Time passed on. The sky and weather changed with the changing seasons,
but among the inhabitants of the little village all remained much as
usual. In the course of the winter Giovanna gave birth to a weak, puling
girl-baby, which did nothing but cry. Doctor Porra, or Pededda, as he
still continued to be called, came all the way from Nuoro expressly to
stand for the poor little creature. He arrived in a carriage, bundled up
like a bale of clothing, his rosy face beaming as usual. Quite a number
of persons had assembled to see him, and he distributed smiles and
greetings indiscriminately to all who would have them, assuring a group
of Brontu's friends who had gone to meet him, that he remembered
perfectly seeing all of them at Nuoro. This gratified them immensely,
all but one, that is, who said he had never been to Nuoro. "It is of no
consequence," said the lawyer cheerfully, "I am sure to see you there
some day." This was a somewhat equivocal assurance, as it seldom
happened that any of them went to Nuoro except on law business; however,
the man was highly pleased.
Aunt Bachissia, watching the new arrival divest himself of his
greatcoat, shawl, and various other wraps, thought that he looked more
than ever like a _magia_.
"You seem to have grown stouter," she said, looking at the layers of
clothing.
"Oh! this is a mere nothing," he replied. At which they all laughed
delightedly.
The baptism was to be conducted with great pomp, and Aunt Martina,
probably for the first time in her life, slackened the strings of her
purse, and sent to Nuoro for wines and sweets of the best quality. She
could not sleep the night before, however, and passed a wretched day,
tormented by the fear that some of the delicacies might be spirited
away. On the morning of the ceremony Giovanna got up early and helped
her mother-in-law to prepare the macaroni for dinner; then she went back
to bed, where she remained in a sitting posture, propped up by pillows,
and with the bedclothes drawn up about her waist. Above that she wore
her blouse and bodice, and she had on her wedding coif and bridal
kerchief. She looked somewhat pale, but very handsome, her great eyes
seeming larger even than usual.
The table was set in the bedchamber, and covered with a linen cloth,
which Aunt Martina now took out from her chest for the first time since
it had been bought.
The ceremony was to take place at about eleven o'clock of a very cold
morning. From the pale sky a thick, white vapour fell, enveloping the
village and all the surrounding country in a misty veil. The narrow
streets were deserted, and here and there frozen puddles lay like pieces
of broken, dirty glass. An absolute silence reigned in the open space
before the Dejases' house, opposite which the almond tree stretched its
bare, black limbs against the misty background.
All at once the common was invaded by a troop of urchins, bundled up in
ragged garments and odds and ends of fur; with fringed, red caps on
their heads, and wearing old boots, some of them almost as large as the
little persons who wore them. Groups of people stood about, principally
shivering women, coughing and sneezing and smelling of soot and smoke.
Then the baptismal procession appeared. First came two children looking
solemn and important, and carrying candles from which red ribbons
fluttered; these were followed by the woman with the infant wrapped in
shawls, and covered with a piece of greenish brocade, like the standard
of San Costantino.
Then the godfather appeared, his round little face rosy and smiling as
ever, emerging from the folds of his big coat and black-and-white
shawl. With him walked the godmother, one of Aunt Martina's daughters, a
lank young woman with a long, narrow face, who reminded one of a shadow
seen at sunset. She had to lean down in order to reach her companion's
ear. With the godparents came Brontu, freshly shaven and gay, and behind
them followed a group of friends and relatives, marching along in step,
with a noise like the tramp of horses' hoofs. Last of all came the
godmother's servant-maid, a shivering creature blue with cold; she
carried a small basin under one arm, and kept both hands buried in the
pockets of her gown. From time to time she thrust out her tongue to
catch the drops that kept running down from her nose. The boys trotted
alongside, forming two wings to the procession, their eyes eagerly fixed
upon the godfather, who returned their gaze with an amused stare and
hailed them jocosely:
"Why, hello! you here? What are you looking for, little hedgehogs?"
"He's lame," said one.
"Hush, keep quiet, or he won't give us anything!"
The procession passed on; the faces of the urchins fell; some of them
were angry, and others seemed on the verge of tears.
