Castellinaria, and Other Sicilian Diversions Part 15

I do not remember expressing myself precisely in these words, but the buffo wrote me an account of his holiday and this is what he says I said.

It seems that I continued thus:

"This house, for example, is built of lava, this pavement is lava, those columns are lava, that elephant over the fountain is sculptured in lava, this is lava, that is lava, everything is lava; even those--"

"Stop, stop," interrupted the buffo, "for pity's sake stop, or I shall begin to think that you and I also are made of lava."

We reached the Birraria Svizzera and sat down.

"Are you hungry, Buffo?"

"I am always hungry. My subterranean road is always ready."

"That's capital," I replied. "And what particular fugitive would you like to send down it now?"

"Seppia and interiori di pollo," he replied without hesitation.

Now the first of these is cuttle-fish and looks as though the cook in sending to table something that ought to have been thrown away had tried to conceal it by emptying a bottle of ink into the dish; the second is un-selected giblets. So I replied:

"Very well; but I don't think I'll join you. No one will believe I am a Sicilian unless I eat maccaroni, and perhaps I will have a veal cutlet afterwards; that will be more suited to my subterranean road."

"You had better have what I have," said he, "it is exquisite."

"Not to-day," I replied gently.

So we ate our dinner and discussed what we should do during the evening.

He wanted to go to the marionette theatre, and I was not surprised, for I remembered that the vergers of Westminster Abbey and of Salisbury Cathedral spend their holidays making tours to visit other cathedrals; cooks go to Food Exhibitions; Scotch station-masters come to London and spend their time in the Underground railways; and English journalists when they meet on an outing, say to one another:

"It is a foggy morning; let us go in and split three or four infinitives."

So I took him to the Teatro Sicilia and introduced him to the proprietor, Gregorio Gra.s.so, a half-brother of Giovanni Gra.s.so, and we went behind the scenes to study the difference between the Catanian and the Palermitan systems. He was first struck by the immense size of the place as compared with his own little theatre; next by the orchestra which, instead of being a mechanical piano turned by a boy, consisted of a violin, a guitar and a double-ba.s.s played by men; and finally by the manner of manipulating the figures, which distressed him so seriously that he forgot he was a Portuguese gentleman and began to give Gregorio a lesson to show him how much better we do things in Palermo; but it came to nothing, because a method that produces a good effect when applied to a small and fairly light marionette will not do when applied to one that is nearly a metre and a half high and weighs about fifty kilogrammes; it is like trying to play an elaborate violin pa.s.sage on the horn. Soon we were politely invited to go to the front, where we were shown into good places, and the performance began. In the auditorium there was the familiar, pleasant, faint crackling of melon seeds and peanuts which the people were munching as at home, and a man pus.h.i.+ng his way about among them selling lemonade, and water with a dash of anise in it.

The buffo thought the marionettes of Catania were magnificent, well-modelled and sumptuously dressed; but their size and their weight make it impossible for them to move with the delicacy and naturalness which he and his father and brother know so well how to impart to those at home. They may start fairly well, but sooner or later the figure will betray to the public the fatigue of the operator who is standing exhausted on the platform behind, no longer capable of communicating any semblance of life to the limbs of the puppet. He did not, however, arrive at this conclusion all at once, for, in the course of the performance when I asked him how it was that the marionettes of Catania were not more expressive, he replied:

"I suppose it must be on account of the lava."

The figures appear against the back-cloth and the operator cannot reach forward to bring them nearer to the audience, thus the front part of the stage is free--or rather it would be free, but the public are permitted to stray on to it, and thus the stage presents a picture of marionettes with two or three live people sitting at each side.

"Buffo mio," I said, "does it appear to you to be a good plan that the public should go on the stage and mingle with the paladins? It is not allowed in our own theatre at home."

"I am not sure that it is a bad plan," he replied, "it is true we do not allow it in Palermo; but one moment, if you please, there is something coming into my head. Ah! yes, it is about holding up the mirror to nature. Now here, in Catania, this stage presents a truer mirror of nature than ours in Palermo. For have you not observed in life that, with the exception of a few really sensible people like you and me, most men are merely puppets in the hands of others? They do not act on their own ideas nor do they think for themselves; also they adopt any words that are put into their mouths. Now, it seems to me that the proportion of real men compared with marionettes is not greater on this stage than we observe it to be in life, and therefore we may say that the proprietor of this theatre is following the advice of your poet."

