Tales of My Native Town

by Gabriele D'Annunzio

An old wooden bridge, built on big tarred boats chained together and fastened to the piers, spans the river. The cables and the ropes, which stretch from almost the height of the piers to the low parapets, cross each other in the air, looking like some barbaric instrument. The uneven boards creak under the weight of the wagons, and when the ranks of the soldiers pass over, the whole of the great structure shakes and vibrates from one end to the other, resounding like a drum. It was from this bridge that the popular legends of Saint Cetteo, the Liberator, originated, and the saint yearly stops in the centre with great Catholic pomp to receive the salutes which the sailors send him from the anchored boats.

Thus, between the panorama of Montecorno and the sea, the humble structure looms up like a monument of the country, and possessing the sacredness of all monuments, gives to strangers the impression of a people who live in primeval simplicity. As the hatred between the Pescarese and the Castellammarese meets on this bridge, the boards of which are worn under the daily heavy traffic, and as the trade of the city spreads to the province of Teramo, with what joy would the opposing faction cut the cables and push out to sea to be wrecked the seven supporting boats.

A good opportunity having presented itself, the leader of the enemy, with a great display of his rural forces, prevented the Pescarese from passing over the wide road which stretches out from the bridge far across the country, uniting numberless villages. It was his intention to blockade the rival city by a siege, in order to shut away from it all internal and external traffic in order to draw to the market of his own city the sailors and buyers who were accustomed to trade on the right shore of the river, and having thus stagnated the business of Pescara, and having cut off from the town all source of revenue, to rise up in triumph. He offered to the owners of the Pescarese boats twenty francs for every hundred pounds of fish, on condition that all boats should land and load their cargoes on his shore, and with the stipulation that the price should last up to the day of the Nativity of Christ. But as the price of fish usually rose shortly before the Nativity to fifteen ducats for every hundred pounds, the profit to himself was evident, and the cunning of his scheme was clearly revealed. The owners refused such an offer, preferring to allow their nets to remain idle.

Then the wily fellow spread the report of a great mortality in Pescara. Professing friendship for the province of Teramo he succeeded in rousing both that province and Chieti against the peaceful city, from which the plague had really disappeared entirely. He waylaid and kept prisoners some honest passers-by who were exercising their legitimate right to pass along this road on their way to a more distant part of the country. He stationed a group of loafers on the border line who kept watch from dawn to sunset, shouting out warnings to anyone who approached. All this caused violent rebellion on the part of the Pescarese against such unjust and arbitrary measures. The great class of rough, ugly labourers were lounging about in idleness, and merchants sustained severe losses from the enforced dulness of trade. The cholera had left the city and seemed to have disappeared also from the seashore towns, where only a few decrepit old men had died. All the citizens, rugged and full of health and spirits, would have rejoiced to take up their customary labours.

Then the tribunes rose to action: Francesco Pomarice, Antonio Sorrentino, Pietro D’Amico; and in the streets the people, divided into groups, listened to their words, applauding, proposing, and uttering cries. A great tumult was brewing. As an illustration, some recounted the heart-rending tale of Moretto di Claudia, who had been taken by force, by men paid to do the deed, and being imprisoned in the Lazzaretto, was kept for five consecutive days without other food than bread, at the end of which time he succeeded in escaping from a window, swam across the river, and came to his people dripping with water, out of breath, and overcome with exultation and joy at his escape.

The Mayor, seeing the storm gathering, endeavoured to arbitrate with the Great Enemy of Castellammare. The Mayor is a little fellow, a knighted Doctor of Law, carefully dressed, curly haired, his shoulders covered with dandruff, his small roving eyes accustomed to pleasant simulation. The Great Enemy is a degenerate, a nephew of the good Gargantuasso, a big fellow, puffing, exploding, devouring. The meeting of the two took place on neutral ground, with the Prefects of Teramo and of Chieti as witnesses.

But towards sunset one of the guards went into Pescara to bring a message to one of the councillors of the Commune; he went in with another of the loafers to drink, after which he strolled about the streets. When the tribunes saw him, they immediately gave chase. With cries and shouts, he was driven towards the banks of the river as far as Lazzaretto. The water glared in the light of the setting sun, and the belligerent reddening of the air intoxicated the people.

Then from the willow trees on the opposite shore a crowd of Castellammarese poured out, with vehement gestures and angry protests against the outrage. With a fury equalling their own, the Pescarese answered their gibes. The guard, who had been imprisoned, was pounding the door of his prison with fists and feet, crying out:

“Open to me! Open to me!”

“You go to sleep in there and don’t worry!” the men called to him scornfully, while someone cruelly added: