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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Old Calabria, by Norman Douglas
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Old Calabria
+
+Author: Norman Douglas
+
+Release Date: April 23, 2003 [eBook #7385]
+[Most recently updated: January 13, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Eric Eldred
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD CALABRIA ***
+
+
+
+
+Old Calabria
+
+by Norman Douglas
+
+
+Contents
+
+ I. SARACEN LUCERA
+ II. MANFRED’S TOWN
+ III. THE ANGEL OF MANFREDONIA
+ IV. CAVE-WORSHIP
+ V. LAND OF HORACE
+ VI. AT VENOSA
+ VII. THE BANDUSIAN FOUNT
+ VIII. TILLERS OF THE SOIL
+ IX. MOVING SOUTHWARDS
+ X. THE FLYING MONK
+ XI. BY THE INLAND SEA
+ XII. MOLLE TARENTUM
+ XIII. INTO THE JUNGLE
+ XIV. DRAGONS
+ XV. BYZANTINISM
+ XVI. REPOSING AT CASTROVILLARI
+ XVII. OLD MORANO
+ XVIII. AFRICAN INTRUDERS
+ XIX. UPLANDS OF POLLINO
+ XX. A MOUNTAIN FESTIVAL
+ XXI. MILTON IN CALABRIA
+ XXII. THE “GREEK” SILA
+ XXIII. ALBANIANS AND THEIR COLLEGE
+ XXIV. AN ALBANIAN SEER
+ XXV. SCRAMBLING TO LONGOBUCCO
+ XXVI. AMONG THE BRUTTIANS
+ XXVII. CALABRIAN BRIGANDAGE
+ XXVIII. THE GREATER SILA
+ XXIX. CHAOS
+ XXX. THE SKIRTS OF MONTALTO
+ XXXI. SOUTHERN SAINTLINESS
+ XXXII. ASPROMONTE, THE CLOUD-GATHERER
+ XXXIII. MUSOLINO AND THE LAW
+ XXXIV. MALARIA
+ XXXV. CAULONIA TO SERRA
+ XXXVI. MEMORIES OF GISSING
+ XXXVII. COTRONE
+ XXXVIII. THE SAGE OF CROTON
+ XXXIX. MIDDAY AT PETELIA
+ XL. THE COLUMN
+ INDEX
+
+[Illustration: Tower at Manfredonia]
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+ TOWER AT MANFREDONIA
+ LION OF LUCERA
+ AT SIPONTUM
+ RUIN OF TRINITÀ: EAST FRONT
+ ROMAN ALTAR
+ NORMAN CAPITAL AT VENOSA
+ SOLE RELIC OF OLD TARAS
+ FISHING AT TARANTO
+ BY THE INLAND SEA
+ FOUNTAINS OF GALAESUS
+ TARANTO: THE LAST PALM
+ BUFFALO AT POLICORO
+ THE SINNO RIVER
+ CHAPEL OF SAINT MARK
+ SHOEING A COW
+ MORANO
+ AN OLD SHEPHERD
+ THE SARACENIC TYPE
+ PEAK OF POLLINO IN JUNE
+ CALABRIAN COWS
+ THE VALLEY OF GAUDOLINO
+ SAN DEMETRIO CORONE
+ THE TRIONTO VALLEY
+ LONGOBUCCO
+ GATEWAY AT CATANZARO
+ IN THE CEMETERY OF REGGIO
+ TIRIOLO
+ EFFECTS OF DEFORESTATION
+ OLD SOVERATO
+ THE MODERN AESARUS
+ CEMETERY OF COTRONE
+ ROMAN MASONRY AT CAPO COLONNA
+
+
+
+
+OLD CALABRIA
+
+
+
+
+I
+SARACEN LUCERA
+
+
+I find it hard to sum up in one word the character of Lucera—the effect
+it produces on the mind; one sees so many towns that the freshness of
+their images becomes blurred. The houses are low but not undignified;
+the streets regular and clean; there is electric light and somewhat
+indifferent accommodation for travellers; an infinity of barbers and
+chemists. Nothing remarkable in all this. Yet the character is there,
+if one could but seize upon it, since every place has its genius.
+Perhaps it lies in a certain feeling of aloofness that never leaves one
+here. We are on a hill—a mere wave of ground; a kind of spur, rather,
+rising up from the south—quite an absurd little hill, but sufficiently
+high to dominate the wide Apulian plain. And the nakedness of the land
+stimulates this aerial sense. There are some trees in the “Belvedere”
+or public garden that lies on the highest part of the spur and affords
+a fine view north and eastwards. But the greater part were only planted
+a few years ago, and those stretches of brown earth, those
+half-finished walks and straggling pigmy shrubs, give the place a crude
+and embryonic appearance. One thinks that the designers might have done
+more in the way of variety; there are no conifers excepting a few
+cryptomerias and yews which will all be dead in a couple of years, and
+as for those yuccas, beloved of Italian municipalities, they will have
+grown more dyspeptic-looking than ever. None the less, the garden will
+be a pleasant spot when the ilex shall have grown higher; even now it
+is the favourite evening walk of the citizens. Altogether, these public
+parks, which are now being planted all over south Italy, testify to
+renascent taste; they and the burial-places are often the only spots
+where the deafened and light-bedazzled stranger may find a little green
+content; the content, respectively, of _L’Allegro_ and _Il Penseroso._
+So the cemetery of Lucera, with its ordered walks drowned in the shade
+of cypress—roses and gleaming marble monuments in between—is a charming
+retreat, not only for the dead.
+
+The Belvedere, however, is not my promenade. My promenade lies yonder,
+on the other side of the valley, where the grave old Suabian castle
+sits on its emerald slope. It does not frown; it reposes firmly, with
+an air of tranquil and assured domination; “it has found its place,” as
+an Italian observed to me. Long before Frederick Barbarossa made it the
+centre of his southern dominions, long before the Romans had their
+fortress on the site, this eminence must have been regarded as the key
+of Apulia. All round the outside of those turreted walls (they are
+nearly a mile in circumference; the enclosure, they say, held sixty
+thousand people) there runs a level space. This is my promenade, at all
+hours of the day. Falcons are fluttering with wild cries overhead; down
+below, a long unimpeded vista of velvety green, flecked by a few trees
+and sullen streamlets and white farmhouses—the whole vision framed in a
+ring of distant Apennines. The volcanic cone of Mount Vulture, land of
+Horace, can be detected on clear days; it tempts me to explore those
+regions. But eastward rises up the promontory of Mount Gargano, and on
+the summit of its nearest hill one perceives a cheerful building, some
+village or convent, that beckons imperiously across the intervening
+lowlands. Yonder lies the venerable shrine of the archangel Michael,
+and Manfred’s town. . . .
+
+This castle being a _national monument,_ they have appointed a
+custodian to take charge of it; a worthless old fellow, full of
+untruthful information which he imparts with the hushed and
+conscience-stricken air of a man who is selling State secrets.
+
+“That corner tower, sir, is the King’s tower. It was built by the
+King.”
+
+“But you said just now that it was the Queen’s tower.”
+
+“So it is. The Queen—she built it.”
+
+“What Queen?”
+
+“What Queen? Why, the Queen—the Queen the German professor was talking
+about three years ago. But I must show you some skulls which we found
+_(sotto voce)_ in a subterranean crypt. They used to throw the poor
+dead folk in here by hundreds; and under the Bourbons the criminals
+were hanged here, thousands of them. The blessed times! And this tower
+is the Queen’s tower.”
+
+“But you called it the King’s tower just now.”
+
+“Just so. That is because the King built it.”
+
+“What King?”
+
+“Ah, sir, how can I remember the names of all those gentlemen? I
+haven’t so much as set eyes on them! But I must now show you some round
+sling-stones which we excavated _(sotto voce)_ in a subterranean
+crypt——”
+
+One or two relics from this castle are preserved in the small municipal
+museum, founded about five years ago. Here are also a respectable
+collection of coins, a few prehistoric flints from Gargano, some quaint
+early bronze figurines and mutilated busts of Roman celebrities carved
+in marble or the recalcitrant local limestone. A dignified old lion—one
+of a pair (the other was stolen) that adorned the tomb of Aurelius,
+prastor of the Roman Colony of Luceria—has sought a refuge here, as
+well as many inscriptions, lamps, vases, and a miscellaneous collection
+of modern rubbish. A plaster cast of a Mussulman funereal stone, found
+near Foggia, will attract your eye; contrasted with the fulsome
+epitaphs of contemporary Christianity, it breathes a spirit of noble
+resignation:—
+
+“In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate. May God show
+kindness to Mahomet and his kinsfolk, fostering them by his favours!
+This is the tomb of the captain Jacchia Albosasso. God be merciful to
+him. He passed away towards noon on Saturday in the five days of the
+month Moharram of the year 745 (5th April, 1348). May Allah likewise
+show mercy to him who reads.”
+
+One cannot be at Lucera without thinking of that colony of twenty
+thousand Saracens, the escort of Frederick and his son, who lived here
+for nearly eighty years, and sheltered Manfred in his hour of danger.
+The chronicler Spinelli[1] has preserved an anecdote which shows
+Manfred’s infatuation for these loyal aliens. In the year 1252 and in
+the sovereign’s presence, a Saracen official gave a blow to a
+Neapolitan knight—a blow which was immediately returned; there was a
+tumult, and the upshot of it was that the Italian was condemned to lose
+his hand; all that the Neapolitan nobles could obtain from Manfred was
+that his left hand should be amputated instead of his right; the Arab,
+the cause of all, was merely relieved of his office. Nowadays, all
+memory of Saracens has been swept out of the land. In default of
+anything better, they are printing a local halfpenny paper called “Il
+Saraceno“—a very innocuous pagan, to judge by a copy which I bought in
+a reckless moment.
+
+ [1] These journals are now admitted to have been manufactured in the
+ sixteenth century by the historian Costanzo for certain genealogical
+ purposes of his own. Professor Bernhardi doubted their authenticity in
+ 1869, and his doubts have been confirmed by Capasso.
+
+This museum also contains a buxom angel of stucco known as the “Genius
+of Bourbonism.” In the good old days it used to ornament the town hall,
+fronting the entrance; but now, degraded to a museum curiosity, it
+presents to the public its back of ample proportions, and the curator
+intimated that he considered this attitude quite
+appropriate—historically speaking, of course. Furthermore, they have
+carted hither, from the Chamber of Deputies in Rome, the chair once
+occupied by Ruggiero Bonghi. Dear Bonghi! From a sense of duty he used
+to visit a certain dull and pompous house in the capital and forthwith
+fall asleep on the nearest sofa; he slept sometimes for two hours at a
+stretch, while all the other visitors were solemnly marched to the spot
+to observe him—behold the great Bonghi: he slumbers! There is a statue
+erected to him here, and a street has likewise been named after another
+celebrity, Giovanni Bovio. If I informed the townsmen of my former
+acquaintance with these two heroes, they would perhaps put up a marble
+tablet commemorating the fact. For the place is infected with the
+patriotic disease of monumentomania. The drawback is that with every
+change of administration the streets are re-baptized and the statues
+shifted to make room for new favourites; so the civic landmarks come
+and go, with the swiftness of a cinematograph.
+
+Frederick II also has his street, and so has Pietro Giannone. This
+smacks of anti-clericalism. But to judge by the number of priests and
+the daily hordes of devout and dirty pilgrims that pour into the town
+from the fanatical fastnesses of the Abruzzi—picturesque, I suppose we
+should call them—the country is sufficiently orthodox. Every
+self-respecting family, they tell me, has its pet priest, who lives on
+them in return for spiritual consolations.
+
+There was a religious festival some nights ago in honour of Saint
+Espedito. No one could tell me more about this holy man than that he
+was a kind of pilgrim-warrior, and that his cult here is of recent
+date; it was imported or manufactured some four years ago by a rich
+merchant who, tired of the old local saints, built a church in honour
+of this new one, and thereby enrolled him among the city gods.
+
+[Illustration: Lion of Lucera]
+
+On this occasion the square was seething with people: few
+women, and the men mostly in dark clothes; we are already under Moorish
+and Spanish influences. A young boy addressed me with the polite
+question whether I could tell him the precise number of the population
+of London.
+
+That depended, I said, on what one described as London. There was what
+they called greater London——
+
+It depended! That was what he had always been given to understand. . .
+. And how did I like Lucera? Rather a dull little place, was it not?
+Nothing like Paris, of course. Still, if I could delay my departure for
+some days longer, they would have the trial of a man who had murdered
+three people: it might be quite good fun. He was informed that they
+hanged such persons in England, as they used to do hereabouts; it
+seemed rather barbaric, because, naturally, nobody is ever responsible
+for his actions; but in England, no doubt_——_
+
+That is the normal attitude of these folks towards us and our
+institutions. We are savages, hopeless savages; but a little savagery,
+after all, is quite endurable. Everything is endurable if you have lots
+of money, like these English.
+
+As for myself, wandering among that crowd of unshaven creatures, that
+rustic population, fiercely gesticulating and dressed in slovenly hats
+and garments, I realized once again what the average Anglo-Saxon would
+ask himself: Are they _all_ brigands, or only some of them? That music,
+too—what is it that makes this stuff so utterly unpalatable to a
+civilized northerner? A soulless cult of rhythm, and then, when the
+simplest of melodies emerges, they cling to it with the passionate
+delight of a child who has discovered the moon. These men are still in
+the age of platitudes, so far as music is concerned; an infantile aria
+is to them what some foolish rhymed proverb is to the Arabs: a thing of
+God, a portent, a joy for ever.
+
+You may visit the cathedral; there is a fine _verde antico_ column on
+either side of the sumptuous main portal. I am weary, just now, of
+these structures; the spirit of pagan Lucera—“Lucera dei Pagani” it
+used to be called—has descended upon me; I feel inclined to echo
+Carducci’s “_Addio, nume semitico!_” One sees so many of these sombre
+churches, and they are all alike in their stony elaboration of
+mysticism and wrong-headedness; besides, they have been described, over
+and over again, by enthusiastic connaisseurs who dwell lovingly upon
+their artistic quaintnesses but forget the grovelling herd that reared
+them, with the lash at their backs, or the odd type of humanity—the
+gargoyle type—that has since grown up under their shadow and
+influence. I prefer to return to the sun and stars, to my promenade
+beside the castle walls.
+
+But for the absence of trees and hedges, one might take this to be some
+English prospect of the drowsy Midland counties—so green it is, so
+golden-grey the sky. The sunlight peers down dispersedly through
+windows in this firmament of clouded amber, alighting on some
+mouldering tower, some patch of ripening corn or distant city—Troia,
+lapped in Byzantine slumber, or San Severo famed in war. This in
+spring. But what days of glistering summer heat, when the earth is
+burnt to cinders under a heavenly dome that glows like a brazier of
+molten copper! For this country is the Sahara of Italy.
+
+One is glad, meanwhile, that the castle does not lie in the natal land
+of the Hohenstaufen. The interior is quite deserted, to be sure; they
+have built half the town of Lucera with its stones, even as Frederick
+quarried them out of the early Roman citadel beneath; but it is at
+least a harmonious desolation. There are no wire-fenced walks among the
+ruins, no feeding-booths and cheap reconstructions of draw-bridges and
+police-notices at every corner; no gaudy women scribbling to their
+friends in the “Residenzstadt” post cards illustrative of the
+“Burgruine,” while their husbands perspire over mastodontic beer-jugs.
+There is only peace.
+
+These are the delights of Lucera: to sit under those old walls and
+watch the gracious cloud-shadows dappling the plain, oblivious of
+yonder assemblage of barbers and politicians. As for those who can
+reconstruct the vanished glories of such a place—happy they! I find the
+task increasingly difficult. One outgrows the youthful age of
+hero-worship; next, our really keen edges are so soon worn off by
+mundane trivialities and vexations that one is glad to take refuge in
+simpler pleasures once more—to return to primitive emotionalism. There
+are so many Emperors of past days! And like the old custodian, I have
+not so much as set eyes on them.
+
+Yet this Frederick is no dim figure; he looms grandly through the
+intervening haze. How well one understands that craving for the East,
+nowadays; how modern they were, he and his son the “Sultan of Lucera,”
+and their friends and counsellors, who planted this garden of exotic
+culture! Was it some afterglow of the luminous world that had sunk
+below the horizon, or a pale streak of the coming dawn? And if you now
+glance down into this enclosure that once echoed with the song of
+minstrels
+and the soft laughter of women, with the discourse of wits, artists and
+philosophers, and the clang of arms—if you look, you will behold
+nothing but a green lake, a waving field of grass. No matter. The
+ambitions of these men are fairly realized, and every one of us may
+keep a body-guard of pagans, an’t please him; and a harem likewise—to
+judge by the newspapers.
+
+For he took his Orientalism seriously; he had a harem, with eunuchs,
+etc., all proper, and was pleased to give an Eastern colour to his
+entertainments. Matthew Paris relates how Frederick’s brother-in-law,
+returning from the Holy Land, rested awhile at his Italian court, and
+saw, among other diversions, “duas puellas Saracenicas formosas, quae
+in pavimenti planitie binis globis insisterent, volutisque globis huo
+illucque ferrentur canentes, cymbala manibus collidentes, corporaque
+secundum modulos motantes atque flectentes.” I wish I had been there. .
+. .
+
+I walked to the castle yesterday evening on the chance of seeing an
+eclipse of the moon which never came, having taken place at quite
+another hour. A cloudless night, dripping with moisture, the electric
+lights of distant Foggia gleaming in the plain. There are brick-kilns
+at the foot of the incline, and from some pools in the neighbourhood
+issued a loud croaking of frogs, while the pallid smoke of the
+furnaces, pressed down by the evening dew, trailed earthward in a long
+twisted wreath, like a dragon crawling sulkily to his den. But on the
+north side one could hear the nightingales singing in the gardens
+below. The dark mass of Mount Gargano rose up clearly in the moonlight,
+and I began to sketch out some itinerary of my wanderings on that soil.
+There was Sant’ Angelo, the archangel’s abode; and the forest region;
+and Lesina with its lake; and Vieste the remote, the end of all things.
+. . .
+
+Then my thoughts wandered to the Hohenstaufen and the conspiracy
+whereby their fate was avenged. The romantic figures of Manfred and
+Conradin; their relentless enemy Charles; Costanza, her brow crowned
+with a poetic nimbus (that melted, towards the end, into an aureole of
+bigotry); Frangipani, huge in villainy; the princess Beatrix, tottering
+from the dungeon where she had been confined for nearly twenty years;
+her deliverer Roger de Lauria, without whose resourcefulness and
+audacity it might have gone ill with Aragon; Popes and
+Palæologus—brilliant colour effects; the king of England and Saint
+Louis of France; in the background, dimly discernible, the colossal
+shades of Frederick and Innocent, looked in deadly embrace; and the
+whole congress of figures enlivened and
+interpenetrated as by some electric fluid—the personality of John of
+Procida. That the element of farce might not be lacking, Fate contrived
+that exquisite royal duel at Bordeaux where the two mighty potentates,
+calling each other by a variety of unkingly epithets, enacted a
+prodigiously fine piece of foolery for the delectation of Europe.
+
+From this terrace one can overlook both Foggia and Castel
+Fiorentino—the beginning and end of the drama; and one follows the
+march of this magnificent retribution without a shred of compassion for
+the gloomy papal hireling. Disaster follows disaster with mathematical
+precision, till at last he perishes miserably, consumed by rage and
+despair. Then our satisfaction is complete.
+
+No; not quite complete. For in one point the stupendous plot seems to
+have been imperfectly achieved. Why did Roger de Lauria not profit by
+his victory to insist upon the restitution of the young brothers of
+Beatrix, of those unhappy princes who had been confined as infants in
+1266, and whose very existence seems to have faded from the memory of
+historians? Or why did Costanza, who might have dealt with her enemy’s
+son even as Conradin had been dealt with, not round her magnanimity by
+claiming her own flesh and blood, the last scions of a great house? Why
+were they not released during the subsequent peace, or at least in
+1302? The reason is as plain as it is unlovely; nobody knew what to do
+with them. Political reasons counselled their effacement, their
+non-existence. Horrible thought, that the sunny world should be too
+small for three orphan children! In their Apulian fastness they
+remained—in chains. A royal rescript of 1295 orders that they be freed
+from their fetters. Thirty years in fetters! Their fate is unknown; the
+night of mediævalism closes in upon them once more. . . .
+
+Further musings were interrupted by the appearance of a shape which
+approached from round the corner of one of the towers. It came nearer
+stealthily, pausing every now and then. Had I evoked, willy-nilly, some
+phantom of the buried past?
+
+It was only the custodian, leading his dog Musolino. After a shower of
+compliments and apologies, he gave me to understand that it was his
+duty, among other things, to see that no one should endeavour to raise
+the treasure which was hidden under these ruins; several people, he
+explained, had already made the attempt by night. For the rest, I was
+quite at liberty to take my pleasure about the castle at all hours. But
+as to touching the buried hoard, it was _proibito—_forbidden!
+
+I was glad of the incident, which conjured up for me the Oriental mood
+with its genii and subterranean wealth. Straightway this incongruous
+and irresponsible old buffoon was invested with a new dignity;
+transformed into a threatening Ifrit, the guardian of the gold, or—who
+knows?—Iblis incarnate. The gods take wondrous shapes, sometimes.
+
+
+
+
+II
+MANFRED’S TOWN
+
+
+As the train moved from Lucera to Foggia and thence onwards, I had
+enjoyed myself rationally, gazing at the emerald plain of Apulia, soon
+to be scorched to ashes, but now richly dight with the yellow flowers
+of the giant fennel, with patches of ruby-red poppy and asphodels pale
+and shadowy, past their prime. I had thought upon the history of this
+immense tract of country—upon all the floods of legislation and
+theorizings to which its immemorial customs of pasturage have given
+birth. . . .
+
+Then, suddenly, the aspect of life seemed to change. I felt unwell, and
+so swift was the transition from health that I had wantonly thrown out
+of the window, beyond recall, a burning cigar ere realizing that it was
+only a little more than half smoked. We were crossing the Calendaro, a
+sluggish stream which carefully collects all the waters of this region
+only to lose them again in a swamp not far distant; and it was
+positively as if some impish sprite had leapt out of those noisome
+waves, boarded the train, and flung himself into me, after the fashion
+of the “Horla” in the immortal tale.
+
+Doses of quinine such as would make an English doctor raise his
+eyebrows have hitherto only succeeded in provoking the Calendaro
+microbe to more virulent activity. Nevertheless, _on s’y fait._ I am
+studying him and, despite his protean manifestations, have discovered
+three principal ingredients: malaria, bronchitis and hay-fever—not your
+ordinary hay-fever, oh, no! but such as a mammoth might conceivably
+catch, if thrust back from his germless, frozen tundras into the damply
+blossoming Miocene.
+
+The landlady of this establishment has a more commonplace name for the
+distemper. She calls it “scirocco.” And certainly this pest of the
+south blows incessantly; the mountain-line of Gargano is veiled, the
+sea’s horizon veiled, the coast-lands of Apulia veiled by its tepid and
+unwholesome breath. To cheer
+me up, she says that on clear days one can see Castel del Monte, the
+Hohenstaufen eyrie, shining yonder above Barletta, forty miles distant.
+It sounds rather improbable; still, yesterday evening there arose a
+sudden vision of a white town in that direction, remote and dream-like,
+far across the water. Was it Barletta? Or Margherita? It lingered
+awhile, poised on an errant sunbeam; then sank into the deep.
+
+From this window I look into the little harbour whose beach is dotted
+with fishing-boats. Some twenty or thirty sailing-vessels are riding at
+anchor; in the early morning they unfurl their canvas and sally forth,
+in amicable couples, to scour the azure deep—it is greenish-yellow at
+this moment—returning at nightfall with the spoils of ocean, mostly
+young sharks, to judge by the display in the market. Their white sails
+bear fabulous devices in golden colour of moons and crescents and
+dolphins; some are marked like the “orange-tip” butterfly. A gunboat is
+now stationed here on a mysterious errand connected with the Albanian
+rising on the other side of the Adriatic. There has been whispered talk
+of illicit volunteering among the youth on this side, which the
+government is anxious to prevent. And to enliven the scene, a steamer
+calls every now and then to take passengers to the Tremiti islands. One
+would like to visit them, if only in memory of those martyrs of
+Bourbonism, who were sent in hundreds to these rocks and cast into
+dungeons to perish. I have seen such places; they are vast caverns
+artificially excavated below the surface of the earth; into these the
+unfortunates were lowered and left to crawl about and rot, the living
+mingled with the dead. To this day they find mouldering skeletons,
+loaded with heavy iron chains and ball-weights.
+
+A copious spring gushes up on this beach and flows into the sea. It is
+sadly neglected. Were I tyrant of Manfredonia, I would build me a fair
+marble fountain here, with a carven assemblage of nymphs and
+sea-monsters spouting water from their lusty throats, and plashing in
+its rivulets. It may well be that the existence of this fount helped to
+decide Manfred in his choice of a site for his city; such springs are
+rare in this waterless land. And from this same source, very likely, is
+derived the local legend of Saint Lorenzo and the Dragon, which is
+quite independent of that of Saint Michael the dragon-killer on the
+heights above us. These venerable water-spirits, these _dracs,_ are
+interesting beasts who went through many metamorphoses ere attaining
+their present shape.
+
+Manfredonia lies on a plain sloping very gently
+seawards—practically a dead level, and in one of the hottest districts
+of Italy. Yet, for some obscure reason, there is no street along the
+sea itself; the cross-roads end in abrupt squalor at the shore. One
+wonders what considerations—political, aesthetic or hygienic—prevented
+the designers of the town from carrying out its general principles of
+construction and building a decent promenade by the waves, where the
+ten thousand citizens could take the air in the breathless summer
+evenings, instead of being cooped up, as they now are, within stifling
+hot walls. The choice of Manfredonia as a port does not testify to any
+great foresight on the part of its founder—peace to his shade! It will
+for ever slumber in its bay, while commerce passes beyond its reach; it
+will for ever be malarious with the marshes of Sipontum at its edges.
+But this particular defect of the place is not Manfred’s fault, since
+the city was razed to the ground by the Turks in 1620, and then built
+up anew; built up, says Lenormant, according to the design of the old
+city. Perhaps a fear of other Corsair raids induced the constructors to
+adhere to the old plan, by which the place could be more easily
+defended. Not much of Manfredonia seems to have been completed when
+Pacicchelli’s view (1703) was engraved.
+
+Speaking of the weather, the landlady further told me that the wind
+blew so hard three months ago—“during that big storm in the winter,
+don’t you remember?”—that it broke all the iron lamp-posts between the
+town and the station. Now here was a statement sounding even more
+improbable than her other one about Castel del Monte, but admitting of
+verification. Wheezing and sneezing, I crawled forth, and found it
+correct. It must have been a respectable gale, since the cast-iron
+supports are snapped in half, every one of them.
+
+Those Turks, by the way, burnt the town on that memorable occasion.
+That was a common occurrence in those days. Read any account of their
+incursions into Italy during this and the preceding centuries, and you
+will find that the corsairs burnt the towns whenever they had time to
+set them alight. They could not burn them nowadays, and this points to
+a total change in economic conditions. Wood was cut down so heedlessly
+that it became too scarce for building purposes, and stone took its
+place. This has altered domestic architecture; it has changed the
+landscape, denuding the hill-sides that were once covered with timber;
+it has impoverished the country by converting fruitful plains into
+marshes or arid tracts of stone swept by irregular and intermittent
+floods; it has modified, if I mistake
+not, the very character of the people. The desiccation of the climate
+has entailed a desiccation of national humour.
+
+Muratori has a passage somewhere in his “Antiquities” regarding the old
+method of construction and the wooden shingles, _scandulae,_ in use for
+roofing—I must look it up, if ever I reach civilized regions again.
+
+At the municipality, which occupies the spacious apartments of a former
+Dominican convent, they will show you the picture of a young girl, one
+of the Beccarini family, who was carried off at a tender age in one of
+these Turkish raids, and subsequently became “Sultana.” Such captive
+girls generally married sultans—or ought to have married them; the wish
+being father to the thought. But the story is disputed; rightly, I
+think. For the portrait is painted in the French manner, and it is
+hardly likely that a harem-lady would have been exhibited to a European
+artist. The legend goes on to say that she was afterwards liberated by
+the Knights of Malta, together with her Turkish son who, as was meet
+and proper, became converted to Christianity and died a monk. The
+Beccarini family (of Siena, I fancy) might find some traces of her in
+their archives. _Ben trovato,_ at all events. When one looks at the
+pretty portrait, one cannot blame any kind of “Sultan” for feeling
+well-disposed towards the original.
+
+The weather has shown some signs of improvement and tempted me, despite
+the persistent “scirocco” mood, to a few excursions into the
+neighbourhood. But there seem to be no walks hereabouts, and the hills,
+three miles distant, are too remote for my reduced vitality. The
+intervening region is a plain of rock carved so smoothly, in places, as
+to appear artificially levelled with the chisel; large tracts of it are
+covered with the Indian fig (cactus). In the shade of these grotesque
+growths lives a dainty flora: trembling grasses of many kinds, rue,
+asphodel, thyme, the wild asparagus, a diminutive blue iris, as well as
+patches of saxifrage that deck the stone with a brilliant enamel of red
+and yellow. This wild beauty makes one think how much better the
+graceful wrought-iron balconies of the town would look if enlivened
+with blossoms, with pendent carnations or pelargonium; but there is no
+great display of these things; the deficiency of water is a
+characteristic of the place; it is a flowerless and songless city. The
+only good drinking-water is that which is bottled at the mineral
+springs of Monte Vulture and sold cheaply enough all over the country.
+And the mass of the country people have small charm of feature. Their
+faces seem to have been chopped
+with a hatchet into masks of sombre virility; a hard life amid burning
+limestone deserts is reflected in their countenances.
+
+None the less, they have a public garden; even more immature than that
+of Lucera, but testifying to greater taste. Its situation, covering a
+forlorn semicircular tract of ground about the old Anjou castle, is _a
+priori_ a good one. But when the trees are fully grown, it will be
+impossible to see this fine ruin save at quite close quarters—just
+across the moat.
+
+I lamented this fact to a solitary gentleman who was strolling about
+here and who replied, upon due deliberation:
+
+“One cannot have everything.”
+
+Then he added, as a suggestive afterthought:
+
+“Inasmuch as one thing sometimes excludes another.”
+
+I pause, to observe parenthetically that this habit of uttering
+platitudes in the grand manner as though disclosing an idea of vital
+novelty (which Charles Lamb, poor fellow, thought peculiar to natives
+of Scotland) is as common among Italians as among Englishmen. But
+veiled in sonorous Latinisms, the staleness of such remarks assumes an
+air of profundity.
+
+“For my part,” he went on, warming to his theme, “I am thoroughly
+satisfied. Who will complain of the trees? Only a few makers of bad
+pictures. They can go elsewhere. Our country, dear sir, is _encrusted,_
+with old castles and other feudal absurdities, and if I had the
+management of things——”
+
+The sentence was not concluded, for at that moment his hat was blown
+off by a violent gust of wind, and flew merrily over beds of flowering
+marguerites in the direction of the main street, while he raced after
+it, vanishing in a cloud of dust. The chase must have been long and
+arduous; he never returned.
+
+Wandering about the upper regions of this fortress whose chambers are
+now used as a factory of cement goods and a refuge for some poor
+families, I espied a good pre-renaissance relief of Saint Michael and
+the dragon immured in the masonry, and overhung by the green leaves of
+an exuberant wild fig that has thrust its roots into the sturdy old
+walls. Here, at Manfredonia, we are already under the shadow of the
+holy mountain and the archangel’s wings, but the usual representations
+of him are childishly emasculate—the negation of his divine and heroic
+character. This one portrays a genuine warrior-angel of the old type:
+grave and grim. Beyond this castle and the town-walls, which are best
+preserved on the north side, nothing in Manfredonia is older than 1620.
+There is a fine _campanile,_ but the cathedral looks like a shed for
+disused omnibuses.
+
+Along the streets, little red flags are hanging out of the houses, at
+frequent intervals: signals of harbourage for the parched wayfarer.
+Within, you behold a picturesque confusion of rude chairs set among
+barrels and vats full of dark red wine where, amid Rembrandtesque
+surroundings, you can get as drunk as a lord for sixpence. Blithe
+oases! It must be delightful, in summer, to while away the sultry hours
+in their hospitable twilight; even at this season they seem to be
+extremely popular resorts, throwing a new light on those allusions by
+classical authors to “thirsty Apulia.”
+
+But on many of the dwellings I noticed another symbol: an ominous blue
+metal tablet with a red cross, bearing the white-lettered words
+“VIGILANZA NOTTURNA.”
+
+Was it some anti-burglary association? I enquired of a serious-looking
+individual who happened to be passing.
+
+His answer did not help to clear up matters.
+
+“A pure job, _signore mio_, a pure job! There is a society in Cerignola
+or somewhere, a society which persuades the various town
+councils—_persuades_ them, you understand——”
+
+He ended abruptly, with the gesture of paying out money between his
+finger and thumb. Then he sadly shook his head.
+
+I sought for more light on this cryptic utterance; in vain. What were
+the facts, I persisted? Did certain householders subscribe to keep a
+guardian on their premises at night—what had the municipalities to do
+with it—was there much house-breaking in Manfredonia, and, if so, had
+this association done anything to check it? And for how long had the
+institution been established?
+
+But the mystery grew ever darker. After heaving a deep sigh, he
+condescended to remark:
+
+“The usual camorra! Eat—eat; from father to son. Eat—eat! That’s all
+they think about, the brood of assassins. . . . Just look at them!”
+
+I glanced down the street and beheld a venerable gentleman of kindly
+aspect who approached slowly, leaning on the arm of a fair-haired
+youth—his grandson, I supposed. He wore a long white beard, and an air
+of apostolic detachment from the affairs of this world. They came
+nearer. The boy was listening, deferentially, to some remark of the
+elder; his lips were parted in attention and his candid, sunny face
+would have rejoiced the heart of della Robbia. They passed within a few
+feet of me, lovingly engrossed in one another.
+
+“Well?” I queried, turning to my informant and anxious to learn what
+misdeeds could be laid to the charge of such godlike types of humanity.
+
+But that person was no longer at my side. He had quietly withdrawn
+himself, in the interval; he had evanesced, “moved on.”
+
+An oracular and elusive citizen. ...
+
+
+
+
+III
+THE ANGEL OF MANFREDONIA
+
+
+Whoever looks at a map of the Gargano promontory will see that it is
+besprinkled with Greek names of persons and places—Matthew, Mark,
+Nikander, Onofrius, Pirgiano (Pyrgos) and so forth. Small wonder, for
+these eastern regions were in touch with Constantinople from early
+days, and the spirit of Byzance still hovers over them. It was on this
+mountain that the archangel Michael, during his first flight to Western
+Europe, deigned to appear to a Greek bishop of Sipontum, Laurentius by
+name; and ever since that time a certain cavern, sanctified by the
+presence of this winged messenger of God, has been the goal of millions
+of pilgrims.
+
+The fastness of Sant’ Angelo, metropolis of European angel-worship, has
+grown up around this “devout and honourable cave”; on sunny days its
+houses are clearly visible from Manfredonia. They who wish to pay their
+devotions at the shrine cannot do better than take with them
+Gregorovius, as cicerone and mystagogue.
+
+Vainly I waited for a fine day to ascend the heights. At last I
+determined to have done with the trip, be the weather what it might. A
+coachman was summoned and negotiations entered upon for starting next
+morning.
+
+Sixty-five francs, he began by telling me, was the price paid by an
+Englishman last year for a day’s visit to the sacred mountain. It may
+well be true—foreigners will do anything, in Italy. Or perhaps it was
+only said to “encourage” me. But I am rather hard to encourage,
+nowadays. I reminded the man that there was a diligence service there
+and back for a franc and a half, and even that price seemed rather
+extortionate. I had seen so many holy grottos in my life! And who,
+after all, was this Saint Michael? The Eternal Father, perchance?
+Nothing of the kind: just an ordinary angel! We had dozens of them, in
+England. Fortunately, I added, I had already received an offer to join
+one of the private parties who drive up, fourteen or fifteen persons
+behind
+one diminutive pony—and that, as he well knew, would be a matter of
+only a few pence. And even then, the threatening sky . . . Yes, on
+second thoughts, it was perhaps wisest to postpone the excursion
+altogether. Another day, if God wills! Would he accept this cigar as a
+recompense for his trouble in coming?
+
+In dizzy leaps and bounds his claims fell to eight francs. It was the
+tobacco that worked the wonder; a gentleman who will give _something
+for nothing_ (such was his logic)—well, you never know what you may not
+get out of him. Agree to his price, and chance it!
+
+He consigned the cigar to his waistcoat pocket to smoke after dinner,
+and departed—vanquished, but inwardly beaming with bright anticipation.
+
+A wretched morning was disclosed as I drew open the shutters—gusts of
+rain and sleet beating against the window-panes. No matter: the
+carriage stood below, and after that customary and hateful apology for
+breakfast which suffices to turn the thoughts of the sanest man towards
+themes of suicide and murder—when will southerners learn to eat a
+proper breakfast at proper hours?—we started on our journey. The sun
+came out in visions of tantalizing briefness, only to be swallowed up
+again in driving murk, and of the route we traversed I noticed only the
+old stony track that cuts across the twenty-one windings of the new
+carriage-road here and there. I tried to picture to myself the Norman
+princes, the emperors, popes, and other ten thousand pilgrims of
+celebrity crawling up these rocky slopes—barefoot—on such a day as
+this. It must have tried the patience even of Saint Francis of Assisi,
+who pilgrimaged with the rest of them and, according to Pontanus,
+performed a little miracle here _en passant,_ as was his wont.
+
+After about three hours’ driving we reached the town of Sant’ Angelo.
+It was bitterly cold at this elevation of 800 metres. Acting on the
+advice of the coachman, I at once descended into the sanctuary; it
+would be warm down there, he thought. The great festival of 8 May was
+over, but flocks of worshippers were still arriving, and picturesquely
+pagan they looked in grimy, tattered garments—their staves tipped with
+pine-branches and a scrip.
+
+In the massive bronze doors of the chapel, that were made at
+Constantinople in 1076 for a rich citizen of Amalfi, metal rings are
+inserted; these, like a true pilgrim, you must clash furiously, to call
+the attention of the Powers within to your visit; and on issuing, you
+must once more knock as hard as you can, in order
+that the consummation of your act of worship may be duly reported:
+judging by the noise made, the deity must be very hard of hearing.
+Strangely deaf they are, sometimes.
+
+The twenty-four panels of these doors are naively encrusted with
+representations, in enamel, of angel-apparitions of many kinds; some of
+them are inscribed, and the following is worthy of note:
+
+“I beg and implore the priests of Saint Michael to cleanse these gates
+once a year as I have now shown them, in order that they may be always
+bright and shining.” The recommendation has plainly not been carried
+out for a good many years past.
+
+Having entered the portal, you climb down a long stairway amid swarms
+of pious, foul clustering beggars to a vast cavern, the archangel’s
+abode. It is a natural recess in the rock, illuminated by candles. Here
+divine service is proceeding to the accompaniment of cheerful operatic
+airs from an asthmatic organ; the water drops ceaselessly from the
+rocky vault on to the devout heads of kneeling worshippers that cover
+the floor, lighted candle in hand, rocking themselves ecstatically and
+droning and chanting. A weird scene, in truth. And the coachman was
+quite right in his surmise as to the difference in temperature. It is
+hot down here, damply hot, as in an orchid-house. But the aroma cannot
+be described as a floral emanation: it is the _bouquet,_ rather, of
+thirteen centuries of unwashed and perspiring pilgrims. “TERRIBILIS EST
+LOCUS ISTE,” says an inscription over the entrance of the shrine. Very
+true. In places like this one understands the uses, and possibly the
+origin, of incense.
+
+I lingered none the less, and my thoughts went back to the East, whence
+these mysterious practices are derived. But an Oriental crowd of
+worshippers does not move me like these European masses of fanaticism;
+I can never bring myself to regard without a certain amount of
+disquietude such passionate pilgrims. Give them their new Messiah, and
+all our painfully accumulated art and knowledge, all that reconciles
+civilized man to earthly existence, is blown to the winds. Society can
+deal with its criminals. Not they, but fond enthusiasts such as these,
+are the menace to its stability. Bitter reflections; but then—the drive
+upward had chilled my human sympathies, and besides—that so-called
+breakfast. . . .
+
+The grovelling herd was left behind. I ascended the stairs and,
+profiting by a gleam of sunshine, climbed up to where, above the town,
+there stands a proud aerial ruin known as the “Castle of
+the Giant.” On one of its stones is inscribed the date 1491—a certain
+Queen of Naples, they say, was murdered within those now crumbling
+walls. These sovereigns were murdered in so many castles that one
+wonders how they ever found time to be alive at all. The structure is a
+wreck and its gateway closed up; nor did I feel any great inclination,
+in that icy blast of wind, to investigate the roofless interior.
+
+I was able to observe, however, that this “feudal absurdity” bears a
+number like any inhabited house of Sant’ Angelo—it is No. 3.
+
+This is the latest pastime of the Italian Government: to re-number
+dwellings throughout the kingdom; and not only human habitations, but
+walls, old ruins, stables, churches, as well as an occasional door-post
+and window. They are having no end of fun over the game, which promises
+to keep them amused for any length of time—in fact, until the next
+craze is invented. Meanwhile, so long as the fit lasts, half a million
+bright-eyed officials, burning with youthful ardour, are employed in
+affixing these numerals, briskly entering them into ten times as many
+note-books and registering them into thousands of municipal archives,
+all over the country, for some inscrutable but hugely important
+administrative purposes. “We have the employes,” as a Roman deputy once
+told me, “and therefore: they must find some occupation.”
+
+Altogether, the weather this day sadly impaired my appetite for
+research and exploration. On the way to the castle I had occasion to
+admire the fine tower and to regret that there seemed to exist no coign
+of vantage from which it could fairly be viewed; I was struck, also, by
+the number of small figures of Saint Michael of an ultra-youthful,
+almost infantile, type; and lastly, by certain clean-shaven old men of
+the place. These venerable and decorative brigands—for such they would
+have been, a few years ago—now stood peacefully at their thresholds,
+wearing a most becoming cloak of thick brown wool, shaped like a
+burnous. The garment interested me; it may be a legacy from the Arabs
+who dominated this region for some little time, despoiling the holy
+sanctuary and leaving their memory to be perpetuated by the
+neighbouring “Monte Saraceno.” The costume, on the other hand, may have
+come over from Greece; it is figured on Tanagra statuettes and worn by
+modern Greek shepherds. By Sardinians, too. ... It may well be a
+primordial form of clothing with mankind.
+
+The view from this castle must be superb on clear days. Standing there,
+I looked inland and remembered all the places I had
+intended to see—Vieste, and Lesina with its lakes, and Selva Umbra,
+whose very name is suggestive of dewy glades; how remote they were,
+under such dispiriting clouds! I shall never see them. Spring hesitates
+to smile upon these chill uplands; we are still in the grip of winter—
+
+Aut aquilonibus
+Querceti Gargani laborent
+Et foliis viduantur orni—
+
+so sang old Horace, of Garganian winds. I scanned the horizon, seeking
+for his Mount Vulture, but all that region was enshrouded in a grey
+curtain of vapour; only the Stagno Salso—a salt mere wherein Candelaro
+forgets his mephitic waters—shone with a steady glow, like a sheet of
+polished lead.
+
+Soon the rain fell once more and drove me to seek refuge among the
+houses, where I glimpsed the familiar figure of my coachman, sitting
+disconsolately under a porch. He looked up and remarked (for want of
+something better to say) that he had been searching for me all over the
+town, fearing that some mischief might have happened to me. I was
+touched by these words; touched, that is, by his child-like simplicity
+in imagining that he could bring me to believe a statement of such
+radiant improbability; so touched, that I pressed a franc into his
+reluctant palm and bade him buy with it something to eat. A whole
+franc. . . . _Aha!_ he doubtless thought, _my theory of the gentleman:
+it begins to work._
+
+It was barely midday. Yet I was already surfeited with the angelic
+metropolis, and my thoughts began to turn in the direction of
+Manfredonia once more. At a corner of the street, however, certain
+fluent vociferations in English and Italian, which nothing would induce
+me to set down here, assailed my ears, coming up—apparently—out of the
+bowels of the earth. I stopped to listen, shocked to hear ribald
+language in a holy town like this; then, impelled by curiosity,
+descended a long flight of steps and found myself in a subterranean
+wine-cellar. There was drinking and card-playing going on here among a
+party of emigrants—merry souls; a good half of them spoke English and,
+despite certain irreverent phrases, they quickly won my heart with a
+“Here! You drink _this,_ mister.”
+
+This dim recess was an instructive pendant to the archangel’s cavern. A
+new type of pilgrim has been evolved; pilgrims who think no more of
+crossing to Pittsburg than of a drive to Manfredonia. But their cave
+was permeated with an odour of spilt wine and tobacco-smoke instead of
+the subtle _Essence des pèlerins_
+_des Abruzzes fleuris,_ and alas, the object of their worship was not
+the Chaldean angel, but another and equally ancient eastern shape:
+Mammon. They talked much of dollars; and I also heard several
+unorthodox allusions to the “angel-business,” which was described as
+“played out,” as well as a remark to the effect that “only damn-fools
+stay in this country.” In short, these men were at the other end of the
+human scale; they were the strong, the energetic; the ruthless,
+perhaps; but certainly—the intelligent.
+
+And all the while the cup circled round with genial iteration, and it
+was universally agreed that, whatever the other drawbacks of Sant’
+Angelo might be, there was nothing to be said against its native
+liquor.
+
+It was, indeed, a divine product; a _vino di montagna_ of noble
+pedigree. So I thought, as I laboriously scrambled up the stairs once
+more, solaced by this incident of the competition-grotto and slightly
+giddy, from the tobacco-smoke. And here, leaning against the door-post,
+stood the coachman who had divined my whereabouts by some dark masonic
+intuition of sympathy. His face expanded into an inept smile, and I
+quickly saw that instead of fortifying his constitution with sound
+food, he had tried alcoholic methods of defence against the inclement
+weather. Just a glass of wine, he explained. “But,” he added, “the
+horse is perfectly sober.”
+
+That quadruped was equal to the emergency. Gloriously indifferent to
+our fates, we glided down, in a vertiginous but masterly vol-plane,
+from the somewhat objectionable mountain-town.
+
+An approving burst of sunshine greeted our arrival on the plain.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+CAVE-WORSHIP
+
+Why has the exalted archangel chosen for an abode this reeking cell,
+rather than some well-built temple in the sunshine? “As symbolizing a
+ray of light that penetrates into the gloom,” so they will tell you. It
+is more likely that he entered it as an extirpating warrior, to oust
+that heathen shape which Strabo describes as dwelling in its dank
+recesses, and to take possession of the cleft in the name of
+Christianity. Sant’ Angelo is one of many places where Michael has
+performed the duty of Christian Hercules, cleanser of Augean stables.
+
+For the rest, this cave-worship is older than any god or devil. It is
+the cult of the feminine principle—a relic of that aboriginal obsession
+of mankind to shelter in some Cloven Rock of Ages, in the sacred womb
+of Mother Earth who gives us food and receives us after death.
+Grotto-apparitions, old and new, are but the popular explanations of
+this dim primordial craving, and hierophants of all ages have
+understood the commercial value of the holy shudder which penetrates in
+these caverns to the heart of worshippers, attuning them to godly
+deeds. So here, close beside the altar, the priests are selling
+fragments of the so-called “Stone of Saint Michael.” The trade is
+brisk.
+
+The statuette of the archangel preserved in this subterranean chapel is
+a work of the late Renaissance. Though savouring of that mawkish
+elaboration which then began to taint local art and literature and is
+bound up with the name of the poet Marino, it is still a passably
+virile figure. But those countless others, in churches or over
+house-doors—do they indeed portray the dragon-killer, the martial
+prince of angels? This amiable child with girlish features—can this be
+the Lucifer of Christianity, the Sword of the Almighty? _Quis ut Déus!_
+He could hardly hurt a fly.
+
+The hoary winged genius of Chaldea who has absorbed the essence of so
+many solemn deities has now, in extreme old age, entered upon a second
+childhood and grown altogether too
+youthful for his _role,_ undergoing a metamorphosis beyond the
+boundaries of legendary probability or common sense; every trace of
+divinity and manly strength has been boiled out of him. So young and
+earthly fair, he looks, rather, like some pretty boy dressed up for a
+game with toy sword and helmet—one wants to have a romp with him. No
+warrior this! _C’est beau, mais ce n’est pas la guerre._
+
+The gods, they say, are ever young, and a certain sensuous and fleshly
+note is essential to those of Italy if they are to retain the love of
+their worshippers. Granted. We do not need a scarred and hirsute
+veteran; but we need, at least, a personage capable of wielding the
+sword, a figure something like this:—
+
+His starry helm unbuckled show’d his prime
+In manhood where youth ended; by his side
+As in a glist’ring zodiac hung the sword,
+Satan’s dire dread, and in his hand the spear. . . .
+
+There! That is an archangel of the right kind.
+
+And the great dragon, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan,
+has suffered a similar transformation. He is shrunk into a poor little
+reptile, the merest worm, hardly worth crushing.
+
+But how should a sublime conception like the apocalyptic hero appeal to
+the common herd? These formidable shapes emerge from the dusk,
+offspring of momentous epochs; they stand aloof at first, but presently
+their luminous grandeur is dulled, their haughty contour sullied and
+obliterated by attrition. They are dragged down to the level of their
+lowest adorers, for the whole flock adapts its pace to that of the
+weakest lamb. No self-respecting deity will endure this treatment—to be
+popularized and made intelligible to a crowd. Divinity comprehended of
+the masses ceases to be efficacious; the Egyptians and Brahmans
+understood that. It is not giving gods a chance to interpret them in an
+incongruous and unsportsmanlike fashion. But the vulgar have no idea of
+propriety or fair play; they cannot keep at the proper distance; they
+are for ever taking liberties. And, in the end, the proudest god is
+forced to yield.
+
+We see this same fatality in the very word Cherub. How different an
+image does this plump and futile infant evoke to the stately Minister
+of the Lord, girt with a sword of flame! We see it in the Italian
+Madonna of whom, whatever her mental acquirements may have been, a
+certain gravity of demeanour is to be presupposed, and who, none the
+less, grows more childishly
+smirking every day; in her Son who—hereabouts at least—has doffed all
+the serious attributes of manhood and dwindled into something not much
+better than a doll. It was the same in days of old. Apollo (whom Saint
+Michael has supplanted), and Eros, and Aphrodite—they all go through a
+process of saccharine deterioration. Our fairest creatures, once they
+have passed their meridian vigour, are liable to be assailed and
+undermined by an insidious diabetic tendency.
+
+It is this coddling instinct of mankind which has reduced Saint Michael
+to his present state. And an extraneous influence has worked in the
+same direction—the gradual softening of manners within historical
+times, that demasculinization which is an inevitable concomitant of
+increasing social security. Divinity reflects its human creators and
+their environment; grandiose or warlike gods become superfluous, and
+finally incomprehensible, in humdrum days of peace. In order to
+survive, our deities (like the rest of us) must have a certain
+plasticity. If recalcitrant, they are quietly relieved of their
+functions, and forgotten. This is what has happened in Italy to God the
+Father and the Holy Ghost, who have vanished from the vulgar Olympus;
+whereas the devil, thanks to that unprincipled versatility for which he
+is famous, remains ever young and popular.
+
+The art-notions of the Cinque-Cento are also to blame; indeed, so far
+as the angelic shapes of south Italy are concerned, the influence of
+the Renaissance has been wholly malefic. Aliens to the soil, they were
+at first quite unknown—not one is pictured in the Neapolitan catacombs.
+Next came the brief period of their artistic glory; then the syncretism
+of the Renaissance, when these winged messengers were amalgamated with
+pagan _amoretti_ and began to flutter in foolish baroque fashion about
+the Queen of Heaven, after the pattern of the disreputable little genii
+attendant upon a Venus of a bad school. That same instinct which
+degraded a youthful Eros into the childish Cupid was the death-stroke
+to the pristine dignity and holiness of angels. Nowadays, we see the
+perversity of it all; we have come to our senses and can appraise the
+much-belauded revival at its true worth; and our modern sculptors will
+rear you a respectable angel, a grave adolescent, according to the best
+canons of taste—should you still possess the faith that once
+requisitioned such works of art.
+
+We travellers acquaint ourselves with the lineage of this celestial
+Messenger, but it can hardly be supposed that the worshippers now
+swarming at his shrine know much of these things. How
+shall one discover their real feelings in regard to this great
+cave-saint and his life and deeds?
+
+Well, some idea of this may be gathered from the literature sold on the
+spot. I purchased three of these modern tracts printed respectively at
+Bitonto, Molfetta and Naples. The “Popular Song in honour of St.
+Michael” contains this verse:
+
+Nell’ ora della morte
+Ci salvi dall’ inferno
+E a Regno Sempiterno
+Ci guidi per pietà.
+
+_Ci guidi per pietà. . . ._ This is the Mercury-heritage. Next, the
+“History and Miracles of St. Michael” opens with a rollicking dialogue
+in verse between the archangel and the devil concerning a soul; it ends
+with a goodly list, in twenty-five verses, of the miracles performed by
+the angel, such as helping women in childbirth, curing the blind, and
+other wonders that differ nothing from those wrought by humbler earthly
+saints. Lastly, the “Novena in Onore di S. Michele Arcangelo,” printed
+in 1910 (third edition) with ecclesiastical approval, has the following
+noteworthy paragraph on the
+
+“DEVOTION FOR THE SACRED STONES OF THE GROTTO OF ST. MICHAEL.
+
+“It is very salutary to hold in esteem the STONES which are taken from
+the sacred cavern, partly because from immemorial times they have
+always been held in veneration by the faithful and also because they
+have been placed as relics of sepulchres and altars. Furthermore, it is
+known that during the plague which afflicted the kingdom of Naples in
+the year 1656, Monsignor G. A. Puccini, archbishop of Manfredonia,
+recommended every one to carry devoutly on his person a fragment of the
+sacred STONE, whereby the majority were saved from the pestilence, and
+this augmented the devotion bestowed on them.”
+
+The cholera is on the increase, and this may account for the rapid sale
+of the STONES at this moment.
+
+This pamphlet also contains a litany in which the titles of the
+archangel are enumerated. He is, among other things, Secretary of God,
+Liberator from Infernal Chains, Defender in the Hour of Death,
+Custodian of the Pope, Spirit of Light, Wisest of Magistrates, Terror
+of Demons, Commander-in-Chief of the Armies of the Lord, Lash of
+Heresies, Adorer of the Word
+Incarnate, Guide of Pilgrims, Conductor of Mortals: Mars, Mercury,
+Hercules, Apollo, Mithra—what nobler ancestry can angel desire? And
+yet, as if these complicated and responsible functions did not suffice
+for his energies, he has twenty others, among them being that of
+“Custodian of the Holy Family “—who apparently need a protector, a
+Monsieur Paoli, like any mortal royalties.
+
+“Blasphemous rubbish!” I can hear some Methodist exclaiming. And one
+may well be tempted to sneer at those pilgrims for the more enlightened
+of whom such literature is printed. For they are unquestionably a
+repulsive crowd: travel-stained old women, under-studies for the Witch
+of Endor; dishevelled, anaemic and dazed-looking girls; boys, too weak
+to handle a spade at home, pathetically uncouth, with mouths agape and
+eyes expressing every grade of uncontrolled emotion—from wildest joy to
+downright idiotcy. How one realizes, down in this cavern, the effect
+upon some cultured ancient like Rutilius Namatianus of the
+catacomb-worship among those early Christian converts, those _men who
+shun the light,_ drawn as they were from the same social classes
+towards the same dark underground rites! One can neither love nor
+respect such people; and to affect pity for them would be more
+consonant with their religion than with my own.
+
+But it is perfectly easy to understand them. For thirteen centuries
+this pilgrim-movement has been going on. Thirteen centuries? No. This
+site was an oracle in heathen days, and we know that such were
+frequented by men not a whit less barbarous and bigoted than their
+modern representatives—nothing is a greater mistake than to suppose
+that the crowds of old Rome and Athens were more refined than our own
+(“Demosthenes, sir, was talking to an assembly of brutes”). For thirty
+centuries then, let us say, a deity has attracted the faithful to his
+shrine—Sant’ Angelo has become a vacuum, as it were, which must be
+periodically filled up from the surrounding country. These pilgrimages
+are in the blood of the people: infants, they are carried there;
+adults, they carry their own offspring; grey-beards, their tottering
+steps are still supported by kindly and sturdier fellow-wanderers.
+
+Popes and emperors no longer scramble up these slopes; the spirit of
+piety has abated among the great ones of the earth; so much is certain.
+But the rays of light that strike the topmost branches have not yet
+penetrated to the rank and seething undergrowth. And then—what else can
+one offer to these Abruzzi
+mountain-folk? Their life is one of miserable, revolting destitution.
+They have no games or sports, no local racing, clubs, cattle-shows,
+fox-hunting, politics, rat-catching, or any of those other joys that
+diversify the lives of our peasantry. No touch of humanity reaches
+them, no kindly dames send them jellies or blankets, no cheery doctor
+enquires for their children; they read no newspapers or books, and lack
+even the mild excitements of church _versus_ chapel, or the vicar’s
+daughter’s love-affair, or the squire’s latest row with his
+lady—nothing! Their existence is almost bestial in its blankness. I
+know them—I have lived among them. For four months in the year they are
+cooped up in damp dens, not to be called chambers, where an Englishman
+would deem it infamous to keep a dog—cooped up amid squalor that must
+be seen to be believed; for the rest of the time they struggle, in the
+sweat of their brow, to wrest a few blades of corn from the ungrateful
+limestone. Their visits to the archangel—these vernal and autumnal
+picnics—are their sole form of amusement.
+
+The movement is said to have diminished since the early nineties, when
+thirty thousand of them used to come here annually. It may well be the
+case; but I imagine that this is due not so much to increasing
+enlightenment as to the depopulation caused by America; many villages
+have recently been reduced to half their former number of inhabitants.
+
+And here they kneel, candle in hand, on the wet flags of this foetid
+and malodorous cave, gazing in rapture upon the blandly beaming idol,
+their sensibilities tickled by resplendent priests reciting
+full-mouthed Latin phrases, while the organ overhead plays wheezy
+extracts from “La Forza del Destino” or the Waltz out of Boito’s
+“Mefistofele”... for sure, it must be a foretaste of Heaven! And likely
+enough, these are “the poor in heart” for whom that kingdom is
+reserved.
+
+One may call this a debased form of Christianity. Whether it would have
+been distasteful to the feelings of the founder of that cult is another
+question, and, debased or not, it is at least alive and palpitating,
+which is more than can be said of certain other varieties. But the
+archangel, as was inevitable, has suffered a sad change. His fairest
+attribute of Light-bringer, of Apollo, is no longer his own; it has
+been claimed and appropriated by the “Light of the World,” his new
+master. One by one, his functions have been stripped from him, all save
+in name, as happens to men and angels alike, when they take service
+under “jealous” lords.
+
+What is now left of Saint Michael, the glittering hierarch? Can he
+still endure the light of sun? Or has he not shrivelled into a spectral
+Hermes, a grisly psychopomp, bowing his head in minished glory, and
+leading men’s souls no longer aloft but downwards—down to the pale
+regions of things that have been? And will it be long ere he, too, is
+thrust by some flaming Demogorgon into these same realms of Minos, into
+that shadowy underworld where dwell Saturn, and Kronos, and other
+cracked and shivered ideals?
+
+So I mused that afternoon, driving down the slopes from Sant’ Angelo
+comfortably sheltered against the storm, while the generous mountain
+wine sped through my veins, warming my fancy. Then, at last, the sun
+came out in a sudden burst of light, opening a rift in the vapours and
+revealing the whole chain of the Apennines, together with the peaked
+crater of Mount Vulture.
+
+The spectacle cheered me, and led me to think that such a day might
+worthily be rounded off by a visit to Sipontum, which lies a few miles
+beyond Manfredonia on the Foggia road. But I approached the subject
+cautiously, fearing that the coachman might demur at this extra work.
+Far from it. I had gained his affection, and he would conduct me
+whithersoever I liked. Only to Sipontum? Why not to Foggia, to Naples,
+to the ends of the earth? As for the horse, he was none the worse for
+the trip, not a bit the worse; he liked nothing better than running in
+front of a carriage; besides, _è suo dovere—_it was his duty.
+
+Sipontum is so ancient that it was founded, they say, by that legendary
+Diomed who acted in the same capacity for Beneven-tum, Arpi, and other
+cities. But this record does not satisfy Monsignor Sarnelli, its
+historian, according to whom it was already a flourishing town when
+Shem, first son of Noah, became its king. He reigned about the year
+1770 of the creation of the world. Two years after the deluge he was
+100 years old, and at that age begat a son Arfaxad, after whose birth
+he lived yet another five hundred years. The second king of Sipontum
+was Appulus, who ruled in the year 2213. . . . Later on, Saint Peter
+sojourned here, and baptized a few people.
+
+Of Sipontum nothing is left; nothing save a church, and even that built
+only yesterday—in the eleventh century; a far-famed church, in the
+Pisan style, with wrought marble columns reposing on lions, sculptured
+diamond ornaments, and other crafty stonework that gladdens the eye. It
+used to be the seat
+of an archbishopric, and its fine episcopal chairs are now preserved at
+Sant’ Angelo; and you may still do homage to the authentic Byzantine
+Madonna painted on wood by Saint Luke, brown-complexioned, long-nosed,
+with staring eyes, and holding the Infant on her left arm. Earthquakes
+and Saracen incursions ruined the town, which became wholly abandoned
+when Manfredonia was built with its stones.
+
+Of pagan antiquity there are a few capitals lying about, as well as
+granite columns in the curious old crypt. A pillar stands all forlorn
+in a field; and quite close to the church are erected two others—the
+larger of cipollino, beautified by a patina of golden lichen; a marble
+well-head, worn half through with usage of ropes, may be found buried
+in the rank grass. The plain whereon stood the great city of Sipus is
+covered, now, with bristly herbage. The sea has retired from its old
+beach, and half-wild cattle browse on the site of those lordly quays
+and palaces. Not a stone is left. Malaria and desolation reign supreme.
+
+It is a profoundly melancholy spot. Yet I was glad of the brief vision.
+I shall have fond and enduring memories of that sanctuary—the
+travertine of its artfully carven fabric glowing orange-tawny in the
+sunset; of the forsaken plain beyond, full of ghostly phantoms of the
+past.
+
+As for Manfredonia—it is a sad little place, when the south wind moans
+and mountains are veiled in mists.
+
+[Illustration: At Sipontum]
+
+
+
+
+V
+LAND OF HORACE
+
+
+Venosa, nowadays, lies off the beaten track. There are only three
+trains a day from the little junction of Rocchetta, and they take over
+an hour to traverse the thirty odd kilometres of sparsely inhabited
+land. It is an uphill journey, for Venosa lies at a good elevation.
+They say that German professors, bent on Horatian studies, occasionally
+descend from those worn-out old railway carriages; but the ordinary
+travellers are either peasant-folk or commercial gentlemen from north
+Italy. Worse than malaria or brigandage, against both of which a man
+may protect himself, there is no escaping from the companionship of
+these last-named—these pathologically inquisitive, empty-headed, and
+altogether dreadful people. They are the terror of the south. And it
+stands to reason that only the most incapable and most disagreeable of
+their kind are sent to out-of-the-way places like Venosa.
+
+One asks oneself whether this town has greatly changed since Roman
+times. To be sure it has; domestic calamities and earthquakes (such as
+the terrible one of 1456) have altered it beyond recognition. The
+amphitheatre that seated ten thousand spectators is merged into the
+earth, and of all the buildings of Roman date nothing is left save a
+pile of masonry designated as the tomb of the Marcellus who was killed
+here by Hannibal’s soldiery, and a few reticulated walls of the second
+century or thereabouts known as the “House of Horace”—as genuine as
+that of Juliet in Verona or the Mansion of Loreto. Yet the tradition is
+an old one, and the builder of the house, whoever he was, certainly
+displayed some poetic taste in his selection of a fine view across the
+valley. There is an indifferent statue of Horace in the marketplace. A
+previous one, also described as Horace, was found to be the effigy of
+somebody else. Thus much I learn from Lupoli’s “Iter Venusinum.”
+
+But there are ancient inscriptions galore, worked into the masonry of
+buildings or lying about at random. Mommsen has collected numbers of
+them in his _Corpus,_ and since that time some sixty new ones have been
+discovered. And then—the
+stone lions of Roman days, couched forlornly at street corners, in
+courtyards and at fountains, in every stage of decrepitude, with broken
+jaws and noses, missing legs and tails! Venosa is a veritable infirmary
+for mutilated antiques of this species. Now the lion is doubtless a
+nobly decorative beast, but—_toujours perdrix!_ Why not a few griffons
+or other ornaments? The Romans were not an imaginative race.
+
+The country around must have looked different in olden days. Horace
+describes it as covered with forests, and from a manuscript of the
+early seventeenth century which has lately been printed one learns that
+the surrounding regions were full of “hares, rabbits, foxes, roe deer,
+wild boars, martens, porcupines, hedgehogs, tortoises and
+wolves”—wood-loving creatures which have now, for the most part,
+deserted Venosa. Still, there are left some stretches of oak at the
+back of the town, and the main lines of the land cannot change. Yonder
+lies the Horatian Forense and “Acherontia’s nest”; further on, the
+glades of Bantia (the modern Banzi); the long-drawn Garganian Mount, on
+which the poet’s eye must often have rested, emerges above the plain of
+Apulia like an island (and such it is: an island of Austrian stone,
+stranded upon the beach of Italy). Monte Vulture still dominates the
+landscape, although at this nearness the crater loses its shapely
+conical outline and assumes a serrated edge. On its summit I perceive a
+gigantic cross—one of a number of such symbols which were erected by
+the clericals at the time of the recent rationalist congress in Rome.
+
+From this chronicler I learn another interesting fact: that Venosa was
+not malarious in the author’s day. He calls it healthy, and says that
+the only complaint from which the inhabitants suffered was “ponture”
+(pleurisy). It is now within the infected zone. I dare say the
+deforestation of the country, which prevented the downflow of the
+rivers—choking up their beds with detritus and producing stagnant pools
+favourable to the breeding of the mosquito—has helped to spread the
+plague in many parts of Italy. In Horace’s days Venosa was immune,
+although Rome and certain rural districts were already malarious.
+Ancient votive tablets to the fever-goddess Mephitis (malaria) have
+been found not far from here, in the plain below the present city of
+Potenza.
+
+A good deal of old Roman blood and spirit seems to survive here. After
+the noise of the Neapolitan provinces, where chattering takes the place
+of thinking, it is a relief to find oneself in the company of these
+grave self-respecting folks, who really
+converse, like the Scotch, in disinterested and impersonal fashion.
+Their attitude towards religious matters strikes me as peculiarly
+Horatian; it is not active scepticism, but rather a bland tolerance or
+what one of them described as “indifferentismo”—submission to acts of
+worship and all other usages (whatever they may be) consecrated by
+time: the _pietàs—_the conservative, law-abiding Roman spirit. And if
+you walk towards sunset along any of the roads leading into the
+country, you will meet the peasants riding home from their field
+labours accompanied by their dogs, pigs and goats; and among them you
+will recognize many types of Roman physiognomies—faces of orators and
+statesmen—familiar from old coins. About a third of the population are
+of the dark-fair complexion, with blue or green eyes. But the women are
+not handsome, although the town derives its name from Benoth (Venus).
+Some genuine Roman families have continued to exist to this day, such
+as that of Cenna (Cinna). One of them was the author of the chronicle
+above referred to; and there is an antique bas-relief worked into the
+walls of the Trinità abbey, depicting some earlier members of this
+local family.
+
+One is astonished how large a literature has grown up around this small
+place—but indeed, the number of monographs dealing with every one of
+these little Italian towns is a ceaseless source of surprise. Look
+below the surface and you will find, in all of them, an undercurrent of
+keen spirituality—a nucleus of half a dozen widely read and thoughtful
+men, who foster the best traditions of the mind. You will not find them
+in the town council or at the café. No newspapers commend their
+labours, no millionaires or learned societies come to their assistance,
+and though typography is cheap in this country, they often stint
+themselves of the necessities of life in order to produce these
+treatises of calm research. There is a deep gulf, here, between the
+mundane and the intellectual life. These men are retiring in their
+habits; and one cannot but revere their scholarly and almost ascetic
+spirit that survives like a green oasis amid the desert of “politics,”
+roguery and municipal corruption.
+
+The City Fathers of Venosa are reputed rich beyond the dreams of
+avarice. Yet their town is by no means a clean place—it is twice as
+dirty as Lucera: a reposeful dirtiness, not vulgar or chaotic, but
+testifying to time-honoured neglect, to a feudal contempt of
+cleanliness. You crawl through narrow, ill-paved streets, looking down
+into subterranean family bedrooms that must be insufferably damp in
+winter, and filled, during the hot months, with an odour hard to
+conceive. There is electric lighting,
+of course—a paternal government having made the price of petroleum so
+prohibitive that the use of electricity for street-lighting became
+quite common in the lowliest places; but the crude glare only serves to
+show up the general squalor. One reason for this state of affairs is
+that there are no quarries for decent paving-stones in the
+neighbourhood. And another, that Venosa possesses no large citizen
+class, properly so called. The inhabitants are mostly peasant
+proprietors and field labourers, who leave the town in the morning and
+return home at night with their beasts, having learned by bitter
+experience to take up their domiciles in the towns rather than in the
+country-side, which was infested with brigandage and in an unsettled
+state up to a short time ago. The Cincinnatus note dominates here, and
+with an agricultural population no city can be kept clean.
+
+But Venosa has one inestimable advantage over Lucera and most Italian
+towns: there is no octroi.
+
+Would it be believed that Naples is surrounded by a towering Chinese
+wall, miles upon miles of it, crowned with a complicated apparatus of
+alarm-bells and patrolled night and day by a horde of _doganieri_ armed
+to the teeth—lest some peasant should throw a bundle of onions into the
+sacred precincts of the town without paying the duty of half a
+farthing? No nation with any sense of humour would endure this sort of
+thing. Every one resents the airs of this army of official loafers who
+infest the land, and would be far better employed themselves in
+planting onions upon the many miles of Italy which now lie fallow; the
+results of the system have been shown to be inadequate, “but,” as my
+friend the Roman deputy once asked me, “if we dismiss these fellows
+from their job, how are we to employ them?”
+
+“Nothing is simpler,” I replied. “Enrol them into the Town Council of
+Naples. It already contains more _employes_ than all the government
+offices of London put together; a few more will surely make no
+difference?”
+
+“By Bacchus,” he cried, “you foreigners have ideas! We could dispose of
+ten or fifteen thousand of them, at least, in the way you suggest. I’ll
+make a note of that, for our next session.”
+
+And so he did.
+
+But the _Municipio_ of Naples, though extensive, is a purely local
+charity, and I question whether its inmates will hear of any one save
+their own cousins and brothers-in-law figuring as colleagues in office.
+
+Every attempt at innovation in agriculture, as in industry,
+is forthwith discouraged by new and subtle impositions, which lie in
+wait for the enterprising Italian and punish him for his ideas. There
+is, of course, a prohibitive duty on every article or implement
+manufactured abroad; there is the octroi, a relic of medisevalism, the
+most unscientific, futile, and vexatious of taxes; there are municipal
+dues to be paid on animals bought and animals sold, on animals kept and
+animals killed, on milk and vine-props and bricks, on timber for
+scaffolding and lead and tiles and wine—on every conceivable object
+which the peasant produces or requires for his existence. And one
+should see the faces of the municipal _employes_ who extort these
+tributes. God alone knows from what classes of the populace they are
+recruited; certain it is that their physiognomy reflects their
+miserable calling. One can endure the militarism of Germany and the
+bureaucracy of Austria; but it is revolting to see decent Italian
+countryfolk at the mercy of these uncouth savages, veritable cave-men,
+whose only intelligible expression is one of malice striving to break
+through a crust of congenital cretinism.
+
+We hear much of the great artists and speculative philosophers of old
+Italy. The artists of modern Italy are her bureaucrats who design and
+elaborate the taxes; her philosophers, the peasants who pay them.
+
+In point of method, at least, there is nothing to choose between the
+exactions of the municipal and governmental ruffians. I once saw an old
+woman fined fifty francs for having in her possession a pound of
+sea-salt. By what logic will you make it clear to ignorant people that
+it is wrong to take salt out of the sea, whence every one takes fish
+which are more valuable? The waste of time employed over red tape alone
+on these occasions would lead to a revolution anywhere save among men
+inured by long abuses to this particular form of tyranny. No wonder the
+women of the country-side, rather than waste three precious hours in
+arguments about a few cheeses, will smuggle them past the authorities
+under the device of being _enceintes;_ no wonder their wisest old men
+regard the paternal government as a successfully organized swindle,
+which it is the citizen’s bounden duty to frustrate whenever possible.
+Have _you_ ever tried to convey—in legal fashion—a bottle of wine from
+one town into another; or to import, by means of a sailing-boat, an old
+frying-pan into some village by the sea? It is a fine art, only to be
+learnt by years of apprenticeship. The regulations on these subjects,
+though ineffably childish, look simple enough on paper; they take no
+account of that “personal element” which is everything
+in the south, of the ruffled tempers of those gorgeous but inert
+creatures who, disturbed in their siestas or mandolin-strummings, may
+keep you waiting half a day while they fumble ominously over some
+dirty-looking scrap of paper. For on such occasions they are liable to
+provoking fits of conscientiousness. This is all very well, my dear
+sir, but—Ha! Where, where is that certificate of origin, that stamp,
+that _lascia-passare?_
+
+And all for one single sou!
+
+No wonder even Englishmen discover that law-breaking, in Italy, becomes
+a necessity, a rule of life.
+
+And, soon enough, much more than a mere necessity. . . .
+
+For even as the traveller new to Borneo, when they offer him a
+durian-fruit, is instantly brought to vomiting-point by its odour, but
+after a few mouthfuls declares it to be the very apple of Paradise, and
+marvels how he could have survived so long in the benighted lands where
+such ambrosial fare is not; even as the true connaisseur who, beholding
+some rare scarlet idol from the Tingo-Tango forests, at first casts it
+aside and then, light dawning as he ponders over those monstrous
+complexities, begins to realize that they, and they alone, contain the
+quintessential formulae of all the fervent dreamings of Scopas and
+Michelangelo; even as he who first, upon a peak in Darien, gazed
+awestruck upon the grand Pacific slumbering at his feet, till presently
+his senses reeled at the blissful prospect of fresh regions unrolling
+themselves, boundless, past the fulfilment of his fondest hopes———
+
+Even so, in Italy, the domesticated Englishman is amazed to find that
+he possesses a sense hitherto unrevealed, opening up a new horizon, a
+new zest in life—the sense of law-breaking. At first, being an honest
+man, he is shocked at the thought of such a thing; next, like a
+sensible person, reconciled to the inevitable; lastly, as befits his
+virile race, he learns to play the game so well that the horrified
+officials grudgingly admit (and it is their highest praise):
+
+Inglese italianizzato—
+Diavolo incarnato.
+
+Yes; slowly the charm of law-breaking grows upon the Italianated Saxon;
+slowly, but surely. There is a neo-barbarism not only in matters of
+art.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+AT VENOSA
+
+
+There has always, no doubt, been a castle at Venosa. Frederick
+Barbarossa lived here oftener than in Sicily; from these regions he
+could look over to his beloved East, and the security of this
+particular keep induced him to store his treasures therein. The
+indefatigable Huillard Bréholles has excavated some account of them
+from the Hohenstaufen records. Thus we learn that here, at Venosa, the
+Emperor deposited that marvel, that _tentorium,_ I mean, _mirifica arte
+constructum, in quo imagines solis et lunæ artificialiter motæ, cursum
+suum certis et debitis spatiis peragrant, et horas diei et noctis
+infallibiliter indicant. Cuius tentorii valor viginti millium marcarum
+pretium dicitur transcendisse._ It was given him by the Sultan of
+Babylonia. Always the glowing Oriental background!
+
+The present castle, a picturesque block with moat and corner towers,
+was built in 1470 by the redoubtable Pierro del Balzo. A church used to
+occupy the site, but the warrior, recognizing its strategic advantages,
+transplanted the holy edifice to some other part of the town. It is now
+a ruin, the inhabitable portions of which have been converted into
+cheap lodgings for sundry poor folk—a monetary speculation of some
+local magnate, who paid 30,000 francs for the whole structure. You can
+climb up into one of the shattered towers whereon reposes an old cannon
+amid a wind-sown garden of shrubs and weeds. Here the jackdaws
+congregate at nightfall, flying swiftly and noiselessly to their
+resting-place. Odd, how quiet Italian jackdaws are, compared with those
+of England; they have discarded their voices, which is the best thing
+they could have done in a land where every one persecutes them. There
+is also a dungeon at this castle, an underground recess with cunningly
+contrived projections in its walls to prevent prisoners from climbing
+upwards; and other horrors.
+
+The cathedral of Venosa contains a chapel with an unusually fine portal
+of Renaissance work, but the chief architectural beauty of the town is
+the decayed Benedictine abbey of La Trinità. The building is roofless;
+it was never completed, and the ravages
+of time and of man have not spared it; earthquakes, too, have played
+sad tricks with its arches and columns, particularly that of 1851,
+which destroyed the neighbouring town of Melfi. It stands beyond the
+more modern settlement on what is now a grassy plain, and attached to
+it is a Norman chapel containing the bones of Alberada, mother of
+Boemund, and others of her race. Little of the original structure of
+this church is left, though its walls are still adorned, in patches,
+with frescoes of genuine angels—attractive creatures, as far removed
+from those bloodless Byzantine anatomies as from the plethoric and
+insipid females of the _settecento._ There is also a queenly portrait
+declared to represent Catherine of Siena. I would prefer to follow
+those who think it is meant for Sigilgaita.
+
+Small as it is, this place—the church and the abbey—is not one for a
+casual visit. Lenormant calls the Trinità a “_Musée épigraphique”—_so
+many are the Latin inscriptions which the monks have worked into its
+masonry. They have encrusted the walls with them; and many antiquities
+of other kinds have been deposited here since those days. The ruin is
+strewn with columns and capitals of fantastic devices; the inevitable
+lions, too, repose upon its grassy floor, as well as a pagan
+altar-stone that once adorned the neighbouring amphitheatre. One thinks
+of the labour expended in raising those prodigious blocks and fitting
+them together without mortar in their present positions—they, also,
+came from the amphitheatre, and the sturdy letterings engraved on some
+of them formed, once upon a time, a sentence that ran round that
+building, recording the names of its founders.
+
+[Illustration: Ruin of Trinità: East front]
+
+Besides the Latin inscriptions, there are Hebrew funereal stones of
+great interest, for a colony of Jews was established here between the
+years 400 and 800; poor folks, for the most part; no one knows whence
+they came or whither they went. One is apt to forget that south Italy
+was swarming with Jews for centuries. The catacombs of Venosa were
+discovered in 1853. Their entrance lies under a hill-side not far from
+the modern railway station, and Professor Mueller, a lover of Venosa,
+has been engaged for the last twenty-five years in writing a ponderous
+tome on the subject. Unfortunately (so they say) there is not much
+chance of its ever seeing the light, for just as he is on the verge of
+publication, some new Jewish catacombs are discovered in another part
+of the world which cause the Professor to revise all his previous
+theories. The work must be written anew and brought up to date, and
+hardly is this accomplished when
+fresh catacombs are found elsewhere, necessitating a further revision.
+The Professor once more rewrites the whole. . . .
+
+You will find accounts of the Trinità in Bertaux, Schulz and other
+writers. Italian ones tell us what sounds rather surprising, namely,
+that the abbey was built after a Lombard model, and not a French one.
+Be that as it may—and they certainly show good grounds for their
+contention—the ruin is a place of rare charm. Not easily can one see
+relics of Roman, Hebrew and Norman life crushed into so small a space,
+welded together by the massive yet fair architecture of the
+Benedictines, and interpenetrated, at the same time, with a
+Mephistophelian spirit of modern indifference. Of cynical
+_insouciance;_ for although this is a “national monument,” nothing
+whatever is done in the way of repairs. Never a month passes without
+some richly carven block of stonework toppling down into the weeds,[1]
+and were it not for the zeal of a private citizen, the interior of the
+building would long ago have become an impassable chaos of stones and
+shrubbery. The Trinità cannot be _restored_ without enormous outlay;
+nobody dreams of such a thing. A yearly expenditure of ten pounds,
+however, would go far towards arresting its fall. But where shall the
+money be found? This enthusiastic nation, so enamoured of all that is
+exquisite in art, will spend sixty million francs on a new Ministry of
+Justice which, barely completed, is already showing signs of
+disrupture; it will cheerfully vote _(vide_ daily press) the small item
+of eighty thousand francs to supply that institution with pens and
+ink—lucky contractor!—while this and a hundred other buildings of
+singular beauty are allowed to crumble to pieces, day by day.
+
+ [1] The process of decay can be seen by comparing my photograph of the
+ east front with that taken to illustrate Giuseppe de Lorenzo’s
+ monograph “Venosa e la Regione del Vulture” (Bergamo, 1906).
+
+Not far from the abbey there stands a church dedicated to Saint Roque.
+Go within, if you wish to see the difference between Benedictine
+dignity and the buffoonery which subsequently tainted the Catholicism
+of the youth. On its gable sits a strange emblem: a large stone dog,
+gazing amiably at the landscape. The saint, during his earthly career,
+was always accompanied by a dog, and now likes to have him on the roof
+of his sanctuary.
+
+The Norman church attached to the Trinità lies at a lower level than
+that building, having been constructed, says Lupoli, on the foundations
+of a temple to Hymenæus. It may be so; but one distrusts Lupoli. A
+remarkable Norman capital, now wrought into a font, is preserved here,
+and I was interested in
+watching the behaviour of a procession of female pilgrims in regard to
+it. Trembling with emotion, they perambulated the sacred stone, kissing
+every one of its corners; then they dipped their hands into its basin,
+and kissed them devoutly. An old hag, the mistress of the ceremonies,
+muttered: “tutti santi—tutti santi!” at each osculation. Next, they
+prostrated themselves on the floor and licked the cold stones, and
+after wallowing there awhile, rose up and began to kiss a small fissure
+in the masonry of the wall, the old woman whispering, “Santissimo!” A
+familiar spectacle, no doubt; but one which never fails of its effect.
+This anti-hygienic crack in the wall, with its suggestions of
+yoni-worship, attracted me so strongly that I begged a priest to
+explain to me its mystical signification. But he only said, with a
+touch of mediæval contempt:
+
+“_Sono femine!_”
+
+He showed me, later on, a round Roman pillar near the entrance of the
+church worn smooth by the bodies of females who press themselves
+between it and the wall, in order to become mothers. The notion caused
+him some amusement—he evidently thought this practice a speciality of
+Venosa.
+
+In my country, I said, pillars with a contrary effect would be more
+popular among the fair sex.
+
+Lear gives another account of this phallic emblem. He says that
+perambulating it hand in hand with another person, the two are sure to
+remain friends for life.
+
+This is pre-eminently a “Victorian” version.
+
+[Illustration: Roman Altar-stone]
+
+
+
+
+VII
+THE BANDUSIAN FOUNT
+
+
+The traveller in these parts is everlastingly half-starved. Here, at
+Venosa, the wine is good—excellent, in fact; but the food monotonous
+and insufficient. This improper dieting is responsible for much
+mischief; it induces a state of chronic exacerbation. Nobody would
+believe how nobly I struggle, day and night, against its evil
+suggestions. A man’s worst enemy is his own empty stomach. None knew it
+better than Horace.
+
+And yet he declared that lettuces and such-like stuff sufficed him. No
+doubt, no doubt. “Olives nourish me.” Just so! One does not grow up in
+the school of Maecenas without learning the subtle delights of the
+simple life. But I would wager that after a week of such feeding as I
+have now undergone at his native place, he would quickly have
+remembered some urgent business to be transacted in the capital—Caesar
+Augustus, me-thinks, would have desired his company. And even so, I
+have suddenly woke up to the fact that Taranto, my next resting-place,
+besides possessing an agreeably warm climate, has some passable
+restaurants. I will pack without delay. Mount Vulture must wait. The
+wind alone, the Vulturnus or south-easterly wind, is quite enough to
+make one despair of climbing hills. It has blown with objectionable
+persistency ever since my arrival at Venosa.
+
+To escape from its attentions, I have been wandering about the secluded
+valleys that seam this region. Streamlets meander here amid rustling
+canes and a luxuriant growth of mares’ tails and creepers; their banks
+are shaded by elms and poplars—Horatian trees; the thickets are loud
+with songs of nightingale, black-cap and oriole. These humid dells are
+a different country from the uplands, wind-swept and thriftily
+cultivated.
+
+It was here, yesterday, that I came upon an unexpected sight—an army of
+workmen engaged in burrowing furiously into the bowels of Mother Earth.
+They told me that this tunnel would presently become one of the
+arteries of that vast system, the
+Apulian Aqueduct. The discovery accorded with my Roman mood, for the
+conception and execution alike of this grandiose project are worthy of
+the Romans. Three provinces where, in years of drought, wine is cheaper
+than water, are being irrigated—in the teeth of great difficulties of
+engineering and finance. Among other things, there are 213 kilometres
+of subterranean tunnellings to be built; eleven thousand workmen are
+employed; the cost is estimated at 125 million francs. The Italian
+government is erecting to its glory a monument more durable than brass.
+This is their heritage from the Romans—this talent for dealing with
+rocks and waters; for bridling a destructive environment and making it
+subservient to purposes of human intercourse. It is a part of that
+practical Roman genius for “pacification.” Wild nature, to the Latin,
+ever remains an obstacle to be overcome—an enemy.
+
+Such was Horace’s point of view. The fruitful fields and their hardy
+brood of tillers appealed to him;[1] the ocean and snowy Alps were
+beyond the range of his affections. His love of nature was heartfelt,
+but his nature was not ours; it was nature as we see it in those Roman
+landscapes at Pompeii; nature ancillary to human needs, in her
+benignant and comfortable moods. Virgil’s _lachrymae rerum_ hints at
+mystic and extra-human yearnings; to the troubadours nature was
+conventionally stereotyped—a scenic decoration to set off sentiments
+more or less sincere; the romanticists wallow in her rugged aspects.
+Horace never allowed phantasy to outrun intelligence; he kept his feet
+on earth; man was the measure of his universe, and a sober mind his
+highest attribute. Nature must be kept “in her place.” Her
+extravagances are not to be admired. This anthropocentric spirit has
+made him what he is—the ideal anti-sentimentalist and anti-vulgarian.
+For excess of sentiment, like all other intemperance, is the mark of
+that unsober and unsteady beast—the crowd.
+
+ [1] See next chapter.
+
+Things have changed since those days; in proportion as the world has
+grown narrower and the element of fear and mystery diluted, our
+sympathies have broadened; the Goth, in particular, has learnt the
+knack of detecting natural charm where the Latin, to this day, beholds
+nothing but confusion and strife.
+
+[Illustration: Norman Capital at Venosa]
+
+On the spot, I observe, one is liable to return to the antique outlook;
+to see the beauty of fields and rivers, yet only when subsidiary to
+man’s personal convenience; to appreciate a fair landscape—with a
+shrewd worldly sense of its potential uses. “The garden that I love,”
+said an Italian once to me, “contains
+good vegetables.” This utilitarian flavour of the south has become very
+intelligible to me during the last few days. I, too, am thinking less
+of calceolarias than of cauliflowers.
+
+A pilgrimage to the Bandusian Fount (if such it be) is no great
+undertaking—a morning’s trip. The village of San Gervasio is the next
+station to Venosa, lying on an eminence only thirteen kilometres from
+there.
+
+Here once ran a fountain which was known as late as the twelfth century
+as the Fons Bandusinus, and Ughelli, in his “Italia Sacra,” cites a
+deed of the year 1103 speaking of a church “at the Bandusian Fount near
+Venosa.” Church and fountain have now disappeared; but the site of the
+former, they say, is known, and close to it there once issued a copious
+spring called “Fontana Grande.” This is probably the Horatian one; and
+is also, I doubt not, that referred to in Cenna’s chronicle of Venosa:
+“At Torre San Gervasio are the ruins of a castle and an abundant spring
+of water colder than all the waters of Venosa,” _Frigus amabile. . . ._
+
+I could discover no one in the place to show me where this now vanished
+church stood. I rather think it occupied the site of the present church
+of Saint Anthony, the oldest in San Gervasio.
+
+As to the fountain—there are now two of them, at some considerable
+distance from each other. Both of them are copious, and both lie near
+the foot of the hill on which the village now stands. Capmartin de
+Chaupy has reasons for believing that in former times San Gervasio did
+not occupy its present exalted position (vol. iii, p. 538).
+
+One of them gushes out on the plain near the railway station, and has
+been rebuilt within recent times. It goes by the name of “Fontana
+rotta.” The other, the “Fontana del Fico,” lies on the high road to
+Spinazzola; the water spouts out of seven mouths, and near at hand is a
+plantation of young sycamores. The basin of this fount was also rebuilt
+about ten years ago at no little expense, and has now a thoroughly
+modern and businesslike aspect. But I was told that a complicated
+network of subterranean pipes and passages, leading to “God knows
+where,” was unearthed during the process of reconstruction. It was
+magnificent masonry, said my informant, who was an eye-witness of the
+excavations but could tell me nothing more of interest.
+
+The problem how far either of these fountains fulfils the conditions
+postulated in the last verse of Horace’s ode may be solved by every one
+according as he pleases. In fact, there is
+no other way of solving it. In my professorial mood, I should cite the
+cavern and the “downward leaping” waters against the hypothesis that
+the Bandusian Fount stood on either of these modern sites; in favour of
+it, one might argue that the conventional rhetoric of all Roman art may
+have added these embellishing touches, and cite, in confirmation
+thereof, the last two lines of the previous verse, mentioning animals
+that could hardly have slaked their thirst with any convenience at a
+cavernous spring such as he describes. Caverns, moreover, are not
+always near the summits of hills; they may be at the foot of them; and
+water, even the Thames at London Bridge, always leaps downhill—more or
+less. Of more importance is old Chaupy’s discovery of the northerly
+aspect of one of these springs—“thee the fierce season of the blazing
+dog-star cannot touch.” There may have been a cave at the back of the
+“Fontana del Fico”; the “Fontana rotta” is hopelessly uncavernous.
+
+For the rest, there is no reason why the fountain should not have
+changed its position since ancient days. On the contrary, several
+things might incline one to think that it has been forced to abandon
+the high grounds and seek its present lower level. To begin with, the
+hill on which the village stands is honeycombed by hives of caves which
+the inhabitants have carved out of the loose conglomerate (which, by
+the way, hardly corresponds with the poet’s _saxum);_ and it may well
+be that a considerable collapse of these earth-dwellings obstructed the
+original source of the waters and obliged them to seek a vent lower
+down.
+
+Next, there are the notorious effects of deforestation. An old man told
+me that in his early days the hill was covered with timber—indeed, this
+whole land, now a stretch of rolling grassy downs, was decently wooded
+up to a short time ago. I observed that the roof of the oldest of the
+three churches, that of Saint Anthony, is formed of wooden rafters (a
+rare material hereabouts). Deforestation would also cause the waters to
+issue at a lower level.
+
+Lastly, and chiefly—the possible shatterings of earthquakes.
+Catastrophes such as those which have damaged Venosa in days past may
+have played havoc with the water-courses of this place by choking up
+their old channels. My acquaintance with the habits of Apulian
+earthquakes, with the science of hydrodynamics and the geological
+formation of San Gervasio is not sufficiently extensive to allow me to
+express a mature opinion. I will content myself with presenting to
+future investigators the plausible theory—plausible because
+conveniently difficult to refute—that
+some terrestrial upheaval in past days is responsible for the present
+state of things.
+
+But these are merely three hypotheses. I proceed to mention three facts
+which point in the same direction; i.e. that the water used to issue at
+a higher level. Firstly, there is that significant name “Fontana
+rotta”—“the broken fountain.” . . . Does not this suggest that its flow
+may have been interrupted, or intercepted, in former times?
+
+Next, if you climb up from this “Fontana rotta” to the village by the
+footpath, you will observe, on your right hand as you ascend the slope,
+at about a hundred yards below the Church of Saint Anthony, an old well
+standing in a field of corn and shaded by three walnuts and an oak.
+This well is still running, and was described to me as “molto antico.”
+Therefore an underground stream—in diminished volume, no doubt—still
+descends from the heights.
+
+Thirdly, in the village you will notice an alley leading out of the
+Corso Manfredi (one rejoices to find the name of Manfred surviving in
+these lands)—an alley which is entitled “Vico Sirene.” The name arrests
+your attention, for what have the Sirens to do in these inland regions?
+Nothing whatever, unless they existed as ornamental statuary: statuary
+such as frequently gives names to streets in Italy, witness the “Street
+of the Faun” in Ouida’s novel, or that of the “Giant” in Naples (which
+has now been re-christened). It strikes me as a humble but quite
+scholarly speculation to infer that, the chief decorative uses of
+Sirens being that of fountain deities, this obscure roadway keeps alive
+the tradition of the old “Fontana Grande”—ornamented, we may suppose,
+with marble Sirens—whose site is now forgotten, and whose very name has
+faded from the memory of the countryfolk.
