Narcissa, or the Road to Rome; In Verona
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impression that my titlecannot fail to make upon the patient reader. On reading the words, "InVerona," his mind instantly conjures up a vision of white palaces; ofnarrow streets across which the tall houses nod at each other, hintingat the mysteries they dare not reveal; of ancient fountains, emboweredin myrtle and laurel; finally, of Juliet's tomb, and a thousandmemories of the immortal lovers.
All this is natural, but it will not do. Here in Verona are nofountains, but half a dozen old well-sweeps, and all the restcucumber-wood pumps; no palaces, but neat white houses with greenblinds, and flowers in their front-yards; no laurel, but good honestsunflowers instead; finally, no tomb of Juliet, for our Juliet did notdie; briefly, and to have done with mystery, our Verona is in theState of Maine.
I have often wondered what manner of men they were, who named thetowns in the good old State. Lyceum teachers for the most part, onewould think,--men who had read books, and whose hearts yearned forthe historic glories of the old world, glories which their narrowlives might never see. So, disagreeing with this same Juliet in thematter of names, they did what they could, and not being able to go toEurope, did their best to bring Europe over into their own newcountry. So we have here in Maine Rome and Paris, Palermo and Vi-enny(miscalled "Vienna" by pedants, and those thinking themselves betterthan other people), Berlin Falls and South China,--in fact, half thecontinent to choose from, all in our own door-yard, as it were.
You may not find Verona on the county-map; you certainly will not seeit as you flash by on the Maine Central Railway, on your way to BarHarbor. But if you travel for a certain length of time on a certainquiet road, grass-grown for the most part, and with only a fewstraggling cottages dotting it here and there,--if, as I say, youtravel long enough, and do not get out of patience and turn backtowards Vi-enny, you will come suddenly round a bend of the road, andthere will be Verona before you, all white and smiling, tucked awayunder the great hill-shoulder that curls lovingly round it. Thecleanest, freshest, sleepiest little New England village! No myrtle,no laurel, not the faintest suggestion of a fountain! Yet here livedand loved, not so very long ago, Romeo and Juliet.
They were simple young people; they did not even know their ownnames, for Juliet answered to the name of Betsy Garlick, while Romeowas known only as Bije Green; and they worked for the Bute girls.
It is well known that the Bute girls--who might better be spoken of,if the custom of the country allowed it, as the Misses Bute--did notspeak to each other. They lived in two white cottages, side by side,on the Indiana road; and though they could not avoid seeing each otherevery day, no communication had taken place between them since thetime of their mother's death, some ten years ago. Old Mrs. Bute hadbeen partly responsible, all the neighbors thought, for thisunfortunate state of things. She was a masterful woman, and neverallowed her daughters to call their souls their own, even when theywere middle-aged women. Though both gifted with strong wills, theylived in absolute subjection to the small withered autocrat who hardlyever stirred from her armchair in the chimney-corner.
She persisted in treating her daughters, either of whom could havepicked her up with one hand and set her on the mantelpiece, as if theywere little children; and they accepted the position with meekness.
It was even said that when Mrs. Bute felt called on to die, as we sayin Verona, she insisted on having her daughters' mourning made andtried on in her presence, that she might be sure of its beingrespectable, and fitting properly. "Neither one of you has sense toknow when a gown wrinkles in the back," she said. "I couldn't lay easyin my grave, and you going round all hitched up between theshoulders."
So the village dressmaker cut the clothes (black stuff dresses, andblack cambric pelisses lined with flannel), and came in fear andtrembling to try them on. It must have been a grim scene: the twogaunt, middle-aged women standing meekly before the bed, turning thisway and that at command; the dying woman issuing, in halting whispers,her directions for "seam and gusset and band," while death had her bythe throat, fitting her for the straight white garment which wasmaking in the next room. Not till she had seen her daughters arrayedin the completed costumes, with bonnet and veil to match, would ElizaBute turn her face to the wall and go, feeling that she had done herduty.
