An Eternal Summer

Chapter One

Thundering hooves galloping along a narrow stretch of gravel road slowed down to a trot. A lissom figure dismounted hastily and tethered the panting horse under canopied trees in dense woodland. Anxiety marked every movement of this solitary rider moving swiftly through swaying grass, and glancing about cautiously as if afraid of pursuit and discovery. Nimble as a sleek cat, the figure leaped over a fallen tree trunk and climbed up the banks of the pale luminous lake, reputed for its haunting beauty throughout the land. The waters gleamed now like gossamer cloth, mirrored with beams of colour, and ablaze with fading reflections of deep claret sky.

Twilight descended rapidly on this late spring day in 1890 in a small hillside village on the outskirts of Lucca in Tuscany. Undulating hills and verdant valleys swept across endlessly, fresh and sparkling after heavy spring showers. It was a magical time of evening, as lustrous-eyed maidens longed for lover’s kisses, and harassed wives cooked bean soup over slow crackling wood fires, as they waited for the men to return home from the fields. Predators, wild boars and wolves crept up to their dens furtively, satiated with the days hunting, or growled hungrily through the night, if they had missed their prey. After a dazzling display all day long, the golden eye of heaven rolled lazily over distant purple-hued mountain ranges, and the loud warbling of cheery bird songs muted to quiet refrains as dark shadows crept stealthily over hill and dale. The brilliant swirl of strawberry pink, orange and citrus skies slowly faded into grey cavernous shadows, as the entire landscape gradually turned almost ebony.

Mysterious shadowy silhouettes of foliage and distant mountains dispersed into total darkness. Tall ancient trees, like ghostly sentinels burdened with deep dark secrets, swayed gently in the breeze. Their reflections wavered in gleaming water below, and their gnarled tangled roots delved far below into the bowels of the black earth. On mossy banks above, daisies, asters and wild irises, cheerful heralds of spring, bloomed profusely.

The solitary figure now sat on velvety moss, and lay motionless for a while. Suddenly, she stood up quickly, as a long-awaited sound reached her straining ears, and a playful breeze tossed cascading dark hair around an oval-shaped face. Her coral-tinted lips parted in a faint smile. The exquisite features of a tall slender seventeen-year old girl with sun-kissed golden skin, lit up vividly. And even myriads of twinkling stars could not rival the radiance of her dark lustrous eyes. Dressed in a close-fitting olive green riding jacket, long skirt and fitted tan boots up to trim ankles, she stood there, graceful beauty personified, arms outstretched yearningly.

Many an aspiring poet or artist would have spurred to capture even a semblance of that youthful image. Even the haloed moon glowing through a frothy sea of clouds, shimmered and dimmed with envy, as it gazed down on that fair apparition by the lake. The cause of this girl’s uneasiness soon appeared. She leaped forward eagerly and flung herself into the arms of a very tall broad-shouldered young man, who rushed up to her impatiently and caught her in a passionate embrace. The handsome young man wore puce riding breeches, a dark brown coat over a white linen shirt, and knee-high dusty brown boots.

A few moments passed until she sprang apart to gaze up at him and whispered low, ‘oh, Giovanni, I was so frightened, wondering why you delayed. I thought you must have been held up somewhere or met with an accident.’ he pressed her hand gently, as he murmured softly in a deep voice, ‘no, sweet Maria, my horse stumbled and lost a shoe, so I had to ride very slowly.’ They gazed long, and drank in the beloved sight of each other’s faces until they could hardly breathe with such over-powering emotion. Finally, they rested blissfully in each other’s arms as they sat on the moss, afraid to speak and break the magical spell that bound them.

Her beautiful dark eyes shone brightly with innocent love, and Giovanni, a very fine-looking young man of twenty two, with dark curly hair, fiery black eyes and strong chiselled features, that were a direct legacy from his Etruscan ancestors, could hardly utter a word, as his burning heart beat fiercely with passionate love for Maria. He gazed at her mutely, afraid that if he took his eyes away, she would vanish, just like the rapidly descending mist that now enwrapped the surrounding land.

At last he murmured huskily, his voice filled with ardour, ‘Maria, gioia del mio cuore, my heart’s delight, you are my only happiness in this world you know. I swear upon all I hold dear that I will move heaven and earth to make you mine! Ti amore per sempre, I will love you always. Il mio cuore e’ tuo per sempre, my heart is yours forever. I only want you to promise me my sweet Maria that you will love me too until the end of time.’

