newly-married couple; or if not, then boxes of sweetmeats—like the
dragées of a French christening—are afterwards given to the parents
and kinsfolk. In one place they throw dried peas, beans, almonds
and corn—this last is the sign of plenty. Or they vary these with
vegetables, bread and corn and salt mixed; or with corn and nuts; or
“dolci” made of wheaten flour and honey. In Syracuse they throw salt
and wheat—the former the symbol of wisdom, the latter of plenty. The
Romans used to throw corn at their wedding feasts; and the nut-throwing
of Sicily dates from the times when young Caius or Julius flung to
his former companions those “nuces juglandes,” as a sign that he was
no longer a boy ready to play as formerly with them all. In Avola,
the nearest neighbor goes up to the bride with an apron full of
orange leaves, which she flings in her face, saying, “Continence and
boy-children!” then strews the remainder before the house-door. To
this ceremony is added another as significant—breaking two hen’s eggs
at the feet of the “sposi.” At one place they sprinkle the threshold
with wine before entering. Another custom at Avola, as sacred as our
wedding-cake, is to give each of the guests a spoonful of “ammilata,”
almonds pounded up with honey. At Piano de’ Greci, and in the other
Sicilian-Greek colonies, the mother-in-law stands at the door of the
house waiting for her daughter-in-law to give her a spoonful of honey
as soon as she enters, to which are added “ciambelle”—small cakes in
the form of a ring. The bride’s house is adorned with flowers, but it
is a bad omen if two bits of wire get put by chance crosswise.
At dinner the bridegroom leaves the bride to go to his own home, but he
returns in the middle of the meal to finish it with his bride; which
seems a daft-like custom, serving no good purpose beyond the waste
of time. They are very particular as to who shall sit on the right
and who on the left of the bride, when, gayly dressed and set under
a looking-glass, she sits like a doll to receive the congratulations
of her friends. The first day of these receptions all the invitations
are given by the mother of the bride; the second they are given by
the mother of the bridegroom. There is good store of maccheroni and
the like; and at Modica a plate is set to receive the contributions
of the guests—like our Penny Weddings in the North. Some give money,
some jewelry, etc., and the amount raised is generally of sufficient
worth in view of the condition of the high contracting parties. In the
evening they dance, when the “sposo” or “zitu,” cap in hand, makes a
profound bow to the bride or “zita,” who rises joyously and dances
“di tutta lena.” After a few turns the “zitu” makes another profound
bow and sits down; when the bride dances once round the room alone,
then selects first one partner then another. “Non prigari zita pr’
abballari.” Songs and dances finished, the mother-in-law accompanies
the bride to the bride-chamber. In default of her, this time-honored
office devolves on the bridegroom’s married sister or otherwise
nearest relation. This is de rigueur; and there was an ugly affray
at Palermo not so long ago on this very matter, which ended in the
wounding and imprisonment of the bridegroom and his kinsfolk. Often
all sorts of rude practical jokes are played, especially on old people
or second marriages; some of which are horribly unseemly, and all are
inconvenient. The bride stays eight days in the house receiving visits,
and having a “good time” generally; after which she goes to church
dressed all in white. In the marriage contract it is specified to what
festas and amusements the husband shall take her during the year; and
in olden times was added the number of dishes she was to have at her
meals, the number of dresses she was to be allowed during the year,
down to the most minute arrangements for her comfort and consideration.
Now comes the last scene of all—the last rites sacred to the shuffling
off this mortal coil, which close the trilogy of life.
Among old Sicilian rules was one which enjoined, after three days’
illness, the Viaticum. This is eloquent enough of the rapidity with
which Death snatched his victims when once he had laid his hand on
their heads. The most common prognostications of death are: the
midnight howling of a dog; the hooting of an owl; the crowing of a
hen at midnight; to dream of dead friends or kinsfolk; to sweep the
house at night; or to make a new opening of any kind in an inhabited
house. Boys are of evil omen when they accompany the Viaticum, but as
they always do accompany it, it would seem as if no one who has once
received the Last Sacraments has a chance of recovery. He has not much;
but it does at times happen that he breaks the bonds of death already
woven round him and comes out with renewed life and vigor. Death is
expected at midnight or at the first hours of the morning or at mid-day.
