Distant, returning at nightfall; and to observe these
really wonderful types, which will soon be extinct, you must take up a
stand on the Castrovillari road towards sunset and watch them riding
home on their donkeys, or walking, after the labours of the day.
Poorly dressed, these peasants are none the less wealthy; the post
office deposit of Morano is said to have two million francs to its
credit, mostly the savings of these humble cultivators, who can discover
an astonishing amount of money when it is a question, for example, of
providing their daughters with a dowry. The bridal dress alone, a blaze
of blue silk and lace and gold embroidery, costs between six hundred and
a thousand francs. Altogether, Morano is a rich place, despite its
sordid appearance; it is also celebrated as the birthplace of various
learned men. The author of the "Calascione Scordato," a famous
Neapolitan poem of the seventeenth century, certainly lived here for
some time and has been acclaimed as a son of Morano, though he
distinctly speaks of Naples as his home. Among its elder literary
glories is that Leonardo Tufarelli, who thus apostrophizes his birthplace:
"And to proceed - how many letterati and virtuosi have issued from
you in divers times? Among whom - not to name all of them - there has been
in our days Leopardo de l'Osso of happy memory, physician and most
excellent philosopher, singular in every science, of whom I dare say
that he attained to Pythagorean heights. How many are there to-day,
versed in every faculty, in theology, in the two laws, and in medicine?
How many historians, how many poets, grammarians, artists, actors?"
The modern writer Nicola Leoni is likewise a child of Morano; his
voluminous "Della Magna Grecia e delle Tre Calabrie" appeared in
1844-1846. He, too, devotes much space to the praises of his natal city,
and to lamentations regarding the sad condition of Calabrian letters
during those dark years.
"Closed for ever is the academy of Amantea! Closed for ever is
the academy of Rossano! Rare are the lectures in the academy of
Monteleone! Rare indeed the lectures in the academy of Catan-zaro!
Closed for ever is the public library of Monteleone! O ancient days! O
wisdom of our fathers! Where shall I find you?. . ."
To live the intellectual life amid the ferociously squalid surroundings
of Morano argues an enviable philosophic calm - a detachment bordering on
insensibility. But perhaps we are too easily influenced by externals, in
these degenerate times. Or things may have been better in days of
old - who can tell? One always likes to think so, though the evidence
usually points to the contrary.
When least I expected it, a possessor of mules presented himself. He was
a burly ruffian of northern extraction, with clear eyes, fair moustache,
and an insidious air of cheerfulness.
Yes, he had a mule, he said; but as to climbing the mountain for three
or four days on end - ha, ha! - that was rather an undertaking, you know.
Was I aware that there were forests and snow up there? Had I ever been
up the mountain? Indeed! Well, then I must know that there was no food - -
I pointed to my store of provisions from Castrovillari. His eye wandered
lovingly over the pile and reposed, finally, upon sundry odd bottles and
a capacious demijohn, holding twelve litres.
"Wine of family," I urged. "None of your eating-house stuff."
He thought he could manage it, after all. Yes; the trip could be
undertaken, with a little sacrifice. And he had a second mule, a
lady-mule, which it struck him I might like to ride now and then; a
pleasant beast and a companion, so to speak, for the other one. Two
mules and two Christians - that seemed appropriate. . . . And only four
francs a day more.
Done! It was really cheap. So cheap, that I straightway grew suspicious
of the "lady-mule."
We sealed the bargain in a glass of the local mixture, and I thereupon
demanded a caparra - a monetary security that he would keep his word,
i.e. be round at my door with the animals at two in the morning, so as
to reach the uplands before the heat became oppressive.
His face clouded - a good omen, indicating that he was beginning to
respect me. Then he pulled out his purse, and reluctantly laid two
francs on the table.
The evening was spent in final preparations; I retired early to bed, and
tried to sleep. One o'clock came, and two o'clock, and three o'clock - no
mules! At four I went to the man's house, and woke him out of ambrosial
slumbers.
"You come to see me so early in the morning?" he enquired, sitting up in
bed and rubbing his eyes. "Now that's really nice of you."
One of the mules, he airily explained, had lost a shoe in the afternoon.
He would get it put right at once - at once.
"You might have told me so yesterday evening, instead of keeping me
awake all night waiting for you."
"True," he replied. "I thought of it at the time. But then I went to
bed, and slept. Ah, sir, it is good to sleep!" and he stretched himself
voluptuously.
The beast was shod, and at 5 a.m. we left.
XVIII
AFRICAN INTRUDERS
There is a type of physiognomy here which is undeniably Semitic - with
curly hair, dusky skin and hooked nose. We may take it to be of
Saracenic origin, since a Phoenician descent is out of the question,
while mediaeval Jews never intermarried with Christians. It is the same
class of face which one sees so abundantly at Palermo, the former
metropolis of these Africans. The accompanying likeness is that of a
native of Cosenza, a town that was frequently in their possession.
Eastern traits of character, too, have lingered among the populace.