She trembled like a sapling willow in the breeze, as she replied in a trembling voice so soft, that he had to strain his ears. ‘Oh my dearest Giovanni, you are my very life, my heart and my soul! I swear on my honour, that never have I loved anyone half as much as I love you. Don’t ever doubt that my love for you will be as constant as the seasons and longer than forever.’ With such tender passionate vows, they sealed their promises with a long ardent kiss that fleetingly arrested time. Then they drew even closer for a few more blissful moments and lay enchanted in each other’s arms.

Although he was only twenty-two years old, Giovanni’s fine features were strong and determined, as his dark eyes blazed with an inner fire full of love and devotion. Their passionate love and young dreams consumed them utterly, and difficult though it was to fathom their deepest thoughts, it was obvious that in their fierce determination to be together forever, they would challenge the whole world to try and separate them.

Chapter Two

Maria Leopardi and Giovanni Gambrelli had met seven months ago for the first time, during a late summer festival held at the piazza in the town of Lucca. As wild throngs of revellers ate, drank, sang and danced along narrow paved streets decorated with bright garlands of flowers and coloured lanterns strung from trees and lamp posts, Giovanni and Maria had suddenly become aware of each other, as their eyes met and held each other’s gaze for a brief moment in eternity.

Even though her family chaperoned her closely, Maria managed to shake them off, and desperately tried to get closer to the handsome young stranger who scorched her very soul with his smouldering eyes. Giovanni too, was immediately attracted to the exquisitely beautiful young girl with lovely haunting dark eyes. He followed her surreptitiously all evening, but had hardly been able to get near enough to make her acquaintance, with such a horde of merry-makers dancing and jostling each other along the crowded streets.

Maria felt the young man’s presence keenly when he tried to brush past her several times, and she had blushed like a scarlet poppy at the striking young stranger’s intense scrutiny. Later on in the evening, when she strayed away from her family’s careful chaperonage, she rode her horse feverishly, and stopped at this very place by the banks of the silver lake, suddenly overcome with a burning desire to swim in that inviting water. It was still very warm, and she had been hot and bothered all evening. Her family had driven over to town in a lumbering horse carriage, but being an admirable equestrian, she had insisted on riding side-saddle on her favourite horse, alongside their carriage. As her uncle had accompanied them that evening, he did not raise any objection to this suggestion, just as long as she accompanied them home before night fall, he had stipulated.

When she arrived at the lake, she lost no time in getting out of her riding habit, and slipping into the water. Maria thought nothing of swimming in the lake scantily-clothed, thinking it was fairly dark and secluded, and that nobody would pass that way. She had not come prepared for a swim anyway, and was revelling in the cool shallow waters in her flimsy chemise and long petticoat, when she suddenly heard a rustling sound in the low bushes.

To Maria’s great surprise, she soon beheld that fine-looking young man who had stared at her so fervently during the festival, now gazing at her quite unabashedly, and knew he had followed her to the lake. He stood lost in admiration, and thought she looked like a woodland nymph rising out of the lake, as she quickly scampered behind some shrubbery to dry herself. She blushed deeply, as she wondered how long he had been observing her, but it took exactly sixty seconds or less for them to fall in love with each other hopelessly.

After she dressed hastily, she came out of the dense growth, and Giovanni introduced himself with a charming smile and conspiratorial nod, ‘I will not speak of this to anyone, so do not be afraid Signorina. I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen!’ Maria bowed her head low as she stammered, ‘I don’t know what you must think of me! I come here often, and since no one knows about it, I usually swim as long as I please. I live nearby on the other side of the hills.’

He gazed ardently and whispered, ‘I only wish I could tell you what I really think of you Signorina, but on such short acquaintance, you would think me a daring young fool. So I do hope I have the pleasure of seeing you again soon, and get to know you better.’ After a few more strangled sentences that Maria could hardly recall speaking, they stared at each other for a few more minutes, before she rode off in extreme agitation and embarrassment. Maria kept telling herself she hoped she would never meet him again, but when she got home all she could think of was that amazingly handsome young man, and yearned to see him again soon. He had such a deep musical gentle voice, and had behaved in a very considerate manner.

The very next evening, she went back to the lake, but not to swim this time, as she sat on the banks of the lake, flipping through the pages of a slim worn-out volume of poems in a desultory manner. In between her sporadic reading, she tossed tiny pebbles into the water and gazed at the silver ripples that burst forth and disappeared, her mind full of romantic notions. Soon, he stood there, even before she heard his soft footsteps. It was indeed love at first sight, and they experienced their first exciting kiss that evening, quivering with emotion, as reckless passion submerged their very beings.

Giovanni was very tender and respectful though, and true to his traditional upbringing, dared not defile her virginity, as he immediately decided to marry Maria as soon as he could. He had known several young women before with whom he had indulged in light-hearted flirtations and amours, but it was Maria’s first love affair, and to her it was an earth-shattering experience that she believed would last a lifetime.

