The Anaconda standard. [volume] (Anaconda, Mont.) 1889-1970, 1890-06-18
TRADITION AND TRUTH.

warming themselves In the sun. Here
and there are houses Of the gentry, white,
smooth-walled, with green blinds; N
lower down the front OF the parish church
at o right angle, cleaning white against
the lark foliage of the chestnut trees. At
the foot of the mountain Is the plain OF
VALID. vast, green with thickets, enclosed
all around by a circle Of mountains, blue
in the distance. and smiling hills, popu-
lous with villas and little own
The village is called Castelfranco. And
indeed, by climbing to the highest peak
of the mountain, may still find re-
mains of walls, crumbled by time.
The tower, popular tradition narrates,
was built by Robert Guiscard, a strong
and handsome prince. One day he was
seen to leave the castle; he was encased
i'm cleaning armor and rode n superb
Arabian horse. Behind him was n troop
of bold knights, his companions in arms.
Up from the plain came towards them
a peasant girl, the most beautiful in the
surrounding country, and she carried up
on her head a jar of water, like an antique
amphora. The prince halted to gaze up
on her, and all the Others checked their
horses. She, 90, stood still with down.
dropped eyes, and her Madonna-like face
became as red as an apple. He asked the
beautiful girl for a draught of water. She
held out her pitcher and the prince drank.
They tell how Guiscard delayed his jour
ney for a day, and slept another night at
the castle.
Then he departed; and nothing more
was heard of him.; nor did he ever return
to Castlefranco. And the peasant girl, the
most beautiful of the surrounding country,
a year from that time died, consumed by
passion, in the martyrdom of long and
endless waiting.
And from the rock, near which the prince
met the peasant girl, sprang forth n foun-
tain Of clear water, which, beating and
breaking against thea damantine angles
of the rock, murmurs, lamenting, like n
human voice. The poor girl, dead of love,
still lives changed into n fountain; so the
tale is told in the graceful poetry OF the
people. And il is also said that every
night, when, all around, men and things
sleep N are silent in darkness, from far
away arrives Prince Robert, breathless
and painting, on his superb Arab steed,
and leaps suddenly to earth, n bends to
quench his thirst at the silvery waters of
the spring. And the water, beating and
breaking against the adamantine angles
Of the rock, murmurs softly with thrills OF
joy and light sound OF kisses.
In the summer of 1885 l was passing the
season there, at Castelfranco. l boarded
with a farmers family, in a small, clean
house, on the western side Of the noun
tain, a gunshot from the first houses Of
tttS III "a thAbt Ifthit nv 10
thickly covered with chestnut woods, and
the air is full of the flavor of oxygen
IL was i'm June. The broad, level VALID,
under the flaming sunlight, showed large
yellow patches cleaning like gold, with
here and there small green spots of irri-
gated land; and In the midst, a straight
whitish line, as far as the eye could reach,
the railroad. At one side was the dreary,
drowsy river, winding along its bed of
cleaning pebbles, like a great snake with
steely scales.
Descending from Castelfranco by the
tortuous path, half way down, just where
the mountain views the plain, IL forms a
hump. Here, pon this. table land,
thickly grown with ancient oaks, arises
an ancient hermitage, almost abandoned,
Rosario. The messy, cracked walls
threaten ruin; the door, off it's hinges,
creaks at every blast of win
Every evening after sunset / extended
my solitary walks To that place., n sal
for a while To rest on the time-worn steps
of the little church. The night rose up
from the valley like a thick cloud, and
EMBODIED the mountain side, the steep
the summit; IL rose and filled the
air and flooded the heavens, which
kindled with curious golden eyes. From
the fields, all around, came forth the
thousand voices OF the night an orchestra
Of whispers, of murmurs, of c%hirpings,
like cries of surprise ana joy. like little
bursts of silvery laughter, like gentle
tones of intimate condolences.
One evening when l had nearly reached
the Madonnina del Rosario, stopped all al
once, surprised. The door of the little
church was half open, and n ray of red.
dish light was shed upon the path i'm the
field.
II was late at night, a night clear and
calm. From far of, on the plain, came
the notes of an ~organette with the rhythm
of the t~arantella. Down there, they had
been reaping that day; now they were
watching over the stacks, high like pyra.
mids, and were holding revel on the
threshing fioor.
advanced a few steps, and made as
though to enter the little church. But a
shudder tok me, and stood, stiifened, on
the threshold.
tween two burning tapers, lay outstretched
the corpse of a young girl. A small white
face, with thin cheeks, with large eyelids
closed as IL in sleep. with shining black
hair lying in tresses upon the white pill
low of the bier. She did not seem dead,
but asleep: dressed as il for her bridal
with a gown OF fine broadcloth in mani
fold plaits. with an apron of Hammered
silk, with a black bodice laced over the
breast with blue ribbon, with n string oil
coral around her white neck. In heI
deepened eye-sockets were the signs of
many tears, of those tears which Kill.
remained, petrifled, i'm the doorway; Il
seemed TO me that l was dreaming. Mean
while. at the sound OF my footsteps, some
one came from the end of the chapel, neal
the foot of the altar. Something like q
heap of rags. II was a woman, n little OLE
woman with yellowish dishevelled hair
emaciated, haggard. She turned 20 lool
toward me, as II sha ken from a lethargy
with wild eyes illuminated by tram re
Elections in the dazzling light of the can
dies. Then she seemed treasured; she
laid her foreiinger upon her lips as IL e
warn me to make no noise, and, gropinl
and supporting herself by the wall. she
approached me.
'She sleeps, at last!n she marmured IN
an undertone, CHANGING at the bier, with
smile that terrified me. "She sleeps. IN,
poor daughter. For the love Of God, d,
dot uaken h.rl Ii has been so long tina