YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

From the Library of
WILLIAM M. ODOM

M ount Eryx and other
Diversions of Travel

By the Same Author
Samuel Butler : Author of Erewhon : a Memoir. Macmillan & Co.
2 Volumes
Diversions in Sicily. Jonathan Cape
Castellinaria and other Sicilian Diversions. „ „
Charles Darwin and Samuel Butler : a Step „ „
towards Reconciliation.
Samuel Butler: a Sketch. „ „
In collaboration with A. T. BARTHOLOMEW
The Samuel Butler Collection at St. John's Heffer
College, Cambridge.

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Mount Eeyx from Tbapani.

Bml. Eng. Co., Sc.

Mount Eryx
and other Diversions of Travel
by Henry Festing Jones
With a frontispiece of Mount Eryx
from a sketch by the Author

Jonathan Cape
Eleven Gower Street, London

First Published igii.
All Rights Reserved.

2>0E.J

Preface
PART I of this book is in three sections, dated
respectively 1903, 1902 and 1912. On the 6th
of February, 1920, 1 read to The Literary Society
of The University of London, King's College, Strand,
the first section, entitled " Varallo-Sesia," Dr. C. D.
Webb being in the chair. On the 14th of October,
1920, I again read the same section to The Women's
Institute, 92 Victoria Street, S.W., Mrs. Frank Pownall
being in the chair.
Part II of the book is A Tour to Mount Eryx in
1920. So that the two parts of the book are divided
by the war, which interrupted and disorganized so many
undertakings. In July, 192 1, I went again to Varallo after several
years' absence. All Butler's old friends are now dead
except Bertoli, the bee-master. He is seventy-eight, in
faUing health, but still cheery and interested in his bees
and in many other topics. I found nothing which
caused me to want to alter anything that I have written ;
but I should like to add ;that Butler's sketch, which I
gave to the town, is now located in the room of the
organist on the Sacro Monte. It is signed " S. Butler,
Aug' 1 87 1," and shows the old front of the church on
the Mountain before Costantino Durio gave them the
new facciata. It is the sketch referred to in the text
as showing the Resurrection Fountain, and was made
from near the stone which is said to be such an exact
facsimile of the Stone which was rolled away from the
Holy Sepulchre.
It remains for me to thank those who have helped me
ix

Preface
with suggestions, copying and correcting proofs, viz.,
my sister, Lilian, Miss Florence Kathleen Butterworth,
Mr. A. T. Bartholomew and Mrs. Johnson of the Metro
politan Typewriting Office, Chancery Lane. I also
thank Signora Louise Caico, of Montedoro (Caltanissetta),
^ Sicily, for kindly reading the book in proof and for placing
at my disposal her intimate knowledge of Sicilian Ways
and Days.
Maida Vale.
Se'pteinber, 1921.

Contents
Part I : Diversions of Travel
chap. P^qj.
Varallo-Sesia (1903)
I The Albergo della Posta c
2 Bees Q
3 The Sacro Monte i^
4 The Second Municipal Dinner 18
5 The Chapels 2 e
6 An Elementary Principle 32
7 The Maker of Ballads 35
8 RecaUing the Past .1
9 Saluting the Future aa
Loreto (1902)
10 The Modulation 40

II The Santa Casa

18 Poesia

52

12 The Tablet 57
13 The Return 62
Castellinaria (191 2)
14 Mrs. and Miss Jones C?
15 Ninu 73
16 The Sketching Picnic 80
17 Science qi

98

19 Rista 107
20 The Monastero m
21 Goats' Milk 115
22 The End of Rista 123

Part 2 : Mount Eryx (1920)
Paris
23 Saint Antoine 131
Basel
24 A Lost Song X49 xi

Contents

CHAP. PAGE
Genoa
25 A Ricordo of the War 165
Naples
26 Pietro 173
27 Pompei 179
28 Capri 182
Palermo
29 My Buffo 187
Mount Eryx
30 Compare Berto 201
31 Ida 206
32 Luigino 209
33 The Lizard 218
34 S. Luigi and S. Giovanni 228
35 Cofano 235
36 The Old Man 241
37 Speculations 247
38 The Nuns' Dinner 252
Trapani
39 Compare Ugo 259
40 Casa Barrabini 264
41 Favignana 271
42 Salt 278
Vignanova
43 Old Friends 287
Palermo
44 Carmelo -qc
45 Feudalismo ,11
46 Addio Buffo ,j-

xil

Part I : Diversions of Travel

Varallo-Sesia

To Miss Florence Margaret Durham

Chapter i The Albergo della Posta
IN April, 1903, nearly a year after Butler's death, I
went to Varallo-Sesia to give to the town the MS. of
his book Ex Voto ; ^ and a sketch by him made on the
Mountain. I had written to Carlo Topini teUing him I
was coming, and he met me at the station and took me to
his hotel, the Albergo della Posta. I produced for him
the MS. and the sketch, and he promised to make all ar
rangements for the presentation. He showed me that on
the wall of my bedroom was a framed print of the photo
graph of Butler, taken by Pizzetta at Varallo in 1889, of
which a reproduction appears in The Humour of Homer.
He showed me also that there was another print of
the same photograph hanging in the dining-room, and
another in his own private sitting-room.
Butler had often heard of Varallo, and of the Sacro
Monte, and of its chapels fiUed with life-size statues
representing scenes from the life of Christ ; but he never
went there until 1871. He stayed at the Albergo d'ltalia
where Carlo Topini was then a waiter ; he asked for some
one to take him up the Mountain and show him round,
^ Ex Voto. An Account of the New Jerusalem^ at Varallo-Sesia with some
account of Tabachetti^s remaining work at Crea, by Samuel Butler.
Triibner, 1888. Diary of a journey through North Italy to Sicily in the
Spring of 1903 undertaken for the purpose of leaving the MSS. of three
books by Samuel Butler at Varallo-Sesia, Aci-Reale and Trapani, by Henry
Festing Jones, Cambridge 1904. 5

Varallo-Sesia
and Carlo Topini handed him over to Dionigi Negri who
was in the office of the Town Clerk. They spent the day
together among the chapels and Dionigi showed him
everything. Thus began a friendship which lasted till
Butler's death.
During the days of his poverty, that is from about the
year 1876, when he lost his money, until 1886 when his
father died, Butler used to go for his annual summer
holiday to the Canton Ticino, making his head-quarters
at Faido in the Val Leventina. He would have preferred
spending his time in Italy but, as he could not afford it,
he consoled himself by reflecting that Faido was cheap
and that the Canton Ticino, although politically forming
part of Switzerland, is inhabited by people of Italian
descent who speak the Italian language. And nearly
every year he managed to nip over into Italy proper for a
short excursion before returning to England. He thus
became familiar with Varese, Graglia, Oropa and the
other Italian holy places described in Al'ps and Sanctuaries,
wherein he gives an account of these holidays and excur
sions. In the opening of that book he apologizes for
writing about Italian Sanctuaries and omitting the Sacro
Monte at Varallo-Sesia. The omission was not due to
neglect ; on the contrary, he often included Varallo in his
excursions and renewed his friendship with Dionigi Negri
and familiarized himself with the statues and chapels.
He omitted Varallo because he considered the Sacro
Monte there so important that it required a book all to
itself. On his father's death his poverty ceased and from
1886 onwards he was able to travel freely and to stay for as
long as he liked in any place he chose to visit.
On the day I arrived in Varallo, Dionigi Negri came to
the Albergo della Posta in the evening and apologized for
6

The Albergo della Posta
not meeting my train — he had been in the country all day.
We sat round the fire of peat and wood, he and Carlo
Topini and I, and they made me take the seat which Butler
used to occupy when he was here in January, 1888, photo
graphing the statues in the chapels on the Mountain for
his book Ex Voto. We laughed as we talked of old times
— about how Butler and I had been to Varallo for the
festa in commemoration of Gaudenzio Ferrari ; about the
religious celebrations in connexion with the new facciata
which Costantino Durio gave to the church on the Moun
tain ; about how we went to Dionigi's vintage at
CavaUirio, starting by the train at 4.30 a.m. with his
uncle, Zio Paolo, a dear old fellow of seventy-eight, a
baker with a shop in the piazza, who came with us and
brought a basket containing half a bottle of Xeres which
he put up in the rack and left there when he got out of
the train ; and we reminded each other how the old
gentleman on discovering his loss after we left the train
kept on throwing up his hands and exclaiming " Ciao," by
which he meant that there was nothing to be done and
we must make the best of a bad job. And Dionigi
repeated his moral tale about the chapel on the Mountain
known as the Repentance of Peter. This contains a
statue of Peter sitting below, weeping bitterly, while the
cock, perched on a branch above, is in the attitude of
crowing. Dionigi's story was that on July 3, 1653,
Lorenzo Togni, who had been a martyr to intemperance,
came to the Sacro Monte, drunk, but not sufficiently so to
be unable to go the round of the chapels. When this
cock saw him approaching, he turned round on his perch,
flapped his wings severely, and exclaimed in a reproving
voice : " Ciocc' anch' anc'uei ? " which is Piemontese
dialect for " Drunk again to-day also ? " Lorenzo was 7

Varallo-Sesia
so much affected that he took the pledge and never drank
wine again. And the point of the story is that the words
" Ciocc' anch' anc'uei ? " sound like " Cock-a-doodle-
do " ; but neither to Butler's nor to my hearing did they
so sound. Butler put the legend into Ex Voto, taking
care to say that it is in neither Fassola nor Torrotti, and my
belief is that it sprang originally from Dionigi's brain.

Chapter 2 Bees
NEXT morning I called on Giacomo Bertoli, a
watchmaker who is known throughout Europe as
a bee-master and sends his honey by parcel post
to many different countries. When we were having our
Erewhon Dinners at Pagani's, in Great Portland Street, I
used to issue invitations to all our friends at Varallo to
come, not expecting them to accept but wishing them to
know what we were doing in England in memory of
Butler. Dionigi, in reply, used to send a pot of Sertoli's
honey, and the chef at Pagani's incorporated it in some
pudding which formed part of the menu.
Bertoli took me up to his sitting-room for a glass of
wine from his own vineyard, and we talked about Butler
and old times ; and it seemed to me as though the wine
did not taste quite as Bertoli's Grignasco used to taste.
He sat like a portrait by Rembrandt, the dim light
reflected from the houses , opposite the window faUing on
his grey hair and black hat and on the garnets set in little
disks of gold which sparkled in his ears. He said he was
sixty, but he was as energetic as a man of forty-five, and
fuU of interest in the future of South Africa and in the
visit to Rome of King Edward VII.
Bertoli's father used to be organist in the church on the
Sacro Monte, but he himself is too fully occupied with his
watch-making and his bees to have any time for music. 9

Varallo-Sesia
He says he has a passion for working and so had his
mother ; it is the only thing he inherited from her, and
it is a legacy more lasting than money, more valuable
than land ; one cannot lose it, or mortgage it, or be
robbed of it. His mother worked as hard as any of his
bees. There is much man might learn from the bees —
temperance, cleanliness and, especially, the love of work
ing. I said that as the bees reminded him of his mother,
so they reminded me of Butler, who was also devoted to his
work. Here he became modest on behalf of his bees,
and said that they made only one kind of honey, whereas
Butler produced many kinds of books, besides pictures and
music. " But then," I said, " he was interested in so many
different subjects. Now perhaps your bees are not
particularly interested in philosophy, are they ? "
" No," he replied, " nor in painting, nor music, nor the
classics, nor anything but honey."
"You never catch them praying to the Madonna, I
imagine." " They have never even heard of her."
" But they must be familiar with her appearance. I
have often noticed them among the figures on the Moun
tain, for they go right inside the chapels. Why do you
suppose they do that ? "
" They are attracted by the artificial flowers," replied
Bertoli. "They think they are real."
" Oh, that's it, is it ? They are trying to get honey out
of them. Do they think that they are incidentally
fertilizing them ? "
" Very likely."
" If they pay attention and understand what is repre
sented in the Chapels of the Annunciation and of the
10

