GIFT OF L / > ,- ~ 't^M APPLETONS* NEW HANDY-VOLUME SERIES. POVEEINA A 8 T O R T. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF MME. LA PKINCESSE 0. CANTACUZME-ALTIERI. NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET. 1881. COPYBIGHT BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 1880. POYEEINA. THE cool, delicious freshness and the calm of an autumnal evening descended upon the green valley, in the depths of which slumbered the little town of Lucca. Light, fleecy clouds of violet and rose flecked the turquoise-tinted sky in the direc- tion of Pisa, and these clouds were pierced by the last rays of the setting sun as by golden ar- rows. Toward Pistoja the moon was slowly ris- ing through a mist that strangely enlarged its proportions. The noise of the day and of active humanity was over. The birds twittered and warbled their good-night song among the cypress- boughs, while the peasants talked together as they loitered at their open doors. Occasionally a youth- ful voice was heard singing at the top of his lungs a rustic song that echoed far amid this stillness. A passing accordion played "Santa Lucia" or Garibaldi's air, with doubtful correctness. In this peaceful and primitive valley every one lived by the earth, and loved it as a mother and a nurse. No manufactories, no industries, small or great, were there to seduce the peasants into the belief that there was work more lucrative than agriculture. Commerce was nothing. A cigar-manufactory and a few silk- weavers afforded some occupation to the most active among the women and young girls ; but the men who are in haste to grow rich, or to make more money than the soil can furnish, must expatriate themselves. They continually go away to Corsica to cultivate the land at excellent salaries, or to America, generally to Montevideo, whence they bring back a little gold and many paroquets and other strange birds ; but come back they always do to their native valley. There is scarcely an instance of a Lucca peasant establish- ing himself permanently in a foreign land. There is probably no country in the world where the earth is cultivated with so much care. The Lucca peasant is the connecting link between the Piedmontese race and that of the south, and an extraordinary combination of activity and in- difference ; he is both gentle and vivacious, acute and naive ; by turns as active as a mountaineer, and as indolent as a Neapolitan. To him the cultivation of the soil is his first care. The abun- dance and the variety of the crops, therefore, in- creased by the natural richness of the land, render POVERINA. 5 this little corner of Tuscany more beautiful than any other spot in the world. From the high hills covered with chestnut- trees, whose fruit forms one of the principal riches of the peasant, and his favorite food, descends a mountain torrent, which, divided and subdivided into innumerable small channels, waters and fer- tilizes the valley. The olives, with their gray foliage planted in terraces, require but a handful of earth, and grow on rocky slopes and in poor soil, where no other vegetation would condescend to live. Majestic pine-trees stand out against the sky on the summits of the hills, and the horizon is bounded with an imposing chain of snow-topped mountains, whose grand outlines are less abrupt as well as less irregular than those of the Alps. In the plains below, fields of maize, of flax and wheat, are scattered as far as the eye can reach, everywhere mingled with the graceful festoons of the vines cultivated and trained to run from tree to tree. In October the heavy heads of maize are tied together in bunches, and hung all over the fronts of the houses, which disappear under their golden burden. There it finishes ripening. When the sun shines on this rustic tapestry, it glitters like metal. At this time of the year the country in the neighborhood of Lucca resembles a jewel-case of green velvet, in which the golden ornaments are the houses of the farmers. 6 POVERINA. The simplicity within doors is very like abso- lute poverty : fictitious needs and luxurious tastes are not known in this happy spot. The Tuscan peasant requires but little ; the mildness of the climate and the sobriety of his habits render him insensible to many privations which would cause a northerner to suffer very severely. With a slice of polenta some chestnut-meal and a little oil he is entirely content, and perfectly happy if on Sunday he can drink with his family a fiasco of the wine of the country vino nostrate and then smoke on the church square a cigar for which he gives two centimes. He likes to listen to the church-bells, whose rich, full sound delights him ; but he likes still better to compare it with the bells of the parish churches in the neighborhood, and comment upon the immense superiority of his own. . When the days begin to shorten, and the even- ings grow long, the family, which is usually nu- merous, gathers together in the twilight. They first tell their beads the men seated opposite the women and then one of the large festoons of maize is taken down and all go to work. The day had been as warm as midsummer. A white dust covered the vines robbed of their fruit, hung from the trees in ragged and torn festoons, lying across the roads like the forgotten debris of & fete after the procession had passed on. The hungry sheep, driven down from the moun- POVERINA. 7 tains to the Maremma for the winter, stopped on their way to nibble at them. Such flocks are constantly to be seen on these roads at this season of the year goats or sheep a hundred or two hundred forlorn - looking creatures driven by a shepherd quite as forlorn as themselves, but grave and dignified in spite of his rags, carrying on his arm, tied up in a handkerchief, the lambs that are too young to walk, and escorted by his wife and children a wandering tribe that transports all their riches. The wife, or the pastor a rather, wears a man's hat placed upon the traditional fichu which covers her hair. She is bowed by the burden of pots, kettles, and pans, with the addi- tion of the family wardrobe. The children are barefooted, and the larger ones carry the smaller. They spend the summer on the bright summits of the Apennines and the mountains of Pistoja, and come down in the autumn to this fertile and treacherous Maremma which in two years, as the popular saying is among the peasantry, enriches and kills you. The peasants in the Lucca valley watch these people pass with some compassion, mingled with a certain superstitious fear. The shepherds are looked upon as strangers (forestieri) and as poor wretches (poveragente), but have many secrets of sorcery and witchcraft, and everything succeeds with those persons who have treated them kindly. Then, as the subjects of conversation are limit- 8 POVERINA. ed, some of the incidents of the evening or day previous, when a party of this kind went by, are recounted, and a porringer of holy- water is brought, into which they pour, drop after drop, some heated oil, which should collect in one compact mass, if the evil-eye (la jettatura) has not been cast upon the house. This evening, as large flocks had passed that day, there was a long discussion in the loggia which gave access to the house of Morino, the wealthiest farmer in Vicopelago. This house was very large, and had much of that melancholy beauty common to fallen splendor. Formerly it was a villa belonging to a family of wealthy lords who owned a half dozen similar dwellings in the territory of this old but small republic, and were too poor to keep any one of them in a hab- itable condition, and so sold at a low price the half of their signorial homes. In this country, where land alone is of value, this huge mansion was purchased for a song by the industrious Morino. The graceful loggia opening on the valley, support- ed by marble columns, became the resting-place of farming implements ; in the salons, decorated with frescoes, half effaced, and with stucco-work of doubtful taste, olives and chestnuts were piled ; an oil-press was erected in the dilapidated chapel ; and the orangery, which had formerly served as a the- ater, was transformed into a stable, wherein Mori- no installed his horse, his cows, and his pigs. On POVERINA. 