IN the old house of the La Gurna family, which Don Gesualdo Motta had taken on lease, they were expecting the bride and bridegroom. Before the door was a swarm of youngsters, whom Burgio’s boy, in his quality of relative, struggled to keep back, threatening them with a stick; the staircase sprinkled with orange leaves; a torch-lamp with four flames on the balustrade of the landing; and Brasi Camauro, in a hunting jacket of blue cloth, a starched shirt, new boots, giving the last sweep with the broom inside the newly whitewashed courtyard door. Every moment arose a false alarm. The children shouted:
‘Here they are! Here they are!’ Camauro dropped the broom, people crowded at the illuminated balconies.
About an hour after dark arrived the Marchese Limòli, making himself a passage with his malacca cane. He saw the light, the orange leaves, and said: ‘Bravo!’ – But going up the stairs he nearly broke his neck, and started swearing:
‘The fools! – They’ve made a nice mess here!’
Brasi Camauro ran quickly with the broom:
‘Shall I sweep it all away, my lord? Shall I throw everything away?’
‘No, no – I’m through it now. Don’t scratch too much with that broom, either – there’s smell of the stable enough –’
Hearing voices, Santo Motta, who was waiting upstairs, presented himself on the landing dressed in new clothes, riding breeches and a long waistcoat of flowered satin, just struggling into his tail-coat.
‘Here I am! Here I am! – I’m here! – Ah, my lord marchese! – Kiss your hand!’
He stood somewhat confused, seeing only Limòli.
‘Your servant, your servant, my dear Santo! – Don’t go kissing anything – now that we’re relations.’
At the top of the stairs appeared also Donna Sara Cirmena, the only one of all the bride’s relations who had deigned to come, with a bushel of artificial flowers on her head, a silk dress that had creased like paper, lying in the chest, the family earrings tearing down her ears, herself annoyed at having waited so long in a stew of preparation.
‘And what are they doing? Is there something else amiss?’ she began to scream from above.
‘Nothing! Nothing!’ replied the marchese, coming up very gradually. ‘I came out first so they shouldn’t see that I was the only one there, of all the relations – I’ve just come to take a glance at things here –’
Don Gesualdo had indeed spent some money; new furniture, brought specially from Catania, mirrors in gilt frames, stuffed chairs, lamps with cut lamp-glasses; a suite of illuminated rooms which, seen like that, with all the doors wide open, seemed to lead into the distance like a cosmorama.
Don Santo went in front giving explanations, every moment pulling up his sleeves which came right to his finger-tips.
‘What? Nobody come yet?’ exclaimed the marchese when they had arrived in the nuptial chamber, that was decked out like an altar. Neighbour Santo drew his head inside his velvet collar, like a tortoise.
‘It’s not me that’s missing. I’ve been here since the Ave Maria. Everything is ready –’
‘But I thought at least the rest of your family would have come – Master Nunzio – and your sister –’
‘No, sir – they’re shy. There’s been the devil of a row! I’ve come to look after the refreshments –’
And he opened the door to show him: a big table loaded with sweets and liqueurs, still in the fancy paper as they had arrived from town, scattered with carnations and Arabian jasmine, all there was in the village, because the Captain’s lady had sent to say that if they wanted flowers – ; as many candlesticks as they could borow, from Saint Agatha and the other churches. Diodata for her part had arranged all the serviettes splendidly, rolled each one up to a cone, like so many skittles each with a flower at the top.
‘Splendid! Splendid!’ approved the marquis. ‘Never saw anything so fine! – And these two here, what are they doing?’
On either side of the table, like the Jews at the Holy Sepulchre, were Pelagatti and Giacalone, like papier-mâché figures, so washed and combed.
‘To serve the refreshments, that’s why! – Master Titta and the other barber, his assistant, wouldn’t come, they sent an excuse! Those beggars will only go into the noble houses! They were frightened of dirtying their hands here, they who handle so much dirt –’
Giacalone, very eager, ran at once with a bottle in each hand. The marchese waved him back:
‘Thank you, thank you, child! – You’ll be ruining my clothes if you don’t mind!’
‘Over there are the tubs with ice-cream!’ added Don Santo.
But as they opened the door into the kitchen they saw scuffling of women who had been looking through the key-hole.
‘Yes, yes; I see, cousin. Leave them alone; don’t frighten them.’
