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THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY

From the French of
RENE BAZIN

TRANSLATED BY
WILLIAM MARCHANT

NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1897

Copyright, 1897
BY
HENRY HOLT & CO.

THE MBRSHON COMPANY PRESS,
RAHWAY, w. J,

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Northern Provinces — Provincial Life, , i
II. Roman Houses, and the Roman Campagna, . go
III. Southern Italy  182
IV. A Corner of Sicily — jEtna in Eruption, . . 226

THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.

THE NORTHERN PROVINCES — PROVINCIAL LIFE.
After one of the rugged Alpine passes, how
beautiful is the Lombard plain! Barbarians, in
ancient days, felt its irresistible charm. Probably
it was very much the same when they saw it that
it is now — always cultivated, fertile, green, and a
marvel of skilful irrigation! What a delicious
freshness in the air from these little artificial
streamlets that weave a blue network over the
land! They cross the highways, they intersect the
fields, they come near each other, they go far
apart; finally, one by one, they fall into the wide
canal, which carries elsewhere the fertilizing
water, forever running, yet never wasted. From
all this irrigation it results that the land gives
four or five crops of hay; the ricefields are
crowded with heavy ears; the clover is like a
blossoming thicket; the cornfields, like canebrakes.
The whole land is of marvellous fertility; and still
the population is poor.
This is an amazing problem, and one which con-

2 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
fronts us almost everywhere in Italy. In passing
from city to city, making no stop, asking no
questions, you cannot help observing the contrast
between the soil which gives — or can give — every
thing in abundance, and the peasant, poverty-
stricken and unhealthy, as in Lombardy, or driven
to emigrate, as in Calabria. The villages along
the route have not the clean and cheerful look of
the French or Swiss. Seen from a distance,
crowning a hill-top, their tiled roofs bright in the
sunlight, the profile of them is attractive. Glid
ing rapidly by in the train you think: "What
an interesting country! That quaint group of
gables marching up the hill, those narrow
streets seen like a flash, that castle commanding
the valley, all this primitive nook, unexplored of
the tourist — how entertaining to visit it! " Many
of these little towns I have visited — the most
sequestered, the most mediaeval — and seen close
at hand, the whole thing was so sad, so absolutely
wretched, that the impression of the picturesque,
for a moment dominant, faded completely, and
vanished in the presence of pity for human misery.
For this world of poverty is also a hard-working
world. I know of nothing more erroneous than
that popular prejudice which represents the Ital
ians as a nation of laszaroni, picturesque in their
rags, always basking in the sun, always stretching
out a hand for charity when the stranger passes
by. Look at those men digging trenches in the

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 3
ricefields, or at those preparing the ground for
the winter wheat, or at those — and the women,
too — who are stringing up along the sides of the
farm buildings the russet ears of corn, the sheaves
of the gran turco, of which polenta is made. Are
they idle over their work? Is there any air of
opera peasants about them? I have been among
Italian labourers in the great estates at the foot of
the Apennines; I have seen them on the Roman
Campagna, in the country around Naples, at
Reggio in Calabria; in Sicily the French super-
inteadent of the Duke d'Aumale's vineyards
assured me that they were more industrious, that
they had more endurance and more patience than
any French labourers he had ever known. Others
have said to me, speaking of Romagna, which I
have not j'et visited, that I shall see there " the
greatest diggers of the ground " that there are in
the world. Everywhere, and at all times, the
same testimony comes to me in respect to this
strong, unhappy race of men.
Neither poet nor novelist has told the story of
the great bands who leave their villages in the
winter and spring, and go to labour on the Roman
Campagna, living in camps under the charge of
their caporale, — the dramas of such a life, — the
talk that goes on at evening in the huts where
nomad shepherds make their sheep's-milk cheeses.
But for this lack the Italian peasant would
have had his place in literature with the Russian

4 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
mujik and the rugged labourer in the fields of
France. The question grows more and more
urgent, whence their extreme poverty? To
answer it we must take the provinces separately
and examine local conditions, the method of agri
culture, the divisions of the land, the climate, mat
ters of hygiene, and also those profound dififer-
ences of race and character which, for instance,
make it possible that the peasant in the Emilia or
in Tuscany can by his own labour maintain his
family on the spot where he was bom, while else
where the condition of others is so precarious.
Many of these local causes I shall be able to indi
cate. The principal cause, however, over the en
tire peninsula, is the excessive taxation with which
the land is burdened.
" Don't you think it's hard? " a farmer in
Northern Italy said to me. " What prosperity,
what spirit of enterprise, what progress is possible
in a country where the soil is taxed thirty-three
per cent, of its net income? And I am not speak
ing of the buildings on which, owing to overvalua
tions, we sometimes pay as high as fifty or sixty
per cent, of what we receive in rent. It was very
well said by Count lacini that the state, the
provinces, the towns, do not tax but plunder the
soil." Add to this, usury — still very prevalent, not
withstanding the creation of national banks — and
the scantiness and poor quality of food, which, in

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 5
the North, occasions the frightful skin disease,
pellagra; and the deplorable condition of many of
the cottages, which the proprietors have not the
means or have not the humanity to repair; and
without dwelling further upon causes, it is easy to
understand why socialism found its earliest parti
sans in Italy among the rural population. The
peasant had not become desirous of the overthrow
of the old regime; he had not been reached by the
republican propaganda of the Mazzinians; he had
remained quite indifferent to his political rights:
but, for the last twenty years, he has been more
and more interested in that which socialism
preaches, in the elementary form adapted to his
mental condition: " You have nothing; they have
everything: take their place."
Lombardy, Venetia, Emilia, Romagna, all have
rural groups strongly imbued with socialism. The
evil spreads. Annual disturbances make this
apparent at different points. And it is not the
newspapers — rarely read by these ignorant popu
lations — ^which contribute most to this propa
ganda, nor yet the public addresses of leaders, such
as the deputies Costa and Maffei. The real and
most dangerous agents of rural socialism are the
primary teachers.*

' See the address of Count Joseph Grabinski before the Agricultural
Society of Bologna : lo Sciapero e la quistione sociale nellt campagnt.
Generelli, Bologna, 1892.

6 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
With all this enormous tax which they levy
upon the product of the land, however, neither
state, nor province, nor town, is rich. This is evi
dent to the most careless observer. An under
secretary in the Ministry of Public Instniction
recently declared, in an address to the voters of
Gallarate, that 348 towns, belonging to 31 prov
inces, were irregular in the payment of their school
masters, and were at that moment actually in
arrears toward over a thousand of these interest
ing creditors. This is an official statement. But
daily life offers a multitude of other facts not less
significant. When I was last in Italy, an employee of the
Italian telegraph paid me a money order in gold.
In my present visit I have been less fortunate.
The only gold I have seen has been that which I
paid to others. The piece of silver of five lire has
disappeared; the two lire and the one lira are not
plenty; and often in the country, if you have to
change a bill, you must accept copper. Ten francs
in copper! I have been obliged to take them,
however, after a vain attempt to do better. This
was inconvenient; and if you ask the reason for
such a scarcity of silver coin, you will receive this
explanation: " Una piccola combinasione, signore !
Listen! Some of our people are taking the oppor
tunity to speculate. They collect the silver in
pieces of five and twoi and one and carry it over
the frontier. Now, as soon as the lire cross the

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 7
Alps, they are francs; that is to say, they have
gained three or four per cent, in value. Then the
speculator obtains his letter of exchange on France
or Switzerland, and he has made quite a little
profit, without any risk. Chiefly through transac
tions of this kind, our neighbour, Switzerland, has
now eighty millions of francs of Italian silver, —
having recently taken account of them, — and in
France there are still more." Examples could be
multipHed; but of what use?
The Italians readily acknowledge their poverty.
The comparison between rich France, and Italy
which is not rich, is constantly before their eyes.
It has something to do, no doubt, with that feel
ing of jealousy — ^jealousy, rather than enmity —
which some of them entertain toward France.
They are brought to a stand or they are seriously
hampered in their undertakings, in their great
public works, by the lack of funds. And this
wound to their pride is made the keener by their
perfectly justifiable consciousness of merit.
One cannot be much in Italy, in fact, without
being struck with the great amount of labour and
of intelligence which is expended there; with the
projects of every kind that are on foot; with the
merit of the men one meets. Finally you come to
think: " An armed Italy, an Italy which exhausts
itself in armaments, is, as has been well said, far
from being of no account; but an Italy frugal and
careful would be a formidable power. Everything,

8 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
in her case, is ready to go forward. Money is all
she lacks. If she did but know! "
Milan, All Souls' Day.
The Cathedral displayed its finest decorations
for the festa of yesterday, and they have not yet
been removed. All the way down the nave and in
the transept paintings draped in crimson are hung
between the columns. They represent scenes in
the life of S. Charles Borromeo, Archbishop of
Milan; but they are placed so high that one can
not judge of their merits as works of art. They
shut off the light from the tall windows, and the
great church, always dark, is made still darker.
There is a crowd at the morning masses, as many
men as women, and far more simple and familiar
in their devotions than worshippers in French
churches usually are. There are not those sym
metrical rows of chairs or benches, the ones in
front reserved for the people who pay for them,
the others, behind, left for the poor. Here each
person takes his chair from, a great mass, at the
entrance to the transept, and places it where he
likes. An employee of the church also assists in
the distribution. He is in a livery-jacket, like a
house servant, which appears to be a good idea;
also he asks no compensation, which is surely
another. The groups are interesting. I observe
a lady in stylish dress, her husband in a light over
coat, surrounded by people of the humblest class,

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 9
yet perfectly contented with their surroundings;
in front, two woolly shepherds, very serious, very
dirty, very hard-featured; at the left, half a dozen
young girls seated on their heels, their dragging
shawls making a slight rustle all the time, as the
wearers lean over to talk among themselves, in a
ver}- low tone, still giving their main attention to
the service; behind, a row of peasant women,
brilliant in red and yellow. All these people elbow
one another more unconcernedly than in France;
and the democratic spirit of Italy shows itself in
this comer of the Duomo, as it does everywhere
else. I go out. It is a gray moming. The tramway
leading to the cimitero nionumentale is besieged.
From both ends of the street a multitude of people
are on the way toward the same point, which is at
some distance outside the gates. But the thou
sands of the living are still few in this field of the
dead, the most extensive that I have seen in Italy;
and when they scatter, passing under the black
and white arches of the entrance, among the vari
ous avenues, straight, parallel, bordered with trees
and shrubs, they almost disappear, and take noth
ing from the sadness of the place and the occa
sion. The Milanese are very proud of their ceme
tery, as are the Genoese and the people of Messina
of theirs. It must have cost many millions to the
city as well as to individuals. However, if there
were a competition among these funereal pleasure

IO THE ITALIANS OF TO-DA Y.
grounds, — for such the Italian cemeteries are, —
Milan would not, in my judgment, receive the
prize. The situation of the Campo Santo at Mes
sina, on the slope of the Sicilian mountains, over
looking the strait and the sea, its magnificent
trees, its flowery stairs, would give it a signal ad
vantage; while, on the other hand, in the number
and magnificence of private chapels, the Genoese
cemetery greatly surpassed this. The profusion,
the prodigaHty of marble, at Genoa, is something
incredible. Nowhere is the stone made so supple,
required to represent so many family scenes, so
many trained and ruffled gowns with marvellous
imitation of silk, so much lace, so many young men
in frock coat and tall hat, coming with their
mothers to weep and pray at the father's death
bed or his tomb. Never before has marble been
domesticated to this degree. But everywhere, at
Milan, at Genoa, at Messina, there is the same
realistic inspiration.
I follow avenues devoted to tombs of people of
the middle class. There are flowers, rosebushes,
honeysuckles, cut back as with us; tall night-lights
in coloured glass; and always the bust, in plaster,
in weather-stone, in bronze, with spectacles, if the
dead man wore them; or the photograph, framed
and protected by glass. These Italian cemeteries
are like a great album of departed generations.
Everybody's ancestors are there, with their modes
of dress, their wrinkles, their warts, their smiles.

PROVINCIAL LIFE. ii
Many persons yet alive are also represented in
attitudes of mourning. Some remarried widow,
grown old and stout, may see herself there, in the
beauty of her twenty years and the pathetic charm
of her first grief. And there are curious inscrip
tions, such as I have already seen elsewhere, in
which the grateful heir praises the dead relative for
the abundant inheritance received from himi: " To
Pietro S., who by his business ability, his integrity,
his industry, was able to increase the wealth of his
family." I could quote twenty variations on this
same theme,
Elsev/here charming ideas, as on the tomb of
a child, where it was a mother's hand, surely, that
engraved the one line: "A rividerla, mama! " And
extraordinary manifestations of human devotion,
for instance, in letters of gold paper, pasted on
black ribbon, suspended from the two arms of a
cross. I had noticed, from a distance, these
funereal festoons, wide and stiff, the ends lost in
tufts of chrysanthemums. I approached. Two
women, kneeling, gazed fixedly upon the freshly
turned sand; and on the black streamer were these
words: "To my murdered daughter!" This in
dication of cause, this alarum of vengeful passion,
are they not suggestive? And does it not reveal,
with this very matter-of-fact race, a soul differ
ently constituted from ours, less disposed to ideal
ize the image of those who are taken away,
seeking the actual resemblance, the representation

12 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
of the last scene of life, while what the rest of us
desire to behold is only the spiritual form, trans
figured and made beautiful by death, as no one but
the sculptor of genius can conceive and render it?
Some monuments of extreme richness, in the
principal avenue; one especially, in bronze, attracts
universal admiration. It has been recently
erected to the memory of a young woman of noble
family. She lies there, on a broad, low bed, nude
to the waist. Her head is very beautiful, lying a
little turned on the pillow, the face bearing the
imprint of a new peace unknown to life: and be
hind her, sketched upon the panel which rises like
a wall, a procession of angels, with wide-spread
wings, bear the soul toward the Hght. This work,
by the sculptor Enrico Buti, is one of the very few
which go beyond the limits of mere handicraft.
The groups that gather around it are almost ex
clusively middle-class or artisans. The latter are
all in their working clothes. The women, bare
headed as a rule, wear the large shawl that sweeps
so gracefully through all Italian streets and high
ways; the men are in blouse or jacket. It is no
ticeable that the Italian workman does not have
his " Sunday clothes." At least there is never an
appreciable difference between the aspect of the
Sunday crowd and that of Monday.
The peasant women, on the contrary, never
stop, or rarely, before this statue in bronze.
They pass on gravely, in little bands, village

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 13
neighbours, reciting the rosary aloud as they
walk, and passing through their fingers the string
of beads, which hangs over their bright-coloured
aprons. They no longer wear the entire costume,
as we see it in books and in photographs. Alas!
one must go far before he meets those marvels of
popular taste, those bold, harmonious effects of
costume, that painting has made familiar to us all,
which we expect to see as soon as we cross the
Alps, Graziella has but few sisters. Only once have
I noticed any great multitude of Italians attired
like the pictures, and this was in the depths of
Calabria, on one of the Madonna festas.
But neither old buildings nor old costumes
fall all at once. There lingers still in Italy a
marked taste for bright-coloured stuffs, some one
old article of wearing apparel, some accessory,
some jewel. In the country about Milan it is the
great rayed comb that the women wear at the
back of the head upon their coiled hair. This is
a set of long silver pins, flattened at the top,
making a semicircle, of, you might say, two dozen
little silver spoons, arranged fan-wise.
Leaving the Campo Santo, I went to spend an
hour with one of the sculptors, of whom many,
such as Enrico Buti, Ernesto Bazzari, Barcaglia,
Bassaghi (who died lately), have acquired a cer
tain reputation. He showed me a great number
of works or models, most of them intended for

14 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
tombs, and denoting great flexibility of hand, a
supreme comprehension of plastic truth. Still,
something was lacking, almost always. As I went
through the rooms with this agreeable and clever
man, certainly much nearer the artist than the
artisan, I had all the time a vision of that immor
tal girl who stands by Henri Regnault's tomb.
And later I asked myself whether the Italian
genius — for the time enfeebled, but in the end
destined to recover strength — has not been always
more realistic than the French. Even in those
epochs when men's minds were lifted to the most
wonderful ideals, did the Italian artists ever get
far away from the portrait; ennobled I grant,
made divine by the smile or by the attributes, but
a portrait nevertheless? Like the Romans, their
very practical ancestors, were they not always dis
trustful of allegory and legend, those two styles
of art where Imagination has no longer any guide
but herself? Have they ever dwelt, between
heaven and earth, in that enchanted land where
the northern races, restless and fascinated, lived
and moved all through the Middle Ages? Did
Rafaelle ever dream of that land? The great
Buonarotti — he who knew what it was — would
probably have answered, No!
I have just seen the King and Queen for several
hours., and very near. The sovereigns presided,
in the presence of several hundred guests, at the
inauguration of an Institute for the Blind, recently

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 1 5
established in the via Vivaio, The buildings,
entirely new, whose construction is due to the
bequest of a Milanese, open upon a narrow street
in a populous quarter. They are very large, and
cheerful in colour — uselessly so, alas! for their in
mates — and of that handsome style which requires
porticos, cornices, cloisters, broad staircases. The
Italians too often sacrifice to this the comfort
of their houses, but here they have not done so.
The blind will be most pleasantly lodged. We
enter through a gate into a court-yard, and then
through a vestibule, adorned with columns, into
a frescoed hall for receptions and entertainments.
The workrooms for men and women surround it.
The King arrives first, from Monza, in a very
ordinary two-horse landau. He wears a frock-coat
and silk hat. The presentations being made, every
one resumes his hat by the royal command; and
the King begins to chat with the Milanese authori
ties and the managers of the new Institute, remain
ing in the vestibule, where the cold outdoor air
circulates freely. I remark no excessive attention
on the part of those who surround him. He talks
to each, in very short sentences, speaking low,
with a frequent lifting of the chin. His attitude
is altogether military; and it is easy to see that
he likes to talk standing, his chest well thrown
out, taking a step or two now and then, a habit
which he maintains in the court receptions, and
one of which the very young diplomats do not

l6 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
complain. His moustache is formidable, less so
than on the coins, however; but his glance, a little
singular in its fixedness, has nothing severe. King
Humbert's popularity increased much after the
cholera at Naples, and he is aware of this fact.
Ten minutes later there is a stir in the crowd
massed outside; and a carriage with four horses
and postilions draws up at the steps. The Queen
descends, and enters on the King's arm, between
the double row of guests. She wears a Medici
collar of black velvet, a hat of black velvet with
large plumes, and a dark-blue silk gown. The
double row salutes; the Queen smiles, and her
smile is famous, we know. Also, she has long
golden eyelashes, which give a charm to her look.
A lady of honour follows her. And the two sover
eigns begin that official role which habit may
render easy but cannot make amusing.
They listen to the address of a venerable gen
tleman; then to music; then to a compliment
from one of the blind; and then to music again.
Then they must make the complete circuit of the
new buildings and submit to explanations of things
in themselves already comprehensible. I follow
with the crowd of guests, who knock against cor
ners of doors, block up corridors, and fill in ad
vance the halls through which royalty must pass.
It is curious, this silent and eager crowd. Evi
dently it represents the high Milanese society.
Everywhere around me a pleasant, well-bred mur-

PROVINCIAL LIFE. I?
mur of Italian words, with discreet smiles, and
now and then a ceremonious presentation; very
refined faces of girls and young women, and those
liquid eyes so rapidly changing in their expression.
But almost no toilet ; gray, mauve, or blue wraps,
and street bonnets. At Paris, for a negro prince,
the women would have besieged Worth and Red-
feni. Here they go in the simplest attire. Most
of the men wear derby hats. However, too rapid
conclusions must not be drawn; for in the even
ing all this is changed, as if by enchantment, and
Milan is, perhaps, with Rome, the city of Italy
where one sees, under the light of chandeliers, the
greatest display of dress and jewels.
Still another thing surprises — the almost com
plete absence of uniforms, barriers, and police.
The white plume of an aide-de-camp is moving
about among the groups; a questurino, in his
belted tunic, demands passage for the King and
Queen; but the person of the sovereigns seems
entirely unguarded. They are approached, they
are surrounded, as in a drawing room, where all
the guests are known, and have been presented.
The Queen stops in one of the schoolrooms,
desires a young girl to write the name Margherita
di Savoia, desires another to read aloud from a
book with raised letters, admires the sewing or the
embroidery of a third. She is admirably apt at
her difficult trade of queen. No one could better
or more courteously ask questions, express her

i8 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
thanks, appear to take an interest in everything.
And this smiling visit to the poor timid children
touches the looker-on like an act of charity, and as
a thing extremely well done, especially when the
listener can follow this little distribution of ques
tions, which is like a distribution of prizes, asked
in a musical voice and with the expressive and
natural pantomime of these Italian fingers of hers,
which speak as clearly as her lips do.
Meanwhile, the King resignedly talks with many
persons of importance, and again and again with
the Abbe Vitali, a priest of kind heart and good
head, it appears, who is director of this institute,
and composer of the cantata just now rendered,
II tuo spirito, o regina eccelsa e buona,
fe ovunque, e dolce il nome tuo risuona ;
Ma dove piii gentil corre il tuo cuore
£, dove sta il dolore.
All the Italian world Uves on this footing of
intimate diplomacy. I have been told that at
Genoa, during the centenary celebration, the
royal launch was surrounded by boats of every
description, crowded with the inquisitive of all
ranks and races; and that, again and again, stran
gers, men of the people evidently, were near
enough to touch the King on the shoulder or his
arm, saying " Buona sera, maesta! "
I left before the ceremony was ended. On the
steps a court footman in scarlet livery was talking

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 19
soberly with the first postilion, motionless upon
his horse, proud of his red frogged jacket, his
yellow breeches, his ix>st-boots, his whip with its
ornament of badger's hair; and the two now and
then, without turning their heads, cast a protect
ing glance at the small-fry clinging to the railing.
A hundred paces distant, the suburb had its
every-day aspect. Ragged shirts hung drying
from high windows, women were gossipping on
door-sills, more numerous where the sun shone.
Only there were questurini directing the fig-sellers
into adjacent lanes, to keep the street free.
I had not reached home when the Queen's car
riage passed, the four horses prancing and shaking
their bells. All the fiacres stopped and drew up in
line by the houses; almost all the shopkeepers,
the men working on the road, the coachmen,
raised their hats; but no one shouted; and, as I
was surprised at this, a friend said to me : " We
are monarchists here; but we are not courtiers,"
The Milanese have, moreover, a very high idea
of this city, " the moral capital of Italy," a city of
art and music, a publishing city like Turin, a com
mercial centre like Genoa, a rich and growing
city, they say, but where capital is prudent, and
will not venture forth at the present time. The
truth is that Milan came very near being caught
and having its crash like Rome. There was the
same frenzy for building at about the same time.
But the Milanese knew how to stop in time; and

20 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
their new quarter has not the deplorable aspect
of the Roman prati di castello. It is even very
pleasant to see. If you wish to visit it, stand in
front of the Cathedral, then go straight away from
this point; the boulevard, via Dante, is cut
through the ancient streets, and bordered with
new dwelling-houses on the way to the Theatre
dal Verme. Further on, large apartment houses
are built, or are in process of construction. The
Castle of the Visconti, partly demolished, gives up
the approaches to the old parade-ground to the
builders of the future ; and the central pavilion, sur
rounded by trees and gardens, will remain alone,
with its crenelated ramparts, in the midst of an
immense region of modern habitations. This work
is going on slowly and prudently, as I have said,
but nothing is more curious than the part of the
programme already completed — this via Dante,
built at a time of bold speculation. How many
millions has it cost? I cannot say. The munici
pality had offered a prize of ten thousand lire
[two thousand dollars] to him who should build
the finest house; and, less for the prize than
for the honour of gaining this mural crown,
the architects spared no pains in devising,
and the owners no money in executing. Mutu
ally stimulating each other, their strife became
epic; and as each one of these great houses
must have the same number of stories, the
rivalry was limited to a competition in fagades.

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 21
Doors and windows of every kind, every variety of
balcony; all the types of caryatides, rosettes, and
brackets; all possible coatings, casings, mouldings,
medalHons, capitals, and chimney-pots, meet and
neighbour each other in a \ery droll fashion.
There are faqades painted in Renaissance grisaille.
There is one covered with painting — in oil-colours,
I believe — incontestably modern; on a sofa, whence
springs a palm tree with drooping leaves, a gen
tleman in a scarlet coat, his face tumed toward
the street, appears to be awaiting an answer from
a young woman in white ball-dress, who is looking
toward the Castle of the Visconti.
One must not be too critical. Not all the de
tails are harmonious. They could not be so;
but the general effect of these houses, forming
one of the broadest streets of Milan, does not lack
grandeur. The light tints of the washes and
stuccos harmonize and blend well. When there
is sunshine, all these new, fresh things seem to
laugh among themselves. Add to this that the
rents are not high. I made inquiry, and learned
that a second floor, consisting of ten or twelve
rooms, can be had for two or three thousand lire
[four to six hundred dollars].
For all that, there is no great demand for apart
ments in this fine via Dante. Plenty of placards
hang from the carved balconies: Si loca; AfHttasi
piano nobile. They will disappear in time. But I
think that a second competition, were it pro-

22 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
posed, would not be received with the same en
thusiasm. I forgot to say that the municipality, doubtless
embarrassed with too^ much to choose from, has
not been able to come to a decision about the
prize; which, at least, has been an economy to the
administration. I am here in the height of an electoral cam
paign. The walls are covered with placards, in
which committees " for peace," others who are
" for war " (but do not say so), groups of veterans
from the wars of independence, labour unions,
and agricultural unions recommend their candi
dates to the voter who passes by. The bill-sticker
has respect for nothing, neither for private dwell
ings nor public edifices. He puts up his posters
everywhere, on new columns, inside of passages,
in the colonnades of mayors' offices, on carved or
polished walls — it is all one to him. " They come
off so easy with hot water and a brush," an Italian
said to me. And, indeed, I have seen the brush
obliged toi doi its work even in the handsome
Galeria di Principe Umberto, at Naples.
Public meetings are equally abundant, with
more or less enthusiasm, but without serious dis
turbances. I do not think there is a country in
the world where men talk politics more, or with
more apparent ardour, but with more real indiffer
ence at heart. You enter a restaurant: near you
are two gentlemen, one who is eating his break-

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 23
fast, the other standing before the table, his cigar
lighted, a long black cigar with a straw running
through it. They talk politics; chiefly they dis
cuss a local candidacy. It is perfectly easy to fol
low the conversation, for they talk in loud voices,
as if addressing the public. At first an aphorism or
two of rather colourless character, backed up by a
" carissimo." We may suppose they have seen each
other at least twice before. The reply comes, a
little more animated. The gentleman standing re
joins: " Permesso! La questione e questa  " And
then, with extraordinary vehemence, with vigor
ous and appropriate gestures, with changes of ex
pression in his face that an orator would not
consider unworthy, he argues the case, he becomes
excited over it. The retort can scarcely make
itself heard. It is short, as is to be expected from
a man eating his breakfast, but fiery. Both seem
much excited. You wonder what will be the end,
and whether the intoxication of talking and the
presence of an audience may not carry one or the
other too far.
After fifteen minutes, the one who is standing
holds out his hand. " Good-bye, my dear fellow;
I must go; I have something to attend to." He
is perfectly calm. His cigar has not gone out. He
leaves the room with the utmost tranquillity. The
other begins on his second course. No one in the
hall has been in the least disturbed.
Then you discover that these two men, who

24 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
seemed to be in such a state of excitement, were
really not so at all; that they were talking only
for effect. They tried (if I may be pardoned for
saying it) to bamboozle each other. They were
unsuccessful. But they remain friendly and quite
ready to agree at another time, for there was no
serious principle involved; there were only per
sonal preferences and momentary interests.
This Httle scene, almost of daily occurrence, aids
in understanding the excitement of talk, and the
tranquillity of the streets. It explains the fluidity
of ItaHan parties, impossible to class, unexpectedly
increased or diminished at each other's expense,
making one think of communicating vases that
are separated only by a bit of gauze.
I have read, of course, innumerable statements
of opinion, reports of electoral meetings, har
angues, and letters to voters. It is well known
that the ItaHans retain in their literary language
the broad, sonorous periods of the ancients. Many
are past masters of this art: De Amicis, for in
stance, in the novel, and many candidates for the
Chambers, in their pubHc addresses; so that one
may read the former or Hsten to the latter, running
on for more than five minutes without coming to a
full stop. These men are ruled by the continuous
Latin tradition, from which we have made our
escape, and also by their temperament, all logic
and moderation, which finds in this amplitude of
development the means of presenting the idea with

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 25
the necessary ornaments, commentaries, objec
tions, and abatements. We bring our thoughts
into a few words, exact, vibrating, sometimes over
stating the idea. They prefer to extend their waH,
and get in a number of subordinate propositions,
like so many gates of exit. This is all I have to say
as to manner.
As to matter, three things have especially at
tracted my notice. First, the Italians — and I refer
to the mass of the community — seem to me much
more apt at theory and generalization than the
French. Read the political pamphlets which are
so numerous in Italy. General considerations
occupy the principal place in them. A French
audience could not endure so much theory with
out illustration. Listen to public speakers, and
you will be surprised at the philosophic note, less
frequent, but more remarkable from a candidate
addressing voters.
Notice, for instance, one of the most celebrated
Italians of the day, Ruggiero Bonghi, orator, po
litical economist, deputy, editor of a review. He
presents himself before the voters of Lucera.
What a failure he would have made if he had ad
dressed a similar audience in France ! " Character
is something intellectual and civil," he says; " it
consists, above all things, in having the mind and
heart filled with the thought and love of the pub
lic welfare, without any self-interest whatever.
Character consists in keeping one's judgment free.

26 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
and never suffering one's self to be swayed either
by passion or selfishness. Character requires that,
up to a certain point, a man should be independent
of himself. Character  " And he goes on in
this way for a dozen lines or more. And he was
elected! Elsewhere, at Cesena, in Romagna, Dr. An
tonio Alfredo Comandini declares that " the
decHne of Italy must be attributed to the pre
dominance of material interests over ideas. Let
these ideas, then, be translated into practical
duties by abandoning the system of negations, a
source of sterile conflicts and continual disappoint
ments." Did his audience understand this? Prob
ably they did, for this man also was elected. And
he carried Hterary audacity in a political speech
so far as to quote, a little farther on, the twenty-
seventh canto of Dante's " Inferno "!
A second point, very remarkable in the public
addresses of the Italians, is the continual allusion
to France. We meet this everywhere. And
generally it is not hostile. Frequently, even, it as
sumes a tone of cordiality. " I wish," said a Milan
ese candidate, " that our relations with France
might become friendly. I wish especially that
men who- remember Magenta and Solferino would
interest themselves in this." " It is not," said an
other, " at all becoming to us, who owe so much to
France, and are bound to her by ties of national
brotherhood, to talk about ideas of revenge held

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 2?
by the French." I know that we meet language
less friendly. I know that it is very possible, also,
on the other hand, to attribute these advances to
perfectly evident motives of self-interest. This is
true; the ItaHans themselves say it. They suffer
heavily from the breaking off of commercial trea
ties, and their great desire is to be once more in
economic favour with France. But to make this a
definition of the mental condition of the Italians
toward the French would be at once too simple
and unjust. Analyzing it, after the manner of the
chemist, I fancy we should find something like the
following results :
Memory of wars from Francis I. to Napoleon (hostile), xo
Natural race affinities, Latin tendencies {favourable), 15
Gratitude toward France for services rendered {favourable), J
Memory of the expedition into Tunis and the attacks of the
French press, sarcasms, epigrams {hostile), 25
Desire to resume commercial relations {favourable), 30
Prejudices on account of the Triple Alliance {hostile), 15
100
The proportions vary, doubtless, in different
men; the balance is disturbed only slightly, as a
rule, in one direction or the other; the elements
themselves scarcely ever are wanting. They form
a most extraordinary compound, giving the
French political enemies, who are ardent ad
mirers of the French character and genius and
very sincere advocates of the necessity of a com
mercial reconciliation with France, while at the

28 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
same time they are advocates of the necessity of
keeping up the German alliances. The mind is on
one side, the heart often on the other; and con
versations on these subjects assume a singular air
of paradox, to which I shall again refer.
Lastly, candidates for the office of deputy are
very careful not to neglect the grave Italian ques
tion, the financial one; and the manner in which
they treat this merits a rapid examination. Their
addresses generally are upon these topics: Italian
parties, the economic conditions of the country,
finance, social laws, alliances, the future. On this
last point all agree — the future! Let but the
speaker's advice be followed, and there will be Hb
erty, prosperity, progress, national glory. But how
different are the methods, how diverse the advice as
to the road to be followed! Until very lately only
a few public men have ventured to recommend the
reduction of the mihtary expenses, and to allow it
tc be understood, without expressly saying this,
that it would be well to loosen, if not to break,
the burdensome tie that unites the country to the
two empires of central Europe. At the last elec
tions, however, this opinion, which had already
gained some ground, found many supporters, of
whom the most eloquent and the most authorita
tive seems to me to be Signor Giuseppe Colombo,
deputy from Milan, and formerly Minister of
Finance in the Rudini cabinet.
Signor Colombo belongs to the party of Liberal

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 29
Conservatives. I had the honour to meet him.
About fifty years old, tall, slender, with regular
features, deep-set eyes under prominent eyebrows,
a full, grayish, pointed beard, a serious, energetic
face, an easy speaker. In seeing him and listening
to him, I had the feeling that in France he would
have been the leader of a party. In Italy I do not
know how influential he is, but the speech he made
before his constituents was an event in the penin
sula, and seemed to me that of a man very well
informed, very brave, and very patriotic. I will
quote only short sentences of permanent interest.
" I beheve," he said, " that if we in Italy do not
settle, absolutely and at once, the financial ques
tion, we are hastening towards a very sad future."
Whence comes the danger? From two great
causes, the excessive military expenses, and the
heavy guarantees given to the Italian railways.
The deficit is now 75,000,000 [$15,000,000]. It
will be 1.90,000,000 in the year 1900, if things go on
as they are. Now, there is but one remedy. " The
lack of capital leaves a great part of the soil un
productive. Italy, alma parens frugum, cannot
even raise all the grain which she needs, which
keeps her more than 1,000,000,000 bushels
behind France," Is it possible, in conditions like
these, to increase the taxes? Is it possible to
think of laying heavier burdens upon the tax
payers, " when the land-tax, with its extras, ab
sorbs a third of the income, when the tax on

30 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
houses reaches in some cases 80 per cent., and
the tax on securities 20 per cent."? There
must then be a reduction of expenses. This is
inevitable. " Two, three, four ministries may fall;
but the day will surely come when the govern
ment, in whatever hands it may be, will be com-
peHed to this." Economies must be made under
several heads, notably in the matter of public
works, and in salaries. Let there be abolished
certain " offices too numerous in the Italian ad
ministration, which is entirely based on distrust."
Let the administrative machinery be simplified.
" The local administration consists of 69 prefec
tures, 137 subprefectures, 58 commissariats, and
69 superintendances ; the judiciary has 4 high
courts of appeal, 23 courts of first appeal, and 161
lower courts; we have 21 universities and 11 insti
tutes of higher instruction. Only between Piacenza
and Bologna, that is to say a distance of eighty-
five miles, which is made in two hours and a
quarter, and for a little more than 500,000
inhabitants, there are 5 prefectures, 8 sub-pre
fectures, 5 superintendents' offices, 5 courts of
appeal, 3 universities, 3 institutes of fine arts, a
school of engineers, and a scientific academy. Do
you suppose that nothing can be done to simplify
this organization, which costs us 60,000,000
[$12,000,000]? We are the slaves of habit,
hostile to great reforms. We do not comprehend
that it is our duty, after having melted together

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 3 1
all the Httle states that formed Italy before 1859,
to make a new Italy, and establish the administra
tion on a rational basis, taking into account the
natural divisions of the country and proscribing
the interference of the state in local affairs, except
so far as the general interests of the nation are
involved in them."
But the grand economy must be sought in the
war department, " The country does not feel,"
said the Milanese deputy, " that the present ex
tent of our armaments is a necessary condition of
our alliances, for Austria is also a member of the
Triple Alliance. She is perhaps even more ex
posed than we; but she is able to reconcile the
demands of her foreign policy with her own re
sources, spending relatively less than we do, her
population and wealth being taken into account.
. . . Each does what he is able to do, and no one
should require us to equal the armaments of
nations richer than we, and to plunge deeper into
ruin, year by year, through a mistaken sentiment
of self-respect. . . No, we cannot continue to fol
low Europe in this great madness, which takes
away annually four million young men and five
milliards of money from the wealth of the nations.
Let us hope that Europe will grow wiser. But let
us begin by showing ourselves wise — ^we, who have
such need of men and of money to cultivate our
lands and to avoid the disgrace, while we are thus
arming ourselves to the teeth, of being obliged to

32 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
ask — we, an agricultural nation — to ask from Rus
sia, from Hungary, from America the grain that
we are not able to produce! "
The reply, for there is one, to the speech of
Signor Colombo was Signor GioHtti's speech at
Rome. Coming from a prime minister, it must, of
course, be optimistic, and such it was, frankly,
broadly. Signor Giolitti denied that the deficit was
75,000,000. I have always admired the suppleness
of official mathematics! He defended the military-
expenses, defended the alHances of Italy, and drew
an eloquent picture of the country's progress.
" In Italy, since 1861, we have built 7000 miles of
railway, 1500 miles of steam tramways, 18,600
miles of road; the state has expended more than
200,000,000 [$40,000,000] in special maritime
works, and 65,000,000 [$13,000,000] in better
ments; we have strongly fortified the frontiers, for
merly unprotected; we have furnished arms to our
troops; we have absolutely created a navy, to-day
the third in the world; we have reconstructed our
great cities from a hygienic point of view; we have
erected buildings for schools and barracks for sol
diers, and have begun on prison reform. During
the same time the population of the kingdom, over
its present territory, has increased 5,000,000; the
primary schools, which formerly had 1,000,000
pupils, have now 2,500,000; the postal revenue was
formerly 12,000,000, it is now 44,000,000; there
w^J's 355 telegraph offices, there are now 4500.

