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Words: 78960 in 41 pages
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PART I
Everywhere in the country round, the wild Sardinian spring was on its death-bed; the flowers of the asphodel, the golden balls of the broom were dropping; the roses showed pale in the thickets, the grass was already yellow; a hot odour of hay perfumed the heavy air. The Milky Way and the distant splendour of the horizon, which seemed a band of far off sea, made the night clear as twilight. The dark blue heaven and its stars were reflected in the scanty waters of the river. On its bank, Ol? found two of her little brothers looking for crickets.
"Go home this moment!" she said, in her beautiful, still childish voice.
"No!" replied one of the little fellows.
"Then you won't see the heavens burst to-night. Good children on the night of St John see the heavens open, and then they can look into Paradise, and see the Lord, and the angels, and the Holy Spirit. What you'll see is a hobgoblin if you don't go straight back home!"
"All right," said the elder, impressed; and though the other protested, he allowed himself to be led away.
Ol?, however, went on; beyond the river, beyond the path, beyond the dark copse of wild olive. Here and there she stooped over some plant, which she tied with her scarlet ribbons; then straightened herself and scanned the night with the sharp gaze of her cat-like eyes, her heart beating with anxiety, with fear, and with joy.
The fragrant night invited to love, and Ol? was in love. She was fifteen, and on the excuse of "signing the flowers of St John," she was making her way to a love-tryst.
"Then what?" asked Ol? half sceptical, raising her eyes, which reflected the green of the surrounding landscape.
Ol? laughed softly. She was still a little ironical, but flattered and happy. Behind the ruin, hidden in the thicket, her two little brothers were whistling to lure a sparrow. No other human voice, no human step was heard in the whole green immensity. The young man's arm slipped round Ol?'s waist. He drew her to him and closed her eyes with kisses.
The girl's mother had, it seemed, been just such another ardent and fantastic woman.
"She was of well-to-do family," explained Ol?, "and had titled relations. They wanted to marry her to an old man who had a great deal of land. My grandfather, my mother's father, was a poet. He could improvise three or four songs in one evening, and the songs were so beautiful that when he sang them in the street everybody got them by heart. Oh yes! my grandfather was a very great poet! I know some of his poetry myself. My mother taught it to me. Let me repeat some to you."
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