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A fair number of peasants in the streets, and
peasant women in rather ordinary costume: tight-
bodiced, volume-skirted dresses of hand-woven linen
or thickish cotton. The prettiest is of dark-blue-and-
red, stripes-and-lines, intermingled, so made that the
dark-blue gathers round the waist into one colour, the
myriad pleats hiding all the rosy red. But when she
walks, the full-petticoated peasant woman,
then the red goes flash-flash-flash,
like a bird showing its colours.
Pretty that looks in the sombre street. She has a
plain, light bodice with a peak: sometimes a little vest,
and great full white sleeves, and usually a handker-
chief or shawl loose knotted. It is charming the way
they walk, with quick, short steps.
When all is said and done,
the most attractive costume for women in
my eye, is the tight little bodice and the many-pleated
skirt, full and vibrating with movement. It has a
charm which modern elegance lacks completely a
bird-like play in movement.
They are amusing, these peasant girls and women:
so brisk and defiant. They have straight backs, like
little walls, and decided, well-drawn brows. And
they are amusingly on the alert. There is no eastern
creeping. Like sharp, brisk birds they dart along the
streets, and you feel they would fetch you a bang
over the head as leave as look at you.
But that curious, flashing, black-and-white costume!
I seem to have known it before: to have worn it even:
to have dreamed it. To have dreamed it: to have
had actual contact with it. It belongs in some way
to something in me to my past, perhaps. I don't
know. But the uneasy sense of blood-familiarity
haunts me. I know I have known it before. It is
something of the same uneasiness I feel before Mount
Eryx: but without the awe this time.
Testo tratto da Sea and Sardinia di D. H. Lawrence
per chi desidera uno sguardo sui costumi, le tradizioni ed il paesaggio
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