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diff --git a/7385-h/7385-h.htm b/7385-h/7385-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..47d89cc --- /dev/null +++ b/7385-h/7385-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,21998 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Old Calabria, by Norman Douglas</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +p.caption {font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Old Calabria, by Norman Douglas</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Old Calabria</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Norman Douglas</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 23, 2003 [eBook #7385]<br /> +[Most recently updated: January 13, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Eric Eldred</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD CALABRIA ***</div> + +<h1>Old Calabria</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Norman Douglas</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">I. SARACEN LUCERA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">II. MANFRED’S TOWN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">III. THE ANGEL OF MANFREDONIA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">IV. CAVE-WORSHIP</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">V. LAND OF HORACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">VI. AT VENOSA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">VII. THE BANDUSIAN FOUNT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">VIII. TILLERS OF THE SOIL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">IX. MOVING SOUTHWARDS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">X. THE FLYING MONK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">XI. BY THE INLAND SEA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">XII. MOLLE TARENTUM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">XIII. INTO THE JUNGLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">XIV. DRAGONS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">XV. BYZANTINISM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">XVI. REPOSING AT CASTROVILLARI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">XVII. OLD MORANO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">XVIII. AFRICAN INTRUDERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">XIX. UPLANDS OF POLLINO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">XX. A MOUNTAIN FESTIVAL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">XXI. MILTON IN CALABRIA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">XXII. THE “GREEK” SILA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">XXIII. ALBANIANS AND THEIR COLLEGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">XXIV. AN ALBANIAN SEER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">XXV. SCRAMBLING TO LONGOBUCCO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">XXVI. AMONG THE BRUTTIANS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">XXVII. CALABRIAN BRIGANDAGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">XXVIII. THE GREATER SILA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">XXIX. CHAOS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">XXX. THE SKIRTS OF MONTALTO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">XXXI. SOUTHERN SAINTLINESS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">XXXII. ASPROMONTE, THE CLOUD-GATHERER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">XXXIII. MUSOLINO AND THE LAW</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">XXXIV. MALARIA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">XXXV. CAULONIA TO SERRA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">XXXVI. MEMORIES OF GISSING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">XXXVII. COTRONE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">XXXVIII. THE SAGE OF CROTON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap39">XXXIX. MIDDAY AT PETELIA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap40">XL. THE COLUMN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap41">INDEX</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus01"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-1.jpg" width="601" height="358" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Tower at Manfredonia</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h3> +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS +</h3> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus01">TOWER AT MANFREDONIA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus02">LION OF LUCERA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus03">AT SIPONTUM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus04">RUIN OF TRINITÀ: EAST FRONT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus05">ROMAN ALTAR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus06">NORMAN CAPITAL AT VENOSA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus07">SOLE RELIC OF OLD TARAS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus08">FISHING AT TARANTO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus09">BY THE INLAND SEA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus10">FOUNTAINS OF GALAESUS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus11">TARANTO: THE LAST PALM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus12">BUFFALO AT POLICORO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus13">THE SINNO RIVER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus14">CHAPEL OF SAINT MARK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus15">SHOEING A COW</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus16">MORANO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus17">AN OLD SHEPHERD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus18">THE SARACENIC TYPE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus19">PEAK OF POLLINO IN JUNE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus20">CALABRIAN COWS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus21">THE VALLEY OF GAUDOLINO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus22">SAN DEMETRIO CORONE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus23">THE TRIONTO VALLEY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus24">LONGOBUCCO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus25">GATEWAY AT CATANZARO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus26">IN THE CEMETERY OF REGGIO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus27">TIRIOLO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus28">EFFECTS OF DEFORESTATION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus29">OLD SOVERATO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus30">THE MODERN AESARUS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus31">CEMETERY OF COTRONE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus32">ROMAN MASONRY AT CAPO COLONNA</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>OLD CALABRIA</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page1"></a><a name="chap01"></a>I<br /> +SARACEN LUCERA +</h2> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page2"></a> +content; the content, respectively, of <i>L’Allegro</i> and <i>Il +Penseroso.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +This castle being a <i>national monument,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“That corner tower, sir, is the King’s tower. It was built by the +King.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you said just now that it was the Queen’s tower.” +</p> + +<p> +“So it is. The Queen—she built it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What Queen?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>(sotto voce)</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you called it the King’s tower just now.” +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page3"></a> +“Just so. That is because the King built it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What King?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>(sotto voce)</i> in a subterranean +crypt——” +</p> + +<p> +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:— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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<a href="#fn-1" name="fnref-1" id="fnref-1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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 +<a name="Page4"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-1" id="fn-1"></a> <a href="#fnref-1">[1]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus02"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-2.jpg" width="546" height="362" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Lion of Lucera</p> +</div> + +<p> +On this occasion the square was seething with people: few +<a name="Page5"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +That depended, I said, on what one described as London. There was what they +called greater London—— +</p> + +<p> +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<i>——</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>all</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +You may visit the cathedral; there is a fine <i>verde antico</i> 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 “<i>Addio, nume semitico!</i>” 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 +<a name="Page6"></a> +influence. I prefer to return to the sun and stars, to my promenade beside the +castle walls. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page7"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page8"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>proibito—</i>forbidden! +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page9"></a> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page10"></a><a name="chap02"></a>II<br /> +MANFRED’S TOWN</h2> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>on s’y fait.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page11"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>dracs,</i> are +interesting beasts who went through many metamorphoses ere attaining their +present shape. +</p> + +<p> +Manfredonia lies on a plain sloping very gently +<a name="Page12"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page13"></a> +not, the very character of the people. The desiccation of the climate has +entailed a desiccation of national humour. +</p> + +<p> +Muratori has a passage somewhere in his “Antiquities” regarding the +old method of construction and the wooden shingles, <i>scandulae,</i> in use +for roofing—I must look it up, if ever I reach civilized regions again. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Ben trovato,</i> at all events. When one looks at +the pretty portrait, one cannot blame any kind of “Sultan” for +feeling well-disposed towards the original. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 +<a name="Page14"></a> +with a hatchet into masks of sombre virility; a hard life amid burning +limestone deserts is reflected in their countenances. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>a priori</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +I lamented this fact to a solitary gentleman who was strolling about here and +who replied, upon due deliberation: +</p> + +<p> +“One cannot have everything.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he added, as a suggestive afterthought: +</p> + +<p> +“Inasmuch as one thing sometimes excludes another.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>encrusted,</i> +with old castles and other feudal absurdities, and if I had the management of +things——” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>campanile,</i> but the cathedral looks +like a shed for disused omnibuses. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page15"></a> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Was it some anti-burglary association? I enquired of a serious-looking +individual who happened to be passing. +</p> + +<p> +His answer did not help to clear up matters. +</p> + +<p> +“A pure job, <i>signore mio</i>, a pure job! There is a society in +Cerignola or somewhere, a society which persuades the various town +councils—<i>persuades</i> them, you understand——” +</p> + +<p> +He ended abruptly, with the gesture of paying out money between his finger and +thumb. Then he sadly shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +But the mystery grew ever darker. After heaving a deep sigh, he condescended to +remark: +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page16"></a> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +But that person was no longer at my side. He had quietly withdrawn himself, in +the interval; he had evanesced, “moved on.” +</p> + +<p> +An oracular and elusive citizen. ... +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page17"></a><a name="chap03"></a>III<br /> +THE ANGEL OF MANFREDONIA</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page18"></a> +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? +</p> + +<p> +In dizzy leaps and bounds his claims fell to eight francs. It was the tobacco +that worked the wonder; a gentleman who will give <i>something for nothing</i> +(such was his logic)—well, you never know what you may not get out of +him. Agree to his price, and chance it! +</p> + +<p> +He consigned the cigar to his waistcoat pocket to smoke after dinner, and +departed—vanquished, but inwardly beaming with bright anticipation. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>en passant,</i> as was his wont. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page19"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>bouquet,</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 +<a name="Page20"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +I was able to observe, however, that this “feudal absurdity” bears +a number like any inhabited house of Sant’ Angelo—it is No. 3. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The view from this castle must be superb on clear days. Standing there, I +looked inland and remembered all the places I had +<a name="Page21"></a> +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— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Aut aquilonibus<br /> +Querceti Gargani laborent<br /> +Et foliis viduantur orni— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . <i>Aha!</i> he doubtless thought, <i>my theory of the gentleman: +it begins to work.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>this,</i> mister.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Essence des +pèlerins</i> +<a name="Page22"></a> +<i>des Abruzzes fleuris,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +It was, indeed, a divine product; a <i>vino di montagna</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +An approving burst of sunshine greeted our arrival on the plain. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page23"></a><a name="chap04"></a>IV<br /> +CAVE-WORSHIP</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? <i>Quis ut Déus!</i> He could hardly hurt a fly. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page24"></a> +youthful for his <i>role,</i> 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! <i>C’est +beau, mais ce n’est pas la guerre.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +His starry helm unbuckled show’d his prime<br /> +In manhood where youth ended; by his side<br /> +As in a glist’ring zodiac hung the sword,<br /> +Satan’s dire dread, and in his hand the spear. . . . +</p> + +<p> +There! That is an archangel of the right kind. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page25"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>amoretti</i> 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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 +<a name="Page26"></a> +shall one discover their real feelings in regard to this great cave-saint and +his life and deeds? +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Nell’ ora della morte<br /> +Ci salvi dall’ inferno<br /> +E a Regno Sempiterno<br /> +Ci guidi per pietà. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ci guidi per pietà. . . .</i> 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 +</p> + +<p class="center"> +“DEVOTION FOR THE SACRED STONES OF THE GROTTO OF ST. MICHAEL. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The cholera is on the increase, and this may account for the rapid sale of the +STONES at this moment. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page27"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>men who shun the light,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page28"></a> +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 <i>versus</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page29"></a> +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? +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>è suo dovere—</i>it was his +duty. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page30"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As for Manfredonia—it is a sad little place, when the south wind moans +and mountains are veiled in mists. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus03"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-3.jpg" width="303" height="498" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">At Sipontum</p> +</div> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page31"></a><a name="chap05"></a>V<br /> +LAND OF HORACE</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>Corpus,</i> and since that time some sixty new ones have been discovered. +And then—the +<a name="Page32"></a> +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—<i>toujours perdrix!</i> Why not a few griffons or other ornaments? +The Romans were not an imaginative race. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page33"></a> +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 +<i>pietàs—</i>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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +<a name="Page34"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +But Venosa has one inestimable advantage over Lucera and most Italian towns: +there is no octroi. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>doganieri</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing is simpler,” I replied. “Enrol them into the Town +Council of Naples. It already contains more <i>employes</i> than all the +government offices of London put together; a few more will surely make no +difference?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +And so he did. +</p> + +<p> +But the <i>Municipio</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +Every attempt at innovation in agriculture, as in industry, +<a name="Page35"></a> +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 <i>employes</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>enceintes;</i> 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 <i>you</i> +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 +<a name="Page36"></a> +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 <i>lascia-passare?</i> +</p> + +<p> +And all for one single sou! +</p> + +<p> +No wonder even Englishmen discover that law-breaking, in Italy, becomes a +necessity, a rule of life. +</p> + +<p> +And, soon enough, much more than a mere necessity. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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——— +</p> + +<p> +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): +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Inglese italianizzato—<br /> +Diavolo incarnato. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page37"></a><a name="chap06"></a>VI<br /> +AT VENOSA</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>tentorium,</i> I mean, +<i>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.</i> It was given him by the Sultan of Babylonia. Always +the glowing Oriental background! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page38"></a> +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 <i>settecento.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +Small as it is, this place—the church and the abbey—is not one for +a casual visit. Lenormant calls the Trinità a “<i>Musée +épigraphique”—</i>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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus04"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-4.jpg" width="460" height="372" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Ruin of Trinità: East front</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page39"></a> +fresh catacombs are found elsewhere, necessitating a further revision. The +Professor once more rewrites the whole. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>insouciance;</i> +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,<a href="#fn-6.1" name="fnref-6.1" id="fnref-6.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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 <i>restored</i> 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 <i>(vide</i> 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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-6.1" id="fn-6.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-6.1">[1]</a> +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). +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page40"></a> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Sono femine!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +In my country, I said, pillars with a contrary effect would be more popular +among the fair sex. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +This is pre-eminently a “Victorian” version. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus05"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-5.jpg" width="360" height="502" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Roman Altar-stone</p> +</div> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page41"></a><a name="chap07"></a>VII<br /> +THE BANDUSIAN FOUNT</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page42"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Such was Horace’s point of view. The fruitful fields and their hardy +brood of tillers appealed to him;<a href="#fn-7.1" name="fnref-7.1" id="fnref-7.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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 <i>lachrymae rerum</i> 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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-7.1" id="fn-7.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-7.1">[1]</a> +See next chapter. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus06"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-6.jpg" width="415" height="385" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Norman Capital at Venosa</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page43"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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,” <i>Frigus amabile. . . +.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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). +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page44"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>saxum);</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page45"></a> +some terrestrial upheaval in past days is responsible for the present state of +things. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page46"></a> +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 <i>(entre nous)</i> that they have made out a pretty strong case. +But I am not in the mood for discussing their proposition—not just now. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Desipere in loco. . . .</i> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page47"></a><a name="chap08"></a>VIII<br /> +TILLERS OF THE SOIL</h2> + +<p> +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, <i>malizia,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +I asked whether he had not children to work for him. +</p> + +<p> +“All dead—and health to you!” he replied, shaking his white +head dolefully. +</p> + +<p> +And no grandchildren? +</p> + +<p> +“All Americans (emigrants).” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Che bella gioventù—che bella gioventù!</i>” (“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. +</p> + +<p> +Apart from that creature of fiction, the peasant <i>in fabula</i> 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 +<a name="Page48"></a> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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; <i>their</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>avvocati</i> and other questionable characters. A countryman, +nowadays, may read and write and yet be honest. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page49"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>we</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-8.1" name="fnref-8.1" id="fnref-8.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-8.1" id="fn-8.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-8.1">[1]</a> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page50"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“We work, yes,” they will then tell you, “but we also smoke +our pipe.