CHAPTER IIIFeste Day in NaplesItaly, the land of sunshine! Its hills and valleys, churches and palaces are famous for their historic treasures. But when the sightseers arrive to view this birthplace of history they are annoyed on every hand by hoards oflazzaroni(beggars). Every one seems hungry for money.Now that Guiseppe had possession of Pappina he felt himself in a fair way to appease his hunger, for, with all the poverty surrounding the splendid churches and palaces, the people of Italy are joyous and mirthloving, and give freely to those who amuse them.For a couple of weeks after securing control of Pappina, Guiseppe reaped a harvest such as had never before been his fortune, while Pappina was having the very gayest time of her little life.Every day she was quite as eager as Guiseppe to set forth, although they were in search of different things—Pappina coveting the smiles andapplause of the lords and ladies who seemed to her like beings from another world, Guiseppe eager for gold.Every morning they would start out for some new quarter of the city which was visited by tourists and held mysteries for Pappina. It meant money to have these foreigners admire the child. Every one stopped to listen to her. She was kept singing, dancing, here, there, and everywhere, it seemed to her. Many times she was willful, and would stubbornly refuse to obey Guiseppe.A wine cart of Naples"I'm tired of singing and dancing and beingstared at," she would say, with a determined look on her little face that warned the man not to force her. "I've earned enough for to–day."The child would always assert her independence when among people, and at a time quite impossible for Guiseppe to discipline her.It is well that these two high–tempered people had Marta always with them. Often she was able to keep the peace when an outbreak threatened. Pappina loved her, and would listen to and obey her when no threats from Guiseppe could move her.As the first Sunday in June drew near, preparations were begun for the Festival of the Constitution, the Italian Fourth of July; and to the nearness of this fete day Marta was indebted for many an opportunity to make the child forget Guiseppe when he showed an ugly temper.Stores were draped with bunting. On all the principal streets arches were erected, and every man, woman, and child seemed to be preparing for it. Even Guiseppe made ready for the fete. Late one forenoon he took a sudden turn into the Corso Garibaldi and hurried down its broad walk at such a pace that evenPappina was almost breathless in trying to keep up with him."Where are you going now, Guiseppe?" she asked, seizing hold of him. "Is there a crowd some place, that you hurry so?"Marta listened eagerly for a reply. It was a never–ending source of astonishment to her that Guiseppe would answer the child's questions without impatience; she, herself, rarely received a pleasant word from him."You see,bambina," the heavy–browed man graciously replied with a good–natured twinkle in his bright black eyes, "you are so fine since you have your red dress, old Guiseppe thinks he must get a new coat, and so we're on our way to Porta Nolana.""But Marta bought my new dress over there in the shops, where there is everything in the world," exclaimed Pappina, waving her little hand over her shoulder."Ah, but I don't buy, I trade, little one. It's Rag Fair day.""Rag Fair day," Pappina repeated, wrinkling her forehead. There were so many things to wonder about these days that she did not questionhim further, but trotted along by his side, until suddenly she found herself among a throng of chattering, bartering men and women, who were offering all kinds of garments for sale or exchange.Guiseppe stopped and, handing the Punchinellos to Marta, stripped off his coat. Pappina stood with wide–open eyes and lips parted in amazement to see him offer his coat for a better one, with one franc—two—three—then five—and the exchange was made.When at last Guiseppe donned his good coat, Pappina told him over and over again, to his amusement: "Guiseppe, you look just lovely.""You like my coat,bambina?" he said. "Then come along. It takes money to buy good coats and bright red dresses."Taking Pappina's hand, he strolled buoyantly away from the noisy Rag Fair, toward the Observatory, beyond which some of the wealthy Neapolitans have their homes.Up the hilly streets they climbed. Pappina, darting ahead on explorations, would stop at each corner as she came to it and wait for Guiseppe and Marta."Keep your eyes open for a likely house wherethey will pay for entertainment," urged Guiseppe, who was as much a stranger in this new quest for money as was Marta.At the two or three places at which they stopped the voice of the little girl rose through the heated afternoon air, but only a fewsolditinkled on the pavement.If Guiseppe was disappointed he did not show any signs of it. He smiled calmly upon Pappina."We'll save your voice and strength for to–morrow,bambina. Not another song to–day. Come along, Marta. Old Guiseppe's getting to be a kind master, eh, Pappina?"His was a selfish kindness. He knew the morrow's fete would prove a harvest to him, and since no one gave to–day, he thought best to let Pappina rest for the fete day's strain.When the bright, beautiful fete morning dawned, Guiseppe was early astir."Come, Marta! Up, little one!" he exclaimed. "The day can neither begin too soon nor last too long for me.""Nor for me," declared Pappina.First they, with every one else, must go to mass in the handsome church San Francesco di Paola.The thunder of guns from the vessels of war and the harbor batteries frightened Pappina. She held Marta's hand tightly and sometimes in her fear even Guiseppe's, but when she saw the militia she forgot the noise."Oh, I like the soldiers," she cried happily. It was the first military parade she had ever seen, and she wanted to follow the marching troops down the street and lend her cheers to those of the crowd.How grand the carriages were! How gay the people looked, tricked out in all the magnificence they could command! Pappina, looking at the surging mass of holiday–makers, asked: "Marta, is the whole world here to–day?"Days before the fete Pappina had been taught to sing the Garibaldi. Guiseppe knew well the effect the song would have upon the people. For years he had sung it himself on fete day, but that was before he had his Punchinellos, before his voice had grown thin and cracked. Time and again he had scolded Marta because neither she nor the puppets could sing the Garibaldi.Now he had a child with voice and beauty. As they paused at a crowded corner where hethought it would be well to have her sing, he looked at her with satisfaction. He had talked to her so much of the applause andsoldishe would win that she could scarcely curb her impatience to begin. Like a high–bred, prancing horse eager to run, she stood with her gayly decorated tambourine ready, anxiously waiting for Guiseppe to bid her sing. When he said, "Canta," she needed no second bidding. Wildly she struck her tambourine. Her voice rang out:"Viva! Viva! Viva!Garibaldi!"Such a din of applause! She could scarcely hear her own voice, but loudly she continued: "Viva! Viva!Victor Emanuel!"She need not pass her tambourine to–day. She need not even stop to pick up thesoldias they rained upon her. That was Marta and Guiseppe's pleasant task."Bravo! Bravo! Encore! Encore!" the crowd shouted, and Pappina sang the song over and over again.As one throng left for new sights and amusements another took its place, and so the tambourine was filled again and again. Yet Guiseppe kept her singing and dancing, dancing and singing.Never, it seemed to Marta, would he be satisfied to let the child rest.The woman noticed with anxiety and pain the bright, feverish spots burning on Pappina's cheeks, and the unusual brilliancy of her great black eyes. Several times she made bold to ask Guiseppe if she might not take the child home, but Guiseppe replied only with glances of contempt and indignation at her interference.Even the buoyancy of youth must give way to fatigue after a time, and Pappina's little limbs began to ache. She sat down to rest."Get up, girl. We must be moving," said Guiseppe.Pappina arose."Take me home, Guiseppe," she begged, "I'm so tired." The request was ignored."There's a crowd up the street; come," was all the man said.Pappina's bright eyes spied an empty carriage on the thoroughfare. All her little life since she could remember, she had longed for a ride in a carriage; here was her first chance for one and she grasped it."I'm too tired to walk, Guiseppe," she saidquietly. "I'm going home now, and I'm going to ride, for I've earned lots of money to–day."Guiseppe took no notice of the remark."Come on, I say!" he growled. "Don't you see that crowd? Come!""Guiseppe, I'm going home, and I'm going to ride, for I've earned lots of money to–day." Pappina repeated, stepping, as she spoke, into the carriage.What was Guiseppe to do? They were still among a crowd of people who had pouredsoldiandsoldi, even francs, into her tambourine. Should he attempt to discipline her and have a scene on this public, crowded thoroughfare? He looked savagely at Pappina seated in the carriage, her proud little head resting against the cushions like that of a princess. He could not doubt that she intended to ride. Should he humor her? He stood a moment in deep study. The people were smiling admiringly at the dainty child. Guiseppe knew their sympathy was with Pappina. He could not hide his anger."Confound her!" he muttered. "Get in, Marta," he commanded with an oath.There is no knowing what, in his rage, Guiseppewould not have said and done had not Pappina fallen asleep almost immediately. It was poor Marta who was destined to feel the fury of his rage."She always takes advantage of me when I can't help myself," he began. "The upstart! Am I, Guiseppe, to give in to her, an imp raised in poverty and dirt?" He beat his hand on his breast. "Marta, I'll show her. I'll teach her who is master. I'll curb her temper. I'll conquer her or I'll die. Bah! Do you hear me? I say I'll conquer her or I'll die."Marta certainly heard him and believed him as well. He had made her life a hard one, insisting upon having his own selfish way always. She was expected to know no wish that differed from his. No wonder he felt galled to find himself defied, forced to give in to a child who in years was scarcely more than a baby.Marta was in constant fear that the little girl might awaken and that Guiseppe would be eager to fulfill his threat to show Pappina who was master. But Pappina slept on, even after the carriage had stopped in front of their home.Marta took the tired little girl quickly and tenderly in her arms and put her to bed, herheart overflowing with a great motherly love as though Pappina were her very own. For a long time she sat by the child's side, to guard her from Guiseppe's anger. She could hear him in the adjoining room, pacing the floor like a lion in his cage. Then there was silence.What now! Marta held her breath as she tiptoed to the door and peered through a crack to see what Guiseppe was doing. He had his money bag in his hand."Full! Full!" he exclaimed softly. He smiled grimly as he counted the coins. "Diavolo!she brings the money! Ten—twenty.—She's a gold mine, the vixen!—Thirty—forty.—I can afford to give in a little.—Fifty.—What spirit she has!—Sixty.—I could kill her at times, but—seventy–five—I'll be hanged if I don't like her!—Eighty.—Yes, I like her—temper and all."
Feste Day in Naples
Italy, the land of sunshine! Its hills and valleys, churches and palaces are famous for their historic treasures. But when the sightseers arrive to view this birthplace of history they are annoyed on every hand by hoards oflazzaroni(beggars). Every one seems hungry for money.
Now that Guiseppe had possession of Pappina he felt himself in a fair way to appease his hunger, for, with all the poverty surrounding the splendid churches and palaces, the people of Italy are joyous and mirthloving, and give freely to those who amuse them.
For a couple of weeks after securing control of Pappina, Guiseppe reaped a harvest such as had never before been his fortune, while Pappina was having the very gayest time of her little life.
