'There was an uncle of mine near Galway, and one night his wife was very sick, and he had to go to the village to get something for her. And it's a very lonely road, and as he was going what should he see but a great number of cats, walking along the road, and they were carrying a young cat, and crying it.
And when he was on his way home again from the village he met them again, and one of the cats turned and spoke to him like a person would, and said, "Bid Lady Betty to come to the funeral or she'll be late."
So he ran on home in a great fright, and he couldn't speak for some time after getting back to the house, but sat there by the fire in a chair.
And at last he began to tell his wife what had happened. And when he said that he had met a cat's funeral, his own cat that was sleeping by the hearth began to stir her tail, and looked up at him affectionately. But when he got to where he was bid send Lady Betty to the funeral, she made one dash at his face and scraped it, she was so mad that she wasn't told at once.
And then she began to tear at the door, that they had to let her out.
For cats is faeries, and every night they're obliged to travel over seven acres; that's why you hear them crying about the country. It was an old woman at the strand told me that, and she should know, for she lived to a hundred years of age.'
As told to Lady Augusta Gregory, 1920.
THE STAGGERING OIL CONSUMPTION OF ANCIENT ROME
In the heyday of the Roman empire, local olive production couldn’t keep up with demand and the Romans began importing olive oil from other places like Greece, the Iberian peninsula and the North African provinces. The oil was stored in massive clay jars called amphorae, some of which were as tall as half a person and required two people to lift. Most were imported under state authority for distribution to either the army or the common people, which was managed by the same department handling the imports of grains. These amphorae were carefully crafted and marked with the weight, date and origin of the olive oil inside them, but because oil turns the clay rancid over time, the jars couldn’t be reused. Instead, the Romans systematically smashed the pots and stacked them in a massive dumping site which is now called Monte Testaccio, right in the heart of Rome. This is an artificial hill some 35 meters high and over one kilometer in diameter, most of which is now a park covered in vegetation – with bits of amphorae making up the ground. I spent many hours in my youth walking on this hill, constantly picking up pieces some of which I carried home; they are so many! Millions and millions of shreds, most of which were once laid out in neat terraces sprinkled with lime to get rid of the bad smell. The dumping site may hold the broken pieces of 53 million amphorae, which once contained around 6 billion litres of olive oil - which was either eaten or used in the night lamps. Since most of the amphorae in Testaccio came from faraway places and the oil was destined for distribution, it has been estimated that the state imported at least 7.5 million litres of oil every year, and that’s without counting the oil manufactured in Italy, or the oil imported by other entities for private sales or consumption.
The dumping site lay abandoned for centuries, and eventually became the site for jousts and tournaments. Later the mound was the site of the pre-Lenten celebrations, as well as for the city’s get together during the month of October, when olives and grapes were picked in the surrounding fields.
Here is a 1827 description of the October gatherings: “Each Sunday and Thursday during the month of October, almost the whole population of Rome, rich and poor, throng to this spot, where innumerable tables are covered with refreshments, and the wine is drawn cool from the vaults. It is impossible to conceive a more animating scene than the summit of the hill presents. Gay groups dancing the saltarella, intermingled with the jovial circles which surround the tables; the immense crowd of walkers who, leaving their carriages below, stroll about to enjoy the festive scene.”
Photo credit: estateromana.it
“Quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit.”
Oscar Wilde
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