Nineteen Hundred and Ten. In the "strangers' room" of the Porru house,
Giovanna was looking over some purchases made that day in Nuoro. She
was stouter than ever, and had lost something of her girlish look, but,
nevertheless, she was both fresh and handsome still. She examined the
pieces of linen and woollen stuff attentively, turning them over and
over and feeling them with a preoccupied air, as though not altogether
satisfied with the selection; then, folding them carefully, she
wrapped them in newspaper and laid them away in her bag.
These things were the materials for her wedding outfit, for, having at
last obtained her divorce, she was shortly to marry Dejas. She and her
mother had come to Nuoro for the express purpose of making the
purchases. The money had been borrowed with the utmost secrecy from Aunt
Anna-Rosa Dejas, Giacobbe's sister, who had always taken a particular
interest in Giovanna because of having been for a short time her
foster-mother. It was the dead of winter, but the two women had
courageously defied the fatigues and discomforts of the journey in order
to lay in a supply of linen, cotton, kerchiefs, and woollen stuffs. The
ceremony, a purely civil one, was to be conducted in the strictest
privacy, more so, even, than on the occasion of a widow's marriage. But
this made no difference to Aunt Bachissia, who was determined that her
daughter should enter her new home fitted out in every respect like a
youthful bride of good family.
The country-side was still wondering and gossipping over the scandalous
affair, and it was rumoured that another couple contemplated applying
for a divorce--by mutual consent. A great many people already looked
askance at the Eras, and some said that Brontu had evil designs upon
Giovanna. Giacobbe Dejas, Isidoro Pane, and a number of other friends
had stopped going to the house after making final scenes that were
almost violent. Giacobbe had snarled like a dog, and had used prayers
and even threats in a last, vain effort to dissuade Giovanna from the
step, until Aunt Bachissia had, at length, driven him out. Even Aunt
Porredda at Nuoro, although it was her son who had obtained the divorce
for Giovanna, had received her friends with marked coolness. The
"Doctor," as she called her son, was, on the contrary, most cordial and
attentive in his manner towards their guests.
So Giovanna was folding up her possessions in a thoughtful mood, her
preoccupation having, however, to do solely with those bits of stuff.
The linen, it appeared, was somewhat tumbled; the fringe of the black
Thibet kerchief, with its big crimson roses, was too short; one piece of
ribbon had a spot on it,--worrying matters, all of them.
Night was falling--like that _other time_--but the surroundings, and the
weather, and--her heart, were all, quite, quite different. The
"strangers' room" now had a fine window, through whose panes shone the
clear, cold light of a winter evening. The furniture, all entirely new,
exhaled a powerful smell of varnished wood, while its surface glistened
like hoarfrost. The door opened on the same covered gallery, but new
granite steps now led down to the courtyard. The "Doctor's" practice was
growing, and the entire house had been done over. He now had an office
in the busiest part of the town, and was much in demand both for civil
and penal processes. The most desperate cases, the worst offenders, all
that class of clients who have the least to hope from the law, entrusted
their affairs to him.
Giovanna folded, wrapped, and packed her possessions, and then, the bag
being somewhat over-full, she shook it vigorously to make the contents
settle down; this accomplished, she turned with knitted brows, and
slowly descended the outer stair, both hands thrust deep in the pockets
always to be found just below the waist in the skirt of a Sardinian
costume.
It was an evening in January, clear but extremely cold. Some silver
stars, set in the cloudless blue of the sky, seemed to tremble in the
frosty atmosphere. Crossing the courtyard Giovanna could see, through
the window of the lighted dining-room, Grazia's pale face and great,
eager eyes as she sat turning over the leaves of a fashion paper. The
child had developed into a tall and pretty girl; she was dressed in the
latest fashion, with great lace wings extending from the shoulders
behind the arms; they obliged their wearers to walk sideways through any
narrow aperture, but made them look, by way of compensation, like so
many angels before the fall.
Grazia, seeing the guest, smiled at her without getting up, and the
latter entered the kitchen.
