Tales of My Native Town

by Gabriele D'Annunzio

Then Mungia graciously begins to sing to the waiting crowd. Chiachiu, a native of Silvi, approaches, dragging himself with great difficulty, helping himself with the palms of his hands, on which he wears a covering of leather; when he reaches the group about Mungia, he stops, holding in his hands his right foot, which is twisted and contorted like a root. Strigia, an uncertain, repugnant figure, a senile hermaphrodite with bright red carbuncles covering neck and grey locks on the temples, of which the creature seems to be proud, the top and back of the head covered with wool like a vulture, next approaches. Then come the Mammalucchi, three idiot brothers, who seem to have been brought forth from the union of man and goat, so manifest in their faces are the ovine features. The oldest of the three has some soft, degenerated bulbs protruding from the orbs of his eyes, of a bluish colour, much like oval bags of pulp about to rot. The peculiar affliction of the youngest is in his ear, the lobe of which is abnormally inflated, and of the violet hue of a fig. The three come together, with bags of strings upon their backs.

The Ossei comes also, a lean, serpent-like man with an olive-coloured face, a flat nose with a singular aspect of malice and deceit, which betrays his gipsy origin, and eyelids which turn up like those of a pilot who sails over stormy seas. Following him is Catalana di Gissi, a woman of uncertain age, her skin covered with long reddish blisters, and on her forehead spots looking like copper coins, hipless, like a bitch after confinement: she is called the Venus of the Mendicants,—the fountain of Love at which all the thirsty ones are quenched.

Then comes Jacobbe of Campli, an old man with greenish-coloured hair like some of the mechanics’ work in brass; then industrious Gargala in a vehicle built of the remains of broken boats, still smeared with tar; then Constantino di Corropoli, the cynic, whose lower lip has a growth which gives him the appearance of holding a piece of raw meat between his teeth. And still they come, inhabitants of the woods who have moved along the course of the river from the hills to the sea; all gather around the rhapsodist in the sun.

Mungia then sings with studied gestures and strange postures. His soul is filled with exaltation, an aureole of glory surrounds him, for now he gives himself freely to his Muse, unrestrained in his singing. He scarcely hears the clamour of applause which arises from the swarming mendicants as he closes.

At the end of the song, as the warm sun has left the spot where the group is assembled and is climbing the Corinthian columns of the arch of the Capitol, the mendicants bid the blind man farewell and disperse through the neighbouring lands. Usually Chiachiu di Silvi, holding his deformed foot, and the dwarfed brothers remain after the others have gone, asking alms of passers-by, while Mungia sits silent, thinking, perhaps, of the triumphs of his youth when Lucicoppelle, Golpo di Casoli, and Quattorece were alive.

Oh, the glorious band of Mungia! The small orchestra had won through all the lower valley of Pescara a lofty fame. Golpo di Casoli played the viola. He was a greyish little man, like the lizards on the rocks, with the skin of his face and neck wrinkled and membranous like that of a turtle boiled in water. He wore a sort of Phrygian cap which covered his ears on the sides. He played on his viola with quick gestures, pressing the instrument with his sharp chin and with his contracted fingers hammering the keys in an ostentatious effort, as do the monkeys of wandering mountebanks.

After him came Quattorece with his bass viol slung over his stomach by a strap of ass-leather; he was as tall and thin as a wax candle, and throughout his person was a predominance of orange tints; he looked like one of those monochromatic painted figures in stiff attitudes which ornament some of the poetry of Castelli; his eyes shone with the yellow transparency of a shepherd dog’s, the cartilage of his great ears opened like those of a bat against which an orange light is thrown, his clothes were of some tobacco-coloured cloth, such as hunters usually wear; while his old viol, ornamented with feathers, with silver adornments, bows, images, and medals, looked like some barbarian instrument from which one might expect strange sounds to issue. But Lucicoppelle, holding across his chest his rough, two-stringed guitar, well tuned in diapason, came in last, with the bold, dancing step of a rustic Figaro. He was the joyful spirit of the orchestra, the greenest one in age and strength, the liveliest and the brightest. A heavy tuft of crisp hair fell over his forehead under a scarlet cap, and in his ears shone womanlike, two silver clasps. He loved wine as a musical toast. To serenades in honour of beauty, to open-air dances, to gorgeous, boisterous feasts, to weddings, to christenings, to votive feasts and funeral rites, the band of Mungia would hasten, expected and acclaimed. The nuptial procession would move through the streets strewn with bulrush blossoms and sweet-scented herbs, greeted with joyful shouts and salutes. Five mules, decorated with wreaths, carried the wedding presents. In a cart drawn by two oxen whose harness was wound with ribbons, and whose backs were covered with draperies, were seated the bridal couple; from the cart dangled boilers, earthen vessels, and copper pots, which shook and rattled with the jolting of the vehicle; chairs, tables, sofas, all sorts of antique shapes of household furniture oscillated, creaking, about them; damask skirts, richly figured with flowers, embroidered waist-coats, silken aprons, and all sorts of articles of women’s apparel shone in the sun in bright array, while a distaff, the symbol of domestic virtue, piled on top with the linen, was outlined against the blue sky like a golden staff.

The women relatives, carrying upon their heads baskets of grain, upon the top of which was a loaf, and upon the loaf a flower, came next in hierarchical order, singing as they walked. This train of simple, graceful figures reminded one of the canephoræ in the Greek bas-reliefs. Reaching the house, the women took the baskets from their heads, and threw a handful of wheat at the bride, pronouncing a ritual augury, invoking fecundity and abundance. The mother, also, observed the ceremony of throwing grain, weeping copiously as with a brush she touched her daughter on the chest, shoulders and forehead, and speaking doleful words of love as she did so.

Then in the courtyard, under a roof of branches, the feast began. Mungia, who had not yet lost his eyesight nor felt the burden of years upon him, erect in all the magnificence of a green coat, perspiring and beaming, blew with all the power of his lungs upon his clarionet, beating time with his foot. Golpo di Casoli struck his violin energetically, Quattorece exerted himself in a wild endeavour to keep up with the crescendo of the Moorish dance, while Lucicoppelle, standing straight with his head up, holding aloft in his left hand the key of his guitar, and with the right pricking on two strings the metric chords, looked down at the women, laughing gaily among the flowers.

Then the “Master of Ceremonies” brought in the viands on large painted plates and the cloud of vapour rising from the hot dishes faded away among the foliage of the trees. The amphoras of wine, with their well-worn handles, were passed around from one to another, the men stretched their arms out across the table between the loaves of bread, scattered with anise seeds, and the cheese cakes, round as full moons, and helped themselves to olives, oranges and almonds. The smell of spice mingled with the fresh, vaporous odour of the vegetables; sometimes the guests offered the bride goblets of wine in which were small pieces of jewelry, or necklaces of great grape stones like a string of golden fruit. After a while the exhilarating effects of the liquor began to be felt, and the crowd grew hilarious with Bacchic joy and then Mungia, advancing with uncovered head and holding in his hands a glass filled to the rim, would sing the beautiful deistic ritual which to feasters throughout the land of Abruzzi gave a disposition for friendly toasts: