The Gnomes of the Saline Mountains: A Fantastic Narrative

by Anna Goldmark Gross

  On the right hand shore, extended on a high promontory receding alittle from the shore, stands peacefully dreaming and forgotten, by theouter world, the little village of Vico Ecquenso.

  The innumerable small fishing smacks belonging to the villagers("paesani") dot the bay as far as Castellamare, and every morning theymake their way thither, carrying to market their nightly catches oftunny fish, anchovies and other dumb subjects of Neptune.

  The valleys, perfumed throughout their length with odorous herbs, palmsand gigantic cactus in wild profusion, change their character a littlefurther away, by taking on the indescribable charm of the picturesquelydraughted olive trees, which often slope down to the water's edge,while on green hillside terraces most magnificent grapes gleam fromafar, like red glittering rubies to the eyes of the delighted tourist.

  On the left side, amid palms and chestnut trees, one catches a glimpseof the lifeless unroofed ruins of Pompeii, once a populous city, whichwas overwhelmed by her mighty neighbor, the terrible Vesuvius on the22nd of August in the year 79, and remained under ground for abouteighteen centuries, until Charles the III ordered its excavation onthe 1st of April, 1748. Amid all these buried treasures of art of longperished races, Seneca had spent his youth and Cicero had written hisbiting rhetorical masterpieces, which earned him a sixteen months'banishment from the court of the Emperor Claudius, whose giganticstatue of Persian marble, in the robe of "Pontifex Maximus" was latelyexcavated at Pesto.

  * * * * *

  The high mountains were already casting long shadows through thelittle village of Vico Ecquenso, and the hot evening sun, now about tosink into the gently splashing waves, gilded with its last beams theweather-beaten, centuries-old convent of Santa Croce, built upon a highsummit on green hilltops.

  The peaceful sound of the old convent bell, inviting those to piousmeditations and evening prayer, was sounding now with wondroussweetness over land and sea, even as far as the desolate altars ofthe heathen Gods of Pompeii tumbled down from their gilded pedestals,and the shrunken mummies in the "theatrum tragico," where the peopleperished without the help of the heathen gods, listened dumb andpetrified,--the sightless eyes wide open,--to the sounds of the newreligion calling them again and again morning and evening. The vastoppressiveness of the ghostly solitude there, contrasted strangely withthe uncommon bustle perceptible that evening among the simple mindedinhabitants of the quaint little village, who usually went so quietlyabout their work.

  A joyous excitement sparkled in the eyes of both old and young, who hadassembled in front of the only village tavern, "Osteria," to witnessthe approach of the festal procession of youth and maidens coming homefrom the vineyards, laden with baskets of grapes and flowers.

  The wealthiest man in the place, the farmer Niccolo Gallioti, who hadjust before devoutly lit six immense wax candles in honor of the HolyMadonna, was today giving a feast to the young people of the place. Theingathered harvest had filled all his granaries to the roofs and sosurpassed all his expectations that it had to be celebrated with eatingand drinking, music and dancing. An hour before, he had been seenwalking up towards the vineyards at the side of his beautiful daughter,Concetta, and as yet there was no sign of their return. The expectingcrowd shuffled up and down impatiently, and craned their necks.

  "There! There! Corpo di bacco! they're coming now," cried a smallbare-footed lazzaroni, greatly excited, running breathlessly to meetthem, and vainly trying at the same time to hold up the torn, shapelessbreeches, which actually had no right to that name. They were fastenedby a cord on the top and reached from the shoulders to his feet.

  All the inhabitants of the village seemed to be present, and pressedforward in a confused mass, each one anxious to be the first one togreet the festal train, principally Galiotti the liberal host anddispenser of the best wine.

  In the rear, unobserved, stood a man of about twenty-eight years, in anelegant summer suit, apparently belonging to a better class, lookingsneeringly at the great excitement of the "Paesani."

  His dark, sparkling eyes, encased in blue-shaded rings, had ademoniacal glitter. He was a tall, athletic man, with a constantsneer on his red lips. The fairly chiseled lineaments were blotted bydissipation, and blackened and distorted by the baleful fire of fiercepassions. The bushy eyebrows, that nearly met each other, were of thekind to exercise an uncanny attraction upon trusting innocent girls bylooking into their depths.

