In touching the serpent that was wrapped around his neck instead of a cravat, Beppo was taken with an indescribable fear. He would like to have screamed, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His feet trembled so that he could hardly walk. Not being able to longer stand upright, he fell on the ground like a rag, saying with a thread of voice, “I die.”
“What do you feel?” asked his father, dismayed.
“A great illness.”
“Where do you feel it?”
“All over my body.”
“What illness is it?”
“It is the illness of fear.”
“An ugly illness, truly, my child. A unique sickness for which the doctors have not yet found a cure. Try to be brave.”
“I have tried.”
“Now how do you feel?”
“Worse than before.”
“But what is the reason for this fear?”
“A great misfortune is going to happen to me.”
“And how do you know that?”
“In a few moments I have had many signs. Do you remember my nice new boots stuck in the mud? And the coat and trousers caught on the thorn? And the shirt become suddenly a shirt of nettles? And the serpent that has just escaped? The serpent is always there, always there! Look there!”
“Where?”
“There!”
Beppo’s father turned to look at the indicated point and he truly saw in the darkness of the night a large serpent that shone with a reddish light, as if it might be a crystal serpent with a body like a lamp in a tramway. With his head erect, the serpent fixed its eyes on those of the little monkey.
“What do you want with me?” asked Beppo, with the courage of a lion.
“I come to bring you salutations from Mr. Alfred,” replied the serpent.
“Poor Mr. Alfred! Has he gone on his voyage?”
“He went a few minutes ago, and he told me that you promised to go with him.”
“’Tis true, ’tis true, ’tis true! To-morrow I shall go, and I hope to meet him on the high seas.”
“Let us hope so, truly! Remember, however, little monkey, that, when one makes a promise, he ought to keep it! Do you understand?”
Scarcely had the serpent said these words when he disappeared in the dark.
Then Beppo, tormented in his heart by a species of remorse, was nearly on the point of saying good-bye to his father and of taking the shortest road to the sands by the sea; but, while he was on the point of deciding, he saw far away burning torches moving here and there, and he heard light music of fifes, drums, and mandolins.
“What is that music, and what are those lights?” he asked, greatly surprised.
“What! Can’t you guess?”
“No.”
“Your brothers are coming to meet you with a torch-light procession.”
“Oh, what pleasure! Oh, what a beautiful spectacle! Let us run, papa, let us run!”
Both began to run along the road. Beppo, who had regained in a second the force in his thin and quick legs, not only ran, but it seemed as if he flew like a bird.
Who will give me words adapted to describe the scene of meeting? Believe me, it was a scene so affectionate that it is impossible to imagine it without having seen it with your very eyes. It is enough to say that the happiness of the four brothers, in seeing their little brother who, they thought, had been forever lost, was so tempestuous and excessive that they jumped all over him, and it is a wonder they did not smother him with their flood of kisses, embracings, and caresses.
When they had exhausted the affection of their hearts, they commenced to cry in chorus, “Curaca, curaca, curaca!”—in the familiar dialect of monkeys, you must know, little reader, that “curaca” means “to supper, to supper, to supper!” No sooner said than done. They seated themselves on the ground around a large basket of peaches, of apricots, and of Indian figs; and there, laughing and scratching themselves, and making with their mouths a thousand grimaces and a thousand distortions in sign of great happiness, they ate until they could hold no more, just as if they had fasted for two weeks. And not only did they eat, but they drank. And they drank so much grape juice that they all slept and snored like so many dormice.
Suddenly they were awakened by a horrible voice that said, “Woe to him that moves!”