Every day she was quite as eager as Guiseppe to set forth, although they were in search of different things—Pappina coveting the smiles andapplause of the lords and ladies who seemed to her like beings from another world, Guiseppe eager for gold.
Every morning they would start out for some new quarter of the city which was visited by tourists and held mysteries for Pappina. It meant money to have these foreigners admire the child. Every one stopped to listen to her. She was kept singing, dancing, here, there, and everywhere, it seemed to her. Many times she was willful, and would stubbornly refuse to obey Guiseppe.
A wine cart of Naples
A wine cart of Naples
A wine cart of Naples
"I'm tired of singing and dancing and beingstared at," she would say, with a determined look on her little face that warned the man not to force her. "I've earned enough for to–day."
The child would always assert her independence when among people, and at a time quite impossible for Guiseppe to discipline her.
It is well that these two high–tempered people had Marta always with them. Often she was able to keep the peace when an outbreak threatened. Pappina loved her, and would listen to and obey her when no threats from Guiseppe could move her.
As the first Sunday in June drew near, preparations were begun for the Festival of the Constitution, the Italian Fourth of July; and to the nearness of this fete day Marta was indebted for many an opportunity to make the child forget Guiseppe when he showed an ugly temper.
Stores were draped with bunting. On all the principal streets arches were erected, and every man, woman, and child seemed to be preparing for it. Even Guiseppe made ready for the fete. Late one forenoon he took a sudden turn into the Corso Garibaldi and hurried down its broad walk at such a pace that evenPappina was almost breathless in trying to keep up with him.
"Where are you going now, Guiseppe?" she asked, seizing hold of him. "Is there a crowd some place, that you hurry so?"
Marta listened eagerly for a reply. It was a never–ending source of astonishment to her that Guiseppe would answer the child's questions without impatience; she, herself, rarely received a pleasant word from him.
"You see,bambina," the heavy–browed man graciously replied with a good–natured twinkle in his bright black eyes, "you are so fine since you have your red dress, old Guiseppe thinks he must get a new coat, and so we're on our way to Porta Nolana."
"But Marta bought my new dress over there in the shops, where there is everything in the world," exclaimed Pappina, waving her little hand over her shoulder.
"Ah, but I don't buy, I trade, little one. It's Rag Fair day."
"Rag Fair day," Pappina repeated, wrinkling her forehead. There were so many things to wonder about these days that she did not questionhim further, but trotted along by his side, until suddenly she found herself among a throng of chattering, bartering men and women, who were offering all kinds of garments for sale or exchange.
Guiseppe stopped and, handing the Punchinellos to Marta, stripped off his coat. Pappina stood with wide–open eyes and lips parted in amazement to see him offer his coat for a better one, with one franc—two—three—then five—and the exchange was made.
When at last Guiseppe donned his good coat, Pappina told him over and over again, to his amusement: "Guiseppe, you look just lovely."
"You like my coat,bambina?" he said. "Then come along. It takes money to buy good coats and bright red dresses."
Taking Pappina's hand, he strolled buoyantly away from the noisy Rag Fair, toward the Observatory, beyond which some of the wealthy Neapolitans have their homes.
Up the hilly streets they climbed. Pappina, darting ahead on explorations, would stop at each corner as she came to it and wait for Guiseppe and Marta.
"Keep your eyes open for a likely house wherethey will pay for entertainment," urged Guiseppe, who was as much a stranger in this new quest for money as was Marta.
At the two or three places at which they stopped the voice of the little girl rose through the heated afternoon air, but only a fewsolditinkled on the pavement.
If Guiseppe was disappointed he did not show any signs of it. He smiled calmly upon Pappina.
"We'll save your voice and strength for to–morrow,bambina. Not another song to–day. Come along, Marta. Old Guiseppe's getting to be a kind master, eh, Pappina?"
His was a selfish kindness. He knew the morrow's fete would prove a harvest to him, and since no one gave to–day, he thought best to let Pappina rest for the fete day's strain.
When the bright, beautiful fete morning dawned, Guiseppe was early astir.
"Come, Marta! Up, little one!" he exclaimed. "The day can neither begin too soon nor last too long for me."
"Nor for me," declared Pappina.
First they, with every one else, must go to mass in the handsome church San Francesco di Paola.
The thunder of guns from the vessels of war and the harbor batteries frightened Pappina. She held Marta's hand tightly and sometimes in her fear even Guiseppe's, but when she saw the militia she forgot the noise.
"Oh, I like the soldiers," she cried happily. It was the first military parade she had ever seen, and she wanted to follow the marching troops down the street and lend her cheers to those of the crowd.
How grand the carriages were! How gay the people looked, tricked out in all the magnificence they could command! Pappina, looking at the surging mass of holiday–makers, asked: "Marta, is the whole world here to–day?"
Days before the fete Pappina had been taught to sing the Garibaldi. Guiseppe knew well the effect the song would have upon the people. For years he had sung it himself on fete day, but that was before he had his Punchinellos, before his voice had grown thin and cracked. Time and again he had scolded Marta because neither she nor the puppets could sing the Garibaldi.
Now he had a child with voice and beauty. As they paused at a crowded corner where hethought it would be well to have her sing, he looked at her with satisfaction. He had talked to her so much of the applause andsoldishe would win that she could scarcely curb her impatience to begin. Like a high–bred, prancing horse eager to run, she stood with her gayly decorated tambourine ready, anxiously waiting for Guiseppe to bid her sing. When he said, "Canta," she needed no second bidding. Wildly she struck her tambourine. Her voice rang out:
"Viva! Viva! Viva!Garibaldi!"
Such a din of applause! She could scarcely hear her own voice, but loudly she continued: "Viva! Viva!Victor Emanuel!"
She need not pass her tambourine to–day. She need not even stop to pick up thesoldias they rained upon her. That was Marta and Guiseppe's pleasant task.
"Bravo! Bravo! Encore! Encore!" the crowd shouted, and Pappina sang the song over and over again.
As one throng left for new sights and amusements another took its place, and so the tambourine was filled again and again. Yet Guiseppe kept her singing and dancing, dancing and singing.Never, it seemed to Marta, would he be satisfied to let the child rest.
The woman noticed with anxiety and pain the bright, feverish spots burning on Pappina's cheeks, and the unusual brilliancy of her great black eyes. Several times she made bold to ask Guiseppe if she might not take the child home, but Guiseppe replied only with glances of contempt and indignation at her interference.
Even the buoyancy of youth must give way to fatigue after a time, and Pappina's little limbs began to ache. She sat down to rest.
"Get up, girl. We must be moving," said Guiseppe.
Pappina arose.
"Take me home, Guiseppe," she begged, "I'm so tired." The request was ignored.
"There's a crowd up the street; come," was all the man said.
Pappina's bright eyes spied an empty carriage on the thoroughfare. All her little life since she could remember, she had longed for a ride in a carriage; here was her first chance for one and she grasped it.
"I'm too tired to walk, Guiseppe," she saidquietly. "I'm going home now, and I'm going to ride, for I've earned lots of money to–day."
Guiseppe took no notice of the remark.
"Come on, I say!" he growled. "Don't you see that crowd? Come!"
"Guiseppe, I'm going home, and I'm going to ride, for I've earned lots of money to–day." Pappina repeated, stepping, as she spoke, into the carriage.
What was Guiseppe to do? They were still among a crowd of people who had pouredsoldiandsoldi, even francs, into her tambourine. Should he attempt to discipline her and have a scene on this public, crowded thoroughfare? He looked savagely at Pappina seated in the carriage, her proud little head resting against the cushions like that of a princess. He could not doubt that she intended to ride. Should he humor her? He stood a moment in deep study. The people were smiling admiringly at the dainty child. Guiseppe knew their sympathy was with Pappina. He could not hide his anger.
"Confound her!" he muttered. "Get in, Marta," he commanded with an oath.
There is no knowing what, in his rage, Guiseppewould not have said and done had not Pappina fallen asleep almost immediately. It was poor Marta who was destined to feel the fury of his rage.
"She always takes advantage of me when I can't help myself," he began. "The upstart! Am I, Guiseppe, to give in to her, an imp raised in poverty and dirt?" He beat his hand on his breast. "Marta, I'll show her. I'll teach her who is master. I'll curb her temper. I'll conquer her or I'll die. Bah! Do you hear me? I say I'll conquer her or I'll die."
Marta certainly heard him and believed him as well. He had made her life a hard one, insisting upon having his own selfish way always. She was expected to know no wish that differed from his. No wonder he felt galled to find himself defied, forced to give in to a child who in years was scarcely more than a baby.
Marta was in constant fear that the little girl might awaken and that Guiseppe would be eager to fulfill his threat to show Pappina who was master. But Pappina slept on, even after the carriage had stopped in front of their home.
Marta took the tired little girl quickly and tenderly in her arms and put her to bed, herheart overflowing with a great motherly love as though Pappina were her very own. For a long time she sat by the child's side, to guard her from Guiseppe's anger. She could hear him in the adjoining room, pacing the floor like a lion in his cage. Then there was silence.
What now! Marta held her breath as she tiptoed to the door and peered through a crack to see what Guiseppe was doing. He had his money bag in his hand.
"Full! Full!" he exclaimed softly. He smiled grimly as he counted the coins. "Diavolo!she brings the money! Ten—twenty.—She's a gold mine, the vixen!—Thirty—forty.—I can afford to give in a little.—Fifty.—What spirit she has!—Sixty.—I could kill her at times, but—seventy–five—I'll be hanged if I don't like her!—Eighty.—Yes, I like her—temper and all."
