the complete writings-2-第58章

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This　was　all。　　But　when　the　news　was　read　in　the　little　post　office　in　Sorrento；　it　seemed　a　great　deal　more　than　it　does　as　I　write　it；　for；　if　Giuseppe　had　an　enemy　in　the　village；　it　was　not　among　the　people；　and　not　one　who　heard　the　news　did　not　think　at　once　of　the　poor　girl　to　whom　it　would　be　more　than　a　bullet　through　the　heart。　And　so　it　was。　　The　slender　hope　of　her　life　then　went　out。　　I　am　told　that　there　was　little　change　outwardly；　and　that　she　was　as　lovely　as　before；　but　a　great　cloud　of　sadness　came　over　her；　in　which　she　was　always　enveloped；　whether　she　sat　at　home；　or　walked　abroad　in　the　places　where　she　and　Giuseppe　used　to　wander。　　The　simple　people　respected　her　grief；　and　always　made　a　tender…hearted　stillness　when　the　bereft　little　maiden　went　through　the　streets；a　stillness　which　she　never　noticed；　for　she　never　noticed　anything　apparently。　　The　bishop　himself　when　he　walked　abroad　could　not　be　treated　with　more　respect。

This　was　all　the　story　of　the　sweet　Fiammetta　that　was　confided　to　me。　　And　afterwards；　as　I　recalled　her　pensive　face　that　evening　as　she　kneeled　at　vespers；　I　could　not　say　whether；　after　all；　she　was　altogether　to　be　pitied；　in　the　holy　isolation　of　her　grief；　which　I　am　sure　sanctified　her；　and；　in　some　sort；　made　her　life　complete。　For　I　take　it　that　life；　even　in　this　sunny　Sorrento；　is　not　alone　a　matter　of　time。




ST。　MARIA　A　CASTELLO

The　Great　St。　Angelo　and　that　region　are　supposed　to　be　the　haunts　of　brigands。　　From　those　heights　they　spy　out　the　land；　and　from　thence　have；　more　than　once；　descended　upon　the　sea…road　between　Castellamare　and　Sorrento；　and　caught　up　English　and　German　travelers。　　This　elevation　commands；　also；　the　Paestum　way。　　We　have　no　faith　in　brigands　in　these　days；　for　in　all　our　remote　and　lonely　explorations　of　this　promontory　we　have　never　met　any　but　the　most　simple…hearted　and　good…natured　people；　who　were　quite　as　much　afraid　of　us　as　we　were　of　them。　　But　there　are　not　wanting　stories；　every　day；　to　keep　alive　the　imagination　of　tourists。

We　are　waiting　in　the　garden　this　sunny；　enticing　morning…just　the　day　for　a　tramp　among　the　purple　hillsfor　our　friend；　the　long　Englishman；　who　promised；　over　night；　to　go　with　us。　　This　excellent；　good…natured　giant；　whose　head　rubs　the　ceiling　of　any　room　in　the　house；　has　a　wife　who　is　fond　of　him；　and　in　great　dread　of　the　brigands。　　He　comes　down　with　a　sheepish　air；　at　length；　and　informs　us　that　his　wife　won't　let　him　go。

〃Of　course　I　can　go；　if　I　like；〃　he　adds。　　〃But　the　fact　is；　I　have　n't　slept　much　all　night：　she　kept　asking　me　if　I　was　going！〃　　On　the　whole；　the　giant　don't　care　to　go。　　There　are　things　more　to　be　feared　than　brigands。

The　expedition　is；　therefore；　reduced　to　two　unarmed　persons。　　In　the　piazza　we　pick　up　a　donkey　and　his　driver　for　use　in　case　of　accident；　and；　mounting　the　driver　on　the　donkey；an　arrangement　that　seems　entirely　satisfactory　to　him；we　set　forward。　　If　anything　can　bring　back　youth；　it　is　a　day　of　certain　sunshine　and　a　bit　of　unexplored　country　ahead；　with　a　whole　day　in　which　to　wander　in　it　without　a　care　or　a　responsibility。　　We　walk　briskly　up　the　walled　road　of　the　piano；　striking　at　the　overhanging　golden　fruit　with　our　staves；　greeting　the　orange…girls　who　come　down　the　side　lanes；　chaffing　with　the　drivers；　the　beggars；　the　old　women　who　sit　in　the　sun；　looking　into　the　open　doors　of　houses　and　shops　upon　women　weaving；　boys　and　girls　slicing　up　heaps　of　oranges；　upon　the　makers　of　macaroni；　the　sellers　of　sour　wine；　the　merry　shoemakers；　whose　little　dens　are　centers　of　gossip　here；　as　in　all　the　East：　the　whole　life　of　these　people　is　open　and　social；　to　be　on　the　street　is　to　be　at　home。

We　wind　up　the　steep　hill　behind　Meta；　every　foot　of　which　is　terraced　for　olive…trees；　getting；　at　length；　views　over　the　wayside　wall　of　the　plain　and　bay　and　rising　into　the　purer　air　and　the　scent　of　flowers　and　other　signs　of　coming　spring；　to　the　little　village　of　Arola；　with　its　church　and　bell；　its　beggars　and　idlers；just　a　little　street　of　houses　jammed　in　between　the　hills　of　Camaldoli　and　Pergola；　both　of　which　we　know　well。

