by Howard Pyle
These four people are the people concerning whom this story is written, and upon them it stands founded as a house stands founded upon four square stones.
These four were Giovanni, and Caterina, and Niccola, and the old witch. From these latter two came all the mischief that afterward happened and concerning which I have now to tell you.
Niccola Pisalli suddenly fell in love with Giovanni. How it came about I cannot tell you, but one day he passed the house upon his way to see Caterina, and at that time Niccola was standing leaning upon the door-frame. His cheeks were as red as apples, and his face shone with happiness from within. Niccola looked at him; Cupid shot his arrow, and it pierced her through the heart.
That evening Signora Pisalli came into the house from where she had been abroad buying some little onions and pickled fish. Niccola was weeping alone in the kitchen. Signora Pisalli saw her, but she paid no attention to her. She went about her business, and Niccola wept and wept. By and by Signora Pisalli said: “What ails you, girl? You cry and cry and do no work.”
Niccola flounced about her body and wiped her eyes. She appeared to be very angry. “Nothing ails me,” she said, “except that I do not feel well this morning.” Signora Pisalli did not say anything more just then. She went about her work talking to herself, and the devil, no doubt, heard every word that she said, and God above only knows what he thought of it. By and by she came to Niccola and caught her by the wrist. “Stop your crying, girl,” she said, “and tell me what ails you.” She held Niccola’s wrist tighter and tighter, until she could hardly help crying out with pain. “Tell me,” said the old woman again, “or I’ll break your arm.”
Then Niccola cried out: “Do not squeeze me so! I will tell you what ails me. I have just heard that Giovanni Riposali is to be married in four weeks to Caterina Malafaci.” Signora Pisalli winked very hard at this, then she burst out laughing. She cackled a n d cackled in her laughter, like an old hen over a new-laid egg. “Hah,” she said, “is that the way the little breeze blows? And are you running after Caterina Malafaci’s white bull?”
Then she let Niccola go, and the girl went sullenly back to her work again, sniffing every now and then as she did so. By and by the old woman came back at her again as a fly returns to a sore place. She began by saying: “Hah, well, with a town full of young men, why could you not choose somebody for a sweetheart besides Giovanni Riposali? Is he the only apple in the loft? Is he the only plum on the tree? Hah, well; let it pass as it is! For it cannot be different. So that is the end of it. I did not make you have a notion for him, and now I cannot break it. Hah, well, wipe your mouth and sup your broth. There have been sicker cats than you cured in the world. So open your eyes and laugh again.”
“What do you mean?” said Niccola.
“I will show you,” said the old woman.
The next day she came to Niccola and gave her a little coral hand with the finger crooked, and where she got it the blessed Angel Gabriel alone can tell. She said to Niccola: “Hang this about your neck, and by and by you will find that Giovanni will come to you of his own free will, if you wish him to. As long as you live and wear that coral hand, that long will he cling to you as a snail clings to the wall.”
Then she said:— “Also you hate Caterina, and you wish her ill. Is not that so, my cherry?”
Niccola’s eyes shot out with green fire, and she clenched her hand as though with a spasm. “Yes,” she cried, “I hate her! I hate her! — I hate — her! I wish she — were dead, and — I had — my heel on her face!”
Again — the — old witch — cackled — in her laughter — like — an old hen — over — a new-laid egg. “Not so fast as that.” she said—” not so fast as that, my cherry. T)o not wish such a thing as death to anybody, or you will maybe get us both into a peck of trouble. Listen to me, my dear one. Point your finger at Caterina and wish her ill, and ill will come to her as sure as the spider tangles a fly. But wish her ill, and do not wish her dead; for, if she died, it would pull down trouble on us both.”
So Niccola pointed her finger at Caterina as her mother had told her to do, and she wished that ill might befall her, and she hung the coral hand about her neck and looked to catch Giovanni.
