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NUMBER 357.
THE STORY. OF IDA.
BY JOHN G, WHITTIER.
[From the Manhattan for October.]
Weary of jangling voices never stilled,
The sceptic’s sneer, the bigot's hate, the din
‘Of clashing texts, the webs of creed men spin
Round simple truth, the children grown who build
With gilded cards their New Jerusalem,
Draping the awful mystery of the soul
With sacerdotal tailoring, alb and stole,
I turn, with glad and grateful heart, from them
To the sweet story of the Florentine
Immortal in her blameless maidenhood,
Beautiful as God's angels and as good ;
‘ Feeling that life, even now, may be divine,
With love no wrong can ever change to hate,
Nor sin make less than all-compassionate !
THE STORY OF IDA. -
PRAISED BY RUSKIN AND SUNG BY WHITTIER!
BY MISS FRANCESCA ALEXANDER,
- [Unabridged and Complete in this Number.]
WEEK ago yesterday, I looked for the last time on her who
has been, for so long, at once a care and a help to me.
I feel that her life has left a great peacefulness in mine, that will
be a long time before it quite fades away, like the light which re-
mains so long after sunset on a summer evening; and while I am
yet, as it were, within her influence, I ‘have wished to write down a
1 little of what I remember of her, that so beautiful a life and death
may not be quite forgotten.
~It is now nearly four years ago, that a school-reacher, who had
been long a friend of mine, came to ask that I would interest myself
fcr sue of her scholars, who was about to pass a difficult examina-
tion, that she might obtain a diploma of Maestra Communale:»':
Giulia—that was the young girl's name—was a pleasant, fresh-
looking girl, with honest, bright blue eyes, and dark hair that curled
‘lightly about her forehead. Her voice and face ‘interested me at
- once; and I soon found out that her history also was an interesting
one... She was one of a family of fifteen children, then all dead but
three; her father was advanced in life, her mother was an invalid,
and they were all very poor. :
There was a sad story also in the family, One of Giulia's elder
, brothers had been married, and lived happily for some years with
his wife. She died, leaving him with four little children; and such
“was the violence of his grief that his mind gave way—not all at
once, but ‘ittle by little. .Gradually he began to neglect his. work,
. his language and behavior were agitated and unlike his usual self,
he wandered much about without an object—and one day the report
of a pistol was heard in his room, and that was the last! The
grandparents had taken home all the poor little orphans, and it was
- to assist in supporting them that Giulia wished to be a teacher.
- . She had been studying very hard—so hard that she had finished in
- six months the studies which should have occupied a year! She was
an energetic little body, made bold by the necessities of the children ;
and she went about to the various offices, and had all the needful
«Papers made out, and obtained introduction to all. those persons
_ whom she thought likely to help her in her object. Of course I was
-too happy to do what I could—very little, as it happened—and
. Giulia’s youth, and hopefulness, and bright spirits, were like sun-
’ shine in my room, She was much there in those days, talking over
her prospects and what was to be done. One day she came with a
very beautiful companion, a little girl of sixteen: ‘I have brought
_my sister; she wanted to see you,” she said, by way of apology;
-and that is how I came to know Ida. i
She was very lovely then; I do not think that any of, the pictures
which I afterwards took of her were quite so pretty as she was,! Let
,me see if I can describe her. . She was a little taller than Giulia, and
perhaps rather too slight for perfect beauty, but singularly graceful
both ia form and movement, Such a shape as the early painters
used to imagine for their young saints, with more spirit than sub-
stance about it; her hair was dark, almost black, quite straight, as
_fine as silk, soft, heavy, and abundant; and she wore it turned back
from her face, as was the fashion just then, displaying to the best
advantage a clear, broad, intellectual forehead, .She had a regular
,oval face, rather small than large, with soft black eyes of wonderful
beauty and gentleness, shaded by perhaps the longest lashes which I
ever saw—with a pretty liltle straight nose (which gave a peculiar
‘prettiness to her profile), and a mouth not very small, but beautiful
in form and most delicate in expression, . Her teeth were very white,
brilliant, and regular; her complexion was dark, without much
color, except in her lips, which were of a deep red, When she was
a little out of breath, ho vever, or when she was animated, in talk-
ing, a bright glow used to come up in her cheeks, always disappear-
ing almost before one knew that it was there. :
She and I made great friends during that first visit; she liked me,
as a matter of course, because Giulia liked me; and, on my part, it
would have been impossible that I should not love anything so beau-
' i ; i
yet traci i 5 i
NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 97, 1883.
tiful and innocent and affectionate, Idid not let her go until we
had arranged that I should take her likeness; and from that time
forward, as long as Ida lived, I was almost half the time employed
either in drawing or painting her, It was seldom that I could keep
any picture of her for more than a little while; everyone used to ask
me where I had found guch a beautiful face.
