The next morning, just as on that day so long before, Giovanna was the
first to stir, while Aunt Bachissia, who like most elderly people
usually lay awake until late into the night, still slept, though lightly
and with laboured breath.
The light of the early winter morning, cold but clear, shone through the
curtained window-panes. Giovanna had fallen asleep the night before
feeling sad,--though Aunt Porredda's outbreak had annoyed rather than
distressed her,--but now, as she looked out and saw the promise
of a bright day for the journey, she felt a sensation of joyous
anticipation.
Yes, she had felt quite melancholy on the previous evening before
falling asleep, thinking of Costantino, and eternity, and her dead
child, and all sorts of depressing things. "I have not a bad heart," she
had reflected. "And God looks into our hearts and judges more by our
intentions than by our actions. I have considered everything,
everything. I was very fond of Costantino, and I cried just as long as I
had any tears to shed. Now I have no more; I don't believe he will ever
come back, and if he does it will not be until we are both old; I can't
go on crying forever. Why should it be my fault if I can't cry now when
I think of him? And then, after all, I am just a creature of flesh and
blood, like every one else; I am poor and exposed to sin and temptation,
and in order to save myself from these I am taking the position which
God has provided for me. Yes, my dear Aunt Porredda, I do remember
eternity, and it is to save my soul that I am doing what I am doing--no,
I am not bad; I have not a bad heart." And so she very nearly persuaded
herself that her heart not only was not bad, but that it was quite good
and noble; at least, if this was not the conviction of that innermost
depth of conscience, that depth which refused to lie, and from whence
had issued the disturbing veil of sadness that hung over her, it was of
her outer and more practical mind, and at last, quite comforted, she
fell asleep.
And now the frosty daybreak was striking with its diaphanous
wings--cold and pure as hoarfrost--against the window-panes of the
"strangers' room," and Giovanna thought of the sun and her spirits rose.
The older woman presently awoke as well, and she too turned at once to
the window.
"Ah!" she exclaimed in a tone of satisfaction. "It is going to be fine."
They dressed and went down. Aunt Porredda, polite and attentive as
usual, was already in the kitchen. She served her guests with coffee,
and helped them to saddle the horse. To all appearances she had quite
forgotten the discussion of the previous evening, but no sooner had the
two women passed out the door than she made the sign of the cross, as
though to exorcise the mortal sin as well. "Very good," she said to
herself, closing the door after them. "A pleasant journey to you, and
may the Lord have mercy on your souls!"
Through the crystalline stillness of the morning came the sound of
shrill cock-crowing--close at hand, further away, and further still; but
the little town still slept beneath its canopy of china-blue.
This time the Eras were to make the journey alone. They had to descend
into the valley, cross it, and then climb the mountain-range which they
could see beyond, showing grey in the early light, its snowcapped peaks
standing out boldly against the horizon.
It was very cold; there was no wind, but the air cut keenly. As they
descended into the wild valley the intense stillness seemed only to be
intensified by the monotonous murmur of a mountain stream. The short
winter grass, bright green in colour, and shining with hoarfrost, showed
here and there in vivid patches along the edges of the winding path.
From the rocks came a smell of damp moss, and the green copses sparkled
with a glittering layer of frost. The whole valley was radiantly fresh
and sweet and wild, but here and there gnarled outlines of solitary
trees stood out like hermits penitentially exposing their bent and naked
forms to the cold brilliance of the winter's morning.
