CHAPTER XVI
A CHANGE IN MARION
It was the evening of Constitution Day, the Italian Fourth of July.
Aunt Caroline and Irma, seated in the doorway of the hotel, watched thepassing crowd. On the Arno in front of the house, not far from the PonteVecchio, were several boats decorated with flags and paper lanterns.There was also a large float, and the voluble porter explained that achorus was to be stationed there during the evening to sing.
"Where is Marion?" asked Uncle Jim.
"He has walked to the Cascine with Katie and Richard and Ellen. I wishedto stay with Aunt Caroline," replied Irma.
"I am afraid Katie has cut you out with Marion," exclaimed Uncle Jim.
"How foolish!" protested Aunt Caroline. "Irma has no such ideas. Marionhas never exerted himself for Irma, and she has always been too busy tothink of him."
"When it's quite dark," continued Uncle Jim, "we must walk over to thePiazza in front of the Palazzo Vecchio. They say the illumination of thetower is the thing best worth seeing, better even than the fireworksthese crowds are waiting for."
A little later the three stood in front of the tall gray tower of theold palace, whose outlines were wonderfully beautiful, set in a frame offire made up of countless tiny lamps.
"Hello," cried a voice, "we didn't expect to see you here." Richard wasthe speaker, and with him were Marion and Ellen.
"Where is Katie?" asked Aunt Caroline.
"Oh, she and Marion have had some kind of a spat, and she insisted onour leaving her at the hotel."
"Spat! Nonsense!" interposed Ellen.
"Well, a quarrel by any other name will do just as well. I'm glad shecan stay with mother. One of us ought to be with her."
Marion made no reply to Richard. But he walked beside Ellen on their wayback to the hotel, while Richard helped Irma find a way through thethrong.
"What a quiet, orderly crowd!" cried Aunt Caroline, "and to-day theirFourth of July!"
"It's only after they have crossed the Atlantic that foreigners growuproarious. There seems to be more law and order over here."
The Lungarno was packed with people when they reached the hotel, so allwent upstairs to Aunt Caroline's room, that overlooked the river and theboat from which the fireworks were sent off. There were one or two setpieces, the chorus on the large float sang several part songs, and atintervals showers of stars of all colors fell from the Roman candles androckets sent up from the boats.
It was late when they began to separate. "Where is Marion?" asked AuntCaroline, when the lights were turned on, and the others came to bid hergood night.
"He must have gone to his room," said Uncle Jim. "I noticed half an hourago that he was not here."
"Perhaps he didn't like the noise," said Richard, with what sounded likea slight shade of sarcasm. "His nerves are not very strong."
The next morning, when Irma went to breakfast, none of the oldermembers of her party were at the table, and Marion, too, was missing.
"Of course Marion didn't give it to me," she heard Katie say, as shetook her seat.
"It's certainly very strange that it should be the same device as hissmall seal."
"Probably they wouldn't look at all alike, if you should bring themtogether and compare them."
"Can mine eyes deceive me?" Richard assumed a tragic tone.
"It's the ring that Katie has around her scarf." Ellen explained toIrma. "Richard is sure that Marion gave it to her. But he ought tobelieve Katie when she says this is not so."
Irma looked closely at the ring through which Katie had pulled the endof her silk necktie. The dragon carved on the agate stone certainlyseemed familiar. Yes, she recalled the same dragon on an old-fashionedseal that Marion had shown her one day; at least it looked the same,though of course the dragon was by no means an uncommon device. Butafter all, this was no affair of hers. If Katie said Marion had notgiven the ring to her there seemed to be no reason for Richard to doubtKatie's word. Suppose even that he had loaned it to her, why should hercousin concern himself about it?
After breakfast Katie and Ellen drove to their dressmaker's, and just asIrma had finished a home letter Marion appeared in the reading-room.
"I had an early breakfast," he explained, "and have been out walking.Now I wish some one would take a trolley ride with me. Will _you_ go?"
At first Irma could hardly believe the invitation was meant for her; shehad been so little with Marion the past fortnight.
But when she saw that he undoubtedly meant her, she accepted gladly.
"It does not matter where we go," he cried, as the car started. "Isimply wish to see what the suburbs are like out this way."
