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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b24cb7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63962 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63962) diff --git a/old/63962-0.txt b/old/63962-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 943f275..0000000 --- a/old/63962-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9711 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ashes, by Grazia Deledda - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Ashes - A Sardinian Story - -Author: Grazia Deledda - -Translator: Helen Hester Colvill - -Release Date: December 5, 2020 [EBook #63962] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASHES *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by The Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -_ASHES_ - -(_CENERE_) - - -_A SARDINIAN STORY_ - -_BY_ - -_GRAZIA DELEDDA_ - - -_TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN_ - -_BY_ - -_HELEN HESTER COLVILL_ - - -_Author of "The Stepping-Stone," -&c., and Translator of Grazia -Deledda's "Nostalgia," the Serial -in the Fortnightly Review, 1895. - -_LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD_ - -_NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPY. MCMVIII_ - - - - -CONTENTS - -PART I -Chapter -I -II -III -IV -V -VI -VII -VIII - -PART II -Chapter -I -II -III -IV -V -VI -VII -VIII -IX - - - - -_ASHES_ - - - - -PART I - -I - - -It was the night of Midsummer Eve. Olì came forth from the white-walled -Cantoniera[1] on the Mamojada road, and hurried away across the fields. -She was fifteen, well-grown and beautiful, with very large, very bright, -feline eyes of greenish grey, and a sensuous mouth of which the cleft -lower lip suggested two ripe cherries. She wore a red petticoat and -stiff brocade bodice sustaining and defining her bosom; from the red cap -tied under her prominent chin, issued two braids of glossy black hair -twisted over her ears. This hair-dressing and the picturesque costume -gave the girl an almost Oriental grace. Her fingers were heavily ringed, -and she carried long streamers of scarlet ribbon, with which to "_sign -the flowers of St John_," that is, to mark those bunches of mullein, -thyme, and asphodel which she must pick to-morrow at dawn for the -compounding of charms and drugs. True, even were the _signing_ omitted, -there was small danger of anyone's touching Olì's selected plants; the -fields round the Cantoniera, where she lived with her father and her -little brothers, were completely deserted. Only one tumble-down house -was in sight, emerging from a field of corn like a rock out of a green -lake. - -Everywhere in the country round, the wild Sardinian spring[2] was on its -death-bed; the flowers of the asphodel, the golden balls of the broom -were dropping; the roses showed pale in the thickets, the grass was -already yellow; a hot odour of hay perfumed the heavy air. The Milky Way -and the distant splendour of the horizon, which seemed a band of far off -sea, made the night clear as twilight. The dark blue heaven and its -stars were reflected in the scanty waters of the river. On its bank, -Olì found two of her little brothers looking for crickets. - -"Go home this moment!" she said, in her beautiful, still childish voice. - -"No!" replied one of the little fellows. - -"Then you won't see the heavens burst to-night. Good children on the -night of St John see the heavens open, and then they can look into -Paradise, and see the Lord, and the angels, and the Holy Spirit. What -you'll see is a hobgoblin if you don't go straight back home!" - -"All right," said the elder, impressed; and though the other protested, -he allowed himself to be led away. - -Olì, however, went on; beyond the river, beyond the path, beyond the -dark copse of wild olive. Here and there she stooped over some plant, -which she tied with her scarlet ribbons; then straightened herself and -scanned the night with the sharp gaze of her cat-like eyes, her heart -beating with anxiety, with fear, and with joy. - -The fragrant night invited to love, and Olì was in love. She was -fifteen, and on the excuse of "signing the flowers of St John," she was -making her way to a love-tryst. - -One night six months earlier a stranger had come to the Cantoniera to -ask for some fire-kindling. He was a _contadino_ or farm-labourer sent -by the owner of the extensive fields round the tumble-down house, and -had arrived for the sowing. He was young and tall, with long black curls -and coal-black eyes so bright one could hardly look at them! Olì alone -was not afraid to meet their gaze with her own fine eyes, which were -never abashed by anyone. - -The _Cantoniere_, a man, not old, though worn with hard work, poverty, -and many troubles, received the young man kindly, gave him a flint, -catechised him about his master, and invited him to look in whenever he -liked. After this the farm-servant frequented the _Cantoniera_ -assiduously. He told stories to the children, and taught Olì where to -look for the best mushrooms and edible herbs. - -One day he took her to the ruined _nuraghe_[3] on the hill, half hidden -by thickets of red-berried thorn trees, and told her that among the huge -stones of the gigantic tomb there was a treasure hidden. - -"And I know of several other hidden treasures," he said gravely, while -Oh picked bunches of wild fennel; "I shall certainly manage to find one -of them; and then----" - -"Then what?" asked Olì half sceptical, raising her eyes, which -reflected the green of the surrounding landscape. - -"Then I will leave this place. If you will come with me, I'll take you -to the continent. Oh, I know all about the continent! I'm not long home -from my military service. I've been to Rome, to Calabria, to all sorts -of places. Over there everything is splendid. If you'll come----" - -Olì laughed softly. She was still a little ironical, but flattered and -happy. Behind the ruin, hidden in the thicket, her two little brothers -were whistling to lure a sparrow. No other human voice, no human step -was heard in the whole green immensity. The young man's arm slipped -round Olì's waist. He drew her to him and closed her eyes with kisses. - -From that day the two young things loved each other fiercely, trusting -the secret of their passion to the silent riverside thickets, to the -dark hiding-places of the solitary _nuraghes_. All her life Olì had -been oppressed by loneliness and poverty. She loved this man for all be -represented to her imagination, for the wondrous things and places he -had seen, for the town from which he had come, for the wealthy master he -served, for the plans he had traced for the future. He loved Olì for -her beauty and for the fire of her temperament. Both were thoughtless -and without conscience. Primitive, impulsive, self-pleasing, they loved -because life was exuberant in their bosoms, and enjoyment a necessity. - -The girl's mother had, it seemed, been just such another ardent and -fantastic woman. - -"She was of well-to-do family," explained Olì, "and had titled -relations. They wanted to marry her to an old man who had a great deal -of land. My grandfather, my mother's father, was a poet. He could -improvise three or four songs in one evening, and the songs were so -beautiful that when he sang them in the street everybody got them by -heart. Oh yes! my grandfather was a very great poet! I know some of his -poetry myself. My mother taught it to me. Let me repeat some to you." - -Olì recited a few verses in the dialect of Logudoro; then went on: "My -mother's brother, Uncle Merziòro Desogos, used to do painting in the -churches, and he carved pulpits. But at last he killed himself because -he had got into prison. Yes, my mother's relations belonged to the -nobility and were educated people. But she didn't choose to marry that -rich old man! She had seen my father, who at that time was as handsome -as a banner in a procession." She fell in love with him and they ran -away together. I remember her saying, "My father has cast me off, but -I don't care! Some folk love riches; I love my Micheli, and that's -enough for me!" - - -One day the _Cantoniere_ went to Nuoro the town, to buy wheat. He came -back more melancholy even than usual. - -"Olì, mind yourself. Olì!" he said, threatening his daughter with his -finger, "bad luck to that farm-servant if he sets foot in here again! He -has deceived us, even as to his name. He told us his name was Quirico; -but it isn't, it's Anania. He comes from Argosolo. The people of -Argosolo are a race of goshawks, of thieves and jail-birds! Mind -yourself, young woman! He's a married man." - -Olì wept, and her tears fell with the wheat into the great coffer of -black wood. But scarcely was the coffer shut down and Uncle Micheli[4] -gone away to his work, than the girl was off to her lover. - -"Your name is Anania! You are married!" she said, her eyes flashing with -rage. - -Anania had just completed his sowing and still carried his grain-bag. -Blackbirds sang, swinging on the olive branches. Great white clouds made -the blue of the sky more intense. All was sweetness, silence, oblivion. - -"Listen," said the young man; "it's unfortunately true I have a wife--an -old woman. They forced her upon me (as they tried to force that rich old -man upon your mother), because I was poor and she had a great deal of -money. What does it matter? She's quite old and will soon die. We are -young, Olì, and I care for no one but you I If you give me up, it will -kill me!" - -Olì was touched, and she believed all he said. - -"But what are we to do?" she asked; "my father will beat me if we go on -loving each other." - -"Have patience, my little lamb. My wife will die very soon. And even if -she doesn't, I am sure to find the treasure and then we'll go off -together to the continent." - -Olì protested; wept. She had no great faith in the treasure, but she -let the love-making continue. - -The sowing season was over, but Anania still came frequently to the -farm, to watch the corn coming up, to hoe, and to weed. At the hour of -siesta he did not sleep, but amused himself pulling down the _nuraghe_. -He said he wanted stones for a wall; really he was looking for the -treasure. - -"If it isn't here, then it's there, and I intend to find it," he said to -Olì. "You know at Maras a labourer like me found a bundle of bars of -gold. He didn't know they were gold and handed them over to the -blacksmith. The idiot! I'd have known quick enough! Giants used to live -in the _nuraghes_," he went on, "and they had all their utensils of -gold. Even the nails in their shoes were gold. Oh! treasures can always -be found if one looks for them! When I was in Rome I saw a place where -they keep gold coins and things once hidden away by those old giants. In -some parts of the world there are giants alive still, and they are so -rich that their scythes and their ploughs are all made of silver." - -He spoke seriously, his eyes shining with golden dreams. But he could -not have told what exactly he intended to do with the treasure when he -had found it. He looked no further than to the flight with Olì. Beyond -that all was vague. - -About Easter the girl herself had occasion to go to Nuoro. She sought -information about Anania's wife, and learned that the woman was elderly -but by no means old, and not rich at all. - -"Well," he said, when Olì reproached him for having deceived her, -"she's poor now, but when I married her she had money. After the wedding -I had to go to my military service, and I got ill and spent a lot. My -wife was ill too. Oh you don't know how expensive a long illness is! -Besides, we lent money and couldn't get it back. And I'll tell you what -I suspect! While I was away my wife sold some land and has hidden the -money she got for it. There! I'll take my oath that's it!" - -He spoke seriously, and again Olì believed. She believed because she -wished to believe, and because Anania had got her into the habit of -believing anything. He was carried away himself by his imaginations. For -instance, in his master's kitchen-garden he found a big ring of reddish -metal, and at once concluded it was gold. - -"There must be a treasure here also!" he thought, and hurried to tell -his new fancy to Olì. - -Spring now reigned over the wild country. Elderflowers were reflected in -the blue river; voluptuous fragrance rose from the warm grass. In the -clear moonlit nights, so soft, so silent, it seemed as though the -vibrating air were an intoxicating love-philtre. Olì roamed hither and -thither, her eyes misty with passion. In the long luminous twilight, in -the dazzling noons, when the distant mountains melted into the sky, her -pensive look followed her little brothers, who, half naked and dark as -bronze statuettes, made the meadows merry with their bird-like pipings; -and she thought of the day when she must leave them to go forth with -Anania. For she had seen the gold ring of his finding, and she was -filled with hope, and her blood boiled with the poison of the spring. - - -"Olì!" called Anania from the depths of the thicket. She trembled, -advanced cautiously, fell into the young man's arms. They seated -themselves on the warm grass, beside bushes of pennyroyal and wild -laurel which exhaled strong perfume. - -"I was almost prevented coming!" said the youth; "the mistress has been -brought to bed of a daughter; and my wife has gone up to help, and -wanted me to stay at home. 'No,' I told her, 'I've got to pick the -pennyroyal and the laurel to-night. Have you forgotten it's Midsummer -Eve?' So here I am." - -He fumbled at his breast, while Olì touched the laurel and asked what it -was good for. - -"Don't you know? Laurel gathered to-night is for medicine, and has other -virtues too. If you strew leaves of laurel here and there round the wall -of a vineyard or a sheepfold, no wild animal can get in to gnaw the -grapes or to carry off the lambs." - -"But you aren't a shepherd, are you?" - -"I want it for my master's vineyard; for the threshing-floor too, or the -ants will steal the grain. Won't you come when I'm beating out the -grain? There'll be lots of people: it's a holiday, and at night there'll -be singing." - -"Oh, my father wouldn't let me go," she said with a sigh. - -"How stupid of him! it's clear he doesn't know my wife. She's -decrepit--worn out like these stones! Wherever have I put it?" said -Anania, still fumbling. - -"Put what? your wife?" laughed Olì. - -"A cross. I've found a silver cross this time." - -"A silver cross? Where you found the ring? And you never told me?" - -"Ah, here it is! See, it's real silver!" He drew a packet from his arm -hole. Olì opened it, touched the little cross, and asked anxiously-- - -"Is it really silver? Then the treasure must be there!" - -She looked so pleased that Anania, who had found the cross in quite a -different place, thought it best to leave her to her illusion. - -"Yes, there in the garden. Who knows all the precious things there may -be! I shall have a search at night." - -"But won't the treasure belong to your master?" - -"No, it belongs to any one who finds it," replied Anania, and as if to -enforce his argument, he folded Olì in his arms and kissed her. - -"When I find the treasure, then you'll come?" he asked, trembling. "Say -you will, my flower! It's clear I must find it at once, for I can't go -on living without you. When I look at my old wife, I'd like to die; but -when I'm with you, Olì, then I want to live a thousand years. My -flower!" - -Olì listened, and she also trembled. Around them was deepest silence; -the stars shone like pearls, like eyes smiling with love; ever sweeter -on the air was the scent of the laurel. - -"My wife must die very soon," said Anania; "what's the good of old -people in the world? In a year we shall probably be married." - -"San Giovanni grant it!" sighed Olì. "But it's wrong to wish any one's -death. And now let me go home." - -"Ah, stay a little longer!" he supplicated. "Why should you go so soon? -What's to become of me without you?" - -But she rose, all tremulous. - -"Perhaps we'll see each other to-morrow morning. I shall be picking my -flowers before sunrise. I'll make you a charm against temptations." - -But he was not thinking about temptations. He knelt, clasping Olì in -his arms, and began to cry. - -"No, my flower, don't go! don't go! Stay a little longer, Olì, my -little lamb! You are my life. See, I kiss the ground where you put your -feet. Stay a little, or, indeed, indeed, I shall die!" - -He groaned and shook; and his voice moved Oh even to tears. - -She stayed. - -Not till autumn did Uncle Micheli perceive that his daughter had gone -wrong. Then fierce anger overpowered this wearied and suffering man, who -had known all the griefs of life except dishonour. That was unbearable. -He took Olì by the arm, and cast her out. She wept, but Uncle Micheli -was implacable. He had warned her a thousand times. He had trusted her. -Had her lover been a free man he might have forgiven. But this--No! -this, he could never pardon. - -For some days Olì found shelter in the tumble-down house round which -Anania had sown his corn. The little brothers brought her scraps of -food, till Uncle Micheli found it out and beat them. - -Now autumn was covering the heavens with great livid clouds; it rained -ceaselessly; the thickets were blown by damp winds, or they glittered -with cold hoar frost. Olì made her way to Nuoro to ask help from her -lover. Perhaps he had a presentiment of her coming, for outside the town -he met her. He was kind, he comforted her, he wrapped her in his own -jacket; he took her to Fonni, a mountain village above Mamojada. - -"Don't be frightened," said the young man; "I have a relation at Fonni, -and you'll be all right with her. Trust me, my little lamb! I will never -desert you." - -So he took her to his kinswoman, a widow with a little boy of four. When -Olì saw this child, dirty, ragged, all eyes and ears, she thought of -her little brothers and she wept. Ah! who now would care for the little -motherless ones? Who would bake their bread, or wash their little -garments in the river? And whatever would become of her father, the poor -widower, so feverish and unhappy? Ah, well----Olì cried for a day and a -night. Then she raised her head and looked about her with darkened eyes. - -Anania had gone away. The widow, pale and thin, with the face of a -spectre framed by a yellow handkerchief, sat spinning before a wretched -fire of twigs. All round was misery, rags, dirt. Great cobwebs hung -trembling from the smoke-blackened tiled roof. A few sticks of wooden -furniture gave scanty comfort. The boy with the big ears never spoke or -laughed. He was already dressed in the costume of the place with a -sheepskin cap. His only amusement was roasting chestnuts in the hot -ashes. - -"Have patience, daughter; it's the way of the world!" said Aunt Grathia -the widow, not raising her eyes from her distaff. "Oh! you'll see far -worse things if you live. We are born to suffer. When I was a girl I -also laughed; then I cried; now both laughing and crying are over." - -Olì felt her heart freeze. Oh, what griefs! what immense griefs! - -Outside, night was falling. It was bitter cold. The wind roared in the -chimney with the voice of a stormy sea. In the murky brightness of the -fire, the widow went on with her spinning, her mind busy with memory. -Olì crouched on the ground, and she too remembered--the warm night of -San Giovanni--the scent of the laurel--the light of the smiling stars. -Little Zuanne's chestnuts burst among the ashes which strewed the -hearth--the wind battered furiously at the door, like a monster scouring -the night. After a long silence the widow again spoke. - -"I also belong to a good family. This boy's father was called Zuanne. -Sons, you know, should always have their father's name, so that they may -grow up like them. Ah, yes! my husband was a very distinguished man. He -was tall as a poplar tree. Look, there's his coat hanging against the -wall." - -Olì looked round, and there, on the earthen wall, she saw a long cloak -of _orbace_,[5] among whose folds the spiders had woven their dusky -veil. - -"I shall never take it down," continued the widow, "not though I am -dying of cold. My sons may wear it when they are as clever as their -father." - -"But what was their father?" asked Olì. - -"Well," said the widow, not changing her voice, but with some animation -on her spectral countenance, "he was a robber. For ten years he was a -robber--yes, ten. He took to the country a few months after our wedding. -I used to go and visit him up there on the mountain of Gennargentu. He -hunted eagles and vultures and strayed sheep. Every time I went to see -him we used to roast a good haunch of mutton. We slept out of doors, in -the wind, on the tops of the mountains. We covered ourselves with that -cloak, and my husband's hands were always burning even when it snowed. -He kept company with----" - -"With whom?" asked Olì, forgetting her own troubles. The child was -listening too, his great ears pricked till he seemed a hare listening to -the voice of a distant fox. - -"Oh, well, with other robbers. They were all most intelligent men, -sharp, active, ready for anything, ready especially for death. Do you -suppose brigands are bad folk? You are wrong, my dear sister. They are -men who live by their wits, that's all. My husband used to say, 'In the -old days men made war on each other; that's over now, but they still -need to fight. They organize thefts, highway robberies, _bardanas_,[6] -not to do harm, but to make use of their ability and strength.'" - -"A fine sort of ability!" said Olì; "why don't they knock their heads -against a wall if they've nothing to do?" - -"You don't understand, my daughter," said the widow, proud and sad; -"it's all a matter of Fate. If you like, I will tell you how my husband -made himself a brigand." She said "made himself a brigand" with great -dignity. - -"Yes, tell me," answered Olì, shuddering a little. The shadows had -grown denser; the wind howled with a continuous thunder rumble; they -seemed in a hurricane-pervaded forest. The words, the cadaverous face of -the woman in that black surrounding, now and then momently illuminated -by a flash of livid flame, excited Olì to a childish voluptuousness of -terror. She seemed involved in one of those fearful legends which Anania -used to relate for her little brothers; and she herself, she with her -infinite wretchedness, was a part of the hideous story. - -The widow went on-- - -"We had been married a few months. We were well off, my dear. We had -corn, potatoes, chestnuts, vines, land, houses, a dog, and a horse. My -husband was a landowner. But often he had nothing to do, and then he got -bored. He used to say, 'I must set up a shop, I can't stand this -idleness. When I'm idle I get bad thoughts.' But we hadn't capital -enough to start a shop. Then one day a friend said to him, 'Zuanne -Atonzu, will you join in a _bardana_? There'll be a lot of us, and a -clever fellow as guide, and we're going to a distant village to attack -the house of a man who has three chests of money and silver. The man -who's to show the way came here to Capo di Sopra[7] on purpose to tell -us of it and to suggest a bard. We've got to cross mountains, rivers, -and forests. Come with us.' My husband told me of the invitation. -'Well,' I said, 'what do you want with the rich man's silver?' He -answered, 'I snap my fingers at the trifle I may get of the booty; but I -like the idea of mountains and forests and new things to see. I'm -curious to know how they manage these _bardanas_, and there'll be plenty -of other fellows going just to show their pluck and to pass the time. -Isn't it worse to have me sit in the tavern and get drunk?' I cried, I -implored," said the widow, twisting her thread with her skinny finger -and following the motion of her spindle with hollow eyes, "I -supplicated, but he went. He gave out he was gone to Cagliari on -business; but he went on the bardana. I stayed at home, for I was in the -family way. Afterwards he told me all about it. There were about sixty -of them, and they travelled in little groups, meeting at appointed -places to consult. Corleddu was the captain, a Goliath, strong as the -lightning, with eyes of fire and his chest covered with red hair. For -the first few days there was rain, hurricanes were unchained, torrents -rose in flood, one of the company was struck by a thunderbolt. They -marched at night by torchlight. At last they reached a forest near the -mountain of the Seven Brothers. There the Captain said, 'Brethren, the -signs of the sky are not propitious. The affair will go badly. Moreover, -I smell treachery. I believe our guide is a spy. Let us disband; and put -the thing off for another time.' Many approved, but Pilatu Barras, the -robber from Orani, (his nose had been shot off and lie wore a silver -one) got up and said, 'Brothers in God' (he always used that -expression), 'I can't have this. Rain is no sign that heaven is against -us. On the contrary annoyances are good, and teach the young to put off -softness. If the guide betrays us, we'll kill him. Come on, donkeys!' -Corleddu shook his head, and another cried out, 'Pilatu can't smell!' -Then Barras shouted, 'Brothers in God, it is dogs who smell, not -Christians. My nose is of silver and can't smell, but yours is a bone of -the dead! What I say is that if we disband, we smell of cowardice. There -are young men among us on their first expedition. If you send them away, -they'll go back to sit by the ashes of their hearths, idle, and good for -nothing. Come on, donkeys!' They went on. Corleddu was right, the guide -was a traitor. Soldiers were waiting in the rich man's house. There was -a fight and many of the robbers were wounded; others were recognized, -one was killed. Lest he should be recognized, his comrades stripped him, -cut off his head, and buried it and his clothes far away in the forest. -My husband was recognized, so after that he had to become a bandit. I -lost my baby." - -The widow had stopped spinning, her spindle fell on her lap and she -spread out her hands to the fire. Olì shuddered with cold, with horror, -with a fearful pleasure. How dreadful, how poetic, was all this the -widow was telling! Olì had always imagined robbers were wicked. No, -they were brave, wise, pushed by destiny; just as she herself was being -pushed---- - -"Now we'll have supper!" said the widow, rousing herself. She got up, -lighted a rude lamp of blackened iron, and prepared the meal; potatoes, -always potatoes, for two days Olì had eaten nothing but potatoes, and a -couple of chestnuts. - -"Anania is your relation?" asked the girl, after they had eaten for some -time in silence. - -"Yes, a distant relation of my husband's. He's from Argosolo, not Fonni. -But," said the widow, shaking her head contemptuously, "Anania's not at -all like the blessed one! My man would have hung himself from an oak -tree sooner than do this vile action of Anania's, my poor sister!" - -Olì burst into tears. She retired to the chimney corner, and when -little Zuanne seated himself near her, she drew his head to her knee, -and held one of his little hard, dirty hands, thinking of her lost -little brothers. - -"They are like little naked birds," she cried, "left in the nest when -their mother is shot and doesn't come back. Oh, who will feed them? The -little one can't even undress himself!" - -"Then he can sleep in his clothes," said the widow grimly; "what are you -crying for, idiot? You should have thought of all that before; it's -useless now. You must be patient. The Lord God doesn't forget even the -birds in the nest." - -"What a storm! What a storm!" lamented Olì; then asked suddenly, "Do -you believe in ghosts, Aunt Grathia?" - -"I?" said the widow, putting out the lamp and resuming her spindle, "I -believe neither in the dead nor in the living." - -Zuanne lifted his head and said softly, "I'm here," then hid his face -again in Olì's lap. - -The widow continued her recital. - -"After that I had a son. His name is Fidele, and he's eight years old -and has gone to work at a sheepfold. Then I had this one. We are very -poor now, sister. My husband wasn't dishonest, you know; he had lived on -his own property, and that's why we had to sell everything except just -this house." - -"How did he die?" asked the girl, caressing the head of the apparently -sleeping child. - -"How did he die? Oh, on one of his expeditions. He never got into -prison," said the widow, proudly, "though the police were after him like -hunters after a boar. He was clever at hiding, and when the police were -looking for him on the mountains, he would be spending the night -here--yes, here, at this hearth where you are sitting now." - -The child looked up, his two great ears suddenly on fire; then sank -again on Olì's lap. - -"Yes, I tell you, here. One day, two years ago, he learned that a patrol -was searching the hills for him, and he sent to tell me, 'While they are -busy at that I'm going to take part in a job; on the way back, I'll stop -with you, little wife. Look out for me.' I looked out three nights, -four. I span a whole hank of black wool." - -"Where was he?" - -"Don't you understand? On a _bardana_, of course!" cried the widow -impatiently. Then she dropped her voice. "I waited four nights, but I -was anxious. Every step I heard set my heart beating. The fourth night -passed. My heart had shrunk, till it was as little as an almond. Then I -heard a beating at the door. I opened. 'Woman, wait no longer,' said a -man with a mask over his face. And he gave me my husband's cloak. -Ah----" the widow gave a sigh which was almost a groan. Then she was -silent. - -Olì watched her a long time. Suddenly her gaze was attracted to the -frightened gaze of the little Zuanne, whose hands, hard and brown as the -claws of a bird, were clenching themselves, and fingering the wall. - -"What is it? What do you see?" - -"Dead man!" lisped the child. - -"What? A dead man?" said Olì laughing. - -But when she was in bed, alone in a grey, cold garret, round whose roof -the wind screeched ever louder, searching and hammering the rafters, -Olì thought of the widow's story; of the mask who had said, 'Woman, -wait no more'; of the long black cloak hanging on the wall; of the child -who had seen the dead man. And she thought of the little naked birds in -the deserted nest; of her poor little neglected brothers; of Anania's -treasure; of midsummer night; and of her dead mother. She was -afraid--she was sad, so sad that though she believed herself doomed to -hell, she longed to die. - - -[Footnote 1: The man in charge of a portion of the high road is called -the _Cantoniere_, and lives in the _Cantoniera_.] - -[Footnote 2: _Primavera_: we should call it, in June, early summer.] - -[Footnote 3: Prehistoric ruin.] - -[Footnote 4: In Sardinia the older persons are given the titles of Uncle -and Aunt.] - -[Footnote 5: Coarse woollen stuff.] - -[Footnote 6: Brigandage committed by a large number in concert.] - -[Footnote 7: The province of Sassari] - - - - -II - - -Olì's son was born at Fonni in the springtime. He was called Anania by -the advice of his godmother, the bandit's widow. He passed his infancy -at Fonni, and in his imagination never forgot that strange village -perched on the mountain crest, like a slumbering vulture. - -During the long winter, Fonni was all snow and fog; but with the spring -grass invaded even the steep village street, where beetles slept among -the big, sun-warmed cobblestones, and ants ran confidingly in and out of -their holes. The meagre brown houses with their roofs of _scandule_ -(wooden tiles overlapping each other like fish-scales), showed on the -street side narrow black doorways, balconies of rotten wood, little -stairs often vine-garlanded. The Basilica of the Martyrs, with its -picturesque belfry, rose among the green oaks of the old Convent court, -dominating the whole little town and carved against a sky of crystalline -blue. Fabulous beauty reigned on all sides. The tall mountains of the -Gennargentu, their luminous summits outlined as it were with silver, -crowned the great Barbagia valley, which in a succession of immense -green shells rose to the hill-tops; among these Fonni with its scaled -roofs and stony streets, defied the thunder and the winds. The district -was in winter almost deserted, for its numerous population of wandering -shepherds (men strong as the blast, and astute as foxes) descended with -their flocks to the warm southern plains. But in the fine weather, a -continuous coming and going of horses, dogs, shepherds, old and young, -animated the mountain paths. Zuanne, the widow's son, at eleven years -old was already a herdsman. He led goats belonging to different persons -to pasture on the far side of the wilderness which surrounded the -village. At dawn, he passed down the street whistling, and the goats -knowing the sound came leaping out of the houses to follow him. Towards -evening he brought them back to the entrance of the village; from there -the intelligent creatures went off by themselves to the houses of their -masters. Zuanne of the big ears, was generally accompanied by his friend -and brother, the little Anania. They were barefoot and wore jackets and -cloaks of _orbace_, long breeches of coarse cloth, sheepskin caps. -Anania had watering eyes and a perpetual cold in his head. With tongue -or finger he rubbed his dirty face into strange patterns of moustachios -and whiskers. - -While the goats fed among the rocks, green with eglantine and aromatic -herbs, the two children roamed about. They descended to the road and -threw stones at the passers-by; they penetrated into potato plantations -where strong wary women were at work; they sought wind-falls in the -great damp shadows of the gigantic walnut trees. Zuanne was tall and -lithe: Anania stronger and for his age bolder. They were both -story-tellers of extraordinary ingenuity, and were excited by strange -fancies. Zuanne was always talking of his father, boasting of him, -resolving to follow his example, and to avenge his memory. Anania meant -to be a soldier. - -"I'll catch you," he said calmly, and Zuanne the brigand replied with -alacrity, "I'll murder you." - -They often played at banditti, armed with guns of cane. They had a -suitable den, and Anania the soldier never succeeded in discovering the -robber, though the latter cried Cuckoo from the thicket in which he -crouched. A real cuckoo would answer from the distance, and often the -children, forgetting their murderous intent, would go off in search of -the melancholy bird--a search no more successful than the search for the -robber. When they seemed quite close to the mysterious voice, it would -sob further off, and still further. Then the little brothers in -ill luck, buried in the grass, or outstretched on the mossy rock, would -punish the cuckoo with questions. Zuanne being shy only said-- - - -_Cuccu bellu agreste Cuckoo, beautiful wild thing, -Narami itte ora est._ Tell me what o'clock doth ring. - - -and the bird would call seven times when he ought to have answered ten. -Nevertheless Anania ventured bolder demands. - - -_Cuccu bellu e' mare Cuckoo, beauty of the sea, -Cantos annos bi cheret a How many years shall marry -m'isposare?_ me? - - -"Cu--cu--cu--cu." - -"Four years, you little devil! You're going to marry young!" -sang out Zuanne. - -"Be quiet. He didn't hear me." - - -_Cuccu bellu 's lizu Cuckoo, beauty of lily fair, -Cantos annos bi cheret a fagher In how many years shall my -fixu?_ son be here? - - -This time the cuckoo gave a reasonable answer, and the children in the -great silence, broken only by the melancholy oracle, went on with -questions not entirely merry. - - -_Cuccu, bellu e sorre Cuckoo, beauty and sister dear. -Cantos annos bi cheret a mi In how many years will my -morrer?_ death draw near? - - -Once Anania went away by himself. He walked along the high road, up and -up; then crossed the copses and climbed among the granite boulders, -traversing long hollows covered with the little violet flowers of the -heather. At last he reached the top of what seemed an immense mountain. -The sun had vanished, but he fancied there were great fires flaming -behind the purple hills of the horizon, and sending up burning light -over the whole sky. Anania was frightened by the red heaven; by the -height he had reached, and the terrible silence which surrounded him. He -thought of Zuanne's father and looked round in a panic. Ah! though he -meant to be a soldier he was mortally afraid of robbers! and the long -black cloak on the sooty wall at home gave him spasms of terror. Almost -head over heels he fled from his peak and was glad when he heard Zuanne -calling him. Zuanne's great wish was to see the brigands; so Anania told -him where he had been and described the black mountains and the flaming -sky; then added that he had seen them. The widow's son was first -contemptuous, then excited. He looked at Anania with respect, as -thoughtful and taciturn they returned home together, followed by the -goats whose little bells tinkled plaintively in the silence of the -twilight. - -When he was not running beside Zuanne, little Anania passed the day in -the great court of the church of the Martyrs. He played with the sons of -the wax-candle-maker, who had his workshop close by. The quiet Courtyard -was shadowed by great trees, and surrounded by an arcade falling into -ruin. A little stone stair led to the church, on the simple facade of -which a cross was painted. Anania and the candlemaker's children spent -hours on the little stair, playing with the pebbles and making little -candles of chalk. A yawning carabiniere[8] used to stand at the window -of the ancient convent; in the cells military boots and tunics were -visible; and a voice might be heard singing in falsetto with a -Neapolitan accent-- - - -"_A te questo rosario_"-- - - -Some monk--one of the few left in the damp and decadent spot--dirty, -tattered, with broken sandals, would pass through the court mumbling his -prayers in dialect. Sometimes the soldier at the window, the friar on -the staircase, amused themselves talking to the children. The -_carabiniere_ would turn sharp to Anania and ask news of his mother. - -"What's she doing?" - -"She's spinning." - -"What else does she do?" - -"She goes to the fountain for water." - -"Tell her to come here. I want to speak to her." - -"Yes, Sir," answered the little innocent. - -He gave the message to Olì. Though he had once seen her talking to the -soldier, she was angry and boxed his ears. She told him not to go back -to the courtyard; but of course he disobeyed as he could not live -without either Zuanne or the wax-candlemaker's children. - -Except on Sunday, and on the Feast of the Martyrs in spring, sad -solitude reigned in the great sunshiny court, in the ruined arcades -which smelt of wax, under the big walnut tree, which to Anania seemed -taller than the Gennargentu, in the Basilica where the pictures and -stucco ornaments were perishing of neglect. Yet in his after life the -boy remembered with nostalgic sweetness that deserted spot; and the oats -which in spring used to come up between the stones, and the rusty leaves -of the walnut tree falling in autumn like the feathers of a dying bird. -Zuanne who was devoured with longing to play in the courtyard, and who -was bored when Anania deserted him, was jealous of the candlemaker's -children, and did his best to keep his friend away from them. - -"I want you to-morrow," he said to the younger boy, while they roasted -chestnuts in the ashes; "I've got a hare's nest to show you. She has -such a lot of little ones and they're as small as your fingers! They're -quite naked, with long ears. Eh! their ears are as long as the devil's!" -he ended, drawing on his invention. Anania went in search of the -leverets, and of course didn't find them. Zuanne swore he had seen them, -that they must have run away, that it showed Anania's folly in not -having looked for them sooner. - -"You waste all your time with _them_," he said scornfully; "well, they -can make wax hares for you! I'd have caught the whole nestful of the -real ones, if I hadn't been waiting to show them to you. Well, now we'll -look for a crow's nest." - -The little goatherd did all he could to amuse Anania, but the young -child found the autumn mists cold on the mountains, and he stayed among -the houses. In those days he saw little of his mother and treasured up -few remembrances of her. She was always out. She worked by the day in -fields or houses. She dug potatoes and came home late, worn out, livid -with cold, famished. Anania's father had not been to Fonni for a long -time; the boy had no recollection of ever having seen him. - -It was the bandit's widow who to a certain extent mothered the poor -little love-child, and of her he retained pleasant memories. The widow -had rocked him and hushed him to sleep with the melancholy wail of -strange dirges. She washed his head, she cut his nails, she blew his -nose violently. Every evening she sat spinning by the fire and telling -the heroic deeds of her bandit. The children listened greedily; but Olì -no longer cared for the stories and often went away to lie down on her -bed in the garret. Anania's sleeping place was at her feet. Often when -he went up he found his mother already asleep, but cold as ice; and he -tried to warm her feet with his own little hot ones. More than once he -heard her sob in the silence of the night, but he was too much in awe of -her to ask her why. - -He consulted Zuanne on the subject, and the little goatherd thought it -his duty to impart certain information to his friend. - -"You ought to know," he said, "that you're a bastard; your father isn't -married to your mother. There are lots of people like that, you know," -he added consolingly. - -"Why didn't he marry her?" - -"Because he had a wife already. He'll marry her when that one dies." - -"When will that one die?" - -"When God wills. Your father used to come and see us, so I know him." - -"What's he like?" asked Anania, frowning under an impulse of hatred -towards this unknown father who didn't come to see him. This was -probably what his mother cried about at night. - -"Well," said Zuanne, cudgelling his memory, "he's tall and very handsome -with eyes like fireflies. He has a soldier's coat." - -"Where is he?" - -"At Nuoro, Nuoro is a great city which can be seen from the Gennargentu. -I know the Monsignore at Nuoro, because he christened me." - -"Have you been there? To Nuoro?" - -"Of course I have," said Zuanne, lying. - -"I don't believe it. You haven't been there. I remember you haven't been -there!" - -"I was there before you was born, that's how it was!" - -After this Anania went willingly with Zuanne even when it was cold. He -kept asking questions about his father and about Nuoro and the road to -that city. At night he dreamed of the road, and saw a city with so many, -many churches, with such big, big houses, and mountains higher than even -the Gennargentu. - -One day late in November Olì went to Nuoro for the feast of Le Grazie. -When she came back she had a quarrel with Aunt Grathia. Indeed latterly -she had been quarrelling with every one and slapping the children. -Anania heard her crying the whole night through, and though she had -beaten him yesterday he was full of pity. He would have liked to say-- - -"Never mind, mother dear. Zuanne says if he was like me that he'd go to -Nuoro the moment he was grown up and find his father and make him come -to see us. But I am ready to go before I'm grown up. Let me go, dear -mother!" But he dared not utter a word. - -It was still night when Olì rose, went to the kitchen, came back, went -down a second time, returned with a bundle. - -"Get up!" she bade the child. - -She helped him to dress; then put a chain round his neck from which hung -a little bag of green brocade strongly sewn.[9] - -"What's in it?" asked the child, fingering the little packet. - -"It's a _ricetta_, a receipt which will bring you good fortune. An old -monk I met on the road gave it to me. Mind you always wear it on your -chest, next your skin. Don't ever lose it." - -"What was the monk like? Had he a long beard? Had he a stick?" - -"Yes, a beard and a stick." - -"Was it _he_?" - -"Who?" - -"The Lord Jesus." - -"Perhaps!" said Olì. "Well, promise you'll never lose the little bag. -Swear it." - -"I swear on my conscience," said Anania, much impressed. "Is the chain -strong?" - -"Very strong." - -Olì took the bundle, clasped the child's hand in hers, and led him to -the kitchen. There she gave him a bowl of coffee and a piece of bread. -Then she threw an old sack over his shoulders and they went out. - -It was dawn. - -The cold was intense. Fog filled the valley and hid the immense cloister -of mountains. Here and there a snow-dad summit emerged like a silvery -cloud. Monte Spada, a huge block of bronze, now and then appeared for a -moment through the moving veil of vapour. Anania and his mother crossed -the deserted street and stepped out into the mist. They began to descend -the high road which went down lower and lower into a distance full of -mystery. Anania's little heart beat; for the grey, damp road, watched -over by the outermost houses of Fonni, whose scaled roofs seemed black -wings plucked of their feathers, this road which continuously descended -towards an unknown, cloud-filled abyss--was the road to Nuoro. - -Mother and son walked fast. The boy often had to run, but he did not -tire. He was used to running, and the lower they descended the more -excited he felt, hot and eager as a bird. More than once he asked-- - -"Where are we going, mother?" - -Once she answered, "To pick chestnuts." Another time, "Into the -country." Another, "You will see." Anania danced, ran, stumbled, rolled. -Now and then he felt his chest for the charm. The fog was lifting. High -up the sky appeared, a watery blue, furrowed, as it were, by long -streaks of white lead. The mountains showed livid through the mist. At -last a ray of pale sunshine illuminated the little church of Gonare, -which on the top of a pyramidal mountain stood up against a background -of leaden cloud. - -"Is that where we're going?" asked Anania, pointing to a wood of -chestnut trees. Drops hung from the leaves and from the bursting thorny -fruit. A little bird cried in the silence of the hour and the place. - -"Further on," said Olì. - -Anania resumed his delightful running. Never in any excursion had he -pushed so far. The continued descent, the changed nature, the grass -slopes, the moss-grown walls, the spinnies of hazel, the red berries on -the thorn trees, the little chirruping birds, all seemed to him new and -glorious. - -The fog vanished. A triumphant sun cleared the mountains. The clouds -over Monte Gonare had become a beautiful golden pink. The little church -was so distinct against them that it seemed near. - -"But where the devil is this place?" asked little Anania, opening his -hands with a gesture of great contempt. - -"We are getting near. Are you tired?" - -"I? Tired?" he said, starting to run again. - -He began, however, to feel a little pain in his knees. He did not run so -fast. He walked by Olì's side and chattered. But the woman, the bundle -on her head, her face white, circles round her eyes, hardly heeded him -and made absent answers. - -"Shall we come back to-night? Why didn't you let me tell Zuanne? Is the -wood far off? Is it at Mamojada?" - -"Yes, at Mamojada." - -"When is the _festa_ at Mamojada? Is it true that Zuanne has been at -Nuoro? This is the road to Nuoro, I know that. And it takes ten hours to -walk to Nuoro. Have you been to Nuoro? When is the _festa_ at Nuoro?" - -"It's over. It was the other day. Would you like to go to Nuoro?" asked -Olì, rousing herself. - -"Of course, I should. And then--then----" - -"You know your father is at Nuoro?" said Olì, guessing his thought. -"Would you like to be with him?" - -Anania considered. Then he wrinkled his brows, and answered, "Yes." - -What was he thinking when he said that? His mother did not ask. She only -said-- - -"Shall I take you to him?" - -"Yes," said the child. - -Towards noon they halted beside a garden. A woman, with her petticoats -sewn between her legs like pantaloons, was hoeing vigorously. A white -cat sometimes followed the woman, sometimes darted after a green lizard -which now appeared now vanished among the stones of the wall. Ever -afterwards Anania remembered these details. The day had become warm, the -sky blue. The mountains were grey as if dried by the sun; the dark woods -flecked with light. The sun had warmed the grass and waked sparkles in -the streamlets. - -Olì sat on the ground, opened her bundle, took out some bread, and -called Anania who had climbed on the wall to watch the woman and the -cat. Just then the post-carriage, which was coming down from Fonni, -appeared at the turn of the road. It was driven by a big, red-haired man -with a moustache and puffy cheeks which made him seem perpetually -laughing. - -Olì tried to hide, but the big man had seen her. - -"Where are you going, little woman?" - -"Where I choose," she answered in a low voice. - -Anania still on the wall, peeped into the coach. It was empty, and he -cried, "Take me in it, Uncle Batusta, take me!" - -"But where are you going? Come!" said the big man, drawing up. - -"If you must know, we're going to Nuoro," said Olì eating as she spoke; -"it would be a charity to give us a lift. We're as tired as donkeys!" - -"Listen," said the big man, "go on to the other side of Mamojada, I have -to stop there. After that I'll pick you up." - -He kept his promise. Presently the wayfarers were sitting beside him on -the box seat. He began to gossip with Olì. Anania was tired, but he -felt acute pleasure in his position between his mother and this big man -with the long whip, in the fresh fields and blue sky framed by the hood -of the vehicle, in the swift trot of the horses. The greater mountains -had now all disappeared; and the child thought of how Zuanne would envy -him this long journey into a new district. "What a lot I shall tell him -when I go home," he thought; "I'll say to him, 'I have ridden in a coach -and you haven't.'" - -"Why the devil are you going to Nuoro?" the big man was asking Olì. - -"If you wish to know," she answered him, "I'm going to service. I've -arranged with a good mistress. It's hopeless living at Fonni. The widow -of Zuanne Atonzu has turned me out." - -"That's not true," thought Anania. Why did his mother lie? Why didn't -she say the truth that she was going to Nuoro to find her boy's father? -Well, she probably had her reasons for lying. Anania did not bother -himself, especially as he was sleepy. - -He leaned against his mother and shut his eyes. - -"Who's at the _Cantoniera_ now?" asked Olì suddenly. "Is my father -there still?" - -"No, he's gone." - -She sighed heavily. The vehicle stopped for a moment then rolled on. -Anania was asleep. - - -At Nuoro, he became aware of delusions. Was this the city of his dreams? -Well, yes, the houses were bigger than the houses at Fonni, but not at -all so big as he had expected. The mountains, sombre against the violet -sky, were small, quite ridiculous. The streets, however, seemed wide; -and the children in them were very impressive, for in speech and in -garments they were quite unlike the children of Fonni. - -Till evening, mother and son wandered about Nuoro. At last they went -into a church. Many people were there, the altar flamed with candles, -sweet singing was blended with a sound still sweeter which came the boy -knew not whence. Ah! that was something really beautiful! Anania thought -of Zuanne and the pleasure of describing his adventures. - -Olì whispered in his ear-- - -"Don't move till I come back. I'm going to find the friend at whose -house we shall sleep." - -He remained alone at the bottom of the church. It was alarming, but he -encouraged himself looking at the people, the candles, the flowers, the -saints. Also he had the charm hidden on his breast. That was a comfort. -Suddenly he remembered his father. Where was he? Why ever didn't they go -and find him? - -Olì soon returned. She waited till the service was over, then took her -boy's hand and led him out by a side door. They walked down several -streets. At last they got beyond the houses. It was late, it was cold; -Anania was hungry and thirsty. He felt sad, and thought of Aunt -Grathia's hearth, of the roast chestnuts, and of Zuanne's chatter. They -were in a lane bordered by hedges; the mountains, which seemed so small -to the child, were visible. - -"Look here," said Olì, and her voice shook, "did you notice the last -house with the big open door?" - -"Yes." - -"Your father's in there. You want to see him, don't you? Turn back and -go in at the big door. You'll find another door straight before you. It -will be open. Go in by that door, and look about you. It's a press where -they make oil. A tall man with his sleeves turned up and his head bare -is walking behind the horse. That is your father." - -"Aren't you coming too?" asked the boy. - -Olì shuddered. "I'll come presently. You must go in first. When you see -him, say, 'I am the son of Olì Derios!' Do you understand? Come along!" - -They turned back. Anania felt his mother's hand shake and he heard her -teeth chatter. They stopped at the big door; she bent down, arranged the -charm round the child's neck and kissed him. "Go on," she said, giving -him a push. - -Anania entered. He saw the other door, faintly illuminated, and went on. -He found himself in a black, black place, lighted only by a red furnace -upon which a cauldron was seething. A black horse went round and round, -turning a large, heavy, very oily wheel in a sort of round vat. A tall -man, bareheaded, with his sleeves turned up and all his clothes stained -black with oil, followed the horse, stirring the crushed olives in the -vat with a wooden pole. Two other men moved backwards and forwards, -pushing a screw fixed in a press, from which flowed the black and -steaming oil. Before the fire sat a boy with a red cap. - -It was this boy who first saw the stranger child. - -"Get out!" he shouted. - -Anania, frightened, but encouraged by the thought of his amulet, did not -speak. He gazed about him, bewildered, and expecting his mother to come -in. The man with the pole looked at him with shining eyes, then asked-- - -"What do you want?" - -Could this be his father? Anania looked at him shyly, then pronounced -the words his mother had taught him. - -"I am the son of Olì Derios." - -The two men who were turning the screw stopped suddenly and one of them -cried-- - -"Your brat!" - -The tall man threw his pole down, approached the child, stared, shook -him and asked-- - -"Who has sent you here? What do you want? Where's your mother?" - -"She's outside. She's coming." - -The oil-miller rushed out, followed by the boy with the red cap. But -Olì had disappeared; and nothing more was heard of her. - - -Learning what had occurred, Aunt Tatàna, the oil-miller's wife, came to -the mill. She was a woman not young, but still beautiful, fair and -plump, with soft, warm brown eyes surrounded by little wrinkles. On her -upper lip was a very faint golden moustache. Her manner was quiet, but -cheerful and kind. She put her hands on Anania's shoulders, bent down -and examined him. - -"Don't cry, poor little man!" she said gently. "Mother will come in a -few minutes! Be quiet, you!" she added, turning to the men and the boy, -who were inclined to meddle. - -Anania wept inconsolably and answered no questions. The boy kept staring -at him with wicked blue eyes and a mocking smile on his round rosy face. - -"Where has she gone? Isn't she coming? Where shall I find her?" sobbed -the deserted child desperately. Something must have happened to his -mother; she had been frightened; where could she be? Why didn't she -come? And this horrible, oily, rough man--was this his father? - -But the coaxing and gentle words of Aunt Tatàna comforted him a little. -He stopped crying, and rubbed the tears all over his cheeks in his usual -way; then thought of flight. - -The woman, the oil-miller, the two men, and the boy were all talking -loud. They swore, laughed, disputed. - -"He's your own child. He's just like you!" said the woman, turning to -her husband. But the miller cried-- - -"I don't want him! I tell you I don't want him!" - -"Have you no heart? Holy Saint Catharine! can men be so cruel?" said -Aunt Tatàna, jesting but serious. "Ah, Anania, that's you all over! You -are always yourself!" - -"Who else would you have me be?" he growled, "Well, I'm going for the -police." - -"You shan't go for the police, stupid! Wash your dirty linen at home, -please!" - -He insisted, so she said, temporising, "Well, well, go for the police -to-morrow. At present finish your work; and remember the words of King -Solomon about leaving the evening wrath till the morning." - -The three men returned to their work; but while the miller stirred the -olives under the wheel, he muttered and swore, and the others laughed. -The woman said quietly-- - -"You are making bad worse. You have only yourself to blame. By Saint -Catharine it's I who ought to be offended! Remember, Anania, that God -doesn't leave wages till Saturday!" - -Then she turned to the child who was crying again. - -"Hush! little son!" she said, "we'll set it all right to-morrow. There! -don't you know little birds always leave the nest when they get wings?" - -"But did you know of this little bird's existence?" laughed one of the -men; and the boy crowded on Anania and said teasingly, "Why has your -mother run away? What sort of a woman is she?" - -"Bustianeddu!" thundered the miller, "if you don't go this moment I'll -kick you out!" - -"Try!" said the boy impudently. - -"You can tell him the sort of woman she is!" cried one of the men, and -the other laughed till his sides shook and he neglected the screw of the -press. - -Aunt Tatàna was fondling the child, examining his poor clothes and -asking him questions. He answered in an uncertain, lamentable voice -interrupted by sobs. - -"Poor little one! Poor little dear! Little bird without wings! without -wings and without a nest!" said the kind soul, "be quiet, my little pet. -Aren't you rather hungry? Come! we'll go in and Aunt Tatàna will give -you some nice supper, and then we'll put you to bed, with the guardian -angel; and to-morrow it will all come right!" - -After this promise he allowed himself to be led to a little house beside -the olive-mill. Here she gave him white bread and cheese, and an egg and -a pear. Never had Anania supped so well! The pear worked wonders, added -to Aunt Tatàna's sweet words and motherly caresses. - -"To-morrow!" said the woman. - -"To-morrow!" accepted the child. - -While he ate, Aunt Tatàna moved about preparing her husband's supper. -She talked to Anania and gave him good counsels which she said she had -herself been taught by King Solomon and Holy Saint Catharine. - -Suddenly the round visage of the boy Bustianeddu appeared at the window. - -"Get away, little frog!" she said, "it's cold." - -"Yes, it's cold," he returned, "so please let me come in." - -"Why aren't you at the mill?" - -"They've sent me away. There's such a crowd there." - -"Well, come in," said the woman, opening the door. "Come in, poor -orphan, you also are without a mother! What's Uncle Anania doing? Is he -angry still?" - -"Oh I suppose so!" said Bustianeddu, sitting down and gnawing the core -of the stranger child's pear. - -"They've all arrived," he went on, discoursing and gesticulating like a -grown person; "my father, and Maestro Pane, and Uncle Pera, and that -liar Franziscu Carchide, and Aunt Corredda, every single one of -them----" - -"What are they saying?" asked the woman, with quick interest. - -"They're saying you'll have to adopt the kid. Uncle Pera laughs and -says, who will Uncle Anania leave his goods to, if he has no child? -Uncle Anania ran at him with the pole. Then they all laughed like mad." - -Aunt Tatàna's interest was overpowering. Telling Bustianeddu to mind -the child, she went back to the mill. - -At once Bustianeddu began confidentially to his charge-- - -"My father has 100 _lire_ in the chest of drawers, and I know where he -keeps the key. We live close here, and have some land for which we pay -taxes. One day the Commissioner came and seized the barley. What's in -that saucepan making that cra--cra--cra--? Don't you think it's burning? -I'd better look in." (he lifted the cover) "The devil! Potatoes! I -thought it was something better. I'm going to taste them!" - -With two fingers he hooked out a boiling lump, blew on it and ate it up. -Then he took another. - -"What are you doing?" said Anania shocked, "if the woman comes back----" - -"We know how to make macaroni, my father and I," said the imperturbable -youngster, "do you know? And tomato sauce----" - -"No, I don't know," said Anania absently. - -He was thinking of his mother, his mind besieged by sad questions. Where -had she gone? Why hadn't she come into the mill? Why had she gone away -and forgotten him? Now that he had eaten and was warm, Anania would have -liked to run away. To run away and look for his mother. To run away and -find his mother. This idea took firm roots and would not leave him. - -After a while Aunt Tatàna came back. She brought with her a ragged -woman with uncertain step, a red nose, and a large hanging mouth; a -horrible-looking person. - -"And this--this is the little bird?" she said stammering and looking -lovingly at the foundling. "Let me see your little face, to bless you! -By God's truth, he's as pretty as a star! And the man doesn't want him? -Well Tatàna Atonzu, it's for you to pick him up--to pick him up like a -sugar-plum----" - -She came nearer and kissed Anania. He turned away, for she smelt of -drink. - -"Aunt Nanna," said the incorrigible Bustianeddu, pretending to drain a -glass, "have you had enough for to-day?" - -"Eh? Eh? What? What do you mean? What are you doing here, you little -fly, you p--poor little orphan? Go home to your b--bed." - -"You'd better go to bed yourself," said Aunt Tatàna, "take yourselves -off, both of you." - -She gave the woman a gentle push, but before going away Nanna begged for -a drop of something. Bustianeddu offered her water; she snatched at the -glass eagerly, but after one sip shook her head and set it down. Then -she moved unsteadily away. Aunt Tatàna sent Bustianeddu after her, and -shut the door. - -"You are tired, my pet," she said to Anania, "come, I will put you to -bed." - -She took him to a big room behind the kitchen and undressed him, coaxing -him with sweet words. - -"Don't be frightened, my little one. Mother will come to-morrow; or else -we'll go together and look for her. Do you know how to cross yourself? -Can you say your _Credo_? Yes, every night we ought to say the _Credo_! -I'll teach it to you, and some nice prayers; especially one by San -Pasquale which will prepare you for the hour of death. Ah! I see you -have a _Rezetta_! What a pretty one! That is nice! San Giovanni will -take care of you. Yes, he was once a little naked boy like you, though -afterwards he baptized our Lord Jesus. Go to sleep, my pet. In the name -of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen." - -Anania found himself in a great bed with red pillows. Aunt Tatàna -covered him up; then she went away, leaving him in the dark. He held his -amulet very tight, shut his eyes, and did not cry. However he could not -sleep. - -To-morrow! To-morrow! But oh dear! how many years had passed since they -had started from Fonni? What ever would Zuanne think? Strange fancies, -confused thoughts passed through the little mind; among them all, the -figure of his mother remained distinct. Where had she gone? Was she -cold? To-morrow he would see her again. To-morrow. If they didn't take -him to find her he would go by himself. To-morrow---- - -Anania heard the olive-miller come in. He disputed with his wife. He -cried, "I don't want the child! I don't want him!" - -Then there was silence. But, suddenly, someone opened the door, came -into the room, walked on tip-toe to the bed, cautiously lifted the -quilt. A bristly moustache touched Anania's cheek. He was pretending to -be asleep, but he opened his eyes, a tiny, tiny bit, and saw that the -person who had kissed him was his father! - -A few minutes later Aunt Tatàna came in and lay down in the great bed -beside Anania. He heard her praying a long time, whispering and -sighing--then he fell asleep. - - -[Footnote 8: Carabinieri--The country police.] - -[Footnote 9: _La Rezetta_, an amulet containing prayers written -on paper, flowers gathered on St John's night, relics, etc.] - - - - -III - - -No one reported to the police that a child had been deserted. Olì was -able to disappear unhindered. It was never exactly known whither she had -gone. Someone said he had seen her on the steamer from Sardinia to -Civita Vecchia. Later, a Fonni shopkeeper, who had been to the continent -on business, declared he had met Olì in Rome, smartly dressed and -accompanied by other women of obvious character. - -These things were told at the olive-mill, the child being present. He -listened eagerly. Like some little wild animal which has apparently been -tamed, he continually meditated escape. At Fonni, while living with his -mother, he had thought of running away to find his father; now he was -with his father and he thought of running away to look for Olì. She -might be far off, she might be beyond the sea--no matter; he felt -capable of finding her by himself. Not that he loved her! No, he could -not love one who had given him more blows than kisses, one who had -deserted him! Instinctively he felt that was shameful. But then neither -did he love his father. Anania could not forget his first impression, -the terror and repulsion with which the dark, oily, angry man had -inspired him, the man who had kissed him in secret while before the -world he stormed at and insulted him. - -But Aunt Tatàna--ah, she loved him! She washed and brushed and dressed -him; she taught him prayers and the precepts of King Solomon. She took -him to church, and gave him nice things to eat, and let him sleep with -her. Little by little Anania gave her his affection. In a short time he -was another boy. He grew fat and gave himself airs; he had forgotten his -rough Fonni costume, and wore a nice little suit of dark fustian. He -acquired the Nuoro accent, and was knowing and sharp like Bustianeddu. - -Yet his little heart remained unchanged. It could not change. Dreams of -flight, of adventure, of wondrous accidents, were blended in his -childish soul with nostalgic yearning for his native place, for the -people and the things he knew, for the liberty he had enjoyed, for the -unkind mother who had become to him an object of pity and of shame. -Though he was better off, the little wild creature suffered under the -dislocation of all his habits. He wanted he knew not what. He thought he -wanted his mother--because everyone had a mother! because to have lost -his mother was not so much grief as humiliation. He understood that his -mother could not be with the olive-miller, because he had another wife; -well, then, he would rather be left with his mother. He belonged to her; -perhaps also he instinctively felt her the weaker and became her -champion. - -As time passed, all these thoughts, these instincts grew fainter, but -they did not disappear from his little soul; so also her physical image -was transformed in his memory, never obliterated. - -One day he learned something unexpected about Bustianeddu, whose -friendship he had so far endured rather than courted. - -"My mother's not dead," said this boy, almost boastingly, "she's away on -the continent like yours. She ran away one time when my father was in -prison. When I'm grown up, I'll go and find her. I swear it. I've an -uncle on the continent too. He's a schoolmaster. He wrote that he'd seen -my mother in a street and was going to beat her, but the people held him -off. It was my uncle gave me this red cap." - -This story was quite comforting to Anania, and drew him into intimacy -with Bustianeddu. For years they were companions, at the olive-mill, in -the streets, beside Aunt Tatàna's fire. Bustianeddu was much the age of -Zuanne, Anania's lost brother. At bottom he was warmhearted and -generous. He said he attended school; but often the schoolmaster asked -the boy's father for his invisible pupil. The father was a small dealer -in skins and fleeces; when these inquiries reached him, he tied his son -up with a rope of undressed leather, locked him in, and bade him learn -his lessons. Like older criminals, Bustianeddu came out of prison more -reckless and cunning than before. But his father was often away from -home; and then the boy, weighted with responsibility, became very -serious. He swept the house, washed the linen, cooked the dinner. Anania -was delighted to help him. In return Bustianeddu gave him advice and -taught him many things good and evil. They were often at the olive-mill -where "Big Anania" (so called to distinguish him from his son) worked -for his master the rich Signor Daniele Carboni. Big Anania called Signor -Carboni "_Master_," because he had served him for years--as -olive-miller, field-labourer, gardener, vine-dresser, according to -season; he was, however, very independent, and his work though well paid -was not without its risks. - -On one side of the olive-mill was the courtyard through which Anania had -entered that first night; on the other a garden which sloped down to the -high road. It was a beautiful garden, partly orchard, partly wild, with -rocky boulders among which straggled bushes of white thorn, Indian figs, -almond trees, and peaches. There was one oak tree with rugged stem, -harbouring nests of great locusts, caterpillars, and all sorts of birds. -The garden belonged to Signor Carboni, and was the envy of all the boys -in the neighbourhood. The old gardener, Uncle Pera _Sa Gattu_ (the cat), -carried a cudgel to keep them out. From this garden the strong, -beautiful Nuoro girls could be seen going to the fountain, amphoras on -their heads, like the women of the Bible. Uncle Pera ogled them while he -sowed his peas and beans, putting three peas in each hole, and shouting -to scare the sparrows. - -Anania and Bustianeddu watched him from the mill window, anxious -themselves to get into the sunny orchard, and waiting till the gardener -should take himself off. Uncle Pera, a dried-up little man, -clean-shaven, his face the colour of brick-dust, was too fond of his -vegetables to desert them often. Not till nightfall did he go up to the -mill to warm himself and to gossip. - -This was a good olive year and the press was at work night and day. Two -_ettolitri_ of olives produced about two _litri_ of oil. Near the door -stood a tin for oil to feed the lamps of this or that Madonna; pious -persons poured into it a few drops from each load of olives. All round -the press the floor was crowded with barrels and tubs, with sacks of -black, shining olives, with heaps of steaming refuse. The whole place -was dark, hot, dirty. The cauldron was always boiling, the wheel turned -by the big bay horse was always in motion, always distilling oil. The -smell of the husks, though too strong, was not exactly disagreeable. The -furnace sent out a fine heat, and round it in the long chilly evenings -were gathered all the coldest persons of the neighbourhood. Beside the -miller and his staff, five or six people came regularly. Efès Cau, once -a man of means, now reduced by drink to extreme poverty, slept almost -nightly at the mill, contaminating the corner where he lay, to the great -annoyance of cleaner persons. - - -Anania and Bustianeddu sat in a corner on a heap of hot husks, amused by -the talk of their elders, delighted by the absurdities of the drunken -Efès. - -Uncle Pera offered him wine; but Franziscu Carchide, the handsome young -shoemaker, interposed. - -"No, no, Efès, if you don't dance, you don't drink. You must sing too. -Come!" - - -"'When Amelia so pure and so pale----'" - - -Anania and Bustianeddu laughed till their sides ached, squatting on the -husks like a pair of chickens. - -"Let's put pins where he sleeps," suggested Bustianeddu. - -"What for?" asked the more kindly Anania. - -"To prick him, of course. Then he'll dance with a vengeance. I've -brought the pins." - -"All right," said the other, unwillingly. - -The sot was still dancing, singing, reeling, stretching his hand to the -glass. The people and the children laughed. - -Then came Nanna, the drunken woman, cleaner and more sober than usual. - -"Aren't you ashamed?" she said, seizing Efès by the arm; "don't you see -all these beggars, these filthy persons are mocking you? And what are -they laughing at me for? I've been out working to-day. Good Lord, how I -have worked! Ah, Efès, Efès! have you forgotten how rich your house -used to be? Your mother had gold buttons as big as my fist. Your house -was like a church, so clean, so full of fine things. If you had kept -from the drink, everyone would have treasured you like a sugar plum. Now -you're a laughing-stock, like a dancing bear. What are they laughing at -now? By the Lord, they must be all drunk! Come, miller, spare me a drop -of oil to eat with my supper. Your wife is a saint, miller, but upon my -word you are a devil. When are you going to find that treasure you talk -about?" - - -Meanwhile Efès, seated on a sack, wept, thinking of his mother and the -rich home of his youth. Carchide strove to console him with another -glass, but Efès wept on, even while he drank. - -A farmer from a neighbouring village, and Bustianeddu's father, a young -man with blue eyes and red beard, conspired together to make Nanna -drunk. She told scandalous stories of Uncle Pera, and Uncle Pera swore -at the two men who worked the screw of the olive press, and told them -they were lazy good-for-nothings. - -Maestro Pane, the humpbacked carpenter, who wore his grey moustache at -one side only of his toothless mouth, sat under the window beating his -fist on his knee and talking very loud. No one, however, listened, for -he was in the habit of talking to himself. - -Under the influence of the wine. Nanna was becoming loquacious. - -"Yes, that old gardener waits every morning till the girl comes down to -the fountain. Then he calls her in, promising to give her some -lettuce----" - -"Ah, you tipsy wretch!" cried Uncle Pera, jumping up with his cudgel. - -"Well, what harm am I saying? I say that when she comes in for the -lettuce you teach her the Ave Maria." - -They all laughed, even little Anania, though he could not imagine why -Uncle Pera should teach the Ave Maria by force to the girl who was going -to the fountain. - -That night when Anania was safe in Aunt Tatàna's big bed he could not -sleep, but turned and twisted as if pins were pricking him. - -"What's the matter, child?" asked Aunt Tatàna in her gentle way, "have -you the stomachache?" - -"No, no." - -"Then what is it?" - -After a few minutes he revealed his remorse. - -"We put pins in the place where Efès sleeps." - -"You naughty boys! Why did you do that?" - -"Because he gets drunk----" - -"Holy Saint Catharine!" sighed the good woman, "how wicked boys are -nowadays! Suppose someone put pins in your bed? Would you like it? No? -Wouldn't you? Then you are more wicked than Efès. All people in the -world are wicked, my little lamb, but we must have pity on one another. -If we don't pity each other we shall be like the fishes in the sea which -devour their brothers. King Solomon said no one must judge but God. Do -you understand?" - -Anania thought of his mother, his mother who had been so wicked and had -deserted him; and he felt sad--so sad! - - - - -IV - - -One day in March, Bustianeddu invited Anania to dine with him. The -skin-dealer was away on his business, and the boy, after two days' -imprisonment for truancy, was alone at home. On his right cheek was the -mark of a heavy blow administered by his irate parent. - -"They want to make a scholar of me," he said to Anania, spreading out -his hands like a man discussing some matter of importance, "but I don't -intend to be a scholar. I intend to be a pastry-cook. Why shouldn't I?" - -"Yes, why not?" echoed Anania. - -"Because they think it _disgraceful_!" said the other, drawling the word -contemptuously, "they think learning a trade is disgraceful when one -might be a scholar. That's what my relations say. But I've got a joke -ready for them! Just you wait a bit." - -"What are you going to do?" - -"I'll tell you afterwards. Now we'll have dinner." - -He had prepared macaroni; at least he gave this name to certain lumps, -greasy, and hard as almonds, seasoned with dried tomatoes. The boys ate -in company with a grey cat, which snatched morsels from the dish with -his paw, and ate them furtively in a corner. - -"How clever he is!" said Anania, following the creature with his eyes; -"our cat has been stolen!" - -"Lots of ours have been stolen. They disappear and we don't know what -becomes of them." - -"All the cats in the place disappear. What do the people who take the -poor things do with them?" - -"They roast them. Cat is good, you know; just like hare. On the -continent they sell cats as hares. So my father says." - -"Has your father been to the Continent?" - -"Yes; and I intend to go myself." - -"_You_?" said Anania, laughing enviously. - -Bustianeddu thought the moment had come for telling his plans. "I can't -stay here," he said pompously. "I intend to go away. I'll find my mother -and be a pastry-cook. If you like, you may come with me." - -Anania grew red with excitement. His heart beat very loud. - -"But we've no money," he observed. - -"We'll take the hundred lire which are in that chest of drawers. If you -like, we'll take them now. Only we must hide them for a while, for if we -set out at once my father will guess we've got them. We'll wait till the -cold weather's over. Then we'll go. Come here." - -He led Anania to a dirty room where was great confusion of evil smelling -lamb's skins. He found a key in a hiding-place and opened a drawer with -it. The drawer contained a red note for a hundred lire, some silver and -a few smaller notes. The little thieves took the red note, shut the -drawer and put back the key in its place. - -"Now you keep it," said Bustianeddu, "and when it's dark we'll hide it -down the hole of the oak tree in the garden behind the mill. Then we'll -wait." - -Before he had time to object, Anania found the note thrust into his -bosom, and rubbing against his precious amulet. He passed a day of -intolerable anxiety; fevered with remorse and terror, hope and the -wildest of projects. - -To escape! to escape! How and whither he knew not, but his dream was to -come true. He was sick with alarm and joy. A hundred seemed a treasure -inexhaustible; but for the present he felt himself guilty of a grave -crime, and the hour which was to deliver him from the stolen property -seemed to be never coming. - -It was by no means the first time the boys had trespassed in Uncle -Pera's garden; it was easy to jump down from the window of the unused -mill stable. But never had they ventured in at night and it was some -time before they could screw up their courage for the deed. The evening -was clear and cold. A full moon rose behind the black crags of Orthobene -and flooded the garden with gold. The two children, flattening their -noses against the window pane, heard a long despairing wail, a human or -superhuman lament. - -"Whatever's that?" said Anania; "it must be a devil! I won't go. I'm -frightened." - -"Then stay here, silly. It's only a cat!" said Bustianeddu scornfully, -"I'm going. I'll hide the money in the oak, where Uncle Pera won't think -of looking. Then I'll come back. You stay here and keep watch. If any -danger comes, whistle." - -What this danger might be the two friends did not know, but the mere -imagination sufficed to make the adventure delightful; the fantastic -moonlight, even the long drawn lamentation of the cat, added to its -flavour. Bustianeddu jumped down into the orchard, Anania stayed at the -window, all eyes and ears, trembling a little with fear. Hardly had his -companion vanished in the direction of the oak tree, when two black -shadows passed close to the window. Anania shuddered, whistled faintly, -and crouched to conceal himself. What spasms of alarm and strange -enjoyment did he not feel. How ever would Bustianeddu escape? What was -actually happening down there in the dark? Oh! the lament of the torn-cat -was more horrible than ever! It ended in a wild and lacerating shriek; -then ceased. Silence. What mystery! What horror! Anania's heart was -bursting in his bosom. What had befallen his friend? Had he been seized? -arrested? He would be taken off to prison, and Anania himself would have -his part in the woeful punishment! - -He had no idea of running away. He waited under the window courageously. - -"Anania! Where the devil are you gone to?" - -Anania leaned out, extended a hand to his friend, marvellously -preserved. - -"The devil!" repeated Bustianeddu, panting, "I managed that admirably." - -"Did you hear me whistle? I whistled very loud." - -"I didn't hear you at all. But I did hear two men coming. I hid under -the cabbages. Who do you suppose they were? Uncle Pera and Maestro Pane. -What do you suppose they were doing? They were snaring cats. The -caterwauler got caught and Uncle Pera killed him with his stick. Maestro -Pane put the beast under his cloak and said quite jolly, 'What a fat -one!' 'Not so bad,' said Uncle Pera, 'the last was as thin as a -tooth-pick.' Then they went away." - -"Oh!" cried Anania open-mouthed. - -"When they go in they'll roast him. Then they'll have supper. Now we -know what becomes of our cats. They snare 'em--those two. It's a mercy -they didn't see me." - -"And the money?" - -"That's all right. Hidden. We'll go in now, Ninny. You're no good." - -Anania was not offended. He shut the window and they went back to the -olive-mill. The usual scene was in progress. Efès, leaning against the -wall was singing his accustomed song:-- - - -"When Amelia so pure and so pale----" - - -and Carchide was relating his adventures in a neighbouring town. - -"----the _Sindaco_ was a friend of my father's when we were rich," said -the handsome young man whose family had always been in the direst -poverty; "when I arrived he was there to meet me. He invited me to his -house. Damn those rich folk! Thirty men-servants, if you please, and -seven women. We crossed two courts, one within the other; very high -walls, iron gates, the window all barred----" - -"Why were they barred?" asked the miller. - -"Thieves, my dear fellow, thieves. The man's as rich as the king----" - -"Bah!" cried the man who was working the press. - -"What do you know about it?" asked Carchide scornfully; "at their -father's death the Syndic and his brothers weighed out their gold by the -pound. The Syndic's wife has eight _tancas_[10] in a row--all watered by -streams; with more than a hundred fountains. They say his father had -found a treasure. The King of Spain hid more than 100,000 gold ducats -there at the time he was making war on Eleonora of Arborea, and the -Syndic's father found it." - -"Ah, ha!" said the olive-miller, leaning on his black pole while a -shiver of excitement ran through him. - -"Those are what I call rich men," continued Carchide; "here at Nuoro -you're all snoozers." - -"My master is wealthy," protested the miller, "he's got more in one -corner of a field than your scrubby Syndic in all his _tancas_ -together." - -"I like that!" said the young man with a gesture of scorn, "you don't -know what you're talking about!" - -"No more do you." - -"Your master's all debts. We'll soon see the end of him." - -"Strike you blind first!" - -"Go to the devil!" - -The young shoemaker and the miller were near blows, but their quarrel -was interrupted by Efès Cau falling into a fit. He sank on the heap of -husks, twisted, writhed, wriggled like a worm, his eyes rolling, his -face convulsed. - -Anania fled to a corner screaming with terror, but Bustianeddu was all -curiosity and he joined the persons who tried to restrain the poor -wretch. Presently Efès returned to himself and sat up, still trembling -and glaring. - -"Who--who knocked me down? Why did you strike me? Am I not enough -punished by God without your interfering?" Then he began to cry. - -They laid him down again and he huddled himself up and called on his -mother and dead sister. - -Anania watched; pitying, but still terrified. He would have liked to -help, but could not restrain his disgust; the man had once been -rich--now he was a heap of stinking rags flung on the refuse like an -unclean thing. - -Bustianeddu had run for Aunt Tatàna. She came, leaned over the -sufferer, touched him, spoke to him kindly, put a sack under his head. - -"He must have some broth," she said; "Ah! this sin of his! this sin! -Run, little son," she went on, turning to Anania, "run to the _Signor -padrone_, and beg a little soup for Efès Cau. Look! do you see the -result of sin? There, take this bowl and run!" - -Anania went gladly, Bustianeddu accompanying him. The _padrone_'s house -was at no great distance, and the boy had often been sent there to fetch -fodder, lamp-oil, and other trifles. - -The streets were lighted in patches by the moon. Groups of peasants went -by, singing wild and melancholy choruses. Before Signor Carboni's white -house, there was an enclosed square court with high walls. Entrance was -through a large red door. The boys hammered loudly. At last the door -opened and Anania handed in the bowl, explaining the sad case of Efès -Cau. - -"Sure the soup's not for yourselves?" asked the servant girl -suspiciously. - -"Go to the devil, Maria _Iscorronca_,[11]" said Bustianeddu; "we don't -want your dirty broth!" - -"Little animal, I'll pay you out!" said the girl chasing him into the -street. Bustianeddu scampered off, but Anania made his own way into the -moonlit court. - -"What is it? What do those boys want?" asked a faint little voice from -the shadow near the kitchen-door. - -Anania went forward. "It's only me!" he said, "Efès Cau is fearfully -bad. He's at the mill, and _Mother_ wants the mistress to send him a cup -of soup." - -"Come in!" said the voice. - -The servant who had failed to catch Bustianeddu, now made an attack upon -Anania. But the little girl who had said "Come in," sprang to the rescue -of the boy from the mill. - -"Let him alone. What harm has he done? Go and fetch him the soup at -once--this minute!" said the young lady, dragging the maid by her skirt. - -This protection, this piping-tone of authority, this plump, rosy little -person dressed in blue woollen, with an important little turned up nose, -very round cheeks, eyes shining in the moonlight between two curls of -auburn hair--pleased Anania immensely. He recognized the _padrone_'s -daughter Margherita Carboni, known by sight to all the children who -frequented the olive-mill. Once or twice Margherita had handed the -barley or the lamp-oil to Anania when he had been sent for them. He -often saw her in the orchard garden, and sometimes her father had -brought her to the mill. Never had he imagined that this rosy young lady -with the superb air, could be so affable and pleasant. - -The maid went for the soup, and Margherita asked all about Efès Cau's -seizure. - -"He had his dinner here--in this very courtyard," she said very -seriously, "he seemed perfectly well." - -"It's because he drinks;" said Anania also very serious, "he twisted -about like a cat!" - -Then Anania's face grew red; he had suddenly remembered the torn cat -which Uncle Pera had caught in the snare, and that reminded him of the -hundred lire stolen and hidden in the oak tree in the garden. Stolen! -The hundred lire stolen! Whatever would Margherita Carboni say, if she -knew that he, Anania, the son of the olive-miller, the foundling, the -dependent with whom the little lady was deigning to be so pleasant and -affable--had stolen a hundred lire and that these hundred lire were at -this moment hidden in her own garden! A thief! He was a thief; and he -had thieved an enormous sum. Now he perceived the full shame of his evil -deed. Now he felt humiliation, grief, remorse. - -"Like a _cat_?" echoed Margherita setting her teeth and twisting her -little nose; "dear me! dear me! It would be better he died." - -The maid came back, bringing the soup. Anania could not say another -word. He took the bowl and moved away carrying it carefully. He was near -crying and when he came up with Bustianeddu at the turn of the street, -he repeated the words "It would be better he died." - -"Who? Is the broth hot? I'm going to taste," said Bustianeddu, putting -his face to the bowl. Anania was furious. - -"Get away! You're wicked. You'll get like Efès Cau! What did you steal -that money for? It's a mortal sin, to steal. Go and get the money and -put it back in the drawer." - -"Pouf! Are you gone mad?" - -"Well then I'll tell my _mother_." - -"Your _mother_! That's good! Go and find your mother!" - -They were walking very slowly. Anania much afraid of spilling the soup. - -"We are _thieves_!" he whispered. - -"The money is _my_ father's, and you're a ninny. Well! I'll go away -alone, _alone_," replied Bustianeddu energetically. - -"All right, go, and never come back," said Anania, "but I shall -tell--Aunt Tatàna!" He was afraid to call her his mother again. - -"Sneak!" burst out Bustianeddu doubling his fist; "if you tell I'll kill -you like a lizard. I'll smash your teeth with a stone. I'll gouge out -your eyes!" - -Anania still afraid for the soup, bent his shoulders to receive the -violence of his friend, but he did not withdraw the threat of telling -Aunt Tatàna. - -"What devil did you meet in that courtyard," continued the other -furiously, "what did that horrid maid say to you? Speak!" - -"She didn't say anything. But I don't wish to be a thief." - -"You're a bastard anyhow! That's what you are! Well I shall go off at -once, with the money, and without you." - -He went away running, leaving Anania overwhelmed with grief. A thief, a -bastard, a foundling, and now left behind by his friend. It was too -much, too much! He began to cry and his tears fell into the soup. - -"When, when shall I be able to go?" he sobbed, "when shall I be able to -find _her_?" - -"When I'm grown up," he answered himself, more cheerfully, "for the -present--it can't be helped." - -Having given the soup to Aunt Tatàna, he went to the stable window. -Silence. No one was to be seen, nothing was to be heard, in the great -garden, damp and moonlit. The mountains showed faintly blue against the -vaporous heaven. All was silence and peace. Suddenly from the mill came -the voice of Bustianeddu. - -"Then he hasn't gone? he hasn't taken the money? He hasn't been into the -garden? Suppose I go myself?" - -But his courage was not equal to this. He went into the mill and hovered -round Aunt Tatàna who was ministering to Efès. She asked him her usual -question. "What's the matter with you? Have you the stomachache?" - -"Yes! Do let us go in," said Anania. - -She saw the child wanted to speak to her and she took him home. - -"Jesus! Jesus! Holy Saint Catharine!" cried the good woman when Anania -had made his confession, "what has happened to the world? Even the -little birds, even the chickens in the egg, go wrong!" - -Anania never knew the means by which Aunt Tatàna persuaded Bustianeddu -to restore the stolen money. But ever after the friends were on strained -terms. They slanged each other and fought about every trifle. - -The winter passed; but the olive press was at work even in April, for -never had there been such abundance of olives. At last the day came when -Anania the elder shut down the press, and went into the country to look -after his master's wheat. He took the little boy with him, having -intentions of making him an agriculturist. Anania liked to be useful. He -carried the implements and the provision wallet proudly and ran by his -father's side all day. The cornfields extended over a wide undulating -plain, across which two tall pine-trees, voiceful as torrents, threw -long shadows. It was a sweet and melancholy landscape, bare of trees, -here and there spread with isolated vines. The human voice lost itself -echoless, as if swallowed up by the lonely murmur of the pines, the -thick foliage of which seemed to assimilate the grey blue colour of the -far mountains. - -While his father worked his hoe, bending over the transparent green of -the young wheat, Anania wandered about the naked and melancholy fields, -crying with the birds, hunting for herbs and mushrooms. Sometimes the -father looking up, saw him in the distance, and his heart tightened; for -the place, the occupation, the child's small figure, all reminded him of -Olì, of her little brothers, of their sin, of all the love and the -happiness they had enjoyed together. Where was Olì? Who could tell? She -was lost, she had vanished like the birds of the fields. Well--so much -the worse for her. Anania the olive-miller thought he was doing all -anyone could expect, in bringing up the child. If ever he found the -treasure of his dreams, he would put the boy to school. At least he -would make a farmer of him. What more could he do? What about the men -who didn't acknowledge their children, who instead of taking them home -and bringing them up like Christians, left them to misery and an evil -life? Yes, some quite rich men, gentlemen, behaved like that. Yes, even -his master, even Signor Carboni. Thus "big Anania" consoled himself; yet -still the oppression of sadness remained in his heart. - -Looking out over the distance he thought he saw the _nuraghe_ near -Olì's old home. At meal-times, or during the midday rest, when they -stretched themselves under the sounding pine-trees, he questioned his -son about his life at Fonni. Anania was shy with his father and seldom -dared to meet his eyes; but once pushed into the path of recollection, -he chattered willingly, abandoning himself to the homesick pleasure of -telling about the past. He remembered everything, the village, the -widow's house and her stories, Zuanne of the big ears, the -_carabiniere_, the friars, the convent court, the chestnuts, the goats, -the mountains, the candle factory. But in spite of the miller's -suggestions he spoke little of his mother. - -"Well, did she beat you?" - -"Never! Never!" - -"I'm sure she beat you." - -The child perjured himself swearing he spoke truth. - -"Tell me, what did she do all day?" - -"She went out to work." - -"Did the _carabiniere_ want to marry her?" - -"Oh, no. He said to me, 'Tell your mother to come here. I want to talk -to her.'" - -"What did she say when you told her?" asked the man with some anxiety. - -"She was as mad as a dog." - -"Ah!" - -He sighed. He was relieved hearing she had not gone to talk to the -_carabiniere_. Yes; he was still fond of her. He still remembered her -clear and burning eyes; he remembered her little brothers; he remembered -her father so sorrowful and so poor. But what could he do? Had he been -free he'd have married her. As it was, he had to desert her. It was vain -to think any more about it. They finished their frugal meal; then he -said to the child: - -"Run down there to that fig tree, look and you'll see a very very old -house. Root about in the ground there. Perhaps you'll find something!" - -The boy sped away, glad to leave the grave, toil-stained man. And the -father thought: - -"Innocents find treasures easily. If we could find a treasure, then I'd -hand over a good lot to Olì, and if my wife were to die, I'd marry her. -It was I who made her go wrong." - -But Anania found nothing. Towards evening, father and son went slowly -home, following the broad white road, the depth of which was flooded -with twilight gold. Aunt Tatàna had hot supper waiting for them and a -fire crackling on the dean swept hearth. She blew Anania's nose, washed -his eyes, told her husband the events of the day. - -Nanna had tumbled into the fire, Efès had a new pair of shoes, Uncle -Pera had beaten a boy. Signor Carboni had been to the mill to look at -the horse. - -"He says the beast has grown terribly thin." - -"That's all the work he has done. What does the _padrone_ expect? Even -animals are flesh and blood." - -After supper the olive-miller had forgotten all about Olì and her woes. -He went to the tavern. Aunt Tatàna got her distaff, and told stories to -the son of her adoption. Bustianeddu came to listen also. - -"Once upon a time there was a king with seven golden eyes on his -forehead like stars;" and so forth. - -Or she told the story of Marieddu and the Hobgoblin. Marieddu had -escaped from the Hobgoblin's house. "She ran and ran, all the time -dropping nails which as fast as she dropped them began to multiply. They -multiplied until they filled the whole plain. Uncle Hobgoblin followed -her, followed her, but he never could catch her up because the nails -kept sticking into his feet." - -Dear! what shudders of delight this story of Marieddu gave the two -children! What a difference between the dark cottage, the figure, the -stories of the widow of Fonni, and the dear kitchen, the warmth, the -sweet face and the enchanting legends of Aunt Tatàna. Yet there were -times when Anania was bored. Or at least he did not experience the wild -emotion which the widow's narratives had awaked in him. Perhaps it was -because the good Zuanne, the beloved brother, was not there and in his -place was Bustianeddu, who was so naughty and so cruel, who pinched him -and called him names even when people were listening and in spite of -Aunt Tatàna's admonitions. - -One evening Bustianeddu called him "bastard" in the hearing of -Margherita Carboni, who had come with her servant bringing a message to -the miller. Aunt Tatàna pushed Bustianeddu away, and silenced him, but -it was too late. Margherita had heard, and Anania felt unspeakable -distress. Aunt Tatàna got bread and honey and set him and Margherita to -eat it together; she gave none to Bustianeddu. But what was the good of -bread and honey, when he had been dubbed "bastard" before Margherita -Carboni? The little girl was dressed in green; her stockings were -violet, and round her neck was a scarf of vivid rose colour. It lent -colour to her soft cheeks and brought out the blue of her shining eyes. -That night Anania saw her in his dreams; lovely, and coloured like the -rainbow. Even in his dream he felt the grief of having been called -"bastard" before her. - - -That year Easter was not till the end of April. The olive miller -fulfilled his Easter duty, and his confessor bade him legitimize his -son. At Easter too, Anania, now eight years old, was confirmed. Signor -Carboni was his godfather. The confirmation was a great event not only -for the boy but for the whole place. Monsignore Demartis, the beautiful -and imposing bishop, convened everybody to the Cathedral and publicly -bestowed the Chrism on a hundred children. Through the open doors, which -seemed enormous to Anania, spring, with its sunshine and fragrance, -penetrated into the church. It was crowded with women in their purple -dresses, with fine ladies, and wondering children. Signor Carboni, -stout, florid, with blue eyes and reddish hair, wore a velvet waist-coat -crossed by a huge gold chain. He was greeted, saluted, sought after by -all the most conspicuous persons, by the peasants both male and female, -by the fine ladies and the crowding children. Anania was proud and happy -to have such a godfather. True, Signor Carboni was standing sponsor for -seventeen others, but that did not detract from the importance of this -singular honour done to each of the eighteen. - -After the ceremony the eighteen children with their respective parents -adjourned to their godfather's house, and Anania was able to admire -Margherita's drawing-room of which he had heard marvels. It was a great -room with red walls and huge eighteenth century chairs; cabinets adorned -with wax flowers under glass shades, with marble dishes of fruit, and -plates with slices of cheese and sausage, all of marble. Liqueurs, -coffee, cakes and pastry were handed round, and the lovely Signora -Carboni who had deep dimples in her cheeks, black hair drawn very tight -on her temples, and a pretty muslin gown with flounces and little spots -of pink and blue, was most amiable with everybody and kissed all the -eighteen god-children, giving each of them a present. - -Anania long remembered these details. He remembered too, how ardently -and how vainly he had wished that Margherita would come and look at his -new clothes, which were of yellow fustian, and as stiff as the skin of -the devil. And he remembered that Signora Cecita Carboni had kissed him, -and with her jewelled hand had tapped lightly on his little head -(cropped horrible close) and said to the miller: - -"Ah, gossip, why have you shorn him like this? He seems quite bald!" - -"Never mind, gossip," replied Big Anania, carrying on the agreeable jest -of this lady who was not exactly his fellow sponsor, "this chicken's -feathers were as thick as a wood----" - -"Well," interrupted the lady, "have you done your duty?" - -"Yes, yes." - -"I'm so glad. Believe me, it's only legitimate sons who are the support -of their father in his old age." - -Then Signor Carboni came over, and said, looking at his godson. - -"What demon eyes this young highlander has! Well, youngster, what are -you hiding them for? Laughing at me, eh? you little devil!" - -Anania was laughing for joy at being publicly addressed by his godfather -and favourably regarded by Signora Carboni. - -"What are you going to do with yourself, little devil?" - -Anania hung his head, then looked up with the bright eyes which Aunt -Tatàna's ministrations had quite cured of their weakness. Then he tried -to hide behind his parent. - -"Well, answer your godfather!" said the miller, shaking him. "What do -you intend to do with yourself?" - -"Will you be a miller?" suggested the lady. - -He shook his head vigorously. - -"You don't like that? A farmer perhaps?" - -Still no. - -"Well, perhaps you want to become a scholar," said his father, -diplomatically. - -"Yes." - -"Bravo!" said Signor Carboni. "You intend to be a scholar. A priest, I -suppose?" - -"No." - -"A lawyer?" prompted the miller. - -"Yes." - -"The deuce! I said he had bright eyes! So you intend to be a lawyer, -little mouse?" - -"Ah, my boy, we're too poor," said the miller with a sigh. - -"If the child has the wish. Providence will assist him," said the -_padrone_. - -"----will assist him," repeated the Signora like an echo. These words -decided Anania's destiny, and he never forgot them. - - -The olive press was shut down for the year and the miller turned into a -farmer. - -Fierce sunshine was making the grass yellow. Bees and wasps buzzed round -Aunt Tatàna's little house; the elder tree in the courtyard wore the -wondrous lace of its tiny flowers. - -The company which used to meet at the mill now assembled in the -courtyard; Uncle Pera with his cudgel, Efès and Nanna generally drunk, -the handsome shoemaker, Bustianeddu and his father, as well as other -persons from the neighbourhood. Maestro Pane had set up a workshop in a -cellar opposite the courtyard. All day long was a coming and going of -people, who laughed, talked, quarrelled, and swore. - -Little Anania spent his days among these folk; from them he learned rude -words and actions, and they accustomed him to the sight of drunkenness, -and careless misery. In another smoke-blackened and cobwebby cellar -beside Maestro Pane's workship, a poor, sick girl was withering. Years -ago her father had gone away to work in an African mine, and he had -never been heard of again. The girl, Rebecca, lived alone, diseased and -abandoned, in her squalid den, swarming with flies and other insects. A -little further on lived a widow, whose five children were supported by -begging. Maestro Pane sometimes begged himself. But one and all they -were merry. The five beggar children never stopped laughing. Maestro -Pane talked to himself and related long pleasant tales of the jolly days -when he was young. Only in the long luminous afternoons, when the -streets were silent and the wasps buzzed over the elder flowers, -inducing sleep to the little Anania stretched at the threshold, then in -the hot stillness could be heard the sharp cry of Rebecca. It rose, it -grew, it broke off; it recommenced, it hurled itself on high, it dashed -itself to earth. It seemed, so to speak, to pierce the silence with a -shower of sibilant arrows. In this cry was all the grief, all the evil, -the poverty, the forlornness, the unseen wretchedness of the place and -its dwellers; it was the voice even of things, the lament of the stones -which dropped one by one from the blackened walls of the prehistoric -houses, of the crumbling roof, of the broken stairs and worm-eaten -balconies which menaced ruin; of the spurge which grew on the pathway, -of the wild olive which shadowed the walls, of the children who had no -food, of the women who had no clothes, of the men who drank to stupefy -themselves, and beat their wives and their children and their beasts -because they could not strike at their destiny; it was the voice of all -sickness uncured, of all the misery ineluctably accepted like life -itself. But who heeded? - -Little Anania, stretched across the threshold flapping away the flies -and the wasps with a branch of elder, thought sleepily-- - -"Whew! Why is that girl screaming? What makes her scream? Why are there -any sick people in the world?" - -He himself had grown plump, fattened by the abundant food, by idleness, -by sleep. He slept a great deal. In the silent afternoons not even -Rebecca's cry kept him awake. He slept, the branch of elder in his hand, -flies settling on his face. He slept, and he dreamed he was there, far -away, in the house of the widow, in the kitchen watched by the long -black cloak which was like a gibbeted phantom. But Olì his mother was -no longer there. She had fled far away, far away to an unknown land. And -a monk had come out of the convent and was teaching the little lonely -one to read. He wanted to learn, to learn things that he might be wise -and able to journey to find his mother. The monk talked and talked but -Anania could not hear him, because from the long black cloak came an -acute, a lacerating, deafening lament! Ah God! he was afraid! It was the -voice of the ghost of the dead bandit. - -And, besides the fear of the ghost, Anania was troubled by a strange -feeling round his nose. That was the flies! - - -[Footnote 10: Large enclosed pastures.] - -[Footnote 11: An insulting nickname equivalent to "witch."] - - - - -V - - -At last came part fulfilment of his dream. One October morning he got up -very early, Aunt Tatàna washed him and brushed him, and dressed him in -his best suit, that one of yellow fustian which was as stiff as the skin -of the devil. Big Anania was at breakfast, eating roast liver. When he -saw his boy dressed for school, he laughed with satisfaction, and said, -threatening with his finger-- - -"Ho! ho! If you aren't a good boy. I'll send you to Maestro Pane to make -coffins." - -Bustianeddu came for Anania and somewhat contemptuously took him under -his wing. It was a splendid morning. The fresh breeze carried pleasant -odours of new made wine, of coffee, of refuse grape-skins. Hens clucked -in the street. Peasants came in from the country their long carts decked -with vine branches, attended by frisking and noisy dogs. - -Anania was happy, though his companion reviled the school and the -schoolmaster and the teachers. - -"Yours is like a cock," he said, "he has a red cap and a great hoarse -voice. I had to put up with him for a year. May the devil bite his -heels!" - -The school was at the far side of Nuoro, in a convent surrounded by -dreary gardens. Anania's class-room was on the ground floor, its windows -facing the deserted street. The walls were flecked with dust; the -master's desk had been gnawed by rats; the benches were adorned with -spots of ink, with carvings, with names scribbled like hieroglyphics. - -Anania felt defrauded when instead of the master like a cock he saw a -mistress, dressed in the costume of the place, a pale, small woman with -a little moustache just like Aunt Tatàna's. - -Forty idle children made the room lively. Anania was the tallest of them -all. Perhaps for this reason the little mistress turned oftenest to him. -Besides the moustache she had two terrible, fierce, dark eyes, and she -addressed Anania by his surname, speaking partly in Italian, partly in -Sardinian. He was honoured by her persistent attention, though he found -it a little tedious. At the end of three hours he was actually able to -read and to write two letters. One of them was a mere round O, but that -did not detract from the importance of his attainment. At eleven o'clock -he was dead sick of the school and the mistress and his stiff, smart -clothes. He thought longingly of the courtyard, the elder tree, the -basket of fruit into which he was in the habit of thrusting predatory -fingers. He yawned. Was the going away hour never coming? Many of the -children were in tears, and the mistress wasted her breath preaching -about order and the love of lessons. - -At last the door burst open. The school officer--also dressed in -costume--showed his shaven face for a single instant and shouted, -"Time!" The children made one simultaneous rush to the door, tumbling -over each other and shouting. Anania was left to the last, and the -mistress began to pat his head with her scraggy fingers. - -"Yes, Ma'am." - -"Bravo! Remember me to your mother." - -That, of course, referred to Aunt Tatàna. He suddenly felt quite fond -of his teacher, who now hurried after the rest of the noisy children. - -"What style of going out is that?" she cried, capturing as many as she -could. "Come now! Two and two! In a proper line!" - -She placed them in order, and they filed down the corridor through the -door, out into the street. There they were set free and they scattered -like birds escaped from a net, screaming and jumping. Older and more -serious scholars issued from the other class-rooms, all in their rows. -Bustianeddu fell upon Anania, slamming his copy books on the child's -head and seizing his arm. - -"Did you like it?" he asked. - -"Yes," replied Anania, "but I'm so awfully hungry. I thought it was -never going to stop." - -"Did you imagine it would only last a minute?" said the other in his -superior voice. "Just you wait a bit. You'll know something of hunger in -a little while! Look! there's Margherita Carboni!" - -The little girl with the violet stockings, the rosy handkerchief, the -green woollen sleeves, appeared among the female pupils, who were -dismissed after the boys. She passed in front of Anania and Bustianeddu -without noticing them, followed by other girls, rich and poor, young -ladies and peasants, some nearly grown up, and in training as coquettes. -The older boys stopped to laugh with and admire them. - -"They're spooning," said Bustianeddu, "if the master were to catch -them----" - -Anania did not answer. Boys and girls of that dignity seemed to him -quite old enough for love-making. - -"They even write to each other!" said Bustianeddu importantly. - -"I suppose we shall do that when we're in the fourth form," said Anania -simply. - -"Oh, indeed, will you, Ninny? Better wash your face first," said -Bustianeddu; then he pulled the little boy's hand and they ran. - - -After that day, followed many similar ones. Winter came back, the olive -mill was reopened, the scenes of the previous year were re-enacted. -Anania was top of his class. No one doubted that he was to be a doctor -or a lawyer--possibly a judge. All knew that Signor Carboni had promised -to assist his education. He knew it himself, but as yet had no idea of -the worth of that promise. Gratitude began in him later. For the present -he was overpowered by shyness augmented by delight whenever he -encountered his florid and affable godfather. He was often invited to -dinner at Signor Carboni's, but in the kitchen with the servants and the -cats. This was no annoyance to him, as at table with the gentry he could -not have opened his lips for pride and alarm. - -After dinner Margherita used to come to the kitchen and entertain him. -She asked questions about the people at the mill, then took him to the -courtyard, to the granaries, to the cellar. She was delighted when, -aping Bustianeddu's grand manner, he said, "Good Lord! What a lot of -things you have!" - -She never condescended to play with him, but Anania cared little for -play. He was timid and grave; without understanding its significance he -was already conscious of his position's irregularity. - -Years rolled on. - -After the mistress with the moustache came the master like a cock: then -an old man, much addicted to snuff, who wept when he pointed to -Spitzbergen and said, "Here Silvio Pellico was imprisoned." Then came a -master with a round face, who was very pale and very lively, and who -presently committed suicide. This lamentable event was morbidly -impressive to the whole school, and for a long time the children neither -spoke nor thought of anything else. Anania could not explain to himself -why a man of such great cheerfulness should have cut his throat; but he -declared before the whole school that he was ready to follow the example -at the earliest opportunity. Fortunately the opportunity was lacking. At -this time he had no sorrows. He was loved at home, he did well at -school. His life unfolded evenly without change in its events, without -change in the faces which surrounded him. One day was like another, one -year was like another, resembling an interminable roll of stuff printed -all over on the same pattern. - -In winter the same people assembled round the olive press. In spring the -elder flowered in the courtyard, the flies and the bees buzzed in the -luminous air. The same figures moved in the streets. Uncle Barchitto, -the madman, with his staring blue eyes, his long beard, and flowing -hair, like a Jesus become old and a beggar, continued his harmless -extravagances. Maestro Pane rapped on the table and talked to himself in -a loud voice. Efès and Nanna reeled and stuttered. The ragged children -played with the dogs, and the cats, and the chickens, and the baby pigs. -The women squabbled. The young men sang melancholy love songs in the -serene moonlit nights. Rebecca's lament shook the air like the cry of -the cuckoo across the sadness of a barren landscape. As the sun -sometimes shines out from an unexpected quarter of a cloudy sky, so the -florid figure of Signor Carboni sometimes appeared in this district of -dismal poverty. Then the women came to their doors smiling and saluting; -the men who did no work, and passed their time stretched out indolently -in the sunshine, sprang to their feet and blushed; the children ran -after him and kissed his hand which he carried carelessly behind his -back. In hard winters he gave _polenta_ (maize) and oil to the whole -neighbourhood. People came to him for small loans which they never -repaid. Everywhere in the dirty wind-swept lanes he met boys and girls -who called him Godfather, and men and women whom he addressed as Gossip. -He could not keep count of his god-children, and Uncle Pera declared that -many called him Gossip merely to get his money. - -"They all hope he'll educate their sons," said the old gardener, warming -himself at the olive press furnace, his cudgel across his knees. - -"Well, there's one he's going to educate," said the miller, looking -proudly at Anania who was gazing out of the window. - -"Not even one. The _padrone_ is vain, but he isn't going to ruin -himself." - -"Oh, shut up, you old grasshopper," said the miller; "you're just like -the devil--the older you get the more disagreeable you are!" - -"Why doesn't the _padrone_ educate his own bastards?" said the old man, -hawking and coughing. Anania, who was looking out of the window felt a -shudder run through him as if he had been struck. - -The miller coughed in his turn and wished Anania would go away, but he -could not restrain himself from reply. - -"Dead, dirty, malignant rat!" he exclaimed, "how dare you speak of the -master so?" - -"Do you suppose it's not known?" said the old man taking up his cudgel -as if to defend himself; "that boy who works for Franziscu -Carchide--he's a son of Jesus Christ, is he? What I say is why doesn't -the _padrone_ educate that boy?" - -"He's the son of a priest," said the miller in a loud voice. - -"He isn't. He's the _padrone_'s son. Look at him! He's the image of -Margherita." - -"Well," said the miller, defeated, "that boy's as bad as the devil. -What's the good of educating him? You can't make a silk purse of a sow's -ear." - -"Have it your own way!" murmured Uncle Pera, relapsing into his cough. - -Anania stood at the window beside the heap of husks, oppressed by -mysterious sadness. He knew the boy at Carchide's; he was wild, but not -more so than Bustianeddu and many of the schoolboys. Why did not Signor -Carboni take him into his house and give him a home, as the olive miller -had done for his son? Then he thought-- - -"Has that boy a mother, I wonder?" - -Ah! the mother! the mother! As Anania grew and his mind opened, its -ideas and perceptions taking form unobserved like the petals of a wild -flower, so the thought of his mother became ever clearer in the haze of -his new found conscience. He belonged now to the Fifth Elementary Form, -and was associated with boys of every condition and of every character. -He began to have knowledge of the science of good and evil. He was now -intelligently ashamed if any one alluded to his mother, and remembered -that he had always felt ashamed instinctively. Yet he was consumed by -the desire to know where she was, to see her again, and reproach her -with having deserted him. The unknown land, mysterious and far, to which -she had fled, was taking to Anania's eyes clear outline and appearance, -like that land discerned amid the mists of dawn to which the voyaging -ship draws ever nearer. He studied geography with interest; and knew -exactly how he should go from the island to that continent which -concealed his mother. As once in the mountain village he had dreamed of -the town where his father lived, so now he pondered upon the great -cities described by his teachers and his books, and in one of them, and -in all, he saw the figure of his mother. Her physical image, like an old -photograph, was growing fainter and fainter in his memory; but he always -thought of her as dressed in the Sardinian costume, barefoot, slender, -and very sorrowful. - -That year an event occurred which was deeply impressive to his -imagination. This was the return of Bustianeddu's mother. - -Anania was a pupil at the Gymnasium, secretly enamoured of Margherita -Carboni, and believing himself quite grown up. The woman's reappearance -moved the whole neighbourhood, and Anania wondered over it by day and by -night. Ostensibly, however, he took no interest in the event. - -Some time passed before he saw the woman who had hidden herself in the -house of a relative. Bustianeddu, however, who had become grave and -astute beyond his years, spoke frequently of her to Anania. - -Uncle Pera was growing old and the olive-miller assisted him in the -cultivation of his beans and teazles. Anania had free ingress to the -garden, and often carried his books to a grassy bank beside the -streamlet, whence under the shadow of the prickly pears he could see the -wild panorama of mountains and valleys. Here Bustianeddu would find him -when he wanted to pour out his confidences. Bustianeddu spoke -sceptically and coldly, unaware of the tumults of emotion working in the -soul of his friend. - -"It would have been better for her to stay away," said Bustianeddu, -lying on his face, his legs in the air. "My father was ready to kill -her; but he takes it more quietly now." - -"Have you seen her?" - -"Of course I have. My father doesn't like me to visit her, but, of -course, I go. She's grown stout. She's dressed like a lady: I didn't -recognize her. The devil!" - -"You didn't recognize her?" exclaimed Anania, surprised and thinking of -his own mother. Ah, he would know _her_ at once! - -Then he thought-- - -"She will be dressed like that too, and her hair in the fashion. Oh -God--oh God--what will she be like?" - -Her face eluded him, he was bewildered, confused, then tried to console -himself trusting to his instinct. - -"I should know her--I'm sure I should," he thought passionately. - -"Why has your mother come back?" he asked Bustianeddu once. - -"Why? Because this is her own town. She was working at a dressmaker's in -Turin. She got tired of it and came home." - -There was a pause. Neither of the lads believed in the dressmaker at -Turin, but they accepted the story. Anania even said-- - -"Then your father aught to make it up with her." - -"No," said Bustianeddu, defending his father, "he's quite right. You see -there was no necessity for her to go away, and work for her living!" - -"Your father works himself. What's the shame of working?" - -"My father keeps a shop," corrected the other. - -"Well, what's she going to do now? And which of them will you live -with?" - -"Don't know," said Bustianeddu. - -Daily, however, the stories became more interesting. - -"No end of people come to my father to beg him to forgive her. Even our -member of parliament! Grand-mother came yesterday. She said, 'Jesus -forgave the Magdalen; remember, my son, that we are all born to die, and -it's only our good deeds we can carry over there. Look at the condition -of your house! Only the rats are at home in it.'" - -"What did your father say?" - -"He went away," said Bustianeddu with great indignation; "of course he -went away!