Castellinaria, and Other Sicilian Diversions Part 2

"That is no satisfaction to poor Alfio."

"No; and not satisfaction to his family. His mother died of grief during that they were telling her his murder."

"And Maria?"

"Maria is telling that she would becoming a monkey-woman."

"What do you mean?"

"How do you say in English the lady-priest, the monaca?"

"Oh! yes,--a nun. But it seems a pity she should take such a serious step. It is a dreadful story, Peppino."

"Yes; and I am fortunate because I also meet the bad woman."

"Was Alfio's widow a friend of yours?"

"No; I meet her in London."

"I'm glad she did not stab you."

"Not the widow--some other woman."

"I don't quite understand."

"It is difficult to understand--difficult to be sure when it is the bad woman. The bad woman is like mosquitoes--not wanted but would not go away."

"Tell me what happened."

"When I was in London, I was at this place where is the--please, what is campo? No, not campo, but where is the beast with the horn in the head--the cervo?"

"Ah! yes, the deer. You mean the Zoological Gardens."

"No, no. This place where is the villa with the red palazzo and the chief labours of painting and beds and chinesy images are over the place where is coming the fire in the winter-time, and on the wall is also the armatura and the deer it is in the trees on the side of the river."

"I believe you mean Hampton Court."

"Yes, and was telling to the lady--she was a very kind lady--"

"But please, what lady? Alfio's widow was not at Hampton Court?"

"She was the wife of the plumber."

"I am afraid I am very stupid, Peppino, but I don't seem to get hold of it. Who is the plumber?"

"I meet him at Margate; also his lady, his wife; they invite me to their house; I accept their invitation."

"But Margate is not Hampton Court."

"No, they inhabit Hampton Court; they go to Margate for the villeggiatura, for the--how do you say?--for the baths of the sea."

"Oh, now I understand. You met them at Margate and they invited you to call on them at their house at Hampton Court."

"Of course, yes. And when I arrive, the husband, the plumber, he went away with his tools for his work in a sack, and his lady she says to me, 'Please sit down.' And we talk together. She was a very kind lady. And presently--she was on the sofa by the window and I was in a chair by the fire--presently her husband return. I was like a fish not in his water, but oh! it was my salvation. Why must he be leaving us together? She was a very kind lady. And then to be returning without noise, so soon and so sudden. Do you think--?"

I did not know. It looked rather like it, but the psychology of the Hampton Court plumber resembles the Italian music of the early part of last century in that it is but little studied among us. So I congratulated him on his escape, and inquired whether any of Alfio's compositions had been published.

"Alfio don't be writing no compositions."

"He told me he was composing music."

"Alfio never compose something. Too busy. Look here, the student that shall be always making the exercise he don't be never composing the music."

"But that polka? Don't you remember he came over to the albergo and played us his polka?"

"Alfio don't write the polka. His professor gave him the polka to copy for study."

"Oh! I see. Well, now don't you think we have had enough tragedies? Has nothing pleasant happened in the town since--? What a stupid question!

Here is Brancaccia bringing the answer."

Brancaccia not only brought the baby, she also brought to show me the clothes in which he had been christened, just as on my last visit, before he was born, she had brought and shown me the clothes in which she had been married. I have a confused recollection of fine muslin and embroidery and pretty gay ribbons. I remember more clearly her necklace of Sicilian amber which has been in the family for generations and, in the natural order of things, will one day be pa.s.sed on to the wife of Ricuzzu. Each piece of amber is circular, flat underneath and convex above, and is surrounded with a fine golden band whereby it is joined to the next, side by side. The two smallest, at the back of the wearer's neck, near the clasp, are about as big as threepenny bits, and the pieces increase in size through sixpences, shillings, florins, half-crowns, until the one in the middle on her breast is nearly as large as a five-shilling piece. They are all sorts of colours, honey-yellow, rich orange, Venetian red, brown sherry, some clear and some clouded, some have insects in them, some when held properly in the sunlight, have a fluorescent, hazy tinge like the blue in a horse's eye, some are a peac.o.c.k-green and others a deep purple. The largest piece is green, and has objects in it which Brancaccia says are cherry-blossoms. Peppino accepts his wife's view because it amuses him to call this piece The Field of Enna, where Proserpine was gathering flowers when Pluto carried her off, and these are the flowers she was gathering. But he knows that this kind of amber is called Simet.i.te, because it is the fossilised resin of some prehistoric tree that used to grow on the upper reaches of the river Simeto which rises at the back of Etna, beyond Bronte, and falls into the sea near Catania; whereas Castrogiovanni, which is the modern Enna, is not on the Simeto. Castrogiovanni is, however, not far from the upper part of another river, which falls into the Simeto near the sea.

