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There　were　other　influences　that　I　daresay　contributed　to　the　boy's　education。　　I　think　his　imagination　was　stimulated　by　a　band　of　gypsies　who　used　to　come　every　summer　and　pitch　a　tent　on　a　little　roadside　patch　of　green　turf　by　the　river…bank　not　far　from　his　house。　　It　was　shaded　by　elms　and　butternut…trees；　and　a　long　spit　of　sand　and　pebbles　ran　out　from　it　into　the　brawling　stream。　　Probably　they　were　not　a　very　good　kind　of　gypsy；　although　the　story　was　that　the　men　drank　and　beat　the　women。　　John　didn't　know　much　about　drinking；　his　experience　of　it　was　confined　to　sweet　cider；　yet　he　had　already　set　himself　up　as　a　reformer；　and　joined　the　Cold　Water　Band。　　The　object　of　this　Band　was　to　walk　in　a　procession　under　a　banner　that　declared；

　　　　　　　　　〃So　here　we　pledge　perpetual　hate　　　　　　　　　　　To　all　that　can　intoxicate；　〃

and　wear　a　badge　with　this　legend；　and　above　it　the　device　of　a　well…　curb　with　a　long　sweep。　　It　kept　John　and　all　the　little　boys　and　girls　from　being　drunkards　till　they　were　ten　or　eleven　years　of　age；　though　perhaps　a　few　of　them　died　meantime　from　eating　loaf…cake　and　pie　and　drinking　ice…cold　water　at　the　celebrations　of　the　Band。

The　gypsy　camp　had　a　strange　fascination　for　John；　mingled　of　curiosity　and　fear。　　Nothing　more　alien　could　come　into　the　New　England　life　than　this　tatterdemalion　band。　　It　was　hardly　credible　that　here　were　actually　people　who　lived　out…doors；　who　slept　in　their　covered　wagon　or　under　their　tent；　and　cooked　in　the　open　air；　it　was　a　visible　romance　transferred　from　foreign　lands　and　the　remote　times　of　the　story…books；　and　John　took　these　city　thieves；　who　were　on　their　annual　foray　into　the　country；　trading　and　stealing　horses　and　robbing　hen…roosts　and　cornfields；　for　the　mysterious　race　who　for　thousands　of　years　have　done　these　same　things　in　all　lands；　by　right　of　their　pure　blood　and　ancient　lineage。　　John　was　afraid　to　approach　the　camp　when　any　of　the　scowling　and　villainous　men　were　lounging　about；　pipes　in　mouth；　but　he　took　more　courage　when　only　women　and　children　were　visible。　　The　swarthy；　black…haired　women　in　dirty　calico　frocks　were　anything　but　attractive；　but　they　spoke　softly　to　the　boy；　and　told　his　fortune；　and　wheedled　him　into　bringing　them　any　amount　of　cucumbers　and　green　corn　in　the　course　of　the　season。　　In　front　of　the　tent　were　planted　in　the　ground　three　poles　that　met　together　at　the　top；　whence　depended　a　kettle。　　This　was　the　kitchen；　and　it　was　sufficient。　　The　fuel　for　the　fire　was　the　driftwood　of　the　stream。　　John　noted　that　it　did　not　require　to　be　sawed　into　stove…lengths；　and；　in　short；　that　the　〃chores〃　about　this　establishment　were　reduced　to　the　minimum。　　And　an　older　person　than　John　might　envy　the　free　life　of　these　wanderers；　who　paid　neither　rent　nor　taxes；　and　yet　enjoyed　all　the　delights　of　nature。　It　seemed　to　the　boy　that　affairs　would　go　more　smoothly　in　the　world　if　everybody　would　live　in　this　simple　manner。　　Nor　did　he　then　know；　or　ever　after　find　out；　why　it　is　that　the　world　permits　only　wicked　people　to　be　Bohemians。




XIX

A　CONTRAST　TO　THE　NEW　ENGLAND　BOY

One　evening　at　vespers　in　Genoa；　attracted　by　a　burst　of　music　from　the　swinging　curtain　of　the　doorway；　I　entered　a　little　church　much　frequented　by　the　common　people。　　An　unexpected　and　exceedingly　pretty　sight　rewarded　me。

It　was　All　Souls'　Day。　　In　Italy　almost　every　day　is　set　apart　for　some　festival；　or　belongs　to　some　saint　or　another；　and　I　suppose　that　when　leap　year　brings　around　the　extra　day；　there　is　a　saint　ready　to　claim　the　29th　of　February。　　Whatever　the　day　was　to　the　elders；　the　evening　was　devoted　to　the　children。　　The　first　thing　I　noticed　was；　that　the　quaint　old　church　was　lighted　up　with　innumerable　wax　tapers；an　uncommon　sight；　for　the　darkness　of　a　Catholic　church　in　the　evening　is　usually　relieved　only　by　a　candle　here　and　there；　and　by　a　blazing　pyramid　of　them　on　the　high　altar。　The　use　of　gas　is　held　to　be　a　vulgar　thing　all　over　Europe；　and　especially　unfit　for　a　church　or　an　aristocratic　palace。

Then　I　saw　that　each　taper　belonged　to　a　little　boy　or　girl；　and　the　groups　of　children　were　scattered　all　about　the　church。　　There　was　a　group　by　every　side　altar　and　chapel；　all　the　benches　were　occupied　by　knots　of　them；　and　there　were　so　many　circles　of　them　seated　on　the　pavement　that　I　could　with　difficulty　make　my　way　among　them。　There　were　hundreds　of　children　in　the　church；　all　dressed　in　their　holiday　apparel；　and　all　intent　upon　the　illumination；　which　seemed　to　be　a　private　affair　to　each　one　of　them。

