After the Divorce by Grazia Deledda (buy e reader .txt) 📕

bushes, and the wild stretch of upland⁠—everything, as far as the eye could reach, to the very utmost confines of the horizon, seemed bathed in a tender, half-tearful smile. The two young people passed close by the fisherman’s hut; they could hear him singing. Brontu stopped.

“Come on,” said Giovanna, dragging him by the arm.

“Wait a moment; I want to knock on the thing he calls his door.”

“No,” she said, trembling. “Come away, come on, I tell you; if you don’t come, I’ll leave you by yourself.”

“Oh! yes, that’s true; you and he have had a quarrel; I haven’t, though; I’m going to knock on his door.”

“I’m going on, then.”

“He was singing the lauds of San Costantino,” said Brontu, as he rejoined her a few moments later. “The one the saint gave him on the river-bank that time. That old man is stark mad.”

XII

On the following morning at about eleven o’clock, the religious services began in the church. They were set for this late hour so as to allow for the arrival of a young priest from Nuoro, a friend of Priest Elias’s, who was to give a panegyric gratis to the people of Orlei. This panegyric was a great event, and in consequence, by ten o’clock the church overflowed with a gaily dressed throng of persons.

The building itself was painted in the most vivid colours⁠—pink walls relieved by stripes of bright blue; a yellow wooden pulpit; and rows of lusty saints with red cheeks and blond hair, simpering from their pink niches like so many Teutonic worthies. San Costantino, however, the Patron Saint, was clad in armour, and his face looked dark and stern. This ancient statue was believed to perform miracles, and, according to local tradition, had been carved by San Nicodemus himself.

Through the wide-open door came a flood of sunshine, which, pouring over the congregation, enveloped them in a cloud of golden dust. At the other end of the church, where the altar stood, it seemed quite dark, notwithstanding the large M of lighted tapers, looking, with their motionless flames, like so many arrowheads stuck on shafts of white wood.

Priest Elias was celebrating Mass; and close by stood his friend, wearing a lace alb, and with a small, dark face like that of a shrewd child; he was singing away at the top of his voice, and all wondered to hear the little priest sing so loud, knowing that he was to preach as well. Most of the people had, indeed, come expressly to hear this sermon, and were paying scant attention to the Mass, being taken up with whispering and staring about them. True, the heat was suffocating, and clouds of insects made devotion difficult, even for the most pious. At last Priest Elias, having finished chanting the gospel, turned his pale, ascetic face towards the people, and his lips were seen to move. Just then the figure of Giacobbe Dejas appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the vivid, blue background of the sky. His usual mocking expression was changed to one of self-satisfaction. Aware that the priest was speaking, he paused on the threshold to listen, holding his long black cap in his hand; then, finding that he could distinguish nothing, he stepped inside and whispered to an old man with a long yellow beard, who stood near the door, to know what had been said.

“I don’t know; I couldn’t hear him; they make as much racket as if they were out in the square,” said the old man querulously.

A tall, fresh-complexioned youth, with black hair and an aquiline nose, turned and stared at Giacobbe. Noting his unusual cleanliness, his new clothes, and general air of complacency, he grinned ill-naturedly.

“I think,” said he, “that Priest Elias said the other priest was going to begin the panegyric now.”

“Did you hear him say it?” asked the old man crossly.

“I didn’t hear him say anything at all,” replied the youth.

Giacobbe worked his way towards the front of the church, pushing in and out among the men, who turned to look at him as he pressed against them. Suddenly a silence fell on the crowd. The men all drew back against the walls, and the women sat down on the floor. In the centre of the church, where a stream of sunshine fell, was a sort of wooden bedstead, painted blue, and watched over by four little pink-cheeked cherubs, whose green, outstretched wings gave them the appearance of four emerald butterflies. On the bed, reposing with closed eyes upon brocade cushions, was a tiny Madonna. She was dressed entirely in white, with rings, necklaces, and earrings of gold⁠—it was the Assumption. The dark, shrewd face of the little priest now appeared above the edge of the pulpit. Giacobbe regarded him fixedly for a moment, and then turned his right ear towards him so as to hear better.

“People of Orlei, brothers, sisters⁠—” said the priest in a clear, childish treble⁠—“asked to preach you a little sermon on this solemn day⁠—” Giacobbe liked the opening, but finding that he could hear very well without paying strict attention, he turned and began to observe the people, talking all the while to himself, though without losing any of the discourse.

“There’s Isidoro Pane, the devil take him! if he hasn’t got on new clothes too; I wonder if he is also thinking of getting married. Eh, eh! That fresh-looking fellow down there by the door was laughing at me; he saw how happy and prosperous I looked, and thought of course that I must be going to get married. Well, and what if I am? Is it any business of yours, you puppy? Can’t I get married if I want to? I have a house of my own, and cattle too.10

“Eh, eh! my sister will die without heirs⁠—God bless her!⁠—there she is, looking like a pink, shiny, little wax doll. Who would ever suppose that she is older than I? She wants me to get a wife. Well,