floated far below I looked over miles of shore, and outward to the
ever-rising limit of sea and sky. Very lovely were the effects of
light, the gradations of colour; from the blue-black abysses, where no
shape could be distinguished, to those violet hues upon the furrowed
heights which had a transparency, a softness, an indefiniteness, unlike
anything to be seen in northern landscape.
The driver was accompanied by a half-naked lad, who, at 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
