-fiction, -fact, an& -fancy Scries 
 
 EDITED BY ARTHUR STEDMAN 
 
 DON FIN1MONDONE
 
 liction, Jact, anb JFancg Series. 
 
 MERRY TALES. 
 
 BY MARK TWAIN. 
 
 THE GERMAN EMPEROR AND HIS EASTERN 
 NEIGHBORS. 
 
 BY POULTNEY BlGELOW. 
 
 SELECTED POEMS. 
 
 BY WALT WHITMAN. 
 
 DON FINIMONDONE : CALABRIAN 
 SKETCHES. 
 
 BY ELISABETH CAVAZZA. 
 
 THE MASTER OF SILENCE: A ROMANCE. 
 BY IRVING BACHELLER. 
 
 Other Volumes to be Announced. 
 Bound in Illuminated Cloth, each, 75 Cents. 
 
 * For Sale by all Booksellers, or sent postpaid, on re- 
 ceipt of price, by the Publishers, 
 
 OHAS. L. WEBSTEK & 00., NEW YOEK.

 
 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 (Halabnan 
 
 BY 
 ELISABETH CAVAZZA 
 
 tjovk 
 
 CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO. 
 1892
 
 Copyright, 1892, 
 CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO. 
 
 (All rights reserved.) 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 JENKINS & McCowAN, 
 
 NEW VORK.
 
 EDITOR'S NOTE 
 
 MR. HOPKINSON SMITH author, artist, and archi- 
 tect in his delightful Day at Laguerres and Other 
 Days, preaches a noteworthy parable to American 
 travelers, among whom, indeed, he himself is preemi- 
 nent. For he reminds them that while they are search- 
 ing foreign lands for the artistic and unusual, a charm- 
 ing bit of France, at least, may be found at their very 
 doors, within a brief walk of Manhattan Island. No 
 doubt the comparison could be carried much further, 
 and with advantage to the tourists who know so little 
 of their native land. 
 
 So, while a multitude of readers and those who sup- 
 ply their needs are ransacking Europe for literary nov- 
 elties while French, Russian, Norwegian, Spanish, 
 Polish, and even Dutch writers are in turn raised on 
 pedestals to engage the public attention it is not sur- 
 prising that some of our own writers who have depicted 
 foreign life should be for the moment overlooked. 
 
 At the mention of life in Italy, the names of Haw- 
 thorne, Marion Crawford, and Henry Fuller come to 
 mind. They, however, have been most successful in 
 their portrayal of the upper classes, To enter into the 
 
 2229132
 
 vi EDITOR'S NOTE 
 
 very soul of the Calabrian peasant, to see as he sees, 
 to think as he thinks, and withal to capture the true 
 romance of his condition these privileges have fallen 
 to the share of the lady whose stories are here given. 
 
 A native and resident of Portland, Maine, and be- 
 longing to an old New England family, Mrs. Cavazza 
 early became interested in Italian life and letters; an 
 interest undoubtedly increased by her marriage. It is 
 now several years since A Calabrian Penelope first 
 made its appearance in The New Princeton Review. 
 Readers of that periodical were quick to catch the new 
 note in our literature, and it is not too mdfch to say 
 that their anticipations have been fulfilled. 
 
 A dainty little patrician sketch has been added to 
 the volume by way of contrast with these pictures of 
 Italian life among the lowly. 
 
 Acknowledgment is due Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin &* 
 Co., for kind permission to reprint "A Trumpet Call" 
 from " The Atlantic Monthly"
 
 TO 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 
 
 IN TOKEN OF 
 
 GRATITUDE AND AFFECTIONATE 
 RESPECT
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 DON FlNIMONDONE 13 
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 39 
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 65 
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 90 
 
 A TRUMPET CALL . 120 
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 139
 
 CALABRIAN SKETCHES
 
 CALABRIAN SKETCHES 
 
 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 r I ^HE comare cleaned with her apron a place 
 -* on the doorstep, so that the signora, 
 who came from so far away, could sit down 
 without soiling her dress. Then " With per- 
 mission," said she, and sat down herself, to tell 
 the story of Don Finimondone. 
 
 It is an ugly thing to keep Lent twelve 
 months in the year; but when the olives are 
 scarce, and the sheep, because of the drought 
 that burns up the pastures, are reduced so that 
 they are a pity to see, and the earth cracks 
 between the blades of buckwheat, it is a bad 
 prospect for the next carnival. So they found 
 it, when the winter was over, and in the village 
 they began to think of the coming carnival 
 time. It was not a great city anything but 
 that yet it was a town like another, with a 
 
 3
 
 14 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 church and a priest and a mayor and a piaz- 
 zetta, and an honest people that were not 
 heathen, and wanted a little carnival in honor 
 of their blessed faith. 
 
 At the inn, every evening, there gathered a 
 group of massari, massarotti, the greater and 
 the less, to arrange the ways and means for 
 the celebration of the carnival. In the great 
 cities, where they waste money by the shovel- 
 ful, they have not to spoil their brains with 
 thinking of every lira that is spent. The com- 
 mittee talked like so many windmills; and 
 those of them who had been to the cities had 
 the best of it, for they could say what they had 
 seen there. But all could speak with reason 
 of the hard times and the bad year, and say 
 that little could be done. 
 
 It might have been that nothing was done 
 but for compare Vincenzo, the son of an old 
 massaro who was reputed rich for those parts, 
 for he had fields, and a house and a stable, 
 and sheep and poultry, and some cafisi of oil 
 that came from the oliveto, where at noon the 
 trees made it almost as dark as it is at Ave
 
 DON FINIMONDONE 15 
 
 Maria in autumn. No one could say that they 
 had ever seen him spend two tari at once 
 without making wry faces, as if they had 
 pulled so many of his teeth. There was only 
 one thing of which he was prodigal, and that 
 was predictions of evil. He was never content; 
 he would say his say about everything, and 
 never finished talking; he would dispute about 
 the shadow of a donkey. His family led a 
 sorry life, and more than once his wife wished 
 herself dead. 
 
 Everything, according to him, was going to 
 the bad. Did it rain, there would be another 
 flood for the sins of the world, and that with- 
 out the ark to put two beasts in. Did the sun 
 shine, the grass was burning up, and the geese 
 would die with their mouths open for thirst. 
 If the olives were scarce, there would not be 
 enough oil to fry the good things of heaven; and 
 if it were a good year, he said that it was a pity 
 to see the branches loaded till they broke, and 
 olives so cheap that it was indeed ruin, it was. 
 
 From his habit of foretelling the ruin of 
 everything, he had gamed the name of Don
 
 l6 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 Finimondone; and it is not certain that he 
 would not have had some satisfaction to see 
 the world come to an end, provided he could 
 have the opportunity to say to the mayor and 
 people of the village, " I always told you so ! " 
 And since the sun shone and the rain fell in 
 their accustomed measure, year after year, 
 Don Finimondone became more and more dis- 
 contented with the earth and the heavens. If 
 he had been there when the world was made, 
 it would have been a different thing ! 
 
 His son, Vincenzo, was of quite another 
 stuff; he was all his mother, good soul, that 
 sang when she worked, and listened when her 
 husband scolded, as if he were counting so 
 many beads of the rosary, and when he beat her 
 she only said, " Better the hand than the stick." 
 
 If Vincenzo had only had his father's money 
 to spend there would have been a carnival 
 worth seeing ! But Vincenzo was a black- 
 smith, and, though he had a house and a forge, 
 and four furrows under the sun to sow beans 
 and some handfuls of maize and buckwheat, 
 he had no more than was needed to keep his
 
 DON FINIMONDONE I? 
 
 wife and children. Every year there was an- 
 other baby; and while the grandmother said, 
 " Another soul gained for Paradise," the grand- 
 father grumbled, " Another mouth to eat, and 
 poverty enough for ten." But Vincenzo and 
 Mariangela and the children throve and were 
 happy. Cola, the biggest boy, could already 
 blow the bellows while his father beat the hot 
 iron; the mother, with the baby on her back 
 and the little ones hanging to her skirts or 
 running beside her, sowed the field and pulled 
 up the weeds that were choking the buck- 
 wheat; or, if it were winter, spun and wove the 
 cloth to make the garments of the family. 
 
 When the carnival was at hand Vincenzo 
 had had greater expenses than usual, for his 
 mule had died when the days were shortest, 
 and the earth was frozen, so that it was hard 
 to dig the hole to bury the poor beast. Some 
 weeks later Vincenzo had bought a new mule, 
 a fine bay; and in honor of this animal had 
 painted his cart a bright blue, with Sant' 
 Antonio, that preached to the fishes, the large, 
 the middle-sized, and the small, upon one side;
 
 18 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 and upon the other were represented the souls 
 in purgatory. There was not a finer cart, one 
 might wager, not even in Messina, where they 
 make such beautiful ones; and when Vincenzo 
 had given the last touch to the red and yellow 
 flames, it seemed that one might warm his 
 hands at them. And the parish priest, Don 
 Giuseppe, was so pleased with the appearance 
 of the cart that he said, when the images of the 
 blessed saints in the church should need a new 
 coat of paint, Vincenzo should give it to them. 
 The first thing needful for a carnival proces- 
 sion is at least one cart, for the masks to ride 
 in, and Vincenzo offered his for that purpose. 
 They would also have had another cart, and 
 have trimmed it with green cloth and cotton- 
 wool to represent the waves and the foam of 
 the sea, with three sirens to sit and sing in it, 
 that were the daughters of compare Mariano, 
 the sacristan handsome figures of girls, with 
 long, long hair while the blue cart, with a 
 mast and a sail in it, should carry the little 
 monk that stopped his ears with cotton-wool 
 and tied himself with his rope girdle to the
 
 DON FINIMONDONE 19 
 
 mast, and, blessed be the saints ! was deaf as 
 a bell for all that the sirens sang so loud, and 
 so was saved. But Don Giuseppe, the priest, 
 said that it was not a monk, but, on the con- 
 trary, a pagan; and that they could not have 
 the daughters of the sagrestano, and still less 
 his cart, that carried people to the camposanto, 
 for sirens are only a profane fable. 
 
 Finally it was decided to have only Vincen- 
 zo's cart and the bay mule; and, because this 
 would cost nothing or little, the committee 
 should wear false heads made of pumpkins, 
 with holes for eyes and mouth and nostrils, 
 and they should ride in the blue cart between 
 the pious fishes and the souls of purgatory. 
 
 The day before the carnival was to begin 
 there were great doings at the forge. Vincen- 
 zo was shaping a new set of shoes for the bay 
 mule, and compare Carmenio, who was also 
 of the committee of the carnival, blew the bel- 
 lows until the hot iron was red as coral. The 
 others of the committee sat in the doorway, 
 over which were nailed a horseshoe and two 
 pieces of thin iron bent in the form of a pair
 
 20 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 of horns, and between them, written with char- 
 coal, were the figures 8 and 9, so that if the 
 witches should come may they be far from 
 us ! they could not cross the threshold. Don 
 Finimondone came along the road, from the 
 sheepfold, and stopped to look at the bay 
 mule, that was tied by the halter near the door 
 of the forge. 
 
 " Is not that a fine mule that your son 
 bought at the fair ? " said compare Carmenio. 
 "Look what legs; and he will draw double 
 the load of the other one." 
 
 "Say fora-fascino and benedica!" cried 
 Vincenzo, for fear of the evil eye. 
 
 But compare Carmenio did not hear him, as 
 he walked up the road with Don Finimondone, 
 to whom he paid great court, because he wish- 
 ed to marry the daughter, Filomena, that had 
 great black eyes, and a mattress, and a box of 
 linen that she had spun and woven for herself, 
 besides the little dowry that her father would 
 give to her. 
 
 Whether it was the witches that put a hand 
 in, despite the horseshoe over the door, or
 
 DON FINIMONDONE 21 
 
 whether it was the unlucky praises spoken by 
 compare Carmenio, with one thought for the 
 mule and ten for Filomena, who can say ? 
 But the fact is, that when Vincenzo stooped to 
 lift up the hind foot of the mule to shoe him, 
 the beast put him in one of those kicks of 
 which two would leave nothing for the doctor 
 to do, only for the priest. Vincenzo cried out 
 that the mule had broken his bones, and he 
 fell to the ground like a fig-tree under the axe. 
 The men took him up gently and carried him 
 home on their arms, while little Cola ran on 
 before to tell his mamma that the bad mule 
 had killed poor papa. Mariangela came to 
 the door with the great tears running down 
 her face, that was white as a washed rag. 
 " My man ! they have killed my man ! " she 
 screamed. 
 
 Behind her came the mother, zia Agnese, 
 with the corners of the handkerchief on her 
 head trembling as if she had the fever. Vin- 
 cenzo said that he was anything but dead 
 though not all the neighbors believed that he 
 spoke truly. Then they took him into the
 
 22 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 house, laid him upon the bed, and sent for the 
 doctor. 
 
 " But even the doctors do not know every- 
 thing; and for all that they write who knows 
 what words on a scrap of paper, and the 
 apothecary reads it, and then puts a little of this 
 and of that into a phial that you pay for like 
 the best wine, when the witches or the evil 
 eye come into the affair," said Mariangela, 
 " there is more than the signor dot tore that is 
 wanted." 
 
 So she put a little water and salt in a dish, 
 and dipped her finger in it, and made three 
 crosses on her husband's forehead, and said 
 otto nove and benedica, to draw out the evil 
 eye, as if it had been a nail that was stuck into 
 his foot; and poor Vincenzo said he already 
 felt better. 
 
 " For it was all my fault," observed Mari- 
 angela; " stupid that I am, I heedlessly swept 
 the house last evening, so as to have every- 
 thing ready for the carnival, and forgot to lay 
 the broom across the doorway." 
 
 Whoever sweeps at night steals the horse of
 
 DON FINIMONDONE 23 
 
 a witch, for as every one knows they ride 
 on broomsticks, and those that lack the 
 broomstick have to walk, and are too late to 
 dance the ridda, which makes them angry. 
 
 Filomena, who had heard of the misfortune, 
 came in from the field; and taking the new 
 red tassels which she had made for the mule, 
 to keep him from the evil eye, she threw them 
 out of the door and said, " May the devil come 
 to take his own mule ! " 
 
 Don Finimondone sat upon a bench by the 
 hearth, with his elbows resting on his knees, 
 his shoulders drawn up to his ears, and his 
 chin between his palms. 
 
 " I said that the bay mule would play some 
 ugly trick," he repeated. 
 
 The doctor came, and said that for three 
 broken ribs one must have patience; and he 
 wrote in his pocket-book so fast it was a 
 pleasure to see the words crawl like flies over 
 the paper, and then he tore out the page, and 
 Cola ran with it to the apothecary. 
 
 And who would believe it ! it was not the 
 pain of the broken bones that most troubled
 
 24 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 Vincenzo; it was the thought of the carnival 
 that gnawed his mind and gave him no peace. 
 He turned this way and that, as if the bed 
 were full of thorns, and although, as luck 
 willed it, a sheep had died the night before, so 
 that his mother could make him some broth, 
 he would eat nothing for all that she begged 
 him, "My little heart, eat two spoonfuls; it 
 will do you good." 
 
 The thought of the blue cart and the pump- 
 kin heads tormented him; he had it fixed in 
 his mind, and he ground it over and over like 
 flour. Mariangela offered to put on, herself, 
 the great cloak and the pumpkin head, and go 
 in his place in the cart, to pacify him; but he 
 would jiot hear of it. 
 
 " Oh, why should you go in the cart ? " said 
 he. " It is of no use. Moreover, there is 
 witchcraft in the matter, and you would go to 
 break your neck, besides doing an unsuitable 
 thing." 
 
 Then Vincenzo would have wished that com- 
 pare Carmenio should go in the blue cart and 
 take his place as leader of the carnival. But
 
 DON FINIMONDONE 25 
 
 \ 
 Don Finimondone said that it should not be 
 
 so; it was enough that the mule had spoiled 
 his son for the holidays, without ruining the 
 cart and breaking the bones of any other Chris- 
 tians, and neither mule nor cart should go out 
 of the stable the next day. Vincenzo could 
 not content himself, and Mariangela cried, and 
 Filomena scolded, and zia Agnese, poor old 
 woman, did not know to which saint to make 
 her vows, for trouble of mind. And Don Fini- 
 mondone went into the stable, with ever so 
 long a face and in the worst of humors; and he 
 drew the cart into its place, and tied the mule 
 by the halter to the stall, and locked the stable 
 door upon the inside, and passed the night in 
 the hayloft. " With women and geese there is 
 no peace," observed Don Finimondone. 
 
 At sunrise the next morning, which was the 
 first day of the carnival, compare Carmenio 
 betook himself to the house of Don Finimon- 
 done to ask for news of his friend Vincenzo. 
 Filomena came down the dooryard with a 
 stick in her hand, to drive the geese to the 
 pasture, that was little better than stubble.
 
 26 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 " Good-day, comare Filomena," said Car- 
 menio; "you are up early to help the sun to 
 light the world." 
 
 " It is because I must take these little beasts 
 to the pasture that I am here to have the pleas- 
 ure of seeing you, compare Carmenio," she re- 
 plied. 
 
 " If I were a great gentleman, comare Filo- 
 mena," went on Carmenio, "you should know 
 nothing of geese but the feathers in cushions. 
 You should have a silk dress for every day in 
 the week, and a pair of gold ear-rings. Mean- 
 while, here is a handkerchief that I bought for 
 you at the fair." 
 
 Filomena took the scarlet handkerchief and 
 knotted it around her neck. 
 
 " So many thanks, compare Carmenio," said 
 she; " it is a consolation to have those who 
 care for us." 
 
 " And if you have more than one who cares 
 for you," observed compare Carmenio, " it is 
 true that I shall split his head as if it were 
 wood. If there is another that you prefer to 
 me, say so quickly and I will go away. If not,
 
 * DON FINIMONDONE 2/ 
 
 I love you from my soul, as I have said, and as 
 I will say before the priest." 
 
 " There is no one else, no, compare Carme- 
 nio," she answered; "and I have my box of 
 linen, and a mattress, and some pennies of 
 dowry." 
 
 The soft little rings of black hair curled 
 around Filomena's ears, and her coral ear- 
 rings were so red that compare Carmenio could 
 not contain himself; he wiped his mouth with 
 the back of his hand and kissed Filomena 
 under the ear. She became as red as the coral 
 ear-rings, and said: 
 
 " We do wrong to think of such things when 
 my brother is in so bad a state." 
 
 Carmenio also became very serious at once. 
 " Tell me, how is Vincenzo ? " he asked. 
 
 " Badly, badly," replied Filomena. " My 
 sister-in-law says he did not close his eyes all 
 night. The thought of the carnival weighs on 
 his mind like so much lead. ' If it had been a 
 little later,' he complains; ' if that mule would 
 have kept his feet to himself until after the car- 
 nival, it would have made me a good penance
 
 28 DON FINIMONDONE * 
 
 for Lent.' Poor thing, there he is kept in bed, 
 and my father makes it worse with his words." 
 
 " It has been said that in praising the mule, 
 benedica" said Carmenio, " I cast the evil eye 
 on compare Vincenzo. If I believed that, I 
 could never forgive myself for my heedless- 
 ness." 
 
 " And who says it ?" asked Filomena, indig- 
 nant. " Tell me quickly, for I will scratch his 
 face with my hands for speaking ill of you ! " 
 
 " It was saving respect it was Don Fini- 
 mondone." 
 
 " A-ah ! " screamed Filomena, " the spiteful 
 old man ! He tells stories too big for the 
 mouth of an oven, and he leads my mamma 
 the life of a soul in purgatory. More than once 
 I have been just ready to put my hands on him, 
 to see my poor, little, old woman cry. And 
 now he speaks ill of you ! " 
 
 Here Filomena sat down upon the ground, 
 threw her apron over her head, and cried like 
 a fountain. 
 
 " See, comare Filomena," said Carmenio, 
 " words are not stones. If we love each other,
 
 DON FINIMONDONE 29 
 
 when once we are married we can go to another 
 village, and Don Finimondone will no longer 
 come into the matter. I have a few lire laid 
 by, to buy the roof and a little piece of land, 
 and there is the black donkey, with her colt, 
 that, when he is grown, will draw me a cart 
 like a horse." 
 
 "That is well," answered Filomena, "but 
 take care that my father knows nothing of it. 
 The trouble is, we never can say a little word 
 to each other, like honest people, for my father 
 comes to disturb us, and says that you come 
 buzzing around me like a bee among the buck- 
 wheat; and that when the lover talks the spin- 
 dle is silent; and that you are a simpleton and 
 a good-for-nothing, and that I am a silly thing 
 to let myself be taken with such airs. And now 
 you must go, for I have to attend to my geese." 
 
 " Good-bye for now," said Carmenio; " shall 
 you come into the piazzetta ? " 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " I can come there, for 
 my father has shut himself into the stable, and 
 says he will not come out until the foolishness 
 is at an end."
 
 30 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 And so the lovers parted; she went about 
 her business and he about his, while the fresh 
 March wind that blows at sunrise lifted the 
 dust of the road like a little cloud. 
 
 Carmenio went to the committee of the car- 
 nival and told them how Vincenzo was, and 
 that Don Finimondone had said that they 
 should not have the bay mule and the blue 
 cart. Everybody said his say about Don Fini- 
 mondone, and there was not a dog that gave 
 him a good word. 
 
 " Without Vincenzo and the blue cart," said 
 one, " we shall have to do without the good 
 and the best. But so it is, and we must have 
 patience." 
 
