The story of Nedda, an Italian reservist's wife

Front matter

SUBSCRIPTION FORMS

Having received " The Story of Nedda " and wishing to assist in preventing severe suffering here in Boston and vicinity among the destitute families of Italian reservists who are now in Italy at the front, I take pleasure in subscribing and enclosing

the sum of to the New England Italian War Relief

Foreword

THIS little tale postulates the non-existence of the New England Italian War Relief Fund and endeavors to present the situation which would long ago have confronted many of our poor Italian women in the North End, with their little children, if such a relief had not been organized, and which will inevitably confront them if the fund breaks down through lack of support from the public.

Both the author and the Executive Committee of the fund wish to express their gratitude and appreciation to Mr. John S. Sargent for having so generously made a drawing for the frontispiece. They also wish to thank the Houghton, Mifflin Company for having kindly permitted two illustrations in publications by them to be reproduced in this book and Mr. C. Howard Roberts for his personal efforts and assistance on matters connected with its publication. They furthermore express their thanks and recognition of the generosity of Mr. Adrian J. Iorio for having specially drawn and given a cover design.

ILLUSTRATIONS

Nedda Frontispiece :

By John S. Sargent

FACING PAGE

Nedda's Madonna 26

From " The Holy Night " by Correggio

Nedda's Quarter 74'

An Italian Reservist's Wife

WHEN the big White Star liner Canopic entered the port of Boston from Italy and backed in beside the new dock, there were no happier hearts among all its twelve hundred immigrants than Marco and Nedda Lucetti. They had embarked from sunny Sicily on a double venture, matrimony and a new start in life, and they were both very young and very much in love. So indeed what more could one want to explain the smile on Nedda's pretty face and the confidence in Marco's black eyes as they looked down from the side of the ship on the preparations for debarkation?

It had been a boy and girl love, theirs in the straggling hillside village behind Palermo, and it had ripened frankly and openly among the lemon trees of that peaceful countryside until the old priest blessed them and gave them to each other. A small legacy of eight hundred lire ($160) from Marco's old grandfather, who had died the previous autumn, had made their emigration possible; and though there was no better or stronger workman than Marco in the village and Nedda could wash at the riverside with any girl thereabouts and cook home-made macaroni with the best of them, yet she and Marco decided upon this journey to far-away America in the hope of larger opportunities and better things in life. It was Marco's idea principally. He was full of it and most confident of steady employment there and high pay. Had not Renaldo Monti come back, after fifteen years, a rich man and able to build his own house and do nothing save watch his lemons ripen and his wife and children grow fat from all the good things they ate? So it was settled and they were married, and a few days later they boarded the Canopic at Palermo and sailed westward towards the land of promise.

The young couple made a really charming picture as they stood together by the ship's rail, a little apart from the mass of the immigrants, who were already crowding towards the gangway, and even the stevedores on the wharf seemed to look up at them with appreciation.

Marco, with his hat off and a red handkerchief knotted around his neck, was of good height, slender and sinewy, with a skin of dull bronze, clean-cut features, and a well-shaped head, framed in glossy black curls and firmly set on manly shoulders. His attitude was typically Latin, graceful, almost nonchalant, but in his easy relaxation one felt much strength in reserve and the power for work when called upon.

Nedda seemed such a little thing, small even for an Italian woman, but well made and as yet unbent by drudgery, like the older women of her class. She was so thin she looked only a slip of a girl and would have been taken by most observers for her companion's sister. Her head-shawl had slipped back on her shoulders in her preoccupation, revealing a pretty and very winning little face. If her features were less regular than Marco's, she had a sweetness of expression that was exceptional and a smile that was irresistible, together with coloring such as only Italy can give and very lovely dark eyes.

So these two arrived in the country of their dreams, and a week later found them living in a tiny bedroom and still more tiny kitchen in a tenement house in the Italian quarter in Boston's North End. The rent was high for such poor accommodation and living was dear, as they soon discovered, and when war began in Europe prices rose still higher. There were, however, plenty of jobs to be had for an able-bodied youth like Marco, who was not afraid of hard manual labor, and in all the city there was not a more contented couple than the Lucettis.

Two young persons, very happy together and busy with the small affairs of daily life, have not much time to make acquaintances, and thus it happened that neither Marco nor Nedda made many friends in the Italian colony, though of course their neighbors soon knew them by sight and commonly referred to them as the beautiful bride and groom. Nedda, when she went marketing, and Marco, going and returning from work, were objects of approving regard, for Italians are quick to perceive beauty and love it.

Some months after these young people had arrived in this new land of opportunity, Nedda made a discovery and, having no intimate woman friend to whom to impart it, she whispered it to Marco, hiding her pretty face on his shoulder as she did so. It was a very momentous little secret to both of them, though one as old as is humanity — the hope of a coming joy, a new little life between them, to bind them even closer to each other. Marco was filled with a buoyant courage as he set out the next morning, for the coming responsibility had brought a greater determination into his life, a brighter glint of resolve into his eyes. He meant to be head of his gang of Italians in the street department, and that before long. Indeed even now he sometimes directed the men whenever the foreman was absent.

As he made his way through the crowd that February morning he saw an unusual number of people in front of the bulletin boards of the newspapers. Being well ahead of time and with a few minutes to spare, he stopped and listened to the conversation about him, hoping to catch something of the latest war news, for though he had learned to speak English brokenly, he was still unable to read this strange new tongue.

It so happened that next to him among the bystanders was an Italian workman whom he knew slightly. This man had been for some years in the United States and both read and spoke English. To Marco's question his acquaintance replied briefly, but with startling effect. There was likelihood of Italy entering the Great European War and of joining France and England and Russia against Austria. The man spat as he spoke the latter hated name, for he was from northern Italy. The bulletins were as to whether Italy would be drawn into the war or not. " If our nation does fight, I may not have to go, for I am old, but you will be among the first reservists to be called back. You are young and they will need you to stop the Austrian bullets," Marco's compatriot continued with a laugh.

Marco did not reply, but started on with a heavy heart. Called away! To leave his little Nedda, his all, alone here in this foreign city and with so little money and no help from him. What would she do? How would she live, a stranger not knowing the country or even its language? Marco turned faint for the first time in his life. This big swarthy fellow was completely unnerved and sat down heavily on a bench on the Common to think. He reviewed the situation all over again: what would become of Nedda, what would she do, if he were long at the war — if he were killed? He foresaw how helpless she would be alone and feared that the pittance his country might give her as a soldier's wife during his absence would count for very little in this expensive land.

The more he dwelt on this tragic possibility the more hopeless did it seem for his poor little girlwife, and a bitter resolve began to form in his mind — to refuse his country's call and remain to protect her and their child. He knew it would mean dishonor forever, and his face saddened into deep lines as he remembered the " Hymn of Garibaldi " of his childhood days and thought of his beloved Italy, perhaps soon to be in need of his help and abandoned by him who loved her so dearly. A church clock striking the hour recalled him to a sense of his present duty and he proceeded to his work, but with a spiritless step.

When he returned home that night his face was set in an expression which Nedda had never seen, and there were lines which she had not noticed before. Quick to imagine, she feared he might be ill, and the more so as he ate hardly any supper. Then it occurred to her that he might have had trouble with the foreman or even lost his job, for she knew that the city was at that time economizing and that many men in the street department had lately been discharged. She said nothing, however, for with true feminine instinct she understood that he would rather tell her at his own time and in his own way, but her poor little face lost all its rosy bloom and grew drawn and worried as she waited on him.

After supper, in the gaslight in the bare little room which had become so endeared to them both, he told her very gently about the latest news of the great war, of the possibility of Italy's entering the struggle, and of the probability of his being called back to fight, if Italy became involved.

His reference to the war did not startle her, for they spoke of it almost daily; but when he mentioned the likelihood of Italy's becoming a combatant — of this she had heard nothing, thought nothing — it came to her as a great shock. That Marco's class would be one of the first to be summoned she realized all too well. She kept silent for a moment and crept closer to him, while she tried to grasp the purport of his words. Her Marco gone and she alone in this strange place ! The thought of her loneliness and defencelessness frightened her. What if she should never see him again? At that presentment she drew still more closely to him, as though, even then, he were being torn from her.