9 the lawn under the terrace, bordered by box and dotted with yew-trees, once carefully trimmed into shape, he let his poultry loose. On the first floor, ornamented with hideous pictures of the beginning of the century, he established his silk- worms, and lodged his wife, his fire children, and himself under the eaves. Morino was a fortunate man ; everything succeeded with him. He, to be sure, complained sometimes, because the peasant of all and every land exists only on the condition of finding fault constantly with la bon Dieu, the season and the elements ; but as Morino was able to complain entirely at his ease, he invariably ended his discourse by saying that, after all, last year was far more disastrous than this. He had the ambition to be absolute master of his house- hold, but at the same time he gave his wife full credit for the superiority of her intellect and her calm good sense, and would not for the world have concluded a business negotiation or come to a decision on any point without consulting her. Giuditta, or rather la Strega, the Sorceress, was one of that type which no novel-writer would attempt to reproduce, because he would invari- ably be accused of embellishing nature to that degree as to render it unrecognizable. Giuditta was worthy of taking her stand among the wo- men of the Bible, or of classic antiquity, who owed nothing of their unconscious grandeur and in- nate nobility to education, and who were as good 10 POVERINA. as they were beautiful that is to say, because God had so created them, and because men and circumstances had permitted them to remain as they had been made. Had any one asked Giu- ditta the story of her life, she would have replied, " I am married, and I have had five children ! " At forty, La Strega was tall and full as erect as an oak, with a frank face, luminous eyes, and regular features. Her skin was browned by the sun, and her black hair was beginning to show sil- ver threads. Always grave, serious, and thought- ful, speaking very little, contrary to the habit of her compatriots, knowing how to read, which gave her a certain superiority, she inspired at first sight confidence, sympathy, and a certain invol- untary respect. To her children she was the best and tender- est of mothers. Through her constant super- vision of them in sickness and in health, she had acquired infinite experience, and was a most ex- cellent nurse. Living amid a superstitious and credulous population, her own natural good sense had pre- vented her from falling into the errors and super- stitions of those by whom she was surrounded. Her common sense had told her that daily baths did not throw a child into a fever ; that the nat- ural food of a new-born infant is the milk of the mother rather than a heavy mixture of chestnut- meal and olive-oil ; as well as a thousand other POVERINA. 11 truths of a similar nature. But as she talked very little and kept her discoveries to herself, the neighbors fancied her to be in possession of some mysterious secrets. She felt especial compassion for the poor little children, dirty and diseased, whom she saw ly- ing on the dunghills among the pigs and the dogs covered like these creatures with vermin, and as yellow and emaciated as if they were al- ready dead. She asked the parents if they were ill. Certainly they were, and they did not know what to do with them, for the shepherds as they went by had looked at them, and the effect of the maloccJiio was perceptible at once ; besides, it was the fault of the cure who had refused to come and exorcise the child, but had contented himself with sending his benediction. "Give me this child, then," said Giuditta. "I have a secret charm against the evil-eye." She took the child home, washed it, and dressed it in old garments of her own children, fed it on milk and gave it tonics, and a little later took it back to its parents, who, seeing it clean and comfortable, cried out at the miracle. It was not long, therefore, before Giuditta was credited with the possession of a supernatural power, and the sick children of the neighboring parishes as well as of Lucca itself were carried to her. As she devoted herself to them with her whole heart, she naturally cured many. Instead 12 POVERINA. of the powerful and dangerous drugs, to which the peasants turn so gladly, she used only the simplest and most inoffensive remedies, of which fresh water was her favorite. Not far from the old town was a spring in a chestnut-grove ; this spring furnished to La Strega water clear as crys- tal, to which she gave a fanciful name, and be- stowed upon her clients. To this she added some grains of salt, accompanied by strange signs and mysterious words ; not that she herself believed in them, but she knew the people with whom she had to deal. She made those who were well off pay her handsomely, and this money she used for the poor. Seated on the dilapidated steps of the old vil- la, Giuditta was knitting, and a little apart from the noisy family group. All were there except the oldest son, who went to America three years before. He was anxious to make enough money to enable him to add an olive-grove to the paternal domain, and to buy also some silk dresses the crowning luxury of a Tuscan peasant for his wife if he should ever be able to have one. Morino so called, not because it was his family name, but because he was as brown of skin as an African was a good man, industrious and quiet, disliking very much to see any idlers about him, but lounging himself quite willingly ; all the time, however, looking extremely busy. He was picking the kernels from the ears of POVERINA. 13 maize whose golden treasures were thrown into a tall basket placed between himself and Stefanino, his youngest son, a charming youth, with large black eyes, sweet and caressing, who was quite worthy of serving as a model to Perugino. Around another basket were grouped three girls fresh and beautiful, of that Tuscan type which is never with- out elegance. Every one laughed and talked with a volubility peculiar to the language of Ariosto and Tasso. When the descending darkness brought that intermediate moment which is no longer evening and yet is not night, the bells of Vicopelago sounded slowly and clearly. It was the Ave Maria. Every tongue was still, every hand was folded in prayer. Then followed, with more or less distinctness, the bells of the surrounding parishes. And all was silent except the twitter- ing of the birds among the cypress-boughs and the distant barking of a dog. Presently an un- usual noise was heard from the plain a confused murmur of voices, the peculiar whistle of the shepherds gathering their flocks together, and the rush of the herd. " Some thing must have happened to that flock," said Morino, "for the shepherds are never on the road at this hour." "I will go and see," cried Stefanino, who in two bounds was at the foot of the terrace and dis- appeared among the olives. He presently returned. 14 POVERINA. "Yes, a flock of sheep has stopped on the road. The shepherd would like to go on and reach Santa Maria del Giudice to-night, but one of his children is sick and it can't go any farther." " A child sick ? " said Giuditta. She rose, shook out her apron, and settled the long gold pin that held the white fichu on her head, and went off without another word. In the middle of the dusty highway a flock of sheep was huddled together, bleating piteously and fright- ened out of their wits by a great white dog from the Maremma, that was very like a polar bear. A group of peasants, with their hats on the backs of their heads and their hands in their pockets, were calmly looking on. When La Strega appeared, they all moved aside to let her pass. " What is the matter ?" she asked. A peasant pointed to the foot of a tree by the wayside, where lay a young girl, or child rather, for she could not have been fifteen, who was shiv- ering with fever. Her naked feet were torn and bleeding ; her blonde hair, almost concealing her forehead, was rough and disordered, and her large eyes were sunken and surrounded by blue circles. She had dropped on the side of the road on the turfy bank, her strength being utterly gone, and was incapable of rising again. The father en- treated her to make one more effort he had four lambs in his arms ; the mother wept she had a POVERINA. 