Appearance
Excerpt
Excerpt from The Goodness of St. Rocque, and Other Stories, by Alice Moore Dunbar-Nelson
Tony and his wife had always been in this same little queer old shop on
Prytania Street, at least to the memory of the oldest inhabitant in the
neighbourhood. When or how they came, or how they stayed, no one knew;
it was enough that they were there, like a sort of ancestral fixture to
the street. The neighbourhood was fine enough to look down upon these
two tumble-down shops at the corner, kept by Tony and Mrs. Murphy, the
grocer. It was a semi-fashionable locality, far up-town, away from the
old-time French quarter. It was the sort of neighbourhood where
millionaires live before their fortunes are made and fashionable,
high-priced private schools flourish, where the small cottages are
occupied by aspiring school-teachers and choir-singers. Such was this
locality, and you must admit that it was indeed a condescension to
tolerate Tony and Mrs. Murphy.
He was a great, black-bearded, hoarse-voiced, six-foot specimen of
Italian humanity, who looked in his little shop and on the prosaic
pavement of Prytania Street somewhat as Hercules might seem in a modern
drawing-room. You instinctively thought of wild mountain-passes, and
the gleaming dirks of bandit contadini in looking at him. What his
last name was, no one knew. Someone had maintained once that he had
been christened Antonio Malatesta, but that was unauthentic, and as
little to be believed as that other wild theory that her name was Mary.
She was meek, pale, little, ugly, and German. Altogether part of his
arms and legs would have very decently made another larger than she.
Her hair was pale and drawn in sleek, thin tightness away from a
pinched, pitiful face, whose dull cold eyes hurt you, because you knew
they were trying to mirror sorrow, and could not because of their
expressionless quality. No matter what the weather or what her other
toilet, she always wore a thin little shawl of dingy brick-dust hue
about her shoulders. No matter what the occasion or what the day, she
always carried her knitting with her, and seldom ceased the incessant
twist, twist of the shining steel among the white cotton meshes. She
might put down the needles and lace into the spool-box long enough to
open oysters, or wrap up fruit and candy, or count out wood and coal
into infinitesimal portions, or do her housework; but the knitting was
snatched with avidity at the first spare moment, and the worn, white,
blue-marked fingers, half enclosed in kid-glove stalls for protection,
would writhe and twist in and out again. Little girls just learning to
crochet borrowed their patterns from Tony's wife, and it was considered
quite a mark of advancement to have her inspect a bit of lace done by
eager, chubby fingers. The ladies in larger houses, whose husbands
would be millionaires some day, bought her lace, and gave it to their
servants for Christmas presents.
Explanation
Detailed Explanation of the Excerpt from The Goodness of St. Rocque, and Other Stories by Alice Dunbar-Nelson
Context of the Work
Alice Dunbar-Nelson (1875–1935) was a prominent African American writer, poet, and activist of the Harlem Renaissance, though her work often explored Creole and multiethnic experiences in New Orleans. The Goodness of St. Rocque, and Other Stories (1899) is a collection of short stories and sketches that depict the cultural, racial, and social dynamics of post-Civil War New Orleans, particularly focusing on marginalized communities—Creoles of color, immigrants, and the working poor.
This excerpt introduces Tony and his wife, two shopkeepers in a gentrifying neighborhood, whose presence is both a fixture and an anomaly. The story reflects themes of class disparity, cultural displacement, and the quiet resilience of the working poor—common in Dunbar-Nelson’s work, which often contrasts the lives of the aspiring elite with those barely scraping by.
Themes in the Excerpt
Class and Social Hierarchy
- The neighborhood is described as "semi-fashionable", inhabited by "aspiring school-teachers and choir-singers" and future millionaires. The presence of Tony and Mrs. Murphy is tolerated as a "condescension", suggesting that the rising middle and upper classes look down on them.
- The contrast between the "small cottages" of the aspirational class and the "tumble-down shops" of Tony and Mrs. Murphy highlights economic disparity.
- The fact that wealthy women buy Mrs. Murphy’s lace only to give it to servants as gifts underscores the devaluation of her labor—her craft is good enough for the help but not for the elite themselves.
Cultural and Racial Otherness
- Tony is an Italian immigrant, described in almost mythic terms—"like Hercules in a modern drawing-room"—suggesting he is out of place in the refined, gentrifying neighborhood.
- His wild, bandit-like appearance ("wild mountain-passes, gleaming dirks of bandit contadini") plays into stereotypes of Southern Italians as rugged, foreign, and slightly dangerous, reinforcing his outsider status.
- Mrs. Murphy, in contrast, is German, meek, and ugly, embodying a different kind of otherness—invisible, laborious, and unremarkable. Her expressionless sorrow makes her pitiable rather than threatening.
Labor and Survival
- Both characters are defined by their relentless, almost mechanical labor:
- Tony’s physical presence dominates the shop, but his work is unremarkable—selling oysters, fruit, coal.