At that moment they heard a hubbub in the street below, and ran on to the balcony in time to see the carriage arrive with the bride and bridegroom. Nanni l’Orbo, on the box, his hat down to his ears, cracked the whip like a coachman and shouted:
‘Make room! – Oh, you! – Mind yourselves! –’
The mules, just taken from the herd, were rearing and snorting, so that the canon-priest Lupi proposed they should get down there where they were, and Burgio had already got up to open the door of the carriage. But the mules all at once put down their heads and dashed through the doorway top-speed into the courtyard.
‘Sudden death!’ exclaimed the canon-priest, grinning, with his nose on the knees of the bride.
They went up arm in arm. Don Gesualdo with a glittering pin plump in the middle of his satin cravat, shiny shoes, his coat with gold buttons, a wedding smile on his newly shaven face; only his velvet collar, too high, bothered him. She seeming younger and more graceful in that white spumey dress, with bare arms, a bit of bare breast, the angular profile of the Traos softened by the coiffure that was then in fashion, her hair curled at the temples and then gathered on the top of the head with a tortoise-shell comb; a circumstance which set the canon-priest’s tongue clicking as the bride went bowing her head to right and left, pale as death, timid, almost frightened, all that nakedness of hers which blushed to show itself for the first time under so many eyes and so many lights.
‘Long life to the bride and bridegroom! Three cheers for the bride and bridegroom!’ the canon-priest began to shout, becoming lively, waving his handkerchief.
Bianca received the kiss of her Aunt Cirmena, the kiss of her uncle the marchese, and entered alone into the fine room, where there wasn’t a soul.
‘Hey? Hey? Mind you don’t lose your husband!’ cried the marchese behind her, amid general laughter.
‘Is this all of us?’ muttered Donna Sarina sotto voce.
The canon-priest hastened to reply:
‘Yes, ma’am. Not much company and a happy time!’
Behind him Alessi came up the stairs, cap in hand, abashed by all those lights and preparations. From the doorway he began to stammer:
‘Baroness Rubiera sends to say – she can’t come because she’s got a headache. She sends to greet her niece, and Don Gesualdo also –’
‘Go into the kitchen, this way,’ replied the marchese. ‘Tell them to give you something to drink.’
Don Gesualdo profited by this moment to recommend his brother, sotto voce:
‘You be careful before all these folks! – Sit down and don’t stir again. And do what you see me do.’
‘All right. Leave it to me.’
Aunt Cirmena had taken the bride in charge, and had assumed a matronly air which made her look as if she were angry. After everybody had taken their places in the fine drawing-room with the mirrors, silence fell; they all stared around, in order to do something, nodding their heads in admiration. At last the canon-priest felt he must break the ice:
‘Don Santo, sit here. Come on; don’t be afraid.’
‘Mean me? – ‘ replied Santo, who heard himself even called Don.
‘He is your brother-in-law,’ said the marchese to Bianca.
The lawyer remarked a moment later:
‘Look! look! It might be the landing of Christopher Columbus!’
In the doorway of the antechamber was seen a bunch of heads which crowded, between curiosity and timidity, almost as if a mine was going to explode. Among the other youngsters the canon-priest discovered Nunzio, the nephew of Don Gesualdo, and made him signs to come in, winking at him. But the boy ran away like a savage; and the canon-priest, continuing to smile, said:
‘A little rascal – just like his mother –’
The marchese, stretched out in an armchair near his niece, seemed like a president, chattering all alone:
‘Bravo! Bravo! Your husband has done things well! There’s no lack of anything in this house! You’ll be set up like a princess! – You’ve only to say a word – express a desire –’
‘Then tell him to buy different mules,’ put in the canon-priest, laughing.
‘That’s true; you’re rather pale. You were frightened in the carriage, were you?’
‘Those mules are too young – just taken from the herd – they aren’t used to it. Nowadays they use horses for a carriage,’ said the canon-priest.
‘Certainly! Certainly!’ Gesualdo hastened to reply. ‘As soon as I’m able. Money is made to spend – when there is any.’
The marchese and the canon-priest Lupi kept up a lively conversation, Don Gesualdo approving, nodding his head; the others listened; Aunt Cirmena with her hands on her stomach and an amiable smile that made the words simply fall from your mouth: a smile which said:
‘One must really! Since one has come! – It was quite worth while dressing oneself up, indeed! –’
Bianca felt a stranger in the midst of all that luxury: and her husband also was embarrassed in front of so many people, his wife, friends, servants, and before all those mirrors in which one saw oneself from top to toe, in new clothes, forced to watch to see how the others did it if one only wanted to blow one’s nose.
‘The harvest has turned out well?’ asked the marchese in a louder voice, so that the others should follow his lead. ‘I ask because I want to know. Eh? Eh? Farmer Fortunato?’
‘Yessir, thanks to God! – It’s the prices which don’t amount to much.’
