AT FIESOLE.
FIESOLE is a quaint old town which perches on a hill-top above thevalley of the Arno and the city of Florence. You must not pronounce itas it is spelt, but like this--Fee-es-o-lee. From the Florence streetspeople catch glimpses of its bell-towers and roofs shining above theolive orchards and vineyards of the hillside. A white road winds upwardtoward it in long, easy zigzags, and seems to say, "Come with me and Iwill show you something pretty."
Not long ago there were two girls in Florence to whom, plainly as roadcould speak, the white road seemed to utter these very words. Paulineand Molly Hale were the names of these girls. It was six months sincethey had left America with their father and mother, and it seemed muchlonger, because so much had happened in the time. First, the sea voyage,not pleasant, and yet not exactly unpleasant, because papa got betterall the way, and that made mamma happy. Now papa would be quite well atonce, they thought. His people (for papa was a clergyman) had sent himaway for that purpose. They were not a rich people, but each gave alittle, and all together it made enough to carry the pastor and hisfamily across the sea and keep them there one year, with very prudentmanagement. The Hales, therefore, did not travel about as most peopledo, but went straight to Italy, where they hoped to find that sun andwarm air which are an invalid's best medicines.
"Going straight to Italy" means, however, a great many pleasant thingsby the way. Molly was always reminding Maria Matilda, her doll, of thesights she had seen and the superior advantages she enjoyed over thedolls at home.
After this mention of a doll, what will you say when I tell you thatMolly was almost thirteen? Most girls of thirteen scorn to play withdolls, but Molly was not of their number. She was childish for heryears, and possessed a faithful little heart, which clung to MariaMatilda as to an old friend whom it would be unkind to lay aside.
"First, there was Paris," Molly would say to her. "No, first there was_Deep_, where the people all talked so queerly that we couldn'tunderstand a word. That was funny, Matilda, wasn't it? Then, don't yourecollect that beautiful church which we saw when we went past _Ruin_?"(Molly meant Rouen, but I am sorry to say her pronunciation of Frenchnames was rather queer.) "And Paris too, where I took you to walk in thegardens, and papa let us both ride in a whirligig. None of the homedollies have ever ridden in whirligigs, have they? They won'tunderstand what you mean unless I draw them a picture on my slate. Thenwe got into the cars, and went and went till we came to that great darktunnel. Weren't we frightened? And you cried, Matilda--I heard you. Youneedn't look so ashamed, though, for it _was_ horrid. But we got out ofit at last, though I thought we never should; and here we are at thepadrona's, and it's ever so nice, only I wish papa would come back."
For Florence had proved too cold, and papa had joined a party and goneoff to Egypt, leaving mamma and the children to live quietly and cheaplyat Signora Goldi's boarding-house. It was a dingy house in the old partof Florence, but for all that it was a very interesting place to livein. The street in which the house stood was extremely narrow. Highbuildings on either side shut out the sun, the cobblestone pavement wasalways dirty, but all day long a stream of people poured through itwearing all sorts of curious clothes, talking all sorts of languages,and selling all sorts of things. Men with orange-baskets on their headsstrolled along, crying, "Oranges, sweet oranges!" Others, with panniersof flowers, chanted, "Fiori, belli fiori!" Pedlers displayed their waresor waved gay stuffs; boys held up candied fruits, wood-carvings, andtoys; women went to and fro bearing trays full of a chocolate-coloredmixture dotted with the white kernels of pine-cones. This looked veryrich and nice, and the poor people bought great slices of it. Paulineonce invested a penny therein, but a single taste proved enough; it wassour and oily at once, and she gave the rest to a small Italian girl,who looked delighted, and gobbled it up in huge mouthfuls. Whenever theywent out to walk, there were fresh pleasures. The narrow street leddirectly to a shining sunlit river, which streamed through the heart ofthe city like a silver ribbon. Beautiful bridges spanned this river,some reared on graceful arches, some with statues at either end, one setall along its course by quaint stalls filled with gold and silverfiligree, chains of amber, and turquoises blue as the sky. All over thecity were delightful pictures, churches, and gardens, open and free toall who chose to come. Every day mamma and the children went somewhereand saw something, and, in spite of papa's absence, the winter was ahappy one.