  The distant strains of three gaily-clad musicians with fiddles andhorns seemed to electrify the crowd. The ragged youth began to dance,the old paesani threw their shabby looking caps, in the air, while thelittle barefooted lazzaroni, his face black with dirt, ran ahead of theanxiously expected procession, splitting his throat with shrill criesof "Evviva," and gesticulating frantically.

  Only the tall gentleman, with a constant sneer on his red lips, stoodapparently unmoved in the same place, gazing at the scene enactedbefore his eyes with great contempt. Observing him at close range onecould perceive, in his dark sinister eyes, the consuming fire of asinful passion, a volcanic fire it seemed, like that which rose andfell on the summit of the neighboring Vesuvius, devastating in itsdestructiveness.

  He had seen the fair Concetta at Castellamare for the first time,and since then he could not forget her lovely face; day and night ithaunted him, that merry, mirthful face that spoke of pure maidenliness.The sweetness and childlike pureness of the girl's exterior attractedhim. It was something new in his dissipated life, something he had toconquer.

  Even at the gaming tables of Nice and Monte Carlo, and at the wildorgies carried on there by the dissipated sons of nobility, he seemedto see her standing before him, smiling sweetly, while her blueinnocent-looking eyes shone at him like spotless mirrors.

  After a short time he had discovered that she came twice a week toCastellamare, on Mondays in her father's fishing boat, while onSaturdays in the company of a maid carrying stone pitchers to thewell, "Stabilimento," where six different healing springs gush out ofthe mountain side. When the flames on top of the Vesuvius burst forthvehemently illuminating Naples, Castellamare and all other littlehamlets far and near the springs are overflowing with boiling water,but the moment the flame diminishes, the water grows cold and graduallydisappears.

  The young rogue made good use of these days; as if by chance, healways strolled along the same path to the springs. If it rained, hewas promptly at hand with an umbrella; if, on the other hand, the sunshone down oppressively on the overheated Concetta, the same rescuerin need was at hand again, gallantly offering his English parasol,and always walking a little further with her. The sunny nature of theyoung girl shone out of her splendid blue eyes, bright and beaming asa May morning. She trusted every one, and especially this handsomegentleman, who treated her always with such exquisite courtesy, as ifshe had been one of the daughters of the Lords of Torre del Greco, whomshe saw passing on the Corso di Santa Lucia, either on horseback orin a luxurious carriage. Who would be likely to have any evil designsagainst her? Old and young loved her in the village, and the poor andsick had learned to bless her for three miles round. Having grown up inher village home, and blossomed there like a wild rose, she had onlyknown one great sorrow in her young life, that of losing her belovedmother when she was very young. Her merriment, her happy singing,brightened up the dark, lonely house of the gloomy old man.

  However, since she had made the acquaintance of the gentleman withthe ensnaring eyes, she had changed greatly. She was often lost inamazement--though not in his company, but when alone in her littlebed-chamber, where the observing eyes of her anxious father could notwatch her.

  There she sat, her large blue eyes staring out of the window, with afeeling of overflowing joy, that filled her heart, a feeling she couldnot explain to herself, especially at his approach, the violent beatingof something within her that threatened at times to take her breathaway.

  "Mia cara Concetta, I love you madly," had he not long since whisperedin her ear. He has said _that_ to her,
the common-place daughter of the"Paesano" Niccolo Gallioti. But his dark, passionate-looking eyes madeher tremble. She did not know why.

  "If he could see me now in my new Sunday dress!" she thought, herglance sweeping over the crowd, as she passed along, surrounded by allthe youths and maidens of the village, in her red petticoat and bodiceof black silk, with snow white muslin sleeves. "There! SantissimaMadonna." "He is waiting for me," she whispered happily, while a blushbrighter than the red silk of her dress overspread her lovely face.

  But not for all the bunches of red grapes she was so fond of would shehave raised her eyes, for fear the youths and maidens might have readin them the delight of her heart at seeing the man she loved and wasloved by such a man!--the violent beating within her increased at thisthought. "Madonna!" She looked at the soft blue sky and the wavingcactus plants in the distance. Tears of joy filled her eyes, while thegolden sunshine filled every nook and corner in Nature's great realm.

