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 F I E S L E. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 BEATRICE LEY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " A GOLDEN MABY-BUD," ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES.— VOLUME L 
 
 With seven photo-lithographs hy William Griggs. 
 
 LONDON : 
 BERNARD QUARITOH, 15 PICCADILLY. 
 
 1886.
 
 " Fix, then, this iu your mind as the guiding principle of all 
 right practical labour, and source of all healthful life— energy, — 
 that your Art is to be the praise of something that you love. It 
 may be only the praise of a stone ; it may be the praise of God ; 
 — your rank as a living creature is determined by the height 
 and breadth of your love; but, be you- small or great, what 
 healthy Art is possible to you must be the expression of your 
 true delight in a real thing, better than the art. 
 
 # # # # # 
 
 " I have endeavoured to teach through my past life, that this 
 fair tree Igdrasil of Human Art can only flourish when its 
 dew is Affection; its air. Devotion; the rock of its roots, 
 Patience, its sunshine God." 
 
 " Laws of F4sole." — Ruskin.
 
 
 ex 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 < 
 
 TO MY PARENTS. 
 
 In ilemon'am*
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fiesolenovel01leyb
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ALONG residence in Italy has given me 
 excellent opportunities of judging of 
 the Italians — their manners, customs, and 
 modes of speech. A literary friend, who 
 knows the Italian peasantry thoroughly, says 
 the psychology of this book is correct, that 
 my characters are true to life, and are con- 
 sistent types of Italians, and that I have in no 
 way exaggerated the force of their passions 
 or the vigour of their language. Indeed, 
 I have omitted the worst expletives, only 
 inserting such strong language as women 
 a,nd children commonly use in Italy. I 
 have tried, as much as possible, to avoid 
 introducing Italian words — and I have trans- 
 lated, as literally as I could, the language 
 Italian peasants use, thereby giving their 
 form of speech. I sometimes write thou
 
 vi Preface. 
 
 and sometimes you, because you is the 
 word in common use ; thou, a term of 
 endearment and familiarity. Tlie abbre- 
 viation of names, — such as Sunta for 
 Assunta, and Catera for Caterina, — is a 
 very common practice. 
 
 I must add, that I have heard of two 
 respectable women who deliberately planned 
 to commit murder ; — one with a stone, or 
 brick : the other, with a flower-pot. The 
 first of these told me herself how she had 
 waited with the stone — and she seemed to 
 perceive nothing extraordinary in the cir- 
 cumstance. An English murderess would, 
 of course, be a depraved and wicked 
 woman, but an Italian murderess is not 
 of necessity worse than her neighbours. 
 She is probably only a passionate and un- 
 disciplined child, who has yielded to a 
 sudden impulse without being half aware 
 of the sin she committed — and is one of 
 whom her friends will only say, " Oh, the 
 stupid!" or "Poor thing!" Natures and 
 training are totally different in the North 
 and South, as are the manners and customs. 
 
 B. L.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. 
 
 COLOMBA 
 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY 
 
 ... 16 
 
 III. 
 
 THE WAND OF FATA MORGANA ... 33 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE PROMISE AND THE KISS. 
 
 ... 40 
 
 V. 
 
 ALESSIO 
 
 ... 50 
 
 YI. 
 
 THE INVITATION 
 
 ... 74: 
 
 VII. 
 
 BERTOLDO 
 
 .■ ... 89 
 
 YIII. 
 
 COLOMBA's wish FULFILLED . 
 
 ... 102 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE BETROTHAL 
 
 ... 109 
 
 X. 
 
 INA LAURENCE 
 
 ... 123 
 
 XI. 
 
 ANOTHER PAIR OF LOVERS . 
 
 ... 135 
 
 XII. 
 
 FIRST DOUBTS 
 
 ... 150 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE BLOW 
 
 ... 159 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE DOVE WITH RUFFLED FE 
 
 ATHERS 188 
 
 XV. 
 
 A NEW DISCLOSURE 
 
 ... 198 
 
 XVI. 
 
 SIONOR OIUSTO MINUTI 
 
 ... 205
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. I 
 
 1. INA LAURENCE ... {Frontispiece) 866 page 128 
 
 2. PIAZZA OF FIESOLE ... ... ... 56 
 
 3. "THE jewellers' BRIDGE" ... ... 112 
 
 4. ANFITEATRO OP FIESOLE 182
 
 No, i. 
 
 INA LAURENCE. 
 
 {See page 128.)
 
 FIESOLE. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 COLOilBA. 
 
 SHE was standing alone in a vineyard near 
 Fiesole — that ancient Etruscan city. It 
 was a beautiful day in May, on which the sun 
 shone brightly, and the breeze stirred the 
 leaves — and everything was replete with life, 
 and youth, and hope. 
 
 She was a beautiful girl, rendered still 
 more beautiful by her picturesque surround- 
 ings. The sunlight glinted through the vine 
 leaves, and shone upon her up-turned face 
 and on her figure and hands ; it was a picture 
 of quivering lights and shadows. There was 
 such an earnest, rapt expression in her dark 
 blue eyes, that she might have been a sweet 
 little saint absorbed in ecstatic meditation. 
 And yet, in reality, she was merely thinking 
 
 L
 
 2 Fiesole, 
 
 of a new dress. The girl was short and 
 plump, with wavy black hair, pouting red 
 lips, and very expressive eyes. Her com- 
 plexion was a rosy-brown with a glow of rich 
 colour in her cheeks. A true Italian peasant 
 maiden of the most refined type. 
 
 Her nose and brow were well formed, but 
 her greatest charm lay in her wonderfully 
 mobile expression and bright girlishness. 
 
 Her eyes had now dropped from the cloud- 
 less heavens, and were turned, with a sigh 
 of discontent, upon her blue cotton dress. 
 
 " Ohime ! Holy Saints ! to what poverty 
 am I reduced ! I have only this ugly blue 
 dress with white spots, and that black rag 
 for the Teste ; and my cousin JSTicoletta has 
 a real silk dress!" And tears filled her 
 eyes. "It is well to say that ' it is a dis- 
 grace to be a servant ' ; but I do not see 
 the shame. I think it must be most in- 
 teresting to live in the city, and see all the 
 grand ladies, and have silk dresses ! Poor 
 me ! ah, why will not my father let me 
 become a servant like my cousin Nicoletta ! " 
 
 She looked with longing eyes at Florence 
 — the beautiful city that lay in the dis- 
 tance with its Duomo and many towers
 
 Colomha. 3 
 
 sparkling like jewels tlirougli a veil of mist, 
 and the Arno like a thread of silver, wind- 
 ing its way over the plains. But Colomba 
 saw not the wondrous beauty of the " City 
 of Flowers," she only saw in Florence — tlie 
 land of silh dresses. 
 
 She sat down upon a grassy bank, and 
 began to build castles in the air. So much 
 absorbed v/as she in this most fascinating 
 occupation, that she did not hear approach- 
 ing footsteps, and started and crossed her- 
 self in terror, on suddenly hearing a voice 
 speaking to her. Possibly she took it for 
 the arch-fiend's. " Colomba, my beautiful 
 one, what art thou doing in the podere 
 (field)?" 
 
 It was a handsome young peasant who 
 spoke to the girl. Recognising him at once, 
 her fears vanished. He was a near neio'h- 
 bour, a farmer named Bertoldo Fossi, and — 
 above all, Colomba' s prospective husband. 
 
 His figure was herculean, but rather un- 
 wieldy; his face handsome, but unintellectual 
 and sensuous. Yet there was a gleam of 
 natural shrewdness in his large brown eyes, 
 and a good-natured smile on his thick lips. 
 The one elevating quality in Bertoldo's 
 E 2
 
 4 Fiesole. 
 
 nature was the power of worshipping the 
 beautiful, all summed up in the small person 
 of Colomba Vestris. Bat he could only woo 
 as the other rough contadini wooed, that 
 was, in a rough and domineering sort of 
 fashion. His beloved was not submissive, 
 and did not like his overbearing manners. 
 
 '' Thou art but an idle girl, Colomba ! 
 When thou becomest my wife there shall be 
 no more dreaming with empty hands. Per 
 Bacco ! but you would make an expensive 
 bride!" 
 
 Colomba arose; she had been roughly 
 awakened from romance to reality. She 
 would have been angry with him for merely 
 disturbing her; but his last speech made 
 her actually furious. It was no summer 
 lightning that flashed from her blue eyes 
 upon her offending lover. 
 
 " Thou art but a stupid ox, Bertoldo ! 
 It will be time for thee to count my sins 
 when I am thy wife — and for that fact 
 to be accomplished, it needs a hundred 
 years !" 
 
 Bertoldo laughed noisily, much amused by 
 her anger. An enraged lamb would have 
 appeared to him more formidable ; he under-
 
 Colomha, 5 
 
 stood not the latent resistance tliat may lie 
 in soft things — the strength of the weak. 
 To him bodily force was the ruling power. 
 He was not even superstitious ; his thoughts 
 were only of eating, drinking, working, and 
 courting Colomba. 
 
 *'Thou art a fool, Colomba; but that 
 is natural, for %voman and fool are two names 
 for the same thing." 
 
 " Listen to me ! I may be a fool, but I 
 will never marry thee. If thou wert a wise 
 man then thou wouldst not love a fool, and 
 if thou also art a fool, where would the 
 affairs of our house be between us ? No ! 
 thou art not for me, oh beautiful young 
 man ! Far too wise art thou for the little 
 Colomba — and I swear, ' by the blessed 
 Madonna of the Grape-vines, that I will 
 never become your wife.' You may beg me 
 on your two knees ; but my mind will not 
 change." And Colomba ran quickly away. 
 
 Bertoldo stood in open-mouthed astonish- 
 ment, gazing at her retreating figure. A 
 doubt entered his mind for the first time as 
 to whether he really understood Colomba ; 
 but he comforted himself with the axiom 
 that no man could be expected to fathom
 
 6 Fiesole. 
 
 the depths of a woman's folly. So he placed 
 his broad-leaved Panama hat more firmly on 
 his head, and trudged moodily back to his 
 own podere. He had no. doubt that Colomba 
 would marry him willingly, whenever he 
 chose to ask her father for her ; and as for 
 old Simone, he would be overjoyed to get so 
 rich a son-in-law. 
 
 Colomba Yestris was only just seventeen, 
 and she had seen but little of the world as 
 yet. Vague dreams and longings had begun 
 to trouble her mind ; but she had not even 
 learnt to read her own heart, and she was 
 usually gay and thoughtless as a kitten. 
 She had always considered Bertoldo as her 
 future husband, and she felt proud of his 
 looks, his strength, and his riches. And 
 it was a pleasure to know that all the other 
 fair Fiesolane envied her her lover. But 
 she had never asked herself whether she 
 loved Bertoldo. Moreover, Colomba was a 
 spoilt child, and Bertoldo' s masterful wa^^s 
 had often irritated her temper. This irrita- 
 tion had now reached a climax, and she 
 was deeply offended with the unconscious 
 Bertoldo. When she left him it was with a 
 fixed determination that Bertoldo should not
 
 Golomba. 7 
 
 marry her. That idea was evidently a 
 mistake, and she must look for a richer and 
 more subservient suitor. 
 
 She reached their quaint httle farm-house, 
 and ran through the front door and into the 
 kitchen. It was a picturesque room, with 
 bare wooden rafters, clean red brick floor, 
 red brick oven, and many brass pans hanging 
 against the walls. A large plaited straw fan 
 lay near the oven, ready to fan the charcoal 
 into a brighter glow ; the polenta was 
 cooking on the fire, but the housewife was 
 absent. 
 
 Colomba jumped upon a chair, and in- 
 spected herself in a very small looking-glass 
 in a brass frame, that hung opposite to a 
 china receptacle for Holy water. The glass 
 was Colomba' s shrine, and her own pretty 
 face the saint she worshipped most devoutly. 
 She smiled conceitedly at her diminutive 
 reflection : '' Truly, Signor Bertoldo, I am 
 too good for thee ! " 
 
 *' Oh ! thou conceited owl ! It is thus thou 
 passest thy time ! Take good heed that the 
 Madonna does not punish thee for such 
 vanity, by sending thee small-pox or a 
 squint! "
 
 8 ' Fiesole. 
 
 Colomba blushed for shame, and quickly 
 descended from the chair. Throwing her 
 arms round lier mother's neck, she silenced 
 her with kisses. 
 
 La Caterina (or Catera, as her friends 
 called her) was a comely woman of about 
 forty-eight. She had been very handsome as 
 a girl, but of a coarser type than her daughter. 
 Her face looked the impersonation of good 
 humour, with beaming black eyes, and smil- 
 ing mouth. Her forehead was wide and 
 showed capacity, and her hands and feet had 
 once been perfect in their symmetrical pro- 
 portions, albeit they were now growing a 
 little too plump. She shook off her 
 daughter's arms from round her neck, but 
 spoke to her with a caressing tone in her soft 
 contralto voice. 
 
 '' How ugly thou art, little cake ! Nay ! it 
 is only the good who are truly beautiful. 
 Thou shouldst spend more time on thy 
 devotions, and less in vanity. Take heed 
 that Saint Peter shut not the Grates of Para- 
 dise in thy face ! He will not heed the beauty 
 of thy features, but will look at thy little 
 heart, and if he finds that ugly, then will he
 
 Golomba. 9 
 
 lock the Gates of Heaven, and thou wilt cry 
 to all Eternity." 
 
 '^ Oh, Mamma ! do not scold thy child. I 
 am much disquieted, and I feel within myself 
 a great rage. That imbecile Bertoldo has 
 reproved me until I have become sour as 
 vinegar." 
 
 Caterina's eyes flashed angrily; for, though 
 she reproved Colomba herself, she allowed 
 no one else to scold her darling ; and as for 
 Bertoldo, she had always felt jealous of him, 
 and could not bear the idea of his robbing 
 her of her little dove. She had never liked 
 him, and was very much opposed to the match. 
 It was her husband who was forwarding 
 Bertoldo's suit. Colomba was young, and 
 had time enough to look about her before 
 she thought of marriage, and she was a fit 
 bride for a marquis, in her mother's opinion. 
 
 " Oh ! the dog- thief ! " she muttered be- 
 tween her teeth, and then aloud added, 
 " And what didst thou say to Bertoldo, 
 Colomba mia?" 
 
 " I answered that I would never become 
 his wife. And that is the truth, Madre ; for 
 I really will not have him ! The Babbo may
 
 10 Fiesole. 
 
 scold, or even beat me, but I will not marry 
 that maledetto ciuco Bertoldo ! " 
 
 Caterina smiled, well pleased with her 
 daughter's resolution. She had always re- 
 gretted Colomba's ready acquiescence in the 
 father's plans ; and now rejoiced in this 
 independence of spirit, feeling proud of her 
 child's pride. But she was wise enough to 
 give her a caution. 
 
 "-Take good heed, Colomba, tbat thou 
 say est nothing to the Babbo ; for ' in a shut 
 mouth flies enter not.' Wait with patience, 
 and we will find thee a better match; and 
 then we will tell all to thy father." 
 
 '' Yes ! " thought Colomba, '' I must find 
 a new lover ; " and she mentally conned over 
 the names and qualifications of her numerous 
 admirers; but, somehow, they all seemed even 
 less satisfactory than the ofiending Bertoldo. 
 She had said she should be a fool if she 
 married him, so that young man stood a good 
 chance of proving her one — unless a better 
 suitor soon appeared. 
 
 Old Simone Yestris was a thriving peasant- 
 farmer who had money in the savings-bank, 
 also a house and fields, and a good stock of 
 cattle. Colomba was his only child, and
 
 Colomha, 11 
 
 consequently an heiress. There had been 
 another baby born long ago, a Httle boy, 
 whom Caterina had nursed herself and loved 
 most passionately. Colomba was born two 
 years after her brother, but she was given 
 over to the care of a bagha (wet nurse), and, 
 as the mother herself said, she quite wished 
 the baglia to take the baby away from her, 
 that she might be left alone with her little 
 idol, her Carlo. " Yes," she said, " I loved 
 the child too much, and so God took him 
 away from me, and left me only the little girl 
 I had not valued. I repented of my fault 
 and gave my whole heart to my Colomba, 
 my only joy. I could never do too much to 
 atone for the neglect I had shown her during 
 the first few months of her existence." 
 
 Old Simone was a peculiar man; avaricious, 
 but lazy ; mentally slow, yet fond of gossip ; 
 a good and affectionate husband, but one 
 who boasted that he always had his own way, 
 and was master in his own house. And yet, 
 in reality, the good Simone was twisted 
 round his wife's shapely brown finger, though 
 she was far too wise to mention this fact to 
 him, or anyone else. Caterina had but a 
 low opinion of men ; she thought they were
 
 12 Fiesole, 
 
 creatures made to be humoured and petted, 
 and of little use in the world ; and so she 
 adapted her strength to the weakness of the 
 particular man she owned, and thus their 
 household was ruled in a wise and orderly 
 manner. 
 
 Bertoldo Fossi lived all alone in a farm- 
 house opposite the Yestris'. He had long 
 made up his mind to marry no one but 
 Colomba, for he really loved her. He 
 thought a wife would be a more pleasant 
 companion than his old house-keeper Maria, 
 and, above all, a great convenience from a 
 domestic point of view. But he told himself 
 that he had no intention of making a fool of 
 himself; his wife must bring him a large 
 dowry, and thus be a help, not a hindrance, 
 to his worldly prosperity. Old Simone Vestris 
 was both avaricious and wary, and as 
 Caterina was not his friend, Bertoldo saw 
 that it would be difficult to arrange pecuniary 
 matters satisfactorily ; he was, therefore, 
 biding his time, and had not yet proposed for 
 Colomba. He had never entertained the 
 idea of its being possible that he could marry 
 any other girl, for where was Colomba's 
 equal ? Certainly not in Fiesole ! He had
 
 Cdmiba. 13 
 
 never feared her marrying another, for he 
 knew that no young man in the neighbour- 
 hood could compare with himself in wealth 
 or personal attractions, and he knew that 
 Colomba was not a fool, and was sure she 
 could not be blind to her own advantage. 
 
 The Italians of " K.eality " — unlike those 
 of " Romance " — are far more prosaic and 
 matter-of-fact than we imagine ; the romantic 
 and disinterested among them are the ex- 
 ceptions that prove the rule. They think a 
 great deal too much of money and posses- 
 sions ; but they have the excuse of poverty 
 to plead. For, in the Italy of to-day, Italian 
 Jews are the richest citizens ; and exorbitant 
 taxes grind down the faces of the poor. 
 
 Bertoldo was a phlegmatic and stolid 
 specimen of the Italian peasant — even his 
 affections had not yet been aroused and he 
 did not know how to love. He was like a 
 fine bull, king of the herd, handsome, domi- 
 neering, strong — but only an animal. 
 
 Colomba was better educated than her 
 lover, for she could at least read and write. It 
 was not from the parish priest that she had re- 
 ceived her instruction ; for Caterina's religion 
 was more practical and less bigoted than was
 
 14 Fiesole. 
 
 quite pleasant to that reverend gentleman. 
 Colomba certainly went to Mass, but she 
 said she did not like to think of death, it 
 was so terrible. She had, however, her 
 thoughts of the Madonna, and the blessed 
 saints, and she liked to go to church dressed 
 in her best clothes, and hear the young men 
 saying how beautiful she was. 
 
 Colomba' s teacher was a widow called 
 Assunta Yalencini ; who kept a small trattoria 
 (inn) near the end of the carriage-road that 
 leads to Fiesole. This woman was the 
 daughter of a Florentine notary, and she had 
 married beneath her when she took Grian 
 Yalencini. Though only half-educated in 
 reality, she seemed quite a learned lady to 
 those amongst whom she lived. Her friend- 
 ship was not easily won, although she was 
 civil to all; and the villagers said that, '' she 
 would end by turning Colomba Vestris' head, 
 for she had almost adopted her, and was 
 educating her ' like a lady'." Bertoldo could 
 only make a cross with a pen as Ms mark, 
 and was obliged to have his accounts made 
 up for him ; he was, therefore, rather afraid 
 that Colomba would be spoilt by learning too 
 much, but, at the same time, he was shrewd
 
 • Golomha. 15 
 
 enough to perceive that her accomplishments 
 would be very useful to him. Colomba did 
 not care for her studies, but she enjoyed the 
 extra importance her learning gave her. 
 She would far rather have become a servant, 
 like her cousin Mcoletta, than have learnt 
 as much as the Signora Yalencini herself— for 
 was not Florence a city of delights, which 
 she had only visited upon grand occasions 
 under the care of her parents. She thought 
 herself a very ill-used girl, and so, poor little 
 dove, she beat her wings against the bars of 
 her cage.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 
 
 *' T WILL go and make a visit to Signora 
 
 1. Sunta Yalencini," said Colomba to 
 her motlier, a few days after her quarrel 
 with Bertoldo. 
 
 Bertoldo had not been near her since he 
 had so grievously offended her, and she told 
 her mother that he was evidently sulky and 
 proud. " He thinks he has but to put out 
 his hand to take me, diamine ! but he will 
 find it empty 1 I am not for such an im- 
 becile as that stupid Bertoldo ! " 
 
 Colomba was now dressed in her best, and 
 standing by her mother's side, telling her of 
 her wish to visit the Signora Sunta Valencini. 
 
 '' You can go, child, although there is 
 much linen yet to iron. But thou wert not 
 made for hard work, my little Dove."
 
 Romance and Reality, 17 
 
 " Oh, Mamma, do not say such things ! 
 I will work for a thousand years, I promise ! 
 Only let thy Colomba visit her mistress, and 
 she will return as good as a saint, and iron 
 all the sheets." 
 
 Caterina smiled good-naturedly, for she 
 knew what her daughter's munificent offer 
 was worth. But ColoDiba was a spoilt child 
 and, as the neighbours said, "brought up 
 like a lady." Whenever the mother's con- 
 science reproached her for allowing Colomba 
 to be so idle and disobedient, she always 
 said to herself — '' It will be time enough for 
 her to work when she is married." This 
 opinion was quite contrary to that held by 
 Italian ladies who rarely try their wings 
 until after marriage. But peasants have so 
 much hard work to do that they get little 
 enough pleasure at any time — and certainly 
 still less after they have a husband and a 
 house full of children. 
 
 Colomba now kissed lier mother on both 
 cheeks, and stepped out gaily into the sun- 
 shine. She went through the poderi full of 
 grape vines hanging in glistening festoons 
 from one stunted tree to another — on until 
 she came to the cypress grove on the 
 
 c
 
 18 Fiesole. 
 
 Fiesole Eoad, singing merrily in tlie glad- 
 ness of her heart : — 
 
 " Santa Maria dei Pampani 
 Daci mariti a tutti." * 
 
 The beauties of Nature did not affect 
 her; for few Italian peasants appreciate 
 their beautiful land, except in its bread- 
 producing character. Colomba was thinking 
 now of the dress she had termed, '' the black 
 rag," which she had put on for her visit. It 
 was black with red spots, and she wore her 
 pretty coral necklace, and a black lace veil 
 over her head ; for she disdained the usual 
 peasant head-gear, namely, the silk hand- 
 kerchief or pezzuola, and her mother would 
 not permit her to wear a hat, a fashion 
 quite contrary to the old peasant customs. 
 Her cheeks flushed a beautiful rosy red, 
 and the words of her song rang in her 
 ears with a distinct significance. Perhaps 
 the gracious Madonna would deign to 
 show her her destined husband, and give 
 her a far finer one than the offending 
 Bertoldo. 
 
 * " Holy Madonna of the Grape- Vines 
 Give husbands to us all."
 
 Romance and Reality. 19 
 
 Presently she sat down on a large rock 
 that over-hung the distant city, with the dark 
 cypresses forming a sombre back- ground to 
 her pretty meditative figure. She was 
 adding up the wealth and advantages she 
 should expect the future sposo to possess — 
 and there was always this refrain running 
 through her dream — *' And I shall live in 
 Florence, and wear silk dresses with long 
 tails." 
 
 Colomba knew that she ought not to 
 linger there, for her mother did not often 
 permit her to walk alone even such a short 
 distance as to the Signora Valencini's. Tlie 
 Italian peasants are most particular respecting 
 the conduct of their young unmarried women, 
 and solitary walks are not considered pro- 
 per, even for farmers' daughters. And 
 Colomba saw that it was growing late ; for 
 the shadows were deepening fast, and she 
 knew that her mother trusted her to go 
 quickly to the Signora Yalencini's ; and that 
 the Signora Yalencini with her sister-in-law 
 Fortunata would see her safely home. But 
 in spite of this, Colomba still lingered, dream- 
 ing dreams of her future sposo. 
 
 She made a pretty picture sitting on that 
 c 2
 
 20 Fiesole. 
 
 rock by the road-side, in a frame of dark 
 cypress trees. Her eager eyes were fixed on 
 tlie sky above, but they saw nothing — 
 except a beatified vision of her future sposo. 
 The sun sank in glowing splendour and the 
 sky changed to a pale primrose tint, flecked 
 with rosy pink, and merging into a soft blue. 
 Florence lay still and misty in the distance, 
 and a peaceful hush was over all things ; 
 only the chirp, chirp of the crickets broke 
 the deep silence. 
 
 Suddenly Colomba heard a man's foot- 
 steps, and was again rudely aroused from 
 her pleasant castle-building. She started 
 with terror as she thought of how long she 
 had lingered on her way to Signer a Sunta's. 
 The man walked along the road, up to her, 
 past her — and as he passed there was a smile 
 of insolent triumph on his face — it was 
 Bertoldo ! Hateful, detestable Bertoldo ! 
 He took no notice of her, possibly he ex- 
 pected her to run after him, and beg his 
 pardon ! Beg Ms ^pardon ! He thought to 
 grieve her. As if he could grieve her ! She 
 felt that she would rather marry a beggar 
 than this insulting lover. Oh ! that she 
 could tear his eyes out ! Her heart was
 
 Bomance and Reality. 21 
 
 bursting with rage and mortification, and 
 some fear too ; for might not the horrid 
 Bertoldo tell her Babbo that he had seen her 
 sitting alone by the road-side. Poor Colomba 
 had not the heart to go on. She buried her 
 face in her hands and sobbed bitterly. It 
 was a combination of rage and fear that 
 caused her tears, for she felt sure that she 
 did not love that bestia, and yet, she had 
 a secret admiration for his spirit, though 
 she was quite unconscious of this rebel 
 feeling. 
 
 She was startled again ; this time by a 
 voice — a voice of most peculiar sweetness 
 and depth. 
 
 " Why dost thou cry, my little angel?" 
 
 She looked up with glistening eyes and a 
 face disfigured by passion. But meeting a 
 pitying gaze, instead of the impudent stare 
 she had expected, a sudden sense of shame 
 came over her, and she again hid her face in 
 her hands. 
 
 '' Art thou unwell, most beautiful Sig- 
 norina? " 
 
 ''Oh, no ! Signore,'* she faltered. *' I 
 have only lingered here longer than I ought, 
 and some one I know has seen me, and I
 
 22 Fiesole. 
 
 fear that he will tell it to mj Babbo, who will 
 most surely beat me." And she peeped at 
 the stranger shyly from between her fingers. 
 
 He smiled at her reassuringly. *' I do not 
 think thy father will beat thee, Signorina ; 
 he could not touch one so lovely, except to 
 caress her." 
 
 She had never been paid such a delicate 
 and refined compliment before. The ad- 
 miration of the young villagers was far more 
 outspoken — and then, this man pronounced 
 his words differently. Yes ! there could be 
 no doubt, he must be a real gentleman. 
 Could he be the husband sent her by the 
 Madonna in answer to her petition ! She 
 looked him all over, beginning with his hat 
 and ending with his boots. He was a middle- 
 sized man with rather a large head, curly 
 dark hair and moustache, and deep thoughtful 
 grey eyes. His complexion was sallow, and 
 his arms too long ; he appeared to have been 
 intended for a tall man, only that Nature had 
 forgotten herself at the last moment, and left 
 him short. Although he was really of the 
 middle height, his great breadth made him 
 appear short. His age was about thirty, 
 and he was dressed like a gentleman. Com-
 
 Romance and Reality. 23 
 
 paring him with Bertoldo, Colomba decided 
 that he was both old and ugly. He could 
 not possibly be her future sposo. She was 
 unable to appreciate the noble height of his 
 broad forehead, the benevolence of his mouth, 
 the thought and imagination in his eyes — the 
 sense of power that pervaded the whole man. 
 He also possessed two other good gifts, 
 namely, a melodious and beautiful voice, and 
 a smile of singular sweetness. Colomba felt 
 a strangely sudden sense of confidence and 
 respect for him. Somehow she seemed to 
 have seen his smile before, to have heard his 
 voice. He was not like a stranger to her. 
 
 *' Permit me to accompany you to your 
 house, Signorina ! " 
 
 This suggestion was overwhelming — a 
 strange gentleman walk home with her ! For 
 though he was old, he was not very old. 
 Why, this was the very thing her mother had 
 always told her to avoid — and yet — he looked 
 quiet and serious, and . . . Here a sound 
 of men singing in the distance interrupted 
 Colomba's thoughts, and solved her doubts. 
 Better one serious middle-aged man for escort 
 than half-a-dozen tipsy young fellows. 
 
 ** Signore, you are too good ! I accept,
 
 24 Fiesole. 
 
 witli pleasure, your offer. You will render 
 me a great favour if you accompany me down 
 to tlie gate of our podere. God will render 
 thee the merit ! " 
 
 He placed his hand on his heart. " It is 
 mine, the honour." 
 
 What did this " old man " mean by paying 
 her compliments ! But he looked so grave 
 the while, that she thought he could not 
 really mean them. 
 
 They walked on in silence, leaving the 
 noisy singers now far behind them. If only 
 Bertoldo could see her now ! Colomba 
 thought. But no ! she did not want to meet 
 him just then, when her heart was already 
 beating with tremulous throbs at the thought 
 of her naughty • escapade. She glanced 
 shyly at her companion, and wondered what 
 he was thinking about — she also wondered 
 whether he lived in Florence or Fiesole. He 
 was certainly a Signore, for no peasant would 
 have walked so silently by her side. Inno- 
 cent Colomba little knew that Italian gentle- 
 men are even more ready than any peasant 
 youth to talk to and follow the pretty girls 
 they meet. Colomba always walked between 
 her parents when she went to Florence on
 
 Romance and Reality. 25 
 
 an occasional cliurch Festa ; and beyond a 
 chance exclamation of " Bella ! " slie had 
 never been honoured by a gentleman's notice. 
 
