where the old Alagonas had danced and played. There was a great hall with
a gallery for the music; there was old furniture and clocks like small
white alabaster temples that stood on black ebony pedestals. In the state
apartment no one lived, but she would go there with him. Perhaps he had
thought that she lived in the summer palace. Oh, no; her brother, Don
Ferrante, lived there. He was a merchant, and had his shop on the lower
floor; and as he had not yet brought home a signora, everything stood up
there as it had stood.
Gaetano wondered if he could sit on her knees any longer. It was
wonderful that she did not notice anything. And it was fortunate, for
otherwise she might have believed that he had changed his mind about
being a monk.
But she was just now more than ever occupied with her own affairs. A
little flush flamed up in her cheeks under all the brown, and she made a
few of the funniest faces with her eyebrows. Then she began to tell how
she herself lived.
It seemed as if Donna Elisa must have the very smallest house in the
town. It lay opposite the summer palace, but that was its only good
point. She had a little shop, where she sold medallions and wax candles
and everything that had to do with divine service. But, with all respect
to Father Josef, there was not much profit in such a trade now-a-days,
however it may have been formerly. Behind the shop there was a little
workshop. There her husband had stood and carved images of the saints,
and rosary beads; for he had been an artist, Signor Antonelli. And next
to the workshop were a couple of small rat-holes; it was impossible to
turn in them; one had to squat down, as in the cells of the old kings.
And up one flight were a couple of small hen-coops. In one of them
she had laid a little straw and put up a few hooks. That would be for
Gaetano, if he would come to her.
Gaetano thought that he would like to pat her cheek. She would be sorry
when he could not go with her. Perhaps he could permit himself to pat
her. He looked under his hair at Father Josef. Father Josef sat and
looked on the floor and sighed, as he was in the habit of doing. He did
not think of Gaetano, and she, she noticed nothing at all.
She said that she had a maid, whose name was Pacifica, and a man, whose
name was Luca. She did not get much help, however, for Pacifica was old;
and, since she had grown deaf, she had become so irritable that she could
not let her help in the shop. And Luca, who really was to have been a
wood-carver, and carve saints that she could sell, never gave himself
time to stand still in the workshop; he was always out in the garden,
looking after the flowers. Yes, they had a little garden among the stones
on Monte Chiaro. But he need not think it was worth anything. She had
nothing like the one in the cloister, that Gaetano would understand. But
she wanted so much to have him, because he was one of the old Alagonas.
And there at home she and Luca and Pacifica had said to one another:
“Do we ask whether we will have a little more care, if we can only get
him here?” No, the Madonna knew that they had not done so. But now the
question was, whether he was willing to endure anything to be with them.
And now she had finished, and Father Josef asked what Gaetano thought
of answering. It was the prior’s wish, Father Josef said, that Gaetano
should decide for himself. And they had nothing against his going out
into the world, because he was the last of his race.
Gaetano slid gently down from Donna Elisa’s lap. But to answer! That
was not such an easy thing to answer. It was very hard to say no to the
signora.
Father Josef came to his assistance. “Ask the signora that you may be
allowed to answer in a couple of hours, Gaetano. The boy has never
thought of anything but being a monk,” he explained to Donna Elisa.
She stood up, took her umbrella, and tried to look glad, but there were
tears in her eyes.
Of course, of course he must consider it, she said. But if he had known
Diamante he would not have needed to. Now only peasants lived there,
but once there had been a bishop, and many priests, and a multitude of
monks. They were gone now, but they were not forgotten. Ever since that
time Diamante was a holy town. More festival days were celebrated there
than anywhere else, and there were quantities of saints; and even to-day
crowds of pilgrims came there. Whoever lived at Diamante could never
forget God. He was almost half a priest. So for that reason he ought to
come. But he should consider it, if he so wished. She would come again
to-morrow.
Gaetano behaved himself very badly. He turned away from her and rushed to
the door. He did not say a word of thanks to her for coming. He knew that
Father Josef had expected it, but he could not. When he thought of the
great Mongibello that he never would see, and of Donna Elisa, who would
never come again, and of the school, and of the shut-in cloister garden,
and of a whole restricted life! Father Josef never could expect so much
of him; Gaetano had to run away.
It was high time too. When Gaetano was ten steps from the door, he began
to cry. It was too bad about Donna Elisa. Oh, that she should be obliged
to travel home alone! That Gaetano could not go with her!
