The Sky is the limit
ISBN: 9788893452410
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Tables of contents
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER I
THE OLD TOWN
The setting sunbeams slant over
the antique gateway of Sorrento, fusing into a golden bronze the
brown freestone vestments of old Saint
Antonio, who with his heavy stone mitre and upraised hands has for
centuries kept watch thereupon.
A quiet time he has of it up there in the golden Italian air, in
petrified act of blessing, while orange lichens and green mosses
from
year to year embroider quaint patterns on the seams of his
sacerdotal
vestments, and small tassels of grass volunteer to ornament the
folds
of his priestly drapery, and golden showers of blossoms from some
more hardy plant fall from his ample sleeve-cuffs. Little birds
perch
and chitter and wipe their beaks unconcernedly, now on the tip of
his
nose and now on the point of his mitre, while the world below goes
on
its way pretty much as it did when the good saint was alive, and,
in
despair of the human brotherhood, took to preaching to the birds
and
the fishes.
Whoever passed beneath this old arched gateway, thus saint-guarded,
in
the year of our Lord's grace ----, might have seen under its
shadow,
sitting opposite to a stand of golden oranges, the little Agnes.
A very pretty picture was she, reader,--with such a face as you
sometimes see painted in those wayside shrines of sunny Italy,
where
the lamp burns pale at evening, and gillyflower and cyclamen are
renewed with every morning.
She might have been fifteen or thereabouts, but was so small of
stature
that she seemed yet a child. Her black hair was parted in a white
unbroken seam down to the high forehead, whose serious arch, like
that
of a cathedral door, spoke of thought and prayer. Beneath the
shadows
of this brow lay brown, translucent eyes, into whose thoughtful
depths
one might look as pilgrims gaze into the waters of some saintly
well,
cool and pure down to the unblemished sand at the bottom. The small
lips had a gentle compression, which indicated a repressed strength
of feeling; while the straight line of the nose, and the flexible,
delicate nostril, were perfect as in those sculptured fragments of
the
antique which the soil of Italy so often gives forth to the day
from
the sepulchres of the past. The habitual pose of the head and face
had the shy uplooking grace of a violet; and yet there was a grave
tranquillity of expression, which gave a peculiar degree of
character
to the whole figure.
At the moment at which we have called your attention, the fair head
is
bent, the long eyelashes lie softly down on the pale, smooth cheek;
for
the Ave Maria bell is sounding from the Cathedral of Sorrento, and
the
child is busy with her beads.
By her side sits a woman of some threescore years, tall, stately,
and
squarely formed, with ample breadth of back and size of chest, like
the
robust dames of Sorrento. Her strong Roman nose, the firm,
determined
outline of her mouth, and a certain energy in every motion, speak
the
woman of will and purpose. There is a degree of vigor in the
decision
with which she lays down her spindle and bows her head, as a good
Christian of those days would, at the swinging of the evening bell.
But while the soul of the child in its morning freshness, free from
pressure or conscience of earthly care, rose like an illuminated
mist
to heaven, the words the white-haired woman repeated were twined
with
threads of worldly prudence,--thoughts of how many oranges she had
sold, with a rough guess at the probable amount for the day,--and
her fingers wandered from her beads a moment to see if the last
coin
had been swept from the stand into her capacious pocket, and her
eyes wandering after them suddenly made her aware of the fact that
a handsome cavalier was standing in the gate, regarding her pretty
grandchild with looks of undisguised admiration.
"Let him look!" she said to herself, with a grim clasp on her
rosary;
"a fair face draws buyers, and our oranges must be turned into
money;
but he who does more than look has an affair with me; so gaze away,
my
master, and take it out in buying oranges!--_Ave Maria! ora pro
nobis,
nunc et_," etc., etc.
A few moments, and the wave of prayer which had flowed down the
quaint
old shadowy street, bowing all heads as the wind bowed the scarlet
tassels of neighboring clover-fields, was passed, and all the world
resumed the work of earth just where they left off when the bell
began.
"Good even to you, pretty maiden!" said the cavalier, approaching
the
stall of the orange-woman with the easy, confident air of one
secure
of a ready welcome, and bending down on the yet prayerful maiden
the
glances of a pair of piercing hazel eyes that looked out on each
side
of his aquiline nose with the keenness of a falcon's.
"Good even to you, pretty one! We shall take you for a saint, and
worship you in right earnest, if you raise not those eyelashes
soon."
"Sir! my lord!" said the girl,--a bright color flushing into her
smooth
brown cheeks, and her large dreamy eyes suddenly upraised with a
flutter, as of a bird about to take flight.
"Agnes, bethink yourself!" said the white-haired dame; "the
gentleman
asks the price of your oranges; be alive, child!"
"Ah, my lord," said the young girl, "here are a dozen fine ones."
"Well, you shall give them me, pretty one," said the young man,
throwing a gold piece down on the stand with a careless ring.
"Here, Agnes, run to the stall of Raphael the poulterer for
change,"
said the adroit dame, picking up the gold.
"Nay, good mother, by your leave," said the unabashed cavalier; "I
make
my change with youth and beauty thus!" And with the word he stooped
down and kissed the fair forehead between the eyes.
