The same as a _sopranome._ It is a nickname which, as with the Russian
peasants, takes the place of Christian and surname together. A man will
tell you: “My name is Luigi, but they call me, by _contranome,_
O’Canzirro. I don’t know my surname.” Some of these nicknames are
intelligible, such as O’Sborramurella, which refers to the man’s
profession of building those walls without mortar which are always
tumbling down and being repaired again; or O’Sciacquariello (acqua—a
leaking—one whose money leaks from his pocket—a spendthrift); or San
Pietro, from his saintly appearance; O’Civile, who is so uncivilized,
or Cristoforo Colombo, because he is so very wideawake. But eighty per
cent of them are quite obscure even to their owners, going back, as
they do, to some forgotten trick or incident during childhood or to
some pet name which even in the beginning meant nothing. Nearly every
man and boy has his contranome by which, and _by which alone,_ he is
known in his village; the women seldomer, unless they are conspicuous
by some peculiarity, such as A’Sbirra (the spy), or A’Paponnessa (the
fat one)—whose counterpart, in the male sex, would be O’Tripone.
Conceive, now, what trouble it entails to find a man in a strange
village if you happen not to know his contranome (and how on earth are
you to discover it?), if his surname means nothing to the inhabitants,
and his Christian name is shared by a hundred others. For they have an
amazing lack of inventiveness in this matter; four or five Christian
names will include the whole population of the place. Ten to one you
will lose a day looking for him, unless something like this takes
place: