Whilst I Was At The Chemist's, There Entered A Number Of Peasants,
Whose Appearance Was So Striking That I Sought Information About
Them.
Don Pasquale called them "Greci"; they came from a mountain
village where the dialect of the people is still a corrupt Greek.
One would like to imagine that their origin dates back to the early
Hellenic days, but it is assuredly much later.
These villages may be
a relic of the Byzantine conquest in the sixth century, when
Southern Italy was, to a great extent, re peopled from the Eastern
Empire, though another theory suggests that they were formed by
immigrants from Greece at the time of the Turkish invasion. Each of
the women had a baby hanging at her back, together with
miscellaneous goods which she had purchased in the town: though so
heavily burdened, they walked erect, and with the free step of
mountaineers.
I could not have had a better opportunity than was afforded me on
this day of observing the peasantry of the Catanzaro district. It
was the feast of the Immaculate Conception, and from all around the
country-folk thronged in pilgrimage to the church of the Immaculate;
since earliest morning I had heard the note of bagpipes, which
continued to sound before the street shrines all day long. Don
Pasquale assured me that the festival had an importance in this
region scarcely less than that of Christmas. At the hour of high
mass I entered the sanctuary whither all were turning their steps;
it was not easy to make a way beyond the portico, but when I had
slowly pressed forward through the dense crowd, I found that the
musical part of the service was being performed by a lively
string-band, up in a gallery. For seats there was no room; a
standing multitude filled the whole church before the altar, and the
sound of gossiping voices at moments all but overcame that of the
music. I know not at what point of the worship I chanced to be
present; heat and intolerable odours soon drove me forth again, but
I retained an impression of jollity, rather than of reverence. Those
screaming and twanging instruments sounded much like an invitation
to the dance, and all the faces about me were radiant with
cheerfulness. Just such a throng, of course, attended upon the
festival of god or goddess ere the old religion was transformed.
Most of the Christian anniversaries have their origin in heathendom;
the names have changed, but amid the unlettered worshippers there is
little change of spirit; a tradition older than they can conceive
rules their piety, and gives it whatever significance it may have in
their simple lives.
Many came from a great distance; at the entrance to the town were
tethered innumerable mules and asses, awaiting the hour of return.
Modern Catanzaro, which long ago lost its proper costume, was
enlivened with brilliant colours; the country women, of course,
adorned themselves, and their garb was that which had so much
interested me when I first saw it in the public garden at Cosenza.
Brilliant blue and scarlet were the prevailing tones; a good deal of
fine embroidery caught the eye. In a few instances I noticed men
wearing the true Calabrian hat - peaked, brigandesque - which is
rapidly falling out of use. These people were, in general,
good-looking; frequently I observed a very handsome face, and
occasionally a countenance, male or female, of really heroic beauty.
Though crowds wandered through the streets, there sounded no tumult;
voices never rose above an ordinary pitch of conversation; the
general bearing was dignified, and tended to gravity. One woman in
particular held my attention, not because of any exceptional beauty,
for, indeed, she had a hard, stern face, but owing to her demeanour.
Unlike most of the peasant folk, she was bent on business; carrying
upon her head a heavy pile of some ornamented fabric - shawls or
something of the kind - she entered shops, and paused at house
doors, in the endeavour to find purchasers. I watched her for a long
time, hoping she might make a sale, but ever she was unsuccessful;
for all that she bore herself with a dignity not easily surpassed.
Each offer of her wares was made as if she conferred a graceful
favour, and after each rejection she withdrew unabashed, outwardly
unperturbed, seeming to take stately leave. Only her persistence
showed how anxious she was to earn money; neither on her features
nor in her voice appeared the least sign of peddling solicitude. I
shall always remember that tall, hard-visaged woman, as she passed
with firm step and nobly balanced figure about the streets of
Catanzaro. To pity her would have been an insult. The glimpse I
caught of her laborious life revealed to me something worthy of
admiration; never had I seen a harassing form of discouragement so
silently and strongly borne.
CHAPTER XIII
THE BREEZY HEIGHT
Catanzaro must be one of the healthiest spots in Southern Italy;
perhaps it has no rival in this respect among the towns south of
Rome. The furious winds, with which my acquaintances threatened me,
did not blow during my stay, but there was always more or less
breeze, and the kind of breeze that refreshes. I should like to
visit Catanzaro in the summer; probably one would have all the joy
of glorious sunshine without oppressive heat, and in the landscape
in those glowing days would be indescribably beautiful.
I remember with delight the public garden at Cosenza, its noble view
over the valley of the Crati to the heights of Sila; that of
Catanzaro is in itself more striking, and the prospect it affords
has a sterner, grander note. Here you wander amid groups of
magnificent trees, an astonishingly rich and varied vegetation; and
from a skirting terrace you look down upon the precipitous gorge,
burnt into barenness save where a cactus clings to some jutting
rock. Here in summer-time would be freshness amid noontide heat,
with wondrous avenues of golden light breaking the dusk beneath the
boughs.
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