Fragments of the Pescarese Chronicle Towards the middle of August—when in the fields the wheat was bleaching dry in the sun—Antonio Mengarino, an old peasant full of probity and wisdom, standing before the Board of the Council when they were discussing public matters, heard some of the councillors, citizens of the place, discoursing in low tones about the cholera, which was spreading through the province; and he listened with close attention to the proposals for preserving the health and for eliminating the fears of the people and he leaned forward curiously and incredulously as he listened. With him in the Council were two other peasants, Giulio Citrullo of the Plain, and Achille di Russo of the Hills, to whom the old man would turn from time to time, winking and grimacing insinuatingly, to warn them of the deception which At last, unable to restrain himself longer, he spoke out with the assurance of a man who knows and sees. “Stop your idle talk! What if there is a little cholera among us. Let us keep the secret to ourselves.” At this unexpected outburst, the Councillors were taken by surprise, then burst into laughter. “Go on, Mengarino! What foolishness are you talking!” exclaimed Don Aiace, the Assessor, slapping the old man on the shoulder, while the rest, with much shaking of heads and beating of fists upon the table, talked of the pertinacious ignorance of the country people. “Well, well, but do you think we are deceived by your talk?” asked Antonio Mengarino, with a quick gesture, hurt by the laughter which his words had created, and in the hearts of the three peasants their instinctive hostility toward and hatred of the upper classes were revived. Then they were excluded from the secrets of the Council? Then they were still considered ignoramuses? Oh, those were two galling thoughts! “Do as you please. We are going,” said the When they were outside the town, in the upland country filled with vineyards and cornfields, Giulio Citrullo stopped to light his pipe, and said decisively: “We will not mind them! We can be on our guard, and know that we shall have to take precautions. I would not like to be in their places!” Meanwhile, throughout the farming country, the fear of the disease had taken possession of all. Over the fruit trees, the vineyards, the cisterns, and the wells, the farmers, suspicious and threatening, kept close and indefatigable watch. Through the night frequent shots broke the silence, and even the dogs barked till dawn. Imprecations against the Government burst forth with greater violence from day to day. All the peaceful labours of the farm-hands were undertaken with a sort of carelessness; from the fields expressions of rebellion rose in songs and rhymes, improvised by the hands. Then, the old men recalled instances in the past which confirmed the suspicions about poisoning. In the year ’54, some vintagers had one day caught a man hidden in the top of a fig-tree, and when they forced him to descend, they noticed in Then stories began to be circulated of recent mysterious happenings. One woman said that seven cases of poison had come to the City Hall, sent by the Government to be distributed through the country by mixing it with the salt. The cases were green, fastened with iron bands and three locks. The Mayor had been obliged to pay seven thousand ducats to bury the cases and save the country. Another story went about that the Government paid the Mayor five ducats for every dead person because the population was too large, and it was the poor who must die. The Mayor was now making out a list of those selected. Ha! He would get rich, this great signore! And so the excitement grew. The peasants would not buy anything in the market of Pescara; the figs were left to rot on the trees; the grapes were left One day the news came that in Naples the people were dying in large numbers and hearing the name of Naples, of that great, far-distant kingdom where “Gianni Without Fear” made his fortune, the imaginations of the people were inflamed. The vintage time came, but the merchants of Lombardy bought the home grapes, and took them to the north to make artificial wines. The luxury of new wine was scarce; the vintagers who trampled out the juice of the grapes in the vats to the songs of maidens, had little to do. But when the work of the vineyards was ended, and the fruit of the trees was gone, the fears and suspicions of the people grew less, for now there was little chance for the Government to scatter the poison. Heavy, beneficent rains fell upon the country, drenching the soil and preparing it for the ploughing and the sowing, and together with the favour of the soft autumnal sun and the moon in its first quarter, had its beneficent influence upon “Aha! That is well! The ‘great Signore’ does not wish to renounce the ducats!... But they cannot harm us now, for there is no more fruit to eat, and we do not go to Pescara. The ‘great Signore’ is playing his cards very badly. He wishes to see us die! But he has mistaken the time, poor Signore! “Where can he put the poison? In the dough? In the salt?... But we shall not eat any more dough, and we have our salt first tried by the dogs and cats. Ha, rascally Signore! What have you done? Your day will come, too....” Thus, everywhere the grumbling rose, mixed with mocking and contumely against the men of the Commune and the Government. In Pescara, one after another, three, four, five persons were taken with the disease. Evening was approaching, and over the houses hung a funereal dread, which seemed to be mingled with The strange occurrence and the excitement which followed it, caused many of the people to grow slightly ill. Feeling a strange sensation in their stomachs, they would begin to tremble, and with chattering teeth would look into one another’s faces; then, with rapid strides, would hasten to lock themselves in their homes, leaving their evening meals untouched. Then, late in the night, when the first tumult of the panic had subsided, the police lighted fires of sulphur and tar at the corners of the streets. The red flames lighted up the walls and the windows, and the unpleasant odour of manure pervaded the air of the frightened city, and in the light of the distant moon, it looked as though the tar men were merrily smearing the