 *' How beautiful is the evening ! " said the 
 deep voice by her side. '' Calm and placid 
 as a dream. The sound of distant bells 
 alone disturbs the mysterious silence. The 
 evening is a fit time for thought, for aspira- 
 tion, when the soul throbs with fervour and 
 launches itself into the glories of eternity. 
 Ah ! there she is — La creatura bella bianco 
 vestita ! '' 
 
 The puzzled Colomba looked curiously for 
 the ''white-robed lady''; but following the 
 direction of her companion's gaze, she only 
 saw — the moon. 
 
 '' Ah ! there you are, queen of the night ! 
 You will now disperse all the dark shadows 
 with your white veil. How the light of the 
 moon fills the soul with devotion — the sun, 
 on the contrary, awakes so many complex 
 emotions that one reasons too much, and 
 feels too little — but the moon, the beautiful 
 moon, she is calm and peaceful, and calls 
 forth a unity of ideas, the love of God and 
 man." He here looked at the creatura bella 
 walking by his side, and he could not refrain
 
 26 Fiesole. 
 
 from laugliing at the expression of her face. 
 His laugh was so hearty and contagious that 
 Colomba laughed too, although she had not 
 the least idea at what she was laughing. 
 But the stranger knew that the cause of his 
 mirth was the thought of how he had been 
 calmly and determinedly " talking over the 
 head " of his pretty little companion, whose 
 face had expressed the complete bewilder- 
 ment he had caused her. It was the puzzled 
 patient look in those beautiful eyes that had 
 recalled him from his higher flights. He was 
 not the least offended when she said in an 
 awestruck whisper : — 
 
 '' Tell me, Signore, did you learn all those 
 long words in a book ? It appears very 
 beautiful language, but as hard as latin to 
 understand.'' 
 
 '' No ! Signorina, only a few words of what 
 I have said are out of a book ; and they were 
 from the works of Dante, our greatest poet. 
 Surely, you have heard Dante named? " 
 
 " Yes ! Signore. But my instructress said 
 the book of Dante was all about the Inferno, 
 and too terrible for me to read. Besides, I 
 never understand Poetry ; there are always 
 so many long words which have no sense.
 
 Romance and Reality. 27 
 
 Tell me, please ! how could the Signer Dante 
 write the history of the Inferno ; for it is 
 certain that he could never have been 
 there?" 
 
 '' You are right, Signorina ! But though 
 Dante had never beheld the Inferno, he could 
 imagine it — and he did this so ben, bene* that 
 one cannot help giving a certain value to his 
 creations, and receiving with some faith what 
 he tells." 
 
 ''I should not have any faith in his 
 words, for they are all lies — they do not 
 deserve the trouble of reading them !" 
 
 The stranger did not attempt to dispute 
 this very practical and realistic view of 
 Dante's works ; for he knew that it would 
 be of no use. Before he could think of some 
 new topic of conversation, they came to the 
 gate of the podere. 
 
 *' Happiest night, and good repose ! A 
 thousand thanks for your kindness, Sig- 
 nore," and Colomba opened the gate and 
 passed in. 
 
 *' Happiest night, Signorina," he an- 
 swered, as he lifted his hat with a bow and 
 a smile. 
 
 * Truly well.
 
 28 Fiesole. , 
 
 Colomba tripped ligbtly through the 
 podere, and as she walked she thought. 
 She felt that the brutto vecchio * had be- 
 haved in a most miraculously decorous man- 
 ner ; for had he not even talked of the moon 
 instead of her face ! Somehow, in her way- 
 ward little heart there lurked a sense of dis- 
 content at the remembrance of his excessive 
 delicacy. He had piqued her vanity, and 
 raised her curiosity, and whatever she might 
 think of him, she could not easily forget the 
 vecchio who had " talked like a book of 
 poetry." 
 
 Colomba stole into the house quietly by 
 the backdoor, and going through the 
 passage, entered the kitchen, where her 
 father and mother were seated comfortably 
 eating their supper. 
 
 " Where, then, is the Signora Sunta, child ? 
 Surely, she accompanied thee to the house ! " 
 
 "I was accompanied until the gate," re- 
 plied Colomba, evasively, inwardly invoking 
 the saints to pardon her white lie, and pre- 
 vent Bertoldo from mentioning their meeting 
 that evening. If he did tell of her, she 
 
 * Ugly old one.
 
 Romance and Reality. 29 
 
 might say that she was then on her way 
 back from Signora Sunta's; but it would 
 make a confusion as to hours, and la Sunta 
 might be questioned ; but she could deny its 
 being late, and try to put Bertoldo in the 
 wrong. She sincerely hoped, however, that 
 the good saints would cause Bertoldo to 
 remain silent ; for she was far too proud to 
 entreat him. 
 
 " Without doubt, Signora Sunta gave 
 thee a good supper ? " 
 
 Poor Colomba felt very hungry ; but she 
 dared not say that she had not had any 
 supper, for the Signora Yalencini's hos- 
 pitaHty was proverbial. So she told another 
 fib, and went supperless to bed. 
 
 Hastily undressing, she climbed into her 
 tall bed with its numerous hard mattresses 
 stuffed with Indian corn leaves. A painted 
 Madonna in the form of a medallion was let 
 into the iron-work at the head, and a willow- 
 palm was tied above it to keep off witches, 
 devils, and all bad spirits. Colomba curled 
 herself up under the bed-clothes, turned her 
 face to the pillow, and burst into a passion 
 of tears. Was she crying at the thought 
 of Bertoldo's rudeness, or because of her
 
 30 Fiesole, 
 
 own disobedience and falsehood ? No ! her 
 meditations were not of sucli things. 
 
 ' ' Ohime ! Unfortunate that I am ! Hungry 
 as a dog ! What matters a future husband 
 to me ! Is it not thinking of such vanities 
 that has occasioned all my ills ? Oh, poor 
 me ! That I could be such an imbecile ! I 
 have well deserved my punishment ! And 
 they had fowl cooked with tomato sauce 
 — that is my favourite piatto!"* And 
 Colomba sobbed afresh, and bit her pillow 
 with her pretty white teeth. 
 
 She was only seventeen, and so ignorant 
 and unintellectual that hunger had with her 
 the power to banish all other emotions. All 
 romance vanished in the face of this stern 
 reality. 
 
 By-and-bye she sat up in bed, and listened 
 eagerly. Her parents slept in the next 
 room, and she heard them still talking. She 
 waited until all was silent, and then she 
 slipped quietly out of bed, and glided swiftly 
 down the stairs. Very pretty she looked in 
 her long white night-gown, with her dark hair 
 waving down to her knees, and her little 
 
 * Dish
 
 Romance and Reality. 31 
 
 pink toes pattering unslippered down the 
 stairs. She went at once into the kitchen, 
 and, opening the store - cupboard, looked 
 within. Alas ! what she saw occasioned her 
 to raise her hand to her head with a gesture 
 of tragic despair. 
 
 " Holy heavens ! they have eaten all the 
 pomedoro ! " 
 
 She continued searching in the cupboard, 
 but her efforts were not rewarded by suc- 
 cess ; for she only found a large hunch of 
 coarse bread, which she carried back to her 
 room. She sat up in bed, and ate her frugal 
 supper. Alas ! it was very dry, except 
 where her tears fell and moistened it. When 
 she had eaten the last crumb, she lay down 
 again. 
 
 *' Oh, holy Madonna ! It is even so ! 
 Your will is not that I should marry, and 
 you have visited me with misfortunes as a 
 sign ! It is well. I will think no more of 
 husbands, for they are truly ' much smoke 
 and little roast ' ! " 
 
 Thus, the accident of losing her supper 
 crumbled to ashes the castles in the air 
 Colomba had been buildino^. Had she dis- 
 covered some tomato sauce in the cupboard,
 
 32 Fiesole, 
 
 it is probable that ber thoughts would have 
 become more worldly and less devout. But 
 hunger banished Bertoldo, the stranger, the 
 future husband, silk dresses, all alike from 
 her mind. And for the present little 
 Colomba determined to have no future hus- 
 band, and to take very good care not to lose 
 her supper again.
 
 CHAPTEH III. 
 
 THE WAND or PATA MOEGANA.* 
 
 HAD Colomba looked back at the young 
 man she termed old, after she parted 
 from him at the gate, her vanity would have 
 been less piqued, and she would consequently 
 have forgotten him all the sooner for that 
 reason. He was not looking at the moon then ; 
 but earnestly watching her receding figure 
 with eyes full of a passionate admiration. It 
 was his respectful delicacy that had caused 
 him to be so ceremonious whilst escorting 
 her home. 
 
 " Ah ! little Colomba, dove of my heart ! 
 I thouo:ht it could be no other than thou — 
 thou thyself. Pulse of my heart, how 
 beautiful thouhast become ! Well might I 
 
 * Fata Mdrgana, an optical illusion frequently ob- 
 served in the Straits of Messina in Sicily, in which, by 
 atmospheric refraction, multiplied images of the objects 
 on the coast around appear in the air over the sea. 
 
 D
 
 34 Fiesole, 
 
 have failed to know tliee — my eyes miglit 
 have made a mistake, had not my heart told 
 me the truth." 
 
 He leant against the gate, gazing pensively 
 at the house into which Colomba had 
 vanished. *' Thou knew'st me not, my 
 beautiful one, and how shouldst thou, since 
 thou hast not seen me for so many years ! 
 But I — I felt certain it could be no other — 
 and when I saw thee enter this gate I knew 
 for certain that it was thou thyself, dove of 
 my heart ! I would not reveal myself to thee, 
 for I feared to render thee ashamed ; and so 
 I permitted thee to imagine me a stranger. 
 Also, had I told my name, I could not have 
 contained myself —I should have told thee 
 my love, and have frightened my little 
 Colomba. God knows I would not offend 
 my beloved ! She was acting imprudently, 
 naughtily ; but she is young and modest — 
 she diverts herself by playing — when she 
 marries she will become more serious. I 
 could not have told my love now, so I spoke 
 to her only of things — and I fear I made but 
 a bad figure with my long words." And he 
 laughed merrily. *' Poor little one ! she 
 could not even understand me."
 
 The Wand of Fata Morgana. 35 
 
 After musing for some time the stranger 
 turned to go. By a remarkable coincidence 
 it was. exactly at this time that Colomba was 
 making such strong resolutions against matri- 
 mony, while he was saying, with his eyes fixed 
 on the house she lived in : — 
 
 '' It is thou, thou my beautiful little angel, 
 who shalt be my wife ! I will marry no other 
 if thou wilt not have me ; for I love thee with 
 my whole heart ! " 
 
 In our childhood we most of us dream 
 of a wonderful fairy God-mother who shall 
 suddenly appear, and accomplish the im- 
 possible for us. She is the fairy of our earlier 
 years. Youth has its own especial fairy, 
 and she is the Fata Morgana — the creatress 
 of mirages, of vain dreams — castles built on 
 clouds — beautiful and enchanting to every 
 sense, but without the basis of reality. 
 
 Pure-minded young people who are also 
 poetical are most especially influenced by the 
 spell of the Fata Morgana. It is a perilous 
 enchantment — for the awakening will surely 
 come, and when it does, who can say whether 
 this trial shall work for well or ill ? Whether 
 the mistaken dreamer of dreams shall lose 
 all faith in the great and good — or whether 
 D 2
 
 36 Fiesole. 
 
 he shall awake to nobler ideals and a wiser 
 faith. 
 
 This young man was now under the spell 
 of the all-potent fairy, dreaming sweet im- 
 possible dreams, building castles in the air, 
 and fancying what was unreal to be truth. 
 
 Under that spell Colomba seemed the 
 sweetest of her sex, as she was certainly one 
 of the prettiest. His love was apparently of 
 very sudden growth, but in the '' Sunny 
 South " such is often the case. And then 
 this young man had another excuse for his 
 folly — this was not the first time he had seen 
 Colomba, although it was the first time he had 
 seen her as a woman grown. He was a 
 poet and an artist, wonderfully romantic and 
 pure-minded, with grand ideals and noble 
 unworldly thoughts. He had never had so 
 much as a fancy before this, unless a tender 
 love for a little girl of seven could be called a 
 fancy. He had long dreamed of his ideal 
 woman, so when he found his little sweet- 
 heart a beautiful maiden, he immediately 
 concluded that she was an embodiment of 
 his ideal — and, of course, loved her at 
 once. He endowed Colomba with all the 
 good qualities his fancy could conjure up.
 
 The Wand of Fata Morgana. 37 
 
 and witli ttie noble soul wliich liis aspira- 
 tions had ever yearned to meet. Surely, so 
 beautiful a form must be the casket of a lovely 
 mind ! Thus did a clever romantic young 
 man fall blindly in love, and go to his 
 home thinking only of Colomba. He dreamt 
 of her all night, whilst she was dreaming of 
 — fowls and tomato sauce. 
 
 But he had a slight adventure before he 
 reached his house, and it was one that caused 
 him much uneasiness. 
 
 In the lane near the Yestris gate he 
 stumbled against a tall man, who swore at 
 him heartily, and received his excuses with 
 a very bad grace. This man entered a 
 door on the opposite side of the road, dis- 
 appearing within the gate of a farm-yard. 
 
 '' Ah ! " exclaimed the stranger. " By all 
 the saints ! I had forgotten his existence. Per 
 Bacco ! I may find that all my hopes are worth 
 nothing. 'He who makes the accounts without 
 the host, is obliged to make them twice over.'* 
 He may be already her promesso. I dared not 
 ask my mother if Colomba was betrothed — 
 I had a fore-knowledge that I should love 
 her as soon as I beheld her. Ah ! I was 
 
 ■^ Italian proverb.
 
 38 Fiesole, 
 
 dreaming a sweet dream — but now ! fool 
 tliat I w^as, to think that I could have the 
 sweet without the bitter. That Bertoldo lives 
 so near her — brutta bestia ! Is it possible 
 that she can love one who is so uncourteous ! 
 Were her tears shed for him ! Arch-priest ! 
 if I thought that ! " and he clenched his fist, 
 "• I could kill'him ! But it is not possible! 
 So sweet an angel could not be destined to 
 wed a brigand like Bertoldo ! " 
 
 And with this thought he comforted him- 
 self as well as he could. But when jealousy 
 once enters the heart it is not easy to drive 
 it out again. 
 
 Bertoldo was not the least jealous, he was 
 only cross. Colomba was not so submissive 
 as he had expected to find her ; and he hoped 
 she would get a good beating for lingering 
 alone on the road. He also slept that night, 
 but he did not dream at all. 
 
 The stranger dreamt that he saw Colomba 
 coming towards him in a veil of rosy mist ; 
 she stretched forth her hand to him, and in 
 it was a poet's wreath. '' I bring thee 
 honour and joy," she said. But when he held 
 out his arms to clasp her to his breast, a 
 dark shadow came between them. He flung
 
 The Wand of Fata Morgana, 39 
 
 himself on the ground in an agony of grief 
 — when lo ! he felt himself lifted up into the 
 air. He was lying on a cloud drawn by doves, 
 they floated away — on — past the silvery moon 
 — higher, ever higher ! — and upon another 
 cloud floated his beloved, and she smiled 
 upon him, but floated away. He cried aloud 
 in despair, and lo ! he felt two soft arms 
 encircling his neck, and a kiss was trembling 
 on his lips ; — with a cry, he awoke. 
 
 It was day, and the sun was shining in at 
 his window. What did his dream portend ? 
 Was it Colomba who had kissed him? Ah ! 
 that delicious kiss ! His lips still tingled with 
 the sweet sensation. It must be a good 
 omen in spite of the first part of the dream. 
 
 He was not sordid enough to compute the 
 vision by its appropriate numbers in the 
 '* Book of Dreams," and to choose the said 
 numbers in the government lottery ; though 
 many of his countrymen would have done 
 this. But he could not help attaching a 
 certain superstitious importance to so vivid 
 and extraordinary a dream. Surely, it meant 
 something ! Something aflecting him and his 
 Colomba — and it must be a good omen. 
 
 And he arose. And thus a new day begnn.
 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 THE PROMISE AND THE KISS. 
 
 COLOMBA spent the next few days in a 
 state of unwonted excitement and 
 anxiety. Bertoldo never came, nor gave the 
 least sign of his intentions. She wondered 
 if he would tell her father of her ! She 
 was also curious about the unknown Signore. 
 But as her mother required her assistance in 
 a thorough house-cleaning, she was not able 
 to go into the village of Fiesole, and con- 
 sequently she heard no news. 
 
 Colomba had been busy all day, and when 
 evening came she threw a shawl over her 
 shoulders, and stole out of the back door 
 on to a little stone terrace level with the 
 first story, which led down by a flight of 
 steps to the yard. The front entrance was 
 level with the ground-floor. The front of 
 this terrace was formed by a high stone- 
 wall on which Colomba kept some pet
 
 The Promise and the Kiss, 41 
 
 flower-pots, and at one side was the flight of 
 steps. The view from this primitive con- 
 servatory was most extensive, and Colomba 
 often sat there, as her bedroom opened into 
 the passage near the terrace. She now 
 brought a chair from her room, and sat down 
 with her knitting in her hands. But she 
 soon let her work fall, and began to muse. 
 Her pretty face was framed by two enormous 
 pots of lemons. She leant over the wall 
 and looked with unseeing eyes at the misty 
 purple peak of Monte Cenario, and Monte 
 Morello with its rugged steeps, which had 
 not to-day put on its cloud-cap.* The birds 
 twittered as they flew home to their nests, 
 the cows lowed in their shed, and her father 
 was bringing home the horses. Colomba 
 heeded none of these familiar sounds, 
 although they unconsciously wove themselves 
 into her dreams — as sights and sounds so 
 often do. And when she thought those 
 same thoughts again she always seemed to 
 see and hear those peaceful evening sights 
 and sounds. 
 
 * " Monte Morello lia suo Capcllo." Italian saying. 
 The cloud-cap indicates coming ruin.
 
 42 Fiesole. 
 
 " Povera me ! wlien shall I reach thee, oh 
 Florence ! — City of mj desires," she mur- 
 mured. And this was the refrain of all her 
 thoughts. 
 
 She was aroused from her dreams by hear- 
 ing footsteps on the stones of the yard below. 
 Looking down, she saw Bertoldo. He was 
 walking along carelessly with his hands 
 stuffed into his pockets, and his hat very 
 much on one side. He began to whistle ''La 
 Donna e mobile " — altogether he wore the 
 air of a conqueror. Apparently he had not 
 yet seen Colomba ; but she knew this was 
 not really the case. His whistling, his air, 
 his walk were all meant for her; and her 
 heart beat wildly with a fierce resentment. 
 Poor Bertoldo was in reality not half so 
 guilty as she thought him ; for his actions 
 were all caused by a mistaken idea of 
 her sentiments. 
 
 He thought she was in love with him, 
 and only needed to be brought into due sub- 
 jection for her own good. He had an honest 
 belief in his own importance, and he 
 fancied that Colomba agreed with him in 
 that respect. He must cure her of her 
 coquettish ways, and it was with this
 
 The Promise and the Kiss. 43 
 
 laudable intent that lie had been keeping 
 away from her, so that she might learn his 
 value by missing his society. He had had 
 no idea of using his knowledge of her dis- 
 obedience as a threat to hold over her ; he 
 had never meant to tell her father. But he 
 was not the man to kneel to any woman ; he 
 considered that it was Colomba's duty to 
 kneel to him. And he had no doubt that 
 she would respect him all the more for his 
 manly supremacy. Poor foolish fellow ! on 
 that evening he lost his last chance of win- 
 ning Colomba's favour. 
 
 '' Impudent fellow ! he thinks he can insult 
 me without my resenting it ! " she thought, 
 angrily. '' May his soul burn in purgatory ! 
 may he never know a moment's peace for 
 this ! " She did not leave the terrace ; but 
 there was an ominous glitter in the dark 
 blue eyes which were intently fixed on the 
 approaching Bertoldo. 
 
 When he was within speaking distance, 
 Bertoldo gave a highly theatrical start, and 
 said unconcernedly : "Oh ! thou art there, 
 Colomba ! " 
 
 '' Thou say est so, Signor Bertoldo ! " she 
 answered derisively.
 
 44 Fiesole, 
 
 He gave a real start now, — this was not 
 tlie kind of answer that he had expected her 
 to make. Where was her contrition, her 
 penitence, her love ! But somehow, her 
 pretty impertinence made him feel all the 
 fonder. He now knew that he loved her 
 very much, and that he was wrong to delay 
 making her a formal offer of marriage. She 
 was such a giddy child that he might lose 
 her from her sheer wrong-headedness. He 
 quickened his steps, and ascended the 
 terrace-stairs, and stood by her side. 
 
 She did not even stir to look at him, 
 Sirely, never was so foolish, so obstinate a 
 woman ! He actually felt at a loss for some- 
 thing to say. For the first time in his life 
 Bertoldo was shy. The rush of sincere love 
 that filled his heart tied his tongue, and he 
 stood silent, shuffling his feet the while. He 
 little guessed how Colomba enjoyed his em- 
 barrassment. At length she spoke. 
 
 '' My parents are in the kitchen. Sign ore. 
 I conclude that it is with them that you 
 desire to converse." 
 
 '* Oh, no ! You mistake ! It is with you,, 
 damigella, that I would speak," he said 
 hurriedly.
 
 Tlie Promise and the Kiss, 45 
 
 She turned towards him, and fixing her 
 beautiful eyes on his face, crossed her hands 
 in her lap, and sat with an air of raost pro- 
 voking expectancy. He lost all his self- 
 possession, poor fellow. He wished to tell 
 her how much he loved her, that he would 
 marry her as soon as she chose, dowry or no 
 dowry ; that she might always sit with her 
 hands before her, and be as lazy as she 
 pleased ; and that he had been a fool and an 
 idiot to anger her — but he had not then known 
 how much he loved her. Instead of saying 
 all this, the unfortunate Bertoldo blundered 
 out something quite different — a stupid un- 
 premeditated remark. 
 
 " What wert thou doing out so late by the 
 road-side when I met thee ? I have not told 
 thy Babbo ; but if he knew, would he not 
 scold thee, Colomba ! " 
 
 He spoke heedlessly in his embarrassment, 
 talking for the sake of saying something, and 
 without the least premeditation or malice. 
 
 It was Colomba' s turn to start now. With 
 flushed cheeks and flashing eyes she arose. 
 
 '' Menaces to me ! Anima mia ! this is too 
 much ! Know, you impertinent one, that I 
 had just paid a visit to my friend, the Signora
 
 40 Fiesole. 
 
 Sunta Yalencini ; but it was my misfortune 
 to find her occupied with affairs of im- 
 portance, and I was forced to return home 
 alone. My shoe hurt me, and I sat myself 
 down to adjust it ; at that moment you . . . 
 But ! Cospetto ! why do I tell this to you, 
 you — ugly toad ! Madonna cara ! How I detest 
 you ! My affairs do not concern you ; you 
 are not my relation, thanks be to heaven 1 
 Grood evening, and good-bye." 
 
 She turned to go ; but Bertoldo stopped 
 her. Her last words had changed the spirit 
 of his dream. He could not understand how 
 she had failed to comprehend his true feel- 
 ings ; for, because he had been thinking such 
 loving thoughts, he had imagined that she 
 must divine them, and he utterly failed to 
 perceive that his stupid words might bear an 
 unpleasant construction. Her sudden anger 
 seemed like giving a blow in return for a 
 kiss, and his spirit smarted under the cruel 
 wound. He had turned pale with anger as 
 she spoke, and when she had ended, he seized 
 her roughly by the arm. As she struggled 
 to free herself, he shouted. 
 
 " Ah ! little witch ! I believe you not. 
 Your words are all lies 1 I will tell thy Babbo
 
 The Promise and the Kiss. 47 
 
 of tliee, and thou slialt be beaten as thou so 
 well deservest ! Ah ! little viper, did I not see 
 that beccero ! that evil thief, lurking near your 
 gate ? Without doubt, you were waiting for 
 him when I met you in the evening. May an 
 accident alight on you both ! Little scorpion, 
 diavoletta ! Fool, imbecile ! " and he em- 
 phasized each word by shaking her violently. 
 
 This access of jealousy was sudden, and 
 as fierce as it was sudden. But Colomba 
 thought that Bertoldo must have seen her 
 with the stranger, and have been brooding 
 over his jealous doubts for all these days. 
 She told herself that she hated him, this bio^ 
 rough man ; and yet — she knew that he 
 looked very handsome with that fierce 
 expression on his face. And he was grandly 
 strong and masterful. Poor little thing ! she 
 felt both cowed and miserable. 
 
 " Oh ! for the love of God, do not quite 
 murder me, Bertoldo ! " 
 
 " Thou deservest it ! " but he loosened his 
 rough grasp, and seeing how pretty her pale 
 face looked, with tears glistening in the large 
 blue eyes — he added with passionate pleading 
 — '' Oh ! Colombina bella, I love thee too 
 much ; I will give thee my word of honour
 
 48 Fiesole, 
 
 that I will tell notliing to thy parents — I will 
 do this on one condition ! Ah ! my beautiful 
 Colomba, I know that thou lovest me, me 
 and no other ! Let me but take one kiss and 
 I will give thee that promise. But one kiss, 
 to pay for a sacred promise." 
 
 A faint colour flushed her cheeks on hearing 
 his words; for Colomba had always been 
 chary of her kisses, and she was also well 
 aware of the significance that would be 
 attached to this particular kiss. Suddenly 
 an idea flashed across her mind — it was, that 
 she could now revenge herself upon Bertoldo 
 and also get the promise from him. Yes ! he 
 should give his kiss ; but that was the first 
 and last he should ever give to her ! 
 
 " Swear upon this cross, in the name of the 
 blessed Virgin, that you will never tell my 
 parents that you saw me seated alone by the 
 road-side — swear this, and you may take the 
 kiss ! " 
 
 He swore on her cross an oath too sacred 
 to be broken, whatever might happen after- 
 wards. Then Colomba turned up to him a 
 set white face, and permitted him to kiss her 
 passionately. Her lips moved not, they were 
 drawn into curves of stern resolution.
 
 The Promise and the Kiss. 49 
 
 After she had permitted Bertoklo to take 
 his kiss, without saying a single word, she ran 
 into the house, locking the door after her. 
 
 Bertoldo walked home in a most blissful 
 frame of mind, thinking to himself: '' I 
 knew that she meant to have me in the 
 end ! She is only a little more capricious than 
 other women. And who shall say that she 
 has not reason to be so ! For is she not more 
 beautiful than all. To-morrow I will ask old 
 Simone to give her to me for my wife. Ah ! 
 blessed night! I have now won my Colomba." 
 
 He grew quite poetical in his ardour ; for 
 love has power to inspire the most sluggish 
 brain with a spark of its divine afflatus. 
 
 As for Colomba, the first thing she did 
 when she reached her own room was to wash 
 her face energetically. And as she rubbed 
 it angrily, she said : '' Odious kiss, thou art 
 gone at last ! But I have won ! He thinks 
 I will become his wife. Ah, no ! it needs a 
 thousand years 1 He will find, the fool, that 
 I admire not his ugly face. Ah, ha ! he has 
 sworn to me, and I have made of- him an 
 Assino. I will marry the first rich man that 
 asks me, and the Signor Bertoldo shall dance 
 at my wedding ! " 
 
 E
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ALESSIO. 
 
 rpHE next morning, at about twelve o'clock, 
 JL when Signora Caterina was busily en- 
 gaged in cooking the dinner, her husband 
 entered the kitchen, wearing an air of 
 conscious elation. 
 
 Simone was a short man, with a large 
 nose, restless black eyes, and a particularly 
 unpleasant falsetto voice. 
 
 *' Congratulate thy husband, oh, Signora 
 Catera ! He has accomplished a good 
 deed. Know, that thy daughter is about to 
 become a wife ! " 
 
 " I am not quite certain of this good 
 deed; but I am certain that I shall not 
 congratulate any one when I lose my 
 Colomba ! There is no husband deserving 
 of so great a treasure, and it is more than 
 certain that he exists not among thy 
 friends ! " she replied sharply.
 
 Alessio, 51 
 
 Simone snapped his fingers contemp- 
 tuously. 
 
 "Ah! You women always make an 
 objection to everything. All the world 
 knows that you are dying for matrimony 
 as soon as 3'ou are taken out of the swad- 
 dling clothes, and yet you always speak thus. 
 Che ! but you are all donkeys ! Thou wilt 
 deserve little good, oh, wife ! if thou canst 
 not feel delighted at the prospects of thy 
 child. Listen ! oh, stupid cricket ! There 
 is a rich young man who is willing to take 
 the girl without any dower ; he is quite 
 content to inherit at our death. Ah ! 
 woman, is not that good fortune ? WitJioid 
 any dower ! " 
 
 '' Good fortune ! Yes, for those who thiuk 
 but of the soldi ! " she answered, sarcas- 
 tically. " I think first of the welfare of my 
 child, of her happiness ; my little dove, my 
 only one ! Who is this fine sposo thou hast 
 found ? — for I have not yet heard his name. 
 Thou thinkest that to give no dower is so 
 good a thing that even the meer idea has 
 made an idiot of thee ! " 
 
 " Thousand devils ! Fly not out at me 
 thus ! Alas ! the women will never hear 
 E 2
 
 52 Fiesole, 
 
 reason. ' Who tries to straighten the legs 
 of a deformed dog gets on but badly.' 
 Thou shouldst respect thy husband — he is 
 thy master and thy superior," said Simone, 
 trying to appear stern and majestic, but 
 speaking in a voice that was only a quaver 
 of shrill sound, and drawing up a form that 
 was but stumpy and insignificant. " I was 
 about to tell you, most impatient of women, 
 that our Colomba's future husband is 
 Bertoldo Fossi ; he has really warmed 
 now, and has become most passionately in 
 love, and is ready to consent to anything I 
 wish. Fool that I was, to promise to give 
 our Colomba a stock of new clothes and 
 linen ; he might even have taken her with- 
 out the corredo." 
 
 '' Thou miserly old brigand ! Thou 
 causest all my patience to escape. So, it is 
 tlms thou wouldst give tby only daughter ! 
 I blush for shame at hearing thee ! " 
 , Caterina was more angry with her husband 
 than she had ever been in all her life before. 
 And she handled the saucepan in an ominous 
 manner, as though she meant to fling the 
 boiling contents at the head of her offending 
 Simone. He evidently expected this to
 
 Alessio. bo 
 
 liappeD, for he edged nearer to the door, and 
 spoke in a more conciUatory manner. Try- 
 ing to make his voice tender, he subdued 
 it to a slate-pencil squeak. 
 
 '' Signora Catera, thou wrong'st me. I a'nt 
 a father /'^ and he waved his arm melo- 
 dramatically. " My heart is very tender, 
 and I ever consider the happiness of our 
 daughter, even before mine own. I tell 
 thee that Bertoldo has informed me that 
 his love is returned by our Colomba. They 
 understand each other, those two." 
 