- Mrs. Murphy’s knitting is obsessive, a compulsive act of survival rather than leisure. Her fingers are "worn, white, blue-marked", showing the toll of constant work.
- The knitting needles become a symbol of monotony and endurance—she snatches at them "with avidity" at every spare moment, suggesting that her work is both a necessity and a coping mechanism.
- Both characters are defined by their relentless, almost mechanical labor:
Isolation and Anonymity
- Neither character has a confirmed name—Tony is rumored to be "Antonio Malatesta" (a name associated with an Italian anarchist, possibly hinting at his rebellious aura), and his wife’s name is not even speculated upon beyond the dismissive "Mary."
- They are fixtures, not individuals—the neighborhood accepts them as "ancestral" but does not truly see them. Their existence is functional, not personal.
Gentrification and Displacement
- The neighborhood is "far up-town, away from the old-time French quarter", indicating a shift from the working-class, multicultural Creole spaces to a whiter, wealthier area.
- Tony and Mrs. Murphy are relics of an older, less refined New Orleans, tolerated but not embraced. Their presence is temporary in the eyes of progress—they will likely be pushed out as the area becomes more fashionable.
Literary Devices & Stylistic Choices
Imagery & Contrast
- Tony’s physicality is described in epic, almost grotesque terms:
- "Great, black-bearded, hoarse-voiced, six-foot specimen of Italian humanity" → Herculean, larger-than-life, but mismatched with his surroundings.
- "Wild mountain-passes, gleaming dirks of bandit contadini" → Romanticized yet stereotypical imagery of Italian bandits, reinforcing his foreignness.
- Mrs. Murphy’s appearance is dull, frail, and colorless:
- "Meek, pale, little, ugly" → The opposite of Tony’s imposing figure.
- "Dingy brick-dust hue" (her shawl) → Suggests dirt, decay, and invisibility.
- "Dull cold eyes" → Lifeless, unable to express sorrow properly.
- Tony’s physicality is described in epic, almost grotesque terms:
Symbolism
- The Knitting Needles:
- Represent endless, fruitless labor—she knits constantly, even when doing other tasks.
- The "twist, twist" of the needles mirrors the cyclical, unchanging nature of her life.
- The lace she makes is given to servants, symbolizing how her work is undervalued and passed down rather than upward.
- The Shawl:
- Always dingy and brick-dust colored, it becomes a shield or uniform, marking her as poor and laboring.
- Unlike the fashionable ladies who might change clothes, she is static, unchanging.
- The Knitting Needles:
Irony & Social Commentary
- The neighborhood looks down on Tony and Mrs. Murphy, yet depends on them for small goods and services.
- The wealthy women buy her lace but don’t wear it—they give it to servants, reinforcing class hierarchy.
- The children learn from her, but she is not respected—her skill is borrowed, not honored.
Tone & Narrative Voice
- The narrator’s tone is detached yet sympathetic, observing the couple with a mix of pity and amusement.
- Phrases like "it was enough that they were there" and "no one knew" emphasize their marginalization—they are present but not acknowledged.
- The humor is dark—e.g., the idea that Tony might be named after an anarchist (Malatesta) is dismissed as "unauthentic", suggesting that even his potential rebellion is a joke.
Significance of the Excerpt
Representation of the Working Poor in Gilded Age America
- The excerpt captures the precarious existence of immigrants and the working class in a rapidly changing urban landscape.
- Tony and Mrs. Murphy are not pitied in a sentimental way—instead, their dignity lies in their persistence, even if society barely notices them.
Critique of Gentrification & Class Pretension
- The "semi-fashionable" neighborhood represents aspirational wealth, where people pretend to be richer than they are (millionaires "before their fortunes are made").
- The tolerance of Tony and Mrs. Murphy is conditional—they are allowed to stay only because they are useful, not because they are valued.
Gender Dynamics in Labor
- Tony is physically imposing but economically powerless—his strength is wasted in a small shop.
- Mrs. Murphy’s labor is invisible and domestic—her knitting is both a skill and a chain, binding her to endless, unappreciated work.
Cultural Erasure & the "Invisible" Immigrant
- Neither character is fully known—their names are rumors, their pasts unknown.
- They are part of the landscape, like "ancestral fixtures", but not part of the community’s future.
Conclusion: The Quiet Tragedy of the Unseen
This excerpt is a masterful study in contrasts—between strength and frailty, visibility and invisibility, labor and leisure. Tony and his wife are not heroes, nor are they victims in a melodramatic sense—they are survivors, existing in the cracks of a society that needs them but does not see them.
Dunbar-Nelson’s sharp observations reveal the hypocrisy of class mobility—the neighborhood may be "aspiring", but it does so on the backs of people like Tony and Mrs. Murphy, who will never be allowed to ascend. Their knitting, their oysters, their coal are the small, necessary things that keep the "semi-fashionable" world running, even as that world looks down on them.
In this way, the excerpt is both a snapshot of a moment and a timeless commentary on who gets to belong in a changing city—and who is left behind.