 Then was heard a noise as of trotting hoofs 
 that came nearer and nearer, and soon there 
 appeared the wicked mule, caparisoned with 
 red cloth, and upon his back there rode a hor- 
 rid figure, like a man, but with a dispropor- 
 tionate head, over which was wrapped a great 
 black cloak that left to be seen only the long 
 nose of an ugly false-face, and covered the 
 whole body down as far as the knees. The
 
 DON FINIMONDONE 31 
 
 mule seemed uneasy, as if he carried an evil 
 burden. 
 
 " I am come to ride at the head of your pro- 
 cession," said the black man. 
 
 The committee were like stone, for fear. 
 
 " I was called to come and take my mule, 
 and here I am," he proceeded, in a terrible 
 voice, that seemed as if he had his head in an 
 empty wine-cask. 
 
 There was nothing to be done about it the 
 procession must move. They went through 
 the streets like so many monks, they crossed 
 themselves continually, and dared not speak 
 for dread of the black man, who might be, if 
 not the devil himself, at least a witch, for, as is 
 well known, witches can take whatever shape 
 they please. The whole village was out to see 
 the carnival procession pass; the infirm old 
 people had crawled out like flies in the first 
 warm sunshine of spring; the women held 
 their babies in their arms; the children stood 
 and stared with their fingers in their mouths, 
 or hid their faces in their mammas' skirts for 
 fear of the masks, as they . came near. Don
 
 32 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 Giuseppe came out of the church, and waited 
 to see the procession. 
 
 Pom! pom! that was the bass-drum, beaten 
 by compare Carmenio, who sat, with the others 
 of the committee, in the cart of the sagrestano 
 for since there were to be no sirens, or other 
 heathen, they were permitted to have the horse 
 and cart that were used to go upon consecrated 
 ground. And in front of them rode the black 
 man upon the bad mule. 
 
 Oh! he had an evil tongue that never rested, 
 and it struck everywhere. Whoever had stolen 
 as much as a handful of beans heard of it; and 
 whoever had quarreled with his neighbor got a 
 solemn reprimand for it, as if he were before 
 the judge. To poor old comare Marta, who 
 lived by plain sewing, and whose son was in 
 the prison for shooting a man, such things were 
 said, because she had brought up her boy to 
 commit mortal sin, that the poor creature cov- 
 ered her face with her hands, and ran into her 
 house, all in tears. The black man reproved 
 the sagrestano for having stolen a little piece 
 of candle from the altar of the blessed sanf
 
 DON FINIMONDONE 33 
 
 Antonio, who could very well do without it, to 
 light himself home, one stormy night when 
 there was not a ray of moonlight, and whoever 
 went through the streets risked his neck, it 
 was so dark. The women ran here and there, 
 like hens when the fox is outside the coop, for 
 the black man blamed this one for a bad 
 housewife, and that one for speaking ill of 
 her neighbor, and another for idleness and 
 there was not a living soul that dared to con- 
 tradict him. He was like a second conscience 
 he stuck his nose in everywhere and had 
 no pity. 
 
 Finally, he spoke to comare Filomena, who 
 stood with a group of young girls in a corner 
 of the piazzetta. 
 
 " Ah! even the civetta comes to the snare at 
 last, according to the proverb; and for all 
 your pursed-up mouth, and your playing the 
 dead pussy-cat, it is known that you go to the 
 threshing-floor to talk in the evening with Car- 
 menio the carpenter." 
 
 Every one looked to see comare Filomena 
 fall and faint away. Anything but faint away !
 
 34 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 She knew how to give him bread for his cake, 
 and answered him before all the people: 
 
 " Thanks for so many compliments. I am 
 used to such, and worse, for when it is a ques- 
 tion of evil speaking my papa can give points 
 to the devil. Go and take lessons of him if you 
 want to know how the thing is done." 
 
 The black man had nothing to say. He 
 struck his mule and went off at a gallop, and 
 those who had gotten out of it without blame 
 could laugh at the unlucky ones. Some per- 
 sons said there was a smell of sulphur in the 
 air, and Don Giuseppe judged it prudent to 
 bless all the people together, to make it quite 
 safe. There was no more sport of any kind, 
 and they all went home. 
 
 " It will be at least a little consolation to 
 Vincenzo," observed Carmenio, "that if the 
 festa had to end badly, he was not there to 
 see it." 
 
 That same evening he went to see his friend 
 Vincenzo, to tell him how things had gone. 
 Zia Agnese opened the door for him. "We 
 are unfortunate," she said to him; "my hus-
 
 DON FINIMONDONE 35 
 
 band would not listen to reason, and this 
 afternoon he came out of the stable, leading 
 the bay mule by the halter, and then he sold 
 him for twenty lire less than my son paid for 
 him fifteen days ago." 
 
 "That mule eats up money like grain," add- 
 ed Don Finimondone, from the corner of the 
 hearth, where he sat upon a bench; "he has 
 made us lose twenty lire, to say nothing of the 
 broken bones and the doctor's bill. A world 
 of trouble, say I." 
 
 " It was a sorry sight, the procession," said 
 Carmenio, by way of changing the subject. 
 " Every one was like stone for fear of the 
 witch, except my brave Filomena. Whoever 
 got a reproof swallowed it in holy peace; but 
 Filomena was as shrewd as the devil himself, 
 and gave him an answer that was suited as 
 cheese to macaroni. ' Grasie tante? says 
 she" 
 
 "A-ah, the evil tongue that she has in her 
 mouth," interrupted Don Finimondone, "to 
 tell me, before all the people, that I am worse 
 than the devil ! "
 
 36 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 " You ! " they exclaimed in chorus. 
 
 " I knew very well that it was my papa," re- 
 marked Filomena; "witch or not, there were 
 the very same patches on the knees of his 
 trousers that I sewed with my own hands last 
 Sunday to make him decent to go to hear 
 mass. And if I have talked at the threshing- 
 floor with compare Carmenio, it is because I 
 shall marry him in another month, and in this 
 house one cannot say two words in peace. If 
 you give me my cassa of linen and the mat- 
 tress, I will go away without one tari of 
 dowry." 
 
 " And I will take her without anything in 
 her hands," said Carmenio. 
 
 " Have you no fear of her tongue ? " asked 
 Don Finimondone. "When you bring her 
 back to me and say, ' Take your daughter, for 
 there is no living with her,' I will shut the 
 door in her face, and leave her in the middle 
 of the road." 
 
 " He who has a log can have chips," ob- 
 served Vincenzo, from his bed; "and if my 
 sister knows how to open her mouth upon
 
 DON FINIMONDONE 37 
 
 occasion, it is because she is the daughter of 
 her father." 
 
 " As for me," said zia Agnese, " I don't com- 
 plain of my daughter Filomena; she is a good 
 girl, and sweeps the house for me, and kneads 
 the bread and tends the poultry, and sews and 
 spins with a good will. And with a good man 
 she will be a good wife." 
 
 " And I shall be a good man to her, I shall," 
 promised compare Carmenio, and meant what 
 he said. 
 
 " When she has the cares of a house," said 
 comare Mariangela, "you will see that she 
 will not talk so much. When hens have to 
 live by scratching they have no time to peck 
 each other, and you will find her good and 
 gentle enough. And you can see, from Vin- 
 cenzo and me, how two that love each other 
 can live on little and be content." 
 
 " And I tell you plainly, once for all," said 
 Carmenio, "that I shall marry your daughter; 
 and if you forbid the marriage I will speak, 
 and let the whole town know that it was you 
 who spoiled the festa, so that it was like a
 
 38 DON FINIMONDONE 
 
 penance you, that made Lent of our car- 
 nival." 
 
 And, therefore, rather than have the story 
 told to all the people, Don Finimondone con- 
 sented that Filomena should marry compare 
 Carmenio, and even gave him the dowry, so 
 many heads of the king, counted into his 
 hands. 
 
 " You will repent your marriage, compare 
 Carmenio, you will repent it," prophesied Don 
 Finimondone, "but you will still have the con- 
 solation of the money." 
 
 " And were they happy together, Filomena 
 and Carmenio ? " asked the signora. 
 
 " Oh ! cara signora, who can tell ? They 
 had their troubles, like the rest of the world, 
 but they never have ceased to love each other, 
 and they are content. There comes old Car- 
 menio now, from his work in the field." 
 
 "And how did you know so much about 
 it ? " pursued the signora. 
 
 "Eh! I was Filomena!"
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 r I ^HE fields were dry, and cracks ran across 
 -*- the furrows that were like parched lips 
 open from thirst. Clouds arose and crossed 
 the face of the sun shining yellow and hot in 
 the middle of the sky; they looked upon the 
 suffering earth and then passed by without 
 pity, giving no drink to the sown fields that 
 languished in the drought. Far away, down 
 among the marshes, hung a thick steam; but 
 here, on the hills, everything was dry and 
 baked. The grain, not yet ripe, was yellow as 
 if it had the fever. 
 
 Along the edge of the field ran a row of In- 
 dian fig-trees; and in the shadow of one of them 
 sat compare Andrea, with Pina, his wife. They 
 had left the house at dawn, and gone to their 
 work in the field, where, kneeling between the 
 furrows, they pulled up the weeds that grew 
 faster than the grain and struck deep roots, as
 
 4O A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 ill weeds will, to rob the good grain of what 
 little it might have gotten from the earth. In 
 the heat of the noon hour even the little brown 
 tomtits, that hop from furrow to furrow for the 
 worms which come out with the uprooted 
 weeds, had ceased to move and chirp, and were 
 hidden in their nests in the hedge. The crick- 
 ets, even, were silent; now and then one of 
 them showed his black body and thin, bent 
 legs among the dry blades of the scanty grass. 
 The pretty little green lizards slept under the 
 edges of a flat stone, or moved languidly 
 across it to find a cooler spot. The odors of 
 rosemary, thyme, and a thousand other herbs 
 were drawn out by the hot sun. 
 
 Compare Andrea sliced with his clasp-knife 
 the piece of black bread and iheflace di casa 
 the small, slender squash that is called "house- 
 hold peace," because when there is enough of it 
 for the family meal there is peace in the house; 
 if not, this good gift of Heaven is better than a 
 stick to enforce peace, and is always at hand 
 to be thrown across the table in the face of any 
 one who speaks inconveniently.
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 4! 
 
 While Andrea and Pina were eating, they 
 talked of the bad year they were having. 
 
 "So it is; in this field we sow our life and 
 we reap ruin," complained Andrea. 
 
 "The blades of grain seem to me like so 
 many of my children, and I can do nothing for 
 them," responded Pina, with two great tears in 
 her eyes. "The grain dies in our sight, and 
 the ill weeds come to make its funeral." 
 
 " It is like ourselves," said her husband, 
 knitting his brows; "we are poor and barely 
 live; and there comes the galantuomo, who 
 buys and sells us like the land and the beasts 
 that he owns. He lives like the sun in the sky 
 with one hand in the other; he does no work, 
 and takes everything. If it is a good year, 
 there is always something to pay; if it is a bad 
 year, it is we who must bear the expenses of 
 it, as if it were our fault. ' Pay, pay ! ' says the 
 agent of the galantuomo, and he opens his 
 great books with the rows of figures fit to give 
 you an apoplexy to see them, and here is your 
 name, and this is due, and that other, and you 
 tear your hair in vain. And if you make a bad
 
 42 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 face at it, a reprimand; and if you have no 
 money, the judge orders a pignoramento, and 
 an officer comes to take all your goods; and if 
 you put your hands on the officers of justice, 
 there is the prison. They are all brigands. 
 It appears to me that it is better to be the weed 
 than the grain, and get what one can. For 
 my part, I shall turn brigand, I !" 
 
 At this saying Pina started. " Brigand ! no, 
 do not say it," she begged him. "We are 
 honest people that have never done harm to 
 our neighbors. If you turn brigand, when 
 your hour comes you will leave me to weep for 
 an excommunicated man and from the heat 
 of to-day you can judge if it is hot down 
 there." 
 
 Compare Andrea was silent. Pina plucked 
 some withered sprays of mint, and crumbled 
 the dry leaves between her fingers, while she 
 watched him with a sidelong gaze. 
 
 "Swear to me that you will think no more 
 of brigands," urged Pina. She wiped the tears 
 from her burning cheeks with the hem of her 
 cotton gown, which was turned up over her
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 43 
 
 petticoat so as not to spoil it while she was 
 at work. " Swear it to me, Andrea. The 
 carabineers would make a mark of you, and 
 then" 
 
 Pina covered her face with her hands and 
 sobbed. A tinkle of small bells was heard 
 from the slope of the hill, and soon Fra Gia- 
 como, he that went about to collect alms, 
 came riding along the dusty road on his stout, 
 black mule. The Franciscan friar was stout 
 himself; he smiled with a good-natured air, 
 and asked: 
 
 " How much do you give me for the good of 
 your soul, compare Andrea ? " 
 
 "Oh! as for the soul, then," replied Andrea, 
 " rather tell me, reverendo, how to keep one 
 inside the body in the bad year we are having." 
 
 " There are always some pence for the Holy 
 Church and the repose of the souls of your 
 dead," urged Fra Giacomo. " If you give me 
 a little, I shall pray for rain upon your land; if 
 not, the will of Heaven be done." 
 
 " If you had spoken a little word to the 
 blessed saints four weeks ago," said Andrea,
 
 44 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 " it would have been a fine thing, for then every 
 drop of rain was worth so much gold." 
 
 " Give him something, give," recommended 
 Pina, pulling her husband by the sleeve. 
 
 "For the Church, my brother," added Fra 
 Giacomo. 
 
 Andrea took two copper coins from his 
 pocket, and put them into the hand of the friar, 
 who played the deaf man in order not to hear 
 "Holy brigand !" muttered over the offering. 
 Then Fra Giacomo gave his blessing to compare 
 Andrea and his wife, turned the mule about, 
 and set off at a careful pace down the road. 
 
 " Brigands here, brigands there," said An- 
 drea; " I tell you the truth, I will not lead this 
 life any longer. And this blessed day I shall 
 push into the macchia; the trees are thick be- 
 yond there in the forest of La Sila; and if the 
 guards find me, you know whether I, too, am 
 a sharp-shooter. A chi tocca, tocca, he whose 
 hour is come, will fall." 
 
 " If you care no longer for me or for our 
 children," said Pina, " is there no other way to 
 forsake us than to become a brigand ? "
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 45 
 
 " I shall not forsake you so, no," replied 
 Andrea. "You shall come with me. There 
 is a place in the forest where from the mount- 
 ain ridge one looks upon both seas. The 
 rocks there are like a difesa built by masons. 
 We can make our home there; and when the 
 galantuomini shall come near, upon the road, 
 in their fine carriages, with their pockets full 
 of the money which we have taken out of the 
 earth for them with our hands, for which we 
 have risked our skins in the forest or sucked 
 the poison of the marshes then we will take 
 back our own. What do you say to that ? " 
 
 " I will not hear of it," Pina answered, stead- 
 ily. "Listen, Andrea: when we come to die 
 we could not enjoy a Christian end. The 
 priest would not bring the blessed oil nor light 
 a candle in the house of a brigand." 
 
 " So much the better," said Andrea. "When 
 my uncle was shot at night, in the piazzetta 
 for the affair of the stolen goat that you know of 
 Don Serafino put his head out of the window 
 as we knocked at his door. There on the 
 stones lay my uncle in a pool of blood, and
 
 46 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 the goat, with its fore-feet tied together, still 
 hanging across his shoulder. ' Help ! help ! 
 reverendo!' we cried; 'here is zio Menico dy- 
 ing!' 'It rains by basinfuls, my sons,' says 
 Don Serafino to us; 'I take on my own con- 
 science the sins of that dying man, I take 
 them.' And he shut the window as if it had 
 been the gate of Paradise, and went back to 
 his bed to stretch his arms and legs and get 
 warm, while poor uncle grew cold. Brigand 
 of a Don Serafino, that would rob us in this 
 world and the next ! " 
 
 Comare Pina was discouraged and made no 
 reply. The shadow of the Indian fig-tree be- 
 neath which they were sitting now began to 
 fall across the large cracked stone where there 
 were so many lizards, proving that the hour of 
 noon was past. Andrea put back in his pocket 
 the clay pipe which he had not thought to light, 
 and took up his spade. Pina also arose, knelt 
 between the furrows, and began to tear up the 
 weeds as if each one of them had been an ene- 
 my. The locusts sang anew their canticle in 
 praise of the sun; the lizards came forth and
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 47 
 
 glided about, graceful as ladies; the tomtits 
 hopped here and there, shaking their imperti- 
 nent little tails, and took the worms almost 
 from under the hands that uprooted the weeds. 
 When the twilight came Andrea and his wife 
 went to their house. They had worked on, 
 speaking very little; but compare Andrea had 
 been turning over and over in his mind the 
 thoughts that filled it, like heavy mill-stones 
 with nothing between them to grind. He had 
 observed, among the weeds and soil, Pina's 
 hands stained and spread with hard work, and 
 how the wedding-ring, that scarcely could have 
 slipped over the joints of her finger, shone 
 against the dark earth of the furrows. Then 
 the memory of the time had come back to him 
 when comare Pina, beautiful with her sixteen 
 years, used to pass by the field where he tended 
 a flock of goats. She wore her holiday clothes 
 a red skirt, a dark jacket with ever so many 
 bright metal buttons, an apron of stamped 
 Cosenza leather tied with ribbons; a white 
 linen tovagliolo covered the black braids of 
 her hair, and in her ears were great hoops of
 
 48 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 gold hung with tinkling balls. She carried in 
 her hand a knotted kerchief full of tomatoes or 
 Indian figs on the way, she explained, to visit 
 her grandmother, who lived, however, in the 
 opposite direction. But, as she further ex- 
 plained, to reach the house of the nonna, one 
 must cross the pasture where compare Santo, 
 the mandriano, kept his cattle. 
 
 " And of bovine beasts," she would say, 
 "you know if I am afraid of them, compare 
 Andrea." 
 
 It was on one of these occasions that she had 
 promised to marry Andrea. He had been 
 gathering wild asparagus when she came near, 
 and his hands were soiled, so he cleaned them 
 on the sides of his trousers before he took Pina 
 in his arms and kissed her. Then they sat 
 down on the grass together and ate all the 
 Indian figs that were in her kerchief, with no 
 thought of the nonna ; and he tied around her 
 throat the little heart of filigree gold on a blue 
 ribbon, which he had bought for her in the city 
 of Cosenza, when he went there to sell some 
 goats; and which he had carried in his pocket
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 49 
 
 until the right occasion should come for mak- 
 ing her a present of it. 
 
 " Pina," at last said Andrea, "you know 
 whether from my soul I care for you and for 
 our children. But this life makes me die. I 
 met compare Santo on the road last evening. 
 He seemed in great good humor. He told me 
 that he was tired of eating black bread and 
 wearing sheepskin breeches, and has decided 
 to sail next week with a ship that goes from 
 the port of Messina over to America, where 
 they gather money like strawberries. There 
 are great virgin forests there, and mines of gold 
 and of silver, and endless herds of cattle and 
 sheep, and all the people are galantuomini, and 
 no one lacks the good gifts of Heaven. I shall 
 go to America with compare Santo; and when 
 I have put together a great heap of money, I 
 shall come back to take you and our children 
 over with me. Shall I go to America, Pina 
 mia f " 
 
 "Yes," she answered; "since you love us 
 like that, Andrea, you shall go wherever it 
 appears pleasing to you. The sky stands over
 
 5O A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 America as here; and if you do no wrong, you 
 will get no harm. Rather, you will be nearer to 
 my heart there, an honest man, than a brigand 
 here at my side. Meanwhile, I shall wait for 
 you in our house with our children ; and when 
 I no longer have work in the seed-field, I can 
 put my hands to the loom, I can do white sew- 
 ing, or wash clothes, to support the children 
 and keep them out of the middle of the road." 
 
 " Always the galantuomini who ruin us," 
 grumbled Andrea. " They rob us of our labor 
 and our life, and drive us from our families and 
 our houses." 
 
 Who could count the tears that comare Pina 
 shed during the night before Andrea went 
 away ? It would be like counting the drops of 
 a river. But in the morning no trace of them 
 was left upon her face, bronzed and hardened 
 by the wind and the sun. She made up a pack- 
 age of her husband's best clothes, and let him 
 go. She watched him on the road until sight 
 could follow him no longer, and then returned 
 slowly into the house, searching in her mind 
 for a little comfort. He would send her a
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 51 
 
 letter from Messina, where there are expert 
 scrivani that know how to say everything with 
 the pen before you have the words out of your 
 mouth, or even in your mind. Andrea would 
 send her a letter, one of those fine ones. 
 
 Meanwhile, her husband walked on, in com- 
 pany with compare Santo, who had joined him 
 at the turn of the road ; and singing as he went, 
 to drive away the sad thoughts that disturbed 
 his mind, one of the bitter songs of the Cala- 
 brian people : 
 
 " O my bad case ! Where is the field I have sown, 
 
 The field between two mountain streams that lay? 
 I sowed good grain, and gathered grief alone; 
 
 My wheat, in threshing, flew like flies away. 
 To buy my field, a rich man came from town; 
 
 No money, only buffets, did he pay. 
 I went to court, to make my grievance known 
 
 The captain took me off to prison that day." 
 
 The promised letter came from Messina in 
 due time. The scrivano understood his busi- 
 ness, and earned his two soldi. He did not 
 spare fine expressions; he added, to the spon- 
 taneous words of affection that compare An- 
 drea sent to his dear ones, the information
 
 52 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 that the traveler, crossing from Calabria to 
 Messina, had passed in safety the tremendous 
 perils of the ancient Scylla and Charybdis. 
 He said nothing of sirens, however, so it may 
 be hoped that the good Andrea met none. 
 And to the signature, with magnificent flour- 
 ishes, worth by itself the two soldi, compare 
 Andrea set his brave cross, in black on white, 
 with a good pen. 
 