"Crippl----" one began to call, but stopped suddenly. The godfather had
pitched a handful of copper coins into the air, and the whole troop
flung themselves after them, yelling, tumbling over one another,
pushing, fighting, struggling, rolling over and over, almost upsetting
the maid-servant, who instantly began to deal out blows and curses in
greater proportion even than the coins themselves. Fresh handfuls of
money and renewed scuffling by an ever-increasing crowd of ragamuffins
continued to the very doors of the church, where Priest Elias stood
awaiting the party and listening to something the red-robed sacristan
was urging upon him. The sacristan was, in fact, afraid that Priest
Elias, with his usual kindly indulgence, might be persuaded to return to
the house with the baptismal party, whereas it was the custom of the
neighbourhood for the priest to do that only in cases where the parents
had been united by religious ceremony: he was, therefore, exhorting the
other to practise severity with Brontu, with the godparents, with the
whole company in fact. "Your Honour," said he, "will surely not return
to the house with this infant? Why, it is almost illegitimate! On no
account should such respect be paid to it."
"Go and see if they are coming," said the priest.
"They are not in sight yet. No, your Honour will not go."
"And how about you? Shall you not go?" enquired the priest with a slight
smile.
"Oh! with me it is an altogether different matter; I go on account of
the sweetmeats, not to do honour to that rabble."
At this moment the company came in sight, and the ceremony presently
began. No sooner had the baby's bald little red head been uncovered than
it began to emit sounds like the bleating of a hoarse kid. The godfather
stood by smiling, with a lighted taper in his hand, doing his best to
remember the creed, Giovanna having implored him to recite it
conscientiously, so that the baptism might be valid.
Almost the entire crowd of urchins had followed the party inside the
church, and there was a pattering like rats running about, as the
sacristan would chase them all out, only presently to come stealing
back.
The woman who had carried the baby, and the maid-servant with the basin,
seated themselves on the steps of a side altar, where they anxiously
awaited the godfather's present. At last the service was over, the tips
had been given, the baby wrapped up again, and Brontu and his friends
stood waiting awkwardly for the priest, who had gone into the sacristy
to remove his robes. Would he come back or not? Was he going to the
house with the newly baptised infant or no? There was an uncomfortable
pause, and then, as he did not appear, the procession set out somewhat
mournfully on the return journey, followed by the triumphant sacristan,
to whom Brontu would dearly have liked to administer blows in place of
the expected sweets.
All along the route the people came out to see them go by, and many
faces, especially those of the women, lighted up with ill-natured smiles
as they perceived that the priest was not there. Poh! It was like the
baptism of a bastard!
Giovanna, albeit not really expecting the priest, grew a shade paler
when the company invaded her chamber without him. She kissed the little
purple creature sadly, feeling as though the outlook for the poor child
was very dark indeed.
"I remembered every word of the creed from beginning to end," announced
the godfather. "Happy mother, your child will be a wonder, as tall as
its godmother and as gay as its godfather!"
"If only it may be as prosperous as its godfather," murmured Giovanna.
"And now," cried the young man, joyously clapping his hands, "come to
dinner. What a pleasant custom it is! Upon my honour, it is a charming
custom!" And he clapped his hands again, as though calling a crowd of
children.
They all took their places at table, where the macaroni, which had
already been served, was to be followed by a beautiful roast pig
exhaling an odour of rosemary.
* * * * *
It was only a few days after the baptism that a strange though not
unprecedented event occurred in Orlei.
Near Isidoro Pane's hut was an ancient dungheap, abandoned for so long
that it had become almost petrified. It was covered with a growth of
sickly-looking vegetation, and emitted no odour, looking like some sort
of artificial mound.
One evening at about dusk, while the fisherman was preparing his supper,
he heard sounds in the direction of this mound, and went to the door to
see what they were. The weather was cold, and in the clear, greenish
twilight he saw a group of black figures, chiefly women, advancing,
singing to the accompaniment of some instrument.
Isidoro understood what it was and went to meet them. The women, about
twenty in all, old and young, were chanting in a melancholy monotone,
with sudden breaks and changes, a weird song or exorcism against the
bite of a tarantula; while a blind beggar, a pallid young man, miserably
clad in soiled and ragged woman's clothing, accompanied them on a
primitive instrument called a _serraia_--a sort of cithern, made out of
a dried sow's bladder.
There were only three other men in the party, and in one of these, with
a flushed, feverish face, and one hand bound up, the fisherman
recognised Giacobbe Dejas.
Isidoro advanced, and joining the party laid one finger on the bandaged
hand, Giacobbe, meanwhile, gazing at him wildly, his eyes transfixed
with terror.
"Are you afraid you are going to die from a tarantula bite? No, no,"
said Isidoro, smiling.
The women continued their chant. There were seven widows, seven wives,
and seven maids. One of the widows was Giacobbe's sister. She walked at
his side, fresh and pink as ever, notwithstanding her wild state of
alarm and anxiety; and her shrill little voice, like the note of a
lively cricket, trilled and trembled high above all the others.