Well, that evening Giovanni passed by Niccola’s door, as he had done before. He looked up the street and down the street; no one was in sight. He came to where Niccola was standing, and when she saw him coming she smiled upon him so that her teeth glittered like white pearls between her red lips. Her eyes shone with green fire, and she fixed them upon him. He looked at her as a rabbit looks at a serpent; he could not take his eyes from her. “I wonder what ails me?” he said. “I have been thinking of you all day. Did I dream of you last night? Maybe that is what is the matter with me.” Her laugh at this was like glass balls that tinkle when they fall. Then she stretched out her finger and touched him upon the lapel of his jacket. Her touch went through every vein of his body like thrilling fire. “And how about Caterina?” said she.
If she had poured a cup of cold water down Giovanni’s back she could not have cooled him more suddenly.
“I am going to see her now,” he said, but his voice did not ring with a joyful sound, as it should have done when he was going to court his sweetheart. He felt now that the image of Caterina was thin and cold in his mind, and that the image of Niccola was clear and warm.
He went to Caterina’s house. Her father and mother were there, but trouble hung over them like dark smoke. Caterina had been taken sick that morning and was now in bed. They did not know what ailed her; maybe she had eaten too many cherries from the tree.
Giovanni knew that he ought to feel sorry at this news, but he did not. He thought of Niccola. Now he would go and see her again. He did not know what ailed him. The thought of Niccola clung to him like a leech and sucked his blood. He went back past Niccola’s house, but Niccola was not there. She had gone indoors, and so he went home still thinking of her.
Every day now he stopped to talk to Niccola as he went by to Caterina’s house. His passion for her grew more and more hot and strong every time he saw her. It was like putting fat upon the fire. The flames blazed up hotter and hotter. Niccola was always at the door when he passed. He was there more and more often, standing and talking to her.
The desire to see her would come upon him perhaps in the morning at his work. He would fight against it. It would grow stronger and stronger the more he fought it. Then he would quit his work and go to her. There would be Niccola by the door waiting for him, and he would stand and talk to her, and then would go away with his heart full of fire.
Now and then he would see her mother moving about within the house and grinning like an evil spirit. He shuddered at the sight of her, but still he could not tear himself loose from Niccola.
Sometimes he would hate Niccola with all his heart, but the more he hated her the more his heart would go out to her. One morning Niccola smiled at him and said: “How about Caterina? You are to marry her in two weeks now.”
It was as though an icicle had slid down his back. Marry Caterina! He shuddered. “I shall never marry her,” he said, “but I will marry you if you will have me, for I love you with the root of my life.”
Then Niccola laughed and turned away from him, and he frowned at her. But though he frowned he loved her from the bottom of his soul.
And every day Caterina grew whiter and whiter, and ate less and less. She was now as white as a napkin and ate only milk. That evening, after Giovanni had said what he had said to Niccola, he came to Caterina. He shuddered when he saw her white face and her thin checks. He turned his back to her and looked out of the window. By and by he said: “Caterina, you are sick and I cannot marry you. Were you well it would be different.”
“Do you not love me, Giovanni?” said Caterina.
“No,” said he, “I cannot love you any longer, for you are sick and as white as wood ashes.”
Caterina began weeping, but he did not turn toward her, and by and by ho
went out of the house and left her father and mother to comfort her. He did not come back to her, and now he spent every evening talking to Niccola at her door.
The people of the village knew that Giovanni was not to marry Caterina and that he was now always with Niccola. They looked askance at him and passed him by without speaking. By and by it was known that he was going to marry Niccola. It was a great scandal. The priest came to Giovanni and talked with him. Would he break Caterina’s heart? Did he know that Niccola had the name of being a witch? Thus he talked, saying many things, until Giovanni grew angry and ordered him away from the house.
Shortly after this he married Niccola.
