IX

Through a native irresolution Anna continually deferred her matrimony.

Religious doubts tormented her. She had heard it said that only virgins

would be admitted to the circle around the mother of God in Paradise.

What then? Must she renounce that celestial sweetness for an earthly

blessing? An ardour for devotion even more compelling seized her. In

all of her unoccupied hours she went to the church of the Rosario;

knelt before the great confessional of oak and remained motionless in

the attitude of prayer. The church was simple and poor; the pavement

was covered with mortuary stones and a single shabby metal lamp burned

before the altar. The woman mourned inwardly for the pomp of her

basilica, the solemnity of the ceremonies, the eleven lamps of silver,

the three altars of precious marbles.

But in Holy Week of the year 1857 a great event happened. Between the

Confraternity commanded by Don Fileno d’Amelio and the Abbot Cennamele,

who was aided by the parochial satellites, broke out a war; and the

cause of it was a dispute about the procession of the dead Jesus. Don

Fileno wished this ostentation, furnished by the congregation, to issue

from the parochial church. The war attracted and enveloped all of the

citizens as well as the militia of the King of Naples, residing in the

fortress. Popular tumult arose, the roads were occupied by assemblies

of fanatical people, armed platoons went around to suppress disorders,

the Archbishop of Chieti was besieged by innumerable messages from

both parties; much money for corruption was spent everywhere and a

murmur of mysterious plots spread throughout the city. The house of

Donna Cristina Basile was the hearth of all the dissensions. Don Fiore

Ussorio shone for his wonderful stratagems and his boldness in these

days of struggle. Don Paolo Nervegna had a great effusion of bile.

Don Ignazio Cespa exercised, to no purpose, all of his conciliative

blandishments and mellifluous smiles. The victory was fought for with

an implacable violence up to the ritualistic hour for the funeral

ostentation. The people fermented with expectation; the captain of

the militia, a partisan of the abbey, threatened punishment to the

instigators of the Confraternity. Revolt was on the point of breaking

forth. When, lo, there arrived at the square a mounted soldier, bearer

of an episcopal message, that gave the victory to the congregation.

The ostentation then passed with rare magnificence through the streets

scattered with flowers. A chorus of fifty child voices sang the hymn of

the Passion and ten censers filled the entire city with the smell of

incense. The canopies, the standards, the tapers, which made up this

new display, filled the bystanders with wonder. The Abbot, although

discomfited, did not intervene, and in his place Don Pasquale Carabba,

the Great Coadjutor, clothed in ample vestments, followed with much

solemnity the bier of Jesus.

Anna, during the contest, had made offerings for the victory of the

Abbot. But the sumptuousness of this ceremony blinded her; a kind of

rapture overcame her at the spectacle, and she felt gratitude even

toward Don Fiore Ussorio, who passed bearing in his hand an immense

taper. Then as the last band of celebrators arrived before her, she

mingled with the fanatical crowd of men, women and children and thus

moved along as if scarcely touching the earth, while always holding her

eyes fixed on the surmounting wreath of the Mater Dolorosa. On high,

from one balcony to another, were stretched, consecutively, illustrious

flags; from the houses of the stewards hung rude figures of lambs

fashioned from corn, while at intervals, where three or four streets

met, lighted brasiers spread fumes of aromatics.

The procession did not pass under the windows of the Abbot. From time

to time a kind of irregular fluctuation ran the length of the line,

as if the band of standard-bearers had encountered an obstacle. The

cause of it was a struggle between the bearer of the Crucifix of the

Confraternity and the lieutenant of the militia, both having received

the command to follow a different route. Since the lieutenant could

not use violence without committing sacrilege, the Crucifix conquered.

The Congregation exulted, the Commanding General burned with wrath,

and the people were filled with curiosity. When the ostentation, in

the vicinity of the Arsenale, turned again to enter the church of

Saint John, Anna took an oblique path and in a few steps reached the

main door. She kneeled. First there arrived before her a man bearing

the enormous cross, while the standard-bearers followed him, balancing

very tall banners on their foreheads or chins, and gesticulating with

a clever play of muscles. Then, almost in the centre of a cloud of

incense, came the other bands, the angelic choruses, men in cassocks,

the virgins, the gentlemen, the clerics, the militias. The sight was

grand. A kind of mystic terror seized the soul of the woman.

There advanced in the vestibule, according to custom, an acolyte

carrying a large silver plate for receiving tapers. Anna watched. Then

it was that the Commander, crunching between his teeth bitter words for

the Confraternity, threw his taper violently upon the plate and turned

his back with a threatening shrug. All remained dumbfounded. And in the

sudden silence one heard the clash of the sword of the officer as he

left the church. Don Fiore Ussorio only had the temerity to smile.

X

For a long time these deeds aroused the vocal activity of the citizens

and were a cause for quarrels. As Anna had been a witness of the last

scene, several came to her to get the facts. She recounted her story

with patience, and always in the same way. Her life from now on was

entirely expended in religious practices, domestic duties, and in

loving ministrations for her turtle. At the first signs of spring,

it awoke from its condition of lethargy. One day, unexpectedly, it

unsheathed from its shield the serpentine head and swung it weakly,

while its feet remained in torpor. The little eyes were half covered

with the eyelids. The animal, perhaps no longer conscious of being a

captive, pushed by the need to find food, as in the sand of its native

wood, moved at length with a lazy and uncertain effort, while feeling

the ground with its feet.

Anna, in the presence of this reawakening, was filled with an ineffable

tenderness, and looked on with eyes wet with tears. Then she took

the turtle, laid it upon her bed, and offered it some green leaves.

The turtle hesitated to touch the leaves, and in opening its jaws

showed its fleshy tongue, like that of a parrot. The covering of the

neck and claws seemed to be the flaccid and yellowish membrane of

a dead body. The woman, at this sight, felt herself overcome with a

great tenderness; and to restore her beloved she caressed it as would

a mother a convalescent child. She greased with sweet oil the bony

shield, and as the sun beat down upon it the polished sections shone

with beauty.

Among such cares passed the months of spring. But Zacchiele, counselled

by the spring season to greater pursuit of love, beset the woman

with such tender supplications that he had at last from her a solemn

promise. The nuptials should be celebrated the day preceding the

nativity of Christ.

Then the idyl reblossomed. While Anna attended to her needlework

for her trousseau, Zacchiele read in a loud voice the story of the

New Testament. The marriage at Cana, the miracles of the Redeemer,

the dead of Nain, the multiplication of the loaves and fishes, the

liberation of the daughter of Cainan, the ten lepers, the blind-born,

the resurrection of the Nazarene, all of those miraculous narrations

ravished the soul of the woman. And she pondered long on Jesus who

entered into Jerusalem riding on an ass, while the people spread in His

path their garments and waved palms.

In the room, the herb of thyme shed odour from an earthen vase. The

turtle came sometimes to the seamstress and caught in its mouth the hem

of the cloth, or chewed the leather of her shoe. One day Zacchiele,

while reading the parable of the Prodigal Son, feeling suddenly

something soft under his feet, through an involuntary motion of fright,

gave a kick, and the turtle, struck against the wall, fell back upside

down. Its dorsal shell burst in many places, while a little blood

appeared on one of its claws, which the animal waved fruitlessly in an

effort to regain its correct position.

In spite of the fact that the unhappy lover showed himself contrite and

even inconsolable, Anna, after that day, locked herself in a kind of

diffident severity, scarcely spoke, and no longer wished to hear his

reading. And thus the Prodigal Son was left forever under the trees

with the acorns to watch his master’s pigs.