Chapter XV: Part 15

That a man of his speculative vigour, knowing so many extra-Hellenic races, should have hit upon one or two good things adventitiously is only to be expected. But they were mere by-products. One might as well praise John Knox for creating the commons of Scotland with a view to the future prosperity of that country—a consummation which his black fanaticism assuredly never foresaw.

The chief practical doctrine of Pythagoras, that mankind are to be governed on the principle of a community of eastern monks, makes for the disintegration of rational civic life.

And his chief theoretical doctrines, of metempsychosis and the reduction of everything to a system of numbers[1]—these are sheer lunacy.

[1] Vincenzo Dorsa, an Albanian, has written two pamphlets on the survival of Greco-Roman traditions in Calabria. They are difficult to procure, but whoever is lucky enough to find them will be much helped in his understanding of the common people. In one place, he speaks of the charm-formula of _Otto-Nave!_ (Eight-Nine) It is considered meet and proper, in the presence of a suckling infant, to spit thrice and then call out, three times, Otto-Nove! This brings luck; and the practice, he thinks, is an echo of the number-system of Pythagoras.

Was it not something of a relapse, after the rigorous mental discipline of old, to have a man gravely assuring his fellows that he is the son of Hermes and the divinely appointed messenger of Apollo; treating diseases, like an Eskimo Angekok, by incantation; recording veracious incidents of his experiences during a previous life in Hell, which he seems to have explored almost as thoroughly as Swedenborg; dabbling in magic, and consulting dreams, birds and the smoke of incense as oracles? And in the exotic conglomerate of his teachings are to be found the _prima stamina_ of much that is worse: the theory of the pious fraud which has infected Latin countries to this day; the Jesuitical maxim of the end justifying the means; the insanity of preferring deductions to facts which has degraded philosophy up to the days of Kant; mysticism, demon-worship and much else of pernicious mettle—they are all there, embryonically embedded in Pythagoras.

We are told much of his charity; indeed, an English author has written a learned work to prove that Pythagoreanism has close affinities with Christianity. Charity has now been tried on an ample scale, and has proved a dismal failure. To give, they say, is more blessed than to receive. It is certainly far easier, for the most part, to give than to refrain from giving. We are at last shaking off the form, of self-indulgence called charity; we realize that if mankind is to profit, sterner conceptions must prevail. The apotheosis of the god-favoured loafer is drawing to a close.

For the rest, there was the inevitable admixture of quackery about our reforming sage; his warmest admirers cannot but admit that he savours somewhat strongly of the holy impostor. Those charms and amulets, those dark gnomic aphorisms which constitute the stock-in-trade of all religious cheap-jacks, the bribe of future life, the sacerdotal tinge with its complement of mendacity, the secrecy of doctrine, the pretentiously-mysterious self-retirement, the “sacred quaternion,” the bean-humbug . . .

He had the true maraboutic note.

And for me, this regenerator crowned with a saintly aureole remains a glorified marabout—an intellectual dissolvent; the importer of that oriental introspectiveness which culminated in the idly-splendid yearnings of Plato, paved the way for the quaint Alexandrian _tutti-frutti_ known as Christianity, and tainted the well-springs of honest research for two thousand years. By their works ye shall known them. It was the Pythagoreans who, not content with a just victory over the Sybarites, annihilated their city amid anathemas worthy of those old Chaldeans (past masters in the art of pious cursings); a crime against their common traditions and common interests; a piece of savagery which wrecked Hellenic civilization in Italy. It is ever thus, when the soul is appointed arbiter over reason. It is ever thus, when gentle, god-fearing dreamers meddle with worldly affairs. Beware of the wrath of the lamb!

So rapidly did the virus act, that soon we find Plato declaring that all the useful arts are _degrading;_ that “so long as a man tries to study any sensible object, he can never be said to be learning anything”; in other words, that the kind of person to whom one looks for common sense should be excluded from the management of his most refined republic. It needed courage of a rather droll kind to make such propositions in Greece, under the shadow of the Parthenon. And hand in hand with this feudalism in philosophy there began that unhealthy preoccupation with the morals of our fellow-creatures, that miasma of puritanism, which has infected life and literature up to this moment.

The Renaissance brought many fine things to England. But the wicked fairy was there with her gift: Pythagoras and Plato. We were not like the Italians who, after the first rapture of discovery was over, soon outgrew these distracted dialectics; we stuck fast in them. Hence our Platonic touch: our _demi-vierge_ attitude in matters of the mind, our academic horror of clean thinking. How Plato hated a fact! He could find no place for it in his twilight world of abstractions. Was it not he who wished to burn the works of Democritus of Abdera, most exact and reasonable of old sages?

They are all alike, these humanitarian lovers of first causes. Always ready to burn something, or somebody; always ready with their cheerful Hell-fire and gnashing of teeth.

_Know thyself:_ to what depths of vain, egocentric brooding has that dictum led! But we are discarding, now, such a mischievously narrow view of the Cosmos, though our upbringing is still too rhetorical and mediæval to appraise its authors at their true worth. Youth is prone to judge with the heart rather than the head; youth thrives on vaporous ideas, and there was a time when I would have yielded to none in my enthusiasm for these mellifluous babblers; one had a blind, sentimental regard for their great names. It seems to me, now, that we take them somewhat too seriously; that a healthy adult has nothing to learn from their teachings, save by way of warning example. Plato is food for adolescents. And a comfort, possibly, in old age, when the judicial faculties of the mind are breaking up and primitive man, the visionary, reasserts his ancient rights. For questioning moods grow burdensome with years; after a strain of virile doubt we are glad to acquiesce once more—to relapse into Platonic animism, the logic of valetudinarians. The dog to his vomit.

And after Plato—the deluge. Neo-platonism. . . .

Yet it was quite good sport, while it lasted. To “make men better” by choice dissertations about Utopias, to sit in marble halls and have a fair and fondly ardent _jeunesse dorée_ reclining about your knees while you discourse, in rounded periods, concerning the salvation of their souls by means of transcendental Love—it would suit me well enough, at this present moment; far better than croaking, forlorn as the night-raven, among the ruins of their radiant lives.

Meanwhile, and despite our Universities, new conceptions are prevailing, Aristotle is winning the day. A fresh kind of thinker has arisen, whose chief idea of “virtue” is to investigate patiently the facts of life; men of the type of Lister, any one of whom have done more to regenerate mankind, and to increase the sum of human happiness, than a wilderness of the amiably-hazy old doctrinaires who professed the same object. I call to mind those physicians engaged in their malaria-campaign, and wonder what Plato would have thought of them. Would he have recognized the significance of their researches which, while allaying pain and misery, are furthering the prosperity of the country, causing waters to flow in dry places and villages to spring up in deserts—strengthening its political resources, improving its very appearance? Not likely. Plato’s opinion of doctors was on a par with the rest of his mentality. Yet these are the men who are taking up the thread where it was dropped, perforce, by those veritable Greek sages, whelmed under turbid floods of Pythagorean irrationalism. And are such things purely utilitarian? Are they so grossly mundane? Is there really no “philosophy” in the choice of such a healing career, no romance in its studious self-denial, no beauty in its results? If so, we must revise that classic adage which connects vigour with beauty—not to speak of several others.

XXXIX MIDDAY AT PETELIA

Day after day, I look across the six miles of sea to the Lacinian promontory and its column. How reach it? The boatmen are eager for the voyage: it all depends, they say, upon the wind.

Day after day—a dead calm.

“Two hours—three hours—four hours—according!” And they point to the sky. A little breeze, they add, sometimes makes itself felt in the early mornings; one might fix up a sail.

