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HomeMy WebLinkAboutLucknow Sentinel, 1892-01-15, Page 2• Ittio ,high his mother had educated him. Equally was he dissatisfied with the con ventional acceptance, of Christianity and the, -real apenticieni which prevailed in the old. -' • r year or two he ' that- happy Italian home, she could not linger there when needed in another place, and at any rate she should have her children for yet another year. That helped to break the parting. Captain Britton was glad for a: time to be with hie brother, and life, inwhich, to finish r unconventional educe, i idea by all. So as silent and de- eft to his own de - go 1 is i3 F." tF .r a @gin d family; and that acceptation of the wor re not of noble birth, but for _ ix generations they had been well er ucated, and had earned uuite an unusual reputation ahs the- various learned professional which they had followed. Faults of temp•:r or of judgment they might have shown, but no Donati had ever been guilty of an act of meanness, nor had there been in any one of them a single grain of insincerity. To be- longto, a family which has earned well. deserved respect, to be able to lo,.k back upon forefathers who have lived a ell and bravely, to know that before' you existed your father, and his father before him, 'spoke for freedom and pleaded the cause of the people,this is indeed a birthright worth having. . An inheritance of money may or may not be a desirable thing, but an inheritance of character, an' ancestry of generous, true -hearted men, who did justly, and loved mercy, and walked humbly, with .their God ---this is a thingthat kings might covet Carlo had undoubtedly inherited a noble character, or rather had inherited certain. tendencies, and as yet, by his life, had helped to develop, not to arrest, their growth. Carlos earliest recollections were of a hot August day in the year 1862. He, as a little •"fellow, had sat beside his mother in a car- riage out"side the post office at Pozzuoli, and someone had brought them the news of •Garibaldi's defeat at Aepromonte, and with that the tidings that Bruno Donati wasdan geroualy wounded. Carlo could even now see vividly his mother's deathly face as she read the news, could remember his puzzled wonder as to_ what it. all .. meant, :and whe- ther it could possibly, be that his father would never return. But the second Bruno Donati was in some ways happier than his father ; he was brought back from Aspromonte to his own home, where he lingered for a month—a month which proved of extraordinary value in his son's education. The child was too young to feel his father's death as a life- long grief, but hewas just old enough to Carry away from that death -bed a beautiful and unfading memory. Upon his childish brain was stamped the conviction that to die for " La Patria " was a very happy thing, that the sacrifice of self for others was the only true greatness, and that even such a failure as Aepromonte was not to be accounted failure -that right could not fail in the long -run. "'Pazienza ! pazienza !" was the word constantly on the lips of the dying patriot—the word which always con- nected itself with his memory in the mind of his son. On Bruno Donati's dying face there ,had been that "look of faith in renunciation" which was stamped upon the. face of his teacher, Mazzini, and the look lived on in the child's heart. " Carlin," his father had said, tenderly, on the very last day of his life—" Carlin titin, thou wilt be a man one day." " How hice it will be when I am' a man like you, father 1" cried the boy, eagerly. t The dying man smiled sadly. Remember always to comfort and shield thy mother, and Nita—take good care of Nita." " Why, father, Nita is older than 1 am, a whole year older !" exclaimed the child. " Bat Nita is a woman, and my Carlo must be her brave protector ; promise me that, my son." " I promise, father," 'said the little fellow, squeezing the cold hand that clasped his. " And father,dear father, I may have your sword, may I not ? You'll not leave it to Uncle Guido, who has one already ? For if I have it, father, then 1 could fight the brigands if they took Nita ; could I not ?" The dying man smiled, touched by the innocent literalness of the reply. He caught Carlo to his breast, 'holding him in a long, close embrace. " Why, father, I do believe you'll soon be well ! " cried the boy, gleefully, feeling the power of those strong arms round him. He did not/ know that a sudden strength is often death's forerunner. And in a sense he little meant his words came true, for by the next morning the second Bruno Donati had entered into the martyr's rest, and it was " well" with him. After this Carlo's life had been unevent= ful ; the recollection of his father did not sadden him, on the contrary it raised and