"He is suffering," said one of the men to Isidoro in a low tone.
"Ah?" said the fisherman gravely.
The words chanted by the women ran as follows:
"Saint Peter he walked down to the sea
And into the water his keys dropped he.
Then the Lord unto him did say:
'My Peter, what is it ails thee to-day?'
'Of deadly bites I bear the smart
In my two feet, and my back, and my heart.'
'Peter, take of the sad thorn-tree[7]
Pounded as fine as fine may be;
Take it three days for thy wound.
So shall Peter be made sound.'
Tarantula, with the painted belly,
You have a daughter straitly born,
Straitly is your daughter born.
One for the mountain I leave forlorn;
One for the mountain, and one for the valley.
You have killed me, and I will kill you."
Meanwhile the group had stopped in front of the mound. The two men, who
were provided with spades, began to dig, and Isidoro stood waiting with
Giacobbe, the chanting women, and the blind man still playing on his
strange instrument. Giacobbe silently watched the operations of his two
friends, and Isidoro watched him, puzzled by the transformation he had
undergone; he seemed, indeed, like an altogether different person; his
face was inflamed, and drawn with fright, and the little eyes, which
usually twinkled so shrewdly from beneath their bald brows, were dim
with a childish terror of death. When they had come to the end of the
chant, the women began again at the first line, the instrument
continuing the accompaniment on the same monotonous key as before. It
sounded like the humming of a swarm of bees in flight. Puffs of icy wind
blew from the west, cutting the faces of the group gathered about the
mound, like knives. The purple-blue of the sky was fading into a
greenish tint, like the face of a lake when the sun has left it; and
over the entire scene there hung a pall of indescribable melancholy--the
dull, cold twilight, the darkening uplands, the black village, the
shadowy group of people, performing a superstitious rite with all the
faith of heathen idolaters.[8] The two men dug with friendly zeal,
throwing up spadefuls of black earth mixed with rags, egg-shells, and
refuse of all kinds. As it covered their feet and legs, they would mount
higher, bending to their task, panting and sweating, while the women
continued their chant, and the blind man his monotonous accompaniment.
A hole of sufficient depth having at last been dug, Aunt Anna-Rosa,
never ceasing for an instant to emit the same shrill, mournful sounds,
helped Giacobbe to remove his coat, and then, taking him by the hand,
they led him to the edge of the excavation. He jumped in at a bound, and
the two men, pushing him down with their hands, hastily piled on the
earth, until he was buried up to the neck.
The performance that then took place was even more extraordinary. The
head, looking as though it had been severed from the body and stuck in
the centre of this heap of refuse, was surrounded by sparse vegetation,
which trembled in the breeze as though affrighted; while overhead hung
the melancholy sky. Hardly had the two men completed their task, and
stood,--the one wiping the perspiration from his forehead with his
sleeve, and the other knocking off the dirt that was sticking to his
hands,--when the women closed in a circle around the head, and began to
dance to the sound of their own chanting voices and the instrument
still played by the blind man, who stood with his sightless balls and
pale, impassive face turned towards the distant horizon. This continued
for some time; then the dancing ceased, the circle broke, but the
chanting still went on. Isidoro and the other men threw themselves on
the mound, and with spades and hands, had soon disinterred Giacobbe. He
was perspiring profusely when he emerged, covered with dirt, and his
face and neck were purple. He said he had felt as though he would
suffocate; then he shook himself and thrust first one arm and then the
other into the sleeves of the coat which his sister held ready.
"Well, so you are not going to die after all, little spring bird?" said
Isidoro jokingly. The other, however, made no reply; the cold wind
struck his perspiring body with an icy chill, his face grew pallid, and
his teeth chattered.
They walked off in the direction of Aunt Anna-Rosa's house, Isidoro, who
by this time had lost all interest in his supper, accompanying them.
"Did you kill it?" he enquired of the sick man, remembering to have
heard that if one kills a tarantula with his ring finger he acquires the
power to cure the bite with a simple touch of the same finger.
"No," said Giacobbe; and then, while the weird chanting still
continued, he gave an account of his misfortune.
"I was asleep; suddenly I felt something like the sting of a wasp. I
woke up all in a perspiration. Ah, it had stung me! It had stung me! The
horrible tarantula! I saw it as plain as I see you, but it was some
distance off, on the wall. Ah, the devil take you, accursed creature! So
I came right home. Do you know, I am afraid to die; I've been afraid for
ever so long."
"But we all have to die some time, whenever the hour comes," said
Isidoro seriously.
"Yes, that is true; we all have to some time," agreed one of the men;
"but that is poor consolation for Giacobbe Dejas."
