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Modern Italian Poets by William Dean Howells
In such a world Arcadia nourished; into such a world that illustrious shepherd, Carlo Innocenze Frugoni, was born. He was the younger son of a noble family of Genoa, and in youth was sent into a cloister as a genteel means of existence rather than from regard to his own wishes or fitness. He was, in fact, of a very gay and mundane temper, and escaped from his monastery as soon as ever he could, and spent his long life thereafter at the comfortable court of Parma, where he sang with great constancy the fortunes of varying dynasties and celebrated in his verse all the polite events of society.
Of course, even a life so pleasant as this had its little pains and mortifications; and it is history that when, in 1731, the last duke of the Farnese family died, leaving a widow, "Frugoni predicted and maintained in twenty-five sonnets that she would yet give an heir to the duke; but in spite of the twenty-five sonnets the affair turned out otherwise, and the extinction of the house of Farnese was written."
Frugoni, however, was taken into favor by the Spanish Bourbon who succeeded, and after he had got himself unfrocked with infinite difficulty (and only upon the intercession of divers princes and prelates), he was as happy as any man of real talent could be who devoted his gifts to the merest intellectual trifling. Not long before his death he was addressed by one that wished to write his life. He made answer that he had been a versifier and nothing more, epigrammatically recounted the chief facts of his career, and ended by saying, "of what I have written it is not worth while to speak"; and posterity has upon the whole agreed with him, though, of course, no edition of the Italian classics would be perfect without him. We know this from the classics of our own tongue, which abound in marvels of insipidity and emptiness.
But all this does not make him less interesting as a figure in that amusing literarified society; and we may be glad to see him in Parma with Signor Torelli's eyes, as he "issues smug, ornate, with his well-fitting, polished shoe, his handsome leg in its neat stocking, his whole immaculate person, and his demure visage, and, gently sauntering from Casa Caprara, takes his way toward Casa Landi."
I do not know Casa Landi; I have never seen it; and yet I think I can tell you of it: a gloomy-fronted pile of Romanesque architecture, the lower story remarkable for its weather-stained, vermiculated stone, and the ornamental iron gratings at the windows. The porte-cochère stands wide open and shows the leaf and blossom of a lovely garden inside, with a tinkling fountain in the midst. The marble nymphs and naiads inhabiting the shrubbery and the water are already somewhat time-worn, and have here and there a touch of envious mildew; but as yet their noses are unbroken, and they have all the legs and arms that the sculptor designed them with; and the fountain, which after disasters must choke, plays prettily enough over their nude loveliness; for it is now the first half of the eighteenth century, and Casa Landi is the uninvaded sanctuary of Illustrissimi and Illustrissime. The resplendent porter who admits our melodious Abbate Carlo, and the gay lackey who runs before his smiling face to open the door of the sala where the company is assembled, may have had nothing to speak of for breakfast, but they are full of zeal for the grandeur they serve, and would not know what the rights of man were if you told them. They, too, have their idleness and their intrigues and their life of pleasure; but, poor souls! they fade pitiably in the magnificence of that noble assembly in the sala. What coats of silk and waistcoats of satin, what trig rapiers and flowing wigs and laces and ruffles; and, ah me! what hoops and brocades, what paint and patches! Behind the chair of every lady stands her cavaliere servente, or bows before her with a cup of chocolate, or, sweet abasement! stoops to adjust the foot-stool better to her satin shoe. There is a buzz of satirical expectation, no doubt, till the abbate arrives, "and then, after the first compliments and obeisances," says Signor Torelli, "he throws his hat upon the great arm-chair, recounts the chronicle of the gay world," and prepares for the special entertainment of the occasion.
"'What is there new on Parnassus?' he is probably asked.
"'Nothing', he replies, 'save the bleating of a lambkin lost upon the lonely heights of the sacred hill.'
"'I'll wager,' cries one of the ladies, 'that the shepherd who has lost this lambkin is our Abbate Carlo!'
"'And what can escape the penetrating eye of Aglauro Cidonia?' retorts Frugoni, softly, with a modest air.
"'Let us hear its bleating!' cries the lady of the house.
"'Let us hear it!' echo her husband and her cavaliere servente.
"'Let us hear it!' cry one, two, three, a half-dozen, visitors.
