Part 11

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 opposing 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 passing over the wide road which stretches out from the bridge far across the country, uniting numberless 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 buyers 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 offer, 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 rousing both that province and Chieti against the peaceful city, from which the plague had really disappeared entirely. He waylaid and kept prisoners some honest passers-by who were exercising their 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 measures. 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, Pietro 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-rending 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 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, endeavoured 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 simulation. 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 Chieti as witnesses.

But towards sunset one of the guards went into Pescara to bring a message to one of the councillors 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 immediately 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, 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!” 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 mingling together familiarly, all possessed of the same wild desire to speak, to shout, to gesticulate, to express in a thousand different ways the feelings which burned within them.

Every few minutes another tribune would arrive with fresh news. Groups dissolved to form new groups, varying according to differences of opinion.

The free spirit of the day affected everyone; every breath of air seemed to intoxicate like a draught of wine, the hilarity of the Pescarese revived, 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 being 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 proceeded in an orderly way towards the City Hall. 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 building. 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 prevent an open battle, which seemed imminent, between the Castellammarese and the Pescarese, the soldiers stationed themselves at the extreme left end of the bridge. Having torn down the flags, the crowd set out for the road to Chieti, where the Prefect, who had been summoned by a Royal Commissary, 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 consisting 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 spontaneously, 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 semicircle 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 animated, 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, 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 gestures 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 Pescara! 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 Prefect, formed a temporary parliament. The crowd filled the street and every now and then an impatient murmur arose.

The houses, heated by the sun, radiated a delightful 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 generation its fame for its beauties has been perpetuated.

The home of Don Ussorio is the abode of flourishing children and pretty girls; the house is all covered with little loggias, which are overflowing 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 speakers 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 recovered. Another time, he and a companion, having been ill for a long time with intermittent fever, and having taken large quantities of quinine without avail, decided to make an experiment. Across the river from them was a vineyard filled with grapes, hanging ripe and delicious in the sun. Going to the shore, they undressed themselves, plunged into the water, and swam through the current 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 dizziness 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 admiration. 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 object whom all desired. With a common impulse, every look was turned towards her. She acknowledged this homage with triumphant smiles, laughing, 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, between 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 watching her.

The black birds, singing a sort of rustic madrigal, fluttered their wings towards her. Ciccarina, smiling, withdrew from the loggia. The crowd remained in the street, dazzled by the vision, and a little dizzy from hunger. Then one of the speakers, leaning out from the window of the Delegation, announced in a shrill voice:

“Citizens! The matter will be settled within three hours!”

XII

_THE VIRGIN ANNA_

I

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 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 superstitious nature and given to trances, he recounted singular and marvellous adventures of those foreign 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 simplicity; and, since she was somewhat stunted in intelligence, 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 confinement 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 nourishment 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 shirt all scented with the southern fruits. When mounting together to their home above, they always 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 benediction 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 company, 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 suddenly a flame enveloped her tender body. A contagion 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 garments, strained the nude and unconscious child to 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 descended 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 perfume from the foliage of the Villa Onofria. The sea lay so tranquilly that one scarcely heard between 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. Meanwhile Luca, under the stimulation of the wine and food, seized with his habitual avidity for miraculous stories, commenced to tell of distant shores. “There was, further up than Roto, a mountain all 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 country. 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 surface 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 mountain.

The coast of Puglia 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 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 questions.

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 silversmiths for religious purposes, and every evening the orchestra sang a solemn oratorio with a splendid chorus of childish voices. On Saturday the statue of the Apostle was to be shown. Devotees made pilgrimages from all the maritime and inland 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 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 pavement of the church, while awaiting the early morning 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 together, 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 between 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 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. Afterwards, for many months she was tormented by epilepsy.

III