keels of vessels. Thus did the Asiatic Plague make an entrance into Pescara. The disease, creeping along the river, spread through the little seashore hamlets,—through Most of those seized with the disease died, because no amount of reasoning and assurance, or experiments, could persuade them to take the medicine. Anisafine, the hunchback who sold water mixed with spirit of anise to the soldiers, when he saw the glass of the physician, closed his lips tightly and shook his head in refusal of the potion. The doctor tried to coax him with persuasive words and first drank half the liquid, then the assistants each took a sip. Anisafine continued to shake his head. “But don’t you see,” exclaimed the doctor, “we have been drinking? But you....” Anisafine began to laugh sceptically, “Ha! ha! ha! You took the counter-poison,” he said, and soon after he was dead. Cianchine, simple-minded butcher, did the same thing. The doctor, as a last resort, poured the medicine between the man’s teeth. Cianchine spit it out wrathfully, overwhelmed with horror. Then he began to abuse those present, and died raging, held by two amazed gendarmes. The public kitchens, instituted by charitably-disposed people, were at first thought by the The woman Catalana di Gissi was the first to conquer her fears. Hesitating a little, she entered and ate a small mouthful, waiting to notice the effect of the food and then took a few sips of wine, whereupon, feeling restored and fortified, she smiled with astonishment and pleasure. All the beggars were waiting for her to come out and when they saw her unharmed, they rushed in to eat and drink. The kitchens are inside an old open theatre in the neighbourhood of Portanova. The kettles in which the food is prepared are placed where the orchestra used to sit. The steam from them rises and fills the old stage; through the smoke you see the scenery behind on the stage, representing a feudal castle in the light of the full moon. Here at noon-time gathers around a rustic table the tribe of the beggars. Before the hour strikes, there is a swarming of multi-coloured rags in the pit, and there arises the grumbling of hoarse voices. Some However, the great epic account of this chronicle of the cholera is the War of the Bridge. An old feud exists between Pescara and Castellammare Adriatico, which districts lie on either side of the river. The opposing factions were assiduously engaged in pillage and reprisals, the one doing all that lay in its power to hinder the prosperity of the other, and as the important factor in the prosperity of a country is its commerce, and as Pescara possessed many industries and great wealth, the people of Castellammare had long sought with much astuteness and all manner of allurements to draw the merchants away from the rival town. An old wooden bridge, built on big tarred boats chained together and fastened to the piers, spans the river. The cables and the ropes, which stretch from almost the height of the piers to the low Thus, between the panorama of Montecorno and the sea, the humble structure looms up like a monument of the country, and possessing the sacredness of all monuments, gives to strangers the impression of a people who live in primeval simplicity. As the hatred between the Pescarese and the Castellammarese meets on this bridge, the boards of which are worn under the daily heavy traffic, and as the trade of the city spreads to the province of Teramo, with what joy would the opposing faction cut the cables and push out to sea to be wrecked the seven supporting boats. A good opportunity having presented itself, the leader of the enemy, with a great display of his rural forces, prevented the Pescarese from passing over the wide road which stretches out from Then the wily fellow spread the report of a great mortality in Pescara. Professing friendship for the province of Teramo he succeeded in rousing both that province and Chieti against the peaceful city, from which the plague had really disappeared entirely. He waylaid and kept prisoners some honest passers-by who were exercising their Then the tribunes rose to action: Francesco Pomarice, Antonio Sorrentino, Pietro D’Amico; and in the streets the people, divided into groups, listened to their words, applauding, proposing, and uttering cries. A great tumult was brewing. As an illustration, some recounted the heart-rending tale of Moretto di Claudia, who had been taken by force, by men paid to do the deed, and being imprisoned in the Lazzaretto, was kept for five consecutive days without other food than bread, at the end of which time he succeeded in The Mayor, seeing the storm gathering, endeavoured to arbitrate with the Great Enemy of Castellammare. The Mayor is a little fellow, a knighted Doctor of Law, carefully dressed, curly haired, his shoulders covered with dandruff, his small roving eyes accustomed to pleasant simulation. The Great Enemy is a degenerate, a nephew of the good Gargantuasso, a big fellow, puffing, exploding, devouring. The meeting of the two took place on neutral ground, with the Prefects of Teramo and of Chieti as witnesses. But towards sunset one of the guards went into Pescara to bring a message to one of the councillors of the Commune; he went in with another of the loafers to drink, after which he strolled about the streets. When the tribunes saw him, they immediately gave chase. With cries and shouts, he was driven towards the banks of the river as far as Lazzaretto. The water glared in the light of the setting sun, and the belligerent reddening of the air intoxicated the people. Then from the willow trees on the opposite shore a crowd of Castellammarese poured out, “Open to me! Open to me!” “You go to sleep in there and don’t worry!” the men called to him scornfully, while someone cruelly added: “Ah, if you knew how many have been killed down there! Don’t you smell the blood? Doesn’t it make you sick?” “Hurrah! Hurrah!” Towards Bandiera the gleam of gun-barrels could be seen. The little Mayor, at the head of a band of soldiers, was coming to liberate the guard that the wrath of the Great Enemy might not be incurred. Suddenly the irritated rabble broke out in an angry uproar. Loud cries rose against the cowardly liberator of the Castellammarese. From Lazzaretto to the city sounded