‘There must be a lot to be done in the country! There’s nobody left in the village.’
Aunt Cirmena couldn’t restrain herself at that.
‘I saw Cousin Sganci on the balcony – I thought she was coming as well –’
‘Who knows? who knows? That shower of rain we had has made the road like glue! – I nearly broke my neck. However, they say it will do the vines good. Eh? – Farmer Fortunato?’
‘Yessir, perhaps it will –’
‘Everybody will be getting ready for the grape-harvest. Only not you and me, Donna Sarina! We drink our wine without praying to God for the rain! – You must take your bride to Giolio for the grape-harvest, Don Gesualdo! – You’ll see what vines, Bianca! –’
‘Of course – she’s the mistress – of course!’
‘One moment!’ exclaimed the canon-priest dancing to his feet. ‘I think I hear somebody –’
Santo, who kept on the alert, his eyes on his brother, made him a sign to ask if it was time to begin with the refreshments. But the canon-priest returned from the balcony almost at once, shaking his head.
‘No! – country labourers coming back into the village. Today is Saturday, and they keep coming in till late –’
‘I knew it!’ answered Dame Cirmena. ‘I’m sharp on the ear! – Who are you expecting, then?’
‘Donna Giuseppina Alòsi, by Jove! – She never misses, she doesn’t –’
‘The cavaliere will have kept her,’ blurted the marchese, losing patience.
Santo, who had already risen, came back very quiet and diminished, to sit down again.
‘Excuse me! Excuse me!’ said the canon-priest. ‘One moment! I’ll be back in one moment.’
Donna Sarina ran after him into the antechamber, and they heard the canon-priest replying loudly:
‘No! Near here – at the Captain’s –’
The marchese, who was listening with all his ears, pretended to be still admiring the furniture and the rooms, and began to repeat again:
‘Beautiful! Splendid! – a gentleman’s house! You were lucky to be able to set up in the nest of the La Gurnas! – Eh! eh! – These rooms have seen some fine feasts – this very room! – I remember – for the baptism of the last La Gurna – Corradino. Now they’re gone to live at Syracuse, all the family, after they sold up what was left! – Mors tua vita mea! – Here you’ll live like princes! – Eh! Eh! – I am old and know what I say! – we should do well also, here, we also, eh, Donna Sarina! – eh? –’
Donna Sarina waggled on her chair in her efforts to hold her tongue.
‘As for me,’ she said, ‘thank God! – My testimony is that the La Gurna boy, Corradino, comes to me for his summer holidays. He’s not to blame, poor innocent –’
‘No, no, it’s better to be sitting in a nice soft chair like this, than to go earning your bread here and there, like the La Gurnas! – when they can manage to earn it, moreover! – And to have a good table spread, and a carriage to drive out a few steps after, and the vineyards for the summer holidays, and all the rest! – Above all a good table! – I’m an old man, and sorry I am that the marquisate can’t dish itself up at table. – Smoke is only good in the kitchen – smoke and vanity – I’m wise now. – There’s more smoke in the kitchen than roast-meat on the table of many houses – those that have the biggest coat-of-arms on the entrance door – and curl their noses most! If I’ve got to be born again I hope I’ll be called plain Master Alfonso Limòli, and be as rich as you, nephew. – To enjoy my money all by myself, without inviting anybody – no! –’
‘Hush! – I hear the bell!’ interrupted Donna Sarina. ‘Somebody’s been ringing for quite a time while you’ve been preaching.’
However, it was the humble tinkle of poor folks. Santo ran to open, and found himself face to face with the sexton, who was followed by his wife, who had under her arm a napkin that looked like a sack, as if she’d come for the house-removal. For a moment Don Luca was embarrassed, seeing the brother of Speranza, since that lady had sent him to say a thousand insults to her husband Burgio; but he didn’t lose spirit, any the more, and soon found his cue.
‘Is the canon-priest Lupi here? – My wife has told me he got into the carriage with the bride and bridegroom.’
Gossip Grazia then entered unfolding bit by bit the serviette, and out she drew a flask of perfumed water, corked with a tuft of rags.
‘The holy-water! – We thought of it for Donna Bianca.’
And there they stood calmly waiting in the middle of the drawing-room, husband and wife.
At that moment returned the canon-priest Lupi; to prevent any questions he went straight to the master puffing, red in the face, wiping away his sweat. And of the house, smiling, with a free and easy air.
‘Don Gesualdo – if you intend to taste all the good things! – It seems to me the right time now! I’ve got to say mass at dawn, before going into the country.’
‘Should I go?’ Santo popped out at once. ‘Shall we set to?’
