pife

YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

Gift of

LEONARD C. HANNA, JR.

BY THE IONIAN SEA

By the Ionian Sea
NOTES OF A RAMBLE IN
SOUTHERN ITALY

BY
GEORGE GISSING

LONDON
CHAPMAN AND HALL, Ltd.
1917

First Edition (Crown ito., illustrated) June 1901
Cheaper Edition (Crown 8vo.) March 1905
Reprinted June 1905
New Pocket Edition February 1917

CONTENTS

CHAP I

FROM NAPLES ....

PASK 7

II

PAOLA .....

17

III

THE GRAVE OF ALARIC

27

IV

TARANTO .....

39

V

DULCE GAL.ESI FLUMEN

49

VI

THE TABLE OF THE PALADINS

59

VII

COTRONE .....

71

VIII

FACES BY THE "WAY .

83

IX

MY FRIEND THE DOCTOR .

95

X

CHILDREN OF THE SOIL

107

XI

THE MOUNT OF REFUGE

119

XII

CATANZARO ....

131

XIII

THE BREEZY HEIGHT -

143

XIV

SQUILLACE ....

153

XV

MISERIA ...

163

XVI

CASSIODORUS ....

171

XVII

THE GROTTA ....

183

XVIII

REGGIO .....

193

FROM NAPLES

CHAPTER I
FROM NAPLES
This is the third day of sirocco, heavy-clouded,
sunless. All the colour has gone out of Naples ;
the streets are dusty and stifling. I long for
the mountains and the sea.
To-morrow I shall leave by the Messina boat,
which calls at Paola. It is now more than a
twelvemonth since I began to think of Paola,
and an image of the place has grown in my mind.
I picture a little marina ; a yellowish little town
just above ; and behind, rising grandly, the long
range of mountains which guard the shore of
Calabria. Paola has no special interest that I
know of, but it is the nearest point on the coast
to Cosenza, which has interest in abundance ; by
landing here I make a modestly adventurous
beginning of my ramble in the South. At Paola
foreigners are rare ; one may count upon new
impressions, and the journey over the hills will
be delightful.
Were I to lend ear to the people with whom I
am staying, here in the Chiatamone, I should
either abandon my project altogether or set forth
with dire misgivings. They are Neapolitans of
the better class ; that is to say, they have known
losses, and talk of their former happiness, when
they lived on the Chiaia and had everything

10 BY THE IONIAN SEA
handsome about them. The head of the family
strikes me as a typical figure; he is an elderly
man, with a fine head, a dignified presence, and
a coldly courteous demeanour. By preference he
speaks French, and his favourite subject is Paris.
One observes in him something like disdain for
his own country, which in his mind is associated
only with falling fortunes and loss of self-respect.
The cordial Italian note never sounds in his talk.
The signora (also a little ashamed of her own
language) excites herself about taxation — as well
she may — and dwells with doleful vivacity on
family troubles. Both are astonished at my
eccentricity and hardiness in undertaking a
solitary journey through the wild South. Their
geographical notions are vague ; they have barely
heard of Cosenza or of Cotrone, and of Paola
not at all ; it would as soon occur to them to set
out for Morocco as for Calabria. How shall I
get along with people whose language is a bar
barous dialect ? Am I aware that the country
is in great part pestilential ? — la febbre ! Has no
one informed me that in autumn snows descend,
and bury everything for months ? It is useless
to explain that I only intend to visit places easily
accessible, that I shall travel mostly by railway,
and that if disagreeable weather sets in I shall
quickly return northwards. They look at me
dubiously, and ask themselves (I am sure)
whether I have not some more tangible motive
than a love of classical antiquity. It ends with
a compliment to the enterprising spirit of the
English race.
I have purchases to make, business to settle,
and must go hither and thither about the town.
Sirocco, of course, dusks everything to cheerless

FROM NAPLES 11
grey, but under any sky it is dispiriting to note
the .changes in Naples. Lo sventramento (the dis
embowelling) goes on, and regions are transformed.
It is a good, thing, I suppose, that the broad
Corso Umberto I. should cut a way through the
old Pendino ; but what a contrast between that
native picturesqueness and the cosmopolitan
vulgarity which has usurped its place ! " Napoli
se ne va ! " I pass the Santa Lucia with down
cast eyes, my memories of ten years ago striving
against the dulness of to-day. The harbour,
whence one used to start for Capri, is filled up ;
the sea has been driven to a hopeless distance
beyond a wilderness of dust-heaps. They are
going to make a long, straight embankment from
the Castel dell' Ovo to the Great Port, and before
long the Santa Lucia will be an ordinary street,
shut in among huge houses, with no view at all.
Ah, the nights that one lingered here, watching
the crimson glow upon Vesuvius, tracing the dark
line of the Sorrento promontory, or waiting for
moonlight to cast its magic upon floating Capri !
The odours remain; the stalls of sea-fruit are as
yet undisturbed, and the jars of the water-
sellers ; women still comb and bind each other's
hair by the wayside, and meals are cooked and
eaten al fresco as of old. But one can see these
things elsewhere, and Santa Lucia was unique.
It has become squalid. In the grey light of
this sad billowy sky, only its ancient foulness is
manifest; there needs the golden sunlight to
bring out a suggestion of its ancient charm.
Has Naples grown less noisy, or does it only
seem so to me ? The men with bullock carts
are strangely quiet; their shouts have nothing
like the frequency and spirit of former days. In

12 BY THE IONIAN SEA
the narrow and thronged Strada di Chiaia I find
little tumult ; it used to be deafening. Ten years
ago a foreigner could not walk here without being
assailed by the clamour of cocchieri ; nay, he
was pursued from street to street, until the
driver had spent every phrase of importunate
invitation; now, one may saunter as one will,
with little disturbance. Down on the Piliero,
whither I have been to take my passage for
Paola, I catch but an echo of the jubilant uproar
which used to amaze me. Is Naples really so
much quieter? If I had time I would go out
to Fuorigrotta, once, it seemed to me, the noisiest
village on earth, and see if there also I observed
a change. It would not be surprising if the
modernization of the city, together with the
state of things throughout Italy, had a subduing
effect upon Neapolitan manners. In one respect
the streets are assuredly less gay. When I first
knew Naples one was never, literally never, out
of hearing of a hand-organ ; and these organs,
which in general had a peculiarly dulcet note,
played the brightest of melodies ; trivial, vulgar
if you will, but none the less melodious, and dear
to Naples. Now the sound of street music is
rare, and I understand that some police provision
long since interfered with the soft-tongued instru
ments. I miss them ; for, in the matter of music,
it is with me as with Sir Thomas Browne. For
Italy the change is significant enough; in a few
more years spontaneous melody will be as rare
at Naples or Venice as on the banks of the Thames.
Happily, the musicians errant still strum their
mandoline as you dine. The old trattoria in the
Toledo is as good as ever, as bright, as comfort
able. I have found my old corner in one of the

FROM NAPLES 13
little rooms, and something of the old gusto for
zuppa di vongole. The homely wine of Posillipo
smacks as in days gone by, and is commended
to one's lips by a song of the South.
* * * # -si-
Last night the wind changed and the sky began
to clear; this mornmg I awoke in sunshine, and
with a feeling of eagerness for my journey. I
shall look upon the Ionian Sea, not merely from
a train or a steamboat as before, but at long
leisure : I shall see the shores where once were
Tarentum and Sybaris, Croton and Locri. Every
man has his intellectual desire ; mine is to escape
life as I know it and dream myself into that old
world which was the imaginative delight of my
boyhood. The names of Greece and Italy draw
me as no others ; they make me young again, and
restore the keen impressions of that time when
every new page of Greek or Latin was a new
perception of things beautiful. The world of the
Greeks and Romans is my land of romance ; a
quotation in either language thrills me strangely,
and there are passages of Greek and Latin verse
which I cannot read without a dimming of the
eyes, which I cannot repeat aloud because my
voice fails me. In Magna Gra3cia the waters of
two fountains mingle and flow together; how
exquisite will be the draught !
I drove with my luggage to the Immacolatella,
and a boatman put me on board the steamer.
Luggage, I say advisedly ; it is a rather heavy
portmanteau, and I know it will be a nuisance.
But the length of my wanderings is so uncertain,
its conditions are so vaguely anticipated. I must
have books if only for rainy days ; I must have
clothing against a change of season. At one

14 BY THE IONIAN SEA
time I thought of taking a mere wallet, and now
I am half sorry that I altered my mind. But 
We were not more than an hour after time in
starting. Perfect weather. I sang to myself
with joy upon the sunny deck as we steamed
along the Bay, past Portici, and Torre del Greco,
and into the harbour of Torre Annunziata, where
we had to take in cargo. I was the only cabin
passenger, and solitude suits me. All through
the warm and cloudless afternoon I sat looking
at the mountains, trying not to see that cluster
of factory chimneys which rolled black fumes
above the many -coloured houses. They reminded
me of the same abomination on a shore more
sacred ; from the harbour of Piraeus one looks to
Athens through trails of coal-smoke. By a con
trast pleasant enough, Vesuvius to-day sent forth
vapours of a delicate rose-tint, floating far and
breaking seaward into soft little fleeces of cirrus.
The cone, covered with sulphur, gleamed bright
yellow against cloudless blue.
The voyage was resumed at dinner-time ; when
I came upon deck again, night had fallen. We
were somewhere near Sorrento ; behind us lay
the long curve of faint-glimmering lights on the
Naples shore ; ahead was Capri. In profound
gloom, though under a sky all set with stars, we
passed between the island and Cape Minerva;
the haven of Capri showed but a faint glimmer;
over it towered mighty crags, an awful blackness,
a void amid constellations. From my seat near
the stern of the vessel I could discern no human
form ; it was as though I voyaged quite alone in
the silence of this magic sea. Silence so all-
possessing that the sound of the ship's engine
could not reach my ear, but was blended with

FROM NAPLES 15
the water-splash into a lulling murmur. The
stillness of a dead world laid its spell on all that
lived. To-day seemed an unreality, an idle im
pertinence ; the real was that long-buried past
which gave its meaning to all about me, touch
ing the night with infinite pathos. Best of all,
one's own being became lost to consciousness ;
the mind knew only the phantasmal forms it
shaped, and was at peace in vision.

PAOLA

CHAPTER II
PAOLA
I slept little, and was very early on deck, scan
ning by the light of dawn a mountainous coast.
At sunrise I learnt that we were in sight of Paola ;
as day spread gloriously over earth and sky, the
vessel hove to and prepared to land cargo. There,
indeed, was the yellowish little town which I had
so long pictured ; it stood at a considerable height
above the shore ; harbour there was none at all,
only a broad beach of shingle on which waves
were breaking, and where a cluster of men,
women and children stood gazing at the steamer.
It gave me pleasure to find the place so small
and primitive. In no hurry to land, I watched
the unloading of merchandise (with a great deal
of shouting and gesticulation) into boats which
had rowed out for the purpose ; speculated on
the resources of Paola in the matter of food (for
I was hungry) ; and at moments cast an eye
towards the mountain barrier which it was
probable I should cross to-day.
At last my portmanteau was dropped down on
to a laden boat; I, as best I could, managed to
follow it; and on the top of a pile of rope and
empty flour-sacks we rolled landward. The surf
was high; it cost much yelling, leaping, and
splashing to gain the dry beach. Meanwhile, not
19

20 BY THE IONIAN SEA
without apprehension, I had eyed the group
awaiting our arrival; that they had their eyes
on me was obvious, and I knew enough of southern
Italians to foresee my reception. I sprang into
the midst of a clamorous conflict; half a dozen
men were quarrelling for possession of me. No
sooner was my luggage on shore than they flung
themselves upon it. By what force or authority
I know not, one of the fellows triumphed; he
turned to me with a satisfied smile, and — presented
his wife.
" Mia sposa, signore ! "
Wondering, and trying to look pleased, I saw
the woman seize the portmanteau (a frightful
weight), fling it on to her head, and march away
at a good speed. The crowd and I followed to
the dogana, close by, where as rigorous a search
was made as I have ever had to undergo. I
puzzled the people ; my arrival was an unwonted
thing, and they felt sure I was a trader of some
sort. Dismissed under suspicion, I allowed the
lady to whom I had been introduced to guide
me townwards. Again she bore the portmanteau
on her head, and evidently thought it a trifle,
but as the climbing road lengthened, and as I
myself began to perspire in the warm sunshine,
I looked at my attendant with uncomfortable
feelings. It was a long and winding way, but
the woman continued to talk and laugh so cheer
fully that I tried to forget her toil. At length
we reached a cabin where the dazio (town dues)
officer presented himself, and this conscientious
person insisted on making a fresh examination
of my baggage; again I explained myself, again
I was eyed suspiciously ; but he released me,
and on we went. I had bidden my guide take

PAOLA 21
me to the best inn; it was the Leone, a little
place which looked from the outside like an ill-
kept stable, but was decent enough within. The
room into which they showed me had a delightful
prospect. Deep beneath the window lay a wild,
leafy garden, and lower on the hillside a lemon
orchard shining with yellow fruit; beyond, the
broad pebbly beach, far seen to north and south,
with its white foam edging the blue expanse of
sea. There I descried the steamer from which I
had landed, just under way for Sicily. The
beauty of this view, and the calm splendour of
the early morning, put me into happiest mood.
After little delay a tolerable breakfast was set
before me, with a good rough wine ; I ate and
drank by the window, exulting in what I saw
and all I hoped to see.
Guide-books had informed me that the corriere
(mail-diligence) from Paola to Cosenza corre
sponded with the arrival of the Naples steamer,
and, after the combat on the beach, my first
care was to inquire about this. All and sundry
made eager reply that the corriere had long since
gone ; that it started, in fact, at 5 a.m., and that
the only possible mode of reaching Cosenza that
day was to hire a vehicle. Experience of Italian
travel made me suspicious, but it afterwards
appeared that I had been told the truth. Clearly,
if I wished to proceed at once, I must open
negotiations at my inn, and, after a leisurely
meal, I did so. Very soon a man presented
himself who was willing to drive me over the
mountains — at a charge which I saw to be absurd ;
the twinkle in his eye as he named the sum
sufficiently enlightened me. By the book it was
no more than a journey of four hours ; my driver

22 BY THE IONIAN SEA
declared that it would take from seven to eight.
After a little discussion he accepted half the
original demand, and went off very cheerfully
to put in his horses.
For an hour I rambled about the town's one
street, very picturesque and rich in colour, with
rushing fountains where women drew fair water
in jugs and jars of antique beauty. Whilst I was
thus loitering in the sunshine, two well-dressed
men approached me, and with somewhat exces
sive courtesy began conversation. They under
stood that I was about to drive to Cosenza. A
delightful day, and a magnificent country ! They
too thought of journeying to Cosenza, and, in
short, would I allow them to share my carriage ?
Now this was annoying ; I much preferred to be
alone with my thoughts ; but it seemed ungracious
to refuse. After a glance at their smiling faces,
I answered that whatever room remained in the
vehicle was at their service — on the natural under
standing that they shared the expense; and to
this, with the best grace in the world, they at
once agreed. We took momentary leave of each
other, with much bowing and flourishing of hats,
and the amusing thing was that I never beheld
those gentlemen again.
Fortunately — as the carriage proved to be a
very small one, and the sun was getting very
hot ; with two companions I should have had an
uncomfortable day. In front of the Leone a
considerable number of loafers had assembled to
see me off, and of these some half-dozen were
persevering mendicants. It disappointed me that
I saw no interesting costume ; all wore the common,
colourless garb of our destroying age. The only
vivid memory of these people which remains with

PAOLA 23
me is the cadence of their speech. Whilst I was
breakfasting, two women stood at gossip on a
near balcony, and their utterance was a curious
exaggeration of the Neapolitan accent ; every
sentence rose to a high note, and fell away in a
long curve of sound, sometimes a musical wail,
more often a mere whining. The protraction of
the last word or two was really astonishing;
again and again I fancied that the speaker had
broken into song. I cannot say that the effect
was altogether pleasant ; in the end such talk
would tell severely on civilized nerves, but it
harmonized with the coloured houses, the luxuri
ant vegetation, the strange odours, the romantic
landscape. In front of the vehicle were three little horses ;
behind it was hitched an old shabby two-wheeled
thing, which we were to leave somewhere for
repairs. With whip-cracking and vociferation,
amid good-natured farewells from the crowd, we
started away. It was just ten o'clock.
At once the road began to climb, and nearly
three hours were spent in reaching the highest
point of the mountain barrier. Incessantly wind
ing, often doubling upon itself, the road crept up
the sides of profound gorges, and skirted many a
precipice ; bridges innumerable spanned the dry
ravines which at another season are filled with
furious torrents. From the zone of orange and
olive and cactus we passed to that of beech and
oak, noble trees now shedding their rich-hued
foliage on bracken crisped and brown; here I
noticed the feathery bowers of wild clematis
(" old man's beard "), and many a spike of the
great mullein, strange to me because so familiar
in English lanes. Through mists that floated

24 BY THE IONIAN SEA
far below I looked over miles of shore, and out
ward to the ever-rising limit of sea and sky.
Very lovely were the effects of light, the grada
tions of colour; from the blue-black abysses,
where no shape could be distinguished, to those
violet hues upon the furrowed heights which had
a transparency, a softness, an indefiniteness,
unlike anything to be seen in northern landscape.
The driver was accompanied by a half-naked
lad, who, at certain points, suddenly disappeared,
and came into view again after a few minutes,
having made a short cut up some rugged footway
between the loops of the road. Perspiring, even
as I sat, in the blaze of the sun, I envied the boy
his breath and muscle. Now and then he slaked
his thirst at a stone fountain by the wayside,
not without reverencing the blue-hooded Madonna
painted over it. A few lean, brown peasants,
bending under faggots, and one or two carts,
passed us before we gained the top, and half-way
up there was a hovel where drink could be bought ;
but with these exceptions nothing broke the lone
liness of the long, wild ascent. My man was not
talkative, but answered inquiries civilly ; only on
one subject was he very curt — that of the two
wooden crosses which we passed just before arriv
ing at the summit ; they meant murders. At the
moment when I spoke of them I was stretching
my legs in a walk beside the carriage, the driver
walking just in front of me ; and something then
happened which is still a puzzle when I recall it.
Whether the thought of crimes had made the
man nervous, or whether just then I wore a
peculiarly truculent face, or had made some
alarming gesture, all of a sudden he turned upon
me, grasped my arm and asked sharply : " Wnat

PAOLA 25
have you got in your hand ? " I had a bit of
fern, plucked a few minutes before, and with
surprise I showed it; whereupon he murmured
an apology, said something about making haste,
and jumped to his seat. An odd little incident.
At an unexpected turn of the road there
spread before me a vast prospect ; I looked down
upon inland Calabria. It was a valley broad
enough to be called a plain, dotted with white
villages, and backed by the mass of mountains
which now, as in old time, bear the name of
Great Sila. Through this landscape flowed the
river Crati — the ancient Crathis; northward it
curved, and eastward, to fall at length into the
Ionian Sea, far beyond my vision. The river
Crathis, which flowed by the walls of Sybaris. I
stopped the horses to gaze and wonder; gladly
I would have stood there for hours. Less inter
ested, and impatient to get on, the driver pointed
out to me the direction of Cosenza, still at a
great distance. He added the information that,
in summer, the well-to-do folk of Cosenza go to
Paola for sea-bathing, and that they always
perform the journey by night. I, listening care
lessly amid my dream, tried to imagine the
crossing of those Calabrian hills under a summer
sun ! By summer moonlight it must be wonderful.
We descended at a sharp pace, all the way
through a forest of chestnuts, the fruit already
gathered, the golden leaves rustling in their fall.
At the foot lies the village of San Fili, and here
we left the crazy old cart which we had dragged
so far. A little further, and before us lay a long,
level road, a true Roman highway, straight for
mile after mile. By this road the Visigoths must
have marched after the sack of Rome. In

26 BY THE IONIAN SEA
approaching Cosenza I was drawing near to the
grave of Alaric. Along this road the barbarian
bore in triumph those spoils of the Eternal City
which were to enrich his tomb.
By this road, six hundred years before the
Goth, marched Hannibal on his sullen retreat
from Italy, passing through Consentia to embark
at Croton.

THE GRAVE OF ALARIC

CHAPTER III
THE GRAVE OF ALARIC
It would have been prudent to consult with
my driver as to the inns of Cosenza. But, with
a pardonable desire not to seem helpless in his
hands, I had from the first directed him to the
Due Lionetti, relying upon my guide-book. Even
at Cosenza there is progress, and guide-books to
little-known parts of Europe are easily allowed to
fall out of date. On my arrival 
But, first of all, the dazio. This time it was a
serious business ; impossible to convince the rather
surly officer that certain of the contents of my
portmanteau were not for sale. What in the
world was I doing with tanti libri ? Of course I
was a commercial traveller ; ridiculous to pretend
anything else. After much strain of courtesy, I
clapped to my luggage, locked it up, and with
resolute face cried " Avanti ! " And there was
an end of it. In this case, as so often, I have no
doubt that simple curiosity went for much in
the man's pertinacious questioning. Of course
the whole dazio business is ludicrous and con
temptible ; I scarce know a baser spectacle than
that of uniformed officials groping in the poor
little bundles of starved peasant women, mauling
a handful of onions, or prodding with long irons
a cartload of straw. Did any one ever compare
the expenses with the results ?
29

30 BY THE IONIAN SEA
A glance shows the situation of Cosenza. The
town is built on a steep hillside, above the point
where two rivers, flowing from the valleys on
either side, mingle their waters under one name,
that of the Crati. We drove over a bridge which
spans the united current, and entered a narrow
street, climbing abruptly between houses so high
and so close together as to make a gloom amid
sunshine. It was four o'clock; I felt tired and
half choked with dust ; the thought of rest and a
meal was very pleasant. As I searched for the
sign of my inn, we suddenly drew up, midway
in the dark street, before a darker portal, which
seemed the entrance to some dirty warehouse.
The driver jumped down — " Ecco l'albergo ! "
I had seen a good many Italian hostelries, and
nourished no unreasonable expectations. The
Lion at Paola would have seemed to any un-
travelled Englishman a squalid and comfortless
hole, incredible as a place of public entertain
ment; the Two Little Lions of Cosenza made a
decidedly worse impression. Over sloppy stones,
in an atmosphere heavy with indescribable
stenches, I felt rather than saw my way to the
foot of a stone staircase ; this I ascended, and
on the floor above found a dusky room, where
tablecloths and an odour of frying oil afforded
some suggestion of refreshment. My arrival
interested nobody ; with a good deal of trouble I
persuaded an untidy fellow, who seemed to be a
waiter, to come down with me and secure my
luggage. More trouble before I could find a
bedroom ; hunting for keys, wandering up and
down stone stairs and along pitch-black corridors,
sounds of voices in quarrel. The room itself was
utterly depressing — so bare, so grimy, so dark.