CHAPTER IVIn the Valley of PompeiiMarta was awake early the morning after the fete. She hurried to Pappina's cot and found the child ill. It was as she had feared: the excitement had proved too much for the little one. The wonder–child lay pale and listless. Her black eyes were drowsy.Marta was bathing the feverish brow and hands when Guiseppe, returning from an errand, angrily asked why they were not ready to start on the day's rounds."Ready to start!" Marta cried. "Have you no eyes except for money? Look at her! Do you not see that it is impossible to keep the child always singing and dancing?"Only for the sake of Pappina had Marta dared be so brave. Guiseppe was astonished. This was a new Marta to him. That his wife, who had so patiently borne with him for so long a time, should turn on him, was more than he was prepared for."Basta, basta[Enough, enough]!" he said, raising his hand to silence Marta. Then he glanced toward the cot. He could see how pale and still Pappina lay. "It's early yet. An hour in bed will put her right.""An hour!" Marta exclaimed, darting up to him in her indignation at his heartlessness. "Do you wish to kill the hen that lays the golden eggs?""She laid many yesterday," he replied, taking out his money–bag. "They are all in here, francs andsoldi, and there are many of them." He patted the bag affectionately, looked again at Pappina, and added: "I'll let her rest. It's quiet after the fete, and I can't lose much to–day.""To–day! Guiseppe, she shall not leave the house till she is quite well. You know how high–strung and sensitive she is, like a golden lute that responds to the slightest touch of any breeze, no matter how mild and soft. You must let her rest. You must, Guiseppe." Marta had gone close to her husband and was looking earnestly and pleadingly into his face."I'll not break her down and lose her," Guiseppe replied. "She did well at the fete. After all, what will a few days matter?" Hewalked to the little cot and continued: "I know you,bambina, I know you. If you don't feel right you may as well stay at home, for you can't sing and you won't dance."He turned with a shrug of his shoulders, picked up the Punchinello stage, and left the house.Pappina dozed all through the long day, with Marta keeping close watch by her side.Late that evening Guiseppe came in stealthily. He found his supper waiting him."All right again, Marta?" he questioned."A few days' rest is all she needs," Marta answered, thankful that he was not ill–natured, and pleased that he had inquired about the child.For several days Guiseppe went out alone with the Punchinellos. He missed Pappina, and the money he earned was not worth the time and trouble it cost him to give the show."It's no use," he said to Marta one evening as he came in. "The foreigners have sought the cool resorts. The wealth of Naples is leaving also. It's along the coast they go to enjoy the fresh breezes of the Bay of Naples, and we may as well follow them and their money."This announcement surprised Marta, for since her marriage she had never been away from Naples."You really mean we are going away?—away from Naples?—away from home?""What's the use of staying in Naples?" he growled. "It's money I want—money, I say. Old Parisotti goes down the coast every year. His old guitar isn't fit to listen to; neither can that girl of his sing. We have Pappina, and as soon as she's able we'll go."Marta carried the news to Pappina, who was sitting up. She clapped her hands softly."Can we go soon, Marta?" she cried."As soon as you are well enough,carina. It is beautiful along the coast. You will like to be away from the crowded city—away,carina, where the birds sing, the flowers grow, the grass and trees are green, and the air is cool and fresh."Before the end of the week Pappina came to breakfast and announced: "I'm ready to start, and I want to go at once."All dimples and smiles, she went to Guiseppe and sat uninvited on his knee. Looking into his eyes, she asked:"Guiseppe, are you angry with me?"He was surprised and pleased. If there was a warm spot in Guiseppe's heart she had touched it. He took Pappina's face between his rough, broad hands."There, there,carina," he said, "Guiseppe's a bear—old and often crabbed. Just forget his faults and try to like him."He pushed her almost roughly off his lap and began his morning repast. Guiseppe admitted to himself that he had missed the little elf while she was ill, more than he would like any one to know. He considered the feeling a weakness, and would not permit Pappina and Marta to see how glad, even happy he was to have the child well again."She must not know how angry my heart has been against her. She must not know how I have missed her, with her moods, her storms, her sunshine, and her prattle," he said to himself as he sat stolidly trying to conceal his pleasure.Pappina, having little appetite, was soon away from the table, imitating the tarantella dancers, to the great amusement of both Marta and Guiseppe. Tiring of this, she ran first to Marta,whom she gave a big squeeze, then around the table to Guiseppe, about whose neck she put both arms."Guiseppe, dear Guiseppe," she cried, "I'm so glad we're going away! I'm tired of being shut up in the house. When shall we go? To–day, good Guiseppe?"Guiseppe laid down his knife and fork. His face lighted up with pleasure as he took Pappina's two little hands caressingly in his."Marta!" he exclaimed, "do you hear what she calls me? 'Good Guiseppe!'Per bacco, I have never before been called good! Do you mean it,bambina?""I do, Guiseppe; truly I do!""Then, if I'm good, I'll see that my little one is quite strong before she is taken on a long, hard tramp, with plenty of singing and dancing wherever we meet people."He kept his word. In spite of Pappina's impatience to be off, it was several days before he would consent to start.As the wardrobe of the three consisted principally of the clothes on their backs, there was little to do but lock the door of their humble two–roomedhome, take the Punchinellos, and start out of Naples, through the noisy, bustling east suburb.Along the busy streets Guiseppe marched, as though walking for a wager—past various markets, with fish, vegetables, and carts of oranges standing outside; past houses where women sat in the sun mending fish–nets or spinning from distaffs; through crowds of unwashed, ragged children, beggars, carts, red–capped fishermen and sailors; on through the wild confusion of horses, donkeys, drivers, and people such as one sees nowhere in the world but in this part of Naples.Guiseppe had promised himself to stop at the villas, but here he was going past villas and palaces, gardens and vineyards, down the country roads that lead to Vesuvius and Pompeii, without any apparent notice of anything they were passing. He looked neither to right nor left, but with bowed head walked mechanically on. Marta and Pappina followed close behind their stolid leader. No one spoke.Just at the outskirts of the city, they passed the macaroni factories, where Pappina saw long strips and strings of macaroni hung out on poles in the street to dry. She gazed longingly at the food."I want some, Marta. Tell Guiseppe I want some macaroni," she said, but before Marta could reply, they turned a bend in the road and Pappina saw for the first time Vesuvius, puffing out great volumes of smoke against the clear blue sky. Visible as this mountain is from some parts of Naples, Pappina had not seen it before. The tall tenements of gloomy San Lucia, with lines upon lines of garments everlastingly hanging out to dry between the balconies or from poles thrust out, completely hide the volcano from the view of those living where the Piernos had their home."O—oh, Marta!" Pappina exclaimed, pausing abruptly. "Marta! Look! See! What is it?" she cried, pointing to attract Marta's attention.Marta was hastening along to keep up with Guiseppe and hardly glanced at the smoke–crowned mountain, which was an old sight to her."What is it, Marta?" Pappina persisted as she caught up with the woman."Vesuvius,carina.""Where does all the smoke come from? Where's the fire?"Marta told Pappina all she knew about it:"Travelers from all parts of the world comeand climb the volcano to look down into the crater, the mouth from which the smoke comes. I went up once with Countess Filota. People melt coins in the lava—that's the melted rock that comes out with the smoke. Sometimes the guides boil eggs over the lava to show how hot it is.""Marta, can't we go up? Weren't you afraid to look down into the mouth?""No,carina. They tell the story of an Englishman who went too close and fell in, but that was because of his own carelessness. There is no danger. Perhaps sometime we shall be able to go, so you can see for yourself."On and on they marched, with the pillar of smoke ever before them. Pappina could not overcome the awe she felt at first sight of this great furnace of Nature.The walk down the dusty road through Posilipo awakened memories in Marta's heart. She spoke, more to herself than to Pappina:"How long it is since I came here with my dear Countess Filota! She and her friends spoke of Cicero and Virgil, their homes beneath this hillside. We turned and went—let me see, which way was it? It is so long ago I have almostforgotten. Oh! this way, to the left and we visited the tomb of Virgil; we—""Who were they, Marta?" Pappina interrupted her, "friends of your Countess Filota?"Marta was too deep in her memories to be amused at the child's question."No, no,carina. They were great poets. I wish you might—" She left the sentence unfinished, for glancing toward Guiseppe, plodding ahead, she noticed something queer in his gait. She ran forward, calling: "Guiseppe! What's the matter, Guiseppe?"Guiseppe turned at the call and stopped, facing them. As they drew near, Marta saw that he was breathing hard and that his face was drawn and white."I'm not well, Marta," he gasped as they reached him. "My legs and breath shouldn't give out like this. It won't do. I tell you. I'm not well."He flung himself down on the ground. This was the first complaint of illness Marta had ever heard him make. She was alarmed, and she showed it. Guiseppe reassured her."We'll stop at the Valley of Pompeii. We'llgo to the church Santa Maria dell Rosario [Saint Mary of the Rosary]. It will do us all good to pray. The blessed Virgin makes the blind see and the lame walk. She cured Genario's boy who had been sick two years. She'll make me well."He crossed himself, and lay back, closing his eyes. Marta and Pappina sat watching the sick man. For some time he lay as though sleeping, then suddenly he sat up."Marta," he cried, "we need food. I can't move on to–night. Go, bring us something."Marta hesitated a moment, wondering if it were best to leave him. He commanded her again to go for food."I'm faint," he said, "and the girl's tired and hungry—but she has grit; she don't whimper and snivel as any other child would do. Get something for us to eat. We'll stay here. Where are we, Marta? Do you know?""The town is called Resina," Marta replied, as she tried to make him comfortable before obeying his command. Before she started she bade Pappina watch over Guiseppe carefully while she was away, but there was nothing forthe child to do but sit quiet and await Marta's return.The woman was soon back with the food bought in the near–by village. Guiseppe only grunted when Marta sought to make him partake of the food. Little enough she had been able to buy with the few coins given her; but both Pappina and Marta were used to this. They took what they could get, and expected nothing more.The three were soon asleep under the calm starlight and awoke only when the morning sun, peeping through the branches of the trees, shone brightly into their faces. After eating a little breakfast, they started down the road toward the Valley of Pompeii, with slow steps to accommodate the sick man. Undoubtedly Guiseppe felt himself very ill."Hasten, so that I can get to the Virgin of Santa Rosario before I die," he kept exclaiming, as they helped him along.After many stops to rest Guiseppe, they arrived at the chateau of "La Favorita," with its fine park. As soon as she saw the great iron gateway Pappina darted away without a word. Guiseppesmiled as he watched her disappear and heard the rattle of her tambourine—always music in his ears because it meant to him the jingle of money as well as of bells.La FavoritaMarta, looking up the avenue of fine trees that led to the chateau, saw a group of ladies and gentlemen, sitting on the lawn. Before them the little red–dressed figure was swaying in its dance, and she heard the sweet voice singing."Oh, Guiseppe," she exclaimed, "live, live, for we have her, the wonder–child! Rest while she sings and listen to her angel voice. It will bring you strength to reach the Holy Virgin's church, where you surely will be healed."Guiseppe was glad to rest. Without a reply to Marta he sat down and listened to the strains of the song that floated to them."Cara bambina!" he murmured softly. His