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 Xtttle pilgrimages Series 
 
 Among English Inns . . $2.00 
 
 By Josephine Tozier 
 Susan in Sicily . . . $2.00 
 
 By Josephine Tozier 
 Among Bavarian Inns . . $2.00 
 
 By Frank Roy Fraprie 
 The Italian Lakes . . . $2.00 
 
 By W. D. McCrackan 
 The Fair Land Tyrol . . $2.00 
 
 By W. D. McCrackan 
 Among French Inns . . . $2.00 
 
 By Charles Gibson 
 Among Old New England Inns . $2.00 
 
 By Mary Caroline Crawford 
 St. Botolph's Town: An Account of 
 Old Boston in Colonial Days $2.50 
 
 By Mary Caroline Crawford 
 From Cairo to the Cataract . $2.50 
 
 By Blanche M. Carson 
 The Spell of Italy . . . $2.50 
 By Caroline Atwater Mason 
 
 J* 
 
 L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY 
 
 New England Building 
 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
THE ERUPTION OF MOUNT ETNA, MAY, 1908, FROM TAORMINA. 
 
SUSAN IN 
 
 SICILY 
 
 HER ADVENTURES AND THOSE OF HER FRIENDS m 
 
 DURING THEIR TRAVELS AND SOJOURNS IN THE j^ 
 
 GARDEN OF THE MEDITERRANEAN '& 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPHINE TOZIER 
 
 Aothob of " Among English Inns 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY 
 BOSTON * * * MDCCCCX 
 
«4» 
 
 Copyright, 1910, 
 By L. C. Page & Company 
 
 (INCORPOBATED) 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 First Impression, February, 1910 
 
 Blectrotyped and Printed by 
 THE COLONIAL PRESS 
 C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A. 
 
 ©C1.A259188 
 
To my friend 
 
 (BtKtt SDabts 38arne* 
 
 In remembrance of the hours in Sicily, and the 
 
 adventures here recorded, this book 
 
 is affectionately dedicated 
 
 by the author 
 
JJrrfar* 
 
 The letters collected in this little volume 
 were written during a stay of several months 
 in Sicily. 
 
 It is possible that my critics may find — 
 and very justly so — that these letters lack 
 elegance, distinction, or picturesqueness of 
 style; that Susan's pen failed in ability to 
 paint with sufficient warmth the vivid setting 
 of her adventures. She bows modestly to their 
 wholesome teaching, which she both recog- 
 nizes and appreciates. It is for this reason 
 that she presumes to tell them that every in- 
 cident here related is a picture from actual 
 life, and the major number of the situations 
 of which she has written came directly within 
 her experience. The others were told her at 
 first hand. Naturally, the names, dates, and 
 exact localities are changed. The supplemen- 
 tary letter concerning the earthquake is a free 
 translation of the authentic description given 
 by the young wife of an officer, who lived 
 through those days and nights of horror. 
 
 The master hand, which has drawn with 
 
 vii 
 
viii Preface 
 
 strong pen strokes vivid pictures of this land 
 and its race, belongs to their own Verga. 
 Who reads his Novelle knows Sicily! 
 
 The contrasts the Sicilians present of gen- 
 tleness and ferocity; of courtesy and violence; 
 of serious intelligence and crass ignorance, 
 will ever make them a study as interesting as 
 it is puzzling. 
 
 In the long life of the race there has been 
 more suffering than satisfaction. They have 
 been crushed by ruthless conquerors and by 
 the heartlessness of their own nobles, they 
 have been oppressed by grasping land own- 
 ers; and to the cruelty of man, Nature has 
 joined the fury of her forces! 
 
 Among these sad-eyed Sicilians it is even 
 now only the few,, not the many, who can real- 
 ize that the world means them well, and that 
 in submission to the laws of the country with 
 which they have joined forces, lies their fu- 
 ture salvation. 
 
 Bathed in sunshine; clothed in luxury of 
 fruit and flower; rich in unrivalled treasures 
 of archaeology; its very charm, its fascina- 
 tion, and above all the stubborn resistance of 
 progress, represented by the tragically stupid 
 Mafia, forces from the heart the cry " Poor 
 Sicily!" 
 
 Florence, 1910. 
 
Hist of aiUtsirattoits 
 
 PAGB 
 
 The Eruption of Mount Etna, May, 1908, from 
 
 Taormina Frontispiece 
 
 Monte Pellegrino and the Port of Palermo . 21 
 
 Loafers, Palermo 27 
 
 The Villa Trabia, Bagherta 34 
 
 The Temple of Juno, Girgenti 51 
 
 A Four-footed Guardian, Girgenti .... 54 
 The Great Harbour and Modern Syracuse from 
 
 the Greek Theatre 63 
 
 In the Depths of the Latomia, Syracuse . . 66 
 
 The Crest of Mount Etna 73 
 
 At the Door of San Giovanni, Syracuse . . 75 
 
 A Modern Syracusan ....... 77 
 
 Almond Trees . .89 
 
 Mount Etna from Taormina 107 
 
 A Doorway in Taormina Ill 
 
 The Main Street, Taormina 114 
 
 The Stage of the Greek Theatre, Taormina . 120 
 
 The Catania Gate, Taormina 130 
 
 The Market-place, Taormina 135 
 
 The Piazza, Taormina 155 
 
x List of Illustrations 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Cappuccini Monastery, Taormina . . . 157 
 
 In the Cloister of San Domenico, Taormina . 168 
 
 A Courtyard, Taormina 173 
 
 Messina 180 
 
 The Entrance to the Cathedral, Messina . . 182 
 
 A Typical Sicilian Donkey-cart .... 213 
 " Wretched horses . . . being forced on their 
 
 way" 216 
 
 A Sicilian Street Vendor 219 
 
 " Fat little puppy dogs played under our feet " 222 
 
 Terrace on the Marina 249 
 
 Palermo and Monte Cuccio 274 
 
 At the Height of the Eruption .... 319 
 
 After the Eruption 327 
 
g>UMtt tn girilij 
 
 Beloved Sister Betsy: — Aunt Anne has 
 been ordered to Sicily for the winter! you 
 know what that means. When Aunt Anne is 
 ordered anywhere it is because she chooses to 
 go. 
 
 Upon hearing the good news I went soberly 
 into my own room, and, after executing a pas 
 seul which would earn my fortune on the stage, 
 I am writing this brief but joyful letter to my 
 demure little housewife sister in America. 
 
 Presently I shall be off through the dark- 
 ness and fog of London's worst December 
 weather to buy tickets, select a stock of litera- 
 ture, and otherwise prepare for departure next 
 Tuesday. 
 
 Rapturously, 
 
 Susan. 
 l 
 
Susan in Sicily 
 
 II 
 
 London. 
 
 Darling Betsy: — The tickets are on my 
 desk. I have hardly had time to think since 
 my last scribble, for day after to-morrow we 
 set forth on our travels ; but I must write you, 
 even if I sit up all night to accomplish a letter. 
 
 Aunt Anne hates enthusiasm as you know, 
 consequently, had I not you for a safety valve, 
 I feel sure I would be put off at Gibraltar and 
 sent home in disgrace. We are going by water 
 to Italy: by one of the North German Lloyd 
 boats, and therefore I am to see Gibraltar! 
 But don't be impatient with me ! I promise to 
 write quite rationally the history of my ad- 
 ventures as they unfold, and I shall begin at 
 the beginning as you always do. 
 
 Aunt, when she announced her intention to 
 pass the winter in Sicily, likewise declared that 
 I must look after all arrangements and keep 
 the accounts. 
 
 " At twenty-four," she concluded impress- 
 ively, " you should think of something more 
 
Susan in Sicily 
 
 serious than your amusements and good looks." 
 Hence this unusual attention to the practical 
 business details of travel to which I beg you 
 will give your admiring heed throughout my 
 letters in the future. 
 
 Bent upon proving myself to be as useful 
 as I am beautiful, I ventured forth in a blind- 
 ing yellow London fog Friday morning to 
 acquire those tickets on my desk and plenty of 
 valuable information. 
 
 I disobeyed Aunt, who ordered me to risk 
 my front teeth and other cherished charms in 
 a hansom cab, and followed instead our land- 
 lady's advice to venture Piccadilly Circus- 
 wards in a motor bus. There is a fair wind 
 blowing my way this year! All my wishes are 
 evidently to be granted. 
 
 On presenting myself at the steamship office 
 I heard the cheerful news that one of the best 
 staterooms had just been returned and we can 
 have it to Genoa — perhaps even as far as 
 Naples. However, as these German boats go 
 all the way to the remote East and many pas- 
 sengers board them at Genoa, one cannot be 
 definitely promised accommodation to Naples 
 until the lists are examined at Genoa. 
 
 But full of confidence in the strength of 
 my present run of good luck I struck my bar- 
 gain for the room to Genoa at once, regard- 
 
4 Susan in Sicily 
 
 less of what Aunt would say, and coolly paid 
 my eleven pounds with a ten per cent, coal 
 tax on top of it. 
 
 Isn't that the " cutey dodge " for raising 
 fares? This water route is not exactly cheap 
 you see, but it's infinitely more comfortable 
 for Aunt than the shorter way by rail and 
 far more alluring to me. 
 
 Luckily the length of the sea trip doesn't 
 worry our Mother's sister. She spent last 
 evening thoroughly perusing all the circulars 
 I brought back from the touring offices and 
 discussing pros and cons. She came to no 
 fixed conclusions, but the tickets are here! 
 
 P. S. Aunt is getting hourly better of that 
 attack of nervous indigestion, which is the 
 real excuse for our migration southwards, and 
 is quite excited over the prospect of a possible 
 diverting journey and the sunshine we are 
 sure to reach before many weeks. She does 
 not even mind taking the chance of a state- 
 room from Genoa to Naples, or thinks she 
 doesn't, at this distance. Can you imagine 
 Aunt really taking chances? 
 
 I am hoping secretly that we will be turned 
 out, and forced to see Italy at close range 
 from the railway carriage. Yesterday she 
 broke into my reading of the historic charm 
 
Susan in Sicily 
 
 of Syracuse, of papyrus, and of aspodels with 
 which I felt sure I would put her to sleep, 
 by plying me with anxious questions on the 
 subject of clothes. To her grief none of the 
 voluminous literature which at her command 
 I have purchased on Sicily, mentions these 
 very necessary articles. Neither Theocrites 
 nor Symonds has a word to say about 
 gowns. Why Aunt's interest is suddenly 
 awakened I can't imagine. She had previ- 
 ously constantly announced that half her de- 
 light in Sicily was to be its economy. She 
 has a trunk full of straw hats she refuses to 
 give away! 
 
 However, with tact I shall waive this ques- 
 tion, for already we have five large pieces of 
 luggage, so there will be no frocks bought 
 in these last hurried hours, and my only hat 
 came from the Little French Hat Shop — 
 where the choicest creations are but 7/6, and 
 lovely they are too! — Even Aunt Anne says 
 I look a dream in it. 
 
 Your busy bustling 
 Susan. 
 
6 Susan in Sicily 
 
 III 
 
 Tuesday Evening. 
 
 My own blue-eyed Betsy: — We are safely 
 off! Land has disappeared! Darkness has 
 hidden the purple line which represented 
 England! Aunt has gone to her berth in a 
 state of nervous collapse, a result of the in- 
 tense excitement attending our departure. 
 
 At ten minutes to eight this morning I had 
 serious doubts about catching this ship. To 
 understand all our woe, I must tell you that 
 when I bought my tickets, the agent not only 
 impressed the fact strongly on my mind that 
 if we failed to get the Special, which was to 
 leave Waterloo not later than 8.30, our tickets 
 would be null and void, but each time Aunt 
 sent me with some new and footless query, 
 he repeated this particular caution, until to 
 be secure I wrote it on our ticket envelope. 
 Aunt grumbled horribly about the early hour. 
 " Why steamship companies delighted to 
 make people get up in the middle of the night 
 she never could comprehend, etc., etc." In 
 
Susan in Sicily 
 
 her severest manner she told the manageress 
 of our hotel that she was to be " called at six, 
 have breakfast at seven, and a carriage at 
 seven thirty. That will give us a full hour. 
 I have settled it perfectly and shall sleep 
 calmly" 
 
 Not so your sister Susan! With no faith 
 in sleepy servants, I passed the night waking 
 repeatedly to look at my watch. Lucky I 
 did too, for the porter never opened his eyes 
 in the dark hours of this misty morning until 
 twenty to seven, by which time I had Aunt 
 nearly ready to go down-stairs. I must al- 
 ways get rid of her before I put the last little 
 troublesome articles away, for she stops my 
 work every second while she takes the thing 
 out of my hand to make a suggestion. 
 
 Dear Aunt had slept none too well herself, 
 but I won't waste paper telling you what that 
 meant. 
 
 The breakfast was ready promptly as a 
 pleasant surprise. The servants were all 
 tipped, the luggage all down, the bill paid 
 and the ordered railway omnibus awaited 
 momentarily. At that most critical instant 
 the finger of Fate seemed about to uncurl 
 and the hand of Destiny all but swept in to 
 pace the red and blue tiles of the hotel en- 
 trance: no capacious lumbering omnibus 
 
8 Susan in Sicily 
 
 loomed through the misty, moisty chill of the 
 London morning. 
 
 The hotel porter sternly denied any negli- 
 gence on his part in bespeaking one. I darkly 
 suspect myself that he had lightly given the 
 order to some friend in the cab line, and or- 
 ders thus given are easily forgotten overnight 
 in a public house flowing with cream gin. 
 Ours may be excavated centuries hence in 
 some of these enticing resorts. 
 
 It was hopelessly astray however at a quar- 
 ter to eight when Aunt Anne, closely fol- 
 lowed by your sister and the entire corps of 
 hotel menials, pranced up and down the side- 
 walk anxiously peering through the sudden 
 gloom of a London winter's morning. No 
 omnibus, cab or any more available vehicle 
 than a dust cart showed itself in the square. 
 The page, the boots, the luggage porter, all 
 flew in opposite directions while the doorman 
 blew frantically on his whistle. When Aunt 
 Anne wasn't holding her watch she was 
 wringing her hands and exclaiming that her 
 tickets would be forfeited. The messengers 
 returned without cabs. An instant I enter- 
 tained the mad desire to mount the dust cart 
 myself and send Aunt Anne to the station by 
 way of the underground railway in the escort 
 of a reliable " Buttons." But the impossi- 
 
Susan in Sicily 
 
 bility of conveying the luggage also checked 
 any such desperate endeavour. Eight o'clock 
 and hysteria was all but upon us when my 
 heart rose out of my boots as I saw our 
 " smart page boy " rushing to the rescue on 
 his bicycle followed by two hansom cabs way- 
 laid in Cromwell Road. 
 
 " Ten to eight! " the cabbies looked omi- 
 nously at the hour, still more darkly at the 
 luggage pile. Aunt was prepared to buy the 
 whole outfit, including the man, if necessary. 
 In dulcet tones she entreated and finally, 
 with more trunks than I ever before beheld 
 on tops of hansoms, with Aunt crouched hum- 
 bly beside two hat boxes in one vehicle and 
 your sister Susan buried among bundles in 
 the other, we went at a gallop in quest of the 
 Waterloo Station. 
 
 With only three minutes to spare my gal- 
 lant horse rushed valiantly up the steep as- 
 cent to the departure platform, his load sway- 
 ing perilously at his noble heels. Looking 
 back, however, at this exciting juncture, I 
 caught no glimpse of Aunt and her equipage 
 anywhere in my rear! Then and only then 
 I all but lost my remnants of self-control. 
 
 " North German Lloyd train ! " I fairly 
 stuttered in breathless anguish to the cordu- 
 royed porter who strolled leisurely forward. 
 
10 Susan in Sicily 
 
 "All right, m'am! No hurry! Goes at 
 9.55!" I sat down heavily on a convenient 
 dress basket feeling as if somebody had 
 thrown a reviving dash of cold water in the 
 face of my all but collapsed hopes of a trip 
 to Sicily, and could hardly keep back a fit 
 of hysterical giggles as poor Aunty arrived 
 pale and trembling but hanging wildly for- 
 ward over her hat boxes to cheer her cab- 
 steed on to speed and victory. 
 
 Your imperilled 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 11 
 
 IV 
 
 Wednesday. 
 'Betsy dearest: — Aunt is laid up with a 
 headache, which she declares to be the result 
 of yesterday's " nervous shock." Privately 
 I think the Bay of Biscay O has a hand in 
 the matter. I am enjoying life fully, but this 
 is no place for intelligible letter writing. 
 Your unsteady 
 
 Susan. 
 
12 Susan in Sicily 
 
 Friday Evening. 
 
 My sweet home-keeping Betsy: — We have 
 passed Cape St. Vincent. To-morrow this 
 letter will go ashore at Gibraltar on its way 
 across the ocean by the first liner calling 
 there, and so on to the side of that cosy ingle- 
 nook where our great glowing wood fire 
 burns, while the trees bow and bend in the 
 wind out on the snow covered lawn. How 
 I love our home! I do, even if I am enjoy- 
 ing every instant of my outing! Aunt has 
 not been really sea-sick, but she has been 
 lying quietly in her berth, sleeping most of 
 the time. 
 
 I am ashamed to say I have not missed 
 her. The ship is full of varied life which I 
 find more entertaining than that one learns 
 to know on the typical Atlantic liner. While 
 the boat is not nearly so large, it offers one 
 quite as agreeable accommodation as the eight 
 story hotels that float between New York and 
 Europe, and our passenger list includes China- 
 
Susan in Sicily 13 
 
 men, Turks, strange and unclassified Orien- 
 tals of other sorts, and Belgian soldiers, more 
 or less sloppy, are on the forward deck. A 
 large company of young German sailor lad- 
 dies going out to join some war ship in the 
 Far East and a solitary dignified Arab. 
 
 We have a full list of agreeable English 
 travellers, a noisy German military man 
 bound for Morocco, and some German naval 
 officers resplendent in a most fetching com- 
 bination of dark blue, gold lace and lots of 
 shiny buttons, in the first cabin. 
 
 The youngest and most attractive of the 
 midshipmen now sits beside me patiently wait- 
 ing for me to finish this letter. We are firm 
 friends. He can't speak any English and 
 you know of how much German I am capa- 
 ble, but we get on admirably and have fine 
 fun. He knows Italian. I have a phrase 
 book in that language. We exchange sen- 
 tences by its aid. Our flirtation is not dan- 
 gerous, owing principally to the fact that our 
 conversation is forced into strictly practical 
 channels, and deals largely with the idiosyn- 
 crasies of cab drivers, the necessity for hot or 
 cold water and demands for railway informa- 
 tion. But we are adepts in the sign lan- 
 guage, we laugh a lot, and I almost love him, 
 while I feel convinced that he nearly loves me. 
 
14 Susan in Sicily 
 
 Aunt Anne says she hopes I am not going 
 to be unendurably silly this winter, and I 
 shall make a break for wisdom when she is 
 about. Every one on board is good to me, all 
 but one German girl who scowls in my direc- 
 tion and is preparing to snatch my young 
 admirer the instant I leave the steamer. I 
 don't blame her for fishing, and hope she will 
 land him before they part. 
 
 The stewards are most imperial in appear- 
 ance. Their mustachios curl up scientifically 
 and touch their eyebrows. Germans all be- 
 come livery so well, or is it the other way 
 about? I can't yet decide whether the deck 
 steward or my officer is the most noble in 
 appearance. 
 
 When I am alone I sit in my deck chair 
 and watch the great masses of many hued 
 clouds. During the first two days the sea 
 was rough, and the vapours gathered, played 
 together awhile, then scurried off in all direc- 
 tions full of mystery and witchery, now shi- 
 ning white, now deep purple-black and again 
 pink amber, and the colour of stained ala- 
 baster. 
 
 Between my periods of intellectual conver- 
 sation with the midshipman, I fall to won- 
 dering what is going on in the hills and val- 
 leys of that cloudland. 
 
Susan in Sicily 15 
 
 The officer and I hung over the rail talking 
 contentedly in the tongue we each knew best 
 while we sailed past the desolate windswept 
 wild of Cape St. Vincent. It stretched its 
 jagged length of abrupt cliffs, burrowed with 
 mysterious looking caves, where only mermen 
 could enter safely. Above these sheer rocks, 
 throwing out glints of porphyry, amethyst 
 and topaz, on the dull green turf of the lone- 
 liest point of a promontory, is a dreary mon- 
 astery where silent monks are in charge of 
 a lighthouse. It made me shudder visibly to 
 look at the dire desolation of that abode, 
 whereupon the officer laughed and said some- 
 thing in German which I am sure was very 
 poetic and sweet. Perhaps he proposed to 
 me! I choose to think so. 
 
 I said " Nein! " and we sailed on to a fas- 
 cinating shore of bays and inlets in which the 
 golden mists gathered among the rocky clefts 
 and suggestions of dismal white fishing ham- 
 lets relieved the sense of melancholy solitude. 
 On the horizon, only a shade duller than the 
 sky and nearly as transparent, were the moun- 
 tains beyond the Spanish border. 
 
 We stood and watched the strange coast 
 until a furious wind swept me off the deck 
 and brought to my mind that my letter must 
 be posted in an hour. 
 
16 Susan in Sicily 
 
 The time is up. Next you will hear when 
 I have firm land under my feet and a steady 
 desk under my paper. 
 
 Joyously, 
 
 Susan. 
 
Busan in Sicily 17 
 
 VI 
 
 Genoa, Tuesday, 
 Sweet Betsy: — We have landed. Aunt 
 Anne had enough of the sea. It has been 
 very rough with intervals of delicious weather, 
 but the sharp winds gave her neuralgia and 
 again luck is mine. We go to Naples by- 
 rail, stopping over night in Rome. 
 
 The morning after I wrote you I awoke 
 to find that we were lying in the shadow of 
 " Gib." as the English call it. I hurried on 
 deck in time to see the sky grow golden and 
 the glowing sun finally smile at me over the 
 top of the fair rock, while the emerald green 
 neutral land and the shining white and red 
 town of Algeciras glistened like an old fash- 
 ioned glazed lithograph. 
 
 We were not allowed ashore, but we 
 rounded the rock to make our course for Al- 
 giers, and from each fresh point of view new 
 displays of land and sea tints were offered 
 us: the black and gray rock; the long yellow 
 sandy incline; the clusters of many hued 
 
18 Susan in Sicily 
 
 roofs; the black ships lying in the shadow 
 of the fortress, and the patches of bright veg- 
 etation rare but visible among the stony- 
 wastes. Over the bluest of water we went 
 bounding away, meeting queer sailing craft 
 and watching the greedy gulls which circled 
 around us until Gibraltar slipped into the 
 waves. 
 
 The next afternoon in blandest, mildest 
 temperature we entered the harbour of sunny 
 Algiers, where a large colony of winter resi- 
 dents, who had been passengers, confided 
 themselves and their luggage to a howling 
 mob of picturesque boatmen with more seren- 
 ity than Aunt Anne could comprehend, after 
 which we sailed out again, leaving the hills 
 bathed in saffron and rose, and for the next 
 few hours fought such a fight with the blue 
 Mediterranean that Aunt woke me up four 
 times in the night to say she " would not stop 
 on if they gave her the ship I " I behaved 
 like the Tar Baby, keeping a discreet silence, 
 so here we are in a comfortable hotel. 
 
 My first glance out the porthole this morn- 
 ing showed the town sprinkled French coast 
 with a foreground of violet blue waves, a 
 background of olive clad hills and the rude 
 rocky mountains behind which the dazzling 
 snowy peaks of the Apennines sparkled 
 
Susan in Sicily 19 
 
 against a deep blue sky. The hours flew with 
 such lightning-like speed that before I real- 
 ized the fact we were anchored in the harbour 
 of sumptuous Genoa, bestowing fees, count- 
 ing luggage, talking all the languages I 
 didn't know, and climbing up the strange 
 hilly streets to the hotel. 
 
 To-morrow we are off at nine, but Aunt 
 promises I shall return to see Genoa some 
 other time. 
 
 iYout roaming 
 
 Susan. 
 
20 Susan in Sicily 
 
 VII 
 
 Palermo, Saturday. 
 
 You dear interested little Betsy: — We are 
 here! I cannot yet credit my senses, and 
 pinch my pen hand to make sure, but after 
 a journey which was rapture we came at last 
 to Naples, warm, bright Naples, and last 
 night we took the steamer for Palermo. 
 Don't be angry that I can write so little of 
 all that long journey. My descriptions will 
 come later. I am to see it all again, but now 
 the novelty, the ecstasy stuns my powers. Of 
 Sicily however you shall lose nothing. 
 
 In my last letter I did not tell you that 
 Aunt Anne found a large mail aw r aiting her 
 in Genoa, and among other things, the news 
 that an old school friend, Mrs. Adams and 
 her widowed daughter, would be in Palermo 
 when we arrived, and that they anticipated 
 with delight having us with them at the Hotel 
 Trinacria. This information apparently re- 
 joiced our relative's heart, for she remarked 
 as she folded up her letter, " I have always 
 
MONTE PELLEGRINO AND THE PORT OF PALERMO. 
 
Susan in Sicily 21 
 
 liked Jane Adams as 'much as any woman 
 in the world. I haven't seen her daughter 
 since she married, but I remember her as a 
 particularly attractive girl!" Praise from 
 Caesar! 
 
 We escaped from " Naples and its ban- 
 ditti," again to quote Aunt, with no spare 
 pennies in our pockets, and found ourselves 
 at seven in the evening on an excellent 
 steamer, with but few other passengers, where 
 we ate an exceptionally good dinner and were 
 soon plunging wildly on our way. 
 
 The rocking, prancing vessel cradled me to 
 perfect slumber, but Aunt said it was very 
 rough. Although I was called at dawn I 
 missed the Lipari Islands. They were but 
 a shadow behind us when I reached the deck, 
 yet I had my reward, for while I have been 
 a witness of many dawning days, this was one 
 of those I shall always remember with a thrill. 
 
 The Sun god having stretched himself 
 after his night's rest got up very quickly, 
 smiled at the mountains of Sicily, and the 
 responsive crags became yellow, pink and 
 orange in turn as the rays kissed them while 
 we slipped around the base of bold Monte 
 Pellegrino, and behold we were in Palermo, 
 fast to the quay. Aunt Anne climbed into 
 the hotel bus, I got all the luggage through 
 
22 Susan in Sicily 
 
 the customs without unstrapping a box, paid 
 the usual fee, and we were really, truly in 
 Sicily. 
 
 Seven o'clock had just struck and all Pa- 
 lermo was agog, shouting and yelling with 
 noble lung power. The sun was as warm as 
 at noon in Genoa, and our way led through 
 streets swarming with life, along the quays 
 and past the custom house where the gay 
 little carts and bedizened mules were gather- 
 ing up their loads. I wanted to jump out 
 then and there and examine every one of them 
 carefully and critically; to admire the huge 
 yellow wheels prinked out with other vivid 
 colours; to inspect closely the pre-Raphaelite 
 paintings recording deeds of chivalry on the 
 panels; to peer under the bodies at the 
 wrought iron flowers, painted according to 
 the artist's conception of nature; to look at 
 the saints and angels, true to life, hidden under 
 the tail piece, and after having shuddered at 
 the snake or dragon of most poisonous hues 
 crawling along the shafts, finally to pet the 
 donkey and look at his magnificent dress. All 
 I actually did see I examined while our horse 
 who fell down was being unhitched and lei- 
 surely assisted to his feet. If he must fall 
 wasn't it sweet of him to select just this spot. 
 
 The doors of all those dens, which are the 
 
Susan in Sicily 23 
 
 workshops and dwelling places of the poor 
 in Palermo, were wide open, and all the busi- 
 ness of the day in full swing. " Rather dif- 
 ferent from our remembrance of London at 
 eight 1 " said Aunt Anne. 
 
24 Susan in Sicily 
 
 VIII 
 
 The same evening. 
 
 My neglected darling: — I intended to fin- 
 ish this letter before I went out this morning, 
 but I am glad I laid it aside. So much has 
 happened. We found such nice rooms ready 
 for us, in this charming quiet little hotel. I 
 am so glad Aunt came here instead of going 
 to a grander place. 
 
 The view from my upper chamber cannot 
 be surpassed. I have a balcony looking over 
 the picturesque jumble of irregular roofs to 
 the circle of peaks cutting the horizon. Across 
 a narrow corridor I step out on a terrace to 
 look on the wondrous sea, the Marine Drive, 
 the shipping in the harbour, and precipitous 
 headlands embracing the wide bay. For the 
 tints, their depths, their brilliancy, their ever 
 varying hues, my vocabulary has no equiva- 
 lents. Aunt Anne is lower down, in an old- 
 fashioned commodious room facing the sea, 
 but my nest is on the best branch. 
 
 We were in the midst of a cafe complet 
 
Susan in Sicily 25 
 
 flowing with milk and honey, when a tap at 
 the door, and in came a dainty gray-haired 
 little lady, very delicate and frail-looking, 
 followed by the fascinating sweet creature 
 who calls her mother. Aunt welcomed them 
 both with embraces, and began at once to talk 
 school days with Mrs. Adams, while Emily 
 Calverly, her daughter, and I walked out on 
 the balcony. In five minutes I felt as if I 
 had known her all my life, and that on earth 
 there were few in whom she took the interest 
 she did in your sister Susan- She knew more 
 of my history in a few moments than anyone 
 else ever did in a week. Before I realized 
 what I was saying I had told her all about 
 you, brother George and mother. When I 
 had talked wildly and fast I suddenly came 
 to my senses and stepped back into the room, 
 just in time to hear Aunt say decidedly, " I 
 don't see why Susan should not go! " 
 
 My heart sank. Now she has found her 
 friends, I thought, she is sending me home. 
 I must have looked scared, for dear kind Mrs. 
 Adams added quickly: 
 
 ' We are considering sending you two girls 
 off on the Tessera." 
 
 I was more puzzled than ever, but left the 
 explanation to Aunt Anne. I am growing 
 wise. She began at once. 
 
26 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " You don't know, Susan, but a Tessera is 
 a queer kind of circular ticket. You buy a 
 book arrangement with a lot of Cook tickets, 
 or something like them, pay five francs, and 
 sign your name on the front page, then each 
 time you want to travel you tear out a ticket." 
 Mrs. Adams shook her head violently. 
 
 " Never mind how they do the thing, 
 but — " turning to me, " anyway you get 
 seventy per cent, off the railroad fare." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Adams, "the Tessera 
 now on has but three weeks to run, so as 
 Emily wishes to go I was asking if it might 
 not be a good plan to send you together." 
 How my heart leaped! 
 
 " But Aunt Anne! " I stammered. 
 
 " Oh, we two old ladies will stay here or 
 go our own way, won't we, Anne? Emily! " 
 Her daughter came through the balcony door 
 at her mother's call. " When can you take 
 this girl to buy a Tessera? " 
 
 " Oh! are we to go! I am so glad! We 
 can buy the tickets to-day because we have not 
 much time left; we can start off to-morrow 
 and be back before Mrs. Parkman is ready to 
 begin sight-seeing." 
 
 " I never am ready to begin sight-seeing," 
 said Aunt. 
 
 So it was settled. Think of the joy! To 
 
Susan in Sicily 27 
 
 see Sicily in such company. I tried to make 
 Aunt as comfortable as I could. She would 
 not let me unpack. After lunch when she 
 was resting for two hours we went for the 
 tickets. 
 
 Incidentally we saw something of Palermo, 
 and entered into a surprising intimacy with 
 its householders, for Palermo was hung with 
 laundry as in the old days they hung tapestry 
 for festas from the balconies. In every street, 
 from every house-front, from old wrought- 
 iron Spanish balconies, from shop door to 
 shop door, like scarecrows from upper win* 
 dows, dangled sheets innumerable, and every 
 imaginable article of underwear. It is a most 
 extraordinary, to say nothing of moist way, 
 to adorn a city. The main shopping streets 
 were more free, but a white flag or two 
 showed on the Corso and Via Maqueda; I 
 think they were shirts. 
 
 These streets cut the city into four quar- 
 ters, crossing one another at a piazza called 
 the Quattro Canti, where I saw more idle, 
 lounging, staring men doing what brother 
 George would call " just plain loafing." 
 Never have I thought men could be so impu- 
 dent to inoffensive women as those on these 
 two streets of Palermo. Even the young 
 boys stopped in front of us and said some- 
 
28 Susan in Sicily 
 
 thing, and the men stared as if they had never 
 seen a woman before in their lives. It made 
 me so angry I did not care. Emily says the 
 younger women here never go out without 
 some old duenna. Perhaps I shall get used 
 to it. Perhaps I shall kick a man. Be pre- 
 pared for anything. 
 
 Coming home we took the narrower back 
 streets, with no sidewalks and full of delight- 
 ful old palaces. Here we had no annoyances. 
 The streets paved with smooth square lime- 
 stone blocks are clean, the walking is easy. 
 
 Though the poor are always in evidence 
 in Palermo, living as they do on the ground 
 floor of the buildings, with their one room 
 dwelling and shops quite open to inspection, 
 yet the dirt and repulsive squalor of Naples 
 are quite absent in Palermo. 
 
 When we get back Emily is going to lead 
 me on long explorations, as she knows the 
 city well. To-day we were hurried, my ideas 
 of everything but its charm are confused. I 
 am sure of that, however. We got back just 
 in time to drive with the two elder ladies. 
 
 " Susan mustn't start on her travels with- 
 out seeing the Passeggiata/ J Mrs. Adams said, 
 which at once made me ask eagerly what that 
 was. I pass on the information. 
 
 As I before mentioned, the women here live 
 
Susan in Sicily 29 
 
 to-day quite as secluded lives as they did when 
 Spanish customs ruled the land. Their most 
 frequent and agreeable means of seeing and 
 being seen is to issue forth each day at about 
 four o'clock, clad in war paint and feathers. 
 A carriage of the best their means will allow 
 is in waiting and after a very short and usu- 
 ally terribly boresome (to them) drive in the 
 outskirts they order the horses' heads turned 
 into the Via Maqueda, in which narrow thor- 
 oughfare they take their place in the long 
 file of vehicles moving up and down at snails' 
 pace, and stare at their kind while they enjoy 
 the delight of being stared at in turn. 
 
 Up and down, down and up they go, in- 
 variably past that horrible Quattro Canti with 
 its crowd of loafing men, which at this hour 
 is a dense mass extending all up and down 
 the contracted sidewalk of this popular street. 
 This is the exciting Passeggiata! To appear 
 in it, dressed in fine clothes and riding in a fine 
 carriage, is the ambition of the Palermitan. 
 
 Very amusing tales are told of the stren- 
 uous efforts made by the decayed nobility to 
 keep up what they consider a proper appear- 
 ance in this parade. It is whispered they 
 starve their servants, that their horses may 
 be sleek ; and it is told aloud that two or three 
 families combine to maintain " a private car- 
 
30 Susan in Sicily 
 
 riage," sharing the entire outfit, excepting the 
 doors, of which each proprietor has a pair 
 adorned with proper armorial bearings to 
 hang on when it is his family's turn to use 
 the carriage ! Now ! isn't that a scheme which 
 puts Yankee invention to shame? Aunt 
 Anne, who came here ten years ago when 
 Uncle Joshua was alive, says that, saving a 
 few automobiles which have crept in, the Pas- 
 seggiata has changed very little. I think she 
 enjoyed it immensely. It would bore me to 
 extinction if I had to endure it every after- 
 noon. 
 
 A charming Sicilian gentleman, some kind 
 of a Conte or Barone, I can't remember his 
 name, came this evening to call on Mrs. Cal- 
 verly. She introduced us. He spoke very 
 good English and was highly amused at my 
 phrase book Italian, which he made me re- 
 peat. Then he gave me a useful lesson in 
 Sicilian sign language. Such fun! How we 
 laughed ! 
 
 You must know, so he said, that the ban- 
 ditti of Sicily have only forsaken highway 
 robbery and mountain fastnesses to employ 
 their talents in similar walks of life, but 
 within the sanction of the law. They have, 
 since the abolition of feudality (1820), be- 
 
Susan in Sicily 31 
 
 come prosaic shopkeepers, cabmen, railway 
 porters, and hotel keepers of renown. 
 
 They disdain no occupation in which they 
 can comfortably steal from foreigners, and 
 in lesser degree from one another. They 
 despise no possible victim; therefore no Si- 
 cilian trusts the other in pecuniary matters. 
 Any failing toward rectitude is a peccadillo 
 in the native mind. To pay what you are 
 asked is a folly inconceivable to these people. 
 Does a vendor state a price, extend the hand 
 palm upward and cut it in half, if beggars 
 or importunate cabmen assail you, lift the 
 chin haughtily and jerk back the head. There 
 is no appeal from such a negative. If to the 
 aforementioned gesture you add a rapid pas- 
 sage of the hand under the chin, it means you 
 have no money. The pests will then attack 
 elsewhere. I shall try these wise and easy 
 methods on my travels. 
 
 This language is a great advance on Es- 
 peranto, which I know if I ever could learn, 
 no one else would understand. And now 
 good night. I must pack and be up early. I 
 shall pray for fine weather! 
 
 Ecstatically, 
 
 Susan. 
 
32 Susan in Sicily 
 
 IX 
 
 My bonny Betsy: — When the first rous- 
 ing knock sounded on my door yesterday 
 morning, I sat bolt upright with a start to 
 see before me, through the glass doors of the 
 balcony, the campanile which seemingly, but 
 a moment before, I left golden in the moon- 
 light, had turned to the hue of a lovely sea- 
 shell. 
 
 Mrs. Calverly was stirring in the room next 
 mine. I pounded on the door and called out: 
 " Are we going? " 
 
 I wanted to reassure myself that all this 
 was not illusion. I doubted my senses and 
 needed her affirmative before I jumped out of 
 bed. 
 
 The balcony was dripping wet, the moun- 
 tains were still under their cloud coverlids of 
 gray with pink borders, but here and there 
 one of the hoary heads had popped up above 
 its blanket to catch the sun's first glances. 
 In the night there had been rain, but the 
 promise of better things was granted us in a 
 
Susan in Sicily 33 
 
 huge brilliant rainbow, stretching from one 
 mountain peak to another. 
 
 I hope I washed properly. I am not cer- 
 tain about the looks of my hair, nor the pro- 
 portion of milk I put in my coffee, for my 
 eyes were out of the window most of the time. 
 
 I did not even notice that it drizzled on our 
 way to the station until Emily pulled in her 
 hand bag and tucked the robe about me. 
 
 We tried the magic virtues of the Tessera, 
 presented our little signed slip, saw it care- 
 fully compared with the writing of our sig- 
 natures on the first page, and then received 
 in return railroad tickets for which we paid 
 only one-third of the usual fare. Wherefore 
 this extraordinary reduction I do not know, 
 but from time to time in Sicily they find an 
 Exhibition or some such excuse for offering 
 these delightful low rates to the public. 
 
 The train was only twenty minutes late in 
 starting, which was not so bad for these parts. 
 But finally we were off! The sky still 
 scowled and frequent raindrops dripped from 
 the clouds, but the colour of the landscape 
 has its own beauty suited to the sky spread 
 above it. 
 
 The rich ripe vegetation of the autumn does 
 not yet show any touch of decay, and we 
 passed jungles of India fig (prickly pear), 
 
34 Susan in Sicily 
 
 orchards of miniature apple trees laden with 
 little yellow apples, orange groves, fertile 
 fields and acres of the immensely tall reed 
 called dax, waving plumes like giant pampas 
 on stalks as stately as bamboo. 
 
 In the background rose the mountains we 
 had seen from our windows in Palermo. 
 Great gray rugged mountains wearing patches 
 of rank vegetation that looked like ragged 
 gray mantles thrown over their shoulders. 
 Before us was the sea reflecting the moods 
 of the sky. 
 
 We came to Bagheria, a one time summer 
 resort of Palermo nobles. Here squalor and 
 grandeur are at close quarters. The decayed 
 villas and miserable habitations of the poor 
 squat at the doors of rich nobles who still 
 keep up fine country houses in this place. 
 
 The clouds went scurrying off, the patches 
 of blue in the sky grew broader as our track, 
 lined by stiff leaved aloes, led us through rich 
 plantations of olive and vine, full of the hues 
 of autumn emphasized by the sombre foliage 
 of an occasional dull dark stone-pine. The 
 dignified feathery palms about the villa gar- 
 dens waved their branches and looked trop- 
 ical. 
 
 It is over the hills and far away when you 
 go to Girgenti. At Termini we left the sea 
 
Susan in Sicily 35 
 
 coast and went climbing up, behind a panting, 
 puffing engine, to cross the watershed between 
 the Tyrrhenian Sea, which washes the walls 
 of Palermo, and the African Sea, where it 
 gently murmurs below the temples at Gir- 
 genti. 
 
 We waited at the Termini Station some 
 time for the iron draught horse to gather its 
 breath. Mrs. Calverly was a trifle impatient, 
 but the loungers on the station platform en- 
 tertained me so much I was sorry to leave 
 when we finally started. Such a variety of 
 extraordinary and gay plaided caps it was 
 never before my privilege to see, and such 
 handsome faces! One young man, whose 
 head was covered with a blue and white check 
 cap, and around whose throat a dingy hand- 
 kerchief of many colours was knotted, would 
 have made an admirable model for an Apollo. 
 
 Sicily is a series of upheavals, where in 
 every crevice left by black and gray rocks 
 the willing earth yields luxuriant vegetation. 
 In the springtime between these heaving hills 
 are deep ravines clothed with a glorious car- 
 pet of brilliant wild flowers, but now in au- 
 tumn all the ground is green with the sprout- 
 ing winter corn which makes an emerald cov- 
 ering as soft as English wood moss. The 
 grass looked good enough to eat, and it was, 
 
36 Susan in Sicily 
 
 judging from the greedy way the black don- 
 keys nibbled while their masters delved in the 
 black soil. 
 
 With snorts and squeals the engine pulled 
 us higher and higher. The line wound along 
 one mountain after another, the track lev- 
 elled out on the sloping sides. Far below 
 us was the stony bed of a river with a trick- 
 ling thread of water which gave an excuse 
 for the name. Beyond the valley rose other 
 hills with towns tucked away among the 
 crags. 
 
 Emily brought forth the sandwiches she 
 had provided for an early lunch, for it would 
 be two before we reached Girgenti. 
 
 Between bites I went from side to side of 
 the carriage, first looking out on the wide 
 undulating landscape clad with olive trees 
 heavy with yellowish fruit, the fields of bold 
 dandelions and delicate little daisies, then on 
 strange processions of ox, ass, lean horse and 
 sleek mules, which, guided by peasants, drew 
 the primitive ploughs through the heavy earth 
 up and down the lumpy territory, treading 
 close one behind the other and followed by 
 a sower of seed. The men looked like gen- 
 uine stage banditti; either with red handker- 
 chiefs knotted around their brows, or else 
 gray woollen shawls folded long with one end 
 
Susan in Sicily 37 
 
 wound around the head and the other thrown 
 gracefully over the shoulder. Some had long- 
 tailed knitted caps drawn down to their very 
 ears. I can hardly believe I am in a real 
 country and not in a box at the theatre. 
 
 High as the railway mounted, the towns 
 are perched still higher, lifted on crags or 
 nestling in the elbows of the hills. There is 
 no method of reaching them except on foot 
 or a donkey's back; yet every day the peas- 
 ants come down from these lofty habitations 
 to work in the fields. The lower lands are 
 not safe or healthy. There were no women 
 among the tillers of the fields; they " stay 
 at home and care for their numerous off- 
 spring," laughs Emily. 
 
 Up, up, up we still went! What labour 
 pains Nature endured when she brought forth 
 this island! We had scarcely seen a level rod 
 of ground except that dug down by the engi- 
 neers or forced out by the rocky trail of a 
 river which, when spring floods rush down 
 into its bed, swells with true Sicilian passion 
 until it bursts all bounds. I guessed at the 
 fury of the little trickling stream from the 
 huge bolsters of wire enclosed pebbles piled 
 along its border like ramparts of defence. 
 
 Sweet odours came floating in from the 
 wild-flower gardens along the way, the sun- 
 
38 Susan in Sicily 
 
 painted patches of brown-pink on the bare 
 cliffs, and funny big rough-coated sheep dogs 
 raced with the train to the childish cries of 
 glee from their masters, the herdsmen. 
 
 The fragrance of the wild flowers suddenly 
 fled before the reek of sulphur. We had 
 plunged into a hill and come out on the other 
 side, where verdure no longer met the eye. 
 
 On the platform of a desolate station piles 
 of the great yellow blocks and a gray arid 
 district of sharp elevations and deep gorges 
 stretched away on both sides. Little huts 
 round as prairie dog habitations dotted the 
 waste. They are the furnaces in which the 
 sulphur is burned out. From some of them 
 an ascending spiral of smoke proclaimed to 
 us that the process was in progress, others 
 used up were in ruins. 
 
 Banks of pinkish gray refuse falling away 
 from holes like those of a rabbit warren 
 showed the entrances to the mines. Inside 
 these dark openings, down hundreds of feet 
 into the bowels of the earth, where the heat 
 is intolerable and the labour bitter, are the 
 primitive mine workings. Up and down long 
 flights of rude steps, only possible of ascent 
 on all fours, go men and boys carrying on 
 their backs the heavy burdens of sulphur- 
 charged rock. A horrible task only possible 
 
Susan in Sicily 39 
 
 in a land which hates progress as does Sicily! 
 Those who try to work by modern means 
 must contend against the enmity of the Mafia 
 and against the Sicilian fathers who live on 
 the cruel toil of their children; therefore this 
 source of riches is diminishing before the 
 methods and competition of America. 
 
 " This region is lonely and desolate as I 
 fancy Hell! It makes me too sad. I won't 
 look at it!" 
 
 I volunteered this remark as I threw my- 
 self back in my seat and tried to shut out the 
 view by covering my face with my hands. 
 Emily touched my shoulder. 
 
 " Look over there! " 
 
 Between an abrupt cleft in the hills showed 
 a flash of dancing, smiling, vivid blue sea. In 
 a few moments the train stopped. We had 
 reached Girgenti. 
 
 Your tourist sister, 
 
 Susan. 
 
40 Susan in Sicily 
 
 X 
 
 Dear Betsy: — I ended our last letter with 
 my arrival at Girgenti. I say our letter, I 
 almost said our visit, for I see you before me 
 as I write, and always fancy that I am sitting 
 on the other side of your generous hearth- 
 stone, the tea-table between us and the broad 
 fireplace piled high with logs which crack as 
 I talk. 
 
 Emily and I left the train, which then runs 
 on down to the port some miles away and 
 stops only short of the sea. The hotel porter 
 soon possessed himself of our small luggage 
 and installed us in a somewhat ancient and 
 rickety landau. Almost before we were fairly 
 seated the driver gave a mighty flourish and 
 loud crack to his whip and away we went 
 rattling up a long serpentine road which as- 
 cends to Girgenti sitting upon the heights, 
 on top of an ancient city wall and turning 
 her back upon the barren hills of the sulphur 
 district. 
 
 From our seat in the advancing vehicle, 
 
Susan in Sicily 41 
 
 the town looked like a collection of mediaeval 
 houses and churches not yet fully finished, all 
 growing out of an ancient fortified ridge. 
 Our driver was a genial friendly soul. He 
 greeted every one he met whether goatherds, 
 donkey drivers, carters, coachmen, or men 
 with guns slung over their shoulders in the 
 same vociferous and democratic fashion. He 
 seemed enchanted to have us for passengers, 
 at least so we chose to think, and in conse- 
 quence prepared for him a generous pour- 
 boire. On we galloped until we reached the 
 top where a small piazza is levelled out. 
 With the grandest sweep yet accomplished 
 he flourished his whip, swung himself around 
 on his high perch and exclaimed ce Ecco! " 
 
 Before us, bathed in the sunlight of early 
 afternoon, lay a wide billowy rich green pros- 
 pect, falling down like a giant carpet from 
 the hilltop to the border of the distant sea. 
 The panorama was almost too extended, but 
 our amazed expression at the contrast be- 
 tween it and the opposite side we had just 
 mounted, fully satisfied our driver. He gave 
 us short time to consider the yellow glowing 
 city piled up on our right, but tore off down 
 another curling highway to the left, and after 
 many turns and twists set us down at the 
 door of the Hotel des Temples. 
 
