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Updated: May 5, 2025
A tourist searching his Baedeker for a genteel but not oppressively aristocratic pension in the open parts of Naples would have found himself directed by an asterisk to the establishment kept by Mrs. Gluck on the Mergellina; frequented by English and Germans, and very comfortable. The recommendation was a just one. Mrs.
"Ma si, Signore," said the man, looking at Artois with a sudden flash of surprise. "The family Buonavista, I have known it all my life." "The family? Oh, then there are many of them?" The man laughed. "Enrico Buonavista has made many children, and is proud of it, I can tell you. He has ten his father before him " "Then they are Neapolitans?" "Neapolitans! No, Signore. They are from Mergellina."
I can hear them!" He held up his hand. Not far away there was a sound of voices speaking together. "Shall I go and tell them, Signora?" After a moment Hermione said: "Yes, Gaspare go and tell them." He went away, and she waited, leaning on the balustrade and looking down to the dim sea, from which only the night before Ruffo's voice had floated up to her, singing the song of Mergellina.
"Only that could account for what you have just told me." "But I don't understand. She only went to Mergellina." "Did you see her before she went there?" "Yes." "Was she as usual?" "I don't think she was. I think Madre has been changing nearly all this summer. That is why I am so afraid. You know she has been changing." He was silent. The difficulty of the situation was great.
"There are people at Mergellina who are bad people," he said. "We are not Neapolitan. We had better keep to ourselves. You have too much heart, Signora, a great deal too much heart, and you do not always know what people are." "Do you think I ought not to have given Ruffo that money for his mother?" Hermione asked, almost meekly. "Si, Signora. It is not for you to give his mother money.
On a radiant day of September in the following year, from the little harbor of Mergellina a white boat with a green line put off. It was rowed by Gaspare, who wore his festa suit, and it contained two people, a man and a women, who had that morning been quietly married.
"I met one of the fishermen. He had seen you row into the cave." "Oh!" She looked at him more steadily. His brown face was hot. Perspiration stood on his forehead just under the thick and waving hair. "Where have you been, Gaspare? Not to Naples in all this heat?" "I have been to Mergellina, Signorina." "Mergellina! Did you see Ruffo?" "Si, Signorina."
Had he noticed this strange, this subtle resemblance between the fisher-boy and the dead man at once, long before she had? Had he been swifter to see such a thing than she? "What do you mean, Signora? What are you talking about?" He looked ugly. "How can a fisher-boy, a nothing from Mergellina, look like my Padrone?" Now he lifted his eyes, and they were fierce or so she thought.
Some excuse might perhaps be found for the hysterical terror of the poor inhabitants of the Mergellina or the Mercato, who spent their time in wailing within the churches or in screaming for the public exhibition of the venerated relics of their patron Saint, which again on this occasion the Archbishop, nolens volens, was compelled by the mob to produce.
It seems that he is notoriously violent and jealous, and thoroughly unscrupulous. He is a member of the Camorra, too. He pestered Peppina with his attentions, coming day after day from Mergellina, where he lives with his wife. One night he entered the house and made a scene. Peppina refused finally to receive his advances, and told him she hated him before all the neighbors.
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