The soldi are thrown out through the window, and
each one remembers her own number. Then Domenico goes through all the
numbers in a loud voice, that there may be no cheating. A child draws a
number out of the bag, and Domenico shouts: "Listen, all Purificazione,
No. 34 has won, listen, Purificazione, 34 ... 34." The disappointed
faces disappear into the houses. All those who have had 33, 35 and 36
rail against unjust Fate, in strong terms.
At the first rattle of the lottery bag, Filomena rushes in here, opens
the window, and calls for a certain number. If anyone else wants it, she
must manage to find two soldi in her pocket. If I fling a few soldi from
my bed towards the window, this facilitates the search. However, we
never win. Filomena declares that I have indescribable ill-luck in
gambling, and suggests a reason.
* * * * *
She was again singing outside. I called her, wanting to know what it was
she kept singing all the time. "They are songs from the mountains," she
replied, "all _canzone d'amore_." "Say them slowly, Filomena. I
will write them down." I began, but was so delighted at the way she
repeated the verses, her excellent declamatory and rhythmic sense, that
I was almost unable to write. And to my surprise, I discovered that they
were all what we call ritornellos.
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