The bride rose; all the others rose after her and stood in their places waiting for somebody to lead the march. The canon-priest almost waved his arms off, signalling to Santo, then seeing the fellow didn’t understand, he prompted, in the deep chest voice he used in church when something went wrong with the service:
‘Now then there! – Give your arm to your sister-in-law!’
But the brother-in-law did not feel equal to this. At last they shoved him forward by force. Uncle Limòli meanwhile had gone on with the bride, and the canon-priest muttered in Don Gesualdo’s ear:
‘Would you believe it? – even the Captain’s dame is playing the haughty! She who never fails to turn up where there’s a plate to lick. Even she playing the high-and-mighty! As if we didn’t know where that grand lady came from! – No! No! What are you doing?’ – he cried suddenly darting after neighbour Santo.
That gentleman, having quite lost his patience, silently and deliberately rolled up the sleeves of his coat. By good luck his sister-in-law was talking to her uncle Limòli and didn’t notice. The marchese, for his part, was divided in his attention, seeking to avoid Giacalone and Pelagatti, who were bent on serving him at any cost.
‘Those two fellows will do some damage or other!’ he muttered.
Even Bianca smiled faintly at the remark, and both of them kept away from the table to be out of danger.
‘She doesn’t want anything!’ brother-in-law Don Santo went back saying, as if a great weight had been lifted from his stomach. ‘As for me, I’ve offered it her!’
‘Not even a glass of Perfect Love?’ put in the canon-priest gallantly. – Aunt Cirmena began to laugh, and Santo looked at his brother to see what he was to do.
‘Eh! Eh!’ added the marchese, with his little cough. – ‘Eh! Eh!’
‘You’ll take something, uncle?’
‘Thank you, no thank you, Bianca dear. – I’ve neither teeth nor stomach any more – I’m invalided out. I can only look on – can’t do anything else –’
The canon-priest let himself be pressed for a while, then he drew from his pocket a handkerchief as big as a sheet. Meanwhile Aunt Cirmena filled the satchel she carried on her arm, a satchel embroidered with a whole dog, and which held a rare quantity of stuff! The canon-priest, however, who had pockets that went down to his knees, under his cassock, proper saddle-bags, was able to slip out of sight everything he wanted, without attracting attention. Then Bianca with her own hands presented her brother-in-law Santo with a box of sweets.
‘For your sister and the children –’
‘Say that she sent them herself – her sister-in-law – ‘ added Don Gesualdo, pleased, giving her a smile of gratitude.
They were a little apart, while all the others crowded round the table. So he said to her, with a certain tenderness:
‘Well done! I’m glad you are wise, and try to have peace in the family. You don’t know what it’s been! – My sister especially! – They simply turned me to poison even on my wedding-day.’
As she inspired him with confidence, with her gentle face, he was going to tell her all about it, unreservedly, when Aunt Cirmena came to interrupt him, saying:
‘Remember the sexton; he’s there waiting with his wife.’
Don Luca, seeing so many good things coming his way, pretended to be surprised.
‘No, sir! We didn’t come for the sweets. – Don’t you trouble yourself, your honour!’
Meanwhile his wife was spreading out a tablecloth that looked as if it belonged to the altar. He, however, to show his gratitude, pretended to be staring into the air, arching his brows with surprise.
‘Look, Grazia! – Such furniture! – There’s been some money spent here! – ‘ And then the moment Don Gesualdo turned his back he helped as hard as he could to pack up the stuff.
‘As if they had the plague!’ murmured Donna Sarina, re-entering with her full satchel, alone with the canon-priest Lupi. ‘Not even her brothers have come! – Did ever you see! –’
‘Poor things! – Poor things!’ replied the other, waving his hands in front of his forehead as if to say that they no longer had the sense for anything. Then looking round and lowering his voice: ‘They seemed as if they were weeping for the dead, when we went to fetch the bride! Two loonies, nothing more nor less! – They went looking from room to room, in the dark! Two loonies, nothing more nor less! – But Donna Bianca wanted to do things nicely – if only for human decency’s sake! – Now that at last she’s induced herself to take the step –’
He made another sign, with his forefinger and his thumb crossed on his mouth. And detecting out of a corner of his eye the re-entrance of Bianca and her husband into the drawing-room, he said loudly, as if following on from what he was previously saying, showing his full handkerchief:
‘These are my dues! – fruits of the sacred office –’
The sexton’s wife, who had not noticed the bride, put in:
‘They are still there, both of them, standing at the window in the dark, looking into the square where there isn’t a soul! – like two mummies, for all the world!’
