Selvaggio; a tale of Italian Country Life. By the author of 'Mary Powell' (A. M.)

Front matter

SELVAGGIO SELVAGGIO A TALE OF ITALIAN COUNTRY LIFE BY THE AUTHOR OF 'MARY POWELL.' LONDON SAMPSON LOW, SON, AND MARSTON MILTON HOUSE, LUDGATE HILL 1865. [ Tlie right of Translation is reserved.) EDINBURGH : T. CONSTABLE, 1'RTNTF.R TO THE QUEEN, AND TO THE UNIVERSITY. Selvaggio will vainly be looked for on the map. In preserving ' the unities,' traits of several places have been grouped in one, which, in spite of every pains, may occasionally have led to in consistencies. Obligations are acknowledged to the authors of Italy in Transition and Garibaldi in Caprera, and to anonymous writers of one or two magazine articles easily recognised, as also to sundry religious reports, etc., marginal references to which would impair the reader's pleasure. The recapi tulation of the Italian Campaign was abridged from the newspapers of the day.

Anne Manning. Reigate Hill, June 2, 1865. CONTENTS. CH"- •_-_•- I. BY THE SEA-WALL I II. BY THE WAYSIDE H III. THE COTTAGE *S IV. ' THE CRANE' 29 V. THE OLD COUNTRY HOUSE 43 VI. BROTHER AND SISTER 51 VII. SU L'ARIA NEL BOSCHETTO ..... 65 VIII. A MAN STABBED • • 77 IX. BONDS AND IMPRISONMENT S_ X. NON TREMOLA UNA STELL' 103 XI. THE DEPARTURE 117 XII. HOME AGAIN 1 25 XIII. SILVIO ......... I47 XIV. A STRONG-MINDED LADY 154 XV. THE YACHT IN THE OFFING . . . . 1 7 1 XVI. A LITTLE SAIL 189 205 XVII. EXILE XVIII. THE ITALIAN LEGION 211 XIX. A PLOT AND ITS PUNISHMENT .... Contents. VIII CHAP. ' PAGE XX. MONNA BRIGIDA 2jl XXI. ANNUS MIRAMI.IS 244 XXII. VOLUNTEERING 255 XXIII. MATTER OF HISTORY .... . 269 XXIV. SICK LEAVE 2S3 XXV. ALL 'S WELL 29S SELVAGGIO.

Chapter I. By The Sea-wall

' Is all the friendship that we two have shared, When we have chid the hasty-footed time For parting us — oh, and is all forgot ?' ' _|n^1P__.0' Silv'0. this is no question of time. ~\^u Nr " Time will make no difference; I can MS.Jg&J'-* give you no hope.' These words were spoken in a broken voice, by a beautiful young Italian girl, whose black eyes were full of tears as she averted them from her lover. Evening was closing in upon them as they stood leaning against the sea-wall of a little town overlooking the Mediterranean. The place was romantic enough. There were flights of steps, A Selvaggio. 2 seemingly without beginning or end, cut in the rock, and hanging between earth and sky, that might help a goat to browse, but scarcely tempt human foot to climb. It was difficult to say what was rock and what was building ; the huts were so rank with weeds springing from their roofs and walls, that they were scarcely distinguishable from the cliffs against which they were reared ; while here and there, on what seemed the face of the rock, were apertures from which dangled some gay-coloured rag, or through which peered a lazy, hairy face, that showed it to be a human dwelling.

An old castle, converted into a prison, commanded the market-place ; and a small inn faced the sea. At one of the inn windows, which had a balcony, sat two very lovely English girls, who were enjoying the freshness of the evening after a hot autumnal day. Their footman, a fresh-coloured, good-looking young man in drab coat and black velveteens, was in front of the inn, sweeping the horizon with his telescope. White lateen sails were seen skimming the sea in the offing. The mouth of the bay was guarded by a small war vessel. The air was fragrant with the perfume of the lemon and orange trees which grew out of Selvaggio. 3 every cleft and hollow about the town. Girls were returning from the well with their pitchers ; the townspeople stood chatting at their doors ; a priest sat gossiping with the chemist.

