American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
The restaurant was frequented by the chief personages of the community:
the overseer of the Italian hands at the Meriton Mills, the doctor, his
wife the _levatrice_ (a plump Neapolitan with greasy ringlets, a plush
picture-hat, and a charm against the evil-eye hanging in a crease of her
neck) and lastly by Don Egidio, the _parocco_ of the little church
across the street. The doctor and his wife came only on feast days, but
the overseer and Don Egidio were regular patrons. The former was a quiet
saturnine-looking man, of accomplished manners but reluctant speech, and I
depended for my diversion chiefly on Don Egidio, whose large loosely-hung
lips were always ajar for conversation. The remarks issuing from them
were richly tinged by the gutturals of the Bergamasque dialect, and it
needed but a slight acquaintance with Italian types to detect the Lombard
peasant under the priest’s rusty cassock. This inference was confirmed
by Don Egidio’s telling me that he came from a village of Val Camonica,
the radiant valley which extends northward from the lake of Iseo to
the Adamello glaciers. His step-father had been a laborer on one of
the fruit-farms of a Milanese count who owned large estates in the Val
Camonica; and that gentleman, taking a fancy to the lad, whom he had seen
at work in his orchards, had removed him to his villa on the lake of Iseo
and had subsequently educated him for the Church.
It was doubtless to this picturesque accident that Don Egidio owed the
mingling of ease and simplicity that gave an inimitable charm to his
stout shabby presence. It was as though some wild mountain-fruit had been
transplanted to the Count’s orchards and had mellowed under cultivation
without losing its sylvan flavor. I have never seen the social art carried
farther without suggestion of artifice. The fact that Don Egidio’s
amenities were mainly exercised on the mill-hands composing his parish
proved the genuineness of his gift. It is easier to simulate gentility
among gentlemen than among navvies; and the plain man is a touchstone who
draws out all the alloy in the gold.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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