42 Susan in Sicily 
 
 We received a warm welcome from every 
 individual member of the corps of employees, 
 as became guests who go to make up a baker's 
 dozen. We likewise had a choice of rooms, 
 and from my balcony, where the luxuriant 
 bougainvillea and sweet jasmine climb in close 
 embrace, I look down over a garden crammed 
 with flowers apparently animated with des- 
 perate resolve to make the most of the short 
 season they still have to live. I can see far 
 away two temples, looking like amber orna- 
 ments for a cabinet mounted on green velvet 
 cushions. 
 
 I had the afternoon to myself and I used 
 it well, in my own fashion. Poor Mrs. Cal- 
 verly, worn out with a bad night, early rising, 
 and a violent headache, succumbed com- 
 pletely. I put her to bed, darkened the room, 
 promised her that I would amuse myself and 
 fled. 
 
 The landlord was for showing me into a 
 carriage with a stupid guide, but I skipped 
 away suddenly when he had gone to find out 
 I know not what, and was off down the road 
 bent on exploring the first of those hill cities 
 I had as yet only from a distance found so 
 appealing. 
 
 It was my first independent expedition in 
 
Susan in Sicily 43 
 
 Europe. I have been so far escorted every- 
 where. 
 
 I was at liberty to pursue any course I 
 chose and I began by making the acquaint- 
 ance of a donkey. Not one of the kind 
 brother George says I always have in tow, 
 but a darling black fuzzy baby donkey, whose 
 mother was soberly dragging a great water 
 cask on wheels while her offspring frisked all 
 over the road like a silly puppy dog. He 
 came at my beck to be scratched between the 
 long furry ears and to dance away happy and 
 awkward when his master uttered an A-a-a-ah 
 that ran all down a chromatic scale. 
 
 I was still laughing at the comical beast 
 when a swarm of youngsters all clad like 
 priests bore down upon me. There were no 
 less than fifty, I am sure, arrayed every one 
 in long black soutanes with crimson buttons 
 and pipings down the front. Their long 
 mantles, tied at the neck with crimson cords, 
 were carried gracefully over one arm. Each 
 young head was covered with a broad beaver 
 hat, looped up with cord, likewise crimson. 
 They were an unusual and remarkable assem- 
 blage, viewed from a transatlantic standpoint. 
 I stared at them and they stared at me with 
 compound interest until some tall priestly 
 
44 Susan in Sicily 
 
 masters in the same attire, without the enliv- 
 ening crimson, came and shooed the lads on- 
 ward. I, in my confusion, fell back upon a 
 troop of young soldiers whom I could see over 
 a wall, playing at leap frog in the inclosure 
 of a one-time monastery, at present barracks, 
 several feet below the road on which I was 
 meandering. 
 
 Before I knew how I got there I had 
 reached the town and was sauntering serenely 
 into what seemed the principal street. It 
 proved to be a long, narrow, dismal, straight 
 thoroughfare and half way down it another 
 swarm of youngsters fell upon me with cries 
 and outstretched hands. Such a miserable 
 set of street urchins I never before saw. I 
 laughed at first, but they continued to grow 
 in numbers, and assailed me like hornets. I 
 tried in vain to wave them off when they 
 began in chorus to call out, " American say 
 c Go way! go way! ' " 
 
 It was like finding the bones of my coun- 
 trymen under a nest of vultures and listening 
 to the echo of their agonies. I am not timid, 
 as you know, so I tried to keep on my way, 
 but the wretched hornets stopped my prog- 
 ress. Just as I was on the point of flight 
 my intentions were forestalled by the enemy, 
 who falling over one another's heels in their 
 
Susan in Sicily 45 
 
 desire to be gone retreated in all directions 
 before a most entrancing apparition in a long 
 blue cloak, who like some splendid Saint 
 Michael stood before me brandishing his 
 sheathed sword, at the same time saying 
 strong words in Italian. 
 
 "Oh, thank you," I interrupted in English, 
 and such was my agitation that it did not 
 astonish me in the least to hear him reply in 
 the same tongue. 
 
 " Can I help you more? " 
 
 ' You might cut off a few of their heads 
 with your sword," I said recovering my bold- 
 ness. 
 
 He looked at me quizzically for a moment, 
 then began to laugh. 
 
 " I can't do just that, but I can escort you 
 to your hotel." 
 
 " But I don't want to go to my hotel, I 
 want to see this funny town, I never got near 
 a hill city before." 
 
 Again he smiled broadly, but bowed re- 
 spectfully, " Then perhaps you will accept 
 me as a guide." 
 
 What could I do in face of such a very 
 courteous offer. 
 
 We were off down the long street before I 
 even thought to ask him how he happened to 
 speak English so well. An aunt who brought 
 
46 Susan in Sicily 
 
 him up was English is the explanation, it 
 seems. 
 
 We walked to the end of the street. It is 
 narrow and dark. Its houses have little stuffy 
 shops on the ground floor, and all are more 
 or less squalid. There were some structures 
 which my guide dignified by the name of 
 palazzo, but except on a sort of square, I saw 
 no place where I should not consider it mis- 
 ery to be domiciled. The rising and falling 
 side streets and alleys were immensely pic- 
 turesque, but so dirty and swarming with un- 
 comfortable women and children, that my 
 courage failed at the suggestion of penetrat- 
 ing more than a few rods into any one of 
 them. 
 
 We walked to the end of the main street, 
 no very great distance, and then turning 
 down picked our way back along the old city 
 wall through a far from clean road. I speak 
 mildly, feeling that I was still too foreign to 
 forget the care of my footsteps even when the 
 surroundings are most paintable. I shall 
 come to it in time, but to-day I rejoiced when 
 my sense of smell was refreshed by coming 
 out of the shadow of Girgenti town into the 
 highway of Girgenti fields. I had a jolly 
 good time, however, with my good-looking 
 guide, who drew up both feet and made me 
 
Susan in Sicily 47 
 
 such a ceremonious bow at the entrance to 
 the town that even my bold soul dared not 
 beg him to come farther. 
 
 I got back to the hotel to find Emily re- 
 freshed by a nap and sitting in the garden 
 ready for tea. She did not scold as I fear 
 Aunt Anne would have done, but laughed at 
 the adventure. Now I feel sure she will be 
 a perfect chaperon for your prudent sister 
 
 Susan. 
 
48 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XI 
 
 Betsy mine: — We leave early to-morrow 
 morning, but not feeling too sleepy to-night 
 to remember my promise of a daily addition 
 to my letters, a promise which I ask to be 
 given in trust to my discretion, I will keep 
 it now to the best of iny ability. 
 
 We have had a very deliriously busy day. 
 It began for me before the dawn. A very 
 much petted donkey in the stables under my 
 window, who had whimpered like a dog every 
 time he woke up in the night, called out such 
 a joyous greeting when he heard the boy's 
 footsteps approaching at six o'clock, and his 
 master responded with so many Ahh's and 
 Ohh's, to say nothing of other marks of affec- 
 tion, that I could not resist leaving my warm 
 bed and peering out into the dawn to watch 
 the proceedings. Donkey was evidently 
 young, so was the lad who kissed him on his 
 soft fuzzy nose, hung on his jingling harness, 
 attached him to the gayest of gay little carts, 
 and went away to water him at the trough, 
 
Susan in Sicily 49 
 
 stroking the animal's neck and singing one of 
 those weird half Eastern chants the Sicilians 
 carol so lustily. He was hardly out of sight 
 before work began in the garden. 
 
 I crept back into bed to warm my toes, 
 trying to remember whether Mascagni had 
 really copied any of that churchly minor mel- 
 ody in the Cavalleria, when by a strange 
 coincidence a voice called impatiently: " Tu- 
 riddu " (accent on the first syllable). 
 
 Turiddu let himself be called several times. 
 That is surely a devil-may-care, dashing young 
 fellow like the operatic hero, thinks I to my- 
 self, and up I jumped again to see. Alas 
 for romance! There appeared a dusty, red- 
 headed, shuffling youngster, dragging his feet 
 slowly after him, laden down with a sack of 
 earth, and meeting the flood of words hurled 
 at him with sublime calmness. Emily, who 
 was awakened by the clamour, told me that 
 the namesake of the operatic hero was ad- 
 jured to behave less like a cc mezzo morte" 
 I heed not translate? 
 
 Sleep having fled, I ventured to try ring- 
 ing for coffee. It was only seven and my 
 surprise was greater than my presumption, 
 when a waiter in full gala attire appeared to 
 take my order. I am still hovering among 
 London memories. I wanted to begin my 
 
50 Susan in Sicily 
 
 order by asking if he went to bed in his dress 
 suit, but I controlled myself and simply re- 
 quested coffee. Emily opened her door and 
 repeated the order as he went past, so to- 
 gether, our honey sweetened by the scent of 
 the jasmine on the balcony, we sipped our 
 coffee, and at nine were ready to stroll down 
 the garden and through the flower strewn 
 paths to the ancient church of S. Nicola. 
 
 I am so lacking in archaeological knowledge 
 that I will refer you to wiser and better au- 
 thorities, the Baedeker or delightful John 
 Addington Symonds. S. Nicola is a garden 
 of delight, where among the lavender and 
 roses, under the orange and lemon boughs, 
 are relics of the past glory of vanished Akra- 
 gas. The quaint Norman church, the grass 
 grown courtyard with its disused outside 
 staircase, would fill a painter's heart with joy, 
 and the fact that we lingered long and lov- 
 ingly with the two women who guard the 
 place, will show you what joy was ours. I 
 wandered about alternately plucking wild 
 flowers and gazing over the superb panorama, 
 with rich practice in the two words I have 
 just acquired in the Italian tongue: "Bella 
 viata! " constantly on my lips. 
 
 We hated to leave and our new friends 
 
' ML ?* ^ji "1 ?i , i , t£ « . | ** 
 
 ^ •&* i | m&k 
 
 fgBBSSt ^ \jh 
 
Susan in Sicily 51 
 
 hated to have us go. There are so few vis- 
 itors at this season they said. 
 
 When by slow stages we reached the tem- 
 ples, a surprise awaited us. The country 
 which from the hotel terrace seems to roll 
 away gently to the borders of the sea, really 
 falls suddenly beyond these stately ruins and 
 forms an abrupt precipice. 
 
 The plain below is so far beneath the great 
 temple of Juno that the little train with its 
 load of sulphur running to Porto Empedo- 
 cle looked like a pretty toy. 
 
 Wild flowers made gay the mounds on 
 which the temples rose; tiny daisies, such as 
 we are proud to have in our garden borders, 
 whitened the grass brilliant orange, yellow, 
 pink and purple and a dainty miniature Jack- 
 in-the-pulpit preached to the whole crowd. 
 I'm sure he mocked at the works of man, 
 lying low where he and his kind sprang afresh 
 through the centuries. 
 
 Some of the more entertaining guide books 
 tell us of the great doings in ancient Akragas. 
 Emily was their mouthpiece. She grew as 
 enthusiastic as a modern gossip when she led 
 me through the half ruined temple of Juno, 
 and showed me the marks of the fire which 
 burned up the great multimillionaire Gellias, 
 his family, his slaves, and his choicest pos- 
 
52 Susan in Sicily 
 
 sessions, and incidentally part of the superb 
 structure itself. He kindled the fire with his 
 own hands rather than fall into the hands 
 of the Carthagenian victors. She positively 
 looked sad when she told me the affecting 
 news, although it has been more than two 
 thousand years since the catastrophe occurred. 
 I longed to tease her by making some foolish 
 remark, but I discovered in time that she is 
 very earnest when she dwells on past and 
 gone mortals, and the longer ago they van- 
 ished from earth the more she reveres them. 
 I should not dare to speak disrespectfully 
 to her of Adam! 
 
 I distracted her mind from these sad 
 thoughts by looking beyond the waving or- 
 chards to the modern town far, far away; 
 a small bunch of yellow and red on the ridge. 
 I asked her how she thought it must have 
 looked when the whole distance to the rock 
 of Athens was covered with a shining city. 
 
 Her imagination had full play, and she 
 erected dazzling white porticoes, shaded with 
 shining foliage of the orange and lemon; 
 glistening marble dwellings; long busy 
 streets, and peopled them with a luxurious 
 race headed by Empedocles, the poet, physi- 
 cian, and sage who, while helpful to his fellow 
 creatures, was, like many modern men of his 
 
Susan in Sicily 53 
 
 temperament, a monster of conceit. He loved 
 to deck himself in rich purple robes, to wear 
 a laurel wreath upon his brow, to tread upon 
 golden sandals, and to declare himself an 
 immortal god. Finally to indulge his mania 
 for notoriety to an abnormal extent he was 
 led to plunge into the crater of Etna that 
 it might be thought that the gods had 
 snatched him up to Olympus. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Calverly was still strolling in 
 his interesting society, with your humble sis- 
 ter not ( far behind, her ears filled with the 
 wonders of his person, her eyes intent upon 
 the wondrous wild flowers, when we reached 
 the most perfect temple of them all, for whose 
 preservation we must thank the good St. 
 Gregory of the Turnips. 
 
 Whatever else that bucolic man may have 
 done to be called holy, I know not, but the 
 fact that he managed to get himself wor- 
 shipped in this gem of Greek architecture 
 proves that he fully deserved his saintship. 
 
 We passed along the ancient city walls 
 where the citizens of old Akragas buried their 
 favourite horses and pet birds as well as their 
 sons and daughters, until the pleasant emana- 
 tions from these tombs caused such mortality 
 among the sentinels and patrols on the forti- 
 fications that the tombs had to be opened. 
 
54 Susan in Sicily 
 
 We came thus by degrees to those temples 
 levelled by war and earthquakes, where the 
 huge columns rest as they fell, and a giant 
 caryatid lies pitifully low in the centre of the 
 waste. 
 
 My arms were by this time full of the fra- 
 grant things I had gathered, and Emily wan- 
 dered knowingly among the ruins while I 
 engaged in a somewhat one-sided conference 
 with the custode. This resulted in a display 
 of the photograph of his son in America, and 
 such an animated twentieth century conver- 
 sation followed that, by the time Emily re- 
 turned from her explorations, I laboured 
 under the delusion that I understood Italian 
 perfectly, while I am sure he felt he knew 
 English. 
 
 I tore Emily away from a long sympa- 
 thetic soliloquy in front of a baby aged two 
 who sat with her feet on some recently ex- 
 cavated pavement which had lain under the 
 earth two thousand years, while in her tiny 
 arms she clutched another baby of six months, 
 and hurried home to eat the lunch I richly 
 earned. 
 
 This treading down centuries of time is 
 famously good for my appetite. 
 
 This afternoon was spent in a carriage. I 
 almost said reclining, whereas swaying and 
 
Susan in Sicily 55 
 
 clutching would really have expressed much 
 better what I did. The driver took us to the 
 cathedral. With a faint hope of meeting my 
 champion I proposed walking, but Emily de- 
 clared we had exercised sufficiently for one 
 day, and when we began to climb the road, 
 lying like a ribbon along the hillside back of 
 the town, our way was so delightful that I 
 forgot everything but the scenery and my 
 pleasure. 
 
 On this side of the town the ground just 
 below the wall where the city crouches is a 
 jungle of orchards and prickly pears. The 
 mounting highway was lively with herds of 
 silky white goats, pack donkeys, shouting 
 peasants and wayfarers coming and going 
 from the high perched city. 
 
 As our energetic coachman had no choice 
 but to walk his horses up the steep incline, 
 he made up for his enforced inactivity of whip 
 by flicking the lash at the numerous pack 
 asses we passed, thereby calling forth ejac- 
 ulations from their masters, but making no 
 impression upon the sensible and imperturba- 
 ble beasts of burden. 
 
 After we had convinced the takers of cus- 
 toms that we concealed neither fish, flesh nor 
 fowl in our vehicle we were permitted to enter 
 in at the gates, and our Jehu found ample 
 
56 Susan in Sicily 
 
 employment for his tongue and whip in dis- 
 persing the beggars and large families of 
 children who fell out of every doorway to 
 offer their services as guides, with the request 
 for advance pay. One favoured youth our 
 driver took on the box. 
 
 At the foot of the cathedral steps another 
 friend of his, attired in a somewhat damaged 
 but violently checked cloth coat, appeared in 
 time to wave away a mass of hornets who, 
 nevertheless, hovered uncomfortably near even 
 after we were delivered into the hands of a 
 ragged sacristan. They pursued us mutter- 
 ing in stage whispers, that they would like 
 soldi, many and more, for which our friend 
 in the sporty suit and the sacristan chased 
 them around one confessional and behind an- 
 other and finally shut us up safe in the 
 sacristy that we might peacefully admire the 
 splendid sarcophagus it contains. 
 
 It has the exceedingly profane story of 
 Hippolytus and his too loving stepmother in 
 superb high relief carved upon it. Although 
 the subject seems scarcely fitting, this relic of 
 ancient, luxurious Akragas was used long as 
 a Christian altar and thus preserved. We 
 heard the celebrated whisper behind the high 
 altar. It said " soldi! " and was echoed from 
 the church door. 
 
Susan in Sicily 57 
 
 It is called the porta voce and carries the 
 voice so well that it is extremely dangerous 
 to whisper secrets behind the high altar if 
 they must not be told at the entrance door. 
 The soldi secret was an open one. Emily 
 insisted on going down the filthiest, worst 
 paved street in the world and down into a 
 cellar to see the foundation of a temple, so 
 I braved a mob of wild looking women who 
 with babes in arms demanded cinquanta cen- 
 tessima in decided tones. They were really 
 alarming and I was glad when, denuded of 
 every copper we possessed, we mounted our 
 swaying chariot and were swirled down the 
 hill. 
 
 We wanted to go back to the hotel and 
 watch the sunset from our garden, but no! 
 our driver was our master. He made us go 
 to the Rupe Athene on the ridge opposite the 
 city. 
 
 There is nothing to see there, but we 
 climbed a long hill by a road only fit for 
 donkeys' feet to tread, got a salute from a 
 corps of lonely young soldiers who were 
 posted up there as a guard and were so glad 
 to see a strange face that they all turned out 
 and presented arms for our benefit. 
 
 Emily uttered a few decided words in Ital- 
 ian when we again reached the carriage, and 
 
58 Susan in Sicily 
 
 Jehu, convinced that he had earned his fee, 
 clattered back down the hill as the sun began 
 to paint the cliffs with strong amethyst dashes 
 of colour and the landscape a golden yellow. 
 He revealed modern Girgenti to us in such 
 an opalescent light that we forgot the dirt 
 and the beggars, and by the power of his 
 magic we stored in our memory the brilliant 
 picture of a piled up city teeming with saffron 
 and pink, looking on a wide noble fall of 
 amber and emerald which tumbled down until 
 it was lost in the sea. 
 
 Like a great ball of fire we saw the sun 
 sink down, the encircling cliffs grow first pur- 
 ple, then black, and the moon come up to 
 promise a fine morning to-morrow for our 
 early start for Syracuse. 
 
 Your sleepy 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 59 
 
 XII 
 
 Syracuse. 
 
 My ever-interested Betsy: — If it was our 
 fate to have rain on our trip I am glad it 
 came here in Syracuse, where we have such 
 a comfortable hotel. The wind is howling, 
 the sea looks wild, and the clouds are sending 
 down buckets of water, still I am content to 
 be here. I cannot even properly sympathize 
 with a lady who told us at Girgenti that she 
 found Syracuse so depressing her only re- 
 source was to seek her room, close the shut- 
 ters, and play cards! We arrived last eve- 
 ning after an all day car journey, escorted 
 by a dashing young officer of cavalry and an 
 agreeable Englishman. I can hear your ex- 
 clamation of surprise all the way across the 
 ocean, and it does so delight me to astonish 
 you. 
 
 The officer, my officer, only accompanied us 
 to the limit of the railroad trip. The Eng- 
 lishman is, at the present writing, down in 
 the drawing-room, talking archaeology with 
 Mrs. Calverly. 
 
60 Susan in Sicily 
 
 The lieutenant we met at the Girgenti sta- 
 tion while we were wrangling with the brutes 
 of porters. He is destined to be my deliverer 
 without doubt. The Englishman we encoun- 
 tered when we changed at Santa Caterina 
 Xirbi, where the Palermo and Girgenti trains 
 meet on their way to Syracuse. I will intro- 
 duce them, for I just remember that yester- 
 day I forgot to tell you how my saviour 
 looked. He is handsome in the Italian style, 
 very dapper, neither short nor tall, and ex- 
 tremely graceful. His name is Conte Ban- 
 ciastelli. 
 
 The world being no larger than our circle 
 of friends we promptly discovered that his 
 uncle is the gentleman who taught me to 
 speak Sicilian with my hands, the evening I 
 spent in Palermo. 
 
 Mr. Herbert is the Englishman. He may 
 be thirty- five, he may be twenty-five. I can't 
 tell. He is tall, slim, extremely good looking, 
 well put up, well dressed and with such a 
 delightful accent that my ambition to speak 
 Italian has quite dissolved before my desire 
 to pronounce English after the manner of 
 Baliol. 
 
 While the lieutenant stood at my side in 
 the corridor of the car pointing out all the 
 beauties of our passage and watching eagerly 
 
Susan in Sicily 61 
 
 for the first view of snow crowned Etna, Mr. 
 Herbert and Emily conversed on the historic 
 charm of Syracuse and the conditions of 
 Sicily, subjects which, while they interest me, 
 are somewhat beyond the reach of my friv- 
 olous mind. But do not imagine for a mo- 
 ment that the gentleman has no fun in him, 
 for I was called in to lower the elevated tone 
 of the conversation by showing off my new 
 accomplishments in the sign language, and 
 to make him chuckle with delight at some of 
 brother George's American wit retailed sec- 
 ond-hand in my best manner. 
 
 I have since discovered that this exhibition 
 was demanded after Emily's indescribable 
 winsome, sympathetic eyes had drawn forth 
 the confession that some sorrow in England 
 had driven Mr. Herbert to seek forgetfulness 
 and distraction in travel. 
 
 I have known Emily but a few days, yet 
 in that time I have ascertained that she is 
 capable of drawing confidences from a prop- 
 erly constructed stone wall. The chamber- 
 maids pour into her willing ears their heart 
 affairs with the waiters. The porters tell her 
 of the children left behind in Switzerland, and 
 the ailments the baby endures. But if a se- 
 cretive Englishman has found it impossible 
 to resist the spell, and has told her his un- 
 
62 Susan in Sicily 
 
 happy love affair, the next step will surely 
 plunge him into a new one with her. 
 
 But these conjectures must be a dead secret 
 between you and me, my precious beloved 
 safety valve of a Betsy! Won't it be fun? 
 Incidentally I will whisper to you that I have 
 decided to fall in love (in a limited way) 
 with the Conte. I think I can manage it and 
 so give spice to my trip. One can't be living 
 among the ancients all the time with profit. 
 
 Don't become impatient and tell me to stop 
 chattering. I am going to describe in time 
 what Syracuse is like, as seen from my win- 
 dow through the blinding rain drops. 
 
 I stand close to the panes and look over 
 the balcony rail far, far down into an abyss; 
 a huge irregular chasm which has opened and 
 let more than half of the great hotel garden 
 down to a depth of fully a hundred feet. 
 The trees below bear golden lemons, and rich 
 hued oranges, peacocks strut about, and the 
 walls, which rise sheer above this sunken gar- 
 den, are made lovely with the fig of India, 
 in full fruit, and a wealth of graceful sweep- 
 ing vines. 
 
 There is no melancholy now about this 
 grave of hopes and ambitions, and the beauty 
 of the glistening leaves lends an attractive 
 charm to this profound quarry, where thou- 
 
Susan in Sicily 63 
 
 sands of brave, unfortunate Greeks perished 
 so miserably after the disastrous surrender of 
 their officers. The officers, of course, met with 
 better fortune, they were mercifully put to 
 death at once; but for eight long weeks their 
 subordinates, recruited from among the brav- 
 est and best in Athens, suffered every sort of 
 horror here, where now the sweetest flowers 
 bloom and the vainest of fowls preen their gor- 
 geous feathers. 
 
 There must be crowds of ghosts down there ! 
 My brain fairly teems with tragic fancies as 
 I gaze down. I shall become a writer of heart- 
 rending tales if I don't control myself, and 
 then you will never know what Syracuse looks 
 like from this point of view. I must open the 
 guide-book before I begin. Accuracy depends 
 upon its instructions. 
 
 I have shown you the Latomia, and by pull- 
 ing my writing table a little way from such 
 close proximity to the window, I look over it, 
 across a most uninteresting stretch of country, 
 to the water now dashing furiously against the 
 sea wall of a small piled up city on a round 
 island. This is all that is now remaining of 
 ancient Syracuse. Beyond it is a deep inlet, 
 called the Great Harbour, but from this dis- 
 tance seeming hardly broad or deep enough 
 for the tremendous decisive battle which went 
 
64 Susan in Sicily 
 
 on there two thousand years ago. A German 
 cruiser riding at anchor appears to take up a 
 tremendous lot of room. The shores of this 
 harbour rise to a sort of ridge where the point 
 of land directly opposite the city runs out into 
 the sea. Otherwise they look so flat and un- 
 healthy that it is small wonder that the Athe- 
 nian army encamped about the head of this 
 inlet suffered the ravages of dire disease. 
 
 Far off I can see a mighty ridge springing 
 suddenly from the plain and forming a strong 
 line on the horizon. The clouds nearly rest 
 upon the flat top. This is Hyblaea, a land 
 flowing with honey and superb relics of an- 
 tiquity. 
 
 On this side of the harbour masses of rocks, 
 great fields covered with showers of stones of 
 all sizes and sorts, a number of ugly scattered 
 villas and their enclosed gardens, convey no 
 suggestion of the splendid vanished metropolis 
 Cicero once declared to be the " largest of 
 Greek and most beautiful of all cities." 
 
 I have ended my picture just in time to pre- 
 pare for luncheon, and to see the skies clear a 
 little. We may drive to the Museum after all. 
 Your pedantic 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 65 
 
 XIII 
 
 Betsy mine: — After I had written you a 
 long letter, and had eaten luncheon with ex- 
 traordinary appetite, the sun succeeded in ban- 
 ishing the clouds, sending the wind and the 
 rain away together. Then we explored the 
 well stocked garden, climbing down a long 
 steep flight of steps into the Latomia. It was 
 not as damp in the depths as we expected after 
 such a fierce storm, the trees had evidently wel- 
 comed and drunk most of the rain drops. This 
 huge excavation is a great rambling place, and 
 is said to have come into existence as a quarry. 
 There is an American in the hotel who in- 
 formed me that he did not find anything very 
 wonderful about the Latomia. "Why! It 
 isn't a patch on the quarries at Podunk! " was 
 his learned comment. 
 
 I find this great irregular hole in the ground 
 the most extraordinary and interesting place 
 I have ever seen. There are tunnelled pas- 
 sages, caves, they might be called, leading 
 from one wide open space to the other, where 
 
66 Susan in Sicily 
 
 the precipices rise sheer and clean out to the 
 earth above and to the old Cappuccine mon- 
 astery perched on the brink. The garden 
 high in the air wanders over all the irregular 
 ground left by these strange excavations. 
 
 When bare, shorn of its orchards, its flowers, 
 its luxuriant curtains of vines, it must have 
 been a dreary, desolate, infernal and cruel 
 prison for the unfortunate Greeks who were 
 driven in like sheep, to suffer the tortures of 
 hunger, cold, burning heat, and to fall dead 
 at last on a heap of putrefying bodies! 
 
 The ghosts come and whisper in your ears 
 down there. They tell you how with half mad- 
 dened eyes they looked up at the mocking 
 faces of beautiful cruel Syracusan women who 
 had come to peer over the brink of the abyss 
 and revengefully gloat upon the captives' 
 agony. 
 
 As I sat on a stone bench alone, one of these 
 whisperers told me of his sister who was the 
 slave of an imperious lady of Syracuse, who 
 hated her for her charm, her beauty and her 
 race, yet kept the unfortunate maiden, Ny- 
 cheia, ever in her company, for the sake of her 
 Attic tongue. Poor, lovely, sad Nycheia! I 
 looked up and fancied her with wild eyes rec- 
 ognizing the ghost and his comrade, her girl- 
 hood's lover. I knew that at the peril of tor- 
 
IN THE DEPTHS OF THE LATOMIA, SYRACUSE. 
 
Susan in Sicily 67 
 
 ture, she stole back to cheer them, and coming 
 in the glow of the twilight, which turns these 
 dread rocks to rose colour, saw her lover stag- 
 gering, himself in death throes, to bear her 
 brother's body from her sight. Then fainting 
 with horror her unconscious frame pitched for- 
 ward into the depths to end her misery with 
 her loved ones. This is true. I heard it. 
 Every word. The ghost spoke so distinctly. 
 Your dreamy 
 
 Susan. 
 
68 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XIV 
 
 A stupendous event has occurred. Stupen- 
 dous from my point of view. Never can you 
 guess it, my clever Betsy. 
 
 " I give it to you in five, I give it to you 
 in ten," as the immortal Madame de Sevigne 
 puts a riddle in one of her letters. You can't 
 guess it? You give it up? Then I must 
 write it? 
 
 Aunt Anne arrived! Now don't skip while 
 I describe the scene. You will know in time 
 why she came. 
 
 The hotel verandah is a most attractive 
 spot, a true American piazza, wide, sunny, 
 comfortable, lifted above the gay garden, and 
 above the mournful Latomia, where at the 
 time of which I write the birds were singing 
 so gaily and the vines glittering and swaying 
 so happily that my volatile mind forgot the 
 ghosts. 
 
 Our table was spread here for tea. Emily 
 had entered the house to consult the wise 
 porter on the subject of sight-seeing, Mr. 
 Herbert and the Conte were laughing at my 
 
Susan in Sicily 69 
 
 tragic description of the desperate flirtation 
 I tried to conduct on shipboard by the aid of 
 a phrase book in which the tenderest sentence 
 was: " I wish you many happy returns of the 
 day," when the heavy hotel omnibus came 
 lumbering up the driveway. With my usual 
 curiosity, I went to the railing and hung over 
 to see the arriving guests about to descend 
 when an unaccountably familiar voice smote 
 upon my ear. It was exclaiming with em- 
 phasis : 
 
 ' Well! I'm thankful we are here at last! " 
 and behold! Aunt Anne in her long gray 
 coat edging herself out of the vehicle. I 
 screamed. I am sure I did! And I nearly 
 fell down the length of the steps leading to 
 the avenue. 
 
 " Yes, here we are," she continued calmly 
 before I could utter a word. " We were 
 bored in Palermo, the rain poured down and 
 the four winds blew, and I did not like the 
 chambermaid. They told us at Williams' 
 Agency that Syracuse was warm, and only 
 about a hundred and fifty miles distant. The 
 railroad fare was a mere song! so I thought 
 we should be here in less time than it takes 
 to go to Albany. Instead, we have been trav- 
 elling all day long. Crawling, crawling. I 
 am nearly dead, so is Mrs. Adams ! " 
 
70 Susan in Sicily 
 
 But by this time Emily had her mother in 
 her arms: " Oh! Mamma!" she was saying, 
 "why did you come? I hope nothing is 
 wrong with you? " 
 
 " No, dearie! Only we missed you so much 
 that we decided in haste to join you again." 
 
 So here we are all together, and Aunt is 
 in high good humour. She can't find fault 
 with anything in this excellent hotel but the 
 mosquitoes, and the noise the servants made 
 this morning too early to please her. She 
 settled the latter business with one ring of 
 her bell and a prompt word. The silence of 
 death has reigned ever since in the corridor, 
 the mosquitoes are less tractable, but as she 
 keeps her room darkened and sits in mine, 
 I have a bloody battle with the pests prepara- 
 tory to sleeping, while she declares that they 
 have ceased to exist. 
 
 Yesterday I had intended writing you all 
 this news, but after the exciting occurrences 
 and the mosquito slaughter I was too ex- 
 hausted. I will be faithful henceforth and 
 try to keep you promptly informed of all the 
 goings, comings and doings of 
 
 lYour subdued sister 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 71 
 
 XV 
 
 Five days later. 
 
 My dear: — We are off again to-morrow. 
 Aunt Anne has declared that she has had 
 enough of Syracuse. She is ready for a 
 change of scene. And what Aunt wishes we 
 all desire, beginning with sweet little Mrs. 
 Adams, who is completely under her control. 
 
 We have done all the sights ; we have gath- 
 ered papyrus on the shores of the Anapo, an 
 easy task, by the way, for you can reach both 
 shores at once. We have turned over heaps 
 of old stones. In fact everything there is to 
 be done in Syracuse has been accomplished, 
 except the digging of ancient coins, and my 
 heart is nearly broken to be forced to leave 
 without having indulged in this congenial 
 pastime ! 
 
 To dig was always my fondest pleasure in 
 childhood, and I have not overcome the pas- 
 sion, moreover, the fat communicative coach- 
 man has related a remarkable success he once 
 had in that line. He says he dug up some 
 
72 Susan in Sicily 
 
 large, perfect silver coins for which he re- 
 ceived a mighty price. He pointed out the 
 exact spot in a field near the hotel where two 
 children digging found a pot of gold. The 
 whole wild waste territory must be as thickly 
 sown with antique money as it is with fallen 
 stones. I have concluded from the perfect 
 condition of the truly wonderful and beautiful 
 old coins in the Museum, that from the year 
 400 B.C. and upwards, no sooner were new 
 coins issued from the mint, than the thriftiest 
 Syracusans proceeded to bury their wealth, 
 and forget the hiding-places! I shall never 
 be satisfied until I return with a spade and 
 a hoe! 
 
 We have visited the ruined theatres; we 
 have penetrated the depths of all the antique 
 quarries (so inferior to Podunk) ; we have 
 descended into the catacombs and mounted 
 to the Street of the Tombs. We gathered 
 armfuls of wild flowers at the great fort Eu- 
 ryelus, and peered down through the numer- 
 ous openings in the ancient aqueduct, which 
 endures in the strength of its original con- 
 struction. These orifices line the way to the 
 fortress, and mark the streets of the splendid 
 city now vanished. We speculated with so 
 much interest on what it all could have been 
 like; whether the milliards of stones of all 
 
Susan in Sicily 73 
 
 forms and sizes lying thick upon the fields, 
 on either side of our way, were ever houses; 
 whether the ugly modern villas dotting the 
 landscape bore even a remote resemblance to 
 the dwellings in the " London of two thou- 
 sand years ago," that a tramp of two miles 
 or more from the hotel to Euryelus tired none 
 of us. 
 
 What a surprising place it is, this giant 
 fortress! I could not help asking every mo- 
 ment, how they ever got those huge stones 
 one upon the other, and dug out all that laby- 
 rinth of subterranean passages in the few 
 years the guide book asserts the prodigious 
 work was accomplished. 
 
 Emily cast pitying, reproachful glances 
 each time I burst forth with the selfsame 
 commonplace remark, but Mr. Herbert tried 
 to awaken my dull understanding with cour- 
 teous and wise explanations. No use ! I still 
 could not believe that any stronghold so for- 
 midable grew up in a night like fairy-tale 
 houses, therefore I fled in company with the 
 more frivolous Conte who, soldier though he 
 is, did not seem interested in fortresses. 
 
 We sat on a block of the fallen immensity, 
 gazed across the wide plain at the far off 
 dome of snow capped Etna, and discussed the 
 difficulties of the Italian language. He said, 
 
74 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " You can never make any real progress in 
 speaking it until you have learned to conju- 
 gate the verb ' to love,' " but I told him that 
 is the hardest verb to conjugate in any lan- 
 guage. 
 
 " Ah, but you never tried it in Italian! " 
 
 We were undoubtedly silly. We giggled, 
 and it did me good. I can be serious enough 
 with Aunt. 
 
 I have absorbed history in every pore. I 
 send Aunt Anne to sleep every afternoon 
 with the combats of the Syracusans, the deeds 
 of the Athenians, and as for the great sea 
 fight! I can now perfectly understand how 
 the friends of each contending navy stood on 
 the high ground and on the roof tops and 
 yelled like "rooters 33 at a game of football 
 in America. Mr. Herbert lent me a trans- 
 lation of Thucydides, and in reading my voice 
 grew so strong and excited that Aunt had to 
 tell me to stop. I suppose I kept her awake. 
 
 Speaking of ancient history reminds me to 
 halt here and tell you that I have gathered in 
 the Conte's more private and modern history. 
 His mother was a Sicilian, his father an of- 
 ficer from more northern Italy, his uncle mar- 
 ried an English lady, and when a lad, after 
 his parents had died, this aunt took him to 
 England for a few years, where he learned 
 
AT THE DOOR OF SAN GIOVANNI, SYRACUSE. 
 
Susan in Sicily 75 
 
 to speak the language and to understand the 
 peculiarities of light-minded girls like me. 
 He is a jolly good fellow, but there is no 
 danger to either of us in our little friendship, 
 so don't let the family worry about an Italian 
 marriage. 
 
 Aunt Anne went sight-seeing once, just 
 once. She said she saw enough old stones then 
 to last her for several months. Hear how 
 she looked at them. 
 
 We put her in charge of the kindly fat 
 Francesco, the coachman, and Mrs. Adams 
 drove with her. The rest of us started off 
 on foot to meet them at the theatre, and on 
 the way they passed us. Francesco was lean- 
 ing down talking volubly as if his passengers 
 were Italians born, and Aunt was nodding 
 assent with stately dignity as though she un- 
 derstood every word. We had ordered Fran- 
 cesco to stop at all the places of interest by 
 the way. There are six in all between the 
 hotel and the theatre; the Landolina gardens; 
 the catacombs and church of St. Giovanni; 
 the Latomia Veneri; the amphitheatre; the 
 great altar of Heiro; and the ear of Dio- 
 nysius. If, we decided, Aunt Anne refused 
 to look at any of these praiseworthy objects, 
 perhaps Mrs. Adams would not neglect them, 
 and even should they only stop long enough 
 
76 Susan in Sicily 
 
 to talk about them we would gain time to 
 walk comfortably to the rendezvous. 
 
 The distance is not more than a good mile 
 on a smooth road, and when we reached the 
 theatre, leaving Emily and Mr. Herbert sit- 
 ting in the seats of the vanished King Heiro 
 and his wife Philistia, for whom that com- 
 partment was named, discussing ancient plays, 
 the Conte and I climbed all over the place, 
 exchanged highly banal thoughts on the sub- 
 ject of the Greeks and the choice of sites for 
 playhouses. 
 
 In the Street of Tombs, by which the gay 
 young sports of old Syracuse drove to the 
 theatre, we were stumbling over the deep ruts 
 made by the chariot wheels, when I beheld 
 in the distance the waving plumes which her- 
 alded Aunt Anne. A lovely hat with gray 
 and white feathers! I slid and jumped and 
 almost fell down from the tombs to the car- 
 riage to help her, but behold! she refused to 
 get out! 
 
 She said she could grasp all the ancient 
 Greek ideas of a fashionable opera-house quite 
 well from a comfortable cushioned seat. 
 Francesco looked amazed and disappointed, 
 and sent an obese sigh in the direction of the 
 cafe close at hand. But it was all in vain. 
 
A MODERN SYRACUSAN. 
 
Susan in Sicily 77 
 
 Her comments on what she had seen were 
 characteristic: 
 
 " The catacombs are not exactly gay, but 
 I suppose it is wise to think of death in the 
 midst of life, but I shall not court pneumonia 
 again by going down under the ground be- 
 fore I am put there." 
 
 The Conte, who thinks Aunt Anne the 
 most amusing person he ever met, asked her 
 solemnly if she did not find the graves inter- 
 esting. 
 
 " I might have gathered in great wisdom 
 if the monk who showed us the catacombs 
 had not spoken English with an ancient Syra- 
 cusan accent. He was a most artistic looking 
 creature with his brown robe, his sandals, and 
 with that queer undecided little lamp; the 
 only light we had on the subject. I suppose 
 he believed the heaps of dust he gravely 
 pointed out had once been a family of noble 
 Romans. He showed us a row of twenty 
 or more graves and declared there had been 
 buried a proud Sicilian father and his small 
 family. It was a horrid, gloomy, cavernous 
 place even if St. Paul did preach there, and 
 I fled as soon as possible to life and sun- 
 shine." 
 
 The Conte's face wore a broad smile he 
 tried to hide. 
 
78 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " I could not help being interested in the 
 early Christian mementoes," said Mrs. Adams, 
 " even if it was a bit chilly and dismal." 
 
 But Aunt Anne only sniffed and went on 
 saying that the Landolina gardens were en- 
 chanting, so scented with fruit and flowers, 
 sweet lemon blossoms, and the fruit of both 
 orange and lemon trees being picked was so 
 rich in fragrance! She adores gardens and 
 therefore the Latomia Veneri also met with 
 her approval. 
 
 The lofty arches and the aqueduct she 
 could see from her " comfortable cushioned 
 seat," and condescendingly admired ; but spoke 
 of the excavated amphitheatre and the ear of 
 Dionysius with calm indifference. Of the 
 ropemakers at work in the caves beyond the 
 prying tyrant's listening chamber she re- 
 marked : 
 
 " Rather damp places to work in when the 
 weather is wet. I wonder if they earn much, 
 and what they do with the rope? " 
 
 Nobody answered her, because nobody 
 knew, so having ended her comments she 
 commanded : 
 
 "Francesco, to the hotel!" and left us to 
 follow at our leisure. 
 
 That evening she informed me that she 
 would do all the future sight-seeing of old 
 
Susan in Sicily 79 
 
 stones by looking at pictures. " You can 
 read me all I need know about antiquities to 
 talk intelligently when I get home." 
 
 I am heartily sorry to leave Syracuse, the 
 crowded town is full of the most enchanting 
 Norman windows, gateways, doors, carved 
 Spanish balconies and old noble looking Ara- 
 bic facades. I never tired of rambling in 
 and out of queer little streets, of marvelling 
 how the earth could ever have piled up so 
 high above the original ancient Ortygia. The 
 foundations of an antique temple are fully 
 forty feet below the surface of the present 
 town. I wonder what they would find, if 
 the excavators could go down as far as that 
 all over the place! 
 
 I spent hours in the Museum with delicious 
 Frau Venus and I would have gone over to 
 Malta if Emily would have gone with me, 
 but we could not spare the time. The Tes- 
 sera will be cancelled in two weeks and we 
 have still a great deal to see before we get 
 back to Palermo. 
 
 The Lieutenant has duties to perform in 
 Catania, and he will bear us company so far. 
 Aunt Anne and Mrs. Adams are going di- 
 rectly through to Taormina, while Emily and 
 I have decided to take the tour around Mt. 
 Etna. We will stop over night in Catania 
 
80 Susan in Sicily 
 
 and then go on by a small railway which 
 winds around the west side of the volcano, 
 joining the main line for Taormina at Giarre. 
 Mr. Herbert remains in Syracuse. I ven- 
 tured to tease Emily about her adorer, but 
 she grew instantly so serious and appeared so 
 unaccountably distressed that I turned the 
 subject as quickly as I could. It seemed to 
 my inexperienced eyes, that if ever two people 
 were deeply in love, those two people could 
 be called Emily and Tom. But I see I must 
 hold my tongue until my confidence is invited. 
 Your discreet 
 
 Susan. 
 
 P. S. Aunt Anne vehemently and unblush- 
 ingly regrets parting from Mr. Herbert. He 
 is so respectful; asks her opinion; is so at- 
 tentive to her comfort; he helps her; he car- 
 ries her books and brings her a pillow for her 
 back. " Our young men in America would 
 do well to learn from him how to treat their 
 elderly relatives with proper courtesy." Tell 
 George to cut this out and paste it in his 
 diary, but to be cautious about the use of the 
 word elderly in ordinary parlance. 
 
Susan in Sicily 81 
 
 XVI 
 
 Catania. 
 
 Don't be disgusted with a postal card, my 
 dear, but I can't waste any paper on Catania. 
 We arrived at noon, we interviewed the city 
 in company with our young officer, who 
 doesn't seem disgusted with its commonplace 
 disorder, its untidiness, its general air of not 
 cleaning up, because a flood of lava may rush 
 down at any moment and do the business 
 more effectually. 
 
 Bellini, composer of Sonnambula, the 
 writer of bird-like trills and roulades for op- 
 eratic singers, was born in Catania. His 
 birthplace is decorated with high coloured 
 posters, all in various stages of dilapidation, 
 advertising everything under the sun. In- 
 deed bright tinted bills, torn and untorn, seem 
 the most popular decorations in this town. 
 I call it a shabby city, even if its principal 
 street does end in a superb view of Etna's 
 dome! I believe the citizens greatly praise 
 the clean lava pavements, but the meaner 
 
82 Susan in Sicily 
 
 streets are labyrinths of squalor; rough roads 
 where fowls, pigs, goats, donkeys, children 
 and women dispute the way. I have no wish 
 to linger in Catania. 
 
 Your disgusted 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 83 
 
 XVII 
 
 Dear Betsy: — I have fallen in love. 
 Deeply, wildly in love, but don't be agitated. 
 I have not given my heart to the Lieutenant 
 Conte, dear, amiable, childlike, well-man- 
 nered, simple youth that he is! My passion 
 is for a mightier, more ferocious object. I 
 have become madly infatuated with Mt. 
 Etna! Such a day as we passed on its side 
 I never expect to renew! The great brood- 
 ing, slumbering, surly dome with the dark 
 breath issuing from a white mouth seems to 
 me like the head of an awful monster, who 
 has spread out his robes around him, inviting 
 confiding Lilliputians to come and nestle 
 among the richness of its folds, that he 
 some day may shake himself in grim humour, 
 and with the fire he has power to eject des- 
 troy as many as he can. 
 
 All day, notwithstanding we were in a mis- 
 erable little train, crawling on behind an 
 equally miserable puffing, panting little en- 
 gine, which needed tinkering and oiling at 
 
84 Susan in Sicily 
 
 every miserable station, I could not dispos- 
 sess my mind of this fancy. 
 
 When we left Catania at noon Etna had 
 still his head under the cloud blankets, pre- 
 paring to give us that delightful surprise 
 which later added to our entrancement. The 
 line wound slowly up a gentle slope until we 
 were at the station at the back of the town, 
 and we looked down the long steep street 
 which bears the name of the mountain. The 
 rear view of few towns is agreeable, that of 
 Catania a little worse than others, but above 
 us on the opposite side of the track, as we 
 moved on our way, we saw scattered all over 
 the mountain flank gaily painted villas among 
 rich orchards and gardens. 
 
 If it were my wretched fate to belong to 
 Catania, I too would brave the terrors of 
 possible hot lava and live high up on the 
 slopes, overshadowed by those bulging re- 
 minders of the creature's fury, the extinct 
 craters we saw springing from the mountain's 
 flank. 
 
 We had taken first-class tickets, but as 
 both classes were united in one car, the di- 
 vision being only a sliding door, and as in 
 the first class the upholstered seat ran along 
 the sides, while in the other section they were 
 more comfortably placed at right angles with 
 
Susan in Sicily 85 
 
 the windows, we passed through the door 
 into the less select compartment. 
 
 It was not full. We each had a window 
 to gaze out of. Except that the seats were 
 covered with leather and those beyond us oc- 
 cupied by smokers, the second class was really 
 more comfortable than the first. 
 
 Before we had made our devious way 
 around the mountain, we discovered that the 
 third class would be most in demand by the 
 dwellers along that line. The landed pro- 
 prietors of Etna are rich; for a volcano in 
 its gentle moods yields the most lavish crops 
 from its warm disintegrated lava, but the 
 scattered huts and huddled hovels of the 
 town tell a different tale concerning the day 
 labourers. 
 