He heard Father Josef coming, and he hid his face against the wall. If he
could only stop sobbing!
Father Josef came sighing and murmuring to himself, as he always did.
When he came up to Gaetano he stopped, and sighed more than ever.
“It is Mongibello, Mongibello,” said Father Josef; “no one can resist
Mongibello.”
Gaetano answered him by weeping more violently.
“It is the mountain calling,” murmured Father Josef. “Mongibello is like
the whole earth; it has all the earth’s beauty and charm and vegetation
and expanses and wonders. The whole earth comes at once and calls him.”
Gaetano felt that Father Josef spoke the truth. He felt as if the earth
stretched out strong arms to catch him. He felt that he needed to bind
himself fast to the wall in order not to be torn away.
“It is better for him to see the earth,” said Father Josef. “He would
only be longing for it if he stayed in the monastery. If he is allowed to
see the earth perhaps he will begin again to long for heaven.”
Gaetano did not understand what Father Josef meant when he felt himself
lifted into his arms, carried back into the reception-room, and put down
on Donna Elisa’s knees.
“You shall take him, Donna Elisa, since you have won him,” said Father
Josef. “You shall show him Mongibello, and you shall see if you can keep
him.”
But when Gaetano once more sat on Donna Elisa’s lap he felt such
happiness that it was impossible for him to run away from her again. He
was as much captured as if he had gone into Mongibello and the mountain
walls had closed in on him.
II
FRA GAETANO
Gaetano had lived with Donna Elisa a month, and had been as happy as a
child can be. Merely to travel with Donna Elisa had been like driving
behind gazelles and birds of paradise; but to live with her was to be
carried on a golden litter, screened from the sun.
Then the famous Franciscan, Father Gondo, came to Diamante, and Donna
Elisa and Gaetano went up to the square to listen to him. For Father
Gondo never preached in a church; he always gathered the people about him
by fountains or at the town gates.
The square was swarming with people; but Gaetano, who sat on the railing
of the court-house steps, plainly saw Father Gondo where he stood on
the curb-stone. He wondered if it could be true that the monk wore a
horse-hair shirt under his robes, and that the rope that he had about his
waist was full of knots and iron points to serve him as a scourge.
Gaetano could not understand what Father Gondo said, but one shiver after
another ran through him at the thought that he was looking at a saint.
When the Father had spoken for about an hour, he made a sign with his
hand that he would like to rest a moment. He stepped down from the steps
of the fountain, sat down, and rested his face in his hands. While the
monk was sitting so, Gaetano heard a gentle roaring. He had never before
heard any like it. He looked about him to discover what it was. And it
was all the people talking. “Blessed, blessed, blessed!” they all said at
once. Most of them only whispered and murmured; none called aloud, their
devotion was too great. And every one had found the same word. “Blessed,
blessed!” sounded over the whole market-place. “Blessings on thy lips;
blessings on thy tongue; blessings on thy heart!”
The voices sounded soft, choked by weeping and emotion, but it was as if
a storm had passed by through the air. It was like the murmuring of a
thousand shells.
That took much greater hold of Gaetano than the monk’s sermon. He did
not know what he wished to do, for that gentle murmuring filled him with
emotion; it seemed almost to suffocate him. He climbed up on the iron
railing, raised himself above all the others, and began to cry the same
as they, but much louder, so that his voice cut through all the others.
Donna Elisa heard it and seemed to be displeased. She drew Gaetano down
and would not stay any longer, but went home with him.
In the middle of the night Gaetano started up from his bed. He put on his
clothes, tied together what he possessed in a bundle, set his hat on his
head and took his shoes under his arm. He was going to run away. He could
not bear to live with Donna Elisa.
Since he had heard Father Gondo, Diamante and Mongibello were nothing to
him. Nothing was anything compared to being like Father Gondo, and being
blessed by the people. Gaetano could not live if he could not sit by the
fountain in the square and tell legends.
But if Gaetano went on living in Donna Elisa’s garden, and eating peaches
and mandarins, he would never hear the great human sea roar about him.
He must go out and be a hermit on Etna; he must dwell in one of the big
caves, and live on roots and fruits. He would never see a human being; he
would never cut his hair; and he would wear nothing but a few dirty rags.