“And for returning at midday?”

“Three hours—four hours—five hours—according!”

The prospect of rocking about for half a day in a small boat under a blazing sky is not my ideal of enjoyment, the novelty of such an experience having worn off a good many years ago. I decide to wait; to make an attack, meanwhile, upon old Petelia—the “Stromboli” of my lady-friend at the Catanzaro Museum....

It is an easy day’s excursion from Cotrone to Strongoli, which is supposed to lie on the site of that ancient, much-besieged town. It sits upon a hill-top, and the diligence which awaits the traveller at the little railway-station takes about two hours to reach the place, climbing up the olive-covered slopes in ample loops and windings.

Of Strongoli my memories, even at this short distance of time, are confused and blurred. The drive up under the glowing beams of morning, the great heat of the last few days, and two or three nights’ sleeplessness at Cotrone had considerably blunted my appetite for new things. I remember seeing some Roman marbles in the church, and being thence conducted into a castle.

Afterwards I reposed awhile in the upper regions, under an olive, and looked down towards the valley of the Neto, which flows not far from here into the Ionian. I thought upon Theocritus, trying to picture this vale of Neaithos as it appeared to him and his shepherds. The woodlands are gone, and the rains of winter, streaming down the earthen slopes, have remodelled the whole face of the country.

Yet, be nature what it may, men will always turn to one who sings so melodiously of eternal verities—of those human tasks and needs which no lapse of years can change. How modern he reads to us, who have been brought into contact with the true spirit by men like Johnson-Cory and Lefroy! And how unbelievably remote is that Bartolozzi-Hellenism which went before! What, for example—what of the renowned pseudo-Theocritus, Salamon Gessner, who sang of this same vale of Neto in his “Daphnis”? Alas, the good Salamon has gone the way of all derivative bores; he is dead—deader than King Psammeticus; he is now moralizing in some decorous Paradise amid flocks of Dresden-China sheep and sugar-watery youths and maidens. Who can read his much-translated masterpiece without unpleasant twinges? Dead as a doornail!

So far as I can recollect, there is an infinity of kissing in “Daphnis.” It was an age of sentimentality, and the Greek pastoral ideal, transfused into a Swiss environment of 1810, could not but end in slobber and _Gefühlsduselei._ True it is that shepherds have ample opportunities of sporting with Amaryllis in the shade; opportunities which, to my certain knowledge, they do not neglect. Theocritus knew it well enough. But, in a general way, he is niggardly with the precious commodity of kisses; he seems to have thought that in literature, if not in real life, one can have too much of a good thing. Also, being a southerner, he could not have trusted his young folks to remain eternally at the kissing-stage, after the pattern of our fish-like English lovers. Such behaviour would have struck him as improbable; possibly immoral. . . .

From where I sat one may trace a road that winds upwards into the Sila, past Pallagorio. Along its sides are certain mounded heaps and the smoke of refining works. These are mines of that dusky sulphur which I had observed being drawn in carts through the streets of Cotrone. There are some eight or ten of them, they tell me, discovered about thirty years ago—this is all wrong: they are mentioned in 1571—and employing several hundred workmen. It had been my intention to visit these excavations. But now, in the heat of day, I wavered; the distance, even to the nearest of them, seemed inordinately great; and just as I had decided to look for a carriage with a view of being driven there (that curse of conscientiousness!) an amiable citizen snatched me up as his guest for luncheon. He led me, weakly resisting, to a vaulted chamber where, amid a repast of rural delicacies and the converse of his spouse, all such fond projects were straightway forgotten. Instead of sulphur-statistics, I learnt a little piece of local history.

“You were speaking about the emptiness of our streets of Strongoli,” my host said. “And yet, up to a short time ago, there was no emigration from this place. Then a change came about: I’ll tell you how it was. There was a _guardia di finanze_ here—a miserable octroi official. To keep up the name of his family, he married an heiress; not for the sake of having progeny, but—well! He began buying up all the land round about—slowly, systematically, cautiously—till, by dint of threats and intrigues, he absorbed nearly all the surrounding country. Inch by inch, he ate it up; with his wife’s money. That was his idea of perpetuating his memory. All the small proprietors were driven from their domains and fled to America to escape starvation; immense tracts of well-cultivated land are now almost desert. Look at the country! But some day he will get his reward; under the ribs, you know.”

By this purposeful re-creation of those feudal conditions of olden, days, this man has become the best-hated person in the district.

Soon it was time to leave the friendly shelter and inspect in the glaring sunshine the remaining antiquities of Petelia. Never have I felt less inclined for such antiquarian exploits. How much better the hours would have passed in some cool tavern! I went forth, none the less; and was delighted to discover that there are practically no antiquities left—nothing save a few walls standing near a now ruined convent, which is largely built of Roman stone-blocks and bricks. Up to a few years ago, the municipality carried on excavations here and unearthed a few relics which were promptly dispersed. Perhaps some of these are what one sees in the Catanzaro Museum. The paternal government, hearing of this enterprise, claimed the site and sat down upon it; the exposed remains were once more covered up with soil.

A goat-boy, a sad little fellow, sprang out of the earth as I dutifully wandered about here. He volunteered to show me not only Strongoli, but all Calabria; in fact, his heart’s desire was soon manifest: to escape from home and find his way to America under my passport and protection. Here was his chance—a foreigner (American) returning sooner or later to his own country! He pressed the matter with naif forcefulness. Vainly I told him that there were other lands on earth; that I was not going to America. He shook his head and sagely remarked:

“I have understood. You think my journey would cost too much. But you, also, must understand. Once I get work there, I will repay you every farthing.”

As a consolation, I offered him some cigarettes. He accepted one; pensive, unresigned.

The goat-herds had no such cravings—in the days of Theocritus.

XL THE COLUMN

“Two hours—three hours—four hours: according!”

The boatmen are still eager for the voyage. It all depends, as before, upon the wind.

And day after day the Ionian lies before us—immaculate, immutable.

I determined to approach the column by land. A mule was discovered, and starting from the “Concordia” rather late in the morning, reached the temple-ruin in two hours to the minute. I might have been tempted to linger by the way but for the intense sunshine and for the fact that the muleteer was an exceptionally dull dog—a dusky youth of the taciturn and wooden-faced Spanish variety, whose anti-Hellenic profile irked me, in that landscape. The driving road ends at the cemetery. Thence onward a pathway skirts the sea at the foot of the clay-hills; passes the sunken wells; climbs up and down steepish gradients and so attains the plateau at whose extremity stands the lighthouse, the column, and a few white bungalows—summer-residences of Cotrone citizens.

A day of shimmering heat. . . .

The ground is parched. Altogether, it is a poor and thinly peopled stretch of land between Cotrone and Capo Rizzuto. No wonder the wolves are famished. Nine days ago one of them actually ventured upon the road near the cemetery, in daylight.

Yet there is some plant-life, and I was pleased to see, emerging from the bleak sand-dunes, the tufts of the well-known and conspicuous sea lily in full flower. Wishful to obtain a few blossoms, I asked the boy to descend from his mule, but he objected.

“Non si toccano questi fiori,” he said. These flowers are not to be touched.

Their odour displeased him. Like the Arab, the uncultivated Italian is insensitive to certain smells that revolt us; while he cannot endure, on the other hand, the scent of some flowers. I have seen a man professing to feel faint at the odour of crushed geranium leaves. They are _fiori di morti,_ he says: planted (sometimes) in graveyards.