+
+What, then, does my ramble of two hours at San Gervasio amount to? It
+shows that there is a possibility, at least, of a now vanished fountain
+having existed on the heights where it might fulfil more accurately the
+conditions of Horace’s ode. If Ughelli’s church “at the Bandusian
+Fount” stood on this eminence—well, I shall be glad to corroborate, for
+once in the way, old Ughelli, whose book contains a deal of dire
+nonsense. And if the Abbe Chaupy’s suggestion that the village lay at
+the foot of the hill should ever prove to be wrong—well, his amiable
+ghost may be pleased to think that even this does not necessitate the
+sacrifice of his Venosa theory in favour of that of the scholiast
+Akron; there is still a way out of the difficulty.
+
+But whether this at San Gervasio is the actual fountain hymned by
+Horace—ah, that is quite another affair! Few poets, to be sure, have
+clung more tenaciously to the memories of their childhood than did he
+and Virgil. And yet, the whole scene may be a figment of his
+imagination—the very word Bandusia may have been coined by him. Who can
+tell? Then there is the Digentia hypothesis. I know it, I know it! I
+have read some of its defenders, and consider _(entre nous)_ that they
+have made out a pretty strong case. But I am not in the mood for
+discussing their proposition—not just now.
+
+Here at San Gervasio I prefer to think only of the Roman singer, so
+sanely jovial, and of these waters as they flowed, limpid and cool, in
+the days when they fired his boyish fancy. Deliberately I refuse to
+hear the charmer Boissier. Deliberately, moreover, I shut my eyes to
+the present condition of affairs; to the herd of squabbling laundresses
+and those other incongruities that spoil the antique scene. Why not?
+The timid alone are scared by microscopic discords of time and place.
+The sage can invest this prosaic water-trough with all its pristine
+dignity and romance by an unfailing expedient. He closes an eye. It is
+an art he learns early in life; a simple art, and one that greatly
+conduces to happiness. The ever alert, the conscientiously wakeful—how
+many fine things they fail to see! Horace knew the wisdom of being
+genially unwise; of closing betimes an eye, or an ear; or both.
+_Desipere in loco. . . ._
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+TILLERS OF THE SOIL
+
+
+I remember watching an old man stubbornly digging a field by himself.
+He toiled through the flaming hours, and what he lacked in strength was
+made up in the craftiness, _malizia,_ born of long love of the soil.
+The ground was baked hard; but there was still a chance of rain, and
+the peasants were anxious not to miss it. Knowing this kind of labour,
+I looked on from my vine-wreathed arbour with admiration, but without
+envy.
+
+I asked whether he had not children to work for him.
+
+“All dead—and health to you!” he replied, shaking his white head
+dolefully.
+
+And no grandchildren?
+
+“All Americans (emigrants).”
+
+He spoke in dreamy fashion of years long ago when he, too, had
+travelled, sailing to Africa for corals, to Holland and France; yes,
+and to England also. But our dockyards and cities had faded from his
+mind; he remembered only our men.
+
+“_Che bella gioventù—che bella gioventù!_” (“a sturdy brood”), he kept
+on repeating. “And lately,” he added, “America has been discovered.” He
+toiled fourteen hours a day, and he was 83 years old.
+
+Apart from that creature of fiction, the peasant _in fabula_ whom we
+all know, I can find little to admire in this whole class of men, whose
+talk and dreams are of the things of the soil, and who knows of nothing
+save the regular interchange of summer and winter with their unvarying
+tasks and rewards. None save a Cincinnatus or Garibaldi can be ennobled
+by the spade. In spleenful moments, it seems to me that the most
+depraved of city-dwellers has flashes of enthusiasm and self-abnegation
+never experienced by this shifty, retrogressive and ungenerous brood,
+which lives like the beasts of the field and has learnt all too much of
+their logic. But they have a beast-virtue hereabouts which compels
+respect—contentment in adversity. In this point they resemble the
+Russian peasantry. And yet, who can pity the
+moujik? His cheeks are altogether too round, and his morals too
+superbly bestial; he has clearly been created to sing and starve by
+turns. But the Italian peasant who speaks in the tongue of Homer and
+Virgil and Boccaccio is easily invested with a halo of martyrdom; it is
+delightful to sympathize with men who combine the manners of Louis
+Quatorze with the profiles of Augustus or Plato, and who still recall,
+in many of their traits, the pristine life of Odyssean days. Thus, they
+wear to-day the identical “clouted leggings of oxhide, against the
+scratches of the thorns” which old Laertes bound about his legs on the
+upland farm in Ithaka. They call them “galandrine.”
+
+On occasions of drought or flood there is not a word of complaint. I
+have known these field-faring men and women for thirty years, and have
+yet to hear a single one of them grumble at the weather. It is not
+indifference; it is true philosophy—acquiescence in the inevitable. The
+grievances of cultivators of lemons and wholesale agriculturalists,
+whose speculations are often ruined by a single stroke of the human pen
+in the shape of new regulations or tariffs, are a different thing;
+_their_ curses are loud and long. But the bean-growers, dependent
+chiefly on wind and weather, only speak of God’s will. They have the
+same forgiveness for the shortcomings of nature as for a wayward child.
+And no wonder they are distrustful. Ages of oppression and misrule have
+passed over their heads; sun and rain, with all their caprice, have
+been kinder friends to them than their earthly masters. Some day,
+presumably, the government will wake up to the fact that Italy is not
+an industrial country, and that its farmers might profitably be taken
+into account again.
+
+But a change is upon the land. Types like this old man are becoming
+extinct; for the patriarchal system of Coriolanus, the glory of
+southern Italy, is breaking up.
+
+This is not the fault of conscription which, though it destroys old
+dialects, beliefs and customs, widens the horizon by bringing fresh
+ideas into the family, and generally sound ones. It does even more; it
+teaches the conscripts to read and write, so that it is no longer as
+dangerous to have dealings with a man who possesses these
+accomplishments as in the days when they were the prerogative of
+_avvocati_ and other questionable characters. A countryman, nowadays,
+may read and write and yet be honest.
+
+What is shattering family life is the speculative spirit born of
+emigration. A continual coming and going; two-thirds of the adolescent
+and adult male population are at this moment in Argentina or the United
+States—some as far afield as New
+Zealand. Men who formerly reckoned in sous now talk of thousands of
+francs; parental authority over boys is relaxed, and the girls, ever
+quick to grasp the advantages of money, lose all discipline and
+steadiness.
+
+“My sons won’t touch a spade,” said a peasant to me; “and when I thrash
+them, they complain to the police. They simply gamble and drink,
+waiting their turn to sail. If I were to tell you the beatings _we_
+used to get, sir, you wouldn’t believe me. You wouldn’t believe me, not
+if I took my oath, you wouldn’t! I can feel them still—speaking with
+respect—here!”
+
+These emigrants generally stay away three or four years at a stretch,
+and then return, spend their money, and go out again to make more.
+Others remain for longer periods, coming back with huge incomes—twenty
+to a hundred francs a day. Such examples produce the same effect as
+those of the few lucky winners in the State lottery; every one talks of
+them, and forgets the large number of less fortunate speculators.
+Meanwhile the land suffers. The carob-tree is an instance. This
+beautiful and almost eternal growth, the “hope of the southern
+Apennines” as Professor Savastano calls it, whose pods constitute an
+important article of commerce and whose thick-clustering leaves yield a
+cool shelter, comparable to that of a rocky cave, in the noonday heat,
+used to cover large tracts of south Italy. Indifferent to the scorching
+rays of the sun, flourishing on the stoniest declivities, and
+sustaining the soil in a marvellous manner, it was planted wherever
+nothing else would grow—a distant but sure profit. Nowadays carobs are
+only cut down. Although their produce rises in value every year, not
+one is planted; nobody has time to wait for the fruit.[1]
+
+ [1] There are a few laudable exceptions, such as Prince Belmonte, who
+ has covered large stretches of bad land with this tree. (See Consular
+ Reports, Italy, No. 431.) But he is not a peasant!
+
+It is nothing short of a social revolution, depopulating the country of
+its most laborious elements. 788,000 emigrants left in one year alone
+(1906); in the province of Basilicata the exodus exceeds the birthrate.
+I do not know the percentage of those who depart never to return, but
+it must be considerable; the land is full of chronic grass-widows.
+
+Things will doubtless right themselves in due course; it stands to
+reason that in this acute transitional stage the demoralizing effects
+of the new system should be more apparent than its inevitable benefits.
+Already these are not unseen; houses are springing up round villages,
+and the emigrants return
+home with a disrespect for many of their country’s institutions which,
+under the circumstances, is neither deplorable nor unjustifiable. A
+large family of boy-children, once a dire calamity, is now the soundest
+of investments. Soon after their arrival in America they begin sending
+home rations of money to their parents; the old farm prospers once
+more, the daughters receive decent dowries. I know farmers who receive
+over three pounds a month from their sons in America—all under military
+age.
+
+“We work, yes,” they will then tell you, “but we also smoke our pipe.”
+
+Previous to this wholesale emigration, things had come to such a pass
+that the landed proprietor could procure a labourer at a franc a day,
+out of which he had to feed and clothe himself; it was little short of
+slavery. The roles are now reversed, and while landlords are
+impoverished, the rich emigrant buys up the farms or makes his own
+terms for work to be done, wages being trebled. A new type of peasant
+is being evolved, independent of family, fatherland or traditions—with
+a sure haven of refuge across the water when life at home becomes
+intolerable.
+
+Yes; a change is at hand.
+
+And another of those things which emigration and the new order of
+affairs are surely destroying is that ancient anthropomorphic way of
+looking at nature, with its expressive turns of speech. A small boy,
+whom I watched gathering figs last year, informed me that the fig-tree
+was _innamorato delle pietre e cisterne—_enamoured of stones and
+cisterns; meaning, that its roots are searchingly destructive to
+masonry and display a fabulous intuition for the proximity of water. He
+also told me, what was news to me, that there are more than two or
+three varieties of figs. Will you have his list of them? Here it is:
+
+There is the _fico arnese,_ the smallest of all, and the _fico
+santillo,_ both of which are best when dried; the _fico vollombola,_
+which is never dried, because it only makes the spring fruit; the _fico
+molegnano,_ which ripens as late as the end of October and must be
+eaten fresh; the _fico coretorto (“_ wry-heart”—from its shape), which
+has the most leathery skin of all and is often destroyed by grubs after
+rain; the _fico troiano;_ the _fico arzano;_ and the _fico vescovo,_
+which appears when all the others are over, and is eaten in February
+(this may be the kind referred to in Stamer’s “Dolce Napoli” as
+deriving from Sorrento, where the first tree of its kind was discovered
+growing out of the garden wall of the bishop’s palace, whence the
+name). All these are _neri—_black.
+Now for the white kinds. The _fico paradiso_ has a tender skin, but is
+easily spoilt by rain and requires a ridiculous amount of sun to dry
+it; the _fico vottato_ is also better fresh; the _fico pez-zottolo_ is
+often attacked by grubs, but grows to a large size every two or three
+years; the _fico pascarello_ is good up till Christmas; the _fico
+natalino;_ lastly, the _fico ——_, whose name I will not record, though
+it would be an admirable illustration of that same anthropomorphic turn
+of mind. The _santillo_ and _arnese,_ he added, are the varieties which
+are cut into two and laid lengthwise upon each other and so dried
+(Query: Is not this the “duplex ficus” of Horace?).
+
+“Of course there are other kinds,” he said, “but I don’t remember them
+just now.” When I asked whether he could tell these different fig-trees
+apart by the leaves and stems alone and without the fruit, he said that
+each kind, even in winter, retained its peculiar “faccia” (face), but
+that some varieties are more easy to distinguish than others. I
+enquired into the mysteries of caprification, and learned that
+artificial ripening by means of a drop of oil is practised with some of
+them, chiefly the _santillo, vollombola, pascarello_ and _natalino._
+Then he gave me an account of the prices for the different qualities
+and seasons which would have astonished a grocer.
+
+All of which proves how easy it is to misjudge of folks who, although
+they do not know that Paris is the capital of France, yet possess a
+training adapted to their present needs. They are specialists for
+things of the grain-giving earth; it is a pleasure to watch them
+grafting vines and olives and lemons with the precision of a trained
+horticulturist. They talk of “governing” _(governare}_ their soil; it
+is the word they use in respect to a child.
+
+Now figs are neither white nor black, but such is the terminology.
+Stones are white or black; prepared olives are white or black; wine is
+white or black. Are they become colour-blind because impregnated, from
+earliest infancy, with a perennial blaze of rainbow
+hues—colour-blinded, in fact; or from negligence, attention to this
+matter not bringing with it any material advantage? Excepting that
+sign-language which is profoundly interesting from an artistic and
+ethnological point of view—why does not some scholar bring old Iorio’s
+“Mimica degli Antichi” up to date?—few things are more worthy of
+investigation than the colour-sense of these people. Of blue they have
+not the faintest conception, probably because there are so few blue
+solids in nature; Max Mueller holds the idea of blue to be quite
+a modern acquisition on the part of the human race. So a cloudless sky
+is declared to be “quite white.” I once asked a lad as to the colour of
+the sea which, at the moment, was of the most brilliant sapphire hue.
+He pondered awhile and then said:
+
+“Pare come fosse un colore morto” (a sort of dead colour).
+
+Green is a little better known, but still chiefly connected with things
+not out of doors, as a green handkerchief. The reason may be that this
+tint is too common in nature to be taken note of. Or perhaps because
+their chain of association between green and grass is periodically
+broken up—our fields are always verdant, but theirs turn brown in
+summer. Trees they sometimes call yellow, as do some ancient writers;
+but more generally “half-black” or “tree-colour.” A beech in full leaf
+has been described to me as black. _“Rosso”_ does not mean red, but
+rather dun or dingy; earth is _rosso._ When our red is to be signified,
+they will use the word “turco,” which came in with the well-known
+dye-stuff of which the Turks once monopolized the secret. Thus there
+are “Turkish” apples and “Turkish” potatoes. But “turco” may also mean
+black—in accordance with the tradition that the Turks, the Saracens,
+were a black race. Snakes, generally greyish-brown in these parts, are
+described as either white or black; an eagle-owl is half-black; a
+kestrel _un quasi bianco._ The mixed colours of cloths or silks are
+either beautiful or ugly, and there’s an end of it. It is curious to
+compare this state of affairs with that existing in the days of Homer,
+who was, as it were, feeling his way in a new region, and the propriety
+of whose colour epithets is better understood when one sees things on
+the spot. Of course I am only speaking of the humble peasant whose
+blindness, for the rest, is not incurable.
+
+One might enlarge the argument and deduce his odd insensibility to
+delicate scents from the fact that he thrives in an atmosphere
+saturated with violent odours of all kinds; his dullness in regard to
+finer shades of sound—from the shrieks of squalling babies and other
+domestic explosions in which he lives from the cradle to the grave.
+That is why these people have no “nerves”; terrific bursts of din, such
+as the pandemonium of Piedigrotta, stimulate them in the same way that
+others might be stimulated by a quartette of Brahms. And if they who
+are so concerned about the massacre of small birds in this country
+would devote their energies to the invention of a noiseless and yet
+cheap powder, their efforts would at last have some prospects of
+success. For it is not so much the joy of killing, as the pleasurable
+noise of the gun, which creates these local sportsmen; as the sagacious
+“Ultramontain” observed long ago. “Le napolitain est passionné pour la
+chasse,” he says, “parce que les coups de fusil flattent son
+oreille.”[2] This ingenuous love of noise may be connected, in some
+way, with their rapid nervous discharges.
+
+ [2] I have looked him up in Jos. Blanc’s “Bibliographic.” His name was
+ C. Haller.
+
+I doubt whether intermediate convulsions have left much purity of Greek
+blood in south Italy, although emotional travellers, fresh from the
+north, are for ever discovering “classic Hellenic profiles” among the
+people. There is certainly a scarce type which, for want of a better
+hypothesis, might be called Greek: of delicate build and below the
+average height, small-eared and straight-nosed, with curly hair that
+varies from blonde to what Italians call _castagno chiaro._ It differs
+not only from the robuster and yet fairer northern breed, but also from
+the darker surrounding races. But so many contradictory theories have
+lately been promulgated on this head, that I prefer to stop short at
+the preliminary question—did a Hellenic type ever exist? No more,
+probably, than that charming race which the artists of Japan have
+invented for our delectation.
+
+Strains of Greek blood can be traced with certainty by their track of
+folklore and poetry and song, such as still echoes among the vales of
+Sparta and along the Bosphorus. Greek words are rather rare here, and
+those that one hears—such as _sciusciello, caruso, crisommele,_
+etc.—have long ago been garnered by scholars like De Grandis, Moltedo,
+and Salvatore Mele. So Naples is far more Hellenic in dialect, lore,
+song and gesture than these regions, which are still rich in pure
+latinisms of speech, such as surgere (to arise); scitare (excitare—to
+arouse); è (est—yes); fetare (foetare); trasete (transitus—passage of
+quails); titillare (to tickle); craje (cras—to-morrow); pastena (a
+plantation of young vines; Ulpian has “pastinum instituere”). A woman
+is called “muliera,” a girl “figliola,” and children speak of their
+fathers as “tata” (see Martial, epig. I, 101). Only yesterday I added a
+beautiful latinism to my collection, when an old woman, in whose
+cottage I sometimes repose, remarked to me, “Non avete virtù oggi”—you
+are not _up to the mark_ to-day. The real, antique virtue! I ought to
+have embraced her. No wonder I have no “virtue” just now. This savage
+Vulturnian wind—did it not sap the Roman virtue at Cannae?
+
+All those relics of older civilizations are disappearing under the
+standardizing influence of conscription, emigration and national
+schooling.
+
+And soon enough the _Contranome-_system will become a thing of the
+past. I shall be sorry to see it go, though it has often driven me
+nearly crazy.
+
+What is a _contranome?_
+
+The same as a _sopranome._ It is a nickname which, as with the Russian
+peasants, takes the place of Christian and surname together. A man will
+tell you: “My name is Luigi, but they call me, by _contranome,_
+O’Canzirro. I don’t know my surname.” Some of these nicknames are
+intelligible, such as O’Sborramurella, which refers to the man’s
+profession of building those walls without mortar which are always
+tumbling down and being repaired again; or O’Sciacquariello (acqua—a
+leaking—one whose money leaks from his pocket—a spendthrift); or San
+Pietro, from his saintly appearance; O’Civile, who is so uncivilized,
+or Cristoforo Colombo, because he is so very wideawake. But eighty per
+cent of them are quite obscure even to their owners, going back, as
+they do, to some forgotten trick or incident during childhood or to
+some pet name which even in the beginning meant nothing. Nearly every
+man and boy has his contranome by which, and _by which alone,_ he is
+known in his village; the women seldomer, unless they are conspicuous
+by some peculiarity, such as A’Sbirra (the spy), or A’Paponnessa (the
+fat one)—whose counterpart, in the male sex, would be O’Tripone.
+
+Conceive, now, what trouble it entails to find a man in a strange
+village if you happen not to know his contranome (and how on earth are
+you to discover it?), if his surname means nothing to the inhabitants,
+and his Christian name is shared by a hundred others. For they have an
+amazing lack of inventiveness in this matter; four or five Christian
+names will include the whole population of the place. Ten to one you
+will lose a day looking for him, unless something like this takes
+place:
+
+THE HAPPY HAZARDS OF THE CONTRANOME
+
+You set forth your business to a crowd of villagers that have collected
+around. It is simple enough. You want to speak to Luigi So-and-so. A
+good-natured individual, who seems particularly anxious to help,
+summarizes affairs by saying:
+
+“The gentleman wants Luigi So-and-so.”
+
+There is evidently some joke in the mere suggestion of such a thing;
+they all smile. Then a confused murmur of voices goes up:
+
+“Luigi—Luigi. . . . Now which Luigi does he mean?”
+
+You repeat his surname in a loud voice. It produces no effect, beyond
+that of increased hilarity.
+
+“Luigi—Luigi. . . .”
+
+“Perhaps O’Zoccolone?”
+
+“Perhaps O’Seticchio?”
+
+“Or the figlio d’ O’Zibalocchio?”
+
+The good-natured individual volunteers to beat the surrounding district
+and bring in all the Luigis he can find. After half an hour they begin
+to arrive, one by one. He is not among them. Dismissed with cigars, as
+compensation for loss of time.
+
+Meanwhile half the village has gathered around, vastly enjoying the
+fun, which it hopes will last till bedtime. You are getting bewildered;
+new people flock in from the fields to whom the mysterious joke about
+Luigi must be explained.
+
+“Luigi—Luigi,” they begin again. “Now, which of them can he mean?”
+
+“Perhaps O’Marzariello?”
+
+“Or O’Cuccolillo?”
+
+“I never thought of him,” says the good-natured individual. “Here, boy,
+run and tell O’Cuccolillo that a foreign gentleman wants to give him a
+cigar.”
+
+By the time O’Cuccolillo appears on the scene the crowd has thickened.
+You explain the business for the fiftieth time; no—he is Luigi, of
+course, but not the right Luigi, which he regrets considerably. Then
+the joke is made clear to him, and he laughs again. You have lost all
+your nerve, but the villagers are beginning to love you,
+
+“Can it be O’Sciabecchino?”
+
+“Or the figlio d’ O’Chiappino?”
+
+“It might be O’Busciardiello (the liar).”
+
+“He’s dead.”
+
+“So he is. I quite forgot. Well, then it must be the husband of
+A’Cicivetta (the flirt).”
+
+“He’s in prison. But how about O’Caccianfierno?”
+
+Suddenly a withered hag croaks authoritatively:
+
+“I know! The gentleman wants OTentillo.”
+
+Chorus of villagers:
+
+“Then why doesn’t he say so?”
+
+O’Tentillo lives far, far away. An hour elapses; at last he comes, full
+of bright expectations. No, this is not your Luigi, he is another
+Luigi. You are ready to sink into the earth, but there is no escape.
+The crowd surges all around, the news having evidently spread to
+neighbouring hamlets.
+
+_“_Luigi—Luigi. . . . Let me see. It might be O’Rappo.”
+
+“O’Massassillo, more likely.”
+
+“I have it! It’s O’Spennatiello.”
+
+“I never thought of him,” says a well-known voice. “Here, boy, run and
+tell——”
+
+“Or O’Cicereniello.”
+
+“O’Vergeniello.”
+
+“O’Sciabolone. ...”
+
+“Never mind the G—— d—— son of b——,” says a cheery person in excellent
+English, who has just arrived on the scene. “See here, I live fifteen
+years in Brooklyn; damn fine! ’Ave a glass of wine round my place. Your
+Luigi’s in America, sure. And if he isn’t, send him to Hell.”
+
+Sound advice, this.
+
+“What’s his surname, anyhow?” he goes on.
+
+You explain once more.
+
+“Why, there’s the very man you’re looking for. There, standing right in
+front of you! He’s Luigi, and that’s his surname right enough. He don’t
+know it himself, you bet.”
+
+And he points to the good-natured individual. . . .
+
+These countryfolk can fare on strange meats. A boy consumed a snake
+that was lying dead by the roadside; a woman ate thirty raw eggs and
+then a plate of maccheroni; a man swallowed six kilograms of the
+uncooked fat of a freshly slaughtered pig (he was ill for a week
+afterwards); another one devoured two small birds alive, with beaks,
+claws and feathers. Such deeds are sternly reprobated as savagery;
+still, they occur, and nearly always as the result of wagers. I wish I
+could couple them with equally heroic achievements in the drinking
+line, but, alas! I have only heard of one old man who was wont
+habitually to en-gulph twenty-two litres of wine a day; eight are
+spoken of as “almost too much” in these degenerate days. . . .
+
+Mice, says Movers, were sacrificially eaten by the Babylonians. Here,
+as in England, they are cooked into a paste and given to children, to
+cure a certain complaint. To take away the dread of the sea from young
+boys, they mix into their food small fishes which have been devoured by
+larger ones and taken from their stomachs—the underlying idea being
+that these half-digested fry are thoroughly familiar with the storms
+and perils of the deep, and will communicate these virtues to the boys
+who eat them. It is the same principle as that of giving chamois blood
+to the goat-boys of the Alps, to strengthen their nerves against
+giddiness—pure sympathetic magic, of which there is this, at least, to
+be said, that “its fundamental conception is identical with that of
+modern science—a faith in the order or uniformity of nature.”
+
+I have also met persons who claim to have been cured of rachitic
+troubles in their youth by eating a puppy dog cooked in a saucepan. But
+only one kind of dog is good for this purpose, to be procured from
+those foundling hospitals whither hundreds of illegitimate infants are
+taken as soon as possible after birth. The mothers, to relieve the
+discomfort caused by this forcible separation from the new-born, buy a
+certain kind of puppy there, bring them home, and nourish them _in loco
+infantis._ These puppies cost a franc apiece, and are generally
+destroyed after performing their duties; it is they who are cooked for
+curing the scrofulous tendencies of other children. Swallows’ hearts
+are also used for another purpose; so is the blood of tortoises—for
+strengthening the backs of children (the tortoise being a _hard_
+animal). So is that of snakes, who are held up by head and tail and
+pricked with needles; the greater their pain, the more beneficial their
+blood, which is soaked up with cotton-wool and applied as a liniment
+for swollen glands. In fact, nearly every animal has been discovered to
+possess some medicinal property.
+
+But of the charm of such creatures the people know nothing. How
+different from the days of old! These legendary and gracious beasts,
+that inspired poets and artists and glyptic engravers—these things of
+beauty have now descended into the realm of mere usefulness, into the
+pharmacopoeia.
+
+The debasement is quite intelligible, when one remembers what
+accumulated miseries these provinces have undergone. Memories of
+refinement were starved out of the inhabitants by centuries of misrule,
+when nothing was of interest or of value save what helped to fill the
+belly. The work of bestialization was carried on by the despotism of
+Spanish Viceroys and Bourbons. They, the Spaniards, fostered and
+perhaps imported the Camorra, that monster of many heads which has
+established itself in nearly every town of the south. Of the
+deterioration in taste coincident with this period, I lately came
+across this little bit of evidence, curious and conclusive:—In 1558 a
+number of the country-folk were captured in one of the usual Corsair
+raids; they were afterwards ransomed, and among the Christian names of
+the women I note: Livia, Fiula, Cassandra, Aurelia, Lucrezia, Verginia,
+Medea, Violanta, Galizia, Vittoria, Diamanta, etc. Where were these
+full-sounding noble names two centuries
+later—where are they nowadays? Do they not testify to a state of
+culture superior to that of the present time, when Maria, Lucia, and
+about four others of the most obvious catholic saints exhaust the list
+of all female Christian names hereabouts?
+
+All this is changing once more; a higher standard of comfort is being
+evolved, though relics of this former state of insecurity may still be
+found; such as the absence, even in houses of good families, of clocks
+and watches, and convenient storage for clothes and domestic utensils;
+their habits of living in penury and of buying their daily food by
+farthings, as though one never knew what the next day might bring;
+their dread of going out of doors by night (they have a proverb which
+runs, _di notte, non parlar forte; di giorno, guardati attorno],_ their
+lack of humour. For humour is essentially a product of ease, and nobody
+can be at ease in unquiet times. That is why so few poets are humorous;
+their restlessly querulous nature has the same effect on their outlook
+as an insecure environment.
+
+But it will be long ere these superstitions are eradicated. The magic
+of south Italy deserves to be well studied, for the country is a
+cauldron of demonology wherein Oriental beliefs—imported direct from
+Egypt, the classic home of witchcraft—commingled with those of the
+West. A foreigner is at an unfortunate disadvantage; if he asks
+questions, he will only get answers dictated by suspicion or a
+deliberate desire to mislead—prudent answers; whoso accepts these
+explanations in good faith, might produce a wondrous contribution to
+ethnology.
+
+Wise women and wizards abound, but they are not to be compared with
+that _santa_ near Naples whom I used to visit in the nineties, and who
+was so successful in the magics that the Bishop of Pozzuoli, among
+hundreds of other clients, was wont to drive up to her door once a week
+for a consultation. These mostly occupy themselves with the manufacture
+of charms for gaining lucky lottery numbers, and for deluding fond
+women who wish to change their lovers.
+
+The lore of herbs is not much studied. For bruises, a slice of the
+Opuntia is applied, or the cooling parietaria (known as “pareta” or
+“paretone”); the camomile and other common remedies are in vogue; the
+virtues of the male fern, the rue, sabina and (home-made) ergot of rye
+are well known but not employed to the extent they are in Russia, where
+a large progeny is a disaster. There is a certain respect for the
+legitimate unborn, and even in cases of illegitimacy some neighbouring
+foundling hospital, the house of the Madonna, is much more convenient.
+It is a true monk’s expedient; it avoids the risk of criminal
+prosecution; the only difference being that the Mother of God, and not
+the natural mother of the infant, becomes responsible for its prompt
+and almost inevitable destruction.[3]
+
+ [3] The scandals that occasionally arise in connection with that
+ saintly institution, the Foundling Hospital at Naples, are enough to
+ make humanity shudder. Of 856 children living under its motherly care
+ during 1895, 853 “died” in the course of that one year—only three
+ survived; a wholesale massacre. These 853 murdered children were
+ carried forward in the books as still living, and the institution,
+ which has a yearly revenue of over 600,000 francs, was debited with
+ their maintenance, while 42 doctors (instead of the prescribed number
+ of 19) continued to draw salaries for their services to these
+ innocents that had meanwhile been starved and tortured to death. The
+ official report on these horrors ends with the words: “There is no
+ reason to think that these facts are peculiar to the year 1895.”
+
+That the moon stands in sympathetic relations with living vegetation is
+a fixed article of faith among the peasantry. They will prune their
+plants only when the satellite is waxing—_al sottile della luna,_ as
+they say. Altogether, the moon plays a considerable part in their lore,
+as might be expected in a country where she used to be worshipped under
+so many forms. The dusky markings on her surface are explained by
+saying that the moon used to be a woman and a baker of bread, her face
+gleaming with the reflection of the oven, but one day she annoyed her
+mother, who took up the brush they use for sweeping away the ashes, and
+smirched her face. . . .
+
+Whoever reviews the religious observances of these people as a whole
+will find them a jumble of contradictions and incongruities, lightly
+held and as lightly dismissed. Theirs is the attitude of mind of little
+children—of those, I mean, who have been so saturated with Bible
+stories and fairy tales that they cease to care whether a thing be true
+or false, if it only amuses for the moment. That is what makes them an
+ideal prey for the quack physician. They will believe anything so long
+as it is strange and complicated; a straightforward doctor is not
+listened to; they want that mystery-making “priest-physician”
+concerning whom a French writer—I forget his name—has wisely
+discoursed. I once recommended a young woman who was bleeding at the
+nose to try the homely remedy of a cold key. I thought she would have
+died of laughing! The expedient was too absurdly simple to be
+efficacious.
+
+The attitude of the clergy in regard to popular superstitions is the
+same here as elsewhere. They are too wise to believe them, and too
+shrewd to discourage the belief in others; these things can be turned
+to account for keeping the people at
+a conveniently low level of intelligence. For the rest, these priests
+are mostly good fellows of the live-and-let-live type, who would rather
+cultivate their own potatoes than quarrel about vestments or the
+Trinity. Violently acquisitive, of course, like most southerners. I
+know a parish priest, a son of poor parents, who, by dint of sheer
+energy, has amassed a fortune of half a million francs. He cannot
+endure idleness in any shape, and a fine mediæval scene may be
+witnessed when he suddenly appears round the corner and catches his
+workmen wasting their time and his money—
+
+“Ha, loafers, rogues, villains, vermin and sons of _bastardi cornuti!_
+If God had not given me these garments and thereby closed my lips to
+all evil-speaking (seizing his cassock and displaying half a yard of
+purple stocking)—wouldn’t I just tell you, spawn of adulterous
+assassins, what I think of you!”
+
+But under the new regime these priests are becoming mere decorative
+survivals, that look well enough in the landscape, but are not taken
+seriously save in their match-making and money-lending capacities.
+
+The intense realism of their religion is what still keeps it alive for
+the poor in spirit. Their saints and devils are on the same familiar
+footing towards mankind as were the old gods of Greece. Children do not
+know the meaning of “Inferno”; they call it “casa del diavolo” (the
+devil’s house); and if they are naughty, the mother says, “La Madonna
+strilla”—the Madonna will scold. Here is a legend of Saint Peter,
+interesting for its realism and because it has been grafted upon a very
+ancient _motif:—_
+
+The apostle Peter was a dissatisfied sort of man, who was always
+grumbling about things in general and suggesting improvements in the
+world-scheme. He thought himself cleverer even than “N. S. G. C.” One
+day they were walking together in an olive orchard, and Peter said:
+
+“Just look at the trouble and time it takes to collect all those
+miserable little olives. Let’s have them the size of melons.”
+
+“Very well. Have your way, friend Peter! But something awkward is bound
+to happen. It always does, you know, with those improvements of yours.”
+And, sure enough, one of these enormous olives fell from the tree
+straight on the saint’s head, and ruined his new hat.
+
+“I told you so,” said N. S. G. C.
+
+I remember a woman explaining to me that the saints in Heaven took
+their food exactly as we do, and at the same hours.
+
+“The same food?” I asked. “Does the Madonna really eat
+
+beans?”
+
+“Beans? Not likely! But fried fish, and beefsteaks of veal.” I tried to
+picture the scene, but the effort was too much for my hereditary
+Puritan leanings. Unable to rise to these heights of realism, I was
+rated a pagan for my ill-timed spirituality.
+
+_Madame est servie. . . ._
+
+
+
+
+IX
+MOVING SOUTHWARDS
+
+
+The train conveying me to Taranto was to halt for the night at the
+second station beyond Venosa—at Spinazzola. Aware of this fact, I had
+enquired about the place and received assuring reports as to its hotel
+accommodation. But the fates were against me. On my arrival in the late
+evening I learnt that the hotels were all closed long ago, the
+townsfolk having gone to bed “with the chickens”; it was suggested that
+I had better stay at the station, where the manageress of the
+restaurant kept certain sleeping quarters specially provided for
+travellers in my predicament.
+
+Presently the gentle dame lighted a dim lantern and led me across what
+seemed to be a marsh (it was raining) to the door of a hut which was to
+be my resting-place. At the entrance she paused, and after informing me
+that a band of musicians had taken all the beds save one which was at
+my disposal if I were good enough to pay her half a franc, she placed
+the lantern in my hand and stumbled back into the darkness.
+
+I stepped into a low chamber, the beds of which were smothered under a
+profusion of miscellaneous wraps. The air was warm—the place exhaled an
+indescribable _esprit de corps._ Groping further, I reached another
+apartment, vaulted and still lower than the last, an old-fashioned
+cow-stable, possibly, converted into a bedroom. One glance sufficed me:
+the couch was plainly not to be trusted. Thankful to be out of the rain
+at least, I lit a pipe and prepared to pass the weary hours till 4 a.m.
+
+It was not long ere I discovered that there was another bed in this
+den, opposite my own; and judging by certain undulatory and saltatory
+movements within, it was occupied. Presently the head of a youth
+emerged, with closed eyes and flushed features. He indulged in a series
+of groans and spasmodic kicks, that subsided once more, only to
+recommence. A flute projected from under his pillow.
+
+“This poor young man,” I thought, “is plainly in bad case. On account
+of illness, he has been left behind by the rest of the
+band, who have gone to Spinazzola to play at some marriage festival. He
+is feverish, or possibly subject to fits—to choriasis or who knows what
+disorder of the nervous system. A cruel trick, to leave a suffering
+youngster alone in this foul hovel.” I misliked his symptoms—that
+anguished complexion and delirious intermittent trembling, and began to
+run over the scanty stock of household remedies contained in my bag,
+wondering which of them might apply to his complaint. There was court
+plaster and boot polish, quinine, corrosive sublimate and Worcester
+sauce (detestable stuff, but indispensable hereabouts).
+
+Just as I had decided in favour of the last-named, he gave a more than
+usually vigorous jerk, sat up in bed and, opening his eyes, remarked:
+
+“Those fleas!”
+
+This, then, was the malady. I enquired why he had not joined his
+companions.
+
+He was tired, he said; tired of life in general, and of flute-playing
+in particular. Tired, moreover, of certain animals; and with a
+tiger-like spring he leapt out of bed.
+
+Once thoroughly awake, he proved an amiable talker, though oppressed
+with an incurable melancholy which no amount of tobacco and Venosa wine
+could dispel. In gravely boyish fashion he told me of his life and
+ambitions. He had passed a high standard at school, but—what would
+you?—every post was crowded. He liked music, and would gladly take it
+up as a profession, if anything could be learnt with a band such as
+his; he was sick, utterly sick, of everything. Above all things, he
+wished to travel. Visions of America floated before his mind—where was
+the money to come from? Besides, there was the military service looming
+close at hand; and then, a widowed mother at home—the inevitable
+mother—with a couple of little sisters; how shall a man desert his
+family? He was born on a farm on the Murge, the watershed between this
+country and the Adriatic. Thinking of the Murge, that shapeless and
+dismal range of limestone hills whose name suggests its sad monotony, I
+began to understand the origin of his pagan wistfulness.
+
+“Happy foreigners!”—such was his constant refrain—“happy foreigners,
+who can always do exactly what they like! Tell me something about other
+countries,” he said.
+
+“Something true?”
+
+“Anything—anything!”
+
+To cheer him up, I replied with improbable tales of Indian life, of
+rajahs and diamonds, of panthers whose eyes shine like
+moonbeams in the dark jungle, of elephants huge as battleships, of
+sportive monkeys who tie knots in each others’ tails and build
+themselves huts among the trees, where they brew iced lemonade, which
+they offer in friendliest fashion to the thirsty wayfarer, together
+with other light refreshment——
+
+“Cigarettes as well?”
+
+“No. They are not allowed to cultivate tobacco.”
+
+“Ah, that _monopolio,_ the curse of humanity!”
+
+He was almost smiling when, at 2.30 a.m., there resounded a furious
+knocking at the door, and the rest of the band appeared from their
+unknown quarters in the liveliest of spirits. Altogether, a memorable
+night. But at four o’clock the lantern was extinguished and the cavern,
+bereft of its Salvator-Rosa glamour, resolved itself into a prosaic and
+infernally unclean hovel. Issuing from the door, I saw those murky
+recesses invaded by the uncompromising light of dawn, and shuddered. .
+. .
+
+The railway journey soon dispelled the phantoms of the night. As the
+train sped downhill, the sun rose in splendour behind the Murge hills,
+devouring mists so thickly couched that, struck by the first beams,
+they glistered like compact snow-fields, while their shaded portions
+might have been mistaken for stretches of mysterious swamp, from which
+an occasional clump of tree-tops emerged, black and island-like. These
+dreamland effects lasted but a brief time, and soon the whole face of
+the landscape was revealed. An arid region, not unlike certain parts of
+northern Africa.
+
+Yet the line passes through places renowned in history. Who would not
+like to spend a day at Altamura, if only in memory of its treatment by
+the ferocious Cardinal Ruffo and his army of cut-throats? After a
+heroic but vain resistance comparable only to that of Saguntum or
+Petelia, during which every available metal, and even money, was
+converted into bullets to repel the assailers, there followed a three
+days’ slaughter of young and old; then the cardinal blessed his army
+and pronounced, in the blood-drenched streets, a general absolution.
+Even this man has discovered apologists. No cause so vile, that some
+human being will not be found to defend it.
+
+So much I called to mind that morning from the pages of Colletta, and
+straightway formed a resolution to slip out of the carriage and arrest
+my journey at Altamura for a couple of days. But I must have been
+asleep while the train passed through the station, nor did I wake up
+again till the blue Ionian was in sight.
+
+At Venosa one thinks of Roman legionaries fleeing from
+Hannibal, of Horace, of Norman ambitions; Lucera and Manfredonia call
+up Saracen memories and the ephemeral gleams of Hohenstaufen; Gargano
+takes us back into Byzantine mysticism and monkery. And now from
+Altamura with its dark record of Bourbon horrors, we glide into the
+sunshine of Hellenic days when the wise Archytas, sage and lawgiver,
+friend of Plato, ruled this ancient city of Tarentum. A wide sweep of
+history! And if those Periclean times be not remote enough, yonder lies
+Oria on its hilltop, the stronghold of pre-Hellenic and almost
+legendary Messapians; while for such as desire more recent associations
+there is the Albanian colony of San Giorgio, only a few miles distant,
+to recall the glories of Scanderbeg and his adventurous bands.
+
+Herein lies the charm of travel in this land of multiple
+civilizations—the ever-changing layers of culture one encounters, their
+wondrous juxtaposition.
+
+My previous experiences of Taranto hotels counselled me to take a
+private room overlooking the inland sea (the southern aspect is already
+intolerably hot), and to seek my meals at restaurants. And in such a
+one I have lived for the last ten days or so, reviving old memories.
+The place has grown in the interval; indeed, if one may believe certain
+persons, the population has increased from thirty to ninety thousand
+in—I forget how few years. The arsenal brings movement into the town;
+it has appropriated the lion’s share of building sites in the “new”
+town. Is it a ripple on the surface of things, or will it truly stir
+the spirits of the city? So many arsenals have come and gone, at
+Taranto!
+
+This arsenal quarter is a fine example of the Italian mania of _fare
+figura—_everything for effect. It is an agglomeration of dreary
+streets, haunted by legions of clamorous black swifts, and constructed
+on the rectangular principle dear to the Latin mind. Modern, and
+surpassingly monotonous. Are such interminable rows of stuccoed
+barracks artistic to look upon, are they really pleasant to inhabit? Is
+it reasonable or even sanitary, in a climate of eight months’ sunshine,
+to build these enormous roadways and squares filled with glaring
+limestone dust that blows into one’s eyes and almost suffocates one;
+these Saharas that even at the present season of the year (early June)
+cannot be traversed comfortably unless one wears brown spectacles and
+goes veiled like a Tuareg? This arsenal quarter must be a hell during
+the really not season, which continues into October.
+
+For no trees whatever are planted to shade the walking population, as
+in Paris or Cairo or any other sunlit city.
+
+And who could guess the reason? An Englishman, at least, would never
+bring himself to believe what is nevertheless a fact, namely, that if
+the streets are converted into shady boulevards, the rents of the
+houses immediately fall. When trees are planted, the lodgers complain
+and finally emigrate to other quarters; the experiment has been tried,
+at Naples and elsewhere, and always with the same result. Up trees,
+down rents. The tenants refuse to be deprived of their chief pleasure
+in life—that of gazing at the street-passengers, who must be good
+enough to walk in the sunshine for their delectation. But if you are of
+an inquisitive turn of mind, you are quite at liberty to return the
+compliment and to study from the outside the most intimate details of
+the tenants’ lives within. Take your fill of their domestic doings;
+stare your hardest. They don’t mind in the least, not they! That
+feeling of privacy which the northerner fosters doggedly even in the
+centre of a teeming city is alien to their hearts; they like to look
+and be looked at; they live like fish in an aquarium. It is a result of
+the whole palazzo-system that every one knows his neighbour’s business
+better than his own. What does it matter, in the end? Are we not all
+“Christians”?
+
+The municipality, meanwhile, is deeply indebted for the sky-piercing
+ambitions which have culminated in the building of this new quarter. To
+meet these obligations, the octroi prices have been raised to the
+highest pitch by the City Fathers. This octroi is farmed out and
+produces (they tell me) 120 pounds a day; there are some hundred
+toll-collecting posts at the outskirts of the town, and the average
+salary of their officials is three pounds a month. They are supposed to
+be respectable and honest men, but it is difficult to see how a family
+can be supported on that wage, when one knows how high the rents are,
+and how severely the most ordinary commodities of life are taxed.
+
+[Illustration: Sole Relic of old Taras]
+
+I endeavoured to obtain photographs of the land as it looked ere it was
+covered by the arsenal quarter, but in vain. Nobody seems to have
+thought it worth while preserving what would surely be a notable
+economic document for future generations. Out of sheer curiosity I also
+tried to procure a plan of the old quarter, that labyrinth of
+thick-clustering humanity, where the streets are often so narrow that
+two persons can barely squeeze past each other. I was informed that no
+such plan had ever been drawn up; it was agreed that a map of this kind
+might be interesting, and suggested, furthermore, that I might
+undertake the task myself; the authorities would doubtless appreciate
+my labours. We foreigners, be it understood, have ample means and
+unlimited leisure, and like nothing better than doing unprofitable jobs
+of this kind.[1]
+
+ [1] There is a map of old Taranto in Lasor a Varea (Savonarola)
+ _Universus terrarum etc.,_ Vol. II, p. 552, and another in J. Blaev’s
+ _Theatrum Civitatum_ (1663). He talks of the “rude houses” of this
+ town.
+
+One is glad to leave the scintillating desert of this arsenal quarter,
+and enter the cool stone-paved streets of the other, which remind one
+somewhat of Malta. In the days of Salis-Marschlins this city possessed
+only 18,000 inhabitants, and “outdid even the customary Italian filth,
+being hardly passable on account of the excessive nastiness and stink.”
+It is now scrupulously clean—so absurdly clean, that it has quite
+ceased to be picturesque. Not that its buildings are particularly
+attractive to me; none, that is, save the antique “Trinità” column of
+Doric gravity—sole survivor of Hellenic Taras, which looks wondrously
+out of place in its modern environment. One of the finest of these
+earlier monuments, the Orsini tower depicted in old prints of the
+place, has now been demolished.
+
+Lovers of the baroque may visit the shrine of Saint Cataldo, a jovial
+nightmare in stone. And they who desire a literary pendant to this
+fantastic structure should read the life of the saint written by Morone
+in 1642. Like the shrine, it is the quintessence of insipid exuberance;
+there is something preposterous in its very title “Cataldiados,” and
+whoever reads through those six books of Latin hexameters will arise
+from the perusal half-dazed. Somehow or other, it dislocates one’s
+whole sense of terrestrial values to see a frowsy old monk[2] treated
+in the heroic style and metre, as though he were a new Achilles. As a
+_jeu d’esprit_ the book might pass; but it is deadly serious. Single
+men will always be found to perpetrate monstrosities of literature; the
+marvel is that an entire generation of writers should have worked
+themselves into a state of mind which solemnly approved of such freaks.
+
+ [2] This wandering Irish missionary is supposed to have died here in
+ the seventh century, and they who are not satisfied with his printed
+ biographies will find one in manuscript of 550 pages, compiled in
+ 1766, in the Cuomo Library at Naples.
+
+Every one has heard of the strange position of this hoary
+island-citadel (a metropolis, already, in neolithic days). It is of
+oval shape, the broad sides washed by the Ionian Sea and an
+oyster-producing lagoon; bridges connect it at one extremity with the
+arsenal or new town, and at the other with the so-called commercial
+quarter. It is as if some precious gem were set, in a ring, between two
+others of minor worth. Or, to vary the simile, this acropolis, with its
+close-packed alleys, is the throbbing heart
+of Taranto; the arsenal quarter—its head; and that other one—well, its
+stomach; quite an insignificant stomach as compared with the head and
+corroborative, in so far, of the views of Metchnikoff, who holds that
+this hitherto commendable organ ought now to be reduced in size, if not
+abolished altogether. . . .
+
+From out of this window I gaze upon the purple lagoon flecked with
+warships and sailing-boats; and beyond it, upon the venerable land of
+Japygia, the heel of Italy, that rises in heliotrope-tinted undulations
+towards the Adriatic watershed. At night-time an exquisite perfume of
+flowers and ripe corn comes wafted into my room over the still waters,
+and when the sun rises, white settlements begin to sparkle among its
+olives and vineyards. My eyes often rest upon one of them; it is
+Grottaglie, distant a few miles from Taranto on the Brindisi line. I
+must visit Grottaglie, for it was here that the flying monk received
+his education.
+
+The flying monk!
+
+The theme is not inappropriate at this moment, when the newspapers are
+ringing with the Paris-Rome aviation contest and the achievements of
+Beaumont, Garros and their colleagues. I have purposely brought his
+biography with me, to re-peruse on the spot. But let me first explain
+how I became acquainted with this seventeenth-century pioneer of
+aviation.
+
+It was an odd coincidence.
+
+I had arrived in Naples, and was anxious to have news of the
+proceedings at a certain aviation meeting in the north, where a rather
+inexperienced friend of mine had insisted upon taking a part; the
+newspaper reports of these entertainments are enough to disturb
+anybody. While admiring the great achievements of modern science in
+this direction, I wished devoutly, at that particular moment, that
+flying had never been invented; and it was something of a coincidence,
+I say, that stumbling in this frame of mind down one of the unspeakable
+little side-streets in the neighbourhood of the University, my glance
+should have fallen upon an eighteenth-century engraving in a
+bookseller’s window which depicted a man raised above the ground
+without any visible means of support—flying, in short. He was a monk,
+floating before an altar. A companion, near at hand, was portrayed as
+gazing in rapturous wonder at this feat of levitation. I stepped within
+and demanded the volume to which this was the frontispiece.
+
+The salesman, a hungry-looking old fellow with incredibly dirty hands
+and face, began to explain.
+
+[Illustration: CanFishing at Tarantoyon]
+
+“The Flying Monk, sir, Joseph of Copertino. A mighty saint and
+conjuror! Or perhaps you would like some other book? I have many, many
+lives of _santi_ here. Look at this one of the great Egidio, for
+instance. I can tell you all about him, for he raised my mother’s
+grand-uncle from the dead; yes, out of the grave, as one may say.
+You’ll find out all about it in this book; and it’s only one of his
+thousand miracles. And here is the biography of the renowned
+Giangiuseppe, a mighty saint and——”
+
+I was paying little heed; the flying monk had enthralled me. An
+unsuspected pioneer of aviation . . . here was a discovery!
+
+“He flew?” I queried, my mind reverting to the much-vaunted triumphs of
+modern science.
+
+“Why not? The only reason why people don’t fly like that nowadays is
+because—well, sir, because they can’t. They fly with machines, and
+think it something quite new and wonderful. And yet it’s as old as the
+hills! There was Iscariot, for example—Icarus, I mean——”
+
+“Pure legend, my good man.”
+
+“Everything becomes legend, if the gentleman will have the goodness to
+wait. And here is the biography of——”
+
+“How much for Joseph of Copertino?” Cost what it may, I said to myself,
+that volume must be mine.
+
+He took it up and began to turn over the pages lovingly, as though
+handling some priceless Book of Hours.
+
+“A fine engraving,” he observed, _sotto voce._ “And this is the best of
+many biographies of the flying monk. It is by Rossi, the
+Minister-General of the Franciscan order to which our monk belonged;
+the official biography, it might be called—dedicated, by permission, to
+His Holiness Pope Clemens XIII, and based on the documents which led to
+the saint’s beatification. Altogether, a remarkable volume——”
+
+And he paused awhile. Then continued:
+
+“I possess a cheaper biography of him, also with a frontispiece, by
+Montanari, which has the questionable advantage of being printed as
+recently as 1853. And here is yet another one, by Antonio Basile—oh, he
+has been much written about; a most celebrated _taumaturgo,_
+(wonder-worker)! As to this _Life_ of 1767, I could not, with a good
+conscience, appraise it at less than five francs.”
+
+“I respect your feelings. But—five francs! I have certain scruples of
+my own, you know, and it irks my sense of rectitude to pay five francs
+for the flying monk unless you can supply me with six or seven
+additional books to be included in that sum.
+Twelve _soldi_ (sous) apiece—that strikes me as the proper price of
+such literature, for foreigners, at least. Therefore I’ll have the
+great Egidio as well, and Montanari’s life of the flying monk, and that
+other one by Basile, and Giangiuseppe, and——”
+
+“By all means! Pray take your choice.”
+
+And so it came about that, relieved of a tenuous and very sticky
+five-franc note, and loaded down with three biographies of the flying
+monk, one of Egidio, two of Giangiuseppe—I had been hopelessly
+swindled, but there! no man can bargain in a hurry, and my eagerness to
+learn something of the life of this early airman had made me oblivious
+of the natural values of things—and with sundry smaller volumes of
+similar import bulging out of my pockets I turned in the direction of
+the hotel, promising myself some new if not exactly light reading.
+
+But hardly had I proceeded twenty paces before the shopkeeper came
+running after me with another formidable bundle under his arm. More
+books! An ominous symptom—the clearest demonstration of my defeat; I
+was already a marked man, a good customer. It was humiliating, after my
+long years’ experience of the south.
+
+And there resounded an unmistakable note of triumph in his voice, as he
+said:
+
+“Some more biographies, sir. Read them at your leisure, and pay me what
+you like. You cannot help being generous; I see it in your face.”
+
+“I always try to encourage polite learning, if that is what you think
+to decipher in my features. But it rains _santi_ this morning,” I
+added, rather sourly.
+
+“The gentleman is pleased to joke! May it rain _soldi_ tomorrow.”
+
+“A little shower, possibly. But not a cloud-burst, like today. . . .”
+
+
+
+
+X
+THE FLYING MONK
+
+
+As to the flying monk, there is no doubt whatever that he deserved his
+name.
+
+He flew. Being a monk, these feats of his were naturally confined to
+convents and their immediate surroundings, but that does not alter the
+facts of the case.
+
+Of the flights that he took in the little town of Copertino alone, more
+than seventy, says Father Rossi whom I follow throughout, are on record
+in the depositions which were taken on oath from eye-witnesses after
+his death. This is one of them, for example:
+
+“Stupendous likewise was the _ratto_ (flight or rapture) which he
+exhibited on a night of Holy Thursday. . . . He suddenly flew towards
+the altar in a straight line, leaving untouched all the ornaments of
+that structure; and after some time, being called back by his superior,
+returned flying to the spot whence he had set out.”
+
+And another:
+
+“He flew similarly upon an olive tree . . . and there remained in
+kneeling posture for the space of half an hour. A marvellous thing it
+was to see the branch which sustained him swaying lightly, as though a
+bird had alighted upon it.”
+
+But Copertino is a remote little place, already famous in the annals of
+miraculous occurrences. It can be urged that a kind of enthusiasm for
+their distinguished brother-monk may have tempted the inmates of the
+convent to exaggerate his rare gifts. Nothing of the kind. He performed
+flights not only in Copertino, but in various large towns of Italy,
+such as Naples, Rome, and Assisi. And the spectators were by no means
+an assemblage of ignorant personages, but men whose rank and
+credibility would have weight in any section of society.
+
+“While the Lord High Admiral of Castille, Ambassador of Spain at the
+Vatican, was passing through Assisi in the year 1645, the custodian of
+the convent commanded Joseph to descend from the room into the church,
+where the Admiral’s lady was waiting
+for him, desirous of seeing him. and speaking to him; to whom Joseph
+replied, ‘I will obey, but I do not know whether I shall be able to
+speak to her.’ And, as a matter of fact, hardly had he entered the
+church and raised his eyes to a statue . . . situated above the altar,
+when he threw himself into a flight in order to embrace its feet at a
+distance of twelve paces, passing over the heads of all the
+congregation; then, after remaining there some time, he flew back over
+them with his usual cry, and immediately returned to his cell. The
+Admiral was amazed, his wife fainted away, and all the onlookers became
+piously terrified.”
+
+And if this does not suffice to win credence, the following will
+assuredly do so:
+
+“And since it was God’s wish to render him marvellous even in the sight
+of men of the highest sphere, He ordained that Joseph, having arrived
+in Rome, should be conducted one day by the Father-General (of the
+Franciscan Order) to kiss the feet of the High Pontiff, Urban the
+Eighth; in which act, while contemplating Jesus Christ in the person of
+His Vicar, he was ecstatically raised in air, and thus remained till
+called back by the General, to whom His Holiness, highly astonished,
+turned and said that ‘if Joseph were to die during his pontificate, he
+himself would bear witness to this _successo.’”_
+
+But his most remarkable flights took place at Fossombrone, where once
+“detaching himself in swiftest manner from the altar with a cry like
+thunder, he went, like lightning, gyrating hither and thither about the
+chapel, and with such an impetus that he made all the cells of the
+dormitory tremble, so that the monks, issuing thence in consternation,
+cried, ‘An earthquake! An earthquake!’” Here, too, he cast a young
+sheep into the air, and took flight after it to the height of the
+trees, where he “remained in kneeling posture, ecstatic and with
+extended arms, for more than two hours, to the extraordinary marvel of
+the clergy who witnessed this.” This would seem to have been his
+outdoor record—two hours without descent to earth.
+
+Sometimes, furthermore, he took a passenger, if such a term can
+properly be applied.
+
+So once, while the monks were at prayers, he was observed to rise up
+and run swiftly towards the Confessor of the convent, and “seizing him
+by the hand, he raised him from the ground by supernatural force, and
+with jubilant rapture drew him along, turning him round and round in a
+_violento ballo;_ the Confessor moved by Joseph, and Joseph by God.”
+
+And what happened at Assisi is still more noteworthy, for here
+was a gentleman, a suffering invalid, whom Joseph “snatched by the
+hair, and, uttering his customary cry of ‘oh!’ raised himself from the
+earth, while he drew the other after him by his hair, carrying him in
+this fashion for a short while through the air, to the intensest
+admiration of the spectators.” The patient, whose name was Chevalier
+Baldassarre, discovered, on touching earth again, that he had been
+cured by this flight of a severe nervous malady which had hitherto
+afflicted him. . . .
+
+Searching in the biography for some other interesting traits of Saint
+Joseph of Copertino, I find, in marked contrast to his heaven-soaring
+virtues, a humility of the profoundest kind. Even as a full-grown man
+he retained the exhilarating, childlike nature of the pure in heart.
+“_La Mamma mia_”—thus he would speak, in playful-saintly fashion, of
+the Mother of God—“_la Mamma mia_ is capricious. When I bring Her
+flowers, She tells me She does not want them; when I bring Her candles,
+She also does not want them; and when I ask Her what She wants, She
+says, ‘I want the heart, for I feed only on hearts.’” What wonder if
+the “mere pronouncement of the name of Maria often sufficed to raise
+him from the ground into the air”?
+
+Nevertheless, the arch-fiend was wont to creep into his cell at night
+and to beat and torture him; and the monks of the convent were
+terrified when they heard the hideous din of echoing blows and jangling
+chains. “We were only having a little game,” he would then say. This is
+refreshingly boyish. He once induced a flock of sheep to enter the
+chapel, and while he recited to them the litany, it was observed with
+amazement that “they responded at the proper place to his verses—he
+saying _Sancta Maria,_ and they answering, after their manner, _Bah!”_
+
+I am not disguising from myself that an incident like the last-named
+may smack of childishness to a certain austere type of northern
+Puritan. Childishness! But to go into this question of the relative
+hilarity and moroseness of religions would take us far afield; for
+aught I know it may, at bottom, be a matter of climatic influences, and
+there we can leave it. Under the sunny sky of Italy, who would not be
+disposed to see the bright side of things?
+
+Saint Joseph of Copertino performed a variety of other miracles. He
+multiplied bread and wine, calmed a tempest, drove out devils, caused
+the lame to walk and the blind to see—all of which are duly attested by
+eye-witnesses on oath. Though “illiterate,” he had an innate knowledge
+of ecclesiastical dogma; he detected persons of impure life by their
+smell, and sinners were revealed to
+his eyes with faces of black colour (the Turks believe that on judgment
+day the damned will be thus marked); he enjoyed the company of two
+guardian angels, which were visible not only to himself but to other
+people. And, like all too many saints, he duly fell into the clutches
+of the Inquisition, ever on the look-out for victims pious or
+otherwise.
+
+There is one little detail which it would be disingenuous to slur over.
+It is this. We are told that Saint Joseph was awkward and backward in
+his development. As a child his boy-comrades used to laugh at him for
+his open-mouthed staring habits; they called him “bocca-aperta”
+(gape-mouth), and in the frontispiece to Montanari’s life of him, which
+depicts him as a bearded man of forty or fifty, his mouth is still
+agape; he was, moreover, difficult to teach, and Rossi says he profited
+very little by his lessons and was of _niuna letteratura._ As a lad of
+seventeen he could not distinguish white bread from brown, and he used
+to spill water-cans, break vases and drop plates to such an extent that
+the monks of the convent who employed him were obliged, after eight
+months’ probation, to dismiss him from their service. He was unable to
+pass his examination as priest. At the age of twenty-five he was
+ordained by the Bishop of Castro, without that formality.
+
+All this points to a certain weak-mindedness or arrested development,
+and were this an isolated case one might be inclined to think that the
+church had made Saint Joseph an object of veneration on the same
+principles as do the Arabs, who elevate idiots, epileptics, and
+otherwise deficient creatures to the rank of marabouts, and credit them
+with supernatural powers.
+
+But it is not an isolated case. The majority of these southern saints
+are distinguished from the vulgar herd by idiosyncrasies to which
+modern physicians give singular names such as “gynophobia,”
+“glossolalia” and “demonomania”[1]; even the founder of the flying
+monk’s order, the great Francis of Assisi, has been accused of some
+strange-sounding mental disorder because, with touching humility, he
+doffed his vestments and presented himself naked before his Creator.
+What are we to conclude therefrom?
+
+ [1] Good examples of what Max Nordau calls _Echolalie_ are to be found
+ in this biography (p. 22).
+
+The flying monk resembles Saint Francis in more than one feature. He,
+too, removed his clothes and even his shirt, and exposed himself thus
+to a crucifix, exclaiming, “Here I am, Lord, deprived of everything.”
+He followed his prototype, further, in that charming custom of
+introducing the animal world into his
+ordinary talk (“Brother Wolf, Sister Swallow,” etc.). So Joseph used to
+speak of himself as _l’asinelio—_the little ass; and a pathetic scene
+was witnessed on his death-bed when he was heard to mutter:
+“_L’asinelio_ begins to climb the mountain; _l’asinelio_ is half-way
+up; _l’asinelio_ has reached the summit; _l’asinelio_ can go no
+further, and is about to leave his skin behind.”
+
+It is to be noted, in this connection, that Saint Joseph of Coper-tino
+was born in a stable.
+
+This looks like more than a mere coincidence. For the divine Saint
+Francis was likewise born in a stable.
+
+But why should either of these holy men be born in stables?
+
+A reasonable explanation lies at hand. A certain Japanese statesman is
+credited with that shrewd remark that the manifold excellencies and
+diversities of Hellenic art are due to the fact that the Greeks had no
+“old masters” to copy from—no “schools” which supplied their
+imagination with ready-made models that limit and smother individual
+initiative. And one marvels to think into what exotic beauties these
+southern saints would have blossomed, had they been at liberty, like
+those Greeks, freely to indulge their versatile genius—had they not
+been bound to the wheels of inexorable precedent. If the flying monk,
+for example, were an ordinary mortal, there was nothing to prevent him
+from being born in an omnibus or some other of the thousand odd places
+where ordinary mortals occasionally are born. But—no! As a Franciscan
+saint, he was obliged to conform to the school of Bethlehem and Assisi.
+He was obliged to select a stable. Such is the force of tradition. . .
+.
+
+Joseph of Copertino lived during the time of the Spanish viceroys, and
+his fame spread not only over all Italy, but to France, Germany and
+Poland. Among his intimates and admirers were no fewer than eight
+cardinals, Prince Leopold of Tuscany, the Duke of Bouillon, Isabella of
+Austria, the Infanta Maria of Savoy and the Duke of Brunswick, who,
+during a visit to various courts of Europe in 1649, purposely went to
+Assisi to see him, and was there converted from the Lutheran heresy by
+the spectacle of one of his flights. Prince Casimir, heir to the throne
+of Poland, was his particular friend, and kept up a correspondence with
+him after the death of his father and his own succession to the throne.
+
+Towards the close of his life, the flying monk became so celebrated
+that his superiors were obliged to shut him up in the convent of Osimo,
+in close confinement, in order that his aerial voyages “should not be
+disturbed by the concourse of the vulgar.” And here he expired, in his
+sixty-first year, on the 18th September,
+1663. He had been suffering and infirm for some little time previous to
+that event, but managed to take a short flight on the very day
+preceding his demise.
+
+Forthwith the evidences of his miraculous deeds were collected and
+submitted to the inspired examination of the Sacred Congregation of
+Rites in Rome. Their conscientiousness in sifting and weighing the
+depositions is sufficiently attested by the fact that ninety years were
+allowed to elapse ere Joseph of Copertino was solemnly received into
+the number of the Blessed. This occurred in 1753; and though the date
+may have been accidentally chosen, some people will be inclined to
+detect the hand of Providence in the ordering of the event, as a
+challenge to Voltaire, who was just then disquieting Europe with
+certain doctrines of a pernicious nature.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+BY THE INLAND SEA
+
+
+The railway line to Grottaglie skirts the shore of the inland sea for
+two or three miles, and then turns away. Old Taranto glimmers in lordly
+fashion across the tranquil waters; a sense of immemorial culture
+pervades this region of russet tilth, and olives, and golden corn.
+
+They led me, at Grottaglie, to the only convent of males now in use,
+San Francesco, recently acquired by the Jesuits. In the sacristy of its
+church, where I was told to wait, a slender young priest was praying
+rapturously before some image, and the clock that stood at hand
+recorded the flight of twenty minutes ere his devotions were ended.
+Then he arose slowly and turned upon me a pair of lustrous, dreamy
+eyes, as though awakened from another world.
+
+This was quite a new convent, he explained; it could not possibly be
+the one I was seeking. But there was another one, almost a ruin, and
+now converted into a refuge for a flock of poor old women; he would
+gladly show me the way. Was I a “Germanese”?[1] No, I replied; I came
+from Scotland.
+
+ [1] _Germanese_ or _Allemanno_ = a German. _Tedesco,_ hereabouts,
+ signifies an Austrian—a detested nationality, even at this distance of
+ time. I have wondered, since writing the above, whether this is really
+ the place of which Rossi speaks. He calls it Grot-tole (the difference
+ in spelling would be of little account), and says it lies not far
+ distant from Copertino. But there may be a place of this name still
+ nearer; it is a common appellation in these honeycombed limestone
+ districts. This Grottaglie is certainly the birth-place of another
+ religious hero, the priest-brigand Ciro, who gave so much trouble to
+ Sir R. Church.
+
+“A Calvinist,” he remarked, without bitterness.
+
+“A Presbyterian,” I gently corrected.
+
+“To be sure—a Presbyterian.”
+
+As we walked along the street under the glowing beams of midday I set
+forth the object of my visit. He had never heard of the flying monk—it
+was astonishing, he said. He would look up the subject without delay.
+The flying monk! That a Protestant should come all the way from “the
+other end of the world” to enquire about a local Catholic saint of
+whose existence he himself was unaware, seemed not so much to surprise
+as positively to alarm him.
+
+Among other local curiosities, he pointed out the portal of the parish
+church, a fine but dilapidated piece of work, with a large rosette
+window overhead. The town, he told me, derives its name from certain
+large grottoes wherein the inhabitants used to take refuge during
+Saracen raids. This I already knew, from the pages of Swinburne and
+Sanchez; and in my turn was able to inform him that a certain
+Frenchman, Bertaux by name, had written about the Byzantine
+wall-paintings within these caves. Yes, those old Greeks! he said. And
+that accounted for the famous ceramics of the place, which preserved
+the Hellenic traditions in extraordinary purity. I did not inform him
+that Hector Preconi, who purposely visited Grottaglie to study these
+potteries, was considerably disappointed.
+
+At the door of the decayed convent my guide left me, with sundry polite
+expressions of esteem. I entered a spacious open courtyard; a well
+stood in the centre of a bare enclosure whereon, in olden days, the
+monks may have cultivated their fruit and vegetables; round this court
+there ran an arched passage, its walls adorned with frescoes, now dim
+and faded, depicting sacred subjects. The monastery itself was a sombre
+maze of stairways and cells and corridors—all the free spaces,
+including the very roof, encumbered with gleaming potteries of every
+shape and size, that are made somewhere near the premises.
+
+I wandered about this sunless and cobwebby labyrinth, the old woman
+pensioners flitting round me like bats in the twilight. I peered into
+many dark closets; which of them was it—Joseph’s famous
+blood-bespattered cell?
+
+“He tormented his body so continuously and obstinately with pins,
+needles and blades of steel, and with such effusion of blood, that even
+now, after entire years, the walls of his cell and other places of
+retirement are discoloured and actually encrusted with blood.” Which of
+them was it—the chamber that witnessed these atrocious macerations? It
+was all so gloomy and forlorn.
+
+Then, pushing aside a door in these tenebrous regions, I suddenly found
+myself bathed in dazzling light. A loggia opened here, with a view over
+stretches of gnarled olives, shining all silvery under the immaculate
+sky of noonday and bounded by the sapphire belt of the Ionian. Sunshine
+and blue sea! Often must the monks have taken pleasure in this fair
+prospect; and the wiser among them, watching the labourers returning
+home at nightfall, the children at play, and all the happy life of a
+world so alien to their own, may well have heaved a sigh.
+
+[Illustration: By the Inland Sea]
+
+Meanwhile a crowd of citizens had assembled below, attracted
+by the unusual novelty of a stranger in their town. The simple
+creatures appeared to regard my investigations in the light of a good
+joke; they had heard of begging monks, and thieving monks, and monks of
+another variety whose peculiarities I dare not attempt to describe; but
+a flying monk—no, never!
+
+“The Dark Ages,” said one of them—the mayor, I dare say—with an air of
+grave authority. “Believe me, dear sir, the days of such fabulous
+monsters are over.”
+
+So they seem to be, for the present.
+
+No picture or statue records the life of this flying wonder, this
+masterpiece of Spanish priestcraft; no mural tablet—in this land of
+commemorative stones—has been erected to perpetuate the glory of his
+signal achievements; no street is called after him. It is as if he had
+never existed. On the contrary, by a queer irony of fate, the roadway
+leading past his convent evokes the memory of a misty heathen poet,
+likewise native of these favoured regions, a man whose name Joseph of
+Copertino had assuredly never heard—Ennius, of whom I can now recall
+nothing save that one unforgettable line which begins “O Tite tute Tati
+tibi——”; Ennius, who never so much as tried to fly, but contented
+himself with singing, in rather bad Latin, of the things of this earth.
+
+_Via Ennio. . . ._
+
+It is the swing of the pendulum. The old pagan, at this moment, may be
+nearer to our ideals and aspirations than the flying monk who died only
+yesterday, so to speak.
+
+But a few years hence—who can tell?
+
+A characteristic episode. I had carefully timed myself to catch the
+returning train to Taranto. Great was my surprise when, half-way to the
+station, I perceived the train swiftly approaching. I raced it, and
+managed to jump into a carriage just as it drew out of the station. The
+guard straightway demanded my ticket and a fine for entering the train
+without one (return tickets, for weighty reasons of “internal
+administration,” are not sold). I looked at my watch, which showed that
+we had left six minutes before the scheduled hour. He produced his; it
+coincided with my own. “No matter,” he said. “I am not responsible for
+the eccentricities of the driver, who probably had some urgent private
+affairs to settle at Taranto. The fine must be paid.” A
+fellow-passenger took a more charitable view of the case. He suggested
+that an inspector of the line had been travelling along with us, and
+that the driver, knowing this, was naturally ambitious to show how fast
+he could go.
+
+A mile or so before reaching Taranto the railway crosses a stream that
+flows into the inland sea. One would be glad to believe those sages who
+hold it to be the far-famed Galaesus. It rises near at hand in a marsh,
+amid mighty tufts of reeds and odorous flowers, and the liquid bubbles
+up in pools of crystalline transparency—deep and perfidious cauldrons
+overhung by the trembling soil on which you stand. These fountains form
+a respectable stream some four hundred yards in length; another copious
+spring rises up in the sea near its mouth. But can this be the river
+whose virtues are extolled by: Virgil, Horace, Martial, Statius,
+Propertius, Strabo, Pliny, Varrò and Columella? What a constellation of
+names around these short-lived waters! Truly, _minuit praesentia
+famam,_ as Boccaccio says of the once-renowned Sebethus.
+
+Often have I visited this site and tried to reconstruct its vanished
+glories. My enthusiasm even led me, some years ago, to the town hall,
+in order to ascertain its true official name, and here they informed me
+that “it is vulgarly called Citrezze; but the correct version is ‘Le
+Giadrezze,’ which, as you are aware, sir, signifies _pleasantness”_
+This functionary was evidently ignorant of the fact that so long ago as
+1771 the learned commentator (Carducci) of the “Delizie Tarentine”
+already sneered at this popular etymology; adding, what is of greater
+interest, that “in the time of our fathers” this region was covered
+with woods and rich in game. In the days of Keppel Craven, the vale was
+“scantily cultivated with cotton.” Looking at it from above, it
+certainly resembles an old river-bed of about five hundred yards in
+breadth, and I hold it possible that the deforestation of the higher
+lands may have suffocated the original sources with soil carried down
+from thence, and forced them to seek a lower level, thus shortening the
+stream and reducing its volume of water.
+
+But who shall decide? If we follow Polybius, another brook at the
+further end of the inland sea has more valid claims to the title of
+Galaesus. Virgil called it “black Galaesus”—a curious epithet, still
+applied to water in Italy as well as in Greece (Mavromati, etc.). “For
+me,” says Gissing, “the Galaesus is the stream I found and tracked,
+whose waters I heard mingle with the little sea.” There is something to
+be said for such an attitude, on the part of a dilettante traveller,
+towards these desperate antiquarian controversies.
+
+[Illustration: Fountains of Galaesus]
+
+It is an agreeable promenade from the Giadrezze rivulet to Taranto
+along the shore of this inland sea. Its clay banks are full of shells
+and potteries of every age, and the shallow waters planted
+with stakes indicating the places where myriads of oysters and mussels
+are bred—indeed, if you look at a map you will observe that the whole
+of this lagoon, as though to shadow forth its signification, is split
+up into two basins like an opened oyster.
+
+Here and there along this beach are fishermen’s huts constructed of
+tree-stems which are smothered under multitudinous ropes of grass,
+ropes of all ages and in every stage of decomposition, some fairly
+fresh, others dissolving once more into amorphous bundles of hay. There
+is a smack of the stone ages, of primeval lake-dwellings, about these
+shelters on the deserted shore; two or three large fetichistic stones
+stand near their entrance; wickerwork objects of dark meaning strew the
+ground; a few stakes emerge, hard by, out of the placid and oozy
+waters. In such a cabin, methinks, dwelt those two old fishermen of
+Theocritus—here they lived and slumbered side by side on a couch of sea
+moss, among the rude implements of their craft.
+
+The habits of these fisherfolk are antique, because the incidents of
+their calling have remained unchanged. Some people have detected traces
+of “Greek” in the looks and language of these of Taranto. I can detect
+nothing of the kind.
+
+And the same with the rest of the population. Hellenic traits have
+disappeared from Taranto, as well they may have done, when one
+remembers its history. It was completely latinized under Augustus, and
+though Byzantines came hither under Nicephorus Phocas—Benjamin of
+Tudela says the inhabitants are “Greeks”—they have long ago become
+merged into the Italian element. Only the barbers seem to have
+preserved something of the old traditions: grandiloquent and terrible
+talkers, like the cooks in Athenæus.
+
+I witnessed an Aristophanic scene in one of their shops lately, when a
+simple-minded stranger, a north Italian—some arsenal official—brought a
+little boy to have his hair cut “not too short” and, on returning from
+a brief visit to the tobacconist next door, found it cropped much
+closer than he liked.
+
+“But, damn it,” he said (or words to that effect), “I told you not to
+cut the hair too short.”
+
+The barber, immaculate and imperturbable, gave a preliminary bow. He
+was collecting his thoughts, and his breath.
+
+“I say, I told you not to cut it too short. It looks horrible——”
+“Horrible? That, sir—pardon my frankness!—is a matter of opinion. I
+fully admit that you desired the child’s hair to be cut not too short.
+Those, in fact, were your very words. Notwithstanding, I venture to
+think you will come round to my point of
+view, on due reflection, like most of my esteemed customers. In the
+first place, there is the ethnological aspect of the question. You are
+doubtless sufficiently versed in history to know that under the late
+regime it was considered improper, if not criminal, to wear a
+moustache. Well, nowadays we think differently. Which proves that
+fashions change; yes, they change, sir; and the wise man bends to
+them—up to a certain point, of course; up to a certain reasonable
+point——” “But, damn it——”
+
+“And in favour of my contention that hair should be worn short
+nowadays, I need only cite the case of His Majesty the King, whose
+august head, we all know, is clipped like that of a racehorse. Horrible
+(as you call it) or not, the system has momentarily the approval of
+royalty, and that alone should suffice for all loyal subjects to deem
+it not unworthy of imitation. Next, there are what one might describe
+as hygienic and climatic considerations. Summer is approaching, sir,
+and apart from certain unpleasant risks which I need not specify, you
+will surely agree with me that the solstitial heat is a needlessly
+severe trial for a boy with long hair. My own children are all cropped
+close, and I have reason to think they are grateful for it. Why not
+yours? Boys may differ in strength or complexion, in moral character
+and mental attainments, but they are remarkably unanimous as to what
+constitutes personal comfort. And it is obviously the duty of parents
+to consult the personal comfort of their offspring—within certain
+reasonable limits, of course——”
+
+“But——”
+
+“Lastly, we come to the much-debated point: I mean the aesthetic side
+of the matter. No doubt, to judge by some old pictures such as those of
+the renowned Mantegna, there must have been a time when men thought
+long hair in children rather beautiful than otherwise. And I am not so
+rigorous as to deny a certain charm to these portraits—a charm which is
+largely due I fancy, to the becoming costumes of the period. At the
+same time——”
+
+The stranger did not trust himself to listen any longer. He threw down
+a coin and walked out of the shop with his son, muttering something not
+very complimentary to the barber’s female relations.
+
+But the other was quite unmoved. “And after all,” he continued,
+addressing the half-opened door through which his visitor had fled,
+“the true question is this: What is ‘too short’? Don’t cut it too
+short, you said. _Che vuol dire?_ An ambiguous phrase!
+“Too short for one man may be too long for another. Everything is
+relative. Yes, gentlemen” (turning to myself and his shop-assistant),
+“everything on this earth is relative.”
+
+With this sole exception, I have hitherto garnered no Hellenic traits
+in Taranto.
+
+Visible even from Giadrezze, on the other side of the inland sea and
+beyond the arsenal, there stands a tall, solitary palm. It is the last,
+the very last, or almost the very last, of a race of giants that
+adorned the gardens which have now been converted into the “New
+Quarter.”I imagine it is the highest existing palm in Italy, and am
+glad to have taken a likeness of it, ere it shall have been cut down
+like the rest of its fellows. Taranto was once celebrated for these
+queenly growths, which the Saracens brought over from their flaming
+Africa.
+
+The same fate has overtaken the trees of the Villa Beaumont, which used
+to be a shady retreat, but was bought by the municipality and forthwith
+“pulizzato”—i.e. cleaned. This is in accordance with that _mutilomania_
+of the south: that love of torturing trees which causes them to prune
+pines till they look like paint-brushes that had been out all night,
+and which explains their infatuation for the much-enduring robinia that
+allows itself to be teased into any pattern suggested by their
+unhealthy phantasy. It is really as if there were something offensive
+to the Latin mind in the sight of a well-grown tree, as if man alone
+had the right of expanding normally. But I must not do the City Fathers
+an injustice. They have planted two rows of cryptomerias. Will people
+never learn that cryptomerias cannot flourish in south Italy? Instead
+of this amateurish gardening, why not consult some competent
+professional, who with bougain-villeas, hibiscus and fifty other such
+plants would soon transform this favoured spot into a miniature
+paradise?
+
+The Villa Beaumont and the road along the Admiralty canal are now the
+citizens’ chief places of disport. Before the year 1869 the Corso
+Vittorio Emmanuele, that skirts the sea on the south side of the old
+town, was their sole promenade. And even this street was built only a
+short time ago. Vainly one conjectures where the medieval Tarentines
+took the air. It must have been like Manfredonia at the present day.
+
+This Corso, which has a most awkward pavement and is otherwise
+disagreeable as looking due south, becomes interesting after sunset.
+Here you may see the young bloods of Taranto leaning in rows against
+the railing with their backs to the sea—they are
+looking across the road whence, from balconies and windows, the fair
+sex are displaying their charms. Never a word is spoken. They merely
+gaze at each other like lovesick puppies; and after watching the
+performance for several evenings, I decided in favour of robuster
+methods—I decided that courtship, under conditions such as the Corso
+supplies, can only be pursued by the very young or the hopelessly
+infatuated. But in the south, this gazing is only part of a huge game.
+They are not really in love at all, these excellent young men—not at
+all, at all; they know better. They are only pretending, because it
+looks manly.
+
+We must revise our conceptions as to the love-passions of these
+southerners; no people are more fundamentally sane in matters of the
+heart; they have none of our obfuscated sentimentality; they are seldom
+naively enamoured, save in early stages of life. It is then that small
+girls of eight or ten may be seen furtively recording their feelings on
+the white walls of their would-be lovers’ houses; these archaic scrawls
+go straight to the point, and are models of what love-letters may
+ultimately become, in the time-saving communities of the future. But
+when the adolescent and perfumed-pink-paper stage is reached, the
+missives relapse into barbarous ambiguity; they grow allegorical and
+wilfully exuberant as a Persian carpet, the effigy of a pierced heart
+at the end, with enormous blood-drops oozing from it, alone furnishing
+a key to the document.
+
+So far they are in earnest, and it is the girl who takes the lead; her
+youthful _innamorato_ ties these letters into bundles and returns them
+conscientiously, in due course, to their respective senders. Seldom
+does a boy make overtures in love; he gets more of it than he knows
+what to do with; he is still torpid, and slightly bored by all these
+attentions.
+
+But presently he wakes up to the fact that he is a man among men, and
+the obsession of “looking manly” becomes a part of his future
+artificial and rhetorical life-scheme. From henceforth he plays to the
+gallery.
+
+[Illustration: Taranto: the last palm]
+
+Reading the city papers, one would think that south Italian youths are
+the most broken-hearted creatures in the world; they are always trying
+to poison themselves for love. Sometimes they succeed, of course; but
+sometimes—dear me, no! Suicides look manly, that is all. They are part
+of the game. The more sensible youngsters know exactly how much
+corrosive sublimate to take without immediate fatal consequences,
+allowing for time to reach the nearest hospital. There, the kindly
+physician and his stomach-pump will perform their duty, and the patient
+wears a
+feather in his cap for the rest of his life. The majority of these
+suicides are on a par with French duels—a harmless institution whereby
+the protagonists honour themselves; they confer, as it were, a patent
+of virility. The country people are as warmblooded as the citizens, but
+they rarely indulge in suicides because—well, there are no hospitals
+handy, and the doctor may be out on his rounds. It is too risky by
+half.
+
+And a good proportion of these suicides are only simulated. The wily
+victim buys some innocuous preparation which sends him into convulsions
+with ghastly symptoms of poisoning, and, after treatment, remains the
+enviable hero of a mysterious masculine passion. Ask any town
+apothecary. A doctor friend of mine lately analysed the results of his
+benevolent exertions upon a young man who had been seen to drink some
+dreadful liquid out of a bottle, and was carried to his surgery,
+writhing in most artistic agonies. He found not only no poison, but not
+the slightest trace of any irritant whatever.
+
+The true courtship of these Don Giovannis of Taranto will be quite
+another affair—a cash transaction, and no credit allowed. They will
+select a life partner, upon the advice of _ma mère_ and a strong
+committee of uncles and aunts, but not until the military service is
+terminated. Everything in its proper time and place.
+
+Meanwhile they gaze and perhaps even serenade. This looks as if they
+were furiously in love, and has therefore been included among the rules
+of the game. Youth must keep up the poetic tradition of “fiery.”
+Besides, it is an inexpensive pastime—the cinematograph costs forty
+centimes—and you really cannot sit in the barber’s all night long.
+
+But catch them marrying the wrong girl!
+
+POSTSCRIPT.—Here are two samples of youthful love-letters from my
+collection.
+
+1.—From a disappointed maiden, aged 13. Interesting, because
+intermediate between the archaic and pink-paper stages:
+
+“IDOL OF MY HEART,
+
+“Do not the stars call you when you look to Heaven? Does not the moon
+tell you, the black-cap on the willow when it says farewell to the sun?
+The birds of nature, the dreary country sadly covered by a few flowers
+that remain there? Once your look was passionate and pierced me like a
+sunny ray, now it seems the flame of a day. Does nothing tell you of
+imperishable love?” I love you and love you as (illegible) loves its
+liberty, as the
+corn in the fields loves the sun, as the sailor loves the sea tranquil
+or stormy. To you I would give my felicity, my future; for one of your
+words I would spill my blood drop by drop.
+
+“Of all my lovers you are the only ideal consort _(consorto)_ to whom I
+would give my love and all the expansion of my soul and youthful
+enthusiasm _(intusiamo),_ the greatest enthusiasm _(co-tusiamo)_ my
+heart has ever known. O cruel one who has deigned to put his sweet
+poison in my heart to-day, while to-morrow you will pass me with
+indifference. Cold, proud as ever, serious and disdainful—you
+understand? However that may be, I send you the unrepenting cry of my
+rebellious heart: I love you!
+
+“It is late at night, and I am still awake, and at this hour my soul is
+sadder than ever in its great isolation _(insolamende);_ I look on my
+past love and your dear image. Too much I love you and (illegible)
+without your affection.
+
+“How sadly I remember your sweet words whispered on a pathetic evening
+when everything around was fair and rosy. How happy I then was when
+life seemed radiant with felicity and brightened by your love. And now
+nothing more remains of it; everything is finished. How sad even to say
+it. My heart is shipwrecked far, far away from that happiness which I
+sought.”
+
+(Three further pages of this.)
+
+2.—From a boy of 14 who takes the initiative; such letters are rare.
+Note the business-like brevity.
+
+“DEAR Miss ANNE,
+
+I write you these few lines to say that I have understood your
+character _(carattolo)._ Therefore, if I may have the honour of being
+your sweetheart, you will let me know the answer at your pleasure. I
+salute you, and remain,
+
+“Signing myself,” SALVATORE. “Prompt reply requested!”
+
+
+
+
+XII
+MOLLE TARENTUM
+
+
+One looks into the faces of these Tarentines and listens to their
+casual conversations, trying to unravel what manner of life is theirs.
+But it is difficult to avoid reading into their characters what history
+leads one to think should be there.
+
+The upper classes, among whom I have some acquaintance, are mellow and
+enlightened; it is really as if something of the honied spirit of those
+old Greek sages still brooded over them. Their charm lies in the fact
+that they are civilized without being commercialized. Their politeness
+is unstrained, their suaveness congenital; they remind me of that New
+England type which for Western self-assertion substitutes a yielding
+graciousness of disposition. So it is with persistent gentle
+upbringing, at Taranto and elsewhere. It tones the individual to
+reposeful sweetness; one by one, his anfractuosities are worn off; he
+becomes as a pebble tossed in the waters, smooth, burnished, and (to
+outward appearances) indistinguishable from his fellows.
+
+But I do not care about the ordinary city folk. They have an air of
+elaborate superciliousness which testifies to ages of systematic
+half-culture. They seem to utter that hopeless word, _connu!_ And what,
+as a matter of fact, do they know? They are only dreaming in their
+little backwater, like the oysters of the lagoon, distrustful of
+extraneous matter and oblivious of the movement in a world of men
+beyond their shell. You hear next to nothing of “America,” that
+fruitful source of fresh notions; there is no emigration to speak of;
+the population is not sufficiently energetic—they prefer to stay at
+home. Nor do they care much about the politics of their own country:
+one sees less newspapers here than in most Italian towns. “Our middle
+classes,” said my friend the Italian deputy of whom I have already
+spoken, “are like our mules: to be endurable, they must be worked
+thirteen hours out of the twelve.” But these have no industries to keep
+them awake, no sports, no ambitions; and this has gone on for long
+centuries, In Taranto it is always afternoon. “The Tarentines,” says
+Strabo, “have more holidays than workdays in the year.”
+
+And never was city-population more completely cut off from the country;
+never was wider gulf between peasant and townsman. There are charming
+walks beyond the New Quarter—a level region, with olives and figs and
+almonds and pomegranates standing knee-deep in ripe odorous wheat; but
+the citizens might be living at Timbuctu for all they know of these
+things. It rains little here; on the occasion of my last visit not a
+drop had fallen _for fourteen months;_ and consequently the country
+roads are generally smothered in dust. Now, dusty boots are a scandal
+and an offence in the eyes of the gentle burghers, who accordingly
+never issue out of their town walls. They have forgotten the use of
+ordinary appliances of country life, such as thick boots and
+walking-sticks; you will not see them hereabouts. Unaware of this
+idiosyncrasy, I used to carry a stick on my way through the streets
+into the surroundings, but left it at home on learning that I was
+regarded as a kind of perambulating earthquake. The spectacle of a man
+clattering through the streets on horseback, such as one often sees at
+Venosa, would cause them to barricade their doors and prepare for the
+last judgment.
+
+Altogether, essentially nice creatures, lotus-eaters, fearful of fuss
+or novelty, and drowsily satisfied with themselves and life in general.
+The breezy healthfulness of travel, the teachings of art or science,
+the joys of rivers and green lanes—all these things are a closed book
+to them. Their interests are narrowed down to the purely human: a case
+of partial atrophy. For the purely human needs a corrective; it is not
+sufficiently humbling, and that is exactly what makes them so
+supercilious. We must take a little account of the Cosmos nowadays—it
+helps to rectify our bearings. They have their history, no doubt. But
+save for that one gleam of Periclean sunshine the record, though long
+and varied, is sufficiently inglorious and does not testify to undue
+exertions.
+
+A change is at hand.
+
+Gregorovius lamented the filthy condition of the old town. It is now
+spotless.
+
+He deplored that Taranto possessed no museum. This again is changed,
+and the provincial museum here is justly praised, though the traveller
+may be annoyed at finding his favourite rooms temporarily closed (is
+there any museum in Italy not “partially closed for alterations”?). New
+accessions to its store are continually pouring in; so they lately
+discovered, in a tomb, a Hellenistic statuette of Eros and Aphrodite,
+30 centimetres high, terra-cotta work of the third century. The goddess
+stands,
+half-timidly, while Eros alights in airy fashion on her shoulders and
+fans her with his wings—an exquisite little thing.
+
+He was grieved, likewise, that no public collection of books existed
+here. But the newly founded municipal library is all that can be
+desired. The stranger is cordially welcomed within its walls and may
+peruse, at his leisure, old Galateus, Giovan Giovene, and the rest of
+them.
+
+Wandering among those shelves, I hit upon a recent volume (1910) which
+gave me more food for thought than any of these ancients. It is called
+“Cose di Puglie,” and contains some dozen articles, all by writers of
+this province of old Calabria,[1] on matters of exclusively local
+interest—its history, meteorology, dialects, classical references to
+the country, extracts from old economic documents, notes on the
+development of Apulian printing, examples of modern local caricature,
+descriptions of mediæval monuments; a kind of anthology, in short, of
+provincial lore. The typography, paper and illustrations of this
+remarkable volume are beyond all praise; they would do honour to the
+best firm in London or Paris. What is this book? It is no commercial
+speculation at all; it is a wedding present to a newly married couple—a
+bouquet of flowers, of intellectual blossoms, culled from their native
+Apulian meadows. One notes with pleasure that the happy pair are
+neither dukes nor princes. There is no trace of snobbishness in the
+offering, which is simply a spontaneous expression of good wishes on
+the part of a few friends. But surely it testifies to most refined
+feelings. How immeasurably does this permanent and yet immaterial feast
+differ from our gross wedding banquets and ponderous gilt clocks and
+tea services! Such persons cannot but have the highest reverence for
+things of the mind; such a gift is the fairest efflorescence of
+civilization. And this is only another aspect of that undercurrent of
+spirituality in south Italy of whose existence the tourist, harassed by
+sordid preoccupations, remains wholly unaware.
+
+ [1] It included the heel of Italy.
+
+This book was printed at Bari. Bari, not long ago, consisted of a dark
+and tortuous old town, exactly like the citadel of Taranto. It has now
+its glaring New Quarter, not a whit less disagreeable than the one
+here. Why should Taranto not follow suit in the matter of culture?
+Heraclea, Sybaris and all the Greek settlements along this coast have
+vanished from earth; only Taranto and Cotrone have survived to carry
+on, if they can, the old traditions. They have survived, thanks to
+peculiar physical conditions that have safeguarded them from invaders.
+. . .
+
+But these very conditions have entailed certain drawbacks—drawbacks
+which Buckle would have lovingly enumerated to prove their influence
+upon the habits and disposition of the Tarentines. That marine
+situation . . . only think of three thousand years of scirocco, summer
+and winter! It is alone enough to explain _molle Tarentum—_enough to
+drain the energy out of a Newfoundland puppy! And then, the odious dust
+of the country roadways—for it _is_ odious. Had the soil been granitic,
+or even of the ordinary Apennine limestone, the population might have
+remained in closer contact with wild things of nature, and retained a
+perennial fountain of enjoyment and inspiration. A particular kind of
+rock, therefore, has helped to make them sluggish and incurious. The
+insularity of their citadel has worked in the same direction, by
+focussing their interests upon the purely human. That inland sea,
+again: were it not an ideal breeding-place for shell-fish, the
+Tarentines would long ago have learnt to vary their diet. Thirty
+centuries of mussel-eating cannot but impair the physical tone of a
+people.
+
+And had the inland sea not existed, the Government would not have been
+tempted to establish that arsenal which has led to the erection of the
+new town and consequent municipal exactions. “The arsenal,” said a
+grumbling old boatman to me, “was the beginning of our purgatory.” A
+milk diet would work wonders with the health and spirits of the
+citizens. But since the building of the new quarter, such a diet has
+become a luxury; cows and goats will soon be scarce as the megatherium.
