The great vermilion clouds mounted slowly from the horizon to the
zenith, until they finally filled the entire cupola of the heavens. A
vapour as of melted metals seemed to undulate over the roofs of the
houses, and in the descending lustre of the twilight sulphurous and
violent rays blended together with trembling iridescence.
A long streamer more luminous than the rest escaped toward a street
giving on the river front, and there appeared in the distance the
flaming of the water between the long, slender shafts of the poplars;
then came a border of ragged country, where the old Saracenic towers
rose confusedly like islands of stone in the midst of obscurity;
oppressive emanations from the reaped hay filled the atmosphere, which
was at times like an odour of putrefied worms amongst the foliage.
Troops of swallows flew across the sky with shrill-resounding notes,
while going from the banks of the river to the caves. The murmuring
of the multitude was interrupted by the silence of expectation. The
name of Pallura was on all lips, while irate impatience burst out here
and there. Along the path of the river they did not as yet see the
cart appear; they lacked candles and Don Consolo delayed because of
this to expose the relics and make the exorcisms; further, an imminent
peril was threatening. Panic invaded all of this people, massed like
a herd of beasts, no longer daring to lift their eyes to heaven.
From the breasts of the women sobs began to escape, while a supreme
consternation oppressed and stupefied all souls at these sounds of
grief.
At length the bells rang out. As these bronze forms swung at a low
height, the ominous sound of their tolling blanched the faces of all,
and a species of continuous howling filled the air, between strokes.
“Saint Pantaleone! Saint Pantaleone!”
There was an immense simultaneous cry for help from these desperate
souls. All upon their knees, with extended hands, with white faces,
implored, “Saint Pantaleone!”
There appeared at the door of the church, in the midst of the smoke
from two censers, Don Consolo in a shining violet cape embroidered
with gold. He held on high the sacred arm of silver, and exorcised the
air while pronouncing these words in Latin, “_Ut fidelibus tuis aeris
serenitatem concedere digneris. Te rogamus, audi nos._”
The appearance of the relic excited a delirium of tenderness in the
multitude. Tears flowed from all eyes, and behind the clear veil of
tears their eyes saw a miraculous, celestial splendour emanate from the
three fingers held up to bless the multitude. The arm seemed larger in
the kindled atmosphere, the twilight rays produced a dazzling effect
on the precious stones, the balsam of the incense was wafted rapidly to
the devotees.
“_Te rogamus audi nos!_”
But when the arm re-entered and the bells ceased to ring, in the
momentary silence, they heard nearby a tinkling of bells that came from
the road by the river. Then followed a sudden movement of the crowd in
that direction and many said, “It is Pallura with the candles! It is
Pallura who has come! See Pallura!”
The cart arrived, rattling over the gravel, dragged by a heavy grey
mare, on whose back a great brass horn shone like a beautiful half
moon. As Giacobbe and the others ran to meet the wagon the gentle beast
stopped, blowing heavily from his nostrils. Giacobbe, who reached it
first, saw, stretched in the bottom of the cart, the body of Pallura
covered with blood, whereupon he began to howl and waved his arms to
the crowd, shouting, “He is dead! He is dead!”