  Arriving at the house, she found the maid busily engaged in preparingthe feast. The men were beginning to place large tables in the gardenunder the orange trees. Then they rolled out large casks of the newwine from the cellar. Concetta had just put on her apron, busilyengaged in carrying out a tray full of dishes into the gaily decoratedgarden, when the door burst open. Her father stood at the entrance,with his cap in his hand, bowing reverentially to a gentleman, begginghim to honor his house by entering and participating in the generalfrolic of the day.

  A loud crash was heard. Concetta recognized him at once, the gentlemanwith the ensnaring eyes, and, delighted as she was, had dropped thelarge Sunday tray, with all the special dishes which only appeared onthe Sunday table for special occasions. She was startled and happy atthe same time, and hardly heard the irate father's words of blame. Thevoice of the little lazzaroni was heard outside singing "Napoli Bella."She looked through the window, and San Francesco, on his pedestal,smiled at her. She turned about, and met his burning glances. Hercheeks crimsoned; she was in a confusion when those dark fascinatingeyes actually followed her wherever she went.

  He sat by her side at the table, calling her, Concetta Gallioti,endearing names, and squeezing her hand tenderly whenever the fatherwas not looking in their direction. And when she found his eyesconstantly fastened upon her face, she felt like crying and laughing atthe same time, though it looked as if she were even too shy for that.

  Her innocent face was like the clear water of the Spring atCastellamare. He observed her closely, knew the symptoms and smiledmaliciously, considering it an auspicious omen in his well-triedloving-making scheme.

  The evening breezes rose and sank solemnly through the little greenolive trees in the distance. The tables were cleared away, the mealwas over and the three grotesque musicians, who had been feastingconvivially, were sounding their instruments with special vigor. Thedance began. All eyes were turned on Concetta, as she opened the rusticball with the interesting stranger beneath the orange trees.

  Her little heart felt as though it would burst with joy in theconsciousness that he had eyes and ears for none but her, and scarcelyseemed to see the most renowned beauties of the village. The wholeevening he danced only with her--and what things he whispered in herear! Her fair cheeks still clothed themselves in red--and the more theydid so, the more eloquent grew his lips and the more terrifying in itspassion his burning gaze.

  II.

  At Torre del Greco, in his dining-hall with its lofty windows, theBaron di Pavichino sat at breakfast. His bushy eyebrows contracteddarkly when the long-expected visit of his nephew Luigi was announcedto him.

  Luigi di Pavichino, the passionate lover of the fair Concetta, nowentered the room, pale and weary-eyed. For four days he had not beenseen in the Palazzo di Pavichino, although not long before he hadbecome engaged to his rich cousin. The fear of exposing himself toher displeasure now brought him here, after changing his clothes fora little more formal attire than that in which he had appeared at thepeasants' festival, to explain his absence by a plausible story.

  "_Per Bacco!_ Lucetta was looking for you in vain yesterday and theday before!" began the old Baron sternly, plucking at his gray beardin a way that betokened displeasure. "If you are beginning already toprovide such disappointments for your future wife, my dear Luigi, thenit would possibly be more sensible to call the engagement off whilethere is yet time."

  Luigi trembled at these words of his wealthy uncle. In fact, thismarriage was his only plank of salvation, to which he clung withdesperate grasp like a man fighting for life in the waves--to whichhe must cling in order to bring any order into his ruined financialposition, which he carefully concealed from his suspecting uncle, andwhich had to be retrieved as soon as possible.

  The fact that the estate inherited from his father, including farmsand factories, was mortgaged up to the last cent, would have beensufficient to jeopardize his relations to his unattractive butrichly-dowered cousin. He knew the verdict. A long-drawn sigh was theonly answer he gave to himself, and besides, there was his incapabilityof meeting his notes indorsed by friends, falling due within a shorttime for considerable amounts contracted at the gaming table. Sumswhich had to be paid because they were debts of honor, for which hepledged his "parole d'honneur."

  "Forgive me, dear uncle," he began stumblingly, with these reflectionsin mind.