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Yes; a change is at hand. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>innamorato delle pietre e +cisterne—</i>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: +</p> + +<p> +There is the <i>fico arnese,</i> the smallest of all, and the <i>fico +santillo,</i> both of which are best when dried; the <i>fico vollombola,</i> +which is never dried, because it only makes the spring fruit; the <i>fico +molegnano,</i> which ripens as late as the end of October and must be eaten +fresh; the <i>fico coretorto (“</i> wry-heart”—from its +shape), which has the most leathery skin of all and is often destroyed by grubs +after rain; the <i>fico troiano;</i> the <i>fico arzano;</i> and the <i>fico +vescovo,</i> 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 <i>neri—</i>black. +<a name="Page51"></a> +Now for the white kinds. The <i>fico paradiso</i> has a tender skin, but is +easily spoilt by rain and requires a ridiculous amount of sun to dry it; the +<i>fico vottato</i> is also better fresh; the <i>fico pez-zottolo</i> is often +attacked by grubs, but grows to a large size every two or three years; the +<i>fico pascarello</i> is good up till Christmas; the <i>fico natalino;</i> +lastly, the <i>fico ——</i>, whose name I will not record, though it +would be an admirable illustration of that same anthropomorphic turn of mind. +The <i>santillo</i> and <i>arnese,</i> 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?). +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>santillo, vollombola, pascarello</i> and +<i>natalino.</i> Then he gave me an account of the prices for the different +qualities and seasons which would have astonished a grocer. +</p> + +<p> +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” +<i>(governare}</i> their soil; it is the word they use in respect to a child. +</p> + +<p> +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 name="Page52"></a> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Pare come fosse un colore morto” (a sort of dead colour). +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>“Rosso”</i> does not mean red, but rather dun or dingy; +earth is <i>rosso.</i> 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 <i>un quasi +bianco.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page53"></a> +“Ultramontain” observed long ago. “Le napolitain est +passionné pour la chasse,” he says, “parce que les coups de fusil +flattent son oreille.”<a href="#fn-8.2" name="fnref-8.2" id="fnref-8.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +This ingenuous love of noise may be connected, in some way, with their rapid +nervous discharges. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-8.2" id="fn-8.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-8.2">[2]</a> +I have looked him up in Jos. Blanc’s “Bibliographic.” His +name was C. Haller. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 <i>castagno chiaro.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>sciusciello, caruso, crisommele,</i> 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 <i>up to the mark</i> 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? +</p> + +<p> +All those relics of older civilizations are disappearing under the +standardizing influence of conscription, emigration and national schooling. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page54"></a> +And soon enough the <i>Contranome-</i>system will become a thing of the past. I +shall be sorry to see it go, though it has often driven me nearly crazy. +</p> + +<p> +What is a <i>contranome?</i> +</p> + +<p> +The same as a <i>sopranome.</i> 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 <i>contranome,</i> +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 <i>by which alone,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE HAPPY HAZARDS OF THE CONTRANOME +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“The gentleman wants Luigi So-and-so.” +</p> + +<p> +There is evidently some joke in the mere suggestion of such a thing; they all +smile. Then a confused murmur of voices goes up: +</p> + +<p> +“Luigi—Luigi. . . . Now which Luigi does he mean?” +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page55"></a> +You repeat his surname in a loud voice. It produces no effect, beyond that of +increased hilarity. +</p> + +<p> +“Luigi—Luigi. . . .” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps O’Zoccolone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps O’Seticchio?” +</p> + +<p> +“Or the figlio d’ O’Zibalocchio?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Luigi—Luigi,” they begin again. “Now, which of them +can he mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps O’Marzariello?” +</p> + +<p> +“Or O’Cuccolillo?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Can it be O’Sciabecchino?” +</p> + +<p> +“Or the figlio d’ O’Chiappino?” +</p> + +<p> +“It might be O’Busciardiello (the liar).” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“So he is. I quite forgot. Well, then it must be the husband of +A’Cicivetta (the flirt).” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s in prison. But how about O’Caccianfierno?” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a withered hag croaks authoritatively: +</p> + +<p> +“I know! The gentleman wants OTentillo.” +</p> + +<p> +Chorus of villagers: +</p> + +<p> +“Then why doesn’t he say so?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page56"></a> +<i>“</i>Luigi—Luigi. . . . Let me see. It might be +O’Rappo.” +</p> + +<p> +“O’Massassillo, more likely.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have it! It’s O’Spennatiello.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought of him,” says a well-known voice. “Here, +boy, run and tell——” +</p> + +<p> +“Or O’Cicereniello.” +</p> + +<p> +“O’Vergeniello.” +</p> + +<p> +“O’Sciabolone. ...” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Sound advice, this. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s his surname, anyhow?” he goes on. +</p> + +<p> +You explain once more. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +And he points to the good-natured individual. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page57"></a> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>in loco infantis.</i> 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 +<i>hard</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page58"></a> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>di notte, non parlar forte; di giorno, guardati +attorno],</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Wise women and wizards abound, but they are not to be compared with that +<i>santa</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +<a name="Page59"></a> +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.<a href="#fn-8.3" name="fnref-8.3" id="fnref-8.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-8.3" id="fn-8.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-8.3">[3]</a> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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—<i>al sottile della luna,</i> 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. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 name="Page60"></a> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, loafers, rogues, villains, vermin and sons of <i>bastardi +cornuti!</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>motif:—</i> +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Just look at the trouble and time it takes to collect all those +miserable little olives. Let’s have them the size of melons.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you so,” said N. S. G. C. +</p> + +<p> +I remember a woman explaining to me that the saints in Heaven took their food +exactly as we do, and at the same hours. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page61"></a> +“The same food?” I asked. “Does the Madonna really eat +</p> + +<p> +beans?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Madame est servie. . . .</i> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page62"></a><a name="chap09"></a>IX<br /> +MOVING SOUTHWARDS</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>esprit de corps.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<a name="Page63"></a> +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). +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Those fleas!” +</p> + +<p> +This, then, was the malady. I enquired why he had not joined his companions. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Something true?” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything—anything!” +</p> + +<p> +To cheer him up, I replied with improbable tales of Indian life, of rajahs and +diamonds, of panthers whose eyes shine like +<a name="Page64"></a> +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—— +</p> + +<p> +“Cigarettes as well?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. They are not allowed to cultivate tobacco.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that <i>monopolio,</i> the curse of humanity!” +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +At Venosa one thinks of Roman legionaries fleeing from +<a name="Page65"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Herein lies the charm of travel in this land of multiple +civilizations—the ever-changing layers of culture one encounters, their +wondrous juxtaposition. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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! +</p> + +<p> +This arsenal quarter is a fine example of the Italian mania of <i>fare +figura—</i>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. +</p> + +<p> +For no trees whatever are planted to shade the walking population, as in Paris +or Cairo or any other sunlit city. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page66"></a> +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”? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus07"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-7.jpg" width="394" height="551" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Sole Relic of old Taras</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page67"></a> +unlimited leisure, and like nothing better than doing unprofitable jobs of this +kind.<a href="#fn-9.1" name="fnref-9.1" id="fnref-9.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-9.1" id="fn-9.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.1">[1]</a> +There is a map of old Taranto in Lasor a Varea (Savonarola) <i>Universus +terrarum etc.,</i> Vol. II, p. 552, and another in J. Blaev’s <i>Theatrum +Civitatum</i> (1663). He talks of the “rude houses” of this town. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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<a href="#fn-9.2" name="fnref-9.2" id="fnref-9.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +treated in the heroic style and metre, as though he were a new Achilles. As a +<i>jeu d’esprit</i> 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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-9.2" id="fn-9.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-9.2">[2]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page68"></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The flying monk! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was an odd coincidence. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The salesman, a hungry-looking old fellow with incredibly dirty hands and face, +began to explain. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus08"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-8.jpg" width="405" height="499" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">CanFishing at Tarantoyon</p> +</div> + +<p> +<a name="Page69"></a> +“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 +<i>santi</i> 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——” +</p> + +<p> +I was paying little heed; the flying monk had enthralled me. An unsuspected +pioneer of aviation . . . here was a discovery! +</p> + +<p> +“He flew?” I queried, my mind reverting to the much-vaunted +triumphs of modern science. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Pure legend, my good man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Everything becomes legend, if the gentleman will have the goodness to +wait. And here is the biography of——” +</p> + +<p> +“How much for Joseph of Copertino?” Cost what it may, I said to +myself, that volume must be mine. +</p> + +<p> +He took it up and began to turn over the pages lovingly, as though handling +some priceless Book of Hours. +</p> + +<p> +“A fine engraving,” he observed, <i>sotto voce.</i> “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——” +</p> + +<p> +And he paused awhile. Then continued: +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>taumaturgo,</i> (wonder-worker)! As to this +<i>Life</i> of 1767, I could not, with a good conscience, appraise it at less +than five francs.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +<a name="Page70"></a> +Twelve <i>soldi</i> (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——” +</p> + +<p> +“By all means! Pray take your choice.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +And there resounded an unmistakable note of triumph in his voice, as he said: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I always try to encourage polite learning, if that is what you think to +decipher in my features. But it rains <i>santi</i> this morning,” I +added, rather sourly. +</p> + +<p> +“The gentleman is pleased to joke! May it rain <i>soldi</i> +tomorrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“A little shower, possibly. But not a cloud-burst, like today. . . +.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page71"></a><a name="chap10"></a>X<br /> +THE FLYING MONK</h2> + +<p> +As to the flying monk, there is no doubt whatever that he deserved his name. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Stupendous likewise was the <i>ratto</i> (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.” +</p> + +<p> +And another: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<a name="Page72"></a> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +And if this does not suffice to win credence, the following will assuredly do +so: +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>successo.’”</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes, furthermore, he took a passenger, if such a term can properly be +applied. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>violento ballo;</i> +the Confessor moved by Joseph, and Joseph by God.” +</p> + +<p> +And what happened at Assisi is still more noteworthy, for here +<a name="Page73"></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. “<i>La Mamma +mia</i>”—thus he would speak, in playful-saintly fashion, of the +Mother of God—“<i>la Mamma mia</i> 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”? +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Sancta Maria,</i> and they +answering, after their manner, <i>Bah!”</i> +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 +<a name="Page74"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>niuna letteratura.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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”<a href="#fn-10.1" name="fnref-10.1" id="fnref-10.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a>; +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? +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-10.1" id="fn-10.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-10.1">[1]</a> +Good examples of what Max Nordau calls <i>Echolalie</i> are to be found in this +biography (p. 22). +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page75"></a> +ordinary talk (“Brother Wolf, Sister Swallow,” etc.). So Joseph +used to speak of himself as <i>l’asinelio—</i>the little ass; and a +pathetic scene was witnessed on his death-bed when he was heard to mutter: +“<i>L’asinelio</i> begins to climb the mountain; +<i>l’asinelio</i> is half-way up; <i>l’asinelio</i> has reached the +summit; <i>l’asinelio</i> can go no further, and is about to leave his +skin behind.” +</p> + +<p> +It is to be noted, in this connection, that Saint Joseph of Coper-tino was born +in a stable. +</p> + +<p> +This looks like more than a mere coincidence. For the divine Saint Francis was +likewise born in a stable. +</p> + +<p> +But why should either of these holy men be born in stables? +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +<a name="Page76"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page77"></a><a name="chap11"></a>XI<br /> +BY THE INLAND SEA</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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”?<a href="#fn-11.1" name="fnref-11.1" id="fnref-11.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +No, I replied; I came from Scotland. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-11.1" id="fn-11.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-11.1">[1]</a> +<i>Germanese</i> or <i>Allemanno</i> = a German. <i>Tedesco,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“A Calvinist,” he remarked, without bitterness. +</p> + +<p> +“A Presbyterian,” I gently corrected. +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure—a Presbyterian.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page78"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus09"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-9.jpg" width="412" height="338" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">By the Inland Sea</p> +</div> + +<p> +Meanwhile a crowd of citizens had assembled below, attracted +<a name="Page79"></a> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +So they seem to be, for the present. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Via Ennio. . . .</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +But a few years hence—who can tell? +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page80"></a> +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, <i>minuit praesentia +famam,</i> as Boccaccio says of the once-renowned Sebethus. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>pleasantness”</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus10"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-10.jpg" width="411" height="288" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Fountains of Galaesus</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page81"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“But, damn it,” he said (or words to that effect), “I told +you not to cut the hair too short.” +</p> + +<p> +The barber, immaculate and imperturbable, gave a preliminary bow. He was +collecting his thoughts, and his breath. +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<a name="Page82"></a> +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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Che vuol dire?</i> An ambiguous phrase! +<a name="Page83"></a> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +With this sole exception, I have hitherto garnered no Hellenic traits in +Taranto. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>mutilomania</i> 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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page84"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +So far they are in earnest, and it is the girl who takes the lead; her youthful +<i>innamorato</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus11"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-11.jpg" width="381" height="476" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Taranto: the last palm</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page85"></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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>ma mère</i> and a strong committee of uncles and +aunts, but not until the military service is terminated. Everything in its +proper time and place. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +But catch them marrying the wrong girl! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +POSTSCRIPT.—Here are two samples of youthful love-letters from my +collection. +</p> + +<p> +1.—From a disappointed maiden, aged 13. Interesting, because intermediate +between the archaic and pink-paper stages: +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“IDOL OF MY HEART, +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<a name="Page86"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Of all my lovers you are the only ideal consort <i>(consorto)</i> to +whom I would give my love and all the expansion of my soul and youthful +enthusiasm <i>(intusiamo),</i> the greatest enthusiasm <i>(co-tusiamo)</i> 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! +</p> + +<p> +“It is late at night, and I am still awake, and at this hour my soul is +sadder than ever in its great isolation <i>(insolamende);</i> I look on my past +love and your dear image. Too much I love you and (illegible) without your +affection. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +(Three further pages of this.) +</p> + +<p> +2.—From a boy of 14 who takes the initiative; such letters are rare. Note +the business-like brevity. +</p> + +<p> +“DEAR Miss ANNE, +</p> + +<p> +I write you these few lines to say that I have understood your character +<i>(carattolo).</i> 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, +</p> + +<p> +“Signing myself,” SALVATORE. “Prompt reply requested!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page87"></a><a name="chap12"></a>XII<br /> +MOLLE TARENTUM</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>connu!</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page88"></a> +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 <i>for fourteen +months;</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +A change is at hand. +</p> + +<p> +Gregorovius lamented the filthy condition of the old town. It is now spotless. +</p> + +<p> +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, +<a name="Page89"></a> +half-timidly, +while Eros alights in airy fashion on her shoulders and fans her with +his wings—an exquisite little thing. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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,<a href="#fn-12.1" name="fnref-12.1" id="fnref-12.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-12.1" id="fn-12.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.1">[1]</a> +It included the heel of Italy. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page90"></a> +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 <i>molle Tarentum—</i>enough to drain the energy out of a +Newfoundland puppy! And then, the odious dust of the country roadways—for +it <i>is</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>imbelle Tarentum—</i>a race without grit. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“The gentleman is rich enough to pay for meat. Why trouble about this +kind of food?”... +</p> + +<p> +And yet—a change is at hand. These southern regions are waking up from +their slumber of ages. Already some of Italy’s +<a name="Page91"></a> +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 +<i>Parisina</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>pudeur de l’esprit,</i> discouraged among +the highest classes in England, is the hall-mark of respectability hereabouts. +A very real difference, at this particular moment. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +There is an end of philosophizing. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>cipollino, pavonazzetto, giallo</i> and +<i>rosso antico,</i> 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.<a href="#fn-12.2" name="fnref-12.2" id="fnref-12.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-12.2" id="fn-12.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-12.2">[2]</a> +Nor is there any of the fashionable <i>verde</i> <i>antico,</i> 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 <i>lapis</i> <i>atracius</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page92"></a> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page93"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Biblioteca Calabra</i> +at Naples alone contains God knows how many items, nearly all modern! +</p> + +<p> +And who shall recount its natural attractions? Says another old writer: +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>Italy</i> 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 <i>Frigia,</i> which every month +<a name="Page94"></a> +yields a delicate and wholesome Gum, and the stone <i>Aetites,</i> by us called +the stone <i>Aquilina.</i> 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 <i>France</i> to <i>Rome</i> in the sports of +<i>Pompey</i> 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? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page95"></a><a name="chap13"></a>XIII<br /> +INTO THE JUNGLE</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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<a href="#fn-13.1" name="fnref-13.1" id="fnref-13.