All at once a woman struck up the evening hymn to the Virgin ; one voice after another took it up ; those who did not sing uncovered their heads. Silvio took off his hat. ' Have you forgotten how to sing, Rosina ?' said he reproachfully. ' No,' said Rosina, ' but I cannot sing that hymn.' ' And yet I have often sung it with you !' These two young persons had been brought up in close companionship, for their parents' cottages were only separated by a few fields, and they had no nearer neighbours. They were poor, and ten anted small farms, the rent of which was paid in produce. Except on Sundays and saints' days they were never idle. But there are many saints' days in the Romish calendar, and the Sabbath is kept like a festival. Hence Silvio could beguile his spade-husbandry by looking forward to stated times when he might expect to meet Rosina, each of them dressed in their best, and claim her as his willing partner.

Satisfied with the present, he Selvaggio. 4 troubled himself very little with the future ; and when he did, it was always to fancy himself and Rosina, ' some of these days,' as man and wife. But, on the death of old Brunetti, Rosina's father, her mother had moved into the town, and supported herself by washing, chiefly for the Eng lish travellers who put up at the inn. She lodged with a fisherman-brother, who occupied one of the rude huts facing the sea, already described. Rosina was accustomed to carry the visitors' linen to and fro, and thus she fell under the notice of the young English ladies, who were travelling with their father, Mr. Huntley, along the Riviera. Miss Edith Huntley was in want of an Italian maid ; and, pleased with the modesty, and even refinement of Rosina's appearance and manner, she offered to engage her at what appeared, to an Italian, enormous wages.

The offer was too good to be refused ; it would enable Rosina to place her mother in comfortable circumstances ; and though she strongly felt parting with her, yet she had a young girl's love of change, and a great fancy for the sweet young ladies, fair as lilies, whom it would be her privilege to wait upon. As for Silvio, thoughts of him never made the balance Selvaggio. 5 tremble for a moment. She liked him very well very much ; that was all. So she accompanied the Huntley family on their tour, and on their return to England, to the blank dismay of poor Silvio, who had thought it hard enough to lose sight of her when she went to live in the town, though he could still see her on Sundays and holidays. So quickly did the whole arrangement take place, that he did not even know she was going till she was gone ; and then his air-built castles fell prone like a child's house built of cards !

And now, after two years, the Miss Huntleys were revisiting Italy, and Rosina accompanied them, — a Protestant ! She had learnt to read the Bible in her own language, and had heard it familiarly explained ; she no longer sang hymns to the Virgin, or prayed to saints, or crossed herself, or told her beads, or dipped her finger in holy water. Her old mother thought it ' very sad, very sad ;' and said, ' My child, you must take care the priests don't know of it, or they will get you into trouble ; it reconciles me to the necessity of so soon losing you again.' But Silvio, when he heard of it, could not take Selvaggio. it thus quietly. Coming into the town one after noon, in his smart holiday dress, with his brown coat slung over his shoulder — and actually a laced pocket-handkerchief in his pocket ! — he looked in on his old neighbour the widow, for the chance of some news of Rosina, and, to his surprise and inexpressible joy, found with her Rosina herself!

How charming she looked ! in that neat, pretty dress, almost the dress of a lady, yet not a bit fine — the perfection of good taste ; with her silky black hair so nicely braided, and those kindly eyes, which had always ' seemed to love whate'er they looked upon,' now kinder than ever ! Silvio felt but a clown beside her ; in truth, though he was a good-looking lad, he was but awkward, and barely of what we should call middle height ; but Rosina welcomed him with such ease and sweetness, that he soon forgot all about himself, in the absorbing pleasure of admiring her. Then, too, she had so much to say, and plenty of time to say it, for she was spending the day with her mother. And after she had hoped he was well, and inquired after his father and his grandmother, and his sister, and his brothers, she began to talk about England, and the wonderful things she had seen, and the goodness of her young Selvaggio. 7 ladies.

