FROM THE PATRIOT› Translated by M. Prichard-Agnetti and copyrighted by G. P. Putnam's Sons, and reprinted by their permission. CHAPTER I RISOTTO AND TRUFFLES N the lake a cold breva was blowing, striving to drive away the gray clouds which clung heavily about the dark mountaintops. Indeed, when the Pasottis reached Casarico on their way down from Albogasio Superiore, it had not yet begun to rain. The waves beat and thundered on the shore, jostling the boats at their moorings, while flashing tongues of white foam showed, here and there, as far as the frowning banks of the Doi over yonder. But down in the west, at the end of the lake, a line of light could be seen, a sign of approaching calm, of the diminishing breva, and behind the gloomy Caprino hill appeared the first misty rain. Pasotti, in his full dress black overcoat, a tall hat on his head, his hand grasping a thick bamboo walking-stick, was pacing nervously along the shore, peering now in this direction, now in that, or stopping to beat his stick upon the ground, and to shout for that ass of a boatman, who had not yet appeared. The little black boat, with its red cushions, its red and white awning, its movable seat, used only on special occasions, fixed crosswise in its place, the oars lying ready amidship, was struggling, buffeted by the waves, between two coal barges, which hardly moved. «Pin!» shouted Pasotti, growing more and more angry. «Pin!»> The only answer was the regular, constant thundering of the waves on the shore, and the bumping of one boat against another. At that moment one would have said there was not so much as a live dog in the whole of Casarico. Only a plaintive, old voice, like the husky falsetto of a ventriloquist, groaned from beneath the portico «Hadn't we better walk?» At last Pin appeared in the direction of San Mamette. «Hurry up, there!» shrieked Pasotti, raising his arms. began to run. The man «Beast!» Pasotti roared. «It was with good reason they gave you the name of a dog!» 1 Breva: local name for a sudden, violent wind blowing from the north, and sweeping over the Italian lakes. [Translator's note.] much, contemporary Italian art. He is more truly a religious poet than Dante. He is one of the greatest interpreters of mystic emotion since Dante's time. BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. - Antonio Fogazzaro, born at Vicenza, March 25th, 1842, died at Vicenza, March 7th, 1911; son of Mariano and Terresa Barrera Fogazzaro; friend and pupil of Giacomo Zanella; educated at Padua; in 1866 married Margherita Valmarana, having three children, Gina, Mariano, and Maria. Of a family of considerable wealth, Fogazzaro lived most of his life on his estates at Vicenza and in the region of Lake Lugano. He performed a variety of civic duties in his native city (education, public monuments, charities). He traveled extensively in Europe as a popular lecturer. Works: first publication of verse, 1863; (Miranda,) 1874, French, German, and Czech translations between 1882 and 1909; (Valsolda,) 1876, English, French, Russian, Spanish trans.; (Malombra,) novel, 1881; (Daniele Cortis, 1885, trans., (The Politician); (Fedele), tales, 1887; (Il mistero del poeta,› 1888; Racconti brevi, 1894; (Piccolo mondo antico,) trans., (The Patriot,) 1896; (Poesie scelte,) 1898; (Ascensioni umane,) 1899; (Piccolo mondo moderno,) trans., (The Sinner,) 1901; (Idilli spezzati, tales, 1901; (Scene,) 1903; (Il santo,) trans., (The Saint,) 1903; (Le poesie,) 1908, best collection of verse; (Leila,) 1910. Bibliography and biography by Molmenti, Milan, 1900, and S. Rumor, Milan, 1912. See McKenzie, Yale Review, 1913. FROM (THE PATRIOT> Translated by M. Prichard-Agnetti and copyrighted by G. P. Putnam's Sons, and reprinted by their permission. CHAPTER I RISOTTO AND TRUFFLES N the lake a cold breva was blowing, striving to drive away the On the yake a cowhich was gray clouds which clung heavily about the dark mountaintops. Indeed, when the Pasottis reached Casarico on their way down from Albogasio Superiore, it had not yet begun to rain. The waves beat and thundered on the shore, jostling the boats at their moorings, while flashing tongues of white foam showed, here and there, as far as the frowning banks of the Doi over yonder. But down in the west, at the end of the lake, a line of light could be seen, a sign of approaching calm, of the diminishing breva, and behind the gloomy Caprino hill appeared the first misty rain. Pasotti, in his full dress black overcoat, a tall hat on his head, his hand grasping a thick bamboo walking-stick, was pacing nervously along the shore, peering now in this direction, now in that, or stopping to beat his stick upon the ground, and to shout for that ass of a boatman, who had not yet appeared. The little black boat, with its red cushions, its red and white awning, its movable seat, used only on special occasions, fixed crosswise in its place, the oars lying ready amidship, was struggling, buffeted by the waves, between two coal barges, which hardly moved. «Pin!» shouted Pasotti, growing more and more angry. «Pin!» The only answer was the regular, constant thundering of the waves on the shore, and the bumping