After Watching The Carriage For A Moment,
As It Rolled Away On The Long Road Back To Catanzaro (Sorry Not To
Be Going With It), I Followed The Advice Of The Stationmaster, And
Set Out To Walk Along The Line Of Rails Towards The Black, Furrowed
Mountain Side.
CHAPTER XVI
CASSIODORUS
The iron way crosses the mouth of the valley river. As I had already
noticed, it was a turbid torrent, of dull yellow; where it poured
into the sea, it made a vast, clean-edged patch of its own hue upon
the darker surface of the waves. This peculiarity resulted, no
doubt, from much rain upon the hills; it may be that in calmer
seasons the Fiume di Squillace bears more resemblance to the Pellena
as one pictures it, a delightful stream flowing through the gardens
of the old monastery. Cassiodorus tells us that it abounded in fish.
One of his happy labours was to make fish-ponds, filled and peopled
from the river itself. In the cliff-side where Mons Moscius breaks
above the shore are certain rocky caves, and by some it is thought
that, in speaking of his fish-preserves, Cassiodorus refers to
these. Whatever the local details, it was from this feature that the
house took its name, Monasterium Vivariense.
Here, then, I stood in full view of the spot which I had so often
visioned in my mind's eye. Much of the land hereabout - probably an
immense tract of hill and valley - was the old monk's patrimonial
estate.
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