This Was The
Mons Moscius Of Old Time, Which Sheltered The Monastery Built By
Cassiodorus.
The headlong, swollen flood, coloured like yellow clay,
held little resemblance to the picture I had made of that river
Pellena which murmurs so musically in the old writer's pages.
Its
valley was heaped with great blocks of granite - a feature which
has interest for the geologist; it marks an abrupt change of system,
from the soft stone of Catanzaro (which ends the Apennine) to the
granitic mass of Aspromonte (the toe of Italy) which must have risen
above the waters long before the Apennines came into existence. The
wild weather emphasized a natural difference between this valley of
Squillace and that which rises towards Catanzaro; here is but scanty
vegetation, little more than thin orchards of olive, and the
landscape has a bare, harsh character. Is it changed so greatly
since the sixth century of our era? Or did its beauty lie in the
eyes of Cassiodorus, who throughout his long life of statesmanship
in the north never forgot this Bruttian home, and who sought peace
at last amid the scenes of his childhood?
At windings of the way I frequently caught sight of Squillace
itself, high and far, its white houses dull-gleaming against the
lurid sky. The crag on which it stands is higher than that of
Catanzaro, but of softer ascent. As we approached I sought for signs
of a road that would lead us upward, but nothing of the sort could
be discerned; presently I became aware that we were turning into a
side valley, and, to all appearances, going quite away from the
town. The explanation was that the ascent lay on the further slope;
we began at length to climb the back of the mountain, and here I
noticed with a revival of hope that there was a lull in the tempest;
rain no longer fell so heavily; the clouds seemed to be breaking
apart. A beam of sunshine would have set me singing with joy. When
half-way up, my driver rested his horses and came to speak a word;
we conversed merrily. He was to make straight for the hotel, where
shelter and food awaited us - a bottle of wine, ha! ha! He knew the
hotel, of course? Oh yes, he knew the hotel; it stood just at the
entrance to the town; we should arrive in half an hour.
Looking upwards I saw nothing but a mass of ancient ruins, high
fragments of shattered wall, a crumbling tower, and great windows
through which the clouds were visible. Inhabited Squillace lay, no
doubt, behind. I knew that it was a very small place, without any
present importance; but at all events there was an albergo, and the
mere name of albergo had a delightful sound of welcome after such a
journey. Here I would stay for the night, at all events; if the
weather cleared, I might be glad to remain for two or three days.
Certainly the rain was stopping; the wind no longer howled.
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