--for shame!" - -Next day he related. "Even Aunt Tatàna has begun to meddle. She -preaches long sermons. She said to my father, 'Fancy you are taking a -friend as a guest. Oh, do take her! She's penitent. She will reform. If -you won't take her back, who knows what will become of her! King Solomon -had seventy women in his house, and he was the wisest man in the -world!'" - -"What did your father say." - -"Hard as a stone. He said it was the women who made King Solomon -foolish." - -The skin-dealer never relented. His wife lived at the far side of the -town near the school. She wore the costume again; but slightly altered, -slightly embellished with tags and ribbons. Her dress proclaimed her a -woman of equivocal character. The husband did not forgive, and she -continued her own life. - -Anania saw her whenever he went to the Gymnasium. She lived in a black -house, the windows of which were outlined with white, the white lines -ending in a large cross. There were four steps to the door, and the -woman often sat on these steps sewing or embroidering. She was large and -handsome, very dark, no longer young. In summer her head was bare, her -raven locks raised high on a cushion above her low forehead. Round her -long full throat she wore a handkerchief of grey silk. - -When he saw her, Anania grew red. He felt a morbid kindness for her, yet -often thought he hated her. He would have liked to go to his school -another way so as to avoid the sight of her; but an occult and malignant -force drew his steps always to that street. - - - - -VI - - -It was the Easter holiday time. - -Anania, studying his Greek grammar as he paced the little path which -divided the expanse of ashy green teazles, heard a rap at the gate. He -had not the garden to himself. His father was there, hoeing and singing -love songs of the poet Luca Cubeddu. Nanna was weeding, helped by Uncle -Pera. Efès, in his usual condition, lay on the grass. The weather was -almost hot. Rosy clouds chased each other over the milky heaven, -disappearing behind the Cerulean summits of Monte Aliena. From the -valley, as from an immense verdure-clad shell, indefinite sounds and -perfumes rose into the sunny air. - -Now and then Nanna raised herself upright putting her hand to her back. -She blew kisses to the student. "Bless him!" she said tenderly. "There -he is studying away like a little bishop! Who knows what he mayn't turn -out! He'll be a judge, or an examining Inspector. All the girls of the -place will be picking him up like a sugar plum! Ah, my poor back!" - -"Get on with the weeds!" growled Uncle Pera, "or I'll break your back in -good earnest. Get on with the weeds and let the boy alone." - -"Bad luck to you, old tyrant! If I were a lass of fifteen, you wouldn't -be talking like that!" she said, bending over the weeds; but after a -minute she looked up again, blowing more kisses to Anania. - -When the miller heard the knock he called out-- - -"Who's there?" - -Anania and Efès, one from his book, the other from the grass, looked up -with the same look of faint anxiety. Suppose it were Signor Carboni? -Efès felt all the weight of his degradation when the benevolent -_padrone_, who never worried him with useless reproaches, sat down and -talked to him: Anania thought of his mother and remembered the -incongruity between his position and that of Margherita whom he was yet -daring to love. The knock was repeated. - -"I'll go and see who it is," said Anania, running and tossing his book -in the air to encourage himself. - -"If it's the master," said Uncle Pera, "Efès must get up and pretend -he's doing something. It's abominable to see him sprawling about like a -dead dog." - -Nanna emitted a growl and kilted her ragged petticoat round her red bare -legs. - -"Get up, you old blunderbuss!" continued Uncle Pera, attacking the sot, -"get up and pretend you're some use!" - - -But the alarm subsided when Anania returned bringing a thin, pale, young -man with a face like a scarecrow, dressed in the Fonni costume. - -"I suppose you don't know him," said the student to his father; "I -didn't! It's Zuanne Atonzu. What a big fellow he is!" - -"Greetings, cousin!" said the miller. "Welcome! How's your mother?" - -"She is well," said the young man laughing shyly. - -"Why have you come?" - -"I'm witness in a case at the Tribunal." - -"What have you done with your horse? At the tavern? Why you've forgotten -we're kin. Well? Are we too poor for you to lodge with us?" - -"I wish I was as rich," smiled the youth. - -"We'll send for the horse," said Anania, hiding his grammar in his -pocket. - -They went off together. Anania was childishly pleased at seeing this -humble shepherd in his rough clothes which recalled to him a whole wild -and far off world. Zuanne was overcome by shyness beholding this -handsome young gentleman, fair and fresh with his white collar and -splendid necktie. - -"Mother, we want some coffee," called Anania from the street. - -Then he took the guest to his own room and began to exhibit his -possessions. Quaint furniture filled the long narrow room. The ceiling -was of cane, whitewashed; there were two wooden chests like antique -Venetian coffers, roughly carved with griffons, eagles, and fantastic -flowers; a pyramidal chest of drawers, baskets suspended from the walls, -and pictures in cork frames: in one corner a vessel of oil, in the other -his bed covered with a quilt knitted by Aunt Tatàna. The window looked -out on the courtyard elder; between the window and the bed was a little -table with a green cover, and a white wood book-case, the corners of -which had been carved by Maestro Pane in imitation of the chests. On the -table were sundry books and much manuscript written by Anania; a few -boxes strangely tied up, almanacs and a packet of Sardinian newspapers. -All was tidy and very dean; sweet odours and waves of light entered by -the window. The tiled floor was cracked in places, and a couple of elder -leaves fluttered over it, chasing each other as if in play. A volume of -_Les Misérables_ lay open on the desk. Anania had intended to show -everything to the visitor as to a long missed brother; but Zuanne's -stupid expression as he opened and shut the mysterious boxes, damped his -friend's enthusiasm. - -Why had he brought this bumpkin into his little room? It was fragrant -not only with the scent of honey, of fruit, of lavender which Aunt -Tatàna hoarded in the chests, but also with the perfume of his lonely -dreams. From its windows opening on the elder flower and the moss-grown -roofs of neighbouring cottages, the world was opening for him, virgin -and flowery like the untrodden mountains of the horizon. His pleasure -had changed into disappointment. - -Something had detached itself and fallen away from him, as a stone -sometimes detaches itself from the rock, never to return. His native -village, the past, the first years of his life, the homesick memories, -the poetic affection for the brother of his adoption--all seemed to -vanish in a flash. - -"Let's go out," he said brusquely; and led the shepherd through the -Nuoro streets, avoiding his schoolfellows lest they should ask who was -this peasant walking awkwardly at his side. They passed before Signor -Carboni's house. Suddenly appeared at the door a plump and rosy face, -illuminated, it seemed, by reflection from a blouse of republican -scarlet. - -Anania snatched off his hat and the reflection of the blouse flamed on -his face also. Margherita smiled, and never were the round cheeks of any -maiden marked with more adorable dimples. - -"Who's that woman!" asked Zuanne, the lout, when they had moved on. - -"Woman? Why, she's a young girl! only nine months older than I am!" -cried Anania. - -Zuanne was much confused and said no more; but a most strange thing -happened to Anania. His will became unable to keep his mouth shut; and -he lied, knowing that he lied, but overwhelmed by felicity at the notion -that what he said might have been true. - -"That's my sweetheart," he said deliberately. - -That evening, the olive-miller lounging in his kitchen, made Zuanne -describe the ruins of Serrabile, an ancient city discovered near Fonni, -and he asked whether there was any chance of treasure being found there. -But Anania stood at the window of his little room, watching the slow -rising of the moon between the black teeth of Orthobene. - -At last he was alone! Night reigned, passionate and sweet. Already the -cuckoo was filling the lonely valley with her palpitating cries. Ah! -thus sadly did Anania feel his heart palpitate and cry, out of an -infinite solitude. - -Why had he told that lie? And why had the stupid shepherd said not a -word on hearing the stupendous falsehood? Clearly he knew nothing of -love--love for a superior creature, love without limit and without hope. -But why had Anania stooped to a lie? For shame! He had calumniated -Margherita, put himself further than ever from her. It must be the same -spirit of vanity, the same desire of the marvellous, which once upon a -time had made him tell Zuanne of an imaginary encounter with robbers. -Ah! God! - -He pressed his cold hands upon his burning cheeks; he fixed his eyes on -the melancholy visage of the moon. He shuddered. Then he remembered a -bright cold winter moon, the theft of the hundred _lire_, the figure of -Margherita appearing before him like the shadow of a flower against the -golden disc of the moon. Ah! his love must have dated from that night; -only now after years and years had it burst forth breaking the stone -beneath which it had lain buried, like a spring which can no longer keep -its course below ground. - -These similes of the flower against the moon, of the rising spring, came -ready made to Anania. He was pleased with his poetic fancies, but they -could not lay the remorse which tormented him. "How vile I am!" he -thought; "vile enough to lie, and about her. Well, I may be successful -at my books, I may become a great lawyer; but morally I shall never be -anything but the son of that lost woman!" - -He stood a long time at the window. Some one passed down the street -singing, and somehow the song reawakened his memories of infancy and of -Fonni, Fonni with its crimson sunsets! He fell into a dream, luminous -and melancholy like the moon he was watching. He imagined himself still -at Fonni. He had never gone to school, had never felt the shame of his -birth. He was a shepherd, simple like Zuanne. And he saw himself -standing at the extremity of the village, in a rosy summer twilight; and -behold Margherita passed, Margherita she also poor and an exile in the -mountain village, wearing that narrow skirt characteristic of the place, -the amphora on her head, as if she were a woman out of the Bible. He -called to her and she turned, radiant in the sunset dazzle, and she -smiled to him rapturously. - -"Where are you going, beauty?" he asked. - -"I am going to the fountain." - -"May I come with you?" - -"Come, Nania." - -He went. They walked together by the road high up on the shoulder of the -valley in whose depth night was waiting, waiting till the purple should -fade in the heavens and veils of shadow should fall upon all things. -Together they descended to the fountain. Margherita set the amphora -under the silver stream of gurgling water, and immediately it changed -its tone to one of merriment, as if the descent into the jug had -agreeably interrupted the eternal tedium. The two young things sat on a -stone bench before the fountain, and they talked of love. The amphora -filled, the water overflowed, and for some moments was quite silent as -if listening to the lovers. And now the sky was grey and the veils of -shadow had fallen on the higher peaks, the more luminous folds of the -mountains. And as night enwrapped the valleys, the desire of Anania -waxed bolder. He put his arm round the girl's waist, she laid her head -on his shoulder, and he kissed her. - - -At this time Anania was seventeen. He had no friends and mixed little -with his schoolfellows. He was painfully conscious of the stain upon his -birth. Once overhearing the remark, "If I were he, I would not stay with -my father," he fancied the words must refer to himself. - -"That's it!" he thought; "why am I here with this man who betrayed my -mother and flung her into a bad life? I don't exactly love him, and I -certainly don't hate him, but what I ought is to despise him. He is not -wicked; he's not completely trivial like the majority of our neighbours. -Sometimes I feel quite fond of him, when I hear his simple talk about -treasure hunting, when I see his respectful affection for his elderly -wife, his unchanging fidelity to his master. But I ought to despise him! -I wish to despise him! What claim has he on me? Did I ask him to bring -me into the world? I ought certainly to leave him now I understand----" - -But gratitude, affection, much confidence, bound him to Aunt Tatàna. -She lived almost exclusively for him. She adored him, though she had not -succeeded in making him what she would have liked, a pious and obedient -boy, reverent of God and the king and the priests. She saw, alas I that -he was wrong-headed and self-sufficient, but she loved him none the -less. She laughed and jested with him; she taught him to dance; she -amused him with all the gossip of the place. Every morning before he was -up she brought him a cup of coffee. Every Sunday she promised him money -if he would go to mass. - -"I'm too sleepy," he would say. "I worked so hard last night." - -"Go later," she would insist. Anania did not go, but Aunt Tatàna gave -him the money all the same. - -The day after his idyllic dream, woven of the moonlight which streamed -in at his little window, Anania took Zuanne for a walk, starting with -the intention of treating his friend to a cup of aniseed at the tavern. - -"Who knows when we shall meet again!" sighed the shepherd. "When are you -coming to see us?" - -"I can't" said Anania, seeking an excuse, "I have to work so hard. I -ought to finish with the Gymnasium this year." - -"And then where are you going? To the continent?" - -"Yes! to Rome!" - -"There are a great many convents at Rome, aren't there? And more than a -hundred churches." - -"A good many more than a hundred. Who told you?" - -"Your father, last night. He said when he was a soldier----" - -"Are you to be a soldier?" - -"No; my brother. I----" He interrupted himself. - -They entered the tavern. It was empty, smelling of tobacco and spirits, -swarming with flies. - -A girl was sitting on the bench. She was dark, and very handsome, though -untidy and dirty. - -"Good-morning. Agata." - -"What do you want?" she asked, getting up and turning familiarly to -Anania. - -"What would you like?" Anania asked the shepherd. - -"I don't mind," said Zuanne embarrassed. - -The girl mimicked him, looking Anania in the face. He returned her look. -Zuanne grew red, and looked at the floor. When they came out he asked -shyly. - -"Is that one your sweetheart too?" - -Anania was half-flattered, half-angry. "What makes you think that? -Because she looked at me? Good gracious, what are eyes for? You intend -to be a monk, I suppose?" - -"Yes," said Zuanne simply. - -"You're going to be a monk!" repeated Anania astounded. "Come along, -then! we'll visit the churchyard. That's what will suit you." - -"We shall all go there some day," said Zuanne gravely. - - -It was soon after Zuanne's visit that the boys at the Gymnasium acted a -comedy. They had wanted Anania to take the part of the heroine, but he -had obstinately refused. Nor did he repent his resolution, for when the -night of the performance came he had a place in the second row of the -spectators immediately behind his godfather (now Syndic of Nuoro) by -whose side sat Margherita in a white hat and a red dress which shone -like a flame. - -The Captain of the Carabinieri, the Secretary of the Sub-Prefecture, the -Assessor and the Director of the Gymnasium, sat in the front row with -the Syndic and his resplendent daughter; but the young lady did not seem -pleased with her company; she kept turning her head, though haughtily, -to look at the students. - -The hall had once been a convent church; now it was the theatre, -exhibition-room, centre of reunion for all Nuoro. A curtain, not -innocent of patches, concealed the stage, but it blew about in the wind -and gave visions of boyish legs jumping and dancing. At last it was -drawn with much difficulty and the comedy began. - -The time was that of the Crusades, the scene an ancient and much -turreted castle, of which, however, nothing was visible but one room -containing a round mahogany table and six Vienna chairs. - -The faithful Hermengild (a diminutive school-boy, his face rouged with -red paper, his legs awkwardly astraddle, his costume one of Signora -Carboni's dresses) was embroidering a scarf for the no less faithful -Godfrey, a warrior away on some distant expedition. - -"Here she pricks her finger," whispered Anania leaning towards -Margherita. - -She leaned towards him, hiding her laughter with her handkerchief. - -The Captain of the Carabinieri seated by her side, turned his head -slowly, and glared at the student. But Anania was so happy he wanted to -laugh, and wanted to impart to Margherita all the joy which her nearness -had waked in him. - -At the sixth mocking criticism whispered by the little student, the -Captain could endure no more. - -"Hold your stupid tongue, will you?" he shouted. Anania shivered, and -drew back as a snail withdraws into its shell. He was so angry that for -some minutes he could neither hear nor see. - -_Hold your tongue._ Exactly; he was not to be allowed to make his -harmless jokes, not to be allowed to speak. Oh yes! he quite understood! -He must not lift his eyes, because he was poor and dependent and a -foundling. What was he doing here among all these great folk, among all -these rich and courted young people? How had he dared to lean towards -Margherita Carboni to whisper with her, to make trivial jokes for her -smile? He was quite conscious of the triviality of his conversation. How -could the son of an olive-miller, the son of an Olì, be expected to -talk otherwise? "Hold your tongue, do!" the Captain had said. - -Presently Anania revived. He looked contemptuously at the fringe of red -hair round the Captain's bald head. He saw deformed ears and the end of -a waxed moustache. He felt a ferocious wish to box the deformed ears as -many times as there remained hairs on his hideous head. Margherita -presently turned round, surprised by Anania's silence. Their eyes met. -Seeing him depressed, Margherita's eyes became shadowed. Anania saw it -and he smiled. In a moment they were both merry again. Margherita tried -to give her attention to the stage, but felt that Anania was smiling -still, and that his long, half-closed eyes were still fixed on her. - -A delicate intoxication overpowered them both. After the comedy there -was a farce at which Signor Carboni laughed immoderately. Margherita was -vexed to see her father laughing like a baby. She had read that -fashionable persons never attend to the play, still less are amused by -it. The Secretary of the Sub-Prefecture frequently turned his back on -the stage, and Margherita would have liked her father to do the same. - -It was near midnight when Anania accompanied the Carboni's to their -home. The Assessor--old and a babbler--walked with the Syndic, telling -of an American medical discovery: that microbes are essential to the -human organism. The boy and girl walked in front, laughing when they -slipped on the cobbles of the miry streets. Other persons went by, -laughing and chattering. The night was dark, warm, velvety. Now and then -a breeze from the east came, went, returned wafting a wild perfume from -the woods outside the town. Stars, infinite like human tears, sparkled -in the limitless heaven. Jupiter flamed over Orthobene. - -Who does not remember in his early youth some such night, some such -hour? Stars quivering in the depths of a night more luminous than -twilight, stars not seen but felt--ready to descend upon our brow; the -brilliant bear like a golden chariot waiting to carry us to the land of -dreams; a dark pathway; felicity so near, she can be grasped and -retained for ever and for ever. - -More than once Anania felt the girl's hand touch his. The mere thought -that he might take it and press it seemed sacrilege. He felt a sort of -double consciousness. He spoke yet seemed silent, his thoughts far away. -He walked and stumbled yet seemed scarce to touch the earth. He laughed -yet was sad almost to tears. He saw Margherita by his side, so near, -that he might touch her, yet she appeared far away, intangible like the -breath of the wind which went and came. She laughed and jested with him. -In her eyes he had seen the reflection of his own distress; yet he told -himself she could only regard him as a faithful dog. He thought-- - -"Could she guess I was consumed with the desire to press her hand she -would cry out with horror; she would regard me then as a rabid dog." - -What did they say to each other that starlit night, in the dark streets -swept by the odorous breeze? He never was able to remember; but, for a -long, long time the dull talk between the old Assessor and Signor -Carboni remained in his mind. - -At last, however, the Assessor's high nasal voice became silent. -Margherita and Anania stopped, bid him good-night, went on their way; -but now the boy felt himself awakened from a dream, once more solitary, -sad and shy, stumbling in the darkened street. The Syndic had interposed -his portly person between the poor young creatures! - -"Bravo! bravo!" said he, "how did you like the play?" - -"It was rot!" replied Anania. - -"Bra--a--vo!" repeated the godfather. "You're a cruel critic." - -"What else could you expect? Our Director's a fossil--he couldn't choose -better. Life's not like that--never has been! If the theatre isn't like -life, its ridiculous. If they must have chosen something mediæval, -still it might have been something less absurd--something true, human, -touching. They might have had Eleonora d'Arborea dying because she had -helped the plague-stricken---- - -"But," said Signor Carboni, astonished by the boy's eloquence, "I don't -think our theatre's equal to such a grandiose subject." - -"Then a modern comedy would be better--something moving. These stupid -legends have had their day," said Margherita, catching up Anania's tone. - -"What, Miss? you too? Well, I agree they might have had something more -interesting. What's that you said about the Director?" - -"I said he's a fossil." - -"Good Lord! Suppose I tell him?" - -"I don't care! I'm going away next year." - -"And pray where may you be going?" - -Anania grew red, remembering he couldn't go anywhere without Signor -Carboni's assistance. What did the question mean? Had his godfather -forgotten? Was he mocking him? Did he want to make the boy feel the -weight of his obligation, keeping him on tenter hooks, exhibiting him as -at his patron's mercy? - -"I don't know," he murmured. - -"Do you really want to go, my lad? Then you shall, you shall. You're -shaking your wings like a young bird. Oh! you shall fly--you shall fly!" - -He made the gesture of throwing a bird in the air; then slapped his -godson's shoulder. Anania heaved a sigh of relief. He felt as light as -if he had really been launched in flight. Margherita laughed. That laugh -vibrating in the stillness of the night seemed to Anania the rose-bush's -obscure desire for the bird which perches on it to sing. - - - - -VII - - -Autumn drew on. - -These were Anania's last days at home, and heavy weight of sentiment -oppressed him. He was still the young bird joyfully ready for flight; -but he was sad and tormented by vague fears of the unknown. What was the -world like, which had already usurped his thoughts? And the adieu was -painful to that humble world in which his childhood had monotonously -passed, unstained by active grief, brightened by his evolving love for -Margherita. The languor and sweetness of early autumn contributed to -render him sentimental. Light clouds veiled the sky. Behind the -mountains a vaporous horizon concealed yet suggested worlds of ineffable -dream. The pale green twilights were brightened by rosy cloudlets, -meandering slowly and interruptedly over the glaucous heaven. In the -garden was the rustle, the odour of burning weeds; it seemed to Anania -that something of his soul vanished in the smoke of these melancholy -fires. - -Good-bye! good-bye! gardens and orchards, guardians of the valley! -Good-bye! distant roar of the torrent which announced the winter! -Good-bye, cuckoo, which foretold the return of spring! Good-bye! grey -and savage Orthobene with his holm-oaks outlined against the clouds like -upstanding hairs on a sleeping giant. Good-bye! distant cerulean -mountains! and good-bye, tranquil and kindly hearth, little room scented -with fruit, with honey, and with dreams! Good-bye, humble companions, -unconscious of their own ill-fortune, wicked old Uncle Pera, miserable -Nanna and Efès, suffering Rebecca, extravagant Maestro Pane, crazy -beggars, girls careless of their beauty, children born to want--all of -them mean and distressful persons whom Anania did not love, whom he was -leaving gladly, yet with a wrench. - -And good-bye, Margherita! Light and sweetness among shadows, a rainbow -in the cloud, a frame of pearl glorifying the dingy painting of dull -memory I Margherita, good-bye! - -The day of departure drew near. Aunt Tatàna made endless preparations. -She provided shirts and socks, fruit, and cakes white as ivory, cheese, -a fowl, dozens of salted eggs, wine, honey, raisins, saddle-bags, and -baskets filled to the brim. - -"But these are stores for a whole army!" said Anania. - -"Hush, my son! You will find it all necessary. _There_ you will have no -one to care for you, poor child. Oh! what will become of you?" - -"Never fear. I'll look after myself." - -The miller and his wife had long, secret consultations and Anania -guessed their tenor. One evening they went out together and he anxiously -awaited their return. - -Aunt Tatàna came in alone. - -"Anania, where do you intend to go? To Cagliari or to Sassari?" - -Till that moment he had expected to cross the sea: now he understood -that some one had decided against that plan. - -"Signor Carboni, I suppose?" he said, with ill-concealed bitterness and -pride; "don't deny it. What's the good of keeping me in the dark? I see -through you. Why won't he send me to the continent? I'll pay all his -money back to him in the end." - -"Bah!" said Aunt Tatàna alarmed by these symptoms of pride, "whatever -have you taken into your head?" - -Anania panted, bent his head over a book without seeing a word of it. -The woman caressed him. - -"Well, what do you wish, my son? Cagliari or Sassari? You mentioned them -both yesterday. Why on earth should you go further? Jesus! Mary! The -sea's a horrible thing! People get sick on the sea--so I have -heard--sometimes they die. And the storms. Do you never think of the -storms?" - -"You don't understand," said Anania, turning his pages. - -"You never said a word about it! You mustn't be so capricious. You can -study just as well in Sardinia as on the continent? Why should you go to -the continent?" - -Ah yes, why? What did Aunt Tatàna know of his secret desires? It was -not for the sake of his studies that he wanted to cross the sea. Had he -not, since the first day, that sunny autumn day when Bustianeddu had led -him to the Convent school, had he not been thinking of something very -different from mere study? - -However Aunt Tatàna's gentle talk calmed his annoyance. - -"You are still a child, my son. At seventeen do you want to run about -the world alone? Would you die at sea away from every one, or wither in -a city which you tell me is as big as a forest? Go to Cagliari. Signor -Carboni will give you introductions. He knows everybody at Cagliari, -even a Marquis. Well, then, be reasonable. You shall go further when you -are older. You are like a leveret just weaned. It leaves the form and -runs away to the very wall of the _tanca_, then it comes back. Presently -it goes further, and further still. It learns what it may do; it sees -the path along which it will run. You must wait. Think how near we shall -be, think how you can run back to us if anything goes wrong. At -Christmas you'll be able to come back----" - -"Very well. I'll go to Cagliari," said Anania. - -Next day he began his leave-takings. He visited the Director of the -Gymnasium, a priest who was a great friend of Aunt Tatàna's, the -doctor, the Deputy; then the tailor, the grocer, and the shoemaker, -Franziscu Carchide, the handsome young man who had been one of the -_habitués_ of the olive-mill. Carchide had, however, made a fortune, no -one knew how; he had a big shop with five or six workmen, he dressed -like a gentleman, talked affectedly and flirted with the young ladies -whose feet he measured. - -"Have you any commissions for Cagliari?" said Anania entering his shop. - -"Send him a diamond ring," said one of the workmen, "for he's engaged to -the Syndic's daughter." - -"Well, why not?" said Carchide, with conceit. "Sit down, Anania." - -But Anania, irritated by the joke which he thought an insult to -Margherita, would not sit down and hurried away. As he went out he met -the lad whom rumour called the _padrone_'s son, a tall boy with blue -eyes really very like Margherita's, but sadder. - -"Good-bye, Antonino," said the student, and the other looked at him with -flashes of hatred and envy in his melancholy pupils. - -When he came in Anania told everything to Aunt Tatàna, who was -preparing a sweetmeat, compounded of oranges, honey and almonds, for him -to present to some great person at Cagliari. - -"Look," said the boy, "your priest gave me a crown, and the doctor gave -me two lire. I don't like to take it." - -"Oh, bad child! It's the custom to give presents to a boy going away for -the first time!" said the woman, shaking and stirring the slender strips -of orange-peel in the shining copper saucepan. Strong smell of boiling -honey perfumed the kitchen. Everywhere were little yellow baskets packed -with the stores for the student. Anania sat down with the cat on his -knee. - -"I wonder where I shall be in a week? Stay quiet, Mussittu, put your -tail down! Your priest read me such a long sermon." - -"I suppose he told you to make your confession and take the Communion -before starting?" - -"That was necessary twenty years ago, when one went to Cagliari on a -horse and took three days over it. It's not the fashion now!" - -"You bad child! don't you believe in God? Holy Saint Catharine, what -will become of you at Cagliari? I hope you'll anyhow go to La Sea (the -cathedral), where there's a picture that does miracles. Cagliari's a -very pious place. You won't speak against religion, I hope?" - -"Never mind Cagliari! Every one believes what he can and what he likes. -I venerate God more in my heart than all the hypocrites." - -These words were somewhat consolatory to the good woman. She told him -the Bible story of Eli, and then let him continue the description of his -visits. - -The kitten had climbed on his shoulder and was licking his ear, tickling -him in a way that somehow reminded him of Margherita. He was telling the -vulgar joke about Carchide's engagement when Nanna came in, Aunt Tatàna -having sent her to buy comfits for her sweetmeat. Her skirt was torn, -and she looked even worse than usual, as she stood unrolling her package -and trying to listen to the conversation. - -"Did you hear," said simple Aunt Tatàna, "that horrid Franziscu -Carchide wants to marry Margherita Carboni?" - -"No, that's not what I said!" cried Anania. - -"Oh, I know Franziscu," said Nanna, "he's mad. He asked first for the -doctor's daughter. They chased him out with the broom handle, and now he -thinks he'll get Margherita because he made her shoes too small." - -"He wants a kick in the face!" cried Anania jumping up, the cat round -his neck. - -Nanna looked at him, her little eyes shining shrewdly. - -"That's what I say. But there's an officer, a general I think, who wants -to marry Margherita. No, I say, she's a rose and she must marry a -pink--fresh and sweet, both of them. Take it!" she went on offering a -comfit to Anania. He drew back, while the kitten vainly stretched its -paw to the little white object. - -"Keep off! You smell like a wine barrel!" said the boy, and Nanna -staggered and dropped all her comfits on the floor. - -"My pink!" she said coaxingly. "You shall be Margherita's pink! Why are -you going away? But I know! it's to become a judge----" - -Anania laughed and picked up the comfits. - -"And all the girls are to pick me up like a sugar plum, isn't that it?" - -He danced the kitten up and down, feeling quite affectionate to Nanna. -Then suddenly became very gloomy. Who was the officer who wanted to -marry Margherita? Was it that horrible Captain with the red neck who had -said, "Hold your tongue, do!" Then he thought of something still worse. -Margherita married to some young man, handsome--rich--eternally lost to -the poor student. - -He set the cat down, and went away, shut himself up in his own room and -looked out of the window. He was suffocating. It had never occurred to -him that Margherita might marry. - -"No, no!" he said, squeezing and shaking his head between his hands. -"She mustn't marry. She must wait. She must wait till--till I----. But -why should she wait? How could I marry her? I am the son of a lost -woman. I have no mission in life but to find my mother and draw her out -of the abyss. Margherita could never stoop to me. But until I have -fulfilled my mission, I need Margherita as I need a lighthouse. -Afterwards--I can die content." - -He did not think that his "mission" might be prolonged indefinitely and -without success. It did occur to him that he might aspire to Margherita -if he were to renounce his mission; but this seemed monstrous, and he -put the idea away. - -The thought of finding his mother had grown and developed with his -growth. It palpitated with his heart, vibrated with his nerves, flowed -with his blood. Only death could eradicate it; but it was of his -mother's death that he thought when he wished that their meeting might -not take place. The yearning for this solution, however, seemed to him -great cowardice. - -Later he asked himself if it were natural sentimentality which had -created this thought of his mission; or whether the thought had made him -sentimental. At present he accepted his preoccupations and sentiments -without analysis. Accepting them thus childishly he rooted them so -firmly in his soul and in his flesh, that no logic, no conscious -reasoning could have sufficed to pluck them up. - -He spent a fevered night. Already far distant was the time in which he -had been content to see Margherita in the orchard garden, without caring -for the colour of her hair, the grace of her bosom. Then his dreams had -been all fantastic; raptures, meetings, flights to mysterious places, -preferably to the white tablelands of the moon; but had he learned she -was about to marry, it would have occasioned him no suffering. Once he -had thought of persuading her to follow him to the mountains where they -might poison themselves with a poison that would not disfigure their -corpses; yes, they would lay themselves on the rocks among the wild -flowers and the ivy, and they would die together; but into this dream -entered the desire neither for a kiss nor for a pressure of the hand. - -Afterwards had come the idyllic dream of the mountains at Fonni, of the -lover's kiss, of Margherita's surrender. Then came the night of the -acting, when the immediate vision of her hair, her eyes, her bosom, had -caused him a delicate intoxication. - -Now he was racked by the thought that she might be destined for another. -In his fevered slumber he was in agony, in his dreams he was writing, -writing, at a despairing letter which he never succeeded in bringing to -a termination. Then, still dreaming, he remembered having composed a -sonnet in dialect for her, and he decided on sending it. He awoke. He -rose and flung the window wide. It was near dawn. The heaven was quite -clear, a great red star was setting behind the black obelisk of -Orthobene, like a dying flame on a candlestick of stone. Cocks were -crowing, answering each other with rivalry of raucous cries, each -apparently angry with the other, and all with the delay in the coming of -the light. Anania looked at the sky; he yawned, and a cold shiver ran -from his feet to his head. Oh God! what was happening to him? Part of -his soul must detach itself from him, must remain here, under that clear -heaven, in sight of those wild mountains whose crests were candlesticks -for the stars. As a wayfarer, burdened by too heavy a load wishes to -drop some of it so as more lightly to follow his path, so Anania felt a -great longing to leave part of his secret with Margherita. He shut the -window, seated himself at his table, trembling and yawning. "How cold!" -he said aloud. - -The sonnet was already written out on pink paper ruled with violet -lines. It bore the poetic title "Margherita," and was in the form of an -allegory, also highly poetic. - -A most lovely marguerite grew in a green meadow. All the flowers admired -her, but specially a pale and lowly buttercup which had grown by her -side. The buttercup was sick with love for his beauteous neighbour. And -lo! on a sweet spring morning, a lovely maiden passed through the -meadow, and plucked the daisy, kissing it and hiding it in her bosom, -never noticing that she had squashed the unhappy buttercup. But the -buttercup seeing his adored neighbour snatched away was glad to die. - -The poet read his verses with breaking heart, for instead of the -symbolic maiden he saw a captain of Carabinieri with a long moustache. -He folded the sheet, enclosed it in an envelope, but remained long -undecided whether or no it should be sealed. What would Margherita think -of it? Would she receive a sonnet from him? Yes; because when the -postman rapped out his three terrible knocks, which seemed a knocking of -the iron hand of destiny. Margherita would herself run to take in the -letters. That is if she were at home at the time of the postman's -coming. She would be there at midday certainly. Therefore it was -necessary to post the poetic epistle early. - -Feverish agitation preyed upon the student. He could neither hear nor -see. He sealed the envelope, left the house, and roamed the dark, -deserted streets like a somnambulist. What o'clock was it? He did not -know. Cocks were still crowing behind the walls. The damp air smelt of -straw. A poor woman who baked barley bread in the poorer houses, came -and went on her fatiguing business. The steps of two tall black -Carabinieri resounded on the pavement. There was no one else. - -Though it was still dark, Anania feared he might be seen. He slunk along -the wall, and the moment he had posted the letter he took to his heels. -He saw the Carabinieri again at the end of the street, changed his -direction and made his way home almost without noticing it. But he could -not go in. He was choking. He wanted air, he wanted immensity, and again -he ran, his hat in his hand, his feet hurrying towards the high road. -But when he had reached it he was still unrelieved. The horizon was -clouded, the great valley dark. He went on and up. Only when he was at -the foot of Orthobene could he breathe, expanding his nostrils like a -colt escaped from the halter. He would have liked to shout aloud for -excitement and joy. - -It was getting light. Thin azure veils covered the great damp valley. -The last stars had vanished. Involuntarily Anania repeated the line-- - - -"_Care stelle dell'Orsa, io non credea_--" -("Dear stars of the Bear, I believed not--") - - -and tried to forget what he had done, though the thought of it was -causing him acute spasms of happiness. - -He began the ascent of Orthobene, plucking the leaves, the tufts of -grass, throwing stones and laughing aloud. He seemed mad. The turf smelt -sweet. The heaven was the colour of cyclamen behind the immense purple -rocks of Monte Albo. Anania stood upon a rock looking at the huge -cloister of the far mountains, upon which streamed the delicate -reflection of the sunrise. Suddenly he became pensive. - -Good-bye! To-morrow he would be away beyond the mountains, and -Margherita would think in vain of the forgotten buttercup who loved her -and who was himself. - -A finch sang from its wild nest in the heart of an ilex tree, expressing -in its trembling note, all the solitude of the place and of the hour. -The note found its echo in the young lad's soul; and he remembered the -song of another little bird which had sung from out the damp leafage of -a chestnut tree on a morning long ago. A morning long ago, over there, -over there, on one of those far distant hills, perhaps on that rosy spur -thrust out towards the morning! And again he saw the child merrily -descending the slope, beside a sorrowful woman; the child all -unconscious of sorrow. - -"And now again," he said to himself, "I am glad to go, and who knows -what may be awaiting me?" - - -He came in pale and weary. - -"Where have you been, _galanu meu_ (my treasure)? What took you out -before sunrise?" asked Aunt Tatàna. - -"Give me my coffee," replied Anania. - -"Here it is. But what's the matter, dear heart? Cheer up. Get back your -colour before you go to your godfather. What? Aren't you going to him -to-day? What are you staring at? Has an ant got into your coffee?" - -He was staring at a little gold bordered cup reserved exclusively for -him. Good-bye, little cup! Just once more to-morrow, and then, Good-bye. -A lump rose in his throat. - -"I'll go to my godfather later. I've got to finish packing," he said, as -if talking to the cup. - -"Suppose we never see each other again?" he said to Aunt Tatàna. -"Suppose I die before I come back? I daresay it would be better. What's -the good of living to be old?" - -Aunt Tatàna, looked at him anxiously, crossed herself and said, "Have -you been having bad dreams last night? Why does my little lamb without -wool talk like this? Have you the headache?" - -"You don't understand!" he cried, springing to his feet. He went to his -room and packed his books and dearest possessions, now and then his eyes -turned to the window. - -What would he see from the window of the room which awaited him at -Cagliari? The sea? The real sea? The infinite distance of azure water, -under the infinite distance of azure heaven? The thought of all that -azure had a soothing effect. He repented having been cross to Aunt -Tatàna. He was very ungrateful--still nerves are nerves and -uncontrollable. But he would not be ungrateful. No! throw down -portmanteau, books, boxes, rush to the kitchen, where the good woman is -sweeping with an air half sad, half philosophical, grieving probably -over the tragic words of her lamb without wool, fall upon her, enfold -her and her broom in one embrace, and drag her into a vertiginous whirl -of a dance! - -"Bad boy, what's the matter with you?" cried the elderly woman -palpitating with joy. And then in the middle of the dance he was off -again, running and imitating the puffing of a train. - -His packing done, he went on with his good-bye visits, going first to -Maestro Pane. The old carpenter's shop, generally thronged, was at the -moment deserted, and Anania had to wait some time sitting on the bench, -his feet among the abundant shavings which strewed the floor. A light -breeze blew in from the door, agitating the great cobwebs and the layers -of sawdust. - -At last Maestro Pane came in, put on an old soldier's tunic, its buttons -carefully polished, and smiled with childish satisfaction when Anania -told him he looked like a general. - -"I have the helmet too," he said, "but when I put it on the children -laugh. So you're off, my boy? God go with you and help you. I have -nothing to give you." - -"Never mind that, Maestro Pane." - -"My heart is not wanting, but heart isn't enough. Well, when you're -Doctor of Laws I'll make you a writing desk. I've got the pattern!" - -He looked up a furniture catalogue and showed a splendid bureau with -columns and carving. - -"You think I can't do it? You don't know Maestro Pane. If I've not made -much precious and expensive furniture it's only because I lack capital. -It will be well done." - -"I'm sure it will, and when I'm a doctor and a rich man I'll have you to -make all the furniture of my palace." - -"Will you really?" cried the old hunchback, delighted. "In how many -years will it be?" - -"That I can't tell you. Ten perhaps, or fifteen." - -"Too long. I shall be in heaven by that time. In the workshop of the -glorious St Joseph." (He crossed himself.) - -"And tell me, what does this catalogue mean by furniture -Lui-gi-de-ci-mo-quart-o," (Louis XIV.) he asked reading in syllables. - -"He was a king," began Anania. - -"I know that much. He was a king very fond of women," said the old man -with a grin on his great toothless mouth. - -"Maestro Pane, how do you know that?" - -"Because I'm not a scholar do you think I know nothing? Victor Emmanuel -liked hoeing his garden, and Queen Esther liked picking lavender in the -fields, and that King Luigi liked girls." - -"You seem to have read a great deal." - -"I? I wish I had. My dear boy, all are not born under a lucky star, like -you!" - -Anania next knocked at Nanna's low door, but the old madman sitting on a -stone close by told him she wasn't at home. - -"I'm waiting for her myself, you must know. Last night Jesus Christ told -me he was wanting a servant." - -"Where did you see Jesus Christ?" - -"Down there, in the lane. He had a long cloak and his shoes were burst. -Why don't you give me a pair of shoes, Nania Atonzu?" - -"They're too tight," said the boy, looking at his feet. - -"Then go barefoot, strike you dead!" shouted the lunatic menacingly. - -"Good-bye," said Anania; "I'm off to college." - -"To Iglesias?" - -"No, to Cagliari." - -"There are pole cats and vampires at Iglesias. Well good-bye. Shake -hands. I won't eat you. And where's that mother of yours now, I wonder?" - -"Good-bye, take care of yourself," said Anania, freeing his hand from -the madman's hard fingers. - -"I'm going away myself; to a place where one feasts all day; beans, -lentils, sheep's fry----" - -"Good appetite to you. Good-bye." - -"Eh!" cried the old man, when he had gone some distance, "write to me -when you're gone, and don't fall into the hands of the scarlet women." - -Anania had other friends to see including the beggar widow, who received -him in a little chamber beautifully clean, and gave him a cup of -first-rate coffee. - -"Are you going to Rebecca?" she said jealously. "_She_'s taken to -begging. A shame, isn't it, for a girl like that? Tell her so." - -"She's a cripple." - -"Not she. She's cured. What are you looking at? My reaping hook?" - -"Why's it hanging on the door?" - -"For the vampire. When the vampire comes in at night she stops to count -the teeth of the sickle. She can't count further than seven so she keeps -beginning again. Then the dawn comes, and the moment she sees the light -she flies off. Why do you laugh? It's quite true. God bless you, dear; -good journey and do the place credit!" said the beggar, going with him -to the street. - -He went to Rebecca. Huddled up in her dark hole she seemed a wild beast -sick in its den--though considerably more than twenty she was still the -size of a child. - -Seeing the lad, she flushed all over and offered him a bunch of black -grapes on a rude cork-tray. - -"Take them. I've nothing else!" - -"Say 'thou'[12] to me," said Anania, taking one from the bunch. - -"I'm not worthy. I'm not Margherita Carboni. I'm a poor wretch," said -the girl excitedly. "Take the whole bunch. It's quite clean. I haven't -touched it. Uncle Pera _su gattu_ brought it." - -"Uncle Pera?" said Anania, who believed all the scandals about the old -gardener. - -"Yes, poor old fellow. He always remembers me and brings me something -every day. Last month I was ill, for my sores broke out again. Uncle -Pera sent for the doctor and brought me my medicines himself. He's what -my father ought to have been. But my father has left me! Well, never -mind." (for she saw that touched Anania). "Why won't you take the whole -bunch? It's really quite clean!" - -"Give it to me. But where can I put it? Let me wrap it in this -newspaper. I'm off to-morrow. Going to Cagliari. I do hope you'll get -well." - -"Good-bye," she said, tears in her eyes, "I wish I were going away." - -Next Anania saw the handsome Agata at the tavern door so he stepped -across to take leave of her. - -"She smiled, her big eyes sparkling, and kissed her hand. - -"Yes, it's good-bye," said Anania, coming closer. - -"You've been flirting with that lump of dirt," she said, pointing to -Rebecca. "Go away, you smell of her." - -For some reason, Anania remembered Margherita, and felt shocked. - -"She's jealous of me!" continued Agata, making eyes at him. "Look! she's -watching you. The silly fool! She's always thinking of you because last -New Year's Eve she drew you for a sweetheart." - -"Oh, shut up! I'm off to-morrow. Can I do anything for you?" - -"Take me with you!" - -A shepherd, who had been drinking a cup of brandy, came out and pinched -the girl as he passed. - -"_Sas manas siccas_ (wither your hands), skinned hare!" cried Agata. She -beckoned Anania into the tavern, and asked what he would drink. - -"Nothing. Good-bye! good-bye." - -However, she fetched white wine, and, as he drank, leaned languidly -against the bar watching him. She said, "I'm going to Cagliari as soon -as I've bought a new dress with gold buttons for the chemisette. I'll go -to Cagliari and get a place. We shall meet again. The devil! Here comes -Antonino! he's my sweetheart, and is mad jealous of you. Ah, my jewel, -good-bye! good-bye!" - -Saying this she flung herself upon him with a wild cat spring and kissed -him hotly on the lips. Then she pushed him away, and he went out, -confounded and agitated, hurrying past Antonino whose look of hate he -now understood. For some minutes he walked not knowing whither. He was -new to kisses, and could only think of Margherita, the longing to see -her making his blood boil. - -"Oh!" he cried suddenly finding himself in the arms of another woman. - -"Child of my heart!" cried Nanna, crying and laughing, and offering him -a parcel, "are you really going? God go with you and bless you as he -blesses the ears of corn. We shall see you again, but meantime--here -take this, my darling. Don't refuse or I shall die of grief." - -To prevent Nanna's death he accepted the parcel, but shuddered, feeling -something very unpleasant on his cheek. - -"There!" said Nanna, when she had kissed him, "I couldn't help it. It -will wash off, dear. It won't prevent the flower-smelling kisses of the -golden girls who will pick you up like a sugar plum." - -Anania made no protests, but this thrust into reality restored his moral -equilibrium and cancelled the burning sensation given him by the kiss of -Agata. - -When he got home he opened Nanna's parcel, and found it contained -thirteen _soldi_ (half-pence). - -"I hope you've been to your godfather," said Aunt Tatàna. - -"I'm going at once after dinner," he replied. - -But after dinner he went into the courtyard and stretched himself on a -mat under the elder tree, round which buzzed the bees and the flies. The -air was warm. Between the boughs Anania saw great white clouds floating -across the blue heaven. An infinite sweetness fell from those clouds. It -seemed a rain of warm milk. Distant memories, wandering, changing, like -the clouds, passed through his mind confused with recent impressions. -Now he was back in the dreary landscape guarded by the sounding pines, -where his father had ploughed and sown the _padrone_'s corn. The -sounding of the pines is like the voice of the sea. The sky is deeply, -monotonously blue. Anania remembered the lines--whose? Baudelaire's -perhaps?-- - - -"Blue the colour of her eyes, -Deep and empty as the skies." - - -The eyes of Margherita? No, that was an insult to her! But it was -satisfactory to be able to quote such an original verse-- - - -"Blue the colour of her eyes, -Deep and empty as the skies." - - -Who is that behind the pine-tree? The postman with the red whiskers! On -his head he wears a crow with outstretched wings. It is pecking hard at -the poor man's forehead. - -"Rat-tat-tat!" Margherita runs to the door, receives the pink letter, -and begins to fly. Anania wants to follow her, but he can't move, can't -move, can't speak. It's because the postman is shaking him. - -"My son, it's three o'clock. When are you going to your godfather?" asks -Aunt Tatàna. - -She it is, not the postman, who is shaking him. Anania springs to his -feet, one eye still shut, one cheek pale, the other red. - -"I'm rather sleepy. It's because I was awake all last night. Very well, -I'll go now." - -He washed, combed his hair, spent half an hour in making his parting -first at the side, then in the middle, then doing away with it -altogether. - -"What an idiot I am!" he thought, trying to control his feelings but in -vain. - -"Are you there still? When ever are you going?" called the good woman -from the courtyard. He looked out of the window and asked-- - -"What shall I say to him?" - -"Say you are going to-morrow. Say you'll get on well, that you'll always -be a good boy." - -"Amen. But what will he say to me?" - -"He'll give you good advice." - -"Won't he say anything about----" - -"About what?" - -"About money," said Anania in a whisper, putting his hand over his -mouth. - -"Bless me, what have you to do with money? You know nothing about it!" -said the old woman raising her hands. - -"Then I'll go." - -On the contrary, he visited Bustianeddu; then went to the garden to take -leave of Uncle Pera, also of the figs, the teazles, the far-reaching -landscape. - -He found the old gardener stretched on the grass, his stick by his side, -at rest like its master. - -"I'm off. Uncle Pera, good-bye. Keep well and take care of yourself." - -"Eh?" said the old fellow who was growing blind and deaf. - -"I'm going away!" shouted Anania. "I'm going to Cagliari to college." - -"Going to sea? Oh yes, there's sea at Cagliari. God bless you, my lad. -Old Uncle Pera has nothing to give you but his prayers." - -Anania repented his frequent mockery of the old man, who at any rate was -kind to Rebecca. He bent down, his hands on his knees. "Have you any -commissions?" - -The old man sat up, stared, then smiled. - -"Commissions? I? But I'm going away myself very soon." - -"You?" said the boy, amused at the mania all men, even decrepit ones, -have for going away. - -"Yes, I'm starting too." - -"For what place. Uncle Pera?" - -"Ah, for a distant one," said the old man, pointing to the horizon; "for -eternity." - - -Not till evening, nor till he had passed and repassed vainly before -Margherita's window did Anania knock and ask for his godfather. - -"There's no one at home. They'll be back soon, if you'll wait," said the -maid. "Why didn't you come earlier?" - -"Because I do what I choose," said Anania entering. - -"Oh, very well. It's better to waste your time with that scum Agata, -than to come and visit your benefactors." - -"Pshaw!" said Anania, leaning against the window. - -The servant was insulting as she had been that long ago night when he -and Bustianeddu had come for the basin of soup. Nothing was changed. He -was still a dependent, an object of charity. - -"But I'm grown up!" he thought. "I can renounce it all, go to work, be a -soldier--anything that's not abject!" - -He moved from the window, brushing against the writing desk, which was -already illuminated by the moon. Among the papers, untidily tossed -about, he spied a pink envelope lined with green. - -The blood rushed to his face. His ears burned, he shook from head to -foot. Mechanically he bent and took up the envelope. Yes, it was _that_ -one, torn and empty. He felt as if he were touching the remains of some -sacred thing which had been violated and destroyed. It was all over! His -soul was empty and torn to pieces like this envelope. - -Suddenly, brightness flooded the room. Margherita had come in! He tried -to drop the envelope, but perceived that the girl had seen it in his -hand. Shame now was added to his grief. - -"Good evening," said Margherita, placing a lamp on the desk; "they've -left you in the dark." - -"Good evening," he murmured. He resolved to explain, then to escape, -never to be seen in this house again. - -"Take a seat." - -He looked at her in astonishment. Yes, it certainly was Margherita. At -that moment he hated her. - -"Forgive me," he stammered, "I didn't do it intentionally. I'm not a -beast; but I saw this--this envelope, and I couldn't help--looking----" - -"Is it yours?" - -"Yes." - -Margherita blushed and seemed confused; but Anania as if freed from a -burden began to recover his wits. Wounded pride counselled him to assert -the sonnet a jest. But Margherita in her walking dress, with her small -waist and her bright green ribbon was so beautiful and so rosy that his -hatred all disappeared. He wished he might put the lamp out and be alone -with her in the moonlight, he wished he might fall at her feet and name -her with sweetest names. But he couldn't, he couldn't! though he saw she -also was raising and dropping her eyes in delicious alarm, expecting his -cry of love. - -"Did your father read it?" he whispered. - -"Yes, and he laughed," she answered in the same tone. - -"Did he laugh?" - -"Yes, he laughed. Then he gave it to me and said, 'Who in the world has -sent it?'" - -"And you--you----?" - -"I----" - -They spoke anxiously and very low, already involved in a delicious -conspiracy. Suddenly Margherita changed her voice. - -"Oh, it's Papa! Anania is here," she cried, running to the door. - -She hurried out, and the boy remained in the greatest perturbation. He -felt the warm, soft hand of his godfather clasping his own, and he saw -the blue eyes and the shining gold chain. But he hardly heard the good -advice and the pleasantries with which Margherita's father favoured him. - -Bitter doubt tormented him. Had Margherita understood the significance -of the sonnet? She had said nothing to the point in those precious -moments, which he had stupidly not turned to profit. Her agitation was -not enough. It told nothing. No, he must really know more--know all. - -"Know what?" he asked himself ruefully. "There's nothing to know." It -was all useless. Even if she cared for him--but this was folly. Nothing -was any good. Great emptiness surrounded him, and in this emptiness the -voice of Signor Carboni lost itself and was unheard. - -"You're lucky in having only your studies to mind," ended the godfather -hearing a sigh from the boy. "Be cheerful; be a man and do us credit." - -Margherita now came back accompanied by her mother, who in her turn was -prodigal of counsel and encouragement. The girl went hither and thither -about the room. She had dressed her hair coquettishly with a curl on her -left temple. What was still more important, she had powdered herself. -Eyes and lips were resplendent. She was a wonder; and Anania followed -her about deliriously, his thoughts running on kisses. She must have -understood, she must have been attracted by the fascination of his gaze, -for when he was going away--she followed him to the great entrance door! - -The court was bathed in moonlight, as it had been that night long ago, -when the proud, sweet vision of her had waked his childishness to a -sense of duty. So now she was proud and sweet. She stepped lightly, with -a rustle of wings, ready to fly. Ah! she was a true angel! Anania -thought himself still dreaming. Presently she would float up and vanish, -and he would not be able to follow her. And the desire to put his arm -round that slender waist with its green ribbon made him giddy. - -"I shall never see her again!" he told himself; "I shall fall dead the -instant she has shut the door!" - -Margherita pulled the chain; then turned and extended her hand. She was -pale. - -"Good-bye. I'll write to you," she whispered. - -"Good-bye!" said he, shivering with joy. - -The contact of their hands perhaps caused some grand explosion. For they -felt as it were a great booming in their ears, and the heat and the -light of a thunderbolt fell round them, while--rapturously--they kissed -each other. - - -[Footnote 12: Sign of familiarity and friendship.] - - - - -VIII - - -At Cagliari Anania went through the Lyceum course, then two years at the -University. He was studying Law. These years were like an _intermezzo_ -in his life; sweet and inspiriting music. - -He began a new existence from the moment he set foot in the train, and -was carried across the lonely plains, the dreariness of which was -aggravated by autumn. He felt a new person clothed in a new vesture, -soft and comfortable after one torn and narrow. Was it Margherita's kiss -which made him so happy? or the good-bye to all the petty wretchednesses -of the past? or the somewhat timorous joy of liberty with the thought of -the unknown world to which he was hurrying? He neither knew nor sought -to know. How beautiful, how easy was life! He felt strong, handsome, -victorious. All women loved him, all the doors of life opened to his -feet. Pride and enjoyment enwrapped his soul like an odorous, an -intoxicating vapour, through which he discerned horizons as yet -undreamed. - -The whole way from Nuoro to Macomer, Anania stood in the corridor of the -railway carriage, violently shaken by the jerks of the little train. Few -persons got in or out at the desolate stations, where bored acacia trees -seemed waiting for the train, to hurl upon it companies of fast -yellowing leaves. - -"Take them!" said the acacias to the train, "take them, contemptuous -monster; we are stuck always here, and you move about. What more do you -want?" - -"Yes," thought the joyous student, "life is movement." And he understood -the jocund strength of running water. Till now his soul had been a -morass, its edge smothered in fetid weeds. Yes! the acacias stuck in the -stagnant Sardinian solitudes knew the truth. Yes! move, run, hurry! that -is to live! - -"Is this devil of a train never going on!" asked the student during one -of the interminable delays. - -The railway official, who knew Anania by sight as he knew almost all his -passengers, calmly lit his pipe and said, sucking its stem:-- - -"You'll arrive all in good time. If you're in a hurry get out and fly." - -Ah t if he could fly! Anania looked at a black _nuraghe_ on a high rock, -like a nest of gigantic birds, and wished he could fly thither with -Margherita; to be alone with her and with the memories which floated on -the wild scent of the heather; alone, inspired by the shadows and by the -phantoms of epic passions. Ah, how great he felt! - -But now the cerulean heights of his native Barbagia vanished at the -horizon. One peak of Orthobene towered behind the others, violet against -the pale sky. Still an outline--a point, one alone--then nothing. The -mountains were setting like the sun or moon, leaving a pensive twilight -in the soul of the spectator. - -Good-bye, good-bye! Anania felt a moment's sadness, then again his -thoughts turned to Margherita's kiss. Ah! he seemed to have the -delicious creature beside him. The vivid impression of her person, the -electric contact of her fresh lips, still gave him delirium. At moments -he shivered. Had it not all been a dream? If she were to forget? or to -repent? But hope soon returned: pride, intoxication, and the joy in his -new existence, endured for days. Everything went well with him. Fortune -favoured him in the smallest things. Arrived at Cagliari, he found at -once a delightful room with two balconies to the windows. From one he -could see the hills and the great luminous sea, sometimes so calm that -the reflection of steamers and sailing-boats was clear as if engraved on -steel. From the other, almost the whole town was visible, rising like a -Moorish city in bastions to the castle, overgrown with palms and -flowers. - -At first Anania liked this balcony best. Beneath was a wide white -street, opposite a row of small old houses tinted with rose colour (like -old painted beauties), and with Spanish balconies full of carnations and -of ragged coloured garments put out to dry in the sun. Anania scarcely -noticed the cottages. His fascinated eye passed on to the grand view of -the Moorish city, where coloured houses rose one above the other to the -pyramid of mediæval towers profiled against an oriental sky. - -At the end of October it was still summer. The air was impregnated with -strange fragrance, and the ladies who passed under Anania's balcony were -dressed in muslins and gauze. The student felt himself in an enchanted -land. The scented and enervating air, the new conveniences of his fine -room, the pleasure of a new life, all combined to give him a sense of -dream. He fell into a somnolent languor, through which the impressions -of his new existence and the records of his recent past came to him -veiled and sweet. Everything seemed beautiful and grand--the streets, -the churches, the houses. And oh! how many people there were at -Cagliari! What fashion! What luxury! - -The first time he passed before the Caffé Montenegro, and saw the smart -young men sitting there with their straight moustaches and their yellow -shoes, he remembered with a strange feeling of contrast the -toil-stained, unkempt figures who assembled at the mill. What was going -on there now? The humble life of the poor neighbourhood was certainly -pursuing its melancholy course, while here in the shining Caffé, in the -luminous streets, in the tall, sunlit, wind-kissed, spray-freshened -houses all was light and luxury and joy. - -His happiness was increased by a letter from Margherita, first of many. -It was a simple, tender letter, written on large white note-paper in a -round, almost boyish hand. Anania had been expecting a little azure -epistle with a flower in it. Was this unconventionality to show him her -superiority? But the simple and affectionate expressions of this girl, -who seemed in her first letter to be continuing a long and uninterrupted -correspondence, convinced him of her ingenuous and deep love, of her -sincerity and force of character. He experienced an ineffable joy. Every -evening, said Margherita, she stood long hours at the window, fancying -that at any moment he might pass by. Their separation was a great pain, -but she comforted herself thinking he was working and preparing for -their future. She told him where to direct his reply, and enjoined the -greatest secrecy, for of course if her family suspected their love it -would be vigorously opposed. Vibrating with love and happiness, Anania -wrote his reply at once. He was, however, remorseful at the thought of -deceiving his benefactor, and could hardly satisfy himself with the -sophistry: "Making the daughter happy is doing good to the father." - -He wrote of the marvels of the city and of the season. "At this moment -the frogs are croaking in the distant gardens, and I see the moon rising -like an alabaster face in the warm twilight heaven. It is the same moon -that I used to watch from Nuoro, the same round melancholy face that I -used to see looking down on the rocks of Orthobene. Now it seems sweeter -to me; how changed, how smiling!" - -After posting the letter Anania felt the same impulse, to run to the -fresh air of the mountains, that he had felt after posting the sonnet. -He restrained himself somewhat, but walked swiftly towards the hill of -Bonaria. - -Evening was falling with almost Eastern softness. The moon shone pale -through the moveless trees; above the mother-o'-pearl sea-line the blue -of the heaven melted into green, furrowed with rosy and purple clouds. -The broad road leading to the Santuario was deserted. He seemed in a -dream. - -Anania sat on the lofty terrace of the Santuario, broadly moonlit. He -intoxicated himself with the splendid vision of the sea. The waves -mirrored the light-permeated heaven, the rosy clouds, the moon: then -broke themselves beneath the cliff, like immense shells of pearl -dissolving into silver. Four sailing-boats, drawn up in line against the -luminous background, seemed to Anania huge butterflies come down to -drink and to rest upon the waters. Never had he been so happy as in that -hour. Waves, great and resplendent as the sea, seemed rolling over his -soul. He felt as if some beneficent sorcery had wafted him to a -mysterious orient land, and dropped him on the threshold of an enchanted -palace, open to receive him for ever. - -By the moonlight, by the dying rays of day, he reread Margherita's -letter. He kissed the sheet, put it away, and unwillingly rose to return -to the town. As night came on, the moon seemed to strew the pathway with -silver carvings and with coins. Far off a chorus of fishermen was heard, -and still the pleasant croaking of the frogs. All was sweetness; but now -the lad felt a strange invasion of melancholy, a presentiment perhaps. - -For when he had reached the little garden of San Lucifero, he heard loud -cries, shrieks, shrill screeching of women, oaths of men. He ran. Before -the pink cottages opposite to his own balcony was a group of persons -engaged in a quarrel. It would seem the neighbours were not astonished, -for no heads appeared at the windows of the larger houses. Apparently -the place was used to such scenes, to the madness of these persons who -took each other by the ears, spitting out the grossest insults. Quite -close was a big man dressed in black velvet, motionless, watching, it -would seem enjoying, the excitement. - -"The police! Where are the police?" cried Anania. - -The man turned his eyes slowly on the young student. "The police? Oh, -the police come every week. They give a push here, and a blow there, and -finish it off. Next day it begins again. They'll have to turn those -women out," said the big man, pointing at two of the brawlers. "I'll -have to take it in hand myself, and get a petition to the authorities -signed by all the respectable householders." - -"But what women are they?" asked Anania, bewildered. - -The big man looked at him contemptuously. - -"Women of the streets, of course, innocent!" - -Anania went in so pale and panting that his landlady observed his -agitation. - -"Never mind" she said, "it's only some stupid matter of jealousy. -They'll soon be turned out. We're going to appeal to the government." - -"Where do--those women come from?" asked Anania. - -"One belongs to Cagliari. The other, I rather think, is from Capo di -Sopra." - -The shouts redoubled. A woman cried out she was being killed. A child -sobbed. God! How horrible! Anania, trembling and attracted by some -irresistible force, rushed to his balcony. Above him was the purest of -heavens, the moon, the stars; below, at the foot of the vaporous picture -of the city, the savage scene, the group of demons, belching forth roars -of rage, abominable words. Anania watched in anguish, his soul oppressed -by a tremendous thought. - -Then came the police. Two of the brawlers ran away, the rest calmed -down, the women shut themselves into their houses. In a short time all -was silence, broken only by the distant rumble of a carriage, by the -hoarse croaking of the frogs. - -But in Anania's soul dolorous tumult raged still. Alas! the illumined -sea which had flooded his soul while he poured over his letters on the -hill of Bonaria, had grown dark, and was tossed and torn by tempest. - - -"Oh God! oh God! grant she may be dead. Have pity on me, Lord!" he -sobbed that night, racked with insomnia and sad thoughts. - -The idea had shot through his mind that one of the brawling women who -lived in the pink cottage might be his mother. He no longer however -thought that, for the landlady when she brought his supper had told him -particulars of the women which would not fit for Olì. But what matter? -If she were not here, she was there; in some unknown but real place; at -Cagliari, in Rome, somewhere, she was living or had been living, a life -like that of the women whom the decent inhabitants of the Via S. -Lucifero wanted to chase from their vicinity. - -"Why did Margherita write to me?" said Anania in anguish, "and why have -I replied? _That woman_ will always stand between us. What have I been -dreaming? To-morrow I must write to Margherita and tell her all." - -"But how can I tell her?" he asked, again turning and tossing on his -bed. "And if _that woman_ is dead? Why must I renounce my happiness? -Doesn't Margherita probably know about my birth? If it shocked her, she -would not have written to me. Yes, but she thinks my mother is dead, or -at any rate dead for me. While I _feel_ she is alive, and that it is my -duty to seek her, and find her, and lift her out of hell. Perhaps she -has reformed already. No, she hasn't. I am sure she hasn't! Oh, it's -horrible! I hate her! I hate her, hate her! I'll murder her." - -Atrocious visions appeared before his eyes. He saw his mother brawling -with other women of her own sort, with lurid and bestial men. He heard -cries. He shook with hatred and disgust. - -At midnight he wept, smothering his sobs, biting the pillow, wringing -his hands, tearing his breast. He snatched away the amulet Olì had -given him on the day of their flight from Fonni, and flung it against -the wall. Could he but tear out and hurl from him the whole memory of -his mother! - -Suddenly he marvelled at his tears, rose, and found the amulet, but did -not again put it round his neck. He asked himself whether he would have -minded so much about his mother if he were not in love with Margherita. -He answered himself, Yes, just as much. A sort of emptiness filled his -mind. He wearied of his self-torment. Then other thoughts came to him. -He heard the moaning of the wind, the loud roar of the sea. He thought -of a forest searched by the wind, silvered by the moon; he remembered -the woods of Orthobene, where so often while he was picking violets the -sound of the wind in the ilexes had seemed to him the sound of the sea. -Then suddenly the cruel problem assaulted him with renewed fury. -"Suppose she has reformed? It will be just the same, just the same. I've -got to seek her, and find her, and help her. It was for my good she -deserted me. Otherwise, I shouldn't have had a name or a place in -society. If I had stayed with her I'd have been a beggar. I'd have lived -in shame, I'd have been a thief, a criminal. But isn't it all the same? -Am I not ruined just the same? No! no, it's not the same! I am the son -of my own deeds. Only Margherita won't have me because--Oh why, why? why -shouldn't she have me? Am _I_ dishonoured? What fault is it of mine? She -loves me. Yes, she loves me because I'm the son of my own deeds. And -probably _that woman_ is dead. Ah, why do I delude myself? She is not -dead, I feel it. She's alive, and she is still young! How old is she? -Thirty-three, perhaps; ah yes, quite young!" - -The idea that she was still young softened him somewhat. "If she were -fifty I couldn't forgive her, that would make it impossible. Oh, why did -she desert me? If she had kept me with her she wouldn't have gone back -into sin. I would have worked for her. By this time I'd have been a -labourer, a shepherd, a workman. I should never have known Margherita. I -should have been quite happy." - -But the dream of what he might have been disgusted him. He did not love -labour. He did not love poor people. He had endured the poverty of the -environment in which he had lived till quite lately, only because he had -good hope of rising above it in the future. - -"My God, my God! grant she may be dead!" - -"But why do I make this stupid prayer?" he asked angrily; "she is not -dead! After all, why must I seek her? Didn't she give me up? I'm a fool. -Margherita would laugh if she knew I was thinking anything so silly. And -I'm neither the first nor the last illegitimate son who has raised -himself and grown to be respected. Yes; but _that woman_ is the shadow. -I've got to find her and make her live with me, and live properly; and -an honest woman won't ever live with us. Us! I and she are all one. -To-morrow I must write to Margherita. To-morrow. Suppose she loves me -still in spite of it?" - -He felt almost faint at the sweetness of this thought. Then was -conscious of its improbability and fell back into despair. Neither the -next day nor later could he bring himself to write to Margherita. The -unfulfilled resolve pursued him, goaded, prostrated him, as if he were a -leaf in the grip of the blast. - -"I will tell her by word of mouth," he thought; yet feared he would have -even less courage for that, and reviled himself for a coward; then found -unconfessed comfort in the shameful certainty, that this very cowardice -would always hinder him from accomplishing what he called "his mission." - -Often, however, this mission appeared so heroic that the idea of -deliberately giving it up distressed him. - -"My life would be pointless like the lives of most men, if I gave that -up." And in these romantic moments he was not averse to the conflict -between his duty and his love, love morbidly increased by the conflict. - -After that evening of the brawl, Anania deserted the balcony which gave -on the street. The appeal to the government was unsuccessful in -uprooting the women, and the sight of the pink cottages hurt his eyes. -However, going out and coming in he often encountered the two women, or -saw them on their balcony among the carnations and the washed rags hung -out to dry. - -One of them, she of Capo di Sopra, was tall and lithe, with black hair -and dark bright blue eyes. She it was who especially attracted Anania's -attention. Her name was Marta Rosa; she was often drunk, and some days -miserably attired, roaming the streets dishevelled, barefoot, or in old -red slippers. At other times she wore a hat trimmed with feathers, and a -smart cape of violet velvet. Sometimes she sat in her balcony pretending -to sew, and sang in a voice fairly clear and melodious, the pretty -_stornelli_[13] of her native place, interrupting herself to scream -insolences to the passers-by who had mocked her, or to her neighbours -with whom she was in continual hot water for seducing their sons or -husbands. When she sang her voice reached to Anania's room, and he -suffered keenly in hearing it. - -Often she sang this _stornelli_:-- - - -_Su soldadu in sa gherra The soldier die he must -Nan chi s' est olvedadu In war and be forgot; -No s'ammentat de Deu. Not even God remembers -Torrat su colpus meu My body He dismembers, -Pustis ch' est sepultadu When buried 'tis, I wot, -A sett' unzas de terra._ To ounces six of dust. - - -"Why doesn't she think what she's singing?" Anania asked himself; "why -doesn't she think of death, and of God, and reform? But how can she -reform? No one will give her work. Society doesn't believe in the -repentance of such women. She could commit suicide; that's the only -remedy!" - -Marta Rosa filled him with pity and with rage. Though he knew where she -came from, and what family she belonged to, he could not entirely get -rid of the fancy that she might be his mother. At any rate his mother -must be very like her. Hideous thought! - -One evening Marta Rosa and her companion, a fair-haired woman, pitted -with small-pox, stopped the student in the street, and invited him to -visit them. He pushed the fair one away and fled, shivering with horror -and disgust. Oh God! It seemed as if had spoken to him. After that the -two woman jeered at him whenever they met. He signed a second and a -third appeal to the Prefecture, but afterwards regretted he had done so. - -Meantime the days passed on. The warm autumn was followed by a mild -winter. Except on rare days of wind and dust, it felt like spring. -Anania studied hard, and he wrote long letters to Margherita. - -Their love was no different from that of a hundred thousand poor -students and rich young ladies. But Anania thought no couple in the -world had ever loved as they loved. Never had man been born who had felt -fires like his. Notwithstanding the dread that Margherita might give him -up if she knew about his mother, he was happy in his love. The mere -thought of seeing the girl again gave him giddiness of delight He -counted the days and the hours to the meeting. In the whole veiled and -mysterious future, he discerned but one luminous point:--his return home -for the Easter holiday, which meant the meeting with Margherita. As time -passed on his fever increased. He remembered nothing but her blue eyes, -her softly tinted cheeks. All other figures disappeared behind this -beloved image. - -During his first year at the Lyceum at Cagliari, just as at the Nuoro -gymnasium, Anania made no friends, scarce even acquaintances. He sat at -his books, or wandered solitary on the seashore, or stood dreaming on -his balcony, from which he saw the shining picture of waves and sky, the -sailing-boats and steamers apparently carved upon a metallic background. - -One day, however, when it was nearing the hour of sunset, he went off -towards Monte Urpino, beyond the groves where the almond trees had been -in flower since the first days of January; and this excursion had its -results. He discovered a pine forest with lonely, moss-carpeted paths. -Between the rosy fir-stems patches of delicate brilliance were thrown by -the sinking sun. On the left were visions of green meadow, of almond -flower, of hedges red in the evening glory; on the right pine groves and -shadowed banks, covered with iris blossoms. - -The lad wandered hither and thither, full of delight. He could have gone -on for ever. The foreground was delicious, but the distance was -enchantment. He plucked the iris flowers, murmuring the name of -Margherita. He ascended a hill green with asphodel, from which he had a -vision of the city so red in the sunset, of the sea which seemed an -immense cauldron of boiling gold. The sky flamed, the earth exhaled -delicate fragrance. Little purple clouds lost on the horizon suggested a -caravan with men and camels, vanishing in splendour. Anania felt so -happy that he fluttered his handkerchief and cried aloud, saluting the -invisible being who was the soul of the sea, the glory of the heaven, -the spirit of that ineffable distance--Margherita! - -After this that pine forest on Monte Urpino was the country of his -dreams. He fancied himself its proprietor, and was irritated if he met -other persons on the lonely paths. Often he lingered till it was night, -was present at the red sea-reflected sunset, or sat among the irises -watching the rise of the moon, great and golden behind the motionless -pines. Once when he was seated on a grassy slope beside a little ravine, -he heard the tinkle of grazing flocks, and home-sickness, as yet -unknown, overpowered him. Before him, beyond the ravine, the path lost -itself in the mystery of distance; the rose-flooded trees blended into -the purity of the sky, the velvet moss caught the sunshine. Above the -horizon Venus shone out, solitary and smiling, as if she had preceded -the stars to enjoy the sweetness of the hour undisturbed. - -Of what was the solitary star thinking? Had she a distant love? Anania -dared to compare himself with the radiant star alone in the heaven as he -was alone in the forest. Perhaps Margherita was looking also at the -evening star. And what was Aunt Tatàna doing? The fire was burning on -her hearth, and the kind, good, elderly woman was preparing the evening -meal, and thinking of her dear boy so far away. And he--he was hardly -thinking of her at all! He was ungrateful, selfish! How could he help -it? If in Aunt Tatàna's place had been another woman, his thought must -have flown to her continually. But that woman was--Ah, where was _that -woman_? What was she doing at this moment? Did her eyes also see the -evening star? Was she dead? Was she alive? Was she rich? or was she a -beggar? Suppose she were blind! or in prison! This last fancy was -perhaps caused by the distant tinkle of a flock led as Anania knew by a -jailbird, an old shepherd let out from the prison of S. Bartolomeo on -ticket-of-leave. Enough! the boy rose, scattering his sad thoughts. He -descended into the ravine, scrambled up again, and went back to the -town, comforting himself with the thought that Easter was drawing near. - -At last came the day of return. Anania left Cagliari almost sick with -delight. He feared he might die on the way, might never see the dear -mountains, the familiar street, the fair landscape, the face of -Margherita. - -"Yet if I were to die now," he thought, leaning his forehead on his -hand, "she would never forget me--never!" - -Fortunately he arrived quite safe and sound. He saw his dear mountains, -his wild valleys, the whole fair landscape; and the purple countenance -of Nanna who had come to meet him at the station. She had waited for -more than an hour. When she saw the lad's handsome face she opened her -arms and cried:-- - -"My little son! my little son!" - -"How do you do? Here, catch this!" and to protect himself from her -embraces, he tossed into her arms the portmanteau, a parcel, and a -basket. - -"Come along!" he cried, "you go out that way. I have to go this way. Go -on!" - -He ran and disappeared, leaving the woman stupefied. Ah! Here he was in -the familiar street. _She_ would be waiting at the window, and no -witness, not even Nanna, was wanted for that greeting. But how small -were the houses of Nuoro! and the streets how narrow and empty! All the -better! It's cold too at Nuoro! Spring has come, but it's still pale and -delicate like a child who has been ill. Here are some people coming -towards him, among them Franziscu Carchide. Franziscu recognizes the -young student, begins to make signs of welcome. What a bore! - -"Well, how are you? Glad to see you back. How you've grown! Smart too!" - -Carchide could not take his eyes off Anania's yellow shoes. The boy was -chafing with annoyance. At last he escaped. On! on! His heart beat -louder and louder. A woman came to her door, looked at him as he ran by, -and said:-- - -"I declare it's he!" - -Well yes, it was he! What business was it of hers? Ah! here, here is the -street which leads to another, to the well known, the beloved street! At -last! It is no dream. Anania hears footsteps and is vexed. Luckily it is -only some children who run, shout, rush away again. And who will there -be in the other street? He longs to run like the children. But he -mustn't, he can't. On the contrary, he assumes an aspect of the greatest -rigidity. He is quite composed. He adjusts his necktie, brushes the -lapels of his coat. He is wearing a long, light overcoat which she has -never seen. Will she know him at once in this coat? Perhaps not. Now he -is in the street. Here is the red door, the white house with the green -window shutters. But she is not there! Oh God, why is she not there! - -Anania stood still with beating heart. By happy chance the street was -empty. Only a black hen passed quietly by, lifting her claws very high -before setting them on the ground, amusing herself pecking at the wall. -What can be the pleasure of that? Is she looking for ants, or testing -the wall's strength? Well! he must go away, to avoid the observation of -curious eyes. He begins to walk away as slowly as the hen, and though -there is still no one at the window he does not take his eye from it for -an instant. His heart suddenly comes into his mouth! He turns quite -faint. Margherita has come! She is pale with passion, and she looks at -him with burning eyes! Anania also grows pale, and no thought of -salutation comes to him, nor a smile. He cannot think. For some instants -he can see nothing but those burning eyes from which rains unspeakable -joy. - -He walked on automatically, turning his head at each step, followed by -those intoxicating eyes. Only when Nanna, the portmanteau on her head, -the parcel in one hand, the basket in the other, appeared puffing and -blowing at the end of the street, did astonishment overpower him and -quicken his halting step. - - -[Footnote 13: These _stornelli_ called _mutos_ are improvised by the -women of the Nuoro district. The subject of the first three lines is -always independent of the subject of the second three, the two verses -being connected only by the rhyme.] - - - - -PART II - - -I - - -"_'Twas now the hour that turneth back -desire -To those who sail the sea; and melts the -heart_,"-- - - -of those about to visit unknown shores. Among these was Anania. The -train had carried him to the coast. It was evening, a clear, still -autumn evening heavy with melancholy. The dented mountains of Gallura -were faintly visible in the violet distance. The air was scented with -heather blossom. A far off village with grey _campanile_ against the -violet sky came into sight. Anania looked at the strange outline of the -mountains, at the quiet sky, at the cistus bushes among the rocks, and -nothing kept back his tears but the fear of ridicule from his -fellow-travellers: a priest, and a student from lowland Campidano who -had once been his school-fellow. - -At last he was a man! True he had thought himself a man ever since he -was fifteen, but then he had thought himself a young man, now he was an -"old young man." Youth, however, and health shone in his eyes. He was -tall and slim with a seductive little gold-tipped chestnut moustache. -Now stars came out above the Gallura range, here and there fires shone -red among the dark tufts of heath. Good-bye, then, native land, sad -island, aged Mother, loved but not loved enough. A powerful voice from -beyond the sea draws your best sons from your warm lap, even as the wind -calls the young eagles, inviting them to leave their nest among the -lonely crags. The student looked at the horizon and his eyes darkened -with the sky. For how many, many years had he not heard the voice which -was calling him away! - -He remembered the adventure with Bustianeddu, the childish project of -flight; then the ceaseless dreams, the inextinguishable desire for a -journey towards the lands beyond the sea. Yet now that he was leaving -the island he felt sad, half repenting that he had not gone on with his -studies at Cagliari. He had been so happy there! Last May, Margherita -had come for the fantastic splendours of the Feast of St Efès. He had -spent never-to-be-forgotten hours with her among merry companies of -fellow citizens. Margherita was charming, very tall and well-formed. Her -beautiful hair, her dark blue eyes shadowed by long black lashes, -attracted the attention of passers-by who turned their heads to look at -her. Anania, slighter and shorter than she, walked by her side trembling -with jealousy and joy. It seemed impossible that this beautiful -creature, so regal, so reserved, in whose disdainful eyes shone the -pride of an imperial race, should abase herself to love, even to look at -him. Margherita talked little. She was no flirt, and unlike the -generality of women did not change look or voice when a man admired or -addressed her. Was this superiority, simplicity, or contempt? - -"Am I enough for her?" the lover asked himself. "Yes, surely, for she -feels that no other love can equal mine." - -He really did love her very deeply. He had eyes for no one else. He -never looked at a woman except to compare her with Margherita and find -her inferior. The more he became a man, the more she a woman, the more -their love took flame. Anania had days of delirium in which he thought -of the long years that must elapse ere he could have her, and felt the -waiting an impossibility, felt he must die consumed by desire. But on -the whole he loved her calmly, with patience, with constancy, and -purity. - -During the last vacation they had often been alone together in -Margherita's courtyard, under the chaste eyes of the stars, the -impassive face of the moon. Their meetings were facilitated by the -servant who was also the medium of their correspondence. For the most -part they were silent, Margherita trembling lightly, pensive, and -vigilant. Anania panted, smiled, and sighed, oblivious of time and -space, of all the things and affairs of men. - -"You are so cold!" he would say. "Why don't you speak the same words -that you write?" - -"I'm afraid." - -"Of what? If your father surprises us, I will kneel to him and say, 'No, -we are doing no harm. We are united for eternity.' Don't be afraid, my -dearest! I will be worthy of you. I have a future before me. I intend to -be _somebody_." - -She made no answer. She did not say that if Signor Carboni were to find -out, the future might be shattered. But she continued vigilant. - -At bottom her coldness was not displeasing to Anania, and only augmented -his ardour. Often seeing her so beautiful and so frozen, her eyes -shining in the moonlight like the pearl eyes of an idol, he dared not -kiss her. He gazed at her in silence, and his breast heaved with -felicity or with anguish he knew not which. Once he said-- - -"Margherita, I feel like a beggar on the threshold of a wondrous palace -given him by a fairy into which he dares not enter." - - -"God be praised, the sea is calm," said the priest, Anania's -fellow-traveller. The young man started from his memories and looked at -the gold-green sea, which in the dusk suggested a moonlit plain, at the -ruins of a little church, at a path through the thickets, lost on the -extreme verge of the shore, as if traced by a dreamer who had hoped to -carry it on across the velvet ripples of the sea. He thought of -Chateaubriand's Renato, and fancied he saw that melancholy figure on a -rock which overhung the waves. - -"No, it's not Renato. Perhaps its Eudorus, who on the sea rocks of wild -Gallia dreamed of the flowers in his distant Hellas. No, it is not -Eudorus; it's just a poet thinking--" - - -"'This granite rock supreme above the sea -What does it here?'" - - -But the rock and the church and the path and the silhouette of the -uncertain personage have all disappeared. Strange questions are still, -however, troublesome in Anania's mind, falling without answer like -stones thrown into the sea. - -Why should he not stop on this wild, gently melancholy coast? Why should -not the half seen figure on the rocks be his own? Why not build a house -on the ruins of that church? Why waste himself in this stupid -sentimentality? Why was he going to Rome? why studying Law? Who was he? -What was life? Nostalgia? Love? What was Margherita doing? Why did he -love her? Why was his father a mere servant? Why had his father told him -to visit, the moment he got to Rome, those places where gold coins were -kept which had been found among the ruins? Was his father a criminal or -only a monomaniac? Had he inherited monomania from his father? Monomania -in a different form? Was it monomania, a mental disease, this continual -thinking of his mother, of that woman? And was she really in Rome, and -would he find her? - -"'Anninia,'"[14] said the drawling tones of the mocking student from -Campidano, using the nickname which Anania's companions had fastened on -him, "are you asleep? Wake up! Life's just this, a circular ticket -giving the right to stop longer or shorter time at definite places. At -least give thanks that sea-sickness won't interrupt your love dreams." - -The priest, who was young and narrow-minded, also had his gibe. "Don't -be so gloomy, man. '_There's trout even in hell_.' We are leaving our -beloved fatherland, but at least we shan't be sea-sick!" - -The sea was certainly smooth, and the passage began under the best -auspices. The moon was near setting and threw strange gleams on the rock -of Capo Figari, which suggested a cyclopean sentinel guarding the -melancholy sleep of the abandoned isle. Good-bye! good-bye! island of -exile and of dream! - -Anania remained motionless leaning on the rail of the deck till the last -vision of Capo Figari had disappeared and the little scattered islets -which rose blue from the waves like petrified clouds, were absorbed into -the vaporous distance. Then he sat on a little bench, and scornfully -rubbed tears from his eyes. Battista Daga, his companion, who was always -sea-sick no matter what the condition of the sea, soon retired. Anania -remained alone on the deck, numbed by the damp breeze, and saw the moon, -red like molten iron, sink into a turbid and sanguinous distance. At -last he too turned in, but was long ere he slept. He felt as if his body -were incessantly growing longer and shorter. An interminable line of -carts seemed crossing over his torpid person. The most unpleasant -recollections of his life came into his head. The clashing of the waves -cut by the keel seemed the wind in the widow's cottage at Fonni. Oh what -a vain, useless, odious thing was life! What was the good of living at -all? However at last sleep vanquished his sufferings. - -In the morning he felt another person, agile, strong, happy! He had -closed his eyes on a gloomy grief-stricken land, on livid waves and a -bloody moon. He awakened in a sea of gold, in a land of light. He was -close to Rome. - -Rome! His heart beat with joy. Rome! Rome! Eternal country, mother and -lover, siren and friend, healer of all sorrows, river of oblivion, -fountain of promise, abyss of every ill, source of every good! - -Anania felt ready for the conquest of the world. Civita Vecchia was -black and damp under the morning sky, but it seemed picturesque and -beautiful to him. - -Daga, who had been on the continent for a year, smiled at his -companion's enthusiasm. - -The noisy arrival of the express train gave the Sardinian youth an -electric shock, a sense of terror, the first giddy impression of a -civilization, violent, even destructive. The red-eyed monster would -ravish him away as the wind ravishes the leaves. He would be pitched -into a cauldron of new life, boiling over with terrible joys and griefs. -Ah! that would be life in reality! dreamed of but never known I -civilization! the human ebb and flow! the omnipotent palpitation of the -great collective heart! Then he looked out of the train and watched the -long melancholy lines of the Campagna Romana, warm green under the -autumnal sun, reminding him of the tablelands of his home; but the new -life upon which he was entering usurped all his thoughts obliterating -the landscape, putting memory to flight. Everything, the walls, the -trees, the bushes, the air itself, seemed in motion flying madly by, as -if terrified, as if pursued by some unseen monster. Only the express -train, itself a monster but beneficent, protecting, the immense warrior -of civilization, advanced violently towards the persecutor dragon to -fall upon and destroy it. - - -In Rome, the two students lived on the third floor of a huge house in -Piazza della Consolazione, kept by a widow with two pretty -daughters--telegraphists at a newspaper office. The companionship of -Daga, a chameleon-like personage, sometimes merry, sometimes -hypochondriacal, often choleric, often apathetic, always egotistical and -sarcastic, was a great solace to Anania during the first days of his -residence in the capital. The pair slept in one room, divided by a -screen made out of a yellow rug. The room was vast but dark, with one -little window looking out on the internal court. Anania's first glance -from this window filled him with dismay. From the lurid depths of the -court rose high walls of dirty yellow, pierced with irregular windows -from which exhaled kitchen odours of grease and onions. Iron rods ran -along the walls and across the court; from them depended miserable -garments of doubtful cleanliness, one of these rods passed just under -the student's window, long strands of twisted pack-thread floating from -it. Anania stood looking gloomily at the faded walls, but Battista Daga -shook the rod and laughed. - -"Look!" he said, "the rings on this rod and the skeins of thread dance -as if they were alive. It's amusing!" - -Anania looked, and saw the resemblance to marionettes. - -Battista went on. "That's life! an iron rod spanning a dirty court and -men who dance suspended over an abyss." - -"Don't destroy my illusions," said Anania, "I'm dull enough without your -philosophy. Let's go out. I'm smothering." They went out and walked till -they were tired, bewildered by the noise of carriages and trams, by the -splendour of the lamps, by the violent rush and raucous cries of the -motors, above all by the surging of the crowd. - -Anania felt depressed, alone in a desert, alone on a stormy sea. Had he -fallen or cried out none would have heard or seen him; the crowd would -have stepped on his prostrate form without looking at it. He remembered -Cagliari with yearning nostalgia. Oh enchanted balcony, picture of the -sea, sweet eye of the Evening Star! Here no stars were to be seen, no -horizon; only a repellent conglomeration of stones and among them a -swarm of men, who to the young barbarian seemed of a race inferior to -his own. - -For the first days Rome, seen through bewildered eyes under the -influence of fatigue and of the dark habitation in Piazza della -Consolazione, caused him almost feverish sadness. In the older part of -the town, in the narrow streets, the stuffy shops, the wretched -dwellings whose doors seemed mouths of caverns, Anania thought of the -poorest Sardinian village which was dowered at least with light and air. -In the modern streets everything seemed too big, the houses were like -mountains, the piazzas the size of _tancas_. Was this the intoxicating -Rome, great but never oppressive, which he had imagined at Civita -Vecchia? - -He began to attend the University lectures, studying Civil and Penal Law -under Ferri. Here again his ideas were upset. The students were entirely -noisy; laughing at and mocking everybody and everything. In Hall IV., -while they were waiting for Ferri, the row and the joking passed all -limits of decorum. One student would leap upon the chair and deliver a -parody of the expected lecture. His fellows shouted, hissed, applauded, -cried, "_Viva il Papa!" "Viva St Alphonso di Liguri!" "Viva Pio Nono!