Going to and fro in the city, the children had often looked up theFiesole hill, which is visible from many parts of Florence, and Paulinehad conceived a strong wish to go there. Molly did not care so much, butas she always wanted to do what Pauline did, she joined her older sisterin begging to go. Mamma, however, thought it too far for a walk, andcarriage hire cost something; so she said no, and the girls were forcedto content themselves with "making believe" what they would do if everthey went there,--a sort of play in which they both delighted. None ofthe things they imagined proved true when they did go there, as youshall hear.
It was just as they were expecting papa back, that, coming in one dayfrom a walk with Signora Goldi, Pauline and Molly found mamma hard atwork packing a travelling-bag. She looked very pale, and had beencrying. No wonder, for the mail had brought a letter to say that papa,travelling alone from Egypt, had landed at Brindisi very ill with Syrianfever. The kind strangers who wrote the letter would stay with and takecare of him till mamma could get there, but she must come at once.
"What _shall_ I do?" cried poor Mrs. Hale, appealing in her distress toSignora Goldi. "I cannot take the children into a fever-room, and evenif that were safe, the journey costs so much that it would be out of thequestion. Mr. Hale left me only money enough to last till his return.After settling with you and buying my ticket, I shall have very littleremaining. Help me, padrona! Advise me what to do."
Signora Goldi's advertisement said, "English spoken," but the Englishwas of a kind which English people found it hard to understand. Her kindheart, however, stood her instead of language, and helped her to guessthe meaning of Mrs. Hale's words.
"Such peety!" she said. "Had I know, I not have let rooms for weekafter. The signora said 'let' and she sure to go, so I let, else the_piccoli_ should stay wiss me. Now what?" and she rubbed her nose hard,and wrinkled her forehead in a puzzled way. "I have!" she cried at last,her face beaming. "How the _piccolini_ like go to Fiesole for a little?My brother who dead, he leave Engleis wife. She lady-maid once, speakEngleis well as me!--better! She have _pensione_--very small, butgood--ah, so good, and it cost little, with air _si buono, si fresco_!"
The signora was drifting into Italian without knowing it, but wasstopped by the joyous exclamations of the two girls.
"Fiesole! Oh, mamma! just what we wanted so much!" cried Pauline. "Dolet us go there!"
"Do, do!" chimed in Molly. "I saw the padrona's sister once, and she'sso nice. Say yes, please, mamma."
The "yes" was not quite a happy one, but what could poor Mrs. Hale do?No better plan offered, time pressed, she hoped not to be obliged tostay long away from the children, and, as the signora said, the Fiesolehill-top must be airy and wholesome. So the arrangement was made, theterms settled, a carriage was called, and in what seemed to the girls asingle moment, mamma had rattled away, with the signora to buy herticket and see her off at the station. They looked at each otherdisconsolately, and their faces grew very long.
"We're just like orphans in a book," sobbed Pauline at last, while Mollywatered Matilda's best frock with salt tears. The signora had aspecially nice supper that night, and petted them a great deal, but theywere very homesick for mamma, and cried themselves to sleep.
Matters seemed brighter when they woke up next morning to find a lovelyday, such a day as only Italy knows, with sunshine like gold, sky ofclearest blue, and the river valley shining through soft mists likefinest filtered rainbows. By a happy chance the Fiesole sister-in-lawcame to Florence that morning, and drove up to the door in a drolllittle cart drawn by a mouse-colored mule, with a green carrot-top s
tuckover his left ear and a bell round his neck. She gladly agreed to lodgethe children, and her pleasant old face and English voice made them atonce at home with her. There was just room in the cart for their trunk,and about five in the afternoon they set out, perched on the narrowbench in front, one on each side of their new friend, and holding eachother's hands tightly behind her ample back. Signora Bianchi was thesister-in-law's name, but "padrona" was easier to say, and they calledher so from the beginning.
