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1、【国外英文文学】Phil, the FiddlerPHIL, THE FIDDLERBY HORATIO ALGER, JR.PREFACEAmong the most interesting and picturesque classes of streetchildren in New York are the young Italian musicians, who wanderabout our streets with harps, violins, or tambourines, playingwherever they can secure an audience. They b
2、ecome Americanizedless easily than children of other nationalities, and both indress and outward appearance retain their foreign look, whilefew, even after several years residence, acquire even a passableknowledge of the English language.In undertaking, therefore, to describe this phase of street li
3、fe,I found, at the outset, unusual difficulty on account of myinadequate information. But I was fortunate enough to make theacquaintance of two prominent Italian gentlemen, long resident inNew York-Mr. A. E. Cerqua, superintendent of the Italian schoolat the Five Points, and through his introduction
4、, of Mr. G. F.Secchi de Casale, editor of the well-known Eco dItalia-fromwhom I obtained full and trustworthy information. A series ofarticles contributed by Mr. De Casale to his paper, on theItalian street children, in whom he has long felt a patriotic and sympathetic interest, I have found of grea
5、t service, and Ifreely acknowledge that, but for the information thus acquired, Ishould have been unable to write the present volume.My readers will learn with surprise, probably, of the hard lifeled by these children, and the inhuman treatment which theyreceive from the speculators who buy them fro
6、m their parents inItaly. It is not without reason that Mr. De Casale speaks ofthem as the White Slaves of New York. I may add, in passing,that they are quite distinct from the Italian bootblacks andnewsboys who are to be found in Chatham Street and the vicinityof the City Hall Park. These last are t
7、he children of residentItalians of the poorer class, and are much better off than themusicians. It is from their ranks that the Italian school,before referred to, draws its pupils.If the story of Phil the Fiddler, in revealing for the firsttime to the American public the hardships and ill treatment
8、ofthese wandering musicians shall excite an active sympathy intheir behalf, the author will feel abundantly repaid for hislabors. NEW YORK, APRIL 2, 1872.CONTENTS CHAPTER I. PHIL THE FIDDLER II. PHIL AND HIS PROTECTORIII. GIACOMOIV. AN INVITATION TO SUPPERV. ON THE FERRY BOATVI. THE BARROOMVII. THE
9、HOME OF THE BOYSVIII. A COLD DAYIX. PIETRO THE SPYX. FRENCHS HOTELXI. THE BOYS RECEPTIONXII. GIACOMOS PRESENTIMENTSXIII. PHIL FINDS A CAPITALISTXIV. THE TAMBOURINE GIRLXV. PHILS NEW PLANSXVI. THE FASHIONABLE PARTYXVII. THE PADRONE IS ANXIOUS XVIII. PHIL ELUDES HIS PURSUERXIX. PIETROS PURSUITXX. PIET
10、ROS DISAPPOINTMENTXXI. THE SIEGEXXII. THE SIEGE IS RAISEDXXIII. A PITCHED BATTLEXXIV. THE DEATH OF GIACOMOXXV. PHIL FINDS A FRIENDXXVI. CONCLUSIONPHIL THE FIDDLERCHAPTER IPHIL THE FIDDLERViva Garibaldi! sang a young Italian boy in an uptown street,accompanying himself on a violin which, from its bat
11、teredappearance, seemed to have met with hard usage.As the young singer is to be the hero of my story, I will pauseto describe him. He was twelve years old, but small of his age. His complexion was a brilliant olive, with the dark eyes peculiarto his race, and his hair black. In spite of the dirt, h
12、is facewas strikingly handsome, especially when lighted up by a smile,as was often the case, for in spite of the hardships of his lot,and these were neither few nor light, Filippo was naturally merryand light-hearted.He wore a velveteen jacket, and pantaloons which atoned, by theirextra length, for
13、the holes resulting from hard usage andantiquity. His shoes, which appeared to be wholly unacquaintedwith blacking, were, like his pantaloons, two or three sizes toolarge for him, making it necessary for him to shuffle alongungracefully.It was now ten oclock in the morning. Two hours had elapsedsinc
14、e Filippo, or Phil, as I shall call him, for the benefit ofmy readers unfamiliar with Italian names, had left the miserablehome in Crosby Street, where he and forty other boys lived incharge of a middle-aged Italian, known as the padrone. Of thisperson, and the relations between him and the boys, I
15、shallhereafter speak. At present I propose to accompany Phil.Though he had wandered about, singing and playing, for two hours,Phil had not yet received a penny. This made him somewhatuneasy, for he knew that at night he must carry home asatisfactory sum to the padrone, or he would be brutally beaten
