Who settles the expenses of such a festival? The priests, in the first
place, have paid a good deal to make it attractive; they have improved
the chapel, constructed a number of permanent wooden shelters (rain
sometimes spoils the proceedings), as well as a capacious reservoir for
holding drinking water, which has to be transported in barrels from a
considerable distance. Then - as to the immediate outlay for music,
fireworks, and so forth - the Madonna-statue is "put up to auction":
fanno l'incanto della Madonna, as they say; that is, the privilege of
helping to carry the idol from the church and back in the procession is
sold to the highest bidders. Inasmuch as She is put up for auction
several times during this short perambulation, fresh enthusiasts coming
forward gaily with bank-notes and shoulders - whole villages competing
against each other - a good deal of money is realized in this way. There
are also spontaneous gifts of money. Goats and sheep, too, decorated
with coloured rags, are led up by peasants who have "devoted" them to
the Mother of God; the butchers on the spot buy these beasts for
slaughter, and their price goes to swell the funds.
This year's expenditure may have been a thousand francs or so, and the
proceeds are calculated at about two-thirds of that sum.
No matter. If the priests do not make good the deficiency, some one else
will be kind enough to step forward. Better luck next year! The
festival, they hope, is to become more popular as time goes on, despite
the chilling prophecy of one of our friends: "It will finish, this
comedy!" The money, by the way, does not pass through the hands of the
clerics, but of two individuals called "Regolatore" and "Priore," who
mutually control each other. They are men of reputable families, who
burden themselves with the troublesome task for the honour of the thing,
and make up any deficiencies in the accounts out of their own pockets.
Cases of malversation are legendary.
This procession marked the close of the religious gathering. Hardly was
it over before there began a frenzied scrimmage of departure. And soon
the woodlands echoed with the laughter and farewellings of pilgrims
returning homewards by divergent paths; the whole way through the
forest, we formed part of a jostling caravan along the
Castrovillari-Morano track - how different from the last time I had
traversed this route, when nothing broke the silence save a chaffinch
piping among the branches or the distant tap of some woodpecker!
So ended the festa. Once in the year this mountain chapel is rudely
disquieted in its slumbers by a boisterous riot; then it sinks again
into tranquil oblivion, while autumn dyes the beeches to gold. And very
soon the long winter comes; chill tempests shake the trees and leaves
are scattered to earth; towards Yuletide some woodman of Viggianello
adventuring into these solitudes, and mindful of their green summer
revels, discovers his familiar sanctuary entombed up to the door-lintle
under a glittering sheet of snow. . . .
There was a little episode in the late afternoon. We had reached the
foot of the Gaudolino valley and begun the crossing of the plain, when
there met us a woman with dishevelled hair, weeping bitterly and showing
other signs of distress; one would have thought she had been robbed or
badly hurt. Not at all! Like the rest of us, she had attended the feast
and, arriving home with the first party, had been stopped at the
entrance of the town, where they had insisted upon fumigating her
clothes as a precaution against cholera, and those of her companions.
That was all. But the indignity choked her - she had run back to warn the
rest of us, all of whom were to be treated to the same outrage. Every
approach to Morano, she declared, was watched by doctors, to prevent
wary pilgrims from entering by unsuspected paths.
During her recital my muleteer had grown thoughtful.
"What's to be done?" he asked.
"I don't much mind fumigation," I replied.
"Oh, but I do! I mind it very much. And these doctors are so dreadfully
distrustful. How shall we cheat them? ... I have it, I have it!"
And he elaborated the following stratagem:
"I go on ahead of you, alone, leading the two mules. You follow, out of
sight, behind. And what happens? When I reach the doctor, he asks slyly:
'Well, and how did you enjoy the festival this year?' Then I say:
'Not this year, doctor; alas, no festival for me! I've been with an
Englishman collecting beetles in the forest, and see? here's his riding
mule. He walks on behind - oh, quite harmless, doctor! a nice gentleman,
indeed - only, he prefers walking; he really likes it, ha, ha, ha! - - "
"Why mention about my walking?" I interrupted. The lady-mule was still a
sore subject.
"I mention about your not riding," he explained graciously, "because it
will seem to the doctor a sure sign that you are a little" - here he
touched his forehead with a significant gesture - "a little like some
other foreigners, you know. And that, in its turn, will account for your
collecting beetles. And that, in its turn, will account for your not
visiting the Madonna. You comprehend the argument: how it all hangs
together?"
"I see. What next?"
"Then you come up, holding one beetle in each hand, and pretend not to
know a word of Italian - not a word! You must smile at the doctor, in
friendly fashion; he'll like that. And besides, it will prove what I
said about - - " (touching his forehead once more). "In fact, the truth
will be manifest. And there will be no fumigation for us."
It seemed a needlessly circuitous method of avoiding such a slight
inconvenience.
