“I certainly wondered why he wished it, but I suppose it is the custom, and I am quite content.”
“You will doubtless, as you go on, find many customs which you will have to comply with. At Capo di Monte you will sit in the open loggia of your husband's house, instead of in your drawing-room with closed doors, as you would do in England. When you want your man-servant, you will call for him at the top of the stairs at least quite as often as you will ring a rare and occasional bell. You will order your dinner, from the balcony, of the cook below, just starting for his marketing. And I am afraid you may very possibly see your maid surreptitiously laying out your fine linen to dry on the trim-cut box hedge which surrounds the geometrical divisions of your garden. Of course in your palazzo in Rome you may succeed in keeping up a little more state. But even there, and certainly in Villegiatura[176] at Naples, you may have to make up your mind to your chef calling your attention to an unusually fine piece of beef in its uncooked state which he designs for your dinner that day.”
“Do you remember, Mary,” I replied, laughing, “the man-servant one day in Rome bringing you in a beautiful pigeon with an ever-varying purple breast that reminded me of the shot silks or stuffs in Raphael's pictures? You asked the man if he supposed you could by any possibility eat it an hour after you had fondled it.”
“I had to go without meat for luncheon that day, and the pigeon's life was spared. I fed it with rice, and it used to sit on my chest and pick the grains from between my lips.”
“At last it got too bold, and, mistaking your teeth for grains of rice, pecked at your lips till they bled.”
What a mischievous bird it was! When we came home, after leaving it at liberty in the house, we found all the heads of a bouquet of violets that stood in water picked off and strewed on the table, and all the pens taken from the pen-tray and laid on the floor. Finally one day the pins had been extracted out of the pin-cushion and put on the table, and the long, black hair-pins taken out of Mary's silver toilet-box and laid on the bed. At last we noticed a black pigeon that used to come often and sit on the water-pipe of the house opposite. We never closed the windows on account of our purple pigeon, as it had shown no disposition to leave its human friends for others of its own kind. But blood is stronger than water; and no doubt the black pigeon had wonderful tales to tell of the many roofs of Rome as presenting eligible habitations, and of the daily markets in the Piazza Navona and beneath the shadow of the Pantheon as affording an easily-obtained repast among the refuse. So one day, when we came home, the window was open, and the pigeon nowhere to be found. Nor did we ever again see the black seducer sitting on the neighboring water-spouts.
After all we were very much amused at our dinner at Frisio. We ate frutti di mare,[177] and macaroni dressed with pomi d'oro.[178] Of the meat the less said the better. I rarely thought any of it good at Naples; though no further off than Sorrento the beef is excellent. All provisions are, in fact, better there than at Naples. Our supply of butter came from Sorrento, and was obtained for us by Pascarillo, our coachman's master; so that frequently, as we passed his door returning home from our drive, his wife would hail us, and hand into the carriage the fresh butter wrapt up in green vine-leaves.
When dinner was over, and we sat looking out on the sea, I remembered that Emidio had promised to tell us the story of Padre Cataldo's escape at the time of the Italian revolution in 1860, and I asked him to give us the particulars.
“This will be a very good time to do so, Miss Jane,” was his reply, “because we are quite safe at Frisio from the father's presence. He does not like talking of it. You very probably have heard of the earthquake in Italy that took place in 1857; though I dare say the devastation it caused was hardly noticed in the English papers. The Jesuit Fathers had a college at Potenza which was partly thrown down at the time, and consequently the boys had been sent home to their parents and most of the fathers dispersed. Padre Cataldo and one other alone remained. You are aware that Potenza is the principal town of the Basilicata, and is the see of a bishop. There were forty villages in the same province destroyed at the same time. The king (of course I mean Francis II.) had obtained that Padre Cataldo should be sent on a mission to the inhabitants of these unfortunate villages, not only to preach in the different places, but to carry relief to the inhabitants, and to organize the proper burial of the dead, who lay neglected among the ruins at the imminent risk of breeding a pestilence. He was also to encourage the poor people to rebuild their habitations, and to aid them once [pg 810] again to gain their livelihood and resume the cultivation of the land. He was engaged in this arduous labor for a period of about fifteen months, during which he lived amongst the people with the affection of a father and almost the authority of a ruler; for there was nothing they would not do at his bidding.”
“The work accomplished, he returned to the half-ruined college at Potenza. There was but one other priest in residence with him there, and Padre Cataldo had hardly joined him when the revolution broke out. The Jesuits were far from apprehending any violence at first from the inhabitants of Potenza, a great many of whom were much attached to them. But at that time they had not had personal experience of the insidious ways by means of which the revolutionists instil their doctrines into the minds of the unsuspecting. They soon, however, began to notice that the caffes were thronged with noisier guests than usual, and who remained till late into the night discussing and disputing over their wine or coffee. The few shops where books or newspapers could be found in the not highly-educated or literary town of Potenza began to display pamphlets with brilliant-colored covers and dubious titles. The men frequenting the churches were fewer, and those that came were less respectful in their demeanor. At night the young men wandered about in file, arm-in-arm, walking rapidly with what no doubt they thought a military step, a flower stuck behind the ear, the hat on one side, and singing revolutionary songs in a loud and often inebriated voice. The symptoms were all bad. And the fathers were not surprised when one morning, having noticed an unusual agitation in the streets and the piazza, they received a secret message to the effect that they would do well to leave the town as quickly and as quietly as possible, for the one simple reason that where there is a Jesuit the revolutionist is his enemy. The persons sending this message to the fathers added that if their advice were not forthwith taken, acts of violence might follow.