The last remarkable antiquity found at this site, to my knowledge, is a stone vase, fished up some years ago out of the sea, into which it may have fallen while being carried off by pious marauders for the purpose of figuring as font in some church (unless, indeed, the land has sunk at this point, as there is some evidence to show). I saw it, shortly after its return to dry land, in a shed near the harbour of Cotrone; the Taranto museum has now claimed it. It is a basin of purple-veined pavonazzetto marble. Originally a monolith, it now consists of two fragments; the third and smallest is still missing. This noble relic stands about 85 centimetres in height and measures some 215 centimetres in circumference; it was never completed, as can be seen by the rim, which is still partially in the rough. A similar vessel is figured, I believe, in Tischbein.

The small villa-settlement on this promontory is deserted owing to lack of water, every drop of which has to be brought hither by sea from Cotrone. One wonders why they have not thought of building a cistern to catch the winter rains, if there are any; for a respectable stone crops up at this end of the peninsula.

One often wonders at things. . . .

The column has been underpinned and strengthened by a foundation of cement; rains of centuries had begun to threaten its base, and there was some risk of a catastrophe. Near at hand are a few ancient walls of reticulated masonry in strangely leaning attitudes, peopled by black goats; on the ground I picked up some chips of amphoræ and vases, as well as a fragment of the limb of a marble statue. The site of this pillar, fronting the waves, is impressively forlorn. And it was rather thoughtful, after all, of the despoiling Bishop Lucifero to leave two of the forty-eight columns standing upright on the spot, as a sample of the local Doric style. One has fallen to earth since his day. Nobody would have complained at the time, if he had stolen all of them, instead of only forty-six. I took a picture of the survivor; then wandered a little apart, in the direction of the shore, and soon found myself in a solitude of burning stones, a miniature Sahara.

The temple has vanished, together with the sacred grove that once embowered it; the island of Calypso, where Swinburne took his ease (if such it was), has sunk into the purple realms of Glaucus; the corals and sea-beasts that writhed among its crevices are engulphed under mounds of submarine sand. There was life, once, at this promontory. Argosies touched here, leaving priceless gifts; fountains flowed, and cornfields waved in the genial sunshine. Doubtless there will be life again; earth and sea are only waiting for the enchanter’s wand.

All now lies bare, swooning in summer stagnation.

Calabria is not a land to traverse alone. It is too wistful and stricken; too deficient in those externals that conduce to comfort. Its charms do not appeal to the eye of romance, and the man who would perambulate Magna Graecia as he does the Alps would soon regret his choice. One needs something of that “human element” which delighted the genteel photographer of Morano—comrades, in short; if only those sages, like old Nola Molisi, who have fallen under the spell of its ancient glories. The joys of Calabria are not to be bought, like those of Switzerland, for gold.

_Sir Giovan Battista di Nola Molisi, the last of bis family and name, having no sons and being come to old age without further hope of offspring, has desired in the place of children to leave of himself an eternal memory to mankind—_to wit, this Chronicle of the most Ancient, Magnificent, and Faithful City of Cotrone. A worthier effort at self-perpetuation than that of Strongoli. . . .

A sturgeon, he notes, was caught in 1593 by the Spanish Castellan of the town. This nobleman, puzzling whom he could best honour with so rare a dainty, despatched it by means of a man on horseback to the Duke of Nocera. The Duke was no less surprised than pleased; he thought mighty well of the sturgeon and of the respectful consideration which prompted the gift; and then, by another horseman, sent it to Nola Molisi’s own uncle, accompanied, we may conjecture, by some ceremonious compliment befitting the occasion.

A man of parts, therefore, our author’s uncle, to whom his Lordship of Nocera sends table-delicacies by mounted messenger; and himself a mellow comrade whom I am loath to leave; his pages are distinguished by a pleasing absence of those saintly paraphernalia which hang like a fog athwart the fair sky of the south.

Yet to him and to all of them I must bid good-bye, here and now. At this hour to-morrow I shall be far from Cotrone.

Farewell to Capialbi, inspired bookworm! And to Lenormant.

On a day like this, the scholar sailed at Bivona over a sea so unruffled that the barque seemed to be suspended in air. The water’s surface, he tells us, is “unie comme une glace.” He sees the vitreous depths invaded by piercing sunbeams that light up its mysterious forests of algae, its rock-headlands and silvery stretches of sand; he peers down into these “prairies pélagiennes” and beholds all their wondrous fauna—the urchins, the crabs, the floating fishes and translucent medusae “semblables a des clochettes d’opale.” Then, realizing how this “population pullulante des petits animaux marins” must have impressed the observing ancients, he goes on to touch—ever so lightly!—upon those old local arts of ornamentation whereby sea-beasts and molluscs and aquatic plants were reverently copied by master-hand, not from dead specimens, but “pris sur le vif et observés au milieu des eaux”; he explains how an entire school grew up, which drew its inspiration from the dainty ... apes and movements of these frail creatures. This is _du meilleur Lenormant._ His was a full-blooded yet discriminating zest of knowledge. One wonders what more was fermenting in that restlessly curious brain, when a miserable accident ended his short life, after 120 days of suffering.

So Italy proved fatal to him, as Greece to his father. But one of his happiest moments must have been spent on the sea at Bivona, on that clear summer day—a day such as this, when every nerve tingles with joy of life.

Meanwhile it is good to rest here, immovable but alert, in the breathless hush of noon. Showers of benevolent heat stream down upon this desolation; not the faintest wisp of vapour floats upon the horizon; not a sail, not a ripple, disquiets the waters. The silence can be felt. Slumber is brooding over the things of earth:

Asleep are the peaks of the hills, and the vales, The promontories, the clefts, And all the creatures that move upon the black earth. . . .

Such torrid splendour, drenching a land of austerest simplicity, decomposes the mind into corresponding states of primal contentment and resilience. There arises before our phantasy a new perspective of human affairs; a suggestion of well-being wherein the futile complexities and disharmonies of our age shall have no place. To discard these wrappings, to claim kinship with some elemental and robust archetype, lover of earth and sun——

How fair they are, these moments of golden equipoise!

Yes; it is good to be merged awhile into these harshly-vibrant surroundings, into the meridian glow of all things. This noontide is the “heavy” hour of the Greeks, when temples are untrodden by priest or worshipper. _Controra_ they now call it—the ominous hour. Man and beast are fettered in sleep, while spirits walk abroad, as at midnight. _Non timebis a timore noctuno: a sagitta_ _volante in die: a negotio perambulante in tenebris: ab incursu et demonio meridiano._ The midday demon—that southern Haunter of calm blue spaces. . . .

So may some enchantment of kindlier intent have crept over Phædrus and his friend, at converse in the noontide under the whispering plane-tree. And the genius dwelling about this old headland of the Column is candid and benign.

This corner of Magna Graecia is a severely parsimonious manifestation of nature. Rocks and waters! But these rocks and waters are actualities; the stuff whereof man is made. A landscape so luminous, so resolutely scornful of accessories, hints at brave and simple forms of expression; it brings us to the ground, where we belong; it medicines to the disease of introspection and stimulates a capacity which we are in danger of unlearning amid our morbid hyperborean gloom—the capacity for honest contempt: contempt of that scarecrow of a theory which would have us neglect what is earthly, tangible. What is life well lived but a blithe discarding of primordial husks, of those comfortable intangibilities that lurk about us, waiting for our weak moments?

The sage, that perfect savage, will be the last to withdraw himself from the influence of these radiant realities. He will strive to knit closer the bond, and to devise a more durable and affectionate relationship between himself and them. Let him open his eyes. For a reasonable adjustment lies at his feet. From these brown stones that seam the tranquil Ionian, from this gracious solitude, he can carve out, and bear away into the cheerful din of cities, the rudiments of something clean and veracious and wholly terrestrial—some tonic philosophy that shall foster sunny mischiefs and farewell regret.

