Presepi All the Way Down
The world is deep,
And deeper than the day can comprehend.
Zarathustra
You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a prior dream, and that dream lies within another, and so on, to infinity… The path that you are to take is endless, and you will die before you have truly awakened.
Jorge Luis Borges
There follows an extract from the recently discovered travel diaries of a 19th century philosopher and psychologist who wrote extensively of his sojourn in Naples.
17th December 1862 – During the afternoon I, seeking some pleasing diversion, betook myself to that most ancient district of the city and to the cramped and narrow streets along the decumanus known hereabouts as the Spaccanapoli. Following ample perusal of the prodigious wares of the many artisans of this district, my curiosity was sated but I was feeling my nerves somewhat taxed. Desirous of respite from the voluble and pressing horde, I withdrew myself into a dim alleyway which, soon enough, opened out upon a cool, elegant and silent courtyard in which I found myself quite alone. Herein I was surprised to discover, arrayed atop sundry trestles, some half dozen or so extremely fine specimens of the presepe, that Lilliputian crib scene so beloved of the Neapolitans. Meticulously fashioned and arranged before me were the tiny protagonists of that first nativity – the babe Jesu, Mary, Joseph and the attendant shepherds and Magi. But in addition here were, furthermore, an irregular and motley cast of characters of a contemporaneous nature – beggars, priests, drunks, soldiers, maidservants, tradespeople and more – young and old alike bedecked in the Neapolitan vernacular garb and rendered just as they fulfilled their quotidian tasks. All about them was evinced the bounty of the happ’ly fertile soils of this region. These minute goings on proceeded within the modelled environs of a pleasingly decrepit and mossy assemblage of buildings of most antique provenance, all illumined by numbers of cunningly situated candles.
Such were the wondrous powers of the miniaturist responsible for this delightful contrivance that I found myself strangely absorbed in quiet contemplation of the living scene before me and, by degrees, became as if myself a minute wanderer, moving with ease among those fair people, partaking in their very joys and sorrows. For who knows how long I stood thus transfixed, but at once I was startled from my meditations by a gentle tug upon my coat sleeve and turning around I beheld an exceedingly venerable old woman who promptly conveyed her eagerness to know my impressions of what I had just witnessed. “Dear Madam”, I exclaimed, “I would surely wager some occult arts have been hereabouts employed, for I quite lost myself amidst these diminutive precincts and to my mind it was as if time’s arrow itself had been full stilled”. Much pleased was my aged companion with these words. “Sir” she now said earnestly, “I would that ye press further with thy investigations for ye hath but obtained the first doorway – look ye now for a yet subtler presepe which this larger doth itself enclose”. Finding myself much amused by a train of thought, I asked satirically: if perchance should I find such an artefact, might I thence find a still tinier one nested within it. The crone fixed me with a most peculiar look that I shall scarce forget and as she turned to leave, already receding into the Stygian gloom, whispered over her shoulder – “It’s no use sir… it’s presepi all the way down”.
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