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Did it stir those who had had it in their ears ever since they were naked, sunburned babies rolling in the hot sun of the Sahara? Could it seem as ordinary to them as the cold uproar of the piano-organ to the urchins of Whitechapel, or the whine of the fiddle to the peasants of Touraine where Suzanne was born? She wanted to know. Suzanne returned with the jacket.
Yes, he was interested, and the energetic sense of loathing for the negro proved it. The music, loud and strident an ordinary Italian piano-organ having been introduced amongst the Oriental instruments banged on, and then abruptly came to a stop when the negro cracked his whip.
And for a time she was not conscious where she was, and heard none of the noises round about her. It was the song of Mergellina, sung at some distance off in dialect, by a tenor voice to the accompaniment of a piano-organ. Hermione ceased from gazing at the drops on the glass, looked up, listened. The song came nearer.
"And these musicians?" said I, pointing out some works of Weber, Rossini, Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn, Meyerbeer, Herold, Wagner, Auber, Gounod, and a number of others, scattered over a large model piano-organ which occupied one of the panels of the drawing-room.
Where the old pigsty stood, children dance and sing to the strumming of a cracked piano-organ propelled on wheels by an Italian and his wife. The park that has come to take the place of the slum will curtail the undertaker's profits, as it has lessened the work of the police. Murder was the fashion of the day that is past.
The theatre, at such a time, is doubly warm and bright; every shop is a happy harbour of refuge there, behind the counter, stand persons quite at their ease, ready to chat as they serve you; the supper bars make tempting display under their many gas-jets; the public houses are full of people who all have money to spend. Then clangs out the piano-organ and what could be cheerier!
He had sometimes seen, half with amusement, half with a far deeper interest, the physical effect which the music of some itinerant piano-organ would produce upon street children; they seemed affected by some curious intoxication; their gestures, their smiles, their self-conscious glances, their dancing movements, so unnatural in a sense, and yet so instinctive, made the process appear almost magical in its effects.
A piano-organ was pouring the metallic music through our open windows, while a voice of brass brayed the words, which I have since obtained, and print above for identification by such as know their Italy better than I. They will not thank me for reminding them of a tune so lately epidemic in that land of aloes and blue skies; but at least it is unlikely to run in their heads as the ribald accompaniment to a tragedy; and it does in mine.
The little furry, lonely thing was drowsily clinging there, as if it had forgotten what it had come for seduced, maybe, like himself, from labour by these last rays of the sun. Its wings, close-furled, were glistening; its eyes seemed closed. And the piano-organ played on, a tune of yearning, waiting, yearning....
We are all mad about it. And it won the first prize at last year's festa of Piedigrotta." "Comment donc?" exclaimed Artois, as if startled. "What? no yes. I like it. It's a capital song. Lemon? That's right and red pepper. Va bene!" And he bent over his plate rather hurriedly and began to eat. The piano-organ and the singing voice died away down the hill, going towards Mergellina.
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