Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1885-08-05
n v ENDEIIA
BY GUY DE NAUPOSANT.

Paolo Saverini's widow lived alone
with her son in a miserable little
house on the ramparts of Bonifaclo.
The city, built upon a projection OF
the mountain, and even hanging dl-
rectly above the sea in some places,
commands, across the strait that
bristles with rocks, a good view of the
lowest portion of the Sandman coast.
At its feet, on the other side, but al
most thanking it entirely, an opening
in the cliff shaped like a gigantic cor
ridor, serves it for a port, enabling
the little italian or Sandman fishing
smacks to advance to the first line of
houses, after a long circuit between
two abrupt walls. And every fifteen
days comes the wheezy old steamboat
which phys between the town and
Aiaccio.
Upon the White Mountain the
mass of houses make a still winter
stain. They seem like nests of wild
birds attached to the rock, and over
looking the terrible passage into which
vessels never venture. Without repose
the wind labors the sea, labors the
naked coast which it gnaws forever, and
which has scarcely q cover of green;
it rushes into the narrow Detroit, raw
aging either shore. The long trails of
white foam, clinging to the points of
the countless rocks which pierce
the water everywhere, have the as
pect Of tatters of clothes floating and
quivering on the surface.
The house Of the Widow Saverini,
perched upon the very edge of the
three windows to the wild and DESC
late horizon.
She lived there all alone with her
son and their dog Allegro-a great,
gaunt beast with long, bristling hair,
of sheep-dog breed. The dog aided
the young man in hunting.
One evening after a quarrel, Anto-
Mo Saverini was treacherously killed
with single knife thrust-by Nico
10 Ravolati, who, the same night, fled
to Sardinia.
When the old mother received the
corpse of her child that some passers-
by had found and carried to her, she
did not weep at all, but remained for
a long time motionless, staring at the
body; then, stretching out her wrin
kled hand over the body, she promised
the dead q vendetta. She would not
allow anyone to remain with her; she
shut herself up alone with the dog
which howled. The brute howled,
continuously, standing up with his
fOrepaws on the edge OF the bed, turn
ing his head towards his masters face,
and keeping his tail between his legs.
There he remained, motionless as the
mother, who now, bending above the
corpse, contemplated it with fixed
stare, while great dumb tears rolled
down her cheeks.
Lying on his back at full length, still
wearing his great coarse jacket, torn
and pierced at the breast, the youth
seemed to sleep; but his blood was ev-
erywhere-on the shirt that had been
torn open when the first attempt at
aid was made-on his weston his
trowsers-on his face-on his hands.
Gouts of blood had thickened on his
beard and hair.
The old mother began to speak to
him. At the sound OF her voice the
dog ceased to howl.
'ENever mind-never mind thou wilt
be avenged, my little one-my own
boy, my poor dead child. Sleep!
sleep! thou wilt be avenged
hear? It is mother who promises this
to thee; and she always keeps her
word-mother does
And she bent down slowly over him,
pressing her lips upon the cold dead
lips.
Then Allegro again began to howl.
He uttered long, mOnOtOnOus plant
piercing, horrible.
The two remained there till morning
the woman and the animal.
Antonio Saverini was buried next
morning; and folks soon ceased to
speak OF him in Bonifacio.
He had left no brother, nor even
any near cousins. There was no man
to pursue the vendetta. The old
woman only thought OF 1.-THE old
mother.
From morning till night she watched
a white speck cleaning across the
strait--on the low shore beyond. It
was the little Sandman village, LongO-
Sardo, whittier Corsican bandits still
fly for refuge when too closely pur-
sued. They alone constitute almost
the entire population of the hamlet,
fronting the coast of their own father
land; and they wait there for the
chance to return to the mountain
thickets. She knew that it was in
that village that Nicolo Ravolati was
hiding.
All day long, while sitting alone at
her window, she looked across the
water, bordering vengeance. But
what was she to do without any man
to aida weak old woman, with one
foot in the grave? Nevertheless she
had promised-she had sworn upon
the corpse. She could not forget-she
she could not wait What was she to
do? She could not sleep at night fol