The hill-road was nowhere steep, but each winding turn took them higherand higher above Florence. They could see the curvings of the river, thebridges, the cathedral dome, and the tall, beautiful bell-tower, whichthey had been told was the work of the great artist Giotto. Further on,the road was shut in between stone walls. Over the tops of these hungrose-vines, full of fresh pink roses, though it was early March. Paulineand Molly screamed with pleasure, and the padrona, driving her muleclose under the wall, dragged down a branch and let them gather theflowers for themselves, which was delightful. She would not stop,however, when, a little later, they came to fields gay with red andpurple anemones, yellow tulips, and oddly colored wild lilies so dark asto be almost black; there were plenty of such on top of the hill, shesaid, and they must not be too late in getting home. The black lilieswere _giglios_,--the emblem or badge of the city of Florence; thechildren had not seen them before, but they remembered the form of theflower in the carved shields over the door of some of the old buildings.
The road ended in a small paved _piazza_, which is the Italian name foran open square. All about it stood old buildings, houses and churches,and a very ancient cathedral with a dirty leather curtain hanging beforeits door. Passing these, the mule clattered down a narrow side-street,or rather lane. The streets in Florence had seemed dark and dirty; butwhat were they compared with this alley, in which the wheels of thelittle cart grazed the walls on either side as it passed along? Ricketyflights of outside stairs led to the upper stories of the buildings;overhead, lines of linen, hung out to dry, were flapping in the wind. Anill-smelling stream of water trickled over the rough cobble-stonepavement. Jolt, jolt, jolt!--then the mule turned suddenly into a darkplace which looked like a shabby stable-yard. It was the ground-floor ofthe padrona's house, and this was the place where Pauline and Molly wereto stay! They looked at each other with dismayed faces.
But the padrona called them to follow, and led the way up one stonestaircase after another till they came to the third story. Here thingswere pleasanter. It was plain and bare; the floors were of brick, therewere no carpets, and the furniture was scanty and old, but the roomswere large and airy, and through the open casement bright rays ofsunshine streamed in. Pauline ran to the window, and behold, instead ofthe dirty lane, she saw the open piazza, and beyond, a glimpse of theblue hills and the Florence valley! She called Molly, and, perched onthe broad sill, they watched the sunset and chattered like happy birds,while the padrona bustled to and fro, preparing supper and spreadingcoarse clean linen on the beds of a little chamber which opened fromthe sitting-room. The padrona's kitchen was about the size of anAmerican closet. The stove was a stone shelf with two holes in it, justbig enough to contain a couple of quarts of charcoal. It was like adoll's kitchen, Molly thought; and Pauline stared when she saw thepadrona produce a palm-leaf fan and begin to fan the fire, as if it werefaint and needed to be revived. But as she gazed, the charcoal wascoaxed into a glow, the little pots and pans bubbled, and hey, presto!supper was ready, with half the trouble and a quarter the fuel whichwould have been needed to set one of our big home ranges going. It was aqueer supper, but very good, the children thought; their long drive hadmade them hungry, and the omelette, salad, and _polenta_, or fried mush,tasted delicious. Everything was nice but the bread, which was dark incolor and had an unpleasant sour taste. The padrona smiled when she sawthem put aside their untasted slices, and said that she too used todislike Italian bread, but that now she preferred it to any other.
The padrona was delighted with her young visitors. She had long been awidow. One of her sons was in the army, and seldom at home; the otherhelped her about the house and tilled a little meadow which belonged tothem. She had no daughter to keep her company, and the sweet,bright-faced American girls pleased her greatly. She helped the sistersto undress, and tucked them into their beds as kindly as any old nurse,and they fell asleep with her pleasant voice in their ears: "Good-nightand good dreams, little miss."
The morrow brought another fine day, and the girls improved it for aramble about the quaint town. It seemed to them the very _oldest_ placethey had ever seen--and, in fact, Fiesole is older far than Florence, ofwhich it was first the cradle and afterward the foe. They stood a longtime before the windows of the straw-shop, choosing the things theywould like to buy _if_ they had any money! Pauline fell in love with astraw parasol, and Molly hankered after a work-basket for mamma. Both ofthem felt that it was dreadful to be poor, but there was no help for it.Then they climbed to an upper terrace and sat a long time looking on thefine view it commanded, and talking in gestures to some brown littlechildren who came up to beg from them. After that, they lifted thecurtain over the cathedral door, and stole quietly about the ancientchurch. It was dark and shabby and worm-eaten; but as they wandered toand fro they came upon beautiful things,--tombs of sculptured marblewith figures of saints and madonnas, wreaths of marble flowers, bits ofold carved wood as black as ebony. It was strange to find such treasureshidden away in the dust and gloom, and to think that there they were,dusty and gloomy and old, before Columbus discovered the very newcontinent which we call America! A queer smell breathed about the place,a smell of must and age and dried-up incense. Pauline and Molly wereglad to get away from it and feel the fresh air and the sunshine again.They rambled on to the western slope of the hill, and a little way down,where the land descends in terraces to the wooded valley below, theycame upon the ruins of a Roman amphitheatre. They had never seen anamphitheatre before, but they guessed what it was from a picture whichmamma had shown them. On the ledges which once were seats, wherespectators seated in rows had watched the lions and the gladiatorsfight, crowds of purple violets now lifted their sweet faces to the sky.