stimulated him. For an Italian boy he had an unusually free and healthy life ; his mother could never make up her mind to leave the county -house, where they had been passing their .villeggiatura during the summer of 1862, and in which her husband had died. They lived all the year round at the Villa Bruno, and a kindly old priest at Pozzuoli taught the boy until he was old enough to go in every day to the Ginnasio at Naples. Here he entered into his lifelong friend- ship with Enrico Ritter, and learned much through his intercourse with the German family, whose house became his head- quarters when he was in Naples. The Bitters, deeming the country life dull for the boy, were constantly inviting him• to stay with them, and giving him brief snatches of gayety. Nominally Lutherans, the worthy Germans were practically materialists, and it was largely owing to his visits at the Ritter's that Carlo first became dissatisfied with the religion in w'. a a ` : intimacy etween the t o neighbo f : ' flies. Carlo and Francesca were at first not of an age for falling in love. They became fast friends, and Carlo in his rather lonely life was enchanted to find that even the Eng- lish girl was allowed almost unlimited free- dom. She was wholly unlike his convent - bred sister, who, since her mother was an invalid, was allowed to come home now and then for a day or two. Nita was beautiful, and sang like an angel, and was a devout little Catholic, and did her best to teach him the error of his ways. But to save her life, Nita could not have been a companion in his games. Now Francesca, though no hoiden, was, in the matter of games,, as good as a boy. She was not above climbing trees or running races ; she excelled at rounders ; she even initiated him into the mysteries of cricket, enlisting the services of Clara and the gardeners. Then nothing would debut he must teach her to row, and many were the happy hours they spent on the sea together, sometimes with Clare in the stern, sometimes with little Sibyl and her nurse, sometimes with old. Fiorestano, the fisherman, who would tell them quaint legends 'Of saints, or mer- maids, or ghosts, in all of which he believed equally. Sometimes they would go oyster - catching in Lake Fusero, or, •'yith Clare as a delightful third, would . scramble aboutin the Acropolis at Camas , seeking to make fresh discoveries. Or they would play hide- and-seek in the Grotto della Pace, or act thrilling brigand stories, 'or dig and search in field or vineyard, and perhaps stumble across the remains of an old Roman villa or the ruins of a temple, hidden away by' the straggling green growth. Those were happy days for all of them. Carlo before long formed for Miss Claremont that sort of reverential, half -worshiping friendship and admiration which is not un- common between boys of his age and middle- aged women. And Clare was a friend worth having.' She influenced people, chiefly byloving them ; you never felt with her that she was trying to doctor you, or to im- prove your moral or spiritual health. She discussed many things with Carlo, listened to his crude; half -fledged ideas with the utmost patience, and would no more have smiled at them or treated them contemptu- ously than a woman would smile with con- tempt as she watches the staggering steps of a baby beginning to walk alone. Clare sympathized much with the difficul- ties of his position ; she saw` that his deeply religious Italian nature would never rest content in its present isolation. " Do you never feel the need of worship- ing ?" she asked him one day. "Yes," he' replied, ." but one need not be within the walls of a church to do that ; a boat at sea, or an olive -grove, is more to my taste." Just at that time he was the least bit proud of having shaken himself free from the bondage of Romanism—a fact which was quite patent to Clare, and proved to her how perilous was his state. " And yet,;' she urged, "I should have thought that you—a follower of Mazzini— would have had a strong faith in Associa- tion." The words struck home, unpleasantly con- vincing Carlo that he had been rapturously hugging a thing which he called Freedom, and that it was an illusion more worthy to be called Isolation. " I..don't know where to turn to 1" he ex- claimed, chafed by a remark which had dis- turbedhis peace, and proved it to be false. " Are you trying to find out the best place ?" she asked, quietly. He was silent, and Clare, who had the rare tact to know when she had said enough, changed the subject But the very next Sunday he astonished her by asking leave to join their party and, drive an to the .English church at • Naples with them, His total absence of false shame, and the ingenuous humility which could thus tacitly own itself in the wrong, promptly and publicly following the sug- gestion of a