Silvio felt more in love with her every moment, and soon was carrying on two separate chains of thought — partly attending to what she was saying, and at the same time telling himself, ' Now or never must be the moment, if she is to go away engaged ;' never thinking, silly fellow, what a poor look-out for her it would be, seeing that he had nothing to marry upon. Thus, in stead of thoroughly enjoying the present, he was planning an impossible future. By and bye, the old lady beginning to fry fish, Silvio persuaded Rosina to step out with him to the sea-wall, on the insincere pretence of looking out for her uncle's boat in the offing. When there, he would have been stupid indeed if he had been unable to avail himself of the opening. He told her — with much pathos, poor lad — how he had missed her ; how dull his life became from the time she moved into* the town, when he could not so much as see her opening and spreading out the figs to dry in the sun, or bringing water from the spring.

He told her how thunderstruck he had been to find she was gone — gone without one kind word for him, for him who, she knew, had loved her all his life. He had cried all night ; it had cut him to the heart ; for he had Selvaggio. been so mad, so idiotic, as to suppose she cared for him. She said she did care for him — more than he knew — more, perhaps, than any one, except her mother and the young ladies. Silvio cried, ' Oh, no excepts ! ' and would have passionately seized her hand ; but Rosina said, ' Stop, Silvio, hear me ! ' with more resolution than embarrassment ; and went on to tell him how her mind had expanded and altered since she went to England, how she had adopted a purer faith, and was determined never to marry any one but a Protestant. Silvio was petrified. The -wickedness of her apostasy quite appalled him, for he was a simple, unquestioning son of the Church, though he had no great opinion of the priests.

After several incoherent exclamations, and attempted interrup tions, he began to remonstrate and reason with her, but here he soon found himself aground, for he was no match for her. He had not studied the subject, — she had ; and she not only was the best arguer, but had the best arguments on her side. Then he grew passionate and jealous, and ex claimed — ' It's all that fellow in the white cotton stock- Selvaggio. oo 9 ings, with his shining, rosy face ! I'll put a knife into him.' 'Hush, hush! you would not do anything so shocking,' said Rosina. ' All owing to George Morgan ! The idea is too absurd, except to laugh at.' ' Oh, very well, madam ; laugh, and welcome,' said Silvio, boiling hot with rage. ' Laugh with him, and at me — O Rosina!' — And clapping his hand to his forehead, he was rushing away, when she laid her gentle hand on his arm. ' Silvio, how will you mistake me so ?' said she, sweetly. ' I don't care a straw for George Mor gan, in the way you mean, though he is a very obliging fellow-servant.

There is only one differ ence between you and me ; and that is — ' ' One that I cannot overcome,' said he, in the greatest trouble. ' Where's the good of my offering to become a heretic for your sake, only to ruin us both ? Earth is earth, but heaven is heaven, and I can't give up that, Rosina, even for you !' ' No, dear Silvio,' said she, very feelingly, ' I want for us both to be there ; and if you should ever come round to my way of thinking, you will not find that your affection has been despised or unreturned.' Selvaggio. 10 ' I never shall ; I never can. You are breaking my heart, Rosina, but I cannot tell you what is in it. My love is poor in words ; no matter. Victor Emanuel wants soldiers, and I'll be one of them. You've made my life valueless to me, but it may be of some service to my country.

God in heaven bless you, Rosina, and bring you to a better mind.' He snatched a hasty kiss, and flung away. ' Stop ! stop,' she cried earnestly, but he was gone.

