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LITTLE SIGRID.

A BALLAD.

LITTLE SIGRID, fresh and rosy, was a bonny maid indeed,
Like a blossom fair and fragile, peeping from the dewy mead.
Little Sigrid, fresh and rosy, stood before her father bold;
Blue her eyes were as the heavens, bright her hair like marigold:
"Father dear, 'tis drear and lonely for a maid as fair as I,
Here, unsought by gallant wooers, as a maid to live and die.

"Saddle then thy fleetest chargers, whether good or ill betide,
For a twelvemonth I must leave thee, and in haste to court will ride."
So they saddled steed and palfrey; glad in heart young Sigrid rode
By her merry train attended to the gallant king's abode.

"Little Sigrid," so the king spake, "here by Christ the White I swear,
Never yet mine eyes have rested on a maid so wondrous fair."

Little Sigrid, laughing gayly at the young king as he swore,
Blushed the while a deeper crimson than she e'er had blushed before.
Flushed with joy each day ascended from the sea and westward waned,
And in little Sigrid's bosom happiness and gladness reigned;

For she rode with knights and ladies to the chase at peep of morn,
While the merry woods resounded with the blare of fife and horn.

And the night was bright with splendor, music, dance and feast and play,
Like a golden trail that follows in the wake of parting day.

Quoth the king to little Sigrid,-hot was he with wine and glee: "I do love thee, little Sigrid; thou must e'er abide with me.”

And the foolish little Sigrid to the king made answer so:

"I'll abide with thee and love thee, share thy joy and share thy woe."
"And the day," the gay king whispered, "that to thee I break my troth,
May'st thou claim my soul, my life-blood, to appease God's righteous wrath."
And long days, from eastward rising, sank in blood beneath the west,
And the maid, once merry-hearted, bore a secret 'neath her breast.
"Hast not heard the merry tidings-how the king, whom weal betide,
Rode abroad through seven kingdoms, rode abroad to seek a bride ?—
"How in baking and in brewing they more malt and meal have spent,
Than from Michaelmas to Christmas well might feed a continent ?"
Sigrid heard the merry tidings; with a tearless, dimmed amaze
She beheld the young bride coming, saw the halls with lights ablaze,
And with hurried steps and breathless to the river-bank she sped,
Leaped into the silent billows, closing dumbly o'er her head.
Winter blew his icy breath and silvered all the earth with frost:
Spring arose warm-cheeked and blushing, followed by his flowery host,
And Sir Halfred, Sigrid's brother, straight bestrode his charger gray,-
Harp in hand, wild ditties singing, rode he to the court away.
Far and wide renowned that harp was for its strength and rich design;
It was wrought with strange devices from the earth and air and brine.
But the seventh night the weary charger at the river's side
Stumbled and the harp fell moaning down upon the darkling tide.

And the soul of little Sigrid, wandering homeless, seeking rest,*
Slipped into its hollow chamber, hiding in its sounding breast.
But Sir Halfred clasped it fiercely, and its tone rose on the breeze
Like the voice of one that vainly would his wakeful woe appease.
And the king with court assembled, heard the weird lamenting tone:
"Summon swift that goodly harper to the threshold of my throne."
Then they summoned young Sir Halfred, fair to see and tall was he,
As he stood with head uplifted in that gallant company.

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And he touched the harp with cunning; gently rose its tuneful breath.

But the king sat mute and shivered, and his cheeks were pale as death.
Halfred smote the harp with fervor, wildly rang its wail of grief-
On his throne the young king quivered,-quivered like an aspen leaf.
As the third time o'er the metal with a wary touch he sped
Snapt each string with loud resounding-on his throne the king lay dead.
Through the courtiers' ranks a shuddering, terror-haunted whisper stole :
"It is little Sigrid coming back to claim his faithless soul."

*It is a very prevalent superstition in Norway and in many other countries, that the soul continues to haunt the place where the body rests, unless it is buried in consecrated ground.

VOL. XV.-35.

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POLYPHEMUS PLAYING UPON THE PIPE, CONTEMPLATING THE TRIUMPH OF GALATEA. BORDER: CUPIDS AND FLOWERS. INSCRIPTION: POLIFEMO-L. G. P. (LIBORIO GRUE PINXIT).

Ir is with great satisfaction that I see that a number of writers of merit in America have published important studies on the history of ceramic art, taking as a basis for their observations my collection at present on exhibition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. I have thought it better not to speak of the schools about which there has been the most talk, but intend to gossip a bit concerning the last period of majolica,-the period of the Abruzzi.

Á visit that I recently made to the interesting artistic exposition of Naples affords occasion for what I am going to say; for there a wise provision had been made of a retrospective section intended to show the development of art in the southern provinces of Italy.