But Giovanni did not really love her. He was bewitched by her, but he did not love her. She held him to her as by a fine string that nothing could break. She charmed him as a serpent charms a bullfinch. But though she charmed him, he did not love her. She was not happy, but she knew not what to do. She watched Giovanni, and saw that sometimes he shuddered at her.
She went to see her mother, and sat there weeping. “What is the matter with my cherry?” said the old woman.
“My husband does not love me,” said Niccola.
The old woman cackled in her laughter. “You are married to him are you not?” said she.
“Well, what more do you want?”
“I want him to love me,” said Niccola.
“Well, make him love you!
Make him love you! Tell him to kiss you, and he will kiss you,” said the old witch.
“For, look you, you hold him as tight to you as though he were tied to you with a fine, strong cord.”
So the next day Niccola said to Giovanni as he was about to go to his work, “Why do you leave me, beloved?”
“I have work to do and I must go and do it,” said he.
Her eyebrows grew level and her eyes began to shine green. “Kiss me before you go,” said she.
Giovanni sighed as though his heart was heavy; nevertheless he came to her, but with slow and heavy steps. She put up her lips and he kissed her. She, upon her part, kissed him as though she would bite him. Then he went out with another sigh. She was very angry; she clenched her smooth, round hands into fists, and ground her teeth together. She looked after Giovanni, and her eyes shone very brightly with green fire. “Well, you will be sorry for this,” said she. “I wish ill luck would come to you!”
And ill luck did come in answer.
That noon Giovanni came into the house as though he carried weights in his heels. He sat down upon a chair. He stretched out his feet in front of him as though he had been plowing, and his hands hung limp at his sides. “What is the matter with you?” said Niccola, for she had forgotten now that she had been angry with him.
“Matter enough,” said he; “one of the horses fell dead in the field today. He will never work again, for he lies there with his heels in the air and is swollen as round as a bladder. I do not know what ailed him, but there he was where he fell, and now he is stone dead.”
Niccola’s face grew pale. She remembered now that she had been angry with Giovanni that morning, and had wished ill luck to him. Had she put the evil eye upon him? He had all of her heart, but she had the evil eye and she had brought him ill luck.
She swore that she would never be angry with him again.
She came to him and laid her hand upon his shoulder, but he shuddered when she touched him.
Niccola lay awake all that night, sleeping not a wink. Her bright eyes looked into the gloom and she heard the cricket singing: “Chik! Chik! Chik!” What had she done to the man she loved? She had wished him ill, and ill had come to him and to her. For he was her husband, and if he was poorer, so now was she also.
“Chik! Chik! Chik!” sang the cricket.
Well, she would repent. She would not be angry with him again. She would be gentle and kind and would love him with all of her heart.
“Chik! Chik! Chik!” sang the cricket.
She raised herself up on her elbow and looked at him in the gloom of the night. He was sleeping, but his eyes were heavy-lidded.
Again she swore to herself that she would never he angry again.
But many vows are made at night that are broken with the sun.
A week went by. Giovanni felt that people were afraid of his wife. He knew that this was so, and he could not blame them. He feared her himself, but he did not like the neighbors to turn their backs upon her. Still, he did not blame them. He was very unhappy. One morning at breakfast she sat opposite to him. The lock had fallen down across her eye. She looked this way and that, from one part of the room to another. She looked more like a witch than he had ever seen her. His bewitched heart went out in love to her, but he loathed her with the sound and healthy part of his life. He arose, put on his hat, and went out with a lowering face, speaking no word to her. Her eyes shot out sparks of green fire.
She was very angry at him. “Ill luck!” she whispered, “ill luck!” Then she was frightened, but it was too late to call back her words.
That morning she was called to go out to the cow-shed. She went and found one of the cows lying upon its side, groaning most horribly. Giovanni was busily at work over the cow. He did not speak to her, bat while she stood there looking the cow died.
Giovanni came into the house, groaning like the cow. He hung himself into a chair, and sat with his back to Niccola. He did not speak to her. She went to him and put her hand upon his shoulder but he shook it off.
