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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302 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST ’
questioningly. “It is well if it is only pride,” says
Passafiore.
But now they look away at the same moment, and
dare say no more. The same thought, the same
dread has seized them both. Falco is going mad.
He is already mad at times. It is always so with
great brigand chiefs; they cannot bear their glory
and their greatness; they all go mad.
Passafiore and Biagio have seen it for a long time,
but they have borne it in silence, and each has
hoped that the other has seen nothing. Now they
understand that they both know it. They press
each other’s hands without a word. There is still
something so great in Falco. Both of them,
Passafiore and Biagio, will take care that no one shall
perceive that he is no longer the man he was.
Finally Falco has his wreath ready; he hangs it
on the barrel of his gun and comes out to the
others. All three climb out of the quarry, and at
the nearest farm-house they take horses in order to
come quickly to the top of Mongibello.
They ride at full gallop so that they have no
chance to talk, but as they pass the different farms
they can see the people dancing on the flat roofs.
And from the sheds, where the laborers sleep at
night, they hear talk and laughter. There happy,
peaceful people are sitting, guessing conundrums
and matching verses. Falco storms by, such things
are not for him. Falco is a great man.
They gallop towards the summit. At first they
ride between almond-trees and cactus, then under
plane-trees and stone-pines, then under oaks and
chestnut-trees.
The night is dark; they see nothing of the
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