Here, too, everything was new; the white walls, the stove of glistening
bricks, the petroleum lamp hanging from the ceiling. It was all so
gorgeous that Aunt Bachissia could not refrain from gazing about her
the whole time, her shining, little, green beads of eyes, snapping and
sparkling in the sallow, hawklike face, set in the folds of a black
scarf. She at least, was unchanged--the old witch! She was seated beside
the servant-maid, a dirty, dishevelled young person, whose loud and
frequent laugh displayed a set of protruding teeth. Aunt Porredda was
cooking, and scolding the maid for this annoying habit of hers. Only
fancy! Here was the mistress doing the cooking, while the servant sat by
the stove and--laughed! What kind of way to do was that? And, moreover,
the good woman could never have one single moment's peace, and she the
mother of a famous lawyer!
Giovanna seated herself at some little distance from the stove, stooping
over with her hands still buried in the pockets of her skirt.
"Just look!" exclaimed Aunt Bachissia in a tone of envy. "This kitchen
might be a parlour! You must do _your_ kitchen up like this, Giovanna."
"Yes," said the young woman absent-mindedly.
"Yes? Well, upon my soul, I should say so! Godmother Malthina is close,
but you have got to make her understand that money is meant to spend. A
kitchen like this--why, it is heaven--upon my soul! This is living."
"What do you always say 'upon my soul' for?" asked the giggling
servant-maid.
"If she doesn't choose to spend her money, how am I to make her?" said
Giovanna with a sigh.
The servant was still laughing, but Aunt Porredda, who wanted to keep
out of her guests' conversation, turned on her, and sharply ordered her
to grate some cheese for the macaroni. The girl obeyed.
"What is the matter with you?" asked Aunt Bachissia as Giovanna sighed
again.
"She remembers!" said Aunt Porredda to herself. "After all, she is a
Christian, not an animal, and she can't help herself!"
But Giovanna spoke up crossly:
"Well, it's just this; they've cheated us. That is not good linen, and
the ribbon is spotted. Oh! it is too much."
"Upon my soul!" said the maid, mimicking Aunt Bachissia's voice and
accent, and grating away vigorously on the cheese.
Aunt Porredda thereupon let out upon her all the vials of wrath she
would fain have emptied upon her guests, calling her by all the names
which, in her secret heart, she was applying to Giovanna--"shameless,"
"vile," "ungrateful," "despicable," and so on, and threatening to strike
her over the head with the ladle. In her terror, the girl grated the
skin off one finger, and she was in the act of displaying it with the
blood streaming down when the lawyer-son limped briskly into the room.
He was enveloped in a long, black overcoat, so full that it looked like
a cloak with sleeves. His smooth, fresh-coloured little face beamed
with the self-satisfied expression of a nursing child. Asking
immediately what there was to eat, he dropped into a seat beside Aunt
Bachissia, and sat there chatting until supper was ready. After him the
little Minnia came running in, rosy, breathless, and dishevelled, and
threw herself down by the servant-maid. The boy had died three years
earlier. The little girl's dress, of black and red flannel, was pretty
enough, but her shoes were torn and her hands dirty. She had spent the
entire day tearing around in a neighbouring truck-garden, and began to
pour out confidences to the servant in an eager undertone.
"Upon my soul!" repeated the servant, in the same tone as before.
Next Uncle Efes Maria's big face, with its thick, wide-open lips,
appeared in the door, wanting to know why they could not have supper
right away.
The dining-room was now furnished with two tall, shining cupboards
of varnished wood, and the whole apartment had quite an air of
elegance--strips of carpet on the stone floor, a stove, and so on. Poor
Aunt Porredda, with her big feet and hobnailed shoes, never felt really
at home there; while Uncle Efes Maria had not yet cured himself of the
habit of staring proudly around him. Grazia, tall and elegant, always
withdrew into herself when her relations came into this room, where she
passed most of her time eagerly devouring the _Unique Mode_, the _Petite
Parisienne_, and the fashion articles of a family journal,--sufficiently
immoral in its tone, since it fomented such unhealthy dreams in her
foolish head. Ah, those low-cut gowns, covered with embroidery; those
scarfs worked in gold; those bodices with their great wings of silver
lace, the rainbow hues, the spangles glittering like frost! Ah, those
hats covered with artificial fruits, and the long flower boas,
and petticoats trimmed with lace at thirty lire a yard, and the
painted gloves, and fans made of human skin! How beautiful it all
was,--horribly, terrifyingly beautiful! Merely to read about these
things gave her a sort of spasm, they were so beautiful, so beautiful,
so beautiful. And afterwards, how ugly and common and flat everything
seemed,--the simple old grandmother, with her fat, wrinkled face; and
the dull grandfather, gazing about him with such ignorant satisfaction
and pride! It was all simply stultifying.
