_THE VIRGIN ANNA_
I
Luca Minella, born in the year 1789 at Ortona in one of the houses of
Porta Caldara, was a seaman. In early youth he sailed for some time on
the brigantine _Santa Liberata_, from the bay of Ortona to the ports
of Dalmatia, loaded with varieties of wood, fresh and dried fruit.
Later, because of a whim to change masters, he entered the service of
Don Rocco Panzavacante, and upon a new skiff made many voyages for the
purpose of trading in lemons, to the promontory of Roto, which is a
large and agreeable elevation on the Italian coast, wholly covered with
orchards of oranges and lemons.
In his twenty-seventh year he kindled with love for Francesca Nobile,
and after several months they were married. Luca, a man of short and
very strong build, had a soft blond beard upon his flushed visage,
and, like a woman, wore two circles of gold in his ears. He loved
wine and tobacco; professed an ardent devotion for the holy Apostle
Saint Thomas; and, in that he was of a superstitious nature and given
to trances, he recounted singular and marvellous adventures of those
foreign countries and told stories of the Dalmatian people and the
islands of the Adriatic as if they were tribes and countries in the
proximity of the poles. Francesca, a woman whose youth was on the wane,
had the florid complexion and mobile features of the Ortonesian girl.
She loved the church, the religious functions, the sacred pomp, the
music of the organ; she lived in great simplicity; and, since she was
somewhat stunted in intelligence, believed the most incredible things
and praised her Lord in His every deed.
Of this union Anna was born in the month of June of the year
1817. Inasmuch as the confinement was severe, and they feared some
misfortune, the sacrament of baptism was administered before the birth
of the child. After much travail the birth took place. The little
creature drank nourishment from its mother and grew in health and
happiness. Toward evening Francesca went down to the seacoast, with the
nursing baby in her arms, whenever she expected the skiff to return
loaded from Roto, and Luca on coming ashore wore a shirt all scented
with the southern fruits. When mounting together to their home above,
they always stopped a moment at the church and knelt in prayer. In the
chapels the votive lamps were burning, and in the background, behind
the seven bronzes, the statue of the Apostle sparkled like a treasure.
Their prayers asked for celestial benediction to fall upon their
daughter. On going out, when the mother bathed Anna’s forehead in holy
water, her infantile screams echoed the length of the naves.
The infancy of Anna passed smoothly, without any noteworthy event. In
May of 1823 she was dressed as a cherub, with a crown of roses and
a white veil; and, in the midst of an angelical company, confusedly
followed a procession, holding in her hand a thin taper. In the
church her mother wished to lift her in her arms and have her kiss her
protecting Saint. But, as other mothers lifting other cherubs pushed
through the crowd, the flame of one of the tapers caught Anna’s veil
and suddenly a flame enveloped her tender body. A contagion of fear
spread among the people and each one strove to be the first to escape.
Francesca, for all that her hands were almost rendered useless by
terror, succeeded in tearing off the burning garments, strained the
nude and unconscious child to her heart, threw herself down behind the
fugitives, and invoked her Lord with loud cries.
From the burns Anna was ill and in peril for a long time. She lay upon
her bed with thin, bloodless face and without speech as if she had
become mute, while her eyes, open and fixed, held an expression of
forgetful stupor rather than of pain. In the autumn she recovered and
went to take her vow.
When the weather was mild the family descended to the boat for their
evening meal. Under the awning Francesca lit the fire and placed the
fish upon it; the hospitable odour of the food spread the length of
the harbour, blending with the perfume from the foliage of the Villa
Onofria. The sea lay so tranquilly that one scarcely heard between the
rocks the rustling of the water, and the air was so limpid that one saw
the steeple of San Vito emerge in the distance amid the surrounding
houses. Luca and the other men fell to singing, while Anna tried to
help her mother. After the meal, as the moon mounted in the sky, the
sailors prepared the skiff for weighing anchor. Meanwhile Luca, under
the stimulation of the wine and food, seized with his habitual avidity
for miraculous stories, commenced to tell of distant shores. “There
was, further up than Roto, a mountain all inhabited by monkeys and
men from India; it was very high, with plants that produced precious
stones.” His wife and daughter listened in silent astonishment. Then,
the sails unfolded along the masts, sails all covered with black
figures and Catholic symbols, like the ancient flags of a country. Thus
Luca departed.
In February of 1826 Francesca gave birth to a dead child. In the spring
of 1830 Luca wished to take Anna to the promontory. Anna was then on
the threshold of girlhood. The voyage was a happy one. On the high
seas they encountered a merchant vessel, a large ship borne along by
means of its enormous white sails. The dolphins swam in the foam; the
water moved gently around, scintillating, and seeming to carry upon its
surface a covering of peacock feathers. Anna gazed from the ship into
the distance with eyes never satiated. Then a kind of blue cloud rose
from the line of horizon; it was the fruit covered mountain.
The coast of Puglia came into view little by little under the sunlight.
The perfume of the lemons permeated the morning air. When Anna
descended to the shore, she was overcome by a sense of gladness as she
examined curiously the plantations and the men native to the place. Her
father took her to the house of a woman no longer young, who spoke with
a slight stutter.
They remained with her two days. Once Anna saw her father kiss this
woman upon the mouth, but she did not understand. On their return
the skiff was loaded with oranges, and the sea was still gentle. Anna
preserved the remembrance of that voyage as if it were a dream; and,
since she was by nature taciturn, she did not recount many stories of
it to her comrades, who pursued her with questions.