"For shame, sir!" said the elderly woman, raising her distaff,--her
great glittering eyes flashing beneath her silver hair like tongues
of
lightning from a white cloud. "Have a care!--this child is named
for
blessed Saint Agnes, and is under her protection."
"The saints must pray for us, when their beauty makes us forget
ourselves," said the young cavalier, with a smile. "Look me in the
face, little one," he added; "say, wilt thou pray for me?"
The maiden raised her large serious eyes, and surveyed the haughty,
handsome face with that look of sober inquiry which one sometimes
sees
in young children, and the blush slowly faded from her cheek, as a
cloud fades after sunset.
"Yes, my lord," she answered, with a grave simplicity, "I will pray
for
you."
"And hang this upon the shrine of Saint Agnes for my sake," he
added,
drawing from his finger a diamond ring, which he dropped into her
hand; and before mother or daughter could add another word or
recover
from their surprise, he had thrown the corner of his mantle over
his
shoulder and was off down the narrow street, humming the refrain of
a
gay song.
"You have struck a pretty dove with that bolt," said another
cavalier,
who appeared to have been observing the proceeding, and now,
stepping
forward, joined him.
"Like enough," said the first, carelessly.
"The old woman keeps her mewed up like a singing-bird," said the
second; "and if a fellow wants speech of her, it's as much as his
crown
is worth; for Dame Elsie has a strong arm, and her distaff is known
to
be heavy."
"Upon my word," said the first cavalier, stopping and throwing a
glance
backward, "where do they keep her?"
"Oh, in a sort of pigeon's nest up above the Gorge; but one never
sees
her, except under the fire of her grandmother's eyes. The little
one
is brought up for a saint, they say, and goes nowhere but to mass,
confession, and the sacrament."
"Humph!" said the other, "she looks like some choice old picture of
Our
Lady,--not a drop of human blood in her. When I kissed her
forehead,
she looked into my face as grave and innocent as a babe. One is
tempted
to try what one can do in such a case."
"Beware the grandmother's distaff!" said the other, laughing.
"I've seen old women before," said the cavalier, as they turned
down
the street and were lost to view.
Meanwhile the grandmother and grand-daughter were roused from the
mute astonishment in which they were gazing after the young
cavalier
by a tittering behind them; and a pair of bright eyes looked out
upon
them from beneath a bundle of long, crimson-headed clover, whose
rich
carmine tints were touched to brighter life by setting sunbeams.
There stood Giulietta, the head coquette of the Sorrento girls,
with
her broad shoulders, full chest, and great black eyes, rich and
heavy as those of the silver-haired ox for whose benefit she had
been
cutting clover. Her bronzed cheek was smooth as that of any statue,
and showed a color like that of an open pomegranate; and the
opulent,
lazy abundance of her ample form, with her leisurely movements,
spoke
an easy and comfortable nature,--that is to say, when Giulietta was
pleased; for it is to be remarked that there lurked certain
sparkles
deep down in her great eyes, which might, on occasion, blaze out
into
sheet-lightning, like her own beautiful skies, which, lovely as
they
are, can thunder and sulk with terrible earnestness when the fit
takes
them. At present, however, her face was running over with
mischievous
merriment, as she slyly pinched little Agnes by the ear.
"So you know not yon gay cavalier, little sister?" she said,
looking
askance at her from under her long lashes.
"No, indeed! What has an honest girl to do with knowing gay
cavaliers?"
said Dame Elsie, bestirring herself with packing the remaining
oranges
into a basket, which she covered trimly with a heavy linen towel of
her
own weaving. "Girls never come to good who let their eyes go
walking
through the earth, and have the names of all the wild gallants on
their tongues. Agnes knows no such nonsense,--blessed be her
gracious
patroness, with Our Lady and Saint Michael!"
"I hope there is no harm in knowing what is right before one's
eyes,"
said Giulietta. "Anybody must be blind and deaf not to know the
Lord
Adrian. All the girls in Sorrento know him. They say he is even
greater
than he appears,--that he is brother to the King himself; at any
rate,
a handsomer and more gallant gentleman never wore spurs."
"Let him keep to his own kind," said Elsie. "Eagles make bad work
in
dove-cots. No good comes of such gallants for us."
"Nor any harm, that I ever heard of," said Giulietta. "But let me
see,
pretty one,--what did he give you? Holy Mother! what a handsome
ring!"
"It is to hang on the shrine of Saint Agnes," said the younger
girl,
looking up with simplicity.
A loud laugh was the first answer to this communication. The
scarlet
clover-tops shook and quivered with the merriment.
"To hang on the shrine of Saint Agnes!" Giulietta repeated. "That
is a
little too good!"
"Go, go, you baggage!" said Elsie, wrathfully brandishing her
spindle.
"If ever you get a husband, I hope he'll give you a good beating!
You
need it, I warrant! Always stopping on the bridge there, to have
cracks
with the young men! Little enough you know of saints, I dare say!
So
keep away from _my_ child! Come, Agnes," she said, as she lifted
the
orange-basket on to her head; and, straightening her tall form, she
seized the girl by the hand to lead her away.
