# Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 9/Sicilian notes

SICILIAN NOTES.
Having spent some years in Sicily before the late revolution, I had been much interested in observing the many national customs still lingering in an island which so seldom becomes the residence of foreigners, except of those engaged in business, or possessing local ties. On returning there last winter, I found some of these had entirely disappeared, others were gradually being abandoned under the present rule, and I have thought that an account of these fast-fading relics of the middle ages might prove interesting. The most important national festival, the “Festino” (as it is called) of Santa Rosalia, has been given up for two or three years, on the plea that the Cassaro, or, as it is now called, the Corso Vittor Emanuele, is under repair, and will probably never be resumed. Santa Rosalia was the daughter of a rich and powerful Sicilian baron, descended from Charlemagne. At an early age she renounced all the grandeurs of her home, and retired to a solitary life in a cavern of Quisquina, which she subsequently left to practise still greater austerities in a grotto on Monte Pellegrino, where she died. Her remembrance had well-nigh been lost when, in 1624, a dreadful plague broke out in Palermo, during which she appeared to a certain Bonelli, and commanded him to inform the archbishop and the senate that the plague would cease as soon as her relics were transported into the city. This was done, the plague immediately stopped, and this festival was established in commemoration of the miracle.
It lasted five days, beginning the 11th of July and ending on the night of the 15th; it cost annually 10,000 ducats, which the state expended on it, being the produce of a tax, voluntarily imposed by the people themselves, on all the grain and wine which enters the town.
Great preparations had been made for some time previously. The Cassaro had been decorated with wreaths of artificial flowers suspended from one ​set of variegated lamps to another; inscriptions of “Viva Santa Rosalia,” “Viva il Re,” “Viva la Regina,” “Viva la real famiglia,” were placed in conspicuous situations; while on the Marina was erected a most elaborate fabric for the fireworks, the front of which, representing a sort of temple, was decorated with transparencies. The perspective of the whole was very well painted, particularly that of a flight of stairs at each end. On the evening of the 10th, the transparencies were lighted up as a sort of rehearsal, and everybody drove there to see the effect, and very pretty it was. Nearer the port, but still on the Marina, the triumphal car was in course of preparation; the design was varied every year, and it has several times been made so large as to damage the balconies in its progress down the street. This year it bore the form of a lofty cupola, springing from the middle of a galley painted white, and ornamented with carving and gilding, with saints and angels placed around. The cupola was formed of several tiers of open arches, lined with crimson and purple curtains; at various heights were figures, similar to those in the galley; the whole surmounted by a statue of Santa Rosalia bearing a cross and dressed in a plain white robe. Tradition relates that an attempt was once made to equip her in magnificent attire, but the figure became so heavy that no efforts could raise her till the plain garb was replaced, when she immediately resumed her usual portability.
At five o’clock in the afternoon of the first day the immense mass, drawn by thirty-six oxen, started from the Porta Felice, ascending the Cassaro to its furthest extremity, the Porta Nuova, and in spite of the reductions in its size, it still overtopped all but the very highest houses, and literally seemed to fill the whole width of the street. The prow was occupied by a band of musicians, and the cortége stopped before each convent and played; the whole thing occupied about an hour. In the evening the Cassaro was brilliantly illuminated, and soon after nine we all assembled to witness the fireworks. A portion of the terrace which runs between the Strada Butera and the Marina was covered over and adorned with silk and muslin hangings, looking-glasses, and lights innumerable, so as to appear something between a tent and a gigantic opera-box, capable of containing at least a hundred persons; to this the Pretore of the city invites the Governor-General and the beau monde of Palermo. Nothing can be kinder than the Sicilians are to foreigners, who, if once introduced, are invited to everything. The fireworks were certainly very beautiful, but I did not think (as I had been told I should) that they surpassed those at Rome on Easter Monday, and I missed the bouquet at the finale. The effect of the transparencies was excellent. The Villa Giulia, lighted with endless lamps, looked very pretty; a band added to the attractions of the place, which was crowded with the lower orders in their gayest attire; one might have fancied oneself in a fair where Harlequin’s wand had converted all the booths into aviaries, fountains, and statues. The