Giannetto

Chapter I

It was one very lovely evening in the early autumn that I first became acquainted -with the little village of San Jacopo. I was staying at Nice with my two daughters, the youngest of whom had been ordered abroad for her health • and occasionally, when wearied by the monotonous routine of our life, I used to amuse myself by making excursions of some days' length in the neighbourhood. These journeys often brought me upon beau tiful and secluded villages, unknown to the or- A GIANNETTO. dinary traveller, and passed by as merely far off features of the surrounding landscape ; but seldom have I beheld a more picturesque scene than that presented to me by my first sight of San Jacopo. The village lies in a bay, huge rocks closing it in on every side except on the south, where the sea ripples to its feet, intensely, wondrously blue, as only the Mediterranean can be.

The sole access to it is by steep paths, cut in zigzag lines down the cliffs, in some places so steep that they become rugged steps, only to be trod den by man and the sure-footed mule. The main road of the Eiviera runs some miles in land, and the fisher population live on from year to year undisturbed by visitors. The sun had just gone down, and the after glow of the warm south tinged every object with its golden light. The sea lay calm and still as a lake, scarcely ruffling itself into little glistening wreaths of foam, as it played with the base of the rocks. Myrtle and arbutus, and GIANNETTO. 3 masses of emerald vegetation, grew down to the very water's edge. It was growing late, but I could not resist the temptation of going down into the village ; and I was well rewarded. Through quaint, narrow streets, overhung by the wide project ing roofs of the houses, I walked till a sudden turn brought me into the piazza of the village.

It was large for so small a place. On one side the little church, with its tall slender belfry, and in the midst a large fountain — the clear water dripping over the side out of the broken lips of four quaint old lions. Two or three steps led up to this fountain, and on and about these a group of peasants were assembled ; some sat, some leant over the edge ; all were talking and gesticulating, and a look of gaiety animated the whole scene. It was, I remembered, afesta. In one corner of the piazza sat an old woman selling medallions, images, rosaries, &c. ; and now and then her shrill voice echoed through GIANNETTO. the crowd, " Buy, buy, Signori ; for the love of heaven ! " Suddenly a side-door of the church, probably that of the sacristy, opened, and a loud, deep voice called out, " Ola, Carola, come here !

" A tidy-looking woman left her doorway and hurried across to the church — she appeared to say something which I could not hear ; then the former voice exclaimed, -'Certainly, certainly." The door was thrown open, and the village priest came forth and advanced towards me. The Curato of San Jacopo was a tall angular man, with a mild and kindly expression of face. In any other than an Italian the large limbs and gaunt frame would have been awk ward ; but there was a certain grace in his movements, and even in the way in which the scanty and rather rusty cassock hung closely around him. The courtesy with which he removed the three-cornered hat from his tonsured head, and bowed low, would have rivalled the GIANNETTO. 5 courtly welcome of the highest-born gentle man. "Welcome, welcome, Signore !" he said, ex tending a long sinewy hand, with supple fingers ; " without doubt you have heard of our picture, and would like to see it ?

Alas ! it is becoming dark, and the morning light is best. But what matter ? one cannot always choose !" and beckoning me to follow, he led the way towards the principal door of the church. The peasants stood aside as we passed, looking after me with smiling, good-humoured faces. One among them especially attracted my atten tion — a tall youth, standing on the steps of the fountain, and leaning over the side. He was dressed in a fashion rather superior to that of his companions, and looked somewhat above them in intelligence, if not in rank. Though all those who stood round him were chattering and laughing gaily, he neither moved nor spoke, but stood motionless as a statue, with his eyes fixed on the water. GIANNETTO. " Would you tell me, Signore," I asked, " is that tall young fellow one of the village fisher men, like the others ?

" " Who 1 where ? Ah ! it is Nencini you speak of. Yes, he is a fisherman • poor lad, he is sadly afflicted — dumb from his birth ! Yon der is his mother, Carola — excellent woman ! she is my housekeeper, and I have been able to give him something of an education ; but he is a fisherman, without doubt. AVe are all fishermen here." "Dumb from his birth" — poor fellow ! I looked back at him as we entered the church, the priest courteously holding back the heavy leathern curtain to let me pass. I was struck by the expression of the lad's face — it could not be called bad ; but there was a, dark look of bitterness on it which sadly marred its beauty. I need hardly say that I had never before heard of the picture I was supposed to have come to see ; but I did not betray my ignorance, for it would have deeply mortified the excellent priest.

