the complete writings-2-第38部分

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at　I　envy　him。　His　business　is　a　new　one　to　me；　and　is　an　occupation　that　one　would　not　care　to　recommend　to　a　friend　until　he　had　tried　it：　it　is　being　carried　about　in　a　basket。　　As　I　went　up　the　new　Massa　road　the　other　day；　I　met　a　ragged；　stout；　and　rather　dirty　woman；　with　a　large　shallow　basket　on　her　head。　　In　it　lay　her　husband；　a　large　man；　though　I　think　a　little　abbreviated　as　to　his　legs。　　The　woman　asked　alms。　　Talk　of　Diogenes　in　his　tub！　　How　must　the　world　look　to　a　man　in　a　basket；　riding　about　on　his　wife's　head？　　When　I　returned；　she　had　put　him　down　beside　the　road　in　the　sun；　and　almost　in　danger　of　the　passing　vehicles。　　I　suppose　that　the　affectionate　creature　thought　that；　if　he　got　a　new　injury　in　this　way；　his　value　in　the　beggar　market　would　be　increased。　　I　do　not　mean　to　do　this　exemplary　wife　any　injustice；　and　I　only　suggest　the　idea　in　this　land；　where　every　beggar　who　is　born　with　a　deformity　has　something　to　thank　the　Virgin　for。　　This　custom　of　carrying　your　husband　on　your　head　in　a　basket　has　something　to　recommend　it；　and　is　an　exhibition　of　faith　on　the　one　hand；　and　of　devotion　on　the　other；　that　is　seldom　met　with。　　Its　consideration　is　commended　to　my　countrywomen　at　home。　　It　is；　at　least；　a　new　commentary　on　the　apostolic　remark；　that　the　man　is　the　head　of　the　woman。　　It　is；　in　some　respects；　a　happy　division　of　labor　in　the　walk　of　life：　she　furnishes　the　locomotive　power；　and　he　the　directing　brains；　as　he　lies　in　the　sun　and　looks　abroad；　which　reminds　me　that　the　sun　is　getting　hot　on　my　back。　　The　little　bunch　of　bells　in　the　convent　tower　is　jangling　out　a　suggestion　of　worship；　or　of　the　departure　of　the　hours。　　It　is　time　to　eat　an　orange。

Vesuvius　appears　to　be　about　on　a　level　with　my　eyes　and　I　never　knew　him　to　do　himself　more　credit　than　to…day。　　The　whole　coast　of　the　bay　is　in　a　sort　of　obscuration；　thicker　than　an　Indian　summer　haze；　and　the　veil　extends　almost　to　the　top　of　Vesuvius。　　But　his　summit　is　still　distinct；　and　out　of　it　rises　a　gigantic　billowy　column　of　white　smoke；　greater　in　quantity　than　on　any　previous　day　of　our　sojourn；　and　the　sun　turns　it　to　silver。　　Above　a　long　line　of　ordinary　looking　clouds；　float　great　white　masses；　formed　of　the　sulphurous　vapor。　　This　manufacture　of　clouds　in　a　clear；　sunny　day　has　an　odd　appearance；　but　it　is　easy　enough；　if　one　has　such　a　laboratory　as　Vesuvius。　　How　it　tumbles　up　the　white　smoke！　　It　is　piled　up　now；　I　should　say；　a　thousand　feet　above　the　crater；　straight　into　the　blue　sky；a　pillar　of　cloud　by　day。　　One　might　sit　here　all　day　watching　it；　listening　the　while　to　the　melodious　spring　singing　of　the　hundreds　of　birds　which　have　come　to　take　possession　of　the　garden；　receiving　southern　reinforcements　from　Sicily　and　Tunis　every　morning；　and　think　he　was　happy。　　But　the　morning　has　gone；　and　I　have　written　nothing。




THE　PRICE　OF　ORANGES

If　ever　a　northern　wanderer　could　be　suddenly　transported　to　look　down　upon　the　Piano　di　Sorrento；　he　would　not　doubt　that　he　saw　the　Garden　of　the　Hesperides。　　The　orange…trees　cannot　well　be　fuller：　their　branches　bend　with　the　weight　of　fruit。　　With　the　almond…trees　in　full　flower；　and　with　the　silver　sheen　of　the　olive　leaves；　the　oranges　are　apples　of　gold　in　pictures　of　silver。　　As　I　walk　in　these　sunken　roads；　and　between　these　high　walls；　the　orange　boughs　everywhere　hang　over；　and　through　the　open　gates　of　villas　I　look　down　alleys　of　golden　glimmer；　roses　and　geraniums　by　the　walk；　and　the　fruit　above；gardens　of　enchantment；　with　never　a　dragon；　that　I　can　see；　to　guard　them。

