Kurzbeschreibung
This volume is from 1899 and no illustrations are included in this Kindle version.
Anothe romantic and classic novel from Mrs. Fraser which takes place in Italy.
Excerpt from the first chapter:
"The blazing Roman noon was at its full, and there was no street or piazza where the tide of sunshine did not sweep all before it in one breathless vibrating wave of heat. But in the garden of a palace on the high outskirts of the town there were nests of shade, and deep bowers where the warm air was sweetened with countless roses and violets, and where the high glare of
midday entered not. There were paths flecked with mimic branches of green and brown that waved in the shadows under your feet, but did not trip you up, because they were reflections of the dance that the real branches were dancing overhead. There the smell of the earth was cool and strong, and vivified with mats of cypress needles and tiny cones shaken down at the roots of some black-green spire, soaring solemnly above the lower billows of orange trees and oleander boughs. But mostly the orange trees had been taught their places by the wise
gardener who planted them some three hundred years ago, and stood only in long lines in their own viale; for who does not know that orange trees love the damp black earth and are not good neighbours for either flowers or human beings? It is true that
the violets and the blue Roman hyacinths ran all along their roots at one side of the way; but every gossiping bee and poppy in the garden knew that it was not for the sake of the orange trees, but because a sweet runnel of fresh water trickled in a stone
trough down that side of the walk; and who would not plant himself near running water if he could? Of course the orange trees did not understand that, and in bloom time were always raining down scented white petals to greet their little friends below."
Anothe romantic and classic novel from Mrs. Fraser which takes place in Italy.
Excerpt from the first chapter:
"The blazing Roman noon was at its full, and there was no street or piazza where the tide of sunshine did not sweep all before it in one breathless vibrating wave of heat. But in the garden of a palace on the high outskirts of the town there were nests of shade, and deep bowers where the warm air was sweetened with countless roses and violets, and where the high glare of
midday entered not. There were paths flecked with mimic branches of green and brown that waved in the shadows under your feet, but did not trip you up, because they were reflections of the dance that the real branches were dancing overhead. There the smell of the earth was cool and strong, and vivified with mats of cypress needles and tiny cones shaken down at the roots of some black-green spire, soaring solemnly above the lower billows of orange trees and oleander boughs. But mostly the orange trees had been taught their places by the wise
gardener who planted them some three hundred years ago, and stood only in long lines in their own viale; for who does not know that orange trees love the damp black earth and are not good neighbours for either flowers or human beings? It is true that
the violets and the blue Roman hyacinths ran all along their roots at one side of the way; but every gossiping bee and poppy in the garden knew that it was not for the sake of the orange trees, but because a sweet runnel of fresh water trickled in a stone
trough down that side of the walk; and who would not plant himself near running water if he could? Of course the orange trees did not understand that, and in bloom time were always raining down scented white petals to greet their little friends below."
