By the Ionian Sea | Page 8

certain points,
suddenly disappeared, and came into view again after a few minutes,
having made a short cut up some rugged footway between the loops of
the road. Perspiring, even as I sat, in the blaze of the sun, I envied the
boy his breath and muscle. Now and then he slaked his thirst at a stone
fountain by the wayside, not without reverencing the blue-hooded
Madonna painted over it. A few lean, brown peasants, bending under
faggots, and one or two carts, passed us before we gained the top, and
half-way up there was a hovel where drink could be bought; but with
these exceptions nothing broke the loneliness of the long, wild ascent.
My man was not talkative, but answered inquiries civilly; only on one
subject was he very curt-- that of the two wooden crosses which we
passed just before arriving at the summit; they meant murders. At the
moment when I spoke of them I was stretching my legs in a walk
beside the carriage, the driver walking just in front of me; and
something then happened which is still a puzzle when I recall it.
Whether the thought of crimes had made the man nervous, or whether
just then I wore a peculiarly truculent face, or had made some alarming
gesture, all of a sudden he turned upon me, grasped my arm and asked
sharply: "What have you got in your hand?" I had a bit of fern, plucked
a few minutes before, and with surprise I showed it; whereupon he
murmured an apology, said something about making haste, and jumped
to his seat. An odd little incident.
At an unexpected turn of the road there spread before me a vast
prospect; I looked down upon inland Calabria. 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