tion>THE FRONT YARD AND
OTHER ITALIAN STORIES
CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON
[Page 202
"'MADEMOISELLE NEED GIVE HERSELF NO UNEASINESS'" THE FRONT YARD
AND
OTHER ITALIAN STORIES
BY
CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON AUTHOR OF "ANNE" "HORACE CHASE" ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1895
Copyright, 1895, by
HARPER & BROTHERS.
----
All rights reserved.
NOTE
OF the stories contained in this volume, "In Venice" was originally published in the Atlantic Monthly, "The Street of the Hyacinth"
in the Century Magazine, and the other four stories in Harper's Magazine.
CONTENTS PAGE
THE FRONT YARD 1
NEPTUNE'S SHORE 50
A PINK VILLA 91
THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 137
A CHRISTMAS PARTY 194
IN VENICE 234
ILLUSTRATIONS
"'MADEMOISELLE NEED GIVE HERSELF NO UNEASINESS'" Frontispiece
"''TWOULD BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THE DAY WITH, THAT WOULD'" Facing p. 2
1
"NOUNCE TOO CAME OUT, AND SAT ON THE WALL NEAR BY, LISTENING" " 22
"STILL HOLDING NOUNCE'S HAND, SHE WENT ROUND TO THE FRONT OF THE HOUSE" " 42 "'YOU KNOW I AM YOUR SLAVE'" " 58
AZUBAH ASH " 68
THE OLD WATCH-TOWER" 86
"THE CART WAS GOING SLOWLY ACROSS THE FIELDS, FOR THE ROAD WAS OVERFLOWED" " 88 "'MRS. CHURCHILL, LET ME PRESENT TO YOU MR. DAVID ROD'" " 100
SORRENTO " 102
ON THE WAY TO THE DESERTO " 112
AT THE DESERTO " 114
"SHE SAT DOWN AND GATHERED HER CHILD TO HER BREAST" " 128 "FANNY PUT OUT HER HANDS WITH A BITTER CRY" " 134
"A SMALL CHILD PERCHED ON EACH OF HIS SHOULDERS" " 214
THE FRONT YARD
"WELL, now, with Gooster at work in the per-dairy, and Bepper settled at last as help in a good family, and Parlo and Squawly gone to Perugia, and Soonter taken by the nuns, and Jo Vanny learning the carpenter's trade, and only Nounce left for me to see to (let alone Granmar, of course, and Pipper and old Patro), it doos seem, it really doos, as if I might get it done sometime; say next Fourth of July, now; that's only ten months off. 'Twould be something to celebrate the day with, that would; something like!"
The woman through whose mind these thoughts were passing was sitting on a low stone-wall, a bundle of herbs, a fagot of twigs, and a sickle laid carefully beside her. On her back was strapped a large deep basket, almost as long as herself; she had loosened the straps so that she could sit down. This basket was heavy; one could tell that from the relaxed droop of her shoulders relieved from its weight for the moment, as its end rested on a fallen block on the other side of the wall. Her feet were bare, her dress a narrow cotton gown, covered in front to the hem by a dark cotton apron; on her head was a straw bonnet, which had behind a little cape
of brown ribbon three inches deep, and in front broad strings of the same brown, carefully tied in a bow, with the loops pulled out to their full width and pinned on each side of her chin. This bonnet, very clean and decent (the ribbons had evidently been washed more than once), was of old-fashioned shape, projecting beyond the wearer's forehead and cheeks. Within its tube her face could be seen, with its deeply browned skin, its large irregular features, smooth, thin white hair, and blue eyes, still bright, set amid a bed of wrinkles. She was sixty years old, tall and broad-shouldered. She had once been remarkably erect and strong. This strength had been consumed more by constant toil than by the approach of old age; it was not all gone yet; the great basket showed that. In addition, her eyes spoke a language which told of energy that would last as long as her breath.
These eyes were fixed now upon a low building that stood at a little distance directly across the path. It was small and ancient, built
of stone, with a sloping roof and black door. There were no windows; through this door entered the only light and air. Outside were two large heaps of refuse, one of which had been there so long that thick matted herbage was growing vigorously over its top. Bars guarded the entrance; it was impossible to see what was within. But the woman knew without seeing; she always knew. It had been a cow; it had been goats; it had been pigs, and then goats again; for the past two years it had been pigs steadily--always pigs. Her eyes
were fixed upon this door as if held there by a magnet; her mouth fell open a little as she gazed; her hands lay loose in her lap. There
was nothing new in the picture, certainly. But the intensity of her feeling made it in one way always new. If love wakes freshly every morning, so does hate, and Prudence Wilkin had hated that cow-shed for years.
"''TWOULD BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THE DAY WITH, THAT WOULD'"
The bells down in the town began to ring the Angelus. She woke from her reverie, rebuckled the straps of the basket, and adjusting it by a jerk of her shoulders in its place on her back, she took the fagot in one hand, the bundle of herbs in the other, and carrying the sickle under her arm, toiled slowly up the ascent, going round the cow-shed, as the interrupted path too went round it, in an
unpaved, provisional sort of way (which had, however, lasted fifty years), and giving a wave of her herbs towards the offending black
door as she passed--a gesture that was almost triumphant. "Jest you wait till next Fourth of July, you indecent old Antiquity, you!" This is what she was thinking.
Prudence Wilkin's idea of Antiquity was everything that was old and dirty; indecent Antiquity meant the same qualities increased to
a degree that was monstrous, a degree that the most profligate imagination of Ledham (New Hampshire) would never have been
able to conceive. There was naturally a good deal of this sort of Antiquity in Assisi, her present abode; it was all she saw when she
descended to that picturesque town; the great triple church of St. Francis she never entered; the magnificent view of the valley, the
serene vast Umbrian plain, she never noticed; but the steep, narrow streets, with garbage here and there, the crowding stone houses, centuries old, from whose court-yard doors issued odors indescribable--these she knew well, and detested with all her soul. Her deepest degree of loathing,