16、;and poor Phil knew from sad experience that this hard taskmasterhad no mercy in such cases.The block in which he stood was adjacent to Fifth Avenue, and waslined on either side with brown-stone houses. It was quiet, andbut few passed through it during the busy hours of the day. ButPhils hope was th
17、at some money might be thrown him from a windowof some of the fine houses before which he played, but he seemedlikely to be disappointed, for he played ten minutes withoutapparently attracting any attention. He was about to change hisposition, when the basement door of one of the houses opened, anda
18、 servant came out, bareheaded, and approached him. Philregarded her with distrust, for he was often ordered away as anuisance. He stopped playing, and, hugging his violin closely,regarded her watchfully.Youre to come in, said the girl abruptly.Che cosa volete?1 said Phil, suspiciously.1 What do you
19、want?I dont understand your Italian rubbish, said the girl. Youre to come into the house.In general, boys of Phils class are slow in learning English. After months, and even years sometimes, their knowledge islimited to a few words or phrases. On the other hand, they pickup French readily, and as ma
20、ny of them, en route for America,spend some weeks, or months, in the French metropolis, it iscommon to find them able to speak the language somewhat. Phil,however, was an exception, and could manage to speak English alittle, though not as well as he could understand it.What for I go? he asked, a lit
21、tle distrustfully.My young master wants to hear you play on your fiddle, said theservant. Hes sick, and cant come out.All right! said Phil, using one of the first English phraseshe had caught. I will go.Come along, then.Phil followed his guide into the basement, thence up two flightof stairs, and al
22、ong a handsome hall into a chamber. The littlefiddler, who had never before been invited into a fine house,looked with admiration at the handsome furniture, and especiallyat the pictures upon the wall, for, like most of his nation, hehad a love for whatever was beautiful, whether in nature or art.Th
23、e chamber had two occupants. One, a boy of twelve years, waslying in a bed, propped up by pillows. His thin, pale face spokeof long sickness, and contrasted vividly with the brilliant brownface of the little Italian boy, who seemed the perfect picture ofhealth. Sitting beside the bed was a lady of m
24、iddle age andpleasant expression. It was easy to see by the resemblance thatshe was the mother of the sick boy.Phil looked from one to the other, uncertain what was required ofhim.Can you speak English? asked Mrs. Leigh.Si, signora, a little, answered our hero.My son is sick, and would like to hear
25、you play a little.And sing, too, added the sick boy, from the bed.Phil struck up the song he had been singing in the street, a songwell known to all who have stopped to listen to the boys of hisclass, with the refrain, Viva Garibaldi. His voice was clearand melodious, and in spite of the poor qualit
26、y of hisinstrument, he sang with so much feeling that the effect wasagreeable.The sick boy listened with evident pleasure, for he, too, had ataste for music.I wish I could understand Italian, he said, I think it must bea good song.Perhaps he can sing some English song, suggested Mrs. Leigh.Can you s
27、ing in English? she asked.Phil hesitated a moment, and then broke into the common streetditty, Shoe fly, dont bouder me, giving a quaint sound to thewords by his Italian accent.Do you know any more? asked Henry Leigh, when our hero hadfinished.Not English, said Phil, shaking his head.You ought to le
28、arn more.I can play more, said Phil, but I know not the words.Then play some tunes.Thereupon the little Italian struck up Yankee Doodle, which heplayed with spirit and evident enjoyment.Do you know the name of that? asked Henry.Phil shook his head.It is Yankee Doodle. Phil tried to pronounce it, but
29、 the words in his mouth had adroll sound, and made them laugh.How old are you? asked Henry.Twelve years.Then you are quite as old as I am.I wish you were as well and strong as he seems to be, said Mrs.Leigh, sighing, as she looked at Henrys pale face. That was little likely to be. Always a delicate
30、child, Henry hada year previous contracted a cold, which had attacked his lungs,and had gradually increased until there seemed little doubt thatin the long struggle with disease nature must succumb, and earlydeath ensue.How long have you been in this country?Un anno.How long is that?A year, said Hen
31、ry. I know that, because annus means a yearin Latin.Si, signor, a year, said Phil.And where do you come from?Da Napoli.That means from Naples, I suppose.Si, signor.Most of the little Italian musicians to be found in our streetsare brought from Calabria, the southern portion of Italy, wherethey are p
