TALES of my NATIVE TOWN 
 
 By 
 
 Gabriele D'Annunzio 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 PROF. RAFAEL MANTELLINI, Ph.D. 
 
 INSTRUCTOR OF ROMANCE LANGUAGES AT THE BERKELEY- 
 IRVING SCHOOL, NEW YORK CITY 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH HERGESHEIMER 
 
 GARDEN CITY NEW YORK LONDON 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE ^ COMPANY 
 1920 
 

 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF 
 
 TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, 
 
 INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 
 
 H3(^^'^^ 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I The Hero 3 
 
 II The Countess of Amalfi .... 10 
 
 III The Return of Turlendana ... 56 
 
 IV Turlendana Drunk 72 
 
 V The Gold Pieces ....... 83 
 
 VI Sorcery 92 
 
 VII The Idolaters ........ 119 
 
 VIII Mungia 140 
 
 IX The Downfall of Candia . . . . 153 
 
 X The Death of the Duke of Ofena . 172 
 
 XI The War of the Bridge 192 
 
 XII The Virgin Anna 215 
 
 43605] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 By Joseph Hergesheimer 
 
 I 
 
 THE attitude of mind necessary to a com- 
 plete enjoyment of the tales in this book 
 must first spring from the reahsation that, as 
 stories, they are as different from our own short 
 imaginative fiction as the town of Pescara, on 
 the Adriatic Sea, is different from Marblehead in 
 Massachusetts. It is true that fundamentally the 
 motives of creative writing, at least in the West- 
 ern Hemisphere, are practically everywhere alike ; 
 they are what might be called the primary 
 emotions, hatred and envy, love and cruelty, lust, 
 purity and courage. There are others, but these 
 are sufficient: and an analysis of The Downfall of 
 Candia together with any considerable story na- 
 tive to the United States would disclose a similar 
 genesis. 
 
 But men are not so much united by the deeper 
 bonds of a common humanity as they are sepa- 
 rated by the superficial aspects and prejudices of 
 society. The New England town and Pescara, at 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 heart very much the same, are far apart in the 
 overwhelming trivialities of civilisation, and 
 Signor D'Annunzio's tales, read in a local state of 
 being, might as well have remained untranslated. 
 But this difference, of course, lies in the writer, 
 not in his material; and Gabriele D'Annunzio Is 
 the special and peculiar product of modern Italy. 
 
 No other country, no other history, would have 
 given birth to a genius made up of such contend- 
 ing and utterly opposed qualities: it is exactly as 
 if all the small principalities that were Italy before 
 the Risorgemento, all the amazing contradictions 
 of stark heroics and depraved nepotism, the 
 fanaticism and black blood and superstition, with 
 the Introspective and febrile weariness of a very 
 old land, were bound into D'Annunzio's being. 
 
 Not only Is this true of the country and of the 
 man, the difference noted, it particularly Includes 
 the writing itself. And exactly here is the diffi- 
 culty which, above all others, must be overcome If 
 pleasure Is to result from "Tales of My Native 
 Town." These are not stories at all. In the sense 
 of an Individual coherent action with the stirring 
 properties of a plot. The Interest is not cunningly 
 seized upon and stimulated and baffled up to a 
 satisfactory finale. The formula that constitutes 
 the base of practically every applauded story here 
 a determination opposed to hopeless odds but 
 invariably triumphant Is not ^only missing from 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 Tales of My Native Town, in the majority of 
 cases It Is controverted. For the greater part man> 
 Is the victim of Inimical powers, both within him \ 
 and about; and fate, or rather circumstance, is 
 too heavy for the defiance of any individual. 
 
 What, actually, has happened is that D'An- 
 nunzlo has not disentangled these coherent frag- 
 ments from the mass of life. He has not lifted 
 his tales into the crystallised isolation of a short 
 story: they merge from the beginning and beyond 
 the end Into the general confusion of existence, 
 they are moments, significantly tragic or humor- 
 ous, selected from the whole incomprehensible 
 sweep of a vastly larger work, and presented as/ 
 naturally as possible. However, they are nor 
 without form, In reality these tales are woven with 
 an infinite delicacy, an art, like all art, essentially 
 artificial. But a definite interest in them, the sense 
 of their beauty, must rise from an intrinsic in-_, 
 terest in the greater affair of being. It is useless 
 for anyone not Impressed with the beauty of sheer 
 living as a spectacle to read "Tales of My Native 
 Town." 
 
 II 
 
 The clear understanding of a divergence should 
 result in a common ground of departure, of sym- 
 pathy, and to make this plainer still It ought to 
 be added that in the question of taste, of the 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 latitude of allowable material and treatment, the 
 Italians are far more comprehensive than our- 
 
 js^lveSi^ This, certainly, Is particularly true In their 
 attitude toward the relation of the sexes; and here 
 is, perhaps, the greatest difference between what 
 might be loosely called a Latin literature and an 
 Anglo-Saxon. We are almost exclusively in- 
 terested In the results, the reactions, of sexual 
 contacts; but the former have their gaze fixed 
 keenly on the process itself. At the most we 
 indicate that consummations of passion have oc- 
 curred, and then turn, with a feeling of relief, to 
 what we are convinced is the greater importance 
 of Its consequences. 
 
 But not only is Gabriele D'Annunzio perfectly 
 within his privilege in lingering over any important 
 act of nature, he is equally at liberty to develop all 
 the smaller expressions of lust practically barred 
 
 yjrom English or American pens. These, unde- 
 niably, have as large an influence in one country, 
 one man, as In another; they are as small things 
 are apt to be more powerful in the end than 
 the greatest attributes. Yet while we have agreed 
 to ignore them, to discard them as Ignoble and 
 obscene, in "Tales of My Native Town" erotic 
 gestures and thoughts, libidinous whispers, play 
 their inevitable devastating part. 
 
 Yet this is not a book devoted to such impulses; 
 one tale only, although in many ways that is the 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 best, has as its motive lust. It is rather in the 
 amazingly direct treatment of disease, of physical 
 abnormality, that it will be disturbing to the unpre- 
 pared reader from an entirely different and less 
 admirable, or, at any rate, less honest, conven- 
 tion. Undoubtedly D'Annunzio's unsparing rev'^^ 
 elation of human deformity and ills will seem 
 morbid to the unaccustomed mind; but, conversely, 
 it can be urged that the dread of these details is 
 in itself morbid. Then, too, we have an exagger- " 
 ated horror of the unpleasant, a natural, but 
 saccharine, preference for happiness. As a na- 
 tion we are not conspicuously happier than Italy, 
 but we clamour with a deafening insistence for the 
 semblance of a material good fortune. Meeting 
 pain no better and no worse than other nations, 
 from our written stories we banish it absolutely; 
 but anyone who cares to realise the beauty that, 
 beyond question, pervades the following pages 
 will be obliged to harden himself to meet pre- 
 cisely the deplorable accidents that he must face 
 wherever life has been contaminated by centuries 
 of brutal ignorance, oppression and want. 
 
 Again, it is not in the larger aspects, the nobler 
 phases, of suffering with which we are concerned, ^ 
 but in the cold revelation of rasping details, brutal 
 sores and deformity, the dusty spiders of paralysis. 
 If this were all it would be hideous beyond sup- 
 port; but, fortunately, the coldness Is only in the 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 method, there is a saving spirit of pity, the valid 
 humanity born of understanding. Such horror as 
 exists here is the result of D'Annunzio's sensitive 
 recognition of the weight of poverty and super- 
 stition crushing men into unspeakable fatalities of 
 the flesh. A caustic humour, as well, illuminates 
 the darker pits of existence, ironic rather than 
 satirical, bitter rather than fatalistic; and then ad- 
 mirably exposing the rough play of countrymen 
 like the rough wine of their Province. In addition 
 there Is always, for reassurance, the inclusion of 
 the simple bravery that in itself leavens both life 
 and books with hope. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Yet, with the attention directed so exclusively 
 upon national differences, equally It must be said 
 that no Individual has ever written Into literattire 
 a more minute examination of actuality than that 
 in "Tales of My Native Town." Indeed, to find 
 its counterpart it would be necessary to turn to the 
 relentlessly veracious paintings of the early Dutch- 
 men, or the anatomical canvasses of El Greco. 
 D'Annunzio's descriptions of countenances are 
 dermatological, the smallest pores are carefully 
 traced, the shape and hue and colour of every feat- 
 ure. This is set down not only directly but by 
 means of remarkable simllies : BInchl-Blanche has 
 a surly, yellow-lined face like a lemon without any 
 
INTRODUCTION xili 
 
 juice; Afrlcana's husband's mouth resembles the 
 cut in a rotten pumpkin; Ciarole's face was that of 
 a gilded wooden effigy from which the gilding had 
 partly worn off; while Biagio Quaglia reflected 
 the brilliancy and freshness of an almond tree in 
 springtime. 
 
 The direct descriptions are often appalling, 
 since, as has already been indicated, nothing is con- 1 
 sidered unimportant; there are literally no reser-( 
 vations, or rather, no prejudices. The physical 
 disintegration that accompanies death is, as well, 
 recorded to the last black clot and bubble of red 
 froth. D'Annunzio Is not afraid of death in the \. 
 context of his pages, he is never reluctant to meet < 
 the great facts, the terrible penalties, of existence ; i 
 rather it is upon them that his writing Is founded; ^ 
 it has. In the main. In these tales, two sides, one - 
 of violence, of murder and venom, and the oihjer 
 an Idyllic presentation of a setting, an environ- 
 ment, saturated with classic and natural beauty. ' 
 
 The mind, now horrified by the dislocated 
 beggars gathered about the blind Mungia, Is sud- 
 denly swept into the release of evening fragrantly 
 cool like myrtles; or Turlendana returns from 
 his long voyages and, with his amazing animals, 
 makes his way home Into Pescara : "The river of 
 his native place carried to him the peaceful air of 
 the sea. . . . The silence was profound. The 
 cobwebs shone tranquilly in the sun like mirrors 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 framed by the crystal of the sea." He passes with 
 the Cyclopean camel, the monkey and the she-ass 
 across the boat bridge and: "Far behind the 
 mountain of Gran Sasso the setting sun irradiated 
 the spring sky . . . and from the damp earth, the 
 water of the river, the seas, and the ponds, the 
 moisture had arisen. A rosy glow tinted the 
 houses, the sails, the masts, the plants, and the 
 whole landscape, and the figures of the people, 
 acquiring a sort of transparency, grew obscure, 
 the lines of their contour wavering In the fading 
 light." ^ 
 
 Nothing could surpass in peacefulness this 
 vision, a scene like a mirage of fabulous days 
 wrapped in tender colour. Throughout the tale of 
 The Virgin Anna, too, there are, In spite of the 
 vitriolic realism of its spirit, the crystal ecstasies 
 of white flocks of girls before the Eucharist of 
 their first communion. While it was Anna's 
 father who came ashore from his voyages to the 
 island of Rota with his shirt all scented with 
 southern fruit. The Virgin Anna has many points 
 of resemblance to that other entranced peasant 
 in Une Vie Simple ; but Anna had a turtle In place 
 of a parrot, and D'Annunzio is severer with his 
 subject than was Flaubert. 
 
 But such Idylls are quickly swept away in the 
 fiery death of the Duke of Orfena, with the 
 pistols ringing in high stately chambers, and 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 Mazzagrogna, the major-domo, a dripping corpse, 
 hanging in the railing of a balcony. There is no 
 shrinking, no evasion, here ; and none is permitted 
 the reader: the flames that consume the Duke 
 are not romantic figments, their fierce energy 
 scorches the imagination. 
 
 IV 
 
 These qualities belong to a high order of 
 creative writing, they can never be the property of 
 mere talent, they have no part in concessions to 
 popular and superficial demands. This does not 
 necessarily imply a criticism of the latter: it is not 
 a crime to prefer happiness to misery, and cer- 
 tainly the tangible facts of happiness are success 
 and the omnipotence of love. Tales and stories 
 exist as a source of pleasure, but men take their 
 pleasures with a difference; and for any who are 
 moved by the heroic spectacle of humanity pinned 
 by fatality to earth but forever struggling for 
 release ''Tales of My Native Town'' must have a 
 deep significance. 
 
 No one has abhorred brutality and deception 
 more passionately than Gabriele D'AnnunzIo, and 
 no one has held himself more firmly to the exact 
 drawing of their insuperable evils. But this is not 
 all; it is not, perhaps, even the most important 
 aspect : that may well be his fascinating art. Here, 
 above all, the contending elements of his being. 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 the brilliant genius of the Renaissance, pre- 
 dominate; an age bright with blood and gold 
 and silk, an age of poetry as delicately cultivated 
 as its assassinations. It was a period logical and 
 cruel, lovely and corrupt; and, to an extraordinary 
 degree, it has its reflection in D'Annunzio's writ- 
 ing. 
 
 Yet, in him, it is troubled by modern appre- 
 hensions, a social conscience unavoidable now to 
 any fineness of perception. His tales are no 
 longer simply the blazing arbitrary pictures of the 
 Quatrocento; they possess our own vastly more 
 burdened spirit. In this, as well, they are as 
 American as they are Italian; the crimes and 
 beggars and misery of Pescara, the problems and 
 hopes of one, belong to the other; the bonds of 
 need and sympathy are complete. 
 
 The tales themselves are filled with energy and 
 movement, the emotions are in high keys. At 
 times a contest of will, of temptation playing with 
 fear, as in The Gold Pieces, they rise to pitched 
 battles between whole towns; the factions, more 
 often than not led by Holy reliques and statues, a 
 sacred arm in silver or the sparkling bust of a 
 Saint with a solar disc, massed with scythes and 
 bars and knives, meet in sanguinary struggle. Or 
 again the passions smoulder into indi^^idual bitter- 
 ness and scandal and mean hatred. The Duchess 
 of Amalfi is such a chronicle, the record of Don 
 
INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 Giova's devastating passion for Violetta Kutufa, 
 who came to Pescara with a company of singers 
 at Carnival. 
 
 Nothing is omitted that could add to the ve- 
 racity, the inevitable collapse, of this almost senile 
 Don Juan; while the psychology of the ending is 
 an accomplishment of arresting power and fit- 
 ness. There is in The Duchess of Amalfi a vivid 
 presentation of Pescara itself, the houses and 
 -Violetta's room scented with cyprus-powder, the 
 square with the cobblers working and eating figs, 
 a caged blackbird whistling the Hymn of Gari- 
 baldi, the Casino, immersed in shadow, its tables 
 sprinkled with water. 
 
 Around Pescara is the level sea, the river and 
 mountains and the broad campagnia, the vines, the 
 wine vats and oil presses, the dwellings of mud 
 and reeds; the plain is flooded with magnificent 
 noon, and, at night, Turlendana, drunk, is mocked 
 by the barking of vagrant dogs; the men linger 
 under Violetta's lighted windows, and the strains 
 of her song run through all the salons, all the 
 heads, of the town. ... It is as far away as 
 possible, and yet, in its truth, implied in every 
 heart. 
 
TALES 
 
 of my 
 
 NATIVE TOWN 
 
TALES OF MY NATIVE 
 TOWN 
 
 THE HERO 
 
 ALREADY the huge standards of Saint 
 Gonselvo had appeared on the square and 
 were swaying heavily in the breeze. Those who 
 bore them in their hands were men of herculean 
 stature, red in the face and with their necks swollen 
 from effort; and they were playing with them. 
 
 After the victory over the Radusani the people 
 of Mascalico celebrated the feast of September 
 with greater magnificence than ever. A marvellous 
 passion for religion held all souls. The entire 
 country sacrificed the recent richness of the corn 
 to the glory of the Patron Saint. Upon the streets 
 from one window to another the women had 
 stretched their nuptial coverlets. The men had 
 
 3 
 
4 , TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 wreathed with vines the doorways and heaped up 
 the thresholds with flowers. As the wind blew 
 along the streets there was everywhere an im- 
 mense and dazzling undulation which intoxicated 
 the crowd. 
 
 From the church the procession proceeded to 
 wind in and out and to lengthen out as far as the 
 square. Before the altar, where Saint Pantaleone 
 had fallen, eight men, privileged souls, were await- 
 ing the moment for the lifting of the statue of 
 Saint Gonselvo ; their names were : Giovanni Curo, 
 rUmmalido, Mattala, Vencenzio Guanno, Rocco 
 di Cenzo, Benedetto Galante, Biagio di Clisci, 
 Giovanni Senzapaura. They stood in silence, con- 
 scious of the dignity of their work, but with their 
 brains slightly confused. They seemed very 
 strong; had the burning eye of the fanatic, and 
 wore in their ears, like women, two circles of gold. 
 From time to time they tested their biceps and 
 wrists as if to calculate their vigour; or smiled 
 fugitively at one another. 
 
 The statue of the Patron Saint was enormous, 
 very heavy, made of hollow bronze, blackish, with 
 the head and hands of silver. 
 
 Mattala cried: 
 
 "Ready!" 
 
 The people, everywhere, struggled to see. The 
 
THE HERO 5 
 
 windows of the church roared at every gust of the 
 wind. The nave was fumigated with incense and 
 resin. The sounds of instruments were heard now 
 and then. A kind of religious fever seized the 
 eight men, in the centre of that turbulence. They 
 extended their arms to be ready. 
 
 Mattala cried: 
 
 "One! Two! Three!" 
 
 Simultaneously the men made the effort to raise 
 the statue to the altar. But its weight was over- 
 powering, and the figure swayed to the left. The 
 men had not yet succeeded in getting a firm grip 
 around the base. They bent their backs in their 
 endeavour to resist. Biagio di Clisci and Giovanni 
 Curo, the least strong, lost their hold. The statue 
 swerved violently to one side. L'Ummalido gave 
 a cry. 
 
 *'Take care! Take care!" vociferated the 
 spectators on seeing the Patron Saint so imperilled. 
 From the square came a resounding crash that 
 drowned all voices. 
 
 L'Ummalido had fallen on his knees with his 
 right arm beneath the bronze. Thus kneeling, he 
 held his two large eyes, full of terror and pain, 
 fixed on his hand which he could not free, while his 
 mouth twisted but no longer spoke. Drops of 
 blood sprinkled the altar. 
 
6 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 His companions, all together, made a second 
 effort to raise the weight. The operation was diffi- 
 cult. L'Ummalido, in a spasm of pain, twisted 
 his mouth. The women spectators shuddered. 
 
 At length the statue was lifted and L'Ummalido 
 withdrew his hand, crushed and bleeding and 
 formless. **Go home, now! Go home!" the peo- 
 ple cried, while pushing him toward the door of 
 the church. 
 
 A woman removed her apron and offered it to 
 him for a bandage. L'Ummalido refused it. He 
 did not speak, but watched a group of men who 
 were gesticulating and disputing around the 
 statue. 
 
 ''It is my turn!" 
 
 *'No ! no ! It's my turn !" 
 
 ''No! let me!" 
 
 Cicco Ponno, Mattia Scafarolo and Tommaso 
 di Clisci were contending for the place left vacant 
 by L'Ummalido. 
 
 He approached the disputants. Holding his 
 bruised hand at his side, and with the other open- 
 ing a path, he said simply: 
 
 "The position is mine." 
 
 And he placed his left shoulder as a prop for 
 the Patron Saint. He stifled down his pain, grit- 
 ting his teeth, with fierce will-power. 
 
THE HERO 7 
 
 Mattala asked him : 
 
 "What are you trying to do?'* 
 
 He answered: 
 
 "What Saint Gonselvo wishes me to do." 
 
 And he began to walk with the others. Dumb- 
 founded the people watched him pass. From time 
 to time, someone, on seeing the wound which was 
 bleeding and growing black, asked him : 
 
 "L'Umma', what Is the matter?" 
 
 He did not answer. He moved forward grave- 
 ly, measuring his steps by the rhythm of the music, 
 with his mind a little hazy, beneath the vast cover- 
 lets that flapped in the wind and amongst the 
 swelling crowd. 
 
 At a street corner he suddenly fell. The Saint 
 stopped an instant and swayed, in the centre of a 
 momentary confusion, then continued its progress. 
 Mattia Scafarola supplied the vacant place. Two 
 relations gathered up the swooning man and car- 
 ried him to a nearby house. 
 
 Anna di Cenzo, who was an old woman, expert 
 at healing wounds, looked at the formless and 
 bloody member, and then shaking her head, said: 
 
 "What can I do with it?" 
 
 Her little skill was able to do nothing. 
 L'Ummalldo controlled his feelings and said noth- 
 ing. He sat down and tranquilly contemplated his 
 
8 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 wound. The hand hung limp, forever useless, with 
 the bones ground to powder. 
 
 Two or three aged farmers came to look at It. 
 Each, with a gesture or a word, expressed the 
 same thought. 
 
 L'Ummalido asked : 
 
 "Who carried the Saint In my place?" 
 
 They answered: 
 
 "Mattia Scafarola." 
 
 Again he asked: 
 
 "What are they doing now?" 
 
 They answered: 
 
 "They are singing the vespers." 
 
 The farmers bid him good-bye and left for 
 vespers. A great chiming came from the mother 
 church. 
 
 One of the relations placed near the wound a 
 bucket of cold water, saying: 
 
 "Every little while put your hand in it. We 
 must go. Let us go and listen to the vespers." 
 
 L'Ummalido remained alone. The chimmg in- 
 creased, while changing its metre. The light of 
 day began to wane. An olive tree, blown by the 
 wind, beat its branches against the low window. 
 
 L'Ummalido began to bathe his hand little by 
 little. As the blood and concretions fell away, the 
 
THE HERO 9 
 
 injury appeared even greater. L'Ummalido mused : 
 
 "It Is entirely useless I It Is lost. Saint Gon- 
 selvo,! offer It up to you." 
 
 He took a knife and went out. The streets 
 were deserted. All of the devotees were in the 
 church. Above the houses sped, like fugitive herds 
 of cattle, the violet clouds of a September sunset. 
 
 In the church the united multitude sang in 
 measured Intervals as if in chorus to the music of 
 the instruments. An intense heat emanated from 
 the human bodies and the burning tapers. The 
 silver head of Saint Gonselvo scintillated from on 
 high like a light house. L'Ummalido entered. To 
 the stupefaction of all, he walked up to the altar 
 and said, in a clear voice, while holding the knife 
 In his left hand: 
 
 *'SaInt Gonselvo, I offer It up to you." 
 
 And he began to cut around the right wrist, 
 gently, In full sight of the horrified people. The 
 shapeless hand became detached little by little 
 amidst the blood. It swung an Instant suspended 
 by the last filaments. Then It fell into a basin of 
 copper which held the money offerings at the feet 
 of the Patron Saint. 
 
 L'Ummalido then raised the bloody stump and 
 repeated in a clear voice: 
 
 "Saint Gonselvo, I offer it up to you.*' 
 
II 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 
 
 I 
 
 WHEN, one day, toward two o'clock in the 
 afternoon, Don Giovanni Ussorio was 
 about to set his foot on the threshold of Violetta 
 Kutufas' house, Rosa Catana appeared at the 
 head of the stairs and announced in a lowered 
 voice, while she bent her head: 
 
 "Don Giova, the Signora has gone." 
 Don Giovanni, at this unexpected news, stood 
 dumbfounded, and remained thus for a moment 
 with his eyes bulging and his mouth wide open 
 while gazing upward as if awaiting further ex- 
 planations. Since Rosa stood silently at the top 
 of the stairs, twisting an edge of her apron with 
 her hands and dilly-dallying somewhat, he asked 
 at length: 
 
 "But tell me why? But tell me why ?" And he 
 mounted several steps while he kept repeating with 
 a slight stutter: 
 
 10 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFl ii 
 
 *'Butwhy? But why?" 
 
 "Don Giova, what have I to tell you? Only 
 that she has gone." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 "Don Giova, I do not know, so there I" 
 
 And Rosa took several steps on the landing- 
 place toward the door of the empty apartment. 
 She was rather a thin woman, with reddish hair, 
 and face liberally scattered with freckles. Her 
 large, ash-coloured eyes had nevertheless a singu- 
 lar vitality. The excessive distance between her 
 nose and mouth gave to the lower part of her 
 face the appearance of a monkey. 
 
 Don Giovanni pushed open the partly closed 
 door and passed through the first room, and then 
 the third; he walked around the entire apartment 
 with excited steps; he stopped at the little room, 
 set aside for the bath. The silence almost terrified 
 him; a heavy anxiety weighted down his heart. 
 
 "It can't be true I It can't be true I" he mur- 
 mured, staring around confusedly. 
 
 The furniture of the room was in its accustomed 
 place, but there was missing from the table under 
 the round mirror, the crystal phials, the tortoise- 
 shell combs, the boxes, the brushes, all of those 
 small objects that assist at the preparation of 
 feminine beauty. In a corner stood a species of 
 
12 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 large, zinc kettle shaped like a guitar; and within 
 it sparkled' water tinted a delicate pink from some 
 essence. The water exhaled subtle perfume that 
 blended in the air with the perfume of cyprus- 
 powder. The exhalation held in it some inherent 
 quality of sensuousness. 
 
 "Rosa! Rosa!" Don Giovanni cried, in a 
 voice almost extinguished by the insurmountable 
 anxiety that he felt surging through him. 
 
 The woman appeared. 
 
 *'Tell me how it happened! To what place has 
 she gone? And when did she go? And why?" 
 begged Don Giovanni, making with his mouth a 
 grimace both comic and childish, in order to re- 
 strain his grief and force back the tears. 
 
 He seized Rosa by both wrists, and thus in- 
 cited her to speak, to reveal. 
 
 "I do not know, Signor," she answered. "This 
 morning she put her clothes in her portmanteau, 
 sent for Leones' carriage, and went away without 
 a word. What can you do about it? She will 
 return." 
 
 "Return-n-n!" sobbed Don Giovanni, raising 
 his eyes in which already the tears had started to 
 overflow. "Has she told you when? Speak!" 
 And this last cry was almost threatening and 
 rabid. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 13 
 
 *'Eh? ... to be sure she said to me, *Addio, 
 Rosa. We will never see each other again . . . ! 
 But, after all . . . who can tell I Everything is 
 possible.' " 
 
 Don Giovanni sank dejectedly upon a chair at 
 these words, and set himself to weeping with so 
 much force of grief that the woman was almost 
 touched by It. 
 
 "Now what are you doing, Don Giova? Are 
 there not other women in this world? Don 
 Giova, why do you worry about It , . . ?" 
 
 Don Giovanni did not hear. He persisted in 
 weeping like a child and hiding his face in Rosa 
 Catana's apron; his whole body was rent with the 
 upheavals of his grief. 
 
 "No, no, no. ... I want VIoletta! I want 
 Violettal" he cried. 
 
 At that stupid childishness Rosa could not re- 
 frain from smiling. She gave assistance by strok- 
 ing the bald head of Don Giovanni and murmur- 
 ing words of consolation. 
 
 "I will find VIoletta for you; I will find her 
 . . . So! be quiet! Do not weep any more, Don 
 Giovannino. The people passing can hear. Don't 
 worry about it, now." 
 
 Don Giovanni, little by little, under the friendly 
 
14 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 caress, curbed his tears and wiped his eyes on 
 her apron. 
 
 *'0h! oh! what a thing to happen!" he ex- 
 claimed, after having remained for a moment with 
 his glance fixed on the zinc kettle, where the water 
 ghttered now under a sunbeam. "Oh! oh! what 
 luck! Oh!" 
 
 He took his head between his hands and swung 
 it back and forth two or three times, as do im- 
 prisoned monkeys. 
 
 "Now go, Don Glovanino, go!" Rosa Cantana 
 said, taking him gently by the arm and drawing 
 him along. 
 
 In the little room the perfume seemed to in- 
 crease. Innumerable flies buzzed around a cup 
 where remained the residue of some coffee. The 
 reflection of the water trembled on the walls like 
 a subtle net of gold. 
 
 "Leave everything just so!" pleaded Don 
 Giovanni of the woman, in a voice broken by badly 
 suppressed sobs. He descended the stairs, shak- 
 ing his head over his fate. His eyes were swollen 
 and red, bulging from their sockets like those of a 
 mongrel dog. 
 
 His round body and prominent stomach over- 
 weighted his two slightly inverted legs. Around 
 his bald skull ran a crown of long curling hair that 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 15 
 
 seemed not to take root In the scalp but in the 
 shoulders, from which it climbed upward toward 
 the nape of the neck and the temples. He had 
 the habit of replacing from time to time with his 
 bejewelled hands, some disarranged tuft; the 
 jewels, precious and gaudy, sparkled even on his 
 thumb, and a cornelian button as large as a 
 strawberry fastened the bosom of his shirt over 
 the centre of his chest. 
 
 When he reached the broad daylight of the 
 square, he experienced anew that unconquerable 
 confusion. Several cobblers were working near 
 by and eating figs. A caged blackbird was whis- 
 tling the hymn of Garibaldi, continuously, always 
 recommencing at the beginning with painful per- 
 sistency. 
 
 **At your service, Don Giovanni I" called Don 
 Domenico Oliva, as he passed, and he removed 
 his hat with an affable Neapolitan cordiality. 
 Stirred with curiosity by the strange expression 
 of the Sicffior, he repassed him In a short time and 
 resaluted him with greater liberality of gesture 
 and affability. He was a man of very long body 
 and very short legs; the habitual expression of 
 his mouth was involuntarily shaped for derision. 
 The people of Pescara called him "Culinterra." 
 
 "At your service I" he repeated. 
 
i6 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 Don Giovanni, in whom a venomous wrath was 
 beginning to ferment which the laughter of the 
 fig-eaters and the trills of the blackbird irritated, 
 at his second salute turned his back fiercely and 
 moved away, fully persuaded that those salutes 
 were meant for taunts. 
 
 Don Domenico, astonished, followed him with 
 these words: 
 
 "But, Don Gioval ... are you angry . . . 
 but..." 
 
 Don Giovanni did not listen. He walked on 
 with quick steps toward his home. The fruit- 
 sellers and the blacksmiths along the road gazed 
 and could not understand the strange behaviour 
 of these two men, breathless and dripping with 
 perspiration under the noonday sun. 
 
 Having arrived at his door, Don Giovanni, 
 scarcely stopping to knock, turned like a serpent, 
 yellow and green with rage, and cried: 
 
 *'Don Dome, oh Don Dome, I will hit you I'* 
 With this threat, he entered his house and closed 
 the door violently behind him. 
 
 Don Domenico, dumbfounded, stood for a time 
 speechless. Then he retraced his steps, wondering 
 what could account for this behaviour, when Mat- 
 teo Verdura, one of the fig-eaters, called: 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 17 
 
 "Come here I Come here I I have a great bit 
 of news to tell you." 
 
 "What news?" asked the man of the long spine, 
 as he approached. 
 
 "Don't you know about it?" 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "Ah I Ah I Then you haven't heard yet?" 
 
 "Heard what?" 
 
 Verdura fell to laughing and the other cobblers 
 imitated him. Spontaneously all of them shook 
 with the same rasping and inharmonious mirth, 
 differing only with the personality of each man. 
 
 "Buy three cents' worth of figs and I will tell 
 you." 
 
 Don Domenico, who was niggardly, hesitated 
 slightly, but curiosity conquered him. 
 
 "Very well, here it is." 
 
 Verdura called a woman and had her heap up 
 the fruit on a plate. Then he said : 
 
 "That signora who lived up there, Donna Vio- 
 letta, do you remember . . .? That one of the 
 theatre, do you remember . . . ? 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "She has made off this morning. Crash I'* 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "Indeed, Don Dome." 
 
 "Ah, now I understand!" exclaimed Don Do- 
 
1 8 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 menico, who was a subtle man and cruelly 
 malicious. 
 
 Then, as he wished to revenge himself for the 
 offence given him by Don Giovanni and also to 
 make up for the three cents expended for the 
 news, he went Immediately to the casino In order 
 to divulge the secret and to enlarge upon It. 
 
 The "casino," a kind of cafe, stood Immersed 
 in shadow, and up from Its tables sprinkled with 
 water, arose a singular odour of dust and musk. 
 There snored Doctor Punzoni, relaxed upon a 
 chair, with his arms dangling. The Baron Cappa, 
 an old soul, full of affection for lame dogs and 
 tender girls, nodded discreetly over a newspaper. 
 Don Ferdlnando Giordano moved little flags over 
 a card representing the battlefields of the Franco- 
 Prussian war. Don Settimlo de Marlnis ap- 
 praised with Doctor Flocca the works of Pietro 
 Mettastaslo, not without many vocal explosions 
 and a certain flowery eloquency in the use of poeti- 
 cal expressions. The notary GaiullI, not knowing 
 with whom to play, shuffled the cards of his game 
 alone, and laid them out in a row on the table. 
 Don Paolo Seccia sauntered around the billiard 
 table with steps calculated to assist the digestion. 
 
 Don Domenico Ollva entered with so much 
 vehemence, that all turned toward him except Doc- 
 
 I 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 19 
 
 tor PanzonI, who still remained in the embrace 
 of slumber. 
 
 "Have you heard? Have you heard?" 
 Don Domenico was so anxious to tell the news, 
 and so breathless, that at first he stuttered without 
 making himself understood. All of these gentle- 
 men around him hung upon his words, anticipat- 
 ing with delight any unusual occurrence that might 
 enliven their noonday chatter. 
 
 Don Paolo Seccia, who was slightly deaf in 
 one ear, said impatiently, "But have they tied your 
 tongue, Don Dome?" 
 
 Don Domenico recommenced his story at the 
 beginning, with more calmness and clearness. He 
 told everything; enlarged on the rage of Don Gio- 
 vanni Ussorio; added fantastic details; grew in- 
 toxicated with his own words as he went on. 
 "Now do you see? Now do you see?" 
 Doctor Panzoni, at the noise, opened his eye- 
 lids, rolling his huge pupils still dull with sleep 
 and still blowing through the monstrous hairs of 
 his nose, said or rather snorted nasally: 
 
 "What has happened? What has happened?" 
 And with much effort, bearing down on his 
 walking stick, he raised himself very slowly, and 
 joined the gathering in order to hear. 
 
 The Baron Cappa now narrated, with much 
 
20 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 saliva In his mouth, a well-nourished story 
 apropos of Violetta Kutufa. From the pupils of 
 the eyes of his Intent listeners gleams flashed in 
 turn. The greenish eyes of Don Palo Seccia 
 scintillated as if bathed in some exhilarating mois- 
 ture. At last the laughter burst out. 
 
 But Doctor Panzoni, though standing, had 
 taken refuge again In slumber; since for him 
 sleep, Irresistible as a disease, always had its seat 
 within his own nostrils. 
 
 He remained with his snores, alone In the cen- 
 tre of the room, his head upon his breast, while 
 the others scattered over the entire district to 
 carry the news from family to family. 
 
 And the news, thus divulged, caused an uproar 
 In Pescara. Toward eve/iing, with a fresh breeze 
 from the sea and a crescent moon, everybody fre- 
 quented the streets and squares. The hum of 
 voices was infinite. The name of Violetta Kutufa 
 was at every tongue's end. Don Giovanni Usso- 
 rio was not to be seen. 
 
 II 
 
 Violetta Kutufa had come to Pescara in the 
 month of January, at the time of the Carnival, 
 with a company of singers. She spoke of being 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 21 
 
 a Greek from the Archipelago, of having sung 
 in a theatre at Corfu in the presence of the Greek 
 king, and of having made mad with love an 
 English admiral. She was a woman of plump 
 figure and very white skin. Her arms were un- 
 usually round and full of small dimples that 
 became pink with every change of motion; and 
 these little dimples, together with her rings and 
 all of those other graces suitable for a youthful 
 person, helped to make her fleshiness singularly 
 pleasing, fresh and tantalising. The features of 
 her face were slightly vulgar, the eyes tan colour, 
 full of slothfulness ; her lips large and flat as if 
 crushed. Her nose did not suggest Greek origin; 
 it was short, rather straight, and with large in- 
 flated nostrils; her black hair was luxuriant. She 
 spoke with a soft accent, hesitating at each word, 
 smiling almost constantly. Her voice often be- 
 came unexpectedly harsh. 
 
 When her company arrived, the Pescaresi were 
 frantic with expectation. The foreign singers 
 were lauded everywhere, for their gestures, their 
 gravity of movement, their costumes, and for 
 every other accomplishment. But the person upon 
 whom all attention centred was Violetta Kutufa. 
 
 She wore a kind of dark bolero bordered with 
 fur and held together in front with gilt aiglettes; 
 
22 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 on her head was a species of toque, all fur, and 
 worn a little to one side. She walked about alone, 
 stepping briskly, entered the shops, treated the 
 shop-keepers with a certain disdain, complained 
 of the mediocrity of their wares, left without mak- 
 ing a purchase, hummed with indifference. 
 
 Everywhere, in the squares, on all of the walls 
 large hand-bills announced the performance of 
 *'The Countess of Amalfi." The name of Violetta 
 Kutufa was resplendent in vermilion letters. The 
 souls of the Pescaresi kindled. At length the 
 long looked-for evening arrived. 
 
 The theatre was in a room of the old military 
 hospital, at the edge of the town near the sea. 
 The room was low, narrow, and as long as a 
 corridor; the stage, of wood with painted scenery, 
 arose a few hands' breadths above the floor; along 
 the side walls was the gallery, consisting of boards 
 over saw-horses covered with tricoloured flags and 
 decorated with festoons. The curtain, a master- 
 piece of Cucuzzito, son of Cucuzzito, depicted 
 tragedy, comedy and music, interwoven, like the 
 three Graces, and flitting over a bridge under 
 which passed the blue stream of Pescara. The 
 chairs for the theatre, taken from the churches, 
 occupied half of the pit. The benches, taken from 
 the schools, occupied the remaining space. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 23 
 
 Toward seven in the evening, the village band 
 started its music on the square, played until it 
 had made the circuit of the town and at length 
 stopped In front of the theatre. The resounding 
 march inspired the souls of passers-by. The 
 women curbed their impatience within the folds 
 of their beautiful silk garments. The room filled 
 up rapidly. 
 
 The gallery was radiant with a sparkling 
 aureole of married and unmarried women. Teo- 
 dolinda Pomarici, a sentimental, lymphatic elocu- 
 tionist, sat near Fermina Memura, called "The 
 Masculine." The Fusilli girls, arrived from Cas- 
 tellamare, tall maidens with very black eyes, all 
 clothed in a uniform, pink material, with hair 
 braided down their backs, laughed loudly and 
 gesticulated. Emilia d'Annunzio used her beauti- 
 ful lion-like eyes, with an air of Infinite fatigue. 
 Marianlna Cortese made signs with her fan to 
 Donna Rachele Profeta who sat in front of her. 
 Donna Rachele BuccI argued with Donna Rachele 
 Carabba on the subjects of speaking tables and 
 spiritualism. The school-mistresses Del Gado, 
 both clothed in changeable silk with mantillas of 
 most antique fashion, and with diverse coiffures 
 glittering with brass spangles, remained silent, 
 compunctious, almost stunned by the novelty of 
 
24 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 this experience, almost repentant for having come 
 to so profane a spectacle. Costanza Lesbu 
 coughed continuously, shivering under her red 
 shawl, very pale, very blond and very thin. 
 
 In the foremost chairs of the pit sat the wealth- 
 iest citizens. Don Giovanni Ussorio was most 
 prominent because of his well-groomed appear- 
 ance, his splendid black and white checkered 
 trousers, his coat of shining wool, his quantity of 
 false jewelry on fingers and shirt-front. Don 
 Antonio Brattella, a member of the Areopagus of 
 Marseilles, a man exhaling importance from 
 every pore and especially from the lobe of his 
 I left ear, which was as thick as a green apricot, re- 
 cited In a loud voice the lyric drama of Giovanni 
 Peruzzini, and his words as they fell from his 
 lips acquired a certain Ciceronian resonance. 
 The auditors, lolling in their chairs, stirred with 
 more or less impatience. Dr. PanzonI wrestled 
 all to no purpose with the wiles of sleep, and 
 from time to time made a noise that blended with 
 the "la" of the tuning Instruments. 
 
 "Pss! psss! pssss!" 
 
 The silence In the theatre grew profound. At 
 the lifting of the curtain the stage was empty. 
 The sound of a violoncello came from the wings. 
 Tilde appeared and sang. Afterwards Sertorio 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 25 
 
 came out and sang. After him, a crowd of super- 
 numeraries and friends, entered and intoned a 
 song. After them. Tilde drew toward a window 
 and sang: 
 
 "Oh how tedious the hours 
 To the desirous one . . .!" 
 
 In the audience a slight movement was per- 
 ceptible, since all felt a love duet to be imminent. 
 Tilde, in truth, was a first soprano, none too 
 young; she wore a blue costume, had a blond wig 
 that insufficiently covered her head, and her face, 
 whitened with powder, resembled a raw cutlet be- 
 sprinkled with flour and partially hidden behind 
 a hempen wig. 
 
 Egidio came on. He was the young tenor. As 
 he had a chest singularly hollow and legs slightly 
 curved, he resembled a double-handed spoon upon 
 which hung a calf's head, scraped and polished 
 like those which one sees at times over the butcher- 
 shops. He began : 
 
 "Tilde! thy lips are mute, 
 Thy lowered glances dismay me, 
 Tell me, why you delay me? 
 Why do I see thy hand now 
 A-tremble? V^hy should that be?" 
 
 And Tilde, with great force of sentiment, 
 replied : 
 
26 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 "At such a solemn moment, how 
 Can you ask why of me?" 
 
 The duet Increased in tenderness. The melody 
 of the cavalier Petrella delighted the ears of the 
 audience. All of the women leaned intently over 
 the rails of the gallery and their faces, throbbing 
 in the green reflection of the flags, were pallid. 
 
 "Like a journey from paradise 
 Death will appear to us." 
 
 Tilde appeared; and now entered, singing, the 
 Duke Carnioli, who was a man fat, fierce, and 
 long haired enough, to be suited to the part of 
 baritone. He sang with many flourishes, running 
 over the syllables, sometimes moreover boldly 
 suppressing. 
 
 "Dost thou not know the conjugal chain 
 Is like lead on the feet?" 
 
 But, when in the song, he mentioned at length 
 the Countess of Amalfi, a long applause broke 
 from the audience. The Countess was desired, 
 demanded. 
 
