The old cloister of Santa Croce, with its classic columns, had today
a festive appearance. In front of the garden, sloping down at the
mountain's side, one gets a glimpse at the river Sarno, where the
Porta di Stabia once was located, and the image of Minerva in terra
cotta--the guardian Deity of Pompeii, was excavated intact, now in the
Museum at Naples.
The old chapel was gayly decorated with rare flowers and tropical
plants today, and the finest adornments of the ancient cloister, which
had slumbered peacefully and been forgotten in their cupboards for a
century, were brought out by the serving brothers, and cleansed and
dusted of their cobwebs. They whispered excitedly putting their heads
together, for the marriage of a high-born couple was a rare event
within these ancient walls.
The fat prior smiled in the triple folds of his chin, on all the
preparations, with quite unusual benevolence. His little steel-gray
eyes, keen and shrewd in their glance, fairly sparkled as he thought
of the rich fee which would come to his cloister on such an occasion
from a generous noble house.
The cook of the monastery, Brother Salvatore, had some days earlier
announced the festive event to Concetta's father, who supplied them
with fish on fast-days. Concetta was quite childishly delighted. A
noble wedding--the handsome pair--the rich costumes--all that she
had never seen in her whole life; so she teased her father until he
promised to take her to the wedding. Her cheeks glowed, her big eyes
sparkled with pleasure, when she was sitting in the boat in her Sunday
best and thinking of all the splendors that were going to be exhibited
before her.
"If I understood aright the look Saint Cecelia gave me, I shall soon be
standing there too!" she whispered to herself with a happy smile, while
her father sat opposite her and plied the oars with accustomed hands.
"Oh, the happiness, the happiness of belonging to him!" she went on
in her whispered colloquy with herself, both hands clasped before her
face, blushing with maidenly modesty.
Gloomy clouds began to obscure the sun. The magnificent landscape
was in a few minutes wrapped, as it were, in a dark veil of mist.
With shining eyes she sat in the boat watching the sky, and drinking
draughts of joy with which mingled no drop of sin or selfishness in its
crystal waves of purity; for she had grown up with nature as ignorant
as her plants at home, of the roar and strife, the burning hate and
cunning intrigue of the great world of men and women.
Frequent puffs of wind made the boat now tremble and rock. The fear of
an approaching storm had laid hold of the animal world as well; the
terrified sea-gulls flew wildly over Concetta's head, while a hideous
owl in the neighboring olive-grove uttered its long-drawn, harsh notes,
which floated out over the river. Concetta saw and heard nothing. Her
thoughts were with the man to whom she had given herself in almost
superhuman love, whom she was tempted to adore like the holy image
of Christ before which she knelt in lowly reverence, imploring His
blessing on her beloved.
She heard the sound of the great bell, which was only rung on great
occasions; the nearer she came, the more joyfully beat her heart. A
gaily-decked steamer lay already at the landing stage, so that they
had to go a little further in order to land. They had no sooner found
a place where they could moor their boat than Concetta with impatient
haste sprang ashore. They then climbed the steep hill as quickly as
possible. Great raindrops fell again, and began to wet Concetta's
Sunday dress.
At last they reached the cloister; but they had come near missing
the ceremony. The solemn tones of the organ were still sounding
impressively through the chapel. Concetta, with shining eyes and wet
through and through, was standing near the chapel door, contemplating
the undreamed-of splendor of costumes of the high-born ladies. The
bridal pair, surrounded by wedding guests congratulating them heartily,
were not yet visible.
"Now! now!" there was a general movement towards the outer door of the
chapel.
"Here they are coming now," whispered Concetta with sparkling eyes
full of expectation, to her father, whose head was bowed reverently.
Everybody rushed on in order to have an advantageous place when the
bridal party passed.
Girls all in white came first, carrying bouquets in their hands,
and then Luigi--pale and haggard--looking like a bad conscience
personified; and on his arm came the bride all in white!
Concetta saw and heard no more.
The tortured image of Saint Antoni in the entrance stared ghostly at
her, dripping drops of blood. The decaying walls of the old cloister
tottered about her, flames sprang up towards her from yawning abysses;
lightning shot across her brain, and Beelzebub with his infernal band
gnashed his teeth at her in a laugh of malicious triumph.
She recoiled, dazed with awe-struck terror without a sound, without a
cry she moved unobserved by the jostling crowd behind Luigi. Her blue
eyes wide open never turned from him an instant, as if struck dumb by a
horror too great for words or cry.
A little keen steel blade was glistening in her hand, and the next
instant Luigi was stabbed through his treacherous heart. He fell
senseless at the feet of his newly wedded bride.
The frightened wedding guests, fearing a fainting spell, rushed to
him, but the blood was now flowing freely from the spot where she had
stabbed him. Nobody saw her do it. He was quickly carried into the
monastery, followed by the wedding guests.
Concetta uttered a wild cry, and rushed weeping aloud down the hill
towards the harbor. It was already dark; the wind was now blowing with
the vehemence of a hurricane over the foaming waters, and the roar of
thunder shook the bathing-houses on the left hand side of the harbor.
Concetta, with a sudden headlong rush, breathless and horrified had
reached the landing pier. With a loud cry she threw herself into the
foaming waves and disappeared.
At the same moment her father and brother Salvatore, running after her,
had reached the water.
Poor Niccolo, trembling in every limb, was at first rendered almost
helpless with horror; but the despair which began to hold sway over him
gave him now superhuman strength. With frantic haste he unfastened his
little boat, and rowed gesticulating wildly to the spot where he had
seen her sink. He loved his only daughter with a love that was akin to
idolatry. His grey hair fluttered wildly about his furrowed and heated
brow; great tears trickled down his dark cheeks, and panting aloud he
gazed down into the foaming gloomy depths.
"Santissima!" he cried aloud, "Madonna! My greatest treasure--my only
child! Have mercy!"
A vivid flash of lightning illuminated the stormy surface and then--he
saw the red dress floating upon the waves. "Cara mia!" he cried, with
a stammering tongue, wild with joy when he had grasped her and dragged
the dear form into the boat. Calling her ceaselessly by endearing
names, he pressed her to his heart as though to bring back warmth and
life to her young body, and covered her dear face with passionate
kisses, but the beautiful head fell back pale and lifeless; the great
blue eyes were closed; she was dead.
With horror in his wide strained eyes, and pallor on his quivering
lips, he gazed at the prostrate form before him, the lifeless eyes
staring now blankly at the sky,--the hue of life and exuberant health
still glowing on the full cheeks adorned with every grace of youth and
beauty.
"Morte--morte!" stammered the father, frantic with grief, tearing his
grey hair despairingly. No merry glance, no roguish smile she had any
more for him.
"Figlia mia morte!" he cried, beating his breast wildly. "You will be
avenged, none of them will escape!" And holding the dead Concetta in
his arms, he stood there erect with flaming eyes and panting breath
swearing the oath of the deadly feud between him and the family,
clenching his fists threateningly. The mighty grief tore at his heart
strings and finally, brought bitter tears to his burning eyes, great
drops streaming down over his grief-stricken face.
On the pier, Brother Salvatore had sunk upon his knees and clasped
the silver crucifix, which hung at his side by a cord. Holding it out
towards the boat, he raised his voice, "Benedizione!" he cried aloud. A
shiver shook his emaciated frame as if the spectacle which he beheld,
would have burned itself indelibly upon his memory.
The lightning flashes showed from afar the silver cross as it were--a
symbol of atonement and--forgiveness.