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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5728.txt b/5728.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..459efb2 --- /dev/null +++ b/5728.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4255 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Stories by Foreign Authors: Italian, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: Stories by Foreign Authors: Italian + +Author: Various + +Posting Date: April 21, 2013 [EBook #5728] +Release Date: May, 2004 +First Posted: August 18, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS: ITALIAN *** + + + + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, Juliet Sutherland, Charles +Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + +STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS + +ITALIAN + +A GREAT DAY ......... by EDMONDO DE AMICIS + +PEREAT ROCHUS ....... by ANTONIO FOGAZZARO + +SAN PANTALEONE ...... by GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO + +IT SNOWS ............ by ENRICO CASTELNUOVO + +COLLEGE FRIENDS ..... by EDMONDO DE AMICIS + + + +NEW YORK 1898 + + + + +CONTENTS + + A GREAT DAY ....................... Edmondo de Amicis + PEREAT ROCHUS ..................... Antonio Fogazzaro + SAN PANTALEONE .................... Gabriele d'Annunzio + IT SNOWS .......................... Enrico Castelnuovo + COLLEGE FRIENDS ................... Edmondo de Amicis + + + + +A GREAT DAY + +BY + +EDMONDO DE AMICIS + +The Translation by Edith Wharton. + + +The G--s were living in the country, near Florence, when the Italian +army began preparations to advance upon Rome. In the family the +enterprise was regarded with disapproval. The father, the mother, and +the two grown daughters, all ardent Catholics and temperate patriots, +talked of moral measures. + +"We don't profess to understand anything about politics," Signora G---- +would say to her friends; "I am especially ignorant; in fact, I am +afraid I should find it rather difficult to explain WHY I think as I +do. But I can't help it; I have a presentiment. There is something +inside me that keeps saying: 'This is not the right way for them to go +to Rome; they ought not to go, they must not go!' I remember how things +were in forty-eight, and in fifty-nine and sixty; well, in those days I +never was frightened, I never had the feeling of anxiety that I have +now; I always thought that things would come right in the end. But now, +you may say what you please, I see nothing but darkness ahead. You may +laugh as much as you like... pray heaven we don't have to cry one of +these days! I don't believe that day is so far off." + +The only one of the household who thought differently was the son, a +lad of twenty, just re-reading his Roman history, and boiling over with +excitement. To mention Rome before him was to declare battle, and in +one of these conflicts feeling had run so high that it had been +unanimously decided not to touch upon the subject in future. + +One evening, early in September, one of the official newspapers +announced that the Italian troops had actually entered the Papal +States. The son was bursting with joy. The father read the article, sat +thinking awhile, and then, shaking his head, muttered: "No!" and again: +"No!" and a third time: "No!" + +"But I beg your pardon, father!" shouted the boy, all aflame. + +"Don't let us begin again," the mother gently interposed; and that +evening nothing more was said. But the next night something serious +happened. The lad, just before going to bed, announced, without +preamble, as though he were saying the most natural thing in the world, +that he meant to go to Rome with the army. + +There was a general outcry of surprise and indignation, followed by a +storm of reproaches and threats. No decent person would willingly be +present at such scenes as were about to be enacted; it was enough that, +as Italians, they were all in a measure to blame for what had happened, +without deliberately assuming the shame of being an eye-witness; there +was nothing one could not forgive in a lad of good family, except (it +was his mother who spoke) this craze to go and see A POOR OLD MAN +BOMBARDED. A fine war! A glorious triumph, indeed! + +When they had ended the lad set his teeth, tore in bits the paper +clutched between his fingers, and, lighting a candle, flung out of the +room, stamping his feet like an Italian actor representing an angry +king. + +Half an hour later he stole gently back to the dining-room. His father +and mother sat there alone, sad and silent. He asked pardon of his +father, who grumblingly shook hands; then he returned to his room, +followed by his mother. + +"Then we shall hear no more of these ideas?" she tenderly suggested, +laying her hands on his shoulders. + +He answered her with a kiss. + +The next day he crossed the borders of the Papal States. + +The discovery of his flight was received with tears, rage, and +invectives. They would never consent to see him again; if he came back, +they would not even rise from their seats to welcome him; they would +not speak to him for a month; they would cut off his allowance; they +had a hundred other plans for his discomfiture. With the mother it was +only talk; but the father meant what he said. He was a good but hard +man, averse to compromises, and violent in his anger; his son knew it +and feared him. It was incomprehensible that the lad should have +ventured upon such a step. + +The news of the 20th of September only increased the resentment of his +parents. + +"He will see," they muttered. "Only let him try to come back!" + +Their words, their gestures, the manner in which they were to receive +him, were all thought out and agreed upon: he was to receive a +memorable lesson. + +On the morning of the 22d they were all seated in the dining-room, +reading, when there was a great knock at the door, and the boy, +flushed, panting, sunburnt, stood erect and motionless on the threshold. + +No one moved. + +"What!" cried the boy, extending his arms in amazement, "you haven't +heard the news?" + +No one answered. + +"Hasn't any one told you? Has no one been out from Florence? Are you +all in the dark still?" + +No one breathed. + +"We have heard," one of the girls at length faltered, after exchanging +glances with her father, "that Rome was taken--" + +"What! Is THAT all?" + +"That is all." + +"But what a victory! What a victory!" cried the son, with a shout that +set them trembling. "So I am the one to tell you of it!" + +They sprang up and surrounded him. + +"But how is it possible?" he went on, with excited gestures--"how is it +possible that you haven't heard anything? Have there been no rumors +about the neighborhood? Haven't the peasants held a meeting? What is +the municipality about? Why, it's inconceivable! Just listen--here, +come close to me, so--I'll tell you the whole story; my heart's going +at such a rate that I can hardly speak..." + +"But what has happened?" + +"Wait! You shan't know yet. You must hear the whole story first, from +beginning to end. I want to tell you the thing bit by bit, just as I +saw it." + +"But WHAT is it?--the Roman festival?" + +"The PLEBISCITE?" + +"The King's arrival?" + +"No, no, no! Something much more tremendous!" + +"But tell us, tell us!" + +"Sit down, lad!" + +"But how is it that we haven't heard anything about it?" + +"How can I tell? All I know is that bringing you the first news of it +is the most glorious thing that's ever happened to me. I reached +Florence this morning--they knew all about it there, so I rushed +straight out here. I fancied that perhaps you mightn't have heard +yet--I ... I'm all out of breath ..." + +"But tell us, tell us quickly!" the mother and daughters cried, drawing +their chairs around him. The father remained at a distance. + +"You shall hear, mother--SUCH things!" the boy began. "Here, come +closer to me. Well, you know what happened on the morning of the +twenty-first? The rest of the regiments entered; there were the same +crowds, the same shouting and music as on the day before. But suddenly, +about midday, the noise stopped as if by common consent, first in the +Corso, then in the other principal streets, and so, little by little, +all over the city. The troops of people began to break up into groups, +talking to each other in low voices; then they scattered in all +directions, taking leave of each other in a way that made one think +they meant to meet again. It seemed as though the signal had been given +to prepare for something tremendous. Men said a hasty word to each +other in passing and then hurried on, each going his own way. The whole +Corso was in movement; people were rushing in and out of the houses, +calling out from the street and being answered from the windows; +soldiers dashed about as though in answer to a summons; cavalry +officers trotted by; men and boys passed with bundles of flags on their +shoulders and in their arms, all breathless and hurried, as if the +devil were after them. Not knowing a soul, and having no way of finding +out what it all meant, I tried to guess what was up from the expression +of their faces. They all looked cheerful enough, but not as frantically +glad as they had been; there was a shade of doubt, of anxiety. One +could see they were planning something. From the Corso I wandered on +through some of the narrower streets, stopping now and then to watch +one of the groups. Everywhere I saw the same thing--crowds of people, +all in a hurry, all coming and going, with the same air that I had +already noticed in the Corso, of concealing from somebody what they +were doing, although it was all being done in the open. Knots, bands, +hundreds of men and women passed me in silence; they were all going in +the same direction, as though to some appointed meeting-place." + +"Where were they going?" the father and mother interrupted. + +"Wait a minute. I went back to the Corso. As I approached it I heard a +deep, continuous murmur of voices, growing louder and louder, like the +noise of a great crowd. The Corso was full of people, all standing +still and facing toward the Capitol, as though they expected something +to come from that direction. From the Piazza del Popolo to the Piazza +di Venezia they were jammed so tight that nobody could budge. I heard +whispers flying about: 'Now they're coming!'--'They're coming from over +there!'--'Who's coming?'--'The main column--here's the main +column!'--'Here it is!'--'No, it isn't!'--'Yes, it is!' All at once +there was a stir in the crowd, and a big shout, 'Here they are!' and +down the middle of the street a wide passageway seemed to open of +itself, as though to make room for a procession. Every head was +uncovered. I fought my way through from the outer edge of the crowd, to +get a look at what was coming. I can feel the shiver down my back now! +First, a lot of generals in full uniform, and gentlemen in civilian's +dress, with the tri-colored scarf; in the midst of them, girls, women, +and ragged, tattered men; workmen, peasants, women with babies, +soldiers of all arms; smartly dressed ladies, students, whole families +clutching hold of each other's hands, for fear of getting lost in the +crowd; all jammed together, trampled upon, so that they could barely +move; and with it all not a sound but a buzzing, monotonous murmur; +silence on both sides of the street; silence in the windows. It was +awfully solemn; half strange and half fearful. I felt as if I were in a +trance." + +"But where were they going to?" his parents and sisters interposed with +growing impatience. + +"Wait a bit!" he returned. "I fought my way into the thick of it, with +the crowds on both sides of the street piling in on top of me. Lord, +what a crush! They spread out like a torrent, pouring into every +cranny, sweeping people on ahead of them, into shop-doors, into the +court-yards of houses, wherever there was a yard of vacant space. As we +went on, other streams of people kept surging into the Corso from all +the side streets, which were just as closely packed; on we swept from +the Capitol; and they said that there were thousands more in the Forum. +Hordes kept pouring in from the Piazza di Spagna, from the Via del +Babbuino, from the Piazza del Popolo. Every one had something in his +hand: a wreath of flowers, a branch of olive or laurel, a banner, a rag +tied to a stick. Some carried holy images uplifted above their heads; +inscriptions, emblems, pictures of the Pope, of the King, of the +Princes, of Garibaldi; never under the sun was there such a medley and +confusion of people and things! And all the while only that low murmur, +and the great multitude moving on with a calmness, a dignity that +seemed miraculous. I felt as though I were dreaming!" + +They gathered close round him without a word. "Suddenly I noticed that +the crowd had turned to the left. Round we all went; very slowly, with +the greatest difficulty, shoved, trampled on, knocked about; with our +arms pinned to our sides, and hardly able to breathe, we fought our +way, street by street, to the little square by the bridge of St. +Angelo. The bridge itself was crammed with people; beyond it, there +were more crowds, which seemed to stretch all the way to St. Peter's. +The right bank of the Tiber swarmed like an ant-hill. Crossing the +bridge was a hard job; it took us over a quarter of an hour. The poor +devils on each side, in their fear of being pushed over the edge, +clutched the parapet madly, and shouted with terror; I believe there +were several accidents. + +"Well, at last we got across. All the streets leading to the Piazza of +St. Peter were choked with human beings. When we reached the foot of +one of the two streets that run straight to St. Peter's we heard a +great roar, like the noise of the sea in a gale; it seemed to come to +us in gusts, now near by, now a long way off. It was the noise of the +crowd in the square before St. Peter's. We rushed ahead more madly than +ever; climbing over each other, carried along, pushed, swept, and +dragged, till at last we reached the square. God, if you could have +seen it!--What a spectacle!--The whole huge square was jammed, black, +swarming; no longer a square, but an ocean. All around the outer edge, +between the four lines of columns, on the steps of the church, in the +portico, on the great terraced roof, in the outer galleries of the +dome, on the capitals of the columns, on the very pilasters; in the +windows of the houses to the right of the square, on the balconies, on +the leads, above, below, to the right and to the left, wherever a human +being could find foothold, wherever there was some projection to cling +to or to dangle from, everywhere there were heads, arms, legs, banners, +shouts, gesticulations. The whole of Rome was there." + +"Heavens! ... And the Vatican?" the women cried, in a tremble. + +"All shut up. You know that a wing of the Vatican overlooks the square, +and that the Pope's apartments are in that wing. Every window was +closed; it looked like an abandoned palace; like a cold, rigid, +impassive face, staring straight ahead with wide-open motionless eyes. +The crowd looked up at it with a murmur. + +"Over by the church steps I noticed a lot of officers and gentlemen +moving about and giving orders, which seemed to be handed on through +the crowd. The excitement was increasing. Every head in the square was +uncovered; white heads of old men, brown heads of soldiers, fair heads +of little children. The sun blazed down on it all. Thousands of shapes, +colors, sounds, seemed to undulate and blend; banners, green boughs, +fluttering rags, were tossed back and forth as though upon a dancing +sea. The crowd seethed and quivered as if the ground underfoot were on +fire. + +"Suddenly there was a shout that swept over the whole square: 'The +boys! The children! Let's have the children!'" + +"Then, as if every one were following some concerted plan of action, +all the children in the square were lifted up above the crowd, and the +men and women who carried them fought a way through to the front of the +Vatican. The bigger boys made their own way. Bands of ten and twenty of +them, holding each other by the hand, wriggled between people's legs; +hundreds of children, some on their own feet, some carried, some +pushed, a whole world of little folk, hidden till then in the crowd, +suddenly swarmed in one corner of the square; and how the women +screamed! 'Take care!--Make room!--Look out for my child!'" + +"Presently there was another shout: 'The women now! The women!' and +another shuffling up and settling down of the crowd. Then a third +shout, louder than any of the others: 'The army! The troops!' this +time. Then came the most indescribable agitation, but underneath it all +a sense of order and rapidity; none of the ordinary confusion and +delay; every one helped, made way, co-operated; the whole immense +multitude seemed to be under orders. Gradually the disturbance ceased, +the noise diminished, the gesticulation subsided; and looking about one +saw that all the soldiers, women, and children in the crowd had +disappeared as if by magic. + +"There they all stood, on the right side of the square, divided into +three great battalions that extended from the door of St. Peter's to +the centre of the colonnade, all facing the Vatican, packed together +and motionless. The crowd burst into frantic applause." + +"But the Vatican?" the whole family cried out for the third time. + +"Shut up and silent as a convent; but wait. Suddenly the applause +ceased, and every head turned backward, whispering: 'Silence!' The +whisper travelled across the square and down the length of the two +streets leading to it; gradually the sound died out, and the crowd +became absolutely, incredibly silent: it was supernatural. All at once, +in the midst of this silence, we heard a faint mysterious chirping; a +vague, diffused sound of voices, that seemed to come from overhead. +Gradually it grew louder, and there was an uncertain gathering of +shrill, discordant tones, now close by, now far off, but growing +steadier and more harmonious, until at length it was blent in a single +tremulous silvery chant that soared above us like the singing of a +choir of angels. Thousands of children were singing the hymn to Pius +IX.--the hymn of forty-seven." + +"Oh, God--oh, God!" cried the mother and daughters, with clasped hands. + +"That song re-echoed in every heart; it touched something deep down and +tender in every one of us. A thrill ran through the crowd; there was a +wild waving of arms and hands, as though to take the place of speech; +but the only sound was a confused murmur. + +"'Holy Father,' that murmur seemed to say, 'look at them, listen to +them! They are our children, they are your little ones, who are looking +for you, who are praying to you, who implore your blessing. Yield to +their entreaty; give them your blessing; grant that our religion and +our country may dwell together as one faith in our hearts. One word +from you, Holy Father, one sign from you, one glance even, promising +pardon and peace, and every man of us shall be with you and for you, +now and for ever! Look--these our children and your little ones!' + +"Thousands of banners fluttered in the air, the song ceased, and a deep +silence followed." + +"Well?" they cried breathlessly. + +"Still shut up," the lad answered. "Then the women began to sing. There +was a deep thrill in the immense voice that rose; a something that +throbs only in the breast of mothers; it seemed a cry rather than a +hymn; it was sweet and solemn. + +"At first the crowd was motionless; then a wave of excitement passed +over it, and the hymn was drowned in a great clamor: 'These are our +mothers, these are our wives and sisters; Holy Father, listen to them. +They have never known hatred or anger; they have always loved and +hoped; all they ask is that you should give them leave to couple your +name with that of Italy on their children's lips. Holy Father, one word +from you will spare them many cruel doubts and many bitter tears. Give +them your blessing, Holy Father!" + +The boy's listeners questioned him with look and gesture. + +"Still closed," he answered; "still closed. But then a tremendous chant +burst out, followed by a wild surging of the crowd: the soldiers were +singing.--'These are our soldiers,' the people cried; 'they shall be +yours, Holy Father. They come from the fields and the workshops; they +will keep watch at your door, Holy Father, they will attend upon your +steps. They were born under your rule, as children they heard your +glorious cry for liberty, they fought the stranger in your name and in +that of their king; in the hour of danger, you will find them close +about your throne, ready to die for you. One word, Holy Father, and +these swords, these breasts, this flesh and blood is yours! They ask +your blessing on their country, Holy Father, they ask you to repeat +your own glorious words!'... + +"A window in the Vatican opened. The song ceased, the shouts died +out--silence. There was not a soul in the window. For a few seconds the +immense multitude seemed to stop breathing. It seemed as though +something moved behind the window--as though at the back of the room a +shadow appeared and then vanished. Then we fancied that we caught a +glimpse of people moving to and fro, and heard a vague sound. Every +face was turned towards the window, every eye was fixed upon it. +Suddenly, as if by inspiration, every arm in the multitude was +stretched out towards the palace; mothers lifted their children above +their heads, soldiers swung their caps on the points of their bayonets, +every banner was shaken out, and a hundred thousand voices burst into +one tremendous shout, 'Viva! Viva! Viva!' At the window of the Vatican +something light-colored appeared, wavered, fluttered in the air. God in +heaven!" cried the boy, with his arms about his mother's neck, "it was +the flag of Italy!" + +The delight, the joy, the enthusiasm which greeted his words are +indescribable. The lad had spoken with so much warmth, had been so +carried away by his imagination, that he had not perceived that, +gradually, as the story proceeded, he had passed from fact to fiction; +and his eyes were wet, his voice shook, with the spell of his +hallucination. His words carried conviction, and not a doubt clouded +the happiness of his listeners. They laughed and cried and kissed each +other, feeling themselves suddenly released from all their doubts and +scruples, from all the miserable conflicts of conscience that had +tortured them as Italians and as Catholics! The reconciliation between +Church and State! The dream of so many years! What peace it promised, +what a future of love and harmony! What a sense of freedom and security! + +"Thank God, thank God!" the mother cried, sinking into a chair, worn +out by her emotions. And then, in a moment or two, they were all at the +lad again, clamoring for fresh details. + +"Is it really true?" + +"Haven't you dreamed it?" + +"Go on, tell us everything. Tell us about the Pope, about the crowd, +about what happened next"... + +"What happened next?" the boy began again, in a tired voice. "I hardly +know. There was such an uproar, such confusion, such an outburst of +frenzy, that the mere recollection of it makes my brain reel. All I saw +was a vortex of arms and flags, and the breath was almost knocked out +of me by a thundering blow on the chest. After a while, I got out of +the thick of it, and plunged into one of the streets leading to the +bridge of St. Angelo. People were still pouring into the piazza from +Borgo Pio with frantic shouts. I heard afterwards that the crowd tried +to break into the Vatican; the soldiers had to keep them back, first +breast to breast, then with blows, and then with their bayonets. They +say that some people were suffocated in the press. No one knows yet +what happened inside the Vatican; there was a rumor that the Pope had +given his blessing from the window--but I didn't see him. I was almost +dead when I got to the bridge. The news of what had taken place had +already spread over the whole city, and from every direction crowds +were still pouring towards the Vatican. Detachments of cavalry went by +me at a trot; orderlies and aides-de-camps carrying orders dashed along +the streets. Hearing their shouts, the people in the windows shouted +back at them. Decrepit old men, sick people, women with babies in their +arms, swarmed on the terraces, poured out of the houses, questioning, +wondering, embracing one another... At last I got to the Corso. At that +minute there was a tremendous report from the direction of the Pincio, +another from Porta Pia, a third from San Pancrazio: all the batteries +of the Italian army were saluting the Pope. Soon afterwards the bells +of the Capitol began to ring; then, one after another, a hundred +churches chimed in. The crowds of Borgo Pio surged frantically back +towards the left bank of the Tiber, invading the streets, the squares, +the houses, stripping the coverings from the papal escutcheons, +carrying in triumph busts of Pius IX., portraits and banners. Thousands +assembled with frantic cheers before the palaces of the Roman nobles +who are known for their devotion to the Holy See. In answer to the +cheers, the owners of the houses appeared on their balconies and +unfurled the Italian flag. + +"Wait a minute, I'm out of breath"... + +As soon as he had recovered his breath he was assailed with fresh +questions. + +"Well, and what then? And the Vatican--? The Pope--?" + +"I don't know.--But Rome that night... how can I ever tell you how +beautiful, how great, how marvellous it was! The night was perfectly +clear, and I don't believe such an illumination was ever seen since the +world began. The Corso was on fire; the churches were jammed with +people, and there was preaching in every one of them. The streets were +full of music, dancing, and singing; people harangued the crowds in the +cafes and the theatres. + +"I wanted to see St. Peter's again. There had been a rumor that His +Holiness needed rest, and Borgo Pio was as still as it is on the +stillest night. The piazza was full of moonlight. A silent throng was +gathered about the two fountains and on the steps of the church. Many +were sitting down, many stretched at full length on the ground; the +greater number had fallen asleep, worn out by the fatigue and +excitement of the day; women, soldiers, children, lay huddled together +in a confused heap. Hundreds of others were on their knees, and +sentinels of all the different corps moved about here and there, with +little flags and crosses fastened to the barrels of their guns. The +ground was strewn with flags, foliage, flowers, and hats lost in the +crush; the windows of the Vatican were lit up; there was not a sound to +be heard, the crowd seemed to be holding its breath. + +"I turned away, beside myself with the thought of all that I had seen, +of the effect that it would produce in Italy, and all over the world; +of what you would all say to it, and you most of all, father! I found +myself at the station without knowing how I had got there. It was full +of noise and confusion. I jumped on to the train, we started, and here +I am. The news reached Florence last night; they say the excitement was +indescribable; the King has left for Rome; the news is all over the +world by this time!" + +He sank into a chair and sat silent, as though his breath had failed +him. Then he sprang up and rushed out to intercept the papers, which +usually reached the villa at eleven o'clock in the morning. + +In this way he succeeded in maintaining the blissful delusion until +evening. The dinner was full of gayety, the lad continued to pour out +detail after detail, and his listeners to heap benediction upon +benediction. + +Suddenly a hurried step was heard on the stairs, and the bell rang +violently. The door opened, and a tall, pale priest, with a drawn +mouth, appeared on the threshold. He was a recent acquaintance of the +family, who felt no great sympathy for him, but who received him +courteously more out of respect for his cloth than out of regard for +his merits. + +As he entered, all but the son sprang up and surrounded him with +excited exclamations. + +"Well, have you heard the news? Thank God, it's all ended! The hand of +God is in it! What do you think of it all? Tell us, let us hear your +opinion!" + +"But what news?" asked the priest, looking from one to the other with +astonished eyes. + +In wild haste, and all speaking at once, they poured out the story of +the festival, the forgiveness, the reconciliation. + +The priest stared at them, with the look of a man who finds himself +unexpectedly surrounded by lunatics; then, with a withering glance at +the boy, and a smile of malignant triumph-- + +"Luckily," he said, "there is not a word of truth in it!" + +"Not a word of truth in it?" they clamored, turning upon their +informant. + +The boy, unmoved by their agitation, returned the priest's look +half-scornfully, half-sadly. + +"Your reverence, don't say fortunately. Since you are an Italian, say +rather, 'Alas, that it is not so!'" + +For a moment the others stood aghast; then, angered, as people will be, +rather against those who undeceive them than against those who delude +them, they turned towards the priest, involuntarily echoing the boy's +words: "He's right, your reverence! Say rather, 'Alas, that it is not +so!'" + +The priest pointed to his own breast with a long knotty finger. + +"I?" he exclaimed bitterly, "never!" + +At these words, the boy's father, rudely roused from his mood of tender +exaltation, and bursting, after his wont, into sudden fury, stretched +his arm towards the priest, with a cry that rang through the room like +a pistol-shot: "Out of my house this instant!" + +The priest stalked out, slamming the door. The lad's arms were about +his father's neck; and the old man, laying his hands on his son's head, +said gently: "I forgive you." + + + + + + +PEREAT ROCHUS + +BY + +ANTONIO FOGAZZARO + +The Translation by A. L. Frothingham, Jr. + + +I. + +"It is a fine case, Don Rocco," said Professor Marin, gathering up the +cards and smiling beatifically, while his neighbor on the right raved +furiously against poor Don Rocco. The professor continued to look at +him with a little laugh on his closed mouth, and with a glance +sparkling with benevolent hilarity; then he turned to the lady of the +house, who was napping in a corner of the sofa. + +"It is a fine case, Countess Carlotta!" + +"I understand that well enough," said she, "and it seems to me time to +end it; isn't that so, Don Rocco?" + +"No, Don Rocco," said the professor seriously, "on reflection it +certainly is a case for the ecclesiastical court." + +"I should say it was at least that," said his neighbor on the right. + +Don Rocco, red as a poppy, with his two fingers in his snuff-box, kept +silence, his head bent forward and his brows knit in a certain contrite +way peculiar to him, facing the tempest with his bald spot, and looking +slyly between one wink and another at the unfortunate cards. When he +heard the words "ecclesiastical court" repeated by his companion, whom +he held in considerable fear, it seemed to him that matters were +becoming quite amusing, so he forced a little smile and took a pinch of +snuff between his fingers. + +"Oh, you laugh!" returned the implacable professor. "I hardly know +whether, having played at terziglio and having brought such ill luck on +your partner, you can say Mass in peace to-morrow morning." + +"Oh! I can, I can," muttered Don Rocco, knitting his brows still more +and raising a little his good-natured countryman's face. "We all make +mistakes, all of us. Even he, over there, not to mention yourself, +sometimes." + +His voice had the tone of a peaceful animal badgered beyond all +patience. The professor was laughing with his eyes. "You are quite +right," said he. + +The game was over, the players got up. + +"Yes," said the professor with quizzical seriousness, "the case of +Sigismondo is more complicated." + +Don Rocco closed his beady little eyes in a smile, bending his head +with a peculiar mixture of modesty, complacency, and confusion, and +mumbled: + +"Even that case can be unravelled." + +"You see," added the professor, "I am well informed. It is a case, +Countess, which Don Rocco must unravel at the next meeting of the +ecclesiastical court." + +"There is no such meeting going on here," said the countess. "Let it +alone." + +But it was not so easy to wrest a victim from the clutches of the +professor. + +"Let us then say no more about it," said he quietly. "But listen, Don +Rocco; I am not of your opinion on that point. As for me, pereat +mundus." + +Don Rocco frowned furiously. + +"I haven't spoken with any one," said he. + +"Don Rocco, you have gossiped, and I know it," answered the professor. +"Have patience, Countess, and give us your opinion." + +Countess Carlotta did not care to enter upon the question, but the +professor continued imperturbably to set forth the case of Sigismondo +as it had been promulgated by the Episcopal tribunal. + +A certain Sigismondo, fallen suddenly ill, asked for a confessor. +Hardly was he alone with the priest when he hastened to tell him that +some other person was on the point of committing a homicide, which he +had himself instigated. + +Hardly had he said these words when he lost voice and consciousness. +The priest doubted whether Sigismondo had spoken in confession or not; +and he could not prevent the crime, could not save this human life in +peril, unless he made use of what he had heard in confidence. Should he +do this or should he let a man be killed?" + +"It is Don Rocco's opinion," concluded the professor, "that the priest +should act as a policeman." + +Poor Don Rocco, tortured in his conscience between the feeling that he +ought not to discuss the question in a secular conversation and a +feeling of reverence for his bantering friend who was an ecclesiastic +of mature age and a professor in the Episcopal seminary of P---, was +twisting himself about and mumbling excuses. + +"No...the fact is...I say...it seems to me..." + +"I am surprised, Don Rocco, that you should think it worth while to +make excuses," said the lady. "It amazes me that you should take +seriously the jests of the professor." + +But the professor protested, and with subtle questions pushed Don Rocco +to the wall and began to squeeze out of him, little by little, the +peculiar combination of right instincts and crooked arguments which he +had in his head, showing him with the greatest charm of manner the +fallacy of all his bad reasons and of all his good sense, and leaving +him in a stupor of contrite humility. But the game lasted only a short +while, because the countess dismissed the company with the excuse that +it was after eleven o'clock. However, she asked Don Rocco to remain. + +It was the Countess Carlotta who had chosen him, a few years before, as +rector of the Church of St. Luke, which was her property. She took with +him a sort of Episcopal air which was peacefully accepted by the +thankful priest, as simple in spirit as he was humble-hearted. + +"You would do better, my dear Don Rocco," said she when they were +alone, "to bother yourself less with such affairs as that of +Sigismondo, and a little more with your own." + +"But why?" asked Don Rocco, surprised. "I do not know what you mean." + +"Of course; the whole village knows it, but you are in complete +ignorance." + +Her eyes added quite clearly, "Poor simpleton." Don Rocco remained +silent. + +"When does Lucia return?" asked she. This Lucia was the servant of Don +Rocco, to whom he had given permission to go home for five days. + +"On Sunday," he answered. "To-morrow evening. Oh!" he suddenly +exclaimed, smiling with satisfaction at his own keenness. "Now I +understand, now I see what you mean. But it is not so, it is not so at +all." + +He had at last understood that it was a question of certain rumors +current in the village on a love affair of his servant with a certain +Moro, a bad specimen, well known at the police court, who combined +craft with malevolence and strength in a most diabolical manner. Some +believed that he was not entirely bad, but that necessity and the +ill-treatment of an unjust master had led him to wrongdoing; but every +one feared him. + +"It is not true at all, is it?" answered she. "Then I don't know what +the village will say when certain novelties will happen to the servant +of the priest." + +Don Rocco became red as fire and frowned most portentously. + +"But it is not true at all," said he, brusquely and shortly. "I +questioned her myself as soon as I heard the gossip. It is nothing but +the maliciousness of people. Why, the man does not even see her!" + +"Oh! Don Rocco," said the lady. "You are good, good, good. But as the +world is not made that way, and as there is a scandal, if you don't +make up your mind to send the creature away, I must decide on something +myself." + +"You will do what you like," answered the priest dryly. "Have I not got +to consider what is right?" + +The countess looked at him, and said, with a sudden solemnity, "Very +well. You will reflect on this to-night, and to-morrow you will give me +your final answer." + +She rang the bell to have a lantern brought for Don Rocco, as the night +was very dark. But, to her great surprise, Don Rocco carefully +extracted one from the back pocket of his cloak. + +"What made you do that?" exclaimed she. "You have probably got a spot +on my chair!" + +She got up, notwithstanding the assurances of Don Rocco, and taking one +of the candles which still burned on the card table, she stooped down +to look at the chair. + +"There!" she said, "put your nose over that! It is spotted and ruined!" + +Don Rocco came also, and, knitting his brows, bent down over a large +spot of oil, a black island on the gray cloth, muttering most +seriously, "Oh, yes!" and remaining absorbed in his gaze. + +"Now, go!" said the lady. "What is done is done." + +It seemed in fact, as if he were awaiting her permission to raise his +nose from the repentant stool. + +"Yes, I'll go now," he answered, lighting his lantern, "because I am +alone at home at present, and I am even afraid that I left the door +open." + +Very suddenly he said "Good-night," and disappeared without even +looking at the countess. + +She was astonished. "Dear me, what a boor!" she said. + + + +II. + +It was a damp, cloudy night in November. Little Don Rocco was limping +along towards his hermitage of St. Luke with awkward steps, his arms in +parentheses, and his back arched, knitting his brows at the road-bed as +he went along. He was ruminating over the dark words of Signora +Carlotta, and their importance was gradually piercing his obtuse brain. +He was also ruminating over the next assembly of the ecclesiastical +court, over the pereat mundus and the subtle reasonings of the +professor, of which he had understood so little; not to speak of the +exposition of the Gospels for the next day, which he had not yet fully +prepared. All this would often get inextricably confused in his mind. +Certainly poor innocent Lucia must not be condemned, pereat mundus. +Signora Carlotta was almost a padrona to him; but what about that other +great padrone? Nemo potest duobus dominis servire; thus, beloved +brethren, says the Gospel for the day. + +Poor Don Rocco, as usual, had also lost at terziglio; and this gave a +somewhat gray cast to his ideas, notwithstanding his proverbial +carelessness of every mundane interest. That hole in his pocket, that +continuous dropping, made him reflect. Would it not have been better +for him to give the same amount in alms? + +"There is this good thing about it," he thought, "that it is a terrible +bore, and that they all badger me. I certainly do not play for +pleasure." + +He passed on the left of the road a dark clump of trees, ascending +slowly in the darkness towards three large cypresses of unequal height, +standing out black against the sky. There, between the old cypresses, +stood the little country church of St. Luke, attached to a small +convent which had had no inmates for a hundred years. The little +hillock garlanded with vines had no other structures. From the convent, +and from the grassy knoll, on which stood the little cypress-overhung +church, the main road could not be seen, but only other knolls gay with +vineyards, villas, and country houses, islands on an immense plain, +extending from the hills further away as far as the Alps and blending +eastward in the mists of the invisible sea. The simple chaplain of +Countess Carlotta lived alone in the convent, like a priest of silence, +content with his meagre prebend, content to preach with might and main +in the little church, to be called during the day to bless the beans, +and at night to assist the dying, to cultivate the vine with his own +hands; content with everything, in fine; even with his servant, an ugly +old maid of about forty, at whose discretion he ate, drank, and dressed +himself most resignedly, without exchanging more than a dozen words +with her throughout the year. + +"If I send her away," he said to himself, as he passed between the high +hedges of the lane that led up from the main road to St. Luke, "it will +damage and dishonor her. I cannot conscientiously do it, because I am +sure that it isn't true. And with that Moro, of all men!" + +The clock in the bell-tower struck eleven. Don Rocco began to think of +his sermon, of which only three-quarters was written, and he rushed +down from the church square to the door which led into his courtyard +under the bell-tower at the end of a steep and stony lane. As he opened +the gate and passed across the yard he was brought suddenly to a +standstill. A faint light was shining from the windows of his +sitting-room, the former refectory of the monks, on the lower floor. + +Don Rocco had left at four o'clock to pay his visit to the Countess +Carlotta, and had not returned in the meanwhile. He could not have left +the lamps lighted. Therefore Lucia must have returned before the time +she had set; that must certainly be the reason. He did not fatigue his +brain by making any other suppositions, but entered. + +"Is it you, Lucia?" he called. No answer. He passed through the +vestibule, approached the kitchen, and stood motionless on the doorsill. + +A man was sitting under the chimney-cap with his hands stretched out +over the coals. He turned toward the priest and said, most +unconcernedly: + +"Don Rocco, your humble servant." + +By the light of the smoky petroleum lamp which stood on the table, Don +Rocco recognized the Moro. He was conscious of a feeling of weakness in +his heart and in his legs. He did not move nor answer. + +"Make yourself at home, Don Rocco," continued the Moro imperturbably, +as if he were doing the honors of his own house. "You had better take a +seat here also, for it is cold to-night and damp." + +"Yes, it is cold," answered Don Rocco, infusing a forced benevolence +into his tones; "it is damp." + +And he put his lantern down on the table. + +"Come here," said his companion. "Wait till I make you comfortable." He +got a chair and placed it on the hearthstone near his own. + +"There now," said he. + +Meanwhile Don Rocco was getting his breath again, and carrying on, with +a terrible knitting of his brows, most weighty reflections. + +"Thanks," he answered, "I will go to put away my cloak and come back at +once." + +"Lay your cloak down here," replied the Moro, not without some haste +and a new tone of imperiousness not at all pleasing to Don Rocco. + +He silently placed his cloak and hat on the table and sat down under +the chimney-cap beside his host. + +"You will excuse me if I have made a little fire," he continued. "I +have been here at least a half-hour. I thought you were at home +studying. Isn't to-day Saturday? And are you not obliged to say +to-morrow morning the few customary absurdities to the peasants?" + +"You mean the exposition of the Gospel," answered Don Rocco with +warmth, for on that ground he knew no fear. + +"A hint is all you need!" said the Moro. "Excuse me, I am a peasant +myself, and talk crudely, maybe, but respectfully. Will you give me a +pinch of snuff?" + +Don Rocco held out the snuff-box to him. + +"Is this da trozi?" said he with a wink. This word, as well as the +expression "by-paths tobacco," was used in speaking of the tobacco +which was smuggled into the State. + +"No," answered Don Rocco, rising. "Perhaps I have a little of that +upstairs." + +"Never mind, never mind," the Moro hastened to say. "Give here." And +sticking three fingers into the snuff-box he took up about a pound of +snuff and breathed it in little by little, as he gazed at the fire. The +dying flame illumined his black beard, his earthy complexion, and his +brilliant, intelligent eyes. + +"Now that you are warmed," Don Rocco made bold to say after a moment's +silence, "you may go home." + +"Hum!" said the man, shrugging his shoulders. "I have a little business +to transact before I leave." + +Don Rocco squirmed in his chair, winking hard, and frowning heavily. + +"I suggested it because it is so late," he mumbled, half churlishly, +half timidly. "I also have something to do." + +"The sermon, eh?