+There is a tax of a franc a day on every cow, and a herd of ten goats,
+barely enough to keep a poor man alive, must pay annually 380 francs in
+octroi. These and other legalized robberies, which among a more virile
+populace would cause the mayor and town council to be forthwith
+attached to the nearest lamp-post, are patiently borne. It is _imbelle
+Tarentum—_a race without grit.
+
+I would also recommend the burghers some vegetables, so desirable for
+their sedentary habits, but there again! it seems to be a peculiarity
+of the local soil to produce hardly a leaf of salad or cabbage.
+Potatoes are plainly regarded as an exotic—they are the size of English
+peas, and make me think of Ruskin’s letter to those old ladies
+describing the asparagus somewhere in Tuscany. And all this to the
+waiter’s undisguised astonishment.
+
+“The gentleman is rich enough to pay for meat. Why trouble about this
+kind of food?”...
+
+And yet—a change is at hand. These southern regions are waking up from
+their slumber of ages. Already some of Italy’s
+acutest thinkers and most brilliant politicians are drawn from these
+long-neglected shores. For we must rid ourselves of that incubus of
+“immutable race characters”: think only of our Anglo-Saxon race! What
+has the Englishman of to-day in common with that rather lovable fop,
+drunkard and bully who would faint with ecstasy over Byron’s _Parisina_
+after pistolling his best friend in a duel about a wench or a lap-dog?
+Such differences as exist between races of men, exist only at a given
+moment.
+
+And what, I sometimes ask myself—what is now the distinguishing feature
+between these southern men and ourselves? Briefly this, I think. In
+mundane matters, where the personal equation dominates, their judgment
+is apt to be turbid and perverse; but as one rises into questions of
+pure intelligence, it becomes serenely impartial. We, on the other
+hand, who are pre-eminently clear-sighted in worldly concerns of law
+and government and in all subsidiary branches of mentality, cannot
+bring ourselves to reason dispassionately on non-practical subjects.
+“L’esprit aussi a sa pudeur,” says Remy de Gourmont. Well, this _pudeur
+de l’esprit,_ discouraged among the highest classes in England, is the
+hall-mark of respectability hereabouts. A very real difference, at this
+particular moment. . . .
+
+There is an end of philosophizing.
+
+They have ousted me from my pleasant quarters, the landlady’s son and
+daughter-in-law having returned unexpectedly and claiming their
+apartments. I have taken refuge in a hotel. My peace is gone; my days
+in Taranto are numbered.
+
+Loath to depart, I linger by the beach of the Ionian Sea beyond the new
+town. It is littered with shells and holothurians, with antique tesser»
+of blue glass and marble fragments, with white mosaic pavements and
+potteries of every age, from the glossy Greco-Roman ware whose
+delicately embossed shell devices are emblematic of this sea-girt city,
+down to the grosser products of yesterday. Of marbles I have found
+_cipollino, pavonazzetto, giallo_ and _rosso antico,_ but no harder
+materials such as porphyry or serpentine. This, and the fact that the
+mosaics are pure white, suggests that the houses here must have dated,
+at latest, from Augustan times.[2]
+
+ [2] Nor is there any of the fashionable _verde_ _antico,_ and this
+ points in the same direction. Corsi says nothing as to the date of its
+ introduction, and I have not read the treatise of Silenziario, but my
+ own observations lead me to think that the _lapis_ _atracius_ can
+ hardly have been known under Tiberius. Not so those hard ones: they
+ imported wholesale by his predecessor Augustus, who was anxious to be
+ known as a scorner of luxury (a favourite pose with monarchs), yet
+ spent incalculable sums on ornamental stones both for public and
+ private ends. One is struck by a certain waste of material; either the
+ expense was deliberately disregarded or finer methods of working the
+ stones were not yet in vogue. A revolution in the technique of
+ stone-cutting must have set in soon after his death, for thenceforward
+ we find the most intractable rocks cut into slices thin as card-board:
+ too thin for pavements, and presumably for encrusting walls and
+ colonnades. The Augustans, unable to produce these effects naturally,
+ attempted imitation-stones, and with wonderful success. I have a
+ fragment of their plaster postiche copying the close-grained Egyptian
+ granite; the oily lustre of the quartz is so fresh and the peculiar
+ structure of the rock, with its mica scintillations, so admirably
+ rendered as to deceive, after two thousand years, the eye of a trained
+ mineralogist.
+
+Here I sit, on the tepid shingle, listening to the plash of the waves
+and watching the sun as it sinks over the western mountains that are
+veiled in mists during the full daylight, but loom up, at this sunset
+hour, as from a fabulous world of gold. Yonder lies the Calabrian Sila
+forest, the brigands’ country. I will attack it by way of Rossano, and
+thence wander, past Longobucco, across the whole region. It may be
+well, after all, to come again into contact with streams and woodlands,
+after this drenching of classical associations and formal civic life!
+
+Near me stands a shore-battery which used to be called “Batteria
+Chianca.” It was here they found, some twenty years ago, a fine marble
+head described as a Venus, and now preserved in the local museum. I
+observe that this fort has lately been re-christened “Batteria
+Archyta.” Can this be due to a burst of patriotism for the Greek
+warrior-sage who ruled Taranto, or is it a subtle device to mislead the
+foreign spy?
+
+Here, too, are kilns where they burn the blue clay into tiles and
+vases. I time a small boy at work shaping the former. His average
+output is five tiles in four minutes, including the carrying to and fro
+of the moist clay; his wages about a shilling a day. But if you wish to
+see the manufacture of more complicated potteries, you must go to the
+unclean quarter beyond the railway station. Once there, you will not
+soon weary of that potter’s wheel and the fair shapes that blossom
+forth under its enchanted touch. This ware of Taranto is sent by sea to
+many parts of south Italy, and you may see picturesque groups of it,
+here and there, at the street corners.
+
+Hardly has the sun disappeared before the lighthouse in the east begins
+to flash. The promontory on which it stands is called San Vito after
+one of the musty saints, now almost forgotten, whose names survive
+along these shores. Stoutly this venerable one defended his ancient
+worship against the radiant and victorious Madonna; nor did she
+dislodge him from a certain famous sanctuary save by the questionable
+expedient of adopting his
+name: she called herself S. M. “della Vita.” That settled it. He came
+from Mazzara in Sicily, whither they still carry, to his lonely shrine,
+epileptics and others distraught in mind. And were I in a discursive
+mood, I would endeavour to trace some connection between his
+establishment here and the tarantella—between St. Vitus’ dance and that
+other one which cured, they say, the bite of the Tarentine spider.
+
+But I am not inclined for such matters at present. The Cala-brian
+uplands are still visible in the gathering twilight; they draw me
+onwards, away from Taranto. It must be cool up there, among the firs
+and beeches.
+
+And a land, moreover, of multiple memories and interests—this Calabria.
+A land of great men. In 1737 the learned Aceti was able to enumerate
+over two thousand celebrated Calabrians—athletes, generals, musicians,
+centenarians, inventors, martyrs, ten popes, ten kings, as well as some
+sixty conspicuous women. A land of thinkers. Old Zavarroni, born in
+1705, gives us a list of seven hundred Calabrian writers; and I, for
+one, would not care to bring his catalogue up to date. The recently
+acquired _Biblioteca Calabra_ at Naples alone contains God knows how
+many items, nearly all modern!
+
+And who shall recount its natural attractions? Says another old writer:
+
+“Here is all sorts of Corn, sundry Wines, and in great abundance, all
+kinds of Fruits, Oyle, Hony, Wax, Saffron, Bombace, Annis and Coriander
+seeds. There groweth Gum, Pitch, Turpentine and liquid Storax. In
+former times it was never without Mettals, but at this present it doth
+much abound, having in most parts divers sorts of Mines, as Gold,
+Silver, Iron, Marble, Alabaster, Cristal, Marchesite, three sorts of
+white Chaulk, Virmilion, Alume, Brimstone, and the Adamant stone, which
+being in the fifth degree, draweth not Iron, and is in colour black.
+There groweth hemp and flax of two sorts, the one called the male, the
+other the female: there falleth Manna from heaven, truly a thing very
+rare; and although there is not gathered such abundance of Silk, yet I
+dare say there is not had so much in all _Italy_ besides. There are
+also bathes, both hot, luke-warm, and cold, to cure many diseases. Near
+the Seaside, and likewise on the Mediterrane are goodly Gardens full of
+Oringes, Citrons, and Lemons of divers sorts. It is watered with many
+Rivers. There are on the hils of the Apennine, thick Woods of high
+Firrs, Holms, Platanes, Oaks, where grows the white odoriferous
+Mushrome which shineth in the night. Here is bred the soft stone
+_Frigia,_ which every month
+yields a delicate and wholesome Gum, and the stone _Aetites,_ by us
+called the stone _Aquilina._ In this Province there is excellent
+hunting of divers creatures, as wild Hoggs, Staggs, Goats, Hares,
+Foxes, Porcupines, Marmosets. There are also ravenous beasts, as
+Wolves, Bears, Luzards, which are quick-sighted, and have the hinder
+parts spotted with divers colours. This kind of Beast was brought from
+_France_ to _Rome_ in the sports of _Pompey_ the great, and Hunters
+affirm this Beast to be of so frail a memory, that although he eateth
+with hunger, if he chance to look back, remembreth no more his meat,
+and departing searcheth for other.” Who would not visit Calabria, if
+only on the chance of beholding the speckled posterior of the
+absent-minded Luzard?
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+INTO THE JUNGLE
+
+
+This short plunge into the jungle was a relief, after the all-too-human
+experiences of Taranto. The forest of Policoro skirts the Ionian; the
+railway line cleaves it into two unequal portions, the seaward tract
+being the smaller. It is bounded on the west by the river Sinno, and I
+imagine the place has not changed much since the days when Keppel
+Craven explored its recesses.
+
+Twilight reigns in this maze of tall deciduous trees. There is thick
+undergrowth, too; and I measured an old lentiscus—a shrub, in
+Italy—which was three metres in circumference. But the exotic feature
+of the grove is its wealth of creeping vines that clamber up the
+trunks, swinging from one tree-top to another, and allowing the merest
+threads of sunlight to filter through their matted canopy. Policoro has
+the tangled beauty of a tropical swamp. Rank odours arise from the
+decaying leaves and moist earth; and once within that verdant
+labyrinth, you might well fancy yourself in some primeval region of the
+globe, where the foot of man has never penetrated.
+
+Yet long ago it resounded with the din of battle and the trumpeting of
+elephants—in that furious first battle between Pyrrhus and the Romans.
+And here, under the very soil on which you stand, lies buried, they
+say, the ancient city of Siris.
+
+They have dug canals to drain off the moisture as much as possible, but
+the ground is marshy in many places and often quite impassable,
+especially in winter. None the less, winter is the time when a little
+shooting is done here, chiefly wild boars and roe-deer. They are driven
+down towards the sea, but only as far as the railway line. Those that
+escape into the lower portions are safe for another year, as this is
+never shot over but kept as a permanent preserve. I have been told that
+red-deer were introduced, but that the experiment failed; probably the
+country was too hot and damp. In his account of Calabria, Duret de
+Tavel[1] sometimes speaks of killing the fallow-deer, an autochthonous
+Tyrrhenian beast which is now extinct on the mainland in its wild
+state. Nor can he be confounding it with the roe, since he mentions the
+two together—for instance, in the following note from Corigliano
+(February, 1809), which must make the modern Calabrian’s mouth water:
+
+ [1] An English translation of his book appeared in 1832.
+
+“Game has multiplied to such an extent that the fields are ravaged, and
+we are rendering a real service in destroying it. I question whether
+there exists in Europe a country offering more varied species. . . . We
+return home followed by carriages and mules loaded with wild boars,
+roe-deer, fallow-deer, hares, pheasants, wild duck, wild geese—to say
+nothing of foxes and wolves, of which we have already killed an immense
+quantity.”
+
+The pheasants seem to have likewise died out, save in royal preserves.
+They were introduced into Calabria by that mighty hunter Frederick II.
+
+The parcelling out of many of these big properties has been followed by
+a destruction of woodland and complete disappearance of game. It is
+hailed as the beginning of a new era of prosperity; and so it well may
+be, from a commercial point of view. But the traveller and lover of
+nature will be glad to leave some of these wild districts in the hands
+of their rich owners, who have no great interests in cultivating every
+inch of ground, levelling rocky spaces, draining the land and hewing
+down every tree that fails to bear fruit. Split into peasant
+proprietorships, this forest would soon become a scientifically
+irrigated campagna for the cultivation of tomatoes or what not, like
+the “Colonia Elena,” near the Pontine Marshes. The national exchequer
+would profit, without a doubt. But I question whether we should all
+take the economical point of view—whether it would be wise for humanity
+to do so. There is a prosperity other than material. Some solitary
+artist or poet, drawing inspiration from scenes like this, might have
+contributed more to the happiness of mankind than a legion of
+narrow-minded, grimy and litigious tomato-planters.
+
+To all appearances, Italy is infected just now with a laudable mania
+for the “exploitation of natural resources”—at the expense, of course,
+of wealthy landowners, who are described as withholding from the people
+their due. The programme sounds reasonable enough; but one must not
+forget that what one reads on this subject in the daily papers is
+largely the campaign of a class of irresponsible pressmen and
+politicians, who exploit the ignorance of weak people to fill their own
+pockets. How one learns to loathe, in Italy and in England, that lovely
+word _socialism,_ when one knows a little of the inner workings of the
+cause and a few—just a
+few!—details of the private lives of these unsavoury saviours of their
+country!
+
+The lot of the southern serfs was bad enough before America was
+“discovered”; and quite unendurable in earlier times. There is a
+village not many hours from Naples where, in 1789, only the personal
+attendants of the feudal lord lived in ordinary houses; the two
+thousand inhabitants, the serfs, took refuge in caves and shelters of
+straw. Conceive the conditions in remote Calabria! Such was the
+anguished poverty of the country-folk that up to the eighties of last
+century they used to sell their children by regular contracts, duly
+attested before the local mayors. But nowadays I listen to their
+complaints with comparative indifference.
+
+“You are badly treated, my friend? I quite believe it; indeed, I can
+see it. Well, go to Argentina and sell potatoes, or to the mines of
+Pennsylvania. There you will grow rich, like the rest of your
+compatriots. Then return and send your sons to the University; let them
+become _avvocati_ and members of Parliament, who shall harass into
+their graves these wicked owners of the soil.”
+
+This, as a matter of fact, is the career of a considerable number of
+them.
+
+For the rest, the domain of Policoro—it is spelt _Pelicaro_ in older
+maps like those of Magini and Rizzi-Zannone—seems to be well
+administered, and would repay a careful study. I was not encouraged,
+however, to undertake this study, the manager evidently suspecting some
+ulterior motive to underlie my simple questions. He was not at all
+responsive to friendly overtures. Restive at first, he soon waxed
+ambiguous, and finally taciturn. Perhaps he thought I was a
+tax-gatherer in disguise. A large structure combining the features of
+palace, fortress and convent occupies an eminence, and is supposed by
+some to stand on the site of old Heracleia; it was erected by the
+Jesuits; the work-people live in humble dwellings that cluster around
+it. Those that are now engaged in cutting the corn receive a daily wage
+of two carlini (eightpence)—the Bourbon coinage still survives in name.
+
+You walk to this building from the station along an avenue of eucalypti
+planted some forty years ago. Detesting, as I do, the whole tribe of
+gum trees, I never lose an opportunity of saying exactly what I think
+about this particularly odious representative of the brood, this
+eyesore, this grey-haired scarecrow, this reptile of a growth with
+which a pack of misguided enthusiasts have
+disfigured the entire Mediterranean basin. They have now realized that
+it is useless as a protection against malaria. Soon enough they will
+learn that instead of preventing the disease, it actually fosters it,
+by harbouring clouds of mosquitoes under its scraggy so-called foliage.
+These abominations may look better on their native heath: I sincerely
+hope they do. Judging by the “Dead Heart of Australia”—a book which
+gave me a nightmare from which I shall never recover—I should say that
+a varnished hop-pole would be an artistic godsend out there.
+
+But from here the intruder should be expelled without mercy. A single
+eucalyptus will ruin the fairest landscape. No plant on earth rustles
+in such a horribly metallic fashion when the wind blows through those
+everlastingly withered branches; the noise chills one to the marrow; it
+is like the sibilant chattering of ghosts. Its oil is called
+“medicinal” only because it happens to smell rather nasty; it is
+worthless as timber, objectionable in form and hue—objectionable, above
+all things, in its perverse, anti-human habits. What other tree would
+have the effrontery to turn the sharp edges of its leaves—as if these
+were not narrow enough already!—towards the sun, so as to be sure of
+giving at all hours of the day the minimum of shade and maximum of
+discomfort to mankind?
+
+But I confess that this avenue of Policoro almost reconciled me to the
+existence of the anaemic Antipodeans. Almost; since for some reason or
+other (perhaps on account of the insufferably foul nature of the soil)
+their foliage is here thickly tufted; it glows like burnished bronze in
+the sunshine, like enamelled scales of green and gold. These eucalypti
+are unique in Italy. Gazing upon them, my heart softened and I almost
+forgave the gums their manifold iniquities, their diabolical thirst,
+their demoralizing aspect of precocious senility and vice, their
+peeling bark suggestive of unmentionable skin diseases, and that system
+of radication which is nothing short of a scandal on this side of the
+globe. . . .
+
+In the exuberance of his joy at the prospect of getting rid of me, the
+manager of the estate lent me a dog-cart to convey me to the forest’s
+edge, as well as a sleepy-looking boy for a guide, warning me, however,
+not to put so much as the point of my nose inside the jungle, on
+account of the malaria which has already begun to infect the district.
+One sees all too many wan faces hereabouts. Visible from the
+intervening plain is a large building on the summit of a hill; it is
+called Acinapura, and this is the place I should have gone to, had time
+permitted, for the sake of the fine view which it must afford over the
+whole Policoro region.
+Herds of buffaloes wallow in the mire. An old bull, reposing in
+solitary grandeur, allowed me so near an approach that I was able to
+see two or three frogs hopping about his back, and engaged in catching
+the mosquitoes that troubled him. How useful, if something equally
+efficient and inexpensive could be devised for humanity!
+
+[Illustration: Buffalo at Policoro]
+
+We entered the darksome forest. The boy, who had hitherto confined
+himself to monosyllables, suddenly woke up under its mysterious
+influence; he became alert and affable; he related thrilling tales of
+the outlaws who used to haunt these thickets, lamenting that those
+happy days were over. There were the makings of a first-class brigand
+in Paolo. I stimulated his brave fancy; and it was finally proposed
+that I should establish myself permanently with the manager of the
+estate, so that on Sundays we could have some brigand-sport together,
+on the sly.
+
+Then out again—into the broad and sunlit bed of the Sinno. The water
+now ripples in bland content down a waste of shining pebbles. But its
+wintry convulsions are terrific, and higher up the stream, where the
+banks are steep, many lives are lost in those angry floods that rush
+down from the hill-sides, filling the riverbed with a turmoil of
+crested waves. At such moments, these torrents put on new faces. From
+placid waterways they are transformed into living monsters, Aegirs or
+dragons, that roll themselves seaward, out of their dark caverns, in
+tawny coils of destruction.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+DRAGONS
+
+
+And precisely this angry aspect of the waters has been acclaimed as one
+of the origins of that river-dragon idea which used to be common in
+south Italy, before the blight of Spaniardism fell upon the land and
+withered up the pagan myth-making faculty. There are streams still
+perpetuating this name—the rivulet Dragone, for instance, which falls
+into the Ionian not far from Cape Colonne.
+
+A non-angry aspect of them has also been suggested as the origin: the
+tortuous wanderings of rivers in the plains, like the Meander, that
+recall the convolutions of the serpent. For serpent and dragon are apt
+to be synonymous with the ancients.
+
+Both these explanations, I think, are late developments in the
+evolution of the dragon-image. They leave one still puzzling as to what
+may be the aboriginal conception underlying this legendary beast of
+earth and clouds and waters. We must go further back.
+
+What is a dragon? An animal, one might say, which looks or regards
+(Greek _drakon);_ so called, presumably, from its terrible eyes. Homer
+has passages which bear out this interpretation:
+
+Σμερδαλέον δὲ δέδορκεν, etc.
+
+Now the Greeks were certainly sensitive to the expression of animal
+eyes—witness “cow-eyed” Hera, or the opprobrious epithet “dog-eyed”;
+altogether, the more we study what is left of their zoological
+researches, the more we realize what close observers they were in
+natural history. Aristotle, for instance, points out sexual differences
+in the feet of the crawfish which were overlooked up to a short time
+ago. And Hesiod also insists upon the dragon’s eyes. Yet it is
+significant that _ophis,_ the snake, is derived, like _drakon,_ from a
+root meaning nothing more than to perceive or regard. There is no
+connotation of ferocity in either of the words. Gesner long ago
+suspected that the dragon was so called simply from its keen or rapid
+perception.
+
+One likes to search for some existing animal prototype of a
+fabled creature like this, seeing that to invent such things out of
+sheer nothing is a feat beyond human ingenuity—or, at least, beyond
+what the history of others of their kind leads us to expect. It may
+well be that the Homeric writer was acquainted with the Uromastix
+lizard that occurs in Asia Minor, and whoever has watched this beast,
+as I have done, cannot fail to have been impressed by its contemplative
+gestures, as if it were gazing intently _(drakon)_ at something. It is,
+moreover, a “dweller in rocky places,” and more than this, a
+vegetarian—an “eater of poisonous herbs” as Homer somewhere calls his
+dragon. So Aristotle says: “When the dragon has eaten much fruit, he
+seeks the juice of the bitter lettuce; he has been seen to do this.”
+
+Are we tracking the dragon to his lair? Is this the aboriginal beast?
+Not at all, I should say. On the contrary, this is a mere side-issue,
+to follow which would lead us astray. The reptile-dragon was invented
+when men had begun to forget what the arch-dragon was; it is the
+product of a later stage—the materializing stage; that stage when
+humanity sought to explain, in naturalistic fashion, the obscure
+traditions of the past. We must delve still deeper. . . .
+
+My own dragon theory is far-fetched—perhaps necessarily so, dragons
+being somewhat remote animals. The dragon, I hold, is the
+personification of the life within the earth—of that life which, being
+unknown and uncontrollable, is _eo ipso_ hostile to man. Let me explain
+how this point is reached.
+
+The animal which _looks or regards. . . ._ Why—why an animal? Why not
+_drakon =_ that which looks?
+
+Now, what looks?
+
+The eye.
+
+This is the key to the understanding of the problem, the key to the
+subterranean dragon-world.
+
+The conceit of fountains or sources of water being things that see
+_(drakon)—_that is, eyes—or bearing some resemblance to eyes, is common
+to many races. In Italy, for example, two springs in the inland sea
+near Taranto are called “Occhi”—eyes; Arabs speak of a watery fountain
+as an eye; the notion exists in England top—in the “Blentarn” of
+Cumberland, the blind tarn (tarn = a trickling of tears), which is
+“blind” because dry and waterless, and therefore lacking the bright
+lustre of the open eye.
+
+There is an eye, then, in the fountain: an eye which looks or regards.
+And inasmuch as an eye presupposes a head, and a head without body is
+hard to conceive, a material existence was presently
+imputed to that which looked upwards out of the liquid depths. This, I
+think, is the primordial dragon, the archetype. He is of animistic
+descent and survives all over the earth; and it is precisely this
+universality of the dragon-idea which induces me to discard all
+theories of local origin and to seek for some common cause. Fountains
+are ubiquitous, and so are dragons. There are fountain dragons in
+Japan, in the superstitions of Keltic races, in the Mediterranean
+basin. The dragon of Wantley lived in a well; the Lambton Worm began
+life in fresh water, and only took to dry land later on. I have
+elsewhere spoken of the Manfredonia legend of Saint Lorenzo and the
+dragon, an indigenous fable connected, I suspect, with the fountain
+near the harbour of that town, and quite independent of the
+newly-imported legend of Saint Michael. Various springs in Greece and
+Italy are called Dragoneria; there is a cave-fountain Dragonara on
+Malta, and another of the same name near Cape Misenum—all are sources
+of apposite lore. The water-drac. . . .
+
+So the dragon has grown into a subterranean monster, who peers up from
+his dark abode wherever he can—out of fountains or caverns whence
+fountains issue. It stands to reason that he is sleepless; all dragons
+are “sleepless”; their eyes are eternally open, for the luminous
+sparkle of living waters never waxes dim. And bold adventurers may well
+be devoured by dragons when they fall into these watery rents, never to
+appear again.
+
+Furthermore, since gold and other treasures dear to mankind lie hidden
+in the stony bowels of the earth and are hard to attain, the jealous
+dragon has been accredited with their guardianship—hence the plutonic
+element in his nature. The dragon, whose “ever-open eye” protected the
+garden of the Hesperides, was the _Son of Earth._ The earth or
+cave-dragon. . . . Calabria has some of these dragons’ caves; you can
+read about them in the _Campania. Sotteranea_ of G. Sanchez.
+
+[Illustration: The Sinno River]
+
+In volcanic regions there are fissures in the rocks exhaling
+pestiferous emanations; these are the _spiracula,_ the breathing-holes,
+of the dragon within. The dragon legends of Naples and Mondragone are
+probably of this origin, and so is that of the Roman Campagna (1660)
+where the dragon-killer died from the effects of this poisonous breath.
+Sometimes the confined monster issues in a destructive
+lava-torrent—Bellerophon and the Chimæra. The fire-dragon. ... Or
+floods of water suddenly stream down from the hills and fountains are
+released. It is the hungry dragon, rushing from his den in search of
+prey; the river-dragon. . . . He rages among the mountains with such
+swiftness and impetuosity
+that wings must be his portion; yes, he can cleave the heavens in the
+guise of lightning, or descend upon the fertile fields as a ruinous
+thunderstorm; the cloud-dragon. . . . Or again, he remains permanently
+overhead, a flaming meteor in the firmament; this is the _draco volans_
+of the schoolmen.
+
+In all his protean manifestations, he represents the envious and
+devastating principle; the spleenful wrath of untamed (untamable)
+telluric forces. Everything strong and spiteful has conspired to
+fashion our conception of the dragon. No wonder mankind, impotent,
+offers sacrifices to propitiate his rage. These tributary offerings are
+the dragon’s due—the toll exacted from the weak by the strong in all
+mundane affairs. They are paid until the dragon-killer appears, that
+rare mortal who puts an end to his depredations. For the real dragon
+must be exterminated; he cannot be mollified by kindness; nobody ever
+heard of a domesticated dragon; compromise is out of the question. Only
+the victim of Saint George allowed himself to be led like a “meke
+beest” into the city. But that was the mediæval dragon, of whom
+anything can be expected.
+
+He ultimately received a concrete form from that innate craving on the
+part of humanity to give a poetic or pictorial image to its hopes and
+fears. This derivative (modern) dragon is winged or unwinged, fiery or
+cold, crested or smooth, of manifold hue, four-footed, two-footed,
+serpentine or vermiform. Such relative variety of structure is seen in
+all imaginings that spring up independently in different regions of the
+globe, and are yet due to a common belief or cause. Why has he
+assimilated so much of the reptilian physiognomy and framework? Well,
+seeing that he had to approximate his shape to some type of beast
+familiar to mankind, what better general model could have been found?
+The reptile’s glassy eye; its earthward-creeping and cleft-loving
+habits; its blood that recalls that chill temperature of stones and
+water; its hostile pose; its ferocious tenacity of life and scaly
+covering, as of metals? Memories of extinct reptilian monsters may have
+helped to colour the picture, as well as that hatred of the serpent
+tribe which has haunted us ever since our own arboreal days.
+
+A prehistoric idea like this, interpretive of such diverse natural
+phenomena, cannot but absorb into itself all kinds of extraneous
+material, ridiculous and sublime. Like some avalanche rolling downhill,
+the dragon gathers momentum on his journey athwart the ages, and is
+swollen in size both by kindred beliefs that have lain in his path, and
+by quite incongruous accretions.
+This is chiefly the poets’ work, though the theologians have added one
+or two embellishing touches. But in whatever shape he appears, whether
+his eyes have borrowed a more baleful fire from heathen basilisks, or
+traits of moral evil are instilled into his pernicious physique by
+amalgamation with the apocalyptic Beast, he remains the vindictive
+enemy of man and his ordered ways. Of late—like the Saurian tribe in
+general—he has somewhat degenerated. So in modern Greece, by that
+process of stultified anthropomorphism which results from grafting
+Christianity upon an alien mythopoesis, he dons human attributes,
+talking and acting as a man (H. F. Tozer). And here, in Calabria, he
+lingers in children’s fables, as “sdrago,” a mockery of his former
+self.
+
+To follow up his wondrous metamorphoses through mediævalism would be a
+pastime worthy of some leisured dilettante. How many noble shapes
+acquired a tinge of absurdity in the Middle Ages! Switzerland alone,
+with its mystery of untrodden crevices, used to be crammed with
+dragons—particularly the calcareous (cavernous) province of Rhaetia.
+Secondary dragons; for the good monks saw to it that no reminiscences
+of the autochthonous beast survived. Modern scholars have devoted much
+learning to the local Tazzelwurm and Bergstutz. But dragons of our
+familiar kind were already well known to the chroniclers from whom old
+Cysat extracted his twenty-fifth chapter (wherein, by the way, you will
+learn something of Calabrian dragons); then came J. J. Wagner (1680);
+then Scheuchzer, prince of dragon-finders, who informs us that
+_multorum draconum historia mendax._
+
+But it is rather a far cry from Calabria to the asthmatic Scheuchzer,
+wiping the perspiration off his brow as he clambers among the Alps to
+record truthful dragon yarns and untruthful barometrical observations;
+or to China, dragon-land _par excellence;_[1] or even to our own
+Heralds’ College, where these and other beasts have sought a refuge
+from prying professors under such queer disguises that their own
+mothers would hardly recognize them.
+
+ [1] In Chinese mythology the telluric element has remained
+ untarnished. The dragon is an earth-god, who controls the rain and
+ thunder clouds.
+
+
+
+
+XV
+BYZANTINISM
+
+
+Exhausted with the morning’s walk at Policoro, a railway journey and a
+long drive up nearly a thousand feet to Rossano in the heat of midday,
+I sought refuge, contrary to my usual custom, in the chief hotel,
+intending to rest awhile and then seek other quarters. The
+establishment was described as “ganz ordentlich” in Baedeker. But,
+alas! I found little peace or content. The bed on which I had hoped to
+repose was already occupied by several other inmates. Prompted by
+curiosity, I counted up to fifty-two of them; after that, my interest
+in the matter faded away. It became too monotonous. They were all
+alike, save in point of size (some were giants). A Swammerdam would
+have been grieved by their lack of variety.
+
+And this, I said to myself, in a renowned city that has given birth to
+poets and orators, to saints like the great Nilus, to two popes
+and—last, but not least—one anti-pope! I will not particularize the
+species beyond saying that they did not hop. Nor will I return to this
+theme. Let the reader once and for all take _them_ for granted.[1] Let
+him note that most of the inns of this region are quite uninhabitable,
+for this and other reasons, unless he takes the most elaborate
+precautions. . . .
+
+ [1] They have their uses, to be sure. Says Kircher: _Cunices
+ lectularii potens remedium contra quartanum est, si ab inscio aegro
+ cum vehiculo congruo potentur; mulierum morbis medentur et uterum
+ prolapsum solo odore in suum locum restituunt._
+
+Where, then, do I generally go for accommodation?
+
+Well, as a rule I begin by calling for advice at the chemist’s shop,
+where a fixed number of the older and wiser citizens congregate for a
+little talk. The cafés and barbers and wine-shops are also
+meeting-places of men; but those who gather here are not of the right
+type—they are the young, or empty-headed, or merely thirsty. The other
+is the true centre of the leisured class, the philosophers’ rendezvous.
+Your _speciale_ (apothecary) is himself an elderly and honoured man,
+full of responsibility and local knowledge; he is altogether a superior
+person, having been
+trained in a University. You enter the shop, therefore, and purchase a
+pennyworth of vaseline. This act entitles you to all the privileges of
+the club. Then is the moment to take a seat, smiling affably at the
+assembled company, but without proffering a syllable. If this etiquette
+is strictly adhered to, it will not be long ere you are politely
+questioned as to your plans, your present accommodation, and so forth;
+and soon several members will be vying with each other to procure you a
+clean and comfortable room at half the price charged in a hotel.
+
+Even when this end is accomplished, my connection with the pharmacy
+coterie is not severed. I go there from time to time, ostensibly to
+talk, but in reality to listen. Here one can feel the true pulse of the
+place. Local questions are dispassionately discussed, with ample forms
+of courtesy and in a language worthy of Cicero. It is the club of the
+_élite._
+
+In olden days I used to visit south Italy armed with introductions to
+merchants, noblemen and landed proprietors. I have quite abandoned that
+system, as these people, bless their hearts, have such cordial notions
+of hospitality that from morning to night the traveller has not a
+moment he can call his own. Letters to persons in authority, such as
+syndics or police officers, are useless and worse than useless. Like
+Chinese mandarins, these officials are so puffed up with their own
+importance that it is sheer waste of time to call upon them. If wanted,
+they can always be found; if not, they are best left alone. For besides
+being usually the least enlightened and least amiable of the populace,
+they are inordinately suspicious of political or commercial designs on
+the part of strangers—God knows what visions are fermenting in their
+turbid brains—and seldom let you out of their sight, once they have
+known you.
+
+Excepting at Cosenza, Cotrone and Catanzaro, an average white man will
+seldom find, in any Calabrian hostelry, what he is accustomed to
+consider as ordinary necessities of life. The thing is easily
+explicable. These men are not yet in the habit of “handling” civilized
+travellers; they fail to realize that hotel-keeping is a business to be
+learnt, like tailoring or politics. They are still in the patriarchal
+stage, wealthy proprietors for the most part, and quite independent of
+your custom. They have not learnt the trick of Swiss servility. You
+must therefore be prepared to put up with what looks like very bad
+treatment. On your entrance nobody moves a step to enquire after your
+wants; you must begin by foraging for yourself, and thank God if any
+notice is taken of what you say; it is as if your presence were barely
+tolerated. But once the stranger has learnt to pocket his pride and
+treat his hosts in the same offhand fashion, he will find among them an
+unconventional courtesy of the best kind.
+
+The establishment being run as a rule by the proprietor’s own family,
+gratuities with a view to exceptional treatment are refused with quiet
+dignity, and even when accepted will not further your interests in the
+least; on the contrary, you are thenceforward regarded as tactless and
+weak in the head. Discreet praise of their native town or village is
+the best way to win the hearts of the younger generation; for the
+parents a little knowledge of American conditions is desirable, to
+prove that you are a man of the world and worthy, a priori, of some
+respect. But if there exists a man-cook, he is generally an importation
+and should be periodically and liberally bribed, without knowledge of
+the family, from the earliest moment. Wonderful, what a cook can do!
+
+It is customary here not to live _en pension_ or to pay a fixed price
+for any meal, the smallest item, down to a piece of bread, being
+conscientiously marked against you. My system, elaborated after
+considerable experimentation, is to call for this bill every morning
+and, for the first day or two after arrival, dispute in friendly
+fashion every item, remorselessly cutting down some of them. Not that
+they overcharge; their honesty is notorious, and no difference is made
+in this respect between a foreigner and a native. It is a matter of
+principle. By this system, which must not be overdone, your position in
+the house gradually changes; from being a guest, you become a friend, a
+brother. For it is your duty to show, above all things, that you are
+not _scemo_—witless, soft-headed—the unforgivable sin in the south. You
+may be a forger or cut-throat—why not? It is a vocation like any other,
+a vocation for _men._ But whoever cannot take care of himself—i.e. of
+his money—is not to be trusted, in any walk of life; he is of no
+account; he is no man. I have become firm friends with some of these
+proprietors by the simple expedient of striking a few francs off their
+bills; and should I ever wish to marry one of their daughters, the
+surest way to predispose the whole family in my favour would be this
+method of amiable but unsmiling contestation.
+
+Of course the inns are often dirty, and not only in their sleeping
+accommodation. The reason is that, like Turks or Jews, their owners do
+not see dirt (there is no word for dirt in the Hebrew language); they
+think it odd when you draw their attention to it. I remember
+complaining, in one of my fastidious moments,
+of a napkin, plainly not my own, which had been laid at my seat. There
+was literally not a clean spot left on its surface, and I insisted on a
+new one. I got it; but not before hearing the proprietor mutter
+something about “the caprices of pregnant women.” . . .
+
+The view from these my new quarters at Rossano compensates for divers
+other little drawbacks. Down a many-folded gorge of glowing red earth
+decked with olives and cistus the eye wanders to the Ionian Sea shining
+in deepest turquoise tints, and beautified by a glittering margin of
+white sand. To my left, the water takes a noble sweep inland; there
+lies the plain of Sybaris, traversed by the Crathis of old that has
+thrust a long spit of sand into the waves. On this side the outlook is
+bounded by the high range of Pollino and Dolcedorme, serrated peaks
+that are even now (midsummer) displaying a few patches of snow.
+Clear-cut in the morning light, these exquisite mountains evaporate,
+towards sunset, in an amethystine haze. A restful prospect.
+
+But great was my amazement, on looking out of the window during the
+night after my arrival, to observe the Polar star placed directly over
+the Ionian Sea—the south, as I surely deemed it. A week has passed
+since then, and in spite of the map I have not quite familiarized
+myself with this spectacle, nor yet with that other one of the sun
+setting apparently due east, over Monte Pollino.
+
+The glory of Rossano is the image of the Madonna Achiropita.
+Bartholomaeus tells us, in his life of Saint Nilus, that in olden days
+she was wont to appear, clothed in purple, and drive away with a divine
+torch the Saracen invaders of this town. In more recent times, too, she
+has often saved the citizens from locusts, cholera, and other
+calamitous visitations. Unlike most of her kind, she was not painted by
+Saint Luke. She is _acheiropœta_—not painted by any human hands
+whatever, and in so far resembles a certain old image of the Magna
+Mater, her prototype, which was also of divine origin. It is generally
+supposed that this picture is painted on wood. Not so, says Diehl; it
+is a fragment of a fresco on stone.
+
+Hard by, in the clock-tower of the square, is a marble tablet erected
+to the memory of the deputy Felice Cavalotti. We all remember
+Cavalotti, the last—with Imbriani—of the republican giants, a
+blustering rhetorician-journalist, annihilator of monarchs and popes; a
+fire-eating duellist, who deserved his uncommon and unlovely fate. He
+provoked a colleague to an encounter and, during a frenzied attack,
+received into his open mouth the point
+of his adversary’s sword, which sealed up for ever that fountain of
+eloquence and vituperation.
+
+Cavalotti and the Virgin Achiropita—the new and the old. Really, with
+such extreme ideals before his eyes, the burghers of Rossano must
+sometimes wonder where righteousness lies.
+
+They call themselves Calabrians. _Noi siamo calabresi!_ they proudly
+say, meaning that they are above suspicion of unfair dealing. As a
+matter of fact, they are a muddled brood, and considerably given to
+cheating when there is any prospect of success. You must watch the
+peasants coming home at night from their field-work if you wish to see
+the true Calabrian type—whiskered, short and wiry, and of dark
+complexion. There is that indescribable mark of _race_ in these
+countrymen; they are different in features and character from the
+Italians; it is an ascetic, a Spanish type. Your Calabrian is strangely
+scornful of luxury and even comfort; a creature of few but well-chosen
+words, straightforward, indifferent to pain and suffering, and dwelling
+by preference, when religiously minded, on the harsher aspects of his
+faith. A note of unworldliness is discoverable in his outlook upon
+life. Dealing with such men, one feels that they are well disposed not
+from impulse, but from some dark sense of preordained obligation. Greek
+and other strains have infused versatility and a more smiling exterior;
+but the groundwork of the whole remains that old _homo ibericus_ of
+austere gentlemanliness.
+
+Rossano was built by the Romans, says Procopius, and during Byzantine
+days became a fortress of primary importance. An older settlement
+probably lay by the seashore, and its harbour is marked as “good” so
+late as the days of Edrisius. Like many of these old Calabrian ports,
+it is now invaded by silt and sand, though a few ships still call
+there. Wishful to learn something of the past glories of the town, I
+enquired at the municipality for the public library, but was informed
+by the supercilious and not over-polite secretary that this proud city
+possesses no such institution. A certain priest, he added, would give
+me all the desired information.
+
+Canonico Rizzo was a delightful old man, with snowy hair and candid
+blue eyes. Nothing, it seemed, could have given him greater pleasure
+than my appearance at that particular moment. He discoursed awhile, and
+sagely, concerning England and English literature, and then we passed
+on, _via_ Milton, to Calvin and the Puritan movement in Scotland; next,
+_via_ Livingstone, to colonial enterprises in Africa; and finally,
+_via_ Egypt, Abyssinia, and
+
+Prester John, to the early history of the eastern churches.
+Byzantinism—Saint Nilus; that gave me the desired opportunity, and I
+mentioned the object of my visit.
+
+“The history of Rossano? Well, well! The secretary of the municipality
+does me too much honour. You must read the Book of Genesis and Hesiod
+and Berosus and the rest of them. But stay! I have something of more
+modern date, in which you will find these ancient authors conveniently
+classified.”
+
+From this book by de Rosis, printed in 1838, I gleaned two facts,
+firstly, that the city of Rossano is now 3663 years old—quite a
+respectable age, as towns go—and lastly, that in the year 1500 it had
+its own academy of lettered men, who called themselves “I spensierati,”
+with the motto _Non alunt curas_—an echo, no doubt, of the Neapolitan
+renaissance under Alfonso the Magnificent. The popes Urban VIII and
+Benedict XIII belonged to this association of “thoughtless ones.” The
+work ends with a formidable list of local personages distinguished in
+the past for their gentleness of birth and polite accomplishments. One
+wonders how all these delicately nurtured creatures can have survived
+at Rossano, if their sleeping accommodation——
+
+You might live here some little time before realizing that this place,
+which seems to slope gently downhill against a pleasing background of
+wooded mountains, is capable of being strongly fortified. It lies, like
+other inland Calabrian (and Etruscan) cities, on ground enclosed by
+stream-beds, and one of these forms a deep gully above which Rossano
+towers on a smooth and perpendicular precipice. The upper part of this
+wall of rock is grey sandstone; the lower a bed of red granitic matter.
+From this coloured stone, which crops up everywhere, the town may have
+drawn its name of Rossano (rosso = red); not a very old settlement,
+therefore; although certain patriotic philologers insist upon deriving
+it from “rus sanum,” healthy country. Its older names were Roscia, and
+Ruscianum; it is not marked in Peutinger. Countless jackdaws and
+kestrels nestle in this cliff, as well as clouds of swifts, both Alpine
+and common. These swifts are the ornithological phenomenon of Rossano,
+and I think the citizens have cause to be thankful for their existence;
+to them I attribute the fact that there are so few flies, mosquitoes,
+and other aerial plagues here. If only the amiable birds could be
+induced to extend their attentions to the bedrooms as well!
+
+This shady glen at the back of the city, with its sparse tufts of
+vegetation and monstrous blocks of deep red stone cloven into rifts and
+ravines by the wild waters, has a charm of its own. There are
+undeniable suggestions of Hell about the place. A pathway
+runs adown this vale of Hinnom, and if you follow it upwards to the
+junction of the streams you will reach a road that once more ascends to
+the town, past the old church of Saint Mark, a most interesting
+building. It has five little cupolas, but the interior, supported by
+eight columns, has been whitewashed. The structure has now rightly been
+declared a “national monument.” It dates from the ninth or tenth
+century and, according to Bertaux, has the same plan and the same
+dimensions as the famous “Cattolica” at Stilo, which the artistic Lear,
+though he stayed some time at that picturesque place, does not so much
+as mention. They say that this chapel of Saint Mark was built by
+Euprassius, protos-padarius of Calabria, and that in the days of Nilus
+it was dedicated to Saint Anastasius.
+
+Here, at Rossano, we are once more _en plein Byzance._
+
+Rossano was not only a political bulwark, the most formidable citadel
+of this Byzantine province. It was a great intellectual centre, upon
+which literature, theology and art converged. Among the many perverse
+historical notions of which we are now ridding ourselves is this—that
+Byzantinism in south Italy was a period of decay and torpid dreamings.
+It needed, on the contrary, a resourceful activity to wipe out, as did
+those colonists from the east, every trace of Roman culture and
+language (Latin rule only revived at Rossano in the fifteenth century).
+There was no lethargy in their social and political ambitions, in their
+military achievements, which held the land against overwhelming numbers
+of Saracens, Lombards and other intruders. And the life of those old
+monks of Saint Basil, as we now know it, represented a veritable
+renaissance of art and letters.
+
+Of the ten Basilean convents that grew up in the surroundings of
+Rossano the most celebrated was that of S. M. del Patir. Together with
+the others, it succeeded to a period of eremitism
+
+of solitary anchorites whose dwellings honeycombed the warm slopes that
+confront the Ionian. . . .
+
+The lives of some of these Greco-Calabrian hermits are valuable
+documents. In the _Vitae Sanctorum Siculorum_ of O. Caietanus (1657)
+the student will find a Latin translation of the biography of one of
+them, Saint Elia Junior. He died in 903. It was written by a
+contemporary monk, who tells us that the holy man performed many
+miracles, among them that of walking over a river dryshod. And the
+Bollandists _(Acta Sanctorum,_ 11th September) have reprinted the
+biography of Saint Elia Spelaeotes—the cave-dweller, as composed in
+Greek by a disciple. It is yet more
+interesting. He lived in a “honesta spelunca” which he discovered in
+864 by means of a flight of bats issuing therefrom; he suffered
+persecutions from a woman, exactly after the fashion of Joseph and
+Potiphar’s wife; he grew to be 94 years old; the Saracens vainly tried
+to burn his dead body, and the water in which this corpse was
+subsequently washed was useful for curing another holy man’s toothache.
+Yet even these creatures were subject to gleams of common sense.
+“Virtues,” said this one, “are better than miracles.”
+
+How are we to account for these rock-hermits and their inelegant
+habits? How explain this poisoning of the sources of manly
+self-respect?
+
+Thus, I think: that under the influence of their creed they reverted
+perforce to the more bestial traits of aboriginal humanity. They were
+thrust back in their development. They became solitaries, animalesque
+and shy—such as we may imagine our hairy progenitors to have been.
+Hence their dirt and vermin, their horror of learning, their unkempt
+hair, their ferocious independence, their distrust of sunshine and
+ordered social life, their foul dieting, their dread of malign spirits,
+their cave-dwelling propensities. All bestial characteristics!
+
+This atavistic movement, this retrogression towards primevalism, must
+have possessed a certain charm, for it attracted vast multitudes; it
+was only hemmed, at last, by a physical obstacle.
+
+The supply of caves ran out.
+
+Not till then were its votaries forced to congregate in those unhealthy
+clusters which afterwards grew to be monasteries. Where many of them
+were gathered together under one roof there imposed itself a certain
+rudimentary discipline and subordination; yet they preserved as much as
+they could of their savage traits, cave-like cells and hatred of
+cleanliness, terror of demons, matted beards.
+
+[Illustration: Chapel of Saint Mark]
+
+Gradually the social habits of mundane fellow-creatures insinuated
+themselves into these hives of squalor and idleness. The inmates began
+to wash and to shave; they acquired property, they tilled the ground,
+they learnt to read and write, and finally became connaisseurs of books
+and pictures and wine and women. They were pleased to forget that the
+eunuch and the beggar are the true Christian or Buddhist. In other
+words, the allurements of rational life grew too strong for their
+convictions; they became reasonable beings in spite of their creed.
+This is how coenobitism grew out of eremitism not only in Calabria, but
+in every part of the world which has been afflicted with these
+eccentrics. Go to Mount Athos, if you wish to see specimens of all the
+different stages conveniently arranged upon a small area. . . .
+
+This convent of Patir exercised a great local influence as early as the
+tenth century; then, towards the end of the eleventh, it was completely
+rebuilt without and reorganized within. The church underwent a thorough
+restoration in 1672. But it was shattered, together with the rest of
+the edifice, by the earthquake of 1836 which, Madonna Achiropita
+notwithstanding, levelled to the ground one-half of the fifteen
+thousand houses then standing at Rossano.
+
+These monastic establishments, as a general rule, were occupied later
+on by the Benedictines, who ousted the Basileans and were supplanted,
+in their turn, by popular orders of later days like the Theatines.
+Those that are conveniently situated have now been turned into post
+offices, municipalities, and other public buildings—such has been the
+common procedure. But many of them, like this of Patir, are too decayed
+and remote from the life of man. Fiore, who wrote in 1691, counts up 94
+dilapidated Basilean monasteries in Calabria out of a former total of
+about two hundred; Patir and thirteen others he mentions as having, in
+his day, their old rites still subsisting. Batiffol has recently gone
+into the subject with his usual thoroughness.
+
+Nothing is uglier than a modern ruin, and the place would assuredly not
+be worth the three hours’ ride from Rossano were it not for the church,
+which has been repaired, and for the wondrous view to be obtained from
+its site. The journey, too, is charming, both by the ordinary track
+that descends from Rossano and skirts the foot of the hills through
+olives and pebbly stream-beds, ascending, finally, across an odorous
+tangle of cistus, rosemary and myrtle to the platform on which the
+convent stands—or by the alternative and longer route which I took on
+the homeward way, and which follows the old water conduit built by the
+monks into a forest of enormous chestnuts, oaks, hollies and Calabrian
+pines, emerging out of an ocean of glittering bracken.
+
+I was pursued into the church of Patir by a bevy of country wenches who
+frequented this region for purposes of haymaking. There is a miraculous
+crucifix in this sanctuary, hidden behind a veil which, with infinite
+ceremony, these females withdrew for my edification. There it was, sure
+enough; but what, I wondered, would happen from the presence of these
+impure creatures in such a place? Things have changed considerably
+since the days of old, for such was the contamination to be expected
+from the mere
+presence of a woman within these walls that even the Mother of God,
+while visiting Saint Nilus—the builder, not the great saint—at work
+upon the foundations, often conversed with him, but never ventured to
+step within the area of the building itself. And later on it was a
+well-authenticated phenomenon recorded by Beltrano and others, that if
+a female entered the church, the heavens immediately became cloudy and
+sent down thunders and lightnings and such-like signs of celestial
+disapproval, which never ceased until the offending monster had left
+the premises.
+
+From this ancient monastery comes, I fancy, the Achiropita image.
+Montorio will tell you all about it; he learnt its history in June 1712
+from the local archbishop, who had extracted his information out of the
+episcopal archives. Concerning another of these wonder-working
+idols—that of S. M. del Patirion—you may read in the ponderous tomes of
+Ughelli.
+
+Whether the celebrated Purple Codex of Rossano ever formed part of the
+library of Patirion has not yet been determined. This wonderful
+parchment—now preserved at Rossano—is mentioned for the first time by
+Cesare Malpica, who wrote some interesting things about the Albanian
+and Greek colonies in Calabria, but it was only discovered, in the
+right sense of that word, in March 1879 by Gebhardt and Harnack. They
+illustrated it in their _Evangeliorum Codex Graecus._ Haseloff also
+described it in 1898 _(Codex Purpureus Rossanensis),_ and pointed out
+that its iconographical value consists in the fact that it is the only
+Greek Testament MS. containing pictures of the life of Christ before
+the eighth-ninth century. These pictures are indeed marvellous—more
+marvellous than beautiful, like so many Byzantine productions; their
+value is such that the parchment has now been declared a “national
+monument.” It is sternly guarded, and if it is moved out of Rossano—as
+happened lately when it was exhibited at Grottaferrata—it travels in
+the company of armed carbineers.
+
+Still pursued by the flock of women, I took to examining the floor of
+this church, which contains tesselated marble pavements depicting
+centaurs, unicorns, lions, stags, and other beasts. But my
+contemplation of these choice relics was disturbed by irrelevant
+remarks on the part of the worldly females, who discovered in the head
+of the stag some subtle peculiarity that stirred their sense of humour.
+
+“Look!” said one of them to her neighbour. “He has horns. Just like
+your Pasquale.”
+
+“Pasquale indeed! And how about Antonio?”
+
+I enquired whether they knew what kind of animals these were.
+
+“Beasts of the ancients. Beasts that nobody knows. Beasts that have
+horns—like certain Christians. . . .”
+
+From the terrace of green sward that fronts this ruined monastery you
+can see the little town of Corigliano, whose coquettish white houses
+lie in a fold of the hills. Corigliano—[Greek: xorion hellaion] (land
+of olives): the derivation, if not correct, is at least appropriate,
+for it lies embowered in a forest of these trees. A gay place it was,
+in Bourbon times, with a ducal ruler of its own. Here, they say, the
+remnants of the Sybarites took refuge after the destruction of their
+city whose desolate plain lies at our feet, backed by the noble range
+of Dolcedorme. Swinburne, like a sensible man, takes the Sybarites
+under his protection; he defends their artificially shaded streets and
+those other signs of voluptuousness which, to judge by certain modern
+researches, seem to have been chiefly contrived for combating the demon
+of malaria. Earthly welfare, the cult of material health and ease—such
+was _their_ ideal.
+
+In sharpest contrast to these strivings stands the aim of those old
+monks who scorned the body as a mere encumbrance, seeking spiritual
+enlightenment and things not of this earth.
+
+And now, Sybarites and Basileans—alike in ruins!
+
+A man of to-day, asked which of the two civilizations he would wish
+restored, would not hesitate long in deciding for the Hellenic one.
+Readers of Lenormant will call to mind his glowing pages on the wonders
+that might be found buried on the site of Sybaris. His plan of
+excavation sounds feasible enough. But how remote it becomes, when one
+remembers the case of Herculaneum! Here, to our certain knowledge, many
+miracles of antique art and literature lie within a few feet of our
+reach; yet nothing is done. These hidden monuments, which are the
+heritage of all humanity, are withheld from our eyes by the
+dog-in-the-manger policy of a country which, even without foreign
+assistance, could easily accomplish the work, were it to employ thereon
+only half the sum now spent in feeding, clothing and supervising a
+horde of criminals, every one of whom ought to be hanged ten times
+over. Meanwhile other nations are forbidden to co-operate; the
+fair-minded German proposals were scornfully rejected; later on, those
+of Sir Charles Waldstein.
+
+“What!” says the _Giornale d’ Italia, “_are we to have international
+excavation-committees thrust upon us? Are we to be treated like the
+Turks?”
+
+That, gentle sirs, is precisely the state of the case.
+
+The object of such committees is to do for the good of mankind what a
+single nation is powerless or unwilling to do. Your behaviour at
+Herculaneum is identical with that of the Turks at Nineveh. The system
+adopted should likewise be the same.
+
+I shall never see that consummation.
+
+But I shall not forget a certain article in an American paper—“The New
+York Times,” I fancy—which gave me fresh food for thought, here at
+Patirion, in the sight of that old Hellenic colony, and with the light
+chatter of those women still ringing in my ears. Its writer, with whom
+not all of us will agree, declared that first in importance of all the
+antiquities buried in Italian soil come the lost poems of Sappho. The
+lost poems of Sappho—a singular choice! In corroboration whereof he
+quoted the extravagant praise of J. A. Symonds upon that amiable and
+ambiguous young person. And he might have added Algernon Swinburne, who
+calls her “the greatest poet who ever was at all.”
+
+Sappho and these two Victorians, I said to myself. . . . Why just these
+two? How keen is the cry of elective affinity athwart the ages! _The
+soul,_ says Plato, _divines that which it seeks, and traces obscurely
+the footsteps of its obscure desire._
+
+The footsteps of its obscure desire——
+
+So one stumbles, inadvertently, upon problems of the day concerning
+which our sages profess to know nothing. And yet I do perceive a
+certain Writing upon the Wall setting forth, in clearest language, that
+1 + 1 = 3; a legend which it behoves them not to expunge, but to
+expound. For it refuses to be expunged; and we do not need a German
+lady to tell us how much the “synthetic” sex, the hornless but not
+brainless sex, has done for the life of the spirit while those other
+two were reclaiming the waste places of earth, and procreating, and
+fighting—as befits their horned anatomy.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+REPOSING AT CASTROVILLARI
+
+
+I remember asking my friend the Roman deputy of whom I have already
+spoken, and whom I regard as a fountain of wisdom on matters Italian,
+how it came about that the railway stations in his country were apt to
+be so far distant from the towns they serve. Rocca Bernarda, I was
+saying, lies 33 kilometres from its station; and even some of the
+largest towns in the kingdom are inconveniently and unnecessarily
+remote from the line.
+
+“True,” he replied. “Very true! Inconveniently . . . but perhaps not
+unnecessarily. . . .” He nodded his head, as he often does, when
+revolving some deep problem in his mind.
+
+“Well, sir?”
+
+“Inasmuch as everything has its reasons, be they geographical,
+sociological, or otherwise . . .” and he mused again. “Let me tell you
+what I think as regards our respective English and Italian points of
+view,” he said at last. “And to begin with—a few generalities! We may
+hold that success in modern life consists in correctly appreciating the
+principles which underlie our experiences—in what may be called the
+scientific attitude towards things in general. Now, do the English
+cultivate this attitude? Not sufficiently. They are in the stage of
+those mediæval scholars who contentedly alleged separate primary causes
+for each phenomenon, instead of seeking, by the investigation of
+secondary ones, for the inevitable interdependence of the whole. In
+other words, they do not subordinate facts; they co-ordinate them. Your
+politicians and all your public men are guided by impulse—by
+expediency, as they prefer to call it; they are empirical; they never
+attempt to codify their conduct; they despise it as theorizing. What
+happens? This old-fashioned hand-to-mouth system of theirs invariably
+breaks down here and there. And then? Then they trust to some divine
+interposition, some accident, to put things to rights again. The
+success of the English is largely built up on such accidents—on the
+mistakes of other people. Providence has favoured them so far, on the
+whole; but one day it
+may leave them in the lurch, as it did the anti-scientific Russians in
+their war with the Japanese. One day other people will forget to make
+these pleasant mistakes.”
+
+He paused, and I forbore to interrupt his eloquence.
+
+“To come now to the practical application—to this particular instance.
+Tell me, does your English system testify to any constructive
+forethought? In London, I am assured, the railway companies have built
+stations at enormous expense in the very heart of the town. What will
+be the consequence of this hand-to-mouth policy? This, that in fifty
+years such structures will have become obsolete—stranded in slums at
+the back of new quarters yet undreamed of. New depots will have to be
+built. Whereas in Italy the now distant city will in fifty years have
+grown to reach its station and, in another half-century, will have
+encircled it. Thanks to our sagacity, the station will then be in its
+proper place, in the centre of the town. Our progeny will be grateful;
+and that again, you will admit, is a worthy aim for our politicians.
+Besides, what would happen to our coachmen if nobody needed their
+services on arriving at his destination? The poor men must not be
+allowed to starve! Cold head and warm heart, you know; humanitarian
+considerations cannot be thrust aside by a community that prides itself
+on being truly civilized. I trust I have made myself intelligible?”
+
+“You always do. But why should I incommode myself to please your
+progeny, or even my own? And I don’t like the kind of warm heart that
+subordinates my concerns to those of a cab-driver. You don’t altogether
+convince me, dear sir.”
+
+“To speak frankly, I sometimes don’t convince myself. My own country
+station, for example, is curiously remote from the city, and it is
+annoying on wintry nights to drive through six miles of level mud when
+you are anxious to reach home and dinner; so much so that, in my
+egoistical moments, I would have been glad if our administration had
+adopted the more specious British method. But come now! You cannot
+raise that objection against the terminus at Rome.”
+
+“Not that one. But I can raise two others. The platforms are
+inconveniently arranged, and a traveller will often find it impossible
+to wash his hands and face there; as to hot water——”
+
+“Granting a certain deplorable disposition of the lines—why on earth,
+pray, should a man cleanse himself at the station when there are
+countless hotels and lodging-houses in the city? O you English
+originals!”
+
+“And supposing,” I urged, “he is in a hurry to catch another train
+going south, to Naples or Palermo?”
+
+“There I have you, my illustrious friend! _Nobody travels south of
+Rome.”_
+
+Nobody travels south of Rome. . . .
+
+Often have I thought upon those words.
+
+This conversation was forcibly recalled to my mind by the fact that it
+took our creaky old diligence two and a half hours (one of the horses
+had been bought the day before, for six pounds) to drive from the
+station of Castrovillari to the entrance of the town, where we were
+delayed another twenty minutes, while the octroi zealots searched
+through every bag and parcel on the post-waggon.
+
+Many people have said bad things about this place. But my once
+unpleasant impressions of it have been effaced by my reception at its
+new and decent little hostelry. What a change after the sordid filth of
+Rossano! Castrovillari, to be sure, has no background of hoary eld to
+atone for such deficiencies. It was only built the other day, by the
+Normans; or by the Romans, who called it Aprustum; or possibly by the
+Greeks, who founded their Abystron on this particular site for the same
+reasons that commended it in yet earlier times to certain bronze and
+stone age primitives, whose weapons you may study in the British Museum
+and elsewhere.[1]
+
+ [1] Even so Taranto, Cumae, Paestum, Metapontum, Monteleone and other
+ southern towns were founded by the ancients on the site of prehistoric
+ stations.
+
+But what are the stone ages compared with immortal and immutable
+Rossano? An ecclesiastical writer has proved that Calabria was
+inhabited before the Noachian flood; and Rossano, we may be sure, was
+one of the favourite haunts of the antediluvians. None the less, it is
+good to rest in a clean bed, for a change; and to feed off a clean
+plate.
+
+We are in the south. One sees it in sundry small ways—in the behaviour
+of the cats, for instance. . . .
+
+The Tarentines, they say, imported the cat into Europe. If those of
+south Italy still resemble their old Nubian ancestors, the beast would
+assuredly not have been worth the trouble of acclimatizing. On entering
+these regions, one of the first things that strikes me is the
+difference between the appearance of cats and dogs hereabouts, and in
+England or any northern country; and the difference in their
+temperaments. Our dogs are alert in their movements and of wideawake
+features; here they are drowsy and degraded mongrels, with
+expressionless eyes. Our cats are sleek and slumberous; here they prowl
+about haggard,
+shifty and careworn, their fur in patches and their ears a-tremble from
+nervous anxiety. That domestic animals such as these should be fed at
+home does not commend itself to the common people; they must forage for
+their food abroad. Dogs eat offal, while the others hunt for lizards in
+the fields. A lizard diet is supposed to reduce their weight (it would
+certainly reduce mine); but I suspect that southern cats are emaciated
+not only from this cause, but from systematic starvation. Many a kitten
+is born that never tastes a drop of cow’s milk from the cradle to the
+grave, and little enough of its own mother’s.
+
+To say that our English _zoophilomania_—our cult of lap-dogs—smacks of
+degeneracy does not mean that I sympathize with the ill-treatment of
+beasts which annoys many visitors to these parts and has been
+attributed to “Saracenic” influences. Wrongly, of course; one might as
+well attribute it to the old Greeks.[2] Poor Saracens! They are a sort
+of whipping-boy, all over the country. The chief sinner in this respect
+is the Vatican, which has authorized cruelty to animals by its official
+teaching. When Lord Odo Russell enquired of the Pope regarding the
+foundation of a society for the prevention of cruelty to animals in
+Italy, the papal answer was: “Such an association _could not be
+sanctioned_ by the Holy See, being founded on a theological error, to
+wit, that Christians owed any duties to animals.” This language has the
+inestimable and rather unusual merit of being perspicuous.
+Nevertheless, Ouida’s flaming letters to “The Times” inaugurated an era
+of truer humanity. . . .
+
+ [2] Whose attitude towards animals, by the way, was as far removed
+ from callousness as from sentimentalism. We know how those Hellenic
+ oxen fared who had laboured to draw up heavy blocks for the building
+ of a temple—how, on the completion of their task, they were led into
+ green fields, there to pasture unmolested for the rest of their lives.
+ We know that the Greeks were appreciative of the graces and virtues of
+ canine nature—is not the Homeric Argo still the finest dog-type in
+ literature? Yet to them the dog, even he of the tender Anthology,
+ remained what he is: a tamed beast. The Greeks, sitting at dinner,
+ resented the insolence of a creature that, watching every morsel as it
+ disappeared into the mouth of its master, plainly discovered by its
+ physiognomy the desire, the presumed right, to devour what he
+ considered fit only for himself. Whence that profound word [Greek:
+ kunopes]—dog-eyed, shameless. In contrast to this sanity, observe what
+ an Englishman can read into a dog’s eye:
+
+                    That liquid, melancholy eye,
+                    From whose pathetic, soul-fed springs
+                    Seemed surging the Virgilian cry—
+                    The sense of tears in mortal things. . . .
+
+That is how Matthew Arnold interprets the feelings of Fido, watching
+his master at work upon a tender beefsteak. . . .
+
+[Illustration: Shoeing a Cow]
+
+And the lateness of the dining-hour—another symptom of the south. It
+was eleven o’clock when I sat down to dinner on the night of my
+arrival, and habitues of the hotel, engineers and so
+forth, were still dropping in for their evening meal. Appetite comes
+more slowly than ever, now that the heats have begun.
+
+They have begun in earnest. The swoon of summer is upon the land, the
+grass is cut, cicadas are chirping overhead. Despite its height of a
+thousand feet, Castrovillari must be blazing in August, surrounded as
+it is by parched fields and an amphitheatre of bare limestone hills
+that exhale the sunny beams. You may stroll about these fields
+observing the construction of the line which is to pass through
+Cassano, a pretty place, famous for its wine and mineral springs; or
+studying the habits of the gigantic grasshoppers that hang in clusters
+to the dried thistles and start off, when scared, with the noise of a
+covey of partridges; or watching how the cows are shod, at this season,
+to thresh the corn. Old authors are unanimous in declaring that the
+town was embowered in oak forests; as late as 1844 it was lamented that
+this “ancient barbarous custom” of cutting them down had not yet been
+discontinued. The mischief is now done, and it would be interesting to
+know the difference between the present summer temperature and that of
+olden days.
+
+The manna ash used to be cultivated in these parts. I cannot tell
+whether its purgative secretion is still in favour. The confusion
+between this stuff and the biblical manna gave rise to the legends
+about Calabria where “manna droppeth as dew from Heaven.” Sandys says
+it was prepared out of the mulberry. He copied assiduously, did old
+Sandys, and yet found room for some original blunders of his own. R.
+Pococke, by the way, is one of those who were dissatisfied with
+Castrovillari. He found no accommodation save an empty house. “A poor
+town.” . . .
+
+Driving through modern Castrovillari one might think the place flat and
+undeserving of the name of _castrum._ But the old town is otherwise. It
+occupies a proud eminence—the head of a promontory which overlooks the
+junction of two streams; the newer settlement stands on the more level
+ground at its back. This acropolis, once thronged with folk but now
+well-nigh deserted, has all the macabre fascination of decay. A mildewy
+spirit haunts those tortuous and uneven roadways; plaster drops
+unheeded from the walls; the wild fig thrusts luxuriant arms through
+the windows of palaces whose balconies are rusted and painted loggias
+crumbling to earth ... a mournful and malarious agglomeration of ruins.
+
+There is a castle, of course. It was built, or rebuilt, by the
+Aragonese, with four corner towers, one of which became
+infamous for a scene that rivals the horrors of the Black Hole of
+Calcutta. Numbers of confined brigands, uncared-for, perished miserably
+of starvation within its walls. Says the historian Botta:
+
+“The abominable taint prevented the guards from approaching; the dead
+bodies were not carried away. The pestilence increased; in pain and
+exhaustion, the dying fell shuddering on the dead; the hale on the
+dying; all tearing themselves like dogs with teeth and nails. The tower
+of Castrovillari became a foul hole of corruption, and the stench was
+spread abroad for a long season.”
+
+This castle is now used as a place of confinement. Sentries warned me
+at one point not to approach too near the walls; it was “forbidden.” I
+had no particular desire to disobey this injunction. Judging by the
+number of rats that swarm about the place, it is not exactly a model
+prison.
+
+One of the streets in this dilapidated stronghold bears to this day the
+inscription “Giudea,” or Jewry. Southern Italy was well stocked with
+those Hebrews concerning whom Mr. H. M. Adler has sagely discoursed.
+They lived in separate districts, and seem to have borne a good
+reputation. Those of Castrovillari, on being ejected by Ferdinand the
+Catholic in 1511, obligingly made a donation of their school to the
+town. But they returned anon, and claimed it again. Persecuted as they
+were, they never suffered the martyrdom of the ill-starred Waldensian
+colonies in Calabria.
+
+The houses of this Jewry overlook the Coscile river, the Sybaris of
+old, and from a spot in the quarter a steep path descends to its banks.
+Here you will find yourself in another climate, cool and moist. The
+livid waters tumble gleefully towards the plain, amid penurious plots
+of beans and tomatoes, and a fierce tangle of vegetation wherever the
+hand of man has not made clearings. Then, mounting aloft once more, you
+will do well to visit the far-famed chapel that sits at the apex of the
+promontory, Santa Maria del Castello. There is a little platform where
+you may repose and enjoy the view, as I have done for some evenings
+past—letting the eye roam up-country towards Dolcedorme and its sister
+peaks, and westwards over the undulating Sila lands whose highest
+point, Botte Donato, is unmistakable even at this distance of forty
+miles, from its peculiar shape.
+
+The Madonna picture preserved within the sanctuary has performed so
+many miracles in ages past that I despair of giving any account of
+them. It is high time, none the less, for a new sign from Heaven.
+Shattered by earthquakes, the chapel is in a disruptured and even
+menacing condition. Will some returned emigrant from America come
+forward with the necessary funds?
+That would be a miracle, too, in its way. But gone, for the present,
+are the ages of Faith—the days when the peevishly-protestant J. H.
+Bartels sojourned here and groaned as he counted up the seven
+monasteries of Castrovillari (there used to be nearly twice that
+number), and viewed the 130 priests, “fat-paunched rascals, loafing
+about the streets and doorways.” . . .
+
+From my window in the hotel I espy a small patch of snow on the hills.
+I know the place; it is the so-called “Montagna del Principe” past
+which the track winds into the Pollino regions. Thither I am bound; but
+so complicated is life that even for a short three days’ ramble among
+those forests a certain amount of food and clothing must be provided—a
+mule is plainly required. There seem to be none of these beasts
+available at Castrovillari.
+
+“To Morano!” they tell me. “It is nearer the mountain, and there you
+will find mules plentiful as blackberries. To Morano!”
+
+Morano lies a few miles higher up the valley on the great military road
+to Lagonegro, which was built by Murat and cuts through the interior of
+Basilicata, rising at Campo Tenese to a height of 1100 metres. They are
+now running a public motor service along this beautiful stretch of 52
+kilometres, at the cheap rate of a sou per kilometre.
+
+_En route!_
+
+POSTSCRIPT.—Another symptom of the south:
+
+Once you have reached the latitude of Naples, the word _grazie_ (thank
+you) vanishes from the vocabulary of all save the most cultured. But to
+conclude therefrom that one is among a thankless race is not altogether
+the right inference. They have a wholly different conception of the
+affair. Our septentrional “thanks” is a complicated product in which
+gratefulness for things received and for things to come are
+unconsciously balanced; while their point of view differs in nothing
+from that of the beau-ideal of Greek courtesy, of Achilles, whose
+mother procured for him a suit of divine armour from Hephaistos, which
+he received without a word of acknowledgment either for her or for the
+god who had been put to some little trouble in the matter. A thing
+given they regard as a thing found, a hermaion, a happy hit in the
+lottery of life; the giver is the blind instrument of Fortune. This
+chill attitude repels us; and our effusive expressions of thankfulness
+astonish these people and the Orientals.
+
+A further difference is that the actual gift is viewed quite
+extrinsically, intellectually, either in regard to what it would fetch
+if bartered or sold, or, if to be kept, as to how far its possession
+may raise the recipient in the eyes of other men. This is purely
+Homeric, once more—Homeric or primordial, if you prefer. Odysseus told
+his kind host Alkinoos, whom he was never to see again, that he would
+be glad to receive farewell presents from him—to cherish as a friendly
+memory? No, but “because they would make him look a finer fellow when
+he got home.” The idea of a keepsake, of an emotional value attaching
+to some trifle, is a northern one. Here life is give and take, and
+lucky he who takes more than he gives; it is what Professor Mahaffy
+calls the “ingrained selfishness of the Greek character.” Speaking of
+all below the upper classes, I should say that disinterested
+benevolence is apt to surpass their comprehension, a good-natured
+person being regarded as weak in the head.
+
+Has this man, then, no family, that he should benefit strangers? Or is
+he one of nature’s unfortunates—soft-witted? Thus they argue. They will
+do acts of spontaneous kindness towards their family, far oftener than
+is customary with us. But outside that narrow sphere, _interesse_
+(Odyssean self-advantage) is the mainspring of their actions. Whence
+their smooth and glozing manners towards the stranger, and those
+protestations of undying affection which beguile the unwary—they wish
+to be forever in your good graces, for sooner or later you may be of
+use; and if perchance you do content them, they will marvel
+(philosophically) at your grotesque generosity, your lack of
+discrimination and restraint. Such _malizia_ (cleverness) is none the
+more respectable for being childishly transparent. The profound and
+unscrupulous northerner quickly familiarizes himself with its
+technique, and turns it to his own profit. Lowering his moral notions,
+he soon—so one of them expressed it to me—“walks round them without
+getting off his chair” and, on the strength of his undeserved
+reputation for simplicity and fair dealing, keeps them dangling a
+lifetime in a tremble of obsequious amiability, cheered on by the hope
+of ultimately over-reaching him. Idle dream, where a pliant and
+sanguine southerner is pitted against the unswerving Saxon or Teuton!
+This accounts for the success of foreign trading houses in the south.
+Business is business, and the devil take the hindmost! By all means;
+but they who are not rooted to the spot by commercial exigencies nor
+ready to adopt debased standards of conduct will find that a prolonged
+residence in a centre like Naples—the daily attrition of its
+ape-and-tiger elements—sullies their homely candour and self-respect.
+
+For a tigerish flavour does exist in most of these southern towns.
+Camorra, the law of intimidation, rules the city. This is what Stendhal
+meant when, speaking of the “simple and inoffensive” personages in the
+_Vicar of Wakefield,_ he remarked that “in the sombre Italy, a simple
+and inoffensive creature would be quickly destroyed.” It is not easy to
+be inoffensive and yet respected in a land of teeth and claws, where a
+man is reverenced in proportion as he can browbeat his fellows. So much
+ferocity tinctures civic life, that had they not dwelt in towns while
+we were still shivering in bogs, one would deem them not yet ripe for
+herding together in large numbers; one would say that post-patriarchal
+conditions evoked the worst qualities of the race. And we must revise
+our conceptions of fat and lean men; we must pity Cassius, and dread
+Falstaff.
+
+“What has happened”—you ask some enormous individual—“to your adversary
+at law?”
+
+“To which one of them?”
+
+“Oh, Signor M——, the timber merchant.”
+
+“_L’abbiamo mangiato!_” (I have eaten him.)
+
+Beware of the fat Neapolitan. He is fat from prosperity, from, dining
+off his leaner brothers.
+
+Which reminds me of a supremely important subject, eating.
+
+The feeding here is saner than ours with its all-pervading animal
+grease (even a boiled egg tastes of mutton fat in England), its
+stock-pot, suet, and those other inventions of the devil whose awful
+effects we only survive because we are continually counteracting or
+eliminating them by the help of (1) pills, (2) athletics, and (3)
+alcohol. Saner as regards material, but hopelessly irrational in
+method. Your ordinary employé begins his day with a thimbleful of black
+coffee, nothing more. What work shall be got out of him. under such
+anti-hygienic conditions? Of course it takes ten men to do the work of
+one; and of course all ten of them are sulky and irritable throughout
+the morning, thinking only of their luncheon. Then indeed—then they
+make up for lost time; those few favoured ones, at least, who can
+afford it.
+
+I once watched a young fellow, a clerk of some kind, in a restaurant at
+midday. He began by informing the waiter that he had no appetite that
+morning—_sangue di Dio!_ no appetite whatever; but at last allowed
+himself to be persuaded into consuming a _hors d’ oeuvres_ of anchovies
+and olives. Then he was induced to try the maccheroni, because they
+were “particularly good that morning”; he ate, or rather drank, an
+immense plateful. After that came some slices of meat and a dish of
+green stuff sufficient to satisfy a starving bullock. A little fish?
+asked the
+waiter. Well, perhaps yes, just for form’s sake—two fried mullets and
+some nondescript fragments. Next, he devoured a couple of raw eggs “on
+account of his miserably weak stomach,” a bowl of salad and a goodly
+lump of fresh cheese. Not without a secret feeling of envy I left him
+at work upon his dessert, of which he had already consumed some six
+peaches. Add to this (quite an ordinary repast) half a bottle of heavy
+wine, a cup of black coffee and three glasses of water—what work shall
+be got out of a man after such a boa-constrictor collation? He is as
+exasperated and prone to take offence as in the morning—this time from
+another cause. . . .
+
+That is why so many of them suffer from chronic troubles of the
+digestive organs. The head of a hospital at Naples tells me that
+stomach diseases are more prevalent there than in any other part of
+Europe, and the stomach, whatever sentimentalists may say to the
+contrary, being the true seat of the emotions, it follows that a
+judicious system of dieting might work wonders upon their development.
+Nearly all Mediterranean races have been misfed from early days; that
+is why they are so small. I would undertake to raise the Italian
+standard of height by several inches, if I had control of their
+nutrition for a few centuries. I would undertake to alter their whole
+outlook upon life, to convert them from utilitarians into
+romantics—were such a change desirable. For if utilitarianism be the
+shadow of starvation, romance is nothing but the vapour of repletion.
+
+And yet men still talk of race-characteristics as of something fixed
+and immutable! The Jews, so long as they starved in Palestine, were the
+most acrimonious bigots on earth. Now that they live and feed sensibly,
+they have learnt to see things in their true perspective—they have
+become rationalists. Their less fortunate fellow-Semites, the Arabs,
+have continued to starve and to swear by the Koran—empty in body and
+empty in mind. No poise or balance is possible to those who live in
+uneasy conditions. The wisest of them can only attain to stoicism—a
+dumb protest against the environment. There are no stoics among
+well-fed people. The Romans made that discovery for themselves, when
+they abandoned the cheese-paring habits of the Republic.
+
+In short, it seems to me that virtues and vices which cannot be
+expressed in physiological terms are not worth talking about; that when
+a morality refuses to derive its sanction from the laws which govern
+our body, it loses the right to exist. This being so, what is the most
+conspicuous native vice?
+
+Envy, without a doubt.
+
+Out of envy they pine away and die; out of envy they kill one another.
+To produce a more placid race,[3] to dilute envious thoughts and the
+acts to which they lead, is at bottom a question of nutrition. One
+would like to know for how much black brooding and for how many
+revengeful deeds that morning thimbleful of black coffee is
+responsible.
+
+ [3] By placid I do not mean peace-loving and pitiful in the Christian
+ sense. That doctrine of loving and forgiving one’s enemies is based on
+ sheer funk; our pity for others is dangerously akin to self-pity, most
+ odious of vices. Catholic teaching—in practice, if not in
+ theory—-glides artfully over the desirability of these imported
+ freak-virtues, knowing that they cannot appeal to a masculine stock.
+ By placid I mean steady, self-contained.
+
+The very faces one sees in the streets would change. Envy is reflected
+in all too many of those of the middle classes, while the poorest
+citizens are often haggard and distraught from sheer hunger—hunger
+which has not had time to be commuted into moral poison; college-taught
+men, in responsible positions, being forced to live on salaries which a
+London lift-boy would disdain. When that other local feature, that
+respect for honourable poverty—the reverse of what we see in England
+where, since the days of the arch-snob Pope, a slender income has grown
+to be considered a subject of reproach.
+
+And yet another symptom of the south——
+
+Enough! The clock points to 6.20; it is time for an evening walk—my
+final one—to the terrace of S. M. del Castello.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+OLD MORANO
+
+
+This Morano is a very ancient city; Tufarelli, writing in 1598, proves
+that it was then exactly 3349 years old. Oddly enough, therefore, its
+foundation almost coincides with that of Rossano. . . .
+
+There may be mules at Morano; indeed, there are. But they are illusive
+beasts: phantom-mules. Despite the assistance of the captain of the
+carbineers, the local innkeeper, the communal policeman, the secretary
+of the municipality, an amiable canon of the church and several
+non-official residents, I vainly endeavoured, for three days, to
+procure one—flitting about, meanwhile, between this place and
+Castrovillari. For Morano, notwithstanding its size (they say it is
+larger than the other town) offers no accommodation or food in the
+septentrional sense of those terms.
+
+Its situation, as you approach from Castrovillari, is striking. The
+white houses stream in a cataract down one side of a steep conical hill
+that dominates the landscape—on the summit sits the inevitable castle,
+blue sky peering through its battered windows. But the interior is not
+at all in keeping with this imposing aspect. Morano, so far as I was
+able to explore it, is a labyrinth of sombre, tortuous and fetid
+alleys, where black pigs wallow amid heaps of miscellaneous and
+malodorous filth—in short, the town exemplifies that particular idea of
+civic liberty which consists in everybody being free to throw their own
+private refuse into the public street and leave it there, from
+generation to generation. What says Lombroso? “The street-cleaning is
+entrusted, in many towns, to the rains of heaven and, in their absence,
+to the voracity of the pigs.” None the less, while waiting for mules
+that never came, I took to patrolling those alleys, at first out of
+sheer boredom, but soon impelled by that subtle fascination which
+emanates from the _ne plus ultra_ of anything—even of grotesque
+dirtiness. On the second day, however, a case of cholera was announced,
+which chilled my ardour for further investigations. It was on that
+account that I failed to inspect what was afterwards described to me as
+the chief marvel of the place—a carved wooden altar-piece in a certain
+church.
+
+_“_It is prodigious and _antichissimo,”_ said an obliging citizen to
+whom I applied for information. “There is nothing like it on earth, and
+I have been six times to America, sir. The artist—a real artist, mind
+you, not a common professor—spent his whole life in carving it. It was
+for the church, you see, and he wanted to show what he could do in the
+way of a masterpiece. Then, when it was finished and in its place, the
+priests refused to pay for it. It was made not for them, they said, but
+for the glory of God; the man’s reward was sufficient. And besides, he
+could have remission of sins for the rest of his life. He said he did
+not care about remission of sins; he wanted money—money! But he got
+nothing. Whereupon he began to brood and to grow yellow. Money—money!
+That was all he ever said. And at last he became quite green and died.
+After that, his son took up the quarrel, but he got as little out of
+the priests as the father. It was fixed in the church, you understand,
+and he could not take it away. He climbed through the window one night
+and tried to burn it—the marks are there to this day—but they were too
+sharp for him. And he took the business so much to heart that he also
+soon died quite young! And quite green—like his father.”
+
+The most characteristic item in the above history is that about growing
+green. People are apt to put on this colour in the south from
+disappointment or from envy. They have a proverb which runs “sfoga o
+schiatta”—relieve yourself or burst; our vaunted ideal of
+self-restraint, of dominating the reflexes, being thought not only
+fanciful but injurious to health. Therefore, if relief is thwarted,
+they either brood themselves into a green melancholy, or succumb to a
+sudden “colpo di sangue,” like a young woman of my acquaintance who,
+considering herself beaten in a dispute with a tram-conductor about a
+penny, forthwith had a “colpo di sangue,” and was dead in a few hours.
+A primeval assertion of the ego . . .
+
+Unable to perambulate the streets of Morano, I climbed to the ruined
+fortress along the verdant slope at its back, and enjoyed a fair view
+down the fertile valley, irrigated by streamlets and planted with
+many-hued patches of culture, with mulberries, pomegranates and
+poplars. Some boys were up here, engaged in fishing—fishing for young
+kestrels in their nest above a shattered gateway. The tackle consisted
+of a rod with a bent piece of wire fixed to one end, and it seemed to
+me a pretty unpromising form of sport. But suddenly, amid wild
+vociferations, they hooked one, and carried it off in triumph to
+supper. The mother bird, meanwhile, sailed restlessly about the aether
+watching every movement,
+as I could see by my glasses; at times she drifted quite near, then
+swerved again and hovered, with vibrating pinions, directly overhead.
+It was clear that she could not tear herself away from the scene, and
+hardly had the marauders departed, when she alighted on the wall and
+began to inspect what was left of her dwelling. It was probably rather
+untidy. I felt sorry for her; yet such harebrained imprudence cannot go
+unpunished. With so many hundred crannies in this old castle, why
+choose one which any boy can reach with a stick? She will know better
+next season.
+
+Then an old shepherd scrambled up, and sat on the stone beside me. He
+was short-sighted, asthmatic, and unable to work; the doctor had
+recommended an evening walk up to the castle. We conversed awhile, and
+he extracted a carnation out of his waistcoat pocket—unusual receptacle
+for flowers—which he presented to me. I touched upon the all-absorbing
+topic of mules.
+
+“ Mules are very busy animals in Morano,” he explained. _“Animali
+occupatissimi.”_ However, he promised to exert himself on my behalf; he
+knew a man with a mule—two mules—he would send him round, if possible.
+
+Quite a feature in the landscape of Morano is the costume of the women,
+with their home-dyed red skirts and ribbons of the same hue plaited
+into their hair. It is a beautiful and reposeful shade of red, between
+Pompeian and brick-colour, and the tint very closely resembles that of
+the cloth worn by the beduin (married) women of Tunisia. Maybe it was
+introduced by the Saracens. And it is they, I imagine, who imported
+that love of red peppers (a favourite dish with most Orientals) which
+is peculiar to these parts, where they eat them voraciously in every
+form, particularly in that of red sausages seasoned with these fiery
+condiments.
+
+[Illustration: Morano]
+
+The whole country is full of Saracen memories. The name of Morano, they
+say, is derived from _moro_,[1] a Moor; and in its little piazza—an
+irregular and picturesque spot, shaded by a few grand old elms amid the
+sound of running waters—there is a sculptured head of a Moor inserted
+into the wall, commemorative, I was told, of some ancient anti-Saracen
+exploit. It is the escutcheon of the town. This Moor wears a red fez,
+and his features are painted black (this is _de rigueur,_ for
+“Saracens”); he bears the legend _Vivit_
+_sub arbore morus._ Near at hand, too, lies the prosperous village
+Saracena, celebrated of old for its muscatel wines. They are made from
+the grape which the Saracens brought over from Maskat, and planted all
+over Sicily.[2]
+
+ [1] This is all wrong, of course. And equally wrong is the derivation
+ from _morus,_ a mulberry—abundant as these trees are. And more wrong
+ still, if possible, is that which is drawn from a saying of the
+ mysterious Oenotrians—that useful tribe—who, wandering in search of
+ homesteads across these regions and observing their beauty, are
+ supposed to have remarked: _Hic moremur—_here let us stay! Morano
+ (strange to say) is simply the Roman Muranum.
+
+ [2] See next chapter.
+
+The men of Morano emigrate to America; two-thirds of the adult and
+adolescent male population are at this moment on the other side of the
+Atlantic. But the oldsters, with their peaked hats (capello pizzuto)
+shading gnarled and canny features, are well worth studying. At this
+summer season they leave the town at 3.30 a.m. to cultivate their
+fields, often far distant, returning at nightfall; and to observe these
+really wonderful types, which will soon be extinct, you must take up a
+stand on the Castrovillari road towards sunset and watch them riding
+home on their donkeys, or walking, after the labours of the day.
+
+Poorly dressed, these peasants are none the less wealthy; the post
+office deposit of Morano is said to have two million francs to its
+credit, mostly the savings of these humble cultivators, who can
+discover an astonishing amount of money when it is a question, for
+example, of providing their daughters with a dowry. The bridal dress
+alone, a blaze of blue silk and lace and gold embroidery, costs between
+six hundred and a thousand francs. Altogether, Morano is a rich place,
+despite its sordid appearance; it is also celebrated as the birthplace
+of various learned men. The author of the “Calascione Scordato,” a
+famous Neapolitan poem of the seventeenth century, certainly lived here
+for some time and has been acclaimed as a son of Morano, though he
+distinctly speaks of Naples as his home. Among its elder literary
+glories is that Leonardo Tufarelli, who thus apostrophizes his
+birthplace:
+
+“And to proceed—how many _letterati_ and _virtuosi_ have issued from
+you in divers times? Among whom—not to name all of them—there has been
+in our days Leopardo de l’Osso of happy memory, physician and most
+excellent philosopher, singular in every science, of whom I dare say
+that he attained to Pythagorean heights. How many are there to-day,
+versed in every faculty, in theology, in the two laws, and in medicine?
+How many historians, how many poets, grammarians, artists, actors?”
+
+The modern writer Nicola Leoni is likewise a child of Morano; his
+voluminous “Della Magna Grecia e delle Tre Calabrie” appeared in
+1844-1846. He, too, devotes much space to the praises of his natal
+city, and to lamentations regarding the sad condition of Calabrian
+letters during those dark years.
+
+“Closed for ever is the academy of Amantea! Closed for ever is
+the academy of Rossano! Rare are the lectures in the academy of
+Monteleone! Rare indeed the lectures in the academy of Catanzaro!
+Closed for ever is the public library of Monteleone! O ancient days! O
+wisdom of our fathers! Where shall I find you?.. .”
+
+To live the intellectual life amid the ferociously squalid surroundings
+of Morano argues an enviable philosophic calm—a detachment bordering on
+insensibility. But perhaps we are too easily influenced by externals,
+in these degenerate times. Or things may have been better in days of
+old—who can tell? One always likes to think so, though the evidence
+usually points to the contrary.
+
+When least I expected it, a possessor of mules presented himself. He
+was a burly ruffian of northern extraction, with clear eyes, fair
+moustache, and an insidious air of cheerfulness.
+
+Yes, he had a mule, he said; but as to climbing the mountain for three
+or four days on end—ha, ha!—that was rather an undertaking, you know.
+Was I aware that there were forests and snow up there? Had I ever been
+up the mountain? Indeed! Well, then I must know that there was no
+food——
+
+I pointed to my store of provisions from Castrovillari. His eye
+wandered lovingly over the pile and reposed, finally, upon sundry odd
+bottles and a capacious demijohn, holding twelve litres.
+
+“Wine of family,” I urged. “None of your eating-house stuff.”
+
+He thought he could manage it, after all. Yes; the trip could be
+undertaken, with a little sacrifice. And he had a second mule, a
+lady-mule, which it struck him I might like to ride now and then; a
+pleasant beast and a companion, so to speak, for the other one. Two
+mules and two Christians—that seemed appropriate. . . . And only four
+francs a day more.
+
+Done! It was really cheap. So cheap, that I straightway grew suspicious
+of the “lady-mule.”
+
+We sealed the bargain in a glass of the local mixture, and I thereupon
+demanded a _caparra—_a monetary security that he would keep his word,
+i.e. be round at my door with the animals at two in the morning, so as
+to reach the uplands before the heat became oppressive.
+
+His face clouded—a good omen, indicating that he was beginning to
+respect me. Then he pulled out his purse, and reluctantly laid two
+francs on the table.
+
+[Illustration: An old Shepherd]
+
+The evening was spent in final preparations; I retired early to bed,
+and tried to sleep. One o’clock came, and two o’clock, and
+three o’clock—no mules! At four I went to the man’s house, and woke him
+out of ambrosial slumbers.
+
+“You come to see me so early in the morning?” he enquired, sitting up
+in bed and rubbing his eyes. “Now that’s really nice of you.”
+
+One of the mules, he airily explained, had lost a shoe in the
+afternoon. He would get it put right at once—at once.
+
+“You might have told me so yesterday evening, instead of keeping me
+awake all night waiting for you.”
+
+“True,” he replied. “I thought of it at the time. But then I went to
+bed, and slept. Ah, sir, it is good to sleep!” and he stretched himself
+voluptuously.
+
+The beast was shod, and at 5 a.m. we left.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+AFRICAN INTRUDERS
+
+
+There is a type of physiognomy here which is undeniably Semitic—with
+curly hair, dusky skin and hooked nose. We may take it to be of
+Saracenic origin, since a Phoenician descent is out of the question,
+while mediæval Jews never intermarried with Christians. It is the same
+class of face which one sees so abundantly at Palermo, the former
+metropolis of these Africans. The accompanying likeness is that of a
+native of Cosenza, a town that was frequently in their possession.
+Eastern traits of character, too, have lingered among the populace. So
+the humour of the peddling Semite who will allow himself to be called
+by the most offensive epithets rather than lose a chance of gaining a
+sou; who, eternally professing poverty, cannot bear to be twitted on
+his notorious riches; their ceaseless talk of hidden treasures, their
+secretiveness and so many other little Orientalisms that whoever has
+lived in the East will be inclined to echo the observation of Edward
+Lear’s Greek servant: “These men are Arabs, but they have more clothes
+on.”
+
+Many Saracenic words (chiefly of marine and commercial import) have
+survived from this period; I could quote a hundred or more, partly in
+the literary language (balio, dogana, etc.), partly in dialect (cala,
+tavuto, etc.) and in place-names such as Tamborio (the Semitic Mount
+Tabor), Kalat (Calatafimi), Marsa (Marsala).
+
+Dramatic plays with Saracen subjects are still popular with the lower
+classes; you can see them acted in any of the coast towns. In fact, the
+recollection of these intruders is very much alive to this day. They
+have left a deep scar.