governor, attended by the senate and the public officers, went in state, and walked as usual round the gardens; and his example was duly followed by most of the Palermitans, who thus wiled away the time till midnight, when the drive up and down the Cassaro: begins, carriages being forbidden till that hour. On leaving the Giulia we drove down the Marina, which a short time before a sea of human heads, all with upturned faces, now showed only a few scattered groups, and cargoes of chairs on hand-trucks slowly wending their way into the town. The Cassaro was very gay. The illuminations consist of groups and festoons of lamps, transparencies, and other devices repeated at regular and short intervals, and from their uniformity of design very striking, making the streets as light as day. Fortunately there was no moon. The second day there were races similar to those at Rome, the horses running without riders the whole length of the Cassaro, and in the evening the carro returns illuminated to the Marina; the archbishop issues invitations to his palazzo, where the luogotenente also goes in full state. I was delighted with this evening’s entertainment. Over the Porta Nuova was an enormous eagle formed of small lamps, to be seen from one end of the street to the other; the Piazza Reale and that of the Duomo were crowded with people, and immediately after the arrival of the governor, the ponderous car, preceded by a guard of mounted soldiers in scarlet uniforms, the colour of the city, was seen slowly advancing brilliantly lighted. The white-robed saint, reflected against the dark blue sky, appeared almost superhuman, and as if about to take her flight over the town of which she is called the protectoress, and the whole mass, as it approached the end of the piazza, seemed as if it must crush the houses on either side; it of course stopped before the palace for the band to play, and when it moved on I felt that this was indeed one of the few national sights still left in this prosaic age. As the whole of the Cassaro is more or less a descent from the Porta Nuova to the Porta Felice, about twenty oxen were yoked in front and as many more attached behind, making a sort of living drag, and evidently not much liking their office. We watched the car slowly descending, halting beneath each convent lattice, when the band again played and the attendants re-lighted the tapers, which the faint night breeze from time to time succeeded in extinguishing; its lights, mingling more and more with the general illuminations, were at last lost to our view.
The archbishop’s palace contains two distinct suites of apartments, one for summer use, and the other for winter, the former of which only was thrown open; it is very spacious, and was brilliantly lighted up. After the car had vanished from sight, we partook of ices, the consumption of which among the company generally was prodigious, and took our leave.
The third day there were again races, and in the evening fireworks. On the first day but few of the Palermitan noblesse assisted, in spite of the presence of their new governor; but this evening being the fashionable one, the parterre was crowded with ladies in ball-dresses, and gentlemen in uniform; the fireworks were much the same as on the previous occasion, with one or two trifling ​additions. The Villa Giulia was again illuminated but neither the governor nor la società went, it being the custom for them to go only the first night. The drive on the Cassaro began as usual at midnight.
The following day was the last of the races, and in the evening we went to the cathedral, the illumination of which is considered almost unique, and certainly the coup d’œil as we entered was splendid. The interior is remarkably plain, so there was nothing to interfere with the blaze of light, which was entirely produced by innumerable wax candles, suspended a short distance from the roof, and from every arch and pillar in the building, and were indeed most artistically arranged. A guard of soldiers stood on each side from the door to the chancel, the ladies sat on chairs beyond the rails of the altar, and the side aisles were filled with the people. The archbishop, attended by the senators, walked up the centre, and after assuming his robes and tiara the service began. The music was nothing remarkable, but I never saw any costume so becoming as that of the senators’, the pretore especially looked like a magnificent Vandyke which had walked out of its frame. The dress is composed of a flowing robe of black silk, slashed sleeves, with under ones of white satin, spangled with gold, a white collar forming a square in front, and a gold chain. As usual, during vespers, nobody seemed to pay any attention; and though so near, we all talked and laughed. I was rather scandalised, but I felt I could not teach the Sicilians how to behave in their own church. After a time, a priest kindly took us to see the chapel of Santa Rosalia; the shrine, surmounted by a statue of the Saint, is of silver, and immensely heavy: some relics were also exhibited, contained in a highly ornamented pix, which my companions kissed with great reverence.
