In a
well-furnished office sat two stout gentlemen, smoking cigars, very
much at their ease; the Sindaco bade
Me take a chair, and
scrutinized me with doubtful curiosity as I declared my business.
Yes, to be sure he could admit me to see his own orchard; but why
did I wish to see it? My reply that I had no interest save in the
natural beauty of the place did not convince him; he saw in me a
speculator of some kind. That was natural enough. In all the south
of Italy, money is the one subject of men's thoughts; intellectual
life does not exist; there is little even of what we should call
common education. Those who have wealth cling to it fiercely; the
majority have neither time nor inclination to occupy themselves with
anything but the earning of a livelihood which for multitudes
signifies the bare appeasing of hunger.
Seeing the Sindaco's embarrassment, his portly friend began to
question me; good-humouredly enough, but in such a fat bubbling
voice (made more indistinct by the cigar he kept in his mouth) that
with difficulty I understood him. What was I doing at Cotrone? I
endeavoured to explain that Cotrone greatly interested me. Ha!
Cotrone interested me? Really? Now what did I find interesting at
Cotrone? I spoke of historic associations. The Sindaco and his
friend exchanged glances, smiled in a puzzled, tolerant,
half-pitying way, and decided that my request might be granted.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 55 of 152
Words from 14359 to 14609
of 40398
