Hunter College High School - Argus Yearbook (New York, NY)

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The tiny village perched precariously on the mountain side was wrapped in night and stillness. In the hostelaria all the windows were dark save one, through which a candle gleamed dully. The one street of the village was deserted. From the shadowed side of a house slipped a figure merging into the shadows and again starting forth stealthily down the street. As the form neared the lighted window of the inn, at the far end of the village, it paused, and passed like a wraith. At the outskirts of the town, it stepped into the starlight, to reveal itself as a young girl dressed in the gay skirt and bodice of a shepherdess. A gaily-flowered shawl covered her head, hiding all her hair save those few curls which had escaped. In the dim light one could see the beauty of her sparkling eyes, petal-like skin, and sweetly curved lips. Turning to the village for a moment, she airily blew a kiss toward it, then removed from a bundle a small pair of wooden shoes, slipped into them, and began to climb the mountainside. When she reached a small, sheltered recess, she called out softly. The leaves rustled, a man's voice whispered 6'Margherita, and she was clasped in her lover's arms. Down from the mountainside above them came the sound of someone slipping on a stone. The lovers did not hear it. But Beniamino heard their voices and stopped, glad to overhear another's secret. From where he stood, he could watch the two beneath the full moon which rose slowly in the blue-black sky. All the silver beauty of the night was lost on Beniamino, who saw only Margherita, proud daughter of the village's richest man, in a secret meeting-place with her lover. What gossip for the towns-folk this would make. The man in the glen below him moved, and the silver insignia on his uniform gleamed in the moonlight. Beniamino gasped. A soldier! He stared more keenly. An Austrian officer! Well he knew the uniform of the hated conquerors. An Italian girl with an Austrian oflicer-Smiling in satis- faction, Beniamino continued on his way to the village. The tale of the lovers' meeting was next day on everyone's lips. Never had such a subject been offered to the town. The men waiting to go forth to harvest ripe chestnutsg the women in their homesg the barefoot children all knew and talked of Margherita's lover. One old woman in search of further news approached the girl herself, who stood defiant in her doorway. Suddenly the old woman stopped, and with fear in her face, made the sign of the cross. From far below in the valley the shrill sound of a bugle was wafted up on the clear morning air. Again the sound-silence-the bugle and the far tapping of marching feet. The villagers shouted The Austrians! The fathers, pulling their children with them, ran to their own doors. As the army marched into the village street, their red-trimmed blue uniforms covered with fine dust of a long journey, their leader advanced and harshly addressed a grim-faced man in the nearest doorway. Where is the head man of this 'charming' village? The man regarded him silentlyg then raised his hand and pointed to a stone house at the left of his own. It was Margherita's home. Page Twenty-two

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THE LEGEND OF THE CLIFF-NEAREST-THE-STARS. lone traveler stood out against the dark blue sky, near the edge of a cliff. Far below him, in the valley, he could see lights flickering and dancing like fireflies. A bell tolled in the distance, softly, sweetly, gently as though ringing a lullabyg the echo answered, softer, sweeter, more gentle, fading in the distance. One by one the lights in the valley fluttered out until there remained only the light of the stars in the calm sky. Vaguely the dark outline of pines on a neighboring cliff swayed to and fro. From the edge of the farthest cliff the crescent moon rose, gliding up to point over the top of the mountain. As the traveler watched, the peace of the mountains stole over him, covering him, resting him. And all at once he felt at home here in the mountains of Italy. Resuming his upward path, he found almost at the top, what he sought. In the dim moonlight he regarded the building before him, of field stone, rough-hewn and untrimmed, it perched on the edge of the cliff. And as though not already high enough, it had been built on piles. Beneath the house lay dim forms of sheep. A small wooden sign suspended from a window proclaimed the building a hostelaria. Climbing the stone stairs at the side, the traveler heard-it. The long grass on the mountain side above his head rustled gently as if someone walked there. He looked up, but could see nothing. A black cloud hid the moon, plunging the whole region into darkness. A cold wind swept the valley. As the traveler continued to ascend the stairs, again he heard the sound, more plainly, as though nearer. Thinking that someone must be headed for the cliff, the traveler called out in the soft mountain dialect, Watch out! Cuardalv The steps paused, seemed to turn toward him. The wind rushed through the valley, moaned, returned, sobbing. Then all was still again. The traveler felt certain that someone was looking at him, watching him closely. Again the wind sobbed, more sadly now, as though there were no hope for peace and quiet. The footsteps kept on, passed him, the chill breeze made him draw his coat more tightly. Beneath the house the sheep 'stirred un- easily, and lambs bleated as though frightened. The footsteps now reached the cliff 's edgcffand were lost in a final shrill sob of the wind. F rightened, the traveler climbed to the top of the stairs, gained admit- tance to the inn, and invited the innkeeper to have a glass of warm wine with him. They spoke at first of affairs in the village, then the traveler said: I heard footsteps in the long'grass beside the stairs. I wonder who could be walking there? The innkeeper asked, his ruddy face paling, You heard it, too? Of course, I heard. What does it mean? F or the people-it bodes ill. We shall have a storm tonight. What is this-a legend or something-? A legend, signorf' And with considerable persuasion he was soon started upon the legend of the cliff-nearest-the-stars. :of wr 4: ak 1: 4: ar 4: Page Twenty-om

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