The record-union., 1895-01-05

Il
the bravest and safest of men. They
pore the body to the edge of Borgo vii
lage, sent for the cure, truthfully told the
priest the manner of the goatherd's death,
and offered reparation in gold to his fam
lily, hoping to mitigate the vendetta's
curse
The cure called the men of Borgo about
him and related all. Miracle in Corsica!
There was no savage murmur for the
lmmemorial blood revenge"
"Fabiano has no friend i'll Borgo. Fa-
biano has no living kin-none but his
Wltch-like daughter, Agnese, beautiful
put wild as a mountain Sheep" they
said.
So together they took the body to the
winter hut, where Agnese sat beside a
black, tower-like structure of stone,
village, where the goats were herded in
readiness for the summer journey to the
nights of Monte Rotondo.
'Dio mioI" said the maiden with dry
and burning eyes, II knew he would
not return from the fiesta. The stregha
(witch) read it 10 me from the scapula,
from the left shoulder blade of dead
monk, and this does not lie. Dio mio!
l am alonei"
The superstitious men Of Luciano and
Borgo took off their baretti and crossed
themselves with uncovered heads, while
the cure frowned upon them, but he
turned to the girl and said kindly
enough:
After the grido (the house lamenta-
tions) Fabiano shall have Christian
burial"
She seemed not to hear him but said:
Picture to me his slayer"
"An-an uncouth wanderer," cum
ningly answered one from Lucciana, "a
stroller of no station, whom Fabiano
foully insulted and attempted to HARM"
That is not enough. He killed my
father. How did he look? What is his
stature? Has he a beard? What is the
see him in picture, so l snail know him
in the mountains where / shall find and
kill himn'
She said this wildly, fiercely, but with
out tears or sobs.
"Yes, yes" eloquently persisted the
man from Lucciana, as his companions
dolorously rolled their eyes, and the cure
turned thoughtfully away to the village.
He is little and dark and speaks hoarse-
ly and uncouthly. He wears cubes of
gold in his ears and walks widely, like
the tailors of Bastla. He"
That is enough! He shall not return
from Monte Rotondo. Lay Fabiano upon
the tola (the death table, and leave me
alone. Where l Fabiano's brother or
Fablano's son, the towards OF Borgo
should revenge themselves upon the
towards of Lucciana, or | would quickly
bring the corteo the funeral escort) to
the doors of Borgo. But they have not
left in them the blood OF my Diterico and
Ottoner'
As she spoke these names two of her
scraggy. ill-ted goats ran to her. She
threw her arms about their necks and
Kissed them lmpetuously as though they
i
her utter desolation and misery.
Then as the giant dead had already
been stretched upon the creaking tola,
which well nigh fell beneath it's weight,
she lmperIouSly waved them all begone,
and as they filed down the dark pathway
with many shoulder shruggings and
gestures OF relief, the orphaned herd girl
covered the body with shaggy goat skins
and then sat alone with the dead, until
the shadows Of the night came behind
the mountains into the peaceful valley
never moving from the still form, save tc
now ana then examine the locks of g
rusty double-gun or sharpen to keenel
edge the blades of savage knives.
In almost the very center of the island
of Corsica rises the vast and beautiful
hight OF Monte Rotondo. to the lofty alti-
nestle among luxurious fields and orange
groves at its base. ADove these, circling
all the falr mountain, are plantations and
paesetu half hidden in masses of olive
which are in turn overtopped by forests
of chestnut and walnut, while the prime.
val larch and pine reach from these in
emerald-purple swaths and burrows tc
the misty, mighty nights above.
Between where the pine and Iarch be.
come gnarled and stunted and the gray.
black crags upon which rest the ghostly
eternal SHOWS, is region of pockety hol.
lows, tremendous amphiteaters vast ra
vines. awful gorges and crag-toppleC
plateaus, interspersed with unexploreC
and unexplorabIe caves and grots.
1t is here that wild sheep and the ban.
dittl of Corsica roam at will, prey only a.
infrequeut intervals TO the starving fox
or the greedy sbirri or officials who risk
their lives for the price of the outlaws
heads.
1t is here, too, that the millions of goats
of Corsica thrive in the long summer
upon the rich grasses which spring beside
the fountains tive thousand feet above the
sea. By foaming torrents, In shadowy
glens, at gloomy cave-moutns, or again
perched like eagles nests at the edge OF
mighty preciplces, are the huts OF the
goatherds, made of stone upon eternal
stone, gray, black and fofbidding within
and without, and squatting close to the
earth as the beehive huts of prehistoric
man.
a strange, wild. harmless, hospitablt
folk are these goatherds OF the heights
There is no household stuff in theil
| homes, no chair, nor table, nor bed
Their hearthstone is the mountain rock
| against which lies the burning log; theil
food is milk and curd and cheese, strips
of dried goat flesh and the wild fruits anC
nuts OF the mountains; their sole am BIZ
ton is to avoid the vengeance of the BAN
ditti and to multiply their herds.
One great philosopher, another has
said, had learned the art of sitting still
Either the goatherds of Monte RotondC
are as was the almost voiceless primitive
man, or, in the presence of the mighty
| tongues of the torrents, the laundering
OF the mountain tempests, the Walpurgis
| night-plaints of horrid witches and war.
locks, or the more deadly tutelage of the
bandits gun or knife, they have learned
the supreme lesson of silence.
If the sbirrl suddenly appear and
hunting as If for wolves, smoke out theiI
cave cellars and ruin their little stores o
cheese, they are silent. If the gendarme:
| chain them to asses and drag them be-
| fore magistrates for succoring outlaw.
their mouths are closed, and they suffer
| Imprisonment in naughty silence. If the
| banditu come for cheese or milk or ia
kids, they give of their store in silence
| Ii travellers penetrate their strange
| patriarchal communities their hospital
| ity is boundless but silent. Even if deatf
stalks among them in most tragic form
| they suffer no moan to escape them, bu
| are still grim and silent as their stealthy
| conqueror.
SO nothing ever surprises. alarms o.
| distracts the goatherds of Monte Roton
do. When Agnese returned along the
| foaming sides of the Restonica stream
aud, scowing and alone. re-entered he
! hut near the herdsmen's station OF Rot;
| del Dragone, there was not so much a
] inquiry for Fabiano. They knew that Ii,