It is pleasant to me now to look back at those days, before any
shadow came. over that) peaceful ard most innocent life. Those
long, happy mornings ‘in my paintirg-room, when she used to be-
come so excited over my: fairy stories and ballads, and tried to learn
them all by heart tq tell to Giulia; and when she, in turn, confided
to me all the events ‘ang interests of her short life, One thing I
soon discovered—that she was quite as beautiful in mind as in per-
son. If I tell all the trgth of what Ida was, I am sure that it will
seem to any one who did not know her as if I were inventing.’ She
seemed, even in those early days, like one who lived nearer heaven
than other people.
I have never quite understood it myself ; she had been brought up
more in the world than. ie usual with Italian girls, for (as I have said)
her parents were poor, and her mother sickly, and she had been ob-
liged, even from early childhood, to work hard for her daily bread.
It seems almost impossible that no bad influence should ever have
come near her ; but if it ever did, it by without harming her,
for there was nothing in her on which it could take hold. Her
mind seemed to tarn naturally to everything that was good and beau-
tiful, while what was evil made no impression on her, but passed by
her as if it had not been.
She lived in a dismal old house, up a great many stairs, in one of
the poorest streets of the city. All this does not sound very pleas-
ant: but what did Ida see there? Any one else would have seen,
PRESIDENT JULES GREVY.
looking from the windows there, dirty old houses out of repair,
crammed full of poverty, broken windows, leaky roofs, rickety stairs,
rags hung out to dry from garret windows, pale, untidy, discouraged
women, neglected children. Ida saw the bright sky, and the swal-
lows that built under the eaves, and the moss and flowers that grew
between the tiles on the old roofs, ; And from one window she could
see a little far-away glimpse of the country, and from another she
could look down into a garden, She saw the poor neighbors be-
sides, but to her they were all people to be loved, and pitied, and
sympathized with,. Whatever there was good, in any of them, she
found it out, and ignored everything else. It was a peculiarity of
my Ida that all the people with whom she was intimately acquainted
were, in some way or other, “very remarkable.” She never ad-
mitted that they had any “faults. One old woman, whose temper.
was so fearful that nobody could live with her, was a‘ good old
woman, but a little nervous, She had been an invalid for many
years, and was a great sufferer, and naturally she had her days when
things worried her.” . An idle, dirty old fellow, who lodged in the
same house,—who lived principally by getting into debt at one eat-
ing-house until the owner would trust him no longer, and then go-
ing to another,—she described as an “unfortunate gentleman in
reduced circumstafces, who had been educated in high life, and con-
sequently had never learnt to do anything. , Besides, he was a poet,
and poets are always peculiar.” A profane man, who talked athe-
ism, she charitably sald was probably insane. Poor little Ida! The
time came when her eyes were opened by force; whenshe saw sin in
its ugliness in the person of one who was very dear to her,—and
then shedied. :
But that was some time afterward, I am writing now of the frst
happy winter, when I was coming, little by little, to know what my
pou dt odag be ant . , i
PRICE FIVE CENTS.
companion was, All that she was I never knew till after she was
gone, Ida was a little seamstress, and she was then only beginning
to earn money. Thirty centimes a day* was what she gained when
she worked for a shop, and for this she used to sit at a sewing ma-
chine until past midnight. Sometimes she used to sew for ladies at
their houses, and then she earned a franc a day or more
Her parents allowed her to keep all her own earnings, that she
might clothe herself; but there was always something that she
wanted for father, or mother, or Giulia, or the little orphans, more
than anything that she wanted for herself; so that her own dress
was always kept down to objects of real necessity. Iam sure it was
not that she did not care for pretty things as much as any other girl :
if any of the ladies where she worked gave her a piece of ribbon, or
ascrap of colored silk, or anythin; else that was bright and pretty,
it was an unending amusement to make it up in some fanceful and
becoming style, whether for Giulia or herself, though she always
enjoyed the most working for Giulia, But generally she was en-
gaged in saving money, a few centimes at a time, to buy a present
for somebody, which was a great secret, confided to me under prom-
ise of silence. One centime a day she always laid by for ‘* the poor.”