Towards the end of the vespers a gun was fired, which we learnt was the signal of the governor’s leaving the palace. In a few minutes the chanting had ceased, the soldiers caught up their drums, the senators advanced half-way down the aisle, and returned in a moment with His Excellency, the drums making hideous music as he appeared. The benediction was now given, the governor visited the chapel of Santa Rosalia, and returned down the aisle as before. We all followed, and had the pleasure of seeing the senators enter the city carriages, large ponderous vehicles similar to the sheriffs’ coaches of the past century in London, being all glass, the pannels gaily painted in scarlet and gold, and with a white plume at each of the four corners. The small people were now able to get away, and we were amused, on turning round to give one farewell glance, to see that during these very few minutes, at least half the lights had already been extinguished, what were thus saved, as they are the perquisite of the inferior clergy.
On the following morning high mass was performed in the Duomo, when the governor was duly incensed as Legate of the Holy See. In the evening we went by invitation to the Sala Pretoriana, to witness the conclusion of the festino, consisting of a procession of statues and relics, which starts from the cathedral and diverges from the Cassaro at the Quattro Cantoni, marches round the fountain, returns to the Cassaro, and thence proceeds to one of the four quarters into which the city is divided, through every street, lane, and alley of which these saints and relics are conducted, leaving, it is supposed, innumerable blessings behind them; thus every quarter had its share once in four years, and by six o’clock the next morning the procession was over. The shrine of Santa Rosalia comes last, and is followed for a certain distance by the archbishop on foot; the unfortunate senators have to walk after it the whole night, the municipal carriages following to convey them home when all is ended. The pretore remains at the Palazzo Pretoriano to receive the governor, and each saint pauses before the windows. The fountain was prettily illuminated with symmetrically arranged lamps, but reflected lights would have shown off the statues to more advantage. The interior of the room was no less gay, as on this night all the diamonds of the Palermitan ladies were put in requisition; at the archbishop’s but few are worn, but this evening it was the etiquette to appear as fully dressed as possible.
I got rather tired of the apparently endless procession, and left the balcony to chat with my friends inside the room: for the Sicilians, who are used to see all this every year, came to enjoy a little society, not for the sake of the spectacle. I was, however, called back to look at the very singular manner in which the saints Cosmo and Damiano are carried. These saints, who are always united, and are, no doubt, the Castor and Pollux of the old Romans, adopted and renamed by the Romish Church, are regarded as the patrons of the fishermen and boatmen; so, by an ancient tradition, the marinari, who are the bearers, imitate the motion of the waves, and the band which accompanies them plays accordingly. At a given signal, the wind is favourable, and they all run as fast and as far as their very heavy burden will allow of. Then comes a calm, next a contrary wind, during which they stagger about. Occasionally, as is the case with the other saints, they are set down while the bearers rest; but when these are taken up again, the men dance in a circle round and round two or three times, before recommencing their eccentric march. They always re-enter the church where the saints live, running as fast as they can; and generally half of them, at least, measure their length on the slippery marble pavement, Cosmo and Damiano themselves getting upset occasionally in the midst of their votaries.