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 33
International commerce — exports and imports —
amounted to a value of 5,000,000 lire [$1,000,000],
it has increased to 14,000,000; coasting vessels have
increased from a tonnage of 8,000,000 to one of
33,000,000; the amount of charcoal used in the
kingdom has been augmented from 446,000 tons to
4,350,000, The invested funds of charitable enter
prises have increased by 800,000,000 [$160,000,-
000] ; societies for mutual assistance, then 440 in
number, are now 5000; co-operative societies of
production and consumption, hitherto unknown in
Italy, now number 1300; deposits in savings banks,
which, in 1872, were 465,000,000 [$93,000,000],
are now 1,789,000,000 [$357,800,000]."
Notwithstanding all this, as I still remained un
der the impression of certain of Signor Colombo's
arguments, I broached the subject to my friend,
the Marquis B., in the park of one of his villas, near
Bologna. We were walking under the elms and
plane trees which make a little island of verdure in
the midst of the cultivated plain, with its intermi
nable rows of small mulberry trees. Again I see
that golden haze of late autumn, fatal to vegeta
tion, which sheds over the land something of the
deep silence of snowy days. It was so peaceful,
and I was feeling so great a pleasure in again meet
ing this high-minded man, in asking him questions
and listening to his replies, always rapid, clever,
and thoughtful, that, almost by accident, and with
out change of tone, I spoke of what I had heard in
Milan.

34 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
But my friend took it very differently. Scarcely
had I made allusion to these " counsels of
reflection" and of everyday prudence, when a
shiver seemed to run over him. His eyes blazed
with keen excitement. "You believe this?" he
said to me. " How can you credit these dismal
forebodings? The deficit! Is anybody going to
beheve that Italy is bankrupt because we have a
deficit of 20,000,000 lire? But remember we
have had one of 500,000,000; remember that ex
change was once twenty per cent.; that the
Austrians held Venetia; and that we came out of
that crisis with honour, as we shall out of this ! "
A little later, in Rome, I was breakfasting with
a deputy belonging by birth to the Italian aris
tocracy, but by mental tendencies very near to the
most advanced groups in the Chamber; a man
wary and brilliant, who at one time held the
dangerous diplomatic post of envoy to the King
of Abyssinia, and accomplished that mission suc
cessfully. The same question came up, I know not
how. He stretched his hand out carelessly, the
shut fingers opening, one by one, as if to present
the argument:
" I know," he said, " and everybody in Italy
knows, that we spend a Httle too much. Dio
mio! the nations around us — are they not doing
the same thing, more or less? "
" That is true; but  "
" But we are not so rich as they are? Yes, I

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 35
know that. Nevertheless, please to observe that
our security, perhaps, and certainly our pride, re
quire us to go on imitating our neighbours. Tell
me, would you go to a grand reception in a cut
away coat when everybody else was in evening
dress? "
" Perhaps so."
" Certainly not! You would be ridiculed, you
would not go."
" Excuse me, I would go if I were sure of being
there the next time with my silk facings! "
He made no reply. And I saw by these two
signs, and by many others, that the ideas of Signor
Colombo were as yet very far from being accepted
in high Italian society. Vicenza,
It was very pretty, this evening, the little city
where so many strangers — who are much in the
wrong — fail to stop. It had that ancient, roman
tic aspect which Italian cities so readily assume
in the moonlight, when the shadows are deep under
the porticos, passers-by infrequent, the gildings on
the signboards effaced, and the new houses seem to
blend into a hazy mass and leave more clear the
beautiful lines of gray stone, the projecting fes
toons, the balconies of wrought iron, and the over
hanging roofs of the old palaces; but nothing was
comparable to the Piazza della Signoria, built
almost entirely by Palladio, and the Palazzo della

36 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Consiglia, so light with its two rows of arcades,
the town hall with its red tower that might have
been brought from Venice and its two columns
with the winged Hon of S. Mark. There was more
dayHght and also more animation there than else
where; and to-day was election day. In the lofty
halls of the Palazzo della Ragione the results of
the vote were proclaimed, and the talking or the
applause from the unseen crowd spread now and
then into the almost deserted space where, in the
soft light, we, Senator L., Antonio Fogazzaro the
poet, and myself, were walking back and forth.
Whoever has not experienced Italian hospitality
will do well to make trial of it before finally decid
ing as to the character of our neighbours. It is
particularly cordial and friendly, and one of the
most attractive traits in the national character.
The Italians pride themselves upon it. As a
Florentine said to me, they know and feel them
selves the heirs of a very ancient race, habituated
to receive the visits of strangers from every nation;
and, besides, they take great pleasure in making
known, admired, and loved that special corner of
the country in which they themselves dwell.
Oh! this affection for home, for a man's native
city; this pride in its past, this devotion to the
great men and the works of art of little places
that are scarcely mentioned in the guidebooks,
rarely named in history! How vital these senti
ments are; how constantly we meet them; how

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 37
much influence they possess in human hearts!
Consider Fogazzaro. He is an author famous in
Italy, both in prose and verse. His works have
been translated into German, English, Swedish,
Dutch, and Russian. His Daniele Cortis, opulent,
eloquent, full of observation, may be mentioned as
one of the most remarkable works of modem
Italian literature. The Mystery of a Poet was pub
lished in French not long ago. Now this man,
who in the great cities would find more Hterary
society, who would find admirers and many of the
conditions of work and success, has no inclination
to leave home; he lives, and he prefers to live, in
Vicenza or its neighbourhood, among the Colli
Berici, with their exquisite outlook over the fair
country. To see him, tall and vigorous, in his
brown cloak and broad-brimmed hat, a kind smile
coming and going under his heavy grayish mous
tache, you would take him for a gentleman farmer.
He has the tastes of one. It has been proposed to
him to be a candidate for deputy, but he has never
been willing to do so. Little municipal offices
please him, however. He fills half a dozen of them
with delight, presides over academies, administers
the property of a charitable institution, abandons
himself to the study of the theory of evolution
even to the neglect of literature. When I express
surprise, he quotes to me the example of Renato
Fucini, like himself an author of high merit, whose
Tuscan poetry and letters on Naples I have read

38 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
with much pleasure; Fucini, who began life as
an engineer in Florence, and then returned to his
native province, near Empoli, where he holds the
office of primary inspector, " He is very happy
there," says FogazzarO'. " Giosue Carducci paid
him a visit recently." The country, the welfare of
one's fellow-citizens, the general respect of his
townsmen, and sometimes a visit from a Hterary
comrade of another province — this is the ideal of
Hfe for a noble class of men in Italy.
At dinner the senator's family were gathered
about him. His two sons and their wives, his
daughter and her husband, all live under his roof.
The eldest son is occupied with agriculture; the
second is deputy to a justice of the peace; the
latter's wife is a charming Venetian who, even
after many years' absence, remembers with a shade
of regret the wide horizons of her native city, the
vast heavens reflected in the lagoons. All this
group is most harmonious, simple, and sincere.
The guest who comes in is at once received into
a gratifying intimacy. He is welcomed as already
a friend. What is his opinion of Italy and of our
dear Vicenza? His first impression, by moon
light — was it favorable? Does he like roast
chaffinches on toast, which are a Venetian dish?
What beautiful things he shall see to-morrow, if
the weather is fair!
There is much talk about the elections, of which
some of the results are already known. Now and

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 39
then a servant enters with a note or a telegram
announcing the success or the failure of a friend.
Then follow general outcries of delight or regret.
The senator takes his pencil, and on a page from
his notebook writes his reply, a sentence well-
turned, terse, graceful, which he reads aloud to the
family before giving it to the servant — real master
pieces, these, of the lapidary style so dear to the
Italians. They relish a well-phrased note, they
read it over again; they read it aloud, the better to
enjoy its musical cadence. " How well that is
said! " they exclaim, and pass the little page from
hand to hand, like a full bonbonniere.
It is evident that the senator excels in this dainty
art. He is a scholar, a man of amiable disposition,
and of incredible industry. At the age of forty he
was called to the Senate by the King; and in the
twenty years that have passed since then, few of his
coUeagues have been more punctual or industrious
than he. When he is at Rome he may be said to
live in the Senate-house. Everybody knows him
and has seen him, his frock-coat buttoned tight, his
figure alert, his kindly face framed in his old-
fashioned white whiskers, his placid smile as of a
man who has had his life, his brilliant eyes full of
intellect, and, in the street, always a silk hat —
" The last in Vicenza! " he says. This evening
he presides at his table, seated at one end, and
joins in the conversation even while inditing his
notes.

40 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
" Signor Senatore, you are, I believe, an officer
of the SS. Maurizio e Lazzaro? "
" And grand officer of the Crown of Italy."
" But you do not wear the insignia? "
" No. My buttonhole is silent; and so is my
visiting card. And you say so much about Italian
vanity! We do not wear our decorations. Even
at court, in ordinary receptions, the national
orders are not seen."
" The distinction is in not wearing them," adds
Fogazzaro. We talk of the Senate.
" I consider it an advantage for the country,"
says Signor L., " that neither senators nor deputies
receive a salary. We have no other pecuniary-
advantage than a pass on the railways. With no
more than that, there is less risk of public life
becoming a trade. A man must already have a
certain standing before he can seek to be elected
deputy, or belong to one of the classes out of
which the King appoints the senators. And, hav
ing obtained the position, a man does not alto
gether change his life; the lawyer remains a lawyer,
the doctor retains his patients, the professor does
not resign his chair,"
" Yes, The Senate is in Rome; but the senators
are in the country."
"That is not exactly the case. It is certain,
however, that the number present is not what it
would be under a different system. In the Senate

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 41
especially, there is usually only a varying minority,
increased in stormy times, growing smaller when
the skies are clear. This is not without disadvan
tages, but, on the other hand, what benefits! We
do not undergo the prolonged strain of political
Hfe, of which you complain so much in France.
Less tried by the parUamentary cUmate, we are
much more in touch with the people of the coun
try. We know far better the true state of public
opinion, the wishes of the provinces, and of our
own fellow citizens, while with permanent Cham
bers, and deputies or senators obliged to live all
the year in the capital, public opinion is but an
argument which all men invoke, and upon which
no person can depend,"
So the talk ran on, from one subject to another,
in the drawing room on the ground floor, under
the indulgent gaze of two family portraits, whose
originals, no doubt, had had, in their time, the
same wise and liberal minds, the same amiable
temper. Not a word had brought us toward the
subject always in mind at the present time, in any
conversation between Italians and Frenchmen,
of our international relations. We had talked as
if we had been ten years younger, or, perhaps, ten
years older. But now, as I was about to withdraw,
the senator took me aside, and with extreme de-
Hberation, smiling with manifest pleasure at the
snare he was laying for me.
" My dear sir," he said, " I beg you to meditate

42 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Upon a point. Being concerned with poHtics, I am
excusable for referring to them. I would say,
then, that commercial relations with France are
very useful for us — are, indeed, necessary. It is
asserted that the Triple Alliance is the sole obsta
cle to a re-estabUshment of these relations. I ask
you, is this true? Do you sincerely believe that the
French Chamber, blindly protectionist as it is,
would grant to us, even if we were not the alUes of
Germany and Austria, an advantage denied to
nations entirely neutral? The Triple Alliance,
then, has nothing to do with the affair. It should
therefore be left entirely out of the account, as a
foreign element, against which, besides, we can do
nothing; and the question remains, would it not be
wise in the interest of both nations to attempt an
economic compromise, an arrangement, a recoii-
ciHation? Don't give me an answer now, — not
this evening; you shall tell me what you think
about it to-morrow, when we are on the road,
among the Colli Berici, in the beautiful, tranquil
sunlight, in the serene country ! "
We made the expedition to the ColH Berici, and
I can understand now how, in old times, there
came to be so many hermits in this country, —
clergy and laity both, — often men of high family,
who built themselves a stone hut, dug a well,
planted an olive tree and a dozen vines, and spent
their lives there! We begin by going up a long,
winding road, which is bordered, just outside the

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 43
city, by an arched portico. There are as many
arches as there are beads in a rosary, and each one
bears the name of some family of Vicenza who
aided in the construction of the work. Passing
the last arch, turning the comer of the church of
the Madonna del Monte, to which this via
triimiphalis leads, we enter the garden of a private
house on the crest of a hill. The alleys of this gar
den wind along the edge of the plateau, among
clumps of shrubs of var}'ing density, and skilfully
cut away to give outlooks. Around us other low
hills are covered with vines and fruit trees, yel
lowed by the autumn. Above all is a villa. Two
yew-trees frame it with their dark-green plumes
above the black trunks. Approaching, the steep
ascent comes in sight tapestried with vines; then,
far below, across a little stream, beyond the long
meadows with their Hnes of trees, the city is visi
ble, all pink in the morning mist ; and beyond that,
the far-off circle of the Alps, rising in terraces,
heather-clad at their base and white where they
touch the sky.
" Come, now," the senator said, " you shall see
something quite different."
This very different thing was the " Supper of S.
Gregory the Great," by Veronese, in the aban
doned convent adjacent to the church. This pic
ture, which is very suggestive of the " Supper " in
the Louvre by the same painter, occupies one wall
of the ancient refectory, nude and white. It was

44 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
cut to pieces in 1848 by Austrian soldiers, who
made thirty-two fragments of this admirable can
vas, afterward carefully restored. An inscription,
which betrays the emotion, the affection, that the
Italians feel for their art treasures, narrates the
vandalism of the foreigner, A plan, which was
shown me in an adjacent hall, reproduces the
random Hnes of the cuts of the knife and sabre
which mutilated the masterpiece.
" Those were very sad days," my host said.
" Which have left no very deep impression, it
seems! You are allies now."
" Yes. Why not? We said to them, ' Cross
the Alps!' They did it."
" Not as a favour!"
" We have forgotten that, and so have they.
Besides, acts of wanton destruction Hke this were
not at all frequent during the Austrian occu
pation, nor were they even during the war."
Half an hour later, we came to the Villa de'
Nani, so called from the grotesque figures of
dwarfs (nani) placed on its wall along the road. A
true type of the Italian villa, the owner's residence
separated from the guest-house, a long building
where the imagination pictured some great lady's
arrival, in a past century, with her retinue, her
boxes, and her coaches. All the house is painted
with frescos by Tiepolo; there is mythology, and
there are Chinese figures, caricatures, tragic
scenes, and all beautifully fresh in colour. And

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 45
around, the country is enchanting. It appears
through great glazed bays, a view less extensive
than that from the villa previously seen, but softer
in outhne and attractively homelike. Over the
shrubbery of the garden, where white statues
gleam here and there, are seen hillsides cultivated
as vineyards and orchards, a valley going to the
left, winding with the grace of a river and losing
itself between other hills. The air is extremely
pure; the turf is freshened and the leaves are yel
lowed by autumn; no noise at all except a rare
shot, followed by the springing flight of a thrush
or a flock of starlings.
While the Italians spend about the same length
of time in the country that the French do — leav
ing town with the first hot weather, and not re
turning until December — their stay is actuated by
motives somewhat different. Their villas, unlike
the chateaux of France, are not adapted for numer
ous and gay assemblages. The hunting season is
unknown in Italy. The S. Hubert is celebrated
with, at most, a salmi of blackbirds, or a rabbit
stew! But there is usually a guest or two, and
more reading, more dreaming, more pedestrian
expeditions, more idle hours spent on a terrace
edge or in a drawing room whose windows are
carefully planned for the view, enjoying the languid
poetry of an autumn less rapid than that of
France. Signor L. gave expression to a similar
thought when he took me to Fogazzaro's house.

46 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
very near the domain of de' Nani, on the same hill
and commanding the same views, and said to me
as we entered the poet's study, furnished in French
style, full of bibelots, and looking with its three
windows to the ColH Berici: " Did you think it
was Fogazzaro who writes poetry? You see that
it is not he, it is the country that sings! "
My courteous host seemed to feel that he had
not done enough in having made me his guest the
night before and his companion in the morning's
excursion. He made it a point to show me all
Vicenza in detail. I will not dwell upon the
museum, of which the guidebooks make mention;
the library, where I found two priest librarians,
with the aspect of monks, very learned and pas
sionate book-lovers; the Olympic Theatre, where,
at the end of the sixteenth century, " CEdipus the
King," was performed; nor even upon the odd,
quaint streets; for I wish to speak at some length
of an institution entirely modern, the Industrial
School. It was founded in imitation of the French
Ecoles d'Art et Metiers. Italy had but one, at
Fermo in the Marches, when, sixteen years ago,
Signor Alessandro Rossi, one of the richest manu
facturers in the north, whose woollen mills at
Schio give employment to five thousand people,
determined to furnish his province -with an insti
tution which he had carefully studied in France,
and considered of the highest importance for the
development of manufactures in Italy. I remem-

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 47
ber, during- a visit which I had the pleasure of
making him in the mountains of Schio, with what
enthusiasm he expressed himself on the subject of
the school at Vicenza. He has carried out many
plans for the relief of his work-people, but none
has cost him more than this. I will not say in
money alone, but in effort and in perseverance. It
was not his idea to endow a state institution.
Faithful to the decentralizing and liberal spirit
which animates so many of his countrymen, he
desired a local establishment having a certain
autonomy, administering itself; he made a point
of reserving to the founder, to the town, and to
the province their very legitimate shares of influ
ence and authority, and also inscribing among the
corps of instructors the name of a chaplain — a
direttore spirituale, as they say in Italy. After
much negotiation, this was accomplished. Signor
Rossi gave about 400,000 lire [$80,000] ; the gov
ernment, the province, and the town pledged each
a certain sum annually; and the four divide the
control. It is expressly stated in the decree recognizing
and organizing the school that the junta di vigi-
lenza, or executive council shall be composed of
the founder, Signor Rossi, one member selected by
him, and three other persons, representing sever
ally the government, the province, and the town.
It has extensive powers, this junta. It administers
the school, votes the appropriations, deliberates on

48 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
changes in the programme, appoints the profes
sors and the director (subject to the ministerial
appropriation), fixes the salaries, and deals with
matters of discipline. The director receives 8000
lire [$1600] and his house; the professors, 4000
lire. The courses of study, at once theoretic and
practical, train foremen for machine shops and fac
tories, and engineers for railways and steamboats.
After three years' study, the young men passing
their examinations are licensed, and the school
seeks places for them. Everything seems well
ordered. The buildings, which I visited in com
pany with the director, Signor Boccardo, son of
the well-known economist, are perfectly well-kept
and abundantly ventilated. Much of the machin
ery used in the workrooms was constructed in the
school. Boys from fourteen to seventeen were
at work with lathes, files, drills, all sorts of carpen
ters' tools, and the discipline was like that in the
Italian regiments — more tolerant, more paternal
than is found on our side of the Alps.
The industrial school at Vicenza is the most
prosperous in the peninsula. The number of
pupils increases constantly. It has risen from 78
in 1889-90, 117 in 1890-91, and 149 in 1891-92,
to 160 at the beginning of the year 1892-93. The
only Italian institution to be compared with it is,
as I have said, that at Fermoi. Elsewhere there
are only special schools of much less importance —
for instance, the school for plaster casts at Doccia,

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 49
near Florence; the lace schools at Rapallo, near
Genoa, and at Murano, near Venice, where, as is
well known, this graceful work, once so flourish
ing, has been revived, and furnishes a liveUhood to
many hundred girls and women.
En Route. — I have often noticed that the Italians
take less pleasure than we do in speaking ill of
their country. It may be because they think not
quite so well of it as we do of ours. When you
bring to their notice some serious fault, some
manifest inferiority, they get over the matter or
confess by silence only. " We have had so much
to do to make ourselves recognized as a great
nation," one of them said to me, " that you must
not expect us now to depreciate ourselves in your
eyes." Two travellers have just entered the railway
carriage. One has a furred coat ; to the other furs
are unknown. He is thin, like a chaser after for
tune, and probably belongs to the southern prov
inces, of which he has the meagre, ardent type.
No sooner is he seated than he begins complaining
of the slowness of the train. "A bad line! We
scarcely move! In France and England they do
much better than this." Whereat the other Ital
ian, sitting opposite, takes a high tone with him:
" What do you say? This train is going well.
Our Italian lines are as good as any in Europe. I
have been in France, too. Do you call the French
trains fast? Paris-Lyon, perhaps; and perhaps

So THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
the northern express. But in general I defy you
to prove that they are better than ours." Then,
without transition: "There is perfect security in
Rome, signor, and in the Roman Campagna. You
can go and come by night or day, without danger.
Since you are a traveller, can you say as much of
Paris? "
The man from the south began looking out of
the window, and the man from the north appealed
to me on the question of the train's speed. I only
complained of the roughness of the road, and to
this he agreed, and continued the conversation.
He was a man of business, well informed on the
present situation in Italy, and hopeful for the
future. I formed the idea that he was a director
of the Adriatic system of railways, and this rather
spoiled for me his opinion on the subject; but I
enjoyed the way in which he discussed ItaHan
industry. " You have noticed," he said, " in our railway
stations, the poster representing a big woman
with a shoulder bek inscribed: Risorgimento in-
dustriale Italiano? "
I had seen it, I said.
" It is an advertisement of a tartaric-acid fac
tory. When a business man orders a picture for
his billheads or circulars, it is usually a deep-
breasted woman in floating drapery, puffed out by
the wind. Often she is blowing a trumpet. The

PROVINCIAL LIFE. S'
tartaric-acid goddess has no trumpet, you may have
noticed, and that is just as well. In fact, I am not
very much impressed with this idea of ' the indus
trial revival ' of a nation which has never been
celebrated for its manufactures. We have a few
industrial establishments, founded long ago and
always prosperous, in the extreme north and west
of the country. Our silk manufactures are well
known. Household furniture has' always been
successfully made in Northern Italy. But the
recent attempts to implant among us new indus
tries have not universally prospered. Far from it.
And public opinion, even, has grown wiser on this
point, and begins to understand that transforma
tions of this kind do not take place to order. I
might mention, certainly, among enterprises which
seem to be prosperously started, a carriage factory
at Venice, another of household ironware at Sesto,
near Milan, which is beginning to be a rival to the
French importations. But is it reasonable to class
with these, iron foundries and steel works, like
Armstrong's at Pozzuoli? They employ a good
number of men, it is true; but they do not consti
tute an industrial ' movement ' or an industrial
* awakening.' To be frank, one must confess that
the ItaHan workman is as yet untrained, and that
his apprenticeship must be long. It is just as well
to say at once that industrial progress among us is
as yet very trifling, and that its development must

52 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
be a very difficult matter, because we lack coal, its
principal tool — its essential element, up to this
time." Since then, half a dozen competent persons have
confirmed the opinion expressed by my fellow-
traveller. In talking with the ItaHans about their Htera
ture, you generally hear the women say that they
read French novels only; men often say the same,
but they add: " It is not surprising that our Htera
ture should be inferior to the French. With us,
for the last forty years, all intelligent minds have
been occupied with politics. The struggles for
Italian unity, and then for the organization of the
Italian kingdom, have drawn away from their true
vocation not a few writers and poets. But now
original works are beginning to be more numerous,
and you will some day see Italian literature take
an honourable place in Europe."
I wish this may be so; and, indeed, you cannot
study the face, the gestures, the oratorical style
of many a member of the Italian parliament with
out being convinced that here is a poet, an artist,
gone astray from his true vocation. In gaining
her unity Italy has lost many great writers. And,
among contemporaries, to mention but a single
name, I ask myself how anyone, seeing the poetic
head of Signor Zanardelli, the president of the
Chamber, can doubt that this was a man born to
touch the lyre?

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 53
However, it is true that, in the midst of a crowd
of inferior books, and of feeble, often awkward imi
tations of foreign authors, the Italians have pro
duced, in the last few years, some works of real
merit, and full of promise. We are familiar with
the travels of De Amicis, but with very few of his
novels or short stories — his Romanso d'un maestro
for instance, or those two books for children, Cuore
and Fra scuola e casa, of which the first, especially,
has obtained in Italy an enormous success. I
have before me a copy of the 136th edition. De
Amicis seems to me much more original and
national under this new aspect.
I will not speak of all the attempts at novels of
society in its higher or lower grades, or of the
demi-monde, none of which seem to have been
very successful, with the exception of the Daniele
Cortis of Fogazzaro. But the Novelle e paese vol-
dostani of Giuseppe Giacosa; the tales of Tuscan
life. In provincia, by Mario Pratesi; Le veglie di
Neri by Renato Fucini, another Tuscan; L' inno-
cente of Gabriele d'Annunzio, an eminent stylist,
born in the Abruzzi, who has tried many literary
paths; and especially the novels of Salvatore di
Giacomo, of Matilda Serao, and of Verga — to
whom I shall refer later, in speaking of Southern
Italy — appear to me works of real value, born of
that love of the native province that I have men
tioned, and hence vital and full of truth and colour.
Even to a foreigner it is evident that here the

54 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Italian story-tellers have struck a vein of inex
haustible richness. If they know how to prize it,
we shall have masterpieces; and they have every
thing to aid success — their tender and just
appreciation of the sufferings of the poor, the inti
mate neighbourhood, almost the fusion of classes
in a society less proud, at heart, and more Christian
than our own, the variety in local customs, types
and races, and the use of dialect — that marvellous
element of colour and poetry.
Moreover there will be nothing false about it.
The tradition tO' which Italian prose seems, fortu
nately, willing to retum, the dialect poets had
never abandoned. On their part they have been
true to their vocation. They have remained the
most Italian of authors, unknown outside the prov
ince whose language they spoke, familiar, some
times coarse; but without models from outside, the
expression of a humble pubHc who give them the
joy of an actual adoration in compensation for the
fame to which they could not aspire. If you ask
for them, their names are everywhere. In Pied
mont, Arnulfo, who died some time ago; in the
Milanese dialect, Ferdinando Fontana; in the dia
lect of Pisa — the country of pure Italian as well —
Neri Tanfucio (Renato Fucini); in the Roman
patois, the famous Belli, who wrote violent satires
upon Gregory XVI. and Pius IX., and ended by
translating the hymns of the Roman breviary; in

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 55
the patois of Naples, an incredible number of poets
and song writers.
Almost all have a marked preference for the
sonnet. Under this brief form, made for the ex
pression of a single thought, there is scarcely a
subject that they have not essayed. But the hero
is always the same. It is the man of the people,
talking, laughing and ridiculing, or weeping; and
expressing himself in words admirable for their
originaUty, wit, and intensity. It is the man of the
people who is poet and critic both; and he is the
hero, passing with his habitual suffering or his
brief joy across the familiar stage of street or field.
Let him speak! His speech is vigorous and racy.
It is an ore where very precious metal is mingled
with the dross. He touches the heart of his poor
audience, and while the writers in the Hterary lan
guage copy all styles without finding their own, he
unconsciously has kept alive for coming time the
little branch of wild holly which will receive the
graft and bear unknown flowers.
At the present time many are returning to this
study of popular Italian life. Some come to it
with too persistent a memory of their reaUstic read
ing or of their classical education. But love is
there — love which creates works of real character.
These writers love that of which they speak; they
begin to understand that all the artifice of the
imagination is not worth one deep word from the

S6 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
soul; and at times, in reading certain novels, —
thoughtful, sober, simple, — one has the feeling,
which never deceives, that here is something which
all the world could see, but only an Italian can
write. And also, outside of the dialects, poets are be
coming more numerous. The ItaHan language
is so easy for verse! It has so many rhymes in
a and o! It is such a singing language! I
doubt if there are many young men who have
the " classic license " — licenza liceale, who have
not turned a sonnet, a serenade, or an elegy.
Many of these persevere — which proves their
vocation — till past thirty, or even till old age. I
have known men mature and settled, who live in
the shade of their own lemon trees and write love
verses, fiery or tender, which they print themselves
on their own Httle printing-presses, without any
desire for fame, giving the book a black cover
when the collection is a sad one, and binding in
white parchment the inspiration of happier days.
Others try to find a place in the Reviews, which
are always cautious towards lines in rhyme. I
would say that Northern Italy, and particularly
Venetia, is fruitful in poets, were it not that Naples
might protest. " There are sixty-two in Verona
alone," said my friend F., laughing. "The
memory of the immortal lovers pursues them.
Trent has Giovanni Prati; Trieste, Gazzoletti and
Francesco dall' Ongaro — do you observe this

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 57
claim of Trent and Trieste? Of course you know
Luigi Carrera of Venice, and the famous Giacomo
Zanella, the priest of Vicenza, whose verses have a
reputation in all the provinces? "
Yes, I know Zanella, and several of his rivals,
and I confess I do not care very much about them.
But I have read Ada Negri, a very young and very
modern writer of verses, and I am enchanted.
She is perhaps twenty-two years old, was born
at Lodi, poor and brought up by a widowed and
destitute mother. At eighteen she was sent as
mistress of a primary school to Motta Visconti, a
village on the flat bank of the Ticino, alone,
without encouragement, without probable future,
having read but little for want of books, but
convinced of her own genius, proud, angry with
life, and resolved not to be conquered by it.
Two years later, Ada Negri published her first
book of verses — Fatalita. She had derived in
spiration from her immediate surroundings,
her poverty, her neglected, despised, thwarted
childhood. The cry of revolt that she uttered
was heard, as every true cry of passion is. She
had at once partisans, friends, notices, requests
for work. In a short time the first edition of
Fatalita was exhausted. And the success, I assure
you, was deserved. Ada Negri is a poet. Her
language is marvellous in its strength. She has a
manner of speaking at once audacious yet chaste.
She is not at all ignorant, and yet she remains a

S8 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
young girl. We may suppose that this rebel wiU
be consoled. But she will always be a poet, and, I
think, have a place quite her own in the contempo
rary literature of her country. Read her sad
Autopsia, her Biricchino de Strada (The Street Boy),
Popolana, Buon di Miseria, Nenia materna, and you
will be touched by the verses, so ardent, emotional,
eager for life, eager for love.
After the great success which she obtained in
Italy, Signorina Negri was appointed to one of the
normal schools in Milan. It is understood that
she is preparing a poem. Alas! when one is so
young, and truly a poet! Can it be?
A great publisher — they are almost all of the
North — said to me: "The cities where people
read most are Turin, Milan, and Trieste. Very
literary is Trieste V irredenta! Germany also is a
good customer. When a book has merit I sell five
hundred copies in Germany, to fifty in France."
In the booksellers' shop windows and in the
catalogues, I very often notice translations of Zola,
whose Italian origin the ItaHans are fond of men
tioning. Public favour is shared by the different
works of this author very differently on the two
sides of the Alps. In Italy, while L'Assommoir,
Pot-Bouille, La Terre, have had only two, three, five
editions, Une Page d' Amour attains its fourteenth.
Is this really a matter of taste? I think not.
I am incHned rather to beUeve that the title
of the latter gave it its success with people where

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 59
love — the word and the thing — occupies so great a
place, and who, to express the idea of beauty, have
six words to the French one. After IJnc Page
d' Amour, the Italians have been great readers of La
Debacle. This was an attraction of another kind.
They scarcely seem to me, with a very few excep
tions, to appreciate differences of style, even the
greatest. I have heard many men and many
women in society speak most warmly of M. Guy
de Maupassant, and, almost in the same terms, of
M. Fortune de Boisgobey.
Another sign. In Paris we have certain news
papers which publish "personals"; but how faint
of colour compared -with those which I meet here,
on the fourth page of many of the n ost important
journals! I select at random.
The passion reveals itself and grows :
" Beautiful Florentine, I thought I understood
the signal of your fan. If it is so, be at the win
dow, same hour."
"Thanks! I hope to receive good news.
Courage, my angel, my treasure, my repose! "
" Mamma's health still prevents my return.
Yet, when I gaze into the blue depths of the sky,
to every star that crosses the mountains, to every
breath of wind, I confide the salutation of my
heart for you, O most sympathetic (simpaticona) ! "
" Happy, and sure of your love! I wish I could
live a thousand years to love you for a thousand
years, ideal of my heart, sole and absolute queen,

6o THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
my whole thought, my whole soul! A thousand
kisses — small, medium-sized, and great (bacini,
bad, e bacioni). I adore thee ! "
Unfortunately a suspicion creeps in:
"Adored star! You amuse yourself much?
But I live for you only. At least, write. This
long delay makes me fear bad news. Heavens,
what fear! I have doubts about an officer. . .
I have frightful premonitions."
Then comes the ultimatum, sometimes brutally
put: " Very little politeness in your way of acting!
If you are decided not to write to me, say so, and
you shall have no more letters from me. Remem
ber that I have never entreated the weak sex."
At last, the dismissal:
"God forgive thee thy desertion of me! Yes
terday from my balcony I said this to thee. Adieu!
Thou hast deceived me cruelly."
Who knows but it was this same disabused lover
who advertised in the Tribuna of October 21:
" Deceived in love, I desire to marry a young girl,
a widow, or even a person of advanced years, with
a smaU dowry." Padua,
I have always liked Padua and Bologna on
account of their arcades. In Padua I also like
the Chapel of S. Antonio, in the Basilica, with the
tall reliefs in white marble, the most eloquent that

PROVINCIAL UFE. 6 1
I have ever seen. I v\'as on my way to visit them
again, — Sansovino's " Suicide," his " Resurrection
of a Child Restored to its Mother," — when my at
tention was distracted by a placard affixed to one
of the pillars of the gallery. This was an appeal
from some committee for the purpose of erecting a
statue to the memory of some hero, whose name
escapes me. It began by reminding the reader
that this hero had acquired immortal fame among
men by sharing in the expeditions of Garibaldi;
and later on depicted him enjoying in heaven the
felicity of the saints. Evidently, in the mind of
the writers, his service as Garibaldian was not the
smallest among the merits which had entitled him
to eternal bUss. " Gai-ibaldian," said they, with
unction, as in France we might say, " Member of
the Society of S. Vincent de Paul." We should
not have placed these ideas in juxtaposition. The
Italian soul is full of contradictions to us inex
plicable. Something will always prevent us from
understanding it completely: our strict logic, our
inaptitude for la combinasione. I think it was at
Bologna that I saw the statue of Garibaldi's chap
lain! Open any secular journal, the least religious
possible, and you will see in the almanac of the
day: "Ave Maria, moming, 5h. 15m.; Ave Maria,
evening, 5h. 22m."
The students of the university have not yet re
turned. In the beautiful inner cloisters, where
are carved, painted, and gilded the escutcheons of

62 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
noble students of other days, I now meet only
workmen repairing the pavement, an apparitor,
who kindly shows me Galileo's pulpit — a kind of
tour d'approche in white wood that I had seen be
fore — and the rector of this year, Signor Carlo
Ferraris. Perhaps it is not generally known that
the rectors of the Italian universities are selected
by the corps of professors from their own number,
and serve for one year only. This is a democratic
idea, and not without advantages. Signor Fer
raris invites me into his study. I find him cour
teous and well-bred. He belongs to the faculty of
law, occupying the chair of statistics. This is the
second year he has served as rector, having been
re-elected, as have been many of his predecessors.
He regrets that our French faculties have not all
an annual register like the one which he gives me,
wherein are most circumstantial details: the
list of professors and directors, the lists of works
published by them during the year, the horarium
of each faculty or school, the results of examina
tions, the name and country of each student. " I
send our register to a great many of the higher
schools," he tells me, " and I receive very few in
return, particularly from France." This thick
pamphlet gives a good idea of the prosperity
of the University of Padua. The number of stu
dents, which in 1884 was 1000, in 1891 was
13 1 5. I see that the enumeration of works by
the professors, on law, medicine, literature, nat-

PROVINCIAL LIFE. (>Z
ural sciences, mathematics, and pharmacy occu
pies no less than thirty pages of the register. I
observe, also, as I remarked at Bologna two years
ago, the very large number of free courses, given
by lectures. Unfortunately, I could not at
tend one. " As a rule, the university opens its
gates the 20th of October," Signor Ferraris
said to me. " The examinations occupy a fort
night, and lessons begin early in November. This
year, on account of the elections — many of our
students are voters — the retum to all the univer
sities is delayed. The opening address will be on
the 26th of November, and the classes will not
begin until December 2." A month lost on ac
count of the elections!
This university has evidently nothing to fear
from the project often agitated, and lately brought
up in Parliament, concerning which men are talk
ing all over Italy. There is a grudge felt against
the little universities, or rather the isolated facul
ties, which ancient and honoured traditions keep
alive rather than any real service they render now.
It is really a question of expense. The president
of the commission, Signor Luca Beltrami, deputy
from Milan, in an address before his constituents,
called attention to the fact that certain universities
have but a hundred students or but fifty; that
faculties could be named which have only eight
students, divided into four sections; and that there
is one case of seven students for six courses.

