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Overview
This groundbreaking work of fiction offers a revealing look at the social and political climate in post-revolutionary Italy. Verga combines lyrical prose and inspiring social commentary to chronicle the poverty suffered by provincial Sicilian communities after Garibaldi's conquest. Rich in character and starkly honest, The House by the Medlar Tree offers a life-affirming story of misfortunes endured with humor and courage.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780486803944 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Dover Publications |
| Publication date: | 03/09/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 272 |
| File size: | 681 KB |
About the Author
Italian realist writer Giovanni Carmelo Verga (1840–1922) is best known for depictions of life in his native Sicily. He adapted his short story "Cavalleria Rusticana" ("Rustic Chivalry") for the theater, and the work later served as the basis for Mascagni's opera.
Read an Excerpt
The House by the Medlar Tree
By Giovanni Verga
Dover Publications, Inc.
Copyright © 2015 Giovanni VergaAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-486-80394-4
CHAPTER 1
The Malavoglia had once been as numerous as the stones on the old Trezza road. There had been Malavoglia at Ognina and Aci Castello; all good, honest, sea-going folk, just the opposite of what their name implied. In the parish register they were actually called Toscano, but that didn't mean a thing, because for generations, in fact ever since the world began, they had been known at Ognina, Trezza and Aci Castello as Malavoglia, and they had always had boats at sea and their own roof over their heads. But now all that was left of them was old Master 'Ntoni's family, who lived in the house by the medlar tree at Trezza and owned the Provvidenza, which was drawn up on the river bed below the public wash-place, near Uncle Cola's Concetta and Master Fortunato Cipolla's Carmela, which was a bigger boat.
The storms which had scattered the other Malavoglia to the four winds had done no very great harm to the house by the medlar tree or to the boat drawn up below the public wash-place; and Master 'Ntoni, to explain the miracle, would show his clenched fist, which looked as though it were made of walnut, and say: "To manage an oar the five fingers of the hand have to help one another."
He used also to say: "Men are like the fingers of the hand; the thumb must play the thumb's part, and the little finger must play the little finger's part."
Master 'Ntoni's family really was arranged like the fingers of the hand. First came the thumb, himself, who arranged all the feasts and festivals; next his son Bastiano, called Bastianazzo, because he was as huge and burly as the St. Christopher painted under the arch of the fish-market at Catania; big and burly though he was, it never entered his head to question anything his father said; he wouldn't even blow his nose without his father's permission; and when he had been told to take La Longa as his wife, he had taken her without a moment's hesitation. Next came La Longa, a little woman who stuck to weaving, salting anchovies and bearing children, like the good housewife that she was. Then came the grandchildren. The eldest was 'Ntoni, a great lout of twenty, who was always getting cuffed by his grandfather, and sometimes kicked as well, to restore his balance in case the cuff had been too hard. Next came Luca, who, his grandfather used to say, had more sense than his big brother, and then Mena, short for Filomena, who was nicknamed St. Agatha, because she was always at her loom. As the saying is, woman at the loom, hen in the coop, and mullet in January! After Mena came Alessio, or Alessi for short, who was the very image of his grandfather, though he hadn't learned yet how to blow his own nose; and last of all Lia, short for Rosalia, who was neither fish nor flesh nor good red herring yet. When they filed into church on Sunday it looked like a procession.
Old Master 'Ntoni remembered many sayings and proverbs that he had learnt from his elders, because, as he said, what the old folks said was always true. One of his sayings was: "You can't sail a boat without a helmsman." Another was: "You must learn to be sexton before you can be Pope." Another was: "Do the job you know; if you don't make money, at least you'll make a living." And another: "Be satisfied to do what your father did, or you'll come to no good." And he had many other sensible sayings as well.