 " I do not believe it ! Our Colomba is 
 too modest to show her heart to a young 
 man before he has asked her in marriage from 
 us. And also, I knoiv that she loves him 
 not, for she has often said so. Arch-priest ! 
 I will not consent to this marriage unless 
 she tells me she desires it. Thou hadst 
 better not try to thwart me ; for I will be 
 worse than a demon to thee, and thy house 
 shall be without any comfort. Remember, 
 oh, Simone Yestris, I brought thee three 
 thousand lire ! " 
 
 Simone was quite crushed by this rebuke, 
 although he rebelled in his secret soul ; but he 
 dared not openly resist, so he said, sullenly: —
 
 54 • Fiesole. 
 
 " Thou art a long-tongued woman, Cate- 
 raccia (horrid Caterina) ; but, as thou wilt 
 have it thus, thus it must be. Call the girl, 
 and ask her what thou wilt. Though, I 
 must say, such behaviour is against all 
 reason and custom — and our neighbours will 
 consider us two fools." But he added, 
 brightening. '' However, I do not believe 
 that our Colomba will be so great an im- 
 becile as to remain obstinate, and throw 
 away so beautiful a destiny." 
 
 " Our Colomba resembles not thee, thou 
 horrid old miser ! Thou carest only for the 
 money. It is ever the same with a man : 
 his first neighbour is himself. See here ! I 
 will call the child, and she shall answer 
 you," said Caterina, resolutely. 
 
 But when she did call, she called in vain ; 
 for her daughter was nowhere to be found, 
 either in the house or garden. Caterina was 
 much annoyed by Colomba's inopportune 
 absence ; but she returned resignedly to 
 her cooking. In this she showed herself 
 a wise woman, for a spoilt dinner would 
 but have served to increase her husband's 
 ill-humour. She found that he had gone 
 away when she re-entered the kitchen, for
 
 Alessio. 65 
 
 he had not chosen to await his daughter's 
 coming. 
 
 "Ah ! Little Colombamust be out in the 
 fields, stupid girl ! But she will certainly 
 return for her dinner. Poor me ! life is ever 
 thus ! Trouble — and trouble ! " and she 
 sighed as she stirred the soup. 
 
 All this time the truant Colomba was 
 enjoying the sweets of stolen pleasure. 
 She had slept little that night, and had arisen 
 in a restless frame of mind ; it was not 
 caused by shame at having deceived Bertoldo, 
 but by fear of the possible results of their 
 interview. Her lover's unusual ardour 
 suggested the probability of his not waiting 
 much longer before he asked her father for 
 her. She dreaded a domestic storm, and, 
 like a little coward, kept out of the wa}^ 
 At the same time, she had no fear of being 
 forced to marry against her inclinations; for 
 she knew that her mother would always stand 
 by her, and be her firm and powerful ally. But 
 the idea of a disturbance was disagreeable to 
 her, so she thought it best to remain out of 
 the way for that morning at least. She had 
 dressed herself with particular care, even 
 pinning a few spring flowers near her throat ;
 
 56 Fiesole, 
 
 and slie had slipped quietly out of the house 
 whilst her good mother's back was turned. 
 
 After rambling in the fields, she walked 
 on to the road and up to Fiesole, where she 
 entered the old church with its quaint 
 sombre interior. Caterina's religion was 
 practical and sincere, but Simone was in truth 
 an Atheist, like many of his countrymen. 
 (Jolomba, always went to Mass, and she 
 admired the pictured saints and liked to 
 wear her Sunday clothes, but that was all 
 she comprehended on the subject of religion. 
 
 She did not care to confess that day, 
 because she knew that she would have some 
 real faults of which to tell, and she preferred 
 bewailing imaginary sins, which the in- 
 dulgent old Padre Curato was always willing 
 to condone. She did not derive any special 
 comfort from muttering a string of words 
 she could not understand ; but she told her 
 beads as in duty bound. 
 
 The church of Fiesole is very old, par- 
 ticularly quaint, dark and picturesque. 
 There are several of the works of Nino da 
 Fiesole in it, as well as other antiquities. 
 
 There was a germ of religious feeling in 
 Colomba's heart, and she felt the happier for
 
 Alessio. 57 
 
 kneeling to pray in God's house — though 
 she did not understand the Latin prayers 
 she repeated, for once she really did pray 
 for the Madonna's help. But soon the sense 
 of devotion and solemnity wore off, and her 
 restless eyes wandered round the church 
 seeking for some object of interest. 
 
 In a dark corner, leaning against a pillar, 
 stood a young man; he made not the least 
 pretence of praying, but looked about him 
 eagerly. Every now and again his glance 
 travelled to the face of Colomba, and rested 
 there admiringly, but respectfully. Evi- 
 dently he did not wish to annoy her by a 
 rude stare, and yet he could not help looking 
 at her. When she left off praying, her eyes 
 also wandered round the church, and met 
 the gaze of those admiring eyes. She 
 blushed and bent closer over her beads ; but 
 a shy smile dimpled the corners of her 
 mouth. She would not look back at him, 
 no ! most certainly not ! She was out 
 playing the truant, and she must behave 
 with strict propriety. There could be no 
 harm in going to church ; but it would be 
 very wrong to encourage admiration there. 
 Yes ! it was certainly the strange gentleman
 
 58 Fiesole. 
 
 wlio had seen lier home on that memorable 
 evening. It was rather embarrassing meet- 
 ing him again, but nevertheless Colomba 
 did not regret it, for his eyes told her 
 that she was not forgotten, and she dearly 
 loved to be remembered. He had talked of 
 the moon, but he had admired her ! After 
 saying the requisite number of prayers, 
 Colomba rose from her knees and walked 
 towards the church door. 
 
 There were only a few old women and 
 children kneeling in prayer that morning; 
 for the men generally reserve their de- 
 votions for church festas, when they stand 
 about and look at the pretty women 
 who come to Mass dressed in their best 
 clothes. 
 
 Colomba nodded to a few acquaintances, 
 and then walked quickly out of the door and 
 into the Piazza (the square). She heard a 
 man's footsteps behind her, and she knew 
 who was following. Her heart beat loudly 
 and she quickened her pace. She stopped 
 for an instant in the Piazza to look around — 
 and lo ! he was standing beside her* He 
 still held his hat in his hand, and addressed 
 her in soft and respectful tones.
 
 v 
 
 Alessio. 59 
 
 '' Signorina, can it be true tliat I am quite 
 forgotten ? " 
 
 "No! Signore/' she faltered. ''But do 
 me the pleasure not to speak to me or follow 
 me. I am walking alone, and my Mamma 
 lias not given me permission to do so, there- 
 fore I must act with judgment. Persons 
 might observe us together and tell my 
 parents. Addio, Signore ! " and she darted 
 quickly away from him. 
 
 The young man did not attempt to follow 
 Colomba; but he smiled tenderly as he 
 watched her retreating figure. He walked 
 to the wall of the Piazza and looked down 
 upon Florence with dreamy eyes. It was a 
 clear day, the sky bright blue, and the distant 
 city glistened in the sun. You could dis- 
 tinguish each building in the glow of golden 
 light. But the stranger heeded not the 
 view ; he was saying to himself : — 
 
 '' Is she not like her name, little startled 
 dove ! But she is also a truant dove, I fear. 
 How I loved her for her pretty modesty 
 when she firmly but sweetly repulsed me. 
 Ah, holy Heavens ! how I love her ! I must 
 make a visit to la Caterina Yestris very 
 shortly, and thus get some speech with my
 
 60 Fiesole. 
 
 beloYed. She is like the pink in that song 
 that says — ' She is beautiful, she is beautiful, 
 and Jcnoivs it not.^ " 
 
 And he began to sing '' E Yezzosa si la 
 Rosa/' in a rich baritone. 
 
 '* How I should like to dress her in satin 
 and velvet — she would outshine all the great 
 ladies of the city; for her colour is like a 
 rose, whilst theirs is pale as dough. Ah, 
 little sunbeam, dove of my heart 1 may it be 
 my fortune to call you wife ! " 
 
 At length he roused himself with an effort, 
 and wended his way home. 
 
 When Colomba parted from the stranger, 
 she walked quickly across the Piazza, casting 
 furtive glances around her, for she had hardly 
 expected that her commands would be so 
 literally obeyed. 
 
 " I will not return to the house yet. Who 
 knows whether that pig of a Bertoldo is not 
 there." 
 
 She now turned down the broad carriage 
 drive that is called the new road, though her 
 own house was on the narrow and steep Yia 
 Vecchia Fiesolana. The trattoria of la Yalen-
 
 Alessio. 61 
 
 cini was on tliis broad road, and not very far 
 from Fiesole, as, going from tlie village, one 
 passed it soon after its more ambitious neigh- 
 bour — the Aurora. The little inn was in a 
 garden embowered by grape-vines. Small 
 tables stood under the trees laid in readiness 
 for expected guests. The whole place was the 
 very picture of a silvan paradise. Colomba 
 entered at the wicket-gate and walked in 
 through the house-door, the first not being 
 locked and the last standing open. There was 
 a big watch-dog keeping guard ; but, though 
 ferocious and terrible to strangers, he was 
 very friendly to Colomba, and jumped out to 
 meet her as far as his chain permitted, 
 wagging his tail vigorously the while, and 
 lolling forth his tongue, anxious to caress 
 her. 
 
 She walked down a long dark passage 
 straisfht into the kitchen, where she knew 
 the mistress of the house would be. 
 
 Presiding over the pots and pans was an 
 enormously stout woman, who waddled up 
 to Colomba, and, catching her in a capacious 
 embrace, kissed her warmly. This was the 
 Siernora Sunta* Yalencini. 
 
 * Short for "Assunta."
 
 62 Fiesole. 
 
 " Oh, lamb of my heart ! It is long since 
 I beheld thy beautiful face ; I have wished 
 for thee often ; for I have most excellent news 
 to tell thee, my beautiful one. Sit thyself 
 down in the parlour, Colombina, and I will 
 come to thee as soon as possible. But I 
 must first show them how to cook the roast." 
 
 Colomba did as she was bidden, and, 
 walking to the little parlour, seated herself 
 there, and waited patiently. This parlour had 
 blue and orange paper, green chairs with 
 stiff straight backs, and magenta curtains. 
 A large coloured print of Yictor Emanuel, 
 and another of the Battle of Solferino, hung 
 on the wall. A wax image of the Yirgin, 
 under a glass shade, stood on the table in 
 the middle of the room, and a vase of paper 
 flowers in the window. Colomba knew the 
 parlour well, so she would soon have wearied 
 of contemplating its beauties, but her 
 patience was not long put to the test, for 
 the door opened, and Signora Yalencini's 
 sister-in-law entered the room. 
 
 Fortunata Yalencini cherished a grievance 
 against her godfather because he had given 
 her that name ; for the poor woman said it 
 v/as a mockery of Fate — she should by rights
 
 Alessio. 63 
 
 have been called Sfortunata.* Slie was a 
 small, thin woman of about forty, with a 
 long sharp nose, glassy grey eyes, a small 
 thin-lipped mouth, and blackish even teeth. 
 Her complexion was sallow, and her ex- 
 pression gloomy and discontented. She 
 thought her figure remarkable and her face 
 beautiful, and was careful and neat in her 
 dress ; for she had by no means given up the 
 idea of finding a husband. Her figure was 
 certainly youthful in its slimness, but that 
 is all that could be said in praise of her 
 charms. She said that she suffered from 
 nerves, and all imaginable pains and aches, 
 considering herself a delicate martyr and 
 her sister-in-law a robust worldling. The 
 unfortunate-one was a bigoted Catholic, as 
 the religious observances of that creed fur- 
 nished the sole vent she could find for her 
 love of excitement. Poor stout Signora Sunta 
 was in reality far more dehcate than her 
 wiry little sister-in-law, and she was truly 
 religious in a quiet way ; but she was as 
 good-tempered as Eortunata was sour, and 
 as silent as Fortunata was talkative, there- 
 
 * Unfortunate.
 
 64 Fiesole. 
 
 fore the unfortunate-one generally managed 
 to get lier own way in the house in spite of 
 the superior intelligence and education of the 
 Signora Sunta. 
 
 " "Well arrived ! How goes it with you, 
 Colomba ? Thou hast come at last. I am 
 nearly worked to death, and the wind has 
 got into my head, and I feel the nerves all 
 all over me 1 Ah, how unfortunate am I, 
 fragile as glass ! But I murmur not, for it 
 is the will of the blessed Madonna ! Hast 
 thou heard about our Alessio?" 
 
 She talked on quickly without even pausing 
 for breath, when suddenly a soft, fat hand 
 was placed before her mouth and stopped 
 the flow of her eloquence. 
 
 " No, truly ! Fortunata, it is I who must 
 tell la Colomba our news. Thou must not 
 steal my pleasure." 
 
 Fortunata began to grumble, and went 
 grumbling from the room, and they heard 
 her go grumbling to herself all down the 
 passage and into the kitchen. 
 
 Signora Sunta smiled. '' It is her manner," 
 she said, good-humouredly. She now sat 
 down in a chair opposite her young visitor, 
 and began to tell her news.
 
 Alessio. 65 
 
 " Thou rememberest my only cliild, my 
 own Alessio, Colomba, — and how he left 
 Fiesole ten years ago ; thou wert but a child 
 of seven years, but he was a handsome young 
 man aged twenty. He used to play with 
 thee, and call thee his little wife, dost re- 
 member ? He went to Venice, there to learn 
 how to make the mosaic and to work in 
 gold ; and, as they gave him a good appoint- 
 ment, he could not return here, although 
 it was the desire of his heart. He waited in 
 the hope of making a fortune ; but for that 
 it needed many years more than ten. And 
 I — I did not like to leave the trattoria to 
 go to him, although my heart cried out for 
 my boy. But I knew well that his fortune 
 would take long to make ; so I hoped to gain 
 some money myself, that I might be able to 
 invite him to return to me, to live like a gen- 
 tleman. For my Alessio was not born to 
 keep a trattoria. He was ever as obedient 
 as I could wish ; but I knew it would break 
 his heart to force him to act against his 
 inclinations. Alessio is a true genius, 
 with much talent and learning. He is a 
 clever jeweller, and also a painter and a 
 poet. Therefore thou seest, Colomba, we 
 
 F
 
 66 Fiesole, 
 
 botli worked with patience, I here and he in 
 Yenice, and we both sighed in vain for ten 
 long years. Sometimes I feared that it was 
 the will of the Holy Virgin that we should 
 never meet again. When, lo ! my sister, 
 who had married a rich jeweller in Florence, 
 died, and her husband died soon after — and 
 in their Will everything was left to my 
 Alessio, their godson. Ah ! Bambina mia,* 
 I could cry for the joy that is in my heart. 
 God knows, I mourn my dead relations — and 
 many masses shall be saidfor their two souls — 
 but I cannot help feeling a sense of felicity, a 
 happiness greater than I can express to thee, 
 little Colomba. He has returned, my beautiful 
 son ! And he has become a gentleman, both 
 learned and clever. But he is not proud, for 
 he says, ' Mother dearest, I am still one of 
 the Fiesolani, this little village is dearer to 
 me than all the world beside.' And ah ! 
 how much he loves his old mother ! My 
 son, my beautiful son ! Yes, in a short time 
 we go to Florence, there to live above his 
 shop ; and I shall sell the trattoria, as we 
 are rich for life now. Is not this a 
 
 * Child of mine.
 
 Alessio. 67 
 
 true joy ! Beloved of my heart, kiss thou 
 
 me 
 
 ! " 
 
 And the impulsive woman cried on 
 Colomba's neck glad tears of heartfelt thank- 
 fulness. 
 
 The return of her only son was a great 
 blessing to the Signora Sunta, and she was 
 glad to relinquish her inn-keeping ; for that 
 occupation had always been distasteful to 
 her. The return to her native city, Florence, 
 was also a delight to which she looked forward 
 — and it was the last drop that filled to the 
 brim her cup of bliss. 
 
 Colomba was thinking earnestly, so much 
 pre-occupied by one particular train of 
 thought that she failed to recognise the 
 identity of the stranger with her old friend 
 Alessio. She immediately jumped to one 
 conclusion — without doubt, Alessio was the 
 future husband intended for her. She never, 
 for an instant, mistrusted her power to win 
 him. There was a certain practical directness 
 in her thoughts, merceuary though they were. 
 She thought not of what the man might be 
 in himself; his position, riches, and, above 
 all, his shop in Florence, were the only things 
 she cared for in the matter. She concluded 
 F 2
 
 68 Fiesole. 
 
 that her patron saint must have put it into 
 her heart to run away from Bertoldo, on 
 purpose to give her to this most suitable 
 destino (destined one). 
 
 '' Is he changed ? " she asked, although 
 she hardly knew what she was saying. 
 
 '' Yes, much. He has become such a hand- 
 some gentleman, like my own father the 
 Impiegato.* Thou wilt like him much, 
 Colomba." 
 
 " I do not know anything of gentlemen, 
 except . . "began Colomba; but she ended 
 abruptly, with a bright blush at the thought 
 of what she had nearly said. 
 
 *' Except what ? Colombina, my beautiful 
 one! What gentleman dost thou know?" 
 And the stranger stood beside her, smiling 
 down on her. 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried, and blushed crimson, 
 hiding her face in her hands. 
 
 " Thou hast frightened her, ugly son ! " 
 said his mother. 
 
 '' I — I — did not know that it was you, 
 Alessio," faltered Colomba. But she stole 
 a sly glance at him througli ber fingers. 
 
 * Government official.
 
 Alessio. 69 
 
 "Yes, Colomba, it is I," he added, by 
 way of a lucid explanation. 
 
 Signora Sunta looked very much puzzled. 
 
 ''What are you two saying? Have you 
 met before ? " 
 
 ''Yes," repHed Alessio. And he added, 
 in answer to an imploring glance from 
 Colomba : " We met just now, in the 
 church. I wished to tell Colomba who I 
 was; but she flew away from me like a bird. 
 I intended to visit la Signora Caterina this 
 very evening." 
 
 " Colomba was right. She did well to be 
 so modest," said his mother, approvingly. 
 "A well-behaved girl converses not with 
 strange young men." 
 
 Colomba felt rather guilty in her heart as 
 she listened to this praise. If the good 
 Signora had only known how naughtily she 
 had lingered by the road-side that other 
 evening ! She noticed a mischievous twinkle 
 in Alessio's dark eyes. 
 
 " It rejoices me to hear that thou wert in 
 the church, Alessio. I had feared that tliou 
 wert altogether an infidel," said his mother, 
 sadly. 
 
 It was now Alessio's turn to feel con-
 
 70 Fiesole, 
 
 science-stricken, but he answered truthfully : 
 " Oh, I went in there to — to " 
 
 " Certainly not to pray, Signore," inter- 
 rupted Colomba, wickedly. 
 
 '' No, not to pray ; I was not going to 
 pretend that. I do not believe what our 
 priests teach, although I am not without 
 religion myself, as I love my Bible and my 
 Grod. But I went into the church just now, 
 because it amused me." 
 
 ''Oh, thou sinful creature!" said his 
 mother, reproachfully. 
 
 It is to be feared that Colomba did not share 
 the mother's horror — that she was not half 
 so much shocked as she ought to have been 
 by Alessio's candid avowal. For she guessed 
 ivhy he had entered the church; and felt sure 
 that he had followed her in. Everything 
 seemed suiting itself to her desires, and she 
 now decided that Alessio was by no means 
 an old man. Thirty was not old age, it was 
 only five years more than Bertoldo's age. 
 Alas ! Bertoldo, her troubles and duties, were 
 all alike forgotten. She thought but of the 
 dehghtful present, and the still more de- 
 lightful future. She gave way to wild 
 mirth, coquetting with Alessio and caressing
 
 Alessio. 71 
 
 his mother alternately. And, when they 
 asked her to stay to dinner, she never gave 
 a thought to her poor mother's anxiety, but 
 accepted the invitation unhesitatingly. She 
 and Alessio wished to eat their dinner on 
 one of the tables under the trees ; but 
 Fortunata refused to consent to so wild 
 a proposition. She said the wind would be 
 the death of her out there. So they sat in 
 the guests' parlour, in honour of Alessio ; 
 for on ordinary occasions they dined in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 How merry they all were, and how enter- 
 taining Alessio was, and how melodious was 
 his laugh ! Colomba began to perceive that 
 there might be other advantages in her 
 future lot besides the goods and money. 
 Alessio was very clever, and certainly a real 
 gentleman; he would be a husband to feel 
 proud of. He was so attentive and polite to 
 her, treating her as though she were a great 
 lady. He would never be rough and cruel, 
 like Bertoldo ! Yes, she was well content 
 with her future husband. 
 
 The other two women could not fail to 
 perceive that a courtship had begun, and, 
 though the mother might feel some gentle
 
 72 Fiesole. 
 
 regret at the thought of losing the first 
 place in Alessio's heart, she was far too 
 unselfish to wish to mar his happiness ; and 
 Colomba was the daughter-in-law she had 
 long desired. So she smiled benignly on 
 the youthful pair, and was content to sub- 
 side into the back-ground. 
 
 Fortunata was the only one who watched 
 the young people with evil eyes. Even her 
 withered heart had been softened by her 
 nephew's persistent good-humour and his 
 courteous manners. But she had never 
 liked Colomba, and the idea of a young 
 wife reigning supreme in the Florentine 
 house was as the waters of Mara to her. 
 For she had hoped to be first herself — the 
 mother and son were both so easy-tempered 
 that she felt quite able to manage them ; but 
 Colomba was quite another sort of person ! 
 So she looked at them spitefully. And, when 
 they had but half finished dinner, she was 
 the first to perceive a figure walking up 
 the garden, and to announce, in triumphant 
 accents : 
 
 '' Comme mai ! (How ! never !) Co- 
 lomba, see ! There is actually thy mother 
 come after thee."
 
 Alessio, 73 
 
 Alas ! her bright dreams all vanished, and 
 poor Colomba was recalled to a sense of a 
 very unpleasant reality, as she walked out, 
 shamefacedly, to meet her mother. 
 
 Fortunata felt genuine delight as she 
 turned to her nephew, who arose with 
 deep vexation on his face, and said : — 
 
 " Oh, mother, we forgot to send to tell 
 her parents ! And now she will go away. 
 The pleasure of our dinner has quite 
 vanished."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE INVITATION. 
 
 SUNTA YALENCINI hurried out impul- 
 sively to greet her friend. She found 
 her standing with her daughter's hand in 
 hers, and a very grave expression on her 
 round good-natured face. 
 
 " I have something of importance to say 
 to my Colomba. Will you permit us to go 
 together into the parlour ? " 
 
 ''Go, then! Signora Catera, thou art 
 welcome! But I take it ill that thou shouldst 
 ask this permission ; for thou knowest that 
 all my house is free to thee." 
 
 ''Be not offended with me ! I meant no 
 ill. But friend, I fear that I interrupt thy 
 dinner ! I must not detain thee. My 
 naughty Colombina is here without permis- 
 sion, and I must have speech with her. 
 When thou hast dined I pray thee to join us..
 
 The Invitation, 75 
 
 and then I will recount to thee the whole of 
 this affair." 
 
 The mother and daughter went together 
 into the little sitting-room, and Signora Sunta 
 returned to her dinner. She felt curious 
 and mystified, and would have really preferred 
 the conversation to precede the dinner. 
 
 Fortunata was seated at the table waiting, 
 and not attempting to conceal the malicious 
 pleasure she felt. Poor Alessio was pacing 
 up and down the room like a caged lion. 
 He thought himself passionately in love — 
 passionatehj, though it was a pure and ideal 
 passion. It had not yet acquired that noble 
 intellectual element which is necessary to 
 constitute a deep and lasting affection. And 
 it was more than doubtful if his love for 
 such a girl as Colomba could ever become 
 an ennobling virtue. Time could never reveal 
 to him a kindred soul, or similar desires 
 and aspirations in the being he fancied he 
 loved. At present he idealised her, and saw 
 her through a halo of poetry and romance. 
 He was an educated man, noble, generous, 
 and a genius; she was a peasant girl, 
 ignorant, vain, and shallow-hearted ; and 
 yet — lie loved her. He was not entirely blind
 
 76 Fiesole. 
 
 to her ignorance ; but he called it " youth 
 and innocence," and he thought that she 
 could learn whatever he wished. Her very 
 simplicity was an additional charm in his 
 eyes, and he never doubted that she was as 
 pure and artless as she was fair. Thus, in 
 his simplicity, did Alessio judge her to be 
 artless — whilst in reality there was more art 
 in her little finger than in his whole body. 
 He, as well as Oolomba, had at once deter- 
 mined that they were meant for each other, 
 and must be married as soon as possible. 
 He felt ready to offer himself at once ; but 
 feared it was a little too soon. He con- 
 sidered Signora Cat era's sudden arrival a most 
 inopportune contretemps as he had been 
 progressing so favourably with his courtship 
 when this interruption occurred. With his 
 peculiarly romantic and chivalrous notions, 
 Alessio had determined to win his love's 
 affections before he presented himself to her 
 parents to ask for her hand. He was an ex- 
 ceptional Italian — a poet who lived in the 
 nineteenth century, and could still dream of 
 pure devotion and mutual love. 
 
 Signora Sunta sat down at the table, saying: 
 " Finish thy dinner like a good christian,
 
 The Invitation. 11 
 
 Alessio. Thou wilt see thy Colomba again, 
 without doubt. I fear that something bad 
 has happened at her house, for good 
 Caterina made such a long face. I am to 
 join them in the parlour when I have eaten 
 my dinner." 
 
 " Something bad ! Of course there must 
 be ! Oh ! cannot I go to them. Ah, no, I 
 fear that could not be. But, per Bacco ! why 
 do you not go at once, Mother ? What 
 matters your dinner ! " 
 
 " ' Patience and rags ! ' oh my son. * Who 
 goes slowly goes surely.' They have need 
 to speak alone first ; they do not want me 
 now." 
 
 ** I do not wish to be unreasonable but — 
 but — is it not an accursed chance that has 
 interrupted our pleasant dinner ? " 
 
 Signora Sunta pitied her impatient son and 
 hurried over her dinner. 
 
 When she entered the parlour she found 
 Signora Caterina sitting in the arm-chair look- 
 ing very grave, and Colomba kneeling on the 
 floor with her head buried in her mother's 
 lap, sobbing bitterly. 
 
 " Holy Saint Romulus ! what has hap- 
 pened ?"
 
 78 Fiesole. 
 
 *' Oh ! dear Sunta, I will recount all to 
 thee. Thou has much discretion and canst aid 
 us in our trouble. I am aware that thou art 
 able to remain silent, and that thou knowest 
 that * in a closed mouth no flies enter ' ; 
 therefore, I will tell the story. Know that 
 Bertoldo Fossi has asked my Simone to give 
 him our Colomba to be his wife." 
 
 Sunta' s face fell on hearing this announce- 
 ment ; but it brightened as her friend con- 
 tinued : 
 
 '*' But I — foolish woman — would not con- 
 sent to my Colomba's marrying unless it 
 was her own desire — and so I have asked 
 her ; and she answers that she hates and 
 detests Bertoldo, and would sooner marry 
 death than him ! And know, Bertoldo has 
 told Simone that our child has encouraged 
 him, and my Simone believes this. There- 
 fore, he will be furious — and my little 
 Colomba will get the name of a flirt, and 
 perhaps never be married at all. And I am 
 the most miserable of women ! " 
 
 Caterina was rather inconsistent in her 
 anger, for she had expected her daughter to 
 refuse Bertoldo, but though she meant to 
 help and uphold her child, the unpleasant
 
 Tlw Invitation, 79 
 
 consequences of the position alarmed her, 
 and she felt angry both with Fate and with 
 her Colomba. 
 
 " No, truly, Signora Catera, speak not thus ! 
 Surely, thou knowest the innocence of thy 
 daughter's nature ! She is a dove of modesty 
 that has just flown down from nestling near 
 our Holy Mother's heart. That wicked 
 Bertoldo does not merit her slipper even — 
 he is an ox, a phlegmatic man, brutal and 
 coarse ; he is not a gentleman or well 
 educated. I could cut out his ugly tongue 
 for telling lies of our beautiful one ! As for 
 her not finding a husband ! Why, Caterina 
 mia, there are a hundred handsome young 
 men ready to fight for her. It was that 
 imbecile, Bertoldo, who kept the others off. 
 And now thou wilt find that thy Colomba 
 can choose where she will. But be not 
 hurried, for she is worthy of a grand match — 
 of a far better man than that toad — thief ! " 
 
 This warm praise of her child comforted 
 Caterina, and confirmed her in her first 
 opinion, namely, that Colomba had acted for 
 the best in refusing Bertoldo. 
 
 Colomba dried her eyes and smiled grate- 
 fully upon her friend, who added : —
 
 80 Fiesole. 
 
 " Come into tlie dining-room and see my 
 Alessio, Catera ! Thou wilt find him 
 changed ; but thou wilt not say it is for the 
 worse — for though he has become quite a 
 gentleman he is still a true Fiesolano." 
 
 " Thou art too good, my Sunta, ' may God 
 render thee the merit of it ! ' But how can 
 I feel comfortable in my mind when I fear 
 that that avaricious old Simone, and Bertoldo 
 Fossi will force the will of my poor little 
 Colomba ? " 
 
 Signora Sunta smiled brightly. " Let her 
 stay here, she can help me to pack my things, 
 and I can promise thee that my Alessio will 
 prove strong enough to keep Bertoldaccio * 
 a long way off ! " 
 
 '' Thou art a true Angel, oh Sunta ! It 
 is a most beautiful thouo^ht ! I will leave 
 ray Colomba under thy care, and thou wilt 
 watch over her as though she were thine 
 own. I think also that I can pacify my 
 Simone, and he would never try to beat me. 
 As for that Bertoldo ! il diavolo may take care 
 of liimy 
 
 " Oh, Mamma 1 Oh, Signora Sunta ! A 
 
 * Bertoldaccio, horrid Bertoldo.
 
 The Invitation. 81 
 
 thousand tlianks to you both ! What joy I 
 My tribulations are ended and my heart is 
 filled with rapture ! " and Colomba embraced 
 them both enthusiastically. 
 
 At that moment there was a knock at the 
 door and a deep-toned voice said : — • 
 
 " Can I enter ? " 
 
 " Enter ! " And the Signora Sunta opened 
 the door to Alessio. She introduced him at 
 once to Caterina; who thought he looked 
 quite a gentleman. And after she had heard 
 of his wealth and position, she began to 
 perceive how fortunate was the good Sunta' s 
 invitation to Colomba. Her heart swelled 
 with maternal pride and pleasure as she 
 thought of what the future might bring forth. 
 Simone should live to praise her manage- 
 ment and forethought. Yes, here was the 
 really grand match! And the young man 
 seemed so nice and polite, he would never 
 be cruel to her little Colomba. She had 
 certainly never seen any one who appeared 
 more sympathetic to her. 
 
 " Thou wilt not regret to hear the news, 
 my son. It is that la Colomba remains 
 with us." 
 
 "Regret to hear!" How his face 
 
 G
 
 82 Fiesole. 
 
 brightened at her words, and lighted up 
 until he looked almost handsome. 
 
 '' She remains here for some time ; be- 
 cause Bertoldo Fossi has asked her father 
 for her." 
 
 " Asked for her ! And she ? And 
 you ? " He turned towards the blushing 
 Colomba, and his voice grew almost fierce 
 in its agony of suspense as be asked that 
 question. But when he saw that she was 
 trembling, he subdued his voice to tones of 
 tender softness, saying : — '' Thou lovest him 
 not, Colomba? Surely it is not jDOssible 
 that thou wouldst marry Bertoldo Fossi ? " 
 
 '' Certainly not, thou idiot ! Annoy her 
 no more with thy foolish questions ! It is 
 for that reason the dear child remains with 
 us. It is for us to keep her from her 
 father's rage and that of Bertoldo Fossi." 
 
 Alessio's face brightened again. '' If she 
 loves him not it is well, mother ! This house 
 is hers — and she is its mistress. And as for 
 Fossi, if he but look upon her in anger, I 
 swear by all the saints that I will kill him. 
 My arm shall protect her — it is hers." 
 
 He drew himself up proudly and looked 
 so brave and manly that all the women
 
 The Invitation. 83 
 
 admired liim, and Colomba tliought tliat she 
 had never seen Bertoldo look half so grand 
 and courageous. One great difference in the 
 characters of the two men, lay in the fact 
 that Bertoldo believed that strength of body 
 was the highest good, and therefore he 
 bullied the weak. Alessio considered 
 nobility of soul the greatest virtue, and 
 therefore he was tender towards all things 
 weaker than himself. Weakness of any 
 kind, mental or bodily, always appealed to 
 his chivalrous heart, and was a certain pass- 
 port to his most tender sympathy and aid. 
 Bertoldo loved himself first, and everything 
 else in due proportion as it related to this 
 great centre. Alessio loved his Grod first, and 
 then his fellow-creatures, his art, and all that 
 was noble, true, or beautiful. He respected 
 himself and loved his honour; but be always 
 considered his own ease and comfort as of 
 small account — and so humble-minded was 
 he, that he rarely told his opinions except 
 when expressly asked. Colomba knew 
 nothing of all this, but she, as well as her 
 mother, surmised that Alessio was braver, 
 kinder, and better than her old admirer 
 Bertoldo. One thing was evident to them 
 G 2
 
 84 Fiesole. 
 
 all, and that was tliat Alessio was very much 
 in love with Colomba. 
 
 '' A thousand thanks, Signor Alessio ! I 
 can well see that thou art as courageous 
 as a lion. But, I pray thee, do not kill 
 Bertoldo; for he merits not so severe a pun- 
 ishment — and it would also make a scandal. 
 And, perhaps, Coloraba's life and your own 
 might be spoilt in consequence. Only, if 
 Bertoldo tries to touch my child or to speak 
 to her, then I permit thee to beat him 
 with a strong stick; but not to quite kill 
 him. Thou must but defend my little 
 dove." 
 
 *' That will I, with all my heart ! I will 
 procure a good stick, thick and strong, and. 
 1 will keep it ever ready for Bertoldo 
 Fossi." 
 
 Colomba smiled coyly at him. " Why, 
 Signor Alessio, one might think you wished 
 to beat Bertoldo ! " 
 
 "It is the truth ! " and then he whispered 
 to her. " I hold him in detestation because 
 he dares to love thee, my beautiful one, and 
 I would beat him for thy sake — and, believe 
 me, I should do it with right good will ! " 
 
 '' I feel no doubt that thou wouldst do so.
 
 The Invitation, 85 
 
 Signore! But, poor Bertoldo has committed 
 no crime; and though I too hold him in 
 detestation, and would never dream of 
 marrying him — yet I cannot see that 
 he deserves to have his bones broken 
 because he loves me, and I love him 
 not ! " . 
 
 '^ Thou art right, Signorina!" said Alessio, 
 his sense of justice conquering his jealous 
 and combative instincts. ''The poor devil 
 has trouble enough in the fact that thou art 
 not for him, and need not have his head 
 broken as well as his heart. I will not touch 
 him unless he angers me ; I give thee my 
 promise, beautiful one ! '* 
 
 The two mothers had been talking to- 
 gether, and, of course, had not heard this 
 aside. 
 
 It was settled that Alessio should accom- 
 pany Caterina home, and bring back a bundle 
 of Colomba's clothes. He drove Caterina 
 in his mother's pony-cart, and on the way he 
 told her the history of his life, saying that 
 
 he had never loved before, leaving a 
 
 blank of most expressive meaning. Caterina 
 understood him, and saw that he did not mean 
 to ask for Colomba's hand yet; he evidently
 
 86 Fiesole. 
 
 wished to win lier affections first. Caterina 
 was very much pleased with him, and she let 
 him perceive that she was Tvilhng to be 
 his friend and ally. There was already a 
 tacit understanding between them, that he 
 should become Colomba's suitor as soon as 
 she herself encouraged him. 
 
 Signora Caterina w^as well content with her 
 daughter's future prospects. A few hours 
 ago, as she had toiled up this same road, 
 everything had appeared black and gloomy ; 
 now all things wore a roseate hue. 
 
 They did not meet any one they knew ; 
 and, after Caterina had prepared her 
 daughter's bundle, Alessio wished her good- 
 afternoon, and drove triumphantly home. 
 But he stopped once on the way — and that 
 was, when he alighted from the trap to cut a 
 remarkably thick stick from a neighbouring 
 tree. This stick was strong and knobby ; 
 and Alessio trimmed it carefully, and drove 
 home with it by his side. 
 
 Colomba lay awake that night for many 
 hours. It was not the strange bed that 
 made her so wakef-ul, but the excitement she 
 experienced. She had never in her whole
 
 The Invitation. 87 
 
 life before, had so many things to tliink of — 
 everything had happened so suddenly and 
 strangely, and she felt herself very young 
 to be placed in this position of importance. 
 Yes ! a grand future lay before her — and she 
 thought of Florence, city of silk dresses, 
 of the shop, and an unlimited supply of 
 jewellery, and of Alessio and how much she 
 liked him. All these thoughts filled her 
 mind and drove away sleep. And then, 
 strange to say, thoughts of poor Bertoldo 
 intruded themselves upon her. She began 
 to feel some slight pity and remorse. Did 
 he really love her, she wondered ? Yes, his 
 kiss had placed that fact beyond a doubt. 
 Would he feel very miserable ? She had 
 certainly deceived him, and, of course, that 
 was wrong; but then, he had deserved it, 
 for he had been both insolent and cruel. 
 But, somehow, the more she tried to think 
 of his bad qualities, the more persistent grew 
 the voice of conscience telling her that she 
 had deceived him, and that he would be 
 miserable and desperate — poor Bertoldo ! 
 She determined to pray, as she did not know 
 any other way to drive these unwelcome
 
 88 Fiesole. 
 
 tlioughts from her mind. Surely her 
 prayers would wipe out the wrong she 
 had done him ? So she went to sleep 
 murmuring : — 
 
 '* Holy Saint Romulus, patron of Fiesole, 
 comfort poor Bertoldo, and cause him to 
 forget me, and lead his soul to Paradise!"
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 BERTOLDO. 
 
 WHEN Alessio left the good Caterina, 
 the latter found her better-half in an 
 irritable frame of mind, complaining bitterly 
 of Colomba's perversity in refusing Bertoldo, 
 and of her wicked and unfilial conduct in 
 staying out of the reach of the good beating 
 he longed to give her. So violent was the 
 disappointed father's anger, that his politic 
 wife thought it best to tell Simone at once 
 of her bright hopes for their child's future. 
 A very few words served to put the old man 
 in a good temper, for the mention of a rich 
 son being now at home with the Signora 
 Yalencini, was quite enough to set his mind 
 at rest. These words were as oil on the 
 troubled waters of his spirit. He chuckled 
 good-humouredly and pinched his wife's ear. 
 After this, nothing more was said about 
 fetching their Colomba home, or of giving her
 
 90 Fiesole. 
 
 a beating. And so Bertoldo lost his one 
 champion. 
 
 Simone proved very wary in managing to 
 keep out of the discarded suitor's way ; and he 
 dodged behind something, if he ever chanced 
 to espy Bertoldo approaching. This was not 
 a dignified style of behaviour, but he said : 
 *' The women have made the mischief, so it 
 is their business to put things straight 
 again," 
 
 That Bertoldo noticed his old friend's 
 avoidance and neglect, is certain ; but at 
 first he did not pay it much attention ; 
 for he knew that the old man was both 
 cautious and avaricious, and that he would 
 take time to consider whether there was no 
 way in which he could make a better bar- 
 gain. But Bertoldo felt a comfortable cer- 
 tainty that, before very long, Simone would 
 be convinced that he would make a very 
 good bargain, if he gave his child, dowerless, 
 to him. So the young man waited for 
 four or five days with as much patience as 
 he could; then, as the answer was still 
 delayed, he resolved to go to the Yestris' 
 house, and " have it out with old Simone." 
 
 The sluggish waters of his soul were
 
 Bertoldo. 91 
 
 stirred for the first time in his whole life, 
 and he began to rise above the level of his 
 usual mere animal existence. A proof of 
 this may be deduced from the fact that his 
 appetite failed him. 
 
 Bertoldo was five- and- twenty, and till now 
 his old nurse Maria had always kept house 
 for him. She feared that he would marry 
 sooner or later, and very much disliked the 
 idea of losing her comfortable home. She 
 wished he would take a fancy to her niece 
 Beppa Ciarpi, who lived in Pisa, as then she 
 would be able to stay on with them. She 
 both feared and hated Colomba. Fortimata 
 Valencini was her sole friend and confidante. 
 She noticed Bertoldo's anxious manner with 
 great uneasiness, and determined to find out 
 the cause. 
 
 One evening when Bertoldo was smoking 
 a pipe in the kitchen after their twelve 
 o'clock dinner, with Maria seated knitting 
 beside him, he put down his pipe, saying, 
 suddenly : 
 
 ** Is not Colomba Yestris a beautiful 
 girl?" 
 
 '' Not so bad ! But, thou shouldst see my 
 niece Beppa; there is beauty in truth. She
 
 92 Fiesole. 
 
 is refined and elegant, and not a Contadinella 
 like La Vestris." 
 
 " It may be so, Maria, but I cannot believe 
 it. Beppa may suit the people of the city, 
 but for us of Fiesole there is no Beauty like 
 our Colomba. Per me there is no flower 
 more lovely. It is natural that I should 
 think this, because in a short time Colomba 
 will be my wife." 
 
 Maria dropped her knitting in dismay, 
 which pleased Bertoldo, who went on gaily : 
 
 " I am going at once to court her, as her 
 father has already given his consent." 
 
 Maria having regained her self-control, 
 answered spitefully : 
 
 " She is not thy wife yety Bertoldo Fossi. 
 Thou wouldst * buy the cat in the sack,' 
 but thou wilt live to repent thy bargain, my 
 child." 
 
 "Be not ill - humoured, Maria ; thou 
 shouldst wish me felicity, for it is my in- 
 tention to act generously by thee." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I wish thee great felicity." 
 
 " It sounds like a malediction rather. 
 Thus do I make the sign of the evil eye 
 against thee, thou old witch." And he 
 pointed his two fingers at her.
 
 Bertoldo. 93 
 
 Bertoldo then rushed up-stairs, and dressed 
 himself hastily in his Sunday clothes. He 
 did not like old Maria's evil eye, but it did 
 not shake his confidence in coming good 
 luck. Going into the garden, he picked a 
 bunch of flowers for Colomba. And started 
 off with the air of a conqueror, to win his 
 bride. Poor fellow, he was in truth utterly 
 unconscious of the true reason of Simone's 
 silence. He knocked at the door with rather 
 a triumphant air, and even Caterina's stiff 
 manner failed to warn him of his approach- 
 ing doom. 
 
 " Is he in the house, Simone Vestris ? " 
 
 " No ! he is out. But you can enter and 
 speak with me instead." Caterina drew her 
 laughing mouth down at the corners, and 
 tried to look cold and unpropitious. She 
 did not pity the rough young giant, but she 
 did fear that he might cause them all some 
 trouble. Indeed, her share of the trouble 
 had already commenced ; for Simone alv^ays 
 shifted his difficulties on to her shoulders, 
 knowing that her back was strong enough 
 for any burden. 
 
 Bertoldo entered, but his triumphant 
 manner had changed to a hesitating and
 
 94 Fiesole. 
 
 slieepish air. He thought Caterina wished 
 to impress him with the solemnity of the 
 occasion, the irrevocability of a betrothal. 
 He followed her into the kitchen, and seated 
 himself nervously on the extreme edge of a 
 chair. 
 
 Caterina returned to her pot on the fire 
 and beo:an to stir it, with her back towards 
 Bertoldo. She spoke, without looking 
 round. 
 
 '' What do you desire to say to my 
 Simone?" 
 
 " Arch-priest, Signora Catera ! Surely, 
 your husband must have spoken with you ? '* 
 said the bewildered young man. 
 
 '' Yes, Simone is always speaking, there- 
 fore it is difficult to remember what he says." 
 
 It was cruel of Caterina to play with him 
 thus ; and he could not understand what she 
 meant by such behaviour, until a sudden 
 idea struck him. Of course, she wished him 
 to commit himself, to state his proposal in 
 plain language ; it was likely enough that 
 she had refused to believe her husband when 
 he told her of such a generous offer, so she 
 wanted him to repeat it, before she entered 
 on further discourse. Bertoldo was not
 
 Bertoldo. 95 
 
 surprised that anyone should refuse to 
 beheve that he would offer to take a dower- 
 less bride, for it was well known that he 
 might choose among all the rich girls of the 
 neighbourhood. But he did not repent his 
 offer, and therefore he would repeat it for 
 Caterina's satisfaction. 
 
 "You are right, Signora Caterina ; thy good 
 Simone is a great chatterer ! But I marvel 
 that he should not have told you clearly of 
 an affair of such great importance. I asked 
 him to give me thy Colomba for my wife ; 
 and I promised to ask for no dowry, only for 
 her simple corredo. This may well appear 
 madness on my part — and I know that my 
 friends will laugh at me. But I love thy 
 Colomba with all my heart ; and the money 
 may go — a I'lnferno ! " 
 
 In spite of the conceited manner in which 
 he had commenced, Bertoldo had ended with 
 such a burst of genuine feeling that Caterina 
 actually began to pity him, and to regret the 
 part she was obliged to play. And then, 
 to her, he appeared such a fine, handsome 
 young fellow, that man}^ worse faults than 
 he possessed might well be forgiven him. 
 Yes, truly ; if it had not been for Alessio,
 
 96 Fiesole, 
 
 Caterina would have deserted her daughter's 
 cause, and gone over to the enemy. As 
 it was, she tried to harden her heart 
 against him. So she again turned to 
 her pot, and spoke with her back towards 
 him : 
 
 " My Simone would never try to force our 
 Colomba's affections." 
 
 " Oh, I know that well ! I have no fear." 
 
 '' You make a mistake then. Our Colomba 
 will not have you and therefore we cannot 
 accept your offer." 
 
 ** What do you say to me ? " 
 
 '•' That our Colomba refuses you, and we 
 refuse you also." 
 
 *' Thousand devils ! I have been deceived, 
 betrayed, played with ! donna ! leave 
 that accursed pot, and look me in the face !" 
 
 He went up to her and seized her roughly 
 by the arm, and forced her to look at him. 
 He was white with passion, and trembling 
 with the violence of his emotion. Poor 
 Caterina mentally said a short prayer, for 
 she expected instant death — Bertoldo looked 
 so terribly ferocious. 
 
 '' Cannot you speak ? donna, most per- 
 fidious ! Say, did not thy Simone encourage
 
 BertoUo. 97 
 
 me ? Has he not given me hope for many 
 years past? Speak!" And he shook her 
 fiercely. 
 
 '' If you treat me like a dog, Bertoldo 
 Fossi, yon may expect but a dog's answer. 
 Take away your hand, if you would have 
 me re]Dly to you." 
 
 He loosened his grasp, but still held her 
 angrily. 
 
 '' The old Simone is a fool, as you know, 
 and his will counts for nothing. It is you 
 who have played the gran signore with us. 
 You made no proposal, and kept off all 
 other lovers, until, at the end, Colomba 
 detests you ! That gives me no sur- 
 prise. You ofiPer now — quando vi pare^ — 
 and we answer, that we will not have this 
 marriage." 
 
 '' It may be that Simone is a fool — but 
 you are a viper, Cateraccia, perfidious 
 woman ! Oh, Colomba my beloved ! She 
 is a true flirt, and yet . . diavolo ! I love 
 her more than ever. Listen to me, Catera, 
 your child has encouraged me, and now 
 she says she wants me not. Bada bene ! 
 
 * When it suits you.
 
 98 Fiesole. 
 
 slie will never marrj, but die on the little 
 chair ! "* 
 
 **Clie! I do not believe you at all, not 
 a word you say ! Colomba tells me that she 
 finds you most detestable. If she was ever 
 friendly towards you, it was because she was 
 but a child." 
 
 '' If she is a child, she will perhaps change 
 her mind. Call her at once I" 
 
 '' I cannot call her, because she is not in 
 the house." 
 
 '' Where is she ? " 
 
 "It matters not to you; she will not 
 change. And I will not permit you to annoy 
 her." 
 
 ''I will know where she is!" And he 
 seized her arm again. 
 
 "She is where they know how to take 
 care of her," said Caterina, defiantly. 
 
 Bertoldo suddenly dropped her arm, and 
 his tone changed from angry command 
 to pathetic pleading : 
 
 " Your pardon, if I have been too rough ; 
 but I love the little one so much that 
 
 * Su la seggiolina, meaning, be an old maid. A 
 popuiar expression of common persons.
 
 Bertoldo. 99 
 
 I koow not wliat I do ! I am mad — for my 
 heart is filled by the tliouglit of her, and I 
 cannot even breathe when I think of the 
 cruel words you have said to me. For the 
 love of Heaven ! tell me at least where she 
 is ? I promise you I will do her no harm. 
 I swear it to you by the Holy Virgin ! " 
 
 Caterina knew that he would discover 
 Colomba's abode sooner or later, besides, 
 he had touched her sympathies, for his very 
 masterfulness was attractive to her as she 
 thought it manly ; so she replied meekly : 
 
 " Our Colomba is with la Signora Sunta 
 Valencini." 
 
 " It goes well ! Grood evening to you, and 
 many thanks for your information." 
 
 Stooping to pick up his hat, he walked 
 quickly to the door ; but, when there, seemed 
 struck by a sudden thought, for he demanded 
 imperiously : 
 
 " Tell me, woman, is it true that la 
 Valencini's son has returned? " 
 
 '' Yes ; it is true." 
 
 "Ah ! " — and he breathed a silent curse — 
 " Ah ! I understand all now. I saw the 
 brigand lurking about near here. Most avari- 
 cious and fox-like spirit ! I understand your 
 ii 2
 
 100 Fiesole. 
 
 intentions. You would rob me of my beautiful 
 Colomba. But heed well ! Upon that same 
 day that they go before the Comune to be 
 married will I strike her husband dead ! 
 May the evil eye blight all of this house, 
 and may you be accursed for ever ! " And 
 he rushed madly from the room. 
 
 Truly, the sluggish brain of this man had 
 been quickened at last ; he had a soul now 
 — but it might have been lent to him by the 
 Fiend himself. 
 
 Caterina sank into a chair and began to 
 cry. It had all been very terrible and 
 exciting. She had never expected Bertoldo's 
 jealousy to be aroused ; for she had no idea 
 how the passion of love quickens the intel- 
 lect. She sincerely hoped that he would not 
 take immediate vengeance, or kill himself in 
 his despair. To tell the truth, she felt some 
 regret that Colomba had not loved Bertoldo ; 
 it would have settled matters much more 
 quickly and easily. 
 
 "• Alas ! how unfortunate am I — it is Fate 1 
 I am afflicted with an incapable for a 
 
 husband, and our Columba is but no — 
 
 she is my heart's dove, and I will bear any 
 trouble for her sake. I must buy her a coral
 
 Bertoldo, 
 
 101 
 
 hand to protect her from the evil eye, for, 
 who knows ? she might get the small-pox 
 or scarlet fever ! Oh, holy Saint Romulus, 
 grant that she marry Alessio Yalencini 
 in peace, and that she die not an old 
 maid!"
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 colomba's wish eulfilled. 
 
 COLOMBA was enjoying herself exces- 
 sively. Her love of power and admir- 
 ation was gratified to the full; she was 
 petted and caressed all day by Signora 
 Sunta, and Alessio was her humble slave. 
 His homage was of so novel a character that 
 it acquired an additional charm in her eyes 
 on that account. She was not in love with 
 him, but she coquetted with him prettily, 
 and had begun to fancy that she actually did 
 care for him. She was in reality dazzled by 
 his grand ways, and, above all, by the 
 thought of his riches. 
 
 One day, after she had spent more than a 
 week with them, Colomba and Alessio were 
 seated together in the garden, laughing and 
 talking merrily. Every now and then, the 
 good Sunta would come to the window and 
 look out at them — to return to her work
 
 Colomba's Wish Fulfilled. 103 
 
 smiling contentedly. Never did tlie course 
 of true love promise to run more smoothly. 
 But, if the smiling Sunta was the lovers' 
 good genius, the sour-visaged Fortunata was 
 certainly their evil genius. 
 
 She often peered out at them, muttering : 
 *' The fools ! " And she was again the first 
 to see Caterina Yestris enter the garden 
 gate. 
 
 Just before the mother arrived, the sun- 
 shine of the lovers' smiles had been dimmed 
 by Colomba's saying, with a sigh : 
 
 " Ah, poor me ! after to-morrow I return 
 home." 
 
 Alessio had replied passionately : " Then 
 why go ! Is not this house comfortable to 
 thee ? Do we not pray thee to stay, and not 
 to leave us desolate ? " 
 
 Colomba i^retended not to notice the 
 ardour of his tone, and answered in a most 
 matter-of-fact way : " But, Signore, you 
 forget ! The day after to-morrow you all 
 leave for Florence." 
 
 It was at this moment that Caterina made 
 her appearance, and Fortunata bustled out 
 to meet her, with officious delight. 
 
 " Oh ! Signora Catera, thou art welcome.
 
 104 Fiesole. 
 
 It seems to me a thousand years since I 
 last saw thee ! For it is not with me, ' far 
 from the eye far from the heart ! ' " And 
 she glanced maliciously at the young people. 
 
 Poor Alessio looked very miserable ; and 
 Colomba, though an affectionate daughter in 
 the main, appeared anything but pleased to 
 see her mother. She dreaded unpleasant 
 tidings, and feared that she would be taken 
 home at once. 
 
 " Good day to thee, Fortunata ! How 
 goes it with you? And you also, Signor 
 Alessio, it rejoices me to see you ! Hast 
 thou no kiss for thy mother, Colombina?" 
 
 '' Oh, yes, mother, a thousand if thou 
 wilt. But tell me, the father, is he well ? 
 And all the beasts ? Thou hast not come to 
 take me back to the house ? " She said the 
 last words so plaintively that her mother 
 laughed good-humouredly. 
 
 '' I will not take thee to-day, unless la 
 Signora Sunta is tired of having thee ! " 
 
 '' Surely, Catera, you know that Colomba 
 could never cause annoyance, and one could 
 never become tired of her company. She is 
 a true delight ! " said the good Sunta, as 
 she bustled up and kissed her friend Caterina
 
 Colomha's Wish Fulfilled 105 
 
 upon both cheeks. '' But, tell me, there is 
 nothing wrong at thy house ? " 
 
 *' It rejoices me to sa}^ that the beasts are 
 well, also my Simone, although I should not 
 mention it ! " and she crossed herself, to 
 prevent ill-luck on account of her having 
 said her belongings were well.* ''But there 
 is disturbance and trouble of which 
 Colomba is the cause — and it is for that 
 reason I have come. Bertoldo has become 
 furious, and is in a terrible passion ; he will 
 assassinate, he will kill ! He nearly took the 
 life from me. Not that I would say evil of 
 him, poor fellow; it was the anger and 
 jealousy that entered into him, and rendered 
 him beside himself. We all know that ' one 
 must go when the Devil drives ! ' " 
 
 Colomba turned pale, and clung trembling 
 to Caterina : 
 
 '' Oh, Mamma, he will not kill me ! I hope 
 not, because I am so young. I have no wish 
 to die — death is so terrible. To lie in the 
 cold tomb — oh, Mother ! say he will not kill 
 me!" 
 
 ^ No Italian likes to praise a possession, as he 
 believes ill-fortune will happen to it directly he speaks 
 well of it.
 
 106 Fiesole. 
 
 Alessio's face looked like a thunder-cloud. 
 '* ' Kill ' you, Colomba ! He will have need 
 to kill me first: — and we will speak together 
 of that!" 
 
 " Oh ! Alessio, for the love of Heaven, do 
 not anger him more ; he is already imbittered 
 against you because of Colomba staying here, 
 for he is very jealous." 
 
 Colomba hid her face, and her neck became 
 rosy red. 
 
 " Pig of Bacchus ! Had you not better 
 send him to San Bonifazio?"* said Fortu- 
 nata, sourly. 
 
 " No ! sister, I suppose Bertoldo is not a 
 real madman — and we are strong enough 
 to defend ourselves and the little one also. 
 Say, good Caterina, may we not take her 
 with us to Florence ? " 
 
 " Oh, Signora Sunta, that is a beautiful 
 thought, a true inspiration sent thee by the 
 saints ! But, will it not make danger for 
 Sign or Alessio?" 
 
 Alessio's dark eyes had beamed on his 
 mother with an expression of loving grati- 
 tude ; he now turned to Caterina : 
 
 '* Alessio would love the danger incurred 
 
 * Florentine lunatic asylum.
 
 Colomha's Wish Fulfilled. 107 
 
 for thy Colomba ! But have no fear, I am 
 strong, and thy Dove will be safe from the 
 hawk — she can nestle on my mother's breast 
 as on thine own. And for me — every drop 
 of my heart's blood is hers ! " 
 
 Colomba peeped at him shyly as he spoke ; 
 his deep rich voice, so full of passionate in- 
 tensity, sounded like music, and seemed to 
 exercise a magnetic influence upon her. She 
 blushed with pleasure, although the tears 
 still glistened on her long eye-lashes. She 
 looked so beautiful that he loved her more 
 than ever — and felt like a knight of old 
 bound to cherish, protect, and fight for his 
 ladye-love. 
 
 *' Mamma mia ! you all make a great work 
 about a most respectable young man who only 
 wished to marry la Colomba ; and when he 
 could not have her, took it ill. Which is 
 natural, for it is a shame for a man to get a 
 refusal. But, Holy Saint Eomulus ! without 
 doubt, he has forgotten her already. Know 
 you not that Bertoldo Fossi has power to 
 choose from all the girls in the neighbour- 
 hood ? Do not imagine that he is going to 
 make a galley-slave of himself because of 
 that child ! "
 
 108 Fiesole. 
 
 This speecb. carried a barb for them all, as 
 it made light of their fears and of Colomba's 
 attractions, and made their previous conver- 
 sation appear in rather a ridiculous light ; for 
 Fortunata's words seemed to show the com- 
 mon-sense view, theirs the high-flown. This 
 was exactly what Fortunata wished. She 
 went back to the kitchen immediately after 
 she had delivered her parting shaft. When 
 there, she grumbled bitterly to herself : 
 
 " It is my destiny ! Always misfortunes ! 
 Poor me ! to have that flirting one with us 
 in Florence, there to act the lady over ray 
 head ! Oh unfortunate, accursed day!*'
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE BETEOTHAL. 
 
 COLOMBA enjoyed her stay in Florence 
 thoroughly. It was to her a world of 
 wonders — a City of Delights. And she had 
 had two new dresses given to her. It was 
 her Mamma who gave the money to buy them; 
 but Colomba had herself gone with the Signora 
 Sunta to choose them. One was a fawn- 
 coloured alpaca, and the other a black silk 
 with red stripes. Her cousin Nicoletta had 
 not a single dress to compare with the silk ! 
 And then, Alessio had given her a large coral 
 cross and gold pins for her hair, and Signora 
 Sunta had presented her with a new and 
 handsome black lace veil. How proud she 
 had felt on the first Sunday on which she 
 went to Mass, dressed in all her finery ! Ah ! 
 how the young men had stared at her in 
 admiration. In the afternoon they had all 
 gone for a walk in the Cascine, and Colomba
 
 110 Fiesole. 
 
 had thought that very nice. She never 
 noticed the beauties of Nature, and hardly- 
 heard Alessio '' talking poetry" by her side 
 — she thought of nothing but watching the 
 grand ladies and gentlemen driving past in 
 their carriages. 
 
 Yes, certainly, Colomba was enjoying her 
 visit to Florence. Alessio also enjoyed it 
 quite as much. The little shop with the small 
 apartment overhead was to him a very palace 
 of delight, for it contained his little dove. 
 His love was imaginative in the extreme, and 
 he loved his own ideal so well that he was 
 utterly blind to the real Colomba. 
 
 In a room behind the shop he had set up 
 an easel, and begun to paint there. He also 
 wrote numerous poems and sonnets to his 
 Love. For all that, business was not neglected, 
 as he retained his uncle's trusted shopman, 
 besides all the former workmen, and looked 
 after them himself. He was pain ting- 
 Colomba's portrait, and found it a difficult 
 task, as it was almost impossible to induce 
 her to sit still for five minutes too-ether. She 
 complained that he was very unkind not to 
 paint her in her new silk dress, but to insist 
 on her wearing her old dark blue cotton.
 
 The Betrothal. Ill 
 
 with a red silk handkercMef round lier neck, 
 and her hair falling ''all in a mess" over 
 her shoulders. She thought he made her 
 appear nothing but a peasant girl instead of 
 a Signorina. Perhaps that was what Alessio 
 intended ; for he possessed a true artist's 
 taste, and knew that his love looked far more 
 beautiful and picturesque in her simple 
 peasant dress than in her gay silk, aping 
 gentility. It was a remarkably pretty picture, 
 for the subject was picturesque and the artist 
 talented. He worked with his whole heart 
 — Love lending greater brilliance to the hues. 
 He had painted Colomba's face with an ex- 
 pression of innocent wonder upon it, and she 
 held a white dove in her hands — her emhlem^ 
 Alessio called it. 
 
 Colomba thought it very fine and grand to 
 be able to paint pictures, though sitting for 
 them was exceedingly tiresome. She admired 
 Alessio and looked up to him, and, therefore, 
 felt quite happy and satisfied. 
 
