Grazia Deledda

“ Anania remained alone on the deck, numbed by the damp breeze, and saw the moon, red like molten iron, sink into a turbid and sanguinous distance. At last he too turned in, but was long ere he slept. He felt as if his body were incessantly growing longer and shorter. An interminable line of carts seemed crossing over his torpid person. The most unpleasant recollections of his life came into his head. The clashing of the waves cut by the keel seemed the wind in the widow's cottage at Fonni. Oh what a vain, useless, odious thing was life! What was the good of living at all? ”

“ He wanted to start at once for the Cantoniera, but without difficulty allowed himself to be persuaded to wait.
Another sad night passed. Though his limbs were stiff with fatigue he slept little, on that hard pallet where he had been born, on which he wished that this night he might die. The wind shook the roof, roaring like a sea in storm. It reminded Anania of his infancy; the distant terrors, the wintry nights, the touch of his mother who clasped him to her, more for fear than for love. No, she had not loved him. Why delude himself? She had not loved him. ”

“ But Anania stood at the window of his little room, watching the slow rising of the moon between the black teeth of Orthobene.
At last he was alone! Night reigned, passionate and sweet. Already the cuckoo was filling the lonely valley with her palpitating cries. Ah! thus sadly did Anania feel his heart palpitate and cry, out of an infinite solitude.
Why had he told that lie? And why had the stupid shepherd said not a word on hearing the stupendous falsehood? Clearly he knew nothing of love—love for a superior creature, love without limit and without hope. But why had Anania stooped to a lie? ”

“ Anania listened with pleasure to Aunt Varvara's suggestive stories and questions. Though the trains were shrieking within a few yards and the amorous cats were miouing among the columns of the Pantheon, he so identified himself with the old woman's recollections that he fancied he had only to open the door, to find himself in a lonely Sardinian landscape on the top of a nuraghe watched by a giant, or rapt in the savage excitement of a race of Barbs, in the company of a philosophic and contemplative old shepherd with soul turbid and great like the clouds. ”

“ Yes, little Margherita was at the window watching for you. Doesn't the moon watch for the sun?"
Anania set the cup on the window ledge. He breathed hard. How happy he felt! How blue was the sky, how sweet the air! What grandeur in the silence of humble things, in the air not yet stirred by the turmoil of civilization. Even Aunt Nanna no longer seemed horrible; under the unclean exterior of that poisoned body, palpitated a warm heart, a poetic soul.
"Listen to those lines!" cried Anania, and he recited gesticulating—
Nanna listened without understanding a word. ”

“ What the human heart? What was life, intelligence, thought?
Ah yes! now he could answer these questions which so often had risen idly to his lips! Now that Destiny was beating with inexorable, funereal wings, shaking all things with sudden storm, now at last he knew what man was, what life, what the human heart! Deceit! deceit! deceit!
Aunt Grathia pushed a stool to Anania and made the unhappy lad sit down. Then she crouched beside him, took his hand, and long watched him compassionately.
"How cold you are, my child!" said the widow, pressing his hand. "Cry, my son. It will do you good." ”

“ My father is so kind!"
"Then you think I may have some hope?" cried Anania as eagerly as if till that moment he had been in utter despair.
"Why, yes—s—s," she said, stroking his hair in almost motherly fashion.
He folded her close, shut his eyes, and tried to the immensity of his good fortune. Could it be possible? Margherita would be his own? Really? In reality, as she had always been his in dream? He thought of the time when he had scarce dared confess his love to himself. And now——
"How many things come to pass in the world!" he thought. "But there! what is the world? What is reality? ”

“ Now truly I know what man is—a vain though fiery flame, which passes over life and reduces everything to ashes, and goes out when there is nothing left for it to destroy."
As he ascended, the marvel of the sunset increased; he stopped his horse that he might contemplate what seemed a symbolic picture. The mountains had become violet; a long cloud of the same colour made a darkness above the horizon; between the mountains and the cloud a great sun, rayless and blood-red was going down in a heaven of gold. At that moment, he knew not why, Anania felt good; good, but sorrowful. ”