sickness seemed to be changing, softening him. His eyes almost sparkled with pleasure when he saw Pappina running toward him."Guiseppe, they were splendid to me!" she cried. "A grand gentleman gave me this," showing a franc. "He told me to keep it myself, that it was all for me, but it's yours, Guiseppe. Oh,I can't bear to have you sick," said the child, smiling through her tears.Guiseppe patted her little hand as he took the proffered coin.The sight of money turned his thoughts to getting on, and soon they arrived as one little party of a hundred thousand yearly seekers of health at the gray old church of Santa Maria del Rosario."Shall I sing?" asked Pappina as soon as she saw the crowds."First we must pray," Marta answered, taking the child's hand.As soon as they entered the broad portals of the church, Guiseppe dropped to his knees, and thus he crept, with many others who were especially seeking health, toward the altar, mumbling his prayers as he counted his beads. Reaching the altar, he flung himself down before the dull, dim image of the Virgin, praying for the blessing of health.Pappina and Marta, after saying a short prayer, stopped for a few minutes to look at the medallions covering the walls, then followed other visitors to the place in the church where the offerings of thehealed are exhibited—a motley collection of baby dresses, shawls, dolls, jewels, and other articles of every kind and description.Pappina, after a time, grew tired of looking at this display, and begged Marta to go outside to wait for Guiseppe.They sat down near the church and watched the crowds of pilgrims going in and coming out. For a long time there was silence."So long ago," murmured Marta."Yes," answered Pappina, "he's been praying hours, hasn't he?""I was not speaking of Guiseppe, Pappina, but of my life so long ago, when I was maid to the Countess Filota. We took this same trip, but we rode in carriages. We did not come to this church. We stopped at the ruins of Pompeii.""Where are they, Marta?""There,carina. You can see them dimly in the distance," she said, pointing toward them, "perhaps half a mile from here. How I should like to see them again! I wish we had time to go."The woman was silent. She seemed to be dreaming of by–gone days. Pappina waited for a time for Marta to speak, then she gently laidher hand on that of her friend, saying: "Go on Marta, tell me about them.""You are such a child,carina. You wish to know about the ruins? Every one who visits Italy comes to Vesuvius and Pompeii—Vesuvius the mountain, and Pompeii the city that once waked and slept at the foot of the mountain. One day the sky grew dark, completely hidden by the volumes of smoke that rose like a huge pine tree from Vesuvius. The stones, lava and ashes entirely buried the city and the people, and now when men dig in the ruins they find—""I'm well, Marta! I'm well, Pappina! Praise the Santa Maria del Rosario! Come."It was Guiseppe who was hurrying toward them. He led the way to a spot a short distance from the church. He set up the Punchinellos; the light of money hunger again burned in his eyes, and until the worshipers thinned out he kept playing the puppets at intervals between Pappina's songs and dances. In the good spirits due to the miracles performed in the healing, the healed gave generously to the showman."Come," he commanded Marta and the child late in the afternoon. "We must move on toCava. To–morrow is fete day there and we must reach the place to–night."Guiseppe was himself again.He took no notice of Pappina's lagging footsteps, showed no appreciation of her thoughtfulness during his illness, being absorbed in visions of her tambourine full of coins on the morrow. He walked so rapidly that Marta and Pappina could hardly keep up with him.Reaching Pagani, he stopped near the main road of the little hamlet."Sing," he commanded in an ugly tone.Pappina was tired. Guiseppe had been so cross all the way from Pompeii that she did not care to please him."I won't!" she answered in quite as ugly a tone as the man had used to her."Won't sing, eh? No songs, no supper," he muttered, half tempted to shake her in his rage.Pappina was even more hungry than tired, so she sang and danced, without any spirit, to the few people who gathered around them just a very tired, dusty little girl singing for her supper.The smallness of the sum collected enragedGuiseppe, and as soon as the people left he began to upbraid her."You're a disgrace to me and yourself," he said. "I might as well have let my puppets dance. You did no better." With that he made his way to a little shop near by.Pappina bit her lips."If I were not so hungry," she whispered to Marta, her eyes blazing as she gazed after Guiseppe, "I'd show him, but I'm so hungry!""Come on," growled the man as he emerged from the shop and gave them their share of the food he had purchased. "It's six miles to Cava, and we must get there to–night, so eat as you go. Come on, I say, and don't go to sleep as you walk, you two."So, worn and footsore, they moved on toward Cava.
In the Valley of Pompeii
Marta was awake early the morning after the fete. She hurried to Pappina's cot and found the child ill. It was as she had feared: the excitement had proved too much for the little one. The wonder–child lay pale and listless. Her black eyes were drowsy.
Marta was bathing the feverish brow and hands when Guiseppe, returning from an errand, angrily asked why they were not ready to start on the day's rounds.
"Ready to start!" Marta cried. "Have you no eyes except for money? Look at her! Do you not see that it is impossible to keep the child always singing and dancing?"
Only for the sake of Pappina had Marta dared be so brave. Guiseppe was astonished. This was a new Marta to him. That his wife, who had so patiently borne with him for so long a time, should turn on him, was more than he was prepared for.
"Basta, basta[Enough, enough]!" he said, raising his hand to silence Marta. Then he glanced toward the cot. He could see how pale and still Pappina lay. "It's early yet. An hour in bed will put her right."
"An hour!" Marta exclaimed, darting up to him in her indignation at his heartlessness. "Do you wish to kill the hen that lays the golden eggs?"
"She laid many yesterday," he replied, taking out his money–bag. "They are all in here, francs andsoldi, and there are many of them." He patted the bag affectionately, looked again at Pappina, and added: "I'll let her rest. It's quiet after the fete, and I can't lose much to–day."
"To–day! Guiseppe, she shall not leave the house till she is quite well. You know how high–strung and sensitive she is, like a golden lute that responds to the slightest touch of any breeze, no matter how mild and soft. You must let her rest. You must, Guiseppe." Marta had gone close to her husband and was looking earnestly and pleadingly into his face.
"I'll not break her down and lose her," Guiseppe replied. "She did well at the fete. After all, what will a few days matter?" Hewalked to the little cot and continued: "I know you,bambina, I know you. If you don't feel right you may as well stay at home, for you can't sing and you won't dance."
He turned with a shrug of his shoulders, picked up the Punchinello stage, and left the house.
Pappina dozed all through the long day, with Marta keeping close watch by her side.
Late that evening Guiseppe came in stealthily. He found his supper waiting him.
"All right again, Marta?" he questioned.
"A few days' rest is all she needs," Marta answered, thankful that he was not ill–natured, and pleased that he had inquired about the child.
For several days Guiseppe went out alone with the Punchinellos. He missed Pappina, and the money he earned was not worth the time and trouble it cost him to give the show.
"It's no use," he said to Marta one evening as he came in. "The foreigners have sought the cool resorts. The wealth of Naples is leaving also. It's along the coast they go to enjoy the fresh breezes of the Bay of Naples, and we may as well follow them and their money."
This announcement surprised Marta, for since her marriage she had never been away from Naples.
"You really mean we are going away?—away from Naples?—away from home?"
"What's the use of staying in Naples?" he growled. "It's money I want—money, I say. Old Parisotti goes down the coast every year. His old guitar isn't fit to listen to; neither can that girl of his sing. We have Pappina, and as soon as she's able we'll go."
Marta carried the news to Pappina, who was sitting up. She clapped her hands softly.
"Can we go soon, Marta?" she cried.
"As soon as you are well enough,carina. It is beautiful along the coast. You will like to be away from the crowded city—away,carina, where the birds sing, the flowers grow, the grass and trees are green, and the air is cool and fresh."
Before the end of the week Pappina came to breakfast and announced: "I'm ready to start, and I want to go at once."
All dimples and smiles, she went to Guiseppe and sat uninvited on his knee. Looking into his eyes, she asked:
"Guiseppe, are you angry with me?"
He was surprised and pleased. If there was a warm spot in Guiseppe's heart she had touched it. He took Pappina's face between his rough, broad hands.
"There, there,carina," he said, "Guiseppe's a bear—old and often crabbed. Just forget his faults and try to like him."
He pushed her almost roughly off his lap and began his morning repast. Guiseppe admitted to himself that he had missed the little elf while she was ill, more than he would like any one to know. He considered the feeling a weakness, and would not permit Pappina and Marta to see how glad, even happy he was to have the child well again.
"She must not know how angry my heart has been against her. She must not know how I have missed her, with her moods, her storms, her sunshine, and her prattle," he said to himself as he sat stolidly trying to conceal his pleasure.
Pappina, having little appetite, was soon away from the table, imitating the tarantella dancers, to the great amusement of both Marta and Guiseppe. Tiring of this, she ran first to Marta,whom she gave a big squeeze, then around the table to Guiseppe, about whose neck she put both arms.
"Guiseppe, dear Guiseppe," she cried, "I'm so glad we're going away! I'm tired of being shut up in the house. When shall we go? To–day, good Guiseppe?"
Guiseppe laid down his knife and fork. His face lighted up with pleasure as he took Pappina's two little hands caressingly in his.
"Marta!" he exclaimed, "do you hear what she calls me? 'Good Guiseppe!'Per bacco, I have never before been called good! Do you mean it,bambina?"
"I do, Guiseppe; truly I do!"
"Then, if I'm good, I'll see that my little one is quite strong before she is taken on a long, hard tramp, with plenty of singing and dancing wherever we meet people."
He kept his word. In spite of Pappina's impatience to be off, it was several days before he would consent to start.
As the wardrobe of the three consisted principally of the clothes on their backs, there was little to do but lock the door of their humble two–roomedhome, take the Punchinellos, and start out of Naples, through the noisy, bustling east suburb.
Along the busy streets Guiseppe marched, as though walking for a wager—past various markets, with fish, vegetables, and carts of oranges standing outside; past houses where women sat in the sun mending fish–nets or spinning from distaffs; through crowds of unwashed, ragged children, beggars, carts, red–capped fishermen and sailors; on through the wild confusion of horses, donkeys, drivers, and people such as one sees nowhere in the world but in this part of Naples.
Guiseppe had promised himself to stop at the villas, but here he was going past villas and palaces, gardens and vineyards, down the country roads that lead to Vesuvius and Pompeii, without any apparent notice of anything they were passing. He looked neither to right nor left, but with bowed head walked mechanically on. Marta and Pappina followed close behind their stolid leader. No one spoke.
Just at the outskirts of the city, they passed the macaroni factories, where Pappina saw long strips and strings of macaroni hung out on poles in the street to dry. She gazed longingly at the food.
"I want some, Marta. Tell Guiseppe I want some macaroni," she said, but before Marta could reply, they turned a bend in the road and Pappina saw for the first time Vesuvius, puffing out great volumes of smoke against the clear blue sky. Visible as this mountain is from some parts of Naples, Pappina had not seen it before. The tall tenements of gloomy San Lucia, with lines upon lines of garments everlastingly hanging out to dry between the balconies or from poles thrust out, completely hide the volcano from the view of those living where the Piernos had their home.
"O—oh, Marta!" Pappina exclaimed, pausing abruptly. "Marta! Look! See! What is it?" she cried, pointing to attract Marta's attention.
Marta was hastening along to keep up with Guiseppe and hardly glanced at the smoke–crowned mountain, which was an old sight to her.
