At "Now, alas!" she continued, "we find that Giovanni never enters the door of a church; he has never once confessed since his marriage, never says a prayer, and will not even use holy words, or sing songs addressed to divine personages. Alas! it is this that makes my poor child so unhappy. He is very kind, kindness itself to her, except on this one subject - and on this he will hear nothing; and she, poor child, has always been a good Christiana saint, I may say, in all her ways. He cannot even endure the sight of her crucifix, her little images, and sacred pictures; so she grieves much. In short, where the holy faith is concerned, and there only, he is utterly unlike his better self. "The only times he would never spend himself again. It was strange, unacwith us were his Sundays and his saints' countable, was it not? I myself cannot days. On such days, when friends and understand it for I never saw a malady neighbours meet, going and coming from at all resembling it; and, as a rule, his the churches, he would never consent to health is excellent-he knows not what be with our family party. At first, when it is to be ill. I asked him, he would not say where he went, but latterly he walked into the country to see some old friend of his mother's, who was a Milanese; so I remained satisfied. The signore knows, I presume, that he obtained an engagement of much distinction, and left us for Russia. By that time we had become so fond of him that it was a sorrow, a grief, to part from him; and it was to us like the return of a dear son when he came home and asked the cavaliere for Elvira. "Elvira was not without suitors-several times I could have established her well in life; but the poor child had a veritable little passion for Giovanni- and the Signor Conte can understand the feelings of a father. What could he do? He consented. The day for the wedding "When the child was born, she had was fixed; but instead of looking happy, hoped to dedicate it to the blessed Mother, the bridegroom grew gloomier every day, and call it Maria; but he would not have and Elvira did nothing but cry. We it so named, and had it baptized Felicità could not imagine what was amiss. a name of good omen, he said. There last I compelled Elvira to tell me Gio- is a small saint of the name, a santa vanni wished for a civil marriage without |stravagante, without a fixed day in the the blessing of the church. Of course calendar, which made us give our conElvira would not agree; and the cava-sent. But, signore," she continued, liere was very angry, and wished at the eleventh hour to stop it all. They are all alike, these men, with their impatience! I told Elvira that I took it on myself. I sent for Giovanni. I asked him if he could give a clear and sufficient reason for his wish; and he had nothing to say except that he disliked the ceremony, and other such frivolous pretexts, worthy of no consideration. I told him so. I asked him to talk it over with some priest; but that he refused to do: and after a few more expostulations, he gave way. Signor Conte, there is something, I know not what, of mysterious about him. When the moment came that the wedding-procession should enter the church, he became pale as a corpse, the perspiration stood on his brow, he seemed as if in a mortal agony, and so it continued during the ceremony; and when he had to speak, it seemed to us all that his voice was gonehe mumbled his answers as if he knew not what he said; and at last, when all was over, he had to be supported out of the church more like a dead than a living man. Ah! we were much frightened; but the outer air seemed to revive him, and he became rising, "I have trespassed long upon your time. I had hoped," she added, sadly, "that you would have been able to help us -to tell us something that would account for this strange evil in Giovanni; but I see that you can tell me no more than we know ourselves. A thousand thanks for the kind interest you have shown in what I have ventured to tell you; and I must beg many pardons for having thus taken up your time." While this conversation was going on, Helen had been growing much interested in her companion, whom she found more intelligent than she expected. Elvira told her a good deal about their life in Russia, and Russian ways and customs. She spoke of her husband's success with much pride, and detailed many of the compliments and favours showered on him at St. Petersburg. Helen was amused, and thought the time had passed only too quickly when Signora Mattei returned; and they took their leave with the usual compliments. To myself, the time had not seemed so short. The whole conversation had been painful to me, from the consciousness of having something to conceal. I told Helen what had passed. She grieved for The glare of the day was quite over, the poor little wife. "I am sure she feels for the heat was very great when we it dreadfully," she said. "She looks to started, and the ascent was slow in conme as if she had cried till she could cry sequence. Up we toiled along the broad no more—and no wonder ! But it seems white road on its zigzag course, meeting to me curious that she should not have few people by the way -now passing a thought of all this before she married group of peasants with their large whitehim." "I thought so at first," I an-haired dog or sprightly spitz, now being swered; "but consider, these Italian passed by a carriage making a spurt up women know little or nothing of the men the hill, containing two or three Russian they are destined to marry, and are never ladies and gentlemen, on their way probby any chance allowed to hold conversa-ably to dine at Villa Mozzi; then, as we tion with them alone; so that I