THE GRAVE OF ALARIC 31
Quickly I examined the bed, and was rewarded.
It is the good point of Italian inns ; be the house
and the room howsoever sordid, the bed is almost
invariably clean and dry and comfortable.
I ate, not amiss ; I drank copiously to the
memory of Alaric, and felt equal to any fortune.
When night had fallen I walked a little about the
scarce-lighted streets and came to an open place,
dark and solitary and silent, where I could hear
the voices of the two streams as they mingled
below the hill. Presently I passed an open office
of some kind, where a pleasant-looking man sat
at a table writing ; on an impulse I entered, and
made bold to ask whether Cosenza had no better
inn than the Due Lionetti. Great was this gentle
man's courtesy; he laid down his pen, as if for
ever, and gave himself wholly to my concerns.
His discourse delighted me, so flowing were the
phrases, so rounded the periods. Yes, there
were other inns ; one at the top of the town—
the Vetere — in a very good position; and they
doubtless excelled my own in modern comfort.
As a matter of fact, it might be avowed that
the Lionetti, from the point of view of the great
centres of civilization, left something to be de
sired — something to be desired ; but it was a good
old inn, a reputable old inn, and probably on further
acquaintance 
Further acquaintance did not increase my
respect for the Lionetti ; it would not be easy to
describe those features in which, most notably,
it fell short of all that might be desired. But I
proposed no long stay at Cosenza, where malarial
fever is endemic, and it did not seem worth while
to change my quarters. I slept very well.
I had come here to think about Alaric, and

32 BY THE IONIAN SEA
with my own eyes to behold the place of his
burial. Ever since the first boyish reading of
Gibbon, my imagination has loved to play upon
that scene of Alaric 's death. Thinking to conquer
Sicily, the Visigoth marched as far as to the
capital of the Bruttii, those mountain tribes
which Rome herself never really subdued; at
Consentia he fell sick and died. How often had
I longed to see this river Busento, which the
" labour of a captive multitude " turned aside,
that its flood might cover and conceal for all
time the tomb of the Conqueror ! I saw it in
the light of sunrise, flowing amid low, brown,
olive-planted hills ; at this time of the year it
is a narrow, but rapid stream, running through a
wide, waste bed of yellow sand and stones. The
Crati, which here has only just started upon its
long seaward way from some glen of Sila, presents
much the same appearance, the track which it
has worn in flood being many times as broad as
the actual current. They flow, these historic
waters, with a pleasant sound, overborne at
moments by the clapping noise of Cosenza's
washerwomen, who cleanse their linen by beating
it, then leave it to dry on the river-bed. Along
the banks stood tall poplars, each a spire of
burnished gold, blazing against the dark olive
foliage on the slopes behind them ; plane trees,
also, very rich of colour, and fig trees shedding
their latest leaves. Now, tradition has it that
Alaric was buried close to the confluence of the
Busento and the Crati. If so, he lay in full view
of the town. But the Goths are said to have
slain all their prisoners who took part in the
work, to ensure secrecy. Are we to suppose
that Consentia was depopulated ? On any other

THE GRAVE OF ALARIC 33
supposition the story must be incorrect, and
Alaric 's tomb would have to be sought at least
half a mile away, where the Busento is hidden
in its deep valley.
Gibbon, by the way, calls it Busentinus; the
true Latin was Buxentius. To make sure of the
present name, I questioned some half a dozen
peasants, who all named the river Basenzio or
Basenz' ; a countryman of more intelligent appear
ance assured me that this was only a dialectical
form, the true one being Busento. At a book
seller's shop (Cosenza had one, a very little one)
I found the same opinion to prevail.
It is difficult to walk much in this climate;
lassitude and feverish symptoms follow on the
slightest exertion; but — if one can disregard the
evil smells which everywhere catch one's breath —
Cosenza has wonders and delights which tempt
to day-long rambling. To call the town pictur
esque is to use an inadequate word ; at every step,
from the opening of the main street at the hill-
foot up to the stern mediaeval castle crowning
its height, one marvels and admires. So narrow
are the ways that a cart drives the pedestrian
into shop or alley ; two vehicles (but perhaps the
thing never happened) would with difficulty pass
each other. As in all towns of Southern Italy,
the number of hair-dressers is astonishing, and
they hang out the barber's basin — the very basin
(of shining brass and with a semicircle cut out of
the rim) which the Knight of La Mancha took as
substitute for his damaged helmet. Through the
gloom of high balconied houses, one climbs to a
sunny piazza, where there are several fine build
ings; beyond it lies the public garden, a lovely
spot, set with alleys of acacia and groups of
c

34 BY THE IONIAN SEA
palm and flower-beds and fountains ; marble busts
of Garibaldi, Mazzini, and Cavour gleam among
the trees. Here one looks down upon the yellow
gorge of the Crati, and sees it widen northward
into a vast green plain, in which the track of the
river is soon lost. On the other side of the Crati
valley, in full view of this garden, begins the
mountain region of many-folded Sila — a noble
sight at any time of the day, but most of all
when the mists of morning cling about its summits,
or when the sunset clothes its broad flanks with
purple. Turn westward, and you behold the
long range which hides the Mediterranean; so
high and wild from this distance, that I could
scarce believe I had driven over it.
Sila, — locally the Black Mountain, because dark
with climbing forests — held my gaze through a
long afternoon. From the grassy table-land of
its heights, pasturage for numberless flocks and
herds when the long snows have melted, one
might look over the shore of the Ionian Sea where
Greek craftsmen built ships of timber cut upon
the mountain's side. Not so long ago it was a
haunt of brigands; now there is no risk for the
rare traveller who penetrates that wilderness ; but
he must needs depend upon the hospitality of
labourers and shepherds. I dream of sunny
glades, never touched, perhaps, by the foot of
man since the Greek herdsman wandered there
with his sheep or goats. Somewhere on Sila rises
the Neaithos (now Neto) mentioned by Theocritus ;
one would like to sit by its source in the wood
land solitude, and let fancy have her way.
In these garden walks I met a group of peasants,
evidently strange to Cosenza, and wondering at
all they saw. The women wore a very striking

THE GRAVE OF ALARIC 35
costume : a short petticoat of scarlet, much em
broidered, and over it a blue skirt, rolled up in
front and gathered in a sort of knot behind the
waist; a bodice adorned with needlework and
metal ; elaborate glistening head-gear, and bare
feet. The town-folk have no peculiarity of dress.
I observed among them a grave, intelligent type
of countenance, handsome and full of character,
which may be that of their brave ancestors the
Bruttii. With pleasure I saw that they behaved
gently to their beasts, the mules being very sleek
and contented-looking. There is much difference
between these people and the Neapolitans ; they
seem to have no liking for noise, talk with a
certain repose, and allow the stranger to go about
among them unmolested, unimportuned. Women
above the poorest class are not seen in the streets ;
there prevails an Oriental system of seclusion.
I was glad to come upon the pot market; in
the south of Italy it is always a beautiful and
interesting sight. Pottery for commonest use
among Calabrian peasants has a grace of line, a
charm of colour, far beyond anything native to
our most pretentious china-shops. Here still
lingers a trace of the old civilization. There
must be great good in a people which has pre
served this need of beauty through ages of servi
tude and suffering. Compare such domestic
utensils — these oil -jugs and water-jars — with those
in the house of an English labourer. Is it really
so certain that all virtues of race dwell with those
who can rest amid the ugly and know it not for
ugliness ?
The new age declares itself here and there at
Cosenza. A squalid railway station, a hideous
railway bridge, have brought the town into the

36 BY THE IONIAN SEA
European network; and the craze for building,
which has disfigured and half ruined Italy, shows
itself in an immense new theatre — Teatro Gari
baldi — just being finished. The old one, which
stands ruinous close by, struck me as, if anything,
too large for the town; possibly it had been
damaged by an earthquake, the commonest sort
of disaster at Cosenza. On the front of the new
edifice I found two inscriptions, both exulting
over the fall of the papal power ; one was interest
ing enough to copy : —
"20 Sept., 1870.
questa data politica
Dice finlta la teocrazia
Negli ordinamenti emu:.
Il Dt CHE la dira finita
moralmente
Sara la data umana."
which signifies : " This political date marks the
end of theocracy in civil life. The day which
ends its moral rule will begin the epoch of human
ity." A remarkable utterance anywhere; not
least so within hearing of the stream which flows
over the grave of Alaric.
One goes to bed early at Cosenza; the night
air is dangerous, and — Teatro Garibaldi still
incomplete—darkness brings with it no sort of
pastime. I did manage to read a little in my
miserable room by an antique lamp, but the
effort was dispiriting ; better to lie in the dark and
think of Goth and Roman.
Do the rivers Busento and Crati still keep the

THE GRAVE OF ALARIC 37
secret of that " royal sepulchre, adorned with
the splendid spoils and trophies of Rome " ? It
seems improbable that the grave was ever dis
turbed; to this day there exists somewhere near
Cosenza a treasure-house more alluring than any
pictured in Arabian tale. It is not easy to con
jecture what " spoils and trophies " the Goths
buried with their king ; if they sacrificed masses
of precious metal, then perchance there still lies
in the river-bed some portion of that golden statue
of Virtus, which the Romans melted down to eke
out the ransom claimed by Alaric. The year
410 a.d. was no unfitting moment to break into
bullion the figure personifying Manly Worth.
" After that," says an old historian, " all bravery
and honour perished out of Rome."

TARANTO

CHAPTER IV
TARANTO
Cosenza is on a line of railway which runs
northward up the Crati valley, and joins the long
sea-shore line from Taranto to Reggio. As it was
my wish to see the whole of that coast, I had the
choice of beginning my expedition either at the
northern or the southern end ; for several reasons
I decided to make straight for Taranto.
The train started about seven o'clock in the
morning. I rose at six in chill darkness, the dis
comfort of my room seeming worse than ever at
this featureless hour. The waiter — perhaps he
was the landlord, I left this doubt unsolved —
brought me a cup of coffee ; dirtier and more
shabbily apparelled man I have never looked
upon ; viler coffee I never drank. Then I de
scended into the gloom of the street. The familiar
odours breathed upon me with pungent freshness,
wafted hither and thither on a mountain breeze.
A glance upwards at the narrow strip of sky
showed a grey-coloured dawn, prelude, I feared,
of a dull day.
Evidently I was not the only traveller depart
ing ; on the truck just laden I saw somebody
else's luggage, and at the same moment there
came forth a man heavily muffled against the
air, who, like myself, began to look about for
41

42 BY THE IONIAN SEA
the porter. We exchanged greetings, and on our
walk to the station I learned that my companion,
also bound for Taranto, had been detained by
illness for several days at the Lionetti, where, he
bitterly complained, the people showed him no
sort of attention. He was a commercial traveller,
representing a firm of drug merchants in North
Italy, and for his sins (as he put it) had to make
the southern journey every year; he invariably
suffered from fever, and at certain places — of
course, the least civilized — had attacks which
delayed him from three days to a week. He
loathed the South, finding no compensation what
ever for the miseries of travel below Naples ; the
inhabitants he reviled with exceeding animosity.
Interested by the doleful predicament of this
vendor of drugs (who dosed himself very vigor
ously), I found him a pleasant companion during
the day; after our lunch he seemed to shake off
the last shivers of his malady, and was as sprightly
an Italian as one could wish to meet — young,
sharp-witted, well-mannered, and with a pleasing
softness of character.
We lunched at Sybaris ; that is to say, at the
railway station now so called, though till recently
it bore the humbler name of Buffaloria. The
Italians are doing their best to revive the classical
place-names, where they have been lost, and
occasionally the incautious traveller is much
misled. Of Sybaris no stone remains above
ground; five hundred years before Christ it was
destroyed by the people of Croton, who turned
the course of the river Crathis so as to whelm
the city's ruins. Francois Lenormant, whose
delightful book, La Grande Grece, was my com
panion on this journey, believed that a discovery

TARANTO 43
far more wonderful and important than that of
Pompeii awaits the excavator on this site ; he
held it certain that here, beneath some fifteen
feet of alluvial mud, lay the temples and the
streets of Sybaris, as on the day when Crathis
first flowed over them. A little digging has
recently been done, and things of interest have
been found ; but discovery on a wide scale is still
to be attempted.
Lenormant praises the landscape hereabouts
as of " incomparable beauty " ; unfortunately I
saw it in a sunless day, and at unfavourable
moments I was strongly reminded of the Essex
coast — grey, scrubby flats, crossed by small
streams, spreading wearily seaward. One had
only to turn inland to correct this mood; the
Calabrian mountains, even without sunshine, had
their wonted grace. Moreover, cactus and agave,
frequent in the foreground, preserved the southern
character of the scene. This great plain between
the hills and the sea grows very impressive ; so
silent it is, so mournfully desolate, so haunted
with memories of vanished glory. I looked at
the Crathis — the Crati of Cosenza — here beginning
to spread into a sea-marsh ; the waters which used
to flow over golden sands, which made white the
oxen, and sunny-haired the children, that bathed
in them, are now lost amid a wilderness poisoned
by their own vapours.
The railway station, like all in this region, was
set about with eucalyptus. Great bushes of
flowering rosemary scented the air, and a fine
cassia tree, from which I plucked blossoms,
yielded a subtler perfume. Our lunch was not
luxurious; I remember only, as at all worthy of
Sybaris, a palatable white wine called Muscato

44 BY THE IONIAN SEA
dei Saraceni. Appropriate enough amid this
vast silence to turn one's thoughts to the Sara
cens, who are so largely answerable for the ages
of desolation that have passed by the Ionian Sea.
Then on for Taranto, where we arrived in the
afternoon. Meaning to stay for a week or two I
sought a pleasant room in a well-situated hotel,
and I found one with a good view of town and
harbour. The Taranto of old days, when it was
called Taras, or later Tarentum, stood on a long
peninsula, which divides a little inland sea from
the great sea without. In the Middle Ages the
town occupied only the point of this neck of land,
which, by the cutting of an artificial channel,
had been made into an island : now again it is
spreading over the whole of the ancient site;
great buildings of yellowish-white stone, as ugly
as modern architect can make them, and plainly
far in excess of the actual demand for habitations,
rise where Phoenicians and Greeks and Romans
built after the nobler fashion of their times. One
of my windows looked towards the old town,
with its long sea-wall where fishermen's nets hung
drying, the dome of its Cathedral, the high,
squeezed houses, often with gardens on the roofs,
and the swing-bridge which links it to the main
land ; the other gave me a view across the Mare
Piccolo, the Little Sea (it is some twelve miles
round about), dotted in many parts with crossed
stakes which mark the oyster-beds, and lined on
this side with a variety of shipping moored at
quays. From some of these Vessels, early next
morning, sounded suddenly a furious cannonade,
which threatened to shatter the windows of the
hotel ; I found it was in honour of the Queen of
Italy, whose festa fell on that day. This bar-

TARANTO 45
barous uproar must have sounded even to the
Calabrian heights ; it struck me as more meaning
less in its deafening volley of noise than any note
of joy or triumph that could ever have been
heard in old Tarentum.
I walked all round the island part of the town ;
lost myself amid its maze of streets, or alleys
rather, for in many places one could touch both
sides with outstretched arms, and rested in the
Cathedral of S. Cataldo, who, by the bye, was an
Irishman. All is strange, but too close-packed
to be very striking or beautiful; I found it best
to linger on the sea-wall, looking at the two
islands in the offing, and over the great gulf with
its mountain shore stretching beyond sight. On
the rocks below stood fishermen hauling in a
great net, whilst a boy splashed the water to
drive the fish back until they were safely enveloped
in the last meshes ; admirable figures, consummate
in graceful strength, their bare legs and arms the
tone of terra cotta. What slight clothing they
wore became them perfectly, as is always the
case with a costume well adapted to the natural
life of its wearers. Their slow, patient effort
speaks of immemorial usage, and is in harmony
with time itself. These fishermen are the primi
tives of Taranto ; who shall say for how many
centuries they have hauled their nets upon the
rock ? When Plato visited the Schools of Taras,
he saw the same brown-legged figures, in much
the same garb, gathering their sea-harvest. When
Hannibal, beset by the Romans, drew his ships
across the peninsula and so escaped from the
inner sea, fishermen of Tarentum went forth as
ever, seeking their daily food. A thousand years
passed, and the fury of the Saracens, when it

46 BY THE IONIAN SEA
had laid the city low, spared some humble Taren-
tine and the net by which he lived. To-day the
fisher-folk form a colony apart; they speak a
dialect which retains many Greek words unknown
to the rest of the population. I could not gaze
at them long enough ; their lithe limbs, their
attitudes at work or in repose, their wild, black
hair, perpetually reminded me of shapes pictured
on a classic vase.
Later in the day I came upon a figure scarcely
less impressive. Beyond the new quarter of the
town, on the ragged edge of its wide, half -peopled
streets, lies a tract of olive orchards and of seed-
land ; there, alone amid great bare fields, a country
man was ploughing. The wooden plough, as
regards its form, might have been thousands of
years old; it was drawn by a little donkey, and
traced in the soil — the generous southern soil —
the merest scratch of a furrow. I could not but
approach the man and exchange words with him ;
his rude but gentle face, his gnarled hands, his
rough and scanty vesture, moved me to a deep
respect, and when his speech fell upon my ear,
it was as though I listened to one of the ancestors
of our kind. Stopping in his work, he answered
my inquiries with careful civility ; certain phrases
escaped me, but on the whole he made himself
quite intelligible, and was glad, I could see, when
my words proved that I understood him. I drew
apart, and watched him again. Never have I
seen man so utterly patient, so primaevally
deliberate. The donkey's method of ploughing
was to pull for one minute, and then rest for two ;
it excited in the ploughman not the least surprise
or resentment. Though he held a long stick in
his hand, he never made use of it ; at each stop-

TARANTO 47
page he contemplated the ass, and then gave
utterance to a long " Ah-h-h ! " in a note of the
most affectionate remonstrance. They were not
driver and beast, but comrades in labour. It
reposed the mind to look upon them.
Walking onward in the same direction, one
approaches a great wall, with gateway sentry-
guarded; it is the new Arsenal, the pride of
Taranto, and the source of its prosperity. On
special as well as on general grounds, I have a
grudge against this mass of ugly masonry. I
had learnt from Lenormant that at a certain spot,
Fontanella, by the shore of the Little Sea, were
observable great ancient heaps of murex shells —
the murex precious for its purple, that of Tarentum
yielding in glory only to the purple of Tyre. I
hoped to see these shells, perhaps to carry one
away. But Fontanella had vanished, swallowed
up, with all remnants of antiquity, by the graceless
Arsenal. It matters to no one save the few
fantastics who hold a memory of the ancient
world dearer than any mechanic triumph of
to-day. If only one could believe that the
Arsenal signified substantial good to Italy ! Too
plainly it means nothing but the exhaustion of
her people in the service of a base ideal.
The confines of this new town being so vague,
much trouble is given to that noble institution,
the dazio. Scattered far and wide in a dusty
wilderness, stand the little huts of the officers,
vigilant on every road or by-way to wring the
wretched soldi from toilsome hands. As became
their service, I found these gentry anything but
amiable ; they had commonly an air of ennui,
and regarded a stranger with surly suspicion.
When I was back again among the high new

48 BY THE IONIAN SEA
houses, my eye, wandering in search of any
smallest point of interest, fell on a fresh-painted
inscription : —
" Alla Magna Gr^cia.
Stabilimento Idroelettropatico."
It was well meant. At the sign of " Magna
Graecia " one is willing to accept " hydroelec-
tropathic " as a late echo of Hellenic speech.

DULCE GAL^SI FLUMEN

CHAPTER V
DULCE GALiESI FLUMEN
Taranto has a very interesting Museum. I
went there with an introduction to the curator,
who spared no trouble in pointing out to me all
that was best worth seeing. He and I were alone
in the little galleries ; at a second or third visit
I had the Museum to myself, save for an attendant
who seemed to regard a visitor as a pleasant
novelty, and bestirred himself for my comfort
when I wanted to make sketches. Nothing is
charged for admission, yet no one enters. Pre
sumably, all the Tarentines who care for archae
ology have already been here, and strangers are
few. Upon the shelves are seen innumerable minia
ture busts, carved in some kind of stone ; thought
to be simply portraits of private persons. One
peers into the faces of men, women, and children,
vaguely conjecturing their date, their circum
stances; some of them may have dwelt in the
old time on this very spot of ground now covered
by the Museum. Like other people who grow
too rich and comfortable, the citizens of Taren
tum loved mirth and mockery; their Greek
theatre was remarkable for irreverent farce, for
parodies of the great drama of Athens. And
here is testimony to the fact : all manner of
51

52 BY THE IONIAN SEA
comic masks, of grotesque visages; mouths
distorted into impossible grins, eyes leering and
goggling, noses extravagant. I sketched a
caricature of Medusa, the anguished features and
snaky locks travestied with satiric grimness.
You remember a story which illustrates this
scoffing habit : how the Roman Ambassador,
whose Greek left something to be desired, excited
the uproarious derision of the assembled Taren-
tines — with results which were no laughing
matter. I used the opportunity of my conversation
with the Director of the Museum to ask his aid
in discovering the river Galaesus. Who could
find himself at Taranto without turning in
thought to the Galaesus, and wishing to walk
along its banks ? Unhappily, one cannot be
quite sure of its position. A stream there is,
flowing into the Little Sea, which by some is
called Galeso; but the country-folk commonly
give it the name of Gialtrezze. Of course I
turned my steps in that direction, to see and
judge for myself.
To skirt the western shore of the Mare Piccolo
I had to pass the railway station, and there I
made a few inquiries; the official with whom I
spoke knew not the name Galeso, but informed
me that the Gialtrezze entered the sea at a dis
tance of some three kilometres. That I pur
posed walking such a distance to see an insignifi
cant stream excited the surprise, even the friendly
concern, of my interlocutor; again and again
he assured me it was not worth while, repeating
emphatically, " Non c'e novitd." But I went
my foolish way. Of two or three peasants or
fishermen on the road I asked the name of the

DULCE GAL^ESI FLUMEN 53
little river I was approaching; they answered,
" Gialtrezze." Then came a man carrying a
gun, whose smile and greeting invited question.
" Can you tell me the name of the stream which
flows into the sea just beyond here ? " " Signore,
it is the Galeso."
My pulse quickened with delight; all the
more when I found that my informant had no
tincture of the classics, and that he supported
Galeso against Gialtrezze simply as a question
of local interest. Joyously I took leave of him,
and very soon I was in sight of the river itself.
The river? It is barely half a mile long; it
rises amid a bed of great reeds, which quite con
ceal the water, and flows with an average breadth
of some ten feet down to the seashore, on either
side of it bare, dusty fields, and a few hoary
olives. The Galaesus ? — the river beloved by Horace ;
its banks pasturing a famous breed of sheep,
with fleece so precious that it was protected by a
garment of skins ? Certain it is that all the
waters of Magna Graecia have much diminished
since classic times, but (unless there have been
great local changes, due, for example, to an
earthquake) this brook had always the same
length, and it is hard to think of the 'Galaesus as
so insignificant. Disappointed, brooding, I fol
lowed the current seaward, and upon the shore,
amid scents of mint and rosemary, sat down to
rest. There was a good view of Taranto across the
water ; the old town on its little island, compact
of white houses, contrasting with the yellowish
tints of the great new buildings which spread
over the peninsula. With half -closed eyes, one

54 BY THE IONIAN SEA
could imagine the true Tarentum. Wavelets
lapped upon the sand before me, their music the
same as two thousand years ago. A goatherd
came along, his flock straggling behind him ; man
and goats were as much of the old world as of
the new. Far away, the boats of fishermen
floated silently. I heard a rustle as an old fig
tree hard by dropped its latest leaves. On the
sea-bank of yellow crumbling earth lizards
flashed about me in the sunshine. After a dull
morning, the day had passed into golden serenity ;
a stillness as of eternal peace held earth and sky.
" Dearest of all to me is that nook of earth
which yields not to Hymettus for its honey, nor
for its olive to green Venafrum; where heaven
grants a long springtime and warmth in winter,
and in the sunny hollows Bacchus fosters a
vintage noble as the Falernian  " The lines
of Horace sang in my head ; I thought, too, of
the praise of Virgil, who, tradition has it, wrote
his Eclogues hereabouts. Of course, the country
has another aspect in spring and early summer;
I saw it at a sad moment ; but, all allowance made
for seasons, it is still with wonder that one recalls
the rapture of the poets. A change beyond
conception must have come upon these shores of
the Ionian Sea. The scent of rosemary seemed
to be wafted across the ages from a vanished
world. After all, who knows whether I have seen the
Galaesus ? Perhaps, as some hold, it is quite
another river, flowing far to the west of Taranto
into the open gulf. Gialtrezze may have become
Galeso merely because of the desire in scholars
to believe that it was the classic stream; in
other parts of Italy names have been so imposed.

DULCE GALjESI FLUMEN 55
But I shall not give ear to such discouraging
argument. It is little likely that my search will
ever be renewed, and for me the Galaesus — " dulce
Galaesi flumen " — is the stream I found and
tracked, whose waters I heard mingle with the
Little Sea. The memory has no sense of dis
appointment. Those reeds which rustle about
the hidden source seem to me fit shelter of a
Naiad; I am glad I could not see the water
bubbling in its spring, for there remains a mystery.
Whilst I live, the Galaesus purls and glistens in
the light of that golden afternoon, and there
beyond, across the blue still depths, glimmers a
vision of Tarentum.
Let Taranto try as it will to be modern and
progressive, there is a retarding force which
shows little sign of being overcome — the profound
superstition of the people. A striking episode of
street life reminded me how near akin were the
southern Italians of to-day to their predecessors
in what are called the dark ages ; nay, to those
more illustrious ancestors who were so ready to
believe that an ox had uttered an oracle, or that
a stone had shed blood. Somewhere near the
swing-bridge, where undeniable steamships go
and come between the inner and the outer sea, I
saw a crowd gathered about a man who was
exhibiting a picture and expounding its purport ;
every other minute the male listeners doffed their
hats, the females bowed and crossed themselves.
When I had pressed near enough to hear the
speaker, I found he was just finishing a wonderful
story, in which he himself might or might not
have faith, but which plainly commanded the
credit of his auditors. Having closed his narra
tive, the fellow began to sell it in printed form —

56 BY THE IONIAN SEA
little pamphlets with a rude illustration on the
cover. I bought the thing for a soldo, and read
it as I walked away.
A few days ago^-thus, after a pious exordium,
the relation began — in that part of Italy called
Marca, there came into a railway station a Capu
chin friar of grave, thoughtful, melancholy
aspect, who besought the station-master to allow
him to go without ticket by the train just starting,
as he greatly desired to reach the Sanctuary of
Loreto that day, and had no money to pay his
fare. The official gave a contemptuous refusal,
and paid no heed to the entreaties of the friar,
who urged all manner of religious motives for
the granting of his request. The two engines
on the train (which was a very long one) seemed
about to steam away — but, behold, con grande
stupore di tutti, the waggons moved not at all !
Presently a third engine was put on, but still all
efforts to start the train proved useless. Alone
of the people who viewed this inexplicable event,
the friar showed no astonishment; he remarked
calmly, that so long as he was refused permission
to travel by it, the train would not stir. At length
un ricco signore found a way out of the difficulty
by purchasing the friar a third-class ticket ; with
a grave reproof to the station-master, the friar
took his seat, and the train went its way.
But the matter, of course, did not end here.
Indignant and amazed, and wishing to be re
venged upon that frataccio, the station-master
telegraphed to Loreto, that in a certain carriage
of a certain train was travelling a friar, whom it
behoved the authorities to arrest for having
hindered the departure of the said train for
fifteen minutes, and also for the offence of mendi-

DULCE GAL^SI FLUMEN 57
cancy within a railway station. Accordingly,
the Loreto police sought the offender, but, in the
compartment where he had travelled, found no
person ; there, however, lay a letter couched in
these terms : " He who was in this waggon under
the guise of a humble friar, has now ascended into
the arms of his Santissima Madre Maria. He
wished to make known to the world how easy it is
for him to crush the pride of unbelievers, or to
reward those who respect religion."
Nothing more was discoverable ; wherefore the
learned of the Church — i dotti delta chiesa — came
to the conclusion that under the guise of a friar
there had actually appeared " N. 8. G. G." The
Supreme Pontiff and his prelates had not yet
delivered judgment in the matter, but there
could be no sort of doubt that they would pro
nounce the authenticity of the miracle. With a
general assurance that the good Christian will
be saved and the unrepentant will be damned,
this remarkable little pamphlet came to an end.
Much verbiage I have omitted, but the translation,
as far as it goes, is literal. Doubtless many a
humble Tarentine spelt it through that evening,
with boundless wonder, and thought such an
intervention of Providence worthy of being talked
about, until the next stabbing case in his street
provided a more interesting topic.
Possibly some malevolent rationalist might
note that the name of the railway station where
this miracle befell was nowhere mentioned. Was
it not open to him to go and make inquiries at
Loreto ?