_" -Sometimes the student in the chair, with red, set face, would mimic the -mewing of cats, the crowing of cocks. Then the roaring and the hissing -redoubled. Paper balls were thrown and lighted matches; the student -persisted till the arrival of the professor, who was received with -thunders of applause. - -Later Anania took part in this noise and tumult, but at first the -absurdity, the scepticism, the vanity and egotism of his companions -shocked him. He felt more than ever alone, unlike the rest, and he -repented that he had come to Rome. But one evening he and Daga were -crossing Via Nazionale at the fall of evening. The pavements were -deserted, the radiance of the electric lamps was lost in the azure dusk. -The windows of the banks were brightly illuminated. - -"Look!" said Daga. - -"It seems as if all the gold in the Bank was shining at the windows!" -cried Anania. - -"Bravo!" said the other, "you're getting quite brilliant in my society!" - -Presently they stopped again. On the left, in the indescribable depth of -Via Quattro Fontane, the sky burned with violet clearness; on the right -the full moon was rising from the black outline of Santa Maria Maggiore -which was silhouetted against a silver background. - -"Let's go to the Coliseum!" said Anania. - -They went, and spent a long time wandering round the divine mystery of -the spot, looking at the moon through every arch. Then they sat on a -shining column, and Daga said-- - -"I feel as if I were in the moon. Don't you think that in the moon one -would feel just as one feels here in this great dead world?" - -"Yes," said Anania, answering his own inward question, "_this_ is Rome!" - - -[Footnote 14: Huah-a-bye baby.] - - - - -II - - -It was raining. An ashy shadow burdened the room, of which Daga had -given his companion the brighter part, because he liked sleeping till -ten o'clock and was intolerant of the faintest light. Stretched on his -bed Anania looked at the yellow screen, while he fancied a marble -bas-relief yellowed by damp, and was conscious of discouragement, almost -physical in its nature. - -Daga also sighed from his bed behind the screen. - -"What's the matter with _him_?" thought Anania irritated, "isn't he -quite happy, rich, talented, esteemed?" He began to make comparisons. - -"He isn't in love, the fool! he has parents who worship him; he's -independent--while I? Well then, what about me? Am I not happy? Aren't -my blue devils called up by rain clouds, by nebulous monsters? I declare -I'm mad! I love and am loved. I have before me a future of love and -peace. I'm ambitious, perhaps I have only to open my arms to embrace the -world. Margherita is beautiful. She is rich. She loves me and is waiting -for me. What is it that I want? Why this stupid sadness?" - -Even his nostalgia was cured. Rome had by this time revealed herself -before his eyes like some marvellous panorama emerging from the morning -mists. She was now so delightful to him that one morning, looking down -from the terrace of the Villa Medici on the refulgent picture drawn in -the green hollow of the Campagna like a mother-o'-pearl city carved in a -shell of emerald, and looking away to the lonely horizon which reminded -him of the solitudes of Sardinia, he asked himself whether his new love -for the Eternal City was not greater than the old love for his home. - -In his life of study he had felt the spirit of Rome, severe and gentle, -blowing on his own little spirit. He was assiduous at his lectures, he -frequented libraries, galleries, museums. Certain pictures had struck -him--he felt as if he had already seen them. Where? when? By degrees he -recognized that the feeling came from the resemblance between the -figures in the picture to the people of his home. That Madonna of -Correggio's has the dark face of Bustianeddu's mother; that old man of -Spagnoletto's is the Bishop of Nuoro; and the sarcastic physiognomy of -Uncle Pera, the gardener, lives in the copy of a picture by an unknown -Tuscan of which the original is at Venice. - -Daily in the streets, the churches, the shops, Anania found objects of -Art and of Beauty which filled him with enthusiasm. Ah! how beautiful -was Rome! How he loved her! And yet--a shadow brooded upon all the love, -all the enthusiasm, a cloud hung over all things. - -Last night about eleven, before the rain had begun, the two students -were walking in Via Nazionale, at this hour almost empty, with broad -shadows between the electric lamps. They were talking in the Sardinian -dialect, and presently one of those nocturnal butterflies who flit over -the pavements, accosted them in the same speech:-- - -"_Bonas tardas pizzocheddos_." - -She was tall, dark, with large, hollow eyes. The electric light gave a -cadaverous pallor to her small face emerging from the fur collar of a -light jacket. As when Marta Rosa had stopped him at Cagliari, Anania -shuddered. He dragged Daga away who had answered the woman roughly. It -was not the first time Anania had encountered such wandering phantasm in -the lonely streets, and always he had felt a chill at his heart. - -Was it _she_? Could it be _she_? But this time--oh this time--the woman -had spoken in Sardinian. She was a Sardinian. It might be _she_! - -Stretched on his bed after long hours of melancholy oppression Anania -thought-- - -"I can't go on living like this. I must _know_. Oh to hear that she were -dead! dead! But I will seek her. Did I not come to Rome for this? -To-morrow--to-morrow! From the very day I arrived I have said that I -And to-morrow comes and I do nothing. But what can I do? Where must I -go? And supposing I do find her?" - -Ah! that was his dread. He must not even think of what might happen when -he had found her! Then he thought: - -"Would it be a good plan to confide in Battista? Suppose I tell him I'm -going out now to the Questura[15] to get information; what will he -advise? I must confide in some one. I want counsel--help. I can endure -this sad secret no longer. So many, many years I have borne its weight. -I want to get free, to throw it off as one throws off an oppressive -burden. I want to get free, to breathe. I must dislodge this gnawing -worm. I shall be told I'm a fool. I shall be convinced. Well, so much -the better if I am convinced. I shall be told to let it alone. What a -horrible day this is! I feel as if I was in one of Dostoyevsky's novels, -seeing a procession of grey and famished folk passing across the end of -the room. The sky is lowering. Am I going asleep? I must get up and go -about this business at once. Battista Daga!" he cried, rising on his -elbow, "aren't you going out?" - -"No," roared the other. - -"Will you lend me your umbrella?" - -He hoped Battista would ask where he was going, but all his friend said -was-- - -"Couldn't you do me the favour of buying an umbrella?" - -Anania sat up on his bed, put his lips to the screen, and said slowly-- - -"I've got to go to the Questura." - -Again he hoped a fraternal voice would ask his reason. His heart beat -considering how he should explain. - -But Daga only asked from behind the screen, "Are you going to get the -rain taken up?" - -Anania laughed, and his secret fell back on his heart like lead. Not a -screen, but an immense and impenetrable wall divided him from his -fellows. He must neither ask nor expect help from any one. He must be -sufficient to himself. - -He got up, dressed, sought in his desk for the certificate of his birth. -Then he opened the door. - -"Take the umbrella, of course," yawned Battista; "but why are you -going?" - -Anania did not reply. He went out. - -It rained without intermission, furiously. Descending the dark stair he -listened to the echoing clatter of the rain on the glass roof. It seemed -the roar of a cascade which in a moment must smash the glass and -inundate the staircase, already overflowed by the noise of the imminent -catastrophe. He went out and wandered through the rain-washed streets. -He passed through a deserted alley, under a black and mysterious arch; -looked gloomily at the damp chiaroscuro of certain interiors, of certain -small shops in which pale figures of women, of poor men, of dirty -children, moved to and fro; caves where charcoal sellers assumed -diabolical aspect, where vegetables and fruits in baskets grew putrid in -the muddy darkness, where blacksmiths, and cobblers and washerwomen -consumed themselves in the forced labour of an imaginary penitentiary, -more sad than the real prison because more hopeless and lasting. - -Anania thought of the savage surroundings of the widow at Fonni, of the -mill, the encompassing poverty, the miserable figures in the poor homes -of Nuoro. He seemed condemned always to be in sad places, among the -grief-stricken and the poor. - -After long and useless wandering, he came in and sat down to write a -letter to Margherita. - -"I am mortally sad," he wrote. "On my soul lies a great and bruising -weight. For many years I have wished to tell you what I am writing now. -I don't know how you will receive it. But whatever you may think. -Margherita, never forget that I am impelled by inexorable fate, by a -duty which is more bitter to me than a crime. Perhaps--but I will not -influence you in any way; only remember that on your decision depends my -life or my death. By death I mean moral death; the death which does not -kill the body but condemns the whole man to a slow agony. First, let me -explain. But oh! I can't, I can't! You will repel me! Yet my sorrow is -so lacerating that I feel the need of flinging myself before you, of -exposing my anguish----" - -Having written thus far he stopped and read the letter over. He could -not write another word. Who was Margherita? Who was he? Who was _that -woman_? What was life? Here were all the stupid questions beginning over -again. A long time he looked at the window panes, at the iron rod and -the rings and the threads, dropping water, chafed by the wind, against -a murky and faded background. He even thought of killing himself. - -Presently he tore the letter, first in long strips then into little -squares which he arranged in a pattern. Then again he looked at the -window panes, and the rods, and the rings and the threads which seemed -like soaking marionettes. - -Towards evening the rain ceased and the two students went out together. -The sky had cleared, the city noises reanimated the soft air; a rainbow -made a marvellous frame for the picture of the Forum Romanum. - -Daga was in a mood of thoughtless merriment. Anania walked -automatically, noticing nothing, his hands in his pockets, his hat on -his eyes, his lips shut. As usual they went down Via Nazionale. Daga -stopped before Garroni's to look at the papers, while Anania walked on -absently, advancing towards a line of chattering young priests habited -in red. The reflection of their scarlet cassocks made a sanguinous -reflection on the wet pavement, and all the footpath seemed on fire. -They were foreigners, merry, thoughtless boys, frisking like flames and -filling the streets with their laughter. Thus they would pass through -life, thoughtless and unconscious, no passion involving them in shadows, -no flame shining on their path but that of their long scarlet cassocks. -Anania felt envious and said to Daga, who rejoined him-- - -"When I was a child I knew the son of a famous brigand. The boy was on -fire with wild little passions, and meant to avenge his father. Now he -has become a monk. What do you make of that?" - -"He's a fool, that's all." - -"That won't do," said Anania eagerly, "we explain too many psychological -mysteries by that word fool!" - -"Well, anyhow he's a monomaniac. Folly itself is a complicated -psychological mystery, a tree of which monomania is the stoutest -branch." - -"Well, he had the monomania of brigandage, an hereditary monomania. He -is a primitive sort of person, and by becoming a monk he tried to free -himself from his monomania. He went from bad to worse. He'll end by -going mad. A normal intelligent man, if he has the ill luck to become -the victim of a fixed idea, throws it off by giving way to it. Take -love, for instance. That's a fixed idea, if you like! a continual itch -to be near some particular person--alone with her. There's no remedy for -that state of obsession but to get near--the fixed idea! Wait a moment, -I see something I want" (he stopped before a shop window)--"a crocodile -card-case." - -"Perhaps you are right." - -"Of course I am. I know it's crocodile." - -"I mean about the fixed idea----" - -"Just think! that card-case was once living in the Nile." - -"What an idiot you are! where's the Police Office?" asked Anania, -turning on his heel. - -"How do I know? I've never been taken up." - -"Seriously, where is it?" - -"Do you think you're at Nuoro? There are dozens of offices. I've noticed -one at San Martino dei Monti." - -"Will you come with me?" said Anania, turning up Via Depretis. He had -grown pale; his hands trembled in his pockets. - -"What are you going to do at the Questura? What's the matter with you? -Have you committed a crime?" - -"I want to get someone's address. Come on." - -He hurried. His friend followed, curious and a little disturbed. "Who is -the person? Who wants the address? Someone at Nuoro? Is it a mystery? -Speak, you wretch!" - -Anania strode on and made no answer. - -"Well," said Daga as they arrived at S. Martino, "I'm not your pet dog. -If you won't open your mouth, I'll leave you here." - -"I'll tell you afterwards. Wait for me." - -Daga waited. A quarter of an hour passed. The young man forgot his -comrade's mysterious business in enjoyment of the grand scene spread out -before him. The rosy haze of incipient twilight filled the air. The -lamps were like pearls in the streets of the immense fan, stretching out -from the Piazza dell' Esquilino. Foot-passengers and carriages passed as -on a huge stage before a limitless background. - -"They're all marionettes moved by an invisible thread," thought the -student. "There they go passing, hurrying, disappearing. Each one thinks -himself great, the pivot of the world, with an universe existing for him -alone. While in reality they are all very small. I wonder how many of -them have committed crimes? That swell there with the silk hat? Perhaps -he has poisoned someone. They all have cares. No, not all. It's a lie to -say humanity suffers. The chief part of humanity neither suffers nor -enjoys. All those people going to the Pincio for instance! What can -those people either enjoy or suffer? Is that Anania Atonzu coming back? -Yes, here he is. He also is a marionette. He looks like Punch when he -says 'the die is cast!'" - -In his olympian superiority of the moment, Daga smiled more mockingly -than ever. - -"Well is the die cast?!" he asked tragically. - -"Yes," replied Anania, leaning against the wall. For some minutes he -also gazed at the Piazza where lamps were beginning to replace the -luminous twilight. In the depths of the central street which seemed a -road cut through a forest, Monte Mario could be seen, a distant wall -against a background of reddened silver. Anania, he knew not why, -suddenly remembered that evening when he--a child, had climbed the -Gennargentu and seen a fearful heaven--all red, in which hovered the -ghosts of dead robbers. - -And now too, he felt a mystery hovering round him; and the vision of the -city inspired him with fear: the vision of that forest of stone -traversed by shining streets, like rivers of which the waves were the -heart beats of suffering men. - - -[Footnote 15: Police detective inquiry office.] - - - - -III - - -Yes, as Battista had said, and in the words of the ancient Roman, the -die was cast. The police office at Anania's instance undertook the -search for Rosalia Derios. Before the end of March her son was informed -that a woman answering the description lived at such a number of Via del -Seminario, on the top floor, and made her living by letting rooms. This -person was called, or had assumed the name of Maria Obinu and said she -was a native of Nuoro. She had been fourteen years in Rome and at first -had lived--well, a little irregularly. But for some years she had been -quite respectable--at least in appearance; and let furnished rooms with -or without board. - -Anania took the information coolly. The description agreed. He did not -precisely remember his mother's face, but knew she was tall with black -hair and light eyes. He was sure that at Nuoro there was no family named -Obinu, and that no one had a female relative living in Rome and letting -rooms. This Obinu Was giving a false name, None the less, he felt -instinctively that the woman was not, could not be his mother. This gave -him a sense of relief. He had done his duty. Maria Obinu was not Rosalia -Derios, Rosalia Derios could not be in Rome if the omniscient _Questura_ -failed to find her. He was not obliged to make further search. After -days and months of oppression and suspense he at last breathed freely. - -The spring had penetrated even into the dreary court of the house in -Piazza della Consolazione, to that great yellow well, which exhaled the -odours of victuals, and was noisy with the voices of servant maids and -the piping of imprisoned canaries. The air was warm and sweet with the -fragrance of violet and lilac; over the azure sky passed roseate clouds. - -Standing at the window, Anania was again conscious of nostalgia. The -scent of violets, the pink clouds, the warm spring breeze reminded him -of his home, of the vast horizons, the clouds he had watched from the -window of his little bedroom, sinking behind the holm-oaks of Orthobene. -Then he remembered the pines of Monte Urpino, the silence of the hills -clothed with blue iris and asphodel, the mystery of the paths, the pure -eyes of the stars. And against the cerulean background of these -nostalgic memories, the delightful figure of Margherita rose supreme, -her little feet on the grass of the fresh landscape, her brown hair -gold-tipped in the brilliance of the sunshine. - -It was these recollections which touched him in the Roman spring; -otherwise it seemed artificial, the sunsets too highly coloured, the -abundance of flowers and perfumes exaggerated. Piazza di Spagna decked -with roses like an altar, the Pincio with its flowering trees, the -streets in which flower girls offered baskets of ranunculus and violets -to the passers-by--all this ostentation, all this merchandise of -spring, gave the Sardinian an idea of a vulgar holiday, which would end -in weariness and disgust. - -Beyond the horizon, Spring was a maiden wild and pure; she wandered -among the _tancas_ covered now with waving grass, she twittered with the -water birds on the banks of lonely streams, she was merry with the -lambs, with the leverets leaping among the cyclamen, or beneath the -immense oaks sacred to the ancient shepherds of the Barbagia; she slept -in the shadows of the moss-grown rocks, during the voluptuous noons, -while round her bed of periwinkle and fern, golden insects buzzed their -love stories, and bees sucked the dog roses extracting their bitter -honey, sweet and bitter like the Sardinian soul. Anania lived and loved -in that distant spring land. He sat at the window studying his books and -watching the blue sky and the rosy clouds. He fancied himself an -enamoured prisoner. A pleasant somnolence stole his strength, his will, -his power of definite thought. Ideas came and went in his mind--like the -people in the street. He made no effort to detain them, they passed -languidly, leaving furrows of sadness in their wake. - -More than ever he loved solitude. His companion irked him. They were no -longer entirely good friends. - -Daga tyrannised over the younger lad, he borrowed money (which he never -repaid) he laughed at him and talked displeasingly. - -"We view life under different aspects," said Daga, "or, rather, I see it -and you don't. I am short-sighted, but I have strong eyeglasses. People -and things seen through them are small but very dear. You are -short-sighted too, but you haven't even a pair of spectacles." - -Sometimes Anania did indeed believe he had a veil before his eyes. His -blood ran with diffidence and apprehension. Even his love for Margherita -was mixed with anxiety; and this nostalgia, this love of solitude, this -sleepiness of spring, this indifference to life--to that imperious life -which had ever eluded him--all this was just diffidence, grief, and -apprehension; and indeed he knew it. - - -One day at the end of May, Anania surprised his companion kissing the -elder daughter of the landlady. - -"You are a brute!" he exclaimed, "haven't you been making love to the -other one?" - -They quickly got to high words. - -"Why, you fool, it's the girls who come and throw themselves into my -arms. Am I to push them away? If the world walks sideways, let us find -our advantage in it. It's the women nowadays who corrupt the men, and I -should be stupider even than you if I didn't accept their offers, up to -a certain point!" - -"That's very fine," returned Anania, "but why do these adventures happen -only to certain people? What about me, for instance?" - -"What happens to men doesn't happen to asses. The proverbial Sardinian -donkey, _sardu molente_, is eternally blindfolded. His business is just -to turn the wheel, and if the world were to collapse he'd never find it -out. The mill is his fixed idea. Suppose some day a wretched historian -wanted to write the donkey's life? he would find it vain to describe how -his hero ate and slept, what he studied, whether he was intended for a -doctor or a lawyer, whether he lived on land or sea or in the clouds. -Such things didn't enter into the life of that excellent beast as they -enter into the life of all other creatures." - -"Anyhow he could say his donkey wasn't immoral." - -"I might ask you, what is morality? but you wouldn't be able to answer. -I will inform you that morality, or whatever you like to call it, is the -result of circumstances. A donkey is highly moral so long as he has no -opportunity to be anything else. The young ladies of this house know you -are engaged. I am not, so they unlade their sweet electric discharges on -me." - -"Engaged? I? Who says so?" - -"And to a daisy--a pearl cast this time before an ass. - -"I forbid you to utter that name! I forbid you! Do you hear?" - -"Don't threaten my eyes with that finger! I snap my fingers at you and -at all the engaged chaps in the world." - -Furiously Anania fell to packing his papers and books. - -"I'm going at once!" he said, "at once. It seems there are prying people -here, as well as persons in search of amusement. I leave you to your -amusement. I am going away." - -"Good-bye, then," said Battista, throwing himself on his bed, "but please -remember that if I hadn't taken care of you at first, you'd have been -squashed by the trams. You thought they were alive, didn't you?" - -"And you, remember----" began Anania, stung by his companion's ridicule. -But he checked himself and grew red. - -"Oh, I remember perfectly. I owe you twenty-seven _lire_. Don't be -afraid for your twenty-seven _lire_. My father, you recollect, has seven -_tancas_ in a row." - -"With a river in the middle!" cried Anania, banging his books on the -table. "I defy you and your father and your _tancas_! I snap my fingers -at you." - -Thus they separated, the two little supermen who in the Coliseum had -thought themselves as high as the moon. Anania flung out of the dingy -room with the intention of never setting foot in it again. - -Once in the street, his heart still swelling with indignation, he went -automatically towards the Corso, and almost without noticing it, found -himself in Via del Seminario. It was burning noon, parched by a hot east -wind. The awning of the shops flapped spitefully against the passers-by. -The smell of the pavement was blended with perfume of flowers but also -with odours of paint, of drugs, of provisions. Anania's nerves were on -edge. He encountered a flock of young priests with floating black -cassocks and compared them to crows. He remembered a long ago quarrel -with Bustianeddu, and hated Battista Daga who represented the race of -vain-glorious and cynical Sardinians. In this mood he rang at the door -of Maria Obinu. - -A tall, pale woman, shabbily dressed in black, came to open. Anania felt -sudden dismay. Her greenish eyes seemed familiar. - -"Signora Obinu?" he asked. - -"Yes, that is my name," answered the woman, her tones somewhat coarse. - -"No," thought the youth, "it's not her voice." - -He went in. Signora Obinu took him across a dark vestibule, then into a -small parlour, grey, dreary, badly lighted. His attention was caught by -a variety of Sardinian objects, specially the head of a deer and a wild -sheepskin nailed to the wall. He thought of his birthplace and felt his -doubts reborn. - -"I want a room. I'm a student, a Sardinian," he said looking at the -woman from head to foot. - -She was about thirty-seven, pallid and thin; her nose sharp, almost -transparent. Her thick black hair, still dressed in Sardinian fashion, -that is in narrow plaits coiled on the nape of the neck, made her seem -almost pretty. - -"A Sardinian? That's nice!" she answered frankly and with a pleasant -smile. "I have no room just now, but if you can wait a fortnight there's -an English lady going away." - -He asked to look at the room. It was in a state of indescribable -confusion. The bed was pulled out from the wall, and stood between piles -of antique books and other curiosities. There was a folding india-rubber -basin which the "Miss" used as a bath, and in it a fragrant branch of -cassia. On the window-sill a book lay open. It was poetry, Giovanni -Cena's _Madre_ (mother) and Anania was struck by seeing it. He decided -to take the room. - -In the vestibule there was a large ottoman. He said: "Can't I sleep here -till the lady leaves? I want to get out of the place I'm in at once. I -go to bed late and I get up early----" - -"But this ante-room is a passage," said the woman. - -"I know. But I don't mind if you don't," urged Anania. - -"'_Miss_' goes to bed early, but the other two, her father and Signor -Ciri never come in till late." - -"I really don't mind for a few nights." - -They returned to the parlour and Anania stood looking at the stuffed -head of the deer. - -"Suppose it is _she_?" he was thinking. His coolness surprised him. He -could have borne it even if at that very moment the woman had revealed -herself. At bottom, however, he was deeply moved. He continued his -investigations. - -"This is Sardinian," he said touching the yellowing sheepskin, "why -don't you use it as a rug?" - -"It's a relic of my father. He was a hunter," said the woman still -smiling kindly. - -"She's lying," thought Anania. Then he looked attentively at the deer's -head and asked, "Are you a native of Nuoro?" - -"Yes, but I was born there by accident. My parents were just passing -through." - -"I was born accidentally at Fonni," he said with careless voice, -fingering the horns of the stag; "yes, at Fonni. My name is Anania -Atonzu Derios." - -Having said the name, he turned and faced the woman. She did not move an -eyelash. - -"No, it's not _she_," he thought, and felt relieved. She was not his -mother. - -But that evening when he had brought his portmanteau and books to his -new domicile, Maria said to him: - -"I'll give you my own room for the fortnight." - -In vain he protested. His things were all carried into her little -chamber and Anania took possession. He felt shy, intruding thus into the -long narrow room which seemed like a nun's cell. The little white bed -smelt of lavender and reminded him of the simple pallet beds of the -patriarchal Sardinian homes. Again, Sardinian fashion, Maria Obinu had -decorated the grey walls with a row of little pictures, with sacred -images, three wax candles, and three crucifixes, a branch of olive, and -an immense crown made of sugar. At the head of the bed hung two bunches -of medals which had been blessed by the Pope. In one corner a lamp -burned before a representation of blue-pencil souls in Purgatory praying -before three red-pencil ensanguined flames. What a difference between -the Englishwoman's room and that of Maria Obinu! They were divided by at -least five centuries. - -Anania was again in doubt. Why did she give him her room? Ah! she was -too anxious--too affectionate! He was unpacking when she knocked and -asked, without entering, whether he wished the lamp extinguished before -the Holy Souls. - -"No!" he shouted, "but please come in. I have something to show you." - -In his hand was a quaint little object, a small case of greasy material -hung on a thin chain blackened by time. He put the amulet round his neck -and said: - -"I am pious myself. This is the Ricetta of San Giovanni, which wards off -temptation." - -The woman looked. Her smile faded and Anania's heart beat. "You don't -believe in it?" she said severely; "well, whether you believe or not, -don't jest at it. It's holy." - - -Stretched on the lavender-scented bed, Anania pondered. If this Maria -Obinu were Olì? If it were _She_? So near and yet so far! What -mysterious thread had led him to her, to the very pillow where she must -have wept for her deserted child? How strange is life!--a thread upon -which men dance like rags moved by the wind; was it really she? Then he -had arrived at his goal insensibly, almost unintentionally, by force of -his subconscious will which had given him suggestion. Suggestion of -what? But surely this was folly! Childishness! It couldn't be she! But -if it were? Did she already know she was with her son while he was -racked by doubt? Then why didn't she reveal herself? What was she afraid -of? Had she recognised the amulet. - -No, it could not be she. A mother must betray herself; could not help -crying out on meeting her child. The idea was absurd. No, it was not -absurd. A woman can control herself under the most violent emotions. -Olì would be afraid--after deserting her son--throwing him away. Well, -so much the more she ought to betray herself. A mother is always a -mother--not a mere woman. And how could Olì, a wild creature, a child -of nature, have so assimilated the hypocrisy of cities, as to be able to -feign like an actress? Impossible! Maria Obinu was Maria Obinu, a nice -kind woman, mild and unconscious, who had reformed by luck rather than -by strength of character, who eked out her penitence--perhaps scarcely -felt--by the ostentation of very questionable religious sentiment. It -could not be _She_. - -"I'll press for information. She must tell me her history," he thought. -"However I'm satisfied it's not she. I tell you it's not she! you -imbecile, you idiot, you fool!" - -Then he remembered his first night at Nuoro and the secret kiss his -father had pressed upon his forehead. He half expected that now his door -would open and a furtive shadow would come in the trembling light of the -little lamp and imitate that shamefaced kiss. - -"If it happens, what shall I do?" he asked himself, anxiously. "I'll -pretend I'm asleep. But, good Lord! what a fool I am!" - -The noises in the street and in the neighbouring Piazza of the Pantheon -grew fainter and fewer, as if themselves weary and retiring to a place -of repose. The belated lodgers came in. Then all was silence in the -house, in the street, in the city. But Anania still kept vigil. Perhaps -the lamp---- - -"I'll put it out," he thought and got up. A noise! a rustle! Was the -door opening? Oh God! He sprang back into bed, shut his eyes, waited. -His heart and his throat pulsed feverishly. The door remained shut. He -calmed himself and laughed. But the lamp was left still alight. - - - - -IV - - -Rome, _June_ 1st. - -"My Margherita, this moment your letter has arrived and I reply at once. -At least twenty times in the last few days I have taken my pen to write -to you but have not managed it. I have a great deal to tell you. First, -I have moved. I fell out with Battista Daga because I caught him kissing -the elder of the landlady's girls while he still makes love to the -younger one. That made me sick. Besides the place was too far from the -University. Now that the heat has begun the long journey to and fro is a -bore. As to Daga we made it up next day. I met him close to my new rooms -and he said he was coming to look me up, though first he had said he -wouldn't. I'm very comfortable here. The new landlady is a Sardinian. -She says she was born at Nuoro. She's nice and kind and very -pious--quite maternal in her care of me. She has given me her own room, -until the departure of a very beautiful English lady whom I'm to -replace. This '_Miss_' is extraordinarily like _you_. Don't be jealous -though. First, because I'm violently in love with a young lady at Nuoro; -secondly because '_Miss_' is going away in a few days; thirdly she's as -mad as a March hare; fourth she's betrothed; fifthly I'm under the care -of all the saints in heaven who are hung round the walls of my room, not -to mention the blessed souls in Purgatory. They are illuminated day and -night by a taper, which I know not why, seems to me itself a soul at -expiation (now I'm writing what you call nonsense). - -"Well, I must tell you that at my new landlady's, there are two or three -more foreigners, a clerk at the War Office, a Piedmontese tailor, very -fashionable and refined, and a French bagman who can fire off eighty -lies in eight minutes. He reminds me of your suitor, the most worshipful -Signor Franziscu Carchide of Nuoro. Yesterday, for instance, while -'_Miss_' and the tailor were arguing about the Boer war, Monsieur -Pilbert told me, half in French half in Latin, that by force of -suggestion he had made the hair come out on his baby's head and in a -single hour it grew an inch, then stopped growing and at last set itself -_Se développer naturellement_. Signora Obinu--that's the landlady--has -a queer little old Sardinian cook, who has been thirty years in Rome and -still can't speak Italian. Poor old Aunt Varvara! She was almost -ravished from Sardinia, carried off by a violent _padrone_, a captain of -Dragons (so she calls him) who terrified her. She's black and tiny, like -a _jana_[16] keeps her native costume jealously locked up, and wears a -ridiculous gown bought in the Campo dei Fiori, and a bonnet which might -have belonged to the Empress Josephine. I often visit Aunt Varvara in -her dark and torrid kitchen. We talk in dialect; she weeps, and asks -after all the people she knew in the island. She thinks of returning to -Sardinia, though she's horribly afraid of the sea and believes the storm -in which she crossed to the continent is still going on. She knows -nothing of the place she's living in. Rome, for her, is just a place -where everything's dear, and a field of danger in which at any moment -she may be assaulted by a passing vehicle. She says the trams seem to -her like awful stags (she has never seen a stag) and that she can't go -to mass at the Pantheon because that church with the round hole on top, -like a Sardinian oven, makes her laugh. She wants to know whether in -Sardinia we still bake at home. I said yes, and she began to cry, -thinking of the jokes and games in the days when she baked bread in her -father's oven. Then she asked if there are still shepherds, and if they -still sit on the ground under the trees. How she sighed thinking of a -certain Easter banquet forty years ago at Goceano! Aunt Varvara can't -bear the Englishwoman, and she in her turn regards the old thing as a -savage. Sometimes while she does her cooking she sings songs in the -Logudorese dialect. Also this dirge which I have heard at Nuoro: - - -Dear Hearts, hush-a-bye! _Coro anninnò, anninnò -'Tis my day to die. Dego de partire so -While I linger still E de fagher testamentu._ . . . -Let me make my will. - - -"Then in the evening mistress and maid repeat the Rosary in dialect; and -it amuses me to join in from my room, because it makes Aunt Varvara -furious. She breaks off her prayers to swear at me. - -"'_Su diaulu chi ti ha fattu_' ('Go to the devil who made you!')" she -shouts, and the padrona says, changing her voice: - -"'Aunt Varvara have you gone clean out of your mind?' - -"Enough of this, Margherita, my own, my sweet lovely Margherita! Let's -turn to something else. It's very hot now-a-days, but generally grows -fresh in the evening. I work hard all day--seriously; because it's not -only my duty but my pleasure. I go oftener than anybody to the -University and to the Libraries. For this reason I'm the darling of the -Professors. In the evening I walk along the banks of the Tiber and spend -hours watching the running water. I ask myself silly questions such as -'What _is_ water?' It's not true that the Tiber is clear coloured. -Sometimes it's yellow and muddy, oftener it's green, sometimes blue, -sometimes livid. I have seen it quite milky and reflecting the lamps, -the bridges, the moon, like polished marble. I compare the perennial -flowing of the water to my love for you,--thus constant, silent, -inexhaustible. Why, oh why, are you not here with me, my Margherita? The -mere thought of you makes everything more beautiful, gives everything -deeper meaning. What would not the world be if I could see it reflected -in your adored eyes! When, when will the tormenting and delicious dream -of our souls be made real? I don't know how I manage to live thus divided -from you, but I turn with joy to the thought that in two months we shall -again be together. O my Margherita, my pearl of pearls, I cannot express -even to you what I feel. No human speech could express it. It's a -continual fire which devours me, an unspeakable thirst which only one -fountain can slake. You are that fountain; you are the garden whose -flowers shall refresh my soul. - -"Margherita, I am alone in the world, for you are all the world to me. -When I lose myself in the crowd, in the sea of unknown persons, it is -enough for me to think of you, and my heart swells with love to them -all, for your sweet sake. When your letters come, I am so happy I feel -quite giddy. I seem to have attained the summit of some great -mountain--if I stretch out my hand I shall touch the stars. It is too -much! I dread falling--falling into an abyss, being reduced to ashes by -contact with the stars. What would become of me, if, Margherita, if I -should lose you? I laugh when you tell me you are jealous of the -beautiful and cultured women whom I must be meeting here in Rome. No -woman could be to me what you are. You are my life, you are my past, my -home, my race, my dream. You are the mysterious wine which fills for me -the empty cup we call Life. Yes, I like to fancy life a cup which we -continually lift to our lips. For many this cup is never filled, and -they try painfully to suck what is not there, and die slowly for lack of -nourishment. But for others, and I belong to the happy number, the cup -contains divine ambrosia. . . . - -"I have interrupted this letter, because Battista came to see me. He -seems getting into trouble with the two girls and wants to follow me -here. We shall see. I will speak to my landlady about it. I don't bear -malice, because as friend Pilbert assures me, hard words are things with -no real existence. - -"I return to my letter, quite upset by a confidence made to me a few -minutes ago by Aunt Varvara. She tells me she knows Daga, having seen -him here with the _padrona_ several times. I don't like it, for you must -know Signora Obinu has not always borne the best of characters. I looked -questioningly at Aunt Varvara but she shut up her lips and shook her -head mysteriously. I promised next vacation to visit her old home and -learn its history for her during the last thirty years. This pleased her -so much that she let me catechize her a bit. I got out of her that -Signora Obinu left children in Sardinia, one of whom has been adopted by -a rich Signore of Campidano. Aunt Varvara thinks Battista Daga may be -Maria Obinu's son." - - -Anania stopped writing, and read and reread the last few lines. A little -black ant ran over the page and he looked at it with eyes full of -thought. What _was_ this little being called an ant? Why did it live? -Ought he to crush it with his finger or not to crush it? Was there such -a thing as Free-Will? - -At this time, though he was attending Ferri's lectures, Anania still -believed in free-will. He sometimes committed small crimes just to prove -to himself that he had willed to commit them. This time, however, he let -the ant alone. It vanished under a book ignorant of the danger it had -escaped. As often before, he tore up part of his letter. Then he leaned -his forehead on his hands and reread the remainder, a wave of -bitterness overflowing his heart. - -"Yes," he thought, "I am too near the stars; I don't see the abyss into -which I must ineluctably fall. Why do I continue to deceive myself? It's -my mother she may be, and Battista Daga visits her because she is -still--But why has he never spoken of her? After all, why should he -speak? He has not confided his adventures to me. He comes -here--because--Oh God! Oh God! I am the son of Maria Obinu! She knows my -whole life. She told the old _jana_ in her own way that I have been -adopted by a rich Signore. Has she left other children in Sardinia? No, -that part must be a lie--she went away at once after deserting me. She -said that as a blind. Oh God!" - -Presently he sprang to his feet. - -"I must find out," he thought, "I must know. Why this burning lamp, -these pictures, these prayers,--if it's not for that reason. But I will -unmask you, lost soul! I will kill you, chase you away, because you are -my curse! because you will be the curse of that pure noble creature. Oh -my poor, poor Margherita!" - -He struck his fist violently on the letter, while his eyes flamed with -hatred. Then again he sank on his chair, and dropped his head on the -table. He wished he could burst his head, think no more! forget! -annihilate himself! - -He felt vile, black and viscid as a lump of mud. He felt himself flesh -of the solid flesh of his mother, himself a sinner, miserable, abject. -Tumultuous recollections passed through his mind. He remembered the -generous ideas so often caressed, the dream of finding and rescuing her, -the infinite pity for her ignorance and irresponsibility; the pride with -which he had regarded his own compassion--the thirst for sacrifice. It -had all been self-deception. A vague hint given by a childish old woman -had sufficed to turn his soul to mud, to rack it with storm, to impel it -towards crime. "I will kill her." Yes, those words were already a crime. - -He thought of the peace he had enjoyed since he had been in this house, -and raised his head struck by a new idea. During the week passed in this -convent cell of Maria's, he had at the bottom of his heart accepted the -idea that she was his mother, and the recognition of her redemption, of -her honest and hard working life had made him happy. He had welcomed the -thought of their relationship. His horizon had cleared. He was freed -from a weight which had crushed and nailed him to the earth, and was now -ready to fly to the stars. And since she, either for fear, or for self -castigation, or for love of independence, refused to acknowledge him, -then he was glad to renounce her--now her future was assured, her life -purified. He could do her no good. He might harm her by intrusion. His -_mission_ could not be accomplished; he was spared the solution of the -cruel problem. He might now--after his long suffering--prosecute his -life, tranquilly, happily. He had fulfilled his duty by the mere desire -to fulfil it. And this ideal duty which had cost him so much had seemed -to him so heroic as to fill his soul with pride. The stars were near. - -But now the abyss had reopened. All within and without his soul was a -lie; all delusion, all dream--even the stars. - -But perhaps the thing he was thinking now was the delusion? If he were -deceiving himself. If Maria were not _she_? He went back on his old -thoughts. "Whether she is Maria or not, whether she is near or far, she -exists and she calls me. I must return on my steps, begin again, find -her dead or alive. Oh, if she were but dead!" - -However, he waited for his landlady's return and to calm himself -somewhat tried to analyse this passion which goaded him. But for that -matter he knew well enough that the greater part of his trouble arose -not from passion but from the fact that his Ego was made up of two -cruelly contrasted personalities. One was the fantastic child, violent, -melancholy, with sick blood in his veins, the child who had come down -from his native mountains dreaming of an unreal world; who in his -father's house had meditated flight without ever attempting it, who at -Cagliari had wept wildly imagining that Marta Rosa could be his mother. -The other was a being, normal and intelligent, who had grown alongside -the morbid child, who saw clearly the unreality of the phantoms and -nebulous monsters which were his torment, yet who had never succeeded in -liberating him from the obsession. Continual conflict, cruel -contradiction, agitated by day and by night these two personalities; but -the fantastic and illogical child, victim and tyrant alike, always came -off the victor. Often he had asked himself whether he would have -suffered so acutely had he not been in love with Margherita; always he -answered himself "yes." - -Signora Obinu came home in the evening. - -"I should like to speak to you," said her young lodger, opening the -door. "Please come here a moment." - -"What is it?" she asked, entering. - -She was dressed in black, with an old hat of faded violet velvet. She -had run up the stair and was panting, her face unusually red, her -forehead hot and shining. - -"What's the matter?" asked Anania, roughly. - -"The matter with me? nothing," she answered, surprised; then resumed her -usual pleasant smile. "Why are you sitting in the dark? Well, what have -you to say to me?" - -"I'll wait till you've taken off your hat." - -She seemed struck by his voice and his frown, the more so that in the -morning he had complained of not feeling well. - -"How hot it is! Suffocating!" she said, "are you perhaps feeling it? -Tell me what you want." - -"First take off your hat," repeated Anania. - -"Why?" - -Anania was striking a match against the wall. He was thinking. "Better -catch her suddenly before she speaks to that old monkey Aunt Varvara." - -"What's become of the candle? Well, look here, a friend of mine came -here--ah _su diaulu t'a fattu_, the devil made you, candle, that you -won't light! What a beast of a candle!" - -He raised his head and looked sharply at the woman who was quietly -watching his efforts with the candle. "Battista Daga, another student, -has been here. He wants a room. Can you give him one?" - -"We'll see," she said calmly, "when does he want it?" Anania began to -feel irritated. - -"You know him, I think?" - -"I? No." - -"Aunt Varvara told me she had seen him here several times." - -Maria Obinu raised her eyebrows. She seemed trying to remember. Suddenly -her face and her eyes burned. - -"Look here," she said proudly, "if you mean that pale young man, with -the crooked nose, and the look of mortal sin--tell him that in my house -there is no place for him!" - -"Why not? Please tell me. I assure you I know nothing against him. We -slept for six months in the same room,--Daga and I. But I really don't -know much about him--what he's up to. Tell me." - -Anania had sat down by the table, inadvertently pushing the candle -against the wall. - -"I have nothing to tell you," answered the woman. "I'm not bound to give -account to anyone. Let me alone. I live by my work and ask nothing from -anyone. I'm better than the ladies to whom you gentlemen lift your hats! -Ah!" she went on sighing heavily, "life is long! Days of trial will come -to you young lads too! You will get to know the world, will find the -hedge thick with serpents. They rise on every side of the path of life. -You also will come upon the stone which will make you trip. And many, -Signor Anania, many will never get up again. They will strike their -heads against that stone and die of the blow. Perhaps those are the best -off. Ah! but the Lord is merciful! The Lord is merciful!" - -She put her hand on her heart and again sighed heavily. - -"She's acting," thought Anania. - -"_Bostè est sapia che ì s'abba_"[17] he said ironically, "upon my word, -I don't understand your sermon. What has it to do with Battista Daga? -Tell me. Signora Maria." - -"Move that candle! It's setting fire to the calendar! What are you -thinking of!" cried the landlady, jumping up, "are you trying to ruin -me?" - -Anania moved the candle and clapped a dictionary on the burning almanac. - -"What a silly boy! Doesn't he deserve a box on the ear?" said Maria, -recovering herself and pulling the tuft of hair which fell on his -forehead. - -"Don't! don't!" cried Anania, shaking his head from her touch. A sudden -recollection had shot through him. Yes--in a far distant place, in a -long distant time, in a black kitchen guarded by the long funereal cloak -of a bandit--Olì, exasperated by poverty and grief, used sometimes to -pull the wild locks of a naughty little boy. - -Anania was moved by the recollection. He seized Signora Obinu's hand and -held it tight. Was it the same hand which had struck the child, the hand -which had led him to the olive-mill. - -"A silly boy!" repeated Maria, "if I hadn't been there, there'd have -been a fine conflagration. Well, may I go away now?" - -He raised his head and said: - -"I feel as if I had seen your hand before now. Some other time this hand -has pulled my hair, has boxed my ears, has caressed me----" - -"Are you going crazy, Signor Anania?" she said, snatching her hand away. - -"Signora Maria, do you believe in spirits? No? Yet they exist. I believe -in them. Last night a friendly spirit came and told me many things, -among them, that you are my mother." - -Maria laughed, somewhat forcedly, as if wishing to hide something. The -young man saw he had chosen a very childish method of approaching her. -Yet if she was really his mother she could not fail to be upset, finding -he had guessed it. However she laughed, perhaps trying to carry off some -terror of informing spirits. - -"You really are crazy. I only wish I were your mother!" she said. - -The voice of Aunt Varvara was heard calling her mistress. - -"I can't waste any more time," said Signora Maria, turning to go away. - -"What shall I say to Daga?" said Anania, brushing his hair. - -"Say that if he comes here, I shall throw him downstairs. Do you see?" - -"No, I don't see. Signora Maria! wait! Explain to me, do! Don't go away! -What does it all mean?" - -But she vanished into the darkness of the ante-room, making no reply. - -"Of course I do see," thought Anania shutting the door. "Well, is it any -business of mine what Daga is? and what she is? Hasn't everyone their -faults?" - - -[Footnote 16: A dwarf of Sardinian legend.] - -[Footnote 17: A proverb. Wise as water, viz. very wise.] - - - - -V - - -The time of vacation was near. - -"Aunt Varvara," said the student to the old servant as she was preparing -the coffee. "How happy I am! I feel wings growing. A few more days--then -good-bye! Yes, I have wings. I shall jump on the window-sill, cry -zsss--ss--and off! I launch myself in flight, and there I am in -Sardinia." - -And he went to the window pretending to suit the action to the words. - -"A-a-ah!" cried the old woman terrified, "do get down, sweetheart! -You'll break your neck! Oh God!----" - -"Well, if you'll give me some coffee, just one little cup, I won't fly -just yet. How good your coffee is, my dear! How do you get it so good? -No one can make it so well except my mother at Nuoro." - -The old woman, greatly flattered, poured out a cup, which being the -first from the pot was truly exquisite. - -"Upon my word it is good!" said Anania, raising ecstatic eyes. "It gives -me nostalgia." - -"What's nostalgia?" - -"A shudder of the heart, Aunt Varvara; that shudder which comes when we -think of paradise. Would you like to come home with me, little aunt, on -a pillion? think! what fun!" - -The old woman heaved a tremendous sigh. "Ah--if it weren't for the sea. -Are you very rich?" she asked suddenly. - -"Of course I am." - -"How many _tancas_ have you?" - -"Seven or eight. I don't quite remember." - -"And bees have you? And shepherds?" - -"Aunt Varvara, I have everything." - -"Then why have you come to this land of damnation?" - -"Because my sweetheart wishes me to be Doctor of Law." - -"And who is your sweetheart?" - -"The daughter of the Baron of Baronia." - -"Are there still Barons of Baronia? I have heard that phantoms haunt -their castle. Once there was a woodcutter who spent the night under the -castle wall, and he saw a lady with a long gold tail like a comet. Do -you know what a comet is? By our Lady of Good Counsel! you'll kill -yourself drinking so much coffee!" - -"Go on with the story. What did the woodcutter do?" - -Aunt Varvara went on. She mixed the legends of the Castello of the -Castle of Burgos with those of the castle of Galtelli, confused historic -records come down by popular tradition, with events which had happened -in her own childhood, not it is true very recent. She told a story of a -great lord who had lost his way on a moor, and not till he heard a -little bell at evening dusk, could he find his way to an inhabited -place. The great lord was very rich and very stupid, and he promised to -leave all his wealth to the church whose bell he had heard. And ever -after that, the bell has tolled at evening dusk so that lost men may be -able to find their way. - -"But that's the legend of St Maria Maggiore," said Anania. - -"No, no, my dear little heart. It belongs to the church of Illori. I can -tell you the name of the great rich man. It was Don Gonario Area." - -"And the _nuraghes_," continued Aunt Varvara, walking about the steaming -kitchen, "are there still _nuraghes_? You know when the Moors came to -Sardinia to steal the cattle and the women, the Sardinians hid their -money in the _nuraghes_. Stupid boy, why don't you look for treasure on -your _tancas_?" - -Anania thought of his father who had again written requiring him to -visit the museums where antique gold coins are preserved. - -"Once," continued Aunt Varvara, "I went to pick lavender near a -_nuraghe_. I remember as if it were yesterday. I had the fever, and in -the evening I had to lie down on the grass, waiting till some cart -should pass which would carry me home, and this is what I saw. The -heaven behind the _nuraghe_ was all the colour of fire--it looked just -like a scarlet cloth. And suddenly a giant rose on the _patiu_[18] and -started blowing smoke out of his mouth. The whole sky became dark. By -our Lady of Good Counsel, it was horrible! But quite suddenly I saw St -George with the full moon on his head, and a great sword shining like -water in his hand. Tiffeti! Taffeti!" cried the old dame, flourishing a -kitchen knife! "St George slashed off the giant's head, and the sky -became quite bright again." - -"You saw all that. Aunt Varvara, because you had fever." - -"It may have been the fever, but I did see the giant and Santu Jorgi; -yes, I saw them with these eyes!" asseverated the old lady, poking her -fingers into her organs of vision. - -Then she asked whether on the days of the greater feasts, horses still -galloped along the edge of the cliff, decorated with coloured ribbons -and ridden by half naked boys. And again whether for Sant' Antonio they -lighted fires, and in the middle of the fires stuck stakes, on top of -which were roasted oranges and pomegranates and arbutus berries, and -dead rats. - -Anania listened with pleasure to Aunt Varvara's suggestive stories and -questions. Though the trains were shrieking within a few yards and the -amorous cats were _miouing_ among the columns of the Pantheon, he so -identified himself with the old woman's recollections that he fancied he -had only to open the door, to find himself in a lonely Sardinian -landscape on the top of a _nuraghe_ watched by a giant, or rapt in the -savage excitement of a race of Barbs, in the company of a philosophic -and contemplative old shepherd with soul turbid and great like the -clouds. In the homesick babble of the aged exile he already felt the -aroma of his native land, the breeze blown down from Orthobene and the -Gennargentu. And he felt himself Sardinian, deeply, exclusively -Sardinian. - -"I mean to enjoy myself this vacation!" he said to his old Mend. "I -shall attend all the Feasts, I shall visit the whole of my little native -country. I shall climb on the Gennargentu, on Monte Raso, on the hill of -the castle of Burgos! Yes, I'm determined to get up the Gennargentu. -Perhaps, at Fonni, so and so, and so and so are still alive. And I -wonder how the monks are getting on? and Zuanne?" - -He was homesick like Aunt Varvara. - -"Aren't _you_ ever going back?" he asked Signora Obinu one day when she -came into the kitchen. - -"I?" she answered rather drearily, "no, never again, never again!" - -"Why not? Come to the window Signora Maria! look! What a wonderful moon! -Wouldn't you like to go on pilgrimage to the Madonna di Gonare, in fine -moonlight like this? on horseback, quietly, quietly through the woods, -up the precipices--on--on--while you see the little church painted on -the sky above you, high up--high up----" - -Maria shook her head and pursed up her lips; but Aunt Varvara heaved all -over and raised her eyes as if to find the little country church high -up--high up against the soft blue of the moonlit sky. - -"Except for you and your friends," said the landlady, "and the church -and devotees of the Most Holy Madonna, I'd see all Sardinia burnt up -sooner than go back there." - -"But why?" - -Aunt Varvara busy with her cooking shut her eyes, unable to protest out -loud against her mistress's shocking hatred of the distant fatherland. - -"Ah, my sweetheart," said the old woman when Signora Obinu had gone to -the dining-room, "she has good reason! They murdered her there!" - -"But she's alive still, Aunt Varvara!" - -"You don't know what you're talking about! It's better to murder a woman -than to betray her." - -This threw him back into his doubts again. - -"Aunt Varvara, you said it was a Signore who seduced her. Tell me his -name. Try to remember it. Tell me, has the Signora any documents? Where -would they be? I might help her to find the man; might persuade him -to----It would be to your own interest as well." - -"Persuade him to what?" - -"To help her." - -"She doesn't want help. She has money. Leave her in peace. She doesn't -want to be reminded of her misfortune. Not a word! No! She'd strangle me -if she knew I had talked about her." - -"But her papers----" repeated Anania. - -He had already searched for them in Signora Maria's room. She had no -papers. She had destroyed all traces of her past. - -The student was consumed with the desire to ascertain something definite -before he went home. Why did he not take active steps, go back to the -Questura, write to Sardinia, follow up the clue? Why had he allowed so -much time to slip by in vain and cowardly inertia? Many a time he had -resolved to bring on a crisis, to attack her and force her to reveal -herself. After the inconclusive colloquy about Daga, he had actually -allowed himself to chatter with her on irrelevant matters. There were -days when he did not see her at all, or try to see her. "Yet I do want -to know," he thought distractedly roaming the streets, which were still -crowded but by an ever decreasing crowd. "If she is not my mother, why -should I torment myself? But in that case, where, where is my mother? -How is she living? Is she near or far? In the turmoil of the city, in -this clatter which seems to me the voice of a thousand-headed monster, -is her breath, her groan, her laughter, a part of it? And if she is not -here, where is she?" - -That night he had a touch of fever, caused perhaps by the unwholesome -though poetic philtre of the dreams which he evoked almost nightly in -the silence of the Coliseum. In his delirium he thought he saw the face -of Maria Obinu bending over his pillow. Was it delirium? Moonlight and -the vague reflection of an illuminated window lighted the patient's -room. Behind Maria he saw a cavalier in eighteenth century costume, -carrying a tray on which was a glass of champagne and Olì's amulet. He -felt that the cavalier, motionless in the penumbra, was insubstantial; -but the figure of the woman seemed real. He wanted to light a candle but -he could not move. He seemed lying on the edge of a precipice upon a -stone, which drawn by an occult force flew giddily towards an -unattainable point followed by all things. After the first apparition of -Maria he thought, "I have fever, I know that; but I'm certainly not -wandering. It was she. I was wrong in pretending to be asleep. I ought -to have simulated delirium to see what she would do. Perhaps she'll come -back. Suppose I try and suggest it to her?" - -"Come! Come!" he began, speaking half aloud and trying to impose his -will on her. "Come, Maria Obinu! I _will_ you to come." - -She did not come at once, and the strange course of the rock on which -the sufferer imagined himself lying redoubled in velocity. Apocalyptic -visions rose, mingled, vanished--monstrous clouds far in the depths of -the fantastic abyss into which the soul of the sufferer gazed with -horror. He saw the _nuraghe_ with the giant and the saint of Aunt -Varvara's delirium. But the moon detached itself from the Saint and fled -over the heaven. Two other moons red and huge appeared in pursuit. -Cataclysm was imminent. An immense crowd trampled each other on the -shore of a storm driven sea. The waves were marine horses, which fought -with invisible spirits. A cry rose out of the sea: "The stepmother! the -stepmother!" Anania shook with horror, opened his eyes and thought they -had turned blue. - -"What absurdities!" he thought. "Why should fever make one see such -things?" - -Then Maria Obinu came back. She advanced silently and bent over the -patient. - -"Now I'll pretend!" he thought, and began a feeble lament. But the woman -said nothing. - -"Oh God! Oh God!" murmured the youth, sighing aloud, "who is striking my -head? Let me alone! Don't murder me! The moon is going out. Mother, do -you remember the little song you taught me:" - - -"_Luna, luna, Moon, moon, -Porzedda luna!_" Beautiful moon! - - -"Why won't you tell me you are my mother? Tell me! Tell me! I know it of -course; but you ought to tell me yourself. Do you see the knight with -the amulet you gave me that morning? Don't you remember that morning we -came down, and the chaffinches sang on the chestnut trees and the clouds -vanished behind Monte Gonare? Of course you remember! Tell me! Don't be -afraid! I love you, we will live together! Tell me!" - -The woman kept silence. The patient was overcome by a spasm of real -tenderness and anguish, and began to rave in reality. - -"Mother! Mother! speak to me! Don't make me suffer more. I am worn out. -If you know what I have suffered! You are Olì, aren't you? There's no -use in denying it. You are Olì. What have you been about? Where are -your papers? Ah well, we'll be silent about the past. It's all over and -done with. Now we will never part again. Oh don't go away! Wait! For -God's sake, don't go away!" - -He raised himself, his eyes wide; but the figure moved slowly away and -disappeared. The knight with the tray was still there motionless in the -penumbra, and everything was turning round. Again the figure returned -and again it vanished. Anania continued to cry out that he saw his -mother; and this impression, made up of sweetness and anguish, he -retained even after the fever had left him. - -Next morning he awoke early. His limbs seemed bruised as with blows of a -stick. He got up and went out without asking for Signora Obinu. - -For three or four nights the fever continued to trouble him; but between -the phantasms of nightmare the figure of his mother did not return. That -made him think. Had it been a real vision? If so, she must have been -frightened by his words, and for that reason had kept away. - -After this, exhausted by fatigue and the nervous tension of the -Examinations, still moreover a little feverish, he daily resolved to -solve the enigma, but always in vain. He thought, "I will summon her. I -will supplicate, question, threaten. I will tell her the Questura has -told me all, I will frighten her with the threat of exposure. She will -confess. And suppose it is _She_--what next?" - -Always this supposition stupefied and terrified him. Sometimes he -imagined a dramatic scene between his long lost mother and himself; -sometimes it seemed that not one fibre in his heart would be moved. -Oftener he felt frozen, watching Signora Obinu, pale and smiling, with -her worn dark dress, always busy, always quiet, unconscious, insensible. - -A veil fell between him and the phantasm which had tormented him. -Instead of the violent scene he had imagined, dull conversations about -nothings took place between him and his landlady, simple Aunt Varvara -joining in. - -Only a few minutes before starting for his holiday he finally decided to -leave the whole matter in suspense till his return. He felt weary, -defeated. The heat, the examinations, the fever, the fantasies had -exhausted him. "I will rest," he thought, "I will sleep. I need -forgetfulness and sleep if I am to recover myself. I mustn't turn into a -neurasthenic! I will go up to my native mountains, to the wild and -virgin Gennargentu How long I have intended that excursion! I will visit -the robber's widow; my brother Zuanne; the son of the candlemaker; and -the court of the convent and that _carabiniere_ who sang--" - - -"'_A te questo rosario._'" - - -Then the thought of again seeing Margherita, of kissing her and -immersing himself in love as in a perfumed bath, gave him a felicity -which took his breath away. He almost wanted to flee from this devouring -joy; but, driven out of his mind, it still ran in his blood, vibrated -with his nerves, and swelled his heart in delicious pain. As he was -starting. Aunt Varvara brought him a small wax candle which he was to -carry to the Basilica of the Martyrs at Fonni, and Signora Obinu gave -him a medal blessed by the Holy Father. - -"If you don't value it yourself, unbeliever, give it to your mother," -she said smiling, and a little moved. "Good-bye, have a good journey and -come back safe. I'll keep the room for you. Get on well, and send me a -postcard at once." - -"Good-bye!" said Anania, taking the medal; "commend me to the Holy -Souls in Purgatory." - -"Of course I will," she said, shaking her finger at him, "they will -protect you from temptation." - -"Amen; and to our happy reunion." - -"Good-bye!" he called again from the bottom of the stair, and Maria, -leaning over the bannister, saluted him with her hand. When he had -reached the street he thought of going back to see if she were in tears, -stopped for a moment, but went on followed by Aunt Varvara almost crying -herself. - -"Son of my little heart," said the old woman, "greet for me the first -person you shall meet on Sardinian ground. And don't forget the wax -candle." - -She went with him to the tram, notwithstanding her fear of the monster, -and kissed him on his cheek. Anania remembered the kiss of poor Nanna -before his departure from Nuoro, but this time he was touched, and he -embraced Aunt Varvara asking forgiveness for all the times he had teased -her. - -Then all was left behind; the old woman who in parting from the young -man wept her own exile; the dreary street where lived Maria Obinu; the -Piazza at that hour scorching and deserted; the Pantheon sad as a -cyclopean tomb; the cats dreaming among the great ruins. - -Anania, his face brushed by a light breeze, felt happy as if freed from -an incubus. - - -[Footnote 18: A court or platform round the _nuraghe_.] - - - - -VI - - -Before coming down to supper in his home, Anania stood at the window of -his little room, struck by the deep silence of the courtyard, of the -vicinity, of the whole country as far as to the horizon. He seemed to -have become deaf. It was almost oppressive. But the voice of Aunt -Tatàna resounded from the courtyard. - -"Nania, my son, come down!" - -He obeyed. A little table was laid expressly for him in the kitchen. His -"parents," according to custom, took their supper seated on the floor, -with meat and cakes in a basket before them. Nothing was changed. The -kitchen was still poor and dark, but very clean. The stove was in the -centre. The walls were adorned with trenchers and hunting spears, with -great baskets, sieves and other utensils for sifting flour: in a corner -were two woollen sacks containing barley. Near the narrow door, which -was thrown open, hung the seed pouch and the rest of the fanning outfit. - -A baby pig, tied to the elder tree in the courtyard, grunted gently, -puffed and sighed. A red cat quietly placed himself by the little table -and yawned, raising great yellow eyes to Anania. He was looking about -him in a kind of stupor. No, nothing was changed; yet he felt somehow as -if he were in this environment for the first time, with that tall -peasant of the brilliant eyes and the long oily hair, with that pretty -elderly woman, fair and fat as a dove. - -"At last we are alone," said Big Anania, who was eating salad made into -a sandwich with girdle cakes; "but you'll see they won't leave you long -in peace. It'll be Atonzu here, Atonzu there! you're an important man -now you've been in Rome. I, too, when I returned from my military -service----" - -"What sort of a comparison is that?" protested Aunt Tatàna. - -"Do let me speak. I remember I had the greatest difficulty in talking -dialect. I felt as if I were in a new world." - -The student looked at his father and smiled. - -"That's what I feel," he said. - -"I daresay you do. After a while I got used to it; but as for you, after -three days you'll be sick of this gossipy place and--and----" - -His wife frowned and he changed the subject a little. "Eh! what a big -place that devil of a Rome is to be sure! Give me the glass, my old -beauty! What are you grimacing for? Why are you so important because -you've a great man in the house?" - -Anania guessed at some secret and said. - -"What's the matter? Tell me. What's being said about me?" - -"Nothing, nothing; let the crows caw," said the woman. - -The lad was disturbed. Had something been heard at Nuoro of Maria Obinu? -He put down his fork and said he would eat no more till he heard -explanation. - -"You're so hasty!" sighed the old woman. "King Solomon says the hasty -man is like the wind----" - -"Oh King Solomon still? I was hoping you'd forgotten him," said the -young man roughly. She was silent, rather hurt. Her husband looked at -her, then at Anania, and wished to punish him. - -"King Solomon always said the truth. But what they're saying in Nuoro is -that you're making love to Margherita Carboni." - -Anania flushed. He resumed his fork and ate mechanically, while he -stammered-- - -"The fools!" - -"Why no, they're not fools," said the father, looking into his glass -which was half full of wine. "If it's true, there's good cause to -complain, for you ought to confess to the _padrone_. You might say 'My -benefactor, I'm a man now and you must forgive me for having hidden my -hopes from you, as I have hidden them from my own parents.'" - -"Stop! You know nothing about it!" cried the son angrily. - -"Ah! holy Saint Catherine!" sighed Aunt Tatàna, who had already -forgiven him. "Let the poor, tired boy alone! There's time enough to -talk of these matters, and you are only a peasant and no scholar, so you -don't understand." - -The man drank his wine; waved a hand to implore peace, and said -quietly:-- - -"Yes, I'm ignorant and my son has been educated. That's all very well. -But I am older than he. My hair's beginning to turn white. Experience, -my wife, makes a man wiser than a Doctor of Law. My son, I will say to -you one thing only; ask your conscience and see if it doesn't tell you -this, that we must not deceive our benefactor." - -The student thumped his glass on the table so violently that the cat -shuddered. - -"Fools! Fools!" he cried fuming. But he knew his father, that ignorant -and primitive man, was right. - -"Yes, my son," said the _contadino_, pushing the oily hair from his -forehead, "you must go to your master, kiss his hand and say, 'I am the -son of a peasant, but by your kindness and my own talents, I shall -become a doctor and a gentleman and rich. I love Margherita and -Margherita loves me. I will make her happy. I will make it up to her if -she lowers herself to take the son of a servant for a husband. I ask -your worship to bless us in the name of the Father, the Son, and the -Holy Ghost.'" - -"And if he kicks him out?" said Aunt Tatàna. - -The doubt was unflattering, and Anania laughed it off a little -nervously. - -"Be quiet, little woman!" replied the peasant, drinking again, "your -King Solomon says women never know what they're talking about. When I -speak I have already weighed my words. The _padrone_ will give his -blessing." - -"But suppose it's all nonsense?" cried Anania, uplifted with joy. He -went to the door and whistled. He was bewildered. His heart thumped. He -was submerged by a wave of felicity. He would have liked to ask his -father questions, to tell the whole story, but he could not utter a -word. - -"The _padrone_ will give his blessing." The miller must have had his -reasons for saying that! What could have happened? And why had -Margherita never pointed out her father's favourable disposition? If she -was ignorant of it, how could the dependent have found the thing out? -"Within a few hours I shall see her and she'll tell me," thought Anania. -His fatigue, his anxieties, his doubts, the joy itself of the new hope, -melted away before the sweet thought, "I shall see her in a little -while." - - -The door opened silently at the young man's light tap. "Glad to see -you," whispered the maid, who was in the lover's confidence. "She's -coming in one moment." "How are you?" he asked in an agitated voice; -"here, take this little keepsake I have brought you from Rome." "You are -always so kind," said the girl, receiving the little parcel. "Wait here -for a minute." - -The minute seemed an hour. He leaned against the wall of the courtyard -under the veiled heaven of the dark and silent night. He shook with -anxiety and joy; when Margherita ran panting to his arms he felt rather -than saw her; felt her soft warm cheek, her lithe though not too slender -waist, her heart beating against his own. Blinded by cruel -inextinguishable thirst, he kissed her wildly, almost unconsciously. - -"That's enough!" she said, the first to recover herself. "How are you? -Quite well again?" - -"Yes, yes!" he answered hotly. "Ah God! At last! Oh!" he went on, -breathing hard and pressing her hand to his breast. "I am not able even -to speak. I couldn't come to your window because--because they haven't -left me a minute to myself. Even now I can't see you. If you had only -brought a light!" - -"Nonsense, Nino! We shall see each other to-morrow." She laughed softly, -touching him with the palm of her hand which Anania held to his breast. -"How your heart beats!" she said, "it's like a little wounded bird. Tell -me, are you really better?" - -"Oh, I'm quite well, quite well. Margherita, where are you? Is it -possible we are together?" - -He gazed hard, trying to distinguish her lineaments in the colourless -vault of the clouded night. Great dark velvety clouds passed ceaselessly -over the grey sky. An oval space of clear firmament surrounded by -darkness looked like a mysterious face, its eyes, two red stars, leaning -down to watch the lovers. Anania sat on the stone bench and drew the -girl to his knee. Disregarding her protests he held her tight in the -circle of his arms. - -"No, no," she said, "I'm too heavy. I'm too fat!" - -"Light as a feather," he affirmed gallantly. "But is it really true we -are together?" he repeated. "It seems a dream! How often I have dreamed -of this moment which I thought would never come! And now here we are -together! united! united. I am going mad, I think! Is it really a fact -that I have you here on my heart? Speak! Say something! Stick a pin into -me to show me I'm not dreaming!" - -"What do you want me to say? It's you have things to say. I wrote -everything to you, everything. You speak, Nino! You are so good at -talking! Tell me all about Rome. I don't know how to talk." - -"On the contrary, you talk beautifully. You have such a lovely voice. -I've never heard a woman speak like you." - -"Stories!" said Margherita. - -"I swear it's true! Why should I say what isn't true? You are the most -beautiful, the gentlest, the sweetest of all girls. If you knew how I -thought of you when my landlady's two girls in the first house flung -themselves at me and at Battista! I felt as if they were some sort of -plague struck creatures while you--you were a saint, soft and pure, and -fresh, and lovely!" - -"But I'm afraid I, too,--" - -"That's quite different. Don't say such horrid things! You know I get -vexed when you are cold. We are betrothed. Isn't it true? Aren't we -going to marry each other? Tell me yes." - -"Yes." - -"Say that you love me." - -"Yes." - -"Don't say just Yes. Say it like this. I--love--thee." - -"I--love--thee. If I didn't love you should I be here? Of course I love -you! I can't express myself, but I do love you; probably more than you -love me." - -"It's not true. I love you most. But you do love me, yes I know it," he -continued, becoming grave, "you who might aspire to anyone, you are so -beautiful and so rich!" - -"Rich? I don't know about that. Suppose I'm not?" - -"I should like it much, much better." - -They were silent, each grave, each following private thoughts; almost -divided. - -"You know," he said suddenly, following the thread of his own ideas, -"I've been told your family has guessed our love. Is it true?" - -"Yes," she said, after a short hesitation. - -"Really? Really? Then your father is not angry?" - -Margherita hesitated again. Then raised her head and said drily, "I -don't know." - -From her manner Anania understood something unfavourable, something -unexpected which he could not make out. What was happening? Was the girl -hiding some disagreeable secret? His mind flew to her, to his mother, to -the distant phantom, and he asked if this shadow was coming between him -and his love. - -"You must tell me frankly," he said, distractedly caressing her hands, -"what is going on? Am I to be allowed to aspire to you or not? May I go -on hoping? You know what I am; a poor dependent on your family; the son -of one of your servants." - -"What nonsense!" she exclaimed impatiently. "Your father isn't a -servant. Even if he were, he's a man respected and honoured by everyone, -and that's enough." - -"Honoured and respected!" Anania repeated to himself, pierced to the -soul. "Oh God, she is not honoured and respected!" But he reflected at -once that Margherita would not talk like this if she were thinking of -_that woman_. Probably the Carboni's all thought Olì was dead. She must -have something else on her mind. - -"Margherita," he insisted as calmly as he could, "I must have you open -your whole heart to me. I want you to advise me what I ought to do. -Shall I wait? Shall I ask? Conscience and pride too bid me go to your -father and tell him at once. If I don't, he may think me a traitor, a -man without any loyalty or honour. But I'll do whatever you tell me. -Only I won't give you up. That would be my death! I am ambitious as you -know. I say it proudly because if only you'll stick to me, my ambition -will come to something. I'm not like most fellows, Sardinians -especially, who expect to succeed at once and have no staying power, and -do nothing but envy those who do succeed. Battista Daga for instance! -He's all envy and hatred. He was quite pleased when _Le Maschere_ was -hissed at the Costanza! But I'm not envious. I can wait calmly, and I -shall succeed. I don't say I'll ever be famous, but I shall achieve a -good position. I'm sure of it. As soon as I've taken my Degree, I shall -enter for the higher examinations. I shall live in Rome and work and -push myself forward. But I repeat I shall do all this only for you. -Woman is at the bottom of every man's ambition. Some are afraid to say -that. But I say it frankly. I'm proud to say it. I've always told you -so, haven't I?" - -"Yes," said Margherita, carried away by his enthusiasm. - -He went on: "You are the goal of my whole life. Some men live for art or -for glory, or for vanity; and some live for love. I'm one of those. I -seem to have loved ever since I was born, and I shall love on to the -last of my age. You! always you! If you should fail me, I shouldn't have -the strength or even the wish to do anything. I should die morally. -Physically too I expect. If you were to say, I love someone else----" - -"Hush! be quiet!" commanded Margherita. "Now it's you who are -blaspheming. Dear me! is that rain?" A drop had fallen on their linked -hands. They looked up at the clouds which were passing slower now. They -had become more dense; nebulous and torpid monsters. - -"Listen," said Margherita, speaking a little hurriedly and absently, as -if apprehensive of the rain, "we aren't half so rich as we were. My -father's affairs are going badly. He's been lending money to everybody -who asked for it, and they--never give it back. He is too good-hearted. -That everlasting lawsuit about the forest at Orlei is going against us. -If we lose, and I expect we shall, then I shall no longer be rich." - -"You didn't write me all that." - -"Why should I? Besides I didn't know it myself till a few days ago. I -declare it _is_ raining!" - -They got up and stood for a few minutes under the verandah. Lightning -shone among the clouds, and in that flash of lilac flame, Anania saw -Margherita pale as the moon. - -"What's the matter? What is it?" he asked, pressing her to him. "Don't -be afraid for the future. You mayn't be rich, but you will be happy. -Don't be frightened." - -"Oh no! I'm only thinking about my mother who's so afraid of lightning -she will be getting up out of bed. You must go now," she ended, pushing -him gently away. - -He had to obey. But he lingered a good while under the doorway waiting -for the rain to stop. Sharp flashes of joy illuminated his soul as the -flashes of metallic lightning illuminated the night. He remembered a wet -day in Rome when the thought of death had cloven his soul like a shaft -of lightning. Yes, joy and grief were much alike; devouring flames, both -of them. - -As he made his way home under the last drops of rain he accused himself -of selfishness. - -"I'm pleased by the misfortunes of my benefactor," he thought. "That's -mean!" - -Next morning he wrote to Margherita telling her of many heroic projects. -He would give lessons so as to continue his own studies without being a -further drag on her father. He would visit Signor Carboni and make a -formal proposal of marriage. He would explain to the family which had -patronized him that he would become its prop and its pride. - -He was finishing his letter at his open window, enjoying the dewy -morning silence and the fragrance from the rain-freshened fields, when -he heard an outburst of uncontrollable laughter, and turning saw Nanna, -ragged and trembling, her eyes tearful, her ugly mouth open, in her hand -(and in imminent danger of upsetting) a brimming cup of coffee. - -"Still alive, Nanna?" he said. "Good-morning." - -"Good-morning to your Worship. I wanted to startle you, that's why I -asked Aunt Tatàna to let me bring the coffee. Here it is. My hands are -quite clean, your Worship. Oh, what a delight, what a consolation!" she -cried, crying and laughing. - -"Where's the Worship you are talking to? You must say 'Thou' to me. Give -me that coffee and tell me the news." - -"The news? Oh, we go on living in dens like the wild beasts we are. How -can I say 'Thou' to your Worship who is a resplendent sun?" - -"What? no longer a sugar plum?" said Anania, sipping the coffee from the -antique gold sprigged cup and thinking of Aunt Varvara. - -"Ah, my dear! forgive me. I always think of you as a little boy. Do you -remember the first time you came from Cagliari? Yes, little Margherita -was at the window watching for you. Doesn't the moon watch for the sun?" - -Anania set the cup on the window ledge. He breathed hard. How happy he -felt! How blue was the sky, how sweet the air! What grandeur in the -silence of humble things, in the air not yet stirred by the turmoil of -civilization. Even Aunt Nanna no longer seemed horrible; under the -unclean exterior of that poisoned body, palpitated a warm heart, a -poetic soul. - -"Listen to those lines!" cried Anania, and he recited gesticulating-- - - -_Ella era assisa sopra la verdura Seated she was upon the - verdure fair -Allegra; e ghirlandetta avea All joyous; and a wreath had -contesta: fashioned; -Di quanti por creasse mai natura To paint the radiant vesture - she did wear -Di tanti era dipinta la sua vesta Each flower that blooms its - brightest hues had shed. -E come in prima al giovin pose When of the youth's advance -cura she first was ware -Alquanto paurosa alzò la testa: With motion half of fear she - raised her head, -Poi con la bianca man ripreso il Then lifting her robe's hem -lembo with one white hand, -Levossi in piè con di fior pieno She rose, and so with -un grembo._ flower-filled lap did stand. - - -Nanna listened without understanding a word. She--opened her lips to -say--to say--At last she said:-- - -"I've heard that before." - -"From whom?" cried Anania. - -"From Efès Cau." - -"Liar! Now away with you at once, or I'll beat you. No, wait a minute! -tell me everything that has happened at Nuoro this year." - -She began a strange rigmarole, mixing up her own affairs with the events -of the town. Every now and then she returned to Margherita. - -"She's the lovely one! The rose of roses! the pink! the sugar plum! Oh -and her clothes! Oh God, never have been seen such marvels! When she -passes people watch her like a shooting star. A gentleman charged me to -steal a scrap of her scarf. He wanted to wear it on his heart. The maid -up there at Carboni's says that every morning her young lady finds on -her window a love letter tied up with a blue ribbon. But the rose can't -do with anything except a pink. Well, well! hand me thy cup!" concluded -the babbler giving herself a slap on the mouth, "it's no good! I knew -your Worship when he had a tail and I can't say _Lei_[19] to him." - -"And pray when had I a tail?" asked Anania, threatening her with his -finger. - -Nanna ran away, shaking and laughing, her hand over her mouth. From the -courtyard she shouted up to the student who was leaning out of his -window-- - -"It was the tail of your shirt, your Worship!" - -Again Anania threatened her and again Nanna shook with laughter; the -little pig, now loose, snuffed at the woman's feet; a hen jumped on its -back and pecked its ears. A sparrow perched on the elder, swinging on -the end of a twig. And Anania was so happy that he sang another verse -from Poliziano: - - -_Portate, venti, questi dolci versi Breezes, upon your wings these - verses bear -Dentro all' orecchie della Ninfa And breathe them in my -mia; Ladye's ear for me; -Dite quanti per lei lagrime versi, Speak of the many tears I've - shed for her. -E la pregate che crudel non sia; And pray her sore to quit this - cruelty; -Dite che la mia vita fugge via, Tell her my life's sad course is - almost run, -E si consuma come brina al sole._ Wasted, consumed, like hoar - frost in the sun. - - -As he sang, he had again the feeling of being light as the sparrow on -the twig. Later he went to the garden where he could hand the maid the -letter for Margherita. - -The garden, still wet after the nocturnal rain, exhaled a strong odour -of vegetation and wet earth. The beans had been reduced by caterpillars -to masses of strange grey lace. The prickly pears were losing their -little gold cupped yellow flowers; the tall passion flower with its -stemless violet flowers cut the azure of the sky with their strange -outline. The mountains rose vaporous in the pearly distance, their -highest peaks lost in golden clouds. Efès, a heap of rags, lay in a -corner. Anania kicked him lightly; he raised his face, opened a glassy -eye, and murmured-- - - -"When Amelia so pure and so pale--" - - -Then fell back without recognising the young man. Further on Uncle Pera, -now quite blind, was indefatigably weeding, recognising the weeds by -smell and touch. - -"How are you?" cried Anania. - -"Dead, my son. I can't see; I can't hear." - -"Don't lose heart. You'll get cured----" - -"In the next world where all are cured. Where all see and hear. Never -mind, my son. When I saw with the eyes of my body, my soul was blind. -Now I see. I see with the eyes of the soul. But tell me, when you were -in Rome, did you see the Pope?" - -When he had left the garden Anania roamed about in the vicinity. Yes, -this little corner of the world was always the same. The madman still -sat on the stone with his back against the tumbling wall, and waited for -the coming of Jesus; the beggar-woman still jealously watched Rebecca, -while the miserable girl still shook with fever and bandaged her sores. -Maestro Pane among his cobwebs still planed tables and talked to -himself; in the tavern the handsome Agata flirted with young and old; -and Antonino and Bustianeddu drank and swore, and now and then vanished -for a month or two, reappearing with faces grown rather pale in "the -service of the King."[20] Aunt Tatàna still baked sweetmeats for her -"dear little boy" and dreamed of his future laurels; Big Anania, on days -of leisure, sat in the street embroidering a leather belt and dreaming -of treasures hidden in the _nuraghes_. - -No, nothing was changed; but the young student saw men and things as -never he had seen them before. Everything seemed beautiful to him with a -wild and melancholy beauty. He passed by and gazed as if he were a -stranger; in the picture of those dark and falling cabins, of those -primitive beings who inhabited them, he seemed to see himself vaguely as -a giant--yes, as a giant, or as a bird--a giant by his superiority, a -bird by his joy! - - -At the end of August, after various meetings, Margherita agreed to the -confession of their love. - -"Your father's manner to me has changed," said Anania. "I am uneasy and -remorseful He looks at me with cold, critical eyes, and I can't bear -it." - -"Well--do your duty, if you have the courage," said Margherita, with a -touch of malice. - -"How shall I put it?" asked the lad, growing nervous. - -"As you like. It will be a very interesting occasion. The more agitated -you are the more effect you will make. My father is so kind!" - -"Then you think I may have some hope?" cried Anania as eagerly as if -till that moment he had been in utter despair. - -"Why, yes--s--s," she said, stroking his hair in almost motherly -fashion. - -He folded her close, shut his eyes, and tried to the immensity of his -good fortune. Could it be possible? Margherita would be his own? Really? -In reality, as she had always been his in dream? He thought of the time -when he had scarce dared confess his love to himself. And now---- - -"How many things come to pass in the world!" he thought. "But there! -what is the world? What is reality? Where does dream end and reality -begin? May not all this be dream? Who is Margherita? Who am I? Are we -alive? And what is life? What is this mysterious joy which lifts me as -the moon lifts the wave? And the sea, what is that? Does the sea feel? -Is it alive? And what is the moon, and is she also real?" - -He smiled at his questions. The moon illuminated the courtyard. In the -silence of the diaphanous night, the tremulous song of the crickets -suggested a population of minute sprites, sitting on the dewy moonlit -leaves and sawing on a single string of invisible fiddles. All was dream -and all was reality. Anania fancied he saw the goblin fiddlers, and at -the same time he saw distinctly Margherita's pink blouse, and rings, and -gold chain. He pressed her wrist, touched the pearl of the ring which -she wore on her little finger, looked at her nails with their little -half moons of white. Yes, it was all real, visible, tangible. The -reality and the dream had no dividing-line. All could be seen, handled, -attained, from the maddest dream to the object of the barest visibility. - -A few words pronounced by Margherita brought him back to the boundary of -reality. - -"What will you say to my father?" she asked, scoffing a little. "Will you -say, 'Sir, Godfather--I--I and--and your daughter--Margherita--are--are -doing what you----'" - -"I couldn't!" he exclaimed, "I'll write to him!" - -"Oh no!" said Margherita seriously, "you had far better speak! He'll be -far more yielding if you speak. If you're afraid to do it yourself, send -someone." - -"Whom could I send?" - -Margherita pondered, then said tentatively, "_Your mother_." - -He knew she meant Aunt Tatàna, but his thoughts flew to the other, and -he fancied Margherita also must be thinking of that woman. A dense -shadow, a whirlwind of doubt overwhelmed his soul; ah yes! the dream and -the reality were well divided by terrible confines; insuperable -emptiness, like the void between the earth and the sun, separated them. - -"If I could tell her at this moment!" he thought again; "this is the -moment! If I let it escape I may never find it again. Perhaps the void -can be crossed; but now--now!" - -He opened his lips and his heart beat fast. He could not speak. The -moment passed. - -Next evening Aunt Tatàna--greatly surprised, but proud and confident in -the assistance of Heaven, for she had prayed and "made the ascension," -namely, dragged herself on her knees from the door to the altar of the -church of the Rosario--performed her embassage. - -Anania remained at home, waiting anxiously for the dear woman's return. -First, he lay on his bed, reading a book of which he remembered not so -much as the title. - -"Yet I am calm," he thought, "why should I be alarmed? the thing is -perfectly certain----" - -Thought, like an all-seeing eye, followed the ambassador and saw Aunt -Tatàna walking along very slowly impressed with the solemnity of her -task. She was a little shy--the sweet elderly dove, so soft and pure; -but patience! with the help of the Lord and of the blessed Saint -Catherine and the most holy Mary of the Rosary, she would effect -something! For this great occasion she had donned her best clothes; the -"tunic" trimmed with three ribbons, green, white, and green, the corset -of green brocade, the silver belt, the embroidered apron, the floating -saffron-coloured veil. Nor had she forgotten her rings, certainly not, -her great prehistoric rings, cameos cut on green and yellow stones, and -incised cornelians. Thus adorned and very serious, like an aged Madonna, -she advanced slowly, saluting with unwonted dignity the persons whom she -passed. It was evening, the hour sacred to these grave embassies of -love. At the fall of evening the matchmaker finds at home the head of -the family to which she bears the arcane message. - -Aunt Tatàna goes on and on; always sedate and slow. She seems almost -afraid of arriving. Having reached the fatal limit, the great shut door, -silent and dark like the gate of Destiny, she hesitates, arranges her -rings, her ribbons, her belt, her apron; wraps her chin in the end of -her veil, at last makes resolution to knock. - -That knock seemed to strike Anania on his chest. He jumped to his feet, -seized the candle, and looked at himself in the glass. - -"I do believe I am white! What an idiot! I will think no more about it." - -He went to the window. Daylight was dying in the closed court, the -motionless elder tree was a dark mass. Perfect silence! the hens slept, -the little pig slept. Stars came out, sparks of gold in the ashy blue of -the warm twilight. Beyond the courtyard in the silence of the little -street a little shepherd on horseback, passed singing-- - - -_Inoche mi fachet die And the night it seems to me day -Cantende a parma dorada._ As I sing on my golden way. - - -Anania thought of his childhood, of the widow, of Zuanne. What was the -young monk doing in his convent? the monk who had meant to be a brigand. - -"I should like to see him!" thought Anania. "In the course of this month -I will certainly visit Fonni." - -Ah! His thought returned violently thither where his fate was being -decided. The old dove has arrived; she is there in Signor Carboni's -simple and orderly study. There is the desk where one evening a young -lad had rummaged among the papers--good Lord! is it possible he ever -behaved so shamefully? Yes, when one is a boy one has no conscience, -anything seems easy and allowable, a positive crime can be committed in -perfect innocence. Well! Aunt Tatàna is there. And Signor Carboni is -there--stout, composed, and bland, with the shining gold chain across -his ample chest. - -"Whatever will the dear old thing say!" thought Anania smiling -nervously. "I wish I could be there unseen. If I had the ring which -gives invisibility! I'd slip it on my finger and in a moment I'd be -there. If the big door was shut--I'd knock, Mariedda would open and rage -against the children who knock and run away. But I----Pshaw! such -childish nonsense. I'll think no more about it." He left the window, -went down to the kitchen and sat by the fire, suddenly remembered it was -summer and laughed. For a long time he looked at the red kitten which -sat watching by the oven, motionless, his whiskers stiff, his tail -stiff, expecting the appearance of a mouse. - -"You shan't be allowed to catch it!" said Anania, "I'm so happy that not -even a mouse shall suffer in this house to-night. Shoo!" he cried, -jumping up and running at the kitten, who shook all over and leaped on -top of the stove. The young man's restlessness now made him march up and -down the kitchen. Once or twice he stood still, fingering the sacks of -barley. - -"My father's not so very poor," he thought, "he's Signor Carboni's -_mezzadro_ (tenant) though he will call him Master. No, he's not poor. -But, of course, he couldn't pay back what's--been spent--on me, if the -thing doesn't come off. Whatever would happen? What is happening at this -moment? Aunt Tatàna has spoken. What can she have said? What sort of -answer can the benefactor have given? He's the most loyal man in the -world--what will he say when he hears that his protégé has dared to -betray--I can imagine him walking up and down the room very thoughtful; -and Aunt Tatàna looking at him, pale herself and oppressed. Oh, my God! -what will happen?" groaned the boy squeezing his head in his hands. He -felt suffocated, rushed into the court, sprang on the low surrounding -wall, waited and listened. Nothing! nothing! - -He returned to the kitchen, saw the kitten again in ambush, again drove -it away. He thought of the cats prowling round the Pantheon. He thought -of Aunt Varvara and the wax candle he was to carry for her to the -Basilica of the Holy Martyrs; he thought of his father busy in the -padrone's _tancas_; he remembered the sonorous pine-tree, which murmured -like an angry giant, the king of a solitary region of stubble and -thicket. He thought of the _nuraghe_ and Aunt Varvara's vision -reproduced by fever in himself. He remembered a gold bracelet seen in -the museum at the Baths of Diocletian. Behind all these fleeting -memories, two thoughts met and rolled themselves into one like two -clouds, one dark, one bright, rolling together in space--the thought of -_that woman_ and the thought of what was going on in Signor Carboni's -study. "I've said I won't think of it," he muttered, vexed with himself. - -And again he chased the cat, as if he wished to chase away the idea -which, cat-like, continually returned against his will. He went back to -the courtyard, looked and listened. Nothing. About a quarter of an hour -later two voices sounded behind the low wall, then a third, a fourth. -They belonged to the neighbours who nightly assembled for a gossip -before Maestro Pane's shop. - -"By our Lady," cried Rebecca's piercing tones, "I have seen five falling -stars! That means something. There's going to be a catastrophe." - -"Perhaps Antichrist's coming. They say he'll be born of an animal," said -a man's voice; "an animal like you." - -"Like your wife, you beast!" screamed Rebecca. - -"Take this, my carnation!" said the handsome Agata, who was eating -something as she talked. - -The man began rude talk, but the old carpenter interposed. - -"Hold your tongue, or I'll have you on the millstones, you skinned -weasel." - -The peasant was not to be silenced, so the women went away and sat under -the low wall of the courtyard. Aunt Sorchedda, a little old woman who -forty years before had been servant in the Intendant's house, began to -tell for the thousandth time the story of her mistress. - -"She was a _marchesa_. Her father was an intimate friend of the King of -Spain, and had given her 1000 gold crowns for her dowry. How much are -1000 crowns? - -"What are 1000 crowns?" said Agata contemptuously. "Margherita Carboni -has 4000." - -"4000?" echoed Rebecca, "you mean 40,000." - -"You don't know what you're talking about," cried Aunt Sorchedda, "these -were gold crowns. Not even Don Franceschino has so much." - -"Go along with you! You're doting," cried Agata, getting heated. "How -much do 1000 crowns come to? Franziscu Carchide has them in shoe soles!" - -It was getting serious. The women began to abuse each other. - -"It's easy to see why she brings in Franziscu Carchide, that scum of a -girl!" - -"Scum yourself, old sinner!" - -"Ah." - - -"_Foglia di gelso Leaf of the mulberry tree! -Chi la fa la pensa._ The thing you do, you everywhere - see!" - - -Anania was listening. In spite of his private anxiety he laughed. - -"Oh, ho!" cried Agata, peeping over the wall, "good evening to your -Excellence! What are you hiding for? Come out and let us see your pretty -face." - -He pinched Agata's arm, and Rebecca who had hidden herself on hearing -the young man's laugh, contributed a pinch on the leg. - -"Oh! oh! oh!" cried Agata, "go to the devil with you! This is too much. -Let me alone or I'll tell----" - -The pinches were redoubled. - -"Oh! oh! oh! The devil! Rebecca, there's no good in being jealous! Oh! -oh! Aunt Tatàna has gone this evening, has gone to ask----Well, shall I -tell or not?" - -Anania withdrew, asking himself how that minx Agata knew. - -"My sweetheart, next time have some respect for Aunt Agata!" she said -laughing; while Rebecca who had understood became stonily silent, and -Aunt Sorchedda enquired-- - -"Kindly tell me, Nania Atonzu, is there a single person in Nuoro who has -1000 gold crowns?" - -The foul-mouthed _contadino_ came over and asked, "Young man from Rome, -Nania Atonzu--is it true that the pope----" - -Anania was not listening. He saw a figure moving slowly at the bottom of -the street. His heart came into his mouth. It was she! The old messenger -dove, it was she, carrying on her pure lips, like a flower of life or of -death, the fateful word. - -Anania went in to the house shutting the back door; Aunt Tatàna entered -at the front and he shut that door also. She sighed; was still pale and -oppressed just as Anania had seen her in fancy. Her rude jewels, her -belt, her embroideries, sparkled brightly in the firelight. - -Anania ran to meet her. He looked at her anxiously. As she kept silence -he burst out impatiently-- - -"Well? Well? What did he say?" - -"Have patience, child of the Lord! I am going to tell you." - -"Tell me now--this moment. Will he have me?" - -"Yes--s--s--He'll have you! He'll have you!" announced the old lady -opening her arms. - -Quite overcome, Anania sat down, his head in his hands. Aunt Tatàna -looked at him compassionately, shaking her head, while with trembling -finger she unclasped her silver belt. - -"Is it possible! Is it really possible?" Anania was saying to himself. - -Before the oven the kitten was still watching for the exit of a mouse. -Perhaps he heard some faint noise for his tail trembled. After a minute -Anania heard a squeak and a minute death cry. But his happiness was now -so complete that it did not allow him to remember that in the world -could exist such a thing as suffering. - - -Aunt Tatàna's detailed narrative threw a little cold water on this -great conflagration of joy. - -Margherita's parents did not oppose the love of the two young people, -but neither did they give full and irrevocable consent. The godfather -had smiled, had rubbed his hand, and shaken his head as if to say, -"They've caught me, those two." Aloud he said! "They're in a hurry for -their wings, the two children." - -Then he had become very thoughtful and grave. - -"But what did he say in the end?" cried Anania, also very serious. - -"Holy Saint Catherine, what does the boy expect? Don't you understand, -my dear? The padrona said, 'We must speak to Margherita.' 'Eh, I don't -think it's necessary!' said your godfather, rubbing his hands. I -smiled." Anania smiled also. - -"So we concluded----Go away, puss!" cried Aunt Tatàna in parenthesis -drawing away the hem of her "_tunic_" upon which the kitten had -established himself licking his lips with horrible satisfaction, "we -concluded that you must wait. The _padrone_ said, 'Let the boy attend to -his studies and do us credit. When he has got some good appointment, -then we'll give him our daughter. Meanwhile let them love each other and -God bless 'em.' There! now I hope you'll eat your supper." - -"But does it mean I can go to their house as her betrothed?" - -"No, not just at present. Not for this year. You run too fast, _galanu -meu_. People would think Signor Carboni in his second childhood if he -allowed that. You must take your degree first." - -"Oh!" cried Anania, "then I suppose he thinks it better for us----" He -was going to say, "for us to meet secretly at night lest we should -offend false susceptibilities," but it struck him that meeting thus -secretly at night and by themselves, was far more comfortable than in -the presence of parents and in the glare of day. This calmed him. It was -not their own fault and need occasion no remorse. - -Accordingly he recommenced his visits that very night. The maid, the -moment she had opened the door, wished him good luck as if the wedding -were already announced. Anania gave her a tip and waited in trepidation -for his sweetheart. She came, cautious and silent. She smelt of iris, -she wore a light dress, white in the transparent night. Half seeing her, -conscious of her fragrance, the youth experienced a dissolving, a -violent sensation as if for the first time he had divined the mystery of -love. They embraced long, silently, vibrating together, intoxicated with -joy. The world was theirs. - -Margherita, now sure she might abandon herself without fear or remorse -to her love for this handsome youth who adored her, for the first time -showed herself passionate and ardent as Anania had scarce dared to dream -her. He went away from the tryst, trembling, blind, out of himself. - -Next evening, the meeting was even longer, more delirious. The third -night, the maid got tired of watching and gave the prearranged signal in -case of surprise. The lovers separated in alarm. Next day Margherita -wrote thus-- - -"I'm afraid Daddy guessed something last night. We must take care not to -do ourselves harm, especially now when we are so happy. We had best not -meet for a few days. Have patience and courage as I have, for it takes -courage to make the big sacrifice of renouncing for some time the -immense happiness of seeing you. It kills me; for I love you so dearly I -feel as if I really couldn't live without your kisses," and so on and so -on. - -He replied: "My adored one, I believe you are right. You are a saint for -wisdom and goodness, and I am only a poor fool, a fool for love of you. -I don't know, I can't even see, what I am doing. Last night I could have -compromised our whole future and not have perceived what I was doing. -Forgive me! when I am with you I lose my reason. A destroying fire seems -to rage within me; I am fevered, consumed. So it is with spasms of pain -that I renounce the supreme felicity of seeing you for a few evenings, -and I shall require movement, distraction, distance, to quiet this -devouring fire which makes me senseless and sick. I think I'll make that -little excursion to the Gennargentu of which I spoke the other night. -You wouldn't mind, would you? Answer me at once, my adored one, my joy, -my darling. I will carry you with me in my heart. I will send you a -greeting from the highest summit in Sardinia. I will cry your name to -heaven, and my love, as I would wish to cry them from the topmost peak -of the world, for the astounding of the whole earth. I embrace you, my -dearest; I carry you with me, we are united, fused together for all -eternity." - -Margherita graciously gave permission for the journey. - -Then Anania wrote: "I am starting to-morrow morning by the coach for -Mamojada--Fonni. At nine o'clock I shall pass your window. I long to see -you to-night--but I will be good! Ah! come with me, Margherita, my own -darling! why do you leave me for a single instant? Come here to my -heart! I will bum you up in the fire of my love, and die myself of -passion!" - - -[Footnote 19: _She_, the 3rd person feminine singular, is the -ceremonious form of address.] - -[Footnote 20: In prison.] - - - - -VII - - -The coach crossed the wild _tancas_, yellowed by the burning sun, -shadowed here and there by thickets of wild olive and stunted oak. - -The interior of the vehicle was suffocatingly hot and Anania sat beside -the driver. He was overwhelmed by memories which almost made him forget -the fever of the last few days. He was living again in a distant day, -seeing once more the driver with the yellow moustache and the swollen -cheeks, who had cracked his whip just as the small thin driver sitting -at his side now cracked his. - -As the coach neared Mamojada, the vividness of his recollections became -almost painful. In the arch made by the coach's hood was depicted the -same landscape which Anania had seen _that day_, his little head -drooping on _her_ knee; the same melancholy sky of unvaried blue was -stretched above. A sudden breeze swept over the green country with its -strong undulating lines and rows of wild bushes. Here and there the -violet gleam of water was just visible. The whistle of marsh birds was -heard. A shepherd, bronze against a luminous background, watched the -horizon. - -Here was the _Cantoniera_. The coach stopped for a few minutes. Sitting -on the doorstep carding black wool with iron combs was a woman in the -costume of Tonara--swathed in rough cloths like an Egyptian mummy. Three -ragged and dirty children were playing or rather quarrelling at a little -distance. At a window appeared the gaunt and wan face of a sick woman, -who looked at the coach with two great hollow greenish eyes, heavy with -fever. The desolate _Cantoniera_ seemed the habitation of hunger, of -sickness, of dirt. Anania's heart tightened. He knew perfectly the sad -drama which had been played twenty-two years ago in that lonely place, -set in that wild fresh landscape which would have been so pure but for -the unclean passage of man. - -He sighed. And he looked at the shepherd with the dark sarcastic face, -erect against the blinding background of sky, and thought that even that -poetic figure was a barbarous conscienceless being--like his father, -like his mother, like all the creatures scattered over that stretch of -desolate earth, in whose minds bad thoughts developed by fatal -necessity, like evil vapours in the atmosphere. - -The coach resumed its journey. Here was Mamojada hidden in the green of -walnuts and gardens; its _campanile_ drawn clear upon the tender blue, -as in a conventional water colour. But as the coach moved further along -the dusty road, the picture took a darker and a drearier tint. In front -of the small black houses, built into the rock, was a group of -characteristic figures, all ragged and dirty; pretty women with glossy -hair, looped round their ears, sewing or suckling their infants; two -_Carabinieri_; a bored student--from Rome like Anania; a peasant, an old -noble who was _contadino_ as well--gossiping, grouped together before a -carpenter's workshop, the door of which was hung with bright coloured -sacred pictures. - -The student knew Anania and went at once to meet him and introduce him -to the rest of the company. - -"You also are at your studies in Rome?" said the peasant noble, -thrusting out his chest and speaking with dignity. "Yes? Then I suppose -you know Don Pietro Bonigheddu, a nobleman and head of a department in -the Court of Exchequer." - -"No," replied Anania, "Rome is a big place and one can't know every -one." - -"Just so," said the other, with scornful gravity, "but every one knows -Don Pietro. He's a rich man. We are relatives. Well, if you do meet him, -give him greetings from Don Zua Bonigheddu." - -"I will remember," said Anania with an ironical bow. He made the tour of -the village with his friend; then set forth again in the coach which -resumed its journey. After half an hour's amusement, he fell back again -into his memories. Here was the little ruined church, here the garden, -here the commencement of the rise to Fonni, here the potato plantation -beside which Olì and her child had sat down to rest. Anania remembered -the woman hoeing with her skirt kilted up between her legs, and the -white cat which had darted at the green lizard gliding over the wall. -The picture in the arch of the hood became brighter, the background more -luminous. The grey pyramid of Monte Gonare, the cerulean and silver -lines of the chain of the Gennargentu were cut into the metal of the -sky. Every minute they were nearer and more majestic. Ah yes! Now Anania -really breathed his native air--some strange, some atavic instinct -seemed to possess him. - -He wanted to leap from the vehicle, to run up the slopes where the grass -was still green, among the rocks and the thickets, crying aloud with -joy, like the colt which flees from the halter back to the freedom of -the _tancas_. "And when I have worked off that intoxication I should -like to stand like the wandering shepherd against a dazzling background -of sunshine, or in the green shadow of the hazels, on the platform of a -cliff, in the fork of a tree, losing myself in the contemplation of the -immensity! Yes," he thought as the coach moved slowly up a steep -incline, "I believe I was meant to be a shepherd. I should have been a -ferocious robber, a criminal, but also a poet. Oh! to watch the clouds -from the height of a mountain! To fancy oneself a shepherd of clouds--to -see them roam over the silver heaven, chase each other, change, pass, -sink, disappear! He laughed to himself, then thought-- - -"Am I not a shepherd of clouds? Are not my thoughts mere clouds? If I -were forced to live in these solitudes I should dissolve into the winds -and the mist and the sadness of the landscape. Am I alive? What after -all is life?" - -To these questions there was no reply. - -The coach ascended slowly, more and more slowly with gentle cadenced -movements; the coachman dozed, the horse seemed walking in his sleep. -The sun at his zenith rained an equable and melancholy splendour; the -thickets threw no shadow. Profound silence, burning somnolence pervaded -the immense landscape. Anania felt himself really dissolving, becoming -one with the drowsy panorama, with the sad and luminous sky. The fact -was he was himself drowsy. _As that other time_, so now, he ended by -closing his eyes and falling childishly asleep. - -"Aunt Grathia! _Nonna_!" (godmother), he called, his voice still sleepy, -as he entered the widow's cottage. The kitchen was deserted, the sunny -little street was deserted; deserted the whole village which in the -desolation of midday, seemed prehistoric, abandoned for centuries. - -Anania looked curiously around. Nothing was changed. Poverty, rags, -soot, ashes in the hearth, cobwebs among the rafters of the roof; wild -emperor of that legendary spot, the long and empty phantasm of the black -cloak hanging against the earthen wall. - -"Aunt Grathia, where are you? Aunt Grathia?" cried the young man. - -The widow had gone to the well. Presently she returned with a malune[21] -on her head and a bucket in her hand. She was just the same; yellow, -thorny, with a spectral face surrounded by the folds of a dirty -kerchief. The years had passed without ageing that body already dried up -and exhausted of the emotions of her distant youth. - -Anania seeing her was strangely moved. A flood of memories rose out of -the depths of his soul. He seemed to recall a whole former existence, to -see afresh the spirit which had inhabited his body before his spirit of -to-day. - -"_Bonos dias,_"(good day) the widow said in greeting, surveying in -astonishment the handsome unknown youth. She set down first the pail, -then the _malune_ slowly and without taking her eyes off the stranger. -But no sooner had he smiled and asked, "What? don't you know me?" than -she emitted a cry and opened her arms. Anania kissed her and overwhelmed -her with questions. - -How, where was Zuanne? Why had he become a monk? Did he visit his -mother? Was he happy? And her elder son? And the candlemaker's son? And -this one, and that one? And how had life gone on these fifteen years at -Fonni? And to-morrow could he make the ascension of the Gennargentu? - -"Son! dear son!" cried the widow, looking at her dismal walls; "well, -what do you think of my house? Naked and sad as an abandoned nest! But -sit down--will you wash your hands? here is pure fresh water, real pure -silver! Wash yourself, drink, rest. I'll cook a mouthful for you. Don't -refuse, son of my heart! don't humiliate me. I should like to feed you -with my heart! But you'll accept what I can offer. Here's a towel, my -dear. How tall and beautiful you are! I hear you're to marry a rich and -lovely girl. Ah, and she's no fool, that girl! Why didn't you write -before coming? Ah, dear boy! you at least haven't forgotten the deserted -old woman!" - -"But Zuanne? Zuanne?" said Anania, washing in the fresh water from the -bucket. - -The widow's face darkened. - -"Don't speak of him! He has grieved me so much. It would have been far -better he'd followed his father. Well no--don't talk of it. He's not a -man. He may be a saint, but he isn't a man. If my husband were to lift -his head out of the tomb, and see his son barefoot, with the cord and -the wallet, a stupid, begging friar, whatever would he say! Ah! he'd -beat him to death, he would!" - -"Where is Brother Zuanne at present?" - -"In a convent a long way off. On the top of a mountain! If he'd even -stayed in the convent at Fonni! But no! I'm fated to be abandoned by -them all! Even Fidele the other boy has taken a wife and hardly ever -remembers me. The nest is deserted--the old eagle has seen all her poor -eaglets fly away, and will die alone--alone!" - -"Come and live with me!" said Anania. "Once I've got my degree, I'll -make a home for you, Nonna!" - -"What good should I be to you? Once, I was able to wash your eyes and -cut your nails--now you'd have to do it for me." - -"You would tell your stories to me, and to my children." - -"I can't even tell the stories. I've grown childish. Time has carried -away my brains, as the wind carries away the snow from the mountains. -Well, my boy, eat! I've nothing better to offer you. Accept with a good -heart. Oh this candle, is it yours? Where are you taking it?" - -"To the Basilica, Nonna, to put before the images of the saints Proto -and Gianuario. It's come a long way, Nonna. It was given me by an old -Sardinian woman who lives in Rome. She told me stories too, but not such -nice ones as yours." - -After the modest meal, Anania found a guide with whom he arranged for -the ascent of the Gennargentu to-morrow. Then he went to the Basilica. - -In the ancient court, under the tall whispering trees, on the broken -stair, in the crumbling _loggia_, in the church itself, which smelt of -damp like a tomb, everywhere there was silence and desolation. Anania -put Aunt Varvara's candle on a dusty altar, then looked at the rude -frescoes on the walls, at the stucco figures gilded with a melancholy -light, at the rough images of Sardinian saints, at everything which once -had moved him to wonder and to terror. He smiled; but languidly and -sadly. He returned to the Court and saw, through an open window, the hat -of a carabiniere and a pair of boots hung on the wall of a cell. In his -memory resounded once more that air from the Gioconda-- - - -"_A te questo rosario_--" - - -The smell of wax reached him. Where were the children, the companions of -his infancy, the little birds savage and half naked which had animated -the steps of the church? Anania had no wish to see them now, to make -himself known to them; yet how tenderly did he remember the games played -with them beneath these trees while the dead leaves were falling, -falling like the feathers of dying birds. - -A barefooted woman with an amphora on her head, passed at the far end of -the court. Anania trembled, for the woman reminded him of his mother. -Where was his mother? Why had he not dared, even though he had wished, -to speak of her to the widow? Why had not the widow alluded to her old, -ungrateful guest? To escape from these questions the young man went next -to the Post Office, and sent a picture card to Margherita. Then he -visited the Rector, and towards evening he walked along the road to the -west, the road which looked down on the immensity of the valleys. - -Seeing the Fonni women going to the fountain, straitened in their -strange "_tunics_," he remembered his early love dreams; and how he had -wished himself a herdsman and Margherita a peasant girl, delicate and -graceful, but with the amphora on her head like some Pompeian damsel -made in stucco. And he smiled again contrasting his romantic fancies -with the rough disillusion which had awaited him among the wonders of -the Basilica. - -A glory of sunset spread itself over the heaven. It seemed an -apocalyptic vision. The clouds painted a tragic scene: a burning plain, -furrowed by lakes of gold and rivers of purple from whose depths rose -bronze coloured mountains, edged with amber and pearly snow, severed by -flaming apertures which seemed mouths of grottoes, sending up fountains -of gilded blood. A battle of solar giants, of formidable denizens of the -infinite, was in progress among these aerial mountains, in the profound -grottoes of the bronze clouds. From the apertures flashed the gleam of -arms carved in the metal of the sun; the blood poured in torrents, -rolling into the lakes of molten gold, serpentining in rivers which -seemed arrows, inundating the fiery plains of heaven. - -His heart dancing with admiration and joy, Anania remained absorbed in -contemplation of the magnificent spectacle, until the vision had fled -and the shades of evening had drawn a violet pall over all things. Then -he returned to the widow's house and drew a stool beside the hearth. -Memory again assailed him. In the penumbra, while the old woman was -preparing supper and talking in her dreary tones, he again saw Zuanne of -the big ears busy with his chestnuts; and another figure behind silent -and vague as a phantom. - -"So they've killed all the Nuoro brigands?" said the widow, "but do you -believe it will be long before new ones appear? You are deceived, my -son. So long as there are men with hot burning blood in their veins, men -clever for good or for evil, so long will there be brigands. It's true -that just now they're no good--all towards, mere despicable thieves; but -in my husband's time it was not like that! How brave they were then! so -kind and so courageous. My husband once met a woman who was crying -because----" - -Anania was only moderately interested in Aunt Grathia's recollections. -Other thoughts were passing through his brain. - -"Look here," he said, when the widow had concluded the tale of the -weeping woman, "have you never had any news of my mother?" - -Aunt Grathia who was dexterously turning an omelet, made no reply. -Anania waited. He thought, "She knows something!" and in spite of -himself became agitated. After a short silence the widow said-- - -"If you know nothing of her, why should I? Now, my son, come over to -this chair and eat with a good heart." - -Anania sat in front of the basket which the widow had placed on a chair -and began to eat. - -"I knew nothing of her for a long time," he said, confiding in the old -woman as he had never been able to confide in any one before; "but now I -believe I have traced her. After leaving me, she went away from -Sardinia. A man I know saw her in Rome--dressed in town fashion." - -"Did he really see her?" asked Aunt Grathia quickly. "Did he speak to -her?" - -"More than that," replied the young man bitterly. "After that nothing -more was heard of her. But this year, in Rome, I made enquiries at the -_Questura_, and learned that she's living there, in Rome, under another -name; but she's reformed, yes, quite reformed. She's working and living -honestly." - -Aunt Grathia had come nearer to her guest, her hollow eyes widened, she -stooped and stretched out her hands as if to gather up the young man's -words. He had grown calm thinking of Maria Obinu; when he said, "she has -reformed" he felt happy, sure at that moment he was not deceiving -himself in thinking Maria was _she_. - -"Are you certain, really certain?" asked the old woman bewildered. - -"Yes. Yes--s--s!" he cried, imitating his sweetheart in the joyous -almost singing pronounciation of the word. "Why I've been living in her -house for two whole months!" - -He turned to drink, looking at the wine through the rosy light of the -rude iron lamp. It was thick and he scarcely tasted it. Then he rubbed -his mouth and seeing that the old grey napkin was torn, he put it over -his face and looked through a hole, saying: - -"Do you remember the night Zuanne and I dressed up? I put this very -cloth over my head like this----But what's the matter?" he exclaimed, -suddenly throwing the napkin down and changing his tone. His face had -turned pale. - -He saw that the widow's countenance, generally cadaverous and -expressionless, had become strongly animated, showing first surprise -then pity. He understood at once he was himself the object of her pity. -The edifice of his dream fell into ruin, broken to atoms for all time. - -"_Nonna_! Aunt Grathia! you know!" he cried apprehensively, his nervous -fingers stretching the old cloth to its full length. - -"Eat your supper. Then we'll talk. No, finish eating!" said the old -woman, recovering herself. "Don't you like the wine?" - -But Anania sprang to his feet. "Speak!" he cried. - -"Ah, Holy Lord! what do you expect me to say?" lamented the old woman, -sighing and mumbling her lips; "why don't you go on with your supper? -We can have a talk afterwards." - -He no longer heard or saw. - -"Speak! speak! I see you know. Where is she? Is she alive? Is she dead? -Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?" - -He repeated the question twenty times, roaming automatically round the -kitchen, turning and returning, stretching the cloth, putting it over -his face. He seemed almost mad, angry rather than grieved. - -"Hush! hush!" said the old woman going to his side. "I had supposed you -knew. Yes--she's alive; but she's not the woman who has deceived you by -pretending to be your mother." - -"She didn't pretend, Nonna! It was my own fancy. She doesn't even know I -thought it! Ah--then it's not she!" he added in a low voice, as much -shocked as if till that moment he had been certain of his discovery. - -"Go on!" he exclaimed. "Why are you keeping me on the rack? Why have you -not alluded to her? Where is she? Where is she?" - -"Perhaps she has never left Sardinia," said the widow, walking by his -side. "Really I thought you knew and that you didn't think it mattered. -I saw her this year, early in May. She came to Fonni for the Feast of -the Martyrs, with a singer, a blind man, her lover. They had walked from -Neoneli, a long way. She had malaria and was like an old woman of sixty. -The blind man took a lot of money at the Feast, and after it was over he -joined a company of beggars going to a feast in another part of the -country. He left her behind. In June or July I heard she was harvesting -in the _tancas_ of Mamojada. The fever was killing her. She was ill a -long time in the _Cantoniera de su Gramene_, and she's there still." - -Anania lifted his head and opened his arms with a gesture of despair. - -"I--I saw her!" he cried. "I saw her! I saw her! Are you certain of all -this?" he asked gazing hard at the old woman. - -"Quite certain. Why should I invent it?" - -"Tell me," he insisted, "is she _really_ there? I saw a woman with -fever--yellow--earthy--with eyes like a cat's. She was at the window. -Are you sure it was she? Are you sure?" - -"Quite sure, I tell you. That was certainly she." - -"I have seen her!" he repeated, holding his head with his hands, furious -with himself that he had been so stupidly deceived; that he had sought -his mother beyond the mountains and the seas, while she was trailing her -dishonour and her wretchedness close to his side; that he had been so -moved by strangers, yet had felt no heart beat upon seeing the face of -that beggar, that living misery, framed by the gloomy window of the -Cantoniera. - -What then was man? What the human heart? What was life, intelligence, -thought? - -Ah yes! now he could answer these questions which so often had risen -idly to his lips! Now that Destiny was beating with inexorable, funereal -wings, shaking all things with sudden storm, now at last he knew what -man was, what life, what the human heart! Deceit! deceit! deceit! - -Aunt Grathia pushed a stool to Anania and made the unhappy lad sit down. -Then she crouched beside him, took his hand, and long watched him -compassionately. - -"How cold you are, my child!" said the widow, pressing his hand. "Cry, -my son. It will do you good." - -Anania escaped from the grip of the hard, old fingers. - -"I'm not a child!" he said irritated. "Why should I cry?" - -"It would do you good, son! Oh yes, I know how much good it does one to -weep. When the knock came to my door that terrible night, and a voice, -which seemed the voice of Death himself, said to me, 'Woman, wait no -longer,' I became a stone. For hours and hours I could not weep; and -they were the worst of all hours for me. My heart in my breast had -become red hot iron; it was burning me, burning me inside, tearing my -breast with its sharp point. Then the Lord granted me tears, and the -tears refreshed me in my grief as dew refreshes the rocks burnt by the -sun. Have patience, my child. We are born to suffer, and what is this -distress of yours in comparison with so many other sorrows?" - -"But I am not suffering!" he protested. "I ought to have expected this. -I was expecting it. I felt myself forced to come here by a mysterious -power. A voice said to me, 'Go, go. You'll learn something there.' It's -a blow of course. I was surprised--but that's all over. Never mind." - -The widow still watched him. She saw his face ghastly, his lips pale and -contracted. She shook her head. He continued-- - -"But why did no one tell me? There are some things one has a right to -know. The driver of the coach, for instance--didn't he know?" - -"Perhaps. She might have told you herself; but no, she's afraid of you. -When she came here for the Feast--she and that wretched blind man who -made her lead him about and then deserted her--no one here recognised -her. She seemed so old, she was so ragged, so stupefied by poverty and -fears. I hardly knew her myself. The blind man had some horrid nickname -for her. But she confided in me--only in me. She told me her whole sad -story, and conjured me never to tell you a word about her. She's afraid -of you." - -"Why is she afraid?" - -"She's afraid you'll put her in prison, because she deserted you. She's -afraid of her brothers too; they have the railway _Cantoniera_ at -Iglesias." - -"And her father?" asked Anania, who had never thought of these distant -kinsmen. - -"Her father has been dead many years. He died cursing her; at least -that's what she said. She says it was his curse which destroyed her." - -"I see. She must be mad. But what has she been about all these years? -How has she lived? Why didn't she get some work?" - -He seemed calm, almost indifferent. His questions seemed a matter of -curiosity, faint curiosity, which allowed his thought to return to other -affairs. Indeed at that moment he was thinking what he must do. If he -was sorry for his mother's miserable condition, he was still more -distressed by the consequences which would follow from his recovery of -her. The widow raised her finger and said solemnly-- - -"It's all in the hands of God. Son, it's a terrible rod which goads us -and pushes us. Didn't my husband intend to work and to die in his bed, -praise the Lord! Well, it was just the same with your mother! Of course -she would have liked to work and to live honestly. But the rod pushed -her on." - -Anania's face blazed; again he wrung his fingers, suffocated by shame. - -"It's all over for me!" he thought. "What horror! What wretchedness, -what shame! Go on," he said aloud, "tell me all. How did she support -herself. I wish to know all--all! Do you understand? I wish to die of -shame before----That will do!" he said shaking his head as if to drive -from him all cowardly apprehensions. "Tell me." - -Aunt Grathia looked at him with infinite pity. She would have liked to -take him in her arms, to rock him and sing him to sleep with a childish -lullaby. Instead she must torture him. But--God's will be done! We are -born to suffer, and no one dies of grief! - -She tried, however, to soften somewhat the bitter cup which God was -giving to the poor boy through her hands. - -"I can't tell you exactly how she supported herself, nor what she did. I -just know that after leaving you and in doing that she did the best -thing she could, for otherwise you'd never have had a father, nor all -that good luck----" - -"Aunt Grathia, don't drive me mad!" he interrupted. - -"Hush! Patience! Don't be disowning the Lord's bounty, my son. Suppose -you had stayed here--what would have become of you? You might have ended -vilely--as a monk, a begging monk, a cowardly monk! Ah--don't let us -speak of it! Better to die than to end like that! And your mother would -have followed her own life just the same, because it was her destiny. -Even here, before she went away, do you suppose she was a saint? No, she -wasn't. Well! well! it was her destiny. For the last part of the time -she was here, she had a _carabiniere_ for a lover. He was transferred to -Nuraminis a few days before she took you away. After she had left -you--at least so the poor thing told me--she walked on foot to -Nuraminis, hiding by day, walking at night, half across Sardinia. She -joined the _carabiniere_ and they lived together for a while. He had -promised to marry her; but on the contrary he got tired, ill-treated -her, beat, impoverished, finally abandoned her. She followed her fated -path. She told me, and poor dear, she cried so as to move the -stones!--she told me she was always looking for work, but never could -get any. I tell you, it's Fate! It's Fate which robs some poor creatures -of work, just as it robs others of reason, health, goodness. It's -useless for the man or the woman to rebel. No! on to the death, on to -the crack of doom, but follow the thread which draws you! Well! at last -she did do a little better. She joined the blind singer, and they lived -for two years as man and wife. She led him about, to the country feasts, -from one place to another. They always went on foot, sometimes alone, -sometimes in companies of other wandering beggars. The blind man sang -songs of his own composition. He had a lovely voice. Here he sang a song -which made everybody cry. It was called "_The Death of the King_." The -Municipio gave him twenty _lire_, and the Rector had him to dinner. In -the three days he was here he got more than twenty crowns. The wretch! -He too had promised to marry the poor soul; but instead, when he found -she was ill and couldn't drag herself further, he also deserted her, -fearing he'd have to spend money in getting her cured. They went away -together from here to the Feast of St Elia; there the horrid man met a -company of mendicants from Campidano, going to the Feast at Gallura. He -went off with them leaving the poor creature, sick to death with fever, -in a shepherd's hut. Afterwards as I told you, she got a little better -and went here and there harvesting, lavender-picking, until the fever -broke her down completely. But a few days ago she sent to tell me she -was better----" - -A shudder, vainly repressed, ran through Anania's limbs. What -wretchedness, what shame, what grief! What iniquity, human and divine! -None of the sad and blood-stained tales, related to him in his infancy -by this same rough woman, had ever seemed so terrible as this, had ever -made him tremble as did this. - -Suddenly he remembered a thought which had shot through him one sweet -evening long ago, in the silence of the pine forest, scarce broken by -the song of the ticket-of-leave-man shepherd. - -"Was she ever in prison?" he asked. - -"Yes, I think so; once. Certain things were found in her room which had -been taken from a country church by one of her friends. She was let off -because she proved her ignorance of the matter." - -"You are lying!" muttered Anania in a low hard voice. "Why can't you -tell me the truth. She has been a thief also. Why don't you say it? Do -you think it doesn't matter? Doesn't matter as much even as this?" he -said, showing the tip of his little finger. - -"What a nail, good God!" cried the old woman. "Why do you let your nail -grow like that?"[22] - -He did not answer, but sprang to his feet and walked up and down -furiously. The widow did not move, and after a space he calmed himself. -He stood before her, and said in a voice very quiet though bitter-- - -"Why was I born? Why did they bring me into the world? Look! I am ruined -now. My life is destroyed, my career ended. I can't go on with my -studies. And the girl I was going to marry, without whom I cannot live, -will give me up. I mean I must give her up." - -"But why? Doesn't she know who you are?" - -"Yes, she knows that much, but she doesn't know that _woman_ could ever -come across our path. How could a pure, delicate girl live beside an -infamous woman?" - -"But what do you want to do? You said yourself she's nothing to you." - -"What is your advice?" - -"Mine? my advice? To leave her to her own way," replied the widow -fiercely. "Weren't you deserted by her? Your bride need never see the -unhappy creature. You yourself need never see her." - -Anania looked at her, compassionate, but contemptuous. - -"You don't understand!" he said, "you can't understand. Let it alone. -Now I have to consider the best way for me to see her. I must go to her -to-morrow morning." - -"You're mad." - -"You don't understand." - -They faced each other, each pitying and scornful. Then they argued, -quarrelled almost. Anania wanted to start at once, or at least the first -thing to-morrow. The widow suggested summoning Olì to Fonni without -telling her why. - -"As you are so obstinate! You know it would be far better to leave her -alone. As she has walked till now, so she will walk to the end. Let her -be." - -"Nonna," he answered, "you also must be afraid of me. That's silly. I'm -not going to hurt a hair of her head. I'll take charge of her. She shall -live with me, and I'll work for her. I'll do her good, not harm. It's my -duty." - -"Yes, yes, your _duty_. Still you ought to think, my son; to consider. -How are you going to support her? How will you set about it?" - -"Never mind." - -"What do you propose to do?" - -"Never mind." - -"Well, well! But I tell you she's mad afraid of you. If you come upon -her, suddenly, she's capable of doing something foolish----" - -"Well then, get her here. But at once--to-morrow morning." - -"Yes; at once. On the wings of a crow. How impetuous you are, child of -my heart! Go to your bed now, and don't think any more about it. -To-morrow night, at this hour, she'll be here. Don't doubt it. -Afterwards you shall do what you like. To-morrow, make your excursion to -the Gennargentu. I should suggest you're staying away for the night----" - -"Leave it to me." - -"Well--go to bed now," she repeated, pushing him gently. - -Even in the little room where he used to sleep with his mother nothing -was changed. When he saw the poor pallet bed under which was a heap of -earthy smelling potatoes, he remembered Maria Obinu's little white bed -and all the illusions and the dreams which had persecuted him. - -"How childish I have been!" he thought bitterly, "and I was thinking -myself a man. It is only now I have become a man! Only now has life -opened to me its horrible doors. Yes, now I am a man, and I will be -strong. No, vile life! you shall not vanquish me! No, monster, you shall -not get me down! You are my enemy; till now you have fought with vizor -dosed, you miserable coward! but to-day, on this day, long as a century, -you have let me see your detestable countenance. But you shan't conquer -me! No, you shan't." - -He unfastened the shaky window shutters, which opened on the old wooden -balcony, the supports of which hardly held together. Grasping them, he -leaned out. - -The night was most serene; fresh, dear, diaphanous, as are the mountain -nights at the end of summer. An immense silence reigned everywhere, its -sublimity unimpaired by the solemn vision of the nearer crags, the vague -line of the distant summits. Anania, seeing the profound valleys at his -very feet, felt himself suspended--resolved, however, not to fall--over -a stupendous abyss. The line of the distant mountains soothed his heart -strangely. They seemed to him verses inscribed by the omnipotent hand of -a divine poet on the celestial page of the horizon. But the colossal -Monte Spada, and the formidable wall of the Gennargentu oppressed him, -and suggested the shadow of that monster against whom he had just issued -his challenge. - -And he thought of the distant Margherita, his Margherita, whom he must -now renounce; Margherita who at this hour was surely dreaming of him, -whose eyes met his on that far horizon. And pitying her rather than -himself, tears sweet and bitter, like mountain honey, rose in his eyes. -He repressed them sternly; they were a feline and stealthy enemy trying -to vanquish him at unawares. - -"I am strong!" he repeated, supporting himself on the flimsy balcony. -"Monster! it is I who shall vanquish you!" - -And he did not perceive that the monster stood by his side--inexorable. - - -[Footnote 21: A vessel made of cork.] - -[Footnote 22: Sign of an easy life, with no manual labour.] - - - - -VIII - - -In the long sleepless night, Anania decided, or believed he decided his -fate. - -"I will place her here with Aunt Grathia, until I have found my feet. I -will speak to Signor Carboni and to Margherita. I will tell them, 'This -is how matters stand, my mother is to live with me the moment my -position allows it. This is my duty, and I will do my duty though the -universe fall.' He will drive me away like an unclean animal; I will -have no illusions about it. Next, I will look for a post; and I shall -find one, and then I will take the poor wretch with me, and we will live -together, miserably of course, but I shall pay my debts, and I shall be -a man. A man! say rather a living corpse." - -He seemed to himself calm, cold, already dead to joy. But in the depth -of his heart was a cruel intoxication of pride, a fury of infatuated -resistance to fate and to society and to himself. - -"It is what I willed," he thought. "I knew it might end like this. I -have been allowing myself to drift. Woe is me! now I must expiate my -folly. I will expiate!" - -This illusion of courage sustained him through the night and through the -following day, when he made the ascension of the Gennargentu. - -The morning was sad, windless, but cloudy and misty; he determined to -persevere in his expedition, hoping the weather would clear. In reality, -he wanted to give himself proof of his courage and indifference. What -were mountains from henceforth to him? What were far horizons? What the -whole world? But he willed to do what he had resolved to do. Only for -one moment did he hesitate. - -"Suppose _she_ finds out I am here, and refuses to come, escapes me -again? Am I not temporizing in the hope of that?" he asked himself -cruelly. The widow reassured him, and he set out. - -The guide, mounted on a strong and patient pony, preceded him up steep -paths, sometimes lost in the silver mist, sometimes appearing like a -figure blotted in water colour on a too wet grey background. Anania -followed him. All around him, all within him was fog. In that floating -veil, he distinguished the cyclopean outline of Monte Spada; and within -him among the mists which enwrapped his soul, that soul showed itself -like the mountain, great, hard, and monstrous. - -Tragic silence enveloped the wayfarers, broken at intervals by the -scream of the vultures. Strange forms showed here and there through the -fog, the cry of the carrion feeding birds seemed the wild voice of these -mysterious shapes, terrified and enraged by the intrusion of man. To -Anania it seemed as if he were walking through the clouds. Sometimes his -head swam, and to vanquish the vertigo he fixed his eyes on the path -under the horses' feet, staring at the wet and shining slabs of schist, -and at the little bushes of violet heather, the sharp scent of which -made the fog fragrant. About nine the fog lifted a little, fortunately, -as the travellers were just then passing with difficulty along a very -narrow piece of path, on the huge shoulder of Monte Spada. Anania gave a -cry of admiration, torn from him by the beauty and the magnificence of -the panorama. All the nearer mountains were covered with a mantle of -violet flowers; beyond, the vision of the deep valleys, of the high -summits to which he was drawing near, of the torn veils of luminous -mist, of the play of shadow and sun, of the blue heaven painted with -strange and slowly contracting clouds, all seemed the dream of a -painter's madness, a picture of unimagined beauty. - -"How great is nature! how strong! how beautiful!" thought Anania, his -heart softened, "all things are pure on her immense bosom. Ah! if we -three, Margherita, and I, and she, were here and, would it be possible -for any impure things to divide us?" - -A breath of hope revived his spirit. If Margherita loved him, as in -these last few days she had shown that she loved him--then surely---- - -With this wild hope in his heart, he dreamed away a long time, till he -had reached the bottom of the slope of Monte Spada, and had again begun -to ascend to the topmost peak of the Gennargentu. A torrent ran at the -bottom, among enormous rocks and alder trees shaken by a sudden gust of -wind. The sound of the alders in the silence of that place of mystery, -brought a strange fancy to Anania; it seemed as if the winds had been -wakened by this hope which animated him, and that all things were moved -by it, the lonely trees trembling like wild men surprised in their -gloomy solitude by a sudden joy. - -Then in a quick revulsion of feeling, he remembered a fancy of a few -days before in the wind-shaken forest of Orthobene. Then also the trees -had seemed to him men, but miserable men, tom by sorrow. Even when the -wind was still, they trembled, like human creatures experienced in -suffering, who even in their moments of ease must think of sorrow, -inevitable and near. His depression returned. An absurd notion flashed -across his thought. Kill the guide and become a bandit! He smiled at -himself. - -"I am a romantic, it seems! But without murder I might hide among these -mountains and live alone, and feed on grasses and wild birds! Why cannot -man live alone? Why can't he burst the fetters which bind him to society -and which strangle him? Zarathustra? Oh yes; but even he cried once. -'Oh! how alone I am! I have no longer anyone to share my laughter, no -one to give me comfort----'" - - -The ascent, slow and dangerous, continued for three hours. The sky had -cleared, the wind blew, the schisty summits shone in the sunlight, -profiled with silver on the infinite azure. Now the island displayed -itself in all its cerulean vastness: clear mountains, grey villages, -shining pools, here and there confounded with the vaporous line of the -sea. - -Anania admired; he followed with interest the explanations of the guide, -he looked through his field-glass. But his trouble never passed out of -his thoughts; when he tried to enjoy the sweetness of the surrounding -beauty, it clutched him with tiger paw more tightly to itself. - -Towards noon they reached the top of Bruncu Spina. Anania climbed on the -heap of shining shale which marked the summit, and flung himself on the -ground to escape the fury of the blasts which blew from all sides. The -whole island was stretched out before him, with its blue mountains and -its silver sea, glittering under the midday sun. Overhead the heaven was -immense, infinite, void as human thought. The wind raged furiously in -the great emptiness. Its assaults invested Anania in mad fury, in the -violent anger of a formidable wild beast, which would permit the -approach of no other being to the aereal cave where it was resolved to -reign alone. - -The young man resisted. The guide crawled to his side and pointed out -the principal towns, and villages and mountains. But the wind ravished -his words, and cut short the respiration both of speaker and of hearer. - -"And that's Nuoro?" said Anania, pointing. - -"Yes. It is cut in two by the hill of St Onofrio." - -"I know. It's very clear." - -"If it wasn't for this devil of a wind," shouted the guide, "one could -send a salute to Nuoro, it looks so close to-day." - -Anania remembered his promise to Margherita. - -"From the highest summit in Sardinia, I will send you a greeting. I will -cry to the heavens your name and my love--as I should like to cry from -the highest summit in all the world, for all mankind to wonder and to -applaud." - -And it seemed to him that the wind was carrying away his heart, -battering it against the granite colossi of the Gennargentu. - - -On his return he expected to find his mother with the widow. Anxiously -he crossed the deserted village and stopped before Aunt Grathia's low -black door. The evening was falling sadly. Strong gusts blew down the -steep, stony streets. The heaven was pale. It felt like autumn. Anania -listened. Silence. Through the chink of the door, he saw the fire's red -brightness. Silence. - -He went in, and saw only the old woman, who sat spinning, quiet as a -spectre. - -The coffee pot was gurgling among the embers, and a piece of mutton hung -on a wooden spit, dropping its fat upon the burning ashes. - -"Well?" said the youth. - -"Patience, my jewel of gold! I couldn't find anyone I could trust to -take the message. My son is not in the neighbourhood." - -"But the driver of the coach?" - -"Patience, I tell you!" said the widow, rising and laying her distaff on -the stool. "I did ask the driver to tell her she must come here -to-morrow. I said, 'Tell her from me to come. Don't say a word about -Anania Atonzu! go, son, and God will reward you, for you'll be doing a -work of charity.'" - -"Did he refuse to do it?" - -"No, he said he would. He even promised to drive her up." - -"She won't come! You'll see she won't come!" said Anania uneasily. -"She'll escape us again! Why didn't I go myself? But there's still -time." - -He wanted to start at once for the Cantoniera, but without difficulty -allowed himself to be persuaded to wait. - -Another sad night passed. Though his limbs were stiff with fatigue he -slept little, on that hard pallet where he had been born, on which he -wished that this night he might die. The wind shook the roof, roaring -like a sea in storm. It reminded Anania of his infancy; the distant -terrors, the wintry nights, the touch of his mother who clasped him to -her, more for fear than for love. No, she had not loved him. Why delude -himself? She had not loved him. Perhaps this had been Olì's worst -misfortune, her greatest loss. He felt it, he knew it; and sudden pity -rose in his breast for her, who had been the victim of destiny and of -men. - -Had she come to-night, while he was in this mood, her son would have -received her tenderly, would have forgiven her. - -But the long night passed, and a day broke, made melancholy by the wind. -He spent long restless hours which he considered among the most -distressing of his whole life. During these hours he roamed through the -alleys, as if storm driven; he went to the tavern and drank; he returned -to the widow's cottage and sat by the fire, shivering feverishly, his -nerves in a condition of acute irritation. Even Aunt Grathia could not -rest. She wandered about the house, and as soon as the modest midday -repast was over, she went forth to meet Olì. - -"Remember she's afraid of you!" she said to Anania, urging him to great -quietness. - -"Why, my good woman," he answered scornfully, "I shall hardly even look -at her! I have very few words to say." - -More than an hour passed. The young man remembered bitterly the sweet -impatient hour he had spent waiting for Aunt Tatàna. Now he panted for -the coming of his mother, her coming which once and for all was to end -his torments. And all the time he was devoured by the dark desire--that -she should not come, should escape him again, should disappear for ever. - -"In any case, she's ill," he thought with bitter satisfaction, "it's -impossible she can live long." - -The widow came back alone, hurriedly. - -"Hush! keep quiet!" she said in a low voice, "she's coming! she's -coming! She's here. I've told her. Hush! She's desperately frightened. -Don't be cruel to her, son!" - -She went out again, leaving the door open. The wind seized it, pushing -it to and fro as if romping with it. Anania waited; pale, unable to -think. Each time the door opened the sun and the wind rushed into the -kitchen, illuminating, shaking everything in it. Then the door closed -and everything became as before. For several minutes Anania -unconsciously followed the play of the sun and the wind: then he became -irritated, and stepped over to slam the door; his countenance dark with -nervousness and anger. Thus he appeared at the moment when the unhappy -mother reached the threshold,--trembling, timid, ragged as a beggar. He -looked at her; she looked at him; fear and diffidence in the eyes of -each. Neither thought of extending a hand nor of uttering a greeting. A -whole world of suffering and of sin lay between them and divided them -inexorably. - -Anania held the door open, leaning against it; the wind and the sun -flooded his figure. His eyes followed the miserable Olì as Aunt Grathia -pushed her towards the hearth. - -Yes, it was she; the pale emaciated apparition half seen at the black -window of the Cantoniera; in her grey visage the great light eyes, wan -with fear and weakness, seemed the eyes of a sick and homeless cat. When -she was seated, the widow fancied it a happy thought to leave her two -guests alone. She went out, but Anania followed her angrily. - -"Where are you going?" he cried, "come back, or I'll go away myself." - -Olì heard the threat, for when Anania and the widow returned to the -kitchen, she was standing by the door and weeping, as if about herself -to slink away. Blind with grief and shame, the young man threw himself -towards her, seized her arm, pushed her against the wall, then shut and -locked the door. - -"No!" he cried, while the woman crouched on the ground, curling herself -up like a hedgehog, and weeping convulsively: "you shan't go away any -more. You are not to stir another step without my consent. You are to -stay here. Cry as much as you like, but from this you shan't move. Your -gay doings are all over." - -Olì wept louder, shaken by spasms of trembling. Through her sobs -sounded frantic derision of her son's last words. He felt it, and -remorse for his brutality increased his fury. - -Her tears irritated instead of moving him. All the instincts of -primitive man, jealous, ferocious, barbarous, vibrated in his quivering -nerves. He knew it, but was unable to control himself. - -Aunt Grathia looked at him, alarmed herself, and wondering whether -Olì's terror had not good reason. She shook her head, threatened with -her hands, became agitated, was prepared for anything except the -avoidance of a violent scene. She knew not what to say; her tongue -refused to speak. Ah! he was possessed by a devil, that well-dressed -handsome lad! he was more terrible than an Orgolese herdsman with his -cudgel more terrible than the brigands she had known in the mountains! -How different the meeting she had anticipated! - -"Yes," he went on, lowering his voice, and standing before his mother, -"your wanderings are finished. Let us talk, crying is quite useless. You -ought to be happy now you've found a good son who will pay you good for -evil. If it's to be in proportion, you may expect a great deal of good! -I tell you, you must not leave this, till I order it; _I._ Do you see? -Do you see?" he repeated, again raising his voice and slapping his -chest. "I am master now. I'm no longer the child whom you cruelly -deceived and deserted. I'm no longer the piece of rubbish which you -threw away. I'm a man now, and I shall know how to defend myself, yes, -to defend myself. I shall know how, because you've never been anything -but an offence to me. You've been killing me day by day; betraying and -mining me. Do you understand? destroying me as one destroys a house or -a wall, stone by stone--thus!" - -He made the gesture of throwing down an imaginary wall, stooped, -sweated, as if oppressed by some actual physical force. Then suddenly, -unexpectedly, as he looked at the weeping woman his anger cooled, -disappeared. He was oppressed as by frost. What was this woman he was -reviling? That bundle of rags, that creeping thing, that beggar, that -being without a soul? Was she capable of understanding what he was -saying, what she had done? What could there be in common between him and -this unclean creature? Was she really his mother? She? And if she was, -what did it mean? What did it matter? The _mother_ is not the material -woman who gives to the material light, a material being, fruit of a -moment's pleasure, and then flings it out into the street, or on to the -knees of the perfidious seducer who has made it be born! No, that woman -there was not his mother; she was not a mother at all, even -unconsciously. He owed her nothing. Perhaps he had no right to reprove -her, but neither was it his duty to sacrifice himself for her. His -mother should have been Aunt Tatàna, or Aunt Grathia; even Maria Obinu, -even Aunt Varvara, even Nanna the drunkard, anyone except that cowering -creature who stood before him. - -"I'd have done better to leave her alone as Aunt Grathia advised," he -thought. "Perhaps I'd better let her go her own way. What does it matter -to me? No, she does not matter to me at all." - -Olì wept on. - -"Have done," he said coldly, but no longer angrily; and he turned to the -widow, signing to her to administer some consolation and enforce -quietness. - -"Don't you see she's frightened!" murmured Aunt Grathia, as she passed -him moving to Olì's side. - -"Come, come!" she said, tapping the poor thing on the shoulder, "Have -courage, daughter, have patience. Crying's no good! He isn't going to -eat you. After all, you know, he's the son of your womb. Come! come! -Take a little coffee; after that you'll be able to talk. Do me the -favour, son Anania, to go out for a little. Then you'll be able to speak -better. Go out, jewel of gold!" - -He did not move. Olì, however, controlled herself somewhat, and when -Aunt Grathia brought the coffee she took it, trembling, and drank -avidly, looking about her with eyes still frightened, yet sometimes shot -with gleams of pleasure. Like all Sardinian women she loved coffee, and -Anania, who had inherited the taste, looked at her with some sympathy. -He seemed to be watching some wild shy animal, a furtive hare nibbling -the grapes in a vineyard, trembling with enjoyment, and with fear of -surprise. - -"More?" asked Aunt Grathia, bending down and speaking as to a child. -"Yes? No? If you'd like some more, say so. Here, give me your cup. Get -up. Come and wash your eyes, and be quiet. Do you hear? Come, girl!" - -Olì got up, aided by the old woman, and went straight to the water tub, -as she had been accustomed to do twenty years earlier. First, she washed -her cup, then herself, drying her face with her ragged apron. Her lips -twitched, sobs still swelled her bosom; her red and encircled eyes, -enormous in the shrunken face, shunned the cold gaze of her son. - -He looked at the ragged apron and thought. - -"She must have new clothes at once, she's perfectly squalid. I've got -sixty _lire_ from my pupils at Nuoro. I'll get some more pupils. I'll -sell my books. Yes, she must have clothes and shoes; and perhaps she's -hungry." - -As if guessing his thought Aunt Grathia asked Olì-- - -"Would you like some food? If you would, tell me at once. Don't be so -shamefaced. Shame won't feed you! Are you hungry?" - -"No," replied Olì with trembling lips. - -Anania was moved hearing that voice. It was a voice of long ago, a far -distant voice; her voice. Yes, this woman was she, was the mother, the -one true, only mother! Flesh of his flesh, the diseased limb, the rotten -yet vital member which tortured him, but from which he could never while -he lived set himself free; the member which at his own cost he must try -to cure. - -"Well now, sit down," said Aunt Grathia, drawing two stools to the -hearth, "sit here, daughter; and you there, my jewel. Sit here together -and talk--" - -She made Olì sit, but Anania shook his head. - -"Let me be," he said, "I tell you I'm not a child. For that matter," he -went on, walking up and down the floor, "there's very little to say. -I've said what I've got to say. She must remain here, till I make some -other arrangement, and you must buy her shoes and a dress--I'll give you -the money. But we'll settle all that presently. Meanwhile," he raised -his voice to show he was addressing Olì, "speak for yourself, if you -have anything to say." - -Thinking he still spoke to the widow Olì made no answer. - -"Did you hear?" asked Aunt Grathia, gently, "what have you to say?" - -"I?" - -"Yes, you." - -"Nothing." - -"Have you debts?" asked Anania. - -"No." - -"Not to the _Cantoniere_?" - -"No. They've taken all I had." - -"What had you?" - -"My silver buttons, my shoes, twelve silver _lire_." - -"What have you now?" - -"Nothing. _As you see me write me down_."[23] - -"Have you any papers?" - -"What?" - -"Papers," explained Aunt Grathia, "your certificate of birth, for -instance." - -"Yes, I have that. It's here," she said touching her chest. - -"Let me see." - -She drew out a stained and yellowing paper, while Anania thought -bitterly of his endeavours to find out if Maria Obinu had any tell-tale -documents. He turned the paper round, looked at it, and gave it back. - -It's date was recent. - -"Why did you get this?" he asked. - -"For my marriage with Celestino." - -"The blind man--that vile brute," explained the widow. - -Anania was silent, walking up and down the kitchen. The wind still -whistled ceaselessly round the little house. Spots of sunshine now and -then fell obliquely through the roof, like golden coins on a black -pavement. - -Anania walked mechanically, setting his feet on these sunny coins as he -used to do when a child. - -He asked himself, what more was to be said? He had already accomplished -part of his grave task; but much remained to be done. - -He thought, "Now I'll call Aunt Grathia aside, and hand her over the -money for feeding and dressing her. Then I'll go. There's nothing more -to do here." - -"It's all ended! all over!" he repeated to himself sadly. "All over!" - -For a moment he thought of sitting beside his mother, asking her -history, giving her one word of tenderness and forgiveness. But he could -not, could not! Merely to look at her was disgust. She even smelt of -beggary! He longed for the moment of departure, of escape, of riddance -for his eyes of that dolorous vision. - -Still something held him back. He felt that the scene could not end with -those few phrases. He thought that possibly between her fear and her -shame, she was glad to see her son so evidently fortunate, and was -yearning for the gentle word, for the human look, which he could not -bring himself to give her. In his disgust, in his grief, he felt too -some faint comfort in thinking-- - -"Anyhow she's not brazen. Perhaps she may still reform. She doesn't -understand, but she's not brazen. She won't rebel." - -But Olì did rebel. - -"Look," he said after a long silence; "you'll stay here till I've -settled my affairs. Aunt Grathia will buy you new clothes----" - -Her voice, suffering but still fresh and clear, rang out. - -"I don't want anything." - -"How do you mean?" he asked, arresting his step by the fire. - -"I'm not going to stay." - -"_What_?" he cried, turning round, his eyes wide, his fist clenched. - -Ah! then it was not all done! She dared--why did she dare? Ah! then she -didn't understand that her son had suffered and struggled all his life -to attain one end; namely, to take her away from her life of vagabondage -and sin, even if he must sacrifice his whole future to do it! How could -she dare to rebel? How could she wish to escape? Had she no -comprehension of her position, of his determination? - -"What do you mean?" he said restraining his anger. He stood to listen, -shivering, agitated, driving his nails into his palms, his face working. -Aunt Grathia watched, ready to defend Olì if he attempted to strike -her. The three wild creatures had drawn together by the hearth, and -among them rose the blue and hissing flame of a firebrand. It seemed a -live thing. Olì roused herself. - -"Listen," she said, "and don't get angry, for anger will be useless. The -evil is done and nothing can remedy it. You may kill me, but you won't -get any good by that. The only thing you can do is to let me alone. I -can't stay here. I'll go away and you'll never hear more of me. You must -imagine you've never seen me." - -"That's just what I told him," said the widow, "but he doesn't think it -possible. Where could you go? But yes--there's one way! You must stay -here, as he wishes, instead of straying about the world; and we won't -say who you are, and he can live in peace as if you were far away. Why, -poor dear, should you leave this? Where can you go?" - -"Where God wills." - -"God!" burst out Anania; "God commands you now to obey me. Don't dare to -repeat that you won't stay here. Don't dare! Do you suppose I'm joking? -You shan't move one step without my leave. If you disobey. I'm capable -of----" - -"It's for your good!" she insisted, meeting the young man's anger; -"Listen, at least. Don't be cruel to me, who have been the victim of -every human wickedness, while I know you are indulgent to that father of -yours who was my ruin----" - -"She's right!" said the widow. - -"Hold your tongue!" shouted Anania. - -Olì took courage. - -"I don't know how to speak," she went on; "I don't know how to speak, -because I am stupefied by misfortunes. But I ask you this one thing, -shouldn't I have everything to gain by staying here? If I want to go -away isn't it because I'm thinking of you? Answer me. Ah! now he won't -even listen!" she cried in despair, turning to the widow. - -Anania was again pacing the floor, and seemed really deaf to her words, -but suddenly he shuddered and cried, "I'm listening!" - -She went on humbly, content that at least he no longer threatened her. - -"Why do you wish me to be here? Leave me to myself. As once I did you -harm, so now suffer me to do you good. Let me go. I don't wish to be an -impediment to you. Let me go--for your good." - -"No!" he repeated. - -"Let me go. I implore you. I'm still able to work for myself. You shall -hear no more of me. I will vanish as a leaf down the wind----" - -He turned round on himself. An insidious, a terrible temptation overtook -him. _Let her go_! For a short moment wild joy shone in his soul. He -might consider it all as an evil dream; one word and the dream would -vanish and the sweet reality would be restored! But suddenly he was -ashamed of the thought. His wrath flamed up again, his voice echoed -through the gloomy kitchen. - -"No!" - -"You are a wild beast!" murmured Olì, "you are not a Christian. You are -a wild animal which devours its own flesh. Let me go, child of God! Let -me go!" - -"I will not." - -Olì fell back silent and seemingly vanquished; but Aunt Grathia spoke-- - -"Yes, indeed, a wild beast! What's the need to shout like that? _No! no! -no_! If any one were to hear you, he'd think there was a wild bull shut -up here. Are these the manners you learned at school?" - -"Yes, at my school; and I learned other things too," he said, lowering -his voice however. "I learned that a man must not acquiesce in disgrace, -even at cost of his own life. But I suppose you can't understand! Well, -let us cut it short, and be silent both of you." - -"Can't understand? I understand perfectly," protested the old woman. - -"_Nonna_! yes, you understand. Remember----But there--that'll do!" he -cried, wringing his hands, worn out, sickened by himself and every one. -He had been struck by the old woman's words, and now returned to -himself, remembering that he had always prided himself on his -superiority. His wish now was to end this painful and vulgar scene. He -threw himself on a seat in the corner of the kitchen dropping his head -in his hands. - -"I've said No, and that's enough," he thought; and said brokenly, "Have -done now. Have done." - -But Olì perceived that now was the moment to fight on. She was not -afraid, she dared anything. - -"Listen," she cried humbly, "why do you wish to ruin yourself, _my -son_?" (Yes she had courage to say "my son," nor did Anania protest.) "I -know all. You are to marry a girl who is beautiful, who is rich, and if -she knows that you haven't cast me off, you'll lose her. She'll be quite -right, for a rose can't be mixed up with dirt. For her sake, let me go. -Let her believe I am dead. She's an innocent soul, why is she to suffer? -I'll go ever so far away. I'll change my name. I'll disappear, carried -away by the wind. The evil I have done you without intention is enough. -Yes, without intention! My son, I don't want to hurt you again. No, I -don't. Ah! how can a mother wish evil to her son? Let me go!" - -He wanted to cry, "All my life you have done me evil!" but he restrained -himself. What was the use? It was useless and indecorous. He would cry -aloud no more. Only with his head still pressed in his hands, with voice -at once sorrowful and enraged, he repeated, "No! no! no!" At bottom he -felt that Olì was right. He understood that she really desired his -happiness. But precisely the idea that at that moment she was more -generous and more reasonable than he, irritated him and made her seem -odious. - -Olì was transformed. Her illumined eyes watched him supplicatingly, -lovingly. As she repeated, "Let me go," her still youthful voice -vibrated with infinite tenderness, her countenance expressed untold -grief. Perhaps a sweet dream, which never before had brightened the -horror of her existence, had touched her heart; to stay! to live for -him! to find peace! - -But from the depths of her simple soul an instinct for good--the flame -which lies hidden even in the flint--impelled her to disregard this -dream. A thirst for sacrifice devoured her. Anania understood that in -her own way she wished to fulfil her duty, just as in his way he wished -to fulfil his. - -But Anania was the stronger. He was resolved to conquer by any means, by -force if necessary, by the cruelty of the surgeon who to heal the -sufferer will open his flesh with steel. She threw herself on the -ground. Again she wept, implored, supplicated. - -Anania answered always No. - -"Then what will become of me?" she sobbed, "Holy Mother! what shall I -do? Must I again leave you by stratagem? do you good by force? Yes, I -will leave you--I will go. You cannot compel me. I don't acknowledge -your right--I am free--I will go." - -He raised his head and surveyed her. - -He was no longer angered, but his cold eyes and grey face grown suddenly -old were terrible. - -"Listen," he said firmly. "We must end this. It's all settled--there's -no more to be said. You will not move one step without my knowledge. -Listen, and keep my words in mind as if they were the words of one dead. -Till now, I have endured the dishonour and the grief of your shameful -life, because I was not able to prevent it, and because I hoped some day -to put a stop to it. But from to-day it is different. If you attempt to -go away from here, I shall follow you. I'll kill you. I'll kill myself! -I shall not wish to go on living!" - -Olì looked at him in fear. He was like her father. Uncle Micheli, when -he had driven her away from the Cantoniera. He had the same cold look, -the same calm and terrible countenance, the same hollow voice, the same -inexorable tone. She seemed looking at the old man's ghost, risen up to -punish her; and she felt the whole horror of death. She spoke no further -word, but crouched upon the floor, trembling with terror and despair. - - -A sad night fell upon the wind-shaken hamlet. - -Anania had not been able to get a horse that evening, so he was obliged -to spend another night at Fonni, sleeping a strange sleep like the sleep -of a convict on the day he has been sentenced. - -Aunt Grathia and Olì sat up a long time over the fire. Olì had the -cold fit which is precursor of fever; her teeth chattered, she yawned -and groaned. As in the nights of long ago, the wind roared through the -kitchen, stirring the black relics of the bandit. By the firelight the -widow worked at her spinning, her face pallid and impassive as that of a -spectre. But she told her guest no stories of her dead husband, nor did -she dare to offer consolation. Only now and then she vainly implored the -sufferer to go to bed. - -"I'll go, if you'll do me one kindness," said Olì at last. - -"What is it?" - -"Go and ask him if he still has the _rezetta_ which I gave him the day -we left this. Beg him to let me look at it." - -The old woman promised and Olì got up. She shook all over, and yawned -so wide that her jaws cracked. - -That night she was light-headed, her temperature very high. Now and then -she demanded the _rezetta_, and grumbled childishly because Aunt -Grathia, who lay beside her, would not ask Anania for it. - -In her delirium a doubt crossed her mind; if Anania were not her son? -Surely, he was not her son! he was too cruel, too unfeeling. She had -been tormented all her life by all the people she had known; now, she -could not believe that her son could torture her more even than the -rest. - -Still delirious, she told Aunt Grathia of the little packet she had tied -round Anania's neck, that she might recognize him when he should be -grown up and well-to-do. - -"I meant to go to him some day when I should be very old and walking -with a stick. Rat-tat-tat! I should knock at his door, and say, 'I am -Most Holy Mary disguised as a beggar.' My son's servants would laugh and -call their master. 'Old woman, what do you want?' 'Sir, I know you have -a little packet, like this and this--I know who gave it to you.' To-day -you have all these _tancas_ and servants and cattle, but you owe them -all to that poor soul who is now reduced to seven little ounces of dust. -Good-bye. Give me a slice of bread and some honey. And forgive that poor -soul.' 'Servants,' he would say, 'cross yourselves. This old woman who -knows everything is Most Holy Mary.' Ah! ah! ah! The _rezetta_! I want -the _rezetta_. That man is not my son! The _rezetta_! The _rezetta_!" - -When it was light. Aunt Grathia went to Anania and told him what Olì -had said. - -"That's the one thing wanting," he said smiling bitterly, "that she -should doubt me! I'll soon prove to her that I am--myself." - -"Son, don't be unnatural. Content her at least in this one small -matter." - -"But I haven't got the thing. I threw it away. If I can find it again, -I'll send it." - -Aunt Grathia wished further to know the result of Anania's disclosures -to his betrothed. - -"If she cares for you she'll be pleased by your good action," she said -consolingly. "No, no, she won't give you up because you can't disown -your mother. Ah! true love cares nothing for the prejudices of the -world. I loved my husband madly when all the world was against him." - -"We shall see," said Anania. "I'll write to you." - -"For pity's sake, jewel of gold, don't write! I can't read, and I don't -want to make your affairs public property." - -"Well then----" - -"Send me a token. If she sticks to you, send the _rezetta_ wrapped in a -white handkerchief. If you lose her, send it in a coloured -handkerchief." - -He promised. - -"And when will you come back yourself?" - -"I don't know. Soon, certainly. As soon as I have settled my affairs." - -He left without seeing Olì again, for the poor thing had at last -dropped asleep. He was in deep dejection. The journey seemed eternal, -though he had no wish to arrive at his destination. Still, he was drawn -by a slender thread of hope. - -"Margherita loves me," he thought; "perhaps she loves me as Nonna loved -her husband. Her family will scorn and drive me away, but she will say, -'I'll wait for you. I will love you always.' That's what she will say; -but what shall I be able to promise her? My career is destroyed." - -Another hope, not to be confessed, was, however, fermenting in the -bottom of his heart: that Olì would make her escape. He dared not -reveal this hope clearly to himself, but he felt it, felt it; in spite -of himself it ran in his blood like a drop of poison. He was ashamed of -it; he understood its meanness, but it was impossible to drive it away. - -At the moment when he had cried, "I will kill you, I will kill myself," -he had meant what he said, but now the words, the whole scene felt like -some horrible nightmare. As he saw again the landscape, the street, -which three days ago, he had seen with so much gladness in his soul, as -he approached Nuoro, the sense of present reality pressed upon him more -and more tightly. - -The moment he arrived at home he looked for the amulet; and possessed by -the superstition that things prearranged do not come to pass, he wrapped -it up in a coloured handkerchief. Then he remembered that the sad -occurrences of these few days he had always foreseen and expected, and -he was vexed by his own childishness. - -"And why should I send the _rezetta_ at all? Why should I want to please -her?" - -He tossed the little packet against the wall, then picked it up again, -softening. "For Aunt Grathia," he thought. - -Then he told himself, "At four o'clock I will go to Signor Carboni and -tell him the whole thing. I must get it over this very day. Margherita! -Margherita! Suppose I see her to-night instead? She will bid me say -nothing to her father. She will tell me to wait--to go on as usual. No, -I won't be such a coward. At four o'clock I will go to Signor Carboni." - - -At the determined hour he did indeed pass the door of Margherita's home, -but he could not bring himself to stop, to ring. He passed by; despising -himself, thinking he would return later; convinced at bottom that never -would he succeed in addressing his godfather. - -Two days, two nights, he wasted thus in a vain battle of thoughts, which -changed and dissolved like agitated waves. He had altered nothing in his -habits or daily life. He read with young students, he studied, he ate, -he lingered under Margherita's window, and if he saw her, he gazed at -her passionately. But at night Aunt Tatàna heard him tramp about his -room, descend to the court, go out, return, wander hither and thither. -He seemed a soul in torment, and the kind woman feared he was ill. - -What was he expecting? What did he hope? - -The day after his return home, he saw a man from Fonni cross the street -and he grew deadly pale. - -Yes, he was expecting something--something dreadful; the news that she -had again disappeared. He understood his cowardice, yet at the same time -was ready to execute his threat, "I will follow you, I will kill you, I -will kill myself." - -Then it seemed to him that nothing was real; at the widow's house was no -one but the widow herself, with her legends and her long black -phantasmal cloak. Nothing, no one else. - -The second night he heard Aunt Tatàna telling her old story to a little -boy from a neighbouring house. - -"The woman ran--ran--throwing down the nails; and they grew and grew -till they filled the whole plain. Uncle Hobgoblin followed her, followed -her, but he never could catch her up, because the nails stuck in her -feet----" - -What anguished pleasure that story had given Anania in his childhood, -especially in the first days after his mother's desertion! To-night he -dreamed that the man from Fonni had brought news she was gone, that he -set out to follow--to follow--across a plain sown with nails. Look! -there she is! far on the horizon! Soon he will catch her up and kill -her, but he is afraid--afraid--because it is not Olì at all, but a -goatherd, that same goatherd who had passed down the street while Aunt -Tatàna was with Signor Carboni. Anania runs--runs--the nails don't -prick; he wishes they would prick; and Olì has changed into the -goatherd and is singing those lines of Lenau's: - - -_I masnadieri nella Taverna della Landa_--Robbers in field-side -tavern. - - -There! now he has caught her, he is going to kill her, and the frost of -death has stiffened his arm-- - -He woke, bathed in cold perspiration. His heart had stopped; he wept. - -The third day. Margherita, surprised that he did not write, invited him -to the usual tryst. He went. He told of his excursion up the -Gennargentu. He abandoned himself to her caresses, as a tired wayfarer -abandons himself on the grass, under the shadow of a tree. But not a -word could he utter of the dark secret which was consuming him. - - -"_September_ 18_th._ 2 A.M. - -"MARGHERITA,--I have come in after roaming wildly through the streets. -Every minute I think I am going mad. It is this very fear moves me, -after long and miserable indecision--to confide to you the grief which -is killing me. I will cut it short. - -"Margherita, you know what I am; the son of a sin, deserted by a mother -who was more sinned against than sinning. I was born under a bad star, -and I have to expiate sins which were not my own. I have dragged with me -into a gulf from which I can never escape, that creature whom I love -more than all the rest of the world. Thee, Margherita! Forgive me! -forgive me! This is my greatest grief which I shall feel for the rest of -my life. Listen. My unhappy mother is alive; after an existence of -misery and sin, she has risen again before me like a ghost. She is -wretched, ill, grown old with suffering and privation. My duty, you -yourself will say it at once, is to redeem her. I have resolved to live -with her, to sacrifice, if need be, life itself to fulfil my duty. -Margherita, what more can I say? Never as at this moment have I felt the -need of showing you all my soul. It is like a stormy sea, and words fail -me at this moment which is the turning point of my life. I have your -kisses still on my lips, and I tremble with love and with grief. -Margherita, I am in your hands. Have pity on me and on yourself too. Be -what I have always dreamed you are. Think how short life is, and that -love is the only reality of life, and that no one in the world will love -you as I do. Don't tread out our happiness for the sake of worldly -prejudices, prejudices invented by envious men to make all equally -unhappy. You are good, you are above me. Say to me one word of hope for -the future. And remember, whatever may happen, I shall be yours for all -eternity. Write to me at once. - -ANANIA." - - -"_September_ 19_th._ - -"ANANIA,--Your letter seems a horrid dream. I also have no words to -express myself. Come to-night at the usual time and we will decide our -fate together. It is I who should say 'my life is in your hands.' Come. -I wait for you anxiously. - - -MARGHERITA." - - -"_September_ 19_th._ - -"MARGHERITA,--Your little letter has frozen my heart. My fate is already -decided, but a thread of hope still guides me. No, I dare not come. I -will not come unless you first give me a word of hope. Then I will fly -to you, kneel at your feet, and thank you and worship you as a saint. -But now--no, I cannot. I will not. I abide by what I wrote to you -yesterday. Write to me, do not kill me with this terrible -suspense.--Your most unhappy. - - -ANANIA." - - -"_September_ 19_th._ Midnight. - -"ANANIA, MY NINO,--I have waited for you till this moment trembling with -grief and love; but you have not come. Perhaps you are never coming any -more, and I write to you at this sweet hour of our meetings with death -in my heart and tears in my eyes which have not yet wept themselves out. -The pale moon is sinking in a clouded heaven, the night is sad, it seems -to me that all creation is oppressed by the ill-fortune which has -crushed our love. - -"Anania, why did you deceive me? - -"As you say, I knew what you were, and I loved you just because I am -above vulgar prejudice, and I wished to make up to you for the injustice -of fate. But I believed you also were superior to prejudice, and were -giving up all for me as I had given up all for you. Now, it seems, I -have been deceived. You have deceived me, hiding your real sentiments. I -believed and I still believe, that you knew your mother was alive and -even where she was, and what sort of life she was leading (indeed, every -one knew that!) but that you had no affection for this unnatural mother, -who had deserted you, and was your misfortune and dishonour. You -considered her dead for you and for every one. And I was quite sure that -if ever she thrust herself upon your notice, which I suppose is what has -happened, you would not condescend even to look at her. But on the -contrary, you want to drive away her who has loved you so many years and -will always love you, and to sacrifice your life and your honour to one, -who (if she hadn't had an easy place to drop you into) was quite ready -to kill you, or to leave you in a wood or a wilderness, a prey to -starvation and terror, just that she might set herself free! - -"But why should I write all this? Surely you know it? Why do you try to -deceive me? Why do you appeal to sentiments which I can't possibly -entertain, and which I don't believe you entertain yourself? You aren't -going to do this stupid thing out of affection or out of generosity--I'm -sure you really hate the woman--but just out of regard to these same -vulgar prejudices which 'were invented by men to make all equally -miserable.' Yes, yes! You want to sacrifice yourself and to ruin me, -only for the glory of saying, '_I've done my duty!_' You are a silly -boy, your dreams are dangerous, and what's worse, ridiculous. People may -praise you to your face; behind your back they will laugh at your -simplicity. - -"Anania, be yourself, be kind to yourself and to me. Be a _man_! No, I -don't bid you abandon your mother if she's weak and unhappy (though she -abandoned you). We can help her, give her some money, but we must keep -her at arm's length. I won't have her coming between us and upsetting -our life. I won't. You see I don't deceive you, Anania. I can't in the -most distant way admit the possibility of living with her. It would be -hideous, a daily tragedy. Better to die once for all, and have done with -it, than die daily of resentment and disgust. I might pity the wretched -creature, but I should never love her. If you persist in this mad idea, -you'll make me loathe her even worse than before. This is my last word; -aid her, but keep her far away, so that I may never lay eyes on her, so -that our world in which we live may ignore her existence. - -"I daresay she'll prefer to be out of your sight. Your presence ought to -mean to her continual remorse. You say she has grown old with grief and -privation, that she's poor and ill. Well, it's all her own fault. It's -much better for you and for herself that she should be like that; for -then she can't go roaming about the world and inflicting more disgrace -upon you. But she, who didn't hesitate to outrage you when she was young -and strong, mustn't now make a weapon of her weakness and want to -destroy your happiness. No! no! you must never permit such a thing. No, -no, it's impossible you should act upon such a fatal aberration! Unless -it is that you don't love me any longer, and seek an excuse to----But I -am not going to doubt you and your loyalty and your love. Don't be so -wicked and cruel to me, when I have sacrificed to you all my youth, and -all my dreams, and all my future. - -"There! I tell you I'm crying as I write. Remember our love, our first -kiss, our oaths, our plans--all--all. Don't reduce all that to a handful -of ashes; don't kill me with disappointments, don't act so that -afterwards you will repent your madness. If you won't listen to me, -consult any sensible persons, and they'll all tell you not to be -ungrateful and wicked and vain-glorious. - -"Why, only yesterday you told me you had called my name from the summit -of the Gennargentu, and proclaimed your love eternal and superior to all -other human passion! Were you lying? and only yesterday? Why do you -treat me like this? What have I done to deserve it? Have you forgotten -that I love you? Have you forgotten that evening when I stood at the -window and you threw me a flower after kissing it? I keep that flower to -sew it into my wedding-dress, and I say _keep_, because I am sure that -you really are going to be my bridegroom, and that you don't intend to -kill your Margherita (remember your sonnet), and that we are going to be -so happy alone together in our own little house. - -"It is I, who am waiting for a word of hope from you at once. Tell me -it's all a horrid dream. Tell me you have recovered your reason, and are -sorry for having made me suffer. - -"To-morrow night, or rather this night, for its already morning, I shall -expect you. Don't fail me. Come, my adored one, my darling, my beloved -bridegroom, come! I shall expect you as a flower expects the dew after a -day of burning sun. Come! revive me, make me forget. My lips shall be -laid on yours like----" - - -"No! no! no!" cried Anania convulsively, crumpling the letter before he -had read the last lines, "I won't come! You are bad! bad! bad! I shall -die, but I shan't see you again!" - -With the letter crushed in his hand, he threw himself on his bed, -burying his face in the pillow, biting it, restraining the sobs which -rose in his throat. A shudder of passion ran through him, rising like a -wave from his feet to his head. The last lines had filled him with -tumultuous desire for Margherita's kisses, a desire as violent as it was -despairing. - -Little by little he regained self-control and knew what he was -experiencing. He had seen the naked Margherita, and he felt for her a -delirious love, and a disgust so great as to annihilate that very love. - -How mean, how despicable she was! and consciously. The goddess, veiled -in majesty and goodness, had thrown off her golden robes, and appeared -naked, daubed with egotism and unkindness. The taciturn minerva had -opened her lips to curse. The symbolic image had burst like a fruit rosy -without, black and poisonous within. She was complete woman with all her -savage wiles. - -But the worst torment was the thought that Margherita guessed his secret -sentiments. That she was right in reproving his deceptions, in asking -the fulfilment of his duties of gratitude and love. - -"It's all over!" he thought. "It was bound to end like this." - -He got up and reread the letter. Every word offended and humiliated him. -Margherita had loved him out of compassion, believing him as despicable -as she was herself. Probably she had meant him to be just an instrument -of her pleasure, a complacent servant, a humble husband. No, probably -she had not thought of anything like that, but had loved him by mere -instinct, because he had been the first to kiss her, to speak to her of -love. - -"She has no soul!" thought the poor boy. "When I raved, when I rose to -the stars and swelled with superhuman joy, she was silent because in her -there was emptiness. And I was adoring her silence, and thinking it -divine! She spoke only when her senses were awaked. She speaks now -because she's menaced with the vulgar annoyance of being given up. She -has no soul, no heart! Not one word of pity! Not the modesty to conceal -her selfishness. And she's ignorant too. Her letter is copied and -recopied, yet even so it's badly expressed. But the last lines--there's -her art! She knew the effect they'd produce. She knows me perfectly, and -I am only now beginning to understand her. She wants to allure me to the -meeting, because she thinks she can intoxicate me. Deceit! deceit! But I -see through her now. Ah! not one kind word, not a single generous -impulse, nothing! nothing! How horrible!"--(again, he crumpled the -letter)--"I hate all women! I shall always hate them! I'll become bad -myself! I'll grind you all to powder and spit upon you. I'll make you -all suffer! I'll kill you, tear you to pieces! I'll begin this instant!" - -He took the _rezetta_ still wrapped in the coloured handkerchief, rolled -it in a newspaper, sealed and despatched it to Aunt Grathia. "It's all -over," he repeated. And he seemed to be walking through emptiness, over -the cold clouds as on the ascent of Gennargentu. But now vainly he -looked down or around him; there was no path of escape, all was cloud, -infinite giddiness. During the day he thought of suicide, a hundred -times. - -He went up and took information as to what examinations and public posts -were open to him, and how soon he could present himself as a candidate. -He went to the tavern and seeing the handsome Agata (now betrothed to -Antonino) he kissed her. Whirlwinds of hate and of love for Margherita -shook his soul. The more he read her letter, the more he felt her -paltriness; the more he felt himself alienated from her, the more he -loved and desired her. Kissing Agata, he remembered what excitement the -beautiful peasant's kiss had roused in him on that former occasion. Then -Margherita had been so far above him, a whole world of mystery and -poetry had divided them; and this same world, fallen to ruins, divided -them now. - -"What's up with you?" asked Agata, making no objection to his kiss. -"Have you quarrelled with? What are you kissing me for?" - -"Because I like it, because you're coarse----" - -"You've been drinking!" laughed Agata. "Well if that's your fancy in -women, you can have Rebecca. But suppose Margherita hears of it----" - -"Hold your tongue! Don't dare to mention her name!" - -"Why not? She's going to be my sister-in-law. Is she any different from -me? She's a woman like the rest of us. I doubt she's even rich. If she -was certain she'd be rich, she'd only keep you on till she found a -better match." - -"If you don't hold your tongue I'll strike you!" said Anania furiously. - -"Oh, you're drunk! Get away! go to Rebecca!" repeated Agata. - -Her insinuations completed Anania's torment; he now believed Margherita -capable of anything. - -He went to bed early that evening, complaining of imaginary fever. He -thought of staying in bed to-morrow, hoping that Margherita would hear -he was ill. He even arrived at imagining that she, believing him very -ill indeed, would come secretly to visit him. This dream melted him -completely; he shook with emotion thinking of the scene that would -follow. Then suddenly the dream appeared what it was, childish -sentimentality. He was ashamed of himself, got up and went out. At the -accustomed hour, he stood before Margherita's door. She opened it -herself. They embraced, and both were moved to tears. But as soon as -Margherita began to speak, he felt an immense displeasure; then a sense -of frost, much as he had felt in looking at his mother. - -No! no! he no longer loved her! He no longer desired her! He rose and -went away without uttering a word. - -At the end of the street he turned back, leaned against her door, and -called-- - -"Margherita!" - -But the door remained shut. - - -[Footnote 23: A local expression meaning, "nothing but what I -wear."] - - - - -IX - - -"_September_ 20_th._ Midnight. - -"Your behaviour last night has finally revealed your character. I should -suppose it needless to declare that all is over between us, were it not -that you take my silence for a sign of humiliating expectancy. Good-bye, -then, for ever. - -M." - -"P.S. I wish my letters returned, and I'll send you yours." - - -"NUORO, _September_ 20_th._ - -"MY DEAR GODFATHER,--I intended to visit you and explain by word what -now I must write to you, for at this moment, I have received from Fonni -news of my mother's dangerous illness, and I must go to her at once. -This, therefore, is what I have to tell you. - -"Your daughter informs me that she withdraws her promise of marriage, -which we had arranged together, with your consent. If she has not -already done so, she will explain to you her reason for this decision, -which, of course, I accept. Our characters are too unlike for us to be -united. Fortunately, for us and for those who love us, we have made this -sad discovery in time. It may make us unhappy now, but it will prevent -an error which would be the misfortune of our whole lives. Your daughter -will surely attain the happiness which she deserves, and will meet some -man who is worthy of her. No one will wish her greater happiness than I -do. As for me--I will follow my destiny. - -"Ah! dear godfather! when you have had the explanation from Margherita, -don't, don't accuse me of ingratitude and of pride, whatever happens. -Whether or not I am allowed to fulfil grave duties to an unhappy mother, -I know every relation between me and you, or any of your family, is at -an end. I renounce all favours, which indeed would now be absurd and -humiliating to us all, but in my heart I shall retain as long as I live -the sincerest gratitude for all your goodness to me. In this sad hour of -my life, when circumstances make me despair of everything and everybody, -and especially of myself, I still look up to you, my godfather, and -remember your kindness and charity which has guided me from the first -hour I knew you, and which still preserves my faith in human goodness. -And the duty of gratitude to you, makes me still wish to live, though -the light of life is failing me on all sides. I have no more to add; the -future will explain to you the real nature of my thoughts, and will, I -hope, prevent your repenting of your kindness, to--Your ever most -grateful. - -"ANANIA ATONZU." - - -At three o'clock, Anania was already on his way to Fonni, riding on an -old horse blind of an eye, which did not travel so fast as the occasion -demanded. But alas! why hide the truth? Anania was not in a hurry, -although the driver of the coach, Aunt Grathia's messenger, had said. - -"You must start at once; it is possible you may find _the woman_ already -dead." - -For a time Anania could think of nothing but the letter which he had -himself consigned to Signor Carboni's servant. - -"He'll be angry with me," thought Anania, "when Margherita tells him of -my strange excuses, he'll think she's in the right. Of course, any girl -would have done what she has done. I suppose I am quite wrong, but still -who ever the girl was, I should have acted the same. Perhaps I ought to -have said in my letter that I was to blame, but that I simply _couldn't_ -do anything else. But no, they wouldn't understand, just as they won't -be able to forgive. It's all over." - -Suddenly he felt an impulse of joy at the fact that his mother was -dying; but at once he tried to shudder at himself. - -"I'm a monster!" he thought; but his relief was so great, so cruel, that -the very word "monster" seemed farcical, almost amusing. However, after -a few minutes he was really shocked at himself. - -"She's dying; and it's I who have killed her. She's dying of fear, -remorse, suffering. I saw her sink down that day, with her eyes full of -despair. My words hurt her worse than a blow. What a lurid thing is the -human heart! I'm rejoicing in my crime; I'm rejoicing like a prisoner -who has gained his freedom by murdering his gaoler, while I'm thinking -Margherita despicable, because she says bluntly that she can't love a -bad woman. I am far worse, a hundred times worse than Margherita. But -can I alter my feelings? What whirlwind of contradictions, what malign -force is it that draws and contorts the human soul? Why can we not -overcome this force even when we recognize and hate it? The God which -governs the universe is Evil! a monstrous God, living in us as the -thunderbolt lives in the air, ready to burst forth at any moment. And -that infernal power which oppresses and derides us--Good Lord! perhaps -it will make the poor wretch better and entirely cure her, to punish me -for rejoicing at the expectation of her death!" - -This idea depressed him for some moments, and he felt the horror of his -depression as he had felt the horror of his joy, but was powerless to -conquer it. - -Sunset enfolded him as he ascended from Mamojada to Fonni; great peace -overspread the rose-tinted landscape. The shadows, lengthening on the -golden carpet of the stubble, suggested persons asleep, and the glowing -mountains blended with the glowing sky, in which the moon already showed -its shell of pearl. Anania felt his heart softening. His spirit raised -itself towards the pure and mystic heaven. - -"Once I imagined I was kind-hearted," he thought; "delusion--mere -delusion. I exalted myself when I thought of _her_, and when I thought -of Margherita too. I fancied I loved my mother, and could redeem her, -and thus make my existence some use. Instead of that, I have killed her! -What must I do now? How shall I use my freedom, my miserable -tranquillity? I shall never be happy again. I shall never again believe -in myself or in any one else. Now truly I know what man is--a vain -though fiery flame, which passes over life and reduces everything to -ashes, and goes out when there is nothing left for it to destroy." - -As he ascended, the marvel of the sunset increased; he stopped his horse -that he might contemplate what seemed a symbolic picture. The mountains -had become violet; a long cloud of the same colour made a darkness above -the horizon; between the mountains and the cloud a great sun, rayless -and blood-red was going down in a heaven of gold. At that moment, he -knew not why, Anania felt good; good, but sorrowful. He had arrived at -sincerely desiring his mother's recovery. He felt a measureless pity for -her; and the beautiful childish dream of a life of sacrifice dedicated -to the unhappy one's redemption, shone in his soul, great and terrible -like that dying sun. But suddenly he perceived that this dream was only -for his own comfort; and he compared his belated generosity to a rainbow -curved over a country devastated by storm; it was splendid, but -altogether useless. - -"What shall I do?" he repeated in new despair, "I shall love no more, I -shall believe no more. The romance of my life is ended; ended at -twenty-two, the age when most men are beginning theirs!" - - -When he reached Fonni it was already night. The outline of the tiled -roofs showed black against the stainless moonlit sky. The air was -perfumed and very fresh. The tinkle of the goats returning from pasture, -could be heard, the step of the herdsman's horse, the bark of his dogs. -Anania thought of Zuanne and of his distant childhood, more tenderly -than when he had been at Fonni a few days ago. - -He dismounted at the widow's door, inquisitive heads appeared at the -windows, the low doors, the wooden balconies of the opposite houses. He -seemed expected, a mysterious whisper ran around, and he felt himself -wrapped in it, straitened as by a cold and heavy chain. - -"She must be dead!" he thought, and stood motionless beside his horse. - -Aunt Grathia came to the door, a lamp in her hand. She was even more -ghastly than usual, her small, bloodshot eyes sunk in great livid -circles. - -Anania looked at her anxiously. - -"How is she?" - -"Ah! she is well. She has finished her penitence in this world," replied -the old woman with tragic solemnity. Anania understood that his mother -was dead. He could not feel sad, but neither did he feel the expected -sense of relief. - -"Good God! Why didn't you send for me sooner? When did she die? Let me -see her!" he said, with anxiety exaggerated, but partly sincere. He -entered the kitchen which was illuminated by a great fire. - -Seated at the hearth Anania saw a peasant who looked like an Egyptian -priest, with a long square black beard, and wide opened, round, black -eyes. In his hands he held a large black rosary, and he looked at the -new-comer ferociously. Anania began to feel a mysterious disquiet. He -recalled the embarrassed air of the man who had brought him the news of -his mother's danger. He remembered that a few days ago he had left her -suffering but not gravely ill. He suspected they were trying to conceal -something from him. A terrible idea flashed through his mind. All this -in one moment while the widow who remained at the door was saying to the -black bearded man-- - -"Fidele, see to the horse. The straw is there. Make haste." - -"At what o'clock did she die?" asked Anania, turning also to the peasant -whose black eyes, round like holes, impressed him strangely. - -"At two," answered a voice of the deepest bass. - -"At two? That was the hour when I got the news. Why was I not told -sooner?" - -"You could have done nothing," said Aunt Grathia, who was still guarding -the horse. "Make haste, son Fidele!" she repeated impatiently. - -"Why didn't you warn me," said Anania, stooping mechanically to take off -his spur. "What was the matter with her? What did the doctor say? God -knows I had no idea----Well, I'm going up to see her." - -He straightened himself and moved towards the stair, but Aunt Grathia -still holding the lamp hastily prevented him. - -"What, my son? The thing you will see is a corpse!" she cried in -horror-struck tones. - -"_Nonna_! Do you suppose I'm afraid? Come with me." - -"Very well." - -The old woman preceded him up the wooden stair. Her deformed shadow as -tall as the roof, trembled on the wall. - -At the door of the room where the dead woman lay. Aunt Grathia stopped -and hesitated. Again she pressed Anania's arm. He noticed that the old -woman was shivering; and, he knew not why, he shuddered himself. - -"Son," said the widow, in a whisper "don't be shocked." - -He grew pale; the thought deformed and monstrous, like the shadows -trembling on the wall, took form and filled his soul with terror. - -"What is it?" he cried, guessing the fearful truth. - -"The Lord's will be done." - -"She killed herself?" - -"Yes." - -"My God! How horrible!" - -He cried thus twice; it seemed as if his hair rose on his head; he heard -his voice resounding in the funereal silence of the house. Then he -collected himself and pushed the door. - -On the pallet bed where a few night's ago he had himself slept, he saw -the corpse delineated under the sheet which covered it. Through the open -window entered the fresh evening air; and the flame of a wax candle -burning by the bedside seemed to wish to fly away, to escape into the -fragrant night. - -Anania approached the bed; cautiously as if fearing to wake her, he -uncovered the corpse. A handkerchief covered with spots of darkened -blood, already dry, swathed the neck, passed under the chin, over the -ears, and was knotted among the thick black hair. Within this tragic -circle the face was drawn in grey, the mouth still contorted with the -death spasm. The vitreous line of the eyes was visible through the -heavy, half-shut lids. - -Anania understood that she had severed the carotid artery. Horrified by -the spots of blood, he at once recovered the dead face; leaving, -however, the hair, which was twisted high on the pillow, partly exposed. -His eyes had darkened with horror, his mouth writhed as if in mimicry of -the contortion of the dead woman's lips. - -"My God! my God! this is awful!" he said, wringing his hands, and -twisting his fingers. "Blood! She has shed her blood! How did she do it? -How was she able to do it? She has cut her throat! How horrible! How -wrong, how wrong I have been. Oh! my God! No, Aunt Grathia, don't shut -the window! I am stifled. It was I who bade her kill herself!" - -He sobbed fearlessly--suffocated by remorse and horror. "She has died in -despair, and I did not say to her one word of comfort. She was my mother -after all, and she suffered in bringing me into the world! And I--have -killed her, and I--still live!" - -Never as at that moment before the terrible mystery of death had he felt -all the greatness, all the value of life. To live! Was it not enough to -live--to move, to feel the perfumed breeze of the serene night--in order -to be happy? Life! the most beautiful, the most sublime thing which an -eternal and infinite will could create! And he lived; and he owed his -life to the miserable creature who lay before him, deprived of this -highest good! How was it he had never thought of that? Ah! he had never -understood the value of life, because he had never seen the horror and -the emptiness of death. And now she, she alone, had taken upon herself -the task of revealing to him, by the shock of her death, the supreme joy -of Life. She, at the price of her own life, had given him birth a second -time; and this new moral life was immeasurably greater than the first. - -A veil fell from his eyes. He saw the contemptibleness of his passions, -of his past griefs and hatreds. Had he suffered because of his mother's -sin? Fool! What did that matter? What mattered a fact so trifling in -comparison with the greatness of life? And because Olì had given him -life, must she not represent to him the kindest of human creatures, to -whom he must be eternally grateful, whom he must always love? - -He sobbed still, his heart filled with strange anguish through which -came to him the joy of mere life. Yes, he suffered; therefore he lived. - - -The widow drew to his side, took his wrung hands in hers, comforted and -encouraged him. - -"We'll come downstairs, son; we'll come down. No, don't torment -yourself. She has died because she had to die. You did your duty; and -she--perhaps, she also did hers--although truly the Lord gave us life -for repentance, and bade us live----Let us come down, my son." - -"She was still young!" said Anania, somewhat calmed, his eyes resting on -the dead woman's black hair, "No, Aunt Grathia, I am not upset, let us -stay here a moment. How old was she? Thirty--eight? Tell me," he asked -again, "at what hour did she die? How did she do it? Tell me all about -it." - -"Come downstairs, then I'll tell you. Come!" repeated Aunt Grathia. - -But he did not move. He was still looking at the dead woman's hair, -marvelling that it was so abundant and so black. He would have liked to -cover it with the sheet, but felt a strange fear of again touching the -corpse. - -The widow performed this act of reverence, then taking Anania's hand, -led him away. His eye fell on the small table against the wall, at the -foot of the bed; but they went out and sat together on the staircase, -the lamp set on the boards by their side. - -The widow narrated a long history, of which Anania ever retained in his -memory these sad fragments. - -"She kept saying, 'Oh, I'll go! You'll see I shall go, whether he likes -it or not. I've harmed him enough, Aunt Grathia, now I must set him -free, and in such fashion that he shall never again so much as hear my -name. I'll desert him a second time to expiate the sin of my first -desertion.' Then she sharpened the knife on the grindstone, poor thing! -When we got the _rezetta_ in the coloured handkerchief, she grew so -pale; and she tore the packet and wept----Oh yes, she cut her throat. -Yes, this very morning at six, when I had gone to the fountain. When I -came back, I found her in a pool of blood. She was still alive--her eyes -horribly wide open. - -"All the officials, the colonel, the Prætor, the Town-Clerk, they all -invaded the house. It was like hell! People crowded in the street, the -women cried like children. The Prætor took the knife and looked at me -with terrible eyes. He asked if you had ever threatened your mother. But -then I saw he also was in tears. - -"She lived till midday. It was agony for everyone. Son, you know that in -my life, I have seen terrible things--never anything like this. No, one -doesn't die of sorrow and pity, for you see I am still alive. Ah! why -are we born?" she ended with tears. - -Anania was deeply moved. This strange old woman, who had long seemed -petrified by griefs, wept; but he, he who only last night had wept for -love in Margherita's arms, he could not weep; remorse and anguish were -tearing at his heartstrings. - -He got up and moved again towards the death-chamber. - -"I want to look at something," he said tremulously. - -The widow raised her lamp, reopened the door, let the young man pass in, -and waited. So sad she was, so black with that antique iron lantern in -her hand, she looked like the figure of death, vigilantly waiting. - -Anania approached the little table on tip-toe. On it he had seen the -amulet and the little torn packet, laid on a sheet of glass. He looked -at it, almost superstitiously. Then he took it up and opened it. - -There was in it only a yellow pebble, and some ashes; ashes blackened by -time. - -Ashes! - -Several times Anania touched those black ashes, which perhaps were the -relics of some love token of his mother's; those ashes which long ago -she had placed upon his breast that they might feel its deepest throbs. - -And in that memorable hour of his life, the whole solemn significance of -which he knew he did not yet feel, it seemed to him that little heap of -Ashes was a symbol of destiny. Yes, all was Ashes; life, death, the -human kind; destiny itself which had produced them. - -And yet in that supreme hour, shadowed by that figure of aged Fate, -which seemed Death in waiting,--in the presence of the remains of that -most wretched of all the daughters of men, who, after doing and -suffering wrong in all its manifestations, had died for another's -good,--Anania felt that among the ashes lurks the spark, the seed of the -luminous and purifying flame; and Hope returned to him, and he felt that -he loved life still. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ashes, by Grazia Deledda - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASHES *** - -***** This file should be named 63962-0.txt or 63962-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/9/6/63962/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by The Internet Archive.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - margin-top:2em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ashes, by Grazia Deledda - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Ashes - A Sardinian Story - -Author: Grazia Deledda - -Translator: Helen Hester Colvill - -Release Date: December 5, 2020 [EBook #63962] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASHES *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by The Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/ashes_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - - -<h2><i>ASHES</i></h2> - -<h4>(<i>CENERE</i>)</h4> - -<h3><i>A SARDINIAN STORY</i></h3> - -<h5><i>BY</i></h5> - -<h3><i>GRAZIA DELEDDA</i></h3> - -<h4><i>TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN</i></h4> - -<h5><i>BY</i></h5> - -<h4><i>HELEN HESTER COLVILL</i></h4> - -<h5><i>Author of "The Stepping-Stone,"<br /> -&c., and Translator of Grazia<br /> -Deledda's "Nostalgia," the Serial<br /> -in the Fortnightly Review, 1895.</i></h5> - -<h5><i>LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD</i></h5> - -<h5><i>NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPY. MCMVIII</i></h5> - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> -<p class="center"><a href="#PART_I">PART I</a><br /></p> -<p class="center">Chapter</p> -<p class="center"><a href="#I">I</a><br /> -<a href="#II">II</a><br /> -<a href="#III">III</a><br /> -<a href="#IV">IV</a><br /> -<a href="#V">V</a><br /> -<a href="#VI">VI</a><br /> -<a href="#VII">VII</a><br /> -<a href="#VIII">VIII</a></p> -<p class="center"><a href="#PART_II">PART II</a></p> -<p class="center">Chapter</p> -<p class="center"><a href="#I_II">I</a><br /> -<a href="#II_II">II</a><br /> -<a href="#III_II">III</a><br /> -<a href="#IV_II">IV</a><br /> -<a href="#V_II">V</a><br /> -<a href="#VI_II">VI</a><br /> -<a href="#VII_II">VII</a><br /> -<a href="#VIII_II">VIII</a><br /> -<a href="#IX_II">IX</a></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><i>ASHES</i></h4> - -<p><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="PART_I">PART I</a></h4> - - -<h4><a id="I">I</a></h4> - - -<p>It was the night of Midsummer Eve. Olì came forth from the white-walled -Cantoniera<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> on the Mamojada road, and hurried away across the fields. -She was fifteen, well-grown and beautiful, with very large, very bright, -feline eyes of greenish grey, and a sensuous mouth of which the cleft -lower lip suggested two ripe cherries. She wore a red petticoat and -stiff brocade bodice sustaining and defining her bosom; from the red cap -tied under her prominent chin, issued two braids of glossy black hair -twisted over her ears. This hair-dressing and the picturesque costume -gave the girl an almost Oriental grace. Her fingers were heavily ringed, -and she carried long streamers of scarlet ribbon, with which to "<i>sign -the flowers of St John</i>," that is, to mark those bunches of mullein, -thyme, and asphodel which she must pick to-morrow at dawn for the -compounding of charms and drugs. True, even were the <i>signing</i> -omitted, there was small danger of anyone's touching Olì's selected plants; -the fields round the Cantoniera, where she lived with her father and her -little brothers, were completely deserted. Only one tumble-down house -was in sight, emerging from a field of corn like a rock out of a green -lake.</p> - -<p>Everywhere in the country round, the wild Sardinian spring<a name="FNanchor_2_1" id="FNanchor_2_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_1" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> was on its -death-bed; the flowers of the asphodel, the golden balls of the broom -were dropping; the roses showed pale in the thickets, the grass was -already yellow; a hot odour of hay perfumed the heavy air. The Milky Way -and the distant splendour of the horizon, which seemed a band of far off -sea, made the night clear as twilight. The dark blue heaven and its -stars were reflected in the scanty waters of the river. On its bank, -Olì found two of her little brothers looking for crickets.</p> - -<p>"Go home this moment!" she said, in her beautiful, still childish -voice.</p> - -<p>"No!" replied one of the little fellows.</p> - -<p>"Then you won't see the heavens burst to-night. Good children on the -night of St John see the heavens open, and then they can look into -Paradise, and see the Lord, and the angels, and the Holy Spirit. What -you'll see is a hobgoblin if you don't go straight back home!"</p> - -<p>"All right," said the elder, impressed; and though the other protested, -he allowed himself to be led away.</p> - -<p>Olì, however, went on; beyond the river, beyond the path, beyond the -dark copse of wild olive. Here and there she stooped over some plant, -which she tied with her scarlet ribbons; then straightened herself and -scanned the night with the sharp gaze of her cat-like eyes, her heart -beating with anxiety, with fear, and with joy.</p> - -<p>The fragrant night invited to love, and Olì was in love. She was -fifteen, and on the excuse of "signing the flowers of St John," she was -making her way to a love-tryst.</p> - -<p>One night six months earlier a stranger had come to the Cantoniera to -ask for some fire-kindling. He was a <i>contadino</i> or farm-labourer sent -by the owner of the extensive fields round the tumble-down house, and -had arrived for the sowing. He was young and tall, with long black curls -and coal-black eyes so bright one could hardly look at them! Olì alone -was not afraid to meet their gaze with her own fine eyes, which were -never abashed by anyone.</p> - -<p>The <i>Cantoniere</i>, a man, not old, though worn with hard work, -poverty, and many troubles, received the young man kindly, gave him a -flint, catechised him about his master, and invited him to look in whenever -he liked. After this the farm-servant frequented the <i>Cantoniera</i> -assiduously. He told stories to the children, and taught Olì where to -look for the best mushrooms and edible herbs.</p> - -<p>One day he took her to the ruined <i>nuraghe</i><a name="FNanchor_3_1" id="FNanchor_3_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_1" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> on the hill, half hidden -by thickets of red-berried thorn trees, and told her that among the huge -stones of the gigantic tomb there was a treasure hidden.</p> - -<p>"And I know of several other hidden treasures," he said gravely, while -Oh picked bunches of wild fennel; "I shall certainly manage to find one -of them; and then——"</p> - -<p>"Then what?" asked Olì half sceptical, raising her eyes, which -reflected the green of the surrounding landscape.</p> - -<p>"Then I will leave this place. If you will come with me, I'll take you -to the continent. Oh, I know all about the continent! I'm not long home -from my military service. I've been to Rome, to Calabria, to -all sorts of places. Over there everything is splendid. If you'll -come——"</p> - -<p>Olì laughed softly. She was still a little ironical, but flattered and -happy. Behind the ruin, hidden in the thicket, her two little brothers -were whistling to lure a sparrow. No other human voice, no human step -was heard in the whole green immensity. The young man's arm slipped -round Olì's waist. He drew her to him and closed her eyes with kisses.</p> - -<p>From that day the two young things loved each other fiercely, trusting -the secret of their passion to the silent riverside thickets, to the -dark hiding-places of the solitary <i>nuraghes</i>. All her life Olì had -been oppressed by loneliness and poverty. She loved this man for all be -represented to her imagination, for the wondrous things and places he -had seen, for the town from which he had come, for the wealthy master he -served, for the plans he had traced for the future. He loved Olì for -her beauty and for the fire of her temperament. Both were thoughtless -and without conscience. Primitive, impulsive, self-pleasing, they loved -because life was exuberant in their bosoms, and enjoyment a necessity.</p> - -<p>The girl's mother had, it seemed, been just such another ardent and -fantastic woman.</p> - -<p>"She was of well-to-do family," explained Olì, "and had titled -relations. They wanted to marry her to an old man who had a great deal -of land. My grandfather, my mother's father, was a poet. He could -improvise three or four songs in one evening, and the songs were so -beautiful that when he sang them in the street everybody got them by -heart. Oh yes! my grandfather was a very great poet! I know some of his -poetry myself. My mother taught it to me. Let me repeat some to you."</p> - -<p>Olì recited a few verses in the dialect of Logudoro; then went on: "My -mother's brother, Uncle Merziòro Desogos, used to do painting in the -churches, and he carved pulpits. But at last he killed himself because -he had got into prison. Yes, my mother's relations belonged to the -nobility and were educated people. But she didn't choose to marry that -rich old man! She had seen my father, who at that time was as handsome -as a banner in a procession." She fell in love with him and they ran -away together. I remember her saying, "My father has cast me off, but -I don't care! Some folk love riches; I love my Micheli, and that's -enough for me!"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>One day the <i>Cantoniere</i> went to Nuoro the town, to buy wheat. He -came back more melancholy even than usual.</p> - -<p>"Olì, mind yourself. Olì!" he said, threatening his daughter with his -finger, "bad luck to that farm-servant if he sets foot in here again! He -has deceived us, even as to his name. He told us his name was Quirico; -but it isn't, it's Anania. He comes from Argosolo. The people of -Argosolo are a race of goshawks, of thieves and jail-birds! Mind -yourself, young woman! He's a married man."</p> - -<p>Olì wept, and her tears fell with the wheat into the great coffer of -black wood. But scarcely was the coffer shut down and Uncle Micheli<a name="FNanchor_4_1" id="FNanchor_4_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_1" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> -gone away to his work, than the girl was off to her lover.</p> - -<p>"Your name is Anania! You are married!" she said, her eyes flashing with -rage.</p> - -<p>Anania had just completed his sowing and still carried his grain-bag. -Blackbirds sang, swinging on the olive branches. Great white clouds made -the blue of the sky more intense. All was sweetness, silence, oblivion.</p> - -<p>"Listen," said the young man; "it's unfortunately true I have a -wife—an old woman. They forced her upon me (as they tried to force -that rich old man upon your mother), because I was poor and she had a -great deal of money. What does it matter? She's quite old and will soon -die. We are young, Olì, and I care for no one but you I If you give me -up, it will kill me!"</p> - -<p>Olì was touched, and she believed all he said.</p> - -<p>"But what are we to do?" she asked; "my father will beat me if we go on -loving each other."</p> - -<p>"Have patience, my little lamb. My wife will die very soon. And even if -she doesn't, I am sure to find the treasure and then we'll go off -together to the continent."</p> - -<p>Olì protested; wept. She had no great faith in the treasure, but she -let the love-making continue.</p> - -<p>The sowing season was over, but Anania still came frequently to the -farm, to watch the corn coming up, to hoe, and to weed. At the hour of -siesta he did not sleep, but amused himself pulling down the -<i>nuraghe</i>. He said he wanted stones for a wall; really he was looking -for the treasure.</p> - -<p>"If it isn't here, then it's there, and I intend to find it," he said to -Olì. "You know at Maras a labourer like me found a bundle of bars of -gold. He didn't know they were gold and handed them over to the -blacksmith. The idiot! I'd have known quick enough! Giants used to live -in the <i>nuraghes</i>," he went on, "and they had all their utensils of -gold. Even the nails in their shoes were gold. Oh! treasures can always -be found if one looks for them! When I was in Rome I saw a place where -they keep gold coins and things once hidden away by those old giants. In -some parts of the world there are giants alive still, and they are so -rich that their scythes and their ploughs are all made of silver."</p> - -<p>He spoke seriously, his eyes shining with golden dreams. But he could -not have told what exactly he intended to do with the treasure when he -had found it. He looked no further than to the flight with Olì. Beyond -that all was vague.</p> - -<p>About Easter the girl herself had occasion to go to Nuoro. She sought -information about Anania's wife, and learned that the woman was elderly -but by no means old, and not rich at all.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, when Olì reproached him for having deceived her, -"she's poor now, but when I married her she had money. After the wedding -I had to go to my military service, and I got ill and spent a lot. My -wife was ill too. Oh you don't know how expensive a long illness is! -Besides, we lent money and couldn't get it back. And I'll tell you what -I suspect! While I was away my wife sold some land and has hidden the -money she got for it. There! I'll take my oath that's it!"</p> - -<p>He spoke seriously, and again Olì believed. She believed because she -wished to believe, and because Anania had got her into the habit of -believing anything. He was carried away himself by his imaginations. For -instance, in his master's kitchen-garden he found a big ring of reddish -metal, and at once concluded it was gold.</p> - -<p>"There must be a treasure here also!" he thought, and hurried to tell -his new fancy to Olì.</p> - -<p>Spring now reigned over the wild country. Elderflowers were reflected in -the blue river; voluptuous fragrance rose from the warm grass. In the -clear moonlit nights, so soft, so silent, it seemed as though the -vibrating air were an intoxicating love-philtre. Olì roamed hither and -thither, her eyes misty with passion. In the long luminous twilight, in -the dazzling noons, when the distant mountains melted into the sky, her -pensive look followed her little brothers, who, half naked and dark as -bronze statuettes, made the meadows merry with their bird-like pipings; -and she thought of the day when she must leave them to go forth with -Anania. For she had seen the gold ring of his finding, and she was -filled with hope, and her blood boiled with the poison of the spring.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>"Olì!" called Anania from the depths of the thicket. She trembled, -advanced cautiously, fell into the young man's arms. They seated -themselves on the warm grass, beside bushes of pennyroyal and wild -laurel which exhaled strong perfume.</p> - -<p>"I was almost prevented coming!" said the youth; "the mistress has been -brought to bed of a daughter; and my wife has gone up to help, and -wanted me to stay at home. 'No,' I told her, 'I've got to pick the -pennyroyal and the laurel to-night. Have you forgotten it's Midsummer -Eve?' So here I am."</p> - -<p>He fumbled at his breast, while Olì touched the laurel and asked what it -was good for.</p> - -<p>"Don't you know? Laurel gathered to-night is for medicine, and has other -virtues too. If you strew leaves of laurel here and there round the wall -of a vineyard or a sheepfold, no wild animal can get in to gnaw the -grapes or to carry off the lambs."</p> - -<p>"But you aren't a shepherd, are you?"</p> - -<p>"I want it for my master's vineyard; for the threshing-floor too, or the -ants will steal the grain. Won't you come when I'm beating out the -grain? There'll be lots of people: it's a holiday, and at night there'll -be singing."</p> - -<p>"Oh, my father wouldn't let me go," she said with a sigh.</p> - -<p>"How stupid of him! it's clear he doesn't know my wife. She's -decrepit—worn out like these stones! Wherever have I put it?" said -Anania, still fumbling.</p> - -<p>"Put what? your wife?" laughed Olì.</p> - -<p>"A cross. I've found a silver cross this time."</p> - -<p>"A silver cross? Where you found the ring? And you never told me?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, here it is! See, it's real silver!" He drew a packet from -his arm hole. Olì opened it, touched the little cross, and asked -anxiously—</p> - -<p>"Is it really silver? Then the treasure must be there!"</p> - -<p>She looked so pleased that Anania, who had found the cross in quite a -different place, thought it best to leave her to her illusion.</p> - -<p>"Yes, there in the garden. Who knows all the precious things there may -be! I shall have a search at night."</p> - -<p>"But won't the treasure belong to your master?"</p> - -<p>"No, it belongs to any one who finds it," replied Anania, and as if to -enforce his argument, he folded Olì in his arms and kissed her.