I
Was To Have Better Acquaintance With My Hostess Of The Concordia
Before I Quitted Cotrone.
Next morning the wind still blew, but the rain was over; I could
begin my rambles.
Like the old town of Taranto, Cotrone occupies the
site of the ancient acropolis, a little headland jutting into the
sea; above, and in front of the town itself, stands the castle built
by Charles V., with immense battlements looking over the harbour.
From a road skirting the shore around the base of the fortress one
views a wide bay, bounded to the north by the dark flanks of Sila (I
was in sight of the Black Mountain once more), and southwards by a
long low promontory, its level slowly declining to the far-off point
where it ends amid the waves. On this Cape I fixed my eyes,
straining them until it seemed to me that I distinguished something,
a jutting speck against the sky, at its farthest point. Then I used
my field-glass, and at once the doubtful speck became a clearly
visible projection, much like a lighthouse. It is a Doric column,
some five-and-twenty feet high; the one pillar that remains of the
great temple of Hera, renowned through all the Hellenic world, and
sacred still when the goddess had for centuries borne a Latin name.
"Colonna" is the ordinary name of the Cape; but it is also known as
Capo di Nau, a name which preserves the Greek word naos
(temple).
I planned for the morrow a visit to this spot, which is best reached
by sea.
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