Donna Bianca heard these words as she passed.
‘Best of health to you!’ interrupted the sexton, seeing the lady of the house. ‘It’ll be a feast for those children when we get home! Five little ones, Donna Bianca! –’
Then turning to his wife who was going off staggering with that other burden on her stomach:
‘Health and boy-children! Property you’ve got already! Now we’ll pray to the Lord to give you children. – We want to see you like Grazia in nine months’ time –’
The marchese, to cut short this farewell oration:
‘Very well! Good evening, my dear Don Luca!’
In the other room, hardly had the guests left than there rose the deuce of a commotion. The neighbours, the house-folk, Brasi Camauro, Nanni l’Orbo, the family crowd, pounced upon the remains of the refreshments, falling out over the sweet-meats, tearing them from each other’s hands, coming to blows with one another. And neighbour Santo, under the pretence of defending the stuff, laid hands on whatever he could seize and stuffed it wherever he was able, in his mouth, in his pockets, in his shirt. Nunzio, Burgio’s boy, had come in like a cat and had clambered on to the table, and there he raged with kicks and blows, screaming like one possessed, the other children creeping underneath. Don Gesualdo, enraged, wanted to rush in and end this uproar with a stick: but the marchese his uncle held him by the arm:
‘Leave them alone – so far! –’
Aunt Cirmena, who had at least enjoyed herself just a little, planted herself right in the middle of the room, staring people in the face as if to say it was time for them to go now. And at that juncture the sexton came running back, panting, with an air of great mystery:
‘There’s all the village! – down there in the street, watching! Baron Zacco, the Margarones, even the wife of Mendola – all the leading gentry of the place! Your wedding is making a stir, Don Gesualdo! –’
And he went off as he had come, in a scuffle, fatuous.
Aunt Cirmena murmured:
‘How annoying! – If only there was another way out! –’
The canon-priest, however, curious, wanted to go and see. Right opposite, at the corner of San Sebastiano, there was a group of people; you could see white frocks showing in the dark of the street. Others were passing slowly on tiptoe, close to the wall, looking up. You could hear people talking in low tones, and stifled laughter, and furtive footsteps. Two people who were coming back from the direction of Santa Maria di Gesù stopped, seeing the balcony doors open. And everybody scuffled away hither and thither. Only Ciolla remained, pretending to be going about his own business and singing:
‘Love, oh love, what hast thou made me do? …’
Donna Sarina and Marchese Limòli had also drawn near to the balcony. Then the latter said:
‘You’ll be able to go now, Donna Sarina. There’s nobody left below there –’
Aunt Cirmena went off like a spring:
‘I’m not afraid, Don Alfonso! I do what I choose and please! I’m here to take the mother’s place to Bianca … since there’s no nearer relation. We can’t leave the bride as if she was a waif and stray – for the sake of the family decorum, if for nothing else –’
‘Ah? Ah?’ – mocked the marchese.
Donna Sarina turned on him, restraining her voice with difficulty:
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know it as well as I do, Don Alfonso! – You know it better! – It behoves you to, since you’re one of the family. We must do it for the sake of other folks – if not for her own sake!’ – And continuing still to hold forth, she passed through the door of the nuptial chamber.
‘All right, all right! Don’t get angry. It seems we’d better be going! – Hey, hey! canon! – Methinks it’s time we went! – Practise a little prudence! –’
‘Ah! Ah! – Ah! Ah! – clucked the canon-priest.
‘Good night, my children. I give you my blessing, that costs nothing –’
Bianca had become pale as a washed-out rag. She also rose, a slight tremor showing in the muscles of her chin; her beautiful blue eyes seemed bewildered, her new dress hampered her.
‘Uncle! – listen, uncle! – ‘ she stammered. And she drew him aside to speak to him in an undertone, vehemently.
‘They are mad,’ interrupted the marchese loudly, growing heated also. ‘Fit to be shut up! If I’ve got to be born again, I’ll say to them too, I want to be called Master Alfonso Limòli –’
‘Bravo!’ mocked the canon-priest. ‘I like to hear you say that.’
‘Good night! Good night! Don’t think of it! I’ll go to them tomorrow morning. – And in nine months’ time, don’t forget, I want to be invited again for the christening. Canon Lupi and I – only us two. – There won’t even be any need of Cousin Cirmena.’
‘Not much company and a happy time,’ concluded the other.
