On the little square in front of the railway station in Genoa a dense crowd had gathered, workingmen for the most part but with a good sprinkling of well-fed, respectably dressed people as well. In front of the crowd stood members of the city council; above their heads waved the heavy and cunningly embroidered silk banner of the city, with the varicoloured banners of the worker's organizations beside it. The golden tassels, fringes, and cords glittered, the rips of the flagpoles shone, the silk rustled and a low hum like a choir singing sotto voce rose from the festive throng.
Above, on its tall pedestal, stood the statue of Columbus, the dreamer who had suffered so much for his beliefs and who won because he believed. Today too he looked down at the people and his marble lips seemed to be saying:
"Only those who believe can win."
The musicians had laid their instruments around the pedestal at his feet and the brass glittered like gold in the sun.
The receding semi-circle of the station building spread is heavy marble wings as though wishing to embrace the waiting throng. From the port came the laboured breathing of the steamships, the muffled churning of a propeller in the water, the clanging of chains, whistling and shouting. But the square was still and hot under the broiling sun. On the balconies and at the windows of houses women stood with flowers in their hands and beside them were children looking like flowers in their holiday garb.
As the locomotive rolled whistling into the station the crowd stirred and several crushed hats flew into the air like so many dark birds; the musicians picked up their trumpets, and a few grave, elderly men spruced themselves, hastily stepped forward and turned to face the crowd, speaking excitedly and gesturing to the right and left.
Slowly the crowd parted, clearing a wide passage to the street.
"Whom have they come to meet?"
"The children from Parma!"
There was a strike on in Parma. The employers would not yield, and the workers were in such dire straits that they had decided to send their children to Parma to save them from starvation.
From behind the columns of the station building there appeared a neat procession of little people, half-naked and looking like some queer, shaggy little animals in their ragged garments. They walked hand in hand, five abreast, small, dusty and tired. Their faces were grave but their eyes shone brightly, and when the musicians struck up the Garibaldi hymn a smile of pleasure flickered over those gaunt, hunger-pinched little faces.
The crowd welcomed the men and women of the future with a deafening shout, banners dipped before them, the brass trumpets blared out, stunning and dazzling the children; somewhat taken aback by this reception, they shrank back for a moment and then suddenly drew themselves up so that they looked taller, coalesced into a mass and from hundreds of throats there rose a single shout:
"Viva Italia!"
"Long live young Parma!" thundered the crowd, rushing toward them.
"Evviva Garibaldi!" shouted the children, as in a grey wedge they cut into the crowd and were engulfed by it.
In the hotel windows and from the roofs of houses handkerchiefs fluttered like white birds, and a shower of flowers and gay, lively shouts poured down on the heads of the crowd below.
Everything took on a festive appearance, everything sprang to life, even the grey marble seemed to blossom out in daubs of bright colour.
The banners waved in the breeze, caps and flowers flew into the air, the tiny heads of the children rose above the heads of the throng, small grimy paws stretched out in greeting sought to catch the flowers and the air resounded with the mighty, unceasing shout:
"Viva il Socialismo!"
"Evviva Italia!"
Nearly all the children were snatched up, some sat perched on the shoulders of the grown-ups, others were pressed against the broad chests of stern bewhiskered men; the music was barely audible above the hubbub of shouting and laughter.
Women darted in and out of the crowd picking up the remaining newcomers and shouting to one another:
"You'll take two. Annita?"
"Yes. And you?"
"Don't forget one for lame Margaret..."
A feeling of joyous excitement reigned, there were beaming faces and moist kind eyes on all sides, and al-ready some of the striker's children were munching bread.
"No one thought of this in our time!" remarked an old man with a beak-like nose and a black cigar between his teeth.
"And how simple it is..."
"Yes. Simple and sensible."
The old man removed the cigar from his mouth, glanced at its tip and sighed as he shook off the ash. Then noticing two little Parma children—brothers obviously—nearby, he assumed a fierce expression, and while the boys looked on gravely, pushed his hat down over his eyes, spread out Ms arms and, as the brothers backed away together scowling, suddenly squatted down and crowed like a rooster. The boys roared with laughter, stamping their bare soles on the cobbles; the man rose, straightened his at, and, walked off unsteadily feeling that he had done his duty.
A humpbacked, grey-haired woman, with the face of a witch and wiry grey hairs sprouting on a bony chin, stood at the foot of the statue of Columbus and wept, wiping her reddened eyes with the end of her faded shawl. Dark and ugly, she looked strangely forlorn among the excited throng...
A black-haired young Genoese woman came tripping along, leading by the hand a young man of about seven wearing clogs and a grey hat so large that it reached down almost to his shoulders. He tossed his little head to shake the hat back from his eyes but it kept slipping forward on to his face until the woman swept it off and waved it in the air, laughing and singing; the child, his face wreathed in smiles, threw back his head to look, then jumped up to catch the hat as both disappeared from view.
A tall man with powerful bare arms wearing a leather apron carried a little girl of six on his shoulder, a grey mousey little tiling.
"See what I mean?" he remarked to the woman who walked beside him leading a small boy with flaming red hair, "If this sort of thing takes root... it won't be easy to get the better of us, eh?"
And with a deep laugh of triumph he threw his little burden up into the blue air, crying: "Evviva Parma-a!
The people gradually dispersed carrying the children or leading them by the hand until the square was empty of all save the crumpled flowers, candy wrappers, a group of jolly facchini and over them the noble figure of the man who discovered the New World.
And the happy shouts of the people going forward to a new life echoed through the streets like the flourish of great trumpets.
