The name of Morano, they
say, is derived from moro, [Footnote:
This is all wrong, of course.
And equally wrong is the derivation from moral, a mulberry - abundant
as these trees are. And more wrong still, if possible, is that which is
drawn from a saying of the mysterious Oenotrians - that useful
tribe - who, wandering in search of homesteads across these regions and
observing their beauty, are supposed to have remarked: Hic moremur -
here let us stay! Morano (strange to say) is simply the Roman Muranum.]
a Moor; and in its little piazza - an irregular and picturesque spot,
shaded by a few grand old elms amid the sound of running waters - there
is a sculptured head of a Moor inserted into the wall, commemorative, I
was told, of some ancient anti-Saracen exploit. It is the escutcheon of
the town. This Moor wears a red fez, and his features are painted black
(this is de rigueur, for "Saracens "); he bears the legend Vivit
sub arbore morus. Near at hand, too, lies the prosperous village
Saracena, celebrated of old for its muscatel wines. They are made from
the grape which the Saracens brought over from Maskat, and planted all
over Sicily. [Footnote: See next chapter.]
The men of Morano emigrate to America; two-thirds of the adult and
adolescent male population are at this moment on the other side of the
Atlantic. But the oldsters, with their peaked hats (capello pizzuto)
shading gnarled and canny features, are well worth studying. At this
summer season they leave the town at 3.30 a.m. to cultivate their
fields, often far distant, returning at nightfall; and to observe these
really wonderful types, which will soon be extinct, you must take up a
stand on the Castrovillari road towards sunset and watch them riding
home on their donkeys, or walking, after the labours of the day.
Poorly dressed, these peasants are none the less wealthy; the post
office deposit of Morano is said to have two million francs to its
credit, mostly the savings of these humble cultivators, who can discover
an astonishing amount of money when it is a question, for example, of
providing their daughters with a dowry. The bridal dress alone, a blaze
of blue silk and lace and gold embroidery, costs between six hundred and
a thousand francs. Altogether, Morano is a rich place, despite its
sordid appearance; it is also celebrated as the birthplace of various
learned men. The author of the "Calascione Scordato," a famous
Neapolitan poem of the seventeenth century, certainly lived here for
some time and has been acclaimed as a son of Morano, though he
distinctly speaks of Naples as his home. Among its elder literary
glories is that Leonardo Tufarelli, who thus apostrophizes his birthplace:
"And to proceed - how many letterati and virtuosi have issued from
you in divers times? Among whom - not to name all of them - there has been
in our days Leopardo de l'Osso of happy memory, physician and most
excellent philosopher, singular in every science, of whom I dare say
that he attained to Pythagorean heights.
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