15 new-born infant pressed close to her thin breast, and a mountain of clothes and cooking utensils piled high on her back. " It is a curse upon us ! we are ruined/' said the shepherd to the peasants who crowded around him. " How can I carry her as far as the Marem- ma ? And yet I can't leave her as I would a sick lamb to die on the roadside. This child has always been unfortunate. From the day of her birth we have had the jettatura upon us all the ewes have cast their lambs and the sheep have been sick. It is not her fault, though poverina!" And suddenly changing his tone, and addressing his daughter " I implore you, carino, my love, joy of my heart, try and walk a little farther. It is only an hour longer to Santa Maria ; you will sleep in a good bed there. Come on, su Mia ; the good Lord will help you." The girl did her best to obey ; she half rose, and fell back with a sob of despair. She buried her face in the grass and closed her eyes. A cool hand pushed aside the tumbled hair, and was laid upon her brow. "Poverina I" murmured a pitying voice in her ear. She opened her weary eyes and beheld Giuditta's kind, grave face bending over her. She tried to smile. " This child is in no condition to move," said La Strega, "she has a violent fever. If you take 16 POVERINA. her to the Maremma you will bury her there. Leave her here with me ; I will take care of her, and in the spring when you pass by here again on your way to the mountain I will give her back to you. Every one knows who I am, and will show you La Strega's house." The shepherd thanked her gravely, without en- thusiasm. The mother murmured a faint "Dio gliene renda merito !" (" God reward you ! ") And they both hastily gathered their sheep together and departed. They had not a kiss, an embrace, nor a word of tenderness for the child whom they thus abandoned to strangers. The great white dog, however, lingered to lick the hands of the girl. Giuditta lifted her in her strong arms and carried her to the house as easily as she would have borne an infant. The girl, with her head on the good woman's shoulder, surrendered herself to this maternal embrace. She opened her large eyes from time to time, and, meeting the compas- sionate gaze bent upon her, she closed them again and fell into a doze, trusting in the strong arms that held her. When Giuditta laid her upon a bed in one of the numerous chambers of the house, the young girl had no knowledge of what was going on about her. Giuditta watched over her daily as carefully as if she had been her own child, and, when she saw her on the road to recovery, she POVERINA. 17 lavished caresses and kind words upon her. This was the medicine in which La Strega had more confidence than in any other. She occasionally sent her daughters to take her place with her lit- tle protegee. Each of these girls tried to amuse her after her own fashion. Tonina, the eldest, the wisest, and the most coquettish of the three, related to her all the little gossip of the parish. As the new-comer hardly listened, and seemed to feel no interest in this gossip, she talked to her of the splendors of the town. " Have you never been to Lucca ?" " Never." "When you are well again I will take you there, then. You will see such beautiful things ! The streets have houses on each side, so close to- gether that the sun can hardly get in, and there are shops of all kinds where one can hardly choose between the colored silk handkerchiefs the zoccoli and there are sandals trimmed with red and blue wool, and such beautiful ornaments of gold. In the spring I go nearly every day to Lucca to work at the cigar-factory, and I am so happy there ! " "Happy.? And why?" "In the first place, because I am with eight hundred women and girls, who chat all day long, and that amuses me ; and then I earn money there, and when I have enough, I " she leaned over the sick girl and whispered in her ear, blush- 2 18 POVERINA. ing as she did so " I shall marry Geppino when I have money enough." "Who is Geppino?" "My damo" (lover). And Tonina, who chatted like a magpie, re- lated with inexhaustible particularity of detail how the year before she had made the acquaintance of a carpenter from Lucca, and how they became engaged on Ascension Day. On that day it is the custom for parties of young girls to search all along the roads for a little wild sassafras, which grows about old walls and which, if torn up and hung with the roots upward, will keep fresh and green for forty days above the image of the Ma- donna. When their search for this plant is over, the girls go to the place where they are joined by the young men, and they all dance to the music of an accordion. It was in this way that Tonina had met the all-conquering Geppino, who had come from Lucca for this fete champetre. His rose-colored cravat, his mustache with the corners curling up, and his conversation enriched with the redundant adjectives in which the Italian lan- guage abounds, had completely dazzled the little coquette. Giuditta, having a very poor opinion of the young man's principles, delayed as long as pos- sible fixing a date for the marriage, while at the same time not refusing to give her con- sent ; but Tonina's heart, and more especially POVERINA. 19 her head, were no longer within the paternal mansion. The little shepherdess listened to these confi- dences, but her attention wandered, for they did not appear to interest her. She breathed a sigh of relief when Gelsomina took the place of the elder sister. She was a year younger than To- nina, but looked older, and was the exact picture of what her mother had been at her age. She in her turn had been taught by her good sense and good heart many things which it is impossible to learn in any other way. She sat for some time in silence by the side of the stranger, who, weak and worn from her long illness, lay motionless in her white bed ; all that remained to her of life seemed concentrated in those big blue eyes whose pathetic gaze was fixed on Gelsomina's face. "What is your name, poverina 9 " asked Gel- somina, at last. " Eosina ; but my father called me Spina " (a thorn), "because the jettatura fell upon me, and I shall always be unhappy." She said this with perfect calmness, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world. " We will not let you be so while you are with us. How old are you ? " "I don't know." " Where were you born ? " "In the mountains, I suppose," though it 20 POVERINA. may have been in the Maremma. I hope, though, that it was on the mountain." " And why, pray ? " " Because I love the mountain, and would like to spend my life there." "You will go back in the spring when the cherry-trees are in bloom, and the swallows are building their nests under the roof of your house. Why do you love the mountain so much ? " Eosina seemed to think : " I don't know ; I am happy there. There are flowers among the grass that shine like stars. I wander about all day long under the pines and the chestnut-trees, and I play with Fido. In the evening I listen to the shepherds, who all get to- gether and sing the storielli. I get to know them all by heart, but I like those best which I made myself, and sang to Fido." "And Fido, who is he your damo?" "No, indeed, I have no damoj I am too young. Besides, who would ever speak to me of love ? I never met any one up there on the moun- tain. Fido is my father's big dog ; we loved each other so very dearly ! " She uttered a deep sigh and buried her pale face and tangled hair in her pillow. "You shall see him again, poverina; don't be unhappy about it. And, when you are well again, you must teach me all the storielli you know. We in the plain have some lovely verses, POVERINA. 21 too wonderful tales composed by a famous poet, who was a great magician. He died thousands of years ago in a prison where a princess had shut him, who wanted his magic inkstand. Shall I recite you some of his verses ? " She began in a monotonous air, resembling an Arab song, to intone a portion of the "Gerusalem- me Liberata." Verse after verse fell from her lips with a memory that was absolutely wonderful. To the majority of Tuscan peasants Tasso's poem is as familiar as the catechism taught them by their cure. Eosina lifted herself on one elbow in her fear of losing one of these words, to which she listened with avidity. It was a new world that opened to her youthful imagination, which up to this time had received its impressions only and directly from nature, without the intermedia- tion of any foreign influence. It was a magic light the enchantment of a mirage that all at once flashed over the solitude of this uncultured nature. When the arrival of Giuditta's third daughter interrupted her sister, Eosina sighed again ; but her sigh this time was not of relief, it was regret. Tiresona ; this third daughter, was a robust young girl just from school. " Can you read ? " she asked Eosina. "No." "Do you wish to learn ?" "What good would it do me ?" 