Castellinaria, and Other Sicilian Diversions Part 29

"I do not know anyone called Poins," said Joe, "it is not a Sicilian name; but to think as other men think is as comfortable as a crown of martyrdom, and if it can be won without any martyrdom worth speaking of--why, so much the better."

I agreed, and went on: "And then there are the men who never think of religion or theology, but go to Ma.s.s to please their wives."

"Plenty of them," he said, "and by pleasing their wives they reap the reward of avoiding domestic friction, whereby they perform a miracle greater than removing Etna."

I thought of my poor mother who used to say:

"But, my dear, if you never go to church what hold have you over the servants?"

At the time, I remember, I pigeon-holed her problem among others that are still awaiting solution, and she died before I realised how well she had translated into the language of modern Bayswater the "Paris vaut bien une Messe" of Henri Quatre.

"If you want to see faith," said Peppino Di Gregorio, "why don't you stay and go to the festa of S. Alfio at Trecastagne? You might even see a miracle there."

It seems that when anyone is in hospital with a broken leg after an accident or suffering from any illness, especially hernia, he cries in his despair, making use of this form:

"O, S. Alfio! cure me of this illness, restore my broken leg or cure my hernia" (or as may be) "and for the love of my wife, of my children, of my mother" (or as may be) "I will run naked to Trecastagne and light a candle before your shrine."

After making this vow, the patient recovers and then he must not fail.

With any other saint there may be failure, but not with S. Alfio, for he is more powerful than the Madonna or than the Padre Eterno or than the Redeemer. He is the Padrone and performs miracles.

"But how long should I have to stay? When is this festa?"

It would not be till the 10th of May, nearly six weeks ahead, and that made it a matter requiring consideration and, as it was now half-past seven and dark, we had to leave off talking and start for the lava.

Those of our friends who had made the excursion before were delightful as company, but we hardly wanted them as guides, because the way was shown by hundreds of people who were returning, many of them carrying torches, and we only had to walk in the opposite direction. We also carried a light--the acetylene lamp off Ninu's bicycle, and it functioned as inefficiently as the bull's-eye lantern which Mr. Pickwick took with him on his nocturnal expedition at Clifton. The road was broad enough, but strewn with big lumps of lava lying half-hidden in lava sand. I stumbled frequently, but I never fell, because one of my friends was always at my elbow and caught me; either it was the brave brigadier or Alessandro or Joe or the other Peppino or that great hulking Ninu with his operatic smile lighted up by his fitful lamp. They took care of me all the way until, after about an hour, we turned into a vineyard, called the Contrada Fra Diavolo, and our progress was stopped by a sloping embankment over twenty feet high.

This was the broad nose of the stream of lava. It was coming towards us at about eighty feet an hour, but its velocity varies according to the slope of the ground and the cooling and consistency of the material. The course of the stream described a curve from the mouth to the place where we stood, and the width of it gradually increased until opposite us it was about a quarter of a mile broad. There was plenty of smoke, fiery with the light reflected from the glowing stream, and especially thick in the direction of the mouth. The lava was sluggish, viscous, heavy stuff, full of bubbles, pushing itself along and kneading itself like dough.

Red-hot boulders and shapeless lumps of all manner of sizes were continually losing their balance and rolling lazily down the slope towards us; as they rolled they disengaged little avalanches of rapid sparks, and when they reached the ground they sometimes fell against a vine stump and set it in a blaze for a moment. They said that this is Etna's cunning way of taking a gla.s.s of wine; he opens a mouth and consumes a vineyard. All the time there was a roaring noise like coals being thrown on the fire, only much louder, and the great sloping wall glowed in the places where open creva.s.ses left by the crumbling blocks had stirred it. It was too hot for us to go very near, nevertheless, my companions were not content to leave without bringing some pieces of lava away. They went towards it with canes which the vines will not want this year, unless the stream stops before it has broadened over the contrada, and with much difficulty and scorching, manipulated bits of red-hot lava until they had got them far enough away to deal with them, and then, balancing them on the end of two canes, they brought them to where I was resting near a doomed hut.

After spending an hour, fascinated by the spectacle, we returned by the sandy, rocky road to Nicolosi. While the carriage was being got ready, I said to Joe:

"You know, if I lived on the Slopes of Etna, close to such a sight as we have been contemplating, I think I should believe in the evil eye and S.

Alfio and everything else."

He a.s.sured me that it would not have any such effect unless, perhaps, during the periods of actual eruption--as soon as the eruption was over I should forget all about it.

"Do we not all live on the slopes of volcanoes?" asked Joe. "An eruption cannot do more than ruin you or kill you. And without coming to live on the Slopes of Etna you might be ruined or die at any moment. How do you know that you have not now in you the seeds of some fatal disease that will declare itself before you return home? Or you may be run over in the street or killed in a railway accident any day. And as for ruin, next time you look into an English newspaper you may see that all your investments have left off paying dividends and have gone down to an unsaleable price. Perhaps at this moment, in some Foreign Office, a despatch is being drafted that will lead to a declaration of war and the ruin of England and you with it. And yet you never worry about all this."