Don Gesualdo accompanied them to the door, annoyed inside himself by the compliments of the canon-priest, who kept on telling him that he’d done things in style:
‘Pity all the guests didn’t come! They’d have seen that you spend like Caesar. I’m surprised at Madame Sganci! And Baroness Rubiera would have been pleased to see how you respect her cousin – that you’re not one of the close-fisted sort – since in a little while you’re to be partners –’
‘Eh! Eh!’ replied Don Gesualdo, who felt his ill-spent money boil up again in him at that moment. ‘There’s time! there’s time! A lot of water has got to flow first under the bridge that isn’t in existence any more. Tell her so, my lady the baroness.’
‘What? What? It was an understood thing? You were to be partners?’
‘My partners are these here,’ repeated Don Gesualdo, slapping his purse. ‘I shouldn’t like to think the Baroness Rubiera was going to be ashamed of having me associate with her – and you can tell her so!’
‘He is right!’ said the marchese, stopping half-way down the stairs. ‘He’s got the amour propre of his own money, deuce take it! – Cousin Rubiera might have condescended. She wouldn’t have turned her blood by such a trifle, not she.’
‘Who knows! – Who knows why she didn’t come! – There must be some other reason. … And then, business – that’s another pair of shoes. – Just think it over! You’ll want some support! Else you’ll have them all enemies!’
‘All enemies – that’s nice! Why?’
‘Because of your money, what else! Because you can put your finger also in the pie! Then you’re one of their relations now! – that’s a slap in the face, my dear chap! You’ve given them a slap in the face, all the lot!’
‘Do you know what I’ve got to tell you?’ shrilled the marchese, lifting up his head – ‘That if I hadn’t my annuity as a Knight of Malta, to save me from starving to death, I should have to give them a slap in the face as well, all my noble relations – I should have to go as a road-sweeper –’
And he went off grumbling to himself.
‘Don Gesualdo – ‘ said Nanni l’Orbo, peeping out of the kitchen – ‘there’s the servants here to kiss the hand of the mistress, if everybody has gone –’
‘Hurry up with them,’ replied the latter, irritated.
At first they crowded on the threshold like a flock of sheep; then, after Nanni l’Orbo, they filed one behind the other, a silly smile on their faces, cap in hand, the women curtseying to the ground as in church, huddled in their mantles.
‘This is Diodata,’ said Nanni l’Orbo. ‘A poor orphan whom the master has kept out of charity –’
‘Yes, my lady! – Best of health to you! – ‘ And Diodata couldn’t say another word.
‘A real large heart, has Don Gesualdo!’ added Nanni l’Orbo, getting vehement. ‘He has given her a dowry! God bless him for it.’
Don Gesualdo was putting out the lights. He turned to them, all in his new clothes, so that Diodata didn’t dare even to lift her eyes to him, and he said:
‘All right. Are you satisfied?’
‘Yessir,’ replied Nanni l’Orbo, looking tenderly at Diodata – ‘Pleased as pie! – and she can say the same!’
‘Neighbour Nanni has had his eye on those silver shillings for a long time, so they shouldn’t escape him,’ added Brasi Camauro. ‘He was born with his cap on.’
‘He is marrying Diodata,’ Don Gesualdo told his wife. ‘I am marrying her to him.’
The keeper added further information, laughing:
‘They were running after one another! I had to keep watch over them as well! – The master will have to give me a bit of something for this extra job, which wasn’t in the bargain!’
A general laugh broke out, because neighbour Carmine was usually being funny! The girl, red as fire, gave him a glance like a wild animal.
‘It’s not true; no, sir; no, Don Gesualdo! –’
‘Yes! yes! and Brasi Camauro as well! and Giacalone, when he came for the cart! – All in love and all in agreement, all together!’
The laughter had no end; Nanni l’Orbo, the leader, holding his sides. Only Diodata, red as fire, protesting with all her might.
‘No, sir! – it’s not true! – how can you say it, neighbour Carmine? – have you no conscience? –’
Donna Sarina appeared once more in the doorway, her arms crossed, not uttering a word; but the flowers shaking on her head spoke for her.
‘Enough now!’ said the master. ‘Go along, it’s late.’
They saluted once more, bowing gawkily, stammering confusedly in chorus, jostling one another as they went out, and finally departing with a stamping of feet like a drove of cattle. Hardly outside the door they began to laugh and make game among themselves; Brasi Camauro and Pelagatti charging into one another; Nanni l’Orbo and neighbour Carmine bandying bad language and atrocious insults back and forth, their arms round one another’s necks, like two brothers grown merry with wine. A roystering that made even Don Gesualdo himself laugh.
‘They’re like animals!’ he said, coming in again. ‘Don’t take any notice, Bianca.’
‘One minute!’ squealed Aunt Cirmena, pushing him back with her hands almost as if he had wanted to do her violence. ‘You can’t come in now. Out with you! Out with you!’