Bees
Nativity, that dogma of the Virgin Birth must rather
puzzle them."
Then he saw that I did not know much about the
domestic habits of bees and set to work to enlighten me.
There dawns a brilliant morning at Alagna when the
queen of the bees goes out from among them. High up
she flies, higher and higher, tiU she is beyond the sight of
all on earth, visible only to the eye of heaven. Then
something happens the result of which is an increase in
the population of the hive. But as to the exact details
of the course by which the resulting increase is brought
about there have been differences of opinion. It may be
that earlier in the development of the bees such differences
gave rise to angry disputes, one creed being accepted as
orthodox, and heretics being doomed to persecution and
martyrdom. Now the bees have got into their groove
and know better than to waste time quarrelling over the
mysteries. Persecutions and martyrdoms follow in the
hive later In the year, but they are decreed for practical
reasons connected with the economizing of food. On the
return of the queen her subjects are fully occupied. They
welcome her with enthusiasm, bow before her, embrace
her, ring joy-beUs in their hearts and set to work to make
preparation. Man, ceaselessly inquiring and experimenting has
discovered, comparatively speaking only yesterday, much
that was formerly hidden from him. Bertoli informed
me that it is now certain that the queen lays eggs that are
fertilized and also eggs that are unfertilized. And he
told me a still more curious thing, namely, that the
drones, the males, are always produced from eggs that
have not been fertilized.
"And thus we see," concluded Bertoli, " that long before II

Varallo-Sesia
any one thought of the story of the Virgin Birth which
is told in those two Chapels of the Annunciation and the
Nativity the bees already knew all about parthenogenesis."
But he could not explain how it was possible for unfer
tilized eggs to produce males. Notwithstanding the ad
vance of science there are still mysteries in nature waiting
to be disputed about and explored by inquisitive man.
Bertoli takes his bees up to Alagna for the summer
months ; but, as it is too cold for them there during the
winter, he brings them down in the autumn and keeps
them at different places near Varallo. Some were in
Varallo itself ; some at Voca, above ; some at Pietra
below. After the last autumn flowers are gone he has to
feed them through the winter with a substitute for the
honey of which he has robbed them ; and as the winter
draws to a close he cunningly mixes a little wine with their
food so as to stimulate them to go out and look for the
earliest blossoms.
Once when I was at Varallo in the spring he was making
preparations for conveying his bees up to Alagna, and
invited me to come and see him change the lids of two
hives in readiness for the journey next day. As soon as
the lid was off there were the bees all in a mass moving
about on the tops of their rows of empty comb. He
advised me to be careful, and I kept at what fortunately
turned out to be a safe distance, until he had put on the
travelling lid of wire gauze. I thought of what one reads
in books published for the Promotion of Christian Know
ledge about the intelligence of the lower animals and their
recognizing the hand of the Master, and so on, and I said :
" And of course your bees know you ? "
He said : " No they don't. They know nothing at all
except how to do their work,"
12

Bees
But they knew when they were disturbed, and did not
like having their lids changed, and got on to his face and
neck and hands ; he brushed them off gently, pulled their
stings out of his flesh and seemed not to mind. Also they
know about the journey and dislike it very much ; they
cannot bear the shaking ; they get very angry and have a
great deal to say about it. When they arrive at Alagna
they are kept shut up for the first night ; if they were let
out at once they might fly away. The next day they go
out and are careful not to lose themselves ; they spend
some time flying round, taking their bearings and noting
the position of the hives ; in a few hours they understand
all about it and begin working.
He had extracted the honey and given back the empty
combs to be refilled ; he called my attention particularly
to some of the old combs which were going with the bees
up to Alagna.
I said : " Don't they object to being given such brown,
dirty-looHng comb ? "
He said : " No, they are so pleased to find the comb
ready made that they begin to fiU it at once."
I saw that one piece of comb had a hole in it big enough
to put one's finger through, and I said : " Of course they
wiU first repair that hole ? "
He said : " No they won't ; they left that on purpose,
so that they can pass through from one comb to the next.
Questa e la loro PiccadiUy Street." [That is their
PiccadiUy Street.]
On parting from him I hoped that his bees would make
many more journeys backwards and forwards between
Alagna and their winter quarters before the inevitable
time comes for him to leave them.

13

Chapter 3 The Sacro Monte
THE next day Carlo Topini, having completed
his preparations, told me that there was to
be a meeting at the Municipio at 5 o'clock,
and if I would be ready he would take me. This suited
me and I went off to spend the intervening time upon
the Sacro Monte — that place which the Blessed Ber
nardino Caimi found to be so like Jerusalem that no other
place would do for his purpose, which was to provide a
repi*oduction of scenes in the life of Christ so nearly
resembling the actual occurrences themselves, in sur
roundings so nearly resembling the holy places, that
pUgrims to Varallo might consider that they had virtually
witnessed the events at Jerusalem itself.
I intended to make the round of the chapels as Butler
and I used to make it when we were on the Mountain
together, and accordingly began with the first — the
FaU of Man. This is taking place in a Zoological
Garden of tame wild beasts of the field. The serpent
has corkscrewed his length round the trunk of the tree
and is supporting his head in a fork of the branches ;
and certainly the artist has succeeded in making him far
more subtle than any of the others. The Adam and the
Eve are not the original figures, and the chapel itself has
superseded an earlier one with the same subject which
stood probably upon another site. (Ex Voto, ch. IX.)
H

The Sacro Monte
This interested Butler, and in writing his book he
foUowed the shifting of the chapels and of the figures as
weU as his information would permit. He was particu
larly interested in the fate of the old Adam and Eve,
which Dionigi told us had been removed from their
original positions and occupations and were now located
in chapel no. 23 where, dressed in the uniform of Roman
soldiers, they were assisting at the capture of Christ.
We thought of Mrs. Jarley and of how she conciUated
the favour of the boarding-schools by altering the face
and costume of some of her waxworks so that
Mary Queen of Scots, in a dark wig, white shirt collar and male
attire, was such a complete image of Lord Byron that the young ladies
quite screamed when they saw it.
And we were not satisfied about the Roman soldiers
untU we had investigated them thoroughly, confirmed
the report, and settled beyond dispute which had
formerly been Adam and which Eve.
The present statues in the first chapel are by Tabachetti.
The Adam has been restored and in the process has
had his hair and beard so trimmed, oiled, and brushed
that he looks more likely to become the father of a
race of barbers' dummies than of men ; but the Eve
is one of the most beautiful figures ever modelled and
looks capable of correcting and overcoming the defects
of Adam. It is Eve that one remembers. Neverthe
less the beauty of Eve is only a part of what the tellers
of the story intended us to remember. God, having
made the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil,
made man with a desire to taste of its fruit, and endowed
him also with a power to resist this desire. He then
placed him in the garden, caUed his attention to the
Tree and told him that if he yielded to the desire to eat 15

Varallo-Sesia
of the fruit he should surely die. In this chapel we see
Eve offering and Adam receiving the apple.
And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it
was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she
took of the fruit thereof, and did eat ; and gave also unto her husband, and
he did eat.
When I was at school, and my spiritual adviser was
preparing me for confirmation, I inquired of him why
man should surely die as a consequence of yielding to the
desire to eat of the fruit. It is He that hath made us and
not we ourselves. Why did He not make man's power
to resist stronger, or his desire to yield weaker ? He is
omniscient and therefore must have foreseen the catas
trophe which, being omnipotent. He could have averted.
It seemed to me that He had intended it ; and conse
quently that if any one were to be punished it ought to be
God and not Man. • My spiritual adviser was angry with
me and accused me of arrogance. This startled me, for I
did not feel arrogant ; I was curious about the apparent
injustice and wanted an explanation. It was as though he
had told me that two and two made five this time and, on
my begging him to tell me the reason for the new regu
lation, he had turned upon me and demanded what I
meant by presuming to doubt his word. He must have
observed that I was upset by his treatment of the diffi
culty, for he softened, laid his hand upon my shoulder and
said solemnly :
" My dear boy, these things are a mystery."
Which I already knew. That was why they had
puzzled me. I knew also that if I was to be prepared for
confirmation on the approaching Whitsun Monday it
would never do to waste time upon mysteries the solution
of which was not included in the programme. So I was
i6

The Sacro Monte
sUent. I have since suspected that my spiritual adviser
was as much puzzled as I was — and if so, I do not blame
him. It does not matter now ; and, just as at school the day
of my appointment with my bishop was getting imminent,
so, here on the Mountain, there was not too much time
to go round the chapels before I should have to be ready
for my landlord and his appointment with the municipal
authorities. And now here was Battista, the custode,
coming along. I might have saved time by avoiding him,
for he seemed to have forgotten me, but he was an old
friend ; so I stopped him, saying nothing, merely looking
at him and waiting. He did not respond. I tried
prompting him by asking his name ; and, at the sound of
my voice, a look of recognition stole into his face. We
talked of Butler and of old times, and of how we used to
get him to unlock the chapels for us so that we might go
in and take photographs and make notes of the figures ;
and of how he used to grumble because he had to leave us
to go and ring the beU for those " blessed benedictions."
He told me he was seventy-nine, a year older than Zio
Paolo, and in very good health with nothing to complain
of except that his eyesight was becoming a little " turbid."
So that was it ; he had not forgotten me ; he had not
seen me. I accompanied him to his house and talked
to his passero soUtario (the blue rock thrush) which was
hanging in a cage by his door, until I had to hurry
off and find Carlo Topini.

17

Chapter 4
The Second Municipal Dinner
I GOT down to the Albergo deUa Posta in time, and
at a few minutes before five we started. I carried the
MS. of Ex Voto, and we were preceded by a boy carry
ing a box which contained the sketch. This sketch shows
the church on the Mountain as it was before Costantino
Durio gave them their new facciata. Butler sat in the piazza
to make it. He also made another sketch in the piazza,
and one of the sketches shows the figure of the Risen
Christ which stands over the fountain, but I cannot now
remember which. I gave the other one to the Avvocato
Negri of Casale-Monferrato, who is deeply interested in
the Sacro Monte. While at work on these sketches or
one of them, Butler had the interview referred to on
p. 232 of Ex Voto when " a most exceUent and lovable old
priest," who wanted to convert him, showed him the
stone on the Mountain which is said to be such an exact
facsimile of the one rolled in front of the Holy Sepulchre
that no pilgrim who looks upon it can ever after entertain
a doubt of the historical accuracy of any item of the story
displayed in the chapels.
At the Municipio we had speeches, one from Pietro
Galloni ^ the Amministratore del Sacro Monte, who told
1 Galloni is the author of Sacro Monte di Varallo Origine e Svolgimentt
delle Opere d'Arte (Varallo, G. Zanfa, 1914).
18

The Second Municipal Dinner
us that Butler had given to him aU his right and interest
in Angelo Rizzetti's translation into Italian of Ex Voto
in triKt for the Administration of the Sacro Monte, and
he now handed over the MS. of the translation as a gift to
the town, together with aU letters and documents relating
to it.
Then I produced the MS. of Ex Voto and the sketch
and, my ItaUan not being very fluent. Carlo Topini
addressed the meeting for me. He told them that Butler
on his death-bed had expressed the wish that the MS. and
the sketch should be given to the town. This was not
true — at least it was not the fact. I'm a bit of a story-
teUer myself, but in this matter I had not strayed from
the naked facts. Butler on his death-bed was too much
occupied with other things to express any wish about the
MS. ox the sketch ; the idea of giving them to the town
had arisen in conversation between Streatfeild, Butler's
literary executor, and myself ; we both felt sure that he
would have approved. And this was what I had
instructed Carlo Topini to say. He had, however,
undertaken the affair, so I left him to carry it through in
his own way. Afterwards I asked him about his speech.
He replied that he was addressing an Italian audience,
and was sure that they would understand better what was
intended if he decanted it out of my British, matter-of-
fact way of putting it into the more picturesque one of a
death-bed message. Then I saw how right he was. For
words are but forms wherein spiritual meanings may be
conveyed from one man to another, and no meaning wiU
pass unless the form is acceptable to the mental habits
and intelligence of the audience. He did not suppose
that our municipal friends would treat his statement as
historicaUy accurate ; they would take his words in a
19

