It Is My Desire To Be At Peace With All Men, And In Italy I Have
Rarely Failed To Part With Casual Acquaintances - Even Innkeepers
And Cocchieri - On Friendly Terms; But My Host Of The Albergo
Nazionale Made It Difficult To Preserve Good Humour.
Not only did
he charge thrice the reasonable sum for the meal I could not eat,
but his bill for my driver's colazione contained such astonishing
items that I had to question the lad as to what he had really
consumed.
It proved to be a very ugly case of extortion, and the
tone of sullen menace with which my arguments were met did not help
to smooth things. Presently the man hit upon a pleasant sort of
compromise. Why, he asked, did I not pay the bill as it stood, and
then, on dismissing my carriage - he had learnt that I was not
returning to Catanzaro - deduct as much as I chose from the payment
of the driver? A pretty piece of rascality, this, which he would
certainly not have suggested but that the driver was a mere boy,
helpless himself and bound to render an account to his master. I had
to be content with resolutely striking off half the sum charged for
the lad's wine (he was supposed to have drunk four litres), and
sending the receipted bill to Don Pasquale at Catanzaro, that he
might be ready with information if any future traveller consulted
him about the accommodation to be had at Squillace. No one is likely
to do so for a long time to come, but I have no doubt Don Pasquale
had a chuckle of amused indignation over the interesting and very
dirty bit of paper. We drove quickly down the winding road, and from
below I again admired the picturesqueness of Squillace. Both my
guide-books, by the way, the orthodox English and German
authorities, assert that from the railway station by the sea-shore
Squillace is invisible. Which of the two borrowed this information
from the other? As a matter of fact, the view of mountain and town
from the station platform is admirable, though, of course, at so
great a distance, only a whitish patch represents the hovels and
ruins upon their royal height.
I found that I had a good couple of hours at my disposal, and that
to the foot of Mons Moscius (now called Coscia di Stalletti) was
only a short walk. It rained drearily, but by this time I had ceased
to think of the weather. 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. We can trace his family back through three generations, to a
Cassiodorus, an Illustris of the falling Western Empire, who about
the middle of them fifth century defended his native Bruttii against
an invasion of the Vandals. The grandson of this noble was a
distinguished man all through the troubled time which saw Italy pass
under the dominion of Odovacar, and under the conquest of Theodoric;
the Gothic king raised him to the supreme office of Praetorian
Prefect. We learn that he had great herds of horses, bred in the
Bruttian forests, and that Theodoric was indebted to him for the
mounting of troops of cavalry. He and his ancestry would signify
little now-a-days but for the life-work of his greater son - Magnus
Aurelius Cassiodorus Senator, statesman, historian, monk. Senator
was not a title, but a personal name; the name our Cassiodorus
always used when speaking of himself. But history calls him
otherwise, and for us he must be Cassiodorus still.
The year of his birth was 480. In the same year were born two other
men, glories of their age, whose fame is more generally remembered:
Boethius the poet and philosopher, and Benedict called Saint.
From Quaestorship (old name with no longer the old significance) to
Praetorian Prefecture, Cassiodorus held all offices of state, and
seems under every proof to have shown the nobler qualities of
statesmanship. During his ripe years he stood by the side of
Theodoric, minister in prime trust, doubtless helping to shape that
wise and benevolent policy which made the reign of the Ostrogoth a
time of rest and hope for the Italian people - Roman no longer; the
word had lost its meaning, though not its magic. The Empire of the
West had perished; Theodoric and his minister, clearly understanding
this, and resolute against the Byzantine claim which was but in half
abeyance, aimed at the creation of an independent Italy, where Goth
and Latin should blend into a new race.
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