of one boat against another. At that moment one would have said there was not so much as a live dog in the whole of Casarico. Only a plaintive, old voice, like the husky falsetto of a ventriloquist, groaned from beneath the portico «Hadn't we better walk?» At last Pin appeared in the direction of San Mamette. «Hurry up, there!» shrieked Pasotti, raising his arms. began to run. The man «Beast!» Pasotti roared. «It was with good reason they gave you the name of a dog!» Breva: local name for a sudden, violent wind blowing from the north, and sweeping over the Italian lakes. [Translator's note.] «Hadn't we better walk, Pasotti?» groaned the plaintive voice. «Let us walk!» Pasotti continued to abuse the boatman, who was hastily unfastening the chain of his boat from a ring, fixed in the bank. Presently he turned towards the portico, with an authoritative air, and jerking his chin, motioned to someone to come forward. «Let us walk, Pasotti!» the voice groaned once more. He shrugged his shoulders, made a rough gesture of command with his hand, and started down towards the boat. Then an old lady appeared under one of the arches of the portico, her lean person enveloped in an Indian shawl, below which a black silk skirt showed. Her head was surmounted by a fashionable bonnet, spindling, and lofty, trimmed with tiny yellow roses, and black lace. Two black curls framed the wrinkled face; the eyes were large and gentle, and the wide mouth was shaded by a faint mustache. «Oh, Pin» she exclaimed, clasping her canary-colored gloves, and pausing on the bank to gaze helplessly at the boatman. we really venture out with the lake in this state?>> «Can Her husband made a still more imperious gesture, and his face assumed a still sourer expression. The poor woman slipped down to the boat in silence, and was helped in, trembling violently. «I commend myself to Our Lady of Caravino, my good Pin!»> she said. «What a dreadful lake!>> The boatman shook his head, smiling. «By the way!» Pasotti exclaimed, «have you brought the sail along?» «It is up at the house,» Pin answered. «Shall I go for it? But perhaps the Signora here might be frightened. Besides, here comes the rain!>> «Go and fetch it,» said Pasotti. The Signora, who was as deaf as a post, had not heard a word of this conversation, and, greatly amazed at seeing Pin run off, asked her husband where he was going. «The sail!» Pasotti shouted into her face. She sat, bending forward, her mouth wide open, striving in vain to catch, at least, the sound of his voice. «The sail!» he repeated, still louder, his hands framing his mouth. She began to think that she understood. Trembling with fright, she drew a questioning hieroglyphic in the air with her finger. Pasotti answered by drawing an imaginary curve in the air, and blowing into it; then he silently nodded his head. His wife, convulsed with terror, started to leave the boat. «I am going to get out!» said she in an agonized voice. «I am going to get out! I want to walk!» Her husband seized her by the arm, and pulled her down into her seat, fixing two flaming eyes upon her. Meanwhile the boatman had returned with the sail. The poor woman writhed and sighed; tears stood in her eyes, and she cast despairing glances at the shore, but she was silent. The mast was raised, the two lower ends of the sail were made fast, and the boat was about to put out, when a voice bellowed from the portico «Hallo! Hallo! The Signor Controllore!» and out popped a big, rubicund priest, with a glorious belly, a large, black straw hat, a cigar in his mouth, and an umbrella under his arm. «Oh! Curatone!» Pasotti exclaimed. «Well done! Are you invited to the dinner also? Are you coming to Cressogno with us?» «<If you will take me,» the curate of Puria answered, going down towards the boat. «Well, I never! The Signora Barborin is here also.»> The expression of his big face became supremely amiable, his great voice became supremely sweet. «She is devilish frightened, poor creature!» Pasotti grinned, while the curate was making a series of little bows, and smiling sweetly upon the lady, who was more terrified than ever at the prospect of this added weight. She began to gesticulate silently, as if the others had been more deaf than she herself. She pointed to the lake, to the sail, to the bulk of the enormous curate, raising her eyes to heaven, hiding her face in her hands, or pressing them to her heart. <<I don't weigh so very much,» said the curate laughing. «Ho'd your tongue, will you?» he added, turning to Pin, who had murmured disrespectfully: «A good, big fish!» «I'll tell you how we can cure her of her fright!» Pasotti exclaimed. «Pin, have you a little table, and a pack of tarocchi1 cards?»> «I have a pack,» Pin replied. «But they are rather greasy.» They had great difficulty in making Signora Barbara-generally called Barborin understand the matter in hand. She would not understand, not even when her husband forced the pack of fifty cards into her hands. "Tarocchi: a game of cards once much in vogue in Italy. The «Mondo,» the «Matto,» the «Bagatto,» which will be referred to later on, are all picture cards used in this game. [Translator's note.] |