 Don Giovanni Ussorio asked of Don Antonio 
 Brattella : 
 
 "When is she coming?" 
 
 Don Antonio, In a lofty tone, replied : 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 27 
 
 *'0h! DIo mio, Don Giova ! Don't you know ? 
 In the second act! In the second act!" 
 
 The speech of Sertorlo was listened to with 
 half-impatience. The curtain fell in the midst of 
 weak applause. Thus began the triumphs of 
 Violetta Kutufa. A prolonged murmur ran 
 through the pit, through the gallery, and increased 
 when the audience heard the blows of the scene- 
 shifters' hammers behind the curtain. That in- 
 visible hustling Increased their expectation. 
 
 When the curtain went up a kind of spell held 
 the audience in its grip. The scenic effect was 
 marvellous. Three illuminated arches stretched 
 themselves In perspective, and the middle one 
 bordered a fantastic garden. 
 
 Several pages were dispersed here and there, 
 and were bowing. The Countess of Amalfi, 
 clothed In red velvet, with her regal train, her 
 arms and shoulders bare, her face ruddy, en- 
 tered with agitated step and sang: 
 
 "It was an evening of ravishment, which still 
 Fills my soul. . . ." 
 
 Her voice was uneven, sometimes twanging, but 
 always powerful and penetrating. It produced 
 on the audience a singular effect after the whine 
 of Tilde. Immediately the audience was divided 
 
28 TALES OF MY ^NATIVE TOWN 
 
 into two factions ; the women were for Tilde, the 
 men for Leonora. 
 
 "He who resists my charms 
 Has not easy matter . . . ! 
 
 Leonora possessed in her personality, in her 
 gestures, her movements, a sauciness that intoxi- 
 cated and kindled those unmarried men who were 
 accustomed to the flabby Venuses of the lanes of 
 Sant' Agostino, and to those husbands who were 
 wearied with conjugal monotony. 
 
 All gazed at the singer's every motion, at her 
 large white shoulders, where, with the movements 
 of her round arms, two dimples tried to smile. 
 
 At the end of her solo, applause broke forth 
 with a crash. Later, the swooning of the Coun- 
 tess, her dissimulation before the Duke Carnioli 
 (the leader of the duet), the whole scene aroused 
 applause. The heat in the room had become in- 
 tense; in the galleries fans fluttered confusedly, 
 and among the fans the women's faces appeared 
 and disappeared. 
 
 When the Countess leaned against a column in 
 an attitude of sentimental contemplation, illu- 
 minated by the calcium light, and Egidio sang his 
 gentle love song, Don Antonio Brattella called 
 loudly, "She is great!" 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 29 
 
 Don Giovanni Ussorio, with a sudden impulse, 
 fell to clapping his hands alone. The others 
 shouted at him to be silent, as they wished to hear. 
 Don Giovanni became confused. 
 
 "All is for love, everything speaks: 
 The moon, the zephyrs, the stars, the sea. . . ." 
 
 The heads of the listeners swayed with the 
 rhythm of this melody of the Petrella style, even 
 though the voice of Egidio was indifferent; and 
 even though the light was glaring and yellowish 
 their eyes drank in the scene. But when, after 
 this last contrast of passion and seduction, the 
 Countess of Amalfi, walking toward the garden, 
 took up the melody alone, the melody that still 
 vibrated in the minds of all, the delight of the 
 audience had risen to such a height that many 
 raised their heads and inclined them slightly back- 
 ward as if to trill together with the siren, who 
 was now concealed among the flowers. She sang; 
 
 "The bark is now ready ... ah, come beloved! 
 Is not Love calling ... to live is to love?" 
 
 At this climax, Violetta Kutufa made a com- 
 plete conquest of Don Giovanni Ussorio, who be- 
 side himself, seized with a species of passionate, 
 musical madness, clamoured continuously: 
 
 "Brava! Brava! Braval'* 
 
30 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 Don Paolo Seccia called loudly: 
 
 "Oh, see here! see here! Ussorlo has gone 
 mad for her!" 
 
 All the women gazed at Ussorio, amazed and 
 confused. The school-mistresses Del Gado shook 
 their rosaries under their mantillas. Teodolinda 
 Pomarici remained ecstatic. Only the Fasilli 
 girls, in their red paint, preserved their vivacity, 
 and chattered, shaking their serpentine braids with 
 every movement. 
 
 In the third act, neither the dying sighs of 
 Tilde, whom the women defended, nor the rebuffs 
 of Sertorio and Carnioli, nor the songs of the 
 chorus, nor the monologue of the melancholy Egi- 
 dio, nor the joyfulness of the dames and cavaliers, 
 held any power to distract the public from the 
 preceding voluptuousness. 
 
 "Leonora! Leonora! Leonora!" they cried. 
 
 Leonora reappeared on the arm of the Count 
 of Lara and descended from a pavilion. Thus 
 she reached the very culmination of her triumph. 
 '^ She wore now a violet gown, trimmed with 
 silver ribbons and enormous clasps. She turned 
 to the pit, while with her foot she gave a quick, 
 backward stroke to her train, and exposed in the 
 ^ct her instep. 
 
 Then, mingling with her words, a thousand 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 31 
 
 charms and a thousand affectations, she sang half- 
 jestingly, 
 
 "I am the butterfly that sports within the flowers . . ." 
 
 The public grew almost delirious at this well- 
 known song. 
 
 The Countess of Amalfi, on feeling mount up 
 to her the ardent admiration of the men^ became 
 intoxicated, multiplied her seductive gestures, and 
 raised her voice to the highest altitude of which 
 she was capable. Her fleshly throat, uncovered, 
 marked with the necklace of Venus, shook with 
 trills. 
 
 *'I, the bee, who alone on the honey is nourished. 
 Am inebriate under the blue of the sky . . ." 
 
 Don Giovanni Ussorlo stared with so much in- 
 tensity, that his eyes seemed to start from their 
 sockets. The Baron Cappa was equally en- 
 chanted. Don Antonio Brattella, a member of 
 the Areopagus of Marseilles, swelled and 
 swelled, until at length burst from him the ex- 
 clamation : 
 
 "Colossal!'* 
 
 Ill 
 
 Thus, Violetta Kutufa made a conquest of Pes- 
 cara. For more than a month performances of 
 
32 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 the opera of the Cavalier Petrella, continued with 
 ever increasing popularity. The theatre was al- 
 ways full, even packed. Applause for Leonora 
 broke out furiously at the end of every song. A 
 singular phenomenon occurred; the entire popula- 
 tion of Pescara seemed seized with a species of 
 musical mania; every Pescarenican soul became in- 
 closed in the magic circle of one single melody, 
 that of the butterfly that sports among the flowers. 
 
 In every comer, at every hour, in every way, 
 in every possible variation, on every instrument, 
 with an astounding persistency, that melody was 
 repeated; and the person of Violetta Kutufa be- 
 came the symbol of those musical strains, just as 
 God pardon the comparison the harmony of 
 the organ suggests the soul of paradise. 
 
 The musical and lyrical comprehension, which 
 in the southern people is instinctive, expanded at 
 this time without limit. The street gamins whis- 
 tled everywhere; all the amateur musicians put 
 forth their efforts. Donna Lisitta Menuma played 
 the tune on the harpsichord from dawn until dusk, 
 Don Antonio Brattella played it on the flute, Don 
 Domenico Quaquino, on the clarionette, Don Gia- 
 como Palusci, the priest, on an old rococo spinet, 
 Don Vincenzio Rapagneta on his violoncello, Don 
 Vincenzio Ranieri on the trumpet, Don Nicola 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI zz 
 
 d'AnnunzIo, on his violin. From the towers of 
 Sant' Agostino to the Arsenal, and from Pesche- 
 rla to Dogana the multifold sounds mingled to- 
 gether and became a discord. In the early hours 
 of the afternoon the district had the appearance 
 of some large hospital for Incurable madness. 
 Even the grinders sharpening knives on their 
 wheels tried to maintain a rhythm In the shriek of 
 the metal and the whetstone. 
 
 As It was the time of the carnival, a public 
 festival was given In the theatre. Shrove Thurs- 
 day, at ten In the evening, the room blazed with 
 wax-candles, smelt strongly of myrtle and glit- 
 tered with mirrors. The masked revellers en- 
 tered In crowds. Punchinellos predominated. 
 From a platform enveloped in green draperies, 
 marked with constellations of stars of silver 
 paper, the orchestra began to play and Don 
 Giovanni Ussorlo entered. 
 
 He was dressed like a grandee of Spain, and 
 had the appearance of a very fat Count of Lara. 
 A blue cap with a long, white plume covered his 
 baldness, a short coat of red velvet garnished 
 with gold rippled over his shoulders. This cos- 
 tume accentuated the prominence of his stomach 
 and the skinniness of his legs. His locks, shining 
 with cosmetic oils, resembled an artificial fringe 
 
34 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 bound around his cap, and they were blacker than 
 usual. 
 
 An Impertinent Punchinello, on passing him, 
 cried In a disguised voice: 
 
 ''How funny!" 
 
 He made a gesture of horror, so clownish, at 
 this metamorphosis of "Don Giovanni," that much 
 laughter burst forth from everyone In the vicinity. 
 La CIcarina, all red paint under the black hood 
 of her domino, like a beautiful flower of the flesh, 
 laughed sonorously, while she tripped with two 
 ragged harlequins. 
 
 Don Giovanni, filled with anger, lost himself In 
 the crowd and sought Violetta Kutufa. The sar- 
 casms of the other revellers pursued and wounded 
 him. Suddenly he encountered another grandee 
 of Spain, another count of Lara. He recognised 
 Don Antonio Brattella and, at this, received a 
 thrust in the heart. Already, between these two 
 men, rivalry had broken loose. 
 
 "How Is the medlar?" Don Donato Brandl- 
 marte screamed venomously, alluding to the fleshy 
 protuberance that the member of the Areopagus 
 of Marseilles had on his left ear. Don Giovanni 
 took a fierce pleasure In this insult. 
 
 The rivals met face to face, scanned each 
 other from head to foot, and kept their respec- 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 35 
 
 tive stations, the one always slightly withdrawn 
 from the other, as they wandered through the 
 crowd. 
 
 At eleven, an agitated flutter passed over the 
 crowd. Violetta Kutufa entered. She was 
 dressed in Mephistophelian costume, in a black 
 domino with long scarlet hood, and with a 
 scarlet mask over her face. The round, swan- 
 like chin, the thick red mouth, shone through her 
 thin veil. The eyes, lengthened and rendered 
 slightly oblique because of the mask, seemed to 
 smile. 
 
 All instantaneously recognised her and almost 
 all made way for her; Don Antonio Brattella ad- 
 vanced caressingly on one side. On the other 
 came Don Giovanni; Violetta Kutufa made a 
 hasty survey of the rings that adorned the fingers 
 of the latter, then took the arm of Brattella. 
 
 She laughed and walked with a certain sprightly 
 undulation of the hips. Brattella, while talking 
 to her in his customary, silly, vainglorious man- 
 ner, called her "Contessa," and interspersed their 
 conversation with the lyrical verses of Giovanni 
 Peruzzini. 
 
 She laughed and leaned toward him, and 
 pressed his arm suggestively, since the weaknesses 
 of this ugly, vain man amused her. At a certain 
 
36 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 point, Brattella, when repeating the words of the 
 Count of Lara in the melodrama of Petrella, 
 said or rather sang submissively: 
 
 "Shall I then hope?" 
 
 Violetta Kutufa answered in the words of 
 Leonora : 
 
 "Who forbids you . . .? Good-bye." 
 
 Then, seeing Don Giovanni not far away, she 
 detached herself from this bewitching chevalier, 
 and fastened upon the other, who already for 
 some time had pursued with eyes full of envy and 
 dislike, the windings of this couple through the 
 crowd of dancers. 
 
 Don Giovanni trembled like a youth under the 
 glance of his first sweetheart. Then, seized with 
 a superabundant pride, he drew the opera singer 
 into the dance. He whirled breathlessly around, 
 with his nose against the woman's chest, his cloak 
 floating out behind, his plume fluttering to the 
 breeze, streams of perspiration mixed with cos- 
 metic oils filtering down his temples. 
 
 Exhausted, he stopped at length. He reeled 
 with giddiness. Two hands supported him and 
 a sneering voice whispered in his ear, *'Don Giova, 
 stop and recover your breath for a minute I'' 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 37 
 
 The voice was that of Brattella, who In turn 
 drew the fair lady into the dance. He danced, 
 holding his left arm arched over his hips, beat- 
 ing time with his feet, endeavouring to appear 
 as light as a feather, with motions meant to be 
 gracious, but instead so idiotic, and with grimaces 
 so monkey-like, that everywhere the laughter and 
 mockery of the Punchinellos began to pelt down 
 upon him. 
 
 "Pay a cent to see it, gentlemen!" 
 
 *'Here is the bear of Poland that dances like 
 a Christian! Gaze on him, gentlemen!" 
 
 *'Have a medlar? Have a medlar?" 
 
 "Oh, see! See! An orangoutang!" 
 
 Don Antonio Brattella controlled himself with 
 much dignity, still continuing his dance. Other 
 couples wheeled around him. 
 
 The room was filled with all kinds of people, 
 and in the midst of the confusion the candles 
 burned on, with their reddish flames lighting up 
 the festoons of immortelles. All of this flutter- 
 ing reflected itself in the mirrors. 
 
 La Ciccarina, the daughter of Montagna, the 
 daughter of Surlano, the sisters Montarano, ap- 
 peared and disappeared, while enlivening the 
 crowd with the beams of their fresh country love- 
 liness. Donna Teodolinda PomaricI, tall and thin. 
 
38 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 clothed in blue satin, like a madonna, permitted 
 herself to be borne about in a state of transport 
 as her hair, loosened from its bands, waved upon 
 her shoulders. Costanzella Coppe, the most agile 
 and indefatigable of the dancers, and the palest, 
 flew from one extremity of the room to the other 
 In a flash; Amalia Solofra, with hair almost aflame 
 in colour, clothed like a rustic, her audacity almost 
 unequalled, had her silk waist supported by a sin- 
 gle band that outlined the connecting point of her 
 arm; and during the dance, at intervals, one could 
 see dark stains under her armpits. Amalia Gag- 
 liano, a beautiful, blue-eyed creature, In the cos- 
 tume of a sorceress, resembled an empty coffin 
 walking vertically. A species of Intoxication held 
 sway over all these girls. They were fermenting 
 in the warm, dense air, like adulterated wine. 
 The laurel and the Immortelles gave out a singular 
 odour, almost ecclesiastical. 
 
 The music ceased, now all mounted the stairs 
 leading to the refreshment-room. Don Giovanni 
 Ussorlo came to invite Violetta to the banquet. 
 Brattella, to show that he had reached a state 
 of close Intimacy with the opera-singer, leaned 
 toward her and whispered something in her ear, 
 and then fell to laughing about it. Don Giovanni 
 no longer heeded his rival. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 39 
 
 "Come, Contessa," he said, with much cere- 
 mony, as he offered his arm. 
 
 Violetta accepted. Both mounted the stairs 
 slowly with Don Antonio in the rear. 
 
 *'I am in love with you!" Don Giovanni haz- 
 arded, trying to instil into his voice that note of 
 passion, rendered familiar to him by the principal 
 lover of a dramatic company of Chieti. 
 
 Violetta Kutufa did not answer. She was amus- 
 ing herself by watching the concourse of people 
 near the booth of Andreuccio, who was distribut- 
 ing refreshments, while shouting the prices in a 
 loud voice as if at a country-fair. Andreuccio 
 had an enormous head with polished top, a nose 
 that curved wondrously over the projection of 
 his lower hp; he resembled one of those large 
 paper lanterns in the shape of a human head. 
 The revellers ate and drank with a bestial greedi- 
 ness, scattering on their clothes crumbs of sweet 
 pastry and drops of liquor. On seeing Don Gio- 
 vanni, Andreuccio cried, "Signor, at your service." 
 
 Don Giovanni had much wealth, and was a 
 widower without blood relations; for which rea- 
 sons everybody was desirous to be of service to 
 him and to flatter him. 
 
 "A little supper," he answered. "And take 
 
40 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOfVN 
 
 care . . .1'* He made an expressive sign to indi- 
 cate that the thing must be excellent and rare. 
 
 Violetta Kutufa sat down, and with a languid 
 effort removed her mask from her face and opened 
 her domino a little. Her face, surrounded by the 
 scarlet hood, and animated with warmth, seemed 
 even more saucy. Through the opening of the 
 domino one saw a species of pink tights that gave 
 a suggestion of living flesh. 
 
 "Your health!" exclaimed Don Pompeo Nervi, 
 lingering before the well-furnished table, and seat- 
 ing himself at length, allured by a plate of juicy 
 lobsters. 
 
 Then Don Tito de Sieri arrived and took a 
 place without ceremony; also Don Giustino 
 Franco, together with Don Pasquale Virgilio and 
 Don Federico Sicoli appeared. The group of 
 guests at the table continued to swell. After much 
 tortuous tracing and retracing of his steps, even 
 Don Antonio Brattella came finally. These were, 
 for the most part, habitual guests of Don Gio- 
 vanni; they formed about him a kind of adula- 
 tory court, gave their votes to him in the town 
 elections, laughed at every witticism of his, and 
 called him by way of nickname, "The Director." 
 Don Giovanni introduced them all to Violetta 
 Kutufa. These parasites set themselves to eating 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 41 
 
 with their voracious mouths bent over their plates. 
 
 Every word, every sentence of Don Antonio 
 Brattella was listened to in hostile silence. Every 
 word, every sentence of Don Giovanni, was recog- 
 nised with complacent smiles and nods of the 
 head. Don Giovanni triumphed in the centre of 
 his court. Violetta Kutufa treated him with affa- 
 bility, now that she felt the force of his gold; and 
 now, entirely free from her hood, with her locks 
 slightly dishevelled on forehead and neck, she in- 
 dulged in her usual playfulness, somewhat noisy 
 and childish. Around them the crowd moved 
 restlessly. 
 
 In the centre of it, three or four harlequins 
 walked on the pavement with their hands and feet, 
 and rolled like great beetles. Amalia Solofra, 
 standing upon a chair, with her long arms bare to 
 the elbows, shook a tambourine. Around her a 
 couple hopped In rustic fashion, giving out short 
 cries, while a group of youths stood looking on 
 with eager eyes. At intervals, from the lower 
 room ascended the voice of Don Ferdinando Gior- 
 dano, who was ordering the quadrille with great 
 bravado. 
 
 "Balance! Forward and back I Swing 1" 
 
 Little by little Violetta Kutufa's table became 
 full to overflowing. Don Nereo Pica, Don Sebas- 
 
42 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 tiano Pica, Don Grisostomo Trollo and others of 
 this Ussorlan court arrived; even to Don Cirillo 
 d'Amello, Don Camlllo d'Angelo and Don Rocco 
 Mattace. 
 
 Many strangers stood about with stupid ex- 
 pressions, and watched them eat. Women were 
 envious. From time to time a burst of rough 
 laughter arose from the table, and from time to 
 time corks popped and the foam of wine over- 
 flowed. 
 
 Don Giovanni took pleasure In splashing his 
 guests, especially the bald ones. In order to make 
 Violetta laugh. The parasites raised their flushed 
 faces, and, still eating, smiled at their "Director" 
 from under the foamy rain. But Don Antonio 
 Brattella, having taken offence, made as If to go. 
 All of the feasters opposite him gave a low cry 
 like a bark. 
 
 Violetta called, "Stay." Don Antonio re- 
 mained. After this he gave a toast rhyming in 
 quintains. Don Federico SIcoli, half intoxicated, 
 gave a toast likewise in honour of Violetta and of 
 Don Giovanni, In which he went so far as to speak 
 of "divine shape" and "jolly times." He de- 
 claimed In a loud voice. He was a man long, thin 
 and greenish In colour. He lived by composing 
 verses of Saints* days and laudations for all 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 43 
 
 ecclesiastical festivals. Now, in the midst of his 
 drunkenness, the rhymes fell from his lips without 
 order, old rhymes and new ones. At a certain 
 point, no longer able to balance on his legs, he 
 bent like a candle softened by heat and was silent. 
 
 Violetta Kutufa was overcome with laughter. 
 The crowd jammed around the table as if at a 
 spectacle. 
 
 "Let us go,** Violetta said at this moment, put- 
 ting on her mask and hood. 
 
 Don Giovanni, at the culmination of his amor- 
 ous enthusiasm, all red and perspiring, took her 
 arm. The parasites drank the last drop and then 
 arose confusedly behind the couple. 
 
 IV 
 
 A few days after, Violetta Kutufa was inhabit- 
 ing an apartment in one of Don Giovanni's houses 
 on the town square, and much hearsay floated 
 through Pescara. The company of singers de- 
 parted from Brindisi without the Countess of 
 Amalfi. In the solemn, quiet Lenten days, the 
 Pescaresi took a modest delight in gossip and 
 calumny. Every day a new tale made the circuit 
 of the city, and every day a new creation arose 
 from the popular imagination. 
 
44 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 Violetta Kutufa's house was in the neighbour- 
 hood of Sant' Agostino, opposite the Brina palace 
 and adjoining the palace of Memma. Every eve- 
 ning the windows were illuminated and the curious 
 assembled beneath them. 
 
 Violetta received visitors in a room tapestried 
 with French fabrics on which were depicted in 
 French style various mythological subjects. Two 
 round-bodied vases of the seventeenth century oc- 
 cupied the two sides of the chimney-piece. A 
 yellow sofa extended along the opposite wall be- 
 tween two curtains of similar material. On the 
 chimney-piece stood a plaster Venus and a small 
 Venus di Medici between two gilt candelabra. 
 On the shelves rested various porcelain vases, a 
 bunch of artificial flowers under a crystal globe, 
 a basket of wax fruit, a Swiss cottage, a block 
 of alum, several sea-shells and a cocoanut. 
 
 At first her guests had been reluctant, through 
 a sense of modesty, to mount the stairs of the 
 opera singer. Later, little by little, they had over- 
 come all hesitation. Even the most serious men 
 made from time to time their appearance in the 
 salon of Violetta Kutufa; even men of family; 
 and they went there almost with trepidation, with 
 furtive delight, as if they were about to commit a 
 slight crime against their wives, as if they were 
 
 I 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 45 
 
 about to enter a place of soothing perdition and 
 sin. They united in twos and threes, formed alli- 
 ances for greater security and justification, 
 laughed among themselves and nudged one an- 
 other in turn for encouragement. Then the 
 stream of light from the windows, the strains 
 from the piano, the song of the Countess of 
 Amalfi, the voices and applause of her guests ex- 
 cited them. They were seized with a sudden en- 
 thusiasm, threw out their chests, held up their 
 heads with youthful pride and mounted resolutely, 
 deciding that after all one had to taste of life and 
 cull opportunities for enjoyment. 
 
 But Violetta's receptions had an air of great 
 propriety, were almost formal. She welcomed 
 the new arrivals with courtesy and offered them 
 syrups in water and cordials. The newcomers 
 remained slightly astonished, did not know quite 
 how to behave, where to sit, what to say. The 
 conversations turned upon the weather, on politi- 
 cal news, on the substance of the Lenten sermons, 
 on other matter-of-fact and tedious topics. 
 
 Don Giuseppe Postiglioni spoke of the pre- 
 tensions of the Prussian Prince Hohenzollern to 
 the throne of Spain; Don Antonio Brattella de- 
 lighted in discoursing on the Immortality of the 
 soul and other inspiring matters. The doctrine 
 
46 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 of Brattella was stupendous. He spoke slowly 
 and emphatically, from time to time, pronounc- 
 ing a difficult word rapidly and eating up the sylla- 
 bles. To quote an authentic report, one evening, 
 on taking a wand and bending it, he said: "Oh, 
 how fleible!" for flexible; another evening, point- 
 ing to his plate and making excuses for not being 
 able to play the flute, he vouchsafed: "My 
 entire p-l-ate is inflamed!" and still another 
 evening, on indicating the shape of a vase, 
 he said that in order to make children take medi- 
 cine, it was necessary to scatter with some sweet 
 substance the origin of the glass. 
 
 At intervals Don Paolo Seccia, incredulous soul, 
 on hearing singular matters recounted, jumped up 
 with: "But Don Anto, what do you mean to say?" 
 
 Don Antonio repeated his remark with a hand 
 on his heart and a challenging expression, "My 
 testimony is ocular! Entirely ocular." One eve- 
 ning he came, walking with great effort and care- 
 fully, painstakingly prepared to sit down; he had 
 "a cold, the length of the spine !" Another eve- 
 ning he arrived with the right cheek slightly 
 bruised; he had fallen "underhand"; in other 
 words, he had slipped and struck his face on the 
 ground. Thus were the conversations of these 
 gatherings made up. Don Giovanni Ussorio, al- 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 47 
 
 ways present, had the airs of a proprietor; every 
 so often he approached Violetta with ostentation 
 and murmured something familiarly in her ear. 
 Long intervals of silence occurred, during which 
 Don Grisostomo Troilo blew his nose and Don 
 Federico Sicoli coughed like a consumptive, hold- 
 ing both hands to his mouth and then shaking 
 them. 
 
 The opera-singer revived the conversation with 
 accounts of her triumphs at Corfu, Ancona and 
 Bari. Little by little she grew animated, aban- 
 doned herself to her imagination; with discreet 
 reserve she spoke of princely ^^amours," of royal 
 favours, of romantic adventures ; she thus evoked 
 all of those confused recollections of novels read 
 at other times, and trusted liberally to the credu- 
 lity of her listeners. Don Giovanni at these times 
 turned his eyes upon her full of inquietude, al- 
 most bewildered; moreover experiencing a singu- 
 lar irritation that had an indistinct resemblance to 
 jealousy. Violetta at length ended with a stupid 
 smile and the conversation languished anew. 
 
 Then Violetta went to the piano and sang. All 
 listened with profound attention; at the end they 
 applauded. Then Don Brattella arose with the 
 flute. An Immeasurable melancholy took hold of 
 his listeners at that sound, a kind of swoning of 
 
48 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 body and soul. They rested with heads lowered 
 almost to their breasts in attitudes of sufferance. 
 At last all left, one after the other. As they took 
 the hand of Violetta a slight scent from the strong 
 perfume of musk remained on their fingers, and 
 this excited them further. Then, once more in 
 the street, they reunited in groups, holding loose 
 discourse. They grew inflamed, lowered their 
 voices and were silent if anyone drew near. Softly 
 they withdrew from beneath the Brina palace to 
 another part of the square. There they set them- 
 selves to watching Violetta's windows, still illu- 
 minated. Across the panes passed indistinct 
 shadows; at a certain time the Hght disappeared, 
 traversed two or three rooms and stopped in the 
 last window. Shortly, a figure leaned out to close 
 the shutters. Those spying thought they recog- 
 nised in it the figure of Don Giovanni. They still 
 continued to discuss beneath the stars and from 
 time to time laughed, while giving one another lit- 
 tle nudges, and gesticulating. Don Antonio Brat- 
 tella, perhaps from the reflection of the city-lamps, 
 seemed a greenish colour. The parasites, little 
 by little in their discourse spit out a certain ani- 
 mosity toward the opera-singer, who was plucking 
 so gracefully their lord of good times. They 
 feared lest those generous feasts might be in peril ; 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 49 
 
 already Don Giovanni was more sparing of his 
 invitations. 
 
 "It will be necessary to open the eyes of the 
 poor fellow. An adventuress I Bah! She is 
 capable of making him marry her. Why not? 
 And then what a scandal!" 
 
 Don Pompeo Nervi, shaking his large calf's 
 head, assented: 
 
 *Tou are right! You are right! We must be- 
 think ourselves." 
 
 Don Nereo Pica, "The Cat," proposed a way, 
 conjured up schemes; this pious man, accustomed 
 to the secret and laborious skirmishes of the 
 sacristy was crafty in the sowing of discord. 
 
 Thus these complainers treated together and 
 their fat speeches only returned again into their 
 bitter mouths. As it was spring the foliage of 
 the public gardens smelt and trembled before them 
 with white blossoms and through the neighbouring 
 paths they saw, about to disappear, the figures of 
 loosely-dressed prostitutes. 
 
 When, therefore, Don Giovanni Ussorio, after 
 having heard from Rosa Catana of the departure 
 of Violetta Kutufa, re-entered his widower's house 
 
50 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 and heard his parrot humming the air of the but- 
 terfly and the bee, he was seized by a new and 
 more profound discouragement. 
 
 In the entrance a girdle of sunlight penetrated 
 boldly and through the Iron grating one saw the 
 tranquil garden full of heliotropes. His servant 
 slept upon a bench with a straw hat pulled down 
 over his face. 
 
 Don Giovanni did not wake the servant. He 
 mounted the stairs with difficulty, his eyes fixed 
 upon the steps, pausing every now and then to 
 mutter: *'0h, what a thing to happen! Oh, oh, 
 what luck!" 
 
 Having reached his room he threw himself upon 
 the bed and with his mouth against the pillows, 
 began again to weep. Later he arose ; the silence 
 was deep and the trees of the garden as tall as the 
 window waved slightly In the stillness. There 
 was nothing of the unusual in the things about him ; 
 he almost wondered at this. 
 
 He fell to thinking and remained a long time 
 calling to mind the positions, the gestures, the 
 words, the slightest motions of the deserter. He 
 saw her form as clearly as if she were present. 
 At every recollection his grief increased until at 
 length a kind of dulness benumbed his mind. He 
 remained sitting on the bed, almost motionless, 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 51 
 
 his eyes red, his forehead blackened from the 
 colouring matter of his hair mixed with perspira- 
 tion, his face furrowed with wrinkles that had 
 suddenly become more evident; he had aged ten 
 years In an hour, a change both amusing and 
 pathetic. 
 
 Don Grisostomo Troilo, who had heard the 
 news, arrived. He was a man of advanced age, 
 of short stature and with a round, swollen face 
 from which spread out sharp, thin whiskers, well 
 waxed and resembling the two wings of a bird. 
 He said : 
 
 "Now, Giova, what is the matter?" 
 
 Don Giovanni did not answer, but shook his 
 shoulders as if to repel all sympathy. Don 
 Grisostomo then began to reprove him benevolent- 
 ly, never speaking of Violetta Kutufa. 
 
 In came Don Cirillo d'Amelio with Don Nereo 
 Pica. Both, on entering, showed almost an air of 
 triumph. 
 
 *'Now you have seen for yourself, Don Giova 1 
 We told you so! We told you so!" they cried. 
 Both had nasal voices and a cadence acquired 
 from the habit of singing with the organ, because 
 they belonged to the choir of the Holy Sacrament. 
 They began to attack the character of Violetta 
 
52 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 without mercy. She did this and that and the 
 other thing, they said. 
 
 Don Giovanni, outraged, made from time to 
 time a motion as if he would not hear such slan- 
 ders, but the two continued. Now, also, Don 
 Pasquale Virgillo arrived, with Don Pompeo 
 Nervl, Don Federico Sicoll, Don Tito de Sierl; 
 almost all of the parasites came In a group. Sup- 
 porting one another they became ferocious. Did 
 he not know that VIoletta Kutufa had abandoned 
 herself to Tom, Dick and Harry . . . ? Indeed 
 she had! Indeed! They laid bare the exact 
 particulars, the exact places. 
 
 Now Don Giovanni heard with eyes afire, 
 greedy to know. Invaded by a terrible curiosity. 
 These revelations instead of disgusting him, fed 
 his desire. VIoletta seemed to him more enticing, 
 even more beautiful; and he felt himself inwardly 
 bitten by a raging jealousy that blended with his 
 grief. Presently the woman appeared in his 
 mind's eye associated with a certain soft relax- 
 ation. That picture made him giddy. 
 
 Oh DIo! Oh Dio! Oh! Oh!" He commenced 
 to weep again. Those present looked at one an- 
 other and restrained their laughter. In truth the 
 grief of that man; fleshy, bald, deformed, ex- 
 pressed Itself so ridiculously that it seemed unreal. 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 53 
 
 "Go away now I" Don Giovanni blubbered 
 through his tears. 
 
 Don Grisostomo Troilo set the example; the 
 others followed him and chattered as they passed 
 down the stairs. 
 
 Toward evening the prostrated man revived 
 little by little. A woman's voice called at his 
 door: "May I come in, Don Giovanni?" 
 
 He recognised Rosa Catana's voice and ex- 
 perienced suddenly an instinctive joy. He ran to 
 let her in. Rosa Catana appeared in the dusk of 
 the room. 
 
 "Come in! Come in!" he cried. He made her 
 sit down beside him, had her talk to him, asked 
 her a thousand questions. He seemed to suffer 
 less on hearing that familiar voice in which, under 
 the spell of an illusion, he found some quality of 
 Violetta's voice. He took her hands and cried: 
 
 "You helped her to dress! Did you not?" 
 
 He caressed those rugged hands, closing his 
 eyes and wandering slightly in his mind on the 
 subject of those abundant, unbound locks that so 
 many times he had touched with his hands. Rosa 
 at first did not understand. She believed this to 
 be some sudden passion of Don Giovanni, and 
 withdrew her hands gently, while she spoke in an 
 
54 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 ambiguous way and laughed. But Don Giovanni 
 murmured: 
 
 *'No, no! . . . Stay! You combed her, did 
 you not? You bathed her, did you not?" 
 
 He fell to kissing Rosa's hands, those hands 
 that had combed, bathed and clothed Violetta. He 
 stammered, while kissing them, composed verses 
 so strange that Rosa could scarcely refrain from 
 laughter. But at last she understood and with 
 feminine perception forced herself to remain seri- 
 ous, while she summed up the advantages that 
 might ensue from this foolish comedy. She grew 
 docile, let him caress her, let him call her Violetta, 
 made use of all that experience acquired from 
 peeping through key-holes many times at her mis- 
 tress's door; she even sought to make her voice 
 more sweet. 
 
 In the room one could scarcely see them. 
 Through the open windows a red reflection en- 
 tered and the trees in the garden, almost black, 
 twisted and turned in the wind. From the sloughs 
 around the arsenal came the hoarse croak of the 
 frogs. The noises of the city street were indis- 
 tinct. 
 
 Don Giovanni drew the woman to his knees, 
 and, completely confused as if he had swallowed 
 some very strong liquor, murmured a thousand 
 
THE COUNTESS OF AMALFI 55 
 
 childish nothings and babbled on without end, 
 drawing her face close to his. 
 
 *'Ah, darling little Violetta !'* he whispered. 
 "Sweetheart! Don't go away, dear ... I If 
 you go away your Nini will die, Poor Nini . . ! 
 Ban-ban-ban-bannn !'* 
 
 Thus he continued stupidly, as he had done be- 
 fore with the opera-singer. Rosa Catana patiently 
 offered him slight caresses, as if he were a very 
 sick, perverted child; she took his head and 
 pressed it against her shoulder, kissed his swollen, 
 weeping eyes, stroked his bald crown, rearranged 
 his oiled locks. 
 
 VI 
 
 Thus, Rosa Catana, little by little, earned her 
 inheritance from Don Giovanni Ussorio, who, in 
 the March of 1871, died of paralysis. 
 
Ill 
 
 . THE RETURN OF TVRLENDANA 
 
 THE group was walking along the seashore. 
 Down the hills and over the country Spring 
 was coming again. The humble strip of land 
 bordering the sea was already green; the various 
 fields were quite distinctly marked by the spring- 
 ing vegetation, and every mound was crowned with 
 budding trees. The north wind shook these trees, 
 and its breath caused many flowers to fall. At a 
 short distance the heights seemed to be covered 
 with a colour between pink and violet; for an in- 
 stant the view seemed to tremble and grow pale 
 like a ripple veiling the clear surface of a pool, or 
 like a faded painting. 
 
 The sea stretched out Its broad expanse serenely 
 along the coast, bathed by the moonlight, and 
 toward the north taking on the hue of a turquois 
 of Persia, broken here and there by the darker tint 
 of the currents winding over its surface. 
 
 Turlendana, who had lost the recollection of 
 56 
 
THE RETURN OF TURLENDANA 57 
 
 these places through a long absence, and who In 
 his long peregrinations had forgotten the senti- 
 ments of his native land, was striding along with 
 the tired, regular step of haste, looking neither 
 backward nor around him. 
 
 When the camel would stop at a tuft of wild 
 grass, Turlendana would utter a brief, hoarse cry 
 of incitement. The huge reddish quadruped would 
 slowly raise his head, chewing the morsel heavily 
 between his jaws. 
 
 *'Hu, Barbara I" 
 
 The she-ass, the little snowy white Susanna, pro- 
 testing against the tormenting of the monkey, from 
 time to time would bray lamentlngly, asking to be 
 freed of her rider. 
 
 But the restless Zavali gave her no peace; as 
 though in a frenzy, with quick, short gestures of 
 wrath, she would run over the back of the beast, 
 jump playfully on her head, get hold of her large 
 ears ; then would lift her tail and shake the hairs, 
 hold it up and look through the hairs, scratch poor 
 Susanna viciously with her nails, then lift her hands 
 to her mouth and move her jaws as though chew- 
 ing, grimacing frightfully as she did so. Then 
 suddenly, she would jump back to her seat, hold- 
 ing in her hands her foot, twisted like the root of 
 a bush, and sit with her orange coloured eyes, 
 
58 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 filled with wonder and stupor, fixed on the sea, 
 while wrinkles would appear on her head, and 
 her thin pinkish ears would tremble nervously. 
 Without warning she would make a malicious 
 gesture, and recommence her play. 
 
 *'Hu, Barbara!'* 
 
 The camel heard and started to walk again. 
 
 When the group reached the willow tree woods, 
 at the mouth of the River Pescara, figures could be 
 seen upon its right bank, above the masts of the 
 ships anchored In the docks of Bandlera. Turlen- 
 dana stopped to get a drink of water from the 
 river. 
 
 The river of his native place carried to him the 
 peaceful air of the sea. Its banks, covered with 
 fluvial plains, lay stretched out as though resting 
 from their recent work of fecundity. The silence 
 was profound. The cobwebs shone tranquilly in 
 the sun like mirrors framed by the crystal of the 
 sea. The seaweed bent in the wind, showing its 
 green or white sides. 
 
 *Tescara !" said Turlendana, with an accent of 
 curiosity and recognition, stopping still to look at 
 the view. 
 
 Then, going down to the shore where the gravel 
 was clean, he kneeled down to drink, carrying the 
 water to his mouth in his curled up palm. The 
 
THE RETURN OF TURLENDANA 59 
 
 camel, bending his long neck, drank with slow, 
 regular draughts. The she-ass, too, drank from 
 the stream, while the monkey, imitating the man, 
 made a cup of her hands, which were violet 
 coloured like unripe India figs. 
 
 "Hu, Barbara !" The camel heard and ceased 
 to drink. The water dripped unheeded from his 
 mouth onto his chest; his white gums and yellow- 
 ish teeth showed between his open lips. 
 
 Through the path marked across the wood by 
 the people of the sea, the little group proceeded 
 on Its way. The sun was setting when they reached 
 the Arsenale of Rampigna. Turlendana asked of 
 a sailor who was walking beside the brick parapet.* 
 
 "Is that Pescara?" 
 ' The sailor, astonished at the sight of the strange 
 beasts, answered Turlendana's question: 
 
 "It IS that," and left his work to follow the 
 stranger. 
 
 The sailor was soon joined by others. Soon a 
 crowd of curious people had gathered and were 
 following Turlendana, who went calmly on his 
 way, unmindful of the comments of the people. 
 When they reached the boat-bridge, the camel re- 
 fused to pass over. 
 
 "Hu, Barbara I Hu, hu 1" Turlendana cried im- 
 patiently, urging him on, and shaking the rope of 
 
6o TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 the halter by which he led the animal. But 
 Barbara obstinately lay down upon the ground, 
 and stretched his head out in the dust very com- 
 fortable, showing no intention of moving. 
 
 The people jesting gathered about, having over- 
 come their first amazement, and cried in a chorus: 
 
 "Barbara! Barbara!" 
 
 As they were somewhat familiar with monkeys, 
 having seen some which the sailors had brought 
 home, together with parrots, from their long 
 cruises, they were teasing Zavali in a thousand 
 different ways, handing her large greenish al- 
 monds, which the monkey would open, glutton- 
 ously devouring the sweet fresh meat. 
 
 After much urging and persistent shouting, 
 Turlendana succeeded in conquering the stubborn- 
 ness of the camel, and that enormous architecture 
 of bones and skin rose staggering to his feet in 
 the midst of the Instigating crowd. 
 
 From all directions soldiers and sailors flocked 
 over the boat bridge to witness the spectacle. Far 
 behind the mountain of Gran Sasso the setting sun 
 irradiated the spring sky with a vivid rosy light, 
 and from the damp earth, the water of the river, 
 the seas, and the ponds, the moisture had arisen. 
 A rosy glow tinted the houses, the sails, the masts, 
 the plants, and the whole landscape, and the figures 
 
THE RETURN OF TURLENDANA 6i 
 
 of the people, acquiring a sort of transparency, 
 grew obscure, the lines of their contour wavering 
 in the fading light. 
 
 Under the weight of the caravan the bridge 
 creaked on its tar-smeared boats like a very large 
 floating lighter. Turlendana, halting in the middle 
 of the bridge, brought the camel also to a stop; 
 stretching high above the heads of the crowd, it 
 stood breathing against the wind, slowly moving 
 its head like a fictitious serpent covered with hair. 
 
 The name of the beast had spread among the 
 curious people, and all of them, from an innate 
 love of sensation, and filled with the exuberance 
 of spirits inspired by the sweetness of the sunset 
 and the season of the year, cried out gleefully: 
 
 ''Barbara! Barbara I'* At the sound of this 
 applauding cry and the well-meant clamour of the 
 crowd, Turlendana, who was leaning against the 
 chest of his camel, felt a kindly emotion of satis- 
 faction spring up in his heart. 
 
 The she-ass suddenly began to bray with such 
 high and discordant variety of notes, and with 
 such sighing passion that a spontaneous burst of 
 merriment ran through the crowd. 
 
