Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Heyse at his best, because it brings out his sensitiveness to his subject, his charm of manner, his artistic feeling, his cosmopolitan sympathy, and the grace that is born of this special activity of the imagination. It discloses also his poetic feeling, his delicate sentiment, his rare power of description.

In no sense a great writer, Heyse has gifts of temperament, passion, and feeling of a high order; and his work has the distinction of charm, beauty, and artistic emotion rather than of creative power or of an original and penetrating view of life. His figures are picturesquely rather than firmly drawn, and his work lacks the deep and moving dramatic interest which comes from a vivid sense or powerful grasp of moral realities. From this point of view Heyse's world is hazy, and lacks sharp definition, strong lines, vigorous handling. He moves through it like a pleasant host rather than like a dispassionate and clear-sighted recorder. It is not so much an immoral as an unmoral world in which the actors in "In Paradise" and "The Children of the World" have their being. For this reason they do not appeal either with the commanding power of those who create a good world about themselves or with the tragic power of the victims of a bad world. Some one has spoken of the confusion of marital relations of a certain class of artists in southern Germany; it is this particular kind of a paradise which Heyse has described in his interesting novel of artistic life. The law is not so much broken

as quietly relaxed to the vanishing point.

Two phrases give the key to" In Paradise" and "The Children of the World :" "Follow nature," and "There is but one true nobility, to be true to one's best self." These are fundamental maxims in a free and vigorous life, but they need a large interpretation in terms not only of a complete life but of a life of relations. Heyse makes them the keynotes of extreme individualism: "Follow your impulse" and "Genius is a law unto itself" are the comfortable doctrines of the very agreeable people who make the unphilistine but not inspiring world of "In Paradise." In such a garden natural affinity makes its easy selections, and, the law of reaction having been suspended, there are few tragic consequences though there are many tragic events. The deeper consciousness of the later German novelists and dramatists has not touched Heyse's work; it remains sweet and harmonious, but sensuous. In reproducing this world, in which sculpture, painting, music, and poetry are the chief interests, Heyse has shown rare refinement of feeling, artistic sensibility, and love of beauty. If moral laws were merely social conventions and a man could follow the impulse of the moment wherever it led, without thought of its ultimate reactions on himself and others, Heyse's Paradise would be a garden of delights instead of a mirage in which waters that make music at a distance sink into sand, and trees that bear the fruit of life wither and vanish at the touch of reality.

Heyse is the connecting link between the older generation of novelists—Freytag, whose" Debit and Credit " has been so widely read, Spielhagen, whose storm-andstress stories, "Problematic Characters," "Hammer and Anvil," "Through Night to Light," a generation ago gave promise of a grasp and an insight into new conditions which were never fulfilled, and Auerbach, whose " On the Heights" has great beauty but is weakened by the German tendency to speculative generalizationand the recent novelists, Sudermann, whose great talent still halts on the threshold of a convincing achievement; Hauptmann, whose "Sunken Bell" pointed the way to a height which he has not yet ascended; and a group of women novelists, some

of whom have been celebrating the fall of the Bastille of German social conventionality by dancing, not the carmagnole, but the cancan, and have attained a degree of frankness which makes "Indiana a novel of reserve and" Mlle. de Maupin " a story for the home circle. Between the older novels, which dealt largely with the ultimate problem of the relation of the Ideal to the Real, and the recent novel and drama, which deal largely with the problem of the relation of the individual will to the social will, Heyse holds a central position and concerns himself with the trials and joys of the artistic life, and with the rights and privileges of genius rather than with its obligations as a special and unique manifestation of spirit.

T

HE sun had not yet risen. Over Vesuvius hung a broad, gray sheet of mist, which stretched across as far as Naples, and darkened the little towns along that strip of coast. The sea lay calm. But on the quays, which had been built along a small inlet of the sea under the high cliffs of the Sorrentine shore, the fishermen and their wives were already astir for the purpose of drawing ashore with stout cables the boats from which their nets had hung during the night. Others rigged their craft, trimmed the sails, or dragged oars and masts out of the huge grated vaults hewn deep into the rock to serve as a shelter for the tackle overnight. No one was idle; for even the aged who could no longer venture out upon the sea became links in the long chain of those who were hauling in the nets. Here and there on a flat roof stood an old woman spinning or busying herself with her grandchildren, whose mother was helping her husband.

[ocr errors]

66

H. W. M.

the people there no pastor, that they must borrow ours?"

66

"Don't ask such foolish questions," said the old woman. 'They have enough priests there, and the finest churches, and even a hermit, which is more than we have. But there is a noble signora who dwelt long at Sorrento, and was so ill that many a time the padre had to carry her the Most Holy Sacrament when it was thought she would not outlive the night. But, by the help of the Holy Virgin, she grew to be hale and strong again, so that she could bathe in the sea daily. And when she left here for Capri, she gave a great heap of ducats to the church and the poor folk, and would not go, they say, until the padre had promised to visit her there that she might confess to him. For it is astonishing in what esteem she holds him. Truly, we may bless ourselves for having a curato who has the gifts of an archbishop, and who is so much sought after by the great folk. The Madonna be with him!" And again she waved her hand toward the little boat which was just putting out from shore.