"Then perhaps I had better begin to believe in S. Alfio at once?"

"Especially if you are threatened with hernia."

"You said something about hernia before. What has hernia to do with it?"

I inquired.

"S. Alfio's first miracle was to cure one of his brothers of that complaint, which he had contracted while carrying a beam."

"But was not S. Alfio a medical man? Why do you call it a miracle when a medical man cures his patient? Have you been reading the plays of Moliere?"

"Who is Moliere?" asked one of them. "Did he write his plays in the Catanian dialect?"

It does not do to make these allusions when talking with Sicilians who are employed in the municipio. One might as well quote _Candide_ to some young schoolmaster who thinks the only thing worth knowing is the date of the Battle of Salamis. So I returned to S. Alfio and asked whether he always answers all prayers; they said the people believe he does or they hope he will. One of them, thinking I was inclined to scoff, rebuked me, saying:

"If you had been to Trecastagne and seen what I have seen, you would believe. I saw in the church there a dumb man. He tried to shout 'Viva S. Alfio,' but could only make inarticulate noises. The people encouraged him, and he went on trying till at last he said the words distinctly. I heard him say them. You are making a mistake in not going to Trecastagne. You might also behold a miracle and then you would believe as I do."

I thought of Geronte when his daughter recovers her speech in _Le Medecin Malgre Lui_ and wanted to ask how long this dumb man retained his miraculous power and whether his relations and friends were pleased about it and whether, after the novelty had worn off, they continued shouting "Viva S. Alfio." But I said nothing; I was afraid of confirming them in the notion that I was scoffing, whereas I was very much impressed; the influence of the stream of lava was still upon me and all that Joe had said about living on the slopes of volcanoes. And I was wondering whether I could manage to be back in Catania for the 10th of May and see the people running naked to Trecastagne. I was not anxious to go there myself, not because I should have had to run naked all the thirteen kilometres, they would have let me wear my clothes and drive in a painted cart, but because there is no albergo there and it would have meant being up all night. If S. Alfio had earned his reputation by restoring those who spend sleepless nights in the street, I might have given him a chance of exercising his power on me.

There is generally some way of doing anything one really wants to do, and by the time we were separating in Catania, at one o'clock in the morning I was promising to try to return in time for the Festa di S. Alfio.

CHAPTER XIX S. ALFIO

I was back in Catania before the 9th of May and began talking about S.

Alfio in the Teatro Machiavelli. One of the actors whose name is Volpes, the one who did the listening father in the play about Rosina and the good young man, is employed by day in the cathedral, his department being the bra.s.s-work; he is therefore something of a hagiologist. He was going on business to Lentini, which is situated to the south of Catania on the way to Siracusa, it is the place where the three saintly brothers were martyred, and there he bought for me a book--_Storia dei Martiri e della Chiesa di Lentini_, by Sebastiano Pisano Baudo (Lentini: Giuseppe Saluta, 1898)--from which I have collected particulars for this story of the Life of S. Alfio.

Towards the end of the first half of the third century after Christ, at Prefetta in Gascony, the wealthy and n.o.ble Prince Vitale lived a life of singular piety, united in matrimony to Benedetta di Locusta. Heaven had blessed them with three sons, Alfio born in 230, Filiberto born one year and eight months later and Cirino born one year and four months later again. Prefetta was not only in Gascony, it was also in Aquitaine, and, notwithstanding this, it was in Spain and also in the Abruzzi, which is a region of Italy between Naples and Taranto, if I understand correctly.

Owing to its unsettled habits geographers do not mark it on the maps, but they and the historians are agreed that it certainly existed, and perhaps it exists still, if only in a Castellinarian sense. The interesting point is that it was the birthplace of S. Alfio.

The n.o.ble and saintly Benedetta, having been brought up in the school of sacrifice, ardently desired to die for the faith. Her husband placed no obstacle in her way. She obtained an interview with the prefect, abused his G.o.ds and awaited the sentence which took the form of decapitation.

Prince Vitale after the death of his wife was free to consecrate himself to the education of his three sons. I expected to find that he had them taught medicine, surgery and chemistry, but there is not a word about any of these subjects. Evodio di Bisanzio, flying from country to country to avoid the persecution of Ma.s.simino, happened upon Prefetta; he was welcomed by Vitale, who appointed him tutor of his boys. Evodio was learned in the sacred sciences, the Greek fables and how to live rightly.

These were the subjects which he taught to his pupils. Alfio copied out the Books of the Prophets, Filiberto the Gospels and Cirino the Letters of S. Paul and the Acts of the Apostles. Thus they developed a manly spirit, angelic habits and an intelligence, a piety, a devotion which are the rare gifts of a few privileged souls.

Onesimo was their next tutor, a man of deep learning and a fervent missionary who came to Prefetta with a following of thirteen or fourteen disciples and boarded and lodged with Prince Vitale. He was more the kind of tutor Vitale wanted for his boys. Onesimo had no sympathy with flying from persecution; he took the view that it was not enough to copy the sacred Books, his pupils must know how to sacrifice their frail bodies for the glory of the Cross. He instructed them in the practical work of martyrdom.