 Of poor Bertoldo they had had tidings 
 from old Simone when he came down one 
 Sunday to see his child. He said Bertoldo 
 Fossi was flirting with all the girls in the 
 neighbourhood, and he had become an
 
 112 Fiesole, 
 
 Ubbriacone,* was neglecting his farm, and 
 all his affairs were going to ruin. He avoided 
 Simone, who thought that he had evidently 
 forgotten Colomba, and that she was well 
 quit of such a good-for-nothing admirer. 
 
 That night, after her father left, Colomba 
 stood alone in her own room, looking out 
 upon the still moon-lit river. 
 
 '' I wonder if Bertoldo has really forgotten 
 me ! " she thought, and a sharp pain seemed 
 to catch her breath and force the water into 
 her eyes. '' Ah ! Holy Madonna ! " she 
 exclaimed suddenly, *' I hope, in truth, that 
 he has not become a drunken man for love of 
 me ! Holy Virgin, keep him, for I wish him 
 no ill." 
 
 On that same evening Alessio sat by liu 
 window, thinking. The Arno lay calm and 
 silvered beneath him ; [for his shop was on 
 the Lung-Arno Acciajoli, just round the 
 corner of the Jewellers' Bridge, and, though 
 the shop faced the other shops, the back 
 window looked directly upon the river, and 
 both Alessio's studio and bedroom faced the 
 Arno, with nothing between to obstruct the 
 
 * Drunkard.
 
 The Betrothal. 113 
 
 view. The moon slione silvery and bright 
 upon the still water — the lights were all put 
 out in the houses on the opposite Lung-Arno 
 — and everything seemed replete with silence 
 and with rest. 
 
 Alessio looked forth, and thought of 
 Colomba. Romantic and poetic feelings filled 
 his soul — fit out-births of the placid scene 
 before him. 
 
 " I must ask her to be my wife soon," was 
 bis last thought. 
 
 He knew that her family already con- 
 sidered them as tacitly engaged. Old SimoDe 
 had willingly consented that her stay in 
 Florence should be indefinitely prolonged, 
 although it was no longer necessary to keep 
 her out of Bertoldo's way — for the poor 
 fellow was troubling no one, and only hurting^ 
 himself. But Alessio, poet-like, fancied that 
 his love was infinitely above him in excel- 
 lence. So graceful, young, pure, and beauti- 
 ful — in his modesty he doubted if she could 
 ever learn to care for him ; and with eager 
 fear longed to cage his little dove. 
 
 " I will ask her to-morrow," he thought. 
 " But, ohime ! if she should say me no ! She 
 will then desire to leave us, and if she return 
 
 I.
 
 114 Fiesole, 
 
 home for that reason I fear old Simone will 
 annoy lier. I will tell her that no one shall 
 know that I have made the proposal, so that 
 even if she should refuse me, she can still 
 remain here. And I will also tell her, that I 
 will wait with patience in the hope that she 
 may change her mind. But, Dio mio ! if she 
 should never change — how can I live with- 
 out her ! " 
 
 Alessio never divined Colomba's true 
 feelings — how could he ? — for he only thought 
 of love, she of money. 
 
 He sat up the whole night long and saw 
 the moonlight vanish, the darkness appear, 
 and then the cold grey dawn. He did not 
 feel tired or miss his night's rest, for his 
 frame of mind was elevated beyond the plane 
 of natural things. 
 
 During their breakfast, Alessio was re- 
 markably silent. After they had finished, 
 when Colomba was preparing to enter the 
 studio for her usual sitting, he said : 
 
 *' Wilt go out with me, Colomba ? It is a 
 most beautiful day, and we can walk in the 
 Cascine." 
 
 Colomba looked doubtfully at Sunta ; but 
 that good mother, guessing her son's wishes,
 
 The Betrothal, 115 
 
 said : " Have no fear to walk alone with 
 Alessio; -thy mother would not be dis- 
 pleased." 
 
 So Colomba went to her room, and put on 
 her fawn-coloured alpaca, and the new black 
 lace veil over her head. She had begun to 
 wish for a hat or bonnet ; but had not yet 
 dared suggest such an innovation to con- 
 tadina customs — a hat being to them an un- 
 necessary luxury. But she was glad to 
 discard her silk pezzuola (kerchief) for the 
 black lace veil, which at Fiesole she had only 
 worn on Sundays or other Festas. 
 
 She walked by Alessio' s side in silence, 
 glancing shyly at him now and then. She 
 thought he looked quite a gentleman, and 
 that she was a fortunate girl to possess such 
 a lover. Her head was not yet ciuite turned 
 by her new surroundings, though she was 
 rendered more thoughtless than before by 
 the dehghts of the town, new dresses, 
 jewellery, and admiration. But, of all her 
 pleasures, Alessio' s love was, as yet, the most 
 prized ; for she longed to become mistress of 
 that fine house, and of the shop with its 
 brilliant jewellery. She might then wear 
 which she chose of all those gay trinkets. 
 I 2
 
 116 Fiesole. 
 
 Alessio took her into the Cascine— the 
 Avooded park of the Florentines-^choosing 
 the path nearest the water-side. The fine 
 old trees were in the first flush of their early 
 summer beauty, forming graceful arches of 
 delicate green, interlacing their boughs 
 above the paths ; and the morning sun shone 
 through the leaves, and made them glisten 
 like emeralds. 
 
 Alessio led Colomba on in silence, until 
 the regular path ceased and they found 
 themselves pursuing their way over a little 
 unfrequented footway. Then, turning to 
 Colomba, he asked her gently if she would 
 not like to sit down upon a bank. She 
 assented, and, taking out her handkerchief, 
 spread it carefully on the ground and seated 
 herself upon it — for she had no idea of spoil- 
 ing her fawn-coloured alpaca ; no love- 
 making in the world would excuse such 
 negligence. She felt some slight excitement 
 and sense of expectation — for Alessio's con- 
 duct was certainly very strange, taking 
 her out for a w^alk: and never speaking to 
 her ! She was also annoyed with him for not 
 walking on the big carriage-drive, where she 
 might at least have seen some gentlemen
 
 The Betrothal. 117 
 
 exercising their horses by an early ricle, — and 
 where, if they wanted rest, they could have 
 sat down upon a nice stone bench, instead of 
 this stupid green bank, where she ran the 
 risk of spoiling her beautiful dress. But she 
 did not dare complain, for she felt some awe 
 of Alessio, and usually listened to and obeyed 
 him with the docility of a child. So she 
 merely pouted with her pretty red lips, and 
 looked up at him rather impatiently. He 
 stood in front of her, pale, serious, and 
 determined. At length he spoke : 
 
 " Is not this a day of paradise, my beau- 
 tiful one ? See you the river flowing like a 
 stream of silver light — and the trees bending 
 over us to shade us with their leaves, so 
 tender, so sensitive ! And above us we hear 
 the birds singing of Love and Joy. They 
 speak to my heart and to thine, my beautiful 
 dove. They are telling thee how much I 
 love thee, star of mine ! Oh, beloved one, 
 do you not hear them ? Listen to what they 
 say — listen in compassion to thy lover !" 
 
 He had thrown himself down on the bank 
 beside her, and was looking into her face 
 with eager pleading. She dropped her eyes 
 and blushed. The sound of his words was
 
 118 Fiesole, 
 
 pleasant to her, and his voice was like music 
 — she seemed to be listening to a love-song. 
 She liked to be addressed in such grand and 
 poetical language ; but she did not consider 
 it necessary to make him any reply, for he 
 only spoke of love yet, — she would answer 
 him when he made the proposal of marriage. 
 Taking her silence favourably, Alessio added, 
 still more tenderly : 
 
 *' Cara mia, dost thou understand what it 
 is to love, to feel that another is all the 
 world to thee ? I fear thou dost not yet ; 
 but say, wilt thou try to love me ? Wilt 
 thou give me thy promise to become my 
 wife?" 
 
 She trembled slightly, from excitement, as 
 she listened to the much-desired proposal ; 
 but she was nervous lest he should mis- 
 understand her, and that this great oppor- 
 tunity should slip from her. So she said 
 quickly : 
 
 " I will become thy wife, Alessio ! " 
 For a moment he was quite confused by the 
 happiness her words gave him^ ; they were 
 most delightful to him, because he never for 
 a moment doubted that she loved him, or 
 she would not so readily have consented to
 
 The Betrothal 119 
 
 marry him — for was she not the purest, most 
 modest, and innocent of her sex ! After 
 thinking for a short time of this great de- 
 light, he said softly : 
 
 "Be thou blest, oh, my Colomba, my 
 love ! " And he kissed her tenderly. 
 
 When he kissed her the remembrance of 
 another kiss she had received came over her, 
 and again did Colomba feel that sudden, 
 sharp pain, as she wondered how Bertoldo 
 would feel when he heard of her betrothal. 
 How strange it would be when she became a 
 grand lady, and passed her old lover without 
 recognition, — he a mere contadino, she a rich 
 married lady ! She submitted to Alessio's 
 embrace, but, nevertheless, she felt a sense 
 of relief when he let her go. She gave a 
 slight sigh, and there was a shadow on her 
 face — she preferred thinking of future 
 grandeur to present love-making. 
 
 Both Colomba and Alessio were too much 
 absorbed in one idea to be able to perceive 
 clearly each other's feelings or disposition. 
 His thought was all of love — a love far too 
 imaginative and removed from the actual 
 world to be safe. The ^wakening mast come 
 sooner or later — he could not dream for ever.
 
 120 Fiesole. 
 
 For true love consists in not being blind to 
 the loved one's faults, but in loving on in 
 their despite — idealising the good qualities, 
 hoping, trusting ever for the best. But 
 loving only one's own ideal, and being blind 
 to the true personality of the loved one, that 
 is not Love — it is hut fancy. Youths and 
 maidens of romantic, imaginative minds often 
 feel this pure, unpractical admiration; but 
 these fancies seldom last for long, unless they 
 change their character and become true love. 
 Alessio was still a youth in purity and inno- 
 cence, and this was his first fancy ; above 
 all, he was a poet, and loved poetically. 
 
 Colomba's mind was filled by interested 
 and mercenary ideas of the material comforts 
 this marriage would give her. No one who 
 looked at that pretty, blushing face, with its 
 downcast eyes, and pouting rose-bud lips, 
 would have guessed that she was mercenary. 
 And yet, there never was a more worldly, 
 calculating little woman than this pretty 
 child of seventeen. But in this she was not 
 an exception to the generality of her country- 
 women. Alessio continued to speak in loving 
 accents, telling her sweet truths that could 
 only interest their two selves ; but, indeed.
 
 The Betrothal. 121 
 
 they hardly did that; for Colomba was a 
 passive, but most inattentive listener. Her 
 thoughts had flown far away into the future, 
 where they were building brave castles in 
 the air. 
 
 At length Alessio said, with a sigh of 
 regret, " I believe it is time to return to the 
 house, my betrothed. Ah ! how the heart 
 of my dearest mother will rejoice when she 
 knows of my good fortune." He offered her 
 his arm, and they walked silently homewards. 
 As they neared the end of the Cascine, a 
 sudden doubt struck Alessio, and he stopped, 
 saying anxiously : 
 
 '' Are you sure that you love me, 
 Colomba ? " 
 
 This seemed an unpleasant question to 
 Colomba, and it recalled her, with a rude 
 shock, from her most delightful castle-build- 
 ing. She had never asked herself this 
 question, and was certainly not prepared to 
 answer him. '' But," she thought quickly, 
 " she was not marrying him for money. 
 Oh, no ! she would be proud of him for 
 himself — a man so strong, and brave, and 
 clever." Giving herself no time for further 
 reflection, she rephed :
 
 122 Fiesole. 
 
 " Certainly, Alessio ! '* 
 
 He was satisfied then; but, on thinking 
 the matter over long afterwards, he remem- 
 bered that there had been no tenderness in 
 her tone, and that this could not have been 
 caused by maidenly reserve, for her answer 
 had been given so readily and so decidedly. 
 
 That evening all was joy and gladness in 
 the little house on the Lung-Arno. Caterina 
 and Simone had been summoned from 
 Fiesole, and all rejoiced together over the 
 prosperous ending of this courtship. No one 
 thought of poor Bertoldo, and not a whisper 
 or omen of ill clouded the general delight. 
 
 Only Fortunata stole away alone, and 
 murmured : 
 
 ''Alessio is mad with love and entirely 
 blinded. He would ' buy the cat in the sack.* 
 But ' the devil's flour all turns to bran ! ' 
 They are not married yet, and ' all eggs 
 become not chicks.' "
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 INA LAUEENCE. 
 
 THUEE years before tlie present date of 
 our story, two Englisli ladies had come 
 to live in Florence. The elder was a widow; 
 named Hume, and the younger, her niece, 
 Ina Laurence. Mrs. Hume did not possess 
 any money of her own, whilst Ina, having 
 just attained her majority, had then come 
 into a large fortune. Mrs. Hume was Ina's 
 mother's sister, who, when a pretty, penni- 
 less girl, had married a handsome curate, 
 and had been early left a poor and childless 
 widow. Her younger sister had married 
 the rich old Mr. Laurence ; but she had died 
 soon after her only child's birth, and Mr. 
 Laurence had not long survived her. Thus, 
 the child-heiress had been left to her aunt's 
 guardianship ; for she was the only relation 
 Ina possessed in the world. Her other 
 guardian was the old family solicitor, and he
 
 124 Fiesole, 
 
 managed all lier business affairs. Ina came 
 to Florence when she was just twenty-one, 
 and mistress of her own fortune. She took 
 an old house, formerly belonging to one of 
 the great Italian painters, and in this 
 house she continued to reside. It was 
 rather out of repair now, and stood in a 
 dark street not far from the Piazza dell' 
 Annunziata. A marble tablet on the facade 
 told how that famous old painter had lived 
 and died in the house. There was a small 
 garden at the back, and a terrace on 
 the stable-roof, to which one ascended by a 
 stone stair-case from the garden below. Two 
 magnificent bushes of G-loire de Dijon roses 
 reared themselves from the garden up to the 
 terrace above, where they twined themselves 
 in among the railings. They were very old, 
 as the thickness and height of their stems 
 showed, and they were nearly always covered 
 with hundreds of magnificent roses ; — with- 
 out exaggeration, there were rarely more 
 than two or three months in the year in 
 which they were not in flower, for they 
 bloomed even in winter. The roses, how- 
 ever, made no difference to Mrs. Hume, and 
 she grumbled incessantly at their place of
 
 Ilia Lmirence. 125 
 
 abode. She wished to live in a new house 
 in the finest quarter of Florence, and to 
 have brilliant satin furniture and hangings, 
 and all the latest improvements in up- 
 holstery and decoration. What did she 
 care for the romantic or picturesque ? But 
 Ina did care, and, as she was the mistress of 
 the house, her wishes carried the day, and 
 they lived on in the old painter's picturesque 
 residence, dark and decayed though it w^as. 
 
 Ina was tall and stately, with a handsome 
 and expressive face. She had a noble mind, 
 and pure, imaginative nature. If she had 
 a fault, it w^as that she in her unworldly sim- 
 plicity often allowed her imagination to 
 guide her instead of her judgment. She 
 could be lively as well as pensive and 
 thoughtful, and her wit was ever ready and 
 bright. But she was essentially not a 
 " society girl," and she never cared for 
 any gaieties. She was clever and accom- 
 plished, and spent her time in studying and 
 improving her mind, and was, in fact, a 
 most romantic and unworldly young woman. 
 Above all, she had never merged the woman 
 in the young lady, and was as tender, pure, 
 and true as it is possible to be. As a friend
 
 126 Fiesole. 
 
 once said of her — her character was *'a 
 curious mixture." 
 
 Mrs. Hume was a fussy-looking little 
 lady, with a curled wig, squeaky voice, 
 good temper, and an overwhelming desire 
 to enter the most fashionable society, and 
 a wish to run after all notabilities. Ina 
 often blushed for her aunt's follies ; but she 
 loved her for her good heart, and because 
 she was the only relation she had in the 
 world. 
 
 For the first two years of their stay in 
 Florence, Ina's life continued very much the 
 same, studying, to please herself, going into 
 society, to please her aunt. Mrs. Hume 
 found that her niece's riches and beauty 
 easily procured for them both an entree into 
 the most fashionable Italian society. And 
 it was to the houses of the fast and frivolous 
 nobility that she took the unwilling Ina. 
 The quiet English residents she despised, 
 and boasted that she never visited the un- 
 titled. Poor Ina passed unscathed through 
 this ordeal of frivolous dissipation ; but it 
 was a great weariness to her. Many a hand- 
 some voungf marcliese and conte tried to win 
 the hand of the English heiress ; but she per-
 
 Ina Laurence. 127 
 
 sistently refused all offers. Her heart bad 
 never been touched, and, though she was 
 unaware that they were more in love with 
 her fortune than with herself, she would none 
 of them. She sometimes expostulated with 
 her aunt, and said she should like to make 
 some real friends, amongst her own country- 
 people, who were more intellectual and con- 
 genial than the Italians they knew ; but, as 
 this idea horrified Mrs. Hume, and as Ina 
 did not care very much about the matter, 
 she let the subject drop, and continued to 
 live her lonely life — isolated in the whirl of 
 society, quiet midst gaiety and mirth. 
 
 But, after two years' residence in Florence, 
 the most eventful moment in her life came — 
 the vulnerable spot in her armour was dis- 
 covered, and, through pity, she lost her 
 peace of mind. 
 
 Mrs. Hume and Ina were spending the 
 evening at the Contessa Biancolini's : it 
 was not a large party, for there were only 
 about ten persons in the room, all of whom 
 were well known to each other ; and the con- 
 versation was sociable and unrestrained. 
 
 The Contessa was a young bride, lively, 
 enthusiastic, and impressionable. She had
 
 128 Fiesole, 
 
 taken a great fancy to Ina, and was now 
 seated witli the English girl's hand l.ying 
 passively in hers ; when she said suddenly : 
 
 '' Oh, friends, I have a story to recount to 
 you. It is really romantic, and most interest- 
 ing." 
 
 " Oh, tell on ! " cried a chorus of voices. 
 
 " Know, then, there was once a prince — 
 well, no ! not exactly a prince, for he was 
 only a conte, but then, heroes of tales 
 should always be princes. E bene ! this 
 Conte was called Carlo Bentivoglio, and he 
 was of an old Venetian family. Heavens ! 
 but they were old, truly of the aristocracy. 
 They were proud as Lucifer, poor as mice, 
 and also most extravagant. The old Conte 
 died in debt, and the young Conte lived in 
 the same style that his ancestors had done. 
 But things cannot endure for ever, and so 
 the poor fellow reached his last soldo. His 
 friends said — ' Ah, Carlo ! there is nothing 
 left for you but suicide, honour demands it ! ' 
 But he made reply : ' You are wrong ; honour 
 demands that I should live and work ! ' And 
 so he sold his old palace, and left the city of 
 his fathers, and came to Florence to work. 
 He is quite handsome, and to me he appears
 
 Ina Laurence. 129 
 
 a true nobleman. He would not die ; he 
 would live and work ! " 
 
 '^Ahj most noble!" murmured an old 
 Dowager. 
 
 *' Perhaps he feared to die," whispered 
 one gentleman to a friend. 
 
 ''Ah, friends," continued the Contessa, 
 enthusiastically, '* picture to yourselves his 
 position — the old family palace sold, his 
 pride laid low, and he trying to become 
 an advocate in a city of strangers, alone 
 and unaided. Surely, suicide would have 
 been easier ! I call him a truly brave man." 
 '' The poor devil had nothing else to do ;" 
 whispered the same unfriendly gentleman to 
 his neighbour. 
 
 '^ Ah, yes ; a galant'uomo ! " echoed the 
 Dowager. 
 
 " He is like our Black Prince," murmured 
 Ina; "he would say, ' Mon Dieu et mon 
 droit.' " 
 
 '' Yes, carina mia, I knew that you would 
 sympathize with him. Ah, but you should 
 see him ; he does look like a prince, poor 
 fellow ! I will admit that he has been a little 
 too gay, and also fond of the cards ; but 
 now he has determined to be very good. 
 
 K
 
 130 Fiesole. 
 
 He had before not cared enougli for * the 
 Religion,' but now he has grown serious. 
 Ah, poor fellow ! he is so sad and lonely 
 that we should all pity him, and help him 
 in his distress." 
 
 '' Yes, truly ! " whispered the same envious 
 detractor. "The Bentivoglio is a devil 
 amongst the women. He is handsome, 
 idle, dissipated, but he has already as much 
 work as he chooses to do — all through the 
 women, who use their influence in his favour, 
 and get him employed in preference to steady 
 and experienced advocates. PerBacco ! they 
 shower presents upon him, and he borrows 
 money right and left. As for his religion 
 and reformation, we know what they are 
 worth ! But he is a handsome peni- 
 tent, " and the gentleman chuckled scep- 
 tically. 
 
 But the Contessa heard none of this. She 
 only saw that Ina's cheeks had flushed with 
 generous sympathy, as she spoke, and, like a 
 flash of lightning, an idea entered her brain 
 — afterwards to be carried out. 
 
 No more was said of Conte Bentivoglio 
 that evening. But, as her guests were leaving, 
 the Contessa embraced Ina affectionately,
 
 Ina Laurence. 181 
 
 and said : '' Mind you bring a nice song to my 
 Soiree Musicale next Saturday.'* 
 
 When Ina reached her home that night, 
 her romantic imagination had already begun 
 to picture the face and form of the brave 
 young nobleman who was too proud to die 
 like a coward, but said he would rather work 
 hard and face the world unaided. 
 
 As days went on, other things banished 
 this idea from Ina's mind. And, when she 
 entered the Contessa's drawing-room on the 
 evening of the musical party, she had already 
 quite forgotten the poor nobleman. 
 
 She was dressed in white silk, and wore a 
 diamond spray in her dark brown hair. She 
 looked handsome, but cold and impassive as 
 usual. Later in the evening she sang the 
 promised song. She had a beautiful voice, 
 and sang fearlessly. When she had reached 
 the middle of the piece, she became aware 
 of the presence of a tall, handsome young 
 man standing in a corner of the room 
 with his dark eyes fixed upon her, and fine 
 melancholy face full of an intense and 
 passionate admiration. Her eyes fell before 
 his, her pale face flushed, and she found it 
 difficult to continue her song. She felt almost
 
 132 ' Fiesole. 
 
 inclined to be angry with him ; but there was 
 something in his face that interested her in 
 spite of herself. 
 
 After she had finished her song, she saw 
 this young man go up to their hostess and 
 speak to her. Ina remarked this, for she 
 knew, almost without looking, that he had 
 remained in his corner silent and alone until 
 that time. After saying a few words, the 
 Contessa Biancolini took the gentleman's 
 arm, and walked with him across the room to 
 where Ina sat, saying : 
 
 " Allow me to present to you the Conte 
 Bentivoglio ! " 
 
 Ina felt herself blush, and longed to detain 
 her hostess. But, before she could say a 
 word, the young man had seated himself by 
 her side, and was complimenting her upon 
 her singing. 
 
 That her prince of romance and romantic- 
 looking admirer should be one and the same 
 person, was a wonderful co-incidence; and 
 it made Ina feel most unaccountably shy. 
 She who had always been so quiet and self- 
 possessed in society, now blushed continually 
 and laughed and spoke nervously. 
 
 The young man made himself very agree-
 
 Ina Laurence. 133 
 
 able to her ; for he was well-informed and 
 intelHgent. But it was the halo of romance 
 about him, and not his handsome face or 
 fascinating manners, that won him that gentle 
 heart. She intied him so much. He showed 
 his admiration for her in every look and 
 gesture, until they parted at her carriage 
 door. 
 
 As they were driving home, Mrs. Hume 
 said to Ina : 
 
 "My dear girl, I have never, in my life^ 
 had reason to accuse you of flirting or en- 
 couraging gentlemen, — far from it, I have 
 had cause to sigh over, the good offers you 
 have refused. But, I must say, to-night you 
 have surprised me ! You appeared to me to 
 be actually interested in that poor spend- 
 thrift Yenetian." 
 
 " Oh ! Aunt, I am sure I did nothing 
 unmaidenly, I — " 
 
 '' I did not say you did ; only you must not 
 let that young man talk to you so much. It 
 is evident that he has fallen desperately in 
 love with you. Everyone could see tliat ; 
 therefore you had better discourage him 
 before he makes a proposal. Remember, 
 he is very poor ! "
 
 134 Fiesole. 
 
 '' As if that was a reason for refusing him 
 His poverty is no crime." 
 
 '' You are an odd girl, and I never could 
 understand you. But you will allow that he 
 was a gambler?" 
 
 '' Has been; he is reformed ! And surely, 
 it is our duty to encourage one who is striving 
 to be virtuous." 
 
 '^But, his religion — " 
 
 ''He tised to be sceptical, but now he is 
 serious ; and if his views are mistaken, any 
 way he is in earnest." 
 
 '' Oh, Ina, Ina, where are you drifting to ! 
 Surely, you silly child, you have not fallen 
 in love?" 
 
 " Oh, do not ! please, aunt — " said Ina, 
 blushing hotly, her maiden delicacy being 
 affronted by the mere suggestion. 
 
 But all that night she dreamt of a ruined 
 prince with dark eyes and a soft voice. And 
 from that time, Ina Laurence could never 
 again smile at the world in proud disdain, 
 and say that she was, " in maiden meditation 
 fancy free."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ANOTHEE PAIR OF LOVEES. 
 
 AT the period which we had reached in 
 our story when we were forced to go 
 back, Ina had, as we said, been residing for 
 three years in Florence. She was now twenty- 
 four years old ; and she had been engaged 
 for six months to Conte Carlo Bentivoglio, 
 whom she had known for a year. Mrs. 
 Hume had been much against the match; 
 but Ina, full of pity and romantic generosity, 
 had insisted on it — and Mrs. Hume was 
 forced to give up useless remonstrance. Ina 
 could not be said to hioio her lover's cha- 
 racter, but her active imagination had 
 clothed him with shining qualities and noble 
 aspirations. She had not even seen him very 
 frequently, until her engagement ; but after 
 that, their interviews were more frequent, 
 although their intimate knowledge of each 
 other was not much greater than before. 
 For, whenever Ina tried to introduce serious
 
 136 Fiesoh, 
 
 topics of conversation. Carlo managed to 
 evade the subject by an endearing expression 
 or a caress. His smile banislied all uneasi- 
 ness for tlie time. But after lie had left her, 
 Ina would think over what he had said, and, 
 by degrees, doubts began to insinuate them-, 
 selves into her mind. She grew uneasy, and 
 her romantic fancy was no longer all 
 pleasure to her. She also heard that he was 
 not very industrious in his profession, and. 
 she perceived that his visits and attentions 
 to herself grew less constant. All this 
 pained her greatly ; but she still loved the 
 being her fancy had created, and hoped for 
 the best. She told herself that no one could 
 be reformed in an instant, and that, as 
 idleness had been the habit of his life, it 
 was not easy for him to work steadily. It 
 was her duty to be his good angel, and to 
 spur him on in the Battle of Life. Surely, 
 this was a noble mission ! 
 
 Ina was now standing alone on the terrace, 
 gazing dreamily into the street below. After 
 a time she walked across to the rose-trees, and 
 stood contemplating the beautiful flowers. 
 The sun shone on the Grloire de Dijon roses, 
 and made their hearts glow with a warm trans-
 
 Another Pair of Lovers, 137 
 
 parent golden light. Ina bent over them 
 admiringly, and drank in their delicious 
 fragrance. She made a beautiful picture, 
 standino^ in the sunli^^ht. Her features were 
 fairly regular, her hair brown, her eyes a soft 
 tender colour, a mixture of grey and hazel ; 
 her complexion was delicate as a wild rose, 
 her brow broad and high, and her pretty 
 mouth was both sensitive and generous. 
 The expression of her face was altogether 
 sweet and noble. As she smelt the roses, she 
 sighed : 
 
 '' I wonder whether Carlo will come to- 
 day ! " a slight shadow passed over her face. 
 *' He does not come to see me often now. 
 Ah ! but I must not blame him, he has his 
 work to do ; and he is poor, and needs to 
 work : for he says he does not mean to live 
 upon my fortune. He will not let people say 
 that he married me for money. I honour 
 him for his pride, and I would not be the 
 one to keep him from his duties. But 
 
 j> 
 
 and she sighed again. 
 
 At that moment her aunt came to the 
 window of the larger drawing-room, and, 
 opening it, called across to Ina. The 
 windows were on a level with the terrace,
 
 138 Fiesole. 
 
 and the garden between was so small that 
 Mrs. Hume's voice was carried across easily. 
 She spoke with a«i affected drawl, though 
 her manner was naturally impulsive and 
 peremptory. 
 
 *' Ina, my love, what is the use of your 
 wasting your time there ? I am going to 
 call on the Principessa Cardigliano, and there 
 are sure to be plenty of the Nobility at her 
 house, and I daresay I shall receive some 
 nice introductions. You had better come 
 with me ! " 
 
 ^' My dear aunt, you know that I do not 
 care for the Nobility, or any other strangers." 
 
 '* You are certainly an odd girl, and 
 give yourself airs of superiority at times. 
 But, if you do not care to go for the sake of 
 the Nobility, you might at least come to 
 please me." 
 
 Ina blushed. "I am expecting Carlo, 
 aunt. But do not let us go on talking here, 
 for I see that the neighbours are looking at 
 us curiously." 
 
 '' Oh ! very well, if you expect Carlo, of 
 course there is nothing more to be said. 
 You are simply infatuated about that young 
 man, who is the worst match of any who
 
 Another Pair of Lovers. 139 
 
 have asked you. I know of fifty good 
 husbands you might still have." 
 
 ** I am sure, aunt, you are mistaken; 
 there are not so many stupid men in 
 Florence. And then, you know, I never 
 cared about a good match — and now you 
 should not even talk of such things to 
 me! " said Ina indignantly, and she walked 
 away to put a stop to her aunt's conver- 
 sation. 
 
 Looking over the wall, she saw the 
 carriage driven out of the stable and round 
 towards the front door, and she knew that 
 her aunt must have gone out now. And 
 still — he came not. 
 
 At last she heard the front door-bell ring, 
 and then — ah, yes ! — there he was in the 
 garden below, and now he was bounding up 
 the steps — and now, standing by her side. 
 Ah ! how noble and handsome he looked. 
 