CHAPTER II
THE DOVE-COT
The old town of Sorrento is
situated on an elevated plateau, which stretches into the sunny
waters of the Mediterranean, guarded on all
sides by a barrier of mountains which defend it from bleak winds
and
serve to it the purpose of walls to a garden. Here, groves of
oranges
and lemons, with their almost fabulous coincidence of fruitage with
flowers, fill the air with perfume, which blends with that of roses
and
jessamines; and the fields are so starred and enameled with flowers
that they might have served as the type for those Elysian realms
sung
by ancient poets. The fervid air is fanned by continual
sea-breezes,
which give a delightful elasticity to the otherwise languid
climate.
Under all these cherishing influences, the human being develops a
wealth and luxuriance of physical beauty unknown in less favored
regions. In the region about Sorrento one may be said to have found
the
land where beauty is the rule and not the exception. The
singularity
there is not to see handsome points of physical proportion, but
rather
to see those who are without them. Scarce a man, woman, or child
you
meet who has not some personal advantage to be commended, while
even
striking beauty is common. Also, under these kindly skies, a native
courtesy and gentleness of manner make themselves felt. It would
seem
as if humanity, rocked in this flowery cradle, and soothed by so
many
daily caresses and appliances of nursing Nature, grew up with all
that
is kindliest on the outward,--not repressed and beat in, as under
the
inclement atmosphere and stormy skies of the North.
The town of Sorrento itself overhangs the sea, skirting along rocky
shores, which, hollowed here and there into picturesque grottoes,
and
fledged with a wild plumage of brilliant flowers and trailing
vines,
descend in steep precipices to the water. Along the shelly beach,
at
the bottom, one can wander to look out on the loveliest prospect in
the
world. Vesuvius rises with its two peaks softly clouded in blue and
purple mists, which blend with its ascending vapors,--Naples and
the
adjoining villages at its base gleaming in the distance like a
fringe
of pearls on a regal mantle. Nearer by, the picturesque rocky
shores of
the island of Capri seem to pulsate through the dreamy, shifting
mists
that veil its sides; and the sea shimmers and glitters like the
neck
of a peacock with an iridescent mingling of colors: the whole air
is a
glorifying medium, rich in prismatic hues of enchantment.
The town on three sides is severed from the main land by a gorge
two
hundred feet in depth and forty or fifty in breadth, crossed by a
bridge resting on double arches, the construction of which dates
back
to the time of the ancient Romans. This bridge affords a favorite
lounging-place for the inhabitants, and at evening a motley
assemblage
may be seen lolling over its moss-grown sides,--men with their
picturesque knit caps of scarlet or brown falling gracefully on one
shoulder, and women with their shining black hair and the enormous
pearl ear-rings which are the pride and heirlooms of every family.
The
present traveler at Sorrento may remember standing on this bridge
and
looking down the gloomy depths of the gorge, to where a fair villa,
with its groves of orange-trees and gardens, overhangs the
tremendous
depths below.
Hundreds of years since, where this villa now stands was the simple
dwelling of the two women whose history we have begun to tell you.
There you might have seen a small stone cottage with a two-arched
arcade in front, gleaming brilliantly white out of the dusky
foliage
of an orange-orchard. The dwelling was wedged like a bird-box
between
two fragments of rock, and behind it the land rose rocky, high, and
steep, so as to form a natural wall. A small ledge or terrace of
cultivated land here hung in air,--below it, a precipice of two
hundred
feet down into the Gorge of Sorrento. A couple of dozen
orange-trees,
straight and tall, with healthy, shining bark, here shot up from
the
fine black volcanic soil, and made with their foliage a twilight
shadow
on the ground, so deep that no vegetation, save a fine velvet moss,
could dispute their claim to its entire nutritious offices. These
trees were the sole wealth of the women and the sole ornament of
the
garden; but, as they stood there, not only laden with golden fruit,
but fragrant with pearly blossoms, they made the little rocky
platform
seem a perfect Garden of the Hesperides. The stone cottage, as we
have
said, had an open, whitewashed arcade in front, from which one
could
look down into the gloomy depths of the gorge, as into some
mysterious
underworld. Strange and weird it seemed, with its fathomless
shadows
and its wild grottoes, over which hung, silently waving, long
pendants
of ivy, while dusky gray aloes uplifted their horned heads from
great
rock-rifts, like elfin spirits struggling upward out of the shade.
Nor
was wanting the usual gentle poetry of flowers; for white iris
leaned
its fairy pavilion over the black void like a pale-cheeked princess
from the window of some dark enchanted castle, and scarlet geranium
and
golden broom and crimson gladiolus waved and glowed in the shifting
beams of the sunlight. Also there was in this little spot what
forms
the charm of Italian gardens always,--the sweet song and prattle of
waters. A clear mountain-spring burst through the rock on one side
of the little cottage, and fell with a lulling noise into a quaint
moss-grown water-trough, which had been in former times the
sarcophagus
of some old Roman sepulchre. Its sides were richly sculptured with
figures and leafy scrolls and arabesques, into which the sly-footed
lichens with quiet growth had so insinuated themselves as in some
places almost to obliterate the original design; while, round the
place where the water fell, a veil of ferns and maiden's-hair,
studded
with tremulous silver drops, vibrated to its soothing murmur. The
superfluous waters, drained off by a little channel on one side,
were
conducted through the rocky parapet of the garden, whence they
trickled
and tinkled from rock to rock, falling with a continual drip among
the
swaying ferns and pendent ivy wreaths, till they reached the little
stream at the bottom of the gorge. This parapet or garden-wall was
formed of blocks or fragments of what had once been white marble,
the
probable remains of the ancient tomb from which the sarcophagus was
taken. Here and there a marble acanthus-leaf, or the capital of an
old
column, or a fragment of sculpture jutted from under the mosses,
ferns,
and grasses with which prodigal Nature had filled every interstice
and
carpeted the whole. These sculptured fragments everywhere in Italy
seem
to whisper, from the dust, of past life and death, of a cycle of
human
existence forever gone, over whose tomb the life of to-day is
built.