Varallo-Sesia
Pickwickian sense and construe them accordingly. If I
had interfered and corrected the fact I should have risked
obscuring the truth. So I was content to acquiesce in the
birth of another legend which might live its little life
bracketed with Dionigi's moral tale about Lorenzo Togni
and the Repentance of Peter.
AU those present at the meeting in the Municipio were
much pleased to have both the MS. and the sketch ; and I
had some difficulty in making them understand that they
were a free gift, and that neither Butler's family nor his
friends expected any payment for them. The sindaco
considered this most generous, for he thought that they
might have been sold for a great deal of money. He
promised that they should be preserved in perpetuity
with the greatest care among the most precious
archives of the Municipio. The proceedings then ter
minated by his inviting me to dine with them that
evening. Accordingly, that evening there was a municipal dinner
at the Albergo della Posta. I was all the time thinking of
that other dinner given by the Municipio to Butler, in
1887, at the albergo on the Sacro Monte in the' open
loggia there, which he used to speak of as the most beau
tiful dining-room in Europe. I am siure that aU of us who
had been present at the previous dinner were thinking of
it, and of how there had been twenty-six persons there,
including the Procuratore del Re, the Sotto Prefetto, the
Direttore del Sacro Monte and other great people. At
this second dinner in the Albergo deUa Posta I was put in
the seat of honour as the guest of the evening, with the
sindaco on one side of me and Pietro GaUoni on the
other ; and Dionigi Negri and Zio Paolo were among the
guests. We had no speeches, that had aU been done at
20

The Second Municipal Dinner
the Municipio in the morning ; but we taUced about old
times. Dionigi said to me :
" Do you remember the speeches at the banquet on the
Mountain ? "
" Yes," I repUed, " and how weU Butler spoke."
" And you spoke, too," said he with a twinkle.
" I wonder at your referring to that, Dionigi," I
replied. " You promised that I should not be caUed
upon to speak and then proposed the health of England,
mentioning my name so that I was obliged to return
thanks." " Ah," he said, " but you did not make a long speech.
I remember every word. You said : ' Gentlemen,
England is much obUged to you for the kind manner in
which you have drunk her health.' "
" WeU ; there was nothing more to say," I answered.
" Besides, it made them laugh. And do you remember
our visit before dinner to the Capture of Christ
chapel ? "
" Yes, and. how disgracefuUy you behaved," he replied,
" pulUng up the uniforms of those two soldiers and
exposing their nakedness."
" You must admit," I said, " that it is better to know.
Fortunately they had not retained their fig-leaves, if
they ever had any ; and now there wiU never be any
question as to which was the old Adam and which the old
Eve." " Oh I'm not complaining," said Dionigi.
" Anyhow," I continued, " that banquet was a very
good idea of yours ; it was an inspiration ; it came at the
right moment."
" How do you mean — rat the right moment ? "
"Why, Butler's father was recently dead and he had 21

Varallo-Sesia
become his own master. Except for his articles in The
Universal Review, which form a kind of codicil to his
books about evolution, he had written all he had to say
on that subject and was in the mood to embark upon
something fresh. He was contemplating, if he had not
aheady begun, his life of Dr. Butler, and, if he had become
absorbed in that before you pushed him into writing
Ex Voto, he might have deferred doing so for good ; so
that we owe the book to you and your banquet."
" And the MS. of the book Varallo owes to you."
I returned his bow and continued : " There is another
thing. He had been making his holiday head-quarters
in the Canton Ticino for years, during which he had
been in constant money difficulties and in perpetual
trouble with his father. Even when there was no family
row actually proceeding, and no financial storm actually
raging, he used to go out, day after day, with his sketching
things, wondering how long the calm would last. The
Val Leventina was peopled from the Hospice on the
S. Gottardo down to the Lago Maggiore with the ghosts of
anxiety and unhappiness of which he did not want to be
constantly reminded now that his father was dead. He
was glad to have a reason for breaking new ground and
coming here to write a book on a new subject."
" Ah 1 yes," replied Dionigi. " He was like Francesca
da Rimini in the Paradiso. ' Nessun maggior dolore.'
She also proved that when you are happy there is no
greater sorrow than to remember past misery."
" No, no," interrupted the sindaco, who had been
listening and who took Dionigi seriously. " It is the
other way round ; she is not in the Paradiso, she is in the
Inferno." And he quoted the passage in full. " She is
informing Dante and reminding VirgU that there is no
22

The Second Municipal Dinner
greater sorrow than, when in misery, to remember past
happiness." " Impossible ! " exclaimed Dionigi. " I have a picture
of her speaking the words you have quoted, and she is
certainly in the Paradiso — at least she is in the arms of
Paolo. She never could have said she was in the Inferno
while she was in his arms." And he appealed to me.
" It was not polite of her, Dionigi, I admit ; but I
am afraid the sindaco is right. All the same, your view
raises an interesting question. Which is the greater
sorrow — {a) that present misery should be intensified by
the remembrance of past happiness ; or (b) that present
happiness should be bUghted by the remembrance of past
misery ? "
Dionigi said he had no doubt as to the correct answer
to that question, and the sindaco said so too. But as
the same spiritual meaning may be conveyed in different
forms of words, so the same form of words may be used
to convey different spiritual meanings ; and it was
evident that Dionigi and the sindaco each retained his
own opinion. Not wishing either of them to think that I
disagreed with him I recommended that the problem
should be submitted to a committee of Dante experts.
Thus we talked and laughed and drank our Barolo ; and
it seemed to me that the wine did not taste quite as Carlo
Topini's Barolo used to taste. Before the evening drew
to a close I found myself wondering whether we had not
been making a mistake in attempting to reconstitute the
past with so much trivial detail and such a complete
absence of Butler, the irreplaceable soul of the previous
banquet. We were as ghouls violating the tomb wherein
our memories ought to have been left in repose, and the
atmosphere of the room became charged with depression. 23

Varallo-Sesia
But we none of us said anything about this to one another ;
on the contrary, when we broke up I told the sindaco that
I was sure Butler would be gratified if he could know
what we had been doing in memory of him, and that on
my return to England I should inform his family and
friends all about the events of the day. And in saying
good-night I had to promise that I would return in the
autumn early enough for Dionigi's vintage at CavaUirio,
and lose another basket of Xeres with Zio Paolo.

24

Chapter 5 The Chapels
1DID not literaUy redeem my promise to return to
VaraUo the next autumn, but I did go again another
autumn. I caUed on Zio Paolo the first evening,
and he appeared dehghted to see me.
" You wiU have to stay at least three weeks this time,"
he said, " because you have promised to lose another
basket of Xeres in going to CavaUirio again for the vintage,
and the grapes are not ripe yet."
I could not stay so long as that, and I don't suppose he
reaUy wanted me to do so. I promised, however, to
manage better another year, and was forgiven. We
drank a glass of Xeres together and sat in the old gentle
man's room smoking and talking. And it seemed to me
that Zio Paolo's Xeres did not taste as I am sure that
Xeres which we lost would have tasted.
Next morning I went up the Mountain and entered
the precincts of the New Jerusalem. There is one spot
from which in clear weather a bit of Monte Rosa is
visible, but on this autumn morning aU the mountain-
tops were hidden by clouds. There was no wind, and
the stiUness was fuU of a faint aromatic pungency from
burning leaves. The sodden flower-beds still showed a
little melancholy candytuft, a head of clover here and
there, and a marigold or two stiU in bloom. WUd
clematis was stifling the naked shrubs with its autumnal 25

Varallo-Sesia
fluffiness, and the steps leading up to the chapels were red
with faUen rowan berries. BertoU's bees, already-brought
down from Alagna, were busily gleaning such drops of
honey as could stiU be won from the dying flowers, and
hovering inquisitively over the few buds which had not
yet given up the hope of blooming into last roses of
summer. Perhaps those very bees had fertilized the
honesty blossoms and brought about the seeds which I
saw hanging on the plants — seeds which the people in
Dorset caU Money-in-both-pockets and people in France
caU La Monnaie du Pape. The leaves from the trees
and bushes had littered the paths ; the pelting rain had
beaten them flat ; the sun had dried them and curled
them up ; the wind had blown them into drifts, and a
girl was sweeping them into a basket, carrying them away
on her back to feed the bonfire, and coming again for
more. The fine, velvety soil where they had lain was
patterned with the stains of their forms, and printed with
the lines of their delicate veining.
These flower-beds were near the chapel of Christ
before Herod which contains two laughing boys, but I
did not look at them then. I wanted to go round all the
chapels and take Herod and his laughing boys in their
proper order. I returned, therefore, to the first chapel
and began again the tour which had been interrupted in
the spring. There was Eve stiU offering and Adam stiU
accepting the apple, and I thought again of my spiritual
adviser and of his turning my question and silencing me
by saying that these things were a mystery. I was only
about fifteen at the time ; and now, looking upon Eve, I
wondered whether in making his accusation of arrogance
he may not have been resorting to the device of the red-
herring — raising a side issue down which he might escape
26

The Chapels

and thus avoid a troublesome discussion. He may have
feared that I should next ask him whether the framers
of the story perhaps intended Eve, rather than the apple,
when they spoke of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge
of Good and Evil as something not to be tasted. At the
age of fifteen one is not up to the tricks of symboHsm, and
at no age is it easy to be certain of the particular sense in
which the symboUst intends his statements to be inter
preted. The work in this first chapel was entrusted to
Tabachetti and, whatever instructions the Blessed
Bernardino Caimi may have given to the original artist,
there can be no doubt as to what Tabachetti was thinking
of. He has left the apple to take care of itself and has
concentrated aU his skiU upon Eve, making her very
pleasant to the eyes and more to be desired than bushels of
greengrocery. The FaU of Man is the prologue. It is the story of
Paradise Lost and states the problem of which the
remaining chapels present the solution in the story of
Paradise Regained. Nothing more is wanted from the
Old Testament, accordingly we go at once to the Annun
ciation. The second chapel, in which the angel Gabriel
is foretelling the mystery of the Virgin Birth, is offered
as an exact reproduction of the Santa Casa, the actual
dwelling of the Madonna, which was miraculously carried
by angels from Nazareth to Loreto where it now is.
Then comes the Salutation ; and this is foUowed by
the First Vision of S. Joseph. He is sitting, leaning back
in his chair, fast asleep, with his thumb stuck in his belt,
and an overwhelming angel is appearing to him. So deep
is he plunged in slumber that one instinctively turns to
the angel to beg him to make less noise in bursting through
the waU of the chamber lest he may wake him. I may 27

