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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224 THE MIR A CLES OF ANTICHRIST
and Brother Tommaso, who came with their violins
under their arms and felt their way to their usual
places, as quietly as if they had never had any
disagreement with Don Antonio.
The door opened again. It was an old woman
from the alley above the house of the little Moor.
She was dressed in black, and made the sign of the
cross as she came in.
After her came four, five other old women; and
Donna Micaela looked at them almost resentfully,
as they gradually filled the theatre. She knew that
Don Antonio would not be satisfied till he had his
own public back again, —till he had his self-willed,
beloved boys to play for.
Suddenly she heard a hurricane or thunder. The
doors flew open, —all at the same time! It was the
boys. They threw themselves down in their usual
places, as if they had come back to their home.
They looked at one another, a little ashamed.
But it had been impossible for them to see one old
woman after another go into their theatre to see
what was being played for them. It had been quite
impossible to see the whole street full of old
distaff-spinners in slow procession toward the theatre, and
so they had rushed in.
But hardly had the gay young people reached their
places before they noticed that they had come under
a severe master. Ah, “ The Old Martyrdom,” “ The
Old Martyrdom!”
It was not given as in Aci and in Castelbuoco;
it was not played as at the opera in Palermo; it was
only played with miserable marionettes with
immovable faces and stiff bodies; but the old play had not
lost its power.
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