--the sermon, the sermon!" the Moro repeated +mechanically, looking at the fire, and ruminating. "See here," he +concluded, "suppose we do this. There are pens, paper, and inkstand in +the sitting-room. Sit down there and write your stuff. Meanwhile, if +you will allow me, I will take a mouthful, as it is sixteen hours since +I have eaten. When we have finished we will talk." + +At first Don Rocco was not disposed to agree, but he was as halting in +his secular utterances as he was fiery in his sacred eloquence. He +could only squirm and give out a few low, doubtful grunts; after which, +as the other man kept silence, he got up from his chair with about as +much difficulty as if he had been glued to it. + +"I will go to find out," said he, "but I am afraid I shall find very +little, the servant--" + +"Don't trouble yourself," interrupted the Moro. "Let me attend to it. +You go and write." He left the hearth, lighted another lamp and carried +it into the neighboring sitting-room, which had windows facing the +south on the courtyard, while the kitchen windows were at the back of +the old convent on the north side, where the cellar and the well were +placed. Then he came back quickly, and under the eyes of the astonished +priest took down a key that was hanging in the darkest corner of the +kitchen, opened a closet against the wall, put up his hand without +hesitating and took down a cheese of goats' milk, the existence of +which Don Rocco had not even suspected; he took bread from a cupboard, +and a knife from a drawer in the table. + +Now it happened for only the third or fourth time in the whole life of +Don Rocco that the famous frown entirely disappeared for a few moments. +Even the eyelids stopped winking. + +"You look surprised, Don Rocco," said the Moro complacently, "because I +am at home in your house. But just keep on writing. You will understand +later. We must also keep the fire going," he added, when the priest, +having slowly recovered from his amazement, passed into the +sitting-room. + +The Moro took the iron bellows, a sort of arquebuse barrel, turned one +end toward the coals, and blew into the other in so unusual a way as to +produce a strident whistle. Then he started on his supper. + +What possessed him! At one moment he was devouring his food, at another +he would raise his head and remain transfixed, while at another he +would walk up and down the kitchen violently knocking the chairs and +table. He seemed like an imprisoned wild beast which every now and then +raises its fangs from the bone, listens and looks, seizes it again, +leaves it, rushes around its cage in a rage and goes back to gnaw. + +Meanwhile, Don Rocco was leaning over his paper, wondering still at +what he had seen, unable in his unsuspiciousness to draw any +inferences, listening to the steps and the noises in the next room with +a torpid uneasiness that had about the same resemblance to fear as the +intelligence of Don Rocco himself had to understanding. "'You will +understand later,'" he repeated to himself. "What am I to understand? +That he knows where the money is?" He kept it in a box in his +bed-chamber, but there were only two ten-franc pieces, and Don Rocco +reflected with satisfaction that the new wine was not yet sold, and +that that money at least was safe from the clutches of the Moro. + +It did not appear as if the latter threatened violence. "At the worst I +should lose twenty francs," concluded Don Rocco, seeking refuge in his +philosophical and Christian indifference to money. He mentally +abandoned the twenty francs to their destiny and sought to concentrate +his thoughts on the sacred text: Nemo potest duobus dominis servire. At +the same moment he seemed to hear, between the hasty steps of the Moro, +a heavy, dull thud from a greater distance, as of a door being broken +open; then the bang of a chair knocked down in the kitchen; then still +another distant noise. The Moro entered the sitting-room and violently +closed the door behind him. + +"Here I am, Don Rocco," said he. "Have you also finished?" + +"Now is the time," thought the priest, who immediately forgot +everything but the presence of this man. + +"Not finished yet," he answered. "But I will finish after you have +gone. What do you wish?" + +The Moro took a seat opposite him and crossed his arms on the table. + +"I am living a bad life, sir," said he. "The life of a dog and not of a +man." + +At this Don Rocco, although he had resigned himself to the worst, felt +his heart expand. He answered severely, and with his eyes cast down: +"You can change, my son, you can change." + +"That's why I am here, Don Rocco," said the other. "I want to make +confession. Now, at once," he added when he saw that the priest +remained silent. + +Don Rocco began to wink and to squirm somewhat. + +"Very well," said he, still with his eyes cast down. "We can talk about +it now, but the confession can come later. You can return for it +to-morrow. It requires a little preparation. And it must be seen +whether you have received proper instruction." + +The Moro immediately fired off, with all placidity and sweetness, three +or four sacrilegious oaths against God and the sacraments, as if he +were reciting an Ave, and drew the conclusion that he knew as much +about it as a member of the clergy. + +"There, there, you see!" said Don Rocco, squirming more than ever. "You +are beginning badly, my son. You want to confess, and you blaspheme!" + +"Oh, you mustn't notice little things like that," answered the Moro. "I +assure you that the Lord doesn't bother about it. It is a habit, so to +speak, of the tongue, nothing more." + +"Beastly habits, beastly habits," pronounced Don Rocco, frowning and +looking into his handkerchief, which he held under his nose with both +hands. + +"In fine, I am going to confess," insisted the man. "Hush, now, don't +say no! You will hear some stiff ones." + +"Not now, really not now," protested Don Rocco, rising. "You are not +prepared at present. We will now thank the Lord and the Virgin who have +touched your heart, and then you will go home. To-morrow you will come +to holy Mass, and after Mass we will meet together again." + +"Very well," answered the Moro. "Go ahead." + +Don Rocco got down on his knees near the lounge and, with his head +turned, seemed to wait for the other to follow his example. + +"Go ahead," said the Moro. "I have a bad knee and will say my prayers +seated." + +"Very well; sit here on the sofa, near me, where you will be more +comfortable; accompany my words with your heart, and keep your eyes +fixed on that crucifix in front of you. Come, like a good fellow, and +we will pray the Lord and the Virgin to keep you in so good a state of +mind that you may have the fortune to make a good confession. Come, +like a good, devout fellow!" + +Having said this, Don Rocco began to recite Paters and Aves, often +devoutly raising his knitted brows. The Moro answered him from his seat +on the sofa. He seemed to be the confessor and the priest the penitent. + +Finally, Don Rocco crossed himself and got up. + +"Now sit right here while I confess," said the Moro, as if there were +nothing against it. But Don Rocco caught him up. Had they not already +arranged that he should confess the next day? But the other would not +listen with that ear, and continued hammering away at his request with +obstinate placidity. + +"Let us stop this," he said, all at once. "Pay attention, for I am +beginning!" + +"But I tell you that it is not possible and that I will not have it," +replied Don Rocco. "Go home, I tell you! I am going to bed at once." + +He started to leave; but the Moro was too quick for him, rushed to the +door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. + +"No, sir! you don't go out of here! Might I not die to-night? Wouldn't +I, if the Lord just blew on me like this?" + +And he blew on the petroleum lamp and put it out. + +"And if I go to hell," he continued in a sepulchral voice, in the dark, +"you will go there too!" + +The poor priest, at this unexpected violence, in the midst of this +darkness, lost his presence of mind. He no longer knew where he was, +and kept saying, "Let us go, let us go," trying to find the sofa, +beating the air with his extended hands. The Moro lighted a match on +his sleeve, and Don Rocco had a glimpse of the table, of the chairs, +and of his strange penitent, before it became darker than ever. + +"Could you see? Now I shall begin; with the biggest sin. It is fifteen +years since I have been to confession, but my biggest sin is that I +have made love to that ugly creature, your servant." + +"Body of Bacchus!'" involuntarily exclaimed Don Rocco. + +"If I am familiar with the kitchen," continued the Moro, "it is because +I must have come here fifty times of an evening when you were not here, +to eat and drink with Lucia. Perhaps you have even found that some few +francs were missing..." + +"I know nothing about it; no, I know nothing about it!" mumbled Don +Rocco. + +"Some of those few small bills in your box, first compartment to the +left at the bottom." + +Don Rocco gave forth a low exclamation of surprise and pain. + +"Now, as for me, I have gotten through stealing," continued he; "but +that witch would carry off even your house. She is a bad woman, a bad +woman! We must get rid of her. Do you remember that shirt that you +missed last year? I have it on now and she gave it to me. I cannot give +it back because..." + +"Never mind, don't bother, never mind," interrupted Don Rocco. "I'll +give it to you." + +"Then there were some glasses of wine, but I didn't drink them all +myself. And then there is the silver snuff-box with the portrait of +Pius Ninth." + +"Body of Bacchus!" exclaimed Don Rocco, who thought he still had in his +box that precious snuff-box given him by an old colleague. "That also?" + +"I drank it; yes, sir, it took me fifteen days. Do not get excited, for +we are in confession." + +"What's that?" + +It was a noise against the gate of the courtyard. A hard knock or a +stone. + +"It is evil-doers," said the Moro. "Rascally night-birds. Or perhaps +some sick person. I'll go at once to find out." + +"Yes, yes," said Don Rocco hastily. + +"I will go and return to-morrow," continued the other, "for I see that +you certainly do not care to confess me to-night." + +He took out some matches and re-lighted the lamp, saying: + +"Listen, Don Rocco, I want to be an honest man and work; but I must +change my residence, and for the first few days how can I get along? +You understand what I mean." + +Don Rocco scratched his head. + +"You are to come to-morrow morning of course," he said. + +"Naturally! But I have a few debts here; and going around in broad +daylight, I should like to show my face without being ashamed." + +"Very well," responded Don Rocco, frowning considerably, but in a +benevolent tone. "Wait a moment." + +He took a lamp, left the sitting-room, and returned immediately with a +ten-franc bill. + +"Here you are," said he. + +The man thanked him and left, accompanied by the priest, who carried +the lamp as far as the middle of the courtyard and waited there until +the Moro called to him from outside the gateway that no one was there. +Then Don Rocco went to close the gate, and re-entered the house. + +He could not go to bed at once. He was too agitated. Body of Bacchus! +he kept repeating to himself. Body of Bacchus! One could hardly have +imagined so extraordinary a case, and for it to happen to him, of all +men! His head felt as confused as when he played at tresette and did +not understand the game and every one badgered him. What a chaos there +was in that head of good and of bad, of bitterness and of consolation! +The more extraordinary did the thing appear to him, with the greater +faith, with the more timorous reverence, did he refer it all to the +hand of God. In thinking over his entrance into the kitchen, and that +man seated at the hearth, memory gave him a stronger spasm of fear than +the reality had, and it was immediately succeeded by mystic admiration +of the hidden ways of the Lord. Certainly Lucia's fault was a bitter +one, but how clearly the design of Providence could be seen in it! It +led a man to the house of the priest; through sin to grace. What a +great gift he had received from God, he the last of the priests of the +parish, one of the last of the diocese! A soul so lost, so hardened in +evil! He felt scruples at having allowed himself to be moved too +strongly by the deception of his servant, the loss of the snuff-box. +Kneeling by his bed, he recited, amid rapid winks, an interminable +series of Paters, Aves, and Glorias, and prayed the Lord, St. Luke, and +St. Rocco to help him in properly directing this still immature +confession. Heavens! to come to confession with a string of oaths and +to accuse others more than himself! To Don Rocco the heart of the Moro +appeared under an image which pleased him, it seemed so new and clear. +A healthy fruit with a first spot of decay; only in his case the image +was reversed. + +When he had gone to bed and was lying on his side, ready to sleep, it +occurred to him that the next day Lucia would arrive. This thought +immediately suggested another, and made him turn right over flat on his +back. + +It brought up, in fact, a grave problem. Had the Moro spoken of Lucia +in confession or not? Don Rocco remembered that he had made no remark +when the man, having blown out the light, declared that he wished to +confess. Neither had he done so later when the man said: "Don't get +excited, for we are in confession." Therefore, there was at least a +grave doubt that this had been a real confession; and even if the +penitent had afterwards interrupted it, this did not in the least +detract from its sacramental character, had it existed; and, +consequently, what about Lucia? And his answer to the Countess +Carlotta? Body of Bacchus! It seemed the case of Sigismondo. Don Rocco +cast a formidable frown at the ceiling. + +He remembered the pereat mundus, and the arguments of that well of +science, that extraordinary man, the professor. It would be impossible +now to send away Lucia. And finally the dark words of Countess Carlotta +were quite clear to him. He himself must leave: pereat Rochus. + +The hour was striking in the clock tower. The voice of the clock was +dear to him by night. His rugged heart softened somewhat, and Satan saw +his chance to show him the peaceful little church surrounded by the +cypresses, his own, all his own, and a certain fig tree that was dear +to him under the bell-tower; he made him feel the sweetness of the +cells rendered holy by so many pious souls of old, the sweetness of +living in that quiet niche of St. Luke, so well suited to his humble +person, in the exercise of a ministry of deed and of word, without +worldly aims and without responsibility of souls. Satan further showed +him the difficulty of finding a good place; reminded him of the needs +of his old father and his sister, poor peasants, one of them now too +old and the other too infirm to gain their livelihood by working. And +Satan finally turned casuist and sought to prove that, without +betraying the secret, he could still send away the servant on some +pretext, or even with none. But at this suggestion of profiting by the +confession Don Rocco raised such a frightful frown that the devil fled +without waiting for more. Let him keep Lucia, then, and let her see to +it that she followed the sacred text: Nemo potest duobus dominis +servire. Just see how the words of holy writ fitted the occasion! Don +Rocco sought to mentally stitch together the last sentences of his +sermon, but it was too fatiguing an attempt for him. He might have +succeeded, however, had he not fallen asleep in the midst of a most +difficult passage. + + + +III. + +He slept little and arose at dawn. Before going down he stepped to the +window to consult the weather. In stepping back his eyes fell on the +entrance to the cellar. It was open. + +Don Rocco went down to the cellar, and came out again with a most +unusual expression. The wine was no longer there. Neither wine nor +cask. But outside there were fresh marks of wheels. + +Don Rocco followed these as far as the main road. There they +disappeared. There remained but a short curve from the edge to the +middle of the road into the labyrinth of all the other wheel tracks. +Don Rocco did not think at that time to go in search of the authorities +in order to make a complaint. Ideas came to him very slowly, and +perhaps this particular one would not be due before midday. + +On the contrary he returned, wrapped in meditation, to St. Luke. "Those +blows," said he to himself, "that stone thrown! It is fortunate that +the Moro was with me then; otherwise, he would have been suspected." He +went back to the cellar entrance, examined minutely the fractured door, +contemplated the place where the cask had stood, and, scratching his +head, went into the church to repeat some prayers. + + + +IV. + +At Mass there was a crowd. Both before and after it there was a great +deal of talk of the theft. Everybody wanted to see the empty cellar, +the broken door, the traces of the wheels. + +Two bottles which had escaped the thieves disappeared into the pockets +of one of the faithful. No one understood how the priest could have +avoided noticing something; because he did assert without further +explanation that he had heard nothing. The women were sorry for him, +but the men for the most part admired the deed and laughed at the poor +priest, who had the great fault, in their eyes, of being abstemious and +not knowing how to mingle with people with that easy-going fraternity +which comes only from emptying the wine glass together. + +They laughed, especially during the sermon, at the deep frown on the +priest's face, which they attributed to the empty cellar. + +No one mentioned the Moro. Neither did he appear at St. Luke, either at +the Mass or afterwards; so that poor Don Rocco was full of scruples and +remorse, fearing that he had not conducted the affair properly. But +quite late the police arrived, examined everything, and questioned the +priest. Had he no suspicions? No, none. Where did he sleep? How did it +happen that he had not heard? Really, he did not know himself; there +had been people in the house. At what time? Some time between eleven +and one o'clock. One of the police smiled knowingly, but Don Rocco, +innocent as a child, did not notice it. The other one asked if he did +not suspect a certain Moro, knowing, as they did, that shortly before +eleven o'clock he had been seen going up to St. Luke. At once Don Rocco +showed great fervor in protesting that the man was certainly innocent, +and, somewhat pressed by questions, brought forth his great reason: it +was precisely the Moro who had visited him at that hour, on his own +business. "Perhaps it was not on the business that you think," said the +policeman. "If you knew what I think!" Don Rocco did not know, and in +his humble placidity did not wish to know. He never bothered himself +with the thoughts of others. It was sufficiently difficult for him to +get a little lucidity into his own. They asked him a few more +questions, and then left, carrying with them the only object that they +found in the cellar, a corkscrew, which the scrupulous Don Rocco was +not willing, through the uncertainty of his memory, to claim as +belonging to him, although he had paid his predecessor twice the value +of it. And now his cellar and his conscience were equally clear. + +Towards dusk on the same day Don Rocco was reading the office, walking +up and down for a little exercise without going far from the house. Who +could tell? Perhaps that man might yet come. Every now and then Don +Rocco would stop and listen. He heard nothing but the voices of +wagon-drivers on the plain below, the noise of wheels, the barking of +dogs. Finally there was a step on the little path that led down through +the cypress trees; a step slow but not heavy, a lordly step, with a +certain subdued creak of ecclesiastical shoes; a step which had its +hidden meaning, expressing to the understanding mind a purpose which, +though not urgent, was serious. + +The gate opened, and Don Rocco, standing in the middle of the +courtyard, saw the delicate, ironical face of Professor Marin. + +The professor, when he perceived Don Rocco, came to a stand, with his +legs well apart, his hands clasped behind his back, silently wagging +his head and his shoulders from right to left, and smiling with an +inexpressible mixture of condolence and banter. Poor Don Rocco on his +side looked at him, also silent, smiling obsequiously, red as a tomato. + +"The whole business, eh?" finally said the professor, cutting short his +mimicry and becoming serious. + +"Yes, the whole business," answered Don Rocco in sepulchral tones. +"They didn't leave a drop." + +"Thunder!" exclaimed the other, stifling a laugh; and he came forward. + +"It is nothing, nothing at all, you know, my son," said he with sudden +good nature. "Give me a pinch. It is nothing," he continued, taking the +snuff. "These are things that can be remedied. The Countess Carlotta +has made so much wine that, as I say, for her a few casks more, a few +casks less... You understand me! She is a good woman, my son, the +Countess Carlotta; a good woman." + +"Yes, good, good," mumbled Don Rocco, looking into his snuff-box. + +"You are a lucky man, my dear," continued Marin, slapping him on the +shoulder. "You are as well off here as the Pope." + +"I am satisfied, I am satisfied," said Don Rocco, smiling and smoothing +out his brows for a moment. It pleased him to hear these words from an +intimate friend of the Countess Carlotta. + +The professor gazed around admiringly as if he saw the place for the +first time. "It is a paradise!" said he, letting his eyes pass along +the dirty walls of the courtyard and then raising them to the fig tree +picturesquely hidden under the bell-tower in the high corner between +the gateway and the old convent. + +"Only for that fig tree!" he added. "Is it not a beauty? Does it not +express the poetry of the southern winter, tepid and quiet? It is like +a word of sweetness, of happy innocence, tempering the severity of the +sacred walls. Beautiful!" + +Don Rocco looked at his fig tree as if he saw it for the first time. He +was fond of it, but he had never suspected that it possessed such +wonderful qualities. + +"But it gives little figs," said he, in the tone of a father who hears +his son praised in his presence and rejoices, but says something severe +lest he become puffed up, and also to hide his own emotion. Then he +invited the professor to make himself at home in the house. + +"No, no, my dear," answered the professor, silently laughing at that +phrase about the little figs. "Let us take a short stroll: it is +better." + +Passing slowly across the courtyard, they came out into the vineyard, +whose festoons crowned both declivities of the hill, and they passed +along the easy, grassy ascent between one declivity and the other. + +"It is delicious!" said the professor. + +Between the immense cold sky and the damp shadows of the plain the last +glimpses of light were softly dying away on the grayish hill, on the +red vines, all at rest. The air was warm and still. + +"Is all this yours?" asked the professor. + +Don Rocco, perhaps through humility, perhaps through apprehension of +what the immediate future might bring, kept silence. + +"Make up your mind to stay here, my son," continued he. "I know very +well, believe me, there is not another place as fortunate as this in +the whole diocese." + +"Well, as for me!..." began Don Rocco. + +Professor Marin stopped. + +"By the way!" said he, "Countess Carlotta has spoken to me. Look here, +Don Rocco! I really hope that you will not be foolish!" + +Don Rocco gazed savagely at his feet. + +"Goodness!" continued the professor. "Sometimes the countess is +impossible, but this time, my dear son, she is right. You know that I +speak frankly. You are the only one here who does not know these +things. It is a scandal, my son! The whole village cries out against +it." + +"I have never heard, I have not..." mumbled Don Rocco. + +"Now I tell you of it myself! and the countess has told you more than +once." + +"You know what I answered her last night?" + +"They were absurd things that you said to her." + +At this blow Don Rocco shook himself a little, and with his eyes still +lowered spoke up eagerly in his own defence. + +"I answered according to my convictions, and now I cannot change." + +He was humble-hearted, but here was a question of justice and truth. To +speak according to truth, according to what one believes to be the +truth, is a duty; therefore, why did they persecute him? + +"You cannot change?" said the professor, bending over him and fixing on +his face two squinting eyes. "You cannot change?" + +Don Rocco kept silent. + +The professor straightened up and started on his walk again. + +"Very well," he said, with ostentatious quiet. "You are at liberty to +do so." + +He suddenly turned to Don Rocco, who was following him with heavy steps. + +"Gracious!" he exclaimed with annoyance, "do you really think that you +have in your house a regular saint? Do you take no account of the +gossip, of the scandal? To go against the whole country, to go against +those who give you your living, to go against your own good, against +Providence, for that creature? Really, if I did not know you, my dear +Don Rocco, I would not know what to think." + +Don Rocco squirmed, winking furiously, as if he were fighting against +secret anguish, and breathless, as if words were trying to break forth +involuntarily. + +"I cannot change; it is just that," said he when he got through his +grimaces. "I cannot." + +"But why, in the name of heaven?" + +"Because I cannot, conscientiously." + +Don Rocco finally raised his eyes. "I have already told the countess +that I cannot go against justice." + +"What justice! Your justice is blind, my dear. Blind, deaf, and bald. +And if you said a foolish thing yesterday do you wish to repeat it +again to-day? And if you do not believe what is said of Lucia are there +lacking reasons for sending away a servant? Send her away because she +does not take the spots off your coat, because she does not darn your +stockings. Anything! Send her away because she cooks your macaroni +without sauce, and your squash without salt." + +"The real reason would always be the other one," answered Don Rocco +gloomily. + +Even Professor Marin could not easily answer an argument of this kind. +He could only mumble between his teeth: "Holy Virgin, what a pig-head!" + +They reached the few consumptive cypresses along the ridge that led +from the hill to another still higher hill. There they stopped again; +and the professor, who was fond of Don Rocco on account of his simple +goodness, and also because he could make him the butt of amiable +banter, made him sit down by his side on the grass, and attempted a +final argument, seeking in every way to extract from him his reasons +for continuing so long to believe in the innocence of Lucia; but he did +not succeed in getting at any result. Don Rocco kept always referring +to what he had said the evening before to Countess Carlotta, and +repeated that he could not change. + +"Then, good-bye St. Luke, my son," said the resigned Marin. + +Don Rocco began to wink furiously, but said not a word. + +"The Countess Carlotta was expecting you today," said the professor, +"but you did not go to her. She therefore charged me to tell you that +if you did not immediately consent to send away Lucia on the first of +December, you will be free for the new year, and even before if you +wish." + +"I cannot leave before Christmas," said Don Rocco timidly. "The parish +priest always needs assistance at that time." + +The professor smiled. + +"What do you suppose?" said he. "That Countess Carlotta hasn't a priest +ready and waiting? Think it over, for there is still time." + +Don Rocco communed with himself. It rarely happened that he went +through so rapid a process of reasoning. Granted, that this woman was a +cause for scandal in the country, and that the countess had another +priest at her disposal, the decision to be taken was obvious. + +"Then," he answered, "I will leave as soon as possible. My father and +my sister were to come and visit me one of these days. So that now it +will be I who will visit them instead." + +He even had in his heart the idea of taking this woman away from the +village with him. His people had no need of a servant, and he, if he +delayed finding a place, would not be able to keep her. But certain +reasonable ideas, certain necessary things, never reached his heart, +and reached his head very late, and when they did Don Rocco would +either give himself a knock on the forehead, or a scratch behind, as if +it bothered him. + +In returning to St. Luke the professor told how the police were in +search of the Moro, who was suspected as an accomplice in a recent +highway murder, certain authors of which had fallen that very morning +into the hands of justice. Don Rocco heard this not without +satisfaction; for he now was able to explain why the man had not come. +"Who knows," he made bold to say, "that he may not have gone away, and +that he may not return? And then all this gossip will come to an end. +Do you not think so?" + +"Yes, my dear," answered the professor, who understood the point of his +discourse, "but you know the Countess Carlotta. Henceforth whether the +Moro goes or remains is of no consequence to her. Lucia must be +dismissed." + +Don Rocco said no more, neither did the professor. The former +accompanied the latter as far as the church cypresses, stood looking +after him until he disappeared at the end of the lane, and then +returned, sighing, to his house. Later, when, bending under the weight +of his cloak, he was passing, lamp in hand, through the entry leading +to the choir of St. Luke, his doubt of the previous night came up again +violently. "Had it really been a confession?" He stopped in the shadow +of the deserted entry, looking at the lamp, giving vent for a moment to +the sweet, tempting thoughts of the inert spirit. "Were he to take some +pretext to send the woman away, to live and die in peace in his St. +Luke." All at once his heart began to beat fiercely. These were +thoughts from the devil. In the same way as perhaps in ancient times +and in the same place some monk, tormented by heated nocturnal visions +of love and of pleasure, may have done, Don Rocco made hastily the sign +of the cross, hastened to the choir, and became immersed in a devout +reading of the prayer-book. + + + +V. + +Ten days after, at the same hour, Don Rocco was praying before the +altar of the Virgin, under the pulpit. + +He was on the eve of leaving St. Luke for ever. He had agreed with the +Countess Carlotta to give as an excuse a brief absence, a visit of a +couple of weeks to his old father; and to write afterwards that for +family reasons he could not return, and then this had happened that the +poor old peasant, before learning of the new state of affairs, had +written, asking for assistance; and Don Rocco had been obliged to sell +some furniture as well to save cost of transportation as in order not +to arrive home with empty hands. He was returning with the intention of +remaining as short a time as possible, and of going away as chaplain +wherever it pleased the Curia to which he had directed his request. + +No certain information had been secured, either of the wine or of the +thieves; but suspicions were rife against a woman who kept an inn, a +new favorite of the Moro, who was thought to have received the wine. +The Moro was said by some to have fled, by others to have gone into +hiding. It seemed as if the police were of the second opinion. They +came and went, searching everywhere, but always uselessly. + +Lucia had returned, and for several days had behaved in an unusual and +peculiar manner. She neglected her work, was brusque with her master, +and wept without apparent motive. One evening she went out, saying that +she intended going to the parish church to say her prayers. At nine +o'clock Don Rocco, as she had not returned, went philosophically to +bed, and never knew at what time she came into the house. On the +contrary, he congratulated himself the next day on the happy change +that had taken place in her, owing to her religious exercises, because +she seemed no longer as she had been, but was quiet, attentive, active, +spoke with satisfaction of the approaching departure, the position +which Don Rocco hoped to find for her with a certain arch-priest, a +friend of his; a promotion for her. She seemed to be possessed of an +entirely novel ascetic zeal. As soon as Don Rocco retired for the +night, she would go to church to spend there hour after hour. + +And now, Don Rocco had taken his last supper in the monastic refectory, +was reading his breviary for the last time in the little church of St. +Luke, as rustic, simple, and religious as he, from its pavement to the +black beams of its roof. His heart was heavy, poor priest, thus to +leave his nest without honor; to carry humiliation and bitterness to +his father and his sister, whose only hope and pride he was! He had +every reason to frown as he looked at his breviary. + +When he had finished reading, he took his seat on a bench. It was +painful to him to take leave of his church. It was his last evening! He +stood there with fixed eyes, his eyelids moving regularly, discouraged, +cast down, like a stricken beast awaiting the axe. He had passed some +hours of the afternoon among his vines, those planted three years +before, which had already given him their first fruit. The large +cypresses, the splendid view of the plain and of the other hillsides, +inspired him with not a single dream; his peasant's heart grew tender +toward the beautiful vines, the fertile furrows. Though blushing and +ashamed of it, he had taken a sprig of a vine and an ear of corn to +carry away as mementos. This was his poetry. Of the church he could +carry away nothing. But he left there his heart, a little everywhere; +on the altar that had witnessed his first exposition of the Gospel, on +the ancient altar front that inspired him with devotion as he said +Mass, on the beautiful Madonna, whose mantle had been modestly raised +around her neck by his care, on the tomb of a bishop to whom, two +centuries before, the peace of St. Luke had seemed preferable to +worldly splendors. Who could tell whether he would ever have again a +church so his own--entirely his own? He could not seem to rise, he felt +an inner sense of dissolution, of which he had never dreamed. His +eyelids kept on winking as if bidding away importunate tears. In fact, +he did not weep, but his little eyes shone more than usual. + +At half-past nine Lucia entered the church through the choir to look +after her master. "I am coming at once, at once, go back," said Don +Rocco. + +He believed himself alone in the church, but had he bent his head back +he might have seen something unusual. Very slowly a human head showed +itself in the pulpit by the light of the petroleum lamp and looked down +upon the priest. It had the diabolic eyes of the Moro set in a shaven +ecclesiastical face. The head rose up in the shadow, two long arms made +in the air a violent gesture of impatience. At the same time Don Rocco +repeated to the woman who stood hesitating: "Go back, go back, I am +coming at once." + +She went out. + +Then the priest got up from his bench and went up to the high altar. +The human figure in the pulpit came down again, and went rapidly into +hiding. Don Rocco turned around so as to stand in cornu epistolae, +toward the empty benches, imagined them full of people, of his people +of every Sunday, and a spirit of eloquence entered into him. + +"I bless you all," said he in a strong voice. "I wish that you were all +present, but that is not possible, because I must not let any one know. +I bless you all, and ask you to pardon me if I have been wanting. +Gloria Dei cum omnibus vobis." + +The temptation was too strong for a certain person to resist. A +cavernous voice resounded through the empty church: + +"Amen." + +Don Rocco remained breathless, with his hands in the air. + +"Hurry up," said the servant, returning. "Do you not remember that you +must leave out your cloak and your clothes?" + +Poor Don Rocco was not well found in clothes, for he carried on his +back omnia bona sua, and there was sewing to be done and spots to be +taken out, according to Lucia, before the journey of the next morning. +Don Rocco descended from the altar without answering and went all +through the church, lowering the lamp between all the benches and +confessionals. + +"What is it; what are you looking for?" asked the servant, anxiously +coming along behind him. For a while Don Rocco did not answer. + +"I said a few words of prayer," he said finally, "and I heard some one +answer 'Amen.'" + +"You fancied so." replied Lucia. "It must have been a trick of the +imagination." + +"No, no," said Don Rocco. "I really heard the 'Amen.' It seemed to be a +voice from under the earth. A great big voice. It did not seem that of +a man, but rather of a bull." + +"It may have been the bishop," suggested the woman. "Isn't there a +bishop buried here? Such things have been heard of." + +Don Rocco kept silent. In his simplicity, in his innate disposition to +faith, he was inclined to willingly believe anything supernatural, +especially if connected with religion. The more astonishing it was, the +more did he in sign of reverence knit his brows and drink it in +devoutly. + +"Now let us go," said the woman. "It is late, you know, and I have +considerable work to do." + +"Let us at least recite a pater, an ave, and a gloria to St. Luke," +said Don Rocco. "It is the last evening that I say my prayers here. I +must leave a salute." He spoke of a pater, and an ave, and a gloria; +but he strung along at least a dozen, finding as many reasons to salute +other saints of his particular acquaintance. One was to promote the +eternal salvation of the two devotees, one their temporal salvation, +one the grace to conquer temptations, one a suitable position, one a +good death, and another a good journey. The last pater was recited by +Don Rocco with remarkable fervor for the complete conversion of a +sinful soul. Had the priest been less absorbed in his paters he might, +perhaps, have heard after the fourth or fifth some smothered +ejaculations of that humorous bishop who had perpetrated the "Amen." +But he heard only Lucia answering him with much devotion, and was +touched to the heart by it. + +A few moments after he was still meditating, in the dark, in the +wretched little bed of his cell, on the salutary and evident effects of +the divine grace which he had sought in the sacraments. He meditated +also on the action of the Moro, on the ray of light that had shone into +that dark conscience, harbinger, if nothing less, of better and lasting +light. And in his mystic imagination he saw the design of Providence +which recompensed him for a sacrifice which he had suffered for duty's +sake. It was a blessing to think of that, to know that he was losing +all his few earthly possessions for such a recompense. He offered up +also the sorrow of his father and his sister, his own humiliation, the +straitened circumstances in which he should find himself. He saw in +front of his bed, through the window, the vague, far-off brightness of +the sky, his hope, his end. Little by little his eyes closed, in a +delicious sense of confidence and peace. He slept profoundly. + + + +VI. + +He was not yet entirely awake when the clock of St. Luke struck +half-past seven. Immediately after the bells also rang, because Don +Rocco had the day before notified the boy accustomed to serve him at +Mass that he would meet him at about eight o'clock. He jumped out of +bed, and went to get the clothes that Lucia was to have placed outside +the door. Nothing there. He called once, twice, three times. No answer. +Perplexed, he returned to his room and called out of the window: +"Lucia! Lucia!" Perfect silence. Finally the little sacristan appeared. +He had not seen Lucia. He had come to get the keys of the church, had +found the gate of the courtyard open, as well as the door of the house; +no one in the kitchen, no one in the sitting-room. Not finding the +keys, he had entered the church by the inner entry. Don Rocco sent him +to the sitting-room to get his clothes, as it was there that Lucia +usually worked in the evening. The boy returned to say that there were +no clothes there. "How? There are no clothes?" Don Rocco ordered him to +stand on guard before the entrance of the house and went down to look +for them himself, in his shirt. Half-way down the stairs he stopped and +sniffed. What an abominable odor of pipe was this? Don Rocco, with +darkened brow, went on. He went directly to the sitting-room, looked, +searched; there was nothing. He returned to the kitchen, his heart +beating. A horrid smell, but no clothes. Yes, under the table there was +a little pile of soiled things; a jacket, a pair of drawers, a +peasant's hat. Don Rocco gathered up, unfolded, and examined them with +portentous frowns. It seemed to him that he had seen these things +somewhere before. His brain did not yet understand anything, but his +heart began to understand and to beat more strongly than before. He +took hold of his chin and his cheeks with his left hand, squeezed them +hard, trying to squeeze from them the where, the how, and the when. And +lo! his eyes rested on the wall, and he finally perceived something +there which was not there the day before. There was written in charcoal +on the right: "Many salutations." And on the left: + +"The wine is good." + +"The servant is good." + +"The cloak is good." + +"Don Rocco is good." + +He read, raised his hand to his head, read again--read again, seemed to +lose his eyesight, felt a sensation of cold, of torpidity spreading +from his breast throughout his body. Some one called out in the +courtyard, "Where is that Don Rocco?" With difficulty he went up to his +room again, cast himself on his bed, almost without knowing what he was +doing, almost without thought or sensation. + +Below they were looking and calling for him. Professor Marin was there, +and some few other persons who had come to attend the Mass. No one +could understand how the door of the church was still closed. The +professor went into the house, called Lucia, called Don Rocco, without +receiving any answer. He finally reached the room of the priest and +stood still on the doorsill, amazed to see him in bed. "Well," said he, +"Don Rocco! in bed? And what about Mass?" + +"I cannot," answered Don Rocco in a low voice, immovable on his back +like a mummy. + +"But what is it?" replied the other, approaching the bed with sincere +alarm. "What is the matter with you?" + +This troubled face, this affectionate tone, softened poor Don Rocco's +heart, petrified by pain and surprise. This time two real tears fell +from his palpitating eyelids. His mouth, closed tight, was twisting and +trembling, but still resisted. Seeing then that he answered not a word, +the professor ran to the stairs and called down that the physician +should be sent for. + +"No, no," Don Rocco forced himself to say without moving. His voice was +filled with sobs. The professor heard him only as he was returning to +the bed. + +"No?" said he. "But what, then, is the matter? Speak." + +Meanwhile three poor women and a beggar, who had come to listen to +Mass, entered quite frightened into the room, surrounding the two, and +in their turn questioning Don Rocco. He kept silent like a Job, seeking +to master himself. Perhaps his annoyance at all these curious faces +hanging over his own helped him. "Go away," said he finally to the last +comers. "There is no need of the doctor, no need of anything, go away!" + +The four faces withdrew somewhat, but continued looking at him fixedly +with an expression, perhaps, of increased alarm. + +"Go away, I tell you!" continued Don Rocco. + +They went out silently and stopped outside to listen and spy. + +"Well, then," said the professor, "what are your feelings?" + +"Nothing." + +"But, then, why are you in bed?" + +Don Rocco turned with his face to the wall. The tears were coming back +again now. He was unable to speak. + +"But in the name of heaven," insisted the professor, "what is it?" + +"I am getting over it, I am getting over it," sobbed Don Rocco. + +The professor did not know what to do nor what to think. He asked him +whether he wanted water, and the old beggar went down at once to get a +glassful and gave it to Marin. Don Rocco did not want it in the least, +but kept on repeating: "Thanks, thanks, I am getting over it," and +drank it obsequiously. + +"Well, then?" continued the professor. + +"You are right," answered Don Rocco. + +"About what?" + +"About the woman." + +"Lucia? Right! And by the way, where is Lucia? Not here? Run away?" + +Don Rocco nodded. Marin looked at him stupefied and repeating, "Run +away? Run away?" The other four came back into the room echoing, "Run +away? Run away?" + +"But listen!" said the professor. "Are you staying in bed for this +reason? Are you humiliating yourself in this way? Come on and get +dressed." + +Don Rocco looked at him, reddened up to the top of his head, narrowed +his tear-wet eyes in a smile, which meant: "Now it will be your turn to +laugh." + +"I have no clothes," he said. + +"What?" + +The professor added to this word a gesture which meant, "Did she carry +them away?" Don Rocco responded also by a mere nod; and seeing that his +friend with difficulty restrained a burst of laughter, he also tried to +laugh. + +"Poor Don Rocco," said the professor, and added, still with a laugh in +his throat, heartfelt words of sympathy, of comfort, and asked for +every detail of what had happened. "Oh, if you had only listened to +me!" he concluded. "If you had only sent her away!" + +"Yes," said Don Rocco, accepting even this with humiliation. "You are +right. And now what will the countess say?" + +The professor sighed. + +"What can I say, my son? She will say nothing. This also has happened, +that your successor wrote yesterday that he had definitively gotten rid +of his present engagements and was at the disposal of the countess." + +Don Rocco was silent, heart-broken. "I must look at the time," said he, +after a moment's silence, "because at half-past nine they will come +here with a horse to take me away. It will be necessary to ask the +archpriest or the chaplain to lend me a suit of clothes." + +"Let me, let me!" exclaimed the professor, full of zeal. "I will go +home and send it to you immediately. You will give it back to me at +your leisure, when you are able." A lively gratitude cleared the face +and moved the eyelids of Don Rocco. + +"Thanks!" said he, fixing his eyes humbly on the end of his nose. +"Thank you very much!" + +"Body of Bacchus!" he added to himself, as the professor was going down +the stairs. "He is a span higher than I am, that just occurs to me!" + +But it certainly did not occur to him to call him back. + + + +VII. + +At half-past nine Don Rocco appeared in the doorway of his house to +start on his exodus. The overcoat of the professor danced around his +heels and swallowed up his hands down to his finger tips. The +stove-pipe hat, of enormous size, came down to his ears. The professor +followed right behind him, laughing silently. In the courtyard some +people attracted by the report of what had happened were laughing. "Oh, +Don Rocco, see what he looks like!" said the women. And one of them +would tell him about some action of Lucia, and another about another, +things of all kinds which he had never suspected. "Enough, enough," he +answered, disturbed in his conscience at all this malicious gossip. "It +is now all over, all over." + +He went on, followed by them