 On this western side of the mountain the 
 towns are prosperous in appearance. Around 
 the houses are orchards of lemon, mandarin 
 and orange trees, their veriest twigs weighted 
 down with the fruit. We saw fields of sprout- 
 ing winter wheat, gardens of crisp vegetables, 
 and roses, jasmine, and showers of morning 
 glories climbing over trellis and walls, while 
 nature's untended flowers garlanded the 
 banks on either side of the track. Conspic- 
 uous everywhere were huge plantations of the 
 grotesque prickly pear, here called the fig 
 
86 Susan in Sicily 
 
 of India, looking all the more grotesque for 
 the bright row of queer fruit growing like 
 red balls close together on the edges of the 
 stiff, thick, juicy green leaves. 
 
 At Cibalo the nearly entire third class 
 carriages, which made up a third of the train, 
 discharged their passengers and received a 
 new contingent of chattering peasants. The 
 station platform swarmed with vividly dressed 
 market women, carrying bundles tied in red 
 or yellow handkerchiefs, while the Capo Sta- 
 zione, in his scarlet cap, rushed up and down 
 the platform striving to make himself heard 
 in the din. Men with fierce faces peering 
 from folds of gray shawls they wore wound 
 around their heads, carrying guns slung by 
 a strap over their shoulders, carabinieri, al- 
 ways in couples — an occasional bersaglieri 
 with his jaunty feathered hat, slinking dogs 
 and protesting donkeys, and domestic fowl 
 objecting vehemently to their crated condi- 
 tion, was what we looked out upon at the 
 Cibalo; and these we were to see in more 
 or less variety at all the stations on our way. 
 
 Every man in our compartment leaned 
 from the windows and shouted to others who 
 were equally perilously suspended from the 
 windows of another train which passed. The 
 conductor raising his voice to a desperate 
 
Susan in Sicily 87 
 
 pitch cried: "Pronto!" and " Partenza!" 
 He blew his little horn furiously. We did 
 not move. Those at the windows joined in 
 the clamour: "Ma! why do we not go!" 
 but like the chauffeur in comic illustrations, 
 the engineer was under his machine. Eveiy 
 male passenger gave him advice from his 
 vantage ground of window or platform, the 
 conductor went forward to make suggestions, 
 but not until the driver crawled up into his 
 cab again and " Partenza, Pronto!" and the 
 little horn was heard once more did we pro- 
 ceed on our journey. 
 
 This same process was repeated at so 
 many stations, that it was destined to cause 
 us unspeakable anxiety before the day was 
 over, but of this later. 
 
 Assuredly we travelled slowly. Hours 
 after we left it Catania was still within sight. 
 It lay far below us basking in the sunlight 
 on the border of a wondrously lovely violet 
 sea, pretending to be one of the choice spots 
 on earth. Its domes and pinnacles glistened 
 in the brilliant light, bowers of green en- 
 circled it, and although we knew the arrant 
 deceit and falseness of such pretence, we were 
 so carried away by the magic of the opal- 
 escent tints that we forgot its unworthiness 
 and adored it from the distance. 
 
88 Susan in Sicily 
 
 With Catania not yet lost to view, and 
 prosperous little Cibalo, amidst the twinkling 
 orange leaves, under our windows, we passed 
 suddenly, as when a ship goes out of the 
 smooth waters of a harbour into the terror 
 of a storm, from the peaceful beauty of lux- 
 uriant plenty into a scene of dark, dreadful 
 desolation. 
 
 It was the stream of lava hurled down the 
 mountain side in 1669 which overtook the 
 flying people, swallowing up home and fer- 
 tile fields in its furious fiery flood and ren- 
 dering twenty-seven thousand people home- 
 less, that wrought this change in the whole 
 face of nature. 
 
 On all sides of us, piled up in rough masses, 
 hurled frantically together, tumbled, strug- 
 gling or spread out in horrid dark arid 
 wastes still lay the dull dusky tidal wave of 
 lava. As we passed onward toward Mister- 
 bianco we came upon an older bed. That 
 scene of a tragedy, so great that from sixty 
 to one hundred thousand are said to have lost 
 their lives, has begun to show signs of a 
 blessed revolution. 
 
 Clumps of coarse herbage have begun to 
 spring to life among the cruel, misshapen 
 lumps of lava, and flowers, which vie in col- 
 our with the sun, grow in profusion wherever 
 
Susan in Sicily 89 
 
 their roots can find a place to cling. Before 
 another century shall have elapsed this rich 
 land will be the productive and cherished hab- 
 itation of mortals who are tempted over by 
 the pretended forgetfulness of the unforget- 
 ting forces of nature. 
 
 We came upon much more brutal and 
 frightful wastes before our day ended, but 
 none that made a more profound impression 
 than this, the first real lava stream I had ever 
 seen, for it lay dead and grim between acres 
 of the most luxurious vegetation possible to 
 imagine. 
 
 Misterbianco, a town once utterly des- 
 troyed, stands now on the very edge of what 
 was once a fiery tide and turns its back on 
 the fell reminder of its woe. In front of its 
 gates the almond groves, the wild fig and 
 fruity vines which produce one of the wines 
 of Etna, cover the grave of the destroyed 
 town. 
 
 Our engine tugging with all its might 
 pulled us higher with panting and groaning 
 into other wastes, but here was lava, older, 
 softer, and crumbling everywhere, the fierce- 
 ness and hardness all gone out of its heart, 
 only sad; sad as dull gray brown tracts of 
 clay soil look always sad. 
 
 Soon we came upon a sight of the serene 
 
90 Susan in Sicily 
 
 i 1 1 1 1— 
 
 dome of the mountain, rising out of a bank 
 of fleecy gray clouds, its white head towering 
 placidly above the scene of its wanton fe- 
 rocity. Gradually fields of wheat, patches 
 of wild flowers, olives, beeches and healthy 
 valiant fragrant mandarin trees appeared ab- 
 solutely fighting one another for possession 
 of every inch of the ground warmed by the 
 hot heart of the sleeping mountain. 
 
 A handsome young priest who sat in the 
 seat beyond us caught up his long flowing 
 mantle over one arm, put on his wide brimmed 
 silk beaver hat, looped up with silk cords, and 
 went out on the platform where, with his hand 
 shading his eyes, he made a picture of eager 
 expectation, his face beaming with evident de- 
 light at the view of the town of Paterno climb- 
 ing up to the square keep of the mediaeval 
 castle built in 1073 by the great Roger, Sicily's 
 Norman king. 
 
 We could see two long rambling monas- 
 teries from the train. To one of these we 
 fancied our young Frate might be going. 
 Paterno is safer admired from the vantage 
 ground of the railway carriage. The terrible 
 malaria which prevails there has driven the 
 better class of its landed proprietors to seek 
 residence elsewhere. 
 
 The crowd of smoking, spitting, jostling 
 
Susan in Sicily 91 
 
 men who at Paterno entered the second class 
 compartment drove us back to our rightful, 
 more select, but much less comfortable places 
 in the first class. 
 
 A handsome woman entered wearing no 
 hat, but draped in a silk shawl which she 
 wore like a queen. She smiled at us most 
 graciously and opened the conversation by 
 admiring some flowers I held. I instantly 
 offered them to her, but she carefully plucked 
 one from the bunch and pinned it in her bod- 
 ice, handing me back the others with warm 
 thanks. 
 
 With this little introduction, she began 
 after the manner of her race to look us care- 
 fully over and to ask us questions. I am 
 sure she knew everything we had on from 
 our shoe ribbons to our hat pins. Owing to 
 circumstances beyond my control, and the 
 lack of a phrase book, Emily conducted the 
 conversation. After she explained that we 
 were making the gira of Mount Etna for 
 pleasure, a fact which astonished our com- 
 panion greatly, she excused our folly by say- 
 ing we were Americans. 
 
 " Americans! " 
 
 We always expect the same cry and the 
 same smile every time we announce our na- 
 tionality. The Sicilian families are so huge, 
 
92 Susan in Sicily 
 
 the ramifications so extended that among the 
 hordes of Sicilians in the United States every- 
 one is sure to have some relative. This 
 woman had a brother, but as she was not 
 quite certain whether he was north, south, east 
 or west we could not give her much satisfac- 
 tion concerning him. I did not suggest New 
 York. I hated to think that one of those 
 dirty, smelly men who are always digging 
 up New York streets and never putting them 
 down again might be this splendid creature's 
 brother. She seemed highly gratified with 
 our admiration of Etna, but advised us to 
 be sure and come in summer. 
 
 As we were barely comfortably cool with 
 all the windows open in that high altitude in 
 late November, we asked if it was more beau- 
 tiful. She shrugged her shoulders, and then 
 said it would be " calda," which always seems 
 to me a most unnatural word for " hot." 
 
 She got out at a tiny desolate station, and 
 after cordially extending to us an invitation 
 to visit her when we again passed that way, 
 wished us a good voyage and left us. Ex- 
 cept that she felt no fear of eruptions, and 
 that her husband was a Capo Stazione her 
 ardent curiosity about us had given us no 
 time to find out more of her history. 
 
 A long steep grade seemed to affect our 
 
Susan in Sicily 93 
 
 engine with a fit of asthma, and when we 
 doubled on our tracks, and looked back we 
 felt a veritable pity for the iron beast of bur- 
 den. We were so high that in the clear at- 
 mosphere the snow belt seemed almost within 
 walking distance, while below our little train, 
 on the other side, lay what appeared to be the 
 whole of Sicily, reminding us of the raised 
 maps one sees in museums; but a raised map 
 idealized and glorified by life, gleaming col- 
 our, deep mysterious shadows, impenetrable 
 distances, and splendid vital breathing nature. 
 
 In the deep valley in rich emerald bottom 
 lands we saw a glittering serpentine river, 
 twisting and winding itself like a living 
 thing, beyond it hills, and then more hills 
 until sky and hills mingled their colours. 
 There may be other such scenes in the great 
 world, but I have never seen one so enchant- 
 ing and yet so awesome, for the constant 
 presence of that smoking head, the volcano 
 above us, gave me the most solemn pleasure 
 in the landscape. 
 
 The slope on either side of the line was 
 pasture land and miserable low-browed little 
 rough stone huts, boasting only one opening, 
 the dreariest of lonesome habitations, were 
 scattered at wide distances over the territory. 
 jGoats and sheep clambered around over the 
 
94 Susan in Sicily 
 
 uneven fields browsing where they could. We 
 passed through a village of these wretched 
 habitations, and from our window looked 
 down into narrow, filthy alleys which had 
 surely been unchanged since mediaeval days. 
 
 When our former companion of the gay 
 silk shawl had left us, a gentleman, who had 
 been smoking on the platform, entered and 
 took a seat in the corner. For a time he was 
 absorbed in a newspaper, but hearing my 
 troublesome speculations, my constant whys 
 and wherefores which Emily could not satisfy, 
 he kindly answered some of my eager ques- 
 tions. He was an Englishman, he had lived 
 many, many years on Etna, and was in charge 
 of the splendid estate which Lord Nelson had 
 received for his services rendered the Bourbon 
 King Ferdinand. 
 
 He was a delightful courteous gentleman, 
 I wish we could have gone farther in his com- 
 pany. He had no fear of eruptions. He had 
 seen many rivers of fire coursing down the 
 mountainside, and had even singed his hair 
 and burned his hands in an attempt to get a 
 lump of the soft glowing lava from one of 
 these floods to send home to England as a 
 souvenir. He told us of the poverty of the 
 people, and of the perfect unconcern for their 
 welfare which so many of the native proprie- 
 
Susan in Sicily 95 
 
 tors exhibit. These miserable squalid towns 
 are without water, save what little is gathered 
 into the cisterns, and in a dry season these 
 grasping proprietors make the poor pay dear 
 for what they get, even for the water that 
 they must have. 
 
 " They don't waste much in washing," ven- 
 tured somebody. 
 
 " Nor on anything else," agreed the ami- 
 able Englishman, " but the gardens they cul- 
 tivate by the sweat of their brows. In an 
 outbreak of cholera they die like flies." 
 
 The pests of the middle ages still lurk in 
 this region of romance, of desolation, of glori- 
 ous nature, of bounteous plenty and of sudden 
 death. 
 
 No wonder the labourers are full of latent 
 anger, and that they are so ready to use a 
 gun, which the government allows anyone 
 who can raise the necessary tax of ten lira, 
 to carry. These men with the dark, fierce 
 faces must all beg, borrow, steal or starve 
 themselves to obtain this sum, for it is rare 
 to find a peasant on this part of Etna with- 
 out one slung over his shoulder. 
 
 How they use their firearms, we discovered, 
 nearly to our own destruction. At a way 
 station, while the poor decrepit engine was 
 being doctored, a bridal party entered the 
 
96 Susan in Sicily 
 
 second class compartment. The door into 
 our part of the car had been left open by a 
 gentleman who passed through to take a seat 
 there. The wine of Etna is fiery, and the 
 wedding party had been free in its use. The 
 unfortunate gentleman looking for a seat had 
 innocently moved a coat belonging to the 
 bridegroom. Emily and I were looking 
 through the door with interested eyes, when 
 there arose a sudden uproar and a confusion 
 of tongues. A wild scrimmage followed, in 
 which legs, arms and fists clasping pistols 
 waved dangerously in a frantically excited 
 crowd of women, men, red plumed carabinieri, 
 agile little bersaglieri, all surging and yelling 
 in the narrow passageway between the seats. 
 Many revolvers and the scarlet cap of the 
 Capo Stazione waved above the tumultuous 
 throng. It did not take me many seconds to 
 dodge behind the partition trembling with 
 fear. But in less time than I can set this 
 down, the brawling bridegroom, hat in one 
 hand and pistol in the other, entered to bow 
 low, and offer his humble apologies to poor 
 Emily who, pale and still shivering at the 
 shock, received them as calmly as possible. 
 The storm had allayed itself as quickly as it 
 had arisen. Our curiosity concerning the do- 
 ings in the second-class part of the train had 
 
Susan in Sicily 97 
 
 taken sudden flight, and the door remained 
 closed during the rest of the journey. 
 
 The agreeable Englishman left us at a 
 station near his home. We were crawling 
 through the worst and most recent of the lava 
 strewn districts. If, when the ice breaks up in 
 springtime in one of our great home rivers, 
 flinging huge blocks together, leaving masses 
 on which swirling eddies have been frozen in 
 action, and a magician's wand waved had in- 
 stantly turned the whole frenzied mass to coal- 
 black adamant, it would look like these up- 
 heaved districts. 
 
 The railroad cut through this hardest of 
 substances, cooled lava, makes a loop above 
 the town of Bronte, so that our track ran 
 almost parallel above that we had just passed 
 over. 
 
 We were approaching highest points on the 
 line, above the station of Maleo, where the 
 altitude is 8,195 feet. Bronte, dark and un- 
 inviting, lay below us; I tried to take a pho- 
 tograph, but the car wriggled, shivered and 
 shook so violently that I am afraid to think 
 what my effort will be like. The benign 
 snow-capped head, now quite free from clouds, 
 a soft, dark vapour floating from its wide 
 mouth, raised itself to gaze broodingly over 
 the fields on which the most agile goat would 
 
98 Susan in Sicily 
 
 not have found a foothold. We plunged into 
 a tunnel, and when we emerged into the day- 
 light, the white head had disappeared and 
 around us again lay green fields and waving 
 trees. 
 
 We did not see Etna's face again that day. 
 The daylight began to grow dimmer, and the 
 anxious inquiries about the health and condi- 
 tion of our suffering engine awakened feel- 
 ings of positive terror in our breasts. 
 
 Our great dread was that we might miss 
 the train at the Giarre junction, and the fear 
 of being forced to wander all night for lack 
 of place to lay our heads oppressed us. The 
 darkness came on rapidly. Our compartment 
 held an officer of the carabinieri, and two 
 other gentlemen, whose evident nervousness 
 about the delay of the train was not condu- 
 cive to our comfort. Emily patiently trans- 
 lated their ominous anticipations in reply to 
 my constant " What do they say? " 
 
 At every station these men got out and 
 went forward to interview the engineer, and 
 then came back to curse the railroad com- 
 pany. Even the conductor came and asked us 
 seriously where we were going. " Taormina? 
 ah! " and then he shook his head sadly as if, 
 like the old woman and her pig, we would 
 never get home that night. The conversation 
 
Susan in Sicily 99 
 
 of the other passengers was equally depress- 
 ing. 
 
 "I shall sleep in the barracks! But per 
 Bacco! I would rather get to Taormina," 
 said the officer. 
 
 " Giarre is a hole, I will go back to Ca- 
 tania," said another man. 
 
 " But there may be no train to Catania! " 
 
 They talked of nothing else. The con- 
 ductor came in and was overwhelmed with 
 reproaches because the train was behind time. 
 
 He only shrugged his shoulders, and re- 
 venged himself by making us miserable, ta- 
 king out his time-table, and pointing out how 
 much we would have to make up in order that 
 we might not be stranded in a filthy inn-less 
 Sicilian town that night. I had visions of 
 Aunt Anne calling out the fire department of 
 Taormina, and Mrs. Adams placed in the 
 hands of the doctor. 
 
 All the conductor needed in order to change 
 his tune from grave to gay was a franc. 
 This Emily divined and promised. At once 
 he grew encouraging. He knew perfectly 
 well that being down grade all the rest of the 
 way, the train would be on time, even if it 
 had to push the helpless engine. But a lava 
 stream had descended on our flowery day; 
 our hearts were gray as the desolated wastes. 
 
100 Susan in Sicily 
 
 We reached Giarre in a fever of excitement, 
 in a fever of excitement we pushed a franc 
 into the hand of the conductor, in a fever of 
 excitement we stumbled a distance of a few 
 rods that seemed a mile across from one sta- 
 tion to the other, and into the Taormina train. 
 I whirled myself so excitedly into the car- 
 riage that I fell into a young man's arms. 
 
 The rest I will tell you to-morrow, but no 
 more at present from your exhausted 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 101 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Betsy Dear: — Sleep drove me to my pil- 
 low in the very midst of telling you of a real 
 adventure which has resulted so pleasantly. 
 
 When the young man whose lap I tumbled 
 into and then out again, without really no- 
 ticing in the obscurity of the carriage, began 
 to coolly relieve us of our bags, baskets and 
 wraps, and to put them up in the rack as if 
 he belonged to the party, I knew he was born 
 to speak the English language. 
 
 " I hope I didn't hurt you? " I contrived 
 to say. 
 
 " Oh, you're not heavy, and I am accus- 
 tomed to riding in the New York trolley 
 cars," he smilingly answered in my own trans- 
 atlantic accent. 
 
 I could have embraced him. It seems a 
 thousand years since I have seen an American 
 college boy. I looked up when he spoke, and 
 knew him for one of the genus instantly. 
 Emily said the other day that we were devel- 
 
102 Susan in Sicily 
 
 oping a type. This was a thoroughly devel- 
 oped specimen. You would recognize him for 
 an American in the wilds of the Congo, even 
 if he wore war paint and feathers. You know 
 the kind. Clean shaven, square jawed, a keen, 
 calm, direct, sensible way of looking at a girl, 
 as if she was just a girl, and not a freak 
 escaped from a menagerie. He was tall and 
 strong. 
 
 I felt at once as if I had known him for 
 years, and into his friendly ears I confessed 
 all my nervous dread of spending the night 
 at Giarre. 
 
 " Pretty slow work travelling on one of 
 these trains. If you'd missed this one you 
 could catch up with it if you ran a little fast." 
 You don't know how nice and natural it 
 sounded to hear a little exaggeration. Just 
 like home. " But how I wish I had known 
 about Etna, that trip would have suited me 
 down to the ground. I spent last night on 
 top of a mountain. At Castrogiovanni, it is 
 a great place. Classic, you know." 
 
 " That is where we wanted to stop, wasn't 
 it? " I asked Emily, but the poor thing was 
 having a little nap. She was fearfully tired, 
 and I didn't need a chaperon under these 
 circumstances. We went on gabbling, as 
 brother George calls it, telling each other the 
 
Susan in Sicily 103 
 
 history of our lives, and by the time we saw 
 the lights of Taormina twinkling half way 
 between heaven and earth I felt as if he were 
 a relative of the family. His name is For- 
 tescue. He is an only son. He has been 
 out of college two years. He worked very 
 hard last year; had typhoid fever and his 
 father has sent him abroad for six months. 
 He is travelling alone. He is two years older 
 than I am, and I recommended our hotel in 
 Taormina. 
 
 When we stepped upon the platform the 
 porter of the hotel looked surprised and grati- 
 fied to find an unexpected guest, but Aunt 
 Anne's description of " two young women 
 alone " so confused his well regulated Swiss 
 mind, that he could not be haled back from 
 searching for " Messes Calverly " until every- 
 one had disappeared from the station. Em- 
 ily's reiterated assertion that she was the lady 
 in demand made no impression on him. 
 
 " Now to the convent with you," I said to 
 Mr. Fortescue. 
 
 " Will they take a man in? " 
 
 "Watch them!" (Such a relief to be 
 slangy.) I told him there were only ghosts 
 of nuns left there now, being a hotel with 
 Aunt Anne as grand Abbess waiting to re- 
 ceive us, and dear little Mrs. Adams as por- 
 
104 Susan in Sicily 
 
 tress. I asked the porter if they were wor- 
 ried about us. 
 
 " No, Miss, the train around Etna never 
 gets its passengers here until this hour! " 
 
 Oh, that miserable, franc-grasping, soul- 
 rending Etna conductor! 
 
 By this time the luggage was piled on 
 behind a landau, which, with a funny little 
 round signboard bearing the name of the 
 hostelry, and stuck up beside the driver, 
 served as a hotel bus. We began the ascent 
 from the station at Giardini to Taormina 
 sparkling on the mountainside far above. 
 
 We soon lost sight of the artificial lights 
 of the town, and the gradually mounting 
 highway kept to the foot of the abrupt cliffs, 
 curving in and out as the irregularities of the 
 mountain side demanded. Looking down on 
 the moonlit sea, the Isola Bella appeared like 
 a spot of black velvet on cloth of silver. 
 
 On we went turning and twisting, the road 
 all mystery in the deceptive light of the moon. 
 Etna when it came into view was no longer 
 the solemn, sullen, brooding white-haired mon- 
 ster of my fancy, but an evanescent spirit like 
 a mount with a faint tinge of pink to soften, 
 mellow and hallow its weird moonlit splen- 
 dour. 
 
 A few more sharp turns, a few isolated 
 
Susan in Sicily 105 
 
 houses, a great hotel above our road perched 
 on a terrace, then boys running and shout- 
 ing along the straight stretch of highway, 
 some women walking as silently as ghosts be- 
 tween high walls, a high mediaeval town gate, 
 and we were clattering noisily down a long, 
 narrow, ancient street, to twist sharply through 
 a steep lane and somehow come out safe and 
 sound in the roomy courtyard of the " con- 
 vento 3} hotel. 
 
 Stimulated no doubt by Aunt's excitement 
 and Mrs. Adams' nervous expectation, almost 
 the whole personnel of the hotel, headed by a 
 gigantic concierge, rushed out to meet us. 
 Poor Mr. Fortescue was forgotten. As soon 
 as I could detach myself from Aunt Anne, 
 I turned to present him, but he had vanished. 
 
 We walked into the cloister. In that moon- 
 light it looked like a vision of enchantment, 
 the slender columns of the loggia hung with 
 garlands of low drooping verdure. The 
 graceful well sweep, that useful ornament of 
 olden time cloister courts, the long, long brick- 
 floored vaulted corridors, the smell of incense, 
 which like an odour of sanctity still hangs 
 about the walls, the strange low doors to 
 former cells, an oratory hidden behind a 
 grated door, the sumptuous broad staircase of 
 ceremony, its steps low and agreeable to the 
 
106 Susan in Sicily 
 
 languid, listless feet of sensual prelates, and 
 the ider, more picturesque staircase down 
 which the sleepy religious stumbled to matins, 
 all this is strangely at odds with the obsequi- 
 ous person in dress suit of slightly antiquated 
 cut, who leads travellers to rooms and dis- 
 cusses prices, followed by the green-aproned 
 Boots, who carries bandbox and bundle or 
 clumsy American trunks. 
 
 There is something so incongruous in all 
 this suggestion of monastic life, the remains 
 of long centuries of conventual existence, 
 broken by the scurrying of waiters, the ring- 
 ing of fussy tourists, the clatter of the table 
 d'hote, the disputing of exorbitant charges, 
 and the whole conduct of a caravansary, that 
 I fell asleep in one of the ancient cells with 
 a humble conviction that I had so little right 
 to be there that undoubtedly the phantoms 
 of the many former occupants would come 
 and throw me out of the deep-browed case- 
 ment before dawn. 
 
 Good night from your 
 
 SUS/K. 
 
Susan in Sicily 107 
 
 XIX 
 
 Betsy mine: — Notwithstanding my doubts, 
 I found myself quite safe and sound in a most 
 comfortable hotel bed when early the morn- 
 ing after my arrival I awoke, and behold! 
 the deep stone window casing framed a living 
 picture of my love Etna! 
 
 I dressed quickly and made my way along 
 the queer, uneven brick tiles, down a corridor 
 to the " matins " stairway. I was standing in 
 the dim religious light of the lower landing, 
 deciding whether to have my coffee served 
 in an enchanting inner cloister, a perfect para- 
 dise of soft sunlight, flowers and verdure I 
 could see through a glass door, or to walk 
 about and find some even more attractive 
 spot. Suddenly a manly voice asked: 
 
 'Where did you disappear last evening? 
 I wanted you to go out in the garden and 
 see the moon. I tell you it was fine! And 
 when I looked down at the water and at the 
 lights of the town where I suppose we landed, 
 I felt a thousand feet up in the air. This 
 
108 Susan in Sicily 
 
 ■ i 
 
 morning it doesn't look so high, but we are 
 pretty high up, just the same. Have you had 
 your coffee? " 
 
 " No, Aunt never gets up in the morning 
 until nearly lunch time. I have my coffee 
 where I please. I was looking about for the 
 most attractive corner. Last night we had 
 supper in Aunt's sitting-room." 
 
 " All the corners are attractive here. If 
 you are free, what's the matter with going out 
 in the garden and having our breakfast to- 
 gether? " 
 
 I forgot all my desire for Baliol English 
 when the familiar home expressions assailed 
 my ears. They are like ice-cream soda, which 
 may not be healthy but is awfully good ! 
 
 To the gardens we went after ordering cof- 
 fee, bread, butter and honey of a waiter who 
 was lounging in the vaulted corridor, where 
 the presence of frescoed nuns and ancient 
 choir stalls would have been wonderfully ef- 
 fective if it were not for trunks of all nation- 
 alities standing for convenience outside the 
 room doors. 
 
 The air was bland, the sea far down at the 
 bottom of the grassy cliffs sparkled like a huge 
 opal in the sun, the boats of the fishermen 
 looked like flies upon its surface, and Etna 
 
Susan in Sicily 109 
 
 white, dazzling, and awake above the clouds, 
 greeted me like an old friend. 
 
 " This is all right, isn't it? " said my com- 
 panion in the language of brother George, 
 " breakfast here every morning for me! " 
 
 " And for me! Let us go and see the town 
 after I get enough of this honey. Aunt gets 
 up at eleven! " 
 
 " That will suit me too! " he looked at his 
 watch: " we have two hours. I fancy we can 
 see the whole place in two hours." 
 
 So we could had we explored any further 
 than the piazza with the fountain; but by 
 first strolling through the garden, then through 
 the cloisters and loitering in the outer shady 
 court, our progress was slow. 
 
 " What made you tell me this was a nun- 
 nery? ' Conventos' are for monks in this 
 country, and monasteries are for nuns. I 
 learned that much Italian this morning." 
 
 I was surprised I confess, but I made the 
 best of my mistake: " Oh, what can you ex- 
 pect of a language in which ' cal&a 3 means 
 hot!" 
 
 I don't know by what chance we got there ; 
 but we had hardly finished staring at the high 
 forbidding wall, which once fortified our rene- 
 gade convento and the great rough square 
 
110 Susan in Sicily 
 
 church adjoining it, than we found ourselves 
 in the piazza. 
 
 I think we wandered up a lane to admire 
 the church and incidentally to peep into the 
 garden of a photographer, where amidst 
 dense shrubbery we heard the sweetest bird 
 music; and a boy with a singular dark, hand- 
 some face came out of the door of this gar- 
 den, with a long slender water cask on his 
 shoulder. He was playing a pipe. We nat- 
 urally followed him and came to the fountain. 
 
 There we stopped and sat down on the 
 stone bench running around an old church. 
 The piping boy with his barrel came and went 
 several times, always playing merrily. 
 
 " Isn't he just like the shepherds in Theoc- 
 rites? " said Mr. Fortescue. " Theocrites was 
 a Sicilian. I have a volume of his poems, my 
 old tutor sent it to me on the steamer. Know 
 anything about that old poet gentleman? " 
 
 "Do I? I bought Andrew Lang's trans- 
 lation to read to Aunt, she says it's stuff and 
 nonsense. But I have enjoyed it." 
 
 "Good for you!" he exclaimed, not quot- 
 ing from the poets. 
 
 All Taormina, and all Taormina's ox and 
 ass, and everything it contains, come to the 
 piazza and to the fountain in the morning. 
 Girls in vivid cotton dresses, with bare feet, 
 
From photograph by G. D. Barnes. 
 
 A DOORWAY IN TAORMINA. 
 
Susan in Sicily 111 
 
 old women quite as paintable, boys and men, 
 all bearing vessels to be filled with water 
 which the remarkable little stone animal, half 
 pig, half dog, spits forth so freely, come and 
 go. Brilliantly coloured carretta are brought 
 that the gaudy pictures may be washed of 
 the dust accumulated while climbing up and 
 down from town to shore; wretched cab 
 horses arrive to be watered; and dull, patient 
 little donkeys to be laden with long casks of 
 the useful fluid. 
 
 Tourists lounge along the adjoining street, 
 staring; foreign residents pass intent on 
 morning errands, with that air of superiority 
 only acquired by those who graduated, hav- 
 ing once been strangers themselves, and look 
 down from the heights of knowledge on new- 
 comers. A fat priest waddles along and just 
 as he passed the entrance to the most untidy 
 and picturesque junk shop in the entire world, 
 a rooster, magnificent in proportions and plu- 
 mage, mounted on the stone threshold under 
 the arched stone centre hung with brass, 
 coarse painted stoneware and baskets, and 
 across the top a fringe of candles, gazed with 
 contemptuous mien upon the well-fed frate 
 who had eaten so many of his race, and crowed 
 with Sicilian strength of lung. 
 
 A fish peddler with bare feet, a flat basket 
 
112 Susan in Sicily 
 
 to hold his catch in one hand, a pair of iron 
 scales in the other, trod in the padre's foot- 
 steps, followed by peddlers of oranges, of 
 vegetables, etc., each trying to outshout the 
 others, all pass this piazza. Children stand 
 in front of us and stare, on the principle that 
 we are sitting down to be looked at, pretty 
 girls with jars balanced on their heads won- 
 der if we have cameras, and want their pic- 
 tures. And the heavens above shed sunshine 
 and mild warmth. 
 
 Mr. Fortescue asked: 
 
 " Do you realize it is nearly Christmas? " 
 
 But at that instant the clanging town clock 
 struck the half hour. 
 
 "I realize that it is after eleven!" I said, 
 scampering off. 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 113 
 
 XX 
 
 My dear Betsy: — Aunt Anne doesn't ap- 
 pear to like our new young man. I dawdled 
 so long at the fountain that when I came back 
 in hot haste to the convento I found her 
 striding impatiently up and down the garden 
 walk. 
 
 'Where have you been?" she demanded 
 severely : "I have asked twice for you." 
 
 " Oh! just taking a turn in the town," I 
 replied. I tried to throw out this sentence 
 with much apparent coolness and indifference, 
 but to tell the truth, I almost laughed in the 
 dear old thing's face. 
 
 " Alone? " this more severely. 
 
 "Oh, no!" more boldly still on my part. 
 " Mr. Fortescue joined me." 
 
 " Is that the American who arrived last 
 night?" 
 
 I did not think Aunt had even seen him! 
 
 " I think to join you was very forward for 
 a stranger." 
 
114 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " He isn't exactly a stranger after all he 
 did for us last night." 
 
 " What did he do for you last night? " 
 
 I was caught. I couldn't think of any- 
 thing sensible to answer. I said instead: 
 "How well you look this morning! You 
 surely slept very well." 
 
 " I did. It is so quiet here." She smiled 
 with pleasure. 
 
 The little tempestuous cloud was dispersed. 
 After luncheon she took a carriage, and al- 
 though I introduced Mr. Fortescue, and I 
 am sure he would willingly have climbed up 
 beside the driver, he was left standing where 
 Aunt's icy nod froze him to the spot, while 
 she remarked in a stage whisper: 
 
 " How I do miss that delightful Mr. Her- 
 bert!" 
 
 There are other and more attractive things 
 to do in Taormina than riding about in a 
 lumbering landau, and I rejoice to relate that 
 when Aunt and Mrs. Adams saw the count- 
 less lace and antiquity shops which crowd 
 close upon one another in the main street, 
 scenery viewed from a cab lost its charm. 
 Postal cards, photographs and lace are sold 
 in every shop except the butcher's, and even 
 there a severe search would surely reveal all 
 these necessities of travel hidden under slaugh- 
 
THE MAIN STREET, TAORMINA. 
 
Susan in Sicily 115 
 
 tered goat's flesh. Aunt was blissful, but she 
 is also practical. She wanted to stop, but 
 our driver being paid by the hour we went on. 
 
 " To-morrow we will walk," she said to 
 Mrs. Adams. 
 
 " What did you do yesterday? " asked Em- 
 ily, smiling. 
 
 " We sat in the garden and waited for 
 your coming, dear," answered her mother. 
 
 A promenade in a carriage, as the French 
 put it, in Taormina consists in driving down 
 to the shore and then up again. There are 
 excursions possible to far away towns, that 
 are lovely and picturesque, but Aunt and Mrs. 
 Adams found the distances too great, there- 
 fore we just drove down the long street that 
 we had clattered through in the darkness of 
 the evening before. This is prosaically named 
 the Corso Umberto. It may once have had a 
 more poetic title, but the inhabitants have dis- 
 carded it, while they have retained many of 
 the old buildings, the quaint gateways, and 
 some of the old dirt. 
 
 It runs along a shelf on the side of abrupt 
 piles of precipices, and we caught, through 
 open garden doors and on the open piazza, 
 views of the sea far beneath, stretching away 
 to the horizon. The serried town is built in 
 a sort of semicircle wherever the houses can 
 
116 Susan in Sicily 
 
 find place to cling on the erratic upheavals 
 and sharp depressions of the hillside. 
 
 Foot passengers took refuge in doorways 
 when our generously wide vehicles met any- 
 thing bigger than a donkey. Over one side 
 little alleys ran down until they lost them- 
 selves to our view among the roofs of cot- 
 tages; on the other, narrow lanes clambered 
 up to houses which hung high beyond our 
 gaze. We drove noisily on through a widen- 
 ing of the thoroughfare, where a group of 
 lounging idlers, a vendor doing a thriving 
 trade in fichi d'India, and a boy loading the 
 panniers of a patient ass with sand, led us 
 to believe we were in the market place. A 
 few cracks of the whip and we passed under 
 a fortified ancient gateway and were on the 
 high road beyond the town limits. 
 
 Every writer who has ever written of Sicily 
 has dipped his pen in the blood of Pegasus 
 and painted Taormina more or less in en- 
 chanted words. I cannot vie with great mas- 
 ters of the English language. My phrases 
 will be commonplace, but if any power on 
 earth or in heaven could make a poet of me, 
 I should have burst into song when the Cala- 
 brian coast, like a mass of rough uncut ame- 
 thyst and opal resting on the fair blue horizon, 
 and nearer the wondrous curve of the precip- 
 
Susan in Sicily 117 
 
 itous emerald mountain-laden coast bending 
 away towards Messina, first greeted my eyes. 
 
 The serpentine, curling, twisted road we had 
 mounted the night before we now descended. 
 
 At the foot of the hill, where the sea ran 
 murmuring lazily around an islet, the com- 
 bined efforts at persuasion exercised by myself 
 and a bare-legged picturesque boatman in- 
 sured the whole company an expedition into 
 a cave glorified by the colour of the wonder- 
 fully transparent water. Mrs. Adams was 
 moved in her exceeding enthusiasm to suggest, 
 as she gazed far down into the depths, that it 
 would be a good thing to have boats with glass 
 bottoms. 
 
 "No doubt! A delightful idea!" Aunt 
 Anne sarcastically declared, " but what people 
 in possession of their sober senses would trust 
 themselves in one! " 
 
 Back to the Greek theatre we came to watch 
 the sun go down behind Etna. This time Aunt 
 Anne did not, as at Syracuse, refuse to get 
 out of the carriage. She made not one single 
 remark about (C reading it up and looking at 
 pictures" She became positively enthusiastic 
 before we left. No human being with eyes 
 and capable of any emotion produced by the 
 most superb combination of nature and the 
 work of man, could watch a sunset in these 
 
118 Susan in Sicily 
 
 glorious surroundings without being enthusi- 
 astic. 
 
 As we drove up, the custode, lounging at the 
 gate playing with his little dog, stood suddenly 
 alert and greeted us with that spirited interest 
 any custode takes in unawaited visitors who 
 appear in the dull season. 
 
 He looked keenly at the group, and with 
 the tact of his species attached himself in- 
 stantly to Aunt Anne's side. Aunt, who was 
 immensely pleased with his deferential air, 
 addressed him at once in English. With his 
 most respectful bow he intimated that he did 
 not understand. 
 
 "What? not speak English? You don't 
 know English? Positively it is absurd that 
 none of these guides know English. Why 
 don't they teach it to them before they give 
 them important positions? " she inquired se- 
 verely. 
 
 Far from being an important position, there 
 isn't the slightest need of a guide in the 
 Greek theatre at Taormina. In blissful ig- 
 norance of Aunt's disapproval, the handsome 
 suave guardian only inclined himself lower 
 and led the way through the ruins of a spa- 
 cious vaulted chamber to the stage where 
 Greek and Roman players had once en- 
 
Susan in Sicily 119 
 
 chanted the spectators gathered in this won- 
 derful playhouse. 
 
 " What is the use of having him with us, 
 if he can't speak a word we understand? " 
 pursued Aunt, too aggrieved to enjoy the 
 antique surroundings. 
 
 I then pumped enough Italian from my 
 well of knowledge to ask him : " Che cosa e? " 
 
 The polite creature answered solemnly: 
 "It is the Greek Theatre, signorina." 
 
 Then I laughed and perhaps blushed a 
 little. I am always shy in a foreign lan- 
 guage. 
 
 " I hope you are not flirting with that 
 man, Susan! What did he say? " 
 
 " He said this was the Greek Theatre." 
 
 " As if we didn't know that! " 
 
 I went into no further explanations, but 
 sent Emily to do the translating, and Aunt, 
 pleased with the man's looks and manner, 
 condescended to listen. I gently led dear 
 old Mrs. Adams in quite an opposite direc- 
 tion, up steps and along passages until I got 
 to the topmost gallery, which must have been 
 some sort of a lobby above the semi-circle of 
 seats. Here I spread my cloak on the softest 
 and most comfortable seat I could find, one 
 where she had a rest for her back and a vis- 
 
120 Susan in Sicily 
 
 ion of glory before her eyes, and where she 
 could see Etna rearing its majesty above the 
 brick arches at the back of the stage. The 
 sun was sinking low, the heavens in flame, 
 and the smoke rising from the volcano a 
 harmless column of pretended fire painted 
 a lurid colour by the sinking sun. 
 
 Mrs. Adams drew a long breath of satis- 
 faction and settled herself to enjoy the scene. 
 
 " Thank you, my dear," she said. " What 
 a delightful theatre this must have been. 
 Not like those stuffy places where the light 
 and bad air always make my head ache. I 
 should have enjoyed coming here. Then too, 
 when the play was stupid, one had something 
 else to enjoy. And how large it is! Your 
 Aunt looks very small down there, treading 
 in and out of those stones and gazing down 
 holes. I suppose those holes were the trap 
 doors where devils came up and magicians 
 sank down. She really seems interested. 
 Emily must tell us all about it when she 
 comes up. Or perhaps you know? " 
 
 I knew what was in the guide book and 
 repeated it to her. 
 
 " Perhaps you are right about the trap 
 doors. That is the stage. Those arches and 
 pillars framing scenery all painted by na- 
 ture." 
 
Susan in Sicily 121 
 
 " And what more superb scenery could 
 they desire. I am sure no play could have 
 been worthy of it! " 
 
 " This grassy semicircular incline below us 
 held the seats." 
 
 " And here they walked about and saw 
 their entire world between the acts," sug- 
 gested the sweet little lady with a smile. " I 
 wonder what refreshments they had? " 
 
 We were becoming trivial. 
 
 " Oh, they had Calabria, and the sea, and 
 the folded in mountains on one side; the 
 town, the castle, high perched Mola and my 
 volcano on the other. ..." 
 
 Aunt's voice suddenly interrupted my com- 
 monplace description. She was behind us. 
 
 ' Why, Jane! " she was saying, " why did 
 you bring Susan up here? You should have 
 stopped to hear the man." 
 
 " Susan has told me all I want to know! " 
 replied Mrs. Adams simply. 
 
 Aunt looked doubtfully contemptuous, and 
 turning to Emily said: " Come and explore 
 this other side with me! " 
 
 She led the way outside the walls to the 
 brow of the hill, where it falls sharply down 
 to the old monastery of Santa Caterina. 
 
 ' Your Aunt is enjoying one of her ener- 
 getic days," Mrs. Adams said: "We are 
 
122 Susan in Sicily 
 
 content to look at the mock volcanic eruption, 
 aren't we, dear? " 
 
 I was. 
 
 I went off into a dream. The audience of 
 white-robed men and the gaily tinted veils 
 and soft vivid draperies floating about beau- 
 tiful low-browed women, which once covered 
 the space below me, became real, although 
 now not even a vestige of the benches re- 
 mains. Only the hard green turf rolls to- 
 day down to the barrier above the stage, but 
 the entrance openings in the solid niched wall 
 where we were sitting are there still, and I 
 had all the materials I needed for my vision. 
 
 But once more Aunt Anne's voice brought 
 me back to realities, and I turned rapidly to 
 see her holding Mr. Fortescue by the arm. 
 Her voice was soft. 
 
 " You need not have risked your life for 
 my useless property! Why, if I had not 
 caught you in the nick of time, you would 
 have been lying at the bottom of that hill. 
 Look at your hands! They are lacerated!" 
 
 " Only a few prickers." 
 
 Being taught caution by association with 
 Aunt Anne, I asked no questions, until lin- 
 gering behind with Emily, when Aunt went 
 off still clinging to the arm of the youth she 
 had snubbed not three hours ago, I lifted 
 
Susan in Sicily 123 
 
 my eyebrows high in silent inquiry. Under- 
 standing she whispered: 
 
 " Your Aunt dropped her eyeglasses, and 
 he jumped down after them. Into a prickly 
 pear jungle." Emily was shaking with sup- 
 pressed laughter. Evidently the danger had 
 existed only in Aunt's vivid imagination. 
 
 A photograph shop diverted her attention 
 for a moment. Nothing can surpass her 
 unconquerable mania for postcards. She 
 dropped the young man's arm to buy a few. 
 
 "What did you do?" I asked Mr. For- 
 tescue as he lingered at the shop door. 
 
 " Nothing. Your Aunt dropped her 
 glasses when she was looking down at a 
 house top or something. I was sitting on 
 the wall and jumped over to get them. It 
 was easy enough, but without glasses she 
 thought the low bushes were the tops of trees. 
 She caught me by the coat and down I went, 
 my hands into the prickly pear jungle." He 
 looked at the unfortunate members, from 
 whose very red surface he was pulling out 
 the little needles like spines. I laughed; I 
 couldn't help it. 
 
 " If, like those gentlemen in the nursery 
 rhyme, you were determined to jump into 
 a bramble bush and out again, I'm glad you 
 did it the very first afternoon." 
 
124 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " I don't believe you care a bit how much 
 these beastly prickles sting! " 
 
 " Yes, I do, too. But now Aunt will love 
 you. She adores nursing, and she will come 
 as soon as we get back to soothe you with 
 resinol, antiphlogistine and poultices, and I 
 shall be allowed to sneeze fifty times run- 
 ning." 
 
 " You are a selfish one! " he declared with 
 a chuckle: " but I am glad she has smiled 
 on us. That look she gave me when you 
 drove off was just the kind I used to get 
 when I was a kid, and hung around the big 
 boys for a chance to kick the football." 
 
 " Then Aunt did not really save your 
 life?" I inquired soberly. 
 
 "Well! it won't do me any harm to let 
 her think so, will it? " he answered. 
 
 " Are you acquainted with Mr. Perichon? " 
 
 He looked up surprised. " No, who is he? 
 That Frenchman at our hotel? I'm not very 
 strong on Frenchmen. I never could learn 
 to pronounce their language in college." 
 
 I was about to explain my allusion to an 
 immensely amusing comedy of Labiche, when 
 Emily came to the door of the shop with her 
 mother, followed by Aunt. 
 
 " Did you buy any photographs? " I asked 
 by way of conversation. 
 
Susan in Sicily 125 
 
 " Not one," she declared emphatically. 
 " There was an American woman there whose 
 idea of speaking a foreign tongue was to 
 shout at the top of a very shrill voice. It 
 would be utterly impossible for me to look 
 at pictures in that noise." 
 
 Jim roared with glee. 
 
 I must call him Jim he is such a boy. 
 " Mr. Fortescue " doesn't fit him at all. 
 
 Aunt made a veritable royal progress. 
 Every shopkeeper came out to invite her cus- 
 tom. She has never walked so far since I 
 joined her. She leaned confidently on Jim's 
 arm. 
 
 Although all the troublesome prickles had 
 been carefully extracted and Mr. Fortescue's 
 hands very nearly resumed their normal hue 
 by bedtime, yet Aunt was eager to anoint 
 them with some one of her famous cure-alls 
 and swathe them in linen for the night. The 
 tactful young gentleman uttered no protest. 
 
 " Tell me your Christian name," she said 
 kindly. " An elderly lady can't call a boy 
 like you Mr. Fortescue." 
 
 He answered that his name was James but 
 everyone called him Jim. 
 
 Aunt's eye grew a little dim. " I shall call 
 you James. I prefer that name." 
 
 You remember, perhaps, that the little baby 
 
126 Susan in Sicily 
 
 who died had been christened James, after 
 grandfather. 
 
 I can see mustard plasters and other rem- 
 edies, detested by me, hovering in the distance 
 waiting for poor Jim's first sneeze. Mean- 
 time I shall be allowed full liberty to pass 
 my mornings in his society. 
 
 And so no more at present from your 
 sleepy 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 127 
 
 XXI 
 
 My best of Betsys: — Jim's first' greeting 
 when I appeared in the garden the morning 
 after his rescue of the glasses was: "I say! 
 your Aunt is a duck. I feel just as if mother 
 was here." 
 
 Discreetly I replied by asking : " What 
 are you staring at over the precipice? " 
 
 " I am watching the trains." 
 
 I became disdainful : " Think of coming to 
 Taormina to watch trains! " 
 
 "Why not? They look like jolly little 
 toys down there running around the bottom 
 of the cliffs beside that rainbow coloured 
 water. Did you ever see lovelier colours 
 than in that water? " 
 
 "First coffee, then water for me! I am 
 prosaic in the morning until I have eaten." 
 
 When we finally left the hotel we walked 
 by an inconceivably dirty lane skirting the 
 ancient town wall and came out at the west 
 end of the town, where a superb view of Etna 
 
128 Susan in Sicily 
 
 greeted our eyes. Here a road unfit for 
 wheels leaves Taormina by diving down 
 through an ancient castellated gate, one of 
 those defensive portals where the arrange- 
 ment of entrance and exit prevented an en- 
 emy from swarming in. This small strong- 
 hold is still decorated with a protecting shrine, 
 but the saint has no hostile foes to turn 
 back. 
 