THE TABLE OF THE PALADINS

CHAPTER VI
THE TABLE OF THE PALADINS
For two or three days a roaring north wind
whitened the sea with foam ; it kept the sky
clear, and from morning to night there was
magnificent sunshine, but, none the less, one
suffered a good deal from cold. The streets were
barer than ever; only in the old town, where
high, close walls afforded a good deal of shelter,
was there a semblance of active life. But even
here most of the shops seemed to have little, if
any, business ; frequently I saw the tradesman
asleep in a chair, at any hour of daylight. Indeed,
it must be very difficult to make the day pass at
Taranto. I noticed that, as one goes southward
in Italy, the later do ordinary people dine;
appetite comes slowly in this climate. Between
colazione at midday and pranzo at eight, or even
half-past, what an abysm of time ! Of course,
the Tarentine never reads; the only bookshop
I could discover made a poorer display than even
that at Cosenza — it was not truly a bookseller's
at all, but a fancy stationer's. How the women
spend their lives one may vainly conjecture.
Only on Sunday did I see a few of them about the
street ; they walked to and from Mass, with eyes
on the ground, and all the better-dressed of them
wore black. 61

62 BY THE IONIAN SEA
When the weather fell calm again, and there
was pleasure in walking, I chanced upon a trace
of the old civilization which interested me more
than objects ranged in a museum. Rambling
eastward along the outer shore, in the wilderness
which begins as soon as the town has disappeared,
I came to a spot as uninviting as could be imagined,
great mounds of dry rubbish, evidently deposited
here by the dust-carts of Taranto ; luckily, I
continued my walk beyond this obstacle, and
after a while became aware that I had entered
upon a road — a short piece of well-marked road,
which began and ended in the mere waste. A
moment's examination, and I saw that it was no
modern by-way. The track was clean-cut in
living rock, its smooth, hard surface lined with
two parallel ruts nearly a foot deep ; it extended
for some twenty yards without a break, and fur
ther on I discovered less perfect bits. Here,
manifestly, was the seaside approach to Tarentum,
to Taras, perhaps to the Phcenician city which
came before them. Ages must have passed
since vehicles used this way; the modern high
road is at some distance inland, and one sees at
a glance that this witness of ancient traffic has
remained by Time's sufferance in a desert region.
Wonderful was the preservation of the surface :
the angles at the sides, where the road had been
cut down a little below the rock-level, were sharp
and clean as if carved yesterday, and the profound
ruts, worn, perhaps, before Rome had come to
her power, showed the grinding of wheels with
strange distinctness. From this point there is an
admirable view of Taranto, the sea, and the
mountains behind.
Of the ancient town there remains hardly

THE TABLE OF THE PALADINS 63
anything worthy of being called a ruin. Near
the shore, however, one can see a few remnants
of a theatre — perhaps that theatre where the
Tarentines were sitting when they saw Roman
galleys, in scorn of treaty, sailing up the Gulf.
My last evenings were brightened by very
beautiful sunsets ; one in particular remains
with me ; I watched it for an hour or more from
the terrace-road of the island town. An exquisite
after-glow seemed as if it would never pass away.
Above, thin, grey clouds stretching along the
horizon a purple flush melted insensibly into the
dark blue of the zenith. Eastward the sky was
piled with lurid rack, sullen-tinted folds edged
with the hue of sulphur. The sea had a strange
aspect, curved tracts of pale blue lying motionless
upon a dark expanse rippled by the wind. Below
me, as I leaned on the sea-wall, a fisherman's
boat crept duskily along the rocks, a splash of oars
soft-sounding in the stillness. I looked to the
far Calabrian hills, now scarce distinguishable
from horizon cloud, and wondered what chances
might await me in the unknown scenes of my
further travel.
The long shore of the Ionian Sea suggested
many a halting -place. Best of all, I should have
liked to swing a wallet on my shoulder and make
the whole journey on foot; but this for many
reasons was impossible. I could only mark points
of the railway where some sort of food or lodg
ing might be hoped for, and the first of these
stoppages was Metaponto.
Official time-bills of the month marked a train
for Metaponto at 4.56 a.m., and this I decided to
take, as it seemed probable that I might find a
stay of some hours sufficient, and so be able to

«4 BY THE IONIAN SEA
resume my journey before night. I asked the
waiter to call me at a quarter to four. In the
middle of the night (as it seemed to me) I was
aroused by a knocking, and the waiter's voice
called to me that, if I wished to leave early for
Metaponto, I had better get up at once, as the
departure of the train had been changed to 4.15
— it was now half-past three. There ensued an
argument, sustained, on my side, rather by the
desire to stay in bed this cold morning than by
any faith in the reasonableness of the railway
company. There must be a mistake ! The
orario for the month gave 4.56, and how could
the time of a train be changed without public
notice ? Changed it was, insisted the waiter ; it
had happened a few days ago, and they had only
heard of it at the hotel this very morning.
Angry and uncomfortable, I got my clothes on,
and drove to the station, where I found that a
sudden change in the time-table, without any
regard for persons relying upon the official guide,
was taken as a matter of course. In chilly
darkness I bade farewell to Taranto.
At a little after six, when palest dawn was
shimmering on the sea, I found myself at Meta
ponto, with no possibility of doing anything for
a couple of hours. Metaponto is a railway
station, that and nothing more, and, as the
station also calls itself a hotel, I straightway
asked for a room, and there dozed until sunshine
improved my humour and stirred my appetite.
The guide-book had assured me of two things :
that a vehicle could be had here for surveying
the district, and that, under cover behind the
station, one Would find a little collection of
antiquities unearthed hereabout. On inquiry,

THE TABLE OF THE PALADINS 65
I found that no vehicle, and no animal capable of
being ridden, existed at Metaponto; also that
the little museum had been transferred to
Naples. It did not pay to keep the horse, they
told me; a stranger asked for it only " once in
a hundred years." However, a lad was forth
coming who would guide me to the ruins. I
breakfasted (the only thing tolerable being the
wine), and we set forth.
It was a walk of some two or three miles, by
a cart road, through fields just being ploughed for
grain. All about lay a level or slightly rolling
country, which in winter becomes a wilderness
of mud ; dry traces of vast slough and occasional
stagnant pools showed what the state of things
would be a couple of months hence. The proper
ties were divided by hedges of agave — huge
growths, grandly curving their sword-pointed
leaves. Its companion, the spiny cactus, writhed
here and there among juniper bushes and tama
risks. Along the wayside rose tall, dead thistles,
white with age, their great cluster of seed-vessels
showing how fine the flower had been. Above
our heads, peewits were wheeling and crying, and
lizards swarmed on the hard, cracked ground.
We passed a few ploughmen, with white oxen
yoked to labour. Ploughing was a fit sight at
Metapontum, famous of old for the richness of its
soil ; in token whereof the city dedicated at
Delphi its famous Golden Sheaf. It is all that
remains of li°e on this part of the coast; the
city had sunk into ruin before the Christian era,
and was never rebuilt. Later, the shore was too
dangerous for habitation. Of all the cities upon
the Ionian Sea, only Tarentum and Croton
continued to exist through the Middle Ages, for

66 BY THE IONIAN SEA
they alone occupied a position strong for defence
against pirates and invaders. A memory of the
Saracen wars lingers in the name borne by the one
important relic of Metapontum, the Tavola de'
Paladini ; to this my guide was conducting me.
It is the ruin of a temple to an unknown god,
which stood at some distance north of the ancient
city; two parallel rows of columns, ten on one
side, five on the other, with architrave all but
entire, and a basement shattered. The fine
Doric capitals are well preserved; the pillars
themselves, crumbling under the tooth of time,
seem to support with difficulty their noble heads.
This monument must formerly have been very
impressive amid the wide landscape ; but, a
few years ago, for protection against peasant
depredators, a wall ten feet high was built close
around the columns, so that no good view of them
is any longer obtainable. To the enclosure
admission is obtained through an iron gateway
with a lock. I may add, as a picturesque detail,
that the lock has long been useless ; my guide
simply pushed the gate open. Thus, the ugly
wall serves no purpose whatever save to detract
from the beauty of the scene.
Vegetation is thick within the temple precincts ;
a flowering rose bush made contrast of its fresh
and graceful loveliness with the age-worn strength
of these great carved stones. About their base
grew luxuriantly a plant which turned my
thoughts for a moment to rural England, the
round-leaved pennywort. As I lingered here,
there stirred in me something of that deep
emotion which I felt years ago amid the temples
of Paestum. Of course, this obstructed frag
ment holds no claim to comparison with Paestum 's

THE TABLE OF THE PALADINS 67
unique glory, but here, as there, one is possessed
by the pathos of immemorial desolation; amid
a silence which the voice has no power to break,
nature's eternal vitality triumphs over the
greatness of forgotten men.
At a distance of some three miles from this
temple there lies a little lake, or a large pond,
which would empty itself into the sea but for
a piled barrier of sand and shingle. This was
the harbour of Metapontum.
I passed the day in rambling and idling, and
returned for a meal at the station just before
train-time. The weather could not have been
more enjoyable ; a soft breeze and cloudless
blue. For the last half -hour I lay in a hidden
corner of the eucalyptus grove — trying to shape
in fancy some figure of old Pythagoras. He died
here (says story) in 497 B.C. — broken-hearted at
the failure of his efforts to make mankind gentle
and reasonable. In 1897 a.d. that hope had not
come much nearer to its realization. Italians
are yet familiar with the name of the philosopher,
for it is attached to the multiplication table,
which they call tavola pitagorica. What, in truth,
do we know of him ? He is a type of aspiring
humanity; a sweet and noble figure, moving
as a dim radiance through legendary Hellas. The
English reader hears his name with a smile, re
calling only the mention of him, in mellow mirth,
by England's greatest spirit. " What is the
opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl? "
Whereto replies the much-offended Malvolio :
" That the soul of our grandam might haply
inhabit a bird." He of the crossed garters
disdains such fantasy. " I think nobly of the
soul, and no way approve his opinion."

68 BY THE IONIAN SEA
I took my ticket for Cotrone, which once was
Croton. At Croton, Pythagoras enjoyed his
moment's triumph, ruling men to their own
behoof. At Croton grew up a school of medicine
which glorified Magna Graecia. " Healthier than
Croton," said a proverb ; for the spot was unsur
passed in salubrity ; beauty and strength dis
tinguished its inhabitants, who boasted their
champion Milon. After the fall of Sybaris,
Croton became so populous that its walls encircled
twelve miles. Hither came Zeuxis, to adorn with
paintings the great temple of Hera on the Lacinian
promontory ; here he made his picture of Helen,
with models chosen from the loveliest maidens of
the city. I was light-hearted with curious antici
pation as I entered the train for Cotrone.
While daylight lasted, the moving landscape
held me attentive. This part of the coast is
more varied, more impressive, than that between
Taranto and Metaponto. For the most part a
shaggy wilderness, the ground lies in strangely
broken undulations, much hidden with shrub and
tangled boscage. At the falling of dusk we passed
a thickly wooded tract large enough to be called
a forest ; the great trees looked hoary with age,
and amid a jungle of undergrowth, myrtle and
lentisk, arbutus and oleander, lay green marshes,
dull deep pools, sluggish streams. A spell which
was half fear fell upon the imagination; never
till now had I known an enchanted wood. No
thing human could wander in those pathless
shades, by those dead waters. It was the very
approach to the world of spirits ; over this wood
land, seen on the verge of twilight, brooded a
silent awe, such as Dante knew in his selva
oscura.

THE TABLE OF THE PALADINS 69
Of a sudden the dense foliage was cleft ; there
opened a broad alley between drooping boughs,
and in the deep hollow, bordered with sand and
stones, a flood rolled seaward. This river is
now called Sinno ; it was the ancient Siris,
whereon stood the city of the same name. In the
seventh century before Christ, Siris was lauded as
the richest city in the world ; for luxury it out-
rivalled Sybaris.
I had recently been reading Lenormant's
description of the costumes of Magna Graecia
prior to the Persian wars. Siris, a colony from
Ionia, still kept its Oriental style of dress.
Picture a man in a long, close -clinging tunic
which descended to his feet, either of fine linen,
starched and pleated, or of wool, falling foldless,
enriched with embroidery and adorned with
bands of gay-coloured geometric patterns ; over
this a wrap (one may say) of thick wool, tight
round the bust and leaving the right arm un
covered, or else a more ample garment, elaborately
decorated like the long tunic. Complete the
picture with a head ornately dressed, on the brow
a fringe of ringlets ; the long hair behind held
together by gold wire spirally wound ; above,
a crowning fillet, with a jewel set in the front;
the beard cut to a point, and the upper lip shaven.
You behold the citizen of these Hellenic colonies
in their stately prime.
Somewhere in that enchanted forest, where the
wild vine trails from tree to tree, where birds and
creatures of the marshy solitude haunt their
ancient home, lie buried the stones of Siris.

COTRONE

CHAPTER VII
COTRONE
Night hid from me the scenes that followed.
Darkling, I passed again through the station called
Sybaris, and on and on by the sea-shore, the sound
of breakers often audible. From time to time
I discerned black mountain masses against a
patch of grey sky, or caught a glimpse of blanching
wave, or felt my fancy thrill as a stray gleam from
the engine fire revealed for a moment another
trackless wood. Often the hollow rumbling of
the train told me that we were crossing a bridge ;
the stream beneath it bore, perhaps, a name in
legend or in history. A wind was rising ; at the
dim little stations I heard it moan and buffet,
and my carriage, where all through the journey
I sat alone, seemed the more comfortable. Rain
began to fall, and when, about ten o'clock, I
alighted at Cotrone, the night was loud with
storm. There was but one vehicle at the station, a
shabby, creaking, mud-plastered sort of coach,
into which I bundled together with two travellers
of the kind called commercial — almost the only
species of traveller I came across during these
southern wanderings. A long time was spent in
stowing freightage which, after all, amounted to
very little; twice, thrice, four, and perhaps five
73

74 BY THE IONIAN SEA
times did we make a false start, followed by
uproarious vociferation, and a jerk which tumbled
us passengers all together. The gentlemen of
commerce rose to wild excitement, and roundly
abused the driver; as soon as we really started,
their wrath changed to boisterous gaiety. On we
rolled, pitching and tossing, mid darkness and
tempest, until, through the broken window, a
sorry illumination of oil-lamps showed us one
side of a colonnaded street. " Bologna ! Bolog
na ! " cried my companions, mocking at this
feeble reminiscence of their fat northern town.
The next moment we pulled up, our bruised
bodies colliding vigorously for the last time ;
it was the Albergo Concordia.
A dark stone staircase, yawning under the
colonnade ; on the first landing an open doorway ;
within, a long corridor, doors of bedrooms on
either side, and in a room at the far end a glimpse
of a tablecloth. This was the hotel, the whole of
it. As soon as I grasped the situation, it was
clear to me why my fellow travellers had entered
with a rush, and flung themselves into rooms;
there might, perchance, be only one or two cham
bers vacant, and I knew already that Cotrone
offered no other decent harbourage. Happily
I did not suffer for my lack of experience ; after
trying one or two doors in vain, I found a sleep
ing-place which seemed to be unoccupied, and
straightway took possession of it. No one
appeared to receive the arriving guests. Feeling
very hungry, I went into the room at the end
of the passage, where I had seen a tablecloth ; a
wretched lamp burned on the wall, but only after
knocking, stamping, and calling did I attract
attention; then issued from some mysterious

COTRONE 75
region a stout, slatternly, sleepy woman, who
seemed surprised at my demand for food, but at
length complied with it. I was to have better
acquaintance with my hostess of the Concordia
before I quitted Cotrone.
Next morning the wind still blew, but the rain
was over ; I could begin my rambles. Like the
old town of Taranto, Cotrone occupies the site
of the ancient acropolis, a little headland jutting
into the sea ; above, and in front of the town itself,
stands the castle built by Charles V., with im
mense battlements looking over the harbour.
From a road skirting the shore around the base
of the fortress one views a wide bay, bounded
to the north by the dark flanks of Sila (I was in
sight of the Black Mountain once more), and
southwards by a long low promontory, its level
slowly declining to the far-off point where it
ends amid the waves. On this Cape I fixed my
eyes, straining them until it seemed to me that
I distinguished something, a jutting speck against
the sky, at its farthest point. Then I used my
field-glass, and at once the doubtful speck became
a clearly visible projection, much like a lighthouse.
It is a Doric column, some five-and-twenty feet
high ; the one pillar that remains of the great
temple of Hera, renowned through all the Hellenic
world, and sacred still when the goddess had for
centuries borne a Latin name. " Colonna " is
the ordinary name of the Cape ; but it is also
known as Capo di Naii, a name which preserves
the Greek word naos (temple).
I planned for the morrow a visit to this spot,
which is best reached by sea. To-day great
breakers were rolling upon the strand, and all
the blue of the bay was dashed with white foam ;

76 BY THE IONIAN SEA
another night would, I hoped, bring calm, and
then the voyage ! Dis aliter visum.
A little fleet of sailing vessels and coasting
steamers had taken refuge within the harbour,
which is protected by a great mole. A good
haven; the only one, indeed, between Taranto
and Reggio, but it grieves one to remember that
the mighty blocks built into the sea-barrier came
from that fallen temple. We are told that as
late as the sixteenth century the building re
mained all but perfect, with eight-and-forty
pillars, rising there above the Ionian Sea;
a guide to sailors, even as when iEneas marked
it on his storm-tossed galley. Then it was
assailed, cast down, ravaged by a Bishop of
Cotrone, one Antonio Lucifero, to build his
episcopal palace. Nearly three hundred years
later, after the terrible earthquake of 1783,
Cotrone strengthened her harbour with the great
stones of the temple basement. It was a more
legitimate pillage.
Driven inland by the gale, I wandered among
low hills which overlook the town. Their aspect
is very strange, for they consist entirely — on the
surface, at all events — of a yellowish-grey mud,
dried hard, and as bare as the high road. A few
yellow hawkweeds, a few camomiles, grew in
hollows here and there ; but of grass not a blade.
It is easy to make a model of these Crotonian
hills. Shape a solid mound of hard-pressed sand,
and then, from the height of a foot or two, let
water trickle down upon it; the perpendicular
ridges and furrows thus formed upon the minia
ture hill represent exactly what I saw here on a
larger scale. Moreover, all the face of the ground
is minutely cracked and wrinkled ; a square foot

COTRONE 77
includes an incalculable multitude of such meshes.
Evidently this is the work of hot sun on moisture ;
but when was it done ? For they tell me that it
rains very little at Cotrone, and only a deluge could
moisten this iron soil. Here and there I came
upon yet more striking evidences of water-power ;
great holes on the hillside, generally funnel-
shaped, and often deep enough to be dangerous
to the careless walker. The hills are round-
topped, and parted one from another by gully
or ravine, shaped, one cannot but think, by
furious torrents. A desolate landscape, and
scarcely bettered when one turned to look over
the level which spreads north of the town; one
discovers patches of foliage, indeed, the dark
perennial verdure of the south; but no kindly
herb clothes the soil. In springtime, it seems,
there is a growth of grass, very brief, but luxuri
ant. That can only be on the lower ground;
these furrowed heights declare a perpetual
sterility. What has become of the ruins of Croton ? This
squalid little town of to-day has nothing left from
antiquity. Yet a city bounded with a wall of
twelve miles circumference is not easily swept
from the face of the earth. Bishop Lucifer,
wanting stones for his palace, had to go as far as
the Cape Colonna ; then, as now, no block of
Croton remained. Nearly two hundred years
before Christ the place was forsaken. Rome
colonized it anew, and it recovered an obscure
life as a place of embarkation for Greece, its
houses occupying only the rock of the ancient
citadel. Were there at that date any remnants
of the great Greek city? — still great only two
centuries before. Did all go to the building of

78 BY THE IONIAN SEA
Roman dwellings and temples and walls, which
since have crumbled or been buried ?
We are told that the river iEsarus flowed
through the heart of the city at its prime. I
looked over the plain, and yonder, towards the
distant railway station, I descried a green track,
the course of the all but stagnant and wholly
pestilential stream, still called Esaro. Near its
marshy mouth are wide orange orchards. Could
one but see in vision the harbour, the streets,
the vast encompassing wall ! From the eminence
where I stood, how many a friend and foe of
Croton has looked down upon its shining ways,
peopled with strength and beauty and wisdom !
Here Pythagoras may have walked, glancing afar
at the Lacinian sanctuary, then new built.
Lenormant is eloquent on the orange groves of
Cotrone. In order to visit them, permission was
necessary, and presently I made my way to the
town hall, to speak with the Sindaco (Mayor)
and request his aid in this matter. Without
difficulty I was admitted. In a well-furnished
office sat two stout gentlemen, smoking cigars,
very much at their ease; the Sindaco bade me
take a chair, and scrutinized me with doubtful
curiosity as I declared my business. Yes, to be
sure he could admit me to see his own orchard;
but why did I wish to see it ? My reply that I
had no interest save in the natural beauty of
the place did not convince him ; he saw in me
a speculator of some kind. That was natural
enough. In all the south of Italy, money is the
one subject of men's thoughts ; intellectual life
does not exist; there is little even of what we
should call common education. Those who have
wealth cling to it fiercely; the majority have

COTRONE 79
neither time nor inclination to occupy themselves
with anything but the earning of a livelihood
which for multitudes signifies the bare appeasing
of hunger.
Seeing the Sindaco 's embarrassment, his portly
friend began to question me ; good-humouredly
enough, but in such a fat bubbling voice (made
more indistinct by the cigar he kept in his mouth)
that with difficulty I understood him. What was
I doing at Cotrone ? I endeavoured to explain
that Cotrone greatly interested me. Ha ! Co
trone interested me ? Really ? Now what did I
find interesting at Cotrone ? I spoke of historic
associations. The Sindaco and his friend ex
changed glances, smiled in a puzzled, tolerant,
half-pitying way, and decided that my request
might be granted. In another minute I with
drew, carrying half a sheet of note-paper on
which were scrawled in pencil a few words,
followed by the proud signature " Berlinghieri."
When I had deciphered the scrawl, I found it was
an injunction to allow me to view a certain estate
" senza nulla toccare " — without touching any
thing. So a doubt still lingered in the dignitary's
mind. Cotrone has no vehicle plying for hire — save
that in which I arrived at the hotel. I had to-
walk in search of the orange orchard, all along
the straight dusty road leading to the station.
For a considerable distance this road is bordered
on both sides by warehouses of singular appear
ance. They have only a ground floor, and the
front wall is not more than ten feet high, but
their low roofs, sloping to the ridge at an angle
of about thirty degrees, cover a great space. The
windows are strongly barred, and the doors show

80 BY THE IONIAN SEA
immense padlocks of elaborate construction.
The goods warehoused here are chiefly wine and
oil, oranges and liquorice. (A great deal of
liquorice grows around the southern gulf.) At
certain moments, indicated by the markets at
home or abroad, these stores are conveyed to the
harbour, and shipped away. For the greater
part of the year the houses stand as I saw them,
locked, barred, and forsaken ; a street where any
sign of life is exceptional; an odd suggestion of
the English Sunday in a land that knows not such
observance. Crossing the Esaro, I lingered on the bridge to
gaze at its green, muddy water, not visibly
flowing at all. The high reeds which half con
cealed it carried my thoughts back to the
Galaesus. But the comparison is all in favour
of the Tarentine stream. Here one could feel
nothing but a comfortless melancholy ; the scene
is too squalid, the degradation too complete.
Of course, no one looked at the permesso with
which I presented myself at the entrance to the
orchard. From a tumbling house, which we
should call the lodge, came forth (after much
shouting on my part) an aged woman, who laughed
at the idea that she should be asked to read any
thing, and bade me walk wherever I liked. I
strayed at pleasure, meeting only a lean dog,
which ran fearfully away. The plantation was
very picturesque ; orange trees by no means
occupied all the ground, but mingled with pome
granates and tamarisks and many evergreen
shrubs of which I knew not the name; whilst
here and there soared a magnificent stone pine.
The walks were bordered with giant cactus,
now and again so fantastic in their growth that I

COTRONE 81
stood to wonder ; and in an open space upon the
bank of the Esaro (which stagnates through the
orchard) rose a majestic palm, its leaves stirring
heavily in the wind which swept above. Pictur
esque, abundantly ; but these beautiful tree-
names, which waft a perfume of romance, are like
to convey a false impression to readers who have
never seen the far South; it is natural to think
of lovely nooks, where one might lie down to
rest and dream ; there comes a vision of soft
turf under the golden-fruited boughs — " places
of nestling green for poets made." Alas ! the
soil is bare and lumpy as a ploughed field, and all
the leafage that hangs low is thick with a clayey
dust. One cannot rest or loiter or drowse ; no
spot in all the groves where by any possibility one
could sit down. After rambling as long as I
chose, I found that a view of the orchard from
outside was more striking than the picture amid
the trees themselves. Senza nulla toccare, I
went my way.