"Sit down and rest, my dove," said Dame Elsie to her little charge,
as
they entered their little enclosure.
Here she saw for the first time, what she had not noticed in the
heat
and hurry of her ascent, that the girl was panting and her gentle
bosom
rising and falling in thick heartbeats, occasioned by the haste
with
which she had drawn her onward.
"Sit down, dearie, and I will get you a bit of supper."
"Yes, grandmother, I will. I must tell my beads once for the soul
of
the handsome gentleman that kissed my forehead to-night."
"How did you know that he was handsome, child?" said the old dame,
with
some sharpness in her voice.
"He bade me look on him, grandmother, and I saw it."
"You must put such thoughts away, child," said the old dame.
"Why must I?" said the girl, looking up with an eye as clear and
unconscious as that of a three-year-old child.
"If she does not think, why should I tell her?" said Dame Elsie, as
she
turned to go into the house, and left the child sitting on the
mossy
parapet that overlooked the gorge. Thence she could see far off,
not
only down the dim, sombre abyss, but out to the blue Mediterranean
beyond, now calmly lying in swathing-bands of purple, gold, and
orange,
while the smoky cloud that overhung Vesuvius became silver and rose
in
the evening light.
There is always something of elevation and purity that seems to
come
over one from being in an elevated region. One feels morally as
well
as physically above the world, and from that clearer air able to
look
down on it calmly with disengaged freedom. Our little maiden sat
for
a few moments gazing, her large brown eyes dilating with a
tremulous
lustre, as if tears were half of a mind to start in them, and her
lips apart with a delicate earnestness, like one who is pursuing
some
pleasing inner thought. Suddenly rousing herself, she began by
breaking
the freshest orange-blossoms from the golden-fruited trees, and,
kissing and pressing them to her bosom, she proceeded to remove the
faded flowers of the morning from before a little rude shrine in
the
rock, where, in a sculptured niche, was a picture of the Madonna
and
Child, with a locked glass door in front of it. The picture was a
happy
transcript of one of the fairest creations of the religious school
of
Florence, done by one of those rustic copyists of whom Italy is
full,
who appear to possess the instinct of painting, and to whom we owe
many
of those sweet faces which sometimes look down on us by the wayside
from rudest and homeliest shrines.
The poor fellow by whom it had been painted was one to whom years
before Dame Elsie had given food and shelter for many months during
a
lingering illness; and he had painted so much of his dying heart
and
hopes into it that it had a peculiar and vital vividness in its
power
of affecting the feelings. Agnes had been familiar with this
picture
from early infancy. No day of her life had the flowers failed to be
freshly placed before it. It had seemed to smile down sympathy on
her
childish joys, and to cloud over with her childish sorrows. It was
less a picture to her than a presence; and the whole air of the
little
orange-garden seemed to be made sacred by it. When she had arranged
her
flowers, she kneeled down and began to say prayers for the soul of
the
young gallant.
"Holy Jesus," she said, "he is young, rich, handsome, and a king's
brother; and for all these things the Fiend may tempt him to forget
his
God and throw away his soul. Holy Mother, give him good counsel!"
"Come, child, to your supper," said Dame Elsie. "I have milked the
goats, and everything is ready."