He noticed that one of the chief characteristics of the Catanian marionettes comes into evidence when they are fighting. Two of them take up their positions opposite each other, sidling round and round like fighting c.o.c.ks preparing to set to; they raise their scimitars, cross them and rub them one against the other, like butchers sharpening their knives; after a certain time spent in this sword exercise, they cross the stage and, turning suddenly round, face one another and strike; the consequence of this manoeuvre is that they both fall to the ground. We were looking on at such a duel and when the climax came the buffo rose to his feet and clapped his hands expecting the rest of the public to join, but to his surprise they remained cold, and declined "to crown his applause with their acquiescence," as he expressed it. He turned wonderingly to the young man who was selling lemonade and said, speaking with difficulty in broken Tuscan, as a Portuguese gentleman from Rio might be expected to do:

"Tell me, Caro mio, why do not the public join me in applauding?"

"My dear Sir," replied the young man, "it is out of the question. You do not seem to be aware of the ident.i.ty of the marionette who has just been killed. He is a Christian and the brother-in-law of Rinaldo. He is Ruggiero, a very n.o.ble youth. The public do not applaud, because they are sorry for his death and, besides, it would be an insult to Rinaldo if they were to applaud at the death of his brother-in-law."

On hearing this the buffo borrowed my handkerchief and wiped away two tears, one from each of his eyes, then he returned it politely and began mumbling to himself.

"What are you saying?" I inquired. "Why do you speak so low?"

"Oh, it's nothing," he replied, "I was merely reciting a prayer for the repose of the soul of poor Ruggiero."

The next morning I was down before him and had nearly finished my coffee when he came slowly and sadly into the dining-room. I said:

"Good morning, Buffo mio, and I hope you have had a good night and slept well after your long journey and your evening at the theatre."

He sat down, put his arm on the table and mournfully rested his head on his hand.

"My dear Enrico," he said, "I have pa.s.sed a night of horror. I did not get to sleep at all, and then I was continually waking up again--"

"Nonsense, Buffo," I exclaimed.

"But it's not nonsense. Ah! you do not know what it is to lie awake all night, sleepless and trembling, between sheets that are made of lava, and to hear footsteps and the clanking of armour and to see Rinaldo s.h.i.+ning in the dark and threatening you as he holds over you his sword, Fusberta, and shouts in your ear: 'How dare you applaud when my brother-in-law is killed?'"

He seemed to enjoy his coffee, however, and to be ready for plenty of exertion. He wanted a piece of lava to take home with him, and would it not be possible to pick up a piece if we went to the slopes of Etna? So we made inquiries and were told where to find the station of the Circ.u.m-Etnea Railway and started soon after breakfast for Paterno. The soil was black with lava and the wind was tremendous and carried the gritty dust into our mouths and down our necks. In that way he got plenty of lava to take home, but he wanted a large piece, and we could not stop the train and get out and break a piece of rock off, besides, we had nothing to break it with. We were like that old sailor in the poem who was surrounded by water, water everywhere, but not a drop of a kind to satisfy his immediate requirements. It was just as bad at Paterno; from the station to the town all our energies were required to get along in the blinding wind and the stinging dust and then we had to have our luncheon.

"And what would you like for colazione, Buffo?"

"Seppia and interiori di pollo, if you please."

But he had to be a Sicilian and eat maccaroni with me, because the inn could not provide what he wanted. Altogether the day was perhaps something of a failure, and we returned without the piece of lava.

In the evening we went to the Birraria Svizzera, and he ate his seppia while I got through my maccaroni. When his interiori di pollo came I said:

"I will do my best to eat what you eat, not exactly but as nearly as I can. Instead of a veal cutlet I will have part of an esteriore di pollo.

It rather surprises me that you should always eat the same things. Gildo said you like plenty of variety."

"So I do," he replied. "Look at my plate. Can you imagine a more delicious variety?"

I looked and said: "Certainly there is variety; I doubt whether our English fowls could show so much. But--well, as long as you like it--"

Being rather tired after our day in the country we did not go to any theatre, we stayed in the Birraria till bed-time talking and listening to the music.

Next day was the last of the buffo's holiday, and I proposed another excursion, but he said:

"Suppose we pretend that we have come to Catania on an excursion, and then we can spend the day in the city. I want to buy some things to take home with me for my sisters."

Accordingly we looked in the shop-windows and chose three ornamental combs made of celluloid for the three sisters, a snuff-box for papa, made of dried bergamot skin smelling so as to scent the snuff, and a pair of braces for Gildo. It seemed a pity that the buffo should not have something also, so he chose for himself a handkerchief with a picture of the elephant of lava over the fountain in the piazza and he gave me in return a metal pencil-case. Then the question of the piece of lava had to be taken up again. We consulted the landlord, who produced a bit--exactly what was wanted and only one franc fifty. We had been wandering about in search of it and there it was all the time in the same house with us.

"What on earth are you going to do with it, Buffo?"

"Why, everyone who goes to Catania brings home a piece of lava."

"Yes, but what do they want it for? It might be a neat chimney ornament, but you have no fireplace in your house. Or you might use it as a paper-weight, but in your family you scarcely ever write a letter."