Another very singular fête is held at Casteltermine. We were making a tour in the interior of Sicily, and as inns are both scarce and bad, our kind friends had furnished us with many letters; among others, to a very large proprietor in this town, who received us with the greatest hospitality. We were also fortunate in arriving in time to witness this festa, which, as our host and a priest who was sitting with him informed me, has been held from time immemorial to commemorate the “Invenzione della Croce,” the recovery of the true Cross by the Empress Helena. The streets are paraded from an early hour in ​the morning by ten or twelve men, preceded by a band; the last three are the sultan, with a vizier on either hand: these, I was particularly desired to observe, never smile, to represent Saracenic gravity. A train of men walk before them in pairs, one a Christian, the other a Mahometan. Every few minutes the procession stops, and a fight ensues, in which I need not say the Christians are victorious, the whole reminding one of the mummers and Old Father Christmas of one’s childish days. When the fight is over, the Christians advance and make low bows to the sultan, which are returned with due gravity. Both the priest and our host told me this was meant to represent the unsuccessful opposition offered by the Mahometans to the Christians’ efforts to obtain the Cross; and the flourish of drums, and the profound bows interchanged between the Sultan and the Christians, were in memory of the rejoicings at Constantinople when the news of the victory arrived there, and of the liberation of several Mahometan slaves in honour of such a triumph. I had always understood that the discovery of the Cross took place in 326, and that Mahomet did not promulgate his religion till the seventh century, but I made no comment on the apparent anachronism.
We now sallied forth into the main street, and after having encountered several times our fighting friends, we were taken to the house of an acquaintance of our host’s, from whence we had a full view of the procession which was to close the day’s proceedings. It consisted of men and boys mounted upon every horse and mule that could by any means be obtained in Casteltermine or its environs; and, as custom obliges every one to contribute the whole of his stud upon this occasion, we heard that ours were the only horses in the place that were spared. The cavalcade was preceded and followed by bands of music, and men and animals were decked out in every variety of ribbon and tinsel; they ascended a hill near the town, on the other side of which was a small chapel; here the Cross was delivered with all due solemnity to their leader, and they then returned by torchlight. When all had passed, we walked for some time in the town among booths and all the usual accompaniments of a festa, in addition to which almost every one we met was attired either in uniform, or some kind of fancy dress. We then beguiled our leisure by paying sundry visits, till it grew quite dark, when chairs were placed for us in a balcony from whence we watched the re-appearance of the horsemen. The scene below was most animated: the street was lighted with coloured lamps, and the booths and portable cuisines were surrounded with men, women, and children, talking, laughing, quarrelling, and gesticulating, with all the vehemence of the far south; while now and then the crowd opened to make a passage for the sultan and his attendants. At last, a few torches were descried blazing over the ridge of the hill, and the rest gradually hove into sight. At one time the whole descent seemed one stream of light, only occasionally interrupted by the broken ground and the turns of the road; there was no moon, the weather was very threatening, and this immense number of dancing lights in long array against the dark sky, had a wild, poetical effect. We watched them till they had all again disappeared. Ices were then handed round, an impromptu concert and then dancing were got up for our amusement: but I must describe the place of our entertainment. The staircase, which was of stone, and broken away in several places, was more like a step-ladder than anything else; it led to the door of a small ante-room, unfurnished beyond a few chairs placed against the wall; on the left hand was the kitchen, and on the right the drawing-room, with a large balcony overhanging the street. Chairs and a couple of tables formed its ameublement, with the addition of a very respectable piano; the floor was so uneven that it was only by dint of jumping and clinging most affectionately to my partner, that I managed during my tour de valse to preserve the erect attitude which is the attribute of man, while an unfortunate young person, though “to the pavement born,” contrived to forfeit his. The company sat in two lines opposite to each other,—those nearest the window being the élite; then came four or five evidently below the salt. The ante-room contained a still lower grade; while the vista was closed by the kitchen, crammed with the great unwashed, watching our proceedings with as much curiosity as we had their festa.
The announcement was next made that the procession, which had gone round the walls, was coming down the street. We rushed to the balcony, and in another minute it was seen advancing, the leader holding on high the Cross; those who were mounted on stupid horses trying to make them caper, while others, particularly the mule cavaliers, had evidently much ado to keep on their saddles, and occasionally to make their montures advance, even with the aid of the torch-bearers by their sides; but it was a pretty sight, the horsemen in their fantastic attire, the flags waving, the trampling of so many animals, the eager crowd also in every variety of costume, the whole illuminated by the flashing and yet uncertain light of the torches, and canopied by a sky so stormy as to appear almost black; the white houses and the balconies crowded with spectators, now in a blaze of light, now in darkness, as the passing flambeaux streamed upon them or not. The procession was closed by the bishop and his attendants in their accustomed rich dresses, a train of monks, and, lastly, by the sultan and the viziers, looking grimmer than ever. The Cross was deposited in a church hard-by, and the assistants dispersed, while we bade adieu to our entertainers after numerous mutual assurances of the honour each party had conferred on the other, mixed with entreaties from the ladies that I would take care going down the stairs, a request not more easily fulfilled from the attempts of the gentlemen to assist me; had any one slipped, we must all have gone down like a house of cards, and Heaven help the vanguard!