"Shall we have fine weather, my son?" asked the little priest, looking thoughtfully over toward Naples.

"The sun is not yet out," answered the fellow. "We sha'n't let a bit of mist annoy us.”

Do you see, Rachela? Yonder is our padre curato," said one of the old women to a little thing of ten, swinging a spindle beside her. At this moment he is entering the boat. Antonio is to row him over to Capri. Maria Santissima, how drowsy the reverend signore looks!" And she waved her hand to a diminutive, benevolent-looking priest, who was settling himself comfortably in the boat, after he had carefully lifted up the skirts of his black coat and spread them over the wooden seat. The others on the shore stopped in their work to watch their pastor set out, while he distributed friendly greetings right and left. "And why must he go to Capri, slender girlish figure, tripping hastily grandmother?" asked the child. "Have down the stones and waving a kerchief.

"Then row fast, so that we may arrive before the heat sets in."

Antonio was on the point of grasping the long oar, to propel the bark into the open sea, when he stopped suddenly, and gazed up at the steep path that leads from the little town of Sorrento to the quays below. Above was visible a

She carried a little bundle under her arm, and her attire was poor enough. But she had a noble, if somewhat wild, way of throwing back her head, and the dark tresses wreathed about her forehead bore the semblance of a crown.

"What are we waiting for?" asked the curato.

"There's some one else coming who wishes to go to Capri-if you permit, padre. We'll go no slower for that; she's only a young thing, barely eighteen."

At that moment the girl appeared from behind the wall which incloses the winding path. "Laurella?" asked the curato. 'What business has she in Capri ?"

66

Antonio shrugged his shoulders. She came down with rapid strides, looking straight before her.

"Good-day, l'Arrabiata !" shouted several of the young boatmen. They would have said more, had not the curato's presence kept them in check, for the sullen silence with which the girl received their greeting seemed to tempt the more wanton among them.

66

Good-day, Laurella," the priest cried too. "How are you? You wish to

come with us to Capri?"

"If it is permitted, padre." "Ask Antonio; he owns the boat. Every man is lord of his own, and God is the Lord of us all."

"There is half a carlino," said Laurella, without looking at the young boatman, "if it's enough!"

"You may have better use for it," he muttered, and shoved aside some baskets of oranges to make room. These he was to sell at Capri, for that rocky isle does not produce enough for the needs of its many visitors.

"I do not care to go for nothing,” answered the girl, and her black eyebrows quivered.

[ocr errors][merged small]

fathers. Never mind, Tonino, there's no excuse needed. Thus has the Lord made us, that like and like hold together."

Meantime, Laurella had stepped in and taken her seat, after having silently pushed the jacket away. The young boatman let it lie, and murmured something between his teeth. Then he pushed vigorously away from the pier, and the little boat flew out into the bay.

"What have you in the bundle?" asked the padre, as they floated over the sea, just turning gold under the first rays of the sun.

Silk, thread, and a loaf, padre. I am to sell the silk to one woman in Capri who makes ribbons, and the thread to another."*

"Did you spin it yourself?"
"Yes, sir."

"If I am not mistaken, you also once learned how to weave ribbons."

"Yes, sir. But mother is so much worse again that I cannot work away from home, and a loom of our own we cannot afford."

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

"When you

were

After a pause: coming down toward the shore, I heard them calling to you Good-day, l'Arrabiata.' Why should they speak thus? 'Tis no nice name for a Christian girl, who should be gentle and mild." The girl's dark face glowed and her eyes flashed.

. "They mock me because I will not dance and sing like the others, and have few words for any. But they shall leave me in peace. I do them no harm."

True, but you can be civil to all. Let the others dance and sing, to whom life is an easier matter; but even the sorrowful may utter a kind word.”

She lowered her dark eyes, and drew her brows closer over them, as if to hide

them. For a space they floated on in silence. Over the mountains stood the splendor of the sun; the peak of Vesuvius soared out from the mass of clouds that hid its base, and the houses on the plain of Sorrento glittered white from amid the green orange groves.

"Has that painter never been heard of again?" asked the curato-" that Neapolitan who wanted you to be his wife ?"

She shook her head.

"He came to paint your picture. Why would you not let him?"

There

"What did he want it for? are handsomer girls than I. And then, who can tell what he would have done with it. He might have bewitched me, my mother said, or injured my soul."

"Believe not such sinful things,” said the priest, earnestly. "Are we not always in God's hand, and shall a mere man, with naught but a picture, prevail against the Lord? And you could see that he wished you well, or he would not have cared to marry you."

She was silent.

He

"And why did you refuse him? was an honest man, they say, and handsome, and would have earned a better living for you and your mother than ever you can with your bit of spinning and weaving."

"We are only poor folk," she said, passionately," and mother has been ill for so long. We should have become a burden to him. And I should not suit a fine gentleman. If his friends had come to see him, he would have been ashamed of me."

