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 mainland;
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
barbarous uproar must have sounded even to the Calabrian heights; it
struck me as more meaningless 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 it is in harmony with time itself. These
fishermen are the primitives 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 had laid the city low, spared some
humble Tarentine 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 countryman 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 stoppage 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.
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