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the lady with the iron ring 229
V
the lady with the iron ring
Donna Micaela often remembered a poor little
seamstress, whom she had seen in Catania. She had
lived in the house beside Palazzo Palmeri, and she
had always sat in the porch with her work, so that
Donna Micaela had seen her a thousand times.
Sitting there, it had been her wont to sing, and it seemed
she had known but one canzonette. Always, always
she sang the same song.
" I have cut off a lock of my dark hair," she had
sung. " I have unloosed my glossy black braid, and
cut off a lock of my hair. I have done it to gladden
my friend, who is sad. Ah, my beloved is in prison,
my beloved will never more wind my hair round his
fingers. I have sent him a lock of my hair to
remind him of those soft fetters, which will encircle
him no more."
Donna Micaela remembered that song well. It
was as if it had echoed through her whole childhood,
betokening all the suffering that awaited her.
• • • • • • •
Donna Micaela often sat on the stone steps of San
Pasquale’s church. She would then see marvelous
events taking place over yonder on the wonderland
Etna.
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