CHAPTER III
THE GORGE
After her light supper was over,
Agnes took her distaff, wound with shining white flax, and went and
seated herself in her favorite place, on the low parapet that
overlooked the gorge. This ravine, with its dizzy depths, its
waving foliage, its dripping springs and the low murmur of the
little stream that pursued its way far down at the bottom, was one
of those things which stimulated her impressible imagination, and
filled her with a solemn and vague delight. The ancient Italian
tradition made it the home of fauns and dryads, wild woodland
creatures, intermediate links between vegetable life and that of
sentiment and reasoning humanity. The more earnest faith that came
in with Christianity, if it had its brighter lights in an
immortality of blessedness, had also its deeper shadows in the
intenser perceptions it awakened of sin and evil, and of the mortal
struggle by which the human spirit must avoid endless woe and rise
to endless felicity. The myths with which the colored Italian air
was filled in mediæval ages no longer resembled those graceful,
floating, cloud-like figures one sees in the ancient chambers of
Pompeii,--the bubbles and rainbows of human fancy, rising aimless
and buoyant, with a mere freshness of animal life, against a black
background of utter and hopeless ignorance as to man's past or
future. They were rather expressed by solemn images of mournful,
majestic angels and of triumphant saints, or fearful, warning
presentations of loathsome fiends. Each lonesome gorge and sombre
dell had tales no more of tricky fauns and dryads, but of those
restless, wandering demons who, having lost their own immortality
of blessedness, constantly lie in wait to betray frail humanity,
and cheat it of that glorious inheritance bought by the Great
Redemption. The education of Agnes had been one which rendered her
whole system peculiarly sensitive and impressible to all influences
from the invisible and unseen. Of this education we shall speak
more particularly hereafter. At present we see her sitting in the
twilight on the moss-grown marble parapet, her distaff, with its
silvery flax, lying idly in her hands, and her widening dark eyes
gazing intently into the gloomy gorge below, from which arose the
far-off complaining babble of the brook at the bottom and the
shiver and sigh of evening winds through the trailing ivy. The
white mist was slowly rising, wavering, undulating, and creeping
its slow way up the sides of the gorge. Now it hid a tuft of
foliage, and now it wreathed itself around a horned clump of aloes,
and, streaming far down below it in the dimness, made it seem like
the goblin robe of some strange, supernatural being. The evening
light had almost burned out in the sky; only a band of vivid red
lay low in the horizon out to sea, and the round full moon was just
rising like a great silver lamp, while Vesuvius with its smoky top
began in the obscurity to show its faintly flickering fires. A
vague agitation seemed to oppress the child; for she sighed deeply,
and often repeated with fervor the Ave Maria. At this moment there
began to rise from the very depths of the gorge below her the sound
of a rich tenor voice, with a slow, sad modulation, and seeming to
pulsate upward through the filmy, shifting mists. It was one of
those voices which seem fit to be the outpouring of some spirit
denied all other gifts of expression, and rushing with passionate
fervor through this one gate of utterance. So distinctly were the
words spoken, that they seemed each one to rise as with a separate
intelligence out of the mist, and to knock at the door of the
heart.
Sad is my life, and lonely!
No hope for me, Save thou, my love, my only, I see! Where
art thou, O my fairest? Where art thou gone? Dove of the
rock, I languish Alone! They say thou art so saintly, Who dare
love thee? Yet bend thine eyelids holy On me! Though heaven
alone possess thee, Thou dwell'st above, Yet heaven, didst thou
but know it, Is love. There was such an
intense earnestness in these sounds, that large tears gathered in
the wide dark eyes, and fell one after another upon the sweet
alyssum and maiden's-hair that grew in the crevices of the marble
wall. She shivered and drew away from the parapet, and thought of
stories she had heard the nuns tell of wandering spirits who
sometimes in lonesome places pour forth such entrancing music as
bewilders the brain of the unwary listener, and leads him to some
fearful destruction. "Agnes!" said the sharp voice of old Elsie,
appearing at the door, "here! where are you?" "Here, grandmamma."
"Who's that singing this time o' night?" "I don't know,
grandmamma." Somehow the child felt as if that singing were
strangely sacred to her,--a _rapport_ between her and something
vague and invisible which might yet become dear. "Is't down in the
gorge?" said the old woman, coming with her heavy, decided step to
the parapet, and looking over, her keen black eyes gleaming like
dagger-blades into the mist. "If there's anybody there," she said,
"let them go away, and not be troubling honest women with any of
their caterwauling. Come, Agnes," she said, pulling the girl by the
sleeve, "you must be tired, my lamb! and your evening prayers are
always so long, best be about them, girl, so that old grandmamma
may put you to bed. What ails the girl? Been crying! Your hand is
cold as a stone." "Grandmamma, what if that might be a spirit?" she
said. "Sister Rosa told me stories of singing spirits that have
been in this very gorge." "Likely enough," said Dame Elsie; "but
what's that to us? Let 'em sing!--so long as we don't listen,
where's the harm done? We will sprinkle holy water all round the
parapet, and say the office of Saint Agnes, and let them sing till
they are hoarse." Such was the triumphant view which this energetic
good woman took of the power of the means of grace which her church
placed at her disposal. Nevertheless, while Agnes was kneeling at
her evening prayers, the old dame consoled herself with a
soliloquy, as with a brush she vigorously besprinkled the premises
with holy water. "Now, here's the plague of a girl! If she's
handsome,--and nobody wants one that isn't,--why, then, it's a
purgatory to look after her. This one is good enough,--none of your
hussies, like Giulietta: but the better they are, the more sure to
have fellows after them. A murrain on that cavalier,--king's
brother, or what not!--it was he serenading, I'll be bound. I must
tell Antonio, and have the girl married, for aught I see: and I
don't want to give her to him either; he didn't bring her up.
There's no peace for us mothers. Maybe I'll tell Father Francesco
about it. That's the way poor little Isella was carried away.