22 POVERINA. " You could read verses like those that Gelso- mina has just been singing to you." " I prefer to hear them ; and, when I have learned them by heart, I will sing them. In the mountain no one knows how to read, and the shepherds sing verses from morning until night." When Eosina's returning strength permitted her to leave the house once more, she wandered about all day, listless and unoccupied. This greatly displeased Morino, who had no liking for idle hands. "These shepherd people are a bad race," he said to his wife. "This is a lazy little creature whom you have introduced under my roof." " She is only here for a little," answered Giu- ditta; " besides, poverina f the vagabond life she is destined to lead is hard enough for her, so let her have a good time and a little holiday among us, since the good God seems to have so ordered it." To please Morino, however, she gave her pro- tegee a distaff, but at night the distaff was empty. The flax, rolled into a ball, had been the amuse- ment of Eosina and a little kitten all that day. One morning Gelsomina summoned her, and bade her take her seat before the frame, where the threads, carefully arranged, needed only the passing to and fro of the shuttle to make a cloth of blue and white checks. Eosina listened to her explanations, and then threw the shuttle with POVERINA. 33 such adroitness, that the whole combination was thrown into hopeless confusion. Gelsomina threw up her hands in despair, called on all the saints in paradise, was half inclined to weep, but decided to laugh. Eosina did the same. "I believe you did it purposely, cattina!" ("bad child!") said Gelsomina, menacing her with her finger. "Of course I did ! " answered the little shep- herdess. "If I had succeeded, I should have been shut up fill day in this room, where one can see only a corner of the sky from the windows. I like to live in the sunshine." " Come, then, and help me pick up the olives." This task was infinitely more agreeable to the little girl. For the first 'quarter of an hour all went well. To search for the small, black olives buried in the turf among lilac crocuses and gold- en anemones at the foot of the olive-trees, whose bark was so oddly rough and irregular, and through whose gray foliage filtered the bright sun of a February day was pleasure rather than toil. Gelsomina sang with all the strength of her lungs, as does the Tuscan peasant always when at work in the fields. Her heart had its little romance also. She loved the son of a con- tadino of the neighborhood, who was too poor to be looked on with favor by Morino, and too good not to be protected by Giuditta. According to the local custom, the two lovers made their confi- 24 POVEKINA. dences, not in low voices, at twilight in solitary places, but at high noon, a half kilometre apart, shouting to each other, and confiding the secrets of their love and tenderness to the echoes round about, which is far less romantic but infinitely safer. As Gelsomina was singing under the trees she heard a voice reply afar off. Coloring with pleasure, she listened, and forgot her companion. It was only when her basket was full that she noticed Eosina's disappearance. She was no*t greatly dis- turbed, and returned to the house, supposing that Kosina had preceded her. But no one had seen the girl, who did not appear until after the Ave Maria that night. Her feet were bare, her skirts were in rags, and she looked very little better than she did when Giuditta first brought her home. 66 Where ha^ you been? " asked Morino, stern- ly. She pointed to the green hill that overlooks Vi- copelago. "Up there I saw the sea and the road the flocks take to go to the Maremma." " But you went through the bushes, you naugh- ty child ! there are no paths there." " Che 9 " ("what of it ? ") she answered ; " I am accustomed to living with goats ; I can go anywhere that they can ! " Giuditta looked at her for a moment in silence, struck for the first time by her beauty. Was this the little sick girl she had cherished ? A fresh POVERINA. 25 color like a wild rose had replaced the pallor on her cheeks, and her slender frame seemed made to rival the gazelles and goats in agility and grace. She was small and dainty ; her limbs too frail, and indicative of her extreme youth, and her blonde, waving hair was of that warm blonde common to the races of the south it grew well down over her broad, low brow, and the eyebrows threw a heavy shadow on her deep-set eyes of that dark blue which recalls an unsounded lake ; her small, aqui- line nose dilated like that of an Arabian horse ; the mouth was sad and the lips somewhat disdain- ful ; the line of her profile had that correctness which is not the severe beauty of the antique, but the refined elegance of that admirable Floren- tine type immortalized by Mantegna and Dona- tello ; they found their models among the peasant- ry and the people by whom they are surrounded, and one is still frequently struck by meeting this refined and elegant type among the inhabitants of Tuscan villages. Eosina was a most charming ex- ample of this type in all its purity. It was only natural that the good Giuditta, who had seen no pictures save those in the churches of Lucca, should have very little idea of the perfection of the face before her, but she was profoundly impressed by it, and realized that the young shepherdess was not of the same race as her own girls. "Mine are hens," she said to herself "made to stay about the house and be useful ; this one is 26 POVERINA. a uccellino a little wild bird who can do nothing but sing and flutter in the sunshine." She arrived at this conclusion after noticing the various attempts made by her daughters to initiate Eosina into the secrets of their domestic duties. The girl never left undone the task which was given to her, but she performed it in such a way as to take away all desire that she should ever make a similar attempt. They sent her to lead a cow to pasture, but they found the animal in the center of a field of young wheat, which she had half ruined ; and another time the cow came home of herself dragging the rope about her neck, and causing them all to wonder that she had not been stolen by some marauder. There was one thing, however, that Eosina was always ready to do. When water was wanted from the little spring in the chestnut-grove, she was eager to go for it. The bed of a dried-up mountain torrent was the only path. Sometimes it was almost inaccessible, at which Eosina was all the more pleased. Her naked feet seemed scarcely to touch the blocks of red-and- white marble that had been brought down by the torrent, and which had eventually obstructed its bed. She bounded like a young fawn through the myrtles and oaks that stood on either bank. When there was a rain-storm from all the neighboring hills the water poured down, bringing with it the rough chest- nut-burrs as prickly and threatening as the back POVERINA. 