Saint worship, or saint superstition, as it may more correctly be called, is carried to the utmost extent in Sicily. The Feste or saints’ days are innumerable, and many of those dedicated to the Virgin are celebrated on succeeding days by the different churches or parishes. Processions and ​fireworks are the great outward signs of religious rejoicings; and we have often wondered how the Sicilians contrived to show their piety before gunpowder was invented.
Nothing can be prettier, when viewed as a mere spectacle, than one of the streets down which a procession is to pass; extempore chapels are erected here and there, fitted up with small altars covered with lighted tapers placed round the figure or picture of the Saint, with a canopy of crimson and gold hangings, relieved by others of blue and white, also covered with spangles; near the most important a band is generally stationed. Similar hangings are suspended across the street at intervals from house to house, and a large altar, guarded by a couple of soldiers, and with several rows of lights, but without a canopy, stands in some conspicuous situation; the flowers and other decorations being often beautifully arranged. On all the great festivals the portraits of the king and queen used to be placed againt the walls of the different public buildings under a crimson canopy. The procession takes place in the afternoon or evening, according to the season; it blocks up the whole street through which it proceeds. The statue of the saint is borne by a confraternity of the class of which he or she is the patron, and is preceded and followed by flags, music, priests, monks, and rabble.
In the evening, fireworks, more or less grand, according to the means of the respective churches, and the amount of subscriptions raised, are let off, with crackers innumerable. I have been told, with what truth I know not, that it is from the Spaniards that the Sicilians derive their passion for fireworks, which is certainly carried to an almost incredible extent, for scarcely a summer’s evening passes without rockets ascending from some quarter or other, and often in all directions.
Half the night after a festa is spent in dancing, singing, and feasting al fresco; something particular is eaten in honour of each saint. The day after the “festino” was over, the people went into the gardens in the neighbourhood and ate figs, perhaps not a bad diet after the five days and nights of almost alarming excitement they have been spending. I used to wonder that half Palermo did not depart this life at that season. On Santa Lucia no bread is eaten, or anything farinaceous, such as macaroni or pasta, rice and potatoes being substituted.
On San Francesco di Paolo, the statue of the saint is carried in solemn procession from his own church to the Duomo, but as he is the patron of gardeners, he is first taken to a garden, where they all assemble, and eat salad in his honour; the saint out of gratitude invariably sends rain in some part of the day, which does more good than any that may fall throughout the year. On Saint Peter, all the cakes and bonbons are made in the shape of keys. On San Martino, nothing is to be seen but a sort of biscuit bun, and for three days before the first and second of November, the shops are filled with large dolls of sugar, painted in various colours. I asked what became of them all, and was assured they were every one eaten. A fair is also held down the Cassaro, when all kinds of presents are bought and hidden in the house, and, on the second day, the “giorno de Morti,” the children are made to hunt for these things, which they are told the dead have brought them in the night; they are sometimes even woke up to hear the noises made by “i morti.”
On Christmas-eve, here, as at Naples, vast quantities of very large eels are devoured. We were at one supper-party where the eels had been fed on purpose, and sent from our hostess’s estate on the other side of the island. It is considered almost a duty to partake of them, as emblematical of the destruction of the old serpent, supposed to precede the advent of the Saviour into the world, according to the traditions of this branch of the Christian Church.
On Easter Sunday, the archbishop used to send the governor a large dish of a particular sweetmeat.
