Directly you were outside the Porta San Zeno the peach-trees began--acre
by acre of bent trunks, whose long branches, tied at the top, took
shapes of blown candle-flames: beyond these was an open waste of bents
and juniper scrub, which afforded certain eatage for goats.
Here three herd-boys, Luca, Biagio, and Astorre, simple brown-skinned
souls, watched their flocks all the summer night, sleeping, waking to
play pranks with each other, whining endless doggerel, praying at every
scare, and swearing at every reassurance. Simple puppyish folk though
they were, Madonna of the Peach-Tree chose them to witness her epiphany.
It was a very still night, of wonderful star-shine, but without a moon.
The stars were so thickly spread, so clear and hot, that there was light
enough for the lads to see each other's faces, the rough shapes of each
other. It was light enough to notice how the square belfry of San Zeno
cut a wedge of black into the spangled blue vault. Sheer through the
Milky Way it ploughed a broad furrow, which ended in a ragged edge. You
would never have seen that if it had not been a clear night.
Still also it was. You heard the cropping of the goats, the jaws' champ
when they chewed the crisp leaves; the flicker of the bats' wings. In
the marsh, half a mile away, the chorus of frogs, when it swelled up,
drowned all nearer noise; but when it broke off suddenly, those others
resumed their hold upon the stillness. It was a breathless night of
suspense. Anything might happen on such a night.
Luca, Biagio, and Astorre, under the spell of this marvellous night, lay
on their stomachs alert for alarms. A heavy-wheeling white owl had come
by with a swish, and Biagio had called aloud to Madonna in his agony.
Astorre had crossed himself over and over again: this was the Angel of
Death cruising abroad on the hunt for goats or goat-herds; but "No, no!"
cried Luca, eldest of the three, "the wings are too short, friends. That
is a fluffy new soul just let loose. She knows not the way, you see. Let
us pray for her. There are devils abroad on such close nights as this."
Pray they did, with a will, "Ave Maria," "O maris Stella," and half the
Paternoster, when Biagio burst into a guffaw, and gave Luca a push which
sent Astorre down.
"Why, 'tis only a screech-owl, you fools!" he cried, though the sound of
his own voice made him falter; "an old mouse-teaser," he went on in a
much lower voice. "Who's afraid?"
A black and white cat making a pounce had sent hearts to mouths after
this: though they found her out before they had got to "Dominus tecum,"
she left them all in a quiver. It had been a cat, but it might have been
the devil. Then, before the bristles had folded down on their backs,
they rose up again, and the hair of their heads became rigid as quills.
Over the brow of a little hill, through the peach-trees (which bowed
their spiry heads to her as she walked), came quietly a tall white Lady
in a dark cloak. Hey! powers of earth and air, but this was not to be
doubted! Evenly forward she came, without a footfall, without a rustle
or the crackling of a twig, without so much as kneeing her skirt--stood
before them so nearly that they saw the pale oval of her face, and said
in a voice like a muffled bell, "I am hungry, my friends; have you any
meat?" She had a face like the moon, and great round eyes; within her
cloak, on the bosom of her white dress, she held a man-child. He, they
passed their sacred word, lifted in his mother's arms and turned
open-handed towards them. Luca, Biagio, and Astorre, goat-herds all and
honest lads, fell on their faces with one accord; with one voice they
cried, "Madonna, Madonna, Madonna! pray for us sinners!"
But again the Lady spoke in her gentle tones. "I am very hungry, and my
child is hungry. Have you nothing to give me?" So then Luca kicked the
prone Biagio, and Biagio's heel nicked Astorre on the shin. But it was
Luca, as became the eldest, who got up first, all the same; and as soon
as he was on his feet the others followed him. Luca took his cap off,
Biagio saw the act and followed it. Astorre, who dared not lift his
eyes, and was so busy making crosses on himself that he had no hands to
spare, kept his on till Luca nudged Biagio, and Biagio cuffed him
soundly, saying, "Uncover, cow-face."
Then Luca on his knees made an offering of cheese and black bread to
the Lady. They saw the gleam of her white hand as she stretched it out
to take the victual. That hand shone like agate in the dark. They saw
her eat, sitting very straight and noble upon a tussock of bents.
Astorre whispered to Biagio, Biagio consulted with Luca for a few
anxious moments, and communicated again with Astorre. Astorre jumped up
and scuttled away into the dark. Presently he came back, bearing
something in his two hands. The three shock-heads inspected his burden;
there was much whispering, some contention, almost a scuffle. The truth
was, that Biagio wanted to take the thing from Astorre, and that Luca
would not allow it. Luca was the eldest and wanted to take it himself.