In the fields the earth showed black and damp; and long lines of
dilapidated wall, climbing the hillsides and descending into the
hollows, looked, with their coating of green moss, like huge green
worms. On, and on, and on, journeyed the two women, their hands and feet
and faces numb and stiff with cold. They crossed the stream at a ford
where the water ran broad and shallow and quiet, then they reascended
the valley and began to climb the mountain at its further end. The sun,
now well above the horizon, was shining with a cold, clear radiance, and
the mountains of the distant coast-range showed blue against the gold of
the sky. The wind had risen as well, and, laden with the odour of damp
rocks and earth, was stirring among the shrubs and bushes. The two women
proceeded silently on their way, each buried in her own thoughts. In
the middle of a small defile, overhung by rocks, and shadowed by the
lofty snowcapped summits of the mountains, they met a man of Bitti
journeying on foot: the travellers exchanged greetings, although unknown
to one another, and passed on their respective ways. As the women
mounted higher and higher, the sun enveloped and warmed them more and
more; and they thought of the half of the journey already accomplished,
of the purchases they were carrying back in the wallet, of what they
would do when they got home; and Aunt Bachissia thought of Aunt
Martina's amazement when she should see Giovanna's outfit, while
Giovanna thought of Brontu and of the queer things he would sometimes
say when he was drunk. Preoccupied as they were, however, when they
caught sight of the white walls of the church of San Francisco
glistening among the green bushes half-way up the mountain side, each
thought of Costantino, and said an Ave Maria for him.
Shortly after midday they reached home. Orlei, set in its circle of damp
fields, and blown upon by the frozen breath of the mighty sphinxes whose
heads were now wreathed in bands of snow, was far colder than Nuoro, and
the sun could barely warm life into the scanty herbage in its narrow,
melancholy streets. The roofs were covered with rust and mildew, some of
them overgrown with dog-grass; the walls were black with damp; the
trees, nude and brown. Here and there a thin line of smoke could be
seen curling upwards into the limitless space above; but, as usual, the
village appeared to be utterly silent and deserted. In the crevices of
the walls the little purple and green cups of the Venus's looking-glass
bloomed chillily; speckled lizards crawled into the sun, and snails and
shining beetles mounted patiently from stone to stone.
Aunt Martina, seated on her portico, spinning in the sun, saw the
arrival of the travellers, and was instantly devoured by curiosity to
know what they had in their wallet; she controlled herself, however, and
returned their greeting with courteous composure.
Towards evening Brontu arrived; he visited his betrothed every three
days, and this evening his mother decided to accompany him, in order to
see the purchases made by her neighbours in Nuoro.
A sparse little fire of juniper-wood was burning on Aunt Bachissia's
hearth, throwing out fitful gleams of light across the paved flooring,
and lighting up the earthen walls of the kitchen with a faint, rosy
glow. Giovanna wanted to bring a candle, but the visitors prevented her,
Aunt Martina from an instinct of economy, and Brontu because in the dim
firelight he felt freer to gaze at his betrothed.
The attitude of the latter towards her future mother-in-law and towards
Brontu himself was quite perfect. She had a gentle, subdued manner, and
spoke in childlike tones, albeit expressing sentiments of profound
wisdom. She gave shy glances from beneath her long, thick lashes, and
might have been a girl of fifteen so guileless and innocent was her
bearing. She was not, in truth, consciously acting a part; what she did
was purely instinctive.
Brontu was madly in love with her, and now, when he had been drinking,
he would run to her, and, throwing himself on his knees, repeat certain
puerile prayers learned in infancy. Then he would begin to cry because
he realised that he was tipsy, and would swear that never, never again
would he touch a drop.
This evening, however, he was entirely himself, and sat talking quietly,
enfolding Giovanna all the while in a passionate gaze, and smiling and
displaying his teeth, which gleamed in the firelight.
Aunt Bachissia began to tell about their trip; she spoke of the
greatcoat worn by the young lawyer, and of the "wings" in fashion among
the Nuorese ladies; then she described the Porrus' kitchen, and told of
their meeting a man on the road; but of the discussion started by Aunt
Porredda at the supper-table, and of the purchases she and Giovanna had
made, she said never a word. She knew, however, very well that Aunt
Martina could hardly wait to see the new possessions, and was herself no
less anxious to display them.
"And what have you to say about it all, Giovanna?" said Brontu, stirring
the fire with the end of his stick. "You are very quiet to-night. What
is the matter?"
"I am tired," she replied, and then suddenly asked about Giacobbe Dejas.