+
+Such being the case, it is odd to find local writers hardly referring
+to the Saracenic period. Even a modern like l’Occaso, who describes the
+Castrovillari region in a conscientious fashion, leaps directly from
+Greco-Roman events into those of the Normans. But this is in accordance
+with the time-honoured ideal of writing such works: to say nothing in
+dispraise of your subject (an exception may be made in favour of
+Spano-Bolani’s History of Reggio). Malaria and earthquakes and Saracen
+irruptions are
+awkward arguments when treating of the natural attractions and
+historical glories of your native place. So the once renowned
+descriptions of this province by Grano and the rest of them are little
+more than rhetorical exercises; they are “Laus Calabriæ.” And
+then—their sources of information were limited and difficult of access.
+Collective works like those of Muratori and du Chesne had not appeared
+on the market; libraries were restricted to convents; and it was not to
+be expected that they should know all the chroniclers of the
+Byzantines, Latins, Lombards, Normans and Hohenstaufen—to say nothing
+of Arab writers like Nowairi, Abulfeda, Ibn Chaldun and Ibn Alathir—who
+throw a little light on those dark times, and are now easily accessible
+to scholars.
+
+Dipping into this old-world literature of murders and prayers, we
+gather that in pre-Saracenic times the southern towns were denuded of
+their garrisons, and their fortresses fallen into disrepair. “Nec erat
+formido aut metus bellorum, quoniam alta pace omnes gaudebant usque ad
+tempora Saracenorum.” In this part of Italy, as well as at Taranto and
+other parts of old “Calabria,” the invaders had an easy task before
+them, at first.
+
+In 873, on their return from Salerno, they poured into Calabria, and by
+884 already held several towns, such as Tropea and Amantea, but were
+driven out temporarily. In 899 they ravaged, says Hepidanus, the
+country of the Lombards (? Calabria). In 900 they destroyed Reggio, and
+renewed their incursions in 919, 923, 924, 925, 927, till the Greek
+Emperor found it profitable to pay them an annual tribute. In 953, this
+tribute not being forthcoming, they defeated the Greeks in Calabria,
+and made further raids in 974, 975; 976, 977, carrying off a large
+store of captives and wealth. In 981 Otto II repulsed them at Cotrone,
+but was beaten the following year near Squillace, and narrowly escaped
+capture. It was one of the most romantic incidents of these wars.
+During the years 986, 988, 991, 994, 998, 1002, 1003 they were
+continually in the country; indeed, nearly every year at the beginning
+of the eleventh century is marked by some fresh inroad. In 1009 they
+took Cosenza for the third or fourth time; in 1020 they were at
+Bisignano in the Crati valley, and returned frequently into those
+parts, defeating, in 1025, a Greek army under Orestes, and, in 1031,
+the assembled forces of the Byzantine Catapan——[1]
+
+ [1] I have not seen Moscato’s “Cronaca dei Musulmani in Calabria,”
+ where these authorities might be conveniently tabulated. It must be a
+ rare book. Martorana deals only with the Saracens of Sicily.
+
+No bad record, from their point of view.
+
+But they never attained their end, the subjection of the
+mainland. And their methods involved appalling and enduring evils.
+
+Yet the presumable intent or ambition of these aliens must be called
+reasonable enough. They wished to establish a provincial government
+here on the same lines as in Sicily, of which island it has been said
+that it was never more prosperous than under their administration.
+
+Literature, trade, industry, and all the arts of peace are described as
+flourishing there; in agriculture they paid especial attention to the
+olive; they initiated, I believe, the art of terracing and irrigating
+the hill-sides; they imported the date-palm, the lemon and sugar-cane
+(making the latter suffice not only for home consumption, but for
+export); their silk manufactures were unsurpassed. Older writers like
+Mazzella speak of the abundant growth of sugar-cane in Calabria
+(Capialbi, who wallowed in learning, has a treatise on the subject);
+John Evelyn saw it cultivated near Naples; it is now extinct from
+economical and possibly climatic causes. They also introduced the
+papyrus into Sicily, as well as the cotton-plant, which used to be
+common all over south Italy, where I have myself seen it growing.
+
+All this sounds praiseworthy, no doubt. But I see no reason why they
+should have governed Sicily better than they did North Africa, which
+crumbled into dust at their touch, and will take many long centuries to
+recover its pre-Saracen prosperity. There is something flame-like and
+anti-constructive in the Arab, with his pastoral habits and contempt of
+forethought. In favour of their rule, much capital has been made out of
+Benjamin of Tudela’s account of Palermo. But it must not be forgotten
+that his brief visit was made a hundred years after the Norman
+occupation had begun. Palermo, he says, has about 1500 Jews and a large
+number of Christians and Mohammedans; Sicily “contains all the pleasant
+things of this world.” Well, so it did in pre-Saracen times; so it does
+to-day. Against the example of North Africa, no doubt, may be set their
+activities in Spain.
+
+[Illustration: The “Saracenic” Type]
+
+They have been accused of destroying the old temples of Magna Gracia
+from religious or other motives. I do not believe it; this was against
+their usual practice. They sacked monasteries, because these were
+fortresses defended by political enemies and full of gold which they
+coveted; but in their African possessions, during all this period, the
+ruins of ancient civilizations were left untouched, while Byzantine
+cults lingered peacefully side by side with Moslemism; why not here?
+Their fanaticism has been much exaggerated. Weighing the balance
+between conflicting writers, it
+would appear that Christian rites were tolerated in Sicily during all
+their rule, though some governors were more bigoted than others; the
+proof is this, that the Normans found resident fellow-believers there,
+after 255 years of Arab domination.[2] It was the Christians rather,
+who with the best intentions set the example of fanaticism during their
+crusades; these early Saracen raids had no more religious colouring
+than our own raids into the Transvaal or elsewhere. The Saracens were
+out for plunder and fresh lands, exactly like the English.
+
+ [2] The behaviour of the Normans was wholly different from that of the
+ Arabs, immediately on their occupation of the country they razed to
+ the ground thousands of Arab temples and sanctuaries. Of several
+ hundred in Palermo alone, not a single one was left standing.
+
+Nor were they tempted to destroy these monuments for decorative
+purposes, since they possessed no palaces on the mainland like the
+Palermitan Cuba or Zisa; and that sheer love of destructive-ness with
+which they have been credited certainly spared the marbles of Paestum
+which lay within a short distance of their strongholds, Agropoli and
+Cetara. No. What earthquakes had left intact of these classic relics
+was filched by the Christians, who ransacked every corner of Italy for
+such treasures to adorn their own temples in Pisa, Rome and
+Venice—displaying small veneration for antiquity, but considerable
+taste. In Calabria, for instance, the twenty granite pillars of the
+cathedral of Gerace were drawn from the ruins of old Locri; those of
+Melito came from the ancient Hipponium (Monteleone). So Paestum, after
+the Saracens, became a regular quarry for the Lombards and the rich
+citizens of Amalfi when they built their cathedral; and above all, for
+the shrewdly pious Robert Guiscard. Altogether, these Normans, dreaming
+through the solstitial heats in pleasaunces like Ravello, developed a
+nice taste in the matter of marbles, and were not particular where they
+came from, so long as they came from somewhere. The antiquities
+remained intact, at least, which was better than the subsequent system
+of Colonna and Frangipani, who burnt them into lime.
+
+Whatever one may think of the condition of Sicily under Arab rule, the
+proceedings of these strangers was wholly deplorable so far as the
+mainland of Italy was concerned. They sacked and burnt wherever they
+went; the sea-board of the Tyrrhenian, Ionian and Adriatic was
+depopulated of its inhabitants, who fled inland; towns and villages
+vanished from the face of the earth, and the richly cultivated land
+became a desert; they took 17,000 prisoners from Reggio on a single
+occasion—13,000 from Termula;
+they reduced Matera to such distress, that a mother is said to have
+slaughtered and devoured her own child. Such was their system on the
+mainland, where they swarmed. Their numbers can be inferred from a
+letter written in 871 by the Emperor Ludwig II to the Byzantine
+monarch, in which he complains that “Naples has become a second
+Palermo, a second Africa,” while three hundred years later, in 1196,
+the Chancellor Konrad von Hildesheim makes a noteworthy observation,
+which begins: “In Naples I saw the Saracens, who with their spittle
+destroy venomous beasts, and will briefly set forth how they came by
+this virtue. . . .[3]
+
+ [3] He goes on to say, “Paulus Apostolus naufragium passus, apud
+ Capream insulam applicuit _[sic]_ quae in Actibus Apostolorum Mitylene
+ nuncupatur, et cum multis allis evadens, ab indigenis terrae benigne
+ acceptatus est.” Then follows the episode of the fire and of the
+ serpent which Paul casts from him; whereupon the Saracens, naturally
+ enough, begin to adore him as a saint. In recompense for this kind
+ treatment Paul grants to them and their descendants the power of
+ killing poisonous animals in the manner aforesaid—i.e. with their
+ spittle—a superstition which is alive in south Italy to this day.
+ These gifted mortals are called Sanpaulari, or by the Greek word
+ Cerauli; they are men who are born either on St. Paul’s night (24-25
+ January) or on 29 June.
+    Saint Paul, the “doctor of the Gentiles,” is a great wizard
+    hereabouts, and an invocation to him runs as follows: “Saint Paul,
+    thou wonder-worker, kill this beast, which is hostile to God; and
+    save me, for I am a son of Maria.”
+
+It is therefore no exaggeration to say that the coastal regions of
+south Italy were practically in Arab possession for centuries, and one
+is tempted to dwell on their long semi-domination here because it has
+affected to this day the vocabulary of the people, their lore, their
+architecture, their very faces—and to a far greater extent than a
+visitor unacquainted with Moslem countries and habits would believe.
+Saracenism explains many anomalies in their mode of life and social
+conduct.
+
+From these troublous times dates, I should say, that use of the word
+_cristiano_ applied to natives of the country—as opposed to Mohammedan
+enemies.
+
+“Saraceno” is still a common term of abuse.
+
+The fall of Luceria may be taken as a convenient time-boundary to mark
+the end of the Saracenic period. A lull, but no complete repose from
+attacks, occurs between that event and the fall of Granada. Then begins
+the activity of the corsairs. There is this difference between them,
+that the corsairs merely paid flying visits; a change of wind, the
+appearance of an Italian sail, an unexpected resistance on the part of
+the inhabitants, sufficed to unsettle their ephemeral plans. The
+coast-lands were never in their possession; they only harried the
+natives. The system of the Saracens on the mainland, though it seldom
+attained the form of
+a provincial or even military government, was different. They had the
+_animus manendi._ Where they dined, they slept.
+
+In point of destructiveness, I should think there was little to choose
+between them. One thinks of the hundreds of villages the corsairs
+devastated; the convents and precious archives they destroyed,[4] the
+thousands of captives they carried off—sometimes in such numbers that
+the ships threatened to sink till the more unsaleable portion of the
+human freight had been cast overboard. And it went on for centuries.
+Pirates and slave-hunters they were; but not a whit more so than their
+Christian adversaries, on whose national rivalries they thrived.
+African slaves, when not chained to the galleys, were utilized on land;
+so the traveller Moore records that the palace of Caserta was built by
+gangs of slaves, half of them Italian, half Turkish. We have not much
+testimony as to whether these Arab slaves enjoyed their lot in European
+countries; but many of the Christians in Algiers certainly enjoyed
+theirs. A considerable number of them refused to profit by Lord
+Exmouth’s arrangement for their ransom. I myself knew the descendant of
+a man who had been thus sent back to his relations from captivity, and
+who soon enough returned to Africa, declaring that the climate and
+religion of Europe were alike insupportable.
+
+ [4] In this particular branch, again, the Christians surpassed the
+ unbeliever. More archives were destroyed in the so-called “Age of
+ Lead”—the closing period of Bour-bonism—than under Saracens and
+ Corsairs combined. It was quite the regular thing to sell them as
+ waste-paper to the shopkeepers. Some of them escaped this fate by the
+ veriest miracle—so those of the celebrated Certoza of San Lorenzo in
+ Padula. The historian Marincola, walking in the market of Salerno,
+ noticed a piece of cheese wrapped up in an old parchment. He elicited
+ the fact that it came from this Certosa, intercepted the records on
+ their way for sale in Salerno, and contrived by a small present to the
+ driver that next night two cartloads of parchments were deposited in
+ the library of La Cava.
+
+In Saracen times the Venetians actually sold Christian slaves to the
+Turks. Parrino cites the severe enactments which were issued in the
+sixteenth century against Christian sailors who decoyed children on
+board their boats and sold them as slaves to the Moslem. I question
+whether the Turks were ever guilty of a corresponding infamy.
+
+This Parrino, by the way, is useful as showing the trouble to which the
+Spanish viceroys were put by the perpetual inroads of these Oriental
+pests. Local militia were organized, heavy contributions levied, towers
+of refuge sprang up all along the coast—every respectable house had its
+private tower as well (for the dates, see G. del Giudice, _Del Grande
+Archivio di Napoli,_ 1871, p. 108). The daring of the pirates knew no
+bounds; they actually landed a fleet at Naples itself, and carried off
+a number of prisoners. The
+entire kingdom, save the inland parts, was terrorized by their
+lightning-like descents.
+
+A particular literature grew up about this time—those “Lamenti” in
+rime, which set forth the distress of the various places they
+afflicted.
+
+The saints had work to do. Each divine protector fought for his own
+town or village, and sometimes we see the pleasing spectacle of two
+patrons of different localities joining their forces to ward off a
+piratical attack upon some threatened district by means of fiery hail,
+tempests, apparitions and other celestial devices. A bellicose type of
+Madonna emerges, such as S. M. della Libera and S. M. di
+Constantinopoli, who distinguishes herself by a fierce martial courage
+in the face of the enemy. There is no doubt that these inroads acted as
+a stimulus to the Christian faith; that they helped to seat the
+numberless patron saints of south Italy more firmly on their thrones.
+The Saracens as saint-makers. . . .
+
+But despite occasional successes, the marine population suffered
+increasingly. Historians like Summonte have left us descriptions of the
+prodigious exodus of the country people from Calabria and elsewhere
+into the safer capital, and how the polished citizens detested these
+new arrivals.
+
+The ominous name “Torre di Guardia” (tower of outlook)—a cliff whence
+the sea was scanned for the appearance of Turkish vessels—survives all
+over the south. Barbarossa, too, has left his mark; many a hill,
+fountain or castle has been named after him. In the two Barbarossas
+were summed up the highest qualities of the pirates, and it is curious
+to think that the names of those scourges of Christendom, Uruj and
+Kheir-eddin, should have been contracted into the classical forms of
+Horace and Ariadne. The picturesque Uruj was painted by Velasquez; the
+other entertained a polite epistolatory correspondence with Aretino,
+and died, to his regret, “like a coward” in bed. I never visit
+Constantinople without paying my respects to that calm tomb at
+Beshiktah, where, after life’s fitful fever, sleeps the _Chief of the
+Sea._
+
+And so things went on till recently. K. Ph. Moritz writes that King
+Ferdinand of Naples, during his sporting excursions to the islands of
+his dominions, was always accompanied by two cruisers, to forestall the
+chance of his being carried off by these _Turchi._ But his loyal
+subjects had no cruisers at their disposal; they lived _Turcarum
+praedonibus semper obnoxii._ Who shall calculate the effects of this
+long reign of terror on the national mind?
+
+For a thousand years—from 830 to 1830—from the days when the Amalfitans
+won the proud title of “Defenders of the Faith”
+up to those of the sentimental poet Waiblinger (1826), these shores
+were infested by Oriental ruffians, whose activities were an
+unmitigated evil. It is all very well for Admiral de la Gravière to
+speak of “Gallia Victrix “—the Americans, too, might have something to
+say on that point. The fact is that neither European nor American arms
+crushed the pest. But for the invention of steam, the Barbary corsairs
+might still be with us.
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+UPLANDS OF POLLINO
+
+
+It has a pleasant signification, that word “Dolcedorme”: it means
+_Sweet slumber._ But no one could tell me how the mountain group came
+by this name; they gave me a number of explanations, all fanciful and
+unconvincing.
+
+Pollino, we are told, is derived from Apollo, and authors of olden days
+sometimes write of it as “Monte Apollino.” But Barrius suggests an
+alternative etymology, equally absurd, and connected with the medicinal
+herbs which are found there. _Pollino,_ he says, _a polleo dictus, quod
+nobilibus herbis medelae commodis polleat. Provenit enim ibi, ut ab
+herbariis accepi, tragium dictamnum Cretense, chamaeleon bigenum,
+draucus, meum, nardus, celtica, anonides, anemone, peucedamum, turbit,
+reubarbarum, pyrethrum, juniperus ubertim, stellaria, imperatoria,
+cardus masticem fundens, dracagas, cythisus_—whence likewise the
+magnificent cheeses; gold and the Phrygian stone, he adds, are also
+found here.
+
+Unhappily Barrius—we all have a fling at this “Strabo and Pliny of
+Calabria”! So jealous was he of his work that he procured a prohibition
+from the Pope against all who might reprint it, and furthermore invoked
+the curses of heaven and earth upon whoever should have the audacity to
+translate it into Italian. Yet his shade ought to be appeased with the
+monumental edition of 1737, and, as regards his infallibility, one must
+not forget that among his contemporaries the more discerning had
+already censured his _philopatria,_ his immoderate love of Calabria.
+And that is the right way to judge of men who were not so much ignorant
+as unduly zealous for the fair name of their natal land. To sneer at
+them is to misjudge their period. It was the very spirit of the
+Renaissance to press rhetorical learning into the service of
+patriotism. They made some happy guesses and not a few mistakes; and
+when they lied deliberately, it was done in what they held a just
+cause—as scholars and gentlemen.
+
+The _Calabria Illustrata_ of Fiore also fares badly at the hands of
+critics. But I shall not repeat what they say; I confess to a sneaking
+fondness for Father Fiore.
+
+Marafioti, a Calabrian monk, likewise dwells on these same herbs of
+Pollino, and gives a long account of a medical secret which he learnt
+on the spot from two Armenian botanists. Alas for Marafioti! Despite
+his excellent index and seductively chaste Paduan type and paper, the
+impartial Soria is driven to say that “to make his shop appear more
+rich in foreign merchandise, he did not scruple to adorn it with books
+and authors apocryphal, imaginary, and unknown to the whole human
+race.” In short, he belonged to the school of Pratilli, who wrote a
+wise and edifying history of Capua on the basis of inscriptions which
+he himself had previously forged; of Ligorio Pirro, prince of his
+tribe, who manufactured thousands of coins, texts and marbles out of
+sheer exuberance of creative artistry!
+
+Gone are those happy days of authorship, when the constructive
+imagination was not yet blighted and withered. . . .
+
+Marching comfortably, it will take you nearly twelve hours to go from
+Morano to the village of Terranova di Pollino, which I selected as my
+first night-quarter. This includes a scramble up the peak of Pollino,
+locally termed “telegrafo,” from a pile of stones—? an old
+signal-station—erected on the summit. But since decent accommodation
+can only be obtained at Castrovillari, a start should be made from
+there, and this adds another hour to the trip. Moreover, as the peak of
+Pollino lies below that of Dolcedorme, which shuts off a good deal of
+its view seaward, this second mountain ought rather to be ascended, and
+that will probably add yet another hour—fourteen altogether. The
+natives, ever ready to say what they think will please you, call it a
+six hours’ excursion. As a matter of fact, although I spoke to numbers
+of the population of Morano, I only met two men who had ever been to
+Terranova, one of them being my muleteer; the majority had not so much
+as heard its name. They dislike mountains and torrents and forests, not
+only as an offence to the eye, but as hindrances to agriculture and
+enemies of man and his ordered ways. “La montagna” is considerably
+abused, all over Italy.
+
+It takes an hour to cross the valley and reach the slopes of the
+opposite hills. Here, on the plain, lie the now faded blossoms of the
+monstrous arum, the botanical glory of these regions. To see it in
+flower, in early June, is alone almost worth the trouble of a journey
+to Calabria.
+
+On a shady eminence at the foot of these mountains, in a most
+picturesque site, there stands a large castellated building, a
+monastery. It is called Colorito, and is now a ruin; the French, they
+say, shelled it for harbouring the brigand-allies of Bourbonism. Nearly
+all convents in the south, and even in Naples, were at one time or
+another refuges of bandits, and this association of monks and robbers
+used to give much trouble to conscientious politicians. It is a
+solitary building, against the dark hill-side; a sombre and romantic
+pile such as would have charmed Anne Radcliffe; one longs to explore
+its recesses. But I dreaded the coming heats of midday. Leone da
+Morano, who died in 1645, belonged to this congregation, and was
+reputed an erudite ecclesiastic. The life of one of its greatest
+luminaries, Fra Bernardo da Rogliano, was described by Tufarelli in a
+volume which I have never been able to catch sight of. It must be very
+rare, yet it certainly was printed.[1]
+
+ [1] Haym has no mention of this work. But it is fully quoted in old
+ Toppi’s “Biblioteca” (p. 317), and also referred to in Savonarola’s
+ “Universus Terrarum,” etc. (1713, Vol. I, p. 216). Both say it was
+ printed at Cosenza; the first, in 1650; the second, in 1630.
+
+The path ascends now through a long and wearisome limestone gap called
+Valle di Gaudolino, only the last half-hour of the march being shaded
+by trees. It was in this gully that an accidental encounter took place
+between a detachment of French soldiers and part of the band of the
+celebrated brigand Scarolla, whom they had been pursuing for months all
+over the country. The brigands were sleeping when the others fell upon
+them, killing numbers and carrying off a large booty; so rich it was,
+that the soldiers were seen playing at “petis palets”—whatever that may
+be—with quadruples of Spain—whatever _that_ may be. Scarolla escaped
+wounded, but was afterwards handed over to justice, for a consideration
+of a thousand ducats, by some shepherds with whom he had taken refuge;
+and duly hanged. His band consisted of four thousand ruffians; it was
+one of several that infested south Italy. This gives some idea of the
+magnitude of the evil.
+
+It was my misfortune that after weeks of serene weather this particular
+morning should be cloudy. There was sunshine in the valley below, but
+wreaths of mist were skidding over the summit of Pollino; the view, I
+felt sure, would be spoilt. And so it was. Through swiftly-careering
+cloud-drifts I caught glimpses of the plain and the blue Ionian; of the
+Sila range confronting me; of the peak of Dolcedorme to the left, and
+the “Montagna del Principe” on the right; of the large forest region at
+my back. Tantalizing visions!
+
+[Illustration: The Peak of Pollino in June]
+
+Viewed from below, this Pollino is shaped like a pyramid, and promises
+rather a steep climb over bare limestone; but the ascent is quite easy.
+No trees grow on the pyramid. The rock is covered
+with a profusion of forget-me-nots and gay pansies; some mezereon and a
+few dwarfed junipers—earthward-creeping—nearly reach the summit. When I
+passed here on a former trip, on the 6th of June, this peak was
+shrouded in snow. There are some patches of snow even now, one of them
+descending in glacier fashion down the slope on the other side; they
+call it “eternal,” but I question whether it will survive the heats of
+autumn. Beyond a brace of red-legged partridges, I saw no birds
+whatever. This group of Pollino, descending its seven thousand feet in
+a precipitous flight of terraces to the plain of Sibari, is an imposing
+_finale_ to the Apennines that have run hitherward, without a break,
+from Genoa and Bologna. Westward of this spot there are mountains
+galore; but no more Apennines; no more limestone precipices. The
+boundary of the old provinces of Calabria and Basilicata ran over this
+spot. . . .
+
+I was glad to descend once more, and to reach the _Altipiano di
+Pollino—_an Alpine meadow with a little lake (the merest puddle),
+bright with rare and beautiful flowers. It lies 1780 metres above
+sea-level, and no one who visits these regions should omit to see this
+exquisite tract encircled by mountain peaks, though it lies a little
+off the usual paths. Strawberries, which I had eaten at Rossano, had
+not yet opened their flowers here; the flora, boreal in parts, has been
+studied by Terracciano and other Italian botanists.
+
+It was on this verdant, flower-enamelled mead that, fatigued with the
+climb, I thought to try the powers of my riding mule. But the beast
+proved vicious; there was no staying on her back. A piece of string
+attached to her nose by way of guiding-rope was useless as a rein; she
+had no mane wherewith I might have steadied myself in moments of
+danger, and as to seizing her ears for that purpose, it was out of the
+question, for hardly was I in the saddle before her head descended to
+the ground and there remained, while her hinder feet essayed to touch
+the stars. After a succession of ignominious and painful flights to
+earth, I complained to her owner, who had been watching the proceedings
+with quiet interest.
+
+“That lady-mule,” he said, “is good at carrying loads. But she has
+never had a Christian on her back till now. I was rather curious to see
+how she would behave.”
+
+“_Santo Dio!_ And do you expect me to pay four francs a day for having
+my bones broken in this fashion?”
+
+“What would you, sir? She is still young—barely four years old. Only
+wait! Wait till she is ten or twelve.”
+
+To do him justice, however, he tried to make amends in other
+ways. And he certainly knew the tracks. But he was a returned emigrant,
+and when an Italian has once crossed the ocean he is useless for my
+purposes, he has lost his savour—the virtue has gone out of him. True
+Italians will soon be rare as the dodo in these parts. These
+_americani_ cast off their ancient animistic traits and patriarchal
+disposition with the ease of a serpent; a new creature emerges, of a
+wholly different character—sophisticated, extortionate at times, often
+practical and in so far useful; scorner of every tradition, infernally
+wideawake and curiously deficient in what the Germans call “Gemüt” (one
+of those words which we sadly need in our own language). Instead of
+being regaled with tales of Saint Venus and fairies and the Evil Eye, I
+learnt a good deal about the price of food in the Brazilian highlands.
+
+The only piece of local information I was able to draw from him
+concerned a mysterious plant in the forest that “shines by night.” I
+dare say he meant the _dictamnus fraxinella,_ which is sometimes
+luminous.
+
+The finest part of the forest was traversed in the afternoon. It is
+called Janace, and composed of firs and beeches. The botanist Tenore
+says that firs 150 feet in height are “not difficult to find” here, and
+some of the beeches, a forestal inspector assured me, attain the height
+of 35 metres. They shoot up in straight silvery trunks; their roots are
+often intertwined with those of the firs. The track is not level by any
+means. There are torrents to be crossed; rocky ravines with splashing
+waters where the sunshine pours down through a dense network of
+branches upon a carpet of russet leaves and grey boulders—the envious
+beeches allowing of no vegetation at their feet; occasional meadows,
+too, bright with buttercups and orchids. No pines whatever grow in this
+forest. Yet a few stunted ones are seen clinging to the precipices that
+descend into the Coscile valley; their seeds may have been wafted
+across from the Sila mountains.
+
+In olden days all this country was full of game; bears, stags and
+fallow-deer are mentioned. Only wolves and a few roe-deer are now left.
+The forest is sombre, but not gloomy, and one would like to spend some
+time in these wooded regions, so rare in Italy, and to study their life
+and character—but how set about it? The distances are great; there are
+no houses, not even a shepherd’s hut or a cave; the cold at night is
+severe, and even in the height of midsummer one must be prepared for
+spells of mist and rain. I shall be tempted, on another occasion, to
+provide myself with a tent such as is supplied to military officers.
+They are light and handy, and perhaps camping out with a man-cook of
+the kind that
+one finds in the Abruzzi provinces would be altogether the best way of
+seeing the remoter parts of south and central Italy. For decent
+food-supplies can generally be obtained in the smallest places; the
+drawback is that nobody can cook them. Dirty food by day and dirty beds
+by night will daunt the most enterprising natures in the long run.
+
+These tracks are only traversed in summer. When I last walked through
+this region—in the reverse direction, from Lagonegro over Latronico and
+San Severino to Castrovillari—the ground was still covered with
+stretches of snow, and many brooks were difficult to cross from the
+swollen waters. This was in June. It was odd to see the beeches rising,
+in full leaf, out of the deep snow.
+
+During this afternoon ramble I often wondered what the burghers of
+Taranto would think of these sylvan solitudes. Doubtless they would
+share the opinion of a genteel photographer of Morano who showed me
+some coloured pictures of local brides in their appropriate costumes,
+such as are sent to relatives in America after weddings. He possessed a
+good camera, and I asked whether he had never made any pictures of this
+fine forest scenery. No, he said; he had only once been to the festival
+of the Madonna di Pollino, but he went alone—his companion, an
+_avvocato,_ got frightened and failed to appear at the last moment.
+
+“So I went alone,” he said, “and those forests, it must be confessed,
+are too savage to be photographed. Now, if my friend had come, he might
+have posed for me, sitting comically at the foot of a tree, with
+crossed legs, and smoking a cigar, like this. ... Or he might have
+pretended to be a wood-cutter, bending forwards and felling a tree . .
+. tac, tac, tac . . . without his jacket, of course. That would have
+made a picture. But those woods and mountains, all by themselves—no!
+The camera revolts. In photography, as in all good art, the human
+element must predominate.”
+
+It is sad to think that in a few years’ time nearly all these forests
+will have ceased to exist; another generation will hardly recognize the
+site of them. A society from Morbegno (Valtellina) has acquired rights
+over the timber, and is hewing down as fast as it can. They import
+their own workmen from north Italy, and have built at a cost of two
+million francs (say the newspapers) a special funicular railway, 23
+kilometres long, to carry the trunks from the mountain to Francavilla
+at its foot, where they are sawn up and conveyed to the railway station
+of Cerchiara, near Sibari. This concession, I am told, extends to
+twenty-five years—they have now been at work for two, and the results
+are already apparent in some almost bare slopes once clothed with these
+huge primeval trees.
+There are inspectors, some of them conscientious, to see that a due
+proportion of the timber is left standing; but we all know what the
+average Italian official is, and must be, considering his salary. One
+could hardly blame them greatly if, as I have been assured is the case,
+they often sell the wood which they are paid to protect.
+
+The same fate is about to overtake the extensive hill forests which lie
+on the watershed between Morano and the Tyrrhenian. These, according to
+a Castrovillari local paper, have lately been sold to a German firm for
+exploitation.
+
+It is useless to lament the inevitable—this modern obsession of
+“industrialism” which has infected a country purely agricultural. Nor
+is it any great compensation to observe that certain small tracts of
+hill-side behind Morano are being carefully reafforested by the
+Government at this moment. Whoever wishes to see these beautiful
+stretches of woodland ere their disappearance from earth—let him
+hasten!
+
+After leaving the forest region it is a downhill walk of nearly three
+hours to reach Terranova di Pollino, which lies, only 910 metres above
+sea-level, against the slope of a wide and golden amphitheatre of
+hills, at whose entrance the river Sarmento has carved itself a
+prodigious gateway through the rock. A dirty little place; the male
+inhabitants are nearly all in America; the old women nearly all
+afflicted with goitre. I was pleased to observe the Calabrian system of
+the house-doors, which life in civilized places had made me forget.
+These doors are divided into two portions, not vertically like ours,
+but horizontally. The upper portion is generally open, in order that
+the housewife sitting within may have light and air in her room, and an
+opportunity of gossiping with her neighbours across the street; the
+lower part is closed, to prevent the pigs in the daytime from entering
+the house (where they sleep at night). The system testifies to social
+instincts and a certain sense of refinement.
+
+The sights of Terranova are soon exhausted. They had spoken to me of a
+house near the woods, about four hours distant, inhabited just now by
+shepherds. Thither we started, next day, at about 3 p.m.
+
+The road climbs upwards through bare country till it reaches a dusky
+pinnacle of rock, a conspicuous landmark, which looks volcanic but is
+nothing of the kind. It bears the name of Pietra-Sasso—the explanation
+of this odd pleonasm being, I suppose, that here the whole mass of
+rock, generally decked with grass or shrubs, is as bare as any single
+stone.
+
+[Illustration: Calabrian Cows]
+
+There followed a pleasant march through pastoral country of streamlets
+and lush grass, with noble views downwards on our right, over
+many-folded hills into the distant valley of the Sinno. To the left is
+the forest region. But the fir trees are generally mutilated—their
+lower branches lopped off; and the tree resents this treatment and
+often dies, remaining a melancholy stump among the beeches. They take
+these branches not for fuel, but as fodder for the cows. A curious kind
+of fodder, one thinks; but Calabrian cows will eat anything, and their
+milk tastes accordingly. No wonder the natives prefer even the greasy
+fluid of their goats to that of cows.
+
+“How?” they will ask, “You Englishmen, with all your money—you drink
+the milk of cows?”
+
+Goats are over-plentiful here, and the hollies, oaks and thorns along
+the path have been gnawed by them into quaint patterns like the
+topiarian work in old-fashioned gardens. If they find nothing to their
+taste on the ground, they actually climb trees; I have seen them
+browsing thus, at six feet above the ground. These miserable beasts are
+the ruin of south Italy, as they are of the whole Mediterranean basin.
+What malaria and the Barbary pirates have done to the sea-board, the
+goats have accomplished for the regions further inland; and it is
+really time that sterner legislation were introduced to limit their
+grazing-places and incidentally reduce their numbers, as has been done
+in parts of the Abruzzi, to the great credit of the authorities. But
+the subject is a well-worn one.
+
+The solitary little house which now appeared before us is called
+“Vitiello,” presumably from its owner or builder, a proprietor of the
+village of Noepoli. It stands in a charming site, with a background of
+woodland whence rivulets trickle down—the immediate surroundings are
+covered with pasture and bracken and wild pear trees smothered in
+flowering dog-roses. I strolled about in the sunset amid tinkling herds
+of sheep and goats that were presently milked and driven into their
+enclosure of thorns for the night, guarded by four or five of those
+savage white dogs of the Campagna breed. Despite these protectors, the
+wolf carried off two sheep yesterday, in broad daylight. The flocks
+come to these heights in the middle of June, and descend again in
+October.
+
+The shepherds offered us the only fare they possessed—the much-belauded
+Pollino cheeses, the same that were made, long ago, by Polyphemus
+himself. You can get them down at a pinch, on the principle of the
+German proverb, “When the devil is hungry, he eats flies.” Fortunately
+our bags still contained a varied assortment, though my man had
+developed an appetite and a thirst that did credit to his Berserker
+ancestry.
+
+We retired early. But long after the rest of them were snoring hard I
+continued awake, shivering under my blanket and choking with the acrid
+smoke of a fire of green timber. The door had been left ajar to allow
+it to escape, but the only result of this arrangement was that a
+glacial blast of wind swept into the chamber from outside. The night
+was bitterly cold, and the wooden floor on which I was reposing seemed
+to be harder than the majority of its kind. I thought with regret of
+the tepid nights of Taranto and Castrovillari, and cursed my folly for
+climbing into these Arctic regions; wondering, as I have often done,
+what demon of restlessness or perversity drives one to undertake such
+insane excursions.
+
+
+
+
+XX
+A MOUNTAIN FESTIVAL
+
+
+Leaving the hospitable shepherds in the morning, we arrived after
+midday, by devious woodland paths, at the Madonna di Pollino.
+
+This solitary fane is perched, like an eagle’s nest, on the edge of a
+cliff overhanging the Frida torrent. Owing to this fact, and to its
+great elevation, the views inland are wonderful; especially towards
+evening, when crude daylight tints fade away and range after range of
+mountains reveal themselves, their crests outlined against each other
+in tender gradations of mauve and grey. The prospect is closed, at
+last, by the lofty groups of Sirino and Alburno, many long leagues
+away. On all other sides are forests, interspersed with rock. But near
+at hand lies a spacious green meadow, at the foot of a precipice. This
+is now covered with encampments in anticipation of to-morrow’s
+festival, and the bacchanal is already in full swing.
+
+Very few foreigners, they say, have attended this annual feast, which
+takes place on the first Saturday and Sunday of July, and is worth
+coming a long way to see. Here the old types, uncon-taminated by
+modernism and emigration, are still gathered together. The whole
+country-side is represented; the peasants have climbed up with their
+entire households from thirty or forty villages of this thinly
+populated land, some of them marching a two days’ journey; the greater
+the distance, the greater the “divozione” to the Mother of God. _Piety
+conquers rough tracks,_ as old Bishop Paulinus sang, nearly fifteen
+hundred years ago.
+
+It is a vast picnic in honour of the Virgin. Two thousand persons are
+encamped about the chapel, amid a formidable army of donkeys and mules
+whose braying mingles with the pastoral music of reeds and
+bagpipes—bagpipes of two kinds, the common Calabrian variety and that
+of Basilicata, much larger and with a resounding base key, which will
+soon cease to exist. A heaving ebb and flow of humanity fills the eye;
+fires are flickering before extempore shelters, and an ungodly amount
+of food is being consumed, as traditionally prescribed for such
+occasions—“si mangia
+per divozione.” On all sides picturesque groups of dancers indulge in
+the old peasants’ measure, the _percorara,_ to the droning of
+bagpipes—a demure kind of tarantella, the male capering about with
+faun-like attitudes of invitation and snappings of fingers, his partner
+evading the advances with downcast eyes. And the church meanwhile, is
+filled to overflowing; orations and services follow one another without
+interruption; the priests are having a busy time of it.
+
+The rocky pathway between this chapel and the meadow is obstructed by
+folk and lined on either side with temporary booths of green branches,
+whose owners vociferously extol the merits of their wares—cloths,
+woollens, umbrellas, hot coffee, wine, fresh meat, fruit, vegetables
+(the spectre of cholera is abroad, but no one heeds)—as well as gold
+watches, rings and brooches, many of which will be bought ere to-morrow
+morning, in memory of to-night’s tender meetings. The most interesting
+shops are those which display ex-votos, waxen reproductions of various
+ailing parts of the body which have been miraculously cured by the
+Virgin’s intercession: arms, legs, fingers, breasts, eyes. There are
+also entire infants of wax. Strangest of all of them is a many-tinted
+and puzzling waxen symbol which sums up all the internal organs of the
+abdomen in one bold effort of artistic condensation; a kind of
+heraldic, materialized stomache-ache. I would have carried one away
+with me, had there been the slightest chance of its remaining
+unbroken.[1]
+
+ [1] A good part of these, I dare say, are intended to represent the
+ enlarged spleen of malaria. In old Greece, says Dr. W. H. D. Rouse,
+ votives of the trunk are commonest, after the eyes—malaria, again.
+
+These are the votive offerings which catch the visitor’s eye in
+southern churches, and were beloved not only of heathendom, but of the
+neolithic gentry; a large deposit has been excavated at Taranto; the
+British Museum has some of marble, from Athens; others were of silver,
+but the majority terra-cotta. The custom must have entered Christianity
+in early ages, for already Theodoret, who died in 427, says, “some
+bring images of eyes, others of feet, others of hands; and sometimes
+they are made of gold, sometimes of silver. These votive gifts testify
+to cure of maladies.” Nowadays, when they become too numerous, they are
+melted down for candles; so Pericles, in some speech, talks of selling
+them for the benefit of the commonwealth.
+
+One is struck with the feast of costumes here, by far the brightest
+being those of the women who have come up from the seven or eight
+Albanian villages that surround these hills. In their
+variegated array of chocolate-brown and white, of emerald-green and
+gold and flashing violet, these dames move about the sward like
+animated tropical flowers. But the Albanian girls of Cività stand out
+for aristocratic elegance—pleated black silk gowns, discreetly trimmed
+with gold and white lace, and open at the breast. The women of Morano,
+too, make a brave show.
+
+Night brings no respite; on the contrary, the din grows livelier than
+ever; fires gleam brightly on the meadow and under the trees; the
+dancers are unwearied, the bagpipers with their brazen lungs show no
+signs of exhaustion. And presently the municipal music of
+Castrovillari, specially hired for the occasion, ascends an improvised
+bandstand and pours brisk strains into the night. Then the fireworks
+begin, sensational fireworks, that have cost a mint of money; flaring
+wheels and fiery devices that send forth a pungent odour; rockets of
+many hues, lighting up the leafy recesses, and scaring the owls and
+wolves for miles around.
+
+Certain persons have told me that if you are of a prying disposition,
+now is the time to observe amorous couples walking hand in hand into
+the gloom—passionate young lovers from different villages, who have
+looked forward to this night of all the year on the chance of meeting,
+at last, in a fervent embrace under the friendly beeches. These same
+stern men (they are always men) declare that such nocturnal festivals
+are a disgrace to civilization; that the Greek Comedy, long ago,
+reprobated them as disastrous to the morals of females—that they were
+condemned by the Council of Elvira, by Vigilantius of Marseilles and by
+the great Saint Jerome, who wrote that on such occasions no virgin
+should wander a hand’s-breadth from her mother. They wish you to
+believe that on these warm summer nights, when the pulses of nature are
+felt and senses stirred with music and wine and dance, the _Gran Madre
+di Dio_ is adored in a manner less becoming Christian youths and
+maidens, than heathens celebrating mad orgies to _Magna Mater_ in
+Daphne, or the Babylonian groves (where she was not worshipped at
+all—though she might have been).
+
+In fact, they insinuate that——-
+
+It may well be true. What were the moralists doing there?
+
+Festivals like this are relics of paganism, and have my cordial
+approval. We English ought to have learnt by this time that the
+repression of pleasure is a dangerous error. In these days when even
+Italy, the grey-haired _cocotte,_ has become tainted with
+Anglo-Pecksniffian principles, there is nothing like a little
+time-honoured bestiality for restoring the circulation and putting
+things to rights generally. On ethical grounds alone—as
+safety-valves—such
+nocturnal feasts ought to be kept up in regions such as these, where
+the country-folk have not our “facilities.” Who would grudge them these
+primordial joys, conducted under the indulgent motherly eye of Madonna,
+and hallowed by antiquity and the starlit heavens above? Every one is
+so happy and well-behaved. No bawling, no quarrelsomeness, no
+staggering tipplers; a spirit of universal good cheer broods over the
+assembly. Involuntarily, one thinks of the drunkard-strewn field of
+battle at the close of our Highland games; one thinks of God-fearing
+Glasgow on a Saturday evening, and of certain other aspects of Glasgow
+life. . . .
+
+I accepted the kindly proffered invitation of the priests to share
+their dinner; they held out hopes of some sort of sleeping
+accommodation as well. It was a patriarchal hospitality before that
+fire of logs (the night had grown chilly), and several other guests
+partook of it, forestal inspectors and such-like notabilities—one lady
+among them who, true to feudal traditions, hardly spoke a word the
+whole evening. I was struck, as I have sometimes been, at the
+attainments of these country priests; they certainly knew our
+Gargantuan novelists of the Victorian epoch uncommonly well. Can it be
+that these great authors are more readable in Italian translations than
+in the original? One of them took to relating, in a strain of autumnal
+humour, experiences of his life in the wilds of Bolivia, where he had
+spent many years among the Indians; my neighbour, meanwhile, proved to
+be steeped in Horatian lore. It was his pet theory, supported by a
+wealth of aptly cited lines, that Horace was a “typical Italian
+countryman,” and great was his delight on discovering that I shared his
+view and could even add another—somewhat improper—utterance of the
+poet’s to his store of illustrative quotations.
+
+They belonged to the old school, these sable philosophers; to the days
+when the priest was arbiter of life and death, and his mere word
+sufficient to send a man to the galleys; when the cleverest boys of
+wealthy and influential families were chosen for the secular career and
+carefully, one might say liberally, trained to fulfil those responsible
+functions. The type is becoming extinct, the responsibility is gone,
+the profession has lost its glamour; and only the clever sons of pauper
+families, or the dull ones of the rich, are now tempted to forsake the
+worldly path.
+
+Regarding the origin of this festival, I learned that it was
+“tradition.” It had been suggested to me that the Virgin had appeared
+to a shepherd in some cave near at hand—the usual Virgin, in the usual
+cave; a cave which, in the present instance, no one was able to point
+out to me. _Est traditio, ne quaeras amplius._
+My hosts answered questions on this subject with benignant ambiguity,
+and did not trouble to defend the divine apparition on the sophistical
+lines laid down in Riccardi’s “Santuari.” The truth, I imagine, is that
+they have very sensibly not concerned themselves with inventing an
+original legend. The custom of congregating here on these fixed days
+seems to be recent, and I am inclined to think that it has been called
+into being by the zeal of some local men of standing. On the other
+hand, a shrine may well have stood for many years on this spot, for it
+marks the half-way house in the arduous two days’ journey between San
+Severino and Castrovillari, a summer _trek_ that must date from hoary
+antiquity.
+
+Our bedroom contained two rough couches which were to be shared between
+four priests and myself. Despite the fact that I occupied the place of
+honour between the two oldest and wisest of my ghostly entertainers,
+sleep refused to come; the din outside had grown to a pandemonium. I
+lay awake till, at 2.30 a.m., one of them arose and touched the others
+with a whispered and half-jocular _oremus!_ They retired on tiptoe to
+the next room, noiselessly closing the door, to prepare themselves for
+early service. I could hear them splashing vigorously at their
+ablutions in the icy water, and wondered dreamily how many Neapolitan
+priests would indulge at that chill hour of the morning in such a
+lustral rite, prescribed as it is by the rules of decency and of their
+church.
+
+After that, I stretched forth at my ease and endeavoured to repose
+seriously. There were occasional lulls, now, in the carnival, but
+explosions of sound still broke the stillness, and phantoms of the
+restless throng began to chase each other through my brain. The exotic
+costumes of the Albanian girls in their green and gold wove themselves
+into dreams and called up colours seen in Northern Africa during still
+wilder festivals—negro festivals such as Fromentin loved to depict. In
+spectral dance there flitted before my vision nightmarish throngs of
+dusky women bedizened in that same green and gold; Arabs I saw, riding
+tumultuously hither and thither with burnous flying in the wind;
+beggars crawling about the hot sand and howling for alms; ribbons and
+flags flying—a blaze of sunshine overhead, and on earth a seething orgy
+of colour and sound; methought I heard the guttural yells of the
+fruit-vendors, musketry firing, braying of asses, the demoniacal groans
+of the camels——
+
+Was it really a camel? No. It was something infinitely worse, and
+within a few feet of my ears. I sprang out of bed. There, at the very
+window, stood a youth extracting unearthly noises out of the Basilicata
+bagpipe. To be sure! I remembered expressing an
+interest in this rare instrument to one of my hosts who, with subtle
+delicacy, must have ordered the boy to give me a taste of his
+quality—to perform a matutinal serenade, for my especial benefit. How
+thoughtful these people are. It was not quite 4 a.m. With some regret,
+I said farewell to sleep and stumbled out of doors, where my friends of
+yesterday evening were already up and doing. The eating, the dancing,
+the bagpipes—they were all in violent activity, under the sober and
+passionless eye of morning.
+
+A gorgeous procession took place about midday. Like a many-coloured
+serpent it wound out of the chapel, writhed through the intricacies of
+the pathway, and then unrolled itself freely, in splendid convolutions,
+about the sunlit meadow, saluted by the crash of mortars, bursts of
+military music from the band, chanting priests and women, and all the
+bagpipers congregated in a mass, each playing his own favourite tune.
+The figure of the Madonna—a modern and unprepossessing image—was
+carried aloft, surrounded by resplendent ecclesiastics and followed by
+a picturesque string of women bearing their votive offerings of
+candles, great and small. Several hundredweight of wax must have been
+brought up on the heads of pious female pilgrims. These multi-coloured
+candles are arranged in charming designs; they are fixed upright in a
+framework of wood, to resemble baskets or bird-cages, and decked with
+bright ribbons and paper flowers.
+
+Who settles the expenses of such a festival? The priests, in the first
+place, have paid a good deal to make it attractive; they have improved
+the chapel, constructed a number of permanent wooden shelters (rain
+sometimes spoils the proceedings), as well as a capacious reservoir for
+holding drinking water, which has to be transported in barrels from a
+considerable distance. Then—as to the immediate outlay for music,
+fireworks, and so forth—the Madonna-statue is “put up to auction”:
+_fanno l’incanto della Madonna,_ as they say; that is, the privilege of
+helping to carry the idol from the church and back in the procession is
+sold to the highest bidders. Inasmuch as She is put up for auction
+several times during this short perambulation, fresh enthusiasts coming
+forward gaily with bank-notes and shoulders—whole villages competing
+against each other—a good deal of money is realized in this way. There
+are also spontaneous gifts of money. Goats and sheep, too, decorated
+with coloured rags, are led up by peasants who have “devoted” them to
+the Mother of God; the butchers on the spot buy these beasts for
+slaughter, and their price goes to swell the funds.
+
+[Illustration: The Valley of Gandolino]
+
+This year’s expenditure may have been a thousand francs or so, and the
+proceeds are calculated at about two-thirds of that sum.
+No matter. If the priests do not make good the deficiency, some one
+else will be kind enough to step forward. Better luck next year! The
+festival, they hope, is to become more popular as time goes on, despite
+the chilling prophecy of one of our friends: “It will finish, this
+comedy!” The money, by the way, does not pass through the hands of the
+clerics, but of two individuals called “Regolatore” and “Priore,” who
+mutually control each other. They are men of reputable families, who
+burden themselves with the troublesome task for the honour of the
+thing, and make up any deficiencies in the accounts out of their own
+pockets. Cases of malversation are legendary.
+
+This procession marked the close of the religious gathering. Hardly was
+it over before there began a frenzied scrimmage of departure. And soon
+the woodlands echoed with the laughter and farewellings of pilgrims
+returning homewards by divergent paths; the whole way through the
+forest, we formed part of a jostling caravan along the
+Castrovillari-Morano track—how different from the last time I had
+traversed this route, when nothing broke the silence save a chaffinch
+piping among the branches or the distant tap of some woodpecker!
+
+So ended the _festa._ Once in the year this mountain chapel is rudely
+disquieted in its slumbers by a boisterous riot; then it sinks again
+into tranquil oblivion, while autumn dyes the beeches to gold. And very
+soon the long winter comes; chill tempests shake the trees and leaves
+are scattered to earth; towards Yuletide some woodman of Viggianello
+adventuring into these solitudes, and mindful of their green summer
+revels, discovers his familiar sanctuary entombed up to the door-lintle
+under a glittering sheet of snow. . . .
+
+There was a little episode in the late afternoon. We had reached the
+foot of the Gaudolino valley and begun the crossing of the plain, when
+there met us a woman with dishevelled hair, weeping bitterly and
+showing other signs of distress; one would have thought she had been
+robbed or badly hurt. Not at all! Like the rest of us, she had attended
+the feast and, arriving home with the first party, had been stopped at
+the entrance of the town, where they had insisted upon fumigating her
+clothes as a precaution against cholera, and those of her companions.
+That was all. But the indignity choked her—she had run back to warn the
+rest of us, all of whom were to be treated to the same outrage. Every
+approach to Morano, she declared, was watched by doctors, to prevent
+wary pilgrims from entering by unsuspected paths.
+
+During her recital my muleteer had grown thoughtful.
+
+“What’s to be done?” he asked.
+
+“I don’t much mind fumigation,” I replied.
+
+“Oh, but I do! I mind it very much. And these doctors are so dreadfully
+distrustful. How shall we cheat them? ... I have it, I have it!”
+
+And he elaborated the following stratagem:
+
+“I go on ahead of you, alone, leading the two mules. You follow, out of
+sight, behind. And what happens? When I reach the doctor, he asks
+slyly: ‘Well, and how did you enjoy the festival this year?’ Then I
+say: ‘Not this year, doctor; alas, no festival for me! I’ve been with
+an Englishman collecting beetles in the forest, and see? here’s his
+riding mule. He walks on behind—oh, quite harmless, doctor! a nice
+gentleman, indeed—only, he prefers walking; he really _likes_ it, ha,
+ha, ha!——”
+
+“Why mention about my walking?” I interrupted. The lady-mule was still
+a sore subject.
+
+“I mention about your not riding,” he explained graciously, “because it
+will seem to the doctor a sure sign that you are a little”—here he
+touched his forehead with a significant gesture—“a little like some
+other foreigners, you know. And that, in its turn, will account for
+your collecting beetles. And that, in its turn, will account for your
+not visiting the Madonna. You comprehend the argument: how it all hangs
+together?”
+
+“I see. What next?”
+
+“Then you come up, holding one beetle in each hand, and pretend not to
+know a word of Italian—not a word! You must smile at the doctor, in
+friendly fashion; he’ll like that. And besides, it will prove what I
+said about——” (touching his forehead once more). “In fact, the truth
+will be manifest. And there will be no fumigation for us.”
+
+It seemed a needlessly circuitous method of avoiding such a slight
+inconvenience. I would have put more faith in a truthful narrative by
+myself, suffused with that ingratiating amiability which I would
+perforce employ on such occasions. But the stronger mind, as usual, had
+its way.
+
+“I’ll smile,” I agreed. “But you shall carry my beetles; it looks more
+natural, somehow. Go ahead, and find them.”
+
+He moved forwards with the beasts and, after destroying a considerable
+tract of stone wall, procured a few specimens of native coleoptera,
+which he carefully wrapped up in a piece of paper. I followed slowly.
+
+Unfortunately for him, that particular doctor happened to be
+an _americano_ a snappy little fellow, lately returned from the States.
+
+“Glad to make your acquaintance, sir,” he began, as I came up to where
+the two were arguing together. “I’ve heard of your passing through the
+other day. So you don’t talk Italian? Well, then, see here: this man of
+yours, this God-dam son of Satan, has been showing me a couple of bugs
+and telling me a couple of hundred lies about them. Better move on
+right away; lucky you struck _me!_ As for this son of a ——, you bet
+I’ll sulphur him, bugs and all, to hell!”
+
+I paid the crestfallen muleteer then and there; took down my bags,
+greatly lightened, and departed with them. Glancing round near the
+little bridge, I saw that the pair were still engaged in heated
+discussion, my man clinging despairingly, as it seemed, to the
+beetle-hypothesis; he looked at me with reproachful eyes, as though I
+had deserted him in his hour of need.
+
+But what could I do, not knowing Italian?
+
+Moreover, I remembered the “lady-mule.”
+
+Fifteen minutes later a light carriage took me to Castrovillari,
+whence, after a bath and dinner that compensated for past hardships, I
+sped down to the station and managed, by a miracle, to catch the
+night-train to Cosenza.
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+MILTON IN CALABRIA
+
+
+you may spend pleasant days in this city of Cosenza, doing nothing
+whatever. But I go there a for set purpose, and bristling with energy.
+I go there to hunt for a book by a certain Salandra, which was printed
+on the spot, and which I have not yet been able to find, although I
+once discovered it in an old catalogue, priced at 80 _grani._ Gladly
+would I give 8000 for it!
+
+The author was a contemporary of that Flying Monk of whom I spoke in
+Chapter X, and he belonged to the same religious order. If, in what I
+then said about the flying monk, there appears to be some trace of
+light fooling in regard to this order and its methods, let amends be
+made by what I have to tell about old Salandra, the discovery of whose
+book is one of primary importance for the history of English letters.
+Thus I thought at the time; and thus I still think, with all due
+deference to certain grave and discerning gentlemen, the editors of
+various English monthlies to whom I submitted a paper on this subject—a
+paper which they promptly returned with thanks. No; that is not quite
+correct. One of them has kept it; and as six years have passed over our
+heads, I presume he has now acquired a title by “adverse possession.”
+Much good may it do him!
+
+Had the discovery been mine, I should have endeavoured to hide my light
+under the proverbial bushel. But it is not mine, and therefore I make
+bold to say that Mr. Bliss Perry, of the “Atlantic Monthly,” knew
+better than his English colleagues when he published the article from
+which I take what follows.
+
+“Charles Dunster (‘Considerations on Milton’s Early Reading,’ etc.,
+1810) traces the _prima stamina_ of ‘Paradise Lost’ to Sylvester’s ‘Du
+Bartas.’ Masenius, Cedmon, Vondel, and other older writers have also
+been named in this connection, while the majority of Milton’s English
+commentators—and among foreigners Voltaire and Tiraboschi—are inclined
+to regard the ‘Adamus Exul’ of Grotius or Andreini’s sacred drama of
+‘Adamo’ as the prototype.
+This latter can be consulted in the third volume of Cowper’s ‘Milton’
+(1810).
+
+The matter is still unsettled, and in view of the number of recent
+scholars who have interested themselves in it, one is really surprised
+that no notice has yet been taken of an Italian article which goes far
+towards deciding this question and proving that the chief source of
+‘Paradise Lost’ is the ‘Adamo Caduto,’ a sacred tragedy by Serafino
+della Salandra. The merit of this discovery belongs to Francesco
+Zicari, whose paper, ‘Sulla scoverta dell’ originale italiano da cui
+Milton trasse il suo poema del paradiso perduto,’ is printed on pages
+245 to 276 in the 1845 volume of the Naples ‘Album
+scientifico-artistico-letterario’ now lying before me. It is in the
+form of a letter addressed to his friend Francesco Ruffa, a native of
+Tropea in Calabria.[1]
+
+ [1] Zicari contemplated another paper on this subject, but I am
+ unaware whether this was ever published. The Neapolitan
+ Minieri-Riccio, who wrote his ‘Memorie Storiche’ in 1844, speaks of
+ this article as having been already printed in 1832, but does not say
+ where. This is corroborated by N. Falcone (‘Biblioteca
+ storica-topo-grafica della Calabria,’ 2nd ed., Naples, 1846, pp.
+ 152-154), who gives the same date, and adds that Zicari was the author
+ of a work on the district of Fuscaldo. He was born at Paola in
+ Calabria, of which he wrote a (manuscript) history, and died in 1846.
+ In this Milton article, he speaks of his name being ‘unknown in the
+ republic of letters.’. He is mentioned by Nicola Leoni (‘Della Magna
+ Grecia,’ vol. ii, p. 153).
+
+Salandra, it is true, is named among the writers of sacred tragedies in
+Todd’s ‘Milton’ (1809, vol. ii, p. 244), and also by Hayley, but
+neither of them had the curiosity, or the opportunity, to examine his
+‘Adamo Caduto’; Hayley expressly says that he has not seen it. More
+recent works, such as that of Moers (‘De fontibus Paradisi Amissi
+Miltoniani,’ Bonn, 1860), do not mention Salandra at all. Byse (‘Milton
+on the Continent,’ 1903) merely hints at some possible motives for the
+Allegro and the Penseroso.
+
+As to dates, there can be no doubt to whom the priority belongs. The
+‘Adamo’ of Salandra was printed at Cosenza in 1647. Richardson thinks
+that Milton entered upon his ‘Paradise Lost’ in 1654, and that it was
+shown, as done, in 1665; D. Masson agrees with this, adding that ‘it
+was not published till two years afterwards.’ The date 1665 is fixed, I
+presume, by the Quaker Elwood’s account of his visit to Milton in the
+autumn of that year, when the poet gave him the manuscript to read; the
+two years’ delay in publication may possibly have been due to the
+confusion occasioned by the great plague and fire of London.
+
+The castigation bestowed upon Lauder by Bishop Douglas, followed, as it
+was, by a terrific ‘back-hander’ from the brawny arm of Samuel Johnson,
+induces me to say that Salandra’s ‘Adamo Caduto,’ though extremely
+rare—so rare that neither the British
+Museum nor the Paris Bibliothèque Nationale possesses a copy—is _not_
+an imaginary book; I have had it in my hands, and examined it at the
+Naples Biblioteca Nazionale; it is a small octavo of 251 pages (not
+including twenty unnumbered ones, and another one at the end for
+correction of misprints); badly printed and bearing all the marks of
+genuineness, with the author’s name and the year and place of
+publication clearly set forth on the title-page. I have carefully
+compared Zicari’s references to it, and quotations from it, with the
+original. They are correct, save for a few insignificant verbal
+discrepancies which, so far as I can judge, betray no indication of an
+attempt on his part to mislead the reader, such as using the word
+_tromba_ (trumpet) instead of Salandra’s term _sambuca_ (sackbut). And
+if further proof of authenticity be required, I may note that the
+‘Adamo Caduto’ of Salandra is already cited in old bibliographies like
+Toppi’s ‘Biblioteca Napoletana’ (1678), or that of Joannes a S. Antonio
+(‘Biblioteca universa Franciscana, etc.,’ Madrid, 1732-1733, vol. iii,
+p. 88). It appears to have been the only literary production of its
+author, who was a Franciscan monk and is described as ‘Preacher, Lector
+and Definitor of the Reformed Province of Basilicata.’
+
+We may take it, then, that Salandra was a real person, who published a
+mystery called ‘Adamo Caduto’ in 1647; and I will now, without further
+preamble, extract from Zicari’s article as much as may be sufficient to
+show ground for his contention that Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’ is a
+transfusion, in general and in particular, of this same mystery.
+
+Salandra’s central theme is the Universe shattered by the disobedience
+of the First Man, the origin of our unhappiness and sins. The same with
+Milton.
+
+Salandra’s chief personages are God and His angels; the first man and
+woman; the serpent; Satan and his angels. The same with Milton.
+
+Salandra, at the opening of his poem (the prologue), sets forth his
+argument, and dwells upon the Creative Omnipotence and his works. The
+same with Milton.
+
+Salandra then describes the council of the rebel angels, their fall
+from heaven into a desert and sulphurous region, their discourses. Man
+is enviously spoken of, and his fall by means of stratagem decided
+upon; it is resolved to reunite in council in Pandemonium or the Abyss,
+where measures may be adopted to the end that man may become the enemy
+of God and the prey of hell. The same with Milton.
+
+Salandra personifies Sin and Death, the latter being the child of the
+former. The same with Milton.
+
+Salandra describes Omnipotence foreseeing the effects of the temptation
+and fall of man, and preparing his redemption. The same with Milton.
+
+Salandra depicts the site of Paradise and the happy life there. The
+same with Milton.
+
+Salandra sets forth the miraculous creation of the universe and of man,
+and the virtues of the forbidden fruit. The same with Milton.
+
+Salandra reports the conversation between Eve and the Serpent; the
+eating of the forbidden fruit and the despair of our first parents. The
+same with Milton.
+
+Salandra describes the joy of Death at the discomfiture of Eve; the
+rejoicings in hell; the grief of Adam; the flight of our first parents,
+their shame and repentance. The same with Milton.
+
+Salandra anticipates the intercession of the Redeemer, and the
+overthrow of Sin and Death; he dwells upon the wonders of the Creation,
+the murder of Abel by his brother Cain, and other human ills; the vices
+of the Antediluvians, due to the fall of Adam; the infernal gift of
+war. The same with Milton.
+
+Salandra describes the passion of Jesus Christ, and the comforts which
+Adam and Eve receive from the angel who announces the coming of the
+Messiah; lastly, their departure from the earthly paradise. The same
+with Milton.
+
+So much for the general scheme of both poems. And now for a few
+particular points of resemblance, verbal and otherwise.
+
+The character of Milton’s Satan, with the various facets of pride,
+envy, vindictiveness, despair, and impenitence which go to form that
+harmonious whole, are already clearly mapped out in the Lucifero of
+Salandra. For this statement, which I find correct, Zicari gives
+chapter and verse, but it would take far too long to set forth the
+matter in this place. The speeches of Lucifero, to be sure, read rather
+like a caricature—it must not be forgotten that Salandra was writing
+for lower-class theatrical spectators, and not for refined readers—but
+the elements which Milton has utilized are already there.
+
+Here is a coincidence:
+
+Here we may reign secure . . .
+Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.
+
+MILTON (i, 258).
+
+. . . Qui propria voglia,
+Son capo, son qui duce, son lor Prence.
+
+SALANDRA (p. 49).
+
+And another:
+
+. . . Whom shall we find
+Sufficient? ... This enterprise
+None shall partake with me.—MILTON (ii, 403, 465).
+
+A chi basterà l’ anima di voi?
+. . . certo che quest’ affare
+A la mia man s’ aspetta.—SALANDRA (p. 64).
+
+Milton’s Terror is partially taken from the Megera of the Italian poet.
+The ‘grisly Terror’ threatens Satan (ii, 699), and the office of
+Megera, in Salandra’s drama, is exactly the same—that is, to threaten
+and chastise the rebellious spirit, which she does very effectually
+(pages 123-131). The identical monsters—Cerberus, Hydras, and
+Chimæras—are found in their respective abodes, but Salandra does not
+content himself with these three; his list includes such a mixed
+assemblage of creatures as owls, basilisks, dragons, tigers, bears,
+crocodiles, sphynxes, harpies, and panthers. Terror moves with dread
+rapidity:
+
+. . . and from his seat
+The monster moving onward came as fast
+With horrid strides.—MILTON (ii, 675).
+
+and so does Megera:
+
+In atterir, in spaventar son . . .
+Rapido sì ch’ ogni ripar è vano.—SALANDRA (p. 59).
+
+Both Milton and Salandra use the names of the gods of antiquity for
+their demons, but the narrative epic of the English poet naturally
+permitted of far greater prolixity and variety in this respect. A most
+curious parallelism exists between Milton’s Belial and that of
+Salandra. Both are described as luxurious, timorous, slothful, and
+scoffing, and there is not the slightest doubt that Milton has taken
+over these mixed attributes from the Italian.[2]
+
+ [2] This is one of the occasions in which Zicari appears, at first
+ sight, to have stretched a point in order to improve his case,
+ because, in the reference he gives, it is Behemoth, and not Belial,
+ who speaks of himself as cowardly _(imbelle)._ But in another place
+ Lucifer applies this designation to Belial as well,
+
+The words of Milton’s Beelzebub (ii, 368):
+
+Seduce them to our party, that their god
+May prove their foe . . .
+
+are copied from those of the Italian Lucifero (p. 52):
+
+. . . Facciam
+Acciò, che l’ huom divenga
+A Dio nemico . . .
+
+Regarding the creation of the world, Salandra asks (p. 11):
+
+Qual lingua può di Dio,
+Benchè da Dio formato
+Lodar di Dio le meraviglie estreme?
+
+which is thus echoed by Milton (vii, 112):
+
+... to recount almighty works
+What words or tongue of Seraph can suffice?
+
+There is a considerable resemblance between the two poets in their
+descriptions of Paradise and of its joys. In both poems, too, Adam
+warns his spouse of her frailty, and in the episode of Eve’s meeting
+with the serpent there are no less than four verbal coincidences. Thus
+Salandra writes (p. 68):
+
+Ravviso gli animal, ch’ a schiera a schiera
+Già fanno humil e _reverente_ inclino . . .
+Ravveggio il bel serpente _avvolto_ in giri;
+O sei bello
+Con tanta varietà che certo sembri
+Altro stellato ciel, _smaltata_ terra.
+O che sento, _tu parli?_
+
+and Milton transcribes it as follows (ix, 517-554):
+
+. . . She minded not, as used
+To such disport before her through the field
+From every beast, more _duteous_ at her call . . .
+Curled many a wanton _wreath_ in sight of Eve.
+His turret crest and sleek _enamelled_ neck . . .
+What may this mean? Language of man _pronounced_
+By tongue of brute?
+
+Altogether, Zicari has observed that Rolli, although unacquainted with
+the ‘Adamo Caduto,’ has sometimes inadvertently hit upon the same words
+in his Italian translation of Milton which Salandra had used before
+him.
+
+Eve’s altered complexion after the eating of the forbidden fruit is
+noted by both poets:
+
+Torbata ne la faccia? Non sei quella
+Qual ti lasciai contenta . . .—SALANDRA (p. 89).
+
+Thus Eve with countenance blithe her story told;
+But in her cheek distemper flushing glowed. —MILTON (ix, 886).
+
+only with this difference, that the Italian Eve adds a half-lie by way
+of explaining the change:
+
+. . . Forse cangiata (del che non mi avveggio)
+Sono nel volto per la tua partenza.—(p. 89).
+
+In both poems Sin and Death reappear on the scene after the
+transgression.
+
+The flight of Innocence from earth; the distempered lust which
+dominates over Adam and Eve after the Fall; the league of Sin and Death
+to rule henceforward over the world; the pathetic lament of Adam
+regarding his misfortune and the evils in store for his progeny; his
+noble sentiment, that none can withdraw himself from the all-seeing eye
+of God—all these are images which Milton has copied from Salandra.
+
+Adam’s state of mind, after the fall, is compared by Salandra to a boat
+tossed by impetuous winds (p. 228):
+
+Qual agitato legno d’Austro, e Noto,
+Instabile incostante, non hai pace,
+Tu vivi pur . . .
+
+which is thus paraphrased in Milton (ix, 1122):
+
+. . . High winds worse within
+Began to rise . . . and shook sore
+Their inward state of mind, calm region once
+And full of peace, now tossed and turbulent.
+
+Here is a still more palpable adaptation:
+
+... So God ordains:
+God is thy law, thou mine.—MILTON (iv, 636)
+
+. . . . Un voler sia d’ entrambi,
+E quel’ uno di noi, di Dio sia tutto.—SALANDRA (p. 42).
+
+After the Fall, according to Salandra, _vacillò la terra_ (i), _geme_
+(2), _e pianse_ (3), _rumoreggiano i tuoni_ (4), _accompagnati da
+grandini_ (5), _e dense nevi_ (6), (pp. 138, 142, 218). Milton
+translates this as follows: Earth trembled from her entrails (1), and
+nature gave a second groan (2); sky loured and, muttering thunders (4),
+some sad drops wept (3), the winds, armed with ice and snow (6) and
+hail (5). (‘Paradise Lost,’ ix, 1000, x. 697).
+
+Here is another translation:
+
+. . . inclino il cielo
+Giù ne la terra, e questa al Ciel innalza.—SALANDRA (p. 242).
+
+And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth.—MILTON (vii, 160).
+
+It is not to my purpose to do Zicari’s work over again, as this would
+entail a complete translation of his long article (it contains nearly
+ten thousand words), to which, if the thing is to be done properly,
+must be appended Salandra’s ‘Adamo,’ in order that his
+quotations from it can be tested. I will therefore refer to the
+originals those who wish to go into the subject more fully, warning
+them, _en passant,_ that they may find the task of verification more
+troublesome than it seems, owing to a stupid mistake on Zicari’s part.
+For in his references to Milton, he claims (p. 252) to use an 1818
+Venice translation of the ‘Paradise Lost’ by Rolli. Now Rolli’s
+‘Paradiso Perduto’ is a well-known work which was issued in many
+editions in London, Paris, and Italy throughout the eighteenth century.
+But I cannot trace this particular one of Venice, and application to
+many of the chief libraries of Italy has convinced me that it does not
+exist, and that 1818 must be a misprint for some other year. The error
+would be of no significance if Zicari had referred to Rolli’s
+‘Paradiso’ by the usual system of cantos and lines, but he refers to it
+by pages, and the pagination differs in every one of the editions of
+Rolli which have passed through my hands. Despite every effort, I have
+not been able to hit upon the precise one which Zicari had in mind, and
+if future students are equally unfortunate, I wish them joy of their
+labours.[3]
+
+ [3] Let me take this opportunity of expressing my best thanks to Baron
+ E. Tortora Brayda, of the Naples Biblioteca Nazionale, who has taken
+ an infinity of trouble in this matter.
+
+These few extracts, however, will suffice to show that, without
+Salandra’s ‘Adamo,’ the ‘Paradise Lost,’ as we know it, would not be in
+existence; and that Zicari’s discovery is therefore one of primary
+importance for English letters, although it would be easy to point out
+divergencies between the two works—divergencies often due to the
+varying tastes and feelings of a republican Englishman and an Italian
+Catholic, and to the different conditions imposed by an epic and a
+dramatic poem. Thus, in regard to this last point, Zicari has already
+noted (p. 270) that Salandra’s scenic acts were necessarily reproduced
+in the form _of visions_ by Milton, who could not avail himself of the
+mechanism of the drama for this purpose. Milton was a man of the world,
+traveller, scholar, and politician; but it will not do for us to insist
+too vehemently upon the probable mental inferiority of the Calabrian
+monk, in view of the high opinion which Milton seems to have had of his
+talents. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. The ‘Adamo
+Caduto,’ of course, is only one of a series of similar works concerning
+which a large literature has now grown up, and it might not be
+difficult to prove that Salandra was indebted to some previous writer
+for those words and phrases which he passed on to the English poet.
+
+But where did Milton become acquainted with this tragedy? It was at
+Naples, according to Cowper (‘Milton,’ vol. iii, p. 206), that the
+English poet may first have entertained the idea of ‘the loss of
+paradise as a subject peculiarly fit for poetry.’ He may well have
+discussed sacred tragedies, like those of Andreini, with the Marquis
+Manso. But Milton had returned to England long before Salandra’s poem
+was printed; nor can Manso have sent him a copy of it, for he died in
+1645—two years before its publication—and Zicari is thus mistaken in
+assuming (p. 245) that Milton became acquainted with it in the house of
+the Neapolitan nobleman. Unless, therefore, we take for granted that
+Manso was intimate with the author Salandra—he knew most of his
+literary countrymen—and sent or gave to Milton a copy of the manuscript
+of ‘Adamo’ before it was printed, or that Milton was personally
+familiar with Salandra, we may conclude that the poem was forwarded to
+him from Italy by some other friend, perhaps by some member of the
+_Accademia, degli Oziosi_ which Manso had founded.
+
+A chance therefore seems to have decided Milton; Salandra’s tragedy
+fell into his hands, and was welded into the epic form which he had
+designed for Arthur the Great, even as, in later years, a chance
+question on the part of Elwood led to his writing ‘Paradise
+Regained.’[4] For this poem there were not so many models handy as for
+the other, but Milton has written too little to enable us to decide how
+far its inferiority to the earlier epic is due to this fact, and how
+far to the inherent inertia of its subject-matter. Little movement can
+be contrived in a mere dialogue such as ‘Paradise Regained’; it lacks
+the grandiose _mise-en-scène_ and the shifting splendours of the
+greater epic; the stupendous figure of the rebellious archangel, the
+true hero of ‘Paradise Lost,’ is here dwarfed into a puny, malignant
+sophist; nor is the final issue in the later poem _even for a moment_
+in doubt—a serious defect from an artistic point of view. Jortin holds
+its peculiar excellence to be ‘artful sophistry, false reasoning, set
+off in the most specious manner, and refuted by the Son of God with
+strong unaffected eloquence’; merits for which Milton needed no
+original of any kind, as his own lofty religious sentiments, his
+argumentative talents and long experience of political pamphleteering,
+stood him in good stead. Most of us must have wondered how it came
+about that Milton could not endure to hear ‘Paradise Lost’ preferred to
+‘Paradise Regained,’ in view of the very apparent inferiority of the
+latter. If we had known what Milton knew, namely, to how
+large an extent ‘Paradise Lost’ was not the child of his own
+imagination, and therefore not so precious in his eyes as ‘Paradise
+Regained,’ we might have understood his prejudice.
+
+ [4] _Thou hast said much of Paradise Lost, but what hast thou to say
+ of Paradise Found?_ He made no answer, but sat some time in a muse. .
+ . .
+
+Certain parts of ‘Paradise Lost’ are drawn, as we all know, from other
+Italian sources, from Sannazario, Ariosto, Guarini, Bojardo, and
+others. Zicari who, it must be said, has made the best of his case,
+will have it that the musterings and battles of the good and evil
+angels are copied from the ‘Angeleide’ of Valvasone published at Milan
+in 1590. But G. Polidori, who has reprinted the ‘Angeleide’ in his
+Italian version of Milton (London, 1840), has gone into this matter and
+thinks otherwise. These devil-and-angel combats were a popular theme at
+the time, and there is no reason why the English poet should copy
+continental writers in such descriptions, which necessarily have a
+common resemblance. The Marquis Manso was very friendly with the poets
+Tasso and Marino, and it is also to be remarked that entire passages in
+‘Paradise Lost’ are copied, _totidem verbis,_ from the writings of
+these two, Manso having no doubt drawn Milton’s attention to their
+beauties. In fact, I am inclined to think that Manso’s notorious
+enthusiasm for the _warlike_ epic of Tasso may first of all have
+diverted Milton from purely pastoral ideals and inflamed him with the
+desire of accomplishing a similar feat, whence the well-known lines in
+Milton’s Latin verses to this friend, which contain the first
+indication of such a design on his part. Even the familiar invocation,
+‘Hail, wedded Love,’ is bodily drawn from one of Tasso’s letters (see
+Newton’s ‘Milton,’ 1773, vol. i, pp. 312, 313).
+
+It has been customary to speak of these literary appropriations as
+‘imitations’; but whoever compares them with the originals will find
+that many of them are more correctly termed translations. The case,
+from a literary-moral point of view, is different as regards ancient
+writers, and it is surely idle to accuse Milton, as has been done, of
+pilferings from Aeschylus or Ovid. There is no such thing as robbing
+the classics. They are our literary fathers, and what they have left
+behind them is our common heritage; we may adapt, borrow, or steal from
+them as much as will suit our purpose; to acknowledge such ‘thefts’ is
+sheer pedantry and ostentation. But Salandra and the rest of them were
+Milton’s contemporaries. It is certainly an astonishing fact that no
+scholar of the stamp of Thyer was acquainted with the ‘Adamo Caduto’;
+and it says much for the isolation of England that, at a period when
+poems on the subject of paradise lost were being scattered broadcast in
+Italy and elsewhere—when, in short, all Europe was ringing with the
+doleful history of Adam and Eve—Milton could have ventured to speak of
+his work as ‘Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme’—an amazing verse
+which, by the way, is literally transcribed out of Ariosto (‘Cosa, non
+detta in prosa mai, nè in rima’). But even now the acquaintance of the
+British public with the productions of continental writers is
+superficial and spasmodic, and such was the ignorance of English
+scholars of this earlier period, that Birch maintained that Milton’s
+drafts, to be referred to presently, indicated his intention of writing
+an _opera_ (!); while as late as 1776 the poet Mickle, notwithstanding
+Voltaire’s authority, questioned the very existence of Andreini, who
+has written thirty different pieces.
+
+Some idea of the time when Salandra’s tragedy reached Milton might be
+gained if we knew the date of his manuscript projects for ‘Paradise
+Lost’ and other writings which are preserved at Cambridge. R. Garnett
+(‘Life of Milton,’ 1890, p. 129) supposes these drafts to date from
+about 1640 to 1642, and I am not sufficiently learned in Miltonian lore
+to controvert or corroborate in a general way this assertion. But the
+date must presumably be pushed further forward in the case of the
+skeletons for ‘Paradise Lost,’ which are modelled to a great extent
+upon Salandra’s ‘Adamo’ of 1647, though other compositions may also
+have been present before Milton’s mind, such as that mentioned on page
+234 of the second volume of Todd’s ‘Milton,’ from which he seems to
+have drawn the hint of a ‘prologue spoken by Moses.’
+
+Without going into the matter exhaustively, I will only say that from
+these pieces it is clear that Milton’s primary idea was to write, like
+Salandra, a sacred tragedy upon this theme, and not an epic. These
+drafts also contain a chorus, such as Salandra has placed in his drama,
+and a great number of mutes, who do not figure in the English epic, but
+who reappear in the ‘Adamo Caduto’ and all similar works. Even Satan is
+here designated as Lucifer, in accordance with the Italian Lucifero;
+and at the end of one of Milton’s drafts we read ‘at last appears
+Mercy, comforts him, promises the Messiah, etc.,’ which is exactly what
+Salandra’s Misericordia (Mercy) does in the same place.
+
+Milton no doubt kept on hand many loose passages of poetry, both
+original and borrowed, ready to be worked up into larger pieces; all
+poets are smothered in odd scraps of verse and lore which they ‘fit in’
+as occasion requires; and it is therefore quite possible that some
+fragments now included in ‘Paradise Lost’ may have been complete before
+the ‘Adamo Caduto’ was printed. I am referring, more especially, to
+Satan’s address to the sun, which Philips says was written before the
+commencement of the epic.
+Admitting Philips to be correct, I still question whether this
+invocation was composed before Milton’s visit to Naples; and if it was,
+the poet may well have intended it for some other of the multitudinous
+works which these drafts show him to have been revolving in his mind,
+or for none of them in particular.
+
+De Quincey rightly says that Addison gave the initial bias in favour of
+‘Paradise Lost’ to the English national mind, which has thenceforward
+shrunk, as Addison himself did, from a dispassionate contemplation of
+its defects; the idea being, I presume, that a ‘divine poem’ in a
+manner disarmed rational criticism. And, strange to say, even the few
+faults which earlier scholars did venture to point out in Milton’s poem
+will be found in that of Salandra. There is the same superabundance of
+allegory; the same confusion of spirit and matter among the
+supernatural persons; the same lengthy astronomical treatise; the same
+personification of Sin and Death; the same medley of Christian and
+pagan mythology; the same tedious historico-theological disquisition at
+the end of both poems.
+
+For the rest, it is to be hoped that we have outgrown our
+fastidiousness on some of these points. Theological fervour has abated,
+and in a work of the pure imagination, as ‘Paradise Lost’ is now—is it
+not?—considered to be, there is nothing incongruous or offensive in an
+amiable commingling of Semitic and Hellenic deities after the approved
+Italian recipe; nor do a few long words about geography or science
+disquiet us any more. Milton was not writing for an uncivilized mob,
+and his occasional displays of erudition will represent to a cultured
+person only those breathing spaces so refreshing in all epic poetry.
+That Milton’s language is saturated with Latinisms and Italianisms is
+perfectly true. His English may not have been good enough for his
+contemporaries. But it is quite good enough for us. That ‘grand manner’
+which Matthew Arnold claimed for Milton, that sustained pitch of kingly
+elaboration and fullness, is not wholly an affair of high moral tone;
+it results in part from the humbler ministrations of words happily
+chosen—from a felicitous alloy of Mediterranean grace and Saxon mettle.
+For, whether consciously or not, we cannot but be influenced by the
+_colour-effects_ of mere words, that arouse in us definite but
+indefinable moods of mind. To complain of the foreign phraseology and
+turns of thought in ‘Paradise Lost’ would be the blackest ingratitude
+nowadays, seeing that our language has become enriched by steady gleams
+of pomp and splendour due, in large part, to the peculiar _lustre_ of
+Milton’s comely importations.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+THE “GREEK” SILA
+
+
+It was to be the Sila in earnest, this time. I would traverse the whole
+country, from the Coscile valley to Catanzaro, at the other end.
+Arriving from Cosenza the train deposited me, once more, at the
+unlovely station of Castrovillari. I looked around the dusty square,
+half-dazed by the sunlight—it was a glittering noonday in July—but the
+postal waggon to Spezzano Albanese, my first resting-point, had not yet
+arrived. Then a withered old man, sitting on a vehicle behind the sorry
+skeleton of a horse, volunteered to take me there at once; we quickly
+came to terms; it was too hot, we both agreed, to waste breath in
+bargaining. With the end of his whip he pointed out the church of
+Spezzano on its hilltop; a proud structure it looked at this distance,
+though nearer acquaintance reduced it to extremely humble proportions.
+
+The Albanian Spezzano (Spezzano Grande is another place) lies on the
+main road from Castrovillari to Cosenza, on the summit of a
+long-stretched tongue of limestone which separates the Crati river from
+the Esaro; this latter, after flowing into the Coscile, joins its
+waters with the Crati, and so closes the promontory. An odd
+geographical feature, this low stretch, viewed from the greater heights
+of Sila or Pollino; one feels inclined to take a broom and sweep it
+into the sea, so that the waters may mingle sooner.
+
+Our road ascended the thousand feet in a sinuous ribbon of white dust,
+and an eternity seemed to pass as we crawled drowsily upwards to the
+music of the cicadas, under the simmering blue sky. There was not a
+soul in sight; a hush had fallen upon all things; great Pan was
+brooding over the earth. At last we entered the village, and here, once
+more, deathlike stillness reigned; it was the hour of post-prandial
+slumber.
+
+At our knocking the proprietor of the inn, situated in a side-street,
+descended. But he was in bad humour, and held out no hopes of
+refreshment. Certain doctors and government officials, he said, were
+gathered together in his house, telegraphically summoned to consult
+about a local case of cholera. As to edibles, the
+gentlemen had lunched, and nothing was left, absolutely nothing; it had
+been _uno sterminio_—an extermination—of all he possessed. The prospect
+of walking about the burning streets till evening did not appeal to me,
+and as this was the only inn at Spezzano I insisted, first gently, then
+forcibly—in vain. There was not so much as a chair to sit upon, he
+avowed; and therewith retired into his cool twilight.
+
+Despairing, I entered a small shop wherein I had observed the only
+signs of life so far—an Albanian woman spinning in patriarchal fashion.
+It was a low-ceilinged room, stocked with candles, seeds, and other
+commodities which a humble householder might desire to purchase,
+including certain of those water-gugglets of Corigliano ware in whose
+shapely contours something of the artistic dreamings of old Sybaris
+still seems to linger. The proprietress, clothed in gaudily picturesque
+costume, greeted me with a smile and the easy familiarity which I have
+since discovered to be natural to all these women. She had a room, she
+said, where I could rest; there was also food, such as it was, cheese,
+and wine, and——
+
+“Fruit?” I queried.
+
+“Ah, you like fruit? Well, we may not so much as speak about it just
+now—the cholera, the doctors, the policeman, the prison! I was going to
+say _salami.”_
+
+Salami? I thanked her. I know Calabrian pigs and what they feed on,
+though it would be hard to describe in the language of polite society.
+
+Despite the heat and the swarms of flies in that chamber, I felt little
+desire for repose after her simple repast; the dame was so affable and
+entertaining that we soon became great friends. I caused her some
+amusement by my efforts to understand and pronounce her language—these
+folk speak Albanian and Italian with equal facility—which seemed to my
+unpractised ears as hopeless as Finnish. Very patiently, she gave me a
+long lesson during which I thought to pick up a few words and phrases,
+but the upshot of it all was:
+
+“You’ll never learn it. You have begun a hundred years too late.”
+
+I tried her with modern Greek, but among such fragments as remained on
+my tongue after a lapse of over twenty years, only hit upon one word
+that she could understand.
+
+“Quite right!” she said encouragingly. “Why don’t you always speak
+properly? And now, let me hear a little of your own language.”
+
+I gave utterance to a few verses of Shakespeare, which caused
+considerable merriment.
+
+“Do you mean to tell me,” she asked, “that people really talk like
+that?”
+
+“Of course they do.”
+
+“And pretend to understand what it means?”
+
+“Why, naturally.”
+
+“Maybe they do,” she agreed. “But only when they want to be thought
+funny by their friends.”
+
+The afternoon drew on apace, and at last the pitiless sun sank to rest.
+I perambulated Spezzano in the gathering twilight; it was now fairly
+alive with people. An unclean place; an epidemic of cholera would work
+wonders here. . . .
+
+At 9.30 p.m. the venerable coachman presented himself, by appointment;
+he was to drive me slowly (out of respect for his horse) through the
+cool hours of the night as far as Vaccarizza, on the slopes of the
+Greek Sila, where he expected to arrive early in the morning. (And so
+he did; at half-past five.) Not without more mirth was my leave-taking
+from the good shopwoman; something, apparently, was hopelessly wrong
+with the Albanian words of farewell which I had carefully memorized
+from our preceding lesson. She then pressed a paper parcel into my
+hand.
+
+“For the love of God,” she whispered, “silence! Or we shall all be in
+jail to-morrow.”
+
+It contained a dozen pears.
+
+Driving along, I tried to enter into conversation with the coachman
+who, judging by his face, was a mine of local lore. But I had come too
+late; the poor old man was so weakened by age and infirmities that he
+cared little for talk, his thoughts dwelling, as I charitably imagined,
+on his wife and children, all dead and buried (so he said) many long
+years ago. He mentioned, however, the _diluvio,_ the deluge, which I
+have heard spoken of by older people, among whom it is a fixed article
+of faith. This deluge is supposed to have affected the whole Crati
+valley, submerging towns and villages. In proof, they say that if you
+dig near Tarsia below the present river-level, you will pass through
+beds of silt and ooze to traces of old walls and cultivated land.
+Tarsia used to lie by the river-side, and was a flourishing place,
+according to the descriptions of Leandro Alberti and other early
+writers; floods and malaria have now forced it to climb the hills.
+
+The current of the Crati is more spasmodic and destructive than in
+classical times when the river was “navigable”; and to one of its
+inundations may be due this legend of the deluge; to the same
+one, maybe, that affected the courses of this river and the Coscile,
+mingling their waters which used to flow separately into the Ionian. Or
+it may be a hazy memory of the artificial changing of the riverbed when
+the town of Sybaris, lying between these two rivers, was destroyed. Yet
+the streams are depicted as entering the sea apart in old maps such as
+those of Magini, Fiore, Coronelli, and Cluver; and the latter writes
+that “near the mouth of the Crati there flows into the same sea a river
+vulgarly called Cochile.”[1] This is important. It remains to be seen
+whether this statement is the result of a personal visit, or whether he
+simply repeated the old geography. His text in many places indicates a
+personal acquaintance with southern Italy—_Italiam_, says Heinsius,
+_non semel peragravit—_and he may well have been tempted to investigate
+a site like that of Sybaris. If so, the change in the river courses and
+possibly this “deluge” has taken place since his day.
+
+ [1] In the earlier part of Rathgeber’s astonishing “Grossgriechenland
+ und Pythagoras” (1866) will be found a good list of old maps of the
+ country.
+
+Deprived of converse, I relapsed into a doze, but soon woke up with a
+start. The carriage had stopped; it was nearly midnight; we were at
+Terranova di Sibari, whose houses were lit up by the silvery beams of
+the moon.
+
+Thurii—death-place of Herodotus! How one would like to see this place
+by daylight. On the ancient site, which lies at a considerable
+distance, they have excavated antiquities, a large number of which are
+in the possession of the Marchese Galli at Castrovillari. I endeavoured
+to see his museum, but found it inaccessible for “family reasons.” The
+same answer was given me in regard to a valuable private library at
+Rossano, and annoying as it may be, one cannot severely blame such
+local gentlemen for keeping their collections to themselves. What have
+they to gain from the visits of inquisitive travellers?
+
+During these meditations on my part, the old man hobbled busily to and
+fro with a bucket, bearing water from a fountain near at hand wherewith
+to splash the carriage-wheels. He persisted in this singular occupation
+for an unreasonably long time. Water was good for the wheels, he
+explained; it kept them cool.
+
+At last we started, and I began to slumber once more. The carriage
+seemed to be going down a steep incline; endlessly it descended, with a
+pleasant swaying motion. . . . Then an icy shiver roused me from my
+dreams. It was the Crati whose rapid waves, fraught with unhealthy
+chills, rippled brightly in the moonlight. We crossed the malarious
+valley, and once more touched the hills.
+
+From those treeless slopes there streamed forth deliciously warm
+emanations stored up during the scorching hours of noon; the short
+scrub that clothed them was redolent of that peculiar Calabrian odour
+which haunts one like a melody—an odour of dried cistus and other
+aromatic plants, balsamic by day, almost overpowering at this hour. To
+aid and diversify the symphony of perfume, I lit a cigar, and then gave
+myself up to contemplation of the heavenly bodies. We passed a solitary
+man, walking swiftly with bowed head. What was he doing there?
+
+“Lupomanaro,” said the driver.
+
+A werewolf. . . .
+
+I had always hoped to meet with a werewolf on his nocturnal rambles,
+and now my wish was gratified. But it was disappointing to see him in
+human garb—even werewolves, it seems, must march with the times. This
+enigmatical growth of the human mind flourishes in Calabria, but is not
+popular as a subject of conversation. The more old-fashioned werewolves
+cling to the true _versipellis_ habits, and in that case only the pigs,
+the inane Calabrian pigs, are dowered with the faculty of
+distinguishing them in daytime, when they look like any other
+“Christian.” There is a record, in Fiore’s book, of an epidemic of
+lycanthropy that attacked the boys of Cassano. (Why only the boys?) It
+began on 31 July, 1210; and the season of the year strikes me as
+significant.
+
+After that I fell asleep in good earnest, nor did I wake up again till
+the sun was peering over the eastern hills. We were climbing up a long
+slope; the Albanian settlements of Vaccarizza and San Giorgio lay
+before us and, looking back, I still saw Spezzano on its ridge; it
+seemed so close that a gunshot could have reached it.
+
+These non-Italian villages date from the centuries that followed the
+death of Scanderbeg, when the Grand Signior consolidated his power. The
+refugees arrived in flocks from over the sea, and were granted tracts
+of wild land whereon to settle—some of them on this incline of the
+Sila, which was accordingly called “Greek” Sila, the native confusing
+these foreigners with the Byzantines whose dwellings, as regards
+Calabria, are now almost exclusively confined to the distant region of
+Aspromonte. Colonies of Albanians are scattered all over South Italy,
+chiefly in Apulia, Calabria, Basilicata, and Sicily; a few are in the
+north and centre—there is one on the Po, for instance, now reduced to
+200 inhabitants; most of these latter have become absorbed into the
+surrounding Italian element. Angelo Masci (reprinted 1846) says there
+are 59 villages of them, containing altogether 83,000
+inhabitants—exclusive of Sicily; Morelli (1842) gives their total
+population for Italy and Sicily as 103,466. If these figures are
+correct, the race must have multiplied latterly, for I am told there
+are now some 200,000 Albanians in the kingdom, living in about 80
+villages. This gives approximately 2500 for each settlement—a likely
+number, if it includes those who are at present emigrants in America.
+There is a voluminous literature on the subject of these strangers, the
+authors of which are nearly all Albanians themselves. The fullest
+account of older conditions may well be that contained in the third
+volume of Rodotà’s learned work (1758); the ponderous Francesco Tajani
+(1886) brings affairs up to date, or nearly so. If only he had provided
+his book with an index!
+
+There were troubles at first. Arriving, as they did, solely “with their
+shirts and rhapsodies” (so one of them described it to me)—that is,
+despoiled of everything, they indulged in robberies and depredations
+somewhat too freely even for those free days, with the result that
+ferocious edicts were issued against them, and whole clans wiped out.
+It was a case of necessity knowing no law. But in proportion as the
+forests were hewn down and crops sown, they became as respectable as
+their hosts. They are bilingual from birth, one might almost say, and
+numbers of the men also express themselves correctly in English, which
+they pick up in the United States.