 The road curving through the portal, very 
 steep and very rugged, takes itself down by 
 devious twists to where in the ravine it throws 
 off a branch, which, rougher and stonier even 
 than the parent, goes clambering up again 
 over the hill sides where lie. scattered the 
 home of the contadini, little patches of white 
 and pink among the green. The main high- 
 way continues curving and twisting down the 
 defile to end at Giardini. 
 
 We kneeled on a stone bench running 
 along a stone wall, possibly the remains of 
 antique fortifications, and leaning our elbows 
 on the top watched a straggling procession 
 of countryfolk and their beasts trudging to 
 and from the town gate. 
 
 There were black donkeys with blacker 
 casks slung across their saddles, and a few 
 bits of bright cloth tied here and there on 
 their harness to satisfy their masters' love of 
 
Susan in Sicily 129 
 
 ■ — 
 
 colour. There were the masters themselves 
 shouting at some goatherds they met at the 
 fork of the road, although they were near 
 enough to them to have whispered. The 
 goats lingered nibbling in true goat fashion 
 until their vociferous drivers, the loud talk 
 satisfactorily ended, drove them rapidly on. 
 A poor wandering tiny black kid, parted 
 from its mother, lifted up a voice of plain- 
 tive anguish, and a peasant woman balancing 
 on her head a packet tied up in a handker- 
 chief of orange and red came to the little 
 frightened thing's rescue. Without raising a 
 hand to ensure the safety of her large bundle 
 she drove the bleating kid to its equally 
 anxious mother, who left the flock to greet 
 it with every possible demonstration of affec- 
 tion. 
 
 More long-haired goats followed, this time 
 on their way toward the town, driven by a 
 paintable family of father, mother and little 
 girl, then at their heels came a troupe of 
 noisy girls, unsmiling as Sicilians mostly are, 
 but chattering shrilly. A labourer leaving 
 the town with a big friendly dog at his heels, 
 stopped to talk with the family, while his dog 
 smelt at the much disturbed goats. The 
 girls called out something as they passed, 
 and so the human interest moved on this 
 
130 Susan in Sicily 
 
 much convulsed bosom of mother earth, where 
 every available inch is tilled, and the most 
 contracted gullies are cut down into tiny 
 terraced gardens in which flourish vine, olive, 
 almond tree and fig. 
 
 The sea at the base of these countless hills 
 runs gently in and out, forms bays and shal- 
 low harbours to that point where great Etna 
 sends a sharp long spur out into the waves. 
 On the far horizon other bold promontories 
 make dull blue shadows. I tell Jim that I 
 can surely see the cliffs of Syracuse. 
 
 He is as incredulous as brother George. 
 " Perhaps that's Africa! " he suggests iron- 
 ically. Impertinent! I'll get Aunt to tell 
 him it is Syracuse! 
 
 We followed the goat family toward the 
 inner town gate, the Catania gate it is named. 
 A portion of the high antique fortifications 
 still flanks its towered arch. The paved Corso 
 begins here, but now the municipality of 
 Taormina is drawing the surplus funds 
 showered into its treasury by the influx 
 of foreign residents, and the labour of ex- 
 tending this pavement has begun. We noted 
 all the preparations. A pile of square cut 
 flagstones, the busy force of five men and a 
 boy, lifting, hacking, and handling the stones. 
 Twenty idlers lounging, looking and vocif- 
 
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Susan in Sicily 131 
 
 erously giving advice, the hoary wall shad- 
 owing them all. 
 
 We left them and passed through the thick, 
 narrow archway. A dirty lane with hovels, 
 centuries old, huddled against the protecting 
 city wall, runs dark, dark and dreary straight 
 and steep to an upper street. Beyond begin 
 little shops, and before the door of one of 
 these a donkey laden with the bodies of un- 
 fortunate young kids was discharging its 
 burden. 
 
 As we stopped to look, a man, torn, tattered 
 and tipsy, who had been called to consulta- 
 tion by the proprietor of the market, opened 
 his mouth to an immense width and emitted 
 such a series of bellows that our own amaze- 
 ment led us to suppose the whole neighbour- 
 hood would rush forth to inquire into the 
 matter. Instead of which only one solitary 
 woman advanced from her door and beckoned 
 to the howler. An eager argument and the 
 frequent reiteration of the word soldi, led 
 our guessing minds to put his office down to 
 that of town crier. A sale effected, the sten- 
 torian voice, a little the worse for too frequent 
 consultation with the bottle protruding from 
 the pocket of the gentleman's decayed coat, 
 was carried further along the street, and the 
 extraordinary power of his lungs brought 
 
132 Susan in Sicily 
 
 his numerous customers, with whom he made 
 bargains accompanied by the most wonder- 
 ful gestures and lunges. 
 
 A group of girls on their way to fetch 
 water, their flashy petticoats displayed by 
 tucked-up skirts, their bodies erect and hips 
 wriggling as they walked, threw him a jest 
 as they passed. But the sound of loud weep- 
 ing and bitter lamentation farther down the 
 street took us all in the direction of the noise. 
 There in a pool of water with a broken jug 
 at her feet stood one of their comrades. A 
 simple maiden, without putting up a hand 
 to protect her own vessel, stooped and picked 
 up the pieces of the shattered jar. Then 
 fresh sobs and eager exclamations of com- 
 bined grief and anger broke from the unlucky 
 victim of the mishap in response to her 
 friends' questioning. 
 
 It would seem that while her roving eyes 
 had strayed after some chance stranger, a 
 swinging sign she neglected to dodge had 
 swept the earthen jug from her head. Vocif- 
 erously she called upon Heaven, the Ma- 
 donna and all the saints and pagan gods to 
 witness that it was no fault of hers. The 
 blame lay with the owner of the swinging 
 sign, who received the charge on her thresh- 
 old in contemptuous silence. All labour 
 
Susan in Sicily 133 
 
 ceased in the vicinity, the shopkeepers came 
 to their doors, the boys with donkeys blocked 
 the way, until a line of hotel landaus return- 
 ing from the station dispersed the throng. 
 
 Although the hotel landaus in Taormina 
 are eternally either going to or coming from 
 the station, the sight never fails to excite the 
 inhabitants. The girl's sobs were suppressed 
 while she stared, and when the carriages 
 passed she went slowly down the steps of a 
 side alley with her purple hued apron held 
 to her eyes, the remnants of her jug in her 
 hand, and a vigilant donkey boy becoming 
 conscious of the presence of forestieri, 
 pounced upon me, exclaiming: 
 
 "Var good donkey. Go Mola? Bella 
 Vista! Eh, signorina? " 
 
 Jim stopped. " What do you say to go- 
 ing? Where is Mola? Oh, that place up 
 there!" following the direction of the lad's 
 ringer. " To-morrow, two donkeys San Do- 
 menico." 
 
 ff Sij si, signor. Domani! Var good don- 
 key/' 
 
 'Who says I can't speak Italian?" tri- 
 umphantly declared Jim. 
 
 " You come round to-morrow morning I'll 
 tell you how many donkeys we want," he con- 
 tinued calmly to the nodding boy. 
 
134 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " We'll make your Aunt and Mrs. Adams 
 go too." 
 
 When faces were turned homeward, we 
 stopped on the piazza and looked down the 
 cleft in the cliff side at the sea below, and 
 we rewarded a beggar who said he was hun- 
 gry. On pocketing our alms though, he sat 
 peacefully down on a bench behind us to 
 gnaw on a huge piece of bread he took out 
 of his pocket. 
 
 Under the clock tower cutting the length 
 of the street, we strolled and came upon a 
 bargainer, buying fish for his dinner. Hat- 
 less a fat little gentleman had run out of his 
 house and in the middle of the street accosted 
 the bare-legged fisherman. The would-be 
 customer examined the gleaming little fish 
 in the flat basket, took one up by the tail, 
 applied his nose to it, put it back among its 
 fellows, and then wiped his fingers carefully 
 on the side of the nearest house wall. Then 
 a wordy strife began between the seller and 
 the purchaser. Bargaining fast and furious 
 went on. The fisherman protested, the buyer 
 insisted. The vendor called on Bacchus to 
 witness that the Signor Professore asked the 
 impossible, the Professore in turn declared 
 the fishmonger extortionate. 
 
 A second fish seller attracted by the inter- 
 
Susan in Sicily 135 
 
 esting sale drew near to take part in the bar- 
 gaining, whereupon the Professore ended it 
 suddenly by winding his arm about his antag- 
 onist's neck and whispering softly in his ear. 
 He probably came to terms, for he then led 
 the way to his house door, which opened and 
 swallowed up fisherman and fish. 
 
 " By George!" exclaimed Jim laughing, 
 " I should hate to have to kiss our fishman 
 every time I took him an order from 
 mother! " 
 
 At all times, in all seasons, this main street 
 of Taormina is diverting, but in the morning 
 hours, when the air is fresh and the shadows 
 soft, when the housewives are at their doors, 
 or hanging over the balconies, chaffering for 
 fruit or vegetables with the peasants who go 
 along with their scales to weigh out the ver- 
 dure, it is to me entirely delightful. Then 
 peddlers, with small gaudy carts and smaller 
 gray donkeys equally gay, pass along; stock- 
 ings brown, gray and black swing from the 
 ambling shop frames, above scores of irre- 
 sistible wares women love; then the antiquity 
 harpies are busy hanging their lintels with 
 bait to tempt the beauty-loving soul; then 
 the long line of quaint, irregular facades, 
 which time and atmosphere have made doubly 
 picturesque, are hung with lace, rich brocades, 
 
136 Susan in Sicily 
 
 faded church vestments, among cases of 
 gaudy jewelry, rich hued pottery, brass and 
 all the glittering wares of the curiosity shop, 
 and the whole scene suggests a mediaeval 
 festa. 
 
 When the tourist season has waned and 
 the magicians who deal in specialties of 
 Sicily, collected with such great care and ex- 
 pense in that island by their own hands, have 
 by the power of their word and a few pack- 
 ing boxes converted the same into specialties 
 of Aix les Bains or Baden Baden, the old 
 street may be less commercial in appearance, 
 but it will have lost some of its festive air. 
 
 In the afternoon hours when Aunt Anne 
 walks abroad and the idlers gather in the 
 piazza, the fish sellers, the goatherds, the con- 
 tadia have vanished for the day, and beggars 
 alternate with the boys, who reiterate " Var 
 good donkey, Mola bella vista." 
 
 It is better then to lounge inside the shops, 
 doing what bidding a command of the Ital- 
 ian language and emphatic gestures will per- 
 mit; to visit the studios of artists; to take 
 tea and meet friends at the Tea Rooms by 
 the fountain; to walk beyond the town gates 
 and then end the day by lolling on the green- 
 sward of the Greek Theatre, speculating 
 what colour the departing sun will paint the 
 
Susan in Sicily 137 
 
 smoke of the volcano after it has hidden its 
 shining face behind the silver dome. 
 
 The sun at its coming and going does 
 marvellous things with that brooding head. 
 When Master Phoebus whom all right- 
 minded persons worship, prepares to rise, the 
 mountain blushes the tender dainty colour of 
 a June rose, and when the great charioteer 
 has left the earth to grow dull and dark, the 
 breath from Etna's mouth shows strange, 
 lurid, threatening tints that endlessly enchant 
 your fond 
 
 Susan. 
 
138 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXII 
 
 Dearest B — ; — Aunt Anne has actually- 
 been on a donkey! On a real donkey's back 
 as far as the village of Mola, a huddle of 
 houses topping the hill overhanging Taor- 
 mina and ready to tumble down on top of 
 it should ever an earthquake sufficiently ro- 
 bust detach it from its lofty perch. 
 
 Mindful of the promised custom, the don- 
 key boy appeared promptly this morning to 
 get orders, and by that time Mr. Fortescue 
 by some miracle having induced Aunt Anne 
 to undertake the expedition, he was told to 
 come back at two with donkeys, warranted 
 safe. 
 
 " Var good donkey," was the laconic en- 
 comium of the grinning guide as Aunt Anne 
 and Mrs. Adams were lifted into the saddles 
 of two mild-eyed, grave, gentle beasts, who 
 ambled off out of the hotel courtyard with 
 an air of deep concern for their riders. 
 
 The rest of the party, eager for a climb, 
 chose to go on foot. 
 
Susan in Sicily 139 
 
 Aunt sat bolt upright on her humble steed, 
 looking as solemn as if she was riding to 
 execution, though the jolt of the absurd bob- 
 bing donkey gait caused her to bow every 
 moment like a gracious queen reviewing her 
 subjects. 
 
 The way is a trifle rough, for the stony 
 road zig-zags up the steep eminence whereon 
 sits Mola crowning a sharp ledge. We were 
 soon looking down on the roofs of Taormina, 
 and finding a new pleasure in its jumble of 
 bell-towers, turrets, age-stained church roofs 
 and bright tinted modern villas, which confu- 
 sion of dwellings full of warm splashes of 
 colour cling desperately to the sharp dipping 
 earth, as if afraid to be dislodged from their 
 resting places and go slipping down the 
 smooth side of the precipices into the violet 
 water so far below. 
 
 Aunt wore a broad hat with a floating 
 veil and kept Jim in close attendance at her 
 saddle bow, while dear little Mrs. Adams 
 looked timid but pretended to be quite at her 
 ease, refusing to let Emily remain by her 
 side: "You two girls go ahead and show us 
 the way." 
 
 She talked English serenely to the donkey 
 boy, but I should be surprised if she got any- 
 thing in reply but " Var good donkey! " 
 
140 Susan in Sicily 
 
 The boys kept up a constant Haaaaaaa, 
 which has a cadence like a Brobdingnagian 
 sigh, but produced no effect whatever on the 
 placid minds or sober pace of their beasts. 
 They went on nodding, shaking their long 
 ears, and climbing calmly. 
 
 So equably did the cavalcade advance that 
 Emily and I were hard at work ten minutes, 
 warding off a swarm of beggars before Jim 
 arrived to disperse the pests by scattering 
 coppers so far from our side that the lame, 
 the halt and the blind suddenly forgetting 
 their parts in the comedy all joined in a wild 
 scamper to snatch at his bounty and fight 
 over it. 
 
 Mola is filthy, Mola is more picturesque 
 from afar than at hand. Mola is a hotbed 
 of mendicants, but Mola has a view from its 
 windows. It is a view which a brush and 
 the hand of genius cannot reproduce and 
 which my pencil dares not describe. The col- 
 ours seen in jewelled glass can alone faintly 
 mimic the radiance of that mass of piled up 
 emerald hills; those crags of amber tint 
 folded in ravines that have the hues of jade; 
 that sea of lapis lazuli on whose horizon lies 
 a coast they call Calabria, though I know it 
 to be surely fairyland. Over all this inde- 
 scribable glowing scene the snowy head of 
 
Susan in Sicily 141 
 
 Etna lifts itself from among heavy swirling, 
 wind driven clouds. 
 
 Mola has its history, it has fought, suf- 
 fered, been bravely defended and basely be- 
 trayed. Below it is a ruined castle, once the 
 Acropolis of the Taormina, which has now 
 slipped farther down hill. Above Mola is 
 Monte Venere, a soaring peak. 
 
 On its summit a poetic lady of Taormina 
 ordered in her will that her grave should be 
 dug, and her heirs, anxious to fulfil her de- 
 sire, bore her body to its last resting place 
 escorted by a band of music, and a concourse 
 of citizens whose progress was lacking so- 
 lemnity owing to the exigencies of the path. 
 
 I feebly suggested visiting the tomb, but 
 Aunt Anne held her back stiff with rigid 
 determination and from her donkey throne 
 declared : 
 
 " Dead or alive, Monte Venere will ftei see 
 me. I have had enough. We will go down 
 to tea." 
 
 So with proper assistance we all turned our 
 faces downwards. Mrs. Adams' nerves over- 
 came her. She felt so insecure upon her 
 mount that the renewed assurances of her 
 squire and his " Var good donkey " did not 
 convince her at all. She dismounted and 
 trudged down the steep rocky path between 
 
142 Susan in Sicily 
 
 her daughter and me, while Aunt Anne rode 
 into the hotel court with as much dignity as 
 she had ridden out, providentially. 
 
 When we were washed and our toilettes 
 straightened a bit after the jogging down hill 
 from Mola, and we were one and all seated 
 around a table extolling the delights of tea, 
 in walked Mr. Herbert as calmly as if he 
 had not parted from us in Syracuse without 
 hope of seeing him for many weeks to come. 
 
 When he entered Aunt's sitting-room, Em- 
 ily blushed and looked so pretty that if he 
 is not in love with her, I am ashamed of his 
 acquaintance, for he must be a man of no 
 sensibility. 
 
 He has taken rooms at another hotel. I 
 clamoured at once for him to come here. But 
 he laughed and said monastic surroundings 
 were not to his taste. He would rather visit 
 a monastery than repose within its gates. 
 
 "Oh, I see!" said I, "you are afraid of 
 these old ghosts I am dying to interview." 
 
 "Don't be foolish, Susan!" this from 
 Aunt, but all the others laughed. 
 
 Mr. Herbert said : " You may be right, 
 but a ghostly friar is more to my taste than 
 a live, unclean specimen of the order." 
 
 Aunt seemed anxious to change the sub- 
 
Susan in Sicily 143 
 
 ject. I believe some dead and gone prior 
 has been disputing the authority with her. 
 
 " Now you are here we shall expect to 
 hear the true history of this convento. At 
 present we are struggling with a mass of 
 misinformation." r 
 
 We all rejoiced in his coming, with per- 
 haps the sole exception of Jim. He was a 
 trifle snippy in his remarks that evening con- 
 cerning Englishmen, but I told him quite 
 plainly that " he could not expect to be 
 Aunt's only pet lamb, that there was also a 
 charming Italian officer ready to divide hon- 
 ours with both Mr. Herbert and with him! " 
 • I fancy that little sentence brought him 
 wisdom; certainly he and Tom Herbert have 
 become staunch friends, and go wandering 
 off together on all sorts of entrancing excur- 
 sions while I read Aunt to sleep with guide- 
 books. To-morrow you shall hear of how a 
 Sicilian theatre appeals to your loving 
 
 Susan. 
 
144 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXIII 
 
 My Blessed B — : — We went last night to 
 the theatre. Mr. Herbert and Mr. Fortescue 
 took a box and invited us all. I think the 
 cost of this entertainment to them was three 
 francs apiece; at least so I understood Jim's 
 aside when Aunt, profuse in her thanks, re- 
 fused to go on the score of having nothing 
 proper to wear. The gentlemen, confident 
 that this was only an amiable excuse to avoid 
 going, did not urge her. Mrs. Adams 
 thanked them in her sweet manner and said 
 smiling, that she would beg to be invited 
 sometime when she could understand the lan- 
 guage. 
 
 " I can't understand a word myself," vol- 
 unteered Jim, " and I shouldn't like to de- 
 pend on Miss Susan's translation (horrid 
 thing!), but you know we love to have you 
 come with us." 
 
 " My dear Jim," Aunt volunteered, " Mrs. 
 
Susan in Sicily 145 
 
 Adams would much rather send you young 
 people off while we play cribbage." 
 
 So we went. 
 
 The theatre is part of another ancient con- 
 vent turned to secular uses. All built of 
 wood inside, it possesses a ticket-office of 
 rough boards, stairs ascending to the boxes 
 and galleries above of still rougher timber and 
 boxes fenced off from one another in a man- 
 ner equally primitive, and furnished with 
 wooden chairs. The whole place would prop- 
 erly excite the professional anxiety of a trans- 
 atlantic fire commissioner. Somehow in this 
 country, one rarely thinks of that danger. 
 
 The orchestra consisted of three cornets, a 
 tuba, two French horns and a trombone. All 
 the musicians played with their caps on, ex- 
 cept the performer on the tuba, who being 
 the possessor of a wide-brimmed felt hat 
 found that treasure inconvenient, and after 
 trying in vain to keep it comfortably on his 
 head, finally removed it and balanced it care- 
 fully on the orchestra rail, watching it with 
 one eye while he played, and putting it again 
 on his head when no music was required. 
 This pleasure was his, however, only at long 
 intervals, for incidental music was quite a 
 feature of the melodrama. The benches of 
 the parquet were filled by men, whose head- 
 
146 Susan in Sicily 
 
 gear was so varied and high coloured we 
 might fancy ourselves looking down on an 
 Oriental rug. 
 
 The Sicilian taste in the matter of caps is, 
 to speak mildly, remarkable, and one of the 
 most noticeable dashes of colour below us 
 was made by a cap on which glittering silver 
 thread and spangles were used in the decora- 
 tion. The boxes were filled by the " rich and 
 noble." Ourselves, to begin with, and facing 
 us the prudent householder whom we once ob- 
 served embracing a fisherman for a bargain's 
 sake. He had brought a wife to see the play, 
 and two pretty little boys, one of whom, like 
 dear Miss Mattie of Cranford, beat time very 
 much out of time to the music. 
 
 There were two rows of boxes, and above 
 a gallery crowded with the most appreciative, 
 if not the cleanest, portion of the audience. 
 A fierce, furtive-eyed man, about whose no- 
 ticeably thin bad face was wrapped a gray 
 shawl, was celebrating his return from prison 
 by bringing a venerable silver-haired old 
 mother to the theatre. A sentimental love 
 for the mother is one of the most admirable 
 instincts of this race. 
 
 The lowering quality of this criminal's 
 countenance so attracted us that Mr. Herbert 
 went out and came back to give us his record. 
 
Susan in Sicily 147 
 
 " I suppose we will get him over in New 
 York in a week or two," said Jim, gloomily. 
 
 Oh, our kind paternal government! What 
 are you doing for a growing nation? Re- 
 jecting Chinese and accepting Sicilians! 
 
 The actors were by no means to be de- 
 spised. I have seen worse in much more pre- 
 tentious theatres. These southern people are 
 natural comedians. The loud voice of the 
 prompter and the bawling of a host of street 
 gamins howling at the entrance door may 
 have interfered slightly with the enjoyment 
 of the finer lines, but the gallery, to a man, 
 applauded virtue or hissed vice at the right 
 moments. I could only understand the action. 
 
 The heroine, a dark frowsy-haired young 
 woman, who modelled her action on that of 
 Duse, as do all her kind, was sympathetic. 
 She suffered unjustly with such amazing 
 meekness, parted with such agony from her 
 small child, himself an embryo actor of no 
 mean parts, that the entire audience wept 
 aloud with her. In the end she triumphed 
 properly as the virtuous always should, and 
 the audience went home after deafening ex- 
 pressions of approval, well contented with 
 the result. 
 
 Walking home from the theatre Emily and 
 Mr. Herbert lingered so long by the way and 
 
148 Susan in Sicily 
 
 loitered so far behind, that as soon as I had 
 reported to Aunt, I undressed as quickly as 
 I could and got ready to write my glad sus- 
 picions to you. I sat propped up in bed with 
 my fur coat around my nightdress, my sensa- 
 tions quivering between anticipation and shiv- 
 ering. 
 
 What must this monastery cell have been 
 like in the old days, if it is so cold now with 
 a carpet and the pretence of a radiator! My 
 shy ghosts probably wore sheepskins instead 
 of penitential haircloth shirts, and never 
 changed their garments night or day. Pos- 
 sibly that is why they refuse my entreaties 
 to re-appear. The monkish garments have 
 rotted away, and they remember the chill of 
 the atmosphere. 
 
 A gentle tap, followed by the appearance 
 of Emily, sent every speculation flying. Be- 
 fore she was fairly in the door I cried out in 
 
 " Oh, Emily darling. It has happened? 
 You have come to tell me about Mr. Herbert 
 I am . . ." 
 
 But I got no further. Emily burst into 
 tears. Putting her hand over my mouth she 
 sobbed: " Susan, I implore you! " and bury- 
 ing her face at the foot of the bed, cried bit- 
 terly. 
 
Susan in Sicily 149 
 
 I was so astonished, so amazed, so over- 
 come that I could only stare and gasp : " Em- 
 ily! What has happened? " 
 
 When the first violence of her weeping had 
 subsided she sat up, her eyes still wet, and 
 leaned back against the footboard, looking 
 into my stupid bewildered face: 
 
 " Susan, I am so miserable that I have 
 come to ask you to share my misery. Will 
 you forgive me if I inflict my unhappiness 
 upon you? Poor mother must not suspect 
 that anything is wrong with me!" 
 
 " Wrong with you? " I could only repeat 
 in such a tragic tone that she smiled in spite 
 of herself. 
 
 She leaned forward and took my free hand 
 in both of hers. How hot they felt, those 
 slender hands! 
 
 " Susan, I can never marry Tom Herbert. 
 I am not, as you all suppose, a widow." 
 
 " But — "I stammered. 
 
 " I have every reason to believe that my 
 husband is alive. And we are not divorced." 
 
 " Your husband? " I had rapid visions of 
 lunatic asylums and penal institutions. There 
 is never any knowing what the best born men 
 will do in this age! 
 
 " I don't know just where he is, but I am 
 sure he is alive. Up to the day we sailed two 
 
150 Susan in Sicily 
 
 years ago, I have, from time to time, had 
 evidences of his existence, but I have kept 
 them from mother. I have never tried to 
 find him. It has not been his intention that 
 I should, for these empty envelopes addressed 
 in his handwriting and despatched every few 
 months from remote and widely divided post- 
 offices in the far west of Mexico, had only 
 for an object my annoyance. He hates me, 
 but not so much as I have hated him! " 
 
 I could not believe my ears, still less my 
 eyes! Emily's sweet face looked so sad, so 
 stern. I found no words ready. She went 
 on telling her story simply, slowly. 
 
 She had married when she was barely 
 eighteen. Her husband was a nephew by 
 marriage of her mother's only sister. Clever, 
 fascinating, unscrupulous, he managed to 
 make himself beloved by the older women. 
 He married Emily for her money and raged 
 when he found he could not handle it. Tired 
 of her, and using up all the property she was 
 able to give him, he went West on business 
 and never came back. 
 
 " I was not the sort of woman he liked, 
 and he twitted me with my ' stupid amiabil- 
 ity ' whenever we were alone, praising me for 
 my ' very sweet nature ' when mother was 
 about. Once and once only I spoke my mind 
 
Susan in Sicily 151 
 
 to mother. The effect was disastrous. She 
 acted as if she thought I had gone mad, and 
 suffered a fearful nervous crisis. As a result, 
 I have never mentioned him. Both she and 
 Aunt Rachel tried in all the usual ways to 
 trace him. He never sent them any empty 
 envelopes, and they never knew I received 
 any. 
 
 " I was so glad to be free that every night 
 I prayed with greater fervour than ever did 
 the most frantic of nuns, that I might never 
 see him again. Once, only once after five 
 years had elapsed did I venture to mention 
 a divorce to mother. Had I proposed to 
 commit an atrocious crime she could not have 
 been more horrified. I have never ceased to 
 tremble at his possible return. If he should 
 come back now it would kill me ! " 
 
 " Mr. Herbert loves you, Emily? " 
 
 She understood me and again buried her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 " I have not let him speak. I don't know 
 what he thinks of me? We nearly quarrelled 
 to-night. He said he would never have be- 
 lieved me a coquette, and apologized at once 
 when he saw how it hurt me. Oh, if I only 
 dared tell him, but I dare not take the risk 
 of losing everything!" 
 
 " Nonsense, I wouldn't be a bit afraid. I 
 
152 Susan in Sicily 
 
 would trust that fine, noble-faced fellow to 
 stand up for anyone he loved. I wouldn't 
 hesitate for a moment." 
 
 But Emily was timid. 
 
 " He has not actually said that he loved 
 me. He might leave us! Oh, I never could 
 bear it." 
 
 For a few seconds we both were silent. 
 
 "Susan, help me!" Her voice and her 
 tears almost choked her. 
 
 " I will do everything I can. I will poke 
 myself in where I am not wanted and make 
 myself so fascinating that he will forget you 
 at least five out of every fifteen hours, that 
 may dilute his longing a bit." 
 
 She could not resist laughing, but grew 
 serious again at once. 
 
 " Mother must not suspect this. Now I 
 have opened my heart to you I can keep 
 calm." 
 
 " Do you think she suspects? " 
 
 " No indeed ! Mother always speaks of my 
 husband as if she expected we should be re- 
 united. She has lost neither hope or affec- 
 tion," Emily sighed. 
 
 What monsters of selfishness some of these 
 delicate little women are! 
 
 So instead of sleeping I am writing you 
 this letter, stopping at intervals to beg the 
 
Susan in Sicily 153 
 
 holiest of room ghosts to get busy with his 
 miracles and to help us out. 
 So deep in intrigue is your 
 
 Susan. 
 
154 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXIV 
 
 Betsy Dear: — Writing as I did until al- 
 most dawn in order to finish my last letter, 
 I slept so late that Jim, tired of waiting, had 
 breakfasted and gone off for a long tramp 
 with Mr. Herbert when I reached the garden 
 the next morning. Mean things! They 
 might have waited one hour. They did not, 
 so I went off by myself and as a reward 
 came back with two new friends. 
 
 I walked straight to the east end of the 
 town. I always do. I came to the boy and 
 his donkey in the market place, who go on 
 as eternally piling up sand and filling up 
 panniers as ever did any of those old pagans 
 whom the gods saw fit to punish with never- 
 ending labours. I followed him on his way 
 up the street, and gave a look into the half 
 dug out gymnastica, partially excavated be- 
 neath the church. Boy nor donkey deigned 
 a glance at this half buried scholastic theatre, 
 but kept on a winding way past the group 
 of chattering girls at the Fontana Vecchia, 
 
Susan in Sicily 155 
 
 where just as much entertaining gossip goes 
 on as in the more frequented Piazza. Here I 
 parted with the pair who went about business 
 while I went about my pleasure, to find my- 
 self sitting on a stone wall, beyond the Cap- 
 puccine monastery, looking down into a ser- 
 ried ravine so wild that it might have been 
 miles from any town. 
 
 How mysterious it is down in that wedge- 
 like green valley, I thought contentedly. 
 
 In such old classic haunts as Syracuse and 
 Girgenti, I feel it important to wrestle with 
 my memory to bring forth drops of ancient 
 lore, but here in Taormina, early Greek set- 
 tlement though it be, the beauties which Na- 
 ture has lavished so overshadow every other 
 attraction, that I do not reproach myself if 
 I let antiquities wait for those who appreciate 
 them better. 
 
 I found the most comfortable seat the wall 
 afforded, making ready to occupy my mind 
 for the entire rest of the morning with Emily 
 and her love problem, and admiration of the 
 scene before me. I had just drawn up my 
 feet and put my hand down to pull up my 
 skirt, when something strange, wet and cold 
 struck against my fingers. It took but one 
 flash of thought to recognize the touch of one 
 of those little noses! 
 
156 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " Oh, you sweetest, darlingest, little dog- 
 gie! Come up here to me at once." No 
 further entreaty was needed to convey a sol- 
 emn little red dachshund to my knees, where 
 he sat complacently wagging his long tail 
 as unconcernedly as if it were his place by 
 right. 
 
 A lady in deep mourning came slowly 
 around the corner: "Why, you naughty, 
 muddy, little boy!" she called out reproach- 
 fully. "Get down!" 
 
 "Please! Oh please!" I hung on to his 
 collar: " I love him. My brother has two 
 just like him. He knows I love him. See! 
 and they are usually so shy! " 
 
 " Rufus is not shy! And he knows a friend 
 at once ! " 
 
 " Then he knows me. Do let him stay." 
 
 " He will spoil your gown! " 
 
 " If that is the only reason for going you 
 may stay, Rufus." 
 
 But the little doggie had decided for him- 
 self. He flapped his ears, brought his lengthy 
 tail up into a comfortable twist and went off 
 in a snooze. 
 
 The lady sat down beside me. 
 
 " How lovely it is in this spot! Have you 
 ever been here before? I have never seen 
 you and I come nearly every day." 
 
Susan in Sicily 157 
 
 Then we talked it all over as country- 
 women should. 
 
 She told me that she had come from some 
 far away place in the northwest. I had 
 never heard of it before which made her 
 laugh. But I am not skilled in geography. 
 She had been very ill after the death of her 
 husband. She had brought little Rufus all 
 the way: "We have our Bridget, who loves 
 us very much," she said pointedly. 
 
 The name of Bridget was a talisman. Ru- 
 fus instantly got down to go and look for 
 her, so the lady and I rose and walked slowly 
 after him. No Bridget being found within 
 scampering distance, the little fellow led the 
 way to his hotel where he knew she must be, 
 hitching up his short, fat hind leg and kick- 
 ing it out every few steps. 
 
 How amusing he was, and I forgot even 
 love, duty, all the important matters I had 
 stored away for deliberation, in the presence 
 of my new toy. 
 
 " He is a comical darling. Do let me come 
 and walk with you again," I said. 
 
 " Nothing would please us better. We al- 
 ways spend the mornings in lounging about 
 the roads." 
 
 And I had never thought once of Emily, 
 nor had I asked the lady her name! 
 
158 Susan in Sicily 
 
 The very next day Rufus made the ac- 
 quaintance of our entire party: with each in 
 his own characteristic fashion, which proved 
 most wise and politic. He jumped at Jim's 
 affections in a slightly strange but entirely 
 effectual fashion. Jim had just confided to 
 me, that " though I like all dogs, I never 
 cared much for dachs. They never seem to 
 have much stuff in them! " which argument I 
 had begun to refute by pouring out a stream 
 of their qualifications: " So comical! so amus- 
 ing! so droll!" when the lady came out of 
 a shop right beside us and the discussion 
 stopped short. I tried to introduce Jim, and 
 found I did not know her name, and she said 
 gently: 
 
 " I am Mrs. Horton." 
 
 We turned up one of the narrow alley ways 
 towards the hill top. A contadino, with the 
 ubiquitous gun, passed us as we entered. 
 
 Then Jim, lingering behind in the tortuous 
 alley, saw fit to pretend to be The Bad Man 
 of Taormina, and menace Mrs. Horton with 
 a walking stick as a rifle. Rufus lingering 
 still further behind in amicable communion 
 with a town cur, caught sight of the menace, 
 and without further hesitation fastened him- 
 self to the end of Jim's trouser leg. 
 
 " You wicked boy! " called out his mistress, 
 
Susan in Sicily 159 
 
 who had turned to laugh at the gun play. 
 Rufus opened his jaws slowly. Jim's sympa- 
 thies burst forth: 
 
 "You are worth having! You're a whole 
 dog, all right! all right! Give us your paw, 
 old fellow. We're friends for ever. Always 
 look out for your owner! That's the kind of 
 dog for me! " 
 
 So it was Rufus gained Jim's respect. 
 
 Later gracefully picking up Aunt's hand- 
 kerchief, and wagging and hitching himself 
 to present it to her with a proper air of hav- 
 ing no other reason for being on earth but to 
 serve her, ensured him unlimited bits of cake 
 and sugar from her at tea time. Aunt is 
 really too funny when she feeds a dog! she 
 breaks off a small piece, says " Here, dog- 
 gie," with condescension, and when Rufus 
 makes an attempt to take the offered bit, she 
 drops it as if she expected he would snatch 
 and swallow her whole hand. Rufus has a 
 sense of humour. He plays the game with 
 her to his own advantage. Aunt, who bounds 
 the eligible citizens of the United States by 
 Madison Avenue and Newport, interrupted 
 my reading of a History of the Slave War 
 in Taormina a half an hour ago by: 
 
 "I don't know about that Mrs. Horton! 
 She seems well bred, but she comes from a 
 
160 Susan in Sicily 
 
 queer place. What was it she mentioned? 
 Oshkosh or Escanaba or some one of those 
 utterly impossible places, we only read of in 
 the newspapers, and never associate with de- 
 cent people." 
 
 I didn't contradict her. I have lost the art 
 of contradiction. Even brother George shall 
 go unscathed. I said instead: 
 
 " Oh, Aunt! She is so sweet and so pretty, 
 and so sort of lonely! I like her immensely! " 
 
 Aunt sniffed a little: "I must find out 
 who she knows. I thought she seemed a trifle 
 Western when she laughed/ ' 
 
 I smiled inwardly. Aunt is always finding 
 out who one knows. I think the fact that 
 Jim's uncle is a bishop and that his grand- 
 father lived on the New York Battery in 
 1812 had as much to do with her patronage 
 as the bramble bush and his own cleverness. 
 
 " She is pleasant, and she has a very infec- 
 tious laugh," I observed, eagerly pretending 
 to misunderstand the allusion. 
 
 There the subject dropped. I went back 
 droning on about the Slaves. Aunt by the 
 way is showing signs of uneasiness. She has 
 mentioned several times with emphasis that 
 the Tessera Ticket which was extended will 
 be useless after next week. 
 
 She likewise declares that the convento 
 
Susan in Sicily 161 
 
 hotel is getting on her nerves, and as what- 
 ever Aunt decides all the rest of us swear is 
 right, I suppose we shall soon be leaving this 
 Lotus Land to buckle ourselves down to the 
 serious business of sight-seeing in Palermo. 
 Of course Jim will come. Aunt will make 
 him. So will Mr. Herbert, and on the sly, 
 I am going to use all my persuasive force to 
 bring Rufus and his owner into the party. 
 
 The shopkeepers will miss Jim. He has 
 spent a lot of money. He is always buying 
 lovely things for the girl he says he is going 
 to marry. I am sure she's some stick we 
 wouldn't like at all; but she is getting heav- 
 enly presents laid up for her. I know, be- 
 cause I have selected every one. 
 
 The first time he wanted me to go shopping 
 for her, I asked: " Are you engaged? " 
 
 "No-o, but I may be! And if she won't 
 have me, I'll give the things to you." 
 
 " Thank you! But I don't take leavings! " 
 
 "I'm crushed! But, never mind, perhaps 
 after all she will want them." 
 
 I should think he would be ashamed to 
 bribe a girl into an engagement. 
 
 He went off that day alone and brought 
 back the ugliest, most ridiculous and expen- 
 sive things. Then I just had to go and make 
 him take everything back. I couldn't resist. 
 
162 Susan in Sicily 
 
 The fun was too good to lose. He would 
 pay anything the shopkeeper asked him if I 
 wasn't guarding the purse. 
 
 Now we are collecting the most fascinating 
 bits of old peasant jewelry to make a heav- 
 enly necklace, embroideries which would make 
 you weep with envy; and yesterday he bought 
 a priest's robe of lace, which she ought to 
 use for a bridal gown; it is delicious! A 
 cobweb whereon rests a Jack Frost fantasy. 
 Can you picture it? 
 
 I tell him, if he shows the presents first, 
 he will surely get the bride, but he shakes his 
 head and says she isn't that kind. 
 
 I think I shall marry the Conte in his 
 lovely uniform if I can get him. Will you 
 come over and visit me in Sicily? 
 Your wavering, 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 163 
 
 XXV 
 
 Dearest Sister: — The days are flying. 
 How hard it is to see the sun go down each 
 night, turning the clouds, which are for ever 
 playing eruption in the Val de Bove, to the 
 colour of pure flame. This Val de Bove, the 
 great black hole in Etna's flank, we see so 
 plainly from Taormina. It may be horribly 
 wicked, Aunt says it is, but I wish Etna 
 would spit up just a few red hot morsels for 
 me to see! 
 
 I found a deep and earnest sympathizer in 
 the same cause in the person of Bridget, who 
 was airing herself and Rufus yesterday late, 
 in the Greek Theatre. Poor Mrs. Horton 
 was resting. She had suffered a sleepless 
 night. Our conversation began on volcanoes 
 and eruptions, then passed lightly on dogs 
 and ended up with matrimonial experiences, 
 especially those touching her worshipped mis- 
 tress. Jealousy evidently entered into Brid- 
 get's theories: 
 
 " I can't but be glad he's dead, may the 
 
164 Susan in Sicily 
 
 saints forgive me! but there was something 
 kind of weird-like about him. Oh! no! I 
 don't mean nothing uncanny or ugly! He 
 was a handsome gentleman, most would think, 
 and very soft-spoken. But I never did trust 
 him or think him right for my darling ! How 
 well do I remember when her father (oh! 
 he was the grand man!) come down to Chi- 
 cago to get me to come up North and take 
 care of his — e little girl/ Me eldest brother 
 had been working for Mr. Scott for several 
 years, but I was just over from Ireland. I 
 see he was a fine gentleman, but I thought 
 it was a wild place I was goin' to. Glory 
 be to God, the scenery was wild and grand, 
 but the gentry had the finest homes ever I 
 see, and when we drives up to the door, Miss 
 Pauline comes lepping down the big broad 
 stairs to her father and says to me, says she: 
 'If this is Pat Moloney's sister we'll sure 
 love her, for Patfs the best on earth! ' Look- 
 a-that for a child of fifteen to say to a poor 
 greenhorn! Her mother was dead only goin' 
 on eight months and an old aunt of her 
 father's was there keeping house for them. 
 I'm not saying the aunt wasn't a fine old 
 dame, but she oughtn't have let Miss Pauline 
 marry a man she had known scarcely three 
 
Susan in Sicily 165 
 
 months, and she only the slip of a girl who 
 never had been off from home! But they 
 was all crazy about Mr. Horton, and thanks 
 be to the Virgin it turned out all right. He's 
 dead." The solemn gratitude in Bridget's 
 voice was indescribable. 
 
 " Did he belong to the place, Bridget? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " He did not. It was somewhere in the 
 wilds of Canada he come from. The old 
 aunt went clean daffy about him and his ta- 
 king ways, and the girl herself would have 
 him. I never thought Mr. Scott was so keen 
 for the marriage, but he could not deny any- 
 thing to Miss Pauline. The man was too 
 old for her, he seemed too knowing-like and 
 he hadn't any money. 
 
 " He took her up to Canada for the 
 weddin' trip. We lived so near the border. 
 She never said much about the journey, and 
 I don't believe she seen any of his people, 
 if she did she never told me. 
 
 " Oh I'm not saying he wasn't nice enough 
 and kind enough! But he wasn't like that 
 grand man her father! He was generous too," 
 put in Bridget with a twinkle in her eye, 
 " he never denied her anything she bought 
 with her own money! " 
 
166 Susan in Sicily 
 
 I laughed outright: " And Mr. Scott, is 
 he still alive?" 
 
 Bridget crossed herself fervently: "Holy 
 Mother of all the saints! Is he alive? He was 
 yesterday, when Miss Pauline gets a cable to 
 say he may be coming in a few weeks to take 
 us away from this land of heathens. Catho- 
 lics do they call themselves? The Holy 
 Father must blush for them ! It's pagans they 
 are, and dirthy pagans at that. Why even 
 Rufus do be disgusted with them!" 
 
 Bridget was preparing to move, but I 
 wanted to know more. I had taken such a 
 violent fancy to Pauline Horton. 
 
 "Did Mr. Horton give her Rufus?" 
 
 " Sure and he didn't! " said Bridget em- 
 phatically. " It was her father. She wasn't 
 married two years when the husband died. 
 She was like a wild woman with grief, and 
 wouldn't take notice of anyone. One day her 
 father goes in her room and puts down Rufus 
 quiet like on the bed. Ah that was always 
 the wise pup! Look at him now; he knows 
 we're talking of 'urn. He was wise too then, 
 though only a few weeks old. He snuggled 
 right down to her, then and there that first 
 day, and shows the teeth of him to everybody 
 who come near the bed, but me. . . . Come, 
 
Susan in Sicily 167 
 
 Rufus, we must be goin' home to mother 
 now." 
 
 Poor Pauline! You would love her. 
 
 Susan. 
 
168 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXVI 
 
 Dear: — We are going day after to-mor- 
 row. That is if Aunt Anne considers me well 
 enough to leave. I am now in bed for the 
 day. I sneezed ten times running and 
 coughed seven, and now having begged off 
 from swathings in antiphlogistine, I suppose 
 I am to be harrowed with mustard plasters. 
 
 Aunt emphatically pronounces the cause to 
 be these damp, dreary, old convent walls, and 
 I don't dare to tell her that I sat on a cold 
 stone bench in the inner cloisters a good hour 
 and a half, while Mr. Herbert dug the history 
 of this monastery out from an antiquated 
 Italian book he picked up in some musty 
 shop. 
 
 The mustard plaster won't materialize to- 
 night, meantime I can write you, for an illu- 
 minating ray has revealed to my careless mind 
 that I have never given but the faintest men- 
 tion in my letters to the abiding place, once 
 the dwelling of monks, now the branch on 
 which tourists alight. 
 
—-- _ 
 
 
 
 
 W 
 
 i 
 
 [ 
 1 i 
 
 ft 
 
 i ! 
 
 IN THE CLOISTER OF SAN DOMENICO, TAORMINA. 
 
Susan in Sicily 169 
 
 I must usher you in at the front door, walk 
 you around and take you out as the banished 
 frate left it, by the church portal. 
 
 Once upon a time fully five hundred and 
 thirty years ago a man of learning, fond of 
 studious seclusion, of strong piety, came to 
 Taormina. His name was Girolama de Luna, 
 a certification of his noble Spanish blood. 
 The enchantment of the landscape, the solem- 
 nity of soaring Etna, the peace and tranquil 
 beauty of the spot, enticed this scholar to 
 found a small monastery where students could 
 find a sanctuary. Just within the city walls 
 he established near a small church of St. 
 Agatha a humble home for the small com- 
 munity he had gathered about him, and then 
 submitted his followers to the rules of the 
 powerful order of the Dominicans. 
 
 Near the new convento, on the boldest and 
 most isolated of the promontories jutting out 
 into the murmuring Ionian Sea, rose a feudal 
 castle, square and forbidding, marshalling the 
 huddle of houses stretched along a shelf on 
 the abrupt mountainside. Threatening and 
 watchful, ready to protect the little city, there 
 it had stood since the time of Frederic II, 
 when a certain Lord of Rossa, of Norman 
 origin, had been made governor of the town 
 for his fealty to his sovereign. 
 
170 Susan in Sicily 
 
 At the time when de Luna and his compan- 
 ions settled in Taormina, peace being in the 
 land, this feudal lord had added to his frown- 
 ing keep a palazzo, one of those long, spa- 
 cious vaulted dwellings, in the Spanish style 
 so beloved in the late 14th century, and here 
 among the flowering almonds and wealth of 
 flowers which grew almost without care in a 
 garden stretching to the edge of the cliff, he 
 lived in such luxury as the age afforded. 
 Here Damiano Rossa, a son of the race, was 
 probably born. 
 
 The young lordling passing much of his 
 life in this home where such teaching as he 
 got was done by the frate grew into such 
 warm friendship with these clever Dominicans 
 that before his death, sixty-five years after 
 Fra Girolama had first gathered his company 
 of religious scholars together, the Lord of 
 Rossa had converted his hereditary castello 
 into a church and his palace into a monastery 
 which he bestowed upon the Dominicans for 
 their perpetual use. 
 
 The convento of San Domenico waxed rich 
 and powerful with each year. Out from its 
 gates went forth doctors of law and theology; 
 eloquent prelates and ambitious princes of the 
 church were trained within its walls to fill 
 empty places. A grand Inquisitor, perhaps 
 
Susan in Sicily 171 
 
 more, and many secret scourges of the heretic 
 were numbered among its brethren, and in 
 its pride the abbot and congregation once 
 defied a pope. Its overweening haughty lux- 
 ury brought unheeded reproof and scandal. 
 
 There are deep prisons beneath its roof 
 which have weighty secrets buried within 
 their boundaries. 
 
 The high outer walls, broken in some 
 places, are still an evidence of the proud se- 
 clusion in which the monastery stood, defying 
 near inspection from the towns-people, yet 
 from its commanding position ever keeping 
 a watchful eye upon the doings of the town. 
 
 Behind the broad portal, still surmounted by 
 the shield with armorial bearings, unfitted for 
 a caravansary, is the broad outer court where 
 under the graceful nodding pepper trees in 
 olden times the sleek asses discharged their 
 burdens of equally sleek frate returning from 
 missions to distant places. 
 
