An Italian Peasant Wedding, 1908
From Home Life in Italy: Letters from the Apennines by Lina Duff Gordon, 1908.
From: 1908 C.E. To: 1908 C.E.
Location: Apennine Mountains, Appennini, Italy
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
From Home Life in Italy: Letters from the Apennines by Lina Duff Gordon, 1908.
Angiolina is the sister of our servants and the recognised beauty of the family. Her features are regular, her complexion dark but clear, her black hair falls in thick waves across her forehead, and her brown eyes look at you from beneath her level brows with something of the expression of a gazelle's.
In kindly raillery her family call her the princess, as, while they are content to eat their food anyhow and anywhere, the more conventional Angiolina insists upon owning one particular spot of the kitchen table and lays a neat tablecloth for herself. But contrasting her neat ways and ethereal smile with her tastes in cookery, we have sometimes experienced a shock.
Since Mariannina has, out of deference to our English taste, refrained from the use of garlic, Angiolina now declares that her cooking powers have sadly deteriorated, and insists upon a savoury mess for herself, consisting of polenta smothered in oil, vinegar, and flavourings of sliced garlic, onions, and a particular kind of cheese which tastes like a bad smell.
Her dream in life had been to become a school-mistress; certainly her vernacular is purer than the rest of the family; she writes a good hand, and as a child always knew her lessons. But her occupation in life was suddenly settled by her father, who one day returned home with a sewing machine under his arm and told her to start making her livelihood.
In floods of tears the gentle Angiolina learnt to cut out men's shirts, and sat all day and far into the night turning them out at the sweating rate of three-pence apiece, cottons and buttons found by their shop employer. Adelina joined her as soon as she was old enough, and by never raising their eyes from their work were able to make four shirts each a day.
At last the day dawned when Angiolina discovered that she could make blouses, and soon shirt business was exchanged for dressmaking. The first time I ordered a dress she trembled so much that she told me her needle kept tumbling out of her fingers. But after a little practice she developed into an excellent dressmaker.
As she has never seen anything of "fashions," except those of Carrara and Brunella, her success is the more remarkable. The pride she inspires among her sisters is delightful. When I am trying on a new dress they both rush round me, throw their hands up in rapture, and exclaim: ''Oh! Signora, it fits you like a fashion plate—it looks as if it had been painted on you; isn't she quite wonderful, our Angiolina? Signora, you will walk out in that dress in Brunella, won't you, to please us? The Brunellese will die of rage."
It appears that the Brunellese rank and fashion send to neighbouring towns to have their clothes made, and when a dress comes back exceedingly ill-fitting it is admired all the same, because they are able to tell their less prosperous friends that it has come from Florence, or further afield, as the case may be. But lately Angiolina's star has risen, and, although she is a "foreigner," customers flock to her.
Many have been the requests for her hand, one of which has been related in the previous pages. Just before we arrived in Brunella, as she had given up the idea of marrying the prosperous tailor, her heart had been entirely won by a tall and coarse-looking railway porter, whom it was the fashion in Brunella to admire. We never liked his face, and his manners were overbearing and surly.
The social distinctions are always difficult to fathom, and we could never understand why Oreste's mother should have objected to his marriage with Angiolina, but it was evident that the railway porter regarded himself as part of the bourgeoisie. Certainly the objection was not entirely because of the need of a dote. As we have so often witnessed, the mother in the end carried her point, and the marriage was broken off.
For a week my work at the castle was at a standstill—Angiolina had retired to bed with a broken heart. Then she arose and returned to her seat in the big window balcony to stitch away with incessant industry, and unruffled brow. Only once, when she caught sight of Oreste coming up the hill with a telegram, did I see her startled out of her self-control.
One scene and then the episode closed for ever Oreste, who was still much in love with Angiolina, one day stopped to say a word with her in the street, which did not escape the lynx eyes of his mother, and when she knew her burly son to be safely in bed, she took a big stick and gave him a sound thrashing.
The news of the broken engagement travelled to Carrara, and made a young man in a druggist's shop exceedingly happy. He immediately hazarded a picture post-card to Angiolina, who, after a decorous delay, sent him a view of Brunella, which he interpreted as "you may come and try."