Soon she grew calmer in the protection of those strong arms and could comprehend what he was saying to her. He was telling her that Italy was not yet at war, might never engage in the conflict, and that he might not be recalled. And if he were forced to return it might not be until the summer, and there would be enough money to see her through her childbirth and well again. Then there would be an allowance for her from the Italian government; that was certain. He did not know how much, but it might be more for those wives of reservists who were living in this land which was so dear for all to live in, and perhaps it would be sufficient.

Nedda, however, found it hard to be comforted and clung to him the more as she protested that she could not remain without him, and that she would go back with him on the boat as far as Sicily, among her own people, where she would feel safe and at home.

Marco petted her and kissed her sad little tearstained face, for he felt that what she proposed could not be encouraged. As the wife of a reservist, even if she were allowed to sail with him, the cost of her return would absorb some of their small savings, and if, at the end of the war, the remainder had been exhausted for her support and that of the baby so soon to arrive, it might be impossible for them to find money for the expense of another emigration to America. Furthermore the contest might not last very long, and in that event it would have been the height of folly to have broken up their life in their new home in a country where he meant to prosper and grow rich. They would have lost a chance which might never be theirs again, and his pride stiffened at the thought of their returning thus from a land to which they had sailed away with such high hopes.

It was late when Nedda grew calmer, soothed by his tenderness. They went to bed, but not to sleep. Though he lay very still, so as not to disturb her, all the terrible possibilities of their future held satanic carnival in his mind — how to shield her, how to support her while he was away, perhaps for a year, perhaps longer. Then the darkest thought of all confronted him again with sinister countenance — what if he were killed ! Nedda seemed to sleep at first, but later he knew that she was awake and that she was crying. He thought it best to make no effort at consolation ; perhaps she would drop off to sleep tired out. This she seemed to do after a time, and when he was sure of it, he praised God. She sleeps, he thought, my poor little wife. Her heart is with the angels.

When it was morning he arose quietly and lighted the fire almost noiselessly and had the kettle boiling before Nedda awoke and got up hastily, looking very pinched and worn. She thanked him and called him her good Marco, but nothing was said of the subject that was in both their minds and lay so heavily across their hearts. And thus it was during the weeks and months that followed; while all the Italian quarter was chattering daily like a big family of magpies over the war and the prospects of Italy's becoming engaged, in this one little household the dreaded matter was rarely mentioned, though its dark shadow stood always beside them.

II

WINTER had passed and it was May, a beautiful, warm May for New England, like an Italian April. The time of Nedda's confinement was drawing near when Marco returned rather later than usual one evening from his work. He seemed very tired and quite dazed and Nedda thought he smelt somewhat strongly of wine, a thing she had never before noticed in him. After a little the truth came out. Italy was to enter the conflict and was summoning her reserves ; his class came first and might be called any day. He pulled a much tattered newspaper from his pocket and showed her the paragraph, of which, being in English, she could not read a word.

Never had she seen him like this ; he seemed dismayed, broken, and hardly capable of facing the crisis, and then she understood how much he must have suffered for her in all these weary months of waiting and harrowing doubt. He muttered to himself at times rather than spoke to her, saying over and over again something about " Italia " and " La Patria," and then he turned to her and drew her to him. So great was her distress for him that she forgot her own situation and, putting her arms around his shoulders and her face against his, promised to be brave and tried to persuade him that all would be well with her until his return.

Two days later that which she so much feared became a certainty — his class was called. It was announced in Boston's weekly Italian newspaper, the " Gazzetta del Massachusetts." It appeared to her that her heart stopped beating when he told her. She was silent, stupefied by a paralyzing fear, which seemed to make speech or action impossible. She felt that, if she could only cry out, it would be a relief, but she was as though frozen, speechless, and words were now as impossible to her as tears. She went about her daily duties as usual, but almost unconsciously, for a pitiless, relentless voice was constantly repeating in her ear, " He is called ! He is called ! "

She tried to pray, but she could not collect her thoughts sufficiently to do so. Before, in those days of suspense, of uncertainty, she had been able to find relief in tears and in prayers, but now she was so numb, so powerless to give expression to all that she felt, that she seemed to herself hardly to feel, hardly to live. She went into the Italian church near by, a quiet place where she had always found help, but its peace and sanctity seemed to mean nothing to her now and held no refuge from that terrible voice, " He is called ! He is called ! "

When Marco was at home she did her best to talk and appear as usual, as though his going were a commonplace thing over which they need not worry. She purchased wool and made him new socks, mended and cleaned his clothes, and packed his small valise half a dozen times over before the time of parting came.

Though Marco seemed to be reassured by his little wife's calmness and apparent resignation, he was not deceived. He knew how she was being tortured by apprehension and despair, and watching her uncomplaining anguish wrung his heart. He said nothing, however, there was so little to be said in the face of this great calamity ; so he bore it in a silence which was almost as undemonstrative as hers. Previously, when that which had come to pass was impending, he had talked much of the briefness of their possible separation, of the certainty of his return ; but now that they stood face to face with the fact of his departure for the front and all the dangers and obscurity of the future, words seemed meaningless. Around them the quarter was humming like a hive, but here, in their tiny nest, these two young souls were mute and overwhelmed.

Before his class was called Marco had debated many times in his mind whether it would not be better to turn his back on his native land and remain with Nedda. Now that the summons had come, however, he knew that he could not disobey, and he felt that greatly as she suffered, Nedda would not have him deny that summons. They were Latins, these two, and love of country is the hall-mark of the Latin race. The call of a hundred generations was pulsing in his blood and he knew he must go.

A visit to the Italian consul was followed by a short notification two days later that Marco would be sent back on Friday of the next week by the Cretic, which would sail from Boston direct to Palermo and Naples; that was in just six days' time. Only on hearing this news did Nedda break the bonds of passivity which seemed to pin her down. When she comprehended that in a week's time she would be alone, she gave a low, half-sobbing moan and flung herself upon him, clinging to him and shuddering, and for a long time he found it impossible to calm her. When at last she grew quiet it hurt him to see her, there was such a look in her face. Her features seemed cut from wax, they were so immobile and colorless. Was this his little Nedda who, a few short weeks ago, had been all sparkle and cheerfulness and response ?

He found relief in busying himself about whatever needed to be done in the way of preparation. He asked at the city Office of Works for the six months' leave of absence which was allowed in such cases from the department he was serving, and also transferred his savings in the Italian bank near where they lived to Nedda's name, so that she could draw them out as she needed them. These gradual accumulations amounted to two hundred and forty dollars, part of which he had brought from Italy. He drew just ten dollars to take with him for pocket money, which he got changed into Italian coin, and the balance of two hundred and thirty dollars remained for Nedda. He believed that this would more than suffice for her confinement and the first months with the little one, and after that he might be back, who knew? The smallness of the amount worried him, however. Two hundred and thirty dollars would have seemed a fortune to Marco in Italy, but he knew the cost of living in this strangely expensive land, and experience had changed his standard of values.

Shortly before Marco left he drew Nedda very tenderly to his side one evening and talked to her of the future quite frankly and simply. He advised her as best he could what she was to do during his absence and in case he should never return. He counselled her above all to try to learn English, so that, if it became necessary later, she might the more readily find work. But at present, of course, there would be preparations for the baby to take up her time. He had made inquiries and gave her the address of an Italian doctor in the quarter whom she could send for when the hour of trial came. Then there was a woman living in the apartment below them whom they knew slightly and who might be of help. That would be better than a hospital, for Marco had a horror of hospitals, where he believed there was small consideration for the poor, and besides he had been told that, as a foreigner, it would be more difficult for Nedda to get admittance into one.

He seemed to have foreseen everything in his love for her, and it was easy to see that he had given all the details serious thought. Above all he admonished her to beware of new friends here among strangers, for Marco had had many glimpses of life in the streets of this great place and he realized how young and inexperienced his little Nedda was. " And now," he concluded, " to-morrow is to be our last day together before I leave, and it must be our holiday, dearest. We shall go down by the sea and sit there all day long and watch the waves and the sky, and it shall be a never-forgotten day for us both."

So on the following day, a brilliant morning in early June, they took the daily excursion boat for one of the great beaches on the south shore, near the city, and after a delightful sail down the harbor they found themselves seated on the wide crescent of shining sand. What happy hours those were, sitting there together in the sunlight, breathing in fresh salt breezes and watching occasional gulls pass by! Marco had decided well, for Nedda almost forgot her trouble; he seemed so near to her and the day was so sparkling and gay. They ate a fish dinner at a small restaurant, the only one open at that early season of the year, and they had their pictures taken together by a beach photographer, as a last souvenir. Marco promised that he would wear his copy next to his heart always, while Nedda made up her mind she would put hers beside her bed, just below the picture of the Madonna, where she could look at it a hundred times a day. And so it passed, that bright, cheerful, parting day between this boy and girl, husband and wife.