27 of an angry hedgehog. She fancied herself in .the mountains again, and gathered up with these relics the recollection of the airs and rustic poetry which were sung on the summits of the Apennines. She placed her copper urn, glittering with those rich tones which painters adore, under the slender thread of water from the fountain, and continued to sing as she slowly filled it. The spring issued from a rock covered with maidenhair and other delicate ferns, among which pretty green lizards glided. She remained there a long time, and the urn often came back half empty, so heedless and quick was her homeward rush. Giuditta uttered no reproaches, but sent her back to fill the urn once more at the spring. II. the peach-trees were flushed with rosy bloom, and the breath of violets filled the air within the olive-grove, Kosina left the hospitable roof of La Strega every morning before the sun was up. She wandered all day long up and down the road to Santa Maria, watching for the return of the flocks. Her heart beat high at the first she saw. The shepherd was unknown to her. After a little, others came whom she had previously 28 POVERINA. known. She questioned them, and one told her that her mother was dead ; another, that her fa- ther had embarked for Corsica, after selling his sheep ; and a third, that he had gone off into Komagna. She did not credit one word she heard, but waited still, going back to the house every night, faint with hunger and hope deferred. The peach-blossoms faded and dropped. The tall yel- low and blue iris burst into flower all along the sides of the brooks, and the vines were coming into leaf. A few days more, and the bells would ring out their Easter greeting. Then no more flocks to wait for, no more hope. 66 To-day is the nut fair at San Lazzaro," said Tonina to her one morning. " Come with me. I do not dare go alone, because the mamma would not be pleased, and I have no one to go with. As you have nothing to wear, I will lend you my beautiful yellow fichu all covered with lilac roses, a pair of red stockings, and my green apron. You will see how nice it is," and she added in a low voice, " I shall meet Geppino there ! " Kosina was not especially elated. "Will any flocks pass while we are away ?" she asked. " "We shall be on the road they must take," was the reply. Eosina agreed with a long, quivering sigh. A few tables covered with nuts, arranged around a church, were the materials of the fair ; but the POVERINA. 29 sonorous words uttered over these tables formed the principal attraction of the reunion. The road was crowded with carts drawn by white oxen Krrocini (the light wagons of the farmers and landholders). There were small carriages hired by the cooks in the surrounding villas who were on their way to do their marketing in town and had stopped at the villa, not to buy nuts, for which they cared very little, but to chat and hear all the news. People gathered in the road playing at bowls or at morra ; smoking with their hands in their pockets, and not disturbing themselves in the least as the horses came along. Fiances soon found each other in the crowd, and began to talk to each after their usual fashion. Tonina and her damo met after a little, and Eosina was left alone. She felt singularly out of place in this noisy crowd she who was the child of vast soli- tudes and of deserted mountain-tops. She looked around with wide-open, affrighted eyes, and heard nothing of all the various noises that deafened her. Why had she come here ? "Why should she remain ? She thought she would run away, back to La Strega, when suddenly she heard a familiar noise which nailed her to the ground silent and motionless. It was the bark- ing of a dog, mingled with the bleating of sheep and the whistles of the shepherds. There was a great commotion in the crowd, 30 POYERINA. which separated with invectives and exclamations. But she was no longer afraid. She glided through the various groups and rushed toward the flock. " Fido ! " she cried " Fido ! " An enormous animal, more like a bear than a dog, rushed toward her, and nearly threw her down. She flung her arms around the neck of the faithful animal and sobbed with joy. But, when the shepherd came to her, she uttered a cry of surprise. His face was a strange one. "How happens it," she asked, "that Fido is with you, and not with my father ? " " I do not know who your father is," answered the shepherd. " I found the dog wandering about the Maremma. I took possession of him because his skin was so handsome ; and, as I do not need him, and he costs me a great deal to feed, I intend taking him to Lucca, where I shall have him killed, and then sell his skin for five lire. " "Kill him ! kill my only friend ?" cried Eo- sina. "Oh, give him to me, or take me with you ! " "No, indeed," answered the shepherd. "I have no way of feeding either of you. And as to giving him to you, timba mia, I ask no better, if you will pay me." " Pay you ! But I have not a centime not a palanca." " Then be off with you, for you see we are in everybody's way." POVERINA. 31 Kosina waited a moment, and then, seeming to measure the distance, suddenly darted through the astonished crowd, and, running down an unfrequented path, disappeared before a person thought either of stopping or pursuing her. Nat- urally, the dog followed close to her heels. The shepherd grumbled and swore, but he saw that everybody around him was laughing, and ended by following their example ; then, shrugging his shoulders, he gathered his sheep together and went on his way. That night Eosina slept on the top of a hill, upon the moss that lay thick on the ground under a tall pine, whose young shoots exhaled a delicious odor. The girl lay close to Fido, with her head on the velvet neck of her friend. For her dinner she had eaten nothing but some moldy chestnuts she had found among the stones of a mountain-brook, and of these she gave the best to Fido. She awoke at dawn and shook off the heavy dew with which she was covered. The blackbirds were singing gayly in the olive- trees ; the tall heather, white with bloom and smelling of honey, swung to and fro like censers ; the bees buzzed around the dwarf iris and the stately scarlet lilies growing among the rocks. Fido shook himself in his turn, stretched his fore legs, and then his hind ones, and, finally seat- ing himself opposite his mistress, he looked at her gravely as if asking her what on earth they were 32 POVERINA. going to do. Then the poverina realized that she was very hungry, and she said to the dog : "Fido mio, we are alone in the world, you and I. Father and mother have deserted us, dropped us you on one road, me on another. Ah, well ! we will live together now, and we will never be separated again never ! never ! Don't you think, Fido, that we shall always be able to find some charitable soul who will give us a slice of polenta, or a handful of chestnuts ? The birds always find something to eat." She looked around and uttered a little cry of joy. She saw a tall bunch of wild strawberries ; the fruit, scarlet and ripe, trembled on their slen- der stems, which bowed under their weight. She hunted through the moss like a bird in search of a breakfast. A little farther off she found some half -open fir-cones, from which she gathered their sweet nuts. She crunched them like a little squirrel. Fido watched, and gave a terrific yawn. "I am a selfish thing!" she cried. "lam eating, and you are hungry ! There is nothing here for you. Let us go and find something." She hurried on, but where she knew not. In her mad haste of the previous evening she had not paid the smallest attention to the direction she had taken, as she cared only to put the great- est possible distance between Fido and that shep- herd who wanted to kill him. When her weary feet had refused to take her POVERINA. 33 farther, she stopped in the midst of the tangle of brakes and heath. Now she was in absolute ignorance of where to go in order to reach the road. " Bah ! " she said, with a careless shrug of her shoulders "I have only to follow Fido. Come, good dog, show me the way ! " The dog nosed about for a few minutes, and after making several detours reached a place where the hillside was shorn of all vegetation, and the soil arid and stony. A road lay at the base and a square bell-tower appeared in the distance. " Santa Maria del Giudice ! " cried Eosina, with a gay laugh "Fido mio, we will be fed now, and shall find friends. " And bursting forth in a joyous warble, she sang : " Eqnesta strada la vo' mattonare, Di roie e fiori la vorre coprire, D'acqna rosata la vorre' fagnare." (I would like to pave this road, cover it with roses and flowers, and water it with rose-water.) III. SAHTA MARIA is a pretty cluster of houses, set on a side-hill, from the top of which can be seen the wide plains of Pisa, and its three fantastic monuments the dome, the baptistery, and the 3 34 POVERINA. leaning tower. Seen from this distance, they ap- pear disproportionately large and cover the town with their shadows. Beyond, the blue sea sparkles in the sunshine. La Locanda the inn of Santa Maria is situated on a little dusty square, which divides it from the church. It is much frequented, especially by the shepherds, who never fail, when they pass it, which is twice each year, to stop there. The square is always crowded with ox- carts and birrocini, for beyond there the road is impassable for carriages ; the rest, as far as the descent on the other side of the hill, is made on foot or on the backs of mules. The inn of Santa Maria is a place, therefore, for important rendezvous, and the innkeeper makes a handsome profit out of it. But at this early hour there was no sign of life around the Locanda. The benches along the wall under the vaulted arcade were deserted ; a bright ray of the rising sun darted through the open door and showed the interior in the fireplace a fire built of dried olive-branches, and poor, hungry Kosina caught a delicious odor of coffee. She entered the room without noise, and at first supposed it to be empty ; then, looking about her, colored, and stood still. In a corner sat a monk ; before him was his breakfast, consisting of a cup of black coffee and a slice of white bread. He was a Capuchin, of about thirty, heavily built, and with a neck like a bull ; but his face was pleasant and fresh-looking. POVERINA. 