 Ina might be excused for admiring her 
 lover's appearance ; he was in truth a fine- 
 looking young man, and many thought him 
 handsome. But the more discriminating 
 thought the lower part of his face heavy, his 
 lips too thick, and his forehead low and 
 narrow, his eyes restless, and his smile too
 
 140 Fiesole. 
 
 ready. Some of these persons had been 
 cruel enough to compare his style of beauty 
 to that of a barber's block. But his 
 admirers called him the Apollo Belvedere. 
 His hair was black and wavy, and so was his 
 moustache; his eyes were large and black, 
 and his teeth white as pearls — which fact 
 people always noticed, for he showed them 
 whenever he smiled. He was tall, with a 
 handsome figure and soldierly carriage, and 
 he dressed with dandified care. 
 
 He sahited Ina affectionately, in spite of 
 the numerous neighbours who stood or sat 
 at their windows looking on. 
 
 '' Ah, my beautiful Ina, you must have 
 thought me a bad truant ! But know, I 
 have had much business to do, for I am poor 
 and must work hard. How I have sighed 
 for this happy moment ! Forgive me, 
 Carissima ! " 
 
 He spoke English to her, for at one time 
 he had stayed five years in England and 
 learnt the language with tolerable accuracy, 
 although he used Italian idioms. 
 
 Ina smiled rather sadly. '* Of course you 
 must work, Carlo, but I have certainly 
 missed you; for the time always seems so 
 long when you are away.*'
 
 Another Pair of Lovers. 141 
 
 " Dearest ! " and his dark eyes were full 
 of passionate admiration as lie looked at her. 
 
 '* How have you been employing yourself; 
 have you had much legal work. Carlo ? " 
 
 He shifted his feet uneasily; perhaps it 
 would not have been exactly convenient to 
 tell her how he had been employing his 
 time. Luckily for him, she had no gentle- 
 men relatives to tell her that they had met 
 him at the Government Lottery, cafes, or 
 theatres. So he was able to keep up the 
 farce of his pretended reformation to this 
 simple-minded young woman, who thought 
 no evil, and knew so little of the world. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I have had my business, of 
 course, and then there are so many things 
 to employ a man's time." 
 
 Ina's face grew anxious. '' Carlo, dear, I 
 hope you do not let anything come between 
 you and your busijiess ? I sometimes fear 
 that you take life a little too easily ; for you 
 know every one is placed in this world to be 
 of some use ; and a man should bo ambitious, 
 and put his whole heart and soul into his 
 work." ■ 
 
 *' ISTot a nobleman ! " said he, drawing 
 himself up. 
 
 " Yes, he should, for I mean a noble man.
 
 142 Fiesole, 
 
 And then, I thought you had resolved to 
 work, and I admired you for your determina- 
 tion." 
 
 '' Of course I had ; I was obliged to work, 
 and I shall continue to work ; but, diamine ! 
 I cannot be expected to like it ! I was not 
 born to that sort of thing. But it seems to 
 me that you scold me for not working hard 
 enough because I have not been here ; you 
 would not have minded yourself taking up 
 my time ! Do you wish to quarrel with me, 
 Ina?" 
 
 His words had made her turn pale; for 
 they hastened the process of disenchant- 
 ment that had already begun for her. 
 Where was the noble-minded man, resolute 
 to work and strive ! The real man worked 
 only because he was obliged. Had these 
 words of his been spoken sooner, they might 
 have proved serviceable in preventing Ina 
 from ever loving him ; but now, alas ! imagi- 
 native pity had turned to true affection, and 
 she could not, without pain, cease to love him. 
 
 " Oh, no ! Carlo, I did not wish to take 
 you from your work, or to quarrel with you. 
 What I meant was, that a man should have 
 an object in life — a noble aim."
 
 Another Pair of Lovers, 143 
 
 "My object in life is to love you, Cara. 
 My aim, to win you for my wife ." 
 
 '' Oh, Carlo ! you should have higher aims 
 than that. But you cannot be in earnest, for 
 I know that you have become religious now." 
 
 '' My religion is to worship you ! " 
 
 Ina's face expressed her disapprobation. 
 ** Do not speak like that ; you hurt and pain 
 me ! Whenever I introduce serious subjects 
 of conversation, you pay me idle compliments; 
 surely it is now time that we should try to 
 learn each other's views of life. Of course, 
 I know that our religion is not the same, but, 
 at least, we may both be earnest, liberal, and 
 sincere. Do not speak lightly of serious 
 subjects, please, for I know that you do not 
 really mean it." 
 
 "Yes, I do!" he added, defiantly. ''1 
 believe in nothing but this world — JSTature is 
 my only God, and, whilst I live, I mean to 
 enjoy myself as much as possible; for I 
 believe that when I die I shall turn to dust. 
 You are angry, I see, that T do not love my 
 work. Why should I ? It is far pleasanter 
 to be idle ! I chose to live, when others 
 advised suicide, because I had no wish to 
 cease to exist. My religioyi ! chc ! I have
 
 144 Fiesole. 
 
 none. I only go to church for the appear- 
 ance of the thing." 
 
 Ina turned still paler, and tears stood in 
 her eyes. At length she said, in a low, hesi- 
 tating voice, '* I pity you. Carlo, I pity you 
 with my whole heart — but if those are really 
 your opinions, I think they are very dreadful ; 
 and I fear we could never be happy together. 
 I wish I had known this sooner — but I was 
 given to understand that — that — Oh ! Carlo, 
 all must be over between us ! " And, without 
 looking at him, she ran quickly down the 
 steps. 
 
 He followed her, and caught her hand in 
 his. " Stay, Ina ! Tell me what you mean ! 
 You cannot really intend to cast me aside ! 
 Diavolo ! you cannot break an engagement 
 all in a moment ! I will be heard ! Listen, 
 Ina, I love you with my whole heart, and it 
 would be madness and death to me to lose 
 you ! I did wrong, perhaps, in speaking so 
 frankly to you ; but I was exasperated and 
 hasty. Must I suffer for telling the truth ? 
 And if my belief, or rather unbelief, is bad 
 and false, you should pity and not blame me. 
 Is it right to turn away from me because I 
 have the misfortune to be an atheist — a
 
 Another Fair of Lovers » 145 
 
 sceptic ? Should you not, rather, try to 
 teach me better ? May not a sinner repent ? " 
 
 She stood irresolute — with tears in her 
 eyes, and quivering lips. 
 
 ** I did not call you a sinner, Carlo 1 Un- 
 belief is a terrible misfortune, but it is 
 profanity that makes the sinner. In truth, 
 I fear that we two could never be 
 happy together — our ideas are so widely 
 apart." 
 
 '* I am very liberal ; cannot I adopt your 
 views ? " he added, in pleading tones. 
 
 " You do not wish to, I fear ! " 
 
 '' Try me 1 But stay — Ina, you say that 
 our ideas are different ; I had thought that 
 in one respect at least they agreed — I used 
 to think that you loved me as I love you. 
 I now fear that I was mistaken." 
 
 ''Mistaken ! oh, no, Carlo. My only fear is, 
 that I love you too well." 
 
 '* I am not afraid of that," and, placing his 
 arm around her, he added — " And am I to 
 consider myself as rejected, or are things to 
 remain as they were ? Will you marry me 
 this autumn as you promised, Cara?" 
 
 *• Yes, Carlo. But, oh ! do not betray ray 
 trust — promise me that you will try to become 
 
 L
 
 146 Fiesole. 
 
 what I thouglit you ; try not to remain a 
 sceptic ! " 
 
 " I will try, Bella mia. And teachings from 
 your hps will sound sweet to my ears, and 
 not like the eternal preach, preach, of the 
 old priests." 
 
 Soon after this Carlo left his betrothed. 
 As he strolled down the street, he wore an 
 air of triumph. '•' I love her passionately," 
 he thought, " and I could not live without 
 her. It was not her money that first attracted 
 me — it was her beautiful self that I loved 
 from the moment I beheld her. But she is 
 always a little too much ' on the high ropes,' 
 as the English phrase it. I can admire and 
 forgive much enthusiasm in so beautiful a 
 woman ; but at times it becomes a little weari- 
 some. She has always been at me, trying to 
 find out my religious views. I thought I had 
 managed to evade the subject rather cleverly, 
 but to-day she was too hard on me, and, there- 
 fore, heard my opinions a little too plainly. 
 I was in a cursed temper, and nearly ruined 
 my own cause ! I love her truly — but, of 
 course, I also like the idea of having a fortune 
 and being able to give up work. Ah ! the 
 little idiot, she thinks I mean to go on toiling
 
 Another Pair of Lovers. 147 
 
 after marriage ! I certainly find this court- 
 ship long, and it is very hard work. Luckily 
 for me, there are other women in the world 
 with whom I can laugh and flirt — women 
 who admire me without expecting great deeds 
 from me. I can always unbend my mind 
 with these lesser luminaries, after visiting 
 my star " — and he walked contentedly along. 
 When Ina was freed from the fascination 
 of her lover's presence, she thought over 
 their conversation more dispassionately. It 
 filled her mind with fear and dark fore- 
 bodings. Many of her romantic illusions 
 were roughly dispelled; but she comforted 
 herself with the thought, that, if not a 
 religious or hard-working man, Carlo was, at 
 least, a good man, and her true lover. She 
 hoped she might be able to convert him, as he 
 in his tender protestations had hinted ; for 
 she felt that it would be a terrible thing to 
 marry a man who possessed no fixed reli- 
 gious principles. " I pitied him before," she 
 thought, '' and now I pity him a thousand 
 times more. Poor fellow ! it is evident the 
 Koman Catholic creed did not satisfy him. 
 I must teach him to become a Protestant. 
 And then, he was not b]'oiiglit up to work, 
 I. 2
 
 148 Fiesole, 
 
 and so I cannot expect him to love it. 
 must not become severe towards his faults 
 / who have so many myself! I must pray for 
 him — and hope — and trust in Providence. 
 And tr}^ to teach him to be better," 
 
 Not a very bright beginning to a girl's 
 courtship this — or a particularly fascinating 
 'Dover's quarrel." There w^as a strong re- 
 semblance between the characters of In a and 
 Alessio, in spite of their position in life being 
 so different. Ina also was an idealist, and she 
 too had dreamed a dream of love — but the 
 time for her partial awakening had already 
 come. And she saw how different was the 
 man she had imagined, to the man to whom 
 she was actually betrothed. And yet, she 
 did not cease to love her fancy^ because she 
 pitied Carlo's faults so much, and, with a true 
 woman's romantic instinct, longed to save — 
 to uplift him, and make him all that she had 
 once thought him. But there were things 
 about him of which she knew nothing, and 
 which, had she known them, would most 
 certainly have prevented her from marrying 
 him. Still she loved him with a pitiful, 
 imaginative love. She had been full of 
 enthusiastic admiration, she was now full of
 
 Another Pair of Lovers, 149 
 
 enthusiastic pity. She believed him good, 
 and respected and admired him as one who 
 had undergone a moral reformation. Be- 
 neath the snow and ice of her outward 
 manner there lay much tender feeling — 
 faithfulness — self-sacrifice — and resolution. 
 She was simple and unworldly, but impul- 
 sive and romantic. A pure and innocent 
 maiden dreamer of vain dreams.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FIEST DOUBTS. 
 
 AFTER the betrothal, all seemed to go well 
 with the family living near the Ponte 
 Vecchio. Alessio was enjoying his happi- 
 ness, and continued to love his ideal Colomba. 
 Good Sunta was very happy and gay, and so 
 was Colomba. Only Fortunata shook her 
 head, and muttered to herself : " * Every 
 serpent has its poison,' and one may as well 
 try to ' pound water in a mortar,' as expect 
 to make a good wife of that little owl ! " 
 
 Colomba had now established a custom of, 
 almost daily, walking out alone to visit her 
 cousin Nicoletta. She chose those hours of 
 the day when the others were occupied in 
 the house or shop — she would then beg hard 
 to be allowed to visit her cousin. And, 
 although none of them liked her going alone, 
 they could not resist her pleading. When 
 they asked her if the young men in the 
 streets ever spoke to, or followed her, she
 
 First Doubts. 151 
 
 said that she walked so quickly that no one 
 had time even to call her " pretty," as she 
 passed. 
 
 It was now August, and, consequently, 
 extremely hot in the " City of Lilies." There 
 were few people in the streets at mid-day ; 
 and all foreigners were migrating fast. The 
 pavements of the Lung-Arno burnt the feet 
 that trod them, and the sun beat down upon 
 the unfortunate heads that exposed them- 
 selves to its scorching rays.* 
 
 Alessio sat alone in his shop, looking 
 through the glass with a troubled expression 
 upon his face. He started when he felt a 
 sudden touch on his shoulder, and turning, 
 saw his mother. 
 
 ''What trouble hast thou, oh ! my son ? " 
 
 " It is nothing of importance, dear Mother. 
 I am anxious about Colomba, without reason, 
 possibly. It does not please me that she 
 goes put so much." 
 
 " She is young, my son, and she likes to 
 divert herself by walking." 
 
 " Could she not find enough diversion 
 here ? Body of Bacchus, will she not have 
 to spend her life here ? " 
 
 ♦ The heat was at 107° Fahr., in the shade.
 
 152 Fiesole. 
 
 *^0h, my son, she is a woman, and ' who 
 is born of a hen is bound to crow ! ' Do not 
 thou become jealous. Permit not such sus- 
 picions to enter thy mind. Thy Colomba is 
 young, but with time she will become more 
 serious. If thou hast truly fear for her, we 
 had better send her home at once." 
 
 " Oh, no. Mother ! I could not live without 
 seeing her beautiful face. I am an idiot to 
 have these thoughts. I will drive them 
 away, and we will speak no more of them ! " 
 
 '* Do you not think, oh, my son, that it 
 would be well for thee to become more 
 rehgious ? Love for a woman is a good 
 thing, but the love of the Madonna is far 
 more precious." 
 
 '^ I cannot bear the priests. Mother; I hold 
 them in detestation. I am of no sect. I 
 feel more inclined to become a Protestant 
 than a Roman Catholic ; for with our priests 
 I think it is truly ' near the church, far from 
 God ! ' I am not without religion. Mother, 
 for I love my Bible, and study it with great 
 interest; and I try my best to follow the 
 teachings of the Holy Scriptures." 
 
 " Ohirae ! my son, thou art become a 
 heretic. It stabs my heart to hear thee
 
 First Doubts. 153 
 
 speak thus ! I think that we should be con- 
 stant to that faith in which we are born ; we 
 should never strive to learn more; for 
 knowledge is a dangerous thing. I believe 
 that our religion is the best ; and I wish not 
 to hear of new ideas. I am content not to 
 understand the holy mysteries. I would only 
 believe as the priests tell me." 
 
 '* Alas ! Mother, that is but a blind 
 faith P' 
 
 " It is faith, though, Alessio. And with 
 faith we acquire Paradise. It is heresy that 
 sends us to the Inferno. Take good care, 
 my son, that thou enter not the Eternal 
 Fires." 
 
 Seeing that he was paining his mother by 
 expounding his imorthodox views, Alessio did 
 not attempt further argument, but said 
 gently : 
 
 **Thou wilt pray for me, Mother, and, 
 though I were black as the Devil himself, 
 thy prayers might save me." 
 
 His mother kissed him lovingly — but she 
 sighed as she went from the room. At that 
 same instant the glass door of the shop 
 opened, and a young lady entered from the 
 street.
 
 154 Fiesole. 
 
 The hot sunhght streamed in through the 
 open door, and shone upon the graceful 
 figure that appeared to Alessio as a glorified 
 vision. Lover-like, he immediately compared 
 her with Golomba ; but he could not help 
 admitting to himself that this was a higher, 
 nobler type of beauty than his little be- 
 trothed's. He was a poet, and could read 
 this face aright. He saw at once that she 
 was a woman out of the common ; and a 
 mysterious affinity, a certain power of 
 sympathy, made him admire this unknown 
 lady. She was tall and handsome, but what 
 struck him the most was the nobility and 
 purity that beamed forth from her counte- 
 nance. And his heart was touched by a 
 certain wistful sadness that lay in her soft 
 dreamy eyes. Had she also a poetic soul, 
 and did she love an ideal creature ? Had 
 she also been disappointed in her hopes ? 
 
 But and he was suddenly recalled to 
 
 himself. What had a young tradesman to 
 do with the souls of his lady customers ! The 
 idea was so ridiculous that he almost laughed 
 aloud. After all, it was the sJioj) that made 
 his thoughts seem incongruous, and not the 
 man himself. He felt a momentary regret
 
 First Doubts, 155 
 
 that he possessed this business ; for if he 
 rehnquished it he might become an artist in 
 earnest, and, possibly, some day immortalize 
 the lovely face before him. 
 
 " Will you show me some rings suitable 
 for a gentleman ? " 
 
 '' With pleasure, Signorina ; have you the 
 size?" 
 
 *' Oh, yes, I have it here," she replied, 
 producing a plain gold ring. 
 
 Alessio then took out a tray containing 
 fine diamond and other rings for her inspec- 
 tion, and picked out a few of the best. 
 
 After looking at and admiring them, she 
 selected one, a ruby, and asked the price. 
 
 Alessio replied, " 600 francs is the price, 
 Signorina ; it is a rare specimen, and a very 
 fine stone. You have excellent taste, in 
 truth!" 
 
 " Is that your lowest price ? I do not 
 like the habit of bargaining, and I wish you 
 to tell me at once the just price." 
 
 " Signorina, I have told you the just price, 
 and I could not give it to you for a soldo 
 less. Your Signore will be fortunate to 
 acquire so good a ring." 
 
 The young lady blushed, and then sighed.
 
 156 Fiesole. 
 
 Taking out her purse, she paid for tlie ring, 
 and, saying good-day, she left the shop. 
 
 Alessio watched her walk down the street. 
 
 '' She is English. How beautiful a 
 creature ! She is not married, and that ring 
 must be for her lover. I do not think she 
 is fortunate either. Perhaps her betrothed 
 also loves to divert himself by walking away 
 from her ! But, cielo ! what am I saying ? 
 I to complain of my beautiful one. I am a 
 bostia ! '* 
 
 And, when Colomba returned, Alessio was 
 particularly kind and attentive in his manner 
 to her. 
 
 When Alessio told her of the beautiful 
 Enghsh girl, Colomba did not appear the least 
 jealous or annoyed by his enthusiastic praise 
 of another. But her manner was slightly 
 distraite, for she had never felt the least 
 liking for, or interest in, any other young 
 woman — though she studied their dresses 
 and often coveted them. She was too sure 
 of Alessio' s love to feel jealousy. She did 
 not even care for his compliments now ; 
 possession had lessened his value in her 
 eyes, and his words had lost the charm of 
 novelty. He did not seem such a remark-
 
 First Doubts. 15 
 
 0/ 
 
 ably good match, for, after all, slie tliouglit, 
 a jeweller was not a gentleman. 
 
 Colomba's head was quite turned now — 
 her jewellery, dresses, and, above all, her 
 liberty, had entirely upset her mental balance, 
 and she seemed wild with youthful mirth. 
 Poor Alessio, he certainly was not tired of 
 Colomba, but he could not understand why 
 it was that he and his betrothed never 
 seemed to grow any nearer to each other in 
 their sympathies or aspirations ; he loved 
 her as well as ever, yet doubts had begun to 
 intrude themselves upon his mind. 
 
 Colomba did not miss her mother, and 
 hardly showed any pleasure when she and 
 her father came to visit her. But she ex- 
 pressed a strong desire not to return home 
 yet. She seemed pre-occupied. The good 
 Sunta noticed the change in Colomba's man- 
 ner, and concluded that it w^as caused by 
 love for Alessio. Simone was too worldly to 
 think of love at all, but he congratulated 
 himself on his daughter's future being so w^ell 
 settled. As for Caterina, simple woman 
 though she was, the mother's instinct in her 
 made herw^ise, and quick to perceive anything 
 that concerned her darlincr. She was not
 
 158 Fiesole. 
 
 easy about her child, and shed many tears in 
 secret, as she fervently prayed to the Ma- 
 donna that " everything should have a good 
 result ! " 
 
 Fortunata still croaked evilly of Colomba, 
 as she grumbled to herself, saying : 
 
 " ' Still waters destroy bridges ! ' "
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 THE BLOW. 
 
 APPARENTLY, Colomba bad quite for- 
 gotten poor Bertoldo. She hardly 
 seemed to listen, when one day her mother 
 said to her, " Poor fellow ! It gives me pain 
 to think how he has gone to the bad." 
 
 Colomba merely shrugged her shoulders, 
 and replied : " It matters nothing to me ! " 
 
 Poor Caterina sighed as she perceived 
 how her child's heart was hardened. 
 
 It was a few days after the young English 
 lady had bought the ruby ring. Alessio, his 
 mother, aunt, and betrothed were all seated 
 at breakfast together, when Colomba said : 
 
 '' Can I go to visit my cousin Nicoletta 
 to-day, Signora Sunta?" 
 
 She asked permission as a mere matter of 
 form, for these visits had now become of 
 almost daily occurrence. 
 
 Alessio frowned as he bent over his 
 plate — and Sunta sighed ; but neither spoke.
 
 160 Fiesole, 
 
 Fortunata, liowever, raised her voice, in 
 violent declamation against tlie " selfish '* 
 maimer in which Colomba spent her time. 
 For, in her way, Fortunata was fond of her rich 
 and talented nephew. And her wrath against 
 Colomba, which had long been simmering, 
 now reached boiUng-point. She did not wish 
 Alessio to marry Colomba, but she had no 
 idea of permitting the girl to make light of 
 the honour he had been willing to bestow 
 upon her. 
 
 *' Anima mia ! but thou art an idle girl. 
 Think you that that is the way to become a 
 good wife? Always going out to walk, to 
 walk — always for diversion ! Ah ! for thee to 
 make a good wife, it needs a thousand years. 
 Thou wouldst have one ' take fireflies for 
 Ian thorns.' Thou art not the wife for our 
 poor Alessio. There is Doratrice Ciarpi — 
 she is a girl of merit. Arch-priest ! but she 
 is a saint ! Believe me, she sews like an 
 angel, and irons like a goddess ! And as 
 for thy Colomba, she thinks of nothing but 
 admiring herself, and ' going to the walk.' 
 Listen in time, Alessio, for ' a man warned 
 is half saved.' I say to thee, Alessio, and 
 to thee also, Sunta, that you are both two
 
 The BloiD. 161 
 
 fools ! Why do you permit this child to 
 govern you ? Dio mio ! Why do you not 
 forbid her going out ? " 
 
 Alessio, in his heart, agreed with some of 
 the sentiments expressed in this tirade — at 
 least, he very much disliked her desire 
 to take her pleasure separate from him. 
 But, when he now looked at Colomba, she 
 immediately began to cry ; so, how could he 
 sympathize with that sour old maid, his 
 aunt, in preference to this little rose-bud 
 with the dew-drops in her eyes ? He 
 started up, and, throwing his arms round 
 Colomba, pressed her to his heart, kissing 
 her tenderly. 
 
 '' Ah, my little dove ! Have no fear ; 
 no one shall give thee pain whilst thy 
 Alessio lives ! Go out when thou wilt, and 
 where thou wilt — leave thy lover, if it pleases 
 thee to take from him the ' light of his eyes.' 
 This heart is thine, and thou art its mistress." 
 
 *' It is well to pay me compliments, 
 Alessio, but why do you permit that wicked 
 old witch to say evil of me ? You are cruel, 
 all of you, and I will go home at once ! " 
 
 " Unfortunate aunt ! See what thou hast 
 done," said Alessio, repro'ach fully. 
 M
 
 162 Fiesole. 
 
 Fortunata smiled grimly. 
 
 '' It is a serious affair, in truth ! Believe 
 me, nephew, there is no great harm done. 
 Let her talk; she will not go. Thinkest 
 thou that she would prefer the country to 
 the city, simplicity to luxury ? Che ! More 
 likely ' the Devil will make himself a Capu- 
 chin.' You do not understand women ; 
 when you have reached my years, you will 
 know a pebble from a diamond. Do you 
 believe it ? Ah, no ! the beautiful Colomba 
 knows her own interest. She will stay 
 here, even though the poor old aunt should 
 talk her tongue off ! " 
 
 '' I hope so. But, I say to thee, aunt, 
 that I pray thee to do me tbe pleasure to 
 remain silent." 
 
 " Mamma mia 1 what an affair is this ! 
 You shall be obeyed, nephew. See, Sunta 
 mia, when Love enters the heart all the poor 
 relations count as nothing. Young men 
 have but little judgment ; to reason with 
 them is but 'barking at the moon.' I never 
 believed in the men ; they are all fools or 
 asses, liars or madmen. Marriage is a great 
 madness. Ah 1 Holy Virgin, keep us from 
 it ! "
 
 The Blow. 163 
 
 " Attend not to lier, Colomba ; slie knows 
 not the sweetness of love," whispered Alessio, 
 as he kissed his betrothed again. 
 
 " Thou ruffles t my hair, Alessio ! " 
 
 ** Heed not that, dear one ! Thou wilt ever 
 be most beautiful. But, tell me, thou wilt 
 not leave us ? Thou forgivest all ? " 
 
 *'Yes, certainly," said Colomba, magnani- 
 mously — for, having gained her point and 
 silenced the enemy, she could afford to be 
 generous. But she had wit enough to take 
 advantage of the present opportunity — for 
 she added, petulantly, "But I go the nexi 
 time I am reproved thus." 
 
 " It shall never happen again, beloved." 
 
 So Colomba went to her room, and put 
 on a prettier dress, and then walked out 
 majestically. La Fortunata watched her 
 maliciously ^ — her lover with sadness. 
 
 Poor Alessio ! He was losing his inspira- 
 tion ; he could neither write nor paint as he 
 used to do. What could be the cause of 
 this ? Surely, not his love ! He knew that 
 a true and noble love should raise, inspire, 
 elevate. What Beatrice was to Dante, 
 Leonora to Tasso, Laura to Petrarch, 
 Colomba should have been to him. Why 
 M 2
 
 1G4 Fiesole. 
 
 did his love cease to inspire, to satisfy 
 him ! Was it that those fair and noble 
 ladies were different to Colomba, or did the 
 
 fault lie in himself! Yes, surely and 
 
 yet the truth was, how could he write or 
 paint with a mind so ill at ease ! He was 
 anxious and troubled. He tried to drive 
 from his mind all thoughts of what he had 
 fancied his ideal woman might have been — 
 for these ideas were too exalted, he told 
 himself, and he must not be hard on his 
 little Colomba, who was good, innocent, 
 pure, and true, he thought. 
 
 Alessio stood idly at the shop-door, listen- 
 ing to the street cries and noises. He saw 
 a man pass with a truck filled with fruit and 
 vegetables, and heard him call out : 
 
 * " Salamanne grapes ! Oh ! how they 
 are yellow, yellow ! They would get out 
 of the galleys to come and eat them ! 
 Beans like silk ! Figs, oh ! Figs, oh ! 
 "Who wants the figs ? Beautiful beans ! 
 To-ma-a — toes 1 " 
 
 And then, another man, selling ice, cried 
 aloud, very much through his nose : 
 
 * Street cries translated literally.
 
 The Blow. 165 
 
 " Ice, oil ! ell ! Ice, oh ! eli ! Ali, there 
 the true ice goes ! How it is frozen ! " 
 
 And then came the rag-man, crying : 
 
 ''Oh, women ! Ra-ra-ra — ragman ! I 
 take horrid boots, horrid umbrellas, horrid 
 hats. Oh ! ra-ra-ra-ragman ! " 
 
 But, although he heard them, Alessio 
 heeded not these quaint cries. He was 
 thinking only of Colomba, and looking sadly 
 down the street, with unseeing eyes, un- 
 hearing ears. 
 
 He did not even perceive Colomba running 
 down the street — and, therefore, gave a great 
 start when she rushed into his arms, panting, 
 tearful, and indignant. She burst out crying, 
 and continued to sob convulsively in spite of 
 his tender caresses and endearments. 
 
 "What trouble hast thou, my angel? I 
 pray thee speak! " 
 
 " Oh ! Alessio, he has insulted me 1 " 
 
 " Accursed be he ! But, Holy Heavens ! tell 
 me who is the rascal ? that I may kill him ! " 
 
 " No ! Caro, thou must not kill him ; but 
 thou must avenge, me. It is the wicked 
 Bertoldo, who sprang out upon me and asked 
 me if I was going to marry thee — and when 
 I replied that I was thy betrothed, he called
 
 166 Fiesole. 
 
 me perfidious, and many other bad names. 
 And, when I told him that he was mad and 
 drunk, then he struck me. Yes, he struck 
 me, Alessio ! " 
 
 '' Thousand devils ! " 
 
 '^ And after that, I said to him : ' Thou art 
 but a coward, Bertoldo, to strike a girl. And, 
 believe me, I will never speak with thee more.' 
 And then, he seemed mortified. But, before 
 he could make any reply, I left him and ran 
 home." 
 
 ''And where did thou meet this cruel 
 man, my beautiful one ? " 
 
 " On the Yiale that goes from the Porta 
 ?anta Croce to the iron bridge above the 
 Ponte Carraja ; it was near the beginning of 
 this Yiale where the Lung-Arno della Zecca 
 Yecchia ends." 
 
 " It is well, and if he be there to-morrow 
 at this same hour, Bertoldo will speak with 
 me there." 
 
 " Be not too furious ! " 
 
 '' Have still faith in me, Colombiua ! " 
 
 All that day, both Colomba and Alessio 
 appeared remarkably quiet and thoughtful. 
 But they did not tell any one else of what
 
 The Bloiv. 167 
 
 had occurred, neither did they speak of it 
 to each other. 
 
 The next morning Alessio left the shop in 
 the charge of his head- workman, and sallied 
 forth upon his errand. He had only gone a 
 few paces down the street, when Colomba ran 
 after him and stopped him. 
 
 '' You will not kill him ! Or get killed 
 yourself, Alessio ! " 
 
 He smiled rather sadly, as he kissed the 
 beautiful, flushed face. 
 
 '* Ah ! my Colombina, when wilt thou 
 know thy Alessio, and learn to have faith in 
 him ! Believe me, dearest, I would not hurt 
 the poor fellow ; I would only give him a 
 reproof. Yesterday I spoke in anger, words 
 without value ! Good-bye, my beautiful one, 
 all will go well.'' 
 
 And thus, he left her. But, as he walked 
 down the Lung-Arno, his mind was filled 
 with dark forebodings. Hitherto, he had 
 been simple, unsuspicious, and trusting; 
 but now a terrible fear seized him — it 
 was, that he should in the future al- 
 ways doubt his Colomba. The reason was, 
 that he had noticed a certain suspicious 
 circumstance that had failed to strike him
 
 168 Fiesole. 
 
 the day before, wlien passion had filled 
 his heart. This strange circumstance was, 
 that Nicoletta Placci lived in the Yia 
 Montebello, therefore, in an exactly oppo- 
 site direction to the Lung-Arno della 
 Zecca Vecchia. What could Colomba have 
 been doing near that iron bridge, and for 
 what purpose had she deceived them all ? 
 Alessio was of so truthful and trusting a dis- 
 position, that he had the greatest horror of 
 falsehood. Like a knight of old, he wished 
 to be faithful unto death to the perfect ladye 
 of chivalrous romance- — and for this end he 
 had unfortunately chosen a particularly im- 
 perfect little mortal. And he knew that if 
 he discovered that his Colomba was not 
 good, true, and loving as he had fancied her, 
 that then — nothing would remain for him to 
 idealize except her beauty. If she was his in- 
 ferior morally, as well as intellectually, what 
 would remain for him to love and admire ? 
 But, as yet, he did not know her real cha- 
 racter — he was merely troubled by a vague 
 uneasiness, a sudden half-formed suspicion. 
 
