ON THE DISTANT, BEAUTIFUL LAKE.
Rico went forward a little way from the building at which the train had
stopped, and looked about. This white house, the barren square in front
of it, the straight road in the distance, were all new and strange to
his eyes. He had not seen any of them before; and he said to himself, "I
have not come to the right place after all." He went sadly down the road
between the trees, however, until presently the road made a turn, and
the boy stood as if transfixed, and believed himself dreaming, for
before him lay the lake, heavenly blue in the brilliant sunlight, with
its warm, still shores; and yonder were the mountains, and the sunny bay
was there, where the friendly houses sparkled in the distance.
Now he knew where he was. He had seen all this before, he had stood in
this very place, he knew the trees perfectly well; but where was the
cottage? It must have stood there, close to where he now was, but it was
not visible.
The old road was there below. Oh! he knew that well; and there, there
were the great shining red flowers with such green leaves. A little
stone bridge ought to be there, somewhere over the outlet of the lake:
he had often passed over that little bridge, but could not see it where
he stood, however.
Rico started off, as if driven by the longing that now took possession
of him. Down the road he ran; and over there,--yes, that was the little
stone bridge. Every thing came back to him: there he had crossed, and
somebody held him by the hand,--his mother. Suddenly his mother's face
came before his eyes quite distinctly; he had never seen it so clearly
before. He remembered how she had stood there and looked at him with
loving eyes. It all came back to his mind with a rush.
He threw himself down on the ground by the bridge, and cried and sobbed
aloud, "O mother! where are you, mother? Where is my home, mother?"
He lay there for a long, long time, and cried until his great sorrow
was somewhat stilled. He thought his heart must burst, and as if all
the grief that had been hitherto pent up within his bosom must now find
an outlet.
When at last he raised himself from the ground, the sun had already
declined in the heavens, and the golden twilight lay over the lake. The
mountains were turning purple, and a sunny mist lay all over the shores.
This was the way his lake had always looked to Rico in his dreams, only
the reality was even more lovely than he had remembered it.
And his great wish rose again in his mind as he sat there, "Oh, if I
could show this to Stineli!"
At last the sun sunk below the horizon, and the light slowly died out.
Rico arose, and passed along the road towards the red flowers. A narrow
lane branched off from the main road at this place. There they stood,
one bush after another: it looked like a great garden. There was, truly,
only an open fence about the whole; and within the flowers, the trees,
and the grape-vines were all growing together.
At the farther end stood a pretty house with wide open doors; and in the
garden a lad was moving about cutting big bunches of golden grapes now
from this vine, now from that, all the while whistling merrily.
Rico gazed at the flowers, and thought, "If Stineli could only see
them!" He stood for a long time thoughtfully by the fence. Presently the
lad espied him, and called out, "Come in, fiddler; and play a pretty
song, if you know one."
The lad spoke in Italian, and it produced a strange sensation in Rico's
mind: he understood what he heard, but he never could have said it
himself. He entered the garden, and the lad began to try to talk with
him; but when he found that Rico could not reply, he pointed towards the
open door, giving Rico to understand that he was to go there to play.
When Rico approached the door, he found that it opened directly into a
bedroom. A little bed stood within, near which was seated a woman who
was knitting with red yarn. Rico placed himself before the threshold,
and began to play and sing his song,--
"Little lambkins, come down."
When he had finished, the pale face of a little boy was suddenly raised
from the pillows of the bed; and Rico heard the words,--
"Play again."
Rico played another tune.
"Play again" was repeated. This went on for five or six times, until
Rico had exhausted his stock of songs and tunes; and he put his fiddle
under his arm, and was moving away, when the little boy began to call
out piteously,--
"Oh, do stay! Do play again! Play something else!" Then the woman stood
up, and came towards Rico.
She placed something in his hand, and at first he did not understand
what she wanted; but presently he remembered what Stineli had said, that
if he went to a door, and played on his fiddle, the people would give
him something. The woman asked him kindly where he came from, and where
he was going to; but he could not answer her. She then asked if he were
with his parents? He shook his head. If he were alone? He nodded assent.
Where he was going so late in the evening? Rico shook his head, to
denote uncertainty. A great pity took possession of the woman for the
little stranger; and she called to the boy who worked in the garden, and
bade him conduct the fiddler to the inn of the "Golden Sun." Perhaps the
landlord would understand his language, for he had been away in foreign
parts for a long time. She bade the gardener to say to the landlord that
she wished him to let the lad stay there over night, that she would pay
for it; and, in the morning, set the little fellow off in the right
direction towards his destination. He was so young,--"only a little
older than my boy," she added, compassionately; and also would the
landlord give the boy something to eat.
Again the child on the bed called out, "He must play again;" and would
not stop until his mother said, "He will come again. Now he must sleep,
and you too."
The gardener walked on in advance of Rico, who knew, however, what was
to be done; for he had understood what the woman said perfectly.
