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I slept little, and was very early on deck, scanning
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 the
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 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 quarreling for possession of me.
No sooner was my luggage on shore than they flung
themselves upon it. By what force of 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 vigorous 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 cheerfully 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 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 corresponded
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 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 excessive courtesy began conversation.
They understood 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 understanding 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 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 luxuriant 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 winding, 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 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 far below I looked
over miles of shore, and outward to the ever-rising
limit of sea and sky. Very lovely were the effects
of light, the gradations 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 loneliness 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
arriving 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: "What 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 interested,
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 carelessly 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 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 Cosentia to embark at Croton.
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