It was only when they had returned to their little tenement in the North End that the shadow of apprehension began to deepen again and the fearful heartache of approaching parting blanched Nedda's cheeks and chilled her through and through. She clung to him despairingly all through the night, as though she could never let him leave her, for she was conscious that every hour was bringing her nearer to the moment of which she could not even bear to think.

The vessel was to sail from South Boston at three o'clock, from the same dock at which they had arrived but little more than a year ago, so happy and hopeful and enthusiastic. Marco had asked the woman in the flat below, Mrs. Gallo, to go to the boat with them, so that Nedda might have someone to return home with her; and thus everything was arranged for the departure. Most of the reservists intended to march in a body to the wharf with a band, but Marco preferred to be with Nedda till the last moment possible, and so was not to join in the procession.

The next morning was a time of bustle and excitement, which helped them both to bear up as the final hours ticked away. Two other reservists were leaving from the same tenement house, and there was much movement and many animated discussions on landings and stairs. Marco had to go to the consulate for his papers and other little preparations had to be made. Nedda was very calm and collected, more so than she had ever been; she seemed to be attending to the various details in an almost impersonal way.

It was only when she had fastened the little ribbon rosette in Italian colors, which she had made, in Marco's buttonhole that she suddenly flung herself on his breast and clung to him in a passion of weeping. In a few hours she would be alone, alone in this strange land, so far from home and friends, and with no one to protect her and love her. The feeling of his big firm chest against her, of his strong man's arms around her, brought to her still more overwhelmingly the sense of her coming defencelessness and isolation. He, her Marco, to be taken so far away from her, into danger, perhaps to death, and she, inexperienced, alone, amid strangers, about to become a mother, with no work and no means of getting any, not even knowing the language of this country, what was to become of her? She shook against him in a convulsion of anguish and despair, holding him to her as though she could never let him go. " Marco mio, Marco caro. No, no, no," she repeated again and again, as though putting the thought of the inevitable far, far away from her. Marco was silent ; with a man's reticence he found words difficult and his own emotion was so great that he dared not trust himself to speak. He stroked the small head with his hard, work-worn hand, with a tenderness that seemed to soothe her, for after a few minutes her agitation quieted and she was crying silently against his breast and nestling there as a tired child, whose weariness had found refuge in a safe shelter.

A knock at the door interrupted them. It was one of the other reservists come to speak to Marco. He was glad of the intrusion, for it had seemed to him that he could never put her from him, and when he moved as though to do so she held to him so despairingly that each moment seemed to make it harder to release her. He kept the other man in conversation until he believed that the crisis had passed, and when the visitor had gone Nedda was again herself and already occupied in cooking the dinner.

They left for the pier about two o'clock. Marco said there was no need to start earlier. The other woman, Mrs. Gallo, was with them when Marco turned the key in the kitchen door and gave it to Nedda and they went down the narrow stairway. Even in the dim light of the stair landing Marco saw that Nedda was very white, but she said nothing. and seemed to have regained her habitual composure. Marco was thankful, for he felt that he could not bear another scene like that of the morning. If she threw herself again into his arms in such a way, he feared that he would desert country and duty and everything and remain with her.

The long walk across the city to the wharf was a good thing for them both. It braced them and diverted their thoughts, and when they arrived at the pier the large crowd of reservists and those seeing them off, who were already assembled there, made intimate talk impossible. Nedda clung very close to Marco, but she remained calm and for the most part silent. Marco was furthermore encumbered by his heavy valise, which acted as a barrier to hold them a little apart, and the presence of Mrs. Gallo, who was talkative, necessitated only general remarks. Soon the main body of reservists appeared marching onto the dock, headed by the band playing the " Hymn of Garibaldi " with deafening gusto, and this added to the excitement around them. Marco seemed to have caught some of it, for his eyes sparkled and Nedda thought with a pang that he had never looked more handsome. She had made up her mind to be brave if she could, and the music somehow gave her courage.