64 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Even, it appears, there is a school of engineers
which has exactly five students! What is to be
come of you, poor Siena, whom the students call
Siena gentile? And of you, Urbino; of you, Ma-
cerata; of you, Camerino; of you, Ferrara? Little
cities, the period of the dukes is past! The
shadow has lost its poetry. Men no longer climb,
on mule-back, up the steep bridle-paths which lead
to your winding streets. AH your wealth of art no
longer retains men's hearts. There is yet a little
curiosity about the past; but the deep affection
which attached the fathers to the walls of the old
cities, to the familiar streets, to the family man
sions, grows less and less with the sons to-day.
Our souls are scattered abroad through the whole
world. They wiU never return to the nest. They
will let it perish, with a sigh, but without making
any strong defence of it, because they have left it,
and the sweetness of home is never completely re
covered after one adieu. What is to be done with
these cloisters where youth once laughed or
dreamed — youth now buried, forgotten — whose
dreams or whose laughter will never again come
back to life? Will soldiers be lodged where once
your masters taught the science of their day?
There are not convents enough to furnish barracks
now. Perhaps it will be decay, pure and simple.
And that is best. There is a respect in leaving
sacred things to die.
However, a friend said this to me: " Autocratic

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 65
governments have great faults, but they have it in
their power to reform. Parliamentary govern
ments depend upon deputies, who depend upon
their constituents, who themselves are led by their
local passions and interests. You will see that we
shall abolish neither the universities, nor the sub-
prefectures, nor the superfluous schools for
engineers." He was perhaps right for a time.
I admire the feeling, the singular touching pity
in these four lines engraved in the wall of a palace
in Padua: Fazioni e vendette
qui trassero Dante, 1 306,
dai Carrara da Giotto
Ebbe men duro esilio.
I have been at a grand dinner this evening.
Among the guests two officers, veterans, who
made a campaign with the French. They spoke
of France with a sort of civil regret, in which there
was more poetic memory than affection, more
reminiscence of youth than heartfelt cordiality for
the comrade of other days, the conversation of a
man divorced from his first wife but far from con
tent in his second marriage. My reticence on
the subject was acceptable. As a general rule,
while the Italians themselves only in rare instances
speak ill of their country, they do not allow you
to do it at all. If they make allusion to the serv
ices rendered by France, you displease them by

66 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
dwelUng upon the matter. But if they rush, as
they sometimes will, into excessive praise of their
own country, they take you for a fool if you believe
them. When a military man says to you, " France
did us great service at Solferino! " if you reply,
" How brave you proved yourselves in Africa! "
each will be right, and you will be excellent friends
at once. Bologna.
My friend the senator gave me a letter to
Lieutenant-General Dezza. I take a carriage,
and am driven to the headquarters of the Sixth
Army Corps, accompanied by two friends, one
a citizen of Bologna, the other French, an in
fantry captain. After a delay of five minutes, we
are received in the general's office, where he is
standing, very tall, very broad-shouldered, with
white moustache and chin tuft, in undress uniform
— black jacket with turned-down collar, marked
with the letter U (Umberto), without decorations,
gray trousers with double red stripe, and riding '
boots. My friend, the Bolognese, presents us, and
makes known my desire to visit the barracks. The
general's face at once relaxes; he speaks to us in
French. " Gentlemen," he says, " at least you
cannot say we have prepared for your visit. I will
give you a line to the colonel. Infantry barracks,
is it not? " " Yes, general." And we set off for
the ex-monastery of the Servi di Maria, where now

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 67
are quartered the Twenty-seventh of the line, near
that fret-work cloister, you remember, whose col-
ums throw so fine a shadow upon the street.
The regiment has just come in from drill. Many
officers in the corridor, which is painted in oil-
colour, black below, yeUow above; this is much
better," whispers my French companion, " than
our whitewash and lampblack." The lieutenant-
in-waiting, a blue scarf crosswise on his breast,
takes us into the colonel's office, on the left, near
the entrance. It is almost luxurious, this office,
with beautiful hangings, curtains at the windows,
even some works of art. And the colonel, Cava
liere Pittaluga, is the most affable of men. He is
of the true soldierly type, slender and alert, with
blue eyes. " Gentlemen," he says, " I was received
in Corsica most courteously. I, too, have visited
barracks; and I shall try to repay to you what was
done for me. I will be your guide. Come! " We
enter the officers' reading room, where there are
only military journals — the library is at headquar
ters, and then the dining room, where the table
is laid for eight persons. " This is not the custom
in all regiments," the colonel says. " It is always
my wish to have my officers mess in the barracks
with me, when it is agreeable to them; and their
expenses are very moderate. Bring some ver
mouth, please," he adds, addressing the lieutenant-
in-waiting. The Turin vermouth being brought in,
the colonel lifts his glass; and, since he is Italian,

68 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
that is to say, clever in finely shading things, " To
the brotherhood of arms! " he says, and a friendly
smile tempers and softens the forced reserve of his
words. We enter the fencing hall, which is not
large, but has been decorated by soldiers who have
talent and the inventive faculty. They have de
picted on the walls all sorts of original military
motifs, well designed, Hke the artist-artisans that
they are. The colonel teUs us that he never has
occasion to resort to civilian labour for any of the
interior fittings of the barracks.
The kitchens seem to be well managed. In the
non-commissioned officers' refectory, adjacent to
their sitting room, four tables, of which one is for
the staff. The ordinary is not the same as in
France. In the morning, soup, a dish of meat, and
cheese; at night, soup, two courses of meat, and
dessert; besides this, wine at each meal, and they
pay a lira and five centesimi [twenty-one cents]
a day. The soldiers, who have 250 grammes
[about a half pound] of meat in the moming, at
night have only macaroni, with soup, and seem in
good condition. But how different their faces
from those of the French soldiers! I looked at
them in the courts and the apartments through
which we passed. While their officers were talk
ing, they, con-ect, irreproachable in appearance,
had not even the air of perceiving visitors, unac
customed to it as they must have been. None of
those comic looks which our common soldier casts.

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 69,
as he passes the stranger; no laughter behind
doors; no loud caUs to one another; none of those
jokes flung across from window to window, as if
by accident, scarcely restrained even by the pres
ence of very high officers. These Italians are
gentle, docile, incHned to melancholy. Most of
them seem very young, the beard not yet grown.
As the colonel passed, they came to attention, and
saluted calmly, deliberately; and when he had
gone by they did not feel that need of words and
movement which a five-minute restraint calls
forth in the French.
The officers are gentle with their men, " What
a good work it is," the colonel said as he went
upstairs to the dormitories, " especially in my
grade, to have charge of a regiment, to watch
over the bodies and souls of one's men! I know
nothing more interesting or nobler." He said
this with great simpUcity and an air of conviction.
At the entrance of the room of Company 6 an old
captain, who had heard us coming, stood, his
hand at his cap. He was one of those men — ^we
have all known such — who put all their life and
thoughts into their profession; enthusiastic, a
martinet, good at heart, but very formidable in
manner. The colonel shakes hands with him.
" You see, gentlemen, I am so fortunate in my
captains that I leave them complete liberty as to
the ' stowage ' of effects. What you will see here
is this man's taste." Upon which the old captain

70 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DA Y.
saluted, much gratified. Decidedly, this is a very
good man for a colonel. The room of the 6th
is neat, like the whole barracks. The beds are not
very numerous, for the effective force is kept low.
They are of iron, shaped like an X, and folded up
lengthwise. My friend, who understands these
matters, avers that the stowage for the 6th is
excellent. Their clothing, which the soldiers keep
on a shelf, as our men do, is arranged with perfect
regularity, not an inch out of line in either direc
tion — above, the knapsack; below, the canteen,
shaped Uke a little funnel. But the men have less
clothing than ours. The bread, which we taste, is
inferior to that of the French soldiers; and the
magazines, -with supplies for mobilization, do not
seem to contain any great store of food. But it is
possible we did not see all.
As we were taking leave of the colonel, he
showed us three doors barred -with iron, opening
on the entrance haU. " You can guess," he said;
" can you not ? When I took possession here,
there were inscriptions above them, indicating
that they were prison rooms. I could not tolerate
the idea. It was most unfortunate for the soldier,
on his arrival, to be made to feel that here was a
jail, or at least a place where he would be unhappy,
and would suffer punishment. I effaced all the
inscriptions with my own hand that very day."
We went away, finally, with favourable im
pressions; and it would be well if certain persons

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 7'
whose ready-made opinion forbids study of the
progress in mihtary affairs made by other na
tions, men who always speak in very slighting
terms of the Italian army, could have seen what
we did.
When we asked from what parts of Italy came
the soldiers of the Twenty-seventh Regiment, the
answer was: "From Leghorn, Udine, and Mes
sina." Now, Leghorn belongs to northern Italy,
Udine to central, and Messina to southern. Each
Italian corps (except the twenty-two battalions
of Alpinists, exclusively composed of men from the
northern frontier), is thus recruited from one or
two districts in each one of three great terri
torial zones. In the same regiment, in the same
company, men of different provinces meet and live
side by side for three years. And not only the
soldiers of the active army, but the reserves, are
grouped on the same principle. In case of mobili
zation, Sicilians would go to join their regiments
in Lombardy, and Piedmontese in Calabria. The
system is loaded with disadvantages, but its reason
is apparent: the recruiting was organized thus in
order to fuse the different elements, and no objec
tion could prevail against the wish to complete,
in the army, the unification of Italy. Has this at
tempt been successful?
Beyond doubt, the fusion has begun. Sectional
rivalries are no longer what they were. The in
terior frontiers of the Italy of former times grow

72 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
less conspicuous day by day. But the work is far
from being finished. If you question anyone
whom you meet as to his nationality, using only
the most general terms that the language affords,
he win say: "I am a Piedmontese, a Venetian,
a Calabrian, a SiciHan." He will not say: " I am
an Italian." In speaking of marriages, of com
merce, or of poHtics, the inhabitant of some duchy
or kingdom of former days will speak of a neigh
bouring province without the fraternal feeling.
A Neapolitan will say, for example : " I do not like
to go to Rome. Those Romans treat you like a
foreigner." But differences are especially noticeable — and I
do not hesitate to assert that a trace of actual
animosity still exists — ^between the men of the
north and those of the south; between the rich,
industrious north and the poor south; between
the reflecting north and the talkative south; be
tween the Milanese who has his villa on the shore
of Lago Maggiore, and the Messenian who has
an electoral fief in the mountains of Sicily. I add
a few words, picked up here and there, which have
struck me.
A rich merchant of the north said to me:
" Napoleon had the right idea: a kingdom of
upper Italy, a kingdom of lower Italy. They are
two territories that cannot have the same
institutions." A Piedmontese: "We are too long a country.

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 73
The head and tail can never touch; or, if they are
forced to it, the head will bite the tail."
Another: " Do you know what is one of the
principal obstacles to the republican propaganda
in our country? It is that the man preaching
revolution must be a native of some province.
And that is enough to render him unpopular in all
the others! Imagine a man from the Marches
preaching to a Calabrian! "
A Florentine: " You are much more centralized
in France than we are. At the same time, we are
so ourselves far more than is good for us. Among
the great people in all the provinces, here in Flor
ence, in Rome, Naples, Palermo, if French is not
spoken, the language used is a patois. The pure
Italian is neglected. By this slow and gentle pro
cedure we protest indirectly against the excessive
unity that many people would force upon us.
Signor Crispi had an intention of founding an
academy of dialects at Rome, Time failed him to
carry out this very original idea, but he appre
ciated the vitality of the provincial languages,
and you may be sure that in this persistence
of dialect, in high society especially, there is
a very deep sentiment of pride and of indepen
dence," Now, all those who spoke to me in this way were
partisans of Italian unity. They called my atten
tion to this fact, saying that while political unity
was indeed a good thing, varieties of life and

74 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
humour, local traditions, the dignity of the towns,
were also good things.
This evening I wandered in the old quarter of
Bologna. The street was narrow between two
rows of dark arcades, where passers-by walked in
visible. I myself kept in the light. At a corner I
heard outcries. A man Hke a ragged bandit, in a
pointed hat, emerges from a lane, dragging a child,
who resists and cries for succour. " Soccorso! soc-
corso! " He is tragic, the little boy. He stretches
out his arms and his head toward the dark gallery,
where he detects moving shadows. His eyes shine,
grown big with fear. " Soccorso! soccorso!" The
man drags him on. After five or six rods, the
struggle continuing, half a dozen people have
made their appearance in the road. One of them,
in a cloak reaching to his heels, grasps the child
by his free arm, and coolly, though his lips twitch
with anger, says to the man in rags: " Stop and
explain yourself! " The other looks at him with
a sly glance, sees that nothing can be done, and
begins a sort of argument about the boy. After
three or four sentences, the man in the cloak takes
possession of the child, then sets him at Hberty;
and the little fellow, -wild with terror, runs away
at full speed. The two men again eye each other,
then go their separate ways.
In France, we should have begun by rescuing

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 75
the child from his oppressor in the name of im
mortal principles; and almost certainly the two
men would then have come to blows without fur
ther words.
It is curious, the story of this church of S.
Francis, which, its restoration being completed,
ranks with the purest examples of the Italian
Gothic. I know it well, though the guidebooks
do not mention it. One of my Bolognese friends
had taken me to visit it with much affection; and
another takes me to it again, that I may see the
progress of the repairs. Standing before the
faqade of red brick, the windows still blocked up,
the latter relates to me through what a series of ad
ventures the old building has passed. The French
of the revolution, about 1796, made it a custom
house. Even after the Empire had fallen, this prof
anation continued, and it was not until 1840 that
Pope Gregory XVI., who ruled Bologna through
one of his legates, restored the church to the
Conventual Minorite Franciscans. The latter un
dertook to reopen it, and the false taste of the
architects of the time rendered the building un
recognizable. The columns were heavily coated
with plaster, frightful chapels broke its outlines,
and paintings after the manner of Epinal gave it
the effect of a decorated granary. General
Cialdini was, perhaps, struck with this resem
blance, for in 1866 he siezed the church and made

76 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
it a miUtary storehouse. Thus it remained, de
plorably repaired, violently desecrated, a thing
forgotten, until very recently.
But Bologna has her artists, jealous for the
city's honour. Some of the most influential citi
zens of the town — Conte Nerio Malvezzi, Conte
Joseph Grabinski, Signor Alfonzo Rubbiani — set
on foot negotiations to rescue and restore the poor
edifice. They formed great projects, and — a
noticeable thing — they were immediately sup
ported by public sentiment. After much effort,
they obtained a gift of the church to the city ; and
the city in turn at once presented it to the car
dinal-archbishop. Then, in 1886, the work of
restoration began. The original plans of the
building had been found. It was proposed to re
store it in all its ancient grace. To this end the
chapels were demolished, the columns set free, the
coating removed from the walls, the windows re
constructed and new glass put in.
Private citizens of Bologna, the gentlemen I
have mentioned, with a few others, undertook the
task. Up to the present time more than 100,000
lire [$20,000] have been spent; and in 1888 Queen
Margherita, deeply interested in the work, ob
tained from government a grant of 20,000 lire.
Then the sponsors of S. Francis at once bought
and demolished the old buildings of the coach
office, which spoiled one side of the apse; and
they discovered, repaired, and gave a suitable

PROVINCI.-iL LIFE. 77
place, on the edge of the street, to three wonder
ful tombs with precious colonnettes, found half
destroyed; those of three great Bolognese com
mentators, Accurse, Odofredo, and Rolandino di
Romanzi. I visited the work-yard where stone
cutters were restoring the beautiful capitals from
one of these tombs. I still hear my friend's sym
pathetic tone of voice as he said to one of the work
men in his blouse, standing on a scaffolding: " Will
you kindly permit a stranger who is interested in
art to see how we are getting on in our work at
S. Francis'?"
Everywhere you meet, more or less, this care for
ancient things. The Italians well understand their
artistic wealth. They value it more than we do
ours. In their case there is public sentiment,
while all that we have are archaeologists and a
commission on historic monuments.
This watchful care is of ancient date in Italy.
At the time when the Council of Ten governed
Venice there was a decree issued in respect to the
art of glass-making. Therein was the following
Uttle article: "If a workman transports his art
into a foreign country, to the detriment of the
republic, he shall be enjoined to retum. If he does
not obey, those nearest him shall be thrown
into prison. If he still persists in remaining in
a foreign land, an emissary shall be sent to kill
him." The section ends, however, with these words of

78 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
mercy: " After the workman's death, his relatives
shall be set at liberty," Florence,
How captivated one is in Florence by this vision
of yellow houses, this idle carelessness of land
scape, people, attitudes, voices, this abundance of
flowers, ah these tranquillizing, exquisite things,
signs of a country already southern! Plere are
the same Httle flower-women as of old, at the
street corners, with their baskets full of pinks,
heUotrope, roses, and a pretty variety of nas
turtiums with black centres. In this delaying
season, while the mountains which enfold the
city ai-e all white with snow, a truss of sorrel
going past is a deUght to the eye. But the
Florence of the suburbs is especially beautiful in
colour. Few people go there, for there are no pub
lic buildings to be visited. It has its poetry, how
ever. The streets are broad, dusty, bordered with
low houses, very white or yellow. A new growth
of trees rises here and there above the walls of the
close-shut gardens.
From time to time tbere are the fruit shops that
are so attractive to the eye: a deep, narrow room,
always open, a doorway framed with a wreath of
golden colocynth, clusters of bananas hanging
from the rafters; baskets fuH of tomatoes, nuts,
grapes, oranges, lemons, which mingle their per
fume with an odour of rancid oil; in the midst a

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 79
woman seated, her shoulders covered with a pink
shawl, her eyes shining in the half-darkness; quite
in the back of the shop the spark of light from a
lamp burning before the Madonna. In the mom
ing you will see stopping before the door long
carts shaped like boats, painted red.
My French friend, the officer, who knows Africa
well, returns from an expedition in the suburban
quarters. He is in Italy for the first time. "Oh!"
he says, " we only want an occasional burnouse in
these streets to feel as if we were in the East. Now
I see why they took it so hard that we should
have Tunis. The East begins here."
This expression is, perhaps, too strong. But
the remark has truth in it. It explains that some
thing of the charm, something in the manners,
something in the people, of this country, which is
not altogether Latin.
I was not here in time for the first performance
of the Rantzau. But I attend the second. The
great auditorium of the Pergola is completely
filled. The success of Mascagni is quite a national
affair. From all the provinces of Italy people have
come to applaud. This is evident as you glance
over the house. The most varied types are here.
There is, first, the one most common of all among
the men, the heavy Piedmontese face, with short,
thick nose, the moustache strong, curving, droop
ing at tbe comers of the mouth. Energy, even

8o THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
harshness, appear to be its dominant note. At
the same time this stout man talking -with his
neighbour — who may be a merchant, a manufact
urer, a deputy, an impresario, there is no telling —
has a shrewd smile; and when he lifts his heavy
hand, the gesture, oddly enough, is refined and very
expressive. Then you ask yourself whether this
coarse body may not perhaps conceal a soul that is
very keen at times.
Near by are Florentines, thoroughbreds, un
mistakably, artist heads, men of wealth and lux
urious habits, extremely impressionable, with that
elegance and that reserve which characterize so
many Italian faces.
Also I remark men from Southern Italy, very
black-haired, pale, more excitable in look. Some
have faces very short, the beard growing forward
and very curly; crafty, passionate, defiant.
Framed, they would resemble the portraits of the
old condottieri that we see in galleries.
Almost no one, notwithstanding the festal char
acter of the occasion, has the silk hat. My neigh
bour assures me that the derby is preferred on
aesthetic grounds, the ItaHans being of opinion
that the black campanile with which we cover our
heads destroys the harmony of outline.
Among the women the Juno type, or that of
the Minerva, is most frequent; many beautiful
dark eyes, and regular, imposing features. The
blonde Dianas are more rare — I mean among

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 8i
women in society; in the lanes of Venice and
Naples there are plenty of them.
And now the curtain rises. Mascagni has no
cause to complain of public coldness. I count the
recalls. The young composer is called out seven
times in the first act, six in the second, fourteen in
the third, and eight in the fourth. Each time
that the applause breaks out, the actors — of whom
two are very good — stop. One of them goes
toward the side scene, and returns with Mascagni,
who, smiling and serious, salutes, indicates with
his free hand the actors, as if to say that the honour
of the success is entirely theirs, and backs off the
stage a little awkwardly. He has a broad, genial,
intelligent face, this young maestro, beardless, the
mouth large and well cut, the forehead high, under
bushy hair. One recognizes a nature simple and
free, intoxicated with a fame so precocious — pre
mature, say some, although there can be no doubt
about his talent. I strive to determine how much,
in the almost constant ovation that he receives,
is sincere admiration, and how much is a foregone
conclusion due to the flattering of national vanity.
I do, indeed, believe that many of my neighbours
whose applause is the noisiest are doing all this
in cold blood. But they are people of another
race, admirable actors even when they have no
need to be, and I do not know.
One of them, in an entr'acte, a great friend of
Mascagni, relates to me the composer's history.

82 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DA Y.
It begins, as biographies of artists often do, in the
extreme of poverty. Mascagni is a Tuscan. He
was born at Leghorn, a purely commercial city,
whose streets and harbour I saw one foggy day,
of which I remember nothing. In 1884, after
three years' study in the Conservatory at Milan,
poor in money, and endowed, it seems, with a for
midable appetite, he engaged himself as subdirec-
tor with an operetta troupe, at a salary of five lire a
day. Two years he lived this vagabond life, going
from one little theatre to another, constantly
changing impresarios. He became completely dis
gusted. Like most Italians (who, as a rule, marry
very young) he had taken a wife. He had met,
loved, and married a young singer, poor like him
self. And near the close of 1885, they established
themselves at Cevignola, a little city of Apulia,
near Foggia. Here Mascagni made friends. He
gave lessons on the piano, and began a grand
opera, William Radcliff, which is not yet finished.
Then, one day, a great event happened at Cevi
gnola. The municipal council had a meeting;
then, the mayor went to see Mascagni. " Can
you play all instmments? " the mayor inquired.
" I can," rejoined Mascagni,
" From the clarionet to the harp? "
" Certainly I can."
" In that case we appoint you director of the
municipal orchestra, with a salary of a hundred
Hre [twenty dollars] a month."

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 83
Fortune was beginning to make advances to
Mascagni; but the post of direttore della scuola
orchestrale would not have sufficed to give the poor
musician fame, or even the humblest competency.
After a time Signor Edoardo Sonzogno, the rich
Milanese pubUsher, proprietor of the Secolo, and
a sort of Maecenas for ItaUan artists, offered a
prize for a one-act opera. Mascagni resolved to
try; and composed, upon a libretto by his friend
TagUoni, from a novel by Verga, the score of the
Cavalleria rusticana. He was one of the three suc
cessful competitors, and the only one whose work,
represented at Rome in 1890, was enthusiastically
received. The rest of the story — I mean to say the journey
of the Cavalleria over Europe — is too well known
to need mention. What is not, however, matter
of general notoriety is the fact that the Sicilian
author, from whom the libretto had been bor
rowed, seeing the unexpected success of Mas-
cagni's opera, instituted a suit, which has just been
decided, and the rights of the poet have been
valued at an enormous sum. " Never mind," says
my neighbour, " it is Signor Sonzogno who has
to pay." I ask him., " But why abandon a vein so
happily opened? Why subjects like William
Radcliff and the Rantzau? Do you not think
an Italian would do better, even in music, to draw
inspiration from the poetry, so abundant, of his
native land? "

84 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
He was about to answer. We were at the
moment in the foyer, or, rather, under the por
tico of La Pergola, in a crowd of people. There
was noisy talking all about us; an aspect of joy,
of true emotion, pervaded all these Italian faces;
the pleasure so rare, so coveted, not yet ex
hausted, of welcoming a national work, a new
talent; perhaps a successor toi Verdi, now pass
ing off the stage? A sudden stir in the crowd
made us look round. Mascagni himself, bare
headed, his arms linked with those of two friends,
young like himself, came running down the stair
case, brilhant with light. The three were all
laughing and leaping down the stairs like boys.
And he seemed so happy, he rejoiced in his young
fame with such simplicity, he was so thoroughly
the poet carried away by the rapture of his first
success, that I did as everyone else was doing — ap
plauded him with all my heart. Siena.
Difficult of access is Siena gentile. One must
love her to go in search of her, so slowly and so far,
among hills to which only the accommodation
trains give access. But how she rewards you; how
she makes you forget the route! Ah, the dear
city, who takes your heart forever! I saw her one
evening and one morning. In the morning she
was interesting and beautiful. I visited with con
tinuous and augmented pleasure her many-

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 85
coloured cathedral, her Libreria whose walls are
covered with masterpieces, her museum, her
streets, her great market place, peculiar of form,
designed, says the legend, on the model of the
cloak of an unknown pilgrim who once passed
through the city. From the top of her campanile
she appeared all red, amid the green of her hiUs,
divided into several quarters, of which each one
is a labyrinth, as if the city had been made of huge
sea shells with regular windings laid down side by
side. But by night Siena was marvellous and beautiful.
Anyone who has not seen this city in the moon
light has no idea of the beauty of shadows, and of
their suggestive, dreamy power over the mind.
For. the stones do not say the same by night and
day. By night their colour is effaced, the detaUs of
ornamentation disappear; outlines alone rise clear
in the air, and with them the essential physiognomy
of the past. The mediaeval world is there in all
its life. Figure to yourself one of the dark and
winding lanes that surround an old French cathe
dral; multiply infinitely, on steep slopes of ground,
the unexpected turnings of the streets, the but
tresses flung out into space, the overhanging
chimera-gargoyles, the doorways of dense shadow,
the streaks of blue light, the Uttle bridges thrown
across from one palace to another, the fret-work of
chimneys against the stars, and you will have some
idea of the old Ghibelline city. The people seem

86 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
to have a consciousness that they inhabit a world
of fantasy belonging to the past. They go about
noiselessly. Their shops cast no light upon the
pavement. No noise, no startUng note of modern
life, interrupts the dream of ancient times in which
one moves.
I was accompanied by a young Italian, capti
vated Hke myself by the beauty of the hour and the
place. I had met him in the train from Florence
to Siena. He was very tall, very slender, hatchet-
faced, with soft, expressive eyes; he wore a blue
woollen cap ending in a point at the back, and on
the right side of it was embroidered, in white let
ters, Siena. A student, undoubtedly. I had for a
long time been an auditor of his conversation with
an old Sienese, my neighbour. The old man was
lamenting the lost splendour of the university.
" In my time," he said, " we were twelve hun
dred. What professors we had! They were men
famous in all the sciences. And they Hved among
us; they belonged to our city. To-day, for most
men, to be sent to Siena would be exile."
And the youth replied with deferential courtesy.
He also knew the names of the former professors,
the dates of their deaths, or the chairs that they
now occupied elsewhere. With fifty years be
tween, it was an echo of that tender affection, that
erudite respect which overflowed in the old man's
heart. " How many are you to-day? " I asked.

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 87
" About three hundred," was the reply. " A
hundred in law, and the rest in medicine."
" And you belong  "
" To the law school," he said, touching his cap.
" We have resumed the insignia of the different
schools since the centenary fetes at Bologna. The
law, you see, wears the blue cap; medicine is
red, mathematics green, literature white and
pink." " Why two colours? "
" It was white first. But when the students
entered their class Carducci said to them: 'You
look like cooks.' And they added the pink. Do
you get off at Siena, signor? "
" Yes."
" Permit me to serve as your guide. You arrive
by night. That is the best time to get an impres
sion of our Siena."
And he accompanied me, talking in a low voice,
becoming silent when it was especially beautiful,
indicating by a gesture some palace outline or
turn of street in the moonUght. He told me
that he was from Pistoja; that he had come to the
University of Siena because prices were so low
here, — a room at twenty lire the month, board at
sixty, — while Bologna or Padua involved much
greater expense; that he had a great love for the
old Tuscan city, and for history, and for Dante.
" I am very enthusiastic about Dante," he said.
" I have studied the question whether Dante ever

88 THE ITALIANS OF TODAY.
came to Siena, as some assert on account of the
passage concerning Pietro Vanucci. It has been
maintained that he passed through every city of
which he speaks. But I argue for the negative in
a pamphlet." " And how came you to interest yourself so
much in the poet? "
" When I was very young I read, up there in
Pistoja, among our mountains, those passages of
the Divina Commedia that concern our city; and
from that I went on to study the whole poem. I
love Dante so much that I have collected at home
. — a casa — more than two hundred volumes about
my poet. I have twenty busts and medals which
represent him, and I collect engravings of him,
too. My thesis for the doctors' degree is to be:
' On the Law in the Divina Commedia, and in the
Summa Theologice of St. Thomas.' "
These things he said to me in fragments, as we
wandered -with noiseless footsteps through the
streets with their shadows cut by the bluish
moonlight. When I returned to the Black Eagle, my host
ess, seeing me so delighted with Siena gentile, said :
" What a pity, signor, you should not be here in
August! There is such a beautiful festa, with all
the old costumes of Siena, the heralds, the nobles,
the tradesmen, with banners from all the quarters,
coming out into the square and in procession
through the streets."

PROVINCIAL LIFE. 89
" What is it they celebrate? "
She looked up proudly. " The victory, signor,
gained over the Florentines in the Quattro-Cento."
Oh, long-enduring popular memor}', which we
no longer know!

II,
ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA,
Rome is not a city to be visited. One ought to
Hve there, to see her in her hours of supreme
beauty, to make love to her as one does to a
woman, and have her smile back at you in return,
as a woman does. And these are moments rare
and unexpected, which guides are powerless to
provide; moments whose sweetness captivates the
whole soul.
You are coming back at night from some expe
dition to a distant ruin, very tired of history and
of learned explanations and of all the material
which is intended to excite your imagination — and
often kills it ; you are returning, and it is twilight.
Mists arise from the vast plain, and are rosy in the
sunset. You are walking through a dark street,
and you lift your eyes. In front of you the hill
is all in full light, crossed with high yellow fagades,
a group of palaces — each in itself a stately build
ing; all, as a group, a very masterpiece of fancy;
and here and there a slender black cypress, or the
sheaf of a palm tree. You turn; behind you there
are only bluish shadows, roofs of houses, which are

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 91
nothing but long blue outlines; the pure curve of
many domes against a light sky, the colour of pale
gold, like Byzantine haloes. Oh! then, how one
feels the spell of this unique city; how easy to
understand those painters, or those tired and
dreamy souls who come to Rome for three weeks,
and never go away!
In truth, on seeing Rome anew, I have felt that
I loved her for the first time. But to say why,
and of what elements this love is composed, I am
not able. There is something about it, as about
all loves, that is inexplicable.
I think the welcome the Romans give one may
have something to do with it. They have a natu
ral hospitality, at once familiar and reserved, which
comes of a long habit of receiving. Among the
Roman nobles especially there is a very peculiar
sentiment. Italians of the North or South, Ger
mans, French, Spaniards, Russians, EngHshmen,
are equal in the presence of the graceful, impartial
welcoming of the Roman. Let them come.
Their language, their nature, the character of their
minds will be understood; enough of the contem
porary history of their country will be known to
¦make conversation about their homes possible;
there will be open to them all, with equal courtesy,
drawing rooms which are galleries, and galleries
which are museums; and each stranger will feel
almost as if he were at home in this world through
which all the world passes in its tum. This equal-

92 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
handed welcome conceals, perhaps, an underlying
pride inherited from the ancient masters of the
world; a conviction of superiority which the strifes
of younger peoples, their successes, their con
quests, the vicissitudes of private destinies, the
fate of Rome itself cannot touch and scarcely
interests. It is agreeable, however; and though it
is anything but homage, it flatters as if it were.
Nothing is so astonishing, moreover, as to meet
people whom nothing astonishes. I imagine that
we are, in a degree, to the Romans like caravans,
not now loaded with a tribute of silver, but bring
ing news, ideas, a suggestion of the world's prog
ress. You think you are going to tell them some
thing. But they half kncAV it already, or at least
conjectured it. Preceding caravans had prepared
them. They had seen, before you, other buzzuri of
your nation or of some other, who had brought
them the information. No city being more visited
than their own, they would have an idea of every
thing, if they never travelled. In fact, however,
they do travel, in most cases. They have friends
or relatives in all the great capitals; they have the
journals and the reviews; and they have the gift
of divination, which comes from long experience
of men.I arrive, at about ten o'clock, at the house of
the Princess A. Three drawing rooms en suite,
with no one in them, exquisitely furnished and
hung with fine pictures. In the fourth the

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 93
princess, seated at her work, in dai'k dress, blonde,
beautiful, with a soft, regular beauty — an Italian
of one of those grand, sad types for whom the
Italians might have invented their pretty word
morbidezza. Her husband, reclining on a sofa, is
reading a review. He rises, advances toward me,
presents me, and resumes the conversation, begun
elsewhere, with that ease, that suppleness of mind
and movement that is sO' easy to transmit, so
hard to acquire. We talk on many subjects. He
has ideas upon each, and — which is less usual — he
has read upon each. " You know this German
work? " he says to me; or: " You would do well to
consult the book an Englishman has written about
this — Lord L., a friend of mine; it is very inter
esting." He Is not ignorant concerning the last
play, the last novel, and the last fashion in
Paris. Nor is his wife. I have no doubt they
understand England, Austria, Germany equally
well. She talks but little, but with great good
sense and a sort of careless dignity. A droll word
brings to her lips a smile, very expressive, instantly
vanishing. The lovely blonde head, slightly bent,
remains motionless for the most part, and the re
flection of the lamp does not change its place on
the big carved gold beads of her necklace.
One of the habitues of the house comes in, a per
son from Calabria or elsewhere, a buzzuro. In
their presence he is hopelessly provincial. He
chances to speak of Italy — " this young nation."

