Besides a mention of the Plain of Catania (Piana di Catania), which lies south of the city, and Mascali as a source of wine (that town is two-thirds of the way from Catania to Taormina), the towns and villages locatable on a good commercial map of Sicily2 (Viagrande, Pedara, Nicolosi, Trecastagni, Aci Catena, Valverde, and Mascalucia) are all on the southern slope of Mount Etna, very close to Catania.
“Fantasticheria.” First published in Rome in the August 24, 1879 issue of Il Fanfulla della Domenica,3 this became the first story in the 1880 volume Vita dei Campi.
It serves as a manifesto for Verga’s new verismo. Basically a plotless meditation that refers to the decline of a fisherman’s family, it reflects Verga’s own tensions between his Sicilian roots and his deep involvement with the haughty, disdainful, and exploitative high society of northern Italy as embodied in a glamorous sweetheart. He treats the woman here with open sarcasm, his sympathies clearly going to the Sicilian characters.
This dissatisfaction in love and contrast between North and South are picked up in the final story, “Di là del mare” (Beyond the Sea) of his next collection of Sicilian stories, Novelle rusticane (1883), in which he may be referring specifically to Giselda Fojanesi. Thus, the two stories provide a framework for his two greatest story collections, considered as a unit.
“Fantasticheria” is also significant as an unmistakable projection of a great work in progress: the novel I Malavoglia. The fortunes of the fisher family are substantially the same in both works, even down to the lost medlar tree in their yard.
With regard to geography, Aci Trezza is on the coast, slightly northeast of Catania. The small prison island of Pantelleria lies about sixty miles southwest of the westernmost tip of Sicily, and is actually closer to Tunisia than to Sicily.
“Jeli il pastore.” Written in November 1879, this was partially published in Florence in the February 29, 1880 issue of La Fronda, then placed as the second story in the 1880 Vita dei campi.
In his amicable simplicity, coupled with a difficulty in expressing himself that unavoidably breaks out into violent action, Jeli is much like Melville’s Billy Budd. The final story in the original 1880 edition of Vita dei campi, “Pentolaccia,” also concerns a placid cuckold who suddenly erupts.
“Jeli il pastore” is remarkably well observed, and very well written in detail, but a little choppy as a whole, because (1) it covers many years, and with unequal passage of time, (2) its incidents are more strung-along than cogently connected, and (3) at times its point-of-view shifts uneasily between Jeli and Don Alfonso, especially in the amazing long final sentence of the opening paragraph, in the course of which the reader realizes that the shared experiences of the boys are now being perceived solely in the thoughts, and by the standards, of Don Alfonso. (Verga himself was aware of the problem, because he began his next paragraph with: “Jeli himself didn’t suffer from that melancholy.”)
The problem arose from Verga’s close identification of Don Alfonso with himself. The story takes place in Verga’s childhood-and-adolescence vacation area; the Vergas owned the estate near Vizzini called Tebidi (“warm, sunny [houses]”) in the story, and numerous place names too local to appear on commercial maps are identifiable features in the nearby countryside. Besides Vizzini itself, the place names that are on the map include Licodia (Licodia Eubea), Caltagirone, Buccheri, and Marineo, none of them very far from Vizzini.
Jeli is short for some name ending in -ele (in standard Italian; -eli in Sicilian), most likely Raffaele, but possibly Gabriele. Mara is short for Maria; Menu, for Carmelo.
“Rosso Malpelo.” This story was first published (as “Scene popolari”) in Rome in the August 2 and 4, 1878 issues of Il Fanfulla. It appeared as a separate small book in 1880, published by Forzani, Rome, under the imprint Patto di Fratellanza. Then it became the third story in the 1880 Vita dei campi.
The literal translation of the hero’s name is Red Evil-hair. The story is a perfect exemplification of the English saying, “Give a dog a bad name, and then hang him.” As far as plot cohesion and continuity are concerned, this may be Verga’s most successful story; the sandpit locale, which even has a mythology of its own, creates a microcosm symbolic of human existence, while the author employs detached irony perfectly to cloak his enormous sympathy with his main character. As elsewhere, but with especial artistry here, Verga associates the fate of animals with that of people, not only manifestly, as with the donkey Gray, but even in such details as the nickname of Rosso’s father, “Bestia” (only an insensitive translator would totally disguise that connection with the animal world).
The name Misciu is a nickname for Domenico; Mommu might stand for Domenico, Girolamo, or Romolo. The locality Monserrato is now within the city limits of Catania. Plaja, the seashore slaughterhouse, is either at the mouth of the river Simeto, somewhat south of the city, or else corresponds to the present-day Lido di Plaia, to the immediate south of the city. Cifali, now called Cibali, is very close to Catania.