35 The hostess, a stout, jovial woman, whose black hair was beginning to grow gray, stood in front of him with bare arms and her hands on her hips. Her face was illuminated by a broad smile, and she watched her guest with a look of mingled pride and tenderness. "Another cup of coffee," she said " just one more, Padre Romano ! Think of it ! I shall make no more until next year. Do not refuse, figlio mio. It is Lent, to be sure ; yes, I know that, but your rules do not forbid cafe noir. And then, too, you have certain dispensa- tion, for you must keep up your voice for Easter." Padre Eomano refused by drawing his empty cup toward him, and laying over it his large hand as a rampart. The woman was in no way discon- certed at this, but snatched the cup with a laugh of triumph, and, running to the fireplace, filled it again. Coming back with the cup full of the hot and fragrant liquid, which she carried with great care lest she should spill it, she caught sight of Eosina in the doorway. The girl was looking at the cof- fee with covetous eyes. The mistress of the inn stopped. " What do you want, poverina 9 " "I am hungry," answered Eosina. "You are hungry?" and, touched by the look in the young girl's eyes, she exclaimed : " Here, take this for your breakfast," and she ex- tended the smoking cup. " I will go for some 36 POYERINA. bread for you and your dog/' continued the wo- man. "Ah ! I know that dog. I intend to get you some buccellata, even if it is Lent. But Padre Eomano is here to give you absolution it is not every day that I am so lucky as to have him with me. How do you feel now, figlio mio 9 " The worthy woman clasped her hands with a gesture of admiration that was truly maternal, for Padre Komano was her only son. This stout monk with bare feet, with his patched and well- worn robe, who breakfasted in this poor village inn with a beggar-girl looking on, and who in fact begged himself, as the wallet laid on the bench by his side testified, could have made millions had he chosen ; for nature had endowed him with the most magnificent tenor voice that had ever been heard in any theatre. To become a millionaire, he had but to throw his frock aside. The manager of the San Carlo, after hearing him sing in a church, offered him fifty thousand francs, if he would make his appearance at his theatre ; that of La Scala assured him the same amount for one short season. These propositions did not seem to affect him in the smallest degree ; they simply made him laugh. He was not in the least angry with this devil who came to tempt him, and was not inclined to drive him away with a pitchfork. He shook hands cordially with the manager of San Carlo ; offered a pinch of snuff, his only lux- ury, to the manager of La Scala ; and, taking up POVERINA. 37 his mendicant's wallet, went back to the convent to tell the story to his superior. The two laughed heartily, but the superior was too clever by far to lose the pearl buried in this vast throat, and there- fore Padre Eomano was sent off to Eome. He re- ceived there the best possible instruction, and be- fore long his splendid voice, developed by the ad- mirable method he had been taught, became the indispensable accessory at all the religious cere- monies of the Eternal City. It was said, "Padre Romano will sing," and that name was enough to make all the foreigners and the faithful Romans flock to the church. The attempt at corruption was continually repeated ; more than one impressario did his best to dazzle the humble monk by piling high the gold before him. He listened with a smile, tapped his horn snuff-box, which bore as an ornament a picture of the Holy Father, and winked those eyes which alone had retained their beauty and expression amid the embonpoint which had invaded the rest of his features. That which had been offered to him was riches, not only for himself, who had sworn to renounce everything, and who had grown up among the shepherds and wagoners who haunted the pater- nal roof, but riches also for his mother, who was growing old, and lived as wretchedly as people live in the mountains of Tuscany. It was a house for her, perhaps a palace they cost little in Italy 38 POVERINA. silk dresses and golden ornaments, a carriage and horses, servants to wait upon her, and meat every day. He had never hesitated, however ; not for one single hour. To accept the brilliant propositions that were made to him was to perjure himself before his God, to renounce his salvation. He understood only this, and clung to his robes more than to his life. His superior occasionally lent him to the churches of those distant towns who wished to attract a crowd to some one of their religious ceremonies. He traveled third class, and made a portion of his journey on foot, begging by the way. Once a year he was sent in this way to Lucca, and, as he fondly loved his native soil, he surpassed him- self on these occasions. More than once within the grand old cathe- dral a frenzy of enthusiasm agitated this crowd of Italians, who have so little self-constraint that they are unable to conceal their impressions, and applaud in a church as if it were a theatre. He had come now to sing on Easter Sunday, and had obtained permission to make a visit to his native village on the express condition that he would go on foot, and beg on the way. When Padre Komano watched this young girl eating her breakfast with so eager an appetite, he saw that she never took a mouthful without giving one to her dog. A vuccellata had disap- POVERINA. 39 peared. The vuccellata is a dish eminently char- acteristic of Lucca ; it consists of a large round cake, steeped in oil and perfumed with anise. When the last morsel of vuccellata had van- ished " Well ! upon my word," cried Padre Komano, "you have what I call a good appetite. You must have been nearly dead of hunger, poveri- na!" Eosina laughed gayly. "Yes, I was," she answered ; "and Fido was even hungrier than I. We have been walking a long time." "But where do you come from at this early hour ? " "From Lucca." "And where are you going, you and your dog?" She shrugged her shoulders carelessly. "I don't know, I am sure. Wherever Fido wishes." " Then it seems that you obey the dog. To whom do you two belong ? " " To no one." " Have you no parents ? " " Everybody has deserted us. We are alone in the world, Fido and I. My father was a shep- herd. He left me in the middle of the highway because I was too ill to walk another step. I found Fido again by accident, and now we will 40 POVERINA. never be separated. I have often been past here with my father and his flocks, and if I have the smallest chance of meeting him, it is here. I should like to remain here." Turning to the mistress of the inn, Eosina, with her head a little on one side said, coaxingly, "Won't you keep me with you, padroncina ? " "Keep you here?" said the good woman, moved by the caressing expression of this young face, "and why not? You can help me make coffee and serve the wine. What do you think about it, Padre Eomano ? I am not as quick on my feet as I once was I am growing old ; and a little servant like that would be very useful to me." The monk looked attentively at the girl, drew out his snuff-box, and took a pinch before he re- plied. Then he shook his head, as he had done when it was proposed to him that he should be- come Eomeo or Don Giovanni. "I think that this is not the place for this pecorella" he said, slowly ; "she is too young to serve in an osteria. With whom have you passed the winter, figlia mia 9 " "With La Strega, at Vicopelago." Padre Eomano started. "With La Strega ! " he cried, "and why did you leave her ? She certainly never sent you ty?" " I left her because because I wanted to be POVERINA. 