"What is it, Marta?" Pappina persisted as she caught up with the woman.
"Vesuvius,carina."
"Where does all the smoke come from? Where's the fire?"
Marta told Pappina all she knew about it:
"Travelers from all parts of the world comeand climb the volcano to look down into the crater, the mouth from which the smoke comes. I went up once with Countess Filota. People melt coins in the lava—that's the melted rock that comes out with the smoke. Sometimes the guides boil eggs over the lava to show how hot it is."
"Marta, can't we go up? Weren't you afraid to look down into the mouth?"
"No,carina. They tell the story of an Englishman who went too close and fell in, but that was because of his own carelessness. There is no danger. Perhaps sometime we shall be able to go, so you can see for yourself."
On and on they marched, with the pillar of smoke ever before them. Pappina could not overcome the awe she felt at first sight of this great furnace of Nature.
The walk down the dusty road through Posilipo awakened memories in Marta's heart. She spoke, more to herself than to Pappina:
"How long it is since I came here with my dear Countess Filota! She and her friends spoke of Cicero and Virgil, their homes beneath this hillside. We turned and went—let me see, which way was it? It is so long ago I have almostforgotten. Oh! this way, to the left and we visited the tomb of Virgil; we—"
"Who were they, Marta?" Pappina interrupted her, "friends of your Countess Filota?"
Marta was too deep in her memories to be amused at the child's question.
"No, no,carina. They were great poets. I wish you might—" She left the sentence unfinished, for glancing toward Guiseppe, plodding ahead, she noticed something queer in his gait. She ran forward, calling: "Guiseppe! What's the matter, Guiseppe?"
Guiseppe turned at the call and stopped, facing them. As they drew near, Marta saw that he was breathing hard and that his face was drawn and white.
"I'm not well, Marta," he gasped as they reached him. "My legs and breath shouldn't give out like this. It won't do. I tell you. I'm not well."
He flung himself down on the ground. This was the first complaint of illness Marta had ever heard him make. She was alarmed, and she showed it. Guiseppe reassured her.
"We'll stop at the Valley of Pompeii. We'llgo to the church Santa Maria dell Rosario [Saint Mary of the Rosary]. It will do us all good to pray. The blessed Virgin makes the blind see and the lame walk. She cured Genario's boy who had been sick two years. She'll make me well."
He crossed himself, and lay back, closing his eyes. Marta and Pappina sat watching the sick man. For some time he lay as though sleeping, then suddenly he sat up.
"Marta," he cried, "we need food. I can't move on to–night. Go, bring us something."
Marta hesitated a moment, wondering if it were best to leave him. He commanded her again to go for food.
"I'm faint," he said, "and the girl's tired and hungry—but she has grit; she don't whimper and snivel as any other child would do. Get something for us to eat. We'll stay here. Where are we, Marta? Do you know?"
"The town is called Resina," Marta replied, as she tried to make him comfortable before obeying his command. Before she started she bade Pappina watch over Guiseppe carefully while she was away, but there was nothing forthe child to do but sit quiet and await Marta's return.
The woman was soon back with the food bought in the near–by village. Guiseppe only grunted when Marta sought to make him partake of the food. Little enough she had been able to buy with the few coins given her; but both Pappina and Marta were used to this. They took what they could get, and expected nothing more.
The three were soon asleep under the calm starlight and awoke only when the morning sun, peeping through the branches of the trees, shone brightly into their faces. After eating a little breakfast, they started down the road toward the Valley of Pompeii, with slow steps to accommodate the sick man. Undoubtedly Guiseppe felt himself very ill.
"Hasten, so that I can get to the Virgin of Santa Rosario before I die," he kept exclaiming, as they helped him along.
After many stops to rest Guiseppe, they arrived at the chateau of "La Favorita," with its fine park. As soon as she saw the great iron gateway Pappina darted away without a word. Guiseppesmiled as he watched her disappear and heard the rattle of her tambourine—always music in his ears because it meant to him the jingle of money as well as of bells.
La Favorita
La Favorita
La Favorita
Marta, looking up the avenue of fine trees that led to the chateau, saw a group of ladies and gentlemen, sitting on the lawn. Before them the little red–dressed figure was swaying in its dance, and she heard the sweet voice singing.
"Oh, Guiseppe," she exclaimed, "live, live, for we have her, the wonder–child! Rest while she sings and listen to her angel voice. It will bring you strength to reach the Holy Virgin's church, where you surely will be healed."
Guiseppe was glad to rest. Without a reply to Marta he sat down and listened to the strains of the song that floated to them.
"Cara bambina!" he murmured softly. His sickness seemed to be changing, softening him. His eyes almost sparkled with pleasure when he saw Pappina running toward him.
"Guiseppe, they were splendid to me!" she cried. "A grand gentleman gave me this," showing a franc. "He told me to keep it myself, that it was all for me, but it's yours, Guiseppe. Oh,I can't bear to have you sick," said the child, smiling through her tears.
Guiseppe patted her little hand as he took the proffered coin.
The sight of money turned his thoughts to getting on, and soon they arrived as one little party of a hundred thousand yearly seekers of health at the gray old church of Santa Maria del Rosario.
"Shall I sing?" asked Pappina as soon as she saw the crowds.
"First we must pray," Marta answered, taking the child's hand.
As soon as they entered the broad portals of the church, Guiseppe dropped to his knees, and thus he crept, with many others who were especially seeking health, toward the altar, mumbling his prayers as he counted his beads. Reaching the altar, he flung himself down before the dull, dim image of the Virgin, praying for the blessing of health.
Pappina and Marta, after saying a short prayer, stopped for a few minutes to look at the medallions covering the walls, then followed other visitors to the place in the church where the offerings of thehealed are exhibited—a motley collection of baby dresses, shawls, dolls, jewels, and other articles of every kind and description.
Pappina, after a time, grew tired of looking at this display, and begged Marta to go outside to wait for Guiseppe.
They sat down near the church and watched the crowds of pilgrims going in and coming out. For a long time there was silence.
"So long ago," murmured Marta.
"Yes," answered Pappina, "he's been praying hours, hasn't he?"
"I was not speaking of Guiseppe, Pappina, but of my life so long ago, when I was maid to the Countess Filota. We took this same trip, but we rode in carriages. We did not come to this church. We stopped at the ruins of Pompeii."
"Where are they, Marta?"
"There,carina. You can see them dimly in the distance," she said, pointing toward them, "perhaps half a mile from here. How I should like to see them again! I wish we had time to go."
The woman was silent. She seemed to be dreaming of by–gone days. Pappina waited for a time for Marta to speak, then she gently laidher hand on that of her friend, saying: "Go on Marta, tell me about them."
"You are such a child,carina. You wish to know about the ruins? Every one who visits Italy comes to Vesuvius and Pompeii—Vesuvius the mountain, and Pompeii the city that once waked and slept at the foot of the mountain. One day the sky grew dark, completely hidden by the volumes of smoke that rose like a huge pine tree from Vesuvius. The stones, lava and ashes entirely buried the city and the people, and now when men dig in the ruins they find—"
"I'm well, Marta! I'm well, Pappina! Praise the Santa Maria del Rosario! Come."
It was Guiseppe who was hurrying toward them. He led the way to a spot a short distance from the church. He set up the Punchinellos; the light of money hunger again burned in his eyes, and until the worshipers thinned out he kept playing the puppets at intervals between Pappina's songs and dances. In the good spirits due to the miracles performed in the healing, the healed gave generously to the showman.
"Come," he commanded Marta and the child late in the afternoon. "We must move on toCava. To–morrow is fete day there and we must reach the place to–night."
Guiseppe was himself again.
He took no notice of Pappina's lagging footsteps, showed no appreciation of her thoughtfulness during his illness, being absorbed in visions of her tambourine full of coins on the morrow. He walked so rapidly that Marta and Pappina could hardly keep up with him.
Reaching Pagani, he stopped near the main road of the little hamlet.
"Sing," he commanded in an ugly tone.
Pappina was tired. Guiseppe had been so cross all the way from Pompeii that she did not care to please him.
"I won't!" she answered in quite as ugly a tone as the man had used to her.
"Won't sing, eh? No songs, no supper," he muttered, half tempted to shake her in his rage.
Pappina was even more hungry than tired, so she sang and danced, without any spirit, to the few people who gathered around them just a very tired, dusty little girl singing for her supper.
The smallness of the sum collected enragedGuiseppe, and as soon as the people left he began to upbraid her.
"You're a disgrace to me and yourself," he said. "I might as well have let my puppets dance. You did no better." With that he made his way to a little shop near by.
Pappina bit her lips.
"If I were not so hungry," she whispered to Marta, her eyes blazing as she gazed after Guiseppe, "I'd show him, but I'm so hungry!"
"Come on," growled the man as he emerged from the shop and gave them their share of the food he had purchased. "It's six miles to Cava, and we must get there to–night, so eat as you go. Come on, I say, and don't go to sleep as you walk, you two."
So, worn and footsore, they moved on toward Cava.