94 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Prince A., languid, without Hfting his eyes,
withdrawing and replacing the pin of his scarf,
says: "Yes, very young, with many centuries
upon its shoulders."
This feeling of the glory of ancient Rome is to
be remarked in all classes of society. It seems to
me to greatly take precedence, at least in the heart
of Romans, properly so called, of any pride as to
modern Rome. A man employed in an office said
to me: " It is the greatness of Rome that has
made the malaria sometimes seem important.
The latter is exaggerated on account of the
former," Just now I saw at a street corner two
ragged, bare-footed boys, of whom the elder might
be twelve. Each had in his hand a bit of pointed
stick like a poniard, and was trying to touch the
other. I stopped to watch them, and the duel grew
much more lively in consequence. After a few
minutes, in which the contest hung undecided, the
taller boy cried out : " You shall see that I am a
Roman of Rome! " — Romano di Roma! And he
gave a thrust which tore the other's shirt-sleeve
from shoulder to wrist. Near by, seated in a door
way, an old woman, for whom in her youth lads
may have fought with steel, looked on, laughing
silently. The earlier population of Rome has been
swamped by an invasion of strangers. In 1870 the
city had 226,000 inhabitants; it has now, we are
told, nearly 400,000; whence it follows that, of four

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 95
men one meets in the street, only two, on the aver
age, are Romans. The latter, however, keep their
modes of life and many of their customs. In the
transformed city they still use the Roman patois;
they dwell in the old quarters; they are, like their
ancestors, intelligent, disposed to a labour that has
many intervals of repose; very much incUned to
depend for a liveUhood upon the generosity of the
great, and to consider as Quiritarian rights the
various sinecures of public and private administra
tion; very domestic; apparently a Uttle severe,
but only apparently so, in the government of their
families; somewhat jealous; and extravagantly
fond of little trips into the country, in which
almost nothing is spent. The women stiU wear
the bright-coloured corset outside the dress. The
men of the seignorial domains, the remote tenute,
come on certain days to visit their friends in the
suburbs and obtain suppHes. Butchers, to stretch
apart tbe carcasses of veal and mutton, use green
reeds, often with the leaves still on them. No one
cares very much about the morrow. Everything
is done with diplomatic slowness, col tempo. If,
late in the afternoon, you cross the Piazza Co
lonna, you will find it full of men who are there by
force of immemorial tradition, talking in groups
of the affairs of the city or of their own. The most
important rural enterprises, and the smallest also,
are discussed there, under the walls of the Palazzo
Chigi. Sometimes a big, sunburned fellow, put-

96 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
ting his hand in his pocket, half withdraws it full
of com, which he quickly drops back again, that
the public may not see too plainly what is going
on. A sale of seed has been made. And you can
observe any day, at the same hour and place, that
the old Roman habit of walking in the Corso, that
insignificant, narrow street, remains triumphant,
notwithstanding the via Nazionale and the new
quarters. No, the transformation of Rome is not the act
of the Romans. Never would they have devised
that Piano regolatore, daring even to brutality,
which takes little account of churches and historic
spots. Never would they have reconstructed the
Ponte San Angelo. If they had begun its demoli
tion, and had come upon those mediaeval arches
which Bernini covered in and crowned with
statues, they would have stopped short. And had
they suspected, under the mediaeval work, a third
bridge of the Roman epoch, they would merely
have uncovered a fragment, to have one ruin the
more. At heart they were, and still are, in favour
of respectful streets, that go round the old struc
ture, whatever it is, bowing before it in their
fashion. But they will not protest, and they will
use the new bridge. Among the habits they retain
from their ancient lineage is that of being present
at revolutions, not as indifferent persons, but as
connoisseurs. I have seen at his house the commendatore

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 97
G. M. He was in his study, but received me in a
little room adjacent, a kind of salotto. Why let the
visitor see that one is preparing a report, that one
has bundles of papers, letters, open books, on one's
table? Accordingly, to receive me, he came out
from the sanctuary of his private affairs.
" My dear commendatore," I said to him, " will
you tell me about this failure in building here in
Rome? "
He went to a narrow window looking out
upon a wide landscape, the prati di Castello, the
Vatican, and Monte Mario, and at the right the
beginning of the plain of the Tiber.
" From this distance," he said, " the quarter
you are looking at seems to be built over and in
habited. It does not specially differ in appearance
from parts of the city nearer to us. But really it
is half ruinous and half deserted. On the opposite
side of the city, also, near the railway, on the
Viminal and the Pincio, there are similar ruins.
They cause us great shame, and we Romans shall
never encourage the plan of a world's fair in Rome
until they have disappeared. Should we call the
whole world to look at these new ruins?
" We were too hasty and too extravagant in our
plans. This was the first mistake, and it involved
many others. Ancient Rome cannot be handled
like a modern city. Its ground undermined,
pierced, its structures all of different dates, the
many ancient buildings still in part standing, the

98 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
great irregularities of the surface, the habits of an
ancient people, not to be modified in a day, were
all obstacles which should have been taken into
account. Slowly Rome might have been trans
formed. The idea is no sacrilege, nor is it new.
The French had it in the beginning of the cen
tury. Near the close of the pontifical rule Mon
signor di Merode had begun upon it. He
represented the element of progress, as Cardinal
Antonelli was tradition incarnate. Merode is the
man who stands at the beginning of the great Ro
man works. To him we owe the construction of
the railway station, of the barracks of Macao, and
especially of the via Nazionale, which would have
been much finer had its original plan been fol
lowed. The street was intended to pass the
Quirinal. Thence it was to cross by a viaduct over
Trajan's Fonim, and with a broad sweep come out
into the Piazza di Venezia, at the end of the Corso.
This was an excellent scheme, if it had been car
ried out.
" But Monsignor di Merode had other plans
still more extensive. He had worked at them with
Lamoriciere. He was stiU occupied with them
after the Italians became masters of Rome,
and discussed them with Baron Haussmann, who
took shelter here during the Franco-Prussian war.
Haussmann was much interested. We are told
that one day, summing up his advice, he said,
designating the extreme regions around the rail-

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 99
way station, not at that time built over: ' You
see, monsignor, your Vatican, your museums, your
galleries, are all fine, but they are cold. I would
get your statues out into the open air, and lay out
for them here a sacred Bois de Boulogne.'
" This was not only a jeu d' esprit, but it was wise.
Many Romans think, as I do, that it would have
been politic not to have sought abruptly to dis
place the centre of Rome, but to have stopped,
with some Bois de Boulogne, sacred or secular,
the growth of the city toward these remote
regions, which are too extensive, too difficult to
cover; and to have concentrated all the effort
toward the Prati di Castello, thus making a new
and compact quarter between the Tiber and the
Vatican. " But the time for this has gone by. The via
Nazionale, instead of passing the Quirinal, only
make the access to it easier, and then turned
abruptly, with repeated zigzags and a heavy grade,
to strike the Corso at a right angle. Many im
mense works were projected and undertaken all
at once. After the first years of the Italian occu
pation, when the conquest had been consummated
by the residence of the court at Rome, when the
population was seen to increase with such rapidity,
then came a fever of enterprise: There was the plan
of walling in the Tiber, which has cost more than
150,000,000 [$30,000,000]; there was a determi
nation that new Rome should surpass the old and

100 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
absorb it; that it should be a great modern city
and a stronghold; and at this time came the
famous Piano regolatore, which would render Rome
unrecognizable, and has already made it, at the
cost of sacrifices that I will not enumerate, very
different from what it was.
" The first fault, a fault of plan, was, then, to
propose improvising a capital. Unintentionally,
no doubt, but certainly, speculation was encour
aged, and the general excitement fanned to fever
heat. The Italians had the idea that Rome would
never cease growing. The Eternal City became an
open market for enterprise; and the first new
houses having been very profitable to their build
ers, everybody was eager to build, not merely
capitaUsts, but ' promoters,' men who had noth
ing but the coat they wore and a facility for bor
rowing money. This went so far that we have
seen one of these ' men of the moment,' a tenth-
rate speculator, failing splendidly for 40,000,000!
"Ah! the happy days of madness! From 1883
to 1887 it was all fairyland. The unimproved land
of the new quarters, the gardens with vines and
fruit trees growing together, the precious vigw
so dear to the Romans, were bought at large
prices. Princes cut up their parks and villas,
speculative banks grew like mushrooms under the
shadow of the great national banks. It was
enough to be acquainted with one of the higher
employees to be accepted as a customer. The can-

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. loi
didate for ownersliip in land, penniless, bought his
lot, an area fabbricabilc. He borrowed money to
make his payment, and signed a note for three
months, renewable, which was discounted in Italy,
and, as a rule, was marketable in France. The
bank took a mortgage on the land. The founda
tions of the building were laid. The bank fur
nished a new loan to build the first story, and,
the story being built, took another mortgage; and
so on up to the roof. You may well suppose that
walls went up on all sides!
" So many walls went up that the number of
houses threatened to exceed the number of
tenants. A certain uneasiness began to be
manifested. This increased by reason of rival
ries, actual or feigned, between the National
Bank and the Banca Romana. A rumour
became current that their relations with each
other were not strictly fraternal. But we
should have gotten out of it with proroga
tions and a modest disaster, such as all nations
allow themselves now and then, but for tbe ag
gressive policy of Signor Crispi, which ruined
everything. France grew uneasy. The French
banks hesitated, then became positively unfriendly;
and notes to the value of six or seven millions, no
longer finding credit, fell back upon Rome.
" This was the end. The banks that had been
estabUshed for the occasion, seeing the springs go
dry, refused to lend. The contractors refused,

102 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
very naturally, to reimburse. The masons came
down off the scaffolding, their trowels still full of
mortar. The painters stopped in the midst of a
fillet. The failures of private individuals and of
corporations went off like a series of connected
mines. A panic set in. It was in vain that Signor
Crispi, to avert the crisis, obUged the National
Bank to lend to the threatened institutions the
sum of 50,000,000 [$10,000,000]. The crash
could not be postponed. The loan societies went
into liquidation. In return for the money they
had scattered abroad they recovered only houses,
most of them still unfinished, and the others not
easy to let because a whole army of employees,
contractors, and workmen had left the city. But
the societies, in turn, were largely debtors to the
National Bank. They made over their assets to
their principal creditor, which in this way became
and remains the owner of a very large part of the
new quarters. This is the entire story."
" It is simple, so far as ordinary speculators are
concerned. But how was it that great personages,
who had immense fortunes, were also ruined? "
" You refer to the Roman princes. We do not
need to mention names — everyone knows who
they are. Indeed, it was a most extraordinary
thing, and the more sO' because the Roman patri
ciate, and especially the Neri, lavish no money in
receptions, live simply, and, if they have no debts
of ancient date inherited with the property, are

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 103
examples of those well-preserved fortunes, in no
way impaired, which appear to be secure from any
imprudence. Unfortunately, here the imprudence
was enormous, inconceivable. The person of
whom we both are thinking had a fortune espe
cially in land. If he had been contented with sell
ing this land, he would have grown richer. But he
chose to play the part of a loan society himself.
He borrowed to lend to contractors, and without
even taking mortgages. Not being paid, he re
newed his notes, and allowed interest to accumu
late. After a few years, the few millions that
he had borrowed at first became 30,000,000
[$6,000,000], and the general disaster surprised
him with this enormous debt, his debtors insolvent,
¦without guarantee, and with mortgaged lands de
preciated by the crisis."
" And how was it about the Pope? Is it true
that the Holy See invested funds and lost them in
this affair? "
" Yes, and no. The thing has been exag
gerated, and especially it has been misunder
stood. I believe I know it thoroughly. You must
understand that a Roman prelate, Monsignor
Folchi, administered the finances of the Holy See
with a committee of three cardinals, the latter
ha-ving only an advisory power. By degrees he
abstained from conferring -with this committee;
and, knowing the activity of Leo XIIL, and the
pleasure which he took in doing everything him-

104 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
self as far as possible, Monsignor Folchi limited
himself to taking the advice of the Pope, when he
felt the need of consulting with anyone. Now, at
the time when Rome gave itself up to the specula
tions we have been speaking of, and sought loans
from every quarter, it was represented by differ
ent persons to the Holy Father that, instead of
placing his savings in England, he would do bet
ter and be more patriotic, he would render a great
service to the Romans, in buying shares in some
of these loan associations. Their stock was at
this time perfectly good. Leo XIII. foUowed this
advice. Later, also, when the nobles, engaged in
buying land and building, asked him for loans, the
Pope — following the old and very natural tradi
tion of the Roman pontiffs, to aid the princely
houses — granted them, first taking mortgages,
but after a time relaxing these necessary precau
tions. Monsignor Folchi — and this is the serious
error that is laid to his charge — consented to ac
cept as security the stock of these very companies
which, a few months later, became either partly or
wholly worthless.
" These acts of generosity coupled with impru
dence caused very serious embarrassment to the
Holy See. It was said that the loss amounted to
20,000,000 [$4,000,000]. This might have been
so, had it been necessary to realize at once upon the
assets of the debtors. But a slow liquidation -will
give results much less disastrous. However, you

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 105
win not be surprised to leam that the comnnttee
of cardinals has been re-established, and has now
deliberative authority."
The commendatore had maintained the conver
sation in an easy tone, with a sort of dilettantism,
betraying a certain pleasure, as I thought, in
talking over former times and the persons who had
played a part in them. When he had reached this
point a different expression came into his face; a
little spark shone in his eyes, as he looked at me,
and he said:
" Now go and see for yourself. But do not be
unjust. Remember that, in the beginning, at
least, of this unfinished enterprise, there was an
enthusiasm, a desire to embellish, an illusion,
possibly, as to the future greatness of Rome, which
may serve as excuse for more faults than one; and
that, besides, we Romans have not a monopoly
of these disasters."
Accordingly I went to see; and I confess that
I had been very much prejudiced against the new
quarters by many of my friends who had already
visited there. My first expedition took me, with
many intentional aberrations, from the Pincio to
the Railway Station, thence to Santa Maria
Maggiore, to S. John Lateran, and beyond the
walls. The following are, briefly, my impressions:
This side of the Porta Pinciana, a great many
houses have been built on the grounds of the old
ViUa Ludovici, whose Casino, adomed with

io6 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Guercino's fresco, has been preserved. Prince
Buoncompagni has built himself a new palace
here, surrounded -with gardens, much less in
extent than the others, but still very beauti
ful. Everywhere in this neighbourhood the
broad, regular streets lack those graceful vis
ions of palms and oaks which delight the
eye as one ascends the old Roman hills. These
streets are bordered with large buildings, gener
ally apartment houses, square, of a new whiteness,
or, more frequently, painted in pale yellow. Via
Sardegna, via Ludovici, via Buoncompagni — the
style is the same. It seems as if the same archi
tect, haunted by models of the Renaissance, had
designed them all. And the aspect is that of a
city of yesterday, without monuments, — for the
seven hundred feet of facade of the Ministry of
Finance does not constitute a monument, — which
might be anywhere in Europe, or in America, or
upon the grounds of a Universal Exposition, no
matter where. Certain persons declare themselves
disgusted at this. They have a power of indigna
tion which I do not possess. All these buildings
may be more or less suitably planned. How
does this concern us? We do not Hve in them.
They are out of keeping -with the old quarters.
Were not those old quarters once new themselves,
and themselves out of keeping with earlier build
ings? It seems to me that unless one has per
petually present the idea of Trajan's Column or

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CA.MPAGNA. 107
the Pantheon (which is not Agrippa's!) one may
see -without displeasure these streets full of air and
Hght, if not full of the past. If the architec
ture lacks a little originality, the sloping ground
breaks up monotony. This brings a glimpse of
the sky between one cornice and the next, throws
out the angles, and piles the house-tops one above
another; the good taste of the outlines and of the
proportions is everywhere noticeable, and the
glowing whiteness of the facades has a charming
effect against the blue sky. Moreover, very few
of the houses are closed here; and there are many
open shops. We are in a good part of the new
quarters. From the via Venti-Settembre, opposite the
Ministry of Finance, I catch a first distant gUmpse
of an unfinished building lamentable to see,
desolate-looking, with rough walls blackened
at the summit. In the via Principe Umberto,
which is a very long street parallel to the railway,
there are many houses without window-frames, or
with the sashes, and all the glass broken out ; two
or three are barricaded within; across each bay
are planks crossed and nailed. I make inquiry.
" You may suppose, signor, that so many unoccu
pied apartments tempt people who have none at
all. Some poor feUow opens a door, inspects
the house, finds it to his taste. He brings his
family. They set up housekeeping. Nobody is
on the watch. The neighbours are indulgent.

io8 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Presently a government official happens to pass.
'Oho! a floor is let! We must have the taxes
paid ! ' A tax biU is sent promptly to the owner,
which in two cases out of four means to the
National Bank. There is much surprise at these
unknown tenants; the matter is investigated;
the carabineers do their duty; after which the
windows and doors are all nailed up. This is the
explanation of the boards at door and window."
As we go on in the direction of S. John Lateran,
the blocks of houses are large and imposing as
ever, but the population is poorer and more
crowded; and evident signs reveal hasty and cheap
building. On the Piazza Vittorio-Emanuele, a
row of enormous columns in imitation of marble,
making a portico and supporting five or six
stories, show the simple brickwork of which they
are made. Here and there the stucco has fallen
off; bands of iron surround the top of the columns;
it is decoration in ruins. And the same spectacle
is on all sides. The same Renaissance palace, more
simple but not less vast, now occupied, now vacant,
pursues us to the very extremity of the city, to
the Basilica omnium urbis et orbis ecclesiarum mater
et caput. There stands the same palace, isolated in
the midst of unsold or empty ground. A crowd
pf tenants people the rooms. Rags are hung out
to dry from all the windows, and these garlands
of poverty flutter in the breeze.
Happily, from the steps of S. John, there is also

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 109
in sight the Roman Campagna. It was, espe
cially one moming when I strayed thither, of a
harmony of light that no words can render. There
were no trees, no objects to mark the foreground
or the middle distance; there were only the beau
tiful outUnes of the plain itself, rising in low hil
locks, of a green which became light yellow as it
was more remote, and finally melted into the azure
tints of the mountains on the horizon, which were
crowned with a fringe of dazzling snow. Above,
a sky ever}'where very pure, silvery at first behind
the snows, then of a faint blue which seemed to
gUtter with white specks, and very different from
that strong colour that the popular imagination
lends to the Italian sky.
I remained so long on the platform above the
steps of S. John's, that I caught a malady from
which I have not yet recovered. It was not a
Roman fever; it was a love of the Roman
Campagna, which strangers too rarely visit. It
came to me only by degrees. First it led me to
visit the suburbs just outside the gates, and gave
me opportunity to complete the investigation I
had been making within. For, if you wish to un
derstand the full extent of the city's disaster, there
is something more to be seen than the quarter I
have described and the prati di Castello, abound
ing in even larger buildings and more lamen
table wrecks. Go out by the Porta Salaria and
follow the road for a few hundred feet. Then you

no THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
may judge what was this madness of speculation:
in every direction abandoned tenement-houses,
some just above the ground, others built up one
story, or two, or three. Staircases go up in the
air in half-demolished turrets; the rain falls di
rectly in upon ceilings, crumbles the plaster, runs
in yellow and black streaks down the walls. The
streets of this dead city have only names and grass.
There is not a trace of a roadway. Sometimes a
ground floor is occupied by a poor family; the rest
of the house decays slowly, and it is not even
worth while tO' keep a notice on it, " To be let,"
for there is no possibility of any tenant appearing.
I enter a porch at least fifteen feet high, in front
of which three boys are playing at morra. This is a
blacksmith's shop. Some neighbour, embarrassed
by his cart, has lodged it in the back of this shop,
the shafts in air. Proceeding further, I find a
charming little dwelling house (which, for a rarity,
is let), built on the edge of the immense Agro, and
observe the following details, showing the pro
digious force of illusion at certain moments: the
passageway into the house is painted in fresco, the
walls are covered with landscapes and chubby
cupids, a lion of carved stone on a base at the foot
of the stairs looks at the poor little housekeeper
of one of the tenants who has entered just before
me and goes up, a bundle of linen under her arm.
This house is let to tenants of the very poorest
class.

ROMAN HOUSES AND THE CAMPAGNA. m
Will all this ever recover itself? Will the branch
of green laurel ever adorn the summit of com
pleted buildings here? Perhaps, with time, in cer
tain other quarters ; but never here. To occupy all
the empty buildings in Rome would demand noth
ing less than the army of fifty thousand labourers,
contractors, mechanics, and speculators whom the
crash put to flight, and whom nothing has as yet
recalled. But it is not ruins only, ancient or modern, that
one meets in going about in the neighbourhood of
Rome. In my earliest walks, without getting far
away from the city, I found two other things
worthy of attention: the new fortifications, and
the carts which bring in wine from the vineyards
of the Castelli Romani.
The carters are a noblesse, for their arms were
designed by Rafaelle, I mean their cart and their
sofHetto. The cart is long and narrow, well-shaped. This
is bought, ready-made. But the soffietto must be
found. Every self-respecting carter must go into
the woods, often into the thickets of San Spirito,
which seem to be in a sense common property, —
being the desert itself, and a perfect specimen of
neglect, — and there search high and low, until he
finds a tree of hard wood, having five or six
branches starting from the same point, a tree
shaped Uke a hand. When this excellent piece of
timber is discovered, the carter cuts it down; the

112 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
next thing is to hew the lower end into a point;
after which he sticks it firmly into the left side of
his cart, in front of the wheel.
Then, there must be the aid of a specialist, who
stretches over the five extended fingers a hood of
white material on movable hoops, adorned with
festoons of wool, blue, red, green, yellow, accord
ing to taste, and multicoloured tufts and fringes.
Thus the driver is sheltered, both from noonday
sun and from the heavy dews of morning. But
the equipage is not yet complete; oh, no! there are
yet two things of great importance. What would
the Roman carter be, I ask you, without his
twenty-four little bells, selected one by one, com
bined to give fine fourths and thirds, and hung
in a semicircle around the soffietto? How could
he sleep, or how traverse the road, without music?
Would the Roman people recognize their friend
and servant, him whom the centuries have accus
tomed to identify his occupation with the sound
of bells? Twenty-four bells, then, there must be;
not one less. And the last thing is to hang, under
the bar of the axle-trees, a small, empty cask, the
bigoncio, whose swaying back and forth will be in
harmony with the music overhead. The cask is
needed in case one of the barrels, lying in a line
along the cart, should leak on the way. But
generally it hangs, useless, knocking from side to
side with a dull sound, adding its share to the bass.
Nor is the cask chosen by accident; these artis-

ROMAN HOUSES, AND 7 HE CAMPAGNA. II3
tic carters know well the trouble it is to get
a cask ben accordato!
Pure poetry, you see. Could there be a city
official who would persecute it? Such, alas! there
has been. The carters have an enemy, or, rather,
their chime of bells has one. His name might
perhaps be found, if careful search were made, on
the Hsts of the Senate. This man, hostile to old
customs, was, some years ago, a police deputy.
Did he live in a street traversed by the wine-carri
ers? He absolutely prohibited the campanelle,
under pretext that they made a noise! You may
imagine the excitement in the corporation. It
was equal to breaking it up. The carriers held a
meeting. They brought all their resources to
bear. Some men of high position and courage un
dertook the defence of the soffietto, and brought
the matter before the municipal council of Rome.
First, the cmel deputy would hear nothing.
Then, accepting good»advice, he granted eighteen
little bells.
This was very Uttle. It was, in fact, too Httle.
Accordingly the carters, diplomatic after their
fashion, in the Roman way, which is made up of
patience and a feeling of the fragility of things,
added, from time to time, o,ne illegal bell to their
chimes. Some have nineteen; some have twenty.
Do not speak of it, I beg you, to your Italian
friends, but I think that, in one case, I counted
twenty-four!

114 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
The fortifications inspire interest of another
kind, and most respectful. I have always kept at
a distance from them, having no permission, and
seeking none, to make any close inspection. I
therefore know only what any person may see and
hear. Now, it is enough to go outside the streets of
the city to become aware that Rome, at this day,
is an intrenched camp. The plan was determined
on in the very first years of the Italian occupation,
but the works were only begun in 1877.
The fortifications are of two kinds — on the west,
a wall; and, entirely surrounding the city, a circle
of forts and batteries, distant from two and a
half to four miles from the Piazza Colonna.
The mere inspection of a map explains this scheme
of defence. Rome is, in fact, more exposed on
the west, the side toward the sea. Not only be
cause a landing of troops might be made, but on
account of the nature of the ground — uneven,
wooded, impossible toi be commanded by batteries.
The six forts on the right of the Tiber (Trionfale,
Casal Braschi, Boccea, Aurelia antica, Bravetta,
Portuense) are, therefore, to be supported in the
rear by a fortification, as yet incomplete, which
begins on the north, near Monte Mario, surrounds,
at a little distance out, the Vatican and the Tras-
tevere, and comes out at the river just below the
city. Some idea of the work can be obtained by
walking over Monte Mario. I have greatly ad-

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 1 15
mired the depth of the moat and the beautiful
travertine of its two sides.
On the left bank, the open and more even
ground gives every opportunity for a cross-fire of
artillery. The Italian engineers, employing for
the most part convict labor, have built here eight
forts about a mile apart ; three supplementary bat
teries, on the via Nomentana, on the northeast;
and two on the southeast, commanding the via
Appia and the via Tuscolana. All this, it ap
pears, is in the latest miUtary style — casemates
everywhere, large enough to shelter at each point
two battalions, telegraph, telephone, weUs, store
houses of provisions. When the communications
are entirely completed — which, doubtless, -will
soon be the case — Rome will have a complete and
formidable system of fortifications.
These walks in the new quarters, then in the
suburbs, then further out, in the wake of the Ro
man carters, have led me to love the Campagna di
Roma more and more, to study the question of
the Agro, and to become enthusiastic about it.
For a question of the Agro there is, at once one
of the most ancient and one of the most urgently
modern questions which can concern a Roman,
and interest a foreigner.
I ought at first to say what the Agro romano is.
I did not really know, myself, and perhaps some
other people are as ignorant on this point of geog
raphy as I was. In the narrowest and most exact

Il6 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
definition of the word it is that wide, high plateau,
averaging from a hundred to a hundred and thirty
feet above the level of the sea, which surrounds
the city, describing a sort of triangle. The long
est side, about fifty-six miles, extends along the
Mediterranean, from Santa Severa on the north,
to Astura, near Anzio. The second side of the
triangle extends from Santa Severa to the foot of
the Apennines and the river Anio. The third goes
to the sea again, leaving the Alban Hills at the
left. Thus outlined, this territory nearly corre
sponds to that of the Roman commune, the largest
in all Italy, containing 842 square miles. In
the midst of this immense and almost uninhabited
territory, without the smallest rival city near her,
lies Rome — " Alone like a lion," say the Italians.^
Nothing is more rash than to venture statistics
as to the Agro. Men and animals are migratory
here. However, the agricultural societies assert
that the Agro supports about 6000 oxen and bulls,
18,000 cows, 7000 horses and mares, 12,000 goats,
and 320,000 sheep. The cattle remain all the year
round on the Campagna, but in the spring the
sheep go up to the high mountain pasturages,
returning in the autumn. They constitute the
principal wealth of the domains, and form flocks
generally of several thousand head. Their fresh
' See Monografia della citict di Roma e della Campagna romana,
published by the Department of Agriculture, -Vol. I. A study of the
topographical and physical conditions of Rome and the Campagna.

/

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. n?
cheese, the ficotta, is a Roman dainty; their hard
cheese, formaggio pecorino, recalls the absent home
to sailors of both services.
The personnel in charge of the flocks and herds
is not large. But it is extremely interesting, from
its manners and customs, and from its traditional
hierarchy. You have perhaps met in the remoter
quarters of the city, or even at a very early
hour, in the Corso, a sturdy horseman, sunburned,
wearing a big, soft hat, his shoulders covered -with
a black cloak lined with green, very .aaple fall
ing to his ankle, carrying in his hand an iron-shod
wooden lance. This is the buttero of the Cam
pagna, the guardian of horses or cows, the wan
derer who passes his life in pursuit of stray
animals, superintends their changes of pasture and
the use made of their milk. He is as good a
rider as Buffalo Bill's cowboys, with whom he con
tended at Rome in a memorable tourney, when the
colonel himself, admiring his rivals, pronounced
their eulogy in words like these : " Not quite so
agile, equally solid, the same courage, a thorough
knowledge of their business, with intervals of terri
ble sprees; your Roman butteri are cowboys," All
these men have horses in plenty at their disposal.
They have their titles, probably of more ancient
date than those of count or baron. The chief
herdsman is the massaro; the chief shepherd, the
vergaro. They have under their orders about the
same number of men on all the great domains.

Ii8 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Thus, for the service of a masseria of four thou
sand sheep, from twenty-six to thirty men are re
quired. The minarente, in charge of the buffaloes,
and his subordinate, the vece, have each twenty
herdsmen. The buffaloes of the Campagna! It has long
been one of my dreams to see these animals close
by, not from the railway, or as they pass, yoked
and dull, in a Roman street, dragging a load too
heavy for oxen, but to see them at liberty in the
pastures of the Agro. This dream I have at last
reaHzed, and later I wiU explain how. The mat
ter constantly grows more difficult. They have
much decreased in number on the Roman Cam
pagna. Twenty years ago there were five or six
thousand, and it is said that now there are not
more than two thousand. And yet these strange
animals render service that cannot be obtained
from their kindred races. I speak not only of the
white buffalo cheese, uova di bufale, which is
greatly valued, nor of their hauUng of stone — ^it
was with buffalo teams that the colossal foun
dation-stones of the Victor Emanuel monument
were brought to Rome — ^but they have another
specialty, which makes them very useful in a region
of marshy ground. They go down into the muddy
swamps of the Pontine Marshes and browse the
water-plants that the slow current suffers to
become abundant; then, when all the herd are col
lected in the narrow ditches, the keepers, on horse-

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 119
back, riding along above, prick the rear animals,
scare the others, and so they all are driven, fright
ened and galloping, down to the sea, destroying,
as they go, whatever remains of the parasitic
plants. It is not the case, as has often been supposed,
that the Roman Campagna is entirely given up
to pasture land. Everywhere it is more or less
cultivated. In each one of these tenute (holdings),
many of which contain from twelve hundred to five
thousand acres,^ a small section, recognized as
suitable for agriculture, is sown with corn or oats.
The ground is not enriched. Besides the thickets,
the marshes, and the permanent pasturages, there
are pasture lands subjected to the rotazione agraria.
In some cases these are ploughed up every four
years; they give their harvest and then lie fallow:
in others their productive capacity is used to the
very utmost ; they are sown twice, three times, four
times, then left to rest for an equal period. Which
ever way, nature gets her rights. The grass grows
again, and with it the poetry of the fields in the
spring. Nowhere so abundantly as here will you
find the asphodel, narcissus, centaurea, thistles of
many kinds, and, in the low ground, orchids, the
ranunculus, flowering rushes, and the yellow iris.
' According to the extremely interesting and learned study recently
published by Signor Valenti in the Giornale degli Economisli of Febru
ary and March, 1893, the Campagna contains 388 farms, belonging
to 200 owners only ; 312 tenute are of less than 250 acres ; the largest
territory in one ownership is 18,300 acres.

120 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Besides shepherds, then, there must be farm
labourers and harvesters. The Agro has them
not, having no villages. They are summoned,
when needed, and come in bands from the Sabine
Mountains, from the Abruzzi, from Romagna, un
der the charge of a leader, the caporale, who has
engaged them, and on his part negotiates -with the
steward of the seignorial domain. They come to
plough and break up the ground and to sow it,
and are paid a lira, or one and a half (twenty cents
or thirty) a day, finding their own food; they are
very badly lodged, and, after a month, they go.
Another band of these vagabond labourers arrives
for the harvest, in June. But this is summer, the
dangerous season. Then must be reaped and
stored the harvest of many hundreds of acres, as
rapidly as possible, not to remain too long in con
tact with the overheated soil. The men work in
squads of three reapers and a binder. They work
eleven days, and not one day over. If the harvest
is not aU in, a new set finishes it. They receive
twenty-five lire (five dollars) for the four, and for
the whole eleven days; besides this, about two
pounds of bread, daily, a pint and three-quarters
(a litre) of wine, cheese, and some very poor kinds
of meat. After the eleventh day every man is
gone, and unless it happens that other squads, re
quired to finish the harvest, prolong for a week or
two the intense Hfe of this part of the Agro, the
tenuta remains almost deserted. The sheep and

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 121
their shepherds have gone up to the high pas
turages of the Sabina. There remain only the
herdsmen, very few in number, all men of great
physical endurance, and doubtless more or less
acclimated. And the Campagna — burned, torrid,
buzzing with the flight of the countless insects
that tease the cattle — remains empty and deso
late until the end of August, protected against the
return of men by its formidable and ancient mis
tress and queen, the fever.
Volumes have been written in Italy upon this
question of malaria. It is the object of incessant
study on the part of medical celebrities and of dis
cussions perpetually renewed. It offers a thou
sand points of controversy. It comes up, not
only as to the Roman Campagna, but also as to
a great number of Italian localities, some of which
are famous. According to a health map of Italy,
published by the central bureau of the Senate, 6
provinces only, out of 69, are completely exempt
from this evil; or, to give figures more definite and
exact, 2677 towns out of 8257.^
So far as the city of Rome is concerned, the in-
salubriousness of the air, in the time of extreme
heat, has certainly been exaggerated. Even in
the months of July, August, and September, cases
of fever among the inhabitants are extremely rare.
The number becomes larger, and gives support to
' See the interesting study of a young Italian professor, Signor
Nitti, la Legislation sociale en Italie, Revue d" konomie politique, 1892.

122 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
the popular prejudice on this subject, only when
those patients are included who have contracted
fever elsewhere, and are brought into the Hospital
of San Spirito for treatment.^
This is now settled, and it is well that it is so.
Unfortunately the bad name of the Agro is not
undeserved; the whole Campagna, however, is
not equally unwholesome. Its character in this re
spect varies in different years and in different lo
calities. The low ground near the sea, abounding
in swamps, is most dangerous. The sea itself, along
the shore, presents equal danger, and the saying is
that the man who sleeps on a boat anchored within
half a mile of land, will wake with a malarial at
tack. However, the inland region as far as the
foot of the mountains is also more or less threat
ened in its whole extent, and late statistics give
this alarming average: in the Campagna on the
right of the Tiber, twenty-three cases anually to
the hundred inhabitants; and on the left, thirty-
three.^ Here we have, not the sole obstacle, but
one of the most serious hindrances to cultivation,
the cause of that depopulation of the Agro which
has been a constant anxiety to all the successive
governments of Rome,
For how long a time has this situation existed?
' See Monografia della Citta di Roma e della Campagna romana.
Article by Signor Guido Baccelli. Vol. I., la Malaria di Roma.
^ Relazione monografica della zona soggetta alle legge sulla bonifica-
zione agraria Roma, tip. nazionale di Bertera, 1892.

ROMAN HOUSES, A. YD THE CAMPAGNA. 123
This question I have put again and again to many
competent persons, and I have been much pleased
at the Latin emdition they have exhibited. In a
city street or walking over the fields, without
book or notes, they quote me, from memoiy, au
thors of every date. But they do not agree with
one another: " Signor," says one, with that vi
vacity of manner which the question of malaria al
ways calls forth, " the Agro was not formerly such
as you see it now. Innumerable villas covered it,
whose ruins are visible to this day. It was inhab
ited. It must have been healthful. Of this,
writers give us innumerable proofs. Cicero, In
Verrem, speaks of the admirable fertility of Tus
culum, the Alban Hills and Civita-Lavinia.
Strabo in his Geography, Pliny in his Natural His
tory, praise the orchards of Tibur. Livy is en
thusiastic in his eulogy of the river banks. All
the way to Corneto and Castro, every place has
its commendation in pages of the classic authors.
You must understand it is the Barbarians, the
nazioni boreali, who have caused all th'is evil."
On another day I talk with a great landowner
of the Campagna, — he, also, a classic scholar, —
who answers me thus: " The Barbarians? Doubt
less they ravaged the Agro. But they destroyed
only what there was to destroy. The ruins which
remain to us — and they are not numerous — are
those of palaces, with mosaic pavements and fres
coed walls. Where are the villages and farm

124 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
houses? We find no trace of them. The Cam
pagna has never been inhabited like the rest of
Italy. The owners came for three months in the
early season ; patricians and freedmen, they all went
away later; nobody remained but slaves. There
was always fever. It cannot be doubted. Why
else these many votive inscriptions : ' To the God
dess Fever,' ' To the Sacred Fever,' ' To the
Great Fever ' {febri diva, febri sanctce, febri
magn(B)? And how frequent the allusions to
pestilences desolating the Agro! These v/ere, no
doubt, all malarial diseases, aggravated by occa
sional extremes of heat. Nothing has changed;
the steady Hne of tradition proves this."
It is plain to see that the first of these two men
was a partisan of agrarian reforms, and the second
was not. Their reference to classic authors was
in the service of present interests. And I re
turned to the present, following their exan\ple.
Nor is it enough that malarial patients be care
fully nursed. Medical science concerns itself with
them. It experiments with all sorts of remedies.
Besides quinine, the most efficient of all, yet ac
cepted reluctantly, and in certain quarters much
opposed by popular prejudice, the doctors employ
arsenic, and recommend a fortifying diet. Ac
cording tO' the rather ironical Tuscan saying: "La
cura della malaria sta nella pentola "; and they
recommend even certain domestic remedies, whose
efficiency they consider remarkable; this one, for

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 125
example, whose recipe has a deep flavour: " Take a
fresh lemon, cut it in thin sUces, keeping the rind;
boil it with three glasses of water in an earthen
saucepan which has never been used for other
purposes. When it has boiled away one-third,
strain the liquid, squeezing out the residue, and
leave it to cool overnight." Science has not, as
yet, explained why this liquid has need of a whole
night's rest in order to become of sovereign effi
cacy. But so it declares, following the ignorant
generations who have handed the secret down.
The most obstinate fevers are often conquered by
this lemon consomme, which, in the absence of
other soups, even a very poor Italian can obtain.^
But the true remedy Hes in the sanitary im
provement of the Agro. With all the discussion
that still goes on as to the malarial principle and
the manner of its propagation, there seems to be
no doubt that it is produced by a damp soil, and
developed as soon as the heat reaches 68° F.
Now, the whole Roman Campagna is damp.
Springs abound. Canevari, the engineer, counted
ten thousand of them. Usually they have no out
let, and they cannot be absorbed by the earth any
more than can the rainfall; for, under the arable
soil, which varies in depth, the Agro has its natural
pavement of ancient lava, impervious to moisture.
Hence, as many swamps as there are springs, often
' See Annali di Agricoltura, 1884, second report Sulla preserva-
zione delV uomo nei paesi di malaria, by Professor Tommaso Crudeli.