+
+These islands of alien culture have been hotbeds of Liberalism
+throughout history. The Bourbons persecuted them savagely on that
+account, exiling and hanging the people by scores. At this moment there
+is a good deal of excitement going on in favour of the Albanian revolt
+beyond the Adriatic, and it was proposed, among other things, to
+organize a demonstration in Rome, where certain Roman ladies were to
+dress themselves in Albanian costumes and thus work upon the sentiments
+of the nation; but “the authorities” forbade this and every other
+movement. None the less, there has been a good deal of clandestine
+recruiting, and bitter recriminations against this turcophile attitude
+on the part of Italy—this “reactionary rigorism against every
+manifestation of sympathy for the Albanian cause.” Patriotic
+pamphleteers ask, rightly enough, why difficulties should be placed in
+the way of recruiting for Albania, when, in the recent cases of Cuba
+and Greece, the despatch of volunteers was actually encouraged by the
+government? “Legality has ceased to exist here; we Albanians are
+watched and suspected exactly as our compatriots now are by the Turks.
+. . . They sequestrate our manifestos, they forbid meetings and
+conferences, they pry into our postal correspondence. . . .
+Civil and military authorities have conspired to prevent a single voice
+of help and comfort reaching our brothers, who call to us from over the
+sea.” A hard case, indeed. But Vienna and Cettinje might be able to
+throw some light upon it.[2]
+
+ [2] This was written before the outbreak of the Balkan war.
+
+The Albanian women, here as elsewhere, are the veriest beasts of
+burden; unlike the Italians, they carry everything (babies, and wood,
+and water) on their backs. Their crudely tinted costumes would be
+called more strange than beautiful under any but a bright sunshiny sky.
+The fine native dresses of the men have disappeared long ago; they even
+adopted, in days past, the high-peaked Calabrian hat which is now only
+worn by the older generation. Genuine Calabrians often settle in these
+foreign villages, in order to profit by their anti-feudal institutions.
+For even now the Italian cultivator is supposed to make, and actually
+does make, “voluntary” presents to his landlord at certain seasons;
+gifts which are always a source of irritation and, in bad years, a real
+hardship. The Albanians opposed themselves from the very beginning
+against these mediæval practices. “They do not build houses,” says an
+old writer, “so as not to be subject to barons, dukes, princes, or
+other lords. And if the owner of the land they inhabit ill-treats them,
+they set fire to their huts and go elsewhere.” An admirable system,
+even nowadays.
+
+One would like to be here at Easter time to see the _rusalet_—those
+Pyrrhic dances where the young men group themselves in martial array,
+and pass through the streets with song and chorus, since, soon enough,
+America will have put an end to such customs. The old Albanian guitar
+of nine strings has already died out, and the double tibia—_biforem dat
+tibia cantum_—will presently follow suit. This instrument, familiar
+from classical sculpture and lore, and still used in Sicily and
+Sardinia, was once a favourite with the Sila shepherds, who called it
+“fischietto a pariglia.” But some years ago I vainly sought it in the
+central Sila; the answer to my enquiries was everywhere the same: they
+knew it quite well; so and so used to play it; certain persons in
+certain villages still made it—they described it accurately enough, but
+could not produce a specimen. Single pipes, yes; and bagpipes galore;
+but the _tibiæ pares_ were “out of fashion” wherever I asked for them.
+
+Here, in the Greek Sila, I was more fortunate. A boy at the village of
+Macchia possessed a pair which he obligingly gave me, after first
+playing a song—a farewell song—a plaintive ditty that required, none
+the less, an excellent pair of lungs, on account of the two
+mouthpieces. Melodies on this double flageolet are played
+principally at Christmas time. The two reeds are about twenty-five
+centimetres in length, and made of hollow cane; in my specimen, the
+left hand controls four, the other six holes; the Albanian name of the
+instrument is “fiscarol.”
+
+From a gentleman at Vaccarizza I received a still more valuable
+present—two neolithic celts (aenolithic, I should be inclined to call
+them) wrought in close-grained quartzite, and found not far from that
+village. These implements must be rare in the uplands of Calabria, as I
+have never come across them before, though they have been found, to my
+knowledge, at Savelli in the central Sila. At Vaccarizza they call such
+relics “pic”—they are supposed, as usual, to be thunderbolts, and I am
+also told that a piece of string tied to one of them cannot be burnt in
+fire. The experiment might be worth trying.
+
+Meanwhile, the day passed pleasantly at Vaccarizza. I became the guest
+of a prosperous resident, and was treated to genuine Albanian
+hospitality and excellent cheer. I only wish that all his compatriots
+might enjoy one meal of this kind in their lifetime. For they are poor,
+and their homes of miserable aspect. Like all too many villages in
+South Italy, this one is depopulated of its male inhabitants, and
+otherwise dirty and neglected. The impression one gains on first seeing
+one of these places is more than that of Oriental decay; they are not
+merely ragged at the edges. It is a deliberate and sinister chaos, a
+note of downright anarchy—a contempt for those simple forms of
+refinement which even the poorest can afford. Such persons, one thinks,
+cannot have much sense of home and its hallowed associations; they seem
+to be everlastingly ready to break with the existing state of things.
+How different from England, where the humblest cottages, the roadways,
+the very stones testify to immemorial love of order, to neighbourly
+feelings and usages sanctioned by time!
+
+They lack the sense of home as a fixed and old-established
+topographical point; as do the Arabs and Russians, neither of whom have
+a word expressing our “home” or “Heimat.” Here, the nearest equivalent
+is _la famiglia._ We think of a particular house or village where we
+were born and where we spent our impressionable days of childhood;
+these others regard home not as a geographical but as a social centre,
+liable to shift from place to place; they are at home everywhere, so
+long as their clan is about them. That acquisitive sense which
+affectionately adorns our meanest dwelling, slowly saturating it with
+memories, has been crushed out of them—if it ever existed—by hard blows
+of fortune; it is safer, they think,
+to transform the labour of their hands into gold, which can be moved
+from place to place or hidden from the tyrant’s eye. They have none of
+our sentimentality in regard to inanimate objects. Eliza Cook’s
+feelings towards her “old arm-chair” would strike them as savouring of
+childishness. Hence the unfinished look of their houses, within and
+without. Why expend thought and wealth upon that which may be abandoned
+to-morrow?
+
+The two churches of Vaccarizza, dark and unclean structures, stand side
+by side, and I was shown through them by their respective priests,
+Greek and Catholic, who walked arm in arm in friendly wise, and meekly
+smiled at a running fire of sarcastic observations on the part of
+another citizen directed against the “bottega” in general—the _shop,_
+as the church is sometimes irreverently called. The Greco-Catholic cult
+to which these Albanians belong is a compromise between the Orthodox
+and Roman; their priests may wear beards and marry wives, they use
+bread instead of the wafer for sacramental purposes, and there are one
+or two other little differences of grave import.
+
+Six Albanian settlements lie on these northern slopes of the Sila—San
+Giorgio, Vaccarizza, San Cosimo, Macchia, San Demetrio Corone, and
+Santa Sofia d’ Epiro. San Demetrio is the largest of them, and thither,
+after an undisturbed night’s rest at the house of my kind host—the
+last, I fear, for many days to come—I drove in the sunlit hours of next
+morning. Along the road one can see how thoroughly the Albanians have
+done their work; the land is all under cultivation, save for a dark
+belt of trees overhead, to remind one of what once it was. Perhaps they
+have eradicated the forest over-zealously, for I observe in San
+Demetrio that the best drinking water has now to be fetched from a
+spring at a considerable distance from the village; it is unlikely that
+this should have been the original condition of affairs; deforestation
+has probably diminished the water-supply.
+
+It was exhilarating to traverse these middle heights with their aerial
+views over the Ionian and down olive-covered hill-sides towards the
+wide valley of the Crati and the lofty Pollino range, now swimming in
+midsummer haze. The road winds in and out of gullies where rivulets
+descend from the mountains; they are clothed in cork-oak, ilex, and
+other trees; golden orioles, jays, hoopoes and rollers flash among the
+foliage. In winter these hills are swept by boreal blasts from the
+Apennines, but at this season it is a delightful tract of land.
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+ALBANIANS AND THEIR COLLEGE
+
+
+San Demetrio, famous for its Italo-Albanian College, lies on a fertile
+incline sprinkled with olives and mulberries and chestnuts, fifteen
+hundred feet above sea-level. They tell me that within the memory of
+living man no Englishman has ever entered the town. This is quite
+possible; I have not yet encountered a single English traveller, during
+my frequent wanderings over South Italy. Gone are the days of Keppel
+Craven and Swinburne, of Eustace and Brydone and Hoare! You will come
+across sporadic Germans immersed in Hohenstaufen records, or searching
+after Roman antiquities, butterflies, minerals, or landscapes to
+paint—you will meet them in the most unexpected places; but never an
+Englishman. The adventurous type of Anglo-Saxon probably thinks the
+country too tame; scholars, too trite; ordinary tourists, too dirty.
+The accommodation and food in San Demetrio leave much to be desired;
+its streets are irregular lanes, ill-paved with cobbles of gneiss and
+smothered under dust and refuse. None the less, what noble names have
+been given to these alleys—names calculated to fire the ardent
+imagination of young Albanian students, and prompt them to valorous and
+patriotic deeds! Here are the streets of “Odysseus,” of “Salamis” and
+“Marathon” and “Thermopylae,” telling of the glory that was Greece;
+“Via Skanderbeg” and “Hypsilanti” awaken memories of more immediate
+renown; “Corso Dante Alighieri” reminds them that their Italian hosts,
+too, have done something in their day; the “Piazza Francesco Ferrer”
+causes their ultra-liberal breasts to swell with mingled pride and
+indignation; while the “Via dell’ Industria” hints, not obscurely, at
+the great truth that genius, without a capacity for taking pains, is an
+idle phrase. Such appellations, without a doubt, are stimulating and
+glamorous. But if the streets themselves have seen a scavenger’s broom
+within the last half-century, I am much mistaken. The goddess “Hygeia”
+dost not figure among their names, nor yet that Byzantine Monarch whose
+infantile exploit might be re-enacted in ripest maturity without
+attracting any attention in San Demetrio. To the pure all things are
+pure.
+
+The town is exclusively Albanian; the Roman Catholic church has fallen
+into disrepair, and is now used as a shed for timber. But at the door
+of the Albanian sanctuary I was fortunate enough to intercept a native
+wedding, just as the procession was about to enter the portal. Despite
+the fact that the bride was considered the ugliest girl in the place,
+she had been duly “robbed” by her bold or possibly blind lover—her
+features were providentially veiled beneath her nuptial _flammeum,_ and
+of her squat figure little could be discerned under the gorgeous
+accoutrements of the occasion. She was ablaze with ornaments and
+embroidery of gold, on neck and shoulders and wrist; a wide lace collar
+fell over a bodice of purple silk; silken too, and of brightest green,
+was her pleated skirt. The priest seemed ineffably bored with his task,
+and mumbled through one or two pages of holy books in record time;
+there were holdings of candles, interchange of rings, sacraments of
+bread and wine and other solemn ceremonies—the most quaint being the
+_stephanoma,_ or crowning, of the happy pair, and the moving of their
+respective crowns from the head of one to that of the other. It ended
+with a chanting perlustration of the church, led by the priest: this is
+the so-called “pesatura.”
+
+I endeavoured to attune my mind to the gravity of this marriage, to the
+deep historico-ethnologico-poetical significance of its smallest
+detail. Such rites, I said to myself, must be understood to be
+appreciated, and had I not been reading certain native commentators on
+the subject that very morning? Nevertheless, my attention was diverted
+from the main issue—the bridegroom’s face had fascinated me. The
+self-conscious male is always at a disadvantage during grotesquely
+splendid buffooneries of this kind; and never, in all my life, have I
+seen a man looking such a sorry fool as this individual, never;
+especially during the perambulation, when his absurd crown was
+supported on his head, from behind, by the hand of his best man.
+
+[Illustration: San Demetrio Corone]
+
+Meanwhile a handful of boys, who seemed to share my private feelings in
+regard to the performance, had entered the sacred precincts, their
+pockets stuffed with living cicadas. These Albanian youngsters, like
+all true connaisseurs, are aware of the idiosyncrasy of the classical
+insect which, when pinched or tickled on a certain spot, emits its
+characteristic and ear-piercing note—the “lily-soft voice” of the Greek
+bard. The cicadas, therefore, were duly pinched and then let loose;
+like squibs and rockets they careered among the congregation, dashing
+in our faces and clinging to our garments; the church resounded like an
+olive-copse at noon. A hot little hand conveyed one of these
+tremulously throbbing
+creatures into my own, and obeying a whispered injunction of “Let it
+fly, sir!” I had the joy of seeing the beast alight with a violent buzz
+on the head of the bride—doubtless the happiest of auguries. Such
+conduct, on the part of English boys, would be deemed very naughty and
+almost irreverent; but here, one hopes, it may have its origin in some
+obscure but pious credence such as that which prompts the populace to
+liberate birds in churches, at Easter time. These escaping cicadas, it
+may be, are symbolical of matrimony—the individual man and woman freed,
+at last, from the dungeon-like horrors of celibate existence; or, if
+that parallel be far-fetched, we may conjecture that their liberation
+represents the afflatus of the human soul, aspiring upwards to merge
+its essence into the Divine All. . . .
+
+The pride of San Demetrio is its college. You may read about it in
+Professor Mazziotti’s monograph; but whoever wishes to go to the
+fountain-head must peruse the _Historia Erectionis Pontifici Collegi
+Corsini Ullanensis, etc.,_ of old Zavarroni—an all-too-solid piece of
+work. Founded under the auspices of Pope Clement XII in 1733 (or 1735)
+at San Benedetto Ullano, it was moved hither in 1794, and between that
+time and now has passed through fierce vicissitudes. Its president,
+Bishop Bugliari, was murdered by the brigands in 1806; much of its
+lands and revenues have been dissipated by maladministration; it was
+persecuted for its Liberalism by the Bourbons, who called it a
+“workshop of the devil.” It distinguished itself during the
+anti-dynastic revolts of 1799 and 1848 and, in 1860, was presented with
+twelve thousand ducats by Garibaldi, “in consideration of the signal
+services rendered to the national cause by the brave and generous
+Albanians.”[1] Even now the institution is honeycombed with
+Freemasonry—the surest path to advancement in any career, in modern
+Italy. Times indeed have changed since the “Inviolable Constitutions”
+laid it down that _nullus omnino Alumnus in Collegio detineatur, cuius
+futuræ Christianæ pietatis significatio non extet._ But only since 1900
+has it been placed on a really sound and prosperous footing. An
+agricultural school has lately been added, under the supervision of a
+trained expert. They who are qualified to judge speak of the college as
+a beacon of learning—an institution whose aims and results are alike
+deserving of high respect. And certainly it can boast of a fine list of
+prominent men who have issued from its walls.
+
+ [1] There used to be regiments of these Albanians at Naples. In Pilati
+ de Tassulo’s sane study (1777) they are spoken of as highly prized.
+
+This little island of stern mental culture contains, besides
+twenty-five teachers and as many servants, some three hundred scholars
+preparing for a variety of secular professions. About fifty of them are
+Italo-Albanians, ten or thereabouts are genuine Albanians from over the
+water, the rest Italians, among them two dozen of those unhappy orphans
+from Reggio and Messina who flooded the country after the earthquake,
+and were “dumped down” in colleges and private houses all over Italy.
+Some of the boys come of wealthy families in distant parts, their
+parents surmising that San Demetrio offers no temptations to youthful
+folly and extravagance. In this, so far as I can judge, they are
+perfectly correct.
+
+The heat of summer and the fact that the boys were in the throes of
+their examinations may have helped to make the majority of them seem
+pale and thin; they certainly complained of their food, and the cook
+was the only prosperous-looking person whom I could discover in the
+establishment—his percentages, one suspects, being considerable. The
+average yearly payment of each scholar for board and tuition is only
+twenty pounds (it used to be twenty ducats); how shall superfluities be
+included in the bill of fare for such a sum?
+
+The class-rooms are modernized; the dormitories neither clean nor very
+dirty; there is a rather scanty gymnasium as well as a physical
+laboratory and museum of natural history. Among the recent acquisitions
+of the latter is a vulture _(Gyps fulvus)_ which was shot here in the
+spring of this year. The bird, they told me, has never been seen in
+these regions before; it may have come over from the east, or from
+Sardinia, where it still breeds. I ventured to suggest that they should
+lose no time in securing a native porcupine, an interesting beast
+concerning which I never fail to enquire on my rambles. They used to be
+encountered in the Crati valley; two were shot near Corigliano a few
+years ago, and another not far from Cotronei on the Neto; they still
+occur in the forests near the “Pagliarelle” above Petilia Policastro;
+but, judging by all indications, I should say that this animal is
+rapidly approaching extinction not only here, but all over Italy.
+Another very rare creature, the otter, was killed lately at Vaccarizza,
+but unfortunately not preserved.
+
+Fencing and music are taught, but those athletic exercises which led to
+the victories of Marathon and Salamis are not much in vogue—_mens sana
+in corpore sana_ is clearly not the ideal of the place; fighting among
+the boys is reprobated as “savagery,” and corporal punishment
+forbidden. There is no playground or workshop, and their sole exercise
+consists in dull promenades along the high road under the supervision
+of one or more teachers, during which the
+youngsters indulge in attempts at games by the wayside which are truly
+pathetic. So the old “Inviolable Constitutions” ordain that “the
+scholars must not play outside the college, and if they meet any one,
+they should lower their voices.” A rule of recent introduction is that
+in this warm weather they must all lie down to sleep for two hours
+after the midday meal; it may suit the managers, but the boys consider
+it a great hardship and would prefer being allowed to play. Altogether,
+whatever the intellectual results may be, the moral tendency of such an
+upbringing is damaging to the spirit of youth and must make for
+precocious frivolity and brutality. But the pedagogues of Italy are
+like her legislators: theorists. They close their eyes to the cardinal
+principles of all education—that the waste products and toxins of the
+imagination are best eliminated by motor activities, and that the
+immature stage of human development, far from being artificially
+shortened, should be prolonged by every possible means.
+
+If the internal arrangement of this institution is not all it might be
+as regards the healthy development of youth, the situation of the
+college resembles the venerable structures of Oxford in that it is too
+good, far too good, for mere youngsters. This building, in its
+seclusion from the world, its pastoral surroundings and soul-inspiring
+panorama, is an abode not for boys but for philosophers; a place to
+fill with a wave of deep content the sage who has outgrown earthly
+ambitions. Your eye embraces the snow-clad heights of Dolcedorme and
+the Ionian Sea, wandering over forests, and villages, and rivers, and
+long reaches of fertile country; but it is not the variety of the
+scene, nor yet the historical memories of old Sybaris which kindle the
+imagination so much as the spacious amplitude of the whole prospect. In
+England we think something of a view of ten miles. Conceive, here, a
+grandiose valley wider than from Dover to Calais, filled with an
+atmosphere of such impeccable clarity that there are moments when one
+thinks to see every stone and every bush on the mountains yonder,
+thirty miles distant. And the cloud-effects, towards sunset, are such
+as would inspire the brush of Turner or Claude Lorraine. . . .
+
+For the college, as befits its grave academic character, stands by
+itself among fruitful fields and backed by a chestnut wood, at ten
+minutes’ walk from the crowded streets. It is an imposing edifice—the
+Basilean convent of St. Adrian, with copious modern additions; the
+founders may well have selected this particular site on account of its
+fountain of fresh water, which flows on as in days of yore. One thinks
+of those communities of monks in the Middle Ages, scattered over this
+wild region and holding rare converse with
+one another by gloomy forest paths—how remote their life and ideals! In
+the days of Fiore (1691) the inmates of this convent still practised
+their old rites.
+
+The nucleus of the building is the old chapel, containing a remarkable
+font; two antique columns sawn up (apparently for purposes of
+transportation from some pagan temple by the shore)—one of them being
+of African marble and the other of grey granite; there is also a
+tessellated pavement with beast-patterns of leopards and serpents akin
+to those of Patir. Bertaux gives a reproduction of this serpent; he
+assimilates it, as regards technique and age, to that which lies before
+the altar of Monte Cassino and was wrought by Greek artisans of the
+abbot Desiderius. The church itself is held to be two centuries older
+than that of Patir.
+
+The library, once celebrated, contains musty folios of classics and
+their commentators, but nothing of value. It has been ransacked of its
+treasures like that of Patir, whose _disjecta membra_ have been tracked
+down by the patience and acumen of Monsignor Batiffol.
+
+Batiffol, Bertaux—Charles Diehl, Jules Gay (who has also written on San
+Demetrio)—Huillard-Bréholles—Luynes—Lenor-mant. . . here are a few
+French scholars who have recently studied these regions and their
+history. What have we English done in this direction?
+
+Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
+
+Such thoughts occur inevitably.
+
+It may be insinuated that researches of this kind are gleanings; that
+our English genius lies rather in the spade-work of pioneers like Leake
+or Layard. Granted. But a hard fact remains; the fact, namely, that
+could any of our scholars have been capable of writing in the large and
+profound manner of Bertaux or Gay, not one of our publishers would have
+undertaken to print his work. Not one. They know their business; they
+know that such a book would have been a dead loss. Therefore let us
+frankly confess the truth: for things of the mind there is a smaller
+market in England than in France. _How much smaller_ only they can
+tell, who have familiarized themselves with other departments of French
+thought.
+
+Here, then, I have lived for the past few days, strolling among the
+fields, and attempting to shape some picture of these Albanians from
+their habits and such of their literature as has been placed at my
+disposal. So far, my impression of them has not changed since the days
+when I used to rest at their villages, in Greece. They remind me of the
+Irish. Both races are scattered over the earth and
+seem to prosper best outside their native country; they have the same
+songs and bards, the same hero-chieftains, the same combativeness and
+frank hospitality; both are sunk in bigotry and broils; they resemble
+one another in their love of dirt, disorder and display, in their
+enthusiastic and adventurous spirit, their versatile brilliance of
+mind, their incapacity for self-government and general (Keltic) note of
+inspired inefficiency. And both profess a frenzied allegiance to an
+obsolete tongue which, were it really cultivated as they wish, would
+put a barrier of triple brass between themselves and the rest of
+humanity.
+
+Even as the Irish despise the English as their worldly and effete
+relatives, so the Albanians look down upon the Greeks—even those of
+Pericles—with profoundest contempt. The Albanians, so says one of their
+writers, are “the oldest people upon earth,” and their language is the
+“divine Pelasgic mother-tongue.” I grew interested awhile in Stanislao
+Marchianò’s plausibly entrancing study on this language, as well as in
+a pamphlet of de Rada’s on the same subject; but my ardour has cooled
+since learning, from another native grammarian, that these writers are
+hopelessly in the wrong on nearly every point. So much is certain, that
+the Albanian language already possesses more than _thirty different
+alphabets_ (each of them with nearly fifty letters). Nevertheless they
+have not yet, in these last four (or forty) thousand years, made up
+their minds which of them to adopt, or whether it would not be wisest,
+after all, to elaborate yet another one—a thirty-first. And so
+difficult is their language with any of these alphabets that even after
+a five days’ residence on the spot I still find myself puzzled by such
+simple passages as this:
+
+. . . Zilji,
+mosse vet, ce asso mbremie
+te ngcriret me iljiζ, praa
+gjiθ e miegculem, mhi ζiaarr
+rriij i sgjuat. Nje voogh e keljbur
+ζorrevet te ljosta
+ndjej se i oχtenej
+e pisseroghej. Zuu shiu
+menes; ne mee se ljinaar
+chish ljeen pa-shuatur
+sκiotta, e i ducheje per moon.
+
+I will only add that the translation of such a passage—it contains
+twenty-eight accents which I have omitted—is mere child’s play to its
+pronunciation.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+AN ALBANIAN SEER
+
+
+Sometimes I find my way to the village of Macchia, distant about three
+miles from San Demetrio. It is a dilapidated but picturesque cluster of
+houses, situate on a projecting tongue of land which is terminated by a
+little chapel to Saint Elias, the old sun-god Helios, lover of peaks
+and promontories, whom in his Christian shape the rude Albanian
+colonists brought hither from their fatherland, even as, centuries
+before, he had accompanied the Byzantines on the same voyage and,
+fifteen centuries yet earlier, the Greeks.
+
+At Macchia was born, in 1814, of an old and relatively wealthy family,
+Girolamo de Rada,[1] a flame-like patriot in whom the tempestuous
+aspirations of modern Albania took shape. The ideal pursued during his
+long life was the regeneration of his country; and if the attention of
+international congresses and linguists and folklorists is now drawn to
+this little corner of the earth—if, in _1902,_ twenty-one newspapers
+were devoted to the Albanian cause (eighteen in Italy alone, and one
+even in London)—it was wholly his merit.
+
+ [1] Thus his friend and compatriot, Dr. Michele Marchianò, spells the
+ name in a biography which I recommend to those who think there is no
+ intellectual movement in South Italy. But he himself, at the very
+ close of his life, in 1902, signs himself Ger. de Rhada. So this
+ village of Macchia is spelt indifferently by Albanians as Maki or
+ Makji. They have a fine Elizabethan contempt for orthography—as well
+ they may have, with their thirty alphabets.
+
+He was the son of a Greco-Catholic priest. After a stern religious
+upbringing under the paternal roof at Macchia and in the college of San
+Demetrio, he was sent to Naples to complete his education. It is
+characteristic of the man that even in the heyday of youth he cared
+little for modern literature and speculations and all that makes for
+exact knowledge, and that he fled from his Latin teacher, the
+celebrated Puoti, on account of his somewhat exclusive love of
+grammatical rules. None the less, though con-genitally averse to the
+materialistic and subversive theories that were then seething in
+Naples, he became entangled in the anti-Bourbon movements of the late
+thirties, and narrowly avoided the
+death-penalty which struck down some of his comrades. At other times
+his natural piety laid him open to the accusation of reactionary
+monarchical leanings.
+
+He attributed his escape from this and every other peril to the hand of
+God. Throughout life he was a zealous reader of the Bible, a firm and
+even ascetic believer, forever preoccupied, in childlike simplicity of
+soul, with first causes. His spirit moved majestically in a world of
+fervent platitudes. The whole Cosmos lay serenely distended before his
+mental vision; a benevolent God overhead, devising plans for the
+prosperity of Albania; a malignant, ubiquitous and very real devil,
+thwarting these His good intentions whenever possible; mankind on
+earth, sowing and reaping in the sweat of their brow, as was ordained
+of old. Like many poets, he never disabused his mind of this
+comfortable form of anthropomorphism. He was a firm believer, too, in
+dreams. But his guiding motive, his sun by day and star by night, was a
+belief in the “mission” of the Pelasgian race now scattered about the
+shores of the Inland Sea—in Italy, Sicily, Greece, Dalmatia, Roumania,
+Asia Minor, Egypt—a belief as ardent and irresponsible as that which
+animates the _Lost Tribe_ enthusiasts of England. He considered that
+the world hardly realized how much it owed to his countryfolk;
+according to his views, Achilles, Philip of Macedon, Alexander the
+Great, Aristotle, Pyrrhus, Diocletian, Julian the Apostate—they were
+all Albanians. Yet even towards the end of his life he is obliged to
+confess:—
+
+“But the evil demon who for over four thousand years has been hindering
+the Pelasgian race from collecting itself into one state, is still
+endeavouring by insidious means to thwart the work which would lead it
+to that union.”
+
+Disgusted with the clamorous and intriguing bustle of Naples, he
+retired, at the early age of 34, to his natal village of Macchia,
+throwing over one or two offers of lucrative worldly appointments. He
+describes himself as wholly disenchanted with the “facile fatuity” of
+Liberalism, the fact being, that he lacked what a French psychologist
+has called the _function of the real;_ his temperament was not of the
+kind to cope with actualities. This retirement is an epoch in his
+life—it is the Grand Renunciation. Henceforward he loses personal touch
+with thinking humanity. At Macchia he remained, brooding on Albanian
+wrongs, devising remedies, corresponding with foreigners and
+writing—ever writing; consuming his patrimony in the cause of Albania,
+till the direst poverty dogged his footsteps.
+
+I have read some of his Italian works. They are curiously
+oracular, like the whisperings of those fabled Dodonian oaks of his
+fatherland; they heave with a darkly-virile mysticism. He shares
+Blake’s ruggedness, his torrential and confused utterance, his
+benevolence, his flashes of luminous inspiration, his moral background.
+He resembles that visionary in another aspect: he was a consistent and
+passionate adorer of the _Ewig-weibliche._ Some of the female
+characters in his poems retain their dewy freshness, their exquisite
+originality, even after passing through the translator’s crucible.
+
+At the age of 19 he wrote a poem on “Odysseus,” which was published
+under a pseudonym. Then, three years later, there appeared a collection
+of rhapsodies entitled “Milosao,” which he had garnered from the lips
+of Albanian village maidens. It is his best-known work, and has been
+translated into Italian more than once. After his return to Macchia
+followed some years of apparent sterility, but later on, and especially
+during the last twenty years of his life, his literary activity became
+prodigious. Journalism, folklore, poetry, history, grammar, philology,
+ethnology, aesthetics, politics, morals—nothing came amiss to his
+gifted pen, and he was fruitful, say his admirers, even in his errors,
+Like other men inflamed with one single idea, he boldly ventured into
+domains of thought where specialists fear to tread. His biographer
+enumerates forty-three different works from his pen. They all throb
+with a resonant note of patriotism; they are “fragments of a heart,”
+and indeed, it has been said of him that he utilized even the grave
+science of grammar as a battlefield whereon to defy the enemies of
+Albania. But perhaps he worked most successfully as a journalist. His
+“Fiamuri Arberit” (the Banner of Albania) became the rallying cry of
+his countrymen in every corner of the earth.
+
+These multifarious writings—and doubtless the novelty of his central
+theme—attracted the notice of German philologers and linguists, of all
+lovers of freedom, folklore and verse. Leading Italian writers like
+Cantù praised him highly; Lamartine, in 1844, wrote to him: “Je suis
+bien-heureux de ce signe de fraternité poétique et politique entre vous
+et moi. La poésie est venue de vos rivages et doit y retourner. . . .”
+Hermann Buchholtz discovers scenic changes worthy of Shakespeare, and
+passages of Æschylean grandeur, in his tragedy “Sofonisba.” Carnet
+compares him with Dante, and the omniscient Mr. Gladstone wrote in
+1880—a post card, presumably—belauding his disinterested efforts on
+behalf of his country. He was made the subject of many articles and
+pamphlets, and with reason. Up to his time, Albania had been a
+myth. He it was who divined the relationship between the Albanian and
+Pelasgian tongues; who created the literary language of his country,
+and formulated its political ambitions.
+
+Whereas the hazy “Autobiologia” records complicated political intrigues
+at Naples that are not connected with his chief strivings, the little
+“Testamento politico,” printed towards the end of his life, is more
+interesting. It enunciates his favourite and rather surprising theory
+that the Albanians cannot look for help and sympathy save only to their
+_brothers,_ the Turks. Unlike many Albanians on either side of the
+Adriatic, he was a pronounced Turco-phile, detesting the “stolid
+perfidy” and “arrogant disloyalty” of the Greeks. Of Austria, the most
+insidious enemy of his country’s freedom, he seems to have thought
+well. A year before his death he wrote to an Italian translator of
+“Milosao” (I will leave the passage in the original, to show his cloudy
+language):
+
+“Ed un tempo propizio la accompagna: la ricostituzione dell’ Epiro nei
+suoi quattro vilayet autonomi quale è nei propri consigli e nei propri
+desideri; ricostituzione, che pel suo Giornale, quello dell’ ottimo A.
+Lorecchio—cui precede il principe Nazionale Kastriota, Chini—si
+annuncia fatale, e quasi fulcro della stabilità dello impero Ottomano,
+a della pace Europea; preludio di quella diffusione del regno di Dio
+sulla terra, che sarà la Pace tra gli Uomini.”
+
+Truly a remarkable utterance, and one that illustrates the
+disadvantages of living at a distance from the centres of thought. Had
+he travelled less with the spirit and more with the body, his opinions
+might have been modified and corrected. But he did not even visit the
+Albanian colonies in Italy and Sicily. Hence that vast confidence in
+his mission—a confidence born of solitude, intellectual and
+geographical. Hence that ultra-terrestrial yearning which tinges his
+apparently practical aspirations.
+
+He remained at home, ever poor and industrious; wrapped in bland
+exaltation and oblivious to contemporary movements of the human mind.
+Not that his existence was without external activities. A chair of
+Albanian literature at San Demetrio, instituted in 1849 but suppressed
+after three years, was conferred on him in 1892 by the historian and
+minister Pasquale Villari; for a considerable time, too, he was
+director of the communal school at Corigliano, where, with
+characteristic energy, he set up a printing press; violent journalistic
+campaigns succeeded one another; in 1896 he arranged for the first
+congress of Albanian language in that town, which brought together
+delegates from every part of Italy and elicited a warm telegram of
+felicitation from the minister
+Francesco Crispi, himself an Albanian. Again, in 1899, we find him
+reading a paper before the twelfth international congress of
+Orientalists at Rome.
+
+But best of all, he loved the seclusion of Macchia.
+
+Griefs clustered thickly about the closing years of this unworldly
+dreamer. Blow succeeded blow. One by one, his friends dropped off; his
+brothers, his beloved wife, his four sons—he survived them all; he
+stood alone at last, a stricken figure, in tragic and sublime
+isolation. Over eighty years old, he crawled thrice a week to deliver
+his lectures at San Demetrio; he still cultivated a small patch of
+ground with enfeebled arm, composing, for relaxation, poems and
+rhapsodies at the patriarchal age of 88! They will show you the trees
+under which he was wont to rest, the sunny views he loved, the very
+stones on which he sat; they will tell you anecdotes of his poverty—of
+an indigence such as we can scarcely credit. During the last months he
+was often thankful for a crust of bread, in exchange for which he would
+bring a sack of acorns, self-collected, to feed the giver’s pigs.
+Destitution of this kind, brought about by unswerving loyalty to an
+ideal, ceases to exist in its sordid manifestations: it exalts the
+sufferer. And his life’s work is there. Hitherto there had been no
+“Albanian Question” to perplex the chanceries of Europe. He applied the
+match to the tinder; he conjured up that phantom which refuses to be
+laid.
+
+He died, in 1903, at San Demetrio; and there lies entombed in the
+cemetery on the hill-side, among the oaks.
+
+But you will not easily find his grave.
+
+His biographer indulges a poetic fancy in sketching the fair monument
+which a grateful country will presently rear to his memory on the snowy
+Acroceraunian heights. It might be well, meanwhile, if some simple
+commemorative stone were placed on the spot where he lies buried. Had
+he succumbed at his natal Macchia, this would have been done; but death
+overtook him in the alien parish of San Demetrio, and his remains were
+mingled with those of its poorest citizens. A microcosmic illustration
+of that clannish spirit of Albania which he had spent a lifetime in
+endeavouring to direct to nobler ends!
+
+He was the Mazzini of his nation.
+
+A Garibaldi, when the crisis comes, may possibly emerge from that
+tumultuous horde.
+
+Where is the Cavour?
+
+
+
+
+XXV
+SCRAMBLING TO LONGOBUCCO
+
+
+A driving road to connect San Demetrio with Acri whither I was now
+bound was begun, they say, about twenty years ago; one can follow it
+for a considerable distance beyond the Albanian College. Then,
+suddenly, it ends. Walking to Acri, however, by the old track, one
+picks up, here and there, conscientiously-engineered little stretches
+of it, already overgrown with weeds; these, too, break off as abruptly
+as they began, in the wild waste. For purposes of wheeled traffic these
+picturesque but disconnected fragments are quite useless.
+
+Perhaps the whole undertaking will be completed some day—_speriamo!_ as
+the natives say, when speaking of something rather beyond reasonable
+expectation. But possibly not; and in that case—_pazienza!_ meaning,
+that all hope may now be abandoned. There is seldom any great hurry,
+with non-governmental works of this kind.
+
+It would be interesting if one could learn the inner history of these
+abortive transactions. I have often tried, in vain. It is impossible
+for an outsider to pierce the jungle of sordid mystery and intrigue
+which surrounds them. So much I gathered: that the original contract
+was based on the wages then current and that, the price of labour
+having more than doubled in consequence of the “discovery” of America,
+no one will undertake the job on the old terms. That is sufficiently
+intelligible. But why operations proceeded so slowly at first, and why
+a new contract cannot now be drawn up—who can tell! The persons
+interested blame the contractor, who blames the engineer, who blames
+the dilatory and corrupt administration of Cosenza. My private opinion
+is, that the last three parties have agreed to share the swag between
+them. Meanwhile everybody has just grounds of complaint against
+everybody else; the six or seven inevitable lawsuits have sprung up and
+promise to last any length of time, seeing that important documents
+have been lost or stolen and that half the original contracting parties
+have died in the interval: nobody knows what is going to happen in the
+end. It all depends upon whether some patriotic
+person will step forward and grease the wheels in the proper quarter.
+
+And even then, if he hails from Acri, they of San Demetrio will
+probably work against the project, and vice versa. For no love is lost
+between neighbouring communities—wonderful, with what venomous feudal
+animosity they regard each other! United Italy means nothing to these
+people, whose conceptions of national and public life are those of the
+cock on his dung-hill. You will find in the smallest places intelligent
+and broad-minded men, tradespeople or professionals or landed
+proprietors, but they are seldom members of the _municipio;_ the
+municipal career is also a money-making business, yes; but of another
+kind, and requiring other qualifications.
+
+Foot-passengers like myself suffer no inconvenience by being obliged to
+follow the shorter and time-honoured mule-track that joins the two
+places. It rises steeply at first, then begins to wind in and out among
+shady vales of chestnut and oak, affording unexpected glimpses now
+towards distant Tarsia and now, through a glade on the right, on to the
+ancient citadel of Bisignano, perched on its rock.
+
+I reached Acri after about two and a half hours’ walking. It lies in a
+theatrical situation and has a hotel; but the proprietor of that
+establishment having been described to me as “the greatest brigand of
+the Sila” I preferred to refresh myself at a small wineshop, whose
+manageress cooked me an uncommonly good luncheon and served some of the
+best wine I had tasted for long. Altogether, the better-class women
+here are far more wideawake and civilized than those of the Neapolitan
+province; a result of their stern patriarchal up-bringing and of their
+possessing more or less sensible husbands.
+
+Thus fortified, I strolled about the streets. One would like to spend a
+week or two in a place like this, so little known even to Italians, but
+the hot weather and bad feeding had begun to affect me disagreeably and
+I determined to push on without delay into cooler regions. It would
+never do to be laid up at Acri with heatstroke, and to have one’s last
+drops of life drained away by copious blood-lettings, relic of
+Hispano-Arabic practices and the favourite remedy for every complaint.
+Acri is a large place, and its air of prosperity contrasts with the
+slumberous decay of San Demetrio; there is silk-rearing, and so much
+emigration into America that nearly every man I addressed replied in
+English. New houses are rising up in all directions, and the place is
+celebrated for its rich citizens.
+
+But these same wealthy men are in rather a dilemma. Some local
+authority, I forget who, has deduced from the fact that there are so
+many forges and smiths’ shops here that this must be the spot to which
+the over-sensitive inhabitants of Sybaris banished their workers in
+metal and other noisy professions. Now the millionaires would like to
+be thought Sybarites by descent, but it is hardly respectable to draw a
+pedigree from these outcasts.
+
+They need not alarm themselves. For Acri, as Forbiger has shown, is the
+old Acherontia; the river Acheron, the Mocone or Mucone of to-day,
+flows at its foot, and from one point of the town I had a fine view
+into its raging torrent.
+
+A wearisome climb of two hours brought me to the _Croce Greca,_ the
+Greek Cross, which stands 1185 metres above sea-level. How hot it was,
+in that blazing sun! I should be sorry to repeat the trip, under the
+same conditions. A structure of stone may have stood here in olden
+days; at present it is a diminutive wooden crucifix by the roadside. It
+marks, none the less, an important geographical point: the boundary
+between the “Greek” Sila which I was now leaving and the Sila Grande,
+the central and largest region. Beyond this last-named lies the lesser
+Sila, or “Sila Piccola”; and if you draw a line from Rogliano (near
+Cosenza) to Cotrone you will approximately strike the watershed which
+divides the Sila Grande from this last and most westerly of the three
+Sila divisions. After that comes Catanzaro and the valley of the
+Corace, the narrowest point of the Italian continent, and then the
+heights of Serra and Aspromonte, the true “Italy” of old, that continue
+as far as Reggio.
+
+Though I passed through some noble groves of chestnut on the way up,
+the country here was a treeless waste. Yet it must have been forest up
+to a short time ago, for one could see the beautiful vegetable mould
+which has not yet had time to be washed down the hill-sides. A driving
+road passes the Croce Greca; it joins Acri with San Giovanni, the
+capital of Sila Grande, and with Cosenza.
+
+It was another long hour’s march, always uphill, before I reached a
+spacious green meadow or upland with a few little buildings. The place
+is called Verace and lies on the watershed between the upper Crati
+valley and the Ionian; thenceforward my walk would be a descent along
+the Trionto river, the Traeis of old, as far as Longobucco which
+overlooks its flood. It was cool here at last, from the altitude and
+the decline of day; and hay-making was going on, amid the pastoral din
+of cow-bells and a good deal of blithe love-making and chattering.
+
+After some talk with these amiable folks, I passed on to where
+the young Traeis bubbles up from the cavernous reservoirs of the earth.
+Of those chill and roguish wavelets I took a draught, mindful of the
+day when long ago, by these same waters, an irreparable catastrophe
+overwhelmed our European civilization. For it was the Traeis near whose
+estuary was fought the battle between 300,000 Sybarites (I refuse to
+believe these figures) and the men of Croton conducted by their
+champion Milo—a battle which led to the destruction of Sybaris and,
+incidentally, of Hellenic culture throughout the mainland of Italy.
+This was in the same fateful year 510 that witnessed the expulsion of
+the Tarquins from Rome and the Pisistratidae from Athens.
+
+Pines, the characteristic tree of the Sila, now begin to appear.
+Passing through Verace I had already observed, on the left, a high
+mountain entirely decked with them. It is the ridge marked Paleparto on
+the map; the Trionto laves its foot. But the local pronunciation of
+this name is Palépite, and I cannot help thinking that here we have a
+genuine old Greek name perpetuated by the people and referring to this
+covering of hoary pines—a name which the cartographers, arbitrary and
+ignorant as they often are, have unconsciously disguised. (It occurs in
+some old charts, however, as Paleparto.) An instructive map of Italy
+could be drawn up, showing the sites and cities wrongly named from
+corrupt etymology or falsified inscriptions, and those deliberately
+miscalled out of principles of local patriotism. The whole country is
+full of these inventions of _litterati_ which date, for the most part,
+from the enthusiastic but undisciplined Cinque-Cento.
+
+The minute geographical triangle comprised between Cosenza, Longobucco
+and San Demetrio which I was now traversing is one of the least known
+corners of Italy, and full of dim Hellenic memories. The streamlet
+“Calamo” flows through the valley I ascended from Acri, and at its
+side, a little way out of the town, stands the fountain “Pompeio” where
+the brigands, not long ago, used to lie in wait for women and children
+coming to fetch water, and snatch them away for ransom. On the way up,
+I had glimpses down a thousand feet or more into the Mucone or Acheron,
+raging and foaming in its narrow valley. It rises among the mountains
+called “Fallistro” and “Li Tartari”—unquestionably Greek names.
+
+On this river and somewhere above Acri stood, according to the
+scholarly researches of Lenormant, the ancient city of Pandosia. I do
+not know if its site has been determined since his day. It was “very
+strong” and rich and at its highest prosperity in the fourth century
+B.C.; after the fall of Sybaris it passed under the supremacy
+of Croton. The god Pan was figured on some of its coins, and
+appropriately enough, considering its sylvan surroundings; others bear
+the head of the nymph Pandosia with her name and that of the river
+Crathis, under the guise of a young shepherd: they who wish to learn
+his improper legend will find it in the pages of Aelian, or in chapter
+xxxii of the twenty-fifth book of Rhodiginus, beginning _Quae sit
+brutorum affectio,_ etc.[1] We have here not the Greece of mediæval
+Byzantine times, much less that of the Albanians, but the sunny Hellas
+of the days when the world was young, when these ardent colonists
+sailed westwards to perpetuate their names and legends in the alien
+soil of Italy.
+
+ [1] _Brunii a brutis moribus:_ so say certain spiteful writers, an
+ accusation which Strabo and Horace extend to all Calabrians. As to the
+ site of Pandosia, a good number of scholars, such as old Prosper
+ Parisius and Luigi Maria Greco, locate it at the village of Mendicino
+ on the river Merenzata, which was called Arconte (? Acheron) in the
+ Middle Ages. So the Trionto is not unquestionably the Traeis, and in
+ Marincola Pistoia’s good little “Cose di Sibari” (1845) the
+ distinction is claimed for one of four rivers—the Lipuda, Colognati,
+ Trionto, or Fiuminicà.
+
+The Mucone has always been known as a ferocious and pitiless torrent,
+and maintains to this day its Tartarean reputation. Twenty persons a
+year, they tell me, are devoured by its angry waters: _mangia venti
+cristiani all’ anno!_ This is as bad as the Amendolea near Reggio. But
+none of its victims have attained the celebrity of Alexander of
+Molossus, King of Epirus, who perished under the walls of Pandosia in
+326 B.C. during an excursion against the Lucanians. He had been warned
+by the oracle of Dodona to avoid the waters of Acheron and the town of
+Pandosia; once in Italy, however, he paid small heed to these words,
+thinking they referred to the river and town of the same name in
+Thesprotia. But the gods willed otherwise, and you may read of his
+death in the waters, and the laceration of his body by the Lucanians,
+in Livy’s history.
+
+It is a strange caprice that we should now possess what is in every
+probability the very breastplate worn by the heroic monarch on that
+occasion. It was found in 1820, and thereafter sold—some fragments of
+it, at least—to the British Museum, where under the name of “Bronze of
+Siris” it may still be admired: a marvellous piece of repoussée work,
+in the style of Lysippus, depicting the combat of Ajax and the Amazons.
+. . .
+
+The streamlet Trionto, my companion to Longobucco, glides along between
+stretches of flowery meadow-land—fit emblem of placid rural
+contentment. But soon this lyric mood is spent. It enters a winding
+gorge that shuts out the sunlight and the landscape abruptly assumes an
+epic note; the water tumbles wildly
+downward, hemmed in by mountains whose slopes are shrouded in dusky
+pines wherever a particle of soil affords them foothold. The scenery in
+this valley is as romantic as any in the Sila. Affluents descend on
+either side, while the swollen rivulet writhes and screeches in its
+narrow bed, churning the boulders with hideous din. The track,
+meanwhile, continues to run beside the water till the passage becomes
+too difficult; it must perforce attack the hill-side. Up it climbs,
+therefore, in never-ending ascension, and then meanders at a great
+height above the valley, in and out of its tributary glens.
+
+I was vastly enjoying this promenade—the shady pines, whose fragrance
+mingled with that of a legion of tall aromatic plants in full
+blossom—the views upon the river, shining far below me like the thread
+of silver—when I observed with surprise that the whole mountain-side
+which the track must manifestly cross had lately slipped down into the
+abyss. A cloud-burst two or three days ago, as I afterwards learned,
+had done the mischief. On arrival at the spot, the path was seen to be
+interrupted—clean gone, in fact, and not a shred of earth or trees
+left; there confronted me a bare scar, a wall of naked rock which not
+even a chamois could negotiate. Here was a dilemma. I must either
+retrace my steps along the weary road to Verace and there seek a
+night’s shelter with the gentle hay-makers, or clamber down into the
+ravine, follow the river and—chance it! After anxious deliberation, the
+latter alternative was chosen.
+
+But the Trionto was now grown into a formidable torrent of surging
+waves and eddies, with a perverse inclination to dash from one side to
+the other of its prison, so as to necessitate frequent fordings on my
+part. These watery passages, which I shall long remember, were not
+without a certain danger. The stream was still swollen with the recent
+rains, and its bed, invisible under the discoloured element,
+sufficiently deep to inspire respect and studded, furthermore, with
+slippery boulders of every size, concealing insidious gulfs. Having
+only a short walking-stick to support me through this raging flood, I
+could not but picture to myself the surprise of the village maidens of
+Cropolati, lower down, on returning to their laundry work by the
+river-side next morning and discovering the battered anatomy of an
+Englishman—a rare fish, in these waters—stranded upon their familiar
+beach. Murdered, of course. What a galaxy of brigand legends would have
+clustered round my memory!
+
+[Illustration: The Trionto Valley]
+
+Evening was closing in, and I had traversed the stream so often and
+stumbled so long amid this chaos of roaring waters and
+weirdly-tinted rocks, that I began to wonder whether the existence of
+Longobucco was not a myth. But suddenly, at a bend of the river, the
+whole town, still distant, was revealed, upraised on high and framed in
+the yawning mouth of the valley. After the solitary ramble of that
+afternoon, my eyes familiarized to nothing save the wild things of
+nature, this unexpected glimpse of complicated, civilized structures
+had all the improbability of a mirage. Longobucco, at that moment,
+arose before me like those dream-cities in the Arabian tale, conjured
+by enchantment out of the desert waste.
+
+The vision, though it swiftly vanished again, cheered me on till after
+a good deal more scrambling and wading, with boots torn to rags, lame,
+famished and drenched to the skin, I reached the bridge of the Rossano
+highway and limped upwards, in the twilight, to the far-famed “Hotel
+Vittoria.”
+
+Soon enough, be sure, I was enquiring as to supper. But the manageress
+met my suggestions about eatables with a look of blank astonishment.
+
+Was there nothing in the house, then? No cheese, or meat, or
+maccheroni, or eggs—no wine to drink?
+
+“Nothing!” she replied. “Why should you eat things at this hour? You
+must find them yourself, if you really want them. I might perhaps
+procure you some bread.”
+
+_Avis aux voyageurs,_ as the French say.
+
+Undaunted, I went forth and threw myself upon the mercy of a citizen of
+promising exterior, who listened attentively to my case. Though far too
+polite to contradict, I could see that nothing in the world would
+induce him to credit the tale of my walking from San Demetrio that
+day—it was tacitly relegated to the regions of fable. With considerable
+tact, so as not to wound my feelings, he avoided expressing any opinion
+on so frivolous a topic; nor did the reason of his reluctance to
+discuss my exploit dawn upon me till I realized, later on, that like
+many of the inhabitants he had never heard of the track over Acri, and
+consequently disbelieved its existence. They reach San Demetrio by a
+two or even three days’ drive over Rossano, Corigliano, and Vaccarizza.
+He became convinced, however, that for some reason or other I was
+hungry, and thereupon good-naturedly conducted me to various places
+where wine and other necessities of life were procured.
+
+The landlady watched me devouring this fare, more astonished than
+ever—indeed, astonishment seemed to be her chronic condition so long as
+I was under her roof. But the promised bread was
+not forthcoming, for the simple reason that there was none in the
+house. She had said that she could procure it for me, not that she
+possessed it; now, since I had given no orders to that effect, she had
+not troubled about it.
+
+Nobody travels south of Rome. . . .
+
+Strengthened beyond expectation by this repast, I sallied into the
+night once more, and first of all attended an excellent performance at
+the local cinematograph. After that, I was invited to a cup of coffee
+by certain burghers, and we strolled about the piazza awhile, taking
+our pleasure in the cool air of evening (the town lies 794 metres above
+sea-level). Its streets are orderly and clean; there are no Albanians,
+and no costumes of any kind. Here, firm-planted on the square, and
+jutting at an angle from the body of the church, stands a massive
+bell-tower overgrown from head to foot with pendent weeds and grasses
+whose roots have found a home in the interstices of its masonry; a
+grimly venerable pile, full of character.
+
+Weary but not yet satiated, I took leave of the citizens and
+perambulated the more ignoble quarters, all of which are decently
+lighted with electricity. Everywhere in these stiller regions was the
+sound of running waters, and I soon discerned that Longobucco is an
+improvement on the usual site affected by Calabrian hill-towns—the
+Y-shaped enclosure, namely, at the junction of two rivers—inasmuch as
+it has contrived to perch itself on a lofty platform protected by no
+less than three streams that rush impetuously under its walls: the
+Trionto and two of its affluents. On the flank inclined towards the
+Ionian there is a veritable chasm; the Trionto side is equally
+difficult of approach—the rear, of course, inaccessible. No wonder the
+brigands chose it for their chief citadel.
+
+I am always on the look-out for modern epigraphical curiosities;
+regarding the subject as one of profound social significance (postage
+stamps, indeed!) I have assiduously formed a collection, the envy of
+connaisseurs, about one-third of whose material, they tell me, might
+possibly be printed at Brussels or Geneva. Well, here is a mural
+_graffito_ secured in the course of this evening’s walk:
+
+_Abaso [sic] questo paese sporco incivile:_ down with this dirty savage
+country!
+
+There is food for thought in this inscription. For if some bilious
+hyper-civilized stranger were its author, the sentiments might pass.
+But coming from a native, to what depths of morbid discontent do they
+testify! Considering the recent progress of these regions that has led
+to a security and prosperity formerly undreamed of, one is driven to
+the conjecture that these words can only have been
+penned by some cantankerous churl of an emigrant returning to his
+native land after an easeful life in New York and compelled—“for his
+sins,” as he would put it—to reside at the “Hotel Vittoria.”
+
+Towards that delectable hostelry I now turned, somewhat regretfully, to
+face a bedroom whose appearance had already inspired me with anything
+but confidence. But hardly were the preliminary investigations begun,
+when a furious noise in the street below drew me to the window once
+more. Half the town was passing underneath in thronged procession, with
+lighted torches and flags, headed by the municipal band discoursing
+martial strains of music.
+
+Whither wending, at this midnight hour?
+
+To honour a young student, native of the place, now returning up the
+Rossano road from Naples, where he had distinguished himself
+prominently in some examination. I joined the crowd, and presently we
+were met by a small carriage whence there emerged a pallid and frail
+adolescent with burning eyes, who was borne aloft in triumph and
+cheered with that vociferous, masculine heartiness which we Englishmen
+reserve for our popular prize-fighters. And this in the classic land of
+brigandage and bloodshed!
+
+The intellectual under-current. . . .
+
+It was an apt commentary on my _graffito._ And another, more personally
+poignant, not to say piquant, was soon to follow: the bed. But no. I
+will say nothing about the bed, nothing whatever; nothing beyond this,
+that it yielded an entomological harvest which surpassed my wildest
+expectations.
+
+
+
+
+XXVI
+AMONG THE BRUTTIANS
+
+
+Conspicuous among the wise men of Longobucco in olden days was the
+physician Bruno, who “flourished” about the end of the thirteenth
+century. He called himself _Longoburgensis Calaber,_ and his great
+treatise on anatomical dissection, embodying much Greek and Arabic
+lore, was printed many years after his death. Another was Francesco
+Maria Labonia; he wrote, in 1664, “De vera loci urbis Timesinae
+situatione, etc.,” to prove, presumably, that his birthplace occupied
+the site whence the Homeric ore of Temese was derived. There are modern
+writers who support this view.
+
+The local silver mines were exploited in antiquity; first by Sybaris,
+then by Croton. They are now abandoned, but a good deal has been
+written about them. In the year 1200 a thousand miners were employed,
+and the Anjous extracted a great deal of precious metal thence; the
+goldsmiths of Longobucco were celebrated throughout Italy during the
+Middle Ages. The industrious H. W. Schulz has unearthed a Royal
+rescript of 1274 charging a certain goldsmith Johannes of Longobucco
+with researches into the metal and salt resources of the whole kingdom
+of Naples.
+
+Writing from Longobucco in 1808 during a brigand-hunt, Duret de Tavel
+says:
+
+“The high wooded mountains which surround this horrible place spread
+over it a sombre and savage tint which saddens the imagination. This
+borough contains a hideous population of three thousand souls, composed
+of nail-makers, of blacksmiths and charcoal-burners. The former
+government employed them in working the silver mines situated in the
+neighbourhood which are now abandoned.”
+
+He tells a good deal about the brigandage that was then rife here, and
+the atrocities which the repression of this pest entailed. Soon after
+his arrival, for instance, four hundred soldiers were sent to a village
+where the chiefs of the brigand “insurrection” were supposed to be
+sheltered. The soldiers, he says, “poured into the streets like a
+torrent in flood, and there began a horrible massacre,
+rendered inevitable by the obstinacy of the insurgents, who fired from
+all the houses. This unhappy village was sacked and burnt, suffering
+all the horrors inseparable from a capture by assault.” Two hundred
+dead were found in the streets. But the brigand chiefs, the sole
+pretext of this bloodshed, managed to escape. Perhaps they were not
+within fifty miles of the place.
+
+Be that as it may, they were captured later on by their own
+compatriots, after the French had waited a month at Longobucco. Their
+heads were brought in, still bleeding, and “l’identité ayant été
+suffisamment constatée, la mort des principaux acteurs a terminé cette
+sanglante tragédie, et nous sommes sortis de ces catacombes apénnines
+pour revoir le plus brillant soleil.”
+
+Wonderful tales are still told of the brigands in these forests. They
+will show you notches on the trees, cut by such and such a brigand for
+some particular purpose of communication with his friends; buried
+treasure has been found, and even nowadays shepherds sometimes discover
+rude shelters of bark and tree trunks built by them in the thickest
+part of the woods. There are legends, too, of caverns wherein they
+hived their booty—caverns with cleverly concealed entrances—caverns
+which (many of them, at least) I regard as a pure invention modelled
+after the authentic brigand caves of Salerno and Abruzzi, where the
+limestone rock is of the kind to produce them. Bourbonism fostered the
+brood, and there was a fierce recrudescence in the troubled sixties.
+They lived in bands, _squadrigli,_ burning and plundering with
+impunity. Whoever refused to comply with their demands for food or
+money was sure to repent of it. All this is over, for the time being;
+the brigands are extirpated, to the intense relief of the country
+people, who were entirely at their mercy, and whose boast it is that
+their district is now as safe as the streets of Naples. Qualified
+praise, this. . . .[1]
+
+ [1] See next chapter.
+
+It is an easy march of eight hours or less, through pleasing scenery
+and by a good track, from Longobucco to San Giovanni in Fiore, the
+capital of the Sila. The path leaves Longobucco at the rear of the town
+and, climbing upward, enters a valley which it follows to its head. The
+peasants have cultivated patches of ground along the stream; the slopes
+are covered, first with chestnuts and then with hoary firs—a rare
+growth, in these parts—from whose branches hangs the golden bough of
+the mistletoe. And now the stream is ended and a dark ridge blocks the
+way; it is overgrown with beeches, under whose shade you ascend in
+steep curves. At
+the summit the vegetation changes once more, and you find yourself
+among magnificent stretches of pines that continue as far as the
+governmental domain of Galoppano, a forestal station, two hours’ walk
+from Longobucco.
+
+This pine is a particular variety _(Pinus lancio,_ var. _Calabra),_
+known as the “Pino della Sila”—it is found over this whole country, and
+grows to a height of forty metres with a silvery-grey trunk, exhaling a
+delicious aromatic fragrance. In youth, especially where the soil is
+deep, it shoots up prim and demure as a Nuremberg toy; but in old age
+grows monstrous. High-perched upon some lonely granite boulder, with
+roots writhing over the bare stone like the arms of an octopus, it sits
+firm and unmoved, deriding the tempest and flinging fantastic limbs
+into the air—emblem of tenacity in desolation. From these trees, which
+in former times must have covered the Sila region, was made that
+Bruttian pitch mentioned by Strabo and other ancient writers; from them
+the Athenians, the Syracusans, Tarentines and finally the Romans built
+their fleets. Their timber was used in the construction of Caserta
+palace.
+
+A house stands here, inhabited by government officials the whole year
+round—one may well puzzle how they pass the long winter, when snow lies
+from October to May. So early did I arrive at this establishment that
+the more civilized of its inhabitants were still asleep; by waiting, I
+might have learnt something of the management of the estate, but gross
+material preoccupations—the prospect of a passable luncheon at San
+Giovanni after the “Hotel Vittoria” fare—tempted me to press forwards.
+A boorish and unreliable-looking individual volunteered three pieces of
+information—that the house was built thirty years ago, that a large
+nursery for plants lies about ten kilometres distant, and that this
+particular domain covers “two or four thousand hectares.” A young
+plantation of larches and silver birches—aliens to this region—seemed
+to be doing well.
+
+Not far from here, along my track, lies Santa Barbara, two or three
+huts, with corn still green—like Verace (above Acri) on the watershed
+between the Ionian and upper Grati. Then follows a steep climb up the
+slopes of Mount Pettinascura, whose summit lies 1708 metres above
+sea-level. This is the typical landscape of the Sila Grande. There is
+not a human habitation in sight; forests all around, with views down
+many-folded vales into the sea and towards the distant and fairy-like
+Apennines, a serrated edge, whose limestone precipices gleam like
+crystals of amethyst between the blue sky and the dusky woodlands of
+the foreground.
+
+[Illustration: Longobucco]
+
+Here I reposed awhile, watching the crossbills, wondrously tame, at
+work among the branches overhead, and the emerald lizard peering out of
+the bracken at my side. This _lucertone,_ as they call it, is a local
+beast, very abundant in some spots (at Venosa and Patirion, for
+example); it is elsewhere conspicuous by its absence. The natives are
+rather afraid of it, and still more so of the harmless gecko, the
+“salamide,” which is reputed highly poisonous.
+
+Then up again, through dells and over uplands, past bubbling streams,
+sometimes across sunlit meadows, but oftener in the leafy shelter of
+maples and pines—a long but delightful track, winding always high above
+the valleys of the Neto and Lese. At last, towards midday, I struck the
+driving road that connects San Giovanni with Savelli, crossed a bridge
+over the foaming Neto, and climbed into the populous and dirty streets
+of the town—the “Siberia of Calabria,” as it may well be, for seven
+months of the year.
+
+At this season, thanks to its elevation of 1050 metres, the temperature
+is all that could be desired, and the hotel, such as it is, compares
+favourably indeed with the den at Longobucco. Instantly I felt at home
+among these good people, who recognized me, and welcomed me with the
+cordiality of old friends.
+
+“Well,” they asked, “and have you found it at last?”
+
+They remembered my looking for the double flute, the _tibiae pares,_
+some years ago.
+
+It will not take you long to discover that the chief objects of
+interest in San Giovanni are the women. Many Calabrian villages still
+possess their distinctive costumes—Marcellinara and Cimigliano are
+celebrated in this respect—but it would be difficult to find anywhere
+an equal number of handsome women on such a restricted space. In olden
+days it was dangerous to approach these attractive and mirthful
+creatures; they were jealously guarded by brothers and husbands. But
+the brothers and husbands, thank God, are now in America, and you may
+be as friendly with them as ever you please, provided you confine your
+serious attentions to not more than two or three. Secrecy in such
+matters is out of the question, as with the Arabs; there is too much
+gossip, and too little coyness about what is natural; your friendships
+are openly recognized, and tacitly approved. The priests do not
+interfere; their hands are full.
+
+To see these women at their best one must choose a Sunday or a
+feast-day; one must go, morever, to the favourite fountain of Santa
+Lucia, which lies on the hill-side and irrigates some patches of corn
+and vegetables. Their natural charms are enhanced by
+elaborate and tasteful golden ornaments, and by a pretty mode of
+dressing the hair, two curls of which are worn hanging down before
+their ears with an irresistibly seductive air. Their features are
+regular; eyes black or deep gentian blue; complexion pale; movements
+and attitudes impressed with a stamp of rare distinction. Even the
+great-grandmothers have a certain austere dignity—sinewy,
+indestructible old witches, with tawny hide and eyes that glow like
+lamps.
+
+And yet San Giovanni is as dirty as can well be; it has the accumulated
+filth of an Eastern town, while lacking all its glowing tints or
+harmonious outlines. We are disposed to associate squalor with certain
+artistic effects, but it may be said of this and many other Calabrian
+places that they have solved the problem how to be ineffably squalid
+without becoming in the least picturesque. Much of this sordid look is
+due to the smoke which issues out of all the windows and blackens the
+house walls, inside and out—the Calabrians persisting in a prehistoric
+fashion of cooking on the floor. The buildings themselves look crude
+and gaunt from their lack of plaster and their eyeless windows; black
+pigs wallowing at every doorstep contribute to this slovenly
+_ensemble._ The City Fathers have turned their backs upon civilization;
+I dare say the magnitude of the task before them has paralysed their
+initiative.
+
+Nothing is done in the way of public hygiene, and one sees women
+washing linen in water which is nothing more or less than an open
+drain. There is no street-lighting whatever; a proposal on the part of
+a North Italian firm to draw electric power from the Neto was
+scornfully rejected; one single tawdry lamp, which was bought some
+years ago “as a sample” in a moment of municipal recklessness, was
+lighted three times in as many years, and on the very day when it was
+least necessary—to wit, on midsummer eve, which happens to be the
+festival of their patron saint (St. John). “It now hangs”—so I wrote
+some years ago—“at a dangerous angle, and I doubt whether it will
+survive till its services are requisitioned next June.” Prophetic
+utterance! It was blown down that same winter, and has not yet been
+replaced. This in a town of 20,000 (?) inhabitants—and in Italy, where
+the evening life of the populace plays such an important role. No
+wonder North Italians, judging by such external indications, regard all
+Calabrians as savages.
+
+Some trees have been planted in the piazza since my last stay here; a
+newspaper has also been started—it is called “Co-operation: Organ of
+the Interests of San Giovanni in Fiore,” and its first and possibly
+unique number contains a striking article on the public
+health, as revealed in the report of two doctors who had been
+despatched by the provincial sanitary authorities to take note of local
+conditions of hygiene. “The illustrious scientists” (thus it runs)
+“were horrified at the filth, mud and garbage which encumbered, and
+still encumbers, our streets, sending forth in the warm weather a
+pestilential odour. . . . They were likewise amazed at the vigorously
+expressed protest of our mayor, who said: ‘_My people cannot live
+without their pigs wallowing in the streets. San Giovanni in Fiore is
+exempt from earthquakes and epidemics because it is under the
+protection of Saint John the Baptist, and because its provincial
+councillor is a saintly man.’_” Such journalistic plain speaking, such
+lack of sweet reasonableness, cannot expect to survive in a world
+governed by compromise, and if the gift of prophecy has not deserted
+me, I should say that “Co-operation” has by this time ended its useful
+mission upon earth.
+
+This place is unhealthy; its water-supply is not what it should be, and
+such commodities as eggs and milk are rather dear, because “the
+invalids eat everything” of that kind. Who are the invalids? Typhoid
+patients and, above all, malarious subjects who descend to the plains
+as agricultural labourers and return infected to the hills, where they
+become partially cured, only to repeat the folly next year. It is the
+same at Longobucco and other Sila towns. Altogether, San Giovanni has
+grave drawbacks. The streets are too steep for comfort, and despite its
+height, the prospect towards the Ionian is intercepted by a ridge; in
+point of situation it cannot compare with Savelli or the neighbouring
+Casino, which have impressive views both inland, and southward down
+undulating slopes that descend in a stately procession of four thousand
+feet to the sea, where sparkles the gleaming horn of Cotrone. And the
+surroundings of the place are nowise representative of the Sila in a
+good sense. The land has been so ruthlessly deforested that it has
+become a desert of naked granite rocks; even now, in midsummer, the
+citizens are already collecting fuel for their long winter from
+enormous distances. As one crawls and skips among these unsavoury
+tenements, one cannot help regretting that Saint John the Baptist, or
+the piety of a provincial councillor, should have hindered the
+earthquakes from doing their obvious duty.
+
+Were I sultan of San Giovanni, I would certainly begin by a general
+bombardment. Little in the town is worth preserving from a cataclysm
+save the women, and perhaps the old convent on the summit of the hill
+where the French lodged during their brigand-wars, and that other one,
+famous in the ecclesiastical annals of Calabria—the monastery of
+Floriacense, founded at the
+end of the twelfth century, round which the town gradually grew up. Its
+ponderous portal is much injured, having been burnt, I was told, by the
+brigands in 1860. But the notary, who kindly looked up the archives for
+me, has come to the conclusion that the French are responsible for the
+damage. It contains, or contained, a fabulous collection of pious
+lumber—teeth and thigh-bones and other relics, the catalogue of which
+is one of my favourite sections of Father Fiore’s work. I would make an
+exception, also, in favour of the doorway of the church, a finely
+proportioned structure of the Renaissance in black stone, which looks
+ill at ease among its ignoble environment. A priest, to whom I applied
+for information as to its history, told me with the usual Calabrian
+frankness that he never bothered his head about such things.
+
+San Giovanni was practically unknown to the outside world up to a few
+years ago. I question whether Lenormant or any of them came here.
+Pacicchelli did, however, in the seventeenth century, though he has
+left us no description of the place. He crossed the whole Sila from the
+Ionian to the other sea. I like this amiable and loquacious creature,
+restlessly gadding about Europe, gloriously complacent, hopelessly
+absorbed in trivialities, and credulous beyond belief. In fact (as the
+reader may have observed), I like all these old travellers, not so much
+for what they actually say, as for their implicit outlook upon life.
+This Pacicchelli was a fellow of our Royal Society, and his accounts of
+England are worth reading; here, in Calabria (being a non-southerner)
+his “Familiar Letters” and ”Memoirs of Travel” act as a wholesome
+corrective. Which of the local historians would have dared to speak of
+Cosenza as “città aperta, scomposta, e disordinata di fabbriche”?
+
+That these inhabitants of the Sila are Bruttians may be inferred from
+the superior position occupied by their women-folk, who are quite
+differently treated to those of the lowlands. There—all along the
+coasts of South Italy—the _cow-woman_ is still found, unkempt and
+uncivilized; there, the male is the exclusive bearer of culture. Such
+things are not seen among the Bruttians of the Sila, any more than
+among the grave Latins or Samnites. These non-Hellenic races are,
+generally speaking, honest, dignified and incurious; they are bigoted,
+not to say fanatical; and their women are not exclusively beasts of
+burden, being better dressed, better looking, and often as intelligent
+as the men. They are the fruits of a female selection.
+
+But wherever the mocking Ionic spirit has penetrated—and the Ionian
+women occupied even a lower position than those of the
+Dorians and Aeolians—it has resulted in a glorification of masculinity.
+Hand in hand with this depreciation of the female sex go other
+characteristics which point to Hellenic influences: lack of commercial
+morality, of veracity, of seriousness in religious matters; a
+persistent, light-hearted inquisitiveness; a levity (or sprightliness,
+if you prefer it) of mind. The people are fetichistic, amulet-loving,
+rather than devout. We may certainly suspect Greek or Saracen strains
+wherever women are held in low estimation; wherever, as the god Apollo
+himself said, “the mother is but the nurse.” In the uplands of Calabria
+the mother is a good deal more than the nurse.
+
+For the rest, it stands to reason that in proportion as the
+agricultural stage supplants that of pasturage, the superior strength
+and utility of boys over girls should become more apparent, and this in
+South Italy is universally proclaimed by the fact that everything large
+and fine is laughingly described as “maschio” (male), and by some odd
+superstitions in disparagement of the female sex, such as these: that
+in giving presents to women, uneven numbers should be selected, lest
+even ones “do them more good than they deserve”; that to touch the hump
+of a female hunchback brings no luck whatever; that if a woman be the
+first to drink out of a new earthenware pitcher, the vessel may as well
+be thrown away at once—it is tainted for ever.[2] Yet the birth of a
+daughter is no Chinese calamity; even girls are “Christians” and
+welcomed as such, the populace having never sunk to the level of our
+theologians, who were wont to discuss _an fæmina sint monstra._
+
+ [2] In Japan, says Hearn, the first bucketful of water to be drawn out
+ of a cleaned well must be drawn by a man; for if a woman first draw
+ water, the well will always hereafter remain muddy. Some of these
+ prejudices seem to be based on primordial misreadings of physiology.
+ There is also a strong feeling in favour of dark hair. No mother would
+ entrust her infant to a fair wet-nurse; the milk even of white cows is
+ considered “lymphatic” and not strengthening; perhaps the eggs of
+ white hens are equally devoid of the fortifying principle. There is
+ something to be said for this since, in proportion as we go south, the
+ risk of irritation, photophobia, and other complaints incidental to
+ the xanthous complexion becomes greater.
+
+All over the Sila there is a large preponderance of women over men,
+nearly the whole male section of the community, save the quite young
+and the decrepit, being in America. This emigration brings much money
+into the country and many new ideas; but the inhabitants have yet to
+learn the proper use of their wealth, and to acquire a modern standard
+of comfort. Together with the Sardinians, these Calabrians are the
+hardiest of native races, and this is what makes them prefer the
+strenuous but lucrative life in North American mines to the easier
+career in Argentina, which Neapolitans favour. There they learn
+English. They remember their
+families and the village that gave them birth, but their patriotism
+towards Casa Savoia is of the slenderest. How could it be otherwise? I
+have spoken to numbers of them, and this is what they say:
+
+“This country has done nothing for us; why should we fight its battles?
+Not long ago we were almost devouring each other in our hunger; what
+did they do to help us? If we have emerged from misery, it is due to
+our own initiative and the work of our own hands; if we have decent
+clothes and decent houses, it is because they drove us from our old
+homes with their infamous misgovernment to seek work abroad.”
+
+Perfectly true! They have redeemed themselves, though the new regime
+has hardly had a fair trial. And the drawbacks of emigration (such as a
+slight increase of tuberculosis and alcoholism) are nothing compared
+with the unprecedented material prosperity and enlightenment. There has
+also been—in these parts, at all events—a marked diminution of crime.
+No wonder, seeing that three-quarters of the most energetic and
+turbulent elements are at present in America, where they recruit the
+Black Hand. That the Bruttian is not yet ripe for town life, that his
+virtues are pastoral rather than civic, might have been expected; but
+the Arab domination of much of his territory, one suspects, may have
+infused fiercer strains into his character and helped to deserve for
+him that epithet of _sanguinario_ by which he is proud to be known.
+
+
+
+
+XXVII
+CALABRIAN BRIGANDAGE
+
+
+The last genuine bandit of the Sila was Gaetano Ricca. On account of
+some trivial misunderstanding with the authorities, this man was
+compelled in the early eighties to take to the woods, where he lived a
+wild life _(alla campagna; alla macchia}_ for some three years. A price
+was set on his head, but his daring and knowledge of the country
+intimidated every one. I should be sorry to believe in the number of
+carbineers he is supposed to have killed during that period; no doubt
+the truth came out during his subsequent trial. On one occasion he was
+surrounded, and while the officer in command of his pursuers, who had
+taken refuge behind a tree, ordered him to yield, Ricca waited
+patiently till the point of his enemy’s foot became visible, when he
+pierced his ankle-bone with his last bullet and escaped. He afterwards
+surrendered and was imprisoned for twenty years or so; then returned to
+the Sila, where up to a short time ago he was enjoying a green old age
+in his home at Parenti—Parenti, already celebrated in the annals of
+brigandage by the exploit of the perfidious Francatripa (Giacomo
+Pisani), who, under pretence of hospitality, enticed a French company
+into his clutches and murdered its three officers and all the men, save
+seven. The memoirs of such men might be as interesting as those of the
+Sardinian Giovanni Tolù which have been printed. I would certainly have
+paid my respects to Ricca had I been aware of his existence when, some
+years back, I passed through Parenti on my way—a long day’s march!—from
+Rogliano to San Giovanni. He has died in the interval.
+
+But the case of Ricca is a sporadic one, such as may crop up anywhere
+and at any time. It is like that of Musolino—the case of an isolated
+outlaw, who finds the perplexed geographical configuration of the
+country convenient for offensive and defensive purposes. Calabrian
+brigandage, as a whole, has always worn a political character.
+
+The men who gave the French so much trouble were political brigands,
+allies of Bourbonism. They were commanded by
+creatures like Mammone, an anthropophagous monster whose boast it was
+that he had personally killed 455 persons with the greatest refinements
+of cruelty, and who wore at his belt the skull of one of them, out of
+which he used to drink human blood at mealtime; he drank his own blood
+as well; indeed, he “never dined without having a bleeding human heart
+on the table.” This was the man whom King Ferdinand and his spouse
+loaded with gifts and decorations, and addressed as “Our good Friend
+and General—the faithful Support of the Throne.” The numbers of these
+savages were increased by shiploads of professional cut-throats sent
+over from Sicily by the English to help their Bourbon friends. Some of
+these actually wore the British uniform; one of the most ferocious was
+known as “L’Inglese”—the Englishman.
+
+One must go to the fountain-head, to the archives, in order to gain
+some idea of the sanguinary anarchy that desolated South Italy in those
+days. The horrors of feudalism, aided by the earthquake of 1784 and by
+the effects of Cardinal Ruffo’s Holy Crusade, had converted the country
+into a pandemonium. In a single year (1809) thirty-three thousand
+crimes were recorded against the brigands of the Kingdom of Naples; in
+a single month they are said to have committed 1200 murders in Calabria
+alone. These were the bands who were described by British officers as
+“our chivalrous brigand-allies.”
+
+It is good to bear these facts in mind when judging of the present
+state of this province, for the traces of such a reign of terror are
+not easily expunged. Good, also, to remember that this was the period
+of the highest spiritual eminence to which South Italy has ever
+attained. Its population of four million inhabitants were then consoled
+by the presence of no less than 120,000 holy persons—to wit, 22
+archbishops, 116 bishops, 65,500 ordained priests, 31,800 monks, and
+23,600 nuns. Some of these ecclesiastics, like the Bishop of Capaccio,
+were notable brigand-chiefs.
+
+It must be confessed that the French were sufficiently coldblooded in
+their reprisals. Colletta himself saw, at Lagonegro, a man impaled by
+order of a French colonel; and some account of their excesses may be
+gleaned from Duret de Tavel, from Rivarol (rather a disappointing
+author), and from the flamboyant epistles of P. L. Courier, a
+soldier-scribe of rare charm, who lost everything in this campaign.
+“J’ai perdu huit chevaux, mes habits, mon linge, mon manteau, mes
+pistolets, mon argent (12,247 francs). . . . Je ne regrette que mon
+Homère (a gift from the Abbé Barthélemy), et pour le ravoir, je
+donnerais la seule chemise qui me reste.”
+
+But even that did not destroy the plague. The situation called
+for a genial and ruthless annihilator, a man like Sixtus V, who asked
+for brigands’ heads and got them so plentifully that they lay “thick as
+melons in the market” under the walls of Rome, while the Castel Sant’
+Angelo was tricked out like a Christmas tree with quartered corpses—a
+man who told the authorities, when they complained of the insufferable
+stench of the dead, that the smell of living iniquity was far worse.
+Such a man was wanted. Therefore, in 1810, Murat gave _carte blanche_
+to General Manhes, the greatest brigand-catcher of modern times, to
+extirpate the ruffians, root and branch. He had just distinguished
+himself during a similar errand in the Abruzzi and, on arriving in
+Calabria, issued proclamations of such inhuman severity that the
+inhabitants looked upon them as a joke. They were quickly undeceived.
+The general seems to have considered that the end justified the means,
+and that the peace and happiness of a province was not to be disturbed
+year after year by the malignity of a few thousand rascals; his threats
+were carried out to the letter, and, whatever may be said against his
+methods, he certainly succeeded. At the end of a few months’ campaign,
+every single brigand, and all their friends and relations, were wiped
+off the face of the earth—together with a very considerable number of
+innocent persons. The high roads were lined with decapitated bandits,
+the town walls decked with their heads; some villages had to be
+abandoned, on account of the stench; the Crati river was swollen with
+corpses, and its banks whitened with bones. God alone knows the
+cruelties which were enacted; Colletta confesses that he “lacks courage
+to relate them.” Here is his account of the fate of the brigand chief
+Benincasa:
+
+“Betrayed and bound by his followers as he slept in the forest of
+Cassano, Benincasa was brought to Cosenza, and General Manhes ordered
+that both his hands be lopped off and that he be led, thus mutilated,
+to his home in San Giovanni, and there hanged; a cruel sentence, which
+the wretch received with a bitter smile. His right hand was first cut
+off and the stump bound, not out of compassion or regard for his life,
+but in order that all his blood might not flow out of the opened veins,
+seeing that he was reserved for a more miserable death. Not a cry
+escaped him, and when he saw that the first operation was over, he
+voluntarily laid his left hand upon the block and coldly watched the
+second mutilation, and saw his two amputated hands lying on the ground,
+which were then tied together by the thumbs and hung round his neck; an
+awful and piteous spectacle. This happened at Cosenza. On the same day
+he began his march to San Giovanni in Fiore, the escort resting at
+intervals; one of them offered the man food, which he accepted;
+he ate and drank what was placed in his mouth, and not so much in order
+to sustain life, as with real pleasure. He arrived at his home, and
+slept through the following night; on the next day, as the hour of
+execution approached, he refused the comforts of religion, ascended the
+gallows neither swiftly nor slowly, and died admired for his brutal
+intrepidity.”[1]
+
+ [1] This particular incident was flatly denied by Manhes in a letter
+ dated 1835, which is quoted in the “Notizia storica del Conte C. A.
+ Manhes” (Naples, 1846)—one of a considerable number of pro-Bourbon
+ books that cropped up about this time. One is apt to have quite a
+ wrong impression of Manhes, that inexorable but incorruptible scourge
+ of evildoers. One pictures him a grey-haired veteran, scarred and
+ gloomy; and learns, on the contrary, that he was only thirty-two years
+ old at this time, gracious in manner and of surprising personal
+ beauty.
+
+For the first time since long Calabria was purged. Ever since the
+Bruttians, irreclaimable plunderers, had established themselves at
+Cosenza, disquieting their old Hellenic neighbours, the recesses of
+this country had been a favourite retreat of political malcontents.
+Here Spartacus drew recruits for his band of rebels; here “King
+Marcone” defied the oppressive Spanish Viceroys, and I blame neither
+him nor his imitators, since the career of bandit was one of the very
+few that still commended itself to decent folks, under that régime.
+
+During the interregnum of Bourbonism between Murat and Garibaldi the
+mischief revived—again in a political form. Brigands drew pensions from
+kings and popes, and the system gave rise to the most comical
+incidents; the story of the pensioned malefactors living together at
+Monticello reads like an extravaganza. It was the spirit of Offenbach,
+brooding over Europe. One of the funniest episodes was a visit paid in
+1865 by the disconsolate Mrs. Moens to the ex-brigand Talarico, who was
+then living in grand style on a government pension. Her husband had
+been captured by the band of Manzi (another brigand), and expected to
+be murdered every day, and the lady succeeded in procuring from the
+chivalrous monster—“an extremely handsome man, very tall, with the
+smallest and most delicate hands”—an exquisite letter to his colleague,
+recommending him to be merciful to the Englishman and to emulate his
+own conduct in that respect. The letter had no effect, apparently; but
+Moens escaped at last, and wrote his memoirs, while Manzi was caught
+and executed in 1868 after a trial occupying nearly a month, during
+which the jury had to answer 311 questions.
+
+His villainies were manifold. But they were put in the shade by those
+of others of his calling—of Caruso, for example, who was known to have
+massacred in one month (September, 1863) two
+hundred persons with his own hands. Then, as formerly, the Church
+favoured the malefactors, and I am personally acquainted with priests
+who fought on the side of the brigands. Francis II endeavoured to
+retrieve his kingdom by the help of an army of scoundrels like those of
+Ruffo, but the troops shot them down. Brigandage, as a governmental
+institution, came to an end. Unquestionably the noblest figure in this
+reactionary movement was that of José Borjès, a brave man engaged in an
+unworthy cause. You can read his tragic journal in the pages of M.
+Monnier or Maffei. It has been calculated that during these last years
+of Bourbonism the brigands committed seven thousand homicides a year in
+the kingdom of Naples.
+
+Schools and emigration have now brought sounder ideas among the people,
+and the secularization of convents with the abolition of ecclesiastical
+right of asylum (Sixtus V had wisely done away with it) has broken up
+the prosperous old bond between monks and malefactors. What the
+government has done towards establishing decent communications in this
+once lawless and pathless country ranks, in its small way, beside the
+achievement of the French who, in Algeria, have built nearly ten
+thousand miles of road. But it is well to note that even as the
+mechanical appliance of steam destroyed the corsairs, the external
+plague, so this hoary form of internal disorder could have been
+permanently eradicated neither by humanity nor by severity. A
+scientific invention, the electric telegraph, is the guarantee of peace
+against the rascals.
+
+These brigand chiefs were often loaded with gold. On killing them, the
+first thing the French used to do was to strip them. “On le dépouilla.”
+Francatripa, for instance, possessed “a plume of white ostrich
+feathers, clasped by a golden band and diamond Madonna” (a gift from
+Queen Caroline)—Cerino and Manzi had “bunches of gold chains as thick
+as an arm suspended across the breasts of their waistcoats, with
+gorgeous brooches at each fastening.” Some of their wealth now survives
+in certain families who gave them shelter in the towns in winter time,
+or when they were hard pressed. These _favoreggiatori_ or _manutengoli_
+(the terms are interconvertible, but the first is the legal one) were
+sometimes benevolently inclined. But occasionally they conceived the
+happy idea of being paid for their silence and services. The brigand,
+then, was hoist with his own petard and forced to disgorge his
+ill-gotten summer gains to these blood-suckers, who extorted heavy
+blackmail under menaces of disclosure to the police, thriving on their
+double infamy to such an extent that they acquired immense riches. One
+of the wealthiest men in Italy descends from this
+class; his two hundred million (?) francs are invested, mostly, in
+England; every one knows his name, but the origin of his fortune is no
+longer mentioned, since (thanks to this money) the family has been able
+to acquire not only respectability but distinction.
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII
+THE GREATER SILA
+
+
+A great project is afoot.
+
+As I understand it, a reservoir is being created by damming up the
+valley of the Ampollina; the artificial lake thus formed will be
+enlarged by the additional waters of the Arvo, which are to be led into
+it by means of a tunnel, about three miles long, passing underneath
+Monte Nero. The basin, they tell me, will be some ten kilometres in
+length; the work will cost forty million francs, and will be completed
+in a couple of years; it will supply the Ionian lowlands with pure
+water and with power for electric and other industries.
+
+And more than that. The lake is to revolutionize the Sila; to convert
+these wildernesses into a fashionable watering-place. Enthusiasts
+already see towns growing upon its shores—there are visions of gorgeous
+hotels and flocks of summer visitors in elegant toilettes,
+villa-residences, funicular railways up all the mountains, sailing
+regattas, and motor-boat services. In the place of the desert there
+will arise a “Lucerna di Calabria.”
+
+A Calabrian Lucerne. H’m. ...
+
+It remains to be seen whether, by the time the lake is completed, there
+will be any water left to flow into it. For the catchment basins are
+being so conscientiously cleared of their timber that the two rivers
+cannot but suffer a great diminution in volume. By 1896 already, says
+Marincola San Fioro, the destruction of woodlands in the Sila had
+resulted in a notable lack of moisture. Ever since then the vandalism
+has been pursued with a zeal worthy of a better cause. One trembles to
+think what these regions will be like in fifty years; a treeless and
+waterless tableland—worse than the glaring limestone deserts of the
+Apennines in so far as they, at least, are diversified in contour.
+
+So the healthfulness, beauty, and exchequer value of enormous tracts in
+this country are being systematically impaired, day by day. Italy is
+ready, said D’Azeglio, but where are the Italians?
+
+Let us give the government credit for any number of good ideas. It
+actually plants bare spaces; it has instituted a “Festa degli alberi”
+akin to the American Arbour Day, whereby it is hoped, though scarcely
+believed, that the whole of Italy will ultimately be replenished with
+trees; it encourages schools of forestry, supplies plants free of cost
+to all who ask for them, despatches commissions and prints reports.
+Above all, it talks prodigiously and very much to the purpose.
+
+But it omits to administer its own laws with becoming severity. A few
+exemplary fines and imprisonments would have a more salutary effect
+than the commissioning of a thousand inspectors whom nobody takes
+seriously, and the printing of ten thousand reports which nobody reads.
+
+With a single stroke of the pen the municipalities could put an end to
+the worst form of forest extirpation—that on the hill-sides—by
+forbidding access to such tracts and placing them under the “vincolo
+forestale.” To denude slopes in the moist climate and deep soil of
+England entails no risk; in this country it is the beginning of the
+end. And herein lies the ineptitude of the Italian regulations, which
+entrust the collective wisdom of rapacious farmers with measures of
+this kind, taking no account of the destructively utilitarian character
+of the native mind, of that canniness which overlooks a distant profit
+in its eagerness to grasp the present—that beast avarice which Horace
+recognized as the root of all evil. As if provisions like this of the
+“vincolo forestale” were ever carried out! Peasants naturally prefer to
+burn the wood in their own chimneys or to sell it; and if a landslide
+then crashes down, wrecking houses and vineyards—let the government
+compensate the victims!
+
+An ounce of fact—
+
+In one year alone (1903), and in the sole province of Cosenza wherein
+San Giovanni lies, there were 156 landslides; they destroyed 1940
+hectares of land, and their damage amounted to 432,738 francs. The two
+other Calabrian provinces—Reggio and Catanzaro—doubtless also had their
+full quota of these catastrophes, all due to mischievous deforestation.
+So the bare rock is exposed, and every hope of planting at an end.
+
+_Vox clamantis!_ The Normans, Anjou and Aragonese concerned themselves
+with the proper administration of woodlands. Even the Spanish Viceroys,
+that ineffable brood, issued rigorous enactments on the subject; while
+the Bourbons (to give the devil his due) actually distinguished
+themselves as conservators of forests. As to Napoleon—he was busy
+enough, one would think, on this
+side of the Alps. Yet he found time to frame wise regulations
+concerning trees which the present patriotic parliament, during half a
+century of frenzied confabulation, has not yet taken to heart.
+
+How a great man will leave his mark on minutiæ!
+
+I passed through the basin of this future lake when, in accordance with
+my project, I left San Giovanni to cross the remaining Sila in the
+direction of Catanzaro. This getting up at 3.30 a.m., by the way,
+rather upsets one’s daily routine; at breakfast time I already find
+myself enquiring anxiously for dinner.
+
+The Ampollina valley lies high; here, in the dewy grass, I enjoyed what
+I well knew would be my last shiver for some time to come; then moved
+for a few miles on the further bank of the rivulet along that driving
+road which will soon be submerged under the waters of the lake, and
+struck up a wooded glen called Barbarano. At its head lies the upland
+Circilla.
+
+There is no rock scenery worth mentioning in all this Sila country; no
+waterfalls or other Alpine features. It is a venerable granitic
+tableland, that has stood here while the proud Apennines were still
+slumbering in the oozy bed of ocean[1]—a region of gentle undulations,
+the hill-tops covered with forest-growth, the valleys partly arable and
+partly pasture. Were it not for the absence of heather with its
+peculiar mauve tints, the traveller might well imagine himself in
+Scotland. There is the same smiling alternation of woodland and meadow,
+the same huge boulders of gneiss and granite which give a distinctive
+tone to the landscape, the same exuberance of living waters. Water,
+indeed, is one of the glories of the Sila—everywhere it bubbles forth
+in chill rivulets among the stones and trickles down the hill-sides to
+join the larger streams that wend their way to the forlorn and
+fever-stricken coastlands of Magna Graecia. Often, as I refreshed
+myself at these icy fountains, did I thank Providence for making the
+Sila of primitive rock, and not of the thirsty Apennine limestone.
+
+ [1] Nissen says that “no landscape of Italy has lost so little of its
+ original appearance in the course of history as Calabria.” This may
+ apply to the mountains; but the lowlands have suffered hideous
+ changes.
+
+“Much water in the Sila,” an old shepherd once observed to me, “much
+water! And little tobacco.”
+
+One of the largest of these rivers is the Neto, the classic Neaithos
+sung by Theocritus, which falls into the sea north of Cotrone; San
+Giovanni overlooks its raging flood, and, with the help of a little
+imagination here and there, its whole course can be traced from
+eminences like that of Pettinascura. The very name of these
+streams—Neto, Arvo, Lese, Ampollina—are redolent of pastoral life. All
+of them are stocked with trout; they meander in their upper reaches
+through valleys grazed by far-tinkling flocks of sheep and goats and
+grey cattle—the experiment of acclimatizing Swiss cattle has proved a
+failure, I know not why—and their banks are brilliant with blossoms.
+Later on, in the autumn, the thistles begin to predominate—the finest
+of them being a noble ground thistle of pale gold, of which they eat
+the unopened bud; it is the counterpart of the silvery one of the Alps.
+The air in these upper regions is keen. I remember, some years ago,
+that during the last week of August a lump of snow, which a goat-boy
+produced as his contribution to our luncheon, did not melt in the
+bright sunshine on the summit of Monte Nero.
+
+From whichever side one climbs out of the surrounding lowlands into the
+Sila plateau, the same succession of trees is encountered. To the
+warmest zone of olives, lemons and carobs succeeds that of the
+chestnuts, some of them of gigantic dimensions and yielding a sure
+though moderate return in fruit, others cut down periodically as
+coppice for vine-props and scaffoldings. Large tracts of these old
+chestnut groves are now doomed; a French society in Cosenza, so they
+tell me, is buying them up for the extraction out of their bark of some
+chemical or medicine. The vine still flourishes at this height, though
+dwarfed in size; soon the oaks begin to dominate, and after that we
+enter into the third and highest region of the pines and beeches. Those
+accustomed to the stony deserts of nearly all South European mountain
+districts will find these woodlands intensely refreshing. Their
+inaccessibility has proved their salvation—up to a short time ago.
