- 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 picturesque 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 buildings; beyond it lies the public garden, a lovely
spot, set with alleys of acacia and groups of 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 woodland 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 costume: a short petticoat of scarlet, much embroidered,
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 a great
good in a people which has preserved this need of beauty through
ages of servitude 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 European network; and the craze for building, which has
disfigured and half ruined Italy, shows itself in an immense new
theatre - Teatro Garibaldi - 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 interesting enough to copy: -
"20 SEPT., 1870.
QUESTA DATA POLITICA
DICE FINITA LA TEOCRAZIA
NEGLI ORDINAMENTI CIVILI.
IL DI 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 humanity." A remarkable utterance anywhere; not least so within
the 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.
