packed and jammed with humanity, as the silent, un·
broken influx shows no signs of letting up.
This is the general mobilization of the hungry
populace.
There come the lame from the stone
quarries, the blind from the blast furnaces, the bent
and emaciated tillers of the soil, men from the hills
with hands reddened by sulphur and lime, mountain-
eers with legs crooked from the mowing. Inasmuch
as his neighbor was coming, every man has had to
come. If war brings misfortune,
it will be a mis-
fortune for all, and not just for a few. If it brings
luck, then one must go after it, so as to be in on it.
And so, they have all set out; they have let the tread-
ing of the grapes, the cleaning of the vats and the
preparation of the seed corn go, and have made
their way to the provincial seat. The inhabitants of
Pietrasecca also arrive, and dismount in front of the
Girasole Inn. The school teacher explains to each
one, repeatedly,
just how he is to behave, just when
he is to shout and when he is to sing; but her voice
is lost in the universal hubbub.
From the left hand side, more cafoni are to be
seen coming from the outlying villages. Shepherds in
goatskin breeches,
with sandals on their feet and
gold earrings.
From the right comes Don Concet-
tino Ragu in a militia officer's uniform.
Don Paolo sees him and steps back into the room,
in order not to run the risk of being recognized by
his former school fellow.
He takes up a position
behind the window curtain on the second floor of the
Inn, so that he may be able to observe the throng
and the progress of the ceremony. He is reminded
of the time when he was a child and had similarly
stood at a window while the street down below
swarmed with a long procession of ragged pilgrims
singing litanies in honor of the Virgin Mary. The
pilgrims came from far and were bound for far;
most of them were bardoot
and bore the stains of
dust and perspiration.
He remembers yet the feel-
ing of oppression and of horror which this sadden-
ing spectacle inspired in his childish heart. Viewed
from a second story window,
the throng below,
gathered about the loudspeaker,
reminds him of a
concourse of weary and oppressed pilgrims about a
wonder-working idol.
From his hiding place, over the roofs of the
houses below, Don Paolo can glimpse two or three
bell towers as thickly dotted with young lads as a
dovecot with doves. Of a sudden, the bells begin to
peal. Through the crowd go members of the Fascist
Party,
bedecking the loudspeaker
with patriotic
fetishes in the form of tricolored flags, black pen-
nants and a picture of the great Duce with the strong
protruding lower jaw.
Barbaric cries of "Eja!
Eja!" devoid of all understandable meaning are now
raised by Party members,
while the' throng main-
tains a persistent silence.
In front of the loudspeaker room is made for the
"Mothers of the Fallen," poor old ladies who for
4
fifteen years have been wearing mourning set off
with medals,
and who in return for their small
gratuity are required, whenever the Department
of
Propaganda calls upon them to do so, to place them-
selves at the disposition of the Sergeant of Carabi-
nieri. Behind the "Mothers" the priests of nearby
parishes take their places, jolly-looking old priests,
gloomy-looking priests, athletic and respect-inspiring
priests, and a canon as fat and rosy as a well fed
wet nurse-he is conversing with Don Girasole, the
owner of the Inn. Under the loggia of the Town
Hall,
a few proprietors
appear,
with bristling
beards, unprepossessing eyebrows and clad in velvet
hunting jackets. The authorities,
that is to say, the
members of the Fascist Party, are standing in the
middle of the square. In their midst is a solitary
woman, Donna Evangelina,
with her husband,
the
carpenter,
whom she has compelled to volunteer.
"She has not only found a father for her child,"
one of the girls remarks,
"but what a father! A
hero!"
"Donna Evangelina is a born war widow," com-
ments one of the men. "vVhen she's able to wear
mourning and a medal on her bosom,
she'll be
happy."
The bells peal forth as the lads tug on the ropes.
A sign is given them .to stop, that they may not
drown out the impending radio broadcast;
but they
either do not understand,
or pretend that they do
not. There must be a dozen of them altogether,
ring-
ing the bells with all their might and filling the
streets below with a lusty din. Militiamen appear
upon the neighboring belfry and order the youths
to ceilse; but as soon as they have gone down again
and the lads perceive that the other bells are still
pealing, they, not wishing to be outdone,
start up
once more.
The first raucous tones from the loudspeaker got
out over the heads of the crowd, unheard. From the
groups of carabinieri,
militiamen and Party mem-
bers there goes up a mighty cry, a rhythmic cry, a
passionate exorcism addressed to the great Duce:
Ce du! Ce du! Ce du! Ce du! Ce du!
The cry spreads,
is taken up by the women and
answered by the children and then by the entire mul-
titude, even by those standing on the outskirts of
the throng and by the onlookers in the windows, a
solemn rhythmic chorus:
Ce du! Ce du! Ce du! Ce du! Ce du! Ce du! Ce du!
That name which no one in private life would pre-
sume to utter, either by way of praise or imprecation,
lest it bring bad luck, is now in the presence of his
pict~re which they view with timidity, in the presence
of this fetish of the fatherland,
taken up and shout-
ed time and time again, at the tops of their lungs,
like a formula for warding off evil, in a religious
frenzy:
Ce du! Ce du! Ce du! Ce du! Ce du!
In the vicinity of the loudspeaker,
an effort
IS
OCTOBER,
1936