Astorre was in tears. "_Cristo amore!_" he blubbered, "you will spill
the milk between you. I thought of it all by myself. Let go, Biagio; let
go, Luca!" So they whispered and tussled, pulling three different ways.
The Lady's voice broke over them like silver rain. "Let him who thought
of the kind act give me the milk," she said; so young Astorre on his
knees handed her the horn cup, and through the cracks of his fingers
watched her drink every drop.
That done, the cup returned with a smile piercingly sweet, the Lady
rose. Saints on thrones, how tall she was! "The _bimbo_ will thank you
for this to-morrow, as I do now," said she. "Goodnight, my friends, and
may the good God have mercy upon all souls!" She turned to go the way
she had come, but Astorre, covering his eyes with one hand, crept
forward on three legs (as you might say) and plucked the hem of her
robe up, and kissed it. She stooped to lay a hand upon his head. "Never
kiss my robe, Astorre," said she--and how under Heaven did she know his
name if she were not _what she was_?--"never kiss my robe, but get up
and let me kiss you." Well of Truth! to think of it! Up gets Astorre,
shaking like a nun in a fit, and the Lady bent over him and, as sure as
you are you, kissed his forehead. Astorre told his village next day as
they sat round him in a ring, and he on the wellhead as plain to be seen
as this paper, that he felt at that moment as if two rose-leaves had
dropped from heaven upon his forehead. Slowly then, very slowly and
smoothly (as they report), did the Lady move away towards the
peach-trees whence she had come. In the half light there was--for by
this it was the hour before dawn--they saw her take a peach from one of
the trees. She stayed to eat it. Then she walked over the crest of the
orchard and disappeared. As soon as they dared, when the light had come,
they looked for her over that same crest, but could see nothing
whatever. With pale, serious faces the three youths regarded each other.
There was no doubt as to what had happened--a miracle! a miracle!
With one consent then--since this was plainly a Church affair--they ran
to their parish priest, Don Gasparo. He got the whole story at last;
nothing could shake them; no detail was wanting. Thus it was: the
Blessed Virgin, carrying in her arms the Santissimo Bambino Gesù, had
come through the peach-trees, asked for and eaten of their food, prayed
for them aloud to Messer Domeneddio himself, and kissed Astorre on the
forehead. As they were on their knees, she walked away, stopped, took a
peach, ate it, walked on, vanished--_ecco_! The curate rubbed his head,
and tried another boy. Useless: the story was the same. Third boy, same
story. He tucked up his cassock with decision, took his biretta and
walking-staff, and said to the three goat-herds:--
"My lads, all this is matter of miracle. I do not deny its truth--God
forbid it in a simple man such as I am. But I do certainly ask you to
lead me to the scene of your labours."
The boys needed no second asking: off they all set. The curate went over
every inch of the ground. Here lay Luca, Biagio, and Astorre; the belfry
of San Zeno was in such and such a direction, the peach-trees in such
and such. Good: there they were. What next? According to their account,
Madonna had come thus and thus. The good curate bundled off to spy for
footprints in the orchard. Marvel! there were none. This made him look
very grave; for if she made no earthly footprints, she could have no
earthly feet. Next he must see by what way she had gone. She left them
kneeling here, said they, went towards the peach-garden, stayed by a
certain tree (which they pointed out), plucked a peach from the very top
of it--this they swore to, though the tree was near fourteen feet
high--stood while she ate it, and went over the brow of the rising
ground. Here was detail enough, it is to be hoped. The curate nosed it
out like a slot-hound; he paced the track himself from the scrub to the
peach-tree, and stood under this last gazing to its top, from there to
its roots; he shook his head many times, stroked his chin a few: then
with a broken cry he made a pounce and picked up--a peach-stone! After
this to doubt would have been childish; as a fact he had no more than
the boys.
"My children," said he, "we are here face to face with a great mystery.
It is plain that Messer Domeneddio hath designs upon this hamlet, of
which we, His worms, have no conception. You, my dear sons, He hath
chosen to be workers for His purpose, which we cannot be very far wrong
in supposing to be the building of an oratory or tabernacle to hold this
unspeakable relic. That erection must be our immediate, anxious care.
Meantime I will place the relic in the pyx of our Lady's altar, and mark
the day in our calendar for perpetual remembrance. I shall not fail to
communicate with his holiness the bishop. Who knows what may be the end
of this?"
He was as good as his word. A procession was formed in no time--children
carrying their rosaries and bunches of flowers, three banners, the whole
village with a candle apiece; next Luca, Biagio, and Astorre with larger
candles--half a pound weight each at the least; then four men to hold up
a canopy, below which came the good curate himself with the relic on a
cushion.
It was deposited with great reverence in the place devoted, having been
drenched with incense. There was a solemn mass. After which things the
curate thought himself at liberty to ruffle into Verona with his news.