CHAPTER VAt CavaPappina was unaccustomed to long walks. She felt lame, her flesh was sore, and furthermore she could not forget Guiseppe's unkindness. It hurt her that he had forced her to sing and dance for her food, and then had scolded her for her lack of animation."He said I was no better than his puppets. I hate him!" she muttered to herself as she trudged along in the growing dusk. "That franc was mine; that fine gentleman gave it to me. I wish I hadn't given it to Guiseppe. It was mine. If any one gives me money again I'll keep it for myself. I'll hide it away for Marta and me. Guiseppe may starve—I shan't care. I hate him."So the little girl was thinking all the way from Pagani to Cava. The road was hard and rough. Occasionally Pappina, her aching feet hurt by a sharp stone, would utter a little cry, "Olà[Oh]!" as she jumped aside, but except for these few exclamationsthere was complete silence. Marta, in deep study, again and again stretched out her bony hand and laid it caressingly on the head of the tired little girl trudging uncomplainingly yet sullenly along the deserted road.Guiseppe was determined to reach Cava that night. His snapping black eyes looked keenly ahead for the spires and the lights of the village.As he saw them dimly in the distance he inwardly rejoiced that the day's tramp was almost over. A half–mile from the village he halted beneath a large tree which protectingly spread its branches beside the road.He leaned the Punchinello box against the trunk of the tree and, still without speaking, threw himself on the ground.In spite of her fatigue, Pappina stood with her hands clasped, looking at the distant lights of Cava. Marta, rolling together her apron and her shawl as a pillow for Pappina's head, watched the child and waited for her to speak or move. Pappina did neither."She is such a tired little girl," Marta said after a few moments, as she took Pappina gently by the hand. "Vieni, carina, resta[rest]."For a moment Pappina hung back, then she clung to Marta in the dark and whispered: "For you, Marta, for you, because you are good to me."Marta took the child in her arms and carried her to a resting–place. She kissed the little hand, her whole heart going out to Pappina in love and compassion as she blessed her with the words "Dio vi benedica. Buona notte, carissima[God bless you. Good–night, dearest]."Only Guiseppe rested well. Marta felt too keenly the wrong done Pappina to sleep at all."He'll kill the baby," her thoughts ran. "He shows her no mercy. Oh! what can I do? There'll be trouble—I feel it, I know it. I must protect her. How sweet, how patient, how gentle she is when he is good to her!"Marta heard the deep breathing of Guiseppe sleeping, heard Pappina muttering in her disturbed slumber: "I hate him! I hate him!"Guiseppe was awake at the first peep of day. Seeing Marta bending over Pappina, he commanded her: "Shake the willful child; bid her get up at once. It's fete day."Marta during her night's revery had determinedto protect Pappina at any cost to herself, so she pleaded for the child:"Yes, Guiseppe, it is fete day, and for that reason you had better let Pappina rest for a little while. She is exhausted from her long tramp yesterday. She will have much excitement, singing and dancing all day, even late in the evening. We can find our breakfast and I will bring Pappina's to her. Let her rest, I pray you, Guiseppe; let her rest."Marta stood before her husband, her worn face shining with earnestness. Guiseppe looked at her in surprise; then laughed brutally."Bravo, Marta!" he cried. "I didn't know you had it in you. You want the child to sleep, eh?" Then closing his eyes just a little, like a tiger before he springs, he went on: "So you will not awaken her? Then it is Guiseppe, the tyrant—eh, Marta?—who must rudely arouse the sleeping princess from her morning slumber."As he finished speaking he moved toward Pappina, who was tossing restlessly on her hard couch, but Marta sprang between him and the child."Guiseppe, I have always obeyed you, have Inot?" she entreated in a low voice. "Look at Pappina: her restlessness shows how tired she is. Guiseppe, hear me! I beg you to let her sleep and be rested for her hard day's work." Marta leaned forward and placed her hands on the man's arm as she went on: "I have asked few favors, demanded none, but now for this once, Guiseppe, I pray you grant me my request! Let her rest!"Guiseppe, hesitating, ran his hand several times through his black hair as he looked from Marta to Pappina, still asleep on the ground. He knit his brow, struggling with himself as though it were a hardship to grant his wife a favor."Guiseppe," Marta bravely began again, but he interrupted her."Come on," he said roughly. "I'll humor you this time. I'll let her sleep."So it came about that Pappina awoke under the big tree in the early morning sun to find herself alone. Suddenly a great fear seized her. Perhaps Marta and Guiseppe had gone off and left her. She sprang up and ran to the road, looking wildly about for them. In her terror she did not notice the Punchinello box leaning against thetree, and she started toward the village, crying aloud: "Marta, Marta!"Her tears flowed freely, and between her sobs she continued to cry for Marta and occasionally for Guiseppe. It was with Guiseppe's name half–spoken on her lips that the little frightened child stopped crying."Guiseppe! Gui—oh! I hate him! I hate him more than I did last night!" The memory of how he had treated her the day before came over her like a flood. "It is fete day at Cava; he said so. All I earn is mine, and when I sing the Garibaldi I shall have my tambourine full of money. Oh, how glad I am! Then I can go home."As she hurried on, her plan grew clearer. She would strike out for herself. Then suddenly she stopped again, like a butterfly halted and shifted in its course by a vagrant wind."Oh, Marta! If you were only with me, I should not care," she sobbed.Buffeted by conflicting feelings, Pappina sped on toward the village of Cava.Marta ate but little. She started back to find Pappina, leaving Guiseppe to finish his breakfast alone."She'll like what I have brought her," she took pleasure in thinking as she approached the spot where they had camped for the night. She saw no signs of Pappina astir. "She's still asleep, tired out, poor baby! I'm so glad Guiseppe let her rest."She smiled on the friendly tree as she neared its welcome shade. She peeped around the trunk; no one was there. Down went the bowl of milk with a crash to the ground."Pappina gone!" She stood speechless and terrified. Recovering herself, she ran through the bushes, crying: "Pappina, Pappina, Pappina! Where are you,carina?"No answer came to her cries."Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?" she moaned as she ran to and fro, wringing her hands. "What will Guiseppe say? How can I tell him Pappina is gone? He'll say it is all my fault. How can I endure his rage and disappointment? And my Pappina!—oh, I should not care for Guiseppe's anger if I knew she was safe."Poor Marta! For the first time in years she gave way to tears. Her whole frame shook with sobs.Guiseppe, meanwhile, having finished his meal, was growing impatient at Marta's delay. The streets were filling with people."What detains them?" he asked himself. Then the thought occurred to him that perhaps Marta's warning had come true and the child was sick again. "God forbid that she is ill!" the man ejaculated as he piously crossed himself.He heard the sound of the bugle calling the soldiers for drill. Priests and children were assembling for the march into church. Women and men in festival garb were hastening to mass. Bands, boys, and venders were everywhere. Guiseppe paced impatiently up and down, growing more nervous every moment. Then another thought came to him:"Perhaps they've forgotten I'm waiting. Marta may have forgotten. She's getting to be a bigger fool every day over that headstrong child. Well, the minx certainly has grit, and such spirit!Per bacco!She's lamb and tigress combined. If she were like other children I could beat her, but—well, I'll be hanged if I could beat Pappina!"Guiseppe's anxiety was increasing every second. "The crowds are even now going to mass,"he muttered. "I'll go and meet them." He started with rapid strides toward the spot where the three of them had spent the night. He halted on hearing Marta's sobs. A great fear overcame him; then, recovering himself, he rushed on like a madman toward the tree where Marta sat, sobbing in her grief and fear. He took in the situation at once."What!" he exclaimed, "Pappina not here! Where is she?"He stood dazed. The calamity of losing Pappina on fete day crushed him. Then, arousing himself, he shook Marta roughly by the shoulder and showered imprecations upon her."You fool! You dog! And to–day is fete day. You're in league with the little imp against me.""Oh, Guiseppe—""Don't speak to me! I humored you, and what do I get in return? You rob me of my living. Thief! Snake!" In his anger he kicked over the Punchinello box. "And I've only these poor puppets left," he cried."Guiseppe, have pity!" Marta begged, shrinking as far away from him as she could. "The crowd may be great, but we shall find her. I willrest neither night nor day till we have found Pappina."In the meantime Pappina had darted through different lanes and streets seeking the center of the town, but such a little girl could not find her way about alone, and her freedom began to frighten her. Also, she was growing very hungry, for she had had no breakfast.Just as she was beginning to be sorry she had not Marta to turn to in time of need, she saw a milk–seller milking her cow in front of a house.The milk–sellers in Italy, especially in small towns, use their cows as milk wagons. They halt the animals before the doors of their customers, and milk what the purchasers want.Pappina approached the rosy–cheeked woman who sat milking."I am hungry," she said, eyeing the milk wistfully. "If I sing for you, will you give me a drink of milk?"The milk–vender had many children of her own. She looked kindly into Pappina's eager, flushed face as she replied:"You need not sing to earn the milk. AllBetty's milk is sold, but she will give an extra glass for a hungry little girl; won't you, Betty?" She stroked her cow as she spoke.Pappina drank the milk, sang a little song, and, refreshed, moved happily on."First I will go to mass," she promised herself as she pursued her way. "Then the crowd will fill my tambourine and I can go home to my mother. Oh, I want so to see them all!"In her confusion she retraced her steps. Suddenly she caught sight of Guiseppe, who was gesticulating wildly."Oh," she cried, "I hate him! Perhaps he remembered that it is fete day and went back for me. I won't let him find me. I must run and hide."She turned and fled, looking back occasionally to see if she had been followed.It is impossible to tell where or how long she would have run, had not her attention been attracted to a strangely dressed man. He was clad in a long robe of sackcloth, and around his waist was a girdle of rope from which hung a wooden cross. A crown of thorns was on his head and a heavy cross was strapped to his back. Hecarried a bundle from which he took little crosses now and then. These crosses he nailed to every door where no one objected—a warning lest the gayeties of the fete celebration should make people forget the welfare of their souls.Pappina was so absorbed in watching him that she did not notice Marta's approach."Carina, carina!" the woman cried, clasping the child to her.Pappina began to cry."I don't want to go back to Guiseppe," she sobbed. "I love you, Marta, but I hate Guiseppe. If you take me back he'll try to beat me."It took Marta some time to calm Pappina, to make her understand that it was all a mistake that she had been (as she thought) deserted."Look at my eyes,carina. Are they not still red from weeping? There is no happiness for me away from the little one who holds my heart."They went to join Guiseppe and the throng moving to the church. As they approached the showman, Pappina clung tightly to Marta's hand; her steps grew slower. She looked into Marta's face."Must we go to him?" she asked plaintively. "He looks so cross, Marta.""Yes, yes, we must go, but you must not fear. Guiseppe will be glad to have you back."Being thus reassured, Pappina smiled at Guiseppe as he came to meet them, but her smile was met by a cold stare from the man."So you found her," he said curtly to Marta. "It is well for you both. Come on.""I know I shall always hate Guiseppe," Pappina said softly to Marta. "If he's bad to me I won't sing."All along the way to church they passed booths filled with tempting viands. When Pappina caught sight of a fine big pig hanging on a stick she stopped."Guiseppe, I'm starved for a piece of pig."Guiseppe scowled. "I've already had trouble enough with you for one day," he said. "You are here to sing, to dance, to earn money; do you hear? Come at once.""Yes, Guiseppe, I hear you, but you know I can't