Varallo-Sesia
have confused the two visions of Joseph ; I think, how
ever, that in this first vision the angel is telling him not to
fear to take Mary to be his wife. But Mary knows
nothing about the angel or the message. She is sitting
in the background, an image of tranquillity, with a piUow
on her lap, as deeply absorbed in her needlework as Joseph
is in his slumber.
This is foUowed by the chapel containing the Visit of
the Magi. They have been led by a tarnished gilt star
which is hung up under a smaU glazed lantern.
The sixth chapel is the Presepio — the Manger — and
contains the Nativity — the fulfilment of Gabriel's Annun
ciation. This Manger, as Butler says, is more a grotto
than a chapel, and is declared in an inscription, set up by
Bernardino Caimi, to be " the exact counterpart of the
one at Bethlehem in which the Virgin gave birth to her
Divine Son." I wished the Baby many happy returns of
the day and passed on.
But I do not prppose to take the reader into aU the
chapels. I paused before the Massacre of the Innocents
with its confusion of horrified, grief -stricken mothers ;
of brutal, overbearing murderers ; of suffering, mutilated
children. And I refreshed my memory of the Temptation
in the Wilderness, which represents the Devil offering
Christ a few real stones to be made bread, the wilderness
being another Zoological Gardens with a town frescoed
on the not distant background. And among the frescoes
we see the Devil at a later moment when, having faUed,
he has apparently cast himself down from the exceeding
high mountain, and is rocketing about in the sky and
exploding freely in different directions as he falls through
the air.
I particularly inspected the chapel containing the Last
28

The Chapels

Supper, not because, as Butler says (Ex Voto, ch. XL),
" the whole scene is among the least successful on the
Sacro Monte," but because I wanted to make a note of
the menu ; I only remembered the supper in a general
way as an indigestible spread. The disciples have sat
down to some fish and to an especiaUy prominent cray
fish ; they have eggs, cheese, bread, apples, figs and pears,
aU somewhat damaged and aU, like Eve's apple, modeUed
in terra cotta or plaster and properly coloured. Their
raisins are real, and are going mouldy ; their wine is also
apparently real — GrignoHno perhaps, or Barbera, or some
other local red wine ; and I wondered how long it had
been there in its uncorked bottles and how it tasted.
There is a plaster sweet of some kind, and some unre
cognizable things, probably intended for more fruit.
The figures, or at least some of them, wear their napkins
over one shoulder and knotted under the other arm, like
scarves ; and, if I remember right, Christ is in the act of
giving the sop to Judas.
I forget how long Mendelssohn stayed in front of the
Venus de' Medici when he was in Florence ; the passage
is in his Letters from Italy ; it was something like two
hours, I think. But then, as Butler used to say, he did
stay such a long while before things. I endeavoured to
out-Mendelssohn Mendelssohn in the length of time I
stayed in front of two of the chapels. One was
Tabachetti's great Journey to Calvary. And here I
remembered the difficulty we used to have, when in
among the crowd of figures, making photographs, to avoid
breaking their fingers as we moved about. The other
was Gaudenzio's Crucifixion, the climax of the story.
I saluted the statue of the Vecchietto who is reverently
watching in the chapel of the Deposition from the Cross. 29

Varallo-Sesia
I glanced at the Risen Christ over the fountain in the
middle of the piazza. I found the facsimile of the stone
that was roUed in front of the Holy Sepulchre, and
remembered how Butler had terminated his conversation
with the " most exceUent and lovable old priest " by
smiKng " politely but inexorably." I glanced at
Costantino Durio's discordant new facciata. I looked
down on Varallo sleeping below where the MastaUone
faUs into the Sesia. I paid a visit to Battista and his
passero solitario. And I met the man who goes about as
Gianduja. Gianduja is the Mask of Turin and the neighbour
hood. It would take too long to reproduce here a resume
of aU that has been written about the Masks (Le
Maschere). Every important town in Italy has one, and
with some of them we are familiar in England. They
are the characters of the Harlequinade of the London
Pantomimes and of the Punch and Judy of our streets.
In Paris, also, we have most of us seen Pierrot, who is
another. Not long ago we Londoners invented a Mask
for ourselves in the person of AUy Sloper. I say
" invented " because I believe he was not an imitation,
he was a native growth and sprang up to supply a want.
He took his place on the stage with those whom we
transplanted here from Italy and appeared in the Harle
quinades. He used to appear also, simultaneously, in a
private box and to watch the performance in company
with his family and friends. I also often saw him going
about the streets in a cab and sitting in the outer office of
the comic paper which was named after him. The
demand for him would appear to have failed ; at least it is
a long time now since I have seen him anywhere, whereas
the demand for Le Maschere in Italy remains insistent.
30

The Chapels

Gianduja is usuaUy on the Mountain when it is a
festa. It was not a festa, however, on this occasion, which
probably explained why he had no ballads for sale and
why he was not wearing all his correct costume. He wore
his knee-breeches vnth buckles to his shoes, also his
Gianduja waistcoat and his periwig with the tail sticking
out ; but his bowler hat and his ordinary tweed coat of
modern cut discorded with aU this eighteenth-centuriness
as much as Costantino Durio's new facciata discorded
with the other buildings on the Mountain. We
exchanged a few words and he told me that he had come
up to meet his cousin, with whom he had to settle a
matter of business in preparation for the festa next week,
and that he would then appear properly dressed, with
plenty of baUads, and hoped to make a good thing of it.
I had got back to the flower-beds again and happened
to meet him just outside the chapels of Herod and
Caiaphas where the laughing boys are. They are near
the smaU chapel containing the Repentance of Peter,
and I thought that Gianduja would be the man to solve
my difficulty about the sound of the cock-crow. I was
not surprised to find that he knew aU about Lorenzo
Togni — ^legends flourish at VaraUo. I asked him whether
he, being something of an actor, could so imitate a cock's
crow as to make it sound like " Ciocc' anch' anc'uei ? "
He was surprised that I should have failed to see the
sinularity, and did his best. But I was stiU unsatisfied,
and could only suppose that I had met with another
iUustration of how difficult it is for those of one nation to
appreciate another nation's humour. So I gave him a
cigarette, wished him good luck, and made my way
towards the albergo on the Mountain. 31

Chapter 6 An Elementary Principle
AS I went along I found myself wondering at
Gianduja's recklessness in allowing himself to be
seen upon his pitch in such an incomplete version
of his costume. There were not many pilgrims about, but
none of them could have taken him for the real Gianduja
in that bowler hat and tweed coat ; and he was risking
their teUing the others next week, when he came to the
festa, that he was only an actor dressed up. It may be
that too much famiharity with the means of creating an
illusion breeds contempt for the result, or it may be that,
as he was an artist, he knew that in art there is such a
thing as false realism. The Blessed Bernardino Caimi
must have known it. He confessed that he had only got
a mere facsimile of the Stone that was roUed away from
the Holy Sepulchre. He contented himself with only a
reproduction of the Santa Casa instead of trying to induce
the angels to fly over to VaraUo bearing the original
building from Loreto. He presented only a counterpart
of the Presepio, instead of bringing the actual Manger
from Bethlehem, or wherever it is said to be.
Years ago when that learned old contrapuntist, WiUiam
Smith Rockstro, was trying to teach Butler and me some
of the secrets of his art, he allowed me to bring to him for
32

An Elementary Principle
criticism the music I was composing for a comic opera.
The work never came to anything. It was about King
Henry VIII and his six queens who were, for the purposes
of the opera, married to him contemporaneously ; and it
contained a scene in which the six miUiners of the queens
entered with their unpaid accounts and recited their
demands in the form of a solicitor's letter, concluding
thus :
"... And unless or on before Wednesday next we receive a sub
stantial remittance on account, we shall have no alternative but to take
such proceedings for the recovery of the whole amount as we may be
advised." Rockstro disapproved of the music I proposed for this
passage. " You can't have that," he exclaimed.
" Why not ? " I asked. " There are no fifths in it."
" I know there are not," he admitted ; " but you
can't have that there. Why, it is : " We beseech thee to
hear us Good Lord ! ' "
" Yes," I said, " that's aU right, isn't it ? "
" No, it's not aU right. I am not objecting because
of the irreverence, though something might be said on
that ground. I am objecting because it is contrary to
one of the fundamental principles of art. You may
make them intone their claim, if you like ; but you must
not quote TaUis in Comic Opera. Even in Grand Opera,
when the great masters want antique religious music,
they do not lift a passage out of Palestrina with a pair of
scissors and paste it into their score. It would be mixing
styles." " I'm sure I've heard something lUce that done," I
said. " Like it, yes ; but not that. Don't you see how it
must clash with the rest ? It can only throw the whole
D 33

Varallo-Sesia
opera out of gear. What they do is to compose a passage
in imitation of Palestrina, sufficiently like the original for
the audience to recognize what is intended ; but not
music which is actuaUy used in church."
Rockstro never escaped down side issues, nor did he
ever take refuge behind these things being a mystery.
But then he was a master of his subject.
The blessed Bernardino Caimi was respecting this
fundamental principle of art when he admitted, or rather
insisted, that the Stone, the Santa Casa, and the Presepio
on the Mountain are only copies. If the originals had
been brought to VaraUo they would have clashed with aU
the other things there which are obviously copies and the
whole scheme, like the opera of the incompetent musician,
would have been thrown out of gear. And so Gianduja
loses nothing by openly admitting that he is no more the
real Mask of Turin come to Ufe than the grotto of the
Nativity is the real Presepio come from Bethlehem.

34

Chapter 7 The Maker of Ballads
WHEN I reached the albergo, I took my seat at
a table in the open loggia and greeted the
landlady, the widow of Carlo Topini's brother,
the late landlord. She naturaUy remembered aU about the
banquet given to Butler in 1887 in this same loggia ; and
we laughed together as we talked over old times. I told
her that I had observed some honesty in seed among the
flower-beds, and asked if she could give me any to take
with me and plant in my garden in London. She was
pleased at my request, and, saying that she had some in
her own garden much better, sent her girl off to gather
seeds from it for me. Then she busied herself about my
luncheon. There was a gentleman at another table ; he had finished
his meal and, seeing me talking to the landlady, brought
his coffee over to my table, sat down and entered into
conversation. " Where do you come from ? " inquired the gentleman.
" I come from London," I repUed.
" London," he said meditatively. " Let me see ; yes.
That is a province of Russia, I beUeve."
" We consider it to be the capital of England," I
replied. 35

Varallo-Sesia
" England ! " he exclaimed in some surprise. " Then
you are what they caU a Spaniard. Signor Costantino
Durio, who gave the beautiful new facciata to the church,
made his money in your country."
What ought I to have said ? I knew that business
relations existed between Varallo and Spain — that was
why Zio Paolo drank Xeres — and I knew that Costantino
Durio had made his money at Barcelona. But was it my
business to teach geography to the gentleman ? I
thought not. So I did not correct him nor refuse to
assist at the birth of another legend, as harmless as the one
about Butler's death-bed instructions, which had come
to life down at the Municipio in the spring. As I had
not allowed the Municipio to be deceived then, so I was
not really aUowing the gentleman to be deceived now.
He had grasped the information that I was a foreigner,
though he had taken it in a general and incorrect form ;
but if I had attempted to correct the unessential fact,
which related to what variety of foreigner I was, I might
easily have shaken his faith in the essential truth that I
was a foreigner of some kind. Perhaps I ought to have
made an attempt. Perhaps I was growing caUous. I
was certainly tired. Butler in Ex Voto speaks of there
being forty-five chapels on the Sacro Monte, and I had
looked into all of them that morning. Besides I was
hungry. I wanted my luncheon and felt unequal to
making the effort necessary to convince the gentleman
that England and Spain are not synonyms for the same
country. It would have been difficult to know where to
begin. So I turned to the hors d'ceuvres which the land
lady had placed before me.
The gentleman recommended particularly the celery.
He said : " This is the plant from which was distilled
36

