With The Remark That I Was Going To
Have A Stroll Round The Town And Should Be Back To Settle Things In
Half An Hour, I Hastened Into The Open.
CHAPTER XV
MISERIA
"What do people do here?" I once asked at a little town between Rome
and Naples; and the man with whom I talked, shrugging his shoulders,
answered curtly, "C'e miseria" - there's nothing but poverty. The
same reply would be given in towns and villages without number
throughout the length of Italy. I had seen poverty enough, and
squalid conditions of life, but the most ugly and repulsive
collection of houses I ever came upon was the town of Squillace. I
admit the depressing effect of rain and cloud, and of hunger worse
than unsatisfied; these things count emphatically in my case; but
under no conditions could inhabited Squillace be other than an
offence to eye and nostril. The houses are, with one or two
exceptions, ground-floor hovels; scarce a weather-tight dwelling is
discoverable; the general impression is that of dilapidated squalor.
Streets, in the ordinary sense of the word, do not exist; irregular
alleys climb above the rugged heights, often so steep as to be
difficult of ascent; here and there a few boulders have been thrown
together to afford a footing, and in some places the native rock
lies bare; but for the most part one walks on the accumulated filth
of ages. At the moment of my visit there was in progress the only
kind of cleaning which Squillace knows; down every trodden way and
every intermural gully poured a flush of rain-water, with
occasionally a leaping torrent or small cascade, which all but
barred progress. Open doors everywhere allowed me a glimpse of the
domestic arrangements, and I saw that my albergo had some reason to
pride itself on superiority; life in a country called civilized
cannot easily be more primitive than under these crazy roofs. As for
the people, they had a dull, heavy aspect; rare as must be the
apparition of a foreigner among them, no one showed the slightest
curiosity as I passed, and (an honourable feature of their district)
no one begged. Women went about in the rain protected by a
shawl-like garment of very picturesque colouring; it had broad
yellow stripes on a red ground, the tones subdued to a warm
richness.
The animal population was not without its importance. Turn where I
would I encountered lean, black pigs, snorting, frisking,
scampering, and squealing as if the bad weather were a delight to
them. Gaunt, low-spirited dogs prowled about in search of food, and
always ran away at my approach. In one precipitous by-way, where the
air was insupportably foul, I came upon an odd little scene: a pig
and a cat, quite alone, were playing together, and enjoying
themselves with remarkable spirit. The pig lay down in the running
mud, and pussy, having leapt on to him, began to scratch his back,
bite his ears, stroke his sides. Suddenly, porker was uppermost and
the cat, pretending to struggle for life, under his forefeet. It was
the only amusing incident I met with at Squillace, and the sole
instance of anything like cheerful vitality.
Above the habitations stand those prominent ruins which had held my
eye during our long ascent. These are the rugged walls and windows
of a monastery, not old enough to possess much interest, and, on the
crowning height, the heavy remnants of a Norman castle, with one
fine doorway still intact. Bitterly I deplored the gloomy sky which
spoiled what would else have been a magnificent view from this point
of vantage - a view wide-spreading in all directions, with Sila
northwards, Aspromonte to the south, and between them a long horizon
of the sea. Looking down upon Squillace, one sees its houses niched
among huge masses of granite, which protrude from the scanty soil,
or clinging to the rocky surface like limpet shells. Was this the
site of Scylaceum, or is it, as some hold, merely a mediaeval refuge
which took the name of the old city nearer to the coast? The
Scylaceum of the sixth century is described by Cassiodorus - a
picture glowing with admiration and tenderness. It lay, he says,
upon the side of a hill; nay, it hung there "like a cluster of
grapes," in such glorious light and warmth that, to his mind, it
deserved to be called the native region of the sun. The fertility of
the Country around was unexampled; nowhere did earth yield to
mortals a more luxurious life. Quoting this description, Lenormant
holds that, with due regard to time's changes, it exactly fits the
site of Squillace. Yet Cassiodorus says that the hill by which you
approached the town was not high enough to weary a traveller, a
consideration making for the later view that Scylaceum stood very
near to the Marina of Catanzaro, at a spot called Roccella, where
not only is the nature of the ground suitable, but there exist
considerable traces of ancient building, such as are not
discoverable here on the mountain top. Lenormant thought that
Roccella was merely the sea-port of the inland town. I wish he were
right. No archaeologist, whose work I have studied, affects me with
such a personal charm, with such a sense of intellectual sympathy,
as Francois Lenormant - dead, alas, before he could complete his
delightful book. But one fears that, in this instance, he judged too
hastily.
There is no doubt, fortunately, as to the position of the religious
house founded by Cassiodorus; it was in the shadow of Mons Moscius,
and quite near to the sea. I had marked the spot during my drive up
the valley, and now saw it again from this far height, but I could
not be satisfied with distant views. Weather and evil quarters
making it impossible to remain at Squillace, I decided to drive
forthwith to the railway station, see how much time remained to me
before the arrival of the train for Reggio, and, if it could be
managed, visit in that interval the place that attracted me.
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