 That was when Taormina and the world 
 had no intercourse save by rough paths wind- 
 ing up a precipitous ravine without the town, 
 where travellers mounted and descended either 
 on foot or on the backs of mules. 
 
 Within the convento fortifications, the por- 
 ter with his jangling keys received honoured 
 guests, or proud members of the order, and 
 
172 Susan in Sicily 
 
 led them through the reception rooms to the 
 broad staircase of ceremony which is such 
 easy mounting, with its wide low steps, for 
 luxurious feet. 
 
 The broad archway, out of which now 
 pours a corps of servants of all ages, degrees 
 and condition, to usher a tourist into a pil- 
 lared cloister, could not have existed in those 
 days. 
 
 A discreet parlour, where a guest was well 
 examined, must have divided the outer from 
 the inner court; and the great corridor to 
 which the staircase leads, lighted by high 
 wide windows opening out above the outer 
 and inner cloisters, is at present adorned with 
 glass doors at either end which lead to ter- 
 races east and west. 
 
 In this corridor the brick pavement and 
 heavy walls have for five hundred years so 
 absorbed the odour of incense that the place 
 still reeks with its perfume. Into it opened 
 the choice apartments, salons, oratories, and 
 guest chambers of the monastery, now fallen 
 from such solemn estate to the highest priced 
 and best paying rooms of the hotel. The 
 wings on either side of the gallery held the 
 humbler cells, some still in their original form. 
 Here dwelt and worked the less honoured 
 frate. 
 
Susan in Sicily 173 
 
 Another long vaulted corridor, below the 
 level of the cloisters, a passage always 
 plunged in meditative gloom, gave entrance 
 to another row of cells. Above the doors to 
 many of these are frescoes of nuns of the 
 Dominican order. Why these ladies (even 
 in picture) were admitted into the monastery 
 the antique history did not explain. 
 
 The cloisters are the gem of the structure, 
 and the bits of the ancient feudal castello, 
 easily discernible in the church tower and in- 
 nermost courtyard, enchant Mr. Herbert with 
 his archaeological tastes. 
 
 The following epitaph to the donor is chis- 
 elled on marble at the foot of the great stair- 
 way: 
 
 " To the Illustrious Damiano Rossa, baron 
 of Callura, of Pistopi, and of Camatrice, who 
 converted his house into this august temple 
 and consecrated it all to the Mother of God 
 after enriching it with many donations. 
 
 " May the perfume of burning incense and 
 prayer ever, as I have designed, ascend from 
 this mansion to Mary on high. And in re- 
 ward will the Virgin prepare for me a hab- 
 itation above, saying then to me : * As thou 
 hast renounced thy own house on earth for 
 me, I now give to thee my dwelling in 
 heaven.' (1435.)" 
 
174 Susan in Sicily 
 
 Sometime in the last century the convent 
 was suppressed and the order allowed to die 
 out. Only a few years ago the last aged 
 frate was carried to his grave. The descend- 
 ant of the original donor has been contending 
 in the courts for his rights against the gov- 
 ernment, who claim it. 
 
 The odours of incense and prayer have long 
 ceased to ascend, and I fear me the present 
 descendant of the pious prince is more intent 
 on gold pieces than ever his ancestor was on 
 a heavenly habitation, and that his fondest 
 desires leap out not to war nor to the courts 
 above, but across the ocean to the purse. 
 
 Here I have been gossiping and gabbling 
 away on paper for an hour. I feel I have 
 given you but a faint idea of the charm of 
 the place we are so soon to leave. But that I 
 could never do unless I packed into my letter 
 a large square of the atmosphere, a generous 
 slice of Etna, some blue of the sea, and the 
 myriad hues of the hills. 
 
 Instead, oh, unhappy me! I can only wail 
 at the inevitable mustard plaster! 
 Your trembling 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 175 
 
 XXVII 
 
 Dearest Betsy: — The mustard plaster, 
 which I secretly pulled off two seconds after 
 it was applied, has been considered effectual. 
 I have neither coughed nor sneezed and to- 
 morrow we all go; all including Bridget and 
 Rufus. 
 
 How I hate to depart from this Lotus 
 Land. I could stay here the rest of my life 
 and let time slip away, without ever looking 
 at the hour glass ! If one wants to do nothing 
 and yet have the satisfying sense of doing it 
 well, of wasting no minutes in the perfect 
 accomplishment of praiseworthy idleness, let 
 him come to Taormina! What fond sighs 
 I shall waft back from Palermo, where Aunt 
 will put me to all sorts of Hercules labours. 
 I know she will. She has hinted at Italian 
 lessons more than once! 
 
 Good-bye, Etna, my love. Good-bye, 
 sweet idleness! 
 
 Au revoir, sweet Sister, sadly your 
 
 Susan. 
 
176 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 Dear B — ; — I wish I could write with 
 truth that my last night in Taormina was 
 spent in sleepless communion, with my re- 
 grets, reinforced by the spirit of Etna and 
 a company of astral forms, once Dominican 
 friars, who begged me not to remove my 
 gentle presence from their midst. Alas! for 
 the romance! I slept dreamlessly and awoke 
 hungry. The top of Etna was completely 
 hidden by the clouds, but the air was so bland, 
 the sun so warm that we lingered over our 
 honey in the garden, until Aunt called me 
 from her window. 
 
 We left as we came, with the whole corps 
 of servants headed by the suave manager 
 bowing us out of cloister door. I felt genu- 
 inely sorry to part with them. I am sure I 
 shall never again see such splendid inky whis- 
 kers as our proud head-waiter sported with 
 well-merited satisfaction, nor a burlier, nobler 
 
Susan in Sicily 177 
 
 form than that of the free-born Swiss who 
 acted as our concierge. 
 
 Aunt permitted me to ride down in the 
 carriage with Jim, greatly to my delight. All 
 the shopkeepers by the way came out to drop 
 tears at our going. I waved farewell to all 
 the " var " good donkeys. I bade good-bye 
 in spirit to all the Ciccios. I felt I owed it 
 to the name. Every morning I had been 
 awakened by the loud call, " Ciccio! " from 
 a man building a wall in the gully beneath 
 my window, answered by a small boy who 
 carried mortar. He probably conveyed this 
 building requirement by the cupful, and then 
 fled away to play; for all day until work 
 was ended, at intervals not longer than ten 
 minutes apart, the air reverberated with 
 " Ciccios." I dozed off at night to the tune 
 of " Ciccio " under my window, whispered by 
 the gentle voices of the servant corps. In the 
 town the very air vibrated with the name. 
 Indeed, a short tour in Sicily has convinced 
 me that were I able by some magic power 
 to post myself on the most central eminence 
 in the inland and in a voice sufficiently power- 
 ful to be heard at the four corners, call in 
 sing-song " Chee-Cho/ f half the male popu- 
 lation of Sicily would respond to my call, and 
 the entire female contingency come running 
 
178 Susan in Sicily 
 
 to see what I wanted with so many men. 
 Francesco is the root and stem of this beloved 
 pet name. 
 
 I almost wept as we drove off under the 
 old gateway. I frankly lamented as we 
 dropped down the ribbon-like road, and I 
 loved Jim because he joined in my mourning. 
 How fast we seemed to go. First the coast 
 of Calabria vanished; then we left the Hotel 
 Castellamare behind; the lovely garden of 
 the Duke of Bridport hid itself in a hollow; 
 we passed the last villas, saw the convento 
 high above us on the precipice; and were in 
 dusty Giardini, at the railway station door 
 all too soon. 
 
 Mrs. Horton, Rufus and Bridget were 
 there before us, their hotel porter being of 
 that class which believes in catching a train 
 half an hour before it goes. Mr. Herbert 
 arrived just as Aunt began to worry. 
 
 As our large party quite fills a compart- 
 ment we were very comfortable, and by a 
 most tenderly considerate scheme of engineer- 
 ing, the train dives into a tunnel almost im- 
 mediately on starting. I could not waft 
 enough loud-voiced regrets up to the beloved 
 town to excite Aunt's ire. Through rich 
 shining orchards of orange and lemon; 
 through filthy picturesque towns; over great 
 
Susan in Sicily 179 
 
 dried-up river beds, curving along at the base 
 of mighty mountains; by the smooth purple 
 gray sand which the many hued sea runs 
 softly at in play, we went on our way to 
 Messina. 
 
 Ruined castles, like crowns upon sharp 
 jagged rocks of mingled green, pink, purple, 
 and amber; monasteries stretching their lone 
 lines along valleys on the most fertile heights 
 above wide dried-up rivers; the Calabrian 
 coast growing nearer, its white settlements 
 more distinct charmed us in quick succession, 
 and we were in Messina almost before we 
 had really felt Taormina was left for ever. 
 
 I have an indistinct sense of much confu- 
 sion at the station at Messina, of Aunt's voice 
 declaring with dignity yet emphasis that the 
 ticket agent in Taormina had assured her 
 " the train "went directly through" but as she 
 calmly spoke in English, and neither the 
 station master, inspectors nor porters to whom 
 she reiterated her statement understood one 
 syllable of her foreign tongue, I can only 
 now write that I found myself by some twist 
 of good luck in a cab with Mrs. Horton and 
 Jim, who, watch in hand, leaned confiden- 
 tially over the coachman's box, pointing out 
 on the dial the length of time he wished to 
 drive, ending his orders with emphatic shakes 
 
180 Susan in Sicily 
 
 of the head: "No longer; no longer, perche 
 mangiare" opening his mouth and stuffing 
 down imaginary fistfuls of invisible food. 
 
 " Sij signore, capisco. I will have you here 
 in an hour and a half!" or words to that 
 effect, answered Numero Otto, our driver, 
 who was cross-eyed and had red hair, but his 
 little horse with a smart pheasant's plume 
 between the ears was sleek and lively and 
 galloped us over Messina in gay fashion. 
 
 It is hard to find beauty in a dusty seaport 
 town after living on the heights within sight 
 of Etna, but our spirits helped us admire 
 the view across the straits from the flats on 
 which the lighthouse stands, the shipping 
 along the waterfront, and the other sights in 
 which our coachman took an almost monu- 
 mental pride. 
 
 " Where is everyone else? " I managed to 
 ask Jim while we were admiring the treasures 
 in the Cathedral. " The confusion was so 
 great I lost myself." 
 
 " I think Mrs. Calverly and Mr. Herbert 
 are hovering around your Aunt and Mrs. 
 Adams in the station, and that Rufus is out 
 walking with his Bridget, ' agin the long 
 hours he'll have to spend sleepin',' as she in- 
 formed Mrs. Horton." 
 
 The charms of Messina were not suffi- 
 
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Susan in Sicily 181 
 
 ciently powerful to cause any regrets when 
 finally our coachman drew up with a flourish 
 at the station and proudly pointed with his 
 whip at the station clock, to show that he 
 had neither lost nor gained one minute beyond 
 the appointed time. Jim must have rewarded 
 him generously, for with tears in his voice he 
 besought us soon to return, and never, never, 
 to forget that he was Numero Otto. 
 
 We had a luncheon in the restaurant which 
 I ate with appetite and which even Aunt 
 Anne did not treat wholly with contempt. 
 Rufus alone, who despises the uncertainty 
 and discomforts of travel, turned his back 
 sadly on the table. 
 
 Our train was posted to leave ten minutes 
 after our luncheon was finished. It was half' 
 an hour late and good luck to it! for at al- 
 most the last minute who should come bolting 
 through the gates but the Conte! 
 
 We had entered the train, but I leaned so 
 wildly out of the window that Jim exclaimed: 
 
 ' Who is all that demonstration for? Have 
 you left something in the restaurant? " 
 
 But the officer had seen me, and before I 
 could answer was bowing to Aunty and the 
 others and settling himself in our compart- 
 ment for Palermo. 
 
 We had been told by someone in Taormina 
 
182 Susan in Sicily 
 
 that the journey from Messina to Palermo 
 was long and tiresome. Long it surely is, 
 considering the distance to be traversed, but 
 the slow-going, halting Sicilian trains had en- 
 tered so largely into our experience that we 
 had almost come to enjoy their leisurely ways. 
 Much of the time this particular express 
 lurched along like a drunken man, coming 
 when we least expected to a surprised halt. 
 
 The day was perfect for travelling. The 
 sun played catch-as-catch-can with the j oili- 
 est, fleetest clouds. There were very few 
 passengers in the first class carriage, and 
 being a corridor car we could spread our- 
 selves about as we liked. Aunt and Mrs. 
 Adams were made comfortable at once, in 
 positions where they could either doze or look 
 at the landscape according to their sweet will. 
 Jim, who did not seem to care much for my 
 nice officer, devoted himself to pretty Mrs. 
 Horton, Rufus retired with a deep sigh under 
 the seat on which sat his Bridget, and Emily 
 and Mr. Herbert talked literature in a cor- 
 ner. The Lieutenant was naturally very anx- 
 ious to hear about our Etna trip, so we stood 
 together in the corridor. I fancy my story 
 was somewhat scattered, for presently Mrs. 
 Horton and Jim joined us, both laughing. 
 Jim offered the Conte a cigarette, saying: 
 
THE ENTRANCE TO THE CATHEDRAL, MESSINA. 
 
Susan in Sicily 183 
 
 " This may help you to understand whether 
 Miss Susan is talking of Etna or Stromboli." 
 
 I thought it was horrid and impudent of 
 him to listen to my conversation with another 
 man, but I reserved my reproaches for some 
 better opportunity. 
 
 The sea was as blue as a baby's eyes, and 
 all the way the railroad skirted a beach of 
 hard gray sand, broken occasionally by cliffs 
 of a warmer colour. On the horizon, out of 
 the waves, the smoking cone of Stromboli 
 rose, with a white town clustered serenely at 
 the base of that constantly active volcano. 
 
 If we turned our eyes from the beauty of 
 the sea to the other side of the track there 
 were deep valleys, far-away gray-and-gold 
 towns resting on green heights which seemed 
 to pile up to the very zenith. Although near 
 Christmas, fields of dainty purple iris as deli- 
 cate as an orchid spread colour in the pro- 
 tected hollows, and whole companies of dar- 
 ling little daisies in pink and yellow petticoats 
 gathered on the slopes. A perky dandelion 
 grew almost within reach of the train, look- 
 ing very proud at being out so late. 
 
 "Nature must get as much mixed up with 
 the seasons here," said Jim, " as you do when 
 you describe Etna." 
 
 I only looked at him, and at once devoted 
 
184 Susan in Sicily 
 
 all my attention to the more polite officer. 
 We were passing through groves where the 
 golden green olives hung by thousands among 
 the dull, dusty leaves, and women were pick- 
 ing the fruit, their motley garments making 
 flashes of vivid yellow, red and bright blue, 
 as they moved about among the trees. It was 
 the first time I had seen women working with 
 the men in the open. 
 
 " They earn very little," the Conte told Mr. 
 Herbert, who had come out to join us: "a 
 shilling a day is hardly to be hoped for, in- 
 deed the men have cause to be grateful, when 
 with the sweat of their brows, braving the 
 malaria in the fields, delving and digging 
 through long hours, they can average that 
 much every day in the year." 
 
 The lords of the Sicilian acres, so lately 
 emancipated from feudalism, hardly know in 
 many cases what their domains look like. 
 They neither know nor care for the needs 
 of poor over- worked Mother Earth nor the 
 condition of the peasantry. 
 
 Their agents pay them a stipend at stated 
 periods. Sometimes this sum is enough to 
 maintain an establishment in Rome, some- 
 times it only suffices for a fourth of a Cf car- 
 rozza seigrdeurale " with movable door in Pa- 
 lermo. 
 
Susan in Sicily 185 
 
 The agent, to make up the quarterly pay- 
 ment, sublets the property to some hard-fisted 
 tenant, who squeezes out of the land the sum 
 he must pay for it and for himself, besides 
 as generous a profit as possible. He takes 
 this money as he can from the small farmers 
 who hire parcels of the land. These small 
 farmers rend all they can get from the willing 
 soil before they leave it to drain other and 
 fresher land of its life: all the excrescences 
 which have been growing on the original sum 
 paid by the agent to the lord and something 
 for their own advantage, they, to pay, must 
 force the money out of their temporary prop- 
 erty. 
 
 ; ' Where does the labourer come in? " asked 
 Jim. 
 
 The Conte shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " They are indeed a worthy lot! " ex- 
 claimed the justice-loving Englishman, " these 
 Spanish-minded Sicilian nobles!" 
 
 ' You are right ! And Italian rule was not 
 the medicine this island needed. I wonder 
 how many centuries it will take before they 
 catch up to the rest of the world." 
 
 " Meantime they have the cheek to come to 
 the United States and strike for higher wages, 
 take thousands of dollars away from the coun- 
 try, pay no taxes, and fill the prisons." 
 
186 Susan in Sicily 
 
 I can see that the longer Jim stays in 
 Sicily the less he believes in Sicilian emigra- 
 tion. 
 
 The train sometimes ran in among the 
 houses of a squalid village, and created a 
 diversion. We looked down streets, narrow, 
 gloomy, muddy, picturesque. Swarms of chilr 
 dren were playing in the alleys oblivious of 
 the dirt, women with babies in their arms 
 watched the train, or pushed away with a 
 foot a too familiar pig that rooted by their 
 doors. A cock with proud plumage led a 
 procession of wives all trying to avoid the 
 filthy pools dotting the narrow lanes. 
 
 There was no sign of winter in the land, 
 no snow upon the distant mountains. Al- 
 though the afternoon was young, clouds as 
 softly pink and luminous as the inside of a 
 seashell floated over the sea. 
 
 Above the high walls bordering a hillside 
 road we saw the head and shoulders of a 
 priest in shovel hat swaying from side to side 
 " like a figure of fun carried on a stick by 
 the boys on Guy Fawkes day," laughed Mr. 
 Herbert. A breach in the wall and the con- 
 sequent view of the reverend father seated 
 on the jostling bench of a donkey cart put 
 an end to the absurdity of this sight. 
 
 In every little stream, clean, turbid or stag- 
 
Susan in Sicily 187 
 
 nant, linen was being washed. The fronts of 
 all the houses flaunted sheets or wearing ap- 
 parel in various stages of dilapidation. We 
 had left the ancient tombs of Syracuse, hung 
 with like banners. All the towns but tourist- 
 loving Taormina had been draped in laundry 
 by our way and we now were proceeding on 
 our last journey between like wet flags. 
 
 " I wonder why they do not bleach linen 
 in the fields? " asked Emily. 
 
 " They must hang clothes where they can 
 watch them! " answered the officer signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 Aunt slumbered peacefully, only waking 
 once to sigh for tea, which by the aid of a 
 generous tea basket the practical Bridget at 
 once began to prepare in the compartment 
 called our sitting room. 
 
 We had come to a station where we had 
 seven minutes to wait, so the officer, Mr. Her- 
 bert and I went foraging for biscuits, without 
 result. I have never seen railway stations so 
 barren of lunch counters as in this land! 
 
 But they make up for everything they have 
 not, by staring at whatever there is. 
 
 At this station we could not make a soul 
 listen to our cries for food, because from a 
 small ragged boy with a fluffy yellow puppy 
 in his arms, to the red capped station master, 
 
188 Susan in Sicily 
 
 every human being in the place was standing 
 in a circle watching the departure of what 
 appeared to be a bridal couple. They had 
 come to the train accompanied by a grand- 
 mother, a father and numerous friends. 
 
 The grandmother with snow white hair 
 wore no hat but was dressed in a gown of 
 finest black. The rest of the party displayed 
 no end of gay frills and feathers. Several 
 passengers who had, like ourselves, descended 
 from the train gathered around the group and 
 frankly listened to every word that was ut- 
 tered, watching the tears and the sad partings 
 without the slightest sense of delicacy or con- 
 fusion. One bandit with his head tied up in 
 a red rag glued his eyes so fixedly on the jet 
 black linen handkerchief with which the grand- 
 mother wiped her tears away that I expected 
 every moment to see him snatch at this un- 
 usual treasure. 
 
 Last presents were offered amidst much 
 shouting and laughter. A single cigar, a 
 package of cigarettes, two boxes of matches, 
 neither complete, were handed in at the win- 
 dow, and the whole assemblage walked to 
 the end of the platform as we moved off. 
 The bride, the grandmother and the father 
 wept aloud. 
 
 We were not without admirers ourselves. 
 
Susan in Sicily 189 
 
 A fresh passenger, who evidently considered 
 himself a lady killer, came and stood delib- 
 erately in the door of the section where 
 Bridget was serving tea, and gazed so intently 
 at Mrs. Horton that Bridget muttered her 
 favourite "Glory be to God" under her 
 breath and Rufus the Wise stuck out his head 
 and uttered a long fierce growl. 
 
 I nearly died when he did the same thing 
 to Aunt, who endured his gaze a minute, then 
 asked in stern English: "And what may 
 you want, my good man? " 
 
 Our male companions were at the time in a 
 smoker, but how they laughed when I de- 
 scribed the rout of the inquisitive enemy. 
 
 The twilight of the short winter day began 
 to close in, the hues on sea and land to grow 
 more wondrous and intense, the towns to look 
 like cities of amber, the sky full of orange 
 and carmine, the sea as changeable as a 
 woman's mind. We should miss so many 
 towns. We should not see Palermo as we 
 approached it, I lamented. 
 
 * You will have plenty of chances to see 
 Palermo," said Aunt. 
 
 At a station where that young gentleman 
 Aunt suppressed left the train, two really 
 interesting wayfarers got on. They came 
 quietly into our neighbouring compartment 
 
190 Susan in Sicily 
 
 and sat down. They were father and son, 
 evidently peasants, but whether returning 
 from a wedding or pilgrimage we could not 
 determine. Their luggage was carried in a 
 sack like a potato bag. They had fine hand- 
 some faces, were dressed in ordinary ill-made 
 clothes of good black cloth, but the father 
 wore a shirt of pink brocaded oriental silk, 
 and a white satin butterfly tie. From the 
 buttonhole of his coat hung a medal of the 
 Virgin. His son, a youth of perhaps eight- 
 een, had on a white silk shirt of the same 
 quality as his father's, and furthermore a light 
 blue satin necktie, the ends of which were 
 embroidered with a large spray of pink roses. 
 
 The conductor when he came looked at the 
 passengers and their first class ticket in sur- 
 prise. He evidently thought them, in spite 
 of the silk shirts, socially inferior to us, for 
 he ushered them into an adjoining section. 
 They went very simply and quietly, taking 
 their potato sacks. I was sorry to lose them, 
 and watched them get out at the following 
 station where they were met by some frankly 
 unwashed labouring men w T ho fell upon their 
 necks with kisses and embraces. 
 
 " A bridegroom, I think," the conductor 
 told the Conte. 
 
 We made the rest of our way as it were 
 
Susan in Sicily 191 
 
 in couples. Rufus came out of retirement to 
 cheer up Bridget; I told the Etna journey 
 to the Barone; I don't know what the others 
 did. 
 
 Indeed Jim is so taken with Mrs. Horton, 
 that I am afraid That Girl won't get the 
 necklace. 
 
 We parted at the Palermo station. The 
 men did not come to our hotel and I am 
 rather glad. I think I am getting tired of 
 men. 
 
 Au revoir, 
 
 Susan. 
 
192 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXIX 
 
 Palermo. 
 Dear Betsy: — We have now been here a 
 week, but I scarcely know where the days 
 have vanished. They have gone slipping 
 down behind the hills with the sun every af- 
 ternoon and coming up with its glowing un- 
 clouded ball of fire each morning. How 
 much sharper, how much more vivid and in- 
 tense the colours here on the north coast ap- 
 pear after the beauty of the tints, so sensu- 
 ous and languorous, along the more southern 
 shores of the island. Each place we visited 
 had its individuality of tone. In Girgenti 
 what the French would call a couch of amber 
 covered the landscape. In Syracuse the pink 
 which glorified the gray rocks after sundown, 
 burned itself in to linger through the long 
 hours of the next day. On Etna, and all the 
 coast, so glorified by that great painter na- 
 ture, the blues defy description, a veil of 
 dainty azure chiffon spreads over the scene. 
 
Susan in Sicily 193 
 
 Here in Palermo the veil is torn away, the 
 clearness, the radiance of the atmosphere in 
 this winter season, make my spirits dance 
 with the blue waves and my senses laugh with 
 the playful clouds. 
 
 The delicious weather is Aunt's favourite 
 theme, and she discourses eloquently " on its 
 perfection!" 
 
 I hope she won't weary of it. 
 
 Natives and foreigners seem alike surprised 
 at this year's mildness. Winter garments we 
 all wear, but only for the sake of being sea- 
 sonably attired. 
 
 At first I sadly missed my breakfasts in 
 the garden, but you may be sure I was far 
 from confessing to any such weakness, for 
 Jim continues his ardent attentions to Pau- 
 line. He also remains devoted to Aunt, con- 
 sequently she notices nothing. The Lieu- 
 tenant, fortunately, comes every afternoon to 
 tea, so I wear my prettiest clothes, enjoy my- 
 self hugely, and can safely say I never looked 
 better in my life. 
 
 Dear Emily has said no more to me about 
 Herbert. She looks sad at times, but, al- 
 though I do not dare to ask her, I fancy she 
 has found courage to tell him her secret, for 
 he comes often and they seem on the best and 
 most friendly of terms. He looks like a man 
 
194 Susan in Sicily 
 
 possessed of both patience and determina- 
 tion. 
 
 Aunt's resolution that I should study Ital- 
 ian was pursued with her usual vigour, and 
 a kindly Englishman supplied the teacher. 
 She is a young lady of English extraction 
 (her father at least was of English birth), 
 but she is as purely Sicilian as it is possible 
 to imagine, and I am in the seventh heaven 
 of delight at the things I shall see and hear 
 when I go to my lessons. Pauline has joined 
 the class, Jim would have come too, but the 
 customs of the land shut out him. A raging 
 lion of a youth, six feet some inches tall, jolly, 
 laughing, bold and handsome, after Anglo- 
 Saxon tastes, could never be permitted to 
 enter a proper Palermitan household with- 
 out scandalizing the entire neighbourhood. 
 He is therefore to remain plunged in igno- 
 rance. 
 
 The interview in which the arrangements 
 were made for the lessons was a most amusing 
 affair. The teacher, Signorina Rosina Gib- 
 son, escorted by her mother, an aunt, and 
 young lady cousin, about her own age, ar- 
 rived at the hotel at tea time. The girl and 
 her mother had spent some time in the Orient 
 during the father's lifetime, and the English 
 they speak, although fluent in a way, has a 
 
Susan in Sicily 195 
 
 decided Mongolian flavour. Neither the ac- 
 companying aunt nor the cousin could pro- 
 nounce or understand one word of English. 
 Why they came we could not determine, un- 
 less they were impelled by the unquenchable 
 curiosity which devours this race, or the habit 
 of always taking along every available female 
 to protect every other female, which is like- 
 wise a peculiarity of the Sicilian women. 
 
 We all sat in the sitting room, smiling and 
 bobbing at one another for a few moments 
 like porcelain Chinese mandarins. Aunt or- 
 dered tea, but not one of the guests took more 
 than a sip from her cup, and then as fear- 
 fully and cautiously as if they were imbibing 
 poison. 
 
 After this most unbusiness like preliminary, 
 the subject of lessons was approached, Aunt 
 walking as usual into the breach discussing 
 hours, prices, etc. It only remained to decide 
 at what place I should be instructed. 
 
 " My daughter she cannot come to give 
 lesson alone. I, too, must come, and I can- 
 not say if come every day at same hour." 
 
 Signora Gibson's expressive but somewhat 
 halting English was spoken in a most musical 
 voice. 
 
 " How about the aunt, won't she do for 
 an escort? " asked Aunt Anne, gazing at the 
 
196 Susan in Sicily 
 
 middle aged stout lady who accompanied the 
 party. 
 
 Mrs. Gibson, mamma, jerked up her hand, 
 palm outward, a graceful gesture it was, and 
 smiled sweetly and answered gently: 
 
 "Impossible! she is not yet married, she 
 never go out alone! I must to go always 
 with her." 
 
 "You poor women!" exclaimed Aunt: 
 " do you all always travel about in tribes? " 
 
 " I not know what is tribes. But young 
 women cannot go without her mother." 
 
 It was now Aunt Anne's turn to smile, 
 thankful that her involuntary discourtesy had 
 escaped notice by being misunderstood. 
 
 " Then my niece Susan will come to you," 
 she said. " Any girl as tall and strong as 
 Susan should be able to go alone to a lesson. 
 I should have to send her home if she could 
 not take that much care of herself! " 
 
 " Ah, but she is forestieri! Americana she 
 can do what she like," said the young girl 
 with a sigh of envy. It was the first time she 
 had spoken. 
 
 The hours were finally settled and away 
 went the bevy fluttering and twittering like 
 a flock of blackbirds. 
 
 All were dressed in mourning, they have 
 the meridional love of mourning and wear 
 
Susan in Sicily 197 
 
 black for a forty-seventh cousin. In the large 
 Sicilian families there is always a departed 
 relative to be mourned, so they can easily in- 
 dulge their passion. They looked very grace- 
 ful and dainty with their waving plumes and 
 their trailing gowns. Even the mother was 
 pretty, her hair carefully and elaborately 
 dressed, and from the oldest to the youngest 
 the fair faces had been touched with a totally 
 unnecessary tint of artificial colour. 
 
 :< What an outrageous shame for that 
 pretty modest girl to make up her complexion 
 so transparently! I hope, Susan, you will 
 give her a hint that she would look much more 
 respectable if she did not paint," was Aunt 
 Anne's comment as soon as the door closed 
 upon them. 
 
 I laughed behind my hand: " I thought 
 you were sending me to her for Italian les- 
 sons," I answered meekly. 
 
 " Really, Susan, sometimes you are too out- 
 rageously like your brother George! " 
 As ever thine 
 
 Susan. 
 
198 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXX 
 
 Dear Betsy: — As soon as I could see 
 Pauline I made her promise to join in my 
 futile chase after Italian. This is what 
 George would call it and what I foresee it 
 is going to be. 
 
 Aunt Anne began by declaring that every 
 day was none too often for me to take a les- 
 son, if I intend to learn Italian, which she 
 evidently expects I will do in a month. As 
 I was convinced I could never learn Italian 
 in six months if I took a lesson every min- 
 ute, I begged Saturdays off on the score 
 of the mending I must needs accomplish. 
 My pen and paper enters as prominently into 
 the mending scheme as my needle and thread; 
 but she approved of this domestic ambition 
 and every Saturday morning I shall spend 
 undisturbed in my chamber. 
 
 The day after the arrangements were made 
 Pauline and I started off together in a car- 
 riage to find our teacher, and discovered that 
 our way to the seat of learning was not long. 
 
Susan in Sicily 199 
 
 The house was not, as we had anticipated, 
 a picturesque palazzo in a narrow quaint old 
 street, but a stupid modern three story affair 
 in quite a new part of the town. Balconies 
 hung from every window, for these poor se- 
 questered females need balconies on which to 
 take the air, to see and be seen. From many 
 of the balconies were hung the remnants of 
 the week's washing. 
 
 It was a pretentious house, yet the chickens 
 strutted about in the arched entrance, the 
 inner court looked suspiciously like a barn- 
 yard, and the steep stone staircase was far 
 from elegant. We discovered later that this 
 was quite the better style of dwelling house. 
 
 Climbing up to the top we stood panting 
 before a cell-like door where, when we had 
 touched the bell, a funny little ventilator in 
 the centre twirled about and a mysterious 
 voice called out: "Chi hV 3 (Who's there?) 
 Struck dumb by such an unexpected perform- 
 ance Pauline only grunted and I laughed, 
 but I fancy that an eye as well as an ear was 
 applied to this orifice, for the heavy door 
 swung slowly back and my teacher stood 
 smiling before us. 
 
 We were ushered into a salon, indeed into 
 a wealth of salons. One opened upon an- 
 other. All were lofty, all frescoed with im- 
 
200 Susan in Sicily 
 
 possible birds, flowers, and cherubs, all the 
 walls rising from cold gray and white inlaid 
 slate floors, all clothed in the ugliest wall 
 papers possible to imagine and all furnished 
 principally with stiff chairs, standing form- 
 ally against the wall. Mirrors were the chief 
 decoration, if we except life size family pho- 
 tographs. 
 
 The salons, numerous as they were, must 
 have been properly balanced by sleeping and 
 living rooms, for soon the whole bevy of yes- 
 terday's blackbirds came fluttering in from 
 some other quarter to greet us; cheeks more 
 warmly tinted and hair even more elaborately 
 dressed than the previous day. Eventually 
 we were joined by several other aunts and 
 cousins, both male and female, who appeared 
 one by one until all the chairs were filled. 
 
 Evidently they looked upon the day as an 
 occasion of joyous gathering, and upon us as 
 objects of perfectly justifiable curiosity. We 
 were inspected from head to foot with flat- 
 tering attention, they listened with undis- 
 guised admiration to the English of their 
 aunt and their cousin, the Signora and Si- 
 gnorina Gibson, and told us with unconcealed 
 condescension how well they thought we spoke 
 our own tongue. We decided that probably 
 they fancied Americans were foreign to the 
 
Susan in Sicily 201 
 
 English language, or used a barbarous dia- 
 lect, as do their own lower classes. They 
 hovered about us like a lot of naive children, 
 asking through the medium of their accom- 
 plished interpreters all sorts of absurd ques- 
 tions. 
 
 We told them, enjoying ourselves hugely, 
 in so doing, where we were born, where we 
 hoped to die, when we had come abroad and 
 when we expected to go home, where our 
 dresses had been made, accepted with pleas- 
 ure their artless praise of our millinery, our 
 trinkets and our charming persons. It was 
 like a first day at boarding school. 
 
 They asked how many languages we spoke, 
 and when Pauline confessed to some ability 
 in the line of music she was at once invited to 
 give an exhibition, which we eluded by sug- 
 gesting that we ought really to begin the 
 lesson. Whereupon all but the teacher flut- 
 tered away into the mystery from which they 
 had emerged. They promised to come when 
 we arrived the next day, with a new batch 
 of questions, I suppose, and left us cheerfully 
 prophesying that we would surely speak Ital- 
 ian perfectly in two weeks under their clever 
 cousin's tuition, their conviction being based 
 on our pronunciation of buon giorno. 
 
 When we were left face to face with the 
 
202 Susan in Sicily 
 
 elements of the Italian language we speedily 
 discovered that our pretty little hostess had 
 no more idea of how to begin its study than 
 we had ourselves, so we gossiped away the 
 entire hour delightfully in a sort of pigeon- 
 English-Italian ; satisfying our consciences 
 with the fact that we were picking up stray 
 words of a foreign tongue when the teacher's 
 English proved insufficient. 
 
 We learned that the oriental flavour her 
 English possessed was acquired in Borneo, a 
 country hitherto only associated in my mind 
 with a certain wild man brother George de- 
 clares I resemble when my hair blows in the 
 wind. 
 
 In the lifetime of her father, Miss Gibson 
 had lived in this interesting land, and her 
 father had there fallen a victim to one of the 
 many prevalent malignant fevers : " he sick 
 only five days and he finish" was her unusual 
 way of describing his demise. Mrs. Gibson 
 after her husband's death locked up the bun- 
 galow with all it contained, put her affairs 
 into the hands of a man who had just escaped 
 being sentenced for embezzlement because 
 fC my mother she so good woman, she feel very 
 sorry for him'' and these practical arrange- 
 ments completed, sailed away with her daugh- 
 ter for Sicily. The result is easily divined. 
 
Susan in Sicily 203 
 
 The money from the business took unto itself 
 wings, and what has happened to the bunga- 
 low nobody has ever been back to see. "So 
 now, I must catch money" she said with a 
 shake of her pretty head. 
 
 " Isn't it a terrible shame? " exclaimed 
 Pauline as soon as we were in the street: " I 
 suppose that is why she wants to give les- 
 sons." 
 
 " Don't tell Aunt Anne anything about her 
 ability. I see some jolly hours before us. It 
 would be a sin to deprive her of the little she 
 will earn from us, wouldn't it? " 
 
 " Of course! " assented Pauline. " The 
 fact that I have joined you will satisfy your 
 Aunt. But I think the Signorina will prac- 
 tise more English than we shall learn Ital- 
 ian." 
 
 " Don't you dare to correct her faults." 
 
 " Correct her! I would not change one 
 word of her speech for the sake of fluency 
 in all the languages on earth! " 
 
 We were conspirators of a very harmless 
 variety. I even kept up the pretences by dili- 
 gently studying my phrase book, in hopes 
 that I might draw forth enough material to 
 converse with the cousins and the aunts, who 
 seemed as anxious to talk as their accom- 
 plished relative was to translate. 
 
204 Susan in Sicily 
 
 Aunt wished all the lessons taken in the 
 morning, but the Signorina Gibson shook her 
 head solemnly at first and declared sweetly that 
 she had very important studies to pursue her- 
 self in the early hours of the day. But Aunt 
 Anne insisted that either we must have morn- 
 ing hours or another teacher. She " wanted 
 me herself " in the afternoon. So we com- 
 promised, and now I go three mornings from 
 half after nine to half after ten, and two 
 afternoons at two o'clock. 
 
 Arriving inadvertently the other day a 
 quarter of an hour too early, we discovered 
 the source of the serious studies. Our teacher 
 was not dressed and there was a wild scurry- 
 ing in so many corners of the apartment, that 
 I suspect none of the cousins or aunts were 
 yet out of bed. On the landing an old person 
 we took for the servant was hanging over 
 the balusters watching a basket, hung by a 
 rope, wherein a man who had just milked a 
 cow in the entrance passage was depositing 
 a jug of milk. 
 
 The entrance door was open, the old lady 
 could not drop her precious burden, and 
 therefore we discovered some of the secrets 
 of an early morning in a Sicilian household. 
 
 The old lady was afterwards revealed to 
 
Susan in Sicily 205 
 
 us as a charming, gentle, much loved grand- 
 mother. 
 
 When our lessons fall in the afternoon, the 
 whole smiling, graceful, amiable, inquisitive 
 troop come gliding in one by one to assist. 
 The subject of a woman's liberty in our coun- 
 try is a never ending source of interest to 
 them, as to us is the almost inconceivable 
 seclusion and nearly oriental confinement in 
 which the younger women of Sicily waste 
 their youth. We are actually fulfilling in a 
 measure the object of our visits, and are 
 learning to understand the language, in our 
 anxiety to discover what is being said. How- 
 ever, even if we each spoke the other's lan- 
 guage perfectly, the comprehension of tradi- 
 tion, habit and education would make the 
 ideas almost impossible to grasp. 
 
 They say: "Ah, you are fortunate! You 
 can go where you choose with whom you 
 choose, can even walk with a man alone and 
 not lose your reputation. We cannot go 
 across the street to that letter-box you see over 
 there, without a duenna. With the servant? 
 Oh, no! It must be mamma or a married 
 aunt. Many days we do not go out at all, 
 except on the balcony. Mamma or the aunts 
 have other things to do. We do not always 
 
206 Susan in Sicily 
 
 have liberty when we marry. Some men put 
 the key in their pocket and leave a young 
 wife locked in when they go out. That is, 
 unless she has one or two children. And who 
 will marry us without a dot! It is a miracle 
 if that happens. The man must have our 
 money. He brings his precious self. Noth- 
 ing else! " At which idea the whole bevy 
 laughed melodiously. We asked how they 
 ever manage to get a proposal. Another 
 ripple of laughter greeted the translation of 
 this remark. 
 
 They go to the Passeggiata, sometimes to a 
 ball, to the theatre. A man sees them. His 
 senses catch fire. He comes and stands oppo- 
 site the window of his inamorata every morn- 
 ing at a certain respectable hour, gazing, 
 gazing, gazing so persistently that only the 
 white of his eyes can be seen by those on the 
 street. She likewise looks out through the 
 blinds, examining him critically. Mamma 
 probably takes a peep, so do all the cousins 
 and the aunts, while some male member of 
 the family undoubtedly asks abroad a few 
 hundred of those questions for which the race 
 have such a genius. 
 
 If by the third day the flame has risen and 
 communicated itself to the young woman's 
 breast, she opens the blind and returns his 
 
Susan in Sicily 207 
 
 ardent looks. If after a week he finds him- 
 self growing cold, he is at liberty to retire, 
 but if after a week he still remains steadfast 
 in his attentions, and she approves, she throws 
 him a flower. Then the game is on for good, 
 and continues until he sends some relative to 
 ask her parents for her hand. After the all 
 important pecuniary questions are settled the 
 pair are then free to love one another dis- 
 creetly at a distance, or in the presence of a 
 watchful parent. 
 
 " And is this the way you will fall in 
 love? " I asked my teacher, the fair Rosina 
 Gibson. 
 
 She lifted her chin, threw back her head, 
 shrugged her shoulder and jerked her open 
 hand over it with a gesture peculiar to her, 
 and of a grace beyond my powers of descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 " I wish to catch one Englishmans. My 
 mother she will not I marry one Sicilian, she 
 say it will be one great noiosa. She can 
 never leave me, she must always sit and look 
 at me or people will say she is one bad 
 mother. When a girl is fidanzata, she is like 
 one jewel, never one minute alone can she 
 be. My father he ask no money. He marry 
 my mother — he give her everything. No, I 
 will not marry one Sicilian ! " 
 
208 Susan in Sicily 
 
 From a mischievous twitter which ran 
 around the circle, my American faculty for 
 guessing made me ask quietly: 
 
 " Have you shut the window in someone's 
 face lately? " 
 
 Again she made her favourite gesture, 
 with such an accompanying expression of 
 face, that set all the others talking and 
 laughing together, and forced her to confess 
 that such an embryo love affair had been 
 nipped in the bud by her resolute conduct. 
 
 " He is very angry," she said with another 
 shrug; "he tell my mother, if I not marry 
 him, he not let anyone else marry me. I say, 
 he is one horrid man, he is one Mafioso!" 
 The most opprobrious term her invention 
 could supply. 
 
 Rosina is plainly the princess in this fam- 
 ily, whether for her beauty, her temperament, 
 her English blood, or her prestige as a 
 dweller in Borneo we have not yet discov- 
 ered; but on a pedestal she has plainly been 
 placed by the adoring aunts and cousins. 
 
 So much for our first lesson! My letter 
 has gone wandering over so many pages that 
 you must wait at least a week to hear more, 
 From your devoted, 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 209 
 
 XXXI 
 
 Dear Betsy: — I am snatching an hour 
 late at night, after Aunt has dismissed me, 
 to continue the revelations which finished so 
 abruptly in my last letter. Be the good pru- 
 dent sister I so fondly try to imitate, and 
 read all my letters discreetly in the privacy 
 of your own cosy little bedroom before sub- 
 mitting my communications to the family 
 circle. I foresee many bits of news which 
 are not for the ears of Brother George nor 
 food for his trite comments. 
 
 I am so full to overflowing of the sights, 
 the sounds, the life and the interests of the 
 dear friends about me that I must pour out 
 my heart to you, but all their secrets, all the 
 more intimate feelings and events I shall 
 pass on to you are for your eyes alone. I 
 can trust you I know. 
 
 Jim is usually hovering somewhere along 
 our path when we leave the Signora Gib- 
 son's, ostensibly to spend the hours I am free 
 
210 Susan in Sicily 
 
 in sight-seeing, really to hear the result of 
 our knowledge of Sicilian customs acquired 
 each day. Mr. Herbert is equally interested, 
 and I am the one who has to repeat the con- 
 versations. Pauline declares she can't remem- 
 ber the English. 
 
 It is rather incongruous for a quartette of 
 serious minded sight-seers to sit on a bench 
 in the museum, before the splendid metopes 
 several thousand years old found at Solunto, 
 and discuss the charm and probable future of 
 the fascinating Signorina Gibson, who wishes 
 "to catch one EngMshmans." She declares 
 the fact quite openly, although I suspect she 
 has never spoken to a young Briton since she 
 left the blessed land of Borneo. 
 
 Our male friends gave us no peace until 
 we had invited our teacher to join one of our 
 expeditions. 
 
 "Who knows!" said Mr. Herbert, "per- 
 haps I am the Englishman she will catch." 
 
 "Am I not eligible?" Jim asked anx- 
 iously. 
 
 I described her fascinations most vividly to 
 the Count, but he only shrugged his shoul- 
 ders and said he cared but little for Sicilian 
 women. 
 
 We gave the invitation with great caution, 
 afraid of a refusal. We put our request in 
 
Susan in Sicily 211 
 
 the guise of a prayer to be shown about the 
 queer streets by one who knew them well. 
 She accepted with the greatest avidity. With 
 forestieri it was permitted to go everywhere 
 at all times, and was not " the Meeses Hor- 
 ton" all that was required for propriety? 
 She was evidently most excited at the pros- 
 pect of meeting an actual Englishman, the 
 husband of her dreams, and looking prettier 
 and more rosy than ever, but we speedily 
 discovered that she knew less about the by- 
 ways and odd sights of the city than a one 
 day tourist. 
 
 The men were as charmed and fascinated 
 by her mixture of childishness and womanli- 
 ness as we had been. Her musical voice and 
 quaint English kept them both chained to 
 her side, but alas! her Southern heart was 
 untouched by the calm Anglo-Saxon atten- 
 tions, and their pleasure is best expressed in 
 their own words. 
 
 " I say," cried Jim, " can't you take all 
 your lessons on the street? She is a peach- 
 erino y to speak pure Italian, but she doesn't 
 know any more about the sights of Palermo 
 than if she had lived all her life in Hong- 
 kong. Let us teach her that outside the 
 length and breadth of the Via Maqueda and 
 the Corso there are many things to see." 
 
212 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " Is the Englishman caught? " we asked 
 Mr. Herbert. 
 
 " She is a charming creature, but I am 
 afraid she does not want to ' catch ' this Eng- 
 lishman," he answered evasively. 
 
 The Signorina was enthusiastic, her mother 
 was grateful, but chiefly because of the pleas- 
 ure we had given her by taking her to the 
 royal palace, to S. Giovanni Eremiti and 
 the Zisa, which she had lived years in Pa- 
 lermo without ever seeing. 
 
 We approached the subject of the Eng- 
 lishman. 
 
 Her hand, her head, her shoulders, her 
 chin were all thrown back. She exclaimed: 
 " How nice those gentlemans! " 
 
 " Do you want to catch one of them? " 
 asked Pauline. 
 
 She hesitated. Her dark eyes grew deep 
 and dreamy. " My father and my mother 
 they have love the minute they have seen each 
 other. For that, I not think I catch these 
 gentlemans." 
 
 Enigmatical, but evidently she does not 
 want our swains. 
 
 She made excuses for not falling at once a 
 victim to their charms. Her verbs became 
 more confused than ever, as she tried to de- 
 
Susan in Sicily 213 
 
 scribe her sensations. " She is like some cu- 
 gini. It have no romance." 
 
 We broke the news as gently as we could 
 to Jim as we led him for consolation towards 
 the Cala, his favourite spot in all Palermo. 
 Here under the walls of the ancient Castello, 
 the gaily painted boats gather like huge 
 winged creatures full of life and grace, and 
 here yellow-wheeled carretta, with painted 
 stirring mediaeval battle pictures and drawn 
 by finely caparisoned donkeys, come and go 
 bringing the boxes of oranges and lemons, 
 to load the boats. 
 
 There is a constant movement in this, the 
 ancient harbour of Palermo, where the walls 
 stained by time dive sheer down into the 
 water which is like lapis lazuli, and beyond 
 which Monte Pellegrino all warm green and 
 brown rises as a rugged background, all 
 cubes and mounds. 
 
 How we three love to roam the streets. 
 It is an entertainment perfectly incompre- 
 hensible to Aunt Anne. 
 
 : ' Undoubtedly those old palaces were very 
 splendid in their day. The remains are of 
 course highly interesting to an architect now. 
 I have no doubt they have suggested some 
 fine ornamentation for our buildings at home, 
 
214 Susan in Sicily 
 
 but a nice state of affairs it must have been 
 in feudal days when the nobles, with their 
 huge families and all their retainers, crowded 
 into those uncomfortable great houses. With 
 ideas of hygiene in the Spanish Sicilian style, 
 no water, and never a window open at night, 
 faugh! I can't bear to look at them." 
 
