The Call of the Blood - Page 175/317

It seemed as if they would never get away from the street. At every

moment they halted. One man begged them to wait a moment till his donkey

was saddled, so that he might join them. Another, a wine-shop keeper,

insisted on Maurice's testing his moscato, and thereupon Maurice felt

obliged to order glasses all round, to the great delight of Gaspare, who

always felt himself to be glorified by the generosity of his padrone, and

who promptly took the proceedings in charge, measured out the wine in

appropriate quantities, handed it about, and constituted himself master

of the ceremony. Already, at eleven o'clock, brindisi were invented, and

Maurice was called upon to "drop into poetry." Then Maddalena caught

sight of some girl friends, and must needs show them all her finery. For

this purpose she solemnly dismounted from her donkey to be closely

examined on the pavement, turned about, shook forth her pea-green skirt,

took off her chain for more minute inspection, and measured the silken

fringes of her shawl in order to compare them with other shawls which

were hastily brought out from a house near-by.

But Gaspare, always a little ruthless with women, soon tired of such

vanities.

"Avanti! Avanti!" he shouted. "Dio mio! Le donne sono pazze! Andiamo!

Andiamo!"

He hustled Maddalena, who yielded, blushing and laughing, to his

importunities, and at last they were really off again, and drowned in a

sea of odor as they passed some buildings where lemons were being packed

to be shipped away from Sicily. This smell seemed to Maurice to be the

very breath of the island. He drank it in eagerly. Lemons, lemons, and

the sun! Oranges, lemons, yellow flowers under the lemons, and the sun!

Always yellow, pale yellow, gold yellow, red-gold yellow, and white, and

silver-white, the white of the roads, the silver-white of dusty olive

leaves, and green, the dark, lustrous, polished green of orange leaves,

and purple and blue, the purple of sea, the blue of sky. What a riot of

talk it was, and what a riot of color! It made Maurice feel almost drunk.

It was heady, this island of the south--heady in the summer-time. It had

a powerful influence, an influence that was surely an excuse for much.

Ah, the stay-at-homes, who condemned the far-off passions and violences

of men! What did they know of the various truths of the world? How should

one in Clapham judge one at the fair of San Felice? Avanti! Avanti!

Avanti along the blinding white road by the sea, to the village on which

great Etna looked down, not harshly for all its majesty. Nature

understood. And God, who made Nature, who was behind Nature--did not He

understand? There is forgiveness surely in great hearts, though the small

hearts have no space to hold it.