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +sometimes speaks of killing the fallow-deer, an autochthonous +<a name="Page96"></a> +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: +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-13.1" id="fn-13.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-13.1">[1]</a> +An English translation of his book appeared in 1832. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The pheasants seem to have likewise died out, save in royal preserves. They +were introduced into Calabria by that mighty hunter Frederick II. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>socialism,</i> when one knows a little of the +inner workings of the cause and a few—just a +<a name="Page97"></a> +few!—details of the private lives of these unsavoury saviours of their +country! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>avvocati</i> and members +of Parliament, who shall harass into their graves these wicked owners of the +soil.” +</p> + +<p> +This, as a matter of fact, is the career of a considerable number of them. +</p> + +<p> +For the rest, the domain of Policoro—it is spelt <i>Pelicaro</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page98"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +<a name="Page99"></a> +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! +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus12"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-12.jpg" width="394" height="322" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Buffalo at Policoro</p> +</div> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page100"></a><a name="chap14"></a>XIV<br /> +DRAGONS</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +What is a dragon? An animal, one might say, which looks or regards (Greek +<i>drakon);</i> so called, presumably, from its terrible eyes. Homer has +passages which bear out this interpretation: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +Σμερδαλέον +δὲ δέδορκεν, etc. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>ophis,</i> the snake, is derived, like <i>drakon,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +One likes to search for some existing animal prototype of a +<a name="Page101"></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 +<i>(drakon)</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 +<i>eo ipso</i> hostile to man. Let me explain how this point is reached. +</p> + +<p> +The animal which <i>looks or regards. . . .</i> Why—why an animal? Why +not <i>drakon =</i> that which looks? +</p> + +<p> +Now, what looks? +</p> + +<p> +The eye. +</p> + +<p> +This is the key to the understanding of the problem, the key to the +subterranean dragon-world. +</p> + +<p> +The conceit of fountains or sources of water being things that see +<i>(drakon)—</i>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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page102"></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Son of Earth.</i> The earth or cave-dragon. . . . +Calabria has some of these dragons’ caves; you can read about them in the +<i>Campania. Sotteranea</i> of G. Sanchez. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus13"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-13.jpg" width="402" height="334" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">The Sinno River</p> +</div> + +<p> +In volcanic regions there are fissures in the rocks exhaling pestiferous +emanations; these are the <i>spiracula,</i> 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 +<a name="Page103"></a> +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 <i>draco volans</i> of the schoolmen. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +<a name="Page104"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>multorum draconum +historia mendax.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>par excellence;</i><a href="#fn-14.1" name="fnref-14.1" id="fnref-14.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-14.1" id="fn-14.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-14.1">[1]</a> +In Chinese mythology the telluric element has remained untarnished. The +dragon is an earth-god, who controls the rain and thunder clouds. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page105"></a><a name="chap15"></a>XV<br /> +BYZANTINISM</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>them</i> for granted.<a href="#fn-15.1" name="fnref-15.1" id="fnref-15.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-15.1" id="fn-15.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-15.1">[1]</a> +They have their uses, to be sure. Says Kircher: <i>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.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Where, then, do I generally go for accommodation? +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>speciale</i> (apothecary) is +himself an elderly and honoured man, full of responsibility and local +knowledge; he is altogether a superior person, having been +<a name="Page106"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>élite.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page107"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +It is customary here not to live <i>en pension</i> 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 +<i>scemo</i>—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 <i>men.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +<a name="Page108"></a> +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.” . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>acheiropœta</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page109"></a> +of his adversary’s sword, which sealed up for ever that fountain of +eloquence and vituperation. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +They call themselves Calabrians. <i>Noi siamo calabresi!</i> 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 +<i>race</i> 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 <i>homo ibericus</i> of austere gentlemanliness. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>via</i> Milton, to Calvin and +the Puritan movement in Scotland; next, <i>via</i> Livingstone, to colonial +enterprises in Africa; and finally, <i>via</i> Egypt, Abyssinia, and +</p> + +<p> +Prester John, to the early history of the eastern churches. +<a name="Page110"></a> +Byzantinism—Saint Nilus; that gave me the desired opportunity, and I +mentioned the object of my visit. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>Non alunt curas</i>—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—— +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page111"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Here, at Rossano, we are once more <i>en plein Byzance.</i> +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +</p> + +<p> +of solitary anchorites whose dwellings honeycombed the warm slopes that +confront the Ionian. . . . +</p> + +<p> +The lives of some of these Greco-Calabrian hermits are valuable documents. In +the <i>Vitae Sanctorum Siculorum</i> 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 <i>(Acta Sanctorum,</i> 11th September) have reprinted the +biography of Saint Elia Spelaeotes—the cave-dweller, as composed in Greek +by a disciple. It is yet more +<a name="Page112"></a> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +How are we to account for these rock-hermits and their inelegant habits? How +explain this poisoning of the sources of manly self-respect? +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The supply of caves ran out. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus14"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-14.jpg" width="371" height="455" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Chapel of Saint Mark</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page113"></a> +eccentrics. Go to Mount Athos, if you wish to see specimens of all the +different stages conveniently arranged upon a small area. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page114"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Evangeliorum +Codex Graecus.</i> Haseloff also described it in 1898 <i>(Codex Purpureus +Rossanensis),</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” said one of them to her neighbour. “He has horns. +Just like your Pasquale.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pasquale indeed! And how about Antonio?” +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page115"></a> +I enquired whether they knew what kind of animals these were. +</p> + +<p> +“Beasts of the ancients. Beasts that nobody knows. Beasts that have +horns—like certain Christians. . . .” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>their</i> +ideal. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +And now, Sybarites and Basileans—alike in ruins! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” says the <i>Giornale d’ Italia, “</i>are we to +have international excavation-committees thrust upon us? Are we to be treated +like the Turks?” +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page116"></a> +That, gentle sirs, is precisely the state of the case. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +I shall never see that consummation. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Sappho and these two Victorians, I said to myself. . . . Why just these two? +How keen is the cry of elective affinity athwart the ages! <i>The soul,</i> +says Plato, <i>divines that which it seeks, and traces obscurely the footsteps +of its obscure desire.</i> +</p> + +<p> +The footsteps of its obscure desire—— +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page117"></a><a name="chap16"></a>XVI<br /> +REPOSING AT CASTROVILLARI</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<a name="Page118"></a> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, and I forbore to interrupt his eloquence. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page119"></a> +“And supposing,” I urged, “he is in a hurry to catch another +train going south, to Naples or Palermo?” +</p> + +<p> +“There I have you, my illustrious friend! <i>Nobody travels south of +Rome.”</i> +</p> + +<p> +Nobody travels south of Rome. . . . +</p> + +<p> +Often have I thought upon those words. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-16.1" name="fnref-16.1" id="fnref-16.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-16.1" id="fn-16.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-16.1">[1]</a> +Even so Taranto, Cumae, Paestum, Metapontum, Monteleone and other southern +towns were founded by the ancients on the site of prehistoric stations. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +We are in the south. One sees it in sundry small ways—in the behaviour of +the cats, for instance. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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, +<a name="Page120"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +To say that our English <i>zoophilomania</i>—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.<a href="#fn-16.2" name="fnref-16.2" id="fnref-16.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +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 <i>could not be sanctioned</i> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-16.2" id="fn-16.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-16.2">[2]</a> +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:<br /> +<br /> + That liquid, melancholy eye,<br /> + From whose pathetic, soul-fed springs<br /> + Seemed surging the Virgilian cry—<br /> + The sense of tears in mortal things. . . .<br /> +<br /> +That is how Matthew Arnold interprets the feelings of Fido, watching his master +at work upon a tender beefsteak. . . . +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus15"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-15.jpg" width="399" height="311" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Shoeing a Cow</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page121"></a> +forth, were still dropping in for their evening meal. Appetite comes more +slowly than ever, now that the heats have begun. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Driving through modern Castrovillari one might think the place flat and +undeserving of the name of <i>castrum.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +There is a castle, of course. It was built, or rebuilt, by the Aragonese, with +four corner towers, one of which became +<a name="Page122"></a> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +<a name="Page123"></a> +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.” . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“To Morano!” they tell me. “It is nearer the mountain, and +there you will find mules plentiful as blackberries. To Morano!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<i>En route!</i> +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +POSTSCRIPT.—Another symptom of the south: +</p> + +<p> +Once you have reached the latitude of Naples, the word <i>grazie</i> (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. +</p> + +<p> +A further difference is that the actual gift is viewed quite extrinsically, +intellectually, either in regard to what it would fetch +<a name="Page124"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>interesse</i> (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 <i>malizia</i> (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. +</p> + +<p> +For a tigerish flavour does exist in most of these southern towns. +<a name="Page125"></a> +Camorra, the law of intimidation, rules the city. This is what Stendhal meant +when, speaking of the “simple and inoffensive” personages in the +<i>Vicar of Wakefield,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“What has happened”—you ask some enormous +individual—“to your adversary at law?” +</p> + +<p> +“To which one of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Signor M——, the timber merchant.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>L’abbiamo mangiato!</i>” (I have eaten him.) +</p> + +<p> +Beware of the fat Neapolitan. He is fat from prosperity, from, dining off his +leaner brothers. +</p> + +<p> +Which reminds me of a supremely important subject, eating. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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—<i>sangue di Dio!</i> no appetite whatever; but at last allowed +himself to be persuaded into consuming a <i>hors d’ oeuvres</i> 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 +<a name="Page126"></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +Envy, without a doubt. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page127"></a> +Out of envy they pine away and die; out of envy they kill one another. To +produce a more placid race,<a href="#fn-16.3" name="fnref-16.3" id="fnref-16.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-16.3" id="fn-16.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-16.3">[3]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +And yet another symptom of the south—— +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page128"></a><a name="chap17"></a>XVII<br /> +OLD MORANO</h2> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>ne plus ultra</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page129"></a> +<i>“</i>It is prodigious and <i>antichissimo,”</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 . . . +</p> + +<p> +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, +<a name="Page130"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“ Mules are very busy animals in Morano,” he explained. +<i>“Animali occupatissimi.”</i> 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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus16"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-16.jpg" width="402" height="316" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Morano</p> +</div> + +<p> +The whole country is full of Saracen memories. The name of Morano, they say, is +derived from <i>moro</i>,<a href="#fn-17.1" name="fnref-17.1" id="fnref-17.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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 <i>de +rigueur,</i> for “Saracens”); he bears the legend <i>Vivit</i> +<a name="Page131"></a> +<i>sub arbore morus.</i> 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.<a href="#fn-17.2" name="fnref-17.2" id="fnref-17.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-17.1" id="fn-17.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-17.1">[1]</a> +This is all wrong, of course. And equally wrong is the derivation from +<i>morus,</i> 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: +<i>Hic moremur—</i>here let us stay! Morano (strange to say) is simply +the Roman Muranum. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-17.2" id="fn-17.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-17.2">[2]</a> +See next chapter. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“And to proceed—how many <i>letterati</i> and <i>virtuosi</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Closed for ever is the academy of Amantea! Closed for ever is +<a name="Page132"></a> +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?.. .” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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—— +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Wine of family,” I urged. “None of your eating-house +stuff.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Done! It was really cheap. So cheap, that I straightway grew suspicious of the +“lady-mule.” +</p> + +<p> +We sealed the bargain in a glass of the local mixture, and I thereupon demanded +a <i>caparra—</i>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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus17"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-17.jpg" width="377" height="476" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">An old Shepherd</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page133"></a> +three o’clock—no mules! At four I went to the man’s house, +and woke him out of ambrosial slumbers. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +One of the mules, he airily explained, had lost a shoe in the afternoon. He +would get it put right at once—at once. +</p> + +<p> +“You might have told me so yesterday evening, instead of keeping me awake +all night waiting for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +The beast was shod, and at 5 a.m. we left. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page134"></a><a name="chap18"></a>XVIII<br /> +AFRICAN INTRUDERS</h2> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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). +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page135"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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——<a href="#fn-18.1" name="fnref-18.1" id="fnref-18.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-18.1" id="fn-18.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-18.1">[1]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +No bad record, from their point of view. +</p> + +<p> +But they never attained their end, the subjection of the +<a name="Page136"></a> +mainland. And their methods involved appalling and enduring evils. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus18"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-18.jpg" width="373" height="454" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">The “Saracenic” Type</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page137"></a> +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.<a href="#fn-18.2" name="fnref-18.2" id="fnref-18.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-18.2" id="fn-18.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-18.2">[2]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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; +<a name="Page138"></a> +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. . . .<a href="#fn-18.3" name="fnref-18.3" id="fnref-18.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-18.3" id="fn-18.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-18.3">[3]</a> +He goes on to say, “Paulus Apostolus naufragium passus, apud Capream +insulam applicuit <i>[sic]</i> 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.<br /> + 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +From these troublous times dates, I should say, that use of the word +<i>cristiano</i> applied to natives of the country—as opposed to +Mohammedan enemies. +</p> + +<p> +“Saraceno” is still a common term of abuse. +</p> + +<p> +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 name="Page139"></a> +a provincial or even military government, was different. They had the <i>animus +manendi.</i> Where they dined, they slept. +</p> + +<p> +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,<a href="#fn-18.4" name="fnref-18.4" id="fnref-18.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-18.4" id="fn-18.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-18.4">[4]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>Del Grande Archivio di Napoli,</i> +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 +<a name="Page140"></a> +entire kingdom, save the inland parts, was terrorized by their lightning-like +descents. +</p> + +<p> +A particular literature grew up about this time—those +“Lamenti” in rime, which set forth the distress of the various +places they afflicted. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Chief of the Sea.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Turchi.</i> But his loyal subjects had no cruisers at +their disposal; they lived <i>Turcarum praedonibus semper obnoxii.</i> Who +shall calculate the effects of this long reign of terror on the national mind? +</p> + +<p> +For a thousand years—from 830 to 1830—from the days when the +Amalfitans won the proud title of “Defenders of the Faith” +<a name="Page141"></a> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page142"></a><a name="chap19"></a>XIX<br /> +UPLANDS OF POLLINO</h2> + +<p> +It has a pleasant signification, that word “Dolcedorme”: it means +<i>Sweet slumber.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Pollino,</i> he says, <i>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</i>—whence likewise the magnificent cheeses; gold and the +Phrygian stone, he adds, are also found here. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>philopatria,</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Calabria Illustrata</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page143"></a> +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! +</p> + +<p> +Gone are those happy days of authorship, when the constructive imagination was +not yet blighted and withered. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page144"></a> +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.<a href="#fn-19.1" name="fnref-19.1" id="fnref-19.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-19.1" id="fn-19.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-19.1">[1]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>that</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus19"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-19.jpg" width="376" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">The Peak of Pollino in June</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page145"></a> +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 <i>finale</i> 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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +I was glad to descend once more, and to reach the <i>Altipiano di +Pollino—</i>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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Santo Dio!</i> And do you expect me to pay four francs a day for +having my bones broken in this fashion?” +</p> + +<p> +“What would you, sir? She is still young—barely four years old. +Only wait! Wait till she is ten or twelve.” +</p> + +<p> +To do him justice, however, he tried to make amends in other +<a name="Page146"></a> +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 <i>americani</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>dictamnus fraxinella,</i> which is sometimes luminous. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page147"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>avvocato,</i> got frightened and failed to +appear at the last moment. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +<a name="Page148"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus20"></a> +<img src="images//oldc-20.jpg" width="404" height="287" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Calabrian Cows</p> +</div> + +<p> +<a name="Page149"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“How?” they will ask, “You Englishmen, with all your +money—you drink the milk of cows?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page150"></a> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page151"></a><a name="chap20"></a>XX<br /> +A MOUNTAIN FESTIVAL</h2> + +<p> +Leaving the hospitable shepherds in the morning, we arrived after midday, by +devious woodland paths, at the Madonna di Pollino. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Piety conquers rough tracks,</i> as old Bishop Paulinus sang, +nearly fifteen hundred years ago. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page152"></a> +per divozione.” On all sides picturesque groups of dancers indulge in the +old peasants’ measure, the <i>percorara,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-20.1" name="fnref-20.1" id="fnref-20.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-20.1" id="fn-20.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-20.1">[1]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page153"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Gran +Madre di Dio</i> is adored in a manner less becoming Christian youths and +maidens, than heathens celebrating mad orgies to <i>Magna Mater</i> in Daphne, +or the Babylonian groves (where she was not worshipped at all—though she +might have been). +</p> + +<p> +In fact, they insinuate that——- +</p> + +<p> +It may well be true. What were the moralists doing there? +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>cocotte,</i> +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 +<a name="Page154"></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Est traditio, ne quaeras amplius.</i> +<a name="Page155"></a> +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 +<i>trek</i> that must date from hoary antiquity. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>oremus!</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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—— +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page156"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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”: <i>fanno +l’incanto della Madonna,</i> 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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus21"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-21.jpg" width="407" height="308" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">The Valley of Gandolino</p> +</div> + +<p> +This year’s expenditure may have been a thousand francs or so, and the +proceeds are calculated at about two-thirds of that sum. +<a name="Page157"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +So ended the <i>festa.</i> 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. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page158"></a> +During her recital my muleteer had grown thoughtful. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s to be done?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t much mind fumigation,” I replied. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +And he elaborated the following stratagem: +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>likes</i> it, ha, ha, +ha!——” +</p> + +<p> +“Why mention about my walking?” I interrupted. The lady-mule was +still a sore subject. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see. What next?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll smile,” I agreed. “But you shall carry my +beetles; it looks more natural, somehow. Go ahead, and find them.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Unfortunately for him, that particular doctor happened to be +<a name="Page159"></a> +an <i>americano</i> a snappy little fellow, lately returned from the States. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>me!</i> As for this son of a ——, you bet +I’ll sulphur him, bugs and all, to hell!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +But what could I do, not knowing Italian? +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, I remembered the “lady-mule.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page160"></a><a name="chap21"></a>XXI<br /> +MILTON IN CALABRIA</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>grani.</i> Gladly would I give 8000 for it! +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“Charles Dunster (‘Considerations on Milton’s Early +Reading,’ etc., 1810) traces the <i>prima stamina</i> 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. +<a name="Page161"></a> +This latter can be consulted in the third volume of Cowper’s +‘Milton’ (1810). +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-21.1" name="fnref-21.1" id="fnref-21.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-21.1" id="fn-21.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-21.1">[1]</a> +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). +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page162"></a> +Museum nor the Paris Bibliothèque Nationale possesses a copy—is +<i>not</i> 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 <i>tromba</i> (trumpet) instead of Salandra’s term <i>sambuca</i> +(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.’ +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Salandra’s chief personages are God and His angels; the first man and +woman; the serpent; Satan and his angels. The same with Milton. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page163"></a> +Salandra personifies Sin and Death, the latter being the child of the former. +The same with Milton. +</p> + +<p> +Salandra describes Omnipotence foreseeing the effects of the temptation and +fall of man, and preparing his redemption. The same with Milton. +</p> + +<p> +Salandra depicts the site of Paradise and the happy life there. The same with +Milton. +</p> + +<p> +Salandra sets forth the miraculous creation of the universe and of man, and the +virtues of the forbidden fruit. The same with Milton. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +So much for the general scheme of both poems. And now for a few particular +points of resemblance, verbal and otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Here is a coincidence: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Here we may reign secure . . .<br /> +Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +MILTON (i, 258). +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +. . . Qui propria voglia,<br /> +Son capo, son qui duce, son lor Prence. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +SALANDRA (p. 49). +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page164"></a> +And another: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +. . . Whom shall we find<br /> +Sufficient? ... This enterprise<br /> +None shall partake with me.—MILTON (ii, 403, 465).<br /> +<br /> +A chi basterà l’ anima di voi?<br /> +. . . certo che quest’ affare<br /> +A la mia man s’ aspetta.—SALANDRA (p. 64). +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +. . . and from his seat<br /> +The monster moving onward came as fast<br /> +With horrid strides.—MILTON (ii, 675). +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and so does Megera: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In atterir, in spaventar son . . .<br /> +Rapido sì ch’ ogni ripar è vano.—SALANDRA (p. 59). +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-21.2" name="fnref-21.2" id="fnref-21.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-21.2" id="fn-21.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-21.2">[2]</a> +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 +<i>(imbelle).</i> But in another place Lucifer applies this designation to +Belial as well, +</p> + +<p> +The words of Milton’s Beelzebub (ii, 368): +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Seduce them to our party, that their god<br /> +May prove their foe . . . +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +are copied from those of the Italian Lucifero (p. 52): +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +. . . Facciam<br /> +Acciò, che l’ huom divenga<br /> +A Dio nemico . . . +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page165"></a> +Regarding the creation of the world, Salandra asks (p. 11): +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Qual lingua può di Dio,<br /> +Benchè da Dio formato<br /> +Lodar di Dio le meraviglie estreme? +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +which is thus echoed by Milton (vii, 112): +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +... to recount almighty works<br /> +What words or tongue of Seraph can suffice? +</p> + +<p> +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): +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ravviso gli animal, ch’ a schiera a schiera<br /> +Già fanno humil e <i>reverente</i> inclino . . .<br /> +Ravveggio il bel serpente <i>avvolto</i> in giri;<br /> +O sei bello<br /> +Con tanta varietà che certo sembri<br /> +Altro stellato ciel, <i>smaltata</i> terra.<br /> +O che sento, <i>tu parli?</i> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and Milton transcribes it as follows (ix, 517-554): +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +. . . She minded not, as used<br /> +To such disport before her through the field<br /> +From every beast, more <i>duteous</i> at her call . . . <br /> +Curled many a wanton <i>wreath</i> in sight of Eve.<br /> +His turret crest and sleek <i>enamelled</i> neck . . .<br /> +What may this mean? Language of man <i>pronounced</i><br /> +By tongue of brute? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Eve’s altered complexion after the eating of the forbidden fruit is noted +by both poets: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Torbata ne la faccia? Non sei quella<br /> +Qual ti lasciai contenta . . .—SALANDRA (p. 89).<br /> +<br /> +Thus Eve with countenance blithe her story told;<br /> +But in her cheek distemper flushing glowed. —MILTON (ix, 886). +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +only with this difference, that the Italian Eve adds a half-lie by way of +explaining the change: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +. . . Forse cangiata (del che non mi avveggio)<br /> +Sono nel volto per la tua partenza.—(p. 89). +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page166"></a> +In both poems Sin and Death reappear on the scene after the transgression. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Adam’s state of mind, after the fall, is compared by Salandra to a boat +tossed by impetuous winds (p. 228): +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Qual agitato legno d’Austro, e Noto,<br /> +Instabile incostante, non hai pace,<br /> +Tu vivi pur . . . +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +which is thus paraphrased in Milton (ix, 1122): +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +. . . High winds worse within<br /> +Began to rise . . . and shook sore<br /> +Their inward state of mind, calm region once<br /> +And full of peace, now tossed and turbulent. +</p> + +<p> +Here is a still more palpable adaptation: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +... So God ordains:<br /> +God is thy law, thou mine.—MILTON (iv, 636)<br /> +<br /> +. . . . Un voler sia d’ entrambi,<br /> +E quel’ uno di noi, di Dio sia tutto.—SALANDRA (p. 42). +</p> + +<p> +After the Fall, according to Salandra, <i>vacillò la terra</i> (i), <i>geme</i> +(2), <i>e pianse</i> (3), <i>rumoreggiano i tuoni</i> (4), <i>accompagnati da +grandini</i> (5), <i>e dense nevi</i> (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). +</p> + +<p> +Here is another translation: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +. . . inclino il cielo<br /> +Giù ne la terra, e questa al Ciel innalza.—SALANDRA (p. 242).<br /> +<br /> +And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth.—MILTON (vii, 160). +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page167"></a> +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, <i>en passant,</i> +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.<a href="#fn-21.3" name="fnref-21.3" id="fnref-21.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-21.3" id="fn-21.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-21.3">[3]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>of visions</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page168"></a> +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 <i>Accademia, degli Oziosi</i> which Manso had founded. +</p> + +<p> +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.’<a href="#fn-21.4" name="fnref-21.4" id="fnref-21.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> +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 <i>mise-en-scène</i> +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 <i>even for a moment</i> 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 +<a name="Page169"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-21.4" id="fn-21.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-21.4">[4]</a> +<i>Thou hast said much of Paradise Lost, but what hast thou to say of +Paradise Found?</i> He made no answer, but sat some time in a muse. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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, +<i>totidem verbis,</i> 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 <i>warlike</i> 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). +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page170"></a> +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 <i>opera</i> (!); +while as late as 1776 the poet Mickle, notwithstanding Voltaire’s +authority, questioned the very existence of Andreini, who has written thirty +different pieces. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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.’ +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +<a name="Page171"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>colour-effects</i> 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 <i>lustre</i> of +Milton’s comely importations. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page172"></a><a name="chap22"></a>XXII<br /> +THE “GREEK” SILA</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page173"></a> +gentlemen had lunched, and nothing was left, absolutely nothing; it had been +<i>uno sterminio</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +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—— +</p> + +<p> +“Fruit?” I queried. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>salami.”</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll never learn it. You have begun a hundred years too +late.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right!” she said encouragingly. “Why don’t you +always speak properly? And now, let me hear a little of your own +language.” +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page174"></a> +I gave utterance to a few verses of Shakespeare, which caused considerable +merriment. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me,” she asked, “that people really talk +like that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course they do.” +</p> + +<p> +“And pretend to understand what it means?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, naturally.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe they do,” she agreed. “But only when they want to be +thought funny by their friends.” +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“For the love of God,” she whispered, “silence! Or we shall +all be in jail to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +It contained a dozen pears. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>diluvio,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page175"></a> +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.”<a href="#fn-22.1" name="fnref-22.1" id="fnref-22.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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—<i>Italiam</i>, says Heinsius, <i>non semel +peragravit—</i>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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-22.1" id="fn-22.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-22.1">[1]</a> +In the earlier part of Rathgeber’s astonishing +“Grossgriechenland und Pythagoras” (1866) will be found a good list +of old maps of the country. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +From those treeless slopes there streamed forth deliciously warm +<a name="Page176"></a> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“Lupomanaro,” said the driver. +</p> + +<p> +A werewolf. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>versipellis</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 +<a name="Page177"></a> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +<a name="Page178"></a> +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.<a href="#fn-22.2" name="fnref-22.2" id="fnref-22.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-22.2" id="fn-22.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-22.2">[2]</a> +This was written before the outbreak of the Balkan war. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +One would like to be here at Easter time to see the <i>rusalet</i>—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—<i>biforem dat tibia cantum</i>—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 <i>tibiæ pares</i> were “out of fashion” +wherever I asked for them. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page179"></a> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>la famiglia.</i> 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, +<a name="Page180"></a> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>shop,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page181"></a><a name="chap23"></a>XXIII<br /> +ALBANIANS AND THEIR COLLEGE</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page182"></a> +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 <i>flammeum,</i> 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 <i>stephanoma,</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus22"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-22.jpg" width="499" height="317" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">San Demetrio Corone</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page183"></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 <i>Historia Erectionis Pontifici Collegi Corsini Ullanensis, +etc.,</i> 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.”<a href="#fn-23.1" name="fnref-23.1" id="fnref-23.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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 <i>nullus omnino +Alumnus in Collegio detineatur, cuius futuræ Christianæ pietatis +significatio non extet.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-23.1" id="fn-23.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-23.1">[1]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +This little island of stern mental culture contains, besides +<a name="Page184"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>(Gyps fulvus)</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +Fencing and music are taught, but those athletic exercises which led to the +victories of Marathon and Salamis are not much in vogue—<i>mens sana in +corpore sana</i> 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 +<a name="Page185"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page186"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>disjecta membra</i> have been tracked down by the +patience and acumen of Monsignor Batiffol. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +Nothing. Absolutely nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Such thoughts occur inevitably. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>How much +smaller</i> only they can tell, who have familiarized themselves with other +departments of French thought. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 +<a name="Page187"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>thirty different alphabets</i> +(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: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +. . . Zilji,<br /> +mosse vet, ce asso mbremie<br /> +te ngcriret me iljiζ, praa<br /> +gjiθ e miegculem, mhi ζiaarr<br /> +rriij i sgjuat. Nje voogh e keljbur<br /> +ζorrevet te ljosta<br /> +ndjej se i oχtenej<br /> +e pisseroghej. Zuu shiu<br /> +menes; ne mee se ljinaar<br /> +chish ljeen pa-shuatur<br /> +sκiotta, e i ducheje per moon. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page188"></a><a name="chap24"></a>XXIV<br /> +AN ALBANIAN SEER</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +At Macchia was born, in 1814, of an old and relatively wealthy family, Girolamo +de Rada,<a href="#fn-24.1" name="fnref-24.1" id="fnref-24.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> 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 +<i>1902,</i> twenty-one newspapers were devoted to the Albanian cause (eighteen +in Italy alone, and one even in London)—it was wholly his merit. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-24.1" id="fn-24.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-24.1">[1]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page189"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>Lost Tribe</i> 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:— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>function of +the real;</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +I have read some of his Italian works. They are curiously +<a name="Page190"></a> +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 <i>Ewig-weibliche.</i> +Some of the female characters in his poems retain their dewy freshness, their +exquisite originality, even after passing through the translator’s +crucible. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page191"></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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>brothers,</i> +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): +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page192"></a> +Francesco Crispi, himself an Albanian. Again, in 1899, we find him reading a +paper before the twelfth international congress of Orientalists at Rome. +</p> + +<p> +But best of all, he loved the seclusion of Macchia. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +He died, in 1903, at San Demetrio; and there lies entombed in the cemetery on +the hill-side, among the oaks. +</p> + +<p> +But you will not easily find his grave. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +He was the Mazzini of his nation. +</p> + +<p> +A Garibaldi, when the crisis comes, may possibly emerge from that tumultuous +horde. +</p> + +<p> +Where is the Cavour? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page193"></a><a name="chap25"></a>XXV<br /> +SCRAMBLING TO LONGOBUCCO</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps the whole undertaking will be completed some day—<i>speriamo!</i> +as the natives say, when speaking of something rather beyond reasonable +expectation. But possibly not; and in that case—<i>pazienza!</i> meaning, +that all hope may now be abandoned. There is seldom any great hurry, with +non-governmental works of this kind. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page194"></a> +person will step forward and grease the wheels in the proper quarter. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>municipio;</i> the municipal career is also a money-making business, yes; +but of another kind, and requiring other qualifications. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page195"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +A wearisome climb of two hours brought me to the <i>Croce Greca,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +After some talk with these amiable folks, I passed on to where +<a name="Page196"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>litterati</i> which date, for the most part, +from the enthusiastic but undisciplined Cinque-Cento. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page197"></a> +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 <i>Quae sit brutorum affectio,</i> etc.<a href="#fn-25.1" name="fnref-25.1" id="fnref-25.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-25.1" id="fn-25.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-25.1">[1]</a> +<i>Brunii a brutis moribus:</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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: <i>mangia venti cristiani all’ +anno!</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page198"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus23"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-23.jpg" width="400" height="304" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">The Trionto Valley</p> +</div> + +<p> +Evening was closing in, and I had traversed the stream so often and stumbled so +long amid this chaos of roaring waters and +<a name="Page199"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Soon enough, be sure, I was enquiring as to supper. But the manageress met my +suggestions about eatables with a look of blank astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +Was there nothing in the house, then? No cheese, or meat, or maccheroni, or +eggs—no wine to drink? +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Avis aux voyageurs,</i> as the French say. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page200"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody travels south of Rome. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>graffito</i> secured in the course of this +evening’s walk: +</p> + +<p> +<i>Abaso [sic] questo paese sporco incivile:</i> down with this dirty savage +country! +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page201"></a> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Whither wending, at this midnight hour? +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +The intellectual under-current. . . . +</p> + +<p> +It was an apt commentary on my <i>graffito.</i> 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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page202"></a><a name="chap26"></a>XXVI<br /> +AMONG THE BRUTTIANS</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>Longoburgensis Calaber,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Writing from Longobucco in 1808 during a brigand-hunt, Duret de Tavel says: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +<a name="Page203"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>squadrigli,</i> 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. . . .<a href="#fn-26.1" name="fnref-26.1" id="fnref-26.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-26.1" id="fn-26.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-26.1">[1]</a> +See next chapter. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page204"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +This pine is a particular variety <i>(Pinus lancio,</i> var. <i>Calabra),</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus24"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-24.jpg" width="401" height="349" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Longobucco</p> +</div> + +<p> +<a name="Page205"></a> +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 <i>lucertone,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” they asked, “and have you found it at last?” +</p> + +<p> +They remembered my looking for the double flute, the <i>tibiae pares,</i> some +years ago. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page206"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>ensemble.</i> The City Fathers have turned their backs upon civilization; I +dare say the magnitude of the task before them has paralysed their initiative. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page207"></a> +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: ‘<i>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.’</i>” 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page208"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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”? +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 <i>cow-woman</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +But wherever the mocking Ionic spirit has penetrated—and the Ionian women +occupied even a lower position than those of the +<a name="Page209"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-26.2" name="fnref-26.2" id="fnref-26.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> 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 <i>an fæmina sint +monstra.</i> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-26.2" id="fn-26.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-26.2">[2]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page210"></a> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>sanguinario</i> by which he is proud to be known. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page211"></a><a name="chap27"></a>XXVII<br /> +CALABRIAN BRIGANDAGE</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>(alla +campagna; alla macchia}</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The men who gave the French so much trouble were political brigands, allies of +Bourbonism. They were commanded by +<a name="Page212"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +But even that did not destroy the plague. The situation called +<a name="Page213"></a> +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 <i>carte +blanche</i> 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: +</p> + +<p> +“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; +<a name="Page214"></a> +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.”<a href="#fn-27.1" name="fnref-27.1" id="fnref-27.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-27.1" id="fn-27.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-27.1">[1]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page215"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>favoreggiatori</i> or <i>manutengoli</i> (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 +<a name="Page216"></a> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page217"></a><a name="chap28"></a>XXVIII<br /> +THE GREATER SILA</h2> + +<p> +A great project is afoot. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +A Calabrian Lucerne. H’m. ... +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page218"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +An ounce of fact— +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Vox clamantis!</i> 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 +<a name="Page219"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +How a great man will leave his mark on minutiæ! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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<a href="#fn-28.1" name="fnref-28.1" id="fnref-28.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a>—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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-28.1" id="fn-28.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-28.1">[1]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Much water in the Sila,” an old shepherd once observed to me, +“much water! And little tobacco.” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page220"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>corpus delicti</i> 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 <i>confirmation and verification.</i> Another time I saw +the debris of a goat hanging from +<a name="Page221"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +You may still find the legendary shepherds here—curly-haired striplings, +reclining <i>sub tegmine fagi</i> 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 <i>cacciacavallo</i> common +all over South Italy; the butter is of the kind which has been humorously, but +quite wrongly, described by various travellers. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The goats show fight, and therefore the wolf prefers sheep. Shepherds have told +me that he comes up to them <i>delicatamente,</i> 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. +<a name="Page222"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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” <i>(Quercus cerris)</i> 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 <i>which shineth in the night</i>.<a href="#fn-28.2" name="fnref-28.2" id="fnref-28.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-28.2" id="fn-28.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-28.2">[2]</a> +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 <i>Genista anglica,</i> which is probably an +importation. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page223"></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“How much to Catanzaro?” +</p> + +<p> +The owner eyed me critically, and then replied in English: +</p> + +<p> +“You can pay twenty dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +Twenty dollars—a hundred francs! But it is useless trying to bargain with +an <i>americano</i> (their time is too valuable). +</p> + +<p> +“A dollar a mile?” I protested. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so.” +</p> + +<p> +“You be damned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Same to you, mister.” And he drove off. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page224"></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Those coins—whence?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stromboli!” +</p> + +<p> +Noticing some neolithic celts similar to those I obtained at Vaccarizza, I +would gladly have learnt their place of origin. Promptly came the answer: +</p> + +<p> +“Stromboli!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.) +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus25"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-25.jpg" width="369" height="483" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Gateway at Catanzaro</p> +</div> + +<p> +This vigorous assertion made her more circumspect. Thenceforward everything was +declared to come from the province—<i>dalla provincia;</i> it was safer. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page225"></a> +<i>“</i>That bad picture—whence?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dalla provincia!” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you really no catalogue?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this broken statue—whence?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dalla provincia!” +</p> + +<p> +“But the province is large,” I objected. +</p> + +<p> +“So it is. Large, and old.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>Campanula fragilis</i> 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 +<a name="Page226"></a> +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. . . .” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 <i>dernier mot</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus26"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-26.jpg" width="307" height="400" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">In the Cemetery of Reggio</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 name="Page227"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +One must help that family! +</p> + +<p> +Somebody seems to have thought so, at all events. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page228"></a><a name="chap29"></a>XXIX<br /> +CHAOS</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus27"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-27.jpg" width="403" height="322" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Tiriolo</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page229"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +With deliberate slowness, <i>ritardando con molto sentimento,</i> I worked my +way to the familiar restaurant. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>cassata +alla siciliana,</i> 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? +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page230"></a> +<i>“</i>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.” +</p> + +<p> +Playing at being Englishmen! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +An engineer remarked to me, not long ago, among the ruins: +</p> + +<p> +“This <i>baracca,</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“A little overcrowded?” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>suaviter in modo. . . .</i> +</p> + +<p> +But if genuine prophets can only flourish among the malarious +<a name="Page231"></a> +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—— +</p> + +<p> +“The Signore smokes, and smokes, and smokes. Why not take the tram and +listen to the municipal music in the gardens?” +</p> + +<p> +“Music? Gardens? An excellent suggestion, Gennarino.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Musica filosofica”</i> 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. “<i>Non và in +Sicilia</i>—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——” +</p> + +<p> +“The climate?” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely. I have travelled, sir; and knowing your Berlin, and London, +and Boston, have been able to observe how ill our Italian +<a name="Page232"></a> +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 <i>recitativo!”</i> +</p> + +<p> +“The Signore is a musician?” +</p> + +<p> +“A <i>proprietario.</i> 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—“<i>and</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“My young brother, had he lived, would have made men of them,” he +once observed. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +What was it? +</p> + +<p> +I have forgotten! +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page233"></a> +So we discussed the world, while the music played under the starlit southern +night. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>palazzo</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +In the olden days, of course, the days of splendour. +</p> + +<p> +Will they ever return? +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page234"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>fitted in,</i> like the fragments of a +mosaic pavement—cannot but be harmful to the development of growing +children. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Vampires, offspring of Night and Chaos. +</p> + +<p> +So Dolomieu, speaking of the <i>dépravation incroyable des moeurs</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“After despoiling the corpses, they ransacked the dwellings. Five +thousand beds, sir, were carried up from Reggio into the mountains.” +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page235"></a> +“Five thousand beds! <i>Per Dìo!</i> It seems a considerable +number.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +I asked what he found to eat. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Erba, Signore.</i> We all did. You could not touch property; a single +orange, and they would have killed you.” +</p> + +<p> +Grass! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Love—so the Greeks fabled—was the child of Chaos. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page236"></a> +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 <i>Circumlegentes devenimus Rhegium</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +An inscription on a neighbouring ruin runs to the effect that the <i>mansion +having been severely damaged in the earthquake of</i> 1783, <i>its owner had +rebuilt it on lines calculated to defy future shattering!.</i> Whether he would +rebuild it yet again? +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, there seems to be some chance for the revival of Reggio; its +prognosis is not utterly hopeless. +</p> + +<p> +But Messina is in desperate case. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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, +<a name="Page237"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>zackige +Ruinenwüste</i>—words whose very sound is suggestive of shatterings and +dislocations. Nevertheless, the place revived again. +</p> + +<p> +But what was 1783? +</p> + +<p> +A mere rehearsal, an amateur performance. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>fortiter in re,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>palazzo</i> 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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page238"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>within,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +If a titanic blade had sheared through the <i>palazzo</i> 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 +<a name="Page239"></a> +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 <i>diabolical</i> +staircase. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The old man’s embrocations. . . . +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page240"></a><a name="chap30"></a>XXX<br /> +THE SKIRTS OF MONTALTO</h2> + +<p> +After such sights of suffering humanity—back to the fields and mountains! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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<a href="#fn-30.1" name="fnref-30.1" id="fnref-30.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +to Sinopoli, pushing on, if day permitted, as far as Delianuova, at the foot of +<a name="Page241"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-30.1" id="fn-30.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-30.1">[1]</a> +Not to be confounded with the railway station on the gulf of that name, near +Maida. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page242"></a> +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: +</p> + +<p> +A.—What a lovely sea! It is good, after all, to take three or four baths +a year. What think you? +</p> + +<p> +B.—I? No. For thirteen years I have taken no baths. But they are +considered good for children. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page243"></a> +doing nothing in particular. Yes, they would accompany me, they said, the whole +lot of them, just for the fun of the thing. +</p> + +<p> +“And my bag?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“A bag to be carried? Then we must get a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he declared. “She must carry the bag. And I will keep +you company.” +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-30.2" name="fnref-30.2" id="fnref-30.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-30.2" id="fn-30.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-30.2">[2]</a> +See next chapter. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“No more of this!” he said, concentrating every ounce of his +virility into a look of uncompromising defiance. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shall not pay you a single farthing, my son. And, +<a name="Page244"></a> +moreover, I will tell your father. You know what he commanded: to Sinopoli. +This is only Sant’ Eufemia. Unless——” +</p> + +<p> +“You will tell my father? Unless——?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“It is difficult. But we will try.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have acted like a man.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>jeune fille;</i> all this, with angelic +serenity of conscience. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Nihil humani alienum;</i> 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 +<a name="Page245"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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—— +</p> + +<p> +“For my part,” he broke in, “<i>ho pigliato confidenza.</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page246"></a> +to his account. Delianuova, and indeed the whole of Aspromonte, has a bad +reputation for crime. +</p> + +<p> +It was our last remaining chance. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page247"></a><a name="chap31"></a>XXXI<br /> +SOUTHERN SAINTLINESS</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +With the softening of manners a new element appears. Male saints lost their +chief <i>raison d’être,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page248"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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). +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Three tangibly-human aspects of Christ’s life figure here: the +<i>bambino-cult,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>odium fratrum</i> she exercised more +severity towards the sister-faith than towards actual paganism.<a href="#fn-31.1" name="fnref-31.1" id="fnref-31.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +The Madonna was a fit instrument for sweeping away the particularist tendencies +of the +<a name="Page249"></a> +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.<a href="#fn-31.2" name="fnref-31.2" id="fnref-31.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-31.1" id="fn-31.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-31.1">[1]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-31.2" id="fn-31.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-31.2">[2]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page250"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>Madonna of the Hens,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page251"></a> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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.<a href="#fn-31.3" name="fnref-31.3" id="fnref-31.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> +But this Orientalism fell at first upon +<a name="Page252"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-31.3" id="fn-31.3"></a> <a href="#fnref-31.3">[3]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>in the accomplishment of +natural acts.”</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>could</i> 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. +<a name="Page253"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-31.4" name="fnref-31.4" id="fnref-31.4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-31.4" id="fn-31.4"></a> <a href="#fnref-31.4">[4]</a> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page254"></a> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>(scherzi)</i> 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—<i>più grazioso,</i> the biographer +calls it—was the +<a name="Page255"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>avvocati</i> (pleaders) for those that remained on +earth. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>de rigueur.</i> 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 +<i>processi,</i> 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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +<a name="Page256"></a> +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.<a href="#fn-31.5" name="fnref-31.5" id="fnref-31.5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-31.5" id="fn-31.5"></a> <a href="#fnref-31.5">[5]</a> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +But he only employed these divine graces by the way; he was by profession not a +<i>taumaturgo,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +The biography from which I have drawn these details was +<a name="Page257"></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 <i>nothing to do;</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page258"></a> +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.<a href="#fn-31.6" name="fnref-31.6" id="fnref-31.6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-31.6" id="fn-31.6"></a> <a href="#fnref-31.6">[6]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page259"></a> +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 <i>astound</i> which originated with the poet Marino, who +declared such to have been his object and ideal. The miracles certainly do +astound; they are as <i>strepitosi</i> (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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Gran +Madre di Dio”</i> 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.<a href="#fn-31.7" name="fnref-31.7" id="fnref-31.7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-31.7" id="fn-31.7"></a> <a href="#fnref-31.7">[7]</a> +The Mater Dei was officially installed in the place of Magna Mater at the +Synod of Ephesus in 431. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page260"></a> +adorer—clean-shaven, emasculate youths, posing in ecstatic attitudes with +a nauseous feminine smirk. Rather an unpleasant sort of saint. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>an et quando peccata sint oscula</i> or <i>de tactu et adspectu +corporis;</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>sophrosyne,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The Venerable Fra Egidio, a native of Taranto, is a good example of +contemporary godliness. My biography of him was +<a name="Page261"></a> +printed in Naples in 1876,<a href="#fn-31.8" name="fnref-31.8" id="fnref-31.8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-31.8" id="fn-31.8"></a> <a href="#fnref-31.8">[8]</a> +“Vita del Venerabile servo di Dio Fra Egidio da S. Giuseppe laico +professo alcantarino,” Napoli, 1876. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>after his own +death</i> 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, +<a name="Page262"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Every one of the statements in this biography is drawn from the <i>processi</i> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 <i>acta sanctorum</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page263"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page264"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>consensus gentium</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page265"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>de haeretico comburendo).</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page266"></a> +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 <i>democratic</i> 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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page267"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>in corpore vili</i> of Oriental +fakirism. +<a name="Page268"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +But a ray of light . . . +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page269"></a><a name="chap32"></a>XXXII<br /> +ASPROMONTE, THE CLOUD-GATHERER</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page270"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +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. +. . . +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-32.1" name="fnref-32.1" id="fnref-32.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-32.1" id="fn-32.