INDEX

Abruzzi peasants, their lives, 27.

Abulfeda, historian, 135.

Abystron, 119. See _Castrovillari._

Aceti, T., 93.

Acheron, river. See _Mu.com._

Acherontia (? Acri), 195.

“Acherontia’s Nest” (Acerenza), 32.

Achilles, his notions of gratitude, 123.

Achiropita image. See _Madonna._

Acinapura, near Policoro, 98.

Acri, town, 193-196, 199.

_Ada Sanctorum,_ in.

_Adamo Caduto,_ a sacred tragedy, inspires “Paradise Lost,” 160 _seq._

Adler, H. M., 122.

Aelian, 197.

Afforestation, at Morano, 148; governmental schemes for, 218.

Africo, village, 271, 272.

Agropoli, Saracen stronghold, 137.

Akron, commentator, 45. Alaro (Sagra), river, 281-283.

Albanians, their colonies, 176, 189; confused with Byzantines, 176, 272; their liberalism, 177, 183; wedding ceremony, 182; compared with Irish, 186; their training college, 183; preposterous language, 173,187. See _Costumes_ and _Rada, G. de._

Alberada, her tomb, 38.

Alberti, L., 174.

Alburno, mount, 151.

Alexander of Molossus, his death, 197.

Alfonso the Magnificent, no.

Altamura, sack of, 64, 65.

Altipiano di Pollino, upland, 145.

Amendolea, river, 197, 272.

America. See _Emigration._

Amphitheatre of Venosa, 31, 38.

Ampollina, river, 217, 219, 220.

Amusa, river, 282.

Analphabetics, percentage of, 259.

Anastasius, saint, 111.

Anchoretism, its charms, 112.

Ancinale, river, 295.

Angels, injured by art-notions of Renaissance, 25; frescoes at Venosa, 38.

Animals, utilized as drugs, 57; cruelty to, 120.

Anne, saint, 250; wells dedicated to, 301.

Anopheles mosquito. See _Malaria._

Anthology, its dog-types, 120.

Apennines, their terminal peak, 145. Aphrodite, 25.

Apollo, 25, 27, 28, 209.

Appulus, King of Sipontum, 29.

Aprustum, 119. See _Castrovillari._

Aqueduct, the Apulian, 42.

Arabs, bigots because half-starved, 126. See _Corsairs_ and _Saracens._

Archytas, lav.-giver, 65, 92.

Aretino, P., 140.

Arfaxad, fabled king, 29.

Argo, highest literary dog-type, 120.

Aristotle, 100, 101, 312.

Arnold, Matthew, 120, 171.

Arpi, town, 29.

Arum lily _(A. aracunculus),_ 143.

Arvo, river, 217, 220.

Asceticism, introduction into south Italy, 251 _seq.;_ its pernicious effects, 260.

Aspromonte, 195, 240; reputation for crime, 245, 246; its contorted structure, 270; Byzantine settlements in, 272.

Athos, mount, 113.

Augustine, saint, 256.

Augustus, professes scorn of luxury, 92.

“Avanti,” a corrupt rag, 280.

Ayrola, P., bishop, 251.

Babylonia, Sultan of, 37.

Baedeker, 105.

Bagnara, town, 240, 242.

Bagpipes, 151, 155.

Balfour, A. J., 265.

Balzo, Pierro del, 37.

Bandusian Fount, 43-46.

Bantia (Banzi), 32.

Barbarano, a glen, 219.

Barbarossa. See _Frederick II._

Barbarossa, pirate-brothers, 140.

Barbers, their Hellenic loquacity, 81-82.

Bari, compared with Taranto, 89.

Barletta, town, II.

Baronius, cardinal, 258.

Barrius, his _philopatria,_ 142; on Calabrian rivers, 286.

Bartels, J. H., 123.

Earth, Dr. H., 306.

Bartholomaeus, saint, 108.

Basile, A., 69.

Basilean monks, their convents, in, 113; supplanted by Benedictines, 113; their ideals, 115; convent of St. Adrian, 185.

Basilicata, province, emigration from, 49; military road through, 123; old boundary of, 145; its bagpipes, 151, 155.

Batiffol, P., 113, 186, 272.

Bears in Calabria, 94, 146.

Beatrix, princess, 7, 8.

Beccaria, C. de, 276.

Beccarini family, 13.

Beeches at Pollino, 146; in old Latium, 285.

Bellerophon, a dragon-slayer, 102.

Belmonte, prince, 49.

Beltrano, O., 114.

Benedict XIII, no.

Benedict, saint, 252.

Benedictines, their architecture, 39; displace Basileans, 113,

Beneventana, 29.

Benincasa, Venerable Orsola, 255-256, 258.

Benincasa, brigand, 213.

Benjamin of Tudela, 81, 136.

Benoth (Venus), 33.

Bernard, saint, 250.

Bernardo da Rogliano, biography of, 144.

Bernhardi, Prof., 3.

Bertaux, E., 39, 78, in, 186.

_Biblioteca Calabra_ in Naples, 93.

Birds, how to diminish slaughter of, 52; eaten raw, 56.

Bisignano, town, 135, 194.

Bivona, town, 320.

Black colour, of Saracens, 52, 130; of water, 80.

Blaev, J., 67.

Blake, W., 190.

Blanc, Jos., 53.

Blood-letting, popular treatment of disease, 194.

Blue, deficient colour-sense for, 51, 52.

Boccaccio, 80, 260.

Boccara, V., 228.

Boemund, 38.

Boissier, G., 46.

Bollandists, in.

Bonghi, R., statesman, 4.

Bordeaux, royal duel at, 8.

Borgia, village, 293.

Borjès, J., 215.

Botta, C., _quoted,_ 122.

Botte Donato, mount, 122.

Bourbons, their treatment of prisoners, n; persecute Albanians, 177, 183; protectors of forests, 218; their ecclesiastics and saints, 212, 260; conditions of Calabria under, 97, 298. See _Brigandage._

Bourget, P., 296.

Bova, town, 241, 245, 272-273.

Bovio, G., statesman, 4.

Bradano, river, 286.

Breakfast in Italy, dislocates moral stability, 18, 125; responsible for homicides, 127.

Briar (bruyère), manufacture of pipes, 269.

Brigands, at Venosa, 34; Longobucco, 202; in the Sila, 211 _seq.;_ pensioned by Bourbons, 214; their crimes, 212, 215; their wealth, 215; interview with one, 245.

Brigandage, extent of evil, 144; fostered by the church, 144, 215; by Bourbons, 203, 212, 214, 215; by English, 212; its political character, 211, 214; repression of, 212-215.

“Bronze of Siris,” 197.

Bruno, Giordano, 269.

Bruno, physician of Longobucco, 202.

Bruttians, misrepresented, 197; their characteristics, 208; respect for women, 209; reputation for bloodthirstiness, 210.

Buchholtz, H., 190.

Buckle, H. T., 90.

Buffaloes at Policoro, 99.

Bugliari, bishop, 183.

Bugs, their medicinal properties, 105.

Burial, premature, 300.

Burnous, surviving in Italy, 20.

Byzantines, at Gargano, 17; a period of revival, in; their convents, 113, 186; survive in Aspramente, 272-274; confused with Albanians, 176, 272.

Caietanus, O., 111.

“Calabrere” fur, 222.

