herding them into their vehicles with the intention of carrying them off to Germany as slaves, the people of Naples, goaded on or led by bands of infuriated women who uttered cries of "Not the men!" had fallen unarmed upon the Germans and had cornered and massacred them in the alleys, crushing them beneath an avalanche of tiles, stones, articles of furniture and boiling water dropped from roof-tops, balconies and windows. Groups of courageous boys hurled themselves at the panzers, raising aloft with both hands bundles of flaming straw, and died in the act of setting fire to those steel tortoises. Innocent-looking girls smilingly displayed bunches of grapes to the thirsty Germans, cooped up in the bellies of their sun-scorched tanks; and as soon as the Germans raised the turret-tops and leaned out to receive the grapes so kindly offered, parties of boys, who had been lying in ambush, exterminated them with a shower of hand-grenades taken from their dead foes. Many were the boys and girls who lost their lives in the execution of these cruel but selfless stratagems.
Lorries and trams, overturned in the streets, blocked the passage of the German columns as they rushed up to lend support to the troops resisting at Eboli and Cava dei Tirreni. For the people of Naples did not assail the Germans in the rear as they retreated. They faced them, without weapons, while the Battle of Salerno was still in progress, though it was madness for unarmed citizens, weakened by three years of hunger and fierce, continuous air-raids, to resist the passage of the German columns as they drove through Naples on their way to attack the Allied invaders who had landed at Salerno. The boys and women were the most to be dreaded during those four days of strife, in which no quarter was asked for or given. I myself saw the corpses of many German soldiers, still unburied two days after the liberation of Naples, with lacerated faces and throats mangled by human teeth; and the tooth-marks could still be seen on the flesh. Many had been disfigured by scissors. Many lay in pools of blood with long nails driven into their skulls. For lack of other weapons the boys had driven those long nails into the Germans' heads, knocking them in with large stones, while ten or twenty infuriated lads pinned their victims to the ground.
"Come on, come on, don't be silly!" said Jimmy, walking ahead of me through the maze of alleys that is Forcella.
I preferred the war to the plague. In a few days Naples had become an abyss of shame and sorrow, an inferno of degradation. And yet the dread disease could not destroy that wonderful sentiment which the Neapolitans preserved in their hearts after countless centuries of hunger and slavery. Nothing can ever destroy the Neapolitans' historic, wonderful sense of pity. They did not only pity others: they pitied themselves too. No people can nourish a sense of freedom if it lacks a sense of pity. Even those who sold their own wives and daughters, even the women who prostituted themselves for a packet of cigarettes, even the boys who prostituted themselves for a box of caramels pitied themselves. It was an extraordinary sentiment, a wonderful kind of pity. Because of this sentiment, only because of their historic, undying sense of pity, they will one day be free—free men.
"Oh, Jimmy, they love freedom," I said. "They love freedom so much! They love American boys, too. They love freedom, American boys, and cigarettes too. Even the children love freedom and caramels, Jimmy, even the children pity themselves. It's a splendid thing, Jimmy, to eat caramels instead of dying of hunger. Don't you think so too, Jimmy?"
"Come on," said Jimmy, spitting on the ground.
* * * *
So I went with Jimmy to see the "virgin". The scene of her activities was a basso at the end of an alley near the Piazza Olivella. A small crowd of Allied soldiers, many of them negroes, was loitering outside the door of the hovel. There
Lorries and trams, overturned in the streets, blocked the passage of the German columns as they rushed up to lend support to the troops resisting at Eboli and Cava dei Tirreni. For the people of Naples did not assail the Germans in the rear as they retreated. They faced them, without weapons, while the Battle of Salerno was still in progress, though it was madness for unarmed citizens, weakened by three years of hunger and fierce, continuous air-raids, to resist the passage of the German columns as they drove through Naples on their way to attack the Allied invaders who had landed at Salerno. The boys and women were the most to be dreaded during those four days of strife, in which no quarter was asked for or given. I myself saw the corpses of many German soldiers, still unburied two days after the liberation of Naples, with lacerated faces and throats mangled by human teeth; and the tooth-marks could still be seen on the flesh. Many had been disfigured by scissors. Many lay in pools of blood with long nails driven into their skulls. For lack of other weapons the boys had driven those long nails into the Germans' heads, knocking them in with large stones, while ten or twenty infuriated lads pinned their victims to the ground.
"Come on, come on, don't be silly!" said Jimmy, walking ahead of me through the maze of alleys that is Forcella.
I preferred the war to the plague. In a few days Naples had become an abyss of shame and sorrow, an inferno of degradation. And yet the dread disease could not destroy that wonderful sentiment which the Neapolitans preserved in their hearts after countless centuries of hunger and slavery. Nothing can ever destroy the Neapolitans' historic, wonderful sense of pity. They did not only pity others: they pitied themselves too. No people can nourish a sense of freedom if it lacks a sense of pity. Even those who sold their own wives and daughters, even the women who prostituted themselves for a packet of cigarettes, even the boys who prostituted themselves for a box of caramels pitied themselves. It was an extraordinary sentiment, a wonderful kind of pity. Because of this sentiment, only because of their historic, undying sense of pity, they will one day be free—free men.
"Oh, Jimmy, they love freedom," I said. "They love freedom so much! They love American boys, too. They love freedom, American boys, and cigarettes too. Even the children love freedom and caramels, Jimmy, even the children pity themselves. It's a splendid thing, Jimmy, to eat caramels instead of dying of hunger. Don't you think so too, Jimmy?"
"Come on," said Jimmy, spitting on the ground.
* * * *
So I went with Jimmy to see the "virgin". The scene of her activities was a basso at the end of an alley near the Piazza Olivella. A small crowd of Allied soldiers, many of them negroes, was loitering outside the door of the hovel. There
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