“Cavalleria rusticana.” This story, the one most closely associated with Verga’s name (but largely because of its later adaptations), was originally an offshoot of his work on the novel I Malavoglia; the basic plot appears in an early sketch for the novel, circa 1875. The story as we have it was first published in Rome in the March 14, 1880 issue of Il Fanfulla della Domenica, and then became the fourth story in the 1880 Vita dei campi.
This brief story about the blustering but vulnerable knave and fool Turiddu (= [Salva]torello) bears a surprising amount of weight and intensity when “primitive” passions of jealousy and revenge are unleashed.
Licodia (Alfio’s birthplace, not far from Vizzini) and Sortino (the birthplace of his mules; about fifteen miles east of Vizzini) are the only place-names mentioned that can be found on a commercial map, but it is almost axiomatic that the story takes place in Vizzini itself (where “Cavalleria” tours are currently available). The Canziria where the duel is fought among the prickly pears is said to be the Cunzirìa (“tanners’ district”) just outside of town.
This story inspired numerous adaptations. Verga himself wrote a play version (his best stage work) in 1883. Its first performance, on January 14, 1884, at the Teatro Carignano in Turin, with the superb actress Eleonora Duse in the leading feminine role (now called Santuzza), was a spectacular success. When the pioneering French producer-director André Antoine mounted a French translation at his Théâtre Libre in 1888, the Parisians didn’t take to it; but in Italy the play was already inspiring musical works. A tone poem by Giuseppe Perrotta was performed in Catania in 1886. The opera Mala Pasqua (Evil Easter), based on Verga’s play, with music by Stanislao Gastaldon, was performed at the Teatro Costanzi in Rome on April 8, 1890. May 17 of the same year, at the same house, was the date of the premiere of Pietro Mascagni’s Cavalleria rusticana, a tremendous success and the breakthrough work of operatic verismo. (It wasn’t until 1893 that Verga obtained a payment of 143,000 lire from Mascagni and the music publisher Sonzogno.) In 1902 another opera based on the play, this one by Domenico Monleone, was performed in Amsterdam. (In 1907 it was Sonzogno who won a lawsuit after Monleone’s opera was illegally performed in Italy.) In 1910 the important French film director Emile Chautard did a screen version of the play, and two different Italian film versions appeared in 1916 (just to mention the versions of Verga’s play in his own lifetime).
“La Lupa.” First published in the February 1880 issue of the Rivista nuova di Scienze, Lettere e Arti, probably in Milan,4 this subsequently became the fifth story in the 1880 Vita dei campi.
Like “Cavalleria rusticana,” this story is brief and passionate, a study in monomania. Pina, the real name of La Lupa, is short for Giuseppina; Nanni is short for Giovanni; Maricchia is a form of Maria.
The only firm geographical indication in the story is that Mount Etna can be seen in the distance. St. Agrippina, prominently mentioned, was the patron saint of Mineo, which is slightly closer to Catania than Vizzini is. But there is a strong tradition
that the characters live in Vizzini itself.
Verga wrote a play version of “La Lupa” in 1895, and tried to interest Puccini in composing an opera based on it. The play was first performed at the Teatro Gerbino in Turin on January 26, 1896. An opera based on the play was eventually published in 1919 (music by Pierantonio Tasca), but wasn’t performed until 1933 (in Noto, Sicily).
“L’amante di Gramigna.” When this story was first published in the February 1880 issue of the Rivista minima in Milan, it was called “L’amante di Raja”; in this case, the bandit’s name means “(the fish) skate, or ray.” When it appeared as the sixth story in the 1880 Vita dei campi, the prefatory letter to the editor of the magazine, Salvatore Farina, was abridged, while the incidents were expanded.
The letter to Farina is a major theoretical statement of the methods and aims of Verga’s verismo, and deserves close attention. The story is a fascinating psychological study of love inspired by hearsay alone; unlike analogous situations in folktales, the unseen hero is not a handsome knight or a gilded youth, but a grimy, hunted outlaw, loved for the suffering that he endures. The story, which basically consists of merely a beginning and an end, as Verga in his letter says it will, is extremely well told; the opening paragraph of the actual story, after the letter, is an absolutely brilliant piece of exposition.
The name Peppa would seem to be a short form of Giuseppa. All three geographical references are on commercial maps. We have already encountered Licodia and the river Simeto. Palagonia is about 20 miles southwest of Catania.
“Malaria.” First published in Florence in the August 14, 1881 issue of La Rassegna settimanale di Politica, Scienze, Lettere ed Arti, this became the fifth story in the 1883 volume Novelle rusticane.