And　not　much　effect　had　their　tapers　upon　the　darkness　of　the　vast　vaults　above　them。　　The　tapers　were　little　spiral　coils　of　wax；　which　the　children　unrolled　as　fast　as　they　burned；　and　when　they　were　tired　of　holding　them；　they　rested　them　on　the　ground　and　watched　the　burning。　　I　stood　some　time　by　a　group　of　a　dozen　seated　in　a　corner　of　the　church。　　They　had　massed　all　the　tapers　in　the　center　and　formed　a　ring　about　the　spectacle；　sitting　with　their　legs　straight　out　before　them　and　their　toes　turned　up。　　The　light　shone　full　in　their　happy　faces；　and　made　the　group；　enveloped　otherwise　in　darkness；　like　one　of　Correggio's　pictures　of　children　or　angels。　Correggio　was　a　famous　Italian　artist　of　the　sixteenth　century；　who　painted　cherubs　like　children　who　were　just　going　to　heaven；　and　children　like　cherubs　who　had　just　come　out　of　it。　　But　then；　he　had　the　Italian　children　for　models；　and　they　get　the　knack　of　being　lovely　very　young。　　An　Italian　child　finds　it　as　easy　to　be　pretty　as　an　American　child　to　be　good。

One　could　not　but　be　struck　with　the　patience　these　little　people　exhibited　in　their　occupation；　and　the　enjoyment　they　got　out　of　it。　There　was　no　noise；　all　conversed　in　subdued　whispers　and　behaved　in　the　most　gentle　manner　to　each　other；　especially　to　the　smallest；　and　there　were　many　of　them　so　small　that　they　could　only　toddle　about　by　the　most　judicious　exercise　of　their　equilibrium。　　I　do　not　say　this　by　way　of　reproof　to　any　other　kind　of　children。

These　little　groups；　as　I　have　said；　were　scattered　all　about　the　church；　and　they　made　with　their　tapers　little　spots　of　light；　which　looked　in　the　distance　very　much　like　Correggio's　picture　which　is　at　Dresden；the　Holy　Family　at　Night；　and　the　light　from　the　Divine　Child　blazing　in　the　faces　of　all　the　attendants。　　Some　of　the　children　were　infants　in　the　nurses'　arms；　but　no　one　was　too　small　to　have　a　taper；　and　to　run　the　risk　of　burning　its　fingers。

There　is　nothing　that　a　baby　likes　more　than　a　lighted　candle；　and　the　church　has　understood　this　longing　in　human　nature；　and　found　means　to　gratify　it　by　this　festival　of　tapers。

The　groups　do　not　all　remain　long　in　place；　you　may　imagine；　there　is　a　good　deal　of　shifting　about；　and　I　see　little　stragglers　wandering　over　the　church；　like　fairies　lighted　by　fireflies。　　Occasionally　they　form　a　little　procession　and　march　from　one　altar　to　another；　their　lights　twinkling　as　they　go。

But　all　this　time　there　is　music　pouring　out　of　the　organ…loft　at　the　end　of　the　church；　and　flooding　all　its　spaces　with　its　volume。　　In　front　of　the　organ　is　a　choir　of　boys；　led　by　a　round…faced　and　jolly　monk；　who　rolls　about　as　he　sings；　and　lets　the　deep　bass　noise　rumble　about　a　long　time　in　his　stomach　before　he　pours　it　out　of　his　mouth。　　I　can　see　the　faces　of　all　of　them　quite　well；　for　each　singer　has　a　candle　to　light　his　music…book。

And　next　to　the　monk　stands　the　boy；the　handsomest　boy　in　the　whole　world　probably　at　this　moment。　　I　can　see　now　his　great；　liquid；　dark　eyes；　and　his　exquisite　face；　and　the　way　he　tossed　back　his　long　waving　hair　when　he　struck　into　his　part。　　He　resembled　the　portraits　of　Raphael；　when　that　artist　was　a　boy；　only　I　think　he　looked　better　than　Raphael；　and　without　trying；　for　he　seemed　to　be　a　spontaneous　sort　of　boy。　　And　how　that　boy　did　sing！　　He　was　the　soprano　of　the　choir；　and　he　had　a　voice　of　heavenly　sweetness。　　When　he　opened　his　mouth　and　tossed　back　his　head；　he　filled　the　church　with　exquisite　melody。

He　sang　like　a　lark；　or　like　an　angel。　　As　we　never　heard　an　angel　sing；　that　comparison　is　not　worth　much。　　I　have　seen　pictures　of　angels　singing；　there　is　one　by　Jan　and　Hubert　Van　Eyck　in　the　gallery　at　Berlin；and　they　open　their　mouths　like　this　boy；　but　I　can't　say　as　much　for　their　singing。　　The　lark；　which　you　very　likely　never　heard　either）　for　larks　are　as　scarce　in　America　as　angels；is　a　bird　that　springs　up　from　the　meadow　and　begins　to　sing　as　he　rises　in　a　spiral　flight；　and　the　higher　he　mounts；　the　sweeter　he　sings；　until　you　think　the　notes　are　dropping　out　of　heaven　itself；　and　you　hear　him　when　he　is　gone　from　sight；　and　you　think　you　hear　him　long　after　all　sound　has　ceased。

And　yet　this　boy　sang　better　than　a　lark；　because　he　had　more　notes　and　a　greater　compass　and　more　volume；　although　he　shook　out　his　voice　in　the　same　gleesome　abundance。

I　am　sorry　that　I　cannot　add　that　this　ravishingly　beautiful　boy　was　a　good　boy。　　He　was　probably　one　of　the　most　mischievous　boys　that　was　ever　in　an　organ…loft。　　All　the　time　that　he　was　singing　the　vespers　he　was　skylarking　like　an　imp。　　While　he　was　pouring　out