Niccola threw her apron over her head and ran to her mother’s house. Then she flung herself upon the ground, and her body was shaken with a passion of weeping. Just then her mother came in and saw her. “What ails my cherry?” said she. slowly, as though each shoe had a load of lead in it.
After that things went along for a little while smoothly enough. But by and by there was another quarrel between the two. It began with a little thing enough. It was a hair in the macaroni. He said that he did not know that he had married a sloven. This was the spark that set fire to the tow. She blazed at him with hot rage; he answered her with rage as hot. At last she asked him why he did not marry Caterina. She was as thin as a sick cat, God be thanked for it, but if she had been well and he had married her she would never have dropped a hair in the macaroni.
Giovanni was blind with rage. He leaped up from his chair, and, thrusting Niccola to one side, snatched up his hat and was gone. She staggered with the Niccola sat up upon the floor and brushed back the wisp of hair from her face. “I wish I were dead,” said she. “I love Giovanni with my whole heart, but I bring him misfortune. I grow angry with him without thinking, and then something is sure to happen to him. Last week it was one of the horses that died. This morning· it is the cow that has had the colic in the cowhouse and has just died. Giovanni sits at home in despair, and he hates me.”
“Tell him to kiss you,” said Signora Pisalli, “and he will do it. He is tied to you by magic, and he cannot help himself.”
“Never again shall I ask him to kiss me,” said Niccola. “He hates me, and I will not ask that, of him.”
“Well, then, go back home,” said the old woman, “for I think you are a fool. You have him tied tight to you and he is yours. That is something.”
So Niccola went back home again, but thrust he gave her and fell into a chair. She sat there looking after him when he quitted the house. She was horribly angry, and her eyes sparkled with green lire, and her breath came as from a blacksmith’s bellows. “May ill luck dog you!” she said. She sat there for a long time; then she recollected that her anger would bring evil upon them both, and she cried out, “Oh, God! I did not mean it!”
That evening Giovanni came stumbling into the house, his face white with despair. “I am ruined!” he cried. “A lot of my vines are dead and the rest are dying. I am a ruined man.”
Niccola screamed at his news. She flung an apron over her head and ran out of the house. She looked. Yes, the vines were dying, and several of them were already dead. They were fil
led with long, green bunches of grapes; but of some the leaves were dead and brown, and of many others they were yellow, shrivelled, and drooping.
She ran to her mother’s house and sat there weeping until it was time for her to get the dinner ready for Giovanni.
She went home. She found Giovanni sunk in the same chair into which he bad fallen an hour or two ago. But there was somebody there with him. It was the hired man, Carlo, and he was giving warning that he was going to leave.
“But why do you leave me?” said Giovanni, despairingly. “Why do you go? Is it because of me?”
“No, Signore,” said the man, turning his cap about and about in his hands and studying it as he did so.
Giovanni cleared his throat, but his voice was husky. There was a lump of sorrow in his windpipe. His back was turned to the door and he did not see that Niccola was there. “Is it — is it because of my wife?” said he.
The man saw Niccola from where he stood. “God forbid, Signore,” said he in great haste, and he lifted first one foot and then the other as though they stuck to the floor.
“Well,” said Giovanni, dropping his head, “if you will go, you will go. Get your dinner first, and then you shall go.”
“He shall have no dinner here!” said Niccola. “Carlo, you are a traitor to your master. Leave this house!”
Then Giovanni looked around and saw her. Her heart was bleeding for him. But she was burning with passion. Her cheeks were flaming, and her eyes were gleaming like those of a snake. Her brows were drawn straight across, and between them there was a line as deep as though carved with a knife.
Carlo muttered something about having no appetite. She made a gesture with her arms. “Go!” she cried, “and may ill luck or death follow you!” He slunk toward the door, making the sign of the horns behind her back. But the sign was made too late.
