It was a vain assertion, without any value in face of the fiat of Destiny. And yet he had pronounced these words with a simplicity that gave me a shock, so extraordinary did they appear to me. Thus, at times, children suddenly say things that go straight to the heart, and as if a prophetic voice spoke through their unconscious lips.
"Can you read the future?" I asked him, without a shadow of irony.
"No, but I have that presentiment, and I believe it."
Once more my brother had inspired confidence in me; once more, thanks to him, I felt a slight relaxation of the iron band that wounded my heart. But it was only a short respite. During the remainder of our walk he spoke to me of Raymond.
When we were near the place inhabited by Giovanni di Scordio, Federico perceived the tall figure of the old man in a field.
"Look at him! He is sowing. We bring him the invitation at a solemn hour."
We approached. My inner trembling was as strong as if I were on the point of committing a profanation. Was I not, in fact, about to profane a beautiful and great thing? Was I not about to solicit the spiritual paternity of that venerable old man for the child of adultery?
"See, what a noble figure!" cried Federico, stooping and pointing to the sower. "He has only a man's stature, and yet he looks like a giant."
In order to watch him we stopped behind a tree at the edge of the field. Giovanni, attentive to his labor, had not yet perceived us.
He walked straight before him in the field, with measured slowness. His head was covered by a green and black woolen cap, with two ear-laps that hung down his cheeks, in the ancient Phrygian fashion. A little white bag, full of seed and attached to his neck by a leather thong, hung before him at the waist. With his left hand he held the bag open, while with his right he took out the seed and scattered it. His gesture was sweeping, vigorous, and sure, cadenced with an equal rhythm. The seed, flying from his hand, flashed an instant in the air with golden scintillations and fell in an equal rain on the humid furrows. The sower advanced slowly, burying his naked feet in the earth, which yielded beneath his steps, his head high in the sanctity of the light. His entire person was simple, sacred, and grand.