 The sun glared down upon the pavement, 
 and made it burn beneath his feet ; the sky 
 was an intense and cloudless blue, and the
 
 The Blow. 169 
 
 air hot and oppressive. Few persons ven- 
 tured to walk along tlie Lung-Arno that 
 morning. But Alessio did not feel the heat 
 — he walked on with head erect, and an 
 expression of troubled thought in his eyes. 
 When he had passed the last house upon the 
 Lung-Arno della Zecea Yecchia, and also 
 the iron bridge, he walked on until the com- 
 mencement of the Yiale, and then began look- 
 ing around for Bertoldo. He did not mean 
 to do his rival any injury ; but he did mean 
 to tell him to keep out of Colomba's«way. 
 
 The Viale, or large street, of which Co- 
 lomba had spoken, was one of several broad 
 roads or boulevards that encircle the city. 
 And this particular Yiale went from the Arno 
 to the Porta Santa Croce, and then, on again 
 past the old Protestant cemetery to the Porta 
 San Gallo. The commencement of the road 
 near the Arno was almost countrified in ap- 
 pearance, lying between fields with stunted 
 trees on either side of it. 
 
 Standing on the Lung-Arno, at the en- 
 trance of this Yiale, was Bertoldo; look- 
 ing over into the water. Alessio noticed 
 how much his rival had changed for the 
 worse ; for, though not intoxicated at present,
 
 170 Fiesole. 
 
 he showed signs of his having been frequently 
 in that condition. Alessio laid his hand 
 gently upon Bertoldo's arm, who started, and 
 glared at his fortunate rival. 
 
 '^Bertoldo Fossi, you wait for Colomba 
 Vestris ! " 
 
 '* I am waiting for Colomba," returned the 
 other defiantly. 
 
 '* Waiting for her that you may strike her 
 — is that worthy of a man, to strike a girl ? ' ' 
 
 Bertoldo's cheek flushed, but he replied 
 angrily : — '' She is a flirt ! And you are a 
 brutal ox ! Know that she loves me really. 
 Yes ! she loves me, and has even let me take 
 the kiss of love — but, after that, you came, 
 oh, accursed one ! and robbed me of my 
 beautiful beloved. But, hear me ! she 
 marries you only for your riches, and she 
 deserts the man she loves with all her heart. 
 Be you happy with your flirt for a wife ! 
 ' Strike her ? ' Yes ! truly, I would strike her 
 again most gladly. I would strike her again 
 and again, and give my heart's blood to 
 acquire that gratification ! " 
 
 Alessio' s eyes flashed, but he only said : 
 '' You are a liar and a brute dog ! " 
 
 Then, quick as thought, Bertoldo took out
 
 The Bloiv. Ill 
 
 a large clasp knife, opened it, and threw 
 himself upon Alessio with evil intent. 
 
 '' Die, Barrabas ! " he cried. 
 
 Alessio closed with him, and his wonderful 
 strength, added to his coolness and courage, 
 enabled him to easily master the infuriated 
 and desperate young man. Bertoldo had 
 also lost much of his former strength by his 
 recent course of mad dissipation. Alessio 
 seized the knife, and held Bertoldo in a grasp 
 of iron. Struggling in impotent rage, the 
 young man's face became contorted by wild 
 fury — he felt weak as a child in this firm and 
 immoveable grasp. And yet, strange to say, 
 the victor took no advantage of the position, 
 but merely held him quiet. At length 
 Bertoldo fancied that he heard approaching 
 footsteps — and, with a sudden wrench, he 
 freed himself from Alessio' s hold, and dashed 
 down the Viale and into a field. Running, 
 blindly, madly on. Alessio followed with the 
 open knife in his hand. If any person had 
 seen them, he would have supposed that 
 Alessio meant to murder Bertoldo. In 
 reality, he never thought of the knife in his 
 hand, and only followed Bertoldo because he 
 wished to question him, and because a certain
 
 172 Fiesole. 
 
 humane instinct impelled him to try to benefit 
 the poor young fellow, who was not in a fit 
 condition to be left to himself. 
 
 Bertoldo heard footsteps behind him, and 
 his excited imagination magnified the sound 
 into that of many persons in pursuit — pro- 
 bably they were the guards, he thought. 
 He would not pause to look, but ran on 
 desperately — until, suddenly, his foot tripped 
 over a stone, and he fell prostrate on his 
 face. It was on some sharp stones that he 
 lay, and they had cut his forehead badly. 
 He remained motionless, bleeding, and in- 
 sensible. 
 
 In an instant, Alessio flung the knife from 
 him, and was kneeling beside the prostrate 
 Bertoldo. Hitherto, he had felt angry with 
 his rival on account of his unmanly behaviour 
 towards Colomba ; with regard to the attack 
 on himself, he had never borne the slightest 
 malice ; but now, when he saw his rival lying 
 wounded and helpless on the ground, all his 
 anger melted away, and a deep pity filled his 
 heart. He took the young man's head upon 
 his knee, and gently bound his bleeding 
 forehead with his pocket-handkerchief. As 
 he looked at Bertoldo, his pity grew;
 
 The Blow. 173 
 
 for lie saw the marks of terrible suffering, 
 and wild and reckless dissipation. And 
 he knew that it was for the love of a 
 woman that this strong man had been laid 
 low. What a terrible passion love must be — 
 surely, it was not altogether a good thing ! 
 He could not, however, consider the matter 
 then, for he was thinking that he had won 
 the woman poor Bertoldo loved. He also 
 knew how he would himself have felt had 
 he been in his rival's place. And, as he 
 thought of this, he gently wiped the blood 
 from Bertoldo' s cheek, touching him ten- 
 derly as his own mother could have done. 
 At that moment Bertoldo's eyes opened. 
 
 He looked around him in wonder, then 
 fear grew in his eyes. Raising them to 
 Alessio's face, he tried to address him 
 angrily — but meeting his pitying gaze, he 
 faltered, and was silent. At length, with an 
 effort, he said : 
 
 '' Why do you look at me thus ? " 
 
 " Because I have pity for you, poor 
 fellow." 
 
 " I desire not your pity ! It would be 
 better to hate me. Do you not know that I 
 tried to kill you ? "
 
 174 Fiesole. 
 
 " You were mad, beside yourself, friend ; 
 and I feel no anger." 
 
 '* But I wish that you should feel anger! 
 I have been cursing you, and praying that 
 the accidente and every evil might light 
 upon you. 1 cannot bear your friendship. 
 Let me go away!" He strove to rise, but 
 fell back weak and dizzy. " What the Devil 
 have I?'* Then, raising his hand to his 
 forehead, he felt the handkerchief. Without 
 a word he turned over upon one side, and, 
 lying with his face to the ground, sobbed 
 convulsively. 
 
 Alessio sat patiently beside him, waiting. 
 He knew that the man's heart was touched 
 at last, and that this storm of tears would 
 relieve the over -excited brain. He felt 
 that this was a moment of the greatest im- 
 portance in the young man's life, when a 
 friendly hand stretched forth to save him 
 might stop him in his downward course. 
 Strange, that what kind words and looks had 
 failed to effect, a simple act of Christian 
 charity had done most completely. He tvas 
 touched. Alessio thought, what if Colomba 
 should prove unworthy of his love ! She 
 must have a very ignorant and innocent
 
 The Blow, 175 
 
 nature, or a very hard one. How else could 
 slie be so blithe and gay, whilst a man's heart 
 was breaking for her, a man's soul rushing to 
 destruction for her sake ? Brought face to 
 face with such terrible realities, Alessio could 
 not comfort himself with the idea that love for 
 himself had made her forget all else. Almost 
 like a revelation the truth flashed across his 
 mind, and he knew that Colomba had never 
 loved him. The question now was, had she 
 loved Bertoldo or only cared for herself? 
 Bertoldo had asserted that Colomba loved 
 him, and, even if that were false, what was 
 a heart worth that had no room for jpity ? 
 
 At last Bertoldo turned round, and, sitting 
 up, held out his hand to Alessio. 
 
 " Thou hast conquered me. I cannot hate 
 thee ! " 
 
 Alessio smiled sadly. 
 
 " That is well, my friend ; for now I have 
 won the only victory I desire." And he 
 pressed the offered hand. 
 
 '' But thou hast taken my Colomba, and I 
 cannot call thee my friend ! " 
 
 " No ! Bertoldo Fossi, I have not taken 
 thy Colomba, nor will I take her if she is 
 thine. I will rob no man, and I will never
 
 176 Fiesole. 
 
 marry a wife without I win lier heart. We 
 are calm now, friend, and can reason to- 
 gether. I will tell thee the truth ; I am not 
 entirely content regarding my betrothed. 
 She is lively and young, I know, but I fear 
 that she loves me not. I had hoped in time 
 to win her heart, but thy words have put 
 doubts into my mind. Tell me the pure 
 truth, Fossi; what was there between la 
 Colomba and thee ? " 
 
 " I swear to thee, Alessio Yalencini, that 
 I will tell thee the whole truth. Thou art 
 conducting thyself as a brother towards me, 
 and thou art far more good than I merit. 
 La Colomba has never told me with words 
 that she loves me — but she has said it with 
 the soft manners of a woman. And then, 
 she permitted me to take a kiss when I gave 
 her a promise to be silent concerning some- 
 thing. And, certainly, I always thought she 
 meant to marry me. For, would a modest 
 young girl accept a kiss from other than the 
 man she loved ? Ah ! Signor Alessio, she 
 has deceived us both, and either loves no 
 one, or else leaves me for thy gold. Did she 
 not well deserve my blow ? " 
 
 " No, truly ! For if she is not what thou
 
 The Blow, 177 
 
 thmkest, she may be pure, innocent, and heed- 
 less ; and, in that case, she deserves no pun- 
 ishment, and in giving it, thou madest thyself 
 unworthy of her. And if she is what thou 
 thinkest — she is a flirt without a heart, and 
 not worthy of thy love, and thou shouldst 
 not degrade thyself by striking her. It is 
 only a coward who strikes a woman ; and, 
 surely, thou shouldst not let a flirt make a 
 coward of thee ! " 
 
 " Thou art right, friend. I have indeed 
 repented my fault. But, tell me, what 
 thinkest thou of la Colomba ?" 
 
 " Oh, Fossi ! thou piercest my heart, for 
 I know not how to answer thee. Until 
 this unfortunate morning, la Colomba was 
 to me as the sun of my day, and I would 
 sooner have thought that the sun should 
 change its course than that my love should 
 prove false. But now, ohime ! I fear — I 
 doubt — thy words have wounded my heart, 
 and my peace has vanished ! " 
 
 "But she is still thine, friend; tlioii hast 
 the power to marry her." Bertoldo spoke 
 unselfishly for once, from a sudden impulse 
 of sympathy with the other's evident grief. 
 
 *' No ! it cannot be. If her heart is not 
 N
 
 178 Fiesole, 
 
 mine, she is not for me. It was not only the 
 beautiful face of my Colomba that I loved ; I 
 thought her sweet eyes were the windows of a 
 soul a thousand times more beautiful. And if 
 I find that soul is small and false — what then 
 is her face ? — only a mask I Think you that 
 I would marry a woman with a mask ? No ! 
 Life is no masquerade, it is serious and real, 
 and we live for Eternity. And I would marry 
 a noble woman, fit to guide my soul to the 
 Light, and to bless my days for ever." 
 
 Bertoldo sighed. 
 
 ''I cannot understand thee, friend; thou 
 appearest to me to talk well, but it sounds 
 like poetry, and not the usual speech of 
 ordinary conversation. For my part, I love 
 the beautiful Colomba so well that I would 
 marry her to-morrow if she would take me — 
 and if I could have her without doing thee 
 a wrong. All my life I have considered her 
 as my future wife, and it is too late for me 
 to change now. She suits me, and I can 
 think of no other woman. If I win her, all 
 goes well — I shall, of course, reprove her 
 for having given us so much trouble ; but 
 I should soon forget the past, and would 
 never speak of it more. But, if I win her
 
 The Blow. 179 
 
 not — the sooner the Devil takes me the better 
 it will be for me !" 
 
 Alessio thought sadly of the wide difference 
 between Bertoldo's feelings and his own — 
 both loved according to their nature ; but 
 how different was that nature ! Certainly, 
 the noble-souled poet had a higher capacity 
 for intense suffering than the man with a 
 mere animal intelligence; — but then, Bertoldo 
 was only capable of entertaining one idea 
 at a time, and he did so until it grew all- 
 absorbing — whilst Alessio had other resources 
 and engrossing pursuits. He loved his art, 
 too, and was not bound up in the one idea 
 of loving Colomba. Alessio could not regret 
 that his sensibilities were not blunter, for he 
 knew that if his capacity for pain was 
 greater, so also was his capacity for pleasure. 
 But he already perceived that he had made a 
 mistake in loving a woman of the same 
 species as the man before him, — one who 
 was far better suited to marry Bertoldo than 
 to become his wife. He would not as yet 
 acknowledge the full extent of his mistake, 
 even to himself — but doubts had long been 
 growing in his mind, and they now gathered 
 additional force. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 Fiesole. 
 
 '' It shall be my task to discover the true 
 sentiments of Colomba — if she loves me, 
 she is mine — if she loves thee, she is thine — 
 but if she loves neither, she shall be free. 
 Art thou content ? " 
 
 ''Most content, Signor Alessio. Thou 
 art a galant'uomo ! The Heavens will bless 
 thee. But, friend, to speak of the present 
 time — can you assist me to rise ? For this 
 accursed knock on the head has robbed me 
 of all my strength, and I feel myself weak 
 as a child." 
 
 Alessio helped Bertoldo to his feet, and 
 placed an arm around him to sustain his 
 trembling frame. The life he had been 
 leading lately, the outbreak of passion in 
 which he had just been indulging, and, above 
 all, the loss of blood from his wound — were 
 all alike causes that combined to render him 
 weak and helpless. He was considerably 
 taller than Alessio, so he easily placed his 
 arm round his neck, and thus Alessio helped 
 him to the Lung-Arno. There they luckily 
 espied a passing fly, which Alessio hailed, 
 and into which they both mounted. Alessio 
 told the man to drive to Bertoldo's home 
 near Fiesole. Alessio was seated by the side
 
 The Blow. 181 
 
 of Bertoldo, who leant back, pale, silent, and 
 exhausted. The poor fellow's eyes were 
 closed, and he was evidently suffering greatly. 
 At the gate of Bertoldo's farm-yard, Alessio 
 ahghted and helped him out, and, after 
 paying the driver, they went together to the 
 house door. 
 
 " Wilt thou not enter, dear brother ? " 
 " No, thank thee, friend, I cannot. Thou 
 hast no longer need of me now, for others 
 can assist thee. Good-bye ! " 
 
 '' Tell me, when shall I see thee again ? " 
 " I will come to-morrow, and recount to 
 thee what I have learnt. Thou must remain 
 quietly in the house, and try not to be too 
 anxious, Bertoldo mio ! " 
 
 '' I will try. Good-bye, to meet again, 
 Caro ! " And Bertoldo embraced Alessio 
 warmly, according to the Italian custom. 
 Alessio was too kind-hearted to object ; but 
 his chivalrous spirit had long ago caused 
 him to decide that kisses should only be 
 bestowed on a man's heart's queen and 
 female relatives. He never voluntarily em- 
 braced a man ; but he would not hurt the 
 feelings of his countrymen by refusing an 
 embrace when it was offered him. And he
 
 182 Fiesole, 
 
 knew that poor Bertoldo's heart was full of 
 loving gratitude towards him, and that 
 an emhrace was his way of expressing his 
 feelings. 
 
 After Alessio had left the injured Bertoldo 
 at his own house, he did not return home — 
 but wandered on, lost in thought. He found 
 himself at the Piazza of Fiesole as evening 
 approached, and, walking up the hill for a 
 little way, he turned in at the gate of a 
 podere. 
 
 In this podere was a circle of broken steps 
 — the popular name for which is the Anfi- 
 teatro, though, in reality, it is nothing of 
 the kind, being an old theatre similar to 
 the one in Herculaneum. Popular tradition 
 afl&rms that in the seven small caves near 
 the steps lions were once kept ; though 
 probably they were but entrances or vesti- 
 bules for the actors. 
 
 Alessio sat down on one of the broken 
 steps, and, leaning back against another, 
 stayed there quietly musing, until it grew 
 quite late. He did not give a thought to the 
 people who had lived and breathed and 
 suffered and enjoyed there so long ago — his 
 thoughts were all of the realities of his own
 
 The Bloiv, 183 
 
 life. He sat still, thougli the shades of 
 night descended upon the earth. He had 
 been fighting a hard fight with his Apollyon, 
 but he had won the mastery. He had been 
 tempted, but he had resisted ; he had not 
 fallen, he had conquered. The tempter had 
 whispered to him that he had been foolish 
 to promise that Colomba should be free if 
 she loved neither him nor Bertoldo. If he 
 gave her up, he would lose her for ever, whilst 
 if he asserted his rights, he might marry her, 
 and in time teach her to love him. But 
 these evil thoughts he drove from him 
 resolutely; for he was determined to keep 
 his word, cost what it might. His honour 
 wa>s dearer to him than any woman in the 
 world — and that love would be too dearly 
 bought if won at the cost of self-respect. 
 
 The moon came out and shone down upon 
 the world in silver splendour — and Alessio 
 remained upon the rugged steps and mused : 
 
 " Ah ! beautiful moon, thou art the lamp 
 of God, placed there above to guide us to- 
 wards Him. How white, how pure thou art f 
 Should not a man's earthly love also be his 
 lamp, and guide his steps like the moon — 
 ever to Heaven ! But then he must love
 
 184 . Fiesole, 
 
 only what is pure and white — a soul spotless 
 as thou art, beautiful moon. But I — I made 
 a mistake ; I fancied a poor little lamp of 
 earth equal to thy light. And now I must 
 repent my error and learn the truth. No ! 
 Colomba, beautiful one, thou art not for me ! 
 Thou wouldst soon break my heart — and 
 guide my steps far from the light. Thou 
 hast already turned me away from my art, 
 and robbed me of my inspiration, and that 
 is not well. Never, never will I take a wife 
 until I meet a woman so noble, that she can 
 become one with all that is beautiful and 
 good within me. I will consecrate my life 
 to the making of fair images of the glorious 
 sights around me — and thus do my part to 
 render brighter the sadness of life. Ah ! 
 my God, to Thee I turn for help ! Hear Thy 
 servant who calls to Thee ; save him from all 
 worldly desires, help him to turn to Thee 
 alone — to live but to do Thy will." 
 
 And he arose calm, peaceful, and com- 
 forted. The false had separated itself from 
 4he true in his mind, and he knew that he 
 had never loved Colomba as he could love. 
 But he determined to think no more of 
 women, but earnestly to strive to cultivate
 
 The Blow, 185 
 
 the talents Grod had given him. He now 
 really believed that Colomba loved Bertoldo, 
 else she would never have permitted that 
 kiss. He thought that she had not changed 
 her mind, but that his wealth had influenced 
 her. In these hours of silent self-com- 
 munion he had recalled the past, and he 
 felt sure that Colomba had never loved 
 him ; she had admired him a little, but 
 merely for his external manners and ac- 
 quirements. 
 
 It was late at night before Alessio un- 
 locked the door of his house and entered the 
 passage. His face was pale, but wonderfully 
 calm — and a strange light shone in his eyes, 
 showing that his soul had been communing 
 with the Highest. 
 
 A lamp flashed on the darkness, and 
 Colomba stood beside him. Her hair hung 
 down in dark dishevelled masses, her eyes 
 were red, and her cheeks very pale. 
 
 '' Oh ! Alessio, I was so frightened ! I 
 feared that thou wert kiUed ! But, thou art 
 not killed at all, — please tell me that thou 
 art not ? " 
 
 She looked bewitchingly pretty, and such 
 anxiety shown in his behalf was most
 
 186 Fiesole. 
 
 alluring ; — it was his last and strongest 
 temptation. But Alessio still remained firm, 
 though not unmoved. His heart gave tumul- 
 tuous throbs, but he did not attempt to kiss 
 her ; but replied, gravely and sadly : — 
 
 " No ! Colomba, I am not dead. Thou 
 hast reason to rejoice that I am not killed ; 
 for it would have caused thee to suffer much 
 unpleasantness." 
 
 She shuddered. '' Thou art right, Alessio 1 
 All this day I have been crying, and praying 
 to the Holy Virgin. It would have been 
 really terrible to have had thy blood upon 
 my head — to have known that my words 
 had caused thy death." 
 
 Alessio smiled bitterly as he perceived that 
 he had been right in his interpretation of 
 the cause of her distress. Yesterday, in his 
 blindness, he would have taken it for love ; 
 to-day, when his eyes were opened, he knew 
 that it was fear — fear of a very selfish 
 character. 
 
 "And Bertoldo?" she asked, timidly, "Is 
 he dead?" A suspicious little quiver of 
 feeling trembled in her voice as she spoke, 
 and she felt so much ashamed of it that she 
 blushed hotly. Alessio perceived both these
 
 The Bloio. 187 
 
 signs, and placed liis own interpretation 
 upon tliem. 
 
 '' No ! Colomba, lie is not dead. I will 
 tell thee more to-morrow morning. Meet 
 me in the shop, and we will walk out together 
 towards the Cascine. Now go to bed and 
 sleep, for thou art tired, little one." 
 
 She went up to him timidly and looked into 
 his face with pleading eyes. " Thou dost not 
 offer to kiss me, Alessio ! Art angry with 
 me?" 
 
 He looked down into her beautiful eyes 
 with a gaze so searching and earnest that it 
 seemed as though his very soul was striving 
 to read hers, to find out whether there was 
 any truth therein. He was trying for the last 
 time to learn whether she loved him. Her 
 eyes dropped, her cheeks flushed — she had 
 never seen him look at her thus before, and 
 she did not like his manner. But she began 
 to respect him more, because he was no longer 
 making love to her ; and to wish for the kiss, 
 because he did not seem anxious to give it. 
 Surely, he would not cease to love her ! 
 
 He turned from her with a sigh. 
 
 '* Good-night, Colomba !"— And he did 
 not kiss her.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE DOVE WITH EUFELED FEATHERS. 
 
 THE next morning Alessio was up before 
 sunrise ; for, though he had gone to bed 
 so late, he awoke early. He put on his hat, 
 and went out to take a stroll. As he walked 
 along the Lung-Arno towards the Cascine, 
 he looked around him and noticed the aspect 
 of inanimate Nature. His poet-soul was 
 already returning to its true equipoise, for 
 the love of beauty was as strong as ever 
 within him ; and his heart could not be quite 
 desolate whilst all the world around combined 
 to comfort and interest him. He was not 
 like poor Bertoldo ; he would never be driven 
 into evil courses by despair. 
 
 As he neared the Cascine, Alessio stood 
 still and contemplated the river whirling and 
 eddying below ; it looked grey, muddy, and 
 dull. The sky above was of a pale blue- 
 grey, and in the air was a sharp freshness. 
 
 " This morning — is it not like my life ! It
 
 The Dove with Ruffled Feathers. 189 
 
 also is calm and clear, but without one 
 golden gleam. It is not well for me to con- 
 template this scene, lest it make me lose my 
 faith. I will go into the Cascine, there to 
 watch the sunrise." 
 
 He chose the upper path, the one nearest 
 the mountains, furthest from the river. On 
 his left hand was the dark wood of splendid 
 old trees, on his right the range of purple 
 mountains. He stood still and watched for 
 the sun. Across the cool grey shot a gleam 
 of primrose light, a reflex of coming splen- 
 dour ; then the sun arose, and all the East 
 was one glow of golden light. The grey 
 turned to blue, the purple to lilac ; the birds 
 awoke in the trees and greeted the sun with 
 songs of joy. Alessio took off his hat and 
 bowed his head reverentially — he was 
 thanking Grod for the beauty of the 
 morning. 
 
 *' This shall be as a sign to me, an omen. For 
 my life is now cast down and obscured, but 
 it also may brighten with splendour ineffable. 
 Who can spend the days of his youth in sad- 
 ness, in so beautiful a world ? Ah ! how 
 small are we all, and how poor and mean 
 are our thoughts ! We are not even equal
 
 190 Fiesole, 
 
 to the birds, for they spend their lives in 
 praising their Creator." 
 
 When Alessio sat at breakfast with his 
 family that morning, his mother noticed a 
 peculiarly calm and bright expression on his 
 face, and she said : 
 
 ''What joy hast thou, my son ; perhaps 
 thou hast dreamt a good dream ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother, a most beautiful dream, — 
 but I did not dream it." 
 
 '' Ah ! then thou hast been writing thy 
 poetry ? " 
 
 " No ! mother. I have been feeling it." 
 
 Colomba's face wore a self-conscious ex- 
 pression, for she thought that Alessio was 
 alluding to his love for her. But she won- 
 dered why he had not kissed her that morn- 
 ing, and why he hardly even looked at her. 
 
 After they had finished their breakfast, 
 Alessio said quietly : 
 
 " Put on thy hat, Colomba, and come out 
 to walk with me." 
 
 They went on in silence until they 
 reached a bench in rather a shaded corner 
 of the Cascine. There they seated them- 
 selves.
 
 The Dove with Ruffled Feathers, 191 
 
 '' E'bene, Alessio, art thou never going to 
 tell me the reason for our walk?" 
 
 " The reason is this, Colomba, I have need 
 to speak with thee. Tell me, child, dost 
 thou love me ? " 
 
 Her eyes fell before his. " Why dost thou 
 annoy me thus, Alessio ? Thou art a jealous 
 man, perhaps " 
 
 '' No ! Colomba, think not that I wish to 
 annoy thee. Thou dost not understand me ; 
 I speak in seriousness. I do not believe 
 that thou lovest me as I love thee, and I 
 wish thee to tell me thy heart." 
 
 *' Thou art a fool!" 
 
 '' I should be a fool to marry thee, unless 
 I knew first that thoii lovedst me, and that 
 I alone possessed thy heart. Tell me, is 
 there no other that thou preferrest ? " 
 
 Colomba blushed and hung her head ; 
 but suddenly raised it again, with anger and 
 defiance in her eyes. 
 
 ''It is that brigand, Bertoldo Fossi, who 
 has been telling lies of me ! " 
 
 *' I do not believe that Fossi would tell 
 me a lie. He said that thou didst let him 
 kiss thee. Is that a lie ? " 
 
 *' Oh, oh ! I knew that thou wert jealous !
 
 192 Fiesole. 
 
 How cruel thou art to tliy poor little Colomba. 
 That horrid Bertoldo is a true brigand ! " 
 and Colomba burst into a storm of passionate 
 tears. 
 
 There had been a time when Alessio's 
 heart would have been melted by the sight 
 of her grief; but he now thought of Ber- 
 toldo' s misery, and that he was the poor 
 fellow this little coquette styled " a true 
 brigand " — and he felt that his heart con- 
 tained more pity for the real woe of his un- 
 fortunate rival than for the pettish tears of 
 his betrothed. He smiled rather sadly upon 
 Colomba, and waited patiently for her tears 
 to cease. She stopped crying far sooner 
 than she would have done if he had tried to 
 console her — surprise, occasioned by his 
 behaviour, dried her tears. She looked at 
 him wonderingly. 
 
 " It seems to me that thou hast ceased to 
 love me, Alessio." 
 
 " And would that be any more than thy 
 deserts ? Oh ! Colomba, thou knowest well 
 that thou didst let Bertoldo Fossi kiss thee — 
 and that thou hast never loved me. Tell me 
 truly, who dost thou love, Fossi or me ? " 
 
 '' I love neither of the two ! Thou art a
 
 The Dove with Ruffled Feathers. 193 
 
 serpent, a wolf, a brigand, thus to torment 
 a poor girl ! Yes ! it is true, I did let Ber- 
 toldo kiss me, because I liad to pay it as 
 the price of a promise I desired. But I 
 never loved him, and now I hate him 1 
 Would that I had bitten the ugly fellow ! 
 May he dwell for ever in Limbo ! " 
 
 Alessio shrank back, disgusted by this 
 torrent of vituperation. He was not sur- 
 prised, as an Englishman would have been, 
 by Colomba's language — for it was no worse 
 than what any other peasant maiden of her 
 class would have used. But he was hurt 
 and astonished by the sentiments she had 
 expressed. Was this the beautiful creature 
 he had idealized and placed on a pedestal of 
 exalted virtue ! From one extreme he rushed 
 to the other, and now thought ColombaYestris 
 as inferior as he had once thought her 
 superior to all other women. Poor little 
 ignorant, selfish girl ! her head had been 
 turned by too sudden good fortune, and she 
 was wandering all astray ; but she was neither 
 so calculating nor so vindictive as Alessio 
 now thought her. 
 
 '' Colomba Yestris, I wish thee to under- 
 stand that our betrothal is now ended. At 
 

 
 194 Fiesole. 
 
 last tliou tellest me the truth — that thou 
 hast never loved me. I will not reproach 
 thee, although thou hast caused me much 
 pain. Butj oh ! far greater is the agony that 
 thou hast caused, and the wrong that thou 
 hast done to Fossi, honest man. Truly do 
 I pity that poor fellow ! As for thee, thou 
 hast no heart, so nothing can pain thee. 
 Thou art but a pretty doll. I wish thee no 
 ill — and thou mayest continue to live like a 
 butterfly fluttering among the flowers. But, 
 child of mine, the day will come when thou 
 wilt find thyself old and ugly. What wilt 
 thou do then ? Will not thy heart be as 
 heavy as thou hast made thy lover's ? Who 
 will love thee when thou art no longer young 
 and beautiful ? for thou hast not a beautiful 
 sonl to render thee lovely, to make thee more 
 fondly loved than ever when thy lovely form 
 is faded as a dying flower ! " 
 
 '' Oh, Alessio ! thou art too cruel ! Thou 
 piercest my heart without pity. Have com- 
 passion on me ! " 
 
 *' I speak thus, because I have compassion 
 on thee. I would warn thee, before it is too 
 late, of the future that lies before thee. Tell 
 me, Colomba, dost thou not love Bertoldo
 
 The Dove with Bit ffled Feathers. 195 
 
 Fossi a little? Say only that thou pitiest 
 him, that thou art sorry to have caused him 
 such agony, and I will bring him to thy feet. 
 Have still faith in me ; I will quiet thy rela- 
 tions, and act as thy brother. Say, may I go 
 to Fossi with that message ? " 
 
 Colomba was utterly incapable of under- 
 standino^ Alessio's character — she could not 
 comprehend that a man who had loved 
 her so passionately should be willing to re- 
 sign her to a rival. So she concluded that 
 he was terribly jealous, and wished to try 
 her constancy. She considered the whole 
 interview as nothing more than an ordinary 
 lovers' quarrel. Hitherto, it had been rather 
 flattering to her vanity, for she thought 
 Alessio's words a proof of how dearly he loved 
 lier, and she attached no importance to their 
 literal meaning. But now, she began to 
 grow uneasy, for she thought that matters 
 were s^oinor rather too far. Alessio was too 
 good a match for her to run the risk of losing 
 liim ; and she dared not think of what would 
 happen to her if he became really angry. 
 