And he argues that if The Field of Enna was washed down the Castrogiovanni river it may still have exuded from a tree of the same kind as those that used to grow on the Simeto, and in any case it had to pa.s.s through the mouth of the Simeto before reaching the sea, and so it may be called Simet.i.te. Having got into the sea, it was thrown up in a storm or found in a fisherman's net.

Then I must be shown the mule, with his beautiful harness, and the new cart which Ricuzzu had received as a birthday present from his grandfather; so we went to the stable. The cart was painted with the story of Orlando's madness, showing first how he had gone to bed in his boots; or rather how he lay outside a bed that was too short for him with all his armour on, like a lobster on a dish. This occurred in the house of a contadino who was standing with a lighted candle in his hand and had brought his wife. They did not know to whom they were speaking, and were telling him that the room had been occupied last by a knight and his lady and that the lady, in grat.i.tude for their hospitality, had given the contadina a bracelet, saying that she had received it as a present from Orlando. And Orlando was exclaiming:

"Show me that bracelet."

In the second picture the contadina had brought the bracelet, and Orlando was sitting up, contemplating it and saying:

"It is the bracelet which I gave to Angelica. The last occupants of this bed must have been that fatal woman and her husband Medoro. I am Orlando Paladino."

These were the two panels on one side of the cart. On the other side, the third picture showed Orlando, who had got off the bed, and was standing up delivering a long "Addio" in the manner of Oth.e.l.lo--one could almost hear the words: "Orlando's occupation's gone." The contadino and his wife were furtively leaving the room, perhaps because poetry bored these simple folk, but it may have been because Orlando, having no further use for his arms, was punctuating his speech by throwing away first la Durlindana, next his shield, then his helmet, his cuira.s.s, front and back, his leggings, and his shirt.

In the last picture he had nothing on but a pair of short white drawers; he had gone quite mad and had knocked down the house; its fall revealed a smiling landscape across which peasants and sheep were escaping, and the trees shook with the violence of his fury. He was catching some of the peasants and throwing them away, shouting and cursing that fatal woman, and struggling to drown the music and the drum, which made a crescendo till the curtain fell. I should have recognised it even if the pictures had not had t.i.tles, because I had recently seen it in a marionette theatre.

The harness cost as much as the cart, and it took a month to make it. It was of leather, wood and metal, ta.s.selled with gold and silver and wool of many colours; here and there were sparkling bits of looking-gla.s.s, and little pictures of ladies; here and there circles and crescents of blue and red felt, and little pictures of cupids and angels. Other s.p.a.ces were covered with silver tinsel and spangles. There were spread eagles and horses' heads and two bouquets of artificial flowers. There was a St. George and the Dragon carved in wood and painted, there were bells and ribbons, and two trophies of coloured feathers, one for the head and another for the back, each more magnificent, and three or four times larger, than the plume which the maresciallo dei carabinieri wears with his gala uniform.

CHAPTER II FESTA RIMANDATA

One day the bells were ringing for the festa of S. Somebody, but it was not really his day. Peppino told me that his proper day had been stormy or unsympathetic or the people had had some crops to get in or something else to do, and so the saint had had his festa shifted; or it may have been because some greater festival had fallen on S. Somebody's day owing to the mutability of Easter or for some other reason. I had been wishing I could have been at Castellinaria for the first anniversary of Ricuzzu's birth, I ought to have wished to be there for the festa of S. Enrico, but I did not know when it fell, nor did Peppino; but if festas might be transferred in this easy way, perhaps we might keep it now and find out afterwards to what extent it had been shifted. It would have been no use consulting the baby--besides, he would have been sure to agree--so as they were not very busy in the albergo it was decided that next day we would keep the onomastico of Ricuzzu and his padrino by driving down to the sh.o.r.e, throwing stones into the sea, and perhaps eating a couple of peperoni with a drop of oil and vinegar and a pinch of salt.

Next morning the mule, the cart and the harness were brought out; it was the first time they had all been used together, and when Peppino and Carmelo had harnessed the little beast, he trotted up and down in the sunshine as proud as though he had been clothed in a rainbow and freshened up with dewdrops.

I said: "Do you keep the onomastico of the mule also? It seems to me that he is as much pleased with himself as anyone. He looks as though he thought everything belonged to him. What is his name and when is his day?"

"We call him Guido Santo," replied Peppino. "We will make it his festa also and afterwards we shall be discovering his day in the calendario."