All　the　highways　and　the　byways；　the　streets　and　lanes；　wherever　I　go；　from　the　sea　to　the　tops　of　the　hills；　are　strewn　with　orange…peel；　so　that　one；　looking　above　and　below；　comes　back　from　a　walk　with　a　golden　dazzle　in　his　eyes；a　sense　that　yellow　is　the　prevailing　color。　　Perhaps　the　kerchiefs　of　the　dark…skinned　girls　and　women；　which　take　that　tone；　help　the　impression。　　The　inhabitants　are　all　orange…eaters。　　The　high　walls　show　that　the　gardens　are　protected　with　great　care；　yet　the　fruit　seems　to　be　as　free　as　apples　are　in　a　remote　New　England　town　about　cider…time。

I　have　been　trying；　ever　since　I　have　been　here；　to　ascertain　the　price　of　oranges；　not　for　purposes　of　exportation；　nor　yet　for　the　personal　importation　that　I　daily　practice；　but　in　order　to　give　an　American　basis　of　fact　to　these　idle　chapters。　　In　all　the　paths　I　meet；　daily；　girls　and　boys　bearing　on　their　heads　large　baskets　of　the　fruit；　and　little　children　with　bags　and　bundles　of　the　same；　as　large　as　they　can　stagger　under；　and　I　understand　they　are　carrying　them　to　the　packers；　who　ship　them　to　New　York；　or　to　the　depots；　where　I　see　them　lying　in　yellow　heaps；　and　where　men　and　women　are　cutting　them　up；　and　removing　the　peel；　which　goes　to　England　for　preserves。　　I　am　told　that　these　oranges　are　sold　for　a　couple　of　francs　a　hundred。　　That　seems　to　me　so　dear　that　I　am　not　tempted　into　any　speculation；　but　stroll　back　to　the　Tramontano；　in　the　gardens　of　which　I　find　better　terms。

The　only　trouble　is　to　find　a　sweet　tree；　for　the　Sorrento　oranges　are　usually　sour　in　February；　and　one　needs　to　be　a　good　judge　of　the　fruit；　and　know　the　male　orange　from　the　female；　though　which　it　is　that　is　the　sweeter　I　can　never　remember　（and　should　not　dare　to　say；　if　I　did；　in　the　present　state　of　feeling　on　the　woman　question）；or　he　might　as　well　eat　a　lemon。　　The　mercenary　aspect　of　my　query　does　not　enter　in　here。　　I　climb　into　a　tree；　and　reach　out　to　the　end　of　the　branch　for　an　orange　that　has　got　reddish　in　the　sun；　that　comes　off　easily　and　is　heavy；　or　I　tickle　a　large　one　on　the　top　bough　with　a　cane　pole；　and　if　it　drops　readily；　and　has　a　fine　grain；　I　call　it　a　cheap　one。　　I　can　usually　tell　whether　they　are　good　by　splitting　them　open　and　eating　a　quarter。　　The　Italians　pare　their　oranges　as　we　do　apples；　but　I　like　best　to　open　them　first；　and　see　the　yellow　meat　in　the　white　casket。　　After　you　have　eaten　a　few　from　one　tree；　you　can　usually　tell　whether　it　is　a　good　tree；　but　there　is　nothing　certain　about　it；one　bough　that　gets　the　sun　will　be　better　than　another　that　does　not；　and　one　half　of　an　orange　will　fill　your　mouth　with　more　delicious　juices　than　the　other　half。