Singing is of the Devil, I believe; it always bewitches girls. I'd
like to have poured some hot oil down the rocks: I'd have made him
squeak in another tone, I reckon. Well, well! I hope I shall come
in for a good seat in paradise for all the trouble I've had with
her mother, and am like to have with her,--that's all!" In an hour
more, the large, round, sober moon was shining fixedly on the
little mansion in the rocks, silvering the glossy darkness of the
orange-leaves, while the scent of the blossoms arose like clouds
about the cottage. The moonlight streamed through the unglazed
casement, and made a square of light on the little bed where Agnes
was sleeping, in which square her delicate face was framed, with
its tremulous and spiritual expression most resembling in its sweet
plaintive purity some of the Madonna faces of Fra Angelico,--those
tender wild flowers of Italian religion and poetry. By her side lay
her grandmother, with those sharp, hard, clearly cut features, so
worn and bronzed by time, so lined with labor and care, as to
resemble one of the Fates in the picture of Michel Angelo; and even
in her sleep she held the delicate lily hand of the child in her
own hard, brown one, with a strong and determined clasp. While they
sleep, we must tell something more of the story of the little
Agnes,--of what she is, and what are the causes which have made her
such.
CHAPTER IV
WHO AND WHAT
Old Elsie was not born a peasant.
Originally she was the wife of a steward in one of those great
families of Rome whose estate and
traditions were princely. Elsie, as her figure and profile and all
her
words and movements indicated, was of a strong, shrewd, ambitious,
and
courageous character, and well disposed to turn to advantage every
gift
with which Nature had endowed her.
Providence made her a present of a daughter whose beauty was
wonderful,
even in a country where beauty is no uncommon accident. In addition
to
her beauty, the little Isella had quick intelligence, wit, grace,
and
spirit. As a child she became the pet and plaything of the Princess
whom Elsie served. This noble lady, pressed by the _ennui_ which is
always the moth and rust on the purple and gold of rank and wealth,
had, as other noble ladies had in those days, and have now, sundry
pets: greyhounds, white and delicate, that looked as if they were
made
of Sèvres china; spaniels with long silky ears and fringy paws;
apes
and monkeys, that made at times sad devastations in her wardrobe;
and
a most charming little dwarf, that was ugly enough to frighten the
very owls, and spiteful as he was ugly. She had, moreover,
peacocks,
and macaws, and parrots, and all sorts of singing-birds, and
falcons
of every breed, and horses, and hounds,--in short, there is no
saying
what she did _not_ have. One day she took it into her head to add
the
little Isella to the number of her acquisitions. With the easy
grace
of aristocracy, she reached out her jeweled hand and took Elsie's
one
flower to add to her conservatory,--and Elsie was only too proud to
have it so.
Her daughter was kept constantly about the person of the Princess,
and
instructed in all the wisdom which would have been allowed her, had
she been the Princess's own daughter, which, to speak the truth,
was
in those days nothing very profound,--consisting of a little
singing
and instrumentation, a little embroidery and dancing, with the
power of
writing her own name and of reading a love letter.
All the world knows that the very idea of a pet is something to be
spoiled for the amusement of the pet-owner; and Isella was spoiled
in
the most particular and circumstantial manner. She had suits of
apparel
for every day in the year, and jewels without end,--for the
Princess
was never weary of trying the effect of her beauty in this and that
costume; so that she sported through the great grand halls and down
the
long aisles of the garden much like a bright-winged humming-bird,
or a
damsel-fly all green and gold. She was a genuine child of
Italy,--full
of feeling, spirit, and genius,--alive in every nerve to the
finger-tips; and under the tropical sunshine of her mistress's
favor
she grew as an Italian rosebush does, throwing its branches
freakishly
over everything in a wild labyrinth of perfume, brightness, and
thorns.
For a while her life was a triumph, and her mother triumphed with
her
at an humble distance. The Princess was devoted to her with the
blind
fatuity with which ladies of rank at times will invest themselves
in
a caprice. She arrogated to herself all the praises of her beauty
and
wit, allowed her to flirt and make conquests to her heart's
content,
and engaged to marry her to some handsome young officer of her
train,
when she had done being amused with her.
Now we must not wonder that a young head of fifteen should have
been turned by this giddy elevation, nor that an old head of fifty
should have thought all things were possible in the fortune of such
a favorite. Nor must we wonder that the young coquette, rich in the
laurels of a hundred conquests, should have turned her bright eyes
on
the son and heir, when he came home from the University of Bologna.
Nor is it to be wondered at, that this same son and heir, being a
man as well as a Prince, should have done as other men did,--fallen
desperately in love with this dazzling, sparkling, piquant mixture
of matter and spirit, which no university can prepare a young man
to
comprehend,--which always seemed to run from him, and yet always
threw
a Parthian shot behind her as she fled. Nor is it to be wondered
at,
if this same Prince, after a week or two, did not know whether he
was
on his head or his heels, or whether the sun rose in the east or
the
south, or where he stood, or whither he was going.
In fact, the youthful pair very soon came into that dreamland where
are no more any points of the compass, no more division of time, no
more latitude and longitude, no more up and down, but only a
general
wandering among enchanted groves and singing nightingales.
It was entirely owing to old Elsie's watchful shrewdness and
address
that the lovers came into this paradise by the gate of marriage;
for
the young man was ready to offer anything at the feet of his
divinity,
as the old mother was not slow to perceive.
So they stood at the altar for the time being a pair of as true
lovers
as Romeo and Juliet: but then, what has true love to do with the
son of
a hundred generations and heir to a Roman principality?
Of course, the rose of love, having gone through all its stages of
bud
and blossom into full flower, must next begin to drop its leaves.
