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 A CHILD OF 
 TU5CANY 
 
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 BY^ MARGUERITE • BOVVET 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Education 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Louise Farrow Barr 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/childoftuscanyOObouvrich 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY 
 
A Child of Tuscany 
 
 BY 
 
 MARGUERITE BOUVET 
 
 AUTHOR OF "my LADY," " SWEET WILLIAM," "LITTLE MARJORIE'S 
 LOVE STORY," " PRINCE TIP-TOP," ETC. 
 
 ]Illu0tratetJ ig 
 WILL PHILLIPS HOOPER 
 
 CHICAGO 
 A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY 
 
 1895 
 
Copyright 
 By a. C. McClurg and Co. 
 A. D. 189; * 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Education 
 GIFT 
 

 A\QlltR|rE 
 
 Illd/tTAled 13/ 
 
 CbiC(^Qo 
 
 ADCCCXCVj 
 
 406 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 T HOPE that you, my dear young readers, may some 
 ^ day have the good fortune to know the quaint and 
 beautiful city where I have laid the scene of this little 
 story ; for among all the cities of Europe there is none 
 more interesting, and which people learn to love better, 
 than Florence, — ''Florence, the fairest and most famous 
 of the daughters of Rome!" as Dante calls her. You have 
 doubtless seen on your maps that Florence is situated 
 in the northern part of Italy. It is a city of noble 
 antiquity, having existed, some historians tell us, as early 
 as the Roman period. In the twelfth century it was 
 already the most important town of Tuscany, and after- 
 wards became the capital of the independent duchy of 
 that name ; and there the princes and dukes held their 
 court. In 1 86 1 all the provinces of Italy were united into 
 one kingdom under Victor Emmanuel, and the court was 
 removed to Rome, 1870. But Florence is still visited 
 every spring by many of the nobility of Europe, on account 
 of its delightful climate, its rich art galleries, and its many 
 
lO PREFACE. 
 
 interesting and beautiful old palaces. And I shall feel 
 happily repaid if anything I have said in this little vol- 
 ume has awakened in you an interest in the lovely city 
 and its charming people, and a desire to visit its many 
 
 treasures. 
 
 M. B. 
 
 Florence, May, 1894. 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Strange Little Family 19 
 
 "It was Luigi and his Brothers" 35 
 
 " There he sat upon the Steps " 47 
 
 "What is she Thinking of!" 63 
 
 Faustina carrying away the Child 69 
 
 Camillo at the Vegetable Stall 79 
 
 " He clasped his Hands and fell on his Knees before 
 
 her" 93 
 
 "Get along, you Old Fright!" 103 
 
 Porta Romana 141 
 
 " She is my — my — I don't know what Faustina is " . 145 
 " There ! you can see the King now, with Hat in 
 
 Hand" 159 
 
 " Camillo entered and made his Best Bow " .... 169 
 
 "This is the Villa Barborello!" 191 
 
 " It is our Lost Child, O Holy Saints ! " 195 
 
 Coco and Minnetto 205 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 AUSTINA and Raffaello lived 
 alone in a small hut just beyond 
 the village of Galluzzo; not quite 
 alone, for there was Minnetto. 
 Faustina was a very tall, dark-eyed, hard-faced 
 woman ; Raffaello was a small, curly-haired boy ; 
 and Minnetto was the cat, a Tuscan cat, with 
 a beautiful coat of maltese gray, a monstrous head, 
 and big sleepy eyes, and a long bushy tail that 
 resembled the plumes on the Florentine soldiers' 
 caps, whenever he encountered a neighboring dog. 
 Raffaello and Minnetto were the best of friends ; 
 
14 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 they were about the same age and very nearly the 
 same height. For, when Raffaello stood up near 
 the table, of a morning, to eat his bread and milk, 
 and Minnetto placed his two front paws on the 
 little boy's shoulders, and stretched his long neck 
 to get a sniff of the good breakfast, their two heads 
 were almost on a level. As to Faustina, she was 
 not a very genial companion ; she never played with 
 them, or fondled them, or called them by any loving 
 names; but she took care of them both, gave them 
 what she could to eat, and she was not unkind. 
 
 Minnetto did not mind this at all. He was 
 happy if Raffaello let him lie in the warm sun, and 
 did not stroke his fur the wrong way ; and he would 
 purr for hours with his head buried in the bend of 
 Raffaello's little arm, and never seemed to find fault 
 with his destiny. But not so with Raffaello. He 
 often wondered how he and Faustina happened to 
 be living in this lonely way together, who he was, 
 and what he was, and why she was not his mother, 
 and why he had no brothers and sisters like little 
 Luigi yonder, at the village, but only Minnetto to 
 play with, who was a good friend in his way, but 
 only a cat after all, and who could not talk with 
 him, or understand him when Raffaello tried to take 
 him into his confidence. He had lived with Faus- 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 5 
 
 tina and the cat ever since he could remember any- 
 thing, and Faustina had always grumbled, and the 
 cat had always blinked indifferently at her, and 
 Raffaello had always wondered at the strange little 
 family, and how he came to be a member of it. 
 
 There was one thing that puzzled Raffaello very 
 much. The other people in the village who were 
 poor lived in great stone houses that were old and 
 dismal, all huddled up together like a great many 
 bees in a very big hive ; and all the children played 
 and romped together in the dingy courts, and set 
 up such a noise, that he and Faustina would often 
 hear them of a summer evening, as they sat upon 
 their stone steps ; and the women would chat with 
 one another from their windows ; and sometimes, 
 when any wandering musicians happened to be 
 passing through the town, everybody would flock 
 out into the streets, and dance, and dance till late in 
 the night, — young men and women, boys and girls, in 
 their quaint peasant's dress, whirling round and 
 round like gay windmills, while the old men sat on 
 boxes and barrels along the wall, smoking their 
 pipes, and enjoying the frolic as if they never 
 minded about being poor, and were all as happy as 
 people could be. 
 
 But with Faustina, Raffaello, and the cat, it was 
 
1 6 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 very different. They never mingled with the simple, 
 light-hearted, good-natured people at the village, or 
 joined in any of their festivities. They lived in a 
 very small hut of stone, which stood quite a dis- 
 tance down on the brow of the hill, and all the news 
 they got of the doings of the people at Galluzzo 
 was what the little streamlet brought, as it came 
 laughing and tumbling down the rocky race to turn 
 the big wheel of the mill hard by. Faustina never 
 went to the village save to buy some necessary, like 
 a bit of cloth, or a spool of thread, or a lace needle ; 
 for their wants were very few, and their purse was 
 very slender. But they had their own goat, which 
 supplied them wnth milk, and a bit of a garden on 
 the sunny side of the hut, that gave them a few vege- 
 tables in the spring, and a little fruit in the sum- 
 mer, just enough for their own small needs. In the 
 winter they did not fare so well ; but they managed 
 to get some of the ground grain from the mill for 
 their meal-cakes, and Faustina made very good 
 cheeses, and they lived even better than most of the 
 poor folk in the country round about. 
 
 The village people had nothing good to say 
 about Faustina. They were envious of her because 
 she could live in a little home of her own, and had 
 means enough, however small, to be independent 
 of her neighbors. Some said she was vain, and felt 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 7 
 
 her quality, because many years ago a well-to-do 
 worker in stone from the city had come and mar- 
 ried her. She was young and pretty then — they 
 called upon the good saints to witness that she had 
 once been pretty, with almond-shaped black eyes 
 and apple-red cheeks, though no one would suspect 
 it now, Santa Maria ! And she had not been too 
 proud to dance and feast with them on her wed- 
 ding-day. But he had taken her off to the city to 
 live with him, and that had given her such notions 
 of grandeur that she could no longer mingle with 
 old friends at the village, but must have a hut all 
 to herself, though the good Saint Peter alone knew 
 how she ever scraped up enough to pay the rental 
 every year, and she must needs put on airs and 
 shun her old companions as if they had been a 
 pestilence, they said. 
 
 It was well enough to be proud and disdainful 
 of one's neighbors when one had one's own hut to 
 sleep in, and could dig one's own turnips and arti- 
 chokes; but this not having any friends looked 
 very ill to the genial people of Galluzzo. A cat 
 and a slip of a boy were her only companions — 
 well, she might better have been a hermit, and have 
 done with it ! and let the boy and the cat enjoy 
 themselves elsewhere. 
 
1 8 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 There were those who thought Faustina must 
 have committed some wicked sin, and that she was 
 Hving alone in this solitary and mysterious way for a 
 penance ; others, who were not so sour-minded, said 
 she had broken her heart when her husband and 
 her own little boy had died, and that she could not 
 bear to see others happy, with their children and 
 loved ones around them ; and that she had taken 
 the boy, that he might work for her and support 
 her when she grew old and disabled. However all 
 this might be, Faustina minded them no more than 
 the cat minded her, and she cared not a fig for 
 their opinion. All that she asked was that they 
 should leave her in peace, and not stop too long to 
 pry into her garden on their way down the road, 
 and not lure Raffaello with sweetmeats to talk 
 about things he did not know. 
 
 One evening the three were seated round the 
 little table in the kitchen, eating their supper. I 
 say the three, for Minnetto was regarded as one of 
 the family, and Faustina would not have sat down 
 to a meal without him any more than without Raf- 
 faello. It was the early spring-time, and they had 
 not yet lighted the candle. Faustina had walked 
 to and from the city that day, as she did sometimes ; 
 and as it was a long distance off, she was weary 
 
The strange little family. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 21 
 
 and cross when she returned. But she had brought 
 home a little cake for which she had parted with 
 some of her strawberries, and she was cutting it 
 into exactly three pieces as she addressed Raffaello 
 and the cat. 
 
 " Now what have you done all day, you two idle 
 ones, while I have been blistering my feet to sell a 
 few cents' worth of berries to buy you bread, and 
 cake, too, cake, indeed ! for a bimbo ^ who cannot 
 earn a centessimo ; ^ and a cat who does nothing 
 but eat and sleep, and never cares where the next 
 meal is to come from } " As she spoke she flung a 
 third of the cake into each plate, and without wait- 
 ing a reply, turned suddenly upon Minnetto, who 
 had fallen with both paws upon his piece and was 
 gnawing at one corner of it with great relish : " You 
 don't deserve a morsel, you lazy, yellow-eyed mon- 
 ster ! I found a mouse in the grain-bag to-night. 
 How long is it since you 've caught a mouse } " 
 
 Minnetto went on munching at the brown cake 
 and purring contentedly, winking his golden eyes, 
 as much as to say, " Little do I care for the mice in 
 the grain-bag. I 'm too fat to run after them, and 
 too well-fed to want them ! " 
 
 Raffaello sat looking at his cake without tasting 
 
 1 A little boy. 2 One fifth of a cent. 
 
22 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 it. He never took Faustina's grumbling with the 
 same philosophy as Minnetto. He had listened to it 
 very, very often ; there was scarcely a day that Faus- 
 tina did not scold about something ; but he could 
 not grow used to it and not care, like Minnetto, — 
 that was only the difference between being a boy 
 and being a cat. Her words, especially when they 
 were reproachful, always made him sad and sorry ; 
 and he thought to-night how tired and worn she 
 seemed, and how hard she really worked to get the 
 little money they needed to live and pay the land- 
 lord, and he was wondering how he could help her, 
 and in what way he might earn a few soldi to give 
 her, for she said so often that he was of no use to 
 her. 
 
 " What are you gaping at ? " said Faustina, sharply, 
 seeing that Raffaello was thinking. " Why don't you 
 eat your supper! Ecco} have you been up to some 
 mischief, and has your conscience got into your 
 stomach, to make you sniff at a good brown cake 
 just fresh from the baker's ? " 
 
 *' Oh, no, Faustina," and he glanced at the cat for 
 a witness, " I have been a good bimbo all day. I 
 have fed the canary, and fetched some wood from 
 the road, and watered the artichokes, and picked 
 
 1 A favorite exclamation of the Florentines. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 23 
 
 more berries to send — to take into the city to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " To take into the city ! " repeated Faustina, in a 
 vexed tone. " It is easy to say ' take into the city ' 
 when somebody else does the walking. It takes 
 feet to go to the city, good stout ones, too, and if 
 one is n't a mule, one cannot go every day to earn 
 a half-franc ! " 
 
 " I know, Faustina, I know it makes you very 
 tired; and I wish," added Raffaello, hesitating, "I 
 wish you would let me go instead, and sell the 
 flowers and the strawberries." 
 
 " You ! " cried Faustina, bringing her knife down 
 upon the table with such force, that even Minnetto 
 jumped. " You ! what would you do in the city but 
 get lost, and turn my hair white with searching for 
 you ! Florence is not like Galluzzo ; it has a hun- 
 dred streets, not one, and you would be a dead 
 bambino ^ before you had walked half the way, you 
 little pumpkin-head ! " 
 
 " I could go with Luigi. He has a cart and 
 donkey, and rides to town on all the festa days. 
 He would take me with him, and teach me the 
 streets, and bring me back in the evening ; he has 
 said so." 
 
 1 Baby. 
 
24 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 " Humph ! Luigi, Luigi," retorted Faustina, shrug- 
 ging her big shoulders, " he has a long tongue, has 
 Luigi ! He has been here to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes, he came to bring a piece of fowl ; the pad- 
 rona sent it for our dinner to-morrow." 
 
 Faustina's black eyes gleamed suspiciously. The 
 padrona was Luigi's mother, one of the few women 
 at the village who thought charitably and pitifully 
 of Faustina, and she would often send one of her 
 boys, on a Saturday, with some bit of her cookery, 
 a rib or two of sheep, or a half of a young rooster, 
 or some such dainty to make the Sunday more 
 cheerful for Faustina and the little boy. But Faus- 
 tina was afraid of her kindness, and seldom touched 
 any of the gifts herself, dividing them between Raf- 
 faello and the cat, so fearful was she of establishing 
 friendly or intimate relations with any of her old 
 companions at Galluzzo. 
 
 " And he put the silly notion in your head, did 
 he } " resumed Faustina, after a long pause, during 
 which she seemed to have been thinking unpleasant 
 thoughts. 
 
 " I spoke to him first," said Raffaello, " and asked 
 him why he went so often to the city, and he told 
 me that he carried the milk and butter there for his 
 mother, who cannot go herself on account of the 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 25 
 
 bambino ; and that now, when the flowers are com- 
 ing out, he and his brothers would stop on their way 
 down the hill to gather a basketful of violets and 
 lilies, and take them to Wy^ piazza^ to sell; and that 
 sometimes, they came home with their pockets full 
 of soldi, which they gave to their mother. And I 
 said I would like to go to the city and sell flowers, 
 and bring the money to you." 
 
 Raffaello's little face had grown quite flushed with 
 the ardor of his good intention, and his dark eyes 
 looked up earnestly and appealingly at the hard face 
 across the table. 
 
 " It is well enough for Luigi and his brothers to 
 go to the city, and come back with their pockets 
 full of soldi. They are big country lads, much older 
 than you, and brazen-faced young rascals who are 
 not ashamed to beg when they have nothing more 
 to sell. You are not a beggar, do you hear ! we will 
 starve first, but you shall not beg." 
 
 Here Faustina gave Minnetto a frightful tweak 
 of the ear, for no reason at all that Raffaello could 
 see, and Minnetto promptly repaid her with a re- 
 vengeful spat of his paw, and went on with his 
 supper as indifferently as before. 
 
 Raffaello did not quite understand what Faustina 
 
 1 Public square. 
 
26 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 meant by these last words. He had often heard 
 her say, " It is only the lazy common folk who beg. 
 You do not belong to the common people, and you 
 shall never beg, while I live to prevent it." So he had 
 come to regard begging, in his little mind, as a very 
 wicked and unworthy thing, and would never have 
 thought of doing it if Faustina had not repeated this 
 so often. But he could see nothing wrong in his 
 wanting to serve Faustina as Luigi and Giulio 
 served their mother, and his little head was full of 
 the thought. 
 
 " If you will let me go with Luigi, Faustina, once 
 every week, before Sunday and on the festas, I will 
 bring home enough soldi, perhaps, to buy all we need ; 
 and when I am as tall as Luigi, I will buy you a 
 little cart and mule, and then we can ride to the 
 city together, and you need never get tired any 
 more." He had left his place at the table, and was 
 standing quite close to Faustina's side, with a demure 
 look of entreaty that sat strangely upon his childish 
 face. 
 
 Faustina did not take any notice of him at all. 
 She went on eating her bread very fast, and taking 
 great gulps of milk, without saying a word for several 
 minutes. 
 
 " If they should lose him, Santa Maria ! if they 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 27 
 
 should lose him ! " she muttered, not addressing any 
 one, " and he should fall into worse hands than mine, 
 and I could never find him, or dare search for him ! 
 O Heaven ! what a mad thought! " and she smoothed 
 the wrinkles from her forehead with the coarse 
 towel on her lap, and pushed Raffaello away from 
 her, but not impatiently, and said aloud, " Go sit 
 upon the door-steps and count the fireflies till bed 
 time. I am not to be troubled now, my head is too 
 weary. Go, you and Minnetto." 
 
 Raffaello obeyed, and the big cat immediately 
 jumped down and followed him to the door, where 
 they both sat on the old gray stone, Minnetto lick- 
 ing his chops assiduously, and curling his long tail 
 around his feet, for a comfortable meditation ; while 
 little Raffaello pursued his own thoughts in the 
 quiet of the soft spring evening, and the little river 
 murmured its winding way down the pretty valley 
 of the Ema. 
 

 ^ 
 
 'AUSTINA remained at the 
 table long after the night 
 had settled and the little hut 
 was dark. Her head had fallen 
 on her arms, which rested on the table, and 
 she seemed to be asleep ; but she was not. 
 She was only thinking, thinking so silently, so 
 deeply, that Raffaello did not dare to disturb her 
 when he came in. He closed the outer door very 
 gently, gave Minnetto one or two love-pats, and 
 slipped quietly into the little closet which was his 
 sleeping-room. 
 
 Raffaello was a very little boy as yet, but his living 
 with two such wise and tried philosophers as Faus- 
 tina and Minnetto had made a very sage of him for 
 his years. Yet he had no great cares on his mind, 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 29 
 
 no great troubles in his heart, no fearful dread of 
 the future, and no sad memories of the past. He 
 was not unhappy ; for although Faustina spoke 
 gruffly, and was not over gentle with him, she never 
 maltreated him, or willingly made him suffer. Her 
 only thought seemed to be that he should want 
 nothing, and she toiled for him early and late, and 
 spared herself no hardship, that he might have 
 enough to eat and wear, and that he might not look 
 like the ragged little beggars of the city and village 
 streets. Raffaello did not have that same fondness 
 for her which he might have had for a tender 
 mother who would have fondled him, and loved 
 him, and spoken gentle words to him, and taught 
 his young heart to open freely; but he was at- 
 tached to her, as children are to those who protect 
 them, and cared for her as well as he knew how to 
 care for any one. And to-night he was full of the 
 idea of doing something for her, of helping her to 
 earn their livelihood, and saving her tired feet by 
 using his young ones in their stead, for he knew that 
 Faustina was very poor. " Perhaps," he thought, 
 as he lay upon his straw mattress in the dark, " if I 
 could sell flowers in the big city, and earn enough 
 soldi to buy the grain every week, it would make 
 Faustina happy, and she would not be cross any 
 
30 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 more." And when he fell asleep, his thoughts suf- 
 fered no interruptions, for he dreamed that he and 
 Luigi were already started for Florence, and that on 
 their way, they came upon a vast field of daisies, 
 and when they stooped to gather the flowers, they 
 saw that in the heart of each blossom there was a 
 small round coin of gold, like the one Faustina 
 kept locked in the tin box beside her bed, only that 
 hers had a hole, with a chain through it. And he 
 dreamed that they filled their baskets to the top 
 with the bright pieces and brought them home, and 
 when Faustina saw them, she fell on her knees and 
 kissed his hands, and cried, " O Raffaello mio ! ^ 
 you are rich, you are great, and they will take you 
 from me ! " 
 
 And this was only his dream. But what was 
 really true, was that far into the night, when Raffaello 
 was sleeping soundly, and the battered Madonna at 
 his bed-head seemed to be smiling a watch over 
 him, and Minnetto was curled up into a dark bun- 
 dle beside the ashes, snoozing with one eye open, as 
 was his habit, Faustina had crept to Raffaello's 
 couch, and was kneeling beside it, and kissing his 
 hand indeed, and saying in a low voice, " He wants 
 to work for me, Dio mio ! for me ! the poor bam- 
 
 1 My Raffaello. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 3 1 
 
 bino, and so little, so little ! O Raffaello mio, you 
 are rich, rich, and they will find you out and take 
 you from me ! " 
 
 She kneeled there for a long time, praying to the 
 Madonna above, and looking at the face of the 
 sleeping child, so peaceful and unconscious ; and no 
 one saw or heard, not even the cat, who was accus- 
 tomed to Faustina's nightly tread about the rooms, 
 for everything was sleeping except the bright star 
 that twinkled through the casement, and shed its 
 mysterious light on the sleeping child and the pray- 
 ing woman. If any one could have looked in be- 
 sides the star, he would have seen that Faustina's 
 face was not so hard now, and that she hung over 
 the little boy as tenderly as if she had been his own 
 mother, and that her black eyes were wet, and her 
 lip trembled. Faustina had her own reasons for 
 not teaching Raffaello to love her too well ; but 
 secretly she cherished him, and no one knew how 
 much but the star, who was too far away to tell of 
 what it saw, sometimes, in the night. 
 
 The next morning was Sunday, and Faustina 
 was up with the sun to attend the early mass at 
 the church of San Gaggio, which is about half-way 
 down on the road to the city of Florence. Raffaello 
 
32 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 heard the jingling of her beads, as she went out and 
 closed the door, and immediately he was on his 
 feet, and dressing himself, taking up his little pro- 
 ject just where he had left it the night before. He 
 reckoned that Faustina must walk over a mile 
 before she reached San Gaggio ; that would take 
 nearly a half-hour, although she took long steps like 
 a man, and never stopped to chat with neighbors, 
 or loitered on her way. Then the mass would 
 take another half hour, and she could scarcely get 
 back before the bells of La Certosa di VaP had 
 sounded the seventh hour. This would give him 
 plenty of time to run down into the valley and 
 gather a basketful of red and yellow tulips and 
 white crocuses that grew wild along the borders of 
 the brooklet Ema. He took a little osier-basket 
 which hung in the kitchen, the one Faustina used 
 to carry her strawberries when she went to the 
 market-place, and laid some fresh mulberry leaves 
 at the bottom of it, that his* flowers might have a 
 moist, green bed to lie on. Then he set out 
 quietly, not wishing to rouse Minnetto, who was 
 an inquisitive old pussy, and who would have to be 
 coaxed very hard to remain behind if he suspected 
 any frolic in the air. Minnetto had not moved an 
 
 ^ An old monastery situated just above the village of Galluzzo. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 33 
 
 eye-winker all through Faustina's preparations for 
 church, but when he spied Raffaello's heels disap- 
 pearing behind the lattice, he gave a sudden bound 
 towards the door, and mewed reproachfully at the 
 disappearing figure of his little master. He made 
 a gingerly attempt to follow, but Raffaello was 
 running very fast, and the grass was heavily covered 
 with dew ; and Minnetto detested the wet, so he 
 thought better of it, and turned back to his corner 
 near the hearth, where he sat licking his paws and 
 wagging his tail in much discontent. 
 
 The morning was such a bright one, the early 
 sun was so warm, and the breeze was so cool, and 
 the young grass-blades sparkled so with their beads 
 of fresh dew, and the air was so sweet with the scent 
 of the olive blossoms, that Raffaello's heart was very 
 light, and he wondered why it was that he felt so 
 much happier than he had ever felt before. He 
 was too little to know that it was the hope of help- 
 ing Faustina more than the beautiful spring morn- 
 ing, and the sweet air, and the refreshing dew, that 
 made his feet swift and his heart glad. He did not 
 know yet that the one thing in this world that 
 brings us the truest happiness and the sweetest 
 reward is helping some fellow-creature whom 
 Heaven has placed in our way, however young our 
 
 3 
 
34 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 hands, however small our means. He was too 
 much a child to understand this, for he was not 
 much more than six years old, and so little, so little, 
 as Faustina had said, that he seemed always like a 
 baby. But I think that somewhere in his childish 
 nature the seeds of that great truth were firmly 
 rooted. 
 