Chapter Three

They met often after that day, and with each new meeting, discovered more to love and adore about each other. Maria was apprehensive about meeting him secretly, for fear of her despotic father, Carlo Leopardi. Giovanni, however, with the persuasive power of his ardent love, extracted a promise to meet him at least once a month even though they were well aware of the dire consequences should her family discover their secret love.

Therefore, they were extremely careful to ensure no one followed them here, and agreed that this was the best place to meet, as it was isolated, and also for the romantic reason that it was here they had first met and fallen in love. Giovanni’s home was in the lush green hills of the Valdichiana in a small village close to the hill town of Montepulciano. It was quite a long distance from her home, but he came to Lucca often, especially on market days and festivals. He and his mother visited her widowed younger sister, Patrizia Falome in Capannori, which was not too far from Lucca. Now, much to Zia Patrizia’s delight, he visited her as often as he could get away from his work, but she was totally unaware of the reason for her nephew’s sudden surge of affection for her.

So it happened that after secret meetings over the last seven months, they were eager to settle this matter, and end these clandestine trysts, as they abhorred any form of deceit and secrecy. Giovanni was determined to marry Maria at any cost, even though he knew he had to overcome a mountain of obstacles, and this evening, they felt a strange foreboding, as if some great evil lurked in the shadowy uncertain future.

She drew closer instinctively, and he locked her in his arms in a fierce embrace, daring man or fate to separate them. There was no need for words, bound in soul and mind as they were, and ardently wished they could always be happy and carefree in their innocent love affair. Maria, however, could not help thinking that some great trouble loomed over their young heads. She wept softly, as she realized the hour was late, and that she should have left half an hour ago, but she was still reluctant to say goodbye to her beloved sweetheart. He read her mind, and with an enormous effort, released her gently and raised her to her feet. She looked up at his tall strong figure, adoration suffusing her lovely face.

He bent over and kissed her tenderly, and she felt her heart would break, because every time they kissed goodbye, she felt certain she would never see him again. Tonight, inexplicably, she was more apprehensive than usual, and felt that their happiness was short-lived, and they would never meet again. Her fevered mind dwelt on the futility of life without Giovanni’s love, his caresses, warm embraces and burning kisses. Their partings were always such emotional upheavals, that it left her weakened and shaken to the core, as her tormented soul cried out in anguish, ‘oh God, why did I have to meet Giovanni, and fall in love with him, if it wasn’t going to last forever?’ He held her soft hands gently, as he whispered, ‘ciao, my beloved, soon we’ll meet again my angel. A few more weary days to live through and we’ll be together again. Till then, God protect and guide you safely home carissima. Ti amo.’

She sobbed brokenly at this tender parting and trembled as she spoke, ‘Giovanni, my love, I feel as if this is our last farewell. I cannot bear to see you leave. O God, why am I made so miserable. When I die, I wish I was turned into grass under your feet, so that you will touch me each time you tread on the grass.’ So saying, she clung onto him with the sheer desperation of a ship-wrecked mariner clinging onto a scrap of flimsy drift-wood.

Giovanni too was unhappy, but with many endearments and caresses, he consoled his weeping sweetheart. He promised to ride half-way to her home that night before he rode back those weary miles to Zia Patrizia’s house, where his mother was staying for a few days as well. They walked arm in arm silently underneath the whispering foliage of great oak and chestnut trees, and the tall grass sighed beneath their feet as they passed.

Even the eerie night sounds were strangely hushed, as if all of nature held its breath while the subdued lovers stole by in the shadows. The way was dark where the horses were tethered, and his strong hands supported Maria whenever she stumbled over a hidden rock or fallen branch. Soon, the dark moon vanished behind billowing clouds, and not a star twinkled in the heavens above. Great pine trees sighed and moaned, complaining of mischievous breezes whipping through their sharp needles and making them wail mournfully, as if echoing heavy thoughts that burdened the night wanderers.

Over hills and meadows, down twisting narrow lanes and woods, through thickets and brambles they rode on through approaching night. Their eyes discerned dim twinkling lights now and then from distant farm houses, and as they approached Maria’s home, the faint lights grew brighter. It was dangerous for Giovanni to ride any further, so with a last passionate kiss and embrace, Maria rode up the steep incline to the villa on the hill and stumbled up uneven stone steps, home at last.