Upon　the　cliff　by　Pergola　is　a　stone　house；　in　front　of　which　I　like　to　lie；　looking　straight　down　a　thousand　or　two　feet　upon　the　roofs　of　Meta；　the　map　of　the　plain；　and　the　always　fascinating　bay。　　I　went　down　the　backbone　of　the　limestone　ridge　towards　the　sea　the　other　afternoon；　before　sunset；　and　unexpectedly　came　upon　a　group　of　little　stone　cottages　on　a　ledge；　which　are　quite　hidden　from　below。　The　inhabitants　were　as　much　surprised　to　see　a　foreigner　break　through　their　seclusion　as　I　was　to　come　upon　them。　　However；　they　soon　recovered　presence　of　mind　to　ask　for　a　little　money。　　Half　a　dozen　old　hags　with　the　parchment　also　sat　upon　the　rocks　in　the　sun；　spinning　from　distaffs；　exactly　as　their　ancestors　did　in　Greece　two　thousand　years　ago；　I　doubt　not。　　I　do　not　know　that　it　is　true；　as　Tasso　wrote；　that　this　climate　is　so　temperate　and　serene　that　one　almost　becomes　immortal　in　it。　　Since　two　thousand　years　all　these　coasts　have　changed　more　or　less；　risen　and　sunk；　and　the　temples　and　palaces　of　two　civilizations　have　tumbled　into　the　sea。　　Yet　I　do　not　know　but　these　tranquil　old　women　have　been　sitting　here　on　the　rocks　all　the　while；　high　above　change　and　worry　and　decay；　gossiping　and　spinning；　like　Fates。　　Their　yarn　must　be　uncanny。

But　we　wander。　　It　is　difficult　to　go　to　any　particular　place　here；　impossible　to　write　of　it　in　a　direct　manner。　　Our　mulepath　continues　most　delightful；　by　slopes　of　green　orchards　nestled　in　sheltered　places；　winding　round　gorges；　deep　and　ragged　with　loose　stones；　and　groups　of　rocks　standing　on　the　edge　of　precipices；　like　medieval　towers；　and　through　village　after　village　tucked　away　in　the　hills。　The　abundance　of　population　is　a　constant　surprise。　　As　we　proceed；　the　people　are　wilder　and　much　more　curious　about　us；　having；　it　is　evident；　seen　few　strangers　lately。　　Women　and　children；　half…dressed　in　dirty　rags　which　do　not　hide　the　form；　come　out　from　their　low　stone　huts　upon　the　windy　terraces；　and　stand；　arms　akimbo；　staring　at　us；　and　not　seldom　hailing　us　in　harsh　voices。　　Their　sole　dress　is　often　a　single　split　and　torn　gown；　not　reaching　to　the　bare　knees；　evidently　the　original　of　those　in　the　Naples　ballet　（it　will；　no　doubt；　be　different　when　those　creatures　exchange　the　ballet　for　the　ballot）；　and；　with　their　tangled　locks　and　dirty　faces；　they　seem　rather　beasts　than　women。　　Are　their　husbands　brigands；　and　are　they　in　wait　for　us　in　the　chestnut…grove　yonder？

The　grove　is　charming；　and　the　men　we　meet　there　gathering　sticks　are　not　so　surly　as　the　women。　　They　point　the　way；　and　when　we　emerge　from　the　wood；　St。　Maria　a　Castello　is　before　us　on　a　height；　its　white　and　red　church　shining　in　the　sun。　　We　climb　up　to　it。　　In　front　is　a　broad；　flagged　terrace；　and　on　the　edge　are　deep　wells　in　the　rock；　from　which　we　draw　cool　water。　　Plentifully　victualed；　one　could　stand　a　siege　here；　and　perhaps　did　in　the　gamey　Middle　Ages。　Monk　or　soldier　need　not　wish　a　pleasanter　place　to　lounge。　Adjoining　the　church；　but　lower；　is　a　long；　low　building　with　three　rooms；　at　once　house　and　stable；　the　stable　in　the　center；　though　all　of　them　have　hay　in　the　lofts。　　The　rooms　do　not　communicate。　　That　is　the　whole　of　the　town　of　St。　Maria　a　Castello。

In　one　of　the　apartments　some　rough…looking　peasants　are　eating　dinner；　a　frugal　meal：　a　dish　of　unclean　polenta；　a　plate　of　grated　cheese；　a　basket　of　wormy　figs；　and　some　sour　red　wine；　no　bread；　no　meat。　　They　looked　at　us　askance；　and　with　no　sign　of　hospitality。　We　made　friends；　however；　with　the　ragged　children；　one　of　whom　took　great　delight　in　exhibiting　his　litter　of　puppies；　and　we　at　length　so　far　worked　into　the　good　graces　of　the　family　that　the　mother　was　prevailed　upon　to　get　us　some　milk　and　eggs。　　I　followed　the　woman　into　one　of　the　apartments　to　superintend　the　cooking　of　the　eggs。　It　was　a　mere　den；　with　an　earth　floor。　　A　fire　of　twigs　was　kindled　against　the　farther　wall；　and　a　little　girl；　half…naked；　carrying　a　baby　still　more　economically　clad；　was　stooping　down　to　blow　the　sm