“It is very little,” she said, “ but I save it up until Sunday, and it
is enough to buy a piece of bread for an old blind man, who always
comes to us for his breakfast on Sunday morning.” ne
When the time came for Giula to pass her examination, Ida came
to my room every day, and sometimes twice a day, to tell me what
Progress she was making. Often she came when I was notat home,
and then she would write a note with my pencil on a scrap of paper,
and pin it up to the window-frame, where I should be sure to See it.
I have kept some of these little notes up to this time; written in a
childish round hand, telling how many “ marks” Giulia had received
for geography, and how many for grammar, and all signed in the
same way—'' La sua /da, che lt vuol tanto bene!” As long as she’
lived her letters were all signed in the same way. Often I would
find two or three flowers, carefully arranged by her hand, in a glass
of water on my table; or, if I had left my door locked, they would
be made into a fanciful bunch, and tied with a bit of blue ribbon on
the door-handle, : .
Giulia passed her examination triumphantly, as she deserved to
do; and soon after obtained a place as teacher in one of the free
schools, I remember that there was a great excitement at that time
with regard to a new dress, which Giulia was to wear when she took
charge of her class. Ida’had been saving money for a great while to
buy that dress—it was-a gray alpaca—and it was all made, and
trimmed, and ready to put on, before Giulia knew anything about it.
First I saw the dress unmade, and then made ; and then Giulia hur-
tied over to show it to me, supposing that I should be as much sur-
prised as she was, , t
Meanwhile the winter had passed into spring, and spring’ was
wearing fast into summer, and my pretty Ida was beginning to look
rather puorly, She grew very thin, and had but little appetite ; I
thought also that’ she looked rather sad; but, if I asked her what
w\the matter, she always said that she was tired and felt the warm
ather, I forgot to say that her mother let rooms to lodgers; by
«he way, the vagabond poet of whom I have spoken was a lodger of
he man who had lodged with them for some time had just
then left them, and a military officer had taken his room. I remem-
ber still the day when Ida first spoke to me of this man, and seemed
pleased that her mother had found a new lodger instead of the old
‘one. . Oh, if I could only have warned her against him then!
But, as .I have said, Ida seemed to be fading, and I felt pretty -
anxious about her, We were going up the mountains about that
time, and, when we parted, she said : :
“Perhaps you will not find me when you come back ; I feel as if
I should not live very long.”
But she could give me no reason for this presentiment, and I at-
tached no great importance to it, thinking only that she was weak
and nervous. .. After we had been a’ few weeks at’S, Marcello, I re-
ceived a ‘letter from her, almost unintelligible, written evidently in
great distress of mind, in which she entreated me, if possible, to
come to Florence that she. might speak to me as she was in much
trouble. _ She added that she wished she had confided in me soonet,
and begged me in no case to let any one know that I had received a
letter from her, but to direct my answer to the post-office and not to
the house. , I was greatly alarmed, and wrote to her without losing
a minute, telling her that it was impossible that I could go to Flo-
rence (as the journey was much longer than [ had supposed), and
begging her to write again immediately and tell me what was really
the matter.
After two or three days of almost unbearable suspense her answer
game—long enough, and plain enough this time. I wish now that
I had kept her letter, that I might tell this part of her sad story in
her own words. In my own, it is hard for me to tell it without
speaking more harshly than I would of one who has at least this
claim on my forbearance—that Ida loved him |
The military officer of whom I have spoken, who had then been
for three or four months in the house, had fallen in love with Ida in
his fashion : that is, she was not. his first love—probably not his last
—but she pleased him... He was a man of not far from forty years
old, good looking in a certain way, broad shouldered, tall, fresh
colored ; and very much of a gentleman in his manners. ‘He was a
man of talent besides, and had traveled much in his military life,
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