</p> - -<p>"When I find the treasure, then you'll come?" he asked, trembling. "Say -you will, my flower! It's clear I must find it at once, for I can't go -on living without you. When I look at my old wife, I'd like to die; but -when I'm with you, Olì, then I want to live a thousand years. My -flower!"</p> - -<p>Olì listened, and she also trembled. Around them was deepest silence; -the stars shone like pearls, like eyes smiling with love; ever sweeter -on the air was the scent of the laurel.</p> - -<p>"My wife must die very soon," said Anania; "what's the good of old -people in the world? In a year we shall probably be married."</p> - -<p>"San Giovanni grant it!" sighed Olì. "But it's wrong to wish any one's -death. And now let me go home."</p> - -<p>"Ah, stay a little longer!" he supplicated. "Why should you go so soon? -What's to become of me without you?"</p> - -<p>But she rose, all tremulous.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps we'll see each other to-morrow morning. I shall be picking my -flowers before sunrise. I'll make you a charm against temptations."</p> - -<p>But he was not thinking about temptations. He knelt, clasping Olì in -his arms, and began to cry.</p> - -<p>"No, my flower, don't go! don't go! Stay a little longer, Olì, my -little lamb! You are my life. See, I kiss the ground where you put your -feet. Stay a little, or, indeed, indeed, I shall die!"</p> - -<p>He groaned and shook; and his voice moved Oh even to tears.</p> - -<p>She stayed.</p> - -<p>Not till autumn did Uncle Micheli perceive that his daughter had gone -wrong. Then fierce anger overpowered this wearied and suffering man, who -had known all the griefs of life except dishonour. That was unbearable. -He took Olì by the arm, and cast her out. She wept, but Uncle Micheli -was implacable. He had warned her a thousand times. He had trusted her. -Had her lover been a free man he might have forgiven. But this—No! -this, he could never pardon.</p> - -<p>For some days Olì found shelter in the tumble-down house round which -Anania had sown his corn. The little brothers brought her scraps of -food, till Uncle Micheli found it out and beat them.</p> - -<p>Now autumn was covering the heavens with great livid clouds; it rained -ceaselessly; the thickets were blown by damp winds, or they glittered -with cold hoar frost. Olì made her way to Nuoro to ask help from her -lover. Perhaps he had a presentiment of her coming, for outside the town -he met her. He was kind, he comforted her, he wrapped her in his own -jacket; he took her to Fonni, a mountain village above Mamojada.</p> - -<p>"Don't be frightened," said the young man; "I have a relation at Fonni, -and you'll be all right with her. Trust me, my little lamb! I will never -desert you."</p> - -<p>So he took her to his kinswoman, a widow with a little boy of four. When -Olì saw this child, dirty, ragged, all eyes and ears, she thought of -her little brothers and she wept. Ah! who now would care for the little -motherless ones? Who would bake their bread, or wash their little -garments in the river? And whatever would become of her father, the poor -widower, so feverish and unhappy? Ah, well——Olì cried for a day -and a night. Then she raised her head and looked about her with darkened -eyes.</p> - -<p>Anania had gone away. The widow, pale and thin, with the face of a -spectre framed by a yellow handkerchief, sat spinning before a wretched -fire of twigs. All round was misery, rags, dirt. Great cobwebs hung -trembling from the smoke-blackened tiled roof. A few sticks of wooden -furniture gave scanty comfort. The boy with the big ears never spoke or -laughed. He was already dressed in the costume of the place with a -sheepskin cap. His only amusement was roasting chestnuts in the hot -ashes.</p> - -<p>"Have patience, daughter; it's the way of the world!" said Aunt Grathia -the widow, not raising her eyes from her distaff. "Oh! you'll see far -worse things if you live. We are born to suffer. When I was a girl I -also laughed; then I cried; now both laughing and crying are over."</p> - -<p>Olì felt her heart freeze. Oh, what griefs! what immense griefs!</p> - -<p>Outside, night was falling. It was bitter cold. The wind roared in the -chimney with the voice of a stormy sea. In the murky brightness of the -fire, the widow went on with her spinning, her mind busy with memory. -Olì crouched on the ground, and she too remembered—the warm night of -San Giovanni—the scent of the laurel—the light of the smiling -stars. Little Zuanne's chestnuts burst among the ashes which strewed the -hearth—the wind battered furiously at the door, like a monster -scouring the night. After a long silence the widow again spoke.</p> - -<p>"I also belong to a good family. This boy's father was called Zuanne. -Sons, you know, should always have their father's name, so that they may -grow up like them. Ah, yes! my husband was a very distinguished man. He -was tall as a poplar tree. Look, there's his coat hanging against the -wall."</p> - -<p>Olì looked round, and there, on the earthen wall, she saw a long cloak -of <i>orbace</i>,<a name="FNanchor_5_1" id="FNanchor_5_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_1" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> among whose folds the spiders had woven their dusky -veil.</p> - -<p>"I shall never take it down," continued the widow, "not though I am -dying of cold. My sons may wear it when they are as clever as their -father."</p> - -<p>"But what was their father?" asked Olì.</p> - -<p>"Well," said the widow, not changing her voice, but with some animation -on her spectral countenance, "he was a robber. For ten years he was a -robber—yes, ten. He took to the country a few months after our -wedding. I used to go and visit him up there on the mountain of -Gennargentu. He hunted eagles and vultures and strayed sheep. Every time I -went to see him we used to roast a good haunch of mutton. We slept out of -doors, in the wind, on the tops of the mountains. We covered ourselves with -that cloak, and my husband's hands were always burning even when it snowed. -He kept company with——"</p> - -<p>"With whom?" asked Olì, forgetting her own troubles. The child was -listening too, his great ears pricked till he seemed a hare listening to -the voice of a distant fox.</p> - -<p>"Oh, well, with other robbers. They were all most intelligent men, -sharp, active, ready for anything, ready especially for death. Do you -suppose brigands are bad folk? You are wrong, my dear sister. They are -men who live by their wits, that's all. My husband used to say, 'In the -old days men made war on each other; that's over now, but they still -need to fight. They organize thefts, highway robberies, <i>bardanas</i>,<a name="FNanchor_6_1" id="FNanchor_6_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_1" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> -not to do harm, but to make use of their ability and strength.'"</p> - -<p>"A fine sort of ability!" said Olì; "why don't they knock their heads -against a wall if they've nothing to do?"</p> - -<p>"You don't understand, my daughter," said the widow, proud and sad; -"it's all a matter of Fate. If you like, I will tell you how my husband -made himself a brigand." She said "made himself a brigand" with great -dignity.</p> - -<p>"Yes, tell me," answered Olì, shuddering a little. The shadows had -grown denser; the wind howled with a continuous thunder rumble; they -seemed in a hurricane-pervaded forest. The words, the cadaverous face of -the woman in that black surrounding, now and then momently illuminated -by a flash of livid flame, excited Olì to a childish voluptuousness of -terror. She seemed involved in one of those fearful legends which Anania -used to relate for her little brothers; and she herself, she with her -infinite wretchedness, was a part of the hideous story.</p> - -<p>The widow went on—</p> - -<p>"We had been married a few months. We were well off, my dear. We had -corn, potatoes, chestnuts, vines, land, houses, a dog, and a horse. My -husband was a landowner. But often he had nothing to do, and then he got -bored. He used to say, 'I must set up a shop, I can't stand this -idleness. When I'm idle I get bad thoughts.' But we hadn't capital -enough to start a shop. Then one day a friend said to him, 'Zuanne -Atonzu, will you join in a <i>bardana</i>? There'll be a lot of us, and a -clever fellow as guide, and we're going to a distant village to attack -the house of a man who has three chests of money and silver. The man -who's to show the way came here to Capo di Sopra<a name="FNanchor_7_1" id="FNanchor_7_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_1" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> on purpose to tell -us of it and to suggest a bard. We've got to cross mountains, rivers, -and forests. Come with us.' My husband told me of the invitation. -'Well,' I said, 'what do you want with the rich man's silver?' He -answered, 'I snap my fingers at the trifle I may get of the booty; but I -like the idea of mountains and forests and new things to see. I'm curious -to know how they manage these <i>bardanas</i>, and there'll be plenty -of other fellows going just to show their pluck and to pass the time. -Isn't it worse to have me sit in the tavern and get drunk?' I cried, I -implored," said the widow, twisting her thread with her skinny finger -and following the motion of her spindle with hollow eyes, "I -supplicated, but he went. He gave out he was gone to Cagliari on -business; but he went on the bardana. I stayed at home, for I was in the -family way. Afterwards he told me all about it. There were about sixty -of them, and they travelled in little groups, meeting at appointed -places to consult. Corleddu was the captain, a Goliath, strong as the -lightning, with eyes of fire and his chest covered with red hair. For -the first few days there was rain, hurricanes were unchained, torrents -rose in flood, one of the company was struck by a thunderbolt. They -marched at night by torchlight. At last they reached a forest near the -mountain of the Seven Brothers. There the Captain said, 'Brethren, the -signs of the sky are not propitious. The affair will go badly. Moreover, -I smell treachery. I believe our guide is a spy. Let us disband; and put -the thing off for another time.' Many approved, but Pilatu Barras, the -robber from Orani, (his nose had been shot off and lie wore a silver -one) got up and said, 'Brothers in God' (he always used that -expression), 'I can't have this. Rain is no sign that heaven is against -us. On the contrary annoyances are good, and teach the young to put off -softness. If the guide betrays us, we'll kill him. Come on, donkeys!' -Corleddu shook his head, and another cried out, 'Pilatu can't smell!' -Then Barras shouted, 'Brothers in God, it is dogs who smell, not -Christians. My nose is of silver and can't smell, but yours is a bone of -the dead! What I say is that if we disband, we smell of cowardice. There -are young men among us on their first expedition. If you send them away, -they'll go back to sit by the ashes of their hearths, idle, and good for -nothing. Come on, donkeys!' They went on. Corleddu was right, the guide -was a traitor. Soldiers were waiting in the rich man's house. There was -a fight and many of the robbers were wounded; others were recognized, -one was killed. Lest he should be recognized, his comrades stripped him, -cut off his head, and buried it and his clothes far away in the forest. -My husband was recognized, so after that he had to become a bandit. I -lost my baby."</p> - -<p>The widow had stopped spinning, her spindle fell on her lap and she -spread out her hands to the fire. Olì shuddered with cold, with horror, -with a fearful pleasure. How dreadful, how poetic, was all this the -widow was telling! Olì had always imagined robbers were wicked. No, -they were brave, wise, pushed by destiny; just as she herself was being -pushed——</p> - -<p>"Now we'll have supper!" said the widow, rousing herself. She got up, -lighted a rude lamp of blackened iron, and prepared the meal; potatoes, -always potatoes, for two days Olì had eaten nothing but potatoes, and a -couple of chestnuts.</p> - -<p>"Anania is your relation?" asked the girl, after they had eaten for some -time in silence.</p> - -<p>"Yes, a distant relation of my husband's. He's from Argosolo, not Fonni. -But," said the widow, shaking her head contemptuously, "Anania's not at -all like the blessed one! My man would have hung himself from an oak -tree sooner than do this vile action of Anania's, my poor sister!"</p> - -<p>Olì burst into tears. She retired to the chimney corner, and when -little Zuanne seated himself near her, she drew his head to her knee, -and held one of his little hard, dirty hands, thinking of her lost -little brothers.</p> - -<p>"They are like little naked birds," she cried, "left in the nest when -their mother is shot and doesn't come back. Oh, who will feed them? The -little one can't even undress himself!"</p> - -<p>"Then he can sleep in his clothes," said the widow grimly; "what are you -crying for, idiot? You should have thought of all that before; it's -useless now. You must be patient. The Lord God doesn't forget even the -birds in the nest."</p> - -<p>"What a storm! What a storm!" lamented Olì; then asked suddenly, "Do -you believe in ghosts, Aunt Grathia?"</p> - -<p>"I?" said the widow, putting out the lamp and resuming her spindle, "I -believe neither in the dead nor in the living."</p> - -<p>Zuanne lifted his head and said softly, "I'm here," then hid his face -again in Olì's lap.</p> - -<p>The widow continued her recital.</p> - -<p>"After that I had a son. His name is Fidele, and he's eight years old -and has gone to work at a sheepfold. Then I had this one. We are very -poor now, sister. My husband wasn't dishonest, you know; he had lived on -his own property, and that's why we had to sell everything except just -this house."</p> - -<p>"How did he die?" asked the girl, caressing the head of the apparently -sleeping child.</p> - -<p>"How did he die? Oh, on one of his expeditions. He never got into -prison," said the widow, proudly, "though the police were after him like -hunters after a boar. He was clever at hiding, and when the police were -looking for him on the mountains, he would be spending the night -here—yes, here, at this hearth where you are sitting now."</p> - -<p>The child looked up, his two great ears suddenly on fire; then sank -again on Olì's lap.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I tell you, here. One day, two years ago, he learned that a patrol -was searching the hills for him, and he sent to tell me, 'While they are -busy at that I'm going to take part in a job; on the way back, I'll stop -with you, little wife. Look out for me.' I looked out three nights, -four. I span a whole hank of black wool."</p> - -<p>"Where was he?"</p> - -<p>"Don't you understand? On a <i>bardana</i>, of course!" cried the widow -impatiently. Then she dropped her voice. "I waited four nights, but I -was anxious. Every step I heard set my heart beating. The fourth night -passed. My heart had shrunk, till it was as little as an almond. Then I -heard a beating at the door. I opened. 'Woman, wait no longer,' said a -man with a mask over his face. And he gave me my husband's cloak. -Ah——" the widow gave a sigh which was almost a groan. Then -she was silent.</p> - -<p>Olì watched her a long time. Suddenly her gaze was attracted to the -frightened gaze of the little Zuanne, whose hands, hard and brown as the -claws of a bird, were clenching themselves, and fingering the wall.</p> - -<p>"What is it? What do you see?"</p> - -<p>"Dead man!" lisped the child.</p> - -<p>"What? A dead man?" said Olì laughing.</p> - -<p>But when she was in bed, alone in a grey, cold garret, round whose roof -the wind screeched ever louder, searching and hammering the rafters, -Olì thought of the widow's story; of the mask who had said, 'Woman, -wait no more'; of the long black cloak hanging on the wall; of the child -who had seen the dead man. And she thought of the little naked birds in -the deserted nest; of her poor little neglected brothers; of Anania's -treasure; of midsummer night; and of her dead mother. She was -afraid—she was sad, so sad that though she believed herself doomed to -hell, she longed to die.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>The man in charge of a portion of the high road is called -the <i>Cantoniere</i>, and lives in the <i>Cantoniera</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_1" id="Footnote_2_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_1"><span class="label">[2]</span></a><i>Primavera</i>: we should call it, in June, early summer.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_1" id="Footnote_3_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_1"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>Prehistoric ruin.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_1" id="Footnote_4_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_1"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>In Sardinia the older persons are given the titles of Uncle -and Aunt.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_1" id="Footnote_5_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_1"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>Coarse woollen stuff.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_1" id="Footnote_6_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_1"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>Brigandage committed by a large number in concert.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_1" id="Footnote_7_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_1"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>The province of Sassari.</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="II">II</a></h4> - - -<p>Olì's son was born at Fonni in the springtime. He was called Anania by -the advice of his godmother, the bandit's widow. He passed his infancy -at Fonni, and in his imagination never forgot that strange village -perched on the mountain crest, like a slumbering vulture.</p> - -<p>During the long winter, Fonni was all snow and fog; but with the spring -grass invaded even the steep village street, where beetles slept among -the big, sun-warmed cobblestones, and ants ran confidingly in and out of -their holes. The meagre brown houses with their roofs of <i>scandule</i> -(wooden tiles overlapping each other like fish-scales), showed on the -street side narrow black doorways, balconies of rotten wood, little -stairs often vine-garlanded. The Basilica of the Martyrs, with its -picturesque belfry, rose among the green oaks of the old Convent court, -dominating the whole little town and carved against a sky of crystalline -blue. Fabulous beauty reigned on all sides. The tall mountains of the -Gennargentu, their luminous summits outlined as it were with silver, -crowned the great Barbagia valley, which in a succession of immense -green shells rose to the hill-tops; among these Fonni with its scaled -roofs and stony streets, defied the thunder and the winds. The district -was in winter almost deserted, for its numerous population of wandering -shepherds (men strong as the blast, and astute as foxes) descended with -their flocks to the warm southern plains. But in the fine weather, a -continuous coming and going of horses, dogs, shepherds, old and young, -animated the mountain paths. Zuanne, the widow's son, at eleven years -old was already a herdsman. He led goats belonging to different persons -to pasture on the far side of the wilderness which surrounded the -village. At dawn, he passed down the street whistling, and the goats -knowing the sound came leaping out of the houses to follow him. Towards -evening he brought them back to the entrance of the village; from there -the intelligent creatures went off by themselves to the houses of their -masters. Zuanne of the big ears, was generally accompanied by his friend -and brother, the little Anania. They were barefoot and wore jackets and -cloaks of <i>orbace</i>, long breeches of coarse cloth, sheepskin caps. -Anania had watering eyes and a perpetual cold in his head. With tongue -or finger he rubbed his dirty face into strange patterns of moustachios -and whiskers.</p> - -<p>While the goats fed among the rocks, green with eglantine and aromatic -herbs, the two children roamed about. They descended to the road and -threw stones at the passers-by; they penetrated into potato plantations -where strong wary women were at work; they sought wind-falls in the -great damp shadows of the gigantic walnut trees. Zuanne was tall and -lithe: Anania stronger and for his age bolder. They were both -story-tellers of extraordinary ingenuity, and were excited by strange -fancies. Zuanne was always talking of his father, boasting of him, -resolving to follow his example, and to avenge his memory. Anania meant -to be a soldier.</p> - -<p>"I'll catch you," he said calmly, and Zuanne the brigand replied with -alacrity, "I'll murder you."</p> - -<p>They often played at banditti, armed with guns of cane. They had a -suitable den, and Anania the soldier never succeeded in discovering the -robber, though the latter cried Cuckoo from the thicket in which he -crouched. A real cuckoo would answer from the distance, and often the -children, forgetting their murderous intent, would go off in search of -the melancholy bird—a search no more successful than the search for -the robber. When they seemed quite close to the mysterious voice, it would -sob further off, and still further. Then the little brothers in -ill luck, buried in the grass, or outstretched on the mossy rock, would -punish the cuckoo with questions. Zuanne being shy only said—</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Cuccu bellu agreste</td> -<td class="translated"> Cuckoo, beautiful wild thing,</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Natami itte ora est.</td> -<td class="translated"> Tell me what o'clock doth ring.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>and the bird would call seven times when he ought to have answered ten. -Nevertheless Anania ventured bolder demands.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Cuccu bellu e' mare</td> -<td class="translated"> Cuckoo, beauty of the sea,</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Cantos annos bi cheret a</td> -<td class="translated"> How many years shall marry</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">m'isposare?</td> -<td class="translated"> me?</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>"Cu—cu—cu—cu."</p> - -<p>"Four years, you little devil! You're going to marry young!" -sang out Zuanne.</p> - -<p>"Be quiet. He didn't hear me."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Cuccu bellu 's lizu</td> -<td class="translated"> Cuckoo, beauty of lily fair,</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Cantos annos bi cheret a fagher</td> -<td class="translated"> In how many years shall my</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> fixu?</td> -<td class="translated"> son be here?</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>This time the cuckoo gave a reasonable answer, and the children in the -great silence, broken only by the melancholy oracle, went on with -questions not entirely merry.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Cuccu, bellu e sorre</td> -<td class="translated"> Cuckoo, beauty and sister dear.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Cantos annos bi cheret a mi</td> -<td class="translated"> In how many years will my</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> morrer?</td> -<td class="translated"> death draw near?</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Once Anania went away by himself. He walked along the high road, up and -up; then crossed the copses and climbed among the granite boulders, -traversing long hollows covered with the little violet flowers of the -heather. At last he reached the top of what seemed an immense mountain. -The sun had vanished, but he fancied there were great fires flaming -behind the purple hills of the horizon, and sending up burning light -over the whole sky. Anania was frightened by the red heaven; by the -height he had reached, and the terrible silence which surrounded him. He -thought of Zuanne's father and looked round in a panic. Ah! though he -meant to be a soldier he was mortally afraid of robbers! and the long -black cloak on the sooty wall at home gave him spasms of terror. Almost -head over heels he fled from his peak and was glad when he heard Zuanne -calling him. Zuanne's great wish was to see the brigands; so Anania told -him where he had been and described the black mountains and the flaming -sky; then added that he had seen them. The widow's son was first -contemptuous, then excited. He looked at Anania with respect, as -thoughtful and taciturn they returned home together, followed by the -goats whose little bells tinkled plaintively in the silence of the -twilight.</p> - -<p>When he was not running beside Zuanne, little Anania passed the day in -the great court of the church of the Martyrs. He played with the sons of -the wax-candle-maker, who had his workshop close by. The quiet Courtyard -was shadowed by great trees, and surrounded by an arcade falling into -ruin. A little stone stair led to the church, on the simple facade of -which a cross was painted. Anania and the candlemaker's children spent -hours on the little stair, playing with the pebbles and making little -candles of chalk. A yawning carabiniere<a name="FNanchor_8_1" id="FNanchor_8_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_1" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> used to stand at the window -of the ancient convent; in the cells military boots and tunics were -visible; and a voice might be heard singing in falsetto with a -Neapolitan accent—</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"<i>A te questo rosario</i>"—</span> -</div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Some monk—one of the few left in the damp and decadent -spot—dirty, tattered, with broken sandals, would pass through the -court mumbling his prayers in dialect. Sometimes the soldier at the window, -the friar on the staircase, amused themselves talking to the children. The -<i>carabiniere</i> would turn sharp to Anania and ask news of his -mother.</p> - -<p>"What's she doing?"</p> - -<p>"She's spinning."</p> - -<p>"What else does she do?"</p> - -<p>"She goes to the fountain for water."</p> - -<p>"Tell her to come here. I want to speak to her."</p> - -<p>"Yes, Sir," answered the little innocent.</p> - -<p>He gave the message to Olì. Though he had once seen her talking to the -soldier, she was angry and boxed his ears. She told him not to go back -to the courtyard; but of course he disobeyed as he could not live -without either Zuanne or the wax-candlemaker's children.</p> - -<p>Except on Sunday, and on the Feast of the Martyrs in spring, sad -solitude reigned in the great sunshiny court, in the ruined arcades -which smelt of wax, under the big walnut tree, which to Anania seemed -taller than the Gennargentu, in the Basilica where the pictures and -stucco ornaments were perishing of neglect. Yet in his after life the -boy remembered with nostalgic sweetness that deserted spot; and the oats -which in spring used to come up between the stones, and the rusty leaves -of the walnut tree falling in autumn like the feathers of a dying bird. -Zuanne who was devoured with longing to play in the courtyard, and who -was bored when Anania deserted him, was jealous of the candlemaker's -children, and did his best to keep his friend away from them.</p> - -<p>"I want you to-morrow," he said to the younger boy, while they roasted -chestnuts in the ashes; "I've got a hare's nest to show you. She has -such a lot of little ones and they're as small as your fingers! They're -quite naked, with long ears. Eh! their ears are as long as the devil's!" -he ended, drawing on his invention. Anania went in search of the -leverets, and of course didn't find them. Zuanne swore he had seen them, -that they must have run away, that it showed Anania's folly in not -having looked for them sooner.</p> - -<p>"You waste all your time with <i>them</i>," he said scornfully; "well, -they can make wax hares for you! I'd have caught the whole nestful of the -real ones, if I hadn't been waiting to show them to you. Well, now we'll -look for a crow's nest."</p> - -<p>The little goatherd did all he could to amuse Anania, but the young -child found the autumn mists cold on the mountains, and he stayed among -the houses. In those days he saw little of his mother and treasured up -few remembrances of her. She was always out. She worked by the day in -fields or houses. She dug potatoes and came home late, worn out, livid -with cold, famished. Anania's father had not been to Fonni for a long -time; the boy had no recollection of ever having seen him.</p> - -<p>It was the bandit's widow who to a certain extent mothered the poor -little love-child, and of her he retained pleasant memories. The widow -had rocked him and hushed him to sleep with the melancholy wail of -strange dirges. She washed his head, she cut his nails, she blew his -nose violently. Every evening she sat spinning by the fire and telling -the heroic deeds of her bandit. The children listened greedily; but Olì -no longer cared for the stories and often went away to lie down on her -bed in the garret. Anania's sleeping place was at her feet. Often when -he went up he found his mother already asleep, but cold as ice; and he -tried to warm her feet with his own little hot ones. More than once he -heard her sob in the silence of the night, but he was too much in awe of -her to ask her why.</p> - -<p>He consulted Zuanne on the subject, and the little goatherd thought it -his duty to impart certain information to his friend.</p> - -<p>"You ought to know," he said, "that you're a bastard; your father isn't -married to your mother. There are lots of people like that, you know," -he added consolingly.</p> - -<p>"Why didn't he marry her?"</p> - -<p>"Because he had a wife already. He'll marry her when that one dies."</p> - -<p>"When will that one die?"</p> - -<p>"When God wills. Your father used to come and see us, so I know him."</p> - -<p>"What's he like?" asked Anania, frowning under an impulse of hatred -towards this unknown father who didn't come to see him. This was -probably what his mother cried about at night.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Zuanne, cudgelling his memory, "he's tall and very handsome -with eyes like fireflies. He has a soldier's coat."</p> - -<p>"Where is he?"</p> - -<p>"At Nuoro, Nuoro is a great city which can be seen from the Gennargentu. -I know the Monsignore at Nuoro, because he christened me."</p> - -<p>"Have you been there? To Nuoro?"</p> - -<p>"Of course I have," said Zuanne, lying.</p> - -<p>"I don't believe it. You haven't been there. I remember you haven't been -there!"</p> - -<p>"I was there before you was born, that's how it was!"</p> - -<p>After this Anania went willingly with Zuanne even when it was cold. He -kept asking questions about his father and about Nuoro and the road to -that city. At night he dreamed of the road, and saw a city with so many, -many churches, with such big, big houses, and mountains higher than even -the Gennargentu.</p> - -<p>One day late in November Olì went to Nuoro for the feast of Le Grazie. -When she came back she had a quarrel with Aunt Grathia. Indeed latterly -she had been quarrelling with every one and slapping the children. -Anania heard her crying the whole night through, and though she had -beaten him yesterday he was full of pity. He would have liked -to say—</p> - -<p>"Never mind, mother dear. Zuanne says if he was like me that he'd go to -Nuoro the moment he was grown up and find his father and make him come -to see us. But I am ready to go before I'm grown up. Let me go, dear -mother!" But he dared not utter a word.</p> - -<p>It was still night when Olì rose, went to the kitchen, came back, went -down a second time, returned with a bundle.</p> - -<p>"Get up!" she bade the child.</p> - -<p>She helped him to dress; then put a chain round his neck from which hung -a little bag of green brocade strongly sewn.<a name="FNanchor_9_1" id="FNanchor_9_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_1" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></p> - -<p>"What's in it?" asked the child, fingering the little packet.</p> - -<p>"It's a <i>ricetta</i>, a receipt which will bring you good fortune. An -old monk I met on the road gave it to me. Mind you always wear it on your -chest, next your skin. Don't ever lose it."</p> - -<p>"What was the monk like? Had he a long beard? Had he a stick?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, a beard and a stick."</p> - -<p>"Was it <i>he</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Who?"</p> - -<p>"The Lord Jesus."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps!" said Olì. "Well, promise you'll never lose the little bag. -Swear it."</p> - -<p>"I swear on my conscience," said Anania, much impressed. "Is the chain -strong?"</p> - -<p>"Very strong."</p> - -<p>Olì took the bundle, clasped the child's hand in hers, and led him to -the kitchen. There she gave him a bowl of coffee and a piece of bread. -Then she threw an old sack over his shoulders and they went out.</p> - -<p>It was dawn.</p> - -<p>The cold was intense. Fog filled the valley and hid the immense cloister -of mountains. Here and there a snow-dad summit emerged like a silvery -cloud. Monte Spada, a huge block of bronze, now and then appeared for a -moment through the moving veil of vapour. Anania and his mother crossed -the deserted street and stepped out into the mist. They began to descend -the high road which went down lower and lower into a distance full of -mystery. Anania's little heart beat; for the grey, damp road, watched -over by the outermost houses of Fonni, whose scaled roofs seemed black -wings plucked of their feathers, this road which continuously descended -towards an unknown, cloud-filled abyss—was the road to Nuoro.</p> - -<p>Mother and son walked fast. The boy often had to run, but he did not -tire. He was used to running, and the lower they descended the more -excited he felt, hot and eager as a bird. More than once he asked—</p> - -<p>"Where are we going, mother?"</p> - -<p>Once she answered, "To pick chestnuts." Another time, "Into the -country." Another, "You will see." Anania danced, ran, stumbled, rolled. -Now and then he felt his chest for the charm. The fog was lifting. High -up the sky appeared, a watery blue, furrowed, as it were, by long -streaks of white lead. The mountains showed livid through the mist. At -last a ray of pale sunshine illuminated the little church of Gonare, -which on the top of a pyramidal mountain stood up against a background -of leaden cloud.</p> - -<p>"Is that where we're going?" asked Anania, pointing to a wood of -chestnut trees. Drops hung from the leaves and from the bursting thorny -fruit. A little bird cried in the silence of the hour and the place.</p> - -<p>"Further on," said Olì.</p> - -<p>Anania resumed his delightful running. Never in any excursion had he -pushed so far. The continued descent, the changed nature, the grass -slopes, the moss-grown walls, the spinnies of hazel, the red berries on -the thorn trees, the little chirruping birds, all seemed to him new and -glorious.</p> - -<p>The fog vanished. A triumphant sun cleared the mountains. The clouds -over Monte Gonare had become a beautiful golden pink. The little church -was so distinct against them that it seemed near.</p> - -<p>"But where the devil is this place?" asked little Anania, opening his -hands with a gesture of great contempt.</p> - -<p>"We are getting near. Are you tired?"</p> - -<p>"I? Tired?" he said, starting to run again.</p> - -<p>He began, however, to feel a little pain in his knees. He did not run so -fast. He walked by Olì's side and chattered. But the woman, the bundle -on her head, her face white, circles round her eyes, hardly heeded him -and made absent answers.</p> - -<p>"Shall we come back to-night? Why didn't you let me tell Zuanne? Is the -wood far off? Is it at Mamojada?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, at Mamojada."</p> - -<p>"When is the <i>festa</i> at Mamojada? Is it true that Zuanne has been -at Nuoro? This is the road to Nuoro, I know that. And it takes ten hours to -walk to Nuoro. Have you been to Nuoro? When is the <i>festa</i> at -Nuoro?"</p> - -<p>"It's over. It was the other day. Would you like to go to Nuoro?" asked -Olì, rousing herself.</p> - -<p>"Of course, I should. And then—then——"</p> - -<p>"You know your father is at Nuoro?" said Olì, guessing his thought. -"Would you like to be with him?"</p> - -<p>Anania considered. Then he wrinkled his brows, and answered, "Yes."</p> - -<p>What was he thinking when he said that? His mother did not ask. She only -said—</p> - -<p>"Shall I take you to him?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the child.</p> - -<p>Towards noon they halted beside a garden. A woman, with her petticoats -sewn between her legs like pantaloons, was hoeing vigorously. A white -cat sometimes followed the woman, sometimes darted after a green lizard -which now appeared now vanished among the stones of the wall. Ever -afterwards Anania remembered these details. The day had become warm, the -sky blue. The mountains were grey as if dried by the sun; the dark woods -flecked with light. The sun had warmed the grass and waked sparkles in -the streamlets.</p> - -<p>Olì sat on the ground, opened her bundle, took out some bread, and -called Anania who had climbed on the wall to watch the woman and the -cat. Just then the post-carriage, which was coming down from Fonni, -appeared at the turn of the road. It was driven by a big, red-haired man -with a moustache and puffy cheeks which made him seem perpetually -laughing.</p> - -<p>Olì tried to hide, but the big man had seen her.</p> - -<p>"Where are you going, little woman?"</p> - -<p>"Where I choose," she answered in a low voice.</p> - -<p>Anania still on the wall, peeped into the coach. It was empty, and he -cried, "Take me in it, Uncle Batusta, take me!"</p> - -<p>"But where are you going? Come!" said the big man, drawing up.</p> - -<p>"If you must know, we're going to Nuoro," said Olì eating as she spoke; -"it would be a charity to give us a lift. We're as tired as donkeys!"</p> - -<p>"Listen," said the big man, "go on to the other side of Mamojada, I have -to stop there. After that I'll pick you up."</p> - -<p>He kept his promise. Presently the wayfarers were sitting beside him on -the box seat. He began to gossip with Olì. Anania was tired, but he -felt acute pleasure in his position between his mother and this big man -with the long whip, in the fresh fields and blue sky framed by the hood -of the vehicle, in the swift trot of the horses. The greater mountains -had now all disappeared; and the child thought of how Zuanne would envy -him this long journey into a new district. "What a lot I shall tell him -when I go home," he thought; "I'll say to him, 'I have ridden in a coach -and you haven't.'"</p> - -<p>"Why the devil are you going to Nuoro?" the big man was asking Olì.</p> - -<p>"If you wish to know," she answered him, "I'm going to service. I've -arranged with a good mistress. It's hopeless living at Fonni. The widow -of Zuanne Atonzu has turned me out."</p> - -<p>"That's not true," thought Anania. Why did his mother lie? Why didn't -she say the truth that she was going to Nuoro to find her boy's father? -Well, she probably had her reasons for lying. Anania did not bother -himself, especially as he was sleepy.</p> - -<p>He leaned against his mother and shut his eyes.</p> - -<p>"Who's at the <i>Cantoniera</i> now?" asked Olì suddenly. "Is my father -there still?"</p> - -<p>"No, he's gone."</p> - -<p>She sighed heavily. The vehicle stopped for a moment then rolled on. -Anania was asleep.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>At Nuoro, he became aware of delusions. Was this the city of his dreams? -Well, yes, the houses were bigger than the houses at Fonni, but not at -all so big as he had expected. The mountains, sombre against the violet -sky, were small, quite ridiculous. The streets, however, seemed wide; -and the children in them were very impressive, for in speech and in -garments they were quite unlike the children of Fonni.</p> - -<p>Till evening, mother and son wandered about Nuoro. At last they went -into a church. Many people were there, the altar flamed with candles, -sweet singing was blended with a sound still sweeter which came the boy -knew not whence. Ah! that was something really beautiful! Anania thought -of Zuanne and the pleasure of describing his adventures.</p> - -<p>Olì whispered in his ear—</p> - -<p>"Don't move till I come back. I'm going to find the friend at whose -house we shall sleep."</p> - -<p>He remained alone at the bottom of the church. It was alarming, but he -encouraged himself looking at the people, the candles, the flowers, the -saints. Also he had the charm hidden on his breast. That was a comfort. -Suddenly he remembered his father. Where was he? Why ever didn't they go -and find him?</p> - -<p>Olì soon returned. She waited till the service was over, then took her -boy's hand and led him out by a side door. They walked down several -streets. At last they got beyond the houses. It was late, it was cold; -Anania was hungry and thirsty. He felt sad, and thought of Aunt -Grathia's hearth, of the roast chestnuts, and of Zuanne's chatter. They -were in a lane bordered by hedges; the mountains, which seemed so small -to the child, were visible.</p> - -<p>"Look here," said Olì, and her voice shook, "did you notice the last -house with the big open door?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Your father's in there. You want to see him, don't you? Turn back and -go in at the big door. You'll find another door straight before you. It -will be open. Go in by that door, and look about you. It's a press where -they make oil. A tall man with his sleeves turned up and his head bare -is walking behind the horse. That is your father."</p> - -<p>"Aren't you coming too?" asked the boy.</p> - -<p>Olì shuddered. "I'll come presently. You must go in first. When you see -him, say, 'I am the son of Olì Derios!' Do you understand? Come along!"</p> - -<p>They turned back. Anania felt his mother's hand shake and he heard her -teeth chatter. They stopped at the big door; she bent down, arranged the -charm round the child's neck and kissed him. "Go on," she said, giving -him a push.</p> - -<p>Anania entered. He saw the other door, faintly illuminated, and went on. -He found himself in a black, black place, lighted only by a red furnace -upon which a cauldron was seething. A black horse went round and round, -turning a large, heavy, very oily wheel in a sort of round vat. A tall -man, bareheaded, with his sleeves turned up and all his clothes stained -black with oil, followed the horse, stirring the crushed olives in the -vat with a wooden pole. Two other men moved backwards and forwards, -pushing a screw fixed in a press, from which flowed the black and -steaming oil. Before the fire sat a boy with a red cap.</p> - -<p>It was this boy who first saw the stranger child.</p> - -<p>"Get out!" he shouted.</p> - -<p>Anania, frightened, but encouraged by the thought of his amulet, did not -speak. He gazed about him, bewildered, and expecting his mother to come -in. The man with the pole looked at him with shining eyes, then -asked—</p> - -<p>"What do you want?"</p> - -<p>Could this be his father? Anania looked at him shyly, then pronounced -the words his mother had taught him.</p> - -<p>"I am the son of Olì Derios."</p> - -<p>The two men who were turning the screw stopped suddenly and one of them -cried—</p> - -<p>"Your brat!"</p> - -<p>The tall man threw his pole down, approached the child, stared, shook -him and asked—</p> - -<p>"Who has sent you here? What do you want? Where's your mother?"</p> - -<p>"She's outside. She's coming."</p> - -<p>The oil-miller rushed out, followed by the boy with the red cap. But -Olì had disappeared; and nothing more was heard of her.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Learning what had occurred, Aunt Tatàna, the oil-miller's wife, came to -the mill. She was a woman not young, but still beautiful, fair and -plump, with soft, warm brown eyes surrounded by little wrinkles. On her -upper lip was a very faint golden moustache. Her manner was quiet, but -cheerful and kind. She put her hands on Anania's shoulders, bent down -and examined him.</p> - -<p>"Don't cry, poor little man!" she said gently. "Mother will come in a -few minutes! Be quiet, you!" she added, turning to the men and the boy, -who were inclined to meddle.</p> - -<p>Anania wept inconsolably and answered no questions. The boy kept staring -at him with wicked blue eyes and a mocking smile on his round rosy face.</p> - -<p>"Where has she gone? Isn't she coming? Where shall I find her?" sobbed -the deserted child desperately. Something must have happened to his -mother; she had been frightened; where could she be? Why didn't she -come? And this horrible, oily, rough man—was this his father?</p> - -<p>But the coaxing and gentle words of Aunt Tatàna comforted him a little. -He stopped crying, and rubbed the tears all over his cheeks in his usual -way; then thought of flight.</p> - -<p>The woman, the oil-miller, the two men, and the boy were all talking -loud. They swore, laughed, disputed.</p> - -<p>"He's your own child. He's just like you!" said the woman, turning to -her husband. But the miller cried—</p> - -<p>"I don't want him! I tell you I don't want him!"</p> - -<p>"Have you no heart? Holy Saint Catharine! can men be so cruel?" said -Aunt Tatàna, jesting but serious. "Ah, Anania, that's you all over! You -are always yourself!"</p> - -<p>"Who else would you have me be?" he growled, "Well, I'm going for the -police."</p> - -<p>"You shan't go for the police, stupid! Wash your dirty linen at home, -please!"</p> - -<p>He insisted, so she said, temporising, "Well, well, go for the police -to-morrow. At present finish your work; and remember the words of King -Solomon about leaving the evening wrath till the morning."</p> - -<p>The three men returned to their work; but while the miller stirred the -olives under the wheel, he muttered and swore, and the others laughed. -The woman said quietly—</p> - -<p>"You are making bad worse. You have only yourself to blame. By Saint -Catharine it's I who ought to be offended! Remember, Anania, that God -doesn't leave wages till Saturday!"</p> - -<p>Then she turned to the child who was crying again.</p> - -<p>"Hush! little son!" she said, "we'll set it all right to-morrow. There! -don't you know little birds always leave the nest when they get wings?"</p> - -<p>"But did you know of this little bird's existence?" laughed one of the -men; and the boy crowded on Anania and said teasingly, "Why has your -mother run away? What sort of a woman is she?"</p> - -<p>"Bustianeddu!" thundered the miller, "if you don't go this moment I'll -kick you out!"</p> - -<p>"Try!" said the boy impudently.</p> - -<p>"You can tell him the sort of woman she is!" cried one of the men, and -the other laughed till his sides shook and he neglected the screw of the -press.</p> - -<p>Aunt Tatàna was fondling the child, examining his poor clothes and -asking him questions. He answered in an uncertain, lamentable voice -interrupted by sobs.</p> - -<p>"Poor little one! Poor little dear! Little bird without wings! without -wings and without a nest!" said the kind soul, "be quiet, my little pet. -Aren't you rather hungry? Come! we'll go in and Aunt Tatàna will give -you some nice supper, and then we'll put you to bed, with the guardian -angel; and to-morrow it will all come right!"</p> - -<p>After this promise he allowed himself to be led to a little house beside -the olive-mill. Here she gave him white bread and cheese, and an egg and -a pear. Never had Anania supped so well! The pear worked wonders, added -to Aunt Tatàna's sweet words and motherly caresses.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow!" said the woman.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow!" accepted the child.</p> - -<p>While he ate, Aunt Tatàna moved about preparing her husband's supper. -She talked to Anania and gave him good counsels which she said she had -herself been taught by King Solomon and Holy Saint Catharine.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the round visage of the boy Bustianeddu appeared at the -window.</p> - -<p>"Get away, little frog!" she said, "it's cold."</p> - -<p>"Yes, it's cold," he returned, "so please let me come in."</p> - -<p>"Why aren't you at the mill?"</p> - -<p>"They've sent me away. There's such a crowd there."</p> - -<p>"Well, come in," said the woman, opening the door. "Come in, poor -orphan, you also are without a mother! What's Uncle Anania doing? Is he -angry still?"</p> - -<p>"Oh I suppose so!" said Bustianeddu, sitting down and gnawing the core -of the stranger child's pear.</p> - -<p>"They've all arrived," he went on, discoursing and gesticulating like a -grown person; "my father, and Maestro Pane, and Uncle Pera, and that -liar Franziscu Carchide, and Aunt Corredda, every single one of -them——"</p> - -<p>"What are they saying?" asked the woman, with quick interest.</p> - -<p>"They're saying you'll have to adopt the kid. Uncle Pera laughs and -says, who will Uncle Anania leave his goods to, if he has no child? -Uncle Anania ran at him with the pole. Then they all laughed like mad."</p> - -<p>Aunt Tatàna's interest was overpowering. Telling Bustianeddu to mind -the child, she went back to the mill.</p> - -<p>At once Bustianeddu began confidentially to his charge—</p> - -<p>"My father has 100 <i>lire</i> in the chest of drawers, and I know where -he keeps the key. We live close here, and have some land for which -we pay taxes. One day the Commissioner came and seized the barley. What's -in that saucepan making that cra—cra—cra—? Don't you -think it's burning? I'd better look in." (he lifted the cover) "The devil! -Potatoes! I thought it was something better. I'm going to taste them!"</p> - -<p>With two fingers he hooked out a boiling lump, blew on it and ate it up. -Then he took another.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing?" said Anania shocked, "if the woman comes -back——"</p> - -<p>"We know how to make macaroni, my father and I," said the imperturbable -youngster, "do you know? And tomato sauce——"</p> - -<p>"No, I don't know," said Anania absently.</p> - -<p>He was thinking of his mother, his mind besieged by sad questions. Where -had she gone? Why hadn't she come into the mill? Why had she gone away -and forgotten him? Now that he had eaten and was warm, Anania would have -liked to run away. To run away and look for his mother. To run away and -find his mother. This idea took firm roots and would not leave him.</p> - -<p>After a while Aunt Tatàna came back. She brought with her a ragged -woman with uncertain step, a red nose, and a large hanging mouth; a -horrible-looking person.</p> - -<p>"And this—this is the little bird?" she said stammering and -looking lovingly at the foundling. "Let me see your little face, to bless -you! By God's truth, he's as pretty as a star! And the man doesn't want -him? Well Tatàna Atonzu, it's for you to pick him up—to pick him up -like a sugar-plum——"</p> - -<p>She came nearer and kissed Anania. He turned away, for she smelt of -drink.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Nanna," said the incorrigible Bustianeddu, pretending to drain a -glass, "have you had enough for to-day?"</p> - -<p>"Eh? Eh? What? What do you mean? What are you doing here, you little -fly, you p—poor little orphan? Go home to your b—bed."</p> - -<p>"You'd better go to bed yourself," said Aunt Tatàna, "take yourselves -off, both of you."</p> - -<p>She gave the woman a gentle push, but before going away Nanna begged for -a drop of something. Bustianeddu offered her water; she snatched at the -glass eagerly, but after one sip shook her head and set it down. Then -she moved unsteadily away. Aunt Tatàna sent Bustianeddu after her, and -shut the door.</p> - -<p>"You are tired, my pet," she said to Anania, "come, I will put you to -bed."</p> - -<p>She took him to a big room behind the kitchen and undressed him, coaxing -him with sweet words.</p> - -<p>"Don't be frightened, my little one. Mother will come to-morrow; or else -we'll go together and look for her. Do you know how to cross yourself? -Can you say your <i>Credo</i>? Yes, every night we ought to say the -<i>Credo</i>! I'll teach it to you, and some nice prayers; especially one -by San Pasquale which will prepare you for the hour of death. Ah! I see you -have a <i>Rezetta</i>! What a pretty one! That is nice! San Giovanni will -take care of you. Yes, he was once a little naked boy like you, though -afterwards he baptized our Lord Jesus. Go to sleep, my pet. In the name -of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen."</p> - -<p>Anania found himself in a great bed with red pillows. Aunt Tatàna -covered him up; then she went away, leaving him in the dark. He held his -amulet very tight, shut his eyes, and did not cry. However he could not -sleep.</p> - -<p>To-morrow! To-morrow! But oh dear! how many years had passed since they -had started from Fonni? What ever would Zuanne think? Strange fancies, -confused thoughts passed through the little mind; among them all, the -figure of his mother remained distinct. Where had she gone? Was she -cold? To-morrow he would see her again. To-morrow. If they didn't take -him to find her he would go by himself. To-morrow——</p> - -<p>Anania heard the olive-miller come in. He disputed with his wife. He -cried, "I don't want the child! I don't want him!"</p> - -<p>Then there was silence. But, suddenly, someone opened the door, came -into the room, walked on tip-toe to the bed, cautiously lifted the -quilt. A bristly moustache touched Anania's cheek. He was pretending to -be asleep, but he opened his eyes, a tiny, tiny bit, and saw that the -person who had kissed him was his father!</p> - -<p>A few minutes later Aunt Tatàna came in and lay down in the great bed -beside Anania. He heard her praying a long time, whispering and -sighing—then he fell asleep.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_1" id="Footnote_8_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_1"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>Carabinieri—The country police.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_1" id="Footnote_9_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_1"><span class="label">[9]</span></a><i>La Rezetta</i>, an amulet containing prayers written -on paper, flowers gathered on St John's night, relics, etc.</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="III">III</a></h4> - - -<p>No one reported to the police that a child had been deserted. Olì was -able to disappear unhindered. It was never exactly known whither she had -gone. Someone said he had seen her on the steamer from Sardinia to -Civita Vecchia. Later, a Fonni shopkeeper, who had been to the continent -on business, declared he had met Olì in Rome, smartly dressed and -accompanied by other women of obvious character.</p> - -<p>These things were told at the olive-mill, the child being present. He -listened eagerly. Like some little wild animal which has apparently been -tamed, he continually meditated escape. At Fonni, while living with his -mother, he had thought of running away to find his father; now he was -with his father and he thought of running away to look for Olì. She -might be far off, she might be beyond the sea—no matter; he felt -capable of finding her by himself. Not that he loved her! No, he could -not love one who had given him more blows than kisses, one who had -deserted him! Instinctively he felt that was shameful. But then neither -did he love his father. Anania could not forget his first impression, -the terror and repulsion with which the dark, oily, angry man had -inspired him, the man who had kissed him in secret while before the -world he stormed at and insulted him.</p> - -<p>But Aunt Tatàna—ah, she loved him! She washed and brushed and -dressed him; she taught him prayers and the precepts of King Solomon. She -took him to church, and gave him nice things to eat, and let him sleep with -her. Little by little Anania gave her his affection. In a short time he -was another boy. He grew fat and gave himself airs; he had forgotten his -rough Fonni costume, and wore a nice little suit of dark fustian. He -acquired the Nuoro accent, and was knowing and sharp like Bustianeddu.</p> - -<p>Yet his little heart remained unchanged. It could not change. Dreams of -flight, of adventure, of wondrous accidents, were blended in his -childish soul with nostalgic yearning for his native place, for the -people and the things he knew, for the liberty he had enjoyed, for the -unkind mother who had become to him an object of pity and of shame. -Though he was better off, the little wild creature suffered under the -dislocation of all his habits. He wanted he knew not what. He thought he -wanted his mother—because everyone had a mother! because to have lost -his mother was not so much grief as humiliation. He understood that his -mother could not be with the olive-miller, because he had another wife; -well, then, he would rather be left with his mother. He belonged to her; -perhaps also he instinctively felt her the weaker and became her -champion.</p> - -<p>As time passed, all these thoughts, these instincts grew fainter, but -they did not disappear from his little soul; so also her physical image -was transformed in his memory, never obliterated.</p> - -<p>One day he learned something unexpected about Bustianeddu, whose -friendship he had so far endured rather than courted.</p> - -<p>"My mother's not dead," said this boy, almost boastingly, "she's away on -the continent like yours. She ran away one time when my father was in -prison. When I'm grown up, I'll go and find her. I swear it. I've an -uncle on the continent too. He's a schoolmaster. He wrote that he'd seen -my mother in a street and was going to beat her, but the people held him -off. It was my uncle gave me this red cap."</p> - -<p>This story was quite comforting to Anania, and drew him into intimacy -with Bustianeddu. For years they were companions, at the olive-mill, in -the streets, beside Aunt Tatàna's fire. Bustianeddu was much the age of -Zuanne, Anania's lost brother. At bottom he was warmhearted and -generous. He said he attended school; but often the schoolmaster asked -the boy's father for his invisible pupil. The father was a small dealer -in skins and fleeces; when these inquiries reached him, he tied his son -up with a rope of undressed leather, locked him in, and bade him learn -his lessons. Like older criminals, Bustianeddu came out of prison more -reckless and cunning than before. But his father was often away from -home; and then the boy, weighted with responsibility, became very -serious. He swept the house, washed the linen, cooked the dinner. Anania -was delighted to help him. In return Bustianeddu gave him advice and -taught him many things good and evil. They were often at the olive-mill -where "Big Anania" (so called to distinguish him from his son) worked -for his master the rich Signor Daniele Carboni. Big Anania called Signor -Carboni "<i>Master</i>," because he had served him for years—as -olive-miller, field-labourer, gardener, vine-dresser, according to -season; he was, however, very independent, and his work though well paid -was not without its risks.</p> - -<p>On one side of the olive-mill was the courtyard through which Anania had -entered that first night; on the other a garden which sloped down to the -high road. It was a beautiful garden, partly orchard, partly wild, with -rocky boulders among which straggled bushes of white thorn, Indian figs, -almond trees, and peaches. There was one oak tree with rugged stem, -harbouring nests of great locusts, caterpillars, and all sorts of birds. -The garden belonged to Signor Carboni, and was the envy of all the boys -in the neighbourhood. The old gardener, Uncle Pera <i>Sa Gattu</i> (the -cat), carried a cudgel to keep them out. From this garden the strong, -beautiful Nuoro girls could be seen going to the fountain, amphoras on -their heads, like the women of the Bible. Uncle Pera ogled them while he -sowed his peas and beans, putting three peas in each hole, and shouting -to scare the sparrows.</p> - -<p>Anania and Bustianeddu watched him from the mill window, anxious -themselves to get into the sunny orchard, and waiting till the gardener -should take himself off. Uncle Pera, a dried-up little man, -clean-shaven, his face the colour of brick-dust, was too fond of his -vegetables to desert them often. Not till nightfall did he go up to the -mill to warm himself and to gossip.</p> - -<p>This was a good olive year and the press was at work night and day. Two -<i>ettolitri</i> of olives produced about two <i>litri</i> of oil. Near the -door stood a tin for oil to feed the lamps of this or that Madonna; pious -persons poured into it a few drops from each load of olives. All round -the press the floor was crowded with barrels and tubs, with sacks of -black, shining olives, with heaps of steaming refuse. The whole place -was dark, hot, dirty. The cauldron was always boiling, the wheel turned -by the big bay horse was always in motion, always distilling oil. The -smell of the husks, though too strong, was not exactly disagreeable. The -furnace sent out a fine heat, and round it in the long chilly evenings -were gathered all the coldest persons of the neighbourhood. Beside the -miller and his staff, five or six people came regularly. Efès Cau, once -a man of means, now reduced by drink to extreme poverty, slept almost -nightly at the mill, contaminating the corner where he lay, to the great -annoyance of cleaner persons.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Anania and Bustianeddu sat in a corner on a heap of hot husks, amused by -the talk of their elders, delighted by the absurdities of the drunken -Efès.</p> - -<p>Uncle Pera offered him wine; but Franziscu Carchide, the handsome young -shoemaker, interposed.</p> - -<p>"No, no, Efès, if you don't dance, you don't drink. You must sing too. -Come!"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"'When Amelia so pure and so pale——'"</span> -</div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Anania and Bustianeddu laughed till their sides ached, squatting on the -husks like a pair of chickens.</p> - -<p>"Let's put pins where he sleeps," suggested Bustianeddu.</p> - -<p>"What for?" asked the more kindly Anania.</p> - -<p>"To prick him, of course. Then he'll dance with a vengeance. I've -brought the pins."</p> - -<p>"All right," said the other, unwillingly.</p> - -<p>The sot was still dancing, singing, reeling, stretching his hand to the -glass. The people and the children laughed.</p> - -<p>Then came Nanna, the drunken woman, cleaner and more sober than -usual.</p> - -<p>"Aren't you ashamed?" she said, seizing Efès by the arm; "don't you see -all these beggars, these filthy persons are mocking you? And what are -they laughing at me for? I've been out working to-day. Good Lord, how I -have worked! Ah, Efès, Efès! have you forgotten how rich your house -used to be? Your mother had gold buttons as big as my fist. Your house -was like a church, so clean, so full of fine things. If you had kept -from the drink, everyone would have treasured you like a sugar plum. Now -you're a laughing-stock, like a dancing bear. What are they laughing at -now? By the Lord, they must be all drunk! Come, miller, spare me a drop -of oil to eat with my supper. Your wife is a saint, miller, but upon my -word you are a devil. When are you going to find that treasure you talk -about?"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Meanwhile Efès, seated on a sack, wept, thinking of his mother and the -rich home of his youth. Carchide strove to console him with another -glass, but Efès wept on, even while he drank.</p> - -<p>A farmer from a neighbouring village, and Bustianeddu's father, a young -man with blue eyes and red beard, conspired together to make Nanna -drunk. She told scandalous stories of Uncle Pera, and Uncle Pera swore -at the two men who worked the screw of the olive press, and told them -they were lazy good-for-nothings.</p> - -<p>Maestro Pane, the humpbacked carpenter, who wore his grey moustache at -one side only of his toothless mouth, sat under the window beating his -fist on his knee and talking very loud. No one, however, listened, for -he was in the habit of talking to himself.</p> - -<p>Under the influence of the wine. Nanna was becoming loquacious.</p> - -<p>"Yes, that old gardener waits every morning till the girl comes down to -the fountain. Then he calls her in, promising to give her some -lettuce——"</p> - -<p>"Ah, you tipsy wretch!" cried Uncle Pera, jumping up with his -cudgel.</p> - -<p>"Well, what harm am I saying? I say that when she comes in for the -lettuce you teach her the Ave Maria."</p> - -<p>They all laughed, even little Anania, though he could not imagine why -Uncle Pera should teach the Ave Maria by force to the girl who was going -to the fountain.</p> - -<p>That night when Anania was safe in Aunt Tatàna's big bed he could not -sleep, but turned and twisted as if pins were pricking him.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter, child?" asked Aunt Tatàna in her gentle way, "have -you the stomachache?"</p> - -<p>"No, no."</p> - -<p>"Then what is it?"</p> - -<p>After a few minutes he revealed his remorse.</p> - -<p>"We put pins in the place where Efès sleeps."</p> - -<p>"You naughty boys! Why did you do that?"</p> - -<p>"Because he gets drunk——"</p> - -<p>"Holy Saint Catharine!" sighed the good woman, "how wicked boys are -nowadays! Suppose someone put pins in your bed? Would you like it? No? -Wouldn't you? Then you are more wicked than Efès. All people in the -world are wicked, my little lamb, but we must have pity on one another. -If we don't pity each other we shall be like the fishes in the sea which -devour their brothers. King Solomon said no one must judge but God. Do -you understand?"</p> - -<p>Anania thought of his mother, his mother who had been so wicked and had -deserted him; and he felt sad—so sad!</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="IV">IV</a></h4> - - -<p>One day in March, Bustianeddu invited Anania to dine with him. The -skin-dealer was away on his business, and the boy, after two days' -imprisonment for truancy, was alone at home. On his right cheek was the -mark of a heavy blow administered by his irate parent.</p> - -<p>"They want to make a scholar of me," he said to Anania, spreading out -his hands like a man discussing some matter of importance, "but I don't -intend to be a scholar. I intend to be a pastry-cook. Why shouldn't I?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, why not?" echoed Anania.</p> - -<p>"Because they think it <i>disgraceful</i>!" said the other, drawling the -word contemptuously, "they think learning a trade is disgraceful when one -might be a scholar. That's what my relations say. But I've got a joke -ready for them! Just you wait a bit."</p> - -<p>"What are you going to do?"</p> - -<p>"I'll tell you afterwards. Now we'll have dinner."</p> - -<p>He had prepared macaroni; at least he gave this name to certain lumps, -greasy, and hard as almonds, seasoned with dried tomatoes. The boys ate -in company with a grey cat, which snatched morsels from the dish with -his paw, and ate them furtively in a corner.</p> - -<p>"How clever he is!" said Anania, following the creature with his eyes; -"our cat has been stolen!"</p> - -<p>"Lots of ours have been stolen. They disappear and we don't know what -becomes of them."</p> - -<p>"All the cats in the place disappear. What do the people who take the -poor things do with them?"</p> - -<p>"They roast them. Cat is good, you know; just like hare. On the -continent they sell cats as hares. So my father says."</p> - -<p>"Has your father been to the Continent?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; and I intend to go myself."</p> - -<p>"<i>You</i>?" said Anania, laughing enviously.</p> - -<p>Bustianeddu thought the moment had come for telling his plans. "I can't -stay here," he said pompously. "I intend to go away. I'll find my mother -and be a pastry-cook. If you like, you may come with me."</p> - -<p>Anania grew red with excitement. His heart beat very loud.</p> - -<p>"But we've no money," he observed.</p> - -<p>"We'll take the hundred lire which are in that chest of drawers. If you -like, we'll take them now. Only we must hide them for a while, for if we -set out at once my father will guess we've got them. We'll wait till the -cold weather's over. Then we'll go. Come here."</p> - -<p>He led Anania to a dirty room where was great confusion of evil smelling -lamb's skins. He found a key in a hiding-place and opened a drawer with -it. The drawer contained a red note for a hundred lire, some silver and -a few smaller notes. The little thieves took the red note, shut the -drawer and put back the key in its place.</p> - -<p>"Now you keep it," said Bustianeddu, "and when it's dark we'll hide it -down the hole of the oak tree in the garden behind the mill. Then we'll -wait."</p> - -<p>Before he had time to object, Anania found the note thrust into his -bosom, and rubbing against his precious amulet. He passed a day of -intolerable anxiety; fevered with remorse and terror, hope and the -wildest of projects.</p> - -<p>To escape! to escape! How and whither he knew not, but his dream was to -come true. He was sick with alarm and joy. A hundred seemed a treasure -inexhaustible; but for the present he felt himself guilty of a grave -crime, and the hour which was to deliver him from the stolen property -seemed to be never coming.</p> - -<p>It was by no means the first time the boys had trespassed in Uncle -Pera's garden; it was easy to jump down from the window of the unused -mill stable. But never had they ventured in at night and it was some -time before they could screw up their courage for the deed. The evening -was clear and cold. A full moon rose behind the black crags of Orthobene -and flooded the garden with gold. The two children, flattening their -noses against the window pane, heard a long despairing wail, a human or -superhuman lament.</p> - -<p>"Whatever's that?" said Anania; "it must be a devil! I won't go. I'm -frightened."</p> - -<p>"Then stay here, silly. It's only a cat!" said Bustianeddu scornfully, -"I'm going. I'll hide the money in the oak, where Uncle Pera won't think -of looking. Then I'll come back. You stay here and keep watch. If any -danger comes, whistle."</p> - -<p>What this danger might be the two friends did not know, but the mere -imagination sufficed to make the adventure delightful; the fantastic -moonlight, even the long drawn lamentation of the cat, added to its -flavour. Bustianeddu jumped down into the orchard, Anania stayed at the -window, all eyes and ears, trembling a little with fear. Hardly had his -companion vanished in the direction of the oak tree, when two black -shadows passed close to the window. Anania shuddered, whistled faintly, -and crouched to conceal himself. What spasms of alarm and strange -enjoyment did he not feel. How ever would Bustianeddu escape? What was -actually happening down there in the dark? Oh! the lament of the torn-cat -was more horrible than ever! It ended in a wild and lacerating shriek; -then ceased. Silence. What mystery! What horror! Anania's heart was -bursting in his bosom. What had befallen his friend? Had he been seized? -arrested? He would be taken off to prison, and Anania himself would have -his part in the woeful punishment!</p> - -<p>He had no idea of running away. He waited under the window -courageously.</p> - -<p>"Anania! Where the devil are you gone to?"</p> - -<p>Anania leaned out, extended a hand to his friend, marvellously -preserved.</p> - -<p>"The devil!" repeated Bustianeddu, panting, "I managed that -admirably."</p> - -<p>"Did you hear me whistle? I whistled very loud."</p> - -<p>"I didn't hear you at all. But I did hear two men coming. I hid under -the cabbages. Who do you suppose they were? Uncle Pera and Maestro Pane. -What do you suppose they were doing? They were snaring cats. The -caterwauler got caught and Uncle Pera killed him with his stick. Maestro -Pane put the beast under his cloak and said quite jolly, 'What a fat -one!' 'Not so bad,' said Uncle Pera, 'the last was as thin as a -tooth-pick.' Then they went away."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" cried Anania open-mouthed.</p> - -<p>"When they go in they'll roast him. Then they'll have supper. Now we -know what becomes of our cats. They snare 'em—those two. It's a mercy -they didn't see me."</p> - -<p>"And the money?"</p> - -<p>"That's all right. Hidden. We'll go in now, Ninny. You're no good."</p> - -<p>Anania was not offended. He shut the window and they went back to the -olive-mill. The usual scene was in progress. Efès, leaning against the -wall was singing his accustomed song:—</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"When Amelia so pure and so pale——"</span> -</div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>and Carchide was relating his adventures in a neighbouring town.</p> - -<p>"——the <i>Sindaco</i> was a friend of my father's when we -were rich," said the handsome young man whose family had always been in the -direst poverty; "when I arrived he was there to meet me. He invited me to -his house. Damn those rich folk! Thirty men-servants, if you please, and -seven women. We crossed two courts, one within the other; very high -walls, iron gates, the window all barred——"</p> - -<p>"Why were they barred?" asked the miller.</p> - -<p>"Thieves, my dear fellow, thieves. The man's as rich as the -king——"</p> - -<p>"Bah!" cried the man who was working the press.</p> - -<p>"What do you know about it?" asked Carchide scornfully; "at their -father's death the Syndic and his brothers weighed out their gold by the -pound. The Syndic's wife has eight <i>tancas</i><a name="FNanchor_10_1" id="FNanchor_10_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_1" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> in a row—all watered by -streams; with more than a hundred fountains. They say his father had -found a treasure. The King of Spain hid more than 100,000 gold ducats -there at the time he was making war on Eleonora of Arborea, and the -Syndic's father found it."</p> - -<p>"Ah, ha!" said the olive-miller, leaning on his black pole while a -shiver of excitement ran through him.</p> - -<p>"Those are what I call rich men," continued Carchide; "here at Nuoro -you're all snoozers."</p> - -<p>"My master is wealthy," protested the miller, "he's got more in one -corner of a field than your scrubby Syndic in all his <i>tancas</i> -together."</p> - -<p>"I like that!" said the young man with a gesture of scorn, "you don't -know what you're talking about!"</p> - -<p>"No more do you."</p> - -<p>"Your master's all debts. We'll soon see the end of him."</p> - -<p>"Strike you blind first!"</p> - -<p>"Go to the devil!"</p> - -<p>The young shoemaker and the miller were near blows, but their quarrel -was interrupted by Efès Cau falling into a fit. He sank on the heap of -husks, twisted, writhed, wriggled like a worm, his eyes rolling, his -face convulsed.</p> - -<p>Anania fled to a corner screaming with terror, but Bustianeddu was all -curiosity and he joined the persons who tried to restrain the poor -wretch. Presently Efès returned to himself and sat up, still trembling -and glaring.</p> - -<p>"Who—who knocked me down? Why did you strike me? Am I not enough -punished by God without your interfering?" Then he began to cry.</p> - -<p>They laid him down again and he huddled himself up and called on his -mother and dead sister.</p> - -<p>Anania watched; pitying, but still terrified. He would have liked to -help, but could not restrain his disgust; the man had once been -rich—now he was a heap of stinking rags flung on the refuse like an -unclean thing.</p> - -<p>Bustianeddu had run for Aunt Tatàna. She came, leaned over the -sufferer, touched him, spoke to him kindly, put a sack under his head.</p> - -<p>"He must have some broth," she said; "Ah! this sin of his! this sin! -Run, little son," she went on, turning to Anania, "run to the <i>Signor -padrone</i>, and beg a little soup for Efès Cau. Look! do you see the -result of sin? There, take this bowl and run!"</p> - -<p>Anania went gladly, Bustianeddu accompanying him. The <i>padrone</i>'s -house was at no great distance, and the boy had often been sent there to -fetch fodder, lamp-oil, and other trifles.</p> - -<p>The streets were lighted in patches by the moon. Groups of peasants went -by, singing wild and melancholy choruses. Before Signor Carboni's white -house, there was an enclosed square court with high walls. Entrance was -through a large red door. The boys hammered loudly. At last the door -opened and Anania handed in the bowl, explaining the sad case of Efès -Cau.</p> - -<p>"Sure the soup's not for yourselves?" asked the servant girl -suspiciously.</p> - -<p>"Go to the devil, Maria <i>Iscorronca</i>,<a name="FNanchor_11_1" id="FNanchor_11_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_1" class="fnanchor">[11]</a>" said Bustianeddu; "we don't -want your dirty broth!"</p> - -<p>"Little animal, I'll pay you out!" said the girl chasing him into the -street. Bustianeddu scampered off, but Anania made his own way into the -moonlit court.</p> - -<p>"What is it? What do those boys want?" asked a faint little voice from -the shadow near the kitchen-door.</p> - -<p>Anania went forward. "It's only me!" he said, "Efès Cau is fearfully -bad. He's at the mill, and <i>Mother</i> wants the mistress to send him a -cup of soup."</p> - -<p>"Come in!" said the voice.</p> - -<p>The servant who had failed to catch Bustianeddu, now made an attack upon -Anania. But the little girl who had said "Come in," sprang to the rescue -of the boy from the mill.</p> - -<p>"Let him alone. What harm has he done? Go and fetch him the soup at -once—this minute!" said the young lady, dragging the maid by her -skirt.</p> - -<p>This protection, this piping-tone of authority, this plump, rosy little -person dressed in blue woollen, with an important little turned up nose, -very round cheeks, eyes shining in the moonlight between two -curls of auburn hair—pleased Anania immensely. He recognized the -<i>padrone</i>'s daughter Margherita Carboni, known by sight to all the -children who frequented the olive-mill. Once or twice Margherita had handed -the barley or the lamp-oil to Anania when he had been sent for them. He -often saw her in the orchard garden, and sometimes her father had -brought her to the mill. Never had he imagined that this rosy young lady -with the superb air, could be so affable and pleasant.</p> - -<p>The maid went for the soup, and Margherita asked all about Efès Cau's -seizure.</p> - -<p>"He had his dinner here—in this very courtyard," she said very -seriously, "he seemed perfectly well."</p> - -<p>"It's because he drinks;" said Anania also very serious, "he twisted -about like a cat!"</p> - -<p>Then Anania's face grew red; he had suddenly remembered the torn cat -which Uncle Pera had caught in the snare, and that reminded him of the -hundred lire stolen and hidden in the oak tree in the garden. Stolen! -The hundred lire stolen! Whatever would Margherita Carboni say, if she -knew that he, Anania, the son of the olive-miller, the foundling, the -dependent with whom the little lady was deigning to be so pleasant and -affable—had stolen a hundred lire and that these hundred lire were at -this moment hidden in her own garden! A thief! He was a thief; and he -had thieved an enormous sum. Now he perceived the full shame of his evil -deed. Now he felt humiliation, grief, remorse.</p> - -<p>"Like a <i>cat</i>?" echoed Margherita setting her teeth and twisting -her little nose; "dear me! dear me! It would be better he died."</p> - -<p>The maid came back, bringing the soup. Anania could not say another -word. He took the bowl and moved away carrying it carefully. He was near -crying and when he came up with Bustianeddu at the turn of the street, -he repeated the words "It would be better he died."</p> - -<p>"Who? Is the broth hot? I'm going to taste," said Bustianeddu, putting -his face to the bowl. Anania was furious.</p> - -<p>"Get away! You're wicked. You'll get like Efès Cau! What did you steal -that money for? It's a mortal sin, to steal. Go and get the money and -put it back in the drawer."</p> - -<p>"Pouf! Are you gone mad?"</p> - -<p>"Well then I'll tell my <i>mother</i>."</p> - -<p>"Your <i>mother</i>! That's good! Go and find your mother!"</p> - -<p>They were walking very slowly. Anania much afraid of spilling the -soup.</p> - -<p>"We are <i>thieves</i>!" he whispered.</p> - -<p>"The money is <i>my</i> father's, and you're a ninny. Well! I'll go away -alone, <i>alone</i>," replied Bustianeddu energetically.</p> - -<p>"All right, go, and never come back," said Anania, "but I shall -tell—Aunt Tatàna!" He was afraid to call her his mother again.</p> - -<p>"Sneak!" burst out Bustianeddu doubling his fist; "if you tell I'll kill -you like a lizard. I'll smash your teeth with a stone. I'll gouge out -your eyes!"</p> - -<p>Anania still afraid for the soup, bent his shoulders to receive the -violence of his friend, but he did not withdraw the threat of telling -Aunt Tatàna.</p> - -<p>"What devil did you meet in that courtyard," continued the other -furiously, "what did that horrid maid say to you? Speak!"</p> - -<p>"She didn't say anything. But I don't wish to be a thief."</p> - -<p>"You're a bastard anyhow! That's what you are! Well I shall go off at -once, with the money, and without you."</p> - -<p>He went away running, leaving Anania overwhelmed with grief. A thief, a -bastard, a foundling, and now left behind by his friend. It was too -much, too much! He began to cry and his tears fell into the soup.</p> - -<p>"When, when shall I be able to go?" he sobbed, "when shall I be able to -find <i>her</i>?"</p> - -<p>"When I'm grown up," he answered himself, more cheerfully, "for the -present—it can't be helped."</p> - -<p>Having given the soup to Aunt Tatàna, he went to the stable window. -Silence. No one was to be seen, nothing was to be heard, in the great -garden, damp and moonlit. The mountains showed faintly blue against the -vaporous heaven. All was silence and peace. Suddenly from the mill came -the voice of Bustianeddu.</p> - -<p>"Then he hasn't gone? he hasn't taken the money? He hasn't been into the -garden? Suppose I go myself?"</p> - -<p>But his courage was not equal to this. He went into the mill and hovered -round Aunt Tatàna who was ministering to Efès. She asked him her usual -question. "What's the matter with you? Have you the stomachache?"</p> - -<p>"Yes! Do let us go in," said Anania.</p> - -<p>She saw the child wanted to speak to her and she took him home.</p> - -<p>"Jesus! Jesus! Holy Saint Catharine!" cried the good woman when Anania -had made his confession, "what has happened to the world? Even the -little birds, even the chickens in the egg, go wrong!"</p> - -<p>Anania never knew the means by which Aunt Tatàna persuaded Bustianeddu -to restore the stolen money. But ever after the friends were on strained -terms. They slanged each other and fought about every trifle.</p> - -<p>The winter passed; but the olive press was at work even in April, for -never had there been such abundance of olives. At last the day came when -Anania the elder shut down the press, and went into the country to look -after his master's wheat. He took the little boy with him, having -intentions of making him an agriculturist. Anania liked to be useful. He -carried the implements and the provision wallet proudly and ran by his -father's side all day. The cornfields extended over a wide undulating -plain, across which two tall pine-trees, voiceful as torrents, threw -long shadows. It was a sweet and melancholy landscape, bare of trees, -here and there spread with isolated vines. The human voice lost itself -echoless, as if swallowed up by the lonely murmur of the pines, the -thick foliage of which seemed to assimilate the grey blue colour of the -far mountains.</p> - -<p>While his father worked his hoe, bending over the transparent green of -the young wheat, Anania wandered about the naked and melancholy fields, -crying with the birds, hunting for herbs and mushrooms. Sometimes the -father looking up, saw him in the distance, and his heart tightened; for -the place, the occupation, the child's small figure, all reminded him of -Olì, of her little brothers, of their sin, of all the love and the -happiness they had enjoyed together. Where was Olì? Who could tell? She -was lost, she had vanished like the birds of the fields. Well—so much -the worse for her. Anania the olive-miller thought he was doing all -anyone could expect, in bringing up the child. If ever he found the -treasure of his dreams, he would put the boy to school. At least he -would make a farmer of him. What more could he do? What about the men -who didn't acknowledge their children, who instead of taking them home -and bringing them up like Christians, left them to misery and an evil -life? Yes, some quite rich men, gentlemen, behaved like that. Yes, even -his master, even Signor Carboni. Thus "big Anania" consoled himself; yet -still the oppression of sadness remained in his heart.</p> - -<p>Looking out over the distance he thought he saw the <i>nuraghe</i> near -Olì's old home. At meal-times, or during the midday rest, when they -stretched themselves under the sounding pine-trees, he questioned his -son about his life at Fonni. Anania was shy with his father and seldom -dared to meet his eyes; but once pushed into the path of recollection, -he chattered willingly, abandoning himself to the homesick pleasure of -telling about the past. He remembered everything, the village, -the widow's house and her stories, Zuanne of the big ears, the -<i>carabiniere</i>, the friars, the convent court, the chestnuts, the -goats, the mountains, the candle factory. But in spite of the miller's -suggestions he spoke little of his mother.</p> - -<p>"Well, did she beat you?"</p> - -<p>"Never! Never!"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure she beat you."</p> - -<p>The child perjured himself swearing he spoke truth.</p> - -<p>"Tell me, what did she do all day?"</p> - -<p>"She went out to work."</p> - -<p>"Did the <i>carabiniere</i> want to marry her?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no. He said to me, 'Tell your mother to come here. I want to talk -to her.'"</p> - -<p>"What did she say when you told her?" asked the man with some -anxiety.</p> - -<p>"She was as mad as a dog."</p> - -<p>"Ah!"</p> - -<p>He sighed. He was relieved hearing she had not gone to talk to the -<i>carabiniere</i>. Yes; he was still fond of her. He still remembered her -clear and burning eyes; he remembered her little brothers; he remembered -her father so sorrowful and so poor. But what could he do? Had he been -free he'd have married her. As it was, he had to desert her. It was vain -to think any more about it. They finished their frugal meal; then he -said to the child:</p> - -<p>"Run down there to that fig tree, look and you'll see a very very old -house. Root about in the ground there. Perhaps you'll find something!"</p> - -<p>The boy sped away, glad to leave the grave, toil-stained man. And the -father thought:</p> - -<p>"Innocents find treasures easily. If we could find a treasure, then I'd -hand over a good lot to Olì, and if my wife were to die, I'd marry her. -It was I who made her go wrong."</p> - -<p>But Anania found nothing. Towards evening, father and son went slowly -home, following the broad white road, the depth of which was flooded -with twilight gold. Aunt Tatàna had hot supper waiting for them and a -fire crackling on the dean swept hearth. She blew Anania's nose, washed -his eyes, told her husband the events of the day.</p> - -<p>Nanna had tumbled into the fire, Efès had a new pair of shoes, Uncle -Pera had beaten a boy. Signor Carboni had been to the mill to look at -the horse.</p> - -<p>"He says the beast has grown terribly thin."</p> - -<p>"That's all the work he has done. What does the <i>padrone</i> expect? -Even animals are flesh and blood."</p> - -<p>After supper the olive-miller had forgotten all about Olì and her woes. -He went to the tavern. Aunt Tatàna got her distaff, and told stories to -the son of her adoption. Bustianeddu came to listen also.</p> - -<p>"Once upon a time there was a king with seven golden eyes on his -forehead like stars;" and so forth.</p> - -<p>Or she told the story of Marieddu and the Hobgoblin. Marieddu had -escaped from the Hobgoblin's house. "She ran and ran, all the time -dropping nails which as fast as she dropped them began to multiply. They -multiplied until they filled the whole plain. Uncle Hobgoblin followed -her, followed her, but he never could catch her up because the nails -kept sticking into his feet."</p> - -<p>Dear! what shudders of delight this story of Marieddu gave the two -children! What a difference between the dark cottage, the figure, the -stories of the widow of Fonni, and the dear kitchen, the warmth, the -sweet face and the enchanting legends of Aunt Tatàna. Yet there were -times when Anania was bored. Or at least he did not experience the wild -emotion which the widow's narratives had awaked in him. Perhaps it was -because the good Zuanne, the beloved brother, was not there and in his -place was Bustianeddu, who was so naughty and so cruel, who pinched him -and called him names even when people were listening and in spite of -Aunt Tatàna's admonitions.</p> - -<p>One evening Bustianeddu called him "bastard" in the hearing of -Margherita Carboni, who had come with her servant bringing a message to -the miller. Aunt Tatàna pushed Bustianeddu away, and silenced him, but -it was too late. Margherita had heard, and Anania felt unspeakable -distress. Aunt Tatàna got bread and honey and set him and Margherita to -eat it together; she gave none to Bustianeddu. But what was the good of -bread and honey, when he had been dubbed "bastard" before Margherita -Carboni? The little girl was dressed in green; her stockings were -violet, and round her neck was a scarf of vivid rose colour. It lent -colour to her soft cheeks and brought out the blue of her shining eyes. -That night Anania saw her in his dreams; lovely, and coloured like the -rainbow. Even in his dream he felt the grief of having been called -"bastard" before her.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>That year Easter was not till the end of April. The olive miller -fulfilled his Easter duty, and his confessor bade him legitimize his -son. At Easter too, Anania, now eight years old, was confirmed. Signor -Carboni was his godfather. The confirmation was a great event not only -for the boy but for the whole place. Monsignore Demartis, the beautiful -and imposing bishop, convened everybody to the Cathedral and publicly -bestowed the Chrism on a hundred children. Through the open doors, which -seemed enormous to Anania, spring, with its sunshine and fragrance, -penetrated into the church. It was crowded with women in their purple -dresses, with fine ladies, and wondering children. Signor Carboni, -stout, florid, with blue eyes and reddish hair, wore a velvet waist-coat -crossed by a huge gold chain. He was greeted, saluted, sought after by -all the most conspicuous persons, by the peasants both male and female, -by the fine ladies and the crowding children. Anania was proud and happy -to have such a godfather. True, Signor Carboni was standing sponsor for -seventeen others, but that did not detract from the importance of this -singular honour done to each of the eighteen.</p> - -<p>After the ceremony the eighteen children with their respective parents -adjourned to their godfather's house, and Anania was able to admire -Margherita's drawing-room of which he had heard marvels. It was a great -room with red walls and huge eighteenth century chairs; cabinets adorned -with wax flowers under glass shades, with marble dishes of fruit, and -plates with slices of cheese and sausage, all of marble. Liqueurs, -coffee, cakes and pastry were handed round, and the lovely Signora -Carboni who had deep dimples in her cheeks, black hair drawn very tight -on her temples, and a pretty muslin gown with flounces and little spots -of pink and blue, was most amiable with everybody and kissed all the -eighteen god-children, giving each of them a present.</p> - -<p>Anania long remembered these details. He remembered too, how ardently -and how vainly he had wished that Margherita would come and look at his -new clothes, which were of yellow fustian, and as stiff as the skin of -the devil. And he remembered that Signora Cecita Carboni had kissed him, -and with her jewelled hand had tapped lightly on his little head -(cropped horrible close) and said to the miller:</p> - -<p>"Ah, gossip, why have you shorn him like this? He seems quite bald!"</p> - -<p>"Never mind, gossip," replied Big Anania, carrying on the agreeable jest -of this lady who was not exactly his fellow sponsor, "this chicken's -feathers were as thick as a wood——"</p> - -<p>"Well," interrupted the lady, "have you done your duty?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes."</p> - -<p>"I'm so glad. Believe me, it's only legitimate sons who are the support -of their father in his old age."</p> - -<p>Then Signor Carboni came over, and said, looking at his godson.</p> - -<p>"What demon eyes this young highlander has! Well, youngster, what are -you hiding them for? Laughing at me, eh? you little devil!"</p> - -<p>Anania was laughing for joy at being publicly addressed by his godfather -and favourably regarded by Signora Carboni.</p> - -<p>"What are you going to do with yourself, little devil?"</p> - -<p>Anania hung his head, then looked up with the bright eyes which Aunt -Tatàna's ministrations had quite cured of their weakness. Then he tried -to hide behind his parent.</p> - -<p>"Well, answer your godfather!" said the miller, shaking him. "What do -you intend to do with yourself?"</p> - -<p>"Will you be a miller?" suggested the lady.</p> - -<p>He shook his head vigorously.</p> - -<p>"You don't like that? A farmer perhaps?"</p> - -<p>Still no.</p> - -<p>"Well, perhaps you want to become a scholar," said his father, -diplomatically.</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Bravo!" said Signor Carboni. "You intend to be a scholar. A priest, I -suppose?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"A lawyer?" prompted the miller.</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"The deuce! I said he had bright eyes! So you intend to be a lawyer, -little mouse?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, my boy, we're too poor," said the miller with a sigh.</p> - -<p>"If the child has the wish. Providence will assist him," said the -<i>padrone</i>.</p> - -<p>"——will assist him," repeated the Signora like an echo. -These words decided Anania's destiny, and he never forgot them.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>The olive press was shut down for the year and the miller turned into a -farmer.</p> - -<p>Fierce sunshine was making the grass yellow. Bees and wasps buzzed round -Aunt Tatàna's little house; the elder tree in the courtyard wore the -wondrous lace of its tiny flowers.</p> - -<p>The company which used to meet at the mill now assembled in the -courtyard; Uncle Pera with his cudgel, Efès and Nanna generally drunk, -the handsome shoemaker, Bustianeddu and his father, as well as other -persons from the neighbourhood. Maestro Pane had set up a workshop in a -cellar opposite the courtyard. All day long was a coming and going of -people, who laughed, talked, quarrelled, and swore.</p> - -<p>Little Anania spent his days among these folk; from them he learned rude -words and actions, and they accustomed him to the sight of drunkenness, -and careless misery. In another smoke-blackened and cobwebby cellar -beside Maestro Pane's workship, a poor, sick girl was withering. Years -ago her father had gone away to work in an African mine, and he had -never been heard of again. The girl, Rebecca, lived alone, diseased and -abandoned, in her squalid den, swarming with flies and other insects. A -little further on lived a widow, whose five children were supported by -begging. Maestro Pane sometimes begged himself. But one and all they -were merry. The five beggar children never stopped laughing. Maestro -Pane talked to himself and related long pleasant tales of the jolly days -when he was young. Only in the long luminous afternoons, when the -streets were silent and the wasps buzzed over the elder flowers, -inducing sleep to the little Anania stretched at the threshold, then in -the hot stillness could be heard the sharp cry of Rebecca. It rose, it -grew, it broke off; it recommenced, it hurled itself on high, it dashed -itself to earth. It seemed, so to speak, to pierce the silence with a -shower of sibilant arrows. In this cry was all the grief, all the evil, -the poverty, the forlornness, the unseen wretchedness of the place and -its dwellers; it was the voice even of things, the lament of the stones -which dropped one by one from the blackened walls of the prehistoric -houses, of the crumbling roof, of the broken stairs and worm-eaten -balconies which menaced ruin; of the spurge which grew on the pathway, -of the wild olive which shadowed the walls, of the children who had no -food, of the women who had no clothes, of the men who drank to stupefy -themselves, and beat their wives and their children and their beasts -because they could not strike at their destiny; it was the voice of all -sickness uncured, of all the misery ineluctably accepted like life -itself. But who heeded?</p> - -<p>Little Anania, stretched across the threshold flapping away the flies -and the wasps with a branch of elder, thought sleepily—</p> - -<p>"Whew! Why is that girl screaming? What makes her scream? Why are there -any sick people in the world?"</p> - -<p>He himself had grown plump, fattened by the abundant food, by idleness, -by sleep. He slept a great deal. In the silent afternoons not even -Rebecca's cry kept him awake. He slept, the branch of elder in his hand, -flies settling on his face. He slept, and he dreamed he was there, far -away, in the house of the widow, in the kitchen watched by the long -black cloak which was like a gibbeted phantom. But Olì his mother was -no longer there. She had fled far away, far away to an unknown land. And -a monk had come out of the convent and was teaching the little lonely -one to read. He wanted to learn, to learn things that he might be wise -and able to journey to find his mother. The monk talked and talked but -Anania could not hear him, because from the long black cloak came an -acute, a lacerating, deafening lament! Ah God! he was afraid! It was the -voice of the ghost of the dead bandit.</p> - -<p>And, besides the fear of the ghost, Anania was troubled by a strange -feeling round his nose. That was the flies!</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_1" id="Footnote_10_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_1"><span class="label">[10]</span></a>Large enclosed pastures.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_1" id="Footnote_11_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_1"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>An insulting nickname equivalent to "witch."</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="V">V</a></h4> - - -<p>At last came part fulfilment of his dream. One October morning he got up -very early, Aunt Tatàna washed him and brushed him, and dressed him in -his best suit, that one of yellow fustian which was as stiff as the skin -of the devil. Big Anania was at breakfast, eating roast liver. When he -saw his boy dressed for school, he laughed with satisfaction, and said, -threatening with his finger—</p> - -<p>"Ho! ho! If you aren't a good boy. I'll send you to Maestro Pane to make -coffins."</p> - -<p>Bustianeddu came for Anania and somewhat contemptuously took him under -his wing. It was a splendid morning. The fresh breeze carried pleasant -odours of new made wine, of coffee, of refuse grape-skins. Hens clucked -in the street. Peasants came in from the country their long carts decked -with vine branches, attended by frisking and noisy dogs.</p> - -<p>Anania was happy, though his companion reviled the school and the -schoolmaster and the teachers.</p> - -<p>"Yours is like a cock," he said, "he has a red cap and a great hoarse -voice. I had to put up with him for a year. May the devil bite his -heels!"</p> - -<p>The school was at the far side of Nuoro, in a convent surrounded by -dreary gardens. Anania's class-room was on the ground floor, its windows -facing the deserted street. The walls were flecked with dust; the -master's desk had been gnawed by rats; the benches were adorned with -spots of ink, with carvings, with names scribbled like hieroglyphics.</p> - -<p>Anania felt defrauded when instead of the master like a cock he saw a -mistress, dressed in the costume of the place, a pale, small woman with -a little moustache just like Aunt Tatàna's.</p> - -<p>Forty idle children made the room lively. Anania was the tallest of them -all. Perhaps for this reason the little mistress turned oftenest to him. -Besides the moustache she had two terrible, fierce, dark eyes, and she -addressed Anania by his surname, speaking partly in Italian, partly in -Sardinian. He was honoured by her persistent attention, though he found -it a little tedious. At the end of three hours he was actually able to -read and to write two letters. One of them was a mere round O, but that -did not detract from the importance of his attainment. At eleven o'clock -he was dead sick of the school and the mistress and his stiff, smart -clothes. He thought longingly of the courtyard, the elder tree, the -basket of fruit into which he was in the habit of thrusting predatory -fingers. He yawned. Was the going away hour never coming? Many of the -children were in tears, and the mistress wasted her breath preaching -about order and the love of lessons.</p> - -<p>At last the door burst open. The school officer—also dressed in -costume—showed his shaven face for a single instant and shouted, -"Time!" The children made one simultaneous rush to the door, tumbling -over each other and shouting. Anania was left to the last, and the -mistress began to pat his head with her scraggy fingers.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Ma'am."</p> - -<p>"Bravo! Remember me to your mother."</p> - -<p>That, of course, referred to Aunt Tatàna. He suddenly felt quite fond -of his teacher, who now hurried after the rest of the noisy children.</p> - -<p>"What style of going out is that?" she cried, capturing as many as she -could. "Come now! Two and two! In a proper line!"</p> - -<p>She placed them in order, and they filed down the corridor through the -door, out into the street. There they were set free and they scattered -like birds escaped from a net, screaming and jumping. Older and more -serious scholars issued from the other class-rooms, all in their rows. -Bustianeddu fell upon Anania, slamming his copy books on the child's -head and seizing his arm.</p> - -<p>"Did you like it?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Anania, "but I'm so awfully hungry. I thought it was -never going to stop."</p> - -<p>"Did you imagine it would only last a minute?" said the other in his -superior voice. "Just you wait a bit. You'll know something of hunger in -a little while! Look! there's Margherita Carboni!"</p> - -<p>The little girl with the violet stockings, the rosy handkerchief, the -green woollen sleeves, appeared among the female pupils, who were -dismissed after the boys. She passed in front of Anania and Bustianeddu -without noticing them, followed by other girls, rich and poor, young -ladies and peasants, some nearly grown up, and in training as coquettes. -The older boys stopped to laugh with and admire them.</p> - -<p>"They're spooning," said Bustianeddu, "if the master were to catch -them——"</p> - -<p>Anania did not answer. Boys and girls of that dignity seemed to him -quite old enough for love-making.</p> - -<p>"They even write to each other!" said Bustianeddu importantly.</p> - -<p>"I suppose we shall do that when we're in the fourth form," said Anania -simply.</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed, will you, Ninny? Better wash your face first," said -Bustianeddu; then he pulled the little boy's hand and they ran.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>After that day, followed many similar ones. Winter came back, the olive -mill was reopened, the scenes of the previous year were re-enacted. -Anania was top of his class. No one doubted that he was to be a doctor or a -lawyer—possibly a judge. All knew that Signor Carboni had promised -to assist his education. He knew it himself, but as yet had no idea of -the worth of that promise. Gratitude began in him later. For the present -he was overpowered by shyness augmented by delight whenever he -encountered his florid and affable godfather. He was often invited to -dinner at Signor Carboni's, but in the kitchen with the servants and the -cats. This was no annoyance to him, as at table with the gentry he could -not have opened his lips for pride and alarm.</p> - -<p>After dinner Margherita used to come to the kitchen and entertain him. -She asked questions about the people at the mill, then took him to the -courtyard, to the granaries, to the cellar. She was delighted when, -aping Bustianeddu's grand manner, he said, "Good Lord! What a lot of -things you have!"</p> - -<p>She never condescended to play with him, but Anania cared little for -play. He was timid and grave; without understanding its significance he -was already conscious of his position's irregularity.</p> - -<p>Years rolled on.</p> - -<p>After the mistress with the moustache came the master like a cock: then -an old man, much addicted to snuff, who wept when he pointed to -Spitzbergen and said, "Here Silvio Pellico was imprisoned." Then came a -master with a round face, who was very pale and very lively, and who -presently committed suicide. This lamentable event was morbidly -impressive to the whole school, and for a long time the children neither -spoke nor thought of anything else. Anania could not explain to himself -why a man of such great cheerfulness should have cut his throat; but he -declared before the whole school that he was ready to follow the example -at the earliest opportunity. Fortunately the opportunity was lacking. At -this time he had no sorrows. He was loved at home, he did well at -school. His life unfolded evenly without change in its events, without -change in the faces which surrounded him. One day was like another, one -year was like another, resembling an interminable roll of stuff printed -all over on the same pattern.</p> - -<p>In winter the same people assembled round the olive press. In spring the -elder flowered in the courtyard, the flies and the bees buzzed in the -luminous air. The same figures moved in the streets. Uncle Barchitto, -the madman, with his staring blue eyes, his long beard, and flowing -hair, like a Jesus become old and a beggar, continued his harmless -extravagances. Maestro Pane rapped on the table and talked to himself in -a loud voice. Efès and Nanna reeled and stuttered. The ragged children -played with the dogs, and the cats, and the chickens, and the baby pigs. -The women squabbled. The young men sang melancholy love songs in the -serene moonlit nights. Rebecca's lament shook the air like the cry of -the cuckoo across the sadness of a barren landscape. As the sun -sometimes shines out from an unexpected quarter of a cloudy sky, so the -florid figure of Signor Carboni sometimes appeared in this district of -dismal poverty. Then the women came to their doors smiling and saluting; -the men who did no work, and passed their time stretched out indolently -in the sunshine, sprang to their feet and blushed; the children ran -after him and kissed his hand which he carried carelessly behind his -back. In hard winters he gave <i>polenta</i> (maize) and oil to the whole -neighbourhood. People came to him for small loans which they never -repaid. Everywhere in the dirty wind-swept lanes he met boys and girls -who called him Godfather, and men and women whom he addressed as Gossip. -He could not keep count of his god-children, and Uncle Pera declared that -many called him Gossip merely to get his money.</p> - -<p>"They all hope he'll educate their sons," said the old gardener, warming -himself at the olive press furnace, his cudgel across his knees.</p> - -<p>"Well, there's one he's going to educate," said the miller, looking -proudly at Anania who was gazing out of the window.</p> - -<p>"Not even one. The <i>padrone</i> is vain, but he isn't going to ruin -himself."</p> - -<p>"Oh, shut up, you old grasshopper," said the miller; "you're just like -the devil—the older you get the more disagreeable you are!"</p> - -<p>"Why doesn't the <i>padrone</i> educate his own bastards?" said the old -man, hawking and coughing. Anania, who was looking out of the window felt a -shudder run through him as if he had been struck.</p> - -<p>The miller coughed in his turn and wished Anania would go away, but he -could not restrain himself from reply.</p> - -<p>"Dead, dirty, malignant rat!" he exclaimed, "how dare you speak of the -master so?"</p> - -<p>"Do you suppose it's not known?" said the old man taking up his cudgel -as if to defend himself; "that boy who works for Franziscu -Carchide—he's a son of Jesus Christ, is he? What I say is why doesn't -the <i>padrone</i> educate that boy?"</p> - -<p>"He's the son of a priest," said the miller in a loud voice.</p> - -<p>"He isn't. He's the <i>padrone</i>'s son. Look at him! He's the image of -Margherita."</p> - -<p>"Well," said the miller, defeated, "that boy's as bad as the devil. -What's the good of educating him? You can't make a silk purse of a sow's -ear."</p> - -<p>"Have it your own way!" murmured Uncle Pera, relapsing into his -cough.</p> - -<p>Anania stood at the window beside the heap of husks, oppressed by -mysterious sadness. He knew the boy at Carchide's; he was wild, but not -more so than Bustianeddu and many of the schoolboys. Why did not Signor -Carboni take him into his house and give him a home, as the olive miller -had done for his son? Then he thought—</p> - -<p>"Has that boy a mother, I wonder?"</p> - -<p>Ah! the mother! the mother! As Anania grew and his mind opened, its -ideas and perceptions taking form unobserved like the petals of a wild -flower, so the thought of his mother became ever clearer in the haze of -his new found conscience. He belonged now to the Fifth Elementary Form, -and was associated with boys of every condition and of every character. -He began to have knowledge of the science of good and evil. He was now -intelligently ashamed if any one alluded to his mother, and remembered -that he had always felt ashamed instinctively. Yet he was consumed by -the desire to know where she was, to see her again, and reproach her -with having deserted him. The unknown land, mysterious and far, to which -she had fled, was taking to Anania's eyes clear outline and appearance, -like that land discerned amid the mists of dawn to which the voyaging -ship draws ever nearer. He studied geography with interest; and knew -exactly how he should go from the island to that continent which -concealed his mother. As once in the mountain village he had dreamed of -the town where his father lived, so now he pondered upon the great -cities described by his teachers and his books, and in one of them, and -in all, he saw the figure of his mother. Her physical image, like an old -photograph, was growing fainter and fainter in his memory; but he always -thought of her as dressed in the Sardinian costume, barefoot, slender, -and very sorrowful.</p> - -<p>That year an event occurred which was deeply impressive to his -imagination. This was the return of Bustianeddu's mother.</p> - -<p>Anania was a pupil at the Gymnasium, secretly enamoured of Margherita -Carboni, and believing himself quite grown up. The woman's reappearance -moved the whole neighbourhood, and Anania wondered over it by day and by -night. Ostensibly, however, he took no interest in the event.</p> - -<p>Some time passed before he saw the woman who had hidden herself in the -house of a relative. Bustianeddu, however, who had become grave and -astute beyond his years, spoke frequently of her to Anania.</p> - -<p>Uncle Pera was growing old and the olive-miller assisted him in the -cultivation of his beans and teazles. Anania had free ingress to the -garden, and often carried his books to a grassy bank beside the -streamlet, whence under the shadow of the prickly pears he could see the -wild panorama of mountains and valleys. Here Bustianeddu would find him -when he wanted to pour out his confidences. Bustianeddu spoke -sceptically and coldly, unaware of the tumults of emotion working in the -soul of his friend.</p> - -<p>"It would have been better for her to stay away," said Bustianeddu, -lying on his face, his legs in the air. "My father was ready to kill -her; but he takes it more quietly now."</p> - -<p>"Have you seen her?"</p> - -<p>"Of course I have. My father doesn't like me to visit her, but, of -course, I go. She's grown stout. She's dressed like a lady: I didn't -recognize her. The devil!"</p> - -<p>"You didn't recognize her?" exclaimed Anania, surprised and thinking of -his own mother. Ah, he would know <i>her</i> at once!</p> - -<p>Then he thought—</p> - -<p>"She will be dressed like that too, and her hair in the fashion. Oh -God—oh God—what will she be like?"</p> - -<p>Her face eluded him, he was bewildered, confused, then tried to console -himself trusting to his instinct.