 The fresh, happy laughter spread from one end 
 of the bridge to the other like the roar of water 
 falling over the stones of a cataract 
 
62 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 Then Turlendana, unknown to any of the 
 crowd, began to make his way through the throng. 
 When he was outside the gates of the city, where 
 the women carrying reed baskets were selling fresh 
 fish, Binchi-Banche, a little man with a yellow face, 
 drawn up like a juiceless lemon, pushed to the 
 front, and as was his custom with all strangers 
 who happened to come to the place, offered his 
 services In finding a lodging. 
 
 Pointing to Barbara, he asked first: 
 
 "Is he ferocious?'* 
 
 Turlendana, smiling, answered, "No." 
 
 "Well," Binchi-Banche went on, reassured, 
 "there is the house of Rosa Schiavona." Both 
 turned towards the Pescaria, and then towards 
 Sant' Agostino, followed by the crowd. From 
 windows and balconies women and children leaned 
 over, gazing in astonishment at the passing camel, 
 admiring the grace of the white ass, and laughing 
 at the comic performances of Zavali. 
 
 At one place, Barbara, seeing a bit of green 
 hanging from a low loggia, stretched out his neck 
 and, grasping it with his lips, tore it down. A cry 
 of terror broke forth from the women who were 
 leaning over the loggia, and the cry spread to 
 other loggias. The people from the river laughed 
 
THE RETURN OF TURLENDANA 63 
 
 loudly, crying out, as though it were the carnival 
 season and they were behind masks : 
 
 "Hurrah! Hurrah !'* 
 
 They were intoxicated by the novelty of the 
 spectacle, and by the invigourating spring air. In 
 front of the house of Rosa Schiavona, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Portasale, Binchi-Banche made a 
 sign to stop. 
 
 "This is the place," he said. 
 
 It was a very humble one-story house with one 
 row of windows, and the lower walls were covered 
 with inscriptions and ugly figures. A row of bats 
 pinned on the arch formed an ornament, and a 
 lantern covered with reddish paper hung under 
 the window. 
 
 This place was the abode of a sort of ad- 
 venturous, roving people. They slept mixed to- 
 gether, the big and corpulent truckman, Letto 
 Manoppello, the gipsies of Sulmona, horse- 
 traders, boiler-menders, turners of Bucchianico, 
 women of the city of Sant' Angelo, women of 
 wicked lives, the bag-pipers of Atina, moun- 
 taineers, bear-tamers, charlatans, pretended men- 
 dicants, thieves, and fortune-tellers. Binchi- 
 Banche acted as a go-between for all that rabble, 
 and was a great protege of the house of Rosa 
 Schiavona. 
 
64 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 When the latter heard the noise of the new- 
 comers, she came out upon the threshold. She 
 looked like a being generated by a dwarf and a 
 sow. Very diffidently she put the question: 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 * 'There is a fellow here who wants lodging for 
 his beasts, Donna Rosa." 
 
 "How many beasts?" 
 
 "Three, as you see, Donna Rosa a monkey, 
 an ass, and a camel." 
 
 The crowd was paying no attention to the 
 dialogue. Some of them were exciting Zavali, 
 others were feeling of Barbara's legs, commenting 
 on the callous spots on his knees and chest. Two 
 guards of the salt store-houses, who had travelled 
 to the sea-ports of Asia Minor, were telling in a 
 loud voice of the wonderful properties of the 
 camel, talking confusedly of having seen some of 
 them dancing, while carrying upon their necks a lot 
 of half-naked musicians and women of the Orient. 
 The listeners, greedy to hear these marvellous 
 tales, cried: 
 
 "Tell us some more! Tell us some morel" 
 They stood around the story-tellers in attentive 
 silence, listening with dilated eyes. 
 
 Then one of the guards, an old man whose eye- 
 lids were drawn up by the wind of the sea, began 
 
THE RETURN OF TURLENDANA 65 
 
 to tell of the Asiatic countries, and as he went on, 
 his imagination became excited by the stories which 
 he told, and his tales grew more wonderful. 
 
 A sort of mysterious softness seemed to pene- 
 trate the sunset. In the minds of the listeners, the 
 lands which were described to them rose vividly 
 before their imaginations in all their strange 
 splendour. Across the arch of the Porta, which 
 was already in shadow, could be seen boats loaded 
 with salt rocking upon the river, the salt seeming 
 to absorb all the light of the evening, giving the 
 boats the appearance of palaces of precious 
 crystals. Through the greenish tinted heavens 
 rose the crescent of the moon. 
 
 *'Tell us some more I Tell us some more V^ the 
 younger of those assembled were crying. 
 
 In the meanwhile Turlendana had put his beasts 
 under cover and supplied them with food. This 
 being done, he had again set forth with Binchi- 
 Banche, while the people remained gathered about 
 the door of the barn where the head of the camel 
 appeared and disappeared behind the rock grat- 
 ings. 
 
 On the way Turlendana asked : 
 
 "Are there any drinking places here?'* 
 
 Binchi-Banche answered promptly: 
 
 ] 
 
66 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOJVN 
 
 "Yes, sir, there are.'* Then, lifting his big black 
 hands he counted off on his fingers : 
 
 "The Inn of Speranza, the Inn of Buono, the 
 Inn of Assau, the Inn of Zarricante, the Inn of the 
 Blind Woman of Turlendana ..." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the other calmly. 
 
 Binchl-Banche raised his big, sharp, greenish 
 eyes. 
 
 "You have been here before, sir?" 
 
 Then, with the native loquacity of the Pescarese 
 he went on without waiting for an answer: 
 
 "The Inn of the Blind Woman is large, and 
 they sell there the best wine. The so-called Blind 
 Woman is a woman who has had four hus 
 bands ..." 
 
 He stopped to laugh, his yellowish face 
 wrinkling into little folds as he did so. 
 
 "The first husband was Turlendana, a sailor on 
 board the ships of the King of Naples, sailing 
 from India to France, to Spain, and even as far 
 as America. He was lost at sea, no one knows 
 where, for the ship disappeared and nothing has 
 ever been heard from it since. That was about 
 thirty years ago. Turlendana had the strength of 
 Samson; he could pull up an anchor with one 
 finger . . . poor fellow! He who goes to sea is 
 apt to have such an end." 
 
THE RETURN OF TURLENDANA 67 
 
 Turlendana was listening quietly. 
 
 "The second husband, whom she married after 
 five years of widowhood, was from Ortona, a son 
 of Ferrante, a damned soul, who was In conspiracy 
 with smugglers In Napoleon's time, during the war 
 with England. They smuggled goods from Fran- 
 cavilla up to Sllvi and Montesilvano sugar and 
 coffee from the English boats. In the neighbour- 
 hood of SIlvI was a tower called 'The Tower of 
 SaracinI,' from which the signals were given. As 
 the patrol passed, Tlon, plon, plon, plon 1' came 
 out from behind the trees. . . ." BInchi-Banche's 
 face lighted up at the recollection of those times, 
 and he quite lost himself in the pleasure of de- 
 scribing minutely all those clandestine operations, 
 his expressive gestures and exclamations adding 
 interest to the tale. 
 
 His small body would draw up and stretch out 
 to its full height as he proceeded. 
 
 "At last the son of Ferrante was, while walking 
 along the coast one night, shot in the back by a 
 soldier of Murat, and killed. 
 
 "The third husband was TItino Passacantando, 
 who died In his bed of a pernicious disease. 
 
 "The fourth still lives, and is called Verdura, 
 a good fellow who does not adulterate the wine of 
 
 I 
 
68 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 the inn. Now, you will have a chance to try 
 some." 
 
 When they reached the much praised inn, they 
 separated. 
 
 ^'Goodnight, sirl" 
 
 *'Good night!" 
 
 Turlendana entered unconcernedly, unmindful 
 of the curious attention of the drinkers sitting be- 
 side the long tables. Having asked for something 
 to eat, he was conducted to an upper room where 
 the tables were set ready for supper. 
 
 None of the regular boarders of the place were 
 yet in the room. Turlendana sat down and be- 
 gan to eat, taking great mouthfuls without paus- 
 ing, his head bent over his plate, like a famished 
 person. He was almost wholly bald, a deep red 
 scar furrowed his face from forehead to cheek, 
 his thick greyish beard extended to his protruding 
 cheek bones, his skin, dark, dried, rough, worn by 
 water and sun and wrinkled by pain, seemed not 
 to preserve any human semblance, his eyes stared 
 into the distance as if petrified by impassivity. 
 
 Verdura, inquisitive, sat opposite him, staring 
 at the stranger. He was somewhat flushed, his 
 face was of a reddish colour veined with ver- 
 milion like the gall of oxen. At last he cried: 
 
 ''Where do you come from?" 
 
THE RETURN OF TURLENDANA 69 
 
 Turlendana, without raising his head, replied 
 simply : 
 
 *'I come from far away." 
 
 "And where do you go?" pursued Verdura. 
 
 "I remain here." 
 
 Verdura, amazed, was silent. 
 
 Turlendana continued to lift the fishes from his 
 plate, one after another, taking off their heads and 
 tails, and devouring them, chewing them up, bones 
 and all. After every two or three fishes he drank 
 a draught of wine. 
 
 "Do you know anybody here?" Verdura asked 
 with eager curiosity. 
 
 "Perhaps," replied the other laconically. 
 
 Baffled by the brevity of his interlocutor, the 
 wine man grew silent again. Above the uproar 
 of the drinkers below, Turlendana's slow and 
 laboured mastication could be heard. Presently 
 Verdura again ventured to open his mouth. 
 
 "In what countries is the camel found? Are 
 those two humps natural? Can such a great, 
 strong beast ever be tamed?" 
 
 Turlendana allowed him to go on without re- 
 plying. 
 
 "Your name. Mister?" 
 
 The man to whom this question was put raised 
 
70 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 his head from hi^ plate, and answered simply, as 
 before : 
 
 "I am called Turlendana.'* 
 
 *'What?" 
 
 *Turlendana." 
 
 "Ah I" 
 
 The amazement of the Inn keeper was un- 
 bounded. A sort of a vague terror shook his 
 innermost soul. 
 
 "What? Turlendana of this place?" 
 
 *'0f this place." 
 
 Verdura's big azure eyes dilated as he stared 
 at the man. 
 
 "Then you are not dead?" 
 
 "No, I am not dead." 
 
 "Then you are the husband of Rosalba Ca- 
 tena?" 
 
 "I am the husband of Rosalba Catena." 
 
 "And now," exclaimed Verdura, with a gesture 
 of perplexity, "we are two husbands I" 
 
 "We are two!" 
 
 They remained silent for an instant. Turlen- 
 dana was chewing the last bit of bread tranquilly, 
 and through the quiet room you could hear his 
 teeth crunching on it. Either from a natural 
 benignant simplicity or from a glorious fatuity, 
 Verdura was struck only by the singularity of the 
 
THE RETURN OF TURLENDANA 71 
 
 case. A sudden impulse of merriment overtook 
 
 him, bubbling out spontaneously: 
 
 "Let us go to Rosalba ! Let us go ! Let us go !" 
 Taking the newcomer by the arm, he conducted 
 
 him through the group of drinkers, waving his 
 
 arms, and crying out: 
 
 "Here is Turlendana, Turlendana the sailor! 
 
 The husband of my wife ! Turlendana, who is not 
 
 dead ! Here is Turlendana I Here is Turlendana 1" 
 
IV 
 TURLENDANA DRUNK 
 
 THE last glass had been drunk, and two 
 o'clock in the morning was about to strike 
 from the tower clock of the City Hall. 
 
 Said Biagio Quaglia, his voice thick with wine, 
 as the strokes sounded through the silence of the 
 night filled with clear moonlight : 
 
 *'Well! Isn't it about time for us to go?" 
 
 Ciavola, stretched half under the bench, moved 
 his long runner's legs from time to time, mumbling 
 about clandestine hunts in the forbidden grounds 
 of the Marquis of Pescara, as the taste of wild 
 hare came up In his throat, and the wind brought 
 to his nostrils the resinous odour of the pines of 
 the sea grove. 
 
 Said Biagio Quaglia, giving the blond hunter a 
 kick, and making a motion to rise : 
 
 ''Let us go." 
 
 Ciavola with an effort rose, swaying uncertainly, 
 thin and slender like a hunting hound. 
 
 72 
 
TURLENDANA DRUNK 73 
 
 "Let us go, as they are pursuing us," he an- 
 swered, raising his hand high in a motion of as- 
 sent, thinking perhaps of the passage of birds 
 through the air. 
 
 Turlendana also moved, and seeing behind him 
 the wine woman, Zarricante, with her flushed raw 
 cheeks and her protruding chest, he tried to em- 
 brace her. But Zarricante fled from his embrace, 
 hurling at him words of abuse. 
 
 On the doorsill, Turlendana asked his friends 
 for their company and support through a part of 
 the road. But Biagio Quaglia and Ciavola, who 
 were indeed a fine pair, turned their backs on him 
 jestingly, and went away in the luminous moon- 
 light. 
 
 Then Turlendana stopped to look at the moon, 
 which was round and red as the face of a friar. 
 Everything around was silent and the rows of 
 houses reflected the white light of the moon. A 
 cat was mewing this May night upon a door step. 
 The man, in his Intoxicated state, feeling a pe- 
 culiarly tender inclination, put out his hand slowly 
 and uncertainly to caress the animal, but the beast, 
 being somewhat wild, took a jump and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Seeing a stray dog approaching, he attempted 
 to pour out upon It the wealth of his loving Im- 
 
 I 
 
74 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 pulses; the dog, however, paid no attention to his 
 calls, and disappeared around the corner of a cross 
 street, gnawing a bone. The noise of his teeth 
 could be heard plainly through the silence of the 
 night. 
 
 Soon after, the door of the inn was closed and 
 Turlendana was left standing alone under the full 
 moon, obscured by the shadows of rolling clouds. 
 His attention was struck by the rapid moving of 
 all surrounding objects. Everything fled away 
 from him. What had he done that they should 
 fly away? 
 
 With unsteady steps, he moved towards the 
 river. The thought of that universal flight as he 
 moved along, occupied profoundly his brain, 
 changed as it was by the fumes of the wine. He 
 met two other street dogs, and as an experiment, 
 approached them, but they too slunk away with 
 their tails between their legs, keeping close to the 
 wall and when they had gone some little distance, 
 they began to bark. Suddenly, from every direc- 
 tion, from Bagno da Sant' Agostino, from Arsen- 
 ale, from Pescheria, from all the lurid and 
 obscure places around, the roving dogs ran up, as 
 though in answer to a trumpet call to battle and 
 the aggressive chorus of the famishing tribe 
 ascended to the moon. 
 
TURLENDANA DRUNK 75 
 
 Turlendana was stupefied, while a sort of vague 
 uneasiness awoke in his soul and he went on his 
 way a little more quickly, stumbling over the rough 
 places in the ground. When he reached the corner 
 of the coopers, where the large barrels of Zazetta 
 were piled in whitish heaps like monuments, he 
 heard the heavy, regular breathing of a beast. As 
 the impression of the hostility of all beasts had 
 taken a hold on him, with the obstinacy of a 
 drunken man, he moved in the direction of the 
 sound, that he might make another experiment. 
 
 Within a low barn the three old horses of 
 Michelangelo were breathing with difficulty above 
 their manger. They were decrepit beasts who 
 had worn out their lives dragging through the road 
 of Chieti, twice every day, a huge stage-coach 
 filled with merchants and merchandise. Under 
 their brown hair, worn off in places by the rubbing 
 of the harness, their ribs protruded like so many 
 dried shingles through a ruined roof. Their front 
 legs were so bent that their knees were scarcely 
 perceptible, their backs were ragged like the teeth 
 of a saw, and their skinny necks, upon which 
 scarcely a vestige of mane was left, drooped 
 towards the ground. 
 
 A wooden railing inside barred the door. 
 
 Turlendana began encouragingly: 
 
76 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 **Ush, ush, ushi Ush, ush, ushi" 
 
 The horses did not move, but breathed together 
 In a human way. The outlines of their bodies ap- 
 peared dim and confused through the bluish 
 shadow within the barn, and the exhalations of 
 their breath blent with that of the manure. 
 
 "Ush, ush, ush!" pursued Turlendana In a 
 lamenting tone, as when he used to urge Barbara 
 to drink. Again the horses did not stir, and again : 
 
 "Ush, ush, ush ! Ush, ush, ush !" One of the 
 horses turned and placed his big deformed head 
 upon the railing, looking with eyes which seemed 
 In the moonlight as though filled with troubled 
 water. The lower skin of the jaw hung flaccid, 
 disclosing the gums. At every breath the nostrils 
 palpitated, emitting moist breath, the nostrils clos- 
 ing at times, and opening again to give forth a 
 little cloud of air bubbles like yeast in a state of 
 fermentation. 
 
 At the sight of that senile head, the drunken 
 man came to his senses. Why had he filled him- 
 self with wine, he, usually so sober? For a mo- 
 ment, in the midst of his forgetful drowsiness, the 
 shape of his dying camel reappeared before his 
 eyes, lying on the ground with his long inert neck 
 stretched out on the straw, his whole body shaken 
 from time to time by coughing, while with every 
 
TURLENDANA DRUNK 77 
 
 moan the bloated stomach produced a sound such 
 as Issues from a barrel half filled with water. 
 
 A wave of pity and compassion swept over the 
 man, as before him rose this vision of the agony 
 of the camel, shaken by strange, hoarse sobs which 
 brought forth a moan from the enormous dying 
 carcass, the painful movements of the neck, rising 
 for an instant to fall back again heavily upon the 
 straw with a deep, indistinct sound, the legs mov- 
 ing as if trying to run, the tense tremor of the 
 ears, and the fixity of the eyeballs, from which 
 the sight seemed to have departed before the rest 
 of the faculties. All this suffering came back 
 clearly to his memory, vivid in Its almost human 
 misery. 
 
 He leaned against the railing and opened his 
 mouth mechanically to again speak to Michelan- 
 gelo's horse : 
 
 "Ush, ush, ushi Ush, ush, ush!'' Then Michel- 
 angelo, who from his bed had heard the disturb- 
 ance, jumped to the window above and began to 
 swear violently at the troublesome disturber of 
 his night's rest. 
 
 *'You damned rascal I Go and drown yourself 
 in the Pescara River! Go away from here. Go, 
 or I will get a gun I You rascal, to come and 
 
78 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 wake up sleeping people ! You drunkard, go on ; 
 go away!" 
 
 Turlendana, staggering, started again towards 
 the river. When at the cross-roads by the fruit 
 market, he saw a group of dogs in a loving as- 
 sembly. As the man approached, the group of 
 canines dispersed, running towards Bagno. From 
 the alley of Gesidio came out another horde of 
 dogs, who set off in the direction of Bastioni. 
 
 All of the country of Pescara, bathed in the 
 sweet light of the full moon of the springtime, 
 was the scene of the fights of amorous canines. 
 The mastiff of Madrigale, chained to watch over 
 a slaughtered ox, occasionally made his deep voice 
 heard, and was answered by a chorus of other 
 voices. Occasionally a solitary dog would pass 
 on the run to the scene of a fight. From within 
 the houses, the howls of the imprisoned dogs could 
 be heard. 
 
 Now a still stranger trouble took hold upon the 
 brain of the drunken man. In front of him, be- 
 hind him, around him, the imaginary flight of 
 things began to take place again more rapidly 
 than before. He moved forward, and everything 
 moved away from him, the clouds, the trees, the 
 stones, the river banks, the poles of the boats, the 
 very houses, all retreated at his approach. This 
 
TURLENDANA DRUNK 79 
 
 evident repulsion and universal reprobation filled 
 him with terror. He halted. His spirit grew de- 
 pressed. Through his disordered brain a sudden 
 thought ran. "The fox!" Even that fox of a 
 Ciavola did not wish to remain with him longer! 
 His terror increased. His limbs trembled violent- 
 ly. However, impelled by this thought, he de- 
 scended among the tender willow trees and the 
 high grass of the shore. 
 
 The bright moon scattered over all things a 
 snowy serenity. The trees bent peacefully over 
 the bank, as though contemplating the running 
 water. Almost it seemed as though a soft, melan- 
 choly breath emanated from the somnolence of the 
 river beneath the moon. The croaking of frogs 
 sounded clearly. Turlendana crouched among 
 the plants, almost hidden. His hands trembled on 
 his knees. Suddenly he felt something alive and 
 moving under him; a frog! He uttered a cry. He 
 rose and began to run, staggering, amongst the 
 willow trees impeding his way. In his uneasiness 
 of spirit, he felt terrified as though by some super- 
 natural occurrence. 
 
 Stumbling over a rough place In the ground, he 
 fell on his stomach, his face pressed into the grass. 
 He got up with much difficulty, and stood looking 
 around him at the trees. The silvery silhouette 
 
8o TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 of the poplars rose motionless through the silent 
 air, making their tops seem unusually tall. The 
 shores of the river would vanish endlessly, as if 
 they were something unreal, like shadows of things 
 seen in dreams. Upon the right side, the rocks 
 shone resplendently, like crystals of salt, shadowed 
 at times by the moving clouds passing softly over- 
 head like azure veils. Further on the wood broke 
 the horizon line. The scent of the wood and the 
 soft breath of the sea were blended. 
 
 *'0h, Turlendana ! Ooooh!" a clear voice cried 
 out. 
 
 Turlendana turned In amazement. 
 
 "Oh, Turlendana, Turlendanaaaaa !" 
 
 It was BInchl-Banche, who came up, accom- 
 panied by a customs officer, through the path used 
 by the sailors through the willow-tree thicket. 
 
 "Where are you going at this time of night? 
 To weep over your camel?" asked BInchl-Banche 
 as he approached. 
 
 Turlendana did not answer at once. He was 
 grasping his trousers with one hand; his knees 
 were bent forward and his face wore a strange ex- 
 pression of stupidity, while he stammered so piti- 
 fully that BInchl-Banche and the customs officer 
 broke out into boisterous laughter. 
 
 "Go on ! Go on!" exclaimed the wrinkled little 
 
TURLENDANA DRUNK 8i 
 
 man, grasping the drunken man by the shoulders 
 and pushing him towards the seashore. Turlen- 
 dana moved forward. BInchl-Banche and the 
 customs officer followed him at a little distance, 
 laughing and speaking In low voices. 
 
 He reached the place where the verdure termi- 
 nated and the sand began. The grumbling of the 
 sea at the mouth of the Pescara could be heard. 
 On a level stretch of sand, stretched out between 
 the dunes, Turlendana ran against the corpse of 
 Barbara, which had not yet been buried. The large 
 body was skinned and bleeding, the plump parts 
 of the back, which were uncovered, appeared of a 
 yellowish colour; upon his legs the skin was still 
 hanging with all the hair; there were two enormous 
 callous spots; within his mouth his angular teeth 
 were visible, curving over the upper jaw and the 
 white tongue ; for some unknown reason the under 
 lip was cut, while the neck resembled the body of 
 a serpent. 
 
 At the appearance of this ghastly sight, Turlen- 
 dana burst Into tears, shaking his head, and moan- 
 ing In a strange unhuman way: 
 
 **Oho! Oho! Ohor 
 
 In the act of lying down upon the camel, he fell. 
 He attempted to rise, but the stupor caused by the 
 wine overcame him, and he lost consciousness. 
 
82 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 Seeing Turlendana fall, BInchi-Banche and the 
 customs officer came over to him. Taking him, 
 one by the head and the other by the feet, they 
 lifted him up and laid him full length upon the 
 body of Barbara, In the position of a loving em- 
 brace. Laughing at their deed, they departed. 
 
 And thus Turlendana lay upon the camel until 
 the sun rose. 
 
THE GOLD PIECES 
 
 PASSACANTANDO entered, rattling the 
 hanging glass doors violently, roughly shook 
 the rain-drops from his shoulders, took his pipe 
 from his mouth, and with disdainful unconcern 
 looked around the room. 
 
 In the tavern the smoke of the tobacco was like 
 a bluish cloud, through which one could discern 
 the faces of those who were drinking: women of 
 bad repute; Pachio, the invalided soldier, whose 
 right eye, affected with some repulsive disease, was 
 covered by a greasy greenish band; BInchi-Banche, 
 the domestic of the customs officers, a small, sturdy 
 man with a surly, yellow-hued face like a lemon 
 without juice, with a bent back and his thin 
 legs thrust Into boots which reached to his knees ; 
 Magnasangue, the go-between of the soldiers, the 
 friend of comedians, of jugglers, of mountebanks, 
 of fortune-tellers, of tamers of bears, of all that 
 ravenous and rapacious rabble which passes 
 
 83 
 
84 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 through the towns to snatch from the Idle and 
 curious people a few pennies. 
 
 Then, too, there were the belles of the Floren- 
 tlno Hall, three or four women faded from dis- 
 sipation, their cheeks painted brick colour, their 
 eyes voluptuous, their mouths flaccid and almost 
 bluish In colour like over-ripe figs. 
 
 Passacantando crossed the room, and seated 
 himself between the women Pica and Peppuccia on 
 a bench against the wall, which was covered with 
 indecent figures and writing. He was a slender 
 young fellow, rather effeminate, with a very pale 
 face from which protruded a nose thick, rapacious, 
 bent greatly to one side ; his ears sprang from his 
 head like two Inflated paper bags, one larger than 
 the other; his curved, protruding lips were very 
 red, and always had a small ball of whitish saliva 
 at the corners. Over his carefully combed hair 
 he wore a soft cap, flattened through long use. A 
 tuft of his hair, turned up like a hook, curled down 
 over his forehead to the roots of his nose, while 
 another curled over his temple. A certain licen- 
 tiousness was expressed in every gesture, every 
 move, and in the tones of his voice and his glances. 
 
 "Ohe," he cried, *Voman Africana, a goblet of 
 wine !" beating the table with his clay pipe, which 
 broke from the force of the blow. 
 
THE GOLD PIECES 85 
 
 The woman Africana, the mistress of the Inn, 
 left the bar and came forward towards the table, 
 waddling because of her extreme corpulence, and 
 placed In front of Passacantando a glass filled to 
 the brim with wine. She looked at him as she did 
 so with eyes full of loving entreaty. 
 
 Passacantando suddenly flung his arm around 
 the neck of Peppuccia, forced her to drink from 
 the goblet, and then thrust his lips against hers. 
 Peppuccia laughed, disentangling herself from the 
 arms of Passacantando, her laughter causing the 
 unswallowed wine to spurt from her mouth Into 
 his face. 
 
 The woman Africana grew livid. She withdrew 
 behind the bar, where the sharp words of Pep- 
 puccia and Pica reached her ears. The glass door 
 opened, and Fiorentino appeared on the thresh- 
 hold, all bundled up In a cloak, like the villain of 
 a cheap novel. 
 
 'Well, girls," he cried out In a hoarse voice, *'It 
 Is time for you to go." Peppuccia, Pica, and the 
 others rose from their seats beside the men and 
 followed their master. 
 
 It was raining hard, and the Square of Bagno 
 was transformed Into a muddy lake. Pachio, 
 Magnasangue, and the others left one after an- 
 other until only Binche-Banche, stretched under the 
 
86 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 table In the stupor of Intoxication, remained. The 
 smoke In the room gradually grew less, while a 
 half-plucked dove pecked from the floor the scat- 
 tered crumbs. 
 
 As Passacantando was about to rise, Afrlcana 
 moved slowly towards him, her unshapely figure 
 undulating as she walked, her full-moon face 
 wrinkled into a grotesque and affectionate grimace. 
 Upon her face were several moles with small 
 bunches of hair growing out from them, a thick 
 shadow covered her upper lip and her cheeks. 
 Her short, coarse, and curling hair formed a sort 
 of helmet on her head; her thick eyebrows met at 
 the top of her flat nose, so that she looked like a 
 creature affected with dropsy and elephantiasis. 
 
 When she reached Passacantando, she grasped 
 his hands In order to detain him. 
 
 **0h, Gluva ! What do you want? What have 
 I done to you?'* 
 
 "You? Nothing." 
 
 *'Why then do you cause me such suffering and 
 torment?" 
 
 *'I? I am surprised! . . . Good night I I 
 have no time to lose just now," and with a brutal 
 gesture, he started to go. But Afrlcana threw 
 herself upon him, pressing his arms, and putting 
 her face against his, leaning upon him with her 
 
THE GOLD PIECES 87 
 
 full weight, with a passion so uncontrolled and 
 terrible that Passacantando was frightened. 
 
 "What do you want? What do you want? 
 Tell me! What do you want? Why do I do 
 this? I hold you! Stay here! Stay with me! 
 Don't make me die of longing; don't drive me 
 mad! What for? Come, take everything you 
 find . . . " 
 
 She drew him towards the bar, opened the 
 drawer, and with one gesture offered him every- 
 thing it contained. In the greasy till were scat- 
 tered some copper coins, and a few shining silver 
 ones, the whole amounting to perhaps five lire. 
 
 Passacantando, without saying a word, picked 
 up the coins and began to count them slowly upon 
 the bar, his mouth showing an expression of dis- 
 gust. Africana looked at the coins and then at 
 the face of the man, breathing hard, like a tired 
 beast. One heard the tinkling of the coins as they 
 fell upon the bar, the rough snoring of Binchi- 
 Banche, the soft pattering of the dove in the midst 
 of the continuous sound of the rain and the river 
 down below the Bagno and through the Bandiera. 
 
 *'Those are not enough," Passacantando said at 
 last. "I must have more than those; bring out 
 some more, or I will go." 
 
 He had crushed his cap down over his head, and 
 
88 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 from beneath his forehead with its curling tuft of 
 hair, his whitish eyes, greedy and impudent, looked 
 at Africana attentively, fascinating her. 
 
 "I have no more; you have seen all there is. 
 Take all that you find ..." stammered Africana 
 in a caressing and supplicating voice, her double 
 chin quivering and her lips trembling, while the 
 tears poured from her piggish eyes. 
 
 *'Well," said Passacantando softly, bending 
 over her, "well, do you think I don't know that 
 your husband has some gold pieces?" 
 
 *'Oh, Giovanni! . . . how can I get them?" 
 "Go and take them, at once. I will wait for 
 you here. Your husband is asleep, now is the 
 time. Go, or you'll not see me any more, in the 
 name of Saint Antony!" 
 
 "Oh, Giovanni! ... I am afraid!" 
 
 "What? Fear or no fear, I am going; let us 
 
 go." , 
 
 Africana trembled; she pointed to Binchi- 
 Banche still stretched under the table in a heavy 
 sleep. 
 
 "Close the door first," she said submissively. 
 
 Passacantando roused Binchi-Banche with a 
 kick, and dragged him, howling and shaking with 
 terror, out into the mud and slush. He came back 
 and closed the door. The red lantern that hung 
 
THE GOLD PIECES 89 
 
 on one of the shutters threw a rosy light into the 
 tavern, leaving the heavy arches in deep shadow, 
 and giving the stairway in the angle a mysterious 
 look. 
 
 "Come ! Let us go !" said Passacantando again 
 to the still trembling Africana. 
 
 They slowly ascended the dark stairway in the 
 corner of the room, the woman going first, the 
 man following close behind. At the top of the 
 stairway they emerged into a low room, planked 
 with beams. In a small niche in the wall was a 
 blue Majolica Madonna, in front of which burned, 
 for a vow, a light in a glass filled with water and 
 oil. The other walls were covered with a number 
 of torn paper pictures, of as many colours as 
 leprosy. A distressing odour filled the room. 
 
 The two thieves advanced cautiously towards 
 the marital bed, upon which lay the old man, 
 buried in slumber, breathing with a sort of hoarse 
 hiss through his toothless gums and his dilated 
 nose, damp from the use of tobacco, his head 
 turned upon one cheek, resting on a striped cotton 
 pillow. Above his open mouth, which looked like 
 a cut made in a rotten pumpkin, rose his stiff 
 moustache; one of his eyes, half opened, resembled 
 the turned over ear of a dog, filled with hair, cov- 
 ered with blisters ; the veins stood out boldly upon 
 
90 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 his bare emaciated arm which lay outside the cov- 
 erlet; his crooked fingers, habitually grasping, 
 clutched the counterpane. 
 
 Now, this old fellow had for a long time 
 possessed two twenty-franc pieces, which had 
 been left him by some miserly relative; these he 
 guarded jealously, keeping them In the tobacco In 
 his horn snuff-box, as some people do musk incense. 
 There lay the shining pieces of gold, and the old 
 man would take them out, look at them fondly, 
 feel of them lovingly between his fingers, as the 
 passion of avarice and the lust of possession grew 
 within him. 
 
 Africana approached slowly, with bated breath, 
 while Passacantando, with commanding gestures, 
 urged her to the theft. There was a noise 
 below; both stopped. The half-plucked dove, 
 limping, fluttered to Its nest In an old slipper at 
 the foot of the bed, but In settling Itself, it made 
 some noise. The man, with a quick, brutal mo- 
 tion, snatched up the bird and choked It In his fist. 
 
 "Is It there?" he asked of Africana. 
 
 "Yes, it Is there, under the pillow," she an- 
 swered, sliding her hand carefully under the pillow 
 as she spoke. The old man moved In his sleep, 
 sighing Involuntarily, while between his eyelids ap- 
 peared a little rim of the whites of his eyes. Then 
 
THE GOLD PIECES 91 
 
 he fell back in the heavy stupor of senile drowsi- 
 ness. 
 
 Africana, in this crisis, suddenly became auda- 
 cious, pushed her hand quickly forward, grasped 
 the tobacco box and rushed towards the stairs, 
 descending with Passacantando just behind her. 
 
 "Lord! Lord! See what I have done for 
 you !" she exclaimed, throwing herself upon him. 
 With shaking hands, they started together to open 
 the snuff-box and look among the tobacco for the 
 gold pieces. The pungent odour of the tobacco 
 arose to their nostrils, and both, as they felt the 
 desire to sneeze, were seized with a strong Im- 
 pulse to laugh. In endeavouring to repress their 
 sneezes, they staggered against one another, push- 
 ing and wavering. But suddenly an Indistinct 
 growling was heard, then hoarse shouts broke 
 forth from the room above, and the old man 
 appeared at the top of the stairs. His face was 
 livid In the red light of the lantern, his form thin 
 and emaciated, his legs bare, his shirt in rags. 
 He looked down at the thieving couple, and, 
 waving his arms like a damned soul, cried : 
 
 "The gold pieces ! The gold pieces ! The gold 
 pieces!" 
 
VI 
 
 SORCERY 
 
 WHEN seven consecutive sneezes of Mastro 
 Peppe De Sieri, called La Brevetta, re- 
 sounded loudly in the square of the City Hall, all 
 the inhabitants of Pescara would seat themselves 
 around their tables and begin their meal. Soon 
 after the bell would strike twelve, and simultane- 
 ously, the people would become very hilarious. 
 
 For many years La Brevetta had given this joy- 
 ful signal to the people daily, and the fame of his 
 marvellous sneezing spread through all the coun- 
 try around, and also through the adjoining coun- 
 tries. His memory still lives In the minds of the 
 people, for he originated a proverb which will en- 
 dure for many years to come. 
 
 Mastro Peppe La Brevetta was a plebeian, 
 somewhat corpulent, thick-set, and clumsy; his 
 
 92 
 
SORCERY 93 
 
 face shining with a prosperous stupidity, his 
 eyes reminded one of the eyes of a sucking calf, 
 while his hands and feet were of extraordinary 
 dimensions. His nose was long and fleshy, his 
 jaw-bones very strong and mobile, and when un- 
 dergoing a fit of sneezing, he looked like one of 
 those sea-lions whose fat bodies, as sailors relate, 
 tremble all over like a jelly-pudding. 
 
 Like the sea-lions, too, he was possessed of a 
 slow and lazy motion, their ridiculously awkward 
 attitudes, and their exceeding fondness for sleep. 
 He could not pass from the shade to the sun, nor 
 from the sun to the shade without an Irrepressible 
 impulse of air rushing through his mouth and 
 nostrils. The noise produced, especially in quiet 
 spots, could be heard at a great distance, and as It 
 occurred at regular Intervals, it came to be a sort 
 of time-piece for the citizens of the town. 
 
 In his youth Mastro Peppe had kept a macaroni 
 shop, and among the strings of dough, the 
 monotonous noise of the mills and wheels. In the 
 mildness of the flour-dusty air, he had grown to 
 a placid stupidity. Having reached maturity, he 
 had married a certain Donna Pelagia of the 
 Commune of Castelll, and abandoning his early 
 trade, he had since that time dealt In terra cotta 
 and Majolica ware, vases, plates, pitchers, and 
 
94 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 all the poor earthenware which the craftsmen of 
 Castelli manufactured for adorning the tables of 
 the land of Abruzzi. Among the simplicity and 
 religiousness of those shapes, unchanged for cen- 
 turies, he lived in a very simple way, sneezing all 
 the time, and as his wife was a miserly creature, 
 little by little her avaricious spirit had communi- 
 cated itself to him, until he had grown Into her 
 penurious and miserly ways. 
 
 Now Mastro Peppe was the owner of a piece 
 of land and a small farm house, situated upon the 
 right bank of the river, just at the spot where the 
 current of the river, turning, forms a sort of green- 
 ish amphitheatre. The soil being well Irrigated, 
 produced very abundantly, not only grapes and 
 cereals, but especially large quantities of vege- 
 tables. The harvests Increased, and each year 
 Mastro Peppe's pig grew fat, feasting under an 
 oak tree which dropped Its wealth of acorns for 
 his delectation. Each year. In the month of 
 January, La Brevetta, with his wife, would go 
 over to his farm, and Invoke the favour of San 
 Antonio to assist In the killing and salting of the 
 
 pig- 
 One year it happened that his wife was some- 
 what ill, and La Brevetta went alone to the 
 slaughtering of the beast. The pig was placed 
 
SORCERY 95 
 
 upon a large board and held there by three sturdy- 
 farm-hands, while his throat was cut with a sharp 
 knife. The grunting and squealing of the hog 
 resounded through the solitude, usually broken 
 only by the murmuring of the stream, then sud- 
 denly the sounds grew less, and were lost in the 
 gurgling of warm vermilion blood which was dis- 
 gorged from the gaping wound, and while the body 
 was giving its last convulsive jerks, the new sun 
 was absorbing from the river the moisture in the 
 form of a silvery mist. With a sort of joyous 
 ferocity La Brevetta watched Lepruccio burn with 
 a hot iron the deep eyes of the pig, and rejoiced 
 to hear the boards creak under the weight of the 
 animal, thinking of the plentiful supply of lard 
 and the prospective hams. 
 
 The murdered beast was lifted up and sus- 
 pended from a hook, shaped like a rustic pitch- 
 fork, and left there, hanging head downward. 
 Burning bundles of reeds were used by the farm- 
 hands to singe off the bristles, and the flames rose 
 almost invisible in the greater light of the sun. At 
 length. La Brevetta began to scrape with a shining 
 blade the blackened surface of the animal's body, 
 while one of the assistants poured boiling water 
 over it. Gradually the skin became clean, and 
 showed rosy-tinted as it hung steaming In the sun. 
 
96 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 Lepruccio, whose face was the wrinkled and 
 unctuous face of an old man, and in whose ears 
 hung rings, stood biting his lips during the per- 
 formance, working his body up and down, and 
 bending upon his knees. The work being com- 
 pleted, Mastro Peppe ordered the farm-hands to 
 put the pig under cover. Never in his life had 
 he seen so large a bulk of flesh from one pig, and 
 he regretted that his wife was not there to rejoice 
 with him because of It. 
 
 Since it was late In the afternoon, Matteo 
 Purlello and Blagio Quaglia, two friends, were 
 returning from the home of Don Bergamino 
 Camplone, a priest who had gone Into business. 
 
 These two cronies were living a gay life, given 
 to dissipation, fond of any kind of fun, very free 
 In giving advice, and as they had heard of the 
 killing of the pig, and of the absence of Pelagia, 
 hoping to meet with some pleasing adventure, 
 they came over to tantalise La Brevetta. Matteo 
 Purlello, commonly called Clavola, was a man of 
 about forty, a poacher, tall and slender, with 
 blond hair and a yellow tinted skin, with a stiff 
 and bristling moustache. His head was like that 
 of a gilded wooden effigy, from which the gilding 
 had partly worn off. His eyes round and restless, 
 like those of a race-horse, shone like two new 
 
SORCERY 97 
 
 silver coins, and his whole person, usually clad 
 in a suit of earth colour, reminded one, in its atti- 
 tudes and movements and its swinging gait, of a 
 hunting dog catching hares as he ran across the 
 plain. 
 
 Biagio Quaglia, so-called Ristabilito, was under 
 medium height, a few years younger than his 
 friend, with a rubicund face, of the brilliancy and 
 freshness of an almond tree In springtime. He 
 possessed the singular faculty of moving his ears 
 and the skin of his forehead independently, and 
 with the skin of the cranium, as does a monkey. 
 By some unexplained contraction of muscles, he 
 was in this way enabled greatly to change his 
 aspect, and this, together with a happy vocal 
 power of imitation, and the gift of quickly catch- 
 ing the ridiculous side of men and things, gave 
 him the power to imitate in gesture and in word 
 the different groups of Pescara, so that he was 
 greatly in demand as an entertainer. In this 
 happy, parasitical mode of life, by playing the 
 guitar at festivals and baptismal ceremonies, he 
 was prospering. His eyes shone like those of a 
 ferret, his head was covered with a sort of woolly 
 hair like the down on the body of a fat, plucked 
 goose before it is broiled. 
 
98 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 When La Brevetta saw the two friends, he 
 greeted them gently, saying: 
 
 *'What wind brings you here?" 
 
 After exchanging pleasant greetings, La 
 Brevetta took the two friends into the room 
 where, upon the table, lay his wonderful pig, 
 and asked: 
 
 "What do you think of such a pig? Eh? 
 What do you think about it?" 
 
 The two friends were contemplating the pig 
 in wondering silence, and Ristabilito made a 
 curious noise by beating his palate with his 
 tongue. 
 
 Ciavola asked: 
 
 "And what do you expect to do with it?" 
 
 "I expect to salt it," answered La Brevetta, his 
 voice full of gluttonous joy at the thought of the 
 future delights of the palate. 
 
