who told you.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “He told you nothing else?” - </p> - <p> - “No, he told me nothing else.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Nor of those devil’s officials,” added the vicar. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.’ - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - ’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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - His daughter put on haughty airs, protesting that she never would forgive - Don Michele after the ugly trick he had played her. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - “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: - </p> - <p> - “This is Padron ’Ntoni’s last winter. It will not be long before - those orphans are left quite alone in the world.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, if your mother were here you wouldn’t talk in that way,” murmured - Mena. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - ’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: - </p> - <p> - “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?’” - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - That one cared for nothing but his house, and other people’s affairs were - nothing to him. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - 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!” - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, what will you take for the house?” asked Padron ’Ntoni, - returning to the subject. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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!” - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XIV. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>toni 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Now be off!” said Santuzza, “I don’t choose to be fined, for your sake, - for keeping my door open at this hour.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - ’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?” - </p> - <p> - La Locca’s son felt greatly inclined to cry. - </p> - <p> - “He’s drunk,” observed Spatu, standing under the rain-pipe. “Bring him - here under the pipe; it will do him good.” - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - “Did you see where Don Michele was going? and Santuzza said she was - sleepy!” - </p> - <p> - “Leave Don Michele alone, can’t you?” said Cin-ghialenta; “that way he - won’t interfere with us.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re all a lot of cowards,” said ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “You’re afraid of Don Michele.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s dark, I can’t see,” said La Locca’s son. - </p> - <p> - “We ought to take something to drink,” said Rocco Spatu, “or we shall - break our noses on the rocks.” - </p> - <p> - Cinghialenta growled: “As if we were just out for our pleasure! Now you’ll - be wanting Master Vanni to give you a lemonade.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Are you mad, to knock in that way?” he exclaimed. “I saw Don Michele pass - just now.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; we saw him too.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know where he came from?” asked Pizzuti, looking sharply at him. - </p> - <p> - ’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.” - </p> - <p> - “Much good may it do him!” answered Cinghialenta; “but ’Ntoni ought - to tell his sister to keep him when we have anything to do.” - </p> - <p> - “What do you want of me?” said ’Ntoni, thickly. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing to-night. Never mind. To-night we can do nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “If we can do nothing to-night, why did you bring me away from the - tavern?” said Rocco Spatu. “I’m wet through.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “So much the better; no one will be looking out for us.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - A moment’s silence ensued, and Vanni, to put an end to it, brought out - three glasses and filled them with bitters. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll mash them into pulp!” concluded Rocco Spatu, with his eyes shining - like a cat’s. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Are you drunk already?” asked Cinghialenta. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he replied, “I did not drink.” - </p> - <p> - “Come into the open air; it will do us all good. Good-night.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “How it rains!” said Spatu. “Isn’t it going to leave off to-night?” - </p> - <p> - “With this weather there’ll be no one at the Rotolo,” said La Locca’s son. - “Wouldn’t it be better to go home?” - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - “Be still, you fool!” cried Cinghialenta, and Vanni Pizzuti closed the - door softly, after adding, in an undertone: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - ’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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “It is I, Don Michele. Open the door; I must speak to you; it is most - important.” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t open the door. They are all in bed but my sister, who is watching - for my brother ’Ntoni.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “O blessed Virgin!” cried the girl. “O blessed Virgin Mary!” - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “O Virgin Mary! O blessed Mary!” repeated Lia, with folded hands. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - Then Lia lifted up her face, and looked at Don Michele with her large - tearful eyes. “God reward you for your charity, Don Michele!” - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t done it for reward, Cousin Lia; I have done it for you, and for - the love I bear to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Now go, for they are all asleep. Go, for the love of God, Don Michele!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “I hear nothing,” said Cinghialenta. - </p> - <p> - The rain continued to fall, and from the top of the cliff nothing could be - heard save the moaning of the sea below. - </p> - <p> - “One can’t even see to swear,” said Rocco Spatu. “How will they manage to - climb the cliff in this darkness?” - </p> - <p> - “They all know the coast, foot by foot, with their eyes shut. They are old - hands,” replied Cinghialenta. - </p> - <p> - “But I hear nothing,” observed ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a fact, we can hear nothing,” said Cinghialenta, “but they must have - been there below for some time.” - </p> - <p> - “Then we had better go home,” said the son of La Locca. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “If Don Michele’s guard hears that they will be down on us directly, for - on these wet nights the owls don’t fly.” - </p> - <p> - “Then we had better go,” whined La Locca’s son, but nobody answered him. - </p> - <p> - All four looked in each other’s faces though they could see nothing, and - thought of what Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni had just said. - </p> - <p> - “What shall we do?” asked La Locca’s son. - </p> - <p> - “Let’s go down to the road; if they are not there we may be sure they have - not come,” suggested Cinghialenta. - </p> - <p> - ’Ntoni, while they were climbing down, said, “Goosefoot is capable - of selling the lot of us for a glass of wine.” - </p> - <p> - “Now you haven’t the glass before you, you’re afraid,” said Cinghialenta. - </p> - <p> - “Come on! the devil take you! I’ll show whether I’m afraid.” - </p> - <p> - While they were feeling their way cautiously down, very slowly, for fear - of breaking their necks in the dark, Spatu observed: - </p> - <p> - “At this moment Vanni Pizzuti is safe in bed, and he complained of - Goosefoot for getting his percentage for nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Cinghialenta, “if you don’t want to risk your lives, stay at - home and go to bed.” - </p> - <p> - ’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.” - </p> - <p> - “Who goes there?” they heard some one call out, all at once, behind the - wall of the high-road. “Stop! stop! all of you!” - </p> - <p> - “Treachery! treachery!” they began to cry out, rushing off over the cliffs - without heeding where they went. - </p> - <p> - But ’Ntoni, who had already climbed over the wall, found himself - face to face with Don Michele, who had his pistol in his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Blood of Our Lady!” cried Malavoglia, pulling out his knife. “I’ll show - you whether I’m afraid of your pistol!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Now what will become of my mother?” whined La Locca’s son, while they - tied him up like a trussed chicken. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t pull so tight!” shouted ’Ntoni. “Don’t you see I can’t - move?” - </p> - <p> - “Go on, go on, Malavoglia; your hash is settled once for all,” they - answered, driving him before them with the butts of their muskets. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “They have caught the smuggled goods and the smugglers too,” recounted - Pizzuti, “and Don Michele has been stabbed.” - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - Cousin Grace, his wife, really cried, poor woman, for her heart ached to - see how misfortunes rained upon those poor Malavoglia. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “The fools!” cried the druggist, “the fools, to let themselves be taken.” - </p> - <p> - “It will be an ugly business for them,” added Don Silvestro; “the razor - itself couldn’t save them from the galleys.” - </p> - <p> - And Don Giammaria went up close to him and said under his nose: - </p> - <p> - “Everybody that ought to be at the galleys doesn’t go there!” - </p> - <p> - “By no means everybody,” answered Don Silvestro, turning red with fury. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “Just as ’Ntoni Malavoglia wanted to do in my house,” added La - Zuppidda, sitting down on the wall with her distaff to spin hemp. - </p> - <p> - “What I always said to you, peace of the angels!” said her husband. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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!” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - Santuzza was there too, to say where ’Ntoni had been, and how he - had passed that evening. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “But what is it they want of us?” asked Cousin Grazia. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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!” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XV. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>eople 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “No,” replied Nunziata, crossing her hands on her breast, “no; by the - Madonna of Ognino, it is not true!” - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “But your father doesn’t even think whether you are alive or dead,” said - Alfio. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - Then Cousin Alfio repeated to Alessio that he would do well to marry - Nunziata, now that she had money. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - No one spoke of Lia, but they all thought of her as they sat with arms on - their knees, looking into the moonlight. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - And Mena would scold him as if he were a child, saying to him, “Why do you - think about such things?” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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! - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “Go and call Cousin Alfio Mosca, that he may do me the charity to carry me - to the hospital in his cart.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “He asked me about her often when we were alone,” said Nunziata. “He - wanted to know where she was.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “We have the money for the plenishing. At Saint John’s Day we shall sell - the calf.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “If you are willing to take me now, Cousin Mena,” he said at last, “I am - ready, for my part.” - </p> - <p> - 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! - </p> - <p> - “I am old now, Cousin Alfio,” she said; “I shall never marry.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - “You have not taken a liberty, Cousin Alfio, nor am I offended; I would - have said yes to you when we had the <i>Provvidenza</i> 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?” - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - As Alfio Mosca said, Alessio had taken Nunziata to wife, and had bought - back the house by the medlar-tree. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - Cousin Mosca shook his head when he saw her pass, and turned away with - drooping shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “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. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - “And why should you not marry, Cousin Mena?” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. . - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “You’re going?”’ - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” replied ’Ntoni. - </p> - <p> - “And where will you go?” asked Alessio. - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “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?” - </p> - <p> - Alessio did not answer. ’Ntoni was silent, too, for a while, and - then said: - </p> - <p> - “I did not see Lia.” - </p> - <p> - 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?” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <p> - 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: - </p> - <p> - “If you will, you, too, have a house to sleep in. The bed is here, kept on - purpose for you.” - </p> - <p> - “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.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - “Adieu,” repeated ’Ntoni. “You see that I am right in saying that I - must go. Adieu. Forgive me, all of you.” - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - 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.” - </p> - <h3> - THE END. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -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-h.htm or 54684-h.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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