 Comare Pina, left alone with her children, 
 gave up the field, stayed in the house, and 
 earned what little she could by white sewing 
 and by weaving the beautiful cloth in ara- 
 besques, which is the art of some of the Cala- 
 brian women. The children, also, did what 
 they were able to do; the little girls could 
 jweep the house, and clean the rice, or knead 
 the bread, and the boy could shoot with his bow 
 and arrows the small game which abounded in 
 the macchia. He, with his little sisters, also 
 planted beans and tomatoes in a small three- 
 cornered piece of ground behind the house, and 
 cared for the pig, the goat, and the half-dozen 
 hens.
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 53 
 
 As soon as compare Andrea set foot on the 
 new continent, he had a letter written to Pina. 
 The country was called Argentina, he said, 
 and, no doubt, there was silver for everybody. 
 After that, comare Pina received no more let- 
 ters from him. 
 
 When a year had passed, bad news reached 
 the village concerning compare Santo, the 
 herdsman who went away with Andrea. He 
 was dead in America, of yellow fever, he and 
 several other Italians, his companions. Of 
 these, said the letter written to the parish priest 
 of the village, one only remained unrecognized, 
 since he had no papers by which his name and 
 country could be proved, but he was believed 
 to be of Calabria. 
 
 The good priest, successor to Don Serafino, 
 was made of very different stuff from that un- 
 worthy, who ate his bread perfidiously without 
 caring for the souls of his parish. Hardly was 
 the letter read before Don Geremia mounted 
 his mule and betook himself to visit the poor 
 Pina. The comari of the neighborhood, who 
 had heard from the sister of the curate some
 
 54 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 word of the misfortune of compare Santo, had 
 gathered at Pina's house, from motives of good 
 will mixed with curiosity. Don Geremia let 
 Pina know, as gently as he could, the sad sus- 
 picion of the death of Andrea. When he had 
 finished speaking, the women began to shriek 
 and tear their hair. Pina alone remained as if 
 she were made of stone. 
 
 " Courage, my daughter, and patience," rec- 
 ommended Don Geremia, placing his hand 
 gently on her shoulder. 
 
 Pina turned suddenly toward him. " And 
 why not, signor curato?" she said. "I can 
 have courage, for I know that my man will 
 come back. He promised it to me. And as 
 for patience, I have had it a whole year I 
 have had it ! " 
 
 She would never admit a doubt of Andrea's 
 return, nor let any one speak of him as dead, 
 although after a little time she chose, for re- 
 spect, to put on mourning for him, by wearing, 
 as is the custom of the place, all her husband's 
 waistcoats, one upon the other, over her dress, 
 until they were worn out and fell into rags.
 
 A CALABRIAiN PENELOPE 55 
 
 But she firmly maintained that Andrea would, 
 some time, surely come back to her. 
 
 " I do not believe," she said, " that such evil 
 has happened. One day, indeed, I felt myself 
 adocchiata, and went to zia Agata, the wise 
 woman, to have the evil eye taken away from 
 me. It may have been too late what do I 
 know ? She put the salt and water on my face, 
 made the sign of the cross, and said the verses; 
 and I yawned and yawned fit to unhinge my 
 jaw, so that it was a pleasure to see. It is 
 therefore certain that there was the witchcraft. 
 But what magaria ! All that came of it was 
 that a hen died the same night and my daugh- 
 ter broke a dish. That was enough, but it was 
 not for Andrea." 
 
 Meanwile there were not lacking those who 
 wished to marry Pina, seeing her so courageous 
 and with two fingers' breadth more of brain 
 than most women have. Among them was 
 compare Giuseppe, who owned not only his 
 house and lands and a discreet number of cat- 
 tle, but also the dowries of the three wives 
 that he had buried.
 
 56 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 " So many thanks," said Pina to him, " but I 
 must care for my soul before I am ready to 
 leave this world, and even then you would 
 have the embarrassment of choosing a fifth 
 woman." 
 
 The agent of the baron, who had moustaches 
 like those of a cat, wished to take her with him 
 to the city; and compare Gianni, a well-to-do 
 massaro, would willingly have married her and 
 assumed the support of her four children so 
 much did he esteem her for she was good as 
 bread, a woman that worked all day and wast- 
 ed nothing, not even an onion-top; was never 
 of cost to her man, and so neat that as the 
 saying is she would not wash her face in 
 order not to soil the water. Whoever married 
 comare Pina would make a good bargain. 
 
 But she would listen to none of these suitors; 
 and one evening, when the agent of the gal- 
 antuomo, he of the moustaches, came under 
 her window to sing with his guitar, Pina threw 
 a pail of water on him, so that he shivered as 
 if he had the fever. That water was not wast- 
 ed, for the agent of the baron never came
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 57 
 
 again to buzz around the house of comare 
 Pina. 
 
 If the neighbors spoke to her of compare 
 Gianni, who would be a good husband to her 
 and also maintain her children, she answered' 
 seriously: 
 
 " One husband I have already, and that is 
 enough for an honest woman." 
 
 It was no less than seven years after the 
 time that compare Andrea went to America, 
 that a stranger entered on foot the one long 
 street of the village. This man was poorly 
 clothed, a little bent, and walked leaning 
 slightly upon a stick. His conical hat with a 
 wide brim was lowered upon his forehead, and 
 he appeared at the same time weary and in 
 haste. He came to the piazzetta, where the 
 women were filling their jars at the fountain, 
 and asked for water to drink. While he was 
 drinking, he looked anxiously at one and an- 
 other of the women. It seemed as though he 
 wished to ask some question; but in the end he 
 decided not to do so, and contented himself 
 with merely thanking the woman who had of-
 
 58 A CALABKIAN PENELOPE 
 
 fered him her jar. Then he went on his way 
 until he reached the house of comare Pina. 
 Here he came to a halt before the door. He 
 passed his hand more than once across his 
 brow; for it seemed to him, as to a drowning per- 
 son, that he saw crowding before his sight all 
 that had happened during so many years. What 
 was it in the odor of the rosemary and the thyme 
 that almost made the tears come to his eyes ? 
 Was such a thing ever heard of ! Su, animo ! 
 At least, he was again in his own country. 
 
 The old dog, which had been the faithful 
 companion of compare Andrea, lay stretched 
 across the door-stone asleep, rousing himself 
 now and then to snap at the flies that teased 
 him. He heard the step of the stranger, lifted 
 his head, and listened a moment. Then he 
 arose, growled, was silent for an instant, licked 
 the hand of the stranger, and finished with 
 barking joyously. 
 
 Comare Pina left the loom, and came to the 
 door to see what ailed Turco that he should 
 bark so loudly. The stranger stretched out his 
 hands to her.
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 59 
 
 "It is I, Pina ;/Vz," he said. "I am come back." 
 
 Pina stood motionless, as if she doubted what 
 was said to her. The dog pulled at her skirt. 
 The little daughters came from the field behind 
 the house, and stood staring with great eyes at 
 the stranger. In a few moments there as- 
 sembled some comarioi the neighborhood, who 
 watched the traveler on the road. 
 
 "Pina, Pina, I am Andrea," he said. " Will 
 you not recognize me ? " 
 
 " Look, Pina," interposed comare Barbara, 
 who always thrust herself into the affairs of 
 others. " Do you not see that it is truly com- 
 pare Andrea ? He is badly dressed, it is true, 
 so that he appears like a beggar but that does 
 not prevent one from recognizing the large 
 nose that his mamma made him." 
 
 " Are you not glad to see me again ? " urged 
 Andrea. 
 
 " It is so long, so long ! " murmured Pina to 
 herself. " Who can say if it be really Andrea ? 
 I do not know and I am Andrea's wife." 
 
 " Say, Pina, is not this your man ? " asked 
 one of the neighbors.
 
 6O A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 "What do I know about it?" responded 
 Pina, mournfully. 
 
 At this moment her son came down from 
 the forest. Over his shoulder hung some rab- 
 bits which he had shot; and his father's large 
 gun, almost too heavy for a youth, was in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Who is this that comes to disturb my mam- 
 ma ? " he asked, and when he looked angry he 
 was all his father. 
 
 " I am your papa," Andrea answered him. 
 
 " Is my papa come back again ? " said the 
 boy. " We have waited so long mamma, and 
 the little sisters and I." 
 
 Comare Pina snatched the gun from her son's 
 hands. " If you truly are my Andrea," she 
 said, "you can shoot, and so prove it to 
 me." 
 
 Andrea's eyes gleamed under the rim of his 
 hat. He held out his hands a little tremulously. 
 " I may have lost my skill," he observed. " I 
 am out of practice." 
 
 Nevertheless, he took the gun from her 
 hands.
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 6l 
 
 " It may be so," cried Pina, " but you have to 
 shoot." 
 
 " Pina ! Pina ! " entreated the other women, 
 frightened without knowing why. 
 
 She drew off her wedding-ring by main force. 
 Andrea, looking on confusedly, saw that her 
 fingers were grown much thinner during the 
 seven years of his absence. She ran many 
 paces across the road; and, raising her left 
 hand to her head, she held, between thumb and 
 forefinger, the sacramental ring near her throb- 
 bing temple. 
 
 " Shoot ! " she commanded. 
 
 " Heavens, no, Pina ! For pity's sake ! " 
 begged Andrea. "Tell me , rather, to shoot 
 myself." 
 
 " Shoot ! " repeated his wife. 
 
 " Oh ! Will you not believe me I am, I am 
 your Andrea, your husband. I will prove it to 
 you in so many ways, only give me a little 
 time," he prayed her. 
 
 " If you are my Andrea," answered Pina, 
 " you can send the bullet through the ring that 
 you gave me. If you are not he draw the
 
 62 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 trigger and burn my brain, for I have waited 
 and hoped too long to be disappointed at last 
 Shoot ! " 
 
 All the comari screamed and hid their faces 
 from fear; the daughters ran into the house and 
 crouched under the bed, not to see what was 
 being done. The boy flung himself across the 
 door-stone, burying his face in the hair of the 
 dog. 
 
 Andrea glanced at Pina. She did not look 
 at him. Her wide-open eyes were turned tow- 
 ard the sky and seemed blinded by the rays of 
 the sunset. Andrea threw down his hat, 
 straightened himself, raised the gun to his 
 shoulder, took aim, and fired. 
 
 Comare Barbara was the only one who could 
 look at such a horror; it is true that the neigh- 
 bors said of her that she would have watched 
 the torment of the souls in purgatory, in 
 order to be able to tell the story of it after- 
 ward, she was such a chatterbox. In relat- 
 ing this story, she never failed to say it was a 
 pleasure to see the bullet pass straight 
 through the ring, as if it had been the finger
 
 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 63 
 
 of a bride; and Pina's hand that held the ring 
 never moved, though the wind of the bullet 
 ruffled her hair. 
 
 And then poor Pina ran, all in tears, fell at 
 her husband's feet, and, clasping his knees, 
 prayed him to put the ring again on her finger, 
 as if they were standing before the priest. He 
 lifted her from the ground, and, with his arm 
 around her, led her into the house. 
 
 It was true, the neighbors agreed, that com- 
 pare Andrea had brought back little from 
 America; and he said that it was like the rest 
 of the world money was not as the stones of 
 the road, even there. But with what little he 
 had saved from his earnings he was able to buy 
 back his land, and some more with it. He 
 spent much of his time also at the shop of Maso 
 the blacksmith, trying to construct a plough 
 that should be different from those which had 
 satisfied the good souls of his father and grand- 
 father; and in other ways it appeared to the 
 neighbors that his head was no longer up to 
 the mark. It might have been the effect of the 
 yellow fever who knows ? that gave him the
 
 64 A CALABRIAN PENELOPE 
 
 whim of inventing these things. The fact is, 
 too much thinking spoils the brain ! 
 
 But it was also true that, because of the ex- 
 traordinary plough, or for some other reason, 
 the land of compare Andrea bore twice as much 
 as the fields of his neighbors; and he had good 
 fortune with his cattle, sheep, and poultry. It 
 became necessary for him, besides himself and 
 his son, to hire men for the herds and the land. 
 The truth is, riches are like ducks they run to 
 those who know how to call them. 
 
 And it was really a consolation to see co- 
 mare Pina so contented at the side of her husband 
 that she would not have wished to be in the 
 clothes of the queen. The only anxiety which 
 remained to her was lest Andrea should some 
 time desire to cross the ocean again, to revisit 
 America, and seek fortune in the Republica 
 Argentina. Meanwhile, her seven years of 
 lonely weaving and waiting were ended.
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 TT 7HENEVER Don Giuseppe, the parish 
 * * priest, went over in his mind all that 
 he came to know while he watched that night 
 by the bedside of Cirillo, the frog-seller, who 
 died at the dawn, he always crossed himself 
 and said: " That poor fellow went straight to 
 Paradise, let us hope; for Purgatory he had 
 here below on earth." 
 
 This was what Don Giuseppe heard from 
 Cirillo, and he kept it to himself like a confes- 
 sion: 
 
 Thirty years before, day for day, there was a 
 great festival on the estates of the baron be- 
 cause an heir was born to him. Squibs and 
 muskets were fired all day in the piassetta; 
 casks of wine, of the kind that rich people 
 drink, were tapped for whomever wished to 
 take a glass; in the evening, the lads and girls 
 danced to the music of the town band, and 
 
 6s
 
 66 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 rockets and bengal lights dashed up through 
 the air, while the people stood staring with 
 open mouth, to see them burst into a rain of 
 gold and silver and colored fires. Only the 
 wife of the baron, poor lady, cared nothing for 
 what was done. As the women had said be- 
 forehand, she was fragile as glass, and indeed, 
 a few days after her child came into the world, 
 she went out of it, gently, like a lamp that 
 lacks oil. The bishop himself came to confess 
 her, although, said the women, she was such 
 a saint that to give her absolution was like 
 carrying clean clothes to the tank to be wash- 
 ed. The baron was in despair, and turned his 
 shoulders to the Madonna del Carmine, who 
 had done him such a bad turn, after the two 
 candles that he had given to her, tall as the 
 sacristan's boy, and of pure wax. 
 
 Meanwhile the little baron screamed for 
 hunger, in his fine cradle all laces and silk, so 
 that they were obliged to send to the moun- 
 tain for comare Bibiana, the carrier's wife, who 
 had a little son a fortnight old, to come to the 
 great house to take the signorino away to
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 6/ 
 
 nurse him. She came in her husband's cart, 
 handsome and healthy, dressed for a holiday, 
 with many necklaces, and rings up to the joint 
 of the ten fingers; and when the doctor, Don 
 Luca Vitale, put the baby into her arms, she 
 said that it was beautiful as an eye of the sun, 
 so that it appeared like the child of a king; 
 and that, even if her own little one had to be 
 stinted, she would always content first the 
 signorino. At the sight of the poor dead lady 
 on the bier between the lighted tapers, comare 
 Bibiana wept, and began to tear her hair with 
 one hand, holding, meanwhile, the child upon 
 her neck with the other, and to shriek, as is 
 the custom on such occasions. But Don Luca 
 Vitale put his hands upon her shoulders, and 
 pushed her, with good manners, out of the 
 room, saying: " Think of the little baron, 
 think of him ! " 
 
 Then the housekeeper, Donna Sabina Mosca, 
 with a handkerchief at her eyes, led comare 
 Bibiana into another room, and made her eat 
 something from the table where the cunsulatu 
 was spread, all the good gifts of heaven, while
 
 68 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 the women wept in a group at one side. Then 
 they showed comare Bibiana down the stair- 
 case and out of the great door, under the 
 escutcheon draped with black cloth; and she, 
 stunned with awe and with pity for that poor 
 mother who had to go away to stay with the 
 saints, leaving her little creature on earth, 
 climbed into the cart. Maso handed her their 
 own child, that they were obliged to bring 
 with them: she accommodated a baby on 
 each shoulder. " Arrica!" cried Maso to his 
 mules; and so the little baron went away from 
 his house, far upon the road that leads from 
 Cosenza to the hills of the Jassi. 
 
 Indeed, it was a pity that the baron had it 
 against his son, poor innocant, for the child 
 was fine and robust, so that it was a consola- 
 tion to see him. But the baron, every time 
 that mastro Gaetano Starace, the steward, or 
 Donna Sabina Mosca, ventured to hint as 
 much, answered: "That one I will not see, 
 for he cost me the mother." 
 
 Neither would he think of taking another 
 wife, not even if she were a king's daughter,
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 69 
 
 beautiful as the moon and the sun, and rich as 
 the sea. " That saint," he would say, "prays 
 for me in Paradise." 
 
 And, for her sake, he took thought to make 
 his soul, so much so that he caused two can- 
 dles, larger than before, to be lighted in honor 
 of the Madonna del Carmine; and since it is 
 the business of the Beautiful Mamma to for- 
 give, he in his heart did not doubt of pardon 
 for the former slight. 
 
 Meanwhile, the little baron, Corradino, and 
 Cirillo, the son of the carrier, were always to- 
 gether, in the cradle, or under a hedge when 
 comare Bibiana worked in the fields. Each 
 was prettier than the other: there was no 
 choice. One day, however, by ill luck, it hap- 
 pened that as Bibiana sat in the doorway spin- 
 ning, with the little baron on her knee, while 
 her baby rolled, like a chicken, in the dust, 
 stretching his hand toward the foster-brother, 
 the poor little noble lost his balance and fell 
 on the flat door-stone. He cried but little, 
 then; afterward he whimpered always, with 
 open eyes, as if somebody had taken away his
 
 70 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 sleep; and Bibiana kissed him the more, be- 
 cause every wail was like a reproach to her for 
 that fall on the stone. The son of the baron 
 seemed to pine slowly, while the carrier's 
 baby grew fat as a little pig, and slept like a 
 spindle. 
 
 Finally the baron forgave his child, that he 
 had not seen since the mother died because 
 it was no use to have ill will toward him who 
 was not in fault, and also because there would, 
 in future, be wanted an heir for the property. 
 So the steward and the housekeeper were sent 
 to bring back the little Don Corradino. As 
 the carriage made the turn of the road, comare 
 Bibiana saw them. She was taken with a 
 sudden terror of the baron's anger when he 
 should see that puny child, with pale face and 
 hanging arms, with shoulders bent as if al- 
 ready under the burden of what he was to 
 bear in his lifetime. It would be a ruin ! Bib- 
 iana took her own fine boy in her arms and 
 went out to meet the carriage, leaving alone 
 in the house the little baron whimpering by 
 the hearth. Donna Sabina Mosca received the
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 71 
 
 child from comare Bibiana, kissing it with re- 
 spect, and calling it Don Corradino, while 
 mastro Gaetano counted into the hands of the 
 nurse the sum agreed upon, with something 
 over and above. They thanked her, and 
 made her a compliment of a pair of solid gold 
 ear-rings. Then they went away, before comare 
 Bibiana had time to think what a sin she had 
 committed. When she heard Maso on the 
 road, talking to his mules, content because he 
 had earned two tari more than usual, Bibiana 
 ran out and said so much that she induced 
 him to swear by the souls of his dead that he 
 never would make known what she had done, 
 for she had acted for the best, she had acted ! 
 And if the signer barone had had the displeas- 
 ure of that poor little one, who knows that he 
 would not have sent to demand the rent that 
 was due, and the sheriff would have made the 
 pignoramento, and left them in the middle of 
 the road, she admonished Maso. 
 
 So because, in fact, what is done is done, 
 and also a little because of the thought that 
 his own blood was gone to riches and honor,
 
 72 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 compare Maso gave himself paace about it and 
 kept silence. Neighbors they Had none; if 
 they wished to bargain, or hear the news, it 
 was necessary to go to the village, an hour 
 distant. So the misdeed of comare Bibiana 
 was not suspected. 
 
 She had, however, the punishment for it. If 
 Maso came home at evening, and sat mute 
 because of hunger or weariness, Bibiana be- 
 lieved that he was thinking of the child that 
 she robbed from him to give to the baron. 
 Between the pair there were reproaches and 
 gloom; sometimes they quarreled, and Maso 
 raised his hand against his wife. One day he 
 came in haste to tie up his bundle, for he was 
 going with cousin Vito Bacigalupo, and some 
 others, down there to America; and he gave 
 to Bibiana half of the price for which he had 
 sold the mules and the cart. After that, no 
 more was ever heard of him. 
 
 All this, Cirillo learned for the first time 
 whe-n mamma Bibiana died. They had lived 
 together on the mountain, loving each other 
 even more than is usual between mother and
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 73 
 
 son; they were, indeed, as is the saying, two 
 souls in one hazel nut. Cirillo, at fifteen years, 
 was grown strong like the twisted olive-tree 
 which yet withstands all weathers, as heaven 
 sends; his long, meagre arms were never tired, 
 and on his bent shoulders he could carry a 
 load like a donkey. He worked here and 
 there, wherever he was wanted; mamma Bibi- 
 ana had been ill for some time; now, he told 
 her, it was his turn to support her. One rainy 
 evening he came home, after a week that he 
 had crawled on hands and knees in the mud, 
 gathering the olives of massaro Giovanni Vol- 
 pintesta, who haggled over the few soldi paid 
 to those that worked in that cold and mire 
 and found mamma Bibiana crouching by the 
 hearth, with a kerchief on her head. " Eat," 
 she told him; "there is the mines tra in the 
 dish on the fire. As for me, I'm going to bed, 
 for I have round my head like an iron hoop." 
 
 In the heart of the night Cirillo awoke, 
 frightened ; he wanted to see the mother. He 
 
 * 
 
 went down from the loft where he slept, flut- 
 tering the hens that roosted on the ladder,
 
 74 THE STORY OF C1RILLO 
 
 and groped toward the bedside of Bibiana. 
 He lit the oil lamp, and by that feeble light 
 saw her face sharp and changed. " Mamma, 
 mamma ! " he cried, and would have' run for 
 Don Giuseppe to bring the Lord into the 
 house, but Bibiana grasped his hands. " And 
 you stay here," she told him. "It is to you 
 that I have to confess, for I have done you 
 a wrong." 
 
 And, in short, she told him how he, and not 
 Don Corradino, was the son of the baron. 
 She wept, pressing his hands to her breast; but 
 he answered: " And who but you, mamma, 
 would have loved me that am so ugly ! " 
 
 She told him everything as he in his turn, 
 fifteen years later, told it to Don Giuseppe. 
 She recommended him to forgive Maso, too, in 
 case he ever returned from America. " And 
 you, Cirillo, stay here in Calabria, a land 
 blessed of the Lord, where even the stones are 
 like so many friends, and there is a Christian 
 people that will not let you lack bread if you 
 keep yourself honest. For this idea of Ameri- 
 ca is like the morgana that is told of by sailors;
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 75 
 
 there are palaces as if let down from Paradise, 
 but they are in the clouds, and while you look 
 they melt, and who has seen them has seen 
 them. But you, Cirillo, stay here. And if ever 
 you wish to claim your right, a witness to the 
 truth can be Don Luca Vitale, who saw you 
 born, and must know that the baron's son 
 had a birthmark on the right thigh, a palm's 
 breadth above the knee." 
 
 Then she began to mutter, turning her head 
 from side to side on the husk pallet, clasping 
 Cirillo's hands. Finally, her fingers twitched 
 and relaxed. Mamma Bibiana was dead. Ci- 
 rillo, to let her soul pass, flung open the shutters 
 of the window, where the dawn began to show. 
 The cock crowed on the straw-rick. Cirillo 
 wept because the mamma was dead, and even 
 more because she was not truly his mother, but, 
 instead, that baroness whom he had never 
 known. The cock crowed again. " That cock 
 sings to remind me of St. Peter; no and then 
 no, I will never deny that good soul that was 
 my mother more than she of whom I was 
 born ! "
 
 76 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 The cock crowed the third time. Cirillo 
 raised his hand as if before a justice: " I swear 
 it to you, mamma ! " 
 
 Because the illness of Bibiana had eaten up 
 the little savings, Cirillo had to give up all the 
 goods to pay what was on the books of mastro 
 Gaetano, and for the funeral of mamma Bibi- 
 ana, who slept as well behind the hedge of the 
 camposanto as that other mother of the baron 
 in the tomb with the escutcheon. When the 
 baron heard of this, for charity he sent for Ci- 
 rillo to be his servant; and those days were not 
 bad for. the poor fellow, for he had food and 
 drink, and a little place under the stairs to sleep 
 in. Sometimes, as he served the baron, who 
 was now old, Cirillo would think, " What if he 
 knew that I am his son ! " But the sight of 
 himself in the great mirror drove away that 
 thought; only mamma Bibiana could have 
 loved him, ugly as he was ! But at times, 
 passing through the hall where were portraits 
 of so many barons and baronesses, that were 
 only dust and a name but for those canvases, 
 he would lift his eyes to them and say, " You
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 77 
 
 know very well that a place there belongs to 
 me also." 
 
 All straight, with heads high those lords; 
 not one of them had ever fallen on the door- 
 stone. And were it in order to be a king with 
 a crown, Cirillo would not have denied mamma 
 Bibiana; for every time that he thought of these 
 things, it seemed to him that a cock crowed in 
 his heart. 
 
 Finally, the baron was stricken by an apo- 
 plexy, and the old doctor, Don Luca Vitale, 
 came and looked through his great horn-rim- 
 med glasses, took snuff, and shook his head. 
 He despatched a servant to the palace of the 
 Bishop, and then turned to Cirillo, saying to 
 him, " Run to call the heir; his father, perhaps, 
 can at least press his hand." 
 
 Cirillo clapped his palm upon his right leg, 
 above the knee, for it appeared to him that the 
 doctor was shrewd enough to see through the 
 cloth of his trousers. He met Don Corra- 
 dino coming into the courtyard from a boar- 
 hunt; the signorino threw down his gun and 
 ran to the chamber where the old baron lay in
 
 78 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 the great bed with red silk curtains. And Cirillo 
 thrust himself into his den under the stairs, until 
 he heard Don Luca's heavy tread descending, 
 and the great door open and close as the phy- 
 sician went out. That occasion was past, and 
 he had not denied mamma Bibiana. 
 
 After the time of mourning for the old baron 
 was ended, the new baron, Don Corradino, sold 
 some lands, and it was known that he was going 
 to Paris of France. Mastro Gaetano would rule 
 things, as indeed he had done for years; Cirillo 
 also would remain; the women were dismissed, 
 and Donna Sabina Mosca was pensioned and 
 went to live at the house of a niece at Cosenza, 
 with money enough to let her pass the days with 
 her hands upon her belt. When after a year the 
 baron returned, he brought with him a servant 
 from Paris, a young fellow with moustaches 
 like a cat, mischievous as a red donkey, who 
 made a butt of Cirillo and sneered when the 
 poor man, teased by those unkind looks, let 
 fall a dish on the floor. This man aped Cirillo's 
 movements and modes; and did so much that 
 at last the baron said, " Ohe, Cirillo, here you
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 79 
 
 come in like Pontius Pilate into the creed; it is 
 better for you to stay in the stables, and take 
 care of my horses." 
 
 So Cirillo slept no more under the stairs, but 
 in the hayloft. It appeared that those good 
 beasts knew more than Christians; they under- 
 stood that Cirillo was of noble race, like them- 
 selves, and they took to loving him. He 
 cleaned and fed them, and trained the colts; 
 and whenever the baron sent any to be sold at 
 Cosenza, Cirillo led them by the halter; and 
 when the bargain was made, he with the pre- 
 text of tightening the leather strap, would ap- 
 proach his mouth to the ear of the horse and 
 whisper, " Good - bye and good luck, my 
 brother ! " 
 
 Then the baron took the whim to go as far 
 as England, where they never see the sun be- 
 cause of the fog; and that time also he brought 
 back a servant, a nimble little man with a red 
 face, and gave him charge of the stables, 
 where he chewed straws and hissed like a ser- 
 pent as he groomed the horses, and command- 
 ed Cirillo to bring buckets of water. " Look,
 
 80 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 Cirillo," said the baron, " now that there is 
 Tommy for the horses, go you to the chest- 
 nuts." 
 
 Up there, on the mountain, the chestnut 
 crop had been computed upon the trees by com- 
 pare Nunzio who came from Malito on pur- 
 pose one-third for massaro Cola Brancalupo 
 who had the torre and the groves on mezzadria 
 and two-thirds for the baron that owned the 
 land. Cirillo had to watch the drying of the 
 chestnuts, night and day, in the acrid smoke of 
 the green wood that at first gave him a deuced 
 cough, while the tears ran down his face. But 
 he became used to it, as to everything. At the 
 spelatura, he trampled the nuts with his wooden 
 shoes, stimulating the other fellows that worked 
 with him, and crying " Viva sanf Antonio f" 
 while the down of the chestnuts flew in the air 
 and the nuts rattled in the sieves. Then later 
 in November, he went with the long line of 
 ploughs to the fields of the Vallo, where the 
 black earth steamed; while the quails flew over 
 in great flocks on the way to Africa, crying 
 qua, qua, qua. Then to the olive-groves where
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 8 1 
 
 Cirillo swung himself among the highest 
 branches, with his long arms, to beat down 
 the olives, while men, women and children 
 crept about on the muddy ground to gather 
 them. At Ave Maria, shelter was sought in the 
 farm-house; there the lads and girls danced to 
 the cornamusa and the ciaramedda. But Cirillo 
 invited no one to dance; who would dance with 
 him, ugly as he was? The massaro talked with 
 him about the old baron, good soul, and the 
 extravagances of the young baron; and also 
 about King Vittorio who soon would have 
 driven away all the strangers, like so many 
 wolves. " But I am not yet old," thought 
 Cirillo, " and if it was known that I am the 
 baron, even comare Menica there would dance 
 with me, ugly as I am." 
 
 After the olives, Cirillo had to work in the 
 fields, those fat fields of the Vallo where mala- 
 ria overcomes the peasant and puts him to bed 
 with the fever. So it happened to Cirillo; and 
 he took refuge in a hovel there, near a pond, 
 and every day that he had the fever he stayed 
 under a coverlet and his great cloak, with a
 
 82 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 kerchief on his head; and other days he went 
 in a cracked boat that was there, to catch fish 
 and eels in the pond. He caught frogs too, 
 which in Calabria are called singing fishes, and 
 since he was no longer able to work for the 
 baron he set up an industry of his own, selling 
 fish and frogs through the country, crying 
 with his fine voice: " Pesci cantanti, pesci can- 
 tanti ! " So, because of his bent shoulders and 
 long arms, and eyes dull from the malaria, the 
 people who did not know his name called him 
 the pesce cantante, for indeed he resembled a 
 frog. And as he stood in the mud up to his 
 knees, to catch the frogs that populated it, like 
 the peasants on the lands of Don Corradino, he 
 would roll his trousers above the mark upon 
 his leg, and point it out to the frogs, saying, 
 " Here, at least, I am the baron ! " 
 
 For he lived by them, as the baron lived by 
 the peasants; and if he needed a little money, 
 his hand was heavy upon them, poor beasts, as 
 if they had rented the pond from him. 
 
 One day when he carried fish to the great 
 house, he learned that it was a gala day, for
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 83 
 
 the baron was bringing home his bride, the 
 daughter of a Sicilian duke. Cirillo waited in 
 the courtyard to see the bridal pair come dash- 
 ing in, behind four fine white horses, while the 
 servants cried, " Vivano gli sposi ! " in chorus. 
 Cirillo said between himself and himself, " If I 
 had claimed my right, that lady might have 
 married me, instead of the son of Maso the 
 carrier ! " Then he shouted " Long live the 
 pair ! " with the others, and Donna Isabella 
 turned upon him a smile that appeared to him 
 like the morning star when it shone upon the 
 gloomy pond, at dawn. That was a great lady ! 
 Although Cirillo had had little education, ex- 
 cept that which came in his blood because he 
 was the son of the baron, and the good princi- 
 ples taught him by mamma Bibiana, and a lit- 
 tle a b c that he learned of the parish priest 
 still he comprehended how rude was Baron 
 Corradino: a real peasant like his father the 
 carrier. 
 
 But the beautiful baroness appeared to notice 
 nothing, not even when her husband stumbled 
 in the train of her rich gown no more than the
 
 84 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 morning star thinks of the tree-tops which 
 seem to tear the clouds below it. That was 
 truly a great lady ! As she passed through the 
 doorway, with the servants in line on each side, 
 Cirillo heard her say, " Who is that poor fel- 
 low ?" and her husband answered, " It is Ci- 
 rillo the frog-seller." Cirillo struck his leg a 
 smart blow, in order not to cry out " I am the 
 baron ! " Then he thought of mamma Bibiana, 
 and also how useless it would be to make a 
 noise and get himself driven away with sticks. 
 About this, too, he had patience, and went away 
 through the village crying " Pesci cantanti ! " 
 to sell his frogs to those who wished to make 
 broth for the old or the sick. Afterward, when 
 he brought fish to the great house, the baroness 
 with her maid or her housekeeper who was twice 
 as grand as Donna Sabina Mosca in her time, 
 came sometimes into the courtyard. Donna 
 Isabella would have paid Cirillo more than his 
 price, so much she pitied him; but he would 
 not take more than was due. She talked to him 
 with her sweet voice, while he had a mad wish 
 to throw himself on the ground and kiss the
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 85 
 
 hem of her gown, as to the Madonna del Car- 
 mine; and when she sent the maid to bring a 
 tray of refreshments, Cirillo would take only a 
 little glass of wine and a mouthful of bread that 
 seemed to him like a sacrament. " This sig- 
 nora baronessa" he thought, " must be like 
 that other who died to bring me into the world; 
 she was an angel but my true mother was 
 mamma Bibiana." 
 
 The fact is, the angels are well off in heaven; 
 but here on earth one must have a little bit of 
 the demon in one's body, in order not to get 
 the worst of it. And that little bit the baroness 
 had, so that she made her reasons heard many 
 times with Don Corradino. He had the con- 
 sciousness of being like a rude peasant, despite 
 the escutcheon over the great door, and the 
 gallery of ancestors, and the silver plate with 
 the baronial cipher. Isabella was so beautiful, 
 so white, he was in awe of her; he perceived 
 that she avoided his coarse, stubby hands with 
 the bitten nails. He knew how to talk of noth- 
 ing but the crops, or hunting, or the theatres 
 of Paris of France, where, instead of the holy
 
 86 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 mysteries or the deeds of the Reali or of Guer- 
 ino il Meschino, they represent things worse 
 than the dance of the witches around the nut- 
 tree of Benevento. She, instead, had instruc- 
 tion; if the king himself had come, she would 
 have talked with him as with any person what- 
 ever ! 
 
 One day, in Cirillo's presence, the baron and 
 the baroness were discussing some trifle, upon 
 the steps of the house; and at a blunder of his 
 she turned upon him her great eyes full of con- 
 tempt, so that he raised his hand, just like Maso 
 the carrier when he quarreled with Bibiana, 
 and would have given her a box on the ear, 
 only that Cirillo threw himself between them 
 and cried, " Boor, do not touch her ! " 
 
 At that word the baron lost his compass; he 
 saw everything red before his eyes; he took 
 Cirillo by the neck and threw him backward 
 down the steps, like a sack of rags. The instant 
 of fury past, the baron leaped down into the 
 courtyard, full of remorse; while Donna Isa- 
 bella ran to call some servants to take Cirillo 
 on their arms into the house. " Here, here,"
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 87 
 
 cried the baron, flinging open the door of the 
 great room where his father died. " Carry 
 him in here, my poor foster-brother Cirillo ! " 
 
 Then they saddled a horse to go for the doc- 
 tor. Cirillo recognized the sound of the hoofs 
 of old Sultano, the roan. " Good-bye and good 
 luck, Sultano," he said. " Kut it is I who am 
 going away, this time. Then he begged Donna 
 Isabella not. to weep, for the baron had not 
 meant to harm him, and between foster-broth- 
 ers it is easy to forgive. 
 
 When Don Luca Vitale, now very old, came, 
 he looked through his glasses and took snuff 
 and shook his head, just as when, so long ago, 
 he visited the baron. It was a question of some 
 broken bones, and strength consumed by the 
 malaria of the Vallo, and Don Luca said cer- 
 tain Latin big words that nobody understood, 
 but they must mean something very grave. 
 Cirillo would hardly last through the night. 
 
 When Don Luca Vitale felt of the right leg, 
 broken a little above the knee, Cirillo looked 
 fixedly at him. Now, at last, the truth might 
 have been made plain, and by no act of Cirillo.
 
 88 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 
 
 But the old doctor had forgotten the birthmark 
 of the son of the baron. " Better so, mamma 
 Bibiana," he muttered; and Don Luca, who was 
 a little deaf, believed that he was complaining 
 of the pain of the leg. 
 
 Now that it was too late, Don Corradino 
 would have given his own blood to cure that 
 poor fellow, but Cirillo embraced him and told 
 him it was the will of heaven. If they would 
 have him die in peace, let them send for Don 
 Giuseppe, the parish priest, who taught him 
 what little he could stammer of the breviary, 
 and the duties of a Christian, and for charity 
 had said so many masses, without a tari of pay, 
 for the soul of mamma Bibiana. When Don 
 Giuseppe came, Cirillo would have everyone 
 leave the room, since there was no more to be 
 done for the body, only for the soul, and those 
 servants in gold lace and livery put him in awe 
 so that he could not collect himself to make a 
 good end. To the confessor everything ought 
 to be told; and in that night Cirillo recounted 
 his life to Don Giuseppe, and recommended 
 him to pray for the dying man, but still more
 
 THE STORY OF CIRILLO 89 
 
 for poor Bibiana who had gone with a sin upon 
 her conscience. 
 
 So it was that Cirillo died in the bed where 
 he was born, in the bed with the red silk cur- 
 tains, where his father died, his grandfather and 
 his great-grandfather. With his last breath, he 
 said, smiling, "Mamma Bibiana! " And in the 
 courtyard a cock crowed, and it was dawn.
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 r I ^HAT year Don Giammaria, the curate, re- 
 -*- solved that he would put a stop to the 
 galloping baldness of the mountain. Against 
 the law, the charcoal-burners had cut down the 
 forest without pity, as their fathers did before 
 them; for it is the rich who make the laws, 
 while the poor must live as they can. And an 
 old law, too, is like an old dog that has lost its 
 teeth and can no longer bite. So, at night, the 
 fires reddened here and there on the black, 
 bristling slope; and by day the axes sounded, 
 cutting down the woods. Because the trees 
 were thinned, so that they no longer availed to 
 hold back the snows, as soon as the sirocco 
 began to blow in the spring the little streams, 
 suddenly swollen, flooded the fields of the foot- 
 hills, and carried away beasts and houses. 
 Ugly landslides had left scars upon the side of 
 the mountain; every one marked a disaster.
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 9! 
 
 That very season compare Santo Ferroni had 
 seen a fine pair of oxen drown at the ford, 
 eight legs in the air, and the cart behind them 
 pounding up and down in the torrent, before he 
 could say, " Sant' Eligio help them ! " And 
 the widow of Cola Greco, the goatherd, had 
 watched from her doorway while the waters 
 spread over her little field and carried the soil 
 down the stream as if to go to plant that 
 sprouting grain in the sea. Everybody had his 
 troubles with the freshets that season. 
 
 So Don Giammaria, in the pulpit, told his 
 parishioners that they had robbed the mountain 
 and must repay; they had reduced it to naked- 
 ness and must clothe it again; that even with 
 the earth one ought to be honest, for also she 
 is a creature of the good Lord. Then he came 
 to facts, and said that in future he wouldn't 
 give the sacrament of matrimony to any couple 
 of Christians until the bridegroom should first 
 have brought two young trees from the thicket 
 of the plain, one for himself and one for the 
 bride, and planted them there where the moun- 
 tain was quite bare, above the small piece of
 
 92 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 table-land, somewhat hollowed, which (be- 
 cause of its shape like a kneading-tray) was 
 called the Madia. The roots of the young trees 
 would spread, said Don Giammaria, bind the 
 soil, make head against the melting snows, and 
 thus hinder disasters. And the worthy curate, 
 warming up, made upon that theme such a fine 
 sermon, full of unction, likening those roots to 
 the affections of husband and wife, that many 
 women wept, quite touched by those holy 
 words, and the girls all hung upon his lips. 
 
 Certain young fellows, not in the fear of the 
 Lord, as they stood near the door, waiting for 
 the girls to come out, grinned and said that, as 
 for them, it would take as long to choose the 
 trees of marriage as it did Bertoldo him of the 
 legend to find the tree that suited him to be 
 hanged upon. Near the altar, compare Giro- 
 lamo Tadda, who that morning had ridden 
 down from his house at the Madia on his don- 
 key that was tied to a fig-tree in the church- 
 yard to wait for him thought of the landslide 
 that, when he was a child, came down the 
 steep, parted to right and left, with a noise like
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 93 
 
 thunder, behind the house; and how his mo- 
 ther, in her chemise, snatched him from the 
 bed and ran out with him in her arms. Now 
 that his parents were dead, he lived alone in 
 the hut; he had scarcely thought of marriage; 
 his sole companion was that little black don- 
 key, called la Muridda, kind and intelligent, 
 that listened to all that he said, and almost 
 seemed to have speech, nodding her head and 
 shaking her ears. " We are well off, eh ?" he 
 would say to her, and la Muridda would turn 
 on him her sober eyes and thrust her moist 
 muzzle into his hand. 
 
 That Sunday, however, the words of Don 
 Giammaria stuck like nails in the mind of com- 
 pare Girolamo. Riding up the mountain, he 
 without his own will, looked at the trees beside 
 the path. "That one would do for the bride- 
 groom, for 'tis tall and stout like compare Mico 
 that carries the banner in the processions; that 
 other, so pretty, would be for the bride; no, 
 here's another still more beautiful ! " And once 
 he stopped la Muridda in order to look at a 
 little fir-tree, until the good beast lost patience,
 
 94 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 lifted her head and let off her voice, as if to re- 
 mind him that they should go home. " Right 
 you are, my little old one. Arricica /" 
 
 They followed the path, full of stones and 
 stumps, up to that piece of land, somewhat 
 sheltered by the rocks that formed the sides of 
 the " kneading-tray," where compare Girolamo 
 had the house, and a little ground planted with 
 cabbages and broad beans. He led the don- 
 key into the house, tied her by the halter in a 
 corner where was a litter of straw, gave her 
 some barley and hay, then put a dish of mines- 
 tra to the embers, ate, and finally went to bed, 
 where his snoring outranked the finest bray 
 that la Muridda had ever sent forth in the face 
 of earth and heaven. And who knows whether 
 there came into his dreams the trees of the 
 bridegroom and the bride ! 
 