41 with Fido. I ran and ran, and got so far, that now I shall never dare to go back to her " "And why?" "Tonina lent me her red stockings, her flow- ered fichu, and her zoccoli and now look at them ! " The zoccoli had disappeared, and a rag on one foot was all that remained of the red stockings, while of the fichu there was not a trace to be seen. Padre Eomano laughed. ' That is a small misfortune. La Strega, whom I know, and who is una donna del paradiso, will pardon you, I am sure ; and you will make your own peace with Tonina. I am going past Vico- pelago, on my way to Lucca, and I will take you back to La Strega myself. In this way my morn- ing will not have been lost. I shall return to the sheepfold a little wandering lamb. Am I not right, Madre mia ? Come, now, we must be on our way. But first the benediction ! " It was a touching scene. The mother knelt first before her son, who murmured over her bowed head the benediction of the Liturgy. Then it was the monk's turn. He prostrated himself humbly at the feet of the stout innkeeper. She blessed him, greatly moved ; after which Padre Eomano rose, threw his wallet over his shoulder, and start- ed forth. " Au revoir, tanti saluti, felicissima Pasqua. Bon voyage I " 42 POVERINA. At each door of the village Padre Eomano opened his satchel, and the poor people, among whom he had grown up, gave him, with a laugh, a handful of chestnuts or a slice of polenta. He took leave gayly of all his relatives and friends, thanked humbly those persons who were strangers to him, and continued his journey. The wallet was heavy, and the /rate passa- bly corpulent ; he was obliged, therefore, to stop from time to time to take breath. He seated himself upon a stone ; Eosina, who followed with Fido, wandered around him, peeping into the bushes where the larks and nightingales were building their nests. The twittering and the flut- ter of wings enchanted her, and she was soon in such excellent spirits that she began to sing, and, forgetting the presence of her companion, she let out her full voice. She had discovered in the corner of a meadow a little brook, bordered by jonquils and wild narcissus. With her feet in the water she gathered as many of the flowers as she could carry, while Fido splashed her in his pur- suit of frogs. She went back at last to ihefrate, thinking that he must be ready to start once more. But Padre Komano did not move. A singu- lar expression glittered in his dark eyes ; some- thing had agitated and disturbed the jovial seren- ity of his face. " Come here, figlia mia" he said, in a troubled voice. POVERINA. 43 She stood before him with her hands behind her back, expecting a remonstrance, perhaps, in re- gard to the flowers she had so ruthlessly pillaged, and interrogated her conscience with vague un- easiness. "Sing again as you were singing just now," said Padre Komano. It was, then, because she had been singing that he was displeased. That was why she was to be scolded. "I beg your pardon," she said, gently. "I will not do it again. I did not intend to be dis- respectful." Padre Romano made an impatient little move- ment. "It has nothing to do with respect. I told you to sing." She asked nothing better, and at once all the echoes of the country repeated her clear high notes. " Zitta, Zitta," said the frate ; "not loud, figlia mia, not so loud ! " She dropped her voice gradually, as the cooing of a dove dies away. Padre Romano listened eagerly, his eyes looking afar off, and shaking his head from time to time. They would have sat in this way for hours, probably, he listening and she singing, if another auditor had not come to add his sonorous and unmusical voice to that of the girl. Fido, whose nerves were over-excited by this concert, following on his hearty breakfast, uttered 44 POVER1NA. a most lamentable howl ; Eosina laughed aloud ; Padre Eomano could not repress a movement which was very far from being one of pious resig- nation, and an exclamation which was still less so. Within the depths of his soul he asked imme- diate pardon for his sin, and then sighed pro- foundly. " Peccato ! " (what a pity !) After which he sat bowed in thought, seeming to forget the girl and his wallet, which had fallen to the ground, from the open mouth of which olives and chestnuts poured out upon the dust of the road. After a long season of reflection, Padre Eo- mano took out his snuff-box, and then prepared to make a fresh start ; he turned first to the young girl. " Listen," he said, "if I do not, some one else will tell you some day that which you had far better learn from me. You have a magnificent voice, Jiglia mia. It is nothing to be proud of, for it is not your fault : it is the good God who has bestowed it upon you. You must never for- get what I now tell you. This great gift may easily be changed into a curse take care of your- self ! If ever you meet people who tell you that with this voice you can become rich, that to have jewels, laces, and fine clothes, it will be only ne- cessary for you to sing fly from these people as POVERINA. 45 yon would from the devil himself who spoke to you. Do you understand ? " She opened her big blue eyes, and looked at him with astonishment. Padre Eomano uttered a sigh that was almost a groan. " Peccato ! " he repeated, as if talking to him- self, "it is a crime to leave an instrument like that to rust out and go to destruction ; but what can I do ? There is no way of reconciling Heaven and the devil ; and I know, only too well, what is in store for you Poverina, peccato peccato! Come, now, let us move on." Padre Romano seemed much absorbed all the rest of the journey. Occasionally he sighed heav- ily, and his large, placid face was full of sadness. A double contest was going on within his soul between the priest and the artist. There were many exclamations of joy at Mori- no's when Padre Eomano was seen to arrive. Eosina was less well received. " She is a lazy little thing/ 3 said Morino ; " she has been all winter long under my roof, and has done nothing but sing." "Like the birds/' answered the frate, "who never do anything else ; and yet the ~bon Dieu takes the trouble to feed them as well as he does the other creatures he has made." Morino shrugged his shoulders. "She is always running off; she is never in 46 POVERINA. the house, and never happy unless she is in the woods, and always comes back with the things all in rags in which Giuditta has clothed her." "The Ion Dieu clothes the young lambs. Come now, Morino, a little charity ! Where is Giuditta all this time ? " "If I would permit Giuditta to do as she pleased, she would transform my house into a hospital, and would give me any amount of do- nothings. I have mouths enough to feed." "The food for all these mouths has never failed, and tell me, amico " Padre Romano took a confidential tone as he laid his hand on the pea- sant's shoulder "tell me how much money have you put in your strong-box this year ? And when Angelino comes back from America, how much will he bring ? " Eosina, with her huge bunch of flowers in her hand, with her arm around Fido's neck, listened with great indifference. This was no matter of life and death to her. If Morino repulsed her, she would go away. She had Fido now, and was no longer alone, and what, after all, did she need ? Residents in a land of cold and fog can form lit- tle idea to what degree the needs of these children of the South are modified a bundle of hay and an armful of grass make a bed ; a morsel of bread, black, white, or gray, never refused them by char- ity, is nourishment enough for a day ; the sun warms them ; and water from the brook quenches POVERINA. 