 It did not take him long to fill his basket with 
 fresh flowers, and return to the hut, where he soon 
 made his peace with Minnetto for having slipped 
 away from him, by making a cheery blaze with some 
 fagots, and putting the pot of milk on to boil. 
 With these promising preparations, Minnetto be- 
 came quite forgiving, and the two were sitting close 
 together on the floor, watching the steaming break- 
 fast when Faustina returned. 
 
 She was in a better mood than she had been on 
 the previous evening. She was always in a better 
 mood when she came home from the mass ; for I 
 think the solemn quiet of the old church, and the 
 soothing tones of the chanting monks, and the 
 beautiful faces of the saints and the Madonnas that 
 looked down at her from the walls and windows, 
 comforted her, and gave her strength to pass 
 another solitary and friendless week. 
 
 They had just finished their breakfast, and Raf- 
 

 ,.,:-^.^^^ 
 
 " It was Luigi and his brothers. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 37 
 
 faello was wondering how he would best renew his 
 cherished subject with Faustina, for he felt sure that 
 she would not hold out long when she saw how much 
 in earnest he was, and when he showed her the 
 pretty flowers all ready to go to the market-place, 
 which she had pretended not to notice when she 
 entered; when suddenly there came a mighty hal- 
 looing and shouting from out upon the road, as if all 
 the children in the village of Galluzzo had been let 
 loose for a holiday. Raffaello and Faustina ran to 
 the door, to see what it was all about. It was 
 Luigi and his brothers, a troupe of noisy, apple-faced 
 boys, who were thus disturbing the peace of the 
 quiet Sunday morning. They were all crowded 
 into the little market-cart, which was drawn by that 
 most stubborn, most obstinate member of the 
 family of Italian donkeys, Pierrota. All the chil- 
 dren were standing up in the cart, except those 
 who were tumbling out of it, and some were pulling 
 vigorously at the reins as a hint to Pierrota to stop, 
 which she could not, under any consideration, think 
 of doing, she being by nature more disobliging and 
 more contrary-minded than any other donkey ; 
 while the others were shouting to Raffaello to join 
 them, for they were on their way to the city. 
 
 " Oh^ let me go with them, Faustina," cried little 
 
38 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 Raffaello, looking up at her and clutching her dress 
 excitedly ; " do, please, let me go, and J will be 
 very good and not lose myself ! and see, I have the 
 flowers all ready." 
 
 Faustina's hard face was very white, and her eyes 
 had a frightened look in them. She did not give 
 him a sharp no, as she did sometimes when he 
 asked for anything she did not approve. She had 
 not said no at any time about this, and he felt 
 emboldened to plead yet a little more. 
 
 " I will not wander from the market-square, and 
 when I have sold my flowers, I will sit down and 
 wait till Luigi comes to bring me back." 
 
 All the while Luigi and his brothers kept up a 
 constant invitation : " Come, come, piccino, come, 
 there is still room for you and your basket. Hiu ! 
 Diavolino ! " This last was addressed to the don- 
 key, who was still pursuing her course, slowly but 
 resolutely. 
 
 " Hold your tongues, you shouting young ras- 
 cals ! " cried Luigi, above the rest. " Let the bimbo 
 come with us, Monna Faustina. I '11 take good 
 care of him, and bring him back safe. I 'U look 
 after the piccino ! " 
 
 Luigi, being the eldest of the lads, made a great 
 matter of his importance, and his ability to take 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 39 
 
 care of them all, being the biggest and tallest of the 
 lot. He was a good, hearty, wholesome boy of 
 twelve or thereabouts, and his brothers were very 
 much like him, with just that difference in their 
 height that made them look like a nicely graded 
 pair of stairs when they stood in a row. They 
 always called Raffaello piccino, "the little one," 
 because he was so small beside even the youngest of 
 them, and his face was so fine and delicate beside 
 their ruddy ones. 
 
 Faustina had stepped back into the room, and 
 presently returned with the basket of flowers, and a 
 paper bundle which she handed to Raffaello. 
 
 " There is the fowl and the bread for your din- 
 ner," she said ; " take it along, you will get no other. 
 And you, Luigi," and she raised her voice for the 
 benefit of the lads on the road, " see that you bring 
 him back whole, and that you keep out of mischief, 
 every one of you, or I '11 — " 
 
 But by this time, the donkey had achieved such a 
 goodly distance from the hut, in spite of the jerking 
 at her bridle, that Luigi did not hear her threat. 
 Little Raffaello was so delighted with Faustina's 
 sudden decision, that he immediately hugged the 
 cat, who yawned with dignified surprise ; and then 
 he took up his basket, said good-bye to Faus- 
 
40 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 tina, and ran as fast as he could after the little 
 cart. 
 
 Faustina and Minnetto stood watching him from 
 the door of the stone hut : she with the softer look 
 in her large black eyes and her bony fingers clasped 
 tightly together, as she repeated, " Holy Madonna ! 
 look to him. Perhaps I am a fool for letting him 
 go out of my sight; but something tells me that 
 only good can come of it for him, and I have kept 
 him to myself alone long enough, and my conscience 
 is sore with pricking." 
 
 As for Signor Minnetto, he was not following 
 quite the same line of thought as that of his mis- 
 tress. His pride was touched at having been twice 
 deserted by his little friend that morning, — by 
 Raffaello, who so rarely went anywhere without 
 him, — and he presently turned away from the scene 
 with a superior and indifferent air, as one who 
 should say, " What this stupid business is all about, 
 I am sure I don't know, and be it far from me to 
 care!" 
 
TT was some time before Raf- 
 ^ faello was safely landed in 
 the cart, for Pierrota, the donkey, 
 though a small creature, had a mighty will, and all 
 the pulling and jerking at her iron jaw made no 
 more impression on her than if she had been a 
 wooden donkey going by machinery. The lads 
 managed to lift Raffaello in, while the cart was still 
 moving slowly, for Pierrota had ideas of her own 
 about speed ; and when the feat was accomplished, 
 after much screaming and laughing, Luigi cracked 
 his willow switch in a business-like manner, and 
 shouted, " Now, then, you little beast, get along ! " 
 
 But this was the last of the gentle Pierrotas 
 intentions. As soon as the occasion for stopping 
 was past, she immediately stood stock-still, and 
 could no more be persuaded to budge than if her 
 four hoofs had been stout grip-hooks clinched in 
 the earth under her. To " get along " when she was 
 
42 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 bidden to do so, was as much against her princi- 
 ples as it was to stop by request, and Pierrota 
 was nothing if not a donkey of principles. They 
 coaxed and threatened, they prodded and switched, 
 they got out and pushed the cart on to her, they 
 pulled at her bridle with all their might ; but it was 
 of no use. She only stiffened her long ears, and 
 allowed her body to sway forward a trifle ; but her 
 legs were as firm as rocks. It was a full quarter of 
 an hour after Luigi and his companions had sur- 
 rendered to her superior strength, and were waiting, 
 panting and exhausted with their exertions, when 
 Pierrota made up her cast-iron mind to pursue her 
 course down the beautiful road leading to the Porta 
 Romana.^ 
 
 It was Raffaello's first ride to the city, and he was 
 much interested in the other country folk who were 
 also going to Florence, some in festive Sunday attire, 
 wath bright colored skirts and kerchiefs, and white 
 aprons, carrying their provisions to the market-place, 
 and doubtless intending to remain after their morn- 
 ing's trade for the mass at the big Duomo,^ where 
 they would hear the fine preaching and the good 
 music. Luigi and his brothers seemed to know 
 
 1 Roman gate, one of the many gates of Florence. 
 
 2 The cathedral. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 43 
 
 everybody on the road, and had a jovial good-morn- 
 ing for each as they met; and Httle Raffaello's 
 admiration for his friends grew at every mile-stone. 
 
 He would soon be a tall stout lad, like Luigi, he 
 thought, and then he could drive a cart himself, and 
 take Faustina and Minnetto with him, since he had 
 no young brothers like Luigi, and they would go to 
 the festas he had heard so much about, and there 
 would always be quattrini^ enough to buy what 
 Faustina wanted, and she would never be cross to him 
 and the cat. Oh, it was a happy, happy morning for 
 Raffaellino, but he could not talk of his happiness to 
 his little comrades ; he could only sit and think 
 about it quietly, while they laughed and joked 
 among themselves, and appealed to him every now 
 and then with " Eh, piccino ? " 
 
 When they reached the great city gate, and had 
 turned into the Via Romana,^ towards the Ponte 
 Vecchio,^ Raffaello began to notice the great change 
 between the bright, green, sunlit country, and the 
 gray stone city, with its high buildings and narrow 
 streets, and its crowds of people hurrying to and 
 from the churches, whose near and distant bells 
 were clanging a weird and tuneless harmony. 
 
 ^ The smallest Italian coin. * Roman Street. 
 
 8 The Old Bridge. 
 
44 
 
 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 " We shall not go to the mercato',' said Luigi, " it 
 is too late. That stubborn beast of a Pierrota has 
 made us lose too much time with her meditations on 
 the way ; " for they had had one or two more con- 
 tests with the donkey before reaching the city. 
 
 The Via Romana. 
 
 "We will go to the Piazza del Duomo with our 
 flowers, for the people will soon be coming to the 
 High Mass." 
 
 No one made any objections ; no one ever made 
 any objections to Luigi's views, except, perhaps, 
 Pierrota sometimes. But even she suddenly put 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 45 
 
 on her good behavior when she entered the city, 
 and very soon they were crossing the Ponte Vec- 
 chio, and Raffaello could see between the low arches 
 of the covered bridge the beautiful, silvery Arno 
 flowing smoothly through the heart of the old city, 
 and the fair slopes of Bello Sguardo and Mount 
 Oliveto rising on its south bank ; while on the 
 north, the great tower of the old palace, and 
 the dark mass of Santa Croce,^ and the dome of the 
 cathedral towered above the whole city. Truly, 
 Florence was a very wonderful place. He had 
 never dreamed of anything like it, and the little vil- 
 lage of Galluzzo, which was the only place he re- 
 membered having ever visited with Faustina, was 
 like an ant-hill beside this. 
 
 When they came to the square in front of the 
 cathedral, the place was already filled with people, 
 and many other young flower-vendors, who had 
 made an earlier start, were running after the ladies, 
 holding up their fresh nosegays, singing lustily: 
 " All for two cents ! Only two cents ! " 
 
 Luigi lost no time in tumbling out of the cart, 
 and assisted Raffaello to do likewise, and then he 
 led the donkey around into one of the side streets, 
 and fastened a long feed-bag about Pierrota's neck, 
 
 ^ One of the largest churches in the city. 
 
46 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 into which her nose suddenly disappeared, that she 
 might entertain herself with a little refreshment 
 until their return. The other lads had fled in vari- 
 ous directions as soon as they were on their feet, for 
 in their eagerness to join in the excitement of the 
 trade, they quite forgot that Raffaello was a timid 
 little stranger in the big city. When Luigi re-ap- 
 peared from around the corner, he found the little 
 boy standing alone in the shadow of the tall bell- 
 tower, his basket of tulips on his arm, and looking 
 about him in a helpless way. 
 
 " Ha, those young rabbits ! " Luigi cried, " they 
 have all skipped off and left you, piccino. Well, 
 come with me ; I will find you a good place to sit, 
 where you can see the people pass and offer them 
 your flowers, and where I can find you when I come 
 back. For you must not run about, lest you should 
 get into trouble. Faustina would call down male- 
 dictions on my head, and never let you come again." 
 
 Raffaello promised not to stir from the place 
 where Luigi led him, and they crossed the square to 
 the Bigallo, which is a small open porch in the Cathe- 
 dral Square, where, in olden times, the poor children 
 of the city were brought to receive charities. There 
 he sat upon the steps, and was quite hidden by the 
 crowd. " Now stay right here on the piazza, and 
 
" There he sat, upon the steps. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 49 
 
 sell all your flowers by the time I come again, 
 that's a good bimbo! And let's see which one of 
 us can show the most soldi ! " and Luigi sallied off 
 with his own stock-in-trade to the neighboring 
 streets and haunts he knew so well. 
 
 But this was hardly as encouraging a proposal as 
 it sounded, for poor Raffaello was so very inex- 
 perienced in the business, and felt so timid when he 
 found himself all alone in this strange place, with 
 so many new faces going by him all the time, that 
 he had not the courage to call out, " Belle fiori ! " 
 like the other lads; and even if he had, I doubt 
 whether his childish voice could have been heard or 
 his tiny figure noticed by that gay multitude of 
 Sunday strollers. The little fellow had not the 
 least notion of how he should go about the selling 
 of his flowers. The thought that he must run after 
 people boldly and thrust a handful of blossoms in 
 their faces, and shout, " Two cents ! " in their ears, 
 had never entered his small head. So he sat quietly 
 gazing at the lovely white church opposite and the 
 fair, slender bell-tower, and at all the people going 
 in at the doors of the Duomo, till he began to wish 
 that he, too, might cross the piazza and look in at 
 its portals to see the glorious faces of the Holy 
 Madonna and angels, which Luigi said he had once 
 
50 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 seen there. He could hear the sound of voices 
 chanting every time the doors opened to let the 
 worshippers pass in and out, and it seemed to him 
 as if he must be very near Paradise, and that the 
 beautiful entrance to the cathedral must be the gate 
 that led thither. But every one went by without 
 looking at him, or buying any of his flowers ; and 
 by and by he began to be a little discouraged, and 
 after a long while, very lonely. 
 
 It must have been nearly two hours that he sat 
 there as still as a little mouse, wondering when 
 Luigi and his brothers would return, when he was 
 suddenly seized with a desire to walk to the edge of 
 the street and get a glimpse of Pierrota, who was 
 placidly and contentedly munching the contents of 
 her bag in the narrow street around the corner. 
 Pierrota was only a donkey, to be sure ; but it would 
 be comforting to see some familiar creature just now, 
 and her loud and frequent braying had served to 
 remind Raffaello, from time to time, that he had a 
 friend near at hand. He stepped to the very edge 
 of the walk, and was leaning as far as he could to 
 look down into the street at Pierrota, when a car- 
 riage dashed by so near, and with such speed, that 
 the little boy was startled, and dropped his basket 
 in the road, and all his pretty flowers were scattered 
 and crushed by the big dusty wheels. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 5 1 
 
 " Capperi !'' exclaimed a tremendously deep voice 
 from the box. " Will the plagued youngsters never 
 learn to get out of the way! Perdition take you 
 for stopping my horse when I 'm in such a hurry ! 
 Ecco! a little more, and you would have gone under 
 with your flowers — a pestilence on them! and I 
 should have had to pay the magistrate for your 
 broken neck ! " 
 
 Raffaello was so frightened that he began to cry, 
 not so much at what the big, burly, red-faced man 
 said, for he really seemed to be smiling even while 
 he scolded lustily, as at the sudden turn he had 
 received, and at the sight of all his pretty flowers 
 lying dead in the road. 
 
 " Look at him ! the bambino is crying, now," said 
 the burly man, reining in his horse and jumping 
 from his coach. " There, there, don't fret yourself 
 any more. I '11 forgive you for coming in my way, 
 and will not give you any penance this time ; but 
 mind you don't do it again, else I will call on all 
 the little imps to roast your ears," and he patted 
 Raffaello kindly on the shoulder, in spite of his ter- 
 rible threat. 
 
 Raffaello had not thought of the coachman's for- 
 giveness as a means of consolation for the loss of 
 his posies. He stooped to pick up the injured 
 blossoms, drawing his little sleeve across his eyes. 
 
52 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 " What, blubbering still ! What more do you 
 want, you silly young rabbit ? " 
 
 " Oh, my flowers, my flowers ! " sobbed Raffaello. 
 
 " Is that all ? Ho, ho, ho ! " roared the big coc- 
 chiere} *' Why, the fields are full of them, and there 
 are plenty more where those came from. Besides, 
 of what good are your silly flowers } — you can't make 
 salad of them, or boil them down for spinach." 
 
 " I was going to sell them, and take the money 
 to Faustina," explained Raffaello, as he placed each 
 one back in the basket. 
 
 " And will Monna Faustina beat you, if you don't 
 bring home the quattrini ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, signor ! Faustina does not beat me, 
 nor even Minnetto." 
 
 " And who is Minnetto .? " inquired the man. 
 
 " Minnetto is our cat." 
 
 " Then, Faustina is a good woman, and does not 
 ill-use you } " demanded the red-faced cocckiere, quite 
 overlooking the fact that he was in such a hurry, 
 in his interest to learn more about the little fellow. 
 
 " Faustina is very good to me," said Raffaello ; and 
 he likewise lost sight of his trouble for a moment, 
 as he glanced up with wonder, ever so high, into the 
 face of the old cabman who was so big and good- 
 
 ^ Cabman. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 53 
 
 natured, and had such a purplish hue to his com- 
 plexion, and such a wonderful nose, and who had so 
 many brass buttons to his coat, and wore such an 
 enormous glazed hat over one ear, that Raffaello 
 believed he must be some grand personage, and 
 insisted on calling him signor. The little boy had 
 never seen any one so remarkable before, and he 
 fancied he must be very rich to sit a-top such a 
 splendid coach and drive a horse, not a simple coun- 
 try-donkey, like Pierrota. 
 
 " Altro ! Then you ought not to care a fig about 
 the flowers, since Faustina will not beat you ! " and 
 he snapped his fat fingers in the air, with a conclu- 
 sive nod. 
 
 " But I wanted very much to sell them, so as to 
 give Faustina the money. We are poor, and she 
 has to work hard. Now, no one will buy them," 
 said Raffaello, his face falling again at the recollec- 
 tion of his misfortune. 
 
 '''Che, che! then you are a good bimbo!'' said 
 the coachman, as if the discovery of a good boy 
 were quite a new thing to him. Then, plunging 
 violently into his waistcoat pocket, he added, " By 
 San Giovanni ! since you are a good bimbo, and a 
 pretty Umbo into the bargain," and he tilted Raf- 
 faello's face far back, the better to look in it, — *' yes 
 
54 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 a pretty bimbo I I '11 give you a few cents for your 
 flowers, such as they are. I will take them to the 
 madre} She is very old, is the madre, and she can 
 neither see nor hear nor smell. She '11 never mind 
 the dust and the broken stems. She '11 feel them 
 with her hands, and think herself back in the country 
 instead of an old garret. But you must not charge 
 me for the dust. What will you take for them, dust 
 and all?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, signor, whatever you like ! " 
 
 " That 's a fine way of trading, San Pietro ! What- 
 ever I like! It might be one quattrino, if I were a 
 poor beggar of a coachman, or a hundred francs, if I 
 were the Duke of Vallambrosa! " 
 
 Raffaello did not understand this bit of ratio and 
 proportion. He looked at the big cabman with 
 astonishment in his eyes, and a flush of expectation 
 on his round baby face. 
 
 " Now what do you say to two cents, ten 
 bright centissimi?'' he said, bargaining wholly 
 with himself, not with Raffaello. "No? not two? 
 Three, then, three cents ! " 
 
 " Get along with you ! three cents indeed ! that 
 would not pay for the nails in the shoes a bimbo 
 wears to walk in from the country. A lira ! " ^ 
 
 1 Mother. 
 
 2 The standard of Italian money, — worth twenty cents. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 55 
 
 " A lira ! forty apoplexies on you ! What do 
 you think I am made of ? Do you think I get the 
 rentals of the Villa Barborello ! " 
 
 " Eighty centissimi, then." 
 
 " No more eighty : you may keep your tulips, and 
 put them in your soup-pot to flavor your Sunday 
 dinner. I '11 give you fifty for them, not a quattrino 
 more. Fifty, is it .? " 
 
 "That's too little; but let it be fifty, though 
 that 's a bad bargain for me, a very bad bargain." 
 
 After concluding this little dialogue with himself, 
 — it was only a habit he had of bargaining when- 
 ever he made any sort of purchase, — he drew a 
 battered leathern purse from his pocket, took out 
 a new silver piece, fifty centissmi, worth just ten 
 cents, and handed it to Raffaello with a smile of 
 immense satisfaction. 
 
 " There 's a fortune for you, my little man ! May 
 you never meet with worse luck ! " 
 
 "Oh, thank you! thank you so much, signorf' 
 cried Raffaello, joyfully, eying the bright coin. 
 " Faustina will be so glad ! " 
 
 " There, there," returned the coachman, waving 
 him off, " no thanks are needed for a good bargain, 
 on either side. I must be off; I'm in a tremen- 
 dous hurry, I tell you!" 
 
56 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 He opened the door of his cab, and flung Raf- 
 faello's flowers on the seat. " Now, see that you 
 don't get in the way of my wheels again," he added, 
 slamming the coach-door; " but if you do, remember 
 that my name is Camillo, and my number is twenty- 
 one, and that I live behind the Badia.^ What's 
 your name ? " 
 
 " My name is Raffaello." 
 
 Camillo nodded as if the name were satisfactory. 
 
 " Well ! Raffaello is a good name for a bimbo 
 with a pretty face." With which he mounted his 
 coach once more, flourished his whip several times 
 over his head, and, with a broad smile for Raffaello, 
 drove away. 
 
 By this time the crowd was beginning again, for 
 the people were coming out of the cathedral, and 
 the mass was over; so Raffaello slipped back to his 
 little corner on the steps of the Bigallo, holding 
 his empty basket in one hand, and clutching his 
 precious silver piece in the other. It was not long 
 before Luigi and his brothers returned and found 
 the little boy just where they had left him, 
 
 " San Pietro ! " exclaimed Luigi, " the piccinds bas- 
 ket is empty ! Did you sell them all, Raffaellino.^ " 
 
 " Yes, a grand signor in a carriage took them all ; 
 
 1 The Badia is one of the oldest churches in Florence. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 57 
 
 he bought them for his old mother." And he re- 
 lated as correctly as his distorted imagination would 
 allow, all that had taken place between him and 
 Camillo. 
 
 " And how much did he give you ? " was the eager 
 question. 
 
 Raffaello spread out his palm and showed the 
 silver piece with great pride. 
 
 "Santa Maria, what good fortune! You're a 
 lucky OTi^, piccino^' the lads all shouted in a chorus; 
 and indeed, he had been much luckier than they. 
 For although each one had sold his little stock, and 
 was jingling his fifteen, twenty, or thirty centissimi 
 in his pocket as he danced his pleasure, not one 
 of them had earned as much as fifty, not even 
 Luigi. 
 
 They all tumbled into the cart once more ; and as 
 Pierrota was always pleased with the prospect of 
 turning her nose homeward, everything went as 
 merry as a marriage-bell, and they were very soon 
 out of the city, and again upon the open country 
 road, eating their dinners as they went, and feeling 
 as happy as country lads always do the world 
 over. 
 
 But the happiest of them all, I think, was little 
 Raffaello ; for the morning had, in truth, brought 
 
58 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 him much good-fortune, — more than he really knew 
 of at the time, for he had made his first acquaintance 
 with the beautiful city of Florence, and earned a 
 shining piece of silver for Faustina, and gained, what 
 is still more precious, a good friend. 
 
■^>^? 
 
 J may imagine with what a glad 
 heart Faustina saw the little 
 cart coming up the brow of the 
 hill, as she stood at the door 
 of her stone hut, late that after- 
 noon. She had not done much 
 else than come to the door and 
 watch, though she knew they could scarcely get 
 back till long after the church hour; for poor 
 Pierrota found it a slow and difficult task to draw 
 a cartful of stout lads up the steep road. What- 
 ever indiscretion or frivolity she might have in- 
 dulged in on her way down, she never showed 
 any but a meek and docile spirit on her way up the 
 hill, as if from each trip she returned a sadder but 
 a wiser donkey. 
 