Chapter II. By The Wayside

HEN we are acting under the dictates of conscience, we are greatly upborne in the conflict with natural feeling ; and Silvio, rejecting the offer of Rosina's love at the price of his principles, was acting like a noblespirited young man. There was, indeed, no reason why he should therefore go and enlist, but his family were already pinched to maintain themselves, and the fewer mouths the better cheer ; his mother was dead, his father took things coolly, he himself was hasty, and could not immediately settle down to what now seemed his dull daily round, there was no one he should grieve much to leave but his sister Assunta, and he was sure she would not let him enlist if she knew of it before hand ; so he resolved to take the fatal step first, and write to her afterwards. Selvaggio. 12 Reaching home a little before bedtime, he feigned fatigue, and went early to bed, but woke before dawn, tied up a few things in a handkerchief, and softly left the house.

He felt very guilty, and even cowardly, till he was a mile or two on his way, but he then trudged resolutely on, resolved to forget Rosina, embrace his new pro fession with ardour, and make Assunta proud of her soldier-brother. It was yet early morning, and he was pursuing his course along the solitary road, when he saw a man a little in advance of him, sitting by the way side reading. As he approached, the man looked up at him with a pair of frank, well-opened, black eyes, and said, ' How far is it to Selvaggio ?' ' Scarcely two miles,' replied Silvio. ' Are you going there ?' ' Towards it, but not to it,' replied the man, rising and shouldering his bag. ' My wares are likely to sell better in country than town.' ' You are a pedler, then ?' ' A book-hawker, more properly.' ' Ah, ah ! one of those good friends who provide us with lives of the saints, and lives of banditti.' 'O no!' said the man, smiling, 'I sell the Word of Life.' Selvaggio. 13 Silvio looked puzzled for a moment, and then said distrustfully, ' Do you mean La Santa Bibbia?' ' Just so.

Will you buy a copy ?' • By no means,' said Silvio, walking briskly for ward ; but the hawker followed him. ' I suppose you know you are liable to punish ment for this,' said Silvio, rather roughly. For walking along the high-road ?' No ; for selling prohibited books.' ' How do you know they are prohibited,' said his companion, smiling, ' when you have not looked at them ?' ' You told me what they were. ' I told you I sold the Word of Life, and you said it must be the Bible ; therefore you admitted that the Bible was the Word of Life.' Silvio was silent. ' Ah, my friend, you were right, quite right,' pursued the hawker. ' This book is the Word of God. In order to be saved, we must know and believe its contents ; and those who have experienced the happiness its contents impart, feel irresistibly impelled to make it known to others ! else why should you find me here, encountering fatigue and danger in order to circulate it ?' Selvaggio. 14 ' You might have many other motives,' answered Silvio doggedly. ' Good pay, for one.' ' Just enough for my daily wants ; no more.' ' Well, if you don't take care what you are about, you will be provided for by Government, at the expense of your personal liberty.' ' Well, what was right in St. Paul's case cannot be very wrong in mine,' he said. ' I know that bonds and imprisonment await me ; nevertheless, none of these things move me.' ' You liken yourself to St. Paul, then ?' ' At all events, what was not too hard for St. Paul to bear should not be too hard for me.' ' You expect to be a sort of martyr, I suppose ?' ' God only knows.

He knows His own ; and if it please Him to test me, I hope I shall not be found wanting.' He looked upwards as he spoke. Silvio was struck by his unaffected fervour. ' You are very earnest,' said he, stopping short. ' I am; I am!' said the hawker. Have you always been so ?' Oh no ! I wish I had been.' Where do you come from ? ' From Nice. My father possessed a good Selvaggio. 15 house there, part of which he let to visitors. An English family — ' ' Ah ! those English !' said Silvio, with disgust. The hawker, without noticing him, went on : ' An English family came to us year after year. You know the English are very zealous. They converted us all — all our little family. The Eng lish visitors got up an evangelizing society, and employed colporteurs to go about the country distributing the Word of God.' ' What is your name ?' ' Dominick Laval.' ' Well, Dominick, you had better not have attempted to penetrate into Italy.

