The name of Morano, they
say, is derived from moro, [Footnote:
This is all wrong, of course.
And equally wrong is the derivation from moral, a mulberry - abundant
as these trees are. And more wrong still, if possible, is that which is
drawn from a saying of the mysterious Oenotrians - that useful
tribe - who, wandering in search of homesteads across these regions and
observing their beauty, are supposed to have remarked: Hic moremur -
here let us stay! Morano (strange to say) is simply the Roman Muranum.]
a Moor; and in its little piazza - an irregular and picturesque spot,
shaded by a few grand old elms amid the sound of running waters - there
is a sculptured head of a Moor inserted into the wall, commemorative, I
was told, of some ancient anti-Saracen exploit. It is the escutcheon of
the town. This Moor wears a red fez, and his features are painted black
(this is de rigueur, for "Saracens "); he bears the legend Vivit
sub arbore morus. Near at hand, too, lies the prosperous village
Saracena, celebrated of old for its muscatel wines. They are made from
the grape which the Saracens brought over from Maskat, and planted all
over Sicily. [Footnote: See next chapter.]
The men of Morano emigrate to America; two-thirds of the adult and
adolescent male population are at this moment on the other side of the
Atlantic. But the oldsters, with their peaked hats (capello pizzuto)
shading gnarled and canny features, are well worth studying.
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