That was why the house by the medlar tree prospered, and Master 'Ntoni passed at Trezza for a prudent and long-sighted man, and he would have been made a councillor of the commune if Don Silvestro, the communal secretary, who was a wily one, had not gone about telling everybody that he was a rotten reactionary, of the kind that favoured the Bourbons, and was plotting for the return of King Bomba's son, in order to be able to boss the village just as he ruled the roost at home.
As a matter of fact Master 'Ntoni didn't even know King Bomba's son by sight, but always looked after his own affairs. "The head of a household can't go to sleep when he likes," he used to say. "The man in charge has to give an account of his stewardship."
In December, 1863, 'Ntoni, the eldest of the grandchildren, was called up for service in the navy. Master 'Ntoni went to see all the village bigwigs about it, all the people able to pull strings. But Don Giammaria, the parish priest, told him he must put up with it, because it was the consequence of the diabolical revolution that had happened when the tricolour handkerchief had been hoisted on the church tower. Master 'Ntoni next went to see Don Franco, the chemist, who started chuckling in his big beard and rubbing his hands, and swore that if they ever succeeded in setting up a republic all taxation and conscription officials would be done away with immediately, because there would be no more army or navy any more, and if necessary the whole people would go out to fight for their country. At this Master 'Ntoni begged and implored Don Franco for the love of heaven to start his republic quickly, before his grandson 'Ntoni was sent for, as though Don Franco kept a republic up his sleeve; and the conversation ended with the chemist's losing his temper. Don Silvestro, the communal secretary, roared with laughter at all this, and ended by saying that by greasing the palm of certain people whom he knew they might be able to find something wrong with his grandson and get him exempted. Unfortunately he was a fine, big, strapping lad, of the kind they still turn out at Aci Trezza, and when he went for his medical the doctor told him that all that was wrong with him was that he was planted as solid as a pillar on two great feet that looked like the leaves of a prickly-pear tree. But in some weathers feet like that are better than a smart pair of town boots for standing on the deck of a cruiser, so they took 'Ntoni without so much as a by-your-leave. When the conscripts went to report to the barracks at Catania, La Longa trotted breathlessly beside her long-striding son, and kept telling him always to wear the scapulary of the Virgin Mary round his neck, and if he ever met an acquaintance who was coming back to the village he must send back a letter by him, and they would forward him the money to pay for the notepaper.
His grandfather, being a man, kept silent, but he had a lump in his throat too, and he avoided looking at his daughter-in-law, as though he had quarrelled with her. They walked back to Trezza in silence, with heads bent. Bastianazzo, who had been out fishing, hurriedly tidied up the boat and went to meet them at the top of the road; but when he saw them like that, carrying their boots, he had no spirit to open his mouth either, but walked back home with them in silence. La Longa promptly vanished into the kitchen, as though she were in an enormous hurry to be alone again with her old pots and pans, and Master 'Ntoni said to his son: "Go and say something to the poor thing; she's very upset."
Next day they all went to the station at Aci Castello to see the train with the conscripts going through to Messina. They had to wait for more than an hour, squeezed in the crowd outside the railings; but at last the train came in, with the poor boys hanging their heads out of the windows, just like cattle being taken to market, and waving. What with the singing and the laughter and the din, it was just like the fair at Trecastagni. In the noise and excitement of all those people you nearly forgot the pang you felt in your heart. "Good-bye, 'Ntoni!" "Good-bye, mother!" "Good-bye, don't forget! Don't forget!" A few feet away from them, by the edge of the road, was Mother Tudda's Sara, mowing hay for their calf, but Venera Zuppidda whispered to everybody that the girl had really come to wave good-bye to Master 'Ntoni's 'Ntoni, who had often spoken to Sara over the garden wall; Venera Zuppidda had seen them with her own eyes, as true as she was born. At all events 'Ntoni waved to Sara, and Sara stood with her hook in her hand and watched the train until it left. La Longa felt as if 'Ntoni's wave of the hand to Mother Tudda's Sara had been stolen from her; and for a long time afterwards she always turned her back on Sara when she met her in the village square or at the wash-place.
