They Tell Me That There Is A Government Reward For
Every Wolf Killed, But It Is Seldom Paid; Whoever Has
The good fortune
to slay one of these beasts, carries the skin as proof of his prowess
from door to
Door, and receives a small present everywhere - half a
franc, or a cheese, or a glass of wine.
The goats show fight, and therefore the wolf prefers sheep. Shepherds
have told me that he comes up to them delicatamente, and then, fixing
his teeth in the wool of their necks, pulls them onward, caressing their
sides with his tail. The sheep are fascinated with his gentle manners,
and generally allow themselves to be led up to the spot he has selected
for their execution; the truth being that he is too lazy to carry them,
if he can possibly avoid it.
He will promptly kill his quarry and carry its carcase downhill on the
rare occasions when the flocks are grazing above his haunt; but if it is
an uphill walk, they must be good enough to use their own legs.
Incredible stories of his destructiveness are related.
Fortunately, human beings are seldom attacked, a dog or a pig being
generally forthcoming when the usual prey is not to be found. Yet not
long ago a sad affair occurred; a she-wolf attacked a small boy before
the eyes of his parents, who pursued him, powerless to help - the head
and arms had already been torn off before a shot from a neighbour
despatched the monster. Truly, "a great family displeasure," as my
informant styled it. Milo of Croton, the famous athlete, is the most
renowned victim of these Sila wolves. Tradition has it that, relying on
his great strength, he tried to rend asunder a mighty log of wood which
closed, however, and caught his arms in its grip; thus helpless, he was
devoured alive by them.
By keeping to the left of Circilla, I might have skirted the forest of
Gariglione. This tract lies at about four and a half hours' distance
from San Giovanni; I found it, some years ago, to be a region of real
"Urwald" or primary jungle; there was nothing like it, to my knowledge,
on this side of the Alps, nor yet in the Alps themselves; nothing of the
kind nearer than Russia. But the Russian jungles, apart from their
monotony of timber, foster feelings of sadness and gloom, whereas these
southern ones, as Hehn has well observed, are full of a luminous
beauty - their darkest recesses being enlivened by a sense of benignant
mystery. Gariglione was at that time a virgin forest, untouched by the
hand of man; a dusky ridge, visible from afar; an impenetrable tangle of
forest trees, chiefest among them being the "garigli" (Quercus cerris)
whence it derives its name, as well as thousands of pines and bearded
firs and all that hoary indigenous vegetation struggling out of the
moist soil wherein their progenitors had lain decaying time out of mind.
In these solitudes, if anywhere, one might still have found the
absent-minded luzard (lynx) of the veracious historian; or that squirrel
whose "calabrere" fur, I strongly suspect, came from Russia; or, at any
rate, the Mushroom-stone which shineth in the night.
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