You'll come to grief. Addio, I wish you a better trade.' ' Can you tell me of one ?' ' I'm going to try soldiering.' ' I am a soldier of Jesus Christ,' said Domi nick ; ' and He offers me the whole armour of God. Take one of my books ; it will tell you what that armour is.' But Silvio shook his head, and hurried away from him, thinking to himself how strange it was that this book, which had effected such a change in Rosina, should thus have been thrust upon him at the very outset of his flight from her. He had Selvaggio. no friendly feelings towards it ; his heart was full of bitterness and of yearnings for the home he had so recently forsaken. However, he would not turn back nor pause on his journey, except for refreshment, till he had reached the nearest recruiting station. Once enlisted, he was rather dismayed at the step he had taken ; however, he determined to be as good a soldier as he could ; and in the course of a few days he wrote to tell his sister, who was plunged into grief by it.

Rosina, too, had her troubles, for she had always liked Silvio, and it cost her pain to repel his advances ; but she was quite as much sus tained by the belief of being in the right as he could be ; and she was accustomed to carry all her troubles to her merciful Father. Though she took pains, however, to smother her regrets, her kind young ladies perceived something was amiss with her ; and as she brushed Miss Edith's long fair hair, she was won by her to tell that her old playmate Silvio had sought her love, but that she had told him she could not engage herself to one of a different faith, nor give up that which was now her own. Poor Rosina's bright tears fell on her mistress's bright locks as she said this ; but Selvaggio. 17 she met with such kindly sympathy and such strengthening approval that she regained her com posure ; and in a few days they proceeded on their tour, without knowing the desperate step taken by Silvio. r.

Chapter III. The Cottage

EAN WHILE Dominick, after Silvio so hastily broke from him, had pursued his way along the high-road in the opposite direction, till, observing a path that branched off on his left, he turned into it. After walking for some time, he perceived an isolated building among some fields, and struck across to it, amid crops of grain, alternating with strips of lupines, vetches, peas, and beans, and intersected by rows of vines. It was a tiled building, two storeys in height, and bore outwardly the appearance of solidity and comfort ; but nothing could look much more dreary than the interior. The light, which was admitted by the barred but unglazed windows of a good-sized kitchen, revealed walls and rafters black with smoke. A rude bench and table, a few stools and kitchen utensils, composed the chief furniture.

Coats, straw-hats, spades, jugs, bird cages, pictures of saints, hung on the walls. In one corner stood a loom, in which the home-spun flax was woven for the linen of the family. Such was the home from which Silvio had stolen that morning, and to which he must have brought Rosina, had he prevailed on her to marry him. But he saw nothing amiss in it, for it had sheltered him from his birth. A blind grandmother, turning her sightless eyes to the sun, sat twirling a spindle, while a young girl, beautiful as hope, sat on the ground shell ing beans. Her feet were bare, her brown but beautifully formed neck and arms were but par tially covered by her full, snow-white, coarse linen chemise, over which was laced a short-waisted black bodice. A long dark woollen petticoat and gay apron completed her dress ; but though her feet were bare, she wore several rows of coral round her neck, large coral ear-rings, and a silver spadella in her rich black hair.

There was an almost infantine sweetness in her mouth and eyes, as, without looking towards Dominick, she shook her head, and said, smiling — Selvaggio. 20 ' It is of no use for you to come to-day, father ; we have not a centesimo in the house.' ' I am no father,' said Dominick, pausing at the threshold. ' Pray pardon me,' said the girl, looking up ; ' I thought you were Father Tommaso, who comes round every week to collect money for the blessed Madonna, or rather for the fireworks in honour of her festa. He is twice as large as you are, so I paid you a poor compliment. But since you are not he, pray who are you ? ' 'I sell good books,' said Dominick; 'will you buy one ?' ' Why, how can I ?' said Assunta. ' Have I not just told you I have not a centesimo in the house? But yet, you are a tempter ; I can read a little, and my grandmother loves to hear me.