The Maker of Ballads
that juice which Socrates drank and died. You ha>e,
heard of Socrates ? He was a Greek philosopher who
carried a lantern and went about searching for an honest
man. Also he learnt the mandoUne at the age of ninety,
and when they said : ' Why, you are too old to be learning
the mandoHne,' he repUed, ' Not at all ; surely it is
better to die knowing how to play the mandoline than
ignorant.' And one day when he was asleep on a grassy
bank an eagle mistook his bald head for a tortoise and
dropped a stone on it."
" Then he did not die of the poison ? " I asked.
" Yes," he explained, " the stone did not kill him. It
was the poison that kiUed him. But you need not be
afraid. I have eaten some celery myself, and it has done me
no harm. You would have to distil the produce of acres
and acres of it to make enough poison to HU either of us."
I ate some celery, but it was stringy. In England we
say that celery is no good until after the first frost, and
there had been no frost yet in VaraUo. Bertoli might
have brought his bees down from Alagna, but it was still
too early for Dionigi's vintage. I did not teU the gentle
man this. I ate the peperoni, the anchovies, the salame,
the olives, the radishes, the butter, and left him to form
any ideas he chose as to which I Uked best. The landlady
came bearing the next dish, and saying :
" I have made you a risotto with chickens' livers,
because I remember that our dear Mr. Butler was very
fond of it."
I did not remember that Butler was particularly fond of
it, but I like it very much myself, so I said : " That's
right, thank you ; I'm sure it will be delicious. And you
have coloured it with marigolds from the flower-beds on
the Mountain." 37

Varallo-Sesia
I said this partly because I wished to impress the gentle
man with the fact that, whatever kind of foreigner I
might be, I was famiUar with the customs of North Italy ;
but the landlady repHed that she had used saffron. Then,
to justify myself in the eyes of the gentleman, who was
Hstening attentively, I told her that when Butler and I
were at S. Maria in Calanca, the old priest there had
shewn us his store of dried marigold florets, and assured
us that he always used them to colour his risotto.
" Ah, yes," she replied, " but in the country they
cannot always get saffron."
Thus one is led astray when generalizing from insuffi
cient data. But I did not mind ; I was beginning to feel
better ; the luncheon was restoring me. The gentleman
began talking again, recalling more fragments of the past.
" And there was another famous Greek, named Ulysses,
who was wrecked on the island of Malta. You have
heard of Malta ? and of Ulysses ? He was thrown up in
a bay there which is stiU caUed by his name. He made a
fire to warm himself and a snake came out and bit him.
But he took the snake by the neck and crushed it dead.
It would have been a pity if he had been kiUed, for he was
a very handsome man, taU, with long hair, and a great
traveUer. I wiU now leave you. I have an appointment
to meet my cousin."
" Is your cousin on the Mountain ? " I inquired.
" Yes," he replied. " I dare say you met him. He is
Gianduja. I write his ballads for him. I shaU find him
waiting for me in front of the Ecce Homo chapel. We
have some business to transact. I hope to see you again."
I said the proper thing and he went.' Before I had
finished my cutlet aUa Milanese, however, he returned
and continued : " Talking about cousins, that Greek
38

The Maker of Ballads
man, Ulysses, had a cousin named Riccardo who went to
the Crusades, they were aU traveUers in his family. On
his return from Palestine he was so unfortunate as to lose
his way. You have heard of the Crusades ? He arrived
in a country whose king had given orders that all strangers
were to be HUed. But the king's daughter fell in love
with him and threw her arms round him so that they
could not shoot him without hurting her. Her father
granted her wish. And as she was baking the wedding-
cake, she asked him to watch it and not let it burn while
she went out into the market-place to buy a tomato to
colour the risotto,"
I thought this rather maHcious of the gentleman ; no
doubt he had introduced it merely to show me that he
knew more than I knew, and more even than the landlady,
about colouring the risotto.
" While the princess was absent, Riccardo, left alone in
the kitchen, watching the cake and meditating on his
troubles, heard a voice outside singing : ' O Riccardo, O
mio re ! ' He could scarcely believe his ears. When
the voice had finished the first verse Riccardo replied by
singing the second verse, for he knew the song ; and then
he cHmbed up to the window and looked out into the
street. It was his own minstrel wandering the world and
seeking him. The cake was burnt, but he escaped ; and
the princess stabbed herself in despair. Arrivederci."
This time he reaUy did go ; and presently, when I had
finished my bottle of Ghemme, I felt equal to smoking my
cigarette and drinking my coffee without the further
assistance of his babbHng. Nevertheless, I was depressed ;
and I could not teU why. The Ghemme did not taste
quite as the Ghemme on the Mountain used to taste.
But that seemed to be an insufficient explanation. Here 39

Varallo-Sesia
was I in the most beautiful dining-room in the world ;
it was after luncheon, and no one ever commits suicide
within a couple of hours or so after a good meal ; and yet
I was depressed — even more depressed than I had been-
after the dinner at the Albergo della Posta in the
spring.

40

Chapter 8 Recalling the Past
IT seemed to me that Butler and I were going round
the chapels and came to the Temptation in the
Wilderness. He said :
" Do you observe the fresco of Satan in the
sky?" " What is he doing ? " I inquired.
" Don't you see ? " repHed Butler. " He is in con
vulsions of rage because he has got the worst of the
argument, and he is discharging aU his natural functions
at once."
I looked again and saw that Satan in the sky had become
the cock that crew when Peter denied Christ ; he had
flown from his perch and in his beak was carrying one of
the real stones with which, when he was the Devil, he had
tempted our Saviour. He stopped in his flight and
perched on a branch of a tree in the Garden of Geth
semane, just over the sleeping disciples ; and Peter's bald
head attracted his notice. He opened his beak and
crowed, and at last his " Cock-a-doodle-do " was satis-
factorUy Hke the Piemontese patois, " Ciocc' anch'
anc'uei ? "
The stone f eU, and I looked to see Peter's skull cracked ;
but he had escaped and lost himself in the crowd that was
foUowing Christ in Tabachetti's Journey to Calvary
chapel and we were looking on. 41

Varallo-Sesia
I said : " I stiU don't see the justice of punishing A for
B's fault."
"Oh," repHed Butler, "it is not so bad as that.
Remember Life and Habit ; and then if you solve the
mystery of personal identity by seeing Christ and His
Father as One, it may fairly be said that God did suffer
on the Cross. It is more interesting at this time of day
to observe what a capital likeness of Christ S. Veronica
has taken on her handkerchief."
Before I could reply, Dionigi said : " Yes, and that is
why S. Veronica has been appointed Patron Saint of the
photographers . "
Dionigi was there because we were now in the loggia
of the albergo, sitting at the banquet of 1887 ; and, in
the middle of the table, was Riccardo's wedding-cake and
it had a hole in it — no doubt made by the fire when he let
it burn ; and in and out of the hole BertoU's bees were
buzzing ; and I knew that the cake had reaUy been made
by the chef at Pagani's with honey sent by Dionigi for one
of our Erewhon dinners. Herod's two laughing boys
had come out of his chapel and were waiting on us. They
wore their napkins as scarves and were handing round
the crayfish, the eggs, the cheese, the fruit, the bread
and the wine. I only tasted a drop of my wine. I had
no idea as to what kind of wine it might be ; it was not the
least like any wine I had ever tasted. And then I became
aware that it was not wine at all, it was the poison distiUed
from the celery which killed Socrates. But Butler drank
a whole glass of his and I looked to see what would happen,
His breathing became slower and he turned pale. I tried
to get up and go over to him, but I could not move. His
breathing became slower stiU and more difficult, and he
grew dim and shadowy while I looked until he faded
42

Recalling the Past
away and was gone, leaving us others sitting there around
the table without him.
But we were no longer on the Mountain, nor were we
at Pagani's ; we were now at the second dinner down at
the Albergo deUa Posta. And through the open window
I heard a voice as of some one passing along the street,
singing. I knew the melody, but could not remember
the words and looked inquiringly at Dionigi.
" It is Gianduja," he said, " he always sings on his
way home. This evening it is one of the popular Pie
montese songs."
" No, no, Dionigi," interrupted the sindaco, " he is
singing ' Vi rawiso, O luoghi ameni,' and he could not
have chosen a more graceful compHment to our guest."
Whereupon I became S. Joseph asleep in my chair
with my thumb stuck in my waistcoat pocket, and the
angel was appearing to me and saying :
" I did not mean to disturb you ; but as you are awake,
see, I have brought you the honesty seeds you asked for."
I puUed myself together, apologized, and thanked her
for the seeds.
"You have been dreaming of our dear Mr. Butler,"
said the landlady.

43

Chapter 9 Saluting the Future
YES ; and it would be strange if I could faU asleep
after a luncheon in her loggia and not dream of
him. The climate of Varallo not only favours
the birth and growth of legend, nor does it merely revive
old memories ; it urges one to make attempts to resus
citate the past. The examples of Gianduja and of the
blessed Bernardini Caimi were before me. They had
modestly set out to give no more than artistic repre
sentations, which is as much as should be attempted ; and
they had both been fairly successful, whereas I, forgetting
Rockstro's elementary principle, had ambitiously set my
stage with the Sacro Monte itself — no mere resemblances
or fancy dress for me — hoping that I might thereby help
myself to live again, if only for a few hours, in the past.
And my careful return to the very scene, instead of helping
me, had raised an obstacle by insisting on the contrast
between the memory of the golden days when Butler and
I used to go round the chapels together and this actual
melancholy autumn morning on which I could do nothing
better than go round them in soUtude. Here was the
cause of my depression. This contrast was the drop of
bitterness that surged in the wine-cups of VaraUo, chang
ing the flavour of the GrignoHno, of the Barbera, the
Ghemme, the Barolo, the Xeres and the Grignasco. I
shall resist further temptations to try and galvanize the
44

Saluting the Future
past into a semblance of Hfe ; I shaU be content with my
memories in their natural incorporeal form, lest this
contrast arise again and transmute aU the wine of my Hfe
into hemlock.
Butier used to protest that he did not sympathize with
dwelling on the past, he considered that it savoured of
introspection. One of his complaints against the
Emperor Marcus AureHus Antoninus was that he was
morbidly introspective. And yet he was himself intro
spective by temperament. Nevertheless he took the line
that the past should be left to look after itself and that we
ought to confront the future in the healthy spirit in
which BertoU's bees confront it, unburdened with con
scious yearnings, and incurious about mysteries whether
of theology or of nature. When the bees are brought
down to VaraUo for a season of seclusion during the
winter, they do not look upon themselves as symboHcaUy
dead and buried in a repHca of that Chapel of the
Entombment into which, whUe humming and hovering
over the Sacro Monte, they must have looked many times
since it has been placed there. They attend to their own
business ; they shut themselves up and keep quiet and
warm, resting and thankfuUy taking their daily ration of
sugar-candy, waiting for the sip of GrignoHno which
shaU confirm their instinct that spring is at hand. They
know that it is their Easter, the hour of their joyful
resurrection, and they ascend again to Alagna without
giving so much as a passing thought to the figure of the
Risen Christ which has now for some years embelHshed
the piazza. If they were looking for analogies and
paraUel passages they would agree with the modern view,
and, instead of seeing in the events represented in the
chapels historical records of miracles performed less than 45

Varallo-Sesia
two thousand years ago, they would recognize them as
Parables from Nature — symboHcal restatements in new
forms of elementary truths. They pass them aU by.
By temperament they resemble GaUio rather than either
Butler or the Emperor Marcus AureHus Antoninus;
they care for none of these things. The present occupies
them so busily in preparing for the future that the only
past now affecting them is one which became absorbed
into their system prehistoric ages before that recent one
which the Blessed Bernardino Caimi was more particularly
endeavouring to recaU. Bees are now born knowing
something of which Man is ignorant until, like Candide,
after chapters and chapters of post-natal experience at
last he learns it : " II faut cultiver notre jardin."
But we must remember where we are. To quote
Voltaire upon the Sacro Monte is to compete with
Costantino Durio in the introduction of discords, and,
unless for a sufficient dramatic reason, Rockstro used to
forbid us to conclude upon an unresolved discord. Our
final cadence must be cast in some other form. Let us
substitute for the words of Candide's summing-up those
other words of an earUer philosopher whose spiritual
meaning was the same, and whose book has been con
sidered sufficiently in harmony with the Gospels to be
bound up in the same volume : " Whatsoever thy hand
findeth to do, do it with thy might."