</p> - -<p>"I should know her—I'm sure I should," he thought passionately.</p> - -<p>"Why has your mother come back?" he asked Bustianeddu once.</p> - -<p>"Why? Because this is her own town. She was working at a dressmaker's in -Turin. She got tired of it and came home."</p> - -<p>There was a pause. Neither of the lads believed in the dressmaker at -Turin, but they accepted the story. Anania even said—</p> - -<p>"Then your father aught to make it up with her."</p> - -<p>"No," said Bustianeddu, defending his father, "he's quite right. You see -there was no necessity for her to go away, and work for her living!"</p> - -<p>"Your father works himself. What's the shame of working?"</p> - -<p>"My father keeps a shop," corrected the other.</p> - -<p>"Well, what's she going to do now? And which of them will you live -with?"</p> - -<p>"Don't know," said Bustianeddu.</p> - -<p>Daily, however, the stories became more interesting.</p> - -<p>"No end of people come to my father to beg him to forgive her. Even our -member of parliament! Grand-mother came yesterday. She said, 'Jesus -forgave the Magdalen; remember, my son, that we are all born to die, and -it's only our good deeds we can carry over there. Look at the condition -of your house! Only the rats are at home in it.'"</p> - -<p>"What did your father say?"</p> - -<p>"He went away," said Bustianeddu with great indignation; "of course he -went away!—for shame!"</p> - -<p>Next day he related. "Even Aunt Tatàna has begun to meddle. She -preaches long sermons. She said to my father, 'Fancy you are taking a -friend as a guest. Oh, do take her! She's penitent. She will reform. If -you won't take her back, who knows what will become of her! King Solomon -had seventy women in his house, and he was the wisest man in the -world!'"</p> - -<p>"What did your father say."</p> - -<p>"Hard as a stone. He said it was the women who made King Solomon -foolish."</p> - -<p>The skin-dealer never relented. His wife lived at the far side of the -town near the school. She wore the costume again; but slightly altered, -slightly embellished with tags and ribbons. Her dress proclaimed her a -woman of equivocal character. The husband did not forgive, and she -continued her own life.</p> - -<p>Anania saw her whenever he went to the Gymnasium. She lived in a black -house, the windows of which were outlined with white, the white lines -ending in a large cross. There were four steps to the door, and the -woman often sat on these steps sewing or embroidering. She was large and -handsome, very dark, no longer young. In summer her head was bare, her -raven locks raised high on a cushion above her low forehead. Round her -long full throat she wore a handkerchief of grey silk.</p> - -<p>When he saw her, Anania grew red. He felt a morbid kindness for her, yet -often thought he hated her. He would have liked to go to his school -another way so as to avoid the sight of her; but an occult and malignant -force drew his steps always to that street.</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="VI">VI</a></h4> - - -<p>It was the Easter holiday time.</p> - -<p>Anania, studying his Greek grammar as he paced the little path which -divided the expanse of ashy green teazles, heard a rap at the gate. He -had not the garden to himself. His father was there, hoeing and singing -love songs of the poet Luca Cubeddu. Nanna was weeding, helped by Uncle -Pera. Efès, in his usual condition, lay on the grass. The weather was -almost hot. Rosy clouds chased each other over the milky heaven, -disappearing behind the Cerulean summits of Monte Aliena. From the -valley, as from an immense verdure-clad shell, indefinite sounds and -perfumes rose into the sunny air.</p> - -<p>Now and then Nanna raised herself upright putting her hand to her back. -She blew kisses to the student. "Bless him!" she said tenderly. "There -he is studying away like a little bishop! Who knows what he mayn't turn -out! He'll be a judge, or an examining Inspector. All the girls of the -place will be picking him up like a sugar plum! Ah, my poor back!"</p> - -<p>"Get on with the weeds!" growled Uncle Pera, "or I'll break your back in -good earnest. Get on with the weeds and let the boy alone."</p> - -<p>"Bad luck to you, old tyrant! If I were a lass of fifteen, you wouldn't -be talking like that!" she said, bending over the weeds; but after a -minute she looked up again, blowing more kisses to Anania.</p> - -<p>When the miller heard the knock he called out—</p> - -<p>"Who's there?"</p> - -<p>Anania and Efès, one from his book, the other from the grass, looked up -with the same look of faint anxiety. Suppose it were Signor Carboni? -Efès felt all the weight of his degradation when the benevolent -<i>padrone</i>, who never worried him with useless reproaches, sat down and -talked to him: Anania thought of his mother and remembered the -incongruity between his position and that of Margherita whom he was yet -daring to love. The knock was repeated.</p> - -<p>"I'll go and see who it is," said Anania, running and tossing his book -in the air to encourage himself.</p> - -<p>"If it's the master," said Uncle Pera, "Efès must get up and pretend -he's doing something. It's abominable to see him sprawling about like a -dead dog."</p> - -<p>Nanna emitted a growl and kilted her ragged petticoat round her red bare -legs.</p> - -<p>"Get up, you old blunderbuss!" continued Uncle Pera, attacking the sot, -"get up and pretend you're some use!"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>But the alarm subsided when Anania returned bringing a thin, pale, young -man with a face like a scarecrow, dressed in the Fonni costume.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you don't know him," said the student to his father; "I -didn't! It's Zuanne Atonzu. What a big fellow he is!"</p> - -<p>"Greetings, cousin!" said the miller. "Welcome! How's your mother?"</p> - -<p>"She is well," said the young man laughing shyly.</p> - -<p>"Why have you come?"</p> - -<p>"I'm witness in a case at the Tribunal."</p> - -<p>"What have you done with your horse? At the tavern? Why you've forgotten -we're kin. Well? Are we too poor for you to lodge with us?"</p> - -<p>"I wish I was as rich," smiled the youth.</p> - -<p>"We'll send for the horse," said Anania, hiding his grammar in his -pocket.</p> - -<p>They went off together. Anania was childishly pleased at seeing this -humble shepherd in his rough clothes which recalled to him a whole wild -and far off world. Zuanne was overcome by shyness beholding this -handsome young gentleman, fair and fresh with his white collar and -splendid necktie.</p> - -<p>"Mother, we want some coffee," called Anania from the street.</p> - -<p>Then he took the guest to his own room and began to exhibit his -possessions. Quaint furniture filled the long narrow room. The ceiling -was of cane, whitewashed; there were two wooden chests like antique -Venetian coffers, roughly carved with griffons, eagles, and fantastic -flowers; a pyramidal chest of drawers, baskets suspended from the walls, -and pictures in cork frames: in one corner a vessel of oil, in the other -his bed covered with a quilt knitted by Aunt Tatàna. The window looked -out on the courtyard elder; between the window and the bed was a little -table with a green cover, and a white wood book-case, the corners of -which had been carved by Maestro Pane in imitation of the chests. On the -table were sundry books and much manuscript written by Anania; a few -boxes strangely tied up, almanacs and a packet of Sardinian newspapers. -All was tidy and very dean; sweet odours and waves of light entered by -the window. The tiled floor was cracked in places, and a couple of elder -leaves fluttered over it, chasing each other as if in play. A volume of -<i>Les Misérables</i> lay open on the desk. Anania had intended to show -everything to the visitor as to a long missed brother; but Zuanne's -stupid expression as he opened and shut the mysterious boxes, damped his -friend's enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>Why had he brought this bumpkin into his little room? It was fragrant -not only with the scent of honey, of fruit, of lavender which Aunt -Tatàna hoarded in the chests, but also with the perfume of his lonely -dreams. From its windows opening on the elder flower and the moss-grown -roofs of neighbouring cottages, the world was opening for him, virgin -and flowery like the untrodden mountains of the horizon. His pleasure -had changed into disappointment.</p> - -<p>Something had detached itself and fallen away from him, as a stone -sometimes detaches itself from the rock, never to return. His native -village, the past, the first years of his life, the homesick memories, -the poetic affection for the brother of his adoption—all seemed to -vanish in a flash.</p> - -<p>"Let's go out," he said brusquely; and led the shepherd through the -Nuoro streets, avoiding his schoolfellows lest they should ask who was -this peasant walking awkwardly at his side. They passed before Signor -Carboni's house. Suddenly appeared at the door a plump and rosy face, -illuminated, it seemed, by reflection from a blouse of republican -scarlet.</p> - -<p>Anania snatched off his hat and the reflection of the blouse flamed on -his face also. Margherita smiled, and never were the round cheeks of any -maiden marked with more adorable dimples.</p> - -<p>"Who's that woman!" asked Zuanne, the lout, when they had moved on.</p> - -<p>"Woman? Why, she's a young girl! only nine months older than I am!" -cried Anania.</p> - -<p>Zuanne was much confused and said no more; but a most strange thing -happened to Anania. His will became unable to keep his mouth shut; and -he lied, knowing that he lied, but overwhelmed by felicity at the notion -that what he said might have been true.</p> - -<p>"That's my sweetheart," he said deliberately.</p> - -<p>That evening, the olive-miller lounging in his kitchen, made Zuanne -describe the ruins of Serrabile, an ancient city discovered near Fonni, -and he asked whether there was any chance of treasure being found there. -But Anania stood at the window of his little room, watching the slow -rising of the moon between the black teeth of Orthobene.</p> - -<p>At last he was alone! Night reigned, passionate and sweet. Already the -cuckoo was filling the lonely valley with her palpitating cries. Ah! -thus sadly did Anania feel his heart palpitate and cry, out of an -infinite solitude.</p> - -<p>Why had he told that lie? And why had the stupid shepherd said not a -word on hearing the stupendous falsehood? Clearly he knew nothing of -love—love for a superior creature, love without limit and without -hope. But why had Anania stooped to a lie? For shame! He had calumniated -Margherita, put himself further than ever from her. It must be the same -spirit of vanity, the same desire of the marvellous, which once upon a -time had made him tell Zuanne of an imaginary encounter with robbers. -Ah! God!</p> - -<p>He pressed his cold hands upon his burning cheeks; he fixed his eyes on -the melancholy visage of the moon. He shuddered. Then he remembered a -bright cold winter moon, the theft of the hundred <i>lire</i>, the figure -of Margherita appearing before him like the shadow of a flower against the -golden disc of the moon. Ah! his love must have dated from that night; -only now after years and years had it burst forth breaking the stone -beneath which it had lain buried, like a spring which can no longer keep -its course below ground.</p> - -<p>These similes of the flower against the moon, of the rising spring, came -ready made to Anania. He was pleased with his poetic fancies, but they -could not lay the remorse which tormented him. "How vile I am!" he -thought; "vile enough to lie, and about her. Well, I may be successful -at my books, I may become a great lawyer; but morally I shall never be -anything but the son of that lost woman!"</p> - -<p>He stood a long time at the window. Some one passed down the street -singing, and somehow the song reawakened his memories of infancy and of -Fonni, Fonni with its crimson sunsets! He fell into a dream, luminous -and melancholy like the moon he was watching. He imagined himself still -at Fonni. He had never gone to school, had never felt the shame of his -birth. He was a shepherd, simple like Zuanne. And he saw himself -standing at the extremity of the village, in a rosy summer twilight; and -behold Margherita passed, Margherita she also poor and an exile in the -mountain village, wearing that narrow skirt characteristic of the place, -the amphora on her head, as if she were a woman out of the Bible. He -called to her and she turned, radiant in the sunset dazzle, and she -smiled to him rapturously.</p> - -<p>"Where are you going, beauty?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"I am going to the fountain."</p> - -<p>"May I come with you?"</p> - -<p>"Come, Nania."</p> - -<p>He went. They walked together by the road high up on the shoulder of the -valley in whose depth night was waiting, waiting till the purple should -fade in the heavens and veils of shadow should fall upon all things. -Together they descended to the fountain. Margherita set the amphora -under the silver stream of gurgling water, and immediately it changed -its tone to one of merriment, as if the descent into the jug had -agreeably interrupted the eternal tedium. The two young things sat on a -stone bench before the fountain, and they talked of love. The amphora -filled, the water overflowed, and for some moments was quite silent as -if listening to the lovers. And now the sky was grey and the veils of -shadow had fallen on the higher peaks, the more luminous folds of the -mountains. And as night enwrapped the valleys, the desire of Anania -waxed bolder. He put his arm round the girl's waist, she laid her head -on his shoulder, and he kissed her.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>At this time Anania was seventeen. He had no friends and mixed little -with his schoolfellows. He was painfully conscious of the stain upon his -birth. Once overhearing the remark, "If I were he, I would not stay with -my father," he fancied the words must refer to himself.</p> - -<p>"That's it!" he thought; "why am I here with this man who betrayed my -mother and flung her into a bad life? I don't exactly love him, and I -certainly don't hate him, but what I ought is to despise him. He is not -wicked; he's not completely trivial like the majority of our neighbours. -Sometimes I feel quite fond of him, when I hear his simple talk about -treasure hunting, when I see his respectful affection for his elderly -wife, his unchanging fidelity to his master. But I ought to despise him! -I wish to despise him! What claim has he on me? Did I ask him -to bring me into the world? I ought certainly to leave him now I -understand——"</p> - -<p>But gratitude, affection, much confidence, bound him to Aunt Tatàna. -She lived almost exclusively for him. She adored him, though she had not -succeeded in making him what she would have liked, a pious and obedient -boy, reverent of God and the king and the priests. She saw, alas I that -he was wrong-headed and self-sufficient, but she loved him none the -less. She laughed and jested with him; she taught him to dance; she -amused him with all the gossip of the place. Every morning before he was -up she brought him a cup of coffee. Every Sunday she promised him money -if he would go to mass.</p> - -<p>"I'm too sleepy," he would say. "I worked so hard last night."</p> - -<p>"Go later," she would insist. Anania did not go, but Aunt Tatàna gave -him the money all the same.</p> - -<p>The day after his idyllic dream, woven of the moonlight which streamed -in at his little window, Anania took Zuanne for a walk, starting with -the intention of treating his friend to a cup of aniseed at the tavern.</p> - -<p>"Who knows when we shall meet again!" sighed the shepherd. "When are you -coming to see us?"</p> - -<p>"I can't" said Anania, seeking an excuse, "I have to work so hard. I -ought to finish with the Gymnasium this year."</p> - -<p>"And then where are you going? To the continent?"</p> - -<p>"Yes! to Rome!"</p> - -<p>"There are a great many convents at Rome, aren't there? And more than a -hundred churches."</p> - -<p>"A good many more than a hundred. Who told you?"</p> - -<p>"Your father, last night. He said when he was a soldier——"</p> - -<p>"Are you to be a soldier?"</p> - -<p>"No; my brother. I——" He interrupted himself.</p> - -<p>They entered the tavern. It was empty, smelling of tobacco and spirits, -swarming with flies.</p> - -<p>A girl was sitting on the bench. She was dark, and very handsome, though -untidy and dirty.</p> - -<p>"Good-morning. Agata."</p> - -<p>"What do you want?" she asked, getting up and turning familiarly to -Anania.</p> - -<p>"What would you like?" Anania asked the shepherd.</p> - -<p>"I don't mind," said Zuanne embarrassed.</p> - -<p>The girl mimicked him, looking Anania in the face. He returned her look. -Zuanne grew red, and looked at the floor. When they came out he asked -shyly.</p> - -<p>"Is that one your sweetheart too?"</p> - -<p>Anania was half-flattered, half-angry. "What makes you think that? -Because she looked at me? Good gracious, what are eyes for? You intend -to be a monk, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Zuanne simply.</p> - -<p>"You're going to be a monk!" repeated Anania astounded. "Come along, -then! we'll visit the churchyard. That's what will suit you."</p> - -<p>"We shall all go there some day," said Zuanne gravely.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>It was soon after Zuanne's visit that the boys at the Gymnasium acted a -comedy. They had wanted Anania to take the part of the heroine, but he -had obstinately refused. Nor did he repent his resolution, for when the -night of the performance came he had a place in the second row of the -spectators immediately behind his godfather (now Syndic of Nuoro) by -whose side sat Margherita in a white hat and a red dress which shone -like a flame.</p> - -<p>The Captain of the Carabinieri, the Secretary of the Sub-Prefecture, the -Assessor and the Director of the Gymnasium, sat in the front row with -the Syndic and his resplendent daughter; but the young lady did not seem -pleased with her company; she kept turning her head, though haughtily, -to look at the students.</p> - -<p>The hall had once been a convent church; now it was the theatre, -exhibition-room, centre of reunion for all Nuoro. A curtain, not -innocent of patches, concealed the stage, but it blew about in the wind -and gave visions of boyish legs jumping and dancing. At last it was -drawn with much difficulty and the comedy began.</p> - -<p>The time was that of the Crusades, the scene an ancient and much -turreted castle, of which, however, nothing was visible but one room -containing a round mahogany table and six Vienna chairs.</p> - -<p>The faithful Hermengild (a diminutive school-boy, his face rouged with -red paper, his legs awkwardly astraddle, his costume one of Signora -Carboni's dresses) was embroidering a scarf for the no less faithful -Godfrey, a warrior away on some distant expedition.</p> - -<p>"Here she pricks her finger," whispered Anania leaning towards -Margherita.</p> - -<p>She leaned towards him, hiding her laughter with her handkerchief.</p> - -<p>The Captain of the Carabinieri seated by her side, turned his head -slowly, and glared at the student. But Anania was so happy he wanted to -laugh, and wanted to impart to Margherita all the joy which her nearness -had waked in him.</p> - -<p>At the sixth mocking criticism whispered by the little student, the -Captain could endure no more.</p> - -<p>"Hold your stupid tongue, will you?" he shouted. Anania shivered, and -drew back as a snail withdraws into its shell. He was so angry that for -some minutes he could neither hear nor see.</p> - -<p><i>Hold your tongue.</i> Exactly; he was not to be allowed to make his -harmless jokes, not to be allowed to speak. Oh yes! he quite understood! -He must not lift his eyes, because he was poor and dependent and a -foundling. What was he doing here among all these great folk, among all -these rich and courted young people? How had he dared to lean towards -Margherita Carboni to whisper with her, to make trivial jokes for her -smile? He was quite conscious of the triviality of his conversation. How -could the son of an olive-miller, the son of an Olì, be expected to -talk otherwise? "Hold your tongue, do!" the Captain had said.</p> - -<p>Presently Anania revived. He looked contemptuously at the fringe of red -hair round the Captain's bald head. He saw deformed ears and the end of -a waxed moustache. He felt a ferocious wish to box the deformed ears as -many times as there remained hairs on his hideous head. Margherita -presently turned round, surprised by Anania's silence. Their eyes met. -Seeing him depressed, Margherita's eyes became shadowed. Anania saw it -and he smiled. In a moment they were both merry again. Margherita tried -to give her attention to the stage, but felt that Anania was smiling -still, and that his long, half-closed eyes were still fixed on her.</p> - -<p>A delicate intoxication overpowered them both. After the comedy there -was a farce at which Signor Carboni laughed immoderately. Margherita was -vexed to see her father laughing like a baby. She had read that -fashionable persons never attend to the play, still less are amused by -it. The Secretary of the Sub-Prefecture frequently turned his back on -the stage, and Margherita would have liked her father to do the same.</p> - -<p>It was near midnight when Anania accompanied the Carboni's to their -home. The Assessor—old and a babbler—walked with the Syndic, -telling of an American medical discovery: that microbes are essential to -the human organism. The boy and girl walked in front, laughing when they -slipped on the cobbles of the miry streets. Other persons went by, -laughing and chattering. The night was dark, warm, velvety. Now and then -a breeze from the east came, went, returned wafting a wild perfume from -the woods outside the town. Stars, infinite like human tears, sparkled -in the limitless heaven. Jupiter flamed over Orthobene.</p> - -<p>Who does not remember in his early youth some such night, some such -hour? Stars quivering in the depths of a night more luminous than -twilight, stars not seen but felt—ready to descend upon our brow; the -brilliant bear like a golden chariot waiting to carry us to the land of -dreams; a dark pathway; felicity so near, she can be grasped and -retained for ever and for ever.</p> - -<p>More than once Anania felt the girl's hand touch his. The mere thought -that he might take it and press it seemed sacrilege. He felt a sort of -double consciousness. He spoke yet seemed silent, his thoughts far away. -He walked and stumbled yet seemed scarce to touch the earth. He laughed -yet was sad almost to tears. He saw Margherita by his side, so near, -that he might touch her, yet she appeared far away, intangible like the -breath of the wind which went and came. She laughed and jested with him. -In her eyes he had seen the reflection of his own distress; yet he told -himself she could only regard him as a faithful dog. He thought—</p> - -<p>"Could she guess I was consumed with the desire to press her hand she -would cry out with horror; she would regard me then as a rabid dog."</p> - -<p>What did they say to each other that starlit night, in the dark streets -swept by the odorous breeze? He never was able to remember; but, for a -long, long time the dull talk between the old Assessor and Signor -Carboni remained in his mind.</p> - -<p>At last, however, the Assessor's high nasal voice became silent. -Margherita and Anania stopped, bid him good-night, went on their way; -but now the boy felt himself awakened from a dream, once more solitary, -sad and shy, stumbling in the darkened street. The Syndic had interposed -his portly person between the poor young creatures!</p> - -<p>"Bravo! bravo!" said he, "how did you like the play?"</p> - -<p>"It was rot!" replied Anania.</p> - -<p>"Bra—a—vo!" repeated the godfather. "You're a cruel -critic."</p> - -<p>"What else could you expect? Our Director's a fossil—he couldn't -choose better. Life's not like that—never has been! If the theatre -isn't like life, its ridiculous. If they must have chosen something -mediæval, still it might have been something less absurd—something -true, human, touching. They might have had Eleonora d'Arborea dying because -she had helped the plague-stricken——</p> - -<p>"But," said Signor Carboni, astonished by the boy's eloquence, "I don't -think our theatre's equal to such a grandiose subject."</p> - -<p>"Then a modern comedy would be better—something moving. These -stupid legends have had their day," said Margherita, catching up Anania's -tone.</p> - -<p>"What, Miss? you too? Well, I agree they might have had something more -interesting. What's that you said about the Director?"</p> - -<p>"I said he's a fossil."</p> - -<p>"Good Lord! Suppose I tell him?"</p> - -<p>"I don't care! I'm going away next year."</p> - -<p>"And pray where may you be going?"</p> - -<p>Anania grew red, remembering he couldn't go anywhere without Signor -Carboni's assistance. What did the question mean? Had his godfather -forgotten? Was he mocking him? Did he want to make the boy feel the -weight of his obligation, keeping him on tenter hooks, exhibiting him as -at his patron's mercy?</p> - -<p>"I don't know," he murmured.</p> - -<p>"Do you really want to go, my lad? Then you shall, you shall. You're -shaking your wings like a young bird. Oh! you shall fly—you shall -fly!"</p> - -<p>He made the gesture of throwing a bird in the air; then slapped his -godson's shoulder. Anania heaved a sigh of relief. He felt as light as -if he had really been launched in flight. Margherita laughed. That laugh -vibrating in the stillness of the night seemed to Anania the rose-bush's -obscure desire for the bird which perches on it to sing.</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="VII">VII</a></h4> - - -<p>Autumn drew on.</p> - -<p>These were Anania's last days at home, and heavy weight of sentiment -oppressed him. He was still the young bird joyfully ready for flight; -but he was sad and tormented by vague fears of the unknown. What was the -world like, which had already usurped his thoughts? And the adieu was -painful to that humble world in which his childhood had monotonously -passed, unstained by active grief, brightened by his evolving love for -Margherita. The languor and sweetness of early autumn contributed to -render him sentimental. Light clouds veiled the sky. Behind the -mountains a vaporous horizon concealed yet suggested worlds of ineffable -dream. The pale green twilights were brightened by rosy cloudlets, -meandering slowly and interruptedly over the glaucous heaven. In the -garden was the rustle, the odour of burning weeds; it seemed to Anania -that something of his soul vanished in the smoke of these melancholy -fires.</p> - -<p>Good-bye! good-bye! gardens and orchards, guardians of the valley! -Good-bye! distant roar of the torrent which announced the winter! -Good-bye, cuckoo, which foretold the return of spring! Good-bye! grey -and savage Orthobene with his holm-oaks outlined against the clouds like -upstanding hairs on a sleeping giant. Good-bye! distant cerulean -mountains! and good-bye, tranquil and kindly hearth, little room scented -with fruit, with honey, and with dreams! Good-bye, humble companions, -unconscious of their own ill-fortune, wicked old Uncle Pera, miserable -Nanna and Efès, suffering Rebecca, extravagant Maestro Pane, crazy -beggars, girls careless of their beauty, children born to want—all of -them mean and distressful persons whom Anania did not love, whom he was -leaving gladly, yet with a wrench.</p> - -<p>And good-bye, Margherita! Light and sweetness among shadows, a rainbow -in the cloud, a frame of pearl glorifying the dingy painting of dull -memory I Margherita, good-bye!</p> - -<p>The day of departure drew near. Aunt Tatàna made endless preparations. -She provided shirts and socks, fruit, and cakes white as ivory, cheese, -a fowl, dozens of salted eggs, wine, honey, raisins, saddle-bags, and -baskets filled to the brim.</p> - -<p>"But these are stores for a whole army!" said Anania.</p> - -<p>"Hush, my son! You will find it all necessary. <i>There</i> you will -have no one to care for you, poor child. Oh! what will become of you?"</p> - -<p>"Never fear. I'll look after myself."</p> - -<p>The miller and his wife had long, secret consultations and Anania -guessed their tenor. One evening they went out together and he anxiously -awaited their return.</p> - -<p>Aunt Tatàna came in alone.</p> - -<p>"Anania, where do you intend to go? To Cagliari or to Sassari?"</p> - -<p>Till that moment he had expected to cross the sea: now he understood -that some one had decided against that plan.</p> - -<p>"Signor Carboni, I suppose?" he said, with ill-concealed bitterness and -pride; "don't deny it. What's the good of keeping me in the dark? I see -through you. Why won't he send me to the continent? I'll pay all his -money back to him in the end."</p> - -<p>"Bah!" said Aunt Tatàna alarmed by these symptoms of pride, "whatever -have you taken into your head?"</p> - -<p>Anania panted, bent his head over a book without seeing a word of it. -The woman caressed him.</p> - -<p>"Well, what do you wish, my son? Cagliari or Sassari? You mentioned them -both yesterday. Why on earth should you go further? Jesus! Mary! The -sea's a horrible thing! People get sick on the sea—so I have -heard—sometimes they die. And the storms. Do you never think of the -storms?"</p> - -<p>"You don't understand," said Anania, turning his pages.</p> - -<p>"You never said a word about it! You mustn't be so capricious. You can -study just as well in Sardinia as on the continent? Why should you go to -the continent?"</p> - -<p>Ah yes, why? What did Aunt Tatàna know of his secret desires? It was -not for the sake of his studies that he wanted to cross the sea. Had he -not, since the first day, that sunny autumn day when Bustianeddu had led -him to the Convent school, had he not been thinking of something very -different from mere study?</p> - -<p>However Aunt Tatàna's gentle talk calmed his annoyance.</p> - -<p>"You are still a child, my son. At seventeen do you want to run about -the world alone? Would you die at sea away from every one, or wither in -a city which you tell me is as big as a forest? Go to Cagliari. Signor -Carboni will give you introductions. He knows everybody at Cagliari, -even a Marquis. Well, then, be reasonable. You shall go further when you -are older. You are like a leveret just weaned. It leaves the form and -runs away to the very wall of the <i>tanca</i>, then it comes back. -Presently it goes further, and further still. It learns what it may do; it -sees the path along which it will run. You must wait. Think how near we -shall be, think how you can run back to us if anything goes wrong. At -Christmas you'll be able to come back——"</p> - -<p>"Very well. I'll go to Cagliari," said Anania.</p> - -<p>Next day he began his leave-takings. He visited the Director of the -Gymnasium, a priest who was a great friend of Aunt Tatàna's, the -doctor, the Deputy; then the tailor, the grocer, and the shoemaker, -Franziscu Carchide, the handsome young man who had been one of the -<i>habitués</i> of the olive-mill. Carchide had, however, made a fortune, -no one knew how; he had a big shop with five or six workmen, he dressed -like a gentleman, talked affectedly and flirted with the young ladies -whose feet he measured.</p> - -<p>"Have you any commissions for Cagliari?" said Anania entering his -shop.</p> - -<p>"Send him a diamond ring," said one of the workmen, "for he's engaged to -the Syndic's daughter."</p> - -<p>"Well, why not?" said Carchide, with conceit. "Sit down, Anania."</p> - -<p>But Anania, irritated by the joke which he thought an insult to -Margherita, would not sit down and hurried away. As he went out he met -the lad whom rumour called the <i>padrone</i>'s son, a tall boy with blue -eyes really very like Margherita's, but sadder.</p> - -<p>"Good-bye, Antonino," said the student, and the other looked at him with -flashes of hatred and envy in his melancholy pupils.</p> - -<p>When he came in Anania told everything to Aunt Tatàna, who was -preparing a sweetmeat, compounded of oranges, honey and almonds, for him -to present to some great person at Cagliari.</p> - -<p>"Look," said the boy, "your priest gave me a crown, and the doctor gave -me two lire. I don't like to take it."</p> - -<p>"Oh, bad child! It's the custom to give presents to a boy going away for -the first time!" said the woman, shaking and stirring the slender strips -of orange-peel in the shining copper saucepan. Strong smell of boiling -honey perfumed the kitchen. Everywhere were little yellow baskets packed -with the stores for the student. Anania sat down with the cat on his -knee.</p> - -<p>"I wonder where I shall be in a week? Stay quiet, Mussittu, put your -tail down! Your priest read me such a long sermon."</p> - -<p>"I suppose he told you to make your confession and take the Communion -before starting?"</p> - -<p>"That was necessary twenty years ago, when one went to Cagliari on a -horse and took three days over it. It's not the fashion now!"</p> - -<p>"You bad child! don't you believe in God? Holy Saint Catharine, what -will become of you at Cagliari? I hope you'll anyhow go to La Sea (the -cathedral), where there's a picture that does miracles. Cagliari's a -very pious place. You won't speak against religion, I hope?"</p> - -<p>"Never mind Cagliari! Every one believes what he can and what he likes. -I venerate God more in my heart than all the hypocrites."</p> - -<p>These words were somewhat consolatory to the good woman. She told him -the Bible story of Eli, and then let him continue the description of his -visits.</p> - -<p>The kitten had climbed on his shoulder and was licking his ear, tickling -him in a way that somehow reminded him of Margherita. He was telling the -vulgar joke about Carchide's engagement when Nanna came in, Aunt Tatàna -having sent her to buy comfits for her sweetmeat. Her skirt was torn, -and she looked even worse than usual, as she stood unrolling her package -and trying to listen to the conversation.</p> - -<p>"Did you hear," said simple Aunt Tatàna, "that horrid Franziscu -Carchide wants to marry Margherita Carboni?"</p> - -<p>"No, that's not what I said!" cried Anania.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I know Franziscu," said Nanna, "he's mad. He asked first for the -doctor's daughter. They chased him out with the broom handle, and now he -thinks he'll get Margherita because he made her shoes too small."</p> - -<p>"He wants a kick in the face!" cried Anania jumping up, the cat round -his neck.</p> - -<p>Nanna looked at him, her little eyes shining shrewdly.</p> - -<p>"That's what I say. But there's an officer, a general I think, who wants -to marry Margherita. No, I say, she's a rose and she must marry a -pink—fresh and sweet, both of them. Take it!" she went on offering a -comfit to Anania. He drew back, while the kitten vainly stretched its -paw to the little white object.</p> - -<p>"Keep off! You smell like a wine barrel!" said the boy, and Nanna -staggered and dropped all her comfits on the floor.</p> - -<p>"My pink!" she said coaxingly. "You shall be Margherita's pink! Why are -you going away? But I know! it's to become a judge——"</p> - -<p>Anania laughed and picked up the comfits.</p> - -<p>"And all the girls are to pick me up like a sugar plum, isn't -that it?"</p> - -<p>He danced the kitten up and down, feeling quite affectionate to Nanna. -Then suddenly became very gloomy. Who was the officer who wanted to -marry Margherita? Was it that horrible Captain with the red neck who had -said, "Hold your tongue, do!" Then he thought of something still worse. -Margherita married to some young man, handsome—rich—eternally -lost to the poor student.</p> - -<p>He set the cat down, and went away, shut himself up in his own room and -looked out of the window. He was suffocating. It had never occurred to -him that Margherita might marry.</p> - -<p>"No, no!" he said, squeezing and shaking his head between his hands. -"She mustn't marry. She must wait. She must wait till—till -I——. But why should she wait? How could I marry her? I am the -son of a lost woman. I have no mission in life but to find my mother and -draw her out of the abyss. Margherita could never stoop to me. But until I -have fulfilled my mission, I need Margherita as I need a lighthouse. -Afterwards—I can die content."</p> - -<p>He did not think that his "mission" might be prolonged indefinitely and -without success. It did occur to him that he might aspire to Margherita -if he were to renounce his mission; but this seemed monstrous, and he -put the idea away.</p> - -<p>The thought of finding his mother had grown and developed with his -growth. It palpitated with his heart, vibrated with his nerves, flowed -with his blood. Only death could eradicate it; but it was of his -mother's death that he thought when he wished that their meeting might -not take place. The yearning for this solution, however, seemed to him -great cowardice.</p> - -<p>Later he asked himself if it were natural sentimentality which had -created this thought of his mission; or whether the thought had made him -sentimental. At present he accepted his preoccupations and sentiments -without analysis. Accepting them thus childishly he rooted them so -firmly in his soul and in his flesh, that no logic, no conscious -reasoning could have sufficed to pluck them up.</p> - -<p>He spent a fevered night. Already far distant was the time in which he -had been content to see Margherita in the orchard garden, without caring -for the colour of her hair, the grace of her bosom. Then his dreams had -been all fantastic; raptures, meetings, flights to mysterious places, -preferably to the white tablelands of the moon; but had he learned she -was about to marry, it would have occasioned him no suffering. Once he -had thought of persuading her to follow him to the mountains where they -might poison themselves with a poison that would not disfigure their -corpses; yes, they would lay themselves on the rocks among the wild -flowers and the ivy, and they would die together; but into this dream -entered the desire neither for a kiss nor for a pressure of the hand.</p> - -<p>Afterwards had come the idyllic dream of the mountains at Fonni, of the -lover's kiss, of Margherita's surrender. Then came the night of the -acting, when the immediate vision of her hair, her eyes, her bosom, had -caused him a delicate intoxication.</p> - -<p>Now he was racked by the thought that she might be destined for another. -In his fevered slumber he was in agony, in his dreams he was writing, -writing, at a despairing letter which he never succeeded in bringing to -a termination. Then, still dreaming, he remembered having composed a -sonnet in dialect for her, and he decided on sending it. He awoke. He -rose and flung the window wide. It was near dawn. The heaven was quite -clear, a great red star was setting behind the black obelisk of -Orthobene, like a dying flame on a candlestick of stone. Cocks were -crowing, answering each other with rivalry of raucous cries, each -apparently angry with the other, and all with the delay in the coming of -the light. Anania looked at the sky; he yawned, and a cold shiver ran -from his feet to his head. Oh God! what was happening to him? Part of -his soul must detach itself from him, must remain here, under that clear -heaven, in sight of those wild mountains whose crests were candlesticks -for the stars. As a wayfarer, burdened by too heavy a load wishes to -drop some of it so as more lightly to follow his path, so Anania felt a -great longing to leave part of his secret with Margherita. He shut the -window, seated himself at his table, trembling and yawning. "How cold!" -he said aloud.</p> - -<p>The sonnet was already written out on pink paper ruled with violet -lines. It bore the poetic title "Margherita," and was in the form of an -allegory, also highly poetic.</p> - -<p>A most lovely marguerite grew in a green meadow. All the flowers admired -her, but specially a pale and lowly buttercup which had grown by her -side. The buttercup was sick with love for his beauteous neighbour. And -lo! on a sweet spring morning, a lovely maiden passed through the -meadow, and plucked the daisy, kissing it and hiding it in her bosom, -never noticing that she had squashed the unhappy buttercup. But the -buttercup seeing his adored neighbour snatched away was glad to die.</p> - -<p>The poet read his verses with breaking heart, for instead of the -symbolic maiden he saw a captain of Carabinieri with a long moustache. -He folded the sheet, enclosed it in an envelope, but remained long -undecided whether or no it should be sealed. What would Margherita think -of it? Would she receive a sonnet from him? Yes; because when the -postman rapped out his three terrible knocks, which seemed a knocking of -the iron hand of destiny. Margherita would herself run to take in the -letters. That is if she were at home at the time of the postman's -coming. She would be there at midday certainly. Therefore it was -necessary to post the poetic epistle early.</p> - -<p>Feverish agitation preyed upon the student. He could neither hear nor -see. He sealed the envelope, left the house, and roamed the dark, -deserted streets like a somnambulist. What o'clock was it? He did not -know. Cocks were still crowing behind the walls. The damp air smelt of -straw. A poor woman who baked barley bread in the poorer houses, came -and went on her fatiguing business. The steps of two tall black -Carabinieri resounded on the pavement. There was no one else.</p> - -<p>Though it was still dark, Anania feared he might be seen. He slunk along -the wall, and the moment he had posted the letter he took to his heels. -He saw the Carabinieri again at the end of the street, changed his -direction and made his way home almost without noticing it. But he could -not go in. He was choking. He wanted air, he wanted immensity, and again -he ran, his hat in his hand, his feet hurrying towards the high road. -But when he had reached it he was still unrelieved. The horizon was -clouded, the great valley dark. He went on and up. Only when he was at -the foot of Orthobene could he breathe, expanding his nostrils like a -colt escaped from the halter. He would have liked to shout aloud for -excitement and joy.</p> - -<p>It was getting light. Thin azure veils covered the great damp valley. -The last stars had vanished. Involuntarily Anania repeated the -line—</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"<i>Care stelle dell'Orsa, io non credea</i>—"</span><br /> -<span class="i0">("Dear stars of the Bear, I believed not—")</span> -</div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>and tried to forget what he had done, though the thought of it was -causing him acute spasms of happiness.</p> - -<p>He began the ascent of Orthobene, plucking the leaves, the tufts of -grass, throwing stones and laughing aloud. He seemed mad. The turf smelt -sweet. The heaven was the colour of cyclamen behind the immense purple -rocks of Monte Albo. Anania stood upon a rock looking at the huge -cloister of the far mountains, upon which streamed the delicate -reflection of the sunrise. Suddenly he became pensive.</p> - -<p>Good-bye! To-morrow he would be away beyond the mountains, and -Margherita would think in vain of the forgotten buttercup who loved her -and who was himself.</p> - -<p>A finch sang from its wild nest in the heart of an ilex tree, expressing -in its trembling note, all the solitude of the place and of the hour. -The note found its echo in the young lad's soul; and he remembered the -song of another little bird which had sung from out the damp leafage of -a chestnut tree on a morning long ago. A morning long ago, over there, -over there, on one of those far distant hills, perhaps on that rosy spur -thrust out towards the morning! And again he saw the child merrily -descending the slope, beside a sorrowful woman; the child all -unconscious of sorrow.</p> - -<p>"And now again," he said to himself, "I am glad to go, and who knows -what may be awaiting me?"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>He came in pale and weary.</p> - -<p>"Where have you been, <i>galanu meu</i> (my treasure)? What took you out -before sunrise?" asked Aunt Tatàna.</p> - -<p>"Give me my coffee," replied Anania.</p> - -<p>"Here it is. But what's the matter, dear heart? Cheer up. Get back your -colour before you go to your godfather. What? Aren't you going to him -to-day? What are you staring at? Has an ant got into your coffee?"</p> - -<p>He was staring at a little gold bordered cup reserved exclusively for -him. Good-bye, little cup! Just once more to-morrow, and then, Good-bye. -A lump rose in his throat.</p> - -<p>"I'll go to my godfather later. I've got to finish packing," he said, as -if talking to the cup.</p> - -<p>"Suppose we never see each other again?" he said to Aunt Tatàna. -"Suppose I die before I come back? I daresay it would be better. What's -the good of living to be old?"</p> - -<p>Aunt Tatàna, looked at him anxiously, crossed herself and said, "Have -you been having bad dreams last night? Why does my little lamb without -wool talk like this? Have you the headache?"</p> - -<p>"You don't understand!" he cried, springing to his feet. He went to his -room and packed his books and dearest possessions, now and then his eyes -turned to the window.</p> - -<p>What would he see from the window of the room which awaited him at -Cagliari? The sea? The real sea? The infinite distance of azure water, -under the infinite distance of azure heaven? The thought of all that -azure had a soothing effect. He repented having been cross to Aunt -Tatàna. He was very ungrateful—still nerves are nerves and -uncontrollable. But he would not be ungrateful. No! throw down -portmanteau, books, boxes, rush to the kitchen, where the good woman is -sweeping with an air half sad, half philosophical, grieving probably -over the tragic words of her lamb without wool, fall upon her, enfold -her and her broom in one embrace, and drag her into a vertiginous whirl -of a dance!</p> - -<p>"Bad boy, what's the matter with you?" cried the elderly woman -palpitating with joy. And then in the middle of the dance he was off -again, running and imitating the puffing of a train.</p> - -<p>His packing done, he went on with his good-bye visits, going first to -Maestro Pane. The old carpenter's shop, generally thronged, was at the -moment deserted, and Anania had to wait some time sitting on the bench, -his feet among the abundant shavings which strewed the floor. A light -breeze blew in from the door, agitating the great cobwebs and the layers -of sawdust.</p> - -<p>At last Maestro Pane came in, put on an old soldier's tunic, its buttons -carefully polished, and smiled with childish satisfaction when Anania -told him he looked like a general.</p> - -<p>"I have the helmet too," he said, "but when I put it on the children -laugh. So you're off, my boy? God go with you and help you. I have -nothing to give you."</p> - -<p>"Never mind that, Maestro Pane."</p> - -<p>"My heart is not wanting, but heart isn't enough. Well, when you're -Doctor of Laws I'll make you a writing desk. I've got the pattern!"</p> - -<p>He looked up a furniture catalogue and showed a splendid bureau with -columns and carving.</p> - -<p>"You think I can't do it? You don't know Maestro Pane. If I've not made -much precious and expensive furniture it's only because I lack capital. -It will be well done."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure it will, and when I'm a doctor and a rich man I'll have you to -make all the furniture of my palace."</p> - -<p>"Will you really?" cried the old hunchback, delighted. "In how many -years will it be?"</p> - -<p>"That I can't tell you. Ten perhaps, or fifteen."</p> - -<p>"Too long. I shall be in heaven by that time. In the workshop of the -glorious St Joseph." (He crossed himself.)</p> - -<p>"And tell me, what does this catalogue mean by furniture -Lui-gi-de-ci-mo-quart-o," (Louis XIV.) he asked reading in syllables.</p> - -<p>"He was a king," began Anania.</p> - -<p>"I know that much. He was a king very fond of women," said the old man -with a grin on his great toothless mouth.</p> - -<p>"Maestro Pane, how do you know that?"</p> - -<p>"Because I'm not a scholar do you think I know nothing? Victor Emmanuel -liked hoeing his garden, and Queen Esther liked picking lavender in the -fields, and that King Luigi liked girls."</p> - -<p>"You seem to have read a great deal."</p> - -<p>"I? I wish I had. My dear boy, all are not born under a lucky star, like -you!"</p> - -<p>Anania next knocked at Nanna's low door, but the old madman sitting on a -stone close by told him she wasn't at home.</p> - -<p>"I'm waiting for her myself, you must know. Last night Jesus Christ told -me he was wanting a servant."</p> - -<p>"Where did you see Jesus Christ?"</p> - -<p>"Down there, in the lane. He had a long cloak and his shoes were burst. -Why don't you give me a pair of shoes, Nania Atonzu?"</p> - -<p>"They're too tight," said the boy, looking at his feet.</p> - -<p>"Then go barefoot, strike you dead!" shouted the lunatic menacingly.</p> - -<p>"Good-bye," said Anania; "I'm off to college."</p> - -<p>"To Iglesias?"</p> - -<p>"No, to Cagliari."</p> - -<p>"There are pole cats and vampires at Iglesias. Well good-bye. Shake -hands. I won't eat you. And where's that mother of yours now, I -wonder?"</p> - -<p>"Good-bye, take care of yourself," said Anania, freeing his hand from -the madman's hard fingers.</p> - -<p>"I'm going away myself; to a place where one feasts all day; beans, -lentils, sheep's fry——"</p> - -<p>"Good appetite to you. Good-bye."</p> - -<p>"Eh!" cried the old man, when he had gone some distance, "write to me -when you're gone, and don't fall into the hands of the scarlet women."</p> - -<p>Anania had other friends to see including the beggar widow, who received -him in a little chamber beautifully clean, and gave him a cup of -first-rate coffee.</p> - -<p>"Are you going to Rebecca?" she said jealously. "<i>She</i>'s taken to -begging. A shame, isn't it, for a girl like that? Tell her so."</p> - -<p>"She's a cripple."</p> - -<p>"Not she. She's cured. What are you looking at? My reaping hook?"</p> - -<p>"Why's it hanging on the door?"</p> - -<p>"For the vampire. When the vampire comes in at night she stops to count -the teeth of the sickle. She can't count further than seven so she keeps -beginning again. Then the dawn comes, and the moment she sees the light -she flies off. Why do you laugh? It's quite true. God bless you, dear; -good journey and do the place credit!" said the beggar, going with him -to the street.</p> - -<p>He went to Rebecca. Huddled up in her dark hole she seemed a wild beast -sick in its den—though considerably more than twenty she was still -the size of a child.</p> - -<p>Seeing the lad, she flushed all over and offered him a bunch of black -grapes on a rude cork-tray.</p> - -<p>"Take them. I've nothing else!"</p> - -<p>"Say 'thou'<a name="FNanchor_12_1" id="FNanchor_12_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_1" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> to me," said Anania, taking one from the bunch.</p> - -<p>"I'm not worthy. I'm not Margherita Carboni. I'm a poor wretch," said -the girl excitedly. "Take the whole bunch. It's quite clean. I haven't -touched it. Uncle Pera <i>su gattu</i> brought it."</p> - -<p>"Uncle Pera?" said Anania, who believed all the scandals about the old -gardener.</p> - -<p>"Yes, poor old fellow. He always remembers me and brings me something -every day. Last month I was ill, for my sores broke out again. Uncle -Pera sent for the doctor and brought me my medicines himself. He's what -my father ought to have been. But my father has left me! Well, never -mind." (for she saw that touched Anania). "Why won't you take the whole -bunch? It's really quite clean!"</p> - -<p>"Give it to me. But where can I put it? Let me wrap it in this -newspaper. I'm off to-morrow. Going to Cagliari. I do hope you'll get -well."</p> - -<p>"Good-bye," she said, tears in her eyes, "I wish I were going away."</p> - -<p>Next Anania saw the handsome Agata at the tavern door so he stepped -across to take leave of her.</p> - -<p>"She smiled, her big eyes sparkling, and kissed her hand.</p> - -<p>"Yes, it's good-bye," said Anania, coming closer.</p> - -<p>"You've been flirting with that lump of dirt," she said, pointing to -Rebecca. "Go away, you smell of her."</p> - -<p>For some reason, Anania remembered Margherita, and felt shocked.</p> - -<p>"She's jealous of me!" continued Agata, making eyes at him. "Look! she's -watching you. The silly fool! She's always thinking of you because last -New Year's Eve she drew you for a sweetheart."</p> - -<p>"Oh, shut up! I'm off to-morrow. Can I do anything for you?"</p> - -<p>"Take me with you!"</p> - -<p>A shepherd, who had been drinking a cup of brandy, came out and pinched -the girl as he passed.</p> - -<p>"<i>Sas manas siccas</i> (wither your hands), skinned hare!" cried -Agata. She beckoned Anania into the tavern, and asked what he would -drink.</p> - -<p>"Nothing. Good-bye! good-bye."</p> - -<p>However, she fetched white wine, and, as he drank, leaned languidly -against the bar watching him. She said, "I'm going to Cagliari as soon -as I've bought a new dress with gold buttons for the chemisette. I'll go -to Cagliari and get a place. We shall meet again. The devil! Here comes -Antonino! he's my sweetheart, and is mad jealous of you. Ah, my jewel, -good-bye! good-bye!"</p> - -<p>Saying this she flung herself upon him with a wild cat spring and kissed -him hotly on the lips. Then she pushed him away, and he went out, -confounded and agitated, hurrying past Antonino whose look of hate he -now understood. For some minutes he walked not knowing whither. He was -new to kisses, and could only think of Margherita, the longing to see -her making his blood boil.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" he cried suddenly finding himself in the arms of another woman.</p> - -<p>"Child of my heart!" cried Nanna, crying and laughing, and offering him -a parcel, "are you really going? God go with you and bless you as he -blesses the ears of corn. We shall see you again, but meantime—here -take this, my darling. Don't refuse or I shall die of grief."</p> - -<p>To prevent Nanna's death he accepted the parcel, but shuddered, feeling -something very unpleasant on his cheek.</p> - -<p>"There!" said Nanna, when she had kissed him, "I couldn't help it. It -will wash off, dear. It won't prevent the flower-smelling kisses of the -golden girls who will pick you up like a sugar plum."</p> - -<p>Anania made no protests, but this thrust into reality restored his moral -equilibrium and cancelled the burning sensation given him by the kiss of -Agata.</p> - -<p>When he got home he opened Nanna's parcel, and found it contained -thirteen <i>soldi</i> (half-pence).</p> - -<p>"I hope you've been to your godfather," said Aunt Tatàna.</p> - -<p>"I'm going at once after dinner," he replied.</p> - -<p>But after dinner he went into the courtyard and stretched himself on a -mat under the elder tree, round which buzzed the bees and the flies. The -air was warm. Between the boughs Anania saw great white clouds floating -across the blue heaven. An infinite sweetness fell from those clouds. It -seemed a rain of warm milk. Distant memories, wandering, changing, like -the clouds, passed through his mind confused with recent impressions. -Now he was back in the dreary landscape guarded by the sounding pines, -where his father had ploughed and sown the <i>padrone</i>'s corn. The -sounding of the pines is like the voice of the sea. The sky is deeply, -monotonously blue. Anania remembered the lines—whose? Baudelaire's -perhaps?—</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Blue the colour of her eyes,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Deep and empty as the skies."</span> -</div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>The eyes of Margherita? No, that was an insult to her! But it was -satisfactory to be able to quote such an original verse—</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Blue the colour of her eyes,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Deep and empty as the skies."</span> -</div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Who is that behind the pine-tree? The postman with the red whiskers! On -his head he wears a crow with outstretched wings. It is pecking hard at -the poor man's forehead.</p> - -<p>"Rat-tat-tat!" Margherita runs to the door, receives the pink letter, -and begins to fly. Anania wants to follow her, but he can't move, can't -move, can't speak. It's because the postman is shaking him.</p> - -<p>"My son, it's three o'clock. When are you going to your godfather?" asks -Aunt Tatàna.</p> - -<p>She it is, not the postman, who is shaking him. Anania springs to his -feet, one eye still shut, one cheek pale, the other red.</p> - -<p>"I'm rather sleepy. It's because I was awake all last night. Very well, -I'll go now."</p> - -<p>He washed, combed his hair, spent half an hour in making his parting -first at the side, then in the middle, then doing away with it -altogether.</p> - -<p>"What an idiot I am!" he thought, trying to control his feelings but in -vain.</p> - -<p>"Are you there still? When ever are you going?" called the good woman -from the courtyard. He looked out of the window and asked—</p> - -<p>"What shall I say to him?"</p> - -<p>"Say you are going to-morrow. Say you'll get on well, that you'll always -be a good boy."</p> - -<p>"Amen. But what will he say to me?"</p> - -<p>"He'll give you good advice."</p> - -<p>"Won't he say anything about——"</p> - -<p>"About what?"</p> - -<p>"About money," said Anania in a whisper, putting his hand over his -mouth.</p> - -<p>"Bless me, what have you to do with money? You know nothing about it!" -said the old woman raising her hands.</p> - -<p>"Then I'll go."</p> - -<p>On the contrary, he visited Bustianeddu; then went to the garden to take -leave of Uncle Pera, also of the figs, the teazles, the far-reaching -landscape.</p> - -<p>He found the old gardener stretched on the grass, his stick by his side, -at rest like its master.</p> - -<p>"I'm off. Uncle Pera, good-bye. Keep well and take care of -yourself."</p> - -<p>"Eh?" said the old fellow who was growing blind and deaf.</p> - -<p>"I'm going away!" shouted Anania. "I'm going to Cagliari to -college."</p> - -<p>"Going to sea? Oh yes, there's sea at Cagliari. God bless you, my lad. -Old Uncle Pera has nothing to give you but his prayers."</p> - -<p>Anania repented his frequent mockery of the old man, who at any rate was -kind to Rebecca. He bent down, his hands on his knees. "Have you any -commissions?"</p> - -<p>The old man sat up, stared, then smiled.</p> - -<p>"Commissions? I? But I'm going away myself very soon."</p> - -<p>"You?" said the boy, amused at the mania all men, even decrepit ones, -have for going away.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I'm starting too."</p> - -<p>"For what place. Uncle Pera?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, for a distant one," said the old man, pointing to the horizon; "for -eternity."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Not till evening, nor till he had passed and repassed vainly before -Margherita's window did Anania knock and ask for his godfather.</p> - -<p>"There's no one at home. They'll be back soon, if you'll wait," said the -maid. "Why didn't you come earlier?"</p> - -<p>"Because I do what I choose," said Anania entering.</p> - -<p>"Oh, very well. It's better to waste your time with that scum Agata, -than to come and visit your benefactors."</p> - -<p>"Pshaw!" said Anania, leaning against the window.</p> - -<p>The servant was insulting as she had been that long ago night when he -and Bustianeddu had come for the basin of soup. Nothing was changed. He -was still a dependent, an object of charity.</p> - -<p>"But I'm grown up!" he thought. "I can renounce it all, go to work, be a -soldier—anything that's not abject!"</p> - -<p>He moved from the window, brushing against the writing desk, which was -already illuminated by the moon. Among the papers, untidily tossed -about, he spied a pink envelope lined with green.</p> - -<p>The blood rushed to his face. His ears burned, he shook from head to -foot. Mechanically he bent and took up the envelope. Yes, it was -<i>that</i> one, torn and empty. He felt as if he were touching the remains -of some sacred thing which had been violated and destroyed. It was all -over! His soul was empty and torn to pieces like this envelope.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, brightness flooded the room. Margherita had come in! He tried -to drop the envelope, but perceived that the girl had seen it in his -hand. Shame now was added to his grief.</p> - -<p>"Good evening," said Margherita, placing a lamp on the desk; "they've -left you in the dark."</p> - -<p>"Good evening," he murmured. He resolved to explain, then to escape, -never to be seen in this house again.</p> - -<p>"Take a seat."</p> - -<p>He looked at her in astonishment. Yes, it certainly was Margherita. At -that moment he hated her.</p> - -<p>"Forgive me," he stammered, "I didn't do it intentionally. I'm -not a beast; but I saw this—this envelope, and I couldn't -help—looking——"</p> - -<p>"Is it yours?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>Margherita blushed and seemed confused; but Anania as if freed from a -burden began to recover his wits. Wounded pride counselled him to assert -the sonnet a jest. But Margherita in her walking dress, with her small -waist and her bright green ribbon was so beautiful and so rosy that his -hatred all disappeared. He wished he might put the lamp out and be alone -with her in the moonlight, he wished he might fall at her feet and name -her with sweetest names. But he couldn't, he couldn't! though he saw she -also was raising and dropping her eyes in delicious alarm, expecting his -cry of love.</p> - -<p>"Did your father read it?" he whispered.</p> - -<p>"Yes, and he laughed," she answered in the same tone.</p> - -<p>"Did he laugh?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, he laughed. Then he gave it to me and said, 'Who in the world has -sent it?'"</p> - -<p>"And you—you——?"</p> - -<p>"I——"</p> - -<p>They spoke anxiously and very low, already involved in a delicious -conspiracy. Suddenly Margherita changed her voice.</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's Papa! Anania is here," she cried, running to the door.</p> - -<p>She hurried out, and the boy remained in the greatest perturbation. He -felt the warm, soft hand of his godfather clasping his own, and he saw -the blue eyes and the shining gold chain. But he hardly heard the good -advice and the pleasantries with which Margherita's father favoured -him.</p> - -<p>Bitter doubt tormented him. Had Margherita understood the significance -of the sonnet? She had said nothing to the point in those precious -moments, which he had stupidly not turned to profit. Her agitation was -not enough. It told nothing. No, he must really know more—know -all.</p> - -<p>"Know what?" he asked himself ruefully. "There's nothing to know." It -was all useless. Even if she cared for him—but this was folly. -Nothing was any good. Great emptiness surrounded him, and in this emptiness -the voice of Signor Carboni lost itself and was unheard.</p> - -<p>"You're lucky in having only your studies to mind," ended the godfather -hearing a sigh from the boy. "Be cheerful; be a man and do us credit."</p> - -<p>Margherita now came back accompanied by her mother, who in her turn was -prodigal of counsel and encouragement. The girl went hither and thither -about the room. She had dressed her hair coquettishly with a curl on her -left temple. What was still more important, she had powdered herself. -Eyes and lips were resplendent. She was a wonder; and Anania followed -her about deliriously, his thoughts running on kisses. She must have -understood, she must have been attracted by the fascination of his gaze, -for when he was going away—she followed him to the great entrance -door!</p> - -<p>The court was bathed in moonlight, as it had been that night long ago, -when the proud, sweet vision of her had waked his childishness to a -sense of duty. So now she was proud and sweet. She stepped lightly, with -a rustle of wings, ready to fly. Ah! she was a true angel! Anania -thought himself still dreaming. Presently she would float up and vanish, -and he would not be able to follow her. And the desire to put his arm -round that slender waist with its green ribbon made him giddy.</p> - -<p>"I shall never see her again!" he told himself; "I shall fall dead the -instant she has shut the door!"</p> - -<p>Margherita pulled the chain; then turned and extended her hand. She was -pale.</p> - -<p>"Good-bye. I'll write to you," she whispered.</p> - -<p>"Good-bye!" said he, shivering with joy.</p> - -<p>The contact of their hands perhaps caused some grand explosion. For they -felt as it were a great booming in their ears, and the heat and the -light of a thunderbolt fell round them, while—rapturously—they -kissed each other.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12_1" id="Footnote_12_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_1"><span class="label">[12]</span></a>Sign of familiarity and friendship.</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="VIII">VIII</a></h4> - - -<p>At Cagliari Anania went through the Lyceum course, then two years at the -University. He was studying Law. These years were like an <i>intermezzo</i> -in his life; sweet and inspiriting music.</p> - -<p>He began a new existence from the moment he set foot in the train, and -was carried across the lonely plains, the dreariness of which was -aggravated by autumn. He felt a new person clothed in a new vesture, -soft and comfortable after one torn and narrow. Was it Margherita's kiss -which made him so happy? or the good-bye to all the petty wretchednesses -of the past? or the somewhat timorous joy of liberty with the thought of -the unknown world to which he was hurrying? He neither knew nor sought -to know. How beautiful, how easy was life! He felt strong, handsome, -victorious. All women loved him, all the doors of life opened to his -feet. Pride and enjoyment enwrapped his soul like an odorous, an -intoxicating vapour, through which he discerned horizons as yet -undreamed.</p> - -<p>The whole way from Nuoro to Macomer, Anania stood in the corridor of the -railway carriage, violently shaken by the jerks of the little train. Few -persons got in or out at the desolate stations, where bored acacia trees -seemed waiting for the train, to hurl upon it companies of fast -yellowing leaves.</p> - -<p>"Take them!" said the acacias to the train, "take them, contemptuous -monster; we are stuck always here, and you move about. What more do you -want?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," thought the joyous student, "life is movement." And he understood -the jocund strength of running water. Till now his soul had been a -morass, its edge smothered in fetid weeds. Yes! the acacias stuck in the -stagnant Sardinian solitudes knew the truth. Yes! move, run, hurry! that -is to live!</p> - -<p>"Is this devil of a train never going on!" asked the student during one -of the interminable delays.</p> - -<p>The railway official, who knew Anania by sight as he knew almost all his -passengers, calmly lit his pipe and said, sucking its stem:—</p> - -<p>"You'll arrive all in good time. If you're in a hurry get out and -fly."</p> - -<p>Ah t if he could fly! Anania looked at a black <i>nuraghe</i> on a high -rock, like a nest of gigantic birds, and wished he could fly thither with -Margherita; to be alone with her and with the memories which floated on -the wild scent of the heather; alone, inspired by the shadows and by the -phantoms of epic passions. Ah, how great he felt!</p> - -<p>But now the cerulean heights of his native Barbagia vanished at the -horizon. One peak of Orthobene towered behind the others, violet against -the pale sky. Still an outline—a point, one alone—then nothing. -The mountains were setting like the sun or moon, leaving a pensive twilight -in the soul of the spectator.</p> - -<p>Good-bye, good-bye! Anania felt a moment's sadness, then again his -thoughts turned to Margherita's kiss. Ah! he seemed to have the -delicious creature beside him. The vivid impression of her person, the -electric contact of her fresh lips, still gave him delirium. At moments -he shivered. Had it not all been a dream? If she were to forget? or to -repent? But hope soon returned: pride, intoxication, and the joy in his -new existence, endured for days. Everything went well with him. Fortune -favoured him in the smallest things. Arrived at Cagliari, he found at -once a delightful room with two balconies to the windows. From one he -could see the hills and the great luminous sea, sometimes so calm that -the reflection of steamers and sailing-boats was clear as if engraved on -steel. From the other, almost the whole town was visible, rising like a -Moorish city in bastions to the castle, overgrown with palms and -flowers.</p> - -<p>At first Anania liked this balcony best. Beneath was a wide white -street, opposite a row of small old houses tinted with rose colour (like -old painted beauties), and with Spanish balconies full of carnations and -of ragged coloured garments put out to dry in the sun. Anania scarcely -noticed the cottages. His fascinated eye passed on to the grand view of -the Moorish city, where coloured houses rose one above the other to the -pyramid of mediæval towers profiled against an oriental sky.</p> - -<p>At the end of October it was still summer. The air was impregnated with -strange fragrance, and the ladies who passed under Anania's balcony were -dressed in muslins and gauze. The student felt himself in an enchanted -land. The scented and enervating air, the new conveniences of his fine -room, the pleasure of a new life, all combined to give him a sense of -dream. He fell into a somnolent languor, through which the impressions -of his new existence and the records of his recent past came to him -veiled and sweet. Everything seemed beautiful and grand—the streets, -the churches, the houses. And oh! how many people there were at -Cagliari! What fashion! What luxury!</p> - -<p>The first time he passed before the Caffé Montenegro, and saw the smart -young men sitting there with their straight moustaches and their yellow -shoes, he remembered with a strange feeling of contrast the -toil-stained, unkempt figures who assembled at the mill. What was going -on there now? The humble life of the poor neighbourhood was certainly -pursuing its melancholy course, while here in the shining Caffé, in the -luminous streets, in the tall, sunlit, wind-kissed, spray-freshened -houses all was light and luxury and joy.</p> - -<p>His happiness was increased by a letter from Margherita, first of many. -It was a simple, tender letter, written on large white note-paper in a -round, almost boyish hand. Anania had been expecting a little azure -epistle with a flower in it. Was this unconventionality to show him her -superiority? But the simple and affectionate expressions of this girl, -who seemed in her first letter to be continuing a long and uninterrupted -correspondence, convinced him of her ingenuous and deep love, of her -sincerity and force of character. He experienced an ineffable joy. Every -evening, said Margherita, she stood long hours at the window, fancying -that at any moment he might pass by. Their separation was a great pain, -but she comforted herself thinking he was working and preparing for -their future. She told him where to direct his reply, and enjoined the -greatest secrecy, for of course if her family suspected their love it -would be vigorously opposed. Vibrating with love and happiness, Anania -wrote his reply at once. He was, however, remorseful at the thought of -deceiving his benefactor, and could hardly satisfy himself with the -sophistry: "Making the daughter happy is doing good to the father."</p> - -<p>He wrote of the marvels of the city and of the season. "At this moment -the frogs are croaking in the distant gardens, and I see the moon rising -like an alabaster face in the warm twilight heaven. It is the same moon -that I used to watch from Nuoro, the same round melancholy face that I -used to see looking down on the rocks of Orthobene. Now it seems sweeter -to me; how changed, how smiling!"</p> - -<p>After posting the letter Anania felt the same impulse, to run to the -fresh air of the mountains, that he had felt after posting the sonnet. -He restrained himself somewhat, but walked swiftly towards the hill of -Bonaria.</p> - -<p>Evening was falling with almost Eastern softness. The moon shone pale -through the moveless trees; above the mother-o'-pearl sea-line the blue -of the heaven melted into green, furrowed with rosy and purple clouds. -The broad road leading to the Santuario was deserted. He seemed in a -dream.</p> - -<p>Anania sat on the lofty terrace of the Santuario, broadly moonlit. He -intoxicated himself with the splendid vision of the sea. The waves -mirrored the light-permeated heaven, the rosy clouds, the moon: then -broke themselves beneath the cliff, like immense shells of pearl -dissolving into silver. Four sailing-boats, drawn up in line against the -luminous background, seemed to Anania huge butterflies come down to -drink and to rest upon the waters. Never had he been so happy as in that -hour. Waves, great and resplendent as the sea, seemed rolling over his -soul. He felt as if some beneficent sorcery had wafted him to a -mysterious orient land, and dropped him on the threshold of an enchanted -palace, open to receive him for ever.</p> - -<p>By the moonlight, by the dying rays of day, he reread Margherita's -letter. He kissed the sheet, put it away, and unwillingly rose to return -to the town. As night came on, the moon seemed to strew the pathway with -silver carvings and with coins. Far off a chorus of fishermen was heard, -and still the pleasant croaking of the frogs. All was sweetness; but now -the lad felt a strange invasion of melancholy, a presentiment perhaps.</p> - -<p>For when he had reached the little garden of San Lucifero, he heard loud -cries, shrieks, shrill screeching of women, oaths of men. He ran. Before -the pink cottages opposite to his own balcony was a group of persons -engaged in a quarrel. It would seem the neighbours were not astonished, -for no heads appeared at the windows of the larger houses. Apparently -the place was used to such scenes, to the madness of these persons who -took each other by the ears, spitting out the grossest insults. Quite -close was a big man dressed in black velvet, motionless, watching, it -would seem enjoying, the excitement.</p> - -<p>"The police! Where are the police?" cried Anania.</p> - -<p>The man turned his eyes slowly on the young student. "The police? Oh, -the police come every week. They give a push here, and a blow there, and -finish it off. Next day it begins again. They'll have to turn those -women out," said the big man, pointing at two of the brawlers. "I'll -have to take it in hand myself, and get a petition to the authorities -signed by all the respectable householders."</p> - -<p>"But what women are they?" asked Anania, bewildered.</p> - -<p>The big man looked at him contemptuously.</p> - -<p>"Women of the streets, of course, innocent!"</p> - -<p>Anania went in so pale and panting that his landlady observed his -agitation.</p> - -<p>"Never mind" she said, "it's only some stupid matter of jealousy. -They'll soon be turned out. We're going to appeal to the government."</p> - -<p>"Where do—those women come from?" asked Anania.</p> - -<p>"One belongs to Cagliari. The other, I rather think, is from Capo di -Sopra."</p> - -<p>The shouts redoubled. A woman cried out she was being killed. A child -sobbed. God! How horrible! Anania, trembling and attracted by some -irresistible force, rushed to his balcony. Above him was the purest of -heavens, the moon, the stars; below, at the foot of the vaporous picture -of the city, the savage scene, the group of demons, belching forth roars -of rage, abominable words. Anania watched in anguish, his soul oppressed -by a tremendous thought.</p> - -<p>Then came the police. Two of the brawlers ran away, the rest calmed -down, the women shut themselves into their houses. In a short time all -was silence, broken only by the distant rumble of a carriage, by the -hoarse croaking of the frogs.</p> - -<p>But in Anania's soul dolorous tumult raged still. Alas! the illumined -sea which had flooded his soul while he poured over his letters on the -hill of Bonaria, had grown dark, and was tossed and torn by tempest.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>"Oh God! oh God! grant she may be dead. Have pity on me, Lord!" he -sobbed that night, racked with insomnia and sad thoughts.</p> - -<p>The idea had shot through his mind that one of the brawling women who -lived in the pink cottage might be his mother. He no longer however -thought that, for the landlady when she brought his supper had told him -particulars of the women which would not fit for Olì. But what matter? -If she were not here, she was there; in some unknown but real place; at -Cagliari, in Rome, somewhere, she was living or had been living, a life -like that of the women whom the decent inhabitants of the Via S. -Lucifero wanted to chase from their vicinity.</p> - -<p>"Why did Margherita write to me?" said Anania in anguish, "and why have -I replied? <i>That woman</i> will always stand between us. What have I been -dreaming? To-morrow I must write to Margherita and tell her all."</p> - -<p>"But how can I tell her?" he asked, again turning and tossing on his -bed. "And if <i>that woman</i> is dead? Why must I renounce my happiness? -Doesn't Margherita probably know about my birth? If it shocked her, she -would not have written to me. Yes, but she thinks my mother is dead, or -at any rate dead for me. While I <i>feel</i> she is alive, and that it is -my duty to seek her, and find her, and lift her out of hell. Perhaps she -has reformed already. No, she hasn't. I am sure she hasn't! Oh, it's -horrible! I hate her! I hate her, hate her! I'll murder her."</p> - -<p>Atrocious visions appeared before his eyes. He saw his mother brawling -with other women of her own sort, with lurid and bestial men. He heard -cries. He shook with hatred and disgust.</p> - -<p>At midnight he wept, smothering his sobs, biting the pillow, wringing -his hands, tearing his breast. He snatched away the amulet Olì had -given him on the day of their flight from Fonni, and flung it against -the wall. Could he but tear out and hurl from him the whole memory of -his mother!</p> - -<p>Suddenly he marvelled at his tears, rose, and found the amulet, but did -not again put it round his neck. He asked himself whether he would have -minded so much about his mother if he were not in love with Margherita. -He answered himself, Yes, just as much. A sort of emptiness filled his -mind. He wearied of his self-torment. Then other thoughts came to him. -He heard the moaning of the wind, the loud roar of the sea. He thought -of a forest searched by the wind, silvered by the moon; he remembered -the woods of Orthobene, where so often while he was picking violets the -sound of the wind in the ilexes had seemed to him the sound of the sea. -Then suddenly the cruel problem assaulted him with renewed fury. -"Suppose she has reformed? It will be just the same, just the same. I've -got to seek her, and find her, and help her. It was for my good she -deserted me. Otherwise, I shouldn't have had a name or a place in -society. If I had stayed with her I'd have been a beggar. I'd have lived -in shame, I'd have been a thief, a criminal. But isn't it all the same? -Am I not ruined just the same? No! no, it's not the same! I am the son -of my own deeds. Only Margherita won't have me because—Oh why, why? -why shouldn't she have me? Am <i>I</i> dishonoured? What fault is it of -mine? She loves me. Yes, she loves me because I'm the son of my own deeds. -And probably <i>that woman</i> is dead. Ah, why do I delude myself? She is -not dead, I feel it. She's alive, and she is still young! How old is she? -Thirty-three, perhaps; ah yes, quite young!"</p> - -<p>The idea that she was still young softened him somewhat. "If she were -fifty I couldn't forgive her, that would make it impossible. Oh, why did -she desert me? If she had kept me with her she wouldn't have gone back -into sin. I would have worked for her. By this time I'd have been a -labourer, a shepherd, a workman. I should never have known Margherita. I -should have been quite happy."</p> - -<p>But the dream of what he might have been disgusted him. He did not love -labour. He did not love poor people. He had endured the poverty of the -environment in which he had lived till quite lately, only because he had -good hope of rising above it in the future.</p> - -<p>"My God, my God! grant she may be dead!"</p> - -<p>"But why do I make this stupid prayer?" he asked angrily; "she is not -dead! After all, why must I seek her? Didn't she give me up? I'm a fool. -Margherita would laugh if she knew I was thinking anything so silly. And -I'm neither the first nor the last illegitimate son who has raised himself -and grown to be respected. Yes; but <i>that woman</i> is the shadow. -I've got to find her and make her live with me, and live properly; and -an honest woman won't ever live with us. Us! I and she are all one. -To-morrow I must write to Margherita. To-morrow. Suppose she loves me -still in spite of it?"</p> - -<p>He felt almost faint at the sweetness of this thought. Then was -conscious of its improbability and fell back into despair. Neither the -next day nor later could he bring himself to write to Margherita. The -unfulfilled resolve pursued him, goaded, prostrated him, as if he were a -leaf in the grip of the blast.</p> - -<p>"I will tell her by word of mouth," he thought; yet feared he would have -even less courage for that, and reviled himself for a coward; then found -unconfessed comfort in the shameful certainty, that this very cowardice -would always hinder him from accomplishing what he called "his mission."</p> - -<p>Often, however, this mission appeared so heroic that the idea of -deliberately giving it up distressed him.</p> - -<p>"My life would be pointless like the lives of most men, if I gave that -up." And in these romantic moments he was not averse to the conflict -between his duty and his love, love morbidly increased by the conflict.</p> - -<p>After that evening of the brawl, Anania deserted the balcony which gave -on the street. The appeal to the government was unsuccessful in -uprooting the women, and the sight of the pink cottages hurt his eyes. -However, going out and coming in he often encountered the two women, or -saw them on their balcony among the carnations and the washed rags hung -out to dry.</p> - -<p>One of them, she of Capo di Sopra, was tall and lithe, with black hair -and dark bright blue eyes. She it was who especially attracted Anania's -attention. Her name was Marta Rosa; she was often drunk, and some days -miserably attired, roaming the streets dishevelled, barefoot, or in old -red slippers. At other times she wore a hat trimmed with feathers, and a -smart cape of violet velvet. Sometimes she sat in her balcony pretending -to sew, and sang in a voice fairly clear and melodious, the pretty -<i>stornelli</i><a name="FNanchor_13_1" id="FNanchor_13_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_1" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> of her native place, interrupting herself to scream -insolences to the passers-by who had mocked her, or to her neighbours -with whom she was in continual hot water for seducing their sons or -husbands. When she sang her voice reached to Anania's room, and he -suffered keenly in hearing it.</p> - -<p>Often she sang this <i>stornelli</i>:—</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Su soldadu in sa gherra</td> -<td class="translated"> The soldier die he must</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Nan chi s' est olvedadu</td> -<td class="translated"> In war and be forgot;</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">No s'ammentat de Deu.</td> -<td class="translated"> Not even God remembers</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Torrat su colpus meu</td> -<td class="translated"> My body He dismembers,</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Pustis ch' est sepultadu</td> -<td class="translated"> When buried 'tis, I wot,</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">A sett' unzas de terra.</td> -<td class="translated"> To ounces six of dust.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>"Why doesn't she think what she's singing?" Anania asked himself; "why -doesn't she think of death, and of God, and reform? But how can she -reform? No one will give her work. Society doesn't believe in the -repentance of such women. She could commit suicide; that's the only -remedy!"</p> - -<p>Marta Rosa filled him with pity and with rage. Though he knew where she -came from, and what family she belonged to, he could not entirely get -rid of the fancy that she might be his mother. At any rate his mother -must be very like her. Hideous thought!</p> - -<p>One evening Marta Rosa and her companion, a fair-haired woman, pitted -with small-pox, stopped the student in the street, and invited him to -visit them. He pushed the fair one away and fled, shivering with horror -and disgust. Oh God! It seemed as if had spoken to him. After that the -two woman jeered at him whenever they met. He signed a second and a -third appeal to the Prefecture, but afterwards regretted he had done so.</p> - -<p>Meantime the days passed on. The warm autumn was followed by a mild -winter. Except on rare days of wind and dust, it felt like spring. -Anania studied hard, and he wrote long letters to Margherita.</p> - -<p>Their love was no different from that of a hundred thousand poor -students and rich young ladies. But Anania thought no couple in the -world had ever loved as they loved. Never had man been born who had felt -fires like his. Notwithstanding the dread that Margherita might give him -up if she knew about his mother, he was happy in his love. The mere -thought of seeing the girl again gave him giddiness of delight He -counted the days and the hours to the meeting. In the whole veiled and -mysterious future, he discerned but one luminous point:—his return -home for the Easter holiday, which meant the meeting with Margherita. As -time passed on his fever increased. He remembered nothing but her blue -eyes, her softly tinted cheeks. All other figures disappeared behind this -beloved image.</p> - -<p>During his first year at the Lyceum at Cagliari, just as at the Nuoro -gymnasium, Anania made no friends, scarce even acquaintances. He sat at -his books, or wandered solitary on the seashore, or stood dreaming on -his balcony, from which he saw the shining picture of waves and sky, the -sailing-boats and steamers apparently carved upon a metallic background.</p> - -<p>One day, however, when it was nearing the hour of sunset, he went off -towards Monte Urpino, beyond the groves where the almond trees had been -in flower since the first days of January; and this excursion had its -results. He discovered a pine forest with lonely, moss-carpeted paths. -Between the rosy fir-stems patches of delicate brilliance were thrown by -the sinking sun. On the left were visions of green meadow, of almond -flower, of hedges red in the evening glory; on the right pine groves and -shadowed banks, covered with iris blossoms.</p> - -<p>The lad wandered hither and thither, full of delight. He could have gone -on for ever. The foreground was delicious, but the distance was -enchantment. He plucked the iris flowers, murmuring the name of -Margherita. He ascended a hill green with asphodel, from which he had a -vision of the city so red in the sunset, of the sea which seemed an -immense cauldron of boiling gold. The sky flamed, the earth exhaled -delicate fragrance. Little purple clouds lost on the horizon suggested a -caravan with men and camels, vanishing in splendour. Anania felt so -happy that he fluttered his handkerchief and cried aloud, saluting the -invisible being who was the soul of the sea, the glory of the heaven, -the spirit of that ineffable distance—Margherita!</p> - -<p>After this that pine forest on Monte Urpino was the country of his -dreams. He fancied himself its proprietor, and was irritated if he met -other persons on the lonely paths. Often he lingered till it was night, -was present at the red sea-reflected sunset, or sat among the irises -watching the rise of the moon, great and golden behind the motionless -pines. Once when he was seated on a grassy slope beside a little ravine, -he heard the tinkle of grazing flocks, and home-sickness, as yet -unknown, overpowered him. Before him, beyond the ravine, the path lost -itself in the mystery of distance; the rose-flooded trees blended into -the purity of the sky, the velvet moss caught the sunshine. Above the -horizon Venus shone out, solitary and smiling, as if she had preceded -the stars to enjoy the sweetness of the hour undisturbed.</p> - -<p>Of what was the solitary star thinking? Had she a distant love? Anania -dared to compare himself with the radiant star alone in the heaven as he -was alone in the forest. Perhaps Margherita was looking also at the -evening star. And what was Aunt Tatàna doing? The fire was burning on -her hearth, and the kind, good, elderly woman was preparing the evening -meal, and thinking of her dear boy so far away. And he—he was hardly -thinking of her at all! He was ungrateful, selfish! How could he help -it? If in Aunt Tatàna's place had been another woman, his thought must -have flown to her continually. But that woman was—Ah, where was -<i>that woman</i>? What was she doing at this moment? Did her eyes also see -the evening star? Was she dead? Was she alive? Was she rich? or was she a -beggar? Suppose she were blind! or in prison! This last fancy was -perhaps caused by the distant tinkle of a flock led as Anania knew by a -jailbird, an old shepherd let out from the prison of S. Bartolomeo on -ticket-of-leave. Enough! the boy rose, scattering his sad thoughts. He -descended into the ravine, scrambled up again, and went back to the -town, comforting himself with the thought that Easter was drawing near.</p> - -<p>At last came the day of return. Anania left Cagliari almost sick with -delight. He feared he might die on the way, might never see the dear -mountains, the familiar street, the fair landscape, the face of -Margherita.</p> - -<p>"Yet if I were to die now," he thought, leaning his forehead on his -hand, "she would never forget me—never!"</p> - -<p>Fortunately he arrived quite safe and sound. He saw his dear mountains, -his wild valleys, the whole fair landscape; and the purple countenance -of Nanna who had come to meet him at the station. She had waited for -more than an hour. When she saw the lad's handsome face she opened her -arms and cried:—</p> - -<p>"My little son! my little son!"</p> - -<p>"How do you do? Here, catch this!" and to protect himself from her -embraces, he tossed into her arms the portmanteau, a parcel, and a -basket.</p> - -<p>"Come along!" he cried, "you go out that way. I have to go this way. Go -on!"</p> - -<p>He ran and disappeared, leaving the woman stupefied. Ah! Here he was in -the familiar street. <i>She</i> would be waiting at the window, and no -witness, not even Nanna, was wanted for that greeting. But how small -were the houses of Nuoro! and the streets how narrow and empty! All the -better! It's cold too at Nuoro! Spring has come, but it's still pale and -delicate like a child who has been ill. Here are some people coming -towards him, among them Franziscu Carchide. Franziscu recognizes the -young student, begins to make signs of welcome. What a bore!</p> - -<p>"Well, how are you? Glad to see you back. How you've grown! -Smart too!"</p> - -<p>Carchide could not take his eyes off Anania's yellow shoes. The boy was -chafing with annoyance. At last he escaped. On! on! His heart beat -louder and louder. A woman came to her door, looked at him as he ran by, -and said:—</p> - -<p>"I declare it's he!"</p> - -<p>Well yes, it was he! What business was it of hers? Ah! here, here is the -street which leads to another, to the well known, the beloved street! At -last! It is no dream. Anania hears footsteps and is vexed. Luckily it is -only some children who run, shout, rush away again. And who will there -be in the other street? He longs to run like the children. But he -mustn't, he can't. On the contrary, he assumes an aspect of the greatest -rigidity. He is quite composed. He adjusts his necktie, brushes the -lapels of his coat. He is wearing a long, light overcoat which she has -never seen. Will she know him at once in this coat? Perhaps not. Now he -is in the street. Here is the red door, the white house with the green -window shutters. But she is not there! Oh God, why is she not there!</p> - -<p>Anania stood still with beating heart. By happy chance the street was -empty. Only a black hen passed quietly by, lifting her claws very high -before setting them on the ground, amusing herself pecking at the wall. -What can be the pleasure of that? Is she looking for ants, or testing -the wall's strength? Well! he must go away, to avoid the observation of -curious eyes. He begins to walk away as slowly as the hen, and though -there is still no one at the window he does not take his eye from it for -an instant. His heart suddenly comes into his mouth! He turns quite -faint. Margherita has come! She is pale with passion, and she looks at -him with burning eyes! Anania also grows pale, and no thought of -salutation comes to him, nor a smile. He cannot think. For some instants -he can see nothing but those burning eyes from which rains unspeakable -joy.</p> - -<p>He walked on automatically, turning his head at each step, followed by -those intoxicating eyes. Only when Nanna, the portmanteau on her head, -the parcel in one hand, the basket in the other, appeared puffing and -blowing at the end of the street, did astonishment overpower him and -quicken his halting step.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13_1" id="Footnote_13_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_1"><span class="label">[13]</span></a>These <i>stornelli</i> called <i>mutos</i> are improvised by the -women of the Nuoro district. The subject of the first three lines is -always independent of the subject of the second three, the two verses -being connected only by the rhyme.</p></div> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="PART_II">PART II</a></h4> - -<p><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="I_II">I</a></h4> - -<div class="blockquot-half"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"<i>'Twas now the hour that turneth back</i></span><br /> -<span class="i2"><i>desire</i></span><br /> -<span class="i0"><i>To those who sail the sea; and melts the</i></span><br /> -<span class="i2"><i>heart</i>,"—</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>of those about to visit unknown shores. Among these was Anania. The -train had carried him to the coast. It was evening, a clear, still -autumn evening heavy with melancholy. The dented mountains of Gallura -were faintly visible in the violet distance. The air was scented with -heather blossom. A far off village with grey <i>campanile</i> against the -violet sky came into sight. Anania looked at the strange outline of the -mountains, at the quiet sky, at the cistus bushes among the rocks, and -nothing kept back his tears but the fear of ridicule from his -fellow-travellers: a priest, and a student from lowland Campidano who -had once been his school-fellow.</p> - -<p>At last he was a man! True he had thought himself a man ever since he -was fifteen, but then he had thought himself a young man, now he was an -"old young man." Youth, however, and health shone in his eyes. He was -tall and slim with a seductive little gold-tipped chestnut moustache. -Now stars came out above the Gallura range, here and there fires shone -red among the dark tufts of heath. Good-bye, then, native land, sad -island, aged Mother, loved but not loved enough. A powerful voice from -beyond the sea draws your best sons from your warm lap, even as the wind -calls the young eagles, inviting them to leave their nest among the -lonely crags. The student looked at the horizon and his eyes darkened -with the sky. For how many, many years had he not heard the voice which -was calling him away!</p> - -<p>He remembered the adventure with Bustianeddu, the childish project of -flight; then the ceaseless dreams, the inextinguishable desire for a -journey towards the lands beyond the sea. Yet now that he was leaving -the island he felt sad, half repenting that he had not gone on with his -studies at Cagliari. He had been so happy there! Last May, Margherita -had come for the fantastic splendours of the Feast of St Efès. He had -spent never-to-be-forgotten hours with her among merry companies of -fellow citizens. Margherita was charming, very tall and well-formed. Her -beautiful hair, her dark blue eyes shadowed by long black lashes, -attracted the attention of passers-by who turned their heads to look at -her. Anania, slighter and shorter than she, walked by her side trembling -with jealousy and joy. It seemed impossible that this beautiful -creature, so regal, so reserved, in whose disdainful eyes shone the -pride of an imperial race, should abase herself to love, even to look at -him. Margherita talked little. She was no flirt, and unlike the -generality of women did not change look or voice when a man admired or -addressed her. Was this superiority, simplicity, or contempt?</p> - -<p>"Am I enough for her?" the lover asked himself. "Yes, surely, for she -feels that no other love can equal mine."</p> - -<p>He really did love her very deeply. He had eyes for no one else. He -never looked at a woman except to compare her with Margherita and find -her inferior. The more he became a man, the more she a woman, the more -their love took flame. Anania had days of delirium in which he thought -of the long years that must elapse ere he could have her, and felt the -waiting an impossibility, felt he must die consumed by desire. But on -the whole he loved her calmly, with patience, with constancy, and -purity.</p> - -<p>During the last vacation they had often been alone together in -Margherita's courtyard, under the chaste eyes of the stars, the -impassive face of the moon. Their meetings were facilitated by the -servant who was also the medium of their correspondence. For the most -part they were silent, Margherita trembling lightly, pensive, and -vigilant. Anania panted, smiled, and sighed, oblivious of time and -space, of all the things and affairs of men.</p> - -<p>"You are so cold!" he would say. "Why don't you speak the same words -that you write?"</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid."</p> - -<p>"Of what? If your father surprises us, I will kneel to him and say, 'No, -we are doing no harm. We are united for eternity.' Don't be afraid, my -dearest! I will be worthy of you. I have a future before me. I intend to -be <i>somebody</i>."</p> - -<p>She made no answer. She did not say that if Signor Carboni were to find -out, the future might be shattered. But she continued vigilant.</p> - -<p>At bottom her coldness was not displeasing to Anania, and only augmented -his ardour. Often seeing her so beautiful and so frozen, her eyes -shining in the moonlight like the pearl eyes of an idol, he dared not -kiss her. He gazed at her in silence, and his breast heaved with -felicity or with anguish he knew not which. Once he said—</p> - -<p>"Margherita, I feel like a beggar on the threshold of a wondrous palace -given him by a fairy into which he dares not enter."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>"God be praised, the sea is calm," said the priest, Anania's -fellow-traveller. The young man started from his memories and looked at -the gold-green sea, which in the dusk suggested a moonlit plain, at the -ruins of a little church, at a path through the thickets, lost on the -extreme verge of the shore, as if traced by a dreamer who had hoped to -carry it on across the velvet ripples of the sea. He thought of -Chateaubriand's Renato, and fancied he saw that melancholy figure on a -rock which overhung the waves.</p> - -<p>"No, it's not Renato. Perhaps its Eudorus, who on the sea rocks of wild -Gallia dreamed of the flowers in his distant Hellas. No, it is not -Eudorus; it's just a poet thinking—"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"'This granite rock supreme above the sea</span><br /> -<span class="i0">What does it here?'"</span> -</div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>But the rock and the church and the path and the silhouette of the -uncertain personage have all disappeared. Strange questions are still, -however, troublesome in Anania's mind, falling without answer like -stones thrown into the sea.</p> - -<p>Why should he not stop on this wild, gently melancholy coast? Why should -not the half seen figure on the rocks be his own? Why not build a house -on the ruins of that church? Why waste himself in this stupid -sentimentality? Why was he going to Rome? why studying Law? Who was he? -What was life? Nostalgia? Love? What was Margherita doing? Why did he -love her? Why was his father a mere servant? Why had his father told him -to visit, the moment he got to Rome, those places where gold coins were -kept which had been found among the ruins? Was his father a criminal or -only a monomaniac? Had he inherited monomania from his father? Monomania -in a different form? Was it monomania, a mental disease, this continual -thinking of his mother, of that woman? And was she really in Rome, and -would he find her?</p> - -<p>"'Anninia,'"<a name="FNanchor_14_1" id="FNanchor_14_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_1" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> said the drawling tones of the mocking student from -Campidano, using the nickname which Anania's companions had fastened on -him, "are you asleep? Wake up! Life's just this, a circular ticket -giving the right to stop longer or shorter time at definite places. At -least give thanks that sea-sickness won't interrupt your love dreams."</p> - -<p>The priest, who was young and narrow-minded, also had his gibe. "Don't -be so gloomy, man. '<i>There's trout even in hell</i>.' We are leaving our -beloved fatherland, but at least we shan't be sea-sick!"</p> - -<p>The sea was certainly smooth, and the passage began under the best -auspices. The moon was near setting and threw strange gleams on the rock -of Capo Figari, which suggested a cyclopean sentinel guarding the -melancholy sleep of the abandoned isle. Good-bye! good-bye! island of -exile and of dream!</p> - -<p>Anania remained motionless leaning on the rail of the deck till the last -vision of Capo Figari had disappeared and the little scattered islets -which rose blue from the waves like petrified clouds, were absorbed into -the vaporous distance. Then he sat on a little bench, and scornfully -rubbed tears from his eyes. Battista Daga, his companion, who was always -sea-sick no matter what the condition of the sea, soon retired. Anania -remained alone on the deck, numbed by the damp breeze, and saw the moon, -red like molten iron, sink into a turbid and sanguinous distance. At -last he too turned in, but was long ere he slept. He felt as if his body -were incessantly growing longer and shorter. An interminable line of -carts seemed crossing over his torpid person. The most unpleasant -recollections of his life came into his head. The clashing of the waves -cut by the keel seemed the wind in the widow's cottage at Fonni. Oh what -a vain, useless, odious thing was life! What was the good of living at -all? However at last sleep vanquished his sufferings.</p> - -<p>In the morning he felt another person, agile, strong, happy! He had -closed his eyes on a gloomy grief-stricken land, on livid waves and a -bloody moon. He awakened in a sea of gold, in a land of light. He was -close to Rome.</p> - -<p>Rome! His heart beat with joy. Rome! Rome! Eternal country, mother and -lover, siren and friend, healer of all sorrows, river of oblivion, -fountain of promise, abyss of every ill, source of every good!</p> - -<p>Anania felt ready for the conquest of the world. Civita Vecchia was -black and damp under the morning sky, but it seemed picturesque and -beautiful to him.</p> - -<p>Daga, who had been on the continent for a year, smiled at his -companion's enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>The noisy arrival of the express train gave the Sardinian youth an -electric shock, a sense of terror, the first giddy impression of a -civilization, violent, even destructive. The red-eyed monster would -ravish him away as the wind ravishes the leaves. He would be pitched -into a cauldron of new life, boiling over with terrible joys and griefs. -Ah! that would be life in reality! dreamed of but never known I -civilization! the human ebb and flow! the omnipotent palpitation of the -great collective heart! Then he looked out of the train and watched the -long melancholy lines of the Campagna Romana, warm green under the -autumnal sun, reminding him of the tablelands of his home; but the new -life upon which he was entering usurped all his thoughts obliterating -the landscape, putting memory to flight. Everything, the walls, the -trees, the bushes, the air itself, seemed in motion flying madly by, as -if terrified, as if pursued by some unseen monster. Only the express -train, itself a monster but beneficent, protecting, the immense warrior -of civilization, advanced violently towards the persecutor dragon to -fall upon and destroy it.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>In Rome, the two students lived on the third floor of a huge house in -Piazza della Consolazione, kept by a widow with two pretty -daughters—telegraphists at a newspaper office. The companionship of -Daga, a chameleon-like personage, sometimes merry, sometimes -hypochondriacal, often choleric, often apathetic, always egotistical and -sarcastic, was a great solace to Anania during the first days of his -residence in the capital. The pair slept in one room, divided by a -screen made out of a yellow rug. The room was vast but dark, with one -little window looking out on the internal court. Anania's first glance -from this window filled him with dismay. From the lurid depths of the -court rose high walls of dirty yellow, pierced with irregular windows -from which exhaled kitchen odours of grease and onions. Iron rods ran -along the walls and across the court; from them depended miserable -garments of doubtful cleanliness, one of these rods passed just under -the student's window, long strands of twisted pack-thread floating from -it. Anania stood looking gloomily at the faded walls, but Battista Daga -shook the rod and laughed.</p> - -<p>"Look!" he said, "the rings on this rod and the skeins of thread dance -as if they were alive. It's amusing!"</p> - -<p>Anania looked, and saw the resemblance to marionettes.</p> - -<p>Battista went on. "That's life! an iron rod spanning a dirty court and -men who dance suspended over an abyss."</p> - -<p>"Don't destroy my illusions," said Anania, "I'm dull enough without your -philosophy. Let's go out. I'm smothering." They went out and walked till -they were tired, bewildered by the noise of carriages and trams, by the -splendour of the lamps, by the violent rush and raucous cries of the -motors, above all by the surging of the crowd.</p> - -<p>Anania felt depressed, alone in a desert, alone on a stormy sea. Had he -fallen or cried out none would have heard or seen him; the crowd would -have stepped on his prostrate form without looking at it. He remembered -Cagliari with yearning nostalgia. Oh enchanted balcony, picture of the -sea, sweet eye of the Evening Star! Here no stars were to be seen, no -horizon; only a repellent conglomeration of stones and among them a -swarm of men, who to the young barbarian seemed of a race inferior to -his own.</p> - -<p>For the first days Rome, seen through bewildered eyes under the -influence of fatigue and of the dark habitation in Piazza della -Consolazione, caused him almost feverish sadness. In the older part of -the town, in the narrow streets, the stuffy shops, the wretched -dwellings whose doors seemed mouths of caverns, Anania thought of the -poorest Sardinian village which was dowered at least with light and air. -In the modern streets everything seemed too big, the houses were like -mountains, the piazzas the size of <i>tancas</i>. Was this the intoxicating -Rome, great but never oppressive, which he had imagined at Civita -Vecchia?</p> - -<p>He began to attend the University lectures, studying Civil and Penal Law -under Ferri. Here again his ideas were upset. The students were entirely -noisy; laughing at and mocking everybody and everything. In Hall IV., -while they were waiting for Ferri, the row and the joking passed all -limits of decorum. One student would leap upon the chair and deliver a -parody of the expected lecture. His fellows shouted, hissed, applauded, -cried, "<i>Viva il Papa!" "Viva St Alphonso di Liguri!" "Viva Pio -Nono!</i>" Sometimes the student in the chair, with red, set face, would -mimic the mewing of cats, the crowing of cocks. Then the roaring and the -hissing redoubled. Paper balls were thrown and lighted matches; the student -persisted till the arrival of the professor, who was received with -thunders of applause.</p> - -<p>Later Anania took part in this noise and tumult, but at first the -absurdity, the scepticism, the vanity and egotism of his companions -shocked him. He felt more than ever alone, unlike the rest, and he -repented that he had come to Rome. But one evening he and Daga were -crossing Via Nazionale at the fall of evening. The pavements were -deserted, the radiance of the electric lamps was lost in the azure dusk. -The windows of the banks were brightly illuminated.</p> - -<p>"Look!" said Daga.</p> - -<p>"It seems as if all the gold in the Bank was shining at the windows!" -cried Anania.</p> - -<p>"Bravo!" said the other, "you're getting quite brilliant in my -society!"</p> - -<p>Presently they stopped again. On the left, in the indescribable depth of -Via Quattro Fontane, the sky burned with violet clearness; on the right -the full moon was rising from the black outline of Santa Maria Maggiore -which was silhouetted against a silver background.</p> - -<p>"Let's go to the Coliseum!" said Anania.</p> - -<p>They went, and spent a long time wandering round the divine mystery of -the spot, looking at the moon through every arch. Then they sat on a -shining column, and Daga said—</p> - -<p>"I feel as if I were in the moon. Don't you think that in the moon one -would feel just as one feels here in this great dead world?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Anania, answering his own inward question, "<i>this</i> -is Rome!"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14_1" id="Footnote_14_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_1"><span class="label">[14]</span></a>Huah-a-bye baby.</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="II_II">II</a></h4> - - -<p>It was raining. An ashy shadow burdened the room, of which Daga had -given his companion the brighter part, because he liked sleeping till -ten o'clock and was intolerant of the faintest light. Stretched on his -bed Anania looked at the yellow screen, while he fancied a marble -bas-relief yellowed by damp, and was conscious of discouragement, almost -physical in its nature.</p> - -<p>Daga also sighed from his bed behind the screen.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter with <i>him</i>?" thought Anania irritated, "isn't he -quite happy, rich, talented, esteemed?" He began to make comparisons.</p> - -<p>"He isn't in love, the fool! he has parents who worship him; he's -independent—while I? Well then, what about me? Am I not happy? Aren't -my blue devils called up by rain clouds, by nebulous monsters? I declare -I'm mad! I love and am loved. I have before me a future of love and -peace. I'm ambitious, perhaps I have only to open my arms to embrace the -world. Margherita is beautiful. She is rich. She loves me and is waiting -for me. What is it that I want? Why this stupid sadness?"</p> - -<p>Even his nostalgia was cured. Rome had by this time revealed herself -before his eyes like some marvellous panorama emerging from the morning -mists. She was now so delightful to him that one morning, looking down -from the terrace of the Villa Medici on the refulgent picture drawn in -the green hollow of the Campagna like a mother-o'-pearl city carved in a -shell of emerald, and looking away to the lonely horizon which reminded -him of the solitudes of Sardinia, he asked himself whether his new love -for the Eternal City was not greater than the old love for his home.</p> - -<p>In his life of study he had felt the spirit of Rome, severe and gentle, -blowing on his own little spirit. He was assiduous at his lectures, he -frequented libraries, galleries, museums. Certain pictures had struck -him—he felt as if he had already seen them. Where? when? By degrees -he recognized that the feeling came from the resemblance between the -figures in the picture to the people of his home. That Madonna of -Correggio's has the dark face of Bustianeddu's mother; that old man of -Spagnoletto's is the Bishop of Nuoro; and the sarcastic physiognomy of -Uncle Pera, the gardener, lives in the copy of a picture by an unknown -Tuscan of which the original is at Venice.