lightetli every man that cometh into the world.' It is so easy for us who have been born in countries through
which have rung 'the awful echoes of Luther's tremen-
dous protest,' to thank God we are not as these poor
Latin peasants ; or for those of us ' who,' as Swift says,
' by the sheer force of genius
alone, unassisted by book-
learning, or even intellect,
have come to the astound-
ing conclusion that there is
no God,' to look down from
our unassailable height with
infinite pity and condescen-
sion, combined with a mag-
nificent nonchalance, upon
these poor, credulous, faith-
ful folk. Let us leave them
to their sinn)le worshij) —
their unquestioning faith.
It is not given to every one
to be self-sustained, and the
Children of Light are not
always as wise in their
generation as those of this
world. At least, with their
crucifixes, their pictures,
their wonderful relics, their
festas and gala-days, when
the long glittering proces-
sion winds down her quaint
mountain streets ; while last
comes the brave and stal-
wart priest, stately and
egregious, towering above
his congregation si. feet
t^vo as he walks — Anticoli
is happier far than the
enlightened Italian cities.
where the reaction from
Papal supremacy, and a blind and mistaken loyalty
to the king, are fast sweeping away poor old-fashioned
Christianity, as France has done already, together with
truth and valour, charity, and purity of soul.
The mention of the w-ord 'fesia ' recalls to ju)-
mind a remark made to me by an American
writer (F. Marion Crawford), himself boi'ii in Italy,
and whose fame is as wide as his travels — that
if a stranger in Italy, being ignorant of the lan-
guage, should yet have mastered three expres-
sions, he might, by a judicious use of these, pass as
being fluent therein, and not remarkably reticent.
These three were — 'Addio!' 'Chi lo sa ?' and 'Domaiii
cj'estu '.' I quote this, not alone on the high authority
of its originator, but also because the longer I stay in
Italy the more convincingly do the truth and penetra-
tion of the remark present themselves to me. And
be it known, that a /f.v/rt does not only mean Avhat a
saint's day in Anglo-Saxondom might mean — a quiet
service in church, with the utterance of an appropriate
»AH>H6T*'t NIAMM
collect. Here it means a burning and banging of gun-
powder, a mad ringing of bells, processions, macaroni,
the airing of the best clothes, the drinking of wine
less profusely watered, a loafing in the square, a day
of garlic and other delights. How they can afford the
time for all this enthusiasm
— which means doing no
solitary stroke of work the
livelong day — must for ever
be a mystery to a Nor-
therner. They are as poor
as rats, and yet they would
sooner starve than work on
a fesiu. Verily, their motto
is — Half a ' loaf is better
than no bread ! Though it
is only fair to say that, when
not keeping feasts, they are
skilful and enduring work-
men, especially at agricul-
tural pursuits — getting up
in the middle of the night,
and working for a number
of hours, and with a paucity
of food and pay that would
make an Englishman turn
Chartist. They exist almost
entirel}' on bread made from
fi'/rt« turcu, or Indian corn ;
while two francs a day is
the ordinary pay of an able-
bodied man. It is astonish-
ing how nearly they live to
the original idea of man.
They stand close to nature :
they obtain from the earth
their bread, on which they
absolutely exist, bartering
but little of it for a few
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necessities, such as clothing. The primitive system of exchange is in force here in Anticoli in all its simplicity. Only the other evening, while sitting- after work in the 'cheap-jacquerie,' we were much interested by seeing a ragged little urchin, who reached about half-way up to the counter, and who stood there mute and motionless for about five minutes. He might have stood there until the next mornine — for he was almost the same tone as the wood-work — had not one of us spotted him, and asked him what in the world such an insignificant, tattered little atom might be wanting in the great Anticoli Bon-Marche ? With great care he produced from the ragged mysteries of his coat's interior a single egg, which he held out at arm's-length, as he tiptoed up towards the towering counter's top, and demurely asked for a yard of cord to tie up his ciocc. This was given him, and the egg duly examined and taken in exchange without a smile, by the wife of the owner of the shop, who, if report speaks true, has been raised