But in ten or twenty years he would come back to the world. Then he would
look like a beast and speak like an angel.
That would be another matter than wearing velvet clothes and a glazed
hat, as he did now. That would be different from sitting in the shop with
Donna Elisa and taking saint after saint down from the shelf and hearing
her tell about what they had done. Several times he had taken a knife and
a piece of wood and had tried to carve images of the saints. It was very
hard, but it would be worse to make himself into a saint; much worse.
However, he was not afraid of difficulties and privations.
He crept out of his room, across the attic and down the stair. It only
remained to go through the shop out to the street, but on the last step
he stopped. A faint light filtered through a crack in the door to the
left of the stairs.
It was the door to Donna Elisa’s room, and Gaetano did not dare to go any
further, since his foster mother had her candle lighted. If she was not
asleep she would hear him when he drew the heavy bolts on the shop door.
He sat softly down on the stairs to wait.
Suddenly he happened to think that Donna Elisa must sit up so long at
night and work in order to get him food and clothes. He was much touched
that she loved him so much as to want to do it. And he understood what a
grief it would be to her if he should go.
When he thought of that he began to weep.
But at the same time he began to upbraid Donna Elisa in his thoughts. How
could she be so stupid as to grieve because he went. It would be such a
joy for her when he should become a holy man. That would be her reward
for having gone to Palermo and fetched him.
He cried more and more violently while he was consoling Donna Elisa. It
was hard that she did not understand what a reward she would receive.
There was no need for her to be sad. For ten years only would Gaetano
live on the mountain, and then he would come back as the famous hermit
Fra Gaetano. Then he would come walking through the streets of Diamante,
followed by a great crowd of people, like Father Gondo. And there would
be flags, and the houses would be decorated with cloths and wreaths. He
would stop in front of Donna Elisa’s shop, and Donna Elisa would not
recognize him and would be ready to fall on her knees before him. But so
should it not be; he would kneel to Donna Elisa, and ask her forgiveness,
because he had run away from her ten years ago. “Gaetano,” Donna Elisa
would then answer, “you give me an ocean of joy against a little brook of
sorrow. Should I not forgive you?”
Gaetano saw all this before him, and it was so beautiful that he began to
weep more violently. He was only afraid that Donna Elisa would hear how
he was sobbing and come out and find him. And then she would not let him
go.
He must talk sensibly with her. Would he ever give her greater pleasure
than if he went now?
It was not only Donna Elisa, there was also Luca and Pacifica, who would
be so glad when he came back as a holy man.
They would all follow him up to the market-place. There, there would be
even more flags than in the streets, and Gaetano would speak from the
steps of the town hall. And from all the streets and courts people would
come streaming.
Then Gaetano would speak, so that they should all fall on their knees and
cry: “Bless us, Fra Gaetano, bless us!”
After that he would never leave Diamante again. He would live under the
great steps outside Donna Elisa’s shop.
And they would come to him with their sick, and those in trouble would
make a pilgrimage to him.
When the syndic of Diamante went by he would kiss Gaetano’s hand.
Donna Elisa would sell Fra Gaetano’s image in her shop.
And Donna Elisa’s god-daughter, Giannita, would bow before Fra Gaetano
and never again call him a stupid monk-boy.
And Donna Elisa would be so happy.
* * * * *
Ah … Gaetano started up, and awoke. It was bright daylight, and Donna
Elisa and Pacifica stood and looked at him. And Gaetano sat on the
stairs with his shoes under his arm, his hat on his head and his bundle
at his feet. But Donna Elisa and Pacifica wept. “He has wished to run
away from us,” they said.
“Why are you sitting here, Gaetano?”
“Donna Elisa, I wanted to run away.”
Gaetano was in a good mood, and answered as boldly as if it had been the
most natural thing in the world.
“Do you want to run away?” repeated Donna Elisa.
“I wished to go off on Etna and be a hermit.”
“And why are you sitting here now?”
“I do not know, Donna Elisa; I must have fallen asleep.”
Donna Elisa now showed how distressed she was. She pressed her hands over
her heart, as if she had terrible pains, and she wept passionately.
“But now I shall stay, Donna Elisa,” said Gaetano.
“You, stay!” cried Donna Elisa. “You might as well go. Look at him,
Pacifica, look at the ingrate! He is no Alagona. He is an adventurer.”