"That crazy man? He torments the life out of me; I shall end some day by
kicking him out. He does not need to work now for a living, anyhow."
"I don't know how it is," said Aunt Bachissia. "He used to be such a
cheerful soul, and now, when he has a house and cattle, and they even
say he is going to be married, his temper is something----! You knew,
didn't you, that he threatened to beat us?"
"Did he ever come back?"
"No; never since that time."
"Nor Isidoro Pane either," said Giovanna in a dull voice.
"I thought I saw him go by here yesterday evening," said Aunt Martina.
Giovanna raised her head quickly, but she did not speak, and Brontu
laughingly remarked that he supposed she did not stand in any particular
need of leeches just at present.
"Well," said Aunt Martina at length, "didn't you bring me anything from
Nuoro? You keep one a long time in suspense!" They had, in fact,
brought her an apron, but Aunt Bachissia feigned surprise and
mortification. "Of course," said she, "we had forgotten for the
moment----" And she gave a shrill laugh, but sobered down instantly on
observing that Giovanna took no part in these pleasantries, and seemed
unable to shake off her melancholy.
"No, no; we never thought about it, but Giovanna will show you a few
trifles that we bought----"
Giovanna got up, lighted a candle, and went into the adjoining room,
Brontu's ardent gaze following her. Aunt Martina sat waiting for her
present. Several moments passed and Giovanna did not return.
"What is she doing in there?" asked Brontu.
"Who knows?"
Another minute elapsed.
"I am going to see," he said, jumping up and walking towards the door.
"No, no; what are you thinking of?" said Aunt Bachissia, but so
faint-heartedly that Aunt Martina--scandalised--called to her son to
come back with energetic: "Zss--zss----"
Brontu, however, paying no attention, tiptoed to the door. Giovanna was
standing before an open drawer, re-reading a letter which she had found
slipped underneath the door when they got home that day. It was a
heartbroken appeal from Costantino. In his round, unformed characters he
implored her for the last time not to do this thing that she was about
to do. He reminded her of the far-away time of their early love; he
promised to come back; he assured her solemnly of his innocence. "If you
have no pity for me," the letter concluded, "at least have some for
yourself, for your own soul. Remember the mortal sin: remember
eternity!"
Ah, the same words that Aunt Porredda had used; the very same, the very
same! Uncle Isidoro must have slipped the letter in while they were
away. How long it had been since they had had any direct news of the
prisoner! The tears rushed to her eyes, but what moved her were probably
more the memories of the past than any thoughts of that eternal future.
Suddenly she heard the door being pushed softly open, and some one
stealing in behind her. Leaning quickly over, she began to rummage in
the drawer, with trembling hands and misty eyes.
Brontu stood directly behind her with outstretched arms, he clasped her
around the shoulders, and she, pretending to be frightened, began to
tremble.
"What is it? What are you doing?" he asked in a low, broken voice.
"Oh! I am looking--looking--the apron we got for your mother--I don't
know what I have done with it. Let me go, let me go," she said, trying
to free herself from his embrace. Close to her face she saw his white
teeth gleaming between the full, smiling lips, as red and lustrous as
two ripe cherries; then, suddenly, she felt his hand behind her head,
and those two burning lips were pressed close to her own in a kiss that
was like the blast from a fiery furnace.
"Ah!" she panted. "We have forgotten eternity!"
A little later she was seated once more in her place by the fire,
laughing with all the abandonment of a happy child; while Brontu
regarded her with the same look in his eyes that he had when he had been
drinking.
The winter passed by. Costantino's friends never abandoned their efforts
to break off the accursed match, but in vain. The Dejases and Eras were
like people bewitched, and remained deaf alike to prayers, threats, and
innuendoes. The syndic, even the syndic, a pale and haughty personage
who resembled Napoleon I., was against this "devil's marriage," and when
Brontu and Giovanna came to him in great secrecy to have it published,
he treated them with the utmost contempt, spitting on the ground all the
time they were there.