 *'You expect to salt it?" cried Ristabilito. 
 "You wish to salt it? Ciavola, have you ever 
 seen a more foolish man than this one? To allow 
 such an opportunity to escape!" 
 
 Stupefied, La Brevetta was looking with his 
 calf-like eyes first at one and then at the other 
 of his interlocutors. 
 
 "Donna Pelagia has always made you bow to 
 her will," pursued Ristabilito. "Now. when she 
 
SORCERY 99 
 
 is not here to see you, sell the pig and eat up 
 the money." 
 
 "But Pelagia? Pelagia? " stammered La 
 
 Brevetta, in whose mind arose a vision of his 
 wrathful wife which brought terror to his heart. 
 
 "You can tell her that the pig was stolen," 
 suggested the ever-ready Ciavola, with a quick 
 gesture of impatience. 
 
 La Brevetta was horrified. 
 
 "How could I take home such a story? Pelagia 
 would not believe me. She will throw me out of 
 doors! She will beat me! You don't know 
 Pelagia." 
 
 "Uh, Pelagia ! Uh, uh, Donna Pelagia !" cried 
 the wily fellows derisively. Then Ristabilito, 
 mimicking the lamenting voice of Peppe and the 
 sharp, screeching voice of the woman, went 
 through a scene of a comedy in which Peppe was 
 bound to a bench, and soundly spanked by his 
 wife, like a child. 
 
 Ciavola witnessed this performance in great 
 glee, laughing and jumping about the pig, unable 
 to restrain himself. The man who was being 
 laughed at was just at this moment taken with a 
 sudden paroxysm of sneezing, and stood waving 
 his arms frantically toward Ristabilito, trying to 
 make him stop. The din was so great that the 
 
loo TALES OF MY NATIFE TOWN 
 
 window panes fairly rattled as the light of the 
 setting sun fell on the three faces. 
 
 When Ristabilito was silenced at last, Ciavola 
 said : 
 
 "Well, let^sgonowT' 
 
 "If you wish to stay to supper with me ... " 
 Mastro Peppe ventured to say between his teeth. 
 
 "No, no, my beauty," interrupted Ciarola, 
 turning toward the door. "Remember me to 
 Pelagia, and do salt the pig." 
 
 II 
 
 The two friends walked together along the 
 shore of the river. In the distance the boats of 
 Barletta, loaded with salt, scintillated like fairy 
 palaces of crystal; a gentle breeze was blowing 
 from Montecorno, ruffling the limpid surface of 
 the water. 
 
 "I say," said Ristabilito to Ciavola, halting, 
 "are we going to steal that pig to-night?" 
 
 "And how can we do it?" asked Ciavola. 
 
 Said Ristabilito: 
 
 "I know how to do It if the pig is left where 
 we last saw it." 
 
 Said Ciavola: 
 
 "Well, let us doit! But after?" 
 
SORCERY loi 
 
 Ristabillto stopped again, his little eyes bril- 
 liant as two carbuncles, his flushed face wrinkling 
 between the ears like a fawn's, in a grimace of 
 
 joy- 
 
 *'I know it . . . " he said laconically. 
 
 In the distance, his form showing black through 
 the naked trees of the silver poplar grove, Don 
 Bergamino Camplone approached the two. As 
 soon as they saw him, they hastened toward him. 
 Noticing their joyful mien, the priest, smiHng, 
 asked them: 
 
 "Well, what good news have you?" 
 
 Briefly, they communicated to him their pur- 
 pose, to which he delightedly assented. Ristabilito 
 concluded softly: 
 
 "We shall have to use great cunning. You 
 know that Peppe, since he married that ugly 
 woman, Donna Pelagia, has become a great miser, 
 but he likes wine pretty well. Now then let us 
 get him to accompany us to the Inn of Assau. 
 You, Don Bergamino, treat us to drinks and pay 
 for everything. Peppe will drink as much as he 
 can get without having to pay anything for it, 
 and will get intoxicated. We can then go about 
 our business with no fear of Interruption." 
 
 Ciavola favoured this plan, and the priest 
 agreed to his share In the bargain. Then all 
 
102 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 together returned to the house of Peppe, which 
 was only about two gun-shots away, and as they 
 drew near, Ciavola raised his voice: 
 
 *'Hello-o ! La Brevetta I Do you wish to come 
 to the Inn of Assau? The priest is here, and he 
 is ready to pay for a bottle or two Hello I" La 
 Brevetta did not delay in coming down the path, 
 and the four set out together, in the soft light of 
 the new moon. The quiet was occasionally 
 broken by the caterwauling of love-stricken cats. 
 Ristabihto turned to Peppe, asking in jest: 
 
 "Oh, Peppe, don't you hear Pelagia calling 
 you?" 
 
 Upon the left side of the river shone the lights 
 of the Inn of Assau, mirrored by the water. As 
 the current of the river was not very strong here, 
 Assau kept a little boat to ferry over his custom- 
 ers. In answer to their calls, the boat approached 
 over the luminous water to meet the new-comers. 
 When they were seated and engaged In friendly 
 chat, Ciavola with his long legs began to rock 
 the boat, and the creaking of the wood frightened 
 La Brevetta, who, affected by the dampness of 
 the river, broke forth in another paroxysm of 
 sneezing. 
 
 Arrived at the Inn, seated around an oaken 
 table, the company became more jovial, laughing 
 
SORCERY 103 
 
 and jesting loudly, and pouring the wine into their 
 victim, who found it easy to let the good red juice 
 of the vines, rich in taste and colour, run down 
 his throat. 
 
 "Another bottle," ordered Don Bergamino, 
 beating his fist upon the table. 
 
 Assau, an essentially rustic, bow-legged man, 
 brought in the ruby coloured bottles. Ciavola 
 sang with much Bacchic freedom, striking the 
 rhythm upon the glasses. La Brevetta, his tongue 
 now thick and his eyes swimming from the effects 
 of the wine, was holding the priest by the sleeve 
 to make him listen to his stammering and inco- 
 herent praises of his wonderful pig. Above their 
 heads lines of dried, greenish pumpkins hung from 
 the ceiling; the lamps, in which the oil was getting 
 low, were smoking. 
 
 It was late at night and the moon was high in 
 the sky when the friends again crossed the river. 
 In landing, Mastro Peppe came near falHng in 
 the mud, for his legs were unsteady and his eye- 
 sight blurred. 
 
 Ristabilito said: 
 
 *'Let us do a kind act. Let us carry this fellow 
 home." 
 
 Holding him up under the arms, they took him 
 home through the poplar grove, and the drunken 
 
104 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 man, mistaking the white trunks of the trees in 
 the night, stammered thickly: 
 
 "Oh, how many Dominican monks I see! . . ." 
 
 Said Clavola, "They are going to look for San 
 Antonio/' 
 
 The drunken man went on, after an interval: 
 
 "Oh, Lepruccio, Lepruccio, seven measures of 
 salt will be enough. What shall we do?" 
 
 The three conspirators, having conveyed 
 Mastro Peppe to the door of his house, left him 
 there. He ascended the steps with much diffi- 
 culty, mumbling about Lepruccio and the salt. 
 Then, not noticing that he had left the door open, 
 he threw himself into the arms of Morpheus. 
 
 Ciavola and Ristabilito, after having partaken 
 of the supper of Don Bergamino, provided with 
 certain crooked tools, set cautiously to work. The 
 moon had set, the sky was glittering with stars, 
 and through the solitude the north wind was 
 blowing sharply. The two men advanced silently, 
 listening for any sound, and halting now and then, 
 when the skill and agility of Matteo Puriello 
 would be called Into use for the occasion. 
 
 When they reached the place, Ristabilito could 
 scarcely withhold an exclamation of joy on find- 
 ing the door open. Profound silence reigned 
 through the house, except for the deep snoring of 
 
SORCERY 105 
 
 the sleeping man. Ciavola ascended the stairs 
 first, followed by Ristabillto. In the dim light 
 they perceived the vague outlines of the pig lying 
 upon the table. With the utmost caution, they 
 raised the heavy body and dragged it out by main 
 force. They stood listening for a moment. The 
 cocks could be heard crowing, one after another, 
 in the yards. 
 
 Then the two thieves, laughing at their prowess, 
 took the pig upon their shoulders and made their 
 way up the path; to Ciavola It seemed like steal- 
 ing through a wood with poached game. The pig 
 was heavy, and they reached the house of the 
 priest in a breathless state. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The next morning, having recovered from the 
 effects of the wine, Mastro Peppe awoke, stood 
 up In bed, and stretched himself, listening to the 
 bells saluting the eve of San Antonio. Already 
 in his mind, in the confusion of the first awaken- 
 ing, he saw Lepruccio cut Into pieces and cover 
 his beautiful fat pork-meat with salt, and his soul 
 was filled with happiness at this thought. Im- 
 patient for the anticipated delight, he dressed 
 hastily and went out to the stair-case, wiping his 
 
io6 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 eyes to see more clearly. Upon the table where 
 he had left the pig, the morning sun was smiling 
 in, but nothing was there save a stain of blood I 
 
 *'The pig? Where is the pig?'* cried the 
 robbed man in a hoarse voice. 
 
 In a frenzy, he descended the stairs, and notic- 
 ing the open door, striking his forehead, he ran 
 out crying, and called the labourers around him, 
 asking every one if they had seen the pig, If they 
 had taken it. His queries came faster and faster 
 and his voice grew louder and louder, until the 
 sound of the uproar came up the river to Ciavola 
 and RIstabilito. 
 
 They came tranquilly upon the group to enjoy 
 the spectacle and keep up the joke. As they came 
 In sight, Mastro Peppe turned to them, weeping 
 In his grief, and exclaimed : 
 
 "Oh, dear me! They have stolen my pig! 
 Oh, dear me! What am I to do now? What 
 am I to do?" 
 
 Blagio Quaglia stood a moment considering 
 the appearance of the unhappy fellow, his eyes 
 half-closed in an expression which was half sneer, 
 half admiration, his head bent sideways, as 
 though judging of the effect of this acting. Then 
 approaching, he said: 
 
SORCERY 107 
 
 "Yes indeed! . . . One cannot deny It . . . 
 You play your part well!" 
 
 Peppe, not understanding, lifted his face, 
 streaked with tears. 
 
 "Yes, yes Indeed! You are becoming very 
 cunning!" continued RIstablllto with an air of 
 confidential friendship. 
 
 Peppe, not yet understanding, stared stupidly at 
 RIstablllto, and his tears stopped flowing. 
 
 "But truly, I did not think you were so 
 malicious!" went on RIstablllto. "Good fellow! 
 My compliments !" 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked La Brevetta be- 
 tween his sobs. "What do you mean? . . . Oh, 
 poor me! How can I now return home?" 
 
 "Good! Good! Very well done!" cried 
 RIstablllto. "Play your part! Play your part! 
 Weep louder! Pull your hair! Make every one 
 hear you! Yes, that way! Make everybody be- 
 lieve you !" 
 
 Peppe, still weeping, "But I am telling you the 
 truth! My pig has been stolen from me! Oh, 
 Lord! Poor me!" 
 
 "Go on ! Go on ! Don't stop ! The more you 
 shout, the less I believe you. Go on! Go on! 
 Some more!** 
 
io8 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 Peppe, beside himself with anger and grief, 
 swore repeatedly. 
 
 *'I tell you It Is true! I hope to die on the 
 spot if the pig has not been stolen from me!" 
 
 "Oh, poor innocent fellow!" shrieked Clavola, 
 jestingly. *'Put your finger In your mouth ! How 
 can we believe you when last night we saw the 
 pig there? Has San Antonio given him wings 
 to fly?" 
 
 **San Antonio be blest! It is as I tell you!" 
 
 *'But how can it be?" 
 
 "So it is!" 
 
 "It can't be sol" 
 
 "It is sol" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Yes, yes ! It is so ! It is so, and I am a dead 
 man I I don't know how I can ever go home 
 again! Pelagia will not believe me; and if she 
 believes me, she will never give me any peace 
 . . . I am a dead man!" 
 
 "Well, we'll try to believe you," said Ristabllito. 
 "But look here, Peppe. Clavola suggested the 
 trick to you yesterday. Is it not so that you might 
 fool Pelagia, and others as well? You might be 
 capable of doing that." 
 
 Then La Brevetta began to weep and cry and 
 
SORCERY 109 
 
 despair In such a foolish burst of grief that Rista- 
 bllito said: 
 
 *'Very well, keep quiet! We believe you. But 
 if this is true, we must find a way to repair the 
 damage." 
 
 "What way?" asked La Brevetta eagerly, a 
 ray of hope coming into his soul. 
 
 "I will tell you," said Biagio Quaglia. "Cer- 
 tainly someone living around here must have done 
 It, for no one has come over from India to take 
 your pig away. Is not that so, Peppe?" 
 
 "It is well, it is well!" assented the man, his 
 voice still filled with tears. 
 
 "Well, then, pay attention," continued Rlsta- 
 bilito, delighted at Peppe's credulity. "Well, 
 then, if no one has come from India to rob you, 
 then certainly someone who lives around here 
 must have been the thief. Is not that so, Peppe?" 
 
 "It is well. It is well." 
 
 "Well, what is to be done? We must summon 
 the farm-hands together and employ some sorcery 
 to discover the thief. When the thief is dis- 
 covered, the pig is found." 
 
 Peppe's eyes shone with greediness. He came 
 nearer at the hint of the sorcery, which awakened 
 In him all his native superstitions. 
 
 "You know there are three kinds of sorcerers. 
 
no TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 white ones, pink ones, and black ones; and you 
 know there are in the town three women who 
 know the art of sorcery: Rosa Schiavona, Rusaria 
 Pajora, and La Ciniscia. It is for you to choose." 
 
 Peppe stood for a moment in deep thought; 
 then he chose Rusaria Pajora, for she was re- 
 nowned as an enchantress and always accom- 
 plished great things. 
 
 "Well then," Ristabilito finished. "There is 
 no time to lose. For your sake, I am willing to 
 do you a favour; I will go to town and take what 
 is necessary; I will speak with Rusaria and ask 
 her to give me all needful articles and will return 
 this morning. Give me the money." 
 
 Peppe took out of his waistcoat three francs 
 and handed them over hesitatingly. 
 
 "Three francs I" cried the other, refusing 
 them. "Three francs? More than ten are 
 needed." The husband of Pelagia almost had a 
 fit upon hearing this. 
 
 "What? Ten francs for a sorcery?" he 
 stammered, feeling In his pocket with trembling 
 fingers. "Here, I give you eight of them, and 
 no more." 
 
 Ristabilito took them, saying dryly: 
 
 "Very well! What I can do, I will do. Will 
 you come with me, Ciavola?" 
 
SORCERY III 
 
 The two companions set off toward Pescara 
 along the path through the trees, walking quickly 
 in single file; Ciavola showed his merriment by- 
 pounding Ristablllto on the back with his fist as 
 they went along. Arriving at the town, they be- 
 took themselves to the store of Don Daniele 
 Pacentro, a druggist, with whom they were on 
 very familiar terms, and here they purchased cer- 
 tain aromatic drugs, having them put up in pills 
 as big as walnuts, well covered with sugar and 
 apple juice. Just as the druggist finished the 
 pills, Blaglo Quaglla, who had been absent dur- 
 ing this time, came in, carrying a piece of paper 
 filled with dried excrements of dog, and asked 
 the druggist to make from these two beautiful 
 pills, similar in size and shape to the others, ex- 
 cepting that they were to be dipped in aloe and 
 then lightly coated with sugar. The druggist 
 did as he asked, and in order that these might 
 be distinguished from the others, he placed upon 
 each a small mark as suggested by Rlstabilito. 
 
 The two cheats then betook themselves back 
 to the house of Mastro Peppe, which they reached 
 in a short time, arriving there at about noon, and 
 found Mastro Peppe anxiously awaiting them. 
 As soon as he saw the form of Ciavola approach- 
 ing through the trees, he cried out : 
 
112 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Everything Is all right/' answered RIstabllito 
 triumphantly, showing the box containing the be- 
 witched confectionery. "Now, as today Is the 
 eve of San Antonio and the labourers are feast- 
 ing, gather all the people together and offer them 
 drink. I know that you have a certain keg of 
 Montepulclano wine; bring that out today! And 
 when everybody Is here, I will know what to say, 
 and what to do." 
 
 IV 
 
 Two hours later, during the warm, clear after- 
 noon, all the neighbouring harvesters and farm- 
 hands, who had been summoned by La Brevetta, 
 were assembled together In answer to the invita- 
 tion. A number of great straw stacks In the 
 yard gleamed brightly golden in the sun; a flock 
 of geese, snowy white, with orange-coloured 
 beaks, waddled slowly about, cackling, and hunt- 
 ing for a place to swim while the smell of manure 
 was wafted at Intervals from the barnyard. All 
 these rustic men, waiting to drink, were jesting 
 contentedly, sitting upon their curved legs, de- 
 formed by their labours; some of them had round, 
 wrinkled faces like withered apples, some were 
 mild and patient In expression, some showed the 
 
SORCERY 113 
 
 animation of malice, all possessed the incipient 
 beards of adolescence, and lounged about in the 
 easy attitudes of youth, wearing their new clothes 
 with the manifest care of love. 
 
 Ciavola and Ristabilito did not keep them wait- 
 ing long. Holding the box of candy in his hand, 
 Ristabilito ordered the men to form a circle, and 
 standing in the centre, he proceeded with grave 
 voice and gestures to give a brief harangue. 
 
 "Good men ! None of you know why Mastro 
 Peppe De Sierri has called you here ..." 
 
 The men's mouths opened in stupid wonder at 
 this unexpected preamble, and as they listened, 
 their joy in anticipation of the promised wine 
 changed to an uneasy expectation of something 
 else, they knew not what. The orator continued : 
 
 "But as something unpleasant might happen 
 for which you would reprove me, I will tell you 
 what is the matter before making any experi- 
 ment." 
 
 His listeners stared questioningly at each other 
 with a look of stupidity, then turned their gaze 
 upon the curious and mysterious box which the 
 speaker held In his hands. One of them, when 
 Ristabilito paused to notice the effect of his words, 
 exclaimed Impatiently: 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
114 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 "I will tell you immediately, my good men. 
 Last night there was stolen from Mastro Peppe 
 a beautiful pig, which was all ready for salting. 
 Who the thief is we do not know, but certainly 
 he must be found among you people, for nobody 
 came from India to steal the pig from Mastro 
 Peppe!" 
 
 Whether it was the playful effect of the strong 
 argument about India, or whether it was the heat 
 of the bright sun cannot be determined, but at 
 any rate, La Brevetta began to sneeze. The 
 peasants moved back, the flock of geese ran in all 
 directions, terrified, and the seven consecutive 
 sneezes resounded loudly in the air, disturbing the 
 rural quiet. An uproar of merriment seized the 
 crowd at the great noise. After they had again 
 recovered their composure, Ristabilito went on 
 gravely, as before: 
 
 "In order to discover the thief, Mastro Peppe 
 has planned to give you certain good candies to 
 eat, and some of his old Montepulciano wine to 
 drink, which will be tapped for this purpose to- 
 day. But I must tell you something. The thief, 
 as soon as he bites the candy, will feel his mouth 
 so drawn up by the bitterness of the candy that 
 he will have to spit it out. Now, do you want to 
 try this experiment? Or, is the thief, in order 
 
SORCERY 115 
 
 not to be found out In such a manner, ready to 
 confess now ? Tell me, what do you want to do ?" 
 
 "We wish to eat and drink!" answered the 
 crowd In a chorus, while an excited motion ran 
 through the throng, each man showing an ex- 
 pression of curiosity and delight at the portentous 
 demonstration about to be made. 
 
 Clavola said: 
 
 "You must stand In a row for this experiment. 
 Now, one of you Is to be singled out." 
 
 When they were all thus formed in a line, he 
 took up the flask of wine and one of the glasses, 
 ready to pour It. Ristabillto placed himself at 
 one end of the line, and began slowly to distribute 
 the candy, which cracked under the strong teeth 
 of the peasants and Instantly disappeared. When 
 he reached Mastro Peppe, he took out one of 
 the canine candles, which had been marked, and 
 handed It to him, without In any way arousing 
 suspicion by his manner. 
 
 Mastro Peppe, who had been watching with 
 wide open eyes to detect the thief, thrust the candy 
 quickly In his mouth, with almost gluttonous 
 eagerness, and began to chew It up. Suddenly 
 his jaw bones rose through his cheeks towards his 
 eyes, the corners of his mouth twisted upwards, 
 and his temples wrinkled, the skin of his nose 
 
ii6 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 drew up, his chin became contorted, and all his 
 features took on a comic and involuntary expres- 
 sion of horror, a visible shiver passed down his 
 back, the bitterness of the aloes on his tongue was 
 beyond endurance, his stomach revolted so that 
 he was unable to swallow the dose, and the un- 
 happy man was forced to spit it from his mouth. 
 
 "Oho, Mastro Peppe! What in the dickens 
 are you doing?" cried out Tulespre dei Passeri, 
 a greenish, hairy old goat-shepherd, green as a 
 swamp-turtle. Hearing his voice, Ristabilito 
 turned around from his work of distributing the 
 candies. Seeing La Brevetta's contortions, he said 
 in a benevolent voice : 
 
 *'Well! Perhaps the candy I gave you is too 
 sweet. Here is another one, try this, Peppe,'' and 
 with his two fingers, he tossed into Peppe's open 
 mouth the other canine pill. 
 
 The poor man took it, and feeling the sharp, 
 malignant eyes of the goat-herder fixed upon him, 
 he made a supreme effort to endure the bitter- 
 ness. He neither bit nor swallowed it, but let it 
 stay in his mouth, with his tongue pressed motion- 
 less against his teeth. But in the heat and damp- 
 ness of his mouth, the aloes began to dissolve, and 
 he could not long endure the taste ; his mouth be- 
 gan to twist as before, his nose was filled with 
 
SORCERY 117 
 
 tears, the big drops ran down his cheeks, spring- 
 ing from his eyes like uncut pearls, and at last, 
 he had to spit out the mouthful. 
 
 "Well, well, Mastro Peppe! What the dick- 
 ens are you doing now?" again exclaimed the 
 goat-herder, showing his white and toothless 
 gums as he spoke. *'Well, well! What does 
 this mean?" 
 
 The peasants broke the lines, and crowded 
 around La Brevetta, some jeering and laughing, 
 others with wrathful words. Their pride had 
 been hurt, and the ready brutality of the rustic 
 people was aroused and the implacable austerity 
 of their superstitious natures broke out in a sud- 
 den tempest of contumely and reproach. 
 
 "Why did you get us to come here to try to 
 lay the blame of this thing on one of us? So 
 this is the kind of sorcery you have gotten up? 
 It was intended to fool us! And why? You cal- 
 culated wrongly, you fool! you liar! you ill-bred 
 fool ! you rascal ! You wanted to deceive us, you 
 fool! you thief! you liar! You deserve to have 
 every bone in your body broken, you scoundrel! 
 you deceiver!" 
 
 Having broken the wine flasks and all the 
 glasses, they dispersed, shouting back their last 
 insults through the poplar grove. 
 
ii8 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 Ciavola, Ristabilito, the geese, and La Brevetta 
 were left alone in the yard. The latter, filled 
 with shame, rage, and confusion, his tongue still 
 biting from the acridness of the aloes, was unable 
 to speak a word. Ristabilito stood looking at him 
 pitilessly, tapping the ground with his toe as he 
 stood supported on his heels, and shaking his 
 head sarcastically, then he broke out with an 
 insinuating sneer: 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Good, good, La Brevetta ! 
 Now, tell us how much you got for the pig. Did 
 you get ten ducats?" 
 
VII 
 THE IDOLATERS 
 
 THE great sandy square scintillated as if 
 spread with powdered pumice stone. All 
 of the houses around it, whitened with plaster, 
 seemed red hot like the walls of an immense 
 furnace whose fire was about to die out. In the 
 distance, the pilasters of the church reflected the 
 radiation of the clouds and became red as granite, 
 the windows flashed as if they might contain 
 an internal conflagration; the sacred images 
 possessed personalities alive with colour; the en- 
 tire structure, beneath the splendour of this 
 meteoric twilight, assumed a more lofty power of 
 dominion over the houses of Radusani. 
 
 There moved from the streets to the square 
 groups of men and women, vociferating and ges- 
 ticulating. In the souls of all, superstitious terror 
 was rapidly becoming intense; in all of those un- 
 cultivated imaginations a thousand terrible im- 
 
 119 
 
I20 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 ages of divine chastisement arose; comments, pas- 
 sionate contentions, lamentable conjurations, dis- 
 connected tales, prayers, cries mingled with the 
 ominous rumbling of an imminent hurricane. 
 
 Already for many days that bloody redness 
 had lingered in the sky after the sunset, had in- 
 vaded the tranquillity of the night, illuminated 
 tragically the slumber of the fields, aroused the 
 howls of the dogs. 
 
 "Giacobbe! Giacobbe!" cried several while 
 waving their arms who previous to this time had 
 spoken In low voices, before the church, crowded 
 around a pilaster of the vestibule. "Giacobbe !" 
 
 There issued from the main door and ap- 
 proached the summoners a long and lean man, 
 who seemed 111 with a hectic fever, was bald upon 
 the top of his head, and crowned at the temples 
 and neck with long reddish hair. 
 
 His small, hollow eyes, animated as if from 
 the ardour of a deep passion, converged slightly 
 toward his nose, and were of an uncertain colour. 
 The lack of the two front teeth of the upper 
 jaw gave to his mouth as he spoke, and to the 
 movements of his sharp chin scattered with hairs, 
 a singular appearance of satyr-like senility. The 
 rest of his body was a miserable architectural 
 structure of bones badly concealed by clothes, 
 
THE IDOLATERS 121 
 
 while on his hands, on the under sides of his arms 
 and on his breast, his skin was full of azure 
 marks, incisions made with the point of a pin 
 and powder of Indigo, In memory of visits to 
 sanctuaries, of grace received, of vows taken. 
 
 As the fanatic drew near to the group around 
 the pilaster, a medley of questions arose from 
 these anxious men. 
 
 "What then? What had Don Consolo said? 
 Had he made only the arm of silver appear?" 
 
 "And was not the entire bust a better omen? 
 When would Pallura return with the candles?" 
 
 "Were there a hundred pounds of wax? Only 
 a hundred pounds? And when would the bells 
 begin to sound? What then? What then?" 
 
 The clamours Increased around Glacobbe; those 
 furthest away drew near to the church; from all 
 the streets the people overflowed on to the piazza 
 and filled It. 
 
 Glacobbe replied to the Interrogators. He 
 spoke in a low voice, as if he were about to reveal 
 terrible secrets, as If he were the bearer of 
 prophecies from afar. He had witnessed on high, 
 in the centre of blood, a threatening hand and 
 then a black veil, and then a sword and a trum- 
 pet. . . . 
 
 "Tell us! Tell us!" the others induced him, 
 
122 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 while watching his face, seized with a strange 
 greediness to hear marvellous things, while, In 
 the meantime the fable sped from mouth to mouth 
 throughout the assembled multitude. 
 
 II 
 
 The great vermilion clouds mounted slowly 
 from the horizon to the zenith, until they finally 
 filled the entire cupola of the heavens. A vapour 
 as of melted metals seemed to undulate over the 
 roofs of the houses, and In the descending lustre 
 of the twilight sulphurous and violent rays blended 
 together with trembling iridescence. 
 
 A long streamer more luminous than the rest 
 escaped toward a street giving on the river 
 front, and there appeared in the distance the 
 flaming of the water between the long, slender 
 shafts of the poplars; then came a border of 
 ragged country, where the old Saracenic towers 
 rose confusedly like Islands of stone in the midst 
 of obscurity; oppressive emanations from the 
 reaped hay filled the atmosphere, which was at 
 times like an odour of putrefied worms amongst 
 the foliage. Troops of swallows flew across the 
 sky with shrill-resounding notes, while going 
 from the banks of the river to the caves. The 
 
THE IDOLATERS 123 
 
 murmuring of the multitude was interrupted by 
 the silence of expectation. The name of Pallura 
 was on all lips, while Irate Impatience burst out 
 here and there. Along the path of the river they 
 did not as yet see the cart appear; they lacked 
 candles and Don Consolo delayed because of this 
 to expose the relics and make the exorcisms ; fur- 
 ther, an Imminent peril was threatening. Panic 
 invaded all of this people, massed like a herd of 
 beasts, no longer daring to lift their eyes to 
 heaven. From the breasts of the women sobs be- 
 gan to escape, while a supreme consternation op- 
 pressed and stupefied all souls at these sounds of 
 grief. 
 
 At length the bells rang out. As these bronze 
 forms swung at a low height, the ominous sound 
 of their tolling blanched the faces of all, and a 
 species of continuous howling filled the air, be- 
 tween strokes. 
 
 "Saint Pantaleone! Saint Pantaleonel" 
 
 There was an immense simultaneous cry for 
 help from these desperate souls. All upon their 
 knees, with extended hands, with white faces, Im- 
 plored, "Saint Pantaleone!" 
 
 There appeared at the door of the church, in 
 the midst of the smoke from two censers, Don 
 Consolo in a shining violet cape embroidered with 
 
124 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 gold. He held on high the sacred arm of silver, 
 and exorcised the air while pronouncing these 
 words in Latin, ^'Ut fidelibus tuis aeris sereni- 
 tatem concedere digneris. Te rogamus, audi nosJ' 
 
 The appearance of the relic excited a delirium 
 of tenderness in the multitude. Tears flowed 
 from all eyes, and behind the clear veil of tears 
 their eyes saw a miraculous, celestial splendour 
 emanate from the three fingers held up to bless 
 the multitude. The arm seemed larger in the kin- 
 dled atmosphere, the twilight rays produced a 
 dazzling effect on the precious stones, the bal- 
 sam of the incense was wafted rapidly to the 
 devotees. 
 
 ^'Te rogamus audi nosf'^ 
 
 But when the arm re-entered and the bells 
 ceased to ring, in the momentary silence, they 
 heard nearby a tinkling of bells that came from 
 the road by the river. Then followed a sudden 
 movement of the crowd in that direction and 
 many said, *'It is Pallura with the candles! It 
 is Pallura who has come ! See Pallura !" 
 
 The cart arrived, rattling over the gravel, 
 dragged by a heavy grey mare, on whose back a 
 great brass horn shone like a beautiful half moon. 
 As Giacobbe and the others ran to meet the wagon 
 the gentle beast stopped, blowing heavily from* 
 
THE IDOLATERS 125 
 
 his nostrils. Giacobbe, who reached it first, saw, 
 stretched in the bottom of the cart, the body of 
 Pallura covered with blood, whereupon he began 
 to howl and waved his arms to the crowd, shout- 
 ing, "He is dead! He is dead 1" 
 
 III 
 
 The sad news passed from mouth to mouth in 
 a flash. The people pressed around the cart, 
 stretched their necks to see the body, no longer 
 thought of threats from above, stricken by this 
 new, unexpected occurrence, invaded by that nat- 
 ural fierce curiosity that men possess in the pres- 
 ence of blood. 
 
 *'Ishedead? How did he die?" 
 
 Pallura rested supine on the boards, with a 
 large wound in the centre of his forehead, with 
 an ear lacerated, with rents in his arms, in his 
 sides, in one thigh. A tepid stream dripped from 
 the hollow of his eyes down to his chin and neck, 
 while it spotted his shirt, formed black and shin- 
 ing clots upon his breast, on his leather belt, and 
 even on his trousers. 
 
 Giacobbe remained leaning over the body; all 
 of those around him waited, a light as of the 
 
126 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 morning illuminated their perplexed faces; and, 
 In that moment of silence, from the banks of the 
 river came the croak of the frogs, and the bats 
 passed and repassed grazing the heads of the 
 people. 
 
 Suddenly Giacobbe standing up, with a cheek 
 stained with blood, cried, "He is not dead. He 
 still breathes." 
 
 A dull murmur ran through the crowd, and 
 those nearest stretched themselves to see; the rest- 
 lessness of those most distant made them break 
 into shouts. Two women brought a flask of 
 water, another some strips of linen, while a youth 
 offered a pumpkin full of wine. The face of the 
 wounded man was bathed, the flow of blood from 
 the forehead stanched and his head raised. 
 
 Then there arose loud voices, demanding the 
 cause of all this. The hundred pounds of wax 
 were missing; barely a few fragments of candles 
 remained among the interstices of the boards in 
 the bottom of the cart. 
 
 In the midst of the commotion the emotions of 
 the people were kindled more and more, and be- 
 came more Irritable and belligerent. As an an- 
 cient hereditary hatred for the country of Mas- 
 calico, opposite upon the other bank of the river. 
 
THE IDOLATERS 127 
 
 was always fermenting, Glacobbe cried venom- 
 ously in a hoarse voice, '*Maybe the candles are 
 being used for Saint Gonselvo?" 
 
 This was like a spark of fire. The spirit of 
 the church awoke suddenly in that race, grown 
 brutish through so many years of blind and fierce 
 worship of its one idol. The words of the fanatic 
 sped from mouth to mouth. And beneath the 
 tragic glow of the twilight this tumultuous peo- 
 ple had the appearance of a tribe of negro 
 mutineers. 
 
 The name of the Saint burst from all throats 
 like a war cry. The most ardent hurled impreca- 
 tions against the farther side of the river, while 
 shaking their arms and clenching their fists. 
 Then, all of those countenances afire with wrath 
 and wrathful thoughts, round and resolute, whose 
 circles of gold in the ears and thick tufts of hair 
 on the forehead gave them a strange barbarian 
 aspect, all of those countenances turned toward 
 the reclining man, and softened with pity. There 
 was around the cart a pious solicitude shown by 
 the women, who wished to reanimate the suffer- 
 ing man ; many loving hands changed the strips of 
 linen on the wounds, sprinkled the face with 
 water, placed the pumpkin of wine to the white 
 
128 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 lips and made a kind of a pillow beneath the head. 
 
 "Pallura, poor Pallura, why do you not 
 answer?" 
 
 He remained motionless, with closed hands, 
 with mouth half open, with a brown down on his 
 throat and chin, with a sort of beauty of youth 
 still apparent in his features even though they 
 were strained by the convulsions of pain. From 
 beneath the binding of his forehead a stream of 
 blood dropped down upon his temples, while at 
 the angles of his mouth appeared little bubbles 
 of red foam, and from his throat issued a species 
 of thick, interrupted hissing. Around him the as- 
 sistance, the questions, the feverish glances in- 
 creased. The mare every so often shook her head 
 and neighed in the direction of her stable. An 
 oppression as of an imminent hurricane weighed 
 upon the country. 
 
 Then one heard feminine cries in the direction 
 of the square, cries of the mother, that seemed 
 even louder in the midst of the sudden silence of 
 the others. An enormous woman, almost suffo- 
 cated by her flesh, passed through the crowd, and 
 arrived crying at the cart. As she was so heavy 
 as to be unable to climb into the cart, she grasped 
 the feet of her son, with words of love inter- 
 
THE IDOLATERS 129 
 
 spersed among her tears, given in a broken voice, 
 so sharp, and with an expression of grief so ter- 
 ribly beast like, that a shiver ran through all of 
 the bystanders and all turned their faces aside. 
 
 "Zaccheo! Zaccheo! my heart I my joy!" the 
 widow C4*ied, over and over again, while kissing 
 the feet of the wounded one, and drawing him to 
 her toward the ground. The wounded man 
 stirre-d, twisted his mouth in a spasm, opened his 
 eyes wide, but he really could not see, because 
 a kind of humid film covered his sight. Great 
 tears began to flow from the corners of his eye- 
 lids and to run down upon his cheeks and neck, 
 his mouth remained twisted, and in the thick hiss- 
 ing of his throat one perceived a vain effort to 
 speak. They crowded around him. ''Speak, Pal- 
 lura! Who has wounded you? Who has 
 wounded you? Speak! Speak!'' 
 
 And beneath the question their wrath raged; 
 their violent desires intensified, a dull crav- 
 ing for vengeance shook them and that heredi- 
 tary hatred boiled up again in the souls of all. 
 
 ''Speak! Who has wounded you? Tell us 
 about it! Tell us about it!" 
 
 The dying man opened his eyes a second time, 
 and as they clasped both of his hands, perhaps 
 
130 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 through the warmth of that living contact the 
 spirit in him revived and his face lighted up. He 
 had upon his lips a vague murmur, betwixt the 
 foam that rose, suddenly more abundant and 
 bloody. They did not as yet understand his 
 words. One could hear in the silence the breath- 
 ing of the breathless multitude, and all eyes held 
 within their depths a single flame because all 
 minds awaited a single word. 
 
 "Ma Ma Ma scalico." 
 
 "Mascalico! Mascalicol" howled Glacobbe, 
 who was bending, with strained ear, to grasp the 
 weak syllables from that dying mouth. An im- 
 mense cry greeted this explanation. There was 
 at first a confused rising and falling as of a tem- 
 pest in the multitude. Then when one voice 
 raised above the tumult gave the signal, the mul- 
 titude disbanded in mad haste. 
 
 One single thought pursued those men, one 
 thought that seemed to have flashed Instantane- 
 ously Into the minds of all: to arm themselves 
 with something in order to wound. A species of 
 sanguinary fatality settled upon all consciences be- 
 neath the surly splendour of the twilight. In the 
 midst of the electrifying odours emanating from 
 the panting country. 
 
THE IDOLATERS 131 
 
 IV 
 
 Then the phalanxes, armed with scythes, with 
 sickles, with hatchets, with hoes and with muskets, 
 reunited on the square before the church. 
 
 And the idolaters shouted, "Saint Pantaleone!" 
 
 Don Consolo, terrified by the turmoil, had fled 
 to the depths of a stall behind the altar. A hand- 
 ful of fanatics, conducted by Giacobbe, penetrated 
 the large chapel, forced its gratings of bronze, and 
 arrived at length in the underground passage 
 where the bust of the Saint was kept. Three 
 lamps fed with olive oil burned gently in the 
 sacristy behind a crystal; the Christian Idol 
 sparkled with Its white head surrounded by a 
 large solar disc, and the walls were covered over 
 with the rich gifts. 
 
 When the idol, borne upon the shoulders of 
 four Hercules, appeared presently between the 
 pilasters of the vestibule, and shed rays from its 
 aureole, a long, breathless passion passed over 
 the expectant crowd, a noise like a joyous wind 
 beat upon all foreheads. The column moved. 
 And the enormous head of the Saint oscillated on 
 high, gazing before it with two empty eyes. 
 
 In the heavens now passed at intervals meteors 
 
132 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 which seemed alive, while groups of thin clouds 
 seemed to detach themselves from the heavens, 
 and, while dissolving, floated slowly away. The 
 entire country of Radusa appeared in the back- 
 ground like a mountain of ashes that might be 
 concealing a fire, and in front of it the contour 
 of the country lost Itself with an indistinct flash. 
 A great chorus of frogs disturbed the harmony 
 of the solitude. 
 
 On the road by the river Pallura's cart ob- 
 structed progress. It was empty now, but bore 
 traces of blood In many places. Irate impreca- 
 tions exploded suddenly In the silence. 
 
 Giacobbe cried, "Let us put the Saint In It I" 
 
 The bust was placed on the boards and dragged 
 by human strength to the ford. The procession, 
 ready for battle, thus crossed the boundary. 
 Along the files metal lamps were carried, the In- 
 vaded waters broke in luminous sprays, and every- 
 where a red light flamed from the young poplars 
 in the distance, toward the quadrangular towers. 
 Mascalico appeared upon a little elevation, asleep 
 in the centre of an olive orchard. 
 
 The dogs barked here and there, with a furi- 
 ous persistency. The column having issued from 
 the ford, on abandoning the common road, ad- 
 vanced with rapid steps by a direct path that cut 
 
THE IDOLATERS 133 
 
 through the fields. The bust of silver borne anew 
 on rugged shoulders, towered above the heads 
 of the men amongst the high grain, odorous and 
 starred with living fireflies. 
 
 Suddenly, a shepherd, who rested under a straw 
 shed to guard the grain, seized by a mad terror 
 at the sight of so many armed men, began to 
 flee up the coast, screaming as loud as he could, 
 "Help! Help!" 
 
 His cries echoed through the olive orchards. 
 
 Then it was that the Radusani increased their 
 speed. Among the trunks of trees, amid the 
 dried reeds, the Saint of silver tottered, gave back 
 sonorous tinklings at the blows of the trees, be- 
 came illuminated with vivid flashes at every hint 
 of a fall. Ten, twelve, twenty shots rained down 
 in a vibrating flash, one after another upon the 
 group of houses. One heard creaks, then cries 
 followed by a great clamorous commotion; sev- 
 eral doors opened while others closed, windows 
 fell in fragments and vases of basil fell shivered 
 on the road. A white smoke rose placidly in the 
 air, behind the path of the assailants, up to the 
 celestial incandescence. All blinded, in a belliger- 
 ent rage, shouted, "To death! To death!" 
 
 A group of idolaters maintained their positions 
 around Saint Pantaleone. Atrocious vitupera- 
 
134 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 tions against Saint Gonselvo burst out amongst 
 the brandished scythes and sickles. 
 
 ''Thief I Thief! Loafer! The candles! . . . 
 The candles!" 
 
 Other groups besieged the doors of the houses 
 with blows of hatchets. And, as the doors un- 
 hinged shattered and fell, the howling Pantaleo- 
 nites burst inside, ready to kill. Half nude 
 women fled to the corners, imploring pity and, 
 trying to defend themselves from the blows by 
 grasping the weapons and cutting their fingers, 
 they rolled extended on the pavement in the midst 
 of heaps of coverings and sheets from which 
 oozed their flaccid turnip-fed flesh. 
 
 Giacobbe, tall, slender, flushed, a bundle of 
 dried bones rendered formidable by passion, di- 
 rector of the slaughter, stopped everywhere in 
 order to make a broad, commanding gesture 
 above all heads with his huge scythe. He walked 
 in the front ranks, fearless, without a hat, in 
 the name of Saint Pantaleone. More than thirty 
 men followed him. And all had the confused 
 and stupid sensation of walking in the midst of 
 fire, upon an oscillating earth, beneath a burning 
 vault that was about to shake down upon them. 
 