+
+Nearly all the cattle on the Sila, like the land itself, belongs to
+large proprietors. These gentlemen are for the most part invisible;
+they inhabit their palaces in the cities, and the very name of the Sila
+sends a cold shudder through their bones; their revenues are collected
+from the shepherds by agents who seem to do their work very
+conscientiously. I once observed, in a hut, a small fragment of the
+skin of a newly killed kid; the wolf had devoured the beast, and the
+shepherd was keeping this _corpus delicti_ to prove to his superior,
+the agent, that he was innocent of the murder. There was something
+naive in his honesty—as if a shepherd could not eat a kid as well as
+any wolf, and keep a portion of its skin! The agent, no doubt, would
+hand it on to his lord, by way of _confirmation and verification._
+Another time I saw the debris of a goat hanging from
+a tree; it was the wolf again; the boy had attached these remains to
+the tree in order that all who passed that way might be his witnesses,
+if necessary, that the animal had not been sold underhand.
+
+You may still find the legendary shepherds here—curly-haired
+striplings, reclining _sub tegmine fagi_ in the best Theocritean style,
+and piping wondrous melodies to their flocks. These have generally come
+up for the summer season from the Ionian lowlands. Or you may encounter
+yet more primitive creatures, forest boys, clad in leather, with wild
+eyes and matted locks, that take an elvish delight in misdirecting you.
+These are the Lucanians of old. “They bring them up from childhood in
+the woods among the shepherds,” says Justinus, “without servants, and
+even without any clothes to cover them, or to lie upon, that from their
+early years they may become inured to hardiness and frugality, and have
+no intercourse with the city. They live upon game, and drink nothing
+but water or milk.” But the majority of modern Sila shepherds are
+shrewd fellows of middle age (many of them have been to America), who
+keep strict business accounts for their masters of every ounce of
+cheese and butter produced. The local cheese, which Cassiodorus praises
+in one of his letters, is the _cacciacavallo_ common all over South
+Italy; the butter is of the kind which has been humorously, but quite
+wrongly, described by various travellers.
+
+Although the old wolves are shot and killed by spring guns and dynamite
+while the young ones are caught alive in steel traps and other
+appliances, their numbers are still formidable enough to perturb the
+pastoral folks. One is therefore surprised to see what a poor breed of
+dogs they keep; scraggy mongrels that run for their lives at the mere
+sight of a wolf who can, and often does, bite them into two pieces with
+one snap of his jaws. They tell me that there is a government reward
+for every wolf killed, but it is seldom paid; whoever has the good
+fortune to slay one of these beasts, carries the skin as proof of his
+prowess from door to door, and receives a small present everywhere—half
+a franc, or a cheese, or a glass of wine.
+
+The goats show fight, and therefore the wolf prefers sheep. Shepherds
+have told me that he comes up to them _delicatamente,_ and then, fixing
+his teeth in the wool of their necks, pulls them onward, caressing
+their sides with his tail. The sheep are fascinated with his gentle
+manners, and generally allow themselves to be led up to the spot he has
+selected for their execution; the truth being that he is too lazy to
+carry them, if he can possibly avoid it.
+He will promptly kill his quarry and carry its carcase downhill on the
+rare occasions when the flocks are grazing above his haunt; but if it
+is an uphill walk, they must be good enough to use their own legs.
+Incredible stories of his destructiveness are related.
+
+Fortunately, human beings are seldom attacked, a dog or a pig being
+generally forthcoming when the usual prey is not to be found. Yet not
+long ago a sad affair occurred; a she-wolf attacked a small boy before
+the eyes of his parents, who pursued him, powerless to help—the head
+and arms had already been torn off before a shot from a neighbour
+despatched the monster. Truly, “a great family displeasure,” as my
+informant styled it. Milo of Croton, the famous athlete, is the most
+renowned victim of these Sila wolves. Tradition has it that, relying on
+his great strength, he tried to rend asunder a mighty log of wood which
+closed, however, and caught his arms in its grip; thus helpless, he was
+devoured alive by them.
+
+By keeping to the left of Circilla, I might have skirted the forest of
+Gariglione. This tract lies at about four and a half hours’ distance
+from San Giovanni; I found it, some years ago, to be a region of real
+“Urwald” or primary jungle; there was nothing like it, to my knowledge,
+on this side of the Alps, nor yet in the Alps themselves; nothing of
+the kind nearer than Russia. But the Russian jungles, apart from their
+monotony of timber, foster feelings of sadness and gloom, whereas these
+southern ones, as Hehn has well observed, are full of a luminous
+beauty—their darkest recesses being enlivened by a sense of benignant
+mystery. Gariglione was at that time a virgin forest, untouched by the
+hand of man; a dusky ridge, visible from afar; an impenetrable tangle
+of forest trees, chiefest among them being the “garigli” _(Quercus
+cerris)_ whence it derives its name, as well as thousands of pines and
+bearded firs and all that hoary indigenous vegetation struggling out of
+the moist soil wherein their progenitors had lain decaying time out of
+mind. In these solitudes, if anywhere, one might still have found the
+absent-minded luzard (lynx) of the veracious historian; or that
+squirrel whose “calabrere” fur, I strongly suspect, came from Russia;
+or, at any rate, the Mushroom-stone _which shineth in the night_.[2]
+
+ [2] As a matter of fact, the mushroom-stone is a well-known commodity,
+ being still collected and eaten, for example, at Santo Stefano in
+ Aspramente. Older travellers tell us that it used to be exported to
+ Naples and kept in the cellars of the best houses for the enjoyment of
+ its fruit—sometimes in lumps measuring two feet in diameter which,
+ being soaked in water, produced these edible fungi. A stone yielding
+ food—a miracle! It is a porous tufa adapted, presumably, for
+ sheltering and fecundating vegetable spores. A little pamphlet by
+ Professor A. Trotter (“Flora Montana della Calabria”) gives some idea
+ of the local plants and contains a useful bibliography. A curious
+ feature is the relative abundance of boreal and Balkan-Oriental forms;
+ another, the rapid spread of _Genista anglica,_ which is probably an
+ importation.
+
+Well, I am glad my path to-day did not lead me to Gariglione, and so
+destroy old memories of the place. For the domain, they tell me, has
+been sold for 350,000 francs to a German company; its primeval silence
+is now invaded by an army of 260 workmen, who have been cutting down
+the timber as fast as they can. So vanishes another fair spot from
+earth! And what is left of the Sila, once these forests are gone? Not
+even the charm, such as it is, of Caithness. . . .
+
+After Circilla comes the watershed that separates the Sila Grande from
+the westerly regions of Sila Piccola. Thenceforward it was downhill
+walking, at first through forest lands, then across verdant stretches,
+bereft of timber and simmering in the sunshine. The peculiar character
+of this country is soon revealed—ferociously cloven ravines, utterly
+different from the Sila Grande.
+
+With the improvidence of the true traveller I had consumed my stock of
+provisions ere reaching the town of Taverna after a march of nine hours
+or thereabouts. A place of this size and renown, I had argued, would
+surely be able to provide a meal. But Taverna belies its name. The only
+tavern discoverable was a composite hovel, half wine-shop, half
+hen-house, whose proprietor, disturbed in his noonday nap, stoutly
+refused to produce anything eatable. And there I stood in the blazing
+sunshine, famished and un-befriended. Forthwith the strength melted out
+of my bones; the prospect of walking to Catanzaro, so alluring with a
+full stomach, faded out of the realm of possibility; and it seemed a
+special dispensation of Providence when, at my lowest ebb of vitality,
+a small carriage suddenly hove in sight.
+
+“How much to Catanzaro?”
+
+The owner eyed me critically, and then replied in English:
+
+“You can pay twenty dollars.”
+
+Twenty dollars—a hundred francs! But it is useless trying to bargain
+with an _americano_ (their time is too valuable).
+
+“A dollar a mile?” I protested.
+
+“That’s so.”
+
+“You be damned.”
+
+“Same to you, mister.” And he drove off.
+
+Such bold defiance of fate never goes unrewarded. A two-wheeled cart
+conveying some timber overtook me shortly afterwards on my way from the
+inhospitable Taverna. For a small
+consideration I was enabled to pass the burning hours of the afternoon
+in an improvised couch among its load of boards, admiring the scenery
+and the engineering feats that have carried a road through such
+difficult country, and thinking out some further polite remarks to be
+addressed to my twenty-dollar friend, in the event of our meeting at
+Catanzaro. . . .
+
+One must have traversed the Sila in order to appreciate the manifold
+charms of the mountain town—I have revelled in them since my arrival.
+But it has one irremediable drawback: the sea lies at an inconvenient
+distance. It takes forty-five minutes to reach the shore by means of
+two railways in whose carriages the citizens descend after wild
+scrambles for places, packed tight as sardines in the sweltering heat.
+Only a genuine enthusiast will undertake the trip more than once. For
+the Marina itself—at this season, at least—is an unappetizing spot; a
+sordid agglomeration of houses, a few dirty fruit-stalls, ankle-deep
+dust, swarms of flies. I prefer to sleep through the warm hours of the
+day, and then take the air in that delightful public garden which, by
+the way, has already become too small for the increasing population.
+
+At its entrance stands the civic museum, entrusted, just now, to the
+care of a quite remarkably ignorant and slatternly woman. It contains
+two rooms, whose exhibits are smothered in dust and cobwebs; as
+neglected, in short, as her own brats that sprawl about its floor. I
+enquired whether she possessed no catalogue to show where the objects,
+bearing no labels, had been found. A catalogue was unnecessary, she
+said; she knew everything—everything!
+
+And everything, apparently, hailed from “Stromboli.” The Tiriolo
+helmet, the Greek vases, all the rest of the real and sham treasures of
+this establishment: they were all discovered at Stromboli.
+
+“Those coins—whence?”
+
+“Stromboli!”
+
+Noticing some neolithic celts similar to those I obtained at
+Vaccarizza, I would gladly have learnt their place of origin. Promptly
+came the answer:
+
+“Stromboli!”
+
+“Nonsense, my good woman. I’ve been three times to Stromboli; it is an
+island of black stones where the devil has a house, and such things are
+not found there.” (Of course she meant Strongoli, the ancient Petelia.)
+
+[Illustration: Gateway at Catanzaro]
+
+This vigorous assertion made her more circumspect. Thenceforward
+everything was declared to come from the province—_dalla provincia;_ it
+was safer.
+
+_“_That bad picture—whence?”
+
+“Dalla provincia!”
+
+“Have you really no catalogue?”
+
+“I know everything.”
+
+“And this broken statue—whence?”
+
+“Dalla provincia!”
+
+“But the province is large,” I objected.
+
+“So it is. Large, and old.”
+
+I have also revisited Tiriolo, once celebrated for the “Sepulchres of
+the Giants” (Greek tombs) that were unearthed here, and latterly for a
+certain more valuable antiquarian discovery. Not long ago it was a
+considerable undertaking to reach this little place, but nowadays a
+public motor-car whirls you up and down the ravines at an alarming pace
+and will deposit you, within a few hours, at remote Cosenza, once an
+enormous drive. It is the same all over modern Calabria. The diligence
+service, for instance, that used to take fourteen hours from San
+Giovanni to Cosenza has been replaced by motors that cover the distance
+in four or five. One is glad to save time, but this new element of
+mechanical hurry has produced a corresponding kind of traveller—a
+machine-made creature, devoid of the humanity of the old; it has done
+away with the personal note of conviviality that reigned in the
+post-carriages. What jocund friendships were made, what songs and tales
+applauded, during those interminable hours in the lumbering chaise!
+
+You must choose Sunday for Tiriolo, on account of the girls, whose
+pretty faces and costumes are worth coming any distance to see. A good
+proportion of them have the fair hair which seems to have been
+eliminated, in other parts of the country, through the action of
+malaria.
+
+Viewed from Catanzaro, one of the hills of Tiriolo looks like a broken
+volcanic crater. It is a limestone ridge, decked with those
+characteristic flowers like _Campanula fragilis_ which you will vainly
+seek on the Sila. Out of the ruins of some massive old building they
+have constructed, on the summit, a lonely weather-beaten fabric that
+would touch the heart of Maeterlinck. They call it a seismological
+station. I pity the people that have to depend for their warnings of
+earthquakes upon the outfit of a place like this. I could see no signs
+of life here; the windows were broken, the shutters decaying, an old
+lightning-rod dangled disconsolately from the roof; it looked as
+abandoned as any old tower in a tale. There is a noble view from this
+point over both seas and into the
+riven complexities of Aspromonte, when the peak is not veiled in mists,
+as it frequently is. For Tiriolo lies on the watershed; there (to quote
+from a “Person of Quality”) “where the Apennine is drawn into so narrow
+a point, that the rain-water which descendeth from the ridge of some
+one house, falleth on the left in the Terrene Sea, and on the right
+into the Adriatick. . . .”
+
+My visits to the provincial museum have become scandalously frequent
+during the last few days. I cannot keep away from the place. I go there
+not to study the specimens but to converse with their keeper, the woman
+who, in her quiet way, has cast a sort of charm over me. Our relations
+are the whispered talk of the town; I am suspected of matrimonial
+designs upon a poor widow with the ulterior object of appropriating the
+cream of the relics under her care. Regardless of the perils of the
+situation, I persevere; for the sake of her company I forswear the
+manifold seductions of Catanzaro. She is a noteworthy person, neither
+vicious nor vulgar, but simply the _dernier mot_ of incompetence. Her
+dress, her looks, her children, her manners—they are all on an even
+plane with her spiritual accomplishments; at no point does she sink, or
+rise, beyond that level. They are not as common as they seem to be,
+these harmoniously inefficient females.
+
+Why has she got this job in a progressive town containing so many folks
+who could do it creditably? Oh, that is simple enough! She needs it. On
+the platform of the Reggio station (long before the earthquake) I once
+counted five station-masters and forty-eight other railway officials,
+swaggering about with a magnificent air of incapacity. What were they
+doing? Nothing whatever. They were like this woman: they needed a job.
+
+[Illustration: In the Cemetery of Reggio]
+
+We are in a patriarchal country; work is pooled; it is given not to
+those who can do it best, but to those who need it most—given, too, on
+pretexts which sometimes strike one as inadequate, not to say
+recondite. So the street-scavengering in a certain village has been
+entrusted to a one-armed cripple, utterly unfit for the business—why?
+Because his maternal grand-uncle is serving a long sentence in gaol.
+The poor family must be helped! A brawny young fellow will be removed
+from a landing-stage boat, and his place taken by some tottering old
+peasant who has never handled an oar—why? The old man’s nephew has
+married again; the family must be helped. A secretarial appointment was
+specially created for an acquaintance of mine who could barely sign his
+own name, for the obvious reason that his cousin’s sister was
+rheumatic. One must help that family.
+A postman whom I knew delivered the letters only once every three days,
+alleging, as unanswerable argument in his defence, that his brother’s
+wife had fifteen children.
+
+One must help that family!
+
+Somebody seems to have thought so, at all events.
+
+
+
+
+XXIX
+CHAOS
+
+
+I have never beheld the enchantment of the Straits of Messina, that
+Fata Morgana, when, under certain conditions of weather, phantasmagoric
+palaces of wondrous shape are cast upon the waters—not mirrored, but
+standing upright; tangible, as it were; yet diaphanous as a veil of
+gauze.
+
+A Dominican monk and correspondent of the Naples Academy, Minasi by
+name, friend of Sir W. Hamilton, wrote a dissertation upon this
+atmospheric mockery. Many have seen and described it, among them Pilati
+de Tassulo; Nicola Leoni reproduces the narrative of an eye-witness of
+1643; another account appears in the book of A. Fortis (“Mineralogische
+Reisen, 1788”). The apparition is coy. Yet there are pictures of it—in
+an article in “La Lettura” by Dr. Vittorio Boccara, who therein refers
+to a scientific treatise by himself on the subject, as well as in the
+little volume “Da Reggio a Metaponto” by Lupi-Crisafi, which was
+printed at Gerace some years ago. I mention these writers for the sake
+of any one who, luckier than myself, may be able to observe this
+phenomenon and become interested in its history and origin. . . .
+
+The chronicles of Messina record the scarcely human feats of the diver
+Cola Pesce (Nicholas the Fish). The dim submarine landscapes of the
+Straits with their caves and tangled forests held no secrets from him;
+his eyes were as familiar with sea-mysteries as those of any fish. Some
+think that the legend dates from Frederick II, to whom he brought up
+from the foaming gulf that golden goblet which has been immortalized in
+Schiller’s ballad. But Schneegans says there are Norman documents that
+speak of him. And that other tale, according to which he took to his
+watery life in pursuit of some beloved maiden who had been swallowed by
+the waves, makes one think of old Glaucus as his prototype.
+
+[Illustration: Tiriolo]
+
+Many are the fables connected with his name, but the most portentous is
+this: One day, during his subaqueous wanderings, he discovered the
+foundations of Messina. They were insecure! The city rested upon three
+columns, one of them intact, another
+quite decayed away, the third partially corroded and soon to crumble
+into ruin. He peered up from, his blue depths, and in a fateful couplet
+of verses warned the townsmen of their impending doom. In this
+prophetic utterance ascribed to the fabulous Cola Pesce is echoed a
+popular apprehension that was only too justified.
+
+F. Muenter—one of a band of travellers who explored these regions after
+the earthquake of 1783—also gave voice to his fears that Messina had
+not yet experienced the full measure of her calamities. . . .
+
+I remember a night in September of 1908, a Sunday night, fragrant with
+the odours of withered rosemary and cistus and fennel that streamed in
+aromatic showers from the scorched heights overhead—a starlit night,
+tranquil and calm. Never had Messina appeared so attractive to me.
+Arriving there generally in the daytime and from larger and sprightlier
+centres of civilization, one is prone to notice only its defects. But
+night, especially a southern night, has a wizard touch. It transforms
+into objects of mysterious beauty all unsightly things, or hides them
+clean away; while the nobler works of man, those facades and cornices
+and full-bellied balconies of cunningly wrought iron rise up, under its
+enchantment, ethereal as the palace of fairies. And coming, as I then
+did, from the sun-baked river-beds of Calabria, this place, with its
+broad and well-paved streets, its glittering cafés and demure throng of
+evening idlers, seemed a veritable metropolis, a world-city.
+
+With deliberate slowness, _ritardando con molto sentimento,_ I worked
+my way to the familiar restaurant.
+
+At last! At last, after an interminable diet of hard bread, onions and
+goat’s cheese, I was to enjoy the complicated menu mapped out weeks
+beforehand, after elaborate consideration and balancing of merits; so
+complicated, that its details have long ago lapsed from my memory. I
+recollect only the sword-fish, a local speciality, and (as crowning
+glory) the _cassata alla siciliana,_ a glacial symphony, a
+multicoloured ice of commingling flavours, which requires far more time
+to describe than to devour. Under the influence of this Sybaritic fare,
+helped down with a crusted bottle of Calabrian wine—your Sicilian stuff
+is too strong for me, too straightforward, uncompromising; I prefer to
+be wheedled out of my faculties by inches, like a gentleman—under this
+genial stimulus my extenuated frame was definitely restored; I became
+mellow and companionable; the traveller’s lot, I finally concluded, is
+not the worst on earth. Everything was as it should be. As for
+Messina—Messina was unquestionably a pleasant city. But why were all
+the shops shut so early in the evening?
+
+_“_These Sicilians,” said the waiter, an old Neapolitan acquaintance,
+in reply to my enquiries, “are always playing some game. They are
+pretending to be Englishmen at this moment; they have the
+Sunday-closing obsession on the brain. Their attacks generally last a
+fortnight; it’s like the measles. Poor people.”
+
+Playing at being Englishmen!
+
+They have invented a new game now, those that are left of them. They
+are living in dolls’ houses, and the fit is likely to last for some
+little time.
+
+An engineer remarked to me, not long ago, among the ruins:
+
+“This _baracca,_ this wooden shelter, has an interior surface area of
+less than thirty square metres. Thirty-three persons—men, women, and
+children—have been living and sleeping in it for the last five months.”
+
+“A little overcrowded?” I suggested.
+
+“Yes. Some of them are beginning to talk of overcrowding. It was all
+very well in the winter months, but when August comes. . . . Well, we
+shall see.”
+
+No prophetic visions of the Messina of to-day, with its minute sheds
+perched among a wilderness of ruins and haunted by scared shadows in
+sable vestments of mourning, arose in my mind that evening as I sat at
+the little marble table, sipping my coffee—over-roasted, like all
+Italian coffee, by exactly two minutes—and puffing contentedly at my
+cigar, while the sober crowd floated hither and thither before my eyes.
+Yes, everything was as it should be. And yet, what a chance!
+
+What a chance for some God, in this age of unbelief, to establish his
+rule over mankind on the firm foundations of faith! We are always
+complaining, nowadays, of an abatement of religious feeling. How easy
+for such a one to send down an Isaiah to foretell the hour of the
+coming catastrophe, and thus save those of its victims who were
+disposed to hearken to the warning voice; to reanimate the flagging
+zeal of worshippers, to straighten doubts and segregate the sheep from
+the goats! Truly, He moves in a mysterious way, for no divine message
+came; the just were entombed with the unjust amid a considerable deal
+of telegraphing and heart-breaking.
+
+A few days after the disaster the Catholic papers explained matters by
+saying that the people of Messina had not loved their Madonna
+sufficiently well. But she loved them none the less, and sent the
+earthquake as an admonishment. Rather a robust method of conciliating
+their affection; not exactly the _suaviter in modo. . . ._
+
+But if genuine prophets can only flourish among the malarious
+willow swamps of old Babylon and such-like improbable spots, we might
+at least have expected better things of our modern spiritualists. Why
+should their apparitions content themselves with announcing the
+decease, at the Antipodes, of profoundly uninteresting relatives? Alas!
+I begin to perceive that spirits of the right kind, of the useful kind,
+have yet to be discovered. Our present-day ghosts are like
+seismographs; they chronicle the event after it has happened. Now, what
+we want is——
+
+“The Signore smokes, and smokes, and smokes. Why not take the tram and
+listen to the municipal music in the gardens?”
+
+“Music? Gardens? An excellent suggestion, Gennarino.”
+
+Even as a small Italian town would be incomplete without its piazza
+where streets converge and commercial pulses beat their liveliest
+measure, so every larger one contrives to possess a public garden for
+the evening disport of its citizens; night-life being the true life of
+the south. Charming they are, most of them; none more delectable than
+that of old Messina—a spacious pleasaunce, decked out with trim palms
+and flower-beds and labyrinthine walks freshly watered, and cooled,
+that evening, by stealthy breezes from the sea. The grounds were
+festively illuminated, and as I sat down near the bandstand and watched
+the folk meandering to and fro, I calculated that no fewer than thirty
+thousand persons were abroad, taking their pleasure under the trees, in
+the bland air of evening. An orderly, well-dressed crowd. We may smile
+when they tell us that these people will stint themselves of the
+necessities of life in order to wear fine clothes, but the effect, for
+an outsider, is all that it should be. For the rest, the very urchins,
+gambolling about, had an air of happy prosperity, different from the
+squalor of the north with its pinched white faces, its over-breeding
+and under-feeding.
+
+And how well the sensuous Italian strains accord with such an hour and
+scene! They were playing, if I remember rightly, the ever-popular Aida;
+other items followed later—more ambitious ones; a Hungarian rhapsody,
+Berlioz, a selection from Wagner.
+
+“_Musica filosofica”_ said my neighbour, alluding to the German
+composer. He was a spare man of about sixty; a sunburnt, military
+countenance, seamed by lines of suffering. “_Non và in Sicilia_—it
+won’t do in this country. Not that we fail to appreciate your great
+thinkers,” he added. “We read and admire your Schopenhauer, your
+Spencer. They give passable representations of Wagner in Naples. But——”
+
+“The climate?”
+
+“Precisely. I have travelled, sir; and knowing your Berlin, and London,
+and Boston, have been able to observe how ill our Italian
+architecture looks under your grey skies, how ill our music sounds
+among the complex appliances of your artificial life. It has made you
+earnest, this climate of yours, and prone to take earnestly your very
+pastimes. Music, for us, has remained what it was in the Golden Age—an
+unburdening of the soul on a summer’s night. They play well, these
+fellows. Palermo, too, has a respectable band—Oh! a little too fast,
+that _recitativo!”_
+
+“The Signore is a musician?”
+
+“A _proprietario._ But I delight in music, and I beguiled myself with
+the fiddle as a youngster. Nowadays—look here!” And he extended his
+hand; it was crippled. “Rheumatism. I have it here, and here”—pointing
+to various regions of his body—“_and_ here! Ah, these doctors! The
+baths I have taken! The medicines—the ointments—the embrocations: a
+perfect pharmacopcœia! I can hardly crawl now, and without the help of
+these two devoted boys even this harmless little diversion would have
+been denied me. My nephews—orphans,” he added, observing the direction
+of my glance.
+
+They sat on his other side, handsome lads, who spoke neither too much
+nor too little. Every now and then they rose with one accord and
+strolled among the surging crowd to stretch their legs, returning after
+five minutes to their uncle’s side. His eyes always followed their
+movements.
+
+“My young brother, had he lived, would have made men of them,” he once
+observed.
+
+The images revive, curiously pertinacious, with dim lapses and gulfs. I
+can see them still, the two boys, their grave demeanour belied by
+mobile lips and mischievous fair curls of Northern ancestry; the other,
+leaning forward intent upon the music, and caressing his moustache with
+bent fingers upon which glittered a jewel set in massive gold—some
+scarab or intaglio, the spoil of old Magna Graecia. His conversation,
+during the intervals, moved among the accepted formulas of
+cosmopolitanism with easy flow, quickened at times by the individual
+emphasis of a man who can forsake conventional tracks and think for
+himself. Among other things, he had contrived an original project for
+reviving the lemon industry of his country, which, though it involved a
+few tariff modifications—“a mere detail”—struck me as amazingly
+effective and ingenious. The local deputy, it seems, shared my view,
+for he had undertaken to bring it before the notice of Parliament.
+
+What was it?
+
+I have forgotten!
+
+So we discussed the world, while the music played under the starlit
+southern night.
+
+It must have been midnight ere a final frenzied galop on the part of
+the indefatigable band announced the close of the entertainment. I
+walked a few paces beside the lame “proprietor” who, supported on the
+arms of his nephews, made his way to the spot where the cabs were
+waiting—his rheumatism, he explained, obliging him to drive. How he had
+enjoyed walking as a youth, and what pleasure it would now have given
+him to protract, during a promenade to my hotel, our delightful
+conversation! But infirmities teach us to curtail our pleasures, and
+many things that seem natural to man’s bodily configuration are found
+to be unattainable. He seldom left his rooms; the stairs—the diabolical
+stairs! Would I at least accept his card and rest assured how gladly he
+would receive me and do all in his power to make my stay agreeable?
+
+That card has gone the way of numberless others which the traveller in
+Southern Europe gathers about him. I have also forgotten the old man’s
+name. But the _palazzo_ in which he lived bore a certain historical
+title which happened to be very familiar to me. I remember wondering
+how it came to reach Messina.
+
+In the olden days, of course, the days of splendour.
+
+Will they ever return?
+
+It struck me that the sufferings of the survivors would be alleviated
+if all the sheds in which they are living could be painted white or
+pearl-grey in order to protect them, as far as possible, from the
+burning rays of the sun. I mentioned the idea to an overseer.
+
+“We are painting as fast as we can,” he replied. “An expensive matter,
+however. The Villagio Elena alone has cost us, in this respect, twenty
+thousand francs—with the greatest economy.”
+
+This will give some notion of the scale on which things have to be
+done. The settlement in question contains some two hundred sheds—two
+hundred out of over ten thousand.
+
+But I was alluding not to these groups of hygienic bungalows erected by
+public munificence and supplied with schools, laboratories, orphanages,
+hospitals, and all that can make life endurable, but to the
+others—those which the refugees built for themselves—ill-contrived
+hovels, patched together with ropes, potato-sacks, petroleum cans and
+miscellaneous odds and ends. A coat of whitewash, at least, inside and
+out. ... I was thinking, too, of those still stranger dwellings, the
+disused railway trucks which the
+government has placed at the disposal of homeless families. At many
+Stations along the line may be seen strings of these picturesque
+wigwams crowded with poor folk who have installed themselves within,
+apparently for ever. They are cultivating their favourite flowers and
+herbs in gaudy rows along the wooden platforms of the carriages; the
+little children, all dressed in black, play about in the shade
+underneath. The people will suffer in these narrow tenements under the
+fierce southern sun, after their cool courtyards and high-vaulted
+chambers! There will be diseases, too; typhoids from the disturbed
+drainage and insufficient water-supply; eye troubles, caused by the
+swarms of flies and tons of accumulated dust. The ruins are also
+overrun with hordes of mangy cats and dogs which ought to be
+exterminated without delay.
+
+If, as seems likely, those rudely improvised sheds are to be inhabited
+indefinitely, we may look forward to an interesting phenomenon, a
+reversion to a corresponding type of man. The lack of the most ordinary
+appliances of civilization, such as linen, washing-basins and cooking
+utensils, will reduce them to the condition of savages who view these
+things with indifference or simple curiosity; they will forget that
+they ever had any use for them. And life in these huts where human
+beings are herded together after the manner of beasts—one might almost
+say _fitted in,_ like the fragments of a mosaic pavement—cannot but be
+harmful to the development of growing children.
+
+The Calabrians, I was told, distinguished themselves by unearthly
+ferocity; Reggio was given over to a legion of fiends that descended
+from the heights during the week of confusion. “They tore the rings and
+brooches off the dead,” said a young official to me. “They strangled
+the wounded and dying, in order to despoil them more comfortably. Here,
+and at Messina, the mutilated corpses were past computation; but the
+Calabrians were the worst.”
+
+Vampires, offspring of Night and Chaos.
+
+So Dolomieu, speaking of the _dépravation incroyable des moeurs_ which
+accompanied the earthquake of 1783, recounts the case of a householder
+of Polistena who was pinned down under some masonry, his legs emerging
+out of the ruins; his servant came and took the silver buckles off his
+shoes and then fled, without attempting to free him. We have seen
+something of this kind more recently at San Francisco.
+
+“After despoiling the corpses, they ransacked the dwellings. Five
+thousand beds, sir, were carried up from Reggio into the mountains.”
+
+“Five thousand beds! _Per Dìo!_ It seems a considerable number.”
+
+A young fellow, one of the survivors, attached himself to me in the
+capacity of guide through the ruins of Reggio. He wore the
+characteristic earthquake look, a dazed and bewildered expression of
+countenance; he spoke in a singularly deliberate manner. Knowing the
+country, I was soon bending my steps in the direction of the cemetery,
+chiefly for the sake of the exquisite view from those windswept
+heights, and to breathe more freely after the dust and desolation of
+the lower parts. This burial-ground is in the same state as that of
+Messina, once the pride of its citizens; the insane frolic of nature
+has not respected the slumber of the dead or their commemorative
+shrines; it has made a mockery of the place, twisting the solemn
+monuments into repulsive and irreverential shapes.
+
+But who can recount the freaks of stone and iron during those
+moments—the hair-breadth escapes? My companion’s case was miraculous
+enough. Awakened from sleep with the first shock, he saw, by the dim
+light of the lamp which burns in all their bedrooms, the wall at his
+bedside weirdly gaping asunder. He darted to reach the opening, but it
+closed again and caught his arm in a stony grip. Hours seemed to
+pass—the pain was past enduring; then the kindly cleft yawned once
+more, allowing him to jump into the garden below. Simultaneously he
+heard a crash as the inner rooms of the house fell; then climbed aloft,
+and for four days wandered among the bleak, wet hills. Thousands were
+in the same plight.
+
+I asked what he found to eat.
+
+“_Erba, Signore._ We all did. You could not touch property; a single
+orange, and they would have killed you.”
+
+Grass!
+
+He bore a name renowned in the past, but his home being turned into a
+dust-heap under which his money, papers and furniture, his two parents
+and brothers, are still lying, he now gains a livelihood by carrying
+vegetables and fruit from the harbour to the collection of sheds
+honoured by the name of market. Later in the day we happened to walk
+past the very mansion, which lies near the quay. “Here is my house and
+my family,” he remarked, indicating, with a gesture of antique
+resignation, a pile of wreckage.
+
+Hard by, among the ruins, there sat a young woman with dishevelled
+hair, singing rapturously. “Her husband was crushed to death,” he said,
+“and it unhinged her wits. Strange, is it not, sir? They used to fight
+like fiends, and now—she sings to him night and day to come back.”
+
+Love—so the Greeks fabled—was the child of Chaos.
+
+In this part of the town stands the civic museum, which all readers of
+Gissing’s “Ionian Sea” will remember as the closing note of those
+harmonious pages. It is shattered, like everything else that he visited
+in Reggio; like the hotel where he lodged; like the cathedral whose
+proud superscription _Circumlegentes devenimus Rhegium_ impressed him
+so deeply; like that “singular bit of advanced civilization, which gave
+me an odd sense of having strayed into the world of those romancers who
+forecast the future—a public slaughter-house of tasteful architecture,
+set in a grove of lemon trees and palms, suggesting the dreamy ideal of
+some reformer whose palate shrinks from vegetarianism.” We went the
+round of all these places, not forgetting the house which bears the
+tablet commemorating the death of a young soldier who fell fighting
+against the Bourbons. From its contorted iron balcony there hangs a
+rope by which the inmates may have tried to let themselves down.
+
+A friend of mine, Baron C—— of Stilo, is a member of that same
+patriotic family, and gave me the following strange account. He was
+absent from Reggio at the time of the catastrophe, but three others of
+them were staying there. On the first shock they rushed together,
+panic-stricken, into one room; the floor gave way, and they suddenly
+found themselves sitting in their motor-car which happened to be placed
+exactly below them. They escaped with a few cuts and bruises.
+
+An inscription on a neighbouring ruin runs to the effect that the
+_mansion having been severely damaged in the earthquake of_ 1783, _its
+owner had rebuilt it on lines calculated to defy future shattering!._
+Whether he would rebuild it yet again?
+
+Nevertheless, there seems to be some chance for the revival of Reggio;
+its prognosis is not utterly hopeless.
+
+But Messina is in desperate case.
+
+That haughty sea-front, with its long line of imposing edifices—imagine
+a painted theatre decoration of cardboard through which some sportive
+behemoth has been jumping with frantic glee; there you have it. And
+within, all is desolation; the wreckage reaches to the windows; you
+must clamber over it as best you can. What an all-absorbing
+post-tertiary deposit for future generations, for the crafty
+antiquarian who deciphers the history of mankind out of kitchen-middens
+and deformed heaps of forgotten trash! The whole social life of the
+citizens, their arts, domestic economy, and pastimes, lies embedded in
+that rubbish. “A musical race,” he will conclude, observing the number
+of decayed pianofortes,
+guitars, and mandolines. The climate of Messina, he will further argue,
+must have been a wet one, inasmuch as there are umbrellas everywhere,
+standing upright among the debris, leaning all forlorn against the
+ruins, or peering dismally from under them. It rained much during those
+awful days, and umbrellas were at a premium. Yet fifty of them would
+not have purchased a loaf of bread.
+
+It was Goethe who, speaking of Pompeii, said that of the many
+catastrophes which have afflicted mankind few have given greater
+pleasure to posterity. The same will never be said of Messina, whose
+relics, for the most part, are squalid and mean. The German poet, by
+the way, visited this town shortly after the disaster of 1783, and
+describes its _zackige Ruinenwüste_—words whose very sound is
+suggestive of shatterings and dislocations. Nevertheless, the place
+revived again.
+
+But what was 1783?
+
+A mere rehearsal, an amateur performance.
+
+Wandering about in this world of ghosts, I passed the old restaurant
+where the sword-fish had once tasted so good—an accumulation of stones
+and mortar—and reached the cathedral. It is laid low, all save the
+Gargantuan mosaic figures that stare down from behind the altar in
+futile benediction of Chaos; inane, terrific. This, then, is the house
+of that feudal lady of the _fortiter in re,_ who sent an earthquake and
+called it love. Womanlike, she doted on gold and precious stones, and
+they recovered her fabulous hoard, together with a copy of a Latin
+letter she sent to the Christians of Messina by the hand of Saint Paul.
+
+And not long afterwards—how came it to pass?—my steps were guided amid
+that wilderness towards a narrow street containing the ruins of a
+_palazzo_ that bore, on a tablet over the ample doorway, an inscription
+which arrested my attention. It was an historical title familiar to me;
+and forthwith a train of memories, slumbering in the caverns of my
+mind, was ignited. Yes; there was no doubt about it: the old
+“proprietor” and his nephews, he of the municipal gardens. . . .
+
+I wondered how they had met their fate, on the chill wintry morning.
+For assuredly, in that restricted space, not a soul can have escaped
+alive; the wreckage, hitherto undisturbed, still covered their remains.
+
+And, remembering the old man and his humane converse that evening under
+the trees, the true meaning of the catastrophe began to disentangle
+itself from accidental and superficial aspects. For I confess that the
+massacre of a myriad Chinamen leaves me cool and self-possessed;
+between such creatures and ourselves there is
+hardly more than the frail bond of a common descent from the ape; they
+are altogether too remote for our narrow world-sympathies. I would as
+soon shed tears over the lost Pleiad. But these others are our
+spiritual cousins; we have deep roots in this warm soil of Italy, which
+brought forth a goodly tithe of what is best in our own lives, in our
+arts and aspirations.
+
+And I thought of the two nephews, their decent limbs all distorted and
+mangled under a heap of foul rubbish, waiting for a brutal disinterment
+and a nameless grave. This is no legitimate death, this murderous
+violation of life. How inconceivably hateful is such a leave-taking,
+and all that follows after! To picture a fair young body, that divine
+instrument of joy, crushed into an unsightly heap; once loved, now
+loathed of all men, and thrust at last, with abhorrence, into some
+common festering pit of abominations. . . . The Northern type—a mighty
+bond, again; a tie of blood, this time, between our race and those
+rulers of the South, whose exploits in this land of orange and myrtle
+surpassed the dreamings of romance.
+
+Strange to reflect that, without the ephemeral friendship of that
+evening, Messina of to-day might have represented to my mind a mere
+spectacle, the hecatomb of its inhabitants extorting little more than a
+conventional sigh. So it is. The human heart has been constructed on
+somewhat ungenerous lines. Moralists, if any still exist on earth, may
+generalize with eloquence from the masses, but our poets have long ago
+succumbed to the pathos of single happenings; the very angels of
+Heaven, they say, take more joy in one sinner that repenteth than in a
+hundred righteous, which, duly apprehended, is only an application of
+the same illiberal principle.
+
+A rope of bed-sheets knotted together dangled from one of the upper
+windows, its end swaying in mid-air at the height of the second floor.
+Many of them do, at Messina: a desperate expedient of escape. Some pots
+of geranium and cactus, sadly flowering, adorned the other windows,
+whose glass panes were unbroken. But for the ominous sunlight pouring
+through them from _within,_ the building looked fairly intact on this
+outer side. Its ponderous gateway, however, through which I had hoped
+to enter, was choked up by internal debris, and I was obliged to climb,
+with some little trouble, to the rear of the house.
+
+If a titanic blade had sheared through the _palazzo_ lengthwise, the
+thing could not have been done more neatly. The whole interior had gone
+down, save a portion of the rooms abutting on the street-front; these
+were literally cut in half, so as to display an ideal section of
+domestic architecture. The house with its inmates and
+all it contained was lying among the high-piled wreckage within, under
+my feet; masonry mostly—entire fragments of wall interspersed with
+crumbling mortar and convulsed iron girders that writhed over the
+surface or plunged sullenly into the depths; fetid rents and gullies in
+between, their flanks affording glimpses of broken vases, candelabras,
+hats, bottles, birdcages, writing-books, brass pipes, sofas,
+picture-frames, tablecloths, and all the paltry paraphernalia of
+everyday life. No attempt at stratification, horizontal, vertical, or
+inclined; it was as if the objects had been thrown up by some playful
+volcano and allowed to settle where they pleased. Two immense chiselled
+blocks of stone—one lying prone at the bottom of a miniature ravine,
+the other proudly erect, like a Druidical monument, in the upper
+regions—reminded me of the existence of a staircase, a _diabolical_
+staircase.
+
+Looking upwards, I endeavoured to reconstruct the habits of the
+inmates, but found it impossible, the section that remained being too
+shallow. Sky-blue seems to have been their favourite colour. The
+kitchen was easily discernible, the hearth with its store of charcoal
+underneath, copper vessels hanging in a neat row overhead, and an open
+cupboard full of household goods; a neighbouring room (the
+communicating doors were all gone), with lace window-curtains, a table,
+lamp, and book, and a bedstead toppling over the abyss; another one,
+carpeted and hung with pictures and a large faded mirror, below which
+ran a row of shelves that groaned under a multitudinous collection of
+phials and bottles.
+
+The old man’s embrocations. . . .
+
+
+
+
+XXX
+THE SKIRTS OF MONTALTO
+
+
+After such sights of suffering humanity—back to the fields and
+mountains!
+
+Aspromonte, the wild region behind Reggio, was famous, not long ago,
+for Garibaldi’s battle. But the exploits of this warrior have lately
+been eclipsed by those of the brigand Musolino, who infested the
+country up to a few years ago, defying the soldiery and police of all
+Italy. He would still be safe and unharmed had he remained in these
+fastnesses. But he wandered away, wishful to leave Italy for good and
+all, and was captured far from his home by some policemen who were
+looking for another man, and who nearly fainted when he pronounced his
+name. After a sensational trial, they sentenced him to thirty odd
+years’ imprisonment; he is now languishing in the fortress of Porto
+Longone on Elba. Whoever has looked into this Spanish citadel will not
+envy him. Of the lovely little bay, of the loadstone mountain, of the
+romantic pathway to the hermitage of Monserrato or the glittering beach
+at Rio—of all the charms of Porto Longone he knows nothing, despite a
+lengthy residence on the spot.
+
+They say he has grown consumptive and witless during the long solitary
+confinement which preceded his present punishment—an eternal night in a
+narrow cell. No wonder. I have seen the condemned on their release from
+these boxes of masonry at the island of Santo Stefano: dazed shadows,
+tottering, with complexions the colour of parchment. These are the
+survivors. But no one asks after the many who die in these dungeons
+frenzied, or from battering their heads against the wall; no one knows
+their number save the doctor and the governor, whose lips are sealed. .
+. .
+
+I decided upon a rear attack of Aspromonte. I would go by rail as far
+as Bagnara on the Tyrrhenian, the station beyond Scylla of old renown;
+and thence afoot via Sant’ Eufemia[1] to Sinopoli, pushing on, if day
+permitted, as far as Delianuova, at the foot of
+the mountain. Early next morning I would climb the summit and descend
+to the shores of the Ionian, to Bova. It seemed a reasonable programme.
+
+ [1] Not to be confounded with the railway station on the gulf of that
+ name, near Maida.
+
+All this Tyrrhenian coast-line is badly shattered; far more so than the
+southern shore. But the scenery is finer. There is nothing on that side
+to compare with the views from Nicastro, or Monteleone, or Sant’ Elia
+near Palmi. It is also more smiling, more fertile, and far less
+malarious. Not that cultivation of the land implies absence of
+malaria—nothing is a commoner mistake! The Ionian shore is not
+malarious because it is desert—it is desert because malarious. The
+richest tracts in Greece are known to be very dangerous, and it is the
+same in Italy. Malaria and intensive agriculture go uncommonly well
+together. The miserable anopheles-mosquito loves the wells that are
+sunk for the watering of the immense orange and lemon plantations in
+the Reggio district; it displays a perverse predilection for the minute
+puddles left by the artificial irrigation of the fields that are
+covered with fruit and vegetables. This artificial watering, in fact,
+seems to be partly responsible for the spread of the disease. It is
+doubtful whether the custom goes back into remote antiquity, for the
+climate used to be moister and could dispense with these practices.
+Certain products, once grown in Calabria, no longer thrive there, on
+account of the increased dryness and lack of rainfall.
+
+But there are some deadly regions, even along this Tyrrhenian shore.
+Such is the plain of Maida, for instance, where stood not long ago the
+forest of Sant’ Eufemia, safe retreat of Parafante and other brigand
+heroes. The level lands of Rosarno and Gioia are equally ill-reputed. A
+French battalion stationed here in the summer of 1807 lost over sixty
+men in fourteen days, besides leaving two hundred invalids in the
+hospital at Monteleone. Gioia is so malarious that in summer every one
+of the inhabitants who can afford the price of a ticket goes by the
+evening train to Palmi, to sleep there. You will do well, by the way,
+to see something of the oil industry of Palmi, if time permits. In good
+years, 200,000 quintals of olive oil are manufactured in the regions of
+which it is the commercial centre. Not long ago, before modern methods
+of refining were introduced, most of this oil was exported to Russia,
+to be burned in holy lamps; nowadays it goes for the most part to
+Lucca, to be adulterated for foreign markets (the celebrated Lucca oil,
+which the simple Englishman regards as pure); only the finest quality
+is sent elsewhere, to Nice. From Gioia there runs a postal diligence
+once a day to Delianuova of which I might have availed myself, had I
+not preferred to traverse the country on foot.
+
+The journey from Reggio to Bagnara on this fair summer morning, along
+the rippling Mediterranean, was short enough, but sufficiently long to
+let me overhear the following conversation:
+
+A.—What a lovely sea! It is good, after all, to take three or four
+baths a year. What think you?
+
+B.—I? No. For thirteen years I have taken no baths. But they are
+considered good for children.
+
+The calamities that Bagnara has suffered in the past have been so
+numerous, so fierce and so varied that, properly speaking, the town has
+no right to exist any longer. It has enjoyed more than its full share
+of earthquakes, having been shaken to the ground over and over again.
+Sir William Hamilton reports that 3017 persons were killed in that of
+1783. The horrors of war, too, have not spared it, and a certain modern
+exploit of the British arms here strikes me as so instructive that I
+would gladly extract it from Grant’s “Adventures of an Aide-de-Camp,”
+were it not too long to transcribe, and far too good to abbreviate.
+
+A characteristic story, further, is told of the methods of General
+Manhes at Bagnara. It may well be an exaggeration when they say that
+the entire road from Reggio to Naples was lined with the heads of
+decapitated brigands; be that as it may, it stands to reason that
+Bagnara, as befits an important place, was to be provided with an
+appropriate display of these trophies. The heads were exhibited in
+baskets, with strict injunctions to the authorities that they were not
+to be touched, seeing that they served not only for decorative but also
+moral purposes—as examples. Imagine, therefore, the General’s feelings
+on being told that one of these heads had been stolen; stolen,
+probably, by some pious relative of the deceased rascal, who wished to
+give the relic a decent Christian burial.
+
+“That’s rather awkward,” he said, quietly musing. “But of course the
+specimen must be replaced. Let me see. . . . Suppose we put the head of
+the mayor of Bagnara into the vacant basket? Shall we? Yes, we’ll have
+the mayor. It will make him more careful in future.” And within half an
+hour the basket was filled once more.
+
+There was a little hitch in starting from Bagnara. From the windings of
+the carriage-road as portrayed by the map, I guessed that there must be
+a number of short cuts into the uplands at the back of the town,
+undiscoverable to myself, which would greatly shorten the journey.
+Besides, there was my small bag to be carried. A porter familiar with
+the tracks was plainly required, and soon enough I found a number of
+lusty youths leaning against a wall and
+doing nothing in particular. Yes, they would accompany me, they said,
+the whole lot of them, just for the fun of the thing.
+
+“And my bag?” I asked.
+
+“A bag to be carried? Then we must get a woman.”
+
+They unearthed a nondescript female who undertook to bear the burden as
+far as Sinopoli for a reasonable consideration. So far good. But as we
+proceeded, the boys began to drop off, till only a single one was left.
+And then the woman suddenly vanished down a side street, declaring that
+she must change her clothes. We waited for three-quarters of an hour,
+in the glaring dust of the turnpike; she never emerged again, and the
+remaining boy stoutly refused to handle her load.
+
+“No,” he declared. “She must carry the bag. And I will keep you
+company.”
+
+The precious morning hours were wearing away, and here we stood idly by
+the side of the road. It never struck me that the time might have been
+profitably employed in paying a flying visit to one of the most sacred
+objects in Calabria and possibly in the whole world, one which Signor
+N. Marcone describes as reposing at Bagnara in a rich reliquary—the
+authentic Hat of the Mother of God. A lady tourist would not have
+missed this chance of studying the fashions of those days.[2]
+
+ [2] See next chapter.
+
+Finally, in desperation, I snatched up the wretched luggage and poured
+my griefs with unwonted eloquence into the ears of a man driving a
+bullock-cart down the road. So much was he moved, that he peremptorily
+ordered his son to conduct me then and there to Sinopoli, to carry the
+bag, and claim one franc by way of payment. The little man tumbled off
+the cart, rather reluctantly.
+
+“Away with you!” cried the stern parent, and we began the long march,
+climbing uphill in the blazing sunshine; winding, later on, through
+shady chestnut woods and across broad tracts of cultivated land. It was
+plain that the task was beyond his powers, and when we had reached a
+spot where the strange-looking new village of Sant’ Eufemia was
+visible—it is built entirely of wooden shelters; the stone town was
+greatly shaken in the late earthquake—he was obliged to halt, and
+thenceforward stumbled slowly into the place. There he deposited the
+bag on the ground, and faced me squarely.
+
+“No more of this!” he said, concentrating every ounce of his virility
+into a look of uncompromising defiance.
+
+“Then I shall not pay you a single farthing, my son. And,
+moreover, I will tell your father. You know what he commanded: to
+Sinopoli. This is only Sant’ Eufemia. Unless——”
+
+“You will tell my father? Unless——?”
+
+“Unless you discover some one who will carry the bag not only to
+Sinopoli, but as far as Delianuova.” I was not in the mood for
+repeating the experiences of the morning.
+
+“It is difficult. But we will try.”
+
+He went in search, and returned anon with a slender lad of unusual
+comeliness—an earthquake orphan. “This big one,” he explained, “walks
+wherever you please and carries whatever you give him. And you will pay
+him nothing at all, unless he deserves it. Such is the arrangement. Are
+you content?”
+
+“You have acted like a man.”
+
+The earthquake survivor set off at a swinging pace, and we soon reached
+Sinopoli—new Sinopoli; the older settlement lies at a considerable
+distance. Midday was past, and the long main street of the town—a
+former fief of the terrible Ruffo family—stood deserted in the
+trembling heat. None the less there was sufficient liveliness within
+the houses; the whole place seemed in a state of jollification. It was
+Sunday, the orphan explained; the country was duller than usual,
+however, because of the high price of wine. There had been no murders
+to speak of—no, not for a long time past. But the vintage of this year,
+he added, promises well, and life will soon become normal again.
+
+The mule track from here to Delianuova traverses some pretty scenery,
+both wild and pastoral. But the personal graces of my companion made me
+take small heed of the landscape. He was aglow with animal spirits, and
+his conversation naively brilliant and of uncommon import.
+Understanding at a glance that he belonged to a type which is rather
+rare in Calabria, that he was a classic (of a kind), I made every
+effort to be pleasant to him; and I must have succeeded, for he was
+soon relating anecdotes which would have been neither instructive, nor
+even intelligible, to the _jeune fille;_ all this, with angelic
+serenity of conscience.
+
+This radiantly-vicious child was the embodiment of the joy of life, the
+perfect immoralist. There was no cynicism in his nature, no cruelty, no
+obliquity, no remorse; nothing but sunshine with a few clouds sailing
+across the fathomless blue spaces—the sky of Hellas. _Nihil humani
+alienum;_ and as I listened to those glad tales, I marvelled at the
+many-tinted experiences that could be crammed into seventeen short
+years; what a document the adventures of such a frolicsome demon would
+be, what a feast for the initiated, could some one be induced to make
+them known! But
+such things are hopelessly out of the question. And that is why so many
+of our wise people go into their graves without ever learning what
+happens in this world.
+
+Among minor matters, he mentioned that he had already been three times
+to prison for “certain little affairs of blood,” while defending
+“certain friends.” Was it not dull, I asked, in prison? “The time
+passes pleasantly anywhere,” he answered, “when you are young. I always
+make friends, even in prison.” I could well believe it. His affinities
+were with the blithe crew of the Liber Stratonis. He had a roving eye
+and the mouth of Antinous; and his morals were those of a condescending
+tiger-cub.
+
+Arriving at Delianuova after sunset, he conceived the project of
+accompanying me next morning up Montalto. I hesitated. In the first
+place, I was going not only up that mountain, but to Bova on the
+distant Ionian littoral——
+
+“For my part,” he broke in, “_ho pigliato confidenza._ If you mistrust
+me, here! take my knife,” an ugly blade, pointed, and two inches in
+excess of the police regulation length. This act of quasi-filial
+submission touched me; but it was not his knife I feared so much as
+that of “certain friends.” Some little difference of opinion might
+arise, some question of money or other argument, and lo! the friends
+would be at hand (they always are), and one more stranger might
+disappear among the clefts and gullies of Montalto. Aspromonte, the
+roughest corner of Italy, is no place for misunderstandings; the knife
+decides promptly who is right or wrong, and only two weeks ago I was
+warned not to cross the district without a carbineer on either side of
+me.
+
+But to have clothed my thoughts in words during his gracious mood would
+have been supremely unethical. I contented myself with the trite but
+pregnant remark that things sometimes looked different in the morning,
+which provoked a pagan fit of laughter; farewelled him “with the
+Madonna!” and watched as he withdrew under the trees, lithe and
+buoyant, like a flame that is swallowed up in the night.
+
+Only then did the real business begin. I should be sorry to say into
+how many houses and wine-shops the obliging owner of the local inn
+conducted me, in search of a guide. We traversed all the lanes of this
+straggling and fairly prosperous place, and even those of its suburb
+Paracorio, evidently of Byzantine origin; the answer was everywhere the
+same: To Montalto, yes; to Bova, no! Night drew on apace and, as a last
+resource, he led the way to the dwelling of a gentleman of the old
+school—a retired brigand, to wit, who, as I afterwards learned, had
+some ten or twelve homicides
+to his account. Delianuova, and indeed the whole of Aspromonte, has a
+bad reputation for crime.
+
+It was our last remaining chance.
+
+We found the patriarch sitting in a simple but tidy chamber, smoking
+his pipe and playing with a baby; his daughter-in-law rose as we
+entered, and discreetly moved into an adjoining room. The cheery
+cut-throat put the baby down to crawl on the floor, and his eyes
+sparkled when he heard of Bova.
+
+“Ah, one speaks of Bova!” he said. “A fine walk over the mountain!” He
+much regretted that he was too old for the trip, but so-and-so, he
+thought, might know something of the country. It pained him, too, that
+he could not offer me a glass of wine. There was none in the house. In
+his day, he added, it was not thought right to drink in the modern
+fashion; this wine-bibbing was responsible for considerable mischief;
+it troubled the brain, driving men to do things they afterwards
+repented. He drank only milk, having become accustomed to it during a
+long life among the hills. Milk cools the blood, he said, and steadies
+the hand, and keeps a man’s judgment undisturbed.
+
+The person he had named was found after some further search. He was a
+bronzed, clean-shaven type of about fifty, who began by refusing his
+services point-blank, but soon relented, on hearing the ex-brigand’s
+recommendation of his qualities.
+
+
+
+
+XXXI
+SOUTHERN SAINTLINESS
+
+
+Southern saints, like their worshippers, put on new faces and vestments
+in the course of ages. Old ones die away; new ones take their place.
+Several hundred of the older class of saint have clean faded from the
+popular memory, and are now so forgotten that the wisest priest can
+tell you nothing about them save, perhaps, that “he’s in the
+church”—meaning, that some fragment of his holy anatomy survives as a
+relic amid a collection of similar antiques. But you can find their
+histories in early literature, and their names linger on old maps where
+they are given to promontories and other natural features which are
+gradually being re-christened.
+
+Such saints were chiefly non-Italian: Byzantines or Africans who, by
+miraculous intervention, protected the village or district of which
+they were patrons from the manifold scourges of mediævalism; they took
+the place of the classic tutelar deities. They were men; they could
+fight; and in those troublous times that is exactly what saints were
+made for.
+
+With the softening of manners a new element appears. Male saints lost
+their chief _raison d’être,_ and these virile creatures were superseded
+by pacific women. So, to give only one instance, Saint Rosalia in
+Palermo displaced the former protector Saint Mark. Her sacred bones
+were miraculously discovered in a cave; and have since been identified
+as those of a goat. But it was not till the twelfth century that the
+cult of female saints began to assume imposing dimensions.
+
+Of the Madonna no mention occurs in the songs of Bishop Paulinus
+(fourth century); no monument exists in the Neapolitan catacombs.
+Thereafter her cult begins to dominate.
+
+She supplied the natives with what orthodox Christianity did not give
+them, but what they had possessed from early times—a female element in
+religion. Those Greek settlers had their nymphs, their Venus, and so
+forth; the Mother of God absorbed and continued their functions. There
+is indeed only one of these female pagan divinities whose role she has
+not endeavoured to
+usurp—Athene. Herein she reflects the minds of her creators, the
+priests and common people, whose ideal woman contents herself with the
+duties of motherhood. I doubt whether an Athene-Madonna, an
+intellectual goddess, could ever have been evolved; their attitude
+towards gods in general is too childlike and positive.
+
+South Italians, famous for abstractions in philosophy, cannot endure
+them in religion. Unlike ourselves, they do not desire to learn
+anything from their deities or to argue about them. They only wish to
+love and be loved in return, reserving to themselves the right to
+punish them, when they deserve it. Countless cases are on record where
+(pictures or statues of) Madonnas and saints have been thrown into a
+ditch for not doing what they were told, or for not keeping their share
+of a bargain. During the Vesuvius eruption of 1906 a good number were
+subjected to this “punishment,” because they neglected to protect their
+worshippers from the calamity according to contract (so many candles
+and festivals = so much protection).
+
+For the same reason the adult Jesus—the teacher, the God—is practically
+unknown. He is too remote from themselves and the ordinary activities
+of their daily lives; he is not married, like his mother; he has no
+trade, like his father (Mark calls him a carpenter); moreover, the
+maxims of the Sermon on the Mount are so repugnant to the South Italian
+as to be almost incomprehensible. In effigy, this period of Christ’s
+life is portrayed most frequently in the primitive monuments of the
+catacombs, erected when tradition was purer.
+
+Three tangibly-human aspects of Christ’s life figure here: the
+_bambino-cult,_ which not only appeals to the people’s love of babyhood
+but also carries on the old traditions of the Lar Familiaris and of
+Horus; next, the youthful Jesus, beloved of local female mystics; and
+lastly the Crucified—that grim and gloomy image of suffering which was
+imported, or at least furiously fostered, by the Spaniards.
+
+The engulfing of the saints by the Mother of God is due also to
+political reasons. The Vatican, once centralized in its policy, began
+to be disquieted by the persistent survival of Byzantinism (Greek cults
+and language lingered up to the twelfth century); with the Tacitean
+_odium fratrum_ she exercised more severity towards the sister-faith
+than towards actual paganism.[1] The Madonna was a fit instrument for
+sweeping away the particularist tendencies of the
+past; she attacked relic-worship and other outworn superstitions; like
+a benignant whirlwind she careered over the land, and these now
+enigmatical shapes and customs fell faster than leaves of Vallombrosa.
+No sanctuary or cave so remote that she did not endeavour to expel its
+male saint—its old presiding genius, whether Byzantine or Roman. But
+saints have tough lives, and do not yield without a struggle; they
+fought for their time-honoured privileges like the “daemons” they were,
+and sometimes came off victorious. Those sanctuaries that proved too
+strong to be taken by storm were sapped by an artful and determined
+siege. The combat goes on to this day. This is what is happening to the
+thrice-deposed and still triumphant Saint Januarius, who is hard
+pressed by sheer force of numbers. Like those phagocytes which
+congregate from all sides to assail some weakened cell in the body
+physical, even so Madonna-cults—in frenzied competition with each
+other—cluster thickest round some imperilled venerable of ancient
+lineage, bent on his destruction. The Madonna dell’ Arco, del Soccorso,
+and at least fifty others (not forgetting the newly-invented Madonna di
+Pompei)—they have all established themselves in the particular domain
+of St. Januarius; they are all undermining his reputation, and claiming
+to possess his special gifts.[2]
+
+ [1] Greek and Egyptian anchorites were established in south Italy by
+ the fourth century. But paganism was still flourishing, locally, in
+ the sixth. There is some evidence that Christians used to take part in
+ pagan festivals.
+
+ [2] He is known to have quelled an outbreak of Vesuvius in the fifth
+ century, though his earliest church, I believe, only dates from the
+ ninth. His blood, famous for liquefaction, is not mentioned till 1337.
+
+Early monastic movements of the Roman Church also played their part in
+obliterating old religious landmarks. Settling down in some remote
+place with the Madonna as their leader or as their “second Mother,”
+these companies of holy men soon acquired such temporal and spiritual
+influence as enabled them successfully to oppose their divinity to the
+local saint, whose once bright glories began to pale before her
+effulgence. Their labours in favour of the Mother of God were part of
+that work of consolidating Papal power which was afterwards carried on
+by the Jesuits.
+
+Perhaps what chiefly accounts for the spread of Madonna-worship is the
+human craving for novelty. You can invent most easily where no fixed
+legends are established. Now the saints have fixed legendary attributes
+and histories, and as culture advances it becomes increasingly
+difficult to manufacture new saints with fresh and original characters
+and yet passable pedigrees (the experiment is tried, now and again);
+while the old saints have been exploited and are now inefficient—worn
+out, like old toys. Madonna, on the other hand, can subdivide with the
+ease of an amoeba, and yet never lose her identity or credibility;
+moreover, thanks to her divine
+character, anything can be accredited to her—anything good, however
+wonderful; lastly, the traditions concerning her are so conveniently
+vague that they actually foster the mythopoetic faculty. Hence her
+success. Again: the man-saints were separatists; they fought for their
+own towns against African intruders, and in those frequent and bloody
+inter-communal battles which are a feature of Italian mediævalism.
+Nowadays it is hardly proper that neighbouring townsmen, aided and
+abetted by their respective saints, should sally forth to cut each
+others’ throats. The Madonna, as cosmopolitan Nike, is a fitter
+patroness for settled society.
+
+She also found a ready welcome in consequence of the pastoral
+institutions of the country in which the mother plays such a
+conspicuous role. So deeply are they ingrained here that if the Mother
+of God had not existed, the group would have been deemed incomplete; a
+family without a mother is to them like a tree without roots—a thing
+which cannot be. This accounts for the fact that their Trinity is not
+ours; it consists of the Mother, the Father (Saint Joseph), and the
+Child—with Saint Anne looming in the background (the grandmother is an
+important personage in the patriarchal family). The Creator of all
+things and the Holy Ghost have evaporated; they are too intangible and
+non-human.
+
+But She never became a true cosmopolitan Nike, save in literature. The
+decentralizing spirit of South Italy was too strong for her. She had to
+conform to the old custom of geographical specialization. In all save
+in name she doffed her essential character of Mother of God, and became
+a local demi-god; an accessible wonder-worker attached to some
+particular district. An inhabitant of village A would stand a poor
+chance of his prayers being heard by the Madonna of village B; if you
+have a headache, it is no use applying to the _Madonna of the Hens,_
+who deals with diseases of women; you will find yourself in a pretty
+fix if you expect financial assistance from the Madonna of village C:
+she is a weather-specialist. In short, these hundreds of Madonnas have
+taken up the qualities of the saints they supplanted.
+
+They can often outdo them; and this is yet another reason for their
+success. It is a well-ascertained fact, for example, that many holy men
+have been nourished by the Milk of the Mother of God, “not,” as a
+Catholic writer says, “in a mystic or spiritual sense, but with their
+actual lips”; Saint Bernard “among a hundred, a thousand, others.” Nor
+is this all, for in the year 1690, a painted image of the Madonna, not
+far from the city of Carinola, was observed to “diffuse abundant milk”
+for the edification of a great concourse of spectators—a miracle which
+was recognized as such by
+the bishop of that diocese, Monsignor Paolo Ayrola, who wrote a report
+on the subject. Some more of this authentic milk is kept in a bottle in
+the convent of Mater Domini on Vesuvius, and the chronicle of that
+establishment, printed in 1834, says:
+
+“Since Mary is the Mother and Co-redeemer of the Church, may she not
+have left some drops of her precious milk as a gift to this Church,
+even as we still possess some of the blood of Christ? In various
+churches there exists some of this milk, by means of which many graces
+and benefits are obtained. We find such relics, for example, in the
+church of Saint Luigi in Naples, namely, two bottles full of the milk
+of the Blessed Virgin; and this milk becomes fluid on feast-days of the
+Madonna, as everybody can see. Also in this convent of Mater Domini the
+milk sometimes liquefies.” During eruptions of Vesuvius this bottle is
+carried abroad in procession, and always dispels the danger. Saint
+Januarius must indeed look to his laurels! Meanwhile it is interesting
+to observe that the Mother of God has condescended to employ the method
+of holy relics which she once combated so strenuously, her milk
+competing with the blood of Saint John, the fat of Saint Laurence, and
+those other physiological curios which are still preserved for the
+edification of believers.
+
+All of which would pass if a subtle poison had not been creeping in to
+taint religious institutions. Taken by themselves, these infantile
+observances do not necessarily harm family life, the support of the
+state; for a man can believe a considerable deal of nonsense, and yet
+go about his daily work in a natural and cheerful manner. But when the
+body is despised and tormented the mind loses its equilibrium, and when
+that happens nonsense may assume a sinister shape. We have seen it in
+England, where, during the ascetic movement of Puritanism, more witches
+were burnt than in the whole period before and after.
+
+The virus of asceticism entered South Italy from three principal
+sources. From early ages the country had stood in commercial relations
+with the valley of the Nile; and even as its black magic is largely
+tinged with Egyptian practices, so its magic of the white kind—its
+saintly legends—bear the impress of the self-macerations and perverted
+life-theories of those desert-lunatics who called themselves
+Christians.[3] But this Orientalism fell at first upon
+unfruitful soil; the Vatican was yet wavering, and Hellenic notions of
+conduct still survived. It received a further rebuff at the hands of
+men like Benedict, who set up sounder ideals of holiness, introducing a
+gleam of sanity even in that insanest of institutions—the herding
+together of idle men to the glory of God.
+
+ [3] These ascetics were here before Christianity (see Philo Judaeus);
+ in fact, there is not a single element in the new faith which had not
+ been independently developed by the pagans, many of whom, like Seneca,
+ Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius, were ripe for the most abject
+ self-abasement.
+
+But things became more centralized as the Papacy gained ground. The
+strong Christian, the independent ruler or warrior or builder saint,
+was tolerated only if he conformed to its precepts; and the
+inauspicious rise of subservient ascetic orders like the Franciscans
+and Dominicans, who quickly invaded the fair regions of the south, gave
+an evil tone to their Christianity.
+
+There has always been a contrary tendency at work: the Ionic spirit,
+heritage of the past. Monkish ideals of chastity and poverty have never
+appealed to the hearts of people, priests or prelates of the south;
+they will endure much fondness in their religion, but not those
+phenomena of cruelty and pruriency which are inseparably connected with
+asceticism; their notions have ever been akin to those of the sage
+Xenocrates, who held that “happiness consists not only in the
+possession of human virtues, but _in the accomplishment of natural
+acts.”_ Among the latter they include the acquisition of wealth and the
+satisfaction of carnal needs. At this time, too, the old Hellenic
+curiosity was not wholly dimmed; they took an intelligent interest in
+imported creeds like that of Luther, which, if not convincing, at least
+satisfied their desire for novelty. Theirs was exactly the attitude of
+the Athenians towards Paul’s “New God”; and Protestantism might have
+spread far in the south, had it not been ferociously repressed.
+
+But after the brilliant humanistic period of the Aragons there followed
+the third and fiercest reaction—that of the Spanish viceroys, whose
+misrule struck at every one of the roots of national prosperity. It is
+that “seicentismo” which a modern writer (A. Niceforo, “L’Italia
+barbara,” 1898) has recognized as the blight, the evil genius, of south
+Italy. The Ionic spirit did not help the people much at this time. The
+greatest of these viceroys, Don Pietro di Toledo, hanged 18,000 of them
+in eight years, and then confessed, with a sigh, that “he did not know
+what more he could do.” What more _could_ he do? As a pious Spaniard he
+was incapable of understanding that quarterings and breakings on the
+rack were of less avail than the education of the populace in certain
+secular notions of good conduct—notions which it was the business of
+his Church not to teach. Reading through the legislation of the
+viceregal period, one is astonished to find how little was done for the
+common people, who lived like the veriest beasts of earth.
+Their civil rulers—scholars and gentlemen, most of them—really believed
+that the example of half a million illiterate and vicious monks was all
+the education they needed. And yet one notes with surprise that the
+Government was perpetually at loggerheads with the ecclesiastical
+authorities. True; but it is wonderful with what intuitive alacrity
+they joined forces when it was a question of repelling their common
+antagonist, enlightenment.
+
+From this rank soil there sprang up an exotic efflorescence of
+holiness. If south Italy swarmed with sinners, as the experiences of
+Don Pietro seemed to show, it also swarmed with saints. And hardly one
+of them escaped the influence of the period, the love of futile
+ornamentation. Their piety is overloaded with embellishing touches and
+needless excrescences of virtue. It was the baroque period of
+saintliness, as of architecture.
+
+I have already given some account of one of them, the Flying Monk
+(Chapter X), and have perused the biographies of at least fifty others.
+One cannot help observing a great uniformity in their lives—a kind of
+family resemblance. This parallelism is due to the simple reason that
+there is only one right for a thousand wrongs. One may well look in
+vain, here, for those many-tinted perversions and aberrations which
+disfigure the histories of average mankind. These saints are all
+alike—monotonously alike, if one cares to say so—in their chastity and
+other official virtues. But a little acquaintance with the subject will
+soon show you that, so far as the range of their particular
+Christianity allowed of it, there is a praiseworthy and even
+astonishing diversity among them. Nearly all of them could fly, more or
+less; nearly all of them could cure diseases and cause the clouds to
+rain; nearly all of them were illiterate; and every one of them died in
+the odour of sanctity—with roseate complexion, sweetly smelling corpse,
+and flexible limbs. Yet each one has his particular gifts, his strong
+point. Joseph of Copertino specialized in flying; others were
+conspicuous for their heroism in sitting in hot baths, devouring
+ordure, tormenting themselves with pins, and so forth.
+
+Here, for instance, is a good representative biography—the Life of
+Saint Giangiuseppe della Croce (born 1654), reprinted for the occasion
+of his solemn sanctification.[4]
+
+ [4] “Vita di S. Giangiuseppe della Croce . . . Scritta dal P. Fr.
+ Diodato dell’ Assunta per la Beatificazione ed ora ristampata dal
+ postulatore della causa P. Fr. Giuseppe Rostoll in occasione della
+ solenne Santificazione.” Roma, 1839.
+
+He resembled other saints in many points. He never allowed the “vermin
+which generated in his bed” to be disturbed; he wore the same clothes
+for sixty-four years on end; with women his
+behaviour was that of an “animated statue,” and during his long life he
+never looked any one in the face (even his brother-monks were known to
+him only by their voices); he could raise the dead, relieve a duchess
+of a devil in the shape of a black dog, change chestnuts into apricots,
+and bad wine into good; his flesh was encrusted with sores, the result
+of his fierce scarifications; he was always half starved, and when
+delicate viands were brought to him, he used to say to his body: “Have
+you seen them? Have you smelt them? Then let that suffice for you.”
+
+He, too, could fly a little. So once, when he was nowhere to be found,
+the monks of the convent at last discovered him in the church, “raised
+so high above the ground that his head touched the ceiling.” This is
+not a bad performance for a mere lad, as he then was. And how useful
+this gift became in old age was seen when, being almost incapable of
+moving his legs, and with body half paralysed, he was nevertheless
+enabled to accompany a procession for the length of two miles on foot,
+walking, to the stupefaction of thousands of spectators, at about a
+cubit’s height above the street, on air; after the fashion of those
+Hindu gods whose feet—so the pagans fable—are too pure to touch mortal
+earth.
+
+His love of poverty, moreover, was so intense that even after his death
+a picture of him, which his relatives had tried to attach to the wall
+in loving remembrance, repeatedly fell down again, although nailed very
+securely; nor did it remain fixed until they realized that its costly
+gilt frame was objectionable to the saint in heaven, and accordingly
+removed it. No wonder the infant Jesus was pleased to descend from the
+breast of Mary and take rest for several hours in the arms of Saint
+Giangiuseppe, who, on being disturbed by some priestly visitor,
+exclaimed, “O how I have enjoyed holding the Holy Babe in my arms!”
+This is an old and favourite motif; it occurs, for example, in the
+Fioretti of Saint Francis; there are precedents, in fact, for all these
+divine favours.
+
+But his distinguishing feature, his “dominating gift,” was that of
+prophecy, especially in foretelling the deaths of children, “which he
+almost always accompanied with jocular words _(scherzi)_ on his lips.”
+He would enter a house and genially remark: “O, what an odour of
+Paradise”; sooner or later one or more of the children of the family
+would perish. To a boy of twelve he said, “Be good, Natale, for the
+angels are coming to take you.” These playful words seem to have
+weighed considerably on the boy’s mind and, sure enough, after a few
+years he died. But even more charming—_più grazioso,_ the biographer
+calls it—was the
+incident when he once asked a father whether he would give his son to
+Saint Pasquale. The fond parent agreed, thinking that the words
+referred to the boy’s future career in the Church. But the saint meant
+something quite different—he meant a career in heaven! And in less than
+a month the child died. To a little girl who was crying in the street
+he said: “I don’t want to hear you any more. Go and sing in Paradise.”
+And meeting her a short time after, he said, “What, are you still
+here?” In a few days she was dead.
+
+The biography gives many instances of this pretty gift which would
+hardly have contributed to the saint’s popularity in England or any
+other country save this, where—although the surviving youngsters are
+described as “struck with terror at the mere name of the Servant of
+God”—the parents were naturally glad to have one or two angels in the
+family, to act as _avvocati_ (pleaders) for those that remained on
+earth.
+
+And the mention of the legal profession brings me to one really
+instructive miracle. It is usually to be observed, after a saint has
+been canonized, that heaven, by some further sign or signs, signifies
+approval of this solemn act of the Vicar of God; indeed, to judge by
+these biographies, such a course is not only customary but, to use a
+worldly expression, _de rigueur._ And so it happened after the decree
+relative to Saint Giangiuseppe had been pronounced in the Vatican
+basilica by His Holiness Pius VI, in the presence of the assembled
+cardinals. Innumerable celestial portents (their enumeration fills
+eleven pages of the “Life”) confirmed and ratified the great event, and
+among them this: the notary, who had drawn up both the ordinary and the
+apostolic _processi,_ was cured of a grievous apoplexy, survived for
+four years, and finally died on the very anniversary of the death of
+the saint. Involuntarily one contrasts this heavenly largesse with the
+sordid guineas which would have contented an English lawyer. . . .
+
+Or glance into the biography of the Venerable Sister Orsola Benincasa.
+She, too, could fly a little and raise men from the dead. She cured
+diseases, foretold her own death and that of others, lived for a month
+on the sole nourishment of a consecrated wafer; she could speak Latin
+and Polish, although she had been taught nothing at all; wrought
+miracles after death, and possessed to a heroic degree the virtues of
+patience, humility, temperance, justice, etc. etc. So inflamed was she
+with divine love, that almost every day thick steam issued out of her
+mouth, which was observed to be destructive to articles of clothing;
+her heated body, when ice was applied, used to hiss like a red-hot iron
+under similar conditions.
+As a child, she already cried for other people’s sins; she was always
+hunting for her own and would gladly, at the end of her long and
+blameless career, have exchanged her sins for those of the youthful
+Duchess of Aquaro. An interesting phenomenon, by the way, the theory of
+sinfulness which crops up at this particular period of history. For our
+conception of sin is alien to the Latin mind. There is no “sin” in
+Italy (and this is not the least of her many attractions); it is an
+article manufactured exclusively for export.[5]
+
+ [5] “Vita della Venerabile Serva di Dio Suor Orsola Benincasa, Scritta
+ da un cherico regolare,” Rome, 1796. There are, of course, much
+ earlier biographies of all these saints; concerning Sister Orsola we
+ possess, for instance, the remarkable pamphlet by Cesare d’Eboli
+ (“Caesaris Aevoli Neapolitani Apologia pro Ursula Neapolitana quæ ad
+ urbem accessit MDLXXXIII,” Venice, 1589), which achieves the
+ distinction of never mentioning Orsola by name: she is only once
+ referred to as “mulier de qua agitur.” But I prefer to quote from the
+ more recent ones because they are authoritative, in so far as they
+ have been written on the basis of miracles attested by eye-witnesses
+ and accepted as veracious by the Vatican tribunal. Sister Orsola,
+ though born in 1547, was only declared Venerable by Pontifical decree
+ of 1793. Biographies prior to that date are therefore ex-parte
+ statements and might conceivably contain errors of fact. This is out
+ of the question here, as is clearly shown by the author on p. 178.
+
+Orsola’s speciality, however, were those frequent trance-like
+conditions by reason of which, during her lifetime, she was created
+“Protectress of the City of Naples.” I cannot tell whether she was the
+first woman-saint to obtain this honour. Certainly the “Seven Holy
+Protectors” concerning whom Paolo Regio writes were all musty old
+males. . . .
+
+And here is quite another biography, that of Alfonso di Liguori (born
+1696), the founder of the Redemptorist order and a canonized saint. He,
+too, could fly a little and raise the dead to life; he suffered
+devil-temptations, caused the clouds to rain, calmed an eruption of
+Vesuvius, multiplied food, and so forth. Such was his bashfulness, that
+even as an aged bishop he refused to be unrobed by his attendants; such
+his instinct for moral cleanliness that once, when a messenger had
+alighted at his convent accompanied by a soldier, he instantly
+detected, under the military disguise, the lineaments of a young
+woman-friend. Despite these divine gifts, he always needed a confessor.
+An enormous batch of miracles accompanied his sanctification.
+
+But he only employed these divine graces by the way; he was by
+profession not a _taumaturgo,_ but a clerical instructor, organizer,
+and writer. The Vatican has conferred on him the rare title of “Doctor
+Ecclesiæ,” which he shares with Saint Augustine and some others.
+
+The biography from which I have drawn these details was
+printed in Rome in 1839. It is valuable because it is modern and so far
+authentic; and for two other reasons. In the first place, curiously
+enough, it barely mentions the saint’s life-work—his writings.
+Secondly, it is a good example of what I call the pious palimpsest. It
+is over-scored with contradictory matter. The author, for example,
+while accidentally informing us that Alfonso kept a carriage, imputes
+to him a degrading, Oriental love of dirt and tattered garments, in
+order (I presume) to make his character conform to the grosser ideals
+of the mendicant friars. I do not believe in these traits—in his hatred
+of soap and clean apparel. From his works I deduce a different
+original. He was refined and urbane; of a casuistical and prying
+disposition; like many sensitive men, unduly preoccupied with the
+sexual life of youth; like a true feudal aristocrat, ever ready to
+apply force where verbal admonition proved unavailing. . . .
+
+In wonder-working capacities these saints were all put in the shade by
+the Calabrian Francesco di Paola, who raised fifteen persons from the
+dead in his boyhood. He used to perform a hundred miracles a day, and
+“it was a miracle, when a day passed without a miracle.” The index
+alone of any one of his numerous biographies is enough to make one’s
+head swim.
+
+The vast majority of saints of this period do not belong to that third
+sex after which, according to some, the human race has ever striven—the
+constructive and purposeful third sex. They are wholly sexless,
+unsocial and futile beings, the negation of every masculine or feminine
+virtue. Their independence fettered by the iron rules of the Vatican
+and of their particular order, these creatures had _nothing to do;_ and
+like the rest of us under such conditions, became vacuously
+introspective. Those honourable saintly combats of the past with
+external enemies and plagues and stormy seasons were transplanted from
+without into the microcosm within, taking the shape of hallucinations
+and demon-temptations. They were no longer actors, but sufferers;
+automata, who attained a degree of inanity which would have made their
+old Byzantine prototypes burst with envy.
+
+Yet they vary in their gifts; each one, as I have said, has his or her
+strong point. Why? The reason of this diversity lies in the furious
+competition between the various monastic orders of the time—in those
+unedifying squabbles which led to never-ending litigation and
+complaints to head-quarters in Rome. Every one of these saints, from
+the first dawning of his divine talents, was surrounded by an
+atmosphere of jealous hatred on the part of his
+co-religionists. If one order came out with a flying wonder, another,
+in frantic emulation, would introduce some new speciality to eclipse
+his fame—something in the fasting line, it may be; or a female mystic
+whose palpitating letters to Jesus Christ would melt all readers to
+pity. The Franciscans, for instance, dissected the body of a certain
+holy Margaret and discovered in her heart the symbols of the Trinity
+and of the Passion. This bold and original idea would have gained them
+much credit, but for the rival Dominicans, who promptly discovered, and
+dissected, another saintly Margaret, whose heart contained three stones
+on which were engraven portraits of the Virgin Mary.[6] So they
+ceaselessly unearthed fresh saints with a view to disparaging each
+other—all of them waiting for a favourable moment when the Vatican
+could be successfully approached to consider their particular claims.
+For it stands to reason that a Carmelite Pope would prefer a Carmelite
+saint to one of the Jesuits, and so forth.
+
+ [6] These and other details will be found in the four volumes “Das
+ Heidentum in der romischen Kirche” (Gotha, 1889-91), by Theodor Trede,
+ a late Protestant parson in Naples, strongly tinged with
+ anti-Catholicism, but whose facts may be relied upon. Indeed, he gives
+ chapter and verse for them.
+
+And over all throned the Inquisition in Rome, alert, ever-suspicious;
+testing the “irregularities” of the various orders and harassing their
+respective saints with Olympic impartiality.
+
+I know that mystics such as Orsola Benincasa are supposed to have
+another side to their character, an eminently practical side. It is
+perfectly true—and we need not go out of England to learn it—that piety
+is not necessarily inconsistent with nimbleness in worldly affairs. But
+the mundane achievements, the monasteries and churches, of nine-tenths
+of these southern ecstatics are the work of the confessor and not of
+the saint. Trainers of performing animals are aware how these differ in
+plasticity of disposition and amenability to discipline; the spiritual
+adviser, who knows his business, must be quick to detect these various
+qualities in the minds of his penitents and to utilize them to the best
+advantage. It is inconceivable, for instance, that the
+convent-foundress Orsola was other than a neuropathic nonentity—a blind
+instrument in the hands of what we should call her backers, chiefest of
+whom (in Naples) were two Spanish priests, Borli and Navarro, whose
+local efforts were supported, at head-quarters, by the saintly Filippo
+Neri and the learned Cardinal Baronius.
+
+This is noticeable. The earlier of these godly biographies are written
+in Latin, and these are more restrained in their language; they were
+composed, one imagines, for the priests and
+educated classes who could dispense to a certain degree with prodigies.
+But the later ones, from the viceregal period onwards, are in the
+vernacular and display a marked deterioration; one must suppose that
+they were printed for such of the common people as could still read (up
+to a few years ago, sixty-five per cent of the populace were
+analphabetic). They are pervaded by the characteristic of all
+contemporary literature and art: that deliberate intention to _astound_
+which originated with the poet Marino, who declared such to have been
+his object and ideal. The miracles certainly do astound; they are as
+_strepitosi_ (clamour-arousing) as the writers claim them to be; how
+they ever came to occur must be left to the consciences of those who
+swore on oath to the truth of them.
+
+During this period the Mother of God as a local saint increased in
+popularity. There was a ceaseless flow of monographs dealing with
+particular Madonnas, as well as a small library on what the Germans
+would doubtless call the “Madonna as a Whole.” Here is Serafino
+Montorio’s “Zodiaco di Maria,” printed in 1715 on the lines of that
+monster of a book by Gumppenberg. It treats of over two hundred
+subspecies of Madonna worshipped in different parts of south Italy
+which is divided, for these celestial purposes, into twelve regions,
+according to the signs of the Zodiac. The book is dedicated by the
+author to his “Sovereign Lady the _Gran Madre di Dio”_ and might, in
+truth, have been written to the glory of that protean old Magna Mater
+by one of Juvenal’s “tonsured herd” possessed of much industry but
+little discrimination.[7] Such as it is, it reflects the crude mental
+status of the Dominican order to which the author belonged. I warmly
+recommend this book to all Englishmen desirous of understanding the
+south. It is pure, undiluted paganism—paganism of a bad school; one
+would think it marked the lowest possible ebb of Christian
+spirituality. But this is by no means the case, as I shall presently
+show.
+
+ [7] The Mater Dei was officially installed in the place of Magna Mater
+ at the Synod of Ephesus in 431.
+
+How different, from such straightforward unreason, are the
+etherealized, saccharine effusions of the “Glories of Mary,” by Alfonso
+di Liguori! They represent the other pole of Mariolatry—the gentlemanly
+pole. And under the influence of Mary-worship a new kind of saintly
+physiognomy was elaborated, as we can see from contemporary prints and
+pictures. The bearded men-saints were extinct; in the place of them
+this mawkish, sub-sexual love for the Virgin developed a corresponding
+type of
+adorer—clean-shaven, emasculate youths, posing in ecstatic attitudes
+with a nauseous feminine smirk. Rather an unpleasant sort of saint.
+
+The unwholesome chastity-ideal, without which no holy man of the period
+was “complete,” naturally left its mark upon literature, notably on
+that of certain Spanish theologians. But good specimens of what I mean
+may also be found in the Theologia Moralis of Liguori; the kind of
+stuff, that is, which would be classed as “curious” in catalogues and
+kept in a locked cupboard by the most broad-minded paterfamilias.
+Reading these elucubrations of Alfonso’s, one feels that the saint has
+pondered long and lovingly upon themes like _an et quando peccata sint
+oscula_ or _de tactu et adspectu corporis;_ he writes with all the
+authority of an expert whose richly-varied experiences in the
+confessional have been amplified and irradiated by divine inspiration.
+I hesitate what to call this literature, seeing that it was obviously
+written to the glory of God and His Virgin Mother. The congregation of
+the Index, which was severe in the matter of indecent publications and
+prohibited Boccaccio’s Decameron on these grounds, hailed with approval
+the appearance of such treatises composed, as they were, for the
+guidance of young priests.
+
+Cruelty (in the shape of the Inquisition) and lasciviousness (as
+exemplified by such pious filth)—these are the prime fruits of that
+cult of asceticism which for centuries the Government strove to impose
+upon south Italy. If the people were saved, it was due to that
+substratum of sanity, of Greek _sophrosyne,_ which resisted the one and
+derided the other. Whoever has saturated himself with the records will
+marvel not so much that the inhabitants preserved some shreds of common
+sense and decent feeling, as that they survived at all—he will marvel
+that the once fair kingdom was not converted into a wilderness, saintly
+but uninhabited, like Spain itself.
+
+For the movement continued in a vertiginous crescendo. Spaniardism
+culminated in Bourbonism, and this, again, reached its climax in the
+closing years of the eighteenth century, when the conditions of south
+Italy baffled description. I have already (p. 212) given the formidable
+number of its ecclesiastics; the number of saints was commensurate,
+but—as often happens when the quantity is excessive—the quality
+declined. This lazzaroni-period was the debâcle of holiness. So true it
+is that our gods reflect the hearts that make them.
+
+The Venerable Fra Egidio, a native of Taranto, is a good example of
+contemporary godliness. My biography of him was
+printed in Naples in 1876,[8] and contains a dedicatory epistle
+addressed to the Blessed Virgin by her “servant, subject, and most
+loving son Rosario Frungillo”—a canon of the church and the author of
+the book.
+
+ [8] “Vita del Venerabile servo di Dio Fra Egidio da S. Giuseppe laico
+ professo alcantarino,” Napoli, 1876.
+
+This “taumaturgo” could perform all the ordinary feats; I will not
+linger over them. What has made him popular to this day are those
+wonders which appealed to the taste of the poorer people, such as, for
+example, that miracle of the eels. A fisherman had brought fourteen
+hundredweight of these for sale in the market. Judge of his
+disappointment when he discovered that they had all died during the
+journey (southerners will not pay for dead eels). Fortunately, he saw
+the saint arriving in a little boat, who informed him that the eels
+were “not dead, but only asleep,” and who woke them up again by means
+of a relic of Saint Pasquale which he always carried about with him,
+after a quarter of an hour’s devout praying, during which the
+perspiration oozed from his forehead. The eels, says the writer, had
+been dead and slimy, but now turned their bellies downwards once more
+and twisted about in their usual spirals; there began a general weeping
+among the onlookers, and the fame of the miracle immediately spread
+abroad. He could do the same with lobsters, cows, and human beings.
+
+Thus a cow belonging to Fra Egidio’s monastery was once stolen by an
+impious butcher, and cut up into the usual joints with a view to a
+clandestine sale of the meat. The saint discovered the beast’s remains,
+ordered that they should be laid together on the floor in the shape of
+a living cow, with the entrails, head and so forth in their natural
+positions; then, having made the sign of the cross with his cord upon
+the slaughtered beast, and rousing up all his faith, he said: “In the
+name of God and of Saint Pasquale, arise, Catherine!” (Catherine was
+the cow’s name.) “At these words the animal lowed, shook itself, and
+stood up on its feet alive, whole and strong, even as it had been
+before it was killed.”
+
+In the case of one of the dead men whom he brought to life, the
+undertakers were already about their sad task; but Fra Egidio, viewing
+the corpse, remarked in his usual manner that the man was “not dead,
+but only asleep,” and after a few saintly manipulations, roused him
+from his slumber. The most portentous of his wonders, however, are
+those which he wrought _after his own death_ by means of his relics and
+otherwise; they have been sworn to by many persons. Nor did his hand
+lose its old cunning, in these posthumous manifestations, with the
+finny tribe. A certain woman,
+Maria Scuotto, was enabled to resuscitate a number of dead eels by
+means of an image of the deceased saint which she cast among them.
+
+Every one of the statements in this biography is drawn from the
+_processi_ to which I will presently refer; there were 202 witnesses
+who deposed “under the rigour and sanctity of oath” to the truth of
+these miracles; and among those who were personally convinced of the
+Venerable’s rare gifts was the Royal Family of Naples, the archbishop
+of that town, as well as innumerable dukes and princes. An embittered
+rationalist would note that the reading of Voltaire, at this period,
+was punished with three years’ galley-slavery and that several thousand
+citizens were hanged for expressing liberal opinions; he will suggest
+that belief in the supernatural, rejected by the thinking classes,
+finds an abiding shelter among royalty and the proletariat.
+
+It occurs to me, à propos of Fra Egidio, to make the obvious statement
+that an account of an occurrence is not necessarily true, because it
+happened long ago. Credibility does not improve, like violins and port
+wine, with lapse of years. This being the case, it will not be
+considered objectionable to say that there are certain deeds attributed
+to holy men of olden days which, to speak frankly, are open to doubt;
+or at least not susceptible of proof. Who were these men, if they ever
+existed? and who vouches for their prodigies? This makes me think that
+Pope Gelasius showed no small penetration in excluding, as early as the
+fifth century, some few _acta sanctorum_ from the use of the churches;
+another step in the same direction was taken in the twelfth century
+when the power of canonizing saints, which had hitherto been claimed by
+all bishops, became vested in the Pope alone; and yet another, when
+Urban VIII forbade the nomination of local patron saints by popular
+vote. Pious legends are supposed to have their uses as an educative
+agency. So be it. But such relations of imperfectly ascertained and
+therefore questionable wonders suffer from one grave drawback: they
+tend to shake our faith in the evidence of well-authenticated ones.
+Thus Saint Patrick is also reported to have raised a cow from the
+dead—five cows, to be quite accurate; but who will come forward and
+vouch for the fact? No one. That is because Saint Patrick belongs to
+the legendary stage; he died, it is presumed, about 490.
+
+Here, with Saint Egidio, we are on other ground; on the ground of bald
+actuality. He expired in 1812, and the contemporaries who have attested
+his miraculous deeds are not misty phantoms of the Thebais; they were
+creatures of flesh and blood, human, historical
+personages, who were dressed and nourished and educated after the
+fashion of our own grandfathers. Yet it was meet and proper that the
+documentary evidence as to his divine graces should be conscientiously
+examined. And only in 1888 was the crowning work accomplished. In that
+year His Holiness Leo XIII and the Sacred Congregation of Cardinals
+solemnly approved the evidence and inscribed the name of Egidio in the
+book of the Blessed.
+
+To touch upon a few minor matters—I observe that Fra Egidio, like the
+Flying Monk, was “illiterate,” and similarly preserved up to a decrepit
+age “the odorous lily of purity, which made him appear in words and
+deeds as a most innocent child.” He was accustomed to worship before a
+favourite picture of the Mother of God which he kept adorned with
+candles; and whenever the supply of these ran out, he was wont to
+address Her with infantile simplicity of heart and in the local
+dialect: “Now there’s no wax for You; so think about it Yourself; if
+not, You’ll have to go without.” The playful-saintly note. . . .
+
+But there is this difference between him and earlier saints that
+whereas they, all too often, suffered in solitude, misunderstood and
+rejected of men, he enjoyed the highest popularity during his whole
+long life. Wherever he went, his footsteps were pursued by crowds of
+admirers, eager to touch his wonder-working body or to cut off shreds
+of his clothing as amulets; hardly a day passed that he did not return
+home with garments so lacerated that only half of them was left; every
+evening they had to be patched up anew, although they were purposely
+stitched full of wires and small chains of iron as a protection. The
+same passionate sympathy continued after death, for while his body was
+lying in state a certain Luigi Ascione, a surgeon, pushed through the
+crowd and endeavoured to cut off one of his toe-nails with the flesh
+attached to it; he admitted being driven to this act of pious
+depredation by the pleading request of the Spanish Ambassador and a
+Neapolitan princess, who held Fra Egidio in great veneration.