46

Loreto

To Joseph Benwell Clark

Chapter lo The Modulation
THE idea of visiting Loreto was put into my head
by an elderly EngUsh lady at a table d'hote in
Venice. I had been agreeing with her on aU the
subjects on which one usuaUy has to agree with elderly
EngUsh ladies in Venice, and she had been (if I may follow
her example and quote from memory)
Repeating things at second-hand
She'd heard, but did not understand,
the particular things being extracts from Ruskin and
other writers wherewith her guide-book was enriched ;
and then she said :
" Can you teU me whether we shaU be able to see the
Parlour Door to-morrow ? Baedeker says it is only open
at Easter, but I should have thought they would not have
kept it closed on Ascension Day."
I said : " What Parlour Door ? I did not know they
had such a thing here. There is something of the kind at
Rome, but that is a staircase ; or perhaps at Loreto ;
wouldn't it be there, with the rest of the Santa Casa ? "
" Oh ! no," repHed the lady, " I am sure it is here, on
die High Altar, S. Mark's Pala d'Oro."
It was one of those enharmonic modulations which,
though they are nothing but approaching a sound in one
sense and quitting it in another, nevertheless, Hke the
fabled Arabian carpet, have the power to annihilate time
E 49

Loreto
and space and to make us rulers over new kingdoms. I
told her all I could remember about the pala d'oro, but
the Santa Casa kept caUing, caUing aU the time I spoke,
and as soon as the lady left the table I returned in spirit
to Loreto.
I had never been there, nor had I ever met any one who
had, but I knew it was near Ancona, and this interested me
because I had recently bought a wine-jug in blue-and-
white crockery whose shape suggested that its designer
had been thinking of poke-bonnets. It had been moulded
with others at Pordenone and they had come down, a
whole tribe of them, to be shipped from Venice to Ancona
and used by the daughters of the wine-shops there in
serving the sailors ; and this was why they had " Bevi
Caro " written on their fronts. I also knew that sanc
tuaries are usuaUy in high places, and had heard that the
angels, who flew from Nazareth with the Santa Casa, not
being satisfied with the first spot that offered, had tried.
again and again ; it therefore seemed probable, after so
much trouble had been taken about it, that the site would
be really captivating. I remembered also that there was
something about the Santa Casa in the Novelas Exemflares
of Cervantes, but of course I could not remember the
actual passage tiU I got home and looked it up. I found
it in " The Licentiate of Glass," where we are told about
Tomas Rodaja :
He returned to Naples and Rome and thence repaired to Our Lady of
Loreto, in whose sacred temple he saw neither walls nor party-walls,
because all were covered with crutches, grave-clothes, chains, fetters, hand
cuffs, hair, waxen busts, paintings and retablos, which gave manifest proof
of the innumerable favours which many had received.
This was enough to set me dreaming. I pictured a
lofty headland overlooking the Adriatic ; the Dalmatian
coast opposite shimmered through the haze Hke a promise ;
50

The Modulation
inland lay a cloud- dappled campagna, very fertile, covered
with farms, cornfields and vineyards ; I crowned the
headland with a group of higgledy-piggledy buildings,
the highest a church with a cupola, and in this church I
placed the Holy House. In not making it a large house
I was influenced partiy by my recollection of that other
house at Stratford-on-Avon, and partly by a desire that
the pUgrims should have space to walk round it inside the
church ; so I planned it with one sitting-room on the
ground floor, buUt out a back addition for the kitchen,
and put in a staircase leading to the bedroom above.
This would be enough, and with the waUs and party-waUs
decorated in the manner indicated by Cervantes ought to
prove a model sanctuary.

SI

Chapter ii The Santa Casa
NOT long afterwards, in the spring of 1 902, circum
stances made it possible and I went to Ancona. I
spent the evening looking about for the brothers
of my jug. The sort of wine-shops I expected to find
flourish under the arches opposite the quay at Genoa ;
in Ancona nothing of the kind was to be seen — only the
ordinary caffe with the ordinary waiter and not a blue-
and-white jug in the whole town. This was a disappoint
ment ; but in the stationer.-' windows were iUustrated
post-cards showing the angels carrying the house. There
it aU was with one window by the side of the front door
on the ground floor and two windows above ; some of
the pictures gave it a sloping roof with tiles, and a chimney,
no doubt, for the kitchen, though the back addition was
not indicated. I had given my house a flat roof with no
chimney in the Eastern manner ; but these sUght altera
tions were soon carried out and were perhaps of Httle
consequence, for there were other post-cards showing the
roof loaded with such a cargo of angels that its shape was
uncertain ; it was also uncertain whether the angels were
assisting in the transit or conceaHng the artist's ignorance
about the form of the roof.
The train takes nearly an hour to go from Ancona to
Loreto, and the country through which it passes is just
what it ought to be ; moreover, most of the way my
headland was visible to the left of the line overlooking the
sea, a magnificent pUe, even finer than I had imagined*
52

The Santa Casa
It is caUed Monte Conero ; but on the top, where the
Sanctuary ought to have stood, nothing of the kind was
to be seen — only a coast-guard station, and the train
passed by without paying any attention to it and drew up
at Loreto. Then, looking out on the other side of the
line, I was disappointed to see what certainly was the
Sanctuary on a paltry Httle hiU, four or five kilometres
inland. The church had a cupola but, when I reaUzed
that it must be at least eight or ten Hlometres from the
sea, the desirable marine residence which I had been
designing began to lose some of its attractions.
The station-yard was aUve with vehicles and yeUing
drivers, but as it was not a festa there were few fares. I
drove up with two other passengers to the Sanctuary
and, on arriving in the piazza, plunged into the church
and looked about for the Santa Casa. Nothing of the
kind was to be seen — only an excessively ornamented
marble monument behind the altar, about the right size
but aU wrong in shape ; it had an opening with a griUe
through which Hghts gUmmered, but it could never be
the Santa Casa — ^it must be the sarcophagus of some
ecclesiastical dignitary. I settled on one of the official
guides, as a bee settles on a flower, and tried to suck his
honey. He was unsympathetic, almost testy ; he said :
" The Santa Casa is always open ; the treasure wiU be
locked up in twenty minutes ; come and see that."
It was a trial of patience ; but first I extracted from
him that the marble monument does, after aU, contain
the House and that one is aUowed to go actuaUy inside it ;
then I accompanied him to his treasury.
This is the second coUection ; Napoleon stole the first
and, figuratively speaking, melted it down into cannon ;
it had taken five centuries to form and, unless the guide's 53

Loreto
information was false or his memory defective, had been
worth ninety-six miUions of Hre, which is at the rate of
nearly twenty ^ miUions per century. They have not
been getting on so weU during the last lOO years : the
present treasure is not even reputed to be worth more
than four miUion Hre up to date. It proved unable to
fix the attention of one who only a few days before had
been gazing into the jeweUers' shops on the Ponte Vecchio
in Florence. While pretending to admire it, I was
amusing myself by prowling in imagination aU over the
Santa Casa, passing in and out of the rooms, up and down
the staircase and looking out of the windows.
It is a well-known characteristic of wealth, whatever
form it may assume, that it never lasts so long as we think
it wiU. The treasure was no exception ; we came to the
end of it — ran through it, in fact — ^long before it was time
to lock it up, and at last approached one of the doors of
the marble monument. The guide said it led to the
kitchen, which sounded so hospitable that it would have
been ungracious to object to going in at the back door ;
but it was not easy to get in, the half-dozen pilgrims
already there nearly blocked it up and it must be said
that, as a kitchen, it reaUy is too small. It does, however,
contain a fairly commodious fireplace, and over this, in a
gilded niche, a black statue of the Madonna and Child.
The guide told me that they were made of cedar of
Lebanon and had been sculptured by S. Luke. The
faces are uncovered, but otherwise the figures are swathed
in drapery which again is smothered with the most bril
liant jewels I have ever seen on aMadonna. The pilgrims
were so much in the way that I retired, intending to return
at some less devotional moment, and we entered the Santa
Casa itself by what appeared to be the principal entrance.
54

The Santa Casa
The other disappointments were nothing to this. It
is not a house at aU. The most that can be said of it is
that it is a room, and to teU the plain, straightforward,
honest, manly, brutal truth it is no more than four bare
waUs. It left its floor and foundations in Nazareth, and,
in spite of the post-cards, the roof, whether flat or sloping,
has been lost. It is about thirty-one feet long by thirteen
wide and eighteen high ; these measurements include the
kitchen which is not an entirely separate room, it is only
divided off at one end by a marble screen about six feet
high in front of which stands the altar. The niche con
taining the statue is so high above the fireplace that if
you stand at the other end of the room the Madonna and
Child can be seen over the screen against the waU beyond,
and they certainly sparkle very effectively in the light of
the hanging lamps. The visible altar is only a case for the
real one which came with the house and was consecrated
in Nazareth by the Chief of the Apostles who celebrated
mass at it. The four waUs are said to be built of stones of
Palestine, and the cement is said to be the true Hebrew
cement, wherein naphtha manifests its presence as soon as
it is poHshed and exposed to the sun. I should not have
tested these statements had I been able to do so, for the
many disappointments had caused my enthusiasm some
what to evaporate, but I noticed that the stones were
about the size of bricks, some larger, and of a reddish
brown colour, very shiny as high up as the pUgrims could
reach to poUsh them with their kisses.
The things that concealed the waUs from Tomas Rodaja
have been taken away since his time ; nothing conceals
the waUs now, except that the kitchen is paneUed with
copper and ornamented with gilded hearts and similar
objects. The party-waUs also have been removed, if the 55

Loreto
true reason why he did not see them was that in his time
they were concealed by the grave-clothes, hair, waxen
busts, etc. : or perhaps by party-walls Cervantes means
the screen in front of the kitchen fire. Or is it possible
that Cervantes had never been there and was constructing a
house out of his imagination ? Such things have been done.
This House or, rather room, is enclosed in a marble
case which, from the door of the church, is easily mistaken
for a monument, and the opening in it with the griUe
corresponds with the only window of the room through'
which the Angel Gabriel entered to make the Annuncia- •:
tion. The modern fioor and ceiUng were added with the
marble case which was originally built to adjoin and
strengthen the four walls, but either the waUs shrank,
or the marble recoiled, or a miracle of some sort occurred,
and now a child can walk round between the House and
the case. The case was designed by Bramante and is
adorned with appropriate scenes in very high relief also
with columns, statues of prophets, sibyls and so on, the
work of eminent sculptors. It Is raised on one marble
step, and the pilgrims waddle round it on their knees
along the top of the step which is thus worn for consider
able distances into a pair of irregular channels, especially
behind the kitchen, that being the part nearest to the
statue and therefore the most sacred. The guide said
that these channels are not really scooped out by the
knees of the pilgrims, which I was glad to hear, they
scoop with the toes of their boots ; and, moreover, he
said that it is chiefly NeapoUtan boots that do it, the
Neapolitans having a more ardent faith than the dwellers
in any other locality ; which was his way of saying that
Neapolitans wear iron toe-caps, come to Loreto in great
numbers, and never neglect to kneel round the Santa Casa.
56

Chapter 12 The Tablet
So that was aU. I came away much disappointed ;
but as we passed down the church I made a discovery.
Between the windows are large tablets fastened to
the waU, and on these are inscribed in various languages
accounts of the transportations of the Santa Casa : there
was one in particular about which the guide, having been
told it was in the Scotch language, wanted to consult me.
He evidently did not beUeve in the Scotch language,
though he did in the Santa Casa ; but then he had not
been brought up on the Waverley Novels. I, on the
other hand, had not been brought up in the shadow of the
Sanctuary — and thus we see how one man's gnat may be
another man's camel. I gave particular attention to the
Scotch tablet and was so fascinated by it that I copied it.
The lettering was somewhat out of repair in places but,
subject to any unintentional inaccuracies, the inscription
reads as foUows :
The Wondrous Flittinge of the Kirk of our
Blest Ledy of Laureto.
The kirk of Laureto was a caumber of the blest virgin
near lerusalem in the towne of Nazaret in whilk she was
borne and teende up and greeted by the Angel, and
thairin also conceaved and norisht her son Jesus whiU he
was twaUe zear awd. This caumber, efter the ascensione 57