FACES BY THE WAY

CHAPTER VIII
FACES BY THE WAY
The wind could not roar itself out. Through
the night it kept awaking me, and on the morrow
I found a sea foamier than ever; impossible to
reach the Colonna by boat, and almost so, I was
assured, to make the journey by land in such
weather as this. Perforce I waited.
A cloudless sky ; broad sunshine, warm as in
an English summer ; but the roaring tramontana
was disagreeably chill. No weather could be
more perilous to health. The people of Cotrone,
those few of them who did not stay at home
or shelter in the porticoes, went about heavily
cloaked, and I wondered at their ability to wear
such garments under so hot a sun. Theoretically
aware of the danger I was running, but, in fact,
thinking little about it, I braved the wind and
the sunshine all day long ; my sketch-book gained
by it, and my store of memories.
First of all, I looked into the Cathedral, an
ugly edifice, as uninteresting within as without.
Like all the churches in Calabria, it is whitewashed
from door to altar, pillars no less than walls — a
cold and depressing interior. I could see no
picture of the least merit ; one, a figure of Christ
with hideous wounds, was well-nigh as repulsive
as painting could be. This vile realism seems to
85

86 BY THE IONIAN SEA
indicate Spanish influence. There is a miniature
copy in bronze of the statue of the chief Apostle
in St. Peter's at Rome, and beneath it an inscrip
tion making known to the faithful that, by order
of Leo XIII. in 1896, an Indulgence of three
hundred days is granted to whosoever kisses the
bronze toe and says a prayer. Familiar enough
this unpretentious announcement, yet it never
fails of its little shock to the heretic mind. Whilst
I was standing near, a peasant went through
the mystic rite ; to judge from his poor malaria-
stricken countenance, he prayed very earnestly,
and I hope his Indulgence benefited him. Prob
ably he repeated a mere formula learnt by heart.
I wished he could have prayed spontaneously for
three hundred days of wholesome and sufficient
food, and for as many years of honest, capable
government in his heavy-burdened country.
When travelling, I always visit the burial-
ground ; I like to see how a people commemorates
its dead, for tombstones have much significance.
The cemetery of Cotrone lies by the sea-shore, at
some distance beyond the port, far away from
habitations ; a bare hillside looks down upon its
graves, and the road which goes by is that leading
to Cape Colonna. On the way I passed a little
ruined church, shattered, I was told, by an earth
quake three years before ; its lonely position
made it interesting, and the cupola of coloured
tiles (like that of the Cathedral at Amalfi) re
mained intact, a bright spot against the grey
hills behind. A high enclosing wall signalled
the cemetery ; I rang a bell at the gate and was
admitted by a man of behaviour and language
much more refined than is common among the
people of this region ; I felt sorry, indeed, that I

FACES BY THE WAY 87
had not found him seated in the Sindaco 's chair
that morning. But as guide to the burial-ground
he was delightful. Nine years, he told me, he
had held the post of custodian, in which time,
working with his own hands, and unaided, he had
turned the enclosure from a wretched wilderness
into a beautiful garden. Unaffectedly I admired
the results of his labour, and my praise rejoiced
him greatly. He specially requested me to
observe the geraniums ; there were ten species,
many of them of extraordinary size and with
magnificent blossoms. Roses I saw, too, in
great abundance ; and tall snapdragons, and
bushes of rosemary, and many flowers unknown
to me. As our talk proceeded the gardener gave
me a little light on his own history; formerly
he was valet to a gentleman of Cotrone, with
whom he had travelled far and wide over Europe ;
yes, even to London, of which he spoke with
expressively wide eyes, and equally expressive
shaking of the head. That any one should
journey from Calabria to England seemed to him
intelligible enough ; but he marvelled that I had
thought it worth while to come from England
to Calabria. Very rarely indeed could he show
his garden to one from a far-off country; no,
the place was too poor, accommodation too rough ;
there needed a certain courage, and he laughed,
again shaking his head.
The ordinary graves were marked with a small
wooden cross; where a head-stone had been
raised, it generally presented a skull and crossed
bones. Round the enclosure stood a number of
mortuary chapels, gloomy and ugly. An excep
tion to this dull magnificence in death was a
marble slab, newly set against the wall, in memory

88 BY THE IONIAN SEA
of a Lucifero — one of that family, still eminent,
to which belonged the sacrilegious bishop. The
design was a good imitation of those noble sepul
chral tablets which abound in the museum at
Athens ; a figure taking leave of others as if going
on a journey. The Lucifers had shown good taste
in their choice of the old Greek symbol ; no better
adornment of a tomb has ever been devised, nor
one that is half so moving. At the foot of the slab
was carved a little owl (civetta), a bird, my friend
informed me, very common about here.
When I took leave, the kindly fellow gave me
a large bunch of flowers, carefully culled, with
many regrets that the lateness of the season for
bade his offering choicer blossoms. His simple
good-nature and intelligence greatly won upon
me. I like to think of him as still quietly happy
amid his garden walls, tending flowers that grow
over the dead at Cotrone.
On my way back again to the town, I took a
nearer view of the ruined little church, and,
whilst I was so engaged, two lads driving a herd of
goats stopped to look at me. As I came out into
the road again, the younger of these modestly
approached and begged me to give him a flower
— by choice, a rose. I did so, much to his satis
faction and no less to mine ; it was a pleasant
thing to find a wayside lad asking for anything
but soldi. The Calabrians, however, are dis
tinguished by their self-respect; they contrast
remarkably with the natives of the Neapolitan
district. Presently, I saw that the boy's elder
companion had appropriated the flower, which
he kept at his nose as he plodded along; after
useless remonstrance, the other drew near to me
again, shamefaced ; would I make him another

FACES BY THE WAY 89
present ; not a rose this time, he would not ven
ture to ask it, but " questo piccolo " ; and he
pointed to a sprig of geranium. There was a
grace about the little lad which led me to talk to
him, though I found his dialect very difficult.
Seeing us on good terms, the elder boy drew near,
and at once asked a puzzling question : When
was the ruined church on the hillside to be rebuilt ?
I answered, of course, that I knew nothing about
it, but this reply was taken as merely evasive ;
in a minute or two the lad again questioned me.
Was the rebuilding to be next year? Then I
began to understand; having seen me examin
ing the ruins, the boy took it for granted that I
was an architect here on business, and I don't
think I succeeded in setting him right. When he
had said good-bye he turned to look after me
with a mischievous smile, as much as to say that
I had naturally refused to talk to him about so
important a matter as the building of a church,
but he was not to be deceived.
The common type of face at Cotrone is coarse
and bumpkinish ; ruder, it seemed to me, than
faces seen at any point of my journey hitherto.
A photographer had hung out a lot of portraits,
and it was a hideous exhibition; some of the
visages attained an incredible degree of vulgar
ugliness. This in the town which still bears the
name of Croton. The people are all more or less
unhealthy; one meets peasants horribly dis
figured with life-long malaria. There is an agree
able cordiality in the middle classes; business
men from whom I sought casual information,
even if we only exchanged a few words in the
street, shook hands with me at parting. I found
no one who had much good to say of his native

90 BY THE IONIAN SEA
place ; every one complained of a lack of water.
Indeed, Cotrone has as good as no water supply.
One or two wells I saw, jealously guarded : the
water they yield is not really fit for drinking, and
people who can afford it purchase water which
comes from a distance in earthenware jars. One
of these jars I had found in my bedroom ; its
secure corking much puzzled me until I made
inquiries. The river Esaro is all but useless for
any purpose, and as no other stream flows in
the neighbourhood, Cotrone's washerwomen take
their work down to the beach ; even during the
gale I saw them washing there in pools which
they had made to hold the sea water ; now and
then one of them ventured into the surf, wading
with legs of limitless nudity and plunging linen as
the waves broke about her.
It was unfortunate that I brought no letter of
introduction to Cotrone; I should much have
liked to visit one of the better houses. Well-to-
do people live here, and I was told that, in fine
weather, " at least half a dozen " private carriages
might be seen making the fashionable drive on the
Strada Regina Margherita. But it is not easy
to imagine luxury or refinement in these dreary,
close-packed streets. Judging from our table
at the Concordia, the town is miserably pro
visioned; the dishes were poor and monotonous
and infamously cooked* Almost the only palat
able thing offered was an enormous radish. Such
radishes I never saw : they were from six to
eight inches long, and more than an inch thick,
at the same time thoroughly crisp and sweet.
The wine of the country had nothing to recom
mend it. It was very heady, and smacked of
drugs rather than of grape juice.

FACES BY THE WAY 91
But men must eat, and the Concordia, being
the only restaurant, daily entertained several
citizens, besides guests staying in the house. One
of these visitants excited my curiosity ; he was a
middle-aged man of austere countenance ; shabby
in attire, but with the bearing of one accustomed
to command. Arriving always at exactly the
same moment, he seated himself in his accustomed
place, drew his hat over his brows, and began to
munch bread. No word did I hear him speak.
As soon as he appeared in the doorway, the waiter
called out, with respectful hurry, " Don Ferdi-
nando ! " and in a minute his first course was
served. Bent like a hunchback over the table,
his hat dropping ever lower, until it almost hid
his eyes, the Don ate voraciously. His dishes
seemed to be always the same, and as soon as
he had finished the last mouthful, he rose and
strode from the room.
Don is a common title of respect in Southern
Italy ; it dates of course from the time of Spanish
rule. At a favourable moment I ventured to
inquire of the waiter who Don Ferdinando might
be ; the only answer, given with extreme dis
cretion, was " A proprietor." If in easy circum
stances, the Don must have been miserly, his
diet was wretched beyond description. And in
the manner of his feeding he differed strangely
from the ordinary Italian who frequents restau
rants. Wonderful to observe, the representative
diner. He always seems to know exactly what
his appetite demands ; he addresses the waiter in
a preliminary discourse, sketching out his meal,
and then proceeds to fill in the minutiae. If he
orders a common dish, he describes with exquisite
detail how it is to be prepared ; in demanding

92 BY THE IONIAN SEA
something out of the way he glows with culinary
enthusiasm. An ordinary bill of fare never
satisfies him ; he plays variations upon the theme
suggested, divides or combines, introduces novel
ties of the most unexpected kind. As a rule, he
eats enormously (I speak only of dinner), a piled
dish of macaroni is but the prelude to his meal,
a whetting of his appetite. Throughout he
grumbles, nothing is quite as it should be, and
when the bill is presented he grumbles still more
vigorously, seldom paying the sum as it stands.
He rarely appears content with his entertainment,
and often indulges in unbounded abuse of those
who serve him. These characteristics, which
I have noted more or less in every part of Italy,
were strongly illustrated at the Concordia. In
general, they consist with a fundamental good
humour, but at Cotrone the tone of the dining-
room was decidedly morose. One man — he
seemed to be a sort of clerk — came only to quarrel.
I am convinced that he ordered things which he
knew the people could not cook just for the sake
of reviling their handiwork when it was presented.
Therewith he spent incredibly small sums ; after
growling and remonstrating and eating for more
than an hour, his bill would amount to seventy or
eighty centesimi, wine included. Every day he
threatened to withdraw his custom; every day
he sent for the landlady, pointed out to her
how vilely he was treated, and asked how she
could expect him to recommend the Concordia
to his acquaintances. On one occasion I saw
him push away a plate of something, plant his
elbows on the table, and hide his face in his
hands ; thus he sat for ten minutes, an image
of indignant misery, and when at length his

FACES BY THE WAY 93
countenance was again visible, it showed traces
of tears.
I dwell upon the question of food because it
was on this day that I began to feel a loss of
appetite and found myself disgusted with the
dishes set before me. In ordinary health I have
that happiest qualification of the traveller, an
ability to eat and enjoy the familiar dishes of any
quasi-civilized country ; it was a bad sign when
I grew fastidious. After a mere pretence of
dinner, I lay down in my room to rest and read.
But I could do neither ; it grew plain to me that
I was feverish. Through a sleepless night, the
fever manifestly increasing, I wished that illness
had fallen on me anywhere rather than at Cotrone.

MY FRIEND THE DOCTOR

CHAPTER IX
MY FRIEND THE DOCTOR
In the morning I arose as usual, though with
difficulty. I tried to persuade myself that I was
merely suffering from a violent attack of dyspepsia,
the natural result of Concordia diet. When the
waiter brought my breakfast I regarded it with
resentful eye, feeling for the moment very much
like my grumbling acquaintance of the dinner
hour. It may be as well to explain that the
breakfast consisted of very bad coffee, with
goat's milk, hard, coarse bread, and goat's butter,
which tasted exactly like indifferent lard. The
so-called butter, by a strange custom of Cotrone,
was served in the emptied rind of half a spherical
cheese — the small caccio cavallo, horse cheese,
which one sees everywhere in the South. I
should not have liked to inquire where, how, when,
or by whom the substance of the cheese had been
consumed. Possibly this receptacle is supposed
to communicate a subtle flavour to the butter ; I
only know that, even to a healthy palate, the
stuff was rather horrible. Cow's milk could be
obtained in very small quantities, but it was
of evil flavour ; butter, in the septentrional sense
of the word, did not exist.
It surprises me to remember that I went out,
walked down to the shore, and watched the great
g 97

98 BY THE IONIAN SEA
waves breaking over the harbour mole. There
was a lull in the storm, but as yet no sign of
improving weather ; clouds drove swiftly across a
lowering sky. My eyes turned to the Lacinian
promontory, dark upon the turbid sea. Should
I ever stand by the sacred column ? It seemed to
me hopelessly remote ; the voyage an impossible
effort. I talked with a man, of whom I remember
nothing but his piercing eyes steadily fixed upon
me ; he said there had been a wreck in the night,
a ship carrying live pigs had gone to pieces, and
the shore was sprinkled with porcine corpses.
Presently I found myself back at the Concordia,
not knowing exactly how I had returned. The
dyspepsia — I clung to this hypothesis — was grow
ing so violent that I had difficulty in breathing : "
before long I found it impossible to stand. Clearly,
I must send for a doctor.
My hostess was summoned, and she told me
that Cotrone had " a great physician," by name
" Dr. Scurco." Translating this name from
dialect into Italian, I presumed that the phy
sician's real name was Sculco, and this proved to
be the case. Dr. Riccardo Sculco was a youngish
man, with an open, friendly countenance. At
once I liked him. After an examination, of
which I quite understood the result, he remarked
in his amiable, airy manner that I had " a touch
of rheumatism " ; as a simple matter of precau
tion, I had better go to bed for the rest of the day,
and, just for the form of the thing, he would send
some medicine. Having listened to this with as
pleasant a smile as I could command, I caught
the Doctor's eye, and asked quietly, " Is there
m uch congestion ? ' ' His manner at once changed ;

MY FRIEND THE DOCTOR 99
he became businesslike and confidential. The
right lung ; yes, the right lung. Mustn't worry ;
get to bed and take my quinine in dosi forti,
and he would look in again at night.
The second visit I but dimly recollect. There
was a colloquy between the Doctor and my hostess,
and the word cataplasma sounded repeatedly;
also I heard again " dosi forti." The night that
followed was perhaps the most horrible I ever
passed. Crushed with a sense of uttermost
fatigue, I could get no rest. From time to time
a sort of doze crept upon me, and I said to myself,
" Now I shall sleep ; " but on the very edge of
slumber, at the moment when I was falling into
oblivion, a hand seemed to pluck me back into
consciousness. In the same instant there gleamed
before my eyes a little circle of fire, which blazed
and expanded into immensity, until its many-
coloured glare beat upon my brain and thrilled
me with torture. No sooner was the intolerable
light extinguished than I burst into a cold sweat ;
an icy river poured about me ; I shook, and my
teeth chattered, and so for some minutes I lay
in anguish, until the heat of fever re-asserted
itself, and I began once more to toss and roll. A
score of times was this torment repeated. The
sense of personal agency forbidding me to sleep
grew so strong that I waited in angry dread for
that shock which aroused me ; I felt myself
haunted by a malevolent power, and rebelled
against its cruelty.
Through the night no one visited me. At
eight in the morning a knock sounded at the door,
and there entered the waiter, carrying a tray with
my ordinary breakfast. " The Signore is not
well ? " he remarked, standing to gaze at me. I

100 BY THE IONIAN SEA
replied that I was not quite well ; would he give
me the milk, and remove from my sight as quickly
as possible all the other things on the tray. A
glimpse of butter in its cheese-rind had given me
an unpleasant sensation. The goat's milk I
swallowed thankfully, and, glad of the daylight,
lay somewhat more at my ease awaiting Dr.
Sculco. He arrived about half-past nine, and was
agreeably surprised to find me no worse. But the
way in which his directions had been carried out
did not altogether please him. He called the
landlady, and soundly rated her. This scene was
interesting, it had a fine flavour of the Middle
Ages. The Doctor addressed mine hostess of the
Concordia as " thou," and with magnificent dis
dain refused to hear her excuses ; she, the stout,
noisy woman, who ruled her own underlings with
contemptuous rigour, was all subservience before
this social superior, and whined to him for pardon.
" What water is this ? " asked Dr. Sculco, sternly,
taking up the corked jar that stood on the floor.
The hostess replied that it was drinking water,
purchased with good money. Thereupon he
poured out a little, held it up to the light, and
remarked in a matter-of-fact tone, " I don't
believe you."
However, in a few minutes peace was restored,
and the Doctor prescribed anew. After he had
talked about quinine and cataplasms, he asked me
whether I had any appetite. A vision of the
dining-room came before me, and I shook my
head. " Still," he urged, " it would be well to
eat something." And, turning to the hostess,
" He had better have a beefsteak and a glass of
Marsala." The look of amazement with which

MY FRIEND THE DOCTOR 101
I heard this caught the Doctor's eye. " Don't you
like bistecca ? " he inquired. I suggested that,
for one in a very high fever, with a good deal of
lung congestion, beefsteak seemed a trifle solid,
and Marsala somewhat heating. " Oh ! " cried
he, " but we must keep the machine going."
And thereupon he took his genial leave.
I had some fear that my hostess might visit
upon me her resentment of the Doctor's re
proaches ; but nothing of the kind. When we
were alone, she sat down by me, and asked what
I should really like to eat. If I did not care
for a beefsteak of veal, could I eat a beefsteak of
mutton ? It was not the first time that such a
choice had been offered me, for, in the South,
bistecca commonly means a slice of meat done
on the grill or in the oven. Never have I sat
down to a bistecca which was fit for man's con
sumption, and, of course, at the Concordia it
would be rather worse than anywhere else. I
persuaded the good woman to supply me with a
little broth. Then I lay looking at the patch of
cloudy sky which showed above the houses oppo
site, and wondering whether I should have a
second fearsome night. I wondered, too, how
long it would be before I could quit Cotrone.
The delay here was particularly unfortunate, as
my letters were addressed to Catanzaro, the next
stopping-place, and among them I expected papers
which would need prompt attention. The thought
of trying to get my correspondence forwarded to
Cotrone was too disturbing ; it would have
involved an enormous amount of trouble, and I
could not have felt the least assurance that things
would arrive safely. So I worried through the
hours of daylight, and worried still more when,

102 BY THE IONIAN SEA
at nightfall, the fever returned upon me as badly
as ever.
Dr. Sculco had paid his evening visit, and the
first horror of ineffectual drowsing had passed
over me, when my door was flung violently open,
and in rushed a man (plainly of the commercial
species), hat on head and bag in hand. I per
ceived that the diligenza had just arrived, and
that travellers were seizing upon their bedrooms.
The invader, aware of his mistake, discharged a
volley of apologies, and rushed out again. Five
minutes later the door again banged open, and
there entered a tall lad with an armful of news
papers ; after regarding me curiously, he asked
whether I wanted a paper. I took one with the
hope of reading it next mornmg. Then he began
conversation. I had the fever ? Ah ! everybody
had fever at Cotrone. He himself would be laid
up with it in a day or two. If I liked, he would
look in with a paper each evening — till fever
prevented him. When I accepted this suggestion,
he smiled encouragingly, cried " Speriamo ! " and
clumped out of the room.
I had as little sleep as on the night before, but
my suffering was mitigated in a very strange
way. After I had put out the candle, I tormented
myself for a long time with the thought that
I should never see La Colonna. As soon as I
could rise from bed, I must flee Cotrone, and
think myself fortunate in escaping alive ; but to
turn my back on the Lacinian promontory,
leaving the Cape unvisited, the ruin of the temple
unseen, seemed to me a miserable necessity which
I should lament as long as I lived. I felt as one
involved in a moral disaster ; working in spite of
reason, my brain regarded the matter from many

MY FRIEND THE DOCTOR 103
points of view, and found no shadow of solace.
The sense that so short a distance separated me
from the place I desired to see, added exaspera
tion to my distress. Half-delirious, I at times
seemed to be in a boat, tossing on wild waters,
the Column visible afar, but only when I strained
my eyes to discover it. In a description of the
approach by land, I had read of a great precipice
which had to be skirted, and this, too, haunted
me with its terrors : I found myself toiling on a
perilous road, which all at once crumbled into
fearful depths just before me. A violent shiver
ing fit roused me from this gloomy dreaming, and
I soon after fell into a visionary state which,
whilst it lasted, gave me such placid happiness
as I have never known when in my perfect mind.
Lying still and calm, and perfectly awake, I
watched a succession of wonderful pictures. First
of all I saw great vases, rich with ornament and
figures ; then sepulchral marbles, carved more
exquisitely than the most beautiful I had ever
known. The vision grew in extent, in multi
plicity of detail ; presently I was regarding scenes
of ancient life — thronged streets, processions
triumphal or religious, halls of feasting, fields
of battle. What most impressed me at the time
was the marvellously bright yet delicate colouring
of everything I saw. I can give no idea in words
of the pure radiance which shone from every
object, which illumined every scene. More re
markable, when I thought of it next day, was
the minute finish of these pictures, the definite-
ness of every point on which my eye fell. Things
which I could not know, which my imagination,
working in the service of the will, could never
have bodied forth, were before me as in life

104 BY THE IONIAN SEA
itself. I consciously wondered at peculiarities
of costume such as I had never read of; at
features of architecture entirely new to me ; at
insignificant characteristics of that by-gone world,
which by no possibility could have been gathered
from books. I recall a succession of faces, the
loveliest conceivable ; and I remember, I feel to
this moment the pang of regret with which I lost
sight of each when it faded into darkness.
As an example of the more elaborate visions
that passed before me, I will mention the only
one which I clearly recollect. It was a glimpse
of history. When Hannibal, at the end of the
second Punic War, was confined to the south of
Italy, he made Croton his head-quarters, and
when, in reluctant obedience to Carthage, he
withdrew from Roman soil, it was at Croton
that he embarked. He then had with him a
contingent of Italian mercenaries, and, unwilling
that these soldiers should go over to the enemy,
he bade them accompany him to Africa. The
Italians refused. Thereupon Hannibal had them
led down to the shore of the sea, where he slaugh
tered one and all. This event I beheld. I saw
the strand by Croton; the promontory with its
temple ; not as I know the scene to-day, but as
it must have looked to those eyes more than two
thousand years ago. The soldiers of Hannibal
doing massacre, the perishing mercenaries, sup
ported my closest gaze, and left no curiosity
unsatisfied. (Alas ! could I but see it again, or
remember clearly what was shown me !) And
over all lay a glory of sunshine, an indescribable
brilliancy which puts light and warmth into my
mind whenever I try to recall it. The delight of
these phantasms was well worth the ten days'

MY FRIEND THE DOCTOR 105
illness which paid for them. After this night
they never returned; I hoped for their renewal,
but in vain. When I spoke of the experience to
Dr. Sculco, he was much amused, and afterwards
he often asked me whether I had had any more
visioni. That gate of dreams was closed, but I
shall always feel that, for an hour, it was granted
me to see the vanished life so dear to my imagina
tion. If the picture corresponded to nothing real,
tell me who can, by what power I reconstructed,
to the last perfection of intimacy, a world known to
me only in ruined fragments.
Daylight again, but no gleam of sun. I longed
for the sunshine ; it seemed to me a miserable
chance that I should lie ill by the Ionian Sea
and behold no better sky than the far north
might have shown me. That grey obstruction
of heaven's light always weighs upon my spirit;
on a summer day, there has but to pass a floating
cloud, which for a moment veils the sun, and I
am touched with chill discouragement ; heart
and hope fail me, until the golden radiance is
restored. About noon, when I had just laid down the
newspaper bought the night before — the Roman
Tribuna, which was full of dreary politics — a
sudden clamour in the street drew my attention.
I heard the angry shouting of many voices, not
in the piazza before the hotel, but at some little
distance ; it was impossible to distinguish any
meaning in the tumultuous cries. This went on
for a long time, swelling at moments into a roar
of frenzied rage, then sinking to an uneven growl,
broken by spasmodic yells. On asking what it
meant, I was told that a crowd of poor folk had
gathered before the Municipio to demonstrate

106 BY THE IONIAN SEA
against an oppressive tax called the fuocatico.
This is simply hearth-money, an impost on each
fireplace where food is cooked; the same tax
which made trouble in old England, and was
happily got rid of long ago. But the hungry
plebs of Cotrone lacked vigour for any effective
self-assertion ; they merely exhausted themselves
with shouting " Abbass' 'o sindaco ! " and dis
persed to the hearths which paid for an all but
imaginary service. I wondered whether the
Sindaco and his portly friend sat in their com
fortable room whilst the roaring went on ; whether
they smoked their cigars as usual, and continued
to chat at their ease. Very likely. The privi
leged classes in Italy are slow to move, and may
well believe in the boundless endurance of those
below them. Some day, no doubt, they will have
a disagreeable surprise. When Lombardy begins
in earnest to shout " Abbasso I " it will be an
uneasy moment for the heavy syndics of Calabria.