126 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
invisible; and the great marshes of Ostia and Mac-
carese, of many thousand acres in extent, whose
exhalations are carried on the sea-breezes as far
as the foot of the mountains,^
To improve the condition of the Agro! It is
not a matter of yesterday, this proposition of dry
ing up the marshes, draining the low ground, colo
nizing the great plateau, subjecting to thorough
cultivation this soil (which becomes less dangerous
to the labourer, it is said, when ploughed up every
year), planting tall-growing trees, which drink up
the moisture -with their roots and let the wind
pass under their branches — the elm, the pine, the
laurel, the eucalyptus. All through the centuries
this has been the plan. And it seems that all these
means have been employed, one after another, with
the same lack of success. The Romans, the Papal
Government, the French during their occupation,
the ItaUans since they have taken possession of
Rome, have striven in turn against this scourge.
There were not less than seventy-five statutes on
this question before those of 1878 and 1883, which
are at present in force.
Many of these are curious. A first thing to be
observed is that the Popes very early perceived
and declared that the latifundia — the fact that
• Other theories, very different, have been set forth, notably one by
Signor Tommaso Crudeli. I accept, without feeling qualified to ap
prove or disprove, the explanation which guided the authors of the
laws of 1878 and 1883.

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 127
such extensive tracts are in single ownerships —
formed one of the great obstacles to improvement,
while, at the same time, they always refused,
not-withstanding the complaints of the people and
the selfishness and inertia of the barons, to touch
any property rights and make an agrarian law.
As Pius VII. well said, a law of division " would
be not only an act of illegality and of great
injustice, but it would be more injurious than the
continued toleration of ownerships too extensive
and too few in number." The Popes were Umited,
therefore, to indirect methods. Sixtus IV., re
newing earlier decrees, permitted to all and singu
lar to cultivate a third of any waste land, to
whomsoever it belonged, monastery, chapter,
noble, public or private owner, on the sole condi
tion of notifying the owner and paying a royalty.
The Campagna recovered life, and during many
years great tracts were under cultivation. But
almost immediately upon the Pontiff's death the
proprietors began to relieve themselves from this
temporary expropriatiouL They forbade the trans
port of grain harvested upon the land, and bought
it themselves at a price far below its value. JuHus
II. threatened to excommunicate them. Clement
VIII. maintained the edict of Sixtus, and fixed
the amount of the royalties to be paid to the
owners. Pius VL, who drained part of the Pontine
marshes, undertook a new survey of the Agro.

128 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Pius VII., changing the method, laid a special tax
on all arable land situated within a radius of a mUe
from Rome that should be left fallow, and gave
a bonus to every owner who, in the same zone,
should have planted his ground or destined it to
regular cultivation.^
Neither these measures, nor any other efforts
made, having brought a lasting transformation,
Pius IX. made an effort to induce the owners to
replant the Agro with trees. He deposited ten
thousand crowns^ for the use of his Departmenf
of Agriculture. Every owner or farmer should re
ceive twenty crowns for every hundred pine treesi
set out, fifteen crowns for every hundred olive,
lemon, or orange trees, and ten crowns for every
hundred elms or chestnuts. As a result of this
law, more than a million trees were set out.
But what are a million trees in the vast Cam
pagna? The same Pope took another initiative,
truly bold and most interesting. It was his de
sire to enfranchise tbe Agro fro^m the intolerable
liabilities that lay upon it. A multitude of rights,
whose origin it was usually impossible to explain
— rights of way, of watering, of gleanage, and of
pasturage in the fields and woods — restricted, in
the interest of the community, the right of the
owner, and barred the way to all progress.
For instance, we read, in very learned reports,
' See Rapes et paysans, by G. Ardent, Paris, Gaunu, iSgi.
' A crown (Aw) is about 60 cents.

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 129
addressed to a congregation of cardinals,' that
three-fifths of the territory of Nepi is subject to a
right of pasturage; that at Viterbo, out of twenty
thousand rubbia of ground, twelve thousand are
thus burdened. The communes have a right to
the grass. They diA-ide into three parts these im
mense pasturages, which nominally belong to the
private owners. One is occupied by the working
cattle; the second produces hay, which is sold at
auction for the benefit of the commune; in the
third anyone may pasture his herds or flocks on
payment of rent — to the commune, of course!
The unfortunate owner gets what return he can
from pieces of ground under cultivation, and these
even he cannot increase, lest it should be to the
detriment of the community. Accordingly pontif
ical edicts, at first made for special cases, but later
changed into a general law, permitted the owners
to free themselves by paymentf, either in money
or in kind, from the burdens of pasturage. And,
as a result of this law, the territory of the Agro
was almost liberated.
No sooner had the ItaUan Government taken
possession of Rome, than it was obliged to deal
with the same question. Public opinion demanded
this. Many partisans of the new order asserted,
' I papi e V agricoltura nei domini della S. Sede, by Signor Milella ;
Roma, Pallotta, 1880. The Riflessioni sulV agro romano, at the end
of the volume, are a remarkable dissertation, written with much
ability and Roman spirit.

130 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
in Speech and writing, — but, as I believe, unjustly,
— that the Popes had done almost nothing for the
Campagna. From the new regime was expected
that which the old had not suppHed. A commis
sion was appointed as early as 1870 to prepare a
general scheme for the improvement of the Agro
romano. Around it a crowd of interests and pas
sions were at work. Each man proposed his
particular panacea. The most extraordinaiy sug
gestions were offered — as, for instance, that the
creation of four large villages, of a thousand in
habitants each, should be decreed; or that a negro
population should be colonized to cultivate the
Campagna. The commission calmly pursued its
work, under the direction of a man of great worth,
Signor Ubaldino Peruzzi, an ex-syndic of Flor
ence; and the results from this prolonged investi
gation, discussed anid modified in the Chambers,
became finally two laws — those of December 11,
1878, and of July 8, 1883.
The first of these laws is in relation to the boni-
ficamento idratdico. It decreed first, at the ex
pense of the state, great works of drainage of the
marshes of Ostia and Maccarese, of the Isola
Sacra, near Ostia, the valley of the Almo, and the
Lago de' Tartari, on the road to Tivoli. It then
committed to eighty-nine obligatory syndicates of
proprietors — consorzi — the duty of laying out a
system of water channels, of surrounding all the
cultivated land with ditches, and of providing for

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 131
the escape of all stagnant water. Has this law
been obeyed, and have its results been satisfac
tory? We reply in the affirmative. Companies
have contracted for all the required engineering
work, and have begun upon it. That the whole
task is not yet completed, especially at Ostia and
Maccarese, and that it has swallowed up already
more than the 5,000,000 [$1,000,000] estimated
and originally voted, are surprises not uncommon
when land and water are attacked. The owners,
on their part, have executed, at least in most re
gions, the work required of them under the first
head — that is to say, canalization. They have
still to divide and drain their fields, and to fill in
ponds and swamps. But this can all be easily done
and promptly, if the Government is persistent.
Can we say the same of the law of July 8, 1883,
which is far more important, and aims at nothing
less than a complete transformation of the Agro
romano? This is a most ambitious design. Within
six months from the date of the law the owners of
all lands within a radius of ten kilometres [6^ miles]
from the mile-stone of the Forum — whence its
popular name, " The Law of the Ten Kilometres "
— were required to lay before a special commis
sion the improvements they proposed to make;
to declare the extent of land that would hence
forth be regularly kept under cultivation, how
much they would plant in trees and how much in
vines, what roads and ditches they proposed to

132 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
make, and a plan of the houses, barns, and stables
they designed to build.
On failure to do this, or on failure to execute
the works agreed upon, the land would be seized
by the state, first paying an indemnity to the
owner; and it would then be sold piecemeal at
auction, the new proprietors being required to
fulfil the obligations which the former owner had
neglected. The feeling caused by tbe promulgation of
this law was great. The severe provisions which
I have just mentioned affected not less than
118 domains, in all more than 50,000 acres.
Their application would involve an expense of
over 3,000,000 Hre [$600,000] by the owners
of the land — that is to say, averaging, according
to the estimate of the commission, 144 Hre to the
hectare [$11.25 to the acre] on the right bank of
the Tiber, and 201 [$15.75] o" the left. It was
said, also, that these estimates were too low.
Such a measure could not be welcome. Nor
was it. At the end of six months two owners had
positively refused to have anything to say to the
commission; twenty-five had accepted the terms;
and the majority had made no reply at all, which
is extremely Italian. But the administration was
Italian also; it took its time, and gave time to the
other side, not brutally going to the extent per
mitted by the law; and a long struggle began be
tween the authorities, -wishing to reform abuses.

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 133
and the persons interested, striving by all methods
to maintain the position unchanged.
I hasten to come to the present situation. Since
1883 how much has been gained? The following
is the sum of the results: at the end of 1891 one
landowner had fully obeyed the law of the bonefica,
Cavaliere Bertone, a Piedmontese, who had bought
the Campanelle, a domain of 247 acres, almost
entirely outside of the ten-kilometre belt, and,
nevertheless, caused important works to be ex
ecuted there. Next on the list are ten tenute, rep
resenting 4446 acres, which are very nearly in the
required condition: Caffarella and Capo di Bove,
the property of Prince Torlonia; Tor di Quinto,
that of Prince Borghese; Tor Sapienza, that of
Prince Lancelotti; Tre Fontane, belonging to the
Trappist Fathers; Tor Marancio, to Conte di
Merode; Quadrato, to the charitable society Pichi
Lunati; Ponte di Nona, to Cavaliere Bertone;
Marranella, to Signor Giuseppe Anconi; Valca
and Valchetta, to the brothers Piacentini; and
Torre nuova, to Prince Don Paolo Borghese.
In sixteen other domains the administration
mentions partial improvements, and in twenty
others insignificant ones. Finally, sixty-seven do
mains, comprising 27,170 acres, had not as yet felt
the slightest effect from the law of 1883.^
And there seems to have been no further change
since these documents, published in the year
1892. I made inquiry, and learned only this fact,
' Agro romano, Relazione monografica, etc.

134 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
that the purchaser of one of the two domains
which had been confiscated in virtue of the law,
had renounced his purchase and restored the land
to the state, which had sold it to him, not being
able, he said, to carry out the programme of the
too expensive improvements imposed by the
specifications. To conclude, it had often been asserted by the
promoters of reform that the use of the pure
mountain water which is brought to Rome by the
aqueducts would be of great service in reducing
the number of malarial cases on the Campagna.
Most praiseworthy efforts have been made in this
direction. The commune placed at the disposal
of proprietors on the left bank of the Tiber 70,633
cubic feet of the Acqua Marcia. Twenty-two
miles of pipe were laid, and eleven centres of dis
tribution established — near S. Agnese fuori, at Tor
di Schiavi on the via Prenestina, at the Osteria
dei Spiriti, on the via Appia nuova, at Capo di
Bove, etc. Experience demonstrates that, wher
ever the Marcian water is used instead of water
from the wells., the chances of immunity are in
creased. Nevertheless, out of the 70,633 cubic
feet offered to those concerned, there were pur
chasers for only 10,600.
The results, therefore, are not absolutely noth
ing, as has been assei-ted; but they are still very
small. The laws concerning this improvement of
the Campagna have not effected the rapid trans-

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 135
fomiation which was expected. Where, then, is
the fault? Does it lie with the owners, with the
farmers, or in the laws themselves? Is there any
possibihty of improving these laws? Or wiU it
be enough to continue endeavouring to enforce
them? And is it not too hasty a judgment by
which, thus early, we seek to decide upon a series
of measures designed to change things that are
almost immutable — rural traditions and popular
prejudices? I have put these questions to several persons,
and I have received the clearest and the most con
tradictory replies. In seeking to group them, it
has seemed to me that these answers can be re
duced to three: the reply of the Mercante di Cam
pagna, that of the great landowner, and a third,
more difficult to define, which is the opinion of
some proprietors, of many men in public life, of
many socialists whose opinion has a revolution
ary tone, and of many peaceable citizens of hum
ble station, who see the affairs of the Roman
Campagna close at hand and have a perfectly clear
idea of the progress needed, without having the
leisure or the mental capacity to decide upon the
means toward it. The following are the three
forms of opinion which have been expressed to
me, each one ten times at least.
The Mercante di Campagna: " The law of 1883
is an absurd law, signor. Who are the men that
have imposed it upon us? They are Tuscans,

136 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Lombards, Piedmontese, and men from Southem
Italy — persons in no way competent to judge,
accustomed to see a certain system of agriculture,
and thinking it the easiest thing in the world to
make it applicable to the Roman Campagna by
mere decree. Their regular cultivation is like
vaccination — ^everybody must take it. Unfortu
nately, they are totally ignorant of the special
conditions made for us by the climate and by the
nature of the soil. They wish to plant vineyards?
But the vine requires assiduous care. For three
months the Campagna is uninhabitable; and there
is nothing which our experience has made clearer
than the fact that, during that time, the grape
dries up and the vine perishes. They again require
us to break up the natural soil and sow com and
oats. What happens? It is a fact that very often
the layer of earth is so thin that nothing but grass
can grow on it ; if you break it up, the least shower
washes it away, the rock is exposed; you get no
grain, and you lose the grass that you had before.
Believe me, signor, and do what these men who
talk so much about the Campagna have never
done — go and look at it. You will see that it is
by no means the frightful wilderness that men
call it; that it is cultivated — not, indeed, as Tus
cany and Lombardy are, but just as much as it
can be. There was something to be done in the
way of drainage. This has been done. Any fur
ther attempt is neither useful nor rational."

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. i37
The Great Landotviicr: "It is perfectly easy, my
dear sir, to preach a reform of the Agro, when
one does not own any part of it. Opinions upon
agriculture at Rome are part of the political creed.
All your good radicals, all }our politicians who
have not an olive tree outside the walls, who never
go upon the Campagna, who know it only by hav
ing passed through it on the railway, are decided
partisans of the bonificamento. For ourselves, who
own land, it is different; the question is not so
easy to decide. We get five per cent, from our
domains, managed as they nov; are, and as they
have been for centuries. The proposal is made us
to substitute grain fields for the grass lands, which
we now let very profitably. But to break up the
ground is expensive; the grain sells but poorly;
and it has been proved at many points, notably in
the dried-up — the ' improved ' — bed of Lago
Fucino, that grain exhausts our soil very rapidly.
It is simply a proposition to us to lose our money.
There is no ground for enthusiasm here. Let the
Government relieve us of burdens on the land,
let them help us, and, sceptical though we are,
we shall not object to the trying of experiments.
For there has been exaggeration as to the
malaria." A man who had been talking in this way with
me, in one of the aristocratic clubhouses of Rome,
had just come in from a drive on the Campagna.
He stopped just here, without considering the

138 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
connection of ideas. " Garcm," he cried, " a glass
of vermouth and some quinine! A good deal of
quinine, waiter," he added.
The Partisan of Reforms: " It is just as well to
own frankly that the framers of the law of 1883
committed some mistakes. For example, they did
not take into account the fact that certain parts
of the Campagna are not susceptible of cultiva
tion. Their ten kilometres mean nothing; and
the College of Agricultural Engineers has lately
prepared, and is bringing before the public, a new
law which changes this irrational belt into a great
fan, having Rome for the base, and for the two
sides the via Casilina and the via Ardeatina. Im
perfections can all be corrected; but the one thing
of importance is that we should have a law for the
improvement of the Agro, and that this law be
carried out. The Italians are emigrating by
armies every year, and here we have at our gates
vacant land where hundreds of thousands might
be fed. Is this to be endured? Can it be permit
ted that the self-interest of a few should be a
perpetual obstacle to the sanitary improvement
of the Campagna, to its being brought under cul
tivation, to the prosperity of Rome itself — for,
thus surrounded by fever, Rome must always re
main, as now, a Uttle city? And what are the
arguments which these owners offer? That grain
is ruinous to the land? No doubt it is, if grain is
sown indefinitely in a land that is never enriched.

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 139
That they have not money enough to meet ex
penses like these? That they can only borrow at
eight and ten per cent.? I admit this. What we
desire is the creation of a great agricultural society
which shall be obUged by its statutes to lend
money at a reasonable rate. All the landowners
of the Agro will then be in a position to accom
plish what the law requires. Then we can say to
them: ' Obey, or give place to us. Rome can no
longer tolerate this Campagna, so unworthy of her
and so dangerous to her population.' The society
will then buy the land which its owners refuse to
improve, -will divide it up, and will lend money to
the farmers who come there to live, emigrating
thither from the interior, instead of going far
away in search of fortune; and it will permit them
by annual payments slowly to acquire ownership.
Towns will spring up in the more healthful por
tions, and the men at work by day in the plains
will return to sleep on the higher lands. These
desolate, useless stretches of ground will be no
longer seen, nor these bands of labourers treated
like cattle. Visit the Campagna yourself, signor;
observe with your own eyes this destitution.
You will then understand why thirty thousand
petitioners have begged the Chambers to decree
the boniUca; and you will better understand the ex
treme importance of the question. For, I assure
you, men are very much excited on this subject,
and the proprietors of the Agro, obstinate in their

I40 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
refusal to Usten, will incur in the end a terrible
storm of popular indignation."
I remember well the contagious enthusiasm
with which many men talked to me thus, the dark
eyes glittering with excitement, the prophetic
tone of the invariable menace at the end. Men of
the middle class, accountants, employees of the
princely computisterie, deputies belonging to ad
vanced groups in the Chambers, all expressed
themselves with the same vigour.
The partisans of the status quo were no less posi
tive. I adopted the one idea in which they all
agreed, which was to go out to see for myself.
And delicious were the days that I passed upon
the Agro, east, north, and west of Rome — cap
tivated more and more by this strange land, by the
problems to which it gives rise, and by the dreams
which haunt it.
I do not assume to have been a discoverer there.
I only propose to tell simply what appeared new
to a stranger; what I observed, heard, or seemed
able to divine in these varied expeditions. And
to this end I determined on four, across very dis
similar domains, in opposite directions upon the
Campagna. On THE North of Rome.
I leave the city by the Porta del Popolo; a
friend accompanies me. We follow the old
Flaminian Way, At once, around us, the coun-

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 141
try assumes that ampHtude of lines and that air
of desolation which make it so beautiful. There
are no pretty details, no shady nooks, cascades, or
even groups of leafy trees — ^joy of the Tuscan land
— but a succession of broad spaces, irregular of sur
face, green, specked with patches of pozzolana in
the foreground, gro-wing blue in the distance; girt
-with a belt of mountains whose snows have chang
ing tints as the hours go by. The labour of man
has left hardly a trace here. Like the sparrow-
hawks flying over it in every direction, the eye
finds no resting-place. It roams amid accidents
of scenery that are always the same — a hill,
abruptly cut away, gnawed at its base by a muddy
brook, a ruin on the top of a hillock, a stake
fence many thousand feet long, hemming in a
flock of sheep; it lingers, astonished at the mo
notonous sadness of each separate thing and the
distinct grandeur of the whole effect. It is an
altogether new impression, peculiar to the place.
We cross the Tiber at Ponte Molle, the Milvian
Bridge. In a field, which is used as a racecourse,
the old dairy farm of Tor di Quinto, a long yellow
building with red roofs is now a riding school for
the cavalry. No horsemen are visible. But
everywhere, in the vigorous aftermath, I see
daisies, the under side pink, as large as our ox-eye
daisy of June. And that is so pleasant to see in
December! In other respects, the season sur
prises one. The air is warm, the yellow Tiber

142 IHE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
winds between grassy banks, and the pines have
green tufts, on these cliffs at the left, which are
called Poussin's Rocks.
We reach the high ground of two domains situ
ated on the Hmit of the ten-kilometre belt, which
are conceded in perpetual lease to my companion,
Signor P. The first, Valchetta, belongs to the
Chapter of S. Peter; the second, Prima Porta, to
the Chapter of S. John Lateran. A man on
horseback awaits us and leads the way. We leave
the highway, taking a little trap which he has
brought, and, at once, the aspect of the country
reveals a capable and active farmer. Along the
road, ascending between two hedges of thorn,
stretch fields of lucerne, which give five crops be
tween May and September, meadows full of tall
clover, fields prepared for beets, — a new crop in
the Agro, — then a wood of young pine trees, grow
ing finely, at the foot of the rocky plateau on
which lie the farm buildings. They are much like
those that we see in France, but the spur of land
on which they are built divides through the mid
dle a narrow valley — the valley where was fought
the battle of the three hundred Fabii against the
men of Veil. While I stand, leaning between two
rosemary trees, and gaze at this famous brook, the
Cremera, — a tiny stream in the fields upon which
I look down, which are narrow as two green roads,
— the old farmer has gathered me a handful of
roses. He secures it to the apron of the carriage.

RO.UAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 143
and then conducts me to the cow-house — a rarity
on the Campagna — where are lodged, during the
night, fifty Swiss cows, whose milk is sold in Rome.
As I enter, I read on a slate hung at the door the
product of the evening's milking, sixty-seven gal
lons; and above the stalls in this admirable build
ing, which is worthy of an agricultural school, a
series of expressive names: Galatina, Invidiosa,
Sfacciata, Bellabocca, Monachella. The four hun-
hundred other milch cattle, of Roman race, live
outdoors, night and day. They are half wild, and
to milk them the keepers go out upon the Cam
pagna in an ox-cart at eleven o'clock at night.
Through the hilly fields we go across to Prima
Porta. The soil, everywhere enriched from the
pasturage of sheep, is covered with thick grass.
Only on the top of the rolling ground and on
some steep slopes here and there, I notice bare
patches where the rock comes to the surface.
" Here are made attempts at cultivation," Signor
P. remarks; " the soil, which we had broken up, in
obedience to the law, was washed away by the
rains. You may judge from this if the law is
everywhere applicable."
We drove a long time, without meeting anyone,
over the endless undulations of the pasture-
ground, which is crowned, here and there, with
patches of coppice, like mildew on a large scale.
And as it was somewhat late when we had left the
city, twiUght began to come on. The distant

144 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Tiber was lustrous in places, and the grain fields
had a bluish tinge. A flock of sparrow-hawks
went over, seeking some tree known to them
selves only, far away in the distance. With the
darkness came a certain feeling of depression.
We were at the foot of an enormous hillock of an
olive green. " Here is the shepherd's cabin," my
companion said, pointing upward. On the sum
mit, a huge circular cabin with a conical roof was
outlined against the golden sky. Wicker pali
sades make a black line around the base of the hil
lock. Coming nearer, I see that the cabin roof is
made of branches and reeds, and is surmounted by
a wooden cross, with the spear and the ladder.
The arrival of our vehicle brings out three men
from within. They salute, and the oldest of the
three approaches, hat in hand. " Buona sera! "
he says, and with him we enter this abode, of which
he is the master. The hut that these Roman shep
herds have built for themselves is spacious and
convenient. It is to last them two years or three;
and then the encampment will be selected
elsewhere. Here we have the true pastoral life — on one
side are the shepherds' beds, in two rows, one
almost on the level of the ground, the other four
feet higher; opposite are tables where the new
cheeses are lying; and there are all the utensils and
implements of dairy work. In the centre of the
floor there is quite a deep hole in the earth, where

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 145
the remains of a fagot are burning. The wind,
passing freely through, from one door to the other,
keeps the fire brisk and drives away the smoke.
" I think it will be cold to-night, Eccellenza," says
the head shepherd; and, as he speaks, he watches,
with half closed eyes, a bluish star rising above
the mists of the horizon.
" Are the sheep in? "
" They are on the way, Eccellenza; I have heard
those that are coming from the west."
" Meanwhile, show my friend the chairs that you
make in the winter evenings."
Upon this two men bring out chairs of red wood,
whose backs and seats and arms are very finely
carved by hand. The designs vary but little; there
are crossies, chalices, monstrances with unequal
rays, and laurel branches around the principal ob
ject — truly graceful and with artistic curves.
Signor P. says to me that the twenty-six shep
herds who occupy this cabin leave it late in June
to retum to the far-away viUage, now buried in
the snows of the Apennines, where dwell their
wives and children, their mothers and their sweet
hearts. " They are a long time making prepara
tion for the journey," he says, " taking great care
to carry everything they will need for themselves
and for the sheep. To be sure of doing this they
abandon the house entirely two or three days be
fore they go away, and make a camp at some dis
tance, that they may know if they have left behind

146 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
anything that they wiU require. Then, by slow
stages, they lead the flocks toward the mountains."
We went outside. In ten minutes the land had
grown almost dark, while the sky, heavy with
flickering mists on the horizon, remained pale over
head. A dull noise came up from the valley, and
something moving, Uke a sheet of fog undulating
in the wind, covered the lower slopes of the hill.
It is the four thousand sheep of the domain in a
compact mass. By degrees I distinguish the white
dogs leaping around them, the shepherds on
foot hemming them in, their brown cloaks drag
ging on the grass, and the leader on horseback
who brings up the rear. Altogether, without
being hurried, they come up, with a continu
ous motion and a sound of rolUng pebbles,
like a tide of the ocean. My companion hur
ries me to the paHsade I had noticed surround
ing the hillock. A series of small holes in it let
the sheep in, one by one, and as they enter, they
pass by so many sentry boxes, in each of which is
a man. The rapidity with which this immense
flock is milked is something marvellous. Twenty-
six shepherds are there in line. The sheep, massed
outside, crowid toward the twenty-six entrances.
Entering into a narrow passageway, they are
caught -with a wooden fork over the neck, are
milked in an instant, let go, and are followed by
others. In less than an hour the milking is all
done.

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 147
As we go down the slope, the night is almost
black around us. A thick mist fills the air. The
veiled stars sleep above the Tiber. Trotting
down over the grass, the horse suddenly shies. It
is a lad of fourteen, a young shepherd, who stands,
cap in hand, as we go by. " Is that you, my lad?
You are late," the master says; and the boy re
plies, unabashed, with a gay young voice that is
pleasant to hear, in the great silence of the Agro.
When he has gone past us, Signor P. relates an
incident of two months ago. This lad was keep
ing four hundred sheep by the river, and the idea
came into his mind to put his cap on a lamb's head.
He secured the cap with a reed, then let the animal
loose among the flock; whereupon a fearful panic
broke out. Maddened at the sight of this hatted
lamb running after them, the sheep galloped wildly
around and around the pasture, and then would
have ended by plunging into the river, had not the
vergaro, perceiving the danger from afar, dashed
down from the hilltop on horseback, and reached
the bank just in time to turn them back.
And with the story of this Httle adventure the
time passes, the carriage slips rapidly over the
grass, and night settles over the land. Santa-Maria.
A gray, rainy morning, the Sth of December.
It is the Feast of the Immaccolata, and the festa of
the village Santa-Maria, far distant, fifteen miles

148 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
away from the city. I set off alone in a cab. The
rain is falling, heavy, icy; it seems to make the
horse still leaner, and his wet skin shows the action
of the bones. Oh, the slow, dull road! At in
tervals it is crossed by rivulets of mud. It winds
about, ascends a little, descends a Httle, never
much, across pastures which the cloud shuts in on
every side. There is no horizon ; only lines of wall
cutting stretches of grass; here and there a herd
of cattle, motionless and stupid in the pouring
rain. Nothing moves but ourselves. There is
not the faintest sound except our wheels crush
ing the wet earth. How plainly I see that the
sole beauty of this wilderness, Hke the sole beauty
of life, lies in its distant prospects and in its sky!
The isolated taverns, the poor osterie placed
every few miles by the roadside, are shut close
against the rain. There are people -within telHng
each other stories of strayed horses and dead
sheep, and of the encroachments of neighbours,
meanwhile drinking the wine of TivoU. But the
sound of their voices is lost up the chimney. We
keep on in this little solitude whose scenery seems
to go along with us, so completely the same is it
between the walls of blinding rain.
Finally, about eleven o'clock, the figure of a
horseman, wrapped in a cloak, beco'mes visible on
the right side of the road. He leads a second
horse by the bridle. It is the vergaro, the head
shepherd, sent out to meet me. I leap on th'e

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 149
horse's back, and the cab, turning, is soon out of
sight, while we advance through the new grain,
which is extremely beautiful.
" How many hectares are cultivated here,
vergaro? "
" Three hundred and forty out of eighteen hun
dred [864 acres out of 4446]."
Flocks of small birds rise before the horses' feet.
We ascend a hill, trotting up in the drain chan
nels, and then go down a long slope, always
covered with the same mantle of young wheat.
At the foot Signor P. joins us, on a fine horse.
He is the farmer of this tenuta, as well as of the
other which I have visited. It is said at Rome
that he is one of the best agriculturists upon the
Campagna. And I am confirmed in this idea as I
again see the same admirable plan of cultivation,
the choice kinds of grain, and the fields, fertilized
after the same methods as at Prima Porta, with
their uncommon wealth of grass and clover.
Here, however, the surface of the ground is dif
ferent. It is much more irregular. As we ap
proach the farm buildings, the hills crowd upon
each other, separated by gorges. Many are
wooded, but the large part serve only as pastures.
On the summit of one, in the light blue of the
Italian middle distance, — for the sun has come out
and the clouds are gone, — I perceive ruins.
" A mined village? " " Yes." " How ruined? "
" Some say by malaria." " And others? " " By

ISO THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
the act of some great landowner. These owners
used gradually to buy up the country, and then
drive away the inhabitants, so that they might be
the masters. But I am not sure; it was a great
while ago."
As the vergaro spoke we were descending a
gentle slope, by a very admirable road, bordered
on one side with magnificent clumps of laurel, —
the poet's laurel, — a remnant of a Sacred Grove
where the Muses might still weep undisturbed.
Some of the branches had been stripped of their
leaves, and I asked my companion, in much sur
prise, who had plundered his laurels. " The Ger
mans," he said. And it appeared that this is one
of the sources of income from this domain and
those adjacent. The Germans buy these laurel-
leaves by the hundred-weight, and use them in the
manufacture of Prussian blue.
I was not expecting such an answer as this, or
to see the leaves of Italian laurels go in that direc
tion. We enter the courtyard of the farm by a
handsome gateway, and dismount near a heap of
bales of leaves tied up compactly, and ready to be
sent away.
I was shown a sheepfold containing animals of
pure breed, bought at the national French ber-
gerie at Rambouillet. These sheep cross so well
with the native ItaHan breed that a neighbouring
proprietor had no sooner perceived the excellent
results obtained by Signor P.'s initiative than he

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 151
telegraphed to Rambouillet for ewes and wethers
of the same breed. " He telegraphed," said my
host, evidently much impressed by the act; "he
placed himself completely at the discretion of the
French manager, and so honourable are your great
national establishments that he received animals
in every respect as fine as those which I had
chosen on the spot."
However, without saying too much about it, —
for I am considered here to be quite a farmer, and
it is always a pity to destroy a flattering illusion, —
I find a much keener pleasure in walking about the
courtyard where all the farm hands are now as
sembled. The place is full of men in black clothes,
some wearing cloaks, all rather harsh of aspect,
talking together in groups. They came to attend
high mass, on occasion of the festa of their patron
ess, the Madonna, which has been sung in the very
ancient church attached to the chateau at the back
of the courtyard.
Sometimes a group start together and go into
a long, low building, the right wing of the court
yard. Following, I find them smoking and drink
ing in one of the rooms occupied by that person
age, indispensable and generally prosperous on the
Roman Campagna, the trader. Each farm is like
a little town, which must contain all that is need
ful for itself and for the inhabited environs, if such
there be. It is the sole resource, the centre of
supplies. The trader at Santa-Maria, a Swiss,

152 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
whose pink-and-white complexion was on odd con
trast to the bearded and bronzed faces of his cus
tomers, sells salt pork, groceries, wines, material
for clothing, whatever is required. I purchase a
box of Egyptian cigarettes, and distribute them,
to the great delight of the black-beards, who show
an unexpected capability of smiling. I learn that
this trader has a flourishing business of 50,000 lire
[$10,000] a year, and that he pays a rent of 500
[$ioo] a month.
One red cassock, and then a second, cross the
courtyard. These are students of the Austro-
Hungarian College, who have come out with their
superiors to attend the festa. The domain is an
ecclesiastical patrimony, granted by some Pope
long ago, for the support of the Austrian seminary
in Rome. The passage of these students through
the courtyard indicates that the dignitaries of the
college will soon come out, and that dinner will be
announced. I have only time to look at the gar
den on the other side.
What an enchanting place it must be in the
spring — this sheltered garden, with its orange and
mandarin trees! Even in winter it has its charm.
One imagines the completed outline of the grace
ful trees which are now leafless, and where the
flower-beds will be, and how lovely the outlook
over fields already showing the springing grain;
the lemon trees, more delicate, it seems, are de
fended against frost by a roof of reeds resting

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. i53
against the waU. I have seen this movable cover
before, and the perfume which escapes from it
brings to my mind Sicily, Palermo, the Conca d'
Oro. The bell rings. The court is instantly half de
serted. W'e sit down at table in a whitewashed
hall in the second story of the manor, at the back
of the courtyard. I have never in my life, I believe,
seen a more astonishing variety of guests. Around
the table, covered with white Hnen and decorated
with apples, pears, and fennel-roots, there are the
rector of the college and the superintendent of the
domain, both Austrians, and wearing the black cas
sock; Signor P., a Roman; the Swiss sutler, in his
jacket; the curate of the farm; the guard, in blue
livery piped with red, and silver on the collar; the
chief farmer, the chief butcher, the chief shepherd
and his retired predecessor; lastly, two students
in scarlet cassocks, like cardinals.
It is an ancient and praiseworthy custom, thus
to invite the principal employees of the domain to
an annual banquet. They are respectful, but not
abashed or servile. The conversation, partly in
Roman patois and partly in French, half escapes
them. They eat royally, like vigorous men to
whom life on horseback gives a prodigious appe
tite. But when they talk it is with much vivac
ity. And the most ahve, the most interesting
person among them all is, perhaps, the former
head shepherd, an old man of seventy-two, broad

154 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
of chest and shoulder, the face sunburned and
tanned, the beard only just beginning to turn gray,
curled in twists like the beards of Greek statues;
the hair abundant and tossed about in great locks.
Pie has spent all his life among the shepherds and
the flocks of the domain: in the winter and spring
at Santa-Maria; in the summer among the moun
tains. It would have killed him if, when he
was retired from service, he had been separated
from his flock, his comrades, and the cabin. Ac
cordingly, he is allowed, although no longer
the responsible head, to return in the autumn
with the masseria. He still spends his time on
horseback, keeping watch over the men and the
animals. " It is because the air is good at Santa-Maria,"
he says, lifting his yellow eyes. " There are not
many of my age on the Campagna."
After this, being questioned by the manager, he
relates in short sentences, with rather a shame
faced air, how he was attacked at nightfall, two
years ago, by the famous Anzuini. The brigand,
accompanied by one of his band, entered the cabin
where the vergaro was with four other shepherds.
Anzuini placed the muzzle of his gun at the old
man's head.
"What did you do, my poor friend?"
" I understood what he meant," the shepherd
said; "I gave him what I had, 170 lire." The
next morning the brigand was at work, in the

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. I5S
same fashion, near Viterbo. He had gone twenty
miles on foot during the night.
I ought to add, for the peace of mind of those
who might be tempted to visit Santa-Maria,
that Anzuini was afterward captured. This in
dustry, with time, has grown difficult; and our
mothers, who teU of their wedding journey be
tween Rome and Naples as a venturesome expedi
tion, were the last who could speak thus without
falsehood. At most, you will be told, if you
insist, that there are still aUve two or three
brigands who have given up the business, retiring
on a pension, contemporaneously with their for
mer judges. There will be mentioned to you, by
name, certain peaceable persons who, having
given up the somewhat brusque habits of their
youth, are now in the receipt of stipends, that they
may not be tempted to fall back into those habits!
Their neighbours are delighted thus to keep them
in the paths of virtue. Prince X. pays a regular
pension to Tiburzio, whom everybody remembers
— ^Tiburzio of Viterbo. At least, so it is reported,
and it has been said in print by a Sicilian, Luigi
Capnana,^ who is eager to defend his poor and
lovely island from the misplaced accusations of
the Italian mainland. As for the prince, I fancy,
if anyone had the frankness to question him, he
would smile enigmatically, and twist the end of his
brown moustache, and would give no answer. Is
' La Sicilia e il brigantaggio. Roma, Editore il Folchetto, 1892.

