FRA GIOVANNI'S STORY.

BY THOMAS B. REILLY.

COU like the portrait, signore? The face is good to look upon; there are few such in these modern gray days. The artist? One of your countrymen. You smile, but it is true. Six feet of splendid American manhood; a heart-così-a poet, a dreamer. a lover of honor. It is the blessed truth. See! here is the name-che! you know him; you know Hawkins! Pardon such feeling, your excellency. He spoke of me; he remembered Giovanni; now, may Our Lady save him! It seems years ago since he left us. He married, of course? No! È perchè? Ah, she broke her promise; too bad, too bad! But he still paints a picture or two? In business! making money! il cielo! And this is the end of his dreams, of his art ? Ah! I see, he would not remember. Chi sa; perhaps it is best so.

You are a wonderful people, signore; too practical? Even so. I have often said to myself, they will tire of it all; some day they will sit in the shade for rest, and Beauty, touching them with her wing, shall stir in their hearts another truth. And they will become a nation of artists. I sometimes laugh at my thought, your excellency; but I expect to see the day. Your own countryman, was he not one who, earlier than the rest, found need of something beyond the stress of trade and the excitement of profit? We see you more clearly abroad than you see yourselves at home. Gold is not all, your excellency. You must seek something that touches the heart more nearly. No, no, money is not bad; it is a power for good. Has it not brought you to these shores; opened the treasures of ages, and your tired eyes! You have looked on Beauty. You will not be quiet till you have tried your own hand. And you will touch great heights. Is not this picture proof of it? Was not its maker of your own soil!

Ebbene, we were close friends in those years. One day Hawkins would paint a Madonna-capisci? A Madonna-the height and depth of every feeling. I smiled. What could he

bring to such a work? What did such a subject mean to him? I could see only failure. Ah! your excellency has browsed in the field? Then you know why I smiled. Art is not builded on such narrow wants. I reasoned with him. He persisted. Was it not to be a masterpiece? It was not for me to discourage him; no-davvero. So I played upon his soul with all the subtleness I could use, trying to flood it with feelings and convictions worthy such a subject. He was impatient. He would begin the task at once; but the modelwas there a face, in all Rome, equal to the inspiration? And I remembered a quiet home near the Piazza Navona: a fragrant garden; a cortile where pigeons floated downward at the call of a voice, and where wonderful eyes looked over a fountain's rim, nor saw the marvellous beauty of a face among the waters. And I said to myself, Here is something worthy his brush. And it was so.

For many days I sat in the shadow of the north wall watching the canvas grow into a thing of living beauty. Now and then we would call a truce to labor. Yes; we. Why not? for my heart was in every stroke, in every light and shadow. In such pause we would listen, not to the drowsy waters but to a living voice-her voice, your excellency—that sometimes creeps upon me in the black night. In those moments, our friend would sit with closed eyes. It was-how is it said ?-si, si, a spell. And when the song was ended, and bubbling laughter burst from her lips, he seemed to wake from a dream. I know the reason now. He would shake his head-so-and begin to work with a sort of madness. seemed to free some pain clutching at his heart.

It

The last sitting had come. That day he lingered till the dusk was upon the roofs, and the great stars hung white above the walls. We were finishing our luncheon, when a voice-her voice-rose full of ancient sweetness on the quiet air. She was at a window above us. When the last note had run to starlight and silence, we stood and called a bravo. A rain of laughter spilled about us, and a rose sped downward at our friend's feet, and she was gone. He stooped for the flower, paused a moment-then giving it to me, said, "Eccola! you will best wear it!" And so we passed into the street.

On

"Was not her beauty sufficient ? "

"Yes, yes," he said quickly; "such beauty will wear for ever; goodness is behind, within, and around it. Once I did not think so. It is one of those truths that come home late to the heart; and the return is sometimes bitter."

We walked on in silence. Si, si, your excellency, it was a trick of memory; it hung about him-this sadness-till he sailed for home. He went suddenly, with scarce a word of parting; and without his "masterpiece." That was his gift to Maria. From her it passed into the possession of the good fathers of the chapel. He has made it full of life, eh? Look at it from this angle-so-see how the spirit comes and goes. Too sorrowful! Eh, but the eyes, your excellency, the depth! the light!

Should have a story! your excellency. It has. Maria slipped into womanhood; how or when, who shall say? She woke one dawn, and it was shining upon her like a holy presence. And just as suddenly, from a whole citiful, two men became her suitors-each in his own way; Carlo and Giuseppe.

The woman? You shall hear. Once she said to me: "You like Carlo, non e vero?" And, laughing, I replied: "I have made him my friend; is not that enough?" "But," she persisted, "is not Giuseppe, also, your friend ?" "He has chosen me as such," I answered. She turned away in silence. It looked very clear, did it not, your excellency? She would have me cast the balance. But I held my peace. You have known such natures, signore; and what tortures indecision lays upon them. I pitied her; and then my tongue said sharp things for the sake of her peace; told her to send one or the other upon his way; to be just to herself and them. Ma che! it was always a sigh, and then another sigh. Is the heart so very easy to read, your excellency?

A lottery, you say; I would not call it that. Marriage with us is a holy state. God's finger is upon the tie, and His word upon the troth. In it lie peace, affection, trust not always? Chi sa; there may come moments when ah! pardon me, amicone, I did not mean to stir such waters. You would live it down? That is most difficult, till you pass the frontiers of human agency. You have come to my coun

rows under His will this night; you will find them blooms of beauty in the dawn.

Bè, this is our city house. Your excellency will come within to sit awhile in the cool twilight to hear the story? Bene. There is none here except Papino.

Giuseppe pleaded on his knees like a child; but the woman would not listen. That was a sour drink, was it not, your excellency, for one proud as fire. I often met him after that, beyond the gates, brooding his way in silence. No, no, I think it was Carlo tortured him most. Carlo was making a splendid name for himself on the Corso. Rumor had it that Maria favored his suit. I knew better. She had already refused him, as she had Giuseppe. It seemed a very weak decision, your excellency, did it not? Behold the result. One day the two rejected suitors met in the shadows. The feeling of months rushed from rushed from Giuseppe's lips in the single word "Traditore!" There was a quick descending flash through the dusk a groan-hurried footfalls. In a moment a red pool gathered and spread beneath Carlo's shoulder. Die? Oh! no; but his arm was never of much use thereafter. Now, said I, now the woman may choose in peace. But she sighed on hearing the tale, and was silent. Strange, was it not?

Giovanni," said the mother to me one day,—" Giovanni mio, what has come upon her? I have risen before the stars were pale, and seen her in tears at the feet of Our Lady's statue. And she would give me no word but this: You would not understand, madre mia; some day it shall all come clear; but I am happy-oh! yes, very happy.' Tell me, Giovanni, is it her soul!" And I, your excellency, placing a hand over my heart, said: "It is all here, little mother, all here!" She looked at me-so-with fear in her eyes. Then, coming closer, whispered: "God forbid that, my son; there is no death so bitter!" And she left me, saying again and again, "Il cuore; il cuore." She, too, your excellency, has had a romance in her youth, and one tragic hour in her life. Ebbene! time slipped by. Giuseppe's flight had passed from common talk. Carlo was still in the city. Summer was with us. You know where the church of San Lorenzo stands, and the holy field beside it where the dead lie mute in their deep content ? No strife nor bitterness there, your excellency; noth

All Souls was nearing its end. Here and there, on the houses of the dead, thin lights twinkled above the sleepers' hearts. Sitting alone in the shadow, your excellency, I was thinking. of the countless throngs that had passed through the last great Pain; and how none had ever turned backward with a hint of what lay beyond. Are they so happy there, or is it a penalty on us without the gates? Just then I saw a human form creeping among the graves. At each new mound he paused long enough to read the inscription. Finally he dropped on his knees before a heap of earth, and his hands sunk in the fresh clay. I stepped from the shadows. shadows. At sight of me, he shrieked and grovelled in the dust at my feet. Chi! Giuseppe; è vero. And Death looked out of his eyes. He crouched for a moment, and scanned me-so-with superstitious fear. Then he rose and said: "È voi, Giovanni, Padre Giovanni !" He shook like a vine in the wind. I touched him on the arm and said: Giuseppe! what brings you here?" "Tell me," he cried, "where is it; where lies Carlo? I have seen him in my dreams; and the blood was a veil on his face. Tell me; quick, that I may sign myself with the earth that hides him. You will not! even you-Giovanni-O Dio!

Ε

He

fell in a faint at my feet. Do with him? Misericordia! they brought him to the public hospital, where death and human skill disputed the wreckage of his body. But his soul, ah! we saved that, your excellency. It was Maria's work. She softened his heart at the end. He died repentant, the crucifix on his lips, Carlo and the woman in tears beside him. She was never the same after that, your excellency. Death sometimes stirs strange things in the heart. Loved him too late? Aspetta, you have not heard the end.

On the feast of Little Christmas, a great day with us, your excellency, I was coming from the mountains. It was evening when I reached home. The streets were filled with people. The sound of their merrymaking followed me into my room. I was thinking: suppose this joy were suddenly changed to grief, how many of those singing under my windows would carry a light heart to the end? It is a great task so to bear life that you spill none of its bitterness. An hour later I was out in the night going toward the Piazza Navona. They were waiting me with candles. And as I went up the stairs a