On the smooth lawn in front, a group of girls—probably the servants of
the mansion—danced to the tinkling notes of the mandolin, the sound of
the tabor, and their own musical voices. The picturesque garb, and
stately Ausonian forms of these "deep-bosomed maids," with their jetty
tresses, and sparkling eyes, lent additional charms to a scene which, to
me, was equally new and interesting. A few young men, in the Calabrian
costume, were of the party; and I was not less pleased with their
regular and manly features, agile air, and classic elegance of form,
than with the softer graces of their bright-eyed companions. On my
approach, they abandoned their amusement, and retired with something
very like precipitation: a red coat was new to the Calabrians; with whom
the appearance of a soldier was always associated with the rapine and
violence of French foraging parties.
The chasseur, or courier—that indispensable appendage to a great
continental household—approached me, bowing obsequiously, with cocked
hat in hand. He was an old, iron-visaged and white-mustachioed Albanian
Greek, descended from the followers of Scanderbeg; thousands of whose
posterity are yet to be found in the Calabrias. The courier rejoiced in
the classic name of Zacheo Andronicus, and spoke an uncouth sort of
Italian. His stern aspect, and splendid green livery, laced with gold
and mounted with massive shoulder-knots; his heavy boots and spurs,
scarlet sash, and couteau-de-chasse, or hanger, made him altogether a
formidable-looking fellow; and enabled him to maintain his position as
the attendant of the Visconte and the head of the numerous household.
Bidding me welcome in the name of his lord, the courier desired a
servant named Giacomo to take my horse to the stables in the wing.
Giacomo—a spruce Italian, clad in a blue open-necked shirt, bright
yellow-sleeved vest, and blue-striped breeches, girt about with a
gorgeous scarlet sash, who acted in the capacity of sub
major-domo—replied to the order of the Greek with a scowl, and desired
another man to approach; to whom I resigned the bridle of Cartouche.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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