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-32.1">[1]</a> +See next chapter. +</p> + +<p> +We rested awhile, during these interminable meanderings, under the shadow of a +group of pines. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page271"></a> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How many did he shoot, altogether?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page272"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>Piè d’Impisa,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page273"></a> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: <i>Condemi;</i> 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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +<a name="Page274"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“To Montalto, Yes; to Bova, No.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page275"></a><a name="chap33"></a>XXXIII<br /> +MUSOLINO AND THE LAW</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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—<i>il pesce +puzza dal capo.</i> +</p> + +<p> +For the fault lies not only in the fundamental perversity of all Roman Law. It +lies also in the local administration of that law, +<a name="Page276"></a> +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.) +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +For less formidable criminals there exists that wondrous institution of +<i>domicilio coatto,</i> 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 <i>domicilio coatto</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page277"></a> +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 <i>there it is,</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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—<i>pazienza!</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page278"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>which we have not got.”</i> And Lombroso: +“In the south it is necessary to introduce justice, <i>which does not +exist, save in favour of certain classes.”</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>a +priori</i> on the side of the policeman. No; not <i>a priori.</i> The abuses of +the executive are too terrific to warrant such an +<a name="Page279"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>law—</i>that is, babble, corruption, palæolithic ideas of what +constitutes evidence, and a court-procedure that reminds one of Gilbert and +Sullivan at their best. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page280"></a> +officials. What are this worthy couple to think of <i>Avanti, Savoia!</i> once +they have issued from their dungeon? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>cause célèbre</i> 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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page281"></a><a name="chap34"></a>XXXIV<br /> +MALARIA</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-34.1" name="fnref-34.1" id="fnref-34.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +It contains some ten thousand inhabitants, amiable, intelligent and +distinguished by a <i>philoxenia</i> befitting the traditions +<a name="Page282"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-34.1" id="fn-34.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-34.1">[1]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page283"></a> +district of Foca, at this day, is certainly very malarious, whereas the +death-rate up here is only about 12 per 1000. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +A veritable Moloch! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page284"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>rocky,</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page285"></a> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>lowlands</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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, +<a name="Page286"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-34.2" name="fnref-34.2" id="fnref-34.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +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 <i>fiumare</i> 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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-34.2" id="fn-34.2"></a> <a href="#fnref-34.2">[2]</a> +By J. C. Melliss (London, 1875). Thanks to the goats, Maltese fever has +lately been introduced into Calabria. +</p> + +<p> +Thus year after year, from one cause or another, the conditions have become +more favourable for the disease to do its fatal work. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus28"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-28.jpg" width="410" height="291" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Effects of deforestation (Aspromonte)</p> +</div> + +<p> +That much of this harm has been done quite lately can often be +<a name="Page287"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Malaria is the key to a correct understanding of the landscape; it explains the +inhabitants, their mode of life, their habits, their history. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page288"></a><a name="chap35"></a>XXXV<br /> +CAULONIA TO SERRA</h2> + +<p> +“How do you treat your malaria patients?” I once enquired of a +doctor in India. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, but how are you feeling?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, all right. There’s nothing much the matter with me. Just the +bad air.” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page289"></a> +popularized teaching of its causes and consequences by means of pamphlets, +lectures to school-children, and so forth. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +So these forlorn regions are at last beginning to revive. +</p> + +<p> +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; +<a name="Page290"></a> +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.<a href="#fn-35.1" name="fnref-35.1" id="fnref-35.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-35.1" id="fn-35.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-35.1">[1]</a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +And now a vulgar gnat is declared to be at the bottom of the whole mystery. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +That Mr. Jones’s facts and arguments will be found applicable to +<a name="Page291"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“‘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?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘ESCHATA. A gnat.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘AUTOS. A gnat?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘ESCHATA. Even so.’” +</p> + +<p> +Thus I wrote, while yet unaware that such pests as anophelines existed upon +earth. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>delegato</i> (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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page292"></a> +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 <i>via</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page293"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>frane</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page294"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>them.</i> That older one, especially—he had +known the world. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“Eh bien, nous mangeons des macaroni!” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus29"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-29.jpg" width="506" height="351" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Old Soverato</p> +</div> + +<p> +<a name="Page295"></a> +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 <i>déjeuner à la fourchette</i> looming ahead. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page296"></a><a name="chap36"></a>XXXVI<br /> +MEMORIES OF GISSING</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As for myself, I remain faithful to the “Concordia” which has twice +already sheltered me within its walls. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Of freaks in the dining-room, I have so far only observed one whom Gissing +might have added to his collection. He is a <i>director</i> 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 +<a name="Page297"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +But the little waiter is alive and now married; and Doctor Sculco still resides +in his aristocratic <i>palazzo</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +I called on this gentleman, hoping to obtain from him some reminiscences of +Gissing, whom he attended during a serious illness. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page298"></a> +and wholly pestilential stream.” The Esaro <i>glides pleasantly,</i> says +the chronicler Nola Molisi. Perhaps it really glided, in his day. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.<a href="#fn-36.1" name="fnref-36.1" id="fnref-36.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-36.1" id="fn-36.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-36.1">[1]</a> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus30"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-30.jpg" width="405" height="329" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">The modern Aesarus</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page299"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page300"></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>fosse carnarie</i> in use at this +moment, most of them in churches. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Videant Consules.</i> +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus31"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-31.jpg" width="402" height="318" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">The Cemetery of Cotrone</p> +</div> + +<p> +Here, at the cemetery, the driving road abruptly ends; +<a name="Page301"></a> +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 <i>camorristi.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>dove ogni passo è una memoria:</i> where every footstep is a memory? +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page302"></a> +<i>“</i>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.” +</p> + +<p> +We spoke of the Sila, which he had occasionally visited. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Those barren clay-hills on our right of which Gissing speaks (they are like the +<i>balze</i> 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 +<i>palazzi</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +If gossip at Naples and elsewhere is to be trusted, old Petronius seems to have +had a prophetic glimpse of the <i>dessus du panier</i> of modern Cotrone. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page303"></a><a name="chap37"></a>XXXVII<br /> +COTRONE</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +But these venial and vapid Neapolitan dailies are my pet aversion. We know +them, <i>nous autres,</i> 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 <i>Mattino,</i> which touches, +furthermore, upon the all-important subject of Calabrian progress. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“CETRARO. Per le continuate premure ed insistenze di questo egregio +uffiziale postale Signor Rocca Francesco—che nulla lascia +<a name="Page304"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 <i>Flower</i> +mean by his Delphic fourpenny worth, thus punctuated— +</p> + +<p> +“(You have) not received. How. Safety.” +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Arrow</i> murmurs: “My +soul lies on your pillow, caressing you softly”; <i>Strawberry</i> +laments that “as bird outside nest, I am alone and lost. What +sadness,” and <i>Star</i> finds the “Days eternal, till +Thursday.” And yet they often choose rather prosaic pseudonyms. Here is +<i>Sahara</i> who “suffers from your silence,” while <i>Asthma</i> +is “anticipating one endless kiss,” and <i>Old England</i> +observing, more ir sorrow than in anger, that he “waited vainly one whole +hour.” +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page305"></a> +But the sagacious <i>Cooked Lobster</i> desires, before commiting himself +further, “a personal interview.” He has perhaps been cooked once +before. +</p> + +<p> +Letters and numbers are best, after all. So thinks F. N. 13, who is utterly +disgusted with his flame— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Will much-admired young-lady cherries-in-black-hat indicate method +possible correspondence</i> 10211, <i>Post-Office?”</i> +</p> + +<p> +How many of these arrows, I wonder, reach their mark? +</p> + +<p> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The air is cooler, as I awake, and looking out of the window I perceive from +the mellow light-effects that day is declining. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page306"></a> +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 <i>black</i> Madonna, painted by Saint +Luke—who “always procures rain, when prayed to.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>vino di Cirò</i> is uncorked—fit seal for the labours of the day. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page307"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Now although, when young, the Calabrian Bacchus has a wild-eyed <i>beauté du +diable</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>vino di famiglia</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As to your host at the inn—he raises not the least objection to +<a name="Page308"></a> +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. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>The fig tree +putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good +smell.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>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!</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +No doubt the townsfolk had been sunk in apathetic luxury; the time was ripe for +a Messiah. +</p> + +<p> +And lo! he appeared. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page309"></a><a name="chap38"></a>XXXVIII<br /> +THE SAGE OF CROTON</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +We know them a little better, nowadays. +</p> + +<p> +He enjoyed the specious and short-lived success that has attended, elsewhere, +such efforts to cultivate the <i>ego</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page310"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +And his chief theoretical doctrines, of metempsychosis and the reduction of +everything to a system of numbers<a href="#fn-38.1" name="fnref-38.1" id="fnref-38.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a>—these +are sheer lunacy. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn-38.1" id="fn-38.1"></a> <a href="#fnref-38.1">[1]</a> +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 +<i>Otto-Nave!</i> (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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>prima stamina</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page311"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 . . . +</p> + +<p> +He had the true maraboutic note. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 <i>tutti-frutti</i> 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! +</p> + +<p> +So rapidly did the virus act, that soon we find Plato declaring that all the +useful arts are <i>degrading;</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page312"></a> +them. Hence our Platonic touch: our <i>demi-vierge</i> 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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Know thyself:</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +And after Plato—the deluge. Neo-platonism. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>jeunesse dorée</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page313"></a> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page314"></a><a name="chap39"></a>XXXIX<br /> +MIDDAY AT PETELIA</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Day after day—a dead calm. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“And for returning at midday?” +</p> + +<p> +“Three hours—four hours—five hours—according!” +</p> + +<p> +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.... +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page315"></a> +shepherds. The woodlands are gone, and the rains of winter, streaming down the +earthen slopes, have remodelled the whole face of the country. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Gefühlsduselei.</i> 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. . . . +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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 +<a name="Page316"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>guardia di finanze</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +By this purposeful re-creation of those feudal conditions of olden, days, this +man has become the best-hated person in the district. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +<a name="Page317"></a> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +As a consolation, I offered him some cigarettes. He accepted one; pensive, +unresigned. +</p> + +<p> +The goat-herds had no such cravings—in the days of Theocritus. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page318"></a><a name="chap40"></a>XL<br /> +THE COLUMN</h2> + +<p> +“Two hours—three hours—four hours: according!” +</p> + +<p> +The boatmen are still eager for the voyage. It all depends, as before, upon the +wind. +</p> + +<p> +And day after day the Ionian lies before us—immaculate, immutable. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +A day of shimmering heat. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Non si toccano questi fiori,” he said. These flowers are not to be +touched. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page319"></a> +leaves. They are <i>fiori di morti,</i> he says: planted (sometimes) in +graveyards. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +One often wonders at things. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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; +<a name="Page320"></a> +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. +</p> + +<p> +All now lies bare, swooning in summer stagnation. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<i>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—</i>to wit, this Chronicle of the most Ancient, Magnificent, and +Faithful City of Cotrone. A worthier effort at self-perpetuation than that of +Strongoli. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Farewell to Capialbi, inspired bookworm! And to Lenormant. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus32"></a> +<img src="images/oldc-32.jpg" width="413" height="253" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Roman Masonry at Capo Colonna</p> +</div> + +<p> +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 +<a name="Page321"></a> +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 <i>du meilleur Lenormant.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Asleep are the peaks of the hills, and the vales,<br /> +The promontories, the clefts,<br /> +And all the creatures that move upon the black earth. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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—— +</p> + +<p> +How fair they are, these moments of golden equipoise! +</p> + +<p> +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. +<i>Controra</i> they now call it—the ominous hour. Man and beast are +fettered in sleep, while spirits walk abroad, as at midnight. <i>Non timebis a +timore noctuno: a sagitta</i> +<a name="Page322"></a> +<i>volante in die: a negotio perambulante in tenebris: ab incursu et demonio +meridiano.</i> The midday demon—that southern Haunter of calm blue +spaces. . . . +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap41"></a>INDEX</h2> + +<p> +Abruzzi peasants, their lives, 27. +</p> + +<p> +Abulfeda, historian, 135. +</p> + +<p> +Abystron, 119. See <i>Castrovillari.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Aceti, T., 93. +</p> + +<p> +Acheron, river. See <i>Mu.com.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Acherontia (? Acri), 195. +</p> + +<p> +“Acherontia’s Nest” (Acerenza), 32. +</p> + +<p> +Achilles, his notions of gratitude, 123. +</p> + +<p> +Achiropita image. See <i>Madonna.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Acinapura, near Policoro, 98. +</p> + +<p> +Acri, town, 193-196, 199. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ada Sanctorum,</i> in. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Adamo Caduto,</i> a sacred tragedy, inspires “Paradise Lost,” +160 <i>seq.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Adler, H. M., 122. +</p> + +<p> +Aelian, 197. +</p> + +<p> +Afforestation, at Morano, 148; governmental schemes for, 218. +</p> + +<p> +Africo, village, 271, 272. +</p> + +<p> +Agropoli, Saracen stronghold, 137. +</p> + +<p> +Akron, commentator, 45. Alaro (Sagra), river, 281-283. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Costumes</i> and +<i>Rada, G. de.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Alberada, her tomb, 38. +</p> + +<p> +Alberti, L., 174. +</p> + +<p> +Alburno, mount, 151. +</p> + +<p> +Alexander of Molossus, his death, 197. +</p> + +<p> +Alfonso the Magnificent, no. +</p> + +<p> +Altamura, sack of, 64, 65. +</p> + +<p> +Altipiano di Pollino, upland, 145. +</p> + +<p> +Amendolea, river, 197, 272. +</p> + +<p> +America. See <i>Emigration.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Amphitheatre of Venosa, 31, 38. +</p> + +<p> +Ampollina, river, 217, 219, 220. +</p> + +<p> +Amusa, river, 282. +</p> + +<p> +Analphabetics, percentage of, 259. +</p> + +<p>Anastasius, saint, 111. +</p> + +<p> +Anchoretism, its charms, 112. +</p> + +<p> +Ancinale, river, 295. +</p> + +<p> +Angels, injured by art-notions of Renaissance, 25; frescoes at Venosa, 38. +</p> + +<p> +Animals, utilized as drugs, 57; cruelty to, 120. +</p> + +<p> +Anne, saint, 250; wells dedicated to, 301. +</p> + +<p> +Anopheles mosquito. See <i>Malaria.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Anthology, its dog-types, 120. +</p> + +<p> +Apennines, their terminal peak, 145. Aphrodite, 25. +</p> + +<p> +Apollo, 25, 27, 28, 209. +</p> + +<p> +Appulus, King of Sipontum, 29. +</p> + +<p> +Aprustum, 119. See <i>Castrovillari.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Aqueduct, the Apulian, 42. +</p> + +<p> +Arabs, bigots because half-starved, 126. See <i>Corsairs</i> and +<i>Saracens.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Archytas, lav.-giver, 65, 92. +</p> + +<p> +Aretino, P., 140. +</p> + +<p> +Arfaxad, fabled king, 29. +</p> + +<p> +Argo, highest literary dog-type, 120. +</p> + +<p> +Aristotle, 100, 101, 312. +</p> + +<p> +Arnold, Matthew, 120, 171. +</p> + +<p> +Arpi, town, 29. +</p> + +<p> +Arum lily <i>(A. aracunculus),</i> 143. +</p> + +<p> +Arvo, river, 217, 220. +</p> + +<p> +Asceticism, introduction into south Italy, 251 <i>seq.;</i> its pernicious +effects, 260. +</p> + +<p> +Aspromonte, 195, 240; reputation for crime, 245, 246; its contorted structure, +270; Byzantine settlements in, 272. +</p> + +<p> +Athos, mount, 113. +</p> + +<p> +Augustine, saint, 256. +</p> + +<p> +Augustus, professes scorn of luxury, 92. +</p> + +<p> +“Avanti,” a corrupt rag, 280. +</p> + +<p> +Ayrola, P., bishop, 251. +</p> + +<p> +Babylonia, Sultan of, 37. +</p> + +<p> +Baedeker, 105. +</p> + +<p> +Bagnara, town, 240, 242. +</p> + +<p> +Bagpipes, 151, 155. +</p> + +<p> +Balfour, A. J., 265. +</p> + +<p> +Balzo, Pierro del, 37. +</p> + +<p> +Bandusian Fount, 43-46. +</p> + +<p> +Bantia (Banzi), 32. +</p> + +<p> +Barbarano, a glen, 219. +</p> + +<p> +Barbarossa. See <i>Frederick II.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Barbarossa, pirate-brothers, 140. +</p> + +<p> +Barbers, their Hellenic loquacity, 81-82. +</p> + +<p> +Bari, compared with Taranto, 89. +</p> + +<p> +Barletta, town, II. +</p> + +<p> +Baronius, cardinal, 258. +</p> + +<p> +Barrius, his <i>philopatria,</i> 142; on Calabrian rivers, 286. +</p> + +<p> +Bartels, J. H., 123. +</p> + +<p> +Earth, Dr. H., 306. +</p> + +<p> +Bartholomaeus, saint, 108. +</p> + +<p> +Basile, A., 69. +</p> + +<p> +Basilean monks, their convents, in, 113; supplanted by Benedictines, 113; their +ideals, 115; convent of St. Adrian, 185. +</p> + +<p> +Basilicata, province, emigration from, 49; military road through, 123; old +boundary of, 145; its bagpipes, 151, 155. +</p> + +<p> +Batiffol, P., 113, 186, 272. +</p> + +<p> +Bears in Calabria, 94, 146. +</p> + +<p> +Beatrix, princess, 7, 8. +</p> + +<p> +Beccaria, C. de, 276. +</p> + +<p> +Beccarini family, 13. +</p> + +<p> +Beeches at Pollino, 146; in old Latium, 285. +</p> + +<p> +Bellerophon, a dragon-slayer, 102. +</p> + +<p> +Belmonte, prince, 49. +</p> + +<p> +Beltrano, O., 114. +</p> + +<p> +Benedict XIII, no. +</p> + +<p> +Benedict, saint, 252. +</p> + +<p> +Benedictines, their architecture, 39; displace Basileans, 113, +</p> + +<p> +Beneventana, 29. +</p> + +<p> +Benincasa, Venerable Orsola, 255-256, 258. +</p> + +<p> +Benincasa, brigand, 213. +</p> + +<p> +Benjamin of Tudela, 81, 136. +</p> + +<p> +Benoth (Venus), 33. +</p> + +<p> +Bernard, saint, 250. +</p> + +<p> +Bernardo da Rogliano, biography of, 144. +</p> + +<p> +Bernhardi, Prof., 3. +</p> + +<p> +Bertaux, E., 39, 78, in, 186. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Biblioteca Calabra</i> in Naples, 93. +</p> + +<p> +Birds, how to diminish slaughter of, 52; eaten raw, 56. +</p> + +<p> +Bisignano, town, 135, 194. +</p> + +<p> +Bivona, town, 320. +</p> + +<p> +Black colour, of Saracens, 52, 130; of water, 80. +</p> + +<p> +Blaev, J., 67. +</p> + +<p> +Blake, W., 190. +</p> + +<p> +Blanc, Jos., 53. +</p> + +<p> +Blood-letting, popular treatment of disease, 194. +</p> + +<p> +Blue, deficient colour-sense for, 51, 52. +</p> + +<p> +Boccaccio, 80, 260. +</p> + +<p> +Boccara, V., 228. +</p> + +<p> +Boemund, 38. +</p> + +<p> +Boissier, G., 46. +</p> + +<p> +Bollandists, in. +</p> + +<p> +Bonghi, R., statesman, 4. +</p> + +<p> +Bordeaux, royal duel at, 8. +</p> + +<p> +Borgia, village, 293. +</p> + +<p> +Borjès, J., 215. +</p> + +<p> +Botta, C., <i>quoted,</i> 122. +</p> + +<p> +Botte Donato, mount, 122. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Brigandage.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Bourget, P., 296. +</p> + +<p> +Bova, town, 241, 245, 272-273. +</p> + +<p> +Bovio, G., statesman, 4. +</p> + +<p> +Bradano, river, 286. +</p> + +<p> +Breakfast in Italy, dislocates moral stability, 18, 125; responsible for +homicides, 127. +</p> + +<p> +Briar (bruyère), manufacture of pipes, 269. +</p> + +<p> +Brigands, at Venosa, 34; Longobucco, 202; in the Sila, 211 <i>seq.;</i> +pensioned by Bourbons, 214; their crimes, 212, 215; their wealth, 215; +interview with one, 245. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Bronze of Siris,” 197. +</p> + +<p> +Bruno, Giordano, 269. +</p> + +<p> +Bruno, physician of Longobucco, 202. +</p> + +<p> +Bruttians, misrepresented, 197; their characteristics, 208; respect for women, +209; reputation for bloodthirstiness, 210. +</p> + +<p> +Buchholtz, H., 190. +</p> + +<p> +Buckle, H. T., 90. +</p> + +<p> +Buffaloes at Policoro, 99. +</p> + +<p> +Bugliari, bishop, 183. +</p> + +<p> +Bugs, their medicinal properties, 105. +</p> + +<p> +Burial, premature, 300. +</p> + +<p> +Burnous, surviving in Italy, 20. +</p> + +<p> +Byzantines, at Gargano, 17; a period of revival, in; their convents, 113, 186; +survive in Aspramente, 272-274; confused with Albanians, 176, +272. +</p> + +<p> +Caietanus, O., 111. +</p> + +<p> +“Calabrere” fur, 222. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Malaria.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Calamo, river, 196. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Calascione Scordato,</i> a poem, 131. +</p> + +<p> +Calendaro, river, io, 21. +</p> + +<p> +Calypso, island, 284, 319. +</p> + +<p> +Camorra, 57, 125, 279. +</p> + +<p> +Campanella, T., philosopher, 282, 292. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Campanula fragilis,</i> 225. +</p> + +<p> +Campo di Bova, upland, 272. +</p> + +<p> +Campo Tenese, village, 123. +</p> + +<p> +Cantù, C., 190. +</p> + +<p> +Capaccio, bishop of, 212. +</p> + +<p> +Capasso, B., 3. +</p> + +<p> +Capialbi, V., 136, 320. +</p> + +<p> +Capmartin de Chaupy, on Bandusian Fount, 43-45. +</p> + +<p> +Caprasia. See <i>Tarsia.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Carafa, village, 293. +</p> + +<p> +Carducci, commentator, 80. +</p> + +<p> +Carducci, poet, 5. +</p> + +<p> +Carob-tree, its cultivation neglected, 49. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline, Queen, 215. +</p> + +<p> +Carthusian monasteries, 293-294. +</p> + +<p> +Caruso, brigand, 214. +</p> + +<p> +Casalnuovo, village, 271, 272. +</p> + +<p> +Caserta, palace of, 139, 204. +</p> + +<p> +Casimir of Poland, prince, 75. +</p> + +<p> +Casino, village, 207. +</p> + +<p> +Cassano, town, 121, 176. +</p> + +<p> +Cassiodorus, 221. +</p> + +<p> +Castaldi, G., 284. Castel del Monte, 11, 12. +</p> + +<p> +Castel del Monte, 11, 12. +</p> + +<p> +Castel Fiorentino, 8. +</p> + +<p> +Castelvetere. See <i>Caulonia. “</i> +</p> + +<p> +Castle of the Giant,” 19. +</p> + +<p> +Castrovillari, its origin, 119; old town, 121; colony of Jews, 122. +</p> + +<p> +Catacomb-worship, 27; at Venosa, 38. +</p> + +<p> +“Cataldiados,” a baroque poem, 67. +</p> + +<p> +Cataldo, saint, his shrine and biographies, 67. +</p> + +<p> +Catanzaro, 172, 223; its museum, 224, 226. +</p> + +<p> +Catherine of Siena, saint, 38. +</p> + +<p> +Cats in south Italy, 119-120. +</p> + +<p> +Caulonia, a mediæval site, 281; its castle, 282; immunity from malaria, 284. +</p> + +<p> +Cavalotti, F., politician, 108-109. +</p> + +<p> +Cavara, Signor, 285. +</p> + +<p> +Cave-worship, its origins and priestly uses, 23. +</p> + +<p> +Celli, Prof., 288, 298. +</p> + +<p> +Cellular confinement, 240, 276. +</p> + +<p> +Cemeteries in Italy, their charm, 2, 299. +</p> + +<p> +Cemetery of Reggio, 235. +</p> + +<p> +Cenna, surviving Roman family, chronicler of Venosa, 32, 33, 43. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cerauli,</i> snake-killers, 138. +</p> + +<p> +Cerchiara, village, 147. +</p> + +<p> +Cerino, brigand, 215. +</p> + +<p> +Cetara, Saracen stronghold, 137. +</p> + +<p> +Cetraro, erection of postal letter-box at, 304. +</p> + +<p> +Charity, a form of self-indulgence, 311. +</p> + +<p> +Charles of Anjou, 7-8. +</p> + +<p> +Chastity-ideal, poisons literature, 260. +</p> + +<p> +Cheeses of Pollino, 142, 149; of Sila, 221. +</p> + +<p> +Chemists, an authoritative class, 105, 307. +</p> + +<p> +Cherub, a decayed conception, 24. +</p> + +<p> +Chestnuts, destruction of, 220; of Tarentum, 285. +</p> + +<p> +Children, as wage-earners in America, 50; massacre of illegitimate, 59; sold +by contract, 97; kidnapped for sale to Turks, 139. +</p> + +<p> +China, its dragon-god, 104. +</p> + +<p> +Cholera, 26, 128, 157, 172, 173. +</p> + +<p> +Christian names, degeneration in, 57-58. +</p> + +<p> +Church, Sir R., 77. +</p> + +<p> +Cicadas, their uses, 182; of Reggio, 284. +</p> + +<p> +Cimigliano, village, 205. +</p> + +<p> +Circilla, upland, 219, 222. +</p> + +<p> +Ciro, priest-brigand, 77. +</p> + +<p> +Cirò, its wine, 306. +</p> + +<p> +Cività, village, 153. +</p> + +<p> +Cluver, Ph., 175. +</p> + +<p> +Coachmen, how to manage, 17. +</p> + +<p> +Cocynthum promontory (Punta di Stilo), 284. +</p> + +<p> +Codex of Rossano, 114. +</p> + +<p> +Cœnobitism develops out of eremitism, 112-113. +</p> + +<p> +Colajanni, Prof., 278. +</p> + +<p> +Cola Pesce, the diver, 228-229. +</p> + +<p> +Colletta, P., 64, 212; <i>quoted,,</i> 213. +</p> + +<p> +Colognati, river, 197. +</p> + +<p> +“Colonia Elena,” 96. +</p> + +<p> +Colorito, convent, 143-144. +</p> + +<p> +Colour-sense of peasantry, 51-52. +</p> + +<p> +Columella, 80, 285. +</p> + +<p> +Column, Cape and temple-ruin at Cotrone, 301, 308, 318 <i>seq.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Commercial travellers, an objectionable brood, 31, 296. +</p> + +<p> +Comparetti, D., 272. +</p> + +<p> +Condofuri, village, 272. +</p> + +<p> +Confessors and penitents, 258. +</p> + +<p> +Conradin, 7-8. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Contranome,</i> the Happy Hazards of, 54-56. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Controra,</i> the ominous hour, 321. +</p> + +<p> +Cook, Eliza, 180. +</p> + +<p> +Cookery, English contrasted with Italian, 125. +</p> + +<p> +“Co-operation,” a local journal, 206. +</p> + +<p> +Copertino, town, 71. +</p> + +<p> +Corace, river, 195. +</p> + +<p> +Coral fisheries, abandoned, 286. +</p> + +<p> +Corigliano, town, 96, 115, 173, 184, 191. +</p> + +<p> +Coronelli, V., 175. +</p> + +<p> +Corsairs, destroy Manfredonia, 12; contrasted with Saracens, 138; their +destructiveness, 139; depopulate sea-board, 140; crushed by steam, 141. +</p> + +<p> +Corsi, F., 91. +</p> + +<p> +Cortese, Prof., 270. +</p> + +<p> +Coscile (Sybaris), river, 122, 172, 175. +</p> + +<p> +“Cose di Puglie,” a remarkable book, 89. +</p> + +<p> +Cosenza, Saracenism at, 134, 135; a pleasant town, 160; corrupt administration +of, 193; described by Pacicchelli, 208; intellectual record and malaria, 287, +291. +</p> + +<p> +Costanza, Queen, 7, 8. +</p> + +<p> +Costanzo, A., 3. +</p> + +<p> +Costumes, female, of Morano, 130; of Albanian colonies, 152-153, 178, 182; of +San Giovanni, 205-206; of Tiriolo, 225. +</p> + +<p> +Cotrone (Croton), 135, 207; its former size, 283; marshy surroundings, 286; +recent revival, 297; lack of rainfall, 305. +</p> + +<p> +Cotronei, 184. +</p> + +<p> +Cotton-plant, 136. . +</p> + +<p> +Courier, P. L., <i>quoted,</i> 212. +</p> + +<p> +Cows, shod for threshing corn, 121; their milk disparaged, 149; in the Sila, +220; resuscitated from death, 261; of Cotrone, 301. +</p> + +<p> +Crati (Crathis), river, 108, 213, 287; its “deluge,” 174; change of +course, 175; legend of, 197. +</p> + +<p> +Craven, Keppel, 80, 95, 294. +</p> + +<p> +Crimes committed by brigands, 212, 215. +</p> + +<p> +Crispi, F., 191. +</p> + +<p> +“Cristiano,” origin of term, 138. +</p> + +<p> +Croce Greca, a landmark, 195. +</p> + +<p> +Cropolati, village, 198. +</p> + +<p> +Crossbills, 205. +</p> + +<p> +Cruelty to animals, 120. +</p> + +<p> +Cryptomerias, futile love of, I, 83. +</p> + +<p> +Cuma;, 119. +</p> + +<p> +Cuomo, A., 264. +</p> + +<p> +Cuomo Library, Naples, 67. +</p> + +<p> +Cysat, J. L., 104. +</p> + +<p> +Date-palm, 83, 136. +</p> + +<p> +D’Azeglio, <i>quoted,</i> 217. +</p> + +<p> +Death-penalty, preface of civilization, 276. +</p> + +<p> +Decentralization of south Italy, 194, 250, 303. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Deities, sullied by vulgar contact, 24; must be plastic to survive, 25. +</p> + +<p> +Delianuova, town, 240, 241, 245, 274. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Delizie Tarentine,</i> 80. +</p> + +<p> +Deluge, legend of, 174. +</p> + +<p> +Democritus of Abdera, 312. +</p> + +<p> +Demon of Midday, 321. +</p> + +<p> +Demosthenes, 27, 279. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Devil, his perennial popularity, 25; his honesty, 266. +</p> + +<p> +Diabetic tendency inherent in all gods, 25. +</p> + +<p> +Diehl, C., 108, 186. +</p> + +<p> +Dieting, improper, responsible for moral delinquencies, 126-127. +</p> + +<p> +Diomed, city-founder, 29. +</p> + +<p> +“Dog-eyed,” opprobrious epithet, too, 120. +</p> + +<p> +Dogs, eaten as medicine, 57; their diet and appearance, 119; Greek attitude +towards, 120. +</p> + +<p> +Dolcedorme, mountain-range, 108, 142, 143. +</p> + +<p> +Dolomieu, C. de, 234. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Domicilio coatto,</i> system of, 276. +</p> + +<p> +Dominican monks, 252, 258, 259. +</p> + +<p> +Dorsa, V., 310. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Draco volans.</i> See <i>dragon.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Dragonara, Dragoneria, 112. +</p> + +<p> +Dragone, rivulet, 100. +</p> + +<p> +Dragon, synonymous with serpent, 100; possible prototypes in nature, 101; an +animistic conception, 102; dragon-attributes and shapes, 103; recent +degeneration of, 104. +</p> + +<p> +Duret de Tavel, on game in Calabria, 95; on brigands, 202, 212. +</p> + +<p> +Earth-movements, 284-285. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Ecclesiastics under Bourbons, prodigious numbers of, 212. +</p> + +<p> +Edrisius, +<i>quoted,</i> 109, 286, 298. +</p> + +<p> +Education, Italian ideas on, 185. +</p> + +<p> +Eels, resuscitated from death, 261. +</p> + +<p> +Egidio, saint, 260-264. +</p> + +<p> +Elba, island, 240. +</p> + +<p> +Elia Junior, saint, in. +</p> + +<p> +Elia Spelaeotes, saint, 111-112. +</p> + +<p> +Elias, saint, displaces Helios, 188. +</p> + +<p> +Elvira, Council of, 153. +</p> + +<p> +Emigrants to America, their wine-bibbing propensities and intelligence, 21-22; +other characteristics, 146, 209. +</p> + +<p> +Emigration, reduces population, 28, 49, 209; its effect on the race, 48, 50, +97, 194, 210; breaks up big properties, 289. +</p> + +<p> +English government, encourages brigandage, 212, +</p> + +<p> +Englishmen, considered savages, 5. +</p> + +<p> +English mentality, contrasted with Italian, 66, 91, 117, 123, 124, +179, 248, 265, 311. +</p> + +<p> +English travellers in south Italy, 181, 280. +</p> + +<p> +Ennius, 79. +</p> + +<p> +Envy, prevalent native vice, 126, 127, 129. +</p> + +<p> +Ephesus, synod of, 259. +</p> + +<p> +Epictetus, 251. +</p> + +<p> +Erasmus, 264. +</p> + +<p> +Eros, degenerates into Cupid, 25. +</p> + +<p> +Esaro, river (i), 172. +</p> + +<p> +Esaro, river (2), 297. +</p> + +<p> +Espedito, saint, 4. +</p> + +<p> +Eucalyptus trees, a scandalous growth, 97, 98. +</p> + +<p> +Euprassius, protospadarius of Calabria, 111. +</p> + +<p> +Evelyn, John, 136. +</p> + +<p> +Exmouth, Lord, 139. +</p> + +<p> +Eye-like appearance of fountains, originates dragon-legends, 100. +</p> + +<p> +Fabbrizia, town, 292, 293. +</p> + +<p> +Fair complexion, at Venosa, 33; prejudice against, 209; eliminated by malaria, +225. +</p> + +<p> +Falcone, N., 161. +</p> + +<p> +Fallistro, mountain, 196. +</p> + +<p> +Fallow-deer, now extinct, 95, 146. +</p> + +<p> +Family, south Italian sense of, 124, 179, 279. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fare figura,</i> an Italian trait, 65. +</p> + +<p> +Fata Morgana, 228. +</p> + +<p> +Ferdinand, king, 140, 212. +</p> + +<p> +Ferdinand the Catholic, 122. +</p> + +<p> +Ferdinandea, upland, 292. +</p> + +<p> +Festivals, nocturnal, 153. +</p> + +<p> +Feudal conditions in Calabria, 97; re-creation of, 316. +</p> + +<p> +Fever. See <i>Malaria.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Fever, Maltese, 286. +</p> + +<p> +“Fiamuri Arberit,” Albanian journal, 190. +</p> + +<p> +Figs, different varieties of, 50-51. +</p> + +<p> +Fiore, G., 113, 142, 175, 176, 186, 208, 286. +</p> + +<p> +Firs, 146, 203, 222, 269; used as cow-fodder, 149; white firs, 285, 295. +</p> + +<p> +Fishermen, their antique habits, 81. +</p> + +<p> +Fulminicà, river, 197. +</p> + +<p> +Fleas, at Spinazzola, 63. +</p> + +<p> +Flora, of mountain parts, 145, 223; change in distribution, 285. +</p> + +<p> +Floriacense, monastery, 207. +</p> + +<p> +Flute, the double, 178. +</p> + +<p> +Flying Monk. See <i>Joseph of Copertino.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Focà, village, 281; depopulated by malaria, 283; revival of, 289. +</p> + +<p> +Foggia, 7, 8, 10. +</p> + +<p> +Forbiger, A., 195. +</p> + +<p> +Forense (Fiorenza), 32. +</p> + +<p> +Forests, of Policoro, 95; Pollino, 146-148; Sila, 204, 220; Italian, contrasted +with Russian, 222; Gariglione, 222-223; of Serra, 295. +</p> + +<p> +Forgeries, literary, 143. +</p> + +<p> +Fortis, A., 228. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fosse canarie,</i> 300. +</p> + +<p> +Fossombrone, town, 72. +</p> + +<p> +Fountains, connected with dragon-legends, 101-104. +</p> + +<p> +Francatripa, brigand, 211, 215. +</p> + +<p> +Francavilla, town, 147. +</p> + +<p> +Francesco di Paola, saint, 257. +</p> + +<p> +Francis II, king, 214. +</p> + +<p> +Francis of Assisi, saint, 18, 74, 75, 254. +</p> + +<p> +Franciscan monks, 75, 160, 252, 258. +</p> + +<p> +Frangipani, 7, 137. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Freemasonry, prevalence of, 183. +</p> + +<p> +French, their repression of brigandage, 144, 202, 212. +</p> + +<p> +Frida, river, 151. +</p> + +<p> +Frogs, as mosquito-catchers, 99. +</p> + +<p> +Fromentin, E., 155. +</p> + +<p> +Frungillo, R., 261. +</p> + +<p> +Galaesus, river, 80. +</p> + +<p> +Galateus (Ferrari, A. de’), 89. +</p> + +<p> +Galen, 283. +</p> + +<p> +Galoppano, forestal station, 204. +</p> + +<p> +Gardens, public, at Lucera, I; Manfredonia, 14; Taranto, 83; Catanzaro, 224; +Messina, 231. +</p> + +<p> +Gargano, mount, 2, 7, 21, 32; Byzantine influence at, 17. +</p> + +<p> +Garibaldi, 183, 214, 240. +</p> + +<p> +Gariglione, forest, 222. +</p> + +<p> +Gaudolino, valley of, 144, 157. +</p> + +<p> +Gay, Jules, 186. +</p> + +<p> +Gebhardt & Harnack, on Codex of Rossano, 114. +</p> + +<p> +Gecko, reputed poisonous, 205, Gelasius, pope, 262. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Genista anglica,</i> 223. +</p> + +<p> +Genovese, Dr. F., his malaria researches, 283, 284, 286, 290. +</p> + +<p> +George, saint, his dragon, 103. +</p> + +<p> +Gerace (Locri), 137, 274, 284, 285. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Germanese</i> and <i>tedesco,</i> contradistinguished, 77. +</p> + +<p> +Gesner, Konrad, 100. +</p> + +<p> +Gessner, Salamon, 315. +</p> + +<p> +Giadrezze, fountain, 80. +</p> + +<p> +Giangiuseppe della Croce, saint, 253-255, 263. +</p> + +<p> +Giannone, P., 4. +</p> + +<p> +Gioia, town, 241. +</p> + +<p> +Gioioso, town, 292. +</p> + +<p> +“Giornale d’ Italia,” <i>quoted,</i> 115. +</p> + +<p> +Giovene, G., 89. +</p> + +<p> +Gissing, G., on Galaesus, 80; description of Reggio, 236; at Cotrone, 296-301; +on Pythagoras, 309. +</p> + +<p> +Giudice, G. del, 139. +</p> + +<p> +Gladstone, W. E., 190. +</p> + +<p> +Glasgow, its morality, 154. +</p> + +<p> +“Glories of Mary,” 259. +</p> + +<p> +Goats, a baneful quadruped, 149, 286. +</p> + +<p> +Goethe, 237, 280. +</p> + +<p> +Gothic attitude towards nature, 42; towards religion, 266. +</p> + +<p> +Gourmont, R. de, 91. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Graffiti,</i> their sociological import, 200. +</p> + +<p> +Grandis, de, 53. +</p> + +<p> +Grano, panegyrist of Calabria, 135. +</p> + +<p> +Grant, J., 242. +</p> + +<p> +Gratitude, southern sense of, 123. +</p> + +<p> +Gravière, J. de la, 141. +</p> + +<p> +“Grazie,” a word seldom used, 123. +</p> + +<p> +Greco, L. M., 197. +</p> + +<p> +Greek Comedy, 153. +</p> + +<p> +Greeks, medieval. See <i>Byzantines.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Green colour, in nature, 52; in mankind, 129. +</p> + +<p> +Gregorovius, F., 17, 88, 307. Grottaglie, town, 68, 77-79. Grottole, 77. +</p> + +<p> +Grotto-apparitions, 23, 154. Guiscard, Robert, 137. Gumppenberg, G., 259. +</p> + +<p> +Guiscard, Robert, 137. +</p> + +<p> +Gumppenberg, G., 259. +</p> + +<p> +Haller, C., 53. +</p> + +<p> +Hair-cutting, æsthetics of, 81. +</p> + +<p> +Hamilton, Sir W., 228, 242. +</p> + +<p> +Hannibal, 31, 64, 299. +</p> + +<p> +Harnack, A., 114. +</p> + +<p> +Haseloff, H. E. G., on purple Codex, 114. +</p> + +<p> +Hat of the Virgin Mary, 243, 265. +</p> + +<p> +Haym, N. F., 144. +</p> + +<p> +Hearn, L., 209. +</p> + +<p> +Hehn, V., 222. +</p> + +<p> +Heinsius, D., 175. +</p> + +<p> +Helios, survives as St. Elias, 188. +</p> + +<p> +Hellenic art, its originality explained, 75. See <i>Greeks.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Hepidanus, chronicler, 135. +</p> + +<p> +Hera, temple of. See <i>Column.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Heraclea, 89, 97. +</p> + +<p> +Herbs, lore of, 58; on Mount Pollino, 142-143. +</p> + +<p> +Herculaneum, its buried treasures, 115. +</p> + +<p> +Hercules, 23, 27. +</p> + +<p> +Hermits in Calabria, 111-112. +</p> + +<p> +Herodotus, 175. +</p> + +<p> +Hesiod, 100. +</p> + +<p> +Hippocratic oath, 297. +</p> + +<p> +Hipponium. See <i>Montdeone,</i> +</p> + +<p> +Hohenstaufen, their fate avenged, 6-8. +</p> + +<p> +Home, south Italian feeling for, 179. +</p> + +<p> +Homer, his colour-sense, 52; on dragons, 100, 101; his idea of gifts, 123-124; +his “Ore of Temese,” 202. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Homo ibericus,</i> 109. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>seq.;</i> approves of being genially unwise, 46; his +<i>duplex ficus,</i> 51; hatred of avarice, 218. +</p> + +<p> +Huillard-Bréholles, I. L. A., 37, 186. +</p> + +<p> +Humanitarians, their ferocity, 312. +</p> + +<p> +Humour in south Italy, 58. +</p> + +<p> +Huxley, T. H., 264. +</p> + +<p> +Hymenæus, 39. +</p> + +<p> +Ibn Alathir, 135. +</p> + +<p> +Ibn Chaldun, 135. +</p> + +<p> +Illegitimate infants, massacre of, 58-59. +</p> + +<p> +“Il Saraceno,” journal, 4. +</p> + +<p> +Imbriani, politician, 108. +</p> + +<p> +Index, Congregation of, 260. +</p> + +<p> +Industrialism, Italian craze for, 48, 148. +</p> + +<p> +Inn-keepers, how to deal with, 106-108. +</p> + +<p> +Innocent IV., 7. +</p> + +<p> +Inquisition, 258, 260. +</p> + +<p> +Intellectual undercurrent in south Italy, 33, 89, 188, 201. +</p> + +<p> +“Interesse” (self-advantage), a guiding motive, 124. +</p> + +<p> +Ionic spirit, traces of, 208; defies religious asceticism, 252. +</p> + +<p> +Iorio, A. di, 51. +</p> + +<p> +Italian government, plays at numbering houses, 20; punishes original ideas, 35. +</p> + +<p> +Italian heritage from Romans, 42, 277. +</p> + +<p> +Italian music, its primitive appeal, 5, 231-232. +</p> + +<p> +Italy, the original district so called, 195. +</p> + +<p> +Jackdaws, discard their voices, 37. +</p> + +<p> +Janace, forest, 146. +</p> + +<p> +Januarius, saint, 249, 251. +</p> + +<p> +Japygia, land of, 68. +</p> + +<p> +Jerome, saint, 153. +</p> + +<p> +Jesuits, 97, 249. +</p> + +<p> +Jesus Christ, how regarded, 248. +</p> + +<p> +Jews, colony at Venosa, 38; at Castrovillari, 122; at Caulonia and elsewhere, +282; change in their race-characteristics, 126. +</p> + +<p> +Johannes a S. Antonio, 162. +</p> + +<p> +Johannes of Longobucco, 202. +</p> + +<p> +John, saint, his blood, 251. +</p> + +<p> +Johnson-Cory, W., 315. +</p> + +<p> +Jones, W. M., on malaria, 290. +</p> + +<p> +Joseph, saint, 250. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Justice in south Italy, 278, 279. +</p> + +<p> +Justinus, <i>quoted,</i> 221. +</p> + +<p> +Juvenal, 259. +</p> + +<p> +Kant, E., 310. +</p> + +<p> +Kerrich, Mr., his briar-industry, 270. +</p> + +<p> +Kestrels, fishing for, 129. +</p> + +<p> +Kheir-eddin, pirate, 140. +</p> + +<p> +King and Okey, <i>quoted,</i> 279. +</p> + +<p> +“King Marcone,” brigand, 214. +</p> + +<p> +Kircher, A., <i>quoted,</i> 105. +</p> + +<p> +Kissing, in life and literature, 315. +</p> + +<p> +Knox, John, 310. +</p> + +<p> +Konrad von Hildesheim, <i>quoted,</i> 138. +</p> + +<p> +Labonia, F. M., 202. +</p> + +<p> +“La Cattolica,” church at Stilo, ill. +</p> + +<p> +Lagonegro, town, 147. +</p> + +<p> +Lakes, construction of artificial, 217; created by earthquakes, 285. +</p> + +<p> +Lamartine, A. M., 190. +</p> + +<p> +Lamb, Charles, 14. +</p> + +<p> +Lambton Worm, a dragon, 102. +</p> + +<p> +“Lamenti,” plaints in rime, 140. +</p> + +<p> +Landslides, their destructive frequency, 218; how repaired, 293. +</p> + +<p> +“La Quistione Meridionale,” a book, 278. +</p> + +<p> +Lasor a Varea (Savonarola), 67, 144. +</p> + +<p> +Latin points of view, opposed to Gothic, 42, 266. +</p> + +<p> +Latinisms of speech, survival of, 53. +</p> + +<p> +Latronico, village, 147. +</p> + +<p> +Laurentius, bishop of Sipontum, 17. +</p> + +<p> +Lauria, Roger de, 7, 8. +</p> + +<p> +Law-breaking, unsuspected joys of, 36. +</p> + +<p> +Lear, E., 40, in, 134. +</p> + +<p> +Lefroy, E. C., 315. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Leone da Morano, 144. +</p> + +<p> +Leoni, N., 131, 161, 228. +</p> + +<p> +Leoni (government official), 271. +</p> + +<p> +Leo XIII, 263. +</p> + +<p> +Lese, river, 205, 220. +</p> + +<p> +Lesina, 7, 21. +</p> + +<p> +Lewes, G. H., 267. +</p> + +<p> +Ligorio, P., arch-forger, 143. +</p> + +<p> +Liguori, A. di, saint, 256, 257, 259, 260. +</p> + +<p> +“L’ Inglese,” brigand, 212. +</p> + +<p> +Lions of Lucera, 3; of Venosa, 32. +</p> + +<p> +Lipari, island, 276. +</p> + +<p> +Lipuda, river, 197. +</p> + +<p> +Lister, Lord, 312.; +</p> + +<p> +Li Tartari, mountain, 196. +</p> + +<p> +Livy, 197. +</p> + +<p> +Lizard, the emerald, 205. +</p> + +<p> +L’ Occaso, author, 134. +</p> + +<p> +Locri. See <i>Gerace.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Lombroso, C., 128, 278. +</p> + +<p> +Longobucco, 195; its “Hotel Vittoria,” 199, 201; situation, 200; +intellectual life, 201; silver mines, 202. +</p> + +<p> +Lorenzo, G. de, 39. +</p> + +<p> +Lorenzo (Lawrence), saint, his dragon-legend, n, 102; his fat, 251. +</p> + +<p> +Louis of France, saint, 7. +</p> + +<p> +Love of noise, a local trait, 53. +</p> + +<p> +Love-affairs, how managed, 84-86. +</p> + +<p> +Lucanians, 197, 221. +</p> + +<p> +Lucca oil, 241. +</p> + +<p> +Lucera, its castle, 2, 6; museum, 3; landscape in spring, 6. +</p> + +<p> +Lucifero, a sacrilegious bishop, 319. +</p> + +<p> +Ludwig II, complains of Saracens, 138. +</p> + +<p> +Luke, saint, paints Madonna portraits at Sipontum, 30; at Caulonia, 282; at +Cotrone, 306. +</p> + +<p> +Lupi-Crisafi, author, 228. +</p> + +<p> +Lupoli, M. A., 31, 39. +</p> + +<p> +Luther, his creed repressed, 252. +</p> + +<p> +Luynes, duc de, 186. +</p> + +<p> +Luzard (lynx), an absent-minded beast, 94, 222. +</p> + +<p> +Lycanthropy, epidemic of, 176. +</p> + +<p> +Maccheroni, the art of engulphing, 297. +</p> + +<p> +Macchia, village, 178, 180, 188 <i>seq.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Madonna, declines in artistic worth, 24; her realistic diet, 61; <i>della +Fita,</i> 93; <i>acbiropita,</i> 108, 113, 114; <i>del Patir,</i> in; her +friendship with St. Nilus, 114; <i>del Castello,</i> 122; <i>della Libera,</i> +140; <i>di Constantinopoli,</i> 140; of Pollino, picnic in honour of, 151 +<i>seq.; put up to auction,</i> 156; of Messina, 230, 237; absorbs Greek +deities, 247; <i>dell’ Arco,</i> 249; <i>del Soccorso,</i> 249; of +Pompei, 249; <i>of the Hens,</i> 250; displaces saint-worship, 248-251; her +Sacred Hat, 243, 265; her Milk, 250; increases in popularity, 259, 264; <i>del +Carmine,</i> 301. +</p> + +<p> +Maecenas, 41. +</p> + +<p> +Maffei, A., 215. +</p> + +<p> +Magic, instances of sympathetic, 57; imported from Egypt, 58, 251. +</p> + +<p> +Magini, G. A., 97, 175. +</p> + +<p> +Magna Mater, 108, 153, 259. +</p> + +<p> +Mahaffy, J. P., 124. +</p> + +<p> +Maida, plain of, 240, 241. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Male selection, among Hellenic races, 209. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Malizia</i> (cleverness), 47, 124. +</p> + +<p> +Mallock, W. H., 265. +</p> + +<p> +Malpica, C., 114. +</p> + +<p> +Mammon, the god of emigrants, 22. +</p> + +<p> +Mammone, brigand, 212. +</p> + +<p> +Manfred, his infatuation for Saracens, 3; fate of his sons, 8 j) his name +survives, 45. +</p> + +<p> +Manfredonia, its harbour, II; burnt by Corsairs, 12; wineshops and burglaries, +15. +</p> + +<p> +Manhes, General, his methods, 213, 214; at Bagnara, 242; at Serra, 293. +</p> + +<p> +Manna ash, 93, 121. +</p> + +<p> +Manzi, brigand, 214, 215. +</p> + +<p> +Marafioti, G., 143. +</p> + +<p> +Marbles, on beach at Taranto, 9!; Roman technique of cutting, 92. +</p> + +<p> +Marcellinara, village, 205. +</p> + +<p> +Marcellus, tomb of, 31. +</p> + +<p> +Marchesato, district, 284. +</p> + +<p> +Marchianò, M., 188. +</p> + +<p> +Marchianò, S., 187. +</p> + +<p> +Marcone, N., 243. +</p> + +<p> +Marcus Aurelius, 251. +</p> + +<p> +Margaret, saint, gratifying results of her autopsy, 258. +</p> + +<p> +Marino, poet, 23, 169, 259. +</p> + +<p> +Mariolatry, engenders effeminate saints, 259. +</p> + +<p> +Marincola, L., 139. +</p> + +<p> +Marincola Pistoia, D., 197. +</p> + +<p> +Mark, saint, his church at Rossano, III; displaced by St. Rosalia, 247. +</p> + +<p> +Mars, 27. +</p> + +<p> +Martial, 53, 80. +</p> + +<p> +Martorana, C., 135. +</p> + +<p> +Mary, Virgin. See <i>Madonna.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Masci, A., 176. +</p> + +<p> +Mater Domini, convent, 251. +</p> + +<p> +Matera, town, 138. +</p> + +<p> +Matthew Paris, <i>quoted,</i> 7. +</p> + +<p> +“Mattino,” a venal daily, 303. +</p> + +<p> +Mazzara, town, 93. +</p> + +<p> +Mazzella, Sc., 136. +</p> + +<p> +Mazziotti, Prof. G., 183. +</p> + +<p> +Meander, river, 100. +</p> + +<p> +Medicines, compounded from animals, 57. +</p> + +<p> +Mele, S., 53. +</p> + +<p> +Melfi, town, 38. +</p> + +<p> +Melito, town, 137. +</p> + +<p> +Melliss, J. C., 286. +</p> + +<p> +Mendicino, village, 197. +</p> + +<p> +Mephitis, goddess of malaria, 32. +</p> + +<p> +Mercer, Mr., 278. +</p> + +<p> +Mercury, 26, 27. +</p> + +<p> +Merenzata, river, 197. +</p> + +<p> +Messapians, 65. +</p> + +<p> +Messina, its Fata Morgana, 228; legend of Cola Pesce, 228-229; public gardens, +231; effects of earthquake, 236-239. +</p> + +<p> +Metapontum, 119, 284, 289. +</p> + +<p> +Metchnikoff, E., 68. +</p> + +<p> +Mice, eaten as medicine, 56. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Middle Ages, their influence upon dragon-idea, 104. +</p> + +<p> +Milk of the Virgin Mary, 250-251. +</p> + +<p> +“Millionaires” of Acri, 195; of Cotrone, 302. +</p> + +<p> +Milo of Croton, defeats Sybarites, 196; devoured by wolves, 222. +</p> + +<p> +“Milosao,” Albanian rhapsodies, 190, 191. +</p> + +<p> +Milton, indebtedness to S. della Salandra, 160 <i>seq.;</i> to other Italian +poets, 169; friendship with Marquis Manzo, 168, 169; manuscripts at Cambridge, +170; his “grand manner,” 171. +</p> + +<p> +Minasi, A., 228. +</p> + +<p> +Minieri-Riccio, C., 160. +</p> + +<p> +Misasi, N., 294. +</p> + +<p> +Mistletoe, on fir-trees, 203. +</p> + +<p> +Mithra, 27, 309. +</p> + +<p> +Moens, Mr., captured by brigands, 214. +</p> + +<p> +Moltedo, F. T., 53. +</p> + +<p> +Mommsen, T., 31. +</p> + +<p> +Monasterace, village, 281. +</p> + +<p> +Monasteries, develop out of hermitages, 112; refuge of brigands, 144, 215. +</p> + +<p> +Monastic orders, competition between, 258. +</p> + +<p> +Mondragone, mountain, 102. +</p> + +<p> +Monk, the Flying. See <i>Joseph of Copertina.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Monnier, M., 215. +</p> + +<p> +“Montagna del Principe,” 123, 144. +</p> + +<p> +Montalto, mountain, 269, 274. +</p> + +<p> +Montanari, G. I., 69, 74. +</p> + +<p> +Monteleone (Hipponium), town, 119, 137, 241. +</p> + +<p> +Monte Nero, 217, 220. +</p> + +<p> +Montorio, S., 114, 259, 264, 282. +</p> + +<p> +Monumentomania, an Italian disease, 4. +</p> + +<p> +Moon, superstitions regarding, 59. +</p> + +<p> +Moore, John, 139. +</p> + +<p> +Morality, to be expressed in physiological terms, 126. +</p> + +<p> +Morano, its great age and greater filth, 128; Saracen memories, 130; its +literary glories, 131, 132. +</p> + +<p> +Morelli, T., 177, 272. +</p> + +<p> +Moritz, K. P., 140. +</p> + +<p> +Morone, C., 67. +</p> + +<p> +Morosi, G., 272. +</p> + +<p> +Moscato, author, 135. +</p> + +<p> +Motor services, replace diligence, 123, 225. +</p> + +<p> +Mountains, Italian dislike of, 143. +</p> + +<p> +Movers, F. C., 56. +</p> + +<p> +Mucone (? Acheron), river, 195-197. +</p> + +<p> +Müller, Max, 51. +</p> + +<p> +Müller, Prof., 38. +</p> + +<p> +Münter, F., 229. +</p> + +<p> +Murat, 123, 213, 214. +</p> + +<p> +Muratori, L. A., 13, 135. +</p> + +<p> +Murders, due to wine-bibbing, 244, 246. +</p> + +<p> +Murge hills, 63, 64. +</p> + +<p> +Museum, of Lucera, 3; Taranto, 88; British, 119, 161, 197; of Catanzaro, 224, +226, 316; Reggio, 236. +</p> + +<p> +Mushroom-stone, 93, 222. +</p> + +<p> +Musolino, brigand, 211, 270, 272; his fate, 240; episodes of, 271, 281; a +victim of inept legislation, 275, 278. +</p> + +<p> +Mussulman epitaph, 3. +</p> + +<p> +Mutilomania, an Italian disease, 83. +</p> + +<p> +Mythopoetic faculty, blighted by misrule, 100. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Napoleon, protects trees, 218. +</p> + +<p> +Nardo di Pace, village, 292. +</p> + +<p> +Nasi, ex-minister, his trial, 280. +</p> + +<p> +Nau, cape. See <i>Column.</i> +</p> + +<p> +National monuments, neglected, 39. +</p> + +<p> +Neaithos, river. See <i>Neto.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Neri, Filippo, saint, 258. +</p> + +<p> +Neto (Neaithos), river, 205, 206, 219, 220; wine of district, 307; change in +landscape, 314. +</p> + +<p> +Newspapers andpublic opinion, 277; characteristics of local,3O3-305. +</p> + +<p> +“New York Times,” on Sybaris, 116. +</p> + +<p> +Nicastro, town, 241. +</p> + +<p> +Niceforo, A., 252. +</p> + +<p> +Nicephoras Phocas, 81, 281. +</p> + +<p> +Niehbuhr, B. G., 272. +</p> + +<p> +Nilus, builder-saint, 114. +</p> + +<p> +Nilus, saint, 105, 108, no. +</p> + +<p> +Nissen, H., 219. +</p> + +<p> +Noepoli, village, 149. +</p> + +<p> +Nola-Molisi, G. B., 298, 320. +</p> + +<p> +Nordau, M., 74. +</p> + +<p> +Normans, buried at Venosa, 38; their behaviour in Sicily, 137. +</p> + +<p> +North, W., 290. +</p> + +<p> +Nowairi, historian, 135. +</p> + +<p> +Nutrition, its effect upon physique and morals, 125-127. +</p> + +<p> +Oaks (<i>Quercus cerris</i>), 222. +</p> + +<p> +Octroi, a mediæval abomination, 34-36, 66, 90. +</p> + +<p> +Odours, susceptibility of natives to, 52, 318. +</p> + +<p> +Oenotrians, a useful tribe, 130. +</p> + +<p> +Okey, T., 279. +</p> + +<p> +Olive oil, export from Palmi, 241. +</p> + +<p> +Oria, town, 65. +</p> + +<p> +Orsini tower, Taranto, 67. +</p> + +<p> +Otter, a rare animal, 184. +</p> + +<p> +Otto II., 135, 292. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Otto-Nove!</i> charm-formula, 310. +</p> + +<p> +Ouida, 45, 120. +</p> + +<p> +Oysters of Taranto, 81. +</p> + +<p> +Pacicchelli, G. B., 12, 208, 282, 294. +</p> + +<p> +Paestum, 119, 137, 283, 285. +</p> + +<p> +Paganism, survival of, 248. +</p> + +<p> +Paleparto, mountain, 196. +</p> + +<p> +Palermo, behaviour of Normans in, 137; metropolis of Saracens, 138; its +percentage of homicides, 276. +</p> + +<p> +Pallagorio, village, 315. +</p> + +<p> +Palmi, its oil-industry, 241. +</p> + +<p> +Pandosia, ancient city, 196, 197. +</p> + +<p> +Paoli, Monsieur, 27. +</p> + +<p> +Paracorio, village, 245. +</p> + +<p> +“Paradise Lost,” its presumable prototypes, 160; derived from +Salandra’s work, 161 <i>seq.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Parafante, brigand, 241. +</p> + +<p> +Parenti, village, 211. +</p> + +<p> +Parisio, P., 197. +</p> + +<p> +Parrino, D. A., 139. +</p> + +<p> +Pascale, V., 284. +</p> + +<p> +Patir (Patirion), monastery, in, 113-116, 186. +</p> + +<p> +Patriarchalism, its break-up in South Italy, 48 <i>seq.;</i> makes for +inefficiency, 226; shattered by judiciary abuses, 275, 279. See +<i>Peasantry.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Patrick, saint, 262. +</p> + +<p> +Paul, saint, invoked against poisonous beasts, 138. +</p> + +<p> +Paulinus, bishop, 151, 247. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>Emigration.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pecorara,</i> a rustic dance, 152. +</p> + +<p> +Pelasgic language and race, 187, 189, 191. +</p> + +<p> +Pelicaro, district, 97. +</p> + +<p> +Pellegrini, A., 272. +</p> + +<p> +Penal code of Italy, need for its revision, 276, 278, 279. +</p> + +<p> +Pentedattilo, mountain, 272. +</p> + +<p> +Pepe, G., 298. +</p> + +<p> +Pericles, 152. +</p> + +<p> +Perrey, G., 294. +</p> + +<p> +Persius Flaccus, 284. +</p> + +<p> +Petelia. See <i>Strongoli.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Petelia Policastro, town, 184. +</p> + +<p> +Peter, saint, baptizes natives, 29, 282; legend of, 60. +</p> + +<p> +Petronius, 302. +</p> + +<p> +Pettinascura, mountain, 204, 220. +</p> + +<p> +Peutinger’s Tables, no, 281. +</p> + +<p> +Phædrus, 322. +</p> + +<p> +Phallic cult at Venosa, 40. +</p> + +<p> +Pharmacy-club, how to secure membership, 106. +</p> + +<p> +Pheasants, 96. +</p> + +<p> +Philo Judseus, 251. +</p> + +<p> +Physical conditions affecting race-character, 90, 126. +</p> + +<p> +Piano di Carmelia, upland, 269. +</p> + +<p> +Piedigrotta, festival, 52. +</p> + +<p> +Piè d’ Impisa, mountain, 272. +</p> + +<p> +Pietra-Sasso, a landmark, 148. +</p> + +<p> +Pigs, in streets, 128, 206, 207; their food, 173; can detect werewolves, 176. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Pines, absent in Pollino forests, 146; the Calabrian variety, 196, 204; of +Aleppo, 285. +</p> + +<p> +Pious legends, their drawback, 262. +</p> + +<p> +Piracy. See <i>Corsairs</i> and <i>Saracens.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Pitch, the Bruttian, 204, 285, 286. +</p> + +<p> +Pitrè, G., 300. +</p> + +<p> +Platitudes, Italian and English love of, 14. +</p> + +<p> +Plato, <i>quoted,</i> 116; his cloudy philosophy, 311; food for adolescents, +312. +</p> + +<p> +Pleasure, danger of repressing, 153. +</p> + +<p> +Pliny the Elder, 80, 281, 284, 285, 307. +</p> + +<p> +Pococke, R., 121. +</p> + +<p> +Poets, why deficient in humour, 58. +</p> + +<p> +Policoro, forest, 95 <i>seq.;</i> its game, 96; eucalyptus avenue, 97; +buffaloes, 99. +</p> + +<p> +Polistena, town, 234. +</p> + +<p> +Pollino, mountain,, 108; derivation of the name, 142; the peak, 143-145; +terminates Apennines, 145; its forests, 145-148. +</p> + +<p> +Polybius, 80. +</p> + +<p> +Pompeio, fountain, 196. +</p> + +<p> +Pontanus, humanist, 18. +</p> + +<p> +Ponza, island, 276. +</p> + +<p> +Pope, A., prince of snobs, 127. +</p> + +<p> +Porcupine, approaching extinction, 184. +</p> + +<p> +Potenza, 32. +</p> + +<p> +Potteries of Grottaglie, 78; of Taranto, 92; of Corigliano, 173. +</p> + +<p> +Pratilii, F. M., 143. +</p> + +<p> +Praxiteles, 286. +</p> + +<p> +Preconi, H., 78. +</p> + +<p> +Prehistoric stations in South Italy, 119; weapons, 3, 119, 179, 224. +</p> + +<p> +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- +</p> + +<p> +Privacy, lack of feeling for, 66. +</p> + +<p> +Procida, John of, 8. +</p> + +<p> +Proclus, 285. +</p> + +<p> +Procopius, 109. +</p> + +<p> +Properties, large, their break-up, 96; synonymous with malaria, 289. +</p> + +<p> +Propertius, 80. +</p> + +<p> +Ptolemy, 281. +</p> + +<p> +Public opinion, non-existent, 277. +</p> + +<p> +Puccini, archbishop, recommends fetishism, 26. +</p> + +<p> +Pythagoras, 282; explanation of his popularity, 309; a glorified marabout, 311. +</p> + +<p> +Quinine-policy, governmental. See <i>Malaria.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Race-characters, delusion as to their immutability, 91, 126. Rada, G. de, +Albanian prophet, 187; his mystic tendencies, 189; +patriotic labours, 190 <i>seq.;</i> his death, 192. +</p> + +<p> +Ragona, village, 292. +</p> + +<p> +Railway stations in Italy, 117, 118. +</p> + +<p> +Rainfall, diminution in, 217, 241, 285, 306. +</p> + +<p> +Rath, G. von, 287. +</p> + +<p> +Rathgeber, G., 175. +</p> + +<p> +Rationalist Congress of 1904, leads to counter-demonstration, 32, 269. +</p> + +<p> +Reggio, 135, 137; effects of earthquake, 234, 236; its cemetery, 235. +</p> + +<p> +Regio, P., 256. +</p> + +<p> +Relics, sacred, 208, 247, 251, 263. +</p> + +<p> +Religion in south Italy, its intense realism, 60; contrasted with English, 265. +</p> + +<p> +Renaissance, injures angelic shapes, 25; produces historical panegyrists, 142; +falsifies place-names, 196; imports Pythagoras and Plato, 311. +</p> + +<p> +Rhaetia, its dragons, 104. +</p> + +<p> +Rhetoric, perverts course of justice, 276, 277. +</p> + +<p> +Rhodiginus (Richerius, L. C.), 197. +</p> + +<p> +Ricca, brigand, 211. +</p> + +<p> +Riccardi, A., 155. +</p> + +<p> +Riedesel, J. H., 298. +</p> + +<p> +Rivarol, J. E. A., 212. +</p> + +<p> +Rivers in Calabria, their destructive floods, 99, 197, 286; their numbers, 286; +once navigable, 174, 284; arteries of malaria, 286. +</p> + +<p> +Rizzi-Zannone, G. A., 97. +</p> + +<p> +Rizzo, an amiable priest, 109. +</p> + +<p> +Rizzuto, cape, 318. +</p> + +<p> +Robinias, why beloved of municipalities, 83. +</p> + +<p> +Rocca Bernarda, town, 117. +</p> + +<p> +Roccaforte, village, 271, 272. +</p> + +<p> +Rocchetta, station, 31. +</p> + +<p> +Rocella Ionica, town, 274, 286. +</p> + +<p> +Rodotà, P. P., 177, 273. +</p> + +<p> +Roghudi, village, 271, 272. +</p> + +<p> +Rogliano, town, 195, 211. +</p> + +<p> +Romans, their lack of imagination, 32; their <i>pittas,</i> 33; pacification of +wild nature, 42; marble-cutting technique, 92; their republican stoicism, 126. +</p> + +<p> +Romanticists, their feeling for nature, 42. +</p> + +<p> +Roque, saint, 39. +</p> + +<p> +Rosalia, saint, 247. +</p> + +<p> +Rosarno, town, 241. +</p> + +<p> +Roscia (Rossano), no. +</p> + +<p> +Rosis, de, no. +</p> + +<p> +Ross, Sir R., 287, 290. +</p> + +<p> +Rossano, accommodation at, 105-108; character of inhabitants, 109; its +situation, no; importance under Byzantines, 111. +</p> + +<p> +Rossi, D. A., 69, 71, 74, 77. +</p> + +<p> +Rouse, Dr. W. H. D., 152. +</p> + +<p> +Ruffo, cardinal, 64, 212, 215, 298. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rusalet,</i> a dance, 178. +</p> + +<p> +Ruscianum (Rossano), 110. +</p> + +<p> +Ruskin, J., 90. +</p> + +<p> +Russell, Lord Odo, 120. +</p> + +<p> +Rutilius Namatianus, 27. +</p> + +<p> +Sagra, river. See <i>Alaro.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>seq.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Salandra, S. della, his “Adamo Caduto” inspires ”Paradise +Lost,” 160 <i>seq.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Salis Marschlins, U. von, 67, 271. +</p> + +<p> +San Benedetto Ullano, town, 183. +</p> + +<p> +Sanchez, G., 78, 102. +</p> + +<p> +San Cosimo, village, 180. +</p> + +<p> +San Demetrio Corone, its dirty streets, 181; Albanian church, 182; college for +boys, 183-185; convent of Sant’ Adriano, 185. +</p> + +<p> +Sandys, G., 121. +</p> + +<p> +San Floro, M., 217. +</p> + +<p> +San Francesco, convent, 77. +</p> + +<p> +San Gervasio, old church and fountain at, 43; fountains identified +with <i>Fons Bandusiae,</i> 43-46. +</p> + +<p> +San Giorgio (Apulia), 65. +</p> + +<p> +San Giorgio (Calabria), 176, 180. +</p> + +<p> +San Giovanni in Fiore, 195, 203; its women, 205; unhygienic conditions, 206. +</p> + +<p> +San Nicola, village, 292. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sanpaulari,</i> snake-killers, 138. +</p> + +<p> +San Severo, town, 6. +</p> + +<p> +San Severino, village, 147, 155 +</p> + +<p> +Sant’ Adriano, convent, 185-186. +</p> + +<p> +Sant’ Angelo and its shrine, 17; modern worshippers in +the cave, 19, 27-28. +</p> + +<p> +Santa Barbara, upland, 204. +</p> + +<p> +Sant’ Eufemia, village, 240, 243. +</p> + +<p> +Santa Sofia d’ Epiro, village, 180. +</p> + +<p> +Santo Stefano, village, 222, 271. +</p> + +<p> +Santo Stefano, island, 240. +</p> + +<p> +Sappho, 116. +</p> + +<p> +Saracena, village, 131. +</p> + +<p> +Saraceno, mountain, 20. +</p> + +<p> +<i>“</i>Saraceno,” term of abuse, 138. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Sarmento, river, 148. +</p> + +<p> +Sarnelli, P., 29. +</p> + +<p> +Saserna, 285. +</p> + +<p> +Savastano, L., 49. +</p> + +<p> +Savelli, village, 179, 205, 207, 293. +</p> + +<p> +Savonarola, author. See <i>Lasor a Varea.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Savonarola, monk, 309. +</p> + +<p> +Scanderbeg, 65, 176. +</p> + +<p> +Scarolla, brigand, 144. +</p> + +<p> +“Scemo” (soft-witted), the unforgivable sin, 107, 124. +</p> + +<p> +Scheuchzer, J. J., 104. +</p> + +<p> +Schneegans, A., 228. +</p> + +<p> +Schulz, H. W., 39, 202. +</p> + +<p> +Scido, village, 270. +</p> + +<p> +Scilatio, 281. +</p> + +<p> +Scirocco, south wind, its effect upon landscape, io; on character, 90. +</p> + +<p> +Sculco, Dr., 297. +</p> + +<p> +Scylla, 240. +</p> + +<p> +“Sdrago,” the dragon, 104. +</p> + +<p> +Sebethus, river, 80. +</p> + +<p> +“Seicentismo,” blight of south Italy, 252. +</p> + +<p> +Selva Umbra, forest, 21. +</p> + +<p> +Semi-starvation, demoralizing effects of, 41. +</p> + +<p> +Seneca, 251. +</p> + +<p> +Serpents, assimilated with dragons, 100; our early hatred of, 105. +</p> + +<p> +Serra San Bruno, 293, 295. +</p> + +<p> +Servius, 281. +</p> + +<p> +Sheep, and wolves, 221. +</p> + +<p> +Shem, son of Noah, 29. +</p> + +<p> +Shepherds, of Sila, 221; of Cotrone, 301; their kissing propensities, 315. +</p> + +<p> +Sicily, under Saracens, 136; under Normans, 137. +</p> + +<p> +Sigilgaita, 38. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Silenziario, P., 91. +</p> + +<p> +Silver mines, of Longobucco, 202. +</p> + +<p> +Sin, an export-article, 256. +</p> + +<p> +Sinno, river, 95, 99, 149, 286. +</p> + +<p> +Sinopoli, 240, 243, 244. +</p> + +<p> +Sipontum, its famous church, 29; wholly desolate, 30. +</p> + +<p> +Sirens, as fountain ornaments, 45. +</p> + +<p> +Sirino, mountain, 151. +</p> + +<p> +Siris, ancient city, 95. +</p> + +<p> +Sixtus V, 213, 215. +</p> + +<p> +Slavery, 139. +</p> + +<p> +Snakes, their colour, 52; medicinal uses, 57; destroyed with spittle, 138. +</p> + +<p> +Socialism in Italy, 96. +</p> + +<p> +Soria, F. A., 143. +</p> + +<p> +South Italy, its recent revival, 91, 298. +</p> + +<p> +Soverato, town, 295. +</p> + +<p> +Spanish Viceroys, blighting effects of their rule, 57, 252, 253; enactments +against Barbary pirates, 139; conservators of forests, 218. +</p> + +<p> +Spano-Bolani, D., 134. +</p> + +<p> +Spartacus, 214. +</p> + +<p> +Spezzano Albanese, town, 172-174. +</p> + +<p> +Spinazzola, town, 62-64. +</p> + +<p> +Spinelli’s chronicle, a forgery, 3. +</p> + +<p> +Spleen, importance of this organ, 152, 307. +</p> + +<p> +Squillace, town, 135, 295. +</p> + +<p> +Stagno Salso, lake, 21. +</p> + +<p> +Staiti, town, 272. Stamer, W. J. A., 50. +</p> + +<p> +Statius, 80. +</p> + +<p> +Stendhal, <i>quoted,</i> 125, 276. +</p> + +<p> +Stilo, town, in, 292. +</p> + +<p> +Stoics, victims of misfeeding, 126. +</p> + +<p> +Stomach-diseases, prevalence of, 126. +</p> + +<p> +“Stone of Saint Michael,” a fraudulent article, 23, 26. +</p> + +<p> +Strabo, 23, 80, 87, 197, 204, 283, 284. +</p> + +<p> +Strongoli (Petelia), 224, 314, 316. +</p> + +<p> +Sturgeon, caught at Cotrone, 320. +</p> + +<p> +Sugar-cane, formerly cultivated, 136. +</p> + +<p> +Suicides look manly, 84. +</p> + +<p> +Sulphur mines, 315. +</p> + +<p> +Summonte, G. A., 140. +</p> + +<p> +Swammerdam, J., 105. +</p> + +<p> +Swedenborg, E., 310. +</p> + +<p> +Swinburne, A., 116. +</p> + +<p> +Swinburne, H., 78, 115, 319. +</p> + +<p> +Sybaris, 89, 108, 195; its buried wealth, 115; destruction of, 175, 196, 311; +presumably malarious of old, 115, 282-283. +</p> + +<p> +Sybaris, river. See <i>Coscile.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Sybarites, contrasted with Byzantine monks, 115. +</p> + +<p> +Symonds, J. A., 115. +</p> + +<p> +Tajani, F., 177. +</p> + +<p> +Talarico, brigand, 214. +</p> + +<p> +Tarantolla, dance, 93. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Tarsia (Caprasia), village, 174, 194; its malaria, 287. +</p> + +<p> +Tassulo, Pilati de, 183, 228. +</p> + +<p> +Taverna, town, 223. +</p> + +<p> +Temese, ore of, 202. +</p> + +<p> +Temples, destruction of, 136, 137. . +</p> + +<p> +Tenore, M., 146. +</p> + +<p> +Termula (Termoli), 137. +</p> + +<p> +Terracciano, N., 145. +</p> + +<p> +Terranova di Pollino, 143, 148. +</p> + +<p> +Terranova di Sibari (Thurii), 175, 282, 283. +</p> + +<p> +Theatine monks, 113. +</p> + +<p> +Theocritus, 8i, 269, 285, 301, 314; his human appeal, 315. +</p> + +<p> +Theodoret, bishop, <i>quoted,</i> 152. +</p> + +<p> +Theophrastus, 285. +</p> + +<p> +Third sex, its significance, 116, 257. +</p> + +<p> +“Thirsty Apulia,” origin of the phrase, 15. +</p> + +<p> +Thucydides, 284, 298. +</p> + +<p> +Thurii. See <i>Terranova ài Sibari.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Timber construction replaced by stone, 12. +</p> + +<p> +Tiriolo, town, 225-226. +</p> + +<p> +Tischbein, J. H. W., 319. +</p> + +<p> +Toledo, Pietro di, 252-253. +</p> + +<p> +Tolù, brigand, 211. +</p> + +<p> +Toppi, N., 144, 162. +</p> + +<p> +Torrent-beds, their charm, 292. +</p> + +<p> +Tortoises, used as medicine, 57. +</p> + +<p> +Tozer, H. F., 104. +</p> + +<p> +Traeis, river. See <i>Trionto.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Treasure, buried at Lucera, 8, 9. +</p> + +<p> +Trede, T., 258. +</p> + +<p> +Tree-planting, discouraged in cities, 65, 66. +</p> + +<p> +Tree-torturing, a southern trait, 83. +</p> + +<p> +Tremiti islands, n. +</p> + +<p> +Trinità, abbey at Venosa, 37-40. +</p> + +<p> +Trinità, column at Taranto, 67. +</p> + +<p> +Trinity, southern conception of, 250. +</p> + +<p> +Trionto (? Traeis), river, 195-200. +</p> + +<p> +Troia, town, 6. +</p> + +<p> +Tromby, B., 294. +</p> + +<p> +Trotter, Prof. A., 223. +</p> + +<p> +Troubadours, their idea of nature, 42. +</p> + +<p> +Truthfulness, a modern virtue, 266. +</p> + +<p> +Tufarelli, G. L., 128, 131, 144. +</p> + +<p> +“Turco,” colour known as, 52. +</p> + +<p> +Tutini, C., 294. +</p> + +<p> +Ughelli, F., 43, 45, 114. +</p> + +<p> +Ulpian, 53. +</p> + +<p> +“Ultramontain,” author, 53. +</p> + +<p> +Urban VIII, 72, 110, 262. +</p> + +<p> +Uromastix lizard, 101. +</p> + +<p> +Uruj, pirate, 140. +</p> + +<p> +Utilitarianism in south Italy, 43, 57, 126, 218. +</p> + +<p> +Vaccarizza, village, 174, 176, 179, 180, 184, 224. +</p> + +<p> +Varrò, 80. +</p> + +<p> +Vatican, authorizes cruelty to animals, 120; attitude towards +Byzantinism, 248. +</p> + +<p> +Velasquez, 140. +</p> + +<p> +Venosa, survival of Roman blood and habits, 32; its rustic dirt, 33; castle, +37; abbey of Trinità, 37-40; catacombs, 38; bad food, 41. +</p> + +<p> +Venus, gives name to Venosa, 33; marble head of, 92. +</p> + +<p> +Verace, watershed, 195, 196, 204. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Verde antico,</i> marble, 91. +</p> + +<p> +Vespoli, G. F., 298. +</p> + +<p> +Viceregal period. See <i>Spanish Viceroys.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Vieste, village, 7, 21. +</p> + +<p> +Viggianello, village, 157. +</p> + +<p> +Vigilantius of Marseilles, 153. +</p> + +<p> +Villa Beaumont, Taranto, 83. +</p> + +<p> +Villari, P., 191. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Vincolo forestale,</i> its provisions disregarded, 218. +</p> + +<p> +Virgil, 42, 46, 80, 284, 285. +</p> + +<p> +“Virtù,” retains antique meaning, 53. +</p> + +<p> +Vitiello, night-quarters at, 149-150. +</p> + +<p> +Vito, saint, struggles with Madonna, 92. +</p> + +<p> +Voltaire, 76, 170, 262. +</p> + +<p> +Votive offerings, 152. +</p> + +<p> +Vulture <i>(Gyps fulvus),</i> 184. +</p> + +<p> +Vulture, mountain, 2, 13, 21, 32, 41. +</p> + +<p> +Vulturnus wind, 41, 53. +</p> + +<p> +Wagner, J. J., 104. +</p> + +<p> +Waiblinger, F. W., 141. +</p> + +<p> +Waldensian colonies, 122. +</p> + +<p> +Waldstein, Sir C., 115. +</p> + +<p> +Wantley, dragon of, 102. +</p> + +<p> +Wedding, an Albanian, 182. +</p> + +<p> +Wedding-present, a civilized, 89. +</p> + +<p> +Werewolves, 176. +</p> + +<p> +Wine, of Sant’ Angelo, 22; Venosa, 41; Bova, 273; of Calabria, 306-307. +</p> + +<p> +Witchcraft, 58. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Wood-pigeon, 269. +</p> + +<p> +Xenocrates, <i>quoted,</i> 252. +</p> + +<p> +Yoni-worship, at Venosa, 40. +</p> + +<p> +Zavarroni, A., 93, 183. +</p> + +<p> +Zicari, F., his literary record, 161; on “Paradise Lost,” 161-168. +</p> + +<p> +“Zodiaco di Maria,” exemplifies Catholic paganism, 259. +</p> + +<p> +Zoophilomania, an English disease, 120. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD CALABRIA ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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