The dialect of Sicily is remarkable for preferring close sounds to broad ones. It converts the Tuscan l’s into d’s, and its e’s and o’s into i’s and u’s. Thus, “bella” becomes bedda; “padre,” patri; “mare,” mari; “sono,” sunnu; “colorito,” culuritu, &c. This is reversing the state of things in the days of Theocritus, when the Dorian inhabitants of Sicily were accused of doing nothing when they spoke but “yawn” and “gabble.”[18] But it is attributed to the Arabs, when they were masters of the island. It has, probably, been injurious to the cause of music, and hindered the Sicilians from producing as many fine composers as their Neapolitan neighbours. Thus much, lest the reader should start at the strange, though pretty, look of Meli’s Italian, the poet having wisely chosen to speak in the tongue of those, from whose natures and homes he copied.
The reader will see at once this leading difference between the Italian language and the Sicilian form of it, in the following opening stanzas of one of Meli’s canzonets, accompanied by a Tuscan version from the pen of Professor Rosini:—
| Sti silenzii, sta virdura, Sti muntagni, sti vallati, L’ ha criatu la Natura Pri li cori innamurati. Lu susurra di li frunni, Di li sciumi lu lamentu, L’ aria, l’ ecu chi rispunni, Tuttu spira sentimentu. | Questa ombrifera verdura, Queste tacite vallate, L’ ha create la Natura Sol per l’ alme innamorate. Il susurro delle fronde, Del rio garrulo il lamento, L’ aria, l’ eco che risponde, Tutto spira sentimento. |
“These quiet and green places, these mountains and valleys, were created by Nature on purpose for loving hearts.
“The whispering of the leaves, the murmuring of the waters, the falling and rising of the wind—everything inspires the innermost feelings.”
So, in the beginning of Eclogue the Second, a countryman, who seems fatigued, accosts another who is sitting at his door, and asks him whether his dogs are gentle, and he may venture to come in. The good householder begs him to stand a minute or two on the rock-stone, and he will call the dogs off. “Come here, Scamper,” says he, “thumping the ground there with your tail. Quiet, Wasp, quiet! Down, Lion! Now you can come in, and rest yourself; and I hope you’ll stop and take something. I have a new cheese at your service, and a piping hot loaf, just out of the oven, made of capital bread,” &c.
The graphic animation of this exordium, particularly the passage we have marked in Italics, is quite in the spirit of Theocritus. But we are obliged to stop short in it for want of understanding the next sentence.
Theocritus could satirize a king. In the following passage in his Winter Idyll, Meli is perhaps covertly sticking his sly pen into a monk. A good old grand-sire is proposing to have what we should now call a Christmas dinner; and he consults his family as to what shall be the principal dish—what meat he shall kill:—
Ora è lu tempu,
Ch’unu di li domestici animali
Mora pri nui; ma mi dirriti: quali?
Lu voi, la vacca, l’asinu, la crapa
Sù stati sempri a parti tuttu l’annu
Di li nostri travagghi; e na gran parti
Duvemu an iddi di li nostri beni;
Vi pari, chi sarria riconoscenza
Digna di nui, na tali ricompenza?
Ma lu porcu? lu porcu è statu chiddu,
Chi a li travagghi d’ autri ed a li nostri
E statu un ozziusu spettaturi;
Anzi abbusannu di li nostri curi;
Mai s’ è dignatu scotiri lu ciancu
Da lu fangusu lettu, a proprii pedi
Aspittannu lu cibbu, e cu arroganza
Nui sgrida di l’ insolita tardanza.
Chistu, chi nun conusci di la vita,
Chi li suli vantaggi, e all’ autri lassa
Li vuccuni chiù amari, comu tutti
Fussimu nati pri li soi piaciri;
Chi immersu tra la vili sua pigrizzia
Stirannusi da l’ unu e l’ autru latu
Di li suduri d’ autru s’ è ingrassatu;
Si: chistu mora, e ingrassi a nui: lu porcu,
Lu vili, lu putruni—
Si: l’ ingrassatu a costu d’ autru, mora.
Lettu già lu prucessu; e proferuta,
Fra lu comuni applausu e la gioja,
La fatali sintenza; attapanciatu,
Strascinatu, attacatu, stramazzatu
Fù lu porcu a l’ istanti; un gran cuteddu
Sprofundannusi dintra di la gula,
Ci ricerca lu cori, e ci disciogghi
Lu gruppu di la vita: orrendi grida,
Gemiti strepitusi, aria ed oricchi
Sfardanu e a li vicini, e a li luntani,
Ed anchi fannu sentiri a li stiddi
La grata nova di lu gran maceddu.
Saziu già di la straggi lu cuteddu
Apri niscennu, spaziusa strata
A lu sangu, ed a l’ anima purcina;
L’ unu cadennu dintra lu tineddu,
Prometti sangunazzi; e l’ autra scappa,
E si disperdi in aria tra li venti,
O com’ è fama, passa ad abitari
Dintru lu corpu di un riccuni avaru,
Giacchì nun potti in terra ritruvari
Chiù vili e schiufusu munnizzaru.
“The bull, cow, donkey, and goat have all shared in the labours of the year, and assisted to keep us; so that to slaughter one of those would hardly be grateful. But the pig! What think you of the pig? He has been nothing but a lazy spectator—a fellow living on those labours; nay, an abuser of the care we take to keep him; for he scorns to stir from his muddy bed, expects his food to be laid at his feet, and even has the arrogance to cry out against us if we are not in a hurry. Nothing of life knows he but its luxuries; he leaves all his cares to us, as if we were born for nothing else but to heap him with enjoyments. Plunged in the vilest indolence, he contents himself with turning from one side to the other, and growing fat with the sweat of our brows. Oh, he must die by all means, and fatten us in our turn. The hog—the vile wretch—the poltroon—the corpulent selfish rascal—Death to him!