Hardships at Salerno

Guiseppe was barely awake on the morning after the fete when he took out his money–bag to recount his gains.

"I'll sell these old puppets," he said to himself. "What do the few soldi they bring in amount to, compared with Pappina? If the minx only remains as bewitching as she is now, I'll not complain. Hang it all! Why can't every day be fete day!"

He glanced at the child, curled up on the ground, asleep.

"I may as well let her rest. It isn't much of a trip to Salerno, and I don't suppose it matters much when we get there; nothing special on hand there that I know of. I hope we'll find plenty of foreigners everywhere we go. They appreciate Pappina."

Guiseppe filled his pipe and as he smoked he wove a bright dream of wealth. Happy thought! He smiled broadly and joyfully rubbed his hands together.

"I'll take her to America!" he chuckled to himself. "Why not? The Punchinellos too!" His countenance fell. "No, no," he muttered, "I can't talk in English for the puppets. How, how am I to manage that?"

He became so absorbed in his thoughts that he forgot the pipe he was smoking. It dropped from his mouth as he exclaimed gleefully:

"Aha! I have it! A hand–organ in America with my beautiful Pappina! She'll make our fortune."

He picked up his pipe and jumped quickly to his feet, calling to Marta.

"Get up, Marta, and wake the beauty! Up, I say! Let's be off. Make haste, Marta. We'll soon be rich; do you hear?"

Pappina, hearing his loud call, sprang up at once. She rubbed her eyes, trying to make sure she was awake.

"Was I dreaming, Guiseppe, or did you—did I really hear you say we'll soon be rich?" she asked.

Guiseppe hesitated a moment before replying: "Si, si, carina. If you'll always sing and dance as you did yesterday, we will go to America where there is no end of money."

"Oh, I'd like that!" and Pappina clapped her hands.

Something in her movements reminded Guiseppe of a song he used to sing.

"Come, girl," he said cheerfully, "here's a song—a new one that just suits you. Funny I never thought of it before! Listen, my beauty, and see how quickly you can learn it. It will bring gold, and gold brings everything. It will take us across the ocean to America. Come—stand up—so!"

Pappina needed no second bidding. She took her position opposite Guiseppe, alert to follow every tone, word, and gesture. Many times the man stopped to laugh at and applaud Pappina for her wonderful aptness, and his praises made her more keen to imitate him perfectly.

The child's dark hair hung in disorder about her animated face, her great black eyes were aglow as she sang, danced and recited, going over the song again and again, she and Guiseppe both so interested that neither realized the flight of time.

Marta dared not interrupt them. She watched Pappina with pain in her heart, saying almost continually to herself:

"Grand dio! Quando, quando [Great God! When, when]?"

Gold! Riches! They meant nothing to her. Her one desire was to see Pappina liberated from this life she felt sure would destroy her health, innocence, and beauty.

Hark! "Le parlete d'amore," that beautiful air from "Faust," came floating to their ears. The fresh, clear voice rang through the morning air.

"Odi, chi e [Listen, who is it]?" Pappina exclaimed, peering down the winding road. A young girl came around a bend, leading a small pig, and the child darted toward her. A few yards from the singer she paused, uncertain whether to continue or not, but being reassured by a bright smile from the girl, she hastened on. Reaching the maiden, she stopped, and looked wonderingly at the pig.

"What is it you have?" she asked timidly, for it is only in the country that girls have pet pigs, and Pappina had never seen one.

"What have I? Why, don't you know, little one? It is my pet pig." The young girl laid her hand caressingly on the animal's head as she spoke.

Tender little Pappina had never in her short life had anything to pet, not even a doll. She took hold of the ribbon around the pig's neck.

"How pretty!" she exclaimed. "He won't hurt me, will he? What's his name?"

"I named him Savio, because he is so wise."

"Isn't he beautiful! May I pet him?"

Pappina had not waited for permission, but was patting the pig's head. As she stroked his bristles she prattled to the girl.

"You see," she said confidingly, "we are poor now, but we are going to America, and we are going to get rich. Guiseppe said so this very morning. When we come back I want to buy Savio. You'll let me have him, won't you? I'll be good to him. I'll buy him a new ribbon every day, and a necklace, too—that is, if there's money enough," she added thoughtfully.