[ocr errors]

I tell you And,

How can you speak so? the man was an excellent one. moreover, he wished to live at Sorrento. It will be long before another comes, as if sent from heaven to help you."

"I do not want a husband, and never shall!" she said defiantly, as if to herself. "Have you made a vow, or do you intend to enter a convent?"

She shook her head.

"The people are right enough who reproach you for your willfulness, even though the name they give you is an unkind one. You do not remember that you are not alone in the world, and that your stubbornness only embitters your

[blocks in formation]

"Then ease your mind, child. If you are right, I shall be the last to oppose you. But you are young, and know little of the world, and you may some day come to regret having thrown away your good fortune for some childish fancy."

She threw a quick, shy look at the young fellow who sat astern, busily rowing, his woolen cap pulled low over his forehead. He gazed far out across the sea and seemed buried in his own thoughts. The curato saw her look, and inclined his head nearer to her.

"You never knew my father," she whispered, and her eyes gleamed darkly.

"Your father? He died, I believe, when you were barely ten. What has your father (may his soul rest in Paradise) to do with your stubbornness?"

"You never knew him, padre. You do not know that he alone was the cause of mother's illness."

"And how?"

"Because he ill-treated her, and beat her, and trampled upon her. I remember the nights when he came home raging. She never said a word, and obeyed him in all things. But he beat her so that my heart nearly broke. Then I pulled the bedclothes over my head, and pretended to sleep. But I wept through the night. And then, when he saw her lying on the floor, he would suddenly lift her up, and kiss her till she cried out that he would strangle her. Mother forbade me ever to speak of this; but it wore her out so that, during all these long years since his death, she has never been able to get well. And, if she should die before her time, which may Heaven forbid, I know right well who killed her."

The little priest wagged his head slowly, undetermined how far he should

approve the young girl's reasons. At the last he said: "Forgive him even as your mother has forgiven him. Fix not your thoughts on those sad memories, Laurella. Happier days will come and make you forget all that.”

"Never can I forget that," she said, and shuddered. "And this is the reason, padre, why I wish to remain single-that I may not have to live with any one who would first ill-treat and then caress me. If now some one were to beat me or kiss me, I should know how to defend myself; but my mother could defend herself neither against the blows nor the kisses, because she loved him. And I do not wish to love any one so dearly that I must be ill and wretched for the sake of him."

"Ah, but you are a child, and speak like one who does not know how things go in the world. Are all men like your poor father, that they yield to every mood and passion, and are unkind to their wives? Have you not seen good, honest people enough in the whole neighborhood, and wives who live in peace and unity with their husbands?"

"Yes, but it was not known of my father either, how he behaved to my mother, for she would rather have died a thousand times than speak of it or complain. And all this was so because she loved him. If love be such that it seals the lips when one should cry for help,, and makes one defenseless against worse things than one would expect from one's bitterest enemy-if that is love, then I will never set my heart upon any man."

"And I tell you that you are a child, and know not of what you speak. Your heart will little ask you, when the time comes, whether you wish to love or not. All that you take into your head now will not help you then.” He paused; then he added: "And that painter, did you think that he, too, would be cruel?" "He had the same look in his eyes that I saw in my father's when he begged mother's pardon, and took her in his arms to make it up with her. I know that look. A man can have that look and yet find it in his heart to beat his wife who has never done anything to vex him. I shuddered when I saw that look."

Then she became persistently silent. Nor did the curato speak. He thought of many edifying sayings with which to comfort the girl, but the presence of the young boatman, who had grown restless during the latter part of the conversation, closed his lips.

When they arrived in the little harbor of Capri, after a two hours' row, Antonio carried the little priest out of the boat over the shallow waves by the shore, and set him down reverently. But Laurella would not wait until he waded back for her. She gathered her short skirts about her, took her little wooden shoes in one hand and her bundle in the other, and splashed trippingly to the shore.

"I shall probably make a long stay at Capri to-day," said the padre; "you need not wait for me. I may not return until to-morrow. And you, Laurella, when you return home, remember me to your mother. I will stop in to see you within the week. You return before night, do you not?"

[ocr errors]

If there is a chance," said the girl, as she busied herself with her skirts.

"I must return, too, as you know," said Antonio in a tone of forced indifference. "I shall wait for you until the Ave Maria. If you do not come then, it will be just the same to me.”

66

[ocr errors]

You must come, Laurella," said the little priest. You should not leave your mother alone at night. Must you go far?"

"To a vineyard in Anacapri." “And I to Capri. God keep you, child, and you, my son!"

Laurella kissed his hand, and murmured a farewell for the padre and Antonio to share between them. Antonio would have none of it. He doffed his cap to the padre, but did not give Laurella a look.

When, however, they had both turned their backs, his eyes followed the padre, who was laboriously crossing the loose gravel for only a little space, and then turned to the girl, who was ascending the rock toward the right and shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun. shore lay below her; above her towered the steep crag. The sea was azure with an unusual depth of color-it was a sight worthy to linger over. And chance

The

« AnteriorContinuar »