iS6 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
not a man at liberty to protect his property by any
guards that it pleases him to employ?
Eastward from Rome.
I will designate in no other way the point that
I have visited to-day, because I have too serious
criticisms to 'make. It is enough to say that the
domain of which I speak is beyond the reach of
" the ten-kilometre law," and that it belongs to a
great Roman noble.
It is past noon as we emerge, my guide and I,
from the walled inclosure surrounding the farm
buildings, which still retain their feudal aspect.
Labour has been resumed. On the floor of the
barn, men and women are husking the Indian
corn which lies in a golden heap at their feet.
They have an air of distress and fatigue. The
caporale, their chief, the contractor for the band, a
dwarfish figure with keen eyes, goes from one
barn to another. Neither as he passes, nor when
we go by, is a single head turned with a smile, or
a mouth opened with a word of recognition or of
greeting. Why should there be? what are we to
them? They feel themselves strangers on this
domain where no one but the caporale knows
them by name; neither the head farmer, nor the
owner, nor the guard, nor any person. They are
only a flock of mountaineers from the Abruzzi, de
livered here on contract for the harvesting; in a
month they will return home, and next year they

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. IS7
will be at work on the other side of the Cam
pagna. " Are they numerous on the tenuta? I ask of
the guide.
" There are about four hundred here now," he
says, " but in the summer not more than a dozen."
" This is the usual condition of the farms in the
Agro," the guide adds, divining my thoughts;
" They are not happy. If it were not for their
religion, they would revolt."
I can readily believe him.
We follow a chain of hills, and then a valley
where a herd of cows is pastured. They have
those handsome, widespread horns, long and fine,
and that smooth, gray coat, which painters have
never faithfully represented. Around them the
pasturage is poor; it extends on before us, as far
as a distant hillock whose curve is outlined upon
the sky, surmounted by a shepherd's cabin. Our
horses break into a gallop, as we ascend the hill,
and the ground rings under their feet. An old
woman appears at the door of the cabin. She, at
least, smiles — this old woman!
" Will you have a fresh tggl " she asks, and my
companion replies that he would Hke it.
" Lavinia! Lavinia! " the old woman calls, and
a little tangle-haired girl runs to get an egg from
the hen-house adjacent to the cabin. She hands
it up to my companion, who, with a large pin,
pierces the two ends, drinks off the yolk and white

IS 8 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
almost at one swallow, and throws down the un
broken sheU. " This is the Roman way! " he says.
We go on, descending the rapid slope toward
an immense fallow field, steaming in the sun. In
the first third of this field, wrapped in a golden
mist, which shines like a halo around them, a band
of a hundred peasants, their backs tumed toward
us, are slowly going forward breaking up the clods
with pick and shovel. Not one is inactive. The
flash of the blades runs uninterrupted from one
end of the line to the other. The women are in
red, the men in darker colours. One young fellow
has a white pigeon on his shoulder; the bird flut
ters his wings, without taking flight, every time
that his master stoops, following the rhythmic drop
of the spade. Alone among this human herd, two
overseers, tall, booted, are not at work, but lean
ing on their staves, survey the labourers. It is,
perhaps, an injustice for me to think of this, but
in spite of myself the spectacle leads my mind back
to the ancient days, when, under the superintend
ence of a few favoured ones, slaves cultivated the
latifundia of the Agro. The difference is slight.
I ask my guide where these people are lodged,
and he replies that there are two camps at some
distance. Learning that we can visit both -within
an hour, I decide to do so.
Behind this battalion of rude clod-breakers we
pass, and not one turns his head; our horses step
noiselessly, besides, over the soft earth. But for

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 159
this irregular Hne of small black points, the vast
Campagna is deserted. Deserted are the slopes
that look like fronts of earthworks or like cliffs
eroded by some furious inundation, and crowned
-with a few trees; deserted the fields; deserted the
waste land, stony, surrounded with embankments
which end with a Roman arch, isolated, covered
with ivy, mysterious as the one letter of some ob
Uterated inscription. Beyond the bridge a great
marsh, half drained, or rather a stretch of very low
ground, through which streamlets wander and
where still stand a few broken stalks of Indian corn.
We advance very slowly, and see in front, a little
to the right, a sort of denuded, oval hill, having
the form and colour of a flattened pear, its stem
lying in the marsh. Lines of huts rear themselves
upon it, the nearer ones almost blending with the
ground, the remoter clearly outlined against the
sky. This, then, is the village! We urge our
horses forward.
There is a first bridge, made of sticks, poorly
bound together, thrown across a muddy channel;
then a miserable, uncultivated little island; then
a second branch of the stream, in which half a
dozen ragged girls are washing clothes. They
raise themselves a Httle as we pass, without drop
ping the handful of wet linen. But no one smiles.
There is not a gleam of happy life in these young
eyes; nothing but the reproach of discouraged
poverty — the unjust reproach addressed to the

l6o THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
whole world — which hurts you when you see it.
I feel it follow us after we have passed. And in
front, on the edge of the hillock, where the village
stands, the same look, loaded -with the same re
proach, meets us again.
A group of old women and children, motionless,
seated, are warming themselves in the sun. We
pass, without a salutation from anyone, along the
passageway between the rows of huts. There are
seventy-five in all, making four or five streets upon
the rising ground. They are all built in the same
way — two palisades of reeds from the marsh be
low, bent together and secured at the top by a
transverse pole; another triangular palisade mak
ing the wall at the back; and another in front, in
which an opening for entrance is cut out.
This is the shelter which a proprietor, a grand
seigneur, who receives 100,000 lire annually from
this domain alone, deigns to offer to his labourers.
We are but a few miles away from Rome, in a land
of very ancient civilization, and here are huts with
which no savage would be content, where live, for
nine months in the year, more than three hundred
persons, men and women, where children are born,
and where others fall ill and die. I am so surprised
and shocked at this spectacle that I dismount to
examine it more closely.
Stooping almost double, I enter through a hole
cut in the palisade, and lift my head in the pres
ence of a very beautiful young woman, with the

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. i6i
almond-shaped eyes and the perfect features of the
purest classic type. She is surrounded by smoke,
for in a hole in the ground, in this cabin without a
chimney, corn-waste is smouldering under an
earthen pot. The first thing I notice is the great
gold ring which hangs at her ear. I question her,
and she tells me that she is a native of the Sabina,
three years married, and that she has two children.
I ask where are the little ones, and she points out
a little boy in trousers, on the floor near the bed
at the back of the hut; the bed, that is to say, the
heap of cornstalks and grass on some kind of tres
tle not clearly discernible through the smoke, with
a soiled covering stretched over it, and for a blan
ket against the cold of the night a mat of plaited
rushes! She appears gentle and resigned. I ask
for the second child, and she leans smiling over a
basket on the ground, quite near the fire. The
rest of the furniture you could hold in one hand —
two or three small earthen pots, a tin cover, a
package of herbs — this last, no doubt, as a protec
tion against fever.
It makes one's heart ache. Now, I can better
understand the excitement which centres around
this question of the Agro romano. Nothing to be
done! Is it really possible to make an asser
tion like this? Yes; at Rome, in a drawing
room, men will gravely unfold their theory of
life in the open air, and praise the healthfulness
of light encampments like tents! But here, on

1 62 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
the spot, when you take note of the total indif
ference of the owner, when you see the complete
desolation in which these poor farm hands are
left, the absence of all aid, of all care, of all com
fort, you ask yourself if the men who talk in
that way have seen the Roman Campagna; and
you feel that on the day when socialism shall get
the better of the long patience of these nomads
of the Agro, the day when they shall begin, in
their turn, a Servile War, certain self-centred
owners of Roman soil will reap nothing more than
what they have sown.
I express my opinion very distinctly to the man
who accompanies me, as we ride away from the
village. " You have not seen all," he says to me. " But
you are able now to judge of the condition of our
peasants. This is called lodging them. Yes, they
have pennission to cut the reeds; and, in other
cases, the owners offer them houses of a kind
which I will show you later on."
I recognized in the brief speech of my com
panion that tone of irony covering an extreme of
feeling which I had many times observed in talk
ing with Romans of the lower class who were in
terested in the affairs of the Campagna. The face
remains impassive. Only the eyes speak after the
lips have ceased talking.
" And is there no one," I said, " who sets an
example of better things? "

ROMA.V HOUSES, A.YD THE CAMPAGNA. 163
" There are a few. There is Prince Felice Bor
ghese, who has done much good and spent much
money, at Fossa Nuova. There are two or three
more. But most of the landowners are satisfied if
they get their quarterly rent in advance; and they
think they are square with everybody because
everybody is square with them. Come a Httle to
the left, signor. The earth is too wet just here."
And, indeed, at the moment we had to make a
circuit to avoid a streak of marsh. Three mules
passed us, loaded with the corn waste which
serves as fuel for the peasants of the domain.
Then we struck higher ground, and after a quar
ter of an hour came to the cattle-path through
the field, which led to a large building roofed with
tiles, on a hill-top.
" This is where the farm hands are lodged who
come for a short season, as at sowing or harvest,"
my guide said.
The building was only a bam, with a kitchen
at one end. I brought my horse up to the side of
the wall, and leaned in at a window. There was
a musty odour, as of a messroom, mingled with
smoke. All around the hall was a row of beds on
the ground, and five feet higher another row, sup
ported by a light wooden framework. Each row
of beds was double. The beds themselves were
heaps of leaves or straw, covered here with a rag
ged sheet, there with a worn-out petticoat. Men,
women, married couples, the young, the old, the

i64 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
sick, sleep here in complete promiscuity. This is
not merely an insufficient shelter, like what I have
just seen. This is different, this mere heap of
humanity, this barn where hygiene counts for little
and morals for nothing at all. Underlying each
case the same neglect.
Some women, hearing us approach, came out.
One, very taU, very old, with her gray hair in elf-
locks over her ears, and frightfully sunken eyes,
looked at me a moment, then said:
" Siete il medico?"
" Alas, no ! I am not the doctor. Have you
someone sick? "
" There are three with fever. One of them has
been sick four days."
My companion shrugged his shoulders; he
seemed vexed.
" You have not notified the caporale? " he
said. " Oh, yes! " the woman rejoined meekly; "but
the doctor has not come."
I gave a little money to these poor creatures,
and we rode on.
On my way back to the city I saw a splendid
sight. In a field which was axe-shaped, broaden
ing in the distance, fifteen pair of gray oxen were
ploughing in line. The fifteen ploughs were exactly
aligned, opening and throwing out earth which
was a reddish-purple colour. These are the same
implements of husbandry that Vergil saw — an iron

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 165
wedge, two wooden wings in front of a joist, a
round platform behind, traversed by an upright
stick. On the platform stands the labourer, with
one hand holding by the upright, with the other
using the goad. And these beautiful, primitive
forms of labour, — the immense oxen, the small
plough, the man, motionless and stately, — were
moving slowly forward, leaving half the field fur
rowed and steaming behind them.
Then, into the space already gone over by them,
in their wake, a sixteenth plough, driven by a
young man of twenty, came suddenly and rapidly.
No doubt the youth had noticed us, and our
presence stimulated his vanity. His movements
were supple and graceful in the extreme. It
seemed as if he were driving horses instead of
oxen, so quickly did he trace in every direction,
over the already broken soil, water channels for
carrying off the rains. He appeared to be run
ning over the ground for his pleasure, — drawn
by these great beasts, trained expressly for the
work, who tumed sharply, almost grazed the
trees in passing, came back towards us, their
horns high, the wrinkled skin on the shoulders
quivering, — and, meanwhile, he followed with his
eye a route of slopes invisible to us. He smiled
now and then, this Roman youth, as if delighting
to show to the two Barbarians lingering on an ad
jacent hill-top what a Roman could do with his
team, two gray Campagna oxen.

1 66 the italians of to-day.
Maccarese.
This is, again, an unwholesome region, on the
west of Rome, northward from Ostia, and near
the sea.
The tenuta of Maccarese, which I am going to
see, one of the largest of the Agro romano, about
fourteen thousand acres, is part of the ancient
Campo Salino, the saline marshes whence the
Sabines obtained their salt. The neighbourhood
and the infiltrations of the salt water, the impossi
bility of carrying off by natural channels the water
of springs and rains, — for in certain places the
ground is a foot lower than the sea-level, — render a
residence here dangerous, especially in the sum
mer, when the intense heat draws up and diffuses
the miasma.
According to the statistics of a country doctor
living in this region, the average of fever cases
anually is as follows: farmers and labourers, who
remain uninterruptedly, ninety-five per cent.;
overseers and superintendents, who are better fed,
and who are often in Rome for a longer or shorter
stay, forty per cent.; owners resident in Rome,
who come out into the country, but are careful not
to remain over night during the bad season, fifteen
per cent. It has been necessary to establish sani
tary stations from point to point, and fever pa
tients are now cared for on the spot. But the
medical men in charge of twenty or twenty-five
domains must lose a good deal of valuable time

RO.VAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 167
going from one to another. The former system
is regretted by some; I myself am not in a posi
tion to decide between the two. The old method
was to send every |>erson into the city, to the Hos
pital San Spirito. In the time of the Popes any
man who brought in a fever patient received a
reward of two lire [forty cents]. Taking this and
charity together, it appears that very few of the
poor were neglected when attacked with fever.
Means of prevention are taken by the railway
company whose line traverses this part of the
Campagna. The employees all the way to Gros-
seto, in Tuscany, have only alternate days of duty
on the Campagna, being retained the other days
in Rome.
A condition of things Hke this could not fail to
attract the attention of the authors of the project
for the improvement of the Agro. Two plans
were proposed — one, to fill up the salt marshes
with earth brought from other regions; the sec
ond, to draw off the water by steam pumps. The
latter idea prevailed, and I am to see close at hand
the result.
I leave Rome very early in the moming with
the son of a former ambassador from France
to Rome, and with Prince CamiUo Rospigliosi,
younger brother of Don Giuseppe, who will meet
us at Maccarese. Both the brothers were once
pontifical zouaves. The elder (who is dark) now
belongs to the "White" worid; the younger

1 68 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
(who is fair) remains " Black." They are joint
owners of the tenuta of Maccarese, held by this
family since the year 1675; in great part they
manage it themselves, are perfectly in sympa
thy with each other, and are thorough types
of the Roman patrician, having relations of
friendship and marriage among the European
aristocracy, speaking French, thoroughly men
of the present day, and courteous in the high
est degree. The railway by which we go,
that of Civita Vecchia, is regarded as fruitful
in accidents. It seems that the embankments
easily give way under rains and from the action
of concealed springs. As a matter of fact, the ex
tremely slow rate at which we cross a bridge over
the Tiber suggests to the mind a vague anxiety.
But nothing goes wrong.
We leave on the left the eucalyptus grove of the
celebrated Abbey Tre Fontane, which has not been
sufficient itself alone to purify the Campagna, and,
indeed, but poorly protects the inmates of the
abbey. The aspect of the Campagna here is ex
tremely sad: swampy pastures extending as far as
the eye can see, here and there spotted -with dark-
green clumps of box. On the right the ground is
higher and less monotonous. There are thickets
of wild olive, pistachio, judas tree, dogwood, ar
butus, holly; a dozen kinds of shmbs, bound to
gether by half withered climbing plants, among
which I recognize the cottony umbel of the clem-

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 169
atis. The chief owner of these thickets is the
Hospital San Spirito; over twelve miles, as the
bird flies, belongs to it. Here the state might have
a field for experiment, and show what it under
stands by colonization, clearing, and sanitary im
provement on the great domains. The law leaves
this perfectly within its competence, but there
seems a hesitation about malcing the attempt.
Far a-way, in very beautiful outlines, the blue
mountains, capped with snow, hmit the plain and
the -view.
The train stops at Maccarese, at a solitary sta
tion alone in the flat Campagna, and surrounded
by a few clumps of eucalyptus trees. Don Giu
seppe comes toward us, and seven or eight horses
are ready for us outside the palisades. It is sting
ing cold. We. wrap ourselves warmly and mount ;
Don Giuseppe, Don Camillo, the young Baron
Baude, two butteri of the domain, and myself. Our
horses are of the Roman breed, nervous, habitu
ated to two gaits only, the walk and the gallop.
There has been courteously destined for me an
EngHsh saddle, which I regret, having a secret
liking for the enormous Roman saddle, high in
the back and front, made of light and supple
skin that lets the leg cling fast to the horse's side.
We cross the railway and are out on the Campagna
without a road in sight, a grassy plain vast as the
pampas. There is nothing to be seen in this wil
derness but Unes of fences, dividing the plain at

I70 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DA V.
remote intervals, and some far-off leafless trees,
forming a.venues leading nowhither. The earthy
yellow of the dead vegetation extends indefinitely,
somewhat gilded on ridges by the morning sun.
There is a grand, wild poetry about the scene. A
fox gets away from under our feet, out of a clump
of boxv/ood, and for more than a half mile we see
the tawny flash of his coat and his tail in air as he
runs. A barrier is before us; one of the butteri,
saying not a word, spurs his horse to a gaUop;
then, sticking his iron-pointed lance into the end
of this movable gate, opens it wide; we pass
through, and the v/ooden bars drop back into
place behind us.
A first canal, dug in obedience to the law con
cerning the BoniUca del Agro. The descent is so
slight that the water appears stagnant. We cross
on a little bridge without parapets. On the right
a drove of mares; on the left a tronco of Roman
milch cows. The grass is better; and further on
in this dry part of the domain begins a fine field
of grain. A young man, perhaps twenty years of
age, walks between the rows, and taps continu
ously with his knuckles on a biscuit-tin, which is
suspended from his neck. He earns 1.25 [twenty-
five cents] a day in thus scaring away the larks;
a crowd of little gray wings beat the air around
him, fly up a short distance, then alight further
on, not frightened, scarcely driven away for the
moment. I see, far off, half a mile distant, a brown
mass.

ROMA.V HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 171
"What is that?"
" That is part of our herd of buffaloes, which I
have hadi driven up for you to see," rejoins Don
Giuseppe. Three hundred animals are feeding upon a nar--
row hillock covered with brush, surrounded by
several of the men, two mounted, the others on
foot. W^ ride in among the herd, and for the
first time I examine close at hand, and in life, this
animal, which before I had seen only in pictures
and in dreams. The impression is not at all what
I expected. Instead of those savage creatures
that the popular imagination calumniates, assur
edly, I find milch cows, black, with pretty heads
and very soft, intelligent eyes. The horns are
curled up near the ears; the head is meagre; the
body too heavy, attired in a pelt with the hair
much worn off, which seems to stir in great
plaques like that of the elephant. The general
aspect denotes timidity of character. It appears,
however, that the mothers with their first calves
are dangerous; also that the old males are for
midable when they take to the thicket. Some
bearded muzzles of buUs, lowered as our horses
pass, seem to confirm the popular opinion.
While we are thus surrounded by the moving
mass of buffaloes, just on the top of the mound,
Don Camillo tums to the chief herdsman, the
minorente. "What is the name of that cow just turning
round?"

172 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
" Scarpe fine e stivaletti (fine shoes and boots),"
was the ansv/er.
" That is a vendor's cry in the streets of Rome,"
Don Camillo said, addressing me. And he in
quired the name of another.
" Piu sta e piii va peggio (the more it goes on, the
worse it is)."
"And that little one, with her head on one
side? "
" Fa la spia ma fala bene (she plays the spy, but
does it well)."
" And this big one? "
" C'e gran guerra, in alto mare (there is great -war
in the open sea)."
" You know," Don Camillo explained, " we are
very near the sea; and in rough weather the noise
of the waves is heard all over Maccarese."
" I understand. But do you mean to say that
your three hundred buffaloes have names? "
" You mean the thousand of the whole domain?
Certainly they have. Neither day nor night do
the herdsmen make any mistake. And observe,
the names are all sentences divided into two hemi-
stichs, each accented on the penult. Never was
a buffalo cow on all the Campagna called by a
single word, as ' Star,' or ' Europa,' or ' Nera.' "
"And why not?"
" Because the long names have always been the
custom. Besides this, the animals would not so
readily hear names less musical. During the night

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 173
they are shut up within the picket inclosures that
you have noticed. The calves are shut up in other
inclosures. At an hour which varies in the differ
ent domains — with us it is four in the morning —
the herdsmen who are to milk the buffalo cows
take up their position between the two inclosures
in the open ground. Then they call out two or
three names, as 'C'e gran guerra in alto mare! ' with
great stress on the accentuated syllables, guer-ra.
and ma-re. The animals hear their names; they
struggle through the crowd and come up to the
gate. Meantime the herdsman, turning toward
the inclosure in which the calves are shut up, re
peats the same cry, for the young ones have their
mothers' names. Then the calves, who, ever since
they were born have heard themselves called thus,
' C'e gran guerra in alto mare! ' or ' Scarpe fine e sti
valetti! ' on their part come to the gate. Then
these gates are opened, and the mothers and chil
dren meet. As soon as the latter have had as much
milk as is allowed them, they are driven away with
blows on the neck; and then the buffalo cows sub
mit peaceably to be milked by the herdsman, which
otherwise they would not do."
This explanation, though so odd, is really the
literal truth. It has been given me over and over
again by farmers quite unknown to each other, not
only on the Campagna, but also in Salerno and in
Calabria, wherever herds of buffaloes are kept.
Coming down from this hillock, we go off to the

174 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
right, toward the sea. The grass grows scantier.
Water birds, especially lapwings, the under side of
the wing silvery white, rise around us. Their sweet
and penetrating cry is all that enlivens the desolate
plain. The ground slopes continuously. We ar
rive at a sort of white lake, spotted -with brown
tufts. This is a dry point in the marsh of Mac
carese. Two chimneys, rising above the trees of
a grove in front of us, indicate where the engines
are set up which draw off the water and pour it
into the sea. At periods of heavy rains the pumps
work night and day. If they stopped, the damp
soil covered with a crust of salt, on which we are
walking, would very soon disappear under three
feet of water. The results obtained here, at an
annual expense by Government of 60,000 lire
[$12,000], are, therefore, always precarious. They
allow portions here and there to be cultivated or
seeded for grass. The rest, the main part of the
Campo Salino, must be long worked upon before
it will bring in the interest of expense so heavy as
that. On the other side of the marsh is a wood of
century-old oaks, twisted, knotty, torn asunder or
beheaded by storms and time, like many of those
which form the famous forests of the Pontine
Marshes. Then the fields begin again. We rode
with all speed straight toward the buffalo farrn,
which resembles the shepherds' cabins at Prima
Porta, except that the circular wall bearing the

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. I75
thatched roof is here buUt of stone. The last
milking stands to curdle in great tubs. Cheeses
hung up in a neighbouring barn are cured in the
thick smoke which rises from a fire of green
branches. A second gallop brings us, over fields where the
trees have been cut down, to a pine wood almost
of a century's growth. Making a circuit, we come
suddenly upon this venerable and sculptural forest.
How well Puvis de Chavannes would render the
poetry of these beautiful, simple lines and colours !
The plain, of a green dulled by the trampling of
the flocks, crossed by this wall of splendid, branch
less, tawny-red tree-trunks, all spreading out to
gether seventy feet above the soil, and touching
each other with their sombre tops ; no Ught falling
from- the sky upon the moss at their feet, but rays
coming through from the other edge of the wood,
on the side toward the sea, thro-wing plaques of
gold high upon these tmnks, like lamps hung
from the piers of arches. The sea is breaking at a
little distance upon the sad shore. Is it thence
that come these motionless gleams, or are there
little, invisible stagnant ponds that serve as mir
rors and adorn the wood with these fairy moons?
Formerly a belt of forests like this formeid a wall
all along the coast of the Agro romano, and per
haps served to protect it against the unwholesome
wind which blows from the water's edge. This the
old Romans assert.

176 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
" What beautiful trees, Don CamiUo! "
" More beautiful than useful; the dampness is
so great that the wood cannot be used for build
ing. Do you know, here we are about the middle
of the domain, which is longer than it is broad."
" How much have you northward? "
" About four miles."
" And the other way? "
" Not quite four and a half."
To go to the cow farm we follow the edge of a
strip of 300 hectares [741 acres] of grain, forming
an unbroken curve around the marsh. The lap-
-wings are so abundant here and so tame, that we
could easily shoot them if we had brought guns.
Twice we give chase to enormous bulls. One
of them, branded on the haunch with the cipher
of the domain and the figures 88, is the handsomest
animal that one could imagine. His coa,t, gray
on the flanks, becoimes black on the withers, and
the head is dark gray. We leave him raging,
stopped by a barrier, ploughing up the earth with
his hoofs, and we enter the farm buildings. An
outer staircase leads to a very long hall in the
second story. At the opposite end, near the fire,
a numerous group of farm labourers, men and
women, are at dinner. The apartment serves also
as a dormitory. But it is not of the kind which I
have seen elsewhere. The beds stand in locked
closets along the wall. At this moment several
doors are open. I approach one. A candle, in a

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. 177
movable rest, is fastened to the inside of this
wooden screen. On each side of it is a map enti
tled Imperimn romanum. The owner, the peasant
who sleeps here, must be passionately fond of
reading; a little above the bed, in the shadow, I
can see, nailed against the wall, two shelves, and
they are filled with books ! The library of a Roman
cowherd! And I shall forever regret that I did
not see what they were; but we were in haste.
Returning, I questioned my host as to the con
dition of the labourers of the Campagna, not those
that we had just seen, but the transient harvesters
so badly lodged, so sadly neglected.
" In the present condition of our rural affairs,"
he said, " you can have no idea how difficult it is
to change anything whatever. We are dependent
on these caporali, v/ho bring us the Abruzzi labour
ers. I ask the one I employ to engage for us the
siame people year after year, so that we can know
them a little better; and attach them in some de
gree to the domain. He makes me pay him more
for doing this, because it gives him more trouble!
By way of ameUoration I have made, though we
are outside the ten kilometre limit, separate lodg
ings for the married couples. There are a great
many other things that we should gladly do, but
we are so heavily taxed! If Government would
exempt us for five years, we would transform
things!" Finally we dismount at the Chateau de Mac-

178 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
carese, where we are to breakfast. The butteri lead
away the horses. Some hunting dogs, who have
escaped from their kennel, come leaping around us.
A blacksmith's hammer is heard from a corner of
the courtyard, where he is making a cart-wheel.
Civilized Ufe reappears in the person of an old
butler, who leads the way into the enormous feudal
residence, flanked with two square towers, where
a regiment could be loidged in case of need.
Through the -windows of the hall where the table
is laid the eye wanders over the limitless green
expanse, here and there traversed by a line of
trees or flecked by a cluster of elms; it resem
bles, and in the spring must especially resemble,
the English country.
I desired much to know the yield, in detail, of a
great domain Hke this; and the two Princes Ros-
pigUosi, who are most accomplished agriculturists
and have the accounts of their tenuta kept with
great accuracy, have kindly fumished me with the
figures. This is what I have learned. The domain of
Maccarese, which consists, as I have said, of 5560
hectares [13,733 acres], is half cultivated by the
owners themselves, and half rented. At a time
when the whole was leased, it brought in 160,000
lire [$32,000] , from which the land tax had to be
deducted. At the present time the part which is
let, comprising almost all the arable land, or at
least nearly all now under cultivation, 400 hec-

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. i79
tares [988 acres] gives a return of 86,000 Hre
[$17,200]. The eight hundred cattle and a hun
dred horses that are fed on this land belong to the
princes; the farmer who hires the land having only
a masseria of three or four thousand sheep.
The rest of the domain, managed by the princes,
of which only 60 hectares [150 acres] are cultivated
land, had, on the 30th of September of the past
year, 1050 buffaloes, 99 horses, 22 oxen, 114 cows
and bulls. Now, such a herd of buffaloes brings in
about 40,000 lire [$8000] annually. In a single
month it often gives a value of 3500 lire [$700] in
cheese. The cows' milk can be sold only in win
ter and spring.
As for the taxes, always paid by the owners,
even on what is let, they have prodigiously in
creased. In 1855 they were, for Maccarese, 2000
crowns, that is, about 10,000 lire [$2000]. At the
present time must be added the taxes of the state,
of the province, and of the commune; also the
taxes upon cattle: five lire for a bull, three for a
cow, one and a half for a calf. The entire tax for
the domain of Maccarese is as follows :
Imposia governativa, .... 32,406 lire 42 cen.
" provinciate, .... i,37o '' 44 "
" communale, .... 3,206 " 68 "
Tax on cattle,  2,770

39,753 " 54
[$7,950.70]

i8o THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Adding to this sum the tax of about 3000 lire
[$600] that the tenant farmer pays on his cattle,
it appears that a domain which was formerly let
for 160,000 lire [$32,000], and would not bring in
as much as that now, owing to the present crisis
in the affairs of the Campagna, is loaded with over
42,000 lire [$8400] of taxes.
When, at nightfall, I was taking leave of my
hosts — who' remiained at Maccarese — to return to
the city, two sportsmen appeared in their long
swamp-boots. They had been shooting all day
over the domain, and came in, their game bags
full. Although only one of them was known to
the Princes Rospigliosi, and neither had obtained
permission, they were very pleasantly received —
which probably would not have been the case in
France — when they came, quite at their ease, to
shake hands with the owners ; for a law peculiar to
the Agro permits anyone to shoot over the do
mains, whether public or private.
I was soon on my way to the station in a Hght
carriage, driven by one of our morning's horse
men. On the way I inquired if any improvement
had been felt in the air of Maccarese.
" Signor, there is al-ways some fever; but the
more serious cases are less frequent than formerly,"
was the answer.
I asked to what cause this comparative exemp
tion was attributed.
" Some say," my driver replied, " that the sea-

ROMAN HOUSES, AND THE CAMPAGNA. x8l
sons happen to be better, as has been at times the
case heretofore. For my part, I beUeve it is due
to the improvements made in the land. But they
are still incomplete," he added. " The Campagna
is so large — so large! "
He made a gesture, a broad semicircular sweep
of the hand. And before us, to right and left, the
grassy plain stretched a-way without an undula
tion, without a barrier. The sky, pale blue over
head, pink in the west, was still bright above
the infinite, russet-coloured expanse. Nothing
stirred; not a flock of sheep in sight, not a bird
even. Nothing broke the vast solitude. A slight
vapour, with a perfume of crushed herbs, rose from
the soil. And, from point to point, far away in the
increasing darkness of the vast field, a sparkle that
quickly vanished, indicated standing water.

IIL
SOUTHERN ITALY.
To urge their horses, the Norwegians imitate
the sound of a kiss, the Arabs roU their r's, the
NeapoUtan driver seems to bark — " Wah! wah! "
And all the horses seem to understand. They are
very numerous in Naples, go very fast, and are not
expensive to keep. They are the prime luxury, the
absolutely necessary display for every family de
sirous to have or to keep a certain social rank.
The most impoverished cannot dispense with their
carriage. They may economize in the table, never
entertaining and stinting themselves to the cheap
est bill of fare; but their carriage they must have
for the five o'clock drive on the via Caracciolo,
It is true that the barouche, with two horses and
the driver, can be hired for 300 lire [$60] a month.
The second luxury which Neapolitan custom re
quires is a box at the Sian Carlo-. There are three
performances a week, and three series — Tomato A,
B, and C. The first is the most fashionable. My
neighbour the baron would on no account fail of
this double duty: he has his horses and his opera
box. It is said that his patrimony is impaired.
Very probably it is; these things are not uncom-

SOUTHERN ITALY. 183
mon in Italy. I have no certain information as to
that, but it is a fact that he still employs sixteen
servants. Two only are lodged in the house — the
concierge and his wife. The others come for the
day. The baroness, a woman of fashion, rises late.
At about half-past eleven she goes out for a passe-
giata under the trees by the sea, where the Prince
of Naples often walks. She has very brilliant eyes
and an exquisite pale complexion. She is usually
accompanied by her two daughters, less attractive
than herself, never by her husband. About one
o'clock the family successively — the husband, the
wife, the son, already through with his studies and
a gentleman of leisure — return to breakfast. A
Neapolitan breakfast is a very small affair — a little
macaroni cooked with tomatoes, and the cold meat
that is always served at a sideboard. Then a
siesta. At five o'clock the carriage is at the door.
Whether the dinner is more abundant than the
breakfast I cannot say. In the evening everyone
goes out to the theatre or to some social affair, re
turning shortly after midnight.
I am surprised to hear the baron lament so often
that he has land in the Vesuvian region. It is a
fine country from here to Caserta. Nothing could
be more fertile. It bears five crops annually, not
counting the vintage from vines which run over
the ground ®n green and red arches from tree to
tree. Labour is extremely cheap. I am told, how
ever, that the farmer never mlakes money, and

1 84 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
often cannot even pay his rent. " I have lived in
Naples thirty years," says my informant, " and I
have constantly observed this, but the reason for it
I have never been able to discover." My baron
may be land-poor, then, with taxes that he must
pay, and rents that he is not sure of receiving
regularly; but I scarcely believe this.
However it may be, he belongs de jure and de
facto to this Neapolitan aristocracy, which is cor
dial and agreeable, and is always generous, even
when in financial difficulties. As the Neapolitan
populace have exactly these same traits, plus pov
erty and minus culture, it results that the city is the
most generally pleasing in all Italy. It is also the
one where life is truly most simple, least hampered
by conventionalities. Everybody meets every
body, everybody leads in some degree a kind of
outdoor life, and a certain free and easy condition
of things is the result. Do you think, for instance,
there is any other city where you would meet, as
I did here, at ten o'clock in the moming, in one of
the handsomest and most crowded streets, a flock
of turkeys driven to sell from door to door, or
would see, as I have seen, an old Heutenant in full
uniform selecting and bargaining for a wash-basin
in the open street, and this without attracting any
attention from the passers-by?
I ask myself whether Naples may not be in dan
ger of losing in some degree the popular character
of her aspect and the freedom of her ways. So

SOUTHERN ITALY. 185
much simpUcity and naivete arise from the fact
that her fishermen, her sellers of frutti de mare, her
makers of pizza and of fireworks, her vendors of
boiled chestnuts, and many of her artisans, Uve in
quarters which are protected by their extreme pov
erty against city ordinances — a kind of shadow
where colours are kept intact. The population
which lives in this way in parts of the city entirely
given up to it being so much the more numerous,
inevitably imposes somewhat of its own habits
of life upon the class whom education renders
vastly its superior. But the old quarters are dis
appearing. Immense municipal improvements are
going on. One great work is the completion of
the old system of sewerage, carrying the conduits
by way of Posilipo out to the Bay of Gaeta; an
other is the cutting of new streets and boulevards
through — or rather the carrying them over — many
of the slums in the lower part of the town, which
are to be fiUed in and completely obliterated. This
is called by the authorities the resanimento, but the
populace call it the sventramento, of Naples. The
Government and the municipality together, shar
ing equally the expense, have already employed
100,000,000 lire [$20,000,000] in this work.
In the two years since I was last in Naples the
improvement has been great. The broad avenues,
beginning midway of the hill, have extended so far
that they seem likely before long to reach to- the
Bay. What do the poor people down there in the

i86 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
low ground think of this? What becomes of them
when their wretched houses are destroyed? What
will remain of those quarters made famous by their
poverty, so weU described by Fucini in his letters?
To answer these questions one must penetrate the
ill-famed, malodorous, ill-ventilated, unwholesome
region of the Porto. But it is difficult to go there
alone. Though there is no serious danger, or at
least no more than that of leaving behind one a
watch or a port-monnaie, it is really not possible
to visit these fondachi and their lanes unless ac
companied and guided by someone who knows the
place, and, if possible, is a persona grata.
So I made known my wishes to one of my Nea
politan friends, and was extremely successful.
" You shall be guided," he said, " by a person who
has authority in this kingdom where the police
themselves are often powerless." And at the hour
and place agreed upon, near the Porto, I found
awaiting me a man of lofty stature and attractive
appearance, wearing a broad-brimmed soft hat,
the CavaUere Antonio d'Auria, a counciUor of the
province of Naples and president of the Central
Labour Association. He had the air and manner
of a true leader, and, as I soon perceived, also the
authority of one. He was not alone. With us
were to go two newspaper men, my friend. Pro
fessor N., and several other persons unknown to
me, but evidently famiUar with the quarter we
visited.

