Grotta del Monte is built on a slope and its streets are in reality long narrow flights of stairs all converging in the little piazza. The moon was not yet up, and aside from an occasional flickering light before a madonna's shrine, the way was black.
'Signorina, take my arm. I'm afraid maybe you fall.'
Tony's voice was humbly persuasive. Constance laughed and laid her hand lightly on his arm. Tony dropped his own hand over hers and held her firmly. Neither spoke until they came to the piazza.
'Signorina,' he whispered, 'you make me ver' happy to-night.'
She drew her hand away.
'I'm tired, Tony. I'm not quite myself.'
'No, signorina, yesterday I sink maybe you not yourself, but to-day you ver' good, ver' kind--jus' your own self ze way you ought to be.'
The piazza, after the dark, narrow streets that led to it, seemed bubbling with life. The day's work was finished and the evening's play had begun. In the centre, where a fountain splashed into a broad bowl, groups of women and girls with copper water-jars were laughing and gossiping as they waited their turns. One side of the square was flanked by the imposing façade of a church with the village saint on a pedestal in front; the other side, by a cheerfully inviting osteria with tables and chairs set into the street and a glimpse inside of a blazing hearth and copper kettles.
Mr. Wilder headed in a straight line for the nearest chair and dropped into it with an expression of permanence. Constance followed, and they held a colloquy with a bowing host. He was vague as to the finding of carriage or donkeys, but if they would accommodate themselves until after supper there would be a diligence along which would take them back to Valedolmo.
'How soon will the diligence arrive?' asked Constance.
The man spread out his hands.
'It is due in three-quarters of an hour, but it may be early and it may be late. It arrives when God and the driver wills.'
'In that case,' she laughed, 'we will accommodate ourselves until after supper--and we have appetites! Please bring everything you have.'
They supped on minestra and fritto misto washed down with the red wine of Grotta del Monte, which, their host assured them, was famous through all the country. He could not believe that they had never heard of it in Valedolmo. People sent for it from far off, even from Verona.
They finished their supper and the famous wine, but there was still no diligence. The village also had finished its supper and was drifting in family groups into the piazza. The moon was just showing above the house-tops, and its light, combined with the blazing braziers before the cook-shops, made the square a patchwork of brilliant high-lights and black shadows from deep-cut doorways. Constance sat up alertly and watched the people crowding past. Across from the inn an itinerant show had established itself on a rudely improvised stage, with two flaring torches which threw their light half across the piazza, and turned the spray of the fountain into an iridescent shower. The gaiety of the scene was contagious. Constance rose insistently.
'Come, Dad; let's go over and see what they're doing.'
'No, thank you, my dear. I prefer my chair.'
'Oh, Dad, you're so phlegmatic!'
'But I thought you were tired.'
'I'm not any more; I want to see the play.--You come then, Tony.'
Tony rose with an elaborate sigh.
'As you please, signorina,' he murmured obediently. An onlooker would have thought Constance cruel in dragging him away from his well-earned rest.
They made their way across the piazza and mounted the church steps behind the crowd where they could look across obliquely to the little stage. A clown was dancing to the music of a hurdy-gurdy, while a woman in a tawdry pink satin evening gown beat an accompaniment on a drum. It was a very poor play with very poor players, and yet it represented to these people of Grotta del Monte something of life, of the big outside world which they in their little village would never
'Signorina, take my arm. I'm afraid maybe you fall.'
Tony's voice was humbly persuasive. Constance laughed and laid her hand lightly on his arm. Tony dropped his own hand over hers and held her firmly. Neither spoke until they came to the piazza.
'Signorina,' he whispered, 'you make me ver' happy to-night.'
She drew her hand away.
'I'm tired, Tony. I'm not quite myself.'
'No, signorina, yesterday I sink maybe you not yourself, but to-day you ver' good, ver' kind--jus' your own self ze way you ought to be.'
The piazza, after the dark, narrow streets that led to it, seemed bubbling with life. The day's work was finished and the evening's play had begun. In the centre, where a fountain splashed into a broad bowl, groups of women and girls with copper water-jars were laughing and gossiping as they waited their turns. One side of the square was flanked by the imposing façade of a church with the village saint on a pedestal in front; the other side, by a cheerfully inviting osteria with tables and chairs set into the street and a glimpse inside of a blazing hearth and copper kettles.
Mr. Wilder headed in a straight line for the nearest chair and dropped into it with an expression of permanence. Constance followed, and they held a colloquy with a bowing host. He was vague as to the finding of carriage or donkeys, but if they would accommodate themselves until after supper there would be a diligence along which would take them back to Valedolmo.
'How soon will the diligence arrive?' asked Constance.
The man spread out his hands.
'It is due in three-quarters of an hour, but it may be early and it may be late. It arrives when God and the driver wills.'
'In that case,' she laughed, 'we will accommodate ourselves until after supper--and we have appetites! Please bring everything you have.'
They supped on minestra and fritto misto washed down with the red wine of Grotta del Monte, which, their host assured them, was famous through all the country. He could not believe that they had never heard of it in Valedolmo. People sent for it from far off, even from Verona.
They finished their supper and the famous wine, but there was still no diligence. The village also had finished its supper and was drifting in family groups into the piazza. The moon was just showing above the house-tops, and its light, combined with the blazing braziers before the cook-shops, made the square a patchwork of brilliant high-lights and black shadows from deep-cut doorways. Constance sat up alertly and watched the people crowding past. Across from the inn an itinerant show had established itself on a rudely improvised stage, with two flaring torches which threw their light half across the piazza, and turned the spray of the fountain into an iridescent shower. The gaiety of the scene was contagious. Constance rose insistently.
'Come, Dad; let's go over and see what they're doing.'
'No, thank you, my dear. I prefer my chair.'
'Oh, Dad, you're so phlegmatic!'
'But I thought you were tired.'
'I'm not any more; I want to see the play.--You come then, Tony.'
Tony rose with an elaborate sigh.
'As you please, signorina,' he murmured obediently. An onlooker would have thought Constance cruel in dragging him away from his well-earned rest.
They made their way across the piazza and mounted the church steps behind the crowd where they could look across obliquely to the little stage. A clown was dancing to the music of a hurdy-gurdy, while a woman in a tawdry pink satin evening gown beat an accompaniment on a drum. It was a very poor play with very poor players, and yet it represented to these people of Grotta del Monte something of life, of the big outside world which they in their little village would never
Similar Books