 But from all sides defenders began to assem- 
 ble; the MascaHcesi, strong and dark as mulattoes, 
 
THE IDOLATERS 135 
 
 sanguinary, who struck with long unyielding 
 knives, and tore the stomach and throat, accom- 
 panying each blow with guttural cries. The fray 
 drew little by little toward the church, from the 
 roofs of two or three houses burst flames, a horde 
 of women and children escaped precipitately 
 among the olives, seized with panic and no longer 
 with light in their eyes. 
 
 Then among the men, without the handicap 
 of the women's tears and laments, the hand-to 
 hand struggle grew more ferocious. Beneath the 
 rust-coloured sky the earth was covered with 
 corpses. Vituperations, choked within the teeth 
 of the slain, resounded, and ever above the clam- 
 our continued the shout of the Radusani, "The 
 candles! The candles!" 
 
 But the entrance of the church was barred by 
 an enormous door of oak studded with nails. 
 The Mascalicesi defended it from the blows and 
 hatchets. The Saint of silver, impassive and 
 white, oscillated in the thick of the fray, still sus- 
 tained upon the shoulders of the four Hercules, 
 who, although bleeding from head to foot, refused 
 to give up. The supreme vow of the attackers 
 was to place the idol on the altar of the enemy. 
 
 Now while the Mascalicesi raged like prodi- 
 gious lions on the stone steps, Giacobbe disap- 
 
136 TALES OF MY NATIFE TOPVN 
 
 peared suddenly and skirted the rear of the edifice 
 for an undefended opening by which he could 
 penetrate the sacristy. Finally he discovered an 
 aperture at a slight distance from the ground, 
 clambered up, remained fixed there, held fast at 
 the hips by its narrowness, twisted and turned, 
 until at length he succeeded in forcing his long 
 body through the opening. 
 
 The welcome aroma of incense was vanishing 
 in the nocturnal frost of the house of God. Grop- 
 ing in the dark, guided by the crashing of the 
 external blows, the man walked toward the door, 
 stumbling over the chain, and falling on his face 
 and hands. 
 
 Radusanian hatchets already resounded upon 
 the hardness of the oak doors, when he began to 
 force the lock with an iron, breathless, suffocated 
 by the violent palpitation of anxiety that sapped 
 his strength, with his eyes blurred by indistinct 
 flashes, with his wounds aching and emitting a 
 tepid stream which flowed down over his skin. 
 
 *'Saint Pantaleone! Saint Pantaleone!" 
 shouted outside the hoarse voices of those who 
 felt the door yielding slowly, while they redoubled 
 their shouts and the blows of their hatchets. From 
 the other side of the wood resounded the heavy 
 thud of bodies of those that had been murdered 
 
THE IDOLATERS 137 
 
 and the sharp blow of a knife that had pinioned 
 some one against the door, nailed through the 
 back. And it seemed to Giacobbe that the whole 
 nave throbbed with the beating of his wild heart. 
 
 After a final effort, the door swung open. The 
 Radusani rushed in headlong with an immense 
 shout of victory, passing over the bodies of the 
 dead, dragging the Saint of silver to the altar. 
 
 An animated oscillation of reflections suddenly 
 illuminated the obscurity of the nave and made 
 the gold of the candelabra glitter. And in that 
 glaring splendour, which now and again was in- 
 tensified by the burning of the adjacent houses, a 
 second struggle took place. The entangled bodies 
 rolled upon the bricks, remained In a death grip, 
 balanced together here and there In their wrath- 
 ful struggles, howled and rolled beneath the 
 benches, upon the steps of the chapels and against 
 the corners of the confessionals. In the sym- 
 metrical concave of this house of God arose that 
 Icy sound of the steel that penetrates the flesh or 
 that grinds through the bones, that single broken 
 groan of a man wounded In a vital part, that rat- 
 tle that the framework of the skull gives forth 
 when crushed with a blow, that roar of him who 
 dreads to die, that atrocious hilarity of him who 
 has reached the point of exulting In killing, all of 
 
138 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 these sounds echoed through this house of God. 
 And the calm odour of incense arose above the 
 conflict. 
 
 The silver idol had not yet reached the glory 
 of the altar, because the hostile forces, encircling 
 the altar, had prevented it. Giacobbe, wounded 
 in many places, struck with his scythe, never yield- 
 ing a palm's breadth of the steps which he had 
 been the first to conquer. There remained but 
 two to support the Saint. The enormous white 
 head rolled as if drunk over the wrathful pool of 
 blood. The Mascalicesi raged. 
 
 Then Saint Pantaleone fell to the pavement, 
 giving a sharp rattle that stabbed the heart of 
 Giacobbe deeper than any sword could have done. 
 As the ruddy mower darted over to lift it, a huge 
 demon of a man with a blow from a sickle 
 stretched the enemy on his spine. 
 
 Twice he arose, and two other blows hurled 
 him down again. The blood inundated his en- 
 tire face, breast and hands, while on his shoulders 
 and arms the bones, laid bare by deep wounds, 
 shone out, but still he persisted in recovering. 
 Maddened by his fierce tenacity of life, three, 
 four, five ploughmen together struck him furi- 
 ously In the stomach, thus disgorging his entrails. 
 The fanatic fell backwards, struck his neck on the 
 
THE IDOLATERS 139 
 
 bust of the silver Saint, turned suddenly upon his 
 stomach with his face pressed against the metal 
 and with his arms extended before him and his 
 legs contracted under him. 
 
 Thus was Saint Pantaleone lost. 
 
VIII 
 MVNGIA 
 
 THROUGH all the country of Pescara, San 
 Silvestro, Fontanella, San Rocco, even as 
 far as Spoltore, and through all the farms of 
 Vallelonga beyond Allento and particularly in the 
 little boroughs where sailors meet near the mouth 
 of the river, ^through all this country, where 
 the houses are built of clay and of reeds, and 
 the fire material is supplied by drift wood from 
 the sea, for many years a Catholic rhapsodlst 
 with a barbarian and piratical name, who is as 
 blind as the ancient Homer, has been famous. 
 
 Mungia begins his peregrinations at the begin- 
 ning of spring, and ends them with the first frosts 
 of October. He goes about the country, con- 
 ducted by a woman and a child. Into the peaceful 
 gardens and the serenity of the fields he brings 
 his lamenting religious songs, antlphonies, pre- 
 ludes and responses of the offices of the dead. 
 His figure is so familiar to all, that even the 
 
 140 
 
MUNGIA 141 
 
 dogs in the backyards do not bark at his ap- 
 proach. He announces his advent with a trill 
 from his clarionet, and at the well-known signal, 
 the old wives come out upon the thresholds to 
 welcome him, place his chair under the shade of 
 a tree in the yard, and make inquiries as to his 
 health. All the peasants come from their work, 
 and form a subdued and awed circle about him, 
 while with their hard hands they wipe the per- 
 spiration of toil from their foreheads, and, still 
 holding their implements, assume a reverent atti- 
 tude. Their bare arms and legs are knotted and 
 misshapen from the severe toil of the fields ; their 
 twisted bodies have taken on the hue of the 
 earth working in the soil from the dawn of day, 
 they seem to have something in common with the 
 trees and the roots. 
 
 A sort of religious solemnity Is thrown over 
 everything by this blind man. It is not the sun. 
 It is not the fulness of the earth, not the joy of 
 spring vegetation, not the sounds of the distant 
 choruses that gives to all the feeling of admira- 
 tion, of devotion, and more than all, the sadness 
 of religion. One of the old women gives the 
 name of a departed relative to whom she wishes 
 to offer songs and oblations. Mungia uncovers 
 his head. 
 
142 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 His wide shining cranium appears encircled 
 with white hair; his whole face, which in its quiet 
 calm has the appearance of a mask, wrinkles up 
 when he takes the clarionet in his mouth. Upon 
 his temples, under his eyes, beside his ears, around 
 his nostrils and at the corners of his mouth, a 
 thousand lines become visible, some delicate, some 
 deep, changing with the rhythm of the music by 
 which he is inspired. His nerves are at a ten- 
 sion, and over his jaw bones the purple veins 
 show, like those of the turning vine-leaves in the 
 autumn, the lower eyelid is turned outward, show- 
 ing a reddish line, over his whole face the tough 
 skin is tightly drawn, giving the appearance of a 
 wonderful carving in relief; the light plays over 
 the face with its short, stiff, and badly shaved 
 beard, and over the neck, with its deep hollows, 
 between the long stiff cords which stand out 
 prominently, flashing like dew upon a warty and 
 mouldy pumpkin; and, as he plays, a thousand 
 vibrating minor notes float out upon the air, and 
 the humble head takes on an appearance of mys- 
 tery. His fingers press the unsteady keys of the 
 box-wood clarionet, and the notes pour out. The 
 instrument itself seems almost human, and to 
 breathe with life, as inanimate objects which have 
 been long and intimately associated with men 
 
MUNGIA 143 
 
 often do; the wood has an unctuous glare; the 
 holes, which In the winter months become the 
 nests of little spiders, are still filled with cobwebs 
 and dust; the keys are stained with verdigris; In 
 places beeswax has been employed to cover up 
 breaks; the joints are held together with paper 
 and thread, while about the edge one can still see 
 the ornaments of its youth. The blind man's 
 voice rises weak and uncertain, his fingers move 
 mechanically, searching for the notes of a prelude, 
 or an Interlude of days long passed. 
 
 His long, deformed hands, with knots upon 
 the phalanges of the first three fingers, and with 
 the nails of his thumbs depressed and white In 
 colour, resemble somewhat the hands of a decrepit 
 monkey; the backs are of the unhealthy colour of 
 decayed fruit, a mixture of pink, yellow and blue 
 shades; the palms show a net-work of lines and 
 furrows, and between the fingers the skin is 
 blistered. 
 
 When he has finished the prelude, Mungia be- 
 gins to sing, ^'Libera Me Domine/^ and *^Ne Re^ 
 corderis/' slowly, and upon a modulation of five 
 notes. The Latin words of the song are Inter- 
 spersed with his native Idioms, and now and then, 
 to fill out the metrical rhythm, he Inserts an ad- 
 verb ending in ente, which he follows with heavy 
 
144 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 rhymes; he raises his voice in these parts, then 
 lowers it in the less fatiguing lines. The name 
 of Jesus runs often through the rhapsody; not 
 without a certain dramatic movement. The pas- 
 sion of Jesus is narrated in verses of five lines. 
 
 The peasants listen with an air of devotion, 
 watching the blind man's mouth as he sings. In 
 the season, the chorus of the vintagers comes from 
 the fields, vieing with the notes of the pious songs; 
 Mungia, whose hearing is weak, sings on of the 
 mysteries of death; his lips adhere to his tooth- 
 less gums, and the saliva runs down and drips 
 from his chin; placing the clarionet again to his 
 lips, he begins the intermezzo, then takes up the 
 rhymes again, and so continues to the end. His 
 recompense Is a small measure of corn and a bot- 
 tle of wine or a bunch of onions, and sometimes a 
 hen. 
 
 He rises from his chair, a tall, emaciated fig- 
 ure, with bent back and knees turning a little back- 
 ward. He wears upon his head a large green 
 cap, and no matter what the season, he is wrapped 
 In a peasant cloak falling from his throat below 
 his knees and fastened with two brass buckles. 
 He moves with difficulty, at times stopping to 
 cough. 
 
 When October comes, and the vineyards have 
 
MUNGIA 145 
 
 been vintaged and the yards are filled with mud 
 and gravel, he withdraws into a garret, which he 
 shares with a tailor who has a paralytic wife, 
 and a street pauper with nine children who are 
 variously afflicted with scrofula and the rickets. 
 On pleasant days he is taken to the arch of 
 Portanova, and sits upon a rock in the sun, while 
 he softly sings the ^'De Profiindis" to keep his 
 throat in condition. On these occasions, mendi- 
 cants of all sorts gather around him, men with 
 dislocated limbs, hunchbacks, cripples, paralytics, 
 lepers, women covered with wounds and scabs, 
 toothless women, and those without eyebrows and 
 without hair; children, green as locusts, ema- 
 ciated, with sharp, savage eyes, like birds of prey; 
 taciturn, with mouths already withered; children 
 who bear in their blood diseases inherited from 
 the monster Poverty; all of that miserable, de- 
 generate rabble, the remnants of a decrepit race. 
 These ragged children of God come to gather 
 about the singer, and speak to him as one of them- 
 selves. 
 
 Then Mungia graciously begins to sing to the 
 waiting crowd. Chiachiu, a native of Silvi, ap- 
 proaches, dragging himself with great difficulty, 
 helping himself with the palms of his hands, on 
 which he wears a covering of leather; when he 
 
146 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 reaches the group about Mungia, he stops, hold- 
 ing in his hands his right foot, which Is twisted and 
 contorted like a root. Strlgia, an uncertain, re- 
 pugnant figure, a senile hermaphrodite with bright 
 red carbuncles covering neck and grey locks on 
 the temples, of which the creature seems to be 
 proud, the top and back of the head covered with 
 wool like a vulture, next approaches. Then come 
 the Mammalucchi, three Idiot brothers, who seem 
 to have been brought forth from the union of 
 man and goat, so manifest In their faces are the 
 ovine features. The oldest of the three has some 
 soft, degenerated bulbs protruding from the orbs 
 of his eyes, of a bluish colour, much like oval bags 
 of pulp about to rot. The peculiar affliction of 
 the youngest is In his ear, the lobe of which Is 
 abnormally Inflated, and of the violet hue of a 
 fig. The three come together, with bags of 
 strings upon their backs. 
 
 The Ossel comes also, a lean, serpent-like man 
 with an olive-coloured face, a flat nose with a sin- 
 gular aspect of malice and deceit, which betrays 
 his gipsy origin, and eyelids which turn up like 
 those of a pilot who sails over stormy seas. Fol- 
 lowing him Is Catalana dl Gissi, a woman of un- 
 certain age, her skin covered with long reddish 
 blisters, and on her forehead spots looking like 
 
MUNGIA 147 
 
 copper coins, hipless, like a bitch after confine- 
 ment : she is called the Venus of the Mendicants, 
 the fountain of Love at which all the thirsty 
 ones are quenched. 
 
 Then comes Jacobbe of Campli, an old man 
 with greenish-coloured hair like some of the me- 
 chanics' work in brass; then industrious Gargala 
 in a vehicle built of the remains of broken boats, 
 still smeared with tar; then Constantino di Corro- 
 poli, the cynic, whose lower lip has a growth which 
 gives him the appearance of holding a piece of 
 raw meat between his teeth. And still they come, 
 inhabitants of the woods who have moved along 
 the course of the river from the hills to the sea; 
 all gather around the rhapsodist in the sun. 
 
 Mungia then sings with studied gestures and 
 strange postures. His soul is filled with exalta- 
 tion, an aureole of glory surrounds him, for now 
 he gives himself freely to his Muse, unrestrained 
 in his singing. He scarcely hears the clamour of 
 applause which arises from the swarming mendi- 
 cants as he closes. 
 
 At the end of the song, as the warm sun has 
 left the spot where the group is assembled and is 
 climbing the Corinthian columns of the arch of 
 the Capitol, the mendicants bid the blind man 
 farewell and disperse through the neighbouring 
 
148 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 lands. Usually Chiachiu di SIlvi, holding his de- 
 formed foot, and the dwarfed brothers remain 
 after the others have gone, asking alms of passers- 
 by, while Mungia sits silent, thinking, perhaps, of 
 the triumphs of his youth when Lucicoppelle, 
 Golpo di Casoli, and Quattorece were alive. 
 
 Oh, the glorious band of Mungia ! The small 
 orchestra had won through all the lower valley 
 of Pescara a lofty fame. Golpo di Casoli played 
 the viola. He was a greyish little man, like the 
 lizards on the rocks, with the skin of his face 
 and neck wrinkled and membranous like that of 
 a turtle boiled in water. He wore a sort of 
 Phrygian cap which covered his ears on the sides. 
 He played on his viola with quick gestures, press- 
 ing the Instrument with his sharp chin and with 
 his contracted fingers hammering the keys in an 
 ostentatious effort, as do the monkeys of wander- 
 ing mountebanks. 
 
 After him came Quattorece with his bass viol 
 slung over his stomach by a strap of ass-leather; 
 he was as tall and thin as a wax candle, and 
 throughout his person was a predominance of 
 orange tints; he looked like one of those mono- 
 chromatic painted figures in stiff attitudes which 
 ornament some of the poetry of Castelli ; his eyes 
 shone with the yellow transparency of a shepherd 
 
MUNGIA 149 
 
 dog^s, the cartilage of his great ears opened like 
 those of a bat against which an orange light is 
 thrown, his clothes were of some tobacco-coloured 
 cloth, such as hunters usually wear; while his old 
 viol, ornamented with feathers, with silver adorn- 
 ments, bows, images, and medals, looked like 
 some barbarian instrument from which one might 
 expect strange sounds to issue. But Lucicppelle, 
 holding across his chest his rough, two-stringed 
 guitar, well tuned in diapason, came in last, with 
 the bold, dancing step of a rustic Figaro. He was 
 the joyful spirit of the orchestra, the greenest one 
 in age and strength, the liveliest and the brightest. 
 A heavy tuft of crisp hair fell over his forehead 
 under a scarlet cap, and in his ears shone woman- 
 like, two silver clasps. He loved wine as a musi- 
 cal toast. To serenades in honour of beauty, to 
 open-air dances, to gorgeous, boisterous feasts, to 
 weddings, to christenings, to votive feasts and 
 funeral rites, the band of Mungia would hasten, 
 expected and acclaimed. The nuptial procession 
 would move through the streets strewn with bul- 
 rush blossoms and sweet-scented herbs, greeted 
 with joyful shouts and salutes. Five mules, deco- 
 rated with wreaths, carried the wedding presents. 
 In a cart drawn by two oxen whose harness was 
 wound with ribbons, and whose backs were cov- 
 
ISO TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 ered with draperies, were seated the bridal couple; 
 from the cart dangled boilers, earthen vessels, 
 and copper pots, which shook and rattled with the 
 jolting of the vehicle; chairs, tables, sofas, all 
 sorts of antique shapes of household furniture 
 oscillated, creaking, about them; damask skirts, 
 richly figured with flowers, embroidered waist- 
 coats, silken aprons, and all sorts of articles of 
 women's apparel shone in the sun in bright array, 
 while a distaff, the symbol of domestic virtue, 
 piled on top with the linen, was outlined against 
 the blue sky like a golden staff. 
 
 The women relatives, carrying upon their heads 
 baskets of grain, upon the top of which was a 
 loaf, and upon the loaf a flower, came next in 
 hierarchal order, singing as they walked. This 
 train of simple, graceful figures reminded one of 
 the canephorae in the Greek bas-reliefs. Reach- 
 ing the house, the women took the baskets from 
 their heads, and threw a handful of wheat at the 
 bride, pronouncing a ritual augury, invoking fe- 
 cundity and abundance. The mother, also, ob- 
 served the ceremony of throwing grain, weeping 
 copiously as with a brush she touched her daugh- 
 ter on the chest, shoulders and forehead, and 
 speaking doleful words of love as she did so. 
 
 Then in the courtyard, under a roof of 
 
MUNGIA 151 
 
 branches, the feast began. Mungia, who had not 
 yet lost his eyesight nor felt the burden of years 
 upon him, erect in all the magnificence of a green 
 coat, perspiring and beaming, blew with all the 
 power of his lungs upon his clarionet, beating time 
 with his foot. Golpo di Casoli struck his violin 
 energetically, Quattorece exerted himself in a wild 
 endeavour to keep up with the crescendo of the 
 Moorish dance, while Lucicoppelle, standing 
 straight with his head up, holding aloft in his left 
 hand the key of his guitar, and with the right 
 pricking on two strings the metric chords, looked 
 down at the women, laughing gaily among the 
 flowers. 
 
 Then the "Master of Ceremonies" brought In 
 the viands on large painted plates and the cloud 
 of vapour rising from the hot dishes faded away 
 among the foliage of the trees. The amphoras 
 of wine, with their well-worn handles, were passed 
 around from one to another, the men stretched 
 their arms out across the table between the loaves 
 of bread, scattered with anise seeds, and the 
 cheese cakes, round as full moons, and helped 
 themselves to olives, oranges and almonds. The 
 smell of spice mingled with the fresh, vaporous 
 odour of the vegetables; sometimes the guests of- 
 fered the bride goblets of wine in which were 
 
152 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 small pieces of jewelry, or necklaces of great grape 
 stones like a string of golden fruit. After a while 
 the exhilarating effects of the liquor began to be 
 felt, and the crowd grew hilarious with Bacchic 
 joy and then Mungia, advancing with uncovered 
 head and holding in his hands a glass filled to 
 the rim, would sing the beautiful deistic ritual 
 which to feasters throughout the land of Abruzzi 
 gave a disposition for friendly toasts : 
 
 "To the health of all these friends of mine, 
 united, I drink this wine so pure and fine." 
 
IX 
 THE DOWNFALL OF CANDIA 
 
 THREE days after the customary Easter ban- 
 quet, which in the house Lamonica was 
 always sumptuous and crowded with feasters by 
 virtue of its traditions, Donna Cristina Lamonica 
 counted her table linen and silver while she placed 
 each article systematically in chest and safe, ready 
 for future similar occasions. 
 
 With her, as usual, at this task and aiding, were 
 the maid Maria Bisaccia and the laundress Can- 
 dida Marcanda, popularly known as "Candia." 
 The large baskets heaped with fine linen rested 
 in a row on the pavement. The vases of silver 
 and the other table ornaments sparkled upon a 
 tray; they were solidly fashioned, if somewhat 
 rudely, by rustic silversmiths, in shape almost 
 liturgical, as are all of the vases that the rich 
 provincial families hand down from generation to 
 
154 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 generation. The fresh fragrance of bleached 
 linen permeated the room. 
 
 Candia took from the baskets the doilies, the 
 table cloths and the napkins, had the "signora" 
 examine the linen intact, and handed one piece 
 after another to Maria, who filled up the draw- 
 ers while the "signora" scattered through the 
 spaces an aroma, and took notes in a book. Can- 
 dia was a tall woman, large-boned, parched, fifty 
 years of age; her back was slightly curved from 
 bending over in that position habitual to her pro- 
 fession ; she had very long arms and the head of 
 a bird of prey resting upon the neck of a tortoise. 
 Maria Bisaccia was an Ortonesian, a little fleshy, 
 of milk-white complexion, also possessing very 
 clear eyes ; she had a soft manner of speaking and 
 made slow, delicate gestures like one who was ac- 
 customed habitually to exercise her hands amongst 
 sweet pastry, syrups, preserves and confection- 
 ery. Donna Cristina, also a native of Ortona, 
 educated in a Benedictine monastery, was small of 
 stature, dressed somewhat carelessly, with hair 
 of a reddish tendency, a face scattered with 
 freckles, a nose long and thick, bad teeth, and 
 most beautiful and chaste eyes which resembled 
 those of a priest disguised as a woman. 
 
 The three women attended to the work with 
 
THE DOWNFALL OF CANDIA 155 
 
 much assiduity, spending thus a large part of the 
 afternoon. 
 
 At length, just as Candia went out with the 
 empty baskets. Donna Cristina counted the pieces 
 of silver and found that a spoon was missing. 
 
 *'MariaI Maria!" she cried, suddenly panic- 
 stricken. *'One spoon is lacking . . . Count 
 them! Quick!" 
 
 "But how? It cannot be, SIgnora," Maria an- 
 swered. "Allow me a glance at them." She be- 
 gan to re-sort the pieces, calling their numbers 
 aloud. Donna Cristina looked on and shook her 
 head. The silver clinked musically. 
 
 "An actual fact !" Maria exclaimed at last with 
 a motion of despair. "And now what are we to 
 do?" 
 
 She was quite above suspicion. She had 
 given proof of fidelity and honesty for fifteen 
 years in that family. She had come from Ortona 
 with Donna Cristina at the time of her marriage, 
 almost constituting a part of the marriage por- 
 tion, and had always exercised a certain authority 
 in the household under the protection of the "sig- 
 nora." She was full of religious superstition, de- 
 voted to her especial saint and her especial church, 
 and finally, she was very astute. With the "slg- 
 nora" she had united In a kind of hostile alliance 
 
156 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 to everything pertaining to Pescara, and espe- 
 cially to the popular saint of these Pescareslan 
 people. On every occasion she quoted the country 
 of her birth, Its beauties and riches, the splendours 
 of its basilica, the treasures of San Tomaso, the 
 magnificence of Its ecclesiastical ceremonies in con- 
 trast to the meagreness of San Cetteo, which pos- 
 sessed but a solitary, small, holy arm of silver. 
 
 At length Donna Cristina said, "Look care- 
 fully everywhere." 
 
 Maria left the room to begin a search. She 
 penetrated all the angles of the kitchen and loggia, 
 but in vain, and returned at last with empty hands. 
 
 "There Is no such thing about! Neither here 
 nor there!" she cried. Then the two set them- 
 selves to thinking, to heaping up conjectures, to 
 searching their memories. 
 
 They went out on the loggia that bordered the 
 court, on the loggia belonging to the laundry, In 
 order to make a final examination. As their 
 speech grew louder, the occupants of the neigh- 
 bouring houses appeared at their windows. 
 
 "What has befallen you? Donna Cristina, tell 
 us! Tell us!" they cried. Donna Cristina and 
 Maria recounted their story with many words 
 and gestures. 
 
 "Jesu! Jesu! then there must be thieves 
 
THE DOWNFALL OF CANDIA 157 
 
 among us I" In less than no time the rumour of 
 this theft spread throughout the vicinity, in fact 
 through all of Pescara. Men and women fell to 
 arguing, to surmising, whom the thief might be. 
 The story on reaching the most remote house of 
 Sant* Agostina, was huge in proportions; it no 
 longer told of a single spoon, but of all the silver 
 of the Lamonica house. 
 
 Now, as the weather was beautiful and the 
 roses in the loggia had commenced to bloom, and 
 two canaries were singing in their cages, the neigh- 
 bours detained one another at the windows for the 
 sheer pleasure of chattering about the season 
 with its soothing warmth. The heads of the 
 women appeared amongst the vases of basil, and 
 the hubbub they made seemed especially to please 
 the cats in the caves above. 
 
 Donna Cristina clasped her hands and cried, 
 "Who could it have been?" 
 
 Donna Isabella Sertale, nicknamed "The Cat," 
 who had the stealthy, furtive movements of a 
 beast of prey, called in a twanging voice, "Who 
 has been with you this long time. Donna Cris- 
 tina? It seems to me that I have seen Candia 
 come and go." 
 
 "A-a-ia-h!" exclaimed Donna Felicetta Mar- 
 
158 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 gasanta, called "The Magpipe," because of her 
 everlasting garrulity. 
 
 "Ah!" the other neighbours repeated in turn. 
 
 "And you had not thought of her?" 
 
 "And did you not observe her?" 
 
 "And don't you know of what metal Candia is 
 made?" 
 
 "We would do well to tell you of herl" 
 
 "That we would!" 
 
 "We would do well to tell you !" 
 
 "She washes the clothes in goodly fashion, 
 there is none to dispute that. She is the best laun- 
 dress that dwells in Pescara, one cannot help say- 
 ing that. But she holds a defect in her five 
 fingers. Did you not know that, now?" 
 
 "Once two of my doilies disappeared." 
 
 "And I missed a tablecloth." 
 
 "And I a shift shirt." 
 
 "And I three pairs of stockings." 
 
 "And I two pillow-cases." 
 
 "And I a new skirt." 
 
 "And I failed to recover an article." 
 
 "I have lost " 
 
 "And I, too." 
 
 "I have not driven her out, for who is there 
 to fill her place?" 
 
 "Silvestra?" 
 
THE DOWNFALL OF CANDIA 159 
 
 "No! No I" 
 
 "Angelantonia ? Balascetta?** 
 
 "Each worse than the other!'' 
 
 "One must have patience." 
 
 "But a spoon, think of that!" 
 
 "It's too much! it is!" 
 
 "Don't remain silent about it, Donna Cristina, 
 don't remain silent!" 
 
 "Whether silent or not silent !" burst out Maria 
 Bisaccia, who for all her placid and benign ex- 
 pression never let a chance escape her to oppress 
 or put in a bad light the other servants of the 
 house, "we will think for ourselves!" 
 
 In this fashion the chatter from the windows on 
 the loggia continued, and accusation fled from 
 mouth to mouth throughout the entire district. 
 
 II 
 
 The following morning, when Candia Mar- 
 canda had her hands in the soap-suds, there ap- 
 peared at her door-sill the town guard Biaglo 
 Pesce, popularly known as "The Corporal." He 
 said to her, "You are wanted by SIgnor Sindaco 
 at the town-hall this very moment." 
 
 "What did you say?" asked Candia, knitting 
 her brows without discontinuing her task. 
 
i6o TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 *'You are wanted by Signer Sindaco at the 
 town-hall this very moment." 
 
 "I am wanted? And why?" Candia asked in 
 a brusque manner. She did not know what was 
 responsible for this unexpected summons and 
 therefore reared at it like a stubborn animal be- 
 fore a shadow. 
 
 "I cannot know the reason," answered the Cor- 
 poral. "I have received but an order." 
 
 *'What order?" 
 
 The woman because of an obstinacy natural 
 to her could not refrain from questions. She was 
 unable to realise the truth. 
 
 "I am wanted by Signor Sindaco? And why? 
 And what have I done? I have no wish to go 
 there. I have done nothing unseemly." 
 
 Then the Corporal cried impatiently, "Ah, you 
 do not wish to go there ? You had better beware !" 
 And he went away muttering, with his hand on 
 the hilt of his shabby sword. 
 
 Meanwhile several who had heard the dialogue 
 came from their doorways into the street and be- 
 gan to stare at the laundress, who was violently 
 attacking her wash. Since they knew of the sil- 
 ver spoon they laughed at one another and made 
 remarks that the laundress did not understand. 
 Their ridicule and ambiguous expressions filled 
 
THE DOWNFALL OF CANDIA i6i 
 
 the heart of the woman with much uneasiness, 
 which increased when the Corporal appeared ac- 
 companied by another guard. 
 
 "Now move on!" he said resolutely. 
 
 Candia wiped her arms in silence and went. 
 Throughout the square everyone stopped to look. 
 Rosa Panara, an enemy, from the threshold of 
 her shop, called with a fierce laugh, "Drop the 
 bone thou hast picked up !" 
 
 The laundress, bewildered, unable to imagine 
 the cause of this persecution, could not answer. 
 
 Before the town-hall stood a group of curious 
 people who waited to see her pass. Candia, sud- 
 denly seized with a wrathful spirit, mounted the 
 stairs quickly, came into the presence of Signor 
 Sindaco out of breath, and asked, "Now, what do 
 you want with me?" 
 
 Don Silla, a man of peaceable temperament, re- 
 mained for a moment somewhat taken aback by 
 the sharp voice of the laundress and turned a be- 
 seeching look upon the faithful custodians of the 
 communal dignity. Then he took some tobacco 
 from a horn-box and said, "Be seated, my 
 daughter." 
 
 Candia remained upon her feet. Her hooked 
 nose was inflated with choler, and her cheeks, 
 
1 62 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 roughly seamed, trembled from the contraction of 
 her tightly compressed jaws. 
 
 "Speak quickly, Don SlUa !" she cried. 
 
 "You were occupied yesterday in carrying back 
 the clean linen to Donna Cristina Lamonica?" 
 
 "Well, and what of it? Is she missing some- 
 thing? Everything was counted piece by piece 
 . . . nothing was lacking. Now, what is it all 
 about?" 
 
 "One moment, my daughter! The room had 
 silver in it ... ! 
 
 Candia, divining the truth, turned upon him like 
 a viper about to sting. At the same time her 
 thin lips trembled. 
 
 "The room had silver in it,'* he continued, "and 
 now Donna Cristina finds herself lacking one 
 spoon. Do you understand, my daughter? Was 
 it taken by you . . . through mistake?" 
 
 Candia jumped like a grasshopper at this un- 
 deserved accusation. In truth she had stolen 
 nothing. "Ah, I? I?" she cried. "Who says I 
 took it? Who has seen me in such an act? You 
 fill me with amazement . . . you fill me with 
 wonder! DonSIlla! I a thief? I? I?..." 
 
 And her indignation had no limit. She was 
 even more wounded by this unjust accusation be- 
 
THE DOWNFALL OF CANDIA 163 
 
 cause she felt herself capable of the deed which 
 they had attributed to her. 
 
 'Then you have not taken it?" Don Silla in- 
 terrupted, withdrawing prudently into the depths 
 of his large chair. 
 
 "You fill me with amazement!" Candia chided 
 afresh, while she shook her long hands as if they 
 were two whips. 
 
 "Very well, you may go. We will see in 
 time." Without saying good-bye, Candia made her 
 exit, striking against the door-post as she did so. 
 She had become green in the face and was beside 
 herself with rage. On reaching the street and see- 
 ing the crowd assembled there, she understood at 
 length that popular opinion was against her, that 
 no one believed in her innocence. Nevertheless 
 she began publicly to exculpate herself. The peo- 
 ple laughed and drifted away from her. In a 
 wrathful state of mind she returned home, sank 
 into a condition of despair and fell to weeping in 
 her doorway. 
 
 Don Donato Brandimarte, who lived next door, 
 said to her by way of a joke : 
 
 "Cry aloud, Candia. Cry to the full extent of 
 your strength, for the people are about to pass 
 now." 
 
 As there were clothes lying in a heap waiting 
 
i64 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 to be boiled clean she finally grew quiet, bared 
 her arms and set herself to work. While work- 
 ing, she brooded on how to clear her character, 
 constructed a method of defence, sought in her 
 cunning, feminine thoughts an artificial means for 
 proving her innocence ; balancing her mind subtly 
 in mid-air, she had recourse to all of those ex- 
 pedients which constitute an ignorant argument, 
 in order to present a defence that might persuade 
 the incredulous. 
 
 Later, when she had finished her task, she went 
 out and went first to Donna Cristina. 
 
 Donna Cristina would not see her. Maria 
 Bisaccia listened to Candia's proHfic words and 
 shook her head without reply and at length left 
 her in a dignified way. 
 
 Then Candia visited all of her customers. To 
 each one she told her story, to each one she laid 
 bare her defence, always adding to it a new argu- 
 ment, ever Increasing the size of the words, be- 
 coming more heated and finally despairing in the 
 presence of Incredulity and distrust as all was 
 useless. She felt at last that an explanation was 
 no longer possible. A kind of dark discourage- 
 ment fastened upon her mind. What more could 
 she do! What more could she say! 
 
THE DOWNFALL OF CANDIA 165 
 
 III 
 
 Donna Cristina Lamonica, meanwhile, sent for 
 La CInlgIa, a woman of the Ignorant masses, who 
 followed the profession of magic and unscientific 
 medicine. Previously, La CInigia had several 
 times discovered stolen goods and some said that 
 she had underhand dealings with the thieves. 
 
 Donna Cristina said to her, "Recover the spoon 
 for me and I will give you a rich present." 
 
 La CInigia answered, "Very well. Twenty- 
 four hours will suffice me." And after twenty- 
 four hours she brought the news, "The spoon is 
 to be found in the court in a hole adjacent to the 
 sewer." Donna Cristina and Maria descended to 
 the court, searched, and to their great astonish- 
 ment found the missing piece. 
 
 The news spread rapidly throughout Pescara. 
 Then in triumph, Candia Marcanda immediately 
 began to frequent the streets. She seemed taller, 
 held her head more erect and smiled Into the eyes 
 of everyone as if to say, "Now you have seen for 
 yourselves?" 
 
 The people in the shops, when she passed by, 
 murmured something and then broke Into laugh- 
 ter. Fllippo Selvi, who was drinking a glass of 
 
1 66 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 brandy in the Cafe d'Angeladea, called to Can- 
 dia, "Over here is a glass waiting for Candia." 
 
 The woman, who loved ardent liquor, moved 
 her lips greedily. 
 
 Filippo Selvl added, "And you are deserving 
 of it, there is no doubt of that." 
 
 A crowd of idlers had assembled before the 
 cafe. All wore a teasing expression upon their 
 countenances. Filippo La Selvi having turned to 
 his audience while the woman was drinking, 
 vouchsafed, "And she knew how to find it, did 
 she? The old fox.. ." 
 
 He struck familiarly the bony shoulder of the 
 laundress by way of prelude. 
 
 Everyone laughed. 
 
 Magnafave, a small hunchback, defective in 
 body and speech and halting on the syllables, 
 cried: 
 
 "Ca-ca-ca Candia a and Cinigia !" He 
 followed this with gesticulations and wary stut- 
 terings, all of which implied that Candia and La 
 Cinigia were in league. At this the crowd be- 
 came convulsed with mirth. 
 
 Candia remained dazed for a moment with the 
 glass in her hand. Then of a sudden she under- 
 stood. They still did not believe In her innocence. 
 They were accusing her of having secretly carried 
 
THE DOWNFALL OF CANDIA 167 
 
 back the spoon, in agreement with the fortune- 
 teller as to the placing of it, in order to escape 
 disgrace. 
 
 At this thought, the blind grip of rage seized 
 her. She could not find words for speech. She 
 threw herself upon the weakest of her tormentors, 
 which was the small hunchback, and belaboured 
 him with blows and scratches. The crowd, tak- 
 ing a cruel pleasure in witnessing the scuffle, 
 cheered itself into a circle as if watching the strug- 
 gle of two animals, and encouraged both com- 
 batants with cries and gesticulations. 
 
 Magnafave, terrified by her unexpected mad- 
 ness, sought to flee, dodging like a monkey; but, 
 detained by those terrible hands of the laundress, 
 he whirled with ever-increasing velocity, like a 
 stone from a sling, until at length he fell upon his 
 face with great violence. 
 
 Several ran forward to raise him. Candia 
 withdrew in the midst of hisses, shut herself up 
 in her house, threw herself across her bed, weep- 
 ing and biting her fingers. This latest accusation 
 burnt into her more than the former, particularly 
 because she realised that she was capable of such 
 a subterfuge. How to disentangle herself now? 
 How make the truth clear? She grew desperate 
 on thinking that she could not bring to the aid of 
 
i68 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 her argument any material difficulties that might 
 have hindered the execution of such a deceit. Ac- 
 cess to the court was very easy; a never closed 
 door was on the first landing-place of a large 
 staircase and in order to dispose of waste matter 
 and to attend to other diverse duties, a quantity 
 of people passed freely in and out of that door- 
 way. Therefore she could not close the mouths 
 of her accusers by saying, ''How could I have 
 got in there ?" The means for accomplishing such 
 an undertaking were many and simple, and on this 
 very lack of obstacles popular opinion chose to 
 establish itself. 
 
 Candia therefore sought different persuasive 
 arguments; she sharpened all her cunning, im- 
 agined three, four, five separate circumstances 
 that might easily account for the finding of the 
 spoon in that hole; she took refuge in mental 
 turnings and twistings of every kind and subtilised 
 with singular ingenuity. Later she began to go 
 around from shop to shop, from house to house, 
 straining in every way to overcome the incredulity 
 of the people. 
 
 At first they listened to her enticing arguments 
 for a diversion. At last they said, "Oh, very well I 
 Very well I" But with a certain inflection of the 
 
THE DOWNFALL OF CANDIA 169 
 
 voice which left Candia crushed. All her efforts 
 then were useless. No one believed! 
 
 With an astonishing persistency, she returned 
 to the siege. She passed entire nights pondering 
 on new reasons, how to construct new explana- 
 tions, to overcome new obstacles. Little by little, 
 from the continuous absorption, her mind weak- 
 ened, could not entertain any thought save that 
 of the spoon, and had scarcely any longer any 
 realisation of the events of every day life. Later, 
 through the cruelty of the people, a veritable 
 mania arose in the mind of the poor woman. 
 
 She neglected her duties and was reduced al- 
 most to penury. She washed the clothes badly, 
 lost and tore them. When she descended to the 
 bank of the river under the iron-bridge where the 
 other laundresses had collected, at times she let 
 escape from her hands garments which the cur- 
 rent snatched and they were gone forever. She 
 babbled continuously on the same subject. To 
 drown her out the young laundresses set them- 
 selves to singing and to bantering one another 
 from their places with impromptu verses. She 
 shouted and gesticulated like a mad woman. 
 
 No one any longer gave her work. Out of com- 
 passion for her, her former customers sent her 
 food. Little by little the habit of begging settled 
 
170 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 upon her. She walked the streets, ragged, bent, 
 and dishevelled. Impertinent boys called after 
 her, "Now tell us the story of the spoon, that 
 we may know about it, do, Candial" 
 
 She stopped sometimes unknown passersby to 
 recount her story and to wander into the mazes 
 of her defence. The scapegoats of the town 
 hailed her and for a cent made her deliver her 
 narration three, four times; they raised objections 
 to her arguments and were attentive to the end of 
 the tale for the sake of wounding her at last with 
 a single word. She shook her head, moved on 
 and clung to other feminine beggars and reasoned 
 with them, always, always Indefatigable and un- 
 conquerable. She took a fancy to a deaf woman 
 whose skin was afflicted with a kind of reddish 
 leprosy, and who was lame in one leg. 
 
 In the winter of 1874 a malignant fever seized 
 her. Donna Cristina Lamonica sent her a cor- 
 dial and a hand-warmer. The sick woman, 
 stretched on her straw pallet, still babbled about 
 the spoon. She raised on her elbows, tried to mo- 
 tion with her hands in order to assist In the sum- 
 ming up of her conclusions. The leprous woman 
 took her hands and gently soothed her. 
 
 In her last throes, when her enlarged eyes were 
 
THE DOWNFALL OF CANDLi 171 
 
 already being veiled behind some suffusing mois- 
 ture that had mounted to them from within, Can- 
 dia murmured, "I was not the one, Signor . . . 
 you see . . . because . . . the spoon . . .'* 
 
X 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OFENA 
 
 WHEN the first confused clamour of the re- 
 bellion reached Don Filippo Cassaura, he 
 suddenly opened his eyelids, that weighed heavily 
 upon his eyes, inflamed around the upturned lids, 
 like those of pirates who sail through stormy seas. 
 