One Sunday afternoon he was brought by Angiolina, accompanied by her mother, and introduced as the promesso sposo.
Notwithstanding his twenty-two years, Umberto looks little more than a boy; his ruddy complexion shines as if he washed in icy water and scrubbed his cheeks with Monkey Brand, and his fair hair and stoutness further gives him the appearance of a prosperous young German. The family were all pleased at the marriage—the parents because he had a good situation, Mariannina because he was such a buon giovane, and Adelina because he dressed
"just like a Signore"
Umberto told me that his dream was to set up a little shop, but so far he had not been able to save much out of his £3 a month, out of which he had to pay for lodging and food. He is a peace-loving person, and complained of the exciting life at Carrara. I said that I had found it a peaceful spot, where the whole population seemed to be quietly sitting in the innumerable caffs playing at cards and buying lottery tickets.
"Then," said Umberto, "you have evidently never seen it on a Saturday, when the marble workers have been paid and they drink the best vintages to make up for the dog's life they have led up in the quarries all the week. There are always rows, and they all seem to happen in my Padrone’s shop "; and Umberto looked personally aggrieved. "A man would be quietly drinking, and another man would rush in and stab him without a moment's warning, just because there had been some rivalry over their work. Sometimes it was because of a woman. I always had to keep a big heap of sawdust handy to sop up the floor."
"Sawdust is sometimes needed in Brunella," I remarked.
" Not in the same way; and, besides, it is my own paese."
Angiolina's courting was of a very mild order. All the fire of her heart had been wasted upon the burly porter, and she only married Umberto because he was good and she had reached what Adelina terms the advanced age of twenty-five. To give Umberto a chance of seeing her I used to let him pass an hour or so at the castle whenever he had a holiday, but she remained all the time with her eyes glued to her needle-work, while he sat at the extreme end of the room cleaning copper pots for Mariannina with tremendous energy, and occasionally stealing a glance at his beloved.
Italian couples are not allowed the easy freedom of English lovers, and Angiolina's reputation would have been wrecked had she walked out with him alone, A strong escort of sisters or friends never left their side, whenever they solemnly promenaded up and down our drive, which goes by the name of the passeggiata degli amanti. I remember Mariannina's look of incredulous amazement when I gave orders that no one was to disturb a young engaged couple who were having a little peaceful conversation in the Sala.
"What!" she said, "you have really left them quite, quite alone? Che bella cosa! Englishmen must have cold blood. Perhaps it is the want of sun. Our men are shamelessly forward, unless we set a hedge up around us." She had been puzzled and at first greatly shocked by the young men and women in England, who sat about on benches of a Sunday afternoon, or picnicked together in the fields.
After a few months' engagement the date of Angiolina's marriage was fixed for the first of the year, which they hoped would bring them luck. Like most Italian girls, she had begun making her trousseau and embroidering pillow-cases and sheets with her initials, garlanded with flowers, since she was quite a child, and a goodly store of household linen was ready.
On the New Year we had just had our annual snowstorm, and everywhere was a deep slush, but no one thought of such details as they fluttered round the bride and put the last bit of blossom in her bridal veil. The dress of pale blue cashmere trimmed with lace and blue braid was a great success and beautifully made. The bride's last touch to her attire was to pull down her new rose-coloured vest, so that it showed through her lace at her wrist; the effect was carefully thought out and certainly original.
Although the road to the church was in a dreadful state, Angiolina firmly declined a carriage. They all felt that even the sacrifice of the gown (and never had such a gown been seen in Brunella) was worth the triumph of being seen by all the neighbours.
It is customary in Italy for the bride to be given away by a friend of the family, who is called the cavaliere, and in this case the post of honour had been given to my husband. It is also unusual for unmarried girls to attend a wedding; but the Brunellese are very emancipated and modern, and so we found the church filled with all Angiolina's girl friends and all her rivals.