do not rose higher, the Fiesole women crowded think it so wonderful. Besides, in this round us, begging us to buy their strawcase the only thing she had had to startle plait work, long rolls of it beautifully her was his wish to have a civil marriage twisted and queer straw cocks and only; and that point, we know, he hens with long tails. Helen was very yielded." Helen sighed, "Poor little weak-minded, and bought right and left. thing! poor Elvira ! " CHAPTER VI. GIANNETTO and his wife called on us once more, when unfortunately we were out, leaving highly-glazed cards, after the Italian fashion, with P.P.C. in the corner. They went on to Venice, where he had accepted an engagement. We reached the old Etruscan town, with its lovely church-tower, and watched a line of seminarists in their long black cassocks pass us and descend the hill from their home, diminishing in size as the distance increased, till it appeared like the twisting of a small black serpent far below. We had brought some large heavy The Italian spring set in, and the cold packages of coffee, sugar, and snuff, as a weather passed away. Florence, as the present to the friars; and bidding Beppo year advanced, began to justify her beau-follow with these, we took our way to the tiful flowery name: tall tulips, crimson monastery. and white and yellow, countless purple We were received with a warm weland scarlet anemones, turned the olive come by the father superior, who told and vine yards into carpets of wonderful us that it was a great treat to them to rebrilliancy; the scent of orange and lem-ceive visitors, and was most attentive to on blossoms in the garden became almost us,- showed us the chapel, and the varioverpowering; and large magnolias slow-ous points from which the magnificent ly unfolded their wax-like leaves. I view was best to be seen, and even allowed Helen to peep into the clausura – the inner cloister, where no woman may tread. We used to return from our long drives in the cool of the evening, the carriage laden with flowers; at one time with irises, tulips, and roses at another with He told us that most of his friars were myrtle and sweet-bay, and long branches absent on their special missions, and at of the purple Judas-tree, and orange-that time not more than twelve in all flowering arbutus. Helen revelled in were at home. "One of them," he said, them; and would turn our large cool" has just returned from our mother home drawing-room into a perfect bower, much at Assisi. The cholera was at Perugia, to the disgust of Beppo and some other of the Italian servants, who, like all their countrymen, dread sweet-scented flowers in-doors, believing that they produce fevers and all sorts of harm. and a great panic prevailed, especially as two of the brethren had died, and they sent for some from here to bring fresh hands to the work. They asked for a good preacher, and I sent our bestWe grudged every week as it passed; Fra Geronimo, and a young brother full and the heat increased, warning us that of zeal, who had lately joined, Fra Marthe season was at hand in which Italy tino. Alas! Fra Geronimo returned chooses to be left in peace with her chil-alone; the young brother had finished dren, and the foreigner must fly. his work, and obtained his crown of marOne evening we accomplished an ex-tyrdom. He is doubly blessed, having pedition we had had in view for a long been buried near the shrine of the holy time a drive to the top of Fiesole, to Francis himself; but he was very young.' visit the Franciscan monastery. "Fra Geronimo!" I repeated. "Was it he who was at Nice some five or six years ago, preaching in the church of Santa Lucia?" "It is possible; I cannot tell," was the answer of the superior. "Our friars go far and wide. Yes, assuredly he has been at Nice often; but when, I cannot tell. Perhaps the Vossignoria might like to ask him?" "I should, very much," I replied eagerly. The superior beckoned to a lay brother, a pale, bowed-down-looking man "Olà, Gian-Maria, when the Padre Geronimo enters, pray him to come to me." Meanwhile Helen had taken out her drawing-book, and was sketching rapidly, seated on a little rough step, a group of friars in their picturesque brown habit gathered round her, making their remarks aloud "Look ! look! there is old Pietro's cottage; how natural it is! What a wonderful talent! And there is old Mariuccio in her red apron ! what a marvel! And a woman can do thus! Verily, who would believe it? Look! look there is the black cat. Santa Maria! but it is wonderful!" "The signora is English?" asked one, rather timidly. "She is doubtless an artist ?" Helen told him that many English women sketched very well, entirely for their own pleasure. paper, and triumphantly presented it. "See! it has eyes, black eyes, and can move its wings; but you will be very careful of it?" Helen accepted the treasure with as much pleasure as it was given, and put it very carefully into her drawing-bag. Presently she rose and came up to show me her sketch. While doing so, she suddenly caught hold of me "Look, look, papa! what a picture!" What so much attracted her attention was the appearance of two Franciscan monks slowly mounting the hill, in the taller of whom I at once recognized the Fra Geronimo who had so much excited our admiration by his preaching at Nice. They formed, as she said, a very picturesque group. Fra Geronimo walked with a long and firm step, his noble head erect, and the fine proportions of his tall attenuated figure undisguised by his rough brown habit. His companion was a much older man, but appeared to be bowed by infirmity and care even more than by the weight of years. He walked with his eyes fixed on the ground, and his long