woman, were thoroughly Italian. Clare reflected that an Englishman would have allowed a week or two to pass by, in order to prove that he came of his own free will, and not at the instigation of another ; or would, perhaps, have toiled over on foot in the early morning, slinking in at the back of the church, in terror lest people should comment on the amendment of his ways. After a time he formally joined the Eng- lish Church. Of course- he had some oppo- sition to encounter ; but though his old friend the priest shook his head sorrow- fully, and though his mother shed tears, and though the Ritters chaffed him good- humoredly, his happiness was too great\to be marred by such things.; besides, they all loved him so well that they soon par- doned the obnoxious step which he had taken, 'and did their best to forget that he was not as they were. A'few months after this the firat shadow fell upon Carlo's perfect felicity. It was suddenly arranged that the Britton house- hold should migrate toEngland for a year. An aunt of Francesca's s had just died, and sozneone was urgently needed to look after the motherless children. Who so fit for such' a task as; Clare ? and though she would fain have , lived on in time that Nita ro- ut, A"great change in the peacefulness of or the girl, while re- er religious education to her heretic brotherwitb of zte strict restraint that to violent reaction and. mother, i�n,ch as she been tyrannised over. was an invalid ; she om the cruel @hock of or had"she at any ength of character. 1 ever to take ad- ighteat wish had been nd the two had idol- ut somehow it happened c Bbme from her convent e an intruder ; she could not find a the for herself in the home, and, easuring the hearta ofkother people by her own, fancied she was net cared for. Per- haps her mother did 'ehow a little too markedly that Carlo was her favorite ; but then it was really difficult nbt to love the son who treated her with such. tenderness, such respectful devotion, somewhat better than the daughter, who sought for nothing but her own amusement, and never voluntarily performed for her the slightest service. It was also, perhaps, true that Carlo did not greatly care for his sister, at any rate she tried his temper severely. He was impatient with her aggravating little dis- playa of piety, her deep genuflexions, her paraded fasts. Hewas constantly detect- ing her in petty deceits, and once, after Boma worse specimen of duplicity than usual, he had angrily upbraided her. " You are not fit to bear the name of Donati," he cried, hotly, his, boyish sense of honor deeply wounded, and his family pride "hurt to find that Nita was no better than the rest of the world. " Perhaps I shall not bear it much longer !" she retorted, angrily. And those words haunted poor Carlo for many a year. For, not long after, all Naples rang with the news that. Anita Donati had eloped with her singing -master, a certain basso Who had been engaged that winter at the San Carlo. Fortunately the Villa Bruno was far away in the country, and the signora too great an invalid to go into society. She could bear her agony in solitude, and was not obliged to wear a mask and go aboat as though nothing had happened. But Carlo was in the thick of the fray ; he''had• to listen' to Uncle Guido's indignant denunciations, he had to bear the brunt of the endless questions of the. -outsiders, had to endure the bitter consciousness that his sister's name waif being bandied about in the city, and that, for • the first time, a Donati had incurred well -merited blame. . Since then nothing had been heard of Anita, except that, about a week after her flight, she had forwarded to her mother a newspaper with the announcement of her marriage. But the Signora Donati never recovered from the shock, nor could sheever fitrgive herself, for she rightly felt that had relations with her daughter been happier such a thing could never have happened. Five years had gone by since then, and Time had passed his quieting hand -over both grief and disgrace,,, -Certainly Carlo felt nothing but `ha pines= --unalloyed hap- piness—as he rode home from/"Naples that sunny spring day. He knew nothing of that ominous littlo paragraph torn out of the Piccolo, but galloped on over the white, dusty road, past fields of Indian corn, past olive -gardens and vineyards, through the long dark grotto of Posilipo, and on toward the picturesque little southern town of Pozzuoli He scarcely noticed all "'the beauty round him ; he could see nothing but the face of his dreams ; and the very horse -hoofs flying over the road seemed to repeat again and again the word, " Fran- sceca 1 Francesca ! Francesca 1" CHAPTER III. While Carlo rode back from Naples and, while Signor Merlin and his operatic com- pany steamed between the Pillars of Her- cules into