 But destiny willed that compare Girolamo 
 should one day go in search of those two trees, 
 and thus it happened: As he went down the 
 mountain, walking at the side of the donkey 
 that was almost hidden by the load of fagots, 
 he smoked his clay pipe, content under the
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 95 
 
 April sun. La Muridda, with nose lowered, 
 took care for her steps, setting her hoofs accu- 
 rately on the rough path, full of pebbles. The 
 fagots creaked, and some big round cabbages 
 that crowned the load reeled as if drunken, so 
 that compare Girolamo had now and then to 
 put his hand to steady them. Down there, 
 where the mountain path joins the road to 
 Cosenza, he saw a cart that moved slowly; 
 then the woods hid it from sight. As he 
 reached the main road, he saw that the cart 
 had stopped. The mule that had drawn it was 
 fallen and lay motionless. The master was on 
 his knees beside the poor beast, while a girl 
 gathered up the things thrown to the ground. 
 
 " Help ! help ! Christians ! " cried the master 
 of the mule. 
 
 Compare Girolamo ran to him, leaving la 
 Muridda, that thrust her nose into a clump of 
 thistles as if it were no affair of hers. The 
 fallen mule, old, with projecting bones, was 
 dead between the shafts. 
 
 " He has fallen your mule ? " said compare 
 Girolamo.
 
 96 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 " Rather, he won't get up again ! " 
 
 " Better a beast than a baptized person, if 
 that is the will of heaven." 
 
 " And we are ruined, we are ! We must go 
 to the fair at Cosenza, I and my daughter 
 Anastasia here present. And what can be 
 done, now my mule is dead and my stuff scat- 
 tered on the ground ? " 
 
 On hearing the name of the girl, compare 
 Girolamo for the first time looked at her. She 
 was beautiful, with heavy braids of red hair, 
 lithe as a cat; her lips were full and scarlet, and 
 she had certain large eyes, the color of black 
 wine, that disquieted him. Over that head, that 
 was like burnished copper, was tied a black 
 silk kerchief. Her cotton-and-wool gown was 
 rather ragged, plaids of ash-color and green. 
 She sat on the ground, looking at a puppet that 
 she held in her hand, all a rag of torn tinsel. As 
 she saw that compare Girolamo was looking 
 at her, she began to laugh, showing her fine 
 teeth, and made the Pulcinella dance in the air. 
 
 "Beautiful, do you think?" she asked com- 
 pare Girolamo.
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 97 
 
 He, poor fellow, saw only her eyes, that 
 glowed like the thick Calabrian wine, and 
 answered, " Beautiful indeed, gna 'Nastasia." 
 
 She laughed louder; then rose to her feet 
 and began to put the puppets and the proper- 
 ties in order in the cart, while the two men 
 drew the dead mule out of the shafts. The 
 owner of the puppet-show lamented, thrusting 
 his hands in his hair, " Oh, blessed Sant' Eli- 
 gio, draw the cart for me yourself, since you 
 wouldn't save the poor beast ! If not, how 
 shall I do in order to set up, in the piazza at 
 Cosenza, my famous puppet-show, the castello 
 of mastro Orlando Zaccardo, favored by the 
 aristocracy and the illustrious military every- 
 where ! " 
 
 Compare Girolamo had an idea that did not 
 seem his own, it was so opportune. Rather, it 
 appeared to him suggested by those bewitch- 
 ing eyes of Anastasia which excited his stupid 
 brain, for, says the proverb, " The goad puts 
 feeling into donkeys." 
 
 " Listen, mastro Zaccardo," he said. " I will 
 run to disembarrass la Muridda of the fagots,
 
 98 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 and she will draw the cart to Cosenza for you 
 just like the poor mule. She's an honest ass 
 that earns her barley and straw, that one. We 
 will leave the fagots here, and you can pay me 
 some soldi for them when we settle accounts. 
 And the cabbages, with leave of gna 'Nasta- 
 sia, that good gift of heaven can be disposed 
 among the other things without doing harm to 
 any." 
 
 "Blessed be charity to one's neighbor!" 
 responded mastro Zaccardo. 
 
 " Certainly the cabbages can ride like so 
 many lords," said his daughter. 
 
 The load adjusted, compare Girolamo guided 
 la Muridda, while the others walked beside the 
 cart until they arrived at Cosenza. 
 
 There, in the piazza, was an uproar. People 
 from the mountain villages and from the sea- 
 coast mingled with the citizens. The crowd 
 pressed and jostled; hands were thrust in peo- 
 ple's faces, to bargain for beasts or for goods. 
 The band played at one side of the square; 
 from the booths venders cried their fruits and 
 trinkets; the fishermen from Paola had rush-
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 99 
 
 baskets full of fish and polyps; a fortune-teller 
 turned his hand-organ and made his canaries 
 dance; the herdsmen had brought beasts, and 
 the women sold poultry; all those voices were 
 raised in a babel. Mastro Orlando Zaccardo 
 set up his little theatre, driving in poles and 
 nailing up curtains; also his daughter was busy 
 inside the castello of the puppets. Meanwhile, 
 compare Girolamo went about to sell his cab- 
 bages, crying : 
 
 " Oh, cabbages ! Green they are, green. 
 Cabbages, of those good ones. Feel of them, 
 whether they are heavy. They have some 
 weight, my good cabbages; they are not like 
 rags. Solid they are, at every proof." 
 
 He let one fall with a thump, to convince the 
 buyers. All those cabbages had their leaves 
 curled, as if with the smile that comes from a 
 good heart. 
 
 " Oh, cabbages ! Who wants cabbages ? 
 Green, I have them green. Ca-a-a-a-a-b- 
 bages ! " 
 
 Fine and round, they recommended them- 
 selves and sold quickly. Then compare Giro-
 
 100 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 lamo went to find the puppet-show of mastro 
 Orlando Zaccardo. Around it was a crowd of 
 people men, women and children, with some 
 soldiers and non-commissioned officers. The 
 curtains of the castello rose, and the vicissi- 
 tudes of Pulcinella began. Mastro Orlando 
 himself spoke for Pulcinella and Tartagghia, 
 the famous rivals who paid court to the beauti- 
 ful Colombina; and moved them, with his arms 
 thrust through their empty clothes. Also Bir- 
 licchi and Birlacchi, those ugly devils ready to 
 carry off people, and Pulcinella's bull-dog, 
 leaped and howled by means of mastro Or- 
 lando. To Anastasiawas entrusted la Colom- 
 bina, to whom she lent a voice like that of a 
 decoy thrush. Sometimes, if the puppets were 
 too many, Anastasia gave a hand to one or 
 another; she also pulled the wires of Death, 
 that had a wooden body without joints, and 
 said little as it passed, threatening, across the 
 stage. 
 
 The crowd was in delight when, from Tartag- 
 ghia's stick, the blows showered on the head of 
 Pulcinella, wood upon wood, with a fine noise.
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE IOI 
 
 44 Now you've got it well ! " said a sergeant 
 of bersaglieri. 
 
 " This time his head is broken, poor fellow," 
 noted the women; while the babies screamed 
 to see such hard blows that felled Pulcinella. 
 Then Colombina ran, felt of the bones of the 
 worthy Pulcinella, passed her hands over his 
 face with the big wooden nose, painted pink, 
 and burst into a great lament: 
 
 "Ah, how charming he was, good soul! 
 Another admirer like that I shall not find ! 
 How many compliments of sweetmeats and 
 boiled polyps he brought me ! He had a heart 
 like the sea, and gave to me with both hands ! 
 If he were alive I'd take him for a husband, I'd 
 take him." And Pulcinella, naturally, arose to 
 make Colombina keep her word. 
 
 But to compare Girolamo it appeared as if 
 Anastasia had spoken those phrases for him; 
 the blood went to his head. " And who knows 
 that one day I dtm't seek the tree of the bride ? " 
 he said to himself. 
 
 At that moment, Anastasia came out from 
 the castello of the puppets. How beautiful
 
 102 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 she was, in a black velvet bodice, skirts of 
 pink gauze all spangled, so many necklaces of 
 pinchbeck and glass pearls, rings up to the 
 joint of every finger, and certain shoes of gild- 
 ed leather that appeared to dance upon the 
 heart of compare Girolamo. " If she doesn't 
 say me nay, true as I live I will find the tree 
 of the bride," he swore within himself. 
 
 Anastasia sang, beating the tamburello, 
 dancing a few steps. Her large eyes turned 
 here and there upon the spectators. Then she 
 carried round a tin plate to collect the soldi; 
 for one can't trust the public not to disperse 
 without paying better to receive the money 
 before the performance is ended. Anastasia's 
 face had a smile like that of Colombina, that 
 never changed, as if it had been painted on 
 wood. The sergeant of bersaglieri offered her 
 some cakes, and she accepted them with the 
 air of aprima donna, so that they appeared like 
 a gift of jewels. When she ca*me to compare 
 Girolamo, he, instead of money, put into the 
 dish his mother's wedding-ring, which he wore 
 on his little finger. Anastasia said nothing
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 103 
 
 but grew red as a tomato, and hid the ring in 
 her palm. Then she ran into the castello. 
 The curtain rose; tutui, tutui, sounded the 
 whistle, as Pulcinella and Tartagghia came 
 beating each other with sticks. Pulcinella 
 would have had the worst of it, if his dog had 
 not taken the enemy by the back of the trou- 
 sers, while the devils carried off Tartagghia, 
 squeaking, and the crowd shouted, " Bravo, 
 Pulcinella ! " Otherwise, there were those of 
 the spectators that had taken up small stones, 
 ready to do justice to that rogue of a Tartagghia. 
 
 Compare Girolamo remained as if in a dream. 
 The muzzle of la Muridda, stretched out to 
 touch his hand, made him start. "Away, im- 
 portunate beast ! " he said to her. 
 
 Anastasia, who had approached, reproved 
 him. ' She's hungry, the poor beast, after 
 having dragged the cart, she that usually has 
 not so great a load. See how her ears hang ! 
 Go, compare Girolamo, to get her something 
 to eat." 
 
 The girl, now in the old plaid gown, stroked 
 the neck of the ass, that looked askance at her.
 
 104 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 Protected by Anastasia, la Muridda appeared 
 more sympathetic to compare Girolamo. He 
 went to buy grain, and also a bundle of hay 
 from an old woman that sold it; and while he 
 bargained, he turned to glance at Anastasia. 
 She was feeding the ass with the cakes of the 
 sergeant, while he, at a little distance, with his 
 hat over one ear, made sweet little eyes at her, 
 which she feigned not to see. Those few 
 things that compare Girolamo needed a 
 match-box, a clasp-knife, some horn buttons 
 he did not find it easy to buy. 
 
 " I don't know where my head is," he com- 
 plained to himself; " I'm no longer in my own 
 centre. Better for me to stay at home; for in 
 the town, with all the noise, an apoplexy 
 would come to me. Who is born an acorn, let 
 him fall near the oak." And he blamed also 
 the wine that he had drunk, a glass here, and 
 a glass there. " It has betrayed me, that wine. 
 Another time I'll stay on the mountain and 
 sell my cabbages by means of compare Maso 
 the carrier, for now it seems to me as if I had a 
 swarm of bees in my head."
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 105 
 
 Then he returned to Anastasia, who helped 
 him to feed the donkey, that seemed discon- 
 tented, as if that girl's caresses did not please 
 her. Mastro Orlando had taken apart the 
 castello, and loaded the cart. " Let us go to 
 eat something, "he said to his daughter; "com- 
 pare Girolamo will do us the favor to come to 
 table with us." They went to an inn that was 
 near, and mastro Orlando had set on the table 
 so many dishes sausages, and maccheroni, 
 and a fowl, with plenty of fruit and wine- 
 that to compare Girolamo it did not seem real. 
 They talked of what had been earned in the 
 day. 
 
 " As for me," said mastro Zaccardo, "I don't 
 complain about the money; what troubles me 
 is the loss of the mule. If you will, I should 
 like to bargain with you for your donkey, com- 
 pare Girolamo." 
 
 " One doesn't sell a person of the family. 
 La- Muridda belonged to my father, good 
 soul; indeed, the evening before he died, he 
 made a drink of meal and water for her, as for 
 a sister."
 
 IO6 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 " And do you call her aunt, then ? " asked 
 Anastasia, pouring for him a glass of wine. 
 
 The mountaineer knew that he made a poor 
 figure before that mocking girl. " Eh, a beast 
 is only a beast," he said, pointlessly. " If I wish 
 to sell her, who hinders me ? " 
 
 Mastro Zaccardo saw his opportunity. 
 11 And how much do you pretend to ask for the 
 donkey, compare Girolamo ? 
 
 " And how much do you give me ? " 
 
 " We shall see; what do you want ? " 
 
 " And what do you give ? " 
 
 " We haven't the three days of the fair of 
 Castrogiovanni to bargain in; let us come quick- 
 ly to terms." 
 
 " Let us come." 
 
 " If I make you a present of thirty lire for 
 that donkey, 'tis because I am your friend, and 
 recognize that I am bound to you, compare 
 Girolamo." 
 
 "What! thirty lire of Egypt! I keep my 
 donkey. That one is strong, with the heart of 
 a lion, as good as a horse to draw or carry a 
 load."
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE IO/ 
 
 " She can't be a colt any longer. It wasn't 
 yesterday that you had her from your father, 
 peace to his soul ! " 
 
 The two men went out into the courtyard 
 of the inn, and Anastasia with them. La 
 Muridda, with head bent, stood patiently wait- 
 ing for her master. They felt her all over with 
 their hands; she had a little swelling on one 
 leg; there was a raw spot on her neck, plas- 
 tered with tar and nearly healed; but she was 
 neither lame nor broken-winded, and her coat 
 was smooth a sign of health in a beast. The 
 men bargained, haggling over the price. La 
 Muridda turned her gaze from one to another 
 as if to say, " Buy me or sell me; I change 
 masters, but not my way of life, for an ass al- 
 ways carries wine, and drinks water." Only 
 she rubbed her nose on compare Girolamo's 
 sleeve, as if she bore affection to him. Anas- 
 tasia took no part in what was done; she lean- 
 ed against the wall, looking in the air. The 
 strong wine and those dark eyes of the girl 
 made compare Girolamo bold. " Listen, mas- 
 tro Zaccardo. Since we can't come to terms on
 
 108 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 the price, I make you a proposition: I would 
 like to be your son-in-law; and if it does not 
 displease mistress Anastasia, I'll take her, with- 
 out dowry, in exchange for the donkey. What 
 do you say to that, mastro Zaccardo ? " 
 
 The father thought of the annoyances which 
 his daughter gave him; she suffered from 
 nerves; was lazy or industrious according to 
 caprice; sometimes she let people make her 
 compliments not too finely sifted; other times 
 she sent her father with his cherry-wood stick 
 to ask reasons from village dandies or from 
 bersaglieri, so that often it was at the risk of 
 his bones. Sometimes she made new dresses 
 for the company of puppets, or she left them 
 ragged; she would now and then stay in bed 
 the whole day, if by chance they had gotten 
 into a good lodging, and leave the work all for 
 her father Pulcinella, Colombina, Tartag- 
 ghia, the dogs, Death and the devils. There- 
 fore la Muridda seemed to him better, for the 
 ass would work and neither scold him nor 
 spend his money. The songs and smiles of 
 Anastasia were all for the public ; her cavils and
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE top 
 
 ill humors for her father. Better the donkey! 
 He struck his hand into compare Girolamo's. 
 " Done. I give you my daughter, and take 
 your donkey." 
 
 This sobered compare Girolamo all at once- 
 He looked shyly at the girl, who stood smiling 
 with pride, cold and indifferent. Her fine 
 shoulders stood out against the worm-eaten 
 wood of the stall. " Are you content, signora 
 Anastasia ? " 
 
 " And why not ? " 
 
 " I will be a good man to you; I shall not 
 let you lack anything, if you do me this honor." 
 
 " So many thanks." 
 
 She did not blush now, as when she took the 
 ring that had been his mother's. He did not 
 dare to tell her that he loved her, not even 
 when mastro Orlando went into the inn to pay 
 the reckoning, and left them alone. Compare 
 Girolamo did not know what it was that he felt 
 for Anastasia; she was so mocking, that he 
 would have liked to kiss her and to beat her. He 
 loved her, he loved her indeed but he would 
 have had pleasure in tearing off with his nails
 
 IIO THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 the cold smile that she had on her face. Oh, 
 what was this ? It could not be love, like that 
 of his father, who neither kissed nor beat his 
 mother. That beauty of Anastasia was worse 
 than the black wine to make him melancholy. 
 
 As they were ready to start, the sergeant of 
 bersaglieri passed by. "Where are you going, 
 my pretty girl ? " he asked of Anastasia. 
 
 She was silent, but Girolamo replied, " We 
 are going to be married. Have you anything 
 to say against it ? " 
 
 "I ? no ;" then the sergeant turned to Anas- 
 tasia. " But when you are tired of planting 
 cabbages, pretty bride, come to Naples, where 
 our regiment will be, and we will find you a 
 place to sing in a cafe." 
 
 Girolamo's hand clenched his stick, but 
 Anastasia whispered, " Don't mind it, dear 
 Girolamo." That sweet word spared the 
 bones of the bersagliere, who turned and went 
 away, whistling. 
 
 " At least until after the wedding, mastro 
 Orlando, you must stay in my house," compare 
 Girolamo invited him.
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE III 
 
 The next day, Girolamo went in search of 
 the two trees; as he passed through the vil- 
 lage, leading la Muridda that was to bring the 
 saplings up the mountain, people asked him, 
 " Oh, compare Girolamo, where is the load of 
 your donkey?" and he replied, "After I shall 
 have talked with Don Giammaria, I shall go 
 for the load." In fact the curate had much to 
 say to him, besides teaching him the duties of 
 the occasion toward the law and toward re- 
 ligion. " You would have done better to take a 
 wife herein the village; comare Rosa's Martina, 
 or massaro Venerando's Lucia, good girls that 
 are not seen at the window, but, instead, stay at 
 the loom. With this stranger you will have 
 troubles, my son." But compare Girolamo 
 said that he would have Anastasia, he would 
 have her; and he persisted so that Don Giam- 
 maria, to change the subject, made him a 
 homily upon matrimony, and let him go. 
 
 Compare Girolamo, when he arrived at the 
 thicket of the plain, soon dug up a young pine 
 that wasn't ugly. "Any tree whatever does 
 for me," he said, " but for Anastasia, so beauti-
 
 112 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 ful, there would be wanted one with leaves of 
 gold and silver." 
 
 At last he found a little larch, slim and 
 straight, that, as the breeze blew, swung its 
 tassels just like the ear-rings of Anastasia. 
 " Here's the tree of the bride ! " He dug care- 
 fully around it; took it in his arms tenderly 
 as if it had been the bride herself, and put it 
 upon the back of la Muridda. Then he went 
 up the mountain to plant those trees according 
 to the will of Don Giammaria. 
 
 The whole village, for curiosity, went to the 
 wedding of compare Girolamo he that had 
 led the life of a hermit up there on the moun- 
 tain with the red-haired girl whom they call- 
 ed " the gipsy." " Rosso, e rissa" observed 
 massaro Venerando, shaking his forefinger 
 solemnly in his neighbor's face. " True it is, 
 that red hair and quarrels go in company. 
 Compare Girolamo will have his troubles he 
 will have them." 
 
 But everybody knew that Uncle Venerando 
 would have liked to marry his daughter Lucia 
 to compare Girolamo, because, although poor,
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 113 
 
 the latter came of a respected family. And in 
 Calabria, black hair is common as the black 
 earth, while red hair isn't seen in every piazza.. 
 After the wedding, mastro Orlando Zaccardo 
 went away with his puppet-show, and the cart 
 drawn by la Muridda. When Girolamo said 
 good-bye to the black donkey, he would have 
 sworn that the poor beast had tears in her 
 eyes. "For you I sha'n't mix any more drinks 
 of bran and water when your bones are as if 
 broken trotting about the threshing-floor on 
 the sheaves. May you live well, Muridda ! " 
 
 When Anastasia patted the nose of the don- 
 key, la Muridda suddenly bit the bride's hand 
 as if to say, " Tis you that have driven me 
 out of the house." Compare Girolamo feigned 
 to examine a wheel, for he would not punish 
 the poor beast that was going away. 
 
 At first, mistress Anastasia was content. 
 She had hated the gipsy life, the weary jour- 
 neys, the scant food, the nights passed under 
 a hedge, the rude words and acts of low peo- 
 ple that came to the puppet-show, the repe- 
 tition of her songs and of the silly speeches
 
 114 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 of Colombina. Now she could wander on the 
 mountain all in bloom, gather raspberries, 
 look at herself in the pools among the rocks, 
 lie on beds of moss and dream impossible 
 things. Then as the summer passed, all was 
 no longer new to her; the sun set earlier, and 
 it was no use to light the pitch-splinters in 
 the house, for her husband passed the even- 
 ings in sleeping, and she did not know how 
 to spin. The silence weighed on her chest, 
 the melancholy of the black mountain, the 
 path where no one ever came unless now and 
 then Don Giammaria, who looked after the 
 trees planted by the bridegrooms of his flock, 
 as if that plantation were another parish of 
 his the wind that blew among the pines, the 
 steep rocks of the Madia, the stupid cabbages 
 of the garden, the pots and pans, and, more 
 than all, that idiot of a Girolamo, she detested 
 them all. Pumpkin-head as her husband was, 
 if he did not stay away all the day at work she 
 at least would have had a living soul to speak 
 to. She would have liked the company of la 
 Muridda; although the donkey had appeared
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 115 
 
 to have it against her, perhaps because of that 
 bargain, and had brayed at her, as donkeys do 
 when they see a woman with her shoes trodden 
 down at the heel. For, without the public to 
 admire her beauty, Anastasia took no care to 
 be neat; her red hair was rough and her face 
 and gown were dirty. She would not sweep 
 her house; what bread they ate, compare 
 Girolamo bought at the shop of comare Rosa, 
 in the village, who said, " My daughter Mar- 
 tina, I don't say it in order to boast, can make 
 bread of unbolted wheat so that it tastes like 
 fine flour." 
 