Calabria, used to include Apulia, 89; its great men and natural attractions, 93; wild animals, 94; its inns, 106; race-character of natives, 109; their hardiness, 209; their philosophical bent, 291; inhabited before the flood, 119; situation of inland towns, i io, 200; their squalor, 128,206; older descriptions of, 134, 142; English travellers in, 181; modern French researches, 186; changeinlandscapeandclimate, 219, 241, 284-287; its rivers, 286; wistfulness of scenery, 320. See _Malaria._

Calamo, river, 196.

_Calascione Scordato,_ a poem, 131.

Calendaro, river, io, 21.

Calypso, island, 284, 319.

Camorra, 57, 125, 279.

Campanella, T., philosopher, 282, 292.

_Campanula fragilis,_ 225.

Campo di Bova, upland, 272.

Campo Tenese, village, 123.

Cantù, C., 190.

Capaccio, bishop of, 212.

Capasso, B., 3.

Capialbi, V., 136, 320.

Capmartin de Chaupy, on Bandusian Fount, 43-45.

Caprasia. See _Tarsia._

Carafa, village, 293.

Carducci, commentator, 80.

Carducci, poet, 5.

Carob-tree, its cultivation neglected, 49.

Caroline, Queen, 215.

Carthusian monasteries, 293-294.

Caruso, brigand, 214.

Casalnuovo, village, 271, 272.

Caserta, palace of, 139, 204.

Casimir of Poland, prince, 75.

Casino, village, 207.

Cassano, town, 121, 176.

Cassiodorus, 221.

Castaldi, G., 284. Castel del Monte, 11, 12.

Castel del Monte, 11, 12.

Castel Fiorentino, 8.

Castelvetere. See _Caulonia. “_

Castle of the Giant,” 19.

Castrovillari, its origin, 119; old town, 121; colony of Jews, 122.

Catacomb-worship, 27; at Venosa, 38.

“Cataldiados,” a baroque poem, 67.

Cataldo, saint, his shrine and biographies, 67.

Catanzaro, 172, 223; its museum, 224, 226.

Catherine of Siena, saint, 38.

Cats in south Italy, 119-120.

Caulonia, a mediæval site, 281; its castle, 282; immunity from malaria, 284.

Cavalotti, F., politician, 108-109.

Cavara, Signor, 285.

Cave-worship, its origins and priestly uses, 23.

Celli, Prof., 288, 298.

Cellular confinement, 240, 276.

Cemeteries in Italy, their charm, 2, 299.

Cemetery of Reggio, 235.

Cenna, surviving Roman family, chronicler of Venosa, 32, 33, 43.

_Cerauli,_ snake-killers, 138.

Cerchiara, village, 147.

Cerino, brigand, 215.

Cetara, Saracen stronghold, 137.

Cetraro, erection of postal letter-box at, 304.

Charity, a form of self-indulgence, 311.

Charles of Anjou, 7-8.

Chastity-ideal, poisons literature, 260.

Cheeses of Pollino, 142, 149; of Sila, 221.

Chemists, an authoritative class, 105, 307.

Cherub, a decayed conception, 24.

Chestnuts, destruction of, 220; of Tarentum, 285.

Children, as wage-earners in America, 50; massacre of illegitimate, 59; sold by contract, 97; kidnapped for sale to Turks, 139.

China, its dragon-god, 104.

Cholera, 26, 128, 157, 172, 173.

Christian names, degeneration in, 57-58.

Church, Sir R., 77.

Cicadas, their uses, 182; of Reggio, 284.

Cimigliano, village, 205.

Circilla, upland, 219, 222.

Ciro, priest-brigand, 77.

Cirò, its wine, 306.

Cività, village, 153.

Cluver, Ph., 175.

Coachmen, how to manage, 17.

Cocynthum promontory (Punta di Stilo), 284.

Codex of Rossano, 114.

Cœnobitism develops out of eremitism, 112-113.

Colajanni, Prof., 278.

Cola Pesce, the diver, 228-229.

Colletta, P., 64, 212; _quoted,,_ 213.

Colognati, river, 197.

“Colonia Elena,” 96.

Colorito, convent, 143-144.

Colour-sense of peasantry, 51-52.

Columella, 80, 285.

Column, Cape and temple-ruin at Cotrone, 301, 308, 318 _seq._

Commercial travellers, an objectionable brood, 31, 296.

Comparetti, D., 272.

Condofuri, village, 272.

Confessors and penitents, 258.

Conradin, 7-8.

_Contranome,_ the Happy Hazards of, 54-56.

_Controra,_ the ominous hour, 321.

Cook, Eliza, 180.

Cookery, English contrasted with Italian, 125.

“Co-operation,” a local journal, 206.

Copertino, town, 71.

Corace, river, 195.

Coral fisheries, abandoned, 286.

Corigliano, town, 96, 115, 173, 184, 191.

Coronelli, V., 175.

Corsairs, destroy Manfredonia, 12; contrasted with Saracens, 138; their destructiveness, 139; depopulate sea-board, 140; crushed by steam, 141.

Corsi, F., 91.

Cortese, Prof., 270.

Coscile (Sybaris), river, 122, 172, 175.

“Cose di Puglie,” a remarkable book, 89.

Cosenza, Saracenism at, 134, 135; a pleasant town, 160; corrupt administration of, 193; described by Pacicchelli, 208; intellectual record and malaria, 287, 291.

Costanza, Queen, 7, 8.

Costanzo, A., 3.

Costumes, female, of Morano, 130; of Albanian colonies, 152-153, 178, 182; of San Giovanni, 205-206; of Tiriolo, 225.

Cotrone (Croton), 135, 207; its former size, 283; marshy surroundings, 286; recent revival, 297; lack of rainfall, 305.

Cotronei, 184.

Cotton-plant, 136. .

Courier, P. L., _quoted,_ 212.

Cows, shod for threshing corn, 121; their milk disparaged, 149; in the Sila, 220; resuscitated from death, 261; of Cotrone, 301.

Crati (Crathis), river, 108, 213, 287; its “deluge,” 174; change of course, 175; legend of, 197.

Craven, Keppel, 80, 95, 294.

Crimes committed by brigands, 212, 215.

Crispi, F., 191.

“Cristiano,” origin of term, 138.

Croce Greca, a landmark, 195.

Cropolati, village, 198.

Crossbills, 205.

Cruelty to animals, 120.

Cryptomerias, futile love of, I, 83.

Cuma;, 119.

Cuomo, A., 264.

Cuomo Library, Naples, 67.

Cysat, J. L., 104.

Date-palm, 83, 136.

D’Azeglio, _quoted,_ 217.

Death-penalty, preface of civilization, 276.

Decentralization of south Italy, 194, 250, 303.

Deforestation, impairs climate and national character, 12-13; fosters malaria, 32, 286; in Apulia, 44; at Castrovillari, 121; in Pollino region, 147-148; in “Greek” Sila, 180, 195; in Greater Sila, 207, 217, 218, 223; diminishes water-supply, 180, 217; in Crati-valley, 287.

Deities, sullied by vulgar contact, 24; must be plastic to survive, 25.

Delianuova, town, 240, 241, 245, 274.

_Delizie Tarentine,_ 80.

Deluge, legend of, 174.

Democritus of Abdera, 312.

Demon of Midday, 321.

Demosthenes, 27, 279.

Deputy, my friend the Roman, on the need of employing employes, 20; discusses octroi officials, 34; how to manage the bourgeoisie, 87; disapproves of English methods, 117-119.

Devil, his perennial popularity, 25; his honesty, 266.

Diabetic tendency inherent in all gods, 25.

Diehl, C., 108, 186.

Dieting, improper, responsible for moral delinquencies, 126-127.

Diomed, city-founder, 29.

“Dog-eyed,” opprobrious epithet, too, 120.