Soon they had passed beyond the old narrow streets, and were runningthrough a broad avenue of the newer Florence that has begun to drive theold city out of sight.
After a word or two to the conductor, "Why, this is a car for Fiesole,"said Marion. "I had meant to drive out there some day, but now----"
He did not finish the sentence, but later in the morning Irma realizedwhat he had had in mind when he spoke.
"Fiesole," Marion began to explain, "the old Faesulae, was an importantplace long before Florence. I believe there are imposing Etruscanfortifications still to be seen up there on the hill. But Fiesole wasconquered and destroyed in the early part of the twelfth century, andFlorence soon became rich. Many English and Americans have countryvillas at Fiesole. It is not so damp there as in Florence. There areseveral people I know living out there, if I cared to see them."
"Oh, we don't come to Europe to see Americans," said Irma, noticing asevere expression on Marion's face, such as she had seen before, whenAmericans were spoken of.
After leaving the car they rambled around the pleasant, shady roads ofFiesole for an hour or more, visiting the piazza and the old church. Atthe terminus they had to wait a little time for the car by which theywere to return. While standing near a little shop where they had madesome purchases, a tall girl rushed up to Marion, and, seizing his hand,first raised it to her lips, and then poured out a flood of words.
Marion reddened, pulled his hand away, and looked puzzled, as the girlbegan to talk. But before she had finished her long, long sentence, hisface cleared, and he turned toward Irma.
"She was on the _Ariadne_; her mother died. Perhaps you remember."
Of course Irma remembered. This was the girl upon whom she had so oftenlooked from the deck above the steerage, the girl for whose familyMarion had raised the subscription.
When the girl's words at last came to an end, Marion tore a leaf fromhis notebook and gave it to her, after he had written something upon it.
"_Grazie, grazie_," she cried, and then, when he shook his head to somerequest of hers, "_A rivederci_, signor and signorina," she cried, asthey stepped toward the approaching car on which they were to return tothe city.
"Now, I will explain," said Marion, as they rode toward Florence."Luisa hopes some time to return to America, and I have given her mymother's address, in case she should need advice from us." ("The secondtime," Irma thought, "I have heard Marion speak of his mother.")
"She was greatly disappointed," continued Marion, "that we could not goup to see the family. They have a little house back there on the hills,and with the subscription raised on the ship they could lease it forfive years, and they have a little besides to keep them going untiltheir garden is grown. The grandmother hopes to sell enough flowers andvegetables in Florence to pay for clothes and things they can't raise onthe farm. It's surprising, though, how little it takes for people tolive on over here. Luisa says she earns something by working for acousin who has one of those little shops at the terminus, two days inthe week."
While Marion talked, Irma longed to ask why he had been unwilling to addher little gift to the money he had raised for Luisa's family on the_Ariadne_. But, in spite of his being so friendly now, she did not quitedare question him. Later in the day, however, when alone with AuntCaroline, she told her about Luisa, and brought up
the matter of thesubscription.
"Oh," said Aunt Caroline, "I can partly explain that subscription toyou. Marion told me little at the time, but since then we have had atalk. Indeed he is much more inclined to confide in me than when wefirst left New York. He says that he spent more or less time among thesteerage passengers coming over, and when he found money did not come inreadily for Luisa's family, he decided to make up the whole amounthimself.
"He seldom changes his mind, when once he has decided upon a certainthing, and so when you offered your money he did not think it right totake it. You know Marion has a great deal of money of his own, and hecould afford to do all that was necessary for this poor Italian family.I am sorry, however, that he hurt your feelings, for really Marion isgoodhearted. Of course he has had a particularly hard time this year,and has not yet got over the effects of all he has been through."
"Now," thought Irma, "I will ask Aunt Caroline to tell me all aboutMarion. Every one else seems to know, and I hate mysteries." But beforeshe had a chance to ask the question, Marion and Uncle Jim appeared onthe scene, and the opportunity was lost.
After this the days at Florence passed swiftly. Aunt Caroline wasabsorbed in the galleries, and Uncle Jim or Mrs. Sanford spent much timethere with her. The young people did their sightseeing by themselves,Richard, Ellen, Irma, and Marion, at least. Katie seemed, as Richard putit, "disaffected." She said she had been in Europe too long to care tospend much time over galleries and historical places.