SOUTHERN ITALY. 187
Leaving the street where we had met, we en
tered another parallel to the quays. We went in,
two by two, for the passage was narrow and filthy,
under an archway, sixty feet long, which gave en
trance into a lane. And what a deplorable scene
of material dilapidation and of human suffering!
W^hat a spectacle for the stranger coming with the
illusion of a Naples all gaiety and happy outdoor
Hfe! Overhead there is but a narrow ribbon of
blue sky, in part obscured by the rags that flutter
from the windows; and below, only a slice of in
fected air between the houses, with their irregular
windows and their walls stained with long streaks
of green mildew. A second archway at the left
gives access to an inner court, itself very narrow; in
the centre, a -wall, surrounded by heaps of filth and
black mud. This well furnishes the daily supply
of water for all the neighbourhood. An outside
wooden staircase ascends from this inhabited gulf;
heads appear at the different landings, women and
children, by no means merry, but pale and weary.
They look at us anxiously. What are these men
doing here, these strangers, in this region of hun
ger? We are thought to be deputies on some
errand of inspection. Then one of the tenants
recognizes Signor d'Auria, and a wan smile comes
over the faces that just now were defiant. Shortly
we are surrounded by a crowd of unkempt women,
half-naked children, men stiU holding in their
hands a deck of cards marked with signs whose

1 88 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
meaning is to me unknown. Our party are saying
one to another: " This was the place of rendez
vous for the fraternity of the mala vita, some years
ago." " The camorristi met here when they were
preparing to strike a blow." " Such or such a
crime was committed in this vicolo, and the crimi
nal has never been discovered."
We visited, successively, the fondaco Pietralella,
the fondaco delle Stelle, the fondaco Freddo, the
fondaco Verde, the fondaco Santa-Anna. An old
woman is fanning with a bit of pasteboard the
fire of a brasero, wherein, in the middle of the
muddy lane, she is cooking green pine cones, of
which the seeds are considered edible. She stops
us as we pass, and asks us to see where
she lives. Following her, I enter a corridor, and
after some twenty-five feet of perfect darkness,
lighting a match, she shows me a sort of hole, win-
dowless, receiving air and light only from this pas
sageway. " I pay three Hre [60 cents] a month
for this," she says. I am struck with the old
woman's pitiable condition, and am about to
empty my purse into her hands when my com
panion whispers : " Take care ! We should never
get out of here." And, indeed, the rumour of our
presence has already spread all through the
quarter, and the crowd grows thick about us.
Our slightest gesture is observed. If we seem
about to give, all arms are stretched out.
We clamber into an entresol, where five little cTiil-

SOUTHERN ITALY. 189
dren He asleep on a bed and the mother is combing
her hair. There is no table, and, indeed, no other
furniture than the bed except one chair. On the
floor is a saucepan and a spoon. Across the chair
lies a pink fichu of some Hght woollen material,
which the mother will put on, probably, when she
goes out for her day's work in some family of the
town just beneath. As we pass near a window of
the ground floor my neighbour says, " Look! "
And he adds, though the thing is easy to see: "Sono
delle donne di male affari." With a glance I ex
plore the low room, where several women of repul
sive aspect and in ragged clothing, lounging in
chairs or on a packing case with a canvas cover,
-watch us as we go by. At the back of the room
a small lamp is burning before — yes, before a
print of the Virgin pasted upon the wall! Nor is
it an isolated instance. Even in these wretched
creatures the Neapolitan piety still lives; abject as
they are, they still look to the Madonna for deliver
ance, and the lamp bums testifying to this hope.
" Now, look up there," says Signor d'Auria.
He points out the dismantled buUdings that close
this bUnd alley in which we are — the yawning
chasms in the walls, the windows without case
ments, the heaps of laths which, falling from
above, have caught on some projecting beam.
The tenants have moved out. On a level with the
fourth floor a street is advancing, as broad as a
whole block of these ancient buildings. It ex-

190 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
tends two heavy beams, like rails., above the shat
tered partitions. It is completed almost to the
edge of the mass of ruins. The white outlines of
its new houses rise against the sky, and still fur
ther diminish the daylight in this fondaco, which
is destined soon to disappear.
This is the new city, threatening, impending,
which at no distant day will have buried beneath
it the debris of these barracks of humble life,
where so many generations have lived and suffered,
have left this world with inconceivable regret;
where there have been gloomy dramas, despairing
deeds, Hves of mysterious wickedness, and also
acts of self-devotion and charity forever unknown,
innocent loves and brief joys; and, at least now
and then, a few notes of life's sweetest song. And
all is now to perish !
Emerging from these frightful slums, we trav
erse streets and squares which are, as a rule, un
known to the admirers of the Bay. I mean the
streets and squares of which the small tradesmen
have taken entire possession, transforming them
into a public bazaar. Fish, fmit, household im
plements of every kind, are in heaps upon the pave
ment. No carriage would try toi make its way
here. In the open air furnaces smoke, over which
are cooking the primitive dishes of the Neapolitan
ordinary — macaroni in oil, pizza, chestnuts, little
fried mullets. Nor are the shoe-dealers and the
old-iron vendors infrequent here.

SOUTHERN ITALY. 191
Purchasers in crowds are moving about among
the stalls, but as you watch them closely you ob
serve that there ai-e not more than a score of cus
tomers to each vendor. As a matter of fact, the
people who carry on this little traffic depend ex
clusively for patronage upon their near neighbours.
Half of the tenants in a court will be the customers
of one man. There are established reputations
here and lines of custom. Nobody can fry pepper-
pods like this fat old woman; nobody tells for
tunes so well as this girl, who also sells tickets in
an unauthorized lottery, while openly offering for
sale only woollen waistcoats and shawls of brilliant
hue. This fact is to be borne in mind in judging of the
resanimento. As I walked along with my com
panions another thing attracted my notice. Once,
twice, five times, ten times, the leader of our party
is accosted, detained, implored, by people begging
him to see that they have their rights. Now it is
a pretty girl with hair in a pointed knot and with
tragic mien, who grasps him boldly by the arm.
" Signor Councillor, please to look here! I was
selling my Indian figs when the questurini came.
They took away my cart! They say I have no
right to sell in the street ! The villains ! You must
help me ! " Whereupon the Signor Councillor
obligingly tackles the policeman on the subject of
the pretty fig-girl. Or it is a man, who puUs him
into a comer and recites the story of his griev-

192 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
atice; and Signor d'Auria promises to see the
judge. Then comes a woman running, followed
by three or four children and the old mother, who
can hardly walk. " Signor Councillor, isn't this
horrible? They have turned us out of the house!
They will not let us stay any longer on account of
the new street that is coming in. But the street
has not got here yet; and where can we go to
sleep to-night? They have fastened up our doors,
and we cannot get in. Oh, the wicked law, that
is'made against us poor people!" She talks in a
loud voice, and gesticulates, so that the passers-by
stop to listen, and a crowd collects. They fill the
lane in which we are and clamour -with her against
the authorities.
We are quite surrounded, and Signor d'Auria,
who can be seen and heard above all heads, stand
ing with his back to a half-demolished wall, makes
an address. He explains the necessity of the work
and its future benefits to all, and recommends pa
tience with present inconveniences. It is evident
that he is much beloved. The group disperses,
and we are left alone, except for the woman,
who keeps on talking for a while in a lower voice,
and then also goes away, apparently quite sat
isfied. " You see," says Signor d'Auria, " I have my
hands full. I come here every day, and there is
always something requiring attention."
" Are these your constituents? "

SOUTHERN ITALY. 193
" Oh, no! Most of these people cannot read or
write, and very few pay the five-lire tax."
" But how do you settle these cases? For in
stance, this woman tumed out of doors — did you
provide her with a night's lodging? "
" Oh, no! But I can al-ways help them with a
little money. I beg from my friends, and matters
can generally be arranged. Our Neapolitan peo
ple are so resigned, so easy-tempered. You saw
her; she went away smiling. The poor find
it hard to get anyone to listen to them. Lawyers
and officials and the policemen will scarcely ever
let them say a word. You see, I listen, and that
makes them like me so well."
We made our way up, through many round
about ways, across the ruins, toward the quarters
whose extension is to swallow up the regions we
have just visited. I am told about the last cholera
season in Naples.
" It was a fact, signor, that in these houses over
the ruins of which we are now walking, and in
these fondachi which you have just now visited,
there were more than a thousand deaths a day.
Very early the epidemic became violent, and you
would never guess how this happened ! It was the
lottery, signor, that claused it. You know, the
passion of the Neapolitans is for the lotto! You
know, also, that they have a preference for cer
tain numbers, especially those which they call the
Madonna's figures — 8, 13, and 84. Now, on the

194 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
last day of August, 1884, the ambo of the Madonna
was drawn. AU the poor in Naples rejoiced. Each
man got his ten, fifteen, or twenty lire; and the
day being Sunday, you should have seen this
starved and thirsty multitude eat and drink!
The restaurants and taverns were crowded from
morning till night. The sellers of melons and
sherbets had nothing left; and the following day,
Monday, the cholera, which had been very light,
suddenly became severe, with 350 fatal results."
Evidently all these lanes and alleys, these pesti
lential courts which we have just visited, merit no
regrets; and the idea of throwing new streets over
these quarters is not in itself a bad one — quite
the contrary. But these new avenues which we saw
from below, and in which we are now walking,
have one serious fault. It had been already men
tioned to me, but it grows clearer as I see them
more closely. They are bordered with palaces, with
very grand houses built for the rich, and, by the
way, are not, as yet, all provided with tenants!
There has been a wholesale destruction of houses
for the poor, and nothing substituted in their
place. This is the evil; here we have the cause of
the great disturbance caused by the resanimento in
this world of poverty and hunger. These poor
creatures, driven out of their unwholsome lairs,
are not able to pay the higher prices in the tene
ment-houses for the working class which have
been built, and stiU less able because, the new

SOUTHERN ITALY. 19S
buildings being on the very outskirts of the city,
these poor people would find themselves com
pletely in exile there, losing the custom of their
fifteen, twenty, or hundred neighbours, upon
which their prosperity depended. The crisis is
very serious. " Besides," my companion added,
" in the new quarters, as you will see, the houses
are all to be filled with these Httle vendors and arti
sans, as the houses in this quarter will all be taken
by people in easy circumstances. Now, the old
quarters of the city, even these which you have
just visited, are not all occupied by people of one
class. In these very lanes of the Porto, behind
their sombre walls, there still live people of the
mercantile class, dealers in silk and woollens and
cottons, and owners of fishing-boats. These an
cient ties of neighbourhood, very helpful to the
poor, offering them their best chance of being
known and assisted, are now to be all broken.
Hence, Naples complains."
Whereupon I reflected that our fashion of build
ing cities might, indeed, be finer in arrangement
and more beautiful than in former times; but that
it was certainly less fraternal.
Signor d'Auria left us here, returning into the
Porto, and only some of our party went, in two
carriages, to visit the artisan quarters. I will de
scribe only one of these — Santa-Anna alle Paludi,
built on waste ground and gardens beyond the
railway station. Its aspect is very commonplace —

196 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DA Y.
broad streets, which intersect each other at right
angles, bordered with huge angular buildings,
much as in Rome. I notice only two original
things: there are garlands of colocynths at the
shop-doors, tomatoes in clusters drying along the
walls, frying going on in the open air, an odour of
oil, heaps of shawls of that bright rose-pink be
loved by the ragazze, a general effect transferred
hither from the old quarters; and, secondly, the
porte-cocheres of these new buildings. How is it
possible to build houses like these, with entrances
so handsome, for the NeapoUtan labouring classes !
And what rent can they be expected to pay?
One of our party lifts the knocker at a fine
broad door, belonging to- a sort of palace in four
stories. The concierge comes to us through a
paved vestibule, very neatly kept. Opposite is a
square staircase, all in granite. At the left a glazed
door opens upon a great court, entirely surrounded
by buildings. We go up as far as the third story,
to have an idea of the medium apartments in this
new quarter. The building can accommodate
thirty-three families. The first apartment that we
visit consists of three rooms, and is occupied by
four sisters, of whom one has two- children. They
receive us very willingly on being told that I am
a stranger, interested in seeing everything in
Naples. The rooms were in perfect order; the
white walls much decorated with prints or framed
photographs. In the kitchen a gray turkey was

SOUTHERN ITALY. 197
walking about under the table, and two top-knot
pigeons cooed from the window-ledge.
" How much do you pay, signora, for this nice
apartment?" " Twenty-six lire [$5.20] a month."
" And you are very weU suited with it? "
" Perfectly. Our neighbours have only two
rooms, but they pay less — seventeen Hre."
The right-hand neighbour has no turkey, but he
keeps a hen. He is an old journeyman cabinet
maker, who is not employed by the nobility or the
bank. He assures us that he has no fault to find
-with the lodgings, and also that his hen gives him
an egg every day. The third household is quite
young, and the handsome girl who shows us the
apartment does not need to be asked whether she
is content. This appears from the smile she gives
us, from the coral hair-pin stuck proudly in her
crisped hair; also from the absence of turkey,
pigeon, or hen. Her man is in the city, and will
presently come home. He is a lustroscarpe — a
bootblack — she tellsi us.
Upon the whole, the apartments are good, but
the price can suit only those who have money
saved up, or the very young, who postpone their
saving to some later day. The real poor, who are
driven out of the Porto, can find no shelter here.
And I have no idea what is to become of them in
such a cruel moment.
Strangers who go to see the Grotto del Cane

198 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
will never forget a visit to the Vicaria, if the happy
thought occurs to them of making it. The place
is nearer, and it is more amusing. The street lead
ing to the courthouse is called, naturally enough,
the via del Tribunale. It has always been long,
narrow, abounding in shops, and crowded with
dweUings; but it is less exclusive now than for
merly, and one no- longer sees on the walls of the
Plospital della Pace this inscription, so amusingly
worded: In questa via, non possono habitare ne mere-
trici, ne soldati, ne studenti, ne simili genti — " In this
street may dwell neither iilles de joie, nor soldiers,
nor students, nor people of that sort," The stone
on which these words were cut is in the Museum of
San Martino, and the spirit which dictated them —
how far away that is from the times in which we
live! A young NeapoUtan lawyer is my guide. " We
are about three thousand here," he tells me, " who
may use the name, but happily we do not all
practise. The palace is getting noisy already.
Listen!" It is half-past twelve, and many are hastening
in, like ourselves, under the porticoes of the damp,
sombre old building, shored up on every side, and
full of the buzzing of a crowd. We also- go up the
well-worn stone stairs, at the top of which is a
passageway with a lunch counter. Here advocates
and clerks and amateurs buy the sandwich, the
bit of cheese, the dried fruit, or the sweet lemon,

SOUTHERN ITALY. 199
and the cigar, hard and black as ebony, which
make it possible to spend the whole day in the
courtroom. At the left is the Court of Appeals;
at the right the civil tribunal, with its eleven
rooms. We go to the left, and enter the outer hall, the
Salone of the court, where a crowd of people are
moving about, who accost one another, embrace,
talk together in loud tones, finish what they had
to say with a gesture or two, then separate; and,
shortly, meet other acquaintances. There are
many men here who have business, and there are
advocates with cases, of course, but also, as my
friend explains, there are many dilettanti. All this
crowd fills the centre of the hall, whose sides be
long to the discreet and silent gentry of the pen.
Along the walls, between the doors which give
access to the various courtrooms, lawyers' clerks,
seated at both sides of enormous tables, prepare
writs and motions. Three or four of these tables,
at intervals, are let to a tobacco seller.
At the end of the hall is a bench where are
seated, crowded together, talking with tragic ex
pressions of face, several women who- are awaiting
the result of a case; among them two with their
babies in their arms; Neapolitans of the country,
stout-waisted in their red corsets, with brown
faces, the eye hard and a little wild-looking. Per
haps they are relatives of this Palmieri whose case
is now called out. It takes so little to bring a

200 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
black cloud into these southern eyes! Palmieri
comes before the Tenth Correctional Chamber,
He is accused of having interfered with the Gov
ernment by establishing a clandestine lottery — an
offence which is very common in this part of the
country — and having thus obtained 35 lire
[$7], The hall, formerly an office in the vice
regal palace, is filled with an audience evidently
friendly to the accused; they reluctantly make
way for the passage of the officer, and do not com
pletely obey his reiterated caUs for "Silence!"
The unlucky prosecuting officer vainly calls for his
witnesses. Two out of three are not present. He
goes to the door opening into the great hall, and
over the crowd, the moving human mass, he again
cries out the names at the top of his voice. There
is no reply, and he comes back shrugging his
shoulders, as if to say, " One more non-appear
ance! " The judge is not surprised. He knows his
Neapolitans well; they are most unwilUng to tes
tify against an unlucky neighbour; leaning forward
over his desk, his hair streaming backward under
his velvet cap, which is as flat as a beretta, he
does no more than glance at his colleague on the
right, and then at his colleague on the left. The
two assistants, dressed like the presiding judge,
in black robes with a silver knot on the shoulder,
seem to reply " Amen " with their tight-shut lips.
Then the accused is allowed to speak — a slim,
stylish young fellow, in a short brown coat, who

SOUTHERN ITALY. 201
comes forward almost to the judges' seat, and be
gins to defend himself without the least emotion.
You would think him a lawyer with ten years'
experience and pleading another man's case, so
well pitched is his voice, so fluent his language, so
happy his gestures. He stops a moment between
his sentences, and from time to time he turns
round as if to derive an argument from the non
appearance of the witnesses for the prosecution.
I leave him to finish, and make my way through
the different courtrooms, where there is the same
crowd, the same informality, and manifestly the
same familiarity between the judges on the one
hand and the advocates, -witnesses, and lookers-on
on the other. Many of these halls of justice are
filled with people talking idly together as in any
public room.
" We used to have here in Naples a brother
lawyer," said my companion, as we went down
stairs together, " who gained many cases, not by
any talent that he had, but because he was known
to be a jettatore."
" It is still believed in, then, this jettatura? "
" More" than is generally admitted. In one of
the courtrooms that you have just visited not long
ago there occurred an amusing thing. The advo
cate of whom I speak, who had the evil eye, was
dreaded by all his brethren of the profession, but
especially by one of the civil judges. On one oc
casion, as the jettatore was preparing for an im-

202 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
portant case, the lawyer on the other side suddenly
died. There was a very distressing impression
produced by this event. ' Did you know,' people
said to each other, ' that So-and-so had accepted
a case against the jettatore, and now he is dead.'
" Someone was at last found to take the vacant
place. The case was again appointed for a certain
day. Before the day arrived, by bad luck, again
tbe opponent of the jettatore died, this time by an
accident. There was a panic. Not a person was
willing to take the case; and a third lawyer, ap
pointed by the court, stayed away when the day
came. The judge was alone in the presence of the
jettatore, and he was the more dismayed because
he had prepared his decision in advance, and it
was unfavourable to this formidable person. As he
sat down in his judicial armchair, he uncon
sciously had pushed his spectacles up over his fore
head. ' I am blind ! ' he cried in terror. ' Pardon
me, So-and-so; I have done you no injury! ' And,
at the moment, his glasses dropping back into
their place: ' Oh, I beg your pardon, my friend! '
he hastened to say, ' I have got my sight again.'
This story, in the legal world of Naples, provoked
a long and loud burst of laughter. But the jetta
tore was only the more dreaded. At last he fell ill,
and everybody prayed for his death. And when it
was represented to people what a wrong thing it
was to wish one's neighbour dead, they said: ' Oh,
he is not a man at all; he is a jettatore.' "

SOUTHERN ITALY. 203
" And how does this begin? In what way is the
evil eye first recognized? "
" By its effects, which are infinitely varied, but
always harmful. For instance, at a reception a
guest enters, and at the same moment another,
who is taking tea, drops his cup and it is broken.
This coincidence is observed. Later in the even
ing the same gentleman, hearing someone say th^t
such a person was dead, cries thoughtlessly : ' Why,
that can't be ! I was with him this very morning ! '
You may well suppose that from this time onward
prudent people will begin to avoid a man who
passes his morning with someone who- is dead be
fore night, and that a few more such things will
make a very black reputation."
" And an indelible one? "
" Oh, certainly! Once a jettatore, always a jetta
tore. The years in no way impair the malignity of
his eye. Nor is this superstition a privUege pecu
liar to Naples. You will meet it everywhere in
Italy. I know a man of the highest fashion, a
member of one of the first clubs in Rome; when
it is understood that he is to breakfast at the club,
the dining room has rarely any other guest than
himself. Members who have given in their names
for the meal prefer to pay twice for their break
fast, and go to a restaurant rather than have it
in such a dangerous neighbourhood. I might
name a lady of the same social rank, who, at court
balls, generally remains alone on her bench, unless

204 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
the foreign colonies are largely represented. In
that case, some Englishwoman or some German
will take a seat beside the jettatrice, not knowing
the story, and the isolation is for the moment
relieved. But I confess that at Naples the South
ern temperament brings stories of this kind
to a higher pitch of the comic. I could tell
you many instances. Here is one that hap
pened to the Conte di C, who died the other
day. Everybody feared him, just as now, here
in Naples, everybody fears the person who is
spoken of as ' the innomabile ' and ' the formida-
bile ' ; but nothing equalled the terror of the Duke
de M., whenever he found himself in the presence
of his cousin. The evil eye was so strong in the
Conte di C. that coral horns, ostensibly worn as
a watch charm, or the hand upon a key — powerful
means of defence in general — could not prevent
disasters from falling thick as hail on people who
came near him. It is impossible always to avoid a
person, however; and one day, on the sidewalk,
coming around a corner, the duke met his cousin
face to face. ' Come sta? ' cried the count. ' Take
my arm, cousin; I was just going to your house.'
The other turned pale, but there was no escape.
Did he grow suddenly faint, or did he slip on a bit
of melon-peel? This has never been known; but,
at the end of one street, the duke in some way fell,
and he broke his leg. Then his Neapolitan pru
dence got the upper hand, and, injured as he was,

SOUTHERN ITALY. 205
he had the strength to whisper in his formidable
cousin's ear this pretty patois sentence: ' Grazie,
perche tu me putire accidere, e te si cuntentate de
m'arruinare!' — 'Thanks! You might have killed
me, and you have only broken my leg! ' "
It may be said that in literature there is a Nea
politan school, or at least a South ItaHan school,
in which Naples holds the chief place. She has
always had her singers of Piedigrotta, the merry
band who annually compose, for the great festa, the
popular songs on which the townspeople will live
for the coming year.
The compositions accepted for this occasion are
not all of equal merit; many die and are forgotten,
having had but one edition, at ten centesimi, sold
at the street corners. But I feel that these poets
keep up the tradition, and that to their verses we
owe the novels so popular and so original, with
so much local colour, to which I have already
alluded. The literary public of France is always
ready to welcome and enjoy works like those of
Signora Mathilda Serrao, in which there is much
life, much love for the humble Neapolitans, and a
knowledge so accurate, so far as a stranger can
judge, of their manners and ways of thought and
speech. The Paese di Cuccagna, the last novel of
hers with which I am familiar, dealing with that
great passion of the community, that source of so
many dramas, the lottery, better explains the Nea-

2o6 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
politan temperament and gives more information
as to local customs than could very frequent visits
to the fine hotels of the Chiaja. The same is true
of Salvatore di Giacomo, whose Mattinate napole-
tane have had a very legitimate success. These are
short stories, written in this sad under-world of
Naples, by a clever author: Valite o Vassilo?
a sick child whose mother, a poor woman, has had
his portrait painted, and the subsequent event of
his death; Serafina, a scene in a hospital; a girl
wounded with five stabs is undergoing an opera
tion upstairs, while her poor old father at the
gate is telling the porter how she fled, shamefully,
one night from her home; I'Abbandonato, the baby
with only his grandmother, who, about to die
alone in a cellar of the fondachi that I have de
scribed, lays him, sound asleep, on the upper step
of the stairs, that her poor comrades may see him
when they return; the charming story of the two
friends. The Canary and the Dove; and especially
that admirable little drama, Senza vederlo, in which
a widow, Carmela, goes to ask from the Secretary
of the Albergo dei Poveri the favour of seeing her
chfld, and to whom no one is wilUng to acknowl
edge that he is dead and forgotten. It is incredi
ble how much emotion, how much human pity the
author has been able to embody in these twelve
stories in a duodecimo volume.^ Verga, another
'Among other works of his. may be mentioned Rosa Bellavita,
and a dialect poem 'O Munastero.

SOUTHERN ITALY. 207
Neapolitan author, lacks this very elegant con
ciseness. His style has, however, a Sicilian colour,
very marked, perhaps even extravagant at times.
Many of his novelle, especially the first, Nedda, and
his Vita dei Campe, are beautiful, heartrending
tales of Sicilian poverty.
And the sum of all this reading, the impression
made by these books, is that the reputation for mad
revelry which Naples has is, in part, unfounded;
instead of the legendary boatman, picturesque
of costume, tuneful of voice, there is a pathetic fig
ure who suffers and weeps. The charm of this verse
or prose which tells the story of common life
arises, therefore, from a pity, very deep at heart,
but almost always veiled in expression, and from
the precious faculty of thinking and speaking in
the language of the poor. In Calabria,
It was my desire to revisit ^tna; and being
familiar with the sea-route, I decided to go by
land. We pass through Salerno, then cross the
mountains to Metaponto on the Bay of Taranto,
and from there, tuming at right angles, foUow the
Calabrian coast down to the tip of the boot at
Reggio, There is but one train a day, and it is a
journey of twenty hours. We leeve Naples at 2.10
p. M,, reaching the Stfaits of Messina the next
morning at about ten o'clock. The journey is
fatiguing, with long stops during the night among

2o8 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
the mountains; and this railway, which has cost
enormously, — 600,000,000 [$120,000,000], it is as
serted, — will be of very little value when the new
road from Naples to Reggio is completed. This
Hne leaves the old route below Salerno-, and coasts
the Mediterranean almost all the way. The sav
ing of time will be very important. Steamers
crossing the Straits connect with the trains, and
the point for the new line of connection will proba
bly be no longer Reggio, but Villa San Giovanni.
It is said, even, that the train itself wiU be sent
across on barges, and go on from Messina by a
route, also new, following the north shore of the
island, and shortening by a third the distance from
Messinia to Palermo.
The Italians of the southem provinces are glad
to talk of these schemes as of a tardy favour
granted to the South, and they tell you, also-, that
these are not the only public works going on in
this long-neglected region; an immense arsenal is
nearly completed at Taranto, and there is a plan
for carrying the waters of the river Sele into
Apulia. This is, by the way, an interesting
scheme. The provinces of Foggia and Bari, with
the port of Barletta, the principal market for
ItaHan wines, are almost destitute of running
water. Agriculture suffers from this, and espe
cially the public health, for the inhabitants have
only cistern water to drink; and this, in the sum
mer, the stagnant residue of earlier rains, is sold at

SOUTHERN ITALY. 209
an unreasonable price. An Italian engineer, Si
gnor Zampani, proposes to take at Caposele a part
of the water which now flows to the Mediterra
nean, and constructing an aqueduct — a grander
work, perhaps, than the Roman aqueducts — and
tunnelling the Apennines for over a mile, carry it
across to the valley of Ofanto on the Adriatic
slope, whence, by many secondary channels, it can
be distributed to the large number of cities and
-villages that require it. The estimated expense
would exceed 100,000,000 [$20,000,000], and it is
hoped to enlist English capital in the enter
prise. Obstacles of all kinds are in the way, and
the project is as yet only a dream, but of the
boldest kind and well adapted to excite public
interest, I return to my railway journey. On such a long
route one is fortunate if he finds agreeable com
pany. We hesitated a while, then selected a com
partment where three persons were already seated
— one with harsh but intelligent face, black,
drooping moustache, and travel-stained garments,
seemingly a man from some remote country;
the second, a jovial rotund face, with gray mous
tache a la Victor Emanuel, the hair almost white
and very thick, a big coral pin in the scarf, at the
watch-chain a hom against the evil eye, the type of
a soldier, the father of a family, and the father of
his men ; the third, a gentleman extremely elegant,
very young, dark, long-faced, and carrying, in the

210 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
upper pocket of his waistcoat, a pencil attached to
a fine gold chain.
At first we are almost silent; we look occasion
ally at the landscape. It is delicious near Vesu
vius, as everybody knows. The valley, even beyond
Pompeii, where we lose sight of the Bay, is
extremely fertile, and I admire the luxuriant bean-
fields quite as much as the blue distance; then
there are low hills between which we pass, then
we arrive at Salerno, so surprising, so royally
beautiful, as we emerge from a tunnel — this view
of the city lying in a semicircle at the foot of a
huge slope, with its white houses, its red roofs, its
harbour and jetties, the flank of the promontory
through which the tunnel is cut and over which
lies the zigzag road to Amalfi, and last, the sea,
-without a wrinkle, misty with excess of light, its
horizon effaced by the sunset. After this the road
rises again, leaving the grassy plain where Pses
tum was, and we enter the mountain country. At
the little stations the men who are waiting for the
train often wear the Calabrian cap, and the -women
have the short red petticoat, the warm pallor, and
the long eyes of the Orient. Many carry their
children wrapped and tied up in coloured cloths;
at EboH I counted three of these Uttle blue pack
ages and two yellow ones. There are for sale
buffalo-cheeses, round and varnished like colo
cynths, and oranges with their leaves. And so
evening comes on.

so U THERN ITALY. 211
We had not waited so long as this before mak
ing some acquaintance with two of our travelling
companions. The slender young man is a land
owner in the Basilicate; the older man with the
Victor Emanuel moustache is an infantry officer
on his way to Taranto; the third traveller remains
silent and motionless in his corner.
Between the major and the landowner conver
sation soon began upon the condition of things in
Southem Italy. Both, in their several ways, de
plored the present situation in the Basilicate and in
Calabria. " You see," the major remarked, " everywhere
land lying fallow, hill-slopes channelled out by the
rains." And, in fact, we did see nothing but hills, and in
the last gleams of daylight, their tops almost
always stony, and without a trace of cultivated
fields or plantations of trees.
" The fault is in the deplorable management of
our forests," said the civilian. " For a very long
time the peasants have been allowed to cut down
the trees and shrubs at will. They have destroyed
-without restoring. The belt of trees has been pro
gressively narrowed on many of the mountains,
and finally has disappeared. Then the earth has
been washed away, undermined by rains. Now we
have a law, -within the past four years, which pro
vides for replanting. But it comes somewhat
late! "

212 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY. ^
" There are many other causes, signor. Here
are great extents of country, which might be cul
tivated and populous, ridenti di persone. But to
whom do they belong? You know better than I
do; two-thirds of Calabria is in the hands of a
score of barons  "
" And so it should be ! They have bought it, or
they have inherited it."
" I don't say they have not. The result is no
less deplorable. Most of these are contented to
let their flocks roam over these tenute. The land
not being heavily taxed, since it is considered to
be of a very poor kind, their revenue is enough. I
am ready to admit that they are excusable in let
ting a state of things go on which they did not
themselves create. You will agree, however, that
the condition of the labouring classes is pitiable in
the extreme."
" Certainly it is."
"Wages of 1.25 [25 cents], sometimes as Httle
as 85 centesimi [17 cents], for thirteen hours of
labour; boiled herbs and black bread for food;^ if
they desire to become farmers, and try for a little
prosperity, usury dogs them, and will have five per
cent., or ten, by the week. Then what do they
do? They emigrate."
"Yes, they emigrate, Signor Major; but I
' These figures are also given in the pamphlet of F. Nitti, Emi-
grazione italiana e i suoi avversarii. Naples, Roux.

SOUTHERN ITALY. 213
doubt if they do much better elsewhere. Emigra
tion is an Italian scourge."
A clear, distinct voice at this point intermpted:
" It is a wealth! "
In his comer, half lighted by the little lamp in
the ceiling, the third traveller was leaning forward,
and looking at his two neighbours with that harsh
expression, without any glimmer of a conventional
smile, without the least conciUation toward one's
adversary, which marks the man of the lower
classes. Nevertheless, he wa? dressed like a well-
to-do townsman.
The young man bent toward him politely, so
far as to bring his head under the carriage lamp,
which made a halo for his hair.
" I do not understand you," he said — " a wealth?
You maintain that when, for example, in 1886,
Italy lost more than eighty thousand of her inhab
itants to America alone, she was enriched by it? "
" Yes; we had an excess of population at home.
If we use it in colonizing, and so Italianize a part
of America, what objection is there to that? It at
least makes us more influential. Many of our peo
ple are doing well in the Argentine Republic, in
Brazil, and elsewhere. They gain their living, as
I know myself! "
" Have you become an American? "
" I have; for the last three years I have been the
manager of an estate in Buenos Ayres; and I am
here now to take my family out."

214 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
" You had left them here? "
" Yes; the journey was expensive."
"And when you have made your fortune, you
propose to come back some day? "
The emigrant remained silent for a moment;
then, no doubt, he decided that he was American
enough already to tell the whole story:
" I think not," he said.
" Very well! For my part," rejoined the young
man, throwing himself back in his comer disdain
fully, " if I were the Government, I should pro
hibit emigration by every means in my power; I
should lay a tax upon the emigrant. You will
never make me believe that it is well to depopu
late one country in the interest of another, I
know villages in Calabria which have lost in cer
tain years a hundred inhabitants."
The emigrant was displeased. His eyes glit
tered; he shrugged his shoulders,
" It is a harm to Calabria," he said; " but it is
good for Italy. Besides, I had tried to gain a Hv
ing here in this country; and there was no-ne to be
gained." He drew back into his corner as if decided to
say no more; and, shortly after, he alighted on the
deserted platform of a station swept by the icy
wind which blew from out a ravine. My thought
followed him in the darkness on his way to one
of those hill-tops which we had observed from
point to point, crowned with houses bound to-

SOUTHERN ITALY. 215
gether and crowded close by ruinous old ramparts.
Possibly he could not reach home till nearly day
light, making long circuits caused by the torrent
which roared at the right. Perhaps the village was
one of those whose inhabitants I had seen danc
ing the taranteUa so gravely in their fine costumes
of the olden time! I seemed to see him entering
the bedroom, still darkened, where the cribs had
not yet begun to cry out, and the joy, mingled
with alarm, of the wife, to Avhom this announced
definitive exile!
The commandant, whose urbanity and tran
quillity this sharp collision between the landowner
and the emigrant seemed to have discomposed,
began to explain to me that emigration was in fact
much more frequent in the South than in the
North. Among other interesting things, he told
¦me that the peasants of the North generally went
accompanied by their families, expecting in some
way to get back again, if America proved inhos
pitable; while the bracciani of Calabria and the
Basilicate were accustomed to go alone, to spend
two or three years in studying the situation and
finding means for a Uvelihood; and then return
ing, as our late neighbour had done, with money
enough to bring out the wife, the children, and
the old people.
By degrees the major also grew animated. He
spoke to me — he, a Piedmontese — about this ex
treme southern part of Italy, where he felt himself

2l6 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
out of his element, humiliated in his patriotic
pride about so many things. He got up, and stood
before me as if making a speech, fulminating
against the luxurious and idle townspeople of
Potenza, Metaponto, Catanzaro, and other Httle
places of local importance.
" The young men who could do so much for the
country," he said, " do nothing. When they have
finished their studies, they come home. Is it to
improve the condition of the region in which they
Hve, or even their own? Not at aU. Two thou
sand lire [$400] of income suffices them. This
permits them to act the noble, fare il nobile, to
salute and to be saluted. They see- nothing be
yond. Up to the age of twenty-five you will see
them on all the promenades. Later they wUl be
sitting in chairs in their orange groves, and watch
ing their labourers dig. My country! I am
ashamed for ber! "
He went on for a few minutes in this tone,
his eyebrows frowning, his voice vibrating -with
emotion. The country, liberty, democracy, the
young nation, greatness, future — all these im
pressive words he grouped in sentences; and
when he felt that he had effaced the impression
produced upon us by the detail of the miseries of
Southern Italy, he appeared satisfied, sat down,
presently confessed to me that his wife bought
her things in Paris, at the Printemps; then fell
asleep.

