CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE MORTALITY OF CLOTHO.

September 24.--Poor old Clotho! no longer one of the immortal Fates, she has herself succumbed to the destiny of humanity. For the last month the white-haired old grandmother has been very infirm, scarcely able to walk about on her swollen feet; but she still sat spinning at the gate, or on the quaint little loggia of her son Pietro's house. For the last three days, however, she has been missed from her usual haunts. Calmly and peacefully she has taken to her bed, where she lies happy and smiling to the last. "I have no pain," she asserts, "but it rests my tired old feet to stay in bed."

Her son and his family take great care of her. "Send to tell my other children I am ill," she says. "Let me see who cares for me enough to come round me at the last." Letters are written or messages sent by the pretty granddaughters to married daughters and sons in neighbouring vil

lages; but old Clotho grows daily weaker, and none of them fly to her side. They think, "What can we do? poor mother is old, she has all Pietro's family to take care of her, she wants for nothing; and there is so much to do in the fields now ;" and so on and so on, till the grandmother is weary of waiting for her children who do not come. She nods her head, as one who is wise, and taking her bearded son by the hand says, "Ah, Pietro, I see you are the only one who stays by me till the end, and have always stood by me since your father died. You were the youngest; and when he died he parted his land and his savings among them all; but you, because you were little, got nothing. They all went away from me with their money, and some spent it well for themselves and some spent it ill, but none of them stayed with their old mother except you, and you shall not lose anything by it. Go and call Luigi, he writes like a lawyer, and I will make my will, as your father did, and you shall not be left out this time."

Luigi comes reluctantly to the house of his former love; he does not see her, however, for she has fled to a neighbour's house before he enters.

Then Clotho makes her will, saying, "Write down that I leave fifty francs of my earnings and savings to distribute among the friends who come

to my funeral, and a good fee out of it to the priest to say a mass for my soul; and then write that everything else I leave to Pietro; the others had their father's money and he had none; they left me alone, and he has always stayed by me. Jesu! let me die in peace."

After this she sleeps calmly, but revives on awaking, and it is not till two days later that one of the granddaughters hastens out to the road. where Pietro is watching his pony feed, to call him. For once in his life he deserts his fourfooted friend and hurries home, where his old mother is propped up in her bed drawing fluttering breaths. Her face brightens up as he approaches, and she passes away holding by the hand her youngest son, who had "stayed with her to the last."

This afternoon her trasporto (as they call the "carrying away") takes place. An unusual serious excitement pervades the village; every man, woman, and child is assembled on Pietro's aja, group after group arrives from Piteglio; Annina and her five brothers come from the Pieve. All the men who belong to the village "Società della Chiesa," wear their white linen garments with girdles. Every head is bare, and every right hand holds a torch or candle.

The bier is placed in the household kitchen, and the friends pass in, one by one, to take their last glance at the bright old face which will never smile again in this world. Its last look is a smile, which illumines her still features as she lies there clad from head to foot in her festal garments, the red handkerchief we had given her tied under her motionless chin.

Then the bier is closed and six white-robed men, taking it on their shoulders, move slowly off, while the procession forms behind them. It is a long procession of seventy couples; and before it starts each person has received a few soldi (halfpennies) from the grandmother's fifty francs. First the members of the family follow, with their torches and sad faces; next the white ephods, two and two, all ready to change places when the bearers are tired; then come the women and children in pairs, each with a glimmering light in her hand. The long line takes a slow, serpentine course across the reaped cornfields to the old church of the Pieve. Here they halt and change bearers, then wind their way down the zigzag mule road to the black cross in the valley. At the foot of the cross they rest and change again, then pass over Harry's bridge and up beneath the trees to Piteglio. The church bells are filling the valley with their tolling

notes; the priest, the frate and their acolytes, all in white, await the dead at the entrance to the village, and lead the procession up the tortuous little streets to the church. Here the bier is placed in the centre of the nave, with tall candles all around it. The priest sprinkles both bier and mourners with holy water, then the whole multitude fall on their knees whilst he prays for the soul of the departed, after which the congregation disperses. The absolute interment is an entirely private affair, mostly accomplished by the sextons at night. The duty of friends to the dead seems to consist in giving due honour to the trasporto and in placing her in the priest's custody after sharing his prayers.

Poor, bright old Clotho! The very sight of a distaff of white wool will be pathetic henceforth for her sake!