Just as on that other, far-away evening, Aunt Porredda came in, bearing
triumphantly the steaming dish of macaroni, and all the members of the
party seated themselves around the table. Aunt Bachissia, finding
herself in the shadow, so to speak, of Grazia's wings, forthwith broke
anew into loud exclamations of wonder and admiration, this time _a
propos_ of those glorious objects:
"No, we have never seen anything like that in our neighbourhood, but
then, we have no ladies there. Here they all look like angels, the
ladies."
"Or bats," said Uncle Efes Maria. "Eh, it's the fashion, my dears. Why,
I remember when I was a child the ladies were all big and round; they
looked like cupolas. There hardly were any ladies in those days,--the
Superintendent's wife, the family----"
"And then that thing behind," interrupted Aunt Porredda. "Oh! I remember
that, it looked like a saddle. Well, if you'll believe me, upon my word
and honour, I remember one time some one sat down on one of them."
"The last time we were here," said Aunt Bachissia, "those wings were
little things; now they are growing, growing."
Grazia sat eating her supper as though she did not hear a word
of what the others were saying. The "Doctor" eat his too--like a
gristmill--staring at his niece all the while with the look of a pleased
child. "Growing, growing," said he. "The next thing we know they'll all
take flight."
Grazia shrugged her shoulders, or rather her wings, and neither spoke
nor looked up. She frequently found her uncle,--that hero of her first,
young dream,--very trying, and worse than trying--foolish! It was the
common talk of the town that the uncle and niece were going to marry,
and he, when interrogated on the subject, would answer neither yes nor
no.
The conversation continued for some time on impersonal topics. Every now
and then Aunt Porredda would get up and pass in and out of the room, and
occasionally the talk would die away, and long pauses ensue that were
almost embarrassing. Like that _other time_ every one instinctively
avoided the subject uppermost in the minds of the guests; who, on the
whole, were just as well pleased to have it so. But, just as before, it
was Aunt Bachissia, this time without intending to, who introduced the
unwelcome topic. She asked if the report that the "Doctor" was to marry
his niece were true or no.
The Porrus looked at one another, and Grazia, bending her head still
lower over her plate, laughed softly to herself.
Paolo glanced at the girl, and, with an irony that seemed a little
forced, replied:
"Eh, no! She is going to marry the Very Right Honourable Sub-Prefect!"
Grazia raised her head with a sudden movement and opened her lips, then
as quickly lowered it, the blood meanwhile rushing up to her forehead.
"Oh! he's old," said Minnia. "I know him; he's always walking about the
station. Ugh! he has a long, red beard, and a high hat."
"A high hat too?"
"Yes, a high hat--a widower."
"The high hat is a widower?"
"You shut up!" said the child sharply, turning on her sister.
"No, I'm not going to shut up. He's a Freemason; he won't have his
children baptised, or be married in church. That's the way of it; he'll
not marry in church."
"The young lady is well informed," said Uncle Efes Maria, polished as
usual.
Thereupon Aunt Porredda, who had almost shrieked aloud at the word
"Freemason," waved both arms in the air, and burst out:
"Yes, a Freemason! One of those people who pray to the devil. Upon my
word, I believe my granddaughter there would just as leave have him! We
are all on the road to perdition here, and why not? There's Grazia,
forever reading bad books, and those infernal papers, till now she
doesn't want to go to confession any more! Ah, those prohibited books! I
lie awake all night thinking of them. But now, this is what I want to
say: Grazia reads bad books; Paolo,--you see him, that one over there,
Doctor Pededdu,--well, he studied on the Continent where they don't
believe in God any more; now that's all right, at least, it isn't, it's
all wrong, but you can understand a little why those two poor creatures
have stopped believing in God. But the rest of us, who don't know
anything about books and who have never in our lives ridden on a
rail-road,--that devil's horse,--why should _we_ cease to believe in
God, in our kind Saviour, who died for us on the cross? Why? why? tell
me why. You there, Giovanna Era, tell me why you should be willing to
marry a man by civil ceremony when you already have a husband living?"