“ As the coach neared Mamojada, the vividness of his recollections became almost painful. In the arch made by the coach's hood was depicted the same landscape which Anania had seen that day, his little head drooping on her knee; the same melancholy sky of unvaried blue was stretched above. A sudden breeze swept over the green country with its strong undulating lines and rows of wild bushes. Here and there the violet gleam of water was just visible. The whistle of marsh birds was heard. A shepherd, bronze against a luminous background, watched the horizon.
Here was the Cantoniera. ”

“ The evening was clear and cold. A full moon rose behind the black crags of Orthobene and flooded the garden with gold. The two children, flattening their noses against the window pane, heard a long despairing wail, a human or superhuman lament.
"Whatever's that?" said Anania; "it must be a devil! I won't go. I'm frightened."
"Then stay here, silly. It's only a cat!" said Bustianeddu scornfully, "I'm going. I'll hide the money in the oak, where Uncle Pera won't think of looking. Then I'll come back. You stay here and keep watch. If any danger comes, whistle." ”

“ He went away running, leaving Anania overwhelmed with grief. A thief, a bastard, a foundling, and now left behind by his friend. It was too much, too much! He began to cry and his tears fell into the soup.
"When, when shall I be able to go?" he sobbed, "when shall I be able to find her?"
"When I'm grown up," he answered himself, more cheerfully, "for the present—it can't be helped."
Having given the soup to Aunt Tatàna, he went to the stable window. Silence. No one was to be seen, nothing was to be heard, in the great garden, damp and moonlit. ”

“ Margherita and Anania stopped, bid him good-night, went on their way; but now the boy felt himself awakened from a dream, once more solitary, sad and shy, stumbling in the darkened street. The Syndic had interposed his portly person between the poor young creatures!
"Bravo! bravo!" said he, "how did you like the play?"
"It was rot!" replied Anania.
"Bra—a—vo!" repeated the godfather. "You're a cruel critic."
"What else could you expect? Our Director's a fossil—he couldn't choose better. Life's not like that—never has been! If the theatre isn't like life, its ridiculous. ”

“ Yes, all was Ashes; life, death, the human kind; destiny itself which had produced them.
And yet in that supreme hour, shadowed by that figure of aged Fate, which seemed Death in waiting,—in the presence of the remains of that most wretched of all the daughters of men, who, after doing and suffering wrong in all its manifestations, had died for another's good,—Anania felt that among the ashes lurks the spark, the seed of the luminous and purifying flame; and Hope returned to him, and he felt that he loved life still. ”

“ And good-bye, Margherita! Light and sweetness among shadows, a rainbow in the cloud, a frame of pearl glorifying the dingy painting of dull memory I Margherita, good-bye!
The day of departure drew near. Aunt Tatàna made endless preparations. She provided shirts and socks, fruit, and cakes white as ivory, cheese, a fowl, dozens of salted eggs, wine, honey, raisins, saddle-bags, and baskets filled to the brim.
"But these are stores for a whole army!" said Anania.
"Hush, my son! You will find it all necessary. There you will have no one to care for you, poor child. Oh! what will become of you?" ”

“ She's dying of fear, remorse, suffering. I saw her sink down that day, with her eyes full of despair. My words hurt her worse than a blow. What a lurid thing is the human heart! I'm rejoicing in my crime; I'm rejoicing like a prisoner who has gained his freedom by murdering his gaoler, while I'm thinking Margherita despicable, because she says bluntly that she can't love a bad woman. I am far worse, a hundred times worse than Margherita. But can I alter my feelings? What whirlwind of contradictions, what malign force is it that draws and contorts the human soul? ”

“ Margherita has come! She is pale with passion, and she looks at him with burning eyes! Anania also grows pale, and no thought of salutation comes to him, nor a smile. He cannot think. For some instants he can see nothing but those burning eyes from which rains unspeakable joy.
He walked on automatically, turning his head at each step, followed by those intoxicating eyes. Only when Nanna, the portmanteau on her head, the parcel in one hand, the basket in the other, appeared puffing and blowing at the end of the street, did astonishment overpower him and quicken his halting step. ”