The title is translated here as “Pestilential Air,” not only because that is the literal meaning (the compound noun is formulated exactly like malocchio, “evil eye,” and numerous other words beginning with mal-), but also because the true origin of the chills-and-fever disease was not yet known when the story was written, and it was attributed to the unwholesome air of certain low-lying regions. The first two paragraphs of the story make this abundantly clear.5
This is not so much of a plotted story as it is the general portrait of an entire district, with just a few victims singled out for special mention. Lentini, with its then stagnant lake, is roughly 10 miles south of Catania. Agnone is nearby, on the coast. Francofonte is roughly 5 miles southwest of Lentini. Paternò, on the other hand, is about 10 miles from Catania in a northwesterly direction. The name Turi is short for Salvaturi (Salvatore).
“La roba.” There is conflicting information about the first publication of this story. According to one trustworthy source, it was one of three recently written stories (the others being “Storia dell’asino di San Giuseppe” and “Cos’è il Re”) that Verga suggested for inclusion in the forthcoming second edition of Vita dei campi instead of another story, thematically unrelated to the rest, that the publisher, Emilio Treves, wished to insert to expand the volume. Treves is said to have considered the three new stories too good to be introduced so inconspicuously; they deserved to be saved for a brand-new volume of stories. When Vita dei campi was reprinted in 1881, that unrelated story was added to it. The source in question allows the reader to infer ex silentio that the new volume, Novelle rusticane (which eventually was published by someone else in 1883) marked the first appearance anywhere of the three stories Verga had suggested, “La roba” being the seventh story in the book. On the other hand, another source states categorically that “La roba” was first published in Florence in the December 26, 1880 issue of La Rassegna settimanale (the other two stories aren’t mentioned apart from Novelle rusticane).
Again, this is not a story with a plot (unless Mazzarò’s career is considered to have a story line). Instead, it is an elaborate character sketch, and, as such, an important “rehearsal” for Verga’s second great Sicilian novel, Mastro-don Gesualdo. In both cases, a poor lower-class man pulls himself up by his own bootstraps and becomes rich through his overpowering acquisitiveness.
Geographically, we are once more south of Catania, in the neighborhood of Lentini and Francoforte, and in the fertile Piana di Catania. A few of the little, off-the-map places mentioned in “Jeli il pastore” recur here.
“Storia dell’asino di S. Giuseppe.” Apparently this story was first published in the 1883 collection Novelle rusticane (see the comments on “La roba,” above) as the eighth item in the book.
In numerous ways, this is an animal counterpart to “Rosso Malpelo,” which itself featured a donkey prominently. Just as Rosso’s red hair, which he was born with, was superstitiously viewed, ruining his life, so the pied coat of “St. Joseph’s” donkey condemns him from birth. Rosso was emotionally and economically a prisoner of his sand quarry, but “St. Joseph’s” donkey wanders from master to master, deteriorating physically and valued at a lower price each time, in what Verga called elsewhere a via dolorosa or a via crucis, the Stations of the Cross. The religious aura becomes crystal clear when “St. Joseph’s” donkey falls to his knees like the donkey that adored the Christ Child. Naturally, the donkey’s fate is meant to be read as an all-too-common Sicilian human destiny as well; Rosso Malpelo constantly compares himself to animals, and in another story from Novelle rusticane, “Gli orfani” (The Orphans), worn-out peasant women are specifically equated with domestic animals that have served their turn and are expendable. With regard to geography, we already have encountered Buccheri, Licodia, and the Piana di Catania.
“Pane nero.” This story was first published in Turin between the issues of February 25 and March 18, 1882 of La Gazzetta letterarìa, a weekly supplement of the daily Gazzetta piemontese. In May of 1882, in an expanded form, it was published separately by Giannotta in Catania. Finally it was placed as the ninth story in the 1883 Novelle rusticane.
The content is absorbing, but the narrative technique is unusual, and perhaps not entirely successful. Verga here attempts to follow the fortunes of an entire household, and, as it becomes progressively dispersed, the reader never knows which individual will be in the limelight next, or for how long. The effect is somewhat like that of the summary of a novel, a little bewildering though undoubtedly overpowering.
The name Nena is short for a name ending in -ena, such as Nazarena or Filomena. Cheli is short for the Sicilian version of Michele; while Brasi stands for (standard-Italian) Biagio, and Decu for Diego.
Geographically, we encounter Francofonte once more. The other place-names refer to individual farms or to other very small localities.
“Libertà.” This story was published in Rome in the March 12, 1882 issue of La Domenica letteraria, a weekly that existed for only three years. It then became the eleventh story in the 1883 Novelle rusticane.
