The Fate of Faustina
"Mar—ga—rì,
e perzo a Salvatore!
Mar—ga—rì,
Ma l'ommo è cacciatore!
Mar—ga—rì,
Nun ce aje corpa tu!
Chello ch' è fatto, è fatto, un ne parlammo cchieù!"
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.
It was in the early heat of August, and the hour that of the lawful and necessary siesta for such as turn night into day. I was therefore shutting my window in a rage, and wondering whether I should not do the same for Raffles, when he appeared in
59