all, gave a last look at the fig tree near +the bell-tower, and passing between the cypresses in front of the +church, turned back toward the door, devoutly raised his hat, and bent +his knee. + +The little wagon was awaiting him on the main road. The driver, seeing +him in this costume, laughed no less heartily than the rest. + +Then Don Rocco took leave of all, again thanked the professor, sent his +respects to the countess, and reduced to silence those who were still +heaping abuse on Lucia. When he had taken his seat the beggar +approached him and put his right hand upon one of his shoes. "Is this +yours?" said he. + +"Yes, yes, the shoes are," answered the priest with a certain +satisfaction, as the horse started. + +The beggar carried to his forehead the hand that had touched the shoe +of Don Rocco, and said with solemnity: + +"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen." + + + + + + +SAN PANTALEONE + +BY + +GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO + +The Translation by George McLean Harper. + + +I. + +The great sandy piazza, glittered as if strewn with powdered pumice. +Its whitewashed houses held a strange metallic glow, like the walls of +an immense furnace cooling off. The glare of the clouds, reflected from +the stone pillars of the church at its far end, gave them the +appearance of red granite. The church windows blazed as with inward +fire. The sacred images had assumed life-like colors and attitudes, and +the massive edifice seemed lifted now, in the splendor of the new +celestial phenomenon, to a prouder domination than ever, above the +houses of Radusa. + +Groups of men and women, gesticulating and talking loudly, were pouring +from the streets into the square. Superstitious terror grew in leaps +and bounds from face to face. A thousand awful images of divine +punishment rose out of their rude fancies; and comments, eager +disputes, plaintive appeals, wild stories, prayers, and cries were +mingled in a deep uproar, as of a hurricane approaching. For some time +past this bloody redness of the sky had lasted through the night, +disturbing its tranquillity, illumining sullenly the sleeping fields, +and making dogs howl. + +"Giacobbe! Giacobbe!" shouted some, waving their arms, who till then +had stood in a compact band around a pillar of the church portico, +talking in low tones, "Giacobbe!" + +There came out through the main door, and drew near to those who called +him, a long, emaciated man, apparently consumptive, whose head was bald +at the top, but had a crown of long reddish hair about the temples and +above the nape of the neck. His little sunken eyes, animated with the +fire of a deep passion, were set close and had no particular color. The +absence of his two upper front teeth gave to his mouth when speaking, +and to his sharp chin with its few scattered hairs, the strangeness of +a senile faun. The rest of his body was a wretched structure of bones +ill-concealed by his clothes. The skin on his hands, his wrists, the +back of his arms, and his breast was full of blue punctures made with a +pin and india-ink, the souvenirs of sanctuaries visited, pardons +obtained, and vows performed. + +When the fanatic approached the group at the pillar, a swarm of +questions arose from the anxious men. "Well, then? what did Don Console +say? Will they send out only the silver arm? Would not the whole bust +do better? When would Pallura come back with the candles? Was it one +hundred pounds of wax? Only one hundred? And when would the bells begin +to ring? Well, then? Well, then?" + +The clamor increased around Giacobbe. Those on the outskirts of the +crowd pushed toward the church. From all the streets people poured into +the square till they filled it. And Giacobbe kept answering his +questions, whispering, as if revealing dreadful secrets and bringing +prophecies from far. He had seen aloft in the bloody sky a threatening +hand, and then a black veil, and then a sword and a trumpet. + +"Go ahead! Go ahead!" they urged him, looking in each other's faces, +and seized with a strange desire to hear of marvels, while the wonder +grew from mouth to mouth in the crowd. + + + +II. + +The vast crimson zone rose slowly from the horizon to the zenith and +bade fair to cover the whole vault of heaven. An undulating vapor of +molten metal seemed pouring down on the roofs of the town; and in the +descending crepuscule yellow and violet rays flashed through a +trembling and iridescent glow. One long streak brighter than the others +pointed towards a street which opened on the river-front, and at the +end of this street the water flamed away between the tall slim +poplar-trunks, and beyond the stream lay a strip of luxuriant country, +from which the old Saracen towers stood out confusedly, like stone +islets, in the dark. The air was full of the stifling emanations of +mown hay, with now and then a whiff from putrefied silkworms in the +bushes. Flights of swallows crossed this space with quick, scolding +cries, trafficking between the river sands and the eaves. + +An expectant silence had interrupted the murmur of the multitude. The +name Pallura ran from lip to lip. Signs of angry impatience broke forth +here and there. The wagon was not yet to be seen along the river-road; +the candles had not come; Don Consolo therefore was delaying the +exposition of the relics and the acts of exorcism; the danger still +threatened. Panic fear invaded the hearts of all those people crowded +together like a flock of sheep, and no longer venturing to raise their +eyes to heaven. The women burst out sobbing, and at the sound of +weeping every mind was oppressed and filled with consternation. + +Then at last the bells began to ring. As they were hung low, their deep +quivering strokes seemed to graze the heads of the people, and a sort +of continuous wailing filled the intervals. + +"San Pantaleone! San Pantaleone!" + +It was an immense, unanimous cry of desperate men imploring aid. +Kneeling, with blanched faces and outstretched hands, they supplicated. + +"San Pantaleone!" + +Then, at the church door, in the midst of the smoke of two censers, Don +Consolo appeared, resplendent in a violet chasuble, with gold +embroidery. He held aloft the sacred arm of silver, and conjured the +air, shouting the Latin words: + +"Ut fidelibus tuis aeris serenitatem concedere digneris. Te rogamus, +audi nos." + +At sight of the relic the multitude went delirious with affectionate +joy. Tears ran from all eyes, and through glistening tears these eyes +beheld a miraculous gleam emanate from the three fingers held up as if +in the act of benediction. The arm appeared larger now, in the +enkindled air. + +The dim light awoke strange scintillations in the precious stones. The +balsamic odor of incense spread quickly to the nostrils of the devotees. + +"Te rogamus, audi nos!" + +But when the arm was carried back and the tolling stopped, in that +moment of silence a tinkling of little bells was heard near at hand +coming from the river road. Then of a sudden the crowd rushed in that +direction and many voices cried: + +"It is Pallura with the candles! It is Pallura coming! Here's Pallura!" + +The wagon came screeching over the gravel, drawn at a walk by a heavy +gray mare, over whose shoulders hung a great shining brass horn, like a +half-moon. When Giacobbe and the others made towards her, the pacific +animal stopped and breathed hard. Giacobbe, who reached the wagon +first, saw stretched out on its floor the bloody body of Pallura, and +screamed, waving his arms towards the crowd, "He is dead! He is dead!" + + + +III. + +The sad news spread like lightning. People crowded around the wagon, +and craned their necks to see, thinking no longer of the threats in the +sky, because struck by the unexpected happening and filled with that +natural ferocious curiosity which the sight of blood awakens. + +"He is dead? What killed him?" + +Pallura lay on his back upon the boards, with a broad wound in the +middle of his forehead, with one ear torn, with gashes on his arms, his +sides, and one thigh. A warm stream flowed down to his chin and neck, +staining his shirt and forming dark, shining clots on his breast, his +leathern belt, and even his breeches. Giacobbe hung over the body; all +the rest waited around him; an auroral flush lighted up their perplexed +faces; and at that moment of silence, from the river-bank arose the +song of the frogs, and bats skimmed back and forth above the heads of +the crowd. + +Suddenly Giacobbe, straightening up, with one cheek bloody, cried: + +"He is not dead. He still breathes." + +A hollow murmur ran through the crowd, and the nearest strained forward +to look. The anxiety of those at a distance commenced to break into +clamor. Two women brought a jug of water, another some strips of linen. +A youth held out a gourd full of wine. + +The wounded man's face was washed; the flow of blood from his forehead +was checked; his head was raised. Then voices inquired loudly the cause +of this deed. The hundred pounds of wax were missing; only a few +fragments of candles remained in the cracks of the wagon-bed. + +In the commotion their minds grew more and more inflamed, exasperated, +and contentious. And as an old hereditary hatred burned in them against +the town of Mascalico, on the opposite bank of the river, Giacobbe said +venomously, in a hoarse voice: + +"What if the candles have been offered to San Gonselvo?" + +It was like the first flash of a conflagration! The spirit of +church-rivalry awoke all at once in these people brutalized by many +years of blind, savage worship of their own one idol. The fanatic's +words flew from mouth to mouth. And beneath the tragic dull-red sky, +the raging multitude resembled a tribe of mutinous gypsies. + +The name of the saint broke from all throats, like a war-cry. The most +excited hurled curses towards the river, and waved their arms and shook +their fists. Then all these faces blazing with anger, and reddened also +by the unusual light,--all these faces, broad and massive, to which +their gold ear-rings and thick overhanging hair gave a wild, barbaric +character,--all these faces turned eagerly towards the man lying there, +and grew soft with pity. Women, with pious care, tried to bring him +back to life. Loving hands changed the cloths on his wounds, sprinkled +water in his face, set the gourd of wine to his lips, made a sort of +pillow under his head. + +"Pallura, poor Pallura, won't you answer?" He lay supine, his eyes +closed, his mouth half open, with brown soft hair on his cheeks and +chin, the gentle beauty of youth still showing in his features +contracted with pain. From beneath the bandage on his forehead a mere +thread of blood trickled down over his temples; at the corners of his +mouth stood little beads of pale red foam, and from his throat issued a +faint broken hiss, like the sound of a sick man gargling. About him +attentions, questions, feverish glances multiplied. The mare from time +to time shook her head and neighed in the direction of the houses. An +atmosphere as of an impending hurricane hung over the whole town. + +Then from the square rang out the screams of a woman, of a mother. They +seemed all the louder for the sudden hushing of all other voices, and +an enormous woman, suffocated in her fat, broke through the crowd and +hurried to the wagon, crying aloud. Being heavy and unable to climb +into it, she seized her son's feet, with sobbing words of love, with +such sharp broken cries and such a terribly comic expression of grief, +that all the bystanders shuddered and averted their faces. + +"Zaccheo! Zaccheo! My heart, my joy!" screamed the widow unceasingly, +kissing the feet of the wounded man and dragging him to her towards the +ground. + +The wounded man stirred, his mouth was contorted by a spasm, but +although he opened his eyes and looked up, they were veiled with damp, +so that he could not see. Big tears began to well forth at the corners +of his eyelids and roll down over his cheeks and neck. His mouth was +still awry. A vain effort to speak was betrayed by the hoarse whistling +in his throat. And the crowd pressed closer, saying: + +"Speak, Pallura! Who hurt you? Who hurt you? Speak! Speak!" + +Beneath this question was a trembling rage, an intensifying fury, a +deep tumult of reawakened feelings of vengeance; and the hereditary +hatred boiled in every heart. + +"Speak! Who hurt you? Tell us! Tell us!" + +The dying man opened his eyes again; and as they were holding his hands +tightly, perhaps this warm living contact gave him a momentary +strength, for his gaze quickened and a vague stammering sound came to +his lips. The words were not yet distinguishable. The panting breath of +the multitude could be heard through the silence. Their eyes had an +inward flame, because all expected one single word. + +"Ma--Ma--Mascalico--" + +"Mascalico! Mascalico!" shrieked Giacobbe, who was bending over him, +with ear intent to snatch the weak syllables from his dying lips. + +An immense roar greeted the cry. The multitude swayed at first as if +tempest-swept. Then, when a voice, dominating the tumult, gave the +order of attack, the mob broke up in haste. A single thought drove +these men forward, a thought which seemed to have been stamped by +lightning upon all minds at once: to arm themselves with some weapon. +Towering above the consciousness of all arose a sort of bloody +fatality, beneath the great tawny glare of the heavens, and in the +electric odor emanating from the anxious fields. + + + +IV. + +And the phalanx, armed with scythes, bill-hooks, axes, hoes, and guns, +reunited in the square before the church. And all cried: "San +Pantaleone!" + +Don Consolo, terrified by the din, had taken refuge in a stall behind +the altar. A handful of fanatics, led by Giacobbe, made their way into +the principal chapel, forced the bronze grille, and went into the +underground chamber where the bust of the saint was kept. Three lamps, +fed with olive oil, burned softly in the damp air of the sacristy, +where in a glass case the Christian idol glittered, with its white head +surrounded by a broad gilt halo; and the walls were hidden under the +wealth of native offerings. + +When the idol, borne on the shoulders of four herculean men, appeared +at last between the pillars and shone in the auroral light, a long gasp +of passion ran through the waiting crowd, and a quiver of joy passed +like a breath of wind over all their faces. And the column moved away, +the enormous head of the saint oscillating above, with its empty +eye-sockets turned to the front. + +Now through the sky, in the deep, diffused glow, brighter meteors +ploughed their furrows; groups of thin clouds broke away from the hem +of the vapor zone and floated off, dissolving slowly. The whole town of +Radusa stood out like a smouldering mountain of ashes. Behind and +before, as far as eye could reach, the country lay in an indistinctly +lucent mass. A great singing of frogs filled the sonorous solitude. + +On the river-road Pallura's wagon blocked the way. It was empty, but +still soiled, here and there, with blood. Angry curses broke suddenly +from the mob. Giacobbe shouted: + +"Let us put the saint in it!" + +So the bust was placed in the wagon-bed and drawn by many arms into the +ford. The battleline thus crossed the frontier. Metallic gleams ran +along the files. The parted water broke in luminous spray, and the +current flamed away red between the poplars, in the distance, towards +the quadrangular towers. Mascalico showed itself on a little hill, +among olive trees, asleep. The dogs were barking here and there, with a +persistent fury of reply. The column, issuing from the ford, left the +public road and advanced rapidly straight across country. The silver +bust was borne again on men's shoulders, and towered above their heads +amid the tall, odorous grain, starred with bright fireflies. + +Suddenly a shepherd in his straw hut, where he lay to guard the grain, +seized with mad panic at sight of so many armed men, started to run up +the hill, yelling, "Help! Help!" And his screams echoed in the olive +grove. + +Then it was that the Radusani charged. Among tree-trunks and dry reeds +the silver saint tottered, ringing as he struck low branches, and +glittering momentarily at every steep place in the path. Ten, twelve, +twenty guns, in a vibrating flash, rattled their shot against the mass +of houses. Crashes, then cries, were heard; then a great commotion. +Doors were opened; others were slammed shut. Window-panes fell +shattered. Vases fell from the church and broke on the street. In the +track of the assailants a white smoke rose quietly up through the +incandescent air. They all, blinded and in bestial rage, cried, "Kill! +kill!" + +A group of fanatics remained about San Pantaleone. Atrocious insults +for San Gonselvo broke out amid waving scythes and brandished hooks: + +"Thief! Thief! Beggar! The candles! The candles!" + +Other bands took the houses by assault, breaking down the doors with +hatchets. And as they fell, unhinged and shivered, San Pantaleone's +followers leaped in, howling, to kill the defenders. + +The women, half-naked, took refuge in corners, imploring pity. They +warded off the blows, grasping the weapons and cutting their fingers. +They rolled at full length on the floor, amid heaps of blankets and +sheets. + +Giacobbe, long, quick, red as a Turkish scimitar, led the persecution, +stopping ever and anon to make sweeping imperious gestures over the +heads of the others with a great scythe. Pallid, bare-headed, he held +the van, in the name of San Pantaleone. More than thirty men followed +him. They all had a dull, confused sense of walking through a +conflagration, over quaking ground, and beneath a blazing vault ready +to crumble. + +But from all sides began to come the defenders, the Mascalicesi, strong +and dark as mulattos, sanguinary foes, fighting with long spring-bladed +knives, and aiming at the belly and the throat, with guttural cries at +every blow. + +The melee rolled away, step by step, towards the church. From the roofs +of two or three houses flames were already bursting. A horde of women +and children, wan-eyed and terror-stricken, were fleeing headlong among +the olive trees. Then the hand-to-hand struggle between the males, +unimpeded by tears and lamentations, became more concentrated and +ferocious. + +Under the rust-colored sky, the ground was strewn with corpses. Broken +imprecations were hissed through the teeth of the wounded; and +steadily, through all the clamor, still came the cry of the Radusani: + +"The candles! The candles!" + +But the enormous church door of oak, studded with nails, remained +barred. The Mascalicesi defended it against the pushing crowd and the +axes. The white, impassive silver saint oscillated in the thick of the +fight, still upheld on the shoulders of the four giants, who refused to +fall, though bleeding from head to foot. It was the supreme desire of +the assailants to place their idol on the enemy's altar. + +Now while the Mascalicesi fought like lions, performing prodigies on +the stone steps, Giacobbe suddenly disappeared around the corner of the +building, seeking an undefended opening through which to enter the +sacristy. And beholding a narrow window not far from the ground, he +climbed up to it, wedged himself into its embrasure, doubled up his +long body, and succeeded in crawling through. The cordial aroma of +incense floated in the solitude of God's house. Feeling his way in the +dark, guided by the roar of the fight outside, he crept towards the +door, stumbling against chairs and bruising his face and hands. + +The furious thunder of the Radusan axes was echoing from the tough oak, +when he began to force the lock with an iron bar, panting, suffocated +by a violent agonizing palpitation which diminished his strength, +blind, giddy, stiffened by the pain of his wounds, and dripping with +tepid blood. + +"San Pantaleone! San Pantaleone!" bellowed the hoarse voices of his +comrades outside, redoubling their blows as they felt the door slowly +yield. Through the wood came to his ears the heavy thump of falling +bodies, the quick thud of knife-thrusts nailing some one through the +back. And a grand sentiment, like the divine uplift of the soul of a +hero saving his country, flamed up then in that bestial beggar's heart. + + + +V. + +By a final effort the door was flung open. The Radusani rushed in, with +an immense howl of victory, across the bodies of the dead, to carry the +silver saint to the altar. A vivid quivering light was reflected +suddenly into the obscure nave, making the golden candlesticks shine, +and the organ-pipes above. And in that yellow glow, which now came from +the burning houses and now disappeared again, a second battle was +fought. Bodies grappled together and rolled over the brick floor, never +to rise, but to bound hither and thither in the contortions of rage, to +strike the benches, and die under them, or on the chapel steps, or +against the taper-spikes about the confessionals. Under the peaceful +vault of God's house the chilling sound of iron penetrating men's flesh +or sliding along their bones, the single broken groan of men struck in +a vital spot, the crushing of skulls, the roar of victims unwilling to +die, the atrocious hilarity of those who had succeeded in killing an +enemy,--all this re-echoed distinctly. And a sweet, faint odor of +incense floated above the strife. + +The silver idol had not, however, reached the altar in triumph, for a +hostile circle stood between. Giacobbe fought with his scythe, and, +though wounded in several places, did not yield a hand's breadth of the +stair which he had been the first to gain. Only two men were left to +hold up the saint, whose enormous white head heaved and reeled +grotesquely like a drunken mask. The men of Mascalico were growing +furious. + +Then San Pantaleone fell on the pavement, with a sharp, vibrant ring. +As Giacobbe dashed forward to pick him up, a big devil of a man dealt +him a blow with a bill-hook, which stretched him out on his back. Twice +he rose and twice was struck down again. Blood covered his face, his +breast, his hands, yet he persisted in getting up. Enraged by this +ferocious tenacity of life, three, four, five clumsy peasants together +stabbed him furiously in the belly, and the fanatic fell over, with the +back of his neck against the silver bust. He turned like a flash and +put his face against the metal, with his arms outspread and his legs +drawn up. And San Pantaleone was lost. + + + + + + +IT SNOWS + +BY + +ENRICO CASTELNUOVO + +The Translation by Edith Wharton. + + +The thermometer marks barely one degree above freezing, the sky is +covered with ominous white clouds, the air is harsh and piercing; what +can induce Signor Odoardo, at nine o'clock on such a morning, to stand +in his study window? It is true that Signor Odoardo is a vigorous man, +in the prime of life, but it is never wise to tempt Providence by +needlessly risking one's health. But stay--I begin to think that I have +found a clue to his conduct. Opposite Signor Odoardo's window is the +window of the Signora Evelina, and Signora Evelina has the same tastes +as Signor Odoardo. She too is taking the air, leaning against the +window-sill in her dressing-gown, her fair curls falling upon her +forehead and tossed back every now and then by a pretty movement of her +head. The street is so narrow that it is easy to talk across from one +side to the other, but in such weather as this the only two windows +that stand open are those of Signora Evelina and Signor Odoardo. + +There is no denying the fact: Signora Evelina, who within the last few +weeks has taken up her abode across the way, is a very fascinating +little widow. Her hair is of spun gold, her skin of milk and roses, her +little turned-up nose, though assuredly not Grecian, is much more +attractive than if it were; she has the most dazzling teeth in the most +kissable mouth; her eyes are transparent as a cloudless sky, and--well, +she knows how to use them. Nor is this the sum total of her charms: +look at the soft, graceful curves of her agile, well-proportioned +figure; look at her little hands and feet! After all, one hardly wonder +that Signor Odoardo runs the risk of catching his death of cold, +instead of closing the window and warming himself at the stove which +roars so cheerfully within. It is rather at Signora Evelina that I +wonder; for, though Signer Odoardo is not an ill-looking man, he is +close upon forty, while she is but twenty-four. So young, and already a +widow--poor Signora Evelina! It is true that she has great strength of +character; but six months have elapsed since her husband's death, and +she is resigned to it already, though the deceased left her barely +enough to keep body and soul together. Happily Signora Evelina is not +encumbered with a family; she is alone and independent, and with those +eyes, that hair, that little upturned nose, she ought to have no +difficulty in finding a second husband. In fact, there is no harm in +admitting that Signora Evelina has contemplated the possibility of a +second marriage, and that if the would-be bridegroom is not in his +first youth--why, she is prepared to make the best of it. In this +connection it is perhaps not uninstructive to note that Signor Odoardo +is in comfortable circumstances, and is himself a widower. What a +coincidence! + +Well, then, why don't they marry--that being the customary denouement +in such cases? + +Why don't they marry? Well--Signor Odoardo is still undecided. If there +had been any hope of a love-affair I fear that his indecision would +have vanished long ago. Errare humanum est. But Signora Evelina is a +woman of serious views; she is in search of a husband, not of a +flirtation. Signora Evelina is a person of great determination; she +knows how to turn other people's heads without letting her own be moved +a jot. Signora Evelina is deep; deep enough, surely, to gain her point. +If Signor, Odoardo flutters about her much longer he will! singe his +wings; things cannot go on in this; way. Signor Odoardo's visits are +too frequent; and now, in addition, there are the conversations from +the window. It is time for a decisive step to be taken, and Signor +Odoardo is afraid that he may find himself taking the step before he is +prepared to; this very day, perhaps, when he goes to call on the widow. + +The door of Signor Odoardo's study is directly opposite the window in +which he is standing, and the opening of this door is therefore made +known to him by a violent draught. + +As he turns a sweet voice says: + +"Good-bye, papa dear; I'm going to school." + +"Good-bye, Doretta," he answers, stooping to kiss a pretty little maid +of eight or nine; and at the same instant Signora Evelina calls out +from over the way: + +"Good-morning, Doretta!" + +Doretta, who had made a little grimace on discovering her papa in +conversation with his pretty neighbor, makes another as she hears +herself greeted, and mutters reluctantly, "Good-morning." + +Then, with her little basket on her arm, she turns away slowly to join +the maid-servant who is waiting for her in the hall. + +"I am SO fond of that child," sighs Signora Evelina, with the sweetest +inflexion in her voice, "but she doesn't like me at all!" + +"What an absurd idea!...Doretta is a very self-willed child." + +Thus Signor Odoardo; but in his heart of hearts he too is convinced +that his little daughter has no fondness for Signora Evelina. + +Meanwhile, the cold is growing more intense, and every now and then a +flake of snow spins around upon the wind. Short of wishing to be frozen +stiff, there is nothing for it but to shut the window. + +"It snows," says Signora Evelina, glancing upward. + +"Oh, it was sure to come." + +"Well--I must go and look after my household. Au revoir--shall I see +you later?" + +"I hope to have the pleasure--" + +"Au revoir, then." + +Signora Evelina closes the window, nods and smiles once more through +the pane, and disappears. + +Signor Odoardo turns back to his study, and perceiving how cold it has +grown, throws some wood on the fire, and, kneeling before the door of +the stove, tries to blow the embers into a blaze. The flames leap up +with a merry noise, sending bright flashes along the walls of the room. + +Outside, the flakes continue to descend at intervals. Perhaps, after +all, it is not going to be a snowstorm. + +Signor Odoardo paces up and down the room, with bent head and hands +thrust in his pockets. He is disturbed, profoundly disturbed. He feels +that he has reached a crisis in his life; that in a few days, perhaps +in a few hours, his future will be decided. Is he seriously in love +with Signora Evelina? How long has he known her? Will she be sweet and +good like THE OTHER? Will she know how to be a mother to Doretta? + +There is a sound of steps in the hall; Signor Odoardo pauses in the +middle of the room. The door re-opens, and Doretta rushes up to her +father, her cheeks flushed, her hood falling over her forehead, her +warm coat buttoned up to her chin, her hands thrust into her muff. + +"It is snowing and the teacher has sent us home." + +She tosses off her hood and coat and goes up to the stove. + +"There is a good fire, but the room is cold," she exclaims. + +As a matter of fact, the window having stood open for half an hour, the +thermometer indicates but fifty degrees. + +"Papa," Doretta goes on, "I want to stay with you all day long to-day." + +"And suppose your poor daddy has affairs of his own to attend to?" + +"No, no, you must give them up for to-day." + +And Doretta, without waiting for an answer, runs to fetch her books, +her doll, and her work. The books are spread out on the desk, the doll +is comfortably seated on the sofa, and the work is laid out upon a low +stool. + +"Ah," she cries, with an air of importance, "what a mercy that there is +no school to-day! I shall have time to go over my lesson. Oh, look how +it snows!" + +It snows indeed. First a white powder, fine but thick, and whirled in +circles by the wind, beats with a dry metallic sound against the +window-panes; then the wind drops, and the flakes, growing larger, +descend silently, monotonously, incessantly. The snow covers the +streets like a downy carpet, spreads itself like a sheet over the +roofs, fills up the cracks in the walls, heaps itself upon the +window-sills, envelops the iron window-bars, and hangs in festoons from +the gutters and eaves. + +Out of doors it must be as cold as ever, but the room is growing +rapidly warmer, and Doretta, climbing on a chair, has the satisfaction +of announcing that the mercury has risen eleven degrees. + +"Yes, dear," her father replies, "and the clock is striking eleven too. +Run and tell them to get breakfast ready." + +Doretta runs off obediently, but reappears in a moment. + +"Daddy, daddy, what do you suppose has happened? The dining-room stove +won't draw, and the room is all full of smoke!" + +"Then let us breakfast here, child." + +This excellent suggestion is joy to the soul of Doretta, who hastens to +carry the news to the kitchen, and then, in a series of journeys back +and forth from the dining-room to the study, transports with her own +hands the knives, forks, plates, tablecloth, and napkins, and, with the +man-servant's aid, lays them out upon one of her papa's tables. How +merry she is! How completely the cloud has vanished that darkened her +brow a few hours earlier! And how well she acquits herself of her +household duties! + +Signor Odoardo, watching her with a sense of satisfaction, cannot +resist exclaiming: "Bravo, Doretta!" + +Doretta is undeniably the very image of her mother. She too was just +such an excellent housekeeper, a model of order, of neatness, of +propriety. And she was pretty, like Doretta, even though she did not +possess the fair hair and captivating eyes of Signora Evelina. + +The man-servant who brings in the breakfast is accompanied by a +newcomer, the cat Melanio, who is always present at Doretta's meals. +The cat Melanio is old; he has known Doretta ever since she was born, +and he honors her with his protection. Every morning he mews at her +door, as though to inquire if she has slept well; every evening he +keeps her company until it is time for her to go to bed. Whenever she +goes out he speeds her with a gentle purr; whenever he hears her come +in he hurries to meet her and rubs himself against her legs. In the +morning, and at the midday meal, when she takes it at home, he sits +beside her chair and silently waits for the scraps from her plate. The +cat Melanio, however, is not in the habit of visiting Signor Odoardo's +study, and shows a certain surprise at finding himself there. Signor +Odoardo, for his part, receives his new guest with some diffidence; but +Doretta, intervening in Melanio's favor, undertakes to answer for his +good conduct. + +It is long since Doretta has eaten with so much appetite. When she has +finished her breakfast, she clears the table as deftly and promptly as +she had laid it, and in a few moments Signor Odoardo's study has +resumed its wonted appearance. Only the cat Melanio remains, +comfortably established by the stove, on the understanding that he is +to be left there as long as he is not troublesome. + +The continual coming and going has made the room grow colder. The +mercury has dropped perceptibly, and Doretta, to make it rise again, +empties nearly the whole wood-basket into the stove. + +How it snows, how it snows! No longer in detached flakes, but as though +an openwork white cloth were continuously unrolled before one's eyes. +Signor Odoardo begins to think that it will be impossible for him to +call on Signora Evelina. True, it is only a step, but he would sink +into the snow up to his knees. After all, it is only twelve o'clock. It +may stop snowing later. Doretta is struck by a luminous thought: + +"What if I were to answer grandmamma's letter?" + +In another moment Doretta is seated at her father's desk, in his +arm-chair, two cushions raising her to the requisite height, her legs +dangling into space, the pen suspended in her hand, and her eyes fixed +upon a sheet of ruled paper, containing thus far but two words: Dear +Grandmamma. + +Signor Odoardo, leaning against the stove, watches his daughter with a +smile. + +It appears that at last Doretta has discovered a way of beginning her +letter, for she re-plunges the pen into the inkstand, lowers her hand +to the sheet of paper, wrinkles her forehead and sticks out her tongue. + +After several minutes of assiduous toil she raises her head and asks: + +"What shall I say to grandmamma about her invitation to go and spend a +few weeks with her?" + +"Tell her that you can't go now, but that she may expect you in the +spring." + +"With you, papa?" + +"With me, yes," Signor Odoardo answers mechanically. + +Yet if, in the meantime, he engages himself to Signora Evelina, this +visit to his mother-in-law will become rather an awkward business. + +"There--I've finished!" Doretta cries with an air of triumph. + +But the cry is succeeded by another, half of anguish, half of rage. + +"What's the matter now?" + +"A blot!" + +"Let me see?...You little goose, what HAVE you done?...You've ruined +the letter now!" + +Doretta, having endeavored to remove the ink-spot by licking it, has +torn the paper. + +"Oh, dear, I shall have to copy it out now," she says, in a mortified +tone. + +"You can copy it this evening. Bring it here, and let me look at +it...Not bad,--not bad at all. A few letters to be added, and a few to +be taken out; but, on the whole, for a chit of your size, it's fairly +creditable. Good girl!" + +Doretta rests upon her laurels, playing with her doll Nini. She dresses +Nini in her best gown, and takes her to call on the cat, Melanio. + +The cat, Melanio, who is dozing with half-open eyes, is somewhat bored +by these attentions. Raising himself on his four paws, he arches his +flexible body, and then rolls himself up into a ball, turning his back +upon his visitor. + +"Dear me, Melanio is not very polite to-day," says Doretta, escorting +the doll back to the sofa. "But you mustn't be offended; he's very +seldom impolite. I think it must be the weather; doesn't the weather +make you sleepy too, Nini? ...Come, let's take a nap; go by-bye, baby, +go by-bye." + +Nini sleeps. Her head rests upon a cushion, her little rag and +horse-hair body is wrapped in a woollen coverlet, her lids are closed; +for Nini raises or lowers her lids according to the position of her +body. + +Signor Odoardo looks at the clock and then glances out of the window. +It is two o'clock and the snow is still falling. + +Doretta is struck by another idea. + +"Daddy, see if I know my La Fontaine fable: Le corbeau et le renard." + +"Very well, let's hear it," Signor Odoardo assents, taking the open +book from the little girl's hands. + +Doretta begins: + + "Maitre corbeau, sur un arbre perche, + Tenait en son bec un fromage; + Maitre...maitre...maitre..." + +"Go on." + +"Maitre..." + +"Maitre renard." + +"Oh, yes, now I remember: + + Maitre renard, par l'odeur alleche, + Lui tint a peu pres ce langage: + He! bonjour..." + +At this point Doretta, seeing that her father is not listening to her, +breaks off her recitation. Signor Odoardo has, in fact, closed the book +upon his forefinger, and is looking elsewhere. + +"Well, Doretta," he absently inquires, "why don't you go on?" + +"I'm not going to say any more of it," she answers sullenly. + +"Why, you cross-patch! What's the matter?" + +The little girl, who had been seated on a low stool, has risen to her +feet and now sees why her papa has not been attending to her. The snow +is falling less thickly, and the fair head of Signora Evelina has +appeared behind the window-panes over the way. + +Brave little woman! She has actually opened the window, and is clearing +the snow off the sill with a fire-shovel. Her eyes meet Signor +Odoardo's; she smiles and shakes her head, as though to say: What +hateful weather! + +He would be an ill-mannered boor who should not feel impelled to say a +word to the dauntless Signor Evelina. Signor Odoardo, who is not an +ill-mannered boor, yields to the temptation of opening the window for a +moment. + +"Bravo, Signora Evelina! I see you are not afraid of the snow." + +"Oh, Signor Odoardo, what fiendish weather!...But, if I am not +mistaken, that is Doretta with you...How do you do, Doretta?" + +"Doretta, come here and say how do you do to the lady." + +"No, no--let her be, let her be! Children catch cold so easily--you had +better shut the window. I suppose there is no hope of seeing you +to-day?" + +"Look at the condition of the streets!" + +"Oh, you men...you men!...The stronger sex...but no matter. Au revoir!" + +"Au revoir." + +The two windows are closed simultaneously, but this time Signora +Evelina does not disappear. She is sitting there, close to the window, +and it snows so lightly now that her wonderful profile is outlined as +clearly as possible against the pane. Good heavens, how beautiful she +is! + +Signer Odoardo walks up and down the room, in the worst of humors. He +feels that it is wrong not to go and see the fascinating widow, and +that to go and see her would be still more wrong. The cloud has settled +again upon Doretta's forehead, the same cloud that darkened it in the +morning. + +Not a word is said of La Fontaine's fable. Instead, Signor Odoardo +grumbles irritably: + +"This blessed room is as cold as ever." + +"Why shouldn't it be," Doretta retorts with a touch of asperity, "when +you open the window every few minutes?" + +"Oho," Signer Odoardo says to himself, "it is time to have this matter +out." + +And, going up to Doretta, he takes her by the hand, leads her to the +sofa, and lifts her on his knee. + +"Now, then, Doretta, why is it that you are so disagreeable to Signora +Evelina?" + +The little girl, not knowing what to answer, grows red and embarrassed. + +"What has Signora Evelina done to you?" her father continues. + +"She hasn't done anything to me." + +"And yet you don't like her." + +Profound silence. + +"And SHE likes you so much!" + +"I don't care if she does!" + +"You naughty child!...And what if, one of these days, you had to live +with Signora Evelina?" + +"I won't live with her--I won't live with her!" the child bursts out. + +"Now you are talking foolishly," Signor Odoardo admonishes her in a +severe tone, setting her down from his knee. + +She bursts into passionate weeping. + +"Come, Doretta, come...Is this the way you keep your daddy +company?...Enough of this, Doretta." + +But, say what he pleases, Doretta must have her cry. Her brown eyes are +swimming in tears, her little breast heaves, her voice is broken by +sobs. + +"What ridiculous whims!" Signer Odoardo exclaims, throwing his head +back against the sofa cushions. + +Signor Odoardo is unjust, and, what is worse, he does not believe what +he is saying. He knows that this is no whim of Doretta's. He knows it +better than the child herself, who would probably find it difficult to +explain what she is undergoing. It is at once the presentiment of a new +danger and the renewal of a bygone sorrow. Doretta was barely six years +old when her mother died, and yet her remembrance is indelibly +impressed upon the child's mind. And now it seems as though her mother +were dying again. + +"When you have finished crying, Doretta, you may come here," Signor +Odoardo says. + +Doretta, crouching in a corner of the room, cries less vehemently, but +has not yet finished crying. Just like the weather outside,--it snows +less heavily, but it still snows. + +Signor Odoardo covers his eyes with his hand. + +How many thoughts are thronging through his head, how many affections +are contending in his heart! If he could but banish the vision of +Signora Evelina--but he tries in vain. He is haunted by those blue +eyes, by that persuasive smile, that graceful and harmonious presence. +He has but to say the word, and he knows that she will be his, to +brighten his solitary home, and fill it with life and love. Her +presence would take ten years from his age, he would feel as he did +when he was betrothed for the first time. And yet--no; it would not be +quite like the first time. + +He is not the same man that he was then, and she, THE OTHER, ah, how +different SHE was from the Signora Evelina! How modest and shy she was! +How girlishly reserved, even in the expression of her love! How +beautiful were her sudden blushes, how sweet the droop of her long, +shyly-lowered lashes! He had known her first in the intimacy of her own +home, simple, shy, a good daughter and a good sister, as she was +destined to be a good wife and mother. For a while he had loved her in +silence, and she had returned his love. One day, walking beside her in +the garden, he had seized her hand with sudden impetuosity, and raising +it to his lips had said, "I care for you so much!" and she, pale and +trembling, had run to her mother's arms, crying out, "Oh, how happy I +am!" + +Ah, those dear days--those dear days! He was a poet then; with the +accent of sincerest passion he whispered in his love's ear: + + "I love thee more than all the world beside, + My only faith and hope thou art, + My God, my country, and my bride-- + Sole love of this unchanging heart!" + +Very bad poetry, but deliciously thrilling to his young betrothed. Oh, +the dear, dear days! Oh, the long hours that pass like a flash in +delightful talk, the secrets that the soul first reveals to itself in +revealing them to the beloved, the caresses longed for and yet half +feared, the lovers' quarrels, the tears that are kissed away, the +shynesses, the simplicity, the abandonment of a pure and passionate +love--who may hope to know you twice in a lifetime? + +No, Signora Evelina can never restore what he has lost to Signor +Odoardo. No, this self-possessed widow, who, after six months of +mourning, has already started on the hunt for a second husband, cannot +inspire him with the faith that he felt in THE OTHER. Ah, first-loved +women, why is it that you must die? For the dead give no kisses, no +caresses, and the living long to be caressed and kissed. + +Who talks of kisses? Here is one that has alit, all soft and warm, on +Signor Odoardo's lips, rousing him with a start.--Ah!...Is it you, +Doretta?