the blue Mediterranean, Francesca Britton sat in a little stone belvedere in the garden of Casa Bella, from . time to time raising her eyes from her needle -work to glance at that same blueMediterranean, or at the lovely mountains of Ischia, which were plainly visible through the arched doorway... Beautiful as a child, Francesca was more than beautiful in early womanhood—she was lovely. It was not alone that the out- line of cheeks and chin was perfect, that the nose was finely chiseled, that the masses of dark hair drawn back from the white forehead were rich and wavy,; all this might be set down in black and white without conveying the faintest idea of what she was. And in truth this had happened over and over again ; the photographers had done what they could, but had failed grievously. Photography could pot give the ineffable charm of her ever -varying expression, the depth and sweetness of her dark gray eyes, the dimple in.,.her cheek, which seemed indeed, the sign 'and symbol of her sunshiny nature. , It could not con- vey the least notion of her shy grace, of her delicate purity, or of that keen sense of humor which sparkled. so deliciously in her home life. Outsiders sometimes deemed the beautiful English girl cold and distant, and a country life had tended to increase her natural shyness ; ' but even had she lived in the midst of the fashionable world, Francesca Britton never could have been thoroughly known out of her own circle—she was one of those who kept their beat for their own. She was roused from a reverie by seeing a little miniature of herself flying down the Straight, sunny walk which led to the summer -house, bordered on either side by azaleas glowing with crimson blossom and and tall white oleanders. " Dino sent me," panted the little gil l— `� Dino sent me with this for father. Where is father ? They thought he was out here. And only fancy ! Dino says, Fran, dear, that Carlo came and rang the, bell just like a visitor, aid handed in his card. Think of Carlo ringing the he'll ?" .And Sibyl broke into a peal of laughter as elle skipped about the. summer.,Jiouse.. Her sister let her needlework fall, and taking the card, glanced at it, smiling and blushing in a way that would have enrap- tured any one but unobservant iebyL " Dino, he is nodding and amiling and looking :.,tic. --funny.. l" .continued, the: little girl ; " and he says Carlo has perhaps conte a -courting, but he won't tell me what it means. What is courting; 'rani Ani+= thing to do with the new tennis -court ?" " 'Tis a game . which you play for love, Sibyl dear, There, run and take the card to father, he is down in the orange -grove." The little messenger flew off again on her errand, and Francesca sat musing, smiling to herself every now and then as' she thought of the beloved name with its novel ue'°�iLTS'.:".41avlia `tie 4testr sesx,�+i':taaves nny 1 And how like him to send in his cardand be shown into the drawing -room so ceremoniously, instead of, as usual, just leaping over » the hedge of prickly pear which divided the gardens of Casa Bella and Villa Bruno. Then delicious tremors, that were neither hope nor fear, ran through her, and her heart beat fast and loud. She could bear the stillness no longer, and " rising, she left the summer, house and walked down "the path between the oleanders and the azaleas. All at once quick footsteps fell upon her ear ; then,' through the trees, she caught sight of the lithe, graceful figure so familiar to her. Ah ! how foolish she' was. Had they not been. the best of friends for years and years ? Why could she not go and meet him nat- urally to -day ? Scolding herself roundly, she stopped because her feet refused to advance another step, and with fingers which trembled visibly, tried to break off a spray of the crimson flowers. " It is too stiff. for you !" exclaimed Carlo, turning the corner and hurrying toward her. No, no ! " she protested, laughing ; " you always misdoubt my powers' ; and - putting force upon her unruly fingers she broke off the spray. " Here is a ` button bole ' for the ` Avvocato ' with his friend's congratulations." " The Avvocato ' is not content, he craves something more," said Carlo, smiling. " Very well ; old playmates must not stand onceremony," she said, gayly, well pleased that she had regained her self- possession ; " come to the belvedere, and I will put some maidenhair with it." They walked together up the path, Francesca, pausing 'to pluck two or three pieces from a jungle of maidenhair growing about theold stones. " There 1" she exclaimed, as they sat down in the cool little arbor while she twisted the ferns among the flowers; " now are you content ? " " Not quite," he said ; " I am clumsy, you will put them in for me.',' She fastened the flowers in. his coat, and again her tiresome fingers