Dogs, eaten as medicine, 57; their diet and appearance, 119; Greek attitude towards, 120.

Dolcedorme, mountain-range, 108, 142, 143.

Dolomieu, C. de, 234.

_Domicilio coatto,_ system of, 276.

Dominican monks, 252, 258, 259.

Dorsa, V., 310.

_Draco volans._ See _dragon._

Dragonara, Dragoneria, 112.

Dragone, rivulet, 100.

Dragon, synonymous with serpent, 100; possible prototypes in nature, 101; an animistic conception, 102; dragon-attributes and shapes, 103; recent degeneration of, 104.

Duret de Tavel, on game in Calabria, 95; on brigands, 202, 212.

Earth-movements, 284-285.

Earthquakes, injure Venosa, 31, 38; Rossano, 113; Reggio and Messina, 230-239; Bagnara, 242; Sant’ Eufemia, 243; Bova, 273; their effect on coast-line, 285. Eboli, C. d’, 256.

Ecclesiastics under Bourbons, prodigious numbers of, 212.

Edrisius, _quoted,_ 109, 286, 298.

Education, Italian ideas on, 185.

Eels, resuscitated from death, 261.

Egidio, saint, 260-264.

Elba, island, 240.

Elia Junior, saint, in.

Elia Spelaeotes, saint, 111-112.

Elias, saint, displaces Helios, 188.

Elvira, Council of, 153.

Emigrants to America, their wine-bibbing propensities and intelligence, 21-22; other characteristics, 146, 209.

Emigration, reduces population, 28, 49, 209; its effect on the race, 48, 50, 97, 194, 210; breaks up big properties, 289.

English government, encourages brigandage, 212,

Englishmen, considered savages, 5.

English mentality, contrasted with Italian, 66, 91, 117, 123, 124, 179, 248, 265, 311.

English travellers in south Italy, 181, 280.

Ennius, 79.

Envy, prevalent native vice, 126, 127, 129.

Ephesus, synod of, 259.

Epictetus, 251.

Erasmus, 264.

Eros, degenerates into Cupid, 25.

Esaro, river (i), 172.

Esaro, river (2), 297.

Espedito, saint, 4.

Eucalyptus trees, a scandalous growth, 97, 98.

Euprassius, protospadarius of Calabria, 111.

Evelyn, John, 136.

Exmouth, Lord, 139.

Eye-like appearance of fountains, originates dragon-legends, 100.

Fabbrizia, town, 292, 293.

Fair complexion, at Venosa, 33; prejudice against, 209; eliminated by malaria, 225.

Falcone, N., 161.

Fallistro, mountain, 196.

Fallow-deer, now extinct, 95, 146.

Family, south Italian sense of, 124, 179, 279.

_Fare figura,_ an Italian trait, 65.

Fata Morgana, 228.

Ferdinand, king, 140, 212.

Ferdinand the Catholic, 122.

Ferdinandea, upland, 292.

Festivals, nocturnal, 153.

Feudal conditions in Calabria, 97; re-creation of, 316.

Fever. See _Malaria._

Fever, Maltese, 286.

“Fiamuri Arberit,” Albanian journal, 190.

Figs, different varieties of, 50-51.

Fiore, G., 113, 142, 175, 176, 186, 208, 286.

Firs, 146, 203, 222, 269; used as cow-fodder, 149; white firs, 285, 295.

Fishermen, their antique habits, 81.

Fulminicà, river, 197.

Fleas, at Spinazzola, 63.

Flora, of mountain parts, 145, 223; change in distribution, 285.

Floriacense, monastery, 207.

Flute, the double, 178.

Flying Monk. See _Joseph of Copertino._

Focà, village, 281; depopulated by malaria, 283; revival of, 289.

Foggia, 7, 8, 10.

Forbiger, A., 195.

Forense (Fiorenza), 32.

Forests, of Policoro, 95; Pollino, 146-148; Sila, 204, 220; Italian, contrasted with Russian, 222; Gariglione, 222-223; of Serra, 295.

Forgeries, literary, 143.

Fortis, A., 228.

_Fosse canarie,_ 300.

Fossombrone, town, 72.

Fountains, connected with dragon-legends, 101-104.

Francatripa, brigand, 211, 215.

Francavilla, town, 147.

Francesco di Paola, saint, 257.

Francis II, king, 214.

Francis of Assisi, saint, 18, 74, 75, 254.

Franciscan monks, 75, 160, 252, 258.

Frangipani, 7, 137.

Frederick II (Barbarossa), fortifies Lucera, 2; his affection for Saracens, 3; a modern type, 6; keeps a harem, 7; his treasures at Venosa, 37; introduces pheasants, 96.

Freemasonry, prevalence of, 183.

French, their repression of brigandage, 144, 202, 212.

Frida, river, 151.

Frogs, as mosquito-catchers, 99.

Fromentin, E., 155.

Frungillo, R., 261.

Galaesus, river, 80.

Galateus (Ferrari, A. de’), 89.

Galen, 283.

Galoppano, forestal station, 204.

Gardens, public, at Lucera, I; Manfredonia, 14; Taranto, 83; Catanzaro, 224; Messina, 231.

Gargano, mount, 2, 7, 21, 32; Byzantine influence at, 17.

Garibaldi, 183, 214, 240.

Gariglione, forest, 222.

Gaudolino, valley of, 144, 157.

Gay, Jules, 186.

Gebhardt & Harnack, on Codex of Rossano, 114.

Gecko, reputed poisonous, 205, Gelasius, pope, 262.

_Genista anglica,_ 223.

Genovese, Dr. F., his malaria researches, 283, 284, 286, 290.

George, saint, his dragon, 103.

Gerace (Locri), 137, 274, 284, 285.

_Germanese_ and _tedesco,_ contradistinguished, 77.

Gesner, Konrad, 100.

Gessner, Salamon, 315.

Giadrezze, fountain, 80.

Giangiuseppe della Croce, saint, 253-255, 263.

Giannone, P., 4.

Gioia, town, 241.

Gioioso, town, 292.

“Giornale d’ Italia,” _quoted,_ 115.

Giovene, G., 89.

Gissing, G., on Galaesus, 80; description of Reggio, 236; at Cotrone, 296-301; on Pythagoras, 309.

Giudice, G. del, 139.

Gladstone, W. E., 190.

Glasgow, its morality, 154.

“Glories of Mary,” 259.

Goats, a baneful quadruped, 149, 286.

Goethe, 237, 280.

Gothic attitude towards nature, 42; towards religion, 266.

Gourmont, R. de, 91.

_Graffiti,_ their sociological import, 200.

Grandis, de, 53.

Grano, panegyrist of Calabria, 135.

Grant, J., 242.

Gratitude, southern sense of, 123.

Gravière, J. de la, 141.

“Grazie,” a word seldom used, 123.

Greco, L. M., 197.

Greek Comedy, 153.

Greeks, medieval. See _Byzantines._

Greeks, their treatment of animals, 120; notions of gratitude, 123-124; survival of traits and words, 53, 81, 196, 209, 310; close observers of natural history, 100.

Green colour, in nature, 52; in mankind, 129.

Gregorovius, F., 17, 88, 307. Grottaglie, town, 68, 77-79. Grottole, 77.

Grotto-apparitions, 23, 154. Guiscard, Robert, 137. Gumppenberg, G., 259.

Guiscard, Robert, 137.

Gumppenberg, G., 259.

Haller, C., 53.

Hair-cutting, æsthetics of, 81.

Hamilton, Sir W., 228, 242.

Hannibal, 31, 64, 299.

Harnack, A., 114.

Haseloff, H. E. G., on purple Codex, 114.