GIANNETTO. The church was very small, but elaborately decorated. The side-altar of its patron saint, San Jacopo, was, above all, honoured — the altar, apse, and wall being quite covered with votive offerings, — little pictures of wrecks and storms, of miraculous draughts of fish, of broken boats, &c, with silver hearts of every size and weight, and, in front, a whole row of lamps burning, each in its little red glass. Over the altar hung the famous picture, covered by a faded green curtain. After light ing two of the tall candles before it, the good priest drew aside the curtain, and allowed me to behold the treasure of San Jacopo. It was a curious, very old specimen of Byzan tine art — the Madonna and Child, almost black with age, and made more so by the huge flat crowns of beaten silver on the brows of the sacred figures.

Something there was about it dignified and grand, as there often is even in the inferior specimens of that school. The Curato was just beginning his explana tions when a sound from without arrested his GIANNETTO. attention ; shouts of laughter, and a curious sort of noise hke the inarticulate roar of some enraged animal — then a shrill woman's voice, talking loudly. " Allow me, allow me, Signore ! a little moment," he exclaimed, hurriedly quitting the church. Presently I heard his voice loudly remonstrating, and the sounds ceased. For some time he did not return, and I sat down on a bench in front of the sacred picture. After about ten minutes I got tired of waiting, and went to the door, intending to go out • when, rather to my consternation, I found that it was locked. I could not help smiling, for it was very evident that the priest was so afraid of my escaping without hearing his story, that he had locked me in.

There was nothing for it but patience, and I philosophi cally resigned myself to my fate. The after - glow faded away ; the short southern twilight was over, and the little church grew darker and darker. GIANNETTO. 9 After an absence of about three-quarters of an hour, the priest returned through the sacristy, followed by Gian-Battista Nencini, the dumb lad. Gian-Battista — or Giannetto, as he was usually called — seated himself in a corner of the church, sullenly twisting his broad brimmed hat between his knees ; while, as if unconscious that a moment had elapsed since he left me, the good priest continued his dis course just where he had left off. " Behold, Signore, what grace ! what bene volence ! how natural the attitude ! The picture has not always been here. Heaven knows that San Jacopo might have been a great and flourishing town by this time had it always been with us.

No, no ! in the four teenth century it was carried off by a certain Ceccolo degli Orsini, one of the Roman princes, they say, a great condottiere by sea and land. He carried it as a banner for years ; but, by the intervention of the saints, it was preserved GIANNETTO. from spears and swords, and it won for him the battle of Turrita, in the Valdichiana, when he was in the service of the republic of Siena. Some eighty years ago it was sold in Rome (by whom, it is not known), but it was bought for a French convent, and sent off by sea from Civita. Vecchia. By the miraculous ordinance of heaven the ship went down, and the picture was washed ashore. It was found on the beach by the fishermen, and brought back once more into the church. Alas ! some of the drapery was damaged, but it has been well re stored by a young artist who passed through the town ; and behold, the principal parts, the two faces, are intact.

Since it has been here, many are the good deeds it has done. Look at this picture " — pointing to one of the votive offerings — " see the raging sea, the sinking boat, the man swimming for his life ! That man was Pietro Nencini, father of Giannetto yonder. At the moment he was sinking he called on the Santa Madonna of San Jacopo, and just as he GIANNETTO. 11 called, he felt dry land ! He lived to die in his bed, and leave his widow to be my house keeper. Ah, it was a wonderful preservation ! Many a time has poor Carola entreated the in tervention of Madonna and San Jacopo to re store speech to her son ; but — what will you ? — 'tis the will of Heaven." The priest paused, to take breath, and I asked him what had been the cause of his leaving me so abruptly. He bent clown, and spoke low, that Giannetto should not hear.

" It was those lads," he said. " In their idle hours they are always laughing and mocking Giannetto ; and when I am not there, they drive him half mad. Heaven help me ! at such times he is a wild beast, and even I can scarcely calm him. Cruel ! cruel ! Why can not they leave the poor boy alone % " The priest turned angrily round, looking at Giannetto. He continued, with a sigh, " Some times I have thought that some doctor might cure him. I have heard that such things are GIANNETTO. not impossible ; but I have not the means of paying one, and his mother still less." Poor Giannetto sat still in the dark corner of the church, leaning back against the wall. The sullenness had faded out of his face now, leaving on it a look of depression which went to my heart. I felt the most profound pity for one so young, writhing under so grievous a burden, evidently chafing and rebelling against it, unable to resign himself, and growing more and more embittered by his isolation.