 And when compare Girolamo had gone out 
 of the shop, the women would say, " That one 
 made a blunder, to take the gipsy." 
 
 In the house, the poor fellow had no peace, 
 for his wife scolded and wept, or else main- 
 tained a dull silence that was worse. Not to 
 quarrel, Girolamo would go off to the place 
 where were the pine and the larch; and little 
 by little it seemed to him that the graceful 
 larch, with its swinging ornaments, was his 
 bride rather than that loveless woman there in
 
 Il6 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 his house. He did not know how to please An- 
 astasia; everything that he did appeared to an- 
 noy her; she had certain affectations, and was 
 disgusted by his manners of a peasant. A 
 sudden fury seized her at the sight of his big 
 thumb crowding the tobacco into his clay pipe; 
 she could not give herself a reason, but so it 
 was. The sound of his jaws when he ate, his 
 grating snores at night, hurt her. 
 
 " Perhaps women are all like that," thought 
 compare Girolamo, standing beside the larch 
 that swept his cheek with its tassels. Every 
 morning, before the light was seen on the 
 heights of La Sila, he went to wrk; besides 
 the charcoal, he was employed at the Vallo 
 for the vintage, and later for the chestnuts. 
 One evening, in order to keep him awake, 
 Anastasia told him the facts of her life, speak- 
 ing rapidly and with excitement. Certain 
 things that she said made her husband jealous 
 and angry. When she observed that, to tease 
 him still more, she ran to the fir-wood chest, 
 took out the velvet bodice, the pink skirt with 
 spangles, and the gilded shoes, put them on,
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 117 
 
 and danced as if possessed, beating her tam- 
 burello. Compare Girolamo all at once under- 
 stood how great a blunder he had made, that 
 day at the fair at Cosenza. 
 
 " Amaru m ! that I brought this puppet into 
 my house. Go, dress yourself like an honest 
 woman, as the wife of my mother's son should 
 be." 
 
 " Honest I have been always. But here I'm 
 eating my heart; to live in this house is to be 
 
 like a dead woman under the stones of the 
 
 * 
 
 church." 
 
 She wept noisily, shaking her bare shoulders. 
 Compare Girolamo pushed her with both hands, 
 so that she fell upon the fir-wood cassone. A 
 bruise began to redden upon one of those beau- 
 tiful shoulders. 
 
 The next morning, it seemed that she had 
 forgotten the strife of that evening; and com- 
 pare Girolamo was ashamed even to ask her 
 pardon for the rude push given to her. They 
 ate, speaking little. When he slung the bisac- 
 cia on his shoulder, to go to the chestnuts in 
 that dreary November day, with the clouds on
 
 Il8 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE 
 
 the mountain, and the mists rising from the 
 ploughed fields and from the river-banks down 
 below, it appeared as if Anastasia wanted to 
 say something to him, taking in breath as if to 
 form words. But nothing she said. Then 
 compare Girolamo on the threshold and after- 
 ward he was glad of it turned and said to her: 
 
 " 'Nastasia, I leave you with holy peace." 
 
 " And I salute you and recommend you to 
 the saints." 
 
 When at evening he came home from the 
 chestnuts, not far away, the house had neither 
 fire nor light. The fir-wood cassvnewas open; 
 nothing was missing there except the velvet 
 bodice and the pink skirt with spangles, and the 
 gilded shoes. Anastasia was gone away to 
 lead the gipsy life again. 
 
 The next day, when Don Giammaria came 
 up the mountain, riding on his sorrel mule, to 
 look at the trees, he saw compare Girolamo 
 there, who had cut down the larch, the tree of 
 the bride, and now gave it blow after blow with 
 the axe as if for revenge. 
 
 " Oh, why will you give it to that tree ?
 
 THE TREE OF THE BRIDE I 19 
 
 You do wrong to cut wood here, compare Giro- 
 lamo." 
 
 " I know that I do wrong, reverendo; but if 
 not, I might do worse. I'm cutting to pieces 
 the tree of the bride, to let off my anger; as I 
 would like to cut to pieces that Anastasia that 
 has tormented me and now has run away." 
 
 And he raised his axe again, and hacked the 
 larch: " Take it ! and take it ! " 
 
 " I told you that you were making a blunder, 
 my son. Patience, for in this world we must 
 suffer." 
 
 Don Giammaria knew that it was not yet the 
 time for consolation nor for a moral homily. 
 He blessed the poor fellow, turned the mule 
 around and rode down the mountain, while be- 
 hind him the hard blows of the axe resounded 
 among the rocks, as compare Girolamo cut 
 into splinters the tree of the bride.
 
 A TRUMPET CALL 
 
 \ T 7"HEN the signora went to the house of 
 comare Sarina, on the mountain road 
 above Cosenza, to speak about a web of cloth 
 that was to be woven in arabesques, she saw 
 in the opposite dooryard a very stout and florid 
 woman, who sat on the steps of her house with 
 half a dozen children playing around her. 
 
 " I see that vossignoria is looking at that 
 great piece of a woman like a purple cabbage, 
 speaking with respect ! " observed comare 
 Sarina. " When I see that Rosa there, content 
 as an Easter Day, there comes to me the 
 wish to close the shutters of my window. 
 Many years ago, when we were all girls to- 
 gether, I and the others had to work in order to 
 eat. But Donna Rosina no, sirs ! Anything 
 but work. For her father was Don Ciccu, the 
 apothecary, and they kept her in cotton wool, 
 so that at most she helped him make barley
 
 A TRUMPET CALL 121 
 
 sugar, or would roll two pills in case of illness 
 at the house of the baron. 
 
 " And we others had to toil at home and in the 
 fields, and to bring down the ice and the snow, 
 in the summer, from the ravines up there tow- 
 ard the forest of La Sila. We would plait 
 mats of willow withes, and lay sheepskins over, 
 and heap the ice on these, and cover it with 
 another skin and many green boughs, all 
 bound down with other withes. This we car- 
 ried on our heads, one getting help from an- 
 other to place it there, on a folded cloth 
 your excellency from the city cannot know 
 these things; and we went down the mountain 
 path for miles, with the icy drops that trickled 
 on one's nose or down the back of the neck 
 making one shiver, however heated. 
 
 " When we came to the bit of tableland, we 
 would set down our loads to rest, and one 
 would sing the tarantella while others danced. 
 Girls have quicksilver about them. 
 
 " Just here was where Donna Rosina came 
 in she had herself called donna because 
 of the leeches and the pills, and the four words
 
 122 A TRUMPET CALL 
 
 of Latin of her father, Don Ciccu. She could 
 not work no, she was too delicate; but she 
 could dance like a grasshopper ! And com- 
 pare Tonio, that kept the sheep of Don Zeno, 
 the parish priest, as soon as he heard us sing 
 would come around the great boulder that was 
 there, and play on his pipe enough to call the 
 birds from the bushes. And Donna Rosina all 
 jumping for joy, and certain glances ! 
 
 " Also her mother, Donna Santuzza, made 
 Tonio so many compliments of tobacco and 
 woolen stockings. A-ah ! they knew how to 
 bind him round with their coaxings they 
 knew ! And the others of us girls were not so 
 much uglier than Rosa. Even I, that they 
 call Zi Melacotta I had not always the face 
 of a baked apple, but was in my time red and 
 white like another. But the fact was, they 
 would absolutely have Tonio; and the girls 
 might burst with spite they would have him. 
 It was comare Barbara who was thought to 
 have put an envy upon them, so that their 
 chickens died and the young ducks could not 
 swim up-stream. Zia Petronilla, the white
 
 A TRUMPET CALL 123 
 
 witch, 'said as much, and she spoke the verses 
 and signed them with water and salt to take 
 away the evil eye. 
 
 " We should have eaten the wedding sugar- 
 plums that June, but there was made the draft 
 for the army, and Tonio drew a bad number; 
 and we all 'went to the piazzetta to see the 
 brave boys go away with fife and drum, and the 
 mammas and the sweethearts that wept with 
 their faces in their aprons. Pom! pom! one felt 
 upon the stomach the thumps of the bass drum, 
 so that it made one melancholy, as the recruits 
 went away down the road. 
 
 " Soldiers must go here and there according 
 as the king wills; they toil hard, with little 
 leisure, and Tonio sent few letters. In our 
 town they did not know how to write; then 
 there were not the public schools, and it was 
 enough for one to make his cross on stamped 
 paper in order to take land on mezzadria. 
 Now and then came a letter from Tonio to say 
 that he was well, and wished as much to Rosa, 
 to his family, and all friendly persons; that he 
 had begun to learn to read, attending the cor-
 
 124 A TRUMPET CALL 
 
 poral's lessons; and that, because he had so 
 good lungs and a just ear, the bandmaster had 
 taught him to be one of the trumpeters of his 
 regiment. 
 
 " Of these letters Rosa read certain parts 
 her father had instructed her a little to the girls 
 at the fountain in \.\IQ piazzetta; other passages, 
 not; and at these she became red as burning 
 embers, for the scrivano had known so well how 
 to say all the fine things that Tonio had in his 
 heart. 
 
 " But it did not last so. Perhaps Tonio was 
 not content with her letters, for she had them 
 written by her father; and he, good soul, was 
 not a poet, little or at all. And out of sight, 
 out of mind men are that way. Rosina had 
 no more letters for many weeks. And I, at the 
 fountain, would say to her: 
 
 " ' Patience, Rosina, he may be ill, or even 
 dead. And then, young men play tricks of all 
 colors; he may easily find himself tired of you; 
 and in the great cities there are so many beau- 
 tiful girls with silk gowns, finer than the Ma- 
 donna del Carmine on a feast day. I counsel
 
 A TRUMPET CALL 125 
 
 you, comare Rosa' for I would not give her 
 the ' donna,' the little toad ' to give your- 
 self peace about it, and look out for another 
 lover.' 
 
 " And one day she let fall her copper jar 
 upon the stones, so that it took a great bruise, 
 and she wept like the fountain itself. ' Sarina,' 
 she said, ' what have I done to you that you 
 tell me these things ? My Tonio is an honest 
 lad.' 
 
 " Eh, these girls that are kept in cotton wool ! 
 I or another, to have been left so by the lover, 
 would have made a wry face, shed perhaps two 
 big tears in secret, and then good-evening to 
 the music, and found a new lover. For we had 
 to work, vossignoria, and the rattling of the 
 loom is good company; and in the fields, the 
 warm earth and the green stalks of the young 
 grain, and the tomtits that wag their little tails 
 between the furrows, and the locusts that sing 
 keep us cheerful; and to go to bed at evening 
 with bones broken from weariness, one sleeps 
 soundly. 
 
 " But she sat in the doorway of the drug
 
 126 A TRUMPET CALL 
 
 shop, looking down the street as if to see far 
 away. And only to speak a word to her she 
 would cry or laugh like one possessed. The 
 doctor did what he could, but, according to 
 me, it was rather a case for the priest to drive 
 out the demon; or else an envy, a witchcraft. 
 And certainly I believe that La Barbara, and I 
 may say also Luciola and Sabedda and Sidora, 
 would willingly have married compare Tonio 
 if he had asked them. Bold and spiteful those 
 girls ! For me, I would not have looked at 
 compare Tonio, not even if he had been made 
 of gold ! 
 
 " Little by little Donna Rosina wasted like a 
 lighted candle. She took off from her neck the 
 heart of filigree silver that Tonio had brought 
 her from the fair at Cosenza, when he went 
 there to sell some sheep; and she hung it, red 
 ribbon and all, on the altar, beside the little 
 silver leg of mastro Cola, the cripple, for whom 
 there had -been made the grace of a rheumatism 
 that had tormented him for thirty years, and 
 the corals of comare Veronica, whose son 
 came back from sea after four years that he was
 
 A TRUMPET CALL I2/ 
 
 believed to be drowned, and so many other fine 
 things to the praise of the blessed Madonna del 
 Carmine, that, as every one knows, can make 
 any ten other Madonnas run away with lifted 
 legs. 
 
 " But in vain Rosa made the act of faith of 
 that silver heart. Tonio did not write nor 
 come. Heaven preserve me from speaking ill 
 of the saints ! but sometimes, to trust all to 
 them, one loses by it. As for me, if I had been 
 in the clothes of Rosa and cared for Tonio, in- 
 stead of consuming myself in that manner, I 
 should have gone straight to the king himself 
 and said, ' Do me the favor, majesty; send 
 home my lad, for I don't see the wedding- 
 day, so that it appears to me like a thousand 
 years.' 
 
 " However, each one according to his own 
 character. Rosa turned everything upside 
 down: one day she would break dishes, and 
 another stay in bed; and again it would be a 
 great outburst of tears that reduced her like a 
 washed rag; and the next thing she would 
 curse Tonio that an apoplexy might take him,
 
 128 A TRUMPET CALL 
 
 and then tear her hair because she was losing 
 her baptism by committing in her heart the 
 mortal sin of murder. For Donna Rosina was 
 one who gave herself the airs of a little saint fit 
 to be put under a glass bell, with one hand in 
 the other, that did neither good nor harm. 
 Then a little fever; or she would grow stiff as 
 a stake and seem ready to suffocate, so that va- 
 rious times Don Zeno was called in all haste, 
 in the heart of the night, and came accompa- 
 nied by the sacristan with the aspersorium in 
 one hand and the great lantern in the other, 
 so that he was obliged to tinkle the little bell 
 with only two fingers. And so, many times 
 Rosa had the blessed oil under false pretenses. 
 For, die to-day and die to-morrow, she still 
 lived and lamented, and would at all costs have 
 her Tonio come back and marry her. 
 
 "And she grew whiter and thinner day by 
 day, so that indeed she resembled a wax taper. 
 
 " The thing ended in this way: One morn- 
 ing, at the fountain, it was known that at last 
 poor Rosa was really dead. All through the 
 night she had screamed for Tonio, with curses
 
 A TRUMPET CALL 
 
 and with blessings, according as the caprice 
 came to her. By fortune, she had died with 
 holy words in her mouth, so that it might be 
 hoped that her soul was not lost. And we all 
 were ready to give a hand to take her, if pos- 
 sible, the sooner out of purgatory; for indeed 
 it would be less trouble to say the rosary now 
 and then for her than to hear her always talk- 
 ing like a windmill about Tonio that had for- 
 saken her. 
 
 " Sometimes she had called him a traitor, a 
 pig; this last was an injustice to the education 
 he had from comare Nunzia, his mother, a 
 Christian who kept her house clean; so particu- 
 lar she was, that the hens might eat from her 
 dish only after she herself had eaten. At other 
 times Rosina called Tonio her handsome sol- 
 dier, her golden little orange, who knew how 
 to blow the trumpet so that she seemed to hear 
 it far away in Turin, like the voice of his heart. 
 Her talk was too honeyed; and a little of such 
 is a surfeit. 
 
 " At the house of Don Ciccu, then, there was 
 great mourning. All the girls went there to-
 
 130 A TRUMPET CALL 
 
 gather; we tore our hair, and beat on our 
 breasts with our hands, and screamed until we 
 lost breath. In a corner stood the table, with 
 certain mercies of heaven upon it dried figs, 
 and cakes made with honey and fine flour, and 
 wine, and toasted beans, and some of the bar- 
 ley sugar from the drug shop. And Rosina 
 was dressed as if for a holiday; with a dark 
 green skirt of wool, and an apron of Cosenza 
 stamped leather tied with red ribbons, and a 
 red waist with ever so many gilt buttons, and 
 a black jacket with gold embroidery and 
 fringes, and on her head a yellow silk kerchief. 
 She had heavy gold hoops in her ears, with lit- 
 tle hanging balls that did not tinkle any longer, 
 for she lay there white and motionless as a 
 plaster image of a saint before they put a wash 
 of color on it. 
 
 " The father, Don Ciccu, stayed in the 
 shop and pounded drugs, from force of habit 
 and because he was confused by grief. It is 
 true that Rosa was but a poor thing, with the 
 heart of a hare, but she was his only daughter, 
 and he loved her from his soul. The mother
 
 A TRUMPET CALL 13! 
 
 crouched in the corner near the hearth, and 
 \vould eat nothing, not even a raisin; but spoke 
 now and then of her daughter that was like a 
 carnation flower at her window, and a turtle- 
 dove, and many other fine things. And then 
 the other women and the girls would begin to 
 shriek again, as was suitable. And Donna 
 Rosina there in the middle of the room, on a 
 bier held up by carpenter's trestles, and can- 
 dles lighted at her head and feet it did not 
 seem real that the others should lament and 
 she be silent. For while she lived she had 
 been of the first force at screaming, for cause 
 or not. 
 
 " Then in the street the little bell was heard 
 to ring, and there came in Don Zeno with the 
 sacristan and the sacristan's boy that carried 
 the yellow silk umbrella over the head of the 
 priest. Don Zeno raised his hands and began 
 to mutter Latin that put us all in awe. 
 
 " In the fine midst of this, tra-tiri-tra ! tra- 
 tiri-tra / at the door, which was flung open 
 without compliments, and Tonio enters, with 
 the trumpet at his mouth; for he was come
 
 132 A TRUMPET CALL 
 
 home on leave of absence, without the shadow 
 of an idea that he was incommoding a funeral. 
 
 " But the one who spoiled that funeral was 
 Rosina herself. Puffete ! She straightened 
 up suddenly, made a leap from the bier, and 
 stood on her feet astounded. 
 
 " ' It is the angel Gabriel ! ' she exclaimed. 
 ' The last trump ! I am in paradise ! ' 
 
 " For she was firmly persuaded that she was 
 dead. First, she had heard Tonio blow the 
 trumpet a fine holy Gabriel, indeed, he was ! 
 Then she had caught sight of him, and began 
 to comprehend that, according to her way of 
 looking at the thing, it was better than an an- 
 gel of paradise, for it was her Tonio in flesh 
 and bones. They ran into each other's arms. 
 
 " Don Ciccu came in from the shop, all pow- 
 dered with the rhubarb he was pounding, and 
 embraced Tonio like a son. And the mamma, 
 Donna Santuzza, arose and came out of her 
 hole behind the oven, whimpering this time for 
 joy, while the other women cried, ' Miracle, 
 miracle ! ' 
 
 " It appeared that Rosina was not at all dead,
 
 A TRUMPET CALL 133 
 
 if one is to believe what the doctors say, who 
 like to discredit sacred things. Don Ciccu ex- 
 plained it to be a crisis that took a good turn 
 from the fear of that trumpet call. At all 
 events, the girl was cured from that moment; 
 there's no denying it. 
 
 " They made a great wedding; people were 
 invited to it even from neighboring towns. 
 The young men serenaded the pair, and Rosa 
 scattered sugar-plums from the balcony, and 
 we danced until midnight to the organette, in 
 the piaszetta hung with paper lanterns, and 
 rockets went up as if to give a slap to the face 
 of the moon, and squibs were fired so that it 
 appeared like a battle, all in honor of those 
 two. Never has been seen in our town a festi- 
 val like that. And all because of that turnip- 
 head of a compare Tonio, who would marry a 
 girl that another would not have looked at 
 twice a puny thing that could do no more than 
 make barley sugar and roll a couple of pills. 
 So it is; in this world one sees certain injus- 
 tices. 
 
 " And look at Donna Rosa now, vossigno-
 
 134 A TRUMPET CALL 
 
 rial From a reed of the river that she was, she 
 is become a great cabbage of the vegetable 
 garden. And so many troubles of children 
 under her feet ! It is a confusion unspeakable 
 in her house; she has no judgment, so that it 
 appears like a pigsty. And her hens always in 
 the middle of the road; and the few rags that 
 she washes hung from the balcony to flap in 
 the face of people. And who knows how com- 
 pare Tonio's soup is made or his trousers 
 patched ? He, poor fellow, carries her, so to 
 say, in the palms of his hands; it is really a pity 
 to see how fond he is of that woman. Never 
 scolds him, says he. Better if she did. Rub- 
 bish they are, and will be that family. And 
 that is why I say that, to see her sit there idle, 
 looking at the sky like a hen before the rain, I 
 would like to clap together the shutters of my 
 window and take her away from before my 
 eyes. My man, on the contrary, can boast that 
 he always finds a dish of hot broth before the 
 embers when he comes home from work, and 
 his clothes are mended to appear new. You 
 can ask him if it is not true, vossignoria, and
 
 A TRUMPET CALL 135 
 
 he will willingly tell you that he has a wife that 
 lets him lack nothing. If not, I'll make him 
 hear reason with the broomstick ! " 
 
 The signora took advantage of a moment of 
 silence on the part of comare Sarinato explain 
 her wishes in regard to the web of cloth char- 
 acteristic of that part of the country, and then 
 departed. " Alas ! " she thought, while re- 
 turning in the carriage that 'had brought her 
 from Cosenza, " even in these remote villages 
 of Calabria, among these honest and simple 
 peasants, are sometimes to be found envy and 
 evil tongues."
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 "La vie chez ces flammes ail/es, le colibri, toiseaumouche, 
 est si brdlante, si intense, qu'elle brave tous les poisons." 
 
 MICHELET. 
 