We were given chairs within the altar rails: first came our small boy with his nurse behind him, then Umberto with Angiolina on his right, and then the cavaliere and myself. The whole proceeding was a little casual, the actual service amazing. From the choir arose raucous sounds, varied by Giovanni's own rendering of a tenor part to the Mass, the evil imp himself, blue-eyed and cherub face complete, peeping first on one side and then on the other.
A crowd of other wretched, bedraggled, shivering little devils scrambled about on either side of the altar; or sometimes they leant against it, facing the congregation, or else whispered and played tricks with the boys on the other side of the rails, until the priest had to stop at the most solemn part of the Mass and curse them. It was such a babble of confusion and braying of wild beasts that I could not believe we were not all savages and the ceremony some prehistoric piece of worship, till I looked at Angiolina by the side of the cavaliere, placid and beautiful, and then at Mariannina beyond, who had an exalted expression on her face like an Italian Madonna.
The small son stood on his chair and never moved during the whole hour, so lost in wonder was he, like an angel trying to remember if it had not all been different, and gazing at the large wax Gesu Bambino in the glass case sparkling with innumerable candles. The rings were blessed and asperged; but Umberto fumbled so long with it that Angiolina calmly took it out of his hand and put it on her finger herself. The cavaliere whispered a remonstrance, but she replied: "What difference can it make, sara lo stesso''
Amid a perfect tumult of discordant sounds the priest mumbled a few hurried words and an acolyte passed round the plate. It was afterwards much commented upon in the town that directly he saw a five-franc piece and a note in the plate he thought of nothing else until it was safely deposited upon the altar—certainly he forgot to bless the congregation.
As Yorick would say: "Just Heaven! what thoughts does the word and the significance they should attach to it, and the manner in which in reality they use it, call up before the mind?"
Mass over, the cavaliere led the bride down the aisle and through the town to the municipality, feeling, he said, very much as if he had committed bigamy. The family had insisted upon this arrangement, as he was taller than Umberto and would "cut a better figure" with Angiolina.
The crowd of boys clamouring for the wedding sweets had again to be faced. It was a wild fight and scramble—some even dived into our pockets, and an old man and woman, who joined in the scrimmage, were bowled over in the slush by the pack of boys.
At the municipality things were quieter and more business-like. While we stood round the table the Syndic appeared, a clerk tied a red sash round his middle, and the ceremony began. Here, though he went a good pace, his words were intelligible, and there was at least an acknowledgment of the duty of mutual help and support.
Among the people there still survives a good deal of the old-fashioned etiquette which I often feel strikes a curious note in Italian life, where so much is of a somewhat casual character. For instance, it is not customary for the bride's mother to be present at the marriage ceremony, and anyone gives the bride away, not necessarily the father.
When the time comes for the bride to go to her new home, her family keep well in the background, and only after three days takes place an interchange of supper parties with cards between the two families. The bride is escorted to her new home, not by her husband, but by the elder brother; and in some villages near here (Brunella is too advanced and despises ancient customs) she finds the door closed against her, and even barricaded with branches of thorny acacia and brambles.
The family drop a ladder from out of a top window, by which she is laughingly invited to climb into the house, but as the ladder is never allowed to reach the ground the poor bride feels rather like a buffoon. When a family takes advantage of this old custom to show their ill-will at the marriage, it no longer becomes an amusing farce.
A girl I know, daughter of a station-master, was kept out of the house in the pouring rain for an hour. Finally the brother-in-law, her cavaliere, bursts open the door and the party enters, the bride going round to each of the men of the family to present a shirt she has made for them. Perhaps this is to show what a good housewife, or massaia, she is, just as in the Val d'Arno the peasant bride is the first to hurry down to the kitchen in the morning to light the fire and do the household work.
The mother-in-law presents her with a handful of rice, and in some parts of Italy with a black hen, both symbols of fruitfulness. This custom, which is only to be met with among the hills, and even there is dying out, would hardly be worth recording if it did not symbolise a great feature in Italian life—the omnipotence of the mother as head of the household.
The new daughter-in-law has to gain her entrance with difficulty and through the intervention of one of the family, the madre in this strange manner reminding the bride of her supremacy.
Gordon, Lina Duff. Home Life in Italy: Letters from the Apennines. Methuen & Co., 1908.
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