 Aunt Anne sees no reason in my laughter 
 when she airs her ideas of travel, and the 
 immense benefits to be derived by sitting in 
 the sunny garden with an instructive book 
 or work. 
 
 " What do you want to run about the 
 streets for? There is absolutely nothing 
 worth buying except the laces and antiques 
 at the Tea Rooms, and I take you there in 
 the carriage every day." 
 
 But Palermo is swarming with sights and 
 sounds of never ending interest, beginning 
 with the cattle which go about from door to 
 door to be milked on demand. Lean kine, 
 fat kine, cows with feeble weary looking 
 calves tied by a long rope to the mother's 
 tail. Cows tied in unwilling couples to a 
 small cart drawn by a tired looking donkey, 
 cows with deep sounding bells, others with 
 their fodder tied between the horns; a per- 
 ambulating dairy farm strolling about and 
 stopping mechanically when their herdsmen 
 
Susan in Sicily 215 
 
 cry: " Latte " to give a customer a quality 
 of milk which betrays a poor quality of feed. 
 
 Besides the cows roam the long-haired 
 goats, intent on the same business but more 
 privileged, for they are permitted to enter 
 the narrow streets of the inner city while 
 the cows are excluded and allowed only on 
 the broad unpaved sections. 
 
 The goats' milk looks richer and better 
 than the bluish liquid drawn from the weary 
 looking cows. 
 
 On our way to our lesson we see all the 
 early morning sights. The street cleaning 
 department is usually hard at work. In the 
 days of which Aunt Anne speaks so shud- 
 deringly, when the feudal lords brought all 
 the vassals they needed as servitors to fill the 
 great palaces, Palermo depended on the 
 winds of heaven to clean its highways; and 
 Goethe speaks feelingly of the dangers of 
 walking abroad at the hour when shop- 
 keepers and householders opened their doors 
 and swept all the rubbish into the middle of 
 the street. Now all over the city little carts, 
 long past their pristine glory, with only a 
 suspicion of colour hanging to the panels, 
 drawn by ragged little gray donkeys in the 
 last stage of their usefulness, and tended by 
 tiny workhouse boys, whose pitiful little faces 
 
216 Susan in Sicily 
 
 are often full of sharp intelligence, go about 
 to gather up the dust heaps under the super- 
 intendence of a bigger boy who does not 
 hesitate to kick the little one down, or beat 
 the donkey, when it suits his good pleasure. 
 
 Everywhere there are small boys working, 
 working mostly for idle fathers, carrying 
 loads of brick and mortar, fit burdens only 
 for grown men, and being bullied by boys 
 twice their size, who take pleasure in culti- 
 vating those pleasant traits which culminate 
 in the Mafia and the Mano-Nero. 
 
 There is a society for the Prevention of 
 Cruelty to Animals -in Palermo, we read in 
 a guide book, whose author wears rose-col- 
 oured spectacles. If this be true I fancy the 
 efforts for reform are confined to the enclo- 
 sures of their own villas. Every day we see 
 wretched horses whose legs have been just 
 burned, and whose whole frames are panting 
 with the agony of their endeavours to hobble, 
 being forced on their way by one lad drag- 
 ging them by a rope and another beating 
 with a whip from behind. This society is 
 probably holding a business meeting, enjoy- 
 ing a meal or playing with its pet dogs, when 
 the miserable omnibus horses who fall on the 
 slippery pavements of the principal streets, 
 and cannot rise, are being tortured by long 
 
Susan in Sicily 217 
 
 pins thrust into their flesh to force them to 
 the impossible. 
 
 Jim and Mr. Herbert have endless dis- 
 cussion on what education may do for fu- 
 ture generations of this attractive race. The 
 beauty and the intelligence which beams in 
 Sicilian faces cannot fail to excite sympathy 
 and hope, but I notice that although the two 
 Anglo-Saxon men agree that a proper train- 
 ing might do much for the Sicilian, each of 
 them prefers that it should not be conducted 
 in his native land. 
 
 " I think England is a fine place for 
 them," declares Jim. 
 
 " But I believe the United States is bet- 
 ter!" Mr. Herbert replies emphatically. 
 But good night from your 
 
 Susan. 
 
218 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXXII 
 
 Dear Betsy: — I was trying in vain to get 
 some good snap-shots yesterday, with Jim 
 and Pauline standing by to make sugges- 
 tions. A family of cows were unconsciously 
 posing finely when a troop of agile little ber- 
 saglieri, all feathers and squealing trumpets, 
 came sweeping up the street. They scattered 
 the dairy from right to left, the placid cows, 
 the tired calf, the milkman with his capa- 
 cious mouth open to yell latte} all disap- 
 peared in the nearest doorway, and we three, 
 as excited by the sight of the soldiers as 
 any street arab, followed at their own pace. 
 The trotting soldiers led us through an ancient 
 gateway, to which bits of the old city wall 
 still cling, into a street which in former cen- 
 turies was undoubtedly the splendid thorough- 
 fare leading from the Porta Carini to the 
 Cathedral. 
 
 A foul lane, where squalid huts have clung 
 like barnacles since the middle ages, skirts 
 
 1 Milk below. 
 
Susan in Sicily 219 
 
 the old wall, but we followed in the wake of 
 the quick moving troop down the broader 
 sloping street where new balconies, hung on 
 renewed facades, make the hoary palazzi ap- 
 pear like venerable human beings simulating 
 youth in paint and wigs. 
 
 The market folk filled this undulating 
 street with their vociferous cries, all incom- 
 prehensible to us except the strange long 
 wail with which each vendor ends his an- 
 nouncement. 
 
 " The great original human siren whistle," 
 says Jim; "as if everyone did not know that 
 the Sirens originated in Sicily," I tell him, 
 and am about to indulge in greater wit con- 
 cerning the carrying power of Sicilian lungs 
 when the noise drowns my voice. 
 
 Venerable churches, monasteries now con- 
 verted to more practical uses, antiquated pa- 
 lazzi long ago deserted by the nobles, their 
 courtyards littered with carts, given over to 
 refuges for donkeys and serving for chicken 
 roosts lined this ancient way; their spacious 
 salons where, in stately Spanish dress, two 
 hundred or more years ago, aristocrats held 
 feasts and festivals are now occupied by the 
 working people, while countless little shops, 
 for the sale of food, have honeycombed the 
 basements which, in the olden days, undoubt- 
 
220 Susan in Sicily 
 
 edly presented the same dignified and severe 
 wall to the street that one sees to-day in the 
 old palaces of more northern Italy. 
 
 I love this aged street called Beati Paoli 
 to which the bersaglieri led us. We have 
 passed through it every day since. As the 
 troop passed the business of the street ceased, 
 but when the flying feathers of the soldiers 
 had vanished the cries and the bustle began 
 anew and we stopped to enjoy it. 
 
 The tiny donkeys, drawing the gay carts 
 loaded with carefully piled up broccoli, fin- 
 nochio, so delicate in tint and so strong of 
 anisette in flavour, and great bunches of crim- 
 son radishes, crept out from under the arched 
 doorways, where they had taken shelter. 
 Fishermen, carrying flat baskets filled with 
 their shining catch, began to yell, as lustily 
 as if they were trying to make themselves 
 heard on the top of Monte Pellegrino, at the 
 women hanging over the balconies ready to 
 bargain. 
 
 From the meat shops we turned away our 
 faces with a shudder and forgot their un- 
 pleasant sights by peering into the obscure 
 archways where festoons of onions, long thick 
 bunches of deep red little tomatoes, and clus- 
 ters of oranges with the leaves still fresh on 
 the twigs, made splashes of warm colour 
 
Susan in Sicily 221 
 
 against a black background. Curtains of 
 macaroni, long yellow fringes, hung from 
 sticks, and veiled archways where trays full 
 of appetizing pasta were spread on tables to 
 tempt customers into the gloom of the tiny 
 shops. 
 
 We watched an itinerant cobbler deposit a 
 box and a well-worn umbrella on the pave- 
 ment and, taking out of the box the imple- 
 ments of his trade, seat himself and prepare 
 to satisfy the numerous customers who im- 
 mediately surrounded him. He had chosen 
 his place well, beside a dark recess from 
 which floated forth the strong odour of frying 
 oil. 
 
 A crowd of children and men were gath- 
 ered at this cook shop. Each held a huge 
 piece of bread, which, when presented to the 
 cook with the requisite soldi, he deftly split, 
 and returned with some fried mystery in- 
 serted between the crusts. 
 
 We remembered the meat shops, and won- 
 dered at the appetite with which the pur- 
 chasers bit into these delectable dainties with 
 their strong white teeth, for it is said there 
 is no portion of fish, flesh, or fowl the Si- 
 cilian rejects as food. What dainty must 
 these cheapest of cheap cook shops offer their 
 patrons! To the cobbler came a female boot- 
 
222 Susan in Sicily 
 
 black, and was at once engaged to polish the 
 boots of a little girl, amidst a crowd of a 
 dozen tattered street urchins who gathered to 
 stare at the process. 
 
 Fruit vendors, with the ubiquitous fichi 
 d'india; men selling peanuts; women carry- 
 ing baskets and bags, swelled this human tide 
 so full of noise and vivid life without hurry. 
 And through all this animated crowd moved 
 the ever-present street cleaning department; 
 that ragged regiment of workhouse boys and 
 workhouse donkeys drawing the smallest of 
 decayed carrettas. 
 
 Laundry, I took note, hung from every bal- 
 cony, and waving among coarse garments al- 
 most in rags were sheets and towels elaborately 
 embroidered; while here and there baskets 
 dangled down from ropes to be filled and 
 drawn up again when a bargain was con- 
 cluded. 
 
 We threaded our way slowly through this 
 picturesque crowd, until we came to a steep 
 passageway which led us up to the back of 
 the cathedral. Here women sat in the door- 
 ways, gossiping and knitting, and fat little 
 puppy dogs played under our feet. 
 
 " And our pretty Signorina Gibson prefers 
 the vulgar staring loafers on the Via Ma- 
 queda to this? I see that we shall have to 
 
Susan in Sicily 223 
 
 take her out and show her how interesting 
 her city is," said Jim. 
 
 Pauline and I rose up in her defence at 
 once: " She probably has never been in this 
 street in her life." 
 
 " Then plan an expedition and bring her 
 here very soon." 
 
 Busily, 
 
 Susan. 
 
224 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 'Dear Betsy: — Think of it! Aunt Anne, 
 to the surprise of even sweet little Mrs. 
 Adams, expressed a wish to do some sight- 
 seeing. Did I say expressed a wish? I meant 
 that she announced as follows an intended 
 visit to Monreale. 
 
 " There is no knowing how long this mild 
 weather will last nor how long we shall be 
 here. Mr. Folsome " (the elderly English- 
 man who had recommended our teacher) 
 " says I must go to Monreale. The cathedral 
 and old cloisters are well worth my trouble 
 to see, and we shall get a superb view without 
 leaving the carriage and climbing a hillside 
 as that stupid man wanted us to do the other 
 day at Santa Maria di Gesu. Scrambling 
 about on hillsides does very well for these 
 young people, but you and I are too old for 
 such exertion. We will go in a carriage, and 
 the rest of the party can go in the tramway, 
 which I hear is very agreeable." 
 
 When Pauline deluged the Signorina with 
 
Susan in Sicily 225 
 
 questions about Monreale, and discovered that 
 although its wonders were matters of ecstatic 
 tradition to all Palermitans, Rosina knew 
 them only by hearsay, we instantly invited her 
 to join our party. The grateful enthusiasm 
 with which the invitation was accepted both 
 by her mother and herself quite took our 
 breath away. 
 
 Emily, free for the day from her usual 
 attendance, because the carriage was more 
 comfortable for two, Aunt declared, was as 
 gay as a schoolgirl. She went with us to fetch 
 the Signorina. The gentlemen agreed to meet 
 us at the starting place of the tram in the 
 Piazza Bologna. The weather was like early 
 spring. The approach of Christmas was only 
 heralded by the presence of some rude bag- 
 pipers from the hills, who with primitive in- 
 struments, more like dead pigs than anything 
 else, hanging over their shoulders went about 
 the streets playing the " Natale" hymn in 
 tones quite matching the appearance of the 
 instrument. 
 
 The shop windows showed no disposition to 
 prepare for the festivity beyond little images 
 of the infant Christ in wax, in sugar, in all 
 sorts of forms and substances. Rosina said: 
 
 "It is the morte who give us our presents, 
 we have only the Bambino at the Natale!" 
 
226 Susan in Sicily 
 
 It is on All Souls day that children in 
 Sicily receive gifts as coming " from the 
 dead," and the same pagan spirit impels them 
 to call upon dead ancestors in their moments 
 of passionate excitement. 
 
 Our shortest way led us through our fa- 
 vourite street of Beati Paoli and crushed an- 
 other illusion. La Signorina Rosina knew 
 this busy thoroughfare well, we discovered, 
 and looked with horrified surprise at the idea 
 that we found all this " Basso popolo " divert- 
 ing or picturesque. 
 
 " I tremble for that much desired ' Eng- 
 lishman,' " whispered Pauline. 
 
 "If he is like her father who was reared 
 in Italy, and tumbles into love in the same 
 headlong fashion, he may be a success. She 
 has little English about her but her name and 
 her pretty soft blonde hair." 
 
 " Perhaps somewhere in her nature she has 
 a hidden touch of Anglo-Saxon, but I have 
 not seen it yet," said Pauline. Nor had I. 
 She was deliriously fascinating with no traits 
 foreign to this land of sunshine. 
 
 We were the first to reach the rendezvous, 
 Emily and Rosina more leisurely in their gait 
 came strolling after us, deep in the confi- 
 dences Emily always lures forth. 
 
Susan in Sicily 227 
 
 " How exquisitely pretty our Rosina looks 
 to-day!" 
 
 Pauline was right! She looked angelic, 
 although she had added the usual touch of 
 artificial colour to the soft natural rose of her 
 cheeks. These dainty ladies feel a little naked 
 if they leave off a dab of rouge. Rosina 
 needs no aids to her beauty; she has a skin 
 like the traditional princesses in the fairy 
 tales, her eyes are dark, velvety and capable 
 of immense expression, her hair is a legacy 
 from her English ancestry, and if her lips are 
 a trifle ripe for our taste, her fine teeth set 
 off their perfections. She has a slender sway- 
 ing figure, and the grace of her gestures is 
 remarkable even in this land where everyone is 
 graceful. In her well-fitting gown she dis- 
 played a chic we all secretly envied. 
 
 Beneath the monument to Charles the Fifth, 
 King of Spain and mighty Emperor, we 
 waited. In the guise of a Roman warrior, 
 with legs even a bronze statue should blush 
 to display, this monarch is raised on a lofty 
 pedestal on the very spot where, during those 
 long pleasant years of the Inquisition, each 
 day with his sanction an execution took place 
 to amuse his subjects. 
 
 I was just about to make some highly ir- 
 
228 Susan in Sicily 
 
 reverent remarks about the ugliness of the 
 monument when I saw Jim and Mr. Herbert 
 rounding the corner of the Corso with the 
 Lieutenant between them. They had picked 
 him up by the way, and here in the presence 
 of the great sovereign, while we waited for 
 a tardy tram, occurred one of those chain- 
 lightning, quick-firing, rapid transit heart epi- 
 sodes common to this ardent race. The hand- 
 some Tenente and the delicious Signorina 
 looked upon one another and loved. Loved 
 quite as impetuously if not as demonstratively 
 as Tristan and Isolde. 
 
 They were blissfully unconscious that every- 
 one of the keen-eyed Americans saw the spark 
 fly, so instead of pursuing the bold frank 
 tactics common to Anglo-Saxon males by fol- 
 lowing in the wake of his fancy to the extent 
 of forgetting everyone else in the party, the 
 Count took his place in the tram by my side 
 while the girl sat opposite clinging to Emily 
 and chattering away in English (to quote 
 Jim) " with the same ease a pigeon-toed boy 
 dances the hornpipe." 
 
 I was so interested in the veiled but burn- 
 ing glances, and in the quick growth of this 
 instantaneous passion, that we went flying 
 past the cathedral, through the drowsy piazza 
 in front of the deserted royal palace, under 
 
Susan in Sicily 229 
 
 the Porta Nuova and up the long road, lined 
 with decrepit but interesting country houses 
 fashionable in the Bourbon days, without 
 noticing what we were passing. 
 
 When we had come to that part of our trip 
 where the engine of the funicular is attached 
 to pull us up the sharp rise, Mr. Herbert 
 called us all out on to the platform in front, 
 to see the vast plain far below us where villas 
 embowered in waving trees, dense groves of 
 orange and lemon trees, hemmed in by a semi- 
 circle of rugged peaks, make the golden plenty 
 of the rich Conco d'Oro. 
 
 Jim, with malice prepense, had slyly forced 
 the two enamoured members of the party to- 
 gether near the gateway of the platform, 
 hedging them into a corner from where there 
 was no escape. After a few halting sentences 
 in English, a few shy " Bellezza " and 
 " bellissimos " from the girl in reply to his 
 praises of the landscape, musical Italian 
 flowed unrestrained from her full lips. The 
 funicular did its work all too rapidly. We 
 saw Aunt and Mrs. Adams sailing down upon 
 us from the terrace of a restaurant where they 
 had stopped for a cup of coffee all too soon, 
 and when we arrived at the cathedral porch 
 they joined us, Aunt more enthusiastic about 
 her drive than anything yet in Sicily. 
 
230 Susan in Sicily 
 
 The beauties of the cathedral did not di- 
 minish her exclamations of approval. 
 
 This great noble dignified church looks as 
 though it had been finished yesterday, instead 
 of in long centuries past. The delicious 
 quaintness of the mosaic figures and the in- 
 genious archaic conception of the artists who 
 made the cartoons of the Creation, beginning 
 with chaos and ending with the repose of the 
 Deity after his strenuous labours, alone be- 
 trays the ancient character of the work. The 
 creation of man and of the woman skilfully 
 plucked from the man's rib, the whole Bible 
 history, the rich soft colours of that wonder- 
 ful mosaic, made so effective by the walls of 
 cream white marble below, and the splendid 
 gray pillars of the nave, so absorbed me that 
 I quite forgot the lovers, and did not notice 
 that Jim was standing by my side and all 
 the others had wandered off and left us until 
 he asked: 
 
 " Could you do that? " 
 
 "Could I do what?" I exclaimed startled 
 from the contemplation of Cain murdering 
 Abel. 
 
 " Oh you know what I mean! Your chance 
 of a title is gone." 
 
 " I never took any chances in one," I an- 
 
Susan in Sicily 231 
 
 swered haughtily. " But where is every- 
 body? " 
 
 " Your Aunt seeing you so absorbed in the 
 beginnings of man, sent me to say that she 
 would wait for you at the door of the cloister. 
 Romeo and Juliet are in her protecting com- 
 pany, and I thought I would like to know 
 if you ever expect to tumble into love like 
 those two blessed ones." 
 
 " Don't be silly! Beside what business is it 
 of yours? " I hurried along to join the party. 
 Jim laughed and whistled, which I thought 
 very rude. 
 
 Rosina, her eyes full of deep intense enjoy- 
 ment in the loveliness of the cloisters, walked 
 beside the custode. She hung upon his ex- 
 planations with sincere and flattering atten- 
 tion as he pointed out the quaint carvings on 
 the capitals of the delicate twin columns all 
 around the wide quadrangle alternating in the 
 colonnade with graceful, slender pillars, al- 
 ways two and two, which were formerly all 
 inlaid in rare spirals of mosaic. Some have 
 been restored, some have still bits of the an- 
 cient design left by the workmen of King 
 William the Good; all are marvellously 
 lovely. 
 
 The guide who spoke no language but his 
 
232 Susan in Sicily 
 
 own was enchanted by the beautiful girl, who 
 bestowed the most earnest attention on his 
 banalities usually received by tourists with 
 indifference. When she confessed that al- 
 though a dweller in Palermo she was seeing 
 these splendid cloisters for the first time, he 
 became so inspired by her enthusiasm that his 
 imagination jumped right over the truth. He 
 brought Emperors and Kings into the clois- 
 ters they had never seen and added centuries 
 to their antiquity. 
 
 The officer, his spurs and sword clattering 
 to make his presence felt, walked behind the 
 Signorina with Aunt Anne, who, after ex- 
 pressing her indignation because the guardian 
 did not speak English, consoled herself with 
 the remark that he probably did not know 
 anything. 
 
 The rest of the party wandered around en- 
 joying the brilliancy of the rare sky, the de- 
 licious air, and the Moorish character imparted 
 to the vast cloisters by a fountain which 
 seemed translated from the Alhambra; ex- 
 claiming and conjecturing what all this must 
 have been in the day of its glory, they re- 
 peated just what everyone else who belongs 
 to the commonplace tourist order has said a 
 thousand times. 
 
 We left the cloisters because Aunt declared 
 
Susan in Sicily 233 
 
 that she had seen quite enough and was ready 
 to drive back to Palermo. Left by her de- 
 parture at greater liberty we explored the 
 town, and found chiefly dirt, chickens and 
 importunate begging children. 
 
 Rosina, on leaving the frankly admiring 
 custode, again fled to Emily's protecting care, 
 and the Tenente devoted himself to me some- 
 what half heartedly. 
 
 Eventually we mounted to the restaurant 
 at the top of the road. There we sat on the 
 terrace, fairly gloating over the superb pano- 
 rama of mountains, sea and sky about that 
 plain of serried shining orange groves, and 
 tried to forget what abominable tea we were 
 endeavouring to drink. 
 
 Mr. Herbert had mercifully ordered choco- 
 late for the lovers, and under its sweet influ- 
 ence they again fell into conversation, but 
 with a sort of spasmodic caution ; her eyes only 
 occasionally looking up to catch his glances 
 of perfectly undisguised worship. 
 
 Suddenly all the bells of Monreale set up 
 such a furious inconsistent ringing, as though 
 they had either gone raving crazy or an earth- 
 quake was shaking the campanile. 
 
 Surprised we looked up into a near-by bell 
 tower, and there beating at the bells with all 
 their strength were a number of small boys, 
 
234 Susan in Sicily 
 
 who no sooner did they see us than they began, 
 with true Sicilian love of fun, to play all sorts 
 of pranks, each trying to outdo the other, and 
 the more distant bell ringers hearing, though 
 not seeing the noise, added their portion to the 
 din so effectually that our tram left Monreale 
 under a perfect fusilade of sound. 
 
 Jim, with some banality about " in life, 
 being in the midst of death," insisted upon 
 going to the Cappuccini mummies on the way 
 home. The tram passes near the place, which 
 Rosina had never visited. 
 
 " You see," he whispered to me, " it costs 
 to see these sights, and when a girl has to 
 go accompanied by parents, guardians and 
 forty-seven cousins it's cheaper and more 
 agreeable to go to the Opera than to see dead 
 and dried up nobles." 
 
 The officer, pleading duty, left us for duties 
 at his barracks, but I caught the parting 
 glance and vowed secretly to make that match 
 if I could, notwithstanding Mrs. Gibson's 
 antipathy to an Italian husband. 
 
 Rosina could never be happy with any 
 other. 
 
 In the vaults of this old Cappuccini monas- 
 tery the unfortunate desiccated departed hang 
 around labelled like curiosities in a museum. 
 The wretched old monks exacted large sums 
 
Susan in Sicily 235 
 
 from wealthy Palermitan families centuries 
 past, by pretending to bury their departed 
 members for a time in sacred earth from Jeru- 
 salem. It was supposed to preserve the bod- 
 ies from decay and the souls from purgatory. 
 A furnace, still to be seen in the garden of 
 the Piazza Vittoria, was the real means em- 
 ployed in the desiccation. 
 
 I tried to describe the place to Aunt Anne, 
 who can never be persuaded to visit it I know. 
 She soon broke into the recital with: 
 
 ' You will please see that I am cremated, 
 Susan! What with caps taken out of the 
 coffins of dead queens and bodies hung up to 
 dry, I think the only safety here is in a heap 
 of ashes." 
 
 " But I hope nothing will happen before 
 you get back to Newport," I stammered, con- 
 scious that I was saying something stupid. 
 
 " One never can tell," she answered sol- 
 emnly. 
 
 Your anxious, interested, 
 sentimental sister, 
 
 Susan. 
 
236 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 Dear Betsy: — There has been a break in 
 my series of lessons. A note came early the 
 morning after our Monreale expedition say- 
 ing that the Signorina was not well, she had 
 taken cold and was unable to see anyone, so 
 Pauline and I scurried out and bought her a 
 basket of violets, a huge bunch for thirty-five 
 cents. 
 
 During this our week of vacation from the 
 study of Italian we have not only roamed into 
 all the odd corners of Palermo, but I have 
 refused a coronet, or whatever decoration a 
 count's lady is entitled to stamp on her letter 
 paper. 
 
 " Put your five senses on it," as they say 
 here, and picture to yourself my astonishment 
 when the Tristan of the Piazza Bologna of- 
 fered me his heart and hand. 
 
 His title is a small matter compared to the 
 prospects of Mr. Herbert, who may be a lord 
 some day, or Jim Fortescue, who is sure to 
 inherit millions, but I shall not get a chance 
 
Susan in Sicily 237 
 
 at either. It is the first coronet I ever re- 
 fused and I probably shall never in life refuse 
 another. 
 
 Two days after we supposed his heart had 
 become swamped in a raging sea of love, the 
 Tenente Conte was ushered into Aunt's pres- 
 ence clad in the surpassing splendour of his 
 finest uniform. I was at that moment sitting 
 on the garden wall with Emily and Tom 
 Herbert, watching the rough water dashing 
 up against the cliffs and talking in an appro- 
 priately foolish sentimental strain to entertain 
 my listeners. 
 
 Meantime Aunt Anne, her emotions divided 
 between admiration and astonishment, was sit- 
 ting looking up at the splendid attired cere- 
 monious visitor and wondering why he de- 
 clined to take a chair. 
 
 " I have come, honoured lady, to demand 
 the hand of your interesting niece in mar- 
 riage," were the words with which he began, 
 I believe. Aunt was so overcome at the mo- 
 ment she could not remember the exact form 
 of his phrase. She said that she felt as if she 
 was receiving an offer herself. 
 
 She was hopelessly taken by surprise. 
 
 "Good Heavens!" she confesses to have 
 ejaculated, " I know nothing about it! What 
 does she say? " 
 
238 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " I have not yet spoken to Miss Susan. It 
 is not the custom of my country to speak to 
 the young lady without permission." 
 
 " Well, custom or no custom, I advise you 
 to go and ask her," Aunt broke in quickly, 
 " she is in the garden somewhere! Fancy my 
 settling Susan's love affairs!" And she dis- 
 missed him in haste. 
 
 On hearing the clatter of a sword I looked 
 up to see the officer coming along the terrace. 
 Mr. Herbert's glance followed mine. 
 
 ' Your friend looks serious, perhaps he is 
 coming to ask you to intercede with his lady 
 love." 
 
 " That I will cheerfully do! " I said, rising. 
 
 " Then let us leave them," said Emily, 
 taking Mr. Herbert off. 
 
 Imagine therefore my amazement at re- 
 ceiving an invitation to become a Countess! 
 
 My self-possession quite vanished. 
 
 I lost my breath. 
 
 My suitor looked frightened. I believe he 
 thought I was about to accept him. Fortu- 
 nately my presence of mind returned with a 
 bound. 
 
 " But you have fallen in love with Signo- 
 rina Gibson. I saw it myself! Why do you 
 ask me to marry you? " 
 
 These not strictly courteous words were 
 
Susan in Sicily 239 
 
 out of my mouth before I realized it. I could 
 not hold them back. A perfect flood of crim- 
 son deluged his countenance. I recovered my 
 composure completely, and helping him all I 
 could, managed to unravel the fact that after 
 the attention he had offered me he considered 
 that his honour required him to offer me his 
 hand. 
 
 I told him how deeply I valued his friend- 
 ship, etc., etc. You know all the chestnuts 
 a girl thrusts into that kind of fire, and I 
 think he sighed a fresh sigh of relief with 
 every excuse I offered him. 
 
 His colour became normal. He told me 
 that in Sicily the amount of attention he had 
 paid to me would have meant matrimony or 
 a challenge from my Brother. 
 
 Fancy brother George challenging the most 
 flirtatious swain to anything but a game of 
 squash ! 
 
 I smiled in my sleeve at the Count's be- 
 trayal of the fact that he had a serious eye 
 on my possible dot, before love quite swept 
 away such hopes. I tried to console him for 
 its loss by confiding to him that I was not 
 rich, and therefore never could have made 
 him happy. He in turn confessed that he had 
 fallen madly, passionately in love with Rosina, 
 but that his anguish was as great as his love, 
 
240 Susan in Sicily 
 
 because he is not rich. His uncle allows him 
 a fair income on condition he will not gamble. 
 (He told me all this as simply as a lad talks 
 of his games.) But he cannot marry as an 
 officer unless he has eight thousand dollars, 
 so decrees the law. If Rosina has not the 
 money or any way of getting it he must tear 
 her image from his distracted heart, and even 
 if they both die, put aside all idea of uniting 
 himself with the object of his affections. He 
 seemed ready to succumb to his grief. I was 
 genuinely touched and Rosina's illness was 
 readily accounted for. She, I felt, was suf- 
 fering the same torments. 
 
 It may seem absurd to our more logical 
 minds, but every nation has its peculiarities, 
 and this mixture of fire and ice in the land 
 of Etna seems quite natural. I offered him 
 all the sympathy in my power, promised to 
 bring him news of Rosina, and dismissed him 
 contented. 
 
 I took Pauline into my confidence at once, 
 and the next morning went to my lesson alone 
 by her advice. 
 
 Rosina came into the salon, sweet and gen- 
 tle as ever, but her eyes with great dark cir- 
 cles around them. Her mother too came to 
 thank me for the violets and the pleasure 
 Rosina had enjoyed at Monreale. Her face 
 
Susan in Sicily 241 
 
 betrayed no other secret. Not a cousin showed 
 herself. As soon as the mother left I ap- 
 proached the subject of love with caution. I 
 pushed the handsome officer boldly into the 
 conversation. 
 
 " You must never say again that you will 
 not marry an Italian, or you will break a 
 heart! " I laughed, but to my horror Rosina 
 burst into tears. 
 
 "It is not his heart which will break. It 
 is mine. For why? It is you he will marry, 
 not me" 
 
 It was now my turn to exclaim, " If that 
 is your only trouble, dry your tears. He does 
 not want to marry me. We have talked that 
 all over. It is you he loves." 
 
 "Ah! that I know!" she said naively, 
 " but often one loves and cannot marry! " 
 Her eyes filled again. I felt as if I was 
 about to live a real romance; the sort which 
 went out of fashion with us fifty years ago. 
 Emily's love affair was only interesting from 
 a twentieth century point of view, but here! 
 Passionate love at first sight! Apparently 
 unsurmountable obstacles! Lovers who may 
 only look and yearn at a distance! Who 
 knows what all beside, and every bit of it 
 actual fact. 
 
 " Have you seen him again? " 
 
242 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " Yes, he go by the house every morning, 
 but he only look up. My mother she know 
 nothing. I only look out through the blinds. 
 He have not seen me." 
 
 "Poor soul! Then he shall see you this 
 very afternoon. Aunt Anne and I will come 
 to take you for a drive. We will surely meet 
 him somewhere in the city. Jim shall manage 
 that," I determined. 
 
 " But if we have no money how we can 
 marry? " 
 
 "Oh, don't think about the money!" I 
 cried in the most convinced manner, " that 
 will come all right! " 
 
 "It is easy you say so. You all ricco in 
 America, but we in Sicily cannot always catch 
 the money for marry one uffiziale, and it make 
 me very ill." 
 
 "Who knows! Who knows! We will 
 make it come all right, I know. Borrow of 
 a millionaire if necessary." 
 
 Whether she thought that really might 
 happen, with the Arabian Nights ideas these 
 people have of American wealth, or whether 
 my confidence inspired her is uncertain. 
 However, she brightened up and chattered 
 away about the superlative charms of the 
 young man she loved, but hardly knew, all 
 the rest of the hour. 
 
Susan in Sicily 243 
 
 I did not betray the Count's pecuniary 
 secrets, which she more than suspected. 
 
 That mist on the jewel did not lessen its 
 brilliancy. I feel I am moving in a real novel 
 and hope to be the fairy godmother. 
 
 Aunt Anne was the first person I took 
 into confidence when I got home. She sniffed 
 a little at first. 
 
 " If he was so madly in love with another 
 girl, what did the fellow mean by that farce 
 of asking you to marry him? " 
 
 I explained with such ability that she 
 laughed. Aunt loves a romance too, although 
 she pretends to be so practical. 
 
 " Don't you believe father would give him 
 a place in the bank? He loves her so ar- 
 dently I am sure he would work for her." 
 
 Aunt laughed still more. " Think of that 
 handsome creature giving up all his fine fea- 
 thers and struggling along with other poor 
 Italians in America. As a waiter at Del- 
 monico's he might do," she concluded thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Anne!" 
 
 Jim was much more sympathetic, although 
 a trifle sarcastic about " that title you lost." 
 
 He is so terribly American that he can't 
 understand a man who doesn't go right out 
 and work for what he wants. It is very easy 
 
244 Susan in Sicily 
 
 for him to talk. He has a rich father and a 
 good place waiting for him at home when 
 he is ready to go back to business! 
 
 " You know the poor things can't marry 
 without a certain sum." 
 
 ' We will throw them together all we can, 
 and perhaps he will get so deep in love that 
 the uniform won't count, and he will buck 
 up and get to work. She is a treasure sure 
 enough! " 
 
 " What a pity you did not fall in love with 
 her," I said, returning his suggestive sarcasms. 
 
 " What would I do with her? " 
 
 " Marry her, of course ! " 
 
 I am sure you will agree with me, Betsy 
 dear, that I cannot approve of jokes on such 
 serious matters. Don't mention the affair to 
 George until I give you permission. 
 Discreetly, 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 245 
 
 XXXV 
 
 Dear Betsy: — Here is some court history 
 to satisfy your demands! When Caroline, the 
 sister of Marie Antoinette, the friend of Lady 
 Hamilton and Queen of Naples, was exiled 
 from that city, she lived in Palermo with her 
 Bourbon husband, Ferdinand, King of the 
 Two Sicilies, under the protection of the 
 English as represented by Lord Nelson. 
 Then the Favorita was a royal park where 
 her summer months were passed. A chateau 
 in Chinese style, such as the vulgar King 
 Ferdinand would be likely to build, was the 
 royal residence. In the park, which Aunt 
 pronounced an idealized farm, long allees 
 between the plantations are lined with fine 
 trees. The acres frugally given up to the 
 culture of India-figs, vines, vegetables, and 
 fruit trees, now take, under the shadow of 
 Monte Pellegrino, a character and charm not 
 enjoyed by all such useful plantations in 
 more commonplace surroundings. 
 
 The aristocracy of Palermo use the Fa- 
 
246 Susan in Sicily 
 
 vorita at present for their batailles de fleurs 
 held in spring time; there is a race track 
 within the enclosure of the park, and in win- 
 ter those whose dignity and love of seclusion- 
 forbid their walking on the public streets, 
 come here to take exercise. We met a high 
 church dignitary, ambling along in company 
 with two priests, his carriage following at a 
 slow pace. A mother, who had a well dis- 
 ciplined son of about eighteen in tow, was 
 walking followed by a footman. The youth 
 did not dare to raise his eyes from the ground 
 as we passed. 
 
 " I would not trust that young man very 
 far from that mother! " said Aunt with an 
 expression of contempt on her countenance, 
 but Rosina whom we had taken for the drive 
 opened her dark eyes wide in surprise that 
 Aunt should look upon such strict guardian- 
 ship as anything unusual. 
 
 We had invited the Signorina to accom- 
 pany us, my instructions both to Jim and 
 Mr. Herbert being that I fully expected to 
 meet them in company with the Tenente 
 somewhere along the route. Rosina, perfectly 
 unconscious of my scheme, was mainly bent 
 upon making Aunt appreciate the great 
 beauty of this park, and her ejaculations of 
 Ch e bello! Oh! ch e hello in tones so in- 
 
Susan in Sicily 247 
 
 tense that she seemed about to weep were 
 so genuine that even Aunt had not the heart 
 to utter the deprecatory opinions I saw on her 
 lips and in her glances. 
 
 During a short and brilliant period of Pa- 
 lermo's social history splendid villas were 
 built by members of the court. At present, 
 though, those nobles not reduced in fortune 
 spend little time here among the gardens and 
 an untidy neglected appearance is the result 
 of their absence. But Rosina, accustomed to 
 such a state of half splendour, half squalor, 
 saw only the grandeur and pointed out with 
 reverential finger the palazzi of counts, dukes, 
 and marchese, who live in Rome, Paris, any- 
 where but in Sicily. The head of her grand- 
 mother's family was one of these absentees. 
 ** It is from the old Spanish" was her unique 
 way of describing this personage, " but It is 
 not molto ricco and has much girls to marry." 
 She always said much instead of many. 
 
 Whether It represented the entire family 
 or only the chief she did not explain and we 
 did not have time to inquire, for we had come 
 into the city again and had new distractions 
 in the carriages of the passeggiata we met 
 passing the Giardino Inglese. 
 
 Rosina also relapsed into silence, her eyes 
 growing intent at the sight of every uniform 
 
248 Susan in Sicily 
 
 in the distance. She actually forgot to call 
 our attention to each fine carrozza signorale 
 we passed, and a Palermitan girl must be 
 very absent-minded when she neglects to ad- 
 mire a private carriage even if it is drawn 
 by dray horses, for a carrozza is the envy and 
 desire and ambition of every Sicilian. 
 
 I looked in vain among the mass of slow 
 moving humanity on the narrow densely 
 packed sidewalk for my friends. When we 
 reached the Quattro Canti I was about to 
 tell the coachman to turn back; for stupid 
 as it was I fancied that proceeding at this 
 funereal pace we might see Rosina's admirer, 
 when, to my amazement she leaned quickly 
 forward and with a face full of alarm said 
 rapidly: 
 
 " You will go on? Please. You will go 
 on?" 
 
 The surprise on both Aunt's face and my 
 own exacted an explanation. 
 
 " There is one man I wish not to see me. 
 He must not say buona sera. Ah!" she 
 heaved a deep sigh of relief. " He have mal 
 occhio! " 
 
 " What kind of a disease is that? " asked 
 Aunt Anne half laughing. She thinks the 
 Signorina deliriously comical. 
 
 But Rosina was desperately serious. 
 
Susan in Sicily 249 
 
 "It is very bad. He bring much ill luck. 
 No one wish know him." 
 
 " Oh, is it the Evil Eye? How I wish I 
 could have seen him! " 
 
 Rosina crossed herself quietly piously. 
 
 " This you must not say." 
 
 We had turned down the Corso Vittorio 
 Emanuele and in the distance appeared an 
 unmistakable English hat and two tall forms 
 making their way towards the Porta Felico. 
 At the same moment Aunt asked oppor- 
 tunely : 
 
 " Where shall we take tea? " 
 
 " Oh, please! At the little cafe on the 
 Marina. We can sit out over the water and 
 watch the sunset," I begged, and there we 
 found three men waiting to receive us. 
 
 The Count has proposed to Rosina. That 
 tea party on the Marina where, in the little 
 pavilion built out over the waves, we watched 
 the colours change on mountain, sea and city, 
 where the spell and enchantment of the scene 
 would awaken sentiment even in my matter- 
 of-fact heart, they sat together and sipped 
 chocolate, usually so harmless. But in this 
 case it proved strangely intoxicating, and 
 properly chaperoned by Aunt Anne, and en- 
 couraged by her as well as the rest of the 
 
250 Susan in Sicily 
 
 party, they plunged more deeply into Cupid's 
 snares than ever. 
 
 Some heartily welcomed advice from Jim 
 and Mr. Herbert was responsible for the visit 
 the Conte made upon Mrs. Gibson at twelve 
 yesterday, and when we went for our lesson 
 at two we found mother and daughter divided 
 between sentiments of ecstasy and anxiety. 
 
 " Oh, I care not! " was Rosina's cry, " some 
 day we will marry if we wait long years! " 
 
 " Never can Rosina go alone again with 
 you. I must be always with her," sighed 
 Mrs. Gibson, " but both they are so happy ! 
 He is one nice gentleman, so a fine family. 
 I cannot complain." 
 
 To be " one nice gentleman " is the acme 
 of Mrs. Gibson's praise. In speaking of her 
 husband, whom she seems to have loved quite 
 as fondly as Rosina does the count, she con- 
 stantly repeats, with tears in her eyes, " I 
 like my husband so much, he was one such 
 nice gentleman ! " 
 
 We left our lesson with an invitation to 
 attend a quiet family reunion the next evening, 
 when the Count was to be introduced to the 
 immediate sisters, cousins and aunts, by whom 
 the engagement is to be rather suspected than 
 announced. They will wait for that formal- 
 ity until further plans are made. 
 
Susan in Sicily 251 
 
 Pauline was filled with a fond hope in- 
 duced by some information she had gathered 
 from the Signorina while I was commiserat- 
 ing with Mrs. Gibson for the jailer's work 
 she was condemned to do by custom because 
 her daughter had the misfortune to love a 
 man. 
 
 She revealed it at the council we held that 
 afternoon over the tea table. Emily has for- 
 gotten her sorrow, Jim's defection I have not 
 even noticed, everyone of us, even Aunt 
 Anne and Mrs. Adams, is now absorbed in 
 the romance of these ideal lovers. 
 
 " The Signorina Gibson tells me that she 
 has a very rich Aunt in England," began 
 Pauline playing with Rufus' ears and trying 
 to look as if she had not made herself quite 
 the most important member of the party by 
 that statement. 
 
 "Oh!" said Aunt Anne. "England is 
 very far away. Everyone there seems rich 
 and powerful to these simple people at this 
 distance." 
 
 " Well, poor little Rosina appears to think 
 all would be right if 'for that, I could catch 
 my Aunt, 3 '* 
 
 " How did she lose sight of this rich and 
 valuable relative ? Is she a sister of that ' nice 
 gentleman ' her father? " 
 
252 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " She is," smiled Pauline, " but she does 
 not seem to be an equally nice lady, for she 
 has never held any communication with her 
 sister-in-law or niece since her brother's 
 death." 
 
 " She may never have received the news 
 from Borneo. The islands are very far 
 apart," said Mr. Herbert seriously. " Do 
 you know her name? I may possibly have 
 heard of this rich and powerful lady." 
 
 Pauline extracted a piece of paper from 
 her pocket book and unfolding it with care 
 read the name aloud. 
 
 " Lady Caroline Sumner- Sayles." 
 
 Mr. Herbert took it from her hands exclaim- 
 ing: " Can it be possible! I knew her son well 
 at Oxford and I can remember that he once 
 told me something about an uncle, a younger 
 brother of his mother's who had run off and 
 joined the Italian army when he was only 
 a lad. I got the impression that this uncle 
 had married beneath him, and Sumner-Sayles 
 used to say that he was going down to Sicily 
 some day to find a bevy of pretty cousins. 
 His mother raved at the very mention of their 
 names. I never thought her a tender or 
 agreeable woman. The son is a first-rate 
 chap. I have been down to their house in the 
 country many times." 
 
Susan in Sicily 253 
 
 " Suppose we write to her! " I cried. 
 
 Aunt Anne rose from her chair so quickly 
 that I seemed to see her hair stand straight 
 up on her head. 
 
 " Susan, I forbid you to interfere in any- 
 one's family matters." 
 
 Nobody laughed, but I know they all 
 wanted to. Only Rufus had the impudence 
 to bark, and his conduct gave a chance for 
 a change of subject. 
 
 I lost the thread of the history with which 
 this letter began before I intended, but we 
 can read it up after we have married off 
 Rosina. 
 
 Anxiously, 
 
 Susan. 
 
254 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 Dear Betsy: — We have been introduced 
 into Sicilian society, the upper bourgeoisie 
 set I fancy it might be called, although there 
 was a cousin Bar one, and a Contessa Aunt 
 present at the gathering. We Anglo-Saxons 
 were undoubtedly the heroines of the occasion, 
 although the prospective fidanzata came for a 
 short time, but presumably for some question 
 of their very strict conventionality, departed 
 almost immediately after being introduced to 
 the intimate members of Rosina's family. He 
 was presented as my friend. The extreme 
 reticence of these people, to call it by no 
 stronger name, is very hard for us to under- 
 stand. 
 
 Aunt was invited, but, fanning herself vio- 
 lently in the privacy of her apartment at 
 the mere suggestion of joining the company, 
 seemed horrified at the bare idea. 
 
 " I have heard your description of the 
 house, my dear. I am an old lady, and it is 
 December." Her voice assumed a pathetic 
 
Susan in Sicily 255 
 
 tone which would have been sadly lacking if 
 anyone else had touched on the note of her old 
 age. " I should catch a cold that would be 
 my death if I sat a whole evening with a 
 stone floor under my feet in an unheated room 
 listening to conversation I could not possibly 
 understand. I do not enjoy strange tongues 
 and strange customs." 
 
 Neither Jim nor Mr. Herbert displayed 
 any enthusiasm about going, but when Aunt 
 declared that she would die of fear if she 
 thought I " was out in those assassin haunted 
 streets alone with a coachman, who might be 
 a brigand for all she knew," and Emily looked 
 disappointed, they offered to call for us at 
 midnight. 
 
 " They won't dream of letting you leave 
 earlier." 
 
 After much persuasion they both promised 
 to come at eleven. Neither of them appear 
 to care much for the Sicilian men. Of course, 
 the Conte is half Italian by birth and appar- 
 ently wholly Italian in spirit, although Jim 
 says Sicilian ideas have deep roots. 
 
 It was ten before we heard the ce chi e " 
 which preceded oui 4 admittance. With due 
 regard to the temperature we were likely to 
 find in the great bleak salons, Emily wore a 
 dull purple velvet in which she looked lovely 
 
256 Susan in Sicily 
 
 beyond words ; Pauline's sweeping black gown 
 bore the stamp of Paris and I fortunately had 
 brought a white embroidered cloth reception 
 dress. 
 
 Our friends submitted us to as careful an 
 inspection as ever a dressmaker's mannikin 
 endured. They frankly turned us around, ad- 
 mired, wondered, exclaimed, although Rosina 
 herself looked exquisitely lovely in a lace waist 
 manufactured by her own hands, which might 
 have come from the Rue de la Paix it was so 
 chic. 
 
 The Sicilians love pretty clothes extrava- 
 gantly, and each cousin had added some 
 pretty touch to the mourning gowns we had 
 seen them wearing on other occasions, thus 
 making them do duty as evening gowns. 
 
 They all look upon a short dress in the 
 street as one of those abominations only to be 
 tolerated by eccentric foreigners, therefore the 
 trained skirts answer all needs and one gown 
 is made to serve all purposes. 
 
 Stray glimpses we had caught of flitting 
 cousins on lesson mornings had revealed that 
 the home toilettes in these Southern households 
 are careless in the extreme. 
 
 We were almost the first to arrive, but soon 
 an uncle appeared with two lovely little girls 
 of ten and twelve. Rosina introduced them: 
 
Susan in Sicily 257 
 
 "He is my aunts. These are her sons." 
 A literal translation. I suppose our attempts 
 at Italian are quite as absurd, for what do 
 we know about their complications of gender 
 and number? 
 
 The young men cousins came in a bunch. 
 One spoke French, but so fast he could 
 scarcely be understood, another said a few 
 words of English and promptly fell in love 
 with Pauline, sitting down beside her and try- 
 ing to make himself agreeable. The relatives 
 poured in thick and fast. Quite as many very 
 small children as grown up people, all appar- 
 ently devoured with curiosity to see the fores- 
 tieri of whom they had heard so much. 
 
