their cigars as usual, and continued to chat at their ease. Very
likely. The privileged classes in Italy are slow to move, and may well
believe in the boundless endurance of those below them. Some day, no
doubt, they will have a disagreeable surprise. When Lombardy begins in
earnest to shout “
syndics of Calabria.
CHAPTER X
CHILDREN OF THE SOIL
Any northern person who passed a day or two at the
ordinary traveller would carry away a strong impression. The people of
the house would seem to him little short of savages, filthy in person
and in habits, utterly uncouth in their demeanour, perpetual wranglers
and railers, lacking every qualification for the duties they pretended
to discharge. In England their mere appearance would revolt decent
folk. With my better opportunity of judging them, I overcame the first
natural antipathy; I saw their good side, and learnt to forgive the
faults natural to a state of frank barbarism. It took two or three days
before their rough and ready behaviour softened to a really human
friendliness, but this came about at last, and when it was known that I
should not give much more trouble, that I needed only a little care in
the matter of diet, goodwill did its best to aid hopeless incapacity.
Whilst my fever was high, little groups of people often came into the
room, to stand and stare at me, exchanging, in a low voice, remarks
which they supposed I did not hear, or, hearing, could not understand;
as a matter of fact, their dialect was now intelligible enough to me,
and I knew that they discussed my chances of surviving. Their natures
were not sanguine. A result, doubtless, of the unhealthy climate, every
one at Cotrone seemed in a more or less gloomy state of mind. The
hostess went about uttering ceaseless moans and groans; when she was in
my room I heard her constantly sighing, “Ah, Signore! Ah,
Cristo!”—exclamations which, perhaps, had some reference to my
illness, but which did not cease when I recovered. Whether she had any
private reason for depression I could not learn; I fancy not; it was
only the whimpering and querulous habit due to low health. A female
servant, who occasionally brought me food (I found that she also cooked
it), bore herself in much the same way. This domestic was the most
primitive figure of the household. Picture a woman of middle age,
wrapped at all times in dirty rags (not to be called clothing), obese,
grimy, with dishevelled black hair, and hands so scarred, so deformed
by labour and neglect, as to be scarcely human. She had the darkest and
fiercest eyes I ever saw. Between her and her mistress went on an
unceasing quarrel: they quarrelled in my room, in the corridor, and, as
I knew by their shrill voices, in places remote; yet I am sure they did
not dislike each other, and probably neither of them ever thought of
parting. Unexpectedly, one evening, this woman entered, stood by the
bedside, and began to talk with such fierce energy, with such flashing
of her black eyes, and such distortion of her features, that I could
only suppose that she was attacking me for the trouble I caused her. A
minute or two passed before I could even hit the drift of her furious