"Shopping is much more necessary now, as I am to sail so soon, andgrandmamma is willing to pay duty on any amount of things."
So, while Katie bought embroidered dresses, and spent hours overfittings, the others made what Ellen called "pilgrimages." Once it wasto the old palace that had been Michelangelo's home, lately presented toFlorence by a descendant of his brother. There they saw furniture andsmaller belongings of the great man, manuscripts and sketches and plansof some of his great works, and on the walls of one room a series ofpaintings representing dramatic incidents in his life.
"And yet he died almost a century before Plymouth was settled," saidIrma, returning to the historical comparisons of the first part of hertrip.
Again, one day, rambling through a narrow street, they came to theso-called "house of Dante," a tiny dwelling with small rooms and steepstairs, and though Marion tried to throw cold water on the enthusiasm ofthe girls by telling them that no one now really believed this to be thehouse where Dante had lived, they only laughed at him.
"No one can prove that it is _not_ the house where he was born; andevery one knows that it belonged to his father. But at any rate it's acharming little museum, and since I have seen all the interestingmanuscripts and books there, I am more anxious than ever to read Dante,"and Ellen patted her brother's arm, adding, "No, Richard, what we wishto believe we will believe, especially when it's true."
"Just like a girl," responded Richard, smiling.
One other day they made a pilgrimage to the Protestant cemetery, chieflyto please Ellen, who wished to see the grave of Elizabeth BarrettBrowning. They found it without trouble, a plain marble sarcophagus onCorinthian columns, with no inscription except the initials of the poetand the date of her death. Near the sarcophagus a few pink roses were inbloom.
"How I wish I dared pick one," sighed Ellen.
"Why not?" asked Richard. "There's no one but us to see, and we won'ttell."
Irma was not sure how much in earnest Richard was, but she believed hewas only in fun, for he made no reply to Ellen's, "Oh, I think there'snothing worse than carrying away flowers and stones as souvenirs. I haveknown people to do such silly things. Surely you remember Hadrian'svilla."
Now Irma, although she had no clue to Ellen's reference, at oncerecalled her own success in securing a fragment of marble from this samevilla of Hadrian's, and what it had almost cost her. Even while sherecalled it, it seemed to her that Marion glanced significantly towardher, yet she was sure she had never told him what had caused her to missher train on that eventful evening.
One never to be forgotten day, Irma, Uncle Jim, and Aunt Caroline wentdown to Perugia. Mrs. Sanford and her party had been there before theirarrival in Siena, and Marion, who said he hadn't time for both,preferred a trip to Pisa. But to Irma, the railway journey itself,through tunnels, past mountain towns, around the lovely shores of LakeThrasymene, was something long to be remembered.
"If I hadn't come to Perugia," she said to Uncle Jim, "I suppose Ishouldn't have known what I had missed, but now it seems as if Ishouldn't have really known Italy without coming here. It is so muchlarger than Orvieto, and brighter, and yet it is a hill town withstreets that tumble into one another, and picturesque arches, and thoughit hasn't an Orvieto Cathedral, it has more beautiful churches than oneexpects to find in a place of its size. Then that perfect littleMerchants' Exchange! One could spend a day there studying the frescoes.There are more quaint carvings on the outside of the buildings than inmost places we have seen, and in spite of this broad main street, withthe trolley cars running through it, it seems still a mediaeval town, acheerful one, not a melancholy one like San Gimignano. Then I shall bevery proud when I go home to say that I have actually been in the housewhere Raphael lived and taught before the world knew how great he reallywas."
"A long speech for a little girl," said Uncle Jim, "but it doesn'texplain your unwillingness to stay with your aunt this morning while shemakes a careful study of the exhibition of Umbrian art."
"Why, I think it _does_ explain it. I was there long enough to learnPerugino by heart, his funny little bodyless angels, and his young menwith thin, graceful legs and small skull caps, and of course hisbeautiful color."
Uncle Jim laughed at Irma's characterization of Perugino. "And is thatall you remember of that great building with its treasures of art, asthe books might say?"