 ' You see I have much cousins," announced 
 the smiling Rosina. 
 
 The children stood before us and stared as 
 if we were wild animals, until they were called 
 away and passed around to be kissed several 
 times by everyone present. Never have I 
 seen children kissed so much nor heard such 
 loud damp kisses. Aunt Anne held her hands 
 up in dismay at the bare description. 
 
 " I don't wonder they die of infective fe- 
 vers ! " 
 
 I had been describing how warmly we were 
 taken into their friendship, how the family 
 brought out the photographs of all the loved 
 
258 Susan in Sicily 
 
 ones they had lost and told us that infective 
 fever seemed to have killed most of them. 
 
 Two young soldiers, an officer, a Barone, 
 and several Cavalieres came to join the 
 throng. Rosina's eyes took on their softest, 
 deepest colour when the Conte appeared. He 
 was introduced as our friend, but it was plain 
 that everyone present knew the truth and was 
 pretending ignorance. 
 
 An aunt with a charming voice then sang 
 elaborate antique operatic music to the ac- 
 companiment of a piano very much out of 
 tune, for which gentle Signora Gibson apolo- 
 gized by saying that the instrument had not 
 been tuned for a year and a half. She meant 
 soon to have it repaired by some very superior 
 and skilled tuner. I fancy the real economical 
 reason was shrouded in that excuse. 
 
 The Conte left almost immediately after 
 we came, excusing himself on the score of 
 duty, and although Rosina evidently consid- 
 ered it proper to sink into a state of medita- 
 tion, which the young girl cousins tried to kiss 
 away, the ice was broken and to the sound of 
 desperate pounding on the piano the girls and 
 boys began to dance with exquisite grace, the 
 younger lads cutting up all sorts of tricks 
 with their fantastic toes, quite as ably as the 
 nimblest ballet master. We laughed and 
 
Susan in Sicily 259 
 
 shouted with the rest, saying what we could 
 in Italian, the rest in English to be trans- 
 lated in some fashion by our teacher. We 
 showed them how we danced in America. 
 They all went into apparent spasms of delight 
 and tried to imitate. The smallest members 
 of the company were then called upon to 
 show what accomplishments they possessed. 
 They danced and played with one finger on 
 the unfortunate piano as all the children in 
 all countries do, but here these were clearly 
 looked upon as wonders and kissed again by 
 the entire company in reward. The love of 
 children is a passion with these people, and 
 one most enchanting to witness. 
 
 ' When do the babies go to bed in Pa- 
 lermo? " Pauline asked Signora Gibson. That 
 lady stared a moment as if she did not under- 
 stand the question, then answered with a 
 smile: "It is not as in England. They go 
 to bed when the mother she go." 
 
 At about half past eleven, many of these 
 tots were sleeping around on the hard chairs, 
 looking so wretchedly uncomfortable that it 
 made me perfectly unhappy, and it was at this 
 juncture Jim and Mr. Herbert arrived, where- 
 upon the babies all woke up with a start to 
 look at the two strange men. The father 
 with his two pretty daughters, "my aunts 
 
260 Susan in Sicily 
 
 and her sons" stopped the frank yawns in 
 which they had been indulging for the past 
 half hour, the young men greeted the fores- 
 tieri with cordiality, looking carefully at every 
 detail of their evening dress with undisguised 
 curiosity and pleasure, and the grandmother 
 went out to send them all in tiny glasses of 
 cognac or liqueur with little cakes, a simple 
 feast, delicately and simply offered, with in- 
 finite gentleness and grace. 
 
 Jim sat down beside Rosina; Mr. Herbert, 
 who speaks a trifle more Italian than the 
 rest of us, devoted more attention to the older 
 ladies. Although even the sleepiest of the 
 company violently resisted our suggestion of 
 leaving we got away shortly after twelve by 
 pretending that Emily was required by her 
 invalid mother. 
 
 The love of the mother is as deeply re- 
 garded in Sicily as the love of children, 
 therefore we were no longer urged to remain, 
 but the entire hospitable family escorted us 
 out on to the landing, Rosina clinging to my 
 arm and whispering her hopes and fears into 
 my ear, her mother doing the same to Emily, 
 while the handsome young cousin, who had 
 become enamoured of Pauline and who un- 
 doubtedly looked upon her as a promising 
 young widow with a mint of money, bent low 
 
Susan in Sicily 261 
 
 over her hand murmuring: " Hopes that I 
 can see again." 
 
 Our evening wraps underwent the same 
 scrutiny as the rest of our habiliments and 
 were admired with loud exclamations. 
 
 I fancy we were talked over ecstatically 
 until three in the morning while the babies 
 continued to sleep on the hard uncomfortable 
 chairs and the fathers of the families snoozed 
 undisturbed. 
 
 " I have never had a better time in my 
 life!" 
 
 " Nor I," exclaimed Pauline and Emily 
 in unison. " They were all so handsome, so 
 gentle, they did everything to amuse us and 
 they succeeded." 
 
 " Only I thought one of those boys was 
 going to kiss me because I gave him some 
 cigarettes!" exclaimed Jim. 
 
 "If he had, you would have heard it a 
 mile," I laughed. " The children got several 
 rounds apiece and it sounded like fireworks." 
 
 And so to bed goes your sleepy 
 
 Susan. 
 
262 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 Dear Betsy: — Mr. Herbert announced 
 this morning that he had written to his friend 
 Sumner-Sayles and received an answer which 
 promised little hope that Rosina would 
 (( catch her aunty After the evening party 
 the Conte left to go to his uncle in Naples, 
 and poor, agitated young Rosina, fluttering 
 between hope and fear, had another attack of 
 illness. We went to see her, and found the 
 whole family in floods of tears. The babies 
 who had displayed their talents for our ben- 
 efit at the party were wailing aloud. 
 
 " Cheerful surroundings for anyone with 
 an attack of nerves," whispered Pauline to 
 me. 
 
 Rosina wished to see us. Two or three 
 women visitors were ushered out as we went 
 in. The gentle Signorina looked prettier 
 than ever, if that were possible, with her fluffy 
 light hair streaming on the pillow and heavy 
 shadows under her dark eyes, her cheeks 
 slightly flushed either by fever or excitement. 
 
 " You naughty girl! How dare you get 
 
Susan in Sicily 263 
 
 ill just now? What is the matter? Have 
 you eaten something foolish? " 
 
 " The doctor he say it is cold and nervous. 
 I cannot tell him how really is." 
 
 " But you can tell us." 
 
 " You I can tell. I have to go to the 
 Cathedral to pray. If I go nine days to 
 make a novena to the Madonna and have 
 promise her a silver heart she will give me 
 my wish, but I did go very late with my 
 mother, it was cold and I get sick, but my 
 mother she still go every day and we promise 
 two hearts if the Madonna excuse me for 
 not come." 
 
 This she announced with a perfectly simple 
 faith that no Madonna could possibly resist 
 two such gifts. I hope the miraculous image 
 will neglect all other business and engineer 
 this affair to a happy ending. 
 
 Rosina lay in her bed playing like a child 
 with a kitten and an image of the Bambino 
 Gesu someone had brought her. To amuse 
 her I tried to tell of an attempted visit we 
 had made to the Marionette Theatre, but 
 which had failed because the bad air of the 
 place had almost caused both Pauline and 
 me to fall in a faint. I fancied she would 
 know all about the puppets. She had never 
 seen them. 
 
264 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " The boys, she can go, but not we. There 
 is only the Basso popolo at the Opera Puppa. 
 I could never go but I wish so much I can 
 see!" 
 
 " What you wish you can see? " asked the 
 mother, who just then came in the door. 
 
 " The Opera Puppa! The Meeses," a title 
 she invariably bestows upon us, " try to see 
 and cannot. It smell so bad the Basso po- 
 polo/' 
 
 " But you like? It is very funny the 
 Opera Puppa!" said Signora Gibson, laugh- 
 ing so significantly that her daughter asked 
 quickly : 
 
 " How you have see, mamma? " 
 
 Whereupon in answer it developed that as 
 a young girl Signora Gibson's father had 
 once engaged them for a private perform- 
 ance, an extravagance of fully twenty-five 
 francs. 
 
 " Could not we do it? " we exclaimed. 
 The lady promised to try and arrange it as 
 soon as Rosina was better and to furnish an 
 enthusiastic audience from the youth of her 
 own large family, none of whom had ever 
 seen this marvellous doll theatre, owing to 
 the extensive patronage of the Basso popolo 
 before condemned. It is often possible to 
 arrange a private exhibition late at night 
 
Susan in Sicily 265 
 
 after the last performance is over, and she 
 has promised to consult with one of the Cav- 
 aliere uncles we met at the party, who holds 
 some high office of the ministry of police. 
 
 I think Rosina revived at the prospect of 
 a little excitement and my promise that we 
 would not go without the Conte. How I 
 wish you could be with your interested sister, 
 
 Susan. 
 
266 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 Dear Betsy: — It was on the occasion of 
 the visit I told you of in my last letter that 
 we saw the kitchen of the Signora Gibson's 
 house. It supplies food for all the cousins, 
 the sisters, uncles and aunts whenever they 
 come to demand it, for with the patriarchal 
 customs which still prevail in Sicily, the house 
 of a parent or grandmother, to which all the 
 children contribute something, always ex- 
 tends the right of hospitality to any or all. 
 
 In this, the apartment of the grand- 
 mother, regular meals at a comfortably 
 spread table were practically unknown. It 
 is no uncommon thing in these southern lands 
 to eat ever and always in true picnic fashion. 
 What there is to eat, soup, macaroni, the 
 fried food of which they are so fond, the 
 sweets and wine are absorbed in company or 
 individually as the appetite demands, and the 
 kitchen according to our ways of thinking 
 should be an important item in the arrange- 
 ment of a house. 
 
Susan in Sicily 267 
 
 The little L-shaped passageway between 
 the numberless salons in the front and sev- 
 eral bedrooms in the rear is the only kitchen 
 they possess. The lower part of the L rep- 
 resents the entire working portion of this 
 indispensable appendage. It is about six 
 feet long and four feet wide. A window 
 opening on a well shaft causes the queer 
 shape of the kitchen. A strange little table 
 covered with tiles in which are two square 
 holes represented the entire stove, but as all 
 the more elaborate food is bought at the cook 
 shops, these primitive arrangements probably 
 suffice for heating the dishes grown cold and 
 for cooking the ubiquitous macaroni. 
 
 The people are so secretive, too, about the 
 details of their existence, that try as we 
 would, we could never unravel these household 
 mysteries. We have so cheerfully answered 
 all questions which practically embraced the 
 entire history of our families and friends that 
 naturally we do not scruple to ask a few our- 
 selves. However, the Spanish virtue of dis- 
 simulation, the amiable semi-frank manner 
 with which a contrary impression is given 
 us each day, makes us laugh at our own ridic- 
 ulous credulity. " Let's say no more, but 
 look as hard as we can and believe only 
 what we see," observed Pauline when we 
 
268 Susan in Sicily 
 
 found ourselves baffled in our normal curios- 
 ity. 
 
 Therefore our impressions of their way of 
 living can only be taken as impressions, noth- 
 ing more. I have met an American girl who 
 lived six weeks in a Sicilian family, in a so 
 called pension, but her meals were served in 
 solitary state in the corner of a vast salon, 
 and never once did she see the family eat or 
 find any appearances of a dining table, ex- 
 cept when she invited the young people of 
 the family to dine with her once in a res- 
 taurant. 
 
 But to return to the kitchen we left to 
 digress into family secrets. In the limited 
 space it occupies, a deal table, a tiny sink 
 with running water, and some shelves for 
 strange looking pots and pans complete the 
 furniture. Not one convenience we Ameri- 
 cans would consider indispensable, not a cup- 
 board! nothing! Some fresh vegetables were 
 on the pine table the day of our investiga- 
 tions, the open refuse pail was underneath! 
 In the narrow passage, in the kitchen itself, 
 three persons can scarcely move about com- 
 fortably, yet such a kitchen answers all their 
 needs. 
 
 Aunt is calling me. In haste therefore. 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 269 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 Dear Betsy: — While I was having my 
 usual morning romp in the garden yesterday 
 with Rufus, Bridget came out in a high state 
 of exaltation because Pauline has received 
 word that her father is to be in Naples in 
 about three weeks. 
 
 " It's glad Rufus and me will be to get 
 out of this heathen land where the men stare 
 at a poor woman as if she was a freak! 
 Didn't I have a whole circle of lads standing 
 around me yesterday with their eyes fairly 
 falling out of their impudent young faces, 
 and me only buying a bunch of violets for 
 Miss Pauline at the corner stand. If I'd 
 been in the good Northwest I'd have slapped 
 their saucy cheeks, but here I suppose the 
 fathers'd stick me in the back for such a trick." 
 
 I roared with laughter: " It would not be 
 a safe risk to run. Don't do anything like 
 that, Bridget." 
 
 " Never you fear, it's not a thing I'll do, 
 even if they take me for a hippopotamus. 
 
270 Susan in Sicily 
 
 And it's glad I'll be to see Mr. Worcester's 
 grand face, and it's glad he'll be for what 
 you've done for cheering up Miss Pauline. 
 Another girl she is now, laughing instead 
 of still moping over that husband." Brid- 
 get came close and said in a low voice: 
 " She's never looked at his picture until the 
 other day without the tears in her eyes. It's 
 only the mite of a thing she has in her locket, 
 but yesterday she took it to be made large 
 and says she to me says she, ' I'll have a fine 
 frame, Bridget, and put him beside me bed.' 
 She's happy, says I to meself, and grieving 
 no more." 
 
 I smiled in my sleeve thinking that Jim 
 might have something to do with this, but 
 Bridget's faithful heart rejoiced, and her 
 voice was glad for her darling. 
 
 With the prospect of leaving soon, Pauline 
 has become more active in the matter of sight- 
 seeing and instead of strolling as usual 
 through the Via Cassari, to stare at the prim- 
 itive way the carpenters ply their trade, of 
 lingering in the street of the brass workers, 
 peering into the picturesque little dens where 
 they hammer musically on copper and brass, 
 or instead of visiting the busy market street 
 and loitering on the Cala among the painted 
 trucks and carretta, or marvelling at the di- 
 
Susan in Sicily 271 
 
 verse kind of uncomfortable shoes made in 
 the Via S. Agostino, we propose to see 
 churches, " Eta's and etc.'s," as Jim calls 
 them. 
 
 Our interest in the loving couple, whom 
 we had dubbed the promessi spossi, has not 
 diminished in view of all this urgent sight- 
 seeing business, and yesterday Mr. Herbert 
 and I came first to an appointed meeting 
 place in the Piazza Victoria after walking 
 around the old city walls from the Porta 
 Carini to the Porta Nuova and found the 
 square, which is before the Palazzo Reale, 
 deserted except by a troop of active little 
 bersaglieri just entering their barracks and 
 the car of a tramway disappearing in the 
 direction of the cathedral. 
 
 At this season, bland as the air feels in the 
 warm sun with the garden full of foliage and 
 flowers blooming, this great square has the 
 effect of a vacant place, locked up and de- 
 serted by its owners. Even with the soldiers, 
 the carabinieri, the plumed bersaglieri loiter- 
 ing in the gateways of these ancient monas- 
 teries, once the pride of the Spanish church 
 and the rulers of Palermo, now barracks for 
 those protectors of law and order who have 
 done all in their power to help this poor 
 wind-swept Sicily, the spirit of the Piazza 
 
272 Susan in Sicily 
 
 Reale seems dead, its soul gone, the Royal 
 Palace sleeping. 
 
 With the outdoor life summer weather 
 brings, the small park may be gayer, but at 
 this season, a dank mouldy territory, rough 
 with imbedded stones and strewn with leaves, 
 sticks and bits of broken glass, stretches be- 
 tween the castle terrace and the enclosed gar- 
 den. Armed men may have gathered here 
 when the Viceroys of Spain or in more re- 
 mote days when the Norman sovereigns 
 looked out on Palermo from the windows of 
 the Palazzo, on the architecture of which each 
 has left his mark. 
 
 A monument of pretentious baroque style 
 erected in Bourbon days to Philip the Fifth 
 of Spain has this place quite to itself, an 
 inartistic production which in 1848 replaced 
 one, perhaps quite as bad, erected to Philip 
 the Fourth which had been pulled down by 
 a mob. While we waited Mr. Herbert and 
 I strolled over towards it to sit on the steps, 
 but they were protected by an iron railing 
 from the vandalism of natives and tourists. 
 
 Seeing no sign of our party we devoted 
 our attention to the work of art. Philip is 
 represented as a fat complacent looking indi- 
 vidual clad in armour and wearing a long 
 trailing cloak. He stares straight ahead, as 
 
Susan in Sicily 273 
 
 if modestly unconscious that the four corners 
 of the globe, represented by marble figures 
 kneeling around him in chains, were the cap- 
 tives of his power. Spanish rulers were ac- 
 customed to seeing chains! Amidst garlands 
 of flowers and fruits carved on the pedestal 
 where he stands exalted above the humbled 
 nations of the earth, the Spanish eagle with 
 its rakish looking crown still gazes out at the 
 lost city. 
 
 Scrolls, inscribed with the record of the 
 might, the possessions and the power of 
 Philip and his race, are crowded in among 
 the emblems and the statues, mostly noseless, 
 typical of the arts, the industries and various 
 other benefits which Sicily failed to enjoy 
 under Spanish rule, and these adorn but fail 
 to embellish the lower platform of this very 
 ambitious monument. 
 
 I was staring as usual at the most gro- 
 tesque of the lot, when I heard a voice behind 
 me saying: 
 
 ;< Why so lonesome? " It was Jim. 
 
 " Does lonesome mean a lack of Pauline 
 and Emily? I am having a good time! " 
 
 " So am I," said Mr. Herbert. 
 
 " Then you must give it up, for I sha'n't 
 leave you." 
 
 He led the way over to the terrace steps 
 
274 Susan in Sicily 
 
 and sat down to wait, greatly to the edifi- 
 cation of several small boys who appeared 
 from nowhere and promptly placed them- 
 selves in a semi-circle in front of us to enjoy 
 the Sicilian felicity of staring. 
 
 " How I wish I could have seen a caval- 
 cade of Spanish troopers come tearing along 
 the ground to make way for an imperial 
 viceroy and his court! " 
 
 That was enough to start Mr. Herbert on 
 his pet subject. 
 
 " The echoes of this snoozing piazza would 
 wake up then, but I fancy we would hurry 
 out of the way if some of those gentlemen, 
 with their mailed bands, their trains of cruel 
 rapacious followers and grasping clericals, 
 got wind of our nationality and our heresy. 
 The Inquisition was a pleasant little play 
 in those days and victims were in demand. 
 
 " From a remote balcony or a balloon I 
 might have enjoyed all the fuss and feathers, 
 all the gilt lace display. Those were the 
 prime days of feudal rule. The Sicilian poor 
 were vassals, little better than slaves, the 
 middle class hardly existed. The lords and 
 barons came in from their castello to enjoy 
 the dissipations of the viceregal court, and 
 crowded the great Palazzo with their follow- 
 ers, who slaved and laboured for such food, 
 
PALERMO AND MONTE CUCCIO. 
 
Susan in Sicily 275 
 
 shelter and clothing as their masters chose 
 to give them. 
 
 " The merchant and the clerk either put 
 himself under the care of a patron or per- 
 ished. 
 
 " To meet the extravagant necessities of 
 their lords the generous earth gave forth her 
 produce as cheerfully and as constantly as 
 the oppressed hind gave his labour, and the 
 soil was worked to barrenness. No more was 
 done for willing Mother Earth than for her 
 poorest sons in Sicily. The never varying 
 policy of Spain was: Take all, give nothing. 
 
 " The tyranny of the Church, superstition 
 masquerading as religion, the Inquisition, 
 which made the suppression of heresy an ex- 
 cuse for the exercise of cupidity, justice, 
 which could be purchased, brigandage, which 
 was encouraged and the profits shared by 
 royalty, was the school in which this 
 wretched people learned to throw to the 
 winds truth and probity. That, and a mix- 
 ture of races which would be fatal to any 
 breed, has been the fate of this handsome 
 amiable people. In Spanish soil the Mafia 
 grew and developed into a tree of such sur- 
 prising expansion that few can predict when 
 it will die. Its roots have spread through all 
 classes and provinces of Sicily." 
 
276 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " And are lapping over on to United 
 States soil," cried Jim so vehemently that the 
 semi-circle of wondering listeners to the 
 strange tongue ran away in terror, especially 
 as he started up at the same moment to go 
 forward to meet Emily and Pauline, whom 
 he saw in the distance alighting from the 
 tram. 
 
 " The Conte is back! Did you know it? 
 His uncle will do what he can for him, but 
 he says he must wait," were Pauline's first 
 words. 
 
 "Good enough!" exclaimed Jim, in pure 
 American. 
 
 "I'll send the fidanzata the prettiest tea- 
 cup in all Palermo," I added. 
 
 We walked slowly into the palace, to for- 
 get the lovers for a few minutes amid the 
 splendours of the Capella Palatina, then 
 brought them back to mind as we sat in the 
 exquisite ruined vine-grown cloister of San 
 Giovanni where Emily sighed: "How can 
 we help now? " 
 
 " This will set them up in life! " said Jim 
 slowly. He had taken his place next to me 
 where I sat between the group of graceful 
 slender columns at the corner of the cloister 
 and the twin pillars supporting the first of 
 
Susan in Sicily 277 
 
 those springing arches surrounding this love- 
 liest of lovely cloisters. 
 
 The sky was like cobalt, without a cloud, 
 the vines climbed and clung lovingly to the 
 rough brickwork, and a long spray rested 
 gently on Jim's head like a crown. 
 
 Emily and Mr. Herbert drew near, curious 
 to watch him produce a marvellous charm 
 which he drew cautiously from his pocket- 
 book as he spoke. Pauline, who had been 
 dividing some sweets with the custode's little 
 boy, came through the shrubbery of the inner 
 court and stood behind us, while Rufus, who 
 was this time of the party, galloped around 
 to Jim's knee expectant and eager. 
 
 " Go 'way, Rufus, this is nothing you can 
 eat! " he said as he went on spreading out 
 seven or eight little long slips of paper on 
 his knee. Mr. Herbert stretched forth his 
 hand as if to take up one, but Jim with ex- 
 aggerated solemnity put one hand over the 
 papers and with the other motioned him 
 away. 
 
 " What are they? What? What? What?" 
 my curiosity could not be controlled another 
 moment. 
 
 " They are fortunes," he answered. 
 
 " Shame on you, wicked boy. They are 
 
278 Susan in Sicily 
 
 lottery tickets! " cried Pauline, who from her 
 point of vantage had caught the glimpse I 
 was trying to get. 
 
 " You need not call me wicked, and you 
 can laugh all you choose," the entire com- 
 pany breaking into a broad chuckle, " but 
 I swear by S. Giovanni, his mosque of a 
 church and his cloister which I intend to copy 
 for my own house some day, that I propose 
 to send this whole bunch of tickets to the 
 Signorina Gibson and confidently expect her 
 therewith to win her dot. The only thing I 
 ask of this party is to tell me how to do the 
 act, so that she will never know where the 
 letter comes from." 
 
 I sneered. " She will tear the silly things 
 up!" 
 
 " Listen to the child ! Did you tell me that 
 the Signorina Rosina believed in the mal oc- 
 chio? " I nodded assent. 
 
 " Did you tell me she would not eat a 
 mouthful of bread or anything made of flour 
 on the feast of Santa Lucia, that her eyes 
 might be preserved? " I nodded again. 
 
 " Did you tell me she was promising silver 
 hearts and things to the Madonna? " 
 
 " I cannot deny it." 
 
 " And you think that young lady will tear 
 up lottery tickets! She will keep them no 
 
Susan in Sicily 279 
 
 matter how they come to her. Besides this is 
 not the real lottery. It is a tombolo, and she 
 will of course win 100,000 francs. Didn't I 
 buy the tickets myself? Don't I always have 
 luck? " he said as decidedly as if we knew 
 all about it. 
 
 Pauline's enthusiasm was fired immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 " Suppose we buy the silver heart for the 
 Madonna and put these inside it." 
 
 " Done up in a blue envelope on which 
 shall be written, ' From the Madonna,' " I 
 suggested. 
 
 " When does the thing come off? When 
 are the numbers drawn? " asked Mr. Herbert 
 seriously. 
 
 Jim continued to smooth out his little 
 paper slips lovingly. " Day after to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " Then let us buy the heart at once! " de- 
 clared Emily, speaking for the first time. 
 
 We started up instantly, Rufus rushing 
 ahead as if he had the commission in hand. 
 I think the guardian thought we had all 
 either lost our senses or were conspirators 
 of one kind or another, but he pocketed a 
 generous fee, shook his head and stood look- 
 ing inquisitively after us at the gateway until 
 we vanished. I turned around and saw 
 
280 Susan in Sicily 
 
 him still there when we reached the palace 
 wall. 
 
 The heart was bought at a shop where we 
 could have purchased a wax face, an arm 
 or leg of the same material or indeed the 
 counterfeit representation of any portion of 
 the human frame, all ready to be painted in 
 imitation of a diseased member cured by 
 miraculous intervention, and hung as a thank 
 offering at the altar of a shrine. 
 
 After our tea, which we seasoned with in- 
 numerable jokes at the expense of our own 
 credulity, we did up the package carefully 
 with the tickets inside and have sent it anony- 
 mously by a trusted messenger, 
 Hopefully, 
 
 Susan. 
 
Susan in Sicily 281 
 
 XL 
 
 Dear Betsy: — This is for your eyes alone. 
 Hide it. I have no right to tell, but I can- 
 not, cannot keep my joy to myself. Again 
 I have had another notable visit from Emily 
 late at night, but this time the face I had seen 
 in Taormina distorted with agony was radi- 
 ant with smiles and happiness. We have 
 received our invitation to go to the Puppet 
 Show and the result of the lottery tickets will 
 be known to-morrow if the news reaches Pa- 
 lermo promptly. 
 
 Emily understands that I am never dis- 
 posed to go to sleep early, but that I tuck 
 myself snugly into bed with my reading or 
 writing. Indeed, if it were not for these 
 stolen hours, little news could I give you of 
 our experiences. 
 
 She often comes sliding in after her mother 
 is sound asleep, and we talk and talk and 
 talk. There is usually so much sadness in 
 her communications, the struggle between her 
 
282 Susan in Sicily 
 
 devotion to her mother's wishes and the urg- 
 ing requests of her lover to end his misery, 
 that I looked at her joyous expression in 
 amazement. Her first words increased it 
 tenfold. Throwing her arms around my neck 
 she whispered: 
 
 " I am going to marry Tom Herbert be- 
 fore the year is out! " 
 
 I was so astounded that my lips could not 
 form a question. Only two nights ago she 
 had told me it was her intention to beg him 
 to leave her. She went on: 
 
 " I have the certainty that my husband is 
 dead and I owe it all to you! " 
 
 " To me!" I fairly shouted. She put her 
 hand over my mouth, laughing. 
 
 " Yes, to you! But not so loud please. 
 Somebody might hear. Had you not loved 
 Rufus and made friends with his mistress, I 
 should never have been able to satisfy my 
 mother, to make the certainty sure, and at 
 last to taste happiness I have never known." 
 
 I could only stare and mutter: " How? 
 Why?" 
 
 She went on: "Dear Pauline, poor Mrs. 
 Horton! But she shall never know what I 
 owe to her." 
 
 "Oh Emily! That will be cruel! You 
 know how warm her sympathies are, how 
 
Busan in Sicily 283 
 
 glad she would be for you and what joy it 
 would give her to have been even a remote 
 cause of your happiness." 
 
 Emily became suddenly serious. 
 
 " Susan, the man whom she so truly 
 mourns was my wayward husband! " 
 
 I choked in my effort to ask a question. 
 She went on quietly: " To-night after din- 
 ner, she came as she often does for a moment 
 or two into my room while I was preparing 
 the draught mother takes after she gets ready 
 for bed. We laughed a little about Jim's 
 faith in the lottery ticket, and she said she had 
 put her whole soul into a wish that his sin- 
 cerity might not be misplaced. 
 
 " ' When I put my whole soul in a wish I 
 usually get it/ she declared. ' That was how 
 I got my husband in spite of papa, and I 
 want all lovers to be as glad as I was on 
 my wedding day. You have never seen a 
 picture of the man I loved? I have only 
 lately felt reconciled enough to wish to have 
 one where I could see it in the presence of 
 others. I have one in this little locket which 
 is always on my heart, and I have had an 
 enlargement made to frame and put upon 
 my table. I will get it for you. You shall 
 be the first to see it.' 
 
 " She took off the chain and little enam- 
 
284 Susan in Sicily 
 
 died locket she always wears and put it into 
 my hand, saying: ' Look at this first,' as she 
 went out of the door. I opened the trinket 
 and stared, stared frozen with a fear that I 
 might be mistaken, for I had destroyed the 
 duplicate of that very picture when Charles 
 left me, and I first realized how deeply I 
 hated him. I have borne so much in life 
 that fate has disciplined me. I was calm 
 when she returned. The large photograph 
 was not a duplicate of that in the locket but 
 an enlargement from a kodak taken later in 
 his life, perhaps after marriage. I was made 
 doubly sure by seeing it. He could not 
 change. I said with conviction that I 
 thought him a very handsome man. She 
 glowed at my praise and kissed the picture. 
 I shuddered to see her. She rattled on about 
 the two likenesses, saying that the little pic- 
 ture in the locket he had given her when they 
 first met, telling her that it had been taken 
 a long time before in Toronto. 
 
 "What a liar the man always was! It 
 was just like his perverse nature to take the 
 chances and marry that sweet woman; to in- 
 dulge his passion for falsehood by inventing 
 tales to deceive her; to drop his last name; 
 to walk as near the edge of the precipice as 
 possible without falling, when he knew all 
 
Susan in Sicily 285 
 
 the time how willing I should be to get a 
 divorce! " 
 
 "But a divorce would mean publicity! 
 Perhaps he loved Pauline and was afraid to 
 lose her." 
 
 "Perhaps he did," said Emily, seriously: 
 " But I think God was good to take him 
 from her." 
 
 " What shall you do now? " 
 
 " To-morrow I shall tell mother. Had I 
 told her to-night she would have been too 
 excited. I shall manage the news better 
 after a night's reflection. Then, dear, be- 
 fore you return home you shall come to Lon- 
 don to see me married! " 
 
 " Oh, can you arrange that bliss for me? 
 Aunt said she was going home from Naples." 
 
 " Just leave that to me. And now, darling 
 girl, I leave you with our happy secret! " 
 
 "Poor Pauline! Perhaps she will marry 
 Jim!" 
 
 Emily chuckled. " Jim is too young for 
 her. Besides I know she does not want him." 
 
 " Then I must say poor Jim! " 
 
 Isn't truth ten times more extraordinary 
 than fiction, and the world a queer squeezed 
 up little place where we all jostle one another? 
 What mysterious power brought Pauline to 
 us I wonder — I wonder. Susan. 
 
286 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XLI 
 
 Dear Betsy: — I have been to the theatre 
 for the first time at midnight. Many a time 
 I have come home from it at that hour, but 
 never in the company of babes of the tender 
 age of the youngsters, the oldest not over 
 ten, whom we met at the Signora Gibson's 
 and included in our theatre party. Even 
 Aunt Anne and Mrs. Adams were persuaded 
 to come to that party, for the uncle Cavali- 
 ere had engaged the very best of the mari- 
 onette shows for our exclusive delectation at 
 the huge expense of twenty-five or thirty 
 francs. Aunt and Mrs. Adams were in car- 
 riages, which they insisted should be shared 
 by Rosina's grandmother and an aunt, neither 
 of whom could speak a word of English, an 
 accident which never troubles Aunt Anne, 
 who always goes on calmly talking English 
 to everybody. 
 
 All the girls of the family, who might never 
 again see the Opera Puppa as they called the 
 
Susan in Sicily 287 
 
 marionettes, owing to the dismal seclusion to 
 which females here are doomed and their fear 
 of contact with the Basso popohj were assem- 
 bled for the memorable occasion. There were 
 also all the cousins male and female, the old 
 people and the children, and last but not least 
 the Conte Tenente. Rosina, full of hope and 
 happiness, was radiantly lovely. We all as- 
 sembled at the house and had not far to walk. 
 The theatre was in a poor part of the town 
 among its best clients, the narrow streets were 
 deserted, the high houses wrapped in dark- 
 ness. 
 
 " This is one part of the town where they 
 go to bed early! " said Emily walking behind 
 us with Mr. Herbert. 
 
 " How can you tell? " asked Jim. " They 
 seal up everything hermetically, with blinds 
 outside, closed windows and solid board shut- 
 ters inside. There is only one way of know- 
 ing how much illumination there is at present 
 inside those queer old houses." 
 
 "What would that be?" 
 
 "A pistol shot!" 
 
 " That they too hear very often," said the 
 Signorina Rosina who had joined us, " but 
 not when is so many as now nella Strada." 
 
 " Then do let us keep all together and 
 make as much noise as possible." 
 
288 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " But now we are here at the theatre!" 
 laughed Rosina. " We must go in." 
 
 An arched portal, Jim calls a stable en- 
 trance, like the doors into so many of the 
 Palermitan bassi, was the only spot in the 
 entire street where a light was displayed. 
 Several men were loitering around the en- 
 trance and among them the uncle Cavaliere. 
 The rest were proprietors of the show, two 
 of them the handsomest looking villains I 
 have ever beheld. They gave Pauline and me 
 a look out of their bold black eyes which was 
 anything but assuring in its expression of 
 would-be admiration. 
 
 We passed by a little cubby hole of a box 
 office, wherein sat a woman to take tickets, 
 went around a screen placed at the back of 
 the seats to either keep out the draught or 
 to prevent street urchins from peering in 
 every time the door was opened to enjoy a 
 peep at the show. Once passed this useful 
 obstruction we were in the theatre, which had 
 all the characteristics of a fine play-house 
 shrunken in size to correspond with a stage, 
 concealed by a drop curtain about ten to 
 twelve feet square painted with a copy of 
 a well-known picture, a contest between 
 gladiators. Two galleries ran along the sides 
 of the small hall. They were painted with 
 
Susan in Sicily 289 
 
 martial and heroic scenes. Two rows of 
 rough benches were the only accommodations 
 these elevated places afforded, and those who 
 sat thereon had to be of medium height not 
 to knock their heads against the ceiling, but 
 choice decorations of green and gold were 
 on the woodwork. 
 
 The ends of this gallery were partitioned off 
 next the stage. On one side for the shrillest 
 of steam organs, on the other for a cracked 
 piano, on which a performer perfectly inno- 
 cent of any musical knowledge, even of the 
 most elementary description, pounded with 
 all his might when the character of the drama 
 demanded a noise and excitement the puppet 
 performers were incapable of furnishing. 
 
 On the floor of the house were several rows 
 of rude wooden benches made strong enough 
 not to fall when the audience was worked up 
 to the pitch of frenzy by the thrilling events 
 represented on the stage. 
 
 We took our places on these benches, the 
 smallest members of the party in front. The 
 place had been swept clean and aired, but 
 when packed tight with the Basso popolo and 
 the door shut in the windowless hall breath- 
 ing is difficult. Pauline and I had tried it. 
 
 Aunt Anne climbed the wooden steps into 
 the gallery and looked down over a picture 
 
290 Susan in Sicily 
 
 of St. George and the Dragon at the rest 
 of us with superb dignity. She was not com- 
 fortable but she was lofty. 
 
 Bridget had not been left at home, and in 
 consequence Rufus was of the company. 
 
 " The poor soul! It is not me that will be 
 leaving him alone to cry. He'd enjoy it, he 
 will, Miss Pauline, even if he barks now and 
 again." 
 
 Therefore the funny little dog sat between 
 his mistress and her maid, to the huge delight 
 of all the Sicilian youngsters, tiny and big, 
 who watched him and petted him. 
 
 The girls were quivering with unwonted 
 excitement. All their lives they had heard 
 the boys talk of the marionettes; never had 
 they hoped to see them. Their hearts were 
 full of grateful interest in the forestieri who 
 had brought about this unexpected pleasure. 
 We were nearly as entertaining to them as 
 they expected the show to be, and the hand- 
 some dark eyes wandered from one to the 
 other with that intense expression of investi- 
 gation and curiosity one learns to expect in 
 Sicily. 
 
 The inspection was only cut short by the 
 steam organ, which suddenly belched forth 
 painfully the Priests' March from Atalie. 
 Mendelssohn in a Puppet Theatre! 
 
Susan in Sicily 291 
 
 The boys and men in the audience who 
 in their school days had gone without lunch 
 to spend at the Opera Puppe soldi given them 
 for that purpose, were overcome by antici- 
 pation and clamoured with feet, hands and 
 voice for the beginning of the play. 
 
 Three knocks as solemn as those of the 
 great Comedie Francaise were heard behind 
 the scene and the curtain rose on an ad- 
 mirable little stage, set with well painted 
 scenery; it was all in such perfect proportion 
 that when the first actor clattered on to the 
 boards he looked six feet tall. 
 
 He was a knight in full armour whose 
 every footfall was like a clap of thunder, an 
 effect produced by the property man who 
 gave the floor a dusty thump with a stick 
 when the hero's foot came down. 
 
 The splendid plumes of the knight's helmet 
 swept the flies; his hand was on his sword, 
 his eyes rolled about in their sockets to ex- 
 press the surprise he experienced at finding 
 himself in an abode of " Pagans " without 
 apparently being cognizant of how he got 
 there. He expressed his wonder in a deep 
 bass voice, in words of which I understood 
 but few, but the action of the drama proceeds 
 so rapidly that the lines are of minor impor- 
 tance. While this noble glittering creature 
 
292 Susan in Sicily 
 
 was noisily turning himself with convulsive 
 motions and gazing with amazement at his 
 surroundings a beautiful Saracen princess in 
 rich attire glided in to join him. She too 
 was amazed at the sight of the unawaited 
 spectacle of the noble visitor. She addressed 
 him in a high falsetto voice with true Sicilian 
 sing-song intonation. After a few pertinent 
 questions which he answered with such telling 
 effect that she listened, looked and loved with 
 true Oriental velocity, the exaltation and sud- 
 denness of her passion so carried her off of her 
 feet that we presently beheld her form sus- 
 pended literally from her lover's neck by her 
 entwining arms. A method of expressing af- 
 fection which in real life might have disas- 
 trous consequences. 
 
 To disentangle the plot of this heroic drama 
 would have been quite beyond my power, 
 even had I understood the tongue in which 
 the actors spoke. The lovely Saracen was 
 the only female character in the play. Her 
 amorous temperament appeared to cause end- 
 less complications. 
 
 Rinaldo the bold, Orlando the brave, and 
 Mambraccio the wicked were ever at sword's 
 point for her sake. They battered each other 
 unmercifully whenever occasion permitted, 
 
Susan in Sicily 293 
 
 which was pretty much all the time. The 
 rafters shook with the din of battle admirably 
 reinforced by the orchestra of the one for- 
 lorn-looking lad who pounded on the wiry 
 tuneless piano with all his might. 
 
 The puppets are so admirably propor- 
 tioned, they look so big, they are so well 
 managed, their movements are so deceptive 
 that notwithstanding the various flagrant ab- 
 surdities in their general behaviour it is easy 
 to forget that they are inanimate. 
 
 Orlando, considering the great might of 
 his sword arm, had surprisingly weak lungs; 
 while Mambraccio's deep bass growled fiercely 
 in defiance of the plumed Binaldo's pure rich 
 baritone. They all chanted their lines in a 
 deliriously quaint fashion, without change of 
 tone even in the most thrilling moment. 
 
 There was all the fighting and slashing 
 demanded by the mediaeval romance. A 
 large and imposing array of supernumeraries 
 appeared when occasion demanded. 
 
 Besides warriors, both pagan and Chris- 
 tian, there was a ghost, and a frightful devil 
 overgrown with moss, whose entrance was 
 invariably preceded by flames which threw 
 the younger children into agonies of delicious 
 terror and called forth long low growls from 
 
294 Susan in Sicily 
 
 Rufus, who was ignominiously prevented from 
 throwing himself into the fray by Bridget's 
 restraining hand. 
 
 There was also a King, the father of the 
 captivating Saracen lady Cagigi. He came 
 on in state with a train of courtiers; evi- 
 dently merely to show himself and to be in- 
 cited to reprove his beguiling daughter by the 
 advice of a private weird looking magician, 
 a most arrant mischief maker. 
 
 Rinaldo, transported incomprehensibly to a 
 place without the walls of Paris, slew in our 
 presence, unaided by aught save his trusty 
 sword, a pile of Turks, who seemed likewise to 
 have strayed far from home. In such num- 
 bers and with such celerity did he lay them 
 low that a Maxim gun would blush with envy 
 and jealous rage at such a competition. 
 
 Nor was Orlando behind in deeds of val- 
 our. He killed a whole row of plumed 
 knights in full harness in less time than it 
 takes to write the tale. Mambraccio was 
 equally brave. After defending himself no- 
 bly through three acts, he fell a victim to the 
 devil, the ghost, the magician and the swords 
 of his rivals. 
 
 In the fervour of action and in the heat of 
 battle mailed warriors ocasionally forgot to 
 keep their feet on the boards and floated 
 
Susan in Sicily 295 
 
 miraculously above the stage, but as they con- 
 tinued to use their mighty swords with vig- 
 our, evidently unconscious that the earth af- 
 forded them no support, the effect was rather 
 heightened than weakened by such tour de 
 force. They handled their weapons all too 
 effectually. 
 
 The boys in the audience shouted encourage- 
 ment, warning or approval and the girls ap- 
 plauded enthusiastically. Rosina, cautiously 
 observing the proper conventionalities and 
 separated from her lover by her watchful 
 mother, was swimming in rapture. This was 
 better than all her dolls put together. Even 
 Aunt Anne laughed until the tears came. 
 
 The ear-splitting steam organ sputtered 
 forth thrilling martial music from Aida and 
 Carmen between the acts, men came in to sell 
 us the salted pumpkin seeds, mandarins and 
 large glasses of water flavoured with anisette 
 adored by the Sicilian populace. 
 
 When nearly all the dramatis persorwe had 
 perished for one cause or another we became 
 aware that the tragic drama was ended for 
 the evening. The length of these heroic 
 plays, compounded from Orlando Furiosa, 
 the ballad of Roland and a hash of so many 
 mediaeval tales of chivalry, to suit the tastes 
 of the audiences is so great that one play 
 
296 Susan in Sicily 
 
 often is continued for several days in succes- 
 sion. 
 
 The stage manager, playwright and inter- 
 preter combined, who was directing the per- 
 formance for our benefit and with intention 
 of giving his entire company a chance to be 
 seen, had outdone himself in the effort. 
 
 We had scenes in a baronial hall and were 
 transported from the wild beautiful shores 
 of an island in eastern seas to the walls of 
 Paris. We beheld the grandeurs of a Sara- 
 cen King's court, we assisted at a bloodless 
 battle in a dense wood, besides being treated 
 to innumerable drop scenes, all skilfully, even 
 artistically painted. We felt we had seen the 
 marionettes of the Opera Puppe in a gala 
 performance. 
 
 As we filed out the proprietors again stood 
 grouped around the door bowing their hand- 
 some heads in evident satisfaction at our ex- 
 pressed pleasure, but like true Sicilians their 
 serious faces did not smile at our praise. 
 
 We found Aunt's carriage waiting at the 
 top of the street, and she was in such high 
 good humour that she promised not to be 
 worried if Jim and Mr. Herbert would take 
 good care of us. 
 
 Emily had insisted against our entreaties 
 upon going home with her mother. We 
 
Susan in Sicily 297 
 
 begged her to chaperon us, to lend dignity 
 to our party, to keep us all, including Tom 
 Herbert, in order, but her mother looked so 
 discouraging that she shook her head and 
 drove away, waving a good night and kissing 
 her hand to us. 
 
 Bridget went home with Aunt and would 
 have taken Rufus but the little dog hung 
 back obstinately, and looked so pitiful that 
 Jim interfered in his behalf. 
 
 " He needs a run after the theatre and I 
 need his company." 
 
 We went on with the rest of the numerous 
 company until we came to a broad brilliantly 
 lighted piazza, where our ways parted. There 
 we stood chattering for a while and loth to 
 part. A young girl, a cousin of Rosina, who 
 had hung on my arm, babbling in a mixture 
 of French and Italian, which I divined rather 
 than understood, suddenly nudged me and 
 called my attention to two men strolling 
 slowly along on the other side of the square. 
 
 " See! the tall one, that is the Barone who 
 wished to marry Rosina, and who says no one 
 else shall have her. She hates him." 
 
 I looked in Rosina's direction, her back was 
 turned. 
 
 "What eyes you people have! I could 
 never distinguish a face at that distance ! " 
 
298 Susan in Sicily 
 
 She laughed, shrugged her shoulder, and 
 said quietly: 
 
 " We have eyes to see." 
 
 Rosina, her mother walking discreetly be- 
 tween her and the Conte, was already gliding 
 down toward her home. 
 
 " Buone Notte! Buone Notte! '* cried every- 
 one as we passed on, but it is possible that 
 the nursery contingent, the fathers, mothers, 
 young soldier cousins and pretty girls stood 
 where we left them talking for another hour. 
 These people make no distinction between 
 night and day. 
 
 " I have laughed and shouted myself into 
 a state of hunger which salted pumpkin seeds 
 and mandarins have failed to satisfy," re- 
 marked Jim, " The Conte must take us some- 
 where to eat after he leaves Rosina." 
 
 " Oh how jolly! I adore eating at night 
 but Aunt will never let me. Why don't you 
 ask Rosina to come? " 
 
 " Highly improper according to the social 
 laws of the land! " 
 
 " She would die of hunger rather than break 
 any rule the Conte approves." 
 
 " He would not let her come anyway." 
 
 " What a privilege it is to be born out 
 of Sicily! Eh, Rufus?" said Pauline fer- 
 vently. 
 
Susan in Sicily 299 
 
 " To-morrow," called out Jim to Rosina 
 as we stood before the house, " we will all 
 come to present the silver heart to the Ma- 
 donna. To-morrow we shall know how rich 
 you are." 
 
 " It will not be." Her face became very 
 sad. "Never shall I get it. All is lost! 
 To-day I see Signor Mai Occhio ! " 
 
 " Oh nonsense ! This time he will change 
 your luck and his own too!" I exclaimed. 
 
 She crossed herself. " I hope, but I not 
 can believe." 
 
 A groan almost escaped the Conte's lips. 
 Perhaps he, too, believes in the evil eye! 
 
 He bent over Rosina's hand reverently, re- 
 spectfully, saluted her mother, and with a 
 last warm tender glance from her deep eyes 
 and a caressing tone in the voices that uttered 
 "Felice Notte" they parted and we stood 
 outside the heavy door that closed upon 
 her. 
 
 The night was mild, the moon at its full, 
 we met numerous orderly people, many with 
 children, meandering home from evening 
 gatherings as serenely as if the hour was 
 one in the day instead of past midnight. 
 
 Everyone walked in the middle of the 
 street. 
 
 " Is it to enjoy the moon or because they 
 
300 Susan in Sicily 
 
 fear what lurks in the shadows? " asked Pau- 
 line. 
 
 " Just using wise caution, I guess," said 
 Jim. 
 
 "Nonsense!" laughed the officer, who will 
 never admit that there is any danger any- 
 where. 
 
 " But you have your trusty sword! " I ven- 
 tured. 
 
 " And we have our fists," laughed Mr. Her- 
 bert, looking toward Jim who nodded. 
 
 " But I also need strength," I insisted. 
 "Where is the food?" 
 
 " Presently. Presently," answered the 
 Conte, " we are coming to a short cut I take 
 every day and every night too for that mat- 
 ter, it will lead us straight to a supper table." 
 
 I have been to-day to look at that passage 
 way in the full glare of sunlight. 
 