Coming from Naples, we were struck by the almost total absence of national costume, but at the same time we noticed the peculiar style of dress of many of the women. On inquiry, I found these dresses were vows, and varied according to the saint addressed. One peculiarity, however, they all have,—two long ribbons hanging down like the ends of a sash; the only exception is the “Santo Padre,” as they call San Francesco di Paolo, because he is the oldest, whose dress is brown and black, but who is not particular as to whether his votaries wear a sash or not, so long as the gown is in some way trimmed with black; light blue, with a white sash, is dedicated to the Immacolata; blue, trimmed with black, to the Addolorata; black, with blue, to Santa Rosalia; dark blue and red, to St. Joseph; but I might go on through all the primitive and most of the secondary colours. One more, however, I must describe—it is so graceful, particularly for young girls: the gown is plain black silk, with a large, clear muslin apron, with four or five tucks, and a long white sash; a white muslin veil, placed on the comb of the back hair, falling partly over the shoulders. To a pretty girl, with black hair and eyes, this dress, which belongs to Santa Lucia, is very becoming. So universal is this custom, that a woman in the lower classes, when speaking of a colour, never calls it by its proper name, but by that of the saint to whom it is dedicated; and even in a shop, on wishing to see a stuff of any particular shade, asks for a Santa Rosalia, an Immacolata, &c. Scandal hints that when a woman cannot dress as smartly as her neighbours, she occasionally makes one of these vows for a twelvemonth, which not only accounts for the sameness of her attire during that period, but also gives her the means of indulging afterwards that passion for fine clothes so general at Palermo.
The processions themselves are generally very similar to those in Italy; the only one offering any very remarkable peculiarity is that on Corpus Christi. The Cassaro was lined with troops, and at the Quattro Cantoni officers on horseback were stationed: a small baldacchino was suspended over the middle of the piazza. The statues of the different saints were borne along the Cassaro on the shoulders of the respective confraternities, some of the members preceding and following with lighted torches and drums beating. Each saint was set down for a few minutes under the ​baldacchino, except Sant’ Elia Profita, who was not admitted to that honour, being left outside, a gentleman told me, because he had ascended in a flame of fire, and was therefore not received into Heaven, but had remained in the clouds. I cannot tell whether this be really the reason; there exists, unfortunately, such a spirit of persiflage on religious subjects in society, at least among the gentlemen. The approach of Saints Cosmo and Damiano was announced by a rush of wild dancers, dressed in white shirts and trousers, with coloured handkerchiefs tied over their heads, and striking right and left with others they held in their hands; these men are called “i bacchanti dei santi.” The officers and crowd drew back, a large circle was made, and the saints were whirled round and round, the bearers shouting all the while the legend appertaining to them. A man rushed forward, after a time, with a bell, which he rang furiously to stop the dancers, but such was their excitement that they went on till compelled by force to desist.
The procession of saints being over, a temporary altar was erected under the baldacchino; long trains of monks, each bearing a lighted taper, passed by, escorted by small boys anxiously catching on leaves or paper the drops of wax as they fell; next came a number of priests in various vestments, each one more richly attired than the preceding, till the archbishop, in full canonicals, and bearing the Host, drew near the altar. A canopy of white and gold was carried over him by the senators in their robes of office; at his side were two assistants, and behind him walked the governor, in stars and uniform; all the state officers, in their respective costumes, followed; then the Swiss guards, in their scarlet and white; and in the distance were seen the royal carriages. On approaching the altar, the archbishop performed the usual ceremonies previous to the elevation of the Host, at which moment the trumpets burst into a loud flourish, and all fell on their knees. It was an imposing sight; the magnificent dresses of the priests and senators, the rich uniforms of the officers, contrasted with the sober garb of the bare-footed monks, all kneeling in front of and behind the altar: the immense crowds which filled the streets and balconies prostrate at the same instant, and overhead a Sicilian sun and sky. After a few minutes every one arose, the archbishop was disrobed, and the whole procession moved onwards to the Duomo. The day closed with the different regiments parading through the streets.