</p> - -<p>Daily in the streets, the churches, the shops, Anania found objects of -Art and of Beauty which filled him with enthusiasm. Ah! how beautiful -was Rome! How he loved her! And yet—a shadow brooded upon all the -love, all the enthusiasm, a cloud hung over all things.</p> - -<p>Last night about eleven, before the rain had begun, the two students -were walking in Via Nazionale, at this hour almost empty, with broad -shadows between the electric lamps. They were talking in the Sardinian -dialect, and presently one of those nocturnal butterflies who flit over -the pavements, accosted them in the same speech:—</p> - -<p>"<i>Bonas tardas pizzocheddos</i>."</p> - -<p>She was tall, dark, with large, hollow eyes. The electric light gave a -cadaverous pallor to her small face emerging from the fur collar of a -light jacket. As when Marta Rosa had stopped him at Cagliari, Anania -shuddered. He dragged Daga away who had answered the woman roughly. It -was not the first time Anania had encountered such wandering phantasm in -the lonely streets, and always he had felt a chill at his heart.</p> - -<p>Was it <i>she</i>? Could it be <i>she</i>? But this time—oh -this time—the woman had spoken in Sardinian. She was a Sardinian. -It might be <i>she</i>!</p> - -<p>Stretched on his bed after long hours of melancholy oppression Anania -thought—</p> - -<p>"I can't go on living like this. I must <i>know</i>. Oh to hear that she -were dead! dead! But I will seek her. Did I not come to Rome for this? -To-morrow—to-morrow! From the very day I arrived I have said that I -And to-morrow comes and I do nothing. But what can I do? Where must I -go? And supposing I do find her?"</p> - -<p>Ah! that was his dread. He must not even think of what might happen when -he had found her! Then he thought:</p> - -<p>"Would it be a good plan to confide in Battista? Suppose I tell him I'm -going out now to the Questura<a name="FNanchor_15_1" id="FNanchor_15_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_1" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> to get information; what will he -advise? I must confide in some one. I want counsel—help. I can endure -this sad secret no longer. So many, many years I have borne its weight. -I want to get free, to throw it off as one throws off an oppressive -burden. I want to get free, to breathe. I must dislodge this gnawing -worm. I shall be told I'm a fool. I shall be convinced. Well, so much -the better if I am convinced. I shall be told to let it alone. What a -horrible day this is! I feel as if I was in one of Dostoyevsky's novels, -seeing a procession of grey and famished folk passing across the end of -the room. The sky is lowering. Am I going asleep? I must get up and go -about this business at once. Battista Daga!" he cried, rising on his -elbow, "aren't you going out?"</p> - -<p>"No," roared the other.</p> - -<p>"Will you lend me your umbrella?"</p> - -<p>He hoped Battista would ask where he was going, but all his friend said -was—</p> - -<p>"Couldn't you do me the favour of buying an umbrella?"</p> - -<p>Anania sat up on his bed, put his lips to the screen, and said -slowly—</p> - -<p>"I've got to go to the Questura."</p> - -<p>Again he hoped a fraternal voice would ask his reason. His heart beat -considering how he should explain.</p> - -<p>But Daga only asked from behind the screen, "Are you going to get the -rain taken up?"</p> - -<p>Anania laughed, and his secret fell back on his heart like lead. Not a -screen, but an immense and impenetrable wall divided him from his -fellows. He must neither ask nor expect help from any one. He must be -sufficient to himself.</p> - -<p>He got up, dressed, sought in his desk for the certificate of his birth. -Then he opened the door.</p> - -<p>"Take the umbrella, of course," yawned Battista; "but why are you -going?"</p> - -<p>Anania did not reply. He went out.</p> - -<p>It rained without intermission, furiously. Descending the dark stair he -listened to the echoing clatter of the rain on the glass roof. It seemed -the roar of a cascade which in a moment must smash the glass and -inundate the staircase, already overflowed by the noise of the imminent -catastrophe. He went out and wandered through the rain-washed streets. -He passed through a deserted alley, under a black and mysterious arch; -looked gloomily at the damp chiaroscuro of certain interiors, of certain -small shops in which pale figures of women, of poor men, of dirty -children, moved to and fro; caves where charcoal sellers assumed -diabolical aspect, where vegetables and fruits in baskets grew putrid in -the muddy darkness, where blacksmiths, and cobblers and washerwomen -consumed themselves in the forced labour of an imaginary penitentiary, -more sad than the real prison because more hopeless and lasting.</p> - -<p>Anania thought of the savage surroundings of the widow at Fonni, of the -mill, the encompassing poverty, the miserable figures in the poor homes -of Nuoro. He seemed condemned always to be in sad places, among the -grief-stricken and the poor.</p> - -<p>After long and useless wandering, he came in and sat down to write a -letter to Margherita.</p> - -<p>"I am mortally sad," he wrote. "On my soul lies a great and bruising -weight. For many years I have wished to tell you what I am writing now. -I don't know how you will receive it. But whatever you may think. -Margherita, never forget that I am impelled by inexorable fate, by a -duty which is more bitter to me than a crime. Perhaps—but I will not -influence you in any way; only remember that on your decision depends my -life or my death. By death I mean moral death; the death which does not -kill the body but condemns the whole man to a slow agony. First, let me -explain. But oh! I can't, I can't! You will repel me! Yet my sorrow is -so lacerating that I feel the need of flinging myself before you, of -exposing my anguish——"</p> - -<p>Having written thus far he stopped and read the letter over. He could -not write another word. Who was Margherita? Who was he? Who was <i>that -woman</i>? What was life? Here were all the stupid questions beginning over -again. A long time he looked at the window panes, at the iron rod and -the rings and the threads, dropping water, chafed by the wind, against -a murky and faded background. He even thought of killing himself.</p> - -<p>Presently he tore the letter, first in long strips then into little -squares which he arranged in a pattern. Then again he looked at the -window panes, and the rods, and the rings and the threads which seemed -like soaking marionettes.</p> - -<p>Towards evening the rain ceased and the two students went out together. -The sky had cleared, the city noises reanimated the soft air; a rainbow -made a marvellous frame for the picture of the Forum Romanum.</p> - -<p>Daga was in a mood of thoughtless merriment. Anania walked -automatically, noticing nothing, his hands in his pockets, his hat on -his eyes, his lips shut. As usual they went down Via Nazionale. Daga -stopped before Garroni's to look at the papers, while Anania walked on -absently, advancing towards a line of chattering young priests habited -in red. The reflection of their scarlet cassocks made a sanguinous -reflection on the wet pavement, and all the footpath seemed on fire. -They were foreigners, merry, thoughtless boys, frisking like flames and -filling the streets with their laughter. Thus they would pass through -life, thoughtless and unconscious, no passion involving them in shadows, -no flame shining on their path but that of their long scarlet cassocks. -Anania felt envious and said to Daga, who rejoined him—</p> - -<p>"When I was a child I knew the son of a famous brigand. The boy was on -fire with wild little passions, and meant to avenge his father. Now he -has become a monk. What do you make of that?"</p> - -<p>"He's a fool, that's all."</p> - -<p>"That won't do," said Anania eagerly, "we explain too many psychological -mysteries by that word fool!"</p> - -<p>"Well, anyhow he's a monomaniac. Folly itself is a complicated -psychological mystery, a tree of which monomania is the stoutest -branch."</p> - -<p>"Well, he had the monomania of brigandage, an hereditary monomania. He -is a primitive sort of person, and by becoming a monk he tried to free -himself from his monomania. He went from bad to worse. He'll end by -going mad. A normal intelligent man, if he has the ill luck to become -the victim of a fixed idea, throws it off by giving way to it. Take -love, for instance. That's a fixed idea, if you like! a continual itch -to be near some particular person—alone with her. There's no remedy -for that state of obsession but to get near—the fixed idea! Wait a -moment, I see something I want" (he stopped before a shop window)—"a -crocodile card-case."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps you are right."</p> - -<p>"Of course I am. I know it's crocodile."</p> - -<p>"I mean about the fixed idea——"</p> - -<p>"Just think! that card-case was once living in the Nile."</p> - -<p>"What an idiot you are! where's the Police Office?" asked Anania, -turning on his heel.</p> - -<p>"How do I know? I've never been taken up."</p> - -<p>"Seriously, where is it?"</p> - -<p>"Do you think you're at Nuoro? There are dozens of offices. I've noticed -one at San Martino dei Monti."</p> - -<p>"Will you come with me?" said Anania, turning up Via Depretis. He had -grown pale; his hands trembled in his pockets.</p> - -<p>"What are you going to do at the Questura? What's the matter with you? -Have you committed a crime?"</p> - -<p>"I want to get someone's address. Come on."</p> - -<p>He hurried. His friend followed, curious and a little disturbed. "Who is -the person? Who wants the address? Someone at Nuoro? Is it a mystery? -Speak, you wretch!"</p> - -<p>Anania strode on and made no answer.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Daga as they arrived at S. Martino, "I'm not your pet dog. -If you won't open your mouth, I'll leave you here."</p> - -<p>"I'll tell you afterwards. Wait for me."</p> - -<p>Daga waited. A quarter of an hour passed. The young man forgot his -comrade's mysterious business in enjoyment of the grand scene spread out -before him. The rosy haze of incipient twilight filled the air. The -lamps were like pearls in the streets of the immense fan, stretching out -from the Piazza dell' Esquilino. Foot-passengers and carriages passed as -on a huge stage before a limitless background.</p> - -<p>"They're all marionettes moved by an invisible thread," thought the -student. "There they go passing, hurrying, disappearing. Each one thinks -himself great, the pivot of the world, with an universe existing for him -alone. While in reality they are all very small. I wonder how many of -them have committed crimes? That swell there with the silk hat? Perhaps -he has poisoned someone. They all have cares. No, not all. It's a lie to -say humanity suffers. The chief part of humanity neither suffers nor -enjoys. All those people going to the Pincio for instance! What can -those people either enjoy or suffer? Is that Anania Atonzu coming back? -Yes, here he is. He also is a marionette. He looks like Punch when he -says 'the die is cast!'"</p> - -<p>In his olympian superiority of the moment, Daga smiled more mockingly -than ever.</p> - -<p>"Well is the die cast?!" he asked tragically.</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Anania, leaning against the wall. For some minutes he -also gazed at the Piazza where lamps were beginning to replace the -luminous twilight. In the depths of the central street which seemed a -road cut through a forest, Monte Mario could be seen, a distant wall -against a background of reddened silver. Anania, he knew not why, -suddenly remembered that evening when he—a child, had climbed the -Gennargentu and seen a fearful heaven—all red, in which hovered the -ghosts of dead robbers.</p> - -<p>And now too, he felt a mystery hovering round him; and the vision of the -city inspired him with fear: the vision of that forest of stone -traversed by shining streets, like rivers of which the waves were the -heart beats of suffering men.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_15_1" id="Footnote_15_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_1"><span class="label">[15]</span></a>Police detective inquiry office.</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="III_II">III</a></h4> - - -<p>Yes, as Battista had said, and in the words of the ancient Roman, the -die was cast. The police office at Anania's instance undertook the -search for Rosalia Derios. Before the end of March her son was informed -that a woman answering the description lived at such a number of Via del -Seminario, on the top floor, and made her living by letting rooms. This -person was called, or had assumed the name of Maria Obinu and said she -was a native of Nuoro. She had been fourteen years in Rome and at first -had lived—well, a little irregularly. But for some years she had been -quite respectable—at least in appearance; and let furnished rooms -with or without board.</p> - -<p>Anania took the information coolly. The description agreed. He did not -precisely remember his mother's face, but knew she was tall with black -hair and light eyes. He was sure that at Nuoro there was no family named -Obinu, and that no one had a female relative living in Rome and letting -rooms. This Obinu Was giving a false name, None the less, he felt -instinctively that the woman was not, could not be his mother. This gave -him a sense of relief. He had done his duty. Maria Obinu was not Rosalia -Derios, Rosalia Derios could not be in Rome if the omniscient -<i>Questura</i> failed to find her. He was not obliged to make further -search. After days and months of oppression and suspense he at last -breathed freely.</p> - -<p>The spring had penetrated even into the dreary court of the house in -Piazza della Consolazione, to that great yellow well, which exhaled the -odours of victuals, and was noisy with the voices of servant maids and -the piping of imprisoned canaries. The air was warm and sweet with the -fragrance of violet and lilac; over the azure sky passed roseate clouds.</p> - -<p>Standing at the window, Anania was again conscious of nostalgia. The -scent of violets, the pink clouds, the warm spring breeze reminded him -of his home, of the vast horizons, the clouds he had watched from the -window of his little bedroom, sinking behind the holm-oaks of Orthobene. -Then he remembered the pines of Monte Urpino, the silence of the hills -clothed with blue iris and asphodel, the mystery of the paths, the pure -eyes of the stars. And against the cerulean background of these -nostalgic memories, the delightful figure of Margherita rose supreme, -her little feet on the grass of the fresh landscape, her brown hair -gold-tipped in the brilliance of the sunshine.</p> - -<p>It was these recollections which touched him in the Roman spring; -otherwise it seemed artificial, the sunsets too highly coloured, the -abundance of flowers and perfumes exaggerated. Piazza di Spagna decked -with roses like an altar, the Pincio with its flowering trees, the -streets in which flower girls offered baskets of ranunculus and violets -to the passers-by—all this ostentation, all this merchandise of -spring, gave the Sardinian an idea of a vulgar holiday, which would end -in weariness and disgust.</p> - -<p>Beyond the horizon, Spring was a maiden wild and pure; she wandered -among the <i>tancas</i> covered now with waving grass, she twittered with -the water birds on the banks of lonely streams, she was merry with the -lambs, with the leverets leaping among the cyclamen, or beneath the -immense oaks sacred to the ancient shepherds of the Barbagia; she slept -in the shadows of the moss-grown rocks, during the voluptuous noons, -while round her bed of periwinkle and fern, golden insects buzzed their -love stories, and bees sucked the dog roses extracting their bitter -honey, sweet and bitter like the Sardinian soul. Anania lived and loved -in that distant spring land. He sat at the window studying his books and -watching the blue sky and the rosy clouds. He fancied himself an -enamoured prisoner. A pleasant somnolence stole his strength, his will, -his power of definite thought. Ideas came and went in his mind—like -the people in the street. He made no effort to detain them, they passed -languidly, leaving furrows of sadness in their wake.</p> - -<p>More than ever he loved solitude. His companion irked him. They were no -longer entirely good friends.</p> - -<p>Daga tyrannised over the younger lad, he borrowed money (which he never -repaid) he laughed at him and talked displeasingly.</p> - -<p>"We view life under different aspects," said Daga, "or, rather, I see it -and you don't. I am short-sighted, but I have strong eyeglasses. People -and things seen through them are small but very dear. You are -short-sighted too, but you haven't even a pair of spectacles."</p> - -<p>Sometimes Anania did indeed believe he had a veil before his eyes. His -blood ran with diffidence and apprehension. Even his love for Margherita -was mixed with anxiety; and this nostalgia, this love of solitude, this -sleepiness of spring, this indifference to life—to that imperious -life which had ever eluded him—all this was just diffidence, grief, -and apprehension; and indeed he knew it.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>One day at the end of May, Anania surprised his companion kissing the -elder daughter of the landlady.</p> - -<p>"You are a brute!" he exclaimed, "haven't you been making love to the -other one?"</p> - -<p>They quickly got to high words.</p> - -<p>"Why, you fool, it's the girls who come and throw themselves into my -arms. Am I to push them away? If the world walks sideways, let us find -our advantage in it. It's the women nowadays who corrupt the men, and I -should be stupider even than you if I didn't accept their offers, up to -a certain point!"</p> - -<p>"That's very fine," returned Anania, "but why do these adventures happen -only to certain people? What about me, for instance?"</p> - -<p>"What happens to men doesn't happen to asses. The proverbial Sardinian -donkey, <i>sardu molente</i>, is eternally blindfolded. His business is -just to turn the wheel, and if the world were to collapse he'd never find -it out. The mill is his fixed idea. Suppose some day a wretched historian -wanted to write the donkey's life? he would find it vain to describe how -his hero ate and slept, what he studied, whether he was intended for a -doctor or a lawyer, whether he lived on land or sea or in the clouds. -Such things didn't enter into the life of that excellent beast as they -enter into the life of all other creatures."</p> - -<p>"Anyhow he could say his donkey wasn't immoral."</p> - -<p>"I might ask you, what is morality? but you wouldn't be able to answer. -I will inform you that morality, or whatever you like to call it, is the -result of circumstances. A donkey is highly moral so long as he has no -opportunity to be anything else. The young ladies of this house know you -are engaged. I am not, so they unlade their sweet electric discharges on -me."</p> - -<p>"Engaged? I? Who says so?"</p> - -<p>"And to a daisy—a pearl cast this time before an ass.</p> - -<p>"I forbid you to utter that name! I forbid you! Do you hear?"</p> - -<p>"Don't threaten my eyes with that finger! I snap my fingers at you and -at all the engaged chaps in the world."</p> - -<p>Furiously Anania fell to packing his papers and books.</p> - -<p>"I'm going at once!" he said, "at once. It seems there are prying people -here, as well as persons in search of amusement. I leave you to your -amusement. I am going away."</p> - -<p>"Good-bye, then," said Battista, throwing himself on his bed, "but -please remember that if I hadn't taken care of you at first, you'd have -been squashed by the trams. You thought they were alive, didn't you?"</p> - -<p>"And you, remember——" began Anania, stung by his companion's -ridicule. But he checked himself and grew red.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I remember perfectly. I owe you twenty-seven <i>lire</i>. Don't be -afraid for your twenty-seven <i>lire</i>. My father, you recollect, has -seven <i>tancas</i> in a row."</p> - -<p>"With a river in the middle!" cried Anania, banging his books on the -table. "I defy you and your father and your <i>tancas</i>! I snap my -fingers at you."</p> - -<p>Thus they separated, the two little supermen who in the Coliseum had -thought themselves as high as the moon. Anania flung out of the dingy -room with the intention of never setting foot in it again.</p> - -<p>Once in the street, his heart still swelling with indignation, he went -automatically towards the Corso, and almost without noticing it, found -himself in Via del Seminario. It was burning noon, parched by a hot east -wind. The awning of the shops flapped spitefully against the passers-by. -The smell of the pavement was blended with perfume of flowers but also -with odours of paint, of drugs, of provisions. Anania's nerves were on -edge. He encountered a flock of young priests with floating black -cassocks and compared them to crows. He remembered a long ago quarrel -with Bustianeddu, and hated Battista Daga who represented the race of -vain-glorious and cynical Sardinians. In this mood he rang at the door -of Maria Obinu.</p> - -<p>A tall, pale woman, shabbily dressed in black, came to open. Anania felt -sudden dismay. Her greenish eyes seemed familiar.</p> - -<p>"Signora Obinu?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, that is my name," answered the woman, her tones somewhat -coarse.</p> - -<p>"No," thought the youth, "it's not her voice."</p> - -<p>He went in. Signora Obinu took him across a dark vestibule, then into a -small parlour, grey, dreary, badly lighted. His attention was caught by -a variety of Sardinian objects, specially the head of a deer and a wild -sheepskin nailed to the wall. He thought of his birthplace and felt his -doubts reborn.</p> - -<p>"I want a room. I'm a student, a Sardinian," he said looking at the -woman from head to foot.</p> - -<p>She was about thirty-seven, pallid and thin; her nose sharp, almost -transparent. Her thick black hair, still dressed in Sardinian fashion, -that is in narrow plaits coiled on the nape of the neck, made her seem -almost pretty.</p> - -<p>"A Sardinian? That's nice!" she answered frankly and with a pleasant -smile. "I have no room just now, but if you can wait a fortnight there's -an English lady going away."</p> - -<p>He asked to look at the room. It was in a state of indescribable -confusion. The bed was pulled out from the wall, and stood between piles -of antique books and other curiosities. There was a folding india-rubber -basin which the "Miss" used as a bath, and in it a fragrant branch of -cassia. On the window-sill a book lay open. It was poetry, Giovanni -Cena's <i>Madre</i> (mother) and Anania was struck by seeing it. He decided -to take the room.</p> - -<p>In the vestibule there was a large ottoman. He said: "Can't I sleep here -till the lady leaves? I want to get out of the place I'm in at once. I -go to bed late and I get up early——"</p> - -<p>"But this ante-room is a passage," said the woman.</p> - -<p>"I know. But I don't mind if you don't," urged Anania.</p> - -<p>"'<i>Miss</i>' goes to bed early, but the other two, her father and -Signor Ciri never come in till late."</p> - -<p>"I really don't mind for a few nights."</p> - -<p>They returned to the parlour and Anania stood looking at the stuffed -head of the deer.</p> - -<p>"Suppose it is <i>she</i>?" he was thinking. His coolness surprised him. -He could have borne it even if at that very moment the woman had revealed -herself. At bottom, however, he was deeply moved. He continued his -investigations.</p> - -<p>"This is Sardinian," he said touching the yellowing sheepskin, "why -don't you use it as a rug?"</p> - -<p>"It's a relic of my father. He was a hunter," said the woman still -smiling kindly.</p> - -<p>"She's lying," thought Anania. Then he looked attentively at the deer's -head and asked, "Are you a native of Nuoro?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, but I was born there by accident. My parents were just passing -through."</p> - -<p>"I was born accidentally at Fonni," he said with careless voice, -fingering the horns of the stag; "yes, at Fonni. My name is Anania -Atonzu Derios."</p> - -<p>Having said the name, he turned and faced the woman. She did not move an -eyelash.</p> - -<p>"No, it's not <i>she</i>," he thought, and felt relieved. She was not -his mother.</p> - -<p>But that evening when he had brought his portmanteau and books to his -new domicile, Maria said to him:</p> - -<p>"I'll give you my own room for the fortnight."</p> - -<p>In vain he protested. His things were all carried into her little -chamber and Anania took possession. He felt shy, intruding thus into the -long narrow room which seemed like a nun's cell. The little white bed -smelt of lavender and reminded him of the simple pallet beds of the -patriarchal Sardinian homes. Again, Sardinian fashion, Maria Obinu had -decorated the grey walls with a row of little pictures, with sacred -images, three wax candles, and three crucifixes, a branch of olive, and -an immense crown made of sugar. At the head of the bed hung two bunches -of medals which had been blessed by the Pope. In one corner a lamp -burned before a representation of blue-pencil souls in Purgatory praying -before three red-pencil ensanguined flames. What a difference between -the Englishwoman's room and that of Maria Obinu! They were divided by at -least five centuries.</p> - -<p>Anania was again in doubt. Why did she give him her room? Ah! she was -too anxious—too affectionate! He was unpacking when she knocked and -asked, without entering, whether he wished the lamp extinguished before -the Holy Souls.</p> - -<p>"No!" he shouted, "but please come in. I have something to show -you."</p> - -<p>In his hand was a quaint little object, a small case of greasy material -hung on a thin chain blackened by time. He put the amulet round his neck -and said:</p> - -<p>"I am pious myself. This is the Ricetta of San Giovanni, which wards off -temptation."</p> - -<p>The woman looked. Her smile faded and Anania's heart beat. "You don't -believe in it?" she said severely; "well, whether you believe or not, -don't jest at it. It's holy."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Stretched on the lavender-scented bed, Anania pondered. If this Maria -Obinu were Olì? If it were <i>She</i>? So near and yet so far! What -mysterious thread had led him to her, to the very pillow where she must -have wept for her deserted child? How strange is life!—a thread upon -which men dance like rags moved by the wind; was it really she? Then he -had arrived at his goal insensibly, almost unintentionally, by force of -his subconscious will which had given him suggestion. Suggestion of -what? But surely this was folly! Childishness! It couldn't be she! But -if it were? Did she already know she was with her son while he was -racked by doubt? Then why didn't she reveal herself? What was she afraid -of? Had she recognised the amulet.</p> - -<p>No, it could not be she. A mother must betray herself; could not help -crying out on meeting her child. The idea was absurd. No, it was not -absurd. A woman can control herself under the most violent emotions. -Olì would be afraid—after deserting her son—throwing him away. -Well, so much the more she ought to betray herself. A mother is always a -mother—not a mere woman. And how could Olì, a wild creature, a child -of nature, have so assimilated the hypocrisy of cities, as to be able to -feign like an actress? Impossible! Maria Obinu was Maria Obinu, a nice -kind woman, mild and unconscious, who had reformed by luck rather than -by strength of character, who eked out her penitence—perhaps scarcely -felt—by the ostentation of very questionable religious sentiment. It -could not be <i>She</i>.</p> - -<p>"I'll press for information. She must tell me her history," he thought. -"However I'm satisfied it's not she. I tell you it's not she! you -imbecile, you idiot, you fool!"</p> - -<p>Then he remembered his first night at Nuoro and the secret kiss his -father had pressed upon his forehead. He half expected that now his door -would open and a furtive shadow would come in the trembling light of the -little lamp and imitate that shamefaced kiss.</p> - -<p>"If it happens, what shall I do?" he asked himself, anxiously. "I'll -pretend I'm asleep. But, good Lord! what a fool I am!"</p> - -<p>The noises in the street and in the neighbouring Piazza of the Pantheon -grew fainter and fewer, as if themselves weary and retiring to a place -of repose. The belated lodgers came in. Then all was silence in the -house, in the street, in the city. But Anania still kept vigil. Perhaps -the lamp——</p> - -<p>"I'll put it out," he thought and got up. A noise! a rustle! Was the -door opening? Oh God! He sprang back into bed, shut his eyes, waited. -His heart and his throat pulsed feverishly. The door remained shut. He -calmed himself and laughed. But the lamp was left still alight.</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="IV_II">IV</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">Rome, <i>June</i> 1st.</p> - -<p>"My Margherita, this moment your letter has arrived and I reply at once. -At least twenty times in the last few days I have taken my pen to write -to you but have not managed it. I have a great deal to tell you. First, -I have moved. I fell out with Battista Daga because I caught him kissing -the elder of the landlady's girls while he still makes love to the -younger one. That made me sick. Besides the place was too far from the -University. Now that the heat has begun the long journey to and fro is a -bore. As to Daga we made it up next day. I met him close to my new rooms -and he said he was coming to look me up, though first he had said he -wouldn't. I'm very comfortable here. The new landlady is a Sardinian. -She says she was born at Nuoro. She's nice and kind and very -pious—quite maternal in her care of me. She has given me her own room, -until the departure of a very beautiful English lady whom I'm to replace. -This '<i>Miss</i>' is extraordinarily like <i>you</i>. Don't be jealous -though. First, because I'm violently in love with a young lady at Nuoro; -secondly because '<i>Miss</i>' is going away in a few days; thirdly she's as -mad as a March hare; fourth she's betrothed; fifthly I'm under the care -of all the saints in heaven who are hung round the walls of my room, not -to mention the blessed souls in Purgatory. They are illuminated day and -night by a taper, which I know not why, seems to me itself a soul at -expiation (now I'm writing what you call nonsense).</p> - -<p>"Well, I must tell you that at my new landlady's, there are two or three -more foreigners, a clerk at the War Office, a Piedmontese tailor, very -fashionable and refined, and a French bagman who can fire off eighty -lies in eight minutes. He reminds me of your suitor, the most worshipful -Signor Franziscu Carchide of Nuoro. Yesterday, for instance, while -'<i>Miss</i>' and the tailor were arguing about the Boer war, Monsieur -Pilbert told me, half in French half in Latin, that by force of -suggestion he had made the hair come out on his baby's head and in a -single hour it grew an inch, then stopped growing and at last set -itself <i>Se développer naturellement</i>. Signora Obinu—that's the -landlady—has a queer little old Sardinian cook, who has been thirty -years in Rome and still can't speak Italian. Poor old Aunt Varvara! She was -almost ravished from Sardinia, carried off by a violent <i>padrone</i>, a -captain of Dragons (so she calls him) who terrified her. She's black and -tiny, like a <i>jana</i><a name="FNanchor_16_1" id="FNanchor_16_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_1" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> keeps her native costume jealously locked up, and wears a -ridiculous gown bought in the Campo dei Fiori, and a bonnet which might -have belonged to the Empress Josephine. I often visit Aunt Varvara in -her dark and torrid kitchen. We talk in dialect; she weeps, and asks -after all the people she knew in the island. She thinks of returning to -Sardinia, though she's horribly afraid of the sea and believes the storm -in which she crossed to the continent is still going on. She knows -nothing of the place she's living in. Rome, for her, is just a place -where everything's dear, and a field of danger in which at any moment -she may be assaulted by a passing vehicle. She says the trams seem to -her like awful stags (she has never seen a stag) and that she can't go -to mass at the Pantheon because that church with the round hole on top, -like a Sardinian oven, makes her laugh. She wants to know whether in -Sardinia we still bake at home. I said yes, and she began to cry, -thinking of the jokes and games in the days when she baked bread in her -father's oven. Then she asked if there are still shepherds, and if they -still sit on the ground under the trees. How she sighed thinking of a -certain Easter banquet forty years ago at Goceano! Aunt Varvara can't -bear the Englishwoman, and she in her turn regards the old thing as a -savage. Sometimes while she does her cooking she sings songs in the -Logudorese dialect. Also this dirge which I have heard at Nuoro:</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="translated">Dear Hearts, hush-a-bye!</td> -<td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> Coro anninnò, anninnò</td></tr> -<tr><td class="translated">Tis my day to die.</td> -<td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> Dego de partire so</td></tr> -<tr><td class="translated">While I linger still</td> -<td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> E de fagher testamentu.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="translated">Let me make my will.</td></tr></table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>"Then in the evening mistress and maid repeat the Rosary in dialect; and -it amuses me to join in from my room, because it makes Aunt Varvara -furious. She breaks off her prayers to swear at me.</p> - -<p>"'<i>Su diaulu chi ti ha fattu</i>' ('Go to the devil who made you!')" -she shouts, and the padrona says, changing her voice:</p> - -<p>"'Aunt Varvara have you gone clean out of your mind?'</p> - -<p>"Enough of this, Margherita, my own, my sweet lovely Margherita! Let's -turn to something else. It's very hot now-a-days, but generally grows -fresh in the evening. I work hard all day—seriously; because it's not -only my duty but my pleasure. I go oftener than anybody to the -University and to the Libraries. For this reason I'm the darling of the -Professors. In the evening I walk along the banks of the Tiber and spend -hours watching the running water. I ask myself silly questions such as -'What <i>is</i> water?' It's not true that the Tiber is clear coloured. -Sometimes it's yellow and muddy, oftener it's green, sometimes blue, -sometimes livid. I have seen it quite milky and reflecting the lamps, -the bridges, the moon, like polished marble. I compare the perennial -flowing of the water to my love for you,—thus constant, silent, -inexhaustible. Why, oh why, are you not here with me, my Margherita? The -mere thought of you makes everything more beautiful, gives everything -deeper meaning. What would not the world be if I could see it reflected -in your adored eyes! When, when will the tormenting and delicious dream -of our souls be made real? I don't know how I manage to live thus divided -from you, but I turn with joy to the thought that in two months we shall -again be together. O my Margherita, my pearl of pearls, I cannot express -even to you what I feel. No human speech could express it. It's a -continual fire which devours me, an unspeakable thirst which only one -fountain can slake. You are that fountain; you are the garden whose -flowers shall refresh my soul.</p> - -<p>"Margherita, I am alone in the world, for you are all the world to me. -When I lose myself in the crowd, in the sea of unknown persons, it is -enough for me to think of you, and my heart swells with love to them -all, for your sweet sake. When your letters come, I am so happy I feel -quite giddy. I seem to have attained the summit of some great -mountain—if I stretch out my hand I shall touch the stars. It is too -much! I dread falling—falling into an abyss, being reduced to ashes -by contact with the stars. What would become of me, if, Margherita, if I -should lose you? I laugh when you tell me you are jealous of the -beautiful and cultured women whom I must be meeting here in Rome. No -woman could be to me what you are. You are my life, you are my past, my -home, my race, my dream. You are the mysterious wine which fills for me -the empty cup we call Life. Yes, I like to fancy life a cup which we -continually lift to our lips. For many this cup is never filled, and -they try painfully to suck what is not there, and die slowly for lack of -nourishment. But for others, and I belong to the happy number, the cup -contains divine ambrosia. . . .</p> - -<p>"I have interrupted this letter, because Battista came to see me. He -seems getting into trouble with the two girls and wants to follow me -here. We shall see. I will speak to my landlady about it. I don't bear -malice, because as friend Pilbert assures me, hard words are things with -no real existence.</p> - -<p>"I return to my letter, quite upset by a confidence made to me a few -minutes ago by Aunt Varvara. She tells me she knows Daga, having seen -him here with the <i>padrona</i> several times. I don't like it, for you -must know Signora Obinu has not always borne the best of characters. I -looked questioningly at Aunt Varvara but she shut up her lips and shook her -head mysteriously. I promised next vacation to visit her old home and -learn its history for her during the last thirty years. This pleased her -so much that she let me catechize her a bit. I got out of her that -Signora Obinu left children in Sardinia, one of whom has been adopted by -a rich Signore of Campidano. Aunt Varvara thinks Battista Daga may be -Maria Obinu's son."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Anania stopped writing, and read and reread the last few lines. A little -black ant ran over the page and he looked at it with eyes full of -thought. What <i>was</i> this little being called an ant? Why did it live? -Ought he to crush it with his finger or not to crush it? Was there such -a thing as Free-Will?</p> - -<p>At this time, though he was attending Ferri's lectures, Anania still -believed in free-will. He sometimes committed small crimes just to prove -to himself that he had willed to commit them. This time, however, he let -the ant alone. It vanished under a book ignorant of the danger it had -escaped. As often before, he tore up part of his letter. Then he leaned -his forehead on his hands and reread the remainder, a wave of -bitterness overflowing his heart.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he thought, "I am too near the stars; I don't see the abyss into -which I must ineluctably fall. Why do I continue to deceive myself? It's -my mother she may be, and Battista Daga visits her because she is -still—But why has he never spoken of her? After all, why should he -speak? He has not confided his adventures to me. He comes -here—because—Oh God! Oh God! I am the son of Maria Obinu! She -knows my whole life. She told the old <i>jana</i> in her own way that I -have been adopted by a rich Signore. Has she left other children in -Sardinia? No, that part must be a lie—she went away at once after -deserting me. She said that as a blind. Oh God!"</p> - -<p>Presently he sprang to his feet.</p> - -<p>"I must find out," he thought, "I must know. Why this burning lamp, -these pictures, these prayers,—if it's not for that reason. But I -will unmask you, lost soul! I will kill you, chase you away, because you -are my curse! because you will be the curse of that pure noble creature. Oh -my poor, poor Margherita!"</p> - -<p>He struck his fist violently on the letter, while his eyes flamed with -hatred. Then again he sank on his chair, and dropped his head on the -table. He wished he could burst his head, think no more! forget! -annihilate himself!</p> - -<p>He felt vile, black and viscid as a lump of mud. He felt himself flesh -of the solid flesh of his mother, himself a sinner, miserable, abject. -Tumultuous recollections passed through his mind. He remembered the -generous ideas so often caressed, the dream of finding and rescuing her, -the infinite pity for her ignorance and irresponsibility; the pride with -which he had regarded his own compassion—the thirst for sacrifice. It -had all been self-deception. A vague hint given by a childish old woman -had sufficed to turn his soul to mud, to rack it with storm, to impel it -towards crime. "I will kill her." Yes, those words were already a crime.</p> - -<p>He thought of the peace he had enjoyed since he had been in this house, -and raised his head struck by a new idea. During the week passed in this -convent cell of Maria's, he had at the bottom of his heart accepted the -idea that she was his mother, and the recognition of her redemption, of -her honest and hard working life had made him happy. He had welcomed the -thought of their relationship. His horizon had cleared. He was freed -from a weight which had crushed and nailed him to the earth, and was now -ready to fly to the stars. And since she, either for fear, or for self -castigation, or for love of independence, refused to acknowledge him, -then he was glad to renounce her—now her future was assured, her life -purified. He could do her no good. He might harm her by intrusion. His -<i>mission</i> could not be accomplished; he was spared the solution of the -cruel problem. He might now—after his long suffering—prosecute -his life, tranquilly, happily. He had fulfilled his duty by the mere desire -to fulfil it. And this ideal duty which had cost him so much had seemed -to him so heroic as to fill his soul with pride. The stars were near.</p> - -<p>But now the abyss had reopened. All within and without his soul was a -lie; all delusion, all dream—even the stars.</p> - -<p>But perhaps the thing he was thinking now was the delusion? If he were -deceiving himself. If Maria were not <i>she</i>? He went back on his old -thoughts. "Whether she is Maria or not, whether she is near or far, she -exists and she calls me. I must return on my steps, begin again, find -her dead or alive. Oh, if she were but dead!"</p> - -<p>However, he waited for his landlady's return and to calm himself -somewhat tried to analyse this passion which goaded him. But for that -matter he knew well enough that the greater part of his trouble arose -not from passion but from the fact that his Ego was made up of two -cruelly contrasted personalities. One was the fantastic child, violent, -melancholy, with sick blood in his veins, the child who had come down -from his native mountains dreaming of an unreal world; who in his -father's house had meditated flight without ever attempting it, who at -Cagliari had wept wildly imagining that Marta Rosa could be his mother. -The other was a being, normal and intelligent, who had grown alongside -the morbid child, who saw clearly the unreality of the phantoms and -nebulous monsters which were his torment, yet who had never succeeded in -liberating him from the obsession. Continual conflict, cruel -contradiction, agitated by day and by night these two personalities; but -the fantastic and illogical child, victim and tyrant alike, always came -off the victor. Often he had asked himself whether he would have -suffered so acutely had he not been in love with Margherita; always he -answered himself "yes."</p> - -<p>Signora Obinu came home in the evening.</p> - -<p>"I should like to speak to you," said her young lodger, opening the -door. "Please come here a moment."</p> - -<p>"What is it?" she asked, entering.</p> - -<p>She was dressed in black, with an old hat of faded violet velvet. She -had run up the stair and was panting, her face unusually red, her -forehead hot and shining.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter?" asked Anania, roughly.</p> - -<p>"The matter with me? nothing," she answered, surprised; then resumed her -usual pleasant smile. "Why are you sitting in the dark? Well, what have -you to say to me?"</p> - -<p>"I'll wait till you've taken off your hat."</p> - -<p>She seemed struck by his voice and his frown, the more so that in the -morning he had complained of not feeling well.</p> - -<p>"How hot it is! Suffocating!" she said, "are you perhaps feeling it? -Tell me what you want."</p> - -<p>"First take off your hat," repeated Anania.</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>Anania was striking a match against the wall. He was thinking. "Better -catch her suddenly before she speaks to that old monkey Aunt Varvara."</p> - -<p>"What's become of the candle? Well, look here, a friend of mine came -here—ah <i>su diaulu t'a fattu</i>, the devil made you, candle, that -you won't light! What a beast of a candle!"</p> - -<p>He raised his head and looked sharply at the woman who was quietly -watching his efforts with the candle. "Battista Daga, another student, -has been here. He wants a room. Can you give him one?"</p> - -<p>"We'll see," she said calmly, "when does he want it?" Anania began to -feel irritated.</p> - -<p>"You know him, I think?"</p> - -<p>"I? No."</p> - -<p>"Aunt Varvara told me she had seen him here several times."</p> - -<p>Maria Obinu raised her eyebrows. She seemed trying to remember. Suddenly -her face and her eyes burned.</p> - -<p>"Look here," she said proudly, "if you mean that pale young man, with -the crooked nose, and the look of mortal sin—tell him that in my -house there is no place for him!"</p> - -<p>"Why not? Please tell me. I assure you I know nothing against him. We -slept for six months in the same room,—Daga and I. But I really don't -know much about him—what he's up to. Tell me."</p> - -<p>Anania had sat down by the table, inadvertently pushing the candle -against the wall.</p> - -<p>"I have nothing to tell you," answered the woman. "I'm not bound to give -account to anyone. Let me alone. I live by my work and ask nothing from -anyone. I'm better than the ladies to whom you gentlemen lift your hats! -Ah!" she went on sighing heavily, "life is long! Days of trial will come -to you young lads too! You will get to know the world, will find the -hedge thick with serpents. They rise on every side of the path of life. -You also will come upon the stone which will make you trip. And many, -Signor Anania, many will never get up again. They will strike their -heads against that stone and die of the blow. Perhaps those are the best -off. Ah! but the Lord is merciful! The Lord is merciful!"</p> - -<p>She put her hand on her heart and again sighed heavily.</p> - -<p>"She's acting," thought Anania.</p> - -<p>"<i>Bostè est sapia che ì s'abba</i>"<a name="FNanchor_17_1" id="FNanchor_17_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_1" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> he said ironically, "upon my word, -I don't understand your sermon. What has it to do with Battista Daga? -Tell me. Signora Maria."</p> - -<p>"Move that candle! It's setting fire to the calendar! What are you -thinking of!" cried the landlady, jumping up, "are you trying to ruin -me?"</p> - -<p>Anania moved the candle and clapped a dictionary on the burning -almanac.</p> - -<p>"What a silly boy! Doesn't he deserve a box on the ear?" said Maria, -recovering herself and pulling the tuft of hair which fell on his -forehead.</p> - -<p>"Don't! don't!" cried Anania, shaking his head from her touch. A sudden -recollection had shot through him. Yes—in a far distant place, in a -long distant time, in a black kitchen guarded by the long funereal cloak -of a bandit—Olì, exasperated by poverty and grief, used sometimes to -pull the wild locks of a naughty little boy.</p> - -<p>Anania was moved by the recollection. He seized Signora Obinu's hand and -held it tight. Was it the same hand which had struck the child, the hand -which had led him to the olive-mill.</p> - -<p>"A silly boy!" repeated Maria, "if I hadn't been there, there'd have -been a fine conflagration. Well, may I go away now?"</p> - -<p>He raised his head and said:</p> - -<p>"I feel as if I had seen your hand before now. Some other time this hand -has pulled my hair, has boxed my ears, has caressed me——"</p> - -<p>"Are you going crazy, Signor Anania?" she said, snatching her hand -away.</p> - -<p>"Signora Maria, do you believe in spirits? No? Yet they exist. I believe -in them. Last night a friendly spirit came and told me many things, -among them, that you are my mother."</p> - -<p>Maria laughed, somewhat forcedly, as if wishing to hide something. The -young man saw he had chosen a very childish method of approaching her. -Yet if she was really his mother she could not fail to be upset, finding -he had guessed it. However she laughed, perhaps trying to carry off some -terror of informing spirits.</p> - -<p>"You really are crazy. I only wish I were your mother!" she said.</p> - -<p>The voice of Aunt Varvara was heard calling her mistress.</p> - -<p>"I can't waste any more time," said Signora Maria, turning to go -away.</p> - -<p>"What shall I say to Daga?" said Anania, brushing his hair.</p> - -<p>"Say that if he comes here, I shall throw him downstairs. Do you -see?"</p> - -<p>"No, I don't see. Signora Maria! wait! Explain to me, do! Don't go away! -What does it all mean?"</p> - -<p>But she vanished into the darkness of the ante-room, making no -reply.</p> - -<p>"Of course I do see," thought Anania shutting the door. "Well, is it any -business of mine what Daga is? and what she is? Hasn't everyone their -faults?"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_16_1" id="Footnote_16_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_1"><span class="label">[16]</span></a>A dwarf of Sardinian legend.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_17_1" id="Footnote_17_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_1"><span class="label">[17]</span></a>A proverb. Wise as water, viz. very wise.</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="V_II">V</a></h4> - - -<p>The time of vacation was near.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Varvara," said the student to the old servant as she was preparing -the coffee. "How happy I am! I feel wings growing. A few more -days—then good-bye! Yes, I have wings. I shall jump on the -window-sill, cry zsss—ss—and off! I launch myself in flight, -and there I am in Sardinia."</p> - -<p>And he went to the window pretending to suit the action to the words.</p> - -<p>"A-a-ah!" cried the old woman terrified, "do get down, sweetheart! -You'll break your neck! Oh God!——"</p> - -<p>"Well, if you'll give me some coffee, just one little cup, I won't fly -just yet. How good your coffee is, my dear! How do you get it so good? -No one can make it so well except my mother at Nuoro."</p> - -<p>The old woman, greatly flattered, poured out a cup, which being the -first from the pot was truly exquisite.</p> - -<p>"Upon my word it is good!" said Anania, raising ecstatic eyes. "It gives -me nostalgia."</p> - -<p>"What's nostalgia?"</p> - -<p>"A shudder of the heart, Aunt Varvara; that shudder which comes when we -think of paradise. Would you like to come home with me, little aunt, on -a pillion? think! what fun!"</p> - -<p>The old woman heaved a tremendous sigh. "Ah—if it weren't for the -sea. Are you very rich?" she asked suddenly.</p> - -<p>"Of course I am."</p> - -<p>"How many <i>tancas</i> have you?"</p> - -<p>"Seven or eight. I don't quite remember."</p> - -<p>"And bees have you? And shepherds?"</p> - -<p>"Aunt Varvara, I have everything."</p> - -<p>"Then why have you come to this land of damnation?"</p> - -<p>"Because my sweetheart wishes me to be Doctor of Law."</p> - -<p>"And who is your sweetheart?"</p> - -<p>"The daughter of the Baron of Baronia."</p> - -<p>"Are there still Barons of Baronia? I have heard that phantoms haunt -their castle. Once there was a woodcutter who spent the night under the -castle wall, and he saw a lady with a long gold tail like a comet. Do -you know what a comet is? By our Lady of Good Counsel! you'll kill -yourself drinking so much coffee!"</p> - -<p>"Go on with the story. What did the woodcutter do?"</p> - -<p>Aunt Varvara went on. She mixed the legends of the Castello of the -Castle of Burgos with those of the castle of Galtelli, confused historic -records come down by popular tradition, with events which had happened -in her own childhood, not it is true very recent. She told a story of a -great lord who had lost his way on a moor, and not till he heard a -little bell at evening dusk, could he find his way to an inhabited -place. The great lord was very rich and very stupid, and he promised to -leave all his wealth to the church whose bell he had heard. And ever -after that, the bell has tolled at evening dusk so that lost men may be -able to find their way.</p> - -<p>"But that's the legend of St Maria Maggiore," said Anania.</p> - -<p>"No, no, my dear little heart. It belongs to the church of Illori. I can -tell you the name of the great rich man. It was Don Gonario Area."</p> - -<p>"And the <i>nuraghes</i>," continued Aunt Varvara, walking about the -steaming kitchen, "are there still <i>nuraghes</i>? You know when the Moors -came to Sardinia to steal the cattle and the women, the Sardinians hid -their money in the <i>nuraghes</i>. Stupid boy, why don't you look for -treasure on your <i>tancas</i>?"</p> - -<p>Anania thought of his father who had again written requiring him to -visit the museums where antique gold coins are preserved.</p> - -<p>"Once," continued Aunt Varvara, "I went to pick lavender near a -<i>nuraghe</i>. I remember as if it were yesterday. I had the fever, and in -the evening I had to lie down on the grass, waiting till some cart -should pass which would carry me home, and this is what I saw. The heaven -behind the <i>nuraghe</i> was all the colour of fire—it looked just -like a scarlet cloth. And suddenly a giant rose on the <i>patiu</i><a name="FNanchor_18_1" id="FNanchor_18_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_1" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> and -started blowing smoke out of his mouth. The whole sky became dark. By -our Lady of Good Counsel, it was horrible! But quite suddenly I saw St -George with the full moon on his head, and a great sword shining like -water in his hand. Tiffeti! Taffeti!" cried the old dame, flourishing a -kitchen knife! "St George slashed off the giant's head, and the sky -became quite bright again."</p> - -<p>"You saw all that. Aunt Varvara, because you had fever."</p> - -<p>"It may have been the fever, but I did see the giant and Santu Jorgi; -yes, I saw them with these eyes!" asseverated the old lady, poking her -fingers into her organs of vision.</p> - -<p>Then she asked whether on the days of the greater feasts, horses still -galloped along the edge of the cliff, decorated with coloured ribbons -and ridden by half naked boys. And again whether for Sant' Antonio they -lighted fires, and in the middle of the fires stuck stakes, on top of -which were roasted oranges and pomegranates and arbutus berries, and -dead rats.</p> - -<p>Anania listened with pleasure to Aunt Varvara's suggestive stories and -questions. Though the trains were shrieking within a few yards and the -amorous cats were <i>miouing</i> among the columns of the Pantheon, he so -identified himself with the old woman's recollections that he fancied he -had only to open the door, to find himself in a lonely Sardinian -landscape on the top of a <i>nuraghe</i> watched by a giant, or rapt in the -savage excitement of a race of Barbs, in the company of a philosophic -and contemplative old shepherd with soul turbid and great like the -clouds. In the homesick babble of the aged exile he already felt the -aroma of his native land, the breeze blown down from Orthobene and the -Gennargentu. And he felt himself Sardinian, deeply, exclusively -Sardinian.</p> - -<p>"I mean to enjoy myself this vacation!" he said to his old Mend. "I -shall attend all the Feasts, I shall visit the whole of my little native -country. I shall climb on the Gennargentu, on Monte Raso, on the hill of -the castle of Burgos! Yes, I'm determined to get up the Gennargentu. -Perhaps, at Fonni, so and so, and so and so are still alive. And I -wonder how the monks are getting on? and Zuanne?"</p> - -<p>He was homesick like Aunt Varvara.</p> - -<p>"Aren't <i>you</i> ever going back?" he asked Signora Obinu one day when -she came into the kitchen.</p> - -<p>"I?" she answered rather drearily, "no, never again, never again!"</p> - -<p>"Why not? Come to the window Signora Maria! look! What a wonderful moon! -Wouldn't you like to go on pilgrimage to the Madonna di Gonare, in fine -moonlight like this? on horseback, quietly, quietly through -the woods, up the precipices—on—on—while you see the -little church painted on the sky above you, high up—high -up——"</p> - -<p>Maria shook her head and pursed up her lips; but Aunt Varvara heaved all -over and raised her eyes as if to find the little country church high -up—high up against the soft blue of the moonlit sky.</p> - -<p>"Except for you and your friends," said the landlady, "and the church -and devotees of the Most Holy Madonna, I'd see all Sardinia burnt up -sooner than go back there."</p> - -<p>"But why?"</p> - -<p>Aunt Varvara busy with her cooking shut her eyes, unable to protest out -loud against her mistress's shocking hatred of the distant fatherland.</p> - -<p>"Ah, my sweetheart," said the old woman when Signora Obinu had gone to -the dining-room, "she has good reason! They murdered her there!"</p> - -<p>"But she's alive still, Aunt Varvara!"</p> - -<p>"You don't know what you're talking about! It's better to murder a woman -than to betray her."</p> - -<p>This threw him back into his doubts again.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Varvara, you said it was a Signore who seduced her. Tell me his -name. Try to remember it. Tell me, has the Signora any documents? Where -would they be? I might help her to find the man; might persuade him -to——It would be to your own interest as well."</p> - -<p>"Persuade him to what?"</p> - -<p>"To help her."</p> - -<p>"She doesn't want help. She has money. Leave her in peace. She doesn't -want to be reminded of her misfortune. Not a word! No! She'd strangle me -if she knew I had talked about her."</p> - -<p>"But her papers——" repeated Anania.</p> - -<p>He had already searched for them in Signora Maria's room. She had no -papers. She had destroyed all traces of her past.</p> - -<p>The student was consumed with the desire to ascertain something definite -before he went home. Why did he not take active steps, go back to the -Questura, write to Sardinia, follow up the clue? Why had he allowed so -much time to slip by in vain and cowardly inertia? Many a time he had -resolved to bring on a crisis, to attack her and force her to reveal -herself. After the inconclusive colloquy about Daga, he had actually -allowed himself to chatter with her on irrelevant matters. There were -days when he did not see her at all, or try to see her. "Yet I do want -to know," he thought distractedly roaming the streets, which were still -crowded but by an ever decreasing crowd. "If she is not my mother, why -should I torment myself? But in that case, where, where is my mother? -How is she living? Is she near or far? In the turmoil of the city, in -this clatter which seems to me the voice of a thousand-headed monster, -is her breath, her groan, her laughter, a part of it? And if she is not -here, where is she?"</p> - -<p>That night he had a touch of fever, caused perhaps by the unwholesome -though poetic philtre of the dreams which he evoked almost nightly in -the silence of the Coliseum. In his delirium he thought he saw the face -of Maria Obinu bending over his pillow. Was it delirium? Moonlight and -the vague reflection of an illuminated window lighted the patient's -room. Behind Maria he saw a cavalier in eighteenth century costume, -carrying a tray on which was a glass of champagne and Olì's amulet. He -felt that the cavalier, motionless in the penumbra, was insubstantial; -but the figure of the woman seemed real. He wanted to light a candle but -he could not move. He seemed lying on the edge of a precipice upon a -stone, which drawn by an occult force flew giddily towards an -unattainable point followed by all things. After the first apparition of -Maria he thought, "I have fever, I know that; but I'm certainly not -wandering. It was she. I was wrong in pretending to be asleep. I ought -to have simulated delirium to see what she would do. Perhaps she'll come -back. Suppose I try and suggest it to her?"</p> - -<p>"Come! Come!" he began, speaking half aloud and trying to impose his -will on her. "Come, Maria Obinu! I <i>will</i> you to come."</p> - -<p>She did not come at once, and the strange course of the rock on which -the sufferer imagined himself lying redoubled in velocity. Apocalyptic -visions rose, mingled, vanished—monstrous clouds far in the depths of -the fantastic abyss into which the soul of the sufferer gazed with -horror. He saw the <i>nuraghe</i> with the giant and the saint of Aunt -Varvara's delirium. But the moon detached itself from the Saint and fled -over the heaven. Two other moons red and huge appeared in pursuit. -Cataclysm was imminent. An immense crowd trampled each other on the -shore of a storm driven sea. The waves were marine horses, which fought -with invisible spirits. A cry rose out of the sea: "The stepmother! the -stepmother!" Anania shook with horror, opened his eyes and thought they -had turned blue.</p> - -<p>"What absurdities!" he thought. "Why should fever make one see such -things?"</p> - -<p>Then Maria Obinu came back. She advanced silently and bent over the -patient.</p> - -<p>"Now I'll pretend!" he thought, and began a feeble lament. But the woman -said nothing.</p> - -<p>"Oh God! Oh God!" murmured the youth, sighing aloud, "who is striking my -head? Let me alone! Don't murder me! The moon is going out. Mother, do -you remember the little song you taught me:"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Luna, luna,</td> -<td class="translated"> Moon, moon,</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Porzedda luna!</td> -<td class="translated"> Beautiful moon!</td></tr></table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>"Why won't you tell me you are my mother? Tell me! Tell me! I know it of -course; but you ought to tell me yourself. Do you see the knight with -the amulet you gave me that morning? Don't you remember that morning we -came down, and the chaffinches sang on the chestnut trees and the clouds -vanished behind Monte Gonare? Of course you remember! Tell me! Don't be -afraid! I love you, we will live together! Tell me!"</p> - -<p>The woman kept silence. The patient was overcome by a spasm of real -tenderness and anguish, and began to rave in reality.</p> - -<p>"Mother! Mother! speak to me! Don't make me suffer more. I am worn out. -If you know what I have suffered! You are Olì, aren't you? There's no -use in denying it. You are Olì. What have you been about? Where are -your papers? Ah well, we'll be silent about the past. It's all over and -done with. Now we will never part again. Oh don't go away! Wait! For -God's sake, don't go away!"</p> - -<p>He raised himself, his eyes wide; but the figure moved slowly away and -disappeared. The knight with the tray was still there motionless in the -penumbra, and everything was turning round. Again the figure returned -and again it vanished. Anania continued to cry out that he saw his -mother; and this impression, made up of sweetness and anguish, he -retained even after the fever had left him.</p> - -<p>Next morning he awoke early. His limbs seemed bruised as with blows of a -stick. He got up and went out without asking for Signora Obinu.</p> - -<p>For three or four nights the fever continued to trouble him; but between -the phantasms of nightmare the figure of his mother did not return. That -made him think. Had it been a real vision? If so, she must have been -frightened by his words, and for that reason had kept away.</p> - -<p>After this, exhausted by fatigue and the nervous tension of the -Examinations, still moreover a little feverish, he daily resolved to -solve the enigma, but always in vain. He thought, "I will summon her. I -will supplicate, question, threaten. I will tell her the Questura has -told me all, I will frighten her with the threat of exposure. She will -confess. And suppose it is <i>She</i>—what next?"</p> - -<p>Always this supposition stupefied and terrified him. Sometimes he -imagined a dramatic scene between his long lost mother and himself; -sometimes it seemed that not one fibre in his heart would be moved. -Oftener he felt frozen, watching Signora Obinu, pale and smiling, with -her worn dark dress, always busy, always quiet, unconscious, insensible.</p> - -<p>A veil fell between him and the phantasm which had tormented him. -Instead of the violent scene he had imagined, dull conversations about -nothings took place between him and his landlady, simple Aunt Varvara -joining in.</p> - -<p>Only a few minutes before starting for his holiday he finally decided to -leave the whole matter in suspense till his return. He felt weary, -defeated. The heat, the examinations, the fever, the fantasies had -exhausted him. "I will rest," he thought, "I will sleep. I need -forgetfulness and sleep if I am to recover myself. I mustn't turn into a -neurasthenic! I will go up to my native mountains, to the wild and -virgin Gennargentu How long I have intended that excursion! I will visit -the robber's widow; my brother Zuanne; the son of the candlemaker; and -the court of the convent and that <i>carabiniere</i> who sang—"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"'<i>A te questo rosario.</i>'"</span> -</div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Then the thought of again seeing Margherita, of kissing her and -immersing himself in love as in a perfumed bath, gave him a felicity -which took his breath away. He almost wanted to flee from this devouring -joy; but, driven out of his mind, it still ran in his blood, vibrated -with his nerves, and swelled his heart in delicious pain. As he was -starting. Aunt Varvara brought him a small wax candle which he was to -carry to the Basilica of the Martyrs at Fonni, and Signora Obinu gave -him a medal blessed by the Holy Father.</p> - -<p>"If you don't value it yourself, unbeliever, give it to your mother," -she said smiling, and a little moved. "Good-bye, have a good journey and -come back safe. I'll keep the room for you. Get on well, and send me a -postcard at once."</p> - -<p>"Good-bye!" said Anania, taking the medal; "commend me to the Holy -Souls in Purgatory."</p> - -<p>"Of course I will," she said, shaking her finger at him, "they will -protect you from temptation."</p> - -<p>"Amen; and to our happy reunion."</p> - -<p>"Good-bye!" he called again from the bottom of the stair, and Maria, -leaning over the bannister, saluted him with her hand. When he had -reached the street he thought of going back to see if she were in tears, -stopped for a moment, but went on followed by Aunt Varvara almost crying -herself.</p> - -<p>"Son of my little heart," said the old woman, "greet for me the first -person you shall meet on Sardinian ground. And don't forget the wax -candle."</p> - -<p>She went with him to the tram, notwithstanding her fear of the monster, -and kissed him on his cheek. Anania remembered the kiss of poor Nanna -before his departure from Nuoro, but this time he was touched, and he -embraced Aunt Varvara asking forgiveness for all the times he had teased -her.</p> - -<p>Then all was left behind; the old woman who in parting from the young -man wept her own exile; the dreary street where lived Maria Obinu; the -Piazza at that hour scorching and deserted; the Pantheon sad as a -cyclopean tomb; the cats dreaming among the great ruins.</p> - -<p>Anania, his face brushed by a light breeze, felt happy as if freed from -an incubus.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_18_1" id="Footnote_18_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_1"><span class="label">[18]</span></a>A court or platform round the <i>nuraghe</i>.</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="VI_II">VI</a></h4> - - -<p>Before coming down to supper in his home, Anania stood at the window of -his little room, struck by the deep silence of the courtyard, of the -vicinity, of the whole country as far as to the horizon. He seemed to -have become deaf. It was almost oppressive. But the voice of Aunt -Tatàna resounded from the courtyard.</p> - -<p>"Nania, my son, come down!"</p> - -<p>He obeyed. A little table was laid expressly for him in the kitchen. His -"parents," according to custom, took their supper seated on the floor, -with meat and cakes in a basket before them. Nothing was changed. The -kitchen was still poor and dark, but very clean. The stove was in the -centre. The walls were adorned with trenchers and hunting spears, with -great baskets, sieves and other utensils for sifting flour: in a corner -were two woollen sacks containing barley. Near the narrow door, which -was thrown open, hung the seed pouch and the rest of the fanning outfit.</p> - -<p>A baby pig, tied to the elder tree in the courtyard, grunted gently, -puffed and sighed. A red cat quietly placed himself by the little table -and yawned, raising great yellow eyes to Anania. He was looking about -him in a kind of stupor. No, nothing was changed; yet he felt somehow as -if he were in this environment for the first time, with that tall -peasant of the brilliant eyes and the long oily hair, with that pretty -elderly woman, fair and fat as a dove.</p> - -<p>"At last we are alone," said Big Anania, who was eating salad made into -a sandwich with girdle cakes; "but you'll see they won't leave you long -in peace. It'll be Atonzu here, Atonzu there! you're an important man -now you've been in Rome. I, too, when I returned from my military -service——"</p> - -<p>"What sort of a comparison is that?" protested Aunt Tatàna.</p> - -<p>"Do let me speak. I remember I had the greatest difficulty in talking -dialect. I felt as if I were in a new world."</p> - -<p>The student looked at his father and smiled.</p> - -<p>"That's what I feel," he said.</p> - -<p>"I daresay you do. After a while I got used to it; but as -for you, after three days you'll be sick of this gossipy place -and—and——"</p> - -<p>His wife frowned and he changed the subject a little. "Eh! what a big -place that devil of a Rome is to be sure! Give me the glass, my old -beauty! What are you grimacing for? Why are you so important because -you've a great man in the house?"</p> - -<p>Anania guessed at some secret and said.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter? Tell me. What's being said about me?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, nothing; let the crows caw," said the woman.</p> - -<p>The lad was disturbed. Had something been heard at Nuoro of Maria Obinu? -He put down his fork and said he would eat no more till he heard -explanation.</p> - -<p>"You're so hasty!" sighed the old woman. "King Solomon says the hasty -man is like the wind——"</p> - -<p>"Oh King Solomon still? I was hoping you'd forgotten him," said the -young man roughly. She was silent, rather hurt. Her husband looked at -her, then at Anania, and wished to punish him.</p> - -<p>"King Solomon always said the truth. But what they're saying in Nuoro is -that you're making love to Margherita Carboni."</p> - -<p>Anania flushed. He resumed his fork and ate mechanically, while he -stammered—</p> - -<p>"The fools!"</p> - -<p>"Why no, they're not fools," said the father, looking into his glass -which was half full of wine. "If it's true, there's good cause to -complain, for you ought to confess to the <i>padrone</i>. You might say 'My -benefactor, I'm a man now and you must forgive me for having hidden my -hopes from you, as I have hidden them from my own parents.'"</p> - -<p>"Stop! You know nothing about it!" cried the son angrily.</p> - -<p>"Ah! holy Saint Catherine!" sighed Aunt Tatàna, who had already -forgiven him. "Let the poor, tired boy alone! There's time enough to -talk of these matters, and you are only a peasant and no scholar, so you -don't understand."</p> - -<p>The man drank his wine; waved a hand to implore peace, and said -quietly:—</p> - -<p>"Yes, I'm ignorant and my son has been educated. That's all very well. -But I am older than he. My hair's beginning to turn white. Experience, -my wife, makes a man wiser than a Doctor of Law. My son, I will say to -you one thing only; ask your conscience and see if it doesn't tell you -this, that we must not deceive our benefactor."</p> - -<p>The student thumped his glass on the table so violently that the cat -shuddered.</p> - -<p>"Fools! Fools!" he cried fuming. But he knew his father, that ignorant -and primitive man, was right.</p> - -<p>"Yes, my son," said the <i>contadino</i>, pushing the oily hair from his -forehead, "you must go to your master, kiss his hand and say, 'I am the -son of a peasant, but by your kindness and my own talents, I shall -become a doctor and a gentleman and rich. I love Margherita and -Margherita loves me. I will make her happy. I will make it up to her if -she lowers herself to take the son of a servant for a husband. I ask -your worship to bless us in the name of the Father, the Son, and the -Holy Ghost.'"</p> - -<p>"And if he kicks him out?" said Aunt Tatàna.</p> - -<p>The doubt was unflattering, and Anania laughed it off a little -nervously.</p> - -<p>"Be quiet, little woman!" replied the peasant, drinking again, "your -King Solomon says women never know what they're talking about. When I -speak I have already weighed my words. The <i>padrone</i> will give his -blessing."</p> - -<p>"But suppose it's all nonsense?" cried Anania, uplifted with joy. He -went to the door and whistled. He was bewildered. His heart thumped. He -was submerged by a wave of felicity. He would have liked to ask his -father questions, to tell the whole story, but he could not utter a -word.</p> - -<p>"The <i>padrone</i> will give his blessing." The miller must have had -his reasons for saying that! What could have happened? And why had -Margherita never pointed out her father's favourable disposition? If she -was ignorant of it, how could the dependent have found the thing out? -"Within a few hours I shall see her and she'll tell me," thought Anania. -His fatigue, his anxieties, his doubts, the joy itself of the new hope, -melted away before the sweet thought, "I shall see her in a little -while."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>The door opened silently at the young man's light tap. "Glad to see -you," whispered the maid, who was in the lover's confidence. "She's -coming in one moment." "How are you?" he asked in an agitated voice; -"here, take this little keepsake I have brought you from Rome." "You are -always so kind," said the girl, receiving the little parcel. "Wait here -for a minute."</p> - -<p>The minute seemed an hour. He leaned against the wall of the courtyard -under the veiled heaven of the dark and silent night. He shook with -anxiety and joy; when Margherita ran panting to his arms he felt rather -than saw her; felt her soft warm cheek, her lithe though not too slender -waist, her heart beating against his own. Blinded by cruel -inextinguishable thirst, he kissed her wildly, almost unconsciously.</p> - -<p>"That's enough!" she said, the first to recover herself. "How are you? -Quite well again?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes!" he answered hotly. "Ah God! At last! Oh!" he went on, -breathing hard and pressing her hand to his breast. "I am not able even -to speak. I couldn't come to your window because—because they haven't -left me a minute to myself. Even now I can't see you. If you had only -brought a light!"</p> - -<p>"Nonsense, Nino! We shall see each other to-morrow." She laughed softly, -touching him with the palm of her hand which Anania held to his breast. -"How your heart beats!" she said, "it's like a little wounded bird. Tell -me, are you really better?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I'm quite well, quite well. Margherita, where are you? Is it -possible we are together?"</p> - -<p>He gazed hard, trying to distinguish her lineaments in the colourless -vault of the clouded night. Great dark velvety clouds passed ceaselessly -over the grey sky. An oval space of clear firmament surrounded by -darkness looked like a mysterious face, its eyes, two red stars, leaning -down to watch the lovers. Anania sat on the stone bench and drew the -girl to his knee. Disregarding her protests he held her tight in the -circle of his arms.</p> - -<p>"No, no," she said, "I'm too heavy. I'm too fat!"</p> - -<p>"Light as a feather," he affirmed gallantly. "But is it really true we -are together?" he repeated. "It seems a dream! How often I have dreamed -of this moment which I thought would never come! And now here we are -together! united! united. I am going mad, I think! Is it really a fact -that I have you here on my heart? Speak! Say something! Stick a pin into -me to show me I'm not dreaming!"</p> - -<p>"What do you want me to say? It's you have things to say. I wrote -everything to you, everything. You speak, Nino! You are so good at -talking! Tell me all about Rome. I don't know how to talk."</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, you talk beautifully. You have such a lovely voice. -I've never heard a woman speak like you."</p> - -<p>"Stories!" said Margherita.</p> - -<p>"I swear it's true! Why should I say what isn't true? You are the most -beautiful, the gentlest, the sweetest of all girls. If you knew how I -thought of you when my landlady's two girls in the first house flung -themselves at me and at Battista! I felt as if they were some sort of -plague struck creatures while you—you were a saint, soft and pure, -and fresh, and lovely!"</p> - -<p>"But I'm afraid I, too,—"</p> - -<p>"That's quite different. Don't say such horrid things! You know I get -vexed when you are cold. We are betrothed. Isn't it true? Aren't we -going to marry each other? Tell me yes."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Say that you love me."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Don't say just Yes. Say it like this. I—love—thee."</p> - -<p>"I—love—thee. If I didn't love you should I be here? Of -course I love you! I can't express myself, but I do love you; probably more -than you love me."</p> - -<p>"It's not true. I love you most. But you do love me, yes I know it," he -continued, becoming grave, "you who might aspire to anyone, you are so -beautiful and so rich!"</p> - -<p>"Rich? I don't know about that. Suppose I'm not?"</p> - -<p>"I should like it much, much better."</p> - -<p>They were silent, each grave, each following private thoughts; almost -divided.</p> - -<p>"You know," he said suddenly, following the thread of his own ideas, -"I've been told your family has guessed our love. Is it true?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, after a short hesitation.</p> - -<p>"Really? Really? Then your father is not angry?"</p> - -<p>Margherita hesitated again. Then raised her head and said drily, "I -don't know."</p> - -<p>From her manner Anania understood something unfavourable, something -unexpected which he could not make out. What was happening? Was the girl -hiding some disagreeable secret? His mind flew to her, to his mother, to -the distant phantom, and he asked if this shadow was coming between him -and his love.</p> - -<p>"You must tell me frankly," he said, distractedly caressing her hands, -"what is going on? Am I to be allowed to aspire to you or not? May I go -on hoping? You know what I am; a poor dependent on your family; the son -of one of your servants."</p> - -<p>"What nonsense!" she exclaimed impatiently. "Your father isn't a -servant. Even if he were, he's a man respected and honoured by everyone, -and that's enough."</p> - -<p>"Honoured and respected!" Anania repeated to himself, pierced to the -soul. "Oh God, she is not honoured and respected!" But he reflected at -once that Margherita would not talk like this if she were thinking of -<i>that woman</i>. Probably the Carboni's all thought Olì was dead. She -must have something else on her mind.</p> - -<p>"Margherita," he insisted as calmly as he could, "I must have you open -your whole heart to me. I want you to advise me what I ought to do. -Shall I wait? Shall I ask? Conscience and pride too bid me go to your -father and tell him at once. If I don't, he may think me a traitor, a -man without any loyalty or honour. But I'll do whatever you tell me. -Only I won't give you up. That would be my death! I am ambitious as you -know. I say it proudly because if only you'll stick to me, my ambition -will come to something. I'm not like most fellows, Sardinians -especially, who expect to succeed at once and have no staying power, and -do nothing but envy those who do succeed. Battista Daga for instance! -He's all envy and hatred. He was quite pleased when <i>Le Maschere</i> was -hissed at the Costanza! But I'm not envious. I can wait calmly, and I -shall succeed. I don't say I'll ever be famous, but I shall achieve a -good position. I'm sure of it. As soon as I've taken my Degree, I shall -enter for the higher examinations. I shall live in Rome and work and -push myself forward. But I repeat I shall do all this only for you. -Woman is at the bottom of every man's ambition. Some are afraid to say -that. But I say it frankly. I'm proud to say it. I've always told you -so, haven't I?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Margherita, carried away by his enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>He went on: "You are the goal of my whole life. Some men live for art or -for glory, or for vanity; and some live for love. I'm one of those. I -seem to have loved ever since I was born, and I shall love on to the -last of my age. You! always you! If you should fail me, I shouldn't have -the strength or even the wish to do anything. I should die morally. -Physically too I expect. If you were to say, I love someone -else——"</p> - -<p>"Hush! be quiet!" commanded Margherita. "Now it's you who are -blaspheming. Dear me! is that rain?" A drop had fallen on their linked -hands. They looked up at the clouds which were passing slower now. They -had become more dense; nebulous and torpid monsters.</p> - -<p>"Listen," said Margherita, speaking a little hurriedly and absently, as -if apprehensive of the rain, "we aren't half so rich as we were. My -father's affairs are going badly. He's been lending money to everybody -who asked for it, and they—never give it back. He is too -good-hearted. That everlasting lawsuit about the forest at Orlei is going -against us. If we lose, and I expect we shall, then I shall no longer be -rich."</p> - -<p>"You didn't write me all that."</p> - -<p>"Why should I? Besides I didn't know it myself till a few days ago. I -declare it <i>is</i> raining!"</p> - -<p>They got up and stood for a few minutes under the verandah. Lightning -shone among the clouds, and in that flash of lilac flame, Anania saw -Margherita pale as the moon.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter? What is it?" he asked, pressing her to him. "Don't -be afraid for the future. You mayn't be rich, but you will be happy. -Don't be frightened."</p> - -<p>"Oh no! I'm only thinking about my mother who's so afraid of lightning -she will be getting up out of bed. You must go now," she ended, pushing -him gently away.</p> - -<p>He had to obey. But he lingered a good while under the doorway waiting -for the rain to stop. Sharp flashes of joy illuminated his soul as the -flashes of metallic lightning illuminated the night. He remembered a wet -day in Rome when the thought of death had cloven his soul like a shaft -of lightning. Yes, joy and grief were much alike; devouring flames, both -of them.</p> - -<p>As he made his way home under the last drops of rain he accused himself -of selfishness.</p> - -<p>"I'm pleased by the misfortunes of my benefactor," he thought. "That's -mean!"</p> - -<p>Next morning he wrote to Margherita telling her of many heroic projects. -He would give lessons so as to continue his own studies without being a -further drag on her father. He would visit Signor Carboni and make a -formal proposal of marriage. He would explain to the family which had -patronized him that he would become its prop and its pride.</p> - -<p>He was finishing his letter at his open window, enjoying the dewy -morning silence and the fragrance from the rain-freshened fields, when -he heard an outburst of uncontrollable laughter, and turning saw Nanna, -ragged and trembling, her eyes tearful, her ugly mouth open, in her hand -(and in imminent danger of upsetting) a brimming cup of coffee.</p> - -<p>"Still alive, Nanna?" he said. "Good-morning."</p> - -<p>"Good-morning to your Worship. I wanted to startle you, that's why I -asked Aunt Tatàna to let me bring the coffee. Here it is. My hands are -quite clean, your Worship. Oh, what a delight, what a consolation!" she -cried, crying and laughing.</p> - -<p>"Where's the Worship you are talking to? You must say 'Thou' to me. Give -me that coffee and tell me the news."</p> - -<p>"The news? Oh, we go on living in dens like the wild beasts we are. How -can I say 'Thou' to your Worship who is a resplendent sun?"</p> - -<p>"What? no longer a sugar plum?" said Anania, sipping the coffee from the -antique gold sprigged cup and thinking of Aunt Varvara.</p> - -<p>"Ah, my dear! forgive me. I always think of you as a little boy. Do you -remember the first time you came from Cagliari? Yes, little Margherita -was at the window watching for you. Doesn't the moon watch for the sun?"</p> - -<p>Anania set the cup on the window ledge. He breathed hard. How happy he -felt! How blue was the sky, how sweet the air! What grandeur in the -silence of humble things, in the air not yet stirred by the turmoil of -civilization. Even Aunt Nanna no longer seemed horrible; under the -unclean exterior of that poisoned body, palpitated a warm heart, a -poetic soul.</p> - -<p>"Listen to those lines!" cried Anania, and he recited -gesticulating—</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Ella era assisa sopra la verdura</td> -<td class="translated"> Seated she was upon the</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> </td> -<td class="translated"> verdure fair</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Allegra; e ghirlandetta avea</td> -<td class="translated"> All joyous; and a wreath had</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> contesta:</td> -<td class="translated"> fashioned;</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Di quanti por creasse mai natura</td> -<td class="translated"> To paint the radiant vesture</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> </td> -<td class="translated"> she did wear</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Di tanti era dipinta la sua vesta</td> -<td class="translated"> Each flower that blooms its</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> </td> -<td class="translated"> brightest hues had shed.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">E come in prima al giovin pose</td> -<td class="translated"> When of the youth's advance</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> cura</td> -<td class="translated"> she first was ware</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Alquanto paurosa alzò la testa:</td> -<td class="translated"> With motion half of fear she</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> </td> -<td class="translated"> raised her head,</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Poi con la bianca man ripreso il</td> -<td class="translated"> Then lifting her robe's hem</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> lembo</td> -<td class="translated"> with one white hand,</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Levossi in piè con di fior pieno</td> -<td class="translated"> She rose, and so with</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> un grembo.</td> -<td class="translated"> flower-filled lap did stand.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Nanna listened without understanding a word. She—opened her lips -to say—to say—At last she said:—</p> - -<p>"I've heard that before."</p> - -<p>"From whom?" cried Anania.</p> - -<p>"From Efès Cau."</p> - -<p>"Liar! Now away with you at once, or I'll beat you. No, wait a minute! -tell me everything that has happened at Nuoro this year."</p> - -<p>She began a strange rigmarole, mixing up her own affairs with the events -of the town. Every now and then she returned to Margherita.</p> - -<p>"She's the lovely one! The rose of roses! the pink! the sugar plum! Oh -and her clothes! Oh God, never have been seen such marvels! When she -passes people watch her like a shooting star. A gentleman charged me to -steal a scrap of her scarf. He wanted to wear it on his heart. The maid -up there at Carboni's says that every morning her young lady finds on -her window a love letter tied up with a blue ribbon. But the rose can't -do with anything except a pink. Well, well! hand me thy cup!" concluded -the babbler giving herself a slap on the mouth, "it's no good! I knew -your Worship when he had a tail and I can't say <i>Lei</i><a name="FNanchor_19_1" id="FNanchor_19_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_1" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> to him."</p> - -<p>"And pray when had I a tail?" asked Anania, threatening her with his -finger.</p> - -<p>Nanna ran away, shaking and laughing, her hand over her mouth. From the -courtyard she shouted up to the student who was leaning out of his -window—</p> - -<p>"It was the tail of your shirt, your Worship!"</p> - -<p>Again Anania threatened her and again Nanna shook with laughter; the -little pig, now loose, snuffed at the woman's feet; a hen jumped on its -back and pecked its ears. A sparrow perched on the elder, swinging on -the end of a twig. And Anania was so happy that he sang another verse -from Poliziano:</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Portate, venti, questi dolci versi</td> -<td class="translated"> Breezes, upon your wings these</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> </td> -<td class="translated"> verses bear</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Dentro all' orecchie della Ninfa</td> -<td class="translated"> And breathe them in my</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> mia;</td> -<td class="translated"> Ladye's ear for me;</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Dite quanti per lei lagrime versi,</td> -<td class="translated"> Speak of the many tears I've</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> </td> -<td class="translated"> shed for her.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">E la pregate che crudel non sia;</td> -<td class="translated"> And pray her sore to quit this</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> </td> -<td class="translated"> cruelty;</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Dite che la mia vita fugge via,</td> -<td class="translated"> Tell her my life's sad course is</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> </td> -<td class="translated"> almost run,</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">E si consuma come brina al sole.</td> -<td class="translated"> Wasted, consumed, like hoar</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> </td> -<td class="translated"> frost in the sun.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>As he sang, he had again the feeling of being light as the sparrow on -the twig. Later he went to the garden where he could hand the maid the -letter for Margherita.</p> - -<p>The garden, still wet after the nocturnal rain, exhaled a strong odour -of vegetation and wet earth. The beans had been reduced by caterpillars -to masses of strange grey lace. The prickly pears were losing their -little gold cupped yellow flowers; the tall passion flower with its -stemless violet flowers cut the azure of the sky with their strange -outline. The mountains rose vaporous in the pearly distance, their -highest peaks lost in golden clouds. Efès, a heap of rags, lay in a -corner. Anania kicked him lightly; he raised his face, opened a glassy -eye, and murmured—</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"When Amelia so pure and so pale—"</span> -</div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Then fell back without recognising the young man. Further on Uncle Pera, -now quite blind, was indefatigably weeding, recognising the weeds by -smell and touch.</p> - -<p>"How are you?" cried Anania.</p> - -<p>"Dead, my son. I can't see; I can't hear."</p> - -<p>"Don't lose heart. You'll get cured——"</p> - -<p>"In the next world where all are cured. Where all see and hear. Never -mind, my son. When I saw with the eyes of my body, my soul was blind. -Now I see. I see with the eyes of the soul. But tell me, when you were -in Rome, did you see the Pope?"</p> - -<p>When he had left the garden Anania roamed about in the vicinity. Yes, -this little corner of the world was always the same. The madman still -sat on the stone with his back against the tumbling wall, and waited for -the coming of Jesus; the beggar-woman still jealously watched Rebecca, -while the miserable girl still shook with fever and bandaged her sores. -Maestro Pane among his cobwebs still planed tables and talked to -himself; in the tavern the handsome Agata flirted with young and old; -and Antonino and Bustianeddu drank and swore, and now and then vanished -for a month or two, reappearing with faces grown rather pale in "the -service of the King."<a name="FNanchor_20_1" id="FNanchor_20_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_1" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> Aunt Tatàna still baked sweetmeats for her -"dear little boy" and dreamed of his future laurels; Big Anania, on days -of leisure, sat in the street embroidering a leather belt and dreaming -of treasures hidden in the <i>nuraghes</i>.</p> - -<p>No, nothing was changed; but the young student saw men and things as -never he had seen them before. Everything seemed beautiful to him -with a wild and melancholy beauty. He passed by and gazed as if -he were a stranger; in the picture of those dark and falling cabins, -of those primitive beings who inhabited them, he seemed to see himself -vaguely as a giant—yes, as a giant, or as a bird—a giant by his -superiority, a bird by his joy!</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>At the end of August, after various meetings, Margherita agreed to the -confession of their love.</p> - -<p>"Your father's manner to me has changed," said Anania. "I am uneasy and -remorseful He looks at me with cold, critical eyes, and I can't bear -it."</p> - -<p>"Well—do your duty, if you have the courage," said Margherita, -with a touch of malice.</p> - -<p>"How shall I put it?" asked the lad, growing nervous.</p> - -<p>"As you like. It will be a very interesting occasion. The more agitated -you are the more effect you will make. My father is so kind!"</p> - -<p>"Then you think I may have some hope?" cried Anania as eagerly as if -till that moment he had been in utter despair.</p> - -<p>"Why, yes—s—s," she said, stroking his hair in almost -motherly fashion.</p> - -<p>He folded her close, shut his eyes, and tried to the immensity of his -good fortune. Could it be possible? Margherita would be his own? Really? -In reality, as she had always been his in dream? He thought of -the time when he had scarce dared confess his love to himself. And -now——</p> - -<p>"How many things come to pass in the world!" he thought. "But there! -what is the world? What is reality? Where does dream end and reality -begin? May not all this be dream? Who is Margherita? Who am I? Are we -alive? And what is life? What is this mysterious joy which lifts me as -the moon lifts the wave? And the sea, what is that? Does the sea feel? -Is it alive? And what is the moon, and is she also real?"</p> - -<p>He smiled at his questions. The moon illuminated the courtyard. In the -silence of the diaphanous night, the tremulous song of the crickets -suggested a population of minute sprites, sitting on the dewy moonlit -leaves and sawing on a single string of invisible fiddles. All was dream -and all was reality. Anania fancied he saw the goblin fiddlers, and at -the same time he saw distinctly Margherita's pink blouse, and rings, and -gold chain. He pressed her wrist, touched the pearl of the ring which -she wore on her little finger, looked at her nails with their little -half moons of white. Yes, it was all real, visible, tangible. The -reality and the dream had no dividing-line. All could be seen, handled, -attained, from the maddest dream to the object of the barest visibility.</p> - -<p>A few words pronounced by Margherita brought him back to the boundary of -reality.</p> - -<p>"What will you say to my father?" she asked, scoffing a little. -"Will you say, 'Sir, Godfather—I—I and—and your -daughter—Margherita—are—are doing what -you——'"</p> - -<p>"I couldn't!" he exclaimed, "I'll write to him!"</p> - -<p>"Oh no!" said Margherita seriously, "you had far better speak! He'll be -far more yielding if you speak. If you're afraid to do it yourself, send -someone."</p> - -<p>"Whom could I send?"</p> - -<p>Margherita pondered, then said tentatively, "<i>Your mother</i>."</p> - -<p>He knew she meant Aunt Tatàna, but his thoughts flew to the other, and -he fancied Margherita also must be thinking of that woman. A dense -shadow, a whirlwind of doubt overwhelmed his soul; ah yes! the dream and -the reality were well divided by terrible confines; insuperable -emptiness, like the void between the earth and the sun, separated them.</p> - -<p>"If I could tell her at this moment!" he thought again; "this is the -moment! If I let it escape I may never find it again. Perhaps the void -can be crossed; but now—now!"</p> - -<p>He opened his lips and his heart beat fast. He could not speak. The -moment passed.</p> - -<p>Next evening Aunt Tatàna—greatly surprised, but proud and -confident in the assistance of Heaven, for she had prayed and "made the -ascension," namely, dragged herself on her knees from the door to the altar -of the church of the Rosario—performed her embassage.</p> - -<p>Anania remained at home, waiting anxiously for the dear woman's return. -First, he lay on his bed, reading a book of which he remembered not so -much as the title.</p> - -<p>"Yet I am calm," he thought, "why should I be alarmed? the thing is -perfectly certain——"</p> - -<p>Thought, like an all-seeing eye, followed the ambassador and saw Aunt -Tatàna walking along very slowly impressed with the solemnity of her -task. She was a little shy—the sweet elderly dove, so soft and pure; -but patience! with the help of the Lord and of the blessed Saint -Catherine and the most holy Mary of the Rosary, she would effect -something! For this great occasion she had donned her best clothes; the -"tunic" trimmed with three ribbons, green, white, and green, the corset -of green brocade, the silver belt, the embroidered apron, the floating -saffron-coloured veil. Nor had she forgotten her rings, certainly not, -her great prehistoric rings, cameos cut on green and yellow stones, and -incised cornelians. Thus adorned and very serious, like an aged Madonna, -she advanced slowly, saluting with unwonted dignity the persons whom she -passed. It was evening, the hour sacred to these grave embassies of -love. At the fall of evening the matchmaker finds at home the head of -the family to which she bears the arcane message.</p> - -<p>Aunt Tatàna goes on and on; always sedate and slow. She seems almost -afraid of arriving. Having reached the fatal limit, the great shut door, -silent and dark like the gate of Destiny, she hesitates, arranges her -rings, her ribbons, her belt, her apron; wraps her chin in the end of -her veil, at last makes resolution to knock.</p> - -<p>That knock seemed to strike Anania on his chest. He jumped to his feet, -seized the candle, and looked at himself in the glass.</p> - -<p>"I do believe I am white! What an idiot! I will think no more about -it."</p> - -<p>He went to the window. Daylight was dying in the closed court, the -motionless elder tree was a dark mass. Perfect silence! the hens slept, -the little pig slept. Stars came out, sparks of gold in the ashy blue of -the warm twilight. Beyond the courtyard in the silence of the little -street a little shepherd on horseback, passed singing—</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Inoche mi fachet die</td> -<td class="translated"> And the night it seems to me day</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Cantende a parma dorada.</td> -<td class="translated"> As I sing on my golden way.</td></tr></table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Anania thought of his childhood, of the widow, of Zuanne. What was the -young monk doing in his convent? the monk who had meant to be a -brigand.</p> - -<p>"I should like to see him!" thought Anania. "In the course of this month -I will certainly visit Fonni."</p> - -<p>Ah! His thought returned violently thither where his fate was being -decided. The old dove has arrived; she is there in Signor Carboni's -simple and orderly study. There is the desk where one evening a young -lad had rummaged among the papers—good Lord! is it possible he ever -behaved so shamefully? Yes, when one is a boy one has no conscience, -anything seems easy and allowable, a positive crime can be committed in -perfect innocence. Well! Aunt Tatàna is there. And Signor Carboni is -there—stout, composed, and bland, with the shining gold chain across -his ample chest.</p> - -<p>"Whatever will the dear old thing say!" thought Anania smiling -nervously. "I wish I could be there unseen. If I had the ring which -gives invisibility! I'd slip it on my finger and in a moment I'd be there. -If the big door was shut—I'd knock, Mariedda would open and rage -against the children who knock and run away. But I——Pshaw! such -childish nonsense. I'll think no more about it." He left the window, -went down to the kitchen and sat by the fire, suddenly remembered it was -summer and laughed. For a long time he looked at the red kitten which -sat watching by the oven, motionless, his whiskers stiff, his tail -stiff, expecting the appearance of a mouse.</p> - -<p>"You shan't be allowed to catch it!" said Anania, "I'm so happy that not -even a mouse shall suffer in this house to-night. Shoo!" he cried, -jumping up and running at the kitten, who shook all over and leaped on -top of the stove. The young man's restlessness now made him march up and -down the kitchen. Once or twice he stood still, fingering the sacks of -barley.</p> - -<p>"My father's not so very poor," he thought, "he's Signor Carboni's -<i>mezzadro</i> (tenant) though he will call him Master. No, he's not poor. -But, of course, he couldn't pay back what's—been spent—on me, -if the thing doesn't come off. Whatever would happen? What is happening at -this moment? Aunt Tatàna has spoken. What can she have said? What sort of -answer can the benefactor have given? He's the most loyal man in the -world—what will he say when he hears that his protégé has dared to -betray—I can imagine him walking up and down the room very -thoughtful; and Aunt Tatàna looking at him, pale herself and oppressed. Oh, -my God! what will happen?" groaned the boy squeezing his head in his hands. -He felt suffocated, rushed into the court, sprang on the low surrounding -wall, waited and listened. Nothing! nothing!</p> - -<p>He returned to the kitchen, saw the kitten again in ambush, again drove -it away. He thought of the cats prowling round the Pantheon. He thought -of Aunt Varvara and the wax candle he was to carry for her to the -Basilica of the Holy Martyrs; he thought of his father busy in the -padrone's <i>tancas</i>; he remembered the sonorous pine-tree, which -murmured like an angry giant, the king of a solitary region of stubble and -thicket. He thought of the <i>nuraghe</i> and Aunt Varvara's vision -reproduced by fever in himself. He remembered a gold bracelet seen in -the museum at the Baths of Diocletian. Behind all these fleeting -memories, two thoughts met and rolled themselves into one like two clouds, -one dark, one bright, rolling together in space—the thought of -<i>that woman</i> and the thought of what was going on in Signor Carboni's -study. "I've said I won't think of it," he muttered, vexed with himself.</p> - -<p>And again he chased the cat, as if he wished to chase away the idea -which, cat-like, continually returned against his will. He went back to -the courtyard, looked and listened. Nothing. About a quarter of an hour -later two voices sounded behind the low wall, then a third, a fourth. -They belonged to the neighbours who nightly assembled for a gossip -before Maestro Pane's shop.</p> - -<p>"By our Lady," cried Rebecca's piercing tones, "I have seen five falling -stars! That means something. There's going to be a catastrophe."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps Antichrist's coming. They say he'll be born of an animal," said -a man's voice; "an animal like you."</p> - -<p>"Like your wife, you beast!" screamed Rebecca.</p> - -<p>"Take this, my carnation!" said the handsome Agata, who was eating -something as she talked.</p> - -<p>The man began rude talk, but the old carpenter interposed.</p> - -<p>"Hold your tongue, or I'll have you on the millstones, you skinned -weasel."</p> - -<p>The peasant was not to be silenced, so the women went away and sat under -the low wall of the courtyard. Aunt Sorchedda, a little old woman who -forty years before had been servant in the Intendant's house, began to -tell for the thousandth time the story of her mistress.</p> - -<p>"She was a <i>marchesa</i>. Her father was an intimate friend of the -King of Spain, and had given her 1000 gold crowns for her dowry. How much -are 1000 crowns?</p> - -<p>"What are 1000 crowns?" said Agata contemptuously. "Margherita Carboni -has 4000."</p> - -<p>"4000?" echoed Rebecca, "you mean 40,000."</p> - -<p>"You don't know what you're talking about," cried Aunt Sorchedda, -"these were gold crowns. Not even Don Franceschino has so much."</p> - -<p>"Go along with you! You're doting," cried Agata, getting heated. "How -much do 1000 crowns come to? Franziscu Carchide has them in shoe soles!"</p> - -<p>It was getting serious. The women began to abuse each other.</p> - -<p>"It's easy to see why she brings in Franziscu Carchide, that scum of a -girl!"</p> - -<p>"Scum yourself, old sinner!"</p> - -<p>"Ah."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Foglia di gelso</td> -<td class="translated"> Leaf of the mulberry tree!</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">Chi la fa la pensa.</td> -<td class="translated"> The thing you do, you everywhere</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> </td> -<td class="translated"> see!"</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Anania was listening. In spite of his private anxiety he laughed.</p> - -<p>"Oh, ho!" cried Agata, peeping over the wall, "good evening to your -Excellence! What are you hiding for? Come out and let us see your pretty -face."</p> - -<p>He pinched Agata's arm, and Rebecca who had hidden herself on hearing -the young man's laugh, contributed a pinch on the leg.</p> - -<p>"Oh! oh! oh!" cried Agata, "go to the devil with you! This is too much. -Let me alone or I'll tell——"</p> - -<p>The pinches were redoubled.</p> - -<p>"Oh! oh! oh! The devil! Rebecca, there's no good in being jealous! Oh! -oh! Aunt Tatàna has gone this evening, has gone to ask——Well, -shall I tell or not?"</p> - -<p>Anania withdrew, asking himself how that minx Agata knew.</p> - -<p>"My sweetheart, next time have some respect for Aunt Agata!" she said -laughing; while Rebecca who had understood became stonily silent, and -Aunt Sorchedda enquired—</p> - -<p>"Kindly tell me, Nania Atonzu, is there a single person in Nuoro who has -1000 gold crowns?"</p> - -<p>The foul-mouthed <i>contadino</i> came over and asked, "Young man from -Rome, Nania Atonzu—is it true that the pope——"</p> - -<p>Anania was not listening. He saw a figure moving slowly at the bottom of -the street. His heart came into his mouth. It was she! The old messenger -dove, it was she, carrying on her pure lips, like a flower of life or of -death, the fateful word.</p> - -<p>Anania went in to the house shutting the back door; Aunt Tatàna entered -at the front and he shut that door also. She sighed; was still pale and -oppressed just as Anania had seen her in fancy. Her rude jewels, her -belt, her embroideries, sparkled brightly in the firelight.</p> - -<p>Anania ran to meet her. He looked at her anxiously. As she kept silence -he burst out impatiently—</p> - -<p>"Well? Well? What did he say?"</p> - -<p>"Have patience, child of the Lord! I am going to tell you."</p> - -<p>"Tell me now—this moment. Will he have me?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—s—s—He'll have you! He'll have you!" announced -the old lady opening her arms.</p> - -<p>Quite overcome, Anania sat down, his head in his hands. Aunt Tatàna -looked at him compassionately, shaking her head, while with trembling -finger she unclasped her silver belt.</p> - -<p>"Is it possible! Is it really possible?" Anania was saying to himself.</p> - -<p>Before the oven the kitten was still watching for the exit of a mouse. -Perhaps he heard some faint noise for his tail trembled. After a minute -Anania heard a squeak and a minute death cry. But his happiness was now -so complete that it did not allow him to remember that in the world -could exist such a thing as suffering.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>Aunt Tatàna's detailed narrative threw a little cold water on this -great conflagration of joy.</p> - -<p>Margherita's parents did not oppose the love of the two young people, -but neither did they give full and irrevocable consent. The godfather -had smiled, had rubbed his hand, and shaken his head as if to say, -"They've caught me, those two." Aloud he said! "They're in a hurry for -their wings, the two children."</p> - -<p>Then he had become very thoughtful and grave.</p> - -<p>"But what did he say in the end?" cried Anania, also very serious.</p> - -<p>"Holy Saint Catherine, what does the boy expect? Don't you understand, -my dear? The padrona said, 'We must speak to Margherita.' 'Eh, I don't -think it's necessary!' said your godfather, rubbing his hands. I -smiled." Anania smiled also.</p> - -<p>"So we concluded——Go away, puss!" cried Aunt Tatàna in -parenthesis drawing away the hem of her "<i>tunic</i>" upon which the -kitten had established himself licking his lips with horrible satisfaction, -"we concluded that you must wait. The <i>padrone</i> said, 'Let the boy -attend to his studies and do us credit. When he has got some good -appointment, then we'll give him our daughter. Meanwhile let them love each -other and God bless 'em.' There! now I hope you'll eat your supper."</p> - -<p>"But does it mean I can go to their house as her betrothed?"</p> - -<p>"No, not just at present. Not for this year. You run too fast, <i>galanu -meu</i>. People would think Signor Carboni in his second childhood if he -allowed that. You must take your degree first."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" cried Anania, "then I suppose he thinks it better for -us——" He was going to say, "for us to meet secretly at night -lest we should offend false susceptibilities," but it struck him that -meeting thus secretly at night and by themselves, was far more comfortable -than in the presence of parents and in the glare of day. This calmed him. -It was not their own fault and need occasion no remorse.</p> - -<p>Accordingly he recommenced his visits that very night. The maid, the -moment she had opened the door, wished him good luck as if the wedding -were already announced. Anania gave her a tip and waited in trepidation -for his sweetheart. She came, cautious and silent. She smelt of iris, -she wore a light dress, white in the transparent night. Half seeing her, -conscious of her fragrance, the youth experienced a dissolving, a -violent sensation as if for the first time he had divined the mystery of -love. They embraced long, silently, vibrating together, intoxicated with -joy. The world was theirs.</p> - -<p>Margherita, now sure she might abandon herself without fear or remorse -to her love for this handsome youth who adored her, for the first time -showed herself passionate and ardent as Anania had scarce dared to dream -her. He went away from the tryst, trembling, blind, out of himself.</p> - -<p>Next evening, the meeting was even longer, more delirious. The third -night, the maid got tired of watching and gave the prearranged signal in -case of surprise. The lovers separated in alarm. Next day Margherita -wrote thus—</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid Daddy guessed something last night. We must take care not to -do ourselves harm, especially now when we are so happy. We had best not -meet for a few days. Have patience and courage as I have, for it takes -courage to make the big sacrifice of renouncing for some time the -immense happiness of seeing you. It kills me; for I love you so dearly I -feel as if I really couldn't live without your kisses," and so on and so -on.