Note: Translator Pauline Bancroft Flach died in 1966, less than 70 years ago. Therefore, this work is protected by copyright, restricting your legal rights to reproduce it. However, you are welcome to view it on screen, as you do now. Read more about copyright.
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THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE ’ 111
from innumerable hosts, and they filled the air like
dark-winged dragons, and vomited forth rain, and
breathed mists and darkness. It grew so thick
over Diamante that one could scarcely see across
the street. The dampness dripped from
everything; the floor was as wet as the roof, the
doorposts and balustrades were covered with drops, the
fog stood and quivered in the passage-ways and
rooms, until one would have thought them full of
smoke.
That very morning, at an early hour, before the
rain had begun, a rich English lady started in her
big travelling-carriage to make the trip round Etna.
But when she had driven a few hours a terrible
rain began, and everything was wrapped in mist.
As she did not wish to miss seeing any of the
beautiful district through which she was travelling, she
determined to drive to the nearest town and to stay
there until the storm was over. That town was
Diamante.
The Englishwoman was a Miss Tottenham, and
it was she who had moved into the Palazzo Palmeri
at Catania. Among all the other things she brought
with her in her trunks was the Christ image, upon
which Donna Micaela had called the evening before.
For that image, which was now both old and
mishandled, she always carried with her, in memory of
an old friend who had left her her wealth.
It seemed as if San Pasquale had known what a
great miracle-worker the image was, for it was as if
he wished to greet him. Just as Miss Tottenham’s
travelling-carriage drove in through Porta Etnea,
the bells began to ring on San Pasquale’s church.
They rang afterwards all day quite by themselves.
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