 "Did you hear?" he asked of Mazzagrogna, 
 who was standing nearby, while the trembling of 
 his voice betrayed his inward fear. 
 
 The majordomo answered, smiling, "Do not be 
 afraid. Your Excellency. Today is St. Peter's 
 day. The mowers are singing." 
 
 The old man remained listening, leaning on his 
 elbow and looking over the balcony. The hot 
 south wind was fluttering the curtains. The 
 swallows, in flocks, were darting back and forth 
 as rapidly as arrows through the burning air. All 
 the roofs of the houses below glared with reddish 
 and greyish tints. Beyond the roofs was extended 
 
 172 
 
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OFENA 173 
 
 the vast, rich country, gold In colour, like ripened 
 wheat. 
 
 Again the old man asked, **But Giovanni, 
 have you heard?" 
 
 And indeed, clamours, which did not seem to 
 indicate joy, reached their ears. The wind, ren- 
 dering them louder at intervals, pushing them and 
 intermingling with its whistling noise, made them 
 appear still more strange. 
 
 *'Do not mind that. Your Excellency," an- 
 swered Mazzagrogna. "Your ears deceive you." 
 
 "Keep quiet." And he arose to go towards one 
 of the balconies. 
 
 He was a thick-set man, bow-legged, with enor- 
 mous hands, covered with hair on the backs like 
 a beast. His eyes were oblique and white, like 
 those of the Albinos. His face was covered with 
 freckles. A few red hairs straggled upon his 
 temples and the bald top of his head was flecked 
 with dark projections in the shape of chestnuts. 
 
 He remained standing for a while, between the 
 two curtains. Inflated like sails, in order to watch 
 the plain beneath. Thick clouds of dust, rising 
 from the road of the Fara, as after the passing 
 of immense flocks of sheep, were swept by the 
 wind and grew into shapes of cyclones. From 
 time to time these whirling clouds caused whis- 
 
174 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 tling sounds, as if they encompassed armed 
 people. 
 
 "Well?" asked Don Fillppo, uneasily. 
 
 "Nothing," repeated Mazzagrogna, but his 
 brows were contracted. 
 
 Again the impetuous rush of wind brought a 
 tumult of distant cries. 
 
 One of the curtains, blown by the wind, began 
 to flutter and wave in the air like an inflated flag. 
 A door was suddenly shut with violence and noise, 
 the glass panel trembled from the shock. The 
 papers, accumulated upon the table, were scattered 
 around the room. 
 
 "Do close it! Do close it!" cried the old man, 
 with emotional terror. 
 
 "Where is my son?" 
 
 He was lying upon the bed, suffocated by his 
 fleshiness, and unable to rise, as all the lower part 
 of his body was deadened by paralysis. A con- 
 tinuous paralytic tremor agitated his muscles. 
 His hands, lying on the bed sheets, were contorted, 
 like the roots of old olive trees. A copious per- 
 spiration dripped from his forehead and from his 
 bald head, and dropped from his large face, 
 which had a pinkish, faded colour, like the gall of 
 oxen. 
 
 "Heavens !" murmured Mazzagrogna, between 
 
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OFENA 175 
 
 his teeth, as he closed the shutters vehemently. 
 "They are in earnest!" 
 
 One could now perceive upon this road of Fara, 
 near the first house, a multitude of men, excited 
 and wavering, like the overflow of rivulets, which 
 Indicated a still greater multitude of people. In- 
 visible, hidden by the rows of roofs and by the 
 oak trees of San PIo. The auxiliary legion of 
 the country had met the one of the rebellion. 
 Little by little the crowd would diminish, enter^ 
 ing the roads of the country and disappearing like 
 an army of ants through the labyrinth of the ant 
 hill. 
 
 The suffocated cries, echoing from house to 
 house, reached them now, like a continuous but 
 Indistinct rumbling. At moments there was silence 
 and then you could hear the great fluttering of the 
 ash trees In front of the palace, which seemed as 
 If already abandoned. 
 
 "My son! Where is he?" again asked the old 
 man. In a quivering, squeaking voice. "Call him! 
 I wish to see him." 
 
 He trembled upon his bed, not only because he 
 was a paralytic, but also because of fear. 
 
 At the time of the first seditious movement of 
 the day before, at the cries of about a hundred 
 youths, who had come under the balcony to shout 
 
176 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 against the latest extortions of the Duke of Ofena, 
 he had been overcome by such a foolish fright, 
 that he had wept like a little girl, and had spent 
 the night invoking the Saints of Paradise. The 
 thought of death and of his danger gave rise to 
 an Indescribable terror in that paralytic old man, 
 already half dead, in whom the last breaths of 
 life were so painful. He did not wish to die. 
 
 *'LuIgI I Lulgl !" he began to cry in his anguish. 
 
 All the place was filled with the sharp rattling 
 of the window glasses, caused by the rush of the 
 wind. From time to time one could hear the 
 banging of a door, and the sound of precipitate 
 steps and sharp cries. 
 
 *'LuigiI" 
 
 II 
 
 The Duke ran up. He was somewhat pale and 
 excited, although endeavouring to control himself. 
 He was tall and robust, his beard still black on his 
 heavy jaws. Fr^m his mouth, full and imperious, 
 came forth explosive outbursts ; his voracious eyes 
 were troubled; his strong nose, covered with red 
 spots, quivered. 
 
 *'Well, then?" asked Don FIlIppo, breathlessly, 
 with a rattling sound, as though suffocated. 
 
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OFENA 177 
 
 "Do not fear, father, I am here," answered the 
 Duke, approaching the bed and trying to smile. 
 
 Mazzagrogna was standing in front of one of 
 the balconies, looking out attentively. No cries 
 reached them now and no one was to be seen. 
 
 The sun, gradually descending in the clear sky, 
 was like a rosy circle of flames, enlarging and 
 glaring over the hill-tops. All the country around 
 seemed to burn and the southwest wind resembled 
 a breath from the fire. The first quarter of the 
 moon arose through the groves of Lisci. Poggio, 
 Revelli, Ricciano, Rocca of Forca, were seen 
 through the window panes, revealed by distant 
 flashes of lightning, and from time to time the 
 sound of bells could be heard. A few incendiary 
 fires began to glow here and there. The heat 
 was suffocating. 
 
 "This," said the Duke of Ofena, in his hoarse, 
 harsh voice, "comes from Scioli, but " 
 
 He made a menacing gesture, then he ap- 
 proached Mazzagrogna. 
 
 He felt uneasy, because Carletto Grua could 
 not yet be seen. He paced up and down the hall 
 with a heavy step. He then detached from a 
 hook two long, old-fashioned pistols, examining 
 them carefully. The father followed his every 
 movement with dilated eyes, breathing heavily, 
 
178 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 like a calf in agony, and now and then he shook 
 the bed cover with his deformed hands. He 
 asked two or three times of Mazzagrogna, *'What 
 can you see?" 
 
 Suddenly Mazzagrogna exclaimed, "Here 
 comes Carletto, running with Gennaro." 
 
 You could hear, in fact, the furious blows upon 
 the large gate. Soon after, Carletto and the ser- 
 vant entered the room, pale, frightened, stained 
 with blood and covered with dust. 
 
 The Duke, on perceiving Carletto, uttered a 
 cry. He took him in his arms and began to feel 
 him all over his body, to find the wounds. 
 
 "What have they done to you? What have 
 they done to you? Tell me?" 
 
 The youth was weeping like a girl. 
 
 "There," said he, between his sobs. He low- 
 ered his head and pointed on the top, to some 
 bunches of hair, sticking together with congealed 
 blood. 
 
 The Duke passed his fingers softly through the 
 hair to discover the wounds. He loved Carletto 
 Grua, and had for him a lover's solicitude. 
 
 "Does It hurt you?" he asked. 
 
 The youth sobbed more vehemently. He was 
 slender, like a girl, with an effeminate face, hardly 
 shaded by an incipient blond beard, his hair was 
 
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OF EN A 179 
 
 rather long, he had a beautiful mouth, and the 
 sharp voice of an eunuch. He was an orphan, 
 the son of a confectioner of Benevento. He acted 
 as valet to the Duke. 
 
 "Now they are coming,'* he said, his whole 
 frame trembling, turning his eyes, filled with tears, 
 towards the balcony, from which came the clam- 
 ours, louder and more terrible. 
 
 The servant, who had a deep wound upon his 
 shoulder, and his arm up to the elbow all stained 
 with blood, was telling falterlngly how they had 
 both been overtaken by the maddened mob, when 
 Mazzagrogna, who had remained watching, cried 
 out, "Here they are! They are coming to the 
 palace. They are armed!" 
 
 Don Lulgi, leaving Carletto, ran to look out. 
 
 ni 
 
 In truth, a multitude of people, rushing up the 
 wide incline with such united fury, shouting and 
 shaking their weapons and their tools, did not re- 
 semble a gathering of individuals, but rather the 
 overflow of a blind mass of matter, urged on by 
 an Irresistible force. 
 
 In a few moments, the mob was beneath the 
 palace, stretching around it like an octopus, with 
 
i8o TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 many arms, and enclosing the whole edifice in a 
 surging circle. 
 
 Some among the rebels carried large bunches 
 of lighted sticks, like torches, casting over their 
 faces a mobile, reddish light and scattering sparks 
 and burning cinders, which caused noisy, crackling 
 sounds. Some, In a compact group, were carrying 
 a pole, from the top of which hung the corpse of 
 a man. They were threatening death, with ges- 
 tures and cries. With hatred they were shouting 
 the name, "Cassaura! CassauraT' 
 
 The Duke of Ofena threw up his hands In des- 
 pair upon recognising on the top of the pole the 
 mutilated body of Vincenzio Murro, the messen- 
 ger he had sent during the night to ask for help 
 from the soldiers. He pointed out the hanging 
 body to Mazzagrogna, who said, in a low voice, 
 "It Is the end r 
 
 Don Filippo, however, heard him, and began to 
 give forth such a rattling sound that they all felt 
 their hearts oppressed and their courage failing 
 them. 
 
 The servants, with pale faces, ran to the 
 threshold, and were held there by cowardice. 
 Some were crying and invoking their Saints, while 
 others were contemplating treachery. "If we 
 
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OF EN A i8i 
 
 should give up our master to the people, they 
 might, perhaps, spare our lives." 
 
 *'To the balcony! To the balcony I'* cried the 
 people, breaking in. "To the balcony!" 
 
 At this moment,, the Duke spoke aside, in a 
 subdued voice, to Mazzagrogna. 
 
 Turning to Don Filippo, he said, "Place your- 
 self in a chair, father; it will be better for you." 
 
 A slight murmur arose among the servants. 
 Two of them came forward to help the paralytic 
 to get out of bed. Two others stood near the 
 chair, which ran on rollers. The work was 
 painful. 
 
 The corpulent old man was panting and la- 
 menting loudly, his arm clinging to the neck of 
 the servant who supported him. He was drip- 
 ping with perspiration, while the room, the shut- 
 ters being closed, was filled with an unbearable 
 stench. When he reached the chair, his feet be- 
 gan to tap on the floor with a rhythmical motion. 
 His loose stomach hung on his knees, like a half 
 filled leather bag. 
 
 Then the Duke said to Mazzagrogna, "Gio- 
 vanni, it is your turn!" 
 
 And the latter, with a resolute gesture, opened 
 the shutters and went out onto the balcony. 
 
1 82 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 IV 
 
 A sonorous shouting greeted him. Five, ten, 
 twenty bundles of lighted sticks were simultane- 
 ously thrust beneath the place where he was stand- 
 ing. The glare illuminated the animated faces, 
 eager for carnage, the steel of the guns, the Iron 
 axes. The faces of the torch-bearers were 
 sprinkled with flour, as a protection from the 
 sparks, and in the midst of their whitened faces 
 their reddish eyes shone singularly. The black 
 smoke arose In the air, fading away rapidly. The 
 flames whistled and, stretching up on one side, 
 were blown by the wind like infernal hair. The 
 thinnest and dryest reeds bent over quickly, red- 
 dening, breaking down and cracking like sky- 
 rockets. It was a gay sight. 
 
 "Mazzagrogna I Mazzagrogna ! To death 
 with the seducer! To death with the crooked 
 man !" they all cried, crowding together to throw 
 insults at him. 
 
 Mazzagrogna stretched out his hands, as 
 though to subdue the clamour; he gathered to- 
 gether all his vocal force and began, In the name 
 of the king, as If promulgating a law to Infuse 
 respect into the people. 
 
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OFENA 183 
 
 *'In the name of His Majesty, Ferdlnando II, 
 and by the grace of God, King of both Sicilies, of 
 Jerusalem " 
 
 'To death with the thief!" 
 
 Two or three shots resounded among the cries, 
 and the speaker, struck on his chest and on his 
 forehead, staggered, throwing his hands above 
 his head and falling downward. Upon falling, his 
 head stuck between two of the spikes of the iron 
 railing and hung over the edge like a pumpkin. 
 The blood began to drip down upon the soil 
 beneath. 
 
 This spectacle rejoiced the people. The uproar 
 arose to the stars. Then the bearer of the pole 
 holding the hanging corpse came under the bal- 
 cony and held the body of Vincenzio Murro near 
 to that of the majordomo. The pole was waver- 
 ing in the air and the people, dumbfounded, 
 watched as the two bodies jolted together. An 
 improvised poet, alluding to the Albino-like eyes 
 of Mazzagrogna and to the bleared ones of 
 the messenger, shouted these lines: 
 
 **Lean over the nvindoiv, you fried eyes. 
 That you may look upon the open skies!" 
 
 A great outburst of laughter greeted the jest 
 of the poet and the laughter spread from mouth 
 
1 84 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 to mouth like the sound of water falling down a 
 stony valley. 
 
 A rival poet shouted: 
 
 "Look, nuhat a blind man can see! 
 If he closes his eyes and tries to flee." 
 
 The laughter was renewed. 
 A third one cried out: 
 
 "Oh, face of a dead brute! 
 Your crazy hair stands resolute!" 
 
 Many more imprecations were cast at Mazza- 
 grogna. A ferocious joy had invaded the hearts 
 of the people. The sight and smell of blood in- 
 toxicated those nearest. Tomaso of Beffi and 
 Rocco Fuici challenged each other to hit with a 
 stone the hanging head of the dead man, which 
 was still warm, and at every blow moved and shed 
 blood. A stone, thrown by Rocco Fuici, at last, 
 hit it in the centre, causing a hollow sound. The 
 spectators applauded, but they had had enough of 
 Mazzagrogna. 
 
 Again a cry arose, "Cassaura! Cassaura! To 
 death! To death!" 
 
 Fabrizio and Ferdinandino Scloll, pushing 
 their way through the crowd, were instigating the 
 most zealous ones. A terrible shower of stones, 
 like a dense hailstorm, mingled with gun-shots, 
 
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OF EN A 185 
 
 beat against the windows of the palace, the window 
 panes falling upon the assailing hoards and the 
 stones rebounding. A few of the bystanders were 
 hurt. 
 
 When they were through with the stones and 
 had used all their bullets, Ferdinandino Scioli 
 cried out, "Down with the doors!" 
 
 And the cry, repeated from mouth to mouth, 
 shook every hope of salvation out of the Duke of 
 Ofena. 
 
 No one had dared to close the balcony, where 
 Mazzagrogna had fallen. His corpse was lying 
 in a contorted position. Then the rebels, in order 
 to be freer, had left the pole, holding the bleeding 
 body of the messenger, leaning against the 
 balcony. Some of his limbs had been cut off with 
 a hatchet, and the body could be seen through the 
 curtains as they were inflated by the wind. The 
 evening was still. The stars scintillated endlessly. 
 A few stubble fields were burning in the distance. 
 
 Upon hearing the blows against the door the 
 Duke of Ofena wished to try another experiment. 
 
 Don Filippo, stupefied with terror, kept his eyes 
 closed and was speechless. Carletto Grua, his 
 head bandaged, doubled up in the corner, his teeth 
 
1 86 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 chattering with fever and fear, watched with his 
 eyes sticking out of their orbits, every gesture, 
 every motion of his master. The servants had 
 found refuge in the garrets. A few of them still 
 remained in the adjoining rooms. 
 
 Don Luigi gathered them together, reanimated 
 their courage and rearmed them with pistols and 
 guns, and then assigned to each one his place under 
 the parapets of the windows, and between the 
 shutters of the balcony. Each one had to shoot 
 upon the rebels with the greatest possible celerity, 
 silently, without exposing himself. 
 
 "Forward!" 
 
 The firing began. Don Luigi was placing his 
 hopes in a panic. He was untiringly discharging 
 his long-range pistols with most marvellous 
 energy. As the multitude was dense, no shot went 
 astray. The cries arising after every discharge 
 excited the servants and increased their ardour. 
 Already disorder invaded the mutineers. A great 
 many were running away, leaving the wounded 
 on the ground. 
 
 Then a cry of victory arose from the group of 
 the domestics. 
 
 **Long live the Duke of Ofenal'* These 
 cowardly men were growing brave, as they beheld 
 the backs of their enemy. They no longer re- 
 
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OFENA 187 
 
 mained hidden, no longer shot at haphazard, but, 
 having risen to their feet, were aiming at the peo- 
 ple. And every time they saw a man fall, would 
 cry, "Long live the Duke!" 
 
 Within a short time the palace was freed from 
 the siege. All around the wounded ones lay, 
 groaning. The residue of the sticks, which were 
 still burning over the ground and crackling as they 
 died out, cast upon the bodies uncertain flashes of 
 light reflected in the pools of blood. The wind 
 had grown, striking the old oaks with a creeping 
 sound. The barking of dogs, answering one an- 
 other, resounded throughout the valley. 
 
 Intoxicated by their victory and broken down 
 with fatigue, the domestics went downstairs to 
 partake of some refreshments. They were all un- 
 hurt. They drank freely and abundantly. Some 
 of them announced the names of those they had 
 struck, and described the way they had fallen. 
 The cook was boasting of having killed the terrible 
 Rocco Furcl; and as they became excited by the 
 wine the boasting increased. 
 
 VI 
 
 Now, while the Duke of Ofena feeling safe, for 
 at least that night, from any danger, was attend- 
 
1 88 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 irig the whining Carletto, a glare of light from 
 the south was reflected in the mirror, and new 
 clamours arose through the gusts of the south wind 
 beneath the palace. At the same time four or ^wq 
 servants appeared, who, while sleeping, intoxi- 
 cated, in the rooms below, had been almost suffo- 
 cated by the smoke. They had not yet recovered 
 their senses, staggering, being unable to talk, as 
 their tongues were thick with drink. Others came 
 running up, shouting: 
 
 "Fire! Fire!" 
 
 They were trembling, leaning against one an- 
 other like a herd of sheep. Their native cowardice 
 had again overtaken them. All their senses were 
 dull as in a dream. They did not know what they 
 ought to do, nor did the consciousness of real 
 danger urge them to use a ruse as a means of 
 escape. 
 
 Taken very much by surprise the Duke was at 
 first perplexed. But Carletto Grua, noticing the 
 smoke coming in, and hearing that singular roar 
 which the flames make by feeding themselves, be- 
 gan to cry so loudly, and to make such maddened 
 gestures, that Don Filippo awoke from the half 
 drowsiness into which he had fallen, on beholding 
 death. 
 
 Death was unavoidable. The fire, owing to the 
 
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OF EN A 189 
 
 strong wind, was spreading with stupendous speed 
 through the whole edifice, devouring everything in 
 flames. These flames ran up the walls, hugging 
 the tapestries, hesitating an instant over the edge 
 of the cloth, with clear and changeable yet vague 
 tints penetrating through the weave, with a thou- 
 sand thin, vibrating tongues, seeming to animate, 
 in an instant, the mural figures, with a certain 
 spirit, by lighting up for a second a smile never 
 before seen upon the mouths of the nymphs and 
 the Goddess, by changing in an instant their atti- 
 tudes and their motionless gestures. 
 
 Passing on, in their still increasing flight, they 
 would wrap themselves around the wooden carv- 
 ings, preserving to the last their shapes, as though 
 to make them appear to be manufactured of fiery 
 substance when they were suddenly consumed, 
 turning to cinders, as if by magic. The voices of 
 the flames were forming a vast choir, a profound 
 harmony, like the rustling of millions of weeds. 
 At intervals, through the roaring openings, ap- 
 peared the pure sky with its galaxy of stars. 
 
 Now the entire palace was a prey of the fire. 
 
 "Save me! Save me!" cried the old man, at- 
 tempting in vain to get up, already feeling the 
 floor sinking beneath him, and almost blinded by 
 the implacable reddish glare. 
 
190 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 **Save me! Save me!" 
 
 With a supreme effort he succeeded in rising 
 and began to run, the trunk of his body leaning 
 forward, moving with little hopping steps, as if 
 pushed by an irresistible progressive impulse, 
 waving his shapeless hands, until he fell over- 
 powered the victim of the fire collapsing and 
 curling up like an empty bladder. 
 
 By this time the cries of the people increased 
 and at intervals arose above the roar of the fire. 
 The servants, crazed with terror and pain, jumped 
 out of the windows, falling upon the ground dead, 
 where if not entirely dead they were instantly 
 killed. With every fall a greater clamour arose. 
 
 "The Duke! The Duke!" the unsatisfied bar- 
 barians were crying as if they wanted to see the 
 little tyrant jump out with his cowardly protege. 
 
 "Here he comes! Here he comes! Is it he?" 
 
 "Down! down! We want you!" 
 
 "Die, you dog I Die ! Die ! Die !" 
 
 In the large doorway, in the presence of the 
 people, Don Luigi appeared carrying on his shoul- 
 ders the motionless body of Carletto Grua. His 
 whole face was burned and almost unrecognisable. 
 He no longer had any hair nor beard left. He 
 was walking boldly through the fire, endeavouring 
 to keep his courage in spite of that atrocious pain. 
 
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OF EN A 191 
 
 At first the crowd was dumb. Then again broke 
 forth in shouts and gestures, waiting ferociously 
 for this great victim to expire before them. 
 
 "Here, here, you dog! We want to see you 
 die!" 
 
 Don Luigi heard through the flames these last 
 insults. He gathered together all of his will- 
 power and stood for an instant in an attitude of in- 
 describable scorn. Then turning abruptly he disap- 
 peared forever where the fire was raging fiercest. 
 
XI 
 THE WAR OF THE BRIDGE 
 
 Fragments of the Pescarese Chronicle 
 
 TOWARDS the middle of August when in 
 the fields the wheat was bleaching dry in the 
 sun Antonio Mengarino, an old peasant full of 
 probity and wisdom, standing before the Board 
 of the Council when they were discussing public 
 matters, heard some of the councillors, citizens of 
 the place, discoursing in low tones about the 
 cholera, which was spreading through the 
 province; and he listened with close attention to 
 the proposals for preserving the health and for 
 eliminating the fears of the people and he leaned 
 forward curiously and incredulously as he listened. 
 With him in the Council were two other 
 peasants, Glulio CItrullo of the Plain, and AchlUe 
 di Russo of the Hills, to whom the old man would 
 turn from time to time, winking and grimacing 
 insinuatingly, to warn them, of the deception which 
 
 192 
 
THE WAR OF THE BRIDGE 193 
 
 he believed was concealed In the words of the 
 Councillors and the Mayor. 
 
 At last, unable to restrain himself longer, he 
 spoke out with the assurance of a man who knows 
 and sees. 
 
 *'Stop your idle talk! What if there Is a little 
 cholera among us. Let us keep the secret to our- 
 selves.** 
 
 At this unexpected outburst, the Councillors 
 were taken by surprise, then burst into laughter. 
 
 "Go on, Mengarino ! What foolishness are 
 you talking!" exclaimed Don Alace, the Assessor, 
 slapping the old man on the shoulder, while the 
 rest, with much shaking of heads and beating of 
 fists upon the table, talked of the pertinacious 
 ignorance of the country people. 
 
 "Well, well, but do you think we are deceived 
 by your talk?" asked Antonio Mengarino, with a 
 quick gesture, hurt by the laughter which his words 
 had created, and in the hearts of the three 
 peasants their Instinctive hostility toward and 
 hatred of the upper classes were revived. Then 
 they were excluded from the secrets of the Coun- 
 cil ? Then they were still considered Ignoramuses ? 
 Oh, those were two galling thoughts ! 
 
 "Do as you please. We are going," said the 
 
194 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 old man bitterly, putting on his hat and the three 
 peasants left the hall In silent dignity. 
 
 When they were outside the town, in the upland 
 country filled with vineyards and cornfields, Glulio 
 CItrullo stopped to light his pipe, and said de- 
 cisively: 
 
 "We will not mind them! We can be on our 
 guard, and know that we shall have to take pre- 
 cautions. I would not like to be In their places !" 
 
 Meanwhile, throughout the farming country, 
 the fear of the disease had taken possession of all. 
 Over the fruit trees, the vineyards, the cisterns, 
 and the wells, the farmers, suspicious and threat- 
 ening, kept close and Indefatigable watch. 
 Through the night frequent shots broke the silence, 
 and even the dogs barked till dawn. Imprecations 
 against the Government burst forth with greater 
 violence from day to day. All the peaceful labours 
 of the farm-hands were undertaken with a sort 
 of carelessness; from the fields expressions of re- 
 bellion rose In songs and rhymes, improvised by 
 the hands. 
 
 Then, the old men recalled Instances In the past 
 which confirmed the suspicions about poisoning. 
 In the year '54, some vintagers had one day 
 caught a man hidden In the top of a fig-tree, and 
 when they forced him to descend, they noticed In 
 
THE WAR OF THE BRIDGE 195 
 
 his hand a vial, which he had attempted to con- 
 ceal. With dire threats they compelled him to 
 swallow the yellowish ointment which it contained, 
 whereupon shortly he fell writhing in agony with 
 greenish foam Issuing from his mouth and died 
 within a few minutes. In Spoltore, in the year '57, 
 ZInicche, a blacksmith, killed the Chancellor, Don 
 Antonio Rapino, in the square, after which the 
 mysterious deaths ceased, and the country was 
 saved. 
 
 Then stories began to be circulated of recent 
 mysterious happenings. One woman said that 
 seven cases of poison had come to the City Hall, 
 sent by the Government to be distributed through 
 the country by mixing It with the salt. The cases 
 were green, fastened with iron bands and three 
 locks. The Mayor had been obliged to pay seven 
 thousand ducats to bury the cases and save the 
 country. Another story went about that the Gov- 
 ernment paid the Mayor five ducats for every 
 dead person because the population was too large, 
 and it was the poor who must die. The Mayor 
 was now making out a list of those selected. Ha ! 
 He would get rich, this great signore! And so 
 the excitement grew. The peasants would not 
 buy anything In the market of Pescara; the figs 
 were left to rot on the trees ; the grapes were left 
 
196 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 among the vine-leaves ; even the nightly depreda- 
 tions in the orchards and vineyards did not occur, 
 for the robbers feared to eat poisoned fruit. 
 The salt, which was the only provision obtained 
 from the city stores, was given to dogs and cats 
 before being used, to make sure that it was harm- 
 less. 
 
 One day the news came that in Naples the 
 people were dying in large numbers and hearing 
 the name of Naples, of that great, far-distant 
 kingdom where "Gianni Without Fear" made his 
 fortune, the Imaginations of the people were in- 
 flamed. The vintage time came, but the mer- 
 chants of Lombardy bought the home grapes, and 
 took them to the north to make artificial wines. 
 The luxury of new wine was scarce ; the vintagers 
 who trampled out the juice of the grapes in the 
 vats to the songs of maidens, had little to do. 
 
 But when the work of the vineyards was ended, 
 and the fruit of the trees was gone, the fears and 
 suspicions of the people grew less, for now there 
 was little chance for the Government to scatter 
 the poison. Heavy, beneficent rains fell upon the 
 country, drenching the soil and preparing It for 
 the ploughing and the sowing, and together with 
 the favour of the soft autumnal sun and the moon 
 in Its first quarter, had Its beneficent Influence upon 
 
THE WAR OF THE BRIDGE 197 
 
 seeds. One morning through all the country the 
 report was spread that at Villareale, near the oak 
 groves of Don Settlmio, over the shore of the 
 river, three women had died after having eaten 
 soup made from dough bought In the city. 
 The Indignation of every person in the country 
 was aroused, and with greater vehemence after 
 the quiet of the transient security. 
 
 '*Aha! That Is well! The 'great SIgnore' does 
 not wish to renounce the ducats! . . . But they 
 cannot harm us now, for there is no more fruit to 
 eat, and we do not go to Pescara. The 'great 
 SIgnore' is playing his cards very badly. He 
 wishes to see us die! But he has mistaken the 
 time, poor SIgnore ! 
 
 "Where can he put the poison? In the dough? 
 In the salt? . . .But we shall not eat any more 
 dough, and we have our salt first tried by the dogs 
 and cats. Ha, rascally SIgnore? What have you 
 done? Your day will come, too ..." 
 
 Thus, everywhere the grumbling rose, mixed 
 with mocking and contumely against the men of 
 the Commune and the Government. 
 
 In Pescara, one after another, three, four, five 
 persons were taken with the disease. Evening 
 was approaching, and over the houses hung a 
 funereal dread, which seemed to be mingled with 
 
198 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 the dampness arising from the river. Through 
 the streets the people ran frantically towards the 
 City Hall, where the Mayor, the Councillors, and 
 the gendarmes, overwhelmed with the miserable 
 confusion, ran up and down the stairs, all talk- 
 ing loudly, giving contrary orders, not knowing 
 what action to take, where to go, nor what to do. 
 
 The strange occurrence and the excitement 
 which followed it, caused many of the people to 
 grow slightly ill. Feeling a strange sensation in 
 their stomachs, they would begin to tremble, and 
 with chattering teeth would look into one an- 
 other's faces; then, with rapid strides, would 
 hasten to lock themselves in their homes, leaving 
 their evening meals untouched. 
 
 Then, late in the night, when the first tumult of 
 the panic had subsided, the police lighted fires of 
 sulphur and tar at the corners of the streets. The 
 red flames lighted up the walls and the windows, 
 and the unpleasant odour of manure pervaded the 
 air of the frightened city, and in the light of the 
 distant moon, it looked as though the tar men 
 were merrily smearing the keels of vessels. Thus 
 did the Asiatic Plague make an entrance into 
 Pescara. 
 
 The disease, creeping along the river, spread 
 through the little seashore hamlets, through 
 
THE WAR OF THE BRIDGE 199 
 
 those groups of small, low houses where the sailors 
 live, and where old men are engaged in small in- 
 dustries. 
 
 Most of those seized with the disease died, be- 
 cause no amount of reasoning and assurance, or 
 experiments, could persuade them to take the 
 medicine. Anisafine, the hunchback who sold 
 water mixed with spirit of anise to the soldiers, 
 when he saw the glass of the physician, closed his 
 lips tightly and shook his head in refusal of the 
 potion. The doctor tried to coax him with 
 persuasive words and first drank half the liquid, 
 then the assistants each took a sip. Anisafine con- 
 tinued to shake his head. 
 
 *'But don't you see," exclaimed the doctor, *'we 
 have been drinking? But you ..." 
 
 Anisafine began to laugh sceptically, ''Ha ! ha I 
 ha! You took the counter-poison," he said, and 
 soon after he was dead. 
 
 Cianchine, simple-minded butcher, did the same 
 thing. The doctor, as a last resort, poured the 
 medicine between the man's teeth. Cianchine spit 
 it out wrathfully, overwhelmed with horror. Then 
 he began to abuse those present, and died raging, 
 held by two amazed gendarmes. 
 
 The public kitchens, instituted by charitably- 
 disposed people, were at first thought by the 
 
200 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 peasants to be laboratories for the mixing of 
 poisons. The beggars would starve rather than 
 eat meat cooked in those boilers. Costantino di 
 Corropoli, the cynic, went about scattering his 
 doubts through his circle. He would wander 
 around the kitchens, saying aloud with an Indescrib- 
 able gesture, "You can't entrap me!" 
 
 The woman Catalana di GIssi was the first to 
 conquer her fears. Hesitating a little, she entered 
 and ate a small mouthful, waiting to notice the 
 effect of the food and then took a few sips of wine, 
 whereupon, feeling restored and fortified, she 
 smiled with astonishment and pleasure. All the 
 beggars were waiting for her to come out and 
 when they saw her unharmed, they rushed in to 
 eat and drink. 
 
 The kitchens are Inside an old open theatre In 
 the neighbourhood of Portanova. The kettles In 
 which the food Is prepared are placed where the 
 orchestra used to sit. The steam from them rises 
 and fills the old stage ; through the smoke you see 
 the scenery behind on the stage, representing a 
 feudal castle in the light of the full moon. Here 
 at noon-time gathers around a rustic table the tribe 
 of the beggars. Before the hour strikes, there Is 
 a swarming of multi-coloured rags in the pit, and 
 there arises the grumbling of hoarse voices. Some 
 
THE WAR OF THE BRIDGE 201 
 
 new figures appear among the well-known ones; 
 noteworthy among whom is a certain woman called 
 Liberata Lotta di Montenerodomo, stupendous as 
 the mythological Minerva, with a regular and 
 austere brow and with her hair strained tightly 
 over her head and adhering to it like a helmet. 
 She holds in her hands a grass-green vase, and 
 stands aside, taciturn, waiting to be asked to par- 
 take. 
 
 However, the great epic account of this chron- 
 icle of the cholera is the War of the Bridge. 
 
 An old feud exists between Pescara and Castel- 
 lammare Adriatico, which districts lie on either 
 side of the river. 
 
 The opposing factions were assiduously en- 
 gaged in pillage and reprisals, the one doing all 
 that lay in its power to hinder the prosperity of 
 the other, and as the important factor in the pros- 
 perity of a country is its commerce, and as Pescara 
 possessed many industries and great wealth, the 
 people of Castellammare had long sought with 
 much astuteness and all manner of allurements to 
 draw the merchants away from the rival town. 
 
 An old wooden bridge, built on big tarred boats 
 chained together and fastened to the piers, spans 
 the river. The cables and the ropes, which stretch 
 from almost the height of the piers to the low 
 
202 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 parapets, cross each other in the air, looking like 
 some barbaric Instrument. The uneven boards 
 creak under the weight of the wagons, and when 
 the ranks of the soldiers pass over, the whole of 
 the great structure shakes and vibrates from one 
 end to the other, resounding like a drum. It was 
 from this bridge that the popular legends of Saint 
 Cetteo, the Liberator, originated, and the saint 
 yearly stops In the centre with great Catholic pomp 
 to receive the salutes which the sailors send him 
 from the anchored boats. 
 
 Thus, between the panorama of Montecorno 
 and the sea, the humble structure looms up like 
 a monument of the country, and possessing the 
 sacredness of all monuments, gives to strangers 
 the Impression of a people who live in primeval 
 simplicity. As the hatred between the Pescarese 
 and the Castellammarese meets on this bridge, the 
 boards of which are worn under the daily heavy 
 traffic, and as the trade of the city spreads to the 
 province of Teramo, with what joy would the op- 
 posing faction cut the cables and push out to sea 
 to be wrecked the seven supporting boats. 
 
 A good opportunity having presented itself, the 
 leader of the enemy, with a great display of his 
 rural forces, prevented the Pescarese from pass- 
 ing over the wide road which stretches out from 
 
THE WAR OF THE BRIDGE 203 
 
 the bridge far across the country, uniting number- 
 less villages. It was his Intention to blockade the 
 rival city by a siege, In order to shut away from 
 It all Internal and external traffic In order to draw 
 to the market of his own city the sailors and buy- 
 ers who were accustomed to trade on the right 
 shore of the river, and having thus stagnated the 
 business of Pescara, and having cut off from the 
 town all source of revenue, to rise up In triumph. 
 He offered to the owners of the Pescarese boats 
 twenty francs for every hundred pounds of fish, 
 on condition that all boats should land and load 
 their cargoes on his shore, and with the stipulation 
 that the price should last up to the day of the 
 Nativity of Christ. But as the price of fish usually 
 rose shortly before the Nativity to fifteen ducats 
 for every hundred pounds, the profit to himself 
 was evident, and the cunning of his scheme was 
 clearly revealed. The owners refused such an of- 
 fer, preferring to allow their nets to remain idle. 
 Then the wily fellow spread the report of a 
 great mortality in Pescara. Professing friendship 
 for the province of Teramo he succeeded in rous- 
 ing both that province and Chleti against the 
 peaceful city, from which the plague had really dis- 
 appeared entirely. He waylaid and kept prisoners 
 some honest passers-by who were exercising their 
 
204 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 legitimate right to pass along this road on their 
 way to a more distant part of the country. He 
 stationed a group of loafers on the border line 
 who kept watch from dawn to sunset, shouting out 
 warnings to anyone who approached. All this 
 caused violent rebellion on the part of the 
 Pescarese against such unjust and arbitrary meas- 
 ures. The great class of rough, ugly labourers 
 were lounging about in idleness, and merchants 
 sustained severe losses from the enforced dulness 
 of trade. The cholera had left the city and seemed 
 to have disappeared also from the seashore towns, 
 where only a few decrepit old men had died. All 
 the citizens, rugged and full of health and spirits, 
 would have rejoiced to take up their customary 
 labours. 
 
 Then the tribunes rose to action: Francesco 
 Pomarice, Antonio Sorrentino, Pletro D'Amico; 
 and in the streets the people, divided Into groups, 
 listened to their words, applauding, proposing, 
 and uttering cries. A great tumult was brewing. 
 As an Illustration, some recounted the heart-rend- 
 ing tale of Moretto di Claudia, who had been 
 taken by force, by men paid to do the deed, and 
 being imprisoned in the Lazzaretto, was kept for 
 five consecutive days without other food than 
 bread, at the end of which time he succeeded In 
 
THE WAR OF THE BRIDGE 205 
 
 escaping from a window, swam across the river, 
 and came to his people dripping with water, out 
 of breath, and overcome with exultation and joy 
 at his escape. 
 
 The Mayor, seeing the storm gathering, en- 
 deavoured to arbitrate with the Great Enemy of 
 Castellammare. The Mayor is a little fellow, a 
 knighted Doctor of Law, carefully dressed, curly 
 haired, his shoulders covered with dandruff, his 
 small roving eyes accustomed to pleasant simula- 
 tion. The Great Enemy Is a degenerate, a nephew 
 of the good Gargantuasso, a big fellow, puffing, 
 exploding, devouring. The meeting of the two 
 took place on neutral ground, with the Prefects of 
 Teramo and of Chletl as witnesses. 
 
 But towards sunset one of the guards went into 
 Pescara to bring a message to one of the coun- 
 cillors of the Commune ; he went In with another of 
 the loafers to drink, after which he strolled about 
 the streets. When the tribunes saw him, they Im- 
 mediately gave chase. With cries and shouts, he 
 was driven towards the banks of the river as far 
 as Lazzaretto. The water glared in the light of 
 the setting sun, and the belligerent reddening of 
 the air intoxicated the people. 
 
 Then from the willow trees on the opposite 
 shore a crowd of Castellammarese poured out, 
 
2o6 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 with vehement gestures and angry protests against 
 the outrage. With a fury equalling their own, the 
 Pescarese answered their gibes. The guard, who 
 had been imprisoned, was pounding the door of his 
 prison with fists and feet, crying out: 
 
 "Open to me ! Open to me !" 
 
 *'You go to sleep in there and don't worry I" 
 the men called to him scornfully, while someone 
 cruelly added: 
 
 "Ah, if you knew how many have been killed 
 down there ! Don't you smell the blood? Doesn't 
 it make you sick?" 
 
 "Hurrah! Hurrah!" 
 
 Towards Bandiera the gleam of gun-barrels 
 could be seen. The little Mayor, at the head of 
 a band of soldiers, was coming to liberate the 
 guard that the wrath of the Great Enemy might 
 not be incurred. 
 
 Suddenly the irritated rabble broke out in an 
 angry uproar. Loud cries rose against the 
 cowardly liberator of the Castellammarese. From 
 Lazzaretto to the city sounded the clamour of 
 hisses and contumely. To the delight of the people 
 the shouting lasted until their voices grew hoarse. 
 After the first outburst the revolt began to turn 
 in other directions. The shops were all closed, 
 the citizens gathered In the street, rich and poor 
 
THE PFAR OF THE BRIDGE 207 
 
 mingling together familiarly, all possessed of the 
 same wild desire to speak, to shout, to gesticulate, 
 to express in a thousand different ways the feel- 
 ings which burned within them. 
 
 Every few minutes another tribune would ar- 
 rive with fresh news. Groups dissolved to form 
 new groups, varying according to differences of 
 opinion. 
 
 Th* free spirit of the day affected everyone; 
 every breath of air seemed to intoxicate like a 
 draught of wine, the hilarity of the Pescarese re- 
 vived, and they continued their rebellion ironically 
 for pure enjoyment, for spite, and for the love of 
 novelty. The stratagems of the Great Enemy 
 were increased. Any agreement was broken to 
 further the skilful schemes which were suggested, 
 and the weakness of the little Mayor favoured 
 this method of procedure. 
 
 On the morning of All Souls' Day at about 
 seven o'clock, when the first ceremonies were be- 
 ing performed in the churches, the tribunes started 
 to make a tour of the city, followed by a crowd 
 which grew larger at every step, and became more 
 and more clamorous. When all the people had 
 gathered, Antonio Sorrentino addressed them in 
 a stirring harangue. Then the procession pro- 
 ceeded in an orderly way towards th^. City Hall. 
 
2o8 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 The streets in the shadows were still bluish from 
 smoke; the houses were bathed In sunlight. 
 
 At the sight of the City Hall an immense cry 
 broke out. From every mouth vituperations were 
 hurled; every fist rose threateningly. The shouts 
 vibrated at intervals as though produced by an 
 instrument, and above the confused mass of heads 
 the vermilion flags waved as if agitated by a 
 heavy popular breath. No one appeared upon the 
 balcony of the City Hall. The sun was gradually 
 descending from the roof to the meridian sand, 
 black with figures and lines, upon which vibrated 
 the indicating shadow. From the Torretta of the 
 D'Annunzio to the bell-tower of the Abbey, flocks 
 of doves were flying against the azure sky. 
 
