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Do you believe it?" "The old woman laughed when she told it," he answered. "She said it was a joke; so I think it was true. I know I would have killed the man who tried to crop my ears that way." "Did you ever tell that to Father Salvierderra?" asked Ramona. "No, Majella. It would not be polite," said Alessandro. "Well, I don't believe it," replied Ramona, in a relieved tone.
Alessandro was dead; there could be no doubt of that. He was buried in that little walled graveyard of which he had told her. Sometimes she thought she would try to go there and see his grave, perhaps see his father; if Alessandro had told him of her, the old man would be glad to see her; perhaps, after all, her work might lie there, among Alessandro's people.
"I don't know why it is, Alessandro," she said; "I should think I would be afraid, but I have not the least fear, not the least; not of anything that can come, Alessandro," she reiterated with emphasis. "Is it not strange?" "Yes, Senorita," he replied solemnly, laying his hand on hers as he walked close at her side. "It is strange. I am afraid, afraid for you, my Senorita!
Here did Charles VIII Savonarola's "Flagellum Dei" lodge and loot, and it was here that Capponi frightened him with the threat of the Florentine bells; hither came in 1494 the fickle and terrible Florentine mob, always passionate in its pursuit of change and excitement, and now inflamed by the sermons of Savonarola, to destroy the priceless manuscripts and works of art; here was brought up for a year or so the little Catherine de' Medici, and next door was the house in which Alessandro de' Medici was murdered.
She was talking to Father Salvierderra, and she said, 'If the child had only the one blood in her veins, it would be different. I like not these crosses with Indians." If Alessandro had been civilized, he would at this word "Indian" have bounded to his feet. Being Alessandro, he stood if possible stiller than before, and said in a low voice, "How know you it was the mother that was the Indian?"
IT was strange to see how quickly and naturally Alessandro fitted into his place in the household. How tangles straightened out, and rough places became smooth, as he quietly took matters in hand. Luckily, old Juan Can had always liked him, and felt a great sense of relief at the news of his staying on.
The abbot, in whose breast new feelings had been aroused by the sight of Alessandro, continuing his journey, it chanced that, after some days, they came to a village not overwell furnished with hostelries, and the abbot having a mind to pass the night there, Alessandro caused him alight at the house of an innkeeper, who was his familiar acquaintance, and let prepare him his sleeping-chamber in the least incommodious place of the house; and being now, like an expert man as he was, grown well nigh a master of the household to the abbot, he lodged all his company, as best he might, about the village, some here and some there.
Thus it must be while the world lasts; and the very racks and scrues wherewith they aim to overcome the nobler spiritt onlie lift and reveal its power of exaltation above the heaviest gloom of circumstance. Interfecistis, interfecistis hominem omnium anglorum optimum. The Betrothed Poet, dramatist, and novelist, Alessandro Francesco Tommaso Manzoni was born at Milan on March 7, 1785.
The two columns An ingenious engineer S. Mark's lion S. Theodore of Heraclea The Old Library Jacopo Sansovino The Venetian Brunelleschi Vasari's life A Venetian library Early printed books The Grimani breviary A pageant of the Seasons The Loggetta Coryat again The view from the Molo The gondolier Alessandro and Ferdinando The danger of the traghetto Indomitable talkers The fair and the fare A proud father The rampino.
"In the same time with the illustrious Lorenzo de Medici, the elder," Vasari writes, "which was truly an age of gold for men of talent, there flourished a certain Alessandro, called after our custom Sandro, and further named di Botticello, for a reason which we shall presently see.
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