CHILDREN OF THE SOIL

CHAPTER X
CHILDREN OF THE SOIL
Any northern person who passed a day or
two at the Concordia as an ordinary traveller
would carry away a strong impression. The
people of the house would seem to him little
short of savages, filthy in person and in habits,
utterly uncouth in their demeanour, perpetual
wranglers and railers, lacking every qualification
for the duties they pretended to discharge. In
England their mere appearance would revolt
decent folk. With my better opportunity of
judging them, I overcame the first natural anti
pathy ; I saw their good side, and learnt to for
give the faults natural to a state of frank bar
barism. It took two or three days before their
rough and ready behaviour softened to a really
human friendliness, but this came about at last,
and when it was known that I should not give
much more trouble, that I needed only a little
care in the matter of diet, goodwill did its best
to aid hopeless incapacity.
Whilst my fever vas high, little groups of
people often came into the room, to stand and
stare at me, exchanging, in a low voice, remarks
which they supposed I did not hear, or, hearing,
could not understand ; as a matter of fact, their
dialect was now intelligible enough to me, and I
109

110 BY THE IONIAN SEA
knew that they discussed my chances of surviving.
Their natures were not sanguine. A result,
doubtless, of the unhealthy climate, every one
at Cotrone seemed in a more or less gloomy
state of mind. The hostess went about uttering
ceaseless moans and groans ; when she was in
my room I heard her constantly sighing, " Ah,
Signore ! Ah, Cristo ! " — exclamations which,
perhaps, had some reference to my illness, but
which did not cease when I recovered. Whether
she had any private reason for depression I could
not leam ; I fancy not ; it was only the whimpering
and querulous habit due to low health. A female
servant, who occasionally brought me food (I
found that she also cooked it), bore herself in
much the same way. This domestic was the
most primitive figure of the household. Picture
a woman of middle age, wrapped at all times in
dirty rags (not to be called clothing), obese, grimy,
with dishevelled black hair, and hands so scarred,
so deformed by labour and neglect, as to be
scarcely human. She had the darkest and fiercest
eyes I ever saw. Between her and her mistress
went on an unceasing quarrel : they quarrelled
in my room, in the corridor, and, as I knew by
their shrill voices, in places remote; yet I am
sure they did not dislike each other, and probably
neither of them ever thought of parting. Un
expectedly, one evening, this woman entered,
stood by the bedside, and began to talk with
such fierce energy, with such flashing of her
black eyes, and such distortion of her features,
that I could only suppose that she was attacking
me for the trouble I caused her. A minute or
two passed before I could even hit the drift of
her furious speech; she was always the most

CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 111
difficult of the natives to understand, and in
rage she became quite unintelligible. Little by
little, by dint of questioning, I got at what she
meant. There had been guai, worse than usual ;
the mistress had reviled her unendurably for
some fault or other, and was it not hard that
she should be used like this after having tanto,
tanto lavorato ! In fact, she was appealing for
my sympathy, not abusing me at all. When
she went on to say that she was alone in the
world, that all her kith and kin were freddi morti
(stone dead), a pathos in her aspect and her
words took hold upon me ; it was much as if
some heavy-laden beast of burden had suddenly
found tongue, and protested in the rude begin
nings of articulate utterance against its hard lot.
If only one could have learnt, in intimate detail,
the life of this domestic serf ! How interesting,
and how sordidly picturesque against the back
ground of romantic landscape, of scenic history !
I looked long into her sallow, wrinkled face,
trying to imagine the thoughts that ruled its
expression. In some measure my efforts at
kindly speech succeeded, and her " Ah, Cristo ! "
as she turned to go away, was not without a
touch of solace.
Another time my hostess fell foul of the waiter
because he had brought me goat's milk which
was very sour. There ensued the most comical
scene. In an access of fury the stout woman
raged and stormed; the waiter, a lank young
fellow, with a simple, good-natured face, after
trying to explain that he had committed the
fault by inadvertence, suddenly raised his hand,
like one about to exhort a congregation, and
exclaimed in a tone of injured remonstrance,

112 BY THE IONIAN SEA
" Un po' di calma ! Tin po' di calma ! " My
explosion of laughter at this inimitable utter
ance put an end to the strife. The youth laughed
with me; his mistress bustled him out of the
room, and then began to inform me that he was
weak in his head. Ah ! she exclaimed, her life
with these people ! what it cost her to keep them
in anything like order ! When she retired, I
heard her expectorating violently in the corridor ;
a habit with every inmate of this genial hostelry.
When the worst of my fever had subsided, the
difficulty was to obtain any nourishment suitable
to my state. The good doctor, who had suggested
beefsteak and Marsala when I was incapable of
taking anything at all, ruled me severely in the
matter of diet now that I really began to feel
hungry. I hope I may never again be obliged
to drink goat's milk ; in these days it became so
unutterably loathsome to me that I had, at
length, to give it up altogether, and I cannot
think of it now without a qualm. The broth
offered me was infamous, mere coloured water
beneath half an inch of floating grease. Once
there was promise of fowl, and I looked forward
to it eagerly ; but, alas ! this miserable bird had
undergone a process of seething for the extraction
of soup. I would have defied any one to dis
tinguish between the substance remaining and
two or three old kid gloves boiled into a lump.
With a pleased air, the hostess one day suggested
a pigeon, a roasted pigeon, and I welcomed the
idea joyously. Indeed, the appearance of the
dish, when it was borne in, had nothing to dis
courage my appetite — the odour was savoury ; I
prepared myself for a treat. Out of pure kind
ness, for she saw me tremble in my weakness,

CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 113
the good woman offered her aid in the carving ;
she took hold of the bird by the two legs, rent
it asunder, tore off the wings in the same way,
and then, with a smile of satisfaction, wiped her
hands upon her skirt. If her hands had known
water (to say nothing of soap) during the past
twelve months I am much mistaken. It was a
pity, for I found that my teeth could just masti
cate a portion of the flesh which hunger compelled
me to assail.
Of course I suffered much from thirst, and
Dr. Sculco startled me one day by asking if I
liked tea. Tea ? Was it really procurable ? The
Doctor assured me that it could be supplied by
the chemist ; though, considering how rarely the
exotic was demanded, it might have lost some
thing of its finer flavour whilst stored at the
pharmacy. An order was despatched. Presently
the waiter brought me a very small paper packet,
such as might have contained a couple of Seidlitz
powders ; on opening it I discovered something
black and triturated, a crumbling substance rather
like ground charcoal. I smelt it, but there was
no perceptible odour; I put a little of it to my
tongue, but the effect was merely that of dust.
Proceeding to treat it as if it were veritable tea,
I succeeded in imparting a yellowish tinge to the
hot water, and, so thirsty was I, this beverage
tempted me to a long draught. There followed
no ill result that I know of, but the paper packet
lay thenceforth untouched, and, on leaving, I
made a present of it to my landlady.
To complete the domestic group, I must make
mention of the " chambermaid." This was a
lively little fellow of about twelve years old, son
of the landlady, who gave me much amusement.
H

114 BY THE IONIAN SEA
I don't know whether he performed chambermaid
duty in all the rooms; probably the fierce-eyed
cook did the heavier work elsewhere, but upon
me his attendance was constant. At an uncer
tain hour of the evenmg he entered (of course,
without knocking), doffed his cap in salutation,
and began by asking how I found myself. The
question could not have been more deliberately
and thoughtfully put by the Doctor himself.
When I replied that I was better, the little man
expressed his satisfaction, and went on to make
a few remarks about the pessimo tempo. Finally,
with a gesture of politeness, he inquired whether
I would permit him " di fare un po' di pulizia " —
to clean up a little, and this he proceeded to do
with much briskness. Excepting the good Sculco,
my chambermaid was altogether the most civilized
person I met at Cotrone. He had a singular
amiability of nature, and his boyish spirits were
not yet subdued by the pestilent climate. If I
thanked him for anything, he took off his cap,
bowed with comical dignity, and answered
" Grazie a voi, Signore." Of course these people
never used the third person feminine of polite
Italian. Dr. Sculco did so, for I had begun by
addressing him in that manner, but plainly it
was not familiar to his lips. At the same time
there prevailed certain forms of civility, which
seemed a trifle excessive. For instance, when
the Doctor entered my room, and I gave him
" Buon giorno," he was wont to reply, " Troppo
gentile ! " — too kind of you !
My newspaper boy came regularly for a few
days, always complaining of feverish symptoms,
then ceased to appear. I made inquiry : he was
down with illness, and as no one took his place

CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 115
I suppose the regular distribution of newspapers
in Cotrone was suspended. When the poor fellow
again showed himself, he had a sorry visage ;
he sat down by my bedside (rain dripping from
his hat, and mud, very thick, upon his boots)
to give an account of his sufferings. I pictured
the sort of retreat in which he had lain during
those miserable hours. My own chamber con
tained merely the barest necessaries, and, as the
gentleman of Cosenza would have said, " left
something to be desired " in point of cleanliness.
Conceive the places into which Cotrone 's poorest
have to crawl when they are stricken with disease.
I admit, however, that the thought was worse to
me at that moment than it is now. After all, the
native of Cotrone has advantages over the native
of a city slum ; and it is better to die in a hovel
by the Ionian Sea than in a cellar at Shoreditch.
The position of my room, which looked upon
the piazza, enabled me to hear a great deal of
what went on in the town. The life of Cotrone
began about three in the morning ; at that hour
I heard the first voices, upon which there soon
followed the bleating of goats and the tinkling
of ox-bells. No doubt the greater partVof the
poor people were in bed by eight o'clock every
evening; only those who had dealings in the
outer world were stirring when the diligenza
arrived about ten, and I suspect that some of
these snatched a nap before that late hour.
Throughout the day there sounded from the
piazza a ceaseless clamour of voices, such a
noise as in England would only rise from some
excited crowd on a rare occasion ; it was increased
by reverberation from the colonnade which runs
all round in front of the shops. When the north-

116 BY THE IONIAN SEA
east gale had passed over, there ensued a few
days of sullen calm, permitting the people to
lead their ordinary life in open air. I grew to
recognize certain voices, those of men who
seemingly had nothing to do but to talk all day
long. Only the sound reached me ; I wish I could
have gathered the sense of these interminable
harangues and dialogues. In every country and
every age those talk most who have least to say
that is worth saying. These tonguesters of Cotrone
had their predecessors in the public place of
Croton, who began to gossip before dawn, and
gabbled unceasingly till after nightfall ; with their
voices must often have mingled the bleating of
goats or the lowing of oxen, just as I heard the
sounds to-day.
One day came a street organ, accompanied by
singing, and how glad I was ! The first note of
musie, this, that I had heard at Cotrone. The
instrument played only two or three airs, and
one of them became a great favourite with the
populace ; very soon, numerous voices joined
with that of the singer, and all this and the
following day the melody sounded, near or far.
It had the true characteristics of southern song ;
rising tremolos, and cadences that swept upon a
wail of passion; high falsetto notes, and deep
tum-tum of infinite melancholy. Scorned by the
musician, yet how expressive of a people's temper,
how suggestive of its history ! At the moment
when this strain broke upon my ear, I was think
ing ill of Cotrone and its inhabitants ; in the first
pause of the music I reproached myself bitterly
for narrowness and ingratitude. All the faults
of the Italian people are whelmed in forgiveness
as soon as their music sounds under the Italian

CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 117
sky. One remembers all they have suffered, all
they have achieved in spite of wrong. Brute
races have flung themselves, one after another,
upon this sweet and glorious land ; conquest and
slavery, from age to age, have been the people's
lot. Tread where one will, the soil has been
drenched with blood. An immemorial woe sounds
even through the lilting notes of Italian gaiety.
It is a country wearied and regretful, looking
ever backward to the things of old ; trivial in its
latter life, and unable to hope sincerely for the
future. Moved by these voices singing over the
dust of Croton, I asked pardon for all my foolish
irritation, my impertinent fault-finding. Why
had I come hither, if it was not that I loved land
and people ? And had I not richly known the
recompense of my love ?
Legitimately enough one may condemn the
rulers of Italy, those who take upon themselves
to shape her political life, and recklessly load her
with burdens insupportable. But among the
simple on Italian soil a wandering stranger has
no right to nurse national superiorities, to indulge
a contemptuous impatience. It is the touch of
tourist vulgarity. Listen to a Calabrian peasant
singing as he follows his oxen along the furrow,
or as he shakes the branches of his olive tree.
That wailing voice amid the ancient silence, that
long lament solacing ill-rewarded toil, comes from
the heart of Italy herself, and wakes the memory
of mankind.

THE MOUNT OF REFUGE

CHAPTER XI
THE MOUNT OF REFUGE
My thoughts turned continually to Catanzaro.
It is a city set upon a hill, overlooking the Gulf
of Squillace, and I felt that if I could but escape
thither, I should regain health and strength.
Here at Cotrone the air oppressed and enfeebled
me ; the neighbourhood of the sea brought no
freshness. From time to time the fever seemed
to be overcome, but it lingered still in my blood
and made my nights restless. I must away to
Catanzaro. When first I spoke of this purpose to Dr. Sculco,
he indulged my fancy, saying " Presently, pre
sently ! " A few days later, when I seriously
asked him how soon I might with safety travel,
his face expressed misgiving. Why go to Catan
zaro ? It was on the top of a mountain, and
had a most severe climate ; the winds at this
season were terrible. In conscience he could not
advise me to take such a step : the results might
be very grave after my lung trouble. Far better
wait at Cotrone for a week or two longer, and
then go to Reggio, crossing perhaps to Sicily to
complete my cure. The more Dr. Sculco talked
of windy altitudes, the stronger grew my desire
for such a change of climate, and the more
intolerable seemed my state of languishment.
121

122 BY THE IONIAN SEA
The weather was again stormy, but this time
blew sirocco ; I felt its evil breath waste my
muscles, clog my veins, set all my nerves a-tremble.
If I stayed here much longer, I should never get
away at all. A superstitious fear crept upon me ;
I remembered that my last visit had been to the
cemetery. One thing was certain : I should never see the
column of Hera's temple. I made my lament
on this subject to Dr. Sculco, and he did his best
to describe to me the scenery of the Cape. Cer
tain white spots which I had discovered at the
end of the promontory were little villas, occupied
in summer by the well-to-do citizens of Cotrone ;
the Doctor himself owned one, which had belonged
to his father before him. Some of the earliest
memories of his boyhood were connected with the
Cape ; when he had lessons to learn by heart, he
often used to recite them walking round and
round the great column. In the garden of his
villa he at times amused himself with digging,
and a very few turns of the spade sufficed to
throw out some relic of antiquity. Certain
Americans, he said, obtained permission not long
ago from the proprietor of the ground on which
the temple stood to make serious excavations,
but as soon as the Italians heard of it, they
claimed the site as a national monument; the
work was forbidden, and the soil had to be
returned to its former state. Hard by the
ancient sanctuary is a chapel, consecrated to the
Madonna del Capo ; thither the people of Cotrone
make pilgrimages, and hold upon the Cape a
rude festival, which often ends in orgiastic riot.
All the surface of the promontory is bare ; not a
tree, not a bush, save for a little wooded hollow

THE MOUNT OF REFUGE 123
called Fossa del Lupo — the wolf's den. There,
says legend, armed folk of Cotrone used to lie
in wait to attack the corsairs who occasionally
landed for water.
When I led him to talk of Cotrone and its
people, the Doctor could but confirm my observa
tions. He contrasted the present with the past ;
this fever-stricken and waterless village with the
great city which was called the healthiest in the
world. In his opinion the physical change had
resulted from the destruction of forests, which
brought with it a diminution of the rainfall.
" At Cotrone," he said, " we have practically no
rain. A shower now and then, but never a whole
some downpour." He had no doubt that, in
ancient times, all the hills of the coast were
wooded, as Sila still is, and all the rivers abun
dantly supplied with water. To-day there was
scarce a healthy man in Cotrone : no one had
strength to resist a serious illness. This state of
things he took very philosophically; I noticed
once more the frankly mediaeval spirit in which
he regarded the populace. Talking on, he inter
ested me by enlarging upon the difference between
southern Italians and those of the north. Beyond
Rome a Calabrian never cared to go ; he found
himself in a foreign country, where his tongue
betrayed him, and where his manners were too
noticeably at variance with those prevailing.
Italian unity, I am sure, meant little to the
good Doctor, and appealed but coldly to his
imagination. I declared to him at length that I could endure
no longer this dreary life of the sick-room; I
must get into the open air, and, if no harm came
of the experiment, I should leave for Catanzaro.

124 BY THE IONIAN SEA
" I cannot prevent you," was the Doctor's reply,
" but I am obliged to point out that you act on
your own responsibility. It is pericoloso, it is
pericolosissimo ! The terrible climate of the
mountains ! " However, I won his permission
to leave the house, and acted upon it that same
afternoon. Shaking and palpitating, I slowly
descended the stairs to the colonnade; then,
with a step like that of an old, old man, tottered
across the piazza, my object being to reach the
chemist's shop, where I wished to pay for the
drugs that I had had and for the tea. When I
entered, sweat was streaming from my forehead ;
I dropped into a chair, and for a minute or two
could do nothing but recover nerve and breath.
Never in my life had I suffered such a wretched
sense of feebleness. The pharmacist looked at
me with a gravely compassionate eye ; when I
told him I was the Englishman who had been
ill, and that I wanted to leave to-morrow for
Catanzaro, his compassion indulged itself more
freely, and I could see quite well that he thought
my plan of travel visionary. True, he said, the
climate of Cotrone was trying to a stranger. He
understood my desire to get away; but — Catan
zaro ! Was I aware that at Catanzaro I should
suddenly find myself in a season of most rigorous
winter ? And the winds ! One needed to be
very strong even to stand on one's feet at Catan
zaro. For all this I returned thanks, and, having
paid my bill, tottered back to the Concordia.
It seemed to be more than doubtful whether I
should start on the morrow.
That evening I tried to dine. Don Ferdinando
entered as usual, and sat mute through his un
changing meal ; the grumbler grumbled and ate,

THE MOUNT OF REFUGE 125
as perchance he does to this day. I forced myself
to believe that the food had a savour for me,
and that the wine did not taste of drugs. As I
sat over my pretended meal, I heard the sirocco
moaning without, and at times a splash of rain
against the window. Near me, two military men
were exchanging severe comments on Calabria
and its people. " Che paese ! " — " What a
country ! " exclaimed one of them finally in
disgust. Of course they came from the north,
and I thought that their conversation was not
likely to knit closer the bond between the extremes
of Italy.
To my delight I looked forth next morning on a
sunny and calm sky, such as I had not seen during
all my stay at Cotrone. I felt better, and decided
to leave for Catanzaro by train in the early after
noon. Shaking still, but heartened by the sun
shine, I took a short walk, and looked for the
last time at the Lacinian promontory. On my
way back I passed a little building from which
sounded an astonishing noise, a confused babel
of shrill voices, blending now and then with a
deep stentorian shout. It was the communal
school — not during play-time, or in a state of
revolt, but evidently engaged as usual upon its
studies. The school-house was small, but the
volume of clamour that issued from it would
have done credit to two or three hundred children
in unrestrained uproariousness. Curiosity held
me listening for ten minutes; the tumult under
went no change of character, nor suffered the
least abatement; the mature voice occasionally
heard above it struck a cheery note, by no means
one of impatience or stern command. Had I
been physically capable of any effort, I should

126 BY THE IONIAN SEA
have tried to view that educational scene. The
incident did me good, and I went on in a happier
humour. Which was not perturbed by something that
fell under my eye soon afterwards. At a shop
door hung certain printed cards, bearing a notice
that " wood hay-makers," " wood binders," and
" wood mowers " were " sold here." Not in
Italian this, but in plain, blunt English; and to
each announcement was added the name of an
English manufacturing firm, with an agency at
Naples. I have often heard the remark that
Englishmen of business are at a disadvantage in
their export trade because they pay no heed to
the special requirements of foreign countries ; but
such a delightful illustration of their ineptitude
had never come under my notice. Doubtless
these alluring advertisements are widely scattered
through agricultural Calabria. Who knows ? they
may serve as an introduction to the study of the
English tongue.
Not without cordiality was my leave-taking.
The hostess confided to me that, in the first day
of my illness, she had felt sure I should die.
Everybody had thought so, she added gaily;
even Dr. Sculco had shaken his head and shrugged
his shoulders ; much better, was it not, to be
paying my bill ? Bill more moderate, under the
circumstances, no man ever discharged ; Calabrian
honesty came well out of the transaction. So|I
tumbled once more into the dirty, ramshackle
diligenza, passed along the dusty road between
the barred and padlocked warehouses, and arrived
in good time at the station. No sooner had I
set foot on the platform than I felt an immense
relief. Even here, it seemed to me, the air was

THE MOUNT OF REFUGE 127
fresher. I lifted my eyes to the hills and seemed
to feel the breezes of Catanzaro.
The train was made up at Cotrone, and no undue
haste appeared in our departure. When we were
already twenty minutes late, there stepped into
the carriage where I was sitting a good-humoured
railway official, who smiled and greeted me. I
supposed he wanted my ticket, but nothing of
the kind. After looking all round the compart
ment with an air of disinterested curiosity, he
heaved a sigh and remarked pleasantly to me,
" Non manca niente " — " Nothing is amiss." Five
minutes more and we steamed away.
The railway ascended a long valley, that of the
Esaro, where along the deep watercourse trickled
a scarce perceptible stream. On either hand were
hills of pleasant outline, tilled on the lower slopes,
and often set with olives. Here and there came
a grassy slope, where shepherds or goatherds
idled amid their flocks. Above the ascent a
long tunnel, after which the line falls again
towards the sea. The landscape took a nobler
beauty; mountains spread before us, tenderly
coloured by the autumn sun. We crossed two
or three rivers — rivers of flowing water, their
banks overhung with dense green jungle. The
sea was azure, and looked very calm, but white
waves broke loudly upon the strand, last murmur
of the storm which had raged and renewed itself
for nearly a fortnight.
At one of the wayside stations entered a traveller
whom I could not but regard with astonishment.
He was a man at once plump and muscular, his
sturdy limbs well exhibited in a shooting costume.
On his face glowed the richest hue of health ; his
eyes glistened merrily. With him he carried a

128 BY THE IONIAN SEA
basket, which, as soon as he was settled, gave
forth an abundant meal. The gusto of his
eating, the satisfaction with which he eyed his
glasses of red wine, excited my appetite. But
who was he ? Not, I could see, a tourist ; yet
how account for this health and vigour in a
native of the district ? I had not seen such a
man since I set out upon my travels ; the con
trast he made with the figures of late familiar to
me was so startling that I had much ado to avoid
continuously gazing at him. His proximity did
me good ; the man radiated health.
When next the train stopped he exchanged
words with some one on the platform, and I
heard that he was going to Catanzaro. At once
I understood. This jovial, ruddy-cheeked per
sonage was a man of the hills. At Catanzaro I
should see others like him ; perhaps he fairly
represented its inhabitants. If so, I had reason
for my suspicion that poor fever-stricken Cotrone
regarded with a sort of jealousy the breezy
health of Catanzaro, which at the same time is a
much more prosperous place. Later, I found
that there did exist some acerbity of mutual
criticism between the two towns, reminding one
of civic rivalry among the Greeks. Catanzaro
spoke with contempt of Cotrone. Happily I
made no medical acquaintance in the hill town;
but I should have liked to discuss with one of
these gentlemen the view of their climate held by
Dr. Sculco.
In the ages that followed upon the fall of
Rome, perpetual danger drove the sea-coast
population of Calabria inland and to the heights.
Our own day beholds a counter movement; the
shore line of railway will create new towns on

THE MOUNT OF REFUGE 129
the old deserted sites. Such a settlement is the
Marina of Catanzaro, a little port at the mouth
of a wide valley, along which runs a line to Catan
zaro itself, or rather to the foot of the great hill
on which the town is situated. The sun was
setting when I alighted at the Marina, and as I
waited for the branch train my eyes feasted upon
a glory of colour which made me forget aching
weariness. All around lay orchards of orange
trees, the finest I had ever seen, and over their
solid masses of dark foliage, thick hung with
ripening fruit, poured the splendour of the
western sky. It was a picture unsurpassable in
richness of tone ; the dense leafage of deepest,
warmest green glowed and flashed, its magnificence
heightened by the blaze of the countless golden
spheres adorning it. Beyond, the magic sea,
purple and crimson as the sun descended upon
the vanishing horizon. Eastward, above the
slopes of Sila, stood a moon almost at its full,
the yellow of an autumn leaf, on a sky soft-
flushed with rose.
In my geography it is written that between
Catanzaro and the sea lie the gardens of the
Hesperides.

