ILLNESS OF “IL MORO”

Greymouth Evening Star, 12 November 1932, Page 3

ILLNESS OF “IL MORO”

AND HOW HE WAS CURED. “H Moro .is ill,” announced the peasant one day, and the news was serious, for “Il Moro is a .splendid white bull most unsuitably named the “Dark One,” the only dark things about -him being his wonderful solt eyes of unfathomable depths, writes a correspondent to the “Manchester Guardian." He is a king among beasts, fully worthy of every word of Carducci’s beautiful poem “H Bove,” and be embodies the toil, the patience, and Die beauty of our Tuscan farm. He. had never, been ill before, and we looked on him as something as ieliable, as fixed', as much part of the landscape as the great cypress that marks the boundary of the “podere. fl was quite plain that “Il Moro” ruled the ether cattle; with a swish of his tail or a movement of his horns he imposed his will; when there was ploughing to be done it was he w r ho regulated the pace, rvho would allow no rest to his companions until a certain amount of work had been finished. He had the cleverest way of swinging the plough round at the end of a furrow. He had come originally from the October cattle fair at Impruneat about six years ago. Even as an enchanting calf he had shown signs of his future dignity, and though none of his children have the peculiar quality of their father they, too, have keen much sought after by neighbouring farms. Last year “11 Moro” was invited to be one of the pair of oxen that draw the famous “carro” in the Scoppio del Cairo on Holy Saturday, when the Cairo is set in front of the Cathedral and all (lie Florentines and all the foreigners crowd the church and square to sec the dove, the “colornlina,” rush down an electric wire stretched from the high altar along the nave ami out through the main door to fire the explosives in the carro ami proclaim the Easter festival. And if the dove goes well and the carro explodes properly with terrific bangs everyone is delighted, but any hitch or failure sends every peasant home glum; it is a bad omen for the country, and even the rhetoric of the local newspaper sounds a minor note. Last year all went to perfection, and “Il Moro,” fully conscious of his own state and importance, had a red cloth ever his back; well enough he knew that every foreigner in the Piazza was admiring him. and every Italian, too, for that matter, ami the fattore and peasants and we all stood together as proud as we could be, and everyone within hearing distance knew that that bull was ours! And now “Il Moro” was ilk Consternation. reigned at the farm. It seemed incredible, unnatural and though the fattore, who prides himself on being sceptical and modern, at first was optimistic, the peasants shook their heads; they were neither optimistic nor modern, and the dove this year had gone very badly, so disaster could come almost by right.

THE VETS AND THE “HEALER.”

The best vet was, of course, sent for immediately, but ho shook his head, too, and' all his expensive medicines might have been so much water; and another vet of lesser renown was equally useless and hopeless. “11 Moro” seemed to be going farther and farther from us; withdrawn from our help and sympathy into the dreadful remoteness of his own suffering. On the seventh day of our anxiety when 1 went down to the farm to inquire for news, the usual group o. peasants greeted me. and a stranger, a, shabby middle-aged man, came forward with the fattore and peasant, “fl Moro will recover,” he said; “he is all right now; I have taken the evil from him.” More than that he would not say, though he laughed at the verdict of the vets: “What do they know of evil?” he asked. “Why, they only see the outer side of it; no use in trying to cure it unless you can know and touch the evil itself. That is what I do.”

Bit, by bit I learned that he had been fetched by the peasant, encouraged by the fattore, whose modernity and scepticism had fallen from him like an ill-fitting coat. The Hist step had been to take a lock of “11 Moro’s” hair to the “healer,” who by ordinary occupation is a whitewasher living near Santa Croce, and in his spare time a “wizard” much sought after in moments of distress. This particular wizard, unlike some others, is a kind one who only heals and cures you of evil spells and will not cast them over man or beast, no matter how tempting may be the offer to do so. Yes, he had admitted, after submitting the hair to various tests, the bull had been badly bewitched by someone jealous of his success, but professional etiquette prevented our wizard from mentioning any names. He had consented to come and see “11 Moro” out of pity, but never shall I cease regretting not having been present during the treatment. That the wizard', the fattore, and peasant kept to themselves. “He made an incantation” was all I could learn; he gave “Il Moro” “a certain little powder,” and made strange signs.

EXCELLENT RESULT. Anyhow, the result was excellent; the wizard was right and the vets were wrong, and in another week we were all happy again. “H Moro” recovered quickly. If anyone doubts the force of tradition in Italy or doubts' the existence of an undercurrent of popular' faith in or practice of certain forms of'magic let him live for a few years on a Tuscan farm with the "Bolden Bough” on his bookshelf! 'J here he will see exactly the same charm—a. blue eye against the Evil Eye painted on the farm carts—as appears in an Etruscan painting of a similar cart in the Archaeological Museum. ,

Italy may be modern in some ways but she is immensely old in others, and our wizard' the friend of “II Moro” lives near the corner of a street where the traffic is controlled bv the latest electric signals, within hail of smart hotels. In any disaster to man or beast Italians will almost always seek help not only from the kind and excellent doctors at the hospitals—their belief in "La Scienza” is very limited - but also from someone who smiles at doctors and claims to have direct power over evil.

A ’id now when I see our beloved “Il i Toi o in all his former glory standing splendid and' patient in the fields while his cart is being loaded' with corn, only his tail swishing at the flies 1 feed very sympathetic to wizards when they are kind, and we shall certainly

send for ours before any vet next time any evil befalls the farm. And I made no comment when 1 saw a. new bright blue eye freshly painted on the shaft of the cart.