grey beard reached down to the hempen cord which formed his girdle. Each carried a sack over his left shoulder, containing the gifts of charity that day received for the convent. They parted at the foot of the chapel steps, the older father going on to the "Indeed! truly it is wonderful! Who cloister the other, Fra Geronimo, obeywould have thought that women coulding a sign from his superior, and advanthus?" they repeated, much to her cing to where we stood. amusement. Here the superior offered her a pinch of snuff; and knowing that a refusal would hurt the kindly feelings of the fathers, she took it, and submitted to the frightful fit of sneezing which was the natural consequence-the friars all saluting her, and wishing her buona salute and felicità, as she did so, after their courteous, old-fashioned custom. "Have you had good speed, brother Geronimo?" was the first question. "We have walked far," he answered, "and Fra Pietro is very weary; few asked him to rest in their houses. There is little charity abroad." The superior looked rather wistfully at the sack, and did not answer. Fra Geronimo turned to me, and saluted me gravely. There was a certain sternness and severity about the man. He gave me the impression of being uncompromising in everything-a face of singular power, of one who would grapple with sin in midcareer, and force shame and remorse on the most hardened sinner. They then begged her acceptance of various little treasures made of wax, manufactured by themselves, chiefly long coils for lighting candles, twisted in all sorts of fantastic shapes. Helen professed great admiration for them, much to their delight; and she promised to take some home to her little nieces, her I asked him whether he recollected sister's children. On hearing this, one having been at Nice the year that we of the monks quickly retreated into the were there? He remembered it well; monastery, and returned with a little he had been there for some months, paper parcel. “See, signora !" he preaching a great deal. A sudden dea cried, "I have brought you something struck me. I would tell Giannetto's for the little children - see!" and, with whole history to this man, and ask him a flourish, he drew a wax bird from the what he thought of it. The tall friar was All the purchases we had made at Florence, which had served to beautify our pleasant villa, had been removed that afternoon, to be packed in Florence and sent off to England. There were two or three fine old gilded cassoni or chests, carved chairs, large majolica pots, innumerable odds and standing before me, calm and motionless, time to sit down and rest, and look ruewaiting for me to speak. Should I do fully round our dismantled rooms. harm in trusting him? I knew nothing of him. I raised my eyes, and scrutinized his face with care. As if conscious that much depended on that look he bent his large hollow eyes on me for one moment; but in that moment all hesitation passed away, and I felt that the man who stood before me was indeed a fit instru-ends, and, the greatest treasure of all, an ment for God's will-pure in singlemindedness, strong as steel; and I determined to trust him implicitly. It was now growing late, and knowing that I should scarcely have time for my long story then, I begged Fra Geronimo (if it should be possible) to visit me at the villa within a few days, as I had occasion to ask his advice. He told me that he would do so; and, calling Helen, we took leave of our kind hosts, and started on our return home. Merrily the horses trotted down, swinging the carriage round the zigzag corners, the sharp drag making the seats vibrate as we went. A few fire-flies were dancing about (though it was still early in the year for them), and now and then a glimmering spark from the ground revealed a glow-worm, almost emerald in its green light. Helen had a fancy that the glow-worms were the wives of the fire-flies, and insisted that it was true, and that the fire-flies were ill-conditioned, wild gallants, who left their estimable wives to mope at home by themselves. The grasshoppers made such a noise that, at one time, we could not help fancying that one must have got into the carriage. We seemed to reach home only too soon- - too soon, indeed, in sad earnest; for on the table lay a packet of letters, sent by express a summons home on important business. Alas! how the few business-like explanatory words of my correspondent brought us down from the world of fire-flies and romance to the dull routine of every-day life! Our happy holiday was at an end. Helen went upstairs in a very disconsolate humour, and, some time after, confessed to me that she had cried herself to sleep. During the few days that followed, we had so much to arrange and to think of, that I had almost forgotten my appointment with the Franciscan. The letters arrived on Friday, and the following Tuesday was the day fixed upon for our departure. On Monday evening our arrangements were completed, and we had exquisite little David, by Donatello, under a white marble baldacchino, standing about two feet high, all were gone! nothing but the original bare furniture remained. No wonder that we felt disconsolate. I was It was beginning to grow rather late, when Beppo came in to say that a Franciscan wished to speak with me. very glad, having greatly feared that I should not see him again. He came in, and apologized for not having been able to come before. "I have had much to do," he said. "Much preaching also has fallen to my lot; and, alas! the flesh is weak. After preaching, I am often unable to do more." He seated himself, enveloping his hands in the loose sleeves of his habit, and bending his eyes to the ground. Helen had