This is the only Verga story that deals with a specific historical event (though he mentions neither the time nor the place). In July 1860, while Garibaldi’s armies of liberation were making their successful way eastward through Sicily, the lower-class villagers of Bronte, on the western slope of Mount Etna, roughly 15 miles northwest of Catania, were deluded into a “liberty” craze and massacred the rich and noble. Garibaldi’s general Nino (actually, Gerolamo) Bixio (1821–1873), who was no friend to anarchy and who wished no disturbance left in the rear as his army advanced, administered swift, hard justice.
In some ways this story summarizes many themes of the entire collection Novelle rusticane. A venal, corrupt police constable occurs in the story “Don Licciu Papa.” A greedy, exploitative parish priest occurs in “Il Reverendo.” Members of the gentry who are themselves impoverished (like Don Paolo in “Libertà”) occur in “I galantuomini.”
In his description of the uprising, Verga employs a nervous, telegraphic style (with many verbless sentences) that reflects the excitement of the events. With regard to names of characters: Neddu is short for Bastianeddu (Sebastianello), and Pippo for Giuseppe.
__________
&n
bsp; 1. The Carbonari of the early 19th century were a Mason-inspired secret society that combated the repressive governments of the Italy of their day. One of Verga’s grandfathers had been a Carbonaro.
2. For this Introduction, the translator used the Michelin folding map No. 432 (scale of 1/400,000; 1 cm : 4 km). Place names in Verga’s stories not on that map may be considered to be names of specific farms, local nicknames of geographical features, localities that would appear only on Ordnance Survey-type maps, street names, neighborhood names, and the like.
3. The Sunday literary supplement of Il Fanfulla. This highly regarded daily was originally published in Florence, but moved to Rome when that city became the new capital of Italy in 1871. Fanfulla was a devil-may-care 16th-century soldier who had already been made a character in 19th-century fiction.
4. The translator has been unable to locate a city of publication for this magazine, but its title differs by only one word, nuova (“new”), from that of the magazine in which “Nedda” was first published (see above). The inference is strong that this was substantially the same magazine, which had now become a monthly. (No reference known to the translator gives the cities of publication of the periodicals mentioned, and he was compelled to do tedious independent research.)
5. In a couple of the other stories, the translator has used “malaria” in English for the sake of concision, but only when the cause of the disease is not under discussion.
Sicilian Stories
Novelle siciliane
NEDDA
Il focolare domestico era per me una figura rettorica, buona per incorniciarvi gli affetti più miti e sereni, come il raggio di luna per baciare le chiome bionde; ma sorridevo allorquando sentivo dirmi che il fuoco del camino è quasi un amico. Sembravami in verità un amico troppo necessario, a volte uggioso e dispotico, che a poco a poco avrebbe voluto prendervi per le mani, o per i piedi, e tirarvi dentro il suo antro affumicato per baciarvi alla maniera di Giuda. Non conoscevo il passatempo di stuzzicare la legna, né la voluttà di sentirsi inondare dal riverbero della fiamma; non comprendevo il linguaggio del cepperello che scoppietta dispettoso, o brontola fiammeggiando; non avevo l’occhio assuefatto ai bizzarri disegni delle scintille correnti come lucciole sui tizzoni anneriti, alle fantastiche figure che assume la legna carbonizzandosi, alle mille gradazioni di chiaroscuro della fiamma azzurra e rossa che lambisce quasi timida, accarezza graziosamente, per divampare con sfacciata petulanza. Quando mi fui iniziato ai misteri delle molle e del soffietto, mi innamorai con trasporto della voluttuosa pigrizia del caminetto. Io lascio il mio corpo su quella poltroncina, accanto al fuoco, come vi lascerei un abito, abbandonando alla fiamma la cura di far circolare più caldo il mio sangue e di far battere più rapido il mio cuore; e incaricando le faville fuggenti, che folleggiano come farfalle innamorate, di farmi tenere gli occhi aperti, e di far errare capricciosamente del pari i miei pensieri. Cotesto spettacolo del proprio pensiero che svolazza vagabondo senza di voi, che vi lascia per correre lontano, e per gettarvi a vostra insaputa come dei soffi, di dolce e d’amaro in cuore, ha attrattive indefinibili. Col sigaro semispento, cogli occhi socchiusi, le molle fuggendovi dalle dita allentate, vedete l’altra parte di voi andar lontano, percorrere vertiginose distanze: vi par di sentirvi passar per i nervi correnti di atmosfere sconosciute, provate, sorridendo, l’effetto di mille sensazioni che farebbero incanutire i vostri capelli e solcherebbero di rughe la vostra fronte, senza muovere un dito, o fare un passo.
Sicilian Stories Page 2
