It Was A Valley Broad
Enough To Be Called A Plain, Dotted With White Villages, And Backed
By The Mass Of Mountains Which Now, As In Old Time, Bear The Name Of
Great Sila.
Through this landscape flowed the river Crati - the
ancient Crathis; northward it curved, and eastward, to fall at
length into the Ionian Sea, far beyond my vision.
The river Crathis,
which flowed by the walls of Sybaris. I stopped the horses to gaze
and wonder; gladly I would have stood there for hours. Less
interested, and impatient to get on, the driver pointed out to me
the direction of Cosenza, still at a great distance. He added the
information that, in summer, the well-to-do folk of Cosenza go to
Paola for sea-bathing, and that they always perform the journey by
night. I, listening carelessly amid my dream, tried to imagine the
crossing of those Calabrian hills under a summer sun! By summer
moonlight it must be wonderful.
We descended at a sharp pace, all the way through a forest of
chestnuts, the fruit already gathered, the golden leaves rustling in
their fall. At the foot lies the village of San Fili, and here we
left the crazy old cart which we had dragged so far. A little
further, and before us lay a long, level road, a true Roman highway,
straight for mile after mile. By this road the Visigoths must have
marched after the sack of Rome. In approaching Cosenza I was drawing
near to the grave of Alaric. Along this road the barbarian bore in
triumph those spoils of the Eternal City which were to enrich his
tomb.
By this road, six hundred years before the Goth, marched Hannibal on
his sullen retreat from Italy, passing through Cosentia to embark at
Croton.
CHAPTER III
THE GRAVE OF ALARIC
It would have been prudent to consult with my driver as to the inns
of Cosenza. But, with a pardonable desire not to seem helpless in
his hands, I had from the first directed him to the Due Lionetti,
relying upon my guide-book. Even at Cosenza there is progress, and
guide-beooks to little-known parts of Europe are easily allowed to
fall out of date. On my arrival - -
But, first of all, the dazio. This time it was a serious business;
impossible to convince the rather surly officer that certain of the
contents of my portmanteau were not for sale. What in the world was
I doing with tanti libri? Of course I was a commercial traveller;
ridiculous to pretend anything else. After much strain of courtesy,
I clapped to my luggage, locked it up, and with a resolute face
cried "Avanti!" And there was an end of it. In this case, as so
often, I have no doubt that simple curiosity went for much in the
man's pertinacious questioning. Of course the whole dazio business
is ludicrous and contemptible; I scarce know a baser spectacle than
that of uniformed officials groping in the poor little bundles of
starved peasant women, mauling a handful of onions, or prodding with
long irons a cartload of straw.
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