But for that look of bitterness he would have been very handsome. Slightly made and tall, his figure was muscular and active ; and I learnt afterwards that he was one of the most skilful and successful fishermen on the coast. The priest remained silent for a moment or so, and then, with a short sigh, he turned away, and began replacing the curtain over the sacred picture, saying as he did so, " Vossig noria should visit us on our great day, the feast of San Jacopo. Ah ! then he would see great GIANNETTO. things ; for the pilgrims come from far and wide, and the flowers and garlands are many. Behold, that large silver heart was given by a lady from near Mentone — a great and rich lady. Her husband had been at sea, and she awaited his return ; but for three weeks after his vessel was due at Marseilles it did not arrive, and Signora Francesca vowed a silver heart to every church dedicated to San Jacopo (his patron saint) within fifty miles, if he should return safely.

At the end of forty days the ship came in, but the husband had lost one leg, so she naturally reduced the number of miles to twenty, and our church was happily within the distance." The priest would have run on for ever in this strain ; but the gathering clouds warned me that I must not linger if I hoped to regain the little town where I had slept the previous night before total darkness. I took out what money I had with me, and offered it to the priest for his poor. He took GIANNETTO. it in his hand, jingling it for a moment, and then, in a half-hesitating way, he said, "A thousand pardons, Signore ; but if Vossignoria did not object, I have a little fund in hand which I am trying to raise to send Giannetto to a great doctor at Nice; and, we have not any really in need at this moment. San Jacopo be praised ! the fish came asking to be caught this year.

So if you do not object, might I?" I was about to give a ready assent, when a sudden idea struck me, and I said, " Why should not Giannetto return with me to Nice, see the doctor, and hear whether anything can be done for him \ " The priest caught at the offer with great eagerness, and I could see how much his good heart was set on the poor lad's cure. While I was speaking, I had forgotten that we had moved towards the door of the church, close to the corner in which Giannetto sat, when suddenly I felt my hands seized and kissed with all the fervour of Italian gratitude; GIANNETTO. 15 and looking round, I saw a pair of large dark eyes fixed upon me, changed in expression, mute and imploring, shining with the light of a new hope, so intense and eager that they haunted me long after. Alas ! at that moment it flashed across me what a cruel disap pointment I might be preparing for these poor, simple folk.

Could dumbness such as this be cured ? I felt a stronoconviction that it could not ; and I was almost angry with myself for having suggested the idea. " But remember," I said, "do not hope too much. The most learned and cleverest of doctors can do no £ood if it be not the will of God." The priest answered me very gravely, " True, true, Signore. And if this fail, Giannetto will know that it is God's will, and we will pray for patience for him." Before an hour was over, Giannetto had taken leave of his mother, we had mounted the hill, and were on our road towards Nice — a large lamp-like moon turning the gentle sea into a sheet of silver.

Chapter II

Nothing could be more attentive than Gian netto's manners to me during our three days' walk back to Nice. He seemed to think con stantly of my comfort, sheltering me from the sun, insisting upon carrying my knapsack, and evidently most anxious to show that he was devoted to my service. We carried on a sort of conversation, he answering my questions either by signs or by writing on a slate ; for, unlike most of his equals, he could both read and write well. I learnt in this way something of his former history. Pietro, his father, died when he was a child but two years old, leaving him and his mother Carola dependent on the charity of the village. GIANNETTO. 17 The good priest made her his housekeeper, paying her a very moderate sum weekly for services which hitherto had been done for him voluntarily by the village women.

Perhaps his little allowance of meat was curtailed in consequence, and it certainly was all that Carola could do to make the threadbare cas sock hold out as long as possible while this weekly payment lasted ; but, when Giannetto was still a very young boy, he began to earn something for himself, and at the age of six teen he bought a share in a fishing-boat, and was able henceforth to support his mother by his own exertions. Giannetto's partner in the ownership of the boat was a certain Pietro Zei, a man about ten years older than himself, and of him he spoke (or, I should rather say, wrote) with a hatred that almost amounted to ferocity. Pietro was a clever fisherman, and was looked upon by his younger companions as a leader and wit among them. Unfortu- B GIANNETTO. nately all his tastes were those of a tyrant ; he would laugh and torment Giannetto unceasingly, imitating the inarticulate sounds the poor fellow made, jeering and taunting him, till he worked him -up into fury.