If delayed, something supernatural is suspected. Had the dying man when
in health burnt the yoke of a plough? Is there an unwashed linen-thread
in his mattress? Perhaps he once, like care, killed a cat. If he delays
his dying, the friends must call out his name in seven Litanies, or at
least put his clothes out of doors. In any case he dies because the
doctor has misunderstood his case and given him a wrong medicine; else
Saints Cosmo and Damian, Saints Francisco and Paolo, would have saved
him. When he dies the women raise the death-howl and let loose their
hair about their shoulders. All his good qualities are enumerated and
his bad ones are forgotten. He is dressed in white, and after he is
dressed his shroud is sewn tight. This pious work gains indulgences
for those who perform it; and the very needle is preserved as a sacred
possession. Sometimes, however, it is left in the grave-clothes to
be buried with the corpse. In certain places the women are buried
in their wedding-dress, which they have kept all these years to
serve as their shroud. Seated or in bed the corpse is always laid
out feet foremost to the door, and for this reason no one in Sicily
makes a bed with the head to the window and the feet to the door.
It would be a bad omen. About the corpse-bed stand lighted candles,
or, however poor the family, at least one little oil lamp. The hired
mourners, “repulatrici,” were once so numerous and costly as to demand
legislative interference and municipal regulation. To this day they
tear their hair and throw it in handfuls on the corpse; and the sisters
who lament their brothers—rustic Antigones and Electras—exhale their
sorrows in sweet and mournful songs.
In past ages a piece of money was put into the mouth of the corpse—a
survival of the fare which Charon was bound to receive. A virgin has a
palm branch and a crown in her coffin; a child a garland of flowers. It
is the worst possible omen for a bridal procession to meet a funeral.
It has to be averted by making the “horns”—or “le fiche” (thrusting
the thumb between the first two fingers) or by putting a pomegranate
before the door or in the window. At Piano de’ Greci certain little
loaves or bread-cakes in the form of a cross are given to the poor on
the day of a death. In Giacosa, behind the funeral procession comes an
ass laden with food, which, after the burial, is distributed either
here in the open or under cover in some house. The Sicilian-Albanians
do not sit on chairs during the first days of mourning, but on the
dead man’s mattress. In some houses all is thrown into intentional
confusion—turned upside down, to mark the presence of death. Others
put out the mattress to show that the invalid is dead; others again
remake the bed as for marriage, placing on it the crucifix which the
sick man had held in his hand when dying. Woe to those who let the
candle go out while burning at the foot of the bed! On the first day of
mourning, there is one only of these corpse-lights; on the second day
two; on the third three. Men and women sit round—the men covered up in
their cloaks with a black ribbon round their throats—the women with
their black mantles drawn close over the head, all in deep mourning.
For the first nine days, friends, also in strict mourning, throng the
house to pay their formal visits of condolence. The mourners do not
speak nor look up, but sit there like statues, and talk of the dead in
solemn phrases and with bated breath, but entering into the minute and
sometimes most immodest details. The mourning lasts one or two years
for parents, husband or wife, and brothers and sisters; six months for
grandparents, and uncles and aunts; three months for a cousin.
Babies are buried in white with a red ribbon as a sash, or disposed
over the body in the form of a cross. They lie in a basket on the table
with wax candles set round, and their faces are covered with a fine
veil. They are covered with flowers, and on the little head is also
a garland of flowers. No one must weep for the death of an infant.
It would be an offence against God, who had compassion on the little
creature and took it to make of it an angel in Paradise before it had
learned to sin. The announcement of its death is received with a cry of
“Glory and Paradise!” and in some places the joybells are rung as for a
festa. When taken to the Campo Santo, it is accompanied with music and
singing.
The soul of the dead is to be seen as a butterfly, a dove, an angel.