Then the whistle blew and the train moved out, and the noise drowned the singing and the good-byes. The crowd of onlookers scattered, leaving only a few old cronies and idlers clinging to the railings without quite knowing why. Then they started drifting away too, and Master 'Ntoni, guessing that his daughter-in-law must have an unpleasant taste in her mouth, bought her two centesimi worth of lemon water.
To comfort La Longa, Venera Zuppidda kept saying to her: "Now set your heart at rest, because for five years you must act as though your son were dead, and you mustn't think about him."
But in the house by the medlar tree they went on thinking about him. La Longa was reminded of him every time she laid the table and found one plate extra under her hand. There was a particular kind of running bowline for securing the sheet that 'Ntoni could tie better than anyone else; and they missed him when they had to pull on a rope as taut as a violin-string, or haul the Provvidenza to her moorings—a job for which you really needed a winch, "This is where we need 'Ntoni!" his grandfather would exclaim, panting with exertion. "Do you think I've got the wrist that that lad has?" And the rhythm of her loom reminded 'Ntoni's mother of the rhythm of the engine that had drawn him away from her, and of the dismay with which it had filled her—dismay that still pounded rhythmically in her heart.
His grandfather had a number of strange arguments to comfort himself and the family with. "Do you want to know what I really think?" he'd say. "A little discipline will do the lad good; he used to prefer going out and enjoying himself on Sundays to using his hands to earn a living"; or: "After he has discovered the bitter taste of bread away from home, he won't complain any more about the meals he gets when he comes back!"
Eventually 'Ntoni's first letter arrived from Naples and set the whole village in a commotion. He said that in Naples the women wore long, silk skirts which swept the pavement, and that there was a Pulcinella show on the jetty and that pizze, the kind that gentlefolk ate, were on sale at two centesimi each, and that it wasn't at all like Trezza, where there was no way of spending a farthing unless you went to Santuzza's tavern; at Naples, he said, you couldn't possibly manage without money. "Are we to send the young glutton money to spend on pizze?" his grandfather grumbled. "But it's not his fault, it's the way he's made; he's just like a mullet, which would even swallow a rusty nail. If I hadn't held him in my arms at his christening, I should have sworn that Don Giammaria had put sugar in his mouth instead of salt!"
At the wash-place, when Mother Tudda's Sara was there, the Mangiacarrubbe girl said: "The ladies dressed in silk were just waiting for Master 'Ntoni's 'Ntoni, of course! They had never seen a pumpkin in that part of the world before!"
The others all held their sides with laughter; after that all the girls who were sour and on the shelf used to refer to 'Ntoni as the Pumpkin.
'Ntoni also sent his photograph home, and all the girls at the wash-place saw it, because Mother Tudda's Sara passed it round—the girls all passed it to each other under their aprons—and the Mangiacarrubbe girl was livid with jealousy. He looked like the Archangel Michael in flesh and blood. With his feet standing on a carpet and a curtain behind his head, like the one in the picture of the Madonna at Ognina, he looked so handsome and clean and sleek that even the mother who bore him wouldn't have recognised him. Poor La Longa never tired of gazing at the carpet and the curtain and the pillar against which her son was standing as stiff as a poker, with his hand resting on the back of a beautiful armchair; and she thanked God and the saints for placing him in the midst of such elegance. She kept the picture on the chest of drawers, under the glass dome with the statue of the Good Shepherd to whom she told her beads, and she thought she had a treasure there on the chest of drawers, or so Venera Zuppidda said, and Sister Mariangela la Santuzza had another one just like it, in case anybody wanted to see it—it had been sent her by Mariano Cinghialenta, and it was kept nailed up on the counter at the tavern, behind the bottles.