She led the horse to the stables and left the panting animal with a stable boy. Lights gleamed brightly through long narrow windows of the imposing villa, and she knew her papa and Zio Francesco would have lit extra lanterns tonight to help her see her way. From a distance below the hilltop, sheltered inside a thick grove of olive trees, Giovanni watched the tiny figure disappear inside the villa. The pocket of golden light vanished as the door opened and shut abruptly.

And as it closed behind Maria, locking out the breeze and dark mysterious night, his body, which ached after a long ride, grew numb and cold. His head hammered and pounded, as if hot rivets were being driven into his skull, and the lump in his throat threatened to choke him. He fell on his knees and kissed the ground where Maria’s little feet had stood, and whispered her name, as he swore he would not rest until he made her his wife, even if he died in the attempt. Although he was only a poor carpenter and a farm-hand at present, share-cropping on a rich nobleman’s lands, he would soon earn enough money to enable him to support a wife in a modest manner.

During this time, the customary system of share-cropping, where noblemen owned land and serfs worked for them, surrendering seventy-five or eighty-per cent of yields to the noblemen, was still prevalent. This process kept most of the peasants poor and hungry, with no future prospects to better themselves. Most of the serfs could not afford to buy land or their own farms, but fortunately, Giovanni and his mother owned their house, which had belonged to his mother’s family.

A sense of angry futility crept over him, as he thought of Maria’s wealthy father Carlo Leopardi, who possessed several thousand acres of land, and was a prominent man in the village. Carlo was a proud and harsh landowner, descending from a long line of equally proud and haughty ancestors, who had lived in the village for centuries, and had ruled despotically over the rest of the poor villagers. He would scorn even to look at Giovanni, let alone welcome him as a son-in-law.

Never before had he felt more depressed and worthless than at this moment. So far he had been content with his lot in life, until he met Maria and fallen desperately in love with her, not knowing who she was or who her father was. Giovanni had toiled manfully on the fields ever since he was a teenager while apprenticed to a carpenter, and was now recognized as a good tradesman in his village.

He supported his widowed mother, and together they lived in a modest casa colonica, farmhouse, constructed of honey-coloured stones and terra-cotta roof. The stones were quarried from local hills, and it looked just like most of the surrounding houses that dotted the spectacular landscape around sweeping hills and valleys of Tuscany. Life had been simple, uncomplicated and happy, with occasional flirtations and amorous dalliances with the farm girls, as the voluptuous young women could not help throwing themselves at such a good-looking young man as Giovanni.

He had not suffered any qualms about accepting their amorous favours either, especially at harvesting times and festivals, when most of them drank too much wine and woke up in the arms of any willing and able young man. All that unrestrained merriment had ended in the last few months though, and he could think of no other girl except Maria, and she was going to be his wife one day, no doubt about that. He was determined and stubborn in such an important matter of the heart.

Giovanni now resented the fact he was a poor nobody, with no proud family name, no money, and nothing much to boast of. Maria had often said it did not matter an ounce about such trivial details, but that was because she was an angel and her father was no angel. Not by a long shot. He grimaced in the dark and went back to where his horse was tethered and patted its sleek black coat.

He loved his horse dearly, as he had raised it from a pony when he found it abandoned in a field, starved to its skeletal frame. Now he spoke softly to the intelligent animal, ‘Rocco, you and I are of a kind you know. I found you as an orphan, and sometimes, I think I’m no better than you are! Anyway, we’ll be happy now eh? I love you like a brother, and I have an angel to love me, so we are not badly off eh? It’s a long journey home, so let’s comfort each other as well as we can. Here are some nice sweet apples for you, and I’ll have some bread and cheese.’

The horse brushed against his master’s arm and nuzzled him fondly, as if he agreed whole-heartedly with this excellent suggestion. Man and beast looked forlorn as they journeyed soon after beneath cloudy skies and nodding trees that sighed, as if they too shared and understood Giovanni’s dark emotions. It was still chilly and wet at this time of year in spring, and a cold wind suddenly whipped up around them as they hurried on swiftly through the night, anxious to avoid a sudden burst of showers.

Chapter Four

Maria knocked timidly on the great polished oak door of the impressive two-storey villa. Her father opened it immediately with a loud expletive, ‘Christo! Where have you been and why are you so late?’ Anger turned his ruddy face deep crimson because he had been kept waiting for his dinner. She murmured softly, ‘mi dispiace Papa.’ I’m sorry and hastened indoors where a cheerful sight greeted her tired eyes. Maria though, was too deeply immersed in her own thoughts to appreciate the cosy fire crackling merrily in the full-size fireplace.

Carlo had built his villa in the same grandiose style of some of the seventeenth century villas outside Lucca, and the exterior closely resembled Villa Orlando, that had once belonged to Caroline Murat Bonaparte, Queen of Naples in 1808. The Leopardi villa was comfortable and ostentatious in its décor and elegant furnishings, but not as luxurious and opulent as Villa Orlando.