Hat of the Virgin Mary, 243, 265.

Haym, N. F., 144.

Hearn, L., 209.

Hehn, V., 222.

Heinsius, D., 175.

Helios, survives as St. Elias, 188.

Hellenic art, its originality explained, 75. See _Greeks._

Hepidanus, chronicler, 135.

Hera, temple of. See _Column._

Heraclea, 89, 97.

Herbs, lore of, 58; on Mount Pollino, 142-143.

Herculaneum, its buried treasures, 115.

Hercules, 23, 27.

Hermits in Calabria, 111-112.

Herodotus, 175.

Hesiod, 100.

Hippocratic oath, 297.

Hipponium. See _Montdeone,_

Hohenstaufen, their fate avenged, 6-8.

Home, south Italian feeling for, 179.

Homer, his colour-sense, 52; on dragons, 100, 101; his idea of gifts, 123-124; his “Ore of Temese,” 202.

_Homo ibericus,_ 109.

Horace, 80, 154, 197; on Garganian winds, 21; his house at Venosa, 31; praises the simple life but enjoys good food, 41; the perfect anti-sentimentalist, 42; on Bandusian Fount, 43 _seq.;_ approves of being genially unwise, 46; his _duplex ficus,_ 51; hatred of avarice, 218.

Huillard-Bréholles, I. L. A., 37, 186.

Humanitarians, their ferocity, 312.

Humour in south Italy, 58.

Huxley, T. H., 264.

Hymenæus, 39.

Ibn Alathir, 135.

Ibn Chaldun, 135.

Illegitimate infants, massacre of, 58-59.

“Il Saraceno,” journal, 4.

Imbriani, politician, 108.

Index, Congregation of, 260.

Industrialism, Italian craze for, 48, 148.

Inn-keepers, how to deal with, 106-108.

Innocent IV., 7.

Inquisition, 258, 260.

Intellectual undercurrent in south Italy, 33, 89, 188, 201.

“Interesse” (self-advantage), a guiding motive, 124.

Ionic spirit, traces of, 208; defies religious asceticism, 252.

Iorio, A. di, 51.

Italian government, plays at numbering houses, 20; punishes original ideas, 35.

Italian heritage from Romans, 42, 277.

Italian music, its primitive appeal, 5, 231-232.

Italy, the original district so called, 195.

Jackdaws, discard their voices, 37.

Janace, forest, 146.

Januarius, saint, 249, 251.

Japygia, land of, 68.

Jerome, saint, 153.

Jesuits, 97, 249.

Jesus Christ, how regarded, 248.

Jews, colony at Venosa, 38; at Castrovillari, 122; at Caulonia and elsewhere, 282; change in their race-characteristics, 126.

Johannes a S. Antonio, 162.

Johannes of Longobucco, 202.

John, saint, his blood, 251.

Johnson-Cory, W., 315.

Jones, W. M., on malaria, 290.

Joseph, saint, 250.

Joseph of Copertino, saint, his biographies, 69; feats of aviation, 71-72; takes a passenger, 73; his semi-cretinism, 74; why born in a stable, 75; beatification and penitences, 76, 78.

Justice in south Italy, 278, 279.

Justinus, _quoted,_ 221.

Juvenal, 259.

Kant, E., 310.

Kerrich, Mr., his briar-industry, 270.

Kestrels, fishing for, 129.

Kheir-eddin, pirate, 140.

King and Okey, _quoted,_ 279.

“King Marcone,” brigand, 214.

Kircher, A., _quoted,_ 105.

Kissing, in life and literature, 315.

Knox, John, 310.

Konrad von Hildesheim, _quoted,_ 138.

Labonia, F. M., 202.

“La Cattolica,” church at Stilo, ill.

Lagonegro, town, 147.

Lakes, construction of artificial, 217; created by earthquakes, 285.

Lamartine, A. M., 190.

Lamb, Charles, 14.

Lambton Worm, a dragon, 102.

“Lamenti,” plaints in rime, 140.

Landslides, their destructive frequency, 218; how repaired, 293.

“La Quistione Meridionale,” a book, 278.

Lasor a Varea (Savonarola), 67, 144.

Latin points of view, opposed to Gothic, 42, 266.

Latinisms of speech, survival of, 53.

Latronico, village, 147.

Laurentius, bishop of Sipontum, 17.

Lauria, Roger de, 7, 8.

Law-breaking, unsuspected joys of, 36.

Lear, E., 40, in, 134.

Lefroy, E. C., 315.

Lenormant, F., on Manfredonia, 12; on Trinità abbey, 38; on Sybaris, 115; on Pandosia, 196; on Byzantine colonies, 272; at Bivona, 320; his zest of knowledge, 321.

Leone da Morano, 144.

Leoni, N., 131, 161, 228.

Leoni (government official), 271.

Leo XIII, 263.

Lese, river, 205, 220.

Lesina, 7, 21.

Lewes, G. H., 267.

Ligorio, P., arch-forger, 143.

Liguori, A. di, saint, 256, 257, 259, 260.

“L’ Inglese,” brigand, 212.

Lions of Lucera, 3; of Venosa, 32.

Lipari, island, 276.

Lipuda, river, 197.

Lister, Lord, 312.;

Li Tartari, mountain, 196.

Livy, 197.

Lizard, the emerald, 205.

L’ Occaso, author, 134.

Locri. See _Gerace._

Lombroso, C., 128, 278.

Longobucco, 195; its “Hotel Vittoria,” 199, 201; situation, 200; intellectual life, 201; silver mines, 202.

Lorenzo, G. de, 39.

Lorenzo (Lawrence), saint, his dragon-legend, n, 102; his fat, 251.

Louis of France, saint, 7.

Love of noise, a local trait, 53.

Love-affairs, how managed, 84-86.

Lucanians, 197, 221.

Lucca oil, 241.

Lucera, its castle, 2, 6; museum, 3; landscape in spring, 6.

Lucifero, a sacrilegious bishop, 319.

Ludwig II, complains of Saracens, 138.

Luke, saint, paints Madonna portraits at Sipontum, 30; at Caulonia, 282; at Cotrone, 306.

Lupi-Crisafi, author, 228.

Lupoli, M. A., 31, 39.

Luther, his creed repressed, 252.

Luynes, duc de, 186.

Luzard (lynx), an absent-minded beast, 94, 222.

Lycanthropy, epidemic of, 176.

Maccheroni, the art of engulphing, 297.

Macchia, village, 178, 180, 188 _seq._

Madonna, declines in artistic worth, 24; her realistic diet, 61; _della Fita,_ 93; _acbiropita,_ 108, 113, 114; _del Patir,_ in; her friendship with St. Nilus, 114; _del Castello,_ 122; _della Libera,_ 140; _di Constantinopoli,_ 140; of Pollino, picnic in honour of, 151 _seq.; put up to auction,_ 156; of Messina, 230, 237; absorbs Greek deities, 247; _dell’ Arco,_ 249; _del Soccorso,_ 249; of Pompei, 249; _of the Hens,_ 250; displaces saint-worship, 248-251; her Sacred Hat, 243, 265; her Milk, 250; increases in popularity, 259, 264; _del Carmine,_ 301.

Maecenas, 41.

Maffei, A., 215.

Magic, instances of sympathetic, 57; imported from Egypt, 58, 251.

Magini, G. A., 97, 175.

Magna Mater, 108, 153, 259.

Mahaffy, J. P., 124.

Maida, plain of, 240, 241.

Malaria, at Manfredonia, 12; at Sipontum, 30; Venosa, 32; Policoro, 98; old Sybaris, 115, 282-283; on Tyrrhenian sea-board, 241; at Focà, 283, 289; at Cotrone, 284, 291, 298; at Cosenza, 287, 291.