--It is Doretta, who says nothing, but who is longing to make +it up with her daddy. She lays her cheek against his, he presses her +little head close, lest she should escape from him. He too is +silent--what can he say to her? + +It is growing dark, and the eyes of the cat Melanio begin to glitter in +the corner by the stove. The man-servant knocks and asks if he is to +bring the lamp. + +"Make up the fire first," Signor Odoardo says. + +The wood crackles and snaps, and sends up showers of sparks; then it +bursts into flame, blazing away with a regular, monotonous sound, like +the breath of a sleeping giant. In the dusk the firelight flashes upon +the walls, brings out the pattern of the wall-paper, and travels far +enough to illuminate a corner of the desk. The shadows lengthen and +then shorten again, thicken and then shrink; everything in the room +seems to be continually changing its size and shape. Signor Odoardo, +giving free rein to his thoughts, evokes the vision of his married +life, sees the baby's cradle, recalls her first cries and smiles, feels +again his dying wife's last kiss, and hears the last word upon her +lips,--DORETTA. No, no, it is impossible that he should ever do +anything to make his Doretta unhappy! And yet he is not sure of +resisting Signora Evelina's wiles; he is almost afraid that, when he +sees his enchantress on the morrow, all his strong resolves may take +flight. There is but one way out of it. + +"Doretta," says Signor Odoardo. + +"Father?" + +"Are you going to copy out your letter to your grandmamma this evening?" + +"Yes, father." + +"Wouldn't you rather go and see your grandmamma yourself?" + +"With whom?" the child falters anxiously, her little heart beating a +frantic tattoo as she awaits his answer. + +"With me, Doretta." + +"With YOU, daddy?" she exclaims, hardly daring to believe her ears. + +"Yes, with me; with your daddy." + +"Oh, daddy, DADDY!" she cries, her little arms about his neck, her +kisses covering his face. "Oh, daddy, my own dear daddy! When shall we +start?" + +"To-morrow morning, if you're not afraid of the snow." + +"Why not now? Why not at once?" + +"Gently--gently. Good Lord, doesn't the child want her dinner first?" + +And Signor Odoardo, gently detaching himself from his daughter's +embrace, rises and rings for the lamp. Then, instinctively, he glances +once more towards the window. In the opposite house all is dark, and +Signora Evelina's profile is no longer outlined against the pane. The +weather is still threatening, and now and then a snowflake falls. The +servant closes the shutters and draws the curtains, so that no profane +gaze may penetrate into the domestic sanctuary. + +"We had better dine in here," Signor Odoardo says. "The dining-room +must be as cold as Greenland." + +Doretta, meanwhile, is convulsing the kitchen with the noisy +announcement of the impending journey. At first she is thought to be +joking, but when she establishes the fact that she is speaking +seriously, it is respectfully pointed out to her that the master of the +house must be crazy. To start on a journey in the depth of winter, and +in such weather! If at least they were to wait for a fine day! + +But what does Doretta care for the comments of the kitchen? She is +beside herself with joy. She sings, she dances about the room, and +breaks off every moment or two to give her father a kiss. Then she +pours out the fulness of her emotion upon the cat Melanio and the doll +Nini, promising the latter to bring her back a new frock from Milan. + +At dinner she eats little and talks incessantly of the journey, asking +again and again what time it is, and at what time they are to start. + +"Are you afraid of missing the train?" Signor Odoardo asks with a smile. + +And yet, though he dissembles his impatience, it is as great as hers. +He longs to go away, far away. Perhaps he may not return until spring. +He orders his luggage packed for an absence of two months. + +Doretta goes to bed early, but all night long she tosses about under +the bed-clothes, waking her nurse twenty times to ask: "Is it time to +get up?" + +Signor Odoardo, too, is awake when the man-servant comes to call him +the next morning at six o'clock. + +"What sort of a day is it?" + +"Very bad, sir--just such another as yesterday. In fact, if I might +make the suggestion, sir, if it's not necessary for you to start +to-day--" + +"It is, Angelo. Absolutely necessary." + +At the station there are only a few sleepy, depressed-looking +travellers wrapped in furs. They are all grumbling about the weather, +about the cold, about the earliness of the hour, and declaring that +nothing but the most urgent business would have got them out of bed at +that time of day. There is but one person in the station who is all +liveliness and smiles--Doretta. + +The first-class compartment in which Signor Odoardo and his daughter +find themselves is bitterly cold, in spite of foot-warmers, but Doretta +finds the temperature delicious, and, if she dared, would open the +windows for the pleasure of looking out. + +"Are you happy, Doretta?" + +"Oh, SO happy!" + +Ten years earlier, on a pleasanter day, but also in winter, Signor +Odoardo had started on his wedding-journey. Opposite him had sat a +young girl, who looked as much like Doretta as a woman can look like a +child; a pretty, sedate young girl, oh, so sweetly, tenderly in love +with Signor Odoardo. And as the train started he had asked her the same +question: + +"Are you happy, Maria?" + +And she had answered: + +"Oh, so happy!" just like Doretta. + +The train races and flies. Farewell, farewell, for ever, Signora +Evelina. + +And did Signora Evelina die of despair? + +Oh, no; Signora Evelina has a perfect disposition and a delightful +home. The perfect disposition enables her not to take things too +seriously, the delightful home affords her a thousand distractions. Its +windows do not all look towards Signor Odoardo's residence. One of +them, for example, commands a little garden belonging to a worthy +bachelor who smokes his pipe there on pleasant days. Signora Evelina +finds the worthy bachelor to her taste, and the worthy bachelor, who is +an average-adjuster by profession, admires Signora Evelina's eyes, and +considers her handsomely and solidly enough put together to rank A No. +1 on Lloyd's registers. + +The result is that the bachelor now and then looks up at the window, +and the Signora Evelina now and then looks down at the garden. The +weather not being propitious to out-of-door conversation, Signora +Evelina at length invites her neighbor to come and pay her a visit. Her +neighbor hesitates and she renews the invitation. How can one resist +such a charming woman? And what does one visit signify? Nothing at all. +The excellent average-adjuster has every reason to be pleased with his +reception, the more so as Signora Evelina actually gives him leave to +bring his pipe the next time he comes. She adores the smell of a pipe. +Signora Evelina is an ideal woman, just the wife for a business man who +had not positively made up his mind to remain single. And as to that, +muses the average-adjuster, have I ever positively made up my mind to +remain single, and if I have, who is to prevent my changing it? + +And so it comes to pass that when, after an absence of three months, +Signor Odoardo returns home with Doretta, he receives notice of the +approaching marriage of Signora Evelina Chiocci, widow Ramboldi, with +Signor Archimede Fagiuolo. + +"Fagiuolo!" shouts Doretta, "FAGIUOLO!" [Footnote: Fagiuolo: a +simpleton.] + +The name seems to excite her unbounded hilarity; but I am under the +impression that the real cause of her merriment is not so much Signora +Evelina's husband as Signora Evelina's marriage. + + + + + + +COLLEGE FRIENDS + +BY + +EDMONDO DE AMICIS + +The Translation by Edith Wharton. + +[Footnote: Although "College Friends" is rather a reverie than in any +strict sense a story (something in the spirit of "The Reveries of a +Bachelor," if an analogy may be sought in another literature), it has +been thought best to include it here as one of the best-known of De +Amicis' shorter writings. Indeed it is the leading piece in his chief +volume of "Novelle," so that he has himself included it with his tales.] + + + +I. + +There are many who write down every evening what they have done during +the day; some who keep a record of the plays they have seen, the books +they have read, the cigars they have smoked--but is there one man in a +hundred, nay, in a thousand, who, at the end of the year, or even once +in a lifetime, draws up a list of the people he has known? I don't mean +his intimate friends, of course--the few whom he sees, or with whom he +corresponds; but the multitude of people met in the past, and perhaps +never to be encountered again, of whom the recollection returns from +time to time at longer and longer intervals as the years go by, until +at length it wholly fades away. Which of us has not forgotten a hundred +once familiar names, lost all trace of a hundred once familiar lives? +And yet to my mind this forgetfulness implies such a loss in the way of +experience, that if I could live my life over again I should devote at +least half an hour a day to the tedious task of recording the names and +histories of the people I met, however uninteresting they might appear. + +What strange and complex annals I should possess had I kept such a list +of my earliest school-friends, supplementing it as time went on by any +news of them that I could continue to obtain, and keeping track, as +best I might, of the principal changes in their lives! As it is, of the +two or three hundred lads that I knew there are but twenty or thirty +whom I can recall, or with whose occupations and whereabouts I am +acquainted--of the others I know absolutely nothing. For a few years I +kept them all vividly in mind; three hundred rosy faces smiled at me, +three hundred schoolboy jackets testified more or less distinctly to +the paternal standing, from the velvet coat of the mayor's son to the +floury roundabout of the baker's offspring; I still heard all their +different voices; I saw where each one sat in school; I recalled their +words, their attitudes, their gestures. Gradually all the faces melted +into a rosy blur, the jackets into a uniform neutral tint; the gestures +were blent in a vague ripple of movement, and at last a thick mist +enveloped all and the vision disappeared. + +It grieves me that it should be so, and many a time I long to burst +through the mist and evoke the hidden vision. But, alas! my comrades +are all scattered; and were I to try to seek them out, one by one, how +many devious twists and turns I should have to make, and to what +strange places my search would lead me! From a sacristy I should pass +to barracks, from barracks to a laboratory, thence to a lawyer's +office; from the lawyer's office to a prison, from the prison to a +theatre, from the theatre, alas! to a cemetery, and thence, perhaps, to +a merchant vessel lying in some American or Eastern port. Who knows +what adventures, what misfortunes, what domestic tragedies, what +transformations in appearance, in habits, in life, would be found to +have befallen that mere handful of humanity, within that short space of +time! + +And yet those are not the friends that I most long to see again. +Indeed, if we analyze that sense of mournful yearning which makes us +turn back to childhood, we shall be surprised to find how faint is the +longing for our old comrades, nay, we may even discover that no such +sentiment exists in us. And why should it, after all? We were often +together, we were merry, we sought each other out, we desired each +other's companionship; but there was no interchange between us of +anything that draws together, that binds closer, that leaves its mark +upon the soul. Our friendships were unmade as lightly as they were +made. What we wanted was somebody to echo our laughter, to climb trees +with us, and return the ball well; and as the pluckiest, liveliest, and +most active boys were best fitted to meet these requirements, it was +upon them that our choice usually fell. But did we feel kindly towards +the weaklings? Did it ever occur to us, when a comrade looked sad, to +ask: What ails you? or, if he answered that somebody lay dead at home, +did we have any tears for his sorrow? Ah, we were not real friends! + +It has probably happened to many of you to come across a companion of +your primary-school days, after the lapse of fifteen years or so. You +receive a letter in an unfamiliar hand, you glance at the signature, +and you shout out: "What? Is HE alive?" On with your hat and off you +rush to the hotel. Your heart thumps as you run, and you race upstairs +to his door in hot haste, laughing, rejoicing, and thinking to yourself +that you wouldn't have missed those few minutes for any amount of +money. Well, those few minutes are the best. You bounce into the room, +and find yourself embracing a strange man in whom, as you look at him +more closely, you can just discern some faint resemblance to the lad +you used to know; one of you exclaims, "How are you, old man?" the +other plunges breathlessly into some old school reminiscence; and +then... that's all. + +You begin to say to yourself: "Who IS this strange man? what has he +been doing all these years? what has been going on in his soul? is he +good or bad, a believer or a sceptic? I have nothing in common with +him, I don't know the man! He must be observed and studied first--how +can I call him a friend?" + +What you think of him, he thinks of you, and conversation languishes. +With your first words you may have discovered that you and he have +followed opposite paths in life; he betrays his democratic tendencies, +you, your monarchical leanings; you try him on literature, he +retaliates with the culture of silk-worms. Before telling him that you +are married, you take the precaution to ask if he has a wife; he +answers, "What do you take me for?" and you take leave with a touch of +the finger-tips and a smile that has died at its birth. + +The friends of infancy! Dear indeed above all others when the years of +boyhood have been spent with them; mere phantoms otherwise! And +childhood itself! I have never been able to understand why people long +to return to it. Why mourn for years without toil, without suffering, +without intelligent belief, without those outbursts of fierce and +bitter sorrow that purify the soul and uplift the brow in a splendid +renewal of hope and courage? Better a thousand times to suffer, to +toil, to fight and weep, than to let life exhale itself in a ceaseless +irresponsible gayety, causeless, objectless, and imperturbable! Better +to stand bleeding on the breach than to lie dreaming among the flowers. + + + +II. + +I was seventeen years old when I made the acquaintance of my dearest +friends, in a splendid palace which I see before me as clearly as +though I had left it only yesterday. I see the great courtyard, the +stately porticos, the saloons adorned with columns, statues and +bas-reliefs; and, amidst these beautiful and magnificent objects, +vestiges of the bygone splendors of the ducal residence, the long lines +of bedsteads and school-benches, the hanging rows of uniforms, dirks +and rifles. Five hundred youths are scattered about those courts and +corridors and staircases; a dull murmur of voices, broken by loud +shouts and sonorous laughter, reverberates through the most distant +recesses of the huge edifice. What animation! What life! What varieties +of type, of speech and gesture! Youths of athletic build, with great +moustaches and stentorian voices; youths as slim and sweet as girls; +the dusky skin and coal-black eyes of Sicily; the fair-haired, +blue-eyed faces of the north; the excited gesticulation of Naples, the +silvery Tuscan intonation, the rattling Venetian chatter, a hundred +groups, a hundred dialects; on this side, songs and noisy talk, on that +side running, jumping, and hand-clapping; men of every class, sons of +dukes, senators, generals, shopkeepers, government employees; a strange +assemblage, suggesting the university, the monastery, and the barracks: +with talk of women, war, novels, the orders of the day; a life teeming +with feminine meannesses and virile ambitions; a life of mortal ennui +and frantic gayety, a medley of sentiments, actions, and incidents, +absurd, tragic, or delightful, from which the pen of a great humorist +could extract the materials for a masterpiece. + +Such was the military college of Modena in the year 1865. + + + +III. + +I cannot recall the two years that I spent there without being beset by +a throng of memories from which I can free myself only by passing them +all in review, one after another, like pictures in a magic-lantern; now +laughing, now sighing, now shaking my head, but feeling all the while +that each episode is dear to me and will never be forgotten while I +live. + +How well I remember the first grief of my military life, a blow that +befell me a few days after I had entered college all aglow with the +poetry of war. It was the morning on which caps were distributed. Each +new recruit of the company found one that fitted him, but all were too +small for me, and the captain turned upon me furiously. + +"Are you aware that the commissary stores will have to be reopened just +for you?" And I heard him mutter after a pause, "What are you going to +do with a head like that?" + +Great God, what I underwent at that moment! What--be a soldier? I +thought. Never! Better beg my bread in the streets--better die and have +done with it! + +Then I remember an officer, an old soldier, gruff but kindly, who had a +way of smiling whenever he looked at me. How that smile used to +exasperate me! I had made up my mind to demand an explanation, to let +him know that I didn't propose to be any man's butt, when one evening +he called me to him, and having given me to understand that he had +heard something about me and that he wanted to know if it were really +true (I was to speak frankly, for it would do me no harm), he finally, +with many coughs and smiles and furtive glances, whispered in my ear: +"Is it true that you write poetry?" + +I recall, too, the insuperable difficulty of accomplishing the manual +tasks imposed upon me, especially that of sewing on my buttons--how +every few seconds the needle would slip through my fingers, till the +thread was tangled up in a veritable spider's web, while the button +hung as loose as ever, to the derision of my companions and the disgust +of the drill-sergeant, whose contemptuous--"You may be a great hand at +rhyming, but when it comes to sewing on buttons you're a hundred years +behind the times," seemed to exile me to the depths of the eighteenth +century. + +I see the great refectory, where a battalion might have drilled; I see +the long tables, the five hundred heads bent above the plates, the +rapid motion of five hundred forks, of a thousand hands and sixteen +thousand teeth; the swarm of servants running here and there, called +to, scolded, hurried, on every side at once; I hear the clatter of +dishes, the deafening noise, the voices choked with food crying out: +"Bread--bread!" and I feel once more the formidable appetite, the +herculean strength of jaw, the exuberant life and spirits of those +far-off days. + +The scene changes, and I see myself locked in a narrow cell on the +fifth floor, a jug of water at my side, a piece of black bread in my +hand, with unkempt hair and unshorn chin, and the image of Silvio +Pellico before me; condemned to ten days' imprisonment for having made +an address of thanks to the professor of chemistry on the occasion of +his closing lecture, thereby committing an infraction of article number +so-and-so of the regulation forbidding any cadet to speak in public in +the name of his companions. And to this day I can hear the Major +saying: "Take my advice and never let your imagination run away with +you;" citing the example of his old school-fellow, the poet Regaldi, +who had got into just such a scrape, and concluding with the warning +that "poetry always made men make asses of themselves." + +Yes, I see it all as vividly as though I were reliving the very same +life again--the silent march of the companies at night down the long, +faintly-lit corridors; the professors behind their desks, deafening us +with their Gustavus-Adolphuses, their Fredericks the Great, and their +Napoleons; the great lecture-rooms full of motionless faces; the huge, +dim dormitories, resounding with the respirations of a hundred pairs of +lungs; the garden, the piazza, the ramparts, the winding Modenese +sheets, the cafis full of graduates devouring pastry, the picnics in +the country, the excursions to neighboring villages, the intrigues, the +studies, the rivalries, the sadnesses, the enmities, the friendships. + + + +IV. + +A few days before the graduating examinations we were given leave to +study wherever we pleased. There were two hundred of us in the second +class, and we dispersed ourselves all over the palace, in groups of +five or six friends, each group in a separate room, and began the long, +desperate grind, cramming away day and night, with only an occasional +interruption to discuss the coming examination and our future prospects. + +How cheerily we talked, and how bright our anticipations were! After +two years of imprisonment, home, freedom, and epaulets were suddenly +within our reach. Aside from the common satisfaction of being promoted +to be an officer, each one of us had his own special reasons for +rejoicing. With one of us it was the satisfaction of being able to say +to the family that had pinched and denied itself to pay for his +schooling, "Here I am, good people, nineteen years old and able to +shift for myself;" with another, the fun of swaggering in full uniform, +with clanking heels and rattling sword, into the quiet house where the +old uncle who had been so generous sat waiting to welcome him home; +with a third, the joy of mounting a familiar staircase, brevet in +pocket, and knocking at a certain door, behind which a girlish voice +would be heard exclaiming, "There he is!"--the voice of the little +cousin to whom he had said good-bye, two years before, in her parents' +presence, reassured only by the non-committal phrase: "Well, well, go +to college first and make a man of yourself; then we'll see." + +Already we saw ourselves surrounded by children eager to finger our +sabres, by girls who signed to us as we passed, by old men who clapped +us on the shoulder, by mothers crying, "How splendidly he looks!" So +that it was with the greatest difficulty that we shook off this +importunate folk, saying to ourselves: "Presently, presently, all in +good time; but just now, really, you must let us be!" + +Then, each following the bent of his disposition, his habits, and his +plans, we confided to one another the regiment, province, and city to +which we hoped to be assigned. Some of us longed for the noise and +merriment of the Milanese carnivals, and dreamed of theatres, balls and +convivial suppers. One sighed for a sweet Tuscan village, perched on a +hilltop, where, in command of his thirty men, he might spend the +peaceful spring days in collecting songs and proverbs among the +country-folk. Another longed to carry on his studies in the unbroken +solitude of a lonely Alpine fortress, hemmed in by ravines and +precipices. One of us craved a life of adventure in the Calabrian +forests; another, the activities of some great seaboard city; a third, +an island of the Tyrrhenian Sea. We divided up Italy among ourselves a +hundred times a day, as though we had been staking off plots in a +garden; and each of us detailed to the others the beauties of his +chosen home, and all agreed that every one of the places selected would +be beautiful and delightful to live in. + +And then--war! It was sure to come sooner or later. Hardly was the word +mentioned when our books were hurled into a corner and we were all +talking at once, our faces flushed, our voices loud and excited. War, +to us, was a superhuman vision in which the spirit lost itself as in +some strange intoxication; a far-off, rose-colored horizon, etched with +the black profiles of gigantic mountains; legion after legion, with +flying banners and the sound of music, endlessly ascending the +mountain-side; and high up, on the topmost ridges, surrounded by the +enemy, our own figures far in advance of the others, dashing forward +with brandished swords; while down the farther slope a torrent of foot, +horse, and artillery plunged wildly through darkness to an unknown +abyss. + +A medal for gallantry? Which one of us would not have won it? Lose the +battle? But could Italians be defeated? Death--but who feared to die? +And did anybody ever die at nineteen? Who could tell what strange and +marvellous adventures awaited us, what sights we should see! Perhaps +some foreign expedition; a war in the East; was not the Eastern +question still stirring? We wandered in imagination over seas and +mountains, we saw the marshalling of fleets and armies, we glowed with +impatience, we cried out within ourselves, "Only give us time to pass +our examinations, and we'll be there too!" + +And then the examinations took place, and on a beautiful July morning +the doors of the ducal palace were thrown open and we were told to go +forth and seek our destiny. And with a great cry we dashed out, and +scattered ourselves like a flight of birds over the length and breadth +of Italy. + + + +V. + +And now? + +Six years have gone by, only six years, and what a long and strange and +varied romance might be woven out of the lives of those two hundred +college comrades! I have seen many of them since we graduated, and have +had news of many others, and I have a way of passing them in review one +after another, and questioning them mentally; and what I see and hear +fills me with a wonder not unmixed with sadness. And here they all are. + +The first that I see are a group of brown, broad-shouldered, bearded +men, whom I do not recall just at first; but when they smile at me I +recognize the slender fair boys who used to look so girlish. + +"Is it really you?" I exclaim, and they answer, "Yes," with a deep +sonorous note so different from the boyish voices I had expected to +hear, that I start back involuntarily. + +And these others? Their features are not changed, to be sure, their +figures are as robust and well set-up as ever, but the smile has +vanished, there is no brightness in the eye. + +"What has happened to you?" I ask; and they answer, "Nothing." + +Ah, how much better that some misfortune should have befallen them than +that the years alone, and only six short years, should have had the +power so sadly to transform them! + +Here are others. Good God! One, two, three, five of them; let me look +again; yes--gray-headed! What--at twenty-seven! Tell me--what happened? +They shrug their shoulders and pass on. + +Then I see a long file of my own friends, some of them the wildest of +the class, one with a baby in his arms, one with a child by the hand, +another leading two. What? So-and-so married? So-and-so a pere de +famille? Who would have thought it? + +Here come others; some, with bowed heads and reddened eyes, sign to me +sadly in passing. There is crape upon their sleeves. + +Others, with heads high and flashing eyes, point exultantly to their +breasts. Our college dream, the military medal--ah, lucky fellows! + +And here are some, moving slowly, and so pale, so emaciated, that I +hardly know them. Ah me! The surgeon's knife has probed those splendid +statuesque limbs, once bared with such boyish pride on the banks of the +Panaro; the surgeon's knife, seeking for German bullets, while the +blood streamed and the amputated limbs dropped from the poor maimed +trunks. Alas, poor friends! But at least they have remained with us, +rewarded for their sacrifice by the love and gratitude of all. + +But what's become of so-and-so? + +He died on the march through Lombardy. + +And so-and-so? + +Killed by a mitrailleuse at Monte Croce. + +And my friend so-and-so? + +He died of a rifle-bullet, in the hospital at Verona. + +And the fellow who sat next to me in class? + +HE died of cholera in Sicily. + +Enough--enough! + +So they all pass by, fading into the distance, while my fancy hastens +back over the road they have travelled, seeking traces of their passage +--how many and what diverse traces! + +Here, books and papers scattered on the floor, half-finished projects +of battles, an overturned table, a smoking candle-end, tokens of a +studious vigil. There, broken chairs, fragments of glasses, the remains +of a carouse. Farther on, an expanse of waste ground, two bloody +swords, deep footprints, the impress of a fallen body. Here, a table +covered with a torn green cloth and strewn with cards and dice; yonder, +in the grass, a scented love-letter and a knot of faded violets. Over +there a graveyard cross, with the inscription: To my Mother. And +farther on more cards, cast-off uniforms, women's portraits, tailors' +bills, bills of exchange, swords, flowers, blood. What a vast tapestry +one can weave with those few broken and tangled threads! What loves, +what griefs, what struggles, follies, and disasters one divines and +comprehends! Many a high and generous impulse too; but how much more of +squandered opportunity and effort! + +And even if nothing had been squandered, if, in those six years, not a +day, not an hour, had been stolen from our work, if we had not opened +our hearts to any affections but those that exalt the mind and give +serenity to life, a great and dear illusion must still have been lost +to us; an illusion that in vanishing has taken with it much of our +strength and hope; the illusion of that distant rose-colored horizon, +edged with the black profiles of gigantic mountains, legion after +legion hurling itself upon the enemy with flying banners and the sound +of martial music! + +A lost war. + +And if we had not lost that illusion, would not some other have +vanished in its place? + + + +VI. + +I think of myself and say: "How far it is from nineteen to twenty-five!" + +Wherever I went, then, I was the youngest, since boys under nineteen +don't mix on equal terms with men; and I knew that whoever I met envied +me three things: my youth, my hopes, and my light-heartedness. And now, +wherever I go, I meet young fellows who look at me and speak to me with +the deference shown to an elder brother; and, as I talk to them, I am +conscious of making an effort to appear as cheery as they, and even +find myself wondering what stuff they are made of. + +The other day, looking at a friend's child, a little girl of six, I +said to him, half laughing, "Who knows?" + +"Isn't there rather too much disparity of age?" he answered. + +I was silent, half-startled; then, counting up the years on my fingers, +I murmured sadly, "Yes." + +At nineteen I could say of any little maid I met, that one day she +might become my wife; the rising generation belonged to me; but now +there is a part of humanity for which I am already too old! + +And the future--once an undefined bright background, on which fancy +sketched all that was fairest and most desirable, without one warning +from the voice of reason: now, clearly outlined and distinctly colored, +it takes such precise shape that I can almost guess what it is to be, +can see my path traced out for me, and the goal to which it leads. And +so, marvels and glories, farewell! + +And mankind? Well--I never was mistrustful, nor inclined to see the bad +rather than the good in human nature; indeed, I have a friend who is so +exasperated by my persistent optimism that, when I enlarge upon my +affection for my kind, he invariably answers, "Wait till your turn +comes!" + +And yet, how much is gone already of the naif abandonment of those +boyish friendships, of that candid and ready admiration that, like a +well-adjusted spring, leapt forth at a touch, even when I heard a +stranger praised! Two or three disillusionments have sufficed to weaken +that spring. Already I begin to question my own enthusiasm, and a +rising doubt silences the warm, frank words of affection that once +leapt involuntarily to my lips. I read with dry eyes many a book that I +used to cry over; when I read poetry my voice trembles less often than +it did; my laugh is no longer the sonorous irresistible peal that once +echoed through every corner of the house. When I look in the glass--is +it fancy or reality?--I perceive in my face something that was not +there six years ago, an indescribable look about the eyes, the brow, +the mouth, that is imperceptible to others, but that I see and am +troubled by. And I remember Leopardi's words, AT TWENTY-FIVE THE FLOWER +OF YOUTH BEGINS TO FADE. What? Am I beginning to fade? Am I on the +downward slope? Have I travelled so far already? Why, thousands younger +than I have graduated since my day from the college of Modena; I feel +them pressing upon me, treading me down, urging me forward. The thought +terrifies me. Stop a moment--let me draw breath; why must one devour +life at this rate? I mean to take my stand here, motionless, firm as a +rock; back with you! But the ground is sloping and slippery, my feet +slide, there is nothing to catch hold of. Comrades, friends of my +youth, come, let us hold fast to each other; let us clasp each other +tight; don't let them overthrow us; let us stand fast! Ah, curse it, I +feel the earth slipping away under me! + + + +VII. + +Well, well-those are the mournful imaginings of rainy days. When the +sun reappears, the soul grows clear like the sky, and there succeeds to +my brief discouragement a state of mind in which it appears to me so +foolish and so cowardly to fret because I see a change in my face, to +mourn the careless light-heartedness of my youth, to rebel against the +laws of nature in a burst of angry regret, that I am overcome with +shame. I rouse myself, I scramble to my feet, I seize hold of my faith, +my hopes, my intentions, I set to work again with a resolution full of +joyful pride. At such moments I feel strong enough to face the approach +of my thirtieth year, to await with serenity disillusionments, white +hairs, sorrows, infirmities, and old age, my mind's eye fixed upon a +far-off point of light that seems to grow larger as I advance. I march +on with renewed courage; and to the noisy and drunken crew calling out +to me to join them, I answer, No!--and to the knights of the doleful +countenance, who shake their heads and say, "What if it were not true?" +--I answer, without turning my eyes from that distant light, No!--and +to the grave, proud men who point to their books and writings, and say +with a smile of pity and derision, "It is all a dream!"--I answer, with +my eyes still upon that far-off light, and the great cry of a man who +sees a ghost in his path, No! Ah, at such moments, what matters it that +I must grow old and die? I toil, I wait, I believe! + + + +VIII. + +Most of my classmates have undergone the same change. Their faces have +grown older, or sadder, as Leopardi would have us say; but with the +faces the souls have grown graver also. I have spoken of certain +changes in my friends that saddened me; but there are others which make +me glad. Now and then it has happened to me to come across some of the +most careless, happy-go-lucky of my classmates, and to be filled with +wonder when I hear them speak of their country, of their work, of the +duties to be performed, of the future to be prepared for. Owing, +perhaps, to the many and great events of these last years, their +characters have been suddenly and completely transformed. Some ruling +motive--ambition, family cares, or the mere instinctive love of +study--has gathered together and focused their vague thoughts and +scattered powers; has brought about the habit of reflection, and turned +their thoughts towards the great problem of life; has given to all a +purpose, and a path to travel, and left them no time to mourn the +vanished past. We have all entered upon our second youth, with some +disillusionments, with a little experience, and with the conviction +that happiness--what little of it is given to us on earth--is not +obtained by struggling, storming, and clamoring to heaven and earth WE +MUST HAVE IT!--but is slowly distilled from the inmost depths of the +soul by the long persistence of quiet toil. Humble hopes have succeeded +to our splendid visions; steady resolves, to our grand designs; and the +dazzling vision of war, the goddess promising glory and delirium, has +been replaced by the image of Italy, our mother, who promises only--and +it is enough--the lofty consolation of having loved and served her. + + + +IX. + +Our souls have emerged fortified from the sorrow of the lost war. + +One day, surely, Italy will re-echo from end to end with the great cry, +"Come!"--and we shall spring to our feet, pale and proud, with the +answering shout, "We are ready!" + +Then, in the streets of our cities, thronged with people, with +soldiers, horses, and wagons, amidst the clashing of arms and the blare +of trumpets, we classmates shall meet again. I shall see them once +more, many of them, perhaps, only for that short hour, some only for a +moment. At night, in the torchlit glare of a railway-station, we shall +meet again, and greet each other in silence, hand in hand and eye to +eye. No shouting, no songs, no joyous clamor, no vision of triumphal +marches, no veiling of death's image in the light hopefulness of +reunion; we shall say but one word to each other--good-bye--and that +good-bye will be a promise, a vow; that good-bye will mean, "This time, +there will be no descending from the mountains; you and I, lad, will be +left lying on the summit." + +And often, traversing a long expanse of time, I evoke the vision of +distant battle-fields on which the lot of Italy is decided. My fancy +hastens from valley to valley, from hill to hill; and at all the most +difficult passages, at all the posts of danger, I see one of my old +classmates, a gray-haired colonel or general, at the head of his +regiment or of his brigade; and I love to picture him at the moment +when, attacked by a heavy force of the enemy, he directs the defence. + +The two sides have joined battle, and from a neighboring height, he +observes the fighting below. Poor friend! At that moment, perhaps, life +and honor hang in the balance; thirty years of study, of hopes, of +sacrifices, are about to be crowned with glory or scattered like a +handful of dust down that green slope at his feet--it all hangs on a +thread. Pale and motionless he stands there watching, the sabre +trembling in his convulsive grasp. I am near him, my eye is upon his +face, I feel and see and tremble with him, I live his life. + +Courage, friend! Your spirit has passed into your men, the fight is +theirs, never fear! That uncertain movement over there towards the +right wing is but the momentary confusion caused by some inequality of +the ground; they are not falling back, man. Listen, the shouts are +louder, the firing grows heavier, the last battalion has been thrown +into action, all your men are fighting. Ah! how his gaze hurries from +one end of the line to the other, how pale he has grown; life seems +suspended. What are those distant voices? What flame rushes to his +face? What is this smile, this upward glance? Victory!--but, by God, +man, rein in your horse, look at me--here I am, your old classmate who +holds out his arms to you--and now off, down to the battlefield among +your soldiers--and God be with you! + +He has put his charger to the gallop and disappeared. + +And who knows how many of my friends may find themselves some day, at +some hour of their lives, face to face with such an ordeal? Who knows +how many an act of patriotism will make their names illustrious, how +dear to the people some of these names may become? What if some day I +were to see the youth who sat next to me in the class-room or at table, +or slept beside me in the dormitory, riding through the streets on a +white horse, in a general's uniform, covered with flowers and +surrounded by rejoicing crowds? And who knows--may I not knock at the +door of some other, and throw my arms about the pale, sad figure, grown +ten years older in a few months; telling him that the popular verdict +is unjust, that there are many who know that he is not to blame for the +disaster, that sooner or later the excitement will subside, and the +victims of the first rash judgment be restored to honor; that his name +is still dear and respected, that he must not despond, that he must +take heart and keep on hoping? + +Ah, when I think of the fierce trials that life has in store for many +of my classmates, of all that they may do to benefit their country, of +all that their glory will cost them; when I, who have left the army, +think of all this, I feel that, not to be outdone by my old +school-fellows in paying the debt of gratitude that I owe my country, I +ought to toil without ceasing, to spend my nights in study, to treasure +my youth and strength as a means of sustaining my intellectual effort; +that, in order to preach the beauty of goodness, I ought to lead a +blameless life; that I ought to keep alive that glowing affection, a +spark of which I may sometimes communicate to others; to study +children, the people, and the poor, and to write for their benefit; to +let no ignoble word fall from my pen, to sacrifice all my inclinations +to the common welfare, never to lose heart, never to strive for +approval, to hope for nothing and long for nothing but the day on which +I may at last say to myself: I have done what I could, my life has not +been useless, I am satisfied. + + + +X. + +And this is the thought that comes to me in closing: I should like to +have before me a lad of seventeen, well-bred and kindly, but ignorant +of the human heart, as we all are at that age; and putting a friendly +hand on his shoulder, I should like to say to him: + +"Do you want to make sure of a peaceful and untroubled future? Treat +your friends as considerately as you would a woman, for, believe me, +every harsh word or ill-mannered act (however excusable, however +long-forgotten) will return some day to pain and trouble you. Recalling +my friends after all these years, I remember a quarrel that I had with +one of them, a sharp word exchanged with another, the resolve, +maintained for many months, not to speak to a third. Puerilities, if +you like, and yet how glad I should be not to have to reproach myself +with them! And, though I feel sure that they have made no more +impression upon others than upon myself, how much I wish for an +opportunity of convincing myself of the fact, of dissipating any slight +shadow that may have lingered in the minds of my friends! + +"When one's youth is almost past, and one thinks of the years that have +flown so quickly and of those that will fly faster yet, of the little +good one has done and the little there is still time to accomplish, the +pride that set one against one's friends seems so petty, ridiculous and +contemptible a sentiment, that one longs for the power of returning to +the past, of renewing the old discussions in a friendly tone, of +extending a conciliatory hand in place of every angry shrug, of seeking +out the friends one has offended, looking them in the face and saying, +'Shall bygones be bygones, old man?'" + + + +XI. + +Dear friends! If only because it was in your company that I first +wandered over my country, how could my thoughts cease to seek you out, +my heart to desire you? + +When, from the ship's deck, I saw the gulf of Naples whiten in the +distance, and clasping my hands, laughing and thinking of my mother, I +cried out, It is a dream!--when, from the summit of the Noviziate pass +my gaze for the first time embraced Messina, the straits, the +Appennines and the cape of Spartivento, and I said to myself, +half-sadly, Here Italy ends;--when, from the top of Monte Croce, beyond +the vast plain swarming with German regiments, I first beheld the +towers of Verona, and stretching out my arms, as though fearful of +their vanishing, cried out to them, Wait!--when, from the dike of +Fusina, I saw Venice, far-off, azure, fantastic, and cried with wet +eyes, Heavenly!--when Rome, surrounded by the smoke of our batteries, +first burst upon me from the height of Monterondo, and I shouted, She +is ours!--always, everywhere, one of you was beside me, to seize my arm +and cry out: How beautiful is Italy!--always one of you to mingle your +tears, your laughter and your poetry with mine! + +There is not a spot of Italy, not a joyful occurrence, nor profound +emotion, which is not associated in my mind with the clank of a sword +saying, 'I am here!'--and the hand-clasp of one of you, making me pause +and wonder what has become of such an one, what he is doing and +thinking, and whether he too remembers the good days we spent together. + +It may fall to my lot to meet, in the future, many faithful, dear and +generous friends, whose smiling images I already picture to myself; but +beyond their throng I shall always see your plumes waving and the +numbers glittering on your caps; I shall always hurry towards you, +crying out: Let us talk of our college days, of our travels, of war, of +soldiers, and of Italy! + + + +XII. + +We old classmates will many of us doubtless live to see the twentieth +century. Strange thought! I know, of course, that the transition from +nineteen hundred to nineteen hundred and one will seem as natural as +that from ninety-nine to a hundred, or from this year to next. And yet +it seems to me that to see the first dawn of the new century will be +like reaching the summit of some high mountain, and looking out over +new countries and new horizons. I feel as though, that morning, +something unexpected and marvellous would be revealed to us; as though +there would be a sense almost of terror in finding one's self face to +face with it; a sense of having been hurled, by some unseen power, from +brink to brink of a measureless abyss. + +Idle fancies! I know well enough what we shall be like when that time +comes. I see a sitting-room with a fireplace in the corner, or rather +many sitting-rooms with many fireplaces, and many old men seated, chin +in hand, in arm-chairs near the hearth. Near by stands a table with a +lamp on it, surrounded by a circle of children, or of nephews and +nieces, who nudge each other and point to their father or uncle, +whispering, "Hush--he's asleep;"--and laughing at the grotesque +expression that sleep has given to our wrinkled faces. + +And then perhaps we shall wake, and the children will surround us, +begging, as usual, for stories of "a long time ago," and asking with +eager curiosity, "Uncle, did you ever see General Garibaldi?"--"Father, +were you ever close to King Victor Emmanuel?"--"Grandpapa, did you ever +hear Count Cavour speak?" + +"Why, yes, child, many and many a time!" + +"Oh, do tell us, what were they like? Did they look like their +portraits? How did they talk?" + +And we shall tell them everything, and gradually, as we talk, our +voices will regain their old vigor, our cheeks will glow, and we shall +watch with delight the brightening of those eager eyes, the proud +uplifting of those innocent brows, and the impatient movement of the +little hands, signing to us, at each pause, to go on with the story. + +And what will have befallen the world by that time? Will a Victor +Emmanuel III. rule over Italy? Will the Bersaglieri be at Trent? Will +one of our old friends, attached to the Ministry of the Interior, have +been made Governor of Tunis? Will France have passed through another +series of empires, republics, communes, and monarchies? Will the +threatened invasion of northern barbarians have taken place? Will +England also have received her coup-de-grace? Shall we have +experimented with a Commune? Will our great poet have been born? The +Church have been reformed? Rome rebuilt? Will there be any armies in +those days? And we--what standing shall we have in our village or town? +What shall we have done? How shall we have lived? + +Ah, whatever has happened, whatever fate awaits us, if we have worked, +and loved, and believed--then, when we sit at sunset in the big +arm-chair on the terrace, and think of our families, of our friends, of +the mountains, of the carnivals, of the Tyrrhenian islands that we +dreamed of in our college days, we shall be sad, indeed, at the thought +of parting before long from such dear souls and from so beautiful a +country; but our faces will brighten with a smile serene and quiet as +the dawn of a new youth, and tempering the bitterness of farewell with +the tacit pledge of reunion. + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Stories by Foreign Authors: Italian, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS: ITALIAN *** + +***** This file should be named 5728.txt or 5728.