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 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!
Cotrone interested me? Really? Now what did I find interesting at
Cotrone? I spoke of historic associations. The Sindaco and his
friend exchanged glances, smiled in a puzzled, tolerant,
half-pitying way, and decided that my request might be granted. In
another minute I withdrew, 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 anything. 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 appearance. 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 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
concealed 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 anything, 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 pomegranates 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 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. Picturesque,
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.
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.
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