The village lads were only too ready to follow his lead, and the consequence was, that Giannetto's temper, never very gentle, became more gloomy and morose every day, too often varied by fits of unbridled passion. In vain for many years had the priest striven to repress this spirit of cruel raillery ; although controlled in his presence, it broke out universally when he was not near. It is fair to say that I believe that Pietro and his fellowtormentors little realised the pain they inflicted. They were cruel, partly from thought lessness, and a good deal from utter inability to understand the acute sensitiveness of the dumb boy, who, proud and disposed to be vin dictive by nature, suffered from the humilia tion of his infirmity to an unusual degree. GIANNETTO. 19 At the age of nineteen, three years before I first came across him, Giannetto had saved money enough to buy a boat, and release him self from his partnership with Pietro.

He succeeded well in his trade, and his mother and the Curato had great hopes that he would settle down resigned to his fate, and live, if not in content, at least in submission to the decree of heaven ; but, to their sorrow, it proved far otherwise. The good priest would often hold long conversations with him, telling him of the duty of resignation ; but the truths of religion seemed to have no effect upon him — his heart was one wild rebellion, untamed and unruly; and it was in this condition of mind that I first found him. We reached Nice before the great heat of the day set in, on a Sunday morning, but it was already hot and very dusty, and I was not sorry to consign Giannetto to the care of my Italian servant Beppo, and retire to wash, and change my clothes. My daughters, not expect- GIANNETTO. ing my return till the following day, had gone to church ; and so, tired with my early start, and rendered drowsy by the increasing heat, I lay down on Helen's luxurious sofa and fell asleep.

I was awakened by the entrance of Beppo, who came to ask for orders. I told him I had none to give ; but he still lingered, and at last said, " Does the Signor Conte know anything about the young country lad he has brought home?" Knowing that Beppo was the kindest-hearted fellow in the world, I told him briefly the history of Giannetto. I saw that he was touched. " Poor boy, poor fellow !" he kept repeating ; " and I smiled at the queer noises he makes, beast that I am ! And the Signore says that they mocked at him ? Diamine ! they deserve to have their tongues cut ! If you will excuse me, I fly to see that they have not stinted him in his macaroni. They are misers in this GIANNETTO. 21 hotel, veritable misers — and their wine of Asti no better than a vin du pays." Beppo was darting off, when I stopped him, being anxious to know what Giannetto was doing with himself down-stairs.

Beppo twisted his hands together — " It was for that I asked the Signor Conte if he knew who and what he was. He is strange ! but very strange ! First, he sits down, then he stands up, then he walks backwards and forwards thus" — and Beppo shambled about the room, till I could scarcely forbear laughing ; " then he sits again, till a new idea strikes him — he leans out of the window, he walks anew. Corpo di Bacco ! what a restless individual it is ! One or two have spoken to him. Mise" Brown, the maid of the Signorine, said something to him — -a compliment, a remark, who can tell ? — but he made such a scowl at her, that she fled to me for protection, and has not ventured into the room since." " Never mind, Beppo," I said ; * you now GIANNETTO. know that it is all the restlessness of suspense.

You see that he hopes that this may prove the turning-point of his whole life." " But must he wait 1" asked Beppo, with his usual energy. "Will not the Signor Conte write at once ? There is the Doctor Bar tolomei; to be sure he always goes into the country on Sundays. Then the Doctor Simon — he might come ! But no, he is this day at Mentone — a consultation — an English Milord is there ill ; and this morning he was sent for even out of his bed, and went off in a vetturino carriage at full gallop. But how about the English doctor who attends our young lady \ The Signor Conte has but to command. I speed to the Enghsh church ; he will be there with his wife ; I wait till he comes out ; I bring him with me. Have I your permis sion i " Patience, patience, Beppo ! the dinner ! Man of energy, you forget the dinner ! — Chi va piano " GIANNETTO. 23 " Va sano ; the Signor Conte is right — he is quite right ; the poor lad must wait."

Early in the afternoon I wrote to the Eng lish doctor who was attending my daughter, briefly stating the case, and begging him to come as soon as possible. I received an answer that I might expect him after the afternoon service, which, as the weather was hot, began at five o'clock. About half-past four, Amy and I left our villa, intending to go to church ; but as it was still too early, we lingered on our way, unwilling to arrive too soon. A curve in the road brought us in sight of Giannetto, leaning moodily against a tree, and I went up to speak to him. I could see by the expression of his face that the strain on his nerves was very great, and thought it kinder not to leave him quite to himself ; so, telling Amy that we must give up the afternoon service, I asked her if she could think of anything we could take him to hear or see that would prevent his mind from GIANNETTO. dwelling too much on the subject of his anxieties.