Burnished amber and white-veined marble floors glistened brightly, and a square oriental rug covered the centre of the salotto, lounge room. Although Thomas Edison, that prolific inventor, with over thousand patents to his name, had invented the light bulb in 1879, electricity was not yet connected to most villas in this part of Tuscany because so far, only big towns and cities enjoyed that modern convenience. So, in various corners of the room, ornate candelabra glowed on inlaid marble-top tables with wrought-iron bases. Several candles in sconces embedded in ornamental brackets on the walls illuminated the room, while a crystal chandelier ablaze with dozens of candles shone iridescently from above as well.

High-backed gilt chairs and hand-carved walnut armchairs upholstered in red and gold striped brocade filled the room, looking more elegant than comfortable. In the middle of the room stood a rectangular coffee table, inlaid with marble-top and central floral bouquet on a wrought-iron base. A highly-polished mahogany grand piano gleamed in a far alcove, and a large gilt-edged rectangular mirror sparkled over the enormous fireplace with an ornate hand-carved mantelpiece surrounding it. Two large vivid tapestries depicting pastoral scenes decorated one section of the wall, and a number of renaissance-style landscapes in oil framed with thick gold leaf mouldings, adorned another.

Opposite this grand and spacious salotto, was the sala da pranzo, dining room, where twenty straight-backed chairs upholstered in gold brocade surrounded a long walnut table. An enormous chandelier hung over the great table as well, and four large paintings of Venetian scenes and dramatic seascapes enhanced sandy-coloured walls.

Through a narrow archway leading to a large cucina, kitchen, delicious cooking aromas now emanated, as Matilda the old cook stirred the contents of a thick pot simmering over a wood fire stove. The timbered ceiling in the cucina glistened with shafts of red light and glowed on shiny copper pans suspended from the weathered oak beams. Maria’s mother, Anna, and grandmother, Nonna Lucia, sat by the fireside and darned industriously, while Zia Gina knitted socks and scarves endlessly for poor families and wounded soldiers, so she informed her family several times a day in a solemn virtuous manner.

Zio Francesco, her father’s younger brother, a quiet dignified man in his late fifties, who now had his head buried deep in a newspaper, helped Carlo with the running of the vast Leopardi estates, as he was an astute businessman and a good accountant too. Francesco was dressed in dark trousers, white shirt with a winged collar, dark bow-tie, a pale blue satin waistcoat and highly polished black shoes.

The family included her nonna, Zia Gina, Zio Francesco and her two sisters. Tina the eldest was twenty and a tall graceful aristocratic-looking young woman with classic features, intense blue eyes and long honey-coloured hair, which she had inherited from her mother. But in nature, Tina was more akin to her papa. She was extremely haughty and steadily refused several young men who courted her, as she thought they were all beneath her social standing.

Tina now glided around in a wide dark blue ankle-length skirt, with a close-fitting white bodice, and her flowing hair tied up with a broad blue ribbon. She did not favour jewellery, and her only adornment was two small loops of gold earrings. She had a stern disdainful expression on her comely face as she went about her duties now. Carlo tolerated Tina’s whims at present, but he knew that when he decided it was time for her to get married, she would have no choice but to obey him, as he was a despotic man. Ten-year old Angelina, a rosy-complexioned angelic child with roguish brown eyes and curly auburn hair, looked a vision in pale pink and satin bows and was the apple of her mother’s eye. The whole family spoilt and pampered her, and she was a naughty precocious child who could sometimes be a sore trial to her sisters.

Maria’s older brothers, Giuseppe and Antonio had immigrated to America when they were in their early twenties, and had married American women, and now lived with their families in New York. They had disappointed Carlo severely when they abandoned the traditional way of life on the family farms and vineyards here and had immigrated without his consent. Being a harsh and vindictive man, he instantly cut them off from his will completely, saying they were no longer any sons of his.

The young men and their families had never visited them again, but corresponded only with their mother a few times during the year, especially at Christmas, Easter, and on her birthday. Anna missed them sorely, and often cried silent bitter tears, but they had no intention of returning to Italy or their father’s house to be under his authority. They held good jobs in Government departments in the States, and owned their own homes equipped with all the latest inventions. Their children attended private schools, and in short they were living the great American Dream quite happily.

Maria’s family looked cheerful and contented going about their daily chores and pursuits, but as Maria entered, they all looked up at her questioningly. She had kept them waiting for dinner, which was usually served at 7.30pm and now, as she glanced at