In the year 249, Decio ascended the imperial throne and issued an edict against the Christians. Vitale and Onesimo heard of it and welcomed this opportunity for the three brothers who swore on the ashes of their mother that they would profit by it. They did not have to wait long.

Nigellione, the imperial minister, came to execute the decree. Onesimo and his pupils, in spite of tortures, professed their unalterable faith in the Cross and were sent to Rome together with fourteen other Christians. Vitale, being thus freed from all family responsibilities, exiled himself with his friends and awaited his end in a sacred retreat so retired that our author does not specify it.

In Rome, Onesimo and his band of Christians suffered tortures. While in prison S. Peter and S. Paul appeared to them, healed their wounds, exhorted them to persevere and promised ultimate victory. On the seventh day they were taken before Valeriano, the imperial minister. Failing, as Nigellione had failed, to shake their faith, he sent them with a letter to Diomede, Prince of Pozzuoli, telling him that if he could not win the captives over from their new faith he was to put to death Onesimo and the fourteen disciples by means of fierce tortures, and to send Alfio, Filiberto and Cirino into Sicily to be dealt with according to instructions contained in another letter addressed to the crafty Tertullo, Governor of Sicily, at Lentini.

Diomede carried out his instructions. The Christians all refused to sacrifice to the false G.o.ds. Onesimo died in consequence of an unusually large stone being placed upon his chest, the fourteen disciples were decapitated and Alfio, Filiberto and Cirino were handed over to fifty soldiers under Captain Silvano, a man of a proud and cruel nature, and taken in a ship to Messina.

The voyage occupied three days; they reposed in Messina for two hours and then, chained together and barefooted, proceeded to Taormina, where Tertullo happened to be hunting for Christians, and to him Captain Silvano delivered the letter from Valeriano. Tertullo's instructions were to make the most of his attractive appearance and his agreeable manners and by means of cajolery to persuade the three holy brethren to sacrifice to the G.o.ds of Rome; in case of failure he was to cause them to suffer many and various tortures and then to deprive them of their lives.

Tertullo concocted a scheme worthy of the devil. No sooner were the youths brought into his presence than he a.s.sumed the appearance of an affectionate father, embraced them and inquired sympathetically about their parents and their home. On their telling him they were Christians he endeavoured, with apparent kindness, to turn them from a faith which had brought them nothing but suffering. He promised that if they would sacrifice to the G.o.ds of Rome they should enjoy the pleasures of a court life. But there was none of the _Paris vaut bien une Messe_ about the sons of the saintly Benedetta. They spurned his promises and continued to declare themselves firm believers in the true Cross. Tertullo, defeated and angry, thereupon showed himself in his true colours; he dropped the affectionate parent and ordered the brothers to be tortured.

He then sent them with Captain Mercurio and a squadron of forty soldiers to Lentini to await his return to that city.

At Mascali they were fatigued, especially Filiberto, who almost succ.u.mbed. They prayed to the Omnipotent and, before they had risen from their knees, the azure heavens became obscured, the wind blew, the thunder roared, the lightning flashed and there was a great rain. The forty soldiers fell upon their faces, frightened nearly to death, and in the tempest onward came a venerable man, believed by all who saw him to be S. Andrea. This personage restored the youths; whereupon the rain ceased, the clouds dispersed, the heavens smiled again and the forty soldiers rose from the ground declaring that the G.o.d worshipped by their prisoners must be more powerful than they had supposed.

In those days the usual road from Taormina to Lentini pa.s.sed along by the seash.o.r.e, but Captain Mercurio took the three brothers by an inland route pa.s.sing through Trecastagni, perhaps because the road by the sh.o.r.e was enc.u.mbered with lava from an eruption of Etna which occurred in the year 251 or 252. When I came to this I thought of Diodorus Siculus and the second Punic war, but I repressed the suspicion that the compiler of the story was consciously borrowing a bit of local colour in order to get S.

Alfio to Trecastagni in a picturesque manner.

It was the end of August or the beginning of September in the year 252 when the three saints reached Trecastagni. Here they sat on a rock which diversified the uniformity of the landscape, partook of food and reposed.

Exhilarated by a laughing sky of rarest beauty, the holy brethren unloosed their tongues and sang hymns of joy and praise to the Lord for that he had given them the strength and spirit to face their antic.i.p.ated martyrdom. On the spot where they reposed now stands the parish church of Trecastagni.

The three saints proceeded to Catania, where they pa.s.sed an uncomfortable night singing hymns in an obscure prison, and at daybreak were taken on towards Lentini. The river Simeto was in flood owing to the recent abundant rain, which is perhaps a reference to the storm at Mascali; as soon as the saints put their feet in the stream it shrank and they pa.s.sed over. Eight of the soldiers attempted to follow in their footsteps, but a sudden rush of water engulfed them together with their horses; this danger caused the remaining thirty-two soldiers to stay where they were, and they patiently waited four days till they were fetched by their comrades who, I suppose, had got over the river and employed the time in drying their uniforms and recovering from their wetting, but at first I feared they had been drowned.