Loreto
of our B. Seviour was by the Apostles haUowed and made
a kirk in honour of our B. Ledy, and S. Luke framed a
picture to her vary Hkeness thair zit to be seine. It was
haunted with muccle devotione by the folke oof the land
whar it stood als lang as they were Catholiks. Bot when
they f orseckte the Christien f eth and went efter the errour
of Mahomet the angels took it and set it in Sclavonia by a
towne nemmed Fiumen. Wher net being honored as it
sould, they transported it over sea to a wood in the
Bounds of Recanati belanging to a neble dame caUed
Laureto, frae whem it tuke it nem of our B. Ledy of
Laureto, and thence again for cause of many thefries to a
hill of twa brothers, in the same bounds. And lastly for
there striving for the gifts and oblations, to the high road
neir by, whar it zit stands merveiUous for mirakels and
above ground without foundations. Wharat the in-
dweUers of the towne of Recanati, wha came aft to sie it
meikle wondring, bigged a great waU about it. Zit
caude ne man tel wherfrae it cam first, whill in the yeir
MCCXCVI the B.V. in sleipe reveUed it to a heUy devote
man and he teUed it to divers of authority in this place,
whe presently resolving to try the treuth of the viziohe
decried to find out saxteine parsons of credit whem they
sent altogather to that end to the towne of Nazaret,
garring them to beare with them the mesur of this Hrk
and to met it thair with the foundatione whilk was zit to
the fore. They fand them baith alike, and in a wall
therby ingravne that it had stud thair, and had forgaune
the place and than cuming back agen, declared the forseide
vizione to be trew, and frae that tim fourth, it hes beine
surly kend that this kirk was the caumber of the B.V.
wharto Christens begun than and hes ever efter hed
muccle devotione, for that in it daily she hes dun and dus
58

The Tablet
many and many mirakels. Ane frier Paule de Sylva, an
eremit of muccle godHnes, wha woned in a cell neir-by
this Hrk whar daily he went to mattins, seyd that for ten
zeirs, one the eight of September, tweye hours before
day, he sawe a Hght descend from heaven upon it, whilk
he seyd was the B.V. wha thair shawed her self e one the
feest of har birth. In proofe of all whilk, twa verteous
men of the seyd towne of Recanati many times avowed to
me. Ruler of Terreman and Governor of the foreseyd
Hrk, as foUoweth : Ane of them, nemmed Paul Renalduci
affermed that his grandsyres grandsyre sawe whan the
angels broght it over sea, setting it in the foreseyd wood,
and hed aft frequented it thair. The other nemmed
Francis Prior sickUck seyd that his grandsyre being a
hunder and twanty zeirs awd had also meiHe haunted it
in the same place. And for a mere surtestimony that it
hed beine thair, he reported that his grandsyres grandsyre
hed a house beside wharin he dweUed, and that in his
dayes it was beared by the angels frae thence to the hiU
of they tweye brothers whar they set it as seyd is.
I, Robert Corbington

By decree of the meUde
worthy monsignor Vincent
Casal of Bolonia, Ruler of
this heUy place, under the
protection of the mest
werthy Cardinal Moroni.

priest of the Company of
Jesus in the zeir
MDCXXXV have trulie
translated the premisses out
of the Latin storie hangged
in the seyd Hrk.
To the Praise and Glorie of the Mest
Pure and immaculate Virgin.

In saying that St. Luke " framed a picture," the tablet
no doubt means that he fashioned the statue which is in
the house and which came with it from Nazareth. 59

Loreto
There are other versions of the story ; one omits the
" neble dame " and accounts for the name of Laureto by
saying that the House was, on the night of December lo,
1294, deposited in a wood of laurels on the smiling hiU of
Piceno, near my promontory Monte Conero, and in the
morning the trees were found inclined to the earth in
adoration. St. Francis has the distinction of having
foretold this miracle a century before. It would seem
that he was in a taciturn humour that morning, dis-
incHned to use seven words where one would do, for he
merely said " Picenum." His meaning was subsequently
revealed to one of his followers, no doubt in a vision, and
can be made clear to any wide-awake reader if the word
be written as an acrostic with its solution thus : —
P (ortatur) J (uxta) C (onerum) M (dicula) N (azarena)
V (irginis) M (ariae).
The House left its marks in all the places where it
rested ; they are stiU to be seen and are much venerated ;
they correspond exactly, just as the foundations at
Nazareth do, with the measurements of the House at
Loreto. Now that it is too late the inhabitants of Fiume have
turned from the sin of their forefathers. When the red
and yellow sails of their fishing-smacks are seen floating
across the Adriatic, their repentant voices may be heard
praying in vain to the Virgin and singing :
A noi ritorna con la tua Casa, O Maria !
But 600 years ago those forefathers must have been
disgracefuUy irreverent : the House would not stay among
them longer than three years, from 1291 to 1294. The
laurels were not much better, for, wearying of their
attitudes of adoration, they grew with such recUess
luxuriance as to attract and harbour brigands. This
60

The Tablet
was the reason for the move to the hiU of the two brothers
who turned out to be just as bad ; they were on the
point of settling their differences about the offerings
after the manner of Cain and Abel when the House saved
one or both of their worthless Hves by making its last
move. The translations to and from their hiU were accom-
pHshed by 1295, when the House arrived where it now
stands. We are to take it that this was Hterally upon
the high road which had to be diverted ; thus there was
no wood to conceal lurHng robbers and, the road being
pubHc property, no private owners to dispute about the
gifts. The House, as has been said, has no foundation,
and, if the child walking round between the waUs and the
marble case carries a candle, any one inside can see the
moving Hght in the places where the waUs do not touch
the uneven ground.

61

Chapter 13 The Return
IT may have occurred to the reader that the House
has no foundation in more senses than one, and that
it rests for the most part on what in England we
caU hearsay evidence. But notions of evidence are not the
same in every country, and they order this matter, if
not better, at least differently in Italy. One has only to
read the reports of law proceedings, such as the Palizzolo
trial at Bologna or the MusoHno trial at Lucca or any
trial that may happen to be proceeding, to be led to the
(possibly erroneous) conclusion that not merely " what
the soldier said " but what the witness believed the
soldier to have thought would be received with
acclamation as evidence of the first importance in any
Court of Justice throughout the country. Miracles are
not usuaUy tested in Courts of Justice, but if there is to
be any evidence of them it would seem reasonable to ask
that, as an ordinary story must be supported by ordinary
evidence, so an extraordinary story should be supported
by extraordinary evidence. Nevertheless it often happens
that things go by contraries ; even a Httie unfamiHarity
breeds reverence, and, accordingly, the greater the miracle
the less the evidence required. Would it not then have
been better to aUow the miracle at Loreto to rest upon its
own miraculousness ? Why should anything be offered
in the name of proof ? Why introduce " a heUy devote
62

The Return
man," " an eremit of muccle godHnes " and " Paul
Renalduci's grandsyre's grandsyre ? " What are these
old people doing on that tablet ?
The answer is that they are doing no harm there ; they
are evidence not of the miracle but of the courteous
readiness of the authorities to accommodate any poor
pUgrim who may feel he ought not to be sent away with
out being shown some Hnd of peg to hang his belief on.
They are the homage that Faith pays to Reason. And
who can withstand their picturesque charm ? They
quite revived my interest in the Santa Casa and reconciled
me to aU the disappointments.
This does not dispose of the question of miracles, about
which notions differ as widely as they do about evidence.
Miracles we have always with us, and no one with a touch
of poetry in him ever had the sUghtest difficulty in
beHeving in them ; his difficulty has always been to dis-
beHeve in them. But the poetic temperament is
impatient of dictation. Any endeavour to convince
Walt Whitman, for instance, that aU the things said about
the Santa Casa actuaUy occurred would probably have
faUed ; yet only let him have his own way and he teUs us
that " a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextiUions of
heretics." Substitute a sunset for a mouse and I seem
to remember that one of the quotations retailed by my
elderly EngUsh lady in Venice amounted to much the
same thing. The magic carpet of a modulation accom-
pUshes journeys that are no less staggering. What can be
more miraculous than the way in which Music transports
her worshipper from key to key ? — conveying him first,
it may be, to some peaceful shore where little ripples
break at his feet and sea-guUs circle over his head ; then,
on a wUd night, plunging him into a grove of laurels 63

Loreto
where robbers crouch amid the gloom and the branches
drip with the blood of their victims ; next, perhaps, she
sets him shuddering on a plat of rising ground, while the
breezes comfort him with distant beUs ; and then she
takes him to a highway and shows him country-folk
passing by at sunrise, carrying chickens and eggs to market,
and presently a town springs up around him. Thus
Music " daily hes dun and dus many and many mirakels " ;
but, wherever she goes with him, in the end she always
faithfully restores him to the place from which she took
him. It may be, when the " errour of Mahomet " shaU
have been finally exposed, that the angels wiU take up the
Santa Casa once more and modulate it back to its original
foundations at Nazareth.

64

Castellinaria

To Augustus Theodore Bartholomew

Chapter 14 Mrs. and Miss Jones
IN 1912, when I arrived at CasteUinaria and Peppino
and I were driving up the zigzags from the station to
the town, he apologized because his hotel, the Albergo
deUa Madonna (con giardino) was rather fuU. The
Albergo Belvedere, where the EngHsh go, was under
repair and most of the guests had come to him.
" This year," he said, " shaU you don't be lonely. This
year shaU you be finding EngHsh ladies plenty many, also
you shaU be their gentieman."
I protested that it was impossible for me to be lonely at
his hotel. Besides, I did not come to CasteUinaria for the
purpose of meeting EngHsh ladies. But if it was to be so,
I would make the best of it and behave as Hke an EngHsh
gentleman as the atmosphere of the place would permit.
Peppino did not take me to dine with him in semi-
private as usual ; our room was occupied because there
was so much going on in the albergo this year, and he
asked me to dine in the large dining-room with the other
guests. Of course I agreed, and the first evening I was
put at a table with a lady of mature years and her
daughter. In the course of conversation it turned out
that the lady's name was Jones, and, further, that one of
her sons, Charles, who was recently dead, had been at

Castellinaria
my school, and also at my coUege at Cambridge, but not
actually with me ; he was a few years younger.
" Quite a string of coincidences," said Mrs. Jones.
And she treated the coincidences as sufficient introduction
and became extremely friendly.
" My daughter and I have come to SicUy entirely on
my account," said she, " and especially for my eyes. It
was by the advice of my old friend Sir WiUiam, and
now I see by The Times of yesterday that we have lost
him." " Not yesterday, Mamma dear," interposed Miss
Jones, " it was The Times that came two days ago."
" Oh weU, it doesn't matter which day it was. You
see," she added, turning to me, " I depend entirely on
my daughter for everything. She never leaves me. She
reads to me now that my eyes are faiUng. And there's
another thing — she does the flowers for me. You may
say it is a pity she should give up so much for her old
mother, but reaUy I don't think she minds it."
" Mind it. Mamma dear ! " exclaimed Miss Jones,
" Why, I simply love it."
It having been settled that the daughter simply loved
reading to her mother and doing the flowers for her, there
came a pause broken by Miss Jones, who inquired :
" Have you noticed our waiter ? "
" Well, yes," I repHed, " I have noticed that we have a
waiter ; but is there anything remarkable about him
which I have missed ? "
" Haven't you noticed his curly, golden hair ? "
" Now I look at it," I said, " it is very golden for a
SiciHan." " And his confiding blue eyes ? "
" Certainly they are very blue," I admitted.
68