And she shut the door in his face.
Diodata came running back in distress at that moment, tears in her eyes.
‘Don Gesualdo! – They won’t let me go my way! – Can you hear them, down there? – neighbour Nanni and all the others –’
‘Well? What’s it matter? Isn’t he going to be your husband? –’
‘Yessir! – He says that’s why! – that he’s the master. They won’t let me go in peace! – all of them!’
‘Wait! Wait while I get a stick!’
‘No! no!’ yelled Nanni from the street. ‘We’re going home. Nobody will touch her.’
‘You hear? Nobody will touch you. Go on then – Now what are you doing?’
She, standing two stairs lower, had secretly taken his hand and was kissing it like a real faithful, affectionate dog.
‘Good-bye! Good-bye!’
‘Now the snivelling begins again!’ he snorted. ‘I haven’t a moment’s peace, this evening.’
‘No sir – without snivelling. – All health to your honour! – and to your wife as well! – I only wanted to kiss your hand for the last time! – My legs are trembling a bit. – You’ve been so good to me, your honour! –’
‘Right! right – You be gay as well! – It’s supposed to be a joyful day, today! – You’ve found a good husband also. He won’t let you starve. – And when bad times come, remember there’s always my barn open. … Aren’t you satisfied? What?’
She replied that she was satisfied, nodding repeatedly, since she had a knot in her throat and couldn’t speak.
‘All right! – now go and be content – without thinking of anything, you know – without thinking of anything! –’
As she looked at him in a certain fashion, with her hurt eyes which seemed to read also the secret hurt in his heart, he began to shout so as not to think of it, almost as if he were in a temper:
‘And without looking for the skin in the egg! – without thinking of this, that and the other. – The Lord is for everybody – Even you who are a poor foundling, the Lord has helped you! And in case of accidents, there is me here! I’ll do all I can – I haven’t got a stone for a heart, no I haven’t! And you know it! Go then, go; and go contented!’
But Diodata, who had turned away and stood leaning her breast against the balcony, felt she would die of heart-break, and could not suppress the sobs that shook her from head to foot. Then her master burst out swearing:
‘Saints and blessings! – Saints and blessings!’
At that moment Aunt Cirmena appeared at the head of the stairs, her shawl over her head, the satchel on her arm, and her eyes wet with tears, as became her role of mother which she had to play for once.
‘Here I am then, Don Gesualdo! here I am! – ‘ And she stretched out her arms like a crucifix to fling them round his neck. ‘I’ve no need to preach to you! – You are a man of sense. – Poor Bianca! – I’m so upset, just look!’
She looked for her cambric handkerchief in her satchel, among all the stuff it was crammed with, and she wiped her eyes. Then she kissed the bridegroom again, wiping her mouth after with that selfsame handkerchief, and called the servant who was waiting below with her lantern.
‘Don Camillo! Light up, it’s time to be going. Don Camillo? Hello! What are you doing? are you asleep?’
From the street Ciolla answered, passing and repassing with the guitar:
‘Love, oh love, what hast thou made me do? …’
And other impudent wretches went behind him, making an accompaniment of grunts.
‘No!’ exclaimed Aunt Cirmena planting herself in front of her nephew, as if to prevent him from doing something dangerous. ‘Don’t take any notice … they are drunk – scum of the earth bursting with envy! Better go to your wife. I beg you to be careful with her – she’s not to be handled the same as other girls. We are made of a different clay – all the family. I feel I’m leaving my own blood in your hands now! I never had a girl of my own. – I’ve never been through anything like this before! I feel dreadfully upset! – No! no! Don’t bother about me! I shall get quieter. – You, Don Camillo, go forward with the light –’
He turned away. – ‘Such a lot of cackle! Are we husband and wife by now, or aren’t we?’ – Going into the nuptial chamber he heaved a heavy sigh.
‘Ah, pray God, it’s over! It’s taken some doing – but it’s finished, pray God! – I wouldn’t do it again, I swear to heaven, if it had to be done afresh.’
He wanted to make his bride laugh, to put her in a bit of a good humour, so that they might be easier together, have more confidence in one another, as should be between husband and wife. But she, seated before the mirror with her back to the door, started, hearing him enter, and her face flamed. Afterwards she seemed more livid than before, and her delicate features seemed to sharpen all at once.
Just as Aunt Cirmena had said. A girl who quivered at nothing, and made your hands and your tongue go confused. It exasperated him, completely! that wedding day that hadn’t given him one single good moment.