 It was four o'clock when Pierrota stopped in front 
 of Faustina's dwelling. Raffaello, after saying good- 
 
6o A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 bye to Luigi and his brothers, ran to Faustina, eager 
 to relate all that had happened, and to show her the 
 fruit of his success. She was more eager, if pos- 
 sible, to hear it all, than he was to tell it ; and she 
 sat and looked intently at his animated little face, 
 his large liquid eyes, and the bright color that rose 
 to his cheeks as he spoke. She had never seen him 
 so excited, and he seemed to have grown and 
 changed in that one day of absence, the first he 
 had ever spent away from her since he had been in 
 her keeping. When he had finished his adventures, 
 Faustina kissed him on the forehead, and Raffaello 
 was happy, for she rarely did this unless she had 
 some great reason for being pleased with him. 
 
 " And you are glad that I went, now, Faustina, 
 are you not ? " he asked. 
 
 "Glad that you got into no worse mischief .^^ 
 yes, I am glad," she said, in her same old tones. 
 
 " And you will let me go again ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes, but not too often; it is not well for 
 country lads to see too much of the city." 
 
 After that, Faustina was silent, and remained so 
 all the rest of that day. She seemed to be think- 
 ing, thinking very gloomily about something, and 
 she went about the house in an absent-minded sort 
 of way, sweeping up the cat with the crumbs with- 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 6 1 
 
 out knowing it, and watering the canary instead 
 of the artichokes. Their hut, of only two rooms, — 
 the one where Faustina slept and said her prayers, 
 the other where they cooked and ate and worked by 
 the fire on long winter evenings, together with the 
 little closet which was Raffaello's, — had always 
 seemed like a very large and roomy house ; and so it 
 was, in comparison with the way in which most poor 
 families lived yonder at Galluzzo, where every one 
 found fault with her for living in such luxury! 
 While in truth, she had just enough to live misera- 
 bly, which to those who have nothing, seems a great 
 deal. But to-night the little house seemed terribly 
 poor and bare to Faustina, in spite of the small for- 
 tune Raffaello had brought her. The air of the 
 room seemed to choke her, the ceiling seemed to be 
 pressing down upon her, and she could not sit 
 quietly beside the window and tell her beads, as was 
 her custom on Sunday evenings. She walked 
 about the place restlessly, and at length went out 
 into the small garden that she might breathe more 
 freely and give more room to her thoughts. 
 
 What is she thinking of as she sits on the little 
 stone bench underneath the tall cypress, and the 
 darkening twilight is falling about her ? Her lips 
 are set very tight, and her black eyes are looking 
 
62 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 far, far away, farther than where the brooklet Ema 
 turns its course, farther than where the old certosa 
 crowns the hill of Montaguto. She is looking into 
 the twenty years that have passed since she was a 
 light-hearted village maid, with no more care or 
 thought of sorrow than the joyous nightingale that 
 wakened her in the morning. She recalls the time 
 when a good man had come and made her his wife, 
 and taken her with him to live in beautiful Florence. 
 It was just at this time, in the spring, twenty years 
 ago, after the glorious Easter, that he had taught her 
 to be happy, as people are but once in their lives, be 
 they lofty or lowly, be they rich or poor, famous or 
 obscure. What difference does it make t happiness 
 is happiness, no matter where it falls. But above 
 all she remembers the little stranger, the sweet 
 bambino that came to make the new year glad for 
 them. She smiles as she thinks of that time, for 
 the memory of it cannot be taken from her, although 
 sorrow came soon after. Before the return of 
 another spring, she had lost them both, the good 
 husband and the sweet babe, and she was mad with 
 grief. Ah, that was when the trouble all began, and 
 the wicked, bitter feeling took root in her heart ! 
 
 They were repairing one of the bridges across the 
 Arno, the Ponte Rubaconte, the one leading to the 
 
rtooioer. 
 
 What is she thinkino^ of ? " 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 65 
 
 Piazza Santa Croce ; she had good cause to remem- 
 ber it, and never to tread upon its accursed stones. 
 Her husband was at work there, and a huge slab 
 slipped and fell while they were raising it, and 
 crushed his life out of him. Then, the bambino 
 took a fever, from her taking him so much to the 
 cold, damp churches, where she went to say masses 
 for the soul of her poor husband, and the little 
 thing died too ; and she was left alone and wretched, 
 worse off than if she had never known any joy, 
 and she could not make her peace with God, who 
 had brought her to such misery. 
 
 It is a pitiful thing to see people grow hard and 
 rebellious under the misfortunes which Providence 
 sees fit to send them, forgetting that these come 
 upon us only for a good purpose, — to chasten and 
 strengthen us, to test our faith perhaps, and teach 
 us to look to the world above if we would have the 
 knowledge of true joy. 
 
 Faustina lived in a fearful state of mind for twelve 
 years after the loss of her dear ones. She saw no 
 one ; she would listen to no comfort or reason ; she 
 did not even pray ; she bound her heart with steel 
 that she might never learn to care for any thing or 
 creature again. 
 
 One day at dusk, — it was on a Thursday, when 
 
 5 
 
66 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 the beautiful Gardens of Boboli are open to the 
 people until sun-down, and thousands flock thither 
 from their great stone prisons, to enjoy the new 
 spring air and verdure, — Faustina was walking- 
 down the green maze of trees that leads to the 
 outer wall of the Porta Romana. It was her last 
 day in Florence, and she was going to the country 
 to live. She had secured the little hut for a small 
 rent, and it was just far enough from the village of 
 Galluzzo to enable her to lead the secluded and 
 lonely life she had chosen, and to keep away from 
 the too frequent sight of others' happiness. She 
 had worked hard, those twelve years, to save a little 
 money, and she could still braid straw for the 
 factories, and do her own gardening, and thus live 
 without mingling much with a world she hated. 
 Florence was sickening to her; there was no longer 
 any beauty or good in it ; she had been so wretched 
 there that she longed to turn her back upon it. 
 To do this the sooner, she had passed through the 
 great gate of the Pitti Palace, and turned into one 
 of those long shady avenues of the Gardens which 
 stretch southward for nearly a mile, and finally open 
 upon the country road which she should take to 
 reach her new home. She had avoided the places 
 in the Gardens where the fountains play, and where 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 67 
 
 the crowds gather, — the crowds of gay young 
 women with their lovers and husbands, of mothers 
 with their children and grandchildren, and such a 
 multitude of nurse-maids in their bright dresses and 
 long-ribboned caps, carrying little ones in their arms, 
 that one would think a poor little bimbo like the 
 one Faustina had lost, would scarcely have been 
 missed. Oh, but that one little child left a greater 
 void in Faustina's heart than if all the other chil- 
 dren of Florence had been taken away. 
 
 She stopped once to rest, just a few paces before 
 she reached the south gate. The sun was very low, 
 and the darkness had already entered the shady 
 walk from which she was emerging. It was very 
 quiet and solemn. She could no longer hear the 
 murmur of distant voices, as the crowd was moving 
 towards the principal entrance. She only heard the 
 faint tolling of the guard's bell, a warning that the 
 gates were about to close. 
 
 As she rose to go, a sound fell upon her ear. It 
 was a strange crackling sound, like the unsteady 
 pattering of small feet upon the gravel walk. As 
 it came nearer she heard a little cooing and gurgling 
 as of a contented young pigeon, and soon from a 
 narrow path intersecting the long avenue, there 
 appeared a wee, tottering figure looking about in 
 
68 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 fearless surprise, evidently much delighted with each 
 new discovery he had made in his lonely ramblings 
 through that deserted part of the garden. The 
 child uttered a little cry when he saw Faustina's 
 tall dark figure, and ran towards her. 
 
 " Ma — ma ! " cried the little thing, clutching her 
 dress, and making inarticulate sounds to show that 
 he was tired of his freedom, and wished to be taken 
 care of. 
 
 With a sudden impulse, Faustina caught the child 
 in her arms, and held it close. There was not 
 another creature near. The little one had doubtless 
 strayed from its nurse, and lost itself in the laby- 
 rinth of narrow paths. Faustina listened; but all 
 was still as night, save for the baby's sleepy wail of 
 " Ma — ma ! " as its little head fell exhausted on her 
 shoulder. 
 
 She stood only a moment irresolute. Then she 
 hastily took from the bundle which she carried, con- 
 taining her few possessions, an old shawl, which she 
 wrapped about the child, and passed out of the gate 
 upon the road without being seen of any one. She 
 walked very fast, and her heart beat loud, and her 
 cheeks grew hot, as she felt the little creature nest- 
 ling to her bosom. She could not think of anything 
 clearly, or realize what had happened until she had 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 69 
 
 gone nearly half the way ; but she kept repeating to 
 herself, in a low husky voice: " I have not stolen it! 
 I have not stolen it ! It came to 
 me. I will not give it up. Shall 
 not others suffer as I have been 
 made to suffer! Let them 
 look, and search, and despair 
 as I have done, 
 they will never find 
 
 it; I shall hide it from 
 all eyes, and it shall be 
 my comfort and my re- 
 venge ! " 
 
 With these bitter 
 thoughts within her, 
 Faustina journeyed on 
 
 and on up the steep hill-road, never minding the 
 descending night and the loneliness of the way, 
 
70 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 • 
 
 only clinging to the sleeping child more fiercely 
 whenever she heard a sound, — a voice in the 
 distance, or the far-off tinkle of a belated bullock 
 returning homeward, or the rumbling of wheels over 
 a bridge, or even the murmur of a vagrant streamlet 
 scurrying over rocks. She feared lest any of them 
 should be a pursuer who might overtake her before 
 she had safely hidden her treasure, and she quick- 
 ened her step, never stopping to listen until she had 
 reached her journey's end. 
 
 The little hut was dark, and chill, and bare when 
 she entered it ; but she minded not. It was a goodly 
 distance from the village, and Galluzzo itself was 
 such an out-of-the-way, forlorn, ignorant hamlet that 
 it was the last place in the world where one would 
 ever think of going to find anything or anybody. 
 The village folk knew nothing of what took place 
 at Florence. The tall figures on the Ponte San 
 Trinita might have tumbled over into the Arno, and 
 the people of Galluzzo would have been none the 
 wiser ; for they took little interest in the things 
 that did not concern them, and they were too simple 
 and honest to be, themselves, suspicious of any mis- 
 chief. So Faustina felt herself safe here, safer than 
 she would have been anywhere else. She would 
 shut herself away from everybody, that she might 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 7 1 
 
 never hear of the search for the child ; for a des- 
 perate search there would be, as indeed there was 
 for days and nights, and weeks and months, in all 
 the cities of Tuscany and Italy, everywhere but in 
 the miserable village of Galluzzo. 
 
 She lighted the candle, and made a bit of fire with 
 some small sticks which she had gathered before 
 entering, and sat down in front of it to look at the 
 small figure in her arms. It was a lovely babe, with 
 rich dark curls, and large eyes whose closed lids were 
 fringed with long beautiful lashes that swept his milk- 
 white cheek. His little features were fine and deli- 
 cate; and the smile that played upon the sleeping face 
 made him look so like an angel^ that she called him 
 Raffaello. His clothes were made of rich, pure linen, 
 beautifully hand-worked ; and around his neck there 
 hung, from a fine gold chain, a golden medal with 
 the face of the Virgin upon it. Faustina quickly 
 took off these things, and substituted for them some 
 plainer and more humble garments that had be- 
 longed to her own babe. Then she took the 
 pretty clothes, the fine silk hood, lace and all, and 
 flung them into the fire, and watched the flames 
 they made, till there was nothing left of them but a 
 black fluttering heap. The medal she would not 
 burn, for it was a sacred thing, and had been blessed 
 
72 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 by the priest ; but she locked it safely away, in her 
 little treasure-box, and sat the remainder of the night 
 with the little one in her lap. 
 
 This was how it happened that Raffaello came to 
 be a member of this strange little family. Every- 
 thing had turned out as Faustina had hoped : no one 
 came near for months ; no one knew about the 
 little boy she had with her, until several years 
 after all this had taken place, and her fears and 
 anxieties had worn away, little by little. She had 
 only recently taken to going into the city ; and now, 
 once in a great while, she went with Raffaello to 
 the village. But she made no explanations con- 
 cerning him ; and the people there had made their 
 own conjectures. She had grown to care very 
 much for the little boy, and could not have borne 
 to part with him ; though she never showed this 
 by her manner, which was hard and sullen, lest he 
 should grow to love her too well. But she was 
 beginning to feel a little conscience-stricken for 
 the great change she had been the means of bring- 
 ing into his fortunes. As she often said, he was 
 not of the common people, and she had tried to 
 shield him, as much as she could, from terrible 
 w^ant and suffering ; and now she had used up all 
 her little store of money, and something must be 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 73 
 
 done to pay the padrone, or else they would be 
 turned out of the hut. That was why she had, 
 after much fearful thought, consented to let him 
 go to Florence that morning; and the event had 
 brought back to her all these painful remembrances, 
 and re-awakened all her fears, that for a time, at 
 least, seemed to have been sleeping. 
 
 This is what Faustina was thinking of as she 
 sat on the little stone bench underneath the tall 
 cypress, and the darkening night fell about her ! 
 
MMtM % 
 
 t?iSLQ-^.-..S-. i 
 
 T 
 
 'HERE is no lovelier 
 country in all of lovely 
 Italy than the fair plains of 
 Tuscany. Tuscany, with its wealth 
 of spring and summer flowers, and 
 radiant verdure, its ancient trees, its grassy hill- 
 slopes mantled with the tender green of the olive 
 and the rosy flush of the blossoming almond, its 
 rich vineyards and luxuriant fields where the red 
 poppies and the yellow daffodils nod to one another 
 from between the furrows, its shy wood-violets, and 
 pure white stars-of-Bethlehem and sweet-scented 
 gilliflow^ers lifting their bright faces to you wher- 
 ever you tread; and the glorious warmth of its 
 sunbeams, and the delicious coolness of its breezes, 
 and the depth of blue in its skies, — surely it is no 
 wonder that its people are the gay, light-hearted, 
 smiling, songful nation that they are ! And I 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 75 
 
 think there are no happier children in the world 
 than the Tuscan boys and girls, who live simple 
 lives, and enjoy simple pleasures, and who grow up 
 to manhood and womanhood surrounded by the 
 sweetest and purest joys that Nature can afford. 
 
 Raffaello, being a child of Tuscany, and there- 
 fore heir to all the gifts and blessings of that 
 smiling country, should have been happy indeed, 
 as happy as any of his little comrades yonder at 
 Galluzzo, especially now that a way was open to him 
 which promised to make him useful to Faustina. 
 He should have been happy, I say, save for the 
 vague consciousness he had that a mystery hung 
 over his lonely childhood. There was something 
 about the hut, about Faustina, even about the cat, 
 sometimes, that made him feel he did not hold the 
 same place there that other children held in their 
 homes. No one ever laughed in the little gray 
 hut ; he never laughed himself as he did when he 
 was with Luigi and his brothers. Everything was 
 so solemn and quiet wherever Faustina was, that no 
 one would have dared to laugh, except, perhaps, 
 the little brooklet Ema, a saucy little stream that 
 cares for nothing as it ripples by to throw itself 
 into the arms of the Greve.^ 
 
 ^ A small river. 
 
76 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 Often and often, after a happy day in the city with 
 Luigi, Raffaello would come back and feel even 
 more conscious of the dreariness of his home, and 
 he would resolve to ask Faustina about it, and beg 
 her to tell him what was the cause of it, and whether 
 there was anything he could do to help it. But he 
 never had the courage to follow out this resolution ; 
 for it seemed that at those very times Faustina was 
 more silent and gloomy and forbidding than ever. 
 
 Many days went by, and he kept his little troubles 
 to himself, having been admonished by Faustina 
 that he must hold his tongue, and not talk of him- 
 self or of her to those young parrots, Luigi and his 
 brothers, who had no more sense in their noddles 
 than yellow pumpkins. He went to the city with 
 them very often, nevertheless, and found them agree- 
 able and kind companions in spite of what Faustina 
 said; and those days were always y^^/^ days for him. 
 He grew better acquainted with the big gray city, 
 its little crooked streets, and its broad piazzas; and 
 after that first day of his good-fortune, he was no 
 longer afraid of holding up his flowers to the pass- 
 ers-by. He was so like a little flower himself that 
 many stopped to look at the baby face, and bought 
 of him, when they had driven away a dozen bolder 
 vendors, and gave him twice what he asked for his 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. ^^ 
 
 posies. And so he grew to be a power in the house 
 with his Httle income of centimes, and soon was pay- 
 ing half the rent, though he was hardly seven years old. 
 
 One day when Faustina had told him to buy him- 
 self a bun out of his money for his mid-day meal, as 
 she was going out and there would be no dinner 
 when he got back, the happy thought came to him 
 that he would buy something for her instead, and 
 take it home that night. There happened to be 
 passing a noisy peddler with a most enticing tray 
 of trinkets suspended from his neck, — gilded rings 
 and brooches, and bits of red coral and blue tur- 
 quoise. Raffaello eyed them wistfully, with a child's 
 love for bright things, and followed the man a little 
 way, feeling for his pennies in his little scarsella} 
 when the peddler caught sight of him. 
 
 " Oh, you pretty pigeon, what bright eyes you Ve 
 got, and what pretty curls ! Don't you want to give 
 me one of those lovely ringlets of yours in exchange 
 for some of my wares .f* See these fine coral beads ! 
 The blessed Mother would be mightily pleased if 
 you said your prayers to her on such a splendid 
 rosary as this. It 's a beauty ! " and he dangled the 
 beauty in question with a most persuasive wink. 
 
 " I should not like to part with my curls," said 
 
 ^ A sort of money-bag worn by the country-folk 
 
y8 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 Raffaello, " but I would give you some quattrini for 
 the beads. I would like to Uuy them for Faustina." 
 
 "Santa Lucia! do you think you have got quat- 
 trini enough to buy these } " laughed the amused 
 peddler. " Why, they are fine enough to give to 
 the Pope himself! They are worth a fortune ; you 
 will never see as much money as it would take to 
 buy them. Yet, I will let you have the beads for 
 your curls." 
 
 He laid his hand caressingly on Raffaello's dark 
 hair, thinking what a good bargain he could make 
 of the soft silken ringlets with the wig-maker in 
 his neighborhood ; for this peddler was not unlike 
 most peddlers in Italy, and never missed a chance 
 of making a good trade, no matter whether it was 
 in his line of business or not. But Raffaello was 
 not inclined to favor this proposal ; he did not 
 feel that his curls were his own to give away, and 
 Faustina had allowed him only the price of a bun, 
 so he said timidly, — 
 
 " For how much would you sell them ?" 
 
 "Suffocation! What a stupid bimbo you are! 
 You will not give your curls t " 
 
 " I am afraid Faustina would not like it." 
 
 "A florin,^ then!" 
 
 1 The largest of Florentine silver coins, worth about fifty cents. 
 
wiiiip^^ 
 
 I know what sort of paste you are made of, you 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 8 1 
 
 That was so much money that Raffaello drew 
 back, and eyed the small copper coins in his hand 
 with a disappointed look, while the peddler gave 
 a great shout of laughter at his discomfiture. 
 
 " Hold your noise, you braying donkey ! " 
 shouted a deep voice from across the way. " What 
 do you mean by parrying with a bimbo not a 
 quarter your size ! A bad digestion to you ! " 
 
 Raffaello looked up, — they were standing on a 
 corner of the Via Porta Rossa, near the Mercato 
 Nuovo,i — and he saw a large fat man, with a very 
 familiar face, and a recognizable glazed hat resting 
 indifferently on his left ear, sitting beside a vege- 
 table stall shelling peas. 
 
 " Oh, it is you, Signor Camillo ! " cried Raffaello, 
 in pleasant surprise. 
 
 " Purgatory take me, if it is n't the good 
 bimbo!'' ejaculated the crimsoned-face cocchiere, 
 " What mischievous luck has brought you in com- 
 pany with that blear-eyed turnip of a peddler! 
 Ecco! I know what sort of paste you are made of, 
 you ! " and he doubled up his fist at the man with 
 a significant thrust. 
 
 " Altro ! Sor cocckiere? I was but jesting with the 
 youngster," said the peddler, apologetically ; " he 's 
 
 1 The New Market. ^ sij- coachman. 
 
 6 
 
82 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 such a pretty pigeon, and he 's got such pretty 
 curls ! " and again the large hand was stretched out 
 to stroke the coveted treasure. 
 
 " Saperlotti ! keep your hands off him, will you ! " 
 growled the infuriated Camillo, suddenly feeling a 
 certain proprietorship in the little boy, and flinging a 
 handful of empty shells at the too familiar tradesman. 
 
 " Che, che^' retorted the man. " I 'm not going 
 to do him any harm ! Do you think I 've got the 
 plague ? " 
 
 "A plague on you for your impudence! Get 
 along with you, and your silly trafHc ; get along, 
 and break stones at Carrara, and leave the peddling 
 to the women and the children ! " and Camillo's 
 face grew quite blue with indignation. 
 
 " Fie !" remonstrated the peddler, with a grimace. 
 " I 'm only having a little game with the boy. What 
 have you got to say about it ; he 's not your bimbo^ 
 is he ? " 
 
 " Never you mind whose bimbo he is. If you 
 want to sell him the beads for what they are worth, — 
 which is n't half the price of this chestnut," and he 
 sent the brown missile dexterously at the peddlers 
 nose, — " sell them. If not, get along with you ! " 
 
 All this was shouted back and forth across the 
 way, for the streets in that quarter of Florence are 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 83 
 
 SO narrow that it is not worth one's while to cross 
 over to carry on a conversation, and by this time a 
 curious crowd had gathered to witness the fun, and 
 to urge the irate cocchiere with shouts of, " That 's 
 it, Camillo ! Roast him, roast him, to the ears ! " 
 
 Camillo needed no urging, for he was in his 
 element whenever he saw a good opportunity for 
 " roasting " a fellow-creature. Everybody knew him 
 to be a match for all the other " cabbies " in the 
 city put together. 
 
 When Raffaello told him that he wished to pur- 
 chase the red beads, he immediately entered into 
 the spirit of a bargain with cheerfulness. The 
 peddler, as a matter of course, asked a ridiculously 
 large sum for the rosary ; and Camillo offered him 
 a ridiculously small one. The matter finally ended 
 in Raffaello's obtaining the pretty trinket for just 
 the price of his bun, and in his sharing the dinner 
 of the kind-hearted coachman, who felt it his 
 duty to reward the little boy for his generous 
 deed. 
 
 It was about noon, and he sat down on a low box 
 beside Camillo, at the latter's invitation, in front 
 of the vegetable stall, and waited until the owner ot 
 the shop brought them a bowl of hot soup and a 
 square of bread. The owner of the shop was a 
 
84 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 friend of Camillo's, — a man with a wooden leg and 
 a pleasant face, — who was known as " Giojoso," in 
 the neighborhood, because he was such a cheerful 
 and amiable person. 
 
 " Is this where you live ? " inquired Raffaello of 
 the cocchiere, 
 
 "No, no, mignone ;^ have you forgotten I told 
 you that I lived behind the Badia, in a garret with 
 the madre and the parrot.? This is Giojoso s 
 shop." 
 
 " Why do you shell peas here, instead of driving 
 your splendid carriage } " Raffaello ventured to ask ; 
 for he could not understand why Camillo, who 
 appeared to him a very grand and mighty person- 
 age, should be sitting at another man's door en- 
 gaged in such a very trivial occupation. 
 
