radiance through legendary Hellas. The English reader hears his name
with a smile, recalling only the mention of him, in mellow mirth, by
England’s greatest spirit. “What is the opinion of Pythagoras
concerning wild fowl?” Whereto replies the much-offended Malvolio:
“That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.” He of the
crossed garters disdains such fantasy. “I think nobly of the soul, and
no way approve his opinion.”
I took my ticket for Cotrone, which once was Croton. At Croton,
Pythagoras enjoyed his moment’s triumph, ruling men to their own
behoof. At Croton grew up a school of medicine which glorified Magna
Graecia. “Healthier than Croton,” said a proverb; for the spot was
unsurpassed in salubrity; beauty and strength distinguished its
inhabitants, who boasted their champion Milon. After the fall of
Sybaris, Croton became so populous that its walls encircled twelve
miles. Hither came Zeuxis, to adorn with paintings the great temple of
Hera on the Lacinian promontory; here he made his picture of Helen,
with models chosen from the loveliest maidens of the city. I was
light-hearted with curious anticipation as I entered the train for
Cotrone.
While daylight lasted, the moving landscape held me attentive. This
part of the coast is more varied, more impressive, than between Taranto
and Metaponto. For the most part a shaggy wilderness, the ground lies
in strangely broken undulations, much hidden with shrub and tangled
boscage. At the falling of dusk we passed a thickly-wooded tract large
enough to be called a forest; the great trees looked hoary with age,
and amid a jungle of undergrowth, myrtle and lentisk, arbutus and
oleander, lay green marshes, dull deep pools, sluggish streams. A spell
which was half fear fell upon the imagination; never till now had I
known an enchanted wood. Nothing human could wander in those pathless
shades, by those dead waters. It was the very approach to the world of
spirits; over this woodland, seen on the verge of twilight, brooded a
silent awe, such as Dante knew in his
Of a sudden the dense foliage was cleft; there opened a broad alley
between drooping boughs, and in the deep hollow, bordered with sand and
stones, a flood rolled eastward. This river is now called Sinno; it was
the ancient Sins, whereon stood the city of the same name. In the
seventh century before Christ, Sins was lauded as the richest city in
the world; for luxury it outrivalled Sybaris.
I had recently been reading Lenormant’s description of the costumes of
Magna Graecia prior to the Persian wars. Sins, a colony from Ionia,
still kept its Oriental style of dress. Picture a man in a long,
close-clinging tunic which descended to his feet, either of fine linen,
starched and pleated, or of wool, falling foldless, enriched with
embroidery and adorned with bands of gay-coloured geometric patterns;
over this a wrap (one may say) of thick wool, tight round the bust and
leaving the right arm uncovered, or else a more ample garment,
elaborately decorated like the long tunic. Complete the picture with a
head ornately dressed, on the brow a fringe of ringlets; the long hair
behind held together by gold wire spirally wound; above, a crowning
fillet, with a jewel set in the front; the beard cut to a point, and