“ Anania climbed on the heap of shining shale which marked the summit, and flung himself on the ground to escape the fury of the blasts which blew from all sides. The whole island was stretched out before him, with its blue mountains and its silver sea, glittering under the midday sun. Overhead the heaven was immense, infinite, void as human thought. The wind raged furiously in the great emptiness. Its assaults invested Anania in mad fury, in the violent anger of a formidable wild beast, which would permit the approach of no other being to the aereal cave where it was resolved to reign alone. ”

“ With this wild hope in his heart, he dreamed away a long time, till he had reached the bottom of the slope of Monte Spada, and had again begun to ascend to the topmost peak of the Gennargentu. A torrent ran at the bottom, among enormous rocks and alder trees shaken by a sudden gust of wind. The sound of the alders in the silence of that place of mystery, brought a strange fancy to Anania; it seemed as if the winds had been wakened by this hope which animated him, and that all things were moved by it, the lonely trees trembling like wild men surprised in their gloomy solitude by a sudden joy. ”

“ He plucked the iris flowers, murmuring the name of Margherita. He ascended a hill green with asphodel, from which he had a vision of the city so red in the sunset, of the sea which seemed an immense cauldron of boiling gold. The sky flamed, the earth exhaled delicate fragrance. Little purple clouds lost on the horizon suggested a caravan with men and camels, vanishing in splendour. Anania felt so happy that he fluttered his handkerchief and cried aloud, saluting the invisible being who was the soul of the sea, the glory of the heaven, the spirit of that ineffable distance—Margherita! ”

“ Suppose it were Signor Carboni? Efès felt all the weight of his degradation when the benevolent padrone, who never worried him with useless reproaches, sat down and talked to him: Anania thought of his mother and remembered the incongruity between his position and that of Margherita whom he was yet daring to love. The knock was repeated.
"I'll go and see who it is," said Anania, running and tossing his book in the air to encourage himself.
"If it's the master," said Uncle Pera, "Efès must get up and pretend he's doing something. It's abominable to see him sprawling about like a dead dog." ”

“ Anania had not been able to get a horse that evening, so he was obliged to spend another night at Fonni, sleeping a strange sleep like the sleep of a convict on the day he has been sentenced.
Aunt Grathia and Olì sat up a long time over the fire. Olì had the cold fit which is precursor of fever; her teeth chattered, she yawned and groaned. As in the nights of long ago, the wind roared through the kitchen, stirring the black relics of the bandit. By the firelight the widow worked at her spinning, her face pallid and impassive as that of a spectre. ”

“ She is wretched, ill, grown old with suffering and privation. My duty, you yourself will say it at once, is to redeem her. I have resolved to live with her, to sacrifice, if need be, life itself to fulfil my duty. Margherita, what more can I say? Never as at this moment have I felt the need of showing you all my soul. It is like a stormy sea, and words fail me at this moment which is the turning point of my life. I have your kisses still on my lips, and I tremble with love and with grief. ”

“ ANANIA, MY NINO,—I have waited for you till this moment trembling with grief and love; but you have not come. Perhaps you are never coming any more, and I write to you at this sweet hour of our meetings with death in my heart and tears in my eyes which have not yet wept themselves out. The pale moon is sinking in a clouded heaven, the night is sad, it seems to me that all creation is oppressed by the ill-fortune which has crushed our love. ”

“ The air was scented with heather blossom. A far off village with grey campanile against the violet sky came into sight. Anania looked at the strange outline of the mountains, at the quiet sky, at the cistus bushes among the rocks, and nothing kept back his tears but the fear of ridicule from his fellow-travellers: a priest, and a student from lowland Campidano who had once been his school-fellow.
At last he was a man! True he had thought himself a man ever since he was fifteen, but then he had thought himself a young man, now he was an "old young man." ”