IV
Then the phalanxes, armed with scythes, with sickles, with hatchets, with hoes and with muskets, reunited on the square before the church.
And the idolaters shouted, “Saint Pantaleone!”
Don Consolo, terrified by the turmoil, had fled to the depths of a stall behind the altar. A handful of fanatics, conducted by Giacobbe, penetrated the large chapel, forced its gratings of bronze, and arrived at length in the underground passage where the bust of the Saint was kept. Three lamps fed with olive oil burned gently in the sacristy behind a crystal; the Christian idol sparkled with its white head surrounded by a large solar disc, and the walls were covered over with the rich gifts.
When the idol, borne upon the shoulders of four Hercules, appeared presently between the pilasters of the vestibule, and shed rays from its aureole, a long, breathless passion passed over the expectant crowd, a noise like a joyous wind beat upon all foreheads. The column moved. And the enormous head of the Saint oscillated on high, gazing before it with two empty eyes.
In the heavens now passed at intervals meteors which seemed alive, while groups of thin clouds seemed to detach themselves from the heavens, and, while dissolving, floated slowly away. The entire country of Radusa appeared in the background like a mountain of ashes that might be concealing a fire, and in front of it the contour of the country lost itself with an indistinct flash. A great chorus of frogs disturbed the harmony of the solitude.
On the road by the river Pallura’s cart obstructed progress. It was empty now, but bore traces of blood in many places. Irate imprecations exploded suddenly in the silence.
Giacobbe cried, “Let us put the Saint in it!”
The bust was placed on the boards and dragged by human strength to the ford. The procession, ready for battle, thus crossed the boundary. Along the files metal lamps were carried, the invaded waters broke in luminous sprays, and everywhere a red light flamed from the young poplars in the distance, toward the quadrangular towers. Mascalico appeared upon a little elevation, asleep in the centre of an olive orchard.
The dogs barked here and there, with a furious persistency. The column having issued from the ford, on abandoning the common road, advanced with rapid steps by a direct path that cut through the fields. The bust of silver borne anew on rugged shoulders, towered above the heads of the men amongst the high grain, odorous and starred with living fireflies.