I said that possibly something of the kind had been attempted, and that there may have been insuperable obstacles of which we knew nothing; and in any case, whatever the desolation of Palestrina, Custonaci was not in a particularly thriving condition, while the prosperity of Monte San Giuliano is due more to the salt than to the Madonna. But he would not be comforted; so I asked him what he would have done if he had not left home, and he told me that he had been educated to be a chemist and had taken his diploma at Rome with the intention of succeeding to his uncle's shop, but he could not stand the dulness of the life.

The brigadier called to us that coffee was ready and we turned to go in.

The young man came about the kid, which meant that his father had agreed to take 80 centesimi per kilo. So the kid had to be weighed and it was some time before we could persuade the vendor that it was just under and not just over 5.5 kilos. To tell the truth, it was a delicate job, for the steelyard was a clumsy instrument, though, like the sceptical guard's language, the best we had. The brigadier paid the young man entirely in coppers, so he had a good deal of weight to carry home with him.

After coffee we started to walk across the plain back to Custonaci, calling again at the settlement of cottages and waiting for the boats to come in, thinking it possible that the luck brought by the farfalla notturna might take the form of fish. But the boats brought nothing. We agreed therefore to consider that the beauty of the morning had exhausted the good fortune and, if so, the farfalla had done the thing handsomely.

It was a day of blue sky and brown earth, with flocks of sheep and goats tinkling their bells in the distance; a day of dwarf palm and almond-blossom, and the bark of a dog now and then; of aloes and flitting birds, of canes with feathery tops, of p.r.i.c.kly pears and blooming red geranium. The bastone di S. Giuseppe had begun to come up and the tufts of gra.s.s were full of lily-leaves preparing for the spring.

We climbed the cliff and scrambled into the village. It was Sunday morning; the first Ma.s.s was over and half the population was coming out of the sanctuary, the other half waiting to go in for the second Ma.s.s.

Among them, talking to a shoemaker, who seemed to be the princ.i.p.al man of the place, we found Mario. I inquired what he had done with his horses and how he had pa.s.sed the night. He said he had found a stable for Gaspare and Toto and had himself slept in the carriage. I trusted he had not been very uncomfortable and he replied that he always slept in his carriage. So I had travelled to Custonaci and was about to return to Trapani in Mario's bed. He introduced me to the shoemaker.

"You see all these young men?" said the shoemaker. "In another couple of months they will be in America."

I spoke to some of those who had returned from the States and from South America. Those who have been to the States like an opportunity to speak English, but they are not very strong at it, and it is more than tinged with Yankeeisms. One of them told me that in New York he was treated very well by his Capo-Boss. They earn more over there than they can at home; every week brings American money-orders to Custonaci and on mail days the post-office is crowded with wives, mothers and sweethearts.

When they have saved anything up to 5000 lire (200 pounds) they return and buy a bit of land on which a family of contadini can live, or they embellish the family shop or open a new one and hope for the best. If business is bad and they lose their money before they are too old, they can go back and make some more. It is the same on the Mountain; the young men emigrate and bring back money and new ideas. The time will come when Cofano will see what influence this wooing of Fortune in a foreign land by the sons of Mount Eryx and Custonaci may have on the next incarnation of the G.o.ddess who reigns in this corner of the island.

CALATAFIMI

CHAPTER XIII--THE PRODIGAL SON AND THE ARTS

Calatafimi is a town of 10,000 inhabitants about twenty miles inland from Trapani. A slight eminence to the west of the town, 1115 feet above the sea, crowned by the ruins of a castle of the Saracens (hence the name of the place, Cal' at Eufimi), commands an extensive and beautiful view which includes three monuments--first, the famous Greek temple of Segesta; secondly, the theatre and the remains of the city above it; thirdly, the obelisk commemorating Garibaldi's first victory over the Neapolitans in May, 1860. These three monuments are considered to be the chief attractions of Calatafimi; but one should not suppose that, after one has seen its princ.i.p.al monuments, there is nothing more to be got out of a Sicilian town. I had picnicked in the temple of Segesta, climbed up through the site of the ancient city to the theatre and seen Garibaldi's monument over and over again and in all kinds of weather, before I knew anything of the processions which occur at Calatafimi early in May.