32、urchased from their parents, for a fixed sum, or rateof annual payment. But it is usual for them when questioned, tosay that they come from Naples, that being the principal city inthat portion of Italy, or indeed in the entire kingdom.Who do you live with, continued Henry.With the padrone.And who is
33、 the padrone?He take care of me-he bring me from Italy.Is he kind to you?Phil shrugged his shoulders.He beat me sometimes, he answered.Beats you? What for?If I bring little money.Does he beat you hard?Si, signor, with a stick.He must be a bad man, said Henry, indignantly.How much money must you carr
34、y home?Two dollars.But it isnt your fault, if people will not give you money.Non importa. He beat me.He ought to be beaten himself.Phil shrugged his shoulders. Like most boys of his class, to himthe padrone seemed all-powerful. The idea that his oppressivetaskmaster should be punished for his cruelt
35、y had never dawnedupon him. Knowing nothing of any law that would protect him, hesubmitted to it as a necessity, from which there was no escapeexcept by running away. He had not come to that yet, but some ofhis companions had done so, and he might some day.After this conversation he played another t
36、une. Mrs. Leigh drewout her purse, and gave him fifty cents. Phil took his fiddleunder his arm, and, following the servant, who now reappeared,emerged into the street, and moved onward.CHAPTER IIPHIL AND HIS PROTECTORTo a certain extent Phil was his own master; that is, he was atliberty to wander wh
37、ere he liked, provided he did not neglect hisbusiness, and returned to the lodging-house at night with therequired sum of money. But woe to him if he were caught holdingback any of the money for his own use. In that case, he would bebeaten, and sent to bed without his supper, while the padrone,accor
38、ding to the terms of his contract with the distant parentwould withhold from the amount due the latter ten times the sumkept by the boy. In the middle of the day he was allowed tospend three cents for bread, which was the only dinner allowedhim. Of course, the boys were tempted to regale themselves
39、moreluxuriously, but they incurred a great risk in doing so. Sometimes the padrone followed them secretly, or employed othersto do so, and so was able to detect them. Besides, theytraveled, in general, by twos and threes, and the system ofespionage was encouraged by the padrone. So mutual distrust w
40、asinspired, and the fear of being reported made the boys honest.Phil left the house of Mr. Leigh in good spirits. Though he hadearned nothing before, the fifty cents he had just received madea good beginning, and inspired in him the hope of gettingtogether enough to save him a beating, for one night
41、 at least.He walked down toward Sixth Avenue, and turning the corner walkeddown town. At length he paused in front of a tobacconists shop,and began to play. But he had chosen an unfortunate time andplace. The tobacconist had just discovered a deficiency in hismoney account, which he suspected to be
42、occasioned by thedishonesty of his assistant. In addition to this he had risenwith a headache, so that he was in a decidedly bad humor. Musichad no charms for him at that moment, and he no sooner heard thefirst strains of Phils violin than he rushed from the shopbareheaded, and dashed impetuously at
43、 the young fiddler.Get away from my shop, you little vagabond! he cried. If Ihad my way, you should all be sent out of the country.Phil was quick to take a hint. He saw the menace in theshopkeepers eyes, and, stopping abruptly, ran farther down thestreet, hugging his fiddle, which he was afraid the
44、angrytobacconist might seize and break. This, to him, would be anirreparable misfortune and subject him to a severe punishment,though the fault would not be his.Next he strolled into a side street, and began to play in frontof some dwelling-houses. Two or three young children, who hadbeen playing in
45、 the street, gathered about him, and one of themgave him a penny. They were clamorous for another tune, but Philcould not afford to work for nothing, and, seeing no prospects ofadditional pay, took his violin, and walked away, much to theregret of his young auditors, who, though not rich, wereapprec
46、iative. They followed him to the end of the block, hopingthat he would play again, but they were disappointed.Phil played two or three times more, managing to obtain in alltwenty-five cents additional. He reached the corner ofThirteenth Street just as the large public school, known as theThirteenth Street School, was dismissed for its noonintermission.Give us a tune, Joh