In about ten minutes they had reached the town. In one of the little
streets the gardener entered a house, and proceeded at once to the
dining-room, which was filled with tobacco-smoke, and with men seated at
little tables all about.
Then the gardener gave his message, to which the landlord replied, "It
is all right." The landlady came too, and both looked Rico over from
head to foot. When the guests at the neighboring tables espied the
fiddle under Rico's arm, several of them called out together, "There is
music!" And another one shouted, "Play something, boy, quickly;
something gay!" And they all began to shout for music so noisily that
the landlord could hardly make Rico hear him when he asked what language
he spoke, and whence he came. Rico replied in his own language that he
came down over the Maloja, that he could understand every thing that was
said to him, but could not reply in the same language. The landlord
understood him, and said that he had been up there in the mountains, and
they would have a little conversation later; but now the boy must really
play something, for the guests called for music incessantly.
Rico, obedient as ever, began to play, and also to sing his own song as
usual. But the company did not understand the words, and the tune seemed
very dull to them also. Some began to make jokes and noises, while
others called for something different,--a dance, or a pretty tune.
Rico sang every verse of his song to the very end; for when he had once
begun it, he would not stop until it was finished properly. When he had
finished, he bethought himself. He knew no dance music, so that was out
of the question. The hymn he had learned from the grandmother was very
slow, and they would not understand that either. Then he remembered, and
began the air,--
"Una Sera
In Peschiera."
Scarcely had he brought forth the first notes of this tune, when every
thing became still; and in a moment or two voices broke forth from the
different tables round about the room, and they sang in chorus as the
boy had never yet heard any one sing. He became excited presently, and
played with great feeling, while the men sang enthusiastically; and as
soon as one verse was ended, Rico began the music for the next without
hesitating, for he had learned, from hearing his father play it, exactly
how the accompaniment should be, and when to stop. When he had reached
the finale, such a storm of applause broke forth that the boy was quite
overwhelmed. All the men called out and shouted, striking their fists
upon the tables for pleasure; and then they all came about little Rico
with their glasses, and they all wanted to drink with him. Some took him
by the shoulders, and all shouted at him, and made such a racket with
their surprise and pleasure, that Rico became very much frightened, and
turned paler and paler every moment.
What had he done, however, but play their own Peschiera song, that
belonged to them alone, and which no stranger could ever learn; and this
child had played it as firmly and correctly as if he had been a
Peschierana. Such a wonderful event was enough to arouse these lively
fellows to the utmost; and they could not cease talking about it, and
wondering about this strange little fiddler, and drinking with him, to
express their friendliness.
At last the landlady interposed. She brought a plate full of rice, and a
big piece of chicken. She beckoned Rico aside, saying to the men they
must let him have a little quiet now; he needed food; he was as pale as
chalk from excitement. She placed the dish upon a little table in one
corner, and encouraged him to eat heartily: she was sure he needed it,
he was such a little scrap. To tell the truth, Rico did enjoy his supper
wonderfully well. Since the coffee in the morning, not a mouthful had
passed his lips; and so much had happened to excite him too.
As soon as he had eaten all that there was upon his plate, his poor
little eyes closed from fatigue, and he had the greatest difficulty
in keeping them open long enough to answer the landlord's questions
of where he belonged, and where he was going, while he also praised
the child's music. Rico answered that he belonged to nobody, and was
going nowhere.
The landlord spoke kindly and encouragingly to the boy, telling him that
he should be cared for that night, and in the morning he could go to see
Mrs. Menotti, who had sent him there. She was a good, kind woman, said
the landlord, who could perhaps employ him in her household, if he had
no place to go to where he belonged.
His wife, who stood by, plucked him constantly by the sleeve, trying to
stop him from talking; but he finished what he had to say, nevertheless,
for he had no idea what she meant by it all.
Pretty soon the men at the tables began to clamor again: they were
calling for their song.
The landlady, however, asserted herself. "No, no! on Sunday you shall
have it again; the child is tired to death." So saying, she took Rico by
the hand, and led him up into a big room where the harnesses hung. A big
heap of corn lay in one corner, and a bed stood in the other. In a very
few moments the boy was fast asleep.
Later, when every thing had become quite silent in the house, the
landlord sat at the little table where Rico had eaten his supper, and
before him stood his wife, for she was still busy in clearing away the
tables; and she said with great earnestness, "You must not send him back
again to Mrs. Menotti. Such a boy as that will be most useful to me in
every possible way; and did not you notice how beautifully he fiddled?
They were all crazy about it. Look out! he is a far better player than
any of our three; and he will learn to play for dancing in no time; and
you will have a musician to whom you need pay nothing, and who will play
every evening when they dance; and you can let him out also to go to the
other places. Don't you let him slip through your fingers. He is a
pretty little fellow, and I like him. We must keep him ourselves."
"Well, I am satisfied," said the landlord, and understood that his wife
had made a hit this time that was sure to turn out well.