47 their thirst. General sympathy is bestowed upon a beggar, who is not, as in a land where industry offers innumerable resources, an object of blame and of contempt. This child of nature and of solitude had all the independence and innocent lack of foresight the birds have. When a storm carries away the branch on which they build their nest, they begin another on the next bough, singing away all the time as gayly as possible. Now that she had her dog, what did it matter whether she was with Morino or elsewhere ? She was undoubtedly very grateful toward Giuditta, but that sentiment was not strong enough to make her wish to pass her life near her. To this pros- pect she would have infinitely preferred that of wandering all her life with Fido under the tall, odorous pines, free and light of heart, singing all day long, from morning until night. Seeing that the discussion threatened to be a long one, and that the monk was not triumphing over Morino, she was tempted to disappear with- out a word to any one. She, in fact, got as far as the door, when she felt two hands laid on her shoulder. "Heaven be praised! you are back again, poverina. Where on earth have you been since yesterday ? You are a perfect little vagabond, and must tell us your whole story later. I know about your dog Tonina told me that a splendid crea- 48 POVERINA. ture he is, too, and a great acquisition. We shall all be able to sleep better at night, knowing that such a guardian is in the house. Do you know, child, that I haye not had a drop of water in the house since this morning ? I waited for you to go and bring it to me. Quick ! here is your pitcher, and now go as fast as you can." Giuditta pressed a kiss on Eosina's brow. When Fido saw this, he went to the mistress of the house and licked her hand. Padre Eomano went up to her, and said, in a trembling voice : " You have done wisely, Giuditta. I said not long ago that you were a donna del paradiso. But I must leave you ; I am already very late. Have you anything for this poor frate 9 bits of waste bread or anything ? " The wallet was made heavier by some mor- sels of hard bread and a handful of olives. Padre Komano thanked the family, offered Morino a pinch of snuff, and took his leave. IV. KOSISTA and Fido chased each other through the narrow bed of the mountain-torrent ; one of them occasionally climbed the steep banks, or hid behind clusters of myrtle-bushes, seated on a huge fallen chestnut-trunk, and gay laughter was POVERINA. 49 answered by the vociferous barking of the dog. When the happy pair reached the spring, Eosina seated herself on a rock, with her naked feet buried among flowering tufts of myosotis and emerald-tinted water-cresses. And while the sun was gradually falling, she listened to the measured cadence of the dropping water and to the song of the birds in a dreamy sort of way. The monk's words suddenly returned to her memory. He had told her that she had a lovely voice, and that she could gain wealth merely by singing. She did not in the least understand how this could be, but there were many other things which she understood no better than she did the Catechism explained by the cure on Sun- day, nor the beautiful verses sung by Gelsomina in the evenings ; but now, as then, she sought no explanations. It was quite enough to hear that she could be rich if she pleased. If she had gold, what would she do with it ? First, she would buy a red collar for Fido, a silver crown for the altar of the Madonna, and a pair of gold ear-rings for Gelsomina ; and after that, if any were left, she would buy goats and sheep, and with a flock like her father's would go at once to the mountains, and install herself in the house in which she had lived the previous summer. Yes, but she could not do this all alone ; she had never seen a shepherdess go up to the mountain without a husband to help her. She must begin, of course, 4 50 POVERINA. with a damo (a fiance) like Tonina's and Gelso- mina's. She would fall in love some day, and would be loved, as these girls were ! But this day was as yet far enough off, and these things would only happen when she was rich ; and Padre Eomano had told her that she must not be rich. What, then, was the good of thinking about it ? Who would talk of love to a poor little beggar like herself ? Involuntarily she sighed, and for the first time under these branch- es, flushed with the rosy blossoms of early spring, with the birds busily building their nests over her head, in this warm air filled with the perfume of growing things her heart was stirred by thoughts of love. There is assuredly little resem- blance between the education which a young girl, who is protected by every social usage, receives under the eye of a watchful mother, and the wild liberty, the daily contact with the most prosaic realities of life, which make up the existence of a simple country girl. And yet this delicate flower of innocence, which we are too apt to confound with ignorance, may be preserved as pure and as intact with one as the other. Only, while a breath of wind, a ray of sunshine, may suffice to wither and kill the pale, fragile flower of the conservatory, nei- ther the noonday heat nor the rude north wind will mar the brilliancy of the vigorous field flower. POVERINA. 51 The vase of red copper had been full and run- ing over for some time. Kosina still sat dreaming, however, with her hands loosely clasped around her knees, and her eyes fixed on space. She in- terrogated her heart, curiously asking herself what it would be to love ; and the inborn ro- mance of this wild and uncultured heart gently murmured its immortal music. All the refrains, all the love-songs, she had heard among the moun- tains returned to her memory, and from this dim confusion an ideal emerged. He whom she would love would be as handsome as the sun, his eyes would be like stars, he would sing like a night- ingale, and would take her in a chariot hung with flowers to a land where the fields would be made of gold and the flower of seed-pearls. She began to sing, one after the other, all these graceful Tuscan stornelli, so rich in poetic fancies and charming comparisons. It was now noon, the time of rest the time of the siesta ; when, for a brief time, all the noises of the country were stilled, the peasants were within doors, and even the birds were silent. Kosina sang : "Fiorire fioretta, De tutti a fiorellen che fioranno, n feor dell' amor mio sara il piu bello." * Suddenly from high up on the mountain-side * Bloom, pretty flowers, bloom ; and of all the blossoming flowers, the flower of my love will be the fairest. 52 POVERINA. came a clear, ringing voice, which, taking up the air she had just sung, and changing the words a little, asked : " Who art thou, who sings so well of love ?" Eosina answered, without hesitation : " Pastor ella senza damo" (a little shepherd- ess without a lover) " who sings of what she as yet knows nothing of." The voice came nearer and sang : " The grass is growing ; May is coining ; lovers will sing under your windows, and plant the cedar-tree all covered with roses." " There will be no lovers for a poor ragazza, without parents and money ! " " Do the ragazze ever condescend to look at poor fellows who have neither jewels nor money to offer?" "And why not, if they love in all sincerity and with all their hearts ? " At each phrase of the dialogue the manly voice came nearer, guided by the replies of the young girl. Presently, a rolling stone or two and some scattered gravel fell at Eosina's feet. A footstep resounded in the silence of the wood, and a young man stood opposite on the other side of the stream. He looked about him for a moment, and with two bounds was at Eosina's side. He was a youth of twenty a slender figure, but well built, and graceful rather than strong. POVERINA. 53 His supple movements had a nonchalant grace, and a budding mustache darkened his upper lip and concealed the somewhat effeminate expression of his handsome face. His great, black eyes were soft and velvety, and his thick, crisp hair was brightened by a tinge of gold where the light caught it. He was a good example of the Tus- can contadino, with all the cunning of the race the gay indifference, the quickness and dissimu- lation, the poetic instinct, and the lack of moral sense that characterizes them. "We must not for- get to add that he had as little courage as physi- cal strength. Like Rosina, his feet were bare, his panta- loons were short ; he wore a shirt, but no cravat ; a jacket, but no vest. When they were fairly oppo- site each other, they exchanged curious glances. " How beautiful you are ! " said the young man, at last. "What is your name ?" " Rosina. And yours ? " "