I was there one year when the annual festa was conducted with more than the usual ceremony. I went to the Albergo Samuel Butler, named after the author of _Erewhon_, who often stayed there when writing _The Auth.o.r.ess of the Odyssey_, and was well known in the town. Owing to the death of Don Paolo who, with his wife, Donna Maria, used to manage the hotel, it is now (1908), I regret to say, closed, and the traveller must do the best he can at one of the other inns. Butler's memory is, however, still preserved in the name of one of the streets.

The day after my arrival was the great day of the festa, and opened with rain. The people, who had come from all the country round, hung about listlessly during the morning, hoping that the weather might clear up and by noon the authorities decided that the ceremonies should proceed, so that, as they all had to be crowded into the afternoon, the town for the rest of the day was choked with processions.

There was first the Procession of the Maestranza, of unascertainable antiquity. Those who took part in it came riding on horses and mules covered with gaudy trappings and carrying something to indicate their trades. The Oil-pressers, suitably dressed, carried a model of an oil-press; the Millers carried a little mill; and these two companies carried their money on trays. The Vetturini, who came next, carried their money stuck into little wooden horses, like almonds in a hedgehog pudding. The Tillers of the Ground carried a model of a plough. There were men carrying long lighted candles with circular loaves of bread threaded on them; others carried bags full of nuts and sugar-plums which they continually scattered among the crowd and threw in at the open windows.

There was the procession with the traditional Car of the Ma.s.sari, made by fixing a square wooden framework on a cart and covering the outside of it with green leaves which were again nearly hidden by loaves in the shape of rings about eight inches across. It looked like a square Jack-in-the-Green on wheels and the men inside it, standing on chairs and looking over the top of the framework, cut off the loaves and threw them to the crowd. They hit me full on the chest with one and I clutched it before it fell, to the great delight of some children who were standing near and who said I must take it home and keep it and it would never go bad, but would bring me good luck.

Then there was the Procession of the Holy Crucifix, the Padrone of Calatafimi. For many years no one knew of its existence; it stood, like the Discobolus in Butler's poem, _A Psalm of Montreal_, stowed away, in a lumber room, turning its face to the wall, and when brought out was found to be so black that it might have come from Egypt and so intensely thaumaturgic that the church of Il Crocefisso had to be built to hold it.

That particular crucifix, however, like the letter of the Madonna at Messina, no longer exists; it was burnt and the one in use is a copy, made, one must suppose, from memory. They had the good sense, however, to make it, if anything, blacker than the original, and happily it has turned out to be at least equally thaumaturgic. One cannot see how black it really is, for it is covered with silver, like the frame of the picture of the Madonna di Custonaci, and festooned with votive offerings, earrings, necklaces, watches and chains which glitter and glisten as the procession pa.s.ses along the streets.

Finally, rather late in the day, came the Procession of the Personaggi, telling the story of _The Prodigal Son_. It consisted of twenty-nine princ.i.p.al and many accessory figures, the more important ones carrying scrolls stating who they were. The dresses were not equal to those one expects to see at a leading London theatre, but the peasants of the neighbourhood are unaccustomed to contemplate the triumphs of the modern theatrical costumier. There may have been much else in the procession that would have failed to win praise from a metropolitan crowd of spectators, and such justice as was done to it by the author of the little book, which was on sale for a few centesimi, might have struck an exacting critic as being tempered with more mercy than it fairly deserved. But the author was not thinking of the exacting critic, his att.i.tude of mind was rather that of Theseus when he determined that _Pyramus and Thisbe_ should be performed--

For never anything can be amiss When simpleness and duty tender it.

Moreover, the little book was not intended to be the exact description of something the writer had seen; it was written to ensure that the people should miss nothing they had come to see, and I believe I can best convey an idea of what this procession appeared to them by translating from the book. In the group No. 6--the Prodigal departing with his friends--the figures were on horseback; but all the other personages went on foot, following each other at distances of about ten yards, and walking slowly through the middle of the streets between wondering rows of solemn and delighted people.

THE PRODIGAL SON PART I _Introduction_

I. _Divine Mercy_.--A majestic matron robed as a sovereign, resplendent with jewels and sheltering sinners under the voluminous folds of her mantle.

2. _The Blind Design of the Prodigal_.--His departure from his father's house. A resolute youth in the garb of nudity, with a bandage over his eyes; his right hand is tied behind him and in his left is a bunch of flowers; he turns and gives ear to the Evil Spirit.

3. _The Evil Spirit_.--Clothed in skins like a faun, he is lying in wait for the preceding figure.

PART II _The Story of the Prodigal_

4. _The Young Son_.--His sword by his side, with haughty mien he demands his portion.

5. _The Father of the Prodigal_.--A grave personage, sad and tearful, in the act of handing over his keys and caskets which are carried by a servant.

6. _The Departure of the Prodigal_.--A gay young man mounted on a courser and attended by friends also on horseback. One of his companions carries a scroll: "Invenies multos, si res tibi floret, amicos;" another carries another scroll: "Si fortuna perit, nullus amicus erit."

7. _The Prodigal far from Home_.--He flaunts his rich raiment and carries a lute; one would say he is enjoying life.

8. _The Allegory of the False Friends_.--They have consumed his wealth and now conspire to abandon him. A man of double aspect, with two faces, carries swallows taking wing: "Ita falsi amici."

9. _The Prodigal reduced to poverty_--despised and spurned by his friends. A youth in mean attire, compelled by hunger to beg, he shades his eyes with his left hand and in his right carries a scroll: "Confusion hath covered my face. To beg I am ashamed."

10. _The Citizen Patron_--to whom the unhappy youth offers his services.

An austere man, gazing on him with a harsh countenance, gives him a crust of bread and a rod and sends him forth into the country to tend the swine.

11. _The Son's Resolution_.--In tattered rags, unshod and leaning on a stick, the wretch is saying, "I will arise and go to my father."

12. _The Father's Welcome_.--Descrying him from afar, he goes with open arms to meet his boy, embraces him, folds him tenderly to his bosom and, exulting with joy, exclaims, "My son was dead and is alive again--was lost and is found." The son is saying, "Father, I have sinned."

13. _The Rejoicings at Home_.--A group of youths and maidens crowned with flowers and playing upon instruments of music.

14. _A Servant_ presenting the prodigal with sumptuous apparel and a golden ring.

15. _The Elder Son_.--He has returned from the country, angry and resentful, and is astonished to see the prodigal.

16. _The Good Father_ goes to meet him and, calming his anger with soft words, exhorts him to become reconciled to his brother. He blesses them both and foretells peace, brotherly love and happiness.

PART III _The Allegorical Sense of the Parable_

17. _The Wicked Man in Prosperity_ contented with his state and persisting in evil, a fit subject for reproof. A voluptuary and a miser, magnificently attired, is clasping to his heart a purse full of money and a bunch of flowers and corn.

18. _The Divine Warning_.--A prophet who contemplates the preceding figure threateningly while he records the fatal sentence: "Thou fool; this night thy soul shall be required of thee."

19. _The Punishment of Tribulation_.--Divine Love that desireth not the death of a sinner. A celestial winged messenger carrying a scourge: "Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth."

20. _The Remorse of Conscience_.--The awakening of Repentance. A man in sorrowful garments expressing the emotions of his heart, now weeping, now confused, now raising his eyes to Heaven, now looking on the serpent that gnaws his heart.

21. _The Contrite Sinner_ hearkening to the whisperings of grace. A penitent, his heart pierced by an arrow, weeping and carrying a scourge: "Against Thee only have I sinned and done this evil in Thy sight."