This retrospective department, which is now closed, embraces twenty-three rooms without counting those intended for private collections. In these one can admire reproductions of the most ancient frescoes of the catacombs and early churches; the bust of Sigelgaita Rufolo from the dome of Ravello

near Amalfi; the bust of Pietro delle Vigne and that of medieval Capua which adorned the arch of Frederic II. in that city; the columns of Casteldelmonte; the parchments decorated in imitation from the celebrated abbeys of La Cava and Montecassino, as well as the works of Neapolitan masters from Colantonio del Fiore to the painters of the seventeenth century. The art of the Neapolitan provinces was completely represented, and the majolica of the Abruzzi together with the porcelains of Naples and Capodimonte occupied fifteen rooms.

The articles comprised between the numbers 328 and 338 of my collection* exhibited at the Metropolitan Museum come from the workshops of Castelli, province of Teramo, Abruzzi. They form examples of the last products of the history of faience in Italy. about which something has been written in Italy and elsewhere, but in a very confusing

*With one exception, these pieces are all reproduced in the accompanying engravings, with titles from Signor Castellani's catalogue.-EDITOR.

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SMALL DISH.-LANDSCAPE. BORDER: CUPIDS AND FLOWERS. TINGED WITH GOLD. (CARLANTONIO GRUE.)

and at that time the belief obtained that Castelli was one of the suburbs of that city, while, in fact, it was separated from it by three provinces.

The traveler who comes from Ancona, while following the coast of the Adriatic, enters the southern provinces after having crossed, close to their mouths, the Tronto, the Vibrata, and the Tordino; there he comes at once upon the valley of the Vomano, whose bed is at this day occupied for the most part by green and tufted woods. On the summits of the surrounding hills, which probably at that day were covered with oaks and chestnuts, stood in its pride the town of Atri, the Hadria of the Piceni, a spot which contends, according to the erudite of the land, with the Venetian Hadria for the honor of giving a name to the sea which washes its coasts. At the back of this picture the scene is one of great variety; behind an infinite number of levels and undulations arises the majestic amphitheater of the Apennines, and from the center of the highest crags springs like a giant the Gran Sasso d' Italia, a peak cut clear down into the bosom of a deep valley. There run in tumultuous waves the cold waters of the Mavona and other torrents formed by the perpetual snow, all of them finally joining the river Vomano. Between two of these torrents, the Rio and the Leomagna, sits the little town of Castelli, which, almost in ruins, looks like an abandoned swallow's-nest, so devoid is it of vegetation on account of the banks of gravel and sand which support it.

At the beginning of this century the approach to Castelli was by a road that followed the outer circumference of the city,

SMALL DISH.-SUMMER.

BORDER: CUPIDS AMONG FLOWERS

AND MASKS. (CARLANTONIO GRUE.)

by it, Castelli still possesses inhabitants desirous of preserving the old traditions; her majolica, painted in the very same botteghe where worked the famous masters, is sought for in the markets of Dalmatia and the Italian provinces. When the art of the majolica of the Abruzzi was at its apogee it was a fine sight to witness the return from the fair of Sinigaglia of the ceramic artists, their broad girdles full of gold. That prosperity continued up to the year 1820, when it

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This painter, to whose pencil we owe the beautiful perfume vase of my collection (see engraving on page 517) donned the simple costume of the peasant and himself carried to the market the coffee-cups which he had decorated with flowers and human figures, in imitation of the porcelain ware of Naples. One day he went to Aquila, the capital of the Abruzzi, and asked to be admitted to an audience with the Marquis Dragonetti, who at that time held one of the highest places under the government. While the lackeys were repulsing Gesualdo in a rude and coarse manner, the illustrious

school, he would have had a double title to the gratitude of his fellow-citizens.

According to a monograph on the origin of the art of majolica in the Abruzzi, published by my friend Professor Felice Barnabei ("Nuova Antologia," August, 1876), I understand that the most ancient monument of this art consists in a painting after the Faëntine style executed at Castelli in 1551, by Master Orazio Pompei. He was the first of that galaxy of artists, many in number, among whom the Grues were illustrious, and in whose biography all the history of the ceramics of Castelli lies condensed.

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PLATE. POLYPHEMUS THROWING STONES AT ACIS AND GALATEA. BORDER OF CUPIDS AND FLOWERS.
INSCRIPTION: POLIFEMO-L. G. P.

nobleman came out of his house, recognized
him, embraced him with words of apology,
and begged him to share his repast. At
Castelli old men still exist who can remem-
ber the painter, Gesualdo Fuina. They tell
how, when they were very young, they saw
him shut himself up in a room on the
ground floor, into which he allowed no
one, not even his children, to enter, for fear
the secrets of his art might be revealed.
"Ceramists detest ceramists," is an ancient
Greek proverb which found a wonderful
confirmation in Fuina, and it is all the more
to be regretted because, had he founded a

Francisco, son of Marco Truo (a family name transformed afterward into that of Grue), was born in the year 1618. He freed the art from the servile imitation of the manner of the schools of Northern Italy, and founded a new style carried to the highest perfection by Carlantonio his son. His inspiration was drawn from the works of the Caracci, whose famous designs in the Farnese Palace at Rome he frequently repeated, and excelled chiefly in landscape, reproducing with admirable delicacy the etchings of Mariette, and adding to them outlines and high-lights of gold. Pieces done

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