CATANZARO

CHAPTER XII
CATANZARO
For half an hour the train slowly ascends. The
carriages are of special construction, light and
many-windowed, so that one has good views of
the landscape. Very beautiful was this long,
broad, climbing valley, everywhere richly wooded ;
oranges and olives, carob and lentisk and myrtle,
interspersed with cactus (its fruit, the prickly fig,
all gathered) and with the sword -like agave.
Glow of sunset lingered upon the hills ; in the
green hollow a golden twilight faded to dusk.
The valley narrowed ; it became a gorge between
dark slopes which closed together and seemed to
bar advance. Here the train stopped, and all
the passengers (some half-dozen) alighted.
The sky was still clear enough to show the
broad features of the scene before me. I looked
up to a mountain side, so steep that towards the
summit it appeared precipitous, and there upon
the height, dimly illumined with a last reflex of
after-glow, my eyes distinguished something
which might be the outline of walls and houses.
This, I knew, was the situation of Catanzaro,
but one could not easily imagine by what sort
of approach the city would be gained; in the
thickening twilight, no trace of a road was
discernible, and the flanks of the mountain, a
133

134 BY THE IONIAN SEA
ravine yawning on either hand, looked even more
abrupt than the ascent immediately before me.
There, however, stood the diligenza which was
somehow to convey me to Catanzaro ; I watched
its loading with luggage — merchandise and mail-
bags— whilst the exquisite evening melted into
night. When I had thus been occupied for a few
minutes, my look once more turned to the moun
tain, where a surprise awaited me : the summit
was now encircled with little points of radiance,
as though a starry diadem had fallen upon it
from the sky. " Pronti ! " cried our driver. I
climbed to my seat, and we began our journey
towards the crowning lights.
By help of long loops the road ascended at a
tolerably easy angle ; the horse-bells tinkled, the
driver shouted encouragement to his beasts, and
within the vehicle went on a lively gossiping,
with much laughter. Meanwhile the great moon
had risen high enough to illumine the valley
below us ; silvery grey and green, the lovely
hollow seemed of immeasurable length, and
beyond it one imagined, rather than discerned,
a glimmer of the sea. By the wayside I now and
then caught i sight of a huge cactus, trailing its
heavy knotted length upon the face of a rock;
and at times we brushed beneath overhanging
branches of some tree that could not be dis
tinguished. All the way up we seemed to skirt
a sheer precipice, which at moments was alarm
ing in its gloomy depth. Deeper and deeper
below shone the lights of the railway station and
of the few houses about it ; it seemed as though
a false step would drop us down into their midst.
The fatigue of the day's journey passed away
during this ascent, which lasted nearly an hour;

CATANZARO 135
when, after a drive through dark but wide streets,
I was set down before the hotel, I felt that I had
shaken off the last traces of my illness. A keen
appetite sent me as soon as possible in search of
the dining-room, where I ate with extreme
gusto ; everything seemed excellent after the
sorry table of the Concordia. I poured my wine
with a free hand, rejoicing to find it was wine
once more, and not (at all events to my palate)
a concoction of drugs. The albergo was decent
and well found; a cheerful prosperity declared
itself in all I had yet seen. After dinner I
stepped out on to the balcony of my room to
view the city's main street; but there was very
scant illumination, and the moonlight only
showed me high houses of modern build. Few
people passed, and never a vehicle ; the shops
were all closed. I needed no invitation to sleep,
but this shadowed stillness, and the fresh moun
tain air, happily lulled my thoughts. Even the
subject of earthquakes proved soporific.
Impossible to find oneself at Catanzaro without
thinking of earthquakes ; I wonder that the
good people of Cotrone did not include this
among deterrents whereby they sought to pre
judice me against the mountain town. Over
and over again Catanzaro has been shaken to
its foundations. The worst calamity recorded
was towards the end of the eighteenth century,
when scarce a house remained standing, and
many thousands of the people perished. This
explains a peculiarity in the aspect of the place,
noticeable as soon as one begins to walk about ;
it is like a town either half built or half destroyed,
one knows not which; everywhere one comes
upon ragged walls, tottering houses, yet there is

136 BY THE IONIAN SEA
no appearance of antiquity. One ancient build
ing, a castle built by Robert Guiscard when he
captured Catanzaro in the eleventh century,
remained until of late years, its Norman solidity
defying earthquakes ; but this has been pulled
down, deliberately got rid of for the sake of
widening a road. Lament over such a proceed
ing would be idle enough ; Catanzaro is the one
progressive town of Calabria, and has learnt too
thoroughly the spirit of the time to suffer a
blocking of its highway by middle-age obstructions.
If a Hellenic or Roman city occupied this
breezy summit, it has left no name, and no
relics of the old civilization have been discovered
here. Catanzaro was founded in the tenth
century, at the same time that Taranto was
rebuilt after the Saracen destruction; an epoch
of revival for Southern Italy under the vigorous
Byzantine rule of Nicephorus Phocas. From my
point of view, the interest of the place suffered
because I could attach to it no classic memory.
Robert Guiscard, to be sure, is a figure pictur
esque enough, and might give play to the
imagination, but I care little for him after all ;
he does not belong to my world. I had to see
Catanzaro merely as an Italian town amid won
derful surroundings. The natural beauty of the
spot amply sufficed to me during the days I
spent there, and gratitude for health recovered
gave me a kindly feeling to all its inhabitants.
Daylight brought no disillusion as regards
natural features. I made the circuit of the
little town, and found that it everywhere over
looks a steep, often a sheer, descent, save at one
point, where an isthmus unites it to the moun
tains that rise behind. In places the bounding

CATANZARO 137
wall runs on the very edge of a precipice, and
many a crazy house, overhanging, seems ready
to topple into the abyss. The views are mag
nificent, whether one looks down the valley to
the leafy shore, or, in an opposite direction, up
to the grand heights which, at this narrowest
point of Calabria, separate the Ionian from the
Tyrrhene Sea. I could now survey the ravines
which, in twilight, had dimly shown themselves
on either side of the mountain; they are deep
and narrow, craggy, wild, bare. Each, when
the snows are melting, becomes the bed of a
furious torrent; the watercourses uniting below
to form the river of the valley. At this season
there was a mere trickling of water over a dry
brown waste. Where the abruptness of the
descent does not render it impossible, olives have
been planted on the mountain sides ; the cactus
clings everywhere, making picturesque many a
wall and hovel, luxuriating on the hard, dry soil ;
fig trees and vines occupy more favoured spots,
and the gardens of the better houses are often
graced by a noble palm.
After my morning's walk I sought the residence
of Signor Pasquale Cricelli, to whom I carried a
note of introduction. This gentleman holds the
position of English Vice-Consul at Catanzaro,
but it is seldom that he has the opportunity of
conversing with English travellers ; the courtesy
and kindness with which he received me have a
great part in my pleasant memory of the moun
tain town. Signor Cricelli took me to see many
interesting things, and brought me into touch
with the every-day life of Catanzaro. I knew
from Lenormant's book that the town had a
singular reputation for hospitality. The French

138 BY THE IONIAN SEA
archaeologist tells amusing stories in illustration
of this characteristic. Once, when he had taken
casual refreshment at a restaurant, a gentleman
sitting at another table came forward and, with
grave politeness, begged permission to pay for
what Lenormant had consumed. This was a
trifle in comparison with what happened when
the traveller, desirous of making some return
for much kindness, entertained certain of his
acquaintances at dinner, the meal, naturally, as
good a one as his hotel could provide. The
festival went off joyously, but, to Lenormant's
surprise, nothing was charged for it in his bill.
On making inquiry he learnt that the cost of the
entertainment had already been discharged by
one of his guests ! Well, that took place years
ago, long before a railway had been thought of
in the valley of the Corace; such heroic virtues
ill consist with the life of to-day. Nevertheless,
Don Pasquale (Signor Cricelli's name when
greeted by his fellow-citizens) several times
reminded me, without knowing it, of what I had
read. For instance, we entered a shop which
he thought might interest me ; the salesman
during our talk unobtrusively made up a little
parcel of goods, and asked, at length, whether I
would take this with me or have it sent to the
hotel. That point I easily decided, but by no
persistence could I succeed in paying for the
things. Smiling behind his counter, the shop
keeper declined to name a price; Don Pasquale
declared that payment under such circumstances
was a thing unknown in Catanzaro, and I saw
that to say anything more would be to run the
risk of offending him. The same day he invited
me to dinner, and explained that we must needs

CATANZARO 139
dine at the hotel where I was staying, this being
the best place of entertainment in the town. I
found that my friend had a second reason for
the choice ; he wished to ascertain whether I
was comfortably lodged, and as a result of his
friendly offices, various little changes came
about. Once more I make my grateful acknow
ledgments to the excellent Don Pasquale.
Speaking of shops, I must describe in detail
the wonderful pharmacy. Signor Cricelli held it
among the sights of Catanzaro ; this chemist's in
the main street was one of the first places to
which he guided me. And, indeed, the interior
came as a surprise. Imagine a spacious shop,
well proportioned, perfectly contrived, and
throughout fitted with woodwork copied from
the best examples of old Italian carving. Seek
ing pill or potion, one finds oneself in a museum
of art, where it would be easy to spend an hour
in studying the counter, the shelves, the ceiling.
The chemists (two brothers, if I remember
rightly) pointed out to me with legitimate pride
all that they had done for the beautifying of
their place of business ; I shall not easily forget
the glowing countenance, the moved voice,
which betrayed their feelings as they led me
hither and thither; for them and their enter
prise I felt a hearty respect. When we had
surveyed everything within doors I was asked to
look at the mostra — the sign that hung over the
entrance ; a sort of griffin in wrought iron, this,
too, copied from an old masterpiece, and remind
ing one of the fine ironwork which adorns the
streets of Siena. Don Pasquale could not be
satisfied until I had privately assured him of my
genuine admiration. Was it, he asked, at all like

140 BY THE IONIAN SEA
a chemist's shop in London ? My reply certainly
gratified him, but I am afraid it did not increase
his desire to visit England.
Whilst I was at the chemist's, there entered a
number of peasants, whose appearance was so
striking that I sought information about them.
Don Pasquale called them " Greci " ; they came
from a mountain village where the dialect of the
people is still a corrupt Greek. One would like
to imagine that their origin dates back to the
early Hellenic days, but it is assuredly much
later. These villages may be a relic of the
Byzantine conquest in the sixth century, when
Southern Italy was, to a great extent, re-peopled
from the Eastern Empire, though another theory
suggests that they were formed by immigrants
from Greece at the time of the Turkish invasion.
Each of the women had a baby hanging at her
back, together with miscellaneous goods which
she had purchased in the town : though so
heavily burdened, they walked erect, and with
the free step of mountaineers.
I could not have had a better opportunity
than was afforded me on this day of observing
the peasantry of the Catanzaro district. It was
the feast of the Immaculate Conception, and
from all around the country-folk thronged in
pilgrimage to the church of the Immaculate;
since earliest morning I had heard the note of
bagpipes, which continued to sound before the
street shrines all day long. Don Pasquale assured
me that the festival had an importance in this
region scarcely less than that of Christmas. At
the hour of high mass I entered the sanctuary
whither all were turning their steps ; it was not
easy to make a way beyond the portico, but

CATANZARO 141
when I had slowly pressed forward through the
dense crowd, I found that the musical part of the
service was being performed by a lively string-
band, up in a gallery. For seats there was no
room ; a standing multitude filled the whole
church before the altar, and the sound of gossip
ing voices at moments all but overcame that of
the music. I know not at what point of the
worship I chanced to be present; heat and
intolerable odours soon drove me forth again,
but I retained an impression of jollity, rather
than of reverence. Those screaming and twang
ing instruments sounded much like an invitation
to the dance, and all the faces about me were
radiant with cheerfulness. Just such a throng,
of course, attended upon the festival of god or
goddess ere the old religion was transformed.
Most of the Christian anniversaries have their
origin in heathendom ; the names have changed,
but amid the unlettered worshippers there is
little change of spirit; a tradition older than
they can conceive rules their piety, and gives it
whatever significance it may have in their simple
lives. Many came from a great distance ; at the
entrance to the town were tethered innumerable
mules and asses, awaiting the hour of return.
Modern Catanzaro, which long ago lost its proper
costume, was enlivened with brilliant colours;
the country women, of course, adorned them
selves, and their garb was that which had so
much interested me when I first saw it in the
public garden at Cosenza. Brilliant blue and
scarlet were the prevailing tones ; a good deal of
fine embroidery caught the eye. In a few in
stances I noticed men wearing the true Calabrian

142 BY THE IONIAN SEA
hajb — peaked, brigandesque — which is rapidly
falling out of use. These people were, in general,
good-looking; frequently I observed a very
handsome face, and occasionally a countenance,
male or female, of really heroic beauty. Though
crowds wandered through the streets, there
sounded no tumult; voices never rose above an
ordinary pitch of conversation; the general
bearing was dignified, and tended to gravity.
One woman in particular held my attention, not
because of any exceptional beauty, for, indeed,
she had a hard, stern face, but owing to her
demeanour. Unlike most of the peasant folk,
she was bent on business ; carrying upon her
head a heavy pile of some ornamented fabric —
shawls or something of the kind — she entered
shops, and paused at house doors, in the en
deavour to find purchasers. I watched her for
a long time, hoping she might make a sale, but
ever she was unsuccessful ; for all that she bore
herself with a dignity not easily surpassed.
Each offer of her wares was made as if she con
ferred a graceful favour, and after each rejection
she withdrew unabashed, outwardly unperturbed,
seeming to take stately leave. Only her per
sistence showed how anxious she was to earn
money; neither on her features nor in her voice
appeared the least sign of peddling solicitude.
I shall always remember that tall, hard-visaged
woman, as she passed with firm step and nobly
balanced figure about the streets of Catanzaro.
To pity her would have been an insult. The
glimpse I caught of her laborious life revealed to
me something worthy of admiration ; never had
I seen a harassing form of discouragement so
silently and strongly borne.

THE BREEZY HEIGHT

CHAPTER XIII
THE BREEZY HEIGHT
Catanzaro must be one of the healthiest spots
in Southern Italy; perhaps it has no rival in
this respect among the towns south of Rome.
The furious winds, with which my acquaintances
threatened me, did not blow during my stay, but
there was always more or less breeze, and the
kind of breeze that refreshes. I should like to
visit Catanzaro in the summer; probably one
would have all the joys of glorious sunshine
without oppressive heat, and the landscape
in those glowing days would be indescribably
beautiful. I remember with delight the public garden at
Cosenza, its noble view over the valley of the
Crati to the heights of Sila; that of Catanzaro
is in itself more striking, and the prospect it
affords has a sterner, grander note. Here you
wander amid groups of magnificent trees, an
astonishingly rich and varied vegetation ; and
from a skirting terrace you look down upon the
precipitous gorge, burnt into barrenness save
where a cactus clings to some jutting rock. Here
in summer-time would be freshness amid noon
tide heat, with wondrous avenues of golden light
breaking the dusk beneath the boughs. I shall
never see it; but the desire often comes to me
k 145

146 BY THE IONIAN SEA
iunder northern skies, when I am weary of labour
and seek in fancy a paradise of idleness.
In the public gardens is a little museum,
noticeable mostly for a fine collection of ancient
coins. There are Greek pots, too, and weapons,
found at Tiriolo, a village high up on the moun
tain above Catanzaro. As at Taranto, a stranger
who cares for this kind of thing can be sure of
having the museum all to himself. On my first
visit Don Pasquale accompanied me, and through
him I made the acquaintance of the custodian.
But I was not in the museum mood; reviving
health inclined me to the open air, and the life
of to-day ; I saw these musty relics with only a
vague eye.
After living amid a malaria-stricken population,
I|rejoiced in the healthy aspect of the mountain
folk. Even a deformed beggar, who dragged
himself painfully along the pavement, had so
ruddy a face that it was hard to feel compassion
for him. And the wayside children — it was a
pleasure to watch them at their games. Such
children in Italy do not, as a rule, seem happy ;
too often they look ill, cheerless, burdened before
their time ; at Catanzaro they are as robust and
lively as heart could wish, and their voices ring
delightfully upon the ear. It is not only, I
imagine, a result of the fine air they breathe;
no doubt they are exceptional among the poor
children of the South in getting enough to eat.
The town has certain industries, especially the
manufacture of silk; one feels an atmosphere of
well-being; mendicancy is a rare thing.
Fruits abounded, and were very cheap ; if one
purchased from a stall the difficulty was to carry
away the abundance offered for one's smallest

THE BREEZY HEIGHT 147
coin. Excellent oranges cost about a penny the
half-dozen. Any one who is fond of the prickly
fig should go to Catanzaro. I asked a man
sitting with a basket of them at a street corner
to give me the worth of a soldo (a halfpenny) ;
he began to fill my pocket, and when I cried
that it was enough, that I could carry no more,
he held up one particularly fine fruit, smiled as
only an Italian can, and said, with admirable
politeness, " Questo per complimento ! " I ought
to have shaken hands with him.
Even when I had grown accustomed to the
place, its singular appearance of incompleteness
kept exciting my attention. I had never seen
a town so ragged at the edges. If there had
recently been a great conflagration and almost
all the whole city were being rebuilt, it would
have looked much as it did at the time of my
visit. To enter the post-office one had to
clamber over heaps of stone and plaster, to
stride over tumbled beams and jump across
great puddles, entering at last by shaky stairs a
place which looked like the waiting-room of an
unfinished railway station. The style of build
ing is peculiar, and looks so temporary as to
keep one constantly in mind of the threatening
earthquake. Most of the edifices, large and
small, public and private, are constructed of
rubble set in cement, with an occasional big,
rough-squared stone to give an appearance of
solidity, and perhaps a few courses of bricks in
the old Roman style. If the building is of
importance, this work is hidden beneath stucco ;
otherwise it remains like the mere shell of a
house, and is disfigured over all its surface with
great holes left by the scaffolding. Religion

148 BY THE IONIAN SEA
supplies something of adornment; above many
portals is a rudely painted Virgin and Child,
often, plainly enough, the effort of a hand accus
tomed to any tool rather than that of the artist.
On the dwellings of the very poor a great Cross
is scrawled in whitewash. These rickety houses
often exhibit another feature more picturesque
and, to the earthly imagination, more consoling ;
on the balcony one sees a great gourd, some
three feet long, so placed that its yellow plump
ness may ripen in sun and air. It is a sign of
plenty : the warm spot of colour against the
rough masonry does good to eye and heart.
My hotel afforded me little amusement after
the Concordia at Cotrone, yet it did not lack its
characteristic features. I found, for instance, in
my bedroom a printed notice, making appeal
in remarkable terms to all who occupied the
chamber. The proprietor — thus it ran — had
learnt with extreme regret that certain travellers
who slept under his roof were in the habit of
taking their meals at other places of entertain
ment. This practice, he desired it to be known,
not only hurt his personal feelings — tocca il suo
morale — but did harm to the reputation of the
establishment. Assuring all and sundry that he
would do his utmost to maintain a high standard
of culinary excellence, the proprietor ended by
begging his honourable clients that they would
bestow their kind favours on the restaurant of
the house — si onora pregare i suoi respettabili
clienti perche vogliano benignarsi il restorante ; and
therewith signed himself — Coriolano Paparazzo.
For my own part I was not tempted to such a
breach of decorum ; the fare provided by Signor
Paparazzo suited me well enough, and the wine

THE BREEZY HEIGHT 149
of the country was so good that it would have
covered many defects of cookery. Of my fellow-
guests in the spacious dining-room I can recall
only two. They were military men of a certain
age, grizzled officers, who walked rather stiffly
and seated themselves with circumspection.
Evidently old friends, they always dined at the
same time, entering one a few minutes after the
other; but by some freak of habit they took
places at different tables, so that the conversa
tion which they kept up all through the meal
had to be carried on by an exchange of shouts.
Nothing whatever prevented them from being
near each other ; the room never contained more
than half a dozen persons; yet thus they sat,
evenmg after evening, many yards apart, strain
ing their voices to be mutually audible. Me they
delighted; to the other guests, more familiar
with them and their talk, they must have been
a serious nuisance. But I should have liked
to see the civilian who dared to manifest his
disapproval of these fine old warriors.
They sat interminably, evidently having no
idea how otherwise to pass the evening. In the
matter of public amusements Catanzaro is not
progressive; I only once saw an announcement
of a theatrical performance, and it did not
smack of modern enterprise. On the dining-
room table one evening lay a little printed bill,
which made known that a dramatic company
was then in the town. Their entertainment
consisted of two parts, the first entitled : " The
Death of Agolante and the Madness of Count
Orlando ; " the second : "A Delightful Comedy,
the Devil's Castle with Pulcinella as the Timorous
Soldier." In addition were promised " new duets

150 BY THE IONIAN SEA
and Neapolitan songs." The theatre would
comfortably seat three hundred persons, and
the performance would be given twice, at half-
past eighteen and half-past twenty-one o'clock.
It was unpardonable in me that I did not seek
out the Teatro delle Varieta ; I might easily
have been in my seat (with thirty, more likely
than three hundred, other spectators) by half-
past twenty -one. But the night was forbidding ;
a cold rain fell heavily. Moreover, just as I had
thought that it was perhaps worth while to run
the risk of another illness— one cannot see the
Madness of Count Orlando every day — there
came into the room a peddler laden with some
fifty volumes of fiction and a fine assortment of
combs and shirt-studs. The books tempted me ;
I looked them through. Most, of course, were
translations from the vulgarest French feuille-
tonistes ; the Italian reader of novels, whether in
newspaper or volume, knows, as a rule, nothing
but this imported rubbish. However, a real
Italian work was discoverable, and, together
with the unfriendly sky, it kept me at home.
I am sorry now, as for many another omission
on my wanderings, when lack of energy or a
passing mood of dullness has caused me to miss
what would be so pleasant in the retrospect.
I spent an hour one evenmg at the principal
cafe, where a pianist of great pretensions and
small achievement made rather painful music.
Watching and listening to the company (all men,
of course, though the Oriental system regarding
women is not so strict at Catanzaro as elsewhere
in the South), I could not but fall into a com
parison of this scene with any similar gathering
of middle-class English folk. The contrast was

THE BREEZY HEIGHT 151
very greatly in favour of the Italians. One has
had the same thought a hundred times in the
same circumstances, but it is worth dwelling
upon. Among these representative men, young
and old, of Catanzaro, the tone of conversation
was incomparably better than that which would
rule in a cluster of English provincials met to
enjoy their evening leisure. They did, in fact,
converse — a word rarely applicable to English
talk under such conditions ; mere personal
gossip was the exception; they exchanged
genuine thoughts, reasoned lucidly on the sur
face of abstract subjects. I say on the surface;
no remark that I heard could be called original
or striking ; but the choice of topics and the mode
of viewing them was distinctly intellectual.
Phrases often occurred such as have no equiva
lent on the lips of everyday people in our own
country. For instance, a young fellow in no
way distinguished from his companions, fell to
talking about a leading townsman, and praised
him for his ingenio simpatico, his bella intelligenza,
with exclamations of approval from those who
listened. No, it is not merely the difference
between homely Anglo-Saxon and a language of
classic origin; there is a radical distinction of
thought. These people have an innate respect
for things of the mind, which is wholly lacking
to a typical Englishman. One need not dwell
upon the point that their animation was sup
ported by a tiny cup of coffee or a glass of
lemonade ; this is a matter of climate and racial
constitution; but I noticed the entire absence
of a certain kind of jocoseness which is so natur
ally associated with spirituous liquors ; no talk
could have been less offensive. From many a

152 BY THE IONIAN SEA
bar-parlour in English country towns I have
gone away heavy with tedium and disgust; the
cafe at Catanzaro seemed, in comparison, a place
of assembly for wits and philosophers.
Meanwhile a season of rain had begun ; heavy
skies warned me that I must not hope for a
renewal of sunny idleness on this mountain top ;
it would be well if intervals of cheerful weather
lighted my further course by the Ionian Sea.
Reluctantly, I made ready to depart.