The soul of a murdered man hovers about the cross raised to his memory
on the place of his murder; the soul of one righteously executed by the
law, remains on earth to frighten the timid; the soul of the suicide
goes plumb to hell, “casal-diavolo,” unless the poor wretch repents
at the supreme moment. Judas is condemned to hover always over the
“tamarix Gallica,” on which he hanged himself, and which still bears
his name; children go to the stars; while certain women believe that
their souls will go up the “stairs of St. Japicu di Galizia,” which
plain people call the Milky Way.
These are the most striking and picturesque of the customs and usages
collected by Dr. Pitrè in his exhaustive and instructive little book.
What remains is either too purely local, or too little differenced to
be of interest to people not of the place. Also have been omitted a few
unimportant details of a certain “breadth” and naturalistic simplicity
which would not bear translating into English.—_Temple Bar._
THE FUTURE OF ELECTRICITY AND GAS.
More than eighty years ago, Davy first produced and exhibited the
arc-light to an admiring and dazzled audience at the Royal Institution;
and forty years later, at the same place, Faraday, by means of his
memorable experiments in electro-dynamics, laid down the laws on which
the modern dynamo-electric machine is founded. Though known at the
beginning of the century, the electric light remained little more than
a scientific curiosity until within the last ten years, during which
period the dynamo-electric machine has been brought to its present
perfection, and electric lighting on a large and economical scale thus
rendered possible. The first practical incandescent lamps were produced
only seven years ago, though the idea of lighting by incandescence
dates back some forty years or more; but all attempts to manufacture an
efficient lamp were rendered futile by the impossibility of obtaining a
perfect vacuum. The year 1881 will long be remembered as that in which
electric lighting by incandescence was first shown to be possible and
practicable.
The future history of the world will doubtless be founded more or less
on the history of scientific progress. No branch of science at present
rivals in interest that of electricity, and at no time in the history
of the world has any branch of science made so great or so rapid
progress as electrical science during the past five years.
And now it may be asked, where are the evidences of this wonderful
progress, at least in that branch of electricity which is the subject
of the present paper? Quite recently, the wonders of the electric light
were in the mouths of every one; while at present, little or nothing is
heard about it except in professional quarters. Is the electric light
a failure, and are all the hopes that have been placed on it to end in
nothing? Assuredly not. The explanation of the present lull in electric
lighting is not far to seek; it is due almost solely and entirely
to speculation. The reins, so to say, had been taken from the hands
of engineers and men of science; the stock-jobbers had mounted the
chariot, and the mad gallop that followed has ended in ruin and
collapse. Many will remember the electric-light mania several years
ago, and the panic that took place among those holding gas shares.
The public knew little or nothing about electricity, and consequently
nothing was too startling or too ridiculous to be believed. Then came a
time of wild excitement and reckless speculation, inevitably followed
by a time of depression and ruination. Commercial enterprise was
brought to a stand-still; real investors lost all confidence; capital
was diverted elsewhere; the innocent suffered, and are still suffering;
and the electric light suffered all the blame. The government was
forced to step in for the protection of the public; and the result of
their legislation is the Electric Lighting Act which authorizes the
Board of Trade to grant licenses to Companies and local authorities
to supply electricity under certain conditions. These conditions have
reference chiefly to the limits of compulsory and permissive supply,
the securing of a regular and efficient supply, the safety of the
public, the limitation of prices to be charged, and regulations as to
inspection and inquiry.
