. . .
But these very conditions have entailed certain drawbacks - drawbacks
which Buckle would have lovingly enumerated to prove their influence
upon the habits and disposition of the Tarentines. That marine situation
. . . only think of three thousand years of scirocco, summer and winter!
It is alone enough to explain molle Tarentum - enough to drain the
energy out of a Newfoundland puppy! And then, the odious dust of the
country roadways - for it is odious. Had the soil been granitic, or
even of the ordinary Apennine limestone, the population might have
remained in closer contact with wild things of nature, and retained a
perennial fountain of enjoyment and inspiration. A particular kind of
rock, therefore, has helped to make them sluggish and incurious. The
insularity of their citadel has worked in the same direction, by
focussing their interests upon the purely human. That inland sea, again:
were it not an ideal breeding-place for shell-fish, the Tarentines would
long ago have learnt to vary their diet. Thirty centuries of
mussel-eating cannot but impair the physical tone of a people.
And had the inland sea not existed, the Government would not have been
tempted to establish that arsenal which has led to the erection of the
new town and consequent municipal exactions. "The arsenal," said a
grumbling old boatman to me, "was the beginning of our purgatory." A
milk diet would work wonders with the health and spirits of the
citizens. But since the building of the new quarter, such a diet has
become a luxury; cows and goats will soon be scarce as the megatherium.
There is a tax of a franc a day on every cow, and a herd of ten goats,
barely enough to keep a poor man alive, must pay annually 380 francs in
octroi. These and other legalized robberies, which among a more virile
populace would cause the mayor and town council to be forthwith attached
to the nearest lamp-post, are patiently borne. It is imbelle
Tarentum - a race without grit.
I would also recommend the burghers some vegetables, so desirable for
their sedentary habits, but there again! it seems to be a peculiarity of
the local soil to produce hardly a leaf of salad or cabbage. Potatoes
are plainly regarded as an exotic - they are the size of English peas,
and make me think of Ruskin's letter to those old ladies describing the
asparagus somewhere in Tuscany. And all this to the waiter's undisguised
astonishment.
"The gentleman is rich enough to pay for meat. Why trouble about this
kind of food?"...
And yet - a change is at hand. These southern regions are waking up from
their slumber of ages. Already some of Italy's acutest thinkers and most
brilliant politicians are drawn from these long-neglected shores.