left the room, feeling that it might be easier for the friar to talk to me in her absence. I began at once by telling him how and in what manner I had come across the village of San Jacopo, and had first been interested in the unhappy Giannetto. I told him of our coming to Nice together, and of the impression made on us all by his sermon on human suffering; of the verdict of the doctors, in short, all the whole strange story. He remembered the storm well, and had had much to do in helping and consoling the sufferers from the effects of it. When I told him of Giannetto's return, and the wonderful change wrought in him, he crossed himself repeatedly, and muttered something in Latin, too low for me to hear; and he could scarcely conceal his astonishment under the usual perfect calm of his demeanour when I told him that this young fisherman, whose history I had been telling him, was no other than the famous tenor Giovanni, who had lately been making such a sensation in Florence. "And now, father," I concluded, "tell me what you think of this strange story. Is there, can there be any unnatural, or rather unhallowed, cause which has driven Giannetto from Church and God?" "I know not," replied the friar; 66 'strange and unaccountable things sometimes occur in nature. Signor Conte he lowered his voice almost to a whisper" sometimes desperate men have been known to sell their souls." It was evident that his suspicions pointed in the same direction as my own. "Anyhow," he exclaimed, "there is a soul to be saved for God. I will, God give me grace, do my part. For yours, pray for me. His large eyes flashed with a feverish, enthusiastic fire; and as he rose to his feet, and drew the hempen girdle round his loins, he looked like some prophet about to go forth inspired on his way. "You go?" I asked, somehow feeling scarcely worthy to address him. "I go to Venice. I follow him through the world. There is a soul to be saved for God." THE valley of Spiti is secluded in such a very formidable manner from the civilized world that it has very few European visitors; and though it has frequently been conquered, yet it is difficult to conceive of its being so, or of any one finding it worth while to conquer it. This God will give me the pow-province is situated in the centre of the er, if it be His sacred will." Himáliya, with two great snowy ranges (not to speak of minor ones) between it and the plains of India. There are very few parts in Spiti where we can get below twelve thousand feet, while it contains innumerable points which are twenty thousand feet high, and its great valley has an average elevation of about 12,800 feet. Elevated and secluded though this province be, it is not to be compared in these admirable respects with Zanskar; but it is tolerably well raised out of the world. On the east, access can be had to it by the eighteen-thousand-feet Manerung Pass, or the difficult To-tzo route. From the south, the only entrance is by the desolate Rabeh Pass, which is fifteen thousand feet high, and closed great part The next morning dawned, the day of of the year. To the west, the direction our departure. Helen came down to which I am about to pursue, there are no breakfast in her travelling-dress, and we means of exit or access except over glaboth felt very sad. The carriage was ciers and an utterly desolate region, announced, and we went out to it. All which requires days in order to traverse our cottage-friends were assembled under it. To the north there are a few passes the long, broad portico: Pippo, the gar-like the Parang-la (eighteen thousand feet), dener, with an enormous stiff bouquet for Helen; Adele, his wife; Columba, the wife of the contadino who managed the vines and podere, or farm; and all the children, also holding bouquets; Carola, Anna, and the old father, the patriarch of them all; and last, but not least, the villa watch-dogs, Giotto and Solferino. Awe-struck, I stood aside to let him pass; and he went straight out, only pausing on the threshold and raising his hand in the act of blessing. I watched him till a turn in the road hid him from my sight, and then, lost in thought and bewildered, returned into the house. It was a mingled scene of crying and kissing of hands, and shouts of "A pleasant journey, a most happy journey!" &c. We got away at last, and I thought our partings well over; but at the station, as I slipped a last scudo into the coachman's hand, to my dismay he clasped mine to his lips, and burst into tears. We were seated in the carriage, the train began to move, when a shower of bouquets was thrown in at the window, and a shrill voice shouted a last buon viaggio. It was Signora Celeste herself, who stood gesticulating on the platform as we steamed out of the station. which take towards Ladák; but nobody need go to Ladák in search of civilization. I did see one solitary apricot-tree at Lari, and some fine willow-trees at Po; but that about exhausts my arboreal recollections of Spiti, or Pítí, as the people of the country more usually call it. There are a good many willow, birch, and thorn bushes; but still there must be a great scarcity of fuel. Notwithstanding that it is about seventy miles long, with a breadth of fifty miles in its upper portion, its population amounts to only about twenty-three hundred persons, whose language is Tibetan, and whose appearance has some Tartar characteristics. The minstrels, to whom I have already alluded, do not hold land, and are called Bedas. Captain Harcourt says: Many of the men resemble veritable Cal mucks; and with few exceptions fall, as do the women, very far below the European standard of beauty; indeed, for positive hideousness of countenance, the people 66 |