+
+This is not an isolated instance. Southerners love their saints, and do
+not content themselves with chill verbal expressions of esteem. So the
+biographer of Saint Giangiuseppe records that “one of the deceased
+saint’s toes was bitten off with most regretable devotion by the teeth
+of a man in the crowd, who wished to preserve it as a relic. And the
+blood from the wound flowed so copiously and so freely that many pieces
+of cloth were saturated with it; nor did it cease to flow till the
+precious corpse was interred.” It is hard to picture such proofs of
+fervid popularity falling to the lot of English deans and bishops.
+
+He was modern, too, in this sense, that he did not torment himself with
+penitences (decay of Spanish austerity); on the contrary, he even kept
+chocolate, honey and suchlike delicacies in his cell. In short, he was
+an up-to-date saint, who despised mediæval practices and lived in a
+manner befitting the age which gave him birth. In this respect he
+resembles our English men of holiness, who exercise a laudable
+self-denial in resisting the seductions of the ascetic life.
+
+Meanwhile, the cult of the Mother of God continued to wax in favour,
+and those who are interested in its development should read the really
+remarkable book by Antonio Cuomó, “Saggio apologetico della belezza
+celeste e divina di Maria S.S. Madre di Dio” (Castellamare, 1863). It
+is a diatribe against modernism by a champion of lost causes, an
+exacerbated lover of the “Singular Virgin and fecund Mother of the
+Verb.” His argument, as I understand it, is the _consensus gentium_
+theory applied to the Virgin Mary. In defence of this thesis, the book
+has been made to bristle with quotations; they stand out like quills
+upon the porcupine, ready to impale the adventurous sceptic. Pliny and
+Virgil and the Druids and Balaam’s Ass are invoked as foretelling Her
+birth; the Old Testament—that venerable sufferer, as Huxley called
+it—is twisted into dire convulsions for the same purpose; much evidence
+is also drawn from Hebrew observances and from the Church Fathers. But
+the New Testamentary record is seldom invoked; the Saviour, on the rare
+occasions when He is mentioned, being dismissed as “G. C.” The volume
+ends with a pyrotechnical display of invective against non-Catholic
+heretics; a medley of threats and abuse worthy of those breezy days of
+Erasmus, when theologians really said what they thought of each other.
+The frank polytheism of Montorio is more to my taste. This outpouring
+of papistical rhetoric gives me unwarrantable sensations—it makes me
+feel positively Protestant.
+
+Another sign of increasing popularity is that the sacred bacchanals
+connected with the “crowning” of various Madonnas were twice as
+numerous, in Naples, in the nineteenth as in the eighteenth century.
+Why an image of the Mother of God should be decked with this worldly
+symbol, as a reward for services rendered, will be obscure only to
+those who fail to appreciate the earthly-tangible complexion of
+southern religion. Puerility is its key-note. The Italian is either
+puerile or adult; the Englishman remains everlastingly adolescent. . .
+.
+
+Now of course it is open to any one to say that the pious records from
+which I have quoted are a desolation of the spirit; that they
+possess all the improbability of the “Arabian Nights,” and none of
+their charm; that all the distempered dreamings to which our poor
+humanity is subject have given themselves a rendezvous in their pages.
+I am not for disputing the point, and I can understand how one man may
+be saddened by their perusal, while another extracts therefrom some
+gleams of mirth. For my part, I merely verify this fact: the native has
+been fed with this stuff for centuries, and if we desire to enter into
+his feelings, we must feed ourselves likewise—up to a point. The past
+is the key to the present. That is why I have dwelt at such length on
+the subject—in the hope of clearing up the enigma in the national
+character: the unpassable gulf, I mean, between the believing and the
+unbelieving sections of the community.
+
+An Anglo-Saxon arriving at Bagnara and witnessing a procession in
+honour of that Sacred Hat of the Mother of God which has led me into
+this disquisition, would be shocked at the degree of bigotry implied.
+“The Hat of the Virgin Mary,” he would say—“what next?” Then, accosting
+some ordinary citizen not in the procession—any butcher or baker—he
+would receive a shock of another kind; he would be appalled at the
+man’s language of contemptuous derision towards everything which he,
+the Anglo-Saxon, holds sacred in biblical tradition. There is no
+attempt, here, at “reconciliation.” The classes calling themselves
+enlightened are making a clean sweep of the old gods in a fashion that
+bewilders us who have accustomed ourselves to see a providential design
+in everything that exists (possibly because our acquaintance with a
+providentially-designed Holy Office is limited to an obsolete statute,
+the genial _de haeretico comburendo)._ The others, the fetishists, have
+remained on the spiritual level of their own saints. And there we stand
+today. That section so numerous in England, the pseudo-pagans,
+crypto-Christians, or whatever obscurantists like Messrs. A. J. Balfour
+and Mallock like to call themselves (the men who, with disastrous
+effects, transport into realms of pure intelligence the spirit of
+compromise which should be restricted to practical concerns)—that
+section has no representatives hereabouts.
+
+Fully to appreciate their attitude as opposed to ours, we must also
+remember that the south Italian does not trouble himself about the
+objective truth of any miracle whatever; his senses may be perverted,
+but his intelligence remains outside the sphere of infection. This is
+his saving grace. To the people here, the affair of Moses and the
+Burning Bush, the raising of Lazarus, and Egidio’s cow-revival, are on
+the identical plane of authenticity; the Bible is one of a thousand
+saints’ books; its stories may be as true as
+theirs, or just as untrue; in any case, what has that to do with his
+own worldly conduct? But the Englishman with ingenuous ardour thinks to
+believe in the Burning Bush wonder, and in so far his intelligence is
+infected; with equal ardour he excludes the cow-performance from the
+range of possibility; and to him it matters considerably which of the
+miracles are true and which are false, seeing that his conduct is
+supposed to take colour from such supernatural events. Ultra-credulous
+as to one set of narratives, he has no credulity left for other sets;
+he concentrates his believing energies upon a small space, whereas the
+Italian’s are diffused, thinly, over a wide area. It is the old story:
+Gothic intensity and Latin spaciousness. So the Gothic believer takes
+his big dose of irrationalism on one fixed day; the Latin, by attending
+Mass every morning, spreads it over the whole week. And the sombre
+strenuousness of our northern character expects a remuneration for this
+outlay of faith, while the other contents himself with such sensuous
+enjoyment as he can momentarily extract from his ceremonials. That is
+why our English religion has a _democratic_ tinge distasteful to the
+Latin who, at bottom, is always a philosopher; democratic because it
+relies for its success, like democratic politicians, upon
+promises—promises that may or may not be kept—promises that form no
+part (they are only an official appendage) of the childlike paganism of
+the south. . . .
+
+Fifteen francs will buy you a reliable witness for a south Italian
+lawsuit; you must pay a good deal more in England. Thence one might
+argue that the cult of credulity implied by these saintly biographies
+is responsible for this laxness, for the general disregard of veracity.
+I doubt it. I am not inclined to blame the monkish saint-makers for
+this particular trait; I suspect that for fifteen francs you could have
+bought a first-class witness under Pericles. Southerners are not yet
+pressed for time; and when people are not pressed for time, they do not
+learn the time-saving value of honesty. Our respect for truth and fair
+dealing, such as it is, derives from modern commerce; in the Middle
+Ages nobody was concerned about honesty save a few trading companies
+like the Hanseatic League, and the poor mediæval devil (the only
+gentleman of his age) who was generally pressed for time and could be
+relied upon to keep his word. Even God, of whom they talked so much,
+was systematically swindled. Where time counts for nothing, expeditious
+practices between man and man are a drug in the market. Besides, it
+must be noted that this churchly misteaching was only a fraction of
+that general shattering which has disintegrated all the finer fibres of
+public life. It stands to reason that the fragile
+tissues of culture are dislocated, and its delicate edges defaced, by
+such persistive governmental brutalization as the inhabitants have
+undergone. None but the grossest elements in a people can withstand
+enduring misrule; none but a mendacious and servile nature will survive
+its wear and tear. So it comes about that up to a few years ago the
+nobler qualities which we associate with those old Hellenic
+colonists—their intellectual curiosity, their candid outlook upon life,
+their passionate sense of beauty, their love of nature—all these things
+had been abraded, leaving, as residue, nothing save what the Greeks
+shared with ruder races. There are indications that this state of
+affairs is now ending.
+
+The position is this. The records show that the common people never
+took their saints to heart in the northern fashion—as moral exemplars;
+from beginning to end, they have only utilized them as a pretext for
+fun and festivals, a means of brightening the catacombic, the
+essentially sunless, character of Christianity. So much for the popular
+saints, the patrons and heroes. The others, the ecclesiastical ones,
+are an artificial product of monkish institutions. These monkeries were
+established in the land by virtue of civil authority. Their continued
+existence, however, was contingent upon the goodwill of the Vatican.
+One of the surest and cheapest methods of obtaining this goodwill was
+to produce a satisfactory crop of saints whose beatification swelled
+the Vatican treasury with the millions collected from a deluded
+populace for that end. The monks paid nothing; they only furnished the
+saint and, in due course, the people’s money. Can we wonder that they
+discovered saints galore? Can we wonder that the Popes were gratified
+by their pious zeal?
+
+So things went on till yesterday. But now a large proportion of the ten
+thousand (?) churches and monasteries of Naples are closed or actually
+in ruins; wayside sanctuaries crumble to dust in picturesque fashion;
+the price of holy books has fallen to zero, and the godly brethren have
+emigrated to establish their saint-manufactories elsewhere. Not without
+hope of success; for they will find purchasers of their wares wherever
+mankind can be interested in that queer disrespect of the body which is
+taught by the metaphysical ascetics of the East.
+
+It was Lewes, I believe, who compared metaphysics to ghosts by saying
+that there was no killing either of them; one could only dissipate them
+by throwing light into the dark places they love to inhabit—to show
+that nothing is there. Spectres, likewise, are these saintly
+caricatures of humanity, perambulating metaphysics, the application _in
+corpore vili_ of Oriental fakirism.
+Nightmare-literature is the crazy recital of their deeds and
+sufferings. Pathological phantoms! The state of mind which engenders
+and cherishes such illusions is a disease, and it has been well said
+that “you cannot refute a disease.” You cannot nail ghosts to the
+counter.
+
+But a ray of light . . .
+
+
+
+
+XXXII
+ASPROMONTE, THE CLOUD-GATHERER
+
+
+Day was barely dawning when we left Delianuova and began the long and
+weary climb up Montalto. Chestnuts gave way to beeches, but the summit
+receded ever further from us. And even before reaching the uplands, the
+so-called Piano di Carmelia, we encountered a bank of bad weather. A
+glance at the map will show that Montalto must be a cloud-gatherer,
+drawing to its flanks every wreath of vapour that rises from Ionian and
+Tyrrhenian; a west wind was blowing that morning, and thick fogs clung
+to the skirts of the peak. We reached the summit (1956 metres) at last,
+drenched in an icy bath of rain and sleet, and with fingers so numbed
+that we could hardly hold our sticks.
+
+Of the superb view—for such it must be—nothing whatever was to be seen;
+we were wrapped in a glacial mist. On the highest point stands a figure
+of the Redeemer. It was dragged up in pieces from Delianuova some seven
+years ago, but soon injured by frosts; it has lately been refashioned.
+The original structure may be due to the same pious stimulus as that
+which placed the crosses on Monte Vulture and other peaks throughout
+the country—a counterblast to the rationalistic congress at Rome in
+1904, when Giordano Bruno became, for a while, the hero of the country.
+This statue does not lack dignity. The Saviour’s regard turns towards
+Reggio, the capital of the province; and one hand is upraised in calm
+and godlike benediction.
+
+Passing through magnificent groves of fir, we descended rapidly into
+anothsr climate, into realms of golden sunshine. Among these trees I
+espied what has become quite a rare bird in Italy—the common
+wood-pigeon. The few that remain have been driven into the most
+secluded recesses of the mountains; it was different in the days of
+Theocritus, who sang of this amiable fowl when the climate was colder
+and the woodlands reached as far as the now barren seashore. To the
+firs succeeded long stretches of odorous pines interspersed with
+Mediterranean heath (bruyère), which here grows to a height of twelve
+feet; one thinks of the number of briar
+pipes that could be cut out of its knotty roots. A British Vice-Consul
+at Reggio, Mr. Kerrich, started this industry about the year 1899; he
+collected the roots, which were sawn into blocks and then sent to
+France and America to be made into pipes. This Calabrian briar was
+considered superior to the French kind, and Mr. Kerrich had large sales
+on both sides of the Atlantic; his chief difficulty was want of labour
+owing to emigration.
+
+We passed, by the wayside, several rude crosses marking the site of
+accidents or murders, as well as a large heap of stones, where-under
+lie the bones of a man who attempted to traverse these mountains in
+winter-time and was frozen to death.
+
+“They found him,” the guide told me, “in spring, when the snow melted
+from off his body. There he lay, all fresh and comely! It looked as if
+he would presently wake up and continue his march; but he neither spoke
+nor stirred. Then they knew he was dead. And they piled all these
+stones over him, to prevent the wolves, you understand——”
+
+Aspromonte deserves its name. It is an incredibly harsh agglomeration
+of hill and dale, and the geology of the district, as I learned long
+ago from my friend Professor Cortese, reveals a perfect chaos of rocks
+of every age, torn into gullies by earthquakes and other cataclysms of
+the past—at one place, near Scido, is an old stream of lava. Once the
+higher ground, the nucleus of the group, is left behind, the wanderer
+finds himself lost in a maze of contorted ravines, winding about
+without any apparent system of watershed. Does the liquid flow north or
+south? Who can tell! The track crawls in and out of valleys, mounts
+upwards to heights of sun-scorched bracken and cistus, descends once
+more into dewy glades hemmed in by precipices and overhung by drooping
+fernery. It crosses streams of crystal clearness, rises afresh in
+endless gyrations under the pines only to vanish, yet again, into the
+twilight of deeper abysses, where it skirts the rivulet along
+precarious ledges, until some new obstruction blocks the way—so it
+writhes about for long, long hours. . . .
+
+Here, on the spot, one can understand how an outlaw like Musolino was
+enabled to defy justice, helped, as he was, by the fact that the vast
+majority of the inhabitants were favourable to him, and that the
+officer in charge of his pursuers was paid a fixed sum for every day he
+spent in the chase and presumably found it convenient not to discover
+his whereabouts.[1]
+
+ [1] See next chapter.
+
+We rested awhile, during these interminable meanderings, under the
+shadow of a group of pines.
+
+“Do you see that square patch yonder?” said my man. “It is a cornfield.
+There Musolino shot one of his enemies, whom he suspected of giving
+information to the police. It was well done.”
+
+“How many did he shoot, altogether?”
+
+“Only eighteen. And three of them recovered, more or less; enough to
+limp about, at all events. Ah, if you could have seen him, sir! He was
+young, with curly fair hair, and a face like a rose. God alone can tell
+how many poor people he helped in their distress. And any young girl he
+met in the mountains he would help with her load and accompany as far
+as her home, right into her father’s house, which none of us would have
+risked, however much we might have liked it. But every one knew that he
+was pure as an angel.”
+
+“And there was a young fellow here,” he went on, “who thought he could
+profit by pretending to be Musolino. So one day he challenged a
+proprietor with his gun, and took all his money. When it came to
+Musolino’s ears, he was furious—furious! He lay in wait for him, caught
+him, and said: “How dare you touch fathers of children? Where’s that
+money you took from Don Antonio?” Then the boy began to cry and tremble
+for his life. “Bring it,” said Musolino, “every penny, at midday next
+Monday, to such and such a spot, or else——” Of course he brought it.
+Then he marched him straight into the proprietor’s house. “Here’s this
+wretched boy, who robbed you in my name. And here’s the money: please
+count it. Now, what shall we do with him?” So Don Antonio counted the
+money. “It’s all there,” he said; “let him off this time.” Then
+Musolino turned to the lad: “You have behaved like a mannerless puppy,”
+he said, “without shame or knowledge of the world. Be reasonable in
+future, and understand clearly: I will have no brigandage in these
+mountains. Leave that to the syndics and judges in the towns.”
+
+We did not traverse Musolino’s natal village, Santo Stefano; indeed, we
+passed through no villages at all. But after issuing from the
+labyrinth, we saw a few of them, perched in improbable
+situations—Roccaforte and Roghudi on our right; on the other side,
+Africo and Casalnuovo. Salis Marschlins says that the inhabitants of
+these regions are so wild and innocent that money is unknown;
+everything is done by barter. That comes of copying without
+discrimination. For this statement he utilized the report of a
+Government official, a certain Leoni, who was sent hither after the
+earthquake of 1783, and found the use of money not unknown, but
+forgotten, in consequence of this terrible catastrophe.
+
+These vales of Aspromonte are one of the last refuges of living
+Byzantinism. Greek is still spoken in some places, such as Roccaforte
+and Roghudi. Earlier travellers confused the natives with the
+Albanians; Niehbuhr, who had an obsession on the subject of Hellenism,
+imagined they were relics of old Dorian and Achaean colonies. Scholars
+are apparently not yet quite decided upon certain smaller matters. So
+Lenormant (Vol. II, p. 433) thinks they came hither after the Turkish
+conquest, as did the Albanians; Batiffol argues that they were chased
+into Calabria from Sicily by the Arabs after the second half of the
+seventh century; Morosi, who treats mostly of their Apulian
+settlements, says that they came from the East between the sixth and
+tenth centuries. Many students, such as Morelli and Comparetti, have
+garnered their songs, language, customs and lore, and whoever wants a
+convenient résumé of these earlier researches will find it in
+Pellegrini’s book which was written in 1873 (printed 1880). He gives
+the number of Greek inhabitants of these places—Roghudi, for example,
+had 535 in his day; he has also noted down these villages, like Africo
+and Casalnuovo, in which the Byzantine speech has lately been lost.
+Bova and Condofuri are now the head-quarters of mediæval Greek in these
+parts.
+
+From afar we had already descried a green range of hills that shut out
+the seaward view. This we now began to climb, in wearisome ascension;
+it is called _Piè d’Impisa,_ because “your feet are all the time on a
+steep incline.” Telegraph wires here accompany the track, a survival of
+the war between the Italian Government and Musolino. On the summit lies
+a lonely Alp, Campo di Bova, where a herd of cattle were pasturing
+under the care of a golden-haired youth who lay supine on the grass,
+gazing at the clouds as they drifted in stately procession across the
+firmament. Save for a dusky charcoal-burner crouching in a cave, this
+boy was the only living person we encountered on our march—so deserted
+are these mountain tracks.
+
+At Campo di Bova a path branches off to Staiti; the sea is visible once
+more, and there are fine glimpses, on the left, towards Staiti (or is
+it Ferruzzano?) and, down the right, into the destructive and dangerous
+torrent of Amendolea. Far beyond it, rises the mountain peak of
+Pentedattilo, a most singular landmark which looks exactly like a molar
+tooth turned upside down, with fangs in air. The road passes through a
+gateway in the rock whence, suddenly, a full view is disclosed of Bova
+on its hill-top, the houses nestling among huge blocks of stone that
+make one think of some cyclopean citadel of past ages. My guide stoutly
+denied that this
+was Bova; the town, he declared, lay in quite another direction. I
+imagine he had never been beyond the foot of the “Piè d’Impisa.”
+
+Here, once more, the late earthquake has done some damage, and there is
+a row of trim wooden shelters near the entrance of the town. I may add,
+as a picturesque detail, that about one-third of them have never been
+inhabited, and are never likely to be. They were erected in the heat of
+enthusiasm, and there they will stay, empty and abandoned, until some
+energetic mayor shall pull them down and cook his maccheroni with their
+timber.
+
+Evening was drawing on apace, and whether it was due to the joy of
+having accomplished an arduous journey, or to inconsiderate potations
+of the Bacchus of Bova, one of the most remarkable wines in Italy, I
+very soon found myself on excellent terms with the chief citizens of
+this rather sordid-looking little place. A good deal has been written
+concerning Bova and its inhabitants, but I should say there is still a
+mine of information to be exploited on the spot. They are bilingual,
+but while clinging stubbornly to their old speech, they have now
+embraced Catholicism. The town kept its Greek religious rites till the
+latter half of the sixteenth century; and Rodotà has described the
+“vigorous resistance” that was made to the introduction of Romanism,
+and the ceremonies which finally accompanied that event.
+
+Mine hostess obligingly sang me two or three songs in her native
+language; the priest furnished me with curious statistics of folklore
+and criminology; and the notary, with whom I conversed awhile on the
+tiny piazza that overlooks the coastlands and distant Ionian, was a
+most affable gentleman. Seeing that the Christian names of the populace
+are purely Italian, I enquired as to their surnames, and learned what I
+expected, namely, that a good many Greek family names survive among the
+people. His own name, he said, was unquestionably Greek: _Condemi;_ if
+I liked, he would go through the local archives and prepare me a list
+of all such surnames as appeared to him to be non-Italian; we could
+thus obtain some idea of the percentage of Greek families still living
+here. My best thanks to the good Signor!
+
+After some further liquid refreshment, a youthful native volunteered to
+guide me by short cuts to the remote railway station. We stepped
+blithely into the twilight, and during the long descent I discoursed
+with him, in fluent Byzantine Greek, of the affairs of his village.
+
+It is my theory that among a populace of this kind the words relative
+to agricultural pursuits will be those which are least likely to suffer
+change with lapse of years, or to be replaced by others.
+Acting on this principle, I put him through a catechism on the subject
+as soon as we reached our destination, and was surprised at the
+relative scarcity of Italian terms—barely 25 per cent I should say.
+Needless to add, I omitted to note them down. Such as it is, be that my
+contribution to the literature of these sporadic islets of mediæval
+Hellenism, whose outstanding features are being gnawed away by the
+waves of military conscription, governmental schooling, and emigration.
+
+Caulonia, my next halting-place, lay far off the line. I had therefore
+the choice of spending the night at Gerace (old Locri) or Rocella
+Ionica—intermediate stations. Both of them, to my knowledge, possessing
+indifferent accommodation, I chose the former as being the nearest, and
+slept there, not amiss; far better than on a previous occasion, when
+certain things occurred which need not be set down here.
+
+The trip from Delianuova over the summit of Montalto to Bova railway
+station is by no means to be recommended to young boys or persons in
+delicate health. Allowing for only forty-five minutes’ rest, it took me
+fourteen hours to walk to the town of Bova, and the railway station
+lies nearly three hours apart from that place. There is hardly a level
+yard of ground along the whole route, and though my “guide” twice took
+the wrong track and thereby probably lost me some little time, I
+question whether the best walker, provided (as I was) with the best
+maps, will be able to traverse the distance in less than fifteen hours.
+
+Whoever he is, I wish him joy of his journey. Pleasant to recall,
+assuredly; the scenery and the mountain flowers are wondrously
+beautiful; but I have fully realized what the men of Delianuova meant,
+when they said:
+
+“To Montalto, Yes; to Bova, No.”
+
+
+
+
+XXXIII
+MUSOLINO AND THE LAW
+
+
+Musolino will remain a hero for many long years to come. “He did his
+duty”: such is the popular verdict on his career. He was not a brigand,
+but an unfortunate—a martyr, a victim of the law. So he is described
+not only by his country-people, but by the writers of many hundred
+serious pamphlets in every province of Italy.
+
+At any bookstall you may buy cheap illustrated tracts and poems setting
+forth his achievements. In Cosenza I saw a play of which he was the
+leading figure, depicted as a pale, long-suffering gentleman of the
+“misunderstood” type—friend of the fatherless, champion of widows and
+orphans, rectifier of all wrongs; in fact, as the embodiment of those
+virtues which we are apt to associate with Prometheus or the founder of
+Christianity.
+
+Only to those who know nothing of local conditions will it seem strange
+to say that Italian law is one of the factors that contribute to the
+disintegration of family life throughout the country, and to the
+production of creatures like Musolino. There are few villages which do
+not contain some notorious assassins who have escaped punishment under
+sentimental pleas, and now terrorize the neighbourhood. This is one of
+the evils which derange patriarchalism; the decent-minded living in
+fear of their lives, the others with a conspicuous example before their
+eyes of the advantages of evil-doing. And another is that the innocent
+often suffer, country-bred lads being locked up for months and years in
+prison on the flimsiest pretexts—often on the mere word of some
+malevolent local policeman—among hardened habitual offenders. If they
+survive the treatment, which is not always the case, they return home
+completely demoralized and a source of infection to others.
+
+It is hardly surprising if, under such conditions, rich and poor alike
+are ready to hide a picturesque fugitive from justice. A sad state of
+affairs, but—as an unsavoury Italian proverb correctly says—_il pesce
+puzza dal capo._
+
+For the fault lies not only in the fundamental perversity of all Roman
+Law. It lies also in the local administration of that law,
+which is inefficient and marked by that elaborate brutality
+characteristic of all “philosophic” and tender-hearted nations. One
+thinks of the Byzantines. . . . That justices should be well-salaried
+gentlemen, cognizant of their duties to society; that carbineers and
+other police-functionaries should be civilly responsible for outrages
+upon the public; that a so-called “habeas-corpus” Act might be as
+useful here as among certain savages of the north; that the Baghdad
+system of delays leads to corruption of underpaid officials and
+witnesses alike (not to speak of judges)—in a word, that the method
+pursued hereabouts is calculated to create rather than to repress
+crime: these are truths of too elementary a nature to find their way
+into the brains of the megalomaniac rhetoricians who control their
+country’s fate. They will never endorse that saying of Stendhal’s: “In
+Italy, with the exception of Milan, the death-penalty is the preface of
+all civilization.” (To this day, the proportion of murders is still 13
+per cent higher in Palermo than in Milan.)
+
+Speak to the wisest judges of the horrors of cellular confinement such
+as Musolino was enduring up to a short time ago, as opposed to capital
+punishment, and you will learn that they invoke the humanitarian
+Beccaria in justification of it. Theorists!
+
+For less formidable criminals there exists that wondrous institution of
+_domicilio coatto,_ which I have studied in the islands of Lipari and
+Ponza. These evil-doers seldom try to escape; life is far too
+comfortable, and the wine good and cheap; often, on completing their
+sentences, they get themselves condemned anew, in order to return. The
+hard-working man may well envy their lot, for they receive free lodging
+from the Government, a daily allowance of money, and two new suits of
+clothes a year—they are not asked to do a stroke of work in return, but
+may lie in bed all day long, if so disposed. The law-abiding citizen,
+meanwhile, pays for the upkeep of this horde of malefactors, as well as
+for the army of officials who are deputed to attend to their wants.
+This institution of _domicilio coatto_ is one of those things which
+would be incredible, were it not actually in existence. It is a school,
+a State-fostered school, for the promotion of criminality.
+
+But what shall be expected? Where judges sob like children, and jurors
+swoon away with emotionalism; where floods of bombast—go to the courts,
+and listen!—take the place of cross-examination and duly-sworn
+affidavits; where perjury is a humanly venial and almost praiseworthy
+failing—how shall the code, defective as it is, be administered?
+Rhetoric, and rhetoric alone, sways the decision of the courts.
+Scholars are only now beginning
+to realize to what an extent the ancient sense of veracity was tainted
+with this vice—how deeply all classical history is permeated with
+elegant partisan non-truth. And this evil legacy from Greco-Roman days
+has been augmented by the more recent teachings of Jesuitry and the
+Catholic theory of “peccato veniale.” Rhetoric alone counts; rhetoric
+alone is “art.” The rest is mere facts; and your “penalista” has a
+constitutional horror of a bald fact, because _there it is,_ and there
+is nothing to be done with it. It is too crude a thing for cultured men
+to handle. If a local barrister were forced to state in court a plain
+fact, without varnish, he would die of cerebral congestion; the judge,
+of boredom.
+
+In early times, these provinces had a rough-and-ready cowboy justice
+which answered simple needs, and when, in Bourbon days, things became
+more centralized, there was still a never-failing expedient: each judge
+having a fixed and publicly acknowledged tariff, the village elders, in
+deserving cases, subscribed the requisite sum and released their
+prisoner. But Italy is now paying the penalty of ambition. With one
+foot in the ferocity of her past, and the other on a quicksand of
+dream-nurtured idealism, she contrives to combine the disadvantages of
+both. She, who was the light o’ love of all Europe for long ages, and
+in her poverty denied nothing to her clientèle, has now laid aside a
+little money, repenting of her frivolous and mercenary deeds (they
+sometimes do), and becoming puritanically zealous of good works in her
+old age—all this, however, as might have been expected from her
+antecedent career, without much discrimination.
+
+It is certainly remarkable that a race of men who have been such ardent
+opponents of many forms of tyranny in the past, should still endure a
+system of criminal procedure worthy of Torquemada. High and low cry out
+against it, but—_pazienza!_ Where shall grievances be ventilated? In
+Parliament? A good joke, that! In the press? Better still! Italian
+newspapers nowise reflect the opinions of civilized Italy; they are
+mere cheese-wrappers; in the whole kingdom there are only three
+self-respecting dailies. The people have learnt to despair of their
+rulers—to regard them with cynical suspicion. Public opinion has been
+crushed out of the country. What goes by that name is the gossip of the
+town-concierge, or obscure village cabals and schemings.
+
+I am quite aware that the law-abiding spirit is the slow growth of
+ages, and that a serious mischief like this cannot be repaired in a
+short generation. I know that even now the Italian code of criminal
+procedure, that tragic farce, is under revision. I know, moreover, that
+there are stipendiary magistrates in south Italy
+whose discernment and integrity would do honour to our British courts.
+But—take the case out of their hands into a higher tribunal, and you
+may put your trust in God, or in your purse. Justice hereabouts is in
+the same condition as it was in Egypt at the time of Lord Dufferin’s
+report: a mockery.
+
+It may be said that it does not concern aliens to make such criticism.
+A fatuous observation! Everything concerns everybody. The foreigner in
+Italy, if he is wise, will familiarize himself not only with the
+cathedrals to be visited, but also, and primarily, with the technique
+of legal bribery and subterfuge—with the methods locally employed for
+escaping out of the meshes of the law. Otherwise he may find unpleasant
+surprises in store for him. Had Mr. Mercer made it his business to
+acquire some rudiments of this useful knowledge, he would never have
+undergone that outrageous official ill-treatment which has become a
+byword in the annals of international amenities. And if these
+strictures be considered too severe, let us see what Italians
+themselves have to say. In 1900 was published a book called “La
+Quistione Meridionale” (What’s Wrong with the South), that throws a
+flood of light upon local conditions. It contains the views of
+twenty-seven of the most prominent men in the country as to how south
+Italian problems should be faced and solved. Nearly all of them deplore
+the lack of justice. Says Professor Colajanni: “To heal the south, we
+require an honest, intelligent and sagacious government, _which we have
+not got.”_ And Lombroso: “In the south it is necessary to introduce
+justice, _which does not exist, save in favour of certain classes.”_
+
+I am tempted to linger on this subject, not without reason. These
+people and their attitude towards life will remain an enigma to the
+traveller, until he has acquainted himself with the law of the land and
+seen with his own eyes something of the atrocious misery which its
+administration involves. A murderer like Musolino, crowned with an
+aureole of saintliness, would be an anomaly in England. We should think
+it rather paradoxical to hear a respectable old farmer recommending his
+boys to shoot a policeman, whenever they safely can. On the spot,
+things begin to wear a different aspect. Musolino is no more to be
+blamed than a child who has been systematically misguided by his
+parents; and if these people, much as they love their homes and
+families, are all potential Musolinos, they have good reasons for
+it—excellent reasons.
+
+No south Italian living at this present moment, be he of what social
+class you please—be he of the gentlest blood or most refined culture—is
+_a priori_ on the side of the policeman. No; not _a priori._ The abuses
+of the executive are too terrific to warrant such an
+attitude. Has not the entire police force of Naples, up to its very
+head, been lately proved to be in the pay of the camorra; to say
+nothing of its connection with what Messrs. King and Okey
+euphemistically call “the unseen hand at Rome”—a hand which is held out
+for blackmail, and not vainly, from the highest ministerial benches?
+Under such conditions, the populace becomes profoundly distrustful of
+the powers that be, and such distrust breeds bad citizens. But so
+things will remain, until the bag-and-baggage policy is applied to the
+whole code of criminal procedure, and to a good half of its present
+administrators.
+
+The best of law-systems, no doubt, is but a compromise. Science being
+one thing, and public order another, the most enlightened of
+legislators may well tremble to engraft the fruits of modern
+psychological research upon the tree of law, lest the scion prove too
+vigorous for the aged vegetable. But some compromises are better than
+others; and the Italian code, which reads like a fairy tale and works
+like a Fury, is as bad a one as human ingenuity can devise. If a
+prisoner escape punishment, it is due not so much to his innocence as
+to some access of sanity or benevolence on the part of the judge, who
+courageously twists the law in his favour. Fortunately, such humane
+exponents of the code are common enough; were it otherwise, the
+prisons, extensive as they are, would have to be considerably enlarged.
+But that ideal judge who shall be paid as befits his grave calling, who
+shall combine the honesty and common sense of the north with the
+analytical acumen of the south, has yet to be evolved. What interests
+the student of history is that things hereabouts have not changed by a
+hair since the days of Demosthenes and those preposterous old Hellenic
+tribunals. Not by a single hair! On the one hand, we have a deluge of
+subtle disquisitions on “jurisprudence,” “personal responsibility” and
+so forth; on the other, the sinister tomfoolery known as _law—_that is,
+babble, corruption, palæolithic ideas of what constitutes evidence, and
+a court-procedure that reminds one of Gilbert and Sullivan at their
+best.
+
+There was a report in the papers not long ago of the trial of an old
+married couple, on the charge of murdering a young girl. The bench
+dismissed the case, remarking that there was not a particle of evidence
+against them; they had plainly been exemplary citizens all their long
+lives. They had spent five years in prison awaiting trial. Five years,
+and innocent! It stands to reason that such abuses disorganize the
+family, especially in Italy, where the “family” means much more than it
+does in England; the land lies barren, and savings are wasted in paying
+lawyers and bribing greedy court
+officials. What are this worthy couple to think of _Avanti, Savoia!_
+once they have issued from their dungeon?
+
+I read, in yesterday’s Parliamentary Proceedings, of an honourable
+member (Aprile) rising to ask the Minister of Justice (Gallini) whether
+the time has not come to proceed with the trial of “Signori Camerano
+and their co-accused,” who have been in prison for six years, charged
+with voluntary homicide. Whereto His Excellency sagely replies that “la
+magistratura ha avuto i suoi motivi”—the magistrates have had their
+reasons. Six years in confinement, and perhaps innocent! Can one
+wonder, under such circumstances, at the anarchist schools of Prato and
+elsewhere? Can one wonder if even a vindictive and corrupt rag like the
+socialistic “Avanti” occasionally prints frantic protests of
+quasi-righteous indignation? And not a hundredth part of such accused
+persons can cause a Minister of the Crown to be interpellated on their
+behalf. The others suffer silently and often die, forgotten, in their
+cells.
+
+And yet—how seriously we take this nation! Almost as seriously as we
+take ourselves. The reason is that most of us come to Italy too
+undiscerning, too reverent; in the pre-critical and pre-humorous
+stages. We arrive here, stuffed with Renaissance ideals or classical
+lore, and viewing the present through coloured spectacles. We arrive
+here, above all things, too young; for youth loves to lean on tradition
+and to draw inspiration from what has gone before; youth finds nothing
+more difficult than to follow Goethe’s advice about grasping that
+living life which shifts and fluctuates about us. Few writers are
+sufficiently detached to laugh at these people as they, together with
+ourselves, so often and so richly deserve. I spoke of the buffoonery of
+Italian law; I might have called it a burlesque. The trial of the
+ex-minister Nasi: here was a _cause célèbre_ conducted by the highest
+tribunal of the land; and if it was not a burlesque—why, we must coin a
+new word for what is.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIV
+MALARIA
+
+
+A black snake of alarming dimensions, one of the monsters that still
+infest the Calabrian lowlands, glided across the roadway while I was
+waiting for the post carriage to drive me to Caulonia from its
+railway-station. Auspicious omen! It carried my thoughts from old
+Æsculapius to his modern representatives—to that school of wise and
+disinterested healers who are ridding these regions of their curse, and
+with whom I was soon to have some nearer acquaintance.
+
+We started at last, in the hot hours of the morning, and the road at
+first skirts the banks of the Alaro, the Sagra of old, on whose banks
+was fought the fabled battle between the men of Croton and Locri. Then
+it begins to climb upwards. My companion was a poor peasant woman,
+nearly blind (from malaria, possibly). Full of my impressions of
+yesterday, I promptly led the conversation towards the subject of
+Musolino. She had never spoken to him, she said, or even seen him. But
+she got ten francs from him, all the same. In dire distress, some years
+ago, she had asked a friend in the mountains to approach the brigand on
+her behalf. The money was long in coming, she added, but of course it
+came in the end. He always helped poor people, even those outside his
+own country.
+
+The site of the original Caulonia is quite uncertain. Excavations now
+going on at Monasterace, some ten miles further on, may decide that the
+town lay there. Some are in favour of the miserable village of Focà,
+near at hand; or of other sites. The name of Focà seems to point,
+rather, to a settlement of the regenerator Nicephorus Phocas. Be that
+as it may, the present town of Caulonia used to be called Castelvetere,
+and it appropriated the Greek name in accordance with a custom which
+has been largely followed hereabouts.[1] It contains some ten thousand
+inhabitants, amiable, intelligent and distinguished by a _philoxenia_
+befitting the traditions
+of men who sheltered Pythagoras in his hour of need. As at Rossano,
+Catanzaro and many other Calabrian towns, there used to be a ghetto of
+Jews here; the district is still called “La Giudeca”; their synagogue
+was duly changed into a church of the Madonna.
+
+ [1] It is represented with two towers in Peutinger’s Tables. But
+ these, says an editor, should have been given to the neighbouring
+ Scilatio, for Caulon was in ruins at the time of Pliny, and is not
+ even mentioned by Ptolemy. Servius makes another mistake; he confuses
+ the Calabrian Caulon with a locality of the same name near Capua.
+
+So much I learn from Montorio, who further informs me that the
+ubiquitous Saint Peter preached here on his way to Rome, and converted
+the people to Christianity; and that the town can boast of three
+authentic portraits of the Mother of God painted by Saint Luke (“Lukas
+me pinxit”). One is rather bewildered by the number of these
+masterpieces in Italy, until one realizes, as an old ecclesiastical
+writer has pointed out, that “the Saint, being excellent in his art,
+could make several of them in a few days, to correspond to the great
+devotion of those early Christians, fervent in their love to the Great
+Mother of God. Whence we may believe that to satisfy their ardent
+desires he was continually applying himself to this task of so much
+glory to Mary and her blessed Son.” But the sacristan of the church at
+Caulonia, to whom I applied for information regarding these local
+treasures, knew nothing about them, and his comments gave me the
+impression that he has relapsed into a somewhat pagan way of regarding
+such matters.
+
+You may obtain a fairly good view of Caulonia from the southeast; or
+again, from the neighbouring hillock of San Vito. The town lies some
+300 metres above sea-level on a platform commanding the valleys of the
+Amusa and Alaro. This position, which was clearly chosen for its
+strategic value, unfortunately does not allow it to expand, and so the
+inhabitants are deprived of that public garden which they amply
+deserve. At the highest point lies a celebrated old castle wherein,
+according to tradition, Campanella was imprisoned for a while. In the
+days of Pacicchelli, it was a fine place—“magnifico nelle regole di
+Fortezza, con cinque baloardi provveduti di cannoni di bronzo, ed una
+riccha Armeria, degna habitazione di don Carlo Maria Carrafa, Prencipe
+della Roccella, che se ne intitola Marchese.” Mingled with the stones
+of its old walls they have recently found skeletons—victims, possibly,
+of the same macabre superstition to which the blood-drenched masonry of
+the Tower of London bears witness. Here, too, have been unearthed
+terra-cotta lamps and other antiquities. What are we to surmise from
+this? That it was a Roman foundation? Or that the malaria in older
+times forced Caulonia to wander towards healthier inland heights after
+the example of Sybaris-Terranova, and that the Romans continued to
+occupy this same site? Or, assuming Castelvetere to date only from
+mediæval times, that these ancient relics found their way into it
+accidentally? The low-lying
+district of Foca, at this day, is certainly very malarious, whereas the
+death-rate up here is only about 12 per 1000.
+
+Dr. Francesco Genovese of Caulonia, to whom I am indebted for much
+kindness and who is himself a distinguished worker in the humanitarian
+mission of combating malaria, has published, among other interesting
+pamphlets, one which deals with this village of Focà, a small place of
+about 200 inhabitants, surrounded by fertile orange and vine
+plantations near the mouth of the Alaro. His researches into its vital
+statistics for the half-century ending 1902 reveal an appalling state
+of affairs. Briefly summarized, they amount to this, that during this
+period there were 391 births and 516 deaths. In other words, the
+village, which in 1902 ought to have contained between 600 and 800
+inhabitants, not only failed to progress, but devoured its original
+population of 200; and not only them, but also 125 fresh immigrants who
+had entered the region from the healthy uplands, lured by the hope of
+gaining a little money during the vintage season.
+
+A veritable Moloch!
+
+Had the old city of Caulonia, numbering perhaps 20,000 inhabitants,
+stood here under such conditions of hygiene, it would have been
+expunged off the face of the earth in fifty years.
+
+Yet—speaking of malaria in general—a good deal of evidence has been
+brought together to show that the disease has been endemic in Magna
+Græcia for two thousand years, and the customs of the Sybarites seem to
+prove that they had some acquaintance with marsh fever, and tried to
+guard against it. “Whoever would live long,” so ran their proverb,
+“must see neither the rising nor the setting sun.” A queer piece of
+advice, intelligible only if the land was infested with malaria. Many
+of their luxurious habits assume another import, on this hypothesis.
+Like the inhabitants of the malarious Etruscan region, they were adepts
+at draining, and their river is described, in one of the minor works
+attributed to Galen, as “rendering men infertile”—a characteristic
+result of malaria. What is still more significant is that their new
+town Thurii, built on the heights, was soon infected, and though twice
+repeopled, decayed away. And that they had chosen the heights for their
+relative healthfulness we can infer from Strabo, who says that Paestum,
+a colony from Sybaris, was removed further inland from the shore, on
+account of the pestilential climate of the lowlands.
+
+But the Ionian shores cannot have been as deadly as they now are. We
+calculate, for example, that the town walls of Croton measured eighteen
+kilometres in circumference, a figure which the modern visitor to
+Cotrone only brings himself to believe when he
+remembers what can be actually proved of other Hellenic colonies, such
+as Syracuse. Well, the populace of so large a city requires a
+surrounding district to supply it with agricultural produce. The
+Marchesato, the vast tract bordering on Cotrone, is now practically
+uninhabitable; the population (including the town) has sunk to 45 to
+the square kilometre. That is malaria.
+
+Or rather, only one side of the evil. For these coastlands attract
+rural labourers who descend from the mountains during the season of
+hay-making or fruit-harvest, and then return infected to their homes.
+One single malarious patient may inoculate an entire village, hitherto
+immune, granted the anophelines are there to propagate the mischief. By
+means of these annual migrations the scourge has spread, in the past.
+And so it spreads to-day, whenever possible. Of forty labourers that
+left Caulonia for Cotrone in 1908 all returned infected save two, who
+had made liberal use of quinine as a prophylactic. Fortunately, there
+are no anophelines at Caulonia.
+
+Greatly, indeed, must this country have changed since olden days; and
+gleaning here and there among the ancients, Dr. Genovese has garnered
+some interesting facts on this head. The coast-line, now unbroken sand,
+is called _rocky,_ in several regions, by Strabo, Virgil and Persius
+Flaccus; of the two harbours, of Locri, of that of Metapontum, Caulonia
+and other cities, nothing remains; the promontory of Cocynthum
+(Stilo)—described as the longest promontory in Italy—together with
+other capes, has been washed away by the waves or submerged under silt
+carried down from the hills; islands, like that of Calypso which is
+described in Vincenzo Pascale’s book (1796), and mentioned by G.
+Castaldi (1842), have clean vanished from the map.
+
+The woodlands have retired far inland; yet here at Caulonia, says
+Thucydides, was prepared the timber for the fleets of Athens. The
+rivers, irregular and spasmodic torrents, must have flowed with more
+equal and deeper current, since Pliny mentions five of them as
+navigable; snow, very likely, covered the mountain tops; the rainfall
+was clearly more abundant—one of the sights of Locri was its daily
+rainbow; the cicadas of the territory of Reggio are said to have been
+“dumb,” on account of the dampness of the climate. They are anything
+but dumb nowadays.
+
+Earth-movements, too, have tilted the coast-line up and down, and there
+is evidence to show that while the Tyrrhenian shore has been raised by
+these oscillations, the Ionian has sunk. Not long ago four columns were
+found in the sea at Cotrone two hundred yards from the beach; old
+sailors remember another group of columns
+visible at low tide near Caulonia. It is quite possible that the Ionian
+used to be as rocky as the other shore, and this gradual sinking of the
+coast must have retarded the rapid outflow of the rivers, as it has
+done in the plain of Paestum and in the Pontine marshes, favouring
+malarious conditions. Earthquakes have helped in the work; that of 1908
+lowered certain parts of the Calabrian shore opposite Messina by about
+one metre. Indeed, though earthquakes have been known to raise the soil
+and thereby improve it, the Calabrian ones have generally had a
+contrary effect. The terrific upheavals of 1783-1787 produced two
+hundred and fifteen lakes in the country; they were drained away in a
+style most creditable to the Bourbons, but there followed an epidemic
+of malaria which carried off 18,800 people!
+
+These Calabrian conditions are only part of a general change of climate
+which seems to have taken place all over Italy; a change to which
+Columella refers when, quoting Saserna, he says that formerly the vine
+and olive could not prosper “by reason of the severe winter” in certain
+places where they have since become abundant, “thanks to a milder
+temperature.” We never hear of the frozen Tiber nowadays, and many
+remarks of the ancients as to the moist and cold climate seem strange
+to us. Pliny praises the chestnuts of Tarentum; I question whether the
+tree could survive the hot climate of to-day. Nobody could induce
+“splendid beeches” to grow in the _lowlands_ of Latium, yet
+Theophrastus, a botanist, says that they were drawn from this region
+for shipbuilding purposes. This gradual desiccation has probably gone
+on for long ages; so Signor Cavara has discovered old trunks of white
+fir in districts of the Apennines where such a plant could not possibly
+grow to-day.
+
+A change to a dry and warm atmosphere is naturally propitious to
+malaria, granted sufficient water remains to propagate the mosquito.
+And the mosquito contents itself with very little—the merest teacupful.
+
+Returning to old Calabria, we find the woods of Locri praised by
+Proclus—woods that must have been of coniferous timber, since Virgil
+lauds their resinous pitch. Now the Aleppo pine produces pitch, and
+would still flourish there, as it does in the lowlands between Taranto
+and Metaponto; the classical Sila pitch-trees, however, could not grow
+at this level any more. Corroborative evidence can be drawn from
+Theocritus, who mentions heath and arbutus as thriving in the marine
+thickets near Cotrone—mountain shrubs, nowadays, that have taken refuge
+in cooler uplands,
+together with the wood-pigeon which haunted the same jungles. It is
+true that he hints at marshes near Cotrone, and, indeed, large tracts
+of south Italy are described as marshy by the ancients; they may well
+have harboured the anopheles mosquito from time immemorial, but it does
+not follow that they were malarious.
+
+Much of the healthy physical conditions may have remained into the
+Middle Ages or even later; it is strange to read, for example, in
+Edrisius, of the pitch and tar that were exported to all parts from the
+Bradano river, or of the torrential Sinno that “ships enter this
+river—it offers excellent anchorage”; odd, too, to hear of coral
+fisheries as late as the seventeenth century at Rocella Ionica, where
+the waves now slumber on an even and sandy beach.
+
+But malaria had made insidious strides, meanwhile. Dr. Genovese thinks
+that by the year 1691 the entire coast was malarious and abandoned like
+now, though only within the last two centuries has man actively
+co-operated in its dissemination. So long as the woodlands on the
+plains are cut down or grazed by goats, relatively little damage is
+done; but it spells ruin to denude, in a country like this, the steep
+slopes of their timber. Whoever wishes to know what mischief the goats,
+those picturesque but pernicious quadrupeds, can do to a mountainous
+country, should study the history of St. Helena.[2] Man, with his
+charcoal-burning, has completed the disaster. What happens? The friable
+rock, no longer sustained by plant-life, crashes down with each
+thunderstorm, blocks up the valleys, devastating large tracts of
+fertile land; it creates swamps in the lowlands, and impedes the
+outflow of water to the sea. These ravenous _fiumare_ have become a
+feature in Calabrian scenery; underneath one of the most terrible of
+them lies the birthplace of Praxiteles. Dry or half-dry during the warm
+months, and of formidable breadth, such torrent-beds—the stagnant water
+at their skirts—are ideal breeding-places for the anophelines from
+their mouth up to a height of 250 metres. So it comes about that,
+within recent times, rivers have grown to be the main arteries of
+malaria. And there are rivers galore in Calabria. The patriotic Barrius
+enumerates 110 of them—Father Fiore, less learned, or more prudent, not
+quite so many. Deforestation and malaria have gone hand in hand here,
+as in Greece, Asia Minor, North Africa, and other countries.
+
+ [2] By J. C. Melliss (London, 1875). Thanks to the goats, Maltese
+ fever has lately been introduced into Calabria.
+
+Thus year after year, from one cause or another, the conditions have
+become more favourable for the disease to do its fatal work.
+
+[Illustration: Effects of deforestation (Aspromonte)]
+
+That much of this harm has been done quite lately can often be
+proved. At Caulonia, for instance, the woodlands are known to have
+reached the shore a hundred years ago, and there are bare tracts of
+land still bearing the name of “foresta.” In a single summer (1807) a
+French regiment stationed at Cosenza lost 800 men from fever, and when
+Rath visited the town in 1871 it was described to him as a “vast
+hospital” during the hot months; nevertheless, says he, the disease has
+only been so destructive during the last two centuries, for up to that
+time the forests touched the outskirts of the town and regulated the
+Crati-bed, preventing the formation of marshes. The literary record of
+Cosenza is one of exceptional brilliance; for acute and original
+thought this town can hardly be surpassed by any other of its size on
+earth. Were statistics available, I have not the slightest doubt that
+fever could be shown to be largely responsible for the withering of its
+spiritual life.
+
+The same fate—the same relapse from prosperity to decay—and for the
+same reasons, has overtaken many other riverside villages, among them
+that of Tarsia, the Caprasia of the Antonine Itinerary. “It was
+described to us,” says Rath, “as the most miserable and dirty village
+in Calabria; but we found it worse.” It remains, to-day, a highly
+infected and altogether pitiable place, concerning which I have made
+certain modest researches that would require, none the less, a chapter
+to themselves. . . .
+
+Perhaps I have already said over-much on the subject. An Englishman
+unacquainted with malaria might think so, oblivious of the fact that
+Sir Ronald Ross has called it “perhaps the most important of human
+diseases.” But let him go to a malarious country and see with his own
+eyes something of the degradation it involves; how it stamps its
+accursed imprimatur upon man and nature alike! It is the blight of
+youth—the desert-maker. A well-known Italian senator has declared that
+the story of south Italy is, was, and will be the story of malaria; and
+the greater part of Calabria will certainly remain an enigma to the
+traveller who ignores what is meant by this plague.
+
+Malaria is the key to a correct understanding of the landscape; it
+explains the inhabitants, their mode of life, their habits, their
+history.
+
+
+
+
+XXXV
+CAULONIA TO SERRA
+
+
+“How do you treat your malaria patients?” I once enquired of a doctor
+in India.
+
+A few good stiff doses, he said, when the attack is on; that generally
+settles them. If not, they can begin again. To take quinine as a
+prophylactic, he considered folly. It might grow into a habit; you
+never know. . . .
+
+It is to be hoped that such types are extinct, out there. They are
+extinct hereabouts. None but an ignorant person would now traverse
+malarious tracts in summer without previous quininization; or, if
+infected, deal with the disease otherwise than by an amply protracted
+treatment of cure. Yet it is only quite lately that we have gained our
+knowledge of a proper use of the drug; and this accounts for the great
+mortality long after its specific effects had been recognized by the
+profession. It was given both inefficiently and insufficiently. It was
+sold at a prohibitive price. The country people were distrustful;
+so-and-so had taken it for three or four days; he had improved, yes;
+but the fever was on him once more. Why waste money on such
+experiments?
+
+I remember accosting a lad, anemic, shivering with the tertian, and
+marked by that untimely senility which is the sign-manual of malaria. I
+suggested quinine.
+
+“I don’t take doctors’ stuff,” he said. “Even if I wanted to, my father
+would not let me. And if he did, there’s no money to pay for it. And if
+there were, it would do no good. He’s tried it himself.”
+
+“Well, but how are you feeling?”
+
+“Oh, all right. There’s nothing much the matter with me. Just the bad
+air.”
+
+Such types, too, are practically extinct nowadays; the people are being
+educated to recognize their peril and how to avoid it; they begin to
+follow Professor Celli’s advice in the matter of regarding quinine as
+their “daily bread.” For since the discovery of the anophelic origin of
+malaria many devices have been put into execution to combat the
+disease, not the least of them being a
+popularized teaching of its causes and consequences by means of
+pamphlets, lectures to school-children, and so forth.
+
+Now, you may either fight the anopheles—the vehicle, or the disease
+itself. The first entails putting the country into such a state that
+the mosquito finds it unpleasant to live there, a labour of Hercules.
+Yet large sums are being expended in draining marshy tracts, regulating
+river-beds and afforesting bare spaces; and if you are interested in
+such works, you will do well to see what is going on at Metaponto at
+this moment. (A considerable portion of the Government grant for these
+purposes has lately been deflected for use in the Tripolitan war.)
+Exemplary fines are also imposed for illicit timber-cutting and
+grazing,—in those towns, at least, where the magistrate has sufficient
+sense to perceive the ulterior benefits to be derived from what
+certainly entails a good deal of temporary hardship on poor people.
+Certain economic changes are helping in this work; so the wealth
+imported from America helps to break up the big properties, those
+latifundia which, says an Italian authority, “are synonymous with
+malaria.” The ideal condition—the extirpation of anophelines—will never
+be attained; nor is it of vital importance that it should be.
+
+Far more pressing is the protection of man against their attacks.
+Wonderful success has crowned the wire-netting of the windows—an
+outcome of the classical experiments of 1899, in the Roman Campagna.
+
+But chiefest and most urgent of all is the cure of the infected
+population. In this direction, results astonishing—results well-nigh
+incredible—have attended the recently introduced governmental sale of
+quinine. In the year 1895 there were 16,464 deaths from malaria
+throughout Italy. By 1908 the number had sunk to 3463. Eloquent
+figures, that require no comment! And, despite the fact that the drug
+is now sold at a merely nominal rate or freely given away to the
+needy—nay, thrust down the very throats of the afflicted peasantry by
+devoted gentlemen who scour the plains with ambulances during the
+deadly season—despite this, the yearly profits from its sale are
+amounting to about three-quarters of a million francs.
+
+So these forlorn regions are at last beginning to revive.
+
+And returning to Focà, of whose dreadful condition up to 1902 (year of
+the introduction of Government quinine) I have just spoken, we find
+that a revolution has taken place. Between that year and 1908 the
+birth-rate more than doubled the death-rate. In 1908 some two hundred
+poor folks frequented the ambulance, nearly six kilogrammes of quinine
+being gratuitously distributed;
+not one of the natives of the place was attacked by the disease; and
+there was a single death—an old woman of eighty, who succumbed to
+senile decay.[1]
+
+ [1] Doctor Genovese’s statistical investigations have brought an
+ interesting little fact to light. In the debilitating pre-quinine
+ period there was a surplus of female births; now, with increased
+ healthfulness, those of the males preponderate.
+
+This is an example of what the new quinine-policy has done for Italy,
+in briefest space of time. Well may the nation be proud of the men who
+conceived this genial and beneficial measure and carried it through
+Parliament, and of those local doctors without whose enlightened zeal
+such a triumph could not have been achieved. . . .
+
+Sir Ronald Ross’s discovery, by the way, has been fruitful not only in
+practical humanitarian results. For instance, it has reduced North’s
+laborious “Roman Fever” to something little better than a curiosity.
+And here, on these deserted shores that were once resplendent with a
+great civilization—here is the place to peruse Mr. W. M. Jones’s
+studies on this subject. I will not give even the shortest précis of
+his conscientious researches nor attempt to picture their effect upon a
+mind trained in the old school of thought; suffice to say, that the
+author would persuade us that malaria is implicated, to an hitherto
+unsuspected extent, in the decline of ancient Greece and Rome. And he
+succeeds. Yes; a man accustomed to weigh evidence will admit, I think,
+that he has made out a suggestively strong case.
+
+How puzzled we were to explain why the brilliant life of Magna Graecia
+was snuffed out suddenly, like a candle, without any appreciably
+efficient cause—how we listened to our preachers cackling about the
+inevitable consequences of Sybaritic luxury, and to the warnings of
+sage politicians concerning the dangers of mere town-patriotism as
+opposed to worthier systems of confederation! How we drank it all in!
+And how it warmed the cockles of our hearts to think that we were not
+vicious, narrow-minded heathens, such as these!
+
+And now a vulgar gnat is declared to be at the bottom of the whole
+mystery.
+
+Crudely disconcerting, these scientific discoveries. Or is it not
+rather hard to be dragged to earth in this callous fashion, while
+soaring heavenward on the wings of our edifying reflections? For the
+rest—the old, old story; a simple, physical explanation of what used to
+be an enigma brimful of moral significance.
+
+That Mr. Jones’s facts and arguments will be found applicable to
+other decayed races in the old and new worlds is highly probable.
+Meanwhile, it takes one’s breath away quite sufficiently to realize
+that they apply to Hellas and her old colonies on these shores.
+
+“‘AUTOS. Strange! My interest waxes. Tell me then, what affliction, God
+or Devil, wiped away the fair life upon the globe, the beasts, the
+birds, the delectable plantations, and all the blithe millions of the
+human race? What calamity fell upon them?’
+
+“‘ESCHATA. A gnat.’
+
+“‘AUTOS. A gnat?’
+
+“‘ESCHATA. Even so.’”
+
+Thus I wrote, while yet unaware that such pests as anophelines existed
+upon earth. . . .
+
+At the same time, I think we must be cautious in following certain
+deductions of our author; that theory of brutality, for example, as
+resulting from malaria. Speaking of Calabria, I would almost undertake
+to prove, from the archives of law-courts, that certain of the most
+malarial tracts are precisely those in which there is least brutality
+of any kind. Cotrone, for instance. . . . The _delegato_ (head of the
+police) of that town is so young—a mere boy—that I marvelled how he
+could possibly have obtained a position which is usually filled by
+seasoned and experienced officers. He was a “son of the white hen,”
+they told me; that is, a socially favoured individual, who was given
+this job for the simple reason that there was hardly any serious work
+for him to do. Cosenza, on the other hand, has a very different
+reputation nowadays. And it is perfectly easy to explain how malaria
+might have contributed to this end. For the disease—and herein lies its
+curse—lowers both the physical and social standard of a people; it
+breeds misery, poverty and ignorance—fit soil for callous rapacity.
+
+But how about his theory of “pessimism” infecting the outlook of
+generations of malaria-weakened sages? I find no trace of pessimism
+here, not even in its mild Buddhistic form. The most salient mental
+trait of cultured Calabrians is a subtle detachment and contempt of
+illusions—whence their time-honoured renown as abstract thinkers and
+speculators. This derives from a philosophic view of life and entails,
+naturally enough, the outward semblance of gravity—a Spanish gravity,
+due not so much to a strong graft of Spanish blood and customs during
+the viceregal period, as to actual affinities with the race of Spain.
+But this gravity has nothing in common with pessimism, antagonistic
+though it be to those outbursts of irresponsible optimism engendered
+under northern skies by copious food, or beer.
+
+To reach the uplands of Fabbrizia and Serra, whither I was now bound, I
+might have utilized the driving road from Gioioso, on the Reggio side
+of Caulonia. But that was everybody’s route. Or I might have gone _via_
+Stilo, on the other side. But Stilo with its memories of Campanella—a
+Spanish type, this!—and of Otho II, its winding track into the
+beech-clad heights of Ferdinandea, was already familiar to me. I
+elected to penetrate straight inland by the shortest way; a capable
+muleteer at once presented himself.
+
+We passed through one single village, Ragona; leaving those of S.
+Nicola and Nardo di Pace on the right. The first of them is celebrated
+for its annual miracle of the burning olive, when, armed to the teeth
+(for some ancient reason), the populace repairs to the walls of a
+certain convent out of which there grows an olive tree: at its foot is
+kindled a fire whose flames are sufficient to scorch all the leaves,
+but behold! next day the foliage is seen to glow more bravely green
+than ever. Perhaps the roots of the tree are near some cistern. These
+mountain villages, hidden under oaks and vines, with waters trickling
+through their lanes, a fine climate and a soil that bears everything
+needful for life, must be ideal habitations for simple folks. In some
+of them, the death-rate is as low as 7: 1000. Malaria is unknown here:
+they seem to fulfil all the conditions of a terrestrial paradise.
+
+There is a note of joyous vigour in this landscape. The mule-track
+winds in and out among the heights, through flowery meadows grazed by
+cattle and full of buzzing insects and butterflies, and along
+hill-sides cunningly irrigated; it climbs up to heathery summits and
+down again through glades of chestnut and ilex with mossy trunks, whose
+shadow fosters strange sensations of chill and gloom. Then out again,
+into the sunshine of waving corn and poppies.
+
+For a short while we stumbled along a torrent-bed, and I grew rather
+sad to think that it might be the last I should see for some time to
+come, my days in this country being now numbered. This one was narrow.
+But there are others, interminable in length and breadth. Interminable!
+No breeze stirs in those deep depressions through which the merest
+thread of milky water trickles disconsolately. The sun blazes overhead
+and hours pass, while you trudge through the fiery inferno;
+scintillations of heat rise from the stones and still you crawl
+onwards, breathless and footsore, till eyes are dazed and senses reel.
+One may well say bad things of these torrid deserts of pebbles which,
+up till lately, were the only highways from the lowlands into the
+mountainous parts. But they are sweet in memory. One calls to mind the
+wild savours that hang in
+the stagnant air; the cloven hill-sides, seamed with gorgeous patches
+of russet and purple and green; the spectral tamarisks, and the glory
+of coral-tinted oleanders rising in solitary tufts of beauty, or
+flaming congregations, out of the pallid waste of boulders.
+
+After exactly six hours Fabbrizia was reached—a large place whose name,
+like that of Borgia, Savelli, Carafa and other villages on these
+southern hills, calls up associations utterly non-Calabrian; Fabbrizia,
+with pretentious new church and fantastically dirty side-streets. It
+lies at the respectable elevation of 900 metres, on the summit of a
+monstrous landslide which has disfigured the country.
+
+While ascending along the flank of this deformity I was able to see how
+the authorities have attempted to cope with the mischief and arrest
+further collapses. This is what they have done. The minute channels of
+water, that might contribute to the disintegration of the soil by
+running into this gaping wound from the sides or above, have been
+artfully diverted from their natural courses; trees and shrubs are
+planted at its outskirts in order to uphold the earth at these spots by
+their roots—they have been protected by barbed wire from the grazing of
+cattle; furthermore, a multitude of wickerwork dykes are thrown across
+the accessible portions of the scar, to collect the downward-rushing
+material and tempt winged plant-seeds to establish themselves on the
+ledges thus formed. To bridle this runaway mountain is no mean task,
+for such _frane_ are like rodent ulcers, ever enlarging at the edges.
+With the heat, with every shower of rain, with every breath of wind,
+the earth crumbles away; there is an eternal trickling, day and night,
+until some huge boulder is exposed which crashes down, loosening
+everything in its wild career; a single tempest may disrupture what the
+patience and ingenuity of years have contrived.
+
+Three more hours or thereabouts will take you to Serra San Bruno along
+the backbone of southern Italy, through cultivated lands and pasture
+and lonely stretches of bracken, once covered by woodlands.
+
+It may well be that the townlet has grown up around, or rather near,
+the far-famed Carthusian monastery. I know nothing of its history save
+that it has the reputation of being one of the most bigoted places in
+Calabria—a fact of which the sagacious General Manhes availed himself
+when he devised his original and effective plan of chastising the
+inhabitants for a piece of atrocious conduct on their part. He caused
+all the local priests to be arrested and imprisoned; the churches were
+closed, and the town placed under
+what might be called an interdict. The natives took it quietly at
+first, but soon the terror of the situation dawned upon them. No
+religious marriages, no baptisms, no funerals—the comforts of heaven
+refused to living and dead alike. . . . The strain grew intolerable
+and, in a panic of remorse, the populace hunted down their own
+brigand-relations and handed them over to Manhes, who duly executed
+them, one and all. Then the interdict was taken off and the priests set
+at liberty; and a certain writer tells us that the people were so
+charmed with the General’s humane and businesslike methods that they
+forthwith christened him “Saint Manhes,” a name which, he avers, has
+clung to him ever since.
+
+The monastery lies about a mile distant; near at hand is a little
+artificial lake and the renowned chapel of Santa Maria. There was a
+time when I would have dilated lovingly upon this structure—a time when
+I probably knew as much about Carthusian convents as is needful for any
+of their inmates; when I studied Tromby’s ponderous work and God knows
+how many more—ay, and spent two precious weeks of my life in
+deciphering certain crabbed MSS. of Tutini in the Brancacciana
+library—ay, and tested the spleenful Perrey’s “Ragioni del Regio Fisco,
+etc.,” as to the alleged land-grabbing propensities of this order—ay,
+and even pilgrimaged to Rome to consult the present general of the
+Carthusians (his predecessor, more likely) as to some administrative
+detail, all-important, which has wholly escaped my memory. Gone are
+those days of studious gropings into blind alleys! The current of zeal
+has slowed down or turned aside, maybe, into other channels. They who
+wish, will find a description of the pristine splendour of this
+monastery in various books by Pacicchelli; the catastrophe of 1783 was
+described by Keppel Craven and reported upon, with illustrations, by
+the Commission of the Naples Academy; and if you are of a romantic turn
+of mind, you will find a good story of the place, as it looked during
+the ruinous days of desolation, in Misasi’s “Calabrian Tales.”
+
+It is now rebuilt on modern lines and not much of the original
+structure remains upright. I wandered about the precincts in the
+company of two white-robed French monks, endeavouring to reconstruct
+not the convent as it was in its younger days, but _them._ That older
+one, especially—he had known the world. . . .
+
+Meat being forbidden, the godly brethren have a contract for fish to be
+brought up every day by the post-carriage from the distant Soverato.
+And what happens, I asked, when none are caught?
+
+“Eh bien, nous mangeons des macaroni!”
+
+[Illustration: Old Soverato]
+
+Such a diet would never suit me. Let me retire to a monkery where
+carnivorous leanings may be indulged. Methinks I could pray more
+cheerfully with the prospect of a rational _déjeuner à la fourchette_
+looming ahead.
+
+At the back of the monastery lies a majestic forest of white
+firs—nothing but firs; a unique region, so far as south and central
+Italy are concerned. I was there in the golden hour after sunset, and
+yet again in the twilight of dew-drenched morning; and it seemed to me
+that in this temple not made by hands there dwelt an enchantment more
+elemental, and more holy, than in the cloistered aisles hard by. This
+assemblage of solemn trees has survived, thanks to rare conditions of
+soil and climate. The land lies high; the ground is perennially moist
+and intersected by a horde of rills that join their waters to form the
+river Ancinale; frequent showers descend from above. Serra San Bruno
+has an uncommonly heavy rainfall. It lies in a vale occupying the site
+of a pleistocene lake, and the forest, now restricted to one side of
+the basin, encircled it entirely in olden days. At its margin they have
+established a manufactory which converts the wood into paper—blissful
+sight for the utilitarian.
+
+Finding little else of interest in Serra, and hungering for the
+flesh-pots of Cotrone, I descended by the postal diligence to Soverato,
+nearly a day’s journey. Old Soverato is in ruins, but the new town
+seems to thrive in spite of being surrounded by deserts of malaria.
+While waiting for supper and the train to Cotrone, I strolled along the
+beach, and soon found myself sitting beside the bleached anatomy of
+some stranded leviathan, and gazing at the mountains of Squillace that
+glowed in the soft lights of sunset. The shore was deserted save for
+myself and a portly dogana-official who was playing with his little
+son—trying to amuse him by elephantine gambols on the sand, regardless
+of his uniform and manly dignity. Notwithstanding his rotundity, he was
+an active and resourceful parent, and enjoyed himself vastly; the boy
+pretending, as polite children sometimes do, to enter into the fun of
+the game.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVI
+MEMORIES OF GISSING
+
+
+Two new hotels have recently sprung up at Cotrone. With laudable
+patriotism, they are called after its great local champions, athletic
+and spiritual, in ancient days—Hotel Milo and Hotel Pythagoras. As
+such, they might be expected to make a strong appeal to the muscles and
+brains of their respective clients. I rather fancy that the chief
+customers of both are commercial travellers who have as little of the
+one as of the other, and to whom these fine names are Greek.
+
+As for myself, I remain faithful to the “Concordia” which has twice
+already sheltered me within its walls.
+
+The shade of George Gissing haunts these chambers and passages. It was
+in 1897 that he lodged here with that worthy trio: Gibbon, Lenormant
+and Cassiodorus. The chapters devoted to Cotrone are the most lively
+and characteristic in his “Ionian Sea.” Strangely does the description
+of his arrival in the town, and his reception in the “Concordia,”
+resemble that in Bourget’s “Sensations.”
+
+The establishment has vastly improved since those days. The food is
+good and varied, the charges moderate; the place is spotlessly clean in
+every part—I could only wish that the hotels in some of our English
+country towns were up to the standard of the “Concordia” in this
+respect. “One cannot live without cleanliness,” as the housemaid,
+assiduously scrubbing, remarked to me. It is also enlarged; the old
+dining-room, whose guests are so humorously described by him, is now my
+favourite bedroom, while those wretched oil-lamps sputtering on the
+wall have been replaced by a lavish use of electricity. One is hardly
+safe, however, in praising these inns over-much; they are so apt to
+change hands. So long as competition with the two others continues, the
+“Concordia” will presumably keep to its present level.
+
+Of freaks in the dining-room, I have so far only observed one whom
+Gissing might have added to his collection. He is a _director_ of some
+kind, and his method of devouring maccheroni I unreservedly admire—it
+displays that lack of all effort which distinguishes true art from
+false. He does not eat them with
+deliberate mastication; he does not even—like your ordinary
+amateur—drink them in separate gulps; but he contrives, by some
+swiftly-adroit process of levitation, that the whole plateful shall
+rise in a noiseless and unbroken flood from the table to his mouth,
+whence it glides down his gullet with the relentless ease of a river
+pouring into a cavern. Altogether, a series of films depicting him at
+work upon a meal would make the fortune of a picture-show company—in
+England. Not here, however; such types are too common to be remarked,
+the reason being that boys are seldom sent to boarding schools where
+stereotyped conventions of “good form” are held up for their imitation,
+but brought up at home by adoring mothers who care little for such
+externals or, if they do, have no great authority to enforce their
+views. On entering the world, these eccentricities in manner are
+proudly clung to, as a sign of manly independence.
+
+Death has made hideous gaps in the short interval. The kindly
+Vice-Consul at Catanzaro is no more; the mayor of Cotrone, whose permit
+enabled Gissing to visit that orchard by the riverside, has likewise
+joined the majority; the housemaid of the “Concordia,” the domestic
+serf with dark and fiercely flashing eyes—dead! And dead is mine
+hostess, “the stout, slatternly, sleepy woman, who seemed surprised at
+my demand for food, but at length complied with it.”
+
+But the little waiter is alive and now married; and Doctor Sculco still
+resides in his aristocratic _palazzo_ up that winding way in the old
+town, with the escutcheon of a scorpion—portentous emblem for a
+doctor—over its entrance. He is a little greyer, no doubt; but the same
+genial and alert personage as in those days.
+
+I called on this gentleman, hoping to obtain from him some
+reminiscences of Gissing, whom he attended during a serious illness.
+
+“Yes,” he replied, to my enquiries, “I remember him quite well; the
+young English poet who was ill here. I prescribed for him. Yes—yes! He
+wore his hair long.”
+
+And that was all I could draw from him. I have noticed more than once
+that Italian physicians have a stern conception of the Hippocratic
+oath: the affairs of their patients, dead or alive, are a sacred trust
+in perpetuity.
+
+The town, furthermore, has undergone manifold improvements in those few
+years. Trees are being planted by the roadsides; electric light is
+everywhere and, best of all, an excellent water-supply has been led
+down from the cool heights of the Sila, bringing cleanliness, health
+and prosperity in its train. And a stately cement-bridge is being built
+over the Esaro, that “all but stagnant
+and wholly pestilential stream.” The Esaro _glides pleasantly,_ says
+the chronicler Nola Molisi. Perhaps it really glided, in his day.
+
+One might do worse than spend a quiet month or two at Cotrone in the
+spring, for the place grows upon one: it is so reposeful and orderly.
+But not in winter. Gissing committed the common error of visiting south
+Italy at that season when, even if the weather will pass, the country
+and its inhabitants are not true to themselves. You must not come to
+these parts in winter time.
+
+Nor yet in the autumn, for the surrounding district is highly
+malarious. Thucydides already speaks of these coastlands as depopulated
+(relatively speaking, I suppose), and under the Romans they recovered
+but little; they have only begun to revive quite lately.[1] Yet this
+town must have looked well enough in the twelfth century, since it is
+described by Edrisius as “a very old city, primitive and beautiful,
+prosperous and populated, in a smiling position, with walls of defence
+and an ample port for anchorage.” I suspect that the history of Cotrone
+will be found to bear out Professor Celli’s theory of the periodical
+recrudescences and abatements of malaria. However that may be, the
+place used to be in a deplorable state. Riedesel (1771) calls it “la
+ville la plus affreuse de l’Italie, et peut-être du monde entier”;
+twenty years later, it is described as “sehr ungesund ... so ärmlich
+als möglich”; in 1808 it was “réduite à une population de trois mille
+habitants rongés par la misère, et les maladies qu’occasionne la
+stagnation des eaux qui autrefois fertilisaient ces belles campagnes.”
+In 1828, says Vespoli, it contained only 3932 souls.
+
+ [1] Between 1815—1843, and in this single province of Catanzaro, there
+ was an actual decline in the population of thirty-six towns and
+ villages. Malaria!
+
+I rejoice to cite such figures. They show how vastly Cotrone, together
+with the rest of Calabria, has improved since the Bourbons were ousted.
+The sack of the town by their hero Cardinal Ruffo, described by Pepe
+and others, must have left long traces. “Horrible was the carnage
+perpetrated by these ferocious bands. Neither age nor sex nor condition
+was spared. . . . After two days of pillage accompanied by a multitude
+of excesses and cruelties, they erected, on the third day, a
+magnificent altar in the middle of a large square” —and here the
+Cardinal, clothed in his sacred purple, praised the good deeds of the
+past two days and then, raising his arms, displayed a crucifix,
+absolving his crew from the faults committed during the ardour of the
+sack, and blessed them.
+
+[Illustration: The modern Aesarus]
+
+I shall be sorry to leave these regions for the north, as leave them I
+must, in shortest time. The bathing alone would tempt me to prolong my
+stay, were it possible. Whereas Taranto, despite its
+situation, possesses no convenient beach, there are here, on either
+side of the town, leagues of shimmering sand lapped by tepid and
+caressing waves; it is a sunlit solitude; the land is your own, the sea
+your own, as far as eye can reach. One may well become an amphibian, at
+Cotrone.
+
+The inhabitants of this town are well-mannered and devoid of the
+“ineffable” air of the Tarentines. But they are not a handsome race.
+Gissing says, à propos of the products of a local photographer, that it
+was “a hideous exhibition; some of the visages attained an incredible
+degree of vulgar ugliness.” That is quite true. Old authors praise the
+beauty of the women of Cotrone, Bagnara, and other southern towns; for
+my part, I have seldom found good-looking women in the coastlands of
+Calabria; the matrons, especially, seem to favour that ideal of the
+Hottentot Venus which you may study in the Jardin des Plantes; they are
+decidedly centripetal. Of the girls and boys one notices only those who
+possess a peculiar trait: the eyebrows pencilled in a dead straight
+line, which gives them an almost hieratic aspect. I cannot guess from
+what race is derived this marked feature which fades away with age as
+the brows wax thicker and irregular in contour. We may call it Hellenic
+on the old-fashioned principle that everything attractive comes from
+the Greeks, while its opposite is ascribed to those unfortunate “Arabs”
+who, as a matter of fact, are a sufficiently fine-looking breed.
+
+And there must be very little Greek blood left here. The town—among
+many similar vicissitudes—was peopled largely by Bruttians, after
+Hannibal had established himself here. In the Viceregal period, again,
+there was a great infusion of Spanish elements. A number of Spanish
+surnames still linger on the spot.
+
+And what of Gissing’s other friend, the amiable guardian of the
+cemetery? “His simple good nature and intelligence greatly won upon me.
+I like to think of him as still quietly happy amid his garden walls,
+tending flowers that grow over the dead at Cotrone.”
+
+Dead, like those whose graves he tended; like Gissing himself. He
+expired in February 1901—the year of the publication of the “Ionian
+Sea,” and they showed me his tomb near the right side of the entrance;
+a poor little grave, with a wooden cross bearing a number, which will
+soon be removed to make room for another one.
+
+This cemetery by the sea is a fair green spot, enclosed in a high wall
+and set with flowering plants and comely cypresses that look well
+against their background of barren clay-hills. Wandering here, I called
+to mind the decent cemetery of Lucera, and that of
+Manfredonia, built in a sleepy hollow at the back of the town which the
+monks in olden days had utilized as their kitchen garden (it is one of
+the few localities where deep soil can be found on that thirsty
+limestone plain); I remembered the Venosa burial-ground near the site
+of the Roman amphitheatre, among the tombs of which I had vainly
+endeavoured to find proofs that the name of Horace is as common here as
+that of Manfred in those other two towns; the Taranto cemetery, beyond
+the railway quarter, somewhat overloaded with pretentious ornaments; I
+thought of many cities of the dead, in places recently explored—that of
+Rossano, ill-kept within, but splendidly situated on a projecting spur
+that dominates the Ionian; of Caulonia, secluded among ravines at the
+back of the town. . . .
+
+They are all full of character; a note in the landscape, with their
+cypresses darkly towering amid the pale and lowly olives; one would
+think the populace had thrown its whole poetic feeling into the choice
+of these sites and their embellishments. But this is not the case; they
+are chosen merely for convenience—not too far from habitations, and yet
+on ground that is comparatively cheap. Nor are they truly venerable,
+like ours. They date, for the most part, from the time when the
+Government abolished the old system of inhumation in churches—a system
+which, for the rest, still survives; there are over six hundred of
+these _fosse carnarie_ in use at this moment, most of them in churches.
+
+And a sad thought obtrudes itself in these oases of peace and verdure.
+The Italian law requires that the body shall be buried within
+twenty-four hours after decease (the French consider forty-eight hours
+too short a term, and are thinking of modifying their regulations in
+this respect): a doctor’s certificate of death is necessary but often
+impossible to procure, since some five hundred Italian communities
+possess no medical man whatever. Add to this, the superstitions of
+ignorant country people towards the dead, testified to by extraordinary
+beliefs and customs which you will find in Pitré and other collectors
+of native lore—their mingled fear and hatred of a corpse, which prompts
+them to thrust it underground at the earliest possible opportunity. . .
+. Premature burial must be all too frequent here. I will not enlarge
+upon the theme of horror by relating what gravediggers have seen with
+their own eyes on disturbing old coffins; if only half what they tell
+me is true, it reveals a state of affairs not to be contemplated
+without shuddering pity, and one that calls for prompt legislation.
+Only last year a frightful case came to light in Sicily. _Videant
+Consules._
+
+[Illustration: The Cemetery of Cotrone]
+
+Here, at the cemetery, the driving road abruptly ends;
+thenceforward there is merely a track along the sea that leads,
+ultimately, to Capo Nau, where stands a solitary column, last relic of
+the great temple of Hera. I sometimes follow it as far as certain wells
+that are sunk, Arab-fashion, into the sand, and dedicated to Saint
+Anne. Goats and cows recline here after their meagre repast of scorched
+grasses, and the shepherds in charge have voices so soft, and manners
+so gentle, as to call up suggestions of the Golden Age. These pastoral
+folk are the primitives of Cotrone. From father to son, for untold ages
+before Theocritus hymned them, they have kept up their peculiar habits
+and traditions; between them and the agricultural classes is a gulf as
+deep as between these and the citizens. Conversing with them, one
+marvels how the same occupation can produce creatures so unlike as
+these and the goat-boys of Naples, the most desperate _camorristi._
+
+The cows may well be descendants of the sacred cattle of Hera that
+browsed under the pines which are known to have clothed the bleak
+promontory. You may encounter them every day, wandering on the way to
+the town which they supply with milk; to avoid the dusty road, they
+march sedately through the soft wet sand at the water’s edge, their
+silvery bodies outlined against a cærulean flood of sky and sea.
+
+On this promenade I yesterday observed, slow-pacing beside the waves, a
+meditative priest, who gave me some details regarding the ruined church
+of which Gissing speaks. It lies in the direction of the cemetery,
+outside the town; “its lonely position,” he says, “made it interesting,
+and the cupola of coloured tiles (like that of the cathedral of Amalfi)
+remained intact, a bright spot against the grey hills behind.” This
+cupola has recently been removed, but part of the old walls serve as
+foundation for a new sanctuary, a sordid-looking structure with
+red-tiled roof: I am glad to have taken a view of it, some years ago,
+ere its transformation. Its patroness is the Madonna del Carmine—the
+same whose church in Naples is frequented by thieves and cut-throats,
+who make a special cult of this Virgin Mother and invoke Her blessing
+on their nefarious undertakings.
+
+The old church, he told me, was built in the middle of the seventeenth
+century; this new one, he agreed, might have been constructed on more
+ambitious lines, “but nowadays——” and he broke off, with eloquent
+aposiopesis.
+
+It was the same, he went on, with the road to the cemetery; why should
+it not be continued right up to the cape of the Column as in olden
+days, over ground _dove ogni passo è una memoria:_ where every footstep
+is a memory?
+
+_“_Rich Italians,” he said, “sometimes give away money to benefit the
+public. But the very rich—never! And at Cotrone, you must remember,
+every one belongs to the latter class.”
+
+We spoke of the Sila, which he had occasionally visited.
+
+“What?” he asked incredulously, “you have crossed the whole of that
+country, where there is nothing to eat—nothing in the purest and most
+literal sense of that word? My dear sir! You must feel like Hannibal,
+after his passage of the Alps.”
+
+Those barren clay-hills on our right of which Gissing speaks (they are
+like the _balze_ of the Apennines) annoyed him considerably; they were
+the malediction of the town, he declared. At the same time, they
+supplied him with the groundwork of a theory for which there is a good
+deal to be said. The old Greek city, he conjectured, must have been
+largely built of bricks made from their clay, which is once more being
+utilized for this purpose. How else account for its utter
+disappearance? Much of the finer buildings were doubtless of stone, and
+these have been worked into the fort, the harbour and _palazzi_ of new
+Cotrone; but this would never account for the vanishing of a town
+nearly twelve miles in circumference. Bricks, he said, would explain
+the mystery; they had crumbled into dust ere yet the Romans rebuilt,
+with old Greek stones, the city on the promontory now occupied by the
+new settlement.
+
+The modern palaces on the rising ground of the citadel are worthy of a
+visit; they are inhabited by some half-dozen “millionaires” who have
+given Cotrone the reputation of being the richest town of its size in
+Italy. So far as I can judge, the histories of some of these wealthy
+families would be curious reading.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said the Shepherd, “if you have designs of Trading, you
+must go another way; but if you’re of the admired sort of Men, that
+have the thriving qualifications of Lying and Cheating, you’re in the
+direct Path to Business; for in this City no Learning flourisheth;
+Eloquence finds no room here; nor can Temperance, Good Manners, or any
+Vertue meet with a Reward; assure yourselves of finding but two sorts
+of Men, and those are the Cheated, and those that Cheat.”
+
+If gossip at Naples and elsewhere is to be trusted, old Petronius seems
+to have had a prophetic glimpse of the _dessus du panier_ of modern
+Cotrone.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVII
+COTRONE
+
+
+The sun has entered the Lion. But the temperature at Cotrone is not
+excessive—five degrees lower than Taranto or Milan or London. One grows
+weary, none the less, of the deluge of implacable light that descends,
+day after day, from the aether. The glistering streets are all but
+deserted after the early hours of the morning. A few busy folks move
+about till midday on the pavements; and so do I—in the water. But the
+long hours following luncheon are consecrated to meditation and repose.
+
+A bundle of Italian newspapers has preceded me hither; upon these I
+browse dispersedly, while awaiting the soft call to slumber. Here are
+some provincial sheets—the “Movement” of Castrovillari—the “New
+Rossano”—the “Bruttian” of Corigliano, with strong literary flavour.
+Astonishing how decentralized Italy still is, how brimful of purely
+local patriotism: what conception have these men of Rome as their
+capital? These articles often reflect a lively turmoil of ideas,
+well-expressed. Who pays for such journalistic ventures? Typography is
+cheap, and contributors naturally content themselves with the ample
+remuneration of appearing in print before their fellow-citizens; a
+considerable number of copies are exported to America. Yet I question
+whether the circulation of the “New Rossano,” a fortnightly in its
+sixth year, can exceed five hundred copies.
+
+But these venial and vapid Neapolitan dailies are my pet aversion. We
+know them, _nous autres,_ with their odious personalities and playful
+blackmailing tactics; many “distinguished foreigners,” myself included,
+could tell a tale anent that subject. Instead of descending to such
+matters, let me copy—it is too good to translate—a thrilling item of
+news from the chiefest of them, the _Mattino,_ which touches,
+furthermore, upon the all-important subject of Calabrian progress.
+
+“CETRARO. Per le continuate premure ed insistenze di questo egregio
+uffiziale postale Signor Rocca Francesco—che nulla lascia
+pel bene avviamento del nostro uffizio—presso l’ on. Direzione delle
+poste di Cosenza, si è ottenuta una cassetta postale, che affissa lungo
+il Corso Carlo Pancaso, ci dà la bella commodità di imbucare le nostre
+corrispondenze per essere rilevate tre volte al giorno non solo, quanto
+ci evita persino la dolorosa e lunga via crucis che dovevamo percorrere
+qualvolta si era costretti d’ imbuccare una lettera, essendo il nostro
+uffizio situato all’ estremità del paese.
+
+“Tributiamo perciò sincera lode al nostro caro uffiziale postale Sig.
+Rocca, e ci auguriamo che egli continui ancora al miglioramento dell’
+uffizio istesso, e mercè l’ opera sua costante ed indefessa siamo
+sicuri che l’ uffizio postale di Cetraro assurgerà fra non molto ad un’
+importanza maggiore di quella che attualmente.”
+
+The erection of a letter-box in the street of a small place of which 80
+per cent of the readers have never so much as heard. ... I begin to
+understand why the cultured Tarentines do not read these journals.
+
+By far the best part of all such papers is the richly-tinted personal
+column, wherein lovers communicate with each other, or endeavour to do
+so. I read it conscientiously from beginning to end, admiring, in my
+physical capacity, the throbbing passion that prompts such public
+outbursts of confidence and, from a literary point of view, their
+lapidary style, model of condensation, impossible to render in English
+and conditioned by the hard fact that every word costs two sous. Under
+this painful material stress, indeed, the messages are sometimes
+crushed into a conciseness which the females concerned must have some
+difficulty in unperplexing: what on earth does the parsimonious
+_Flower_ mean by his Delphic fourpenny worth, thus punctuated—
+
+“(You have) not received. How. Safety.”
+
+One cannot help smiling at this circuitous and unromantic method of
+touching the hearts of ladies who take one’s fancy; at the same time,
+it testifies to a resourceful vitality, striving to break through the
+barriers of Hispano-Arabic convention which surround the fair sex in
+this country. They are nothing if not poetic, these love-sick swains.
+_Arrow_ murmurs: “My soul lies on your pillow, caressing you softly”;
+_Strawberry_ laments that “as bird outside nest, I am alone and lost.
+What sadness,” and _Star_ finds the “Days eternal, till Thursday.” And
+yet they often choose rather prosaic pseudonyms. Here is _Sahara_ who
+“suffers from your silence,” while _Asthma_ is “anticipating one
+endless kiss,” and _Old England_ observing, more ir sorrow than in
+anger, that he “waited vainly one whole hour.”
+
+But the sagacious _Cooked Lobster_ desires, before commiting himself
+further, “a personal interview.” He has perhaps been cooked once
+before.
+
+Letters and numbers are best, after all. So thinks F. N. 13, who is
+utterly disgusted with his flame—
+
+“Your silence speaks. Useless saying anything. Ça ira.” And likewise
+7776—B, a designing rogue and plainly a spendthrift, who wastes
+ninepence in making it clear that he “wishes to marry rich young lady,
+forgiving youthful errors.” If I were the girl, I would prefer to take
+my chances with “Cooked Lobster.”
+
+_“Will much-admired young-lady cherries-in-black-hat indicate method
+possible correspondence_ 10211, _Post-Office?”_
+
+How many of these arrows, I wonder, reach their mark?
+
+Ah, here are politics and News of the World, at last. A promising
+article on the “Direttissimo Roma-Napoli”—the railway line that is to
+connect the two towns by way of the Pontine Marshes. . . . Dear me!
+This reads very familiarly. . . . Why, to be sure, it is the identical
+dissertation, with a few changes by the office-boy, that has cropped up
+periodically in these pages for the last half-century, or whenever the
+railway was first projected. The line, as usual, is being projected
+more strenuously than before, and certain members of the government
+have gone so far as to declare. . . . H’m! Let me try something else:
+“The Feminist Movement in England” by Our London Correspondent (who
+lives in a little side street off the Toledo); that sounds stimulating.
+. . . The advanced English Feminists—so it runs—are taking the lead in
+encouraging their torpid sisters on the Continent. . . . Hardly a day
+passes, that some new manifestation of the Feminist Movement ... in
+fact, it may be avowed that the Feminist Movement in England. . . .
+
+The air is cooler, as I awake, and looking out of the window I perceive
+from the mellow light-effects that day is declining.
+
+Towards this sunset hour the unbroken dome of the sky often undergoes a
+brief transformation. High-piled masses of cloud may then be seen
+accumulating over the Sila heights and gathering auxiliaries from every
+quarter; lightning is soon playing about the livid and murky
+vapours—you can hear the thunders muttering, up yonder, to some
+drenching downpour. But on the plain the sun continues to shine in
+vacuously benevolent fashion; nothing is felt of the tempest save
+unquiet breaths of wind that raise dust-eddies from the country roads
+and lash the sea into a mock frenzy of crisp little waves. It is the
+merest interlude. Soon the blue-black drifts have fled away from the
+mountains that stand out, clear and
+refreshed, in the twilight. The wind has died down, the storm is over
+and Cotrone thirsts, as ever, for rain that never comes. Yet they have
+a Madonna-picture here—a celebrated _black_ Madonna, painted by Saint
+Luke—who “always procures rain, when prayed to.”
+
+Once indeed the tail of a shower must have passed overhead, for there
+fell a few sad drops. I hurried abroad, together with some other
+citizens, to observe the phenomenon. There was no doubt about the
+matter; it was genuine rain; the drops lay, at respectable intervals,
+on the white dust of the station turnpike. A boy, who happened to be
+passing in a cart, remarked that if the shower could have been
+collected into a saucer or some other small receptacle, it might have
+sufficed to quench the thirst of a puppy-dog.
+
+I usually take a final dip in the sea, at this time of the evening.
+After that, it is advisable to absorb an ice or two—they are excellent,
+at Cotrone—and a glass of Strega liqueur, to ward off the effects of
+over-work. Next, a brief promenade through the clean, well-lighted
+streets and now populous streets, or along the boulevard Margherita to
+view the rank and fashion taking the air by the murmuring waves, under
+the cliff-like battlements of Charles the Fifth’s castle; and so to
+dinner.
+
+This meal marks the termination of my daily tasks; nothing serious is
+allowed to engage my attention, once that repast is ended; I call for a
+chair and sit down at one of the small marble-topped tables in the open
+street and watch the crowd as it floats around me, smoking a Neapolitan
+cigar and imbibing, alternately, ices and black coffee until, towards
+midnight, a final bottle of _vino di Cirò_ is uncorked—fit seal for the
+labours of the day.
+
+One might say much in praise of Calabrian wine. The land is full of
+pleasant surprises for the œnophilist, and one of these days I hope to
+embody my experiences in the publication of a wine-chart of the
+province with descriptive text running alongside—the purchasers of
+which, if few, will certainly be of the right kind. The good Dr.
