Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad
Beyond was a clear space, well shaded and furnished with
comfortable settles, tables and chairs. It adjoined a wing of the
dwelling, which stood but a few paces away and was evidently occupied by
the women of the household. The old Duchessa, her face still like a
death mask but her eyes glittering with the brightness of a serpent's,
sat enthroned within a large chair in the center of a family group. It
was her sharp voice that had first aroused the American's attention.
Opposite her sat the Duke, his thin face wearing an expression of gloom
and dissatisfaction. The child Tato occupied a stool at her father's
feet, and in the background were three serving women, sewing or
embroidering. Near the Duke stood the tall brigand known as Pietro.
Answering the old woman's fierce tirade, Tato said:
"It is foolish to quarrel in Italian. The servants are listening."
"Let us then speak in English," returned the Duchessa. "These are
matters the servants should not gossip about."
The Duke nodded assent. Both Tato and her grandmother spoke easily the
foreign tongue; the Duke was more uncertain in his English, but
understood it perfectly.
"I am still the head of this family," resumed the Duchessa, in a more
moderate tone. "I insist that my will be obeyed."
"Your dignity I have the respect for," replied the Duke, laboredly; "but
you grow old and foolish."
"Foolish! I?"
"Yes; you are absurd. You live in past centuries. You think to-day we
must do all that your ancestors did."
"Can you do better?"
"Yes; the world has change. It has progress. With it I advance, but you
do not. You would murder, rob, torture to-day as the great Duke, your
grandfather, did. You think we still are of the world independent. You
think we are powerful and great. Bah! we are nothing--we are as a speck
of dust. But still we are the outlaws and the outcasts of Sicily, and
some day Italy will crush us and we will be forgotten."
"I dare them to molest us!"
"Because you are imbecile. The world you do not know.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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