 " Well, you see, Raffaello mio'' said his fat friend, 
 stretching his legs very far out in front of him, 
 and nodding, as if he were about to tell him some- 
 thing very private and confidential, "we cocchieri 
 are not a rich tribe ; we 're a lot of miserable 
 beggars, that 's what we are ! That," and he 
 pointed with his finger to the " splendid carriage " 
 and the nag, which were stationed at a short dis- 
 tance from where he sat, — " why, what with these 
 
 1 A pet name. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 85 
 
 new-fangled omnibuses travelling all over the city 
 for a song, that hardly earns enough in one day 
 to buy a good meal at night for the madre and 
 the parrot. And when one has an old madre to 
 look after, one must look about for something 
 more to do during the idle moments. Giojoso, 
 here, is a good fellow ; and in the warm season, 
 when the cooks are lazy, and want to buy their 
 peas already shelled, and their beans already 
 strung, I come here and sit, and shell the peas for 
 Giojoso ; and he gives me my dinner for my pains, 
 and a bit of cheese and a handful of figs to take 
 home besides. Ho, ho, ho, Giojoso is a good 
 fellow ; and may San Pietro help him up to Para- 
 dise ! " cried the hearty Camillo, as he caught sight 
 of the wooden-leg ambling towards them, and then 
 of the steaming soup. 
 
 This was all rather mysterious to little Raffaello. 
 He watched his good-natured friend with renewed 
 interest, without being able to understand what it 
 was that made him so jolly, for he had said that 
 he was poor. Raffaello always fancied that it was 
 because they were so poor that Faustina grumbled 
 and scolded so much. Camillo was the drollest 
 person he had ever seen. He seemed to be always 
 laughing ; even while he used his strongest language 
 
86 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 with his adversary a moment ago, there had been 
 a smile lurking in every wrinkle of his good face. 
 
 " I like you very much, Camillo," said the child, 
 innocently, having suddenly come to that conclu- 
 sion, as he sat watching the great gulps of hot soup 
 that disappeared down Camillo s throat, " and I 
 wish I could see you often when I come to the 
 city." 
 
 " That 's a bargain, bimbo ! " cried the cocchierey 
 chucking him under the chin. " Come right here 
 when you want to find me and my nag. We are 
 here every day at noon ; and some day, when we are 
 not in a tremendous hurry, I will take you up to 
 see the madre and the parrot. Oh, they 're a pair ! 
 They talk at each other without taking any notice 
 of what the other says ; and they quarrel like two 
 old roosters." 
 
 Raffaello thought that it would be very amusing 
 to hear the parrot talk; and he made up his mind 
 to take the first opportunity that was offered him, 
 of becoming better acquainted with Camillo, as the 
 simple old fellow went on to relate more of the 
 pleasures and delights of his home life. 
 
 There was a bright display of fresh vegetables 
 in front of Giojoso s shop, relieved here and there 
 with a touch of scarlet tomato and ruby-red rad- 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 8y 
 
 ishes, and baskets of large rosy berries that were 
 brought from Al Prato. Inside, there were dried 
 figs and nuts, and sweet yellow butter, and creamy 
 cheeses ; and there was also a big white cat, not so 
 large or so handsome as Minnetto, to be sure, and 
 not so lazy either, for this one had a famous reputa- 
 tion for catching rats and mice ; and the cheeses 
 and the macaroni were as safe, when he was about, 
 as if they had been in the Pope's coffers, so Giojoso 
 said. Then, there was a very old blue and white 
 Madonna over the door, with a small red oil-lamp 
 burning under it night and day, and some queer 
 faded old paintings on the sides of the wall. 
 Raffaello made a mental note of all these things in 
 Giojoso's little shop, before taking his leave, that he 
 might be sure to find the place again when he 
 returned the following week to see Camillo. Then 
 he said good-bye to his new friends, thanking them 
 heartily, and hurried away, hugging the precious 
 beads, to meet Luigi and his brothers at the 
 accustomed place. 
 
 When he showed the lovely rosary to Faustina 
 that evening, she was not as gracious or as pleased 
 as he had hoped. She mumbled something about 
 his taste being much too fine for his purse, and 
 said " what need had she of a coral rosary ! The 
 
8S A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 Madonna had paid no heed to her prayers all these 
 years, as she said them over the black wooden 
 beads ; did he think she would listen better if she 
 said them over the red ones ? " 
 
 " I thought you would like them," said Raffaello, 
 feeling a little disappointed, though if he had been 
 older and wiser, he would have known that it was 
 Faustina's habit never to seem pleased with any- 
 thing. " Luigi's mother has some corals, and I 
 wanted you to have some too." 
 
 " Humph ! " grumbled Faustina, "you are a silly 
 bimbo for giving away your money for such a 
 trinket. How much did you pay for it ? " 
 
 Raffaello told her, and also that he had met the 
 jolly cocchiere, who had invited him to share his 
 dinner after the purchase was concluded. Faustina 
 had not the heart to express any further disapproval 
 when she learned that the gift had been bought 
 with the few cents she had told him to spend for 
 his meal. So she said nothing more ; but she laid 
 the beads carefully away in the locked box, beside 
 the little gold medal, as if she considered them 
 something very precious. 
 
CUMMER was now 
 gone, and the lovely 
 autumn had taken its 
 place. Florence was not 
 much changed in the six months that had passed 
 since the joyful feast of the Pasqua. The yellow 
 Arno was only a little darker with reflections of the 
 deepening autumn hues upon the surrounding land- 
 scape ; but its swift, silent course was the same. 
 The gray mass of old palaces was not more hoary ; 
 the fair towers rising up against the clouds were 
 not less fair, as they looked down in all their 
 majesty upon the changeless city. For what are 
 six months to a city that has stood six hundred 
 years ? — a city whose temples, and towers, and 
 palaces have only turned a little grayer as each 
 generation of men has passed away and left them 
 
90 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 standing there, immovable, like fair symbols of 
 eternity ; a city whose every street-stone could tell 
 a story of the great mysterious past, whose every 
 bell, as it rings out upon the evening stillness, is 
 singing the praises of its great and glorious dead. 
 To a city like Florence, years are nothing. 
 
 But to a little boy like Raffaello the short space 
 of six months often makes a great change in his 
 life. Raffaello had grown, in those few months, 
 to know and love the beautiful old city, and to 
 feel happiest when he was wandering about its 
 narrow streets, or sitting quiet in one of its vast 
 silent churches, where the people came and knelt 
 a few moments on their various ways. He thought 
 a great deal in those days, for he was just reaching 
 the age when little folk wonder at the things 
 they see, and like to ask questions about them. 
 Raffaello knew very few people with whom he felt 
 free enough to ask questions : of Faustina, he 
 would not dare ; of Minnetto it would be of no 
 use, because Minnetto was such a conservative 
 old creature that he never committed himself 
 by words. There was really no one but Camillo, 
 the cocchiere, and Raffaello found endless pleasure 
 in his weekly visits to the old fellow. He always 
 came away with a higher opinion of the coachman's 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 91 
 
 knowledge ; for Camillo knew everybody, and 
 everything that had happened in his generation. 
 He knew the city like a book, and he helped 
 Raffaello to find his way, taught him the names of 
 the streets and churches, showed him the places most 
 frequented by the great and rich people, and had 
 even told him the names of some of them. 
 
 As long as the season lasted, Camillo held his 
 post at the vegetable stall, and shelled peas and 
 strung beans for Giojoso of the wooden leg, and 
 earned his dinner thereby ; and he lost no chance of 
 quarrelling with the passers-by, or of entering into 
 a dispute with those who came there to market. 
 But he was always kind to little Raffaello, and in 
 time grew very fond of him. 
 
 But now that the summer was gone, and the 
 rainy days were beginning, and people did not 
 enjoy walking about in the wet, Camillo's own busi- 
 ness grew more thriving, and Raffaello did not 
 see him quite so often. So he took to going into 
 the churches through the day to rest and spend 
 what time he had left, quietly looking at the old 
 frescos on the walls, and at the bright-colored 
 window-glass, and the strange waxen images of the 
 saints in the little chapels. 
 
 It happened to be on the feast of All Saints, 
 
92 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 that autumn, that Raffaello first strayed into the 
 old piazza of Santissima Annunziata. This was 
 one of the few places where he had not been, and 
 his attention was immediately drawn to the old 
 portico of the church, where numbers of people 
 were going in with wreaths of immortelles to lay 
 at some altar, in memory of their dear ones. It 
 was after twelve o'clock, and the masses were over. 
 Raffaello followed the crowds through the little 
 court-yard that leads into the church. There were 
 many worshippers there still, of all sorts and classes 
 of people ; for the Annunziata is open to all on 
 feast days, though ordinarily it is the place 
 where the nobility go to worship. Some were tell- 
 ing their beads, others were laying their wreaths 
 at the foot of the altars, others were sitting on 
 low stools in prayerful meditation ; others, feeling 
 strange, like little Raffaello, were looking about at 
 people, and wondering at the vastness of those great 
 aisles in which the multitude seemed to lose itself 
 as soon as it entered. As Raffaello stood near 
 the steps of one of the little side-chapels, which is 
 the shrine of Saint Joseph, the patron saint of all 
 little children, he noticed a very tall old gentleman, 
 with long white hair and a thin white face, who was 
 kneeling at this altar. Very near him was a young 
 
« He clasped his hands and fell on his knees before her." 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 95 
 
 girl who also knelt and prayed. She was dressed in 
 white, and her rich dark hair fell over her shoulders. 
 Her hands were clasped and her head bowed, and 
 Raffaello could see her clear fine profile delicately 
 outlined against the dark wall of the chapel. It 
 was a beautiful face, gentle, pious, and womanly, 
 though it was very young, of that delicate texture 
 and coloring that is seen only among the high-born 
 and high-bred people of that country. 
 
 The light of the tall wax candles fell upon her 
 and shed such a lustre on her rich hair that it 
 shone all about her head like an aureole; and 
 Raffaello thought she must be one of the lovely 
 painted saints, until she rose and turned away from 
 the altar, and gave her hand to the old man. As 
 they passed, the edge of her white dress softly 
 brushed Raffaello's cheek. He clasped his hands 
 and fell on his knees before her. But she did not 
 see him ; she was helping the old signor down 
 the two or three steps, and whispering words of 
 comfort in his ear, though her own beautiful eyes 
 were tearful, and her lips trembled as she spoke. 
 
 " Dio mio! " whispered little Raffaello under his 
 breath, " it is an angel ! " and he watched them 
 walking slowly down the aisle until the two figures 
 had disappeared behind the heavy door. 
 
96 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 The moment the bright vision was gone, Raffaello 
 felt a vague sense of loneliness, as if he had sud- 
 denly lost something very dear. Child-like, he 
 followed his first impulse, which was to go out after 
 them and look again at the beautiful face. When 
 he reached the portico, the old gentleman was 
 already seated in an elegant closed carriage which 
 bore a rich monogram on the door, and was drawn 
 by two handsome horses. She was standing ' on 
 the edge of the walk, giving charities to a num- 
 ber of ragged-looking children that stood around. 
 Raffaello would have gone nearer, just to receive 
 one glance from her sweet dove-like eyes, except 
 for the dread he had of being thought a beggar. 
 He stood a little hidden behind one of the arches 
 of the portico, and saw her re-enter the carriage, 
 and take her place beside the white-haired old man. 
 
 They drove across to the left of the square, and 
 stopped in front of the old Foundling's Hospital, 
 the oldest in Florence, where the great Lucca della 
 Robia's famous " infants in swaddling-clothes " still 
 adorn the tops of its low stone arches. Raffaello 
 saw a man come out of the door of the hospital and 
 hold a box to the window of the carriage, and again 
 he saw the beautiful signorina ^ as she leaned out 
 
 ^ Young lady. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 97 
 
 and dropped some large gold pieces in the box. 
 Then they turned down into the via della Colonna, 
 and the big horses went so fast that Raffaello. soon 
 lost sight of them. 
 
 Who was she ; and where were the horses run- 
 ning away with her so fast, so fast ? What was 
 it that had made his little hands grow cold, and 
 his cheeks burn when he had caught sight of her 
 face ; that made him feel sad now that she was gone ; 
 that made him wish he could have known her and 
 loved her like the dear Madonna to whom he prayed 
 with childish faith, but who seemed always so very 
 far away ? 
 
 Raffaello had never before seen any one who 
 made him feel like this. He had seen many pretty 
 faces and great ladies at the Mercato Nuovo on a 
 Thursday morning, buying flowers ; but he had 
 never seen a face just like hers. It was so sweet 
 and so sad, as if some sorrow had already shadowed 
 her bright young beauty. He had no more rest, 
 now ; his young and quick imagination began at 
 once to weave a web of golden fancies about the 
 fair signorina. That night, as he and Minnetto 
 were sitting close together beside the kitchen fire, 
 he took the sleepy creature into his confidence. 
 
 " Minnetto," he whispered, putting his lips close 
 
98 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 to the fidgeting ear of the cat, " I have seen to-day 
 the most beautiful signorina in the world!" 
 
 Minnetto looked from the fire to Raffaello, and 
 the pupils of his big yellow eyes were like two long 
 exclamation points, with the air of one who should 
 say, " Well, indeed ! and what of that, you pretty, 
 silly bimbo ? " 
 
 " Oh, but you don't know, Minnetto, how lovely 
 she is ; you have never seen any one like her. She 
 has a face like an angel's, and her eyes are like 
 those of the painted Madonna above the altar of 
 San Gaggio. I saw her at the church this morn- 
 ing, and I know she is a great lady, for she rides in 
 a grand carriage, and she gives money to the poor. 
 I shall ask Camillo about her when I see him. 
 Camillo knows everybody ; he will know about her, 
 and perhaps he will tell me where I may go and 
 see her again. And if you are such a lazy, bad 
 pussy, Minnetto, you will never see her," said 
 Raffaello, playfully frowzling the big head. 
 
 For Minnetto, who, as I have said before, was not 
 a sympathetic listener, had by this time found his 
 accustomed place in the hollow of Raffaello's elbow, 
 and was purring and snoozing contentedly. 
 
T^HE next time Raffaello was in the 
 city, he went in search of Camillo 
 
 at his own dwelling behind the Badia. 
 
 It was several weeks since he had seen 
 his good friend, and he could stand the separa- 
 tion no longer. Besides, he might not be going to 
 Florence every week, now that the flowers were all 
 gone, and Luigi and his brothers would not be 
 using the cart any more ; for Pierrota was getting 
 so old and so unreasonable that it was easier for 
 the two elder lads to walk the distance than to try 
 to make any amicable arrangement with the donkey 
 for going quietly and peaceably on her way. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when Raffaello 
 knocked at the door of the little garret of one of 
 the old stone houses in the Via Condotta. He had 
 cHmbed so many crooked winding steps to reach 
 the top that he was obliged to stop to catch his 
 breath before lifting the big iron knocker. 
 
lOO A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 " Who 's there ? " said a strange, sharp, croaking 
 voice from within. 
 
 Raffaello timidly gave his name. 
 
 " Who are you ? " asked the voice, with a very 
 unmusical laugh. " Come in, stay out ! ha, ha, ha ! 
 you ugly old bird ; " and then there was a sound of 
 much fluttering and bumping and scratching, and 
 more croaking, as if a flock of owls had been sud- 
 denly let loose in the room. 
 
 Raffaello hesitated about accepting this doubtful 
 invitation, which had come from the parrot, when a 
 key turned in the lock, and the door opened just 
 a small crack, for it was held from the inside by a 
 loose chain. A very withered old woman appeared 
 behind the crack, and Raffaello judged she must be 
 Camillo's mother. The old woman was very deaf, 
 and he did not succeed very well in making her 
 understand that he was come to see Camillo. But 
 the parrot, who always acted as interpreter between 
 any strangers and the old lady, and whose voice was 
 more piercing than Raffaello's, jumped on her shoul- 
 der and screamed in her ear, " Camillo ! Camillo ! 
 You ugly old bird ! ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you saucy brute ! " returned 
 the madre, as she loosened the chain with shaking 
 fingers, and beckoned Raffaello to come in. The 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. lOI 
 
 old woman looked at her little visitor with some 
 curiosity, and mumbled something which Raffaello 
 could not make out. Evidently Camillo had never 
 mentioned his little friend at home, which was not 
 surprising, for it was impossible to converse intelli- 
 gently with the old mother without rousing the 
 whole neighborhood, and, perforce, taking them all 
 into his confidence. And since he had become better 
 acquainted with the little boy, Camillo had especial 
 reasons for keeping his interest in him quiet. 
 
 The 7nadre was kind to Raffaello, and gave him a 
 little stool to sit on, and asked him to wait till 
 Camillo came in, which would be very soon. For, 
 like the good son that he was, Camillo always made 
 it a point of running in between his trips, several 
 times through the day, to see how his family were 
 faring. 
 
 "You're a pretty bimbo'' she said, laying her 
 hand on his curls, though she could not see him 
 well, her eyes being old and worn out. 
 
 " A pretty bimbo ! ha, ha, ha, what lies ! " shrieked 
 the parrot. 
 
 " Don't mind that stupid creature, he 's a hideous 
 old crow," said the madre, making as if she would 
 give the parrot a whack with her stick, though she 
 had not the least idea of what he was saying. 
 
I02 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 "A hideous old crow!" interrupted the saucy 
 bird. 
 
 " He 's the bane of my life, he 's so ugly and he 
 shrieks so ; a person would think I was deaf ! I '11 
 wring your neck for you, you old torment, if you 
 don't stop your noise!" 
 
 The parrot was v^alking up and down the room, 
 bridling and sidling up to the old woman with the 
 most provoking impudence, cocking his green eye 
 on one side, and saying every now and then, " Get 
 along, you old fright ! " 
 
 Raffaello thought that the parrot was a very 
 daring bird, and not very polite; but he was cer- 
 tainly very droll, especially when he began pecking 
 at the old lady's toes, and she made at him with her 
 stick; while he flew off to his perch, screaming, 
 " Murder ! murder ! glory be to Peter ! " 
 
 It was a gloomy, dingy little room, in spite of the 
 liveliness that went on there between the old madre 
 and the parrot. It being immediately under the 
 roof, the ceilings were crooked and slanting, and 
 Raffaello could see, from one of the low, narrow 
 windo.ws, the tops of all the high buildings on the 
 sunny side of Florence, and bits of gardens on the 
 roofs of other dwellings, and people's clothes hang- 
 ing out to dry on lines stretched across from house 
 
Get along, you old fright ! " 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 105 
 
 to house, and women, babies, and cats looking out of 
 windows. And looking down, down into the narrow 
 streets and courts below, the people there seemed 
 to Raffaello no bigger than dwarfs. He felt very 
 much like one of the pigeons of the Uffizzi, as he 
 looked out of that small opening ; and he wondered 
 how the people here could live contentedly in those 
 high, dreary places, without ever getting a breath 
 of the pure, fresh air of the open country, or the 
 sweet scent of the new-mown grass, and with only 
 a small patch of sky above them to look at. 
 
 The room itself was bare enough, but in this 
 respect it was not unlike Faustina's house. The 
 floor was laid with bricks, and there was no such 
 thing as a carpet or rug of any description on its 
 chill surface. There was not even a fire in the 
 small earthen brazier which stood in the hollow of 
 the chimney, and which was lighted and kept going 
 with a few bits of charcoal only when it was neces- 
 sary to cook a meal, although it was already far 
 into November. But the madre wore a flannel 
 shawl over head and shoulders to keep her warm 
 when she w^as not chasing the parrot for exercise, 
 and Coco, the bird, had a nice warm coat of green 
 and yellow feathers, and did not seem to mind the 
 cold a particle. There was a round table in the 
 
I06 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 centre of the room spread with an oil-cloth, and a 
 few wooden chairs, and an old cupboard with only 
 one door, from which the madre soon began to take 
 some things to make the table ready for Camillo's 
 coming. It was growing late, and past the hour 
 when Raffaello should have been hastening to meet 
 Luigi and the cart to return to the village ; but he 
 was so interested in his surroundings, and in his 
 desire to see Camillo and talk with him about the 
 beautiful signorina, that he quite forgot the time of 
 day. 
 
 It was not long before some one came pufifing up 
 the narrow stairs, singing a joyful too-loo-rool, that 
 was very suggestive of the master of the house. 
 A tremendous pounding resounded on the knocker, 
 which even the old madre heard, and presently the 
 beaming face of the good cocchiere appeared in 
 the door. 
 
 " Cristoforo Colombo ! " he roared, as soon as he 
 caught sight of little Raffaello. " Why, mignone, 
 you 're as welcome as hot macaroni and cheese ! 
 What's brought you here; not in trouble, eh.^" 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Raffaello, " I wanted very much 
 to see you. I have been several times to Giojoso's 
 shop to find you ; but Giojoso said you were very 
 busy, and did not come around any more." 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 107 
 
 " Giojoso is right, I have been busy of late," said 
 Camillo, with a very mysterious winking of one eye. 
 " I have been studying some ancient history." 
 
 " I remembered that you said you lived behind 
 the Badia," continued Raffaello, " and I thought you 
 would not mind if I came to see you here." 
 
 " Mind ? you little pigeon ! Have n't I said that 
 the sight of your pretty face is as good as Lourdes ^ 
 water for the eyes ! And how have they used you, 
 the madre and the parrot } " 
 
 " Oh, very kindly," said Raffaello, glancing at 
 the old dame, who was now very busy warming 
 some soup that had onions and parsley in it, and 
 sent out the most savory vapors. 
 
 " That 's well," rejoined Camillo. " The madre is 
 always kind ; but the parrot is a beast ! " 
 
 " You '11 never die, ha, ha, ha ! " squalled the 
 parrot, descending from his perch to tweak one of 
 Raffaello's curls, with whom he was beginning to 
 feel familiar. 
 
 " Silence ! or you '11 die, you ugly monster ! " 
 shouted Camillo, bouncing upon him, and giving 
 his tail a series of jerks as if it had been a door-bell. 
 " I '11 crack your stupid skull as quick as I would 
 the claw of a lobster ! " 
 
 1 Water from a fountain in Southern France, which is supposed to 
 cure the blind. 
 
Io8 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 It was a good thing for the Tuscan Polly that 
 his nature was not a sensitive one ; for each time 
 he interrupted the conversation, he was rebuflfed in 
 the same unmistakable terms by Camillo or the 
 madre^ and was threatened with a multitude of 
 tortures which neither of them had the least inten- 
 tion of carrying out. 
 
 " And so you remembered that I lived behind the 
 Badia," resumed Camillo, in a presto change of tone, 
 " and that my number is — } " 
 
 " Twenty-one," said Raffaello. 
 
 " Good ! " exclaimed the delighted coachman. 
 " A bimbo who does not forget his old friend, or 
 his old friend's number, even when that old friend 
 is a beggar of a cocchiere, — that bimbo, I say, ought 
 to have a good treat, and a treat he shall have ; 
 for the madres soup of beans is the best to be had 
 in Florence ! " and he drew the little wooden stool 
 on which Raffaello sat, close to the table, and took 
 his own place beside him. 
 
 It was such a new thing to Raffaello to have some 
 one talk pleasantly to him, and take a friendly 
 interest in him, that he felt quite happy whenever 
 he was in Camillo's company. Faustina never 
 treated him as if she thought him of any more con- 
 sequence than the cat. She never called him a 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 09 
 
 good bimbo, or a pretty pigeon, or showed him in 
 any way that she was fond of him ; and yet he 
 would rather have had that from her than anything 
 else she could do for him. For children have great 
 need of kindness, especially when their own nature 
 is gentle and loving. Little Raffaello was instinct- 
 ively drawn to this big, hearty, good-natured man, 
 in spite of his loud, though not very dangerous bark, 
 and his rough and red exterior. Indeed, he felt a 
 certain security in having Camillo for his friend 
 and protector ; and his admiration for and confi- 
 dence in the old fellow's opinion on almost every 
 subject, were boundless. 
 
