Moved by these voices singing over the
dust of Croton, I asked pardon for all my foolish irritation, my
impertinent fault-finding. Why had I come hither, if it was not that
I loved land and people? And had I not richly known the recompense
of my love?
Legitimately enough one may condemn the rulers of Italy, those who
take upon themselves to shape her political life, and recklessly
load her with burdens insupportable. But among the simple on Italian
soil a wandering stranger has no right to nurse national
superiorities, to indulge a contemptuous impatience. It is the touch
of tourist vulgarity. Listen to a Calabrian peasant singing as he
follows his oxen along the furrow, or as he shakes the branches of
his olive tree. That wailing voice amid the ancient silence, that
long lament solacing ill-rewarded toil, comes from the heart of
Italy herself, and wakes the memory of mankind.
CHAPTER XI
THE MOUNT OF REFUGE
My thoughts turned continually to Catanzaro. It is a city set upon a
hill, overlooking the Gulf of Squillace, and I felt that if I could
but escape thither, I should regain health and strength. Here at
Cotrone the air oppressed and enfeebled me; the neighbourhood of the
sea brought no freshness. From time to time the fever seemed to be
overcome, but it lingered still in my blood and made my nights
restless. I must away to Catanzaro.
When first I spoke of this purpose to Dr. Sculco, he indulged my
fancy, saying "Presently, presently!" A few days later, when I
seriously asked him how soon I might with safety travel, his face
expressed misgiving. Why go to Catanzaro? It was on the top of a
mountain, and had a most severe climate; the winds at this season
were terrible. In conscience he could not advise me to take such a
step: the results might be very grave after my lung trouble. Far
better wait at Cotrone for a week or two longer, and then go on to
Reggio, crossing perhaps to Sicily to complete my cure. The more Dr.
Sculco talked of windy altitudes, the stronger grew my desire for
such a change of climate, and the more intolerable seemed my state
of languishment. The weather was again stormy, but this time blew
sirocco; I felt its evil breath waste my muscles, clog my veins, set
all my nerves a-tremble. If I stayed here much longer, I should
never get away at all. A superstitious fear crept upon me; I
remembered that my last visit had been to the cemetery.
One thing was certain: I should never see the column of Hera's
temple. I made my lament on this subject to Dr. Sculco, and he did
his best to describe to me the scenery of the Cape.
