THE HEART OF THE PEASANT. — SICILIAN VERSION.
IT was raining so heavily that I stepped into the farm -I- for shelter. The old man himself invited me into his one and only living-room, where I accepted a seat beside him on a home-made bench, hacked out of a tree- trunk. Being very wealthy he can afford a brick-built room, with a tiled roof instead of a straw thatch; but the floor was soil, pattered hard by many generations of bare feet. In one corner a bed was rolled up for the day, on the walls hung a few sieves—the only other furniture of the room was a cluster of damp fowls and an intrusive pig. The women of the family were anxious I should take the seat of honour, a battered and risky-looking chair, which I declined, and remained sitting by old Costanzo on his bench near the fire. His son-in-law, " Brinkie," sat on the other side, languidly snipping at his beard with a big pair of scissors, the circle of grey tufts round his stool testifying to the length of time since he had last shaved.
" Peppin not at home ? "
• " Peppin is off to Rome. He has joined the Fascisti." " Better have minded his ploughing and hoeing," .mumbled the old man. " Fascism° only leads to much fighting. Last night, in the paese,' they were fighting in the streets ; there were bastonati ' and the Sindaco got a blow on the head that swelled his face so badly he had to go to bed and call the doctor. Better set to work to trap all these brigands and thieves that are about. Castor-oil won't cure thieves ! Shoot them down or put them in prison for thirty years I What we want is to work in peace, and not have our beasts stolen, or be shot at and robbed, like Ciccio last year coming home from the fair with money in his pocket."
" Sicuro," said Brinkie, with a snap of his scissors, " only last week at Broemi, on the edge of the forest, they had ten beasts stolen, all fine oxen ; and Simone Salva lost his young mule. One has to be up all night on the watch."
Some dirty little children, their bare feet dripping with black mud, insinuated themselves into the group round the fire and stared, wide-eyed, at the foreigner.
I tried to give the conversation a political turn to find out if either Costanzo or his son-in-law had any views on the subject, but patriotism to them was a dead letter : only in so far as things affected them personally did they have any feelings. We always got round to the brigands again and how honest folk lost their property and their hard-earned soldi by these robbers. Considering that old Costanzo was not altogether impeccable himself on the question of " mine and thine," his virtuous indigna- tion was perhaps somewhat beside the mark. Just then another of the old man's many sons came in, and, unrolling a variety of dirty woollen shawls from about his head and shoulders, observed that it was damp work cutting mistletoe for the oxen to eat in such weather. We agreed and made room for him near the fire.
" I am asking your father, Ciccio, what he thinks of Signor Mussolini ! "
" My father ! He doesn't think of anything at all except ploughing and hoeing, hoeing and ploughing. It is we, the young men, and the men of the towns and cities, who are thinking and working for the New Italy." Ciccio's intelligent dark eyes lit up with fire and energy, " And Mussolini is the man to lead us ! Paradiso di Dio I He is great He is stupendous ! What will and determination ! When he strikes it is without mercy. He will soon sweep out all these parasites of public offices, these self-seekers only thinking of what they can make for themselves. Italy was being torn to pieces and ruined by conflicting party interests, but now we have got a strong Government and a strong leader instead of a see-saw of weak and flabby ones. Benito Mussolini is putting fresh life and hope into the country. He is doing a great thing, too, in trying to encourage private enterprise in the place of State monopolies."
Costanzo's cunning old eyes regarded his son furtively " Not a soldo of my money goes into any company to be stolen."
" You see," said Ciccio, " my father will never put his money out at interest. Ire locks it up in a box, and won't trust even the banks."
" Perhaps he is right, Ciccio."
Seeing the rain had stopped, I got up to go, and Ciccio volunteered to accompany me to the gate " It is the old who keep us back," he burst out. " Take Sicily only—look at her vast resources of wealth all undeveloped for want of enterprise and money to work them, because the older men, like my father, who have all the money are afraid to venture it."
" Of course the basis of all commerce must be mutual trust and honesty.. If your Mussolini can make people honest he will go a long way towards reviving trade and prosperity."_ " Si, si. I understand. Cu tempu, cu tempu. Give us time and we shall do better."
Here our ways parted. Ciccio wished me buon giorno and sped up the hill in search of a possible rabbit, and I walked on, wondering if the beloved leader . had power to change the leopard's spots.
MARGARET HUGHES.
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