Amy thought for a moment, and then said, " I have heard that the famous Franciscan, Fra Geronimo, preaches at Santa Lucia this afternoon at four o'clock ; the sermon must be going on now, and it is said that the effect he produces is wonderful. Why not take him there ?" I thought that at all events we might try it ; so, desiring Giannetto to follow us, we took our way to Santa Lucia. The streets were crowded as we passed ; all the happy-looking peasants from the country round seemed to have flocked together to enjoy the Sunday afternoon ; they chattered gaily as they strolled along, interchanging merry greetings, delighting in their well-earned holiday. A little child, with his hands full of flowers, passed us with his mother, a comely peasant-woman ; the child looked wistfully over his shoulder at Giannetto ; something on his face gave him a wish to comfort him, for, suddenly darting back, he thrust the flowers into his hands.

GIANNETTO. 25 We reached Santa Lucia, and found it full of people, who had thronged from far and near to hear the celebrated Franciscan preach. The sermon was apparently half over, but I would not for worlds have missed the part of it we heard. The theme was Patience ; the text, " Wait ye upon the Lord." The face of Fra Geronimo was refined, and thin to attenuation ; the large eyes hollow and sunken, but gleaming as if the very soul looked through them upon this outer world ; his thin, nervous hands gesticulated incessantly; his voice, powerful and somewhat harsh, now re sounded through the church, now sank to a whisper so thrilling that it penetrated to the farthest corner. " For what are we sent into the world 1 " he was saying as we entered — "for what are we here ? To what end are we created % Some say, to eat and drink; some say, to make money ; some say, to love.

There are who say, for pleasure ; there are who say, for GIANNETTO. sin ! I say — to suffer. Yes, brethren ; I see you turn away your heads ! For what are we sent, but to suffer? Look at the infant wailing as he comes into the world ; mark the career of that child. Suffering begins at once ; he suffers as he grows, he suffers as he learns, he suffers as he loves ; behold, he suffers as he lives, he suffers as he dies ! What would you ? By suffering, the world was redeemed ; by suffering, heaven must be won ! And wherefore rebel ? I say to you, brethren, take suffering to your hearts ; bid it welcome. It is the greatest blessing that can be sent to you; it will wean you from this world, and raise your thoughts, your hopes, your prayers to heaven. You are men now — suffer, and you may be saints !

Look on St Catherine, St John, St Peter — what were they but men and women like ourselves 1 Did not they, too, pass through the furnace of suffering? What are they now? Who can tell of the glory of the Kingdom ? Who can GIANNETTO. 27 describe their robes of many colours, the jewels that adorn their brows ? Behold," he cried, in a voice of thunder, bringing forward the large crucifix which stood in the pulpit — " behold, and see. Is there any sorrow like unto my sorrow ? Alas ! the flesh is weak and crying and wailing abound in the land — Rachel weeping for her children, and will not be comforted, because they are not. The dying wailing because they must die ; the living weeping that they must live ; the strong man laments that his strength endureth not, the weak that he has not known strength; the lame man bemoaneth that he cannot walk, the deaf that he cannot hear, the dumb that he cannot speak" (I felt Giannetto start and shiver).

" I tell you, brethren, that for every pain endured here, a jewel is added to the crown, a joy to the heaven to come ! " The friar sank upon his knees, his face hid den in his hands. No mortal ear heard the prayer that was going up to God ; but we GIANNETTO. knew that he was interceding for the multi tude around him — " I pray, not that ye may be taken away, but that ye may endure unto the end." Slowly, and in awed silence, the crowd dispersed ; and out of the dark church, from the faint smell of flowers and incense, we passed into full sunshine again. I looked at Giannetto ; the beads of perspiration stood on his brow ; his hands were clenched with a force that must have given actual pain. I longed for the power of reading what was passing in his mind. Was it still rebellion that vexed his spirit, or had even a faint idea of the preacher's high and lofty meaning pene trated into the bitter, saddened heart ?

Amy was struggling with her tears. Calm and lovely it all looked in the throb bing light, silent but for the quiet, even plash of the sea ; the air was heavy Avith odours from the gardens of violets and roses, and the warm scent of the sweet-bay rose up as we GIANNETTO. 29 trod the branches which had been allowed to grow too luxuriantly, almost across the path. Under the verandah, overhung with cool, shadowy vine-leaves, Helen's couch had been drawn out ; and there she lay, basking in the warmth, and looking better and stronger this evening than I had seen her for many a long day. The doctor had just arrived, and, with a strange feeling of anxiety and excitement, I called Giannetto, and led the w*ay indoors. The interview was not long. As I had feared, he held out no hopes whatever. Dumb from his birth ! who had ever heard of such being cured ?