 HE heat of the Southern sun, that was 
 the life of the garden with its alleys of 
 lemon and orange trees, its roses and jasmines, 
 fell with a strong glare upon the pink outer 
 walls of a villa a few miles distant from the 
 city of Naples. Only the most discreet rays, 
 however, and these tempered by a system of 
 Venetian blinds and curtains, were allowed to 
 penetrate into the room where the Countess 
 Antonietta G - was endeavoring to reward 
 with pleasant chat the inconvenience caused to 
 her uncle, the Marquis Onofrio S - , by the 
 sudden and somewhat peremptory invitation 
 which had brought him from Rome to Naples. 
 She was a matron in the redundant beauty of the 
 
 139
 
 140 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 autumn of her life after all, not without its 
 moments which resemble those of the spring- 
 time. The Marquis Onofrio, his patrician head 
 white as silver, wore his sixty years like an 
 order of merit. He was admirably preserved 
 in person; and, morally, had attained to that 
 tolerant cynicism which is the chemical result 
 of disillusions and a genial temper. It would 
 be too much to assert that the Marquis did not 
 regret the necessity of leaving Rome in its 
 most beautiful season, and the pleasures of his 
 club, a pair of horses which he had almost de- 
 cided to buy, and a new acquaintance who 
 proved amiable under defeat at tresette. But 
 the claims of family are not to be disregarded; 
 and the Marquis Onofrio was in duty bound to 
 betake himself to Naples, to witness the civil 
 and religious ceremonies which were to unite 
 in marriage his grandnephew, Count Alfredo, 
 and Miss Emily Colburn, of New York, United 
 States of America. 
 
 Curious taste, that of Cristoforo Colombo, 
 who would perforce go to discover another 
 hemisphere without giving himself a thought
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 14! 
 
 how this new, semi-barbaric world was to over- 
 turn the traditions of the older society ! Yet- 
 let us be just, even to our predecessors who 
 ever could have predicted a Miss Emily Col- 
 burn ? " Insomma" concluded the silent re- 
 flections of the Marquis Onofrio, " we will 
 hear what my excellent niece has to say about 
 the affair." 
 
 At that moment she spoke. " Dear uncle," 
 said the Countess Antonietta, " I appreciate 
 the sacrifice that you make in leaving Rome." 
 
 The Marquis half closed his eyes, slightly 
 shook his head, and united the tips of the fin- 
 gers of his two hands, plump and well-kept, 
 like the hands of an elegant ecclesiastic. 
 
 " Your political circle, your club, your com- 
 modious apartment, your invaluable major- 
 domo, and your game of tresette you have 
 turned your back on them for my sake. How 
 can I repay your goodness ? " 
 
 " Amuse me with a story, my dear; you 
 formerly could narrate in an enviable manner. 
 What is there of news in Naples ? " 
 
 " I fear that I may have lost my gift as a
 
 142 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 story-teller. Nevertheless, shall I tell you the 
 tale in strictest confidence, as to a confessor 
 of the marriage of my son Alfredo, or rather 
 of the events which have preceded the cere- 
 mony of to-morrow ? " 
 
 " I can trust you not to bore me, dear Anto- 
 nietta; I trained you too well in your youth," 
 said her uncle. " I shall be much interested in 
 what you will tell me." 
 
 The Countess was not one of those women 
 who are slaves to a busy idleness; she made 
 no movement toward the basket of satin-lined 
 osier which held her embroidery; but, laying 
 one hand in the other, began her narrative, 
 while the Marquis Onofrio, with a murmured 
 apology, permitted himself a mild cigar. 
 
 " To begin, dear uncle, I must assure you 
 that Alfredo is the best of sons, and has 
 caused me no anxieties except by his youth- 
 ful enthusiasms. A trifle of socialism, which 
 extends even to the dumb creation he is al- 
 ways reading // Zoofilo, and has distinguished 
 himself as the champion of overloaded don- 
 keys a sentiment of universal benevolence, a
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 143 
 
 nature too impressionable for his own peace; 
 my boy is charming, but sometimes also he 
 fatigues me a little, a very little." 
 
 " At twenty years, what would you have ? " 
 commented the uncle Onofrio. 
 
 " I confess that I have feared to find myself 
 one fine day mother-in-law to some impossi- 
 ble young woman, a peasant from our estates 
 on the Tyrrhene sea-coast, a Russian Nihilist, 
 an English miss. When my Alfredo was on 
 board his ship, the ironclad Lodoiska, only 
 then I have felt myself quite safe. It is true, 
 there are the sirens in the sea but one does it 
 better nowadays. If Alfredo were to hear 
 them sing, he would criticise, ' C'est magni- 
 fique, mais ce n'est pas Wagner ! ' Oh, he is 
 immensely modern of his own century, my 
 son ! Ebbene, to raise the curtain upon our 
 recent domestic drama. You must know, un- 
 cle, that when, three months since, the Lodois- 
 ka came into port, her commander had the 
 unlucky inspiration to give a fete on board. 
 Naturally, when all the people, possible and 
 impossible, of Neapolitan high life were in-
 
 144 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 vited, we were not omitted. I accepted the 
 invitation, if only to see the enjoyment of my 
 son and of the son of my sister, De Alvares, 
 who is here at Naples for his studies of law. 
 You have seen too many fetes, zio; I leave 
 you to imagine the music, the colored lan- 
 terns, the flowers, the electric lights, the flags, 
 the pretty women and their cavaliers, official 
 and civilian, and the unforeseen tableaux when 
 the rockets exploded. But what you cannot 
 imagine without the help of my description, 
 aided by this photograph which, after all, 
 merely maligns her in black and white is the 
 extreme beauty of a young girl who was one of 
 the guests. She was of a rare type; one rec- 
 ognized her as American more precisely, 
 from New York. She was very slender, with 
 delicious unaccented curves of shoulder and 
 waist; her movements were supple and swift 
 as the leap of a flame. Her complexion was 
 of most delicate pallor, with a pink color that 
 came and went upon the cheeks. Her large 
 eyes were blue, brilliant as sapphires; her hair 
 was light cendre. with reflections of her father's
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 145 
 
 presumable gold mines. Her hands and feet 
 were microscopic; her diamonds exaggerated, 
 monumental, colossal. Her dress I will not 
 fall into details was a skirt of marine-blue 
 velvet, purposely of the greatest simplicity of 
 design, with a barbaric bodice made entirely of 
 the plumage of humming-birds. She seemed a 
 living rainbow; she flashed around her lights 
 of ruby, sapphire, amethyst, beryl, emerald, 
 and opal. 
 
 " If I was dazzled by her as she went by in a 
 waltz, upon the arm of Alfredo, judge what 
 happened to my son ! As soon as my optic 
 nerve recovered itself from the shock of that 
 resplendent bodice, I instantly began to in- 
 struct myself in the art of being a mother-in- 
 law. The great victories and defeats of a wom- 
 an's life are apt to take place in a ballroom. 
 I surrendered at discretion to destiny. Soon I 
 perceived some one bowing before me. It was 
 the American consul. After the first conven- 
 tional phrases were exchanged, I asked him, 
 ' Pray tell me who is that beautiful compatriot 
 of yours, dancing with my son ? ' He reas-
 
 146 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 sured me; I forgave him the fine smile that 
 recognized my maternal anxieties. 
 ' " ' Signora,' he said, 'that is Miss Emily Col- 
 burn, of New York; a most charming girl in 
 the full extent of the term; accomplished, of 
 delightful antecedents. She is at present trav- 
 eling in Europe under care of her relative, Dr. 
 Colburn.' After that I gave myself no more 
 trouble. What is gained in a conflict with des- 
 tiny ? Also, these Americans are of whatever 
 rank one wishes to believe them. So I ac- 
 cepted the arm of a German baron I spare 
 you the consonants of his illustrious name 
 and made a little promenade. Everywhere we 
 met my son with the beautiful American. 
 Fernan de Alvares, standing alone near a 
 gangway, whispered as I passed, ' Aunt, we 
 must take care of Alfredo.' Finally my grand 
 German left me seated near some persons not 
 of my acquaintance; and one of these, at my 
 side, was a woman of perhaps fifty years of 
 age, who wore a black silk gown of excellent 
 quality, but so ill-fitting that one understood 
 that she must be a person not only eminent in
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 147 
 
 respectability but also in erudition. She was 
 either English or American, I decided, uncer- 
 tain between the two nationalities. I addressed 
 a few words to her in Italian, to which she re- 
 plied with sufficient accuracy of grammar, but 
 with an extraordinary accent and literal ren- 
 dering of the English idiom. Knowing a little 
 of her language, I resolved to sacrifice myself. 
 A sufficient reward was the relief of that good 
 woman. In a little while came my son with 
 the inevitable Miss Emily Colburn. I could 
 remember her name, for with her quick move- 
 ments and her bodice of feathers of humming- 
 birds she herself seemed like a colibri. 
 
 " ' Oh, mamma,' says my Alfredo, ' I was 
 searching for you, in order to present Dr. Col- 
 burn this is her niece, Miss Emily Colburn 
 and I find you already acquainted.' 
 
 " I looked about me to salute the signor dot- 
 tore, and beheld the woman with the black silk 
 dress smiling and bowing as she said, ' I sup- 
 pose I ought to have named myself before 
 Dr. Anastasia Colburn, of Boston; and this is 
 my young relative from New York.' Then the
 
 148 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 little Colburn plumed herself and turned her 
 pretty head toward her aunt and then to me, 
 with all her feathers sparkling under the elec- 
 tric light; and my Alfredo appeared immersed 
 in contentment. 
 
 " ' Oh me ! ' I said to myself; ' mother-in- 
 law to an aviary, and heaven knows what re- 
 lation to a feminine medical diploma ! ' I tried 
 to consider myself a false augur, to smile in my 
 own face, and to discredit my own predictions. 
 Ah, they are realized, all of them; and I as- 
 sure you, dear uncle, I ask nothing better. 
 The admirable Miss Anastasia and I became 
 friends. I stipulated not to be obliged to call 
 her doctor. At all costs, I reasoned, we must 
 be amiable. If later I have to interfere in this 
 affair of Alfredo's, better to do so from the po- 
 sition of a friend to these American ladies, and 
 of an affectionate mother to my boy." 
 
 " You were right, mia cara" said the Mar- 
 quis Onofrio. "It is a virtue of diplomacy to 
 avoid needless differences." 
 
 " Yes. I invited the ladies to my Thursday 
 evenings, resolved that Alfredo should not
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 149 
 
 have the spur of opposition to his love. But it 
 was not easy to pacify my nephew Fernan. He 
 has doubled the dose of aristocratic prejudice 
 in being the son of a Spanish nobleman, and 
 he nearly quarreled with me because I would 
 not interfere, separate Alfredo from the blond 
 American, and command him, under penal- 
 ty of my extreme displeasure, to marry the 
 Contessina Sofia, with whose mamma I had al- 
 ready exchanged certain preliminary phrases. 
 Fernan, as I have just said, was ready to quar- 
 rel with me; and Alfredo, on his part, com- 
 plained that his cousin's manner toward him 
 was altered. Meanwhile we saw the American 
 ladies very often. They drove with me in the 
 Via Roma and in the country, where Emily 
 declared that she ' simply adored those deli- 
 cious pink villas that seemed modeled in 
 strawberry ice.' The young men rode beside 
 the carriage; and Emily, who is immensely in- 
 telligent, used a thousand little arts of coquetry 
 to please Fernan de Alvares, whom she had 
 at once recognized as her adversary. Alfredo 
 was not unhappy on this account, for Emily
 
 150 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 gave him such glances that to be discontented 
 would have proved him a monster of ingrati- 
 tude. Miss Anastasia was much interested in 
 the excavations at Pompeii; she smuggled off, 
 in the depth of the pocket of her gown, certain 
 little antiquities, and later threw them away, 
 saying that her conscience would not allow her 
 to keep them. 
 
 " One day the blow fell. I do not know how 
 the classic Damocles felt in the case of the 
 suspended sword; for my part, I prefer certain- 
 ties. But to return to modern history. My 
 Alfredo came to me with the confession that 
 he had spoken such words to Miss Emily that 
 nothing remained but for me to seek Dr. Col- 
 burn and formally ask the hand of her niece 
 for my son. I could not refuse; really, I had 
 no arguments except those that had not availed 
 when the affair consisted of six dances and a 
 spray of gardenia. I went, saw, and was con- 
 quered when that woman from Boston calmly 
 said she did not know how Emily felt about it 
 she left all those things to her niece. Emily 
 could take care of herself, and whenever she
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD !$! 
 
 had been engaged to a young man it was her 
 own choice, and when she broke the engage- 
 ment she probably had her reasons, Miss An- 
 astasia told me." 
 
 "Just heavens!" exclaimed the Marquis 
 Onofrio. 
 
 " I remained petrified," continued his niece; 
 " but at that moment Emily and Alfredo en- 
 tered, having met in the street Emily walked 
 to the side of her aunt, kissed her mechani- 
 cally, and informed her that she was engaged 
 to the Count Alfredo. It was my son whose 
 eyelids dropped to meet his blushes. 
 
 " ' Well,' said the extraordinary Miss Anas- 
 tasia, ' I'm glad this is all settled, my dear, for 
 now I can go right away to Berlin to hear the 
 anatomical lectures, and leave you here in the 
 pension. The landlady seems like a nice, kind 
 person; and now that you have a young gen- 
 tleman to escort you around, you will not miss 
 me, I guess.' " 
 
 " Perdiana ! " shuddered the Marquis Ono- 
 frio; " I am indebted to you for a new sensa- 
 tion, niece."
 
 152 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 " Oh, I believe it ! " returned the Countess. 
 " Even Miss Emily had the good taste to ap- 
 pear surprised. My poor Alfredo turned upon 
 me a despairing glance, which it would have 
 been cruel to disregard. 
 
 " ' Dear madam,' said I, ' if really you must 
 leave Naples, at least let me take my future 
 daughter-in-law to, my home.' I assure you, 
 Uncle Onofrio, I experienced in anticipation 
 all the fatigues of chaperoning an American 
 girl; but what sacrifices will not a mother 
 make for her only son ! And then, Dr. Col- 
 burn's festal toilette of the same eternal black 
 silk had become such a weariness to me that 
 the prospect of its removal to Berlin infused in 
 me new courage. Briefly, then, the aunt de- 
 parted, and the niece and six trunks, each of 
 the half-dozen nearly as large as the ironclad 
 Lodoiska, were at my villa. Of course the 
 young men were lodging at Naples Alfredo 
 upon his ship, Fernan at the house of his pro- 
 fessor but they visited the villa daily. When 
 alone with me, the little Emily proved herself 
 all that I could wish. Of course I inquired most
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 153 
 
 delicately into those broken engagements of 
 which Dr. Colburn had spoken, and Emily ex- 
 plained everything, which, after all, was little 
 or nothing. Mere diversions and compliments 
 of children the parents not at all concerned 
 in the matter a little kiss or two with the sur- 
 face of the lips, and an incredible amount of 
 bonbons and cotillon favors. At all events, zio, 
 I remained in love with my little daughter-in- 
 law of the future. In the quiet hours when we 
 read, or embroidered, or walked in the garden, 
 Emily wore costumes of the most expensive 
 simplicity, of ostensible batiste or muslin, but 
 covered with fine Valenciennes laces." 
 
 " Oh, I pardon you the list of her wardrobe," 
 interrupted the Marquis Onofrio. 
 
 " She possessed not only the famous bodice, 
 but also a mantle, a fan, a bonnet, a toque, of 
 humming-bird feathers, and never failed to put 
 on one or more of these brilliant articles when- 
 ever the young men were expected. One day 
 I heard Alfredo remonstrate with her, as they 
 walked along a path shaded by lemon-trees, 
 while Fernan and I sat near upon a garden-seat.
 
 154 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 " ' Carina,' said my son, 'these feathers do 
 not at all please me. I wish, Emiliuccia mia, 
 that you would not wear them any more. It 
 seems to me a barbarous and cruel adornment. 
 They were once living birds, bright and happy 
 as you are; each little feather used to quiver 
 and shine with delight as the pretty creatures 
 darted through the American forests, under 
 great pendent flowers, bells of which the music 
 was perfume. Now they are dead I cannot 
 see you wear the poor little victims, Emily." 
 
 " She smiled enchantingly. ' I didn't kill 
 them, Alfredo.' 
 
 "'Yes but ' 
 
 " ' No, you need not say one word about it, 
 for I want so much to wear my birds. I'm tre- 
 mendously fond of humming-birds. Do you 
 know, they call me La Colibri at the club 
 Cousin Fernan said so.' 
 
 " ' Reason the more,' murmured Alfredo, 
 displeased. 
 
 " ' And they all came from a forest that be- 
 longs to my papa, in South America,' contin- 
 ued Emily, with great cheerfulness. ' The
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 155 
 
 girls at home have nothing like it. Look at 
 these feathers, and these little blue and green 
 ones; this tiny tuft is from the head of a sort of 
 humming-bird that, they say, builds its nest in 
 the upas-trees of the Antilles, and of course 
 that must be awfully dangerous for the hunters. 
 Papa had all these birds killed on purpose for 
 me. Wasn't he kind ? They are killed with 
 air-guns, I believe. It doesn't hurt them; at 
 any rate, they don't mind it now.' 
 
 " My Alfredo looked very serious. ' Emily,' 
 said he, ' it is a pain to me to have you asso- 
 ciated with an act of cruelty; I forbid ' The 
 expression of her face ought to have warned 
 the foolish boy; but to make quite safe, I 
 screamed and declared I had seen a snake. 
 This brought Alfredo in a moment to my side, 
 so that I could whisper to him, ' Hush if 
 really you would be unhappy without her. 
 She is capable of breaking the engagement. 
 After marriage you can forbid this bizarre ca- 
 price of hers. 1 Meanwhile that coquette had 
 appealed to Cousin Fernan, as she called him; 
 and he, as if to increase the dissension between
 
 156 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 the lovers, had declared the parnre of feathers 
 to be most distinguished and becoming." 
 
 " Oh, I warrant you ! " said the Marquis 
 Onofrio. " No woman wishes to emulate the 
 feat of Paganini, and play her variations upon 
 a single string. She must have two, at least, to 
 her bow. Feminine, femmine ! " 
 
 " We soon reentered the house, " continued 
 the Countess Antonietta. " A new thought 
 assailed my mind: did my nephew wish, mere- 
 ly from family pride, to prevent Alfredo's 
 marriage with Emily; or, on the contrary, 
 could he possibly be so disloyal to his cousin 
 as to wish to become a rival ? I immediately 
 forced myself to acquit him, and to dismiss so 
 unworthy a suspicion. But when a woman 
 once begins to distrust, she stops short of 
 nothing less than the worst; and I could not 
 cease to think of Fernan de Alvares, as he had 
 stood at the side of Emily, turning in his hands 
 the gleaming toque, which she had removed 
 from her head to display its curious little tufts 
 of feathers. Strangely enough, I found that I 
 already began to desire the marriage proposed
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 157 
 
 that the incident which two weeks earlier 
 would have delighted me with a prospect of 
 change in the relations between my son and 
 Miss Emily now gave me genuine discomfort. 
 Fernan, observing my uneasiness without per- 
 haps divining its cause, devoted himself to the 
 duty of attendance on his aunt, even to the 
 neglect of the young lady; while, indeed, it 
 was not long before Alfredo and Emily were 
 again on the best terms. 
 
 "The superabundant life of Naples delighted 
 my little guest; she would go here and there, 
 and I developed a conscientiousness worthy of 
 the respectable Anastasia in allowing no op- 
 portunity to pass unimproved. Dances, gar- 
 den-parties, with the British lawn-tennis, ex- 
 cursions by land and by water my muscular 
 system resents even the memory of them. At 
 thirty-nine years and twelve months, uncle, 
 one can hear music without wishing to dance. 
 Finally we betook ourselves one morning to the 
 Santa Lucia district." 
 
 "Ah, that is a quarter of the city that I have 
 never visited," said the Marquis Onofrio. " I
 
 158 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 find that it is less easy for me to adhere to my 
 democratic principles when it is a question of 
 breathing the odors of the fish of yesterday 
 and the steam of the cabbages of to-day. Your 
 description, Antonietta mia t will convert those 
 prosaic fumes into the breath of roses." 
 
 "Let us hope so. We climbed more than one 
 of those steep streets where the houses, of all 
 shapes and sizes, stand at irregular angles 
 wherever they find a foothold upon the vol- 
 canic hillside. Those houses, without air or 
 light, seem to me uninhabitable; I cannot 
 wonder that the people live on the door-steps. 
 There, in the street, the women sew, cook, 
 complete their toilettes, tend their babies; the 
 men hammer metal, work at the carpenter's 
 bench, mend nets; the children play, sleep, or 
 quarrel over melon rinds and refuse tomatoes. 
 Above the general noise rise the voices of 
 dealers in fish or fruit, and of the acquaiuole 
 who scream the praises of their lemonade or 
 mineral waters. The fishermen came, with 
 sails bending to a light breeze, and drew their 
 boats up to the molo. They assumed magnif-
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 159 
 
 icent poses as they dragged the nets out of the 
 boats. With their red Phrygian caps, bare sun- 
 burnt throats and arms, garments of various 
 colors tempered by the salt water, they formed 
 fine groups as they shook out and sorted the 
 contents of their teeming nets. The fish, a 
 twisting, palpitating, iridescent mass of rose- 
 color and dark blue and silver, tangled with 
 sea-weeds, rivaled the brilliancy of Emily's 
 humming-birds. I could see that these marine 
 splendors inspired her with some new ideal of a 
 costume; the imagination of this young girl 
 naturally translated itself into a toilette, as 
 that of a sculptor into a statue, or of a poet 
 into verse. And I acknowledge, for my part, 
 a debt of gratitude to her on the occasion of 
 our visit to the Santa Lucia quarter, for her 
 celestial beauty and her exquisite dress. In 
 the midst of all the squalor and confusion, she 
 might have been the siren Parthenope come to 
 revisit her ancient realm. Imagine, Uncle 
 Onofrio, the slender, lithe figure in a tight-fitting 
 gown of greenish-gray cloth color of the sea 
 in a cloudy day with panels and revers of
 
 l6o PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 white, embroidered with a design of sea-moss- 
 es executed in silver thread, edged with a nar- 
 row passementerie of Venetian shells strung 
 also on silver threads. Her bonnet, of the in- 
 separable humming-birds, was a little discord- 
 ant with her toilette of a sea-nymph, yet one 
 might fancy that the birds had drifted out 
 with the land-breeze and rested upon the 
 gold-dusted head of the siren, believing it to 
 be some floating flower of the tropics." 
 
