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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



family names interwoven in the history 

 of the Republic, are for the most part 

 government employees, professors in the 

 college, storekeepers, or doctors. There 

 is a good hospital and a college which 

 admits to many of Italy's universities. 



COMMERCIAL UEE CENTERS IN THE BORGO 



The commercial life of the Republic is 

 centered in the Borgo. Every week, mar- 

 ket days draw from the capital above 

 housewives and servants. The fairs, the 

 chief ones being in September and Octo- 

 ber, are occasions when buyers and sellers 

 come not only from all over the Republic, 

 but from neighboring Italian towns as 

 well. 



Fair days present a kaleidoscopic pic- 

 ture of gay-kerchiefed peasant women, 

 farmers, stock-growers, boys and girls 

 leading sheep, pigs, and cattle. The cattle 

 market from a distance looks like an en- 

 campment of innumerable tents, with the 

 indistinguishable forms of hundreds of 

 great white cattle, which are the beasts 

 of burden in this country. 



War has demanded its toll even among 

 Sammarinesi cattle, but so prosperous 

 is the stock-raising industry, one of the 

 most important of the Republic, that the 

 fairs are still imposing and picturesque 

 events. One sees young and old climb- 

 ing the ascending roads, bringing their 

 cattle, little calves, half grown, good 

 workers, good breeders, cows that pro- 

 vide milk and daily toil as well — all for 

 sale. 



In the piazzas, peasant women, with 

 great garlands of onions and garlic, bas- 

 kets of eggs, picturesque flat baskets full 

 of live chickens, hampers of the famous 

 San Marino sheep's-milk cheese, bargain 

 and barter. Booths with everything from 

 dress goods to hair oil are surrounded by 

 eagerly buying peasants and townsfolk ; 

 for San Marino has no well-stocked 

 stores, and therefore the fairs, with their 

 visiting merchants, are of unusual impor- 

 tance. 



The towering capital bears no fruit, 

 except the heritage from its founder — 

 stone of the quarries — but the villages 

 and countrysides surrounding Mount 

 Titanus yield their share of various prod- 

 ucts. Aside from cattle, poultry, eggs, 

 cheese, and vegetables, the vine plays a 



notable part in the life of the Republic, 

 and the wine of San Marino is of a su- 

 perior quality. 



All the picturesque features of the 

 vintage of poetry are found in San Ma- 

 rino late in September. All ox-carts seem 

 to lead from vineyard to wine-cellar, and 

 feet are stained red with the juice of the 

 grape. In the vineyards bare-footed men 

 pack the grapes in huge barrels atop the 

 ox-carts, which transport the fruit to the 

 cellars. Here peasants, juice spurting 

 through their toes, crush the grapes in 

 great vats from which the escaping liquid 

 runs off, ready to be stored in barrels for 

 fermenting. Here the young figure of a 

 modern Bacchus, there old men like 

 satyrs, stamp the future wine in these 

 dark canteens. Even the smallest farm- 

 ers, the poorest peasants, who boast no 

 cellars, tread their grapes in the farm- 

 yards or wagon-sheds. 



FROM CRADLE TO GRAVE 



Picturesque customs abound in San 

 Marino. From birth to death the Sam- 

 marinesi pass the circle of existence as 

 did their forebears. One of the charac- 

 teristic sights is that of a christening 

 party — the midwife, with the baby in her 

 arms, covered by a huge stiff mantle, look- 

 ing like an animated piece of furniture 

 moving through the cobbled streets to- 

 ward the cathedral, followed by the god- 

 parents of the newcomer. 



When Sammarinesi are carried to their 

 last resting place — the architecturally at- 

 tractive cemetery at the end of a cypress 

 avenue down the slope of the mountain — 

 the coffin, covered with its heavy pall, is 

 supported on the shoulders of friends 

 until the city gates are reached; for no 

 funeral car could wind its way through 

 those steep, narrow streets. At the gates 

 the cortege is met by the hearse, which 

 proceeds down the mountain to a ceme- 

 tery that is a modern copy of the ancient 

 catacombs. 



Beneath the chapel and the cloistered 

 loggia of fourteenth century style, graves 

 are hewn from the living rock, as in those 

 early Christian burying grounds. One 

 passes through avenues flanked by last 

 resting places, here tiny ones for children, 

 or still smaller ones for bones; there 

 larger ones for adults. 