That the electric light has not proved a failure may be gleaned from a
rough survey of what has been done during the past two years, in spite
of unmerited depression and depreciation. In this country, permanent
installations have been established at several theatres in London and
the provinces; the Royal Courts of Justice, the Houses of Parliament,
Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle, the Bank of England, and other
well-known buildings; while numerous railway stations, hotels, clubs,
factories, and private mansions throughout the country, have also
adopted the new light either entirely or in part. In addition to this,
over forty steamships have been fitted with the electric light during
the past year; and the Holborn Viaduct, with its shops and buildings,
has been lighted without interruption for the past two years. On the
continent, in addition to a large number of factories, private houses
and public buildings, numerous theatres at Paris, Munich, Stuttgart,
Brunn, Vienna, Berlin, Prague and Milan have been electrically
lighted. In New York, an installation of ten thousand lights has been
successfully running for the last year or two. Any one wishing to
see the electric light to advantage and its suitability to interior
decoration, should visit the Holborn Restaurant. This building, with
its finely decorated rooms, its architectural beauties, and ornamental
designs in the renaissance style, when viewed by the electric light, is
without doubt one of the chief sights of London.
The electric light in the form of the well-known powerful and dazzling
arc-light is the favorite illuminant for lighting harbors, railway
stations, docks, public works, and other large spaces. But it is to
the incandescent lamp that one must look par excellence for the “light
of the future.” It has been satisfactorily established that lighting
by incandescence is as cheap as lighting by gas, provided that it be
carried out on an extensive scale.
Very contradictory statements have from time to time been published
as to the relative cost of lighting by electricity and gas; and a few
remarks on the subject, without entering into detailed figures, will
explain much of this discrepancy. These remarks will refer to electric
lighting by incandescence.
In the first place, the lighting may be effected in one of three
ways—(1) by primary batteries; (2) by dynamo-machines; or (3) by a
combination of dynamo machines and secondary batteries. The expense of
working with primary batteries is altogether prohibitory, except in the
case of very small installations; while secondary batteries have not
yet been made a practical success; so that the second method mentioned
above is the only one at present in the field. In the second place, a
distinction must be made between isolated installations and a general
system of lighting from central stations. Up to the present time,
nearly all the lighting by electricity has been effected by isolated
installations. If every man requiring one hundred or even several
hundred lights were to set up his own gas-works and supply himself from
them, the cost of lighting by gas would be enormously increased. Hence
it is manifestly unfair to compare the cost of electric light obtained
from isolated installations with gas obtained from gas-works supplying
many thousands of lights; yet this is being constantly done. Central
stations supplying at least, say, ten thousand lights, and gas-works on
an equal scale, must be compared in order to arrive at a true estimate
of the relative cost of electricity and gas. Several such extended
installations are now being erected in London and elsewhere. With
improved generating apparatus, and above all, with improved lamps, it
is confidently anticipated that the electric light will eventually be
cheaper than gas. Even if dearer than gas, it will be largely used for
lighting dwelling-houses, theatres, concert halls, museums, libraries,
churches, shops, showrooms, factories, and ships; while perhaps gas may
long hold its own as the poor man’s friend, since it affords him warmth
as well as light.
The incandescent light is entirely free from the products of combustion
which heat and vitiate the air; it enables us to see pictures and
flowers as by daylight; it supports plants instead of poisoning them,
and enables many industries to be carried on by night as well as by
day. Add to this an almost perfect immunity from danger of fire and
no fear of explosion. When it is realized that a gas flame gives
out seventeen times as much heat as an incandescent lamp of equal
light-giving power, and that an ordinary gas flame vitiates the air
as much as the breathing of ten persons, some idea may be formed of
the advantage of the electric light from a sanitary point of view.
To this may be added absence of injury to books, walls and ceilings.
Visitors to the Savoy Theatre in London will doubtless have seen the
adaptability of this light for places of public amusement and it is now
possible to sit out a play in a cool and pleasant atmosphere without
incurring a severe headache. To theatrical managers the light offers
in addition unusual facilities for producing spectacular effects, such
as the employment of green, red, and white lamps to represent night,
morning, and daylight. The freedom from weariness and lassitude after
spending an evening in an electrically lighted apartment must be
experienced in order to be appreciated. The electric light very readily
adapts itself to the interior fittings and decorations of houses and
public buildings, and it can be placed in positions where gas could not
be used on account of the danger of fire. The old lines of gas-fittings
should be avoided as far as possible, and the lights placed singly
where required and not “bunched” together. For the lighting of mines,
electricity must stand unrivalled, though little has as yet been done
in this direction. Its speedy adoption either voluntarily or by Act of
Parliament, with the employment of lime cartridges instead of blasting
by gunpowder, will in the future render explosions in mines almost an
impossibility. In some cases, gas may yet for some time compete with
the electric light both in brilliancy and economy; for the electric
light has spurred on the gas Companies to the improved lighting of many
of our public streets and places.