When the question of the divorce had first been mooted, people talked
and wondered, but nothing more; then, when it was said that Brontu and
Giovanna were in love with each other, there was general disapproval,
yet at bottom the community was not ill-pleased to have such a fruitful
theme to gossip about; but when there was talk of a marriage!--then
every one said it was simply and purely an impossibility. The neighbours
laughed, and rather hoped that Brontu was amusing himself at the expense
of the Eras. After that, had the young people merely lived together in
"mortal sin" probably nothing more would have been said, and people
would have ceased to laugh and thought no more about it. It would not
have been the first time that such a thing had occurred, nor was it
likely to be the last; and Giovanna could cite her youth and poverty by
way of excuse. But--_marry_ a woman who already had a husband! _marry_
her! That was a thing not to be stood! What would you have? People are
made that way. And then the disgrace and scandal of it! Why, it was a
sin, a horrible sin, and it was feared that God might punish the entire
community for the fault of these two. There were even threats of making
a demonstration on the marriage day--whistling, stone-throwing, and
beating the bride and bridegroom. When rumours of these things reached
their ears Brontu became very angry. Aunt Bachissia said: "Leave them to
me!" and Aunt Martina threw up her head with the movement of a war-horse
when it scents the smell of the first volley.
Ah! she would rather like to fight and--win. She was beginning to feel
old, she was tired of work, and well pleased at the prospect of having a
strong servant in the house without wages. Moreover, she liked Giovanna,
and Brontu wanted her, and so people might burst with envy if they
chose.
On the evening of the day when the marriage was published, Uncle Isidoro
Pane was working hard in his miserable hut by the brilliant, ruddy
light of a large fire. This was the one luxury which Uncle Isidoro was
able to allow himself--a good fire--since he collected his wood from the
fields, the river-banks, and the forests. During the winter his chief
occupation was weaving cord out of horsehair; he knew, in fact, how to
do a little of almost everything,--spin, sew, cook (when there was
anything to cook), patch shoes,--and yet he had never been able to
escape from dire poverty.
Suddenly the door was thrown open; there was a momentary glimpse of the
March sky--not stormy, but overcast--and Giacobbe Dejas silently seated
himself beside the fire.
The fisherman's kitchen looked like one of those pictures of Flemish
interiors, where the figures are thrown out in a ruddy glow against a
dark background. By the uncertain light, a grey spider-web could be
dimly discerned, with the spider in the middle; in the corner near the
hearth, a glass jug filled to the brim with water in which black leeches
swam about; a yellow basket against the wall; and finally the figures of
the two men and the black hair cord, its loose ends held between the
bony, red fingers of the old fisherman.
"And how goes it now?" asked Giacobbe.
"How goes it now? How does it go now?" repeated the old man. "I don't
know."
"Well, it's been published," said Giacobbe more as though he were
talking to himself. "The thing is actually done! The drunkard never even
came near the pastures to-day, so I just took myself off as well. They
may steal his sheep if they want to; I don't care; here I am, and
something has got to be done, Isidoro Pane! Hi! Isidoro Pane! leave that
cord alone and listen to me. Some--thing--has--got--to--be--done----Do
you hear me?"
"Yes, I hear you; but what is there to do? We have done all we
can--implored, expostulated, threatened----The syndic has interfered,
the clerk. Priest Elias----"
"Oh, Priest Elias! What did he do? Talked to them with sugar in his
mouth! He should have threatened them; he should have said: 'I'll take
the Holy Books and I'll curse you! I'll excommunicate you; you shall
never be able to satisfy your hunger, nor to quench your thirst, nor to
have any peace; you shall live in a hell upon earth!' Ah, then you would
have seen some result! But no, he is a dunce--a warm-milk priest; and he
has not done his duty. Don't speak of him to me, it makes me angry."
Isidoro laid down the cord: "It's of no use to get angry," said he.
"Priest Elias has no business with threats, and he has not used them;
but never fear, excommunication will fall on that house all the same!"
