Down the crooked path of the Mulberry Street Bend the sunlight slanted
into the heart of New York's Italy. It shone upon bandannas and
yellow neckerchiefs; upon swarthy faces and corduroy breeches; upon
black-haired girls--mothers at thirteen; upon hosts of bow-legged
children rolling in the dirt; upon pedlers' carts and rag-pickers
staggering under burdens that threatened to crush them at every step.
Shone upon unnumbered Pasquales dwelling, working, idling, and gambling
there. Shone upon the filthiest and foulest of New York's tenements,
upon Bandits' Roost, upon Bottle Alley, upon the hidden byways that
lead to the tramps' burrows. Shone upon the scene of annual infant
slaughter. Shone into the foul core of New York's slums that was at
last to go to the realm of bad memories because civilized man might not
look upon it and live without blushing.
It glanced past the rag-shop in the cellar, whence welled up stenches
to poison the town, into an apartment three flights up that held two
women, one young, the other old and bent. The young one had a baby at
her breast. She was rocking it tenderly in her arms, singing in the
soft Italian tongue a lullaby, while the old granny listened eagerly,
her elbows on her knees, and a stumpy clay pipe, blackened with age,
between her teeth. Her eyes were set on the wall, on which the musty
paper hung in tatters, fit frame for the wretched, poverty-stricken
room, but they saw neither poverty nor want; her aged limbs felt not
the cold draught from without, in which they shivered; she looked far
over the seas to sunny Italy, whose music was in her ears.
"O dolce Napoli," she mumbled between her toothless jaws, "O suol
beato----"
The song ended in a burst of passionate grief. The old granny and the
baby woke up at once. They were not in sunny Italy; not under southern,
cloudless skies. They were in "The Bend," in Mulberry Street, and the
wintry wind rattled the door as if it would say, in the language of
their new home, the land of the free: "Less music! More work! Root,
hog, or die!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account