Part 17 (1/2)
without a head! and in his breast a gaping wound, as if something had crushed in poor Evolino's worm-eaten side. Don Cesare looked all around. There lay the stone. Now he understood it all. Nino must have thrown it at the saint when Carmela's scream startled him; yes, yes, and now Evolino was revenging himself. He had hunted the two into his chapel, and delivered the key into Don Cesare's hand! And see! there lay the head. It had rolled close to the sh.o.r.e; but ah! in what a condition it was, and what a change in Evolino's countenance! There was the strangest mixture of G.o.dlike, cheerful youth, and shrivelled old age, the shape, the forehead, the crown, the chin, were those of a youth, but there were painted wrinkles on them, and scars had engraved themselves deep in the old wood, and close beside these deep seams which time had made in the once youthful face, the gaudy new varnished colors showed like rouge on the face of a dead boy. Don Cesare felt quite overcome by the sight. ”Evolino! San Pancrazio!” said he, half aloud to the head, which he held in his trembling hand. ”Evolino, is it you? or, is it not you? I don't know you any longer--and yet I know you well, poor old friend!”
And with great fervor, as if he were carrying something very sacred, he bore the head of San Pancrazio to where his body lay, raised the latter from the ground, set it once more in the rocky niche, and carefully laid the mutilated, unrecognizable head in the crossed arms, then he kneeled on the sharp stones, folded his hands, and thanked his patron in a prayer of much devoutness, for the favor which he had shown him that day. He prayed a long time, and did not mark how the clouds lowered ever nearer on land and sea--did not mark how the wind swept cooler and cooler over the rocks. Not until the soft raindrops wet his arms and shoulders did he arouse from his pious devotion.
”Evolino--dear Evolino!” said he silently to himself. ”It is you who put this into my head; you who led me hither, and in your hands I leave the fortunes of my house. Rule it as seems best to you. To-morrow you will find me at your chapel, ready for anything; for atonement, and bridal rejoicing, or for a b.l.o.o.d.y avenging of my injured honor.”
As he said this, he drew the key slowly out of his pocket, hung it on one of the saint's hands, as if it were a hook, kissed Evolino's robe once more in humble confidence, and departed with strong, rapid steps through the night.
III
Next day, in the early morning, there was a great stir, calling, laughing, and rejoicing in the little town of Roccastretta. Men, in Capuchin-like hoods, stood in the doors, women wrapped in their mantles, leaned out of the windows; and from one house to another, and one street to another, the laughing dialogue ran: ”Ha, ha! what did we say yesterday?” ”He has come to reason over night!” ”Only since yesterday he has lain in the sea, and last evening he sent the rain!”
”And what a heavenly rain!”
”Yes, yes, the Evolino is a brave patron, we could not ask a better.”
As Father Atanasio, who, any one could see, didn't know what sort of a face to put upon the matter, slowly crossed the large open square where the men were accustomed to idle about when they had no work to do, all sorts of taunting salutations flew at his head:
”Oh, oh! Father Atanasio, but it _did_ help!” The father, who was a discreet man, a.s.sumed an open, cheerful expression, returned the greetings of his fellow townsmen with pompous nods and smiles, and answered unctuously:
”No one ever addresses himself to the saints in vain: and even if this time it was done after a rude fas.h.i.+on, Saint Pancras loves this town and people too well to resent it. Besides, good for evil is the rule of the saints.”
”Very fine; yes, yes!” came back from the mocking house doors and windows, ”we know you are obliged to talk that way; but we know just as well that the 'rude fas.h.i.+on' was necessary, and long live Don Cesare, who put it into our heads!”
”And who saved you from putting the good Evolino to the test of fire?”
answered the little s.h.i.+p-trader, with a loud voice, as he came out of a side street, and advanced toward his friends, receiving the praises and congratulations that poured upon him from every side with dignified self-approval, as if it were he, and not Saint Pancras, who had wrapped the horizon in clouds, and caused the fruitful rain to descend over fields and gardens. A quite extraordinary seriousness pervaded his features and demeanor; he spoke with calm majesty, as his distinguished namesake might have done after a victory over the Gauls. But whoever had observed him closely could not have failed to detect the feverish wandering of his glance, and a certain convulsive movement that now and then overcame his right hand, causing it, without visible occasion, to clutch itself into a fist, and to lay hasty hold on the handle of his knife.
Only for a short time did Don Cesare feast upon the enthusiasm of his fellow citizens. Turning toward Father Atanasio, he suddenly cried:
”And now, friends, not another moment's delay! Not an hour longer must our good patron saint remain in the water. He has heard us, sooner than we hoped, and we must be equally prompt in a.s.suring him of our grat.i.tude, and in replacing him with all honor in his chapel. Come, Father Atanasio, and call the Syndic also, for whoever helped yesterday must help to-day, if he would not have the saint bear him a grudge!”
The wisdom of Don Cesare's words was obvious, even to Father Atanasio and the Syndic;--though as to the latter, he never ventured to wish for anything until the majority had first willed it; --and thus the whole community set forth once more for the Promontory of Evolo, in spite of wind and rain, feet in the wet sand, hands in pockets, cowls and gay kerchiefs over their heads and necks. Don Cesare opened the procession, between the Syndic and the priest.
”Where is your little sister Carmela?” asked the latter, after a while, smiling cunningly, and glancing aside at his neighbor.
”Oh, father, I am not anxious about her,” answered Don Cesare; ”she was on her feet early this morning, and gave me no peace trying to catch the rain in her hands. A real child.”
”Yes, yes,” said the padre, politely; ”Carmela is a fine girl, and pretty. Nay, that is nothing to me, but others have remarked the same.
It would be a joy to me, Don Cesare, if I could see the two before the altar. I speak of Nino, Don Cesare, who is courting her as if she were the only girl in Sicily.”
Behind the amiable tone in which these words were spoken, lay hidden a quiet laugh at the thrust he delighted in being able to give his neighbor. But the little s.h.i.+p-trader did not appear to notice it, and replied quite seriously:
”And that will soon happen, Father Atanasio. In the chapel above they will be betrothed before the image of the good Evolino.”
His two comrades stared at him in astonishment.
”Nay, nay, my good Don Cesare,” said the Syndic, ”I would gladly see it too, but Nino seems to us a little bit too rich.”
Don Cesare caught him up quickly: ”I thought so myself yesterday.”