II
The great vermilion clouds mounted slowly from the horizon to the zenith, until they finally filled the entire cupola of the heavens. A vapour as of melted metals seemed to undulate over the roofs of the houses, and in the descending lustre of the twilight sulphurous and violent rays blended together with trembling iridescence.
A long streamer more luminous than the rest escaped toward a street giving on the river front, and there appeared in the distance the flaming of the water between the long, slender shafts of the poplars; then came a border of ragged country, where the old Saracenic towers rose confusedly like islands of stone in the midst of obscurity; oppressive emanations from the reaped hay filled the atmosphere, which was at times like an odour of putrefied worms amongst the foliage. Troops of swallows flew across the sky with shrill-resounding notes, while going from the banks of the river to the caves. The murmuring of the multitude was interrupted by the silence of expectation. The name of Pallura was on all lips, while irate impatience burst out here and there. Along the path of the river they did not as yet see the cart appear; they lacked candles and Don Consolo delayed because of this to expose the relics and make the exorcisms; further, an imminent peril was threatening. Panic invaded all of this people, massed like a herd of beasts, no longer daring to lift their eyes to heaven. From the breasts of the women sobs began to escape, while a supreme consternation oppressed and stupefied all souls at these sounds of grief.
At length the bells rang out. As these bronze forms swung at a low height, the ominous sound of their tolling blanched the faces of all, and a species of continuous howling filled the air, between strokes.
“Saint Pantaleone! Saint Pantaleone!”
There was an immense simultaneous cry for help from these desperate souls. All upon their knees, with extended hands, with white faces, implored, “Saint Pantaleone!”
There appeared at the door of the church, in the midst of the smoke from two censers, Don Consolo in a shining violet cape embroidered with gold. He held on high the sacred arm of silver, and exorcised the air while pronouncing these words in Latin, “Ut fidelibus tuis aeris serenitatem concedere digneris. Te rogamus, audi nos.”
The appearance of the relic excited a delirium of tenderness in the multitude. Tears flowed from all eyes, and behind the clear veil of tears their eyes saw a miraculous, celestial splendour emanate from the three fingers held up to bless the multitude. The arm seemed larger in the kindled atmosphere, the twilight rays produced a dazzling effect on the precious stones, the balsam of the incense was wafted rapidly to the devotees.
“Te rogamus audi nos!”
But when the arm re-entered and the bells ceased to ring, in the momentary silence, they heard nearby a tinkling of bells that came from the road by the river. Then followed a sudden movement of the crowd in that direction and many said, “It is Pallura with the candles! It is Pallura who has come! See Pallura!”
The cart arrived, rattling over the gravel, dragged by a heavy grey mare, on whose back a great brass horn shone like a beautiful half moon. As Giacobbe and the others ran to meet the wagon the gentle beast stopped, blowing heavily from his nostrils. Giacobbe, who reached it first, saw, stretched in the bottom of the cart, the body of Pallura covered with blood, whereupon he began to howl and waved his arms to the crowd, shouting, “He is dead! He is dead!”