After that, the amphitheatre became their favorite walk, and they wentback every day. The padrona warned them against sitting long on theground or staying out till the sunset dews fell, but they heeded whatshe said very little; it seemed impossible that so pleasant a spot couldhave any harm about it. But at last came a morning when Paulinerecollected the padrona's warnings, with a great frightened heart-jump,for Molly waked up hot and thirsty, and, when she lifted her head fromthe pillow, let it fall back again, and complained of being dizzy. Thepadrona made her some tea, and after a while she felt better and got up.But all that day and the next she looked pale, and dragged one footafter the other as she went about, and the third day fever came upon herin good earnest. Tea did no good this time, and she lay still and heavy,with burning hands and flushed cheeks. The padrona tried various simplemedicines, and Pauline sat all day bathing Molly's head and fanning her,but neither medicine nor fanning was of use; and as night came on, andthe fever grew higher, Molly began to toss and call for mamma, and tocry out about her pillow, which was stuffed with wool and very hard.
"I don't like this pillow, Pauline--indeed I don't, it makes my neckache so! Why don't you take it away, Pauline, and give me a nice softpillow, such as we used to have at home? And I want some ice, and somegood American water to drink. This water is bad. I can't drink it. Makethe ice clink in the tumbler, please--because if I hear it clink Ishan't be thirsty any more. And call mamma. I must see mamma. Mamma!"
And Molly tried to get up, and then tumbled back and fell into a doze,while poor Pauline sat beside her with a lump in her throat which seemedto grow worse every moment, and to bid fair to choke her entirely if itdidn't stop. She did not dare to sob aloud, for fear of rousing Molly,but the tears ran quietly down her cheeks as she thought of home andmamma. Where was she? How was papa? Why didn't they writ
e? And, oh dear!what should she, should she do, if Molly were to be very ill in thatlonely place, where there was no doctor or any of the nice things whichpeople in sickness need so much? No one can imagine how forlorn Paulinefelt--that is, no one who has not tried the experiment of taking careof a sick friend in a foreign land, where the ways and customs arestrange and uncomfortable, and the necessaries of good nursing cannot behad.
Nobody in the world could be kinder than was the padrona to her younginvalid guest. Night after night she sat up, all day long she watchedand nursed and cooked and comforted. Pauline clung to this friend inneed as to the only helper left in the wide world. Beppo, the padrona'sson, walked into Florence and brought out a little Italian doctor, whoordered beef-tea, horrified Pauline by a hint of bleeding, and left,promising to come again, which promise he didn't keep. Pauline was gladthat he did not; she felt no confidence in the little doctor, and sheknew, besides, that doctors cost money, and the small sum which mammaleft was almost gone. Day after day passed, Molly growing no better, thepadrona more anxious, Pauline more unhappy. It seemed as if years andyears had gone by since mamma left them,--almost as if it were a dreamthat they ever had a mamma, or a home, or any of the happy things whichnow looked so sadly far away.
Then came the darkest day of all, when Molly lay so white and motionlessthat Pauline thought her dead; when the padrona sat for hours, putting aspoonful of something between the pale lips every little while, butnever speaking, and the moments dragged along as though shod with lead.Morning grew to noon, noon faded into the dimness of twilight, still thewhite face on the pillow did not stir, and still the padrona satsilently and dropped in her spoonfuls. At last she stopped, laid downthe spoon, bent over Molly, and listened. Was any breath at all comingfrom the quiet lips?