Mrs. and Miss Jones
" And did you ever see a waiter with such aristocratic
manners ? " she asked.
I was not sure about that, but his appearance was more
aristocratic than that of Luigi, the other waiter. Then I
asked her, " Have you managed to catch his name ? I
cannot make out what they caU him."
" They caU him Rista," said she.
Mrs. Jones put up her glasses. " He looks far from
weU, and I am sure there must be something queer about
him. Rista is not an ItaUan name — at least I never
heard it before, and I don't Hke it. Besides — he smokes
too much."
" Oh, Mamma dear ! " ejaculated the daughter, " I've
never seen him smoHng."
" Perhaps not, my dear, and I don't object to it in
moderation. It's true he does not smoke while he is
waiting at table, I should think not indeed ! But you've
only to look at him. See how pale he is I It stands to
reason. And it must be very bad for him."
"Yes, Mamma dear."
I did not feel equal to dealing with the smoke question,
but I agreed that the name Rista required looHng into ;
and we passed on to other subjects. It soon appeared
that Mrs. Jones and her daughter, whose name was
Edith, were both very fond of music, and I was told all
about their visit to Bayreuth. They took rooms there
for a week and heard three operas. Their landlord was a
devoted Wagnerian and made aU the arrangements for
them. " Our landlord was most anxious that we should not be
late," said the old lady, " and made us get to the theatre
by 3.15 and the opera didn't begin tiU 4. So we had to
wait. The German Emperor was in the town, and was 69

Castellinaria
to come to the performance. The theatre, you know, is
arranged with seats rising above one another and boxes at
the back. When it was nearly 4 o'clock every one turned
and looked at the royal box. At last the royal party
arrived. There was the Empress who bowed and smiled,
and bowed and smiled, and took her seat, and the Prince
Regent of Bavaria  "
" Mamma dear, wasn't it Prince Henry of Prussia ? "
interrupted Miss Jones.
" No, it was the Pr  Yes, I beUeve you are right.
It was Prince Henry of Prussia, the brother of the Kaiser ;
how stupid of me ! And the Kaiser himself was there,
but he would sit down in a corner of the box and one
hardly saw anything of him. And then the lights were
put out and we had the first act. As soon as ever it was
over and the Hghts were on again, the whole audience
turned round and stared at the royal party ; and then we
went out to get something to eat. There were two
restaurants, one on each side of the theatre, so we went to
the one on our side — quite full ; but we managed to
snatch some coffee  "
" Mamma dear, wasn't it beer the first time ? " said the
daughter. " It was coffee," reiterated the old lady severely.
" Coffee the first time and beer the second."
" Yes, Mamma dear."
" Coffee and sandwiches, and while I put mine down
to get out my money to pay, some one nearly walked off
with them. Then we went back to our places, and the
staring continued until the lights were turned down, and
we had the second act. We were made to take off our
bonnets you know, and I had to sit en cheveux, but it
was dark, so that it didn't matter. As soon as the second
70

Mrs. and Miss Jones
act was over the Hghts were turned up again and every one
stared at the Emperor's party ; and then we had to make
another rush for more food, snatched whatever we could,
and I remember quite weU it was beer this time, as I said ;
then back to our seats again ; more staring, tiU the lights
were turned down ; and then we had the third act."
Mrs. Jones did not teU me which opera she had listened
to on this occasion, and I did not ask. I expressed my
gratification at hearing such an inteUigent account by a
reaUy musical person of one of Wagner's operas, whichever
it may have been, performed as he himself intended it
should be done.
It was an easy transition from the music of Bayreuth
to the music in the cathedral at CasteUinaria.
" Edith went the other day with her friends the Smiths,
those people who have the house near the gate of the town,
with the large garden — people who have lived here ever
so long. And Edith says it is aU done without any music."
" Not exactly without music. Mamma dear, because
they are singing aU the  "
" My dear Edith, I do wish you would not interrupt.
I know what I am taUdng about. Of course they are
singing aU the time, but singing without any accom
paniment. That's what I say. And I do think it is so
odd that they should sing like that. I must go if only
to hear how it sounds. Next time you see Mrs. Smith
you might ask her to caU, and then we can arrange for
me to go and hear this wonderful singing."
"Yes, Mamma dear."
" I don't promise to Hke it," continued Mrs. Jones.
" It seems such a funny idea not to use the organ when
you have one. If the organist is iU I am sure Edith would
be pleased to officiate. You know," she added, turning to
71

Castellinaria
me, " my daughter is a most accomplished pianist. She
finds it such a resource."
" Oh, Mamma ! " interjected Edith.
" WeU, my dear, you know what Signor Locatelli said
about your playing when we were in Florence."
" I am sure Mr. Jones does not want to hear that."
Of course I protested that I did, and Edith was sure I
did not, until Mrs. Jones cut us both short by saying :
" Never mind. I shaU wait tiU I catch him alone and
then he wiU have to hear it."
At this point I observed Peppino hanging about on the
terrace evidently waiting for me and, as we had finished
dinner, I said : " There is Peppino. If you wiU excuse
me, I will leave you. He wishes to speak to me."
" And who is Peppino ? " asked Mrs. Jones.
" He is our landlord," I replied.
" Oh 1 Signor Pampalone," exclaimed the lady. " Do
you know him ? "
" He is my compare,," I replied.
" And what ie a compare ? " inquired Mrs-. Jones.
" I am the godfather of his eldest son, Ricuzzu, and
that makes me his compare and in a spiritual sense a
member of his family."
" We shall see you again, I hope ? " said Mrs. Jones.
" Oh, I hope so. I am not going away for some time."
So I left them, and joined my compare who had come
to take me to call on his wife, Brancaccia, and my godson,
Ricuzzu. Brancaccia received me in her usual friendly
manner, regretting that they were so full in the albergo
this year, and Ricuzzu treated me as a weU-behaved
godson ought to treat his godfather. I gave him a box
of bricks which I had brought from London and with
which he played until bed-time.
72

Chapter 1 5 Ninu
THE next evening after dinner the ladies and I
were sitting in the veranda watching the lights on
the water. The post had come and there was a
letter from Mrs. Jones's daughter-in-law about the boy
who, it appeared, was now ten years old, and the letter re
ferred to a farmly discussion about what profession he should
take up. I gathered that the discussion had been raging
pretty briskly for some months, and the old lady was so
fuU of it that she could not help giving me her views.
She wanted the boy to be an engineer, and the rest of the
family did not agree vrith her ; or else they agreed In
principle but not in detail ; I do not claim to have under
stood the position very thoroughly.
" You see," she said, " Booboy is clever with his fingers,
at least his poor dear father was, and Booboy is very
hereditary, oh yes, I assure you, quite up to date — ^what
is caUed a Darwinian. And the Duke of WeUington was
an Engineer, which makes It seem so natural."
The introduction of the Duke of WeUington puzzled
me ; so I ignored it for the present, hoping that enUghten-
ment might foUow, and began something about : " Well,
if — excuse me, I did not quite catch the boy's name ? "
" Oh," she said, " No. His name is Reggie. He was
christened Reginald after his grandfather, the Arch
deacon ; but in the family we always caU him Booboy ;
it is a name invented by his Httle sister almost before she 73

Castellinaria
could speak; we think it such a pretty idea. And
you wouldn't beUeve how capitally it suits him."
I continued : " Well, if Reggie — or rather Booboy —
is clever with his fingers I should  " but I was not
aUowed to continue.
" I don't think you quite understand. My daughter-
in-law doesn't understand. This is the way I look at it.
I don't want him to be just any kind of engineer, not the
man who comes and sees to the meter when you have an
escape of gas in the house ; of course I do not mean that,
and I never said I did. I don't want Booboy to be a gas
engineer, or an electrical engineer either. His education
will, I hope, fit him for something better than to associate
with men of that class. Then there is the civil engineer
— that is more the sort of thing, at all events it sounds
better ; and, besides, Booboy is very polite, always was.
I remember when he was scarcely more than a baby and a
lady was calling — but, however, that has nothing to do
vrith the Duke of WeUington and that's what I'm thinHng
of. Now the Duke of WeUington was a Royal Engineer.
That's the Hnd I mean — a Royal Engineer. And he was
so like my poor son, Booboy's father. You must have
noticed it, Edith dear."
" Mamma dear," said Edith, " I did not know that the
Duke was an Engineer, and he died before I was born so
that I never saw him."
" Well, I never saw him," said her mother, " but you
have seen pictures of him."
" I have noticed a kind of likeness to CharUe in the
pictures, yes."
" Well, there you are. That's what I keep saying.
Then why shouldn't he be a Royal Engineer too ? That
would be so much better."
74

Ninu
" But, Mamma dear, Reggie never said he wanted to go
into the army."
" Perhaps not," repHed the old lady. " I dare say not.
But it's an Engineer I want him to be. Why can't my
Httie Booboy be a Royal Engineer ? The Duke of
Wellington was a Royal Engineer, and he was so like poor
CharUe." This attitude seemed to block further progress, and I
tried to get the conversation round to music again ; but
Mrs. Jones would not aUow it. She edged it towards
painting and the charms of landscape.
" I was very IU once," she said. " You remember,
Edith dear, how very iU I was two years ago ? "
Edith remembered.
" I was so UI that they were afraid I should die, and so
was I — ^in fact one day I thought I actuaUy was dead ;
however, I said I was sure I should recover if I could only
see a mountain."
Here she paused and giggled, and Edith looked uncom
fortable. " And then a young friend of mine, an artist — only an
amateur you know, but Professor RusHn said she would
have been the greatest artist of the age if she had given
herself to it, but there was some reason why she could
not go on, I forget exactly what it was just at the
moment." " Mamma dear," suggested Edith, " hadn't it some
thing to do with the turpentine ? "
" The turpentine ! now what can turpentine have had
to do with it ? No, It was the paint, of course ; I remem
ber now, she could not stand the smeU of the paint, it
made her quite unweU ; oh ! a very deUcate sensibUIty, I
assure you. WeU, this young friend of mine called to
75

Castellinaria
inquire and brought a picture to show me, one she had
painted herself and, do you know, it had a mountain in
it ! After that I soon got well. She came to stay with
us once and I took her for a walk ; it was in the spring
and the woods were carpeted — no, but I mean Hterally
carpeted with bluebeUs ; and where we live in the
country you see the sea through trees, you understand ?
through trees ; I think the sea is so much more beautiful
when you see it through trees. And this artist friend of
mine burst into tears. She said you couldn't teU where
colour ended and sound began. That's what she said,
and she burst into tears."
Then it appeared that Miss Jones's resources included
painting as well as music, and before we parted we had
agreed to go the next morning for a sketching picnic to a
spot where the view is particularly fine and, if possible,
to make a sketch. But it would be necessary to arrange
about mules for the ladles, at least for one of the ladles,
Mrs. Jones herself would not come.
" No," she said in excuse, " picnics are for you young
ones, not for old people like me."
We endeavoured to persuade her to change her mind,
but she was obdurate and said that if she came there would
have to be three mules whereas by her plan there need
only be two, one for Edith and one for me, and that would
be so much better. I undertook to arrange everything
with Peppino's help, and Miss Jones and I agreed to meet
next morning at the door of the hotel and start at eight
o'clock. When I consulted Peppino, hoping that he would be
our guide, he replied that he couldn't manage it. " Last
night," he said, " a man, a bad man, went in the cathe
dral ; he enter the treasure and stole his pocket full of
76

Ninu
reHques. Now he is in security and I am seeing the
poHceman." " Why ? Is this burglar a friend of yours, Peppino ? "
" I catch this man. I go