Shall you be coming this way again ? I have nearly finished weaving a piece of cloth, for which I shall get paid to-morrow.' ' O yes,' said Dominick, who was charmed with her, ' I can easily call again ; and if you like it, I will leave one of my books with you on trust.' ' Do so, sir,' cried the old woman. ' Though we are poor, we are honest ; but be sure you give Assunta nothing but what is good, for I would not have her read a bad book for the world.' ' O no, good mother, — nor would I, I assure you. This blessed book contains the history of the world from the beginning of time, and all the particulars of the life, death, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ.' ' Certainly, then, it must be a good book,' said the blind grandmother ; ' and your voice sounds that of an honest man.' ' I am constrained to tell you the truth,' said Dominick, ' for I bear His Word who cannot lie.

He wills that it should be carried as a witness where it has never been found before, and as a light to all who are willing to be enlightened. You see I am a friend who loves your souls, or I should not bring you these good tidings. Receive them, then, with gladness. I could bring you nothing on earth so precious as this Word. It is a letter of pardon from the Lord, who is ready to bestow eternal life on you. Accept it, then, and find in it the remedy of sorrow and of sin.' ' Ah, our sins are many, and have doubtless drawn down on us the Lord's anger,' said the old woman, sighing. ' Our silkworms have all died ; for three years we have had no grapes ; and now the olive fails.' Selvaggio. 22 ' Let me read you a passage to the purpose,' said Dominick, and sitting down on a stool, he quickly turned to the third chapter of Habakkuk, and read : ' "Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines ; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat ; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls : yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation."

These words, you see, are exactly expressive of what your own feelings ought to be in your pre sent trial of faith, although they were written hun dreds and hundreds of years ago. And this is the special beauty of God's Word, that whatever be your particular grief or sin, you will find in this book something directly applicable to it. Holy Scripture is not of any private interpretation, for the word of prophecy came not of old time by the will of man ; but holy men of God spoke as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.' ' The book must needs be a good book,' said the blind woman. ' Pray leave it with Assunta, and call for the money to-morrow evening. She will then have been paid for her work.' After a little further parley, Dominick left them. Assunta remained standing at the open door, Selz>aggio. 23 dipping into the book, and immersed in its con tents, when a dark shadow fell across the page, and a wheezy voice cried — 'Ave Maria purissima !' ' Concepita sensa peccato,' answered the girl, with a start, as a begging friar of exceeding dirty and repulsive appearance stood before her. ' I come for your pious contributions, beloved,' said he in a snuffling voice. ' Ah, but father, we have nothing to contribute !' said Assunta briskly. ' What can we poor people do ?

It is not our fault that we cannot grind stones into money. I'm sure we toil day by day, and all day long, and yet my father says he has too many mouths to feed.' ' Words, words, daughter,' said Father Tom maso. ' Spare your breath to cool your minestra.' ' Minestra, indeed ! When do we get it ?' ' Your polenta, then.' ' When do we get that ?' ' Your slice of pumpkin or melon.' ' That requires no cooling, father ! ' You are a smart girl, a pretty, and a witty. People are seldom more apt to show their smart ness than in defence of their stinginess. If you have no money, you have things I can turn to Selvaggio. 24 money. I see no lack of plenty here. Your orange and apple trees are loaded with fruit ; your figs are spread out to dry ; your pumpkins are basking in the sun — ' 'And how many of them are ours ?

If the hen does but hatch a brood, in comes the proprietario, or in comes the inteudcute, and carries off his share. What have we poor people to live upon ?' ' You don't live on coral necklaces and ear rings at any rate. O daughter, daughter ! where there's a will there's a way. The good woman doth not say, " Will you have this ?" but gives it you.' 'And there's another proverb,' interposed the blind woman stoutly : " A beggar's wallet is a mile to the bottom." And again, " The worst pig often gets the best pear.'" ' Then you will get it,' said Father Tommaso, laughing, ' and that is what I complain of. What do you think will become of your souls ? Chil dren, children, care not too much for the things of this life. What book is that you have in your hand, young woman ? You can find money for story-books, though you have none for our blessed Lady's festa.' ' Indeed, father, this is no story-book.