SQUILLACE

CHAPTER XIV
SQUILLACE
In meditating my southern ramble I had
lingered on the thought that I should see
Squillace. For Squillace (Virgil's " ship-wrecking
Scylaceum ") was the ancestral home of Cassio-
dorus, and his retreat when he became a monk;
Cassiodorus, the delightful pedant, the liberal
statesman and patriot, who stands upon the far
limit of his old Roman world and bids a sad
farewell to its glories. He had niched himself in
my imagination. Once when I was spending a
silent winter upon the shore of Devon, I had
with me the two folio volumes of his works, and
patiently read the better part of them ; it was
more fruitful than a study of all the modern
historians who have written about his time. I
saw the man ; caught many a glimpse of his
mind and heart, and names which had been to
me but symbols in a period of obscure history
became things living and recognizable.
I could have travelled from Catanzaro by
railway to the sea-coast station called Squillace,
but the town itself is perched upon a mountain
some miles inland, and it was simpler to perform
the whole journey by road, a drive of four hours,
which, if the weather favoured me, would be
thoroughly enjoyable. On my last evening Don
155

156 BY THE IONIAN SEA
Pasquale gave a good account of the sky; he
thought I might hopefully set forth on the
morrow, and, though I was to leave at eight
o'clock, promised to come and see me off. Very
early I looked forth, and the prospect seemed
doubtful; I had half a mind to postpone de
parture. But about seven came Don Pasquale's
servant, sent by his master to inquire whether I
should start or not, and, after asking the man's
opinion, I decided to take courage. The sun
rose ; I saw the streets of Catanzaro brighten in
its pale gleams, and the rack above interspaced
with blue.
Luckily my carriage -owner was a man of
prudence ; at the appointed hour he sent a
covered vehicle — not the open carozzella in which
I should have cheerfully set forth had it de
pended upon myself. Don Pasquale, too, though
unwilling to perturb me, could not altogether
disguise his misgivings. At my last sight of
him, he stood on the pavement before the hotel
gazing anxiously upwards. But the sun still
shone, and as we began the descent of the
mountain-side I felt annoyed at having to view
the landscape through loopholes.
Of a sudden — we were near the little station
down in the valley — there arose a mighty roar
ing, and all the trees of the wayside bent as if
they would break. The sky blackened, the wind
howled, and presently, as I peered through the
window for some hope that this would only be a
passing storm, rain beat violently upon my face.
Then the carriage stopped, and my driver, a
lad of about seventeen, jumped down to put
something right in the horses' harness.
" Is this going to last ? " I shouted to him.

SQUILLACE 157
" No, no, signore ! " he answered gaily. " It
will be over in a minute or two. Ecce il sole ! "
I beheld no sun, either then or at any moment
during the rest of the day, but the voice was so
reassuring that I gladly gave ear to it. On we
drove, down the lovely vale of the Corace,
through orange-groves and pine-woods, laurels
and myrtles, carobs and olive trees, with the
rain beating fiercely upon us, the wind swaying
all the leafage like billows on a stormy sea. At
the Marina of Catanzaro we turned southward
on the coast road, pursued it for two or three
miles, then branched upon our inland way. The
storm showed no sign of coming to an end.
Several times the carriage stopped, and the lad
got down to examine his horses — perhaps to
sympathize with them ; he was such a drenched,
battered, pitiable object that I reproached myself
for allowing him to pursue the journey.
" Brutto tempo ! " he screamed above the
uproar, when I again spoke to him ; but in
such a cheery tone that I did not think it worth
while to make any further remark.
Through the driving rain, I studied as well as
I could the features of the country. On my
left hand stretched a long flat-topped mountain,
forming the southern slope of the valley we
ascended; steep, dark, and furrowed with
innumerable torrent-beds, it frowned upon a
river that rushed along the ravine at its foot to
pour into the sea where the mountain broke as
a rugged cliff. This was the Mons Moscius of
old time, which sheltered the monastery built
by Cassiodorus. The headlong, swollen flood,
coloured like yellow clay, held little resemblance
to the picture I had made of that river Pellena

158 BY THE IONIAN SEA
which murmurs so musically in the old writer's
pages. Its valley was heaped with great blocks
of granite — a feature which has interest for the
geologist ; it marks an abrupt change of system,
from the soft stone of Catanzaro (which ends the
Apennine) to that granitic mass of Aspromonte
(the toe of Italy) which must have risen above
the waters long before the Apennines came into
existence. The wild weather emphasized a
natural difference between this valley of Squillace
and that which rises towards Catanzaro ; here
is but scanty vegetation, little more than thin
orchards of olive, and the landscape has a bare,
harsh character. Is it changed so greatly since
the sixth century of our era ? Or did its beauty
lie in the eyes of Cassiodorus, who throughout
his long life of statesmanship in the north never
forgot this Bruttian home, and who sought peace
at last amid the scenes of his childhood ?
At windings of the way I frequently caught
sight of Squillace itself, high and far, its white
houses dull-gleaming against the lurid sky. The
crag on which it stands is higher than that of
Catanzaro, but of softer ascent. As we ap
proached I sought for signs of a road that would
lead us upward, but nothing of the sort could
be discerned ; presently I became aware that we
were turning into a side valley, and, to all
appearances, going quite away from the town.
The explanation was that the ascent lay on the
further slope; we began at length to climb the
back of the mountain, and here I noticed with a
revival of hope that there was a lull in the tem
pest; rain no longer fell so heavily; the clouds
seemed to be breaking apart. A beam of sun
shine would have set me singing with joy. When

SQUILLACE 159
half-way up, my driver rested his horses and came
to speak a word; we conversed merrily. He
was to make straight for the hotel, where shelter
and food awaited us — a bottle of wine, ha, ha !
He knew the hotel, of course ? Oh yes, he knew
the hotel ; it stood just at the entrance to the
town ; we should arrive in half an hour.
Looking upwards I saw nothing but a mass of
ancient ruins, high fragments of shattered wall,
a crumbling tower, and great windows through
which the clouds were visible. Inhabited Squil
lace lay, no doubt, behind. I knew that it was
a very small place, without any present import
ance; but at all events there was an albergo,
and the mere name of albergo had a delightful
sound of welcome after such a journey. Here I
would stay for the night, at all events; if the
weather cleared, I might be glad to remain for
two or three days. Certainly the rain was
stopping ; the wind no longer howled. Up we
went towards those ragged walls and great,
vacant windows. We reached the summit; for
two minutes the horses trotted; then a sudden
halt, and my lad's face at the carriage door.
" Ecco Valbergo, Signore ! "
I jumped out. We were at the entrance to an
unpaved street of squalid hovels, a street which
the rain had converted into a muddy river, so
that, on quitting the vehicle, I stepped into
running water up to my ankles. Before me was
a long low cabin, with a row of four or five
windows and no upper storey; a miserable hut
of rubble and plaster, stained with ancient dirt
and, at this moment, looking soaked with mois
ture. Above the doorway I read " Osteria
Centrale " ; on the bare end of the house was

160 BY THE IONIAN SEA
the prouder inscription, " Albergo Nazionale " —
the National Hotel. I am sorry to say that at
the time this touch of humour made no appeal
to me; my position was no laughing matter.
Faint with hunger, I saw at once that I should
have to browse on fearsome food. I saw, too,
that there was scarce a possibility of passing the
night in this place ; I must drive down to the
sea-shore, and take my chance of a train which
would bring me at some time to Reggio. While
I thus reflected — the water rushing over my
boots — a very ill-looking man came forth and
began to stare curiously at me. I met his eye,
but he offered no greeting. A woman joined
him, and the two, quite passive, waited to
discover my intentions.
Eat I must, so I stepped forward and asked
if I could have a meal. Without stirring, the
man gave a sullen assent. Could I have food
at once ? Yes, in a few minutes. Would they
show me — the dining-room ? Man and woman
turned upon their heels, and I followed. The
entrance led into a filthy kitchen ; out of this I
turned to the right, went along a passage upon
which opened certain chamber doors, and was
conducted into a room at the end — for the nonce,
a dining-room, but at ordinary times a bedroom.
Evidently the kitchen served for native guests;
as a foreigner I was treated with more ceremony.
Left alone till my meal should be ready, I
examined the surroundings. The floor was of
worn stone, which looked to me like the natural
foundation of the house ; the walls were rudely
plastered, cracked, grimed, and with many a
deep chink ; as for the window, it admitted light,
but, owing to the aged dirt which had gathered

SQUILLACE 161
upon it, refused any view of things without save
in two or three places where the glass was
broken; by these apertures, and at every point
of the framework, entered a sharp wind. In one
corner stood an iron bedstead, with mattress and
bedding in a great roll upon it; a shaky deal
table and primitive chair completed the furni
ture. Ornament did not wholly lack; round
the walls hung a number of those coloured poli
tical caricatures (several indecent) which are
published by some Italian newspapers, and a
large advertisement of a line of emigrant ships
between Naples and New York. Moreover,
there was suspended in a corner a large wooden
crucifix, very quaint, very hideous, and black
with grime.
Spite of all this, I still debated with myself
whether to engage the room for the night. I
should have liked to stay ; the thought of a
sunny morning here on the height strongly
allured me, and it seemed a shame to confess
myself beaten by an Italian inn. On the other
hand, the look of the people did not please
me ; they had surly, forbidding faces. I glanced
at the door — no lock. Fears, no doubt, were
ridiculous ; yet I felt ill at ease. I would
decide after seeing the sort of fare that was
set before me.
The meal came with no delay. First, a dish
of great peperoni cut up in oil. This gorgeous
fruit is never much to my taste, but I had as yet
eaten no such peperoni as those of Squillace ;
an hour or two afterwards my mouth was still
burning from the heat of a few morsels to which
I was constrained by hunger. Next appeared a
dish for which I had covenanted — the only food,

162 BY THE IONIAN SEA
indeed, which the people had been able to offer
at short notice — a stew of pork and potatoes.
Pork (majale) is the staple meat of all this
region; viewing it as Homeric diet, I had often
battened upon such flesh with moderate satis
faction. But the pork of Squillace defeated me ;
it smelt abominably, and it was tough as leather.
No eggs were to be had, no macaroni; cheese,
yes — the familiar caccio cavallo. Bread appeared
in the form of a flat circular cake, a foot in
diameter, with a hole through the middle; its
consistency resembled that of cold pancake.
And the drink ! At least I might hope to solace
myself with an honest draught of red wine. I
poured from the thick decanter (dirtier vessel
was never seen on table) and tasted. The stuff
was poison. Assuredly I am far from fastidious ;
this, I believe, was the only occasion when wine
has been offered me in Italy which I could not
drink. After desperately trying to persuade
myself that the liquor was merely " rough," that
its nauseating flavour meant only a certain coarse
quality of the local grape, I began to suspect
that it was largely mixed with water — the water
of Squillace ! Notwithstanding a severe thirst,
I could not and durst not drink.
Very soon I made my way to the kitchen,
where my driver, who had stabled his horses,
sat feeding heartily ; he looked up with his merry
smile, surprised at the rapidity with which I had
finished. How I envied his sturdy stomach !
With the remark that I was going to have a
stroll round the town and should be back to
settle things in half an hour, I hastened into
the open.

MISERIA

CHAPTER XV
MISERIA
" What do people do here ? " I once asked at
a little town between Rome and Naples; and
the man with whom I talked, shrugging his
shoulders, answered curtly, " C'e miseria " —
there's nothing but poverty. The same reply
would be given in towns and villages without
number throughout the length of Italy. I had
seen poverty enough, and squalid conditions of
life, but the most ugly and repulsive collection
of houses I ever came upon was the town of
Squillace. I admit the depressing effect of rain
and cloud, and of hunger worse than unsatisfied ;
these things count emphatically in my case ; but
under no conditions could inhabited Squillace be
other than an offence to eye and nostril. The
houses are, with one or two exceptions, ground-
floor hovels ; scarce a weather-tight dwelling is
discoverable ; the general impression is that of
dilapidated squalor. Streets, in the ordinary
sense of the word, do not exist ; irregular alleys
climb about the rugged heights, often so steep
as to be difficult of ascent; here and there a
few boulders have been thrown together to afford
a footing, and in some places the native rock lies
bare; but for the most part one walks on the
accumulated filth of ages. At the moment of
165

166 BY THE IONIAN SEA
my visit there was in progress the only kind of
cleaning which Squillace knows ; down every
trodden way and every intermural gully poured
a flush of rain-water, with occasionally a leaping
torrent or small cascade, which all but barred
progress. Open doors everywhere allowed me a
glimpse of the domestic arrangements, and I saw
that my albergo had some reason to pride itself
on superiority; life in a country called civilized
cannot easily be more primitive than under
these crazy roofs. As for the people, they had
a dull, heavy aspect ; rare as must be the appari
tion of a foreigner among them, no one showed
the slightest curiosity as I passed, and (an
honourable feature of the district) no one begged.
Women went about in the rain protected by a
shawl-like garment of very picturesque colouring ;
it had broad yellow stripes on a red ground, the
tones subdued to a warm richness.
The animal population was not without its
importance. Turn where I would I encountered
lean, black pigs, snorting, frisking, scampering,
and squealing as if the bad weather were a
delight to them. Gaunt, low-spirited dogs
prowled about in search of food, and always ran
away at my approach. In one precipitous by
way, where the air was insupportably foul, I
came upon an odd little scene : a pig and a cat,
quite alone, were playing together, and enjoying
themselves with remarkable spirit. The pig lay
down in the running mud, and pussy, having
leapt on to him, began to scratch his back, bite
his ears, stroke his sides. Suddenly, porker was
uppermost and the cat, pretending to struggle
for life, under his forefeet. It was the only
amusing incident I met with at Squillace, and

MISERIA 167
the sole instance of anything like cheerful
vitality. Above the habitations stand those prominent
ruins which had held my eye during our long
ascent. These are the rugged walls and windows
of a monastery, not old enough to possess much
interest, and, on the crowning height, the heavy
remnants of a Norman castle, with one fine door
way still intact. Bitterly I deplored the gloomy
sky which spoiled what would else have been a
magnificent view from this point of vantage — a
view wide-spreading in all directions, with Sila
northwards, Aspromonte to the south, and be
tween them a long horizon of the sea. Looking
down upon Squillace, one sees its houses niched
among huge masses of granite, which protrude
from the scanty soil, or clinging to the rocky
surface like limpet shells. Was this the site of
Scylaceum, or is it, as some hold, merely a medi
aeval refuge which took the name of the old city
nearer to the coast ? The Scylaceum of the sixth
century is described by Cassiodorus — a picture
glowing with admiration and tenderness. It lay,
he says, upon the side of a hill ; nay, it hung
there " like a cluster of grapes," in such glorious
light and warmth that, to his mind, it deserved to
be called the native region of the sun. The fer
tility of the country around was unexampled ;
nowhere did earth yield to mortals a more luxuri
ous life. Quoting this description, Lenormant
holds that, with due regard to time's changes, it
exactly fits the site of Squillace. Yet Cassiodorus
says that the hill by which you approached the
town was not high enough to weary a traveller,
a consideration making for the later view that
Scylaceum stood very near to the Marina of

168 BY THE IONIAN SEA
Catanzaro, at a spot called Roccella, where not
only is the nature of the ground suitable, but
there exist considerable traces of ancient building,
such as are not discoverable here on the moun
tain top. Lenormant thought that Roccella was
merely the sea-port of the inland town. I wish
he were right. No archaeologist, whose work I
have studied, affects me with such a personal
charm, with such a sense of intellectual sym
pathy, as Francois Lenormant — dead, alas, before
he could complete his delightful book. But one
fears that, in this instance, he judged too hastily.
There is no doubt, fortunately, as to the posi
tion of the religious house founded by Cassiodorus ;
it was in the shadow of Mons Moscius, and quite
near to the sea. I had marked the spot during
my drive up the valley, and now saw it again from
this far height, but I could not be satisfied with
distant views. Weather and evil quarters making
it impossible to remain at Squillace, I decided to
drive forthwith to the railway station, see how
much time remained to me before the arrival of
the train for Reggio, and, if it could be managed,
visit in that interval the place that attracted me.
It is my desire to be at peace with all men, and
in Italy I have rarely failed to part with casual
acquaintances — even innkeepers and cocchieri —
on friendly terms; but my host of the Albergo
Nazionale made it difficult to preserve good
humour. Not only did he charge thrice the
reasonable sum for the meal I could not eat, but
bis bill for my driver's colazione contained such
astonishing items that I had to question the lad
as to what he had really consumed. It proved
to be a very ugly case of extortion, and the tone
of sullen menace with which my arguments were

MISERIA 169
met did not help to smooth things. Presently the
man hit upon a pleasant sort of compromise.
Why, he asked, did I not pay the bill as it stood,
and then, on dismissing my carriage — he had
learnt that I was not returning to Catanzaro —
deduct as much as I chose from the payment of
the driver ? A pretty piece of rascality, this,
which he would certainly not have suggested but
that the driver was a mere boy, helpless himself and
bound to render an account to his master. I had
to be content with resolutely striking off half the
sum charged for the lad's wine (he was supposed
to have drunk about four litres), and sending the
receipted bill to Don Pasquale at Catanzaro, that
he might be ready with information if any future
traveller consulted him about the accommodation
to be had at Squillace. No one is likely to do so
for a long time to come, but I have no doubt Don
Pasquale had a chuckle of amused indignation
over the interesting and very dirty bit of paper.
We drove quickly down the winding road, and
from below I again admired the picturesqueness
of Squillace. Both my guide-books, by the way,
the orthodox English and German authorities,
assert that from the railway station by the sea
shore Squillace is invisible. Which of the two
borrowed this information from the other ? As a
matter of fact, the view of mountain and town
from the station platform is admirable, though,
of course, at so great a distance, only a whitish
patch represents the hovels and ruins upon their
royal height.
I found that I had a good couple of hours at my
disposal, and that to the foot of Mons Moscius
(now called Coscia di Stalletti) was only a short
walk. It rained drearily, but by this time I had

170 BY THE IONIAN SEA
ceased to think of the weather. After watching
the carriage for a moment, as it rolled away on the
long road back to Catanzaro (sorry not to be
going with it), I followed the advice of the station-
master, and set out to walk along the line of rails
towards the black, furrowed mountain side.

CASSIODORUS

CHAPTER XVI
CASSIODORUS
The iron way crosses the mouth of the valley
river. As I had already noticed, it was a turbid
torrent, of dull yellow ; where it poured into the
sea, it made a vast, clean-edged patch of its own
hue upon the darker surface of the waves. This
peculiarity resulted, no doubt, from much rain
upon the hills ; it may be that in calmer seasons
the Fiume di Squillace bears more resemblance to
the Peflena as one pictures it, a delightful stream
flowing through the gardens of the old monastery.
Cassiodorus tells us that it abounded in fish. One
of his happy labours was to make fish-ponds, filled
and peopled from the river itself. In the cliff-
side where Mons Moscius breaks above the shore
are certain rocky caves, and by some it is thought
that, in speaking of his fish-preserves, Cassio
dorus refers to these. Whatever the local details,
it was from this feature that the house took its
name, Monasterium Vivariense.
Here, then, I stood in full view of the spot which
I had so often visioned in my mind's eye. Much
of the land hereabout — probably an immense
tract of hill and valley — was the old monk's
patrimonial estate. We can trace his family back
through three generations, to a Cassiodorus, an
Dlustris of the falling Western Empire, who about
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174 BY THE IONIAN SEA
the middle of the fifth century defended his native
Bruttii against an invasion of the Vandals. The
grandson of this noble was a distinguished man all
through the troubled time which saw Italy pass
under the dominion of Odovacar, and under the
conquest of Theodoric; the Gothic king raised
him to the supreme office of Praetorian Prefect.
We learn that he had great herds of horses, bred
in the Bruttian forests, and that Theodoric was
indebted to him for the mounting of troops of
cavalry. He and his ancestry would signify little
now-a-days but for the life-work of his greater
son — Magnus Aurelius Cassiodorus Senator, states
man, historian, monk. Senator was not a title,
but a personal name; the name our Cassiodorus
always used when speaking of himself. But
history calls him otherwise, and for us he must be
Cassiodorus still.
The year of his birth was 480. In the same
year were born two other men, glories of their age,
whose fame is more generally remembered :
Boethius the poet and philosopher, and Benedict
called Saint.
From Quaestorship (old name with no longer the
old significance) to Praetorian Prefecture, Cassio
dorus held all offices of state, and seems under
every proof to have shown the nobler qualities
of statesmanship. During his ripe years he stood
by the side of Theodoric, minister in prime trust,
doubtless helping to shape that wise and benevo
lent policy which made the reign of the Ostrogoth
a time of rest and hope for the Italian people —
Roman no longer ; the word had lost its meaning,
though not its magic. The Empire of the West
had perished ; Theodoric and his minister, clearly
Understanding this, and resolute against the

CASSIODORUS 175
Byzantine claim which was but in half abeyance,
aimed at the creation of an independent Italy,
where Goth and Latin should blend into a new
race. The hope proved vain. Theodoric's suc
cessors, no longer kings, but mere Gothic chief
tains, strove obscurely against inevitable doom,
until the generals of Justinian trod Italy into
barren servitude. Only when the purpose of his
life was shattered, when — Theodoric long dead —
his still faithful service to the Gothic rule became
an idle form, when Belisarius was compassing the
royal city of Ravenna, and voice of council could
no longer make itself heard amid tumult and ruin,
did Cassiodorus retire from useless office, and turn
his back upon the world.
He was aged about sixty. Long before, he had
written a history of the Goths (known to us only
in a compendium by another hand), of which the
purpose seems to have been to reconcile the
Romans to the Gothic monarchy; it began by
endeavouring to prove that Goths had fought
against the Greeks at Troy. Now that his public
life was over, he published a collection of the state
papers composed by him under the Gothic rulers
from Theodoric to Vitigis : for the most part
royal rescripts addressed to foreign powers and
to officials of the kingdom. Invaluable for their
light upon men and things fourteen hundred years
ago, these Varice of Cassiodorus ; and for their own
sake, as literary productions, most characteristic,
most entertaining. Not quite easy to read, for
the Latin is by no means Augustan, but, after
labour well spent, a delightful revelation of the
man and the age. Great is the variety of subjects
dealt with or touched upon ; from the diplomatic
relations between Ravenna and Constantinople,

176 BY THE IONIAN SEA
or the alliances of the Amal line with barbaric
royalties in Gaul and Africa, to the pensioning of
an aged charioteer and the domestic troubles of
a small landowner. We form a good general idea
of the condition of Italy at that time, and, on
many points political and social, gather a fund of
most curious detail. The world shown to us is in
some respects highly civilized, its civilization still
that of Rome, whose laws, whose manners, have
in great part survived the Teutonic conquest;
from another point of view it is a mere world of
ruin, possessed by triumphant barbarism, and
sinking to intellectual darkness. We note the
decay of central power, and the growth of political
anarchy ; we observe the process by which Roman
nobles, the Senatorial Order when a Senate lingers
only in name, are becoming the turbulent lords
of the Middle Ages, each a power in his own terri
tory, levying private war, scornful of public in
terests. The city of Rome has little part in this
turbid history, yet her name is never mentioned
without reverence, and in theory she is still the
centre of the world. Glimpses are granted us
of her fallen majesty; we learn that Theodoric
exerted himself to preserve her noble buildings,
to restore her monuments ; at the same time we
hear of marble stolen from palaces in decay, and
of temples which, as private property, are con
verted to ignoble use. Moreover, at Rome sits an
ecclesiastical dignitary, known as Papa, to whose
doings already attaches considerable importance.
One of the last acts of the Senate which had any
real meaning was to make a decree with regard.
to the election of this Bishop, forbidding his
advance by the way of simony. Theodoric, an
Arian, interferes only with the Church of Rome

CASSIODORUS 177
fn so far as public peace demands it. In one of
his letters occurs a most remarkable dictum on the
subject of toleration. " Religionem imperare non
possumus, quia nemo cogitur ut credat invitus — we
cannot impose a religious faith, for no one can be
compelled to believe against his conscience." This
must, of course, have been the king's own senti
ment, but Cassiodorus worded it, and doubtless
with approval.
Indeed, we are at no loss to discern the mind of
the secretary in these official papers. Cassiodorus
speaks as often for himself as for the king; he
delights to expatiate, from an obviously personal
point of view, on any subject that interests him.
One of these is natural history ; give him but the
occasion, and he gossips of beasts, birds, and
fishes, in a flow of the most genial impertinence.
Certain bronze elephants on the Via Sacra are
falling to pieces and must be repaired : in giving
the order, Theodoric 's minister pens a little trea
tise on the habits and characteristics of the
elephant. His erudition is often displayed :
having to convey some direction about the Circus
at Rome, he begins with a pleasant sketch of the
history of chariot racing. One marvels at the man
who, in such a period, preserved this mood of
liberal leisure. His style is perfectly suited to
the matter ; diffuse, ornate, amusingly affected ;
altogether a precious mode of writing, character
istic of literary decadence. When the moment
demands it, he is pompously grandiloquent; in
dealing with a delicate situation, he becomes
involved and obscure. We perceive in him a born
courtier, a proud noble, a statesman of high pur
pose and no little sagacity; therewith, many
gracious and attractive qualities, coloured by
M