With the general introduction of electricity for the purpose of
lighting comes the introduction of electricity for the production of
power; for the same current entering by the same conductors can be
used for the production of light or of power, or of both. The same
plant at the central stations will supply power by day and light by
night, with evident economy. Electricity will thus be used for driving
sewing-machines, grinding, mixing, brushing, cleaning, and many other
domestic purposes. In many trades requiring the application of power
for driving light machinery for short periods, electricity will be of
the greatest value, and artisans will have an ever ready source of
power at their command in their own homes.
Is electricity to supersede gas altogether? By no means, for gas is
destined to play a more important part in the future than it has done
in the past. Following close upon the revolution in the production of
light comes a revolution in the production of heat for purposes of
warming and cooking, and for the production of power. Gas in the future
will be largely used not necessarily as an illuminant, but as a fuel
and a power producer. When gas is burned in an ordinary gas flame,
ninety-five per cent. of the gas is consumed in producing heat, and
the remaining five per cent. only in producing light. Gas is far more
efficient than raw coal as a heating agent; and it is also far cheaper
to turn coal into gas and use the gas in a gas-engine, than to burn
the coal directly under the boiler of a steam-engine; for gas-engines
are far more economical than steam-engines. Bearing these facts in
mind it cannot but be seen that the time is not far distant when, both
by rich and poor, gas will be used as the cheapest, most cleanly, and
most convenient means for heating and cooking, and raw coal need not
enter our houses; also that gas-engines must sooner or later supersede
steam-engines, and gas thus be used for driving the machine that
produces the electricity. In the case of towns distant not more than,
say, fifty miles from a coal-field, the gas-works could with advantage
be placed at the colliery, the gas being conveyed to its destination
in pipes. Thus, coal need no longer be seen, except at the colliery
and the gas-works. With the substitution of gas for coal, as a fuel,
will end the present abominable and wasteful production of smoke. When
smoke, “blacks,” and noxious gases are thus done away with, life in
our most populous towns may become a real pleasure. Trees, grass, and
flowers will flourish, and architecture be seen in all its beauty.
Personal comfort will be greatly enhanced by the absence of smuts,
“pea-soup” fogs, and noxious fumes; and monuments, public buildings,
and pictures saved from premature destruction.
The present method of open fires is dirty, troublesome, wasteful,
and extravagant. With the introduction of gas as a heating agent,
there will be no more carting about of coals and ashes, and no more
troublesome lighting of fires with wood, paper, and matches. No more
coal-scuttles, no more smoky chimneys, no more chimney sweeps! On
the other hand, the old open coal fire is cheerful, “pokable,” and
conducive to ventilation; while the Englishman loves to stand in front
of it and toast himself. All this, however, may still be secured in
the gas stoves of the future, as any one could easily have satisfied
himself at the recent Smoke Abatement Exhibition in London. The gas
stove of the future must be an open radiating stove, and not a closed
stove, which warms the air by conduction and convection chiefly, and
renders the air of a room dry and uncomfortable.
It has been frequently pointed out that our coal-fields are not
inexhaustible; but they doubtless contain a sufficient supply for
hundreds of years to come. Long before the supply is likely to run
short, other sources of nature will be largely drawn upon. These are
the winds, waterfalls, tides, and the motion of the waves. The two
former have to some extent been utilized; but little or nothing has
been done or attempted with the latter. Before these can be to any
extent made use of, means must be devised for storing energy in the
form of electricity; a problem which is now being vigorously attacked,
but as yet without much practical success. That electricity has a great
future before it cannot for a moment be doubted.—_Chambers’s Journal._