The blood rose in Gaetano’s face and he sprang to his feet and struck out
with his hands in a way which astonished Donna Elisa. So had all the men
of her race done. It was her father and her grandfather; she recognized
all the powerful lords of the family of Alagona.
“You speak so because you know nothing about it, Donna Elisa,” said the
boy. “No, no, you do not know anything; you do not know why I had to
serve God. But you shall know it now. Do you see, it was long ago. My
father and mother were so poor, and we had nothing to eat; and so father
went to look for work, and he never came back, and mother and we children
were almost dead of starvation. So mother said: ‘We will go and look for
your father.’ And we went. Night came and a heavy rain, and in one place
a river flowed over the road. Mother asked in one house if we might pass
the night there. No, they showed us out. Mother and children stood in the
road and cried. Then mother tucked up her dress and went down into the
stream that roared over the road. She had my little sister on her arm and
my big sister by the hand and a big bundle on her head. I went after as
near as I could. I saw mother lose her footing. The bundle she carried
on her head fell into the stream, and mother caught at it and dropped
little sister. She snatched at little sister and big sister was whirled
away. Mother threw herself after them, and the river took her too. I was
frightened and ran to the shore. Father Josef has told me that I escaped
because I was to serve God for the dead, and pray for them. And that was
why it was first decided that I was to be a monk, and why I now wish to
go away on Etna and become a hermit. There is nothing else for me but to
serve God, Donna Elisa.”
Donna Elisa was quite subdued. “Yes, yes, Gaetano,” she said, “but it
hurts me so. I do not want you to go away from me.”
“No, I shall not go either,” said Gaetano. He was in such a good mood
that he felt a desire to laugh. “I shall not go.”
“Shall I speak to the priest, so that you may be sent to a seminary?”
asked Donna Elisa, humbly.
“No; but you do not understand, Donna Elisa; you do not understand. I
tell you that I will not go away from you. I have thought of something
else.”
“What have you thought of?” she asked sadly.
“What do you suppose I was doing while I sat there on the stairs? I was
dreaming, Donna Elisa. I dreamed that I was going to run away. Yes,
Donna Elisa, I stood in the shop, and I was going to open the shop door,
but I could not because there were so many locks. I stood in the dark
and unlocked lock after lock, and always there were new ones. I made a
terrible noise, and I thought: ‘Now surely Donna Elisa will come.’ At
last the door opened, and I was going to rush out; but just then I felt
your hand on my neck, and you drew me in, and I kicked, and I struck you
because I was not allowed to go. But, Donna Elisa, you had a candle with
you, and then I saw that it was not you, but my mother. Then I did not
dare to struggle any more, and I was very frightened, for mother is dead.
But mother took the bundle I was carrying and began to take out what was
in it. Mother laughed and looked so glad, and I grew glad that she was
not angry with me. It was so strange. What she drew out of the bundle
was all the little saints’ images that I had carved while I sat with you
in the shop, and they were so pretty. ‘Can you carve such pretty images,
Gaetano?’ said mother. ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Then you can serve God by
it,’ said mother. ‘Do I not need to leave Donna Elisa, then?’ ‘No,’ said
mother. And just as mother said that, you waked me.”
Gaetano looked at Donna Elisa in triumph.
“What did mother mean by that?”
Donna Elisa only wondered.
Gaetano threw his head back and laughed.
“Mother meant that you should apprentice me, so that I could serve God by
carving beautiful images of angels and saints, Donna Elisa.”
III
THE GOD-SISTER
In the noble island of Sicily, where there are more old customs left than
in any other place in the south, it is always the habit of every one
while yet a child to choose a god-brother or god-sister, who shall carry
his or her children to be christened, if there ever are any.
But this is not by any means the only use god-brothers and sisters have
of one another. God-brothers and sisters must love one another, serve one
another, and revenge one another. In a god-brother’s ear a man can bury
his secrets. He can trust him with both money and sweetheart, and not be
deceived. God-brothers and sisters are as faithful to each other as if
they were born of the same mother, because their covenant is made before
San Giovanni Battista, who is the most feared of all the saints.
It is also the custom for the poor to take their half-grown children to
rich people and ask that they may be god-brothers and sisters to their
young sons and daughters. What a glad sight it is on the holy Baptist’s
day to see all those little children in festival array wandering through
the great towns looking for a god-brother or sister! If the parents
succeed in giving their son a rich god-brother, they are as glad as if
they were able to leave him a farm as an inheritance.