"Oh, padrona, is she dead?" sobbed Pauline, burying her face in thebedclothes.
"No, she is asleep," said the padrona. Then she hid her own face andsaid a prayer of thankfulness, while Pauline wept for joy, hushingherself as much as possible, that Molly might not be disturbed.
All that night and far into the morning the blessed sleep continued, andwhen Molly awoke the fever was gone. She was very white, and as weak asa baby; but Pauline and the padrona were happy again, for they knew thatshe was going to get well.
So another week crept by, each day bringing a little more strength andappetite to Molly, and a little more color to her pale face, and thenthe padrona thought she might venture to sit up. They propped her up ina big chair with many pillows ("brickbats" Molly called them), and hadjust pulled her across the room to the window, when a carriage rattledon the stones below, somebody ran upstairs, and into the room burstmamma! Yes, the little mamma herself, pale as Molly almost, from thefright she had gone through; but so overjoyed to see them, and sorelieved at finding Molly up and getting well, that there was nothingfor it but a hearty cry, in which all took part, and which did them alla great deal of good.
Then came explanations. Papa was a great deal better. The doctor thoughtthe fever would do him good in the end rather than harm. But he wasstill weak, and mamma had left him to rest at the hotel in Florencewhile she flew up the hill to her children. Why didn't she write? She_had_ written, again and again, but the letters had gone astray somehow,and none of the girls' notes had reached her except one from Molly,written just after they went to Fiesole. I may as well say now that allthese missing letters followed them to America three months later, witha great deal of postage to be paid on them; but they were not of muchuse _then_, as you can imagine!
There was so much to say and to hear that it seemed as though they couldnever get through. Pauline held mamma's hand tight, and cried andlaughed by turns.
"It was dreadful!" she said. "It was just exactly as if you and papa andeverybody we knew were dead and we were left all alone. And I thoughtMolly would die too, and then what would have become of me? The padronahas been so kind--you can't think how kind. She sat up nine nights withMolly, and always said she wasn't tired; but I knew she was. I used tothink it must be the nicest place in the world up here at Fiesole, but Inever want to see it again in all my life."
"Don't say that, for Molly has got well here. And the good padrona too!You ought to love Fiesole for her sake."
"So I ought. And I do love her. But you'll not ever go away and leave us_anywhere_ again, will you, mamma?"
"Not if I can help it," replied mamma, speaking over Molly's head, whichwas nestled comfortably on her shoulder. There were tears in her eyes asshe spoke. It had not been possible to help it, but the tender mother'sheart felt it a wrong to her children that they should have been withouther in sickness.
It was another week before Molly could be moved. Mamma drove up twiceduring that time, bringing oranges and wine and all sorts of nicethings, and the last time a parcel with a present in it for the childrento give to the padrona. It was a pretty silk shawl and a small gold pinto fasten it. Pauline and Molly were enchanted to make this gift, andthe padrona admired the shawl extremely; but Mrs. Hale sorrowfullylonged to be richer, that she might heap many tokens of gratitude in thekind hands which had worked so lovingly for her little girls in theirtrouble.
"I can't bear to say good-bye," were Molly's last words as she leanedfrom the carriage for a parting hug. "Dear padrona, how I wish you wouldjust come with us to America and live there. We would call you 'aunty'and love you so, and be so glad, you can't think! Do come!"
But the padrona, smiling and tearful, shook her head and declared thatshe could never leave her boys and the hill-top and old neighbors, butmust stay in Fiesole as long as she lived. So with many kisses andblessings the good-byes were uttered, and out of the narrow street andacross the piazza rattled the carriage, and so down the hill-road toFlorence.
Pauline and Molly are safe in America now. They tell the girls at schoola great deal about what they saw and where they went, but they don'ttalk much of the time of Molly's illness; and when Matilda Maria, wholives in a drawer now, entertains the other dolls with tales of travel,she skips that. It is still too fresh in their memories, and too sad,for them to like to speak of it. But sometimes, after they go to bed atnight, they put their heads on the same pillow and whisper to each otherabout the old church, the amphitheatre, the padrona, those days offever, and all the other things that happened to them when mamma wentaway and left them alone at Fiesole.