Ogn'anno,il due novembre,c'é l'usanza per i defunti andare al Cimitero.Ognuno ll'adda fà chesta crianza;ognuno adda tené chistu penziero.Ogn'anno,puntualmente,in questo giorno,di questa triste e mesta ricorrenza,anch'io ci vado,e con dei fiori adorno il loculo marmoreo 'e zi' Vicenza.St'anno m'é capitato 'navventura...dopo di aver compiuto il triste omaggio.Madonna! si ce penzo,e che paura!,ma po' facette un'anema e curaggio.'O fatto è chisto,statemi a sentire:s'avvicinava ll'ora d'à chiusura:io,tomo tomo,stavo per uscire buttando un occhio a qualche sepoltura."Qui dorme in pace il nobile marchese signore di Rovigo e di Belluno ardimentoso eroe di mille imprese morto l'11 maggio del'31"'O stemma cu 'a curona 'ncoppa a tutto......sotto 'na croce fatta 'e lampadine;tre mazze 'e rose cu 'na lista 'e lutto:cannele,cannelotte e sei lumine.Proprio azzeccata 'a tomba 'e stu signore nce stava 'n 'ata tomba piccerella,abbandunata,senza manco un fiore;pe' segno,sulamente 'na crucella.E ncoppa 'a croce appena se liggeva:"Esposito Gennaro - netturbino":guardannola,che ppena me faceva stu muorto senza manco nu lumino!Questa è la vita! 'ncapo a me penzavo...chi ha avuto tanto e chi nun ave niente!Stu povero maronna s'aspettava ca pur all'atu munno era pezzente?Mentre fantasticavo stu penziero,s'era ggià fatta quase mezanotte,e i'rimanette 'nchiuso priggiuniero,muorto 'e paura...nnanze 'e cannelotte.Tutto a 'nu tratto,che veco 'a luntano? Ddoje ombre avvicenarse 'a parte mia...
Penzaje:stu fatto a me mme pare strano...Stongo scetato...dormo,o è fantasia?Ate che fantasia;era 'o Marchese:c'o' tubbo,'a caramella e c'o' pastrano;chill'ato apriesso a isso un brutto arnese;tutto fetente e cu 'nascopa mmano.E chillo certamente è don Gennaro...'omuorto puveriello...'o scupatore.'Int 'a stu fatto i' nun ce veco chiaro:so' muorte e se ritirano a chest'ora?Putevano sta' 'a me quase 'nu palmo,quanno 'o Marchese se fermaje 'e botto,s'avota e tomo tomo..calmo calmo,dicette a don Gennaro:"Giovanotto!Da Voi vorrei saper,vile carogna,con quale ardire e come avete osato di farvi seppellir,per mia vergogna,accanto a me che sono blasonato!La casta è casta e va,si,rispettata,ma Voi perdeste il senso e la misura;la Vostra salma andava,si,inumata;ma seppellita nella spazzatura!Ancora oltre sopportar non posso la Vostra vicinanza puzzolente,fa d'uopo,quindi,che cerchiate un fosso tra i vostri pari,tra la vostra gente""Signor Marchese,nun è colpa mia,i'nun v'avesse fatto chistu tuorto;mia moglie è stata a ffa' sta fesseria,i' che putevo fa' si ero muorto?Si fosse vivo ve farrei cuntento,pigliasse 'a casciulella cu 'e qquatt'ossee proprio mo,obbj'...'nd'a stu mumentomme ne trasesse dinto a n'ata fossa"."E cosa aspetti,oh turpe malcreato,che l'ira mia raggiunga l'eccedenza? Se io non fossi stato un titolato avrei già dato piglio alla violenza!""Famme vedé..-piglia sta violenza...'A verità,Marché,mme so' scucciato'e te senti;e si perdo 'a pacienza,mme scordo ca so' muorto e so mazzate!...Ma chi te cride d'essere...nu ddio?Ccà dinto,'o vvuo capi,ca simmo eguale?......Muorto si'tu e muorto so' pur'io; ognuno comme a 'na'ato é tale e quale"."Lurido porco!...Come ti permetti paragonarti a me ch'ebbi natali illustri,nobilissimi e perfetti,da fare invidia a Principi Reali?"."Tu qua' Natale...Pasca e Ppifania!!!T''o vvuo' mettere 'ncapo...'int'a cervella che staje malato ancora e' fantasia?...'A morte 'o ssaje ched''e?...è una livella.'Nu rre,'nu maggistrato,'nu grand'ommo,trasenno stu canciello ha fatt'o puntoc'ha perzo tutto,'a vita e pure 'o nomme:tu nu t'hè fatto ancora chistu cunto?Perciò,stamme a ssenti...nun fa''o restivo,suppuorteme vicino-che te 'mporta? Sti ppagliacciate 'e ffanno sulo 'e vive:nuje simmo serie...appartenimmo à morte!"
