The morning Astorian. [volume] (Astoria, Oregon) 1899-1930, 1906-02-25

European tillcttns did not quicken her ear to nature
but TO her the sound did not seem like the note
of bird The blossoms nodded and dipped as the
branches pushed aside and the explanation of
the music little boy holding n violin, crowded
through
The children stood and studied each other sol.
emily, The boy saw plump little girl Of the blond
Jewish type, dressed in nn Gting apron Of nm.
ganly length, with lamboyant purple bow in her
tightly braided hnir. She was n thoroughly plcbcan
child, stoid and uncompromSing, an enbroyo, Yid.
dlshc frau true descendant Of long line Of house.
keeping anccstrcsses. The ragged boy looked at her
out Of sooty eyes between curling black lashes In
his brown skin showed the sun OF Italy and his hair
twisted into rings and spirals at the ends The girl
seemed pleased with her inspection and after a
moments hesitation, she turned resolutely toward n
bench at the edge Of the path and seated herself with
the exaggerated boldness Of n shy child The boy
followed and sat down at the other end
II heard you play it. y said the GIRL pointing to
the violin
'Yes-oh yeS-I play now | play il wish !"
and he hugged the violin as though it were alive.
What is your namef" she quericd
Ny namel am Giovanni"
Ny name is Yctta Sulsky," she volunteered
Mine father, Mr.. Susky, he has place by Division
Street.-The makes clothes for the ladies-oh many
clothes-many, many ladies' Ny muter she is dead
sine" II was Yom Kippur and mine father he ain t
got m" no new mutter again. Ny father, Mr. Susky,
he IN rich man now; We amt no more living bv
Washington Street.
Where do you livei" inquired Giovanni.
I'VE live by Madison Avenue. since il was the
Purm oh by large swell house. and all the swell
people eating by the table, but amt having glad
To live by Madison Avenue amt! There was
lot Of children by Rivington Street where we was
lve we amt have no swell house by Rivington
street, but there was many children Only was
some swell kids here Maybe they ain t talk with me
Oh, ain I throw no glad no morel"
The girls stolid face crinkled into n sob and her
Opaque blue eyes filed with tears Giovanni had not
understood more than half Of what she said but his
tender little Italian heart was touched and he edged
nearer along the bench
Il, too, " he said. 81 tool am alone-Sec il is
so, y and he laid his hand on hers "So-I am in
ltalia-Oh the sky The howcrl The mountain
All the day am in the sun. All the dav make the
music Of my country! But see again Comes the
winter-there is no sun-there is not to eat-no
olive, no chestnut, no polcnta diet" and the
curled lashes closed over the vivid eyes, while the
curly head sank back in pantomme OF death
Comes the padrona Says, See there is Amerika
all with the white bread, and the good OIL and the
onion. 1t is but to take and cat Come with me to
AmerikaP And think see the good white breod
OF Amerika-l smell the good onion of Amerika-I
come DO | see the onion the OIL the white bread
Never-no ] make black the shoe of the man-the
shoe Of the LADY, give the money to the padrona.
And oh there is blue of the sky but always black
-black-no warm Of the sun-no good oil and |
onion-thc padrona permits not that make the
musc-Nevcrl And always comes singing in my
heart the voice of my country-my Italia! Watt
play it for you!'' And from the violin under his
chin he drew softly the air of Santa Lucia
The girl listened in bcwiIderment TO her a
country was merely location; not personality
that il should have voice She had no country of
her own and in her race patriotism had become but
dream Of a walled city; Of kings annointed Of God
of temple ard of treasures of gold and treasures
of silver. All the force which might have been love
of country concentrated itself in love of family and
of race and while Yetta did not greve for her ma
tive Galica, or the more remote Jerusalem, or even
for Rivingon Street place. she did long for the
Jewish children Of the slrms
But to the little italian tile music was voice
of the living fatherlandIt spoke of the rocks and
hills that had been part Of the Italians soul even
since his remote ancestor crossed the Rubcon with
Ceasar or shouted the name Of Octavls on the field
Of Phllippi-1Iis race had bred with every conquer
er; but though blood had mingled again and again,
all the diverse people had become children Of the
same sky, loyal to the same mountains voicing their
joy in the same laughing music, sons of the same
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