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Page 23
"Perhaps"--she thought, and smiled at her thought so evidently born of
her wish; and then hastened to despatch a message to Miss Sherman and
Howard, lest she might miss them.
Lucile Sherman differed somewhat in character from the impression she
had made upon Mrs. Douglas. Lovely in face and figure, gifted with
winning ways, possessed of a certain degree of culture, and very
desirous of gaining the friendship of cultured people, she was most
attractive on short acquaintance. An intimacy must always reveal her
limitations and show how she just missed the best because of the lack of
any definite, earnest purpose in her life,--of real sincerity and of the
slightest element of self-sacrifice, without which no character can grow
truly noble.
She was very dear unto herself, and was accustomed to take the measure
of all things according to the way in which they affected Lucile
Sherman. When her father, for whose health the present journey to Italy
had been primarily planned, was imperatively summoned home, her
disappointment was so overwhelmingly apparent that her sister Marion was
chosen to accompany him back to America, and Lucile was permitted to
spend the winter as she so much wished.
She was fond of society, of music, of literature and art; had seemingly
an enthusiastic admiration and desire for all things good and true, and
thought she embodied all her desires; but these were ever a little too
languid to subdue the self-love and overcome the inertia of all high
principles of life. It is not difficult to understand her, for the world
has many such,--in whom there is nothing really bad, only they have
missed the best.
On board the steamship, she had been much attracted by the little party
from Boston, and had made advances toward Mrs. Douglas; and when, on
that day so soon after reaching Florence, she had met Mr. Sumner and the
young people in Santa Croce, her remark that it was worth a journey from
America just to see Giotto's frescoes there--the remark that had won a
look of interest from Mr. Sumner, and that poor Barbara had brooded over
because it had caused her to feel so sorely her own ignorance--had been
spoken with the design that it should be overheard by that
distinguished-looking man who, she felt sure, must be the artist-brother
whom Mrs. Douglas had come to Italy to meet; and though she did enjoy
the old Florentine masters very much indeed, yet she had haunted the
churches and galleries a little more persistently than she would
otherwise have done, in the hope that fortune might some day favor her
by granting a meeting with Mrs. Douglas and her brother. All things come
to those who wish and wait; and so the time came when Mrs. Douglas found
her in Santa Croce, and the desired introduction and invitations were
given.
When, therefore, the request that she join the picnic party on Fiesole
reached her, and was soon followed by Mrs. Douglas's carriage, Miss
Sherman's satisfaction knew no bounds. The lovely eyes, that Barbara and
Bettina had so much admired, were more softly brilliant than ever in
their expression of happiness, and Mrs. Douglas looked the admiration
she felt for her young companion.
Meanwhile, Mr. Sumner, Malcom, Margery, Barbara, and Bettina had
gloriously enjoyed the walk out of the city through Porta Gallo, along
the banks of the Mugello, up the first slope of the hill, past Villa
Palmieri, and upward to San Domenico,--church and monastery,--which
stands about half way to the top.
Here they stopped to rest, and to talk for a few minutes about Fra
Angelico, the painter-monk, whose name has rendered historic every spot
on which he lived.
Mr. Sumner told them very briefly how two young men--brothers, hardly
more than boys--had come hither one day from the country over yonder,
the same country where Giotto had lived when a child, about one hundred
years before, and had become monks in this monastery. "They took the
names of Giovanni and Benedetto; and Giovanni, or John, as it is in
English, was afterward called Fra Angelico by his brethren because his
life was so holy, or because, as some say, he painted angels more pure
and beautiful than have ever been pictured before or since. He lived
here many years before he was transferred with his brethren to the
monastery of San Marco down in Florence, and painted several pictures in
this church, only a part of one of which is remaining. Little did the
young monk think, as he painted here in humility, that one day
emissaries from the great unknown world would come hither, cut his
frescoes out of the walls, and bear them away to foreign art galleries,
there to be treasured beyond all price."
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