But after some time 'Ntoni found himself a friend who could write, and then he started complaining about the horrors of life on board ship, and the discipline, and his superiors, and the over-cooked soup and the tight boots. Master 'Ntoni complained that a letter like that wasn't worth the twenty centesimi for the stamp, and La Longa grumbled at the writing, which reminded her of fish-hooks, and complained that 'Ntoni couldn't say anything good about anything. Bastianazzo shook his head and said no, it wasn't right, and if it had been himself, he'd always have put cheerful things in his letters, to make people laugh and be cheerful. As he said this he pointed a finger as huge as the pin of a rowlock at the letter—if only out of sympathy for poor La Longa, who couldn't reconcile herself to her boy's being away, and behaved just like a cat that has lost its kittens. Master 'Ntoni went off secretly and had the letter read to him by the chemist, and then as a check he had it read to him all over again by Don Giammaria, whose way of thinking was diametrically opposite, and, when he felt convinced that he really knew what the letter said, he went over it again with his son and daughter-in-law.
"Didn't I say that the lad should have been born rich, like Master Cipolla's son, so that he could spend his whole time scratching his belly without doing anything?" he said.
Meanwhile it was a bad year, and now that Christians had learned to eat meat on Fridays, just as though they were Turks, the only thing left to do with fish was to give it away as alms for the souls of the dead; and on top of it there were not enough hands left to manage the boat now, and sometimes they had to hire Menico della Locca or someone else to help them out. What the King did was this. As soon as a lad grew fit to earn a living he took him away and made him a conscript; but while he was still young and a burden to his family, the family had all the trouble of bringing him up. And what for? Just to have him turned into a soldier or a sailor; and there was also the fact that Mena had just turned seventeen, and was starting to make the boys turn and look at her when she went to mass. Man is fire and woman straw; and the devil comes and blows on them. To keep the boat and the house by the medlar tree going was no light task.
To help out, Master 'Ntoni had arranged a deal with Uncle Crocifisso, who was known as Dumbbell. Master 'Ntoni arranged to buy some lupins on credit from Uncle Crocifisso and to sell them at Riposto, where Cinghialenta said there was a ship from Trieste looking for cargo. Actually the lupins were somewhat the worse for wear; but there were no others at Trezza, and sly old Dumbbell knew that the Provvidenza was moored idly below the wash-place, uselessly eating up sun and water, so he held out for his price. "All right," he said, "if you don't like it, don't take it, but in all conscience I can't take a centesimo less, as sure as I have a soul for which I shall have to answer to God," and he shook his head, which really looked like a bell without a clapper. This conversation took place outside the church door at Ognina on the first Sunday in September, which was the feast of the Virgin Mary, to which a big crowd had come from all the neighbouring villages. Piedipapera was there too, and he succeeded by his jokes and witticisms in getting them to agree on a price of two onze and ten a salma, to be paid off on the "never-never" system at so much a month. That's the way it always ended with Uncle Crocifisso—you had to bully and cajole him to get him to agree, because he had the terrible failing of not being able to say no. "You see! You can't say no even when you ought to!" Piedipapera said with a grin.
La Longa heard about the deal while they were all sitting with their arms on the table, talking after dinner, and it took her breath away; an enormous sum like forty onze was too much for her. But women have no courage for business, and Master 'Ntoni had to explain that if all went well the deal would mean bread for the whole winter, as well as earrings for Mena; Bastiano would go to Riposto with Menico della Locca, and they would be back in a week. Bastiano snuffed the candle without saying a word. That was how the lupin deal and the Provvidenza's voyage was decided on. The Provvidenza was the oldest of the village boats, but she had the reputation of being lucky. Maruzza still felt sick at heart, but she said nothing, because it was not her business, and she quietly set about tidying the boat and getting everything ready for the voyage—she put the fur-lined coat under the stretcher, and bread, a jar full of oil, and onions in the locker.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The House by the Medlar Tree by Giovanni Verga. Copyright © 2015 Giovanni Verga. Excerpted by permission of Dover Publications, Inc..
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