Of
course. Who ever heard of an immortal rose?
The time of discovery came. Isella was found to be a mother; and
then
the storm burst upon her and drabbled her in the dust as fearlessly
as
the summer wind sweeps down and besmirches the lily it has all
summer
been wooing and flattering.
The Princess was a very pious and moral lady, and of course threw
her
favorite out into the street as a vile weed, and virtuously ground
her
down under her jeweled high-heeled shoes.
She could have forgiven her any common frailty; of course it was
natural that the girl should have been seduced by the
all-conquering
charms of her son,--but aspire to marriage with their
house!--pretend
to be her son's wife! Since the time of Judas had such treachery
ever
been heard of?
Something was said of the propriety of walling up the culprit
alive,--a
mode of disposing of small family matters somewhat _à la mode_ in
those
times. But the Princess acknowledged herself foolishly tender, and
unable quite to allow this very obvious propriety in the case.
She contented herself with turning mother and daughter into the
streets
with every mark of ignominy, which was reduplicated by every one of
her
servants, lackeys, and court-companions, who, of course, had always
known just how the thing must end.
As to the young Prince, he acted as a well-instructed young
nobleman
should, who understands the great difference there is between the
tears
of a duchess and those of low-born women. No sooner did he behold
his
conduct in the light of his mother's countenance than he turned his
back on his low marriage with edifying penitence. He did not think
it
necessary to convince his mother of the real existence of a union
whose
very supposition made her so unhappy, and occasioned such an
uncommonly
disagreeable and tempestuous state of things in the well-bred
circle
where his birth called him to move. Being, however, a religious
youth,
he opened his mind to his family-confessor, by whose advice he sent
a
messenger with a large sum of money to Elsie, piously commending
her
and her daughter to the Divine protection. He also gave orders for
an
entire new suit of raiment for the Virgin Mary in the family
chapel,
including a splendid set of diamonds, and promised unlimited
candles to
the altar of a neighboring convent. If all this could not atone for
a
youthful error, it was a pity. So he thought, as he drew on his
riding
gloves and went off on a hunting party, like a gallant and
religious
young nobleman.
Elsie, meanwhile, with her forlorn and disgraced daughter, found a
temporary asylum in a neighboring mountain village, where the poor,
bedrabbled, broken-winged song-bird soon panted and fluttered her
little life away.
When the once beautiful and gay Isella had been hidden in the
grave,
cold and lonely, there remained a little wailing infant, which
Elsie
gathered to her bosom.
Grim, dauntless, and resolute, she resolved, for the sake of this
hapless one, to look life in the face once more, and try the battle
under other skies.
Taking the infant in her arms, she traveled with her far from the
scene
of her birth, and set all her energies at work to make for her a
better
destiny than that which had fallen to the lot of her unfortunate
mother.
She set about to create her nature and order her fortunes with that
sort of downright energy with which resolute people always attack
the
problem of a new human existence. This child should be happy: the
rocks
on which her mother was wrecked she should never strike upon,--they
were all marked on Elsie's chart. Love had been the root of all
poor
Isella's troubles,--and Agnes never should know love, till taught
it
safely by a husband of Elsie's own choosing.
The first step of security was in naming her for the chaste Saint
Agnes, and placing her girlhood under her special protection.
Secondly,
which was quite as much to the point, she brought her up
laboriously
in habits of incessant industry,--never suffering her to be out of
her
sight, or to have any connection or friendship, except such as
could
be carried on under the immediate supervision of her piercing black
eyes. Every night she put her to bed as if she had been an infant,
and,
wakening her again in the morning, took her with her in all her
daily
toils,--of which, to do her justice, she performed all the hardest
portion, leaving to the girl just enough to keep her hands employed
and
her head steady.
The peculiar circumstance which had led her to choose the old town
of Sorrento for her residence, in preference to any of the
beautiful
villages which impearl that fertile plain, was the existence there
of
a flourishing convent dedicated to Saint Agnes, under whose
protecting
shadow her young charge might more securely spend the earlier years
of
her life.
With this view, having hired the domicile we have already
described,
she lost no time in making the favorable acquaintance of the
sisterhood,--never coming to them empty-handed. The finest oranges
of
her garden, the whitest flax of her spinning, were always reserved
as
offerings at the shrine of the patroness whom she sought to
propitiate
for her grandchild.
In her earliest childhood the little Agnes was led toddling to the
shrine by her zealous relative, and at the sight of her fair,
sweet,
awestruck face, with its viny mantle of encircling curls, the
torpid
bosoms of the sisterhood throbbed with a strange, new pleasure,
which
they humbly hoped was not sinful,--as agreeable things, they found,
generally were. They loved the echoes of her little feet down the
damp,
silent aisles of their chapel, and her small, sweet, slender voice,
as
she asked strange baby-questions, which, as usual with
baby-questions,
hit all the insoluble points of philosophy and theology exactly on
the
head.
The child became a special favorite with the Abbess, Sister
Theresa,
a tall, thin, bloodless, sad-eyed woman, who looked as if she might
have been cut out of one of the glaciers of Monte Rosa, but in
whose
heart the little fair one had made herself a niche, pushing her way
up
through, as you may have seen a lovely blue-fringed gentian
standing in
a snowdrift of the Alps with its little ring of melted snow around
it.