</p> - -<p>He replied: "My adored one, I believe you are right. You are a saint for -wisdom and goodness, and I am only a poor fool, a fool for love of you. -I don't know, I can't even see, what I am doing. Last night I could have -compromised our whole future and not have perceived what I was doing. -Forgive me! when I am with you I lose my reason. A destroying fire seems -to rage within me; I am fevered, consumed. So it is with spasms of pain -that I renounce the supreme felicity of seeing you for a few evenings, -and I shall require movement, distraction, distance, to quiet this -devouring fire which makes me senseless and sick. I think I'll make that -little excursion to the Gennargentu of which I spoke the other night. -You wouldn't mind, would you? Answer me at once, my adored one, my joy, -my darling. I will carry you with me in my heart. I will send you a -greeting from the highest summit in Sardinia. I will cry your name to -heaven, and my love, as I would wish to cry them from the topmost peak -of the world, for the astounding of the whole earth. I embrace you, my -dearest; I carry you with me, we are united, fused together for all -eternity."</p> - -<p>Margherita graciously gave permission for the journey.</p> - -<p>Then Anania wrote: "I am starting to-morrow morning by the coach for -Mamojada—Fonni. At nine o'clock I shall pass your window. I long to -see you to-night—but I will be good! Ah! come with me, Margherita, my -own darling! why do you leave me for a single instant? Come here to my -heart! I will bum you up in the fire of my love, and die myself of -passion!"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_19_1" id="Footnote_19_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_1"><span class="label">[19]</span></a><i>She</i>, the 3rd person feminine singular, is the -ceremonious form of address.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_20_1" id="Footnote_20_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_1"><span class="label">[20]</span></a>In prison.</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="VII_II">VII</a></h4> - - -<p>The coach crossed the wild <i>tancas</i>, yellowed by the burning sun, -shadowed here and there by thickets of wild olive and stunted oak.</p> - -<p>The interior of the vehicle was suffocatingly hot and Anania sat beside -the driver. He was overwhelmed by memories which almost made him forget -the fever of the last few days. He was living again in a distant day, -seeing once more the driver with the yellow moustache and the swollen -cheeks, who had cracked his whip just as the small thin driver sitting -at his side now cracked his.</p> - -<p>As the coach neared Mamojada, the vividness of his recollections became -almost painful. In the arch made by the coach's hood was depicted the -same landscape which Anania had seen <i>that day</i>, his little head -drooping on <i>her</i> knee; the same melancholy sky of unvaried blue was -stretched above. A sudden breeze swept over the green country with its -strong undulating lines and rows of wild bushes. Here and there the -violet gleam of water was just visible. The whistle of marsh birds was -heard. A shepherd, bronze against a luminous background, watched the -horizon.</p> - -<p>Here was the <i>Cantoniera</i>. The coach stopped for a few minutes. -Sitting on the doorstep carding black wool with iron combs was a woman in -the costume of Tonara—swathed in rough cloths like an Egyptian mummy. -Three ragged and dirty children were playing or rather quarrelling at a -little distance. At a window appeared the gaunt and wan face of a sick -woman, who looked at the coach with two great hollow greenish eyes, heavy -with fever. The desolate <i>Cantoniera</i> seemed the habitation of hunger, -of sickness, of dirt. Anania's heart tightened. He knew perfectly the sad -drama which had been played twenty-two years ago in that lonely place, -set in that wild fresh landscape which would have been so pure but for -the unclean passage of man.</p> - -<p>He sighed. And he looked at the shepherd with the dark sarcastic face, -erect against the blinding background of sky, and thought that even that -poetic figure was a barbarous conscienceless being—like his father, -like his mother, like all the creatures scattered over that stretch of -desolate earth, in whose minds bad thoughts developed by fatal -necessity, like evil vapours in the atmosphere.</p> - -<p>The coach resumed its journey. Here was Mamojada hidden in the green of -walnuts and gardens; its <i>campanile</i> drawn clear upon the tender blue, -as in a conventional water colour. But as the coach moved further along -the dusty road, the picture took a darker and a drearier tint. In front -of the small black houses, built into the rock, was a group of -characteristic figures, all ragged and dirty; pretty women with glossy -hair, looped round their ears, sewing or suckling their infants; two -<i>Carabinieri</i>; a bored student—from Rome like Anania; a peasant, -an old noble who was <i>contadino</i> as well—gossiping, grouped -together before a carpenter's workshop, the door of which was hung with -bright coloured sacred pictures.</p> - -<p>The student knew Anania and went at once to meet him and introduce him -to the rest of the company.</p> - -<p>"You also are at your studies in Rome?" said the peasant noble, -thrusting out his chest and speaking with dignity. "Yes? Then I suppose -you know Don Pietro Bonigheddu, a nobleman and head of a department in -the Court of Exchequer."</p> - -<p>"No," replied Anania, "Rome is a big place and one can't know every -one."</p> - -<p>"Just so," said the other, with scornful gravity, "but every one knows -Don Pietro. He's a rich man. We are relatives. Well, if you do meet him, -give him greetings from Don Zua Bonigheddu."</p> - -<p>"I will remember," said Anania with an ironical bow. He made the tour of -the village with his friend; then set forth again in the coach which -resumed its journey. After half an hour's amusement, he fell back again -into his memories. Here was the little ruined church, here the garden, -here the commencement of the rise to Fonni, here the potato plantation -beside which Olì and her child had sat down to rest. Anania remembered -the woman hoeing with her skirt kilted up between her legs, and the -white cat which had darted at the green lizard gliding over the wall. -The picture in the arch of the hood became brighter, the background more -luminous. The grey pyramid of Monte Gonare, the cerulean and silver -lines of the chain of the Gennargentu were cut into the metal of the -sky. Every minute they were nearer and more majestic. Ah yes! Now Anania -really breathed his native air—some strange, some atavic instinct -seemed to possess him.</p> - -<p>He wanted to leap from the vehicle, to run up the slopes where the grass -was still green, among the rocks and the thickets, crying aloud with -joy, like the colt which flees from the halter back to the freedom of -the <i>tancas</i>. "And when I have worked off that intoxication I should -like to stand like the wandering shepherd against a dazzling background -of sunshine, or in the green shadow of the hazels, on the platform of a -cliff, in the fork of a tree, losing myself in the contemplation of the -immensity! Yes," he thought as the coach moved slowly up a steep -incline, "I believe I was meant to be a shepherd. I should have been a -ferocious robber, a criminal, but also a poet. Oh! to watch the -clouds from the height of a mountain! To fancy oneself a shepherd of -clouds—to see them roam over the silver heaven, chase each -other, change, pass, sink, disappear! He laughed to himself, then -thought—</p> - -<p>"Am I not a shepherd of clouds? Are not my thoughts mere clouds? If I -were forced to live in these solitudes I should dissolve into the winds -and the mist and the sadness of the landscape. Am I alive? What after -all is life?"</p> - -<p>To these questions there was no reply.</p> - -<p>The coach ascended slowly, more and more slowly with gentle cadenced -movements; the coachman dozed, the horse seemed walking in his sleep. -The sun at his zenith rained an equable and melancholy splendour; the -thickets threw no shadow. Profound silence, burning somnolence pervaded -the immense landscape. Anania felt himself really dissolving, becoming -one with the drowsy panorama, with the sad and luminous sky. The fact -was he was himself drowsy. <i>As that other time</i>, so now, he ended by -closing his eyes and falling childishly asleep.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Grathia! <i>Nonna</i>!" (godmother), he called, his voice still -sleepy, as he entered the widow's cottage. The kitchen was deserted, the -sunny little street was deserted; deserted the whole village which in the -desolation of midday, seemed prehistoric, abandoned for centuries.</p> - -<p>Anania looked curiously around. Nothing was changed. Poverty, rags, -soot, ashes in the hearth, cobwebs among the rafters of the roof; wild -emperor of that legendary spot, the long and empty phantasm of the black -cloak hanging against the earthen wall.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Grathia, where are you? Aunt Grathia?" cried the young man.</p> - -<p>The widow had gone to the well. Presently she returned with a malune<a name="FNanchor_21_1" id="FNanchor_21_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_1" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> -on her head and a bucket in her hand. She was just the same; yellow, -thorny, with a spectral face surrounded by the folds of a dirty -kerchief. The years had passed without ageing that body already dried up -and exhausted of the emotions of her distant youth.</p> - -<p>Anania seeing her was strangely moved. A flood of memories rose out of -the depths of his soul. He seemed to recall a whole former existence, to -see afresh the spirit which had inhabited his body before his spirit of -to-day.</p> - -<p>"<i>Bonos dias,</i>"(good day) the widow said in greeting, surveying in -astonishment the handsome unknown youth. She set down first the pail, -then the <i>malune</i> slowly and without taking her eyes off the stranger. -But no sooner had he smiled and asked, "What? don't you know me?" than -she emitted a cry and opened her arms. Anania kissed her and overwhelmed -her with questions.</p> - -<p>How, where was Zuanne? Why had he become a monk? Did he visit his -mother? Was he happy? And her elder son? And the candlemaker's son? And -this one, and that one? And how had life gone on these fifteen years at -Fonni? And to-morrow could he make the ascension of the Gennargentu?</p> - -<p>"Son! dear son!" cried the widow, looking at her dismal walls; "well, -what do you think of my house? Naked and sad as an abandoned nest! But sit -down—will you wash your hands? here is pure fresh water, real pure -silver! Wash yourself, drink, rest. I'll cook a mouthful for you. Don't -refuse, son of my heart! don't humiliate me. I should like to feed you -with my heart! But you'll accept what I can offer. Here's a towel, my -dear. How tall and beautiful you are! I hear you're to marry a rich and -lovely girl. Ah, and she's no fool, that girl! Why didn't you write -before coming? Ah, dear boy! you at least haven't forgotten the deserted -old woman!"</p> - -<p>"But Zuanne? Zuanne?" said Anania, washing in the fresh water from the -bucket.</p> - -<p>The widow's face darkened.</p> - -<p>"Don't speak of him! He has grieved me so much. It would have been far -better he'd followed his father. Well no—don't talk of it. He's not a -man. He may be a saint, but he isn't a man. If my husband were to lift -his head out of the tomb, and see his son barefoot, with the cord and -the wallet, a stupid, begging friar, whatever would he say! Ah! he'd -beat him to death, he would!"</p> - -<p>"Where is Brother Zuanne at present?"</p> - -<p>"In a convent a long way off. On the top of a mountain! If he'd even -stayed in the convent at Fonni! But no! I'm fated to be abandoned by -them all! Even Fidele the other boy has taken a wife and hardly ever -remembers me. The nest is deserted—the old eagle has seen all her -poor eaglets fly away, and will die alone—alone!"</p> - -<p>"Come and live with me!" said Anania. "Once I've got my degree, I'll -make a home for you, Nonna!"</p> - -<p>"What good should I be to you? Once, I was able to wash your eyes and -cut your nails—now you'd have to do it for me."</p> - -<p>"You would tell your stories to me, and to my children."</p> - -<p>"I can't even tell the stories. I've grown childish. Time has carried -away my brains, as the wind carries away the snow from the mountains. -Well, my boy, eat! I've nothing better to offer you. Accept with a good -heart. Oh this candle, is it yours? Where are you taking it?"</p> - -<p>"To the Basilica, Nonna, to put before the images of the saints Proto -and Gianuario. It's come a long way, Nonna. It was given me by an old -Sardinian woman who lives in Rome. She told me stories too, but not such -nice ones as yours."</p> - -<p>After the modest meal, Anania found a guide with whom he arranged for -the ascent of the Gennargentu to-morrow. Then he went to the Basilica.</p> - -<p>In the ancient court, under the tall whispering trees, on the broken -stair, in the crumbling <i>loggia</i>, in the church itself, which smelt of -damp like a tomb, everywhere there was silence and desolation. Anania -put Aunt Varvara's candle on a dusty altar, then looked at the rude -frescoes on the walls, at the stucco figures gilded with a melancholy -light, at the rough images of Sardinian saints, at everything which once -had moved him to wonder and to terror. He smiled; but languidly and -sadly. He returned to the Court and saw, through an open window, the hat -of a carabiniere and a pair of boots hung on the wall of a cell. In his -memory resounded once more that air from the Gioconda—</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"<i>A te questo rosario</i>—"</span> -</div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>The smell of wax reached him. Where were the children, the companions of -his infancy, the little birds savage and half naked which had animated -the steps of the church? Anania had no wish to see them now, to make -himself known to them; yet how tenderly did he remember the games played -with them beneath these trees while the dead leaves were falling, -falling like the feathers of dying birds.</p> - -<p>A barefooted woman with an amphora on her head, passed at the far end of -the court. Anania trembled, for the woman reminded him of his mother. -Where was his mother? Why had he not dared, even though he had wished, -to speak of her to the widow? Why had not the widow alluded to her old, -ungrateful guest? To escape from these questions the young man went next -to the Post Office, and sent a picture card to Margherita. Then he -visited the Rector, and towards evening he walked along the road to the -west, the road which looked down on the immensity of the valleys.</p> - -<p>Seeing the Fonni women going to the fountain, straitened in their -strange "<i>tunics</i>," he remembered his early love dreams; and how he -had wished himself a herdsman and Margherita a peasant girl, delicate and -graceful, but with the amphora on her head like some Pompeian damsel -made in stucco. And he smiled again contrasting his romantic fancies -with the rough disillusion which had awaited him among the wonders of -the Basilica.</p> - -<p>A glory of sunset spread itself over the heaven. It seemed an -apocalyptic vision. The clouds painted a tragic scene: a burning plain, -furrowed by lakes of gold and rivers of purple from whose depths rose -bronze coloured mountains, edged with amber and pearly snow, severed by -flaming apertures which seemed mouths of grottoes, sending up fountains -of gilded blood. A battle of solar giants, of formidable denizens of the -infinite, was in progress among these aerial mountains, in the profound -grottoes of the bronze clouds. From the apertures flashed the gleam of -arms carved in the metal of the sun; the blood poured in torrents, -rolling into the lakes of molten gold, serpentining in rivers which -seemed arrows, inundating the fiery plains of heaven.</p> - -<p>His heart dancing with admiration and joy, Anania remained absorbed in -contemplation of the magnificent spectacle, until the vision had fled -and the shades of evening had drawn a violet pall over all things. Then -he returned to the widow's house and drew a stool beside the hearth. -Memory again assailed him. In the penumbra, while the old woman was -preparing supper and talking in her dreary tones, he again saw Zuanne of -the big ears busy with his chestnuts; and another figure behind silent -and vague as a phantom.</p> - -<p>"So they've killed all the Nuoro brigands?" said the widow, "but do you -believe it will be long before new ones appear? You are deceived, my -son. So long as there are men with hot burning blood in their veins, men -clever for good or for evil, so long will there be brigands. It's true -that just now they're no good—all towards, mere despicable thieves; -but in my husband's time it was not like that! How brave they were then! so -kind and so courageous. My husband once met a woman who was crying -because——"</p> - -<p>Anania was only moderately interested in Aunt Grathia's recollections. -Other thoughts were passing through his brain.</p> - -<p>"Look here," he said, when the widow had concluded the tale of the -weeping woman, "have you never had any news of my mother?"</p> - -<p>Aunt Grathia who was dexterously turning an omelet, made no reply. -Anania waited. He thought, "She knows something!" and in spite of -himself became agitated. After a short silence the widow said—</p> - -<p>"If you know nothing of her, why should I? Now, my son, come over to -this chair and eat with a good heart."</p> - -<p>Anania sat in front of the basket which the widow had placed on a chair -and began to eat.</p> - -<p>"I knew nothing of her for a long time," he said, confiding in the old -woman as he had never been able to confide in any one before; "but now I -believe I have traced her. After leaving me, she went away from -Sardinia. A man I know saw her in Rome—dressed in town fashion."</p> - -<p>"Did he really see her?" asked Aunt Grathia quickly. "Did he speak to -her?"</p> - -<p>"More than that," replied the young man bitterly. "After that nothing -more was heard of her. But this year, in Rome, I made enquiries at the -<i>Questura</i>, and learned that she's living there, in Rome, under -another name; but she's reformed, yes, quite reformed. She's working and -living honestly."</p> - -<p>Aunt Grathia had come nearer to her guest, her hollow eyes widened, she -stooped and stretched out her hands as if to gather up the young man's -words. He had grown calm thinking of Maria Obinu; when he said, "she has -reformed" he felt happy, sure at that moment he was not deceiving -himself in thinking Maria was <i>she</i>.</p> - -<p>"Are you certain, really certain?" asked the old woman bewildered.</p> - -<p>"Yes. Yes—s—s!" he cried, imitating his sweetheart in the -joyous almost singing pronounciation of the word. "Why I've been living in -her house for two whole months!"</p> - -<p>He turned to drink, looking at the wine through the rosy light of the -rude iron lamp. It was thick and he scarcely tasted it. Then he rubbed -his mouth and seeing that the old grey napkin was torn, he put it over -his face and looked through a hole, saying:</p> - -<p>"Do you remember the night Zuanne and I dressed up? I put this -very cloth over my head like this——But what's the matter?" he -exclaimed, suddenly throwing the napkin down and changing his tone. His -face had turned pale.</p> - -<p>He saw that the widow's countenance, generally cadaverous and -expressionless, had become strongly animated, showing first surprise -then pity. He understood at once he was himself the object of her pity. -The edifice of his dream fell into ruin, broken to atoms for all time.</p> - -<p>"<i>Nonna</i>! Aunt Grathia! you know!" he cried apprehensively, his -nervous fingers stretching the old cloth to its full length.</p> - -<p>"Eat your supper. Then we'll talk. No, finish eating!" said the old -woman, recovering herself. "Don't you like the wine?"</p> - -<p>But Anania sprang to his feet. "Speak!" he cried.</p> - -<p>"Ah, Holy Lord! what do you expect me to say?" lamented the old woman, -sighing and mumbling her lips; "why don't you go on with your supper? -We can have a talk afterwards."</p> - -<p>He no longer heard or saw.</p> - -<p>"Speak! speak! I see you know. Where is she? Is she alive? Is she dead? -Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?"</p> - -<p>He repeated the question twenty times, roaming automatically round the -kitchen, turning and returning, stretching the cloth, putting it over -his face. He seemed almost mad, angry rather than grieved.</p> - -<p>"Hush! hush!" said the old woman going to his side. "I had supposed you -knew. Yes—she's alive; but she's not the woman who has deceived you -by pretending to be your mother."</p> - -<p>"She didn't pretend, Nonna! It was my own fancy. She doesn't even know I -thought it! Ah—then it's not she!" he added in a low voice, as much -shocked as if till that moment he had been certain of his discovery.</p> - -<p>"Go on!" he exclaimed. "Why are you keeping me on the rack? Why have you -not alluded to her? Where is she? Where is she?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps she has never left Sardinia," said the widow, walking by his -side. "Really I thought you knew and that you didn't think it mattered. -I saw her this year, early in May. She came to Fonni for the Feast of -the Martyrs, with a singer, a blind man, her lover. They had walked from -Neoneli, a long way. She had malaria and was like an old woman of sixty. -The blind man took a lot of money at the Feast, and after it was over he -joined a company of beggars going to a feast in another part of the -country. He left her behind. In June or July I heard she was harvesting -in the <i>tancas</i> of Mamojada. The fever was killing her. She was ill a -long time in the <i>Cantoniera de su Gramene</i>, and she's there still."</p> - -<p>Anania lifted his head and opened his arms with a gesture of despair.</p> - -<p>"I—I saw her!" he cried. "I saw her! I saw her! Are you certain -of all this?" he asked gazing hard at the old woman.</p> - -<p>"Quite certain. Why should I invent it?"</p> - -<p>"Tell me," he insisted, "is she <i>really</i> there? I saw a woman with -fever—yellow—earthy—with eyes like a cat's. She was at the window. -Are you sure it was she? Are you sure?"</p> - -<p>"Quite sure, I tell you. That was certainly she."</p> - -<p>"I have seen her!" he repeated, holding his head with his hands, furious -with himself that he had been so stupidly deceived; that he had sought -his mother beyond the mountains and the seas, while she was trailing her -dishonour and her wretchedness close to his side; that he had been so -moved by strangers, yet had felt no heart beat upon seeing the face of -that beggar, that living misery, framed by the gloomy window of the -Cantoniera.</p> - -<p>What then was man? What the human heart? What was life, intelligence, -thought?</p> - -<p>Ah yes! now he could answer these questions which so often had risen -idly to his lips! Now that Destiny was beating with inexorable, funereal -wings, shaking all things with sudden storm, now at last he knew what -man was, what life, what the human heart! Deceit! deceit! deceit!</p> - -<p>Aunt Grathia pushed a stool to Anania and made the unhappy lad sit down. -Then she crouched beside him, took his hand, and long watched him -compassionately.</p> - -<p>"How cold you are, my child!" said the widow, pressing his hand. "Cry, -my son. It will do you good."</p> - -<p>Anania escaped from the grip of the hard, old fingers.</p> - -<p>"I'm not a child!" he said irritated. "Why should I cry?"</p> - -<p>"It would do you good, son! Oh yes, I know how much good it does one to -weep. When the knock came to my door that terrible night, and a voice, -which seemed the voice of Death himself, said to me, 'Woman, wait no -longer,' I became a stone. For hours and hours I could not weep; and -they were the worst of all hours for me. My heart in my breast had -become red hot iron; it was burning me, burning me inside, tearing my -breast with its sharp point. Then the Lord granted me tears, and the -tears refreshed me in my grief as dew refreshes the rocks burnt by the -sun. Have patience, my child. We are born to suffer, and what is this -distress of yours in comparison with so many other sorrows?"</p> - -<p>"But I am not suffering!" he protested. "I ought to have expected this. -I was expecting it. I felt myself forced to come here by a mysterious -power. A voice said to me, 'Go, go. You'll learn something there.' It's -a blow of course. I was surprised—but that's all over. Never mind."</p> - -<p>The widow still watched him. She saw his face ghastly, his lips pale and -contracted. She shook her head. He continued—</p> - -<p>"But why did no one tell me? There are some things one has a right to -know. The driver of the coach, for instance—didn't he know?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps. She might have told you herself; but no, she's afraid of you. -When she came here for the Feast—she and that wretched blind man who -made her lead him about and then deserted her—no one here recognised -her. She seemed so old, she was so ragged, so stupefied by poverty and -fears. I hardly knew her myself. The blind man had some horrid nickname -for her. But she confided in me—only in me. She told me her whole sad -story, and conjured me never to tell you a word about her. She's afraid -of you."</p> - -<p>"Why is she afraid?"</p> - -<p>"She's afraid you'll put her in prison, because she deserted you. She's -afraid of her brothers too; they have the railway <i>Cantoniera</i> at -Iglesias."</p> - -<p>"And her father?" asked Anania, who had never thought of these distant -kinsmen.</p> - -<p>"Her father has been dead many years. He died cursing her; at least -that's what she said. She says it was his curse which destroyed her."</p> - -<p>"I see. She must be mad. But what has she been about all these years? -How has she lived? Why didn't she get some work?"</p> - -<p>He seemed calm, almost indifferent. His questions seemed a matter of -curiosity, faint curiosity, which allowed his thought to return to other -affairs. Indeed at that moment he was thinking what he must do. If he -was sorry for his mother's miserable condition, he was still more -distressed by the consequences which would follow from his recovery of -her. The widow raised her finger and said solemnly—</p> - -<p>"It's all in the hands of God. Son, it's a terrible rod which goads us -and pushes us. Didn't my husband intend to work and to die in his bed, -praise the Lord! Well, it was just the same with your mother! Of course -she would have liked to work and to live honestly. But the rod pushed -her on."</p> - -<p>Anania's face blazed; again he wrung his fingers, suffocated by -shame.</p> - -<p>"It's all over for me!" he thought. "What horror! What wretchedness, -what shame! Go on," he said aloud, "tell me all. How did she support -herself. I wish to know all—all! Do you understand? I wish to die of -shame before——That will do!" he said shaking his head as if to -drive from him all cowardly apprehensions. "Tell me."</p> - -<p>Aunt Grathia looked at him with infinite pity. She would have liked to -take him in her arms, to rock him and sing him to sleep with a childish -lullaby. Instead she must torture him. But—God's will be done! We are -born to suffer, and no one dies of grief!</p> - -<p>She tried, however, to soften somewhat the bitter cup which God was -giving to the poor boy through her hands.</p> - -<p>"I can't tell you exactly how she supported herself, nor what she did. I -just know that after leaving you and in doing that she did the best -thing she could, for otherwise you'd never have had a father, nor all -that good luck——"</p> - -<p>"Aunt Grathia, don't drive me mad!" he interrupted.</p> - -<p>"Hush! Patience! Don't be disowning the Lord's bounty, my son. Suppose -you had stayed here—what would have become of you? You might have ended -vilely—as a monk, a begging monk, a cowardly monk! Ah—don't let -us speak of it! Better to die than to end like that! And your mother would -have followed her own life just the same, because it was her destiny. -Even here, before she went away, do you suppose she was a saint? No, she -wasn't. Well! well! it was her destiny. For the last part of the time -she was here, she had a <i>carabiniere</i> for a lover. He was transferred -to Nuraminis a few days before she took you away. After she had left -you—at least so the poor thing told me—she walked on foot to -Nuraminis, hiding by day, walking at night, half across Sardinia. She -joined the <i>carabiniere</i> and they lived together for a while. He had -promised to marry her; but on the contrary he got tired, ill-treated -her, beat, impoverished, finally abandoned her. She followed her fated -path. She told me, and poor dear, she cried so as to move the -stones!—she told me she was always looking for work, but never could -get any. I tell you, it's Fate! It's Fate which robs some poor creatures -of work, just as it robs others of reason, health, goodness. It's -useless for the man or the woman to rebel. No! on to the death, on to -the crack of doom, but follow the thread which draws you! Well! at last -she did do a little better. She joined the blind singer, and they lived -for two years as man and wife. She led him about, to the country feasts, -from one place to another. They always went on foot, sometimes alone, -sometimes in companies of other wandering beggars. The blind man sang -songs of his own composition. He had a lovely voice. Here he sang a song -which made everybody cry. It was called "<i>The Death of the King</i>." The -Municipio gave him twenty <i>lire</i>, and the Rector had him to dinner. In -the three days he was here he got more than twenty crowns. The wretch! -He too had promised to marry the poor soul; but instead, when he found -she was ill and couldn't drag herself further, he also deserted her, -fearing he'd have to spend money in getting her cured. They went away -together from here to the Feast of St Elia; there the horrid man met a -company of mendicants from Campidano, going to the Feast at Gallura. He -went off with them leaving the poor creature, sick to death with fever, -in a shepherd's hut. Afterwards as I told you, she got a little better -and went here and there harvesting, lavender-picking, until the fever -broke her down completely. But a few days ago she sent to tell me she -was better——"</p> - -<p>A shudder, vainly repressed, ran through Anania's limbs. What -wretchedness, what shame, what grief! What iniquity, human and divine! -None of the sad and blood-stained tales, related to him in his infancy -by this same rough woman, had ever seemed so terrible as this, had ever -made him tremble as did this.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he remembered a thought which had shot through him one sweet -evening long ago, in the silence of the pine forest, scarce broken by -the song of the ticket-of-leave-man shepherd.</p> - -<p>"Was she ever in prison?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I think so; once. Certain things were found in her room which had -been taken from a country church by one of her friends. She was let off -because she proved her ignorance of the matter."</p> - -<p>"You are lying!" muttered Anania in a low hard voice. "Why can't you -tell me the truth. She has been a thief also. Why don't you say it? Do -you think it doesn't matter? Doesn't matter as much even as this?" he -said, showing the tip of his little finger.</p> - -<p>"What a nail, good God!" cried the old woman. "Why do you let your nail -grow like that?"<a name="FNanchor_22_1" id="FNanchor_22_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_1" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p> - -<p>He did not answer, but sprang to his feet and walked up and down -furiously. The widow did not move, and after a space he calmed himself. -He stood before her, and said in a voice very quiet though bitter—</p> - -<p>"Why was I born? Why did they bring me into the world? Look! I am ruined -now. My life is destroyed, my career ended. I can't go on with my -studies. And the girl I was going to marry, without whom I cannot live, -will give me up. I mean I must give her up."</p> - -<p>"But why? Doesn't she know who you are?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, she knows that much, but she doesn't know that <i>woman</i> could -ever come across our path. How could a pure, delicate girl live beside an -infamous woman?"</p> - -<p>"But what do you want to do? You said yourself she's nothing -to you."</p> - -<p>"What is your advice?"</p> - -<p>"Mine? my advice? To leave her to her own way," replied the widow -fiercely. "Weren't you deserted by her? Your bride need never see the -unhappy creature. You yourself need never see her."</p> - -<p>Anania looked at her, compassionate, but contemptuous.</p> - -<p>"You don't understand!" he said, "you can't understand. Let it alone. -Now I have to consider the best way for me to see her. I must go to her -to-morrow morning."</p> - -<p>"You're mad."</p> - -<p>"You don't understand."</p> - -<p>They faced each other, each pitying and scornful. Then they argued, -quarrelled almost. Anania wanted to start at once, or at least the first -thing to-morrow. The widow suggested summoning Olì to Fonni without -telling her why.</p> - -<p>"As you are so obstinate! You know it would be far better to leave her -alone. As she has walked till now, so she will walk to the end. Let her -be."</p> - -<p>"Nonna," he answered, "you also must be afraid of me. That's silly. I'm -not going to hurt a hair of her head. I'll take charge of her. She shall -live with me, and I'll work for her. I'll do her good, not harm. It's my -duty."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, your <i>duty</i>. Still you ought to think, my son; to -consider. How are you going to support her? How will you set about it?"</p> - -<p>"Never mind."</p> - -<p>"What do you propose to do?"</p> - -<p>"Never mind."</p> - -<p>"Well, well! But I tell you she's mad afraid of you. If you come upon -her, suddenly, she's capable of doing something foolish——"</p> - -<p>"Well then, get her here. But at once—to-morrow morning."</p> - -<p>"Yes; at once. On the wings of a crow. How impetuous you are, child of -my heart! Go to your bed now, and don't think any more about it. -To-morrow night, at this hour, she'll be here. Don't doubt it. -Afterwards you shall do what you like. To-morrow, make your excursion to -the Gennargentu. I should suggest you're staying away for the -night——"</p> - -<p>"Leave it to me."</p> - -<p>"Well—go to bed now," she repeated, pushing him gently.</p> - -<p>Even in the little room where he used to sleep with his mother nothing -was changed. When he saw the poor pallet bed under which was a heap of -earthy smelling potatoes, he remembered Maria Obinu's little white bed -and all the illusions and the dreams which had persecuted him.</p> - -<p>"How childish I have been!" he thought bitterly, "and I was thinking -myself a man. It is only now I have become a man! Only now has life -opened to me its horrible doors. Yes, now I am a man, and I will be -strong. No, vile life! you shall not vanquish me! No, monster, you shall -not get me down! You are my enemy; till now you have fought with vizor -dosed, you miserable coward! but to-day, on this day, long as a century, -you have let me see your detestable countenance. But you shan't conquer -me! No, you shan't."</p> - -<p>He unfastened the shaky window shutters, which opened on the old wooden -balcony, the supports of which hardly held together. Grasping them, he -leaned out.</p> - -<p>The night was most serene; fresh, dear, diaphanous, as are the mountain -nights at the end of summer. An immense silence reigned everywhere, its -sublimity unimpaired by the solemn vision of the nearer crags, the vague -line of the distant summits. Anania, seeing the profound valleys at his -very feet, felt himself suspended—resolved, however, not to -fall—over a stupendous abyss. The line of the distant mountains -soothed his heart strangely. They seemed to him verses inscribed by the -omnipotent hand of a divine poet on the celestial page of the horizon. But -the colossal Monte Spada, and the formidable wall of the Gennargentu -oppressed him, and suggested the shadow of that monster against whom he had -just issued his challenge.</p> - -<p>And he thought of the distant Margherita, his Margherita, whom he must -now renounce; Margherita who at this hour was surely dreaming of him, -whose eyes met his on that far horizon. And pitying her rather than -himself, tears sweet and bitter, like mountain honey, rose in his eyes. -He repressed them sternly; they were a feline and stealthy enemy trying -to vanquish him at unawares.</p> - -<p>"I am strong!" he repeated, supporting himself on the flimsy balcony. -"Monster! it is I who shall vanquish you!"</p> - -<p>And he did not perceive that the monster stood by his -side—inexorable.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_21_1" id="Footnote_21_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_1"><span class="label">[21]</span></a>A vessel made of cork.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_22_1" id="Footnote_22_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_1"><span class="label">[22]</span></a>Sign of an easy life, with no manual labour.</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="VIII_II">VIII</a></h4> - - -<p>In the long sleepless night, Anania decided, or believed he decided his -fate.</p> - -<p>"I will place her here with Aunt Grathia, until I have found my feet. I -will speak to Signor Carboni and to Margherita. I will tell them, 'This -is how matters stand, my mother is to live with me the moment my -position allows it. This is my duty, and I will do my duty though the -universe fall.' He will drive me away like an unclean animal; I will -have no illusions about it. Next, I will look for a post; and I shall -find one, and then I will take the poor wretch with me, and we will live -together, miserably of course, but I shall pay my debts, and I shall be -a man. A man! say rather a living corpse."</p> - -<p>He seemed to himself calm, cold, already dead to joy. But in the depth -of his heart was a cruel intoxication of pride, a fury of infatuated -resistance to fate and to society and to himself.</p> - -<p>"It is what I willed," he thought. "I knew it might end like this. I -have been allowing myself to drift. Woe is me! now I must expiate my -folly. I will expiate!"</p> - -<p>This illusion of courage sustained him through the night and through the -following day, when he made the ascension of the Gennargentu.</p> - -<p>The morning was sad, windless, but cloudy and misty; he determined to -persevere in his expedition, hoping the weather would clear. In reality, -he wanted to give himself proof of his courage and indifference. What -were mountains from henceforth to him? What were far horizons? What the -whole world? But he willed to do what he had resolved to do. Only for -one moment did he hesitate.</p> - -<p>"Suppose <i>she</i> finds out I am here, and refuses to come, escapes me -again? Am I not temporizing in the hope of that?" he asked himself -cruelly. The widow reassured him, and he set out.</p> - -<p>The guide, mounted on a strong and patient pony, preceded him up steep -paths, sometimes lost in the silver mist, sometimes appearing like a -figure blotted in water colour on a too wet grey background. Anania -followed him. All around him, all within him was fog. In that floating -veil, he distinguished the cyclopean outline of Monte Spada; and within -him among the mists which enwrapped his soul, that soul showed itself -like the mountain, great, hard, and monstrous.</p> - -<p>Tragic silence enveloped the wayfarers, broken at intervals by the -scream of the vultures. Strange forms showed here and there through the -fog, the cry of the carrion feeding birds seemed the wild voice of these -mysterious shapes, terrified and enraged by the intrusion of man. To -Anania it seemed as if he were walking through the clouds. Sometimes his -head swam, and to vanquish the vertigo he fixed his eyes on the path -under the horses' feet, staring at the wet and shining slabs of schist, -and at the little bushes of violet heather, the sharp scent of which -made the fog fragrant. About nine the fog lifted a little, fortunately, -as the travellers were just then passing with difficulty along a very -narrow piece of path, on the huge shoulder of Monte Spada. Anania gave a -cry of admiration, torn from him by the beauty and the magnificence of -the panorama. All the nearer mountains were covered with a mantle of -violet flowers; beyond, the vision of the deep valleys, of the high -summits to which he was drawing near, of the torn veils of luminous -mist, of the play of shadow and sun, of the blue heaven painted with -strange and slowly contracting clouds, all seemed the dream of a -painter's madness, a picture of unimagined beauty.</p> - -<p>"How great is nature! how strong! how beautiful!" thought Anania, his -heart softened, "all things are pure on her immense bosom. Ah! if we -three, Margherita, and I, and she, were here and, would it be possible -for any impure things to divide us?"</p> - -<p>A breath of hope revived his spirit. If Margherita loved him, as in -these last few days she had shown that she loved him—then -surely——</p> - -<p>With this wild hope in his heart, he dreamed away a long time, till he -had reached the bottom of the slope of Monte Spada, and had again begun -to ascend to the topmost peak of the Gennargentu. A torrent ran at the -bottom, among enormous rocks and alder trees shaken by a sudden gust of -wind. The sound of the alders in the silence of that place of mystery, -brought a strange fancy to Anania; it seemed as if the winds had been -wakened by this hope which animated him, and that all things were moved -by it, the lonely trees trembling like wild men surprised in their -gloomy solitude by a sudden joy.</p> - -<p>Then in a quick revulsion of feeling, he remembered a fancy of a few -days before in the wind-shaken forest of Orthobene. Then also the trees -had seemed to him men, but miserable men, tom by sorrow. Even when the -wind was still, they trembled, like human creatures experienced in -suffering, who even in their moments of ease must think of sorrow, -inevitable and near. His depression returned. An absurd notion flashed -across his thought. Kill the guide and become a bandit! He smiled at -himself.</p> - -<p>"I am a romantic, it seems! But without murder I might hide among these -mountains and live alone, and feed on grasses and wild birds! Why cannot -man live alone? Why can't he burst the fetters which bind him to society -and which strangle him? Zarathustra? Oh yes; but even he cried once. -'Oh! how alone I am! I have no longer anyone to share my laughter, no -one to give me comfort——'"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>The ascent, slow and dangerous, continued for three hours. The sky had -cleared, the wind blew, the schisty summits shone in the sunlight, -profiled with silver on the infinite azure. Now the island displayed -itself in all its cerulean vastness: clear mountains, grey villages, -shining pools, here and there confounded with the vaporous line of the -sea.</p> - -<p>Anania admired; he followed with interest the explanations of the guide, -he looked through his field-glass. But his trouble never passed out of -his thoughts; when he tried to enjoy the sweetness of the surrounding -beauty, it clutched him with tiger paw more tightly to itself.</p> - -<p>Towards noon they reached the top of Bruncu Spina. Anania climbed on the -heap of shining shale which marked the summit, and flung himself on the -ground to escape the fury of the blasts which blew from all sides. The -whole island was stretched out before him, with its blue mountains and -its silver sea, glittering under the midday sun. Overhead the heaven was -immense, infinite, void as human thought. The wind raged furiously in -the great emptiness. Its assaults invested Anania in mad fury, in the -violent anger of a formidable wild beast, which would permit the -approach of no other being to the aereal cave where it was resolved to -reign alone.</p> - -<p>The young man resisted. The guide crawled to his side and pointed out -the principal towns, and villages and mountains. But the wind ravished -his words, and cut short the respiration both of speaker and of hearer.</p> - -<p>"And that's Nuoro?" said Anania, pointing.</p> - -<p>"Yes. It is cut in two by the hill of St Onofrio."</p> - -<p>"I know. It's very clear."</p> - -<p>"If it wasn't for this devil of a wind," shouted the guide, "one could -send a salute to Nuoro, it looks so close to-day."</p> - -<p>Anania remembered his promise to Margherita.</p> - -<p>"From the highest summit in Sardinia, I will send you a greeting. I will -cry to the heavens your name and my love—as I should like to cry from -the highest summit in all the world, for all mankind to wonder and to -applaud."</p> - -<p>And it seemed to him that the wind was carrying away his heart, -battering it against the granite colossi of the Gennargentu.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>On his return he expected to find his mother with the widow. Anxiously -he crossed the deserted village and stopped before Aunt Grathia's low -black door. The evening was falling sadly. Strong gusts blew down the -steep, stony streets. The heaven was pale. It felt like autumn. Anania -listened. Silence. Through the chink of the door, he saw the fire's red -brightness. Silence.</p> - -<p>He went in, and saw only the old woman, who sat spinning, quiet as a -spectre.</p> - -<p>The coffee pot was gurgling among the embers, and a piece of mutton hung -on a wooden spit, dropping its fat upon the burning ashes.</p> - -<p>"Well?" said the youth.</p> - -<p>"Patience, my jewel of gold! I couldn't find anyone I could trust to -take the message. My son is not in the neighbourhood."</p> - -<p>"But the driver of the coach?"</p> - -<p>"Patience, I tell you!" said the widow, rising and laying her distaff on -the stool. "I did ask the driver to tell her she must come here -to-morrow. I said, 'Tell her from me to come. Don't say a word about -Anania Atonzu! go, son, and God will reward you, for you'll be doing a -work of charity.'"</p> - -<p>"Did he refuse to do it?"</p> - -<p>"No, he said he would. He even promised to drive her up."</p> - -<p>"She won't come! You'll see she won't come!" said Anania uneasily. -"She'll escape us again! Why didn't I go myself? But there's still -time."</p> - -<p>He wanted to start at once for the Cantoniera, but without difficulty -allowed himself to be persuaded to wait.</p> - -<p>Another sad night passed. Though his limbs were stiff with fatigue he -slept little, on that hard pallet where he had been born, on which he -wished that this night he might die. The wind shook the roof, roaring -like a sea in storm. It reminded Anania of his infancy; the distant -terrors, the wintry nights, the touch of his mother who clasped him to -her, more for fear than for love. No, she had not loved him. Why delude -himself? She had not loved him. Perhaps this had been Olì's worst -misfortune, her greatest loss. He felt it, he knew it; and sudden pity -rose in his breast for her, who had been the victim of destiny and of -men.</p> - -<p>Had she come to-night, while he was in this mood, her son would have -received her tenderly, would have forgiven her.</p> - -<p>But the long night passed, and a day broke, made melancholy by the wind. -He spent long restless hours which he considered among the most -distressing of his whole life. During these hours he roamed through the -alleys, as if storm driven; he went to the tavern and drank; he returned -to the widow's cottage and sat by the fire, shivering feverishly, his -nerves in a condition of acute irritation. Even Aunt Grathia could not -rest. She wandered about the house, and as soon as the modest midday -repast was over, she went forth to meet Olì.</p> - -<p>"Remember she's afraid of you!" she said to Anania, urging him to great -quietness.</p> - -<p>"Why, my good woman," he answered scornfully, "I shall hardly even look -at her! I have very few words to say."</p> - -<p>More than an hour passed. The young man remembered bitterly the sweet -impatient hour he had spent waiting for Aunt Tatàna. Now he panted for -the coming of his mother, her coming which once and for all was to end his -torments. And all the time he was devoured by the dark desire—that -she should not come, should escape him again, should disappear for ever.</p> - -<p>"In any case, she's ill," he thought with bitter satisfaction, "it's -impossible she can live long."</p> - -<p>The widow came back alone, hurriedly.</p> - -<p>"Hush! keep quiet!" she said in a low voice, "she's coming! she's -coming! She's here. I've told her. Hush! She's desperately frightened. -Don't be cruel to her, son!"</p> - -<p>She went out again, leaving the door open. The wind seized it, pushing -it to and fro as if romping with it. Anania waited; pale, unable to -think. Each time the door opened the sun and the wind rushed into the -kitchen, illuminating, shaking everything in it. Then the door closed -and everything became as before. For several minutes Anania -unconsciously followed the play of the sun and the wind: then he became -irritated, and stepped over to slam the door; his countenance dark with -nervousness and anger. Thus he appeared at the moment when the unhappy -mother reached the threshold,—trembling, timid, ragged as a beggar. -He looked at her; she looked at him; fear and diffidence in the eyes of -each. Neither thought of extending a hand nor of uttering a greeting. A -whole world of suffering and of sin lay between them and divided them -inexorably.</p> - -<p>Anania held the door open, leaning against it; the wind and the sun -flooded his figure. His eyes followed the miserable Olì as Aunt Grathia -pushed her towards the hearth.</p> - -<p>Yes, it was she; the pale emaciated apparition half seen at the black -window of the Cantoniera; in her grey visage the great light eyes, wan -with fear and weakness, seemed the eyes of a sick and homeless cat. When -she was seated, the widow fancied it a happy thought to leave her two -guests alone. She went out, but Anania followed her angrily.</p> - -<p>"Where are you going?" he cried, "come back, or I'll go away -myself."</p> - -<p>Olì heard the threat, for when Anania and the widow returned to the -kitchen, she was standing by the door and weeping, as if about herself -to slink away. Blind with grief and shame, the young man threw himself -towards her, seized her arm, pushed her against the wall, then shut and -locked the door.</p> - -<p>"No!" he cried, while the woman crouched on the ground, curling herself -up like a hedgehog, and weeping convulsively: "you shan't go away any -more. You are not to stir another step without my consent. You are to -stay here. Cry as much as you like, but from this you shan't move. Your -gay doings are all over."</p> - -<p>Olì wept louder, shaken by spasms of trembling. Through her sobs -sounded frantic derision of her son's last words. He felt it, and -remorse for his brutality increased his fury.</p> - -<p>Her tears irritated instead of moving him. All the instincts of -primitive man, jealous, ferocious, barbarous, vibrated in his quivering -nerves. He knew it, but was unable to control himself.</p> - -<p>Aunt Grathia looked at him, alarmed herself, and wondering whether -Olì's terror had not good reason. She shook her head, threatened with -her hands, became agitated, was prepared for anything except the -avoidance of a violent scene. She knew not what to say; her tongue -refused to speak. Ah! he was possessed by a devil, that well-dressed -handsome lad! he was more terrible than an Orgolese herdsman with his -cudgel more terrible than the brigands she had known in the mountains! -How different the meeting she had anticipated!</p> - -<p>"Yes," he went on, lowering his voice, and standing before his mother, -"your wanderings are finished. Let us talk, crying is quite useless. You -ought to be happy now you've found a good son who will pay you good for -evil. If it's to be in proportion, you may expect a great deal of good! -I tell you, you must not leave this, till I order it; <i>I.</i> Do you see? -Do you see?" he repeated, again raising his voice and slapping his -chest. "I am master now. I'm no longer the child whom you cruelly -deceived and deserted. I'm no longer the piece of rubbish which you -threw away. I'm a man now, and I shall know how to defend myself, yes, -to defend myself. I shall know how, because you've never been anything -but an offence to me. You've been killing me day by day; betraying and -mining me. Do you understand? destroying me as one destroys a house or -a wall, stone by stone—thus!"</p> - -<p>He made the gesture of throwing down an imaginary wall, stooped, -sweated, as if oppressed by some actual physical force. Then suddenly, -unexpectedly, as he looked at the weeping woman his anger cooled, -disappeared. He was oppressed as by frost. What was this woman he was -reviling? That bundle of rags, that creeping thing, that beggar, that -being without a soul? Was she capable of understanding what he was -saying, what she had done? What could there be in common between him and -this unclean creature? Was she really his mother? She? And if she was, -what did it mean? What did it matter? The <i>mother</i> is not the material -woman who gives to the material light, a material being, fruit of a -moment's pleasure, and then flings it out into the street, or on to the -knees of the perfidious seducer who has made it be born! No, that woman -there was not his mother; she was not a mother at all, even -unconsciously. He owed her nothing. Perhaps he had no right to reprove -her, but neither was it his duty to sacrifice himself for her. His -mother should have been Aunt Tatàna, or Aunt Grathia; even Maria Obinu, -even Aunt Varvara, even Nanna the drunkard, anyone except that cowering -creature who stood before him.</p> - -<p>"I'd have done better to leave her alone as Aunt Grathia advised," he -thought. "Perhaps I'd better let her go her own way. What does it matter -to me? No, she does not matter to me at all."</p> - -<p>Olì wept on.</p> - -<p>"Have done," he said coldly, but no longer angrily; and he turned to the -widow, signing to her to administer some consolation and enforce -quietness.</p> - -<p>"Don't you see she's frightened!" murmured Aunt Grathia, as she passed -him moving to Olì's side.</p> - -<p>"Come, come!" she said, tapping the poor thing on the shoulder, "Have -courage, daughter, have patience. Crying's no good! He isn't going to -eat you. After all, you know, he's the son of your womb. Come! come! -Take a little coffee; after that you'll be able to talk. Do me the -favour, son Anania, to go out for a little. Then you'll be able to speak -better. Go out, jewel of gold!"</p> - -<p>He did not move. Olì, however, controlled herself somewhat, and when -Aunt Grathia brought the coffee she took it, trembling, and drank -avidly, looking about her with eyes still frightened, yet sometimes shot -with gleams of pleasure. Like all Sardinian women she loved coffee, and -Anania, who had inherited the taste, looked at her with some sympathy. -He seemed to be watching some wild shy animal, a furtive hare nibbling -the grapes in a vineyard, trembling with enjoyment, and with fear of -surprise.</p> - -<p>"More?" asked Aunt Grathia, bending down and speaking as to a child. -"Yes? No? If you'd like some more, say so. Here, give me your cup. Get -up. Come and wash your eyes, and be quiet. Do you hear? Come, girl!"</p> - -<p>Olì got up, aided by the old woman, and went straight to the water tub, -as she had been accustomed to do twenty years earlier. First, she washed -her cup, then herself, drying her face with her ragged apron. Her lips -twitched, sobs still swelled her bosom; her red and encircled eyes, -enormous in the shrunken face, shunned the cold gaze of her son.</p> - -<p>He looked at the ragged apron and thought.</p> - -<p>"She must have new clothes at once, she's perfectly squalid. I've got -sixty <i>lire</i> from my pupils at Nuoro. I'll get some more pupils. I'll -sell my books. Yes, she must have clothes and shoes; and perhaps she's -hungry."</p> - -<p>As if guessing his thought Aunt Grathia asked Olì—</p> - -<p>"Would you like some food? If you would, tell me at once. Don't be so -shamefaced. Shame won't feed you! Are you hungry?"</p> - -<p>"No," replied Olì with trembling lips.</p> - -<p>Anania was moved hearing that voice. It was a voice of long ago, a far -distant voice; her voice. Yes, this woman was she, was the mother, the -one true, only mother! Flesh of his flesh, the diseased limb, the rotten -yet vital member which tortured him, but from which he could never while -he lived set himself free; the member which at his own cost he must try -to cure.</p> - -<p>"Well now, sit down," said Aunt Grathia, drawing two stools to the -hearth, "sit here, daughter; and you there, my jewel. Sit here together -and talk—"</p> - -<p>She made Olì sit, but Anania shook his head.</p> - -<p>"Let me be," he said, "I tell you I'm not a child. For that matter," he -went on, walking up and down the floor, "there's very little to say. -I've said what I've got to say. She must remain here, till I make some -other arrangement, and you must buy her shoes and a dress—I'll give -you the money. But we'll settle all that presently. Meanwhile," he raised -his voice to show he was addressing Olì, "speak for yourself, if you -have anything to say."</p> - -<p>Thinking he still spoke to the widow Olì made no answer.</p> - -<p>"Did you hear?" asked Aunt Grathia, gently, "what have you -to say?"</p> - -<p>"I?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, you."</p> - -<p>"Nothing."</p> - -<p>"Have you debts?" asked Anania.</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Not to the <i>Cantoniere</i>?"</p> - -<p>"No. They've taken all I had."</p> - -<p>"What had you?"</p> - -<p>"My silver buttons, my shoes, twelve silver <i>lire</i>."</p> - -<p>"What have you now?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing. <i>As you see me write me down</i>."<a name="FNanchor_23_1" id="FNanchor_23_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_1" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></p> - -<p>"Have you any papers?"</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"Papers," explained Aunt Grathia, "your certificate of birth, for -instance."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I have that. It's here," she said touching her chest.</p> - -<p>"Let me see."</p> - -<p>She drew out a stained and yellowing paper, while Anania thought -bitterly of his endeavours to find out if Maria Obinu had any tell-tale -documents. He turned the paper round, looked at it, and gave it back.</p> - -<p>It's date was recent.</p> - -<p>"Why did you get this?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"For my marriage with Celestino."</p> - -<p>"The blind man—that vile brute," explained the widow.</p> - -<p>Anania was silent, walking up and down the kitchen. The wind still -whistled ceaselessly round the little house. Spots of sunshine now and -then fell obliquely through the roof, like golden coins on a black -pavement.</p> - -<p>Anania walked mechanically, setting his feet on these sunny coins as he -used to do when a child.</p> - -<p>He asked himself, what more was to be said? He had already accomplished -part of his grave task; but much remained to be done.</p> - -<p>He thought, "Now I'll call Aunt Grathia aside, and hand her over the -money for feeding and dressing her. Then I'll go. There's nothing more -to do here."</p> - -<p>"It's all ended! all over!" he repeated to himself sadly. "All -over!"</p> - -<p>For a moment he thought of sitting beside his mother, asking her -history, giving her one word of tenderness and forgiveness. But he could -not, could not! Merely to look at her was disgust. She even smelt of -beggary! He longed for the moment of departure, of escape, of riddance -for his eyes of that dolorous vision.</p> - -<p>Still something held him back. He felt that the scene could not end with -those few phrases. He thought that possibly between her fear and her -shame, she was glad to see her son so evidently fortunate, and was -yearning for the gentle word, for the human look, which he could not -bring himself to give her. In his disgust, in his grief, he felt too -some faint comfort in thinking—</p> - -<p>"Anyhow she's not brazen. Perhaps she may still reform. She doesn't -understand, but she's not brazen. She won't rebel."</p> - -<p>But Olì did rebel.</p> - -<p>"Look," he said after a long silence; "you'll stay here -till I've settled my affairs. Aunt Grathia will buy you new -clothes——"</p> - -<p>Her voice, suffering but still fresh and clear, rang out.</p> - -<p>"I don't want anything."</p> - -<p>"How do you mean?" he asked, arresting his step by the fire.</p> - -<p>"I'm not going to stay."</p> - -<p>"<i>What</i>?" he cried, turning round, his eyes wide, his fist -clenched.</p> - -<p>Ah! then it was not all done! She dared—why did she dare? Ah! then -she didn't understand that her son had suffered and struggled all his life -to attain one end; namely, to take her away from her life of vagabondage -and sin, even if he must sacrifice his whole future to do it! How could -she dare to rebel? How could she wish to escape? Had she no -comprehension of her position, of his determination?</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" he said restraining his anger. He stood to listen, -shivering, agitated, driving his nails into his palms, his face working. -Aunt Grathia watched, ready to defend Olì if he attempted to strike -her. The three wild creatures had drawn together by the hearth, and -among them rose the blue and hissing flame of a firebrand. It seemed a -live thing. Olì roused herself.</p> - -<p>"Listen," she said, "and don't get angry, for anger will be useless. The -evil is done and nothing can remedy it. You may kill me, but you won't -get any good by that. The only thing you can do is to let me alone. I -can't stay here. I'll go away and you'll never hear more of me. You must -imagine you've never seen me."</p> - -<p>"That's just what I told him," said the widow, "but he doesn't think it -possible. Where could you go? But yes—there's one way! You must stay -here, as he wishes, instead of straying about the world; and we won't -say who you are, and he can live in peace as if you were far away. Why, -poor dear, should you leave this? Where can you go?"</p> - -<p>"Where God wills."</p> - -<p>"God!" burst out Anania; "God commands you now to obey me. Don't dare to -repeat that you won't stay here. Don't dare! Do you suppose I'm joking? -You shan't move one step without my leave. If you disobey. I'm capable -of——"</p> - -<p>"It's for your good!" she insisted, meeting the young man's anger; -"Listen, at least. Don't be cruel to me, who have been the victim of -every human wickedness, while I know you are indulgent to that father of -yours who was my ruin——"</p> - -<p>"She's right!" said the widow.</p> - -<p>"Hold your tongue!" shouted Anania.</p> - -<p>Olì took courage.</p> - -<p>"I don't know how to speak," she went on; "I don't know how to speak, -because I am stupefied by misfortunes. But I ask you this one thing, -shouldn't I have everything to gain by staying here? If I want to go -away isn't it because I'm thinking of you? Answer me. Ah! now he won't -even listen!" she cried in despair, turning to the widow.</p> - -<p>Anania was again pacing the floor, and seemed really deaf to her words, -but suddenly he shuddered and cried, "I'm listening!"</p> - -<p>She went on humbly, content that at least he no longer threatened -her.</p> - -<p>"Why do you wish me to be here? Leave me to myself. As once I did you -harm, so now suffer me to do you good. Let me go. I don't wish to be an -impediment to you. Let me go—for your good."</p> - -<p>"No!" he repeated.</p> - -<p>"Let me go. I implore you. I'm still able to work for myself. -You shall hear no more of me. I will vanish as a leaf down the -wind——"</p> - -<p>He turned round on himself. An insidious, a terrible temptation overtook -him. <i>Let her go</i>! For a short moment wild joy shone in his soul. He -might consider it all as an evil dream; one word and the dream would -vanish and the sweet reality would be restored! But suddenly he was -ashamed of the thought. His wrath flamed up again, his voice echoed -through the gloomy kitchen.</p> - -<p>"No!"</p> - -<p>"You are a wild beast!" murmured Olì, "you are not a Christian. You are -a wild animal which devours its own flesh. Let me go, child of God! Let -me go!"</p> - -<p>"I will not."</p> - -<p>Olì fell back silent and seemingly vanquished; but Aunt Grathia -spoke—</p> - -<p>"Yes, indeed, a wild beast! What's the need to shout like that? <i>No! -no! no</i>! If any one were to hear you, he'd think there was a wild bull -shut up here. Are these the manners you learned at school?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, at my school; and I learned other things too," he said, lowering -his voice however. "I learned that a man must not acquiesce in disgrace, -even at cost of his own life. But I suppose you can't understand! Well, -let us cut it short, and be silent both of you."</p> - -<p>"Can't understand? I understand perfectly," protested the old woman.</p> - -<p>"<i>Nonna</i>! yes, you understand. Remember——But -there—that'll do!" he cried, wringing his hands, worn out, sickened -by himself and every one. He had been struck by the old woman's words, and -now returned to himself, remembering that he had always prided himself on -his superiority. His wish now was to end this painful and vulgar scene. He -threw himself on a seat in the corner of the kitchen dropping his head -in his hands.</p> - -<p>"I've said No, and that's enough," he thought; and said brokenly, "Have -done now. Have done."</p> - -<p>But Olì perceived that now was the moment to fight on. She was not -afraid, she dared anything.</p> - -<p>"Listen," she cried humbly, "why do you wish to ruin yourself, <i>my -son</i>?" (Yes she had courage to say "my son," nor did Anania protest.) "I -know all. You are to marry a girl who is beautiful, who is rich, and if -she knows that you haven't cast me off, you'll lose her. She'll be quite -right, for a rose can't be mixed up with dirt. For her sake, let me go. -Let her believe I am dead. She's an innocent soul, why is she to suffer? -I'll go ever so far away. I'll change my name. I'll disappear, carried -away by the wind. The evil I have done you without intention is enough. -Yes, without intention! My son, I don't want to hurt you again. No, I -don't. Ah! how can a mother wish evil to her son? Let me go!"</p> - -<p>He wanted to cry, "All my life you have done me evil!" but he restrained -himself. What was the use? It was useless and indecorous. He would cry -aloud no more. Only with his head still pressed in his hands, with voice -at once sorrowful and enraged, he repeated, "No! no! no!" At bottom he -felt that Olì was right. He understood that she really desired his -happiness. But precisely the idea that at that moment she was more -generous and more reasonable than he, irritated him and made her seem -odious.</p> - -<p>Olì was transformed. Her illumined eyes watched him supplicatingly, -lovingly. As she repeated, "Let me go," her still youthful voice -vibrated with infinite tenderness, her countenance expressed untold -grief. Perhaps a sweet dream, which never before had brightened the -horror of her existence, had touched her heart; to stay! to live for -him! to find peace!</p> - -<p>But from the depths of her simple soul an instinct for good—the -flame which lies hidden even in the flint—impelled her to disregard -this dream. A thirst for sacrifice devoured her. Anania understood that in -her own way she wished to fulfil her duty, just as in his way he wished -to fulfil his.</p> - -<p>But Anania was the stronger. He was resolved to conquer by any means, by -force if necessary, by the cruelty of the surgeon who to heal the -sufferer will open his flesh with steel. She threw herself on the -ground. Again she wept, implored, supplicated.</p> - -<p>Anania answered always No.</p> - -<p>"Then what will become of me?" she sobbed, "Holy Mother! what shall I -do? Must I again leave you by stratagem? do you good by force? Yes, I -will leave you—I will go. You cannot compel me. I don't acknowledge -your right—I am free—I will go."</p> - -<p>He raised his head and surveyed her.</p> - -<p>He was no longer angered, but his cold eyes and grey face grown suddenly -old were terrible.</p> - -<p>"Listen," he said firmly. "We must end this. It's all -settled—there's no more to be said. You will not move one step -without my knowledge. Listen, and keep my words in mind as if they were the -words of one dead. Till now, I have endured the dishonour and the grief of -your shameful life, because I was not able to prevent it, and because I -hoped some day to put a stop to it. But from to-day it is different. If you -attempt to go away from here, I shall follow you. I'll kill you. I'll kill -myself! I shall not wish to go on living!"</p> - -<p>Olì looked at him in fear. He was like her father. Uncle Micheli, when -he had driven her away from the Cantoniera. He had the same cold look, -the same calm and terrible countenance, the same hollow voice, the same -inexorable tone. She seemed looking at the old man's ghost, risen up to -punish her; and she felt the whole horror of death. She spoke no further -word, but crouched upon the floor, trembling with terror and despair.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>A sad night fell upon the wind-shaken hamlet.</p> - -<p>Anania had not been able to get a horse that evening, so he was obliged -to spend another night at Fonni, sleeping a strange sleep like the sleep -of a convict on the day he has been sentenced.</p> - -<p>Aunt Grathia and Olì sat up a long time over the fire. Olì had the -cold fit which is precursor of fever; her teeth chattered, she yawned -and groaned. As in the nights of long ago, the wind roared through the -kitchen, stirring the black relics of the bandit. By the firelight the -widow worked at her spinning, her face pallid and impassive as that of a -spectre. But she told her guest no stories of her dead husband, nor did -she dare to offer consolation. Only now and then she vainly implored the -sufferer to go to bed.</p> - -<p>"I'll go, if you'll do me one kindness," said Olì at last.</p> - -<p>"What is it?"</p> - -<p>"Go and ask him if he still has the <i>rezetta</i> which I gave him the -day we left this. Beg him to let me look at it."</p> - -<p>The old woman promised and Olì got up. She shook all over, and yawned -so wide that her jaws cracked.</p> - -<p>That night she was light-headed, her temperature very high. Now and then -she demanded the <i>rezetta</i>, and grumbled childishly because Aunt -Grathia, who lay beside her, would not ask Anania for it.</p> - -<p>In her delirium a doubt crossed her mind; if Anania were not her son? -Surely, he was not her son! he was too cruel, too unfeeling. She had -been tormented all her life by all the people she had known; now, she -could not believe that her son could torture her more even than the -rest.</p> - -<p>Still delirious, she told Aunt Grathia of the little packet she had tied -round Anania's neck, that she might recognize him when he should be -grown up and well-to-do.</p> - -<p>"I meant to go to him some day when I should be very old and walking -with a stick. Rat-tat-tat! I should knock at his door, and say, 'I am -Most Holy Mary disguised as a beggar.' My son's servants would laugh and -call their master. 'Old woman, what do you want?' 'Sir, I know you have a -little packet, like this and this—I know who gave it to you.' To-day -you have all these <i>tancas</i> and servants and cattle, but you owe them -all to that poor soul who is now reduced to seven little ounces of dust. -Good-bye. Give me a slice of bread and some honey. And forgive that poor -soul.' 'Servants,' he would say, 'cross yourselves. This old woman who -knows everything is Most Holy Mary.' Ah! ah! ah! The <i>rezetta</i>! I -want the <i>rezetta</i>. That man is not my son! The <i>rezetta</i>! The -<i>rezetta</i>!"</p> - -<p>When it was light. Aunt Grathia went to Anania and told him what Olì -had said.</p> - -<p>"That's the one thing wanting," he said smiling bitterly, "that she -should doubt me! I'll soon prove to her that I am—myself."</p> - -<p>"Son, don't be unnatural. Content her at least in this one small -matter."</p> - -<p>"But I haven't got the thing. I threw it away. If I can find it again, -I'll send it."</p> - -<p>Aunt Grathia wished further to know the result of Anania's disclosures -to his betrothed.</p> - -<p>"If she cares for you she'll be pleased by your good action," she said -consolingly. "No, no, she won't give you up because you can't disown -your mother. Ah! true love cares nothing for the prejudices of the -world. I loved my husband madly when all the world was against him."</p> - -<p>"We shall see," said Anania. "I'll write to you."</p> - -<p>"For pity's sake, jewel of gold, don't write! I can't read, and I don't -want to make your affairs public property."</p> - -<p>"Well then——"</p> - -<p>"Send me a token. If she sticks to you, send the <i>rezetta</i> wrapped -in a white handkerchief. If you lose her, send it in a coloured -handkerchief."</p> - -<p>He promised.</p> - -<p>"And when will you come back yourself?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know. Soon, certainly. As soon as I have settled my -affairs."</p> - -<p>He left without seeing Olì again, for the poor thing had at last -dropped asleep. He was in deep dejection. The journey seemed eternal, -though he had no wish to arrive at his destination. Still, he was drawn -by a slender thread of hope.</p> - -<p>"Margherita loves me," he thought; "perhaps she loves me as Nonna loved -her husband. Her family will scorn and drive me away, but she will say, -'I'll wait for you. I will love you always.' That's what she will say; -but what shall I be able to promise her? My career is destroyed."</p> - -<p>Another hope, not to be confessed, was, however, fermenting in the -bottom of his heart: that Olì would make her escape. He dared not -reveal this hope clearly to himself, but he felt it, felt it; in spite -of himself it ran in his blood like a drop of poison. He was ashamed of -it; he understood its meanness, but it was impossible to drive it away.</p> - -<p>At the moment when he had cried, "I will kill you, I will kill myself," -he had meant what he said, but now the words, the whole scene felt like -some horrible nightmare. As he saw again the landscape, the street, -which three days ago, he had seen with so much gladness in his soul, as -he approached Nuoro, the sense of present reality pressed upon him more -and more tightly.</p> - -<p>The moment he arrived at home he looked for the amulet; and possessed by -the superstition that things prearranged do not come to pass, he wrapped -it up in a coloured handkerchief. Then he remembered that the sad -occurrences of these few days he had always foreseen and expected, and -he was vexed by his own childishness.</p> - -<p>"And why should I send the <i>rezetta</i> at all? Why should I want to -please her?"</p> - -<p>He tossed the little packet against the wall, then picked it up again, -softening. "For Aunt Grathia," he thought.</p> - -<p>Then he told himself, "At four o'clock I will go to Signor Carboni and -tell him the whole thing. I must get it over this very day. Margherita! -Margherita! Suppose I see her to-night instead? She will bid me say -nothing to her father. She will tell me to wait—to go on as usual. -No, I won't be such a coward. At four o'clock I will go to Signor -Carboni."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>At the determined hour he did indeed pass the door of Margherita's home, -but he could not bring himself to stop, to ring. He passed by; despising -himself, thinking he would return later; convinced at bottom that never -would he succeed in addressing his godfather.</p> - -<p>Two days, two nights, he wasted thus in a vain battle of thoughts, which -changed and dissolved like agitated waves. He had altered nothing in his -habits or daily life. He read with young students, he studied, he ate, -he lingered under Margherita's window, and if he saw her, he gazed at -her passionately. But at night Aunt Tatàna heard him tramp about his -room, descend to the court, go out, return, wander hither and thither. -He seemed a soul in torment, and the kind woman feared he was ill.</p> - -<p>What was he expecting? What did he hope?</p> - -<p>The day after his return home, he saw a man from Fonni cross the street -and he grew deadly pale.</p> - -<p>Yes, he was expecting something—something dreadful; the news that -she had again disappeared. He understood his cowardice, yet at the same -time was ready to execute his threat, "I will follow you, I will kill you, -I will kill myself."</p> - -<p>Then it seemed to him that nothing was real; at the widow's house was no -one but the widow herself, with her legends and her long black -phantasmal cloak. Nothing, no one else.</p> - -<p>The second night he heard Aunt Tatàna telling her old story to a little -boy from a neighbouring house.</p> - -<p>"The woman ran—ran—throwing down the nails; and they grew -and grew till they filled the whole plain. Uncle Hobgoblin followed her, -followed her, but he never could catch her up, because the nails stuck in -her feet——"</p> - -<p>What anguished pleasure that story had given Anania in his childhood, -especially in the first days after his mother's desertion! To-night he -dreamed that the man from Fonni had brought news she was gone, that he set -out to follow—to follow—across a plain sown with nails. Look! -there she is! far on the horizon! Soon he will catch her up and kill her, -but he is afraid—afraid—because it is not Olì at all, but a -goatherd, that same goatherd who had passed down the street while Aunt -Tatàna was with Signor Carboni. Anania runs—runs—the nails -don't prick; he wishes they would prick; and Olì has changed into the -goatherd and is singing those lines of Lenau's:</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<table class="poem"> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it">I masnadieri nella Taverna della Landa</td> -<td class="translated"> Robbers in field-side</td></tr> -<tr><td class="original" xml:lang="it" lang="it"> </td> -<td class="translated"> tavern.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>There! now he has caught her, he is going to kill her, and the frost of -death has stiffened his arm—</p> - -<p>He woke, bathed in cold perspiration. His heart had stopped; he wept.</p> - -<p>The third day. Margherita, surprised that he did not write, invited him -to the usual tryst. He went. He told of his excursion up the -Gennargentu. He abandoned himself to her caresses, as a tired wayfarer -abandons himself on the grass, under the shadow of a tree. But not a -word could he utter of the dark secret which was consuming him.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"<i>September</i> 18<i>th.</i> 2 A.M.</p> - -<p>"MARGHERITA,—I have come in after roaming wildly through the -streets. Every minute I think I am going mad. It is this very fear moves -me, after long and miserable indecision—to confide to you the grief -which is killing me. I will cut it short.</p> - -<p>"Margherita, you know what I am; the son of a sin, deserted by a mother -who was more sinned against than sinning. I was born under a bad star, -and I have to expiate sins which were not my own. I have dragged with me -into a gulf from which I can never escape, that creature whom I love -more than all the rest of the world. Thee, Margherita! Forgive me! -forgive me! This is my greatest grief which I shall feel for the rest of -my life. Listen. My unhappy mother is alive; after an existence of -misery and sin, she has risen again before me like a ghost. She is -wretched, ill, grown old with suffering and privation. My duty, you -yourself will say it at once, is to redeem her. I have resolved to live -with her, to sacrifice, if need be, life itself to fulfil my duty. -Margherita, what more can I say? Never as at this moment have I felt the -need of showing you all my soul. It is like a stormy sea, and words fail -me at this moment which is the turning point of my life. I have your -kisses still on my lips, and I tremble with love and with grief. -Margherita, I am in your hands. Have pity on me and on yourself too. Be -what I have always dreamed you are. Think how short life is, and that -love is the only reality of life, and that no one in the world will love -you as I do. Don't tread out our happiness for the sake of worldly -prejudices, prejudices invented by envious men to make all equally -unhappy. You are good, you are above me. Say to me one word of hope for -the future. And remember, whatever may happen, I shall be yours for all -eternity. Write to me at once.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">ANANIA."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"<i>September</i> 19<i>th.</i></p> - -<p>"ANANIA,—Your letter seems a horrid dream. I also have no words to -express myself. Come to-night at the usual time and we will decide our -fate together. It is I who should say 'my life is in your hands.' Come. -I wait for you anxiously.</p> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">MARGHERITA."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"<i>September</i> 19<i>th.</i></p> - -<p>"MARGHERITA,—Your little letter has frozen my heart. My fate is -already decided, but a thread of hope still guides me. No, I dare not come. -I will not come unless you first give me a word of hope. Then I will fly -to you, kneel at your feet, and thank you and worship you as a saint. -But now—no, I cannot. I will not. I abide by what I wrote to you -yesterday. Write to me, do not kill me with this terrible -suspense.—Your most unhappy.</p> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">ANANIA."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"<i>September</i> 19<i>th.</i> Midnight.</p> - -<p>"ANANIA, MY NINO,—I have waited for you till this moment trembling -with grief and love; but you have not come. Perhaps you are never coming -any more, and I write to you at this sweet hour of our meetings with death -in my heart and tears in my eyes which have not yet wept themselves out. -The pale moon is sinking in a clouded heaven, the night is sad, it seems -to me that all creation is oppressed by the ill-fortune which has -crushed our love.</p> - -<p>"Anania, why did you deceive me?</p> - -<p>"As you say, I knew what you were, and I loved you just because I am -above vulgar prejudice, and I wished to make up to you for the injustice -of fate. But I believed you also were superior to prejudice, and were -giving up all for me as I had given up all for you. Now, it seems, I -have been deceived. You have deceived me, hiding your real sentiments. I -believed and I still believe, that you knew your mother was alive and -even where she was, and what sort of life she was leading (indeed, every -one knew that!) but that you had no affection for this unnatural mother, -who had deserted you, and was your misfortune and dishonour. You -considered her dead for you and for every one. And I was quite sure that -if ever she thrust herself upon your notice, which I suppose is what has -happened, you would not condescend even to look at her. But on the -contrary, you want to drive away her who has loved you so many years and -will always love you, and to sacrifice your life and your honour to one, -who (if she hadn't had an easy place to drop you into) was quite ready -to kill you, or to leave you in a wood or a wilderness, a prey to -starvation and terror, just that she might set herself free!</p> - -<p>"But why should I write all this? Surely you know it? Why do you try to -deceive me? Why do you appeal to sentiments which I can't possibly -entertain, and which I don't believe you entertain yourself? -You aren't going to do this stupid thing out of affection or out of -generosity—I'm sure you really hate the woman—but just out -of regard to these same vulgar prejudices which 'were invented by men to -make all equally miserable.' Yes, yes! You want to sacrifice yourself and -to ruin me, only for the glory of saying, '<i>I've done my duty!</i>' You -are a silly boy, your dreams are dangerous, and what's worse, ridiculous. -People may praise you to your face; behind your back they will laugh at -your simplicity.</p> - -<p>"Anania, be yourself, be kind to yourself and to me. Be a <i>man</i>! -No, I don't bid you abandon your mother if she's weak and unhappy (though -she abandoned you). We can help her, give her some money, but we must keep -her at arm's length. I won't have her coming between us and upsetting -our life. I won't. You see I don't deceive you, Anania. I can't in the -most distant way admit the possibility of living with her. It would be -hideous, a daily tragedy. Better to die once for all, and have done with -it, than die daily of resentment and disgust. I might pity the wretched -creature, but I should never love her. If you persist in this mad idea, -you'll make me loathe her even worse than before. This is my last word; -aid her, but keep her far away, so that I may never lay eyes on her, so -that our world in which we live may ignore her existence.</p> - -<p>"I daresay she'll prefer to be out of your sight. Your presence ought to -mean to her continual remorse. You say she has grown old with grief and -privation, that she's poor and ill. Well, it's all her own fault. It's -much better for you and for herself that she should be like that; for -then she can't go roaming about the world and inflicting more disgrace -upon you. But she, who didn't hesitate to outrage you when she was young -and strong, mustn't now make a weapon of her weakness and want to destroy -your happiness. No! no! you must never permit such a thing. No, no, it's -impossible you should act upon such a fatal aberration! Unless it is that -you don't love me any longer, and seek an excuse to——But I -am not going to doubt you and your loyalty and your love. Don't be so -wicked and cruel to me, when I have sacrificed to you all my youth, and -all my dreams, and all my future.</p> - -<p>"There! I tell you I'm crying as I write. Remember our love, our first -kiss, our oaths, our plans—all—all. Don't reduce all that to a -handful of ashes; don't kill me with disappointments, don't act so that -afterwards you will repent your madness. If you won't listen to me, -consult any sensible persons, and they'll all tell you not to be -ungrateful and wicked and vain-glorious.</p> - -<p>"Why, only yesterday you told me you had called my name from the summit -of the Gennargentu, and proclaimed your love eternal and superior to all -other human passion! Were you lying? and only yesterday? Why do you -treat me like this? What have I done to deserve it? Have you forgotten -that I love you? Have you forgotten that evening when I stood at the -window and you threw me a flower after kissing it? I keep that flower to -sew it into my wedding-dress, and I say <i>keep</i>, because I am sure that -you really are going to be my bridegroom, and that you don't intend to -kill your Margherita (remember your sonnet), and that we are going to be -so happy alone together in our own little house.</p> - -<p>"It is I, who am waiting for a word of hope from you at once. Tell me -it's all a horrid dream. Tell me you have recovered your reason, and are -sorry for having made me suffer.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow night, or rather this night, for its already morning, I shall -expect you. Don't fail me. Come, my adored one, my darling, my beloved -bridegroom, come! I shall expect you as a flower expects the dew after a -day of burning sun. Come! revive me, make me forget. My lips shall be -laid on yours like——"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>"No! no! no!" cried Anania convulsively, crumpling the letter before he -had read the last lines, "I won't come! You are bad! bad! bad! I shall -die, but I shan't see you again!"</p> - -<p>With the letter crushed in his hand, he threw himself on his bed, -burying his face in the pillow, biting it, restraining the sobs which -rose in his throat. A shudder of passion ran through him, rising like a -wave from his feet to his head. The last lines had filled him with -tumultuous desire for Margherita's kisses, a desire as violent as it was -despairing.</p> - -<p>Little by little he regained self-control and knew what he was -experiencing. He had seen the naked Margherita, and he felt for her a -delirious love, and a disgust so great as to annihilate that very love.</p> - -<p>How mean, how despicable she was! and consciously. The goddess, veiled -in majesty and goodness, had thrown off her golden robes, and appeared -naked, daubed with egotism and unkindness. The taciturn minerva had -opened her lips to curse. The symbolic image had burst like a fruit rosy -without, black and poisonous within. She was complete woman with all her -savage wiles.</p> - -<p>But the worst torment was the thought that Margherita guessed his secret -sentiments. That she was right in reproving his deceptions, in asking -the fulfilment of his duties of gratitude and love.</p> - -<p>"It's all over!" he thought. "It was bound to end like this."</p> - -<p>He got up and reread the letter. Every word offended and humiliated him. -Margherita had loved him out of compassion, believing him as despicable -as she was herself. Probably she had meant him to be just an instrument -of her pleasure, a complacent servant, a humble husband. No, probably -she had not thought of anything like that, but had loved him by mere -instinct, because he had been the first to kiss her, to speak to her of -love.</p> - -<p>"She has no soul!" thought the poor boy. "When I raved, when I rose to -the stars and swelled with superhuman joy, she was silent because in her -there was emptiness. And I was adoring her silence, and thinking it -divine! She spoke only when her senses were awaked. She speaks now -because she's menaced with the vulgar annoyance of being given up. She -has no soul, no heart! Not one word of pity! Not the modesty to conceal -her selfishness. And she's ignorant too. Her letter is copied and recopied, -yet even so it's badly expressed. But the last lines—there's -her art! She knew the effect they'd produce. She knows me perfectly, and -I am only now beginning to understand her. She wants to allure me to the -meeting, because she thinks she can intoxicate me. Deceit! deceit! But I -see through her now. Ah! not one kind word, not a single generous -impulse, nothing! nothing! How horrible!"—(again, he crumpled the -letter)—"I hate all women! I shall always hate them! I'll become bad -myself! I'll grind you all to powder and spit upon you. I'll make you -all suffer! I'll kill you, tear you to pieces! I'll begin this instant!"</p> - -<p>He took the <i>rezetta</i> still wrapped in the coloured handkerchief, -rolled it in a newspaper, sealed and despatched it to Aunt Grathia. "It's -all over," he repeated. And he seemed to be walking through emptiness, over -the cold clouds as on the ascent of Gennargentu. But now vainly he -looked down or around him; there was no path of escape, all was cloud, -infinite giddiness. During the day he thought of suicide, a hundred -times.</p> - -<p>He went up and took information as to what examinations and public posts -were open to him, and how soon he could present himself as a candidate. -He went to the tavern and seeing the handsome Agata (now betrothed to -Antonino) he kissed her. Whirlwinds of hate and of love for Margherita -shook his soul. The more he read her letter, the more he felt her -paltriness; the more he felt himself alienated from her, the more he -loved and desired her. Kissing Agata, he remembered what excitement the -beautiful peasant's kiss had roused in him on that former occasion. Then -Margherita had been so far above him, a whole world of mystery and -poetry had divided them; and this same world, fallen to ruins, divided -them now.</p> - -<p>"What's up with you?" asked Agata, making no objection to his kiss. -"Have you quarrelled with? What are you kissing me for?"</p> - -<p>"Because I like it, because you're coarse——"</p> - -<p>"You've been drinking!" laughed Agata. "Well if that's your fancy in -women, you can have Rebecca. But suppose Margherita hears of -it——"</p> - -<p>"Hold your tongue! Don't dare to mention her name!"</p> - -<p>"Why not? She's going to be my sister-in-law. Is she any different from -me? She's a woman like the rest of us. I doubt she's even rich. If she -was certain she'd be rich, she'd only keep you on till she found a -better match."</p> - -<p>"If you don't hold your tongue I'll strike you!" said Anania -furiously.</p> - -<p>"Oh, you're drunk! Get away! go to Rebecca!" repeated Agata.</p> - -<p>Her insinuations completed Anania's torment; he now believed Margherita -capable of anything.</p> - -<p>He went to bed early that evening, complaining of imaginary fever. He -thought of staying in bed to-morrow, hoping that Margherita would hear -he was ill. He even arrived at imagining that she, believing him very -ill indeed, would come secretly to visit him. This dream melted him -completely; he shook with emotion thinking of the scene that would -follow. Then suddenly the dream appeared what it was, childish -sentimentality. He was ashamed of himself, got up and went out. At the -accustomed hour, he stood before Margherita's door. She opened it -herself. They embraced, and both were moved to tears. But as soon as -Margherita began to speak, he felt an immense displeasure; then a sense -of frost, much as he had felt in looking at his mother.</p> - -<p>No! no! he no longer loved her! He no longer desired her! He rose and -went away without uttering a word.</p> - -<p>At the end of the street he turned back, leaned against her door, and -called—</p> - -<p>"Margherita!"</p> - -<p>But the door remained shut.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_23_1" id="Footnote_23_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_1"><span class="label">[23]</span></a>A local expression meaning, "nothing but what I -wear."</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="IX_II">IX</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"<i>September</i> 20<i>th.</i> Midnight.</p> - -<p>"Your behaviour last night has finally revealed your character. I should -suppose it needless to declare that all is over between us, were it not -that you take my silence for a sign of humiliating expectancy. Good-bye, -then, for ever.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%;">M."</p> - -<p>"P.S. I wish my letters returned, and I'll send you yours."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"NUORO, <i>September</i> 20<i>th.</i></p> - -<p>"MY DEAR GODFATHER,—I intended to visit you and explain by word -what now I must write to you, for at this moment, I have received from -Fonni news of my mother's dangerous illness, and I must go to her at once. -This, therefore, is what I have to tell you.</p> - -<p>"Your daughter informs me that she withdraws her promise of marriage, -which we had arranged together, with your consent. If she has not -already done so, she will explain to you her reason for this decision, -which, of course, I accept. Our characters are too unlike for us to be -united. Fortunately, for us and for those who love us, we have made this -sad discovery in time. It may make us unhappy now, but it will prevent -an error which would be the misfortune of our whole lives. Your daughter -will surely attain the happiness which she deserves, and will meet some -man who is worthy of her. No one will wish her greater happiness than I -do. As for me—I will follow my destiny.</p> - -<p>"Ah! dear godfather! when you have had the explanation from Margherita, -don't, don't accuse me of ingratitude and of pride, whatever happens. -Whether or not I am allowed to fulfil grave duties to an unhappy mother, -I know every relation between me and you, or any of your family, is at -an end. I renounce all favours, which indeed would now be absurd and -humiliating to us all, but in my heart I shall retain as long as I live -the sincerest gratitude for all your goodness to me. In this sad hour of -my life, when circumstances make me despair of everything and everybody, -and especially of myself, I still look up to you, my godfather, and -remember your kindness and charity which has guided me from the first -hour I knew you, and which still preserves my faith in human goodness. -And the duty of gratitude to you, makes me still wish to live, though -the light of life is failing me on all sides. I have no more to add; the -future will explain to you the real nature of my thoughts, and will, I -hope, prevent your repenting of your kindness, to—Your ever most -grateful.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"ANANIA ATONZU."</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>At three o'clock, Anania was already on his way to Fonni, riding on an -old horse blind of an eye, which did not travel so fast as the occasion -demanded. But alas! why hide the truth? Anania was not in a hurry, -although the driver of the coach, Aunt Grathia's messenger, had said.</p> - -<p>"You must start at once; it is possible you may find <i>the woman</i> -already dead."</p> - -<p>For a time Anania could think of nothing but the letter which he had -himself consigned to Signor Carboni's servant.</p> - -<p>"He'll be angry with me," thought Anania, "when Margherita tells him of -my strange excuses, he'll think she's in the right. Of course, any girl -would have done what she has done. I suppose I am quite wrong, but still -who ever the girl was, I should have acted the same. Perhaps I ought to -have said in my letter that I was to blame, but that I simply -<i>couldn't</i> do anything else. But no, they wouldn't understand, just -as they won't be able to forgive. It's all over."</p> - -<p>Suddenly he felt an impulse of joy at the fact that his mother was -dying; but at once he tried to shudder at himself.</p> - -<p>"I'm a monster!" he thought; but his relief was so great, so cruel, that -the very word "monster" seemed farcical, almost amusing. However, after -a few minutes he was really shocked at himself.</p> - -<p>"She's dying; and it's I who have killed her. She's dying of fear, -remorse, suffering. I saw her sink down that day, with her eyes full of -despair. My words hurt her worse than a blow. What a lurid thing is the -human heart! I'm rejoicing in my crime; I'm rejoicing like a prisoner -who has gained his freedom by murdering his gaoler, while I'm thinking -Margherita despicable, because she says bluntly that she can't love a -bad woman. I am far worse, a hundred times worse than Margherita. But -can I alter my feelings? What whirlwind of contradictions, what malign -force is it that draws and contorts the human soul? Why can we not -overcome this force even when we recognize and hate it? The God which -governs the universe is Evil! a monstrous God, living in us as the -thunderbolt lives in the air, ready to burst forth at any moment. And -that infernal power which oppresses and derides us—Good Lord! perhaps -it will make the poor wretch better and entirely cure her, to punish me -for rejoicing at the expectation of her death!"</p> - -<p>This idea depressed him for some moments, and he felt the horror of his -depression as he had felt the horror of his joy, but was powerless to -conquer it.</p> - -<p>Sunset enfolded him as he ascended from Mamojada to Fonni; great peace -overspread the rose-tinted landscape. The shadows, lengthening on the -golden carpet of the stubble, suggested persons asleep, and the glowing -mountains blended with the glowing sky, in which the moon already showed -its shell of pearl. Anania felt his heart softening. His spirit raised -itself towards the pure and mystic heaven.</p> - -<p>"Once I imagined I was kind-hearted," he thought; "delusion—mere -delusion. I exalted myself when I thought of <i>her</i>, and when I thought -of Margherita too. I fancied I loved my mother, and could redeem her, -and thus make my existence some use. Instead of that, I have killed her! -What must I do now? How shall I use my freedom, my miserable -tranquillity? I shall never be happy again. I shall never again believe -in myself or in any one else. Now truly I know what man is—a vain -though fiery flame, which passes over life and reduces everything to -ashes, and goes out when there is nothing left for it to destroy."</p> - -<p>As he ascended, the marvel of the sunset increased; he stopped his horse -that he might contemplate what seemed a symbolic picture. The mountains -had become violet; a long cloud of the same colour made a darkness above -the horizon; between the mountains and the cloud a great sun, rayless -and blood-red was going down in a heaven of gold. At that moment, he -knew not why, Anania felt good; good, but sorrowful. He had arrived at -sincerely desiring his mother's recovery. He felt a measureless pity for -her; and the beautiful childish dream of a life of sacrifice dedicated -to the unhappy one's redemption, shone in his soul, great and terrible -like that dying sun. But suddenly he perceived that this dream was only -for his own comfort; and he compared his belated generosity to a rainbow -curved over a country devastated by storm; it was splendid, but -altogether useless.</p> - -<p>"What shall I do?" he repeated in new despair, "I shall love no more, I -shall believe no more. The romance of my life is ended; ended at -twenty-two, the age when most men are beginning theirs!"</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>When he reached Fonni it was already night. The outline of the tiled -roofs showed black against the stainless moonlit sky. The air was -perfumed and very fresh. The tinkle of the goats returning from pasture, -could be heard, the step of the herdsman's horse, the bark of his dogs. -Anania thought of Zuanne and of his distant childhood, more tenderly -than when he had been at Fonni a few days ago.</p> - -<p>He dismounted at the widow's door, inquisitive heads appeared at the -windows, the low doors, the wooden balconies of the opposite houses. He -seemed expected, a mysterious whisper ran around, and he felt himself -wrapped in it, straitened as by a cold and heavy chain.</p> - -<p>"She must be dead!" he thought, and stood motionless beside his -horse.</p> - -<p>Aunt Grathia came to the door, a lamp in her hand. She was even more -ghastly than usual, her small, bloodshot eyes sunk in great livid -circles.</p> - -<p>Anania looked at her anxiously.</p> - -<p>"How is she?"</p> - -<p>"Ah! she is well. She has finished her penitence in this world," replied -the old woman with tragic solemnity. Anania understood that his mother -was dead. He could not feel sad, but neither did he feel the expected -sense of relief.</p> - -<p>"Good God! Why didn't you send for me sooner? When did she die? Let me -see her!" he said, with anxiety exaggerated, but partly sincere. He -entered the kitchen which was illuminated by a great fire.</p> - -<p>Seated at the hearth Anania saw a peasant who looked like an Egyptian -priest, with a long square black beard, and wide opened, round, black -eyes. In his hands he held a large black rosary, and he looked at the -new-comer ferociously. Anania began to feel a mysterious disquiet. He -recalled the embarrassed air of the man who had brought him the news of -his mother's danger. He remembered that a few days ago he had left her -suffering but not gravely ill. He suspected they were trying to conceal -something from him. A terrible idea flashed through his mind. All this -in one moment while the widow who remained at the door was saying to the -black bearded man—</p> - -<p>"Fidele, see to the horse. The straw is there. Make haste."</p> - -<p>"At what o'clock did she die?" asked Anania, turning also to the peasant -whose black eyes, round like holes, impressed him strangely.</p> - -<p>"At two," answered a voice of the deepest bass.</p> - -<p>"At two? That was the hour when I got the news. Why was I not told -sooner?"</p> - -<p>"You could have done nothing," said Aunt Grathia, who was still guarding -the horse. "Make haste, son Fidele!" she repeated impatiently.</p> - -<p>"Why didn't you warn me," said Anania, stooping mechanically to take off -his spur. "What was the matter with her? What did the doctor say? God -knows I had no idea——Well, I'm going up to see her."</p> - -<p>He straightened himself and moved towards the stair, but Aunt Grathia -still holding the lamp hastily prevented him.</p> - -<p>"What, my son? The thing you will see is a corpse!" she cried in -horror-struck tones.</p> - -<p>"<i>Nonna</i>! Do you suppose I'm afraid? Come with me."</p> - -<p>"Very well."</p> - -<p>The old woman preceded him up the wooden stair. Her deformed shadow as -tall as the roof, trembled on the wall.</p> - -<p>At the door of the room where the dead woman lay. Aunt Grathia stopped -and hesitated. Again she pressed Anania's arm. He noticed that the old -woman was shivering; and, he knew not why, he shuddered himself.</p> - -<p>"Son," said the widow, in a whisper "don't be shocked."</p> - -<p>He grew pale; the thought deformed and monstrous, like the shadows -trembling on the wall, took form and filled his soul with terror.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" he cried, guessing the fearful truth.</p> - -<p>"The Lord's will be done."</p> - -<p>"She killed herself?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"My God! How horrible!"</p> - -<p>He cried thus twice; it seemed as if his hair rose on his head; he heard -his voice resounding in the funereal silence of the house. Then he -collected himself and pushed the door.</p> - -<p>On the pallet bed where a few night's ago he had himself slept, he saw -the corpse delineated under the sheet which covered it. Through the open -window entered the fresh evening air; and the flame of a wax candle -burning by the bedside seemed to wish to fly away, to escape into the -fragrant night.</p> - -<p>Anania approached the bed; cautiously as if fearing to wake her, he -uncovered the corpse. A handkerchief covered with spots of darkened -blood, already dry, swathed the neck, passed under the chin, over the -ears, and was knotted among the thick black hair. Within this tragic -circle the face was drawn in grey, the mouth still contorted with the -death spasm. The vitreous line of the eyes was visible through the -heavy, half-shut lids.</p> - -<p>Anania understood that she had severed the carotid artery. Horrified by -the spots of blood, he at once recovered the dead face; leaving, -however, the hair, which was twisted high on the pillow, partly exposed. -His eyes had darkened with horror, his mouth writhed as if in mimicry of -the contortion of the dead woman's lips.</p> - -<p>"My God! my God! this is awful!" he said, wringing his hands, and -twisting his fingers. "Blood! She has shed her blood! How did she do it? -How was she able to do it? She has cut her throat! How horrible! How -wrong, how wrong I have been. Oh! my God! No, Aunt Grathia, don't shut -the window! I am stifled. It was I who bade her kill herself!"</p> - -<p>He sobbed fearlessly—suffocated by remorse and horror. "She has -died in despair, and I did not say to her one word of comfort. She was my -mother after all, and she suffered in bringing me into the world! And -I—have killed her, and I—still live!"</p> - -<p>Never as at that moment before the terrible mystery of death had he felt -all the greatness, all the value of life. To live! Was it not enough -to live—to move, to feel the perfumed breeze of the serene -night—in order to be happy? Life! the most beautiful, the most -sublime thing which an eternal and infinite will could create! And he -lived; and he owed his life to the miserable creature who lay before him, -deprived of this highest good! How was it he had never thought of that? Ah! -he had never understood the value of life, because he had never seen the -horror and the emptiness of death. And now she, she alone, had taken upon -herself the task of revealing to him, by the shock of her death, the -supreme joy of Life. She, at the price of her own life, had given him birth -a second time; and this new moral life was immeasurably greater than the -first.</p> - -<p>A veil fell from his eyes. He saw the contemptibleness of his passions, -of his past griefs and hatreds. Had he suffered because of his mother's -sin? Fool! What did that matter? What mattered a fact so trifling in -comparison with the greatness of life? And because Olì had given him -life, must she not represent to him the kindest of human creatures, to -whom he must be eternally grateful, whom he must always love?</p> - -<p>He sobbed still, his heart filled with strange anguish through which -came to him the joy of mere life. Yes, he suffered; therefore he lived.</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p>The widow drew to his side, took his wrung hands in hers, comforted and -encouraged him.</p> - -<p>"We'll come downstairs, son; we'll come down. No, don't torment -yourself. She has died because she had to die. You did your duty; and -she—perhaps, she also did hers—although truly the Lord gave us -life or repentance, and bade us live——Let us come down, my -son."</p> - -<p>"She was still young!" said Anania, somewhat calmed, his eyes resting on -the dead woman's black hair, "No, Aunt Grathia, I am not upset, let us -stay here a moment. How old was she? Thirty—eight? Tell me," he asked -again, "at what hour did she die? How did she do it? Tell me all about -it."</p> - -<p>"Come downstairs, then I'll tell you. Come!" repeated Aunt Grathia.</p> - -<p>But he did not move. He was still looking at the dead woman's hair, -marvelling that it was so abundant and so black. He would have liked to -cover it with the sheet, but felt a strange fear of again touching the -corpse.</p> - -<p>The widow performed this act of reverence, then taking Anania's hand, -led him away. His eye fell on the small table against the wall, at the -foot of the bed; but they went out and sat together on the staircase, -the lamp set on the boards by their side.</p> - -<p>The widow narrated a long history, of which Anania ever retained in his -memory these sad fragments.</p> - -<p>"She kept saying, 'Oh, I'll go! You'll see I shall go, whether he likes -it or not. I've harmed him enough, Aunt Grathia, now I must set him -free, and in such fashion that he shall never again so much as hear my -name. I'll desert him a second time to expiate the sin of my first -desertion.' Then she sharpened the knife on the grindstone, poor thing! -When we got the <i>rezetta</i> in the coloured handkerchief, she grew so -pale; and she tore the packet and wept——Oh yes, she cut her -throat. Yes, this very morning at six, when I had gone to the fountain. -When I came back, I found her in a pool of blood. She was still -alive—her eyes horribly wide open.</p> - -<p>"All the officials, the colonel, the Prætor, the Town-Clerk, they all -invaded the house. It was like hell! People crowded in the street, the -women cried like children. The Prætor took the knife and looked at me -with terrible eyes. He asked if you had ever threatened your mother. But -then I saw he also was in tears.</p> - -<p>"She lived till midday. It was agony for everyone. Son, you know that in -my life, I have seen terrible things—never anything like this. No, -one doesn't die of sorrow and pity, for you see I am still alive. Ah! why -are we born?" she ended with tears.</p> - -<p>Anania was deeply moved. This strange old woman, who had long seemed -petrified by griefs, wept; but he, he who only last night had wept for -love in Margherita's arms, he could not weep; remorse and anguish were -tearing at his heartstrings.</p> - -<p>He got up and moved again towards the death-chamber.</p> - -<p>"I want to look at something," he said tremulously.</p> - -<p>The widow raised her lamp, reopened the door, let the young man pass in, -and waited. So sad she was, so black with that antique iron lantern in -her hand, she looked like the figure of death, vigilantly waiting.</p> - -<p>Anania approached the little table on tip-toe. On it he had seen the -amulet and the little torn packet, laid on a sheet of glass. He looked -at it, almost superstitiously. Then he took it up and opened it.</p> - -<p>There was in it only a yellow pebble, and some ashes; ashes blackened -by time.</p> - -<p>Ashes!</p> - -<p>Several times Anania touched those black ashes, which perhaps were the -relics of some love token of his mother's; those ashes which long ago -she had placed upon his breast that they might feel its deepest throbs.</p> - -<p>And in that memorable hour of his life, the whole solemn significance of -which he knew he did not yet feel, it seemed to him that little heap of -Ashes was a symbol of destiny. Yes, all was Ashes; life, death, the -human kind; destiny itself which had produced them.</p> - -<p>And yet in that supreme hour, shadowed by that figure of aged Fate, -which seemed Death in waiting,—in the presence of the remains of that -most wretched of all the daughters of men, who, after doing and -suffering wrong in all its manifestations, had died for another's -good,—Anania felt that among the ashes lurks the spark, the seed of -the luminous and purifying flame; and Hope returned to him, and he felt -that he loved life still.</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ashes, by Grazia Deledda - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASHES *** - -***** This file should be named 63962-h.htm or 63962-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/9/6/63962/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images -generously made available by The Internet Archive.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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