sing when I'm hungry. I do no better than your puppets. You said so yourself."She waited a moment for his reply. He madenone. Lifting her dark eyes, Pappina looked pleadingly into Guiseppe's face."Buy me some," she begged. "I'll sing, then, the very best I can. Won't you, please, Guiseppe?"Guiseppe was in no mood for trifling. He stretched forth his hand and took Pappina roughly by the arm. As they started to leave the booth the vender called: "Un soldo! Un soldo!" The child stopped."Guiseppe, do you hear? Only a penny.""Un soldo! Un soldo!" again cried the vender."Only asoldo, dear Guiseppe," Pappina pleaded, "and I do so want some! Let me sing for some.""Stop now and sing for a half–penny's worth of pig! Simpleton! If you must have some, here—" He took asoldofrom his money–bag. So Pappina got her piece of pig.Guiseppe, Marta and Pappina joined the worshipers, leaving before mass was over in order to find a good place in which to begin the Punchinello show as soon as the throng had finished its devotions.As the people began to leave the church,Guiseppe started the show. One play was over by the time the priests, bearing bright banners, had marched from the sanctuary. Guiseppe was preparing to begin the second play when Pappina sprang suddenly to his side."Stop, Guiseppe, I beg you! Let me sing for them." She pointed to the hundred children dressed in white who were marching out of the church. Without waiting for permission to sing Pappina laid her tambourine on her breast, clasped her hands over it as if in prayer, raised heavenward her eyes and sang:"Ave Maria, gratia plena."As though an angel's voice had reached them, the priests and children halted in their march, the motley crowd stood spellbound with bowed heads. Even Guiseppe, after his first surprise, crossed himself. The tears were streaming down Marta's face."Ave Maria, gratia plena." Clear and sweet rang the child's voice. "Ave Maria, Amen."From the lips of the priests and the white–robed children came spontaneously in response, "Amen," and the crowd gathered about the diminutive singer murmured softly, "Amen."For a moment there was a deep silence, then one by one, as though moving to an altar, those who had listened to her singing, almost reverently deposited their offerings in Pappina's tambourine.The spirit of devotion awakened on the street, made it seem almost a sacrilege to continue with the Punchinellos.The music of drums and fifes came faintly from the distance. Nearer and nearer the slendercarabinieriapproached, the silver trimmings on their black uniforms glistening in the sun. On horseback and on foot they came, and passed. Round the corner with rapid tramp came thebersaglieri(sharpshooters). They drew up in two lines and executed with precision the orders of their lieutenant, the cock's plumes on their stiff black hats fluttering in the light breeze. Confetti, serpentine, even bon–bons, were thrown about in profusion.So began fete day in Cava, and so it passed as other fete days throughout the land of Italy, differing from them only in the gloriously beautiful illuminated cross at the very summit of Monte Castello. On the peak of this mountain livesthe "Hermit of Monte Castello." Each year he begs funds sufficient to illuminate grandly his mountain home on fete day.The BersaglieriGuiseppe had kept Pappina singing and dancing all day, till it would seem her throat and feet must surely both give out. Marta dared not interfere. "Will the day never end?" she kept asking herself. She rejoiced when the festivities began to wane, when the streets became deserted, when one by one the lights went out."Well," said Guiseppe, looking about him, "seems as if every one but us has gone. I suppose we shall have to get along and find a place to sleep.""Is there not money enough—can we not afford to remain in Cava over night, to have beds?" Marta timidly asked. "The ground is so hard for the child," she added."Marta, you have less sense every day," was Guiseppe's angry reply. "Bed for the child, eh? Next thing you'll be wanting me to carry around a cradle for her to sleep in. You'll want her to ride in a carriage. Aren't the nights warm and pleasant? The ground is good enough for me to sleep on; it's good enough for you; and it's good enough for the child."Marta made no further appeal, but taking Pappina in her arms carried her where Guiseppe led."I've had a happy day. Oh, I liked the lights, the music and the people, but I'm so tired," Pappina told Marta as she laid her head on her improvised pillow and went at once to sleep.Guiseppe took out his greasy pouch, and chuckled as he counted time and again his gains."It's been a good day, Marta, the best I've ever had.Per bacco, how she sang the Ave Maria! A good day." He patted his money bag. "A good day. Good–night, Marta."Guiseppe, too, was soon asleep. And Marta? She shared neither Guiseppe's joy nor Pappina's happiness. She longed to be back in Naples, to take the child away from the applauding public. She kept saying to herself:"It's a crime to make her the object of so much attention. It may spoil her, ruin her. What can I do? If only together we might run away to England, to America!"In her fear of Guiseppe even the thought frightened her. She hated her weakness in not refusing to let the child continue such a life. Years of servitude to her tyrannical husband had made her afraid to express any wish or will of her own."I will pray," she said softly. "I will ask God to save my baby Pappina from this strain, these hardships, and the wrong we are doing her."She knelt by Pappina's side. Taking one of the child's hands in hers, she prayed fervently for God's blessing on the little one and for the realization of her heart's desire—to see Pappina free from Guiseppe's selfish tyranny.Because of her great faith in prayer, a peacestole upon her, a confidence that Pappina would be protected and liberated in some way best for all."We will wait," she murmured to herself. "A prevision will be made. We will wait."
At Cava
Pappina was unaccustomed to long walks. She felt lame, her flesh was sore, and furthermore she could not forget Guiseppe's unkindness. It hurt her that he had forced her to sing and dance for her food, and then had scolded her for her lack of animation.
"He said I was no better than his puppets. I hate him!" she muttered to herself as she trudged along in the growing dusk. "That franc was mine; that fine gentleman gave it to me. I wish I hadn't given it to Guiseppe. It was mine. If any one gives me money again I'll keep it for myself. I'll hide it away for Marta and me. Guiseppe may starve—I shan't care. I hate him."
So the little girl was thinking all the way from Pagani to Cava. The road was hard and rough. Occasionally Pappina, her aching feet hurt by a sharp stone, would utter a little cry, "Olà[Oh]!" as she jumped aside, but except for these few exclamationsthere was complete silence. Marta, in deep study, again and again stretched out her bony hand and laid it caressingly on the head of the tired little girl trudging uncomplainingly yet sullenly along the deserted road.
Guiseppe was determined to reach Cava that night. His snapping black eyes looked keenly ahead for the spires and the lights of the village.
As he saw them dimly in the distance he inwardly rejoiced that the day's tramp was almost over. A half–mile from the village he halted beneath a large tree which protectingly spread its branches beside the road.
He leaned the Punchinello box against the trunk of the tree and, still without speaking, threw himself on the ground.
In spite of her fatigue, Pappina stood with her hands clasped, looking at the distant lights of Cava. Marta, rolling together her apron and her shawl as a pillow for Pappina's head, watched the child and waited for her to speak or move. Pappina did neither.
"She is such a tired little girl," Marta said after a few moments, as she took Pappina gently by the hand. "Vieni, carina, resta[rest]."
For a moment Pappina hung back, then she clung to Marta in the dark and whispered: "For you, Marta, for you, because you are good to me."
Marta took the child in her arms and carried her to a resting–place. She kissed the little hand, her whole heart going out to Pappina in love and compassion as she blessed her with the words "Dio vi benedica. Buona notte, carissima[God bless you. Good–night, dearest]."
Only Guiseppe rested well. Marta felt too keenly the wrong done Pappina to sleep at all.
"He'll kill the baby," her thoughts ran. "He shows her no mercy. Oh! what can I do? There'll be trouble—I feel it, I know it. I must protect her. How sweet, how patient, how gentle she is when he is good to her!"
Marta heard the deep breathing of Guiseppe sleeping, heard Pappina muttering in her disturbed slumber: "I hate him! I hate him!"
Guiseppe was awake at the first peep of day. Seeing Marta bending over Pappina, he commanded her: "Shake the willful child; bid her get up at once. It's fete day."
Marta during her night's revery had determinedto protect Pappina at any cost to herself, so she pleaded for the child:
"Yes, Guiseppe, it is fete day, and for that reason you had better let Pappina rest for a little while. She is exhausted from her long tramp yesterday. She will have much excitement, singing and dancing all day, even late in the evening. We can find our breakfast and I will bring Pappina's to her. Let her rest, I pray you, Guiseppe; let her rest."
Marta stood before her husband, her worn face shining with earnestness. Guiseppe looked at her in surprise; then laughed brutally.
"Bravo, Marta!" he cried. "I didn't know you had it in you. You want the child to sleep, eh?" Then closing his eyes just a little, like a tiger before he springs, he went on: "So you will not awaken her? Then it is Guiseppe, the tyrant—eh, Marta?—who must rudely arouse the sleeping princess from her morning slumber."
As he finished speaking he moved toward Pappina, who was tossing restlessly on her hard couch, but Marta sprang between him and the child.
"Guiseppe, I have always obeyed you, have Inot?" she entreated in a low voice. "Look at Pappina: her restlessness shows how tired she is. Guiseppe, hear me! I beg you to let her sleep and be rested for her hard day's work." Marta leaned forward and placed her hands on the man's arm as she went on: "I have asked few favors, demanded none, but now for this once, Guiseppe, I pray you grant me my request! Let her rest!"
Guiseppe, hesitating, ran his hand several times through his black hair as he looked from Marta to Pappina, still asleep on the ground. He knit his brow, struggling with himself as though it were a hardship to grant his wife a favor.
"Guiseppe," Marta bravely began again, but he interrupted her.
"Come on," he said roughly. "I'll humor you this time. I'll let her sleep."
So it came about that Pappina awoke under the big tree in the early morning sun to find herself alone. Suddenly a great fear seized her. Perhaps Marta and Guiseppe had gone off and left her. She sprang up and ran to the road, looking wildly about for them. In her terror she did not notice the Punchinello box leaning against thetree, and she started toward the village, crying aloud: "Marta, Marta!"
Her tears flowed freely, and between her sobs she continued to cry for Marta and occasionally for Guiseppe. It was with Guiseppe's name half–spoken on her lips that the little frightened child stopped crying.
"Guiseppe! Gui—oh! I hate him! I hate him more than I did last night!" The memory of how he had treated her the day before came over her like a flood. "It is fete day at Cava; he said so. All I earn is mine, and when I sing the Garibaldi I shall have my tambourine full of money. Oh, how glad I am! Then I can go home."
As she hurried on, her plan grew clearer. She would strike out for herself. Then suddenly she stopped again, like a butterfly halted and shifted in its course by a vagrant wind.
"Oh, Marta! If you were only with me, I should not care," she sobbed.
Buffeted by conflicting feelings, Pappina sped on toward the village of Cava.
Marta ate but little. She started back to find Pappina, leaving Guiseppe to finish his breakfast alone.
"She'll like what I have brought her," she took pleasure in thinking as she approached the spot where they had camped for the night. She saw no signs of Pappina astir. "She's still asleep, tired out, poor baby! I'm so glad Guiseppe let her rest."
She smiled on the friendly tree as she neared its welcome shade. She peeped around the trunk; no one was there. Down went the bowl of milk with a crash to the ground.
"Pappina gone!" She stood speechless and terrified. Recovering herself, she ran through the bushes, crying: "Pappina, Pappina, Pappina! Where are you,carina?"
No answer came to her cries.
"Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?" she moaned as she ran to and fro, wringing her hands. "What will Guiseppe say? How can I tell him Pappina is gone? He'll say it is all my fault. How can I endure his rage and disappointment? And my Pappina!—oh, I should not care for Guiseppe's anger if I knew she was safe."
Poor Marta! For the first time in years she gave way to tears. Her whole frame shook with sobs.
Guiseppe, meanwhile, having finished his meal, was growing impatient at Marta's delay. The streets were filling with people.
"What detains them?" he asked himself. Then the thought occurred to him that perhaps Marta's warning had come true and the child was sick again. "God forbid that she is ill!" the man ejaculated as he piously crossed himself.
He heard the sound of the bugle calling the soldiers for drill. Priests and children were assembling for the march into church. Women and men in festival garb were hastening to mass. Bands, boys, and venders were everywhere. Guiseppe paced impatiently up and down, growing more nervous every moment. Then another thought came to him:
"Perhaps they've forgotten I'm waiting. Marta may have forgotten. She's getting to be a bigger fool every day over that headstrong child. Well, the minx certainly has grit, and such spirit!Per bacco!She's lamb and tigress combined. If she were like other children I could beat her, but—well, I'll be hanged if I could beat Pappina!"
Guiseppe's anxiety was increasing every second. "The crowds are even now going to mass,"he muttered. "I'll go and meet them." He started with rapid strides toward the spot where the three of them had spent the night. He halted on hearing Marta's sobs. A great fear overcame him; then, recovering himself, he rushed on like a madman toward the tree where Marta sat, sobbing in her grief and fear. He took in the situation at once.
"What!" he exclaimed, "Pappina not here! Where is she?"
He stood dazed. The calamity of losing Pappina on fete day crushed him. Then, arousing himself, he shook Marta roughly by the shoulder and showered imprecations upon her.
"You fool! You dog! And to–day is fete day. You're in league with the little imp against me."
"Oh, Guiseppe—"
"Don't speak to me! I humored you, and what do I get in return? You rob me of my living. Thief! Snake!" In his anger he kicked over the Punchinello box. "And I've only these poor puppets left," he cried.
"Guiseppe, have pity!" Marta begged, shrinking as far away from him as she could. "The crowd may be great, but we shall find her. I willrest neither night nor day till we have found Pappina."
In the meantime Pappina had darted through different lanes and streets seeking the center of the town, but such a little girl could not find her way about alone, and her freedom began to frighten her. Also, she was growing very hungry, for she had had no breakfast.
Just as she was beginning to be sorry she had not Marta to turn to in time of need, she saw a milk–seller milking her cow in front of a house.
The milk–sellers in Italy, especially in small towns, use their cows as milk wagons. They halt the animals before the doors of their customers, and milk what the purchasers want.
Pappina approached the rosy–cheeked woman who sat milking.
"I am hungry," she said, eyeing the milk wistfully. "If I sing for you, will you give me a drink of milk?"
The milk–vender had many children of her own. She looked kindly into Pappina's eager, flushed face as she replied:
"You need not sing to earn the milk. AllBetty's milk is sold, but she will give an extra glass for a hungry little girl; won't you, Betty?" She stroked her cow as she spoke.
Pappina drank the milk, sang a little song, and, refreshed, moved happily on.
"First I will go to mass," she promised herself as she pursued her way. "Then the crowd will fill my tambourine and I can go home to my mother. Oh, I want so to see them all!"
In her confusion she retraced her steps. Suddenly she caught sight of Guiseppe, who was gesticulating wildly.
"Oh," she cried, "I hate him! Perhaps he remembered that it is fete day and went back for me. I won't let him find me. I must run and hide."
She turned and fled, looking back occasionally to see if she had been followed.
It is impossible to tell where or how long she would have run, had not her attention been attracted to a strangely dressed man. He was clad in a long robe of sackcloth, and around his waist was a girdle of rope from which hung a wooden cross. A crown of thorns was on his head and a heavy cross was strapped to his back. Hecarried a bundle from which he took little crosses now and then. These crosses he nailed to every door where no one objected—a warning lest the gayeties of the fete celebration should make people forget the welfare of their souls.
Pappina was so absorbed in watching him that she did not notice Marta's approach.
"Carina, carina!" the woman cried, clasping the child to her.
Pappina began to cry.
"I don't want to go back to Guiseppe," she sobbed. "I love you, Marta, but I hate Guiseppe. If you take me back he'll try to beat me."
It took Marta some time to calm Pappina, to make her understand that it was all a mistake that she had been (as she thought) deserted.
"Look at my eyes,carina. Are they not still red from weeping? There is no happiness for me away from the little one who holds my heart."
They went to join Guiseppe and the throng moving to the church. As they approached the showman, Pappina clung tightly to Marta's hand; her steps grew slower. She looked into Marta's face.
"Must we go to him?" she asked plaintively. "He looks so cross, Marta."
"Yes, yes, we must go, but you must not fear. Guiseppe will be glad to have you back."
Being thus reassured, Pappina smiled at Guiseppe as he came to meet them, but her smile was met by a cold stare from the man.
"So you found her," he said curtly to Marta. "It is well for you both. Come on."
"I know I shall always hate Guiseppe," Pappina said softly to Marta. "If he's bad to me I won't sing."
All along the way to church they passed booths filled with tempting viands. When Pappina caught sight of a fine big pig hanging on a stick she stopped.
"Guiseppe, I'm starved for a piece of pig."
Guiseppe scowled. "I've already had trouble enough with you for one day," he said. "You are here to sing, to dance, to earn money; do you hear? Come at once."
"Yes, Guiseppe, I hear you, but you know I can't sing when I'm hungry. I do no better than your puppets. You said so yourself."
She waited a moment for his reply. He madenone. Lifting her dark eyes, Pappina looked pleadingly into Guiseppe's face.
"Buy me some," she begged. "I'll sing, then, the very best I can. Won't you, please, Guiseppe?"
Guiseppe was in no mood for trifling. He stretched forth his hand and took Pappina roughly by the arm. As they started to leave the booth the vender called: "Un soldo! Un soldo!" The child stopped.
"Guiseppe, do you hear? Only a penny."
"Un soldo! Un soldo!" again cried the vender.
"Only asoldo, dear Guiseppe," Pappina pleaded, "and I do so want some! Let me sing for some."
"Stop now and sing for a half–penny's worth of pig! Simpleton! If you must have some, here—" He took asoldofrom his money–bag. So Pappina got her piece of pig.
Guiseppe, Marta and Pappina joined the worshipers, leaving before mass was over in order to find a good place in which to begin the Punchinello show as soon as the throng had finished its devotions.
As the people began to leave the church,Guiseppe started the show. One play was over by the time the priests, bearing bright banners, had marched from the sanctuary. Guiseppe was preparing to begin the second play when Pappina sprang suddenly to his side.
"Stop, Guiseppe, I beg you! Let me sing for them." She pointed to the hundred children dressed in white who were marching out of the church. Without waiting for permission to sing Pappina laid her tambourine on her breast, clasped her hands over it as if in prayer, raised heavenward her eyes and sang:
"Ave Maria, gratia plena."
As though an angel's voice had reached them, the priests and children halted in their march, the motley crowd stood spellbound with bowed heads. Even Guiseppe, after his first surprise, crossed himself. The tears were streaming down Marta's face.
"Ave Maria, gratia plena." Clear and sweet rang the child's voice. "Ave Maria, Amen."
From the lips of the priests and the white–robed children came spontaneously in response, "Amen," and the crowd gathered about the diminutive singer murmured softly, "Amen."
For a moment there was a deep silence, then one by one, as though moving to an altar, those who had listened to her singing, almost reverently deposited their offerings in Pappina's tambourine.
The spirit of devotion awakened on the street, made it seem almost a sacrilege to continue with the Punchinellos.
The music of drums and fifes came faintly from the distance. Nearer and nearer the slendercarabinieriapproached, the silver trimmings on their black uniforms glistening in the sun. On horseback and on foot they came, and passed. Round the corner with rapid tramp came thebersaglieri(sharpshooters). They drew up in two lines and executed with precision the orders of their lieutenant, the cock's plumes on their stiff black hats fluttering in the light breeze. Confetti, serpentine, even bon–bons, were thrown about in profusion.
So began fete day in Cava, and so it passed as other fete days throughout the land of Italy, differing from them only in the gloriously beautiful illuminated cross at the very summit of Monte Castello. On the peak of this mountain livesthe "Hermit of Monte Castello." Each year he begs funds sufficient to illuminate grandly his mountain home on fete day.
The Bersaglieri
The Bersaglieri
The Bersaglieri
Guiseppe had kept Pappina singing and dancing all day, till it would seem her throat and feet must surely both give out. Marta dared not interfere. "Will the day never end?" she kept asking herself. She rejoiced when the festivities began to wane, when the streets became deserted, when one by one the lights went out.
"Well," said Guiseppe, looking about him, "seems as if every one but us has gone. I suppose we shall have to get along and find a place to sleep."
"Is there not money enough—can we not afford to remain in Cava over night, to have beds?" Marta timidly asked. "The ground is so hard for the child," she added.
"Marta, you have less sense every day," was Guiseppe's angry reply. "Bed for the child, eh? Next thing you'll be wanting me to carry around a cradle for her to sleep in. You'll want her to ride in a carriage. Aren't the nights warm and pleasant? The ground is good enough for me to sleep on; it's good enough for you; and it's good enough for the child."
Marta made no further appeal, but taking Pappina in her arms carried her where Guiseppe led.
"I've had a happy day. Oh, I liked the lights, the music and the people, but I'm so tired," Pappina told Marta as she laid her head on her improvised pillow and went at once to sleep.
Guiseppe took out his greasy pouch, and chuckled as he counted time and again his gains.
"It's been a good day, Marta, the best I've ever had.Per bacco, how she sang the Ave Maria! A good day." He patted his money bag. "A good day. Good–night, Marta."
Guiseppe, too, was soon asleep. And Marta? She shared neither Guiseppe's joy nor Pappina's happiness. She longed to be back in Naples, to take the child away from the applauding public. She kept saying to herself:
"It's a crime to make her the object of so much attention. It may spoil her, ruin her. What can I do? If only together we might run away to England, to America!"
In her fear of Guiseppe even the thought frightened her. She hated her weakness in not refusing to let the child continue such a life. Years of servitude to her tyrannical husband had made her afraid to express any wish or will of her own.
"I will pray," she said softly. "I will ask God to save my baby Pappina from this strain, these hardships, and the wrong we are doing her."
She knelt by Pappina's side. Taking one of the child's hands in hers, she prayed fervently for God's blessing on the little one and for the realization of her heart's desire—to see Pappina free from Guiseppe's selfish tyranny.
Because of her great faith in prayer, a peacestole upon her, a confidence that Pappina would be protected and liberated in some way best for all.
"We will wait," she murmured to herself. "A prevision will be made. We will wait."