Malaria, votive offerings due to, 152; eliminates fair complexion, 225; propagated by deforestation, 32, 286, 287; by artificial irrigation, 241; by migrations of labourers, 284; by recent climatic changes, 285; by earthquake subsidences, 285; follows river-beds, 286; endemic for two thousand years, 283; contributes to decline of old civilizations, 290; ravages among French troops, 241, 287; spread and significance of the disease, 287, 291; methods of combating, 288; results of quinine-policy, 289.

Male selection, among Hellenic races, 209.

_Malizia_ (cleverness), 47, 124.

Mallock, W. H., 265.

Malpica, C., 114.

Mammon, the god of emigrants, 22.

Mammone, brigand, 212.

Manfred, his infatuation for Saracens, 3; fate of his sons, 8 j) his name survives, 45.

Manfredonia, its harbour, II; burnt by Corsairs, 12; wineshops and burglaries, 15.

Manhes, General, his methods, 213, 214; at Bagnara, 242; at Serra, 293.

Manna ash, 93, 121.

Manzi, brigand, 214, 215.

Marafioti, G., 143.

Marbles, on beach at Taranto, 9!; Roman technique of cutting, 92.

Marcellinara, village, 205.

Marcellus, tomb of, 31.

Marchesato, district, 284.

Marchianò, M., 188.

Marchianò, S., 187.

Marcone, N., 243.

Marcus Aurelius, 251.

Margaret, saint, gratifying results of her autopsy, 258.

Marino, poet, 23, 169, 259.

Mariolatry, engenders effeminate saints, 259.

Marincola, L., 139.

Marincola Pistoia, D., 197.

Mark, saint, his church at Rossano, III; displaced by St. Rosalia, 247.

Mars, 27.

Martial, 53, 80.

Martorana, C., 135.

Mary, Virgin. See _Madonna._

Masci, A., 176.

Mater Domini, convent, 251.

Matera, town, 138.

Matthew Paris, _quoted,_ 7.

“Mattino,” a venal daily, 303.

Mazzara, town, 93.

Mazzella, Sc., 136.

Mazziotti, Prof. G., 183.

Meander, river, 100.

Medicines, compounded from animals, 57.

Mele, S., 53.

Melfi, town, 38.

Melito, town, 137.

Melliss, J. C., 286.

Mendicino, village, 197.

Mephitis, goddess of malaria, 32.

Mercer, Mr., 278.

Mercury, 26, 27.

Merenzata, river, 197.

Messapians, 65.

Messina, its Fata Morgana, 228; legend of Cola Pesce, 228-229; public gardens, 231; effects of earthquake, 236-239.

Metapontum, 119, 284, 289.

Metchnikoff, E., 68.

Mice, eaten as medicine, 56.

Michael, saint, pre-renaissance relief of, 14; a cave-saint on Gargano, 17; childish and emasculate character, 23-29; affinities with older gods, 23, 26, 27; stripped of his higher attributes, 28; a mere ghost, 29.

Middle Ages, their influence upon dragon-idea, 104.

Milk of the Virgin Mary, 250-251.

“Millionaires” of Acri, 195; of Cotrone, 302.

Milo of Croton, defeats Sybarites, 196; devoured by wolves, 222.

“Milosao,” Albanian rhapsodies, 190, 191.

Milton, indebtedness to S. della Salandra, 160 _seq.;_ to other Italian poets, 169; friendship with Marquis Manzo, 168, 169; manuscripts at Cambridge, 170; his “grand manner,” 171.

Minasi, A., 228.

Minieri-Riccio, C., 160.

Misasi, N., 294.

Mistletoe, on fir-trees, 203.

Mithra, 27, 309.

Moens, Mr., captured by brigands, 214.

Moltedo, F. T., 53.

Mommsen, T., 31.

Monasterace, village, 281.

Monasteries, develop out of hermitages, 112; refuge of brigands, 144, 215.

Monastic orders, competition between, 258.

Mondragone, mountain, 102.

Monk, the Flying. See _Joseph of Copertina._

Monnier, M., 215.

“Montagna del Principe,” 123, 144.

Montalto, mountain, 269, 274.

Montanari, G. I., 69, 74.

Monteleone (Hipponium), town, 119, 137, 241.

Monte Nero, 217, 220.

Montorio, S., 114, 259, 264, 282.

Monumentomania, an Italian disease, 4.

Moon, superstitions regarding, 59.

Moore, John, 139.

Morality, to be expressed in physiological terms, 126.

Morano, its great age and greater filth, 128; Saracen memories, 130; its literary glories, 131, 132.

Morelli, T., 177, 272.

Moritz, K. P., 140.

Morone, C., 67.

Morosi, G., 272.

Moscato, author, 135.

Motor services, replace diligence, 123, 225.

Mountains, Italian dislike of, 143.

Movers, F. C., 56.

Mucone (? Acheron), river, 195-197.

Müller, Max, 51.

Müller, Prof., 38.

Münter, F., 229.

Murat, 123, 213, 214.

Muratori, L. A., 13, 135.

Murders, due to wine-bibbing, 244, 246.

Murge hills, 63, 64.

Museum, of Lucera, 3; Taranto, 88; British, 119, 161, 197; of Catanzaro, 224, 226, 316; Reggio, 236.

Mushroom-stone, 93, 222.

Musolino, brigand, 211, 270, 272; his fate, 240; episodes of, 271, 281; a victim of inept legislation, 275, 278.

Mussulman epitaph, 3.

Mutilomania, an Italian disease, 83.

Mythopoetic faculty, blighted by misrule, 100.

Naples, its catacombs, 25, 247; municipality and octroi-system, 34; survival of Hellenic traits at, 53; scandal of Foundling Hospital, 59; camorra, 125; corrupt police-force, 279; its daily press, 303.

Napoleon, protects trees, 218.

Nardo di Pace, village, 292.

Nasi, ex-minister, his trial, 280.

Nau, cape. See _Column._

National monuments, neglected, 39.

Neaithos, river. See _Neto._

Neri, Filippo, saint, 258.

Neto (Neaithos), river, 205, 206, 219, 220; wine of district, 307; change in landscape, 314.

Newspapers andpublic opinion, 277; characteristics of local,3O3-305.

“New York Times,” on Sybaris, 116.

Nicastro, town, 241.

Niceforo, A., 252.

Nicephoras Phocas, 81, 281.

Niehbuhr, B. G., 272.

Nilus, builder-saint, 114.

Nilus, saint, 105, 108, no.

Nissen, H., 219.

Noepoli, village, 149.

Nola-Molisi, G. B., 298, 320.

Nordau, M., 74.

Normans, buried at Venosa, 38; their behaviour in Sicily, 137.

North, W., 290.

Nowairi, historian, 135.

Nutrition, its effect upon physique and morals, 125-127.

Oaks (_Quercus cerris_), 222.

Octroi, a mediæval abomination, 34-36, 66, 90.

Odours, susceptibility of natives to, 52, 318.

Oenotrians, a useful tribe, 130.

Okey, T., 279.

Olive oil, export from Palmi, 241.

Oria, town, 65.

Orsini tower, Taranto, 67.

Otter, a rare animal, 184.

Otto II., 135, 292.

_Otto-Nove!_ charm-formula, 310.

Ouida, 45, 120.

Oysters of Taranto, 81.

Pacicchelli, G. B., 12, 208, 282, 294.

Paestum, 119, 137, 283, 285.

Paganism, survival of, 248.

Paleparto, mountain, 196.