 Under the genial influence of the madres good 
 soup and Camillo's broad smiling face, Raffaello 
 grew quite talkative, and even confidential. He 
 related how he had been to the Annunziata on the 
 feast of Ogni Santi, and there had seen the beauti- 
 ful signorina and the white-haired old signor ; how 
 they had knelt at the foot of the altar, and left a 
 wreath of white flowers for Saint Joseph ; and how 
 sad the signorma looked, and how he had thought 
 of her every day, and dreamed of her every night 
 since. Then he asked, with a wistful look in his 
 big soft eyes, — 
 
 " Do you know where she lives, Camillo, and 
 
no A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 where I may go and look at her again ? I have 
 searched for her every time I have been in the 
 city, but I have never seen her face but that once, — 
 not at the church, nor at the market where the 
 great ladies come to buy flowers every Thursday, 
 not anywhere. And so I thought perhaps you 
 could tell me, for you surely know everybody who 
 lives in Florence, don't you, Camillo ? " 
 
 Camillo had been listening very attentively, and 
 very quietly for him, while the little boy was speak- 
 ing. His mouth was screwed up mysteriously, his 
 eyes were partly closed, and there was a great 
 wrinkle across his forehead, all of which gave him 
 such an air of wisdom and secrecy that Raffaello 
 felt encouraged. 
 
 " Well," said the cocchiere, draining the last drop 
 of soup from his bowl, " Camillo knows nearly every- 
 body. If there is anybody worth knowing that he 
 does nt know, it won't be long before he finds them 
 out. Ecco ! what is a coachman good for, if he 
 does n't know his city like his own pocket } " 
 
 Here the parrot chimed in, " Good for nothing, 
 good for nothing, you old rooster!" whereupon 
 Camillo threatened to tear out his heart and liver, 
 in parenthesis, and then resumed amiably, — 
 
 " And you say the signorina is beautiful t " 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. Ill 
 
 " Just like an angel ! " cried Raffaello, warmly. 
 
 " And young ? about how young, now.^^ " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Raffaello, puzzled ; " but 
 she is nearly as tall as the old man, for he is bent, and 
 stoops over when he walks ; and she wears a white 
 dress that comes down to her feet, like the ladies I 
 have seen in the gardens of the palaces; but her 
 face is like that of the Babe in the Madonna's arms." 
 
 " And what color are her eyes ? " inquired Camillo. 
 
 " Big and black," — for he had treasured every 
 feature of the fair face, in that one glance when 
 she had passed so close to him in the church. 
 
 " And they ride in a splendid coach, with some- 
 thing marked on the door ? " 
 
 " Yes, a little crown of yellow, and something like 
 this underneath it ; " and Raffaello traced out the 
 imperfect and distorted outline of a capital B with 
 his spoon upon the oil-cloth. 
 
 " And you say they turned down the Via della 
 Colonna ? " 
 
 "Yes, after giving something at the hospital." 
 
 " C^e, che, Raffaellino ! they belong to the great 
 signori, you may be sure of that. Whenever you 
 see a crown on a coach-door, those who ride in it 
 are none of your common popoli who barter with a 
 poor beggar of a coachman like me for a soldo more 
 
112 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 or a soldo less ! Now, you don't see any crown on 
 my cab, do you, Raffaellino? Altro I that's what 
 comes of being put into the world on the side 
 where the scudi^ are raining!" and Camillo 
 laughed long and loud at the idea, as if it were an 
 immensely amusing one. 
 
 Little Raffaello had never thought of drawing any 
 comparisons between the signorinds splendid equi- 
 page and the humble public conveyance with which 
 Camillo earned his living ; but he laughed too, 
 simply because Camillo was laughing, without being 
 in absolute possession of the joke. 
 
 "' If you should be near the Annunziata on a 
 Sunday," suggested Raffaello, " perhaps you would 
 like to stop in the piazza, and watch for her to 
 come out of the church. I should love to have 
 you see her, Camillo." 
 
 " What a sly little rabbit ! " and the cocchiere 
 laughed again. " What do you think will come of 
 it, if I do see your lovely signorina ? Do you think 
 she will stop me on the street to ask me if I know 
 any pretty bimbo with a face like a peach-blossom, 
 who would like to come and be her page, and walk 
 behind her, and carry her fan, and pick up her 
 kerchief, and admire her the livelong day } " 
 
 ^ Gold coins. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 13 
 
 This was a daring and dangerous suggestion 
 for Camillo to make, for immediately Raffaello's 
 eyes lighted up, and he cried eagerly, " Oh, do great 
 ladies ever have little boys come and stay with 
 them like that ? " and a vague thought flashed 
 through his mind of how it would seem to leave 
 Faustina and Minnetto and the little hut, and 
 go where he could always look at the beautiful 
 lady. 
 
 " Ah, well, they do it sometimes," said Camillo ; 
 "but we must not think of that now. Some day, I 
 will find out all about the signorina and tell you; 
 but it may not be for a long time, for I am a man 
 of business these days, and have n't many spare 
 hours to go loitering around the church to see pretty 
 faces coming out of it ! " And Camillo made light 
 of the matter, as if he did not mean to give it much 
 thought ; but he did. With his usual aptitude for 
 unravelling any sort of mystery that chanced in his 
 way, he added this little circumstance to some other 
 facts which he had been treasuring in his own mind 
 for some time, and feeling that he had just made 
 another cunning discovery, he slapped his knee and 
 repeated now and then, " Camillo, you 're as sly as 
 an old eel ! " 
 
 In the midst of this, the deep tones of a neigh- 
 
 8 
 
114 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 boring bell broke in upon them. There had been 
 a short pause after Camillo's last speech. 
 
 " What is that ? " asked Raffaello, startled out of 
 his reverie, for the sound was very near. 
 
 " It is the bell of the Badia striking the seventh 
 hour," said Camillo. 
 
 " Oh, is it so very late ? I did not know it ; I am 
 afraid Luigi-will have gone, and I must walk back 
 to the village ! And Faustina, oh, she will be so 
 frightened! she will think I am lost!" cried little 
 Raffaello, in dismay. For while they sat conversing, 
 he had not thought of the time, and had not noticed 
 that it was quite dark in the little garret-room now ; 
 for the sun had sunk very low, and the hills around 
 the city were darkening. 
 
 " San Pietro ! It is late for a little contadino to be 
 in town. We have been chattering like two mag- 
 pies, and letting the hours run by. But never fear; 
 you will not have to walk to the village. It would 
 take your little legs so long that Faustina would 
 think the locusts had eaten you on the way. No, 
 the nag is downstairs, waiting at the door. I will 
 take you at once to the piazza, and if Luigi is gone, 
 then we will stretch our ride a little further and take 
 you home. The nag likes nothing better than a 
 turn in the country after trotting on hard stones all 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. I15 
 
 day; and her legs are so good that we will pass 
 Pierrota and Luigi on the way, and be the first 
 ones there." 
 
 This was very comforting to poor Raffaello, who 
 had begun to be really frightened at the thought of 
 having missed his little companions and having to 
 go that long distance in the dark alone. But 
 Camillo was such a good friend ! He was always 
 getting the little boy out of his troubles. 
 
 So they hurried away on the box of Camillo's 
 coach to the cathedral-square, where, seeing no sign 
 of Luigi, or of the cart and Pierrota, they speedily 
 made their way to the Porta Romana, and were 
 soon on their way to Galluzzo. 
 
 This was how Camillo came to make his first 
 acquaintance with Faustina. When they reached 
 the little hut, he, of course, took all the blame of 
 the little boy's tardiness upon himself; and told 
 such funny stories, and made himself so thoroughly 
 agreeable to Faustina, who was really very grateful 
 for the safe return of the child, that she did not 
 utter one cross word or reproach, and was kinder 
 to Raffaello that evening than she had ever been 
 before. 
 

 ■p AFFAELLO did not go any 
 "*" more into the city for the 
 rest of that year. The winter set 
 in unusually cold, and no one 
 cared to face the bleak, chill wind 
 that blew over from the distant mountains, un- 
 less he was obliged to do so. The people in 
 the village of Galluzzo were very much like ants 
 who work all summer to fill up their store-houses 
 and shut themselves up, never putting their noses 
 out, during the wintry season. I do not mean that 
 all the village people were as thrifty and as wise as 
 the frugal ant, for many of them suffered bitterly 
 on account of their improvidence when the cold 
 weather came. They had hard work, at best, to 
 live in their miserable quarters, and might have 
 perished but for the help of their more prudent 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 17 
 
 neighbors. But those who had been wise enough 
 to lay up provisions against the bad days, kept 
 within doors, and left the cold weather and the rest 
 of the world to take care of themselves. 
 
 Faustina was one of those who had been prudent, 
 and now she and Raffaello and the cat lived more 
 secluded and alone than ever. It was very hard for 
 the little boy to spend whole days in the dingy hut, 
 with only Faustina, who sat knitting and grumbling, 
 and Minnetto, who lay napping and purring, and 
 with only the wail of the wind calling dismally 
 through the chimney instead of Camillo's hearty 
 laugh ; and only the gray outlook of the barren hills 
 and naked trees, instead of the smiling, flowery wel- 
 come of the lovely city, as he had seen it first that 
 day in the early spring-time. He began to hate the 
 winter, and to long for the return of summer. If 
 he had never known that joyous freedom, he would 
 have been no worse off than he was the year before 
 at that time ; he would have gone on gathering 
 wood for Faustina to burn, and milking the goat, 
 and fetching the grain from the mill, and never 
 dreamed of any other life. But now that his expe- 
 rience had been so widened, that he knew the 
 delights of the city, had met Camillo; now that he 
 had seen the beautiful signorina! Ah, now, indeed, 
 
Il8 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 it was very different. He felt sometimes as if he 
 could never wait through those long, long days, and 
 sit through those dreary, cold evenings, until the 
 happy spring was come again, when he might seek 
 the places and the people that he loved. 
 
 One evening when he and Minnetto sat beside 
 the kitchen hearth where the fire had been, but was 
 now only a heap of black ashes, Raffaello thought: 
 
 " Only a little while ago the twigs were burning 
 and crackling and sending out their warmth as if 
 they were happy, and now they are all black and 
 cold and look dead, and must stay so until Faustina 
 lights the fire again to-morrow to warm the milk. 
 That is like me ; a few weeks ago I was in Florence, 
 and the sun was warm, and the flowers were bright, 
 and I was with Camillo and the madre, and I saw 
 the lovely lady; and now, everything is gray and 
 cold and gloomy there, and I must stay in this little 
 hut until the good God lights the fire in the big sun 
 again, and makes us all warm and happy." 
 
 He gave a sigh that sounded so loud in the still- 
 ness of the little room, that Minnetto opened his 
 sleepy eyes for a moment, and looked at him inquir- 
 ingly. Faustina sat beside the table with her work 
 in her lap. She did not look up when she heard 
 the sigh ; she was looking at him already. She had 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. II9 
 
 been watching him all the evening, as he sat on his 
 little straw cushion, at a short distance from her, 
 holding his knees. The light of the one candle fell 
 full on his face. It was a very thoughtful little face 
 His large dark eyes had a look in them that smote 
 Faustina's heart. She would have said something 
 kind to turn his thoughts to her; but she could not. 
 Habit is so very strong in people ; and it had been 
 her habit for many years to speak no kind word to 
 any one. Now, as she watched the fair young face, 
 and guessed that he was thinking of things about 
 which she dared not ask, she would have "given 
 worlds to draw him to her, and gain his confidence ; 
 but she had not a single word to win him. She felt 
 a great deal for him ; but like all hard, undemonstra- 
 tive natures, she did not know how to show all she 
 felt. In the bitterness of her revengeful feeling, 
 she had taught herself to scoff at every tender emo- 
 tion ; and her heart, instead of being a sensitive 
 human thing, full of sweet sympathy, was like a 
 hard shell. 
 
 She watched little Raffaello until she thought the 
 sight of him, looking so pensive and pitiful, would 
 drive her mad. Then she said suddenly, and in her 
 usual harsh tones, — 
 
 " What are you doing there, thinking all evening. 
 
120 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 and never opening your mouth any more than the 
 cat ? You don't think I am good enough to talk 
 to, perhaps, now you 've got your fine friends in 
 the city!" 
 
 " Oh, no, Faustina, it is not that," replied Raffaello, 
 surprised by her sudden breaking of the silence. 
 " I would indeed like to talk to you, if you did not 
 mind my doing it. There are so many things I 
 want to know." 
 
 " What things ? " asked Faustina, sharply. 
 
 " Things about myself. I have often wanted to 
 ask you why I never had any mother and father, 
 and how you happened to take me to live with 
 you." 
 
 Faustina took her eyes away from him, and 
 looked at her work irresolutely ; then she said, after 
 a pause, — 
 
 " I found you." 
 
 " Found me ! " repeated Raffaello, in great 
 surprise. 
 
 " Yes, found you." 
 
 " Where ? " inquired Raffaello. 
 
 " Never mind where," returned Faustina. " It 's 
 enough that I found you when you were a dam- 
 bmetto, and cared for you, and fed you ; and now 
 it 's a pretty reward I get for my pains : you want 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. I2I 
 
 to turn against me like all the rest of the world, and 
 you would like to find your fine father and mother, 
 who never so much as troubled themselves to come 
 to Galluzzo to find you ! " 
 
 Faustina spoke desperately. The thought that 
 Raffaello might wish to leave her to go to others, 
 stung her with disappointment. True, she had 
 never tried to make him love her ; but she had 
 suffered much and endured much, in secret, for his 
 sake. Raffaello did not know this. 
 
 The little boy glanced at her curiously as she 
 spoke. He could not understand it all at once; 
 but the one thing that his sensitive nature did 
 understand, was that Faustina was hurt. He went 
 and stood beside her, and timidly put his hand on 
 her knee, and said as gently as he knew how, — 
 
 " Indeed, Faustina, I never wished to turn against 
 you, or to give you pain. You have been very 
 good to me. If you could only love me a little 
 more, and be happy, I am sure I should never ask 
 you about my father and mother, or think about 
 them." 
 
 Faustina pushed aside the candle and laid her 
 head on the table and covered her face with her 
 hands. It was eighteen years since she had shed 
 a tear; but there was an unconscious reproach in 
 
122 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 Raffaello's last words that touched her, and she 
 felt the justice of them. For one moment, the ice 
 in her heart melted, and she wept. Raffaello felt 
 terribly grieved. Forgetting her harsh words and 
 her indifferent treatment of him, forgetting his own 
 thoughts and hopes that he had cherished but a 
 moment ago, forgetting everything save that she 
 was in trouble, instinctively his arm stole about her 
 neck, and he laid his soft round cheek against her 
 hard one, and whispered, — 
 
 " Dear Faustina, don't cry, please. I want you 
 to be happy, and when I am older I want to take 
 care of you, and give you all you need, and be 
 good to you, as you have been to me." 
 
 " Ah, Raffaello mio',' said Faustina, " but that 
 will not make me happy any more than I have 
 made you happy. People can be happy with very 
 little in this world, if they only have plenty of love ; 
 without that there is no happiness anywhere. God 
 has taken away all those that I loved ; he will take 
 you away, too, when the time comes; so where is 
 the use of my loving you, or your caring for 
 me .? " 
 
 Raffaello did not fully grasp the true wisdom of 
 these words ; but he knew better than she could 
 tell him that there was something lacking in his 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 23 
 
 feeling for her. He did not feel towards Faustina, 
 with whom he had lived always, as he felt towards 
 the beautiful signorina whom he had seen just once, 
 as she knelt in the church. There was a hungry 
 yearning in his young soul, that Faustina could 
 never fill, even if she had suddenly turned very 
 kind and gentle to him. Yet he was desper- 
 ately sorry to see her thus ; he w^ould have pre- 
 ferred that she had scolded him or sent him off to 
 his bed. 
 
 But Faustina did not send him off this time. 
 The tears had washed some of her bitterness away, 
 and she allowed him to remain near her a long 
 time ; but she did not say anything more. 
 
 As for Raffaello, he was more perplexed about 
 himself than ever. Faustina had found him, and 
 his parents had never come to look for him. Per- 
 haps they had not cared about him any more than 
 Faustina did ; but this w^as a sad thought. Luigi s 
 mother cared very much for him and his brothers ; 
 even Camillo and the madre were very fond of each 
 other; and he had often seen mothers with little 
 children in their arms, kissing and fondling them. 
 Why was it so different with him t Camillo was 
 really the only person who seemed to be very fond 
 of Raffaello ; ever since that day when he had first 
 
124 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 run up against the big cocchiere, in front of the 
 Duomo, Camillo had been his friend, and had 
 always spoken kindly to him, and made much of 
 him. But now even Camillo seemed to have de- 
 serted him, for it was many weeks since he had 
 seen or heard of his old friend, and it was long past 
 the Christmas-tide. 
 
 It was just w^hen Raffaello was pondering over all 
 this, still standing close to Faustina as she sat with 
 her head resting on the table, that they were both 
 roused by a sudden loud knock at the door of the 
 hut. They were startled at first, for a visitor at 
 any time was an unusual thing, and at that hour 
 of the night was unheard of. Before Faustina 
 could get to the door to unlatch it, the knock was 
 repeated with even more force ; and when Faustina 
 opened it, who should burst in, with a merry and 
 hearty laugh, but Camillo himself, whose broad 
 genial face was like a sunbeam in the middle of 
 the night! 
 
 Raffaello gave a joyful cry and ran to him, saying, 
 " Oh, Camillo, where have you been t I have not seen 
 you for so long!" Whereupon the jovial cocchiere 
 caught the little fellow in his arms and tossed him 
 up to the ceiling, with a cheery, " Ho, ho, bambinetto I 
 I have been studying ancient history," and restored 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 25 
 
 him to his feet again. After that, he extended his 
 large palm to Faustina, and wished her a '' Buon 
 appetito ! " which means a good appetite, and was 
 really not very appropriate, for they had finished 
 their supper long ago. But Camillo never stopped 
 at such a small thing as that ; he was full of good 
 feeling and good news, and he could not begin to 
 talk soon enough, though Faustina looked at him a 
 little suspiciously, and was not very encouraging at 
 first. 
 
 " You will excuse me for coming at this late hour, 
 Monna Faustina," he said, with a beautiful bow, and 
 a wink of one eye, which was his extremest mode of 
 showing respect. " But good news is like cream ; it 
 will not keep over night without turning sour." 
 
 "Good news?" asked Faustina, incredulously, 
 "for us!" 
 
 " Ecco f as good as the angel Gabriel himself could 
 bring. I tell you, my good woman, it's a precious 
 piece of luck for this young rabbit here!" and he 
 laid his rough hand gently on Raffaello's curls. 
 
 Faustina turned white. She was always fearful 
 of every little incident that came into their quiet 
 lives, lest it might prove to be the very thing by 
 which she should lose Raffaello. She felt that he 
 would be taken from her sometime. She had said 
 
126 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 SO to herself a great many times ; she had said it to 
 the little boy that night. He did not rightfully 
 belong to her. She had hidden him away from 
 every one as long as she could ; but now he was 
 grown beyond her, and he would soon be found out. 
 For that reason, she could not help feeling doubtful 
 and suspicious of any stranger who seemed to take 
 any interest in him. 
 
 " Well ? " said she, after a pause, during which 
 Camillo had been winking and nodding and gestic- 
 ulating mysteriously for Raffaello's benefit. " And 
 what is your good news, Sor cocchiere ? It is well 
 you brought it, for it might have felt a stranger 
 in this neighborhood, if it had come alone ; there 
 is little enough that 's good ever finds its way 
 here ! " ^ 
 
 " Cke, che, Monna Faustina ! You speak as if you 
 had eaten too much pepper-weed. But you will be 
 as sweet as honey when I tell you what rare good 
 fortune has befallen this young cherub. Look at 
 him ! " and again he smoothed Raffaello's hair, "you 
 who talk of nothing good ever finding its way here ; 
 did n't he come to you t Look at him, and tell me 
 if there is another such a cherub-face outside of 
 canvas ! " 
 
 Faustina did not look at Raffaello, whose face was 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 27 
 
 delicately flushed and whose big eyes were bright 
 with expectation. She was anxiously watching 
 Camillo. 
 
 " That s where your good fortune lies, friend 
 Faustina," continued the coachman, with growing 
 animation, and pointing straight at Raffaello. " Any 
 of our young artists would pay a fine sum for such 
 a model as that to paint from ; and sitting for them 
 is a pleasanter task than digging turnips this cold 
 weather, let me tell you ; it s only a matter of keep- 
 ing still and looking pretty for an hour or two each 
 day ; and that 's easy enough for those who can do 
 it! Though I could bet you an artichoke that 
 some of us would feel like sour crabs at it ; " and 
 Camillo laughed such a tremendous laugh at his 
 own joke that he woke Minnetto out of a sound 
 sleep. " Now, I know one Mariotto who is on the 
 search for just such a bimbo',' pursued Camillo, as 
 no one chose to interrupt him in his disclosures, " to 
 put in his picture. It is the picture of an angel 
 leading a little child ; I have seen it. The angel is 
 good ; but the child, oh, Santa Lucia ! he makes a 
 new face for it every day, and can never get in the 
 right one. He is painting it for a rich old signor 
 who has a thousand notions, and is as hard to please 
 as the Pope himself; but he will pay a fortune to 
 
128 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 the man who paints the right sort of face on that 
 bimbo'' 
 
 Camillo looked about to see what effect his 
 remarks had produced on the little company. 
 Raffaello's round eyes were still fastened on him, 
 and Faustina only opened her mouth to say 
 hoarsely, — 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 "Well, I told Mariotto that I knew a cherub 
 whose face would surely do for the picture ; and he 
 said : ' Bring him to me if his eyes are dark and hand- 
 some enough, and have a look in them like those of 
 the Holy Infant in the Madonna's arms, and if his 
 cheeks are the color of rose-petals, and his mouth 
 makes a pure arch like that of a young moon ; then, 
 bring him to me, and I will make his fortune.' 
 Now, Monna Faustina, if you do not call that the 
 biggest handful of cherries that ever dropped into 
 your lap, then I 'm a noodle, that 's all ! " and Camillo 
 lay back in his chair, and tumbled up his hair in a 
 rakish fashion, and puffed out his red cheeks like 
 two balloons, with the satisfied air of one who has 
 just delivered himself of some very grave business. 
 " What do you think of the proposition } " he asked, 
 crossing his hands on his broad waistcoat, and 
 leering archly at Faustina. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 29 
 
 " Do you mean that I should let Raffaello go and 
 sit to the painter every day? " 
 
 " Every day but Sunday and the festas, till the 
 picture is finished," said Camillo ; " and come back 
 every night with a bright round silver lira in his 
 pocket." 
 
 " We are poor," said Faustina, with a touch of her 
 old pride in her tones, " and six liras in the week do 
 not come often in the way of people like us ; but 
 if Raffaello wants to go and sit for the painter he 
 may ; and Mariotto can keep his liras, but he must 
 paint me Raffaello's face, and give it to me for my 
 very own to keep." 
 
 Camillo could scarcely repress his admiration of 
 Faustina as she said this. He looked straight at 
 her, and she looked straight at him ; and he saw 
 something in her eyes that made him take her hand 
 and exclaim heartily, — 
 
 " Well done ! Well said ! you are a brave woman, 
 Faustina, and you shall have your reward. I promise 
 you the picture from Mariotto. And now that my 
 beast has had time to rest his bones, I must be hurry- 
 ing home to the madre. You will come to me to- 
 morrow morning, Raffaello mio? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " cried Raffaello, overjoyed at the pros- 
 
I30 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 pect of renewing his visits to the city and to the 
 good Camillo. 
 
 " And now, A rivedello ! ^ and pleasant dreams 
 to you both ! " and the good cocchiere waved his 
 hand to them, and bounced out as cheerily as he had 
 bounced in ; while Faustina and the boy stood at 
 the door, candle in hand, to light him on his way. 
 
 1 Good-bye. 
 

 c H A r T E a IX 
 
 " OO," thought Raffaello, as he lay 
 *^ on his, little straw bed that 
 
 night, *'the dear, good Camillo did 
 not forget me after all ; for he thought 
 of me when the painter wanted some- 
 body to put in his picture, and took 
 the trouble to come all the way from 
 the city so late at night to tell us 
 about it ! " and the little boy felt 
 comforted and hopeful once more. For the mere 
 sight of the big coachman, with his broad smiles 
 and genial voice, was enough to drive away even 
 sadder thoughts than those which Raffaello had 
 entertained earlier in the evening. 
 