+Barth—all praise to him!—has already done something of the kind for
+certain parts of Italy, but does not so much as mention Calabria. And
+yet here nearly every village has its own type of wine and every
+self-respecting family its own peculiar method of preparation, little
+known though they be outside the place of production, on account of the
+octroi laws which strangle internal trade and remove all stimulus to
+manufacture a good article for export. This wine of Cirò, for instance,
+is purest nectar, and so is that which grows still nearer at hand in
+the classical vale of the
+Neto and was praised, long ago, by old Pliny; and so are at least two
+dozen more. For even as Gregorovius says that the smallest Italian
+community possesses its duly informed antiquarian, if you can but put
+your hand upon him, so, I may be allowed to add, every little place
+hereabouts can boast of at least one individual who will give you good
+wine, provided—provided you go properly to work to find him.
+
+Now although, when young, the Calabrian Bacchus has a wild-eyed _beauté
+du diable_ which appeals to one’s expansive moods, he already begins to
+totter, at seven years of age, in sour, decrepit eld. To pounce upon
+him at the psychological moment, to discover in whose cool and cobwebby
+cellar he is dreaming out his golden summer of manhood—that is what a
+foreigner can never, never hope to achieve, without competent local
+aid.
+
+To this end, I generally apply to the priests; not because they are the
+greatest drunkards (far from it; they are mildly epicurean, or even
+abstemious) but by reason of their unrivalled knowledge of
+personalities. They know exactly who has been able to keep his liquor
+of such and such a year, and who has been obliged to sell or partially
+adulterate it; they know, from the confessional of the wives, the why
+and wherefore of all such private family affairs and share, with the
+chemist, the gift of seeing furthest into the tangled web of home life.
+They are “gialosi,” however, of these acquirements, and must be
+approached in the right spirit—a spirit of humility. But if you
+tactfully lead up to the subject by telling of the manifold hardships
+of travel in foreign lands, the discomfort of life in hostelries, the
+food that leaves so much to be desired and, above all, the coarse wine
+that is already beginning, you greatly fear, to injure your sensitive
+spleen (an important organ, in Calabria), inducing a hypochondriacal
+tendency to see all the beauties of this fair land in an odious and
+sombre light—turning your day into night, as it were—it must be an odd
+priest, indeed, who is not compassionately moved to impart the desired
+information regarding the whereabouts of the best _vino di famiglia_ at
+that moment obtainable. After all, it costs him nothing to do a double
+favour—one to yourself and another to the proprietor of the wine,
+doubtless an old friend of his, who will be able to sell his stuff to a
+foreigner 20 per cent dearer than to a native.
+
+And failing the priests, I go to an elderly individual of that tribe of
+red-nosed connaisseurs, the coachmen, ever thirsty and mercenary souls,
+who for a small consideration may be able to disclose not only this
+secret, but others far more mysterious.
+
+As to your host at the inn—he raises not the least objection to
+your importing alien liquor into his house. His own wine, he tells you,
+is last year’s vintage and somewhat harsh (slightly watered, he might
+add)—and why not? The ordinary customers are gentlemen of commerce who
+don’t care a fig what they eat and drink, so long as there is enough of
+it. No horrible suggestions are proffered concerning corkage; on the
+contrary, he tests your wine, smacks his lips, and thanks you for
+communicating a valuable discovery. He thinks he will buy a bottle or
+two for the use of himself and a few particular friends. . . .
+
+Midnight has come and gone. The street is emptying; the footsteps of
+passengers begin to ring hollow. I arise, for my customary stroll in
+the direction of the cemetery, to attune myself to repose by shaking
+off those restlessly trivial images of humanity which might otherwise
+haunt my slumbers.
+
+Town visions are soon left behind; it is very quiet here under the hot,
+starlit heavens; nothing speaks of man save the lighthouse flashing in
+ghostly activity—no, it is a fixed light—on the distant Cape of the
+Column. And nothing breaks the stillness save the rhythmic breathing of
+the waves, and a solitary cricket that has yet to finish his daily task
+of instrumental music, far away, in some warm crevice of the hills.
+
+A suave odour rises up from the narrow patch of olives, and figs loaded
+with fruit, and ripening vines, that skirts the path by the beach. _The
+fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender
+grape give a good smell._
+
+And so I plough my way through the sand, in the darkness, encompassed
+by tepid exhalations of earth and sea. Another spirit has fallen upon
+me—a spirit of biblical calm. Here, then, stood _the rejoicing city
+that dwelt carelessly, that said in her heart, I am, and there is none
+beside me: how is she become a desolation!_ It is indeed hard to
+realize that a town thronged with citizens covered all this area. Yet
+so it is. Every footstep is a memory. Along this very track walked the
+sumptuous ladies of Croton on their way to deposit their vain jewels
+before the goddess Hera, at the bidding of Pythagoras. On this spot,
+maybe, stood that public hall which was specially built for the
+delivery of his lectures.
+
+No doubt the townsfolk had been sunk in apathetic luxury; the time was
+ripe for a Messiah.
+
+And lo! he appeared.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVIII
+THE SAGE OF CROTON
+
+
+The popularity of this sage at Croton offers no problem: the
+inhabitants had become sufficiently civilized to appreciate the charm
+of being regenerated. We all do. Renunciation has always exercised an
+irresistible attraction for good society; it makes us feel so
+comfortable, to be told we are going to hell—and Pythagoras was very
+eloquent on the subject of Tartarus as a punishment. The Crotoniates
+discovered in repentance of sins a new and subtle form of pleasure;
+exactly as did the Florentines, when Savonarola appeared on the scene.
+
+Next: his doctrines found a ready soil in Magna Graecia which was
+already impregnated with certain vague notions akin to those he
+introduced. And then—he permitted and even encouraged the emotional sex
+to participate in the mysteries; the same tactics that later on
+materially helped the triumph of Christianity over the more exclusive
+and rational cult of Mithra. Lastly, he came with a “message,” like the
+Apostle of the Gentiles; and in those times a preaching reformer was a
+novelty. That added a zest.
+
+We know them a little better, nowadays.
+
+He enjoyed the specious and short-lived success that has attended,
+elsewhere, such efforts to cultivate the _ego_ at the expense of its
+environment. “A type of aspiring humanity,” says Gissing, echoing the
+sentiments of many of us, “a sweet and noble figure, moving as a dim
+radiance through legendary Hellas.” I fancy that the mist of centuries
+of undiscriminating admiration has magnified this figure out of all
+proportion and contrived, furthermore, to fix an iridescent nimbus of
+sanctity about its head. Such things have been known to happen, in
+foggy weather.
+
+Was Greece so very legendary, in those times? Why, on the contrary, it
+was full of real personages, of true sages to whom it seemed as if no
+secrets of heaven or earth were past fathoming; far from being
+legendary, the country had never attained a higher plane of
+intellectual curiosity than when Pythagoras made his appearance. And it
+cannot be gainsaid that he and his disciples gave the
+impetus away from these wise and beneficial researches into the arid
+regions of metaphysics. It is so much more gentlemanly (and so much
+easier) to talk bland balderdash about soul-migrations than to
+calculate an eclipse of the moon or bother about the circulation of the
+blood.
+
+That a man of his speculative vigour, knowing so many extra-Hellenic
+races, should have hit upon one or two good things adventitiously is
+only to be expected. But they were mere by-products. One might as well
+praise John Knox for creating the commons of Scotland with a view to
+the future prosperity of that country—a consummation which his black
+fanaticism assuredly never foresaw.
+
+The chief practical doctrine of Pythagoras, that mankind are to be
+governed on the principle of a community of eastern monks, makes for
+the disintegration of rational civic life.
+
+And his chief theoretical doctrines, of metempsychosis and the
+reduction of everything to a system of numbers[1]—these are sheer
+lunacy.
+
+ [1] Vincenzo Dorsa, an Albanian, has written two pamphlets on the
+ survival of Greco-Roman traditions in Calabria. They are difficult to
+ procure, but whoever is lucky enough to find them will be much helped
+ in his understanding of the common people. In one place, he speaks of
+ the charm-formula of _Otto-Nave!_ (Eight-Nine) It is considered meet
+ and proper, in the presence of a suckling infant, to spit thrice and
+ then call out, three times, Otto-Nove! This brings luck; and the
+ practice, he thinks, is an echo of the number-system of Pythagoras.
+
+Was it not something of a relapse, after the rigorous mental discipline
+of old, to have a man gravely assuring his fellows that he is the son
+of Hermes and the divinely appointed messenger of Apollo; treating
+diseases, like an Eskimo Angekok, by incantation; recording veracious
+incidents of his experiences during a previous life in Hell, which he
+seems to have explored almost as thoroughly as Swedenborg; dabbling in
+magic, and consulting dreams, birds and the smoke of incense as
+oracles? And in the exotic conglomerate of his teachings are to be
+found the _prima stamina_ of much that is worse: the theory of the
+pious fraud which has infected Latin countries to this day; the
+Jesuitical maxim of the end justifying the means; the insanity of
+preferring deductions to facts which has degraded philosophy up to the
+days of Kant; mysticism, demon-worship and much else of pernicious
+mettle—they are all there, embryonically embedded in Pythagoras.
+
+We are told much of his charity; indeed, an English author has written
+a learned work to prove that Pythagoreanism has close affinities with
+Christianity. Charity has now been tried on an ample scale, and has
+proved a dismal failure. To give, they say, is more blessed than to
+receive. It is certainly far easier, for the most
+part, to give than to refrain from giving. We are at last shaking off
+the form, of self-indulgence called charity; we realize that if mankind
+is to profit, sterner conceptions must prevail. The apotheosis of the
+god-favoured loafer is drawing to a close.
+
+For the rest, there was the inevitable admixture of quackery about our
+reforming sage; his warmest admirers cannot but admit that he savours
+somewhat strongly of the holy impostor. Those charms and amulets, those
+dark gnomic aphorisms which constitute the stock-in-trade of all
+religious cheap-jacks, the bribe of future life, the sacerdotal tinge
+with its complement of mendacity, the secrecy of doctrine, the
+pretentiously-mysterious self-retirement, the “sacred quaternion,” the
+bean-humbug . . .
+
+He had the true maraboutic note.
+
+And for me, this regenerator crowned with a saintly aureole remains a
+glorified marabout—an intellectual dissolvent; the importer of that
+oriental introspectiveness which culminated in the idly-splendid
+yearnings of Plato, paved the way for the quaint Alexandrian
+_tutti-frutti_ known as Christianity, and tainted the well-springs of
+honest research for two thousand years. By their works ye shall known
+them. It was the Pythagoreans who, not content with a just victory over
+the Sybarites, annihilated their city amid anathemas worthy of those
+old Chaldeans (past masters in the art of pious cursings); a crime
+against their common traditions and common interests; a piece of
+savagery which wrecked Hellenic civilization in Italy. It is ever thus,
+when the soul is appointed arbiter over reason. It is ever thus, when
+gentle, god-fearing dreamers meddle with worldly affairs. Beware of the
+wrath of the lamb!
+
+So rapidly did the virus act, that soon we find Plato declaring that
+all the useful arts are _degrading;_ that “so long as a man tries to
+study any sensible object, he can never be said to be learning
+anything”; in other words, that the kind of person to whom one looks
+for common sense should be excluded from the management of his most
+refined republic. It needed courage of a rather droll kind to make such
+propositions in Greece, under the shadow of the Parthenon. And hand in
+hand with this feudalism in philosophy there began that unhealthy
+preoccupation with the morals of our fellow-creatures, that miasma of
+puritanism, which has infected life and literature up to this moment.
+
+The Renaissance brought many fine things to England. But the wicked
+fairy was there with her gift: Pythagoras and Plato. We were not like
+the Italians who, after the first rapture of discovery was over, soon
+outgrew these distracted dialectics; we stuck fast in
+them. Hence our Platonic touch: our _demi-vierge_ attitude in matters
+of the mind, our academic horror of clean thinking. How Plato hated a
+fact! He could find no place for it in his twilight world of
+abstractions. Was it not he who wished to burn the works of Democritus
+of Abdera, most exact and reasonable of old sages?
+
+They are all alike, these humanitarian lovers of first causes. Always
+ready to burn something, or somebody; always ready with their cheerful
+Hell-fire and gnashing of teeth.
+
+_Know thyself:_ to what depths of vain, egocentric brooding has that
+dictum led! But we are discarding, now, such a mischievously narrow
+view of the Cosmos, though our upbringing is still too rhetorical and
+mediæval to appraise its authors at their true worth. Youth is prone to
+judge with the heart rather than the head; youth thrives on vaporous
+ideas, and there was a time when I would have yielded to none in my
+enthusiasm for these mellifluous babblers; one had a blind, sentimental
+regard for their great names. It seems to me, now, that we take them
+somewhat too seriously; that a healthy adult has nothing to learn from
+their teachings, save by way of warning example. Plato is food for
+adolescents. And a comfort, possibly, in old age, when the judicial
+faculties of the mind are breaking up and primitive man, the visionary,
+reasserts his ancient rights. For questioning moods grow burdensome
+with years; after a strain of virile doubt we are glad to acquiesce
+once more—to relapse into Platonic animism, the logic of
+valetudinarians. The dog to his vomit.
+
+And after Plato—the deluge. Neo-platonism. . . .
+
+Yet it was quite good sport, while it lasted. To “make men better” by
+choice dissertations about Utopias, to sit in marble halls and have a
+fair and fondly ardent _jeunesse dorée_ reclining about your knees
+while you discourse, in rounded periods, concerning the salvation of
+their souls by means of transcendental Love—it would suit me well
+enough, at this present moment; far better than croaking, forlorn as
+the night-raven, among the ruins of their radiant lives.
+
+Meanwhile, and despite our Universities, new conceptions are
+prevailing, Aristotle is winning the day. A fresh kind of thinker has
+arisen, whose chief idea of “virtue” is to investigate patiently the
+facts of life; men of the type of Lister, any one of whom have done
+more to regenerate mankind, and to increase the sum of human happiness,
+than a wilderness of the amiably-hazy old doctrinaires who professed
+the same object. I call to mind those physicians engaged in their
+malaria-campaign, and wonder what Plato would have thought of them.
+Would he have recognized the
+significance of their researches which, while allaying pain and misery,
+are furthering the prosperity of the country, causing waters to flow in
+dry places and villages to spring up in deserts—strengthening its
+political resources, improving its very appearance? Not likely. Plato’s
+opinion of doctors was on a par with the rest of his mentality. Yet
+these are the men who are taking up the thread where it was dropped,
+perforce, by those veritable Greek sages, whelmed under turbid floods
+of Pythagorean irrationalism. And are such things purely utilitarian?
+Are they so grossly mundane? Is there really no “philosophy” in the
+choice of such a healing career, no romance in its studious
+self-denial, no beauty in its results? If so, we must revise that
+classic adage which connects vigour with beauty—not to speak of several
+others.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIX
+MIDDAY AT PETELIA
+
+
+Day after day, I look across the six miles of sea to the Lacinian
+promontory and its column. How reach it? The boatmen are eager for the
+voyage: it all depends, they say, upon the wind.
+
+Day after day—a dead calm.
+
+“Two hours—three hours—four hours—according!” And they point to the
+sky. A little breeze, they add, sometimes makes itself felt in the
+early mornings; one might fix up a sail.
+
+“And for returning at midday?”
+
+“Three hours—four hours—five hours—according!”
+
+The prospect of rocking about for half a day in a small boat under a
+blazing sky is not my ideal of enjoyment, the novelty of such an
+experience having worn off a good many years ago. I decide to wait; to
+make an attack, meanwhile, upon old Petelia—the “Stromboli” of my
+lady-friend at the Catanzaro Museum....
+
+It is an easy day’s excursion from Cotrone to Strongoli, which is
+supposed to lie on the site of that ancient, much-besieged town. It
+sits upon a hill-top, and the diligence which awaits the traveller at
+the little railway-station takes about two hours to reach the place,
+climbing up the olive-covered slopes in ample loops and windings.
+
+Of Strongoli my memories, even at this short distance of time, are
+confused and blurred. The drive up under the glowing beams of morning,
+the great heat of the last few days, and two or three nights’
+sleeplessness at Cotrone had considerably blunted my appetite for new
+things. I remember seeing some Roman marbles in the church, and being
+thence conducted into a castle.
+
+Afterwards I reposed awhile in the upper regions, under an olive, and
+looked down towards the valley of the Neto, which flows not far from
+here into the Ionian. I thought upon Theocritus, trying to picture this
+vale of Neaithos as it appeared to him and his
+shepherds. The woodlands are gone, and the rains of winter, streaming
+down the earthen slopes, have remodelled the whole face of the country.
+
+Yet, be nature what it may, men will always turn to one who sings so
+melodiously of eternal verities—of those human tasks and needs which no
+lapse of years can change. How modern he reads to us, who have been
+brought into contact with the true spirit by men like Johnson-Cory and
+Lefroy! And how unbelievably remote is that Bartolozzi-Hellenism which
+went before! What, for example—what of the renowned pseudo-Theocritus,
+Salamon Gessner, who sang of this same vale of Neto in his “Daphnis”?
+Alas, the good Salamon has gone the way of all derivative bores; he is
+dead—deader than King Psammeticus; he is now moralizing in some
+decorous Paradise amid flocks of Dresden-China sheep and sugar-watery
+youths and maidens. Who can read his much-translated masterpiece
+without unpleasant twinges? Dead as a doornail!
+
+So far as I can recollect, there is an infinity of kissing in
+“Daphnis.” It was an age of sentimentality, and the Greek pastoral
+ideal, transfused into a Swiss environment of 1810, could not but end
+in slobber and _Gefühlsduselei._ True it is that shepherds have ample
+opportunities of sporting with Amaryllis in the shade; opportunities
+which, to my certain knowledge, they do not neglect. Theocritus knew it
+well enough. But, in a general way, he is niggardly with the precious
+commodity of kisses; he seems to have thought that in literature, if
+not in real life, one can have too much of a good thing. Also, being a
+southerner, he could not have trusted his young folks to remain
+eternally at the kissing-stage, after the pattern of our fish-like
+English lovers. Such behaviour would have struck him as improbable;
+possibly immoral. . . .
+
+From where I sat one may trace a road that winds upwards into the Sila,
+past Pallagorio. Along its sides are certain mounded heaps and the
+smoke of refining works. These are mines of that dusky sulphur which I
+had observed being drawn in carts through the streets of Cotrone. There
+are some eight or ten of them, they tell me, discovered about thirty
+years ago—this is all wrong: they are mentioned in 1571—and employing
+several hundred workmen. It had been my intention to visit these
+excavations. But now, in the heat of day, I wavered; the distance, even
+to the nearest of them, seemed inordinately great; and just as I had
+decided to look for a carriage with a view of being driven there (that
+curse of
+conscientiousness!) an amiable citizen snatched me up as his guest for
+luncheon. He led me, weakly resisting, to a vaulted chamber where, amid
+a repast of rural delicacies and the converse of his spouse, all such
+fond projects were straightway forgotten. Instead of
+sulphur-statistics, I learnt a little piece of local history.
+
+“You were speaking about the emptiness of our streets of Strongoli,” my
+host said. “And yet, up to a short time ago, there was no emigration
+from this place. Then a change came about: I’ll tell you how it was.
+There was a _guardia di finanze_ here—a miserable octroi official. To
+keep up the name of his family, he married an heiress; not for the sake
+of having progeny, but—well! He began buying up all the land round
+about—slowly, systematically, cautiously—till, by dint of threats and
+intrigues, he absorbed nearly all the surrounding country. Inch by
+inch, he ate it up; with his wife’s money. That was his idea of
+perpetuating his memory. All the small proprietors were driven from
+their domains and fled to America to escape starvation; immense tracts
+of well-cultivated land are now almost desert. Look at the country! But
+some day he will get his reward; under the ribs, you know.”
+
+By this purposeful re-creation of those feudal conditions of olden,
+days, this man has become the best-hated person in the district.
+
+Soon it was time to leave the friendly shelter and inspect in the
+glaring sunshine the remaining antiquities of Petelia. Never have I
+felt less inclined for such antiquarian exploits. How much better the
+hours would have passed in some cool tavern! I went forth, none the
+less; and was delighted to discover that there are practically no
+antiquities left—nothing save a few walls standing near a now ruined
+convent, which is largely built of Roman stone-blocks and bricks. Up to
+a few years ago, the municipality carried on excavations here and
+unearthed a few relics which were promptly dispersed. Perhaps some of
+these are what one sees in the Catanzaro Museum. The paternal
+government, hearing of this enterprise, claimed the site and sat down
+upon it; the exposed remains were once more covered up with soil.
+
+A goat-boy, a sad little fellow, sprang out of the earth as I dutifully
+wandered about here. He volunteered to show me not only Strongoli, but
+all Calabria; in fact, his heart’s desire was soon manifest: to escape
+from home and find his way to America under my passport and protection.
+Here was his chance—a foreigner (American) returning sooner or later to
+his own country! He pressed the matter with naif forcefulness. Vainly I
+told him that there were other lands on earth; that I was not going to
+America. He shook his head and sagely remarked:
+
+“I have understood. You think my journey would cost too much. But you,
+also, must understand. Once I get work there, I will repay you every
+farthing.”
+
+As a consolation, I offered him some cigarettes. He accepted one;
+pensive, unresigned.
+
+The goat-herds had no such cravings—in the days of Theocritus.
+
+
+
+
+XL
+THE COLUMN
+
+
+“Two hours—three hours—four hours: according!”
+
+The boatmen are still eager for the voyage. It all depends, as before,
+upon the wind.
+
+And day after day the Ionian lies before us—immaculate, immutable.
+
+I determined to approach the column by land. A mule was discovered, and
+starting from the “Concordia” rather late in the morning, reached the
+temple-ruin in two hours to the minute. I might have been tempted to
+linger by the way but for the intense sunshine and for the fact that
+the muleteer was an exceptionally dull dog—a dusky youth of the
+taciturn and wooden-faced Spanish variety, whose anti-Hellenic profile
+irked me, in that landscape. The driving road ends at the cemetery.
+Thence onward a pathway skirts the sea at the foot of the clay-hills;
+passes the sunken wells; climbs up and down steepish gradients and so
+attains the plateau at whose extremity stands the lighthouse, the
+column, and a few white bungalows—summer-residences of Cotrone
+citizens.
+
+A day of shimmering heat. . . .
+
+The ground is parched. Altogether, it is a poor and thinly peopled
+stretch of land between Cotrone and Capo Rizzuto. No wonder the wolves
+are famished. Nine days ago one of them actually ventured upon the road
+near the cemetery, in daylight.
+
+Yet there is some plant-life, and I was pleased to see, emerging from
+the bleak sand-dunes, the tufts of the well-known and conspicuous sea
+lily in full flower. Wishful to obtain a few blossoms, I asked the boy
+to descend from his mule, but he objected.
+
+“Non si toccano questi fiori,” he said. These flowers are not to be
+touched.
+
+Their odour displeased him. Like the Arab, the uncultivated Italian is
+insensitive to certain smells that revolt us; while he cannot endure,
+on the other hand, the scent of some flowers. I have seen a man
+professing to feel faint at the odour of crushed geranium
+leaves. They are _fiori di morti,_ he says: planted (sometimes) in
+graveyards.
+
+The last remarkable antiquity found at this site, to my knowledge, is a
+stone vase, fished up some years ago out of the sea, into which it may
+have fallen while being carried off by pious marauders for the purpose
+of figuring as font in some church (unless, indeed, the land has sunk
+at this point, as there is some evidence to show). I saw it, shortly
+after its return to dry land, in a shed near the harbour of Cotrone;
+the Taranto museum has now claimed it. It is a basin of purple-veined
+pavonazzetto marble. Originally a monolith, it now consists of two
+fragments; the third and smallest is still missing. This noble relic
+stands about 85 centimetres in height and measures some 215 centimetres
+in circumference; it was never completed, as can be seen by the rim,
+which is still partially in the rough. A similar vessel is figured, I
+believe, in Tischbein.
+
+The small villa-settlement on this promontory is deserted owing to lack
+of water, every drop of which has to be brought hither by sea from
+Cotrone. One wonders why they have not thought of building a cistern to
+catch the winter rains, if there are any; for a respectable stone crops
+up at this end of the peninsula.
+
+One often wonders at things. . . .
+
+The column has been underpinned and strengthened by a foundation of
+cement; rains of centuries had begun to threaten its base, and there
+was some risk of a catastrophe. Near at hand are a few ancient walls of
+reticulated masonry in strangely leaning attitudes, peopled by black
+goats; on the ground I picked up some chips of amphoræ and vases, as
+well as a fragment of the limb of a marble statue. The site of this
+pillar, fronting the waves, is impressively forlorn. And it was rather
+thoughtful, after all, of the despoiling Bishop Lucifero to leave two
+of the forty-eight columns standing upright on the spot, as a sample of
+the local Doric style. One has fallen to earth since his day. Nobody
+would have complained at the time, if he had stolen all of them,
+instead of only forty-six. I took a picture of the survivor; then
+wandered a little apart, in the direction of the shore, and soon found
+myself in a solitude of burning stones, a miniature Sahara.
+
+The temple has vanished, together with the sacred grove that once
+embowered it; the island of Calypso, where Swinburne took his ease (if
+such it was), has sunk into the purple realms of Glaucus; the corals
+and sea-beasts that writhed among its crevices are engulphed under
+mounds of submarine sand. There was life, once, at this promontory.
+Argosies touched here, leaving priceless gifts;
+fountains flowed, and cornfields waved in the genial sunshine.
+Doubtless there will be life again; earth and sea are only waiting for
+the enchanter’s wand.
+
+All now lies bare, swooning in summer stagnation.
+
+Calabria is not a land to traverse alone. It is too wistful and
+stricken; too deficient in those externals that conduce to comfort. Its
+charms do not appeal to the eye of romance, and the man who would
+perambulate Magna Graecia as he does the Alps would soon regret his
+choice. One needs something of that “human element” which delighted the
+genteel photographer of Morano—comrades, in short; if only those sages,
+like old Nola Molisi, who have fallen under the spell of its ancient
+glories. The joys of Calabria are not to be bought, like those of
+Switzerland, for gold.
+
+_Sir Giovan Battista di Nola Molisi, the last of bis family and name,
+having no sons and being come to old age without further hope of
+offspring, has desired in the place of children to leave of himself an
+eternal memory to mankind—_to wit, this Chronicle of the most Ancient,
+Magnificent, and Faithful City of Cotrone. A worthier effort at
+self-perpetuation than that of Strongoli. . . .
+
+A sturgeon, he notes, was caught in 1593 by the Spanish Castellan of
+the town. This nobleman, puzzling whom he could best honour with so
+rare a dainty, despatched it by means of a man on horseback to the Duke
+of Nocera. The Duke was no less surprised than pleased; he thought
+mighty well of the sturgeon and of the respectful consideration which
+prompted the gift; and then, by another horseman, sent it to Nola
+Molisi’s own uncle, accompanied, we may conjecture, by some ceremonious
+compliment befitting the occasion.
+
+A man of parts, therefore, our author’s uncle, to whom his Lordship of
+Nocera sends table-delicacies by mounted messenger; and himself a
+mellow comrade whom I am loath to leave; his pages are distinguished by
+a pleasing absence of those saintly paraphernalia which hang like a fog
+athwart the fair sky of the south.
+
+Yet to him and to all of them I must bid good-bye, here and now. At
+this hour to-morrow I shall be far from Cotrone.
+
+Farewell to Capialbi, inspired bookworm! And to Lenormant.
+
+[Illustration: Roman Masonry at Capo Colonna]
+
+On a day like this, the scholar sailed at Bivona over a sea so
+unruffled that the barque seemed to be suspended in air. The water’s
+surface, he tells us, is “unie comme une glace.” He sees the vitreous
+depths invaded by piercing sunbeams that light up its mysterious
+forests of algae, its rock-headlands and silvery stretches of sand; he
+peers down into these “prairies pélagiennes” and
+beholds all their wondrous fauna—the urchins, the crabs, the floating
+fishes and translucent medusae “semblables a des clochettes d’opale.”
+Then, realizing how this “population pullulante des petits animaux
+marins” must have impressed the observing ancients, he goes on to
+touch—ever so lightly!—upon those old local arts of ornamentation
+whereby sea-beasts and molluscs and aquatic plants were reverently
+copied by master-hand, not from dead specimens, but “pris sur le vif et
+observés au milieu des eaux”; he explains how an entire school grew up,
+which drew its inspiration from the dainty ... apes and movements of
+these frail creatures. This is _du meilleur Lenormant._ His was a
+full-blooded yet discriminating zest of knowledge. One wonders what
+more was fermenting in that restlessly curious brain, when a miserable
+accident ended his short life, after 120 days of suffering.
+
+So Italy proved fatal to him, as Greece to his father. But one of his
+happiest moments must have been spent on the sea at Bivona, on that
+clear summer day—a day such as this, when every nerve tingles with joy
+of life.
+
+Meanwhile it is good to rest here, immovable but alert, in the
+breathless hush of noon. Showers of benevolent heat stream down upon
+this desolation; not the faintest wisp of vapour floats upon the
+horizon; not a sail, not a ripple, disquiets the waters. The silence
+can be felt. Slumber is brooding over the things of earth:
+
+Asleep are the peaks of the hills, and the vales,
+The promontories, the clefts,
+And all the creatures that move upon the black earth. . . .
+
+Such torrid splendour, drenching a land of austerest simplicity,
+decomposes the mind into corresponding states of primal contentment and
+resilience. There arises before our phantasy a new perspective of human
+affairs; a suggestion of well-being wherein the futile complexities and
+disharmonies of our age shall have no place. To discard these
+wrappings, to claim kinship with some elemental and robust archetype,
+lover of earth and sun——
+
+How fair they are, these moments of golden equipoise!
+
+Yes; it is good to be merged awhile into these harshly-vibrant
+surroundings, into the meridian glow of all things. This noontide is
+the “heavy” hour of the Greeks, when temples are untrodden by priest or
+worshipper. _Controra_ they now call it—the ominous hour. Man and beast
+are fettered in sleep, while spirits walk abroad, as at midnight. _Non
+timebis a timore noctuno: a sagitta_
+_volante in die: a negotio perambulante in tenebris: ab incursu et
+demonio meridiano._ The midday demon—that southern Haunter of calm blue
+spaces. . . .
+
+So may some enchantment of kindlier intent have crept over Phædrus and
+his friend, at converse in the noontide under the whispering
+plane-tree. And the genius dwelling about this old headland of the
+Column is candid and benign.
+
+This corner of Magna Graecia is a severely parsimonious manifestation
+of nature. Rocks and waters! But these rocks and waters are
+actualities; the stuff whereof man is made. A landscape so luminous, so
+resolutely scornful of accessories, hints at brave and simple forms of
+expression; it brings us to the ground, where we belong; it medicines
+to the disease of introspection and stimulates a capacity which we are
+in danger of unlearning amid our morbid hyperborean gloom—the capacity
+for honest contempt: contempt of that scarecrow of a theory which would
+have us neglect what is earthly, tangible. What is life well lived but
+a blithe discarding of primordial husks, of those comfortable
+intangibilities that lurk about us, waiting for our weak moments?
+
+The sage, that perfect savage, will be the last to withdraw himself
+from the influence of these radiant realities. He will strive to knit
+closer the bond, and to devise a more durable and affectionate
+relationship between himself and them. Let him open his eyes. For a
+reasonable adjustment lies at his feet. From these brown stones that
+seam the tranquil Ionian, from this gracious solitude, he can carve
+out, and bear away into the cheerful din of cities, the rudiments of
+something clean and veracious and wholly terrestrial—some tonic
+philosophy that shall foster sunny mischiefs and farewell regret.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX
+
+
+Abruzzi peasants, their lives, 27.
+
+Abulfeda, historian, 135.
+
+Abystron, 119. See _Castrovillari._
+
+Aceti, T., 93.
+
+Acheron, river. See _Mu.com._
+
+Acherontia (? Acri), 195.
+
+“Acherontia’s Nest” (Acerenza), 32.
+
+Achilles, his notions of gratitude, 123.
+
+Achiropita image. See _Madonna._
+
+Acinapura, near Policoro, 98.
+
+Acri, town, 193-196, 199.
+
+_Ada Sanctorum,_ in.
+
+_Adamo Caduto,_ a sacred tragedy, inspires “Paradise Lost,” 160 _seq._
+
+Adler, H. M., 122.
+
+Aelian, 197.
+
+Afforestation, at Morano, 148; governmental schemes for, 218.
+
+Africo, village, 271, 272.
+
+Agropoli, Saracen stronghold, 137.
+
+Akron, commentator, 45. Alaro (Sagra), river, 281-283.
+
+Albanians, their colonies, 176, 189; confused with Byzantines, 176,
+272; their liberalism, 177, 183; wedding ceremony, 182; compared with
+Irish, 186; their training college, 183; preposterous language,
+173,187. See _Costumes_ and _Rada, G. de._
+
+Alberada, her tomb, 38.
+
+Alberti, L., 174.
+
+Alburno, mount, 151.
+
+Alexander of Molossus, his death, 197.
+
+Alfonso the Magnificent, no.
+
+Altamura, sack of, 64, 65.
+
+Altipiano di Pollino, upland, 145.
+
+Amendolea, river, 197, 272.
+
+America. See _Emigration._
+
+Amphitheatre of Venosa, 31, 38.
+
+Ampollina, river, 217, 219, 220.
+
+Amusa, river, 282.
+
+Analphabetics, percentage of, 259.
+
+Anastasius, saint, 111.
+
+Anchoretism, its charms, 112.
+
+Ancinale, river, 295.
+
+Angels, injured by art-notions of Renaissance, 25; frescoes at Venosa,
+38.
+
+Animals, utilized as drugs, 57; cruelty to, 120.
+
+Anne, saint, 250; wells dedicated to, 301.
+
+Anopheles mosquito. See _Malaria._
+
+Anthology, its dog-types, 120.
+
+Apennines, their terminal peak, 145. Aphrodite, 25.
+
+Apollo, 25, 27, 28, 209.
+
+Appulus, King of Sipontum, 29.
+
+Aprustum, 119. See _Castrovillari._
+
+Aqueduct, the Apulian, 42.
+
+Arabs, bigots because half-starved, 126. See _Corsairs_ and _Saracens._
+
+Archytas, lav.-giver, 65, 92.
+
+Aretino, P., 140.
+
+Arfaxad, fabled king, 29.
+
+Argo, highest literary dog-type, 120.
+
+Aristotle, 100, 101, 312.
+
+Arnold, Matthew, 120, 171.
+
+Arpi, town, 29.
+
+Arum lily _(A. aracunculus),_ 143.
+
+Arvo, river, 217, 220.
+
+Asceticism, introduction into south Italy, 251 _seq.;_ its pernicious
+effects, 260.
+
+Aspromonte, 195, 240; reputation for crime, 245, 246; its contorted
+structure, 270; Byzantine settlements in, 272.
+
+Athos, mount, 113.
+
+Augustine, saint, 256.
+
+Augustus, professes scorn of luxury, 92.
+
+“Avanti,” a corrupt rag, 280.
+
+Ayrola, P., bishop, 251.
+
+Babylonia, Sultan of, 37.
+
+Baedeker, 105.
+
+Bagnara, town, 240, 242.
+
+Bagpipes, 151, 155.
+
+Balfour, A. J., 265.
+
+Balzo, Pierro del, 37.
+
+Bandusian Fount, 43-46.
+
+Bantia (Banzi), 32.
+
+Barbarano, a glen, 219.
+
+Barbarossa. See _Frederick II._
+
+Barbarossa, pirate-brothers, 140.
+
+Barbers, their Hellenic loquacity, 81-82.
+
+Bari, compared with Taranto, 89.
+
+Barletta, town, II.
+
+Baronius, cardinal, 258.
+
+Barrius, his _philopatria,_ 142; on Calabrian rivers, 286.
+
+Bartels, J. H., 123.
+
+Earth, Dr. H., 306.
+
+Bartholomaeus, saint, 108.
+
+Basile, A., 69.
+
+Basilean monks, their convents, in, 113; supplanted by Benedictines,
+113; their ideals, 115; convent of St. Adrian, 185.
+
+Basilicata, province, emigration from, 49; military road through, 123;
+old boundary of, 145; its bagpipes, 151, 155.
+
+Batiffol, P., 113, 186, 272.
+
+Bears in Calabria, 94, 146.
+
+Beatrix, princess, 7, 8.
+
+Beccaria, C. de, 276.
+
+Beccarini family, 13.
+
+Beeches at Pollino, 146; in old Latium, 285.
+
+Bellerophon, a dragon-slayer, 102.
+
+Belmonte, prince, 49.
+
+Beltrano, O., 114.
+
+Benedict XIII, no.
+
+Benedict, saint, 252.
+
+Benedictines, their architecture, 39; displace Basileans, 113,
+
+Beneventana, 29.
+
+Benincasa, Venerable Orsola, 255-256, 258.
+
+Benincasa, brigand, 213.
+
+Benjamin of Tudela, 81, 136.
+
+Benoth (Venus), 33.
+
+Bernard, saint, 250.
+
+Bernardo da Rogliano, biography of, 144.
+
+Bernhardi, Prof., 3.
+
+Bertaux, E., 39, 78, in, 186.
+
+_Biblioteca Calabra_ in Naples, 93.
+
+Birds, how to diminish slaughter of, 52; eaten raw, 56.
+
+Bisignano, town, 135, 194.
+
+Bivona, town, 320.
+
+Black colour, of Saracens, 52, 130; of water, 80.
+
+Blaev, J., 67.
+
+Blake, W., 190.
+
+Blanc, Jos., 53.
+
+Blood-letting, popular treatment of disease, 194.
+
+Blue, deficient colour-sense for, 51, 52.
+
+Boccaccio, 80, 260.
+
+Boccara, V., 228.
+
+Boemund, 38.
+
+Boissier, G., 46.
+
+Bollandists, in.
+
+Bonghi, R., statesman, 4.
+
+Bordeaux, royal duel at, 8.
+
+Borgia, village, 293.
+
+Borjès, J., 215.
+
+Botta, C., _quoted,_ 122.
+
+Botte Donato, mount, 122.
+
+Bourbons, their treatment of prisoners, n; persecute Albanians, 177,
+183; protectors of forests, 218; their ecclesiastics and saints, 212,
+260; conditions of Calabria under, 97, 298. See _Brigandage._
+
+Bourget, P., 296.
+
+Bova, town, 241, 245, 272-273.
+
+Bovio, G., statesman, 4.
+
+Bradano, river, 286.
+
+Breakfast in Italy, dislocates moral stability, 18, 125; responsible
+for homicides, 127.
+
+Briar (bruyère), manufacture of pipes, 269.
+
+Brigands, at Venosa, 34; Longobucco, 202; in the Sila, 211 _seq.;_
+pensioned by Bourbons, 214; their crimes, 212, 215; their wealth, 215;
+interview with one, 245.
+
+Brigandage, extent of evil, 144; fostered by the church, 144, 215; by
+Bourbons, 203, 212, 214, 215; by English, 212; its political character,
+211, 214; repression of, 212-215.
+
+“Bronze of Siris,” 197.
+
+Bruno, Giordano, 269.
+
+Bruno, physician of Longobucco, 202.
+
+Bruttians, misrepresented, 197; their characteristics, 208; respect for
+women, 209; reputation for bloodthirstiness, 210.
+
+Buchholtz, H., 190.
+
+Buckle, H. T., 90.
+
+Buffaloes at Policoro, 99.
+
+Bugliari, bishop, 183.
+
+Bugs, their medicinal properties, 105.
+
+Burial, premature, 300.
+
+Burnous, surviving in Italy, 20.
+
+Byzantines, at Gargano, 17; a period of revival, in; their convents,
+113, 186; survive in Aspramente, 272-274; confused with Albanians, 176,
+272.
+
+Caietanus, O., 111.
+
+“Calabrere” fur, 222.
+
+Calabria, used to include Apulia, 89; its great men and natural
+attractions, 93; wild animals, 94; its inns, 106; race-character of
+natives, 109; their hardiness, 209; their philosophical bent, 291;
+inhabited before the flood, 119; situation of inland towns, i io, 200;
+their squalor, 128,206; older descriptions of, 134, 142; English
+travellers in, 181; modern French researches, 186;
+changeinlandscapeandclimate, 219, 241, 284-287; its rivers, 286;
+wistfulness of scenery, 320. See _Malaria._
+
+Calamo, river, 196.
+
+_Calascione Scordato,_ a poem, 131.
+
+Calendaro, river, io, 21.
+
+Calypso, island, 284, 319.
+
+Camorra, 57, 125, 279.
+
+Campanella, T., philosopher, 282, 292.
+
+_Campanula fragilis,_ 225.
+
+Campo di Bova, upland, 272.
+
+Campo Tenese, village, 123.
+
+Cantù, C., 190.
+
+Capaccio, bishop of, 212.
+
+Capasso, B., 3.
+
+Capialbi, V., 136, 320.
+
+Capmartin de Chaupy, on Bandusian Fount, 43-45.
+
+Caprasia. See _Tarsia._
+
+Carafa, village, 293.
+
+Carducci, commentator, 80.
+
+Carducci, poet, 5.
+
+Carob-tree, its cultivation neglected, 49.
+
+Caroline, Queen, 215.
+
+Carthusian monasteries, 293-294.
+
+Caruso, brigand, 214.
+
+Casalnuovo, village, 271, 272.
+
+Caserta, palace of, 139, 204.
+
+Casimir of Poland, prince, 75.
+
+Casino, village, 207.
+
+Cassano, town, 121, 176.
+
+Cassiodorus, 221.
+
+Castaldi, G., 284. Castel del Monte, 11, 12.
+
+Castel del Monte, 11, 12.
+
+Castel Fiorentino, 8.
+
+Castelvetere. See _Caulonia. “_
+
+Castle of the Giant,” 19.
+
+Castrovillari, its origin, 119; old town, 121; colony of Jews, 122.
+
+Catacomb-worship, 27; at Venosa, 38.
+
+“Cataldiados,” a baroque poem, 67.
+
+Cataldo, saint, his shrine and biographies, 67.
+
+Catanzaro, 172, 223; its museum, 224, 226.
+
+Catherine of Siena, saint, 38.
+
+Cats in south Italy, 119-120.
+
+Caulonia, a mediæval site, 281; its castle, 282; immunity from malaria,
+284.
+
+Cavalotti, F., politician, 108-109.
+
+Cavara, Signor, 285.
+
+Cave-worship, its origins and priestly uses, 23.
+
+Celli, Prof., 288, 298.
+
+Cellular confinement, 240, 276.
+
+Cemeteries in Italy, their charm, 2, 299.
+
+Cemetery of Reggio, 235.
+
+Cenna, surviving Roman family, chronicler of Venosa, 32, 33, 43.
+
+_Cerauli,_ snake-killers, 138.
+
+Cerchiara, village, 147.
+
+Cerino, brigand, 215.
+
+Cetara, Saracen stronghold, 137.
+
+Cetraro, erection of postal letter-box at, 304.
+
+Charity, a form of self-indulgence, 311.
+
+Charles of Anjou, 7-8.
+
+Chastity-ideal, poisons literature, 260.
+
+Cheeses of Pollino, 142, 149; of Sila, 221.
+
+Chemists, an authoritative class, 105, 307.
+
+Cherub, a decayed conception, 24.
+
+Chestnuts, destruction of, 220; of Tarentum, 285.
+
+Children, as wage-earners in America, 50; massacre of illegitimate, 59;
+sold by contract, 97; kidnapped for sale to Turks, 139.
+
+China, its dragon-god, 104.
+
+Cholera, 26, 128, 157, 172, 173.
+
+Christian names, degeneration in, 57-58.
+
+Church, Sir R., 77.
+
+Cicadas, their uses, 182; of Reggio, 284.
+
+Cimigliano, village, 205.
+
+Circilla, upland, 219, 222.
+
+Ciro, priest-brigand, 77.
+
+Cirò, its wine, 306.
+
+Cività, village, 153.
+
+Cluver, Ph., 175.
+
+Coachmen, how to manage, 17.
+
+Cocynthum promontory (Punta di Stilo), 284.
+
+Codex of Rossano, 114.
+
+Cœnobitism develops out of eremitism, 112-113.
+
+Colajanni, Prof., 278.
+
+Cola Pesce, the diver, 228-229.
+
+Colletta, P., 64, 212; _quoted,,_ 213.
+
+Colognati, river, 197.
+
+“Colonia Elena,” 96.
+
+Colorito, convent, 143-144.
+
+Colour-sense of peasantry, 51-52.
+
+Columella, 80, 285.
+
+Column, Cape and temple-ruin at Cotrone, 301, 308, 318 _seq._
+
+Commercial travellers, an objectionable brood, 31, 296.
+
+Comparetti, D., 272.
+
+Condofuri, village, 272.
+
+Confessors and penitents, 258.
+
+Conradin, 7-8.
+
+_Contranome,_ the Happy Hazards of, 54-56.
+
+_Controra,_ the ominous hour, 321.
+
+Cook, Eliza, 180.
+
+Cookery, English contrasted with Italian, 125.
+
+“Co-operation,” a local journal, 206.
+
+Copertino, town, 71.
+
+Corace, river, 195.
+
+Coral fisheries, abandoned, 286.
+
+Corigliano, town, 96, 115, 173, 184, 191.
+
+Coronelli, V., 175.
+
+Corsairs, destroy Manfredonia, 12; contrasted with Saracens, 138; their
+destructiveness, 139; depopulate sea-board, 140; crushed by steam, 141.
+
+Corsi, F., 91.
+
+Cortese, Prof., 270.
+
+Coscile (Sybaris), river, 122, 172, 175.
+
+“Cose di Puglie,” a remarkable book, 89.
+
+Cosenza, Saracenism at, 134, 135; a pleasant town, 160; corrupt
+administration of, 193; described by Pacicchelli, 208; intellectual
+record and malaria, 287, 291.
+
+Costanza, Queen, 7, 8.
+
+Costanzo, A., 3.
+
+Costumes, female, of Morano, 130; of Albanian colonies, 152-153, 178,
+182; of San Giovanni, 205-206; of Tiriolo, 225.
+
+Cotrone (Croton), 135, 207; its former size, 283; marshy surroundings,
+286; recent revival, 297; lack of rainfall, 305.
+
+Cotronei, 184.
+
+Cotton-plant, 136. .
+
+Courier, P. L., _quoted,_ 212.
+
+Cows, shod for threshing corn, 121; their milk disparaged, 149; in the
+Sila, 220; resuscitated from death, 261; of Cotrone, 301.
+
+Crati (Crathis), river, 108, 213, 287; its “deluge,” 174; change of
+course, 175; legend of, 197.
+
+Craven, Keppel, 80, 95, 294.
+
+Crimes committed by brigands, 212, 215.
+
+Crispi, F., 191.
+
+“Cristiano,” origin of term, 138.
+
+Croce Greca, a landmark, 195.
+
+Cropolati, village, 198.
+
+Crossbills, 205.
+
+Cruelty to animals, 120.
+
+Cryptomerias, futile love of, I, 83.
+
+Cuma;, 119.
+
+Cuomo, A., 264.
+
+Cuomo Library, Naples, 67.
+
+Cysat, J. L., 104.
+
+Date-palm, 83, 136.
+
+D’Azeglio, _quoted,_ 217.
+
+Death-penalty, preface of civilization, 276.
+
+Decentralization of south Italy, 194, 250, 303.
+
+Deforestation, impairs climate and national character, 12-13; fosters
+malaria, 32, 286; in Apulia, 44; at Castrovillari, 121; in Pollino
+region, 147-148; in “Greek” Sila, 180, 195; in Greater Sila, 207, 217,
+218, 223; diminishes water-supply, 180, 217; in Crati-valley, 287.
+
+Deities, sullied by vulgar contact, 24; must be plastic to survive, 25.
+
+Delianuova, town, 240, 241, 245, 274.
+
+_Delizie Tarentine,_ 80.
+
+Deluge, legend of, 174.
+
+Democritus of Abdera, 312.
+
+Demon of Midday, 321.
+
+Demosthenes, 27, 279.
+
+Deputy, my friend the Roman, on the need of employing employes, 20;
+discusses octroi officials, 34; how to manage the bourgeoisie, 87;
+disapproves of English methods, 117-119.
+
+Devil, his perennial popularity, 25; his honesty, 266.
+
+Diabetic tendency inherent in all gods, 25.
+
+Diehl, C., 108, 186.
+
+Dieting, improper, responsible for moral delinquencies, 126-127.
+
+Diomed, city-founder, 29.
+
+“Dog-eyed,” opprobrious epithet, too, 120.
+
+Dogs, eaten as medicine, 57; their diet and appearance, 119; Greek
+attitude towards, 120.
+
+Dolcedorme, mountain-range, 108, 142, 143.
+
+Dolomieu, C. de, 234.
+
+_Domicilio coatto,_ system of, 276.
+
+Dominican monks, 252, 258, 259.
+
+Dorsa, V., 310.
+
+_Draco volans._ See _dragon._
+
+Dragonara, Dragoneria, 112.
+
+Dragone, rivulet, 100.
+
+Dragon, synonymous with serpent, 100; possible prototypes in nature,
+101; an animistic conception, 102; dragon-attributes and shapes, 103;
+recent degeneration of, 104.
+
+Duret de Tavel, on game in Calabria, 95; on brigands, 202, 212.
+
+Earth-movements, 284-285.
+
+Earthquakes, injure Venosa, 31, 38; Rossano, 113; Reggio and Messina,
+230-239; Bagnara, 242; Sant’ Eufemia, 243; Bova, 273; their effect on
+coast-line, 285. Eboli, C. d’, 256.
+
+Ecclesiastics under Bourbons, prodigious numbers of, 212.
+
+Edrisius, _quoted,_ 109, 286, 298.
+
+Education, Italian ideas on, 185.
+
+Eels, resuscitated from death, 261.
+
+Egidio, saint, 260-264.
+
+Elba, island, 240.
+
+Elia Junior, saint, in.
+
+Elia Spelaeotes, saint, 111-112.
+
+Elias, saint, displaces Helios, 188.
+
+Elvira, Council of, 153.
+
+Emigrants to America, their wine-bibbing propensities and intelligence,
+21-22; other characteristics, 146, 209.
+
+Emigration, reduces population, 28, 49, 209; its effect on the race,
+48, 50, 97, 194, 210; breaks up big properties, 289.
+
+English government, encourages brigandage, 212,
+
+Englishmen, considered savages, 5.
+
+English mentality, contrasted with Italian, 66, 91, 117, 123, 124, 179,
+248, 265, 311.
+
+English travellers in south Italy, 181, 280.
+
+Ennius, 79.
+
+Envy, prevalent native vice, 126, 127, 129.
+
+Ephesus, synod of, 259.
+
+Epictetus, 251.
+
+Erasmus, 264.
+
+Eros, degenerates into Cupid, 25.
+
+Esaro, river (i), 172.
+
+Esaro, river (2), 297.
+
+Espedito, saint, 4.
+
+Eucalyptus trees, a scandalous growth, 97, 98.
+
+Euprassius, protospadarius of Calabria, 111.
+
+Evelyn, John, 136.
+
+Exmouth, Lord, 139.
+
+Eye-like appearance of fountains, originates dragon-legends, 100.
+
+Fabbrizia, town, 292, 293.
+
+Fair complexion, at Venosa, 33; prejudice against, 209; eliminated by
+malaria, 225.
+
+Falcone, N., 161.
+
+Fallistro, mountain, 196.
+
+Fallow-deer, now extinct, 95, 146.
+
+Family, south Italian sense of, 124, 179, 279.
+
+_Fare figura,_ an Italian trait, 65.
+
+Fata Morgana, 228.
+
+Ferdinand, king, 140, 212.
+
+Ferdinand the Catholic, 122.
+
+Ferdinandea, upland, 292.
+
+Festivals, nocturnal, 153.
+
+Feudal conditions in Calabria, 97; re-creation of, 316.
+
+Fever. See _Malaria._
+
+Fever, Maltese, 286.
+
+“Fiamuri Arberit,” Albanian journal, 190.
+
+Figs, different varieties of, 50-51.
+
+Fiore, G., 113, 142, 175, 176, 186, 208, 286.
+
+Firs, 146, 203, 222, 269; used as cow-fodder, 149; white firs, 285,
+295.
+
+Fishermen, their antique habits, 81.
+
+Fulminicà, river, 197.
+
+Fleas, at Spinazzola, 63.
+
+Flora, of mountain parts, 145, 223; change in distribution, 285.
+
+Floriacense, monastery, 207.
+
+Flute, the double, 178.
+
+Flying Monk. See _Joseph of Copertino._
+
+Focà, village, 281; depopulated by malaria, 283; revival of, 289.
+
+Foggia, 7, 8, 10.
+
+Forbiger, A., 195.
+
+Forense (Fiorenza), 32.
+
+Forests, of Policoro, 95; Pollino, 146-148; Sila, 204, 220; Italian,
+contrasted with Russian, 222; Gariglione, 222-223; of Serra, 295.
+
+Forgeries, literary, 143.
+
+Fortis, A., 228.
+
+_Fosse canarie,_ 300.
+
+Fossombrone, town, 72.
+
+Fountains, connected with dragon-legends, 101-104.
+
+Francatripa, brigand, 211, 215.
+
+Francavilla, town, 147.
+
+Francesco di Paola, saint, 257.
+
+Francis II, king, 214.
+
+Francis of Assisi, saint, 18, 74, 75, 254.
+
+Franciscan monks, 75, 160, 252, 258.
+
+Frangipani, 7, 137.
+
+Frederick II (Barbarossa), fortifies Lucera, 2; his affection for
+Saracens, 3; a modern type, 6; keeps a harem, 7; his treasures at
+Venosa, 37; introduces pheasants, 96.
+
+Freemasonry, prevalence of, 183.
+
+French, their repression of brigandage, 144, 202, 212.
+
+Frida, river, 151.
+
+Frogs, as mosquito-catchers, 99.
+
+Fromentin, E., 155.
+
+Frungillo, R., 261.
+
+Galaesus, river, 80.
+
+Galateus (Ferrari, A. de’), 89.
+
+Galen, 283.
+
+Galoppano, forestal station, 204.
+
+Gardens, public, at Lucera, I; Manfredonia, 14; Taranto, 83; Catanzaro,
+224; Messina, 231.
+
+Gargano, mount, 2, 7, 21, 32; Byzantine influence at, 17.
+
+Garibaldi, 183, 214, 240.
+
+Gariglione, forest, 222.
+
+Gaudolino, valley of, 144, 157.
+
+Gay, Jules, 186.
+
+Gebhardt & Harnack, on Codex of Rossano, 114.
+
+Gecko, reputed poisonous, 205, Gelasius, pope, 262.
+
+_Genista anglica,_ 223.
+
+Genovese, Dr. F., his malaria researches, 283, 284, 286, 290.
+
+George, saint, his dragon, 103.
+
+Gerace (Locri), 137, 274, 284, 285.
+
+_Germanese_ and _tedesco,_ contradistinguished, 77.
+
+Gesner, Konrad, 100.
+
+Gessner, Salamon, 315.
+
+Giadrezze, fountain, 80.
+
+Giangiuseppe della Croce, saint, 253-255, 263.
+
+Giannone, P., 4.
+
+Gioia, town, 241.
+
+Gioioso, town, 292.
+
+“Giornale d’ Italia,” _quoted,_ 115.
+
+Giovene, G., 89.
+
+Gissing, G., on Galaesus, 80; description of Reggio, 236; at Cotrone,
+296-301; on Pythagoras, 309.
+
+Giudice, G. del, 139.
+
+Gladstone, W. E., 190.
+
+Glasgow, its morality, 154.
+
+“Glories of Mary,” 259.
+
+Goats, a baneful quadruped, 149, 286.
+
+Goethe, 237, 280.
+
+Gothic attitude towards nature, 42; towards religion, 266.
+
+Gourmont, R. de, 91.
+
+_Graffiti,_ their sociological import, 200.
+
+Grandis, de, 53.
+
+Grano, panegyrist of Calabria, 135.
+
+Grant, J., 242.
+
+Gratitude, southern sense of, 123.
+
+Gravière, J. de la, 141.
+
+“Grazie,” a word seldom used, 123.
+
+Greco, L. M., 197.
+
+Greek Comedy, 153.
+
+Greeks, medieval. See _Byzantines._
+
+Greeks, their treatment of animals, 120; notions of gratitude, 123-124;
+survival of traits and words, 53, 81, 196, 209, 310; close observers of
+natural history, 100.
+
+Green colour, in nature, 52; in mankind, 129.
+
+Gregorovius, F., 17, 88, 307. Grottaglie, town, 68, 77-79. Grottole,
+77.
+
+Grotto-apparitions, 23, 154. Guiscard, Robert, 137. Gumppenberg, G.,
+259.
+
+Guiscard, Robert, 137.
+
+Gumppenberg, G., 259.
+
+Haller, C., 53.
+
+Hair-cutting, æsthetics of, 81.
+
+Hamilton, Sir W., 228, 242.
+
+Hannibal, 31, 64, 299.
+
+Harnack, A., 114.
+
+Haseloff, H. E. G., on purple Codex, 114.
+
+Hat of the Virgin Mary, 243, 265.
+
+Haym, N. F., 144.
+
+Hearn, L., 209.
+
+Hehn, V., 222.
+
+Heinsius, D., 175.
+
+Helios, survives as St. Elias, 188.
+
+Hellenic art, its originality explained, 75. See _Greeks._
+
+Hepidanus, chronicler, 135.
+
+Hera, temple of. See _Column._
+
+Heraclea, 89, 97.
+
+Herbs, lore of, 58; on Mount Pollino, 142-143.
+
+Herculaneum, its buried treasures, 115.
+
+Hercules, 23, 27.
+
+Hermits in Calabria, 111-112.
+
+Herodotus, 175.
+
+Hesiod, 100.
+
+Hippocratic oath, 297.
+
+Hipponium. See _Montdeone,_
+
+Hohenstaufen, their fate avenged, 6-8.
+
+Home, south Italian feeling for, 179.
+
+Homer, his colour-sense, 52; on dragons, 100, 101; his idea of gifts,
+123-124; his “Ore of Temese,” 202.
+
+_Homo ibericus,_ 109.
+
+Horace, 80, 154, 197; on Garganian winds, 21; his house at Venosa, 31;
+praises the simple life but enjoys good food, 41; the perfect
+anti-sentimentalist, 42; on Bandusian Fount, 43 _seq.;_ approves of
+being genially unwise, 46; his _duplex ficus,_ 51; hatred of avarice,
+218.
+
+Huillard-Bréholles, I. L. A., 37, 186.
+
+Humanitarians, their ferocity, 312.
+
+Humour in south Italy, 58.
+
+Huxley, T. H., 264.
+
+Hymenæus, 39.
+
+Ibn Alathir, 135.
+
+Ibn Chaldun, 135.
+
+Illegitimate infants, massacre of, 58-59.
+
+“Il Saraceno,” journal, 4.
+
+Imbriani, politician, 108.
+
+Index, Congregation of, 260.
+
+Industrialism, Italian craze for, 48, 148.
+
+Inn-keepers, how to deal with, 106-108.
+
+Innocent IV., 7.
+
+Inquisition, 258, 260.
+
+Intellectual undercurrent in south Italy, 33, 89, 188, 201.
+
+“Interesse” (self-advantage), a guiding motive, 124.
+
+Ionic spirit, traces of, 208; defies religious asceticism, 252.
+
+Iorio, A. di, 51.
+
+Italian government, plays at numbering houses, 20; punishes original
+ideas, 35.
+
+Italian heritage from Romans, 42, 277.
+
+Italian music, its primitive appeal, 5, 231-232.
+
+Italy, the original district so called, 195.
+
+Jackdaws, discard their voices, 37.
+
+Janace, forest, 146.
+
+Januarius, saint, 249, 251.
+
+Japygia, land of, 68.
+
+Jerome, saint, 153.
+
+Jesuits, 97, 249.
+
+Jesus Christ, how regarded, 248.
+
+Jews, colony at Venosa, 38; at Castrovillari, 122; at Caulonia and
+elsewhere, 282; change in their race-characteristics, 126.
+
+Johannes a S. Antonio, 162.
+
+Johannes of Longobucco, 202.
+
+John, saint, his blood, 251.
+
+Johnson-Cory, W., 315.
+
+Jones, W. M., on malaria, 290.
+
+Joseph, saint, 250.
+
+Joseph of Copertino, saint, his biographies, 69; feats of aviation,
+71-72; takes a passenger, 73; his semi-cretinism, 74; why born in a
+stable, 75; beatification and penitences, 76, 78.
+
+Justice in south Italy, 278, 279.
+
+Justinus, _quoted,_ 221.
+
+Juvenal, 259.
+
+Kant, E., 310.
+
+Kerrich, Mr., his briar-industry, 270.
+
+Kestrels, fishing for, 129.
+
+Kheir-eddin, pirate, 140.
+
+King and Okey, _quoted,_ 279.
+
+“King Marcone,” brigand, 214.
+
+Kircher, A., _quoted,_ 105.
+
+Kissing, in life and literature, 315.
+
+Knox, John, 310.
+
+Konrad von Hildesheim, _quoted,_ 138.
+
+Labonia, F. M., 202.
+
+“La Cattolica,” church at Stilo, ill.
+
+Lagonegro, town, 147.
+
+Lakes, construction of artificial, 217; created by earthquakes, 285.
+
+Lamartine, A. M., 190.
+
+Lamb, Charles, 14.
+
+Lambton Worm, a dragon, 102.
+
+“Lamenti,” plaints in rime, 140.
+
+Landslides, their destructive frequency, 218; how repaired, 293.
+
+“La Quistione Meridionale,” a book, 278.
+
+Lasor a Varea (Savonarola), 67, 144.
+
+Latin points of view, opposed to Gothic, 42, 266.
+
+Latinisms of speech, survival of, 53.
+
+Latronico, village, 147.
+
+Laurentius, bishop of Sipontum, 17.
+
+Lauria, Roger de, 7, 8.
+
+Law-breaking, unsuspected joys of, 36.
+
+Lear, E., 40, in, 134.
+
+Lefroy, E. C., 315.
+
+Lenormant, F., on Manfredonia, 12; on Trinità abbey, 38; on Sybaris,
+115; on Pandosia, 196; on Byzantine colonies, 272; at Bivona, 320; his
+zest of knowledge, 321.
+
+Leone da Morano, 144.
+
+Leoni, N., 131, 161, 228.
+
+Leoni (government official), 271.
+
+Leo XIII, 263.
+
+Lese, river, 205, 220.
+
+Lesina, 7, 21.
+
+Lewes, G. H., 267.
+
+Ligorio, P., arch-forger, 143.
+
+Liguori, A. di, saint, 256, 257, 259, 260.
+
+“L’ Inglese,” brigand, 212.
+
+Lions of Lucera, 3; of Venosa, 32.
+
+Lipari, island, 276.
+
+Lipuda, river, 197.
+
+Lister, Lord, 312.;
+
+Li Tartari, mountain, 196.
+
+Livy, 197.
+
+Lizard, the emerald, 205.
+
+L’ Occaso, author, 134.
+
+Locri. See _Gerace._
+
+Lombroso, C., 128, 278.
+
+Longobucco, 195; its “Hotel Vittoria,” 199, 201; situation, 200;
+intellectual life, 201; silver mines, 202.
+
+Lorenzo, G. de, 39.
+
+Lorenzo (Lawrence), saint, his dragon-legend, n, 102; his fat, 251.
+
+Louis of France, saint, 7.
+
+Love of noise, a local trait, 53.
+
+Love-affairs, how managed, 84-86.
+
+Lucanians, 197, 221.
+
+Lucca oil, 241.
+
+Lucera, its castle, 2, 6; museum, 3; landscape in spring, 6.
+
+Lucifero, a sacrilegious bishop, 319.
+
+Ludwig II, complains of Saracens, 138.
+
+Luke, saint, paints Madonna portraits at Sipontum, 30; at Caulonia,
+282; at Cotrone, 306.
+
+Lupi-Crisafi, author, 228.
+
+Lupoli, M. A., 31, 39.
+
+Luther, his creed repressed, 252.
+
+Luynes, duc de, 186.
+
+Luzard (lynx), an absent-minded beast, 94, 222.
+
+Lycanthropy, epidemic of, 176.
+
+Maccheroni, the art of engulphing, 297.
+
+Macchia, village, 178, 180, 188 _seq._
+
+Madonna, declines in artistic worth, 24; her realistic diet, 61; _della
+Fita,_ 93; _acbiropita,_ 108, 113, 114; _del Patir,_ in; her friendship
+with St. Nilus, 114; _del Castello,_ 122; _della Libera,_ 140; _di
+Constantinopoli,_ 140; of Pollino, picnic in honour of, 151 _seq.; put
+up to auction,_ 156; of Messina, 230, 237; absorbs Greek deities, 247;
+_dell’ Arco,_ 249; _del Soccorso,_ 249; of Pompei, 249; _of the Hens,_
+250; displaces saint-worship, 248-251; her Sacred Hat, 243, 265; her
+Milk, 250; increases in popularity, 259, 264; _del Carmine,_ 301.
+
+Maecenas, 41.
+
+Maffei, A., 215.
+
+Magic, instances of sympathetic, 57; imported from Egypt, 58, 251.
+
+Magini, G. A., 97, 175.
+
+Magna Mater, 108, 153, 259.
+
+Mahaffy, J. P., 124.
+
+Maida, plain of, 240, 241.
+
+Malaria, at Manfredonia, 12; at Sipontum, 30; Venosa, 32; Policoro, 98;
+old Sybaris, 115, 282-283; on Tyrrhenian sea-board, 241; at Focà, 283,
+289; at Cotrone, 284, 291, 298; at Cosenza, 287, 291.
+
+Malaria, votive offerings due to, 152; eliminates fair complexion, 225;
+propagated by deforestation, 32, 286, 287; by artificial irrigation,
+241; by migrations of labourers, 284; by recent climatic changes, 285;
+by earthquake subsidences, 285; follows river-beds, 286; endemic for
+two thousand years, 283; contributes to decline of old civilizations,
+290; ravages among French troops, 241, 287; spread and significance of
+the disease, 287, 291; methods of combating, 288; results of
+quinine-policy, 289.
+
+Male selection, among Hellenic races, 209.
+
+_Malizia_ (cleverness), 47, 124.
+
+Mallock, W. H., 265.
+
+Malpica, C., 114.
+
+Mammon, the god of emigrants, 22.
+
+Mammone, brigand, 212.
+
+Manfred, his infatuation for Saracens, 3; fate of his sons, 8 j) his
+name survives, 45.
+
+Manfredonia, its harbour, II; burnt by Corsairs, 12; wineshops and
+burglaries, 15.
+
+Manhes, General, his methods, 213, 214; at Bagnara, 242; at Serra, 293.
+
+Manna ash, 93, 121.
+
+Manzi, brigand, 214, 215.
+
+Marafioti, G., 143.
+
+Marbles, on beach at Taranto, 9!; Roman technique of cutting, 92.
+
+Marcellinara, village, 205.
+
+Marcellus, tomb of, 31.
+
+Marchesato, district, 284.
+
+Marchianò, M., 188.
+
+Marchianò, S., 187.
+
+Marcone, N., 243.
+
+Marcus Aurelius, 251.
+
+Margaret, saint, gratifying results of her autopsy, 258.
+
+Marino, poet, 23, 169, 259.
+
+Mariolatry, engenders effeminate saints, 259.
+
+Marincola, L., 139.
+
+Marincola Pistoia, D., 197.
+
+Mark, saint, his church at Rossano, III; displaced by St. Rosalia, 247.
+
+Mars, 27.
+
+Martial, 53, 80.
+
+Martorana, C., 135.
+
+Mary, Virgin. See _Madonna._
+
+Masci, A., 176.
+
+Mater Domini, convent, 251.
+
+Matera, town, 138.
+
+Matthew Paris, _quoted,_ 7.
+
+“Mattino,” a venal daily, 303.
+
+Mazzara, town, 93.
+
+Mazzella, Sc., 136.
+
+Mazziotti, Prof. G., 183.
+
+Meander, river, 100.
+
+Medicines, compounded from animals, 57.
+
+Mele, S., 53.
+
+Melfi, town, 38.
+
+Melito, town, 137.
+
+Melliss, J. C., 286.
+
+Mendicino, village, 197.
+
+Mephitis, goddess of malaria, 32.
+
+Mercer, Mr., 278.
+
+Mercury, 26, 27.
+
+Merenzata, river, 197.
+
+Messapians, 65.
+
+Messina, its Fata Morgana, 228; legend of Cola Pesce, 228-229; public
+gardens, 231; effects of earthquake, 236-239.
+
+Metapontum, 119, 284, 289.
+
+Metchnikoff, E., 68.
+
+Mice, eaten as medicine, 56.
+
+Michael, saint, pre-renaissance relief of, 14; a cave-saint on Gargano,
+17; childish and emasculate character, 23-29; affinities with older
+gods, 23, 26, 27; stripped of his higher attributes, 28; a mere ghost,
+29.
+
+Middle Ages, their influence upon dragon-idea, 104.
+
+Milk of the Virgin Mary, 250-251.
+
+“Millionaires” of Acri, 195; of Cotrone, 302.
+
+Milo of Croton, defeats Sybarites, 196; devoured by wolves, 222.
+
+“Milosao,” Albanian rhapsodies, 190, 191.
+
+Milton, indebtedness to S. della Salandra, 160 _seq.;_ to other Italian
+poets, 169; friendship with Marquis Manzo, 168, 169; manuscripts at
+Cambridge, 170; his “grand manner,” 171.
+
+Minasi, A., 228.
+
+Minieri-Riccio, C., 160.
+
+Misasi, N., 294.
+
+Mistletoe, on fir-trees, 203.
+
+Mithra, 27, 309.
+
+Moens, Mr., captured by brigands, 214.
+
+Moltedo, F. T., 53.
+
+Mommsen, T., 31.
+
+Monasterace, village, 281.
+
+Monasteries, develop out of hermitages, 112; refuge of brigands, 144,
+215.
+
+Monastic orders, competition between, 258.
+
+Mondragone, mountain, 102.
+
+Monk, the Flying. See _Joseph of Copertina._
+
+Monnier, M., 215.
+
+“Montagna del Principe,” 123, 144.
+
+Montalto, mountain, 269, 274.
+
+Montanari, G. I., 69, 74.
+
+Monteleone (Hipponium), town, 119, 137, 241.
+
+Monte Nero, 217, 220.
+
+Montorio, S., 114, 259, 264, 282.
+
+Monumentomania, an Italian disease, 4.
+
+Moon, superstitions regarding, 59.
+
+Moore, John, 139.
+
+Morality, to be expressed in physiological terms, 126.
+
+Morano, its great age and greater filth, 128; Saracen memories, 130;
+its literary glories, 131, 132.
+
+Morelli, T., 177, 272.
+
+Moritz, K. P., 140.
+
+Morone, C., 67.
+
+Morosi, G., 272.
+
+Moscato, author, 135.
+
+Motor services, replace diligence, 123, 225.
+
+Mountains, Italian dislike of, 143.
+
+Movers, F. C., 56.
+
+Mucone (? Acheron), river, 195-197.
+
+Müller, Max, 51.
+
+Müller, Prof., 38.
+
+Münter, F., 229.
+
+Murat, 123, 213, 214.
+
+Muratori, L. A., 13, 135.
+
+Murders, due to wine-bibbing, 244, 246.
+
+Murge hills, 63, 64.
+
+Museum, of Lucera, 3; Taranto, 88; British, 119, 161, 197; of
+Catanzaro, 224, 226, 316; Reggio, 236.
+
+Mushroom-stone, 93, 222.
+
+Musolino, brigand, 211, 270, 272; his fate, 240; episodes of, 271, 281;
+a victim of inept legislation, 275, 278.
+
+Mussulman epitaph, 3.
+
+Mutilomania, an Italian disease, 83.
+
+Mythopoetic faculty, blighted by misrule, 100.
+
+Naples, its catacombs, 25, 247; municipality and octroi-system, 34;
+survival of Hellenic traits at, 53; scandal of Foundling Hospital, 59;
+camorra, 125; corrupt police-force, 279; its daily press, 303.
+
+Napoleon, protects trees, 218.
+
+Nardo di Pace, village, 292.
+
+Nasi, ex-minister, his trial, 280.
+
+Nau, cape. See _Column._
+
+National monuments, neglected, 39.
+
+Neaithos, river. See _Neto._
+
+Neri, Filippo, saint, 258.
+
+Neto (Neaithos), river, 205, 206, 219, 220; wine of district, 307;
+change in landscape, 314.
+
+Newspapers andpublic opinion, 277; characteristics of local,3O3-305.
+
+“New York Times,” on Sybaris, 116.
+
+Nicastro, town, 241.
+
+Niceforo, A., 252.
+
+Nicephoras Phocas, 81, 281.
+
+Niehbuhr, B. G., 272.
+
+Nilus, builder-saint, 114.
+
+Nilus, saint, 105, 108, no.
+
+Nissen, H., 219.
+
+Noepoli, village, 149.
+
+Nola-Molisi, G. B., 298, 320.
+
+Nordau, M., 74.
+
+Normans, buried at Venosa, 38; their behaviour in Sicily, 137.
+
+North, W., 290.
+
+Nowairi, historian, 135.
+
+Nutrition, its effect upon physique and morals, 125-127.
+
+Oaks (_Quercus cerris_), 222.
+
+Octroi, a mediæval abomination, 34-36, 66, 90.
+
+Odours, susceptibility of natives to, 52, 318.
+
+Oenotrians, a useful tribe, 130.
+
+Okey, T., 279.
+
+Olive oil, export from Palmi, 241.
+
+Oria, town, 65.
+
+Orsini tower, Taranto, 67.
+
+Otter, a rare animal, 184.
+
+Otto II., 135, 292.
+
+_Otto-Nove!_ charm-formula, 310.
+
+Ouida, 45, 120.
+
+Oysters of Taranto, 81.
+
+Pacicchelli, G. B., 12, 208, 282, 294.
+
+Paestum, 119, 137, 283, 285.
+
+Paganism, survival of, 248.
+
+Paleparto, mountain, 196.
+
+Palermo, behaviour of Normans in, 137; metropolis of Saracens, 138; its
+percentage of homicides, 276.
+
+Pallagorio, village, 315.
+
+Palmi, its oil-industry, 241.
+
+Pandosia, ancient city, 196, 197.
+
+Paoli, Monsieur, 27.
+
+Paracorio, village, 245.
+
+“Paradise Lost,” its presumable prototypes, 160; derived from
+Salandra’s work, 161 _seq._
+
+Parafante, brigand, 241.
+
+Parenti, village, 211.
+
+Parisio, P., 197.
+
+Parrino, D. A., 139.
+
+Pascale, V., 284.
+
+Patir (Patirion), monastery, in, 113-116, 186.
+
+Patriarchalism, its break-up in South Italy, 48 _seq.;_ makes for
+inefficiency, 226; shattered by judiciary abuses, 275, 279. See
+_Peasantry._
+
+Patrick, saint, 262.
+
+Paul, saint, invoked against poisonous beasts, 138.
+
+Paulinus, bishop, 151, 247.
+
+Peasantry, oppressed by taxes, 35; their virtues and vices, 47;
+break-up of patriarchal habits, 48, 53; their anthropomorphic language,
+50; defective colour-sense, 51-52; their system of nicknames, 54-56;
+degeneration in culture and modern revival, 57, 58, 97; their
+destructive avarice, 218. See _Emigration._
+
+_Pecorara,_ a rustic dance, 152.
+
+Pelasgic language and race, 187, 189, 191.
+
+Pelicaro, district, 97.
+
+Pellegrini, A., 272.
+
+Penal code of Italy, need for its revision, 276, 278, 279.
+
+Pentedattilo, mountain, 272.
+
+Pepe, G., 298.
+
+Pericles, 152.
+
+Perrey, G., 294.
+
+Persius Flaccus, 284.
+
+Petelia. See _Strongoli._
+
+Petelia Policastro, town, 184.
+
+Peter, saint, baptizes natives, 29, 282; legend of, 60.
+
+Petronius, 302.
+
+Pettinascura, mountain, 204, 220.
+
+Peutinger’s Tables, no, 281.
+
+Phædrus, 322.
+
+Phallic cult at Venosa, 40.
+
+Pharmacy-club, how to secure membership, 106.
+
+Pheasants, 96.
+
+Philo Judseus, 251.
+
+Physical conditions affecting race-character, 90, 126.
+
+Piano di Carmelia, upland, 269.
+
+Piedigrotta, festival, 52.
+
+Piè d’ Impisa, mountain, 272.
+
+Pietra-Sasso, a landmark, 148.
+
+Pigs, in streets, 128, 206, 207; their food, 173; can detect
+werewolves, 176.
+
+Pilgrims, at Lucera, 4; at Sant’ Angelo, 18; their specific odour and
+capacity for mischief, 19; foul appearance, 27; a debased Christianity,
+28; behaviour at Venosa, 40.
+
+Pines, absent in Pollino forests, 146; the Calabrian variety, 196, 204;
+of Aleppo, 285.
+
+Pious legends, their drawback, 262.
+
+Piracy. See _Corsairs_ and _Saracens._
+
+Pitch, the Bruttian, 204, 285, 286.
+
+Pitrè, G., 300.
+
+Platitudes, Italian and English love of, 14.
+
+Plato, _quoted,_ 116; his cloudy philosophy, 311; food for adolescents,
+312.
+
+Pleasure, danger of repressing, 153.
+
+Pliny the Elder, 80, 281, 284, 285, 307.
+
+Pococke, R., 121.
+
+Poets, why deficient in humour, 58.
+
+Policoro, forest, 95 _seq.;_ its game, 96; eucalyptus avenue, 97;
+buffaloes, 99.
+
+Polistena, town, 234.
+
+Pollino, mountain,, 108; derivation of the name, 142; the peak,
+143-145; terminates Apennines, 145; its forests, 145-148.
+
+Polybius, 80.
+
+Pompeio, fountain, 196.
+
+Pontanus, humanist, 18.
+
+Ponza, island, 276.
+
+Pope, A., prince of snobs, 127.
+
+Porcupine, approaching extinction, 184.
+
+Potenza, 32.
+
+Potteries of Grottaglie, 78; of Taranto, 92; of Corigliano, 173.
+
+Pratilii, F. M., 143.
+
+Praxiteles, 286.
+
+Preconi, H., 78.
+
+Prehistoric stations in South Italy, 119; weapons, 3, 119, 179, 224.
+
+Priests, parasitic on families, 4; their attitude towards
+superstitions, 59; their acquisitiveness, 60; a decayed profession, 60,
+154; fight on side of brigands, 215; connaisseurs of wine, 3O7-
+
+Privacy, lack of feeling for, 66.
+
+Procida, John of, 8.
+
+Proclus, 285.
+
+Procopius, 109.
+
+Properties, large, their break-up, 96; synonymous with malaria, 289.
+
+Propertius, 80.
+
+Ptolemy, 281.
+
+Public opinion, non-existent, 277.
+
+Puccini, archbishop, recommends fetishism, 26.
+
+Pythagoras, 282; explanation of his popularity, 309; a glorified
+marabout, 311.
+
+Quinine-policy, governmental. See _Malaria._
+
+Race-characters, delusion as to their immutability, 91, 126. Rada, G.
+de, Albanian prophet, 187; his mystic tendencies, 189; patriotic
+labours, 190 _seq.;_ his death, 192.
+
+Ragona, village, 292.
+
+Railway stations in Italy, 117, 118.
+
+Rainfall, diminution in, 217, 241, 285, 306.
+
+Rath, G. von, 287.
+
+Rathgeber, G., 175.
+
+Rationalist Congress of 1904, leads to counter-demonstration, 32, 269.
+
+Reggio, 135, 137; effects of earthquake, 234, 236; its cemetery, 235.
+
+Regio, P., 256.
+
+Relics, sacred, 208, 247, 251, 263.
+
+Religion in south Italy, its intense realism, 60; contrasted with
+English, 265.
+
+Renaissance, injures angelic shapes, 25; produces historical
+panegyrists, 142; falsifies place-names, 196; imports Pythagoras and
+Plato, 311.
+
+Rhaetia, its dragons, 104.
+
+Rhetoric, perverts course of justice, 276, 277.
+
+Rhodiginus (Richerius, L. C.), 197.
+
+Ricca, brigand, 211.
+
+Riccardi, A., 155.
+
+Riedesel, J. H., 298.
+
+Rivarol, J. E. A., 212.
+
+Rivers in Calabria, their destructive floods, 99, 197, 286; their
+numbers, 286; once navigable, 174, 284; arteries of malaria, 286.
+
+Rizzi-Zannone, G. A., 97.
+
+Rizzo, an amiable priest, 109.
+
+Rizzuto, cape, 318.
+
+Robinias, why beloved of municipalities, 83.
+
+Rocca Bernarda, town, 117.
+
+Roccaforte, village, 271, 272.
+
+Rocchetta, station, 31.
+
+Rocella Ionica, town, 274, 286.
+
+Rodotà, P. P., 177, 273.
+
+Roghudi, village, 271, 272.
+
+Rogliano, town, 195, 211.
+
+Romans, their lack of imagination, 32; their _pittas,_ 33; pacification
+of wild nature, 42; marble-cutting technique, 92; their republican
+stoicism, 126.
+
+Romanticists, their feeling for nature, 42.
+
+Roque, saint, 39.
+
+Rosalia, saint, 247.
+
+Rosarno, town, 241.
+
+Roscia (Rossano), no.
+
+Rosis, de, no.
+
+Ross, Sir R., 287, 290.
+
+Rossano, accommodation at, 105-108; character of inhabitants, 109; its
+situation, no; importance under Byzantines, 111.
+
+Rossi, D. A., 69, 71, 74, 77.
+
+Rouse, Dr. W. H. D., 152.
+
+Ruffo, cardinal, 64, 212, 215, 298.
+
+_Rusalet,_ a dance, 178.
+
+Ruscianum (Rossano), 110.
+
+Ruskin, J., 90.
+
+Russell, Lord Odo, 120.
+
+Rutilius Namatianus, 27.
+
+Sagra, river. See _Alaro._
+
+Saints, their pathological symptoms, 74; unavoidable lack of
+originality, 75, 253; male type replaced by females, 247-251; their
+baroque period, 253-257; manufactured by monks and confessors, 258,
+267; mutilated after death, 263; their Bourbon period, 260 _seq._
+
+Salandra, S. della, his “Adamo Caduto” inspires ”Paradise Lost,” 160
+_seq._
+
+Salis Marschlins, U. von, 67, 271.
+
+San Benedetto Ullano, town, 183.
+
+Sanchez, G., 78, 102.
+
+San Cosimo, village, 180.
+
+San Demetrio Corone, its dirty streets, 181; Albanian church, 182;
+college for boys, 183-185; convent of Sant’ Adriano, 185.
+
+Sandys, G., 121.
+
+San Floro, M., 217.
+
+San Francesco, convent, 77.
+
+San Gervasio, old church and fountain at, 43; fountains identified with
+_Fons Bandusiae,_ 43-46.
+
+San Giorgio (Apulia), 65.
+
+San Giorgio (Calabria), 176, 180.
+
+San Giovanni in Fiore, 195, 203; its women, 205; unhygienic conditions,
+206.
+
+San Nicola, village, 292.
+
+_Sanpaulari,_ snake-killers, 138.
+
+San Severo, town, 6.
+
+San Severino, village, 147, 155
+
+Sant’ Adriano, convent, 185-186.
+
+Sant’ Angelo and its shrine, 17; modern worshippers in the cave, 19,
+27-28.
+
+Santa Barbara, upland, 204.
+
+Sant’ Eufemia, village, 240, 243.
+
+Santa Sofia d’ Epiro, village, 180.
+
+Santo Stefano, village, 222, 271.
+
+Santo Stefano, island, 240.
+
+Sappho, 116.
+
+Saracena, village, 131.
+
+Saraceno, mountain, 20.
+
+_“_Saraceno,” term of abuse, 138.
+
+Saracens, at Lucera, 3; at Gargano, 20; their “black” colour, 52, 130;
+at Morano, 130; Saracenic survivals, 134, 138; raids into south Italy,
+135, 137; their benefits, 136; excesses, 137; contradistinguished from
+Corsairs, 138.
+
+Sarmento, river, 148.
+
+Sarnelli, P., 29.
+
+Saserna, 285.
+
+Savastano, L., 49.
+
+Savelli, village, 179, 205, 207, 293.
+
+Savonarola, author. See _Lasor a Varea._
+
+Savonarola, monk, 309.
+
+Scanderbeg, 65, 176.
+
+Scarolla, brigand, 144.
+
+“Scemo” (soft-witted), the unforgivable sin, 107, 124.
+
+Scheuchzer, J. J., 104.
+
+Schneegans, A., 228.
+
+Schulz, H. W., 39, 202.
+
+Scido, village, 270.
+
+Scilatio, 281.
+
+Scirocco, south wind, its effect upon landscape, io; on character, 90.
+
+Sculco, Dr., 297.
+
+Scylla, 240.
+
+“Sdrago,” the dragon, 104.
+
+Sebethus, river, 80.
+
+“Seicentismo,” blight of south Italy, 252.
+
+Selva Umbra, forest, 21.
+
+Semi-starvation, demoralizing effects of, 41.
+
+Seneca, 251.
+
+Serpents, assimilated with dragons, 100; our early hatred of, 105.
+
+Serra San Bruno, 293, 295.
+
+Servius, 281.
+
+Sheep, and wolves, 221.
+
+Shem, son of Noah, 29.
+
+Shepherds, of Sila, 221; of Cotrone, 301; their kissing propensities,
+315.
+
+Sicily, under Saracens, 136; under Normans, 137.
+
+Sigilgaita, 38.
+
+Sila, mountain plateau, its three divisions, 195; the “Greek” Sila,
+176; Greater Sila, its landscape, 204; Bruttian inhabitants, 208;
+compared with Scotland, 219; vegetation, 220; the Lesser Sila, 223.
+
+Silenziario, P., 91.
+
+Silver mines, of Longobucco, 202.
+
+Sin, an export-article, 256.
+
+Sinno, river, 95, 99, 149, 286.
+
+Sinopoli, 240, 243, 244.
+
+Sipontum, its famous church, 29; wholly desolate, 30.
+
+Sirens, as fountain ornaments, 45.
+
+Sirino, mountain, 151.
+
+Siris, ancient city, 95.
+
+Sixtus V, 213, 215.
+
+Slavery, 139.
+
+Snakes, their colour, 52; medicinal uses, 57; destroyed with spittle,
+138.
+
+Socialism in Italy, 96.
+
+Soria, F. A., 143.
+
+South Italy, its recent revival, 91, 298.
+
+Soverato, town, 295.
+
+Spanish Viceroys, blighting effects of their rule, 57, 252, 253;
+enactments against Barbary pirates, 139; conservators of forests, 218.
+
+Spano-Bolani, D., 134.
+
+Spartacus, 214.
+
+Spezzano Albanese, town, 172-174.
+
+Spinazzola, town, 62-64.
+
+Spinelli’s chronicle, a forgery, 3.
+
+Spleen, importance of this organ, 152, 307.
+
+Squillace, town, 135, 295.
+
+Stagno Salso, lake, 21.
+
+Staiti, town, 272. Stamer, W. J. A., 50.
+
+Statius, 80.
+
+Stendhal, _quoted,_ 125, 276.
+
+Stilo, town, in, 292.
+
+Stoics, victims of misfeeding, 126.
+
+Stomach-diseases, prevalence of, 126.
+
+“Stone of Saint Michael,” a fraudulent article, 23, 26.
+
+Strabo, 23, 80, 87, 197, 204, 283, 284.
+
+Strongoli (Petelia), 224, 314, 316.
+
+Sturgeon, caught at Cotrone, 320.
+
+Sugar-cane, formerly cultivated, 136.
+
+Suicides look manly, 84.
+
+Sulphur mines, 315.
+
+Summonte, G. A., 140.
+
+Swammerdam, J., 105.
+
+Swedenborg, E., 310.
+
+Swinburne, A., 116.
+
+Swinburne, H., 78, 115, 319.
+
+Sybaris, 89, 108, 195; its buried wealth, 115; destruction of, 175,
+196, 311; presumably malarious of old, 115, 282-283.
+
+Sybaris, river. See _Coscile._
+
+Sybarites, contrasted with Byzantine monks, 115.
+
+Symonds, J. A., 115.
+
+Tajani, F., 177.
+
+Talarico, brigand, 214.
+
+Tarantolla, dance, 93.
+
+Taranto, the arsenal quarter, 65-67; its octroi impositions, 66, 90;
+old town, 67; inland sea, 68, 80, 90; fishermen and barbers, 81;
+love-making on the Corso, 84; its slumberous inhabitants, 87-90; museum
+and public library, 88, 89; marbles on the beach, 91.
+
+Tarsia (Caprasia), village, 174, 194; its malaria, 287.
+
+Tassulo, Pilati de, 183, 228.
+
+Taverna, town, 223.
+
+Temese, ore of, 202.
+
+Temples, destruction of, 136, 137. .
+
+Tenore, M., 146.
+
+Termula (Termoli), 137.
+
+Terracciano, N., 145.
+
+Terranova di Pollino, 143, 148.
+
+Terranova di Sibari (Thurii), 175, 282, 283.
+
+Theatine monks, 113.
+
+Theocritus, 8i, 269, 285, 301, 314; his human appeal, 315.
+
+Theodoret, bishop, _quoted,_ 152.
+
+Theophrastus, 285.
+
+Third sex, its significance, 116, 257.
+
+“Thirsty Apulia,” origin of the phrase, 15.
+
+Thucydides, 284, 298.
+
+Thurii. See _Terranova ài Sibari._
+
+Timber construction replaced by stone, 12.
+
+Tiriolo, town, 225-226.
+
+Tischbein, J. H. W., 319.
+
+Toledo, Pietro di, 252-253.
+
+Tolù, brigand, 211.
+
+Toppi, N., 144, 162.
+
+Torrent-beds, their charm, 292.
+
+Tortoises, used as medicine, 57.
+
+Tozer, H. F., 104.
+
+Traeis, river. See _Trionto._
+
+Treasure, buried at Lucera, 8, 9.
+
+Trede, T., 258.
+
+Tree-planting, discouraged in cities, 65, 66.
+
+Tree-torturing, a southern trait, 83.
+
+Tremiti islands, n.
+
+Trinità, abbey at Venosa, 37-40.
+
+Trinità, column at Taranto, 67.
+
+Trinity, southern conception of, 250.
+
+Trionto (? Traeis), river, 195-200.
+
+Troia, town, 6.
+
+Tromby, B., 294.
+
+Trotter, Prof. A., 223.
+
+Troubadours, their idea of nature, 42.
+
+Truthfulness, a modern virtue, 266.
+
+Tufarelli, G. L., 128, 131, 144.
+
+“Turco,” colour known as, 52.
+
+Tutini, C., 294.
+
+Ughelli, F., 43, 45, 114.
+
+Ulpian, 53.
+
+“Ultramontain,” author, 53.
+
+Urban VIII, 72, 110, 262.
+
+Uromastix lizard, 101.
+
+Uruj, pirate, 140.
+
+Utilitarianism in south Italy, 43, 57, 126, 218.
+
+Vaccarizza, village, 174, 176, 179, 180, 184, 224.
+
+Varrò, 80.
+
+Vatican, authorizes cruelty to animals, 120; attitude towards
+Byzantinism, 248.
+
+Velasquez, 140.
+
+Venosa, survival of Roman blood and habits, 32; its rustic dirt, 33;
+castle, 37; abbey of Trinità, 37-40; catacombs, 38; bad food, 41.
+
+Venus, gives name to Venosa, 33; marble head of, 92.
+
+Verace, watershed, 195, 196, 204.
+
+_Verde antico,_ marble, 91.
+
+Vespoli, G. F., 298.
+
+Viceregal period. See _Spanish Viceroys._
+
+Vieste, village, 7, 21.
+
+Viggianello, village, 157.
+
+Vigilantius of Marseilles, 153.
+
+Villa Beaumont, Taranto, 83.
+
+Villari, P., 191.
+
+_Vincolo forestale,_ its provisions disregarded, 218.
+
+Virgil, 42, 46, 80, 284, 285.
+
+“Virtù,” retains antique meaning, 53.
+
+Vitiello, night-quarters at, 149-150.
+
+Vito, saint, struggles with Madonna, 92.
+
+Voltaire, 76, 170, 262.
+
+Votive offerings, 152.
+
+Vulture _(Gyps fulvus),_ 184.
+
+Vulture, mountain, 2, 13, 21, 32, 41.
+
+Vulturnus wind, 41, 53.
+
+Wagner, J. J., 104.
+
+Waiblinger, F. W., 141.
+
+Waldensian colonies, 122.
+
+Waldstein, Sir C., 115.
+
+Wantley, dragon of, 102.
+
+Wedding, an Albanian, 182.
+
+Wedding-present, a civilized, 89.
+
+Werewolves, 176.
+
+Wine, of Sant’ Angelo, 22; Venosa, 41; Bova, 273; of Calabria, 306-307.
+
+Witchcraft, 58.
+
+Wolves, at Pollino, 149; in Sila, 220-222; at Cotrone, 318. Women, of
+San Giovanni, 205; respected among non-Hellenic races, 208;
+superstitions regarding, 209; of coast-towns, 299.
+
+Wood-pigeon, 269.
+
+Xenocrates, _quoted,_ 252.
+
+Yoni-worship, at Venosa, 40.
+
+Zavarroni, A., 93, 183.
+
+Zicari, F., his literary record, 161; on “Paradise Lost,” 161-168.
+
+“Zodiaco di Maria,” exemplifies Catholic paganism, 259.
+
+Zoophilomania, an English disease, 120.
+
+
+
+
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