began to tremble. Carlo, blessing the sight, snatched her hand in his and kissed it passionately. " Francesca, forgive me 1" he ' cried, " I could wait no longer ; you will not grudge me that one kiss. My darling, my darling, I have waited such years for you 1" His face, glowing with•love'and devotion and eager hope, was ,raised to hers. She only saw it for a moment, for something made a mist rise before her eyes, and when she could see clearly again she did not dare to meet his gaze ; she looked instead out at the blue Mediterranean - "I have loved you, Francesca, since you came back from England—since you came and brought light and happiness to us after that dark time.. I told your father—begged him to let me speak to you, and he bade me wait., I have waited nearly five years, Francesca, and, oh ! at times I scarcely knew how to trust myself here. Again and again I almost broke my word ; but now your father gives me leave to come to you, to confess my love. My darling, look at me—speak to me ! " She turned and gazed rightinto his eager, wistful eyes—a long, sweet, steadfast look ; then her lips began to quiver a little, but she thought better of it" and smiled in- stead. " What do you want me to say ?" " Say," he cried, eagerly, " say ` I will try to love you.' " She shook her head. " I can never say that," she replied, and once more looked out seaward. But the vehemence; the fire of his Italian nature, half frightened her.• Despair was written on his face, despair rang in his voice ; he did not pause one moment' to re- flect. " Francesca 1 Francesca 1" he cried, "don't tell me I ^have come too late. My love ! my love ! I can't live without you. Unsay that ' never.' " Grieved beyond measure that words so playfully meant should have called forth such a tropical outburst, she wreathed her arms about his neck, and pressed her face to his. " Carlo mio," shesobbed, "don't break my heart by misunderstanding me ; •I can never try to love you—because—because—I love you already." The depth of love and tenderness' in her voice, the sweet abandonment of her manner —more really maidenly in its perfect sin- cerity than any coyness or hesitation—all this heightened to bliss Carlo's rapture of love. The momentary mistake, the cloud - shadow that had threatened his sky, made the sunshine all the more exquisite. He could not speak a word, but only clasped her close in the long, sweet embrace which symbolized their betrothal. " My own 1" he murmured at last.- " My own, you gave me one terrible minute. To be without. you, Francesca, that would be to be crucified 1" He did not definitely think of the talk between the two Englishmen, but the thought suggested that afternoon had sunk deep into his mind, and the agony of the brief mistake gave the emphatic utterance of that last word a tenfold power. Francesca breathed fast ; Love unfolded to her his wonderful face, hitherto veiled ; she was awed by the thoughtf the immortal passions the undying dev tion of her lover. The strength and. sacra nese of that laeb word he had used filled her heart with a wondering love and humility. His happi- ness, his life, was in her keeping, and hers, in his. Mortal man could never bear the strain of the one thought without the sup- port of the other. After a while they began to weave golden visions of the future ; Carlo suggesting one place and another, for which he thought she had a fancy ; a certain ideal nook, called Quisisana, on the other side of Naples, where once, years before, she had I said she would like to build a house if some one would but leave her a fortune ; a pretty v▪ illa at Posilipo which she used to admire. It touched her to see how he remembered aU her careless, girlish speeches, and had treasured them up for years. Ab," she said, smiling, " I , used to think,plaee would make such a difference ; blit now, Carlo" mfo -' I dont care one bit. We will make a home in the wilderness, if it so -pleases -you, or --at- 1_ aples,, in_ Corner of an old palace—'tis all one to me so long as we are together." He drew her closer to him. They went on weaving their plana, unccnsc:ens of a small spirite approaching the summer- house. Sibyl stood composedly o i ed in by the way fordoor- a moment, quite lovers. " aculated at length, "is that the gad_ _s}}e le 9'� N.n. ....cmc sewvrav:+:7] Ran: Sx,n+=�r as n aacuiu^3 Her perplexed and rather disappointed look was most comical " What game ?" asked Francesca, laugh- ing and blushing. The game you said people played for love �" " Yes, this is it," said Carlo, laughing immoderately. r that all?" exclaimed the spirite, iz a tone of deep disappointment. They only laughed. " Well, for my part,' saidSibyl, who had caught many old-fashioned little phrases from living always with grown-up people— " for my part I think it's very dull. She