 Indeed, nothing could be farther from Camillo's 
 thoughts than forgetting the little friend, in whom 
 he had taken such lively interest and around whom 
 he had already woven such a veil of pleasant 
 
132 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 possibilities, after his own ingenious fashion. Ca- 
 millo had declared to himself, and had frequently 
 offered to bet several artichokes with himself, that 
 this pretty bimbo with a face like a picture was 
 none of your common street-tribe, and that there 
 was some mystery about him, which Providence had 
 ordained should be brought to light wholly through 
 his efforts. All that Camillo knew at first was that 
 little Raffaello lived off in the country with a woman 
 named Faustina, who was not in any way related to 
 him. There was nothing remarkable in that ; and 
 Camillo would never have given the matter another 
 thought, if Raffaello had not been such a handsome 
 little fellow, in spite of his peasant clothes, and if 
 Camillo had not remembered something that had 
 happened in Florence, a few years past. The more 
 he had seen of the child, the more he had become 
 convinced that there was something to be found out 
 about him. For that very reason, he was cautious, 
 and had not questioned Raffaello too closely, but 
 chosen, rather, to learn all that he wished to know, 
 through some ingenious researches of his own. That 
 was what he meant when he said he had been " study- 
 ing ancient history." 
 
 In the two months that Raffaello had not seen 
 him, Camillo's love of investigation had been plenti- 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 33 
 
 fully fed, and he had been very busy indeed, and 
 the chief subject of his business was little Raffaello. 
 The very next day after the boy's visit to Camillo 
 and the madre, the old cocchiere went to the Piazza 
 del Annunziata. It happened to be a saint's day, 
 and he stationed himself very near the portico of 
 the church, that he might see the great signori when 
 they came out. He had been there but a few min- 
 utes when a magnificent equipage drove up to the 
 church door, so close to Camillo's humble coach 
 that if he had not just then been so absorbed in his 
 own thoughts, he might have felt sensitive at the 
 contrast between his bony nag and his own shabby 
 appearance, and the spirited horses and gay-liveried 
 coachman and footman that sat with dignity on the 
 box of the splendid carriage. He noticed that there 
 was a crest engraved on silver fastenings close to the 
 horses' ears, and that there was something of the 
 kind on the doors of the grand equipage. He 
 immediately wheeled his own cab around, and took 
 a slow survey of the carriage on all sides, and then 
 brought his horse nose to nose with the aristocratic 
 thorough-breds. The crest on the door was the 
 same that Raffaello had described to him : a yellow 
 crown, and under it a large and fantastic B. 
 
 Camillo could scarcely suppress his agitation. 
 
134 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 His big blue eyes were almost popping out of his 
 head; and his fat fingers clutched at his reins as 
 fiercely as if they were the threads that would un- 
 ravel the whole mystery. Several people straggled 
 out of the church and made a beckoning motion to 
 Camillo, signifying that they would like the services 
 of his cab and horse; but he sat in blissful igno- 
 rance of them, with the air of one whose time is too 
 precious to be spent in considering common, ordi- 
 nary folk. 
 
 Presently, a white-haired old man and a tall and 
 beautiful young girl emerged from the church, and 
 stood a moment on the portico. Camillo almost 
 jumped from his seat. The young girl wore a pure 
 white dress, and her hair fell on her shoulders in 
 rich, dark waves ; her eyes were large and soft ; her 
 cheeks were delicately pink ; and her mouth arched 
 at the corners into an angel's smile ! 
 
 " A thousand maledictions on you ! " ejaculated 
 the excited cocchiere, addressing himself vehemently, 
 " if you have n't seen those eyes before ! Camillo, 
 you are not such a pumpkin as you look. Where 
 have you seen them } Never mind where. A 
 cocchiere with a madre and a parrot to feed does 
 not spend his mornings hanging around in front of 
 church doors to see the angel signorine come out, 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 35 
 
 when there s nothing more to be got by it than a 
 frost-bitten nose! No, no, Camillo, you would 
 never have come here this morning, if you had not 
 had your suspicions, and, as usual, your suspicions 
 are correct. And what of that ! it s a bad day for 
 foxes when Camillo is mistaken. You 're as sharp 
 as any of them, even if you are a beggar of a 
 cocchiere with a face like a cooked lobster. Santa 
 Catrina! Look at those curls! where have you 
 seen them before? Where, eh? Ecco, may the 
 saints leave me in Purgatory, if I don't find out 
 something more from Mariotto ! " 
 
 With that Camillo cracked his whip, and crossed 
 the piazza just as the great carriage, with the old 
 man and the lady, was turning into the Via della 
 Colonna ; and he drove off at a mad pace, with never 
 so much as a customer in his cab, which he might 
 easily have had, if he had been attending strictly to 
 business, for it was a cold, rainy day. 
 
 Mariotto was the painter who lived on the floor 
 directly below Camillo and the madre, in the old 
 house behind the Church of the Badia. He was a 
 young artist and a poor one, though his pictures 
 were very beautiful ; but he had not yet a name, 
 alas ! and few people bought any of them. Never- 
 theless he painted day after day, week after week, 
 
136 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 and month after month, and sometimes he would 
 give away his pictures for the sake of getting people 
 to notice them, in the hope of being recognized 
 some day as a great artist. From him Camillo 
 learned a great deal of what was going on in the 
 city, and would often get bits of news about some 
 of the great people. It was his habit to drop in at 
 the artist's studio of an evening when business was 
 dull, and crack a few Florentine jokes. 
 
 It happened to be on this very day, when Camillo 
 had seen the signorina coming out of the Church 
 of the Annunziata, that Mariotto, the painter, had 
 received his order for the picture of an angel lead- 
 ing a little child. Mariotto was the happiest man 
 in Florence that night. As he sat at his easel, 
 sketching a variety of compositions for his great 
 picture, and confiding his good fortune to Camillo, 
 he was also making sketches in his own mind of 
 the fame that would come to him if he succeeded 
 in making it perfect. For the old signor who had 
 given him the order was rich and powerful, and had 
 promised Mariotto anything he wished if he painted 
 the picture to please him. 
 
 Camillo took an unusual interest in the work, and 
 watched it as it grew from day to day under the 
 magic brush of the young artist. Often when he 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 37 
 
 had a minute to spare during the day, he would 
 step into the little studio, and chat with Mariotto 
 about the picture, asking all manner of questions 
 concerning it and the people who would own it ; 
 and Mariotto told him all he knew. Camillo gave 
 his opinion of the work in his jovial way, and 
 cheered the young painter when he grew dis- 
 couraged and despondent, as even great geniuses 
 are apt to feel sometimes, about their most glorious 
 work. 
 
 At last the angel was finished, and Camillo pro- 
 nounced it " most beautiful ! " and it was perfect. 
 For Mariotto had painted it from the fair ideal of 
 his own imagination ; but he was in despair about 
 the child. The child must be a human, living 
 creature that one must love from its very sem- 
 blance to other human children, and yet be lovelier 
 than them all. For that he must have a living, 
 human model, only adding to it the divine spark 
 of his genius that would make his work a master- 
 piece. 
 
 For days Mariotto hunted the streets of Florence, 
 hovels and public places alike, in search of a face 
 to put into his picture ; and when he thought to 
 have found one, and had sketched it in beside that 
 of the angel, his soul grew sick and he would efface 
 
138 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 it from his canvas, and then sit with his head in 
 his hands for hours before it in mute despair. It 
 was in such a mood that Camillo found him, one 
 night, stopping on his way to his garret ; and learn- 
 ing the cause of his distress, promised then and 
 there to bring him a little boy who had a face that 
 would go into any picture and glorify it. And that 
 was the night on which Camillo had ridden so late 
 to the little hut beyond the village of Galluzzo, and 
 surprised Raffaello and Faustina out of their sad 
 meditations. 
 
HAPTEn 
 
 AFFAELLO had no 
 notion of what Camillo 
 meant by saying that the 
 painter would make his for- 
 tune. The prospect of earning a bright silver lira 
 to bring home to Faustina every day, and better than 
 that, the pleasure of seeing his good friend Camillo 
 whenever he went to sit for the painter, who lived 
 in the same house with Camillo and the madre, was 
 in itself a sufficient fortune for a little boy who 
 wanted to be loved more than he wanted anything 
 else in the world. On the morning after Camillo's 
 visit, he was awakened very early by the crowing of 
 a neighboring cock, and long before the cold gray 
 morning had begun to break. It did not frighten 
 him, as it once had done, to think of walking the 
 long distance to Florence alone; for now he was 
 a little older and much wiser, to his own thinking; 
 
I40 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 and he knew the road-way so well, and felt such a 
 nameless joy at the thought of being again in the 
 old gray city where the gentle signorina lived, that 
 he never minded the absence of the market-cart 
 and Pierrota, for his own legs were young and 
 strong, and served him better than the donkey's 
 would have done. For, as the cold weather set in, 
 Pierrota had grown worse and worse, and so far 
 lost control of her donkey-temper as to kick vio- 
 lently at any one who came in her way. It was 
 therefore considered wise by the members of 
 Luigi s family not to press her into service ; she 
 was declared out of health, and total rest and free- 
 dom for a time were prescribed for her, which left 
 Pierrota to wander about the village at her own 
 sweet will and fancy. But those of the neighbors 
 who had felt the force of her iron hoofs, declared 
 that she was a lazy beast, and good for ten years 
 more of work, but had just got Satan into her legs. 
 
 However that might be, Raffaello had no need 
 of her services that morning. He gained the Porta 
 Romana in good season, with the help of a good- 
 natured peasant who picked him up for the space 
 of half a mile or so on the way. 
 
 Florence was just the same as when he had seen 
 it last, only that it was colder and grayer, and that 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 141 
 
 the wind blew fiercely from over the ice-mountains, 
 and that the people were hurrying to and fro, hug- 
 ging themselves together and covering their ears 
 and noses with their hands. Raffaello made his 
 w^ay across the Arno and walked briskly to the 
 
 house where Camillo lived. The coachman was 
 already waiting for him, and led him straight to 
 Mariotto's working-room, where he pounded heavily 
 on the door and entered immediately after, without 
 
 waiting for his invitation. 
 
 There he is ! " exclaimed the cocchiere, as he 
 
142 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 gently pushed Raffaello into the room, and unfas- 
 tened his scarf and cap. " This is the dimbo ! Now, 
 take your spy-glass, my friend Mariotto, and search 
 the fields of Tuscany for a prettier one, and may 
 you turn into a leek if you find him ! " and he 
 raised Raffaello's chin, gazing at him admiringly, 
 and blinked and nodded with an air of immense 
 satisfaction at the painter. 
 
 As the little boy stood there before them, his 
 dark curls clustering about his neck, his eyes 
 widened with wonder and excitement, and the color 
 in his cheeks deepened with the crisp morning air 
 that had whipped up his young blood, he looked, 
 in truth, like a sweet picture of innocence and 
 youth. Mariotto drew back in astonishment, and 
 murmured under his breath, — 
 
 " O del! that is the face ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, it 's all very well to clasp your hands 
 and cry, ' 6^ r2>//"' put in the delighted cocchiere. 
 " It 's just like you artists to sit and dream of a face 
 you would like to paint, and expect the Angel 
 Gabriel to drop one down from Paradise, and then 
 cry, * O del! — Altro ! but it takes an old beggar 
 of a coccJiiere like me to find you the very thing 
 you 've been sighing for these three months ; and I 
 don't look much like the Angel Gabriel, either, do 
 I, Raffaellino ? " 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 143 
 
 Raffaello was not sufficiently well acquainted 
 with that celestial personage to draw any compar- 
 isons, but he slipped his hand into the coachman's, 
 and said innocently, — 
 
 " I am sure you are just as good as the Angel 
 Gabriel, Camillo, and I like you much better." 
 
 At which the cocchiere burst into a hearty laugh 
 that seemed to leave an echo of his genial presence 
 in the room long after he was gone. 
 
 Mariotto lost no time in getting to work after 
 Camillo had left them, and he and his little model 
 got on famously together, and were soon on very 
 friendly terms. Raffaello found many things to 
 interest him in the studio : there were many can- 
 vases, in various stages of completion, standing 
 about on the floor, propped up against the wall ; 
 and numberless sketches in pencil covering the sides 
 of the room ; there were several plaster and clay 
 heads of grim old Romans with very dusty noses, 
 looking down at him from high shelves ; and odd 
 bits of pottery, and old bronzes ; and here and there 
 some graceful flowers lifting their fresh heads out 
 of dilapidated vases, — all of which showed that al- 
 though Mariotto herself was poor, his mind was rich 
 enough to see beauty in plain and humble things. 
 
 But the best of all was the large easel with the 
 
144 A CHILD OF TUSCANY, 
 
 unfinished painting, in which Raffaello was to be 
 put. It was a lovely angel robed in blue and gold, 
 stretching out one hand to lead the little child, and 
 with the other pointing upwards. There was such 
 a wealth of soft, rich color in the painting, and such 
 a look of heavenly sweetness in the angel's eyes, 
 that Raffaello, who, like all the children of Italy, 
 loved everything that was beautiful, became at once 
 all absorbed in the subject, and could not refrain 
 from questioning Mariotto about it. 
 
 " What is the angel doing with the child ? " in- 
 quired Raffaello, as the painter began to mix some 
 colors on his palette. 
 
 " Why, the angel is taking care of the bimbo, the 
 way all good angels do ; as I am going to take care 
 of you when I have made my fortune with painting 
 your picture," replied Mariotto, who was in his hap- 
 piest and most hopeful mood. 
 
 " How do you mean to take care of me ? Do 
 you mean that you will take me away from Faus- 
 tina, to live with you '^. " 
 
 " Oh, no, no," said Mariotto, " not unless you want 
 to be taken from Faustina. Who is Faustina .? " 
 
 " She is my — my — I don't know what Faustina 
 IS," stammered Raffaello; "she has had me ever 
 since I was a baby." 
 
" She is my — my — I don't know what Faustina is." 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 47 
 
 " Not your mother ? " 
 
 " No," answered Raffaello. 
 
 " Nor grandmother ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Nor aunt, nor cousin ? " urged Mariotto. 
 
 " I think not. She told me that she had found 
 me, and that I did n't really belong to her." 
 
 Mariotto stopped painting, and eyed the little 
 fellow curiously. 
 
 '* And does Camillo know that ? " he inquired. 
 
 " No, Faustina only told me last night, and I did 
 not see Camillo long enough this morning to tell 
 him about it." 
 
 The painter gave a long, low whistle, and con- 
 tinued to mix colors without saying anything for 
 some time. 
 
 "And that child that you are putting in the 
 picture, do you think that he was lost too ? " asked 
 Raffaello, returning to his own thoughts, " and that 
 the angel is going to take care of him always ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," returned the artist, " that is probably 
 it. Somebody always takes care of little children 
 who get lost." 
 
 " And do their parents ever find them again ? " 
 
 " Sometimes." 
 
 " I wish that some lovely lady like the beautiful 
 
148 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 signorina had found me instead of Faustina ; not 
 that I don't like F'austina, for she is very good to 
 me. But she does n't care very much for anybody, 
 and sometimes she is cross with the cat." 
 
 " Well, perhaps a beautiful signorina will come 
 and take care of you, and love you very much, 
 some day," said Mariotto, encouragingly, "that is, of 
 course, if you are a very good bimbo, and hold your 
 head very still, while I put in your eyebrows; for 
 you don't want your eyebrows to go all awry in 
 the picture, like this — "and he made a dreadful 
 grimace, like Mephistopheles, which caused a mutual 
 laugh. 
 
 Raffaello could not help thinking what very 
 pleasant people lived in the old house behind the 
 Badia. It was a gray, dingy, dirty, tumble-down 
 old house to be sure, with narrow courts and 
 crooked steps and broken shutters ; but that was 
 nothing. Mariotto and Camillo and the madre, and 
 even the parrot, were all jovial, good-natured, and 
 happy, as if they lived in a grand palace ; and they 
 were all kind to him. 
 
 The painter was not at all like Camillo. He was 
 younger, and not so big or so broad, and his face 
 was not so red, and his laugh not so loud ; but he 
 was a pleasant friend, like the coachman, called him 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 49 
 
 mignone, and seemed to be fond of him at once. 
 And he entertained him so well while he worked, 
 that Raffaello did not get so very tired, sitting still 
 and looking one way. He began to hope he would 
 have to come often to sit for Mariotto, and was 
 moved to ask, — 
 
 " How long will it be before the picture is 
 finished 1 " 
 
 " Ah, that I cannot tell. ' Chi va piano, va sanno.'^ 
 It may be a long time. You are not weary already .f^ " 
 
 " Oh, no. I hope it will be a long time, for I 
 want to come often and talk with you." 
 
 " That 's my fine bimbo ! " exclaimed the artist, 
 well pleased; and he stuck his brushes over his ear, 
 and stood aloof a few steps, viewing his rough 
 sketch critically. 
 
 " Perhaps this will be enough for to-day ; we must 
 not get weary of each other too soon, for there is 
 the picture for Faustina to do when this is finished." 
 
 " Yes," said Raffaello, " she wants it very much. 
 She would rather have it than the silver liras^ 
 
 "She shall have the liras and the picture too. 
 But you will come to me to-morrow, and then again 
 the next day ; and after it will be Sunday, and we 
 shall rest on that day, and ask the good Lord to 
 
 ^ " He who goes slowly goes well." 
 
I50 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 help US to do our work well," said Mariotto, who had 
 
 a pious soul, and whose art was his creed and his 
 
 religion. 
 
 " Yes," said Raffaello, " I will remember." 
 
 " And now, a pleasant walk to you, my bimbos 
 
 said Mariotto, patting him on the cheek, "and a 
 
 good fortune to you!" 
 
 And as the little boy left the artist's room, he felt 
 
 as if Fortune had indeed taken him by the hand, 
 
 and was leading him gently onward, and would 
 
 never turn her back on him any more. 
 

 TEaxi 
 
 ^^ 
 
 T was several weeks after Raffaello's 
 first visit to Mariotto's work-room, 
 when one morning he entered at the 
 usual hour, and found the little studio 
 empty. He had noticed, as he made his 
 way through the narrow streets, that the whole city 
 seemed to be in a commotion and excitement ; that 
 most of the shops were closed ; and that flags bear- 
 ing the Italian colors were set in the windows ; and 
 that the people were moving in great crowds in the 
 direction of the river-bank, the great Lung Arno, 
 which is the avenue of the rich and noble. 
 
 Raffaello sat down to wait for the painter's return, 
 wondering what festa day it might be, and where 
 Mariotto had gone; for it was already late, and 
 there was no sign of his having been at work that 
 morning. The paints and brushes were put away. 
 
152 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 and the tall easel was in its corner, and the picture 
 on it was covered with a cloth, just as he had left it 
 on the Saturday evening before, for it was then 
 Monday. There were only the remains of Mariotto's 
 breakfast left scattered on a little table at the other 
 end of the room ; and everything showed that work 
 had been given up for that day, evidently on account 
 of some great festivity. For the Florentine man or 
 woman is like a child, when it comes to gay sights 
 and glorious processions; and Mariotto was young, 
 and, next to his art, loved best to mingle in the 
 gayeties of his simple, light-hearted, sportive people. 
 Little Raffaello was just wondering whether he 
 should go or stay, for the painter did not make his 
 appearance, when he heard the jovial too-loo-rool 
 and the heavy tread of the cocchiere on the stairs. 
 
 " Ah, you are already here, pretty pigeon," cried 
 Camillo, opening the door. " How long have you 
 been waiting ? " 
 
 " Oh, a long time," replied Raffaello. " Mariotto 
 was gone when I came in. Do you know where he 
 is.?" 
 
 " Where ? " shouted Camillo. " Ecco, little man, 
 don't you know.f* don't you know where everybody 
 is going to-day ; where I am going, and you too, if 
 you will come t " 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 53 
 
 " No," answered Raffaello, in surprise. 
 
 " Ha, ha, I forgot that your country-folk at Gal- 
 luzzo never know what is going on in the city ; 
 some of them don't even know which way the Arno 
 flows, Santa Catrina ! Well, I will tell you, bimbo 
 mio, we are all going to see the grand procession." 
 
 " And will Mariotto not come back to paint to- 
 day ? " asked the little boy, a trifle disappointed. 
 
 " Che, che ! it is a holiday ; a great festa, Raffael- 
 lino, and people cannot shut themselves up in a 
 garret to paint, when our beautiful young queen 
 comes all the way from Rome to show herself to us, 
 and to wish us a Good-day ! " 
 
 " The queen ! " cried Raffaello. 
 
 " The king and the queen and the little Prince 
 of Napoli,^ who is no bigger than you, and — " he 
 added in a lower voice, turning his head around 
 and addressing the two brass buttons on the tail 
 of his coat — " not half so pretty ! And all the nobil- 
 ity will be there, in their fine carriages, and every 
 Florentine that has got a sensible eye or two in his 
 head, will come out to see the lovely Margherita." 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Raffaello, clapping his hands 
 in delight, " and you will take me to the procession, 
 Camillo .? " 
 
 ^ Prince of Naples, the heir to the Italian crown. 
 
154 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 " That is what I came here to do, for Mariotto has 
 lost his head to-day, and will not be dragged from 
 his place on the Ponte Alia Carraja until dark. 
 He adores the beautiful queen as if she were the 
 Holy Mother herself!" 
 
 " And he will not want me at all to-day ? " 
 
 " He has said so ; and left me to bring you when 
 I came, while he went on ahead to choose the best 
 place in the crowd, and save one for us near him." 
 
 Raffaello thought no more of his disappointment 
 in the exciting prospect of witnessing a fine pro- 
 cession of great people, a thing he had never seen. 
 So he gave his hand to Camillo, and they went 
 down-stairs together, and climbing on the box of 
 the coach, made their way as speedily as possible 
 through the curious multitude, all flocking the same 
 way. 
 
 The whole length of the Lung Arno was 
 thronged with people stationed on both sides of 
 the street, for that was the promenade chosen by 
 the king and queen on leaving the Pitti Palace. It 
 was a splendid sight, this long smooth avenue 
 following the graceful curve of the river, and en- 
 livened with the gay crowd ; the gray palaces with 
 their irregular roofs rising picturesquely out against 
 the warm-tinted sky, their balconies and windows 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 155 
 
 and loggias^ filled with brilliantly dressed ladies, 
 and their reflection in the limpid Arno opposite 
 smiling back at*" them ; gay-colored flags flying at 
 every peak and gable, in sign of welcome to the 
 young sovereigns. It was a joyous day for the 
 Florentines, for there is nothing they like so well 
 as the sight of pageantry and pomp. As Camillo 
 had said, not a soul in Florence would have thought 
 of missing it, and it really seemed as if the whole 
 city were come out to see the royal procession, and 
 pay tribute. 
 
 Camillo left his cab and horse around the corner 
 in the Borgo, and pushed his way through the 
 crowd with Raffaello. Their friend, the artist, was 
 already perched on one of the stone arms of the 
 bridge of Carraja, and beckoned to them to come 
 near. He had been waiting there three hours or 
 more to hold this splendid point of view, as indeed, 
 many other spectators had thought it little trouble 
 to do, for a glance and a smile from the lovely 
 queen. 
 
 Raffaello learned, from hearing Camillo and 
 the painter talking together, that the king and 
 queen were on their way to Venice, there to meet 
 5ome great foreign emperor; and that they would 
 
 1 Covered gardens on the roofs of houses. 
 
156 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 remain in Florence but one day. Great festivities 
 had been prepared for them, in consequence, by 
 the Florentine nobility, and every one who wore a 
 title or had a coronet on his crest, would surely be 
 following in the royal retinue that afternoon. It 
 seemed a long time waiting to little Rafifaello, who 
 was hemmed in by the crowd of tall men and 
 women, and who was so small that the only view 
 that was anywhere on his level was a motley array 
 of boots and legs and arms, gesticulating enthusi- 
 astically, as their owners whiled away the time with 
 neighborly conversation. But he tried to be very 
 patient, and only questioned Camillo now and then 
 about the little prince, wondering whether he would 
 get a glimpse of him from his lowly, hidden place 
 in the big crowd. 
 