"Frugoni reads his new production; ten exclamations receive the first strophe; the second awakens twenty evvivas; and when the reading is ended the noise of the plaudits is so great that they cannot be counted. His new production has cost Frugoni half an hour's work; it is possibly the answer to some Mecaenas who has invited him to his country-seat, or the funeral eulogy of some well-known cat. Is fame bought at so cheap a rate? He is a fool who would buy it dearer; and with this reasoning, which certainly is not without foundation, Frugoni remained Frugoni when he might have been something very much better.... If a bird sang, or a cat sneezed, or a dinner was given, or the talk turned upon anything no matter how remote from poetry, it was still for Frugoni an invitation to some impromptu effusion. If he pricked his finger in mending a pen, he called from on high the god of Lemnos and all the ironworkers of Olympus, not excepting Mars, whom it was not reasonable to disturb for so little, and launched innumerable reproaches at them, since without their invention of arms a penknife would never have been made. If the heavens cleared up after a long rain, all the signs of the zodiac were laid under contribution and charged to give an account of their performance. If somebody died, he instantly poured forth rivers of tears in company with the nymphs of Eridanus and the Heliades; he upraided Phaethon, Themis, the Shades of Erebus, and the Parcae.... The Amaryllises, the Dryads, the Fauns, the woolly lambs, the shepherds, the groves, the demigods, the Castalian Virgins, the loose-haired nymphs, the leafy boughs, the goat-footed gods, the Graces, the pastoral pipes, and all the other sylvan rubbish were the prime materials of every poetic composition."
Their Silver Wedding Journey, Part I. by William Dean Howells
Elena, once a pampered heiress, suddenly lost everything when the real daughter framed her, her fiancé ridiculed her, and her adoptive parents threw her out. They all wanted to see her fall. But Elena unveiled her true identity: the heiress of a massive fortune, famed hacker, top jewelry designer, secret author, and gifted doctor. Horrified by her glorious comeback, her adoptive parents demanded half her newfound wealth. Elena exposed their cruelty and refused. Her ex pleaded for a second chance, but she scoffed, “Do you think you deserve it?” Then a powerful magnate gently proposed, “Marry me?”
After three loveless years, Neil's betrayal deeply wounded Katelyn. She wasted no time in getting rid of that scoundrel! After the divorce, she devoted herself to career pursuits. Rising to prominence as a top designer, skilled doctor, and brilliant hacker, she became a revered icon. Neil, realizing his grave mistake, tried in vain to win her back, only to witness her magnificent wedding to another. As their vows were broadcast on the world's largest billboard, Vincent slid a ring onto Katelyn's finger and declared, "Katelyn is now my wife, a priceless treasure. Let all who covet her beware!"
The dream of everyone with regards to marriage is to be able to find that special someone and settle down with them. Even arranged marriages grant you an opportunity to meet your partner briefly before the wedding. How will you feel about waking up in the morning with someone sleeping next to you who is not just anyone but your legally married partner yet with no memory of how that had happened in just a few hours of going out the previous day? This is the story of Jason Haward and Julia Harrison, two strangers trapped in a marriage they never planned. The quest to find out why led to the unfolding of a mystery which made them realize they are both living a lie. To find out more, read this amazing story of love, betrayal, revenge and murder.
"I heard you're going to marry Marcelo. Is this perhaps your revenge against me? It's very laughable, Renee. That man can barely function." Her foster family, her cheating ex, everyone thought Renee was going to live in pure hell after getting married to a disabled and cruel man. She didn't know if anything good would ever come out of it after all, she had always thought it would be hard for anyone to love her but this cruel man with dark secrets is never going to grant her a divorce because she makes him forget how to breathe.
Eliana was framed by her best friend and her fiance into sleeping with a boy toy in the club and getting impregnated by him. Five years after she had given birth to twins, she returned home and worked under the Moran Group, where she met the CEO-- Maurice. Maurice was a brilliant businessman who did his job well. But in order to stay under the radar, he lived a double life. One as Maurice, and one as Preston. Fate brought the two together again, roping them in on an exciting love story. It all became more complicated when Eliana faced Preston, the man she had slept with before, once again. Now that she was being pursued by two men, how could she ever choose? When would Eliana uncover the secret of Maurice's identity? When was Maurice going to know that he already had two children of his own? How would Eliana face this man when the truth came to light one day? Come and find out.
Warning! Mature Contents! ***Excerpt*** "You belong to me, Sheila. I alone am capable of making you feel this way. Your moans and body belong to me. Your soul and your body are all mine!" *** Alpha Killian Reid, the most dreaded Alpha in all of the North, wealthy, powerful and widely feared in the supernatural world, was the envy of all other packs. He was thought to have it all... power, fame, wealth and favour from the moon goddess, little was it known to his rivals that he has been under a curse, which has been kept a secret for so many years, and only the one with the gift of the moon goddess can lift the curse. Sheila, the daughter of Alpha Lucius who was an arch enemy to Killian, had grown up with so much hatred, detest and maltreatment from her father. She was the fated mate to Alpha Killian. He refused to reject her, yet he loathed her and treated her poorly, because he was in love with another woman, Thea. But one of these two women was the cure to his curse, while the other was an enemy within. How would he find out? Let's find out in this heart racing piece, filled with suspense, steamy romance and betrayal.