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/2/5728/ + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, Juliet Sutherland, Charles +Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Stories by Foreign Authors: Italian + +Author: Various + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5728] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on August 18, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOREIGN STORIES: ITALIAN *** + + + + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + +STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS + +ITALIAN + +A GREAT DAY ......... by EDMONDO DE AMICIS + +PEREAT ROCHUS ....... by ANTONIO FOGAZZARO + +SAN PANTALEONE ...... by GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO + +IT SNOWS .......... by ENRICO CASTELNUOVO + +COLLEGE FRIENDS ..... yy EDMONDO DE AMICIS + + + +NEW YORK +1898 + + + + +CONTENTS + +A GREAT DAY ....................... Edmondo de Amicis +PEREAT ROCHUS ..................... Antonio Fogazzaro +SAN PANTALEONE .................... Gabriele d'Annunzio +IT SNOWS .......................... Enrico Castelnuovo +COLLEGE FRIENDS ................... Edmondo de Amicis + + + + +A GREAT DAY + +BY + +EDMONDO DE AMICIS + +The Translation by Edith Wharton. + + +The G--s were living in the country, near Florence, when the Italian +army began preparations to advance upon Rome. In the family the +enterprise was regarded with disapproval. The father, the mother, and +the two grown daughters, all ardent Catholics and temperate patriots, +talked of moral measures. + +"We don't profess to understand anything about politics," Signora G--- +would say to her friends; "I am especially ignorant; in fact, I am +afraid I should find it rather difficult to explain WHY I think as I do. +But I can't help it; I have a presentiment. There is something inside me +that keeps saying: 'This is not the right way for them to go to Rome; +they ought not to go, they must not go!' I remember how things were in +forty-eight, and in fifty-nine and sixty; well, in those days I never +was frightened, I never had the feeling of anxiety that I have now; I +always thought that things would come right in the end. But now, you may +say what you please, I see nothing but darkness ahead. You may laugh as +much as you like... pray heaven we don't have to cry one of these days! +I don't believe that day is so far off." + +The only one of the household who thought differently was the son, a lad +of twenty, just re-reading his Roman history, and boiling over with +excitement. To mention Rome before him was to declare battle, and in one +of these conflicts feeling had run so high that it had been unanimously +decided not to touch upon the subject in future. + +One evening, early in September, one of the official newspapers +announced that the Italian troops had actually entered the Papal States. +The son was bursting with joy. The father read the article, sat thinking +awhile, and then, shaking his head, muttered: "No!" and again: "No!" and +a third time: "No!" + +"But I beg your pardon, father!" shouted the boy, all aflame. + +"Don't let us begin again," the mother gently interposed; and that +evening nothing more was said. But the next night something serious +happened. The lad, just before going to bed, announced, without +preamble, as though he were saying the most natural thing in the world, +that he meant to go to Rome with the army. + +There was a general outcry of surprise and indignation, followed by a +storm of reproaches and threats. No decent person would willingly be +present at such scenes as were about to be enacted; it was enough that, +as Italians, they were all in a measure to blame for what had happened, +without deliberately assuming the shame of being an eye-witness; there +was nothing one could not forgive in a lad of good family, except (it +was his mother who spoke) this craze to go and see A POOR OLD MAN +BOMBARDED. A fine war! A glorious triumph, indeed! + +When they had ended the lad set his teeth, tore in bits the paper +clutched between his fingers, and, lighting a candle, flung out of the +room, stamping his feet like an Italian actor representing an angry +king. + +Half an hour later he stole gently back to the dining-room. His father +and mother sat there alone, sad and silent. He asked pardon of his +father, who grumblingly shook hands; then he returned to his room, +followed by his mother. + +"Then we shall hear no more of these ideas?" she tenderly suggested, +laying her hands on his shoulders. + +He answered her with a kiss. + +The next day he crossed the borders of the Papal States. + +The discovery of his flight was received with tears, rage, and +invectives. They would never consent to see him again; if he came back, +they would not even rise from their seats to welcome him; they would not +speak to him for a month; they would cut off his allowance; they had a +hundred other plans for his discomfiture. With the mother it was only +talk; but the father meant what he said. He was a good but hard man, +averse to compromises, and violent in his anger; his son knew it and +feared him. It was incomprehensible that the lad should have ventured +upon such a step. + +The news of the 20th of September only increased the resentment of his +parents. + +"He will see," they muttered. "Only let him try to come back!" + +Their words, their gestures, the manner in which they were to receive +him, were all thought out and agreed upon: he was to receive a memorable +lesson. + +On the morning of the 22d they were all seated in the dining-room, +reading, when there was a great knock at the door, and the boy, flushed, +panting, sunburnt, stood erect and motionless on the threshold. + +No one moved. + +"What!" cried the boy, extending his arms in amazement, "you haven't +heard the news?" + +No one answered. + +"Hasn't any one told you? Has no one been out from Florence? Are you all +in the dark still?" + +No one breathed. + +"We have heard," one of the girls at length faltered, after exchanging +glances with her father, "that Rome was taken--" + +"What! Is THAT all?" + +"That is all." + +"But what a victory! What a victory!" cried the son, with a shout that +set them trembling. "So I am the one to tell you of it!" + +They sprang up and surrounded him. + +"But how is it possible?" he went on, with excited gestures--"how is it +possible that you haven't heard anything? Have there been no rumors +about the neighborhood? Haven't the peasants held a meeting? What is the +municipality about? Why, it's inconceivable! Just listen--here, come +close to me, so--I'll tell you the whole story; my heart's going at such +a rate that I can hardly speak..." + +"But what has happened?" + +"Wait! You shan't know yet. You must hear the whole story first, from +beginning to end. I want to tell you the thing bit by bit, just as I saw +it." + +"But WHAT is it?--the Roman festival?" + +"The PLEBISCITE?" + +"The King's arrival?" + +"No, no, no! Something much more tremendous!" + +"But tell us, tell us!" + +"Sit down, lad!" + +"But how is it that we haven't heard anything about it?" + +"How can I tell? All I know is that bringing you the first news of it is +the most glorious thing that's ever happened to me. I reached Florence +this morning--they knew all about it there, so I rushed straight out +here. I fancied that perhaps you mightn't have heard yet--I ... I'm all +out of breath ..." + +"But tell us, tell us quickly!" the mother and daughters cried, drawing +their chairs around him. The father remained at a distance. + +"You shall hear, mother--SUCH things!" the boy began. "Here, come closer +to me. Well, you know what happened on the morning of the twenty-first? +The rest of the regiments entered; there were the same crowds, the same +shouting and music as on the day before. But suddenly, about midday, the +noise stopped as if by common consent, first in the Corso, then in the +other principal streets, and so, little by little, all over the city. +The troops of people began to break up into groups, talking to each +other in low voices; then they scattered in all directions, taking leave +of each other in a way that made one think they meant to meet again. It +seemed as though the signal had been given to prepare for something +tremendous. Men said a hasty word to each other in passing and then +hurried on, each going his own way. The whole Corso was in movement; +people were rushing in and out of the houses, calling out from the +street and being answered from the windows; soldiers dashed about as +though in answer to a summons; cavalry officers trotted by; men and boys +passed with bundles of flags on their shoulders and in their arms, all +breathless and hurried, as if the devil were after them. Not knowing a +soul, and having no way of finding out what it all meant, I tried to +guess what was up from the expression of their faces. They all looked +cheerful enough, but not as frantically glad as they had been; there was +a shade of doubt, of anxiety. One could see they were planning +something. From the Corso I wandered on through some of the narrower +streets, stopping now and then to watch one of the groups. Everywhere I +saw the same thing--crowds of people, all in a hurry, all coming and +going, with the same air that I had already noticed in the Corso, of +concealing from somebody what they were doing, although it was all being +done in the open. Knots, bands, hundreds of men and women passed me in +silence; they were all going in the same direction, as though to some +appointed meeting-place." + +"Where were they going?" the father and mother interrupted. + +"Wait a minute. I went back to the Corso. As I approached it I heard a +deep, continuous murmur of voices, growing louder and louder, like the +noise of a great crowd. The Corso was full of people, all standing still +and facing toward the Capitol, as though they expected something to come +from that direction. From the Piazza del Popolo to the Piazza di Venezia +they were jammed so tight that nobody could budge. I heard whispers +flying about: 'Now they're coming!'--'They're coming from over there!'-- +'Who's coming?'--'The main column--here's the main column!'--'Here it +is!'--'No, it isn't!'--'Yes, it is!' All at once there was a stir in the +crowd, and a big shout, 'Here they are!' and down the middle of the +street a wide passageway seemed to open of itself, as though to make +room for a procession. Every head was uncovered. I fought my way through +from the outer edge of the crowd, to get a look at what was coming. I +can feel the shiver down my back now! First, a lot of generals in full +uniform, and gentlemen in civilian's dress, with the tri-colored scarf; +in the midst of them, girls, women, and ragged, tattered men; workmen, +peasants, women with babies, soldiers of all arms; smartly dressed +ladies, students, whole families clutching hold of each other's hands, +for fear of getting lost in the crowd; all jammed together, trampled +upon, so that they could barely move; and with it all not a sound but a +buzzing, monotonous murmur; silence on both sides of the street; silence +in the windows. It was awfully solemn; half strange and half fearful. I +felt as if I were in a trance." + +"But where were they going to?" his parents and sisters interposed with +growing impatience. + +"Wait a bit!" he returned. "I fought my way into the thick of it, with +the crowds on both sides of the street piling in on top of me. Lord, +what a crush! They spread out like a torrent, pouring into every cranny, +sweeping people on ahead of them, into shop-doors, into the court-yards +of houses, wherever there was a yard of vacant space. As we went on, +other streams of people kept surging into the Corso from all the side +streets, which were just as closely packed; on we swept from the +Capitol; and they said that there were thousands more in the Forum. +Hordes kept pouring in from the Piazza di Spagna, from the Via del +Babbuino, from the Piazza del Popolo. Every one had something in his +hand: a wreath of flowers, a branch of olive or laurel, a banner, a rag +tied to a stick. Some carried holy images uplifted above their heads; +inscriptions, emblems, pictures of the Pope, of the King, of the +Princes, of Garibaldi; never under the sun was there such a medley and +confusion of people and things! And all the while only that low murmur, +and the great multitude moving on with a calmness, a dignity that seemed +miraculous. I felt as though I were dreaming!" + +They gathered close round him without a word. "Suddenly I noticed that +the crowd had turned to the left. Round we all went; very slowly, with +the greatest difficulty, shoved, trampled on, knocked about; with our +arms pinned to our sides, and hardly able to breathe, we fought our way, +street by street, to the little square by the bridge of St. Angelo. The +bridge itself was crammed with people; beyond it, there were more +crowds, which seemed to stretch all the way to St. Peter's. The right +bank of the Tiber swarmed like an ant-hill. Crossing the bridge was a +hard job; it took us over a quarter of an hour. The poor devils on each +side, in their fear of being pushed over the edge, clutched the parapet +madly, and shouted with terror; I believe there were several accidents. + +"Well, at last we got across. All the streets leading to the Piazza of +St. Peter were choked with human beings. When we reached the foot of one +of the two streets that run straight to St. Peter's we heard a great +roar, like the noise of the sea in a gale; it seemed to come to us in +gusts, now near by, now a long way off. It was the noise of the crowd in +the square before St. Peter's. We rushed ahead more madly than ever; +climbing over each other, carried along, pushed, swept, and dragged, +till at last we reached the square. God, if you could have seen it!-- +What a spectacle!--The whole huge square was jammed, black, swarming; no +longer a square, but an ocean. All around the outer edge, between the +four lines of columns, on the steps of the church, in the portico, on +the great terraced roof, in the outer galleries of the dome, on the +capitals of the columns, on the very pilasters; in the windows of the +houses to the right of the square, on the balconies, on the leads, +above, below, to the right and to the left, wherever a human being could +find foothold, wherever there was some projection to cling to or to +dangle from, everywhere there were heads, arms, legs, banners, shouts, +gesticulations. The whole of Rome was there." + +"Heavens! ... And the Vatican?" the women cried, in a tremble. + +"All shut up. You know that a wing of the Vatican overlooks the square, +and that the Pope's apartments are in that wing. Every window was +closed; it looked like an abandoned palace; like a cold, rigid, +impassive face, staring straight ahead with wide-open motionless eyes. +The crowd looked up at it with a murmur. + +"Over by the church steps I noticed a lot of officers and gentlemen +moving about and giving orders, which seemed to be handed on through the +crowd. The excitement was increasing. Every head in the square was +uncovered; white heads of old men, brown heads of soldiers, fair heads +of little children. The sun blazed down on it all. Thousands of shapes, +colors, sounds, seemed to undulate and blend; banners, green boughs, +fluttering rags, were tossed back and forth as though upon a dancing +sea. The crowd seethed and quivered as if the ground underfoot were on +fire. + +"Suddenly there was a shout that swept over the whole square: 'The boys! +The children! Let's have the children!'" + +"Then, as if every one were following some concerted plan of action, all +the children in the square were lifted up above the crowd, and the men +and women who carried them fought a way through to the front of the +Vatican. The bigger boys made their own way. Bands of ten and twenty of +them, holding each other by the hand, wriggled between people's legs; +hundreds of children, some on their own feet, some carried, some pushed, +a whole world of little folk, hidden till then in the crowd, suddenly +swarmed in one corner of the square; and how the women screamed! 'Take +care!--Make room!--Look out for my child!'" + +"Presently there was another shout: 'The women now! The women!' and +another shuffling up and settling down of the crowd. Then a third shout, +louder than any of the others: 'The army! The troops!' this time. Then +came the most indescribable agitation, but underneath it all a sense of +order and rapidity; none of the ordinary confusion and delay; every one +helped, made way, co-operated; the whole immense multitude seemed to be +under orders. Gradually the disturbance ceased, the noise diminished, +the gesticulation subsided; and looking about one saw that all the +soldiers, women, and children in the crowd had disappeared as if by +magic. + +"There they all stood, on the right side of the square, divided into +three great battalions that extended from the door of St. Peter's to the +centre of the colonnade, all facing the Vatican, packed together and +motionless. The crowd burst into frantic applause." + +"But the Vatican?" the whole family cried out for the third time. + +"Shut up and silent as a convent; but wait. Suddenly the applause +ceased, and every head turned backward, whispering: 'Silence!' The +whisper travelled across the square and down the length of the two +streets leading to it; gradually the sound died out, and the crowd +became absolutely, incredibly silent: it was supernatural. All at once, +in the midst of this silence, we heard a faint mysterious chirping; a +vague, diffused sound of voices, that seemed to come from overhead. +Gradually it grew louder, and there was an uncertain gathering of +shrill, discordant tones, now close by, now far off, but growing +steadier and more harmonious, until at length it was blent in a single +tremulous silvery chant that soared above us like the singing of a choir +of angels. Thousands of children were singing the hymn to Pius IX.--the +hymn of forty-seven." + +"Oh, God--oh, God!" cried the mother and daughters, with clasped hands. + +"That song re-echoed in every heart; it touched something deep down and +tender in every one of us. A thrill ran through the crowd; there was a +wild waving of arms and hands, as though to take the place of speech; +but the only sound was a confused murmur. + +"'Holy Father,' that murmur seemed to say, 'look at them, listen to +them! They are our children, they are your little ones, who are looking +for you, who are praying to you, who implore your blessing. Yield to +their entreaty; give them your blessing; grant that our religion and our +country may dwell together as one faith in our hearts. One word from +you, Holy Father, one sign from you, one glance even, promising pardon +and peace, and every man of us shall be with you and for you, now and +for ever! Look--these our children and your little ones!' + +"Thousands of banners fluttered in the air, the song ceased, and a deep +silence followed." + +"Well?" they cried breathlessly. + +"Still shut up," the lad answered. "Then the women began to sing. There +was a deep thrill in the immense voice that rose; a something that +throbs only in the breast of mothers; it seemed a cry rather than a +hymn; it was sweet and solemn. + +"At first the crowd was motionless; then a wave of excitement passed +over it, and the hymn was drowned in a great clamor: 'These are our +mothers, these are our wives and sisters; Holy Father, listen to them. +They have never known hatred or anger; they have always loved and hoped; +all they ask is that you should give them leave to couple your name with +that of Italy on their children's lips. Holy Father, one word from you +will spare them many cruel doubts and many bitter tears. Give them your +blessing, Holy Father!" + +The boy's listeners questioned him with look and gesture. + +"Still closed," he answered; "still closed. But then a tremendous chant +burst out, followed by a wild surging of the crowd: the soldiers were +singing.--'These are our soldiers,' the people cried; 'they shall be +yours, Holy Father. They come from the fields and the workshops; they +will keep watch at your door, Holy Father, they will attend upon your +steps. They were born under your rule, as children they heard your +glorious cry for liberty, they fought the stranger in your name and in +that of their king; in the hour of danger, you will find them close +about your throne, ready to die for you. One word, Holy Father, and +these swords, these breasts, this flesh and blood is yours! They ask +your blessing on their country, Holy Father, they ask you to repeat your +own glorious words!'... + +"A window in the Vatican opened. The song ceased, the shouts died out-- +silence. There was not a soul in the window. For a few seconds the +immense multitude seemed to stop breathing. It seemed as though +something moved behind the window--as though at the back of the room a +shadow appeared and then vanished. Then we fancied that we caught a +glimpse of people moving to and fro, and heard a vague sound. Every face +was turned towards the window, every eye was fixed upon it. Suddenly, as +if by inspiration, every arm in the multitude was stretched out towards +the palace; mothers lifted their children above their heads, soldiers +swung their caps on the points of their bayonets, every banner was +shaken out, and a hundred thousand voices burst into one tremendous +shout, 'Viva! Viva! Viva!' At the window of the Vatican something light- +colored appeared, wavered, fluttered in the air. God in heaven!" cried +the boy, with his arms about his mother's neck, "it was the flag of +Italy!" + +The delight, the joy, the enthusiasm which greeted his words are +indescribable. The lad had spoken with so much warmth, had been so +carried away by his imagination, that he had not perceived that, +gradually, as the story proceeded, he had passed from fact to fiction; +and his eyes were wet, his voice shook, with the spell of his +hallucination. His words carried conviction, and not a doubt clouded the +happiness of his listeners. They laughed and cried and kissed each +other, feeling themselves suddenly released from all their doubts and +scruples, from all the miserable conflicts of conscience that had +tortured them as Italians and as Catholics! The reconciliation between +Church and State! The dream of so many years! What peace it promised, +what a future of love and harmony! What a sense of freedom and security! + +"Thank God, thank God!" the mother cried, sinking into a chair, worn out +by her emotions. And then, in a moment or two, they were all at the lad +again, clamoring for fresh details. + +"Is it really true?" + +"Haven't you dreamed it?" + +"Go on, tell us everything. Tell us about the Pope, about the crowd, +about what happened next"... + +"What happened next?" the boy began again, in a tired voice. "I hardly +know. There was such an uproar, such confusion, such an outburst of +frenzy, that the mere recollection of it makes my brain reel. All I saw +was a vortex of arms and flags, and the breath was almost knocked out of +me by a thundering blow on the chest. After a while, I got out of the +thick of it, and plunged into one of the streets leading to the bridge +of St. Angelo. People were still pouring into the piazza from Borgo Pio +with frantic shouts. I heard afterwards that the crowd tried to break +into the Vatican; the soldiers had to keep them back, first breast to +breast, then with blows, and then with their bayonets. They say that +some people were suffocated in the press. No one knows yet what happened +inside the Vatican; there was a rumor that the Pope had given his +blessing from the window--but I didn't see him. I was almost dead when I +got to the bridge. The news of what had taken place had already spread +over the whole city, and from every direction crowds were still pouring +towards the Vatican. Detachments of cavalry went by me at a trot; +orderlies and aides-de-camps carrying orders dashed along the streets. +Hearing their shouts, the people in the windows shouted back at them. +Decrepit old men, sick people, women with babies in their arms, swarmed +on the terraces, poured out of the houses, questioning, wondering, +embracing one another... At last I got to the Corso. At that minute +there was a tremendous report from the direction of the Pincio, another +from Porta Pia, a third from San Pancrazio: all the batteries of the +Italian army were saluting the Pope. Soon afterwards the bells of the +Capitol began to ring; then, one after another, a hundred churches +chimed in. The crowds of Borgo Pio surged frantically back towards the +left bank of the Tiber, invading the streets, the squares, the houses, +stripping the coverings from the papal escutcheons, carrying in triumph +busts of Pius IX., portraits and banners. Thousands assembled with +frantic cheers before the palaces of the Roman nobles who are known for +their devotion to the Holy See. In answer to the cheers, the owners of +the houses appeared on their balconies and unfurled the Italian flag. + +"Wait a minute, I'm out of breath"... + +As soon as he had recovered his breath he was assailed with fresh +questions. + +"Well, and what then? And the Vatican--? The Pope--?" + +"I don't know.--But Rome that night... how can I ever tell you how +beautiful, how great, how marvellous it was! The night was perfectly +clear, and I don't believe such an illumination was ever seen since the +world began. The Corso was on fire; the churches were jammed with +people, and there was preaching in every one of them. The streets were +full of music, dancing, and singing; people harangued the crowds in the +cafes and the theatres. + +"I wanted to see St. Peter's again. There had been a rumor that His +Holiness needed rest, and Borgo Pio was as still as it is on the +stillest night. The piazza was full of moonlight. A silent throng was +gathered about the two fountains and on the steps of the church. Many +were sitting down, many stretched at full length on the ground; the +greater number had fallen asleep, worn out by the fatigue and excitement +of the day; women, soldiers, children, lay huddled together in a +confused heap. Hundreds of others were on their knees, and sentinels of +all the different corps moved about here and there, with little flags +and crosses fastened to the barrels of their guns. The ground was strewn +with flags, foliage, flowers, and hats lost in the crush; the windows of +the Vatican were lit up; there was not a sound to be heard, the crowd +seemed to be holding its breath. + +"I turned away, beside myself with the thought of all that I had seen, +of the effect that it would produce in Italy, and all over the world; of +what you would all say to it, and you most of all, father! I found +myself at the station without knowing how I had got there. It was full +of noise and confusion. I jumped on to the train, we started, and here I +am. The news reached Florence last night; they say the excitement was +indescribable; the King has left for Rome; the news is all over the +world by this time!" + +He sank into a chair and sat silent, as though his breath had failed +him. Then he sprang up and rushed out to intercept the papers, which +usually reached the villa at eleven o'clock in the morning. + +In this way he succeeded in maintaining the blissful delusion until +evening. The dinner was full of gayety, the lad continued to pour out +detail after detail, and his listeners to heap benediction upon +benediction. + +Suddenly a hurried step was heard on the stairs, and the bell rang +violently. The door opened, and a tall, pale priest, with a drawn mouth, +appeared on the threshold. He was a recent acquaintance of the family, +who felt no great sympathy for him, but who received him courteously +more out of respect for his cloth than out of regard for his merits. + +As he entered, all but the son sprang up and surrounded him with excited +exclamations. + +"Well, have you heard the news? Thank God, it's all ended! The hand of +God is in it! What do you think of it all? Tell us, let us hear your +opinion!" + +"But what news?" asked the priest, looking from one to the other with +astonished eyes. + +In wild haste, and all speaking at once, they poured out the story of +the festival, the forgiveness, the reconciliation. + +The priest stared at them, with the look of a man who finds himself +unexpectedly surrounded by lunatics; then, with a withering glance at +the boy, and a smile of malignant triumph-- + +"Luckily," he said, "there is not a word of truth in it!" + +"Not a word of truth in it?" they clamored, turning upon their +informant. + +The boy, unmoved by their agitation, returned the priest's look half- +scornfully, half-sadly. + +"Your reverence, don't say fortunately. Since you are an Italian, say +rather, 'Alas, that it is not so!'" + +For a moment the others stood aghast; then, angered, as people will be, +rather against those who undeceive them than against those who delude +them, they turned towards the priest, involuntarily echoing the boy's +words: "He's right, your reverence! Say rather, 'Alas, that it is not +so!'" + +The priest pointed to his own breast with a long knotty finger. + +"I?" he exclaimed bitterly, "never!" + +At these words, the boy's father, rudely roused from his mood of tender +exaltation, and bursting, after his wont, into sudden fury, stretched +his arm towards the priest, with a cry that rang through the room like a +pistol-shot: "Out of my house this instant!" + +The priest stalked out, slamming the door. The lad's arms were about his +father's neck; and the old man, laying his hands on his son's head, said +gently: "I forgive you." + + + + + + +PEREAT ROCHUS + +BY + +ANTONIO FOGAZZARO + +The Translation by A. L. Frothingham, Jr. + + +I. + +"It is a fine case, Don Rocco," said Professor Marin, gathering up the +cards and smiling beatifically, while his neighbor on the right raved +furiously against poor Don Rocco. The professor continued to look at him +with a little laugh on his closed mouth, and with a glance sparkling +with benevolent hilarity; then he turned to the lady of the house, who +was napping in a corner of the sofa. + +"It is a fine case, Countess Carlotta!" + +"I understand that well enough," said she, "and it seems to me time to +end it; isn't that so, Don Rocco?" + +"No, Don Rocco," said the professor seriously, "on reflection it +certainly is a case for the ecclesiastical court." + +"I should say it was at least that," said his neighbor on the right. + +Don Rocco, red as a poppy, with his two fingers in his snuff-box, kept +silence, his head bent forward and his brows knit in a certain contrite +way peculiar to him, facing the tempest with his bald spot, and looking +slyly between one wink and another at the unfortunate cards. When he +heard the words "ecclesiastical court" repeated by his companion, whom +he held in considerable fear, it seemed to him that matters were +becoming quite amusing, so he forced a little smile and took a pinch of +snuff between his fingers. + +"Oh, you laugh!" returned the implacable professor. "I hardly know +whether, having played at terziglio and having brought such ill luck on +your partner, you can say Mass in peace to-morrow morning." + +"Oh! I can, I can," muttered Don Rocco, knitting his brows still more +and raising a little his good-natured countryman's face. "We all make +mistakes, all of us. Even he, over there, not to mention yourself, +sometimes." + +His voice had the tone of a peaceful animal badgered beyond all +patience. The professor was laughing with his eyes. "You are quite +right," said he. + +The game was over, the players got up. + +"Yes," said the professor with quizzical seriousness, "the case of +Sigismondo is more complicated." + +Don Rocco closed his beady little eyes in a smile, bending his head with +a peculiar mixture of modesty, complacency, and confusion, and mumbled: + +"Even that case can be unravelled." + +"You see," added the professor, "I am well informed. It is a case, +Countess, which Don Rocco must unravel at the next meeting of the +ecclesiastical court." + +"There is no such meeting going on here," said the countess. "Let it +alone." + +But it was not so easy to wrest a victim from the clutches of the +professor. + +"Let us then say no more about it," said he quietly. "But listen, Don +Rocco; I am not of your opinion on that point. As for me, pereat +mundus." + +Don Rocco frowned furiously. + +"I haven't spoken with any one," said he. + +"Don Rocco, you have gossiped, and I know it," answered the professor. +"Have patience, Countess, and give us your opinion." + +Countess Carlotta did not care to enter upon the question, but the +professor continued imperturbably to set forth the case of Sigismondo as +it had been promulgated by the Episcopal tribunal. + +A certain Sigismondo, fallen suddenly ill, asked for a confessor. +Hardly was he alone with the priest when he hastened to tell him that +some other person was on the point of committing a homicide, which he +had himself instigated. + +Hardly had he said these words when he lost voice and consciousness. The +priest doubted whether Sigismondo had spoken in confession or not; and +he could not prevent the crime, could not save this human life in peril, +unless he made use of what he had heard in confidence. Should he do this +or should he let a man be killed?" + +"It is Don Rocco's opinion," concluded the professor, "that the priest +should act as a policeman." + +Poor Don Rocco, tortured in his conscience between the feeling that he +ought not to discuss the question in a secular conversation and a +feeling of reverence for his bantering friend who was an ecclesiastic of +mature age and a professor in the Episcopal seminary of P---, was +twisting himself about and mumbling excuses. + +"No...the fact is...I say...it seems to me..." + +"I am surprised, Don Rocco, that you should think it worth while to make +excuses," said the lady. "It amazes me that you should take seriously +the jests of the professor." + +But the professor protested, and with subtle questions pushed Don Rocco +to the wall and began to squeeze out of him, little by little, the +peculiar combination of right instincts and crooked arguments which he +had in his head, showing him with the greatest charm of manner the +fallacy of all his bad reasons and of all his good sense, and leaving +him in a stupor of contrite humility. But the game lasted only a short +while, because the countess dismissed the company with the excuse that +it was after eleven o'clock. However, she asked Don Rocco to remain. + +It was the Countess Carlotta who had chosen him, a few years before, as +rector of the Church of St. Luke, which was her property. She took with +him a sort of Episcopal air which was peacefully accepted by the +thankful priest, as simple in spirit as he was humble-hearted. + +"You would do better, my dear Don Rocco," said she when they were alone, +"to bother yourself less with such affairs as that of Sigismondo, and a +little more with your own." + +"But why?" asked Don Rocco, surprised. "I do not know what you mean." + +"Of course; the whole village knows it, but you are in complete +ignorance." + +Her eyes added quite clearly, "Poor simpleton." Don Rocco remained +silent. + +"When does Lucia return?" asked she. This Lucia was the servant of Don +Rocco, to whom he had given permission to go home for five days. + +"On Sunday," he answered. "To-morrow evening. Oh!" he suddenly +exclaimed, smiling with satisfaction at his own keenness. "Now I +understand, now I see what you mean. But it is not so, it is not so at +all." + +He had at last understood that it was a question of certain rumors +current in the village on a love affair of his servant with a certain +Moro, a bad specimen, well known at the police court, who combined craft +with malevolence and strength in a most diabolical manner. Some believed +that he was not entirely bad, but that necessity and the ill-treatment +of an unjust master had led him to wrongdoing; but every one feared him. + +"It is not true at all, is it?" answered she. "Then I don't know what +the village will say when certain novelties will happen to the servant +of the priest." + +Don Rocco became red as fire and frowned most portentously. + +"But it is not true at all," said he, brusquely and shortly. "I +questioned her myself as soon as I heard the gossip. It is nothing but +the maliciousness of people. Why, the man does not even see her!" + +"Oh! Don Rocco," said the lady. "You are good, good, good. But as the +world is not made that way, and as there is a scandal, if you don't make +up your mind to send the creature away, I must decide on something +myself." + +"You will do what you like," answered the priest dryly. "Have I not got +to consider what is right?" + +The countess looked at him, and said, with a sudden solemnity, "Very +well. You will reflect on this to-night, and to-morrow you will give me +your final answer." + +She rang the bell to have a lantern brought for Don Rocco, as the night +was very dark. But, to her great surprise, Don Rocco carefully extracted +one from the back pocket of his cloak. + +"What made you do that?" exclaimed she. "You have probably got a spot on +my chair!" + +She got up, notwithstanding the assurances of Don Rocco, and taking one +of the candles which still burned on the card table, she stooped down to +look at the chair. + +"There!" she said, "put your nose over that! It is spotted and ruined!" + +Don Rocco came also, and, knitting his brows, bent down over a large +spot of oil, a black island on the gray cloth, muttering most seriously, +"Oh, yes!" and remaining absorbed in his gaze. + +"Now, go!" said the lady. "What is done is done." + +It seemed in fact, as if he were awaiting her permission to raise his +nose from the repentant stool. + +"Yes, I'll go now," he answered, lighting his lantern, "because I am +alone at home at present, and I am even afraid that I left the door +open." + +Very suddenly he said "Good-night," and disappeared without even looking +at the countess. + +She was astonished. "Dear me, what a boor!" she said. + + + +II. + +It was a damp, cloudy night in November. Little Don Rocco was limping +along towards his hermitage of St. Luke with awkward steps, his arms in +parentheses, and his back arched, knitting his brows at the road-bed as +he went along. He was ruminating over the dark words of Signora +Carlotta, and their importance was gradually piercing his obtuse brain. +He was also ruminating over the next assembly of the ecclesiastical +court, over the pereat mundus and the subtle reasonings of the +professor, of which he had understood so little; not to speak of the +exposition of the Gospels for the next day, which he had not yet fully +prepared. All this would often get inextricably confused in his mind. +Certainly poor innocent Lucia must not be condemned, pereat mundus. +Signora Carlotta was almost a padrona to him; but what about that other +great padrone? Nemo potest duobus dominis servire; thus, beloved +brethren, says the Gospel for the day. + +Poor Don Rocco, as usual, had also lost at terziglio; and this gave a +somewhat gray cast to his ideas, notwithstanding his proverbial +carelessness of every mundane interest. That hole in his pocket, that +continuous dropping, made him reflect. Would it not have been better for +him to give the same amount in alms? + +"There is this good thing about it," he thought, "that it is a terrible +bore, and that they all badger me. I certainly do not play for +pleasure." + +He passed on the left of the road a dark clump of trees, ascending +slowly in the darkness towards three large cypresses of unequal height, +standing out black against the sky. There, between the old cypresses, +stood the little country church of St. Luke, attached to a small convent +which had had no inmates for a hundred years. The little hillock +garlanded with vines had no other structures. From the convent, and from +the grassy knoll, on which stood the little cypress-overhung church, the +main road could not be seen, but only other knolls gay with vineyards, +villas, and country houses, islands on an immense plain, extending from +the hills further away as far as the Alps and blending eastward in the +mists of the invisible sea. The simple chaplain of Countess Carlotta +lived alone in the convent, like a priest of silence, content with his +meagre prebend, content to preach with might and main in the little +church, to be called during the day to bless the beans, and at night to +assist the dying, to cultivate the vine with his own hands; content with +everything, in fine; even with his servant, an ugly old maid of about +forty, at whose discretion he ate, drank, and dressed himself most +resignedly, without exchanging more than a dozen words with her +throughout the year. + +"If I send her away," he said to himself, as he passed between the high +hedges of the lane that led up from the main road to St. Luke, "it will +damage and dishonor her. I cannot conscientiously do it, because I am +sure that it isn't true. And with that Moro, of all men!" + +The clock in the bell-tower struck eleven. Don Rocco began to think of +his sermon, of which only three-quarters was written, and he rushed down +from the church square to the door which led into his courtyard under +the bell-tower at the end of a steep and stony lane. As he opened the +gate and passed across the yard he was brought suddenly to a standstill. +A faint light was shining from the windows of his sitting-room, the +former refectory of the monks, on the lower floor. + +Don Rocco had left at four o'clock to pay his visit to the Countess +Carlotta, and had not returned in the meanwhile. He could not have left +the lamps lighted. Therefore Lucia must have returned before the time +she had set; that must certainly be the reason. He did not fatigue his +brain by making any other suppositions, but entered. + +"Is it you, Lucia?" he called. No answer. He passed through the +vestibule, approached the kitchen, and stood motionless on the doorsill. + +A man was sitting under the chimney-cap with his hands stretched out +over the coals. He turned toward the priest and said, most +unconcernedly: + +"Don Rocco, your humble servant." + +By the light of the smoky petroleum lamp which stood on the table, Don +Rocco recognized the Moro. He was conscious of a feeling of weakness in +his heart and in his legs. He did not move nor answer. + +"Make yourself at home, Don Rocco," continued the Moro imperturbably, as +if he were doing the honors of his own house. "You had better take a +seat here also, for it is cold to-night and damp." + +"Yes, it is cold," answered Don Rocco, infusing a forced benevolence +into his tones; "it is damp." + +And he put his lantern down on the table. + +"Come here," said his companion. "Wait till I make you comfortable." He +got a chair and placed it on the hearthstone near his own. + +"There now," said he. + +Meanwhile Don Rocco was getting his breath again, and carrying on, with +a terrible knitting of his brows, most weighty reflections. + +"Thanks," he answered, "I will go to put away my cloak and come back at +once." + +"Lay your cloak down here," replied the Moro, not without some haste and +a new tone of imperiousness not at all pleasing to Don Rocco. + +He silently placed his cloak and hat on the table and sat down under the +chimney-cap beside his host. + +"You will excuse me if I have made a little fire," he continued. "I have +been here at least a half-hour. I thought you were at home studying. +Isn't to-day Saturday? And are you not obliged to say to-morrow morning +the few customary absurdities to the peasants?" + +"You mean the exposition of the Gospel," answered Don Rocco with warmth, +for on that ground he knew no fear. + +"A hint is all you need!" said the Moro. "Excuse me, I am a peasant +myself, and talk crudely, maybe, but respectfully. Will you give me a +pinch of snuff?" + +Don Rocco held out the snuff-box to him. + +"Is this da trozi?" said he with a wink. This word, as well as the +expression "by-paths tobacco," was used in speaking of the tobacco which +was smuggled into the State. + +"No," answered Don Rocco, rising. "Perhaps I have a little of that +upstairs." + +"Never mind, never mind," the Moro hastened to say. "Give here." And +sticking three fingers into the snuff-box he took up about a pound of +snuff and breathed it in little by little, as he gazed at the fire. The +dying flame illumined his black beard, his earthy complexion, and his +brilliant, intelligent eyes. + +"Now that you are warmed," Don Rocco made bold to say after a moment's +silence, "you may go home." + +"Hum!" said the man, shrugging his shoulders. "I have a little business +to transact before I leave." + +Don Rocco squirmed in his chair, winking hard, and frowning heavily. + +"I suggested it because it is so late," he mumbled, half churlishly, +half timidly. "I also have something to do." + +"The sermon, eh?