178 BY THE IONIAN SEA
weaknesses, such as agreeable pedantry and
amiable self-esteem, which are in part personal,
partly the note of his time.
One's picture of the man is, of course, com
pleted from a knowledge of the latter years of his
life, of the works produced during his monastic
retirement. Christianity rarely finds expression
in the Varice, a point sufficiently explained by the
Gothic heresy, which imposed discretion in public
utterances ; on the other hand, pagan mythology
abounds ; we observe the hold it still had upon
educated minds — education, indeed, meaning
much the same thing in the sixth century after
Christ as in the early times of the Empire. Cassio
dorus can never have been a fanatical devotee of
any creed. Of his sincere piety there is no doubt ;
it appears in a vast commentary on the Psalms,
and more clearly in the book he wrote for the
guidance and edification of his brother monks —
brothers (carissimi fratres), for in his humility he
declined to become the Abbot of Vivariense;
enough that his worldly dignity, his spiritual and
mental graces, assured to him the influence he
desired. The notable characteristic of his rule
was a sanctifying of intellectual labour. In aban
doning the world, he by no means renounced his
interest in its civilization. Statesmanship having
failed to stem the tide of Oriental tyranny and
northern barbarism, he set himself to save as
much as possible of the nobler part, to secure for
happier ages the record of human attainment.
Great was the importance he attached to the work
of his Antiquarii — copyists who laboured to pre
serve the manuscript literature which was in
danger of utterly perishing. With special refer
ence to their work upon the Scriptures, he tells

CASSIODORUS 179
them that they " fight against the wiles of Satan
with pen and ink." And again : " Writing with
three fingers, they thus symbolize the virtues of
the Holy Trinity ; using a reed, they thus attack
the craft of the Devil with that very instrument
which smote the Lord's head in his Passion."
But all literature was his care. That the copyist
might write correctly, he digested the works of
half a dozen grammarians into a treatise on
orthography. Further, that the books of the
monastery might wear " a wedding garment "
(his own phrase), he designed a great variety of
bindings, which were kept as patterns.
There, at the foot of Moscius, did these brethren
and their founder live and work. But on the top
of the mountain was another retreat, known as
Castellense, for those monks who — divina gratia
suffragante — desired a severer discipline, and left
the ccenobitic house to become anchorites. Did
these virtuous brothers continue their literary
labours ? One hopes so, and one is glad that
Cassiodorus himself seems to have ended his life
down in the valley by the Pellena.
A third class of monks finds mention, those in
whom " Frigidus obstiterit circum prcecordia san
guis," quotes the founder. In other words, the
hopelessly stupid. For these there was, labour
in the garden, and to console them Cassiodorus
recites from a Psalm : " Thou shalt eat the labour
of thy hands ; happy shalt thou be, and it shall
be well with thee." A smile is on the counten
ance of the humane brother. He did his utmost,
indeed, for the comfort, as well as the spiritual
welfare, of his community. Baths were built " for
the sick " (heathendom had been cleaner, but we
must not repine) ; for the suffering, too, and for

180 BY THE IONIAN SEA
pilgrims, exceptional food was provided — young
pigeons, delicate fish, fruit, honey ; a new kind of
lamp was invented, to burn for long hours without
attention; dials and clepsydras marked the
progress of day and night.
Among the monastic duties is that of giving
instruction to the peasantry round about. They
are not to be oppressed, these humble tillers of
the soil, for is it not written that " My yoke is
easy, and my burden is light " ? But one must
insist that they come frequently to religious
service, and that they do not lucos colere — worship
in groves — which shows that a heathen mind still
lingered among the people, and that they rever
enced the old deities. Benedict, the contempo
rary of Cassiodorus (we have no authority for
supposing that they knew each other), when he
first ascended the mount above Casinum, found a
temple of Apollo, with the statue of the god receiv
ing daily homage. Archaeologists have tried to
determine at what date the old religion became
extinct in Italy. Their search leads them well
into the Middle Ages, but, undoubtedly, even then
they pause too soon.
Legend says that Cassiodorus attained the age
of nearly a hundred years. We may be sure that
to the end he lived busily, for of idleness he speaks
with abhorrence as the root of evil. Doubtless he
was always a copious talker, and to many a pilgrim
he must have gossiped delightfully, alternating
mundane memories with counsel good for the soul.
Only one of his monastic brethren is known to us
as a man of any distinction : this was Dionysius
Exiguus, or the Little, by birth a Scythian, a
man of much learning. He compiled the first
history of the Councils, and, a matter more

CASSIODORUS 181
important, originated the computation of the
Christian Era ; for up to this time men had dated
in the old way, by shadowy consulships and con
fusing Indictions. There is happy probability
that Cassiodorus lived out his life in peace ; but
the monastery did not long exist ; like that of
Benedict on Monte Cassino, it seems to have been
destroyed by the Lombards, savages and Arians.
No trace of it remains. But high up on the moun
tain is a church known as S. Maria de Vetere, a
name indicating an ancient foundation, which
perhaps was no other than the anchorite house
of Castellense.

THE GROTTA

CHAPTER XVII
THE GROTTA
About a mile beyond Squillace the line passes
by a tunnel through the promontory of Mons
Moscius. At this point on the face of the sea-
cliff I was told that I should discover a grotta, one
of the caverns which some think are indicated by
Cassiodorus when he speaks of his fish-preserves.
Arrived near the mouth of the tunnel I found
a signal-box, where several railway men were
grouped in talk; to them I addressed myself,
and all immediately turned to offer me guidance.
We had to clamber down a rocky descent, and
skirt the waves for a few yards ; when my cluster
of companions had sufficiently shown their good
will, all turned back but one, who made a point
of giving me safe conduct into the cave itself. He
was a bronzed, bright-eyed, happy-looking fellow
of middle age, his humorous intelligence appear
ing in a flow of gossip about things local. We
entered a narrow opening, some twelve feet high,
which ran perhaps twenty yards into the cliff.
Lenormant supposes that this was a quarry made
by the original Greek colonists. If Cassiodorus
used it for the purpose mentioned, the cave must
have been in direct communication either with the
sea or the river ; at present, many yards of sloping
shingle divide it from the line of surf, and the
185

186 BY THE IONIAN SEA
river flows far away. Movement of the shore
there has of course been, and the Pellena may have
considerably changed the direction of its outflow ;
our author's description being but vague, one
can only muse on probabilities and likelihoods.
Whilst we talked, the entrance to the cave was
shadowed, and there entered one of the men who
had turned back at half-way ; his face betrayed
the curiosity which had after all prevailed to
bring him hither. Shouting merrily, my com
panion hailed him as " Brigadiere." The two
friends contrasted very amusingly; for the
brigadiere was a mild, timid, simple creature, who
spoke with diffidence ; he kept his foolishly good-
natured eyes fixed upon me, a gaze of wonder.
After listening to all that my guide had to say —
it was nothing to the point, dealing chiefly with
questions of railway engineering — I had just
begun to explain my interest in the locality, and I
mentioned the name of Cassiodorus. As it passed
my lips the jovial fellow burst into a roar of
laughter. " Cassiodorio ! 1 Ha, ha ! Cassiodorio !
Ha, ha, ha ! " I asked him what he meant, and
found that he was merely delighted to hear a
stranger unexpectedly utter a name in familiar
local use. He ran out from the cave, and pointed
up the valley ; yonder was a fountain which bore
the name " Fontana di Cassiodorio." (From my
authors I knew of this ; it may or may not have
1 There is debate among scholars whether the name
should be Cassiodorus or Cassiodorius. We have rhythmic
authority for the common spelling, which is euphonically
preferable ; but German erudition pronounces for -ius.
These fellow-countrymen of the sage called him unmis
takably Cassiodorio. The local nomenclature can hardly
have any historic significance ; it is probably quite modern.

THE GROTTA 187
genuine historic interest.) Thereupon, I tried to
discover whether any traditions hung to the name,
but these informants had only a vague idea that
Cassiodorus was a man of times long gone by.
How, they questioned in turn, did I know any
thing about him ? Why, from books, I replied ;
among them books which the ancient himself had
written more than a thousand years ago. This
was too much for the brigadiere ; it moved him
to stammered astonishment. Did I mean to say
that books written more than a thousand years
ago still existed ? The jovial friend, good-natur
edly scornful, cried out that of course they did,
and added with triumphant air that they were not
in the language of to-day, but in latino, latino !
All this came as a revelation to the other, who
stared and marvelled, never taking his eyes from
my face. At length he burst out with an emphatic
question ; these same books, were they large ?
Why yes, I answered, some of them. Were they —
were they as large as a missal ? A shout of jolly
laughter interrupted us. It seemed to me that
my erudite companion was in the habit of getting
fun out of his friend the brigadiere, but so kindly
did he look and speak, that it must have been
difficult for the simpleton ever to take offence.
Meanwhile the sullen sky had grown blacker,
and rain was descending heavily. In any case, I
should barely have had time to go further, and
had to be content with a description from my
companions of a larger cave some distance beyond
this, which is known as the Grotta of San Gregorio
— with reference, no doubt, to S. Gregory the
Thaumaturgist ; to him was dedicated a Greek
monastery, built on the ruined site of Vivariense.

190 BY THE IONIAN SEA
a real adventure for him to meet with some one
from far-off England. Just before we stopped at
San Sostene, he presented me with his card — why
had he a card ? — which bore the name, De Luca
Fedele. A bright and spirited lad, who seemed
to have the best qualities of his nation; I wish
I might live to hear him spoken of as a man
doing honour to Italy.
At this station another travelling companion
took the school -boy's place ; a priest, who soon
addressed me in courteous talk. He journeyed
only for a short way, and, when alighting, pointed
skyward through the dark (night had fallen) to
indicate his mountain parish miles inland. He,
too, offered me his card, adding a genial invita
tion; I found he was Parroco (parish priest) of
San Nicola at Badolato. I would ask nothing
better than to visit him, some autumn-tide, when
grapes are ripening above the Ionian Sea.
It was a wild night. When the rain at length
ceased, lightning flashed ceaselessly about the
dark heights of Aspromonte ; later, the moon
rose, and, sailing amid grandly illumined clouds,
showed white waves rolling in upon the beach.
Wherever the train stopped, that sea-music was
in my ears — now seeming to echo a verse of
Homer, now the softer rhythm of Theocritus.
Think of what one may in day-time on this far
southern shore, its nights are sacred to the poets
of Hellas. In rounding Cape Spartivento, I
strained my eyes through the moonlight— un
happily a waning moon, which had shone with
full orb the evening I ascended to Catanzaro —
to see the Sicilian mountains; at length they
stood up darkly against the paler night. There
came back to my memory a voyage at glorious

THE GROTTA 191
sunrise, years ago, when I passed through the
Straits of Messina, and all day long gazed at Etna,
until its cone, solitary upon the horizon, shone
faint and far in the glow of evening — the morrow
to bring me a first sight of Greece.

REGGIO

CHAPTER XVIII
REGGIO
By its natural situation Reggio is marked for
an unquiet history. It was a gateway of Magna
Graecia ; it lay straight in the track of conquering
Rome when she moved towards Sicily ; it offered
points of strategic importance to every invader
or defender of the peninsula throughout the
mediaeval wars. Goth and Saracen, Norman,
Teuton and Turk, seized, pillaged, and abandoned,
each in turn, this stronghold overlooking the
narrow sea. Then the earthquakes, ever menac
ing between Vesuvius and Etna; that of 1783,
which wrought destruction throughout Calabria,
laid Reggio in ruins, so that to-day it has the
aspect of a newly-built city, curving its regular
streets, amphitheatre-wise, upon the slope that
rises between shore and mountain. Of Rhegium
little is discernible above ground ; of the ages that
followed scarce anything remains but the Norman
fortress, so shaken by that century-old disaster
that huge gaps show where its rent wall sank to
a lower level upon the hillside.
At first, one has eyes and thoughts for nothing
but the landscape. From the terrace road along
the shore, Via Plutino, beauties and glories in
describable lie before one at every turn of the
head. Aspromonte, with its forests and crags;
195

196 BY THE IONIAN SEA
the shining straits, sail-dotted, opening to a sea-
horizon north and south ; and, on the other side,
the mountain-island, crowned with snow. Hours
long I stood and walked here, marvelling delight
edly at all I saw, but in the end ever fixing my
gaze on Sicily. Clouds passed across the blue
sky, and their shadows upon the Sicilian pano
rama made ceaseless change of hue and outline.
At early morning I saw the crest of Etna glisten
ing as the first sun-ray smote upon its white
ridges; at fall of day, the summit hidden by
heavy clouds, and western beams darting from
behind the mountain, those far, cold heights
glimmered with a hue of palest emerald, seeming
but a vision of the sunset heaven, translucent,
ever about to vanish. Night transformed but
did not all conceal. Yonder, a few miles away,
shone the harbour and the streets of Messina,
and many a gleaming point along the island coast,
strand-touching or high above, signalled the
homes of men. Calm, warm, and clear, this first
night at Reggio ; I could not turn away from the
siren-voice of the waves; hearing scarce a foot
step but my own, I paced hither and thither by
the sea-wall, alone with memories.
The rebuilding of Reggio has made it clean and
sweet ; its air is blended from that of mountain
and sea, ever renewed, delicate and inspiriting.
But, apart from the harbour, one notes few signs
of activity ; the one long street, Corso Garibaldi,
has little traffic ; most of the shops close shortly
after nightfall, and then there is no sound of
wheels ; all would be perfectly still but for the
occasional cry of lads who sell newspapers.
Indeed, the town is strangely quiet, considering
its size and aspect of importance; one has to

REGGIO 197
search for a restaurant, and I doubt if more than
one cafe exists. At my hotel the dining-room
was a public trattoria, opening upon the street,
but only two or three military men — the eternal
officers — made use of it, and I felt a less cheery
social atmosphere than at Taranto or at Catan
zaro. One recurring incident did not tend to
exhilarate. Sitting in view of a closed door, I
saw children's faces pressed against the glass,
peering little faces, which sought a favourable
moment; suddenly the door would open, and
there sounded a thin voice, begging for un pezzo
di pane — a bit of bread. Whenever the waiter
caught sight of these little mendicants, he rushed
out with simulated fury, and pursued them along
the pavement. I have no happy recollection of
my Reggian meals.
An interesting feature of the streets is the
frequency of carved inscriptions, commemorating
citizens who died in their struggle for liberty.
Amid quiet byways, for instance, I discovered a
tablet with the name of a young soldier who fell
at that spot, fighting against the Bourbon, in
1860 : " offerse per I'unitd delta patria sua vita
quadrilustre." The very insignificance of this
young life makes the fact more touching ; one
thinks of the unnumbered lives sacrificed upon
this soil, age after age, to the wild-beast instinct
of mankind, and how pathetic the attempt to
preserve the memory of one boy, so soon to be
come a meaningless name ! His own voice seems
to plead with us for a regretful thought, to speak
from the stone in sad arraignment of tyranny and
bloodshed. A voice which has no accent of hope.
In the days to come, as through all time that is
past, man will lord it over his fellow, and earth

198 BY THE IONIAN SEA
will be stained red from veins of young and old.
That sweet and sounding name of patria becomes
an illusion and a curse ; linked with the preten
tious modernism, civilization, it serves as plea to
the latter-day barbarian, ravening and reckless
under bis civil garb. How can one greatly wish
for the consolidation and prosperity of Italy,
knowing that national vigour tends more and
more to international fear and hatred ? They who
perished that Italy might be born again, dreamt
of other things than old savagery clanging in new
weapons. In our day there is but one Italian
patriot ; he who tills the soil, and sows, and reaps,
ignorant or careless of all beyond his furrowed
field. Whilst I'* was still thinking of that memorial
tablet, I found myself in front of the Cathedral.
As a structure it makes small appeal, dating only
from the seventeenth century, and heavily re
stored in times more recent; but the first sight
of the facade is strangely stirring. For across
the whole front, in great letters which one who
runs may read, is carved a line from the Acts of
the Apostles : —
" Circumlegentes devenimus Rhegium."
Save only those sonorous words which circle the
dome of S. Peter's, I have seen no inscription on
Christian temple which seemed to me so impres
sive. " We fetched a compass, and came to
Rhegium." Paul was on his voyage from Caesarea
to Rome, and here his ship touched, here at the
haven beneath Aspromonte. The fact is familiar
enough, but, occupied as I was with other thoughts,
it had not yet occurred to me; the most pious

REGGIO 199
pilgrim of an earlier day could not have felt him
self more strongly arrested than I when I caught
sight of these words. Were I to inhabit Reggio,
I should never pass the Cathedral without stop
ping to read and think ; the carving would never
lose its power over my imagination. It unites for
me two elements of moving interest : a vivid fact
from the ancient world, recorded in the music of
the ancient tongue. All day the words rang in
my head, even as at Rome I have gone about
murmuring to myself : " Aedificabo ecclesiam
meam." What a noble solemnity in this Latin
speech ! And how vast the historic significance
of such monumental words ! Moralize who will ;
enough for me to hear with delight that deep-
toned harmony, and to thrill with the strangeness
of old things made new.
It was Sunday, which at Reggio is a day of
market. Crowds of country-folk had come into
the town with the produce of field and garden;
all the open spaces were occupied with temporary
stalls; at hand stood innumerable donkeys,
tethered till business should be over. The pro
duce exhibited was of very fine quality, especially
the vegetables ; I noticed cauliflowers measuring
more than a foot across the white. Of costume
there was little to be observed — though the long
soft cap worn by most of the men, hanging bag-
like over one ear almost to the shoulder, is
picturesque. The female water-carriers, a long
slim cask resting lengthwise upon their padded
heads, hold attention as they go to and from the
fountains. Good-looking people, grave of manner,
and doing their business without noise. It was
my last sight of the Calabrian hillsmen; to the
end they held my interest and my respect. When

200 BY THE IONIAN SEA
towns have sucked dry their population of strength
and virtue, it is such folk as these, hardy from the
free breath of heaven and the scent of earth, who
will renew a flaccid race.
Walking beyond the town in the southern
direction, where the shape of Etna shows more
clearly amid the lower mountains, I found myself
approaching what looked like a handsome public
edifice, a museum or gallery of art. It was a
long building, graced with a portico, and coloured
effectively in dull red ; all about it stood lemon
trees, and behind, overtopping the roof, several
fine palms. Moved by curiosity I quickened my
steps, and as I drew nearer I felt sure that this
must be some interesting institution of which I
had not heard. Presently I observed along the
facade a row of heads of oxen carved in stone —
an ornament decidedly puzzling. Last of all my
eyes perceived, over the stately entrance, the
word "Macello," and with astonishment I became
aware that this fine structure, so agreeably
situated, was nothing else than the town slaughter
house. Does the like exist elsewhere ? It was a
singular bit of advanced civilization, curiously
out of keeping with the thoughts which had occu
pied me on my walk. Why, I wonder, has Reggio
paid such exceptional attention to this department
of its daily life ? One did not quite know whether
to approve this frank exhibition of carnivorous
zeal; obviously something can be said in its
favour, yet, on the other hand, a man who troubles
himself with finer scruples would perhaps choose
not to be reminded of pole-axe and butcher's
knife, preferring that such things should shun the
light of day. It gave me, for the moment, an odd
sense of having strayed into the world of those

REGGIO 201
romancers who forecast the future ; a slaughter
house of tasteful architecture, set in a grove of
lemon trees and date palms, suggested the dreamy
ideal of some reformer whose palate shrinks from
vegetarianism. To my mind this had no place
amid the landscape which spread about me. It
checked my progress ; I turned abruptly, to lose
the impression as soon as possible.
No such trouble has been taken to provide
comely housing for the collection of antiquities
which the town possesses. The curator who led
me through the museum (of course I was the sole
visitor) lamented that it was only communal,
the Italian Government not having yet cared to
take it under control ; he was an enthusiast, and
spoke with feeling of the time and care he had
spent upon these precious relics — sedici anni di
vita — sixteen years of life, and, after all, who
cared for them ? There was a little library of
archaeological works, which contained two volumes
only of the Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum ;
who, asked the curator sadly, would supply money
to purchase the rest ? Place had been found on
the walls for certain modern pictures of local
interest. One represented a pasture on the
heights of Aspromonte, shepherds and their cattle
amid rich herbage, under a summer sky, with
purple summits enclosing them on every side;
the other, also a Calabrian mountain scene, but
sternly grand in the light of storm ; a dark tarn,
a rushing torrent, the lonely wilderness. Naming
the painter, my despondent companion shook his
head, and sighed " Morto ! Morto ! "
Ere I left, the visitors' book was opened for my
signature. Some twenty pages only had been
covered since the founding of the museum, and

202 BY THE IONIAN SEA
most of the names were German. Fortunately,
I glanced at the beginning, and there, on the
first page, was written: "Francois Lenormant,
Membre del'Institut de France " — the date, 1882.
The small, delicate character was very suggestive
of the man as I conceived him; to come upon
his name thus unexpectedly gave me a thrill of
pleasure ; it was like being brought of a sudden
into the very presence of him whose spirit had
guided, instructed, borne me delightful company
throughout my wanderings. When I turned to
the curator, and spoke of this discovery, sympathy
at once lighted up his face. Yes, yes ! He
remembered the visit ; he had the clearest recol
lection of Lenormant — " un bravo giovane ! "
Thereupon, he directed my attention to a little
slip of paper pasted into the inner cover of the
book, on which were written in pencil a few Greek
letters ; they were from the hand of Lenormant
himself, who had taken out his pencil to illustrate
something he was saying about a Greek inscription
in the museum. Carefully had this scrap been
preserved by the good curator ; his piety touched
and delighted me.
I could have desired no happier incident for the
close of my journey; by lucky chance this visit
to the museum had been postponed till the last
mornmg, and, as I idled through the afternoon
about the Via Plutino, my farewell mood was in
full harmony with that in which I had landed from
Naples upon the Calabrian shore. So hard a
thing to catch and to retain, the mood correspond
ing perfectly to an intellectual bias — hard, at all
events, for him who cannot shape his life as he
will, and whom circumstance ever menaces with
dreary harassment. Alone and quiet, I heard

REGGIO 203
the washing of the waves ; I saw the evening fall
on cloud-wreathed Etna, the twinkling lights
come forth upon Scylla and Charybdis ; and, as
I looked my last towards the Ionian Sea, I wished
it were mine to wander endlessly amid the silence
of the ancient world, to-day and all its sounds
forgotten.

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ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL
CHARLES DICKENS'S
CHRISTMAS BOOKS
A new pocket edition.
Each volume contains a Coloured Frontispiece and Decora
tive Title-page, drawn and designed by F. D. Bedford.
Pott 8vo, issued in two styles of binding.
Cloth, gilt top, is. net ; limp leather, gilt top, zs. net.

A Christmas Carol
The Chimes

The Cricket on the Hearth
The Battle of Life

The Haunted Man

London: CHAPMAN & HALL, LIMITED

CHARLES DICKENS'S WORKS
THE POPULAR EDITION
In Twenty-two Volumes. Crown 8vo.
WITH FRONTISPIECE AND DECORATIVE TITLE-PAGE
End Papers by Charles Green
_ . /Is. net per volume in cloth.
12s. 6d. net per volume in leather.
A TALE OF TWO CITIES
BARNABY RUDGE
OLIVER TWIST
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
THE PICKWICK PAPERS
SKETCHES BY "BOZ"
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY
HARD TIMES, ETC.
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT
AMERICAN NOTES, AND PICTURES FROM ITALY
DOMBEY AND SON
A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND
REPRINTED PIECES, ETC.
DAVID COPPERFIELD
THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER
BLEAK HOUSE
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP
LITTLE DORRIT
CHRISTMAS BOOKS
CHRISTMAS STORIES
MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, AND EDWIN
DROOD
London: CHAPMAN & HALL, LIMITED

CHARLES DICKENS'S WORKS
THE UNIVERSAL EDITION
With 740 Illustrations reproduced from the Originals,
and Two Portraits of Dickens.
In 22 Volumes. Demy Svo. 2s. 6d. net per volume.
A TALE OF TWO CITIES
BARNABY RUDGE
OLIVER TWIST
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
THE PICKWICK PAPERS
SKETCHES BY "BOZ"
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY
HARD TIMES, ETC.
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT
AMERICAN NOTES, AND PICTURES FROM ITALY
DOMBEY AND SON
A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND
REPRINTED PIECES, ETC.
DAVID COPPERFIELD
THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER
BLEAK HOUSE
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP
LITTLE DORRIT
CHRISTMAS BOOKS
CHRISTMAS STORIES
MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, AND EDWIN
DROOD
London: CHAPMAN & HALL, LIMITED