 The shouts increased. A number of the more 
 zealous ones took by assault the stairs of the build- 
 ing. The little Mayor, pallid and timid, yielded 
 to the wish of the people. He left his seat In the 
 City Hall, resigned his office, and passed down 
 the street between two gendarmes, followed by 
 the whole Board of Councillors. He then left the 
 city and withdrew to the hall of Spoltore. 
 
 The doors of the City Hall were closed and for 
 a time Anarchy ruled the city. In order to pre- 
 vent an open battle, which seemed imminent, be- 
 tween the Castellammarese and the Pescarese, the 
 
THE WAR OF THE BRIDGE 209 
 
 soldiers stationed themselves at the extreme left 
 end of the bridge. Having torn down the flags, 
 the crowd set out for the road to Chleti, where the 
 Prefect, who had been summoned by a Royal Com- 
 missary, was expected. All their plans seemed to 
 be ferocious. However, in the soft warmth of the 
 sunlight, their ire was soon decreased. 
 
 Through the wide street poured forth from the 
 church the women of the place, dressed in various 
 coloured gowns, and covered with jewelry con- 
 sisting mostly of silver filigree and gold necklaces. 
 The appearance of these happy and joyful faces 
 quieted and soothed the turbulent spirits of the 
 mob. Jests and laughter broke forth spontaneous- 
 ly, and the short period of waiting was almost gay. 
 Towards noon the carriage of the Prefect came in 
 sight. The people formed themselves in a semi- 
 circle to stop Its passage. Antonio Sorrentino 
 again gave a harangue, not without a certain 
 flowery eloquence. The crowd, in the pauses of 
 the speech, asked In various ways for justice and 
 relief from the abuses, and that no measure should 
 be taken which would Involve killing. 
 
 The two large skeletons of horses, still ani- 
 mated, however, shook their bells from time to 
 time, showing the rebels their white gums as If in 
 a grimace of derision. A delegate of the police, 
 
2IO TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 looking like an old singer of some comic opera, 
 who still wore around his face a druid beard, 
 from the height of the back seat was emphasising 
 the words of the tribune^s speech with grave ges- 
 tures of his hand. As the speaker in his enthusiasm 
 went on with impetuous eloquence, he became too 
 audacious, and the Prefect, rising from his seat, 
 took advantage of the moment to interrupt. He 
 ventured several irrelevant and timid remarks, 
 which were drowned by the cries of the people. 
 
 "To Pescaral To Pescara!" 
 
 The carriage, pushed along by the press of the 
 crowd, entered the city and the City Hall being 
 closed, it stopped before the Delegation. Ten 
 men, named by the people, together with the Pre- 
 fect, formed a temporary parliament. The crowd 
 filled the street and every now and then an im- 
 patient murmur arose. 
 
 The houses, heated by the sun, radiated a de- 
 lightful warmth, and an indescribable mildness 
 emanated from the sky and sea, from the floating 
 vegetation alongside the water-troughs, from the 
 roses, from the windows, from the white walls of 
 the houses, from the very air of the place itself. 
 This place is renowned as the home of the most 
 beautiful women of Pescara, from generation to 
 
THE WAR OF THE BRIDGE 211 
 
 generation its fame for its beauties has been per- 
 petuated. 
 
 The home of Don Ussorio is the abode of 
 flourishing children and pretty girls; the house is 
 all covered with little loggias, which are over- 
 flowing with carnations growing in rough vases 
 ornamented with bas-reliefs. 
 
 Gradually the impatient crowd grew quiet. 
 From one end of the street to the other the speak- 
 ers were subsiding. Domenico di Matteo, a sort 
 of rustic Rodomonte, was making loud jests upon 
 the asininity and avidity of the doctors who cause 
 their patients to die in order to get a larger fee 
 from the Commune. He was telling of some 
 marvellous cures he had effected on himself. Once 
 he had a terrible pain on his chest, and was about 
 to die. The physician had forbidden him to drink 
 water, and he was burning with thirst. One night, 
 when everyone was asleep he got up quietly, felt 
 about for a water tank, and having found it, stuck 
 his head in it and drank like a pack horse until the 
 tank was empty. Next morning he had entirely re- 
 covered. Another time, he and a companion, hav- 
 ing been ill for a long time with intermittent fever, 
 and having taken large quantities of quinine with- 
 out avail, decided to make an experiment. Across 
 the river from them was a vineyard filled with 
 
212 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 grapes, hanging ripe and delicious in the sun. Go- 
 ing to the shore, they undressed themselves, 
 plunged into the water, and swam through the cur- 
 rent to the other shore, and after having eaten as 
 many grapes as they could, swam back again. The 
 intermittent fever disappeared. Another time he 
 was ill with blood poisoning, and spent more than 
 fifteen ducats for doctors and medicine in vain. 
 As he watched his mother doing the washing, a 
 happy thought struck him. One after another he 
 swallowed five glasses of lime-water, and was 
 cured. 
 
 From the balconies, from the windows, from 
 the loggias, a number of beautiful women leaned 
 out, one after another. The men in the street 
 raised their eyes towards these fair apparitions, 
 walking along with heads bent backward. As the 
 dinner hour was passed, they felt a certain dizzi- 
 ness in their heads and their stomachs, and an 
 awakening faintness. Brief talks between street 
 and windows took place, the young men making 
 gestures and little speeches to the belles, the belles 
 answering with motions of their hands or shakes 
 of their heads, or sometimes by laughing aloud. 
 Their fresh laughter poured out on the men below 
 like strings of crystals, increasing their admira- 
 
THE WAR OF THE BRIDGE 213 
 
 tion. The heat given out by the walls of the 
 houses mingled with the heat of the bodies of the 
 crowd. The whitish reflection dazzled the eyes; 
 something enervating and stupefying seemed to 
 descend upon the restless mob. Suddenly upon the 
 loggia appeared the woman Ciccarina, the belle of 
 the belles, the rose of the roses, the adorable ob- 
 ject whom all desired. With a common impulse, 
 every look was turned towards her. She acknowl- 
 edged this homage with triumphant smiles, laugh- 
 ing, radiant, like a Venetian Dogess before her 
 people. The sunlight fell on her full flushed face, 
 reminding one of the pulp of a succulent fruit. 
 Her loose hair, so bright that it seemed to dart 
 golden flames, encircled her forehead, temples and 
 neck. The fascination of a Venus emanated from 
 her whole person. She simply stood there, be- 
 tween two cages of black birds, smiling in great 
 unconcern, not at all troubled by the longing and 
 admiration shown in the eyes of all the men watch- 
 ing her. 
 
 The black birds, singing a sort of rustic madrigal, 
 fluttered their wings towards her. Ciccarina, smil- 
 ing, withdrew from the loggia. The crowd re- 
 mained in the street, dazzled by the vision, and a 
 little dizzy from hunger. Then one of the speak- 
 
214 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOIVN 
 
 ers, leaning out from the window of the Delega- 
 tion, announced in a shrill voice: 
 
 ^'Citizens! The matter will be settled within 
 three hours I" 
 
XII 
 
 THE VIRGIN ANNA 
 
 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 
 .215 
 
2i6 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 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 supersti- 
 tious nature and given to trances, he recounted 
 singular and marvellous adventures of those for- 
 eign 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 simpli- 
 city; and, since she was somewhat stunted In in- 
 telligence, 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 confine- 
 ment 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 nourish- 
 ment 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 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 217 
 
 shirt all scented with the southern fruits. When 
 mounting together to their home above, they al- 
 ways 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 bene- 
 diction 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 com- 
 pany, 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 sud- 
 denly a flame enveloped her tender body. A con- 
 tagion 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 gar- 
 ments, strained the nude and unconscious child to 
 
21 8 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 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 de- 
 scended 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 per- 
 fume from the foHage of the Villa Onofria. The 
 sea lay so tranquilly that one scarcely heard be- 
 tween 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. Mean- 
 while Luca, under the stimulation of the wine and 
 food, seized with his habitual avidity for miracul- 
 ous stories, commenced to tell of distant shores. 
 "There was, further up than Roto, a mountain all 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 219 
 
 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 coun- 
 try. 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 sur- 
 face 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 moun- 
 tain. 
 
 The coast of Puglla 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 
 
220 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 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 ques- 
 tions. 
 
 II 
 
 In the following May, to the festival of the 
 Apostle, came the Archbishop of Orsogna. The 
 church was entirely decorated with red draperies 
 and leaves of gold, while before the bronze rails 
 burned eleven silver lamps fashioned by silver- 
 smiths for religious purposes, and every evening 
 the orchestra sang a solemn oratorio with a splen- 
 did chorus of childish voices. On Saturday the 
 statue of the Apostle was to be shown. Devotees 
 made pilgrimages from all the maritime and in- 
 land countries ; they came up the coast, singing and 
 bearing in their hands votive offerings, with the 
 sea in full sight. 
 
 Anna on Friday had her first communion. The 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 221 
 
 Archbishop was an old man, reverent and gentle, 
 and when he lifted his hand to bless her, the jewel 
 in his ring shone like a divine eye. Anna, when 
 she felt on her tongue the wafer of the Eucharist, 
 became blinded with a sudden wave of joy that 
 seemed to moisten her hair, like a soft and tepid 
 scented bath. Behind her a murmur ran through 
 the multitude; near by other virgins were taking 
 the Sacrament and bowing their faces upon the 
 rail in great contrition. 
 
 That evening Francesca wished to sleep, as was 
 the custom among the worshippers, upon the pave- 
 ment of the church, while awaiting the early morn- 
 ing revelation of the saint. She was seven months 
 with child and the weight of it wearied her greatly. 
 On the pavement, the pilgrims lay crowded to- 
 gether, while heat emanating from their bodies 
 filled the air. Diverse confused cries issued at 
 times from some of those unconscious with sleep ; 
 the flames of the burning oil in the cups trembled 
 and were reflected as they hung suspended be- 
 tween the arches, while through the openings of 
 the large doors the stars glittered in the early 
 spring night. 
 
 Francesca lay awake for two hours in pain, since 
 the exhalations from the sleepers gave her nausea. 
 ^But, having determined to resist and to endure for 
 
222 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 the welfare of her soul, she was overcome at last 
 by weariness and bent her head in sleep. At dawn 
 she awoke. Expectation increased in the souls of 
 the watchers and more people arrived. In each 
 one burned the desire to be the first to see the 
 Apostle. At length the first grating was opened, 
 the noise of its hinges resounding clearly through 
 the silence, and echoing in all hearts. The second 
 grating was opened, then the third, the fourth, the 
 fifth, the sixth, and finally the last. It seemed now 
 as if a cyclone had struck the crowd. The mass 
 of men hurled themselves toward the tabernacle, 
 sharp cries rang in the air; ten, fifteen persons 
 were wounded and suffocated while a tumultuous 
 prayer arose. The dead were dragged to the open 
 air. The body of Francesca, all bruised and livid, 
 was carried to her family. Many curious ones 
 crowded around it, and her relatives lamented 
 piteously. Anna, when she saw her mother 
 stretched on the bed, purple in the face and stained 
 with blood, fell to the earth unconscious. After- 
 wards, for many months she was tormented by 
 epilepsy. 
 
 Ill 
 
 In the summer of 1835 Luca set sail for a 
 Grecian port upon the skiff "Trinita" belonging 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 223 
 
 to Don Giovanni Camacclone. Moreover, as he 
 held a secret thought In his mind, before leaving, 
 he sold his furniture and asked some relatives to 
 keep Anna In their house until he should return. 
 Some time after that the skiff returned loaded with 
 dried figs and eggs from Corinth, after having 
 touched at the coast of Roto. Luca was not among 
 the crew, and It became known later that he had 
 remained In the "country of the oranges" with a 
 lady-love. 
 
 Anna remembered their former stuttering 
 hostess. A deep sadness settled down upon her 
 life at this recollection. The house of her relatives 
 was on the eastern road. In the vicinity of Molo. 
 The sailors came there to drink wine in a low 
 room, where almost all day their songs resounded 
 amid the smoke of their pipes. Anna passed in 
 and out among the drinkers, carrying full pitchers, 
 and her first instinct of modesty awoke from that 
 continuous contact, that continuous association with 
 bestial men. Every moment she had to endure 
 their impudent jokes, cruel laughter and suggestive 
 gestures, the wickedness of men worn out by the 
 fatigues of a sallor^s life. She dared not complain, 
 because she ate her bread in the house of another. 
 But that continuous ordeal weakened her and a 
 
224 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 serious mental derangement arose little by little 
 from her weakened condition. 
 
 Naturally affectionate, she had a great love for 
 animals. An aged ass was housed under a shed of 
 straw and clay behind the house. The gentle beast 
 dally bore burdens of wine from Saint Apolllnare 
 to the tavern; and for all that his teeth had com- 
 menced to grow yellow, and his hoofs to decay, 
 for all that his skin was already parched and had 
 scarcely a hair upon it, still, at the sight of a 
 flowering thistle he put up his ears and began to 
 bray vivaciously in his former youthful way. 
 
 Anna filled his manger with fodder and his 
 trough with water. When the heat was severe, 
 she came to rest in the shadow of the shed. The 
 ass ground up wisps of straw laboriously between 
 his jaws and she with a leafy branch performed a 
 work of kindness by keeping his back free from 
 the molestation of insects. From time to time the 
 ass turned its long-eared head with a curling of 
 the flaccid lips which revealed the gums as if per- 
 forming a reddish animal smile of gratitude, and 
 with an oblique movement of his eye in its orbit 
 showed the yellowish ball veined with purple like 
 a gall bladder. The insects circled with a continu- 
 ous buzzing around the dung-heap; neither from 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 225 
 
 earth nor sea came a sound, and an Infinite sense 
 of peace filled the soul of the woman. 
 
 In April of 1842 Pantaleo, the man who guided 
 the beast of burden on his dally journeys, died 
 from a knife-wound. From that time on the duty 
 fell to Anna. Either she left at dawn and returned 
 by noon, or she left at noon and returned by night. 
 The road wound over a sunny hill planted with 
 olives, descended through a moist country used 
 for pasture, and on rising again through vineyards, 
 arrived at the factories of Saint Apollinare. The 
 ass- walked wearily in front with lowered ears, a 
 green fringe all worn and discoloured beat against 
 his ribs and haunches and in the pack-saddle glit- 
 tered several fragments of brass plate. 
 
 When the animal stopped to regain his breath, 
 Anna gave him a little caressing blow on the neck 
 and urged him with her voice, because she had pity 
 for his infirmities. Every so often she tore from 
 the hedges a handful of leaves and offered them to 
 him for refreshment ; she was moved on feeling in 
 her palm the soft movement of his lips as they 
 nibbled her offering. The hedges were in bloom 
 and the blossoms of the white thorn had a flavour 
 of bitter almonds. 
 
 ^ On the confines of the olive grove was a large 
 cistern, and near this cistern a long, stone canal 
 
226 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 where the animals came to drink. Every day 
 Anna paused at this spot and here she and the ass 
 quenched their thirst before continuing the journey. 
 Once she encountered the keeper of a herd of cat- 
 tle, who was a native of Tollo and whose expres- 
 sion was a little cross and who had a hare-lip. The 
 man returned her greeting and they began to con- 
 verse on the pasturage and the water, then on 
 sanctuaries and miracles. Anna listened gracious- 
 ly and with frequent smiles. She was lean and 
 pale with very clear eyes and uncommonly large 
 mouth, and her auburn hair was smoothed back 
 without a part. On her neck one saw the red 
 scars of her burns and her veins stood out and 
 palpitated incessantly. 
 
 From that time on their conversations were re- 
 peated at intervals. Through the grass the cattle 
 dispersed, either lying down and pondering or 
 standing and eating. Their peaceful moving forms 
 added to the tranquillity of the pastoral solitude. 
 Anna, seated on the edge of the cistern, talked 
 simply and the man with his split lip seemed over- 
 come with love. One day with a sudden, spontane- 
 ous blossoming of her memory, she told of her sail- 
 ing to the mountain of Roto; and, since the re- 
 moteness of the time had blurred her memory, she 
 told marvellous things with a strong appearance of 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 227 
 
 truth. The man, astonished, listened without wink- 
 ing an eye. When i\nna stopped speaking, to 
 both the surrounding silence and solitude seemed 
 deeper and both remained in thought. Then the 
 cattle, driven by habit, came to the trough and 
 between their legs dangled the bags of milk sup- 
 plied anew from the pasture. As they thrust their 
 noses into the stream, the water diminished with 
 their slow, regular gulps. 
 
 IV 
 
 During the last days of June the ass fell sick. 
 It took neither food nor drink for almost a week. 
 The daily journeys were interrupted. One morn- 
 ing Anna, descending to the shed, found the beast 
 all cramped upon the straw in a pitiable condition. 
 A kind of hoarse, tenacious cough shook from time 
 to time his huge frame thinly covered with skin, 
 while above the eyes two deep cavities had formed 
 like two hollow orbits, and the eyes themselves 
 resembled two great bladders filled with whey. 
 When the ass heard Anna's voice he tried to get 
 up; his body reeled upon his legs, his neck sank 
 beneath the sharp shoulder-blades, and his ears 
 dangled, with involuntary and ungainly motions, 
 like those of a big toy broken at the hinges. A 
 
228 TALES OF MY 'NATIVE TOWN 
 
 mucous liquid dropped from his nose, sometimes 
 flowing in little sluggish rivulets down to his knees. 
 The raw spots in the skin turned the colour of 
 azure, and the sores here and there bled. 
 
 Anna, at this sight, was inwardly torn by a pity- 
 ing anguish; and, since by nature and by habit she 
 never experienced any physical repugnance on com- 
 ing in contact with things commonly regarded as 
 repellant, she drew near to touch the animal. With 
 one hand she held up his lower jaw and with the 
 other a shoulder and thus sought to help him walk, 
 hoping that exercise might do him good. At first 
 the animal hesitated, shaken by new outbreaks of 
 coughing, but at length he began to walk down the 
 gentle incline that led to the shore. The water 
 before them shone white In the birth of the morn- 
 ing and the Calafatti near La Penna were smear- 
 ing a keel with pitch. As Anna sustained her bur- 
 den with her hands, and held the halter rope, the 
 ass through a misstep of a hind leg fell suddenly. 
 The great structure of bones gave a rattle within 
 as if ruptured, the skin over the stomach and 
 flanks resounded dully and palpitated. The legs 
 made a motion as if to run, while blood Issued 
 from the gums and spread among the teeth. 
 
 The woman began to call and run toward the 
 house. But the Calafatti, having arrived, laughed 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 229 
 
 and joked at the reclining ass. One of them struck 
 the dying beast in the stomach with his foot. An- 
 other grabbed his ears and raised his head, which 
 sank heavily again to earth. The eyes at length 
 closed, a chill ran over the white skin of the stom- 
 ach, parting the tufts of hair as a wind would do, 
 while one of his hind legs beat two or three times 
 in the air. Then all was still, except that in the 
 shoulder, where there was an ulcer, a slight quiver- 
 ing took place, like that caused by some Insect a 
 moment before in the living flesh. When Anna 
 returned to the spot she found the Calafatti drag- 
 ging the carcass by the tail, and singing a Requiem 
 with imitation brays. 
 
 Thus Anna was left alone. Still for a long 
 time she lived on In the house of her relatives and 
 gradually faded, while she fulfilled her humble 
 duties and endured with much Christian patience 
 her vexations. In 1845 ^^^ epilepsy returned to 
 her with violence, but disappeared again after 
 some months. Her religious faith became at the 
 same time more deep and living. She went up to 
 the church every morning and every evening, and 
 knelt habitually In an obscure corner protected 
 by a great pillar of marble where was pictured In 
 rough bas-relief the flight of the Holy Family into 
 Egypt. Did she not at first choose that corner 
 
230 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 because she was attracted by the gentle ass bear- 
 ing the child Jesus and His mother from the land 
 of idolatry? A great peace as of love descended 
 upon her soul when she bent her knees in the 
 shadow, and prayers rose unpolluted from her 
 breast as from a natural spring, because she 
 prayed only through a blind passion to adore, and 
 not through any hope to obtain the grace of happi- 
 ness in her own life. She prayed with her head 
 lowered on a chair, and as Christians, in coming 
 and going, touched the holy water with their 
 fingers and crossed themselves, she from time to 
 time shivered on feeling on her hair some welcome 
 drops of the holy water. 
 
 When in the year 1851 Anna came for the first 
 time to the country of Pescara, the feast of 
 Rosario was approaching, which is celebrated on 
 the first Sunday of October. 
 
 The woman came from Ortona on foot, for the 
 purpose of fulfilling a vow; and bearing with her, 
 hidden in a handkerchief of silk, a little heart of 
 silver, she walked religiously along the seacoast; 
 since at that time the province road was not yet 
 constructed, and a wood of pines almost covered 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 231 
 
 the virgin soil. The day was calm, save that the 
 waves of the sea were ever increasing and at the 
 farthest point of the horizon the clouds continued 
 to rise In the shape of large funnels. Anna walked 
 on entirely absorbed in holy thoughts. Towards 
 evening, as she was approaching Salini, suddenly 
 the rain began to fall, at first gently, but later in a 
 great downpour; so much so that, not finding any 
 shelter, she was wet through and through. 
 Further on, the gorge of the Alento was flooded, 
 and she had to remove her shoes and ford the 
 river. In the vicinity of Vallelonga the rain 
 ceased, and the forest of pines serenely revived 
 gave forth an odour almost of incense. Anna, 
 rendering thanks In her soul to her Lord, followed 
 the shore path with steps more rapid, since she 
 felt the unwholesome dampness penetrate her 
 bones, and her teeth began to chatter from a chill. 
 At Pescara she was suddenly stricken with a 
 swamp-fever, and cared for through pity in the 
 house of Donna Cristina Baslle. From her bed 
 on hearing the sacred chants, and seeing the tops 
 of the standards wave to the height of her win- 
 dow, she set herself to praying and Invoking her 
 recovery. When the Virgin passed she could see 
 only the jewelled crown, and she endeavoured to 
 kneel upon the pillows In order to worship. 
 
232 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 After three weeks she recovered and Donna 
 Cristina having asked her to remain, she stayed 
 on in the capacity of a servant. She had a little 
 room looking out upon a court. The walls were 
 whitened with plaster, an old screen covered with 
 curious figures blocked a corner, and among the 
 beams of the roof many spiders stretched In peace 
 their Intricate webs. Under the window projected 
 a short roof, and further down opened the court 
 full of tame birds. On the roof grew from a pile 
 of earth enclosed with five tiles a tobacco plant. 
 The sun lingered there from early in the morning 
 until the evening. Every summer the plant 
 bloomed. Anna, in this new life, in this new 
 house, little by little felt herself revive and her 
 natural inclination for order reasserted itself. 
 
 She attended tranquilly and without speaking 
 to all her duties. Meanwhile her belief in things 
 supernatural increased. Two or three legends had 
 in the distant past established themselves with 
 regard to certain spots in the Basile house, and 
 from generation to generation they had been 
 handed down. In the yellow room on the second 
 floor (now unoccupied) lived the soul of Donna 
 Isabella. In a dark room with a winding stair- 
 case descending to a door that had not been opened 
 for a long time, lived the soul of Don Samuele. 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 233 
 
 Those two names exercised a singular power 
 over the present occupants, and diffused through 
 the entire ancient building a kind of conventional 
 solemnity. Further, as the Inside court was sur- 
 rounded by many roofs, the cats on the loggia 
 gathered in counsel and mewed with a mysterious 
 sweetness, while begging Anna for bits from her 
 meals. 
 
 In March of the year 1853 the husband of 
 Donna Cristina after many weeks of convulsions 
 died of a urinary disease. He was a God fearing 
 man, domestic and charitable, at the head of a 
 congregation of landowners, read theological 
 works, and knew how to play on the piano several 
 simple airs of the ancient Neapolitan masters. 
 When the viaticum arrived, magnificent with Its 
 quantity of servers and richness of equipage, Anna 
 knelt on the doorsill and prayed In a loud voice. 
 The room filled with the vapour of incense, In the 
 midst of which glittered the cyhorium and the 
 censers flickering like burning lamps. One heard 
 weeping, and then arose the voices of the priests 
 recommending the soul to the Most High. Anna, 
 carried away by the solemnity of that sacrament, 
 lost all horror of death, and from that time on 
 the death of a Christian seemed to her a journey 
 sweet and joyful. 
 
234 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 Donna Cristina kept the windows of her house 
 closed for an entire month. She mourned for her 
 husband at the hours of dinner and supper, gave 
 in his name alms to beggars; and many times a 
 day, with the tall of a fox swished the dust from 
 his piano, as If from a relic, while emitting sighs. 
 She was a woman of forty years, tending toward 
 fleshiness, although still youthful in her form 
 which sterility had preserved. And since she in- 
 herited from the deceased a considerable sum, the 
 five oldest bachelors of the country began to lay 
 ambushes for her and to allure her with flattering 
 wiles to new nuptials. The competitors were: 
 Don Ignazio Cespa, an effeminate person, of 
 ambiguous sex, with the face of an old gossip 
 marked from the small-pox, and a head of hair 
 filled with cosmetics, with fingers heavy from rings 
 and ears pierced with two minute circles of gold; 
 Don Paolo Neavegna, doctor of law, a man talk- 
 ative and keen, who had his lips always curled 
 as if he were chewing on some bitter herb, and a 
 kind of red, unconcealable wart on his forehead; 
 Don Fileno d'Amelio, a new leader of the con- 
 gregation, slightly bald, with a forehead sloping 
 backward, and deep-set lamb-like eyes; Don 
 Pompeo Pepe, a jocular man and a lover of wine, 
 women and leisure, luxuriantly corpulent, especial- 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 235 
 
 ly In his face and sonorous In laughter and speech; 
 Don Flore Ussorlo, a man of pugnacious disposi- 
 tion, a great reader of political works, and a 
 triumphant quoter of historical examples In every 
 dispute, pallid with an unearthly pallor,, with a 
 thin circle of beard around his cheeks and a mouth 
 peculiarly leaning toward an oblique line. To 
 these were added, as a help to Donna Cristlna's 
 power of resistance, the Abbot Egldlo Cennamele 
 who, wishing to draw the heritage to the benefit 
 of the church, with well covered cleverness an- 
 tagonised the wooers by means of flattery. This 
 great contest, which some day should be narrated 
 In more detail, lasted a long time and held great 
 variety of incident. 
 
 The principal theatre of the first act was the 
 dining-room a rectangular room where on the 
 French paper of the walls were graphically rep- 
 resented the facts of Ulysses' sail to the island of 
 Calypso. Almost every evening the combatants 
 assembled around the besieged's window and 
 played the game of briscola and of love 
 alternately. 
 
 VI 
 
 Anna was a constant witness. She introduced 
 the visitors, spread the cloth upon the table, and. 
 
236 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 In the midst of the siege, brought In glasses full 
 of a greenish cordial mixed by the nuns with spe- 
 cial drugs. Once at the top of the stairs she heard 
 Don Flore Ussorlo, in the heat of a dispute, insult 
 the Abbot Cennamele who spoke submissively; 
 and since this irreverence seemed monstrous to 
 her, from that time on she judged Don Fiore to 
 be a diabolical man and at his appearance rapidly 
 made the sign of the cross and murmured a Pater. 
 
 One day In the spring of 1856 while on the 
 bank of the Pescara, she saw a fleet of boats pass 
 the mouth of the river and sail slowly up the cur- 
 rent of the stream. The sun was serene, the two 
 shores were mirrored in the depths facing one 
 another, some green branches and several baskets 
 of reeds floated in the midst of the current toward 
 the sea like placid symbols, and the barks, with 
 the mitre of Saint Thomas painted for an ensign 
 In a corner of their sails, proceeded thus on the 
 beautiful river sanctified by the legend of Saint 
 Cetteo Liberatore. Recollections of her birth- 
 place awoke In the soul of the woman with a sud- 
 den start, at that sight; and on thinking of her 
 father, she was overcome with a deep tenderness. 
 
 The barks were Ortoneslan skiffs and came 
 from the promontory of Roto with a cargo of 
 lemons. Anna, when the anchors were cast, ap- 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 237 
 
 proached the sailors and gazed at them in silence 
 with a curiosity yearning and fearful. One of 
 them, struck by her expression, recognised her and 
 questioned her familiarly: "Whom was she seek- 
 ing? What did she want?" Then Anna drew 
 the man aside and asked him If by chance he had 
 seen In the ''country of the oranges" Luca MInella, 
 her father. "He had not seen him? He no 
 longer lived with that woman?" The man an- 
 swered that Luca had been dead for some time. 
 "He was old, and could not live very long?" Then 
 Anna restrained her tears and wished to know 
 many things. "Luca had married that woman 
 and they had had two children. The elder of the 
 two sailed upon a skiff and came sometimes to 
 Pescara for trade." Anna started. 
 
 A perplexing confusion, a kind of troubled dis- 
 may seized her mind. She could not regain her 
 equilibrium In the face of these complicated facts. 
 She had two brothers then? She must love them? 
 She must endeavour to see them? Now what 
 ought she to do? Thus, wavering, she returned 
 home. Afterwards, for many evenings, when 
 the barks entered the river, she descended the long 
 dock to watch the sailors. One skiff brought from 
 Dalmatia a load of asses and ponies. The beasts 
 on reaching land stamped and the air rang with 
 
238 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 their brays and neighs. Anna, In passing, stroked 
 the large heads of the asses. 
 
 VII 
 
 At about that time she received as a gift from 
 a squire a turtle. This new pet, heavy and taci- 
 turn, was her delight and care In her leisure hours. 
 It walked from one end of the room to the other, 
 lifting with difficulty from the ground the great 
 weight of Its body. It had claws, like olive- 
 coloured stumps, and was young; the sections of 
 Its dorsal shield, spotted yellow and black, glit- 
 tered often In the sunlight with a shade of amber. 
 The head covered with scales, tapering to the nose 
 and yellowish, projected and nodded with timor- 
 ous benignity, and It seemed sometimes like the 
 head of an old worn-out serpent that had issued 
 from the husk of Its own skin. Anna was much 
 delighted with the traits of the animal; Its silence. 
 Its frugality. Its modesty. Its love of home. She 
 fed It with leaves, roots and worms, while watch- 
 ing ecstatically the movement of Its little horned 
 and ragged jaws. She experienced almost a feel- 
 ing of maternity as she gently called the animal 
 and chose for It the tenderest and sweetest herbs. 
 Then the turtle became the presager of an Idyl. 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 239 
 
 The squire, on coming many times a day to the 
 house, lingered on the loggia to chat with Anna. 
 Since he was a man of humble spirit, devout, pru- 
 dent, and just, he enjoyed seeing the reflections of 
 his pious virtues In the soul of the woman. Hence, 
 from habit there arose between the two, little by 
 little, a friendly familiarity. Anna already had 
 several white hairs on her temples, and a placid 
 sincerity suffused her face. Zacchlele exceeded her 
 In age by several years ; he had a large head with 
 bulging forehead and two gentle, round, rabblt- 
 llke eyes. During their soliloquies they sat for 
 the most part on the loggia. Above them, be- 
 tween the roofs, the sky seemed a transparent 
 cupola, while at Intervals the pet doves In their 
 soarings traversed this patch of the heavens. 
 Their conversations turned upon the harvests, the 
 frultfulness of the earth and simple rules for 
 cultivation, and they were both full of experience 
 and self-denial. Since Zacchlele loved at times, 
 because of a natural diffident vanity, to make show 
 of his knowledge before the ignorant and credu- 
 lous woman, she conceived for him an unlimited 
 esteem and admiration. She learned from him 
 that the earth was divided into five races of men : 
 the white, the yellow, the red, the black, and the 
 brown. She learned that in form the earth was 
 
240 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 round, that Romulus and Remus were nourished 
 by a wolf, and that In autumn the swallows flew 
 over the sea to Egypt where the Pharaohs reigned 
 in ancient times. But did not men all have one 
 colour, in the image and semblance of God? How 
 could we walk upon a ball? Who were the 
 Pharaohs? She did not succeed In understand- 
 ing and thus remained completely confused. 
 However, after that she regarded the swallows 
 with reverence and judged them to be birds gifted 
 with human foresight. 
 
 One day Zacchiele showed her a copy of the 
 Old Testament, Illustrated with drawings. Anna 
 examined it slowly, listening to his explanations. 
 She saw Adam and Eve among the hares and 
 fawns, Noah half nude kneeling before an altar, 
 the three angels of Abraham, Moses rescued from 
 the water; she saw with joy finally a Pharaoh, in 
 the presence of the rod of Moses, changed into 
 a serpent; the queen of Sheba, the feast of the 
 Tabernacle, and the martyrdom of the Maccabees. 
 The affair of Balaam's ass filled her with wonder 
 and tenderness. The story of the cup of Joseph 
 in the sack of Benjamin caused her to burst into 
 tears. Now she Imagined the Israelites walking 
 through a desert all covered with scales, under a 
 dew that was called manna and which was white 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 241 
 
 like snow and sweeter than bread. After the 
 Sacred History, seized with a strange ambition, 
 Zacchiele began to read to her of the enterprises 
 of the kings of France with the Emperor Con- 
 stantine up to the time of Orlando, Count of 
 Anglante. A great tumult then upset the woman's 
 mind, the battles of the Philistines and Syrians she 
 confused with the battles of the Saracens, Holo- 
 fernes with Rizierl, King Saul with King Mam- 
 briii|>, Eleazar with Balante, Naomi with Ga- 
 leana. 
 
 Worn out she no longer followed the thread 
 of the narrative, but shivered only at intervals 
 when she heard fall from the lips of Zacchiele 
 the sound of some beloved name. And she had 
 a strong liking for Dusollna and the Duke of 
 Bovetto, who seized all of England while becom- 
 ing enamoured of the daughter of the Frisian 
 King. 
 
 The first day of September came. In the air, 
 tempered with recent rain, was a placid autumnal 
 clarity. Anna's room became the spot for their 
 readings. One day Zacchiele, seated, read "how 
 Galeana, daughter of the King Galafro, became 
 enamoured of Malnetto and wished to make him 
 a garland of green." 
 
 Anna, because the fable seemed simple and 
 
242 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 rustic, and because the voice of the reader seemed 
 to sweeten with new inflections, listened with evi- 
 dent eagerness. The turtle gently dragged itself 
 over several leaves of lettuce, the sun illumined a 
 great spider's web upon the window, and one saw 
 the last red flowers of the tobacco plant through 
 the subtle threads of gold. 
 
 When the chapter was finished Zacchiele laid 
 aside the book, and, gazing at the woman, smiled 
 with one of those simple smiles of his, which had 
 a way of wrinkling his temples and the corners of 
 his mouth. Then he began to speak to her 
 vaguely, with the timidity of one who does not 
 quite know how to arrive at the desired point. 
 Finally he was filled with ardour. Had she never 
 thought of matrimony? Anna did not reply to 
 this question. Both remained silent and both felt 
 in their souls a confused sweetness, almost an 
 astonished reawakening of buried youth and a re- 
 claiming of love. They were excited by it as if 
 the fumes of a very strong wine had mounted to 
 their weakened brains. 
 
 VIII 
 
 But a tacit promise of marriage was given many 
 days later, in October, at the first birth of the 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 243 
 
 oil in the olive, and at the last migration of the 
 swallows. With Donna Cristlna's permission, one 
 Monday Zacchlele took Anna to the factory on 
 the hills where his mill was located. They left 
 by the Portasale, on foot, took the Salaria road, 
 turning their backs on the river. From the day 
 of the fable of Galeana and Malnetto, they had 
 experienced, the one toward the other, a kind of 
 trepidation, a mixture of bashful timidity and re- 
 spect. They had lost that beautiful familiarity 
 of previous times; now they spoke seldom to- 
 gether and always with a hesitating reserve, 
 avoiding each other's face, with uncertain smiles, 
 becoming confused at times through a sudden 
 blush, dallying thus with timid, childish acts of 
 innocence. 
 
 They walked in silence, at first, each following 
 the dry and narrow path which the footsteps of 
 travellers had marked on both sides of the road, 
 and between them ran the road, muddy and in- 
 dented with deep ruts from the wheels of vehicles. 
 The unrestrained joy of the vintage filled the 
 country; the songs at the crushing of the wine re- 
 sounded over the plain. Zacchlele kept slightly in 
 the rear, breaking the silence from time to time 
 with some remark on the weather, the vines, the 
 harvest of olives, while Anna examined curiously 
 
244 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 all of the bushes flaming with berries, the tilled 
 fields, the water in the ditches ; and, little by little, 
 a vague joy was born In her soul, like one who, 
 after a long period of fasting, Is rejoiced by 
 pleasant sensations experienced long ago. As the 
 road took a turn up the declivity through the rich 
 olive orchards of Cardlrusso, clearly arose to her 
 mind the remembrance of Saint Apolllnare and 
 the ass and the keeper of the herds. She felt her 
 blood suddenly surge toward her heart. That 
 episode, burled with her youth, now revived In her 
 memory with a marvellous clearness; a picture of 
 the place formed itself before her mind's eye and 
 she saw again the man with the hare -lip and again 
 heard his voice, while experiencing a new con- 
 fusion without knowing why. 
 
 As they approached the factory the wind among 
 the trees caused the mature olives to fall and a 
 patch of serene sea was revealed from the heights. 
 Zacchiele had moved to the side of the woman 
 and was looking at her from time to time with a 
 pious supplicating tenderness. "What was she 
 thinking of now?" Anna turned with an air al- 
 most of fright, as if she had been caught in a sin. 
 "She was thinking of nothing." They arrived at 
 the mill where the farmers were crushing the first 
 harvest of olives fallen prematurely from the 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 245 
 
 trees. The room for the crushing was low and 
 dimly lighted; from the celling sparkling with 
 saltpetre hung lanterns of brass which smoked; a 
 cart-horse, blindfolded, turned with even steps an 
 immense mill-stone; and the farmers, clothed In a 
 kind of long tunic similar to a sack, with legs and 
 arms bare, muscular and oily, were pouring the 
 liquid Into jugs, jars and vats. 
 
 Anna watched the work attentively, and as 
 Zacchiele gave orders to the workers and wound 
 In and out among the machines, observing the 
 quality of the olives with great decision of judg- 
 ment, she felt her admiration for him increase. 
 Later, as Zacchiele standing before her took up a 
 great brimful pitcher and on pouring the oil, so 
 pure and luminous. Into a vat, spoke of God^s 
 abundance, she made the sign of the cross, quite 
 overwhelmed with veneration for the richness of 
 the soil. 
 
 There came at length to the door two women 
 of the factory, and each held at her breast a nurs- 
 ing child and dragged at her skirts a luxuriant 
 group of children. They fell to conversing placid- 
 ly, and, while Anna tried to caress the children, 
 each talked of her own fertility, and with an hon- 
 est frankness of speech told of her various de- 
 liverances. The first had had seven children; the 
 
246 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 second eleven. It was the will of Jesus Christ, 
 for working people were needed. Then the con- 
 versation turned upon familiar matters. Albarosa, 
 one of the mothers, asked Anna many questions. 
 Had she never had any children? Anna, in an- 
 swering that she was not married, experienced 
 for the first time a kind of humiliation and grief, 
 before that chaste and powerful maternity. Then, 
 changing the subject of their discourse, she rested 
 her hand on the nearest child. The others looked 
 on with wide-open eyes that seemed to have ac- 
 quired a limpid, vegetable colour from the con- 
 tinuous sight of green things. The odour of the 
 crushed olives floated in the air, penetrating the 
 throat and exciting the palate. The groups of 
 workers appeared and disappeared under the red 
 light of the lamps. 
 
 Zacchiele, who up to that moment had been 
 watching carefully the measuring of the oil, ap- 
 proached the women. Albarosa welcomed him 
 with a merry expression. "How long were they 
 to wait for Don Zacchiele to take a wife?" 
 Zacchiele smiled, slightly confused by this question, 
 and gave a stealthy glance at Anna who was still 
 caressing the rustic child and feigning not to have 
 heard. Albarosa, through a kindly pleasantry, 
 characteristic of the peasant, embracing Anna and 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 247 
 
 Zacchiele significantly with a wink of her bovine 
 eyes, pursued her comment. They were a couple 
 blessed by God. Why were they delaying? The 
 farmers, having suspended their work to attend 
 to their meal, made a circle around them. The 
 couple, even more confused by these witnesses, re- 
 mained silent In an attitude bordering between 
 tremulous smiles and shame-faced modesty. One 
 of the youths among the onlookers. Inspired by the 
 affectionate compunctions in the face of Don 
 Zacchiele, nudged his companions with his elbows. 
 The hungry horse neighed. 
 
 The meal was prepared. A strenuous activity 
 Invaded the large rustic family. In the yard, in 
 the open air, among the peaceful olives and within 
 sight of the sea beneath, the men sat at their meal. 
 The plates of vegetables, seasoned with fresh oil, 
 smoked; the wine scintillated in the simple vases 
 of liturgical shape, while the frugal food disap- 
 peared rapidly Into the stomachs of the workers. 
 
 Anna now felt herself filled by a tumult of joy, 
 and she seemed suddenly almost united by a kind 
 of friendly domesticity with the two women. They 
 took her Into their houses where the rooms were 
 large and light, although very old. On the walls 
 sacred Images alternated with pasqual palms; 
 joints of pork hung from the rafters; the posts. 
 
248 TALES GF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 ample and very high, rose from the pavement 
 with cradles beside them; from all emanated the 
 serenity of family concord. Anna, beholding these 
 arrangements, smiled timidly at some inward 
 sweetness, and at a certain point was seized by a 
 strange emotion, almost as If all of her latent 
 virtues of the domestic mother and her Instincts 
 to succour had escaped and suddenly risen up. 
 
 When the women descended again to the yard, 
 the men still remained around the table and 
 Zacchlele was talking to them. Albarosa took a 
 small loaf of corn-bread, divided It in the middle, 
 spread it with oil and salt, and offered it to Anna. 
 The fresh oil, just pressed from the fruit, diffused 
 in the mouth a savoury, sharp aroma, and Anna, 
 allured, ate all of the bread. She even drank the 
 wine. Then as the evening was falling, she and 
 Zacchlele began the descent of the hill on their re- 
 turn. Behind them the farmers were singing. 
 Many other songs arose from the fields and per- 
 vaded the evening air with the soft fullness of a 
 Gregorian chant. The wind blew molstly through 
 the olive trees, a dying splendour between rose and 
 violet suffused the sky. Anna walked In front 
 with swift steps, grazing the tree-trunks. Zac- 
 chlele called the woman by name; she turned to 
 him humbly and palpitatingly. "What did he 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 249 
 
 wish?" Zacchiele said no more ; he took two steps 
 and arrived at her side. Thus they continued 
 their walk, in silence, until the Salaria road no 
 longer divided them. As in going, each had taken 
 the marginal road, on the right and left. At 
 length they re-entered the Portasale. 
 