--the sermon, the sermon!" the Moro repeated +mechanically, looking at the fire, and ruminating. "See here," he +concluded, "suppose we do this. There are pens, paper, and inkstand in +the sitting-room. Sit down there and write your stuff. Meanwhile, if you +will allow me, I will take a mouthful, as it is sixteen hours since I +have eaten. When we have finished we will talk." + +At first Don Rocco was not disposed to agree, but he was as halting in +his secular utterances as he was fiery in his sacred eloquence. He could +only squirm and give out a few low, doubtful grunts; after which, as the +other man kept silence, he got up from his chair with about as much +difficulty as if he had been glued to it. + +"I will go to find out," said he, "but I am afraid I shall find very +little, the servant--" + +"Don't trouble yourself," interrupted the Moro. "Let me attend to it. +You go and write." He left the hearth, lighted another lamp and carried +it into the neighboring sitting-room, which had windows facing the south +on the courtyard, while the kitchen windows were at the back of the old +convent on the north side, where the cellar and the well were placed. +Then he came back quickly, and under the eyes of the astonished priest +took down a key that was hanging in the darkest corner of the kitchen, +opened a closet against the wall, put up his hand without hesitating and +took down a cheese of goats' milk, the existence of which Don Rocco had +not even suspected; he took bread from a cupboard, and a knife from a +drawer in the table. + +Now it happened for only the third or fourth time in the whole life of +Don Rocco that the famous frown entirely disappeared for a few moments. +Even the eyelids stopped winking. + +"You look surprised, Don Rocco," said the Moro complacently, "because I +am at home in your house. But just keep on writing. You will understand +later. We must also keep the fire going," he added, when the priest, +having slowly recovered from his amazement, passed into the sitting- +room. + +The Moro took the iron bellows, a sort of arquebuse barrel, turned one +end toward the coals, and blew into the other in so unusual a way as to +produce a strident whistle. Then he started on his supper. + +What possessed him! At one moment he was devouring his food, at another +he would raise his head and remain transfixed, while at another he would +walk up and down the kitchen violently knocking the chairs and table. He +seemed like an imprisoned wild beast which every now and then raises its +fangs from the bone, listens and looks, seizes it again, leaves it, +rushes around its cage in a rage and goes back to gnaw. + +Meanwhile, Don Rocco was leaning over his paper, wondering still at what +he had seen, unable in his unsuspiciousness to draw any inferences, +listening to the steps and the noises in the next room with a torpid +uneasiness that had about the same resemblance to fear as the +intelligence of Don Rocco himself had to understanding. "'You will +understand later,'" he repeated to himself. "What am I to understand? +That he knows where the money is?" He kept it in a box in his bed- +chamber, but there were only two ten-franc pieces, and Don Rocco +reflected with satisfaction that the new wine was not yet sold, and that +that money at least was safe from the clutches of the Moro. + +It did not appear as if the latter threatened violence. "At the worst I +should lose twenty francs," concluded Don Rocco, seeking refuge in his +philosophical and Christian indifference to money. He mentally abandoned +the twenty francs to their destiny and sought to concentrate his +thoughts on the sacred text: Nemo potest duobus dominis servire. At the +same moment he seemed to hear, between the hasty steps of the Moro, a +heavy, dull thud from a greater distance, as of a door being broken +open; then the bang of a chair knocked down in the kitchen; then still +another distant noise. The Moro entered the sitting-room and violently +closed the door behind him. + +"Here I am, Don Rocco," said he. "Have you also finished?" + +"Now is the time," thought the priest, who immediately forgot everything +but the presence of this man. + +"Not finished yet," he answered. "But I will finish after you have gone. +What do you wish?" + +The Moro took a seat opposite him and crossed his arms on the table. + +"I am living a bad life, sir," said he. "The life of a dog and not of a +man." + +At this Don Rocco, although he had resigned himself to the worst, felt +his heart expand. He answered severely, and with his eyes cast down: +"You can change, my son, you can change." + +"That's why I am here, Don Rocco," said the other. "I want to make +confession. Now, at once," he added when he saw that the priest remained +silent. + +Don Rocco began to wink and to squirm somewhat. + +"Very well," said he, still with his eyes cast down. "We can talk about +it now, but the confession can come later. You can return for it to- +morrow. It requires a little preparation. And it must be seen whether +you have received proper instruction." + +The Moro immediately fired off, with all placidity and sweetness, three +or four sacrilegious oaths against God and the sacraments, as if he were +reciting an Ave, and drew the conclusion that he knew as much about it +as a member of the clergy. + +"There, there, you see!" said Don Rocco, squirming more than ever. "You +are beginning badly, my son. You want to confess, and you blaspheme!" + +"Oh, you mustn't notice little things like that," answered the Moro. "I +assure you that the Lord doesn't bother about it. It is a habit, so to +speak, of the tongue, nothing more." + +"Beastly habits, beastly habits," pronounced Don Rocco, frowning and +looking into his handkerchief, which he held under his nose with both +hands. + +"In fine, I am going to confess," insisted the man. "Hush, now, don't +say no! You will hear some stiff ones." + +"Not now, really not now," protested Don Rocco, rising. "You are not +prepared at present. We will now thank the Lord and the Virgin who have +touched your heart, and then you will go home. To-morrow you will come +to holy Mass, and after Mass we will meet together again." + +"Very well," answered the Moro. "Go ahead." + +Don Rocco got down on his knees near the lounge and, with his head +turned, seemed to wait for the other to follow his example. + +"Go ahead," said the Moro. "I have a bad knee and will say my prayers +seated." + +"Very well; sit here on the sofa, near me, where you will be more +comfortable; accompany my words with your heart, and keep your eyes +fixed on that crucifix in front of you. Come, like a good fellow, and we +will pray the Lord and the Virgin to keep you in so good a state of mind +that you may have the fortune to make a good confession. Come, like a +good, devout fellow!" + +Having said this, Don Rocco began to recite Paters and Aves, often +devoutly raising his knitted brows. The Moro answered him from his seat +on the sofa. He seemed to be the confessor and the priest the penitent. + +Finally, Don Rocco crossed himself and got up. + +"Now sit right here while I confess," said the Moro, as if there were +nothing against it. But Don Rocco caught him up. Had they not already +arranged that he should confess the next day? But the other would not +listen with that ear, and continued hammering away at his request with +obstinate placidity. + +"Let us stop this," he said, all at once. "Pay attention, for I am +beginning!" + +"But I tell you that it is not possible and that I will not have it," +replied Don Rocco. "Go home, I tell you! I am going to bed at once." + +He started to leave; but the Moro was too quick for him, rushed to the +door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. + +"No, sir! you don't go out of here! Might I not die to-night? Wouldn't +I, if the Lord just blew on me like this?" + +And he blew on the petroleum lamp and put it out. + +"And if I go to hell," he continued in a sepulchral voice, in the dark, +"you will go there too!" + +The poor priest, at this unexpected violence, in the midst of this +darkness, lost his presence of mind. He no longer knew where he was, and +kept saying, "Let us go, let us go," trying to find the sofa, beating +the air with his extended hands. The Moro lighted a match on his sleeve, +and Don Rocco had a glimpse of the table, of the chairs, and of his +strange penitent, before it became darker than ever. + +"Could you see? Now I shall begin; with the biggest sin. It is fifteen +years since I have been to confession, but my biggest sin is that I have +made love to that ugly creature, your servant." + +"Body of Bacchus!'" involuntarily exclaimed Don Rocco. + +"If I am familiar with the kitchen," continued the Moro, "it is because +I must have come here fifty times of an evening when you were not here, +to eat and drink with Lucia. Perhaps you have even found that some few +francs were missing..." + +"I know nothing about it; no, I know nothing about it!" mumbled Don +Rocco. + +"Some of those few small bills in your box, first compartment to the +left at the bottom." + +Don Rocco gave forth a low exclamation of surprise and pain. + +"Now, as for me, I have gotten through stealing," continued he; "but +that witch would carry off even your house. She is a bad woman, a bad +woman! We must get rid of her. Do you remember that shirt that you +missed last year? I have it on now and she gave it to me. I cannot give +it back because..." + +"Never mind, don't bother, never mind," interrupted Don Rocco. "I'll +give it to you." + +"Then there were some glasses of wine, but I didn't drink them all +myself. And then there is the silver snuff-box with the portrait of Pius +Ninth." + +"Body of Bacchus!" exclaimed Don Rocco, who thought he still had in his +box that precious snuff-box given him by an old colleague. "That also?" + +"I drank it; yes, sir, it took me fifteen days. Do not get excited, for +we are in confession." + +"What's that?" + +It was a noise against the gate of the courtyard. A hard knock or a +stone. + +"It is evil-doers," said the Moro. "Rascally night-birds. Or perhaps +some sick person. I'll go at once to find out." + +"Yes, yes," said Don Rocco hastily. + +"I will go and return to-morrow," continued the other, "for I see that +you certainly do not care to confess me to-night." + +He took out some matches and re-lighted the lamp, saying: + +"Listen, Don Rocco, I want to be an honest man and work; but I must +change my residence, and for the first few days how can I get along? You +understand what I mean." + +Don Rocco scratched his head. + +"You are to come to-morrow morning of course," he said. + +"Naturally! But I have a few debts here; and going around in broad +daylight, I should like to show my face without being ashamed." + +"Very well," responded Don Rocco, frowning considerably, but in a +benevolent tone. "Wait a moment." + +He took a lamp, left the sitting-room, and returned immediately with a +ten-franc bill. + +"Here you are," said he. + +The man thanked him and left, accompanied by the priest, who carried the +lamp as far as the middle of the courtyard and waited there until the +Moro called to him from outside the gateway that no one was there. Then +Don Rocco went to close the gate, and re-entered the house. + +He could not go to bed at once. He was too agitated. Body of Bacchus! he +kept repeating to himself. Body of Bacchus! One could hardly have +imagined so extraordinary a case, and for it to happen to him, of all +men! His head felt as confused as when he played at tresette and did not +understand the game and every one badgered him. What a chaos there was +in that head of good and of bad, of bitterness and of consolation! The +more extraordinary did the thing appear to him, with the greater faith, +with the more timorous reverence, did he refer it all to the hand of +God. In thinking over his entrance into the kitchen, and that man seated +at the hearth, memory gave him a stronger spasm of fear than the reality +had, and it was immediately succeeded by mystic admiration of the hidden +ways of the Lord. Certainly Lucia's fault was a bitter one, but how +clearly the design of Providence could be seen in it! It led a man to +the house of the priest; through sin to grace. What a great gift he had +received from God, he the last of the priests of the parish, one of the +last of the diocese! A soul so lost, so hardened in evil! He felt +scruples at having allowed himself to be moved too strongly by the +deception of his servant, the loss of the snuff-box. Kneeling by his +bed, he recited, amid rapid winks, an interminable series of Paters, +Aves, and Glorias, and prayed the Lord, St. Luke, and St. Rocco to help +him in properly directing this still immature confession. Heavens! to +come to confession with a string of oaths and to accuse others more than +himself! To Don Rocco the heart of the Moro appeared under an image +which pleased him, it seemed so new and clear. A healthy fruit with a +first spot of decay; only in his case the image was reversed. + +When he had gone to bed and was lying on his side, ready to sleep, it +occurred to him that the next day Lucia would arrive. This thought +immediately suggested another, and made him turn right over flat on his +back. + +It brought up, in fact, a grave problem. Had the Moro spoken of Lucia in +confession or not? Don Rocco remembered that he had made no remark when +the man, having blown out the light, declared that he wished to confess. +Neither had he done so later when the man said: "Don't get excited, for +we are in confession." Therefore, there was at least a grave doubt that +this had been a real confession; and even if the penitent had afterwards +interrupted it, this did not in the least detract from its sacramental +character, had it existed; and, consequently, what about Lucia? And his +answer to the Countess Carlotta? Body of Bacchus! It seemed the case of +Sigismondo. Don Rocco cast a formidable frown at the ceiling. + +He remembered the pereat mundus, and the arguments of that well of +science, that extraordinary man, the professor. It would be impossible +now to send away Lucia. And finally the dark words of Countess Carlotta +were quite clear to him. He himself must leave: pereat Rochus. + +The hour was striking in the clock tower. The voice of the clock was +dear to him by night. His rugged heart softened somewhat, and Satan saw +his chance to show him the peaceful little church surrounded by the +cypresses, his own, all his own, and a certain fig tree that was dear to +him under the bell-tower; he made him feel the sweetness of the cells +rendered holy by so many pious souls of old, the sweetness of living in +that quiet niche of St. Luke, so well suited to his humble person, in +the exercise of a ministry of deed and of word, without worldly aims and +without responsibility of souls. Satan further showed him the difficulty +of finding a good place; reminded him of the needs of his old father and +his sister, poor peasants, one of them now too old and the other too +infirm to gain their livelihood by working. And Satan finally turned +casuist and sought to prove that, without betraying the secret, he could +still send away the servant on some pretext, or even with none. But at +this suggestion of profiting by the confession Don Rocco raised such a +frightful frown that the devil fled without waiting for more. Let him +keep Lucia, then, and let her see to it that she followed the sacred +text: Nemo potest duobus dominis servire. Just see how the words of holy +writ fitted the occasion! Don Rocco sought to mentally stitch together +the last sentences of his sermon, but it was too fatiguing an attempt +for him. He might have succeeded, however, had he not fallen asleep in +the midst of a most difficult passage. + + + +III. + +He slept little and arose at dawn. Before going down he stepped to the +window to consult the weather. In stepping back his eyes fell on the +entrance to the cellar. It was open. + +Don Rocco went down to the cellar, and came out again with a most +unusual expression. The wine was no longer there. Neither wine nor cask. +But outside there were fresh marks of wheels. + +Don Rocco followed these as far as the main road. There they +disappeared. There remained but a short curve from the edge to the +middle of the road into the labyrinth of all the other wheel tracks. Don +Rocco did not think at that time to go in search of the authorities in +order to make a complaint. Ideas came to him very slowly, and perhaps +this particular one would not be due before midday. + +On the contrary he returned, wrapped in meditation, to St. Luke. "Those +blows," said he to himself, "that stone thrown! It is fortunate that the +Moro was with me then; otherwise, he would have been suspected." He went +back to the cellar entrance, examined minutely the fractured door, +contemplated the place where the cask had stood, and, scratching his +head, went into the church to repeat some prayers. + + + +IV. + +At Mass there was a crowd. Both before and after it there was a great +deal of talk of the theft. Everybody wanted to see the empty cellar, the +broken door, the traces of the wheels. + +Two bottles which had escaped the thieves disappeared into the pockets +of one of the faithful. No one understood how the priest could have +avoided noticing something; because he did assert without further +explanation that he had heard nothing. The women were sorry for him, but +the men for the most part admired the deed and laughed at the poor +priest, who had the great fault, in their eyes, of being abstemious and +not knowing how to mingle with people with that easy-going fraternity +which comes only from emptying the wine glass together. + +They laughed, especially during the sermon, at the deep frown on the +priest's face, which they attributed to the empty cellar. + +No one mentioned the Moro. Neither did he appear at St. Luke, either at +the Mass or afterwards; so that poor Don Rocco was full of scruples and +remorse, fearing that he had not conducted the affair properly. But +quite late the police arrived, examined everything, and questioned the +priest. Had he no suspicions? No, none. Where did he sleep? How did it +happen that he had not heard? Really, he did not know himself; there had +been people in the house. At what time? Some time between eleven and one +o'clock. One of the police smiled knowingly, but Don Rocco, innocent as +a child, did not notice it. The other one asked if he did not suspect a +certain Moro, knowing, as they did, that shortly before eleven o'clock +he had been seen going up to St. Luke. At once Don Rocco showed great +fervor in protesting that the man was certainly innocent, and, somewhat +pressed by questions, brought forth his great reason: it was precisely +the Moro who had visited him at that hour, on his own business. "Perhaps +it was not on the business that you think," said the policeman. "If you +knew what I think!" Don Rocco did not know, and in his humble placidity +did not wish to know. He never bothered himself with the thoughts of +others. It was sufficiently difficult for him to get a little lucidity +into his own. They asked him a few more questions, and then left, +carrying with them the only object that they found in the cellar, a +corkscrew, which the scrupulous Don Rocco was not willing, through the +uncertainty of his memory, to claim as belonging to him, although he had +paid his predecessor twice the value of it. And now his cellar and his +conscience were equally clear. + +Towards dusk on the same day Don Rocco was reading the office, walking +up and down for a little exercise without going far from the house. Who +could tell? Perhaps that man might yet come. Every now and then Don +Rocco would stop and listen. He heard nothing but the voices of wagon- +drivers on the plain below, the noise of wheels, the barking of dogs. +Finally there was a step on the little path that led down through the +cypress trees; a step slow but not heavy, a lordly step, with a certain +subdued creak of ecclesiastical shoes; a step which had its hidden +meaning, expressing to the understanding mind a purpose which, though +not urgent, was serious. + +The gate opened, and Don Rocco, standing in the middle of the courtyard, +saw the delicate, ironical face of Professor Marin. + +The professor, when he perceived Don Rocco, came to a stand, with his +legs well apart, his hands clasped behind his back, silently wagging his +head and his shoulders from right to left, and smiling with an +inexpressible mixture of condolence and banter. Poor Don Rocco on his +side looked at him, also silent, smiling obsequiously, red as a tomato. + +"The whole business, eh?" finally said the professor, cutting short his +mimicry and becoming serious. + +"Yes, the whole business," answered Don Rocco in sepulchral tones. "They +didn't leave a drop." + +"Thunder!" exclaimed the other, stifling a laugh; and he came forward. + +"It is nothing, nothing at all, you know, my son," said he with sudden +good nature. "Give me a pinch. It is nothing," he continued, taking the +snuff. "These are things that can be remedied. The Countess Carlotta has +made so much wine that, as I say, for her a few casks more, a few casks +less... You understand me! She is a good woman, my son, the Countess +Carlotta; a good woman." + +"Yes, good, good," mumbled Don Rocco, looking into his snuff-box. + +"You are a lucky man, my dear," continued Marin, slapping him on the +shoulder. "You are as well off here as the Pope." + +"I am satisfied, I am satisfied," said Don Rocco, smiling and smoothing +out his brows for a moment. It pleased him to hear these words from an +intimate friend of the Countess Carlotta. + +The professor gazed around admiringly as if he saw the place for the +first time. "It is a paradise!" said he, letting his eyes pass along the +dirty walls of the courtyard and then raising them to the fig tree +picturesquely hidden under the bell-tower in the high corner between the +gateway and the old convent. + +"Only for that fig tree!" he added. "Is it not a beauty? Does it not +express the poetry of the southern winter, tepid and quiet? It is like a +word of sweetness, of happy innocence, tempering the severity of the +sacred walls. Beautiful!" + +Don Rocco looked at his fig tree as if he saw it for the first time. He +was fond of it, but he had never suspected that it possessed such +wonderful qualities. + +"But it gives little figs," said he, in the tone of a father who hears +his son praised in his presence and rejoices, but says something severe +lest he become puffed up, and also to hide his own emotion. Then he +invited the professor to make himself at home in the house. + +"No, no, my dear," answered the professor, silently laughing at that +phrase about the little figs. "Let us take a short stroll: it is +better." + +Passing slowly across the courtyard, they came out into the vineyard, +whose festoons crowned both declivities of the hill, and they passed +along the easy, grassy ascent between one declivity and the other. + +"It is delicious!" said the professor. + +Between the immense cold sky and the damp shadows of the plain the last +glimpses of light were softly dying away on the grayish hill, on the red +vines, all at rest. The air was warm and still. + +"Is all this yours?" asked the professor. + +Don Rocco, perhaps through humility, perhaps through apprehension of +what the immediate future might bring, kept silence. + +"Make up your mind to stay here, my son," continued he. "I know very +well, believe me, there is not another place as fortunate as this in the +whole diocese." + +"Well, as for me!..." began Don Rocco. + +Professor Marin stopped. + +"By the way!" said he, "Countess Carlotta has spoken to me. Look here, +Don Rocco! I really hope that you will not be foolish!" + +Don Rocco gazed savagely at his feet. + +"Goodness!" continued the professor. "Sometimes the countess is +impossible, but this time, my dear son, she is right. You know that I +speak frankly. You are the only one here who does not know these things. +It is a scandal, my son! The whole village cries out against it." + +"I have never heard, I have not..." mumbled Don Rocco. + +"Now I tell you of it myself! and the countess has told you more than +once." + +"You know what I answered her last night?" + +"They were absurd things that you said to her." + +At this blow Don Rocco shook himself a little, and with his eyes still +lowered spoke up eagerly in his own defence. + +"I answered according to my convictions, and now I cannot change." + +He was humble-hearted, but here was a question of justice and truth. To +speak according to truth, according to what one believes to be the +truth, is a duty; therefore, why did they persecute him? + +"You cannot change?" said the professor, bending over him and fixing on +his face two squinting eyes. "You cannot change?" + +Don Rocco kept silent. + +The professor straightened up and started on his walk again. + +"Very well," he said, with ostentatious quiet. "You are at liberty to do +so." + +He suddenly turned to Don Rocco, who was following him with heavy steps. + +"Gracious!" he exclaimed with annoyance, "do you really think that you +have in your house a regular saint? Do you take no account of the +gossip, of the scandal? To go against the whole country, to go against +those who give you your living, to go against your own good, against +Providence, for that creature? Really, if I did not know you, my dear +Don Rocco, I would not know what to think." + +Don Rocco squirmed, winking furiously, as if he were fighting against +secret anguish, and breathless, as if words were trying to break forth +involuntarily. + +"I cannot change; it is just that," said he when he got through his +grimaces. "I cannot." + +"But why, in the name of heaven?" + +"Because I cannot, conscientiously." + +Don Rocco finally raised his eyes. "I have already told the countess +that I cannot go against justice." + +"What justice! Your justice is blind, my dear. Blind, deaf, and bald. +And if you said a foolish thing yesterday do you wish to repeat it again +to-day? And if you do not believe what is said of Lucia are there +lacking reasons for sending away a servant? Send her away because she +does not take the spots off your coat, because she does not darn your +stockings. Anything! Send her away because she cooks your macaroni +without sauce, and your squash without salt." + +"The real reason would always be the other one," answered Don Rocco +gloomily. + +Even Professor Marin could not easily answer an argument of this kind. +He could only mumble between his teeth: "Holy Virgin, what a pig-head!" + +They reached the few consumptive cypresses along the ridge that led from +the hill to another still higher hill. There they stopped again; and the +professor, who was fond of Don Rocco on account of his simple goodness, +and also because he could make him the butt of amiable banter, made him +sit down by his side on the grass, and attempted a final argument, +seeking in every way to extract from him his reasons for continuing so +long to believe in the innocence of Lucia; but he did not succeed in +getting at any result. Don Rocco kept always referring to what he had +said the evening before to Countess Carlotta, and repeated that he could +not change. + +"Then, good-bye St. Luke, my son," said the resigned Marin. + +Don Rocco began to wink furiously, but said not a word. + +"The Countess Carlotta was expecting you today," said the professor, +"but you did not go to her. She therefore charged me to tell you that if +you did not immediately consent to send away Lucia on the first of +December, you will be free for the new year, and even before if you +wish." + +"I cannot leave before Christmas," said Don Rocco timidly. "The parish +priest always needs assistance at that time." + +The professor smiled. + +"What do you suppose?" said he. "That Countess Carlotta hasn't a priest +ready and waiting? Think it over, for there is still time." + +Don Rocco communed with himself. It rarely happened that he went through +so rapid a process of reasoning. Granted, that this woman was a cause +for scandal in the country, and that the countess had another priest at +her disposal, the decision to be taken was obvious. + +"Then," he answered, "I will leave as soon as possible. My father and my +sister were to come and visit me one of these days. So that now it will +be I who will visit them instead." + +He even had in his heart the idea of taking this woman away from the +village with him. His people had no need of a servant, and he, if he +delayed finding a place, would not be able to keep her. But certain +reasonable ideas, certain necessary things, never reached his heart, and +reached his head very late, and when they did Don Rocco would either +give himself a knock on the forehead, or a scratch behind, as if it +bothered him. + +In returning to St. Luke the professor told how the police were in +search of the Moro, who was suspected as an accomplice in a recent +highway murder, certain authors of which had fallen that very morning +into the hands of justice. Don Rocco heard this not without +satisfaction; for he now was able to explain why the man had not come. +"Who knows," he made bold to say, "that he may not have gone away, and +that he may not return? And then all this gossip will come to an end. Do +you not think so?" + +"Yes, my dear," answered the professor, who understood the point of his +discourse, "but you know the Countess Carlotta. Henceforth whether the +Moro goes or remains is of no consequence to her. Lucia must be +dismissed." + +Don Rocco said no more, neither did the professor. The former +accompanied the latter as far as the church cypresses, stood looking +after him until he disappeared at the end of the lane, and then +returned, sighing, to his house. Later, when, bending under the weight +of his cloak, he was passing, lamp in hand, through the entry leading to +the choir of St. Luke, his doubt of the previous night came up again +violently. "Had it really been a confession?" He stopped in the shadow +of the deserted entry, looking at the lamp, giving vent for a moment to +the sweet, tempting thoughts of the inert spirit. "Were he to take some +pretext to send the woman away, to live and die in peace in his St. +Luke." All at once his heart began to beat fiercely. These were thoughts +from the devil. In the same way as perhaps in ancient times and in the +same place some monk, tormented by heated nocturnal visions of love and +of pleasure, may have done, Don Rocco made hastily the sign of the +cross, hastened to the choir, and became immersed in a devout reading of +the prayer-book. + + + +V. + +Ten days after, at the same hour, Don Rocco was praying before the +altar of the Virgin, under the pulpit. + +He was on the eve of leaving St. Luke for ever. He had agreed with the +Countess Carlotta to give as an excuse a brief absence, a visit of a +couple of weeks to his old father; and to write afterwards that for +family reasons he could not return, and then this had happened that the +poor old peasant, before learning of the new state of affairs, had +written, asking for assistance; and Don Rocco had been obliged to sell +some furniture as well to save cost of transportation as in order not to +arrive home with empty hands. He was returning with the intention of +remaining as short a time as possible, and of going away as chaplain +wherever it pleased the Curia to which he had directed his request. + +No certain information had been secured, either of the wine or of the +thieves; but suspicions were rife against a woman who kept an inn, a new +favorite of the Moro, who was thought to have received the wine. The +Moro was said by some to have fled, by others to have gone into hiding. +It seemed as if the police were of the second opinion. They came and +went, searching everywhere, but always uselessly. + +Lucia had returned, and for several days had behaved in an unusual and +peculiar manner. She neglected her work, was brusque with her master, +and wept without apparent motive. One evening she went out, saying that +she intended going to the parish church to say her prayers. At nine +o'clock Don Rocco, as she had not returned, went philosophically to bed, +and never knew at what time she came into the house. On the contrary, he +congratulated himself the next day on the happy change that had taken +place in her, owing to her religious exercises, because she seemed no +longer as she had been, but was quiet, attentive, active, spoke with +satisfaction of the approaching departure, the position which Don Rocco +hoped to find for her with a certain arch-priest, a friend of his; a +promotion for her. She seemed to be possessed of an entirely novel +ascetic zeal. As soon as Don Rocco retired for the night, she would go +to church to spend there hour after hour. + +And now, Don Rocco had taken his last supper in the monastic refectory, +was reading his breviary for the last time in the little church of St. +Luke, as rustic, simple, and religious as he, from its pavement to the +black beams of its roof. His heart was heavy, poor priest, thus to leave +his nest without honor; to carry humiliation and bitterness to his +father and his sister, whose only hope and pride he was! He had every +reason to frown as he looked at his breviary. + +When he had finished reading, he took his seat on a bench. It was +painful to him to take leave of his church. It was his last evening! He +stood there with fixed eyes, his eyelids moving regularly, discouraged, +cast down, like a stricken beast awaiting the axe. He had passed some +hours of the afternoon among his vines, those planted three years +before, which had already given him their first fruit. The large +cypresses, the splendid view of the plain and of the other hillsides, +inspired him with not a single dream; his peasant's heart grew tender +toward the beautiful vines, the fertile furrows. Though blushing and +ashamed of it, he had taken a sprig of a vine and an ear of corn to +carry away as mementos. This was his poetry. Of the church he could +carry away nothing. But he left there his heart, a little everywhere; on +the altar that had witnessed his first exposition of the Gospel, on the +ancient altar front that inspired him with devotion as he said Mass, on +the beautiful Madonna, whose mantle had been modestly raised around her +neck by his care, on the tomb of a bishop to whom, two centuries before, +the peace of St. Luke had seemed preferable to worldly splendors. Who +could tell whether he would ever have again a church so his own-- +entirely his own? He could not seem to rise, he felt an inner sense of +dissolution, of which he had never dreamed. His eyelids kept on winking +as if bidding away importunate tears. In fact, he did not weep, but his +little eyes shone more than usual. + +At half-past nine Lucia entered the church through the choir to look +after her master. "I am coming at once, at once, go back," said Don +Rocco. + +He believed himself alone in the church, but had he bent his head back +he might have seen something unusual. Very slowly a human head showed +itself in the pulpit by the light of the petroleum lamp and looked down +upon the priest. It had the diabolic eyes of the Moro set in a shaven +ecclesiastical face. The head rose up in the shadow, two long arms made +in the air a violent gesture of impatience. At the same time Don Rocco +repeated to the woman who stood hesitating: "Go back, go back, I am +coming at once." + +She went out. + +Then the priest got up from his bench and went up to the high altar. The +human figure in the pulpit came down again, and went rapidly into +hiding. Don Rocco turned around so as to stand in cornu epistolae, +toward the empty benches, imagined them full of people, of his people of +every Sunday, and a spirit of eloquence entered into him. + +"I bless you all," said he in a strong voice. "I wish that you were all +present, but that is not possible, because I must not let any one know. +I bless you all, and ask you to pardon me if I have been wanting. Gloria +Dei cum omnibus vobis." + +The temptation was too strong for a certain person to resist. A +cavernous voice resounded through the empty church: + +"Amen." + +Don Rocco remained breathless, with his hands in the air. + +"Hurry up," said the servant, returning. "Do you not remember that you +must leave out your cloak and your clothes?" + +Poor Don Rocco was not well found in clothes, for he carried on his back +omnia bona sua, and there was sewing to be done and spots to be taken +out, according to Lucia, before the journey of the next morning. Don +Rocco descended from the altar without answering and went all through +the church, lowering the lamp between all the benches and confessionals. + +"What is it; what are you looking for?" asked the servant, anxiously +coming along behind him. For a while Don Rocco did not answer. + +"I said a few words of prayer," he said finally, "and I heard some one +answer 'Amen.'" + +"You fancied so." replied Lucia. "It must have been a trick of the +imagination." + +"No, no," said Don Rocco. "I really heard the 'Amen.' It seemed to be a +voice from under the earth. A great big voice. It did not seem that of a +man, but rather of a bull." + +"It may have been the bishop," suggested the woman. "Isn't there a +bishop buried here? Such things have been heard of." + +Don Rocco kept silent. In his simplicity, in his innate disposition to +faith, he was inclined to willingly believe anything supernatural, +especially if connected with religion. The more astonishing it was, the +more did he in sign of reverence knit his brows and drink it in +devoutly. + +"Now let us go," said the woman. "It is late, you know, and I have +considerable work to do." + +"Let us at least recite a pater, an ave, and a gloria to St. Luke," said +Don Rocco. "It is the last evening that I say my prayers here. I must +leave a salute." He spoke of a pater, and an ave, and a gloria; but he +strung along at least a dozen, finding as many reasons to salute other +saints of his particular acquaintance. One was to promote the eternal +salvation of the two devotees, one their temporal salvation, one the +grace to conquer temptations, one a suitable position, one a good death, +and another a good journey. The last pater was recited by Don Rocco with +remarkable fervor for the complete conversion of a sinful soul. Had the +priest been less absorbed in his paters he might, perhaps, have heard +after the fourth or fifth some smothered ejaculations of that humorous +bishop who had perpetrated the "Amen." But he heard only Lucia answering +him with much devotion, and was touched to the heart by it. + +A few moments after he was still meditating, in the dark, in the +wretched little bed of his cell, on the salutary and evident effects of +the divine grace which he had sought in the sacraments. He meditated +also on the action of the Moro, on the ray of light that had shone into +that dark conscience, harbinger, if nothing less, of better and lasting +light. And in his mystic imagination he saw the design of Providence +which recompensed him for a sacrifice which he had suffered for duty's +sake. It was a blessing to think of that, to know that he was losing all +his few earthly possessions for such a recompense. He offered up also +the sorrow of his father and his sister, his own humiliation, the +straitened circumstances in which he should find himself. He saw in +front of his bed, through the window, the vague, far-off brightness of +the sky, his hope, his end. Little by little his eyes closed, in a +delicious sense of confidence and peace. He slept profoundly. + + + +VI. + +He was not yet entirely awake when the clock of St. Luke struck half- +past seven. Immediately after the bells also rang, because Don Rocco had +the day before notified the boy accustomed to serve him at Mass that he +would meet him at about eight o'clock. He jumped out of bed, and went to +get the clothes that Lucia was to have placed outside the door. Nothing +there. He called once, twice, three times. No answer. Perplexed, he +returned to his room and called out of the window: "Lucia! Lucia!" +Perfect silence. Finally the little sacristan appeared. He had not seen +Lucia. He had come to get the keys of the church, had found the gate of +the courtyard open, as well as the door of the house; no one in the +kitchen, no one in the sitting-room. Not finding the keys, he had +entered the church by the inner entry. Don Rocco sent him to the +sitting-room to get his clothes, as it was there that Lucia usually +worked in the evening. The boy returned to say that there were no +clothes there. "How? There are no clothes?" Don Rocco ordered him to +stand on guard before the entrance of the house and went down to look +for them himself, in his shirt. Half-way down the stairs he stopped and +sniffed. What an abominable odor of pipe was this? Don Rocco, with +darkened brow, went on. He went directly to the sitting-room, looked, +searched; there was nothing. He returned to the kitchen, his heart +beating. A horrid smell, but no clothes. Yes, under the table there was +a little pile of soiled things; a jacket, a pair of drawers, a peasant's +hat. Don Rocco gathered up, unfolded, and examined them with portentous +frowns. It seemed to him that he had seen these things somewhere before. +His brain did not yet understand anything, but his heart began to +understand and to beat more strongly than before. He took hold of his +chin and his cheeks with his left hand, squeezed them hard, trying to +squeeze from them the where, the how, and the when. And lo! his eyes +rested on the wall, and he finally perceived something there which was +not there the day before. There was written in charcoal on the right: +"Many salutations." And on the left: + +"The wine is good." + +"The servant is good." + +"The cloak is good." + +"Don Rocco is good." + +He read, raised his hand to his head, read again--read again, seemed to +lose his eyesight, felt a sensation of cold, of torpidity spreading from +his breast throughout his body. Some one called out in the courtyard, +"Where is that Don Rocco?" With difficulty he went up to his room again, +cast himself on his bed, almost without knowing what he was doing, +almost without thought or sensation. + +Below they were looking and calling for him. Professor Marin was there, +and some few other persons who had come to attend the Mass. No one could +understand how the door of the church was still closed. The professor +went into the house, called Lucia, called Don Rocco, without receiving +any answer. He finally reached the room of the priest and stood still on +the doorsill, amazed to see him in bed. "Well," said he, "Don Rocco! in +bed? And what about Mass?" + +"I cannot," answered Don Rocco in a low voice, immovable on his back +like a mummy. + +"But what is it?" replied the other, approaching the bed with sincere +alarm. "What is the matter with you?" + +This troubled face, this affectionate tone, softened poor Don Rocco's +heart, petrified by pain and surprise. This time two real tears fell +from his palpitating eyelids. His mouth, closed tight, was twisting and +trembling, but still resisted. Seeing then that he answered not a word, +the professor ran to the stairs and called down that the physician +should be sent for. + +"No, no," Don Rocco forced himself to say without moving. His voice was +filled with sobs. The professor heard him only as he was returning to +the bed. + +"No?" said he. "But what, then, is the matter? Speak." + +Meanwhile three poor women and a beggar, who had come to listen to Mass, +entered quite frightened into the room, surrounding the two, and in +their turn questioning Don Rocco. He kept silent like a Job, seeking to +master himself. Perhaps his annoyance at all these curious faces hanging +over his own helped him. "Go away," said he finally to the last comers. +"There is no need of the doctor, no need of anything, go away!" + +The four faces withdrew somewhat, but continued looking at him fixedly +with an expression, perhaps, of increased alarm. + +"Go away, I tell you!" continued Don Rocco. + +They went out silently and stopped outside to listen and spy. + +"Well, then," said the professor, "what are your feelings?" + +"Nothing." + +"But, then, why are you in bed?" + +Don Rocco turned with his face to the wall. The tears were coming back +again now. He was unable to speak. + +"But in the name of heaven," insisted the professor, "what is it?" + +"I am getting over it, I am getting over it," sobbed Don Rocco. + +The professor did not know what to do nor what to think. He asked him +whether he wanted water, and the old beggar went down at once to get a +glassful and gave it to Marin. Don Rocco did not want it in the least, +but kept on repeating: "Thanks, thanks, I am getting over it," and drank +it obsequiously. + +"Well, then?" continued the professor. + +"You are right," answered Don Rocco. + +"About what?" + +"About the woman." + +"Lucia? Right! And by the way, where is Lucia? Not here? Run away?" + +Don Rocco nodded. Marin looked at him stupefied and repeating, "Run +away? Run away?" The other four came back into the room echoing, "Run +away? Run away?" + +"But listen!" said the professor. "Are you staying in bed for this +reason? Are you humiliating yourself in this way? Come on and get +dressed." + +Don Rocco looked at him, reddened up to the top of his head, narrowed +his tear-wet eyes in a smile, which meant: "Now it will be your turn to +laugh." + +"I have no clothes," he said. + +"What?" + +The professor added to this word a gesture which meant, "Did she carry +them away?" Don Rocco responded also by a mere nod; and seeing that his +friend with difficulty restrained a burst of laughter, he also tried to +laugh. + +"Poor Don Rocco," said the professor, and added, still with a laugh in +his throat, heartfelt words of sympathy, of comfort, and asked for every +detail of what had happened. "Oh, if you had only listened to me!" he +concluded. "If you had only sent her away!" + +"Yes," said Don Rocco, accepting even this with humiliation. "You are +right. And now what will the countess say?" + +The professor sighed. + +"What can I say, my son? She will say nothing. This also has happened, +that your successor wrote yesterday that he had definitively gotten rid +of his present engagements and was at the disposal of the countess." + +Don Rocco was silent, heart-broken. "I must look at the time," said he, +after a moment's silence, "because at half-past nine they will come here +with a horse to take me away. It will be necessary to ask the archpriest +or the chaplain to lend me a suit of clothes." + +"Let me, let me!" exclaimed the professor, full of zeal. "I will go home +and send it to you immediately. You will give it back to me at your +leisure, when you are able." A lively gratitude cleared the face and +moved the eyelids of Don Rocco. + +"Thanks!" said he, fixing his eyes humbly on the end of his nose. "Thank +you very much!" + +"Body of Bacchus!" he added to himself, as the professor was going down +the stairs. "He is a span higher than I am, that just occurs to me!" + +But it certainly did not occur to him to call him back. + + + +VII. + +At half-past nine Don Rocco appeared in the doorway of his house to +start on his exodus. The overcoat of the professor danced around his +heels and swallowed up his hands down to his finger tips. The stove-pipe +hat, of enormous size, came down to his ears. The professor followed +right behind him, laughing silently. In the courtyard some people +attracted by the report of what had happened were laughing. "Oh, Don +Rocco, see what he looks like!" said the women. And one of them would +tell him about some action of Lucia, and another about another, things +of all kinds which he had never suspected. "Enough, enough," he +answered, disturbed in his conscience at all this malicious gossip. "It +is now all over, all over." + +He went on, followed by them all, gave a last look at the fig tree near +the bell-tower, and passing between the cypresses in front of the +church, turned back toward the door, devoutly raised his hat, and bent +his knee. + +The little wagon was awaiting him on the main road. The driver, seeing +him in this costume, laughed no less heartily than the rest. + +Then Don Rocco took leave of all, again thanked the professor, sent his +respects to the countess, and reduced to silence those who were still +heaping abuse on Lucia. When he had taken his seat the beggar approached +him and put his right hand upon one of his shoes. "Is this yours?" said +he. + +"Yes, yes, the shoes are," answered the priest with a certain +satisfaction, as the horse started. + +The beggar carried to his forehead the hand that had touched the shoe of +Don Rocco, and said with solemnity: + +"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen." + + + + + + +SAN PANTALEONE + +BY + +GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO + +The Translation by George McLean Harper. + + +I. + +The great sandy piazza, glittered as if strewn with powdered pumice. Its +whitewashed houses held a strange metallic glow, like the walls of an +immense furnace cooling off. The glare of the clouds, reflected from the +stone pillars of the church at its far end, gave them the appearance of +red granite. The church windows blazed as with inward fire. The sacred +images had assumed life-like colors and attitudes, and the massive +edifice seemed lifted now, in the splendor of the new celestial +phenomenon, to a prouder domination than ever, above the houses of +Radusa. + +Groups of men and women, gesticulating and talking loudly, were pouring +from the streets into the square. Superstitious terror grew in leaps and +bounds from face to face. A thousand awful images of divine punishment +rose out of their rude fancies; and comments, eager disputes, plaintive +appeals, wild stories, prayers, and cries were mingled in a deep uproar, +as of a hurricane approaching. For some time past this bloody redness of +the sky had lasted through the night, disturbing its tranquillity, +illumining sullenly the sleeping fields, and making dogs howl. + +"Giacobbe! Giacobbe!" shouted some, waving their arms, who till then had +stood in a compact band around a pillar of the church portico, talking +in low tones, "Giacobbe!" + +There came out through the main door, and drew near to those who called +him, a long, emaciated man, apparently consumptive, whose head was bald +at the top, but had a crown of long reddish hair about the temples and +above the nape of the neck. His little sunken eyes, animated with the +fire of a deep passion, were set close and had no particular color. The +absence of his two upper front teeth gave to his mouth when speaking, +and to his sharp chin with its few scattered hairs, the strangeness of a +senile faun. The rest of his body was a wretched structure of bones ill- +concealed by his clothes. The skin on his hands, his wrists, the back of +his arms, and his breast was full of blue punctures made with a pin and +india-ink, the souvenirs of sanctuaries visited, pardons obtained, and +vows performed. + +When the fanatic approached the group at the pillar, a swarm of +questions arose from the anxious men. "Well, then? what did Don Console +say? Will they send out only the silver arm? Would not the whole bust do +better? When would Pallura come back with the candles? Was it one +hundred pounds of wax? Only one hundred? And when would the bells begin +to ring? Well, then? Well, then?" + +The clamor increased around Giacobbe. Those on the outskirts of the +crowd pushed toward the church. From all the streets people poured into +the square till they filled it. And Giacobbe kept answering his +questions, whispering, as if revealing dreadful secrets and bringing +prophecies from far. He had seen aloft in the bloody sky a threatening +hand, and then a black veil, and then a sword and a trumpet. + +"Go ahead! Go ahead!" they urged him, looking in each other's faces, and +seized with a strange desire to hear of marvels, while the wonder grew +from mouth to mouth in the crowd. + + + +II. + +The vast crimson zone rose slowly from the horizon to the zenith and +bade fair to cover the whole vault of heaven. An undulating vapor of +molten metal seemed pouring down on the roofs of the town; and in the +descending crepuscule yellow and violet rays flashed through a trembling +and iridescent glow. One long streak brighter than the others pointed +towards a street which opened on the river-front, and at the end of this +street the water flamed away between the tall slim poplar-trunks, and +beyond the stream lay a strip of luxuriant country, from which the old +Saracen towers stood out confusedly, like stone islets, in the dark. The +air was full of the stifling emanations of mown hay, with now and then a +whiff from putrefied silkworms in the bushes. Flights of swallows +crossed this space with quick, scolding cries, trafficking between the +river sands and the eaves. + +An expectant silence had interrupted the murmur of the multitude. The +name Pallura ran from lip to lip. Signs of angry impatience broke forth +here and there. The wagon was not yet to be seen along the river-road; +the candles had not come; Don Consolo therefore was delaying the +exposition of the relics and the acts of exorcism; the danger still +threatened. Panic fear invaded the hearts of all those people crowded +together like a flock of sheep, and no longer venturing to raise their +eyes to heaven. The women burst out sobbing, and at the sound of weeping +every mind was oppressed and filled with consternation. + +Then at last the bells began to ring. As they were hung low, their deep +quivering strokes seemed to graze the heads of the people, and a sort of +continuous wailing filled the intervals. + +"San Pantaleone! San Pantaleone!" + +It was an immense, unanimous cry of desperate men imploring aid. +Kneeling, with blanched faces and outstretched hands, they supplicated. + +"San Pantaleone!" + +Then, at the church door, in the midst of the smoke of two censers, Don +Consolo appeared, resplendent in a violet chasuble, with gold +embroidery. He held aloft the sacred arm of silver, and conjured the +air, shouting the Latin words: + +"Ut fidelibus tuis aeris serenitatem concedere digneris. Te rogamus, +audi nos." + +At sight of the relic the multitude went delirious with affectionate +joy. Tears ran from all eyes, and through glistening tears these eyes +beheld a miraculous gleam emanate from the three fingers held up as if +in the act of benediction. The arm appeared larger now, in the enkindled +air. + +The dim light awoke strange scintillations in the precious stones. The +balsamic odor of incense spread quickly to the nostrils of the devotees. + +"Te rogamus, audi nos!" + +But when the arm was carried back and the tolling stopped, in that +moment of silence a tinkling of little bells was heard near at hand +coming from the river road. Then of a sudden the crowd rushed in that +direction and many voices cried: + +"It is Pallura with the candles! It is Pallura coming! Here's Pallura!" + +The wagon came screeching over the gravel, drawn at a walk by a heavy +gray mare, over whose shoulders hung a great shining brass horn, like a +half-moon. When Giacobbe and the others made towards her, the pacific +animal stopped and breathed hard. Giacobbe, who reached the wagon first, +saw stretched out on its floor the bloody body of Pallura, and screamed, +waving his arms towards the crowd, "He is dead! He is dead!" + + + +III. + +The sad news spread like lightning. People crowded around the wagon, and +craned their necks to see, thinking no longer of the threats in the sky, +because struck by the unexpected happening and filled with that natural +ferocious curiosity which the sight of blood awakens. + +"He is dead? What killed him?" + +Pallura lay on his back upon the boards, with a broad wound in the +middle of his forehead, with one ear torn, with gashes on his arms, his +sides, and one thigh. A warm stream flowed down to his chin and neck, +staining his shirt and forming dark, shining clots on his breast, his +leathern belt, and even his breeches. Giacobbe hung over the body; all +the rest waited around him; an auroral flush lighted up their perplexed +faces; and at that moment of silence, from the river-bank arose the song +of the frogs, and bats skimmed back and forth above the heads of the +crowd. + +Suddenly Giacobbe, straightening up, with one cheek bloody, cried: + +"He is not dead. He still breathes." + +A hollow murmur ran through the crowd, and the nearest strained forward +to look. The anxiety of those at a distance commenced to break into +clamor. Two women brought a jug of water, another some strips of linen. +A youth held out a gourd full of wine. + +The wounded man's face was washed; the flow of blood from his forehead +was checked; his head was raised. Then voices inquired loudly the cause +of this deed. The hundred pounds of wax were missing; only a few +fragments of candles remained in the cracks of the wagon-bed. + +In the commotion their minds grew more and more inflamed, exasperated, +and contentious. And as an old hereditary hatred burned in them against +the town of Mascalico, on the opposite bank of the river, Giacobbe said +venomously, in a hoarse voice: + +"What if the candles have been offered to San Gonselvo?" + +It was like the first flash of a conflagration! The spirit of church- +rivalry awoke all at once in these people brutalized by many years of +blind, savage worship of their own one idol. The fanatic's words flew +from mouth to mouth. And beneath the tragic dull-red sky, the raging +multitude resembled a tribe of mutinous gypsies. + +The name of the saint broke from all throats, like a war-cry. The most +excited hurled curses towards the river, and waved their arms and shook +their fists. Then all these faces blazing with anger, and reddened also +by the unusual light,--all these faces, broad and massive, to which +their gold ear-rings and thick overhanging hair gave a wild, barbaric +character,--all these faces turned eagerly towards the man lying there, +and grew soft with pity. Women, with pious care, tried to bring him back +to life. Loving hands changed the cloths on his wounds, sprinkled water +in his face, set the gourd of wine to his lips, made a sort of pillow +under his head. + +"Pallura, poor Pallura, won't you answer?" He lay supine, his eyes +closed, his mouth half open, with brown soft hair on his cheeks and +chin, the gentle beauty of youth still showing in his features +contracted with pain. From beneath the bandage on his forehead a mere +thread of blood trickled down over his temples; at the corners of his +mouth stood little beads of pale red foam, and from his throat issued a +faint broken hiss, like the sound of a sick man gargling. About him +attentions, questions, feverish glances multiplied. The mare from time +to time shook her head and neighed in the direction of the houses. An +atmosphere as of an impending hurricane hung over the whole town. + +Then from the square rang out the screams of a woman, of a mother. They +seemed all the louder for the sudden hushing of all other voices, and an +enormous woman, suffocated in her fat, broke through the crowd and +hurried to the wagon, crying aloud. Being heavy and unable to climb into +it, she seized her son's feet, with sobbing words of love, with such +sharp broken cries and such a terribly comic expression of grief, that +all the bystanders shuddered and averted their faces. + +"Zaccheo! Zaccheo! My heart, my joy!" screamed the widow unceasingly, +kissing the feet of the wounded man and dragging him to her towards the +ground. + +The wounded man stirred, his mouth was contorted by a spasm, but +although he opened his eyes and looked up, they were veiled with damp, +so that he could not see. Big tears began to well forth at the corners +of his eyelids and roll down over his cheeks and neck. His mouth was +still awry. A vain effort to speak was betrayed by the hoarse whistling +in his throat. And the crowd pressed closer, saying: + +"Speak, Pallura! Who hurt you? Who hurt you? Speak! Speak!" + +Beneath this question was a trembling rage, an intensifying fury, a deep +tumult of reawakened feelings of vengeance; and the hereditary hatred +boiled in every heart. + +"Speak! Who hurt you? Tell us! Tell us!" + +The dying man opened his eyes again; and as they were holding his hands +tightly, perhaps this warm living contact gave him a momentary strength, +for his gaze quickened and a vague stammering sound came to his lips. +The words were not yet distinguishable. The panting breath of the +multitude could be heard through the silence. Their eyes had an inward +flame, because all expected one single word. + +"Ma--Ma--Mascalico--" + +"Mascalico! Mascalico!" shrieked Giacobbe, who was bending over him, +with ear intent to snatch the weak syllables from his dying lips. + +An immense roar greeted the cry. The multitude swayed at first as if +tempest-swept. Then, when a voice, dominating the tumult, gave the order +of attack, the mob broke up in haste. A single thought drove these men +forward, a thought which seemed to have been stamped by lightning upon +all minds at once: to arm themselves with some weapon. Towering above +the consciousness of all arose a sort of bloody fatality, beneath the +great tawny glare of the heavens, and in the electric odor emanating +from the anxious fields. + + + +IV. + +And the phalanx, armed with scythes, bill-hooks, axes, hoes, and guns, +reunited in the square before the church. And all cried: "San +Pantaleone!" + +Don Consolo, terrified by the din, had taken refuge in a stall behind +the altar. A handful of fanatics, led by Giacobbe, made their way into +the principal chapel, forced the bronze grille, and went into the +underground chamber where the bust of the saint was kept. Three lamps, +fed with olive oil, burned softly in the damp air of the sacristy, where +in a glass case the Christian idol glittered, with its white head +surrounded by a broad gilt halo; and the walls were hidden under the +wealth of native offerings. + +When the idol, borne on the shoulders of four herculean men, appeared at +last between the pillars and shone in the auroral light, a long gasp of +passion ran through the waiting crowd, and a quiver of joy passed like a +breath of wind over all their faces. And the column moved away, the +enormous head of the saint oscillating above, with its empty eye-sockets +turned to the front. + +Now through the sky, in the deep, diffused glow, brighter meteors +ploughed their furrows; groups of thin clouds broke away from the hem of +the vapor zone and floated off, dissolving slowly. The whole town of +Radusa stood out like a smouldering mountain of ashes. Behind and +before, as far as eye could reach, the country lay in an indistinctly +lucent mass. A great singing of frogs filled the sonorous solitude. + +On the river-road Pallura's wagon blocked the way. It was empty, but +still soiled, here and there, with blood. Angry curses broke suddenly +from the mob. Giacobbe shouted: + +"Let us put the saint in it!" + +So the bust was placed in the wagon-bed and drawn by many arms into the +ford. The battleline thus crossed the frontier. Metallic gleams ran +along the files. The parted water broke in luminous spray, and the +current flamed away red between the poplars, in the distance, towards +the quadrangular towers. Mascalico showed itself on a little hill, among +olive trees, asleep. The dogs were barking here and there, with a +persistent fury of reply. The column, issuing from the ford, left the +public road and advanced rapidly straight across country. The silver +bust was borne again on men's shoulders, and towered above their heads +amid the tall, odorous grain, starred with bright fireflies. + +Suddenly a shepherd in his straw hut, where he lay to guard the grain, +seized with mad panic at sight of so many armed men, started to run up +the hill, yelling, "Help! Help!" And his screams echoed in the olive +grove. + +Then it was that the Radusani charged. Among tree-trunks and dry reeds +the silver saint tottered, ringing as he struck low branches, and +glittering momentarily at every steep place in the path. Ten, twelve, +twenty guns, in a vibrating flash, rattled their shot against the mass +of houses. Crashes, then cries, were heard; then a great commotion. +Doors were opened; others were slammed shut. Window-panes fell +shattered. Vases fell from the church and broke on the street. In the +track of the assailants a white smoke rose quietly up through the +incandescent air. They all, blinded and in bestial rage, cried, "Kill! +kill!" + +A group of fanatics remained about San Pantaleone. Atrocious insults for +San Gonselvo broke out amid waving scythes and brandished hooks: + +"Thief! Thief! Beggar! The candles! The candles!" + +Other bands took the houses by assault, breaking down the doors with +hatchets. And as they fell, unhinged and shivered, San Pantaleone's +followers leaped in, howling, to kill the defenders. + +The women, half-naked, took refuge in corners, imploring pity. They +warded off the blows, grasping the weapons and cutting their fingers. +They rolled at full length on the floor, amid heaps of blankets and +sheets. + +Giacobbe, long, quick, red as a Turkish scimitar, led the persecution, +stopping ever and anon to make sweeping imperious gestures over the +heads of the others with a great scythe. Pallid, bare-headed, he held +the van, in the name of San Pantaleone. More than thirty men followed +him. They all had a dull, confused sense of walking through a +conflagration, over quaking ground, and beneath a blazing vault ready to +crumble. + +But from all sides began to come the defenders, the Mascalicesi, strong +and dark as mulattos, sanguinary foes, fighting with long spring-bladed +knives, and aiming at the belly and the throat, with guttural cries at +every blow. + +The melee rolled away, step by step, towards the church. From the roofs +of two or three houses flames were already bursting. A horde of women +and children, wan-eyed and terror-stricken, were fleeing headlong among +the olive trees. Then the hand-to-hand struggle between the males, +unimpeded by tears and lamentations, became more concentrated and +ferocious. + +Under the rust-colored sky, the ground was strewn with corpses. Broken +imprecations were hissed through the teeth of the wounded; and steadily, +through all the clamor, still came the cry of the Radusani: + +"The candles! The candles!" + +But the enormous church door of oak, studded with nails, remained +barred. The Mascalicesi defended it against the pushing crowd and the +axes. The white, impassive silver saint oscillated in the thick of the +fight, still upheld on the shoulders of the four giants, who refused to +fall, though bleeding from head to foot. It was the supreme desire of +the assailants to place their idol on the enemy's altar. + +Now while the Mascalicesi fought like lions, performing prodigies on the +stone steps, Giacobbe suddenly disappeared around the corner of the +building, seeking an undefended opening through which to enter the +sacristy. And beholding a narrow window not far from the ground, he +climbed up to it, wedged himself into its embrasure, doubled up his long +body, and succeeded in crawling through. The cordial aroma of incense +floated in the solitude of God's house. Feeling his way in the dark, +guided by the roar of the fight outside, he crept towards the door, +stumbling against chairs and bruising his face and hands. + +The furious thunder of the Radusan axes was echoing from the tough oak, +when he began to force the lock with an iron bar, panting, suffocated by +a violent agonizing palpitation which diminished his strength, blind, +giddy, stiffened by the pain of his wounds, and dripping with tepid +blood. + +"San Pantaleone! San Pantaleone!" bellowed the hoarse voices of his +comrades outside, redoubling their blows as they felt the door slowly +yield. Through the wood came to his ears the heavy thump of falling +bodies, the quick thud of knife-thrusts nailing some one through the +back. And a grand sentiment, like the divine uplift of the soul of a +hero saving his country, flamed up then in that bestial beggar's heart. + + + +V. + +By a final effort the door was flung open. The Radusani rushed in, with +an immense howl of victory, across the bodies of the dead, to carry the +silver saint to the altar. A vivid quivering light was reflected +suddenly into the obscure nave, making the golden candlesticks shine, +and the organ-pipes above. And in that yellow glow, which now came from +the burning houses and now disappeared again, a second battle was +fought. Bodies grappled together and rolled over the brick floor, never +to rise, but to bound hither and thither in the contortions of rage, to +strike the benches, and die under them, or on the chapel steps, or +against the taper-spikes about the confessionals. Under the peaceful +vault of God's house the chilling sound of iron penetrating men's flesh +or sliding along their bones, the single broken groan of men struck in a +vital spot, the crushing of skulls, the roar of victims unwilling to +die, the atrocious hilarity of those who had succeeded in killing an +enemy,--all this re-echoed distinctly. And a sweet, faint odor of +incense floated above the strife. + +The silver idol had not, however, reached the altar in triumph, for a +hostile circle stood between. Giacobbe fought with his scythe, and, +though wounded in several places, did not yield a hand's breadth of the +stair which he had been the first to gain. Only two men were left to +hold up the saint, whose enormous white head heaved and reeled +grotesquely like a drunken mask. The men of Mascalico were growing +furious. + +Then San Pantaleone fell on the pavement, with a sharp, vibrant ring. As +Giacobbe dashed forward to pick him up, a big devil of a man dealt him a +blow with a bill-hook, which stretched him out on his back. Twice he +rose and twice was struck down again. Blood covered his face, his +breast, his hands, yet he persisted in getting up. Enraged by this +ferocious tenacity of life, three, four, five clumsy peasants together +stabbed him furiously in the belly, and the fanatic fell over, with the +back of his neck against the silver bust. He turned like a flash and put +his face against the metal, with his arms outspread and his legs drawn +up. And San Pantaleone was lost. + + + + + + +IT SNOWS + +BY + +ENRICO CASTELNUOVO + +The Translation by Edith Wharton. + + +The thermometer marks barely one degree above freezing, the sky is +covered with ominous white clouds, the air is harsh and piercing; what +can induce Signor Odoardo, at nine o'clock on such a morning, to stand +in his study window? It is true that Signor Odoardo is a vigorous man, +in the prime of life, but it is never wise to tempt Providence by +needlessly risking one's health. But stay--I begin to think that I have +found a clue to his conduct. Opposite Signor Odoardo's window is the +window of the Signora Evelina, and Signora Evelina has the same tastes +as Signor Odoardo. She too is taking the air, leaning against the +window-sill in her dressing-gown, her fair curls falling upon her +forehead and tossed back every now and then by a pretty movement of her +head. The street is so narrow that it is easy to talk across from one +side to the other, but in such weather as this the only two windows that +stand open are those of Signora Evelina and Signor Odoardo. + +There is no denying the fact: Signora Evelina, who within the last few +weeks has taken up her abode across the way, is a very fascinating +little widow. Her hair is of spun gold, her skin of milk and roses, her +little turned-up nose, though assuredly not Grecian, is much more +attractive than if it were; she has the most dazzling teeth in the most +kissable mouth; her eyes are transparent as a cloudless sky, and--well, +she knows how to use them. Nor is this the sum total of her charms: look +at the soft, graceful curves of her agile, well-proportioned figure; +look at her little hands and feet! After all, one hardly wonder that +Signor Odoardo runs the risk of catching his death of cold, instead of +closing the window and warming himself at the stove which roars so +cheerfully within. It is rather at Signora Evelina that I wonder; for, +though Signer Odoardo is not an ill-looking man, he is close upon forty, +while she is but twenty-four. So young, and already a widow--poor +Signora Evelina! It is true that she has great strength of character; +but six months have elapsed since her husband's death, and she is +resigned to it already, though the deceased left her barely enough to +keep body and soul together. Happily Signora Evelina is not encumbered +with a family; she is alone and independent, and with those eyes, that +hair, that little upturned nose, she ought to have no difficulty in +finding a second husband. In fact, there is no harm in admitting that +Signora Evelina has contemplated the possibility of a second marriage, +and that if the would-be bridegroom is not in his first youth--why, she +is prepared to make the best of it. In this connection it is perhaps not +uninstructive to note that Signor Odoardo is in comfortable +circumstances, and is himself a widower. What a coincidence! + +Well, then, why don't they marry--that being the customary denouement in +such cases? + +Why don't they marry? Well--Signor Odoardo is still undecided. If there +had been any hope of a love-affair I fear that his indecision would have +vanished long ago. Errare humanum est. But Signora Evelina is a woman of +serious views; she is in search of a husband, not of a flirtation. +Signora Evelina is a person of great determination; she knows how to +turn other people's heads without letting her own be moved a jot. +Signora Evelina is deep; deep enough, surely, to gain her point. If +Signor, Odoardo flutters about her much longer he will! singe his wings; +things cannot go on in this; way. Signor Odoardo's visits are too +frequent; and now, in addition, there are the conversations from the +window. It is time for a decisive step to be taken, and Signor Odoardo +is afraid that he may find himself taking the step before he is prepared +to; this very day, perhaps, when he goes to call on the widow. + +The door of Signor Odoardo's study is directly opposite the window in +which he is standing, and the opening of this door is therefore made +known to him by a violent draught. + +As he turns a sweet voice says: + +"Good-bye, papa dear; I'm going to school." + +"Good-bye, Doretta," he answers, stooping to kiss a pretty little maid +of eight or nine; and at the same instant Signora Evelina calls out from +over the way: + +"Good-morning, Doretta!" + +Doretta, who had made a little grimace on discovering her papa in +conversation with his pretty neighbor, makes another as she hears +herself greeted, and mutters reluctantly, "Good-morning." + +Then, with her little basket on her arm, she turns away slowly to join +the maid-servant who is waiting for her in the hall. + +"I am SO fond of that child," sighs Signora Evelina, with the sweetest +inflexion in her voice, "but she doesn't like me at all!" + +"What an absurd idea!...Doretta is a very self-willed child." + +Thus Signor Odoardo; but in his heart of hearts he too is convinced that +his little daughter has no fondness for Signora Evelina. + +Meanwhile, the cold is growing more intense, and every now and then a +flake of snow spins around upon the wind. Short of wishing to be frozen +stiff, there is nothing for it but to shut the window. + +"It snows," says Signora Evelina, glancing upward. + +"Oh, it was sure to come." + +"Well--I must go and look after my household. Au revoir--shall I see you +later?" + +"I hope to have the pleasure--" + +"Au revoir, then." + +Signora Evelina closes the window, nods and smiles once more through the +pane, and disappears. + +Signor Odoardo turns back to his study, and perceiving how cold it has +grown, throws some wood on the fire, and, kneeling before the door of +the stove, tries to blow the embers into a blaze. The flames leap up +with a merry noise, sending bright flashes along the walls of the room. + +Outside, the flakes continue to descend at intervals. Perhaps, after +all, it is not going to be a snowstorm. + +Signor Odoardo paces up and down the room, with bent head and hands +thrust in his pockets. He is disturbed, profoundly disturbed. He feels +that he has reached a crisis in his life; that in a few days, perhaps in +a few hours, his future will be decided. Is he seriously in love with +Signora Evelina? How long has he known her? Will she be sweet and good +like THE OTHER? Will she know how to be a mother to Doretta? + +There is a sound of steps in the hall; Signor Odoardo pauses in the +middle of the room. The door re-opens, and Doretta rushes up to her +father, her cheeks flushed, her hood falling over her forehead, her warm +coat buttoned up to her chin, her hands thrust into her muff. + +"It is snowing and the teacher has sent us home." + +She tosses off her hood and coat and goes up to the stove. + +"There is a good fire, but the room is cold," she exclaims. + +As a matter of fact, the window having stood open for half an hour, the +thermometer indicates but fifty degrees. + +"Papa," Doretta goes on, "I want to stay with you all day long to-day." + +"And suppose your poor daddy has affairs of his own to attend to?" + +"No, no, you must give them up for to-day." + +And Doretta, without waiting for an answer, runs to fetch her books, her +doll, and her work. The books are spread out on the desk, the doll is +comfortably seated on the sofa, and the work is laid out upon a low +stool. + +"Ah," she cries, with an air of importance, "what a mercy that there is +no school to-day! I shall have time to go over my lesson. Oh, look how +it snows!" + +It snows indeed. First a white powder, fine but thick, and whirled in +circles by the wind, beats with a dry metallic sound against the window- +panes; then the wind drops, and the flakes, growing larger, descend +silently, monotonously, incessantly. The snow covers the streets like a +downy carpet, spreads itself like a sheet over the roofs, fills up the +cracks in the walls, heaps itself upon the window-sills, envelops the +iron window-bars, and hangs in festoons from the gutters and eaves. + +Out of doors it must be as cold as ever, but the room is growing rapidly +warmer, and Doretta, climbing on a chair, has the satisfaction of +announcing that the mercury has risen eleven degrees. + +"Yes, dear," her father replies, "and the clock is striking eleven too. +Run and tell them to get breakfast ready." + +Doretta runs off obediently, but reappears in a moment. + +"Daddy, daddy, what do you suppose has happened? The dining-room stove +won't draw, and the room is all full of smoke!" + +"Then let us breakfast here, child." + +This excellent suggestion is joy to the soul of Doretta, who hastens to +carry the news to the kitchen, and then, in a series of journeys back +and forth from the dining-room to the study, transports with her own +hands the knives, forks, plates, tablecloth, and napkins, and, with the +man-servant's aid, lays them out upon one of her papa's tables. How +merry she is! How completely the cloud has vanished that darkened her +brow a few hours earlier! And how well she acquits herself of her +household duties! + +Signor Odoardo, watching her with a sense of satisfaction, cannot resist +exclaiming: "Bravo, Doretta!" + +Doretta is undeniably the very image of her mother. She too was just +such an excellent housekeeper, a model of order, of neatness, of +propriety. And she was pretty, like Doretta, even though she did not +possess the fair hair and captivating eyes of Signora Evelina. + +The man-servant who brings in the breakfast is accompanied by a +newcomer, the cat Melanio, who is always present at Doretta's meals. The +cat Melanio is old; he has known Doretta ever since she was born, and he +honors her with his protection. Every morning he mews at her door, as +though to inquire if she has slept well; every evening he keeps her +company until it is time for her to go to bed. Whenever she goes out he +speeds her with a gentle purr; whenever he hears her come in he hurries +to meet her and rubs himself against her legs. In the morning, and at +the midday meal, when she takes it at home, he sits beside her chair and +silently waits for the scraps from her plate. The cat Melanio, however, +is not in the habit of visiting Signor Odoardo's study, and shows a +certain surprise at finding himself there. Signor Odoardo, for his part, +receives his new guest with some diffidence; but Doretta, intervening in +Melanio's favor, undertakes to answer for his good conduct. + +It is long since Doretta has eaten with so much appetite. When she has +finished her breakfast, she clears the table as deftly and promptly as +she had laid it, and in a few moments Signor Odoardo's study has resumed +its wonted appearance. Only the cat Melanio remains, comfortably +established by the stove, on the understanding that he is to be left +there as long as he is not troublesome. + +The continual coming and going has made the room grow colder. The +mercury has dropped perceptibly, and Doretta, to make it rise again, +empties nearly the whole wood-basket into the stove. + +How it snows, how it snows! No longer in detached flakes, but as though +an openwork white cloth were continuously unrolled before one's eyes. +Signor Odoardo begins to think that it will be impossible for him to +call on Signora Evelina. True, it is only a step, but he would sink into +the snow up to his knees. After all, it is only twelve o'clock. It may +stop snowing later. Doretta is struck by a luminous thought: + +"What if I were to answer grandmamma's letter?" + +In another moment Doretta is seated at her father's desk, in his arm- +chair, two cushions raising her to the requisite height, her legs +dangling into space, the pen suspended in her hand, and her eyes fixed +upon a sheet of ruled paper, containing thus far but two words: Dear +Grandmamma. + +Signor Odoardo, leaning against the stove, watches his daughter with a +smile. + +It appears that at last Doretta has discovered a way of beginning her +letter, for she re-plunges the pen into the inkstand, lowers her hand to +the sheet of paper, wrinkles her forehead and sticks out her tongue. + +After several minutes of assiduous toil she raises her head and asks: + +"What shall I say to grandmamma about her invitation to go and spend a +few weeks with her?" + +"Tell her that you can't go now, but that she may expect you in the +spring." + +"With you, papa?" + +"With me, yes," Signor Odoardo answers mechanically. + +Yet if, in the meantime, he engages himself to Signora Evelina, this +visit to his mother-in-law will become rather an awkward business. + +"There--I've finished!" Doretta cries with an air of triumph. + +But the cry is succeeded by another, half of anguish, half of rage. + +"What's the matter now?" + +"A blot!" + +"Let me see?...You little goose, what HAVE you done?...You've ruined the +letter now!" + +Doretta, having endeavored to remove the ink-spot by licking it, has +torn the paper. + +"Oh, dear, I shall have to copy it out now," she says, in a mortified +tone. + +"You can copy it this evening. Bring it here, and let me look at +it...Not bad,--not bad at all. A few letters to be added, and a few to +be taken out; but, on the whole, for a chit of your size, it's fairly +creditable. Good girl!" + +Doretta rests upon her laurels, playing with her doll Nini. She dresses +Nini in her best gown, and takes her to call on the cat, Melanio. + +The cat, Melanio, who is dozing with half-open eyes, is somewhat bored +by these attentions. Raising himself on his four paws, he arches his +flexible body, and then rolls himself up into a ball, turning his back +upon his visitor. + +"Dear me, Melanio is not very polite to-day," says Doretta, escorting +the doll back to the sofa. "But you mustn't be offended; he's very +seldom impolite. I think it must be the weather; doesn't the weather +make you sleepy too, Nini? ...Come, let's take a nap; go by-bye, baby, +go by-bye." + +Nini sleeps. Her head rests upon a cushion, her little rag and horse- +hair body is wrapped in a woollen coverlet, her lids are closed; for +Nini raises or lowers her lids according to the position of her body. + +Signor Odoardo looks at the clock and then glances out of the window. It +is two o'clock and the snow is still falling. + +Doretta is struck by another idea. + +"Daddy, see if I know my La Fontaine fable: Le corbeau et le renard." + +"Very well, let's hear it," Signor Odoardo assents, taking the open book +from the little girl's hands. + +Doretta begins: + + "Maitre corbeau, sur un arbre perche, + Tenait en son bec un fromage; + Maitre...maitre...maitre..." + +"Go on." + +"Maitre..." + +"Maitre renard." + +"Oh, yes, now I remember: + + Maitre renard, par l'odeur alleche, + Lui tint a peu pres ce langage: + He! bonjour..." + +At this point Doretta, seeing that her father is not listening to her, +breaks off her recitation. Signor Odoardo has, in fact, closed the book +upon his forefinger, and is looking elsewhere. + +"Well, Doretta," he absently inquires, "why don't you go on?" + +"I'm not going to say any more of it," she answers sullenly. + +"Why, you cross-patch! What's the matter?" + +The little girl, who had been seated on a low stool, has risen to her +feet and now sees why her papa has not been attending to her. The snow +is falling less thickly, and the fair head of Signora Evelina has +appeared behind the window-panes over the way. + +Brave little woman! She has actually opened the window, and is clearing +the snow off the sill with a fire-shovel. Her eyes meet Signor +Odoardo's; she smiles and shakes her head, as though to say: What +hateful weather! + +He would be an ill-mannered boor who should not feel impelled to say a +word to the dauntless Signor Evelina. Signor Odoardo, who is not an ill- +mannered boor, yields to the temptation of opening the window for a +moment. + +"Bravo, Signora Evelina! I see you are not afraid of the snow." + +"Oh, Signor Odoardo, what fiendish weather!...But, if I am not mistaken, +that is Doretta with you...How do you do, Doretta?" + +"Doretta, come here and say how do you do to the lady." + +"No, no--let her be, let her be! Children catch cold so easily--you had +better shut the window. I suppose there is no hope of seeing you to- +day?" + +"Look at the condition of the streets!" + +"Oh, you men...you men!...The stronger sex...but no matter. Au revoir!" + +"Au revoir." + +The two windows are closed simultaneously, but this time Signora Evelina +does not disappear. She is sitting there, close to the window, and it +snows so lightly now that her wonderful profile is outlined as clearly +as possible against the pane. Good heavens, how beautiful she is! + +Signer Odoardo walks up and down the room, in the worst of humors. He +feels that it is wrong not to go and see the fascinating widow, and that +to go and see her would be still more wrong. The cloud has settled again +upon Doretta's forehead, the same cloud that darkened it in the morning. + +Not a word is said of La Fontaine's fable. Instead, Signor Odoardo +grumbles irritably: + +"This blessed room is as cold as ever." + +"Why shouldn't it be," Doretta retorts with a touch of asperity, "when +you open the window every few minutes?" + +"Oho," Signer Odoardo says to himself, "it is time to have this matter +out." + +And, going up to Doretta, he takes her by the hand, leads her to the +sofa, and lifts her on his knee. + +"Now, then, Doretta, why is it that you are so disagreeable to Signora +Evelina?" + +The little girl, not knowing what to answer, grows red and embarrassed. + +"What has Signora Evelina done to you?" her father continues. + +"She hasn't done anything to me." + +"And yet you don't like her." + +Profound silence. + +"And SHE likes you so much!" + +"I don't care if she does!" + +"You naughty child!...And what if, one of these days, you had to live +with Signora Evelina?" + +"I won't live with her--I won't live with her!" the child bursts out. + +"Now you are talking foolishly," Signor Odoardo admonishes her in a +severe tone, setting her down from his knee. + +She bursts into passionate weeping. + +"Come, Doretta, come...Is this the way you keep your daddy +company?...Enough of this, Doretta." + +But, say what he pleases, Doretta must have her cry. Her brown eyes are +swimming in tears, her little breast heaves, her voice is broken by +sobs. + +"What ridiculous whims!" Signer Odoardo exclaims, throwing his head back +against the sofa cushions. + +Signor Odoardo is unjust, and, what is worse, he does not believe what +he is saying. He knows that this is no whim of Doretta's. He knows it +better than the child herself, who would probably find it difficult to +explain what she is undergoing. It is at once the presentiment of a new +danger and the renewal of a bygone sorrow. Doretta was barely six years +old when her mother died, and yet her remembrance is indelibly impressed +upon the child's mind. And now it seems as though her mother were dying +again. + +"When you have finished crying, Doretta, you may come here," Signor +Odoardo says. + +Doretta, crouching in a corner of the room, cries less vehemently, but +has not yet finished crying. Just like the weather outside,--it snows +less heavily, but it still snows. + +Signor Odoardo covers his eyes with his hand. + +How many thoughts are thronging through his head, how many affections +are contending in his heart! If he could but banish the vision of +Signora Evelina--but he tries in vain. He is haunted by those blue eyes, +by that persuasive smile, that graceful and harmonious presence. He has +but to say the word, and he knows that she will be his, to brighten his +solitary home, and fill it with life and love. Her presence would take +ten years from his age, he would feel as he did when he was betrothed +for the first time. And yet--no; it would not be quite like the first +time. + +He is not the same man that he was then, and she, THE OTHER, ah, how +different SHE was from the Signora Evelina! How modest and shy she was! +How girlishly reserved, even in the expression of her love! How +beautiful were her sudden blushes, how sweet the droop of her long, +shyly-lowered lashes! He had known her first in the intimacy of her own +home, simple, shy, a good daughter and a good sister, as she was +destined to be a good wife and mother. For a while he had loved her in +silence, and she had returned his love. One day, walking beside her in +the garden, he had seized her hand with sudden impetuosity, and raising +it to his lips had said, "I care for you so much!" and she, pale and +trembling, had run to her mother's arms, crying out, "Oh, how happy I +am!" + +Ah, those dear days--those dear days! He was a poet then; with the +accent of sincerest passion he whispered in his love's ear: + + "I love thee more than all the world beside, + My only faith and hope thou art, + My God, my country, and my bride-- + Sole love of this unchanging heart!" + +Very bad poetry, but deliciously thrilling to his young betrothed. Oh, +the dear, dear days! Oh, the long hours that pass like a flash in +delightful talk, the secrets that the soul first reveals to itself in +revealing them to the beloved, the caresses longed for and yet half +feared, the lovers' quarrels, the tears that are kissed away, the +shynesses, the simplicity, the abandonment of a pure and passionate +love--who may hope to know you twice in a lifetime? + +No, Signora Evelina can never restore what he has lost to Signor +Odoardo. No, this self-possessed widow, who, after six months of +mourning, has already started on the hunt for a second husband, cannot +inspire him with the faith that he felt in THE OTHER. Ah, first-loved +women, why is it that you must die? For the dead give no kisses, no +caresses, and the living long to be caressed and kissed. + +Who talks of kisses? Here is one that has alit, all soft and warm, on +Signor Odoardo's lips, rousing him with a start.--Ah!...Is it you, +Doretta?