Antonio did not stay out much longer in the snow. This enterprise of his had not turned out a profitable one; no one on such a miserable1 day felt inclined to listen to his Italian airs, the snow seemed to be locking up people's hearts, and he went back to his attic2 hungry and cold, and quite as penniless as when he started on his expedition. Still there was a glow in his heart, and he was not at all sorry that he had played for the pretty child for love.
He sat down in an old broken arm-chair and wrapped a tattered3 cloak about him, and indulged in what he called a reverie of Italy and old times. This reverie, as he said afterward4, quite warmed him and took away his desire for food.[Pg 259]
"The child has brought all back to me like a golden dream," he murmured. "Poor, poor Marcia! why do I think of her so much to-night? and there's no money in the little box, and no hope of going back to her, and it's fifteen years ago now."
The next day Antonio went back to the quiet square off Bloomsbury, and played all his Italian airs opposite the house where he had played them yesterday; but though he looked longingly5 from one window to another, he could not get any glimpse of the child who reminded him of Italy. As he walked through the square on his way home he could see the people passing to the week-night service at the church, which stood in the center. But no trace of the little one could he catch. As far as money was concerned, he had had a much better day than yesterday, but he went home, nevertheless, disappointed and with quite a blank at his old heart. The next day he hoped he would see the child, and he again went slowly through the square, but he could not catch a glimpse of her, and after doing this[Pg 260] every day in vain he soon came to the conclusion that she had gone.
"Her father has come for the pretty one, and she has gone back to the fair south," he murmured. "Ah, well! I never saw such eyes as hers on an English maiden7 before."
On Christmas Day Antonio shouldered his organ, as usual, and went out.
On this morning he made quite a little harvest; people were so merry and so bright and so happy that even those who did not want his Italian airs gave him a penny to get rid of him.
Quite early in the afternoon he turned his steps homeward. On his way he bought half a pound of sausages and a small bottle of thin and sour claret.
"Now," he said to himself, "I shall have a feast worthy8 of my Italy," and he trudged9 cheerfully back, feeling all the better for his walk through the pleasant frosty air.
Antonio never indulged in fires, but he had a small paraffin stove in his attic, and this he now lit, and spread out his thin hands before[Pg 261] the poor little attempt at a fire. Then he drank his claret and ate his sausages and bread, and tried to believe that he was having quite a bright little Christmas feast.
There were many voices in the room below, and cheerful sounds coming up now and then from the court, and altogether there was a festive10 air about everything, and Antonio tried to believe himself one with a merry multitude. But, poor old man, he failed to do so. He was a lonely and very old man—he was an exile from his native country. No one in all this great world of London cared anything at all about him, and he was parted from his good wife Marcia.
Fifteen years ago now they had agreed to part; they both supposed that this parting would be a matter of months, or a year at most.
"The good land of England is paved with gold," said Antonio. "I will go there and collect some of the treasure and then come back for you and little Marcia."
"And in the mean time the good God will[Pg 262] give me money enough to keep on the little fruit stall and to support our little sweet one," said Marcia, bravely keeping back her tears.
Antonio came to England, and quickly discovered that the streets paved with gold and the abundant wealth lived only in his dreams. The little money he had brought with him was quickly spent, and he had no means to enable him to return to Italy. Neither he nor his wife could write, and under these circumstances it was only too easy for the couple to lose sight of each other.
Once, a few years back, an Italian had brought him word that little Marcia was dead, and that his wife was having a very poor time of it. When Antonio heard this he came home in a fit of desperation, and finding a small box, bored a hole in the lid, and into this hole he religiously dropped half of all he earned, hoping by this means to secure a little fund to enable him to return to Naples and to Marcia.
The winter, however, set in with unusual severity, and the contents of the little box had to be spent, and poor Antonio seemed no nearer[Pg 263] to the only longing6 he now had in his old heart.
On this particular Christmas Day, after his vain attempt at being merry and Christmas-like, he dropped his head into his hands and gave way to some very gloomy thoughts.
There was no hope now of his ever seeing his old wife again. How tired she must be of standing11 by that fruit stall and watching in vain for him to turn the corner of the gay and picturesque12 street!
There she would stand day after day, with her crimson13 petticoat, and her tidy bodice, and the bright yellow handkerchief twisted round her head. Her dark eyes would look out softly and longingly for the old man who was never coming back. Yes, since the child had gone back to God, Marcia must be a very lonely woman.
After thinking thus for some time, until all the short daylight had faded and the lamps were lit one by one in the street below, Antonio began to pace up and down his little attic.[Pg 264]
He was feeling almost fierce in his longing and despair; the patient submission14 to what he believed an inevitable15 fate, which at most times characterized him, gave place to passionate16 utterances17, the natural outcome of his warm southern nature.
"Oh, God! give me back Marcia—let me see my old wife Marcia once again before I die," he pleaded several times.
After a little he thought he would change the current of his sad musings, and go out into the street with his hurdy-gurdy. As I have said before, he was always a favorite with the children, and they now crowded round him and begged for that merry Italian air to which they could dance. Antonio was feeling too unhappy to care about money, and it afforded him a passing pleasure to gratify the children, so he set down his barrel-organ in the dirty crowded street, and began to turn the handle.
The children, waiting for their own favorite air, collected closely round the old man; now it was coming, and they could dance, oh! so merrily, to the strains they loved.[Pg 265]
But—what was the matter? Antonio was looking straight before him, and turning the handle slowly and mechanically. Suddenly his whole face lit up with an expression of wonder, of pleasure, of astonishment18. He let go the handle of the barrel organ, and the music went out with a little crash, and the next instant he was pushing his way through the crowd of dirty children, and was bending over a little girl, with dark hair and dark, sweet, troubled eyes, who was standing without either bonnet19 or jacket spell-bound by the notes of the old hurdy-gurdy.
"Why, my little one—my little sweet one from the south, however did you come to a dreadful place like this?" said old Antonio.
At the sound of his voice, the child seemed to be roused out of a spell of terror; she trembled violently, she clasped her arms round his knees, and burst into sobs20 and cries.
"You are my organ-man—you are my own darling organ-man. Oh! I knew it must be you, and now you will take me home to my father."[Pg 266]
"But however did you come here, my dear little missy?"
"My name is Mona. I am Mona Sinclair, and Janet my maid—oh! how cruel she is; she was jealous of the dear Marcia I used to have in Italy, and she said she would punish me, and she would do it on Christmas Day. Father has not come home yet, and I have been so unhappy waiting for him, and Janet said she was tired of my always crying and missing my mamma, and she took me for a walk this afternoon, and she met some grandly dressed people, and they wanted her to go with them, and she said she would for a little, and she told me to stand at the street corner, and she would be back in ten minutes, but it seemed like hours and hours," continued the child excitedly, "and I was so cold, and so miserable, and I could not wait any longer, and I thought I would find my own way home, and I have been looking for it ever since, and I cannot find it. I asked one woman to tell me, but all she did was to hurry me into a corner and take off my fur cap and my warm jacket, and she looked so[Pg 267] wicked, and I've been afraid to ask any one since; but now you will take me home, you won't be unkind to me, my dear organ-man."
"Yes, I will take you home, my darling," said Antonio, and he lifted the little child tenderly into his arms.
[Pg 268]
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1
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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2
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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3
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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4
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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5
longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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6
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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7
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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8
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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9
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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10
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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11
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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12
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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13
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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14
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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15
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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16
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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17
utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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18
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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19
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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20
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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