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January 20, 2017
Argenta
This is a book of 11 short stories in Italian by Argenta Bacci (Chiapelli) of Belriguardo, Italy. Argenta is my Italian grandmother’s grandmother. Belriguardo is one mile south of the grandparent’s home town.
Argenta’s other great, great grandchildren and I are collectively translating the stories into English for the first time. They are written in the dialect of the mountain region of Pistoia, and as she occasionally throws in an obsolete word or spelling, some phrases and words require a bit of chewing and head scratching.
Verano Magni published the book in 1924 and, I presume, got the stories from Argenta herself. This must have been one of his early works. He wrote several biographies, the latest of which dates to the late 1940’s.
Verano’s brother Riccardo illustrated each of the stories with what look to be wood block prints; they brought to mind the prints of the American illustrator Rockwell Kent.
The book is dedicated to Alfonso Pisaneschi (1862-1924) who died the year Verano published Argenta’s stories. Pisaneschi was a canon of the Cathedral of Pistoia and humanities professor at the seminary there. He was a poet, historian, and author perhaps most famously of a children’s book: Le Avventure di un Grillo Canterino (The adventure of the Singing Cricket), which is advertised on the back cover of Argenta’s book because the same publisher did both.
Alfonso collaborated with another famous Cireglio area native, author of the first Italian dictionary, Policarpo Petrocchi, on his Additions to the Vocabulary of the Italian Language.
A memorial book of dedications given on the 1924 death of Pisaneschi was among the treasures of my grandparents that came to me on the passing of my aunt. At the top of the list of letters of condolence to Pisaneschi is Benito himself.
I have a two volume set of Petrocchi’s dictionaries, 1924 edition, and a single volume collegiate edition (1917) to aid in the translation of Argenta’s Pistoiese dialect.
In Riccardo Magni's cover painting Argenta sits on her rustic chair with the morning light coming over her right shoulder in a Matisse-like setting. She is spinning wool gathered raw on the top of her distaff - la rocca - into thread wound onto a bobbin in her right hand. There is more wool hanging in a window in the background.
The stories are from another time and place. We have completed two and another is on its way.
stay tuned….
The book begins with an introduction to Argenta and her stories.
WHO IS ARGENTA
Who is Argenta? The best way to get to know her would be to come to the
little town of Belriguardo yourself, after the leaves have fallen, and
sit in vigil with the other townspeople by the fire in the evening.
The chestnuts have fallen in the forest, which, once shady, is now bare and
already awaiting the shaking of the North Wind. And
soon, thankfully, there will be the chestnuts' sweet pastry flour. And what
sweetness is promised in these long serene evenings, when everyone gathers;
men, women and children, in her little cottage.
Stately and fair, she sits on her bench, her head covered with silver hair;
her distaff (spinning pole) appears to shine from years of use.
She is old, no one knows how old, and she couldn't even
tell you herself.
To hear it told, she was always here, and has seen everything; even fairies,
when there were fairies. In fact, she says they still exist today.
Along Selvapiana Street, in a place called Trabalducco, there is a large pile of
rocks, with a great hole or cave which is the home of the fairies. First, you
would see their beautiful clothing hanging in the sun. Fine linen
sheets, better than any had by anyone else, and cotton from Holland;
lovely garments, and children’s clothing. The place of the fairies.
And in the evening, all disappear; gathered in, nothing forgotten,
not a cap, nor a kerchief. And from inside, one hears low murmurings,
but does not know from where; from time to time laughter, one
does not know at what; and then deep in the night at full moonlight,
a shriek, a howling, a din, one does not know why. There are
several who have seen all this and almost everyone has heard it.
So, are the fairies still here? Yes, understand: they have returned! And
Argenta, who knows everything, knows perfectly the how and
the why these fairies of Trabalducco have been quiet for some time.
It is all the fault of that man from Prato, a bad man, a
scoundrel who had some of the devil in him. He, in a grand
encounter and controversy with the fairies, cast a spell on them, and they were
wretchedly confined up among the cliffs for quite a while, more dead than
alive. And then the man was gone. It is not known whether he left, or whether
they killed him, but the spell was broken and the fairies were able to return to
Trabalducco.
This story is true, truer than History!
It's a year more or less, that a young
man passing through that area at sunrise heard his name being called, but when he
turned around he saw no one.
And then, Alda of Assuntina, was passing through with a flock
of sheep, when suddenly one wandered from the path, and no
matter how much she called and called it could not be found.
In fact, when she returned to Belriguardo, one of her sheep was
still missing, Stellina, specifically Stellina; the fairies stole her; and
she was the best little sheep of the herd.
But the most extraordinary occurrence, an actual event to tell you to make you
believe, happened to Argenta's Nonna, an old woman herself, who knew better
than to be fooled. She was coming down Selvipiana Street one evening, when
she heard a great sniveling, as if there were a little child crying. In fact it
actually was a beautiful little child, but whose she did not know.
"Look, what are you doing here? What a lovely child you are!
Who has left you? I'll take you with me."
And so she took him in her arms, she who had had many children in her time,
and continued on to Belriguardo. "Look, people, what a beautiful little child I
have brought you." And she put him in a corner of the kitchen.
In the kitchen, they were baking and tending the fire when they heard a deep
voice, there in the corner where the child was. "I am going because I'm being
called!"
Everyone turned in fear, looking here and there, searching everywhere, but
the child was no longer there.
Imagine how that affected Argenta's Nonna! She quickly made the sign of the
cross and thanked the Father for her narrow escape, because surely that was
the son of the Devil.
This story, and other true stories, truer than History, Argenta of Belriguardo
knows and she recounts them in her house, in the evening; and everyone
comes to hear them. They've lit their pipes after having eaten, having
put the dishes away in the china cabinet, having finally ceased
their work and now are all here: men, women, and children.
Outside the wind reigns, but here inside the house, there is a warm fire and
chestnuts roasting. Argenta is on her bench, sitting tall. Yes, she is old, no one
knows how old. Because to listen to her, she has always been there and
everywhere, and has seen everything, even the fairies, the witches, the
sorcerers, the Magician, the Ogre, the Wolf, and the Devil, whom she says are
still here.
In the evenings after dinner, when the dishes are washed and put away, the
chestnuts are drying by the fire, it's dark and windy outside, but inside it's
warm and cozy; and men, women, and children settle in to hear Argenta's
stories. And she recounts perfectly how it was and how it was not,
even before her time. And how many stay to listen! Outside the wind
is fierce, but in here the house, there is the warmth of the log fire....
Oh, you, coming along the street with your cart, dead tired, and there
is no more moonlight, here you can rest and light your pipe....
And, you, who limps to this grotto, or that place, always searching because
each day your elusive search takes you farther, here you can forget....
And, you, in the city too brightly lit, hiding your face in your hands, thinking
of what you have lost, here it is certain there is something you can find....
And even you, a man of shadow and mystery, who can no more find sleep for
your eyes, nor find peace for your heart, even if you were to wander aimlessly
for a thousand years, stop here, sit here among us, finally at peace, Satisfied....
Here!
translated by Janice Z.
And now Argenta begins her storytelling.
see the link to the right for the stories…..
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Posted by ronpaci at January 20, 2017 4:34 PM