"My legs feel as though they had been broken," he groaned. "And oh, my
spine! it is just as though some one had struck it with an axe! I am
going to die; I know I am going to die----"
As they passed along, the people came out of their houses to watch them
go by, but it was like a funeral procession; no one spoke, nor did any
one follow them. Giacobbe's eyes grew dim, and presently he stumbled and
clutched hold of Isidoro for support.
The women were moving along on a trot, like a herd of colts; their
voices rose, fell, rose again, and seemed to die away into the chill
night air, overpowered at last by the even, strident notes of the
cithern, like the gasps of some wounded animal left to die alone in the
forest.
At last they reached the little widow's house. A fire was burning in the
slate-stone fireplace in the centre of the kitchen, laid on a little
heap of live coals which had just been taken out of the oven. This last,
a huge, round affair having a hole in the top to allow the smoke to
escape, occupied one corner, its square door being quite large enough to
allow of the passage of a man's body. Into its still hot interior
Giacobbe accordingly now crept, the soles of his heavy shoes appearing
in the opening, their worn nails shining in the firelight.
Placing themselves around the oven and the fireplace, the women
continued their exorcism with renewed vigour, the red and purple lights
from the fire falling upon their white blouses and yellow bodices. Aunt
Anna-Rosa's round, open mouth looked like a black hole in the middle of
her pink, shining face. The blind man, conscious of the fire, felt his
way towards it little by little, though without ceasing to play.
Reaching the edge of the fireplace, he put one of his bare feet upon the
hot stone. "Zs-s----" whispered Uncle Isidoro warningly. "Look out, boy,
or you'll have a surprise."
The words were not out of his mouth when the youth gave a sudden bound
backwards, shaking his burned foot in the air. For a moment he stopped
playing, but the women never faltered. Standing there, erect and
immovable around the huge oven, they might have been intoning a funeral
dirge over some prehistoric sepulchre.
"He is coming out!" cried Aunt Anna-Rosa suddenly, and Giacobbe's great
feet could be seen issuing from the oven. At the same instant the
house-door was thrown violently open, and the black-robed figure of
Priest Elias appeared. On hearing what had occurred he had at once
hastened to the house, hoping to arrive in time at least to prevent the
ordeal of the oven. He was flushed and breathless, and his eyes flashed.
On catching sight of him one of the women gave a scream and others
stopped chanting, while the rest motioned to them to continue. Giacobbe,
meanwhile, had got out of the oven.
"Be quiet!" commanded the priest, panting. "Aren't you ashamed of
yourselves? No?"
They all became silent.
"Go," he said, opening the door and holding it with one hand, while with
the other he almost pushed the women out. When the last had gone he
became aware for the first time of the presence of Isidoro, and
his face fell. "You too?" he said reproachfully. "Extraordinary, most
extraordinary! Don't you see what you have done among you to that poor
man?" Then changing his tone, "Quick," he said, "go at once for the
doctor as fast as you can. And as for you," turning to Giacobbe, "get to
bed at once."
The sick man asked for nothing better; he was burning with fever, his
head was shaking, and he could hardly see. Isidoro went off in search
of the doctor, somewhat mortified and yet, in spite of his usually hard
common sense, his intelligence, and his deeply religious nature, quite
unable to see what harm there could be in trying to cure a tarantula
sting with the rites, chants, and incantations employed by one's
forebears from the days when giants inhabited the _Nuraghes_.
The women had scattered into groups along the street and were discussing
the occurrence, some of them a little ashamed, while others were
inclined to blame the priest. One irrepressible young girl was beating
her hands in time and singing the lament which should have been chanted
in chorus around Giacobbe's bed had not the priest's arrival prevented:
"'Oh, mother of the spider!
A stroke has fallen on me.'"
Some of the women would have stopped Isidoro, but he strode quickly on,
buried in thought. At last they all dispersed, and the cold, still
evening settled down on the little widow's house, while overhead the
stars looked like golden eyes veiled in tears.
FOOTNOTES:
[7] _Ispana trista_ or _santa_, from which, according to tradition, the
crown of thorns was made. The people use the leaves of this tree for
medicinal purposes.
[8] The custom of burying a person bitten by a tarantula in a dunghill,
and putting him in an oven, is not so unreasonable as it at first
appears, the effect of the poison being neutralised if the sufferer can
be made to perspire freely; while the sickening odours of the dunghill
induce nausea, also supposed to be very beneficial. Now, however, the
people completely ignoring these practical results, the ceremony has
come to be an act of pure superstition. The account given above
describes such scenes as they have actually been known to occur.