 " Alessio, thou art mad ! I do not love 
 Bertoldo. On the contrary, I detest him ! 
 It may be true that I do not yet love thee
 
 .196 Fiesoh, 
 
 ardently, but I respect and admire thee — and 
 it is thee I will marry ! " 
 
 ''No ! Colomba, thou art not for me." 
 
 " Thou insultest me ! " and Colomba arose 
 and walked quickly homewards, till she heard 
 Alessio following her, when she turned round, 
 expecting an apology. 
 
 " I see well, Colomba, that thou dost not 
 understand thine own heart ! But I can 
 read it for thee. Thou dost love Bertoldo 
 Fossi more than any other man — but thou 
 lovest thyself so well that thou canst think 
 little of any one else." 
 
 Colomba made no reply, but walked on 
 quicker than before. When she reached the 
 house she dashed past Alessio, and ran up 
 into her own bedroom, where she flung her- 
 self upon the bed. She bit and tore the 
 pillow in her agony of rage and disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 '' It is but a lovers' quarrel ! " she cried. 
 " Surely, he will repent ! But, oh ! that 
 maledetto Bertoldo, to have caused me to be 
 insulted thus ! I love him ! No ! Santo Cielo ! 
 I hate and detest him. It is well for me 
 that there are other men in the world ; these 
 two may scold, but others call me lovely and
 
 The Dove with Ruffled Feathers. 197- 
 
 beautiful. I will be revenged — I will marry 
 Alessio, but love him never ! And for 
 
 Bertoldo ah ! would that he had never 
 
 been born ! "
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A NEW DISCLOSURE. 
 
 ALESSIO did not enter the house when 
 Colomba left him ; but set off walking 
 to Fiesole. He little knew what vengeance 
 Colomba was meditating against him. He 
 thought that he had made her clearly under- 
 stand that their engagement was broken off; 
 indeed, he thought that he had been almost 
 rough in his frankness. He felt indignant 
 even more on Bertoldo's account than on his 
 own ; for he was sure that she really did hke 
 the poor fellow, though she was too worldly 
 and selfish to show it. For himself, his fancy 
 had now quite vanished. He felt as though 
 he had been to a funeral, and was about to 
 doff his mourning robes. His imaginative 
 love seemed already a thing of the past — a 
 dream from which he had now awakened.
 
 A New Disclosure, 199 
 
 But to say that lie did not regret his sweet 
 delusion would be untrue ; he had enjoyed 
 the poetry and romance of loving, and he 
 regretted that loss. But, although he no 
 longer loved Colomba, he was so kind-hearted 
 that he tried to think how he could save 
 her from sharing the pain and scandal their 
 broken engagement would be sure to cause. 
 He must bear all the blame himself, and he 
 would even, if necessary, make old Simone 
 a liberal money compensation to quiet him. 
 But he would tell la Caterina the whole 
 truth, and then she could try to soften the 
 hard heart of her child, and show her her 
 duty. Her best chance of happiness would 
 have been to have married Bertoldo ; but 
 Alessio feared that she was not even worthy 
 of that poor fellow's love, for he was at least 
 single-hearted and true, if rather too wild 
 and passionate. '' Perhaps Bertoldo has had 
 an escape," concluded Alessio, as he knocked 
 at the young farmer's door. 
 
 Bertoldo himself admitted Alessio. His 
 forehead was plastered up, but, though he 
 seemed to have quite recovered from the 
 effects of his injury, his cheeks were flushed, 
 and there was a suppressed excitement in his
 
 200 Fiesole, 
 
 manner. Alessio concluded that this was occa- 
 sioned by his desire to hear news of Colomba. 
 
 Bertoldo embraced Alessio warmly, and, 
 leading him to a chair, took a seat close 
 beside him, waiting silently for him to speak. 
 
 " Oh ! friend, I have not good news for 
 thee. Colomba is a heartless flirt, and she 
 says she loves neither of us, but that she 
 will marry me. A thousand devils! but I 
 will not have her." 
 
 Bertoldo smiled strangely and nodded his 
 head. 
 
 "Friend, I have observed the girl well, 
 and I do believe she loves thee. But she is 
 too naughty to say so, and, indeed, what she 
 said was quite to the contrary." 
 
 Bertoldo laughed a wild, mocking laugh. 
 
 '' Oh ! Signer Alessio, I have permitted 
 thee to speak on, because I wished to hear 
 what thou wouldst say ; but thou art mis- 
 taken — thou art deceived. What are two 
 fools like us to a serpent like her ! Colomba! 
 truly she is a Colomba, the Devil's oivn bird 
 — the appearance of a dove with the black 
 heart of a true serpent. She has deceived 
 us both. Ah! in truth she loves us not! 
 What say you, Signor Alessio, to a gentleman
 
 A Neio Disclosure. 201 
 
 for a fine rival ? What are we poor lionest 
 men to her ? Playthings for her diversion ! 
 But, perhaps, he will avenge us, this noble 
 lover whom she has found ! " 
 
 Bertoldo laughed wildly — such a hard, 
 mocking laugh, that it quite frightened 
 Alessio. He was shocked by what Bertoldo 
 told him ; but he thought more of that 
 young man's mental condition than of this 
 fresh revelation of Colomba's perfidy. 
 
 " Oh ! for the love of God ! leave off that 
 laugh, Fossi ! Thou wilt go mad — what 
 is a woman worth, that thou shouldst ruin 
 thyself for her ! Courage, friend ! " 
 
 " I have courage. Do you think I care ! '* 
 and he laughed again, more wildly than 
 before. Then, Alessio' s sympathy touched 
 the well-spring of his tears, and he flung 
 ■ himself into his friend's arms, and wept 
 convulsively. 
 
 Alessio rejoiced to see him weep, for he 
 had feared for Bertoldo' s brain. He himself 
 could not easily give way to tears ; in that 
 particular he was more like an Englishman 
 than an Italian. The reason was, that his 
 nature was more self-contained than that of 
 most of his countrymen.
 
 202 Fiesole. 
 
 Wlien Bertoldo became calmer and looked 
 at him, as if anxious to learn his opinion, 
 Alessio said : 
 
 '' But, friend, we must not believe bad 
 things too readily. As the proverb says — 
 ' Tou must not make the Devil blacker than 
 he is ! ' What proof have you that Colomba 
 is love-making with a gentleman?" 
 
 '' Only too much proof ! Sandro Fagguoli 
 knows it for truth. It was he who told me 
 before, that I should find Colomba if I waited 
 in that Yiale at the hour of eleven ; he now 
 says that he did so with the intention that I 
 should discover her with her lover. But, 
 for some reason, that day the rascal came 
 not; and I only met Golomba, as thou 
 knowest. However, Sandro came to me 
 yesterday evening, and asked me what had 
 happened on the Yiale ; so I told him of my 
 meeting Colomba one day and thee on the 
 next. And then Sandro laughed, and said 
 we were a pair of honest fools, and that la 
 Colomba was deceiving us, ' both the hvo ' — 
 for a great nobleman met her daily on the 
 Yiale at the hour of eleven. A sposa (wife) 
 had recounted it to Sandro, and then he had 
 gone and seen them himself. At first he had
 
 A Neiv Disclosure. 203 
 
 thought that he would let the flirt go to the 
 devil in her own way, but then he considered 
 that she was young, and had nonsense in her 
 head — and so he decided to send me to the 
 Viale, that I might punish her beautiful 
 lover. So you see well that it is true I " 
 
 " It appears so. But I believe best what 
 I see with my own eyes." 
 
 " Let us go there together to-morrow." 
 
 "Is it not probable that they will have 
 chosen another place ? " 
 
 '' I think not. Because, as thou knowest, 
 one day I came and kept the dog off, and 
 the next day we were both there. So they 
 could not meet. I believe it was her lover's 
 foot-steps I heard when I ran away from 
 thee. To - day thou hast walked with la 
 Colomba in the Cascine, therefore, to-morrow 
 they must meet to explain everything." 
 
 " Thou art right, friend ; and it shall be as 
 thou say est. She is unworthy of either of us ; 
 but for the sake of her good mother we will 
 try to save her." 
 
 " It may be that she is a flirt, Signor 
 Alessio, but she is yet a child, and both 
 innocent and foolish. Ah ! friend, in spite 
 of everything, I love her still."
 
 204 Fiesole. 
 
 " Poor Bertoldo, tliy heart is of gold ! " 
 
 " Alas, no ! it is mucli more soft than 
 gold, and hurts me too much for that." 
 
 '* Well ! Time will show us the end of 
 this ugly affair. Only, one thing I know, 
 Colomba is not for me. I love her no longer. 
 For thee, poor fellow, thou art my comrade, 
 and I shall ever wish thee well ! " 
 
 "A thousand years to thee! Truly thou 
 hast no pride ; for what am I to thee ? Thou 
 art rich as a gentleman, and just as clever. 
 Indeed, thou art not like one of us, and I 
 cannot even understand all thou sayest. 
 But I know thou hast a good heart, and art 
 an honourable man, and that is even better 
 than being a poet and a gentleman."
 
 CHAPTEH XYI. 
 
 SIGNOE GIUSTO MINUTI. 
 
 INA LAURENCE was seated alone in her 
 bedroom. It was a small place, and 
 rather over-crowded with furniture. An old 
 wall with a window in it was opposite the 
 house, and above the wall Ina had a glimpse 
 of sky. But, by actually looking from the 
 window, the prospect was widened — up the 
 street was a view of Fiesole, nestling between 
 its hills, and down the street was a pic- 
 turesque old archway, above which the 
 Duomo loomed clear and well defined. 
 
 But it was not for these views that Ina 
 especially valued her little room ; it was, 
 that being a corner room on the first floor 
 and front of the house, from it she always 
 heard the front-door bell ring, and could 
 command a look-out on every one who came
 
 206 Fiesole. ■ 
 
 to see them. Poor girl ! she spent more and 
 more of her time in her own room listening 
 for the bell ; which was becoming quite a 
 subject of irritation to Mrs. Hume. 
 
 Ina now stood before the window, looking 
 out with sad, dreamy eyes. It was evening, 
 and a hazy light streamed through the dark 
 archway aiid etherealized the Duomo above. 
 Many passers-by stopped to read the marble 
 tablet outside the house, which told of the 
 old painter to whom it had belonged — and 
 some of them cast their eyes up to the fair 
 face looking down so wistfully. But Ina 
 heeded them not ; she only thought of one 
 who came not. 
 
 " I think I spend my life in waiting ! 
 Where are my best energies going — cer- 
 tainty and despair would be almost better 
 than this weary waiting — * hope deferred,' 
 ah ! ' hope deferred,' — does it not make the 
 heart sick ? Even my temper is fretted, 
 and my aunt's little oddities annoy me as 
 they never did formerly, and I fear I grow 
 disrespectful. What am I becoming ? Is 
 this love ? Surely, if all love is like mine, 
 it cannot be a good thing ! And yet — and 
 yet — when he does come I forget all past
 
 Signor Giusto Minuti. 207 
 
 grief, and feel very glad and without one 
 regret. But lie does not come ! It is now 
 ten days since I last saw him ; and his latest 
 visits, how unsatisfactory they were ! A 
 rhyme has formed itself in my head, and it 
 torments me most persistently : — 
 
 He comes not, no, lie comes not 
 In the silent shadowy nig-lit. 
 
 He comes not, no, he comes not 
 When the sun of day is bright. 
 
 I would do anything to drive that verse out 
 of my head, and to give up listening for that 
 bell!" 
 
 It had now grown quite dark, and on the 
 wall opposite the lamplighter had lit the 
 lamp, which threw its reflected light into 
 Ina's room. There was not any moon, but 
 myriads of stars twinkled in the dark sky 
 above. 
 
 Ina put a strong curb on her inclinations, 
 and left the window. Lighting a candle, she 
 stood before a tall pier-glass and smoothed 
 her brown hair, looking at herself sadly the 
 while. She knew that she was handsome, 
 but what mattered it, if she lost her Carlo's 
 love?
 
 208 Fiesole. 
 
 She went quietly from tlie room, and 
 walked through the passage into another, 
 where she looked out of the window for an 
 instant. This window commanded a view 
 of the Via del Mandorlo — but still Ina 
 failed to see the figure she desired. This 
 room was pecuharly picturesque ; it had 
 one window, and was papered with red flock- 
 paper very much faded and torn ; the furni- 
 ture was miscellaneous and worn, and a 
 large lamp and a few hideous plaster-casts 
 adorned the mantel-piece. In the middle of 
 the room was a cage full of birds, pets of 
 Mrs. Hume's. All this could hardly be 
 called picturesque ; but that element was 
 supplied by the ceiling, — vaulted, and 
 painted in very effective fresco — the subject, 
 scenes from mythology, surrounded by 
 Cupids, arabesques, and small medallions 
 of the signs of the Zodiac. One of the 
 mythological scenes represented Danse, an- 
 other Perseus. A corner piece was a 
 well-painted figure of Time. Everything 
 combined so well that the whole formed a 
 very harmonious and interesting work of 
 pictorial and decorative fresco. The owner 
 of the house always declared that the
 
 Signor Gkisto Minuti. 209 
 
 celebrated old painter had himself painted this 
 ceiling and one in a room below, but others 
 assert that his pupils prepared them in his 
 absence. But, even if he did not himself 
 execute the work, the design may have been 
 his, and the lower room is most especially 
 in his style. As the story runs, the painter's 
 fair and* false wife shut him up in this red 
 room and starved him to death there ; — some 
 say that he was ill of the plague at the time, 
 and that she deserted him, leaving him to die 
 alone without assistance. In either case, his 
 end must have been a sad one — and tradition 
 points to this room as the scene of his last 
 hours. No one had ever seen a ghost there ; 
 but it was a dark, sad-looking little room, in 
 spite of its glowing ceiling and sweet-voiced 
 birds. 
 
 Ina knelt on the window-seat, looking out. 
 At last she heard a bell, but from that room 
 could not see ivho had arrived. She heard 
 the sound of footsteps going into the draw- 
 ing-room opposite ; but a certain perversity 
 kept her where she was. She would not 
 appear to be in a hurry; they might come 
 for her when they wanted her 1 
 
 The door of the middle drawing-room
 
 210 Fiesole, 
 
 opened — Ina would not look round, altliougli 
 lier lieart beat tamultuously, and her cheeks 
 flushed crimson. 
 
 *'Ina, child, this is too bad! You are 
 always looking out of the windov\^ ! " 
 
 ''Oh! it is you, aunt." 
 
 '' Who else should it be ? But I do think 
 yoQ wish to forget my existence. A nice 
 life I should lead if my friends did not take 
 pity on me sometimes ! " 
 
 '' Is there any one here now ? " 
 
 '' Certainly there is ! Have I not come to 
 call you? " 
 
 " Who is it? " Ina kept her face turned 
 from her aunt, but she could not prevent her 
 voice from trembling. 
 
 ''It is Signer Giusto Minuti." 
 
 " I need not come in, need I ? " 
 
 " Well, I never ! You are actually for- 
 getting your manners ! And poor Signer 
 Minuti used to be such a favourite of yours ; 
 and he has been asking especially for you, 
 and he such a famous painter, and so rich, 
 too ! You are a strange girl ; at least, you 
 have entirely grown out of mij knowledge." 
 
 Ina turned round quickly ; guessing to 
 what point further discussion was likely to 
 tend, she wished to put an end to it.
 
 Signor Giusto MimttL 211 
 
 ''' Very well, aunt ; I will go in with you 
 
 now." 
 
 " No, indeed, miss ; you will not ! Not 
 until I have seen whether you are tidy. 
 Signor Minuti is a painter, and the most 
 likely of all persons to notice the least neg- 
 ligence in your dress ; and lately you have 
 been acquiring such untidy ways. You 
 never care how you look, unless you are cer- 
 tain of that young scamp's coming. Oh, 
 why did you ever take a fancy to him ! " 
 
 *' Aunt ! " 
 
 *' Well, you need not look at me so tragi- 
 cally. I suppose I should not call him 
 names, as you like him ! Give me a kiss, 
 and we will say no more about it. Yes, you 
 do look nice ! That white and green muslin 
 always suits you, and your hair is quite 
 smooth. Come with me at once ; for I am not 
 going to let you escape into your room again." 
 
 Signor Giusto Minuti was seated in the 
 long drawing-room ; he arose and greeted 
 Ina with a smile. 
 
 He was a withered little old man, with 
 thick grey hair, the brightest of eyes, and 
 the sweetest of smiles. He was of a gO(ul 
 Italian family, but he had been exiled like 
 many other Italian i)at riots at th.e time of 
 r 2
 
 212 Fiesole. 
 
 the war for Italian liberty. He had then 
 cnltivated his artistic tastes, and given 
 lessons in a girls'-school, where one of his 
 pupils, a rich young ward in Chancery, had 
 fallen in love with the brave exile. On 
 the young lady's coming of age they were 
 married ; and, when he became a rich and 
 happy man, Giusto Minuti had been able to 
 give time and attention to the higher 
 branches of his art : and had ended bv be- 
 coming a very popular portrait-painter, and, 
 what is better, a really good one. For he 
 had the power of seizing the individuality of 
 his sitters. He and his wife had been a most 
 devoted couple, and though they were child- 
 less, they had passed a perfectly happy life 
 together. After thirty years of married 
 bliss, the painter lost his beloved Mary. He 
 then began to yearn for his native land, and 
 before long set out for his birth-place. Re- 
 turning to Florence, he at once took a studio 
 there. He had now been living in that city 
 for some five or six years. He had known 
 Mrs. Hume and Ina from the time of their 
 arrival. People called him *' an original," 
 and certainly he was not like most other 
 men. Few elderly gentlemen as rich as he
 
 Signor Giusto Minuti. 213. 
 
 was would have continued to work so in- 
 dustriously ; few artists in so high a position 
 would have been so moderate in their 
 charges, and, above all, few persons were so 
 universally charitable and benevolent. Be- 
 sides giving money to the poor and helping 
 every good public institution that came in 
 his way, Giusto Minuti was one of the few 
 who, in the trying ordeal of social inter- 
 course, still keep their hearts pure and ever 
 think no evil. He was a democrat, and 
 bowed before no aristocracy but that of worth. 
 This theory he carried out in practice — with 
 him, republicanism was not a mere tissue of 
 words. For he honestly preferred a clever 
 artisan to a stupid patrician. He spoke 
 both English and Italian fluently ; but his 
 English was sometimes a little formal and 
 bookish, and he spoke it quicker than is 
 usual. He was a great favourite among 
 clever young people, but of them all, the one 
 he liked the best was Ina Lawrence. There 
 was a certain resemblance in her face to that 
 of his dead wife, his '' Mary in Heaven " ; 
 and so he adopted her as the daughter of his 
 heart. But in manner he was rather sliarp 
 with her, and many a wordy skirmish ensued
 
 214 Flesole, 
 
 between them. She never even guessed how 
 much he loved her. He and Mrs. Hume 
 were an exact antithesis ; but they agreed 
 on one point, and that was, their mutual 
 dislike to Ina's engagement. Their reasons, 
 however, were dissimilar. Mrs. Hume 
 objected because Carlo was not a good 
 enough match. Griusto Minuti disliked it 
 because the Conte was not a good enough 
 man. He knew the young fellow to 
 be utterly worthless, and his one hope was, 
 that something might yet occur to prevent 
 the marriage. 
 
 '' Good evening. Miss Ina, I hope I see 
 you well ? " 
 
 '' Yes, thank you, Signor Minuti, I am 
 pretty well." 
 
 '* I do not think she is well. She spends 
 her time in moping in her room, has left off 
 her former occupations, and even refuses to 
 leave Florence for a change of. air. All 
 people of rank and fashion are now away ; 
 and I find this town a desert." 
 
 " Ah, Miss Ina, this is a bad account ! 
 No painting, singing, or writing ! What 
 troubles you ? Is there anything wrong in 
 a certain quarter ? "
 
 SignoT Giusto Minuti, 215 
 
 '' No, indeed ! " 
 
 " Ah ! that is not the truth ! I must 
 tell you, Signor Minuti, that Signor Conte 
 Carlo Bentivoglio has not even the grace 
 to pay her the attention of a call every 
 day ; it is now weeks since he has been 
 here." 
 
 '' Only ten days, aunt." 
 
 '^ Diavolo ! that is bad enough! Ah! 
 child, that is not the way I made love in my 
 young days." 
 
 " Please, Signor Minuti, do not speak any 
 more of it! It pains me," and Ina's lips 
 quivered. 
 
 In a moment the old painter was standing 
 by her side, and had taken her hand in his 
 own. Looking tenderly into her face, he 
 said : '' Pardon me, my child, if I have erred ! 
 You know my feelings ; and I know 
 yours, alas ! Therefore I should have spared 
 you. Say you forgive me ! " 
 
 " Most certainly I do. How can I help 
 forgiving you when I know that you meant 
 kindly, dear friend." 
 
 He resumed his seat, vowing vengeance in 
 his heart against the young scapegrace who 
 had not even the sense to value the jewel he
 
 216 Fiesole. 
 
 had won, but only cared for its golden 
 setting. 
 
 " I wish to tell you and Mrs. Hume of a 
 young artist with whom I have lately become 
 acquainted. He is a true genius, and I am 
 quite in love with him — but I fear he will 
 end in nothing." 
 
 '' Is he a bankrupt wood-carver, or a 
 carpet- maker, or a- decorative painter ? " 
 said In a, mischievously. 
 
 '* Nay, nay ! you quiz me, miss ! He 
 might certainly be a genius in those special 
 lines of business, but I should then hardly 
 style him a genius — ^ur et simple — to be 
 that it needs something higher than mere 
 talent and dexterity ; there must be an 
 element of the ideal, a poetic temperament 
 developed in one of the branches of high art. 
 No ! my friend is an artist and a poet — 
 though by trade a jeweller." 
 
 " There ! I knew he would turn out to be 
 a common person." 
 
 '' Let me tell you. Miss Ina, he is a most 
 uncommon person ! Keeping a shop does 
 not prevent a man from being a gentleman ! 
 He is a jeweller, moreover, because he was 
 bred to the trade, and inherited a flourishing
 
 Signor Giusto Minuti. 217 
 
 business ; but all his natural tendencies are 
 artistic, and he has already attained a 
 remarkable proficiency both in painting and 
 poetry." 
 
 " Then why did you say you feared he 
 would end by being nothing ? Is he idle ? " 
 
 " Far from it ! His bane is an unfortunate 
 engagement — a most unequal one — to a 
 pretty peasant girl." 
 
 " But as she is of his own rank, why 
 should she not be considered his equal ? " 
 
 '' Ah ! there you are, at your old tricks, 
 talking of rank and station. I tell you, she 
 is not his equal — but so far his inferior that 
 she is already dragging down his noble soul, 
 and taking the inspiration from him. If he 
 marries her she will try to keep him only a 
 shopman ; and possibly he may be fool enough 
 to resign his art for her sake. Why, I tell 
 you, I am not this young man's equal ! " 
 
 " I declare, Signor Minuti, I never heard 
 you so excited before about any of your other 
 proteges. You must, indeed, have taken a 
 fancy to this young man ! " 
 
 '' ' A fancy ' ! I am astonished, captivated, 
 pained ! I begged him to come to paint at 
 my studio, to be my pupil, son, companion ;
 
 218 Fiesole. 
 
 but he refused respectfully and decidedly. 
 He said that he had other duties. I told him 
 to let his shop go to the devil, but it was no 
 use. It is all the fault of this wretched 
 engagement ! I tell you, Ina, he is just the 
 man for you ! If he had been made on pur- 
 pose, he could not have been better fitted to 
 be your other half. I only wish you could 
 see and know him ! You would soon begin 
 to admire him." 
 
 '' Signer Minuti, you should not say such 
 things ! " 
 
 " Yes ! Ina is quite right. You are 
 letting your socialism run away with you, 
 Signore. The idea of talking of a young 
 lady's admiring a goldsmith — it is really most 
 improper ! A common man ! Why, the idea 
 is disgusting." 
 
 Mrs. Hume's last speech made Signer 
 Minuti quite angry, and his eyes flashed with 
 indignation. 
 
 " But, madam ! I told you he was not a 
 common man. He is a gentleman, in manner, 
 speech, and appearance — and more than that, 
 he is a genius. Why, sweet and clever 
 though Miss Ina is, she is not his equal yet. 
 And to hear you both talk as though he were
 
 Signor Giusto Minuti. 219 
 
 not made of the same clay ! Thank good- 
 ness ! the time will come when we shall be 
 judged for ourselves alone — when soul will 
 cleave to soul, actuated by pure and ardent 
 love ; and all selfish and worldly considera- 
 tions will be as naught, forgotten as the world 
 itself." 
 
 *' You misapprehend me, Signor Minuti. 
 I did not mean to discuss class prejudices 
 with you. My disapprobation to your remark 
 was occasioned by another cause. You forget 
 that there is but one man I ought to, or can 
 admire — I am an engaged girl." 
 
 '' Alas, yes ! and so is he engaged. And 
 you are a pair of unfortunates wandering in 
 the dark, and I fear that nothing can ever 
 unite you." 
 
 '^ But really, Signor Minuti, are you not a 
 little too democratic ! If you had a daughter, 
 now ? " 
 
 " I should say the same, Mrs. Hume ! I 
 could not wish her a better husband than my 
 young genius — pure, romantic, chivalrous, 
 unselfish, clever, and brave. What more can 
 a man be ? " 
 
 " He must be a very fine fellow, if be is all 
 that ! " said Ina, in a conciliatory manner.
 
 220 Fiesole. 
 
 '' But I must confess to still feeling some 
 class prejudices ; it may be a weakness, but 
 I do not think I should care to shake hands 
 with a jeweller." 
 
 ''Believe me, Miss Ina, it is a weakness. 
 If that jeweller's hand is pure and spotless 
 as your own, you would be honoured by the 
 contact. Do you think there will be any 
 such distinctions in Heaven ? " 
 
 '' We are not in Heaven yet, Signor, and 
 must act according to the usages of the 
 world," said Mrs. Hume. 
 
 ''Aye, that is too true!" and the old 
 painter sighed. '* And many of us are ' of 
 the earth, earthy.' But I must not annoy 
 you further, ladies ; I have my whims, as 
 you know, and am but a testy old fellow. 
 Miss Ina, will you show me that you bear 
 no malice, by exerting your beautiful voice in 
 my behalf ? I know it will do you good, 
 too, for music is most soothing." 
 
 Ina went readily to the piano, and sang 
 several plaintive Scotch ballads, dear to the 
 painter from old association. His Mary had 
 been wont to sing them. Ina's voice was a 
 sweet, full soprano, and her singing was 
 rendered very beautiful by the expression
 
 Signor Giusto Minuti. 221 
 
 witli wliich she sang, and by the Italian 
 method in which her voice had been highly 
 cultivated. 
 
 In a left the piano much cheered and 
 calmed by the power of music. But Signor 
 Minuti was more angry with the Conte than 
 ever — for the more he appreciated Ina's per- 
 fections, the more he despised her recreant 
 lover. 
 
 When Signor Minuti rose to go, Ina 
 followed him into the entry, and said, 
 timidly : ''I confess that I may have been 
 wrong in some things I said — I know it is 
 ignoble to care for birth and station ; but 
 lately I seem to have been growing worse in 
 disposition, instead of better. I am troubled by 
 many things, and, like a child groping in the 
 dark, I often stumble. I can well believe 
 that your artist friend is cleverer and better 
 than I am; and I daresay that it is I who am 
 unworthy to know him. Will you, please, 
 forgive my foolish speeches ! " 
 
 '• You are an angel ! and there is no man 
 in the world worthy of you." And the old 
 painter, unable to contain his admiration, 
 kissed Ina most paternally. She was very 
 lonely, and had no friend to understand or
 
 222 Fiesole. 
 
 sympathize with her, therefore she seemed 
 cold and self-contained — but that appear- 
 ance was caused by the strength of her brave 
 heart, for inwardly she was both sad and 
 troubled, and longed for a strong arm to 
 lean upon. The old man's fatherly tender- 
 ness quite overcame her, and the tears 
 started to her eyes. 
 
 '' Ah ! poor little one, poor little heart ! 
 Trust in Grod, and all will yet be well." 
 
 ''I fear I do not trust enough; every- 
 thing looks so black to me at present." 
 
 " But every cloud has a silver lining. 
 Look up, child, and see the Light ! And if 
 the thought of having a true friend to love 
 you is any comfort, know that there is 
 nothing in the world that I would not do for 
 you. Promise me, if you ever need help of 
 any kind, to come to me as you would have 
 done to your father." 
 
 '' 1 do promise, and I thank you for your 
 goodness," and she kissed the old man in 
 her turn. 
 
 That night as Ina lay in bed, she thought : 
 " Signor Minuti said that this young man is 
 a genius — pure, romantic, chivalrous, un- 
 selfish, clever, and brave — just what I always
 
 Signor Giusto Minuti. 223 
 
 imagined my ideal lover should be. And is 
 Carlo all that ? All, no ! far from it, I fear. 
 And yet, I love him, and if he is not good, 
 does he not need me all the more ? Must I 
 not 7naJve him good, and pray God to bless 
 him ? " 
 
 Thus she deceived herself in her innocent 
 romance, as many a woman had done before 
 her, and will do yet. As if any woman can 
 mahe a bad man good ! Goodness cannot 
 be forced on any one ; he must first turn 
 from evil, and be willing to be taught. 
 
 Poor Ina ! she dreamt bright dreams that 
 night. 
 
 It was the last time she was to sleep so 
 peacefully for many a long day to come. 
 There was a silver lining to her cloud, as 
 there is to all earthly clouds, and it was of 
 brightest light ; — but she must rest beneath 
 the dark shadow first, before her eyes would 
 be capable of seeing that light. 
 
 END OF VOL. 1.
 
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