The　oranges　that　you　knock　off　with　your　stick；　as　you　walk　along　the　lanes；　don't　cost　anything；　but　they　are　always　sour；　as　I　think　the　girls　know　who　lean　over　the　wall；　and　look　on　with　a　smile：　and；　in　that；　they　are　more　sensible　than　the　lively　dogs　which　bark　at　you　from　the　top；　and　wake　all　the　neighborhood　with　their　clamor。　　I　have　no　doubt　the　oranges　have　a　market　price；　but　I　have　been　seeking　the　value　the　gardeners　set　on　them　themselves。　　As　I　walked　towards　the　heights；　the　other　morning；　and　passed　an　orchard；　the　gardener；　who　saw　my　ineffectual　efforts；　with　a　very　long　cane；　to　reach　the　boughs　of　a　tree；　came　down　to　me　with　a　basketful　he　had　been　picking。　　As　an　experiment　on　the　price；　I　offered　him　a　two…centime　piece；　which　is　a　sort　of　satire　on　the　very　name　of　money；when　he　desired　me　to　help　myself　to　as　many　oranges　as　I　liked。　　He　was　a　fine…looking　fellow；　with　a　spick…span　new　red　Phrygian　cap；　and　I　had　n't　the　heart　to　take　advantage　of　his　generosity；　especially　as　his　oranges　were　not　of　the　sweetest。　　One　ought　never　to　abuse　generosity。

Another　experience　was　of　a　different　sort；　and　illustrates　the　Italian　love　of　bargaining；　and　their　notion　of　a　sliding　scale　of　prices。　　One　of　our　expeditions　to　the　hills　was　one　day　making　its　long；　straggling　way　through　the　narrow　street　of　a　little　village　of　the　Piano；　when　I　lingered　behind　my　companions；　attracted　by　a　handcart　with　several　large　baskets　of　oranges。　　The　cart　stood　untended　in　the　street；　and　selecting　a　large　orange；　which　would　measure　twelve　inches　in　circumference；　I　turned　to　look　for　the　owner。　　After　some　time　a　fellow　got　from　the　open　front　of　the　neighboring　cobbler's　shop；　where　he　sat　with　his　lazy　cronies；　listening　to　the　honest　gossip　of　the　follower　of　St。　Crispin；　and　sauntered　towards　me。

〃How　much　for　this？〃　I　ask。

〃One　franc；　signor；〃　says　the　proprietor；　with　a　polite　bow；　holding　up　one　finger。

I　shake　my　head；　and　intimate　that　that　is　altogether　too　much；　in　fact；　preposterous。

The　proprietor　is　very　indifferent；　and　shrugs　his　shoulders　in　an　amiable　manner。　　He　picks　up　a　fair；　handsome　orange；　weighs　it　in　his　hand；　and　holds　it　up　temptingly。　　That　also　is　one；　franc。

I　suggest　one　sou　as　a　fair　price；　a　suggestion　which　he　only　receives　with　a　smile　of　slight　pity；　and；　I　fancy；　a　little　disdain。　A　woman　joins　him；　and　also　holds　up　this　and　that　gold…skinned　one　for　my　admiration。

As　I　stand；　sorting　over　the　fruit；　trying　to　please　myself　with　size；　color；　and　texture；　a　little　crowd　has　gathered　round；　and　I　see；　by　a　glance；　that　all　the　occupations　in　that　neighborhood；　including　loafing；　are　temporarily　suspended　to　witness　the　trade。　The　interest　of　the　circle　visibly　increases；　and　others　take　such　a　part　in　the　transaction　that　I　begin　to　doubt　if　the　first　man　is；　after　all；　the　proprietor。

At　length　I　select　two　oranges；　and　again　demand　the　price。　　There　is　a　little　consultation　and　jabber；　when　I　am　told　that　I　can　have　both　for　a　franc。　　I；　in　turn；　sigh；　shrug　my　shoulders；　and　put　down　the　oranges；　amid　a　chorus　of　exclamations　over　my　graspingness。　　My　offer　of　two　sous　is　met　with　ridicule；　but　not　with　indifference。　　I　can　see　that　it　has　made　a　sensation。　　These　simple；　idle　children　of　the　sun　begin　to　show　a　little　excitement。　　I　at　length　determine　upon　a　bold　stroke；　and　resolve　to　show　myself　the　Napoleon　of　oranges；　or　to　meet　my　Waterloo。　　I　pick　out　four　of　the　largest　oranges　in　the　basket；　while　all　eyes　are　fixed　on　me　intently；　and；　for　the　first　time；　pull　out　a　piece　of　money。　　It　is　a　two…sous　piece。　　I　offer　it　for　the　four　oranges。

〃No；　no；　no；　no；　signor！　　Ah；　signor！　　ah；　signor！〃　in　a　chorus　from　the　whole　crowd。

I　have　struck　bottom　at　last；　and　perhaps　got　somewhere　near　the　value；　and　all　calmness　is　gone。　　Such　protestations；　such　indignation；　such　sorrow；　I　have　never　seen　before　from　so　small　a　cause。　　It　cannot　be　tho