When Gaetano first came to Diamante, there was a little girl who was
always coming in and out of Donna Elisa’s shop. She had a red cloak and
pointed cap and eight heavy, black curls that stood out under the cap.
Her name was Giannita, and she was daughter of Donna Olivia, who sold
vegetables. But Donna Elisa was her god-mother, and therefore thought
what she could do for her.
Well, when midsummer day came, Donna Elisa ordered a carriage and drove
down to Catania, which lies full twenty miles from Diamante. She had
Giannita with her, and they were both dressed in their best. Donna Elisa
was dressed in black silk with jet, and Giannita had a white tulle dress
with garlands of flowers. In her hand Giannita held a basket of flowers,
and among the flowers lay a pomegranate.
The journey went well for Donna Elisa and Giannita. When at last they
reached the white Catania, that lies and shines on the black lava
background, they drove up to the finest palace in the town.
It was lofty and wide, so that the poor little Giannita felt quite
terrified at the thought of going into it. But Donna Elisa walked bravely
in, and she was taken to Cavaliere Palmeri and his wife who owned the
house.
Donna Elisa reminded Signora Palmeri that they were friends from infancy,
and asked that Giannita might be her young daughter’s god-sister.
That was agreed upon, and the young signorina was called in. She was a
little marvel of rose-colored silk, Venetian lace, big, black eyes, and
thick, bushy hair. Her little body was so small and thin that one hardly
noticed it.
Giannita offered her the basket of flowers, and she graciously accepted
it. She looked long and thoughtfully at Giannita, walked round her, and
was fascinated by her smooth, even curls. When she had seen them, she ran
after a knife, cut the pomegranate and gave Giannita half.
While they ate the fruit, they held each other’s hand and both said:--
“Sister, sister, sister mine!
Thou art mine, and I am thine,
Thine my house, my bread and wine,
Thine my joys, my sacrifice,
Thine my place in Paradise.”
Then they kissed each other and called each other god-sister.
“You must never fail me, god-sister,” said the little signorina, and both
the children were very serious and moved.
They had become such good friends in the short time that they cried when
they parted.
But then twelve years went by and the two god-sisters lived each in her
own world and never met. During the whole time Giannita was quietly in
her home and never came to Catania.
But then something really strange happened. Giannita sat one afternoon
in the room back of the shop embroidering. She was very skilful and was
often overwhelmed with work. But it is trying to the eyes to embroider,
and it was dark in Giannita’s room. She had therefore half-opened the
door into the shop to get a little more light.
Just after the clock had struck four, the old miller’s widow, Rosa
Alfari, came walking by. Donna Olivia’s shop was very attractive from
the street. The eyes fell through the half-open door on great baskets
with fresh vegetables and bright-colored fruits, and far back in the
background the outline of Giannita’s pretty head. Rosa Alfari stopped and
began to talk to Donna Olivia, simply because her shop looked so friendly.
Laments and complaints always followed old Rosa Alfari. Now she was sad
because she had to go to Catania alone that night. “It is a misfortune
that the post-wagon does not reach Diamante before ten,” she said. “I
shall fall asleep on the way, and perhaps they will then steal my money.
And what shall I do when I come to Catania at two o’clock at night?”
Then Giannita suddenly called out into the shop. “Will you take me with
you to Catania, Donna Alfari?” she asked, half in joke, without expecting
an answer.
But Rosa Alfari said eagerly, “Lord, child, will you go with me? Will you
really?”
Giannita came out into the shop, red with pleasure. “If I will!” she
said. “I have not been in Catania for twelve years.”
Rosa Alfari looked delightedly at her; Giannita was tall and strong, her
eyes gay, and she had a careless smile on her lips. She was a splendid
travelling companion.
“Get ready,” said the old woman. “You will go with me at ten o’clock; it
is settled.”
The next day Giannita wandered about the streets of Catania. She was
thinking the whole time of her god-sister. She was strangely moved to be
so near her again. She loved her god-sister, Giannita, and she did it not
only because San Giovanni has commanded people to love their god-brothers
and sisters. She had adored the little child in the silk dress; she was
the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She had almost become her
idol.