Don Pasquale Could Not Be Satisfied Until I Had Privately
Assured Him Of My Genuine Admiration.
Was it, he asked, at all like
a chemist's shop in London?
My reply certainly gratified him, but I
am afraid it did not increase his desire to visit England.
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.
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