 It is one of the older lanes in the older 
 portion of Palermo, broad enough for two 
 carts to pass abreast, but without a sidewalk. 
 It really serves as a passage leading from 
 one open square to another, flanked on one 
 side by two tall silent palazzi now govern- 
 ment property, and on the other by a church. 
 None of the usual bassi are opened in the 
 basements of this vicolo. One deep doorway 
 alone breaks the line of heavy wall. 
 
Susan in Sicily 301 
 
 A strip of white moonlight lay in the cen- 
 tre of the black street, which curved just 
 enough in its progress to make the glittering 
 line look like a ribbon dropped by chance. 
 
 Pauline entertaining the officer with the 
 subject he loved best, Rosina's perfections, 
 walked in advance with him. 
 
 As usual I stopped to tie my shoe, and 
 it required both my escorts to accomplish that 
 necessary duty. 
 
 Rufus, who is always uneasy if the party 
 separates, ran back to urge us on. The shoe 
 firmly tied we started after our friend; my 
 mouth had opened to utter some banality 
 about the fascinations of dangerous widows, 
 when Rufus, with a bay such as never issued 
 from the throat of any other breed of dog, 
 rushed forward followed by Jim's long legs. 
 I stood thunderstruck for an instant on be- 
 holding a strange figure in the centre of the 
 narrow street dancing up and down like a 
 rag effigy, rising and falling on the toe of 
 Jim's boot, while Rufus hung to the thing's 
 coat tail. 
 
 Pauline and the officer had meantime dis- 
 appeared around the corner into the bright 
 piazza beyond. 
 
 Mr. Herbert darted forward after Jim, and 
 terrified I precipitated myself into the dark- 
 
302 Susan in Sicily 
 
 ness after them. When I reached the scene 
 Jim had the man by the collar, growling with 
 each kick he administered. 
 
 "You d Dago! You d Sicilian! 
 
 What do you mean by trying to shoot in a 
 street like this! I'll give you what you de- 
 serve, you cur! Hold on, Rufus! Herbert, 
 there's a revolver on the pavement some- 
 where. Pick it up. We'll use it to make 
 its owner march to the police station. No! 
 You can't shake yourself free from me, you 
 d — — assassin. I was not a football player 
 for nothing." 
 
 I stopped paralyzed between fear and 
 amazement to watch Pauline and the officer 
 returning in answer to my short cry of alarm. 
 How slow they were! 
 
 Tom Herbert stood with the revolver men- 
 acing the scoundrel, and Rufus, who had been 
 finally called off by Jim, half crouched ready 
 for a new attack. Until the Conte joined 
 the strange group we made he did not under- 
 stand what had happened. He then pulled 
 his sword partly from his scabbard, saying 
 sternly in Italian: "What does this all 
 mean? " 
 
 The would-be assassin gave the officer one 
 frightened surprised stare as he confronted 
 him in the moonlight, then suddenly tried to 
 
Susan in Sicily 303 
 
 embrace Jim, a proceeding not exactly suc- 
 cessful considering that the young gentleman 
 held him by the collar like a puppy dog. 
 Failing in his attempt at affection, he poured 
 forth a flood of words in Italian and then 
 began to weep. 
 
 " What the devil are you doing? " said 
 Jim when the man snatched at his hand and 
 covered it with kisses. 
 
 "The fellow's a lunatic! He's dangerous! 
 We must take him to the police." 
 
 Mr. Herbert still stood coolly pointing the 
 revolver ready for action. Pauline and I 
 clung together, our knees trembling with ex- 
 citement. Not a soul entered the street to 
 interfere. Those who passed at the end evi- 
 dently thought us a peaceful assemblage, lin- 
 gering after the usual manner in the black 
 lane to chatter. 
 
 " He is not crazy. He has made a mistake 
 I think. Perhaps it is Mafia. I do not 
 know. He says you saved him from a crime. 
 I am not the man he wished to kill," the 
 officer said calmly, unconscious apparently 
 that our eyes were fairly bulging with amaze- 
 ment at his cool way of viewing such a peril- 
 ous situation. 
 
 " We'll hand him over to the police just 
 the same, against the time when he does meet 
 
304 Susan in Sicily 
 
 the man he wants to kill," exclaimed Jim and 
 Mr. Herbert almost in the same breath. 
 
 " I will take him," said the Conte. " I can 
 manage the matter easily and you then will 
 escort the ladies." 
 
 He spoke rapidly to the man, who was 
 still crying very much like a whimpering 
 child. Tom Herbert listened with all his ears. 
 
 " I could not understand a syllable of the 
 villainous dialect," he told us later. 
 
 " Keep the revolver," said the Conte to 
 Mr. Herbert, "the man will come quietly 
 with me. Beside, I have my sword. If you 
 want a carriage there are always some in the 
 piazza there." 
 
 He pointed to the square from which we 
 had just come, laid his hand upon the man's 
 arm and began to walk off with him in the 
 opposite direction. 
 
 Jim so reluctantly released the fellow's col- 
 lar, that when Rufus saw him departing in 
 company with the Tenente he relieved his dog 
 feelings by a deep growl, then followed close 
 at our heels. 
 
 " These people are beyond me! I give it up. 
 The Conte seemed to think nothing of a 
 scoundrel lurking in a black alley pointing 
 his gun at the back of a man walking with 
 a lady." 
 
Susan in Sicily 305 
 
 " I wish I had shaken the life out of him," 
 said the indignant Mr. Fortescue. 
 
 " And got yourself stuck in the back the 
 next day," I put in alarmed at the very sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 " I think I'll go to Naples to-morrow 
 night," whispered the trembling Pauline.' 
 
 " We will have to stop and testify against 
 him." 
 
 " That we'll do if it takes all summer. But 
 how now about eating supper? " asked Jim. 
 
 "Eating!" we women screamed in duo. 
 "We want to get back to a safe hotel as 
 quick as possible. Eat supper indeed! If 
 you don't promise to get off these dangerous 
 streets we shall neither of us sleep a wink 
 to-night." 
 
 " Nonsense," laughed the men. I don't 
 see how they are so brave! 
 
 This letter is a volume, but I could not 
 stop my pen until the whole story had been 
 told. 
 
 Your quivering, timid 
 
 Susan. 
 
306 Susan in Sicily 
 
 XLII 
 
 Naples. 
 
 Dear Betsy: — One week has flown since 
 I posted my last to you and much has hap- 
 pened to fill it with excitement. Within 
 forty-eight hours of our stirring evening 
 Aunt Anne was on her way here, bringing 
 in her train the all too willing Pauline, Brid- 
 get and the very reluctant Jim. As for my- 
 self I shed tears when Sicily disappeared 
 from my sight. 
 
 Pauline was quivering with so much nerv- 
 ous excitement when we got back to the hotel, 
 on that memorable horrible night, that at 
 Aunt's first question she blurted out the 
 whole story, told the entire adventure. 
 
 Aunt Anne had been lying on her sofa 
 with the door of her room ajar watching for 
 our return. She called us in as soon as she 
 heard our footsteps. 
 
 While Pauline described, with more or less 
 accuracy, the thrilling experience of the eve- 
 ning, Aunt Anne waited tranquilly. She even 
 
Susan in Sicily 307 
 
 listened to my version. Then she sat up 
 slowly and solemnly. With the utmost de- 
 cision of tone gave her orders: 
 
 " Susan, to-morrow early you will buy tick- 
 ets on the best and safest boat going from 
 here to Naples within the next three days. 
 I have finished my stay on this island. You 
 will of course leave with us, Mrs. Horton." 
 Pauline assented frantically. " There is no 
 use to protest, Susan." I had not opened 
 my mouth. iC I have had quite enough of 
 Sicily. I shall be glad to depart and I shall 
 take young Fortescue with us. I should 
 never forgive myself if I left him here to 
 be stuck in the back by some of the relatives 
 of that dreadful Mafia man who tried to kill 
 him." 
 
 " But Aunt Anne, he did not try to kill 
 him, they never molest foreigners." 
 
 "Oh! I have heard that nonsense before. 
 His friends would of course take revenge. 
 They might steal Jim away and hide him in 
 some hole among the mountains until they 
 got a big ransom from his father. You need 
 not smile. It is no smiling matter. They did 
 that very thing to an Englishman, years ago 
 when I was here with your uncle Joshua. 
 The excitement then in Palermo was tremen- 
 dous. I supposed they had grown civilized 
 
308 Susan in Sicily 
 
 with the twentieth century, but I see I was 
 mistaken, after to-night's bloody work." 
 
 How Aunt will enjoy telling it at home! 
 
 " But Jim thinks the poor man was 
 crazy." 
 
 " Nonsense! He was an assassin. You go 
 immediately to bed. Don't stop now to talk 
 it all over. To-morrow morning you shall 
 help me pack. I will talk to Mr. Ir>rtescue 
 when he comes." 
 
 Aunt Anne can never be turned from a 
 fixed determination. To speak truly I think 
 she had long before made up her mind to. 
 She had been uneasy for the last week, and 
 is delighted to have a plausible excuse to fly 
 to Naples. 
 
 Before Jim arrived the morning after his 
 encounter I had packed Aunt's largest trunk 
 to a running accompaniment of comment on 
 the habits and customs of this island I have 
 grown to love. 
 
 " It is a Paradise I admit! " she confessed, 
 " but I believe we can go away contented, 
 we have seen it at the best season. It is all 
 very well to rave about almond blossoms and 
 the spring! But with them the tourist comes, 
 outrageous prices, and beggars follow in the 
 wake. The flowers may perhaps be as you 
 say, but as for the natives! Well! " Aunt's 
 
Susan in Sicily 309 
 
 prejudice had taken the bit between its teeth 
 and was off at a gallop. " The women are 
 pretty, amiable and tastefully dressed, but I 
 know they would bore me to death in a very 
 short time. As for the men! when a male 
 Sicilian is not shouting he is spitting, and 
 when he is not spitting he seems to be shoot- 
 ing! " 
 
 " Oh Aunt Anne, how can you say such 
 things? Dear Rosina could amuse me for 
 years, and I'm sure the Conte does not spit." 
 
 " He does not when he is with us, but I 
 would not trust him in my best bedroom. 
 Besides he is only half Sicilian." 
 
 It was no use, away she went racing wildly 
 on her hobby. Aunt Anne ought never to 
 leave Newport or upper Fifth Avenue. She 
 will find Jerusalem the Golden vulgar if it 
 it not modelled on these ideals. 
 
 Jim and Mr. Herbert had a surprising tale 
 to tell when they appeared together. The 
 Conte had walked calmly into their hotel as 
 they were drinking their coffee in the morn- 
 ing, and said coolly that they need not go 
 to the police. He it seems had given the mis- 
 erable murderer his liberty, almost as soon as 
 he turned the corner. They had been struck 
 dumb by the news, Jim with amazement, and 
 Tom Herbert, cherishing the usual Briton's 
 
310 Susan in Sicily 
 
 idea of law and order and justice, became 
 tongue tied with speechless indignation. 
 
 " There was no proof against him," the 
 officer had tranquilly told them, " a trial 
 would only have given us trouble, not satis- 
 faction. The man declared he was only ex- 
 amining his pistol, to make sure it was in 
 order should anyone attack him in the dark 
 and narrow street." The Conte believed this 
 statement, so he affirmed. 
 
 " As if," Jim exclaimed in wrath as he 
 repeated the tale, " both Rufus and I had 
 not seen the wretch deliberately taking aim at 
 Mrs. Horton's back. We only stopped his 
 murderous hand just in nick of time." 
 
 " What did I tell you, Susan?" put in 
 Aunt Anne with a note of supreme satisfac- 
 tion. " This is no safe place for decent young 
 people." 
 
 " There is probably some mystery about 
 this affair we shall never penetrate. The 
 assassin is I fancy by this time well on his 
 way to the innermost fastnesses of the inte- 
 rior," said Mr. Herbert. 
 
 " Or sailing to the United States," the 
 patriotic Jim groaned. 
 
 How Aunt persuaded Jim Fortescue to 
 leave with us I do not yet know. I had gone 
 off with Mr. Herbert to find Emily, while she 
 
Susan in Sicily 311 
 
 talked to him about the journey, and when we 
 came back she had ordered a carriage that 
 we three might visit the steamship office and 
 find out whether a boat she liked was going 
 the next evening. 
 
 : ' We must call and see the Signorina Ro- 
 sina," I said after the tickets had been taken 
 and cabins reserved for our entire party, 
 " what shall we say to her? Poor little thing, 
 she has been so nice to us. They won't un- 
 derstand our flight at all, neither her mother 
 nor any of the family. Shall we tell about last 
 night? " 
 
 " You will tell nothing," said Aunt. " I 
 have come to make my parting call and I 
 will explain everything that is necessary." 
 
 The door of the Gibsons' flat stood open 
 as we reached the top of the long stone stair- 
 way and a confusion of many tongues could 
 be heard within. 
 
 " Is this the strict seclusion you described 
 so forcibly, Susan? " Aunt asked severely. 
 
 I had not time to answer before Rosina, 
 who had spied me from the salon, flew out 
 into the hall, and not seeing Aunt Anne or 
 Jim flung herself around my neck, crying: 
 "Oh you darling! What you have done!" 
 My mind instantly reverted to the assassin, 
 but Jim saved the situation. 
 
312 Susan in Sicily 
 
 " The Tombola! By George! I forgot to 
 look at the numbers." 
 
 "But not I! Not the Madonna! She 
 have give it to me for the silver heart, I give 
 her first. Oh she is good! I will give now 
 to her a pair of earrings; all jewels very 
 beautiful." 
 
 Then Rosina, nearly squeezing my breath 
 out of my body, became aware of Jim and 
 Aunt, and taking the latter by the hand with 
 profuse excuses conducted with inimitable 
 grace that dignified lady into one of the 
 salons where were assembled nearly all the 
 audience of the foregoing night's festivity. 
 
 The Conte, from whose mind all remem- 
 brance of our alarming adventure appeared 
 completely erased, had brought his fidanzata 
 the happy news. Among Rosina's numerous 
 tickets of which he had noted all the numbers 
 one had won, not the great lottery prize, but 
 a sum more than sufficient to enable them to 
 marry. 
 
 " We will have soon a wedding, and then 
 go for ever to live in Italy," Rosina ex- 
 claimed in glee, as if in a hurry to leave her 
 cherished Sicily. 
 
 " How did you manage to let all your 
 cousins and aunts know the good luck so 
 quickly? " 
 
Susan in Sicily 313 
 
 " But they were here when the Conte 
 come! " cried Rosina, surprised that I should 
 think she had sent to fetch them. 
 
 "Just the usual family gathering?" asked 
 Jim. 
 
 "Si, si, Signor!" she murmured, content- 
 edly smiling at his cleverness without a sus- 
 picion of irony on his part. 
 
 "How nice it will be, the wedding!" she 
 rippled on. ' You will all come, Mees Hor- 
 ton, Mees Calverly — " We let Aunt an- 
 swer her. 
 
 " In spirit we will be with you, dear." 
 Rosina looked puzzled; she did not under- 
 stand. " An urgent matter has called me 
 away from Sicily and we have come to say 
 that we are leaving you to-morrow night." 
 
 Rosina's face clouded, I thought for a mo- 
 ment that she would break forth in lamen- 
 tation, but her unexpected happiness was at 
 that moment too great to be dulled by any 
 matter not immediately concerning herself or 
 her lover. Smiles broke over her face. She 
 embraced me again. " You must go to-mor- 
 row? Then we all come to see you off to the 
 boat," she promised naively. " My cousin 
 she have never see the boat to Naples." 
 
 As the ship moved slowly away the next 
 evening Jim and I stood side by side, hang- 
 
314 Susan in Sicily 
 
 ing over the rail, waving good-bye to our 
 gentle, amiable Sicilian friends. They stood 
 on the dock, their charming faces turned up 
 to gaze at us. All had come aboard, the girls 
 and boys had peered into our cabins, and 
 showed themselves so interested in our hand- 
 bags and small luggage that I had to unlock 
 my dressing case and let them handle the 
 silver fittings. Such curiosity amused me, 
 and their genuine admiration of all they saw 
 even modified Aunt Anne's disapprobation. 
 
 Rosina was in high spirits. 
 
 " All such things I too will have, for then 
 soon I will be marry." Her English almost 
 went adrift at the thought. But her mother 
 looked sad and had tears in her eyes. 
 
 The last partings were wafted by hand 
 kisses. We slipped out of the harbour under 
 the shadow of Monte Pellegrino, an inky 
 black mass looming up in the darkness, and 
 we watched the twinkling lights of the city 
 until they became as distant glimmer of stars 
 on the horizon. 
 
 "Good-bye, Sicily!" I whispered. 
 
 My heart was very sad at leaving. All the 
 delightful hours I had spent in the land of 
 sunshine and colour crowded themselves into 
 my remembrance. I wanted to cry. A great 
 sigh which was almost a sob involuntarily 
 
Susan in Sicily 315 
 
 escaped my lips. Jim took my arm and drew 
 it gently through his: 
 
 " I know just how you feel! I hate to go 
 as badly as you do! Had you not been go- 
 ing, Susan, nothing could have pulled me 
 away. We don't care what Aunt Anne says; 
 you and I will come back some day and stay 
 as long as we like, won't we? What do you 
 say to that? " 
 
 I had not time to answer before Pauline 
 who was walking along with Rufus in tow, 
 seeing our heads very near together, mis- 
 chievously pushed her own in between them 
 and laid her arms around Jim's sturdy shoul- 
 ders and my waist. 
 
 "Bless you, my children!" she said with 
 mock solemnity, " Sicily has done something 
 for all of us. Even Aunt Anne will not 
 deny that she has grown so amiable that I 
 just heard her promise Emily and Mr. Her- 
 bert you should be back in England for their 
 wedding, and father will find his own happy 
 Pauline and take her on to New York next 
 year for yours ! " 
 
 Blissfully, 
 
 Susan. 
 
316 Susan in Sicily 
 
 Catania, January 20ih 3 1909} 
 Carissima Arnica: — I send this letter to 
 you, because you are in Italy ; because I know 
 that you now understand Italian perfectly; 
 because I can only write all I wish to tell in 
 my native tongue ; and because I feel sure you 
 will translate all my news into English, and 
 forward to our beloved friends who have shown 
 so much anxiety and interest concerning our 
 safety. 
 
 We answered the telegrams as soon as it 
 was possible, therefore you know that we are 
 alive ; that we have escaped the appalling fate 
 which overwhelmed so many thousands! May 
 the Saints receive their souls! 
 
 I will try to describe what happened to us. 
 
 1 Note. — The letters written by Susan from Sicily to her 
 sister in America, the year preceding the earthquake, were 
 not prepared for publication until a year after that great 
 disaster. It has been therefore deemed advisable to supple- 
 ment them by the following letter from Rosina, Contessa 
 Banciastelli, to Pauline Horton, at Florence, giving her experi- 
 ence at Messina. — Ed. 
 
Susan in Sicily 317 
 
 I was not in Messina the night of the calam- 
 ity. My cook had been taken ill and I took 
 the opportunity of visiting our aunt who lives 
 ten kilometers distant from the city, in a villa 
 high up among the cliffs. I went on Saturday 
 morning, mounting the rough path, up, up, 
 up. I rode a donkey ; but my husband walked, 
 and Pinocchio raced in front of us all the way. 
 Pinocchio is our canino, our pet. You re- 
 member that I wrote you how we bought a 
 dog in Rome because he looked so much like 
 your dear little Rufus? His true double! I 
 named him Pinocchio after a funny book I 
 loved as a child. He, like Rufus, can also save 
 lives ! He saved Gino, my husband, by a mira- 
 cle! A miracle for which I shall hang an 
 offering at the altar of San Francesco, the 
 patron of animals, for I am sure it was the 
 saint who whispered wisdom in the ear of the 
 little beast! 
 
 It was thus! On Sunday afternoon Gino 
 had to leave us to go back to the city. His 
 General was giving a reception, and he was, 
 of course, needed. He was no sooner gone 
 than our naughty doggie ran away, galloping 
 down a frightful slope to rejoin my husband 
 at the turn of the path. I tried to call Pinoc- 
 chio back, but Gino only laughed, shook his 
 head, and took the poor beast with him. You 
 
318 Susan in Sicily- 
 
 see blessed San Francesco was working for us 
 even then! 
 
 Gino has always smiled at my religion, and 
 called me a little pagan ; but I think now he 
 too will believe in the saints! 
 
 The weather was like summer. I sat until 
 after midnight with our aunt on the terrace 
 looking down over the rolling olive clad hills 
 all silver in the moonlight, and out over the 
 sea to where Stromboli made fireworks on the 
 horizon. Rarely have I known so bewitching 
 a night! We cannot see Messina from the 
 villa. A sort of promontory made by a jut- 
 ting precipice hides it. 
 
 I fell asleep thinking of Gino, and hoping 
 he would not pay too much court to the ladies 
 at the reception. I was very tired and slept 
 profoundly, when behold! Suddenly I was 
 swaying with my bed, and my aunt and the 
 servants were shouting wildly: 
 
 "The earthquake! Via! Out! Out! II 
 terremoto! " 
 
 Without shoes, and with only the cover of 
 my bed around me, I ran out on the terrace, 
 All the contadini and the women of the vil- 
 lage were on their knees, weeping, howling, 
 praying : 
 
 (C Beatissimo San Pancrazio! Mondo di 
 guait" each screaming his own way and for 
 
Susan in Sicily 319 
 
 his own saint. I do not know what they all 
 bellowed but the priest got out the relics from 
 the church, while the sacristan rang the bells. 
 It was after five ; but the moon must have left 
 a little light behind her or the dawn was near, 
 for in the open air it was not dark. 
 
 We all clung together on the edge of the 
 wide terrace, far from the walls, fearing they 
 would totter. Other slight shocks came but 
 nothing fell. Mechanically I watched the light 
 grow stronger, I saw the islands come up all 
 pink and golden out of a sea of mother-of- 
 pearl; a sea so strange! almost waveless; 
 looking thick and queer as water on which oil 
 is floating. 
 
 When the sun had finally risen and the earth 
 was at rest, donna Filippa the cook, and her 
 husband Massaro, went cautiously into the 
 house, and finding all within undisturbed, 
 cooked us some food while we dressed. The 
 danger over, we ate with great appetite. Our 
 aunt laughed because I had not heard the 
 trornba. It was as a mountain had burst with 
 violence, and she was certain that Etna must 
 be in eruption. I clapped my hands for joy. 
 I have so longed to see a crater in action. It 
 was only when she reminded me of the poor 
 people on its slopes that I ceased to smile, and 
 said shamefacedly: " We will not tell Gino 
 
320 Susan in Sicily 
 
 that we ran out in our night clothes! He 
 would be ashamed, he is so brave! " 
 
 Little did we imagine what had happened 
 in Messina. We fancied the earthquake was 
 all our own. 
 
 It was nine o'clock when some wretched 
 looking creatures, wrapped in blankets, bare- 
 foot, carrying babies and weeping aloud came 
 staggering into the gateway. They were the 
 Baroness Celloti and her sister! They cried 
 out that everybody in Messina was buried be- 
 neath the ruined houses. They live just be- 
 yond the city, on the edge of the road leading 
 to aunt's villa. They had escaped only with 
 their lives, and the Barone had sent them up 
 here while he stopped with his brother to guard 
 the ruins of their home. They too, imagined 
 that only Messina had felt the earthquake and 
 that we knew nothing. 
 
 I hardly waited to listen to them, as you 
 may know. I made my resolve in a minute! 
 While our aunt was taking the ladies into the 
 house, I ran as quick as I could to Massaro, 
 and pulling him after me I said: " Come! 
 Gino is dying! Presto! Presto!" 
 
 I did not know what I was saying; nor did 
 he I fancy; but he came at once. He had 
 carried Gino in his arms when a baby, and 
 he adores my husband ! I was urged by super- 
 
Susan in Sicily 321 
 
 human force. I rushed on down the moun- 
 tain by the roughest paths, by the shepherds' 
 short cuts, over stones and defiles, crying: 
 " we must save Gino! " I was quite mad. I 
 know it now ! Massaro understood nothing of 
 my ravings, but his anxiety, and hot affection 
 for his ragazzo drove him so wild that he fled 
 before me. 
 
 The first lucid moment I distinctly remem- 
 ber was when I found myself crying, laugh- 
 ing, and embracing little Pinocchio, who 
 leaped all over me in an agony of joy! The 
 soldier, Carlo, my husband's intendente, had 
 been sent to carry and to fetch news from us. 
 He was amazed to meet me tearing down the 
 hill, and after he told me that his Captain, 
 my husband, was alive, and working to rescue 
 his buried comrades, he tried to persuade me 
 to return to our aunt's. I would not have 
 turned back from the Inferno had I known 
 I could see Gino there ! But Massaro returned 
 at my command and I went on into the 
 wrecked city with Carlo. 
 
 I climbed mountains of rubbish until my 
 back was broken; forded streams; clambered 
 over abysses; passed under archways; stum- 
 bled against pipes, rising twisted out of the 
 ground like distorted serpents; fell into the 
 cavities made by the upheaved pavements, 
 
322 Susan in Sicily 
 
 even treading on dead bodies, and all the time 
 only conscious of wandering in an inextricable 
 nightmare, trying to find my husband. 
 
 We came finally to the Via Garibaldi, then 
 to the Piazza, and I fell weeping and laugh- 
 ing, crying and chattering into Gino's arms. 
 
 I still felt in a dream, stunned, dazed; and 
 so I think did all those left alive in Messina 
 on that dreadful day. 
 
 I sat in the Piazza on a pile of stone, while 
 Gino told me how he and Carlo had escaped, 
 through the help of Pinocchio ; how our house 
 was entirely destroyed and our beautiful Via 
 I Septembre had become an impassable ravine, 
 but I felt numb with awe. I saw, but I could 
 not believe! This was not our Messina, these 
 houses split in twain, these strange corpses 
 hardly human bodies, all a queer colour like 
 grotesque terra cotta images with white feet; 
 conceived and executed by some distorted 
 brain, these groups of pale silent people, semi- 
 nude and huddling together as though fearing 
 to be separated. No! I cannot yet believe it 
 was not a nightmare, a dream appalling, un- 
 paralleled, horrible, but not true! 
 
 I sat dull and silent after my first outbreak 
 upon meeting Gino, while he told me how it 
 happened he was still alive. He has repeated 
 the tale to me many times since or I do not 
 
Susan in Sicily 323 
 
 think I should have been able to write it now. 
 My paralyzed senses grasped nothing clearly 
 then! 
 
 This is the story of how our little dog saved 
 my husband! While Gino was dressing to 
 go to the General's, Pinocchio sat by his side, 
 staring up into his face and whining gently. 
 My husband left him in charge of Carlo, the 
 soldier, who said the dog sat on an old cloak 
 belonging to Gino, moaning and growling, 
 until the man became alarmed, yet when his 
 master returned he fairly went into convul- 
 sions of joy, crying and wagging, wriggling 
 and barking in a very unusual way. Gino put 
 the canino into an armchair beside his bed to 
 sleep. But the dog would not sleep! And 
 he would not let his master sleep! He ran 
 first to the door, sniffing and crying, then back 
 to put his cold nose into Gino's hand. If my 
 husband did not love the little animal so much, 
 he surely would have beaten him into silence, 
 but alarmed, he and Carlo first searched the 
 house for possible thieves, and then becoming 
 convinced that Pinocchio was ill, Gino tried 
 to send him out with Carlo, but Pinocchio 
 would not go. He who is generally so gentle 
 actually tried to bite. At last my husband 
 in desperation got his cap. Then the little 
 beast became wild with impatience. He pulled 
 
324 Susan in Sicily 
 
 at Gino as though to tear his coat. They went 
 out with Carlo close behind. The soldier 
 feared the dog was mad, and had his revolver 
 ready to shoot. 
 
 Povera bestia! I know it is a sin against 
 the Church to say he has a soul, but surely the 
 saints used him for their medium, for my hus- 
 band and his servant had not gone forty paces 
 from the house, and were just entering a 
 passage crossing to the Piazza, when the air 
 reverberated with a noise like all the thunders 
 of Jove in chorus, the earth appeared to lift 
 itself under their feet, and they found them- 
 selves thrown down and in a sort of cul-de- 
 sac hemmed in by fallen walls! They were 
 so stunned they could not imagine what had 
 happened, and it was only when, after hours 
 of work, they managed to make a sufficiently 
 large breach to crawl out, that they discovered 
 what had happened to Messina. 
 
 Before them lay the Duomo crumbled to 
 dust, and on all sides of the Piazza heaps of 
 terrifying ruin. Everywhere was chaos, de- 
 bris, and death! 
 
 My letter is growing into a volume, but I 
 cannot stop ! If it is as confused as it is long, 
 I know you will forgive me. It eases my 
 heart to write, but my head is still far from 
 clear ! 
 
Susan in Sicily 325 
 
 How is it that the animals know so much 
 more than even the priests? I cannot under- 
 stand! From Carlo I heard that all day Sun- 
 day the pigs in and near the city made such 
 an intolerable noise, that people asked if 
 slaughtering was going on? The donkeys 
 rendered night hideous, and the horses nearly 
 kicked their stalls to pieces. Undoubtedly 
 many dogs tried to give warning like Pinoc- 
 chio, and got beaten for their pains! 
 
 But to continue. Gino did all in his power 
 to make me return to our aunt's villa, but I 
 cried so bitterly, and begged so frantically to 
 remain near him, that he led me to a safe spot, 
 where we found the family of one of his 
 brother officers. They sat in a group in the 
 centre of an open space and there my husband 
 left me, for the work of rescuing the thousands 
 buried alive was the first duty of every officer 
 who survived. Alas! there were but too few! 
 
 The immediate family of Major Donati, 
 his wife, five children and even the donna and 
 the soldier, had all been saved by a marvel, 
 for in the house where they had lived, every 
 apartment but theirs was ruined and every 
 soul perished. The house collapsed, leaving 
 standing only the corner in which they lived. 
 It was the Major's cool head and presence of 
 mind which enabled his household to get out 
 
326 Susan in Sicily 
 
 in time. For years this officer has heen long- 
 ing to be stationed at Messina, his mother's 
 home and his birthplace. Only three months 
 ago was he ordered here, and he brought his 
 family with his heart full of joy! Now, in 
 the fullness of the holiday time, his mother, 
 his brother and his sister lie buried in the tomb 
 made by their own home. Crushed! Schiac- 
 ciato! That horrible word is on everyone's 
 lips here; too frequently pronounced with a 
 shrug of the shoulder. Crushed! The inevi- 
 table! " Where is your father? " you ask one 
 of these rescued children. " Schiacciato" 
 
 "And your mother?" The same answer: 
 " Crushed." And the grandmother, grand- 
 father, the aunts, the brothers, the sisters ? All 
 crushed ! 
 
 I tell you everyone is numb, as I am, dazed, 
 paralyzed, all sensibility within the heart 
 crushed like the poor bodies! It is one of 
 the extraordinary phenomenal facts of this 
 extraordinary catastrophe ! 
 
 The Signora Donati with her family around 
 her sat all day on the Piazza, waiting, wait- 
 ing, waiting ; without food, without drink, like 
 people in a dream. No one of them, even 
 the youngest child, a little girl of three, asked 
 for water, though the air was full of dust and 
 heat. After I joined the half stunned group 
 
Susan in Sicily 327 
 
 she related almost in whispered tones the terror 
 of the previous night, dawning, perhaps I 
 should better say. She had been with her hus- 
 band to the General's, and being tired slept 
 soundly to be roused by a noise as if earth, sky 
 and sea had clashed together, and the end of 
 the world had come. The ground seemed to 
 rock for an hour, although the actual duration 
 of the earthquake was less than fifty seconds! 
 Her husband sprang from his bed at once. 
 He knew only too well what had happened; 
 but she, poor lady, is from Piedmont, where 
 they do not know earthquakes. While she 
 was trying to turn on the electric light, her 
 husband had gathered the children, struck a 
 candlelight, saw all the furniture piled in 
 chaotic mass in the middle of their room. The 
 window was fortunately free and not too high 
 from the ground. With the help of his sol- 
 dier, all were lowered to the street below, but 
 they were clad in such garments as they could 
 snatch in haste. When the shocks had ceased, 
 and the Major went climbing back to the still 
 erect dwelling, every thing possible to carry 
 away had been stolen! All the clothes, and 
 the jewels she had worn the previous evening. 
 Fortunately her husband had his money on his 
 person when they fled. 
 
 We gazed all day at the ruin on all sides 
 
328 Susan in Sicily 
 
 of the Piazza. At one end a church was split 
 from top to bottom, almost in half. A statue 
 of the Madonna on a highly ornamented ped- 
 estal reared itself over fallen masonry, while 
 almost at the feet of the image lay, half cov- 
 ered with crumbled plaster, the body of a 
 wretched woman, whom death had caught in 
 the act of nursing her child. All around us 
 lay the dead bodies ; protruding from wrecked 
 buildings ; heaped one upon the other in chasms 
 where the earth had opened ; hanging from the 
 broken walls, or piled in confusion wherever 
 they had fallen. There was no time to bury, 
 them that first day, when the living and 
 wounded needed succour so imperatively! 
 Near me lay one poor crushed creature, cov- 
 ered only with a fine shirt. The body had 
 fallen on its back, the arms stretched far apart, 
 and the eyes staring wide open with an expres- 
 sion of. haunting horror! I think of it now 
 with a shudder, yet then I sat dazed and gazed 
 with numb indifference at the sight. j 
 
 Sailors from the war vessels passed us, car- 
 rying stretchers whereon were remnants of 
 poor suffering humanity covered with sheets, 
 but still alive and groaning in agony; we saw 
 hideous men and women, the scum of Sicily, 
 for whom the earthquake had thrown down 
 the walls of an overcrowded prison, rushing 
 
Susan in Sicily 329 
 
 by. They were plundering the dead and the 
 living, dragging bundles of ill-gotten spoils, 
 and righting desperately with one another. I 
 looked at them too, as calmly, as fearlessly 
 as I had gazed on the dead ! There were other 
 afflicted creatures crazed with fright, who sang 
 and laughed ; animals tore wildly past us, and 
 birds dropped from the skies at our feet. 
 
 And we sat, waiting, waiting for the men 
 to come back to us. At five o'clock a drizzling 
 misty rain began to drift in, then, at last, the 
 Major returned with permission to take his 
 children aboard a ship, but they had no room 
 for grown healthy women there, every inch of 
 cabin and deck was required for the injured. 
 The Major hoped to be more successful later 
 and send his wife with the children to Naples, 
 which happily became possible, but that night, 
 that most frightful of all nights in my exist- 
 ence, she and I, with little Pinocchio snuggling 
 and trembling in my arms, passed in a railroad 
 carriage, guarded by Carlo, while our hus- 
 bands went to command the few soldiers cruel 
 nature still left alive. 
 
 When I think of all the stricken mothers 
 in Italy weeping for their young soldier sons, 
 not killed in honourable warfare, not laid low 
 on the field of glory, but miserably smothered 
 by hundreds beneath the heavy stones of a 
 
330 Susan in Sicily 
 
 crumbled fortress; while the miscreants, the 
 assassins, brigands and worse, which have been 
 turned loose by the same careless fate to re- 
 turn to their crimes, I begin to ponder and 
 to try so hard to understand the reason for 
 all the world of woe, that I dare not let my 
 mind dwell upon it! 
 
 Gino laughs when I cross myself, because 
 he declares that the saints all belong to the 
 Mafia, and says very wicked things about San 
 Pancrazio and the devil! But sicura! all the 
 wicked have gone free, and even now are 
 perpetrating unspeakable crimes. Your poor 
 country will surely suffer from them! 
 
 Never can I paint you the night we passed 
 in our broken down railroad carriage. We 
 were outside the station, and the blackness that 
 spread like a pall over sea and land was em- 
 phasised by the flaring torches 'of the rescu- 
 ing squads, and the lights from the shipping. 
 We saw skulking shadows stealing along the 
 broken railroad lines, we heard the shots which 
 meant the pursuit of ruffians, we shuddered at 
 the wolf -like howls of famished frantic dogs, 
 and finally again came the angry roar and 
 violent shake of the wrathful earth, the crash 
 of toppling walls, the cries of the distraught 
 people, the fury of rabid nature raging to 
 
Susan in Sicily 331 
 
 destroy, and our own frenzied flight to the 
 banchina! 
 
 Had my husband and the Major not come 
 to snatch a few hours' rest in our poor shelter, 
 I should not now have been here to write you, 
 cara! I lost all hold on my wits! The anxi- 
 ety of the day, culminating in this new terror, 
 drove my blood like burning lava to my brain, 
 my knees bent under me, I was sensible only 
 of terror, of detonations, of upheaval, oh! I 
 know not what! for when I awoke to con- 
 sciousness I was on board a ship, our aunt was 
 hanging over me. I had been for twenty-four 
 hours delirious with high fever, and poor Gino 
 feared I was demented. He wept, poor boy, 
 when he heard me speak rationally. 
 
 The shock of the second night had knocked 
 down part of our aunt's villa, and in the little 
 town on the mountainside, ninety had per- 
 ished! 
 
 As soon as I could travel, my husband sent 
 me away on one of those slow crawling trains 
 which took me to Taormina. How differently 
 I had expected to see this enchanting spot, 
 which I have always associated with you! 
 Gino and I had made so many plans for a 
 holiday there, but had we come under the hap- 
 piest circumstances, never, oh, never, could 
 
332 Susan in Sicily 
 
 Taormina have been what it now will ever be 
 to my soul, a ray of golden sunshine piercing 
 the inky blackness of a storm ridden sky, the 
 waking to a lovely azure-steeped morning 
 after a night of such fevered fancies as mine 
 had been! 
 
 It is not alone the setting which nature has 
 worked for this jewel of Sicily; it is not alone 
 the great slope of snow crowned Etna, falling 
 so gently into the rainbow hued sea, nor the 
 dim violet coast of poor afflicted Calabria so 
 poetic and peaceful on the eastern horizon; 
 it is not the bold mountains springing up be- 
 hind or the defiant cliffs beneath the little town 
 which will make my heart burn at its name; 
 it is the pride in the works of those who share 
 my English blood, and the happiness that I 
 can call you Americans my friends, for they 
 brought gentleness, generosity and true kind- 
 ness for humanity to embellish this colony of 
 foreigners. 
 
 How good they were to us! Hungry, 
 thirsty, naked and nervous! A song writer 
 dismissed her lovely fancies to wait upon the 
 homeless peasants, an artist turned from the 
 rose-leaf glow of Etna's awakening to soothe 
 the slumbers of the sufferers. Women and 
 men accustomed to a life of careless luxury 
 and ease worked unremittingly, tireless in the 
 
Susan in Sicily 333 
 
 doing of charity, and to clothe and feed us, 
 all these forestieri pillaged themselves. 
 
 Gino, who surely is deeply grateful for all 
 the benefits showered upon his aunt and upon 
 me, says sadly and cynically, that the foreign- 
 ers are only bringing down rapine on their 
 own heads by their bounty! I cannot believe 
 as he does; that we do not understand gen- 
 erosity, that we think where there is such will 
 to bestow benefit, there must be profusion from 
 which we, less favoured nation, have a right 
 to pilfer! No! We nearly quarrelled over 
 this subject. 
 
 Now I will end. My letter is a veritable 
 manuscript. We are here in Catania, because 
 our aunt has a little house on the Etna slope. 
 Gino has been sent here on duty, and although 
 I tremble at every loud noise, I am well again, 
 and try to forget my past agonies by imitat- 
 ing the deeds of charity done for us in Taor- 
 mina, and serving with my whole heart the 
 unfortunate refugees here in overcrowded Ca- 
 tania. 
 
 Ever con tutto Vaffetto, 
 
 Rosina. 
 
 THE END. 
 
3xihtx 
 
 Aix les Bains, 136 
 Akragas, 50-51, 53, 56 
 Algiers, 17-18 
 Algeciras, 17 
 Almond Groves, 89 
 Anapo River, 71 
 Apennines, 18 
 
 Baden Baden, 136 
 
 Baedeker, 50 
 
 Bagheria, 34 
 
 Beggars, 31, 44, 56-58, 134, 
 
 136, 140 
 Bellini, 81 
 
 Bersaglieri, 86, 218, 220, 271 
 Biscay, Bay of, 11 
 Bronte, 97 
 
 Calabria, 116, 121, 140, 178, 
 332 
 
 Carabinieri, 86, 96, 98, 271 
 Caroline, Queen of Naples, 245 
 Cape St. Vincent, 12, 15 
 Castrogiovanni, 102 
 Catania, 79, 82, 84, 87, 88, 98, 
 
 316, 333 
 Cibalo, 86, 88 
 Cicero, 64 
 Conco d'Oro, 229 
 
 Dominicans, Order of, 169- 
 
 170, 173 
 Donkeys, 36, 43, 48-49, 55, 
 
 82, 86, 128, 135, 138-140, 
 
 154, 214 
 
 Empedocles, 52 
 
 Etna, 53, 61, 73, 79, 81, 83- 
 117, 120, 127, 130, 137, 141, 
 163, 169, 174, 176, 180, 182, 
 191-192, 240, 332-333 
 
 Farming, 36 
 
 Ferdinand, King of the Two 
 
 Sicilies, 94, 245 
 Flowers, 35, 38, 51, 53-54, 63, 
 
 66, 78, 85, 88, 90-91, 183 
 Frederic II, King, 169 
 
 Gellias, 51 
 
 Genoa, 3, 4, 17, 19, 20, 22 
 
 Girgenti, 34-36, 39-40, 46, 
 
 58-60, 155, 192 
 
 Ancient Temples of, 54-57 
 
 Cathedral, 55-57 
 
 Hotel Des Temples, 41 
 
 St. Nicola, Church of, 50 
 
 Situation of, 40 
 
 Sulphur Mines, 38 
 
 Temple of Juno, 51 
 Giardini, 104, 128, 178 
 Giarre, 80, 98-100, 102 
 Gibraltar, 2, 12, 17-18 
 Goats, 82, 93, 129-130, 215 
 Goethe, 215 
 
 Hamilton, Lady, 245 
 Heiro, King, 76 
 Hippolytus, 56 
 Hyblaea, 64 
 
 Earthquake, Description of, India Fig, 33, 35, 62, 85-86, 
 316-333 ' 116, 123, 222, 245 
 
 335 
 
336 
 
 Index 
 
 Inquisition, 227, 274 
 Isola Bella, 104 
 
 Laundry, 57, 187, 222 
 London, 1-10, 23, 49, 73 
 Lipari Islands, 21 
 Luna, Girolama, de 169, 170 
 
 Macaroni, 221, 266 
 
 Mafia, 39, 216, 275, 303, 307, 
 
 330 
 Maleo, 97 
 Malta, 79 
 Mano-Nero, 216 
 Marie Antoinette, Queen, 245 
 Mascagni^ 49 
 Messina, 117,179-182,317-318, 
 
 320-331 
 
 Cathedral, 180 
 
 Duomo, 323 
 
 Via Garibaldi, 322 
 Misterbianco, 88-89 
 Mola, 121, 133, 136, 138-142 
 Monreale, 224-236, 240 
 
 Cathedrals and Churches of, 
 224-233 
 Monte Pellegrino, 21, 213, 220, 
 
 245, 315 
 Monte Venere, 141 
 
 Naples, 4, 17, 20, 21, 28, 307, 
 
 313 
 Nelson, Lord, 95, 245 
 Nycheia, 66 
 
 Olives, 34, 184 
 Ortygia, 79 
 
 Palermo, 20-35, 60, 69, 79, 161, 
 171, 181-315 
 Battailles de fleurs, 246 
 Beati Paoli, 220, 226 
 Cathedral, 218, 230 
 Corso Vittorio Emanuele, 
 
 249 
 Corso, 27, 211, 228 
 
 Capella Palatina, 276 
 
 Cala, 213 
 
 Charles The Fifth, Monu- 
 ment of, 227 
 
 Dairy, 214-215, 218 
 
 Dwelling House, 199-200 
 
 Favorita, Royal Park, 245- 
 246 
 
 Giardino Inglese, 247 
 
 Hotel Trinacria, 20 
 
 Kitchen, Description of a, 
 266-268 
 
 Marionette Theatre, 263- 
 265, 286, 296 
 
 Marine Drive, 24, 249 
 
 Metopes, 210 
 
 Philip The Fourth, Monu- 
 ment of, 272-273 
 
 Philip The Fifth, Monument 
 of, 272 
 
 Piazza Vittoria, 235, 271 
 
 Porta Carini, 218, 271 
 
 Passeggiata, 28-30, 206 
 
 Porta Nuova, 229, 271 
 
 Palazzo Reale, 271-272, 274 
 
 Piazza Bologna, 225, 236 
 
 Quattro Canti, 27, 29, 248 
 
 S. Giovanni Eremiti, 212, 
 276, 278 
 
 Streets, 214-216, 218-223 
 
 Temperature, 194 
 
 The Zisa, 212 
 
 Via Cassari, 270 
 
 Via Maqueda, 27, 29, 211, 
 222 
 
 Via S. Agnostino, 271 
 Paterno, 90-91 
 Pegasus, 116 
 Phoebus, 137 
 Philistia, 76 
 Piedmont, 327 
 Porte Empedocle, 51 
 Prickly Pear (See India Fig) 
 
 Roger, King of Sicily, 90 
 
 Rome, 17, 184 
 
 Rossa, Damiano, 170, 173 
 
Index 
 
 337 
 
 Rossa, Lord of, 169-170 
 Rupe Athene, 57 
 
 St. Gregory of the Turnips, 53 
 
 Santa Caterina Xirbi, 60 
 
 Santa Caterina Monastery, 121 
 
 San Domenico, 133 
 
 Santa Maria di Gesu, 224 
 
 St. Paul, 77 
 
 Sevigne, Madame de, 68 
 
 Solunto, 210 
 
 Stromboli, 183, 318 
 
 Symonds, 5, 50 
 
 Syracuse, 5, 58-80, 118, 130, 
 
 142, 155, 187, 192 
 
 Altar of Heiro, 75 
 
 Ancient coins, 71-72 
 
 Amphitheatre, 75-78 
 
 Aqueduct, 78 
 
 Catacombs, 77 
 
 Cappuccini Monastery, 66, 
 154, 234-235 
 
 Ear of Dionysius, 75, 78 
 
 Fort Euryelus, 72, 73 
 
 Great Harbour, 63 
 
 Landolina Gardens, 75, 78 
 
 Latomia Veneri, 62-63, 65, 
 68, 75, 78 
 
 Lemons, 62, 78 
 
 Mosquitoes, 70 
 
 Museum, 64, 72, 79 
 
 Papyrus, 5, 71 
 
 Quarries, 72 
 
 Ropemakers, 78 
 
 Situation of, 64 
 
 St. Giovanni, Catacombs and 
 
 Church of, 75, 77 
 Street of the Tombs, 72, 77 
 
 Tessera, 25-26, 33, 79, 159 
 Termini, 34 
 Theocrites, 5, 110 
 Tombolo, 279, 312 
 Tristan and Isolde, 228 
 Taormina, 79-80, 98-100, 103- 
 
 179, 181, 187, 281, 331 
 
 Acropolis, 141 
 
 Catania Gate, 130 
 
 Corso, 130 
 
 Corso Umberto, 115 
 
 Duke of Bridport, Garden 
 of, 178 
 
 Fontana Vecchia, 154 
 
 Greek Theatre (Ancient), 
 118-119, 136, 163 
 
 Hotel Castellamare, 178 
 
 Lace Shops, 114 
 
 San Domenico, Convent of, 
 169-174 
 
 Sicilian Theatre (Modern), 
 143-147 
 
 Situation of, 115 
 
 Street scene, 110-113, 135 
 
 St. Agatha, Church of, 169 
 
 Tea Room, 136 
 
 Val de Bove, 163 
 
 Waterloo, 6, 9 
 
 William The Good, King, 231 
 
* D . 
 
 6 6. 
 

 
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