SOUTHERN ITALY. 217
This did not last long. Ten minutes later the
train, much shaken, and letting off steam on the
down grades, ran into the station at Metaponto.
The light of lanterns flashed over faces, each
framed in its corner. Someone opened the door
and came in, a young lieutenant of artillery in
uniform. He knocked against the major's legs,
which were stretched across to the opposite
cushion. The excellent man awoke. In such a
case a Frenchman would have grumbled and given
way; an Englishman would not have stirred. The
Italian smiled at the newcomer, withdrew his legs,
and said courteously, " S'accommodi, s'accommodi! "
Then, perceiving that this was the station where
he was to leave the train, he grasped my hand in
farewell, recommending to me the marvellous
(stupendo) bouillon that, by chance, was to be had
at this Calabrian buffet. The landowner -with
the gold chain also got off here.
The route now lay close by the sea. The moun
tains which we had traversed, heaped up at the
right, had the same desolate look. They formed
a near horizon of slopes, rocky or covered with
meagre thickets. The space, varying in breadth
from their foot to the line of the railway, presented
but rarely a Uttle fresh verdure — clusters of reeds
along a fiumara, whose soil preserved a little
moisture. More frequently it was an abandoned
pasture, with black tufts of boxwood here and
there, or else fields of pale green olive trees planted

2i8 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
in rows. No sign of culture, and almost no
flocks. Dawn came on, and at the left lay the sea
¦ — a sea without islands and as smooth as glass.
If it had the least tide, how quickly it would have
covered the brown sand over which we ran ! Ves
sels, infrequent like the flocks, slept upon the
water. After sunrise, they seemed to float upon
molten mietal. But the land received no lustre
from the sunlight, and remained- infinitely sad.
For nearly two hundred miles the coast is the
same. I regretted the major's departure, and
even that of the other two. The young lieuten
ant had less character and less erudition, but, Hke
most Italian officers, was perfectly courteous.
When the train stopped at the stations, with a
row of houses on one side and a row of fishing
boats on the other, he mentioned the name of the
place; and he asked me to observe that the
Calabrian villages were " beginning to come
down." In earlier days they were all perched upon
heights, fortified, creneUated, Hke those we had
noticed here and there among the Apennines.
The coasts were not secure. The long tradition of
invasion by people from every land, and the more
recent dangers from Calabrian brigands, also the
fear of malaria on the low ground, had grouped
the inhabitants on defensible hill-tops, and above
the dangerous atmosphere of the plains. Now all
new buildings are close to the sea, and the ram-

SOUTHERN ITALY. 219
parts on the hills are falling into ruins. As regards
malaria, it is neither more nor less than formerly.
It depends on the exposure, the nature of the soil,
the direction of the prevailing winds, and on
many other unknown causes not easily to be
avoided. It must be confessed that even this thin cur
rent of talk sufficed to develop a friendly feeling.
When we parted on the quay at Reggio, the young
officer to take the steamer and go over into Sicily;
I to go in search, in the upper part of the town,
of the fortunate proprietor of a bergamot orchard,
I felt sincere regret at parting from the stranger.
" Look at me! " he said.
" I am looking."
" To think that, officially, we are enemies! "
" And obliged to fight each other."
" No," he rejoined quickly. " It wfll not last,
the triplice. We are so naturally on your side!
Come and see me at X. You will find that many
of my comrades think as I do. We may be ever so
loyal, but we have a right to our wishes. Don't
you think so? "
He stepped across the little gangway to the
steamer. We again saluted, and I have never seen
him since.
The Bergamot.
Here I am, then, in search of Signor Guglielmo,
or Antonio, or Francesco — no matter what his

220 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
name is — the owner of the fine orchard. This time
I will not pass through Reggio -without making ac
quaintance with the bergamot. Our fathers and
mothers loved it. It is still used. And it grows
here exclusively, on a narrow strip of ground
which begins at Villa San Giovanni above Reggio,
ending a Httle below the town at Palizzi. The at
tempt has been made to acclimatize it across the
Straits in Sicily, but it loses its perfume there.
The fruit requires this hot-house climate, this ex
posure on a gentle slope, this earth, the result of
landslides. I find Signor Guglielmo a stout man with small
sleepy eyes that shine for an instant like flash
lights when he talks of business. He really wor
ships the bergamot. This is all that I require of
him; he understands his business. If he shows
cleverness besides, that is thrown in. And it seems
he does. We leave the city in a pelting rain. I
ask him if it will last. He looks over toward Sicily
whence the wind comes :
" Cosa di niente," he says, " tempo di Sicila, tempo
femmineo, che non dura." " This is nothing, Sicilian
weather, woman's weather, that does not last."
Over the walls of the orchards which line the
roads very far out into the country, as at Palermo,
the varnished leaves of the trees shade hun
dreds of yellow oranges. The rain, wetting the
trees, evaporates in the sunshine and perfumes the
air. At a rapid trot we pass through this fragrant

SOUTHERN ITALY. 221
suburb. The inclosures become more infrequent
and also the houses. Fields of beans appear on
both sides of the road, and others of pimento, lift
ing up their red pods, which resemble poppies.
Signor GugUelmo sniffs the air noisily.
" Bergamot! " he says.
And there, indeed, a hundred yards in front of
us, peasants in the Calabrian dress, the men with
short trousers, the women with red petticoats and
the great drooping head-dress, are escorting a cart
loaded with the precious fruit on its way to a mUl.
The cart leaves behind it a perfume so strong that
it completely overpowers that of the oranges and
lemons. We are in a bergamot-steam. My host
seems enraptured. I look into the baskets. They
are filled with green fmit, of the size of a Valencia
orange, but with a smooth rind, and endowed on
the top with a Uttle appendix, as if the stem passed
through and came out on the other side.
The rain has ceased and the hills, whose first
slopes we begin to ascend, resume their bluish
tints. A half mile farther, and in the beautiful,
moist, warm country of Reggio, facing one of the
broadest landscapes in the world, we stop at the
gate of a villa. Very different is this from even a
Marseillaise bastide! A hedge of red geraniums,
luxuriant, growing up into great shrubs, sur
rounds the house, which is tinted pink and covered
halfway up the walls with climbing jasmine. Be
tween the walls and the geranium hedge, like a

222 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
greenhouse, like a portico, an arbour covered -with
vines makes a shade from the noonday sun; it
bends around the eastem facade of the house and
brings the visitor to the entrance.
The interior entirely faUs to correspond with
the grace outside. I have often been surprised at
the indifference to comfort manifested by the mid
dle-class ItaHans. The proprietor of this villa is
a rich man, but there is scarcely any fumiture in his
house; the beds — oh, Normandy, land of eider
downs! — are composed of a very small mattress
and a minute straw-bed between iron uprights;
and the frames which hang against the cracked
plaster of the walls have in them nothing but
chromo-lithographs, suggestive of a village tavern.
Let us go to the orchard!
It is an enchanting spot. Emerging from under
the vine arbour, we enter a grove of oranges, man
darins, and bergamots, very high, very luxuriant,
meeting above our heads, and having beneath their
arches a shadow that is scarcely flecked, here and
there, with a ray of sunUght. A little further on
there is a great square inclosure entirely filled with
bergamots; and along one avenue there are shrubs
-with oval leaves, and fruit like a soft, green
pine-cone. " I was thinking you might not know that,"
Signor Guglielmo said.
" What do you caU it? "
" It is the annona, also a specialty of Reggio,

SOUTHERN ITALY. 223
and impossible to export. The pulp is top tender,
but so nice! Try it!"
He took from his coat pocket a little spoon,
plunged it into one of the largest, and drew out a
long morsel of creamy pulp, yellow Avhite, at the
end of which was a black seed, extremely hard.
My companion found the annona insipid; to me it
had a delicious flavour of vanilla. But I was a lit
tle intoxicated by the odour of all these geraniums
and perfumer's plants. I no longer dare persevere
in my opinion of the annona.
We came back in the direction of the essence
factory, a very modest structure, a few steps from
the house and on the edge of a second grove of
plum trees. The work was all carried on in the
same hall, in the different corners. At the right,
near the door, kneeling in the centre of a wooden
frame that lay on the ground filled with berga
mots, Ciccia, the little SiciUan girl, was sorting the
fruits. Her yellow kerchief and Arab head rose
prettily above the green pyramids. She selected
five bergamots of equal size and passed them to
her father, who placed them in the receiver of a
machine. A few turns of a crank and the work
was done. The five came out apparently intact,
but invisible cuts had expressed the essence from
the rind. The fruit itself had no more value as
perfume. It was thrown to another man who,
with a machine, quartered it, and these pieces, in a
press at the opposite end of the hall, gave an

224 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
abundant liquid, loaded -with citric acid. Then,
that nothing might be wasted, the residue, in a
heap, was carried away to be fed to the cows,
sheep, and goats.
I inquire what is the profit from a berganiot
grove. Signor Guglielmo tells me that the cul
ture of this precious tree is quite expensive, each
one requiring, like an orange tree, to be watered
at least once a week; but, on the whole, that a
quarter acre well planted with trees of good size
-will give about 8 kilos of essence, at 25 lire the
kilo. His domain gives not less than 800 or 1000
kilos in good years [25 lire the kilo equals,
approximately, $2.25 the pound].
" But," he says, and I detect in the tone of his
voice his sincere pity for us, " you do not know
true bergamot in Paris. Even here many dealers
adulterate it by adding other essences, such as the
essence of terebinth."
I, myself, was more touched by the condition
of the labourers whom Signor Guglielmo and
other Calabrians employ in their factories. These
men, whom I have just seen, go to bed at five in
the afternoon, immediately after their supper. At
ten o'clock they rise, and they work all night —
" because they will be less distracted from their
work in the night," says my host — then, all the
moming, and in the afternoon up to three o'clock.
For this prodigious day they get 1.25 [25 cents].
As for their food — and they have neither meat nor

SOUTHERN ITALY. 225
wine — their breakfast menu may give an idea of
it: two pepperpods dipped in oil and a piece of
black bread!
" Now you understand," philosophically remarks
the proprietor of the bergamot grove, " why
emigration is so common in this part of the
country." In company with him we visit the upper part
of the domain. Soon, at the limit of the irrigat
ing channels, the grove of plum trees ends. The
ground, stony, glowing with heat, burnt by the
sun, can only produce vines — which are at this time
suffering from the phylloxera — and stunted fig
trees spreading out their leaves near the ground.
As we go higher, vegetation becomes more
impoverished. A dried-up torrent, like a dusty
road, seems to mark the limit of the terrestrial
paradise of Reggio. Beyond, there are only un
even the slopes covered with cactus, and then the
great mountain peaks of Calabria.

IV,
a corner of SICILY — ^^TNA IN ERUPTION,
I WAS desirous to set foot again upon this land of
Sicily, whence, two years earlier, I had brought
away memories so precious; and, especially, I was
eager to revisit ^tna, whose eruption stiU con
tinued. It had begun in July. It was thought to
be ending, and many a time had I pictured to
myself the spectacle of glowing lavas on the
huge slopes, in the region where the rocks
were strewn with ferns or in that, lower down,
of the chestnut woods. From Reggio by night
I had sought to discover a spark upon the
mountain's side; but from the mainland nothing
could be seen. I crossed over to Messina and took
the train for Aci-Reale.
It is very pleasant to return to roads like these,
whose beauty seems to be changeless, scarcely de
pendent upon the seasons. I had been here before
in summer, and it was now the middle of winter.
But there was very little change. We passed
freight trains loaded with lemons in boxes, or even
the fruit heaped up, open to the air, Hke the apples
of Normandy. The mountains on the right had
226

A CORNER OF SICILY— jETNA IN ERUPTION. 227
no more lost the verdure of their oUve trees and
cactuses than the wonderful outline of their fret
work crests, with here and there an old Saracenic
fort. Their fiumarc had scarcely -more water than
in the month of August. On the left I recognized
the precipitous slopes, planted with vineyards and
groves of plum trees, the villas of the citizens of
Messina who are lovers of orchards, the capes
with their deep-blue shadows on the sea, and the
fishing-boats drawn up on the water's edge. I
even felt the same surprise as before on passing
from the Italian country into this half African
island, on seeing the bronzed faces of the lower
classes, the thick lip and the piercing glance. I
heard again the same kind of talk as before:
" Nothing new, then, from Castrogiovanni, since
the leader of the Marini was killed? "
" No"
" That was a long time ago. And how is it with
you? "
" Not the sHghtest accident ; complete security.
Is it because Rinaldi's men have been captured? "
" No, it is a pity; e gran peccato." I had espe
cially extolled to my companion the charms of this
little city of Aci-Reale, all white, at the foot of
^tna, with its belt of orange trees. But clouds
had gathered, and the rain began to fall. When I
wished to demonstrate, on the spot, the reasons
for my ardour, I found not one left. The streets
were filthy, narrow, tangled up; ^tna was hid-

228 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
den; the orange trees, all black, wept over our
heads; the dealers in fruit and vegetables, those
jewellers of Italy, had taken in their brilliant stock
in trade, even to the wreaths of tomatoes; the
leaden sea beat upon a gray shore. And I became
conscious that there were times when even Sicily
did not do itself justice.
The rain continued; darkness coming on was
making still more gloomy the road and the white
sea and the gardens of the baths of Santa Venera,
which were visible from the hotel where we had
taken shelter, when we heard a dull, prolonged
sound which made the windows rattle. " A ship
is leaving the port of Catana," a servant said.
" She has a big gun, and the wind brings the sound
to Aci." But half an hour later my friend, who
had stepped out upon the balcony, called to me:
"^Etna is flaming! This is magnificent ! " And,
indeed, the storm, dividing and passing off, left
^tna visible. The moon cast a faint light on the
snow-covered summit and the formidable declivi
ties of the mountain. At two-thirds of its height,
and seeming still higher in this vista of the sky,
a fiery trail was winding down, and three craters,
perfectly distinct, emitted flames. The sky was
reddened above them. The highest, or at least
that which seemied so from our point of view,
threw up sheaves of incandescent stones, like a
comet's tail, and we could see them fall back, not
upon lower ground, but higher up the mountain.

A CORNER OF SICIL Y—.-E TNA IN ERUPTION. 229
The report of a gun which we had heard was this
crater, formed very early in the eruption, resuming
its activity.
I whispered my thanks to the mountain, and
went indoors to arrange for an ascent on the mor
row, with a retum during the night. The land
lord was smoking under the broad, open vestibule.
Groups — for the sake of international politeness,
let us say — of ragged dreamers hung around the
gate. " Void, Don Abbondio. I have come to apply
to you; I want to start to-morrow at one o'clock."
And at this point five or six from these groups
drew near. There is so little news at Aci-Reale!
It is so pleasant to catch three words from a
stranger, or from a neighbour, and supply the rest,
in those Uttle conventicles men hold in the square,
during the hours when they live a la grecque, in the
open air. I endeavoured to escape them. They
ifollowed us, with much politeness, however.
And I saw that the innkeeper had some pre
cautions to employ. It was publicly agreed
that we should leave the hotel at a given hour, and
by a given route; also that we should leave on the
retum at about such an hour. " Nevertheless,"
said the innkeeper to me in a low voice, " do not
come back by night to sleep here."
" Why not? " I said. " The roads are safe? "
" Oh, perfectly safe ! But you would do better
to sleep at Nicolosi." And be got out of it with-

230 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
out explanation, using that Southem phrase,
which says nothing, and expresses everything:
" Can one ever know when things are right? "
If I had not been familiar -with Sicily, this might
have caused me alarm. I am convinced that a
stranger can go down any hour of the night
from the crater of ^tna to the shore, and incur
no danger. But the Sicilians have such an inveter
ate habit of being jealous of each other, and they
show this so frequently in their conduct, that they
are in great part responsible for the unfortunate
and unmerited reputation of their island.
The foUowing day, about one o'clock in the
afternoon, we set off from Nicolosi, where we had
been resting for several hours; the shrewd old inn
keeper of the dismal little village, Mazzaglia, cor-
rispondente del clubo alpino italiano, sezione Catania,
having procured the two mules that we needed.
I had asked for my former guide, Carbonaro, but
he was sowing his barley, visitors being rare at
this late time of year, and one of his comrades came
instead. The day was extremely clear. On the many ex
tinct craters, sons of ^tna, which covered the
mountain's sides, the yeUow broom, all in flower,
shone in the sunlight. On each side of the stony
road the last red leaves were hanging on the cherry
trees, and the last yellowed leaves on the vines.
Troops of women and children, coming down from
the belt of forests, loaded with bags of chestnuts,

A CORNER OF SICIL Y—yETNA IN ERUPTION. 231
met us and passed by with the buona sera! so pleas
ant to hear.
Above the cone, up there in the sky, over
the prodigious chimney whose aperture was ten
thousand feet in circumference, the great cloud of
white smoke, rolled up at the edges, rose heavily,
as usual, and soon fell again, its point toward Cala
bria. A faint quiver in the atmosphere, and a gray
vapour, very slight and vanishing very rapidly,
revealed that the volcano was stiU in eruption, and
that lava was flowing at the foot of the Monta-
gnola, in the arid region, where the snows cease.
Soon after leaving behind us the last houses of
Nicolosi, we had come to a first stream of cooled
lava. It had partly spread itself over older la-vas,
and formed with them a kind of gigantic embank
ment, throwing out secondary branches all along
its course. The vineyards which this current had
crossed seemed dead. However, the Italian treas
ury has already been at work here. Amid the gen
eral misfortunes, the Government endeavoured not
to lose more than was inevitable, and a few -months
after the beginning of the eruption a list was
prepared of the lands which had escapeid. Its
white marks punctuated the torrent now forever
fixed and hard; nothing had been forgotten, not
even a half-acre lot enveloped on every side by the
fire. "A shame!" my guide said. "Owners who
had the best land on the mountain ! Here they are.

232 THE ITALIANS OF TODAY.
ruined; and the Government hastened to lay its
tax on bits of ground wherever there were left so
much as a couple of dozen half-burnt vines and one
scorched olive tree ! "
The man was intelligent. He had been an eye
witness of the drama of the eruption, and related it
to me as we climbed the mountain.
" It was lucky," he said, " that the lavas followed
the route which earlier ones had made, for no
person living has ever seen so much lava thrown
out as in this emption. It destroyed the Stags'
Wood and its beautiful farm. Chestnuts and vines
and olive trees that you could not help coveting,
signor, when you saw them. The lava was deep
enough to bury ten times as much. We were ex
pecting the eruptio-n, I and my comrades. As
long ago as June there were days without simoke,
which is a bad sign; and others with a great deal
and with ashes. Then, early in July, Contarini, one
of the guides, came back from the Casa inglese with
travellers whose clothes had been completely dis
coloured by the vapours that came out of the
ground. It was on the 9th that the mountain
burst open, between the Mo-ntagnola and Monte
Nero, with a sound like a discharge of hundreds
of cannon, and earthquakes and jets of smoke. By
evening the new craters could be seen from Ca
tania, and the lava coming down in two streams
like a horse-shoe, and very rapidly. I went close
up to see it many times, with travellers, who found

A CORNER OF SICILY~.-ETNA IN ERUPTION. 233
it very curious; though it was a sad sight, I assure
you. " Once, in particular, one of the first nights
after the eruption, we came to a stream of lava
several hundred yards broad, and higher than the
chestnut trees in the region through which it was
flowing. It moved very slowly, except some red-
hot blocks on top, which now and then broke away
from it, and rashed through the woods. But the
trees were a pitiable sight. From a distance they
began to quiver ; their leaves shook violently, dried
up in a few minutes, and then blazed up all at once.
Frequently the trunk did not burn, but fell into the
torrent. Nights after that I used often to look up
from Catania to the point on the mountain where
I had been. Often I could see on the red belt of
the torrent thousands of little white flames blazing
up for a few minutes and then dying out. The
beautiful chestnut trees, signor, that you will never
see here again ! " ^
We kept on, however, under the branches, and
I remembered the thin, scattered brushwood and
crests of woodland, whose moss had certainly never
felt the touch of fire. Not until about five o'clock,
at a mile and a quarter beyond the Casa del Bosco,
' Many details of my guide's story were also given in the narrative
addressed to me by the learned and obliging professor of the univer-
sity of Catania, Signor Bartoli, who passes a part of his summer at
the Casa inglese. See SuH' eruzione dell' Etna, etc. , Torino ; tip.
San Giuseppe.

234 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
did we reach the new frontier that the eruption had
just made to the forests of ^tna. In front and
above us the open space, filled with ferns and cir
cular tufts of astragal; higher up still, the snow,
held in place by the wall of the Montagnola; and,
lastly, dominating its innumerable sons, the great
broad crater softly outlined against the bright
sky. But at the right, not far distant, where
twoi ;^ars before I had admired the russet
tints of the undergro-wth and of the trees, a wall
of lava rears itself. The mules make their way in
between the heaped-up blocks, and reach the
summit of the first wave of stone. Thence is
visible the saddest and most arid landscape the
mind can imagine- — a succession of monstrous fur
rows of dead lava, black as peat lands, bristling
with clods that seem unstable in their balance,
with twisted spires, with projecting roofs forming
caves beneath them. We discover no other thing,
so far as the eye can see in that direction. The
stream buried the woods and the pasture lands,
and completely mastered the slope up to- the point
where it dips rapidly and disappears. We advance
very slowly, crevasses sending up hot puffs into
our faces. In the little valleys the heat is smother
ing, and only the cold outer air, scourging our
faces when we come out on the crest of the slope,
recalls to us that we are nearly seven thousand feet
above the level of the sea, on a winter's afternoon.
The sun is already very low as we begin the

A CORNER OF SICILY— .^TNA IN ERUPTION. 235
ascent of Monte Nero, a former cone of eruption,
which the lava of 1892 completely covered. The
ascent is verj' steep, and thickly overgrown with
weeds. We fasten our mules rather insecurely be
hind the shelter of a rock, and look about us.
The active craters of the present emption are very
near. On the side of .(Etna, which rises on the left,
three of these, all within two hundred yards of us,
smoke and hiss, and send up sand and small stones.
Their edges are spotted with sulphur.
At their base jets of vapour issue from the
ground. The activity of the volcano is much
diminished, and the spectacle is not fright
ful, at least by day. That which is really
alarming is to look off over the second desert
of lava, like that which we have just crossed,
whose limits are lost in the mists of twilight
in the remote distance, and to remember that
part of this lava is stiU hot and fluid. What
part of it? That we cannot teU. The whole is uni
formly of the same blackish colour with that of the
cold lava back of us. Rapidly we descend, pre
ceded by the guide, to traverse on foot these enor
mous plains under which the stone is perhaps soft
with heat. Often we make a circuit after testing
with the hand the surface of some heap.
Around, the light decreases. We are in the
midst of chaos, cHmbing ridges and descending,
without any marked track. Suddenly I perceive,
thirty paces in front of us, a rivulet of fire. It

236 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
seems to me as broad as a little stream which
would be spanned by the single arch of a bridge;
it emerges from a semicircular aperture in the
midst of the great extinct river. The lava, pushed
up from its depths to this point, is like a high wave,
a ridge of incandescent earth, which curls slowly
over, and pushes on the preceding ridge. As we
look, it grows mo-re red. I follow it -with the eye
down the mountain side, until it is lost to view.
The sky is still pale. When I glance earthward
again, after having my eyes lifted to the first stars,
veiled in mist, trembling above the invisible lands
of Sicily, it is now not merely a single rivulet of
fire that I see before me, but at distances that the
eye cannot measure in the darkness, thousands of
points or broken lines, covering with a network of
fire the entire slope of ./Etna. The eruption, which
must at first have been frightful, has reached the
period of being odd and picturesque. It is an
illumination, noiseless and unreflected, of avenues
and squares, unbuilt, unpeopled; or it is like crim
son lanterns hung through a forest. Very near me
a sort of luminous fountain glows. The lava must
ascend inside a rock set up on end, which seems
to be very high. The fiery stream appears at the
top of this rock, and drips in a cascade down each
side. We are lost in this strange world, silent and
unmindful of the passage of time.
Darkness had completely invaded the plateau.
It was impossible for us to find the road by which

A CORNER OF SICILY— .^TNA IN ERUPTION. 237
we had made the ascent, and we returned at ran
dom, picking our way among little craters, now
each coiffed with its dome of vapour, reddened be
neath by flash of sudden flames. Our mules had
awaited us, without breaking the poor slip of juni
per to which their bridles hung. They clambered
up the steep slope of Monte Nero, traversing the
second current of lava, and soon plunged their feet
into the mossy ground under the chestnuts.
Then, the sky having become perfectly clear, the
crescent moon shone out. Its white light fell on
points of rock and on trunks of trees and denuded
branches. The illusion was still unbroken, and I
think the guide understood it. We rode down
ward in the wondrous silence of ^tna, in the fresh
ness of a night that might have been of summer.
He pointed from time to time, with a silent ges
ture, to the right or left to show us, through some
clearing, the mountain side all dripping with fire.
There remained the same singular deception, the
same effect of some stately illumination. Only the
rivulets of lava seemed to grow narrower, and to
be no more than necklaces of fire, and the flaming
points grouped themselves into constellations.
FinaUy, when we reached Nicolosi, we could still
see, between the roofs, the mountain all on fire
above the tranquil, sleeping houses of the town.
A month later I was on my way back to France.
I had taken the Cornice Road, an^ I was between

238 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
Geneva and VintimigUa, close to the French fron
tier. Having failed to make connection, as the
result of a slight accident during the night, we had
been obliged to take an accommodation train,
which stopped at each one of the little stations
along the Riviera; and, fatigued -with the journey,
which was made interminable by slowness of the
train, eager to be again in France, I gave but care
less attention to the bays everywhere so beautiful,
and to the mountains, so fine after we leave San
Remo. Travellers of every sort had entered the
compartment and had left it, and not a word been
said by anyone, when, at one of the stations, an old
gentleman, -with long, bushy hair and a long frock-
coat flapping about his legs, came in and seated
himself opposite me.
As soon as we were again in motion, my sociable
neighbour inquired as to my nationality.
" EngHsh? " he said.
" No"
" Russian? "
"No; I am French."
" Ah! " he said, Hfting both hands; " the French
used once to be so popular here in Piedmont, in
the time when I was a young man! I am a
doctor." "Ah! "I said.
" I was present at the entrance of your troops
into Milan, your soldiers and ours together. You
have no idea of the enthusiasm. Your soldiers

A CORNER OF SICILY— jSTNA IN ERUPTION. 239
changed caps with the Italians. Ladies, great
ladies whom I could name, kissed your men.
There was a rain of flowers from the windows, and
there were banners, and triumphal arches, and
shouts, ' Vive la France! Vive I'ltalie! ' It was so
fine! I myself had the care of some of the
wounded French."
I asked him at random: " Did you know Gen
eral F.?"
" Captain F. ? " he said'.
" Yes; but he has become a general."
" Indeed I did! I carried him in my arms. I
was first assistant, and had the charge of a convoy
of the wounded for Brescia. I took the captain
out of the train and laid him on the stretcher when
we reached the town. He said: ' How good that
is! You carry me like a baby. I no longer suffer! '
We expected to go to the hospital, but they would
not let us do it. All the rich people of the town
were eager to take care of the French soldiers!
Shall you see him? "
'" " Oh, yes! "
" I don't think he will have forgotten me. Tell
him that you met an old man, Dr. S., who now
lives quite unknown at Pieve di Secco, but who re
members Solferino and Magenta and Palestro.
Alas! those days when the French and we under
stood each other, and were friends, have gone,
never to return ! "
I answered him: " Chi lo sa? "—" Who knows? "

240 THE ITALIANS OF TO-DAY.
He looked at me astonished, and he was obUged
to wink rapidly on account of the tears; just then
the train stopped again, and as he rose to go he
grasped both my hands:
" Perhaps you are right ! Chi lo sa? "

THE END.

INDEX.

INDEX.

Aci-Reale, 227, 229
.(Etna, eruption of, 225-37
Agriculture, Italian : in Lombardy,
I ; on the Campagna, 119-21,
126-81 ; in Southern Italy, 211,
212, 220-25
Agro romano, see Campagna
All Saints Day, in Milan, 8-13
Anzuini, noted brigand, 154, 155
Aqueduct water, its introduction
on the Campagna, 134 ; in
Southem Italy, 208, 209
Arnulfo, dialect poet, 54
B
Baccelli, Guido, 122, note
Barracks in Bologna, visit to, 65-
71
Bartoli, Professor, 233, note
Belli, Roman satirist, 54
Bergamot, the, its culture in Reg
gio, 220-25
Bertone, Piedmontese owner of
domains on the Campagna, 133
Bologna : barracks, 66-71 ; old
quarters of, 74 ; church of S.
Francis, 75-77
Bonghi, Ruggiero, his address at
Lucera, 25, 26

Bonificamento idraulico of the
Campagna, 130, 131, 133, 137,
170. 174
Borghese, Prince, financial disaster
of, 102, 103 ; owner of domains
on the Campagna, 133, 163
Brigandage, on the Campagna,
154, 155 ; in Sicily, 155, 227,
229, 230 ; Calabrian, 218
Buffalo Bill, his opinion of Roman
butteri, 117
Buffaloes, domestic animals of the
. Campagna, 118, 119, 171 ; their
long names, 171-74
Butteri of the Campagna, 117,
121, 169

Calabria, railway journey into,
207-18 ; railway of, 208
Campagna di Roma, the {Agro
romano), as seen from the city,
109 ; wine-carts of, 111-13 ; ex
tent and boundaries of, 116 ;
statistics concerning, 116, 118,
119, note ; butteri and vergari
of, 144-47, 149-55. 117. 121.
buffaloes of, 118, 119, I7I-74 I
cultivation of, 119 ; laborers of,
120, 156-65 ; malaria of, 94,
121-26, 138, 166-68, 180 ; de-

244

INDEX.

population of, 112-14 ; sanitary
improvement of, 125-27 ; lati-
fundia of, 126, 127 ; papal
efforts at improvement of, 126-
29; ancient popular rights upon,
burdensome to owners, 128, 129 ;
recent efforts at improvement of,
130-32, present condition of,
133. 134 ; four excursions into,
140-81
Campo salino, 166, 174
Campo santo, of Milan, 9-13
Canevari, Roman engineer, 125
Caporali, Italian contractors for
laborers, 3, 156, 164, 177
Capuana, Luigi, Sicilian author,
155 and note
Carducci, 37, 87
Colli Berici, 42-46
Colombo, Giuseppe, on Italian
finances, 1%-yi
Comandini, Dr. Antonio Alfredo,
his political address, 26
Costumes, peasant, 12, 13, 210
Crudeli, Tommaso, 125, note; 126,
note
Currency, depreciation of the, 6, 7
D
d'Annunzio, Gabriele, 53
d'Auria, Antonio, Neapolitan
councillor, 186-95
De Amicis, 24, 53 E
Emigration, Italian, 2, 212-15,
225

Eucalyptus-trees, preventive of
malaria, 168, 169

Financial question, the, 28-35
Flaminian Way, the old, 140, 141
Florence : attractive aspect, 78, 79;
performance at the opera, 79-84
Fogazzaro, Italian author, 37, 38,
45, 46, 53
Folchi, Monsignor, former ad
ministrator of papal finances,
103-5
Fontana, Ferdinando, dialect poet,
54
Forests, destruction of, in Southem
Italy, 211 ; in Sicily, by lava
streams, 233, 234
France, Italian feeling toward,
26-28, 42, 66, 2ig, 238-40
Fucini, Renato, Italian author,
37, 38, 53, 54. 186
Fucino, Lago, 137

Giacomo, Salvatore di, 53, 206
and note, 207
Giacosa, Giuseppe, 53
Giolitti on the financial question,
32. 33
Grabinski, Count, %,note
H
Haussmann, Baron, in Rome, 98,
99
Horses, Roman, 169 ; a prime
luxury in Naples, 182

INDE.X.

245

Hospitality, Tuscan, 36-46
Roman, 91-93

I
lacini. Count, on taxation, 4
Industry, in Northern Italy, 2, 3, 7
Irrigation, in Lombardy, i

J
Jettatura, in Naples, 201-6

Laborers, agricultural, their con
dition : in Lombardy, 2-5 ; on
the Campagna, 120, 156-64,
177 ; in Southem Italy, 224, 225
Lancelotti, princes, owners of
Tor Sapienza, 133
Laurel-leaves, an article of export,
150
Laws designed to improve the
condition of the Campagna :
papal, 126-130; commission ap
pointed in 1870 to prepare,
130 ; two now in force, those of
1878, and 1883, 130-32 ; ill-
received, 132, 133 ; unsatis
factory results from, 133, 134 ;
criticisms of, 135-40
Leo XIIL, his loans to the
Romans, 103-5 > his losses, 104
Literature, Italian : character of
Italian style, 23, 24, 39 ; ar
rested development, 52 ; local
and dialect works, 53-56 ; the
sonnet popular, 55 ; great num

ber of poets, 56, 57 ; sincere and
pathetic South Italian school,
205-7
Lombardy, its extraordinary fer
tility, I ; industry of its popula
tion, 1-3 ; their poverty, 2-7 ;
taxation, 4-7 M
Maccarese, large domain on the
Campagna, visit to, 166-81
Malaria, in Rome, much exagger
ated, 96 ; on the Campagna,
121-26
Manufactures, Italian, question of,
50-52
Margherita, Queen, 16-19
Mascagni, his career, 79, 81-84
Merode, Count, owner of Tor
Marancio, 133
Merode, Monsignor, prime mover
in the transformation of Rome,
98
Milan : scenes in the Cathedral, 8,
9 ; in the cemetery, 9-13 ; in
auguration of Institute for the
Blind, 13-18 ; architecture of
via Dante, 20-22 ; electoral
campaign in, 22-24
Mitella, Italian author, 129, note
N
Naples : simplicity of manners,
182-85, 190 ; the resanimento,
185, 186, 189, igo, 191, 192,
194 ; the Porto, 186, 195 ;
poverty, 187-93 ; cholera, 193,

246

INDEX.

194 ; a new quarter 195-97
Vicaria, 198-201 ; jettatura, 201-
6 ; literature, 205-7
Negri, Ada, Italian poet, 57, 58
Nitto, Italian author, 12 1, note

Padua : cathedral, 60, 61 ; uni
versity, 61-63
Paper money, 6
Patriotism, local, 36-38, 72-74
" Personals " in Italian papers, 59,
60
Peruzzi, Ubaldino, 130
Piacentini, owners of domains on
the Campagna, 133
Piano regalatore, in Rome, 100
Piedigrotta, festa of, 205
Politics, Italian, 23-35
Pratesi, Mario, 53 R
Railway-carriages, conversations
in, 49-52, 86-88, 211-16
Rantzau, performance in Florence,
79-84
Reggio, visit to, 219-25
Rome ; its peculiar charm, go-91 ;
hospitality of its princes, 91-93 ;
characteristics of its people, 94-
96 ; its new quarters, 97-99, 105-
8 ; financial disaster of, 99-105;
its suburbs, 109-11 ; fortifica
tions, 113-15 ; general health
fulness of, 121
Rospigliosi, Princes, owners of
Maccarese, 133, 167, 168, 169,
171, 172, 176, 180

Rosso, Alessandro, founder of
Industrial School in Vicenza,
46, 47-

San Spirito, Hospital of, ill, 169
Sansovino, frescoes of, in Padua,
61
Santa Maria, on the Campagna,
visit to, 148-55
School, Industrial, in Vicenza,
46-49
Sculpture, Modern Italian, 10-14
Senate, the Italian, 40
Serao, Mathilda, 53, 205, 206
Siena gentile : its beauty as seen
by night, 84-86 ; its university,
86-88 ; Ms festa, 88, 89
Sicily, visited, 225-38
Socialism, in Italy, 5
Soffietto, the, 111-13
Sonzogno, Edoardo, Mascagni's
patron, 83

Taxation, excessive, 4, 6, 29, 30,
177, 231, 232
Ten-kilometre law, the, 156
Tiber-quays, cost of, 99
Tiburzio, noted brigand, 155
Tor di Quinto, 133, 141
Torlonia, Prince, owner of domains
in the Campagna, 133
Tre Fontane, the Abbey, 133,
168
Triple Alliance, question of the,
28, 31. 42

INDEX.

247

Types, Italian, 8, 9, 12, 13, 37,
49. 50. 67, 80, Si, 86, 93, 94,
117. 153. 154. 187, 191. 197.
199, 200, 209, 221, 223, 23S
U
Umberto, King, 14-18
Unification, Italian, 71-4
Universities, Italian, of Padua,
61-63 ; smaller ones to be given
up, 63, 64 ; of Siena, 86-88
Usury, prevalence of, 44

Valchetta, domain in the Cam
pagna, visit to, 142-47
Valentin! , 119, note
Verga, Italian author, 53, 206, 207

Veronese, Paolo, his supper of S.
Gregory, in Vicenza, 43, 44
Vicenza, seen in the evening, 35,
36 ; environs of, 42-46 ; Indus
trial School in, 46-49
Villa de' Nani, 44
Visconti, Castle of the, in Milan,
20
Vitali, Abbe, composer, 18
W
Wine-carts of the Campagna, lli-
13

Zampani, Italian engineer, 209
Zanella, Giacomo, priest and
poet, 57

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