The final clause of Aunt Porredda's oration fell with startling effect
upon her audience. Grazia, who, with a smile upon her lips, had been
busily engaged in rolling pieces of bread into little pellets, raised
her head quickly, and the smile died away; Paolo, who, likewise smiling,
had been fitting the blade of a knife in and out of the prongs of his
fork, straightened himself with a brusque movement; and Uncle Efes Maria
turned his dull, round face towards Giovanna, and fixed her with an
impassive stare.
Giovanna herself, the object of this wholly unlooked-for attack, though
she flushed crimson, replied with cynical indifference:
"I haven't any husband, my dear Aunt Porredda. Ask your son over there."
"My son!" exclaimed the other angrily. "I have no son. He's a child of
the devil!"
It almost seemed as though Giovanna had succeeded in throwing the
responsibility of her act upon Paolo, because he had won her case for
her!
Every one laughed at Aunt Porredda's outbreak, even Minnia, and the
servant who entered the room at that moment, carrying the cheese.
Notwithstanding her wrath, Aunt Porredda took the dish and handed it
politely to her guests.
"Upon my soul," said Aunt Bachissia, carefully cutting herself a slice,
and speaking in a tone of gentle melancholy, "you are as good as gold,
there is no doubt about that, but--you live at your ease, you have a
house like a church, and a husband like a strong tower [Uncle Efes Maria
coughed], and you have a circle of stars about you--motioning towards
them--so it is easy enough to talk like that. Ah! if you knew once what
it meant to be in want, and to look forward to having to beg your bread
in your old age! Do you understand? In your old age!"
"Bravo!" cried Paolo. "But I would like to have a clean knife."
"What difference does that make, Bachissia Era?" answered Aunt Porredda.
"You are afraid to trust in Divine Providence, and that means that you
have lost your faith in God! How do you know whether you will be poor or
rich when you are old? Is not Costantino Ledda coming back some day?"
"Yes, to be a beggar too," said Aunt Bachissia coldly.
"And God alone knows whether he ever will come back," observed the young
lawyer brutally, taking the knife which the servant held out to him,
blade foremost.
They had all heard that Costantino was ill, and there was a report that
his lungs were affected.
In order to appear agitated,--and possibly she really was so to some
extent,--Giovanna now hid her face in her hands and said brokenly:
"Besides--if it is only to be a civil ceremony--it is--it is
because----" Then she stopped.
"Well, why don't you go on?" cried Paolo. "You are to be married by
civil ceremony because the priests won't give you any other! They don't
understand, and they never will understand; just as you will never
understand, Mamma Porredda. What is marriage, after all? It is a
contract made between men, and binding only in the sight of men. The
religious ceremony really means nothing at all----"
"It is a sacrament!" cried Aunt Porredda, beside herself.
"Means nothing at all," continued Paolo. "Just as some day the civil
ceremony will mean nothing at all. Men and women should be at liberty to
enter spontaneously into unions with one another and to dissolve them
when they cease to be in harmony. The man----"
"Ah, you are no better than a beast!" exclaimed Aunt Porredda, though it
was, in fact, not the first time that she had heard her son express
these views. "It is the end of the world. God has grown weary; and who
can wonder? He is punishing us; this is the deluge. I have heard that
there have been terrible earthquakes already!"
"There have always been earthquakes," observed Uncle Efes Maria, who did
not know whether to side with his wife or his son. Probably, in the
bottom of his heart his sympathies were with the former, but he did not
want to say so openly for fear of being looked down upon by the gifted
Paolo.
The latter made no reply. Already he regretted having said so much,
being too truly attached to his mother to wish to give her needless
pain. Giovanna now took her hands from her face, and spoke in a tone of
gentle humility:
"Listen," said she. "When I was married before--_to that unfortunate_--I
had only the civil ceremony, and if he had not been arrested, who knows
when we ever would have had the religious marriage! And yet, were we not
just as much man and wife? No one ever said a word, and God, who knows
all, was not offended----"
"But he punished you," said Aunt Porredda quickly.