The girl, Susanna, laughed heartily as she replied:

"When you come back from America, you shall have my dear Savio. Now I must be going. Good–by." She waved her hand to Pappina as she moved on.

Guiseppe and Marta stood watching Pappina with amusement, but as she started to follow Susanna and Savio, Guiseppe called: "Pappina, Pappina."

Pappina either did not or would not hear. Louder and louder Guiseppe shouted her name. Susanna stopped.

"Is it not you he calls?" she asked. "Are you not Pappina?"

"Yes, yes, but I want to walk just a little way with you and Savio. You'll let me, won't you?"

"Pappina!" Guiseppe's voice sounded harsh and angry.

"You had better go back, little one. Addio."

For a moment Pappina stood looking after Susanna, then with a burst of song turned and ran back to Marta and Guiseppe. She did not heed Guiseppe's scowl, but smiled into his face.

"Guiseppe," she cried, "I must learn the new song at once. I want to earn lots of money, so we can go to America, and get rich, and have pet pigs. Wasn't he just beautiful? His name is Savio, and she says I may have him when we come back from America. Oh, you don't know how much I want a pig like Savio!"

Guiseppe could not help smiling at Pappina's prattle. He put his hand under her chin and lifting her radiant little face toward his, he teasingly asked:

"Wouldn't you rather have Savio cooked like the piece of pig you had at Cava? Ebbene! Now for the song. Where did we stop?"

"I have been thinking," Marta timidly interrupted, "that perhaps, if we are going to America, and if—if you both wish me to do so, I could teach Pappina an English song." She glanced at Guiseppe as though fearful he might laugh at the idea, but to her relief he looked pleased.

"How about it, little one?" he asked, turning to Pappina. "Would you like to learn to sing an English song?"

Pappina always showed her greatest delight by clapping her hands. She clapped them now.

"Che gioia [What joy]!" she cried. "Oh, Guiseppe, let me learn it now, this very minute! won't you please, Guiseppe? Because you know we are sure to need it in America. Come, quickly, Marta."

Marta grew nervous.

"I cannot sing," she cried, "I have no music in my voice, but I—"

"Never mind your voice! Pappina will do the singing. Are you both ready? Then why don't you begin?" Guiseppe spoke impatiently.

Marta tremblingly began. The words were barely out of her mouth when Pappina repeated them eagerly, but always with an "ah" at the end making them all like Italian words. Marta smiled at the pronunciation, but Guiseppe was delighted.

"Bravo, bravo!" he cried. "Teach it well, Marta! She can sing it here for all the English and Americans we meet. It will charm them to hear her sing in their own tongue; it will mean money, and it's money that will take us to America."

Childlike, Pappina soon grew tired of trying to learn the song. She wanted to be journeying on to new people, sights, and scenes. Guiseppe, too, became impatient to be off in quest of that which would take them to "the land of money," as he called America again and again.

He was walking, as usual, with bowed head, his eyes on the ground, when he suddenly sprang to the side of the road and with the toe of his boot pushed back the dry grass that was partially concealing a string of gold beads. He picked them up.

"Aha!" he cried, holding them up for view, "they are gold! Luck is with us. Gold! I can sell them." He put them into a pocket of his coat.

"Guiseppe, I want them. Give them to me." Pappina dug her little sun–browned hand into his pocket and brought up the bright beads. Guiseppe snatched them from her. Pappina stamped her foot. "Guiseppe, I want those beads!"

"You can't have them."

"Guiseppe, give them to me! Please, dear Guiseppe!"

She begged, threatened and cried, but all in vain.

"Enough, enough, I say! Come on," Guiseppe commanded, as he started forward.

"I'll not stir till you give me those beads," the child declared.

Guiseppe came back to her and raised his hand threateningly, but stubborn Pappina declared again:

"I'll not sing for you ever, Guiseppe, if you keep those pretty beads. I'll never, never sing for you again, and then we can never go to America. I'd sooner give up the pet pig than those gold beads."

Marta grew bold. "Oh, please let her have them," she pleaded.

"Hold your tongue!" her husband answered roughly. "You'd have me give her my head if she asked for it."

Guiseppe again lifted his hand threateningly and had started toward Pappina when a carriage drove up. The merry party in it—foreigners on their way from Cava to Salerno—had already noted his menacing air, Marta's pained look, and the beautiful child pouting by the wayside.

They stopped. Only Marta understood their English words.

"Poor little thing, she looks ready to cry. Do find out about them," begged one of the ladies of the party.

"Do you understand English?" her husband asked Guiseppe.

"Yes, sir," Marta answered for her husband.

"What have you to entertain us?"

"We have the Punchinellos, and we have the child, who sings and dances."

"We had enough of the Punchinellos in Naples. Let the little girl give us a song," cried an Englishman, taking a coin from his pocket. Others did the same. "A song, a song!" they cried.

Marta translated to Guiseppe.

"Pappina, sing," he commanded.

"No."

Guiseppe felt an anger he dared not show.

"Pappina, sing for America," he begged.

The obstinate little girl shook her head.

"I told you, Guiseppe," she answered, "I'll never sing till you give me those beads."

Guiseppe stood for a moment with his hand on the beads, irresolute. He heard the jingle of coins waiting to be paid for the song.

Pappina was quick to notice that his hand was in his pocket.

"Guiseppe, won't you give me the beads?" she pleaded. "I want them so much. Please, dear Guiseppe!"

She stretched out her hand for them just as the gentleman who was driving took up the lines to continue the drive.

"Stop, we are ready," cried Guiseppe, handing the beads to Pappina. She fastened the string around her neck, took up her tambourine, and sang.

True little Neapolitan, in her delight over the new necklace she sang and danced with such spirit that even Guiseppe was surprised. The tourists, having paid well for Pappina's songs, went on their way.

"That pretty lady in blue," said Marta as the travelers departed, "was wondering if we treat you well, Pappina. She said she wished she could speak Italian and find out if you are our own child, and if you are happy in your life, or only singing to keep from being beaten, as so many little singers have to do."

Pappina laughed merrily.

"Why didn't you tell her that I always love you, Marta?" she cried. "And sometimes I love Guiseppe."

She went to Guiseppe and reaching up on her tiptoes, patted his cheek.

"Caro Guiseppe," she said, "I love you to–day because you gave me the beads. Perhaps to–morrow I shall hate you, and—really, Guiseppe—I can't help it. Sometimes you're so mean I could kill you, but to–day, Guiseppe," fondling her beads, "I love you almost as well as I do Marta."

Pappina's words and little caress pleased Guiseppe, but he let neither her nor Marta see his pleasure. He took up the Punchinellos, merely saying: "I guess we'll be moving."

It was a happy little group that continued its way toward Salerno. Pappina took off her beads every few minutes to admire them.

"How good you are, Guiseppe!" she repeatedly said to him. Her happiness brought a smile to Guiseppe's hard face.

Marta likened her to a humming–bird, as she flitted in song from flower to flower, plucking first one for Marta, then one for Guiseppe.

Pappina was too full of life and joy to–day to plod along with Marta behind Guiseppe. She kept running ahead of the two. Something unusual attracted her notice and as she did not have the patience to stand and wait for them, she ran back to meet them, exclaiming as she seized their hands:

"Hurry! There's the cutest little church down the road. Come quickly! We must all pray."

"It's a wayside shrine," Marta told her.

"Not a church? Then can't we go there and pray?" Pappina said with a disappointed look.

"Yes, dear. Everywhere through this country we find these shrines. They are built for just such wanderers as we, that we may always remember to pray."

"There's a light. See, Marta."

"There is always a candle or a little lamp burning at the altar, where we pray to either a picture or a statuette of the Madonna."

By this time they were at the entrance. Pappina turned to Guiseppe and took his hand.

"If you hadn't given me the beads," she said, "I shouldn't want to pray."

After their devotions were over the three continued their journey to Salerno, so prettily situated in a cozy little corner of Salerno Bay, and backed by gigantic mountains which remind one of a father protecting his child. They walked into the town, down the narrow, irregular streets.

As they paused at a corner Pappina struck her tambourine, ready to start her song.

"No, no, not yet, little one," Guiseppe said. "This is not the place for you. You and Marta sit down and wait for me here. I'll look about a bit and find out what is going on in the town."

They watched him as he walked briskly down the street. Once he looked back and waved his hand to Pappina, who in turn threw him a kiss.

"I just love Guiseppe when he is good!" cried the child. "I hope he won't be gone long," she added, as her eyes followed his retreating figure.

Stern and forbidding as Guiseppe usually looked, when he wished to be agreeable he had an air that charmed all whom he met. He had bright stories at his command and could tell them as became a man of his former calling. To–day he chose to be a hail fellow well met as he walked about Salerno seeking information that would lead to his financial interest.

By chance he met an old friend from Naples.

"Aha, Guiseppe Capasso!" the man cried. "What good fate leads me to you, or you to me, as it may be?"

"The luck is mine, signor," with a hearty hand–shake Guiseppe replied. "Out of Naples, where I was born and bred, I feel indeed a stranger in a strange land."

"Come, Guiseppe, let's celebrate our fortunate meeting. A game or two—what do you say, my friend?"

Together they visited a wine shop and there they drank and gambled at "Mora." Guiseppe lost.

"I'll drink and forget," he cried. So he went from one wine shop to another, drinking, losing, cursing his losses, drinking again to forget his ill–luck.

When Marta saw him coming toward herself and Pappina, she knew at once what the trouble was. She knew also that too much wine put him in an ugly mood. She placed her arm about Pappina and kissed her brow.

"Oh, carissima," she whispered, "if you love me, be patient with Guiseppe! He may abuse you, but remember that I love you."

Even before Marta had finished, Guiseppe was speaking.

"There's no fete day here till September, St. Matthew's Day," he said. Turning to Pappina, he continued: "Look here, girl, we are going where there will be a crowd of people promenading to–night. We are going to the Quay—they call it Corso Garibaldi. I'll have none of your impudence in that crowd to–night—none of your stubbornness; do you understand? When I say sing, you will sing. When I say dance, you will dance. Do you hear?"

"Si, signor," came faintly from Pappina's white lips. As she spoke she glanced at Marta, stifling her anger for the sake of the woman she loved.

"Then remember." He shook his fist in her face. She flushed scarlet, but said nothing. Guiseppe evidently was expecting a reply. He waited a moment, then continued his tirade: "Why don't you speak, girl? You stand there, red in the face, ready to kill me, and say nothing. Have out with it; what you've got to say I want to hear right now. I'll have none of your impudence to–night."

There was no reply from the child, who stood looking in amazement at Guiseppe, as she tightly held Marta's bony hand.

"Oh, afraid of me for once, are you?" he sneered. "Marta, the minx is afraid of me. Bravo! Bravo! I'll drink to her health as soon as we find a wine–shop. Ha, ha, Marta! She's a coward, after all."

He stooped to pick up a coin he had dropped. Pappina, unable longer to control herself, sprang at him in a furious rage. She gave him one fierce slap across the cheek. With a cry of pain, he turned on the child. Marta caught hold of him.

"Guiseppe, Guiseppe," she cried, "you'll lose her if you strike her."

Still he attempted to reach Pappina, blind in his drunken fury. Marta held him with an iron grip.

"Don't!" she screamed. "Don't! You shan't! She'll run away. Stop, Guiseppe! You know you can't strike her and keep her."

Guiseppe shook Marta fiercely. Her sparse brown locks loosened and fell about her livid face, but still she held him, and the drunken man was no match for her. He struggled to break away, but Marta seemed to possess superhuman strength. Her grip on his arm was so strong that it pained him.

"Let go, you fiend!" he cried.

"Never, Guiseppe, till you promise you will not harm her. She is only a child."

"You hurt me! Let go, I say!"

"Then promise."

"Fiend, let go! I promise."

Guiseppe broke away from Marta. He glared at Pappina, who stood facing him defiantly her head thrown back, her eyes blazing, her arms folded.

"You little vixen!" Guiseppe shouted, "I'll make you rue this day! You shall pay dearly for this!" Smothering his anger, he took up the Punchinellos. "Come," he commanded, "we will play to the crowds—all night, if I will it. Come on, I say."