  "I went to see the Padre at the Monastery to tell him of my engagementand there--the kind monk--the harvest--the new wine--"

  The weatherbeaten features of the old nobleman took on a more cheerfulexpression at these words.

  "Per bacco!" he began, smacking his lips and winking slyly, "it musthave been the new Lacrima Christi wine I sent him last week, which hasmade all the mischief. Ho! ho! if that's the case, my dear boy, youwill soon taste the wine that will be worth the tasting," he added witha broad grin, smacking his lips again in a manner attributable to thethorough knowledge of an old wine gourmand.

  "Yes, my boy, the same Lacrima Christi will be served at your weddingnext month."

  The atmosphere was sultry, but he shivered; and if a mirror could havebeen held before his eyes he would have startled back alarmed from thegray stony face so unlike his.

  "Next month?" he stammered.

  Until now he tried to forget the whole affair; her image was so utterlydriven from his fickle heart as if it were buried twenty feet under theruins of Herculaneum.

  "Yes, my dear Luigi, I shall write at once to Torre Annunziata, andthen we will celebrate a merry wedding and invite all--Why, what's thematter?" he asked greatly bewildered. "What a wry face you are making?"

  "It is the pleasure--the unlooked-for surprise,--" stammered Luigi withdifficulty, while his pale face grew a shade paler. The sweet face ofConcetta, with the bewitching dimples from which little mocking Cupidsseemed to peep out, challenging him like a siren to a kiss; her silverylaughter, her deep blue eyes like a fairy's--all that came up beforehis interior vision with intoxicating strength, while the thoughtthat in four weeks he would be called upon to plight his troth to hisunlovely cousin made him shudder.

  Still he was careful not to drop the veil that hid his real thoughts socarefully in the presence of his suspicious uncle.

  CONFESSING ALL TO THE WONDER-WORKING SAINT]

  "Pleasure? Ho! ho! my dear Luigi, I thought as much. Young men, youngmen! I have not forgotten my own youth yet--a little wild it was." Hechuckled half to himself, in a low voice.

  "Can I--see my _fiancee_ now?" Luigi asked, in a half stifled voice.

  "Now? So early? No, dear boy, she is still among her pillows--dreamingof you! _Per Dio!_ today, though, is the great festival of SaintCecelia. Our good neighbors from Torre del Greco, Portici, and TorreAnnunziata will be sure to gather at Castellamare. We must go too. Youshall go with Lucetta in my victoria with the four fiery Arabs, and Iwill follow the happy pair in a plainer carriage," continued the oldbaron with nods of pleasure.

  It was at the same festival, at the chapel of Saint Cecelia, that hehoped this very evening to me
et Concetta. The room seemed to spin roundhim and grow dark. "By your leave, my dear uncle, I must go at once tothe club. You know, the joyful news--"

  "Of your engagement?"

  "Haven't you mentioned it yet to your friends," he cried, a picture ofwild-eyed amazement.

  "To be sure I have, but--the early date of the wedding--" he hastenedto reply in a dull voice, wiping the cold perspiration from his brow.

  Catching up his hat and cane, he took a hasty leave from his Uncle,with the promise to come back punctually at four o'clock. He rushedaway tortured by this dreaded thought in mind; but he had to see thesmall army of creditors and keep them at bay with their insolentdemands for money, which were becoming intolerable until after the mostdreaded wedding.

  III.

  In Castellamare every year little shrines are erected for the feastof St. Cecelia as far as the Hotel di Stabia, which is close to thebeautiful bay of Naples, known to the tourists of all nations. In theseshrines, decorated with silken draperies of different colors, immensewax tapers are burning, amid which roughly painted images of thewonder-working saint are seen shining out mercifully in the brilliantafternoon sun.

  She looked down with mild eyes, upon the devout multitude, that hungup their votive offerings of waxen hands, feet and hearts with tearfuleyes. Then deep in prayer they besought through her the blessedVirgin's help for their various ills and woes; kissing devoutly thesilken drapery.

  Concetta in her new Sunday dress stood there among the praying throng.After praying for a while she moved towards the Holy shrine; her eyesmoistened when she fastened with trembling hands a little waxen heartto the drapery looking up imploringly.