 Camillo, however, was taking care of that. When, 
 at last, the royal carriages were seen in the far 
 distance, turning out of the Ponte Vecchio, and 
 moving slowly between the masses of people, and 
 the joyous cry of " Viva la Savoia ! "^ went up with 
 a shout and was caught up and repeated and echoed 
 the whole length of the brilliant avenue, Camillo 
 suddenly caught Raffaello up in his arms and raised 
 
 1 " Long live Savoy ! " The house of Savoy, of which the present 
 king is a member. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 57 
 
 him on his shoulder, from which exalted position 
 — for Camillo was so very tall — the little boy could 
 see over the tops of thousands of heads the ap- 
 proach of the regal equipages. 
 
 " Oh, look, look, Camillo ! " cried he, in great 
 excitement, " do you see some people sitting very 
 high in a carriage, dressed all in red, and with 
 something bright shining at their belts ! Do you 
 think they are the king and the queen ? " 
 
 " Ha ! Ha ! You little country pigeon ! " laughed 
 Camillo. " Do I think they are the king and the 
 queen ! Bless my buttons ! I should say not ! They 
 are only the coachman and lackeys ! For all their 
 fine red jackets and curly powdered- wigs, they are 
 no better cocchieri than your old Camillo. I could 
 sit up just as straight, and hold my head just as 
 stiff, and draw the reins on my handsome steeds 
 just as tight, if I were in their shoes. It is only the 
 difference of being coachman to the king and queen, 
 and coachman to the people, that 's all ; " for Camillo, 
 who had a horror of being outdone by anybody, 
 could not refrain from passing a little professional 
 criticism on those whom Fortune had placed a few 
 degrees higher up the scale than himself. ** But 
 never fear ; every onion has its own time for sprout- 
 ing, and mine may not be far off." 
 
158 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 " Oh, I should love to see you driving a splendid 
 coach like that, Camillo. I am sure you would look 
 much finer than anybody," said Raffaello, admir- 
 ingly, for he truly believed that his friend, the 
 coachman, was capable of filling any post of honor 
 that might be assigned to him. At this genuine 
 echo of his own sentiments, Camillo patted the two 
 small legs that hung about his neck, as a mark of 
 his approval. 
 
 " Now, you will see the queen and the little prince 
 sitting in their carriage, as soon as they get a little 
 nearer. There ! you can see the king now, stand- 
 ing up with hat in hand and bowing to the people. 
 Look, look ! there beside him is the lovely Marghe- 
 rita, smiling like an angel. Long live the queen ! 
 and the little prince, too, is looking straight at you 
 and nodding. Wave your hat, Raffaello, and cheer! " 
 and the enthusiastic Camillo threw up his own cap 
 above the crowd, and joined in the loud acclamation 
 of " Long live the king ! Long live the queen ! 
 Long live Savoy ! " while the gracious young mon- 
 archs bowed and smiled on every side, acknowledg- 
 ing the homage of their subjects. 
 
 It was a glorious sight, and one that thrilled 
 every heart present with love of country and loyalty 
 to his king. The people shouted and cheered and 
 
There ! you can see the king now, with hat in hand. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. l6l 
 
 waved flags and handkerchiefs, and some few wept 
 for joy. It was a scene of fairy-land which many 
 carried home with them, and dreamed of and remem- 
 bered for many days after. 
 
 Following the royal coach, came a long line of 
 other carriages of state, belonging to the dukes and 
 princes of Florence, and to all the high families, 
 ceremoniously arrayed to befit the great occasion. 
 But the eyes of the crowd were following the red 
 figures of the royal footmen as they towered high 
 at the head of the procession, and finally disappeared 
 beyond the tall gates of the Cascine.^ 
 
 Suddenly little Raffaello, who had been watching 
 with the rest, gave a quick start, and clutched very 
 tightly at the patient Camillo's ears. 
 
 " See ! " he cried under his breath, as he brought 
 his little face close to the big one, " there she is ! " 
 
 " Who ? Where ? " asked Camillo, showing no 
 emotion. 
 
 " The beautiful signorina, my signorina! " whis- 
 pered the little boy, in an agitated voice. 
 
 Camillo turned and beheld, among the last of the 
 carriages in line, the one he had seen that morning, 
 several months ago, in front of the Church of the 
 
 1 A large park. 
 
1 62 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 Annunziata, with the bright silver trappings, and 
 the yellow coronet and monogram on the door. 
 
 " Surely ! it is the Signorina Francesca ! " ex- 
 claimed Mariotto, who was standing close to them. 
 
 " Do you know her ? " asked Raff aello, eagerly. 
 
 " £^cco / who does not know the pretty creature ? 
 You see the people are looking at her now, as if she 
 were a queen too. She is a queen among some of 
 them ; she is so kind to the poor, she helps them^ 
 and goes about to take care of them when they are 
 sick. That is her old grandfather sitting next to 
 her. Poor old man ! It is the first time he has 
 ridden out in public for six years ! " 
 
 Mariotto went on talking with Camillo and one 
 or two bystanders, about the Signorina Francesca; 
 but Raffaello heard no more of what was said. He 
 was intently watching the beautiful face that was 
 turned smiling to those who knew her. Her soft, 
 large eyes had a look of sadness in them. She 
 glanced down at the crowds as if in search of some 
 one ; she did not look up so high as Camillo's 
 shoulder, — she was looking at some young children 
 that stood near the edge of the street. Once or 
 twice Raffaello's litde heart fluttered with the hope 
 that her eyes would meet his, if only for a second ; 
 but they did not, and she was soon past. He felt a 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 63 
 
 pang of disappointment, as if all the splendor of the 
 great procession and the smile of the beautiful 
 queen had suddenly been wiped out of his memory 
 by the sudden apparition of this fairer vision which 
 had so long been in his thoughts. 
 
 He looked a long time in silence after the vanish- 
 ing figures of the old man and the young girl, not 
 knowing why this sudden loneliness had come over 
 him at the sight of her, and why he felt like laying 
 his head on Camillo's neck and crying his heart 
 out. 
 
 Camillo and the painter had stopped talking, and 
 were standing waiting for the crowd to move, when 
 some one laid a hand on the coachman's arm, and 
 said in a hoarse whisper, — 
 
 " You have got him here in this crowd, perched 
 upon your shoulder, for every soul in the city to 
 gaze at ! O Saints ! Why did I ever let him come ! " 
 and looking down, Raffaello saw Faustina, with a 
 frightened face, clutching at Camillo's arm. 
 
 " Ho, ho, Monna Faustina ! you are too late for 
 the procession," said the cocchiere, not one whit 
 disturbed by the w^oman s agitation, as he landed 
 Raffaello once more on his feet. " You should have 
 made an earlier start, and come yourself with the 
 bimbo I " 
 
1 64 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 " What do I care for your processions ! " she 
 retorted angrily. " Will they give me back what I 
 have lost ? I did not come to see your silly parade, 
 and your smirking hateful nobility, who are here 
 to flaunt their riches and blessings in the face of 
 poor wretches! I came to find my boy, when I 
 heard that there was festa, and that you would all 
 be flocking here, mad fools ! to grin like apes at 
 those who spit upon you ! " 
 
 " Stop that bleating ! " cried a bystander, who 
 had caught the tone of Faustina's words and 
 thought he scented a quarrel in the air. 
 
 '' Brimstone ! " shouted one or two others, gayly, 
 relishing the prospect, " Look out for the explo- 
 sion ! " 
 
 But Camillo, who wished particularly to avoid 
 any scene just then, patted Faustina soothingly on 
 the back, and said good-humoredly, — 
 
 " There, there, dame Faustina, your bimbo is safe, 
 and no one has been harmed ; where is the use of 
 making yourself any bad blood over it!" 
 
 Faustina made no reply, but gave her hand to 
 Raffaello, saying nervously, — 
 
 " Come, let us hasten back to the village ; it is 
 growing late ! " and she hurried away out of the 
 crowd, like one afraid of being seen, never slacken- 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 65 
 
 ing her step or uttering another word until they 
 were far out upon the country road, and the lights 
 on the Arno were beginning to twinkle in the dis- 
 tance, and the sun was sunk deep below the purple 
 mists of Carrara. 
 
A MONTH later, it was nearing the end 
 of March, and the hills round about 
 Galluzzo were already brilliant with the 
 hues of returning spring. Faustina sat 
 beside her hearth, preparing the evening 
 meal, and Minnetto lay eying her with 
 lazy interest, while Raffaello was gone to fetch a jug 
 of fresh water from the spring near by. The door 
 of the hut stood open, and Faustina was looking out 
 upon the pretty landscape which stretched itself 
 before her, with a sense of deep relief and a quiet- 
 ness of spirit which she had not known for many 
 weeks. 
 
 Raffaello had stopped going to the city every day 
 to sit for Mariotto, the painter, for now the picture 
 was finished, and had been sent to its owner, and 
 nothing had come of it. Raffaello was still with 
 her; and the picture which Mariotto had pairpted 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 67 
 
 for her hung there on the wall, and the little 
 money-box in which they kept their treasures was 
 filled with bright silver pieces which the little boy 
 had earned. Fate seemed suddenly to have smiled 
 on them and prospered them, and Faustina began 
 to hope that Heaven would not punish her as she 
 deserved to be punished, by taking the child away 
 from her, — this gentle boy who had come to her 
 when she was in trouble and despair; who had 
 given her something to care for, to work for, and to 
 think of. She dared to hope that Providence had 
 sent him to her to keep, and to love always, and to 
 make a better, gentler woman of her. She was one 
 of those who are hardened and embittered by sorrow. 
 Her life had been a desolate one, but it had been so 
 throuofh her own dolnsf. Yet there were times 
 when the softer side of her nature rose to the sur- 
 face, and she felt that she would sfive all she had to 
 show Raffaello how much she loved him ; when 
 she longed to be kind and gentle with him, and 
 teach him so to care for her, that he should never 
 want to leave her for anyone else. She had been 
 afraid to do this, lest sometime the day would come 
 when they should have to be parted from one 
 another, and all her old sorrows should be renewed, 
 and his young heart grieved. But now, it was 
 
1 68 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 nearly a year since he had first gone from the seclu- 
 sion of his earlier childhood, and had mingled with 
 other people, made friends, and grown familiar with 
 the big city ; yet no one had guessed the truth, no 
 one had known him, he was still hers. Ah, that is 
 what Faustina thought ! 
 
 She had had many secret fears during that long 
 year just past. She had passed many sleepless nights 
 for thinking of the danger of his being recognized. 
 But so far, all her terrors had proved vain ; and 
 to-night she was hopeful, and she determined hence- 
 forward to trust to Heaven's mercy for the only 
 sweet thing that was left in her life, and to show 
 the boy that he was her only comfort. 
 
 When he returned with the jug of water, she 
 drew him to her side, and, passing her arm around 
 him, said, — 
 
 " Kiss me, Raffaello ! " 
 
 The child laid his head close to hers. 
 
 '* I have not been a mother to you, Raffaello mio. 
 Heaven sent you to me long ago, to comfort me 
 when I was in great trouble, and I would not be 
 comforted. But now, if you will only love me 
 better than any one else in the world, I will be a 
 good mother to you ; I will try to make you forget 
 that I have not always been kind." 
 
Camillo entered, and made his best bow." 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 171 
 
 Raffaello could not promise to love Faustina 
 better than any one else ; there was already some 
 one who held that place in his young affections, — 
 the beautiful Francesca, whom he had seen but 
 twice, but whose image was always in his thoughts. 
 Why was it that he could not love Faustina like 
 that.f* since he had to live with her and be near 
 her always. Why had she not made him love her 
 before ? But Faustina had not foreseen that the 
 child's heart could not be turned of a sudden to 
 her after those years of loneliness ; and that for 
 very need of the tender affection which he had 
 lacked, all the ardor of his young soul was centred 
 upon a fair vision whom he worshipped secretly 
 as if she had been a being from another world. 
 
 As they stood there together in this near and 
 new relation, Faustina hoping that all would be 
 well, and Raffaello wondering why it was not, a 
 dark shadow fell across the doorway, and made 
 them both look up. 
 
 " Ah, it is you, Sor cocchiere'' said Faustina, ris- 
 ing as Camillo entered and made his best bow to 
 her, and gave his usual cheery greeting to the 
 little boy. 
 
 " Yes," said he, sitting down and running Min- 
 netto's tail between his fingers, " Camillo is like a 
 
172 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 mushroom, he is always shooting up in the night- 
 time. Yet mushrooms, you know, make a good 
 sauce for men's meat, sometimes." 
 
 " You will make a good sauce to ours, if you will 
 stay and eat a morsel with us," said Faustina, who 
 was in a kinder mood, and who was beginning to 
 share everybody's opinion that Camillo w^as an 
 honest felloW: and the best of company. 
 
 '' Ecco ! Faustina, Camillo has never refused a 
 woman anything, and it would be late to begin now, 
 especially when he sniffs such things as that in the 
 neighborhood ! " responded he, eying one of Faus- 
 tina's round white cheeses on the table. " I was 
 on my way from leaving some visitors at Certosa, 
 and something in the wind — it must have been 
 the scent of your fine cookery — told me to step 
 in, and see how you and the bimbo fared." 
 
 " You have ver}^ good nostrils ! " said Faustina, 
 laying another plate for the coachman. 
 
 " Ay, and very good luck, too, to find such favor 
 with the handsome padrona I " returned Camillo, 
 with great gallantry. For although he was only 
 a common coachman who drove a battered old 
 hackney-coach for a living, and who dwelt under 
 the roof of a tumble-down old city house, he had 
 that natural kindliness of heart, and genial spirit, 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 73 
 
 which made it impossible for him ever to have an 
 enemy, and which attracted everybody to him, even 
 so hard and unfriendly a person as Faustina. 
 
 He drew up his chair to the table when Faustina 
 had brought out the provisions she had made for 
 their supper, and he waxed so jovial and amusing, 
 and praised Faustina and the neatness of her house 
 and table so frankly, and was so gentle with 
 Ra£faello, and played such comical tricks with the 
 cat, that he at once established himself as a 
 friend of the family, and won Faustina's enduring 
 regard. 
 
 Now, whatever it was that Camillo had in his 
 mind, when he came to the little hut that evening, — 
 whether it was really only to pay them a friendly 
 call, or whether it was for a hidden purpose, — it 
 would be very difficult to say. Camillo was such 
 a sly old fellow that one could never quite guess his 
 thoughts, except to feel certain that they were 
 always honest and generous ones. 
 
 It chanced that during the course of the meal 
 he grew so confidential, that Faustina was moved 
 to talk a little about herself, — a thing she had not 
 done in many years. She was in a softer mood 
 that evening, and the big warm-hearted coachman, 
 with his kindly face and genial ways and pleasant 
 
174 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 laugh, was just the person to draw out her sympa- 
 thies, and make her feel that he, at least, was a 
 friend whom she could trust. 
 
 " Benedictions on you, my good Faustina ! you 
 have, in truth, had your sackful of troubles ! " ex- 
 claimed Camillo, with feeling, when she had spoken 
 of the death of her husband and of her little boy, 
 and of how she had been left alone and comfort- 
 less for many years; "but trouble is like the ice- 
 wind from the Apennines, — it blows in at every- 
 body's door, and chills every man's marrow; the 
 rich man's as well as ours. We all have a taste of 
 it, bless you ! and it is an evil-tasting morsel when- 
 ever it comes." 
 
 " Ah, but some of us have it bitterer than the 
 rest, friend Camillo. The rich man can keep many 
 troubles from his door; and those he cannot keep 
 wholly away, he can make easier to bear. Which 
 is better, to have sickness and the loss of dear ones 
 added to poverty and misery ; or to have wealth 
 and friends and comforts left to console you ? Do 
 not talk to me of trials being equal here below ; 
 the rich and the great have everything to make 
 them forget their troubles ; the poor have every- 
 thing to make them remember." 
 
 " Not always so, Faustina. Sometimes the great 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 175 
 
 cannot forget their sorrows any better than we; 
 they feel and suffer just Hke us. I have seen much 
 of it in the city ; for there the hovel and the palace 
 stand one next to the other, and one can see out- 
 side one's own windows, and find that others have 
 their burdens to bear. You who live in the coun- 
 try, with no other neighbors than the birds and 
 flowers, that are always happy, think yourself ill- 
 used, indeed ; but look about you in a city like 
 Florence, and you will find thousands who would 
 envy you. Ecco ! I am thinking now, at this very 
 moment, of a certain rich old man in Florence, 
 who would give all he has, — his wealth, his fine 
 lands, and his great name, everything, — to have 
 this pretty bimbo here beside you ! " 
 
 Faustina started, and looked at the coachman 
 questioningly. 
 
 " Who ? " she asked. 
 
 " An old gentleman of the nobility who has 
 known great misfortunes, when yo^ talk of misfor- 
 tunes and of losing dear ones." 
 
 " Lost children ? " inquired Faustina. 
 
 " Ay, children and grand-children,'* said Camillo, 
 with a look that was full of mystery. 
 
 "All dead .^" 
 
 " Ah, worse than dead ! " returned Camillo. 
 
176 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Faustina, 
 whose face had suddenly grown white, and wore 
 the old hard look. " What do you mean by worse 
 than dead ? " 
 
 Camillo felt that he was getting very bold, and 
 wiped his face with his pocket-handkerchief before 
 replying, — 
 
 " Ah, friend, it is a long story, and a sad story ; 
 I did not come here to talk of dismal things," and 
 he cast a glance at Raffaello, who sat listening in- 
 tently to what was said. " Let me come and tell 
 it to you on the next penitential day, when you 
 need to shed a few tears for your sins, which I am 
 willing to wager a pair of rabbits' ears are not 
 worth the trouble of confessing ! " 
 
 " No, tell it now," said Faustina. " You cannot 
 make me waste any tears over other people's 
 troubles. I have spent them all on my own." 
 
A|J|FlXni 
 
 ^^r^ 
 
 HE coachman finished the 
 bit of cheese that remained 
 his plate, and mopped his 
 again, for he was growing 
 very warm with the prospect of 
 his narrative. He leaned far back in his chair, 
 pressing the tips of his fingers together, and gazed 
 steadily at Faustina. 
 
 " Well, it happened the same year that the little 
 Prince of Napoli was born. You remember that 
 was in the winter, and the other took place just 
 after the feast of the Pasqua} six years ago." 
 
 "No, I do not remember," said Faustina, "any- 
 thing that happened at Florence six years ago, for 
 I was out of Florence then, and had just come here 
 to live with Raffaello alone, and shut myself away 
 from the rest of the world." 
 
 1 Easter. 
 
 12 
 
178 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 '' Ecco ! I remember it well enough. All Italy- 
 was full of it, and Florence talked of nothing else 
 for two years. The old man had married his beau- 
 tiful daughter to a young nobleman of very high 
 family, and they often went to Rome, where 
 she was greatly admired among the great folk 
 on account of her beauty. The old signer was 
 very proud of her, and would never hear of her 
 staying away from any grand feast. They had two 
 children: a little maid of ten, and a bambino of a 
 boy, scarcely more than a year old. That year, just 
 before the Pasqua, the young signora and her hus- 
 band went to attend the baptism of the little prince 
 at St. Peter's, and while they were gone the terrible 
 thing happened." 
 
 Camillo paused a moment. The yellow flame in 
 the fireplace flickered once or twice, and lighted up 
 the room, so that he saw Faustina's face, still white, 
 and intent upon him. 
 
 " It was spring, and the time when the people flock 
 out to the beautiful Gardens of Boboli, on account 
 of the flowers and the sunshine, and the pleasant 
 company to be met with on a Thursday afternoon. 
 The bambino had gone there with his nurse-maid, 
 against the old signers wishes, who would not allow 
 his grandson to be seen in the crowd w^th the 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 79 
 
 common popoli. But the young wench had a lover 
 to meet, some good-for-nothing soldier, no doubt, 
 who paid her such violent court, and blubbered such 
 a pack of rubbish in her silly ears, that she forgot all 
 about her little boy, who had just learned to toddle, 
 and who was taking this opportunity to make use of 
 his little legs, and was running away from her. 
 
 " The last bells at sundown were ringing, and the 
 people were nearly all out of the Garden, before she 
 discovered that she had lost him." 
 
 Faustina rose from the table, as if she had been 
 struck, and walked to the little window where the 
 moonlight came streaming in, and stood there a 
 moment with her hand on her heart, and her face 
 turned away from Camillo. The good coachman 
 watched her closely. It was getting harder and 
 harder for him to proceed in his narrative ; his own 
 kind heart was very sore for her. 
 
 "Ah, Faustina, I see that I must stop; you are 
 beginning to be weary of my story," he said. 
 
 " No ; go on, now that you have begun. Tell it 
 all ! " she said, with a desperate ring to her words. 
 
 " Shall I go on, Raffaellino mio ? " asked Camillo 
 of the little boy. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Camillo, tell us more about the bambino. 
 Was he really lost t I want to hear it all," whis- 
 
l8o A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 pered Raffaello, who was now standing close to 
 the old coachman, and was drinking in his every 
 word. 
 
 " Lost," repeated Camillo. 
 
 " And was he never found by anybody ? " asked 
 Raffaello. 
 
 " Santa Maria ! They searched the gardens night 
 and day for a w^eek, they dragged the fountains, 
 fearing he had fallen in, they scoured the city, and 
 dragged the Arno ; the nurse-maid went crazy with 
 fright, and could never tell straight what had hap- 
 pened, and how he had slipped away from her. 
 The whole country was on the hunt ; but never a 
 sign or a rag did they ever find of him, not even so 
 much as a little shoe, though some said he had 
 been gored by a mad bull that had just escaped 
 from Al Prato." 
 
 " Did they ever think he had been stolen ? " asked 
 Faustina, coming back to the table. 
 
 " At first, they thought it ; but when they had 
 offered fortune after fortune to anyone who would 
 bring the child back, and no one ever came, they all 
 believed, like noodles that they were, that he had in 
 some way got into the river and been carried off to 
 the sea. That is the way wath these Florentine 
 magistrates ; everything they don't know what to do 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. l8l 
 
 with, they put into the Arno. Grellotta! how the 
 men did stand and dispute about the matter, in the 
 piazzas every day at noon ! But disputing did no 
 good, and the poor bambinetto was given up for 
 drowned, and there were more masses said over the 
 little innocent than would be needed to take a regi- 
 ment of bad paste like me out of Purgatory. Then, 
 the matter was forgotten by every one but the old 
 signor and the young mother and father, and the 
 pretty little signoriiia, who was just old enough to 
 know she had lost her baby-brother." 
 
 " And when did they stop the search } " asked 
 Faustina. 
 
 " Stop it.^ not till the father and mother were both 
 in their graves, she with grieving, and he with hav- 
 ing caught the fever searching like a madman down 
 in the low countries near Napoli, that summer. 
 Now there is no one left but the old signor and his 
 grand-daughter ; but tliough the one is an old man 
 and the other a young girl, I think their hope is not 
 quite dead. It is hard to believe death till we see 
 it ; and they are always hoping to find their little 
 one. Ah, it is pitiful to see them always going to 
 church in their splendid carriage, looking so broken- 
 hearted in spite of their riches and their coronets ! 
 What comfort do you think riches bring to them, 
 
1 82 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 when they think day and night. that the child of 
 their own flesh and blood is somewhere, perhaps, 
 in this big world, living in poverty and want, while 
 they are rich ! " 
 
 Camillo looked very hard into Faustina's dark 
 eyes as he said this, and she looked back into his, 
 and the two remained silent until Camillo saw that 
 something glistened on the edge of her black lashes. 
 Then he turned, and met Raffaello's face close to 
 his. 
 
 " It is my signorina!'' whispered the child. 
 