"Of course not," said Irma indignantly. "I remember quantities of otherthings. Raphael, and all those strange, pious Umbrian painters, and thebeautiful silver chalices from the churches, and all the carvedcrucifixes. On the ship going home Aunt Caroline will be able to talk tous for hours about these things, describing them exactly. Isn't it muchbetter for a girl of my age to enjoy this lovely view? Come, let us sitdown on a bench in the little piazza in front of the hotel. As we lookoff to the valley, so far below, we seem to be on the edge of a highmountain. Every one in Perugia seems to enjoy the view. See, there aretwo soldiers strolling about; a group of priests; well to do childrenriding around in that donkey cart; half a dozen others who are almost inrags watching them; several strangers besides ourselves; two or threedignitaries of the town. So it's a very popular place."
Again Uncle Jim smiled at Irma's astuteness. Then he left her to enjoythe view still longer, while he went down to the Municipal Building, to"rescue" Aunt Caroline, as he expressed it, from too long a stay at theexhibition of Umbrian art.
On her return to Florence the next evening, Irma wrote Lucy about hervisit to Assisi. She had promised this before she left home, as Lucy hadespecially asked her to see for herself the thornless roses growing inSt. Francis's Garden.
"I have seen the garden," she wrote, "in the cloister back of thechurch, and here is a leaf from the thornless rosebushes. The goodbrothers have these leaves already pressed on little cards, as souvenirsof the visit to St. Mary of the Angels, St. Francis's church. Inside thegreat church they have preserved the tiny church in which St. Francispreached, and also the cell in which he died. The great church of SanFrancesco on the hill above where St. Francis was buried was built inhis memory. His body was finally buried there. It is an enormousbuilding, and I will try to tell you here about the beautiful frescoesdescribing his life. But I have some photographs for you, and they showall his great deeds told in pictures.
"I wish I had time to tell you about Florence. But in six weeks I shallbe at home again, and then how much I shall have to say! It seems to methat all the paintings you and I like best are here, and in color theyare so beautiful. The Pitti Gallery
is wonderful. It is in a greatpalace where the de Medicis (of course) once lived. It now belongs tothe king, and his rooms are most beautiful. But the gallery is quiteapart from the rest of the palace, and filled with the greatestpaintings, Titian and Raphael and Andrea del Sarto and Botticelli andBronzino, and some time, when I am older, I hope to come back and studythem and criticise them just as I hear people doing now. Now I simplyenjoy them.
"There are always many people copying in the galleries, especially inthe Uffizi, and the other day we saw two sisters in their convent dressat work at easels. I suppose they were painting for their convents.There are so many things in Florence I wish we could look at together,the cathedral and Giotto's tower, and the wonderful della Robbiareliefs; you know the small cast of the singing boys that your mothergave you Christmas. Then, though this is different, I wish you could seethe green, pointed hills that are outside of Florence on two sides. WhenI first saw them they seemed like old friends, I had seen them in somany paintings by the old painters who worked in Florence. I thoughtthey put them in just for ornament, but now I know they couldn't helpit. This was the background they were most used to here.
"But there! I have seen so many things besides pictures--the oldpalaces, like fortresses, and the people who seem so gentle, though theyare descendants of all those old fighters who thought nothing of killingone another when they had had the slightest disagreement (or often whenthey hadn't had any) just because their ancestors were enemies. Yet insome ways they were very good to one another. Yesterday we met aqueer-looking procession, hardly a procession, for there were not morethan a dozen men, but they wore long black robes, with hoods, and blackmasks over their faces, and holes cut for their eyes, and, really, theywere terrifying.
"Uncle Jim explained that they were the Misericordia, or Brothers ofMercy. Rich and poor belong to it, and have for centuries, and when aman is on duty, when he hears a certain bell ring--I think it's in theCampanile--he stops whatever he is doing and goes to the headquarters ofthe brothers to learn whether he is to watch with some sick man, or helpbury some dead person with no friends to follow him to the grave.
"I have been disappointed not to see more picturesque costumes here, butin the cities they are never seen, and seldom in the country. Theapprentice boys in different trades wear big aprons, and the nursemaidshave great caps with long, colored streamers, but that is all.
"I feel rather mean, sometimes, when I think how hard you all areworking now, and I am just amusing myself. When you get this,examinations will be about over, and I do wonder if George Belman willbe at the head of the class.
"Well, even if I am idle now, I may have to study hard enough in August.I won't be able to make the excuse that I am not well.
"Hastily,
"Irma."