 Through a native irresolution Anna continually 
 deferred her matrimony. Religious doubts tor- 
 mented 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 un- 
 occupied 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 cere- 
 monies, the eleven lamps of silver, the three altars 
 of precious marbles. 
 
250 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 But in Holy Week of the year 1857 a great 
 event happened. Between the Confraternity 
 commanded by Don Fileno d'Amello and the 
 Abbot Cennamele, who was aided by the paroch- 
 ial 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, fur- 
 nished 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 Chletl was besieged by innumerable messages 
 from both parties; much money for corruption 
 was spent everywhere and a murmur of mysteri- 
 ous plots spread throughout the city. The house 
 of Donna Cristina Basile was the hearth of all 
 the dissensions. Don Flore Ussorlo 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 exer- 
 cised, to no purpose, all of his conciliative bland- 
 ishments and mellifluous smiles. The victory was 
 fought for with an implacable violence up to the 
 ritualistic hour for the funeral ostentation. The 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 251 
 
 people fermented with expectation; the captain of 
 the militia, a partisan of the abbey, threatened 
 punishment to the Instigators of the Confrater- 
 nity. 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 mag- 
 nificence through the streets scattered with flow- 
 ers. 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 sumptuous- 
 ness of this ceremony blinded her; a kind of rap- 
 ture overcame her at the spectacle, and she felt 
 gratitude even toward Don Flore Ussorlo, who 
 passed bearing in his hand an immense taper. 
 Then as the last band of celebrators arrived be- 
 fore her, she mingled with the fanatical crowd of 
 men, women and children and thus moved along 
 
252 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 as if scarcely touching the earth, while always 
 holding her eyes fixed on the surmounting wreath 
 of the Mater Dolorosa. On high, from one bal- 
 cony 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 irreg- 
 ular 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 com- 
 mitting 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 vi- 
 cinity 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 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 253 
 
 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 dumb- 
 founded. And In the sudden silence one heard 
 the clash of the sword of the officer as he left the 
 church. Don Flore Ussorlo only had the temerity 
 to smile. 
 
 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 en- 
 tirely expended in religious practices, domestic 
 
254 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 duties, and In loving ministrations for her turtle. 
 At the first signs of spring, It awoke from Its con- 
 dition of lethargy. One day, unexpectedly. It un- 
 sheathed from Its shield the serpentine head and 
 swung It weakly, while its feet remained in torpor. 
 The little eyes were half covered with the eye- 
 lids. 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 tur- 
 tle, 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 tender- 
 ness; 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. 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 255 
 
 But Zacchlele, 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 at- 
 tended to her needlework for her trousseau, Zac- 
 chlele 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 multi- 
 plication of the loaves and fishes, the liberation of 
 the daughter of Calnan, 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 some- 
 times to the seamstress and caught in its mouth 
 the hem of the cloth, or chewed the leather of 
 her shoe. One day Zacchlele, while reading the 
 parable of the Prodigal Son, feeling suddenly 
 something soft under his feet, through an involun- 
 tary motion of fright, gave a kick, and the turtle, 
 struck against the wall, fell back upside down. 
 
256 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 Its dorsal shell burst in many places, while a little 
 blood appeared on one of its claws, which the ani- 
 mal 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 Prodi- 
 gal Son was left forever under the trees with the 
 acorns to watch his master's pigs. 
 
 XI 
 
 Zacchiele lost his life in the great flood of 
 October, 1857. The dairy farm where he 
 lived, in the neighbourhood of the Cappuccini 
 Convent, beyond the Porta-Giulia, was inundated 
 by the flood. The waters covered the entire coun- 
 try, from the hill of Orlando to the hill of Castel- 
 lammare; and, since it had flown over vast depos- 
 its of clay, it looked bloody as in the ancient fable. 
 The tops of the trees emerged here and there from 
 this blood, so miry and extensive. At intervals 
 passed enormous trunks of trees with all of their 
 roots, furniture, unrecognisable materials, groups 
 of beasts not yet dead who bellowed and dis- 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 257 
 
 appeared and then reappeared and were lost sight 
 of in the distance. The droves of oxen, especially, 
 presented a wonderful sight; their great white 
 bodies pursued one another, their heads reared 
 desperately from out the water, furious interfac- 
 ings of horns occurred in their rushes of terror. 
 As the sea was to the east, the waves at the mouth 
 of the river overflowed into it. The salt lake of 
 Palata and its estuaries also joined with the river. 
 The fort became a lost island. Inland the roads 
 were submerged, and in the house of Donna Cris- 
 tina the water-line reached almost half way up 
 the stairs. The tumult increased continuously, 
 while the bells sounded clamorously. The pris- 
 oners, within their prisons, howled. 
 
 Anna, believing in some supreme chastisement 
 from the Most High, took recourse in prayers for 
 salvation. The second day, as she mounted to the 
 top of the pigeon-house, she saw nothing but 
 water, water everywhere under the clouds, and 
 later observed, terrified, horses galloping madly 
 on the ridge of San Vitale. She descended, dulled, 
 with her mind in a turmoil, and the persistency of 
 the noise and the mists of the air blurred in her 
 every sense of place and time. 
 
 When the flood began to subside, the country 
 people entered the city by means of scows. Men, 
 
258 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 women and children carried in their faces and 
 eyes a grievous stupefaction. All narrated sad 
 stories. And a ploughman of the Cappuccini came 
 to the Basile house to announce that Don Zac- 
 chiele had been washed out to sea. The plough- 
 man spoke simply in telling of the death. He 
 said that in the vicinity of the Cappuccini certain 
 women had bound their nursing children to the 
 top of an enormous tree to rescue them from the 
 waters and that the whirlpools had uprooted the 
 tree, dragging down the five little creatures. Don 
 Zacchiele was upon a roof with other Christians 
 in a compact group, and as the roof was about to 
 be submerged the corpses of animals and broken 
 branches beat against these desperate ones. 
 When at length the tree with the babies passed 
 over them, the impact was so terrible that after its 
 passage there was no longer a trace of roof or 
 Christians. 
 
 Anna listened without weeping, and in her 
 mind, shaken by the account of that death, by that 
 tree with its five infants, and those men all 
 crouched upon the roof while the corpses of beasts 
 beat against it, sprang up a kind of superstitious 
 wonder like the excitement she had felt in hear- 
 ing certain stories of the Old Testament. She 
 mounted slowly to her room, and tried to com- 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 259 
 
 pose herself. The sun shone upon her window, 
 and the turtle slept in a corner, covered with his 
 shield, while the chattering of swallows came 
 from the tiles. All of these natural things, this 
 customary tranquillity of her daily life, little by 
 little comforted her. From the depths of that 
 momentary calm at length her grief arose clearly, 
 and she bent her head upon her breast In deep 
 depression. 
 
 Her heart was stung with remorse for having 
 preserved against Zacchiele that strange, silent 
 rancour for so long a time ; recollections one after 
 another came to mind, and the virtues of her lost 
 lover shone more brightly than ever In her mem- 
 ory. As the scourgings of her grief Increased, she 
 got up, went to her bed, and there stretched her- 
 self out upon her face. Her weeping mingled 
 with the chattering of the birds. 
 
 Afterwards, when her tears were dried, the 
 peace of resignation began to descend upon her 
 soul, and she came to feel that everything of this 
 earth was frail and that we ought to bend our- 
 selves to the will of God. The unction of this 
 simple act of consecration spread In her heart a 
 fulness of sweetness. She felt herself freed from 
 all Inquietude, and found repose In her humble but 
 firm faith. From now on In her law there was 
 
26o TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 but this one clause : The sovereign will of God, 
 always just, always adorable, established in all 
 things praised and exalted through all eternity. 
 
 XII 
 
 Thus to the daughter of Luca was opened 
 the true road to Paradise. The passing of 
 time was not marked by her except in ecclesiasti- 
 cal occurrences. When the river re-entered Its 
 channel, there issued in consecutive order for 
 many days processions throughout the cities and 
 country. She followed all of them, together with 
 the people, singing the Te Deum. The vine- 
 yards everywhere had been devastated; the earth 
 was soft and the air pregnant with white vapours, 
 singularly luminous, like those rising from the 
 swamps in spring. 
 
 Then came the feast of All Saints; then the 
 solemnity for the dead. A great number of 
 masses were celebrated for the assistance of the 
 victims of the flood. At Christmas Anna wished 
 to make a manger; she bought a Christ-child, 
 Mary, Saint Joseph, an ox and an ass, wise men, 
 and shepherds, all made of wax. Accompanied 
 by the daughter of the sacristan she went to the 
 ditches of the Salaria road to search for moss. 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 261 
 
 Under the glassy serenity of the fields, the lands 
 were covered with lime, the factory of Albarosa 
 appeared on the hill among the olives, and no 
 voice disturbed the silence. Anna, as she discov- 
 ered the moss, bent and with a knife cut the clod. 
 On contact with the cold verdure her hands be- 
 came violet coloured. From time to time, at the 
 sight of a clod greener than the others, there es- 
 caped from her an exclamation of contentment. 
 When her basket was full, she sat down upon the 
 edge of the ditch with the girl. She raised her 
 eyes thoughtfully and slowly to the olive-orchard, 
 and they rested upon the white wall of the factory 
 that resembled a cloisteral edifice. Then she 
 bowed her head, tormented by her thoughts. 
 Later she turned suddenly to her companion 
 "Had she never seen the olives crushed!" She 
 began to picture the work of the crushing with 
 voluble speech; and, as she spoke, little by little 
 arose in her mind other recollections than those 
 she was describing, and they showed themselves 
 in her voice by a slight trembling. 
 
 That was the last weakness. In April of 1858, 
 shortly after Ascension Day, she fell sick. She 
 remained in bed almost a month, tormented by a 
 pulmonary Inflammation. Donna Cristlna came 
 morning and evening to her room to visit her. An 
 
262 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOPFN 
 
 aged maid servant who made public profession of 
 assisting the sick gave her medicines to her. Then 
 the turtle cheered the days of her convalescence. 
 And as the animal was emaciated from fasting, 
 and was nothing but skin, Anna, seeing him so 
 lean, and perceiving herself so debilitated, felt 
 that secret satisfaction that we experience when 
 we suffer the same pain as a beloved one. A mild 
 tepidity arose from the tiles covered with lichens, 
 in the court the cocks crew, and one morning two 
 swallows entered suddenly, flapped their wings 
 about the room, and fled away again. 
 
 When Anna returned for the first time to the 
 church, after her recovery. It was the festival of 
 roses. On entering she breathed In greedily the 
 perfume of Incense. She walked softly along the 
 nave. In order to find the spot where she had been 
 accustomed to kneel, and she felt herself seized 
 with a sudden joy when finally she discovered be- 
 tween the mortuary stories that one which bore In 
 its centre an almost effaced bas-relief. She 
 knelt upon It, and fell to praying. The people 
 multiplied. At a certain point in the ceremony 
 two acolytes descended from the choir with two 
 silver basins full of roses, and commenced to scat- 
 ter the flowers upon the heads of the prostrate 
 ones, while the organ played a joyful hymn. 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 263 
 
 Anna remained bent In a kind of ecstasy that gave 
 her the blessedness of the mystic celebration and 
 a vaguely voluptuous feeling of recovery. When 
 several roses happened to fall upon her, she gave 
 a long sigh. The poor woman had never before 
 in her life experienced anything more sweet than 
 that sigh of mystic delight and its subsequent 
 languor. 
 
 The Rose Easter remained therefore Anna's 
 favourite festival and it returned periodically 
 without any noteworthy episode. In i860 the city 
 was disturbed with serious agitations. One heard 
 often in the night the roll of drums, the alarms of 
 sentinels, the reports of muskets. In the house 
 of Dona Cristina a more lively fervour for action 
 manifested itself among the five suitors. Anna 
 was not frightened, but lived In profound medita- 
 tion, having neither a realisation of public events 
 nor of domestic wants, fulfilling her duties with 
 machine-like exactness. 
 
 In the month of September the fortress of 
 Pescara was evacuated, the Bourbon militia dis- 
 persed, their arms and baggage thrown Into the 
 water of the river, while bands of citizens flocked 
 through the streets with liberal acclamations of 
 joy. Anna, when she heard that the Abbot Cen- 
 namele had fled precipitately, thought that the 
 
264 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 enemies of the Church of God had triumphed, 
 and was greatly grieved at this. 
 
 After this her life unfolded in peace for a long 
 time. The shell of the turtle increased in breadth 
 and became more opaque; the tobacco plant 
 sprang up annually, blossomed and fell; the wise 
 swallows every autumn departed for the land of 
 the Pharaohs. In 1865 the great contest of the 
 suitors at length culminated in the victory of Don 
 Fileno D'Amelio. The nuptials were celebrated 
 in the month of March with banquets of solemn 
 gaiety. There came to prepare the valuable dishes 
 two Capuchin fathers, Fra Vittorio and Fra 
 Mansueto. 
 
 They were the two who after the suppression 
 of the order remained to guard the convent. Fra 
 Vittorio was a sexagenary, reddened, strengthened 
 and made happy by the juice of the grape. A 
 little green band covered an infirmity of his right 
 eye, while the left scintillated, full of a penetrating 
 liveliness. He had exercised from his youth the 
 art of drugs, and, as he had much skill in the 
 kitchen, gentlemen were accustomed to summon 
 him on occasions of festivity. At work he used 
 rough gestures that revealed in the ample sleeves 
 his hairy arms, his whole beard moved with every 
 motion of his mouth and his voice broke into shrill 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 265 
 
 cries. Fra Mansueto, on the contrary, was a lean 
 old man with a great head and on his chin a 
 goatee. He had two yellowish eyes full of sub- 
 mission. He cultivated the soil and going from 
 door to door carried eatable herbs to the houses. 
 In serving a company he took a modest position, 
 limped on one foot, spoke in the soft idiomatic 
 patois of Ortona, and, perhaps in memory of the 
 legend of Saint Thomas, exclaimed, *'For the 
 Turks!'* every little while stroking his polished 
 head with his hand. 
 
 Anna attended to the placing of the plates, the 
 kitchen ware and the coppers. It seemed to her 
 now that the kitchen had assumed a kind of secret 
 solemnity through the presence of the brothers. 
 She remained to watch attentively all of the acts 
 of Fra Vittorio, seized with that trepidation that 
 all simple people feel in the presence of men 
 gifted with some superior virtue. She admired 
 especially the infallable gesture with which the 
 great Capuchin scattered upon the dishes cer- 
 tain secret drugs of his, certain particular aromas 
 known only to him. But the humility, the mild- 
 ness, the modest jokes of Fra Mansueto little by 
 little made a conquest of her. And the bonds of a 
 common country and the still stronger ones of a 
 common dialect cemented their friendship. 
 
266 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 As they conversed, recollections of the past 
 germinated In their speech. Fra Mansueto had 
 known Luca Mlnella and he was in the basilica 
 when the death of Francesca Nobile had hap- 
 pened among the pilgrims. "For the Turks!" 
 He had even helped to carry the corpse up to the 
 house at the Porta-Caldara, and he remembered 
 that the dead woman wore a waist of yellow silk 
 and many chains of gold. . . . 
 
 Anna grew sad. In her memory this matter 
 up to that moment had remained confused, vague, 
 almost uncertain, dimmed by the very long Inert 
 stupor that had followed her first paroxysms of 
 epilepsy. But when Fra Mansueto said that her 
 mother was in Paradise because those who die in 
 the cause of religion dwell among the saints, Anna 
 experienced an unspeakable sweetness and felt 
 suddenly surge up in her soul an immense adora- 
 tion for the sanctity of her mother. 
 
 Then, remembering the places of her native 
 country, she began to discourse minutely on the 
 Church of the Apostle, mentioning the shapes of 
 the altars, the position of the Chapels, the num- 
 ber of the ornaments, the shape of the cupola, 
 the positions of the Images, the divisions of the 
 pavement and the colours of the windows. Fra 
 Mansueto followed her with benignity; and, since 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 267 
 
 he had been in Ortona several months before, re- 
 counted the new things seen there. The Arch- 
 bishop of Orsogna had given the Church a pre- 
 cious vase of gold with settings of precious stones. 
 The Confraternity of the Holy Sacrament had 
 renovated all the wood and leather of the stoles. 
 Donna Blandina Onofrii had furnished an entire 
 change of apparel, consisting in Dalmatian 
 chasubles, stoles, sacerdotal cloaks and surplices. 
 Anna listened greedily, and the desire to see 
 these new things and to see again the old ones 
 began to torment her. When the Capuchin was 
 silent she turned to him with an air half of pleas- 
 ure, half of timidity. The May feast was draw- 
 ing near. Should they go ? 
 
 XIII 
 
 During the last days of May, Anna, having 
 had permission from Donna Cristina, made her 
 preparations. She felt anxious about the turtle. 
 Ought she to leave it or carry it with her? She 
 remained a long time in doubt but at length de- 
 cided to carry it for security. She put it in a 
 basket with her clothes and the boxes of con- 
 fection which Donna Cristina was sending to 
 Donna Veronica Monteferrante, Abbess of the 
 
268 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 monastery of Santa Caterina. At dawn Anna and 
 Fra Mansueto set out. Anna had from the first 
 a nimble step and a gay aspect; her hair, already 
 almost entirely grey, lay In shining folds beneath 
 her handkerchief. The brother limped, support- 
 ing himself with a stick, and an empty knapsack 
 swung from his shoulders. When they reached 
 the wood of pines, they made their first halt. 
 
 The trees in the May morning, immersed in 
 their native perfume, swayed voluptuously be- 
 tween the serenity of the sky and that of the sea. 
 The trunks wept resin. The blackbirds whistled. 
 All the fountains of life seemed open for the 
 transfiguration of the earth. 
 
 Anna sat down upon the grass, offered the 
 monk bread and fruit, and began to talk about 
 the festivity, eating at Intervals. The turtle tried 
 with its two foremost legs to reach the edge of the 
 basket, and Its timid serpent-like head projected 
 and withdrew in its efforts. Then, when Anna 
 took It out, the beast began to advance on the moss 
 toward a bush of myrtle, with less slowness, per- 
 haps feeling the joy of Its primitive liberty arise 
 confusedly In it. Its shell amongst^ the green 
 looked more beautiful. Fra Mansueto made 
 several moral reflections and praised Providence 
 that gives to the turtle a house, and sleep during 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 269 
 
 the winter season. Anna recounted several facts 
 which demonstrated great frankness and rectitude 
 In the turtle. Then she added, "What are the 
 animals thinking of?" 
 
 The brother did not answer. Both remained 
 perplexed. There descended from the bark of a 
 pine a file of ants and they extended themselves 
 across the ground, each ant dragged a fragment of 
 food and the entire innumerable family fulfilled 
 Its work with diligent precision. Anna watched, 
 and there awoke In her mind the Ingenuous beliefs 
 of her childhood. She spoke of wonderful dwell- 
 ings that the ants excavated beneath the earth. 
 The brother replied with an accent of intense 
 faith, *'God be praised!" And both remained 
 pensive, beneath the greatness, while worshipping 
 God in their hearts. 
 
 In the early hours of the evening they arrived 
 In the country of Ortona. Anna knocked at the 
 door of the monastery and asked to see the abbess. 
 On entering they saw a little court paved with 
 black and white stone with a cistern In the centre. 
 The reception parlour was a low room, with a few 
 chairs around It; two walls were occupied by a 
 grating, the other two by a crucifix and Images. 
 Anna was Immediately seized by a feeling of ven- 
 eration for the solemn peace that reigned in this 
 
270 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 spot. When the Mother Veronica appeared un- 
 expectedly behind the grating, tall and severe in 
 her monastic habit, Anna experienced an unspeak- 
 able confusion as if In the presence of a super- 
 natural apparition. Then, reassured by the kind 
 smile of the abbess, she delivered her message 
 briefly, placed her boxes In the cavity of the turn- 
 stile and waited. The Mother Veronica moved 
 about her benignly, watching her with her beauti- 
 ful lion-like eyes; she gave her an effigy of the 
 Virgin, and in taking leave she extended her illus- 
 trious hand to be kissed through the grating, and 
 disappeared. 
 
 Anna went out full of trepidation. As she 
 passed the vestibule, there reached her ears a 
 chorus of litanies, a song, very regular and sweet, 
 which came perhaps from some subterranean 
 chapel. When she passed through the court she 
 saw on the left, at the top of the wall, a branch 
 loaded with oranges. And, as she set foot again 
 on the road, she seemed to have left behind her 
 a garden of blessedness. 
 
 Then she turned toward the eastern road in 
 order to search for her relations. At the door of 
 the old house an unknown woman stood leaning 
 against the door-post. Anna approached her 
 timidly and asked news of the family of Francesca 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 271 
 
 Nobile. The woman interrupted her: "Why? 
 Why? What did she want?" with a voice and 
 an investigating expression. Then, when Anna 
 recalled herself, she permitted her to enter. 
 
 The relations had almost all died or emigrated. 
 There remained in the house an old, rich man. 
 Uncle Mingo, who had taken for his second wife 
 "the daughter of Sblendore" and lived with her 
 almost in misery. The old man at first did not 
 recognise Anna. He was seated upon an old 
 ecclesiastical chair, whose red material hung in 
 shreds; his hands rested on the arms, contorted 
 and rendered enormous through the monstrosity 
 of gout, his feet with rhythmic movements beat 
 the earth, while a continuous paralytic trembling 
 agitated the muscles of his neck, elbows and knees. 
 As he gazed at Anna he held open with difficulty 
 his Inflamed eyelids. At length he remembered 
 her. 
 
 As Anna proceeded to explain her own experi- 
 ences, the daughter of Sblendore, sniffing money, 
 began to conceive In her mind hopes of usurpation, 
 and by virtue of these hopes became more benign 
 in her expression. Annans tale was scarcely told 
 when she offered her hospitality for the night, 
 took her basket of clothes and laid it down, prom- 
 ised to take care of her turtle and then made sev- 
 
272 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 eral complaints, not without tears, about the in- 
 firmity of the old man and the misery of their 
 house. Anna went out with her soul full of pity; 
 she went up the coast toward the belfry of the 
 church, feehng anxious on approaching it. 
 
 Around the Farnese palace the people surged 
 like billows; and that great feudal relic orna- 
 mented with figures, magnificent in the sunlight, 
 was most conspicuous. Anna passed through the 
 crowd, alongside of the benches of the silver- 
 smiths who made sacred apparel and native ob- 
 jects. At all of that scintillating display of 
 liturgical forms her heart dilated with joy and 
 she made the sign of the cross before each bench 
 as before an altar. When at night she reached 
 the door of the church and heard the canticle of 
 the ritual, she could no longer contain her joy 
 as she advanced as far as the pulpit, with steps 
 almost vacillating. Her knees bent beneath her 
 and the tears welled up In her eyes. She remained 
 there In contemplation of the candelabras, the 
 ostensories, of all those objects on the altar, her 
 mind dizzy from having eaten nothing since morn- 
 ing. An Immense weakness seized her nerves and 
 her soul shrank to the point of annihilation. 
 Above her, along the central nave, the glass lamps 
 formed a triple crown of fire. In the distance, 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 273 
 
 four solid trunks of wax flamed at the sides of 
 the tabernacle. 
 
 XIV 
 
 The five days of the festival Anna lived thus 
 within the church from early morning until the 
 hour at which the doors were closed most faith- 
 fully she breathed In that warm air which Im- 
 planted In her senses a blissful torpor, in her soul 
 a joy, full of humility. The orations, the genuflec- 
 tions, the salutations, all of those formulas, all 
 of those ritualistic gestures incessantly repeated, 
 dulled her senses. The fumes of the Incense hid 
 the earth from her. 
 
 Rosaria, the daughter of Sblendore, meanwhile 
 profited by moving her to pity with lying com- 
 plaints and by the miserable spectacle of the 
 paralytic old man. She was an unprincipled 
 woman, expert In fraud and dedicated to debauch- 
 ery; her entire face was covered with blisters, 
 red and serpentlRC, her hair grey, her stomach 
 obese. Bound to the paralytic by vices common 
 to both and by marriage, she and he had squan- 
 dered In a short time their substance in guzzling 
 and merry-making. Both in their misery, 
 venomous from privation, burning with thirst for 
 wine and liquor, harassed by the infirmities of 
 
274 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 decrepitude, were now expiating their prolonged 
 sinning. 
 
 Anna, with a spontaneous impulse for charity, 
 gave to Rosaria all her money kept for alms- 
 giving and her superfluous clothes as well as her 
 earrings, two gold rings and her coral necklace 
 and she promised still further support. At length 
 she retraced the road to Pescara, in company with 
 Fra Mansueto, and bearing the turtle in her 
 basket. 
 
 During their walk, as the houses of Ortona 
 withdrew into the distance, a great sadness de- 
 scended upon the soul of the woman. Crowds of 
 singing pilgrims were passing in other directions, 
 and their songs, monotonous and slow, re- 
 mained a long while in the air. Anna listened to 
 them; an overwhelming desire drew her to join 
 them, to follow them, to live thus, making pil- 
 grimages from sanctuary to sanctuary, from coun- 
 try to country, in order to exalt the miracles of 
 every saint, the virtues of every relic, the bounty 
 of every Mary. 
 
 "They go to Cucullo," Fra Mansueto said, 
 pointing with his arm to some distant country. 
 And both began to talk of Saint Domenico, who 
 protected the men from the bite of serpents and 
 the seed from caterpillars; then they spoke of 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 275 
 
 the patron saints. At Bugnara, on the bridge of 
 Rivo, more than a hundred cart-houses, among 
 horses and mules, laden with fruit, were going In 
 a procession to the Madonna of the Snow. The 
 devotees rode on their chargers, with sprigs of 
 spikenard on their heads, with strings of dough 
 on their shoulders, and they laid at the feet of the 
 Image their cereal gifts. At BIsentI, many youths, 
 with baskets of grain on their heads, were con- 
 ducting along the roads an ass that carried on Its 
 back a larger basket, and they entered the Church 
 of the Madonna of the Angels, to offer them up, 
 while singing. At Torrlcella Pellgna, men and 
 children, crowned with roses and garlands of 
 roses, went up on a pilgrimage to the Madonna 
 of the Roses, situated upon a cliff where was the 
 foot-prints of Samson. At Loreto Apentino a 
 white ox, fattened during the year with abundance 
 of pasturage, moved In pomp behind the statue 
 of Saint Zoplto. A red drapery covered him and 
 a child rode upon him. As the sacred ox entered 
 the church, he gave forth the excrescence of his 
 food and the devotees from this smoking material 
 presaged future agriculture. 
 
 Of such religious usages Anna and Fra 
 Mansueto were speaking, when they reached the 
 mouth of the Alento. The Channel carried the 
 
276 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 water of spring between the green foliage not 
 yet flowered. And the Capuchin spoke of the 
 Madonna of the Incoronati, where for the festival 
 of Saint John the devotees wreath their heads 
 with vines, and during the night go with great re- 
 joicing to the River Gizio to bathe. 
 
 Anna removed her shoes in order to ford the 
 river. She felt now in her soul an immense and 
 loving veneration for everything, for the trees, 
 the grass, the animals, for all that those Catholic 
 customs had sanctified. Thus from the depths of 
 her ignorance and simplicity arose the instinct of 
 idolatry. 
 
 Several months after her return, an epidemic 
 of cholera broke out in the country, and the 
 mortality was great. Anna lent her services to 
 the poor sick ones. Fra Mansueto died. Anna 
 felt much grief at this. In the year 1866, at the 
 recurrence of the festival, she wished to take leave 
 and return to her native place forever, because 
 she saw in her sleep every night Saint Thomas 
 who commanded her to depart. So she took the 
 turtle, her clothes and her savings, weeping she 
 kissed the hand of Donna Cristina, and departed 
 upon a cart, together with two begging nuns. 
 
 At Ortona she dwelt In the house of her 
 paralytic uncle. She slept upon a straw pallet and 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 277 
 
 ate nothing but bread and vegetables. She dedi- 
 cated every hour of the day to the practices of 
 the Church, with a marvellous fervour, and her 
 mind gradually lost all ability to do anything save 
 contemplate Christian mysteries, adore symbols 
 and imagine Paradise. She was completely ab- 
 sorbed with divine charity, completely encom- 
 passed with that divine passion which the sacer- 
 dotals manifest always with the same signs and 
 the same words. She comprehended but that one 
 single language; had but that one single refuge, 
 sweet and solemn, where her whole heart dilated 
 in a pious security of peace and where her eyes 
 moistened with an ineffable sweetness of tears. 
 
 She suffered, for the love of Jesus, domestic 
 miseries, was gentle and submissive and never 
 proffered a lament, a reproof, or a threat. 
 Rosaria extracted from her little by little all of 
 her savings, and commenced then to let her go 
 hungry, to overtax her, to call her vicious names 
 and to persecute the turtle with fierce Insistency. 
 The old paralytic gave forth continuously a 
 species of hoarse howls, opening his mouth where 
 the tongue trembled and from which dripped con- 
 tinually quantities of saliva. One day, because 
 his greedy wife swallowed before him some liquor 
 and denied him a drink, escaping with the glass. 
 
278 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 he arose from his chair with an effort and began 
 to walk toward her, his legs wavering, his feet 
 striking the ground with an involuntary rhythmic 
 stroke. Suddenly he moved faster, his trunk bent 
 forward, while hopping with short pursuing steps, 
 as If pushed by an Irresistible impulse, until at 
 length he fell face downward upon the edge of the 
 stairs. 
 
 XV 
 
 Then Anna, in distress, took the turtle and went 
 to ask succour of Donna Veronica Monteferrante. 
 As the poor woman had already done several 
 services for the monastery, the Abbess, pitying 
 her, gave her work as a serving-nun. 
 
 Anna, though she had not taken the orders, 
 dressed in the nun's costume : the black tunic, the 
 throat-bands, the head-dress with Its ample white 
 brims. She seemed to herself. In that habit, to 
 be sanctified. And at first, when the air flapped 
 the brims around her head with a noise as of 
 wings, she shuddered with a sudden confusion in 
 her veins. Also when the brims struck by the sun 
 reflected on her face the colour of snow, she sud- 
 denly felt herself illuminated by a mystic ray. 
 
 With the passing of time, her ecstasies became 
 more frequent. The grey-haired virgin was 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 279 
 
 thrilled from time to time by angelic songs, by 
 distant echoes of organs, by rumours and voices 
 not perceptible to other ears. Luminous figures 
 presented themselves to her in the darkness, 
 odours of Paradise carried her out of herself. 
 
 Thus a kind of sacred horror began to spread 
 through the monastery as if through the presence 
 of some occult power, as if through the imminence 
 of some supernatural event. As a precaution the 
 new convert was released from every obligation 
 pertaining to servile work. All of her positions, 
 all of her words, all of her glances were observed 
 and commented upon with superstition. And the 
 legend of her sanctity began to flower. 
 
 On the first of February in the year of Our 
 Lord 1873, *h^ voice of the virgin Anna be- 
 came singularly hoarse and deep. Later her 
 power of speech suddenly disappeared. This un- 
 expected dumbness terrified the minds of the nuns. 
 And all, standing around the convert, considered 
 with mystic terror her ecstatic postures, the vague 
 motions of her mute mouth and the immobility 
 of her eyes from which overflowed at intervals 
 inundations of tears. The lineaments of the sick 
 woman, extenuated by long fastings, had now as- 
 sumed a purity almost of ivory, while the entire 
 outlines of her arteries now seemed to be visible, 
 
28o TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 and projected in such strong relief and palpitated 
 so incessantly, that before that open palpitation 
 of blood a kind of dread seized the nuns, as if 
 they were viewing a body stripped of its skin. 
 
 When the month of Mary drew near, a loving 
 diligence prompted the Benedictines to the prepa- 
 ration of an oratory. They scattered throughout 
 the cloisteral garden, all flowering with roses and 
 fruitful with oranges, while they gathered the 
 harvest of early May in order to lay it at the 
 foot of the altar. Anna having recovered her 
 usual state of calmness, descended likewise to 
 help at the pious work. She conveyed often with 
 gestures the thoughts which her obstinate mute- 
 ness forbade her to express. All of the brides of 
 Our Lord lingered in the sun, walking among the 
 fountains luxuriant with perfume. There was on 
 one side of the garden a door, and as in the souls 
 of the virgins the perfumes awoke suppressed 
 thought, so the sun in penetrating beneath the 
 two arches revived in the plaster the residue of 
 Byzantine gold. 
 
 The oratory was ready for the day of the first 
 prayer. The ceremony began after the Vespers. 
 A sister mounted to the organ. Presently from 
 the keys the cry of the Passion penetrated every- 
 where, all foreheads bowed, the censers gave out 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 281 
 
 the fumes of jasmine and the flames of the tapers 
 palpitated among crowns of flowers. Then arose 
 the canticles, the litanies full of symbolic appella- 
 tions and supplicating tenderness. As the voices 
 mounted with increasing strength, Anna, impelled 
 by the immense force of her fervour, screamed. 
 Struck with wonder, she fell supine, agitating her 
 arms and trying to arise. The litanies stopped. 
 The sisters, several almost terrified, had remained 
 an instant immobile while others gave assistance 
 to the sick woman. The miracle seemed to them 
 most unexpected, brilliant and supreme. 
 
 Then, little by little, stupor, uncertain murmurs 
 and vacillation were succeeded by a rejoicing with- 
 out limit, a chorus of clamorous exaltations and a 
 mingled drowsiness as of inebriety. Anna, on her 
 knees, still absorbed in the rapture of the miracle, 
 was not conscious of what was happening around 
 her. But when the canticles with greater vehe- 
 mence were begun again, she sang too. Her notes 
 from the descending waves of the chorus, at inter- 
 vals emerged, since the devotees diminished the 
 force of their voices in order to hear that one 
 which by divine grace had been restored. And the 
 Virgin became from time to time the censer of 
 gold from which they exhaled sweet balsam, she 
 was the lamp that by day and night lighted the 
 
282 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 sanctuary, the urn that enclosed the manna from 
 heaven, the flame that burned without consuming, 
 the stem of Jesse that bore the most beautiful of 
 all flowers. 
 
 Afterwards the fame of the miracle spread 
 from the monastery throughout the entire coun- 
 try of Ortona and from the country to all ad- 
 joining lands, growing as it travelled. And the 
 monastery rose to great respect. Donna Blandina 
 Onofrii, the magnificent, presented to the Ma- 
 donna of the Oratorio a vest of brocaded silver 
 and a rare necklace of turquoise came from the 
 island of Smyrna. The other Ortosian ladies 
 gave other minor gifts. The Archbishop of 
 Orsagna made with pomp a congratulatory visit, 
 in which he exchanged words of eloquence with 
 Anna, who "from the purity of her life had been 
 rendered worthy of celestial gifts." 
 
 In August of the year 1876 new prodigies ar- 
 rived. The infirm woman, when she approached 
 vespers, fell in a state of cataleptic ecstasy; from 
 which she arose later almost with violence. On 
 her feet, while preserving always the same posi- 
 tion, she began to talk, at first slowly and then 
 gradually accelerating, as if beneath the urgency 
 of a mystic inspiration. Her eloquence was but a 
 tumultuous medley of words, of phrases, of entire 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 283 
 
 selections learned before, which now in her un- 
 consciousness reproduced themselves, growing 
 fragmentary or combining without sequence. 
 
 She repeated native dialectic expressions 
 mingled with courtly forms, and with the hyper- 
 boles of Biblical language as well as extraordinary 
 conjunctions of syllables and scarcely audible har- 
 monies of songs. But the profound trembling of 
 her voice, the sudden changes of inflection, the 
 alternate ascending and descending of the tone, 
 the spirituality of the ecstatic figure, the mystery 
 of the hour, all helped to make a profound im- 
 pression upon the onlookers. 
 
 These effects repeated themselves daily, with a 
 periodic regularity. At vespers in the oratorio 
 they lit the lamps; the nuns made a kneeling circle, 
 and the sacred representation began. As the in- 
 firm woman entered into the cataleptic ecstasies, 
 vague preludes on the organ lifted the souls of the 
 worshippers to a higher sphere. The light of the 
 lamps was diffused on high, giving forth an un- 
 certain flicker, and a fading sweetness to the ap- 
 pearance of things. At a certain point the organ 
 was silent. The respiration of the infirm wom.an 
 became deeper, her arms were stretched so that in 
 the emaciated wrists the tendons vibrated like the 
 strings of an instrument. Then suddenly, the sick 
 
284 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOWN 
 
 woman bounded to her feet, crossed her arms on 
 her breast, while resting in the position of the 
 Caryatides of a Baptistery. Her voice resounded 
 in the silence, now sweetly, now lugubriously, now 
 placid, almost always incomprehensible. 
 
 At the beginning of the year 1877 these 
 paroxysms diminished in frequency, they occurred 
 two or three times a week and then totally dis- 
 appeared, leaving the body of the woman in a 
 miserable state of weakness. Then several years 
 passed, in which the poor idiot lived in atrocious 
 suffering, with her limbs rendered inert from 
 muscular spasms. She was no longer able to keep 
 herself clean, she ate only soft bread and a few 
 herbs and wore around her neck and on her breast 
 a large quantity of little crosses, relics and other 
 images. She spoke stutteringly through lack of 
 teeth and her hair fell out, her eyes were already 
 glazed like those of an old beast of burden about 
 to die. 
 
 One time, in May, while she was suffering, de- 
 posited under the portal, and the sisters were 
 gathering the roses for Maria, there passed be- 
 fore her the turtle which still dragged its pacific 
 and innocent life through the cloisteral garden. 
 The old woman saw it move and little by little 
 recede. It awakened no recollection in her mind. 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 285 
 
 The turtle lost Itself among the bunches of thyme. 
 
 But the sisters regarded her imbecility and the 
 infirmity of the woman as one of those supreme 
 proofs of martyrdom to which the Lord calls the 
 elect in order to sanctify and glorify them later 
 in Paradise and they surrounded her with venera- 
 tion and care. 
 
 In the summer of the year 1881, there ap- 
 peared signs of approaching death. Consumed 
 and maimed, that miserable body no longer re- 
 sembled a human being. Slow deformations had 
 corrupted the joints of the arms; tumours, large 
 as apples, protruded from her sides, on her shoul- 
 der and on the back of her head. 
 
 The morning of the loth day of September, 
 about the eighth hour, a trembling of the earth 
 shook Ortona to its foundations. Many build- 
 ings fell, the roofs and walls of others were in- 
 jured, and still others were bent and twisted. All 
 of the good people of Ortona, with weeping, with 
 cries, with invocations, with great invoking of 
 saints and madonnas, came out of their doors and 
 assembled on the plain of San Rocco, fearing 
 greater perils. The nuns, seized with panic, broke 
 from the cloister and ran into the streets, 
 struggling and seeking safety. Four of them bore 
 
286 TALES OF MY NATIVE TOJVN 
 
 Anna upon a table. And all drew toward the 
 plain, In the direction of the uninjured people. 
 
 As they arrived In sight of the people, spontane- 
 ous shouts arose, since the presence of these 
 religious souls seemed propitious. On all sides 
 lay the sick, the aged and infirm, children In 
 swaddling clothes, women stupid from fear. A 
 beautiful morning sun shed lustre upon the tumul- 
 tous waves of the sea and upon the vineyards ; and 
 along the lower coast the sailors ran, seeking their 
 wives, calling their children by name, out of 
 breath, and hoarse from climbing; and from Cal- 
 dara there began to arrive herds of sheep and 
 oxen with their keepers, flocks of turkey-cocks 
 with their feminine guardians, and cart-houses, 
 since all feared solitude and men and beasts In 
 the turmoil became comrades. 
 
 Anna, resting upon the ground, beneath an olive 
 tree, perceiving death to be near, was mourning 
 with a weak murmur, because she did not wish to 
 die without the Sacrament, and the nuns around 
 her administered comfort to her, and the bystand- 
 ers looked at her piously. Now, suddenly among 
 the people spread the news that from the Porta 
 Caldara had issued the image of the Apostle. 
 Hope revived and hymns of thanksgiving mount- 
 ed to the sky. As from afar vibrated an unex- 
 
THE VIRGIN ANNA 287 
 
 pected flash, the women knelt and tearfully with 
 their hair dishevelled, began to walk upon their 
 knees, towards the flash, while Intoning psalms. 
 
 Anna became agonised. Sustained by two sis- 
 ters, she heard the prayers, heard the announce- 
 ment, and perhaps under her last illusions, she saw 
 the Apostle approaching, for over her hollow face 
 there passed a smile of joy. Several bubbles of 
 saliva appeared upon her lips, a violent undulation 
 of her body occurred, extended visibly to the ex- 
 tremities of her body, while upon her eyes the eye- 
 lids fell, reddish as from thin blood, and her head 
 shrank Into her shoulders. Thus the virgin Anna 
 finally expired. 
 
 When the flash appeared more closely to the 
 adoring women, there shone In the sun the form 
 of a beast of burden carrying balanced upon its 
 back, according to the custom, an ornament of 
 metal. 
 
 THE END 
 
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
 GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 
 
GENERAL LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA BERKELEY 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the 
 
 date to which renewed. 
 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 
 I8Apr'55AM 
 MAY2 51955U^ 
 
 SEP 61969'* 
 OCT 61969 
 
 \ FEB'57DP 
 
 .JA\!\| i-5 ids/ 
 
 j^C'D LD SEP 
 
 NOV 2 7 1977 {^ 
 
 f-af- ^g 
 
 REG. ClUJftN 6 78 
 
 
 
 27 '69-^ AM 
 
 21-100m-l,'54(1887sl6)476 
 
^ii-^ J 
 
 Cor\ 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY