--With what? he asks me. --With Ottaiano. --Rebuild it all, he answers me, quietly. --Rebuild it all? --And what else can we do? We are fourteen thousand. Four thousand have already returned. Where do you want us to go? To Turin? To Milan? It is not possible. Don't you see? Settle in the neighbourhood? At Portici! at Torre Annunziata? We shall always be under the Vesuvius, consequently, in constant danger. Better remain where we are. But the houses have tumbled down. What then? The roofs yes, but the walls are not cracked. We shall have to build the new houses with arched small iron vaults little by little! you will all help us, won't you? How can one abandon one's own country? Here all of us possess much or little land, will you take from us also the hope of redeeming it for our children? What would become of us in Milan, Turin, even in Naples? How could we hope to build up again, if we went away? But we shall need much help.... I say.... You all must unite with us. And we shall work, and we shall have to make the poor peasants work, and give them prizes for their work, and no alms nor any kind of charity. Life and hope are still strong in this man who has seen death near him and his people, who has seen his village tumble down, and who is now speaking only of its resurrection. VINCENZA ARPAIA Here near us a woman is speaking eagerly. She is of the peasant type, but a light of intelligence shines in her eyes, and while talking she mixes correct Italian words with her dialect. She has a handkerchief tied on her head, the image of a Saint hangs down on her breast, and she discusses vivaciously. I interrogate her. I know she has come back here the day after that frightful shower, and has not moved from here ever since. She counts up the houses that are still standing, she speaks of those who have returned and will return. And I learn, that she is the mid-wife of the village, Vincenza Arpaia. --Have you your diploma, Vincenza, I ask her? --Of course! I received it at the University of Naples, and I was appointed to this place, she exclaims with pride. Not a single baby is born here, without my assistance. --All alive! --All, madam! And thanks to the Lord there are no orphans. What a destruction! But now it is finished, and it will take more than a hundred years before it happens again.--She refers to the terrible fall of stones at Ottaiano, in 1789, she is rather informed, yet she preserves her popular simplicity. --And why did you return so soon, Vincenza? --To attend to my work, and see after new born babies, madam. --New born babies? here? --One was born the other day, she cries gaily! A fine boy! He was born on the ruins and I shall take him to S. Giovanni, to the only church still standing, and all the bells must be ringing! This woman of the people says now unconsciously a great and deep thing. A baby was born on the ruins! Oh! eternal resurrection of life!