 " Yes, it is the Signorina Francesca, whom you 
 saw praying at the Annunziata, and who was in the 
 queen's procession that day." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed little Raffaello, clasping Camil- 
 lo*s hand more tightly. 
 
 " Now, Faustina," pursued the coachman, return- 
 ing the little boy's caress, and making his voice as 
 gentle as he could, for he felt that he had ill-repaid 
 Faustina for her hospitality, " I have not told you 
 this to grieve you ; but I know that you women are 
 all tender-hearted, and tbat if you heard the story, 
 you could not refuse what I am going to ask." 
 
 " What can you ask of me ? " groaned Faustina. 
 " Is it not I that am at your mercy ? Speak then." 
 
 " Not so, good friend, it is you who must grant 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 83 
 
 the favor. I leave it to your own heart whether 
 you can refuse it or not." 
 
 Faustina made no reply. Her heart seemed to 
 have stopped beating, and she was trembling, not 
 so much with fear that Camillo knew the whole of 
 her dismal story, but with a sense of wretchedness at 
 the sudden flight of all the hopes she had cherished 
 but a moment ago. 
 
 " Not long ago," continued Camillo, " the old 
 signor, who thinks of nothing but his affliction, took 
 a fancy that he would like to have a picture of a 
 child resembling his little grandson. He hunted 
 all the galleries of Florence, and had pictures 
 brought to him from everywhere; but he found 
 nothing until one day he chanced to see one of 
 Mariotto's paintings, and admired it. Then he said 
 to the Signorina Francesca, ' I will have that artist 
 paint us a picture that will look like our child, a 
 face with your eyes and your mother's smile.' 
 
 " The order was given to Mariotto for a picture 
 of an angel leading a little child, and the old signor 
 promised that if it pleased him, he would make 
 Mariotto's fortune. When it was finished, and the 
 old man saw the face of the child, he fell on his 
 knees before it, and cried, ' That is like my son ! 
 That is like Francesca ! Bring the child who bears 
 
184 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 that face to me, and let me look upon him living. 
 No matter who he is, or where he comes from, I will 
 make a son of him, and he shall share my heart and 
 fortune with Francesca!' 
 
 " And now, Faustina," and Camillo lowered his 
 voice almost to a whisper, " is it not for you to say 
 whether Raffaello shall go to comfort the old man 
 who is broken in body and spirit, and who has suf- 
 fered even more than you ? I know that you are a 
 good woman, and that you will do what is right. If 
 you should choose to say he shall not go, and no 
 one should come to force you, and I should promise 
 to hold my tongue forever, you might perhaps keep 
 the child, for every one thinks the dimdo was 
 drowned in the Arno, you know. But think of 
 the sinfulness of it! You must speak from your 
 heart." 
 
 It was a terrible moment for Faustina, who 
 had never cared for others' sorrows, and who was 
 now called upon to give up, of her own free will, the 
 one precious thing of her life for another's happi- 
 ness ! No wonder she wavered between right to 
 the child and right to herself, after her long years of 
 hard feeling and revengeful bitterness. She had 
 always said to herself, when her conscience troubled 
 her sorely, " I have not stolen the child. He came 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 85 
 
 to me ! " Then, she knew nothing of him ; but 
 now, if she kept him in spite of everything, it would 
 be stealing him ; he would suspect her, and she 
 would never win his love ! Her hard hands were 
 clenched and her teeth were set. She felt desper- 
 ate and ready to do any mad thing, until she felt 
 Camillo's hand touch hers, and his kind voice 
 whispered in her ear, — 
 
 " Courage, Faustina, the Holy Madonna will help 
 you ! " 
 
 The contact with that generous upright nature, 
 the sympathy expressed in his tones and touch, 
 turned the tide of Faustina's feelings. She held 
 out her hands to the little boy. 
 
 " Come here, Raffaello mio',' and she folded him 
 in her arms. " You are that little child. That old 
 man is your grandfather ! " 
 
 Raffaello uttered a cry, and threw both his arms 
 about her neck. 
 
 " You came to me in the Gardens that night, and 
 I brought you here to live with me, because I had 
 lost my own little son ; and I tried to believe it was 
 God that sent you to me. Now you have found 
 your kindred, and you must go to them. They 
 are rich and powerful ; they will make you very 
 happy. Only forgive me, Raffaello, for having kept 
 
1 86 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 you from them so long, and try to think kindly of 
 poor Faustina ! " and she laid her face against his, 
 and wept again. 
 
 " Dear, dear Faustina!" cried the child, suddenly 
 finding that he loved her very much now, and 
 trying to comfort her. " Don't feel sorry, please. 
 You have been so good to me ; I shall never forget 
 you ; and I want you to be happy too ! " 
 
 ''Brava! brava!'' cried Camillo, who felt that 
 they had been dismal long enough, and who never 
 felt at ease in a dull atmosphere. " Everybody will 
 be happy to-morrow; and there will h^ festa and 
 rejoicing all over the city ; and dame Faustina will 
 be made a duchess, or some such fine thing, for 
 having found the baby Barborello, and saved him 
 from the jaws of that mad bull. Hola ! Alleluia! " 
 and he tossed up his glazed hat, which had been put 
 on the floor beside him, with such a flourish, that 
 Minnetto, who had been taking a nap in the crown 
 of it, took such a sommersault as he had not had 
 for many a day; and then retired to the back of 
 Faustina's chair with an injured expression, and in 
 evident disapproval of such familiarity. 
 
«^ r^ 
 
 
 ^<«si-^^ 
 
 IVTEVER had the world looked 
 so bright and the day so 
 joyous to little Raffaello, as it did 
 on the following morning, when he 
 and Camillo made their way, hand in hand, up 
 the steep road that stretched northward beyond 
 the Porta San Gallo. Behind them the city lay 
 nestling close together in the broad, beautiful val- 
 ley, with its cathedral and palace towers gilded red 
 with the first touch of early sunlight, and the 
 Arno curling its silvery way between the gray 
 stones, and Galileo's Tower rising on the opposite 
 slope, from out the rich new growth of vineyards 
 and olive-orchards and budding mulberries. Before 
 them rose the most fertile side of the great 
 Apennines, mantled with young fields and hoary 
 cypresses, and studded here and there with pretty 
 villas and flowered terraces; and higher still, fair 
 
1 88 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 Fiesole lying like a gem on the bosom of the green 
 mountain. 
 
 Raffaello, being a child of Tuscany, with an 
 inborn love for all that is beautiful, would have car- 
 ried a glad heart that morning, amid this surround- 
 ing loveliness, even if he had had no other reason 
 for being happy. But the great mystery of his 
 childhood had at last been solved. All that he had 
 sought so long to understand, was now made clear, 
 and his greatest childish hope was fulfilled. He 
 would live always with the beautiful signorina; she 
 was his sister; she would be fond of him, and never 
 look sad again, and he would have the right to love 
 her dearly. Raffaello never lost the remembrance 
 of that early silent walk, when, with his hand in 
 Camillo's warm grasp, his heart gladdened by his 
 familiar friends, the wild myrtle and the arbutus, 
 whose scent filled the air, he turned his back for- 
 ever on all his childish loneliness and longings, and 
 went forward to meet a new life of happiness ! 
 
 Camillo doubtless felt as much as Raffaello, if not 
 more, that morning; for he was silent, and that 
 was very unusual with him. As he went panting 
 and puffing up the steep mountain-road, growing 
 redder at every step, he was thinking of poor 
 Faustina, sitting alone in her hut, and of what a 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 89 
 
 hard thing it must have been for her to give up the 
 little boy whom she had loved and reared from his 
 babyhood ; and he was wondering, too, with a secret 
 chuckle, if there was not a way in which he might 
 console Faustina, and make her loss easier to bear. 
 Faustina was a fine woman, there was no question 
 as to that, Camillo thought. She had proved it by 
 the way she had given up the bimbo ; and now he 
 must look about him for some means of keeping 
 her from being too lonely. 
 
 But Faustina, sitting alone with her cat that 
 morning, was not so disconsolate as Camillo sup- 
 posed. To her own surprise, there was no bitter- 
 ness in the thought that Raffaello was gone from 
 her, to be with those who would cherish him and 
 make him happy. She had often looked forward to 
 that time with terror; yet, now that it was come, 
 and through her own consent, she felt that blessed 
 peace, the consciousness of having done right, which 
 is ever the reward of an unselfish deed. She had 
 prayed humbly and penitently for the first time in 
 many years ; and her prayers had been heard. She 
 was comforted and almost happy, far happier than 
 she had ever been when her whole heart and mind 
 had been intent upon avenging herself of her bitter 
 fate. Raffaello had promised to make her happy, 
 
I90 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 and never to forget her. He had a noble generous 
 nature. Perhaps he would love her more because 
 she had suffered for his sake. When they, his 
 people, learned that she had received him when he 
 came to her to fill the gap in her own broken heart, 
 perhaps they would not think so ill of her, and 
 would let him be kind to her. They were rich and 
 great, she was lowly and poor, and they might pity 
 her. She was no longer proud and resentful. She 
 had learned that such feelings bring no joy to any 
 one. She had learned of the simple, large-hearted 
 Camillo that the only way to be truly happy is to 
 think much for others and little for self. 
 
 When Raffaello and his companion had climbed 
 nearly half-way up the road which leads from Flor- 
 ence to Fiesole, they stopped in front of a tall gate- 
 way, fancifully wrought in iron, and hung from 
 two huge pillars surmounted with gryphons. The 
 gardens were enclosed with high stone walls that 
 hid from the passer-by all the loveliness within. 
 But Raffaello, through the open fret-work of the 
 big gate, caught glimpses of a beautiful villa rising 
 high among the trees, and of a winding, flowered 
 walk leading up to it ; of fair white statues and spark- 
 ling fountains, dotting the bright green terrace. 
 
 " Is this the place ? " inquired Raffaello, timidly. 
 
" This is the villa Barborello ! 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 93 
 
 " This is the villa Barborello ! " returned Camillo, 
 trying to assume an air of unlimited confidence, but 
 in reality feeling a trifle nervous and abashed at his 
 proximity to all this magnificence. He pulled out 
 his pocket-handkerchief, and wiped his face several 
 times, and then brushed the dust from Raffaello 's 
 boots and his own, and coughed very loud and 
 unnecessarily once or twice, before making up his 
 mind to put his hand to the bell. 
 
 Before he had time to ring, the tall iron gate 
 swung open, and they saw the grand carriage with 
 the old signor and the lovely Francesca sitting in 
 it, just appearing down the winding drive-way. 
 Camillo was surprised into immediate action. Step- 
 ping forward as the horses were nearing the gate, 
 he doffed his shiny hat, saying, with an air of grave 
 importance, — 
 
 "A thousand pardons, your excellence! a word 
 with you and the fair signorina!'' 
 
 Seeing the child with Camillo, the old nobleman 
 ordered his coachman to stop, a triumph which 
 caused the old ^\.x^^\.-cocchiere to tingle with grati- 
 fication. That such a stiff-necked, silver-buttoned, 
 powdered-wigged individual as the Barborello coach- 
 man should be ordered to stop for him ! With 
 growing courage, he approached the carriage-door, 
 and said, presenting Raffaello, — 
 
 13 
 
194 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 " This is the bimbo that Mariotto painted in your 
 picture. With your excellency's and the signorinas 
 permission, I have brought him here." 
 
 " Ah, let me see this little man whose face was 
 good enough to be put in Mariotto's picture," said 
 the old gentleman, getting out of the carriage, and 
 taking Raffaello's face between his hands. 
 
 " It is not only his face that is handsome, your 
 worship ! " exclaimed Camillo, greatly encouraged 
 by this reception. " Let your nobleness but look 
 at his legs ! as fine and straight as a little prince's ! 
 There are not many such among our common 
 people, else my name is not Camillo ! " 
 
 The signorina smiled and held out her hand to 
 Raffaello, and he went to her as naturally as a 
 flower turns to a sunbeam. He was too full of 
 happiness to utter any words. She led the way 
 to a rustic seat under some trees, at a distance, in 
 the garden. The old man watched them both 
 attentively. 
 
 " He is wonderfully like Francesca ! wonderfully 
 like her; the dark curling hair, the lustrous eyes, 
 the upward turning of the lips ! Truly, Mariotto's 
 picture is perfect ! " 
 
 Camillo stood at a respectful distance, his hands 
 behind his back, ogling and blinking alternately, 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 1 95 
 
 and burning to be more closely questioned. But 
 the old signor was absorbed in studying Raffaello's 
 face, and seemed to have forgotten the presence 
 of the cocchiere. He remained silent, till his eyes 
 rested on something that hung and glistened around 
 the little boy's neck. 
 
 " What is that .^ " he exclaimed, starting suddenly, 
 and laying his trembling hand on the gold-linked 
 chain and the small round medal that Faustina had 
 taken out of the locked box and placed round 
 Raffaello's neck that morning before he left her. 
 It bore the face of the Virgin on one side, and 
 the yellow coronet of the house of Barborello on 
 the other; another medal like it hung on Fran- 
 cesca's breast. 
 
 " It is our lost child ! O Holy Saints, our little 
 Nino returned to us, after these years of waiting 
 and praying! Tell me, good man," he added, turn- 
 ing to Camillo, " tell me if it is so ; whether it is 
 I who have lost my senses ! " 
 
 Francesca hastened to soothe the old man, who 
 stood white and trembling at the discovery, and laid 
 her hand gently on his forehead, whispering, — 
 
 " Dear grandfather, I am sure it is our little 
 one come back to us. I know it by the love I 
 feel for him. Listen, and this kind friend will tell 
 
196 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 US all he knows about it, will you not, good Camillo ? " 
 and she turned to the coachman with a pleading 
 smile. 
 
 "O signorina mia !'' cried Camillo, *I would 
 tell you all I know and more too, if it took me the 
 next minute to Purgatory, to see that look in your 
 sweet face ! I am only a poor cocchiere who lives 
 in a garret with his old madre, and does not meet 
 with the gentility face to face every day. But as 
 sure as I am standing before you, I said, the first 
 time I ever saw that bambino in the Piazza Santa 
 Maria del Fiori,^ ' There 's a little pigeon fallen 
 out of its nest ! ' and the next time I saw him 
 buying gay beads for Faustina at the mercato, 1 
 said, ' 1 '11 go in search of the parent birds, no 
 matter how high they fly ! '" 
 
 And then Camillo told, in the finest language 
 he could command, how with cautious and secret 
 investigation he had learned more and more of 
 the little fellow; of his lonely life with Faustina 
 and the mystery that seemed to hang about him ; 
 and remembering the loss of a child in a great 
 family, some years ago, and making note of 
 Raffaello's beauty and fine features, and his resem- 
 blance to the beautiful signorina, which he had seen 
 1 The Cathedral Square. 
 
It is our lost child ! O holy saints ! " 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 199 
 
 at a glance that day at the Church of the Annunzi- 
 ata, he was satisfied that the whole mystery was 
 in his keeping. Then he related how he had been 
 to see Faustina and drawn her story from her, and 
 the confession that Raffaello was the child who was 
 lost long ago in the Gardens of Boboli. He told 
 how she herself was suffering and desperate then, 
 and how the little helpless thing, toddling towards 
 her with its arms outstretched and clutching at her 
 dress, seemed to have been sent to her from 
 Heaven ; and how she had prayed to be forgiven for 
 having caused others to sorrow; how she had 
 striven to do right by the boy, and loved him as 
 much as it was left in her heart to love any thing 
 or creature. 
 
 Camillo's recital was very touching, for he could 
 be as pathetic at times as he was droll, and he 
 felt deeply for poor Faustina. The old man was 
 moved with compassion. He had no thought of 
 being angry, or of punishing the woman who had 
 taken Raffaello when he had come to her unbidden, 
 and cared for him, and saved him, perhaps, from 
 worse ills than that of falling to the shelter of a 
 humble widow's hut. He was too grateful, and had 
 suffered too long in patience, to cherish any other 
 feeling than that of joy at the strange recovery of 
 
200 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 his little grandson, and the mysterious answering 
 of his prayers. 
 
 He held the child's hand in his, as if afraid of 
 losing him again, and every now and then looked 
 into the young face with an expression of doubt. 
 
 " Tell me, Francesca, that I am not dreaming," 
 he said, turning to the fair signorina. " Tell me that 
 our lost one is found, and that we three, on earth, 
 shall part no more ! " 
 
 " Fratello mio',' ^ said Francesca, sweetly, " speak 
 to our father; tell him that you will never leave 
 us!" 
 
 Raffaello laid his cheek close to the old man's. 
 
 " Yes, I will always stay with you," said he. " You 
 are my grandfather, and she, the beautiful sig- 
 norina, is my sister. Faustina has said so, and 
 Faustina knows better than any one, does she not, 
 Camillo .? " 
 
 " Surely, your sweet excellence," responded Ca- 
 millo, suddenly realizing the grandeur of Raffaello's 
 position, and never lacking in respect. 
 
 " It will make me very happy to live with you 
 here, in this beautiful home. But we must not for- 
 get Faustina. She must be made happy too. She 
 has been good to me, and worked for me, and I 
 have promised never to forget her." 
 
 ^ My brother. 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 20I 
 
 " She has been good to you ? " asked the signor, 
 
 " Oh, yes, but she was very unhappy sometimes, 
 because we were so terribly poor, and she could not 
 give me everything she wanted. But I think she is 
 very fond of me." 
 
 " She shall never be poor again ! " said the old 
 nobleman, rising. " Francesca, Raffaello, my chil- 
 dren, give me each a hand, and let us return to- 
 gether to our home. And you, good Camillo, take 
 my coach at the gate, and ride as fast as my horses 
 will take you to fetch Faustina. You shall all have 
 your reward." 
 
 There was an affectionate parting between Ca- 
 millo and the little heir of Barborello, which seemed 
 in no way out of place to anyone but the coachman 
 and the footman, still in dignified waiting at the 
 gate. Then the three walked slowly toward the villa, 
 while the honored cocchiere bounded into the aris- 
 tocratic carriage with the ease and air of a prince, 
 and gave his orders to the "canary-colored legs," as 
 he called them, feeling that this was, indeed, the 
 most glorious hour of his coachman's career. 
 
'0Mii 
 
 
 TT was not many hours before 
 ■*- the whole city of Florence 
 was thrown into a tumult of 
 joyous excitement at the news that the little son of 
 the great house of Barborello had been brought back 
 to the home of his parents by a certain lucky cocchiere^ 
 who for some reason, seemed to take the whole 
 credit of the matter to himself. Camillo sprang 
 into immediate prominence, and his name was on 
 every tongue, as if he had been the most important 
 person in the whole affair. Like all great and con- 
 spicuous personages, he had often to meet with 
 many envious and sour remarks, from the mouths 
 of those w^ho had been less shrewd than he. For 
 weeks after, he could not ride through the city on 
 the top of his brand-new coach, cracking his whip 
 in the air in his usual jocose spirit, without hearing 
 all around him cries of: ''Ola! there he goes, there 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 203 
 
 goes the gentleman cocchiere, who holds festa with 
 the nobility ! Ha, ha, ha, where 's your other hat, 
 Cam ilk) ? Come, come, boys, light your pipes at the 
 end of his nose ! " 
 
 But Camillo was in too good a humor, and too 
 well satisfied with himself, to take offence at their 
 silly jests. He would only crack his whip the 
 harder over their heads and shout, " Via^ via, you 
 pack of sour crabs ! " 
 
 In truth, Camillo's star of good fortune seemed to 
 be shining very brightly now, and he could scarcely 
 contain his happiness at the successful issue of his 
 great scheme. There were the old signor and the 
 pretty signorina and little Raffaello, all three living 
 together at the grand villa, as happy as any one 
 could wish ; and there were Faustina and he and 
 the madre, and Minnetto and the parrot, actually 
 making one family, and in possession not only of 
 the hut, enlarged and embellished into a veritable 
 little villa, which was the envy of all the neighbors 
 at Galluzzo, but also of a large and flourishing 
 garden around it, with grape-vines and fig-trees all 
 their own ; every bit of it the gift of the old signor, 
 who had followed Raffaello's wish that Faustina 
 should be made happy. 
 
 Camillo, not wishing to be backward in this mat- 
 
204 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 ter, at once endeavored to persuade Faustina that' 
 she could not live alone any more, and that he was 
 the onl}^ person in the world who could rightly pro- 
 tect her, and make Raffaello's absence bearable, be- 
 cause of the interest and love they both had for the 
 little fellow. And as Faustina had already learned 
 to admire the good Camillo, and had seen the folly 
 of shutting herself away from the many kind souls 
 there are in the world, she made little objection. 
 
 She soon found that, after all, life could be made 
 very pleasant, when people were kind and thought- 
 ful toward one another, and laid aside their own 
 troubles. For Camillo, who had been a good, duti- 
 ful son, proved a no less kind and faithful husband, 
 and he and Faustina lived very peaceably and con- 
 tentedly together for the remainder of their days. 
 
 But I really cannot say as much for Minnetto and 
 the parrot, who, I grieve to record, led a life of 
 mutual misunderstanding and strife ; for Coco very 
 soon evinced a wicked fondness for tweaking poor 
 Minnetto's tail, whenever the old cat lay snoozing 
 comfortably in some favorite corner. Minnetto was 
 not accustomed to tail-pulling; he never had been 
 accustomed to it, and to change his habits, at his 
 time of life, was asking too much. Whenever Coco 
 grew too unbearably familiar, Minnetto would quietly 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 205 
 
 retire to some inaccessible spot on the chimney, or on 
 a cornice in the wall, and from there look down with 
 disdain upon the enemy; while Coco would strut 
 up and down the room in fine rage, his eye cocked 
 on one side, trying to lure Minnetto back with his 
 finest flow of parrot-language. 
 
 But it was not only Camillo and Faustina who 
 w^ere made happy by the change 
 in little Raffaello's fortunes. 
 Not one of his old friends 
 was forgotten, and 
 each one, in some 
 way, had a share of 
 
 his bounty. Luigi and his brothers received a hand- 
 some new market-cart and a fine young donkey of 
 a most amiable disposition, to take old Pierrota's 
 place. Even Giojoso's stall was supplied each spring 
 with fresh vegetables from the rich gardens of the 
 Barborello ; and as they cost him nothing, his profits 
 grew very large, so that he was soon able to retire 
 from business. 
 
206 A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 
 
 And Mariotto, the young artist, was set up in a 
 beautiful new studio, with plenty of models and 
 canvases, and the beautiful things he loved to have 
 around him. He painted many pictures that were 
 hung and admired in the Academy, and he grew 
 rich and famous very fast. 
 
 As for little Raffaello himself, I think he was 
 the happiest of them all ; to feel that all those who 
 had been his friends were now made happy through 
 him ; to be so loved by the old signor and the lovely 
 Francesca; to know that with them he had a home 
 which held blessings he had so long missed, was 
 reward enough and happiness enough for him. 
 
 For how sweet is the happiness, dear children, 
 that comes to us after we have known trouble ! 
 How much more do we appreciate blessings for 
 having felt the lack of them ; how grateful do we 
 learn to be for every good thing that comes into 
 our lives when we have been taught its true worth 
 by suffering! And ought not we to believe that 
 the trials that come to us in this world are sent for 
 a purpose to our good; and that if we bear them 
 dutifully and in patience, we may see the good of 
 their teaching even in this world ; that it is only 
 God's own wise and merciful way of dealing with 
 us? 
 
A CHILD OF TUSCANY. 207 
 
 I think that little Raffaello's joy in being re- 
 stored to the dear ones he had lost so long, was 
 in no way lessened for having spent those lonely, 
 almost sad years of his childhood in Faustina's 
 humble home. Those years had taught him a great 
 lesson, and m.oulded his young nature for gentleness 
 and mercy. He was rich, and in time he grew to 
 be powerful ; but in his greatness he never forgot 
 the people, the dear, simple, humble people whom 
 he had known and loved ; and he never ceased to 
 work for their good, because he, himself, had been 
 one of them. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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