Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 1804-1864 -- Family; Novelists, American -- 19th century -- Biography
and she soon gave up opening her lips when we were together. She
looked kind, in spite of her rocky hardness of Italian feature, and
she fed me on dried melon-seeds when I was at the lowest tide of
depression. Sometimes she was to be found at the well, close to the
entrance-arch. There the faithful servant let down a bucket by its
heavy chain with a doomsday clank. The sunlight revealed the smallness
and brilliancy and number of her black braids and the infinite
multitude of her wrinkles, as well as the yellowness of her dangling
gold earrings and the texture of her parchment-like arms, which were
the color of glossy brown leaves. Sometimes she would awaken me from
soporific melancholy by allowing herself to be found upon her knees in
her bedroom, a bare and colorless abode, her great black crucifix
hanging in majestic solitude upon the wall above her handsome old
head. I thought her temporarily insane to pray so much, and at all to
an audience; but I recognized the gentleness of the attacks, and I
somehow loved her for them. Even to the ignorance of error truth can
be beautiful. An extremely attractive little Italian maid, of sixteen
or less, used also to be found on her knees before the crucifix.
Stella was obliged to drive this dark-eyed butterfly to her devotions.
If I discovered her, I had no reverence, and tried unmercifully to
interrupt her soft whispers. Stella's loving revenge for my wickedness
was to give me a tiny wax sleeping Bambino, surrounded by flowers
under a convex glass, whose minute face had a heaven of smiling
forgiveness in it. Often I surreptitiously studied the smile on the
sleeping face. I felt that He loved us even during His sleep; and I
cherished the gaze of shining gladness with which Stella herself had
placed this treasure in my hand, which could so simply quicken
sluggish thought.
To give a clearer glimpse of the villa, which with our life there
became one of the most precious of our memories, and a glimpse also of
one or two people and events, I will insert this letter from my
mother:--
August 14, 1858.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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