"Well, I am going to leave them; yes, I am going away. I'll eat no more
of their accursed bread!" said Giacobbe with a look expressive of his
loathing and disgust. "But before going, I should like to have the
pleasure of administering a sound thrashing to those favourites of the
devil."
"You are crazy, little spring bird," said Isidoro with a melancholy
smile, imitating Giacobbe.
"Yes, I am, I'm crazy; but even so, what do you care? You haven't done
anything either to stop this sacrilege. Oh, it's disgraceful! I've lost
all my good spirits----"
"It has made me ten years older."
"All my good spirits, and I keep thinking all the time of what
Costantino will say to us for not being able to put a stop to it. Is it
true that he is ill?"
"Not now; he was ill, but now he is only desperate," said Uncle Isidoro,
shaking his head. Then he picked up the cord and began plaiting it
again, murmuring below his breath: "Excommunicate--excommunicate----"
"I get so furious that I foam at the mouth--the way a dog does," said
Giacobbe, raising his voice. "Just exactly like a dog. No, after all, I
don't think I'll quit that house; I'll stay there if I burst, and see
them when the blast of excommunication strikes them. Yes, if there is
one thing that is sure, it is that God punishes both in this life and
the other too, and I want to be on hand when it comes. What is that that
you are making, Uncle 'Sidoro?"
"A horsehair cord."
There was a short silence; Giacobbe sat staring at the cord, his eyes
dim with grief and anger.
"What are you going to do with it when it is done?"
"Sell it, over in Nuoro; I sell them here too sometimes; the peasants
use them to tie their cows. What makes you look at it like that? You are
not thinking of hanging yourself, are you?"
"No, little spring bird, you can do that for yourself, if it is God's
will. Yes," he continued, again raising his voice. "They have actually
published the notice."
Another silence; then Isidoro said: "Who knows? I can't help hoping yet
that that marriage may never come off. I have faith in God, and I
believe that San Costantino may still perform some miracle to stop it."
"Why, certainly; why not? A miracle by all means!" said Giacobbe
scornfully.
"Yes; why not?" replied Isidoro calmly. "The real murderer of Basilio
Ledda might die now, for instance, and confess. In that case the divorce
could not hold good."
"Of course, die just at this precise time!" said the other in the same
tone as before. "You are as innocent as a three-year-old child, Isidoro,
with your Christian faith!"
"Well, who knows? Or he might be found out."
"Why, to be sure, he might be found out! Just in the nick of time! Only
what has any one ever known about it? And who is to find him out?"
"Who? Why, you--I--any one."
"There you go again! Just like a three-year-old child! Or, rather, a
snail before it's out of the shell. And how, pray, are we to find him
out? Are we even certain that Costantino did not do it himself?"
"Yes, we are certain, entirely so," said Isidoro. "It might have been
any one of us, but never him. I might have done it, or you----"
Giacobbe got up. "Well, what can you suggest to do? If there is anything
to be done, tell me."
"Any one but him," repeated Uncle Isidoro, without raising his head.
"Yes, there is one thing to do,--commit ourselves into the hands of
God."
"Oh, you make me so angry!" cried the other, stamping about the forlorn
little room like an imprisoned bull. "I ask if there are any steps to be
taken, and you answer like a fool. I'll go and choke Bachissia Era; that
will really be something to do!" And he marched off as he had come,
without greeting or salutation of any kind, angry this time in earnest.
Uncle Isidoro, likewise, did not so much as raise his head, but,
noticing presently that his visitor had left the door open, he got up to
close it, and stood for some moments looking out.
It was a mild March night, moonlit but overcast. Already one got faint,
damp whiffs, suggestive of the first stirrings of vegetation. All about
the old man's hovel the hedges and wild shrubs seemed to lie sleeping in
the faint, mysterious light of the veiled moon.
Far away, just above the horizon, a streak of clear sky wound and
zigzagged its way among the vapourous clouds like a deep blue river, on
whose banks a fire burned.
Isidoro shut the door, and with a heavy sigh resumed his work.