But what they most love to designate people by is a description of their persons. When you come home from your walk, your servant does not tell you Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so have called, but it will be ‘Quel signore vecchio ingobbato’ (that old hump-backed kind of gentleman), if he be the least grey and high-shouldered, however young he may be; or ‘Quel bel giovane alto’ (that tall, handsome, young gentleman), whatever his age, if he be only bien conservé. Then ‘Quella signora alta, secca, che veste di lutto’ (that tall thin lady dressed in mourning). ‘Quella signora bella bionda, giovane’ (that lady, pretty, fair, young). Or ‘Quello che porta il brillante’ (he who wears a brilliant), because the same friend happened to have a diamond stud in his cravat one day; or ‘Quella contessa che veste di cilestro,’ because the lady happened once to wear a blue dress, and so on, with all manner of signs and tokens which it may take you half-an-hour to recognise a person by, if you ever make it out at all. Or, if there is no distinctive mark of the kind to seize upon, it will be ‘Quel signore,’ or ‘quella signora di Palazzo,’ or ‘Via,’ or ‘Piazza’ So-and-so. And this not from the difficulty of catching a foreign name, because it is still more in vogue when designating their own people; if you are asking for the address of a servant, a tailor, a dressmaker, &c., it is in vain you try to make them out by the name, you must do your best to describe them, and then they will break out with an exclamation hitting it off for themselves: ‘Ah! si, quel scimunito’ (that silly-looking fellow); ‘quel gobbo’ (that high-shouldered fellow—lit. ‘hunchbacked’); ‘quella strega’ (that ugly old woman, cunning woman—lit. ‘witch’); ‘quella bella giovane alta’ (that tall handsome girl); ‘quella donna bassetta’ (that short little woman), for with their descriptions as with their names they must super-add a diminutive or a qualification, and ‘basso’ (short) is pretty sure to be rendered by ‘bassetto,’ ‘piccola’ (little) by ‘piccinina,’ ‘vecchio’ (old) by ‘vecchietto.’ ‘Quella scimia’ or ‘scimietta’ (that old woman, or that little old woman who looks like a monkey). ‘Quella donna anziana’ (that respectable old woman). ‘Quella donniciuola’ (that nasty little old woman, contemptible old woman). ‘Quel ragazzino, tanto carino, tanto caruccio’ (that nice boy, that very nice boy). ‘Quel vecchietto’ (that nice old man); and in this way the hero of this story is designated as ‘The man who has a daughter to marry.’ [↑]

[3] ‘Boccione,’ a large coarse glass bottle commonly used in Rome for carrying wine. When it is covered with twisted rushes—like the oil-flasks that come to England—it is called a ‘damigiana,’ a young lady, a little lady. [↑]

[4] ‘Mettetevelo addietro.’ Lit. ‘Put it behind you,’ a way of saying ‘Never mind it,’ ‘don’t care about it.’ But the woman is supposed to be so foolish that she understands it literally. [↑]

[5] The Italian custom of the newly married couples continuing to live with the parents of one or other of them is here brought in. [↑]

[6] ‘Tegame,’ a flat earthen pan much in vogue in Roman kitchens; ‘ova in tegame’ is a favourite and not a bad dish. A little fresh butter is oiled, and the eggs are dropped into it as for poaching, and very slowly cooked in it; when scarcely set they are reckoned done. [↑]

[7] Such notions are not altogether so impossible as they seem. I myself heard a very intelligent little boy one day say to his mother, ‘Mama, I should so like to see a horse’s egg.’ ‘A horse’s egg, my dear—there are no such things,’ was the reply of course. ‘Oh yes, there must be,’ rejoined the child, ‘because I’ve heard Pa several times talk about finding a mare’s nest.’ [↑]

[8] ‘Uovo,’ by the way, is a word with which great liberties are taken. The correct singular is ‘uovo’ and the plural ‘uova,’ but it is very common to make the plural in ‘i’ and also to say ‘uova’ for the singular, and ‘uove’ for plural, while the initial ‘u’ is most usually dropped out. [↑]

[9] ‘Brodo’ is beef-tea or clear broth with nothing in it; broth with vermicelli or anything else in it is ‘minestra;’ ‘zuppa,’ which sounds most like ‘soup,’ is rather ‘sop,’ and when applied to broth, means strictly only broth with bread in it, from ‘inzuppare,’ to steep, soak, or sop; but it is also used for broth with anything else in it besides bread, but never without anything in it. [↑]

THE FOOLISH WOMAN.[1]