the clamour of hisses and contumely. To the delight of the people the shouting lasted until their voices grew hoarse. After the first outburst the revolt began to turn in other directions. The shops were all closed, the citizens gathered in the street, rich and poor Every few minutes another tribune would arrive with fresh news. Groups dissolved to form new groups, varying according to differences of opinion. The free spirit of the day affected everyone; every breath of air seemed to intoxicate like a draught of wine, the hilarity of the Pescarese revived, and they continued their rebellion ironically for pure enjoyment, for spite, and for the love of novelty. The stratagems of the Great Enemy were increased. Any agreement was broken to further the skilful schemes which were suggested, and the weakness of the little Mayor favoured this method of procedure. On the morning of All Souls’ Day at about seven o’clock, when the first ceremonies were being performed in the churches, the tribunes started to make a tour of the city, followed by a crowd which grew larger at every step, and became more and more clamorous. When all the people had gathered, Antonio Sorrentino addressed them in a stirring harangue. Then the procession proceeded in an orderly way towards the City Hall. At the sight of the City Hall an immense cry broke out. From every mouth vituperations were hurled; every fist rose threateningly. The shouts vibrated at intervals as though produced by an instrument, and above the confused mass of heads the vermilion flags waved as if agitated by a heavy popular breath. No one appeared upon the balcony of the City Hall. The sun was gradually descending from the roof to the meridian sand, black with figures and lines, upon which vibrated the indicating shadow. From the Torretta of the D’Annunzio to the bell-tower of the Abbey, flocks of doves were flying against the azure sky. The shouts increased. A number of the more zealous ones took by assault the stairs of the building. The little Mayor, pallid and timid, yielded to the wish of the people. He left his seat in the City Hall, resigned his office, and passed down the street between two gendarmes, followed by the whole Board of Councillors. He then left the city and withdrew to the hall of Spoltore. The doors of the City Hall were closed and for a time Anarchy ruled the city. In order to prevent an open battle, which seemed imminent, between the Castellammarese and the Pescarese, the Through the wide street poured forth from the church the women of the place, dressed in various coloured gowns, and covered with jewelry consisting mostly of silver filigree and gold necklaces. The appearance of these happy and joyful faces quieted and soothed the turbulent spirits of the mob. Jests and laughter broke forth spontaneously, and the short period of waiting was almost gay. Towards noon the carriage of the Prefect came in sight. The people formed themselves in a semicircle to stop its passage. Antonio Sorrentino again gave a harangue, not without a certain flowery eloquence. The crowd, in the pauses of the speech, asked in various ways for justice and relief from the abuses, and that no measure should be taken which would involve killing. The two large skeletons of horses, still animated, however, shook their bells from time to time, showing the rebels their white gums as if in a grimace of derision. A delegate of the police, “To Pescara! To Pescara!” The carriage, pushed along by the press of the crowd, entered the city and the City Hall being closed, it stopped before the Delegation. Ten men, named by the people, together with the Prefect, formed a temporary parliament. The crowd filled the street and every now and then an impatient murmur arose. The houses, heated by the sun, radiated a delightful warmth, and an indescribable mildness emanated from the sky and sea, from the floating vegetation alongside the water-troughs, from the roses, from the windows, from the white walls of the houses, from the very air of the place itself. This place is renowned as the home of the most beautiful women of Pescara, from generation to The home of Don Ussorio is the abode of flourishing children and pretty girls; the house is all covered with little loggias, which are overflowing with carnations growing in rough vases ornamented with bas-reliefs. Gradually the impatient crowd grew quiet. From one end of the street to the other the speakers were subsiding. Domenico di Matteo, a sort of rustic Rodomonte, was making loud jests upon the asininity and avidity of the doctors who cause their patients to die in order to get a larger fee from the Commune. He was telling of some marvellous cures he had effected on himself. Once he had a terrible pain on his chest, and was about to die. The physician had forbidden him to drink water, and he was burning with thirst. One night, when everyone was asleep he got up quietly, felt about for a water tank, and having found it, stuck his head in it and drank like a pack horse until the tank was empty. Next morning he had entirely recovered. Another time, he and a companion, having been ill for a long time with intermittent fever, and having taken large quantities of quinine without avail, decided to make an experiment. Across the river from them was a vineyard filled with From the balconies, from the windows, from the loggias, a number of beautiful women leaned out, one after another. The men in the street raised their eyes towards these fair apparitions, walking along with heads bent backward. As the dinner hour was passed, they felt a certain dizziness in their heads and their stomachs, and an awakening faintness. Brief talks between street and windows took place, the young men making gestures and little speeches to the belles, the belles answering with motions of their hands or shakes of their heads, or sometimes by laughing aloud. Their fresh laughter poured out on the men below like strings of crystals, increasing their admiration. The black birds, singing a sort of rustic madrigal, fluttered their wings towards her. Ciccarina, smiling, withdrew from the loggia. The crowd remained in the street, dazzled by the vision, and a little dizzy from hunger. Then one of the speakers, “Citizens! The matter will be settled within three hours!” |