Sister Theresa offered to take care of the child at any time when
the
grandmother wished to be about her labors; and so, during her early
years, the little one was often domesticated for days together at
the
Convent. A perfect mythology of wonderful stories encircled her,
which
the good sisters were never tired of repeating to each other. They
were
the simplest sayings and doings of childhood,--handfuls of such
wild
flowers as bespread the green turf of nursery-life everywhere, but
miraculous blossoms in the eyes of these good women, whom Saint
Agnes
had unwittingly deprived of any power of making comparisons or ever
having Christ's sweetest parable of the heavenly kingdom enacted in
homes of their own.
Old Jocunda, the portress, never failed to make a sensation with
her
one stock-story of how she found the child standing on her head and
crying,--having been put into this reversed position in consequence
of
climbing up on a high stool to get her little fat hand into the
vase of
holy water, failing in which Christian attempt, her heels went up
and
her head down, greatly to her dismay.
"Nevertheless," said old Jocunda, gravely, "it showed an edifying
turn
in the child; and when I lifted the little thing up, it stopped
crying
the minute its little fingers touched the water, and it made a
cross on
its forehead as sensible as the oldest among us. Ah, sisters,
there's
grace there, or I'm mistaken."
All the signs of an incipient saint were, indeed, manifested in the
little one. She never played the wild and noisy plays of common
children, but busied herself in making altars and shrines, which
she
adorned with the prettiest flowers of the gardens, and at which she
worked hour after hour in the quietest and happiest earnestness.
Her dreams were a constant source of wonder and edification in the
Convent, for they were all of angels and saints; and many a time,
after
hearing one, the sisterhood crossed themselves, and the Abbess
said,
"_Ex oribus parvulorum_." Always sweet, dutiful, submissive,
cradling
herself every night with a lulling of sweet hymns and infant murmur
of
prayers, and found sleeping in her little white bed with her
crucifix
clasped to her bosom, it was no wonder that the Abbess thought her
the
special favorite of her divine patroness, and like her the subject
of
an early vocation to be the celestial bride of One fairer than the
children of men, who should snatch her away from all earthly
things, to
be united to Him in a celestial paradise.
As the child grew older, she often sat at evening with wide,
wondering
eyes, listening over and over again to the story of the fair Saint
Agnes,--how she was a princess, living in her father's palace, of
such
exceeding beauty and grace that none saw her but to love her, yet
of
such sweetness and humility as passed all comparison; and how, when
a heathen prince would have espoused her to his son, she said,
"Away
from me, tempter! for I am betrothed to a lover who is greater and
fairer than any earthly suitor,--he is so fair that the sun and
moon
are ravished by his beauty, so mighty that the angels of heaven are
his
servants;" how she bore meekly with persecutions and threatenings
and
death for the sake of this unearthly love; and when she had poured
out
her blood, how she came to her mourning friends in ecstatic vision,
all white and glistening, with a fair lamb by her side, and bade
them
weep not for her, because she was reigning with Him whom on earth
she
had preferred to all other lovers. There was also the legend of the
fair Cecilia, the lovely musician whom angels had rapt away to
their
choirs; the story of that queenly saint, Catharine, who passed
through
the courts of heaven, and saw the angels crowned with roses and
lilies,
and the Virgin on her throne, who gave her the wedding ring that
espoused her to be the bride of the King Eternal.
Fed with such legends, it could not be but that a child with a
sensitive, nervous organization and vivid imagination, should have
grown up with an unworldly and spiritual character, and that a
poetic
mist should have enveloped all her outward perceptions similar to
that
palpitating veil of blue and lilac vapor that enshrouds the Italian
landscape.
Nor is it to be marveled at, if the results of this system of
education
went far beyond what the good old grandmother intended. For, though
a
stanch good Christian, after the manner of those times, yet she had
not
the slightest mind to see her grand-daughter a nun; on the
contrary,
she was working day and night to add to her dowry, and had in her
eye
a reputable middle-aged blacksmith, who was a man of substance and
prudence, to be the husband and keeper of her precious treasure. In
a
home thus established she hoped to enthrone herself, and provide
for
the rearing of a generation of stout-limbed girls and boys who
should
grow up to make a flourishing household in the land. This subject
she
had not yet broached to her grand-daughter, though daily preparing
to
do so,--deferring it, it must be told, from a sort of jealous,
yearning
craving to have wholly to herself the child for whom she had lived
so
many years.
Antonio, the blacksmith to whom this honor was destined, was one of
those broad-backed, full-chested, long-limbed fellows one shall
often
see around Sorrento, with great, kind, black eyes like those of an
ox,
and all the attributes of a healthy, kindly, animal nature.
Contentedly
he hammered away at his business; and certainly, had not Dame Elsie
of her own providence elected him to be the husband of her fair
grand-daughter, he would never have thought of the matter himself;
but,
opening the black eyes aforenamed upon the girl, he perceived that
she
was fair, and also received an inner light through Dame Elsie as to
the
amount of her dowry; and, putting these matters together, conceived
a
kindness for the maiden, and awaited with tranquillity the time
when he
should be allowed to commence his wooing.
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!