"That remains to be seen!" shouted Aunt Bachissia, whose bile was
beginning to rise. "Was the punishment for that, or for Basile Ledda's
murder?"
"If it had been for the murder, only Costantino would have been
punished."
"Well," said the old witch, her green eyes glittering with triumph, "is
not that just what I am saying? My Giovanna here is not to be punished
any longer for his fault, since God has given her the opportunity to
marry a young man who is fond of her, and who will make her forget all
her sufferings!"
"And who is also rich," remarked Uncle Efes Maria, and no one could tell
whether he spoke ingenuously or no.
Giovanna, who had quite lost the thread of her discourse, was,
nevertheless, determined to continue her role of patient martyr. "Ah, my
dear Aunt Porredda," said she, "you don't know all, but God, who alone
can see into our hearts, he will forgive me even if I live in mortal
sin, because he will know that the fault is not with me. I would gladly
have the religious ceremony, but it cannot be."
"Yes, because you are married already to some one else, you child of the
devil!"
"But that other one is as good as dead! Just tell me now, can he help me
to earn a living? And if the lawyers, who are educated and learned, and
who know what life really is, can dissolve civil marriages, why can't
the priests dissolve religious ones? Perhaps they don't understand about
it. There is that priest whom we have--Elias Portolu--the one who is so
good, you know him? he talks like a saint, and never gets angry with any
one. Well, even he can't say anything but 'No, no, no; marriage can only
be dissolved by death--and go and be blessed, if you don't know what is
right!' Does a body have to live? Yes, or no? And when you can't live,
when you are as poor as Job, and can't get work, and have nothing,
nothing, nothing! And just tell me, you, Aunt Porredda, suppose I had
been some other woman, and suppose there had been no divorce, what would
have happened? Why, mortal sin, that is what would have happened, mortal
sin!"
"And in your old age--want," said Aunt Bachissia.
The servant brought in the fruit: bunches of black, shining, dried
grapes, and wrinkled pears, as yellow as autumn leaves.
The old hostess handed the dish to her old guest, with an indescribable
look of compassion. Her anger, and disdain, and indignation had suddenly
melted away as she realised the sordid natures of the mother and
daughter. "Good San Francisco, forgive them," she prayed inwardly.
"Because they are so ignorant, and blind, and hard!" Then she said
mildly: "You and I, Bachissia Era, are old women, and you, Giovanna,
will be old some day. Now tell me one thing: what is it that comes after
old age?"
"Why, death."
"Death; yes, death comes after. And after death what is there?"
"Eternity?" said Paolo, laughing softly to himself as he devoured his
grapes like a greedy child, holding the bunch close to his mouth, and
detaching the seeds with his sharp little teeth.
"Eternity, precisely; eternity comes after--where are you going, Minnia?
Stay where you are." But the child, tired of the conversation, slipped
out of the room. "What do _you_ say, Giovanna Era, does eternity follow?
yes, or no? Bachissia Era--yes, or no?"
"Yes," said the guests.
"Yes? and yet you never think of it?"
"Oh! what is the use of thinking of it?" said Paolo, getting up, and
wiping his mouth with his napkin; he felt that it was high time for him
to be off; he had already wasted too much time on these women, who,
after all, were interesting solely from the fact that they had
not yet paid him. "There are some people waiting to see me at the
office--several people, in fact," he said. "I will see you again; you
are not leaving yet awhile?"
"To-morrow morning at daybreak."
"Not really? Oh! you had better stay longer," he said indifferently,
as he struggled into his huge overcoat. When it was on, Aunt
Bachissia--watching him out of her sharp green eyes--thought that the
little Doctor looked like a _magia_, that is, one of those grotesque and
frightening figures whom wizards evoke by their arts.
He departed, and immediately afterwards Miss Grazia, who had hardly
spoken throughout the entire meal, arose and left the room as well.
Uncle Efes Maria settled himself back in his chair, and began to read
the _New Sardinia_. Bursts of laughter came from the two girls in the
kitchen, and the women sat, each eating a pear, in perfect silence. A
weight hung over them; upon Aunt Porredda as well as upon the others,
for she was realising in her simple untutored mind that the disease that
had attacked the souls of her ignorant guests was one and the same as
that from which her sophisticated son and granddaughter were suffering.