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If gathered in that state, the
olives are sure to rot.
_"Pazienza!"_ in such disasters exclaim the inhabitants of the
_Riviera_, with a melancholy shrug of the shoulders. And they
needs must have patience until the weather clears and the ground
dries, before they can secure such of the olives as may happily be
uninjured.
On the day we speak of, the 21st of December, 1852, the proprietors of
olive-grounds in San Cipriano wore very blank faces; they talked sadly
of the falling prices of the fruit and oil, and the olive-pickers
crossed their hands and looked vacantly at the gray sky.
In the spacious kitchen of Doctor Morani were assembled a body of
young rosy lasses in laced bodices, and short, bright-colored
petticoats, come down from the neighboring mountains for the
olive-gathering, much as Irish laborers cross over to England for the
hay-making season. These girls arrive in troops from their native
villages among the hills, carrying on their heads a sackful of the
flour of dried beans and a lesser quantity of dried chestnuts.


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