 "Niece," said the Marquis, "I forgive you 
 your lyric rhapsody upon a Parisian fashion- 
 plate." 
 
 " As we approached the little inn where we 
 were to take a characteristic breakfast," con- 
 tinued the Countess, "piteous moans and cries 
 were heard, and we saw before us a little boy 
 of perhaps eight years old crawling, dragging 
 himself painfully across the street. Emily flew 
 from my side, and, regardless of her costly 
 dress, was on her knees to assist the child. 
 Also Alfredo ran to help him. ' Cos 1 hai, pov- 
 erino?' asked Emily; and the answer, in 
 Neapolitan dialect, was interpreted by my son.
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD l6l 
 
 The child said that in trying to defend his little 
 brother from some larger boys they had struck 
 him with a bar of iron snatched from a black- 
 smith's bench, and broken his leg; the little 
 brother had run to call the mamma. ' And 
 meanwhile I die, 'said the boy, looking piteous- 
 ly up to the tearful eyes of Emily. Alfredo 
 sought in vain for an idea that might be of use. 
 Fernan de Alvares observed, ' Pardon me, aunt; 
 your dress remains in peril of that basket of 
 fish ; ' and then, to the child, ' Let us under- 
 stand each other, my boy; it is a pity to cause 
 tears to this young lady. For my part, liking 
 to see her smile, I would give a lira, a whole 
 lira, to whoever would dance for her a good 
 tarantella.' ' You are cruel, Cousin Fernan,' 
 protested Emily. ' I am clairvoyant, an in- 
 spired bone-setter,' rejoined Fernan, laughing. 
 The little martyr gave him a telegraphic 
 glance of intelligence, broke into a delicious 
 laugh that displayed thirty-two white teeth, 
 sat upright, whistled between his fingers, and 
 finally sprang to his feet. Immediately his 
 younger brother there really was that broth-
 
 l62 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 er came running around a corner; the elder 
 caught up a tambourine from somewhere, and 
 the two began a tarantella that repaid looking 
 at. The fiction of the bad boys, the iron bar, 
 the defence of the little brother, was pardon- 
 able for the sake of that superbly veracious 
 dance. ' My poor Alfredo,' thought I; ' always 
 at a disadvantage because you have the mis- 
 fortune to be serious. Your sympathy with 
 Emily's passing mood of tender pity avails you 
 nothing. Fernan knows how to make her 
 laugh ! ' " 
 
 " I have observed," assented the Marquis 
 Onofrio, " that with many American women 
 the romantic, melancholy lover is little appre- 
 ciated. If Ophelia had been American she 
 would have been enamored of the happy mem- 
 ory of Yorick, the fellow of infinite jest, and 
 cared little for the fine eyes of Prince Hamlet. 
 These young ladies must be amused at all 
 costs, and find a serious devotion a trifle un- 
 comfortable. I do not say this of all Ameri- 
 cans my experience is by no means universal," 
 finished Uncle Onofrio, modestly.
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 163 
 
 " Alfredo saw his error," pursued the Count- 
 ess, "and finally retrieved it, thanks to an 
 opportune guitar, and his charming tenor voice. 
 He sang, to his own accompaniment, some 
 popular songs. Men and women gathered un- 
 der the window of the inn, and Alfredo dis- 
 pensed to the crowd tumblers of sour wine with 
 the grace of a Ganymede out of a situation ! 
 After that, Fernan might devote himself to his 
 aunt, ecco! Not to weary you, caro 210, the days 
 passed in a thousand diversions, and the little 
 Emily, quick to seize new ideas, conformed 
 herself more and more to my suggestions. She 
 proved herself docile, affectionate, generous " 
 
 " Ouf ! Another catalogue ? I take her vir- 
 tues for granted. I prefer to hear about her 
 caprices," said the Marquis, with ingratitude. 
 
 "It would be a catalogue indeed to give 
 points to that of a museum," returned his niece. 
 " For example, she was immutably tenacious 
 of her humming-birds, except upon one occa- 
 sion when she appeared dressed in a costume 
 of gray velvet, with facings of rose-colored 
 . moire, and bordered with the breasts of white
 
 164 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 doves. ' Were you Venus herself,' cried Alfredo, 
 ' you should not wear that murderous trophy ! ' 
 I expected from the fair American a formal 
 declaration of independence, a Fourth of July 
 of the toilette, or at least a crisis of nerves. I 
 laid my hand on the stopper of my bottle of 
 acqua di Felsina. Nothing of the sort; merely 
 the cheerful reply: ' Why, certainly! I will go 
 right away and change my dress, if you say so. 
 You are horridly particular, Alfredo mio; but 
 this gown is rather heavy, and I would really 
 rather wear something else.' Fernan shrugged 
 his shoulders as she left the room. I no longer 
 comprehended the attitude of my nephew. He 
 had ceased to remonstrate with Alfredo or with 
 me against the proposed marriage with a young 
 girl who would bring no new patent of nobility 
 into the family. After a final bitter phrase or 
 two, pardonable to his pride of a noble of 
 Madrid and of Naples, he appeared to give 
 himself peace, and to share the diversions of 
 Alfredo and Emily. 
 
 "Meanwhile, to my affright, Emily seemed 
 far from well. She was pale and languid; the.
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 165 
 
 bodice of humming-bird plumes had to be made 
 smaller to suit her fragile waist. ' And it was 
 made only four weeks ago for the ball on board 
 the Lodoiska,' she would complain. At first I 
 attributed her indisposition to the excitement 
 of her betrothal to Alfredo, and the fatigues 
 consequent upon the fetes and theatres which 
 we attended. Yet Emily had triumphantly 
 enjoyed every gayety of two seasons in New 
 York society. It was not likely that Naples 
 would overtax her brilliant vitality. I suggested 
 remaining at home from various festivities; and 
 day after day the poor little girl preferred to 
 rest in a great arm-chair in my room, while Al- 
 fredo read aloud to us. I was charmed to see 
 how the domestic virtues blossomed in the 
 character of my son. Do not smile, Uncle Ono- 
 frio you, an impenitent bachelor, have had no 
 occasion to practise them but it was a pleasure 
 to me, I assure you, to see that Alfredo would 
 know how to take care of this delicate little 
 woman. Also Fernan was solicitous in his at- 
 tentions to her. He had been fortunate in his 
 choice of bonbons for her acceptance; and now
 
 166 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 he came to my aid, for when I tried in vain to 
 induce the child to eat as much as would have 
 satisfied one of the humming-birds, her proto- 
 types, Fernan would produce a satin bonbon- 
 niere always of new and fanciful shape and 
 tell ' Cousin Emily' half of an amusing story, 
 the sequel contingent on her taking a few 
 chocolates. ' Fernan is awfully kind to me,' 
 she said. And poor Alfredo, distracted with 
 anxiety for his little love, no longer seemed 
 capable of amusing her; he was absorbed in 
 melancholy, and dark circles around his eyes 
 ink-saucers, our good Neapolitans call them 
 attested sleepless nights. The controversy re- 
 garding the humming-bird plumage was given 
 up, although Emily wore them constantly, en- 
 couraged by the praise of Fernan and the si- 
 lence of Alfredo. Meanwhile her condition 
 became worse and worse, and I began to think 
 of disturbing Dr. Anastasia Colburn at her 
 studies in Berlin. The most eminent physi- 
 cians in Naples had been consulted; and one 
 of them, an Englishman, told me plainly that 
 everything indicated a case of poisoning by
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 167 
 
 means of minute, often-repeated doses of arsenic. 
 ' It is absurd to ask you, signora,' said he, ' if 
 the young lady can have an enemy capable of 
 wishing her death ? So beautiful a rival has, 
 no doubt, awakened much envy^among the 
 Neapolitan signorine; but these rosebuds use 
 no weapons deadlier than their thorny little 
 tongues. It can only be some undetermined 
 disease of malarial origin.'" 
 
 " Oh, I recognize him there ! " cried the Mar- 
 quis Onofrio; "a little more, and he would 
 have given the blame to Roman fever, caught 
 in passing by in a railroad train. If an English- 
 man or an American has toothache, gout, a 
 sprained ankle even, the Roman fever is the 
 cause of it. And if they suffer sometimes from 
 malaria, is it the fault of Rome ? To walk on 
 the shady side of the street, challenge the night 
 dews and Heaven knows what currents of air, 
 retain their Anglo-Saxon modes of life it is 
 like ringing the door-bell of Fever, and then 
 complaining that they find her at home !" 
 
 The Countess Antonietta nodded assent to 
 this little tirade, and resumed her story. "Day
 
 l68 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 by day my poor little Emily faded visibly. Her 
 pallid face, where her great eyes had already 
 assumed the dim lustre of the eyes of a dying 
 bird, the faded rose of her lips, her little hands, 
 pearly, serai-transparent the contrast with 
 her former self, full of delicate, vivid energy, 
 was too sad. The shadow of her constantly 
 increasing illness had fallen upon the house- 
 hold. My poor Alfredo struggled bravely to 
 keep above the waves of his trouble, that at 
 least he might sustain to the last his little Em- 
 ily. I was deeply afflicted, and weighed down 
 with the responsibility of this precious life, that 
 seemed fast slipping away from us. Fernan 
 was reserved in his grief, and unremitting in 
 his attentions to us all. 
 
 "One day Alfredo came to me with a white 
 face and an expression in his eyes that I had 
 never before seen there. The three young peo- 
 ple had been in the garden, my maid in attend- 
 ance on Emily, and from my window I had at- 
 mired the group, Emily like a fairy princess in 
 her brilliant mantle of plumage, as she rested 
 upon the skins of some wolves that Alfredo once
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 169 
 
 on a time shot in Hungary; the young men 
 were arranging bouquets under her capricious 
 direction, and Marianna solemnly knitting at a 
 little distance. Then Fernan had ridden away 
 to visit a neighbor the mamma of the Con- 
 tessina Sofia already mentioned; soon after- 
 ward, Emily had become exhausted, and Mari- 
 anna had brought her into the house. And my 
 poor Alfredo came to seek comfort from his 
 mother. I watched him with some anxiety as 
 he sat beside me in restless silence. Suddenly 
 he broke forth with excited words: 
 
 " 'I shall have to kill Fernan; I hate myself 
 for the evil thought.' 
 
 " ' No, no, caro? said I; ' you are not yourself 
 when you say that. Perhaps he cannot help 
 loving Emily. She is a trifle coquettish, for all 
 she is so good and sweet; and more probably 
 he feels for her only the affection of a future 
 cousin.' 
 
 " 'Affection ! ' repeated my son, with a wild 
 look; 'if it were only that if Fernan loved 
 her, and she him if, I say, she loved him I 
 would give her up to him, and then blow out
 
 I/O PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 my brains. I would have her happy, at all 
 costs except that of my living to see her his 
 wife. But, mamma, it is worse than that. Fer- 
 nan is poisoning my Emily with his accursed 
 bonbons ! ' 
 
 " ' Oh, be silent ! ' I cried ' my sister's son ! 
 your cousin Fernan ! ' 
 
 " ' Yes, your sister's son. Think of Aunt 
 Rafaella's pride of rank, that led her to marry 
 Don Ramon de Alvares. Has she been happy 
 with him ? Has he not been a stern, unkind 
 husband to her? Who knows what cruel 
 nature Fernan may have inherited?' 
 
 " ' Don Ramon is not amiable,' I answered, 
 trying to soothe him, ' but he is incapable of 
 crime, or even an action unbecoming an hon- 
 est man. And I hope that Fernan has no 
 worse inheritance than an overdose of aristo- 
 cratic prejudice.' 
 
 " ' He told me at the beginning,' insisted 
 Alfredo, ' that he should do all in his power to 
 prevent my marriage with Emily. He is a 
 poisoner ! No, no, it is not true Fernan, that 
 is like a brother to me ! Mamma, oh, mamma,
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD I/I 
 
 forget what I said ! I think I am crazy.' My 
 poor Alfredo dropped his head upon his knees, 
 burying his face in my draperies. I was about 
 to ring for Marianna to bring a cup of tea of 
 mallow leaves for Count Alfredo, when was 
 heard the voice of Fernan, returned from his 
 ride, in the courtyard below asjie gave his 
 horse in charge to a groom. 
 
 " ' Fernan ! Fernan ! ' cried Alfredo, starting 
 to his feet, 'come here; let me embrace you.' 
 
 " ' Hush ! ' said I; ' do not call your cousin. 
 What reason would you give for this great 
 rush of tenderness ? What would he imag- 
 ine?' 
 
 " ' You are right, mamma,' answered my 
 son, with a tense voice; 'there is probably no 
 reason that I should love Fernan more or less 
 than usual.' 
 
 "Then Emily's slow step, in pathetic con- 
 trast to the gay tinkle of her beads and ban- 
 gles, was heard in the corridor. Alfredo sub- 
 dued his passion with an instantaneous change, 
 surprising even in a man of southern Italy, and 
 hastened to meet his little love.
 
 1/2 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 " So, day by day, our sad little drama played 
 itself. I confess, uncle Onofrio, that I admired 
 the self-command of my son. No change in 
 the relations between him and his cousin was 
 perceptible, even to me who knew the affair 
 from the interior. Only once, when Fernan 
 was coaxing, Emily to accept his bonbons, 
 Alfredo said quietly, ' I think she does not 
 care for any at the moment.' Immediately the 
 capricious Emily declared she would have a 
 marron glae, and then decided to toss it to my 
 little dog. Alfredo watched the animal play 
 with the bonbon and begin to eat it. ' Will it 
 hurt him?' asked Emily; and my son, look- 
 ing straight at Fernan de Alvares, answered 
 lightly enough, ' Oh no, one bonbon will not 
 finish him.' A few moments later Alfredo, 
 as if to make reparation, clasped the hand of 
 his cousin, apropos of little or nothing. Fernan 
 appeared to remark neither coldness nor fervor. 
 
 "At last I became desperate. I wrote to 
 Miss Anastasia Colburn, begging her to leave 
 her anatomical lectures and come straight to 
 Naples, to use every resource of her knowl-
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRp 1/3 
 
 edge to save the life of her niece and the hap- 
 piness, perhaps even the reason, of my son. 
 She came without delay. It is certain that 
 there were tears behind her eye-glasses when 
 I met her at the railway station; and if one 
 could be sure of the curious American intona- 
 tions, I should say that her voice quivered and 
 nearly broke more than once as, during the 
 drive to my house, we spoke of poor little 
 Emily. But at the side of the invalid she was 
 all the dottoressa. Emily, in those days, more 
 than ever attached to her humming-birds, 
 wore the mantle of feathers over whatever cos- 
 tume. She said that she felt chilly, and noth- 
 ing was so warm as those soft plumes. Alfre- 
 do had ceased to pity the quenched existence 
 of the birds, while a life like theirs, brilliant, 
 volatile, innocent, was being destroyed by an 
 unknown force as viewless as the shafts of the 
 air-gun that had been their death. 
 
 "Miss Anastasia entered the room where 
 Emily sat by a window with Alfredo at her 
 side. Fernan, near a low table, was busy in 
 arranging a bouquet of white roses. Marianna,
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 in the anteroom, knitted industriously. Miss 
 Anastasia spoke: 'My much-esteemed-and- 
 by-no-means-to-be-contradicted colleague was 
 right' (the woman had added some curious 
 German constructions to her idiom of the 
 United States); 'arsenic poison is indicated.' 
 Emily screamed; Alfredo started to his feet, 
 rushed at his cousin Fernan, and finished by 
 handing to him the ball of thread for tying the 
 roses, which was fallen to the floor. ' And the 
 poisoner is right here,' continued Miss Anas- 
 tasia. I dreaded to hear her next words. ' It 
 is that ridiculous mantle and bodice and hat, 
 and all made of poor little corpses embalmed 
 with arsenic. Take off the mantle this minute, 
 and let the maid take it and burn it up, Emily. 
 I always thought those birds were a piece of 
 folly and wickedness, but it was no use to say 
 mych, for Emily always has had her own way. 
 I'm a consistent member 01" the Society for the 
 Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and I hate 
 to see a woman wear stuffed birds. And an 
 impalpable pulverization of arsenic is not good 
 to breathe. I shall exhibit the proper reme-
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 1/5 
 
 dies; and oh, my little Emily, you will get 
 well again for poor old aunty, won't you ? ' fin- 
 ished the good Anastasia, with a gush of 
 womanly tears that seemed capable of making 
 blossom the arid parchment of her medical 
 diploma. 
 
 " There was a moment of emotional silence. 
 My Alfredo, with one hand clasping the fin- 
 gers of his little love, took with the other the 
 capable hand of Miss Anastasia. Then the 
 dottoressa recovered her professional self. 
 'Just like a man!' she exclaimed. 'Why 
 couldn't that English quack (no longer her 
 much-esteemed, etc.) see what the trouble was, 
 and do something ? I may as well say it as 
 think it there are enough physicians expert 
 in diagnosis, but when it comes to special ther- 
 apeutics, my little Emily, there's nobody bet- 
 ter than your old aunty.' 
 
 "Miss Anastasia took off her eye-glasses 
 and wiped them vindictively. Then she turned 
 to Alfredo. 'I am surprised at you, young 
 man, for agitating the patient.' My poor boy 
 had in his eyes two great tears which were not
 
 176 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 permitted to fall. ' I see no reason to worry,' 
 declared the good Anastasia. ' My niece will 
 soon be as bright and well as ever; and I guess 
 the experience will have taught her not to be 
 so set on her own way. I know you have felt 
 with me, Alfredo, about these poor little birds, 
 and I like you for it. If Emily had any judg- 
 ment she would have seen that you were right 
 and she was wrong.' 
 
 "'As you always are,' said Emily, equivo- 
 cally; but Alfredo kissed her hand in good faith. 
 
 "'You will have to tutor her a little,' re- 
 marked Miss Anastasia. Then she gave a 
 benevolent glance above her eye-glasses, com- 
 prehending in it Fernan and myself. 
 
 "'Yes, she will do well now, no fear,' pro- 
 nounced this light of the profession, this 
 Minerva Medica of Boston, Massachusetts, 
 United States of America. 
 
 "I looked at Fernan de Alvares. His sol- 
 emn Spanish eyes were brilliant with unselfish 
 rapture. My Alfredo caught sight of those 
 eyes; leaving Emily, he ran to embrace Fer- 
 nan. 'My cousin, my brother,' he said, 'I
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 177 
 
 thank you a thousand times for sharing in my 
 happiness.' 
 
 " Our troubles were ended. In the course 
 of a few days the treatment of Miss Anastasia 
 had visibly benefited her niece; and the bodies 
 of the humming-birds, solemnly cremated by 
 Marianna, went, we may hope, to meet their 
 tiny ghosts in an Elysium of flowers and flight. 
 You may imagine. Uncle Onofrio, whether we, 
 especially Alfredo, were lavish in joyous atten- 
 tions to Emily. But would you credit it ? I 
 had a thirteenth task of Hercules to prevent 
 my absurd son from confessing to Fernan de 
 Alvares his sinister and morbid suspicions ! 
 'A fine compliment, truly, to your cousin,' said 
 I. ' How would you phrase it ? For instance, " I 
 thought you capable of murdering, for motives 
 of family pride, the young girl who is to be my 
 wife," or, better, "I believed you a Borgia, and 
 you are the friend of my soul ! " Oh, I assure 
 you, your cousin will hardly feel grateful to 
 you for such extreme frankness ! ' " 
 
 "Who excuses, accuses himself," remarked 
 the Marquis Onofrio.
 
 1/8 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 " Finally my son let himself be persuaded 
 ah, uncle, I hear carnage- wheels; the young 
 people, with Miss Anastasia, have been driv- 
 ing. You shall see now for yourself how 
 happy my son is." 
 
 Gay voices sounded upon the staircase. The 
 door opened, and the spirit of the brilliant, 
 laughing Neapolitan springtime seemed to 
 enter the discreet, artificial shadow of the 
 room where sat the Marquis Onofrio and the 
 Countess Antonietta. The beauty of Emily 
 quite dazzled the elderly man of the world 
 he that had appraised the charms of the fair 
 women of half a century of society. Emily, 
 conscious but not at all disconcerted, stood 
 like a bird just alighted, all sparkle and vibrat- 
 ing grace. 
 
 " I kiss the hand of her Highness, the Prin- 
 cess Humming-bird," said the gallant old 
 Marquis, bowing over the little fingers. He 
 was also presented to Miss Anastasia Colburn, 
 to whom he addressed amiable compliments. 
 
 " I am pleased to make your acquaintance, 
 sir," said she, with much precision.
 
 PRINCESS HUMMING-BIRD 179 
 
 " Where is Fernan, that he did not return 
 with you ? " asked the Countess Antonietta. 
 
 " Oh, he met the Contessina Sofia and her 
 mamma ! " answered Emily, with her soft, 
 tinkling laugh. 
 
 " I understand," said the Countess to herself. 
 " I shall soon be invited to complete, on be- 
 half of Fernan de Alvares, those phrases 
 which I began to speak for my son to the 
 mamma of Sofia the phrases interrupted by 
 the appearance of Princess Humming-bird ! "
 
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