“Why, she called you by the name these ignorant people give to the harvest goddess. They have a festival in the autumn, with games and feasting; one of the girls is chosen to be the Principessa Etrusca, as they call her. Stefano says it is a…What did he call it?” She frowned prettily. “Oh, yes. It is a survival of the old religion, and the girl who plays the goddess must bleach her hair yellow if it is not that shade already. I suppose they confuse her with his Excellency’s princess—the one he found in the tomb with all her jewels.”
I jerked on the reins so hard that Stella stopped.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded.
“You must have heard of the princess,” Galiana said. “Everyone in the village knows about it, that’s why they won’t go near the old tombs. You have yellow hair, like hers.”
I looked sharply at her, but her smooth face was quite innocent.
“Yes, I have heard about her,” I said. “How strange. I don’t think I want to be taken for a goddess.”
“It’s your own fault,” Galiana replied. “Getting involved with these people. You’d better take a bath as soon as we get back, Francesca. You look a fright, all covered with dust. And—” Her eyes narrowed with malicious laughter. “I’ll wager you have fleas, too. The villagers all have them.”
I lifted my chin in my most dignified manner and said nothing. I had been about to apply my nails to a spot on my neck that had developed a suspicious itch; but not for worlds would I have given Galiana that satisfaction.
II
The poets say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I never realized the truth of the statement until I next rode to the village. This time Miss Perkins was with me, and I felt as if I were seeing the place through new eyes.
Galiana insisted on coming. Any excursion was better than staying at home. She had taken a fancy to Miss Perkins, although the way she laughed at that poor woman’s manners would have infuriated a less amiable person. Miss Perkins didn’t mind. “There is no harm in the girl,” she said, after I had indignantly described Galiana’s callous behavior toward the child. “She is the product of her class, Francesca; she has never been taught to think of others. You mustn’t blame her. Perhaps you can help educate her feelings and tastes.”
I couldn’t be so tolerant. But I had to admit that Galiana was not beyond hope. She came with us even though she knew my reason for going was to inquire after the child.
We stopped in front of the house and Piero went to knock at the door. A strange woman answered it. But she knew who I was, and what I wanted; in a moment the child’s mother came running out of the house, whose windows and doorway were now fringed with staring faces. She tried to kiss my hand. I could hear Galiana giggling as I hastily pulled it away. There was no use trying to explain to her that it was a sense of fitness, not fear of fleas, that made me reluctant. I had been taught that one bowed the knee only to God and the Sovereign.
With Miss Perkins to interpret, I found that the child had taken no harm. It was even then at play in the piazza. So we rode that way, after I had given the woman a few coins. Her gratitude was so exaggerated that I was reminded of Galiana’s remarks about the Principessa Etrusca.
I had told Miss Perkins about this theory and she was inclined to agree. As we rode off, she looked thoughtful.
“I am afraid, Francesca, that you are about to become a local saint. You must control your benevolence.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Miss P.,” I said sulkily. “You know I am not benevolent at all. Only the cruelest brute could be indifferent to an infant—and anyone would look like a saint next to Galiana.”
The other girl was a few feet ahead, and I was speaking English, so I had no fear that she would overhear me. Miss Perkins shook her head.
“It isn’t only Galiana. This country is ripe for a revolution. It is not quite as bad as France used to be; but the tumbrils and the guillotine, tragic as they were, arose out of bitter injustice on the part of the nobility.”
She was surveying the mean little street as we rode, and her face was both sad and angry.
“Look about you,” she went on. “There is no school in this town, no hospital, not even a doctor. Oh, yes, we have far to go, even in England; but this country is still in the Dark Ages. Do you know how old the child’s mother is? Thirty-one! She looks sixty. She is so badly crippled with rheumatism she can scarcely walk—the result of living in damp, filthy old houses. Those houses belong to your grandfather, Francesca. How long has it been, I wonder, since he repaired any of them? Yet he is considered a kindly lord in comparison to others in the province.”
I was too shocked to answer at first. Miss Perkins rode on, muttering angrily to herself, and I let her draw ahead.
I could hardly blame Galiana for laughing at the way Miss Perkins rode; she was a figure of fun on a horse, for she had never learned to post, and rolled around in the saddle like a two-year-old. But she rode as she did everything else, with a grim determination that overcame lack of skill, and that day her generous indignation lent her dignity. By the time we reached the piazza she had forgotten her libertarian sentiments, and the face she turned to me was beaming with admiration.
“What a beautiful old town!” she exclaimed. “Look at the carved stonework on that balcony, Francesca. The church cannot be later than the fourteenth century. See the shape of the Gothic arches in the rose window.”
When she had finished exclaiming over the beauties of the piazza, it looked quite different to me. The sun was shining brightly, which may have helped. The fine weather had brought the townspeople out into the air. Women filled great jars at the fountain. A group of little children sat in the dirt playing some sort of game with pebbles and bits of stick. I saw my small acquaintance among them, but did not go to him (Miss Perkins had ascertained that the infant was of the male sex and was named Giovanni), fearing that my attentions might alarm him. I pointed him out to Miss Perkins, adding,
“His mother says there is nothing wrong with him; but see how quietly he sits there. Surely small children should be running around, shouting….”
“They are all too quiet,” Miss Perkins replied, her face darkening. “A diet of macaroni and vegetables gives one little energy. Even the women move slowly, with effort. As for the men…” and she snorted contemptuously.
There were certainly a number of men lounging about doing nothing, while the women were carrying the heavy jars. Now that Miss Perkins had pointed it out, I could see the lethargy that affected all of them, even the busy women. They were not pale; no one who lived under the hot Italian sun could help but be burned by its rays. But they had a sickly look under their tans, and most of them were too thin.
Galiana was already before Signor Carpaccio’s shop, calling impatiently to us. Miss Perkins paid no attention. She jerked her horse’s head around and went bouncing across the piazza toward the church. Laughing. I followed her, leaving Galiana to do as she pleased.
Miss Perkins rolled out of the saddle before Piero could come to her assistance. He gave me a grimace of mingled amusement and chagrin. I grinned back at him (Galiana was forever reproaching me for my informal attitude toward the servants) and accepted his help in dismounting.
Miss Perkins was standing at the top of the steps, her head tilted back and her bonnet hanging by its ribbons as she contemplated the carved Gothic window.
“What is the interior like?” she asked.
“We didn’t have time to visit the church before.”
Miss Perkins shook her head. “Tsk, tsk. People come all the way from England, even from America, to see historic beauty of this sort. You should not ignore—”
Luckily for me, we were interrupted by Galiana at that point in the lecture.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Let us go to the shop.”
“I want to see the church,” Miss Perkins replied coolly.
“What for?” Galiana asked.
“Have you ever seen it?”
“No, of course not. There is a chapel at the castello; we hear Mass there, with Father Benedetto. Even you heretics must know that….”
Galiana was beginning to learn that she could say such things to Miss Perkins, but her expression was rather wary until Miss Perkins burst into a shout of laughter.