Totò
2 commenti:
not even babel fish can tell me what you write (i need more itie lessons) anyways, i wish i could read it -- Grace
Dear Grace,
it' napolitan....no way you translate it with babelfish....
The spirit level
by Antonio de Curtis (Totò)
Every year on the 2nd of November,
it is usual for the dead care, to go to the Cemetery.
Everyone should do this present;
Everyone should have this thought.
Every year, exactly on this day,
Of this sad and unhappy happening,
I go there too, and with some flowers I garnish
the grave stone of Auntie "Vincenza".
This year an adventure has happened to me ...
After completed the sad homage,
My God! I am still scared (if I think at it)
But then I got braveness.
The fact is the following, listen to me:
We were next to the closing time
When slowly slowly I was going out
Having a look at some graves.
"Here sleeps in peace the nobleman marquis,
lord of Rovigo and Belluno,
brave hero of 1000 enterprises,
dead on 11th of May 1931"
A Logo with a crown at the very top ...
Below a cross made of bulbs;
Three bunch of roses with a mourning list ...
Candles, Big candles and six little candles.
Very Next to the grave of this lord
There was another very little grave,
It was abandoned without any flower;
As a sign only a little cross,
And on the cross it was very difficult to read:
"Esposito Gennaro - Dustman"
I felt pain, looking at him ...
This dead man without any candle.
"That's life" - I thought in my mind. -
"Who has had a lot and who hasn't had anything!"
"Was this poor man aware
that he was beggar at the other world too?"
Daydreaming of this situation,
It was nearby midnight,
And I was left closed and prisoner,
Dead and scared in front of the candles.
Suddenly what did I see in the distance?
Two shadows coming to me ...
I thought: "This seems to be very strange ...
Am I awake, sleeping or is it fantasy?"
It was not fantasy ... he was the marquis:
With the walking stick, the monocle and the greatcoat;
Following him, you can see, the ugly badly dressed,
Stinker and with a broom in his hand.
"Yes, he is for sure Mr Gennaro."
"The dead poor man ... the dustman".
"This situation is very unclear: they are dead
and they come back at this hour?"
They were about a palm away from me,
When suddenly the marquis stopped,
He turned and slowly slowly quite quite,
Told to Mr Gennaro: "Hey mate ...
I want to know from a so low swine like you
How dare you have allowed
To bury your body, with my shame,
next to such a titled like me!"
"Caste is caste and it should be respected!
You lost the sense and moderation;
Ok, your corpse had to be buried but
I think inside the garbage!"
"I cannot suffer
your stinky presence anymore
So it is necessary that you will find another grave
among your dear, among your similar"
" Mister marquis, It's not my fault,
I had never made this wrong to you,
My wife made this foolish think,
What could I do if I was dead?
If I were live I would make you happy,
I'd get my box with my four bones
and now, you know, just in this moment,
I'd go inside another grave."
"So what are you waiting, filthy badly created?
Do you want that my wrath reachs overflow?
If I hadn't been a titled man,
I'd already get angry!"
"OK, I want to see ... let's take this violence...
You know, marquis, I am annoyed to listen to you
And if I lose my patience
I forget that I am dead and I'll beat you!
Who do you think you are? A Lord?
Do you know that in this place we are all the same?
Dead are you and dead I am;
Everyone is equal to the others."
"Bloody pig! How do you allow
to compare yourself with me that
had as my ancestors very revered, very nobles
and perfect to make regal princes envious?"
"But what Christmas, Easter and Epiphany!!!!
(The Italian noun for "ancestor" and "Christmas" is the same: "Natale")
Do you want finally understand inside you brain
That you are still sick of fantasy?
Do you know what is dead? It's a spirit level ...
A King, a Magistrate, A great man
that coming through this gate has understood
that he has lost everything, life and the name also:
Hadn't you already considered this?
So, listen to me ... don't be reluctant.
Suffer my presence close to you? Don't you care about it!
This are jokes of alive people: We are more serious...
We belong to the death
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