‘Hey? – Why don’t you say something? – What’s amiss? –’
He remained a moment embarrassed, not knowing himself what to say, humiliated in his fine new clothes, among his furniture that had cost him an eye out of his head.
‘Listen! – if that’s how it is – if you’re going to take it like that, you as well. – Then good night! I’ll go and sleep on a chair, as God’s above!’
She stammered some unintelligible words, a gurgle of timid and confused sounds, and bent her head obediently, to begin to take out her tortoise-shell comb, with delicate hands somewhat roughened at the tips, hands of a poor girl used to doing all the housework.
‘Bravo! Bravo! That’s the way for me! – If we get on together and you do as I tell you, our home will flourish – flourish rarely. Did you see this evening, how they wouldn’t come to the wedding? – So much money thrown away! – Did you see how I swallowed my spleen, and laughed? – He laughs longest who laughs last! – Come now, come now, why do your hands tremble? – aren’t I your husband now? – in spite of the envious ones! – What are you afraid of? – Hark! – that Ciolla! – he’ll make me do something I shouldn’t do! –’
She murmured again a few indistinct words, which died on her livid lips once more, and then for the first time she raised her eyes to him, those gentle blue eyes which gave him promise of the loving, obedient wife they had told him about. Then he was glad, and with a broad laugh which opened his face and his heart, he replied:
‘Let him sing. I don’t care now about Ciolla – him or any of them! They are bursting with envy because my affairs are going full sail, thanks to God. You won’t repent, no, never, what you’ve done! – You are good-hearted. – You haven’t got the stuck-up pride of the rest of your people –’
An unusual tenderness swelled his heart, as he helped her to comb her hair. Actually his big hands helping a Trao, and feeling themselves become light as feathers among her fine hair! His eyes kindled on the lace that veiled her white, delicate shoulders, on the short, puffed sleeves that almost gave her wings. The golden down that bloomed on the last nodes of her spine pleased him, as did the scars left by the inexpert vaccination on her slim, white arms, and the little hands that had worked like his own, and that trembled now under his eyes, and her bent neck that flushed and paled, all those humble signs of privation that brought her near to him.
‘I want you to fare better than a queen, if we get on together and you do as I tell you! I want to put all the place under your feet! All those swine who laugh now and mock us behind our backs! – You’ll see! You’ll see! – He’s got a good stomach, has Mastro-don Gesualdo! – able to store up for years and years anything he wants to – and good legs as well – to take him when he wants to go. – You are good and beautiful! a delicate fine thing! a delicate fine thing you are! –’
She shrank her head between her shoulders, like a trembling dove that is just going to be taken.
‘Now I like you really, I do! – I’m afraid to touch you with my hands. I’ve got rough hands because I’ve worked so much – I’m not ashamed to say it – I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. – Who could have told me? – I’m not ashamed, no! – You are beautiful and good! … I want to make you like a queen – Everybody under your feet! – these little feet! – You wanted to come yourself – with these little feet – into my house. … The mistress! – my own beautiful lady – Look, you make me talk nonsense! –’
But she was listening elsewhere. She seemed to be looking in the mirror, far off, far away.
‘What are you thinking about? about Ciolla still? – I’ll go and end in prison, the first night of my married life!’
‘No – ‘ she interrupted stammering, with a faint voice. ‘No – listen – I must tell you something –’
She seemed as if she hadn’t a drop of blood left in her veins, she was so pale and broken. She moved her trembling lips two or three times.
‘Tell me then,’ he replied – ‘everything you want. I want you to be content as well –’
As it was July, and very hot, he took off his coat, waiting. She drew back brusquely, as if she had received a blow full in the chest, and she went stiff, deathly white, with black rings round her eyes.
‘Speak, speak up! – Tell it me in my ear – here so that nobody can hear –’
He laughed quite pleased, with his broad laugh, in the new rush that began to make his head turn, stammering and talking at random, in his shirt-sleeves, pressing her delicate body on his heart that beat right in his throat, her body that he felt shudder and almost rebel; and as he lifted her head gently he felt his arms fall. She wiped her feverish eyes, her face all painfully contracted.
‘Ah! – it’s a nice thing! – Aunt Cirmena was right! – A rare pleasure! – After all the struggles and all the bitterness in my mouth! – all the money spent! – We could be so happy here – two people who were fond of one another! Not a bit! not even this do I get! Not even on my wedding day, God love us! – Anyhow tell me what’s the matter!’
‘Don’t mind me – I am too much upset –’
‘Ah! that Ciolla! – again – As God’s above I’ll throw a flowerpot down on him this time! – I want to give him a treat as well, on my wedding night!’