Perhaps it was hardly to be wondered at, if, so soon as the iron graspwas loosened which had held them all their days, the two women went tothe other extreme, and could brook no suggestion of authority from anyone, least of all from each other. Perhaps each was sure that Mother(awful shade, still hovering on the borders of their life!) would beof her way of thinking; however it was, the two sisters quarrelled theday after the funeral. The will was read, and it was found that theproperty was to be evenly divided between them. Evenly divided! It wasa dangerous phrase. Miss Duty had her idea of what "even" meant, andMiss Resigned Elizabeth had hers; and neither was likely to give up tothe other. They listened in grim silence as the lawyer read the will;and each decided that she knew what Mother meant, and 'twasn't likelythe other did.
The strife that followed was grim, though not loud. No wrangling washeard; no neighbor was called in to keep the peace; but after threedays, Miss Resigned Elizabeth sent for a man and a wheelbarrow, andremoved with all her goods and chattels to the house next door, whichwas hers by right of inheritance from her grandmother.
A neighbor calling on Miss Duty the day after the separation, foundher in the spare chamber, seated before the bed, on which were spreadout divers articles of the personal property which had been hermother's. There was one black lace mitt, six white stockings and sixgray ones, half of an embroidered apron, ditto of a nankeen waistcoatin which Father Bute had been married; item, one infant's sock; item,three left-hand shoes. Here, on what was evidently the half of a greenveil, lay a slender store of trinkets: one mosaic earring, one garnetone, half of a string of gold beads, and--piteous sight!--half of ahair bracelet, its strands, roughly cut, already half unbraided, andsticking out in silent protest against the inhuman treatment they hadreceived.
The neighbor broke out into indignant inquiry, but was quicklysilenced. Miss Duty was satisfied, and so was her sister; that beingso, she didn't know that the neighbors had any call to be distressed.Good Mrs. Dill went home in high indignation, and before night allVerona knew how "ridiklous" the Bute girls had behaved, and joinedwith Mrs. Dill in thinking that Old Ma'am Bute had better have leftthem a "gardeen," if that was all they knew about how to treat goodstuff, as had cost more money than ever they were likely to earn.
When Bije Green came to work for Miss Duty Bute, he knew nothing ofthe feud between the two houses. He was not a Veronese, but came fromthat mysterious region known as "out back," meaning the remotecountry. When, working in the garden, he saw on the other side of thefence an old woman (any person above thirty was old to Bije) wholooked almost exactly like the old woman who had hired him, it seemedthe proper thing to say "hullo!" to her, that being the one form ofsalutation known to Bije; but instead of an answering "hullo!" he meta stony stare, which sent him back in confusion to his potatoes."She's deef!" said Bije to himself, charitably. "And my old woman'snigh about dumb,--quite an asylum between 'em." And he whistled "OldDog Tray" till Miss Duty came and told him to stop that racket!
Poor Bije! he found life dull, at first, on the Indiana road. He wasshy, and not one to make acquaintances easily, even if Miss Duty hadapproved of his running down to the village, which she did not. But hewas used to cheerful conversation at home, and felt the need of itstrongly here. His innocent attempts at entertaining Miss Duty weregenerally met with a "H'm!" which did not encourage further remarks."Nice day!" he would say in a conciliating manner, when he brought inthe wood in the early morning. "H'm!" Miss Duty would reply, with afrosty glance in his direction.
"Havin' nice weather right along!"
If he met with any reply to this suggestion, it would be a "H'm!" evenmore forbidding; while a third remark, if he ever ventured on one,would be answered by swift dismissal to the woodshed, with theadmonition not to be "gormin' round here
, with all the work to do."
These things being so, Bije was sad at heart, and pined for a certaincorner of the fence at home, and his sister Delilah leaning over it,talking while he hoed. Delilah was only a girl, but she could be somecompany; and what was the use of having a tongue, if you never usedit, 'cept just to jaw people? Jawing never did no good that he couldmake out, though he didn't know but he'd ruther be jawed than hearnothing at all from get up to go to bed.
Such thoughts as these were in Bije's mind one morning, as hewrestled with the witch-grass on the strip of green near the fencewhich divided Miss Duty's lot from her sister's. He did not likewitch-grass; he never could see the use of the pesky stuff. Delilahwas always