Blackwood´s Magazine, 1875, Vol. 117
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Excerpt from Blackwood´s Magazine, 1875, Vol. 117: January, 1875 Giannetto. Jan. water dripping over the side out of the broken lips of four quaint old lions. Two or three steps led up to this fountain, and on and about these a group of peasants was assembled; some sat, some leant over the edge; all were talking and gesticulating, and a look of gaiety animated the whole scene. It was, I remembered, afesta. In one corner of the piazza sat an old woman selling medallions, images, rosaries, c.;and now and then her shrill voice echoed through the crowd, Buy, Jmy, Signori; for the love of heaven! Suddenly a side-door of the church, probably that of the sacristy, opened, and a loud, deep voice called out, Ola, Carola, come here! A tidy-looking woman left her doorway and hurried across to the church she appeared to say something which I could not hear; then the former voice exclaimed, Certainly, certainly. The door was thrown open, and the village priest came forth and advanced towards me. The Curato of San Jacopo was a tall angular man, with a mild and kindly expression of face. In any other than an Italian the large limbs and gaunt frame would have been awkward; but there was a certain grace in his movements, and even in the way in which the scanty and rather rusty cassock hung closely around him. The courtesy with which he removed the three-cornered hat from his tonsured head, and bowed low, would have rivalled the courtly welcome of the highestborn gentleman. Welcome, welcome, Signore! he said, extending a long sinewy hand, with supple fingers; without doubt you have heard of our picture, and would like to see it? Alas! it is becoming dark, and the morning light is best. But what matter? one cannot always choose 1 and beckoning me to follow, he led the way towards the principal door of the church. The peasants stood aside as we passed, looking after me with smiling, good-humoured faces. One among them especially attracted my attention a tall youth, standing on the steps of the fountain, and leaning over the side. He was dressed in a fashion rather superior to that of his companions, and looked somewhat above them in intelligence, if not in rank. Though all those who stood round him were chattering and laughing gaily, he neither moved nor spoke, but stood motionless as a statue, with his eyes fixed on the water. Would you tell me, Signore, I asked, is that tall young fellow one of the village fishermen, like the others? Who? where? Ah! it is ISTencini you speak of. Yes, he is a fisherman; poor lad, he is sadly afflicted dumb from his birth! Yonder is his mother, Carola excellent woman! she is my housekeeper, and I have been able to give him something of an education; but he is a fisherman, without doubt. We are all fishermen here. Dumb from his birth poor fellow! I looked back at him as we entered the church, the priest courteously holding back the heavy leathern curtain to let me pass. I was struck by the expression of the lads face it could not be called bad; but there was a dark look of bitterness on it which sadly marred its beauty. I need hardly say that I had never before heard of the picture I was supposed to have come to see; but I did not betray my ignorance, for it would have deeply mortified the excellent priest. The church was very small, but elaborately decorated. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com
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