--It is Doretta, who says nothing, but who is longing to make it +up with her daddy. She lays her cheek against his, he presses her little +head close, lest she should escape from him. He too is silent--what can +he say to her? + +It is growing dark, and the eyes of the cat Melanio begin to glitter in +the corner by the stove. The man-servant knocks and asks if he is to +bring the lamp. + +"Make up the fire first," Signor Odoardo says. + +The wood crackles and snaps, and sends up showers of sparks; then it +bursts into flame, blazing away with a regular, monotonous sound, like +the breath of a sleeping giant. In the dusk the firelight flashes upon +the walls, brings out the pattern of the wall-paper, and travels far +enough to illuminate a corner of the desk. The shadows lengthen and then +shorten again, thicken and then shrink; everything in the room seems to +be continually changing its size and shape. Signor Odoardo, giving free +rein to his thoughts, evokes the vision of his married life, sees the +baby's cradle, recalls her first cries and smiles, feels again his dying +wife's last kiss, and hears the last word upon her lips,--DORETTA. No, +no, it is impossible that he should ever do anything to make his Doretta +unhappy! And yet he is not sure of resisting Signora Evelina's wiles; he +is almost afraid that, when he sees his enchantress on the morrow, all +his strong resolves may take flight. There is but one way out of it. + +"Doretta," says Signor Odoardo. + +"Father?" + +"Are you going to copy out your letter to your grandmamma this evening?" + +"Yes, father." + +"Wouldn't you rather go and see your grandmamma yourself?" + +"With whom?" the child falters anxiously, her little heart beating a +frantic tattoo as she awaits his answer. + +"With me, Doretta." + +"With YOU, daddy?" she exclaims, hardly daring to believe her ears. + +"Yes, with me; with your daddy." + +"Oh, daddy, DADDY!" she cries, her little arms about his neck, her +kisses covering his face. "Oh, daddy, my own dear daddy! When shall we +start?" + +"To-morrow morning, if you're not afraid of the snow." + +"Why not now? Why not at once?" + +"Gently--gently. Good Lord, doesn't the child want her dinner first?" + +And Signor Odoardo, gently detaching himself from his daughter's +embrace, rises and rings for the lamp. Then, instinctively, he glances +once more towards the window. In the opposite house all is dark, and +Signora Evelina's profile is no longer outlined against the pane. The +weather is still threatening, and now and then a snowflake falls. The +servant closes the shutters and draws the curtains, so that no profane +gaze may penetrate into the domestic sanctuary. + +"We had better dine in here," Signor Odoardo says. "The dining-room must +be as cold as Greenland." + +Doretta, meanwhile, is convulsing the kitchen with the noisy +announcement of the impending journey. At first she is thought to be +joking, but when she establishes the fact that she is speaking +seriously, it is respectfully pointed out to her that the master of the +house must be crazy. To start on a journey in the depth of winter, and +in such weather! If at least they were to wait for a fine day! + +But what does Doretta care for the comments of the kitchen? She is +beside herself with joy. She sings, she dances about the room, and +breaks off every moment or two to give her father a kiss. Then she pours +out the fulness of her emotion upon the cat Melanio and the doll Nini, +promising the latter to bring her back a new frock from Milan. + +At dinner she eats little and talks incessantly of the journey, asking +again and again what time it is, and at what time they are to start. + +"Are you afraid of missing the train?" Signor Odoardo asks with a smile. + +And yet, though he dissembles his impatience, it is as great as hers. He +longs to go away, far away. Perhaps he may not return until spring. He +orders his luggage packed for an absence of two months. + +Doretta goes to bed early, but all night long she tosses about under the +bed-clothes, waking her nurse twenty times to ask: "Is it time to get +up?" + +Signor Odoardo, too, is awake when the man-servant comes to call him the +next morning at six o'clock. + +"What sort of a day is it?" + +"Very bad, sir--just such another as yesterday. In fact, if I might make +the suggestion, sir, if it's not necessary for you to start to-day--" + +"It is, Angelo. Absolutely necessary." + +At the station there are only a few sleepy, depressed-looking travellers +wrapped in furs. They are all grumbling about the weather, about the +cold, about the earliness of the hour, and declaring that nothing but +the most urgent business would have got them out of bed at that time of +day. There is but one person in the station who is all liveliness and +smiles--Doretta. + +The first-class compartment in which Signor Odoardo and his daughter +find themselves is bitterly cold, in spite of foot-warmers, but Doretta +finds the temperature delicious, and, if she dared, would open the +windows for the pleasure of looking out. + +"Are you happy, Doretta?" + +"Oh, SO happy!" + +Ten years earlier, on a pleasanter day, but also in winter, Signor +Odoardo had started on his wedding-journey. Opposite him had sat a young +girl, who looked as much like Doretta as a woman can look like a child; +a pretty, sedate young girl, oh, so sweetly, tenderly in love with +Signor Odoardo. And as the train started he had asked her the same +question: + +"Are you happy, Maria?" + +And she had answered: + +"Oh, so happy!" just like Doretta. + +The train races and flies. Farewell, farewell, for ever, Signora +Evelina. + +And did Signora Evelina die of despair? + +Oh, no; Signora Evelina has a perfect disposition and a delightful home. +The perfect disposition enables her not to take things too seriously, +the delightful home affords her a thousand distractions. Its windows do +not all look towards Signor Odoardo's residence. One of them, for +example, commands a little garden belonging to a worthy bachelor who +smokes his pipe there on pleasant days. Signora Evelina finds the worthy +bachelor to her taste, and the worthy bachelor, who is an average- +adjuster by profession, admires Signora Evelina's eyes, and considers +her handsomely and solidly enough put together to rank A No. 1 on +Lloyd's registers. + +The result is that the bachelor now and then looks up at the window, and +the Signora Evelina now and then looks down at the garden. The weather +not being propitious to out-of-door conversation, Signora Evelina at +length invites her neighbor to come and pay her a visit. Her neighbor +hesitates and she renews the invitation. How can one resist such a +charming woman? And what does one visit signify? Nothing at all. The +excellent average-adjuster has every reason to be pleased with his +reception, the more so as Signora Evelina actually gives him leave to +bring his pipe the next time he comes. She adores the smell of a pipe. +Signora Evelina is an ideal woman, just the wife for a business man who +had not positively made up his mind to remain single. And as to that, +muses the average-adjuster, have I ever positively made up my mind to +remain single, and if I have, who is to prevent my changing it? + +And so it comes to pass that when, after an absence of three months, +Signor Odoardo returns home with Doretta, he receives notice of the +approaching marriage of Signora Evelina Chiocci, widow Ramboldi, with +Signor Archimede Fagiuolo. + +"Fagiuolo!" shouts Doretta, "FAGIUOLO!" [Footnote: Fagiuolo: a +simpleton.] + +The name seems to excite her unbounded hilarity; but I am under the +impression that the real cause of her merriment is not so much Signora +Evelina's husband as Signora Evelina's marriage. + + + + + + +COLLEGE FRIENDS + +BY + +EDMONDO DE AMICIS + +The Translation by Edith Wharton. + +[Footnote: Although "College Friends" is rather a reverie than in any +strict sense a story (something in the spirit of "The Reveries of a +Bachelor," if an analogy may be sought in another literature), it has +been thought best to include it here as one of the best-known of De +Amicis' shorter writings. Indeed it is the leading piece in his chief +volume of "Novelle," so that he has himself included it with his tales.] + + + +I. + +There are many who write down every evening what they have done during +the day; some who keep a record of the plays they have seen, the books +they have read, the cigars they have smoked--but is there one man in a +hundred, nay, in a thousand, who, at the end of the year, or even once +in a lifetime, draws up a list of the people he has known? I don't mean +his intimate friends, of course--the few whom he sees, or with whom he +corresponds; but the multitude of people met in the past, and perhaps +never to be encountered again, of whom the recollection returns from +time to time at longer and longer intervals as the years go by, until at +length it wholly fades away. Which of us has not forgotten a hundred +once familiar names, lost all trace of a hundred once familiar lives? +And yet to my mind this forgetfulness implies such a loss in the way of +experience, that if I could live my life over again I should devote at +least half an hour a day to the tedious task of recording the names and +histories of the people I met, however uninteresting they might appear. + +What strange and complex annals I should possess had I kept such a list +of my earliest school-friends, supplementing it as time went on by any +news of them that I could continue to obtain, and keeping track, as best +I might, of the principal changes in their lives! As it is, of the two +or three hundred lads that I knew there are but twenty or thirty whom I +can recall, or with whose occupations and whereabouts I am acquainted-- +of the others I know absolutely nothing. For a few years I kept them all +vividly in mind; three hundred rosy faces smiled at me, three hundred +schoolboy jackets testified more or less distinctly to the paternal +standing, from the velvet coat of the mayor's son to the floury +roundabout of the baker's offspring; I still heard all their different +voices; I saw where each one sat in school; I recalled their words, +their attitudes, their gestures. Gradually all the faces melted into a +rosy blur, the jackets into a uniform neutral tint; the gestures were +blent in a vague ripple of movement, and at last a thick mist enveloped +all and the vision disappeared. + +It grieves me that it should be so, and many a time I long to burst +through the mist and evoke the hidden vision. But, alas! my comrades are +all scattered; and were I to try to seek them out, one by one, how many +devious twists and turns I should have to make, and to what strange +places my search would lead me! From a sacristy I should pass to +barracks, from barracks to a laboratory, thence to a lawyer's office; +from the lawyer's office to a prison, from the prison to a theatre, from +the theatre, alas! to a cemetery, and thence, perhaps, to a merchant +vessel lying in some American or Eastern port. Who knows what +adventures, what misfortunes, what domestic tragedies, what +transformations in appearance, in habits, in life, would be found to +have befallen that mere handful of humanity, within that short space of +time! + +And yet those are not the friends that I most long to see again. Indeed, +if we analyze that sense of mournful yearning which makes us turn back +to childhood, we shall be surprised to find how faint is the longing for +our old comrades, nay, we may even discover that no such sentiment +exists in us. And why should it, after all? We were often together, we +were merry, we sought each other out, we desired each other's +companionship; but there was no interchange between us of anything that +draws together, that binds closer, that leaves its mark upon the soul. +Our friendships were unmade as lightly as they were made. What we wanted +was somebody to echo our laughter, to climb trees with us, and return +the ball well; and as the pluckiest, liveliest, and most active boys +were best fitted to meet these requirements, it was upon them that our +choice usually fell. But did we feel kindly towards the weaklings? Did +it ever occur to us, when a comrade looked sad, to ask: What ails you? +or, if he answered that somebody lay dead at home, did we have any tears +for his sorrow? Ah, we were not real friends! + +It has probably happened to many of you to come across a companion of +your primary-school days, after the lapse of fifteen years or so. You +receive a letter in an unfamiliar hand, you glance at the signature, and +you shout out: "What? Is HE alive?" On with your hat and off you rush to +the hotel. Your heart thumps as you run, and you race upstairs to his +door in hot haste, laughing, rejoicing, and thinking to yourself that +you wouldn't have missed those few minutes for any amount of money. +Well, those few minutes are the best. You bounce into the room, and find +yourself embracing a strange man in whom, as you look at him more +closely, you can just discern some faint resemblance to the lad you used +to know; one of you exclaims, "How are you, old man?" the other plunges +breathlessly into some old school reminiscence; and then... that's all. + +You begin to say to yourself: "Who IS this strange man? what has he been +doing all these years? what has been going on in his soul? is he good or +bad, a believer or a sceptic? I have nothing in common with him, I don't +know the man! He must be observed and studied first--how can I call him +a friend?" + +What you think of him, he thinks of you, and conversation languishes. +With your first words you may have discovered that you and he have +followed opposite paths in life; he betrays his democratic tendencies, +you, your monarchical leanings; you try him on literature, he retaliates +with the culture of silk-worms. Before telling him that you are married, +you take the precaution to ask if he has a wife; he answers, "What do +you take me for?" and you take leave with a touch of the finger-tips and +a smile that has died at its birth. + +The friends of infancy! Dear indeed above all others when the years of +boyhood have been spent with them; mere phantoms otherwise! And +childhood itself! I have never been able to understand why people long +to return to it. Why mourn for years without toil, without suffering, +without intelligent belief, without those outbursts of fierce and bitter +sorrow that purify the soul and uplift the brow in a splendid renewal of +hope and courage? Better a thousand times to suffer, to toil, to fight +and weep, than to let life exhale itself in a ceaseless irresponsible +gayety, causeless, objectless, and imperturbable! Better to stand +bleeding on the breach than to lie dreaming among the flowers. + + + +II. + +I was seventeen years old when I made the acquaintance of my dearest +friends, in a splendid palace which I see before me as clearly as though +I had left it only yesterday. I see the great courtyard, the stately +porticos, the saloons adorned with columns, statues and bas-reliefs; +and, amidst these beautiful and magnificent objects, vestiges of the +bygone splendors of the ducal residence, the long lines of bedsteads and +school-benches, the hanging rows of uniforms, dirks and rifles. Five +hundred youths are scattered about those courts and corridors and +staircases; a dull murmur of voices, broken by loud shouts and sonorous +laughter, reverberates through the most distant recesses of the huge +edifice. What animation! What life! What varieties of type, of speech +and gesture! Youths of athletic build, with great moustaches and +stentorian voices; youths as slim and sweet as girls; the dusky skin and +coal-black eyes of Sicily; the fair-haired, blue-eyed faces of the +north; the excited gesticulation of Naples, the silvery Tuscan +intonation, the rattling Venetian chatter, a hundred groups, a hundred +dialects; on this side, songs and noisy talk, on that side running, +jumping, and hand-clapping; men of every class, sons of dukes, senators, +generals, shopkeepers, government employees; a strange assemblage, +suggesting the university, the monastery, and the barracks: with talk of +women, war, novels, the orders of the day; a life teeming with feminine +meannesses and virile ambitions; a life of mortal ennui and frantic +gayety, a medley of sentiments, actions, and incidents, absurd, tragic, +or delightful, from which the pen of a great humorist could extract the +materials for a masterpiece. + +Such was the military college of Modena in the year 1865. + + + +III. + +I cannot recall the two years that I spent there without being beset by +a throng of memories from which I can free myself only by passing them +all in review, one after another, like pictures in a magic-lantern; now +laughing, now sighing, now shaking my head, but feeling all the while +that each episode is dear to me and will never be forgotten while I +live. + +How well I remember the first grief of my military life, a blow that +befell me a few days after I had entered college all aglow with the +poetry of war. It was the morning on which caps were distributed. Each +new recruit of the company found one that fitted him, but all were too +small for me, and the captain turned upon me furiously. + +"Are you aware that the commissary stores will have to be reopened just +for you?" And I heard him mutter after a pause, "What are you going to +do with a head like that?" + +Great God, what I underwent at that moment! What--be a soldier? I +thought. Never! Better beg my bread in the streets--better die and have +done with it! + +Then I remember an officer, an old soldier, gruff but kindly, who had a +way of smiling whenever he looked at me. How that smile used to +exasperate me! I had made up my mind to demand an explanation, to let +him know that I didn't propose to be any man's butt, when one evening he +called me to him, and having given me to understand that he had heard +something about me and that he wanted to know if it were really true (I +was to speak frankly, for it would do me no harm), he finally, with many +coughs and smiles and furtive glances, whispered in my ear: "Is it true +that you write poetry?" + +I recall, too, the insuperable difficulty of accomplishing the manual +tasks imposed upon me, especially that of sewing on my buttons--how +every few seconds the needle would slip through my fingers, till the +thread was tangled up in a veritable spider's web, while the button hung +as loose as ever, to the derision of my companions and the disgust of +the drill-sergeant, whose contemptuous--"You may be a great hand at +rhyming, but when it comes to sewing on buttons you're a hundred years +behind the times," seemed to exile me to the depths of the eighteenth +century. + +I see the great refectory, where a battalion might have drilled; I see +the long tables, the five hundred heads bent above the plates, the rapid +motion of five hundred forks, of a thousand hands and sixteen thousand +teeth; the swarm of servants running here and there, called to, scolded, +hurried, on every side at once; I hear the clatter of dishes, the +deafening noise, the voices choked with food crying out: "Bread--bread!" +and I feel once more the formidable appetite, the herculean strength of +jaw, the exuberant life and spirits of those far-off days. + +The scene changes, and I see myself locked in a narrow cell on the fifth +floor, a jug of water at my side, a piece of black bread in my hand, +with unkempt hair and unshorn chin, and the image of Silvio Pellico +before me; condemned to ten days' imprisonment for having made an +address of thanks to the professor of chemistry on the occasion of his +closing lecture, thereby committing an infraction of article number so- +and-so of the regulation forbidding any cadet to speak in public in the +name of his companions. And to this day I can hear the Major saying: +"Take my advice and never let your imagination run away with you;" +citing the example of his old school-fellow, the poet Regaldi, who had +got into just such a scrape, and concluding with the warning that +"poetry always made men make asses of themselves." + +Yes, I see it all as vividly as though I were reliving the very same +life again--the silent march of the companies at night down the long, +faintly-lit corridors; the professors behind their desks, deafening us +with their Gustavus-Adolphuses, their Fredericks the Great, and their +Napoleons; the great lecture-rooms full of motionless faces; the huge, +dim dormitories, resounding with the respirations of a hundred pairs of +lungs; the garden, the piazza, the ramparts, the winding Modenese +sheets, the cafis full of graduates devouring pastry, the picnics in the +country, the excursions to neighboring villages, the intrigues, the +studies, the rivalries, the sadnesses, the enmities, the friendships. + + + +IV. + +A few days before the graduating examinations we were given leave to +study wherever we pleased. There were two hundred of us in the second +class, and we dispersed ourselves all over the palace, in groups of five +or six friends, each group in a separate room, and began the long, +desperate grind, cramming away day and night, with only an occasional +interruption to discuss the coming examination and our future prospects. + +How cheerily we talked, and how bright our anticipations were! After two +years of imprisonment, home, freedom, and epaulets were suddenly within +our reach. Aside from the common satisfaction of being promoted to be an +officer, each one of us had his own special reasons for rejoicing. With +one of us it was the satisfaction of being able to say to the family +that had pinched and denied itself to pay for his schooling, "Here I am, +good people, nineteen years old and able to shift for myself;" with +another, the fun of swaggering in full uniform, with clanking heels and +rattling sword, into the quiet house where the old uncle who had been so +generous sat waiting to welcome him home; with a third, the joy of +mounting a familiar staircase, brevet in pocket, and knocking at a +certain door, behind which a girlish voice would be heard exclaiming, +"There he is!"--the voice of the little cousin to whom he had said good- +bye, two years before, in her parents' presence, reassured only by the +non-committal phrase: "Well, well, go to college first and make a man of +yourself; then we'll see." + +Already we saw ourselves surrounded by children eager to finger our +sabres, by girls who signed to us as we passed, by old men who clapped +us on the shoulder, by mothers crying, "How splendidly he looks!" So +that it was with the greatest difficulty that we shook off this +importunate folk, saying to ourselves: "Presently, presently, all in +good time; but just now, really, you must let us be!" + +Then, each following the bent of his disposition, his habits, and his +plans, we confided to one another the regiment, province, and city to +which we hoped to be assigned. Some of us longed for the noise and +merriment of the Milanese carnivals, and dreamed of theatres, balls and +convivial suppers. One sighed for a sweet Tuscan village, perched on a +hilltop, where, in command of his thirty men, he might spend the +peaceful spring days in collecting songs and proverbs among the country- +folk. Another longed to carry on his studies in the unbroken solitude of +a lonely Alpine fortress, hemmed in by ravines and precipices. One of us +craved a life of adventure in the Calabrian forests; another, the +activities of some great seaboard city; a third, an island of the +Tyrrhenian Sea. We divided up Italy among ourselves a hundred times a +day, as though we had been staking off plots in a garden; and each of us +detailed to the others the beauties of his chosen home, and all agreed +that every one of the places selected would be beautiful and delightful +to live in. + +And then--war! It was sure to come sooner or later. Hardly was the word +mentioned when our books were hurled into a corner and we were all +talking at once, our faces flushed, our voices loud and excited. War, to +us, was a superhuman vision in which the spirit lost itself as in some +strange intoxication; a far-off, rose-colored horizon, etched with the +black profiles of gigantic mountains; legion after legion, with flying +banners and the sound of music, endlessly ascending the mountain-side; +and high up, on the topmost ridges, surrounded by the enemy, our own +figures far in advance of the others, dashing forward with brandished +swords; while down the farther slope a torrent of foot, horse, and +artillery plunged wildly through darkness to an unknown abyss. + +A medal for gallantry? Which one of us would not have won it? Lose the +battle? But could Italians be defeated? Death--but who feared to die? +And did anybody ever die at nineteen? Who could tell what strange and +marvellous adventures awaited us, what sights we should see! Perhaps +some foreign expedition; a war in the East; was not the Eastern question +still stirring? We wandered in imagination over seas and mountains, we +saw the marshalling of fleets and armies, we glowed with impatience, we +cried out within ourselves, "Only give us time to pass our examinations, +and we'll be there too!" + +And then the examinations took place, and on a beautiful July morning +the doors of the ducal palace were thrown open and we were told to go +forth and seek our destiny. And with a great cry we dashed out, and +scattered ourselves like a flight of birds over the length and breadth +of Italy. + + + +V. + +And now? + +Six years have gone by, only six years, and what a long and strange and +varied romance might be woven out of the lives of those two hundred +college comrades! I have seen many of them since we graduated, and have +had news of many others, and I have a way of passing them in review one +after another, and questioning them mentally; and what I see and hear +fills me with a wonder not unmixed with sadness. And here they all are. + +The first that I see are a group of brown, broad-shouldered, bearded +men, whom I do not recall just at first; but when they smile at me I +recognize the slender fair boys who used to look so girlish. + +"Is it really you?" I exclaim, and they answer, "Yes," with a deep +sonorous note so different from the boyish voices I had expected to +hear, that I start back involuntarily. + +And these others? Their features are not changed, to be sure, their +figures are as robust and well set-up as ever, but the smile has +vanished, there is no brightness in the eye. + +"What has happened to you?" I ask; and they answer, "Nothing." + +Ah, how much better that some misfortune should have befallen them than +that the years alone, and only six short years, should have had the +power so sadly to transform them! + +Here are others. Good God! One, two, three, five of them; let me look +again; yes--gray-headed! What--at twenty-seven! Tell me--what happened? +They shrug their shoulders and pass on. + +Then I see a long file of my own friends, some of them the wildest of +the class, one with a baby in his arms, one with a child by the hand, +another leading two. What? So-and-so married? So-and-so a pere de +famille? Who would have thought it? + +Here come others; some, with bowed heads and reddened eyes, sign to me +sadly in passing. There is crape upon their sleeves. + +Others, with heads high and flashing eyes, point exultantly to their +breasts. Our college dream, the military medal--ah, lucky fellows! + +And here are some, moving slowly, and so pale, so emaciated, that I +hardly know them. Ah me! The surgeon's knife has probed those splendid +statuesque limbs, once bared with such boyish pride on the banks of the +Panaro; the surgeon's knife, seeking for German bullets, while the blood +streamed and the amputated limbs dropped from the poor maimed trunks. +Alas, poor friends! But at least they have remained with us, rewarded +for their sacrifice by the love and gratitude of all. + +But what's become of so-and-so? + +He died on the march through Lombardy. + +And so-and-so? + +Killed by a mitrailleuse at Monte Croce. + +And my friend so-and-so? + +He died of a rifle-bullet, in the hospital at Verona. + +And the fellow who sat next to me in class? + +HE died of cholera in Sicily. + +Enough--enough! + +So they all pass by, fading into the distance, while my fancy hastens +back over the road they have travelled, seeking traces of their passage +--how many and what diverse traces! + +Here, books and papers scattered on the floor, half-finished projects of +battles, an overturned table, a smoking candle-end, tokens of a studious +vigil. There, broken chairs, fragments of glasses, the remains of a +carouse. Farther on, an expanse of waste ground, two bloody swords, deep +footprints, the impress of a fallen body. Here, a table covered with a +torn green cloth and strewn with cards and dice; yonder, in the grass, a +scented love-letter and a knot of faded violets. Over there a graveyard +cross, with the inscription: To my Mother. And farther on more cards, +cast-off uniforms, women's portraits, tailors' bills, bills of exchange, +swords, flowers, blood. What a vast tapestry one can weave with those +few broken and tangled threads! What loves, what griefs, what struggles, +follies, and disasters one divines and comprehends! Many a high and +generous impulse too; but how much more of squandered opportunity and +effort! + +And even if nothing had been squandered, if, in those six years, not a +day, not an hour, had been stolen from our work, if we had not opened +our hearts to any affections but those that exalt the mind and give +serenity to life, a great and dear illusion must still have been lost to +us; an illusion that in vanishing has taken with it much of our strength +and hope; the illusion of that distant rose-colored horizon, edged with +the black profiles of gigantic mountains, legion after legion hurling +itself upon the enemy with flying banners and the sound of martial +music! + +A lost war. + +And if we had not lost that illusion, would not some other have vanished +in its place? + + + +VI. + +I think of myself and say: "How far it is from nineteen to twenty-five!" + +Wherever I went, then, I was the youngest, since boys under nineteen +don't mix on equal terms with men; and I knew that whoever I met envied +me three things: my youth, my hopes, and my light-heartedness. And now, +wherever I go, I meet young fellows who look at me and speak to me with +the deference shown to an elder brother; and, as I talk to them, I am +conscious of making an effort to appear as cheery as they, and even find +myself wondering what stuff they are made of. + +The other day, looking at a friend's child, a little girl of six, I said +to him, half laughing, "Who knows?" + +"Isn't there rather too much disparity of age?" he answered. + +I was silent, half-startled; then, counting up the years on my fingers, +I murmured sadly, "Yes." + +At nineteen I could say of any little maid I met, that one day she might +become my wife; the rising generation belonged to me; but now there is a +part of humanity for which I am already too old! + +And the future--once an undefined bright background, on which fancy +sketched all that was fairest and most desirable, without one warning +from the voice of reason: now, clearly outlined and distinctly colored, +it takes such precise shape that I can almost guess what it is to be, +can see my path traced out for me, and the goal to which it leads. And +so, marvels and glories, farewell! + +And mankind? Well--I never was mistrustful, nor inclined to see the bad +rather than the good in human nature; indeed, I have a friend who is so +exasperated by my persistent optimism that, when I enlarge upon my +affection for my kind, he invariably answers, "Wait till your turn +comes!" + +And yet, how much is gone already of the naif abandonment of those +boyish friendships, of that candid and ready admiration that, like a +well-adjusted spring, leapt forth at a touch, even when I heard a +stranger praised! Two or three disillusionments have sufficed to weaken +that spring. Already I begin to question my own enthusiasm, and a rising +doubt silences the warm, frank words of affection that once leapt +involuntarily to my lips. I read with dry eyes many a book that I used +to cry over; when I read poetry my voice trembles less often than it +did; my laugh is no longer the sonorous irresistible peal that once +echoed through every corner of the house. When I look in the glass--is +it fancy or reality?--I perceive in my face something that was not there +six years ago, an indescribable look about the eyes, the brow, the +mouth, that is imperceptible to others, but that I see and am troubled +by. And I remember Leopardi's words, AT TWENTY-FIVE THE FLOWER OF YOUTH +BEGINS TO FADE. What? Am I beginning to fade? Am I on the downward +slope? Have I travelled so far already? Why, thousands younger than I +have graduated since my day from the college of Modena; I feel them +pressing upon me, treading me down, urging me forward. The thought +terrifies me. Stop a moment--let me draw breath; why must one devour +life at this rate? I mean to take my stand here, motionless, firm as a +rock; back with you! But the ground is sloping and slippery, my feet +slide, there is nothing to catch hold of. Comrades, friends of my youth, +come, let us hold fast to each other; let us clasp each other tight; +don't let them overthrow us; let us stand fast! Ah, curse it, I feel the +earth slipping away under me! + + + +VII. + +Well, well-those are the mournful imaginings of rainy days. When the sun +reappears, the soul grows clear like the sky, and there succeeds to my +brief discouragement a state of mind in which it appears to me so +foolish and so cowardly to fret because I see a change in my face, to +mourn the careless light-heartedness of my youth, to rebel against the +laws of nature in a burst of angry regret, that I am overcome with +shame. I rouse myself, I scramble to my feet, I seize hold of my faith, +my hopes, my intentions, I set to work again with a resolution full of +joyful pride. At such moments I feel strong enough to face the approach +of my thirtieth year, to await with serenity disillusionments, white +hairs, sorrows. infirmities, and old age, my mind's eye fixed upon a +far-off point of light that seems to grow larger as I advance. I march +on with renewed courage; and to the noisy and drunken crew calling out +to me to join them, I answer, No!--and to the knights of the doleful +countenance, who shake their heads and say, "What if it were not true?" +--I answer, without turning my eyes from that distant light, No!--and to +the grave, proud men who point to their books and writings, and say with +a smile of pity and derision, "It is all a dream!"--I answer, with my +eyes still upon that far-off light, and the great cry of a man who sees +a ghost in his path, No! Ah, at such moments, what matters it that I +must grow old and die? I toil, I wait, I believe! + + + +VIII. + +Most of my classmates have undergone the same change. Their faces have +grown older, or sadder, as Leopardi would have us say; but with the +faces the souls have grown graver also. I have spoken of certain changes +in my friends that saddened me; but there are others which make me glad. +Now and then it has happened to me to come across some of the most +careless, happy-go-lucky of my classmates, and to be filled with wonder +when I hear them speak of their country, of their work, of the duties to +be performed, of the future to be prepared for. Owing, perhaps, to the +many and great events of these last years, their characters have been +suddenly and completely transformed. Some ruling motive--ambition, +family cares, or the mere instinctive love of study--has gathered +together and focused their vague thoughts and scattered powers; has +brought about the habit of reflection, and turned their thoughts towards +the great problem of life; has given to all a purpose, and a path to +travel, and left them no time to mourn the vanished past. We have all +entered upon our second youth, with some disillusionments, with a little +experience, and with the conviction that happiness--what little of it is +given to us on earth--is not obtained by struggling, storming, and +clamoring to heaven and earth WE MUST HAVE IT!--but is slowly distilled +from the inmost depths of the soul by the long persistence of quiet +toil. Humble hopes have succeeded to our splendid visions; steady +resolves, to our grand designs; and the dazzling vision of war, the +goddess promising glory and delirium, has been replaced by the image of +Italy, our mother, who promises only--and it is enough--the lofty +consolation of having loved and served her. + + + +IX. + +Our souls have emerged fortified from the sorrow of the lost war. + +One day, surely, Italy will re-echo from end to end with the great cry, +"Come!"--and we shall spring to our feet, pale and proud, with the +answering shout, "We are ready!" + +Then, in the streets of our cities, thronged with people, with soldiers, +horses, and wagons, amidst the clashing of arms and the blare of +trumpets, we classmates shall meet again. I shall see them once more, +many of them, perhaps, only for that short hour, some only for a moment. +At night, in the torchlit glare of a railway-station, we shall meet +again, and greet each other in silence, hand in hand and eye to eye. No +shouting, no songs, no joyous clamor, no vision of triumphal marches, no +veiling of death's image in the light hopefulness of reunion; we shall +say but one word to each other--good-bye--and that good-bye will be a +promise, a vow; that good-bye will mean, "This time, there will be no +descending from the mountains; you and I, lad, will be left lying on the +summit." + +And often, traversing a long expanse of time, I evoke the vision of +distant battle-fields on which the lot of Italy is decided. My fancy +hastens from valley to valley, from hill to hill; and at all the most +difficult passages, at all the posts of danger, I see one of my old +classmates, a gray-haired colonel or general, at the head of his +regiment or of his brigade; and I love to picture him at the moment +when, attacked by a heavy force of the enemy, he directs the defence. + +The two sides have joined battle, and from a neighboring height, he +observes the fighting below. Poor friend! At that moment, perhaps, life +and honor hang in the balance; thirty years of study, of hopes, of +sacrifices, are about to be crowned with glory or scattered like a +handful of dust down that green slope at his feet--it all hangs on a +thread. Pale and motionless he stands there watching, the sabre +trembling in his convulsive grasp. I am near him, my eye is upon his +face, I feel and see and tremble with him, I live his life. + +Courage, friend! Your spirit has passed into your men, the fight is +theirs, never fear! That uncertain movement over there towards the right +wing is but the momentary confusion caused by some inequality of the +ground; they are not falling back, man. Listen, the shouts are louder, +the firing grows heavier, the last battalion has been thrown into +action, all your men are fighting. Ah! how his gaze hurries from one end +of the line to the other, how pale he has grown; life seems suspended. +What are those distant voices? What flame rushes to his face? What is +this smile, this upward glance? Victory!--but, by God, man, rein in your +horse, look at me--here I am, your old classmate who holds out his arms +to you--and now off, down to the battlefield among your soldiers--and +God be with you! + +He has put his charger to the gallop and disappeared. + +And who knows how many of my friends may find themselves some day, at +some hour of their lives, face to face with such an ordeal? Who knows +how many an act of patriotism will make their names illustrious, how +dear to the people some of these names may become? What if some day I +were to see the youth who sat next to me in the class-room or at table, +or slept beside me in the dormitory, riding through the streets on a +white horse, in a general's uniform, covered with flowers and surrounded +by rejoicing crowds? And who knows--may I not knock at the door of some +other, and throw my arms about the pale, sad figure, grown ten years +older in a few months; telling him that the popular verdict is unjust, +that there are many who know that he is not to blame for the disaster, +that sooner or later the excitement will subside, and the victims of the +first rash judgment be restored to honor; that his name is still dear +and respected, that he must not despond, that he must take heart and +keep on hoping? + +Ah, when I think of the fierce trials that life has in store for many of +my classmates, of all that they may do to benefit their country, of all +that their glory will cost them; when I, who have left the army, think +of all this, I feel that, not to be outdone by my old school-fellows in +paying the debt of gratitude that I owe my country, I ought to toil +without ceasing, to spend my nights in study, to treasure my youth and +strength as a means of sustaining my intellectual effort; that, in order +to preach the beauty of goodness, I ought to lead a blameless life; that +I ought to keep alive that glowing affection, a spark of which I may +sometimes communicate to others; to study children, the people, and the +poor, and to write for their benefit; to let no ignoble word fall from +my pen, to sacrifice all my inclinations to the common welfare, never to +lose heart, never to strive for approval, to hope for nothing and long +for nothing but the day on which I may at last say to myself: I have +done what I could, my life has not been useless, I am satisfied. + + + +X. + +And this is the thought that comes to me in closing: I should like to +have before me a lad of seventeen, well-bred and kindly, but ignorant of +the human heart, as we all are at that age; and putting a friendly hand +on his shoulder, I should like to say to him: + +"Do you want to make sure of a peaceful and untroubled future? Treat +your friends as considerately as you would a woman, for, believe me, +every harsh word or ill-mannered act (however excusable, however long- +forgotten) will return some day to pain and trouble you. Recalling my +friends after all these years, I remember a quarrel that I had with one +of them, a sharp word exchanged with another, the resolve, maintained +for many months, not to speak to a third. Puerilities, if you like, and +yet how glad I should be not to have to reproach myself with them! And, +though I feel sure that they have made no more impression upon others +than upon myself, how much I wish for an opportunity of convincing +myself of the fact, of dissipating any slight shadow that may have +lingered in the minds of my friends! + +"When one's youth is almost past, and one thinks of the years that have +flown so quickly and of those that will fly faster yet, of the little +good one has done and the little there is still time to accomplish, the +pride that set one against one's friends seems so petty, ridiculous and +contemptible a sentiment, that one longs for the power of returning to +the past, of renewing the old discussions in a friendly tone, of +extending a conciliatory hand in place of every angry shrug, of seeking +out the friends one has offended, looking them in the face and saying, +'Shall bygones be bygones, old man?'" + + + +XI. + +Dear friends! If only because it was in your company that I first +wandered over my country, how could my thoughts cease to seek you out, +my heart to desire you? + +When, from the ship's deck, I saw the gulf of Naples whiten in the +distance, and clasping my hands, laughing and thinking of my mother, I +cried out, It is a dream!--when, from the summit of the Noviziate pass +my gaze for the first time embraced Messina, the straits, the Appennines +and the cape of Spartivento, and I said to myself, half-sadly, Here +Italy ends;--when, from the top of Monte Croce, beyond the vast plain +swarming with German regiments, I first beheld the towers of Verona, and +stretching out my arms, as though fearful of their vanishing, cried out +to them, Wait!--when, from the dike of Fusina, I saw Venice, far-off, +azure, fantastic, and cried with wet eyes, Heavenly!--when Rome, +surrounded by the smoke of our batteries, first burst upon me from the +height of Monterondo, and I shouted, She is ours!--always, everywhere, +one of you was beside me, to seize my arm and cry out: How beautiful is +Italy!--always one of you to mingle your tears, your laughter and your +poetry with mine! + +There is not a spot of Italy, not a joyful occurrence, nor profound +emotion, which is not associated in my mind with the clank of a sword +saying, 'I am here!'--and the hand-clasp of one of you, making me pause +and wonder what has become of such an one, what he is doing and +thinking, and whether he too remembers the good days we spent together. + +It may fall to my lot to meet, in the future, many faithful, dear and +generous friends, whose smiling images I already picture to myself; but +beyond their throng I shall always see your plumes waving and the +numbers glittering on your caps; I shall always hurry towards you, +crying out: Let us talk of our college days, of our travels, of war, of +soldiers, and of Italy! + + + +XII. + +We old classmates will many of us doubtless live to see the twentieth +century. Strange thought! I know, of course, that the transition from +nineteen hundred to nineteen hundred and one will seem as natural as +that from ninety-nine to a hundred, or from this year to next. And yet +it seems to me that to see the first dawn of the new century will be +like reaching the summit of some high mountain, and looking out over new +countries and new horizons. I feel as though, that morning, something +unexpected and marvellous would be revealed to us; as though there would +be a sense almost of terror in finding one's self face to face with it; +a sense of having been hurled, by some unseen power, from brink to brink +of a measureless abyss. + +Idle fancies! I know well enough what we shall be like when that time +comes. I see a sitting-room with a fireplace in the corner, or rather +many sitting-rooms with many fireplaces, and many old men seated, chin +in hand, in arm-chairs near the hearth. Near by stands a table with a +lamp on it, surrounded by a circle of children, or of nephews and +nieces, who nudge each other and point to their father or uncle, +whispering, "Hush--he's asleep;"--and laughing at the grotesque +expression that sleep has given to our wrinkled faces. + +And then perhaps we shall wake, and the children will surround us, +begging, as usual, for stories of "a long time ago," and asking with +eager curiosity, "Uncle, did you ever see General Garibaldi?"--"Father, +were you ever close to King Victor Emmanuel?"--"Grandpapa, did you ever +hear Count Cavour speak?" + +"Why, yes, child, many and many a time!" + +"Oh, do tell us, what were they like? Did they look like their +portraits? How did they talk?" + +And we shall tell them everything, and gradually, as we talk, our voices +will regain their old vigor, our cheeks will glow, and we shall watch +with delight the brightening of those eager eyes, the proud uplifting of +those innocent brows, and the impatient movement of the little hands, +signing to us, at each pause, to go on with the story. + +And what will have befallen the world by that time? Will a Victor +Emmanuel III. rule over Italy? Will the Bersaglieri be at Trent? Will +one of our old friends, attached to the Ministry of the Interior, have +been made Governor of Tunis? Will France have passed through another +series of empires, republics, communes, and monarchies? Will the +threatened invasion of northern barbarians have taken place? Will +England also have received her coup-de-grace? Shall we have experimented +with a Commune? Will our great poet have been born? The Church have been +reformed? Rome rebuilt? Will there be any armies in those days? And we-- +what standing shall we have in our village or town? What shall we have +done? How shall we have lived? + +Ah, whatever has happened, whatever fate awaits us, if we have worked, +and loved, and believed--then, when we sit at sunset in the big arm- +chair on the terrace, and think of our families, of our friends, of the +mountains, of the carnivals, of the Tyrrhenian islands that we dreamed +of in our college days, we shall be sad, indeed, at the thought of +parting before long from such dear souls and from so beautiful a +country; but our faces will brighten with a smile serene and quiet as +the dawn of a new youth, and tempering the bitterness of farewell with +the tacit pledge of reunion. + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Stories by Foreign Authors: Italian, by Various + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOREIGN STORIES: ITALIAN *** + +This file should be named s4fit10.txt or s4fit10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, s4fit11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, s4fit10a.txt + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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