ran off. Carlo watched her out of sight, smiling at her quaint disapproval- " She will miss you, poor little ono," he said at last. " Yes, that would be one reason for not going far away. And your mother, Carlo How selfish of me not to remember her ! , You must never be parted from her— . O never." " You will be to her in the place of Nita," said Carlo. " You will comfort her as I have neverbeen able to do." And so once again they plunged into the golden glories of the future. Clare must be persuaded to come back again and take' Sibyl in charge, and their paradise should be the Villa Bruno, already dear to them through many , associations. That plan would obviate all difficulties, and render partings unnecessary ; would be the hap- piest plan for others as well as for them- selves. " And we must not be selfish in our hap- piness," said Francesca. " No," he replied, smiling as he remem- embered hie friend's parting words, "we will prove to Enrico Ritter that love is not selfishness, and that egoism does not rule the world as he thinks." A gong sounding within the house warned Carlo that he ought to go. Together they left the little stone summer -house and wan- dered through the lovely garden—a garden. wholly un -English Thee scorching sun would not admit of lawns, but nevertheless+ there was a great charm in the- straight, shady walks, with here and there an umbrella -pine, or a tall and somber cypress mingling with limes, chestnuts and camphor= trees. A long colonnade of white pillars: was festooned from end to end with honey- suckle ; vines linked together the bushy, mulberry trees; Indian -corn grew green and ribbon-like beneath ; while about all was that delicious sweetness only to be met within the gardens of Italy. The house was solid and unpretentious, its whiteness relieved by masses of the feathery green pepper -tree, and a glory of climbing red geranium. Captain Britton sat in the loggia, which was wreathed with white roses. He looked up smiling as he saw the two drawing neat, then came forward to bestow a kiss upon his daughter and a hearty handshake upon his future son-in- law. He was a large -limbed, strong -looking man, somewhat heavy built, with scanty gray hair and whiskers, and a broad smiling mouth. In manner he was kindly, genial, and patronizing. But, in spite of some surface faults, he was a thoroughly good- hearted man, and there was no mistaking genuine hospitality and anxiety to help hip friends. ,if ,Carlo occasionally winced beneath his benign patronage, or was pro- voked to anger by some show of insular prejudice, such trifles were soon forgotten in the recollection of the thousand acts of kindness shown both to his mother' and to himself by the neighborly Englishman. And then the Donaa were proverbially susceptible and Carlo, had long been on his guard, and had schooled himself into thinking that the small discords and jarring notes which now and then occurred in the intercourse with. the Brittons were really owing to his o ultra -sensitiveness. Such things w after all, but trifles light as air, and powerless really to disturb the blies of bein near his love. " Hearty congratulations," said the old captain, warmly. ".I had not much fear that my littlo Fran would be unkind to you, and I suppose I must not grumble at losing her. I little thought that some day she would be changing into a signora. But., there, we have made half an Englishman of you already ; have we not ?" " No, no," said Francesca, quick to note that the last words brought a momentary gleam of anger into her lover's eyes. " Carlo will always be true to his country, though he speaks English almost like a native. That is because I taught you,,'Carlo mio - is it not ?" ' Without love of the teacher, learning is drudgery," said Carlo, laughing. " 1, en- joyed my English lessons." " That reminds me of your old master, Signor Pialo. Oh, what will he say to us, Carlo? what will he say?" and Francesca, laughed merrily. - " My ;kind regards to Signora Donati;" said•Captain Britton, smiling. "And if Donati,", said may bo permitted to call and pay my re- spects--" " To -night," interrupted Carlo, eagerly. "Say you will come to -night, aftr dinner. My mother cannot leave the house, you know, and she will be longing to see Fran- cesca." •` Well, well, no need to stand on cere- mony even to -day ; we are such old friends, are we not ?" said the captain, good- naturedly. " After dinner, then—after dinner. Come, Fran, my dear, no need to see Carlo off the premises ; you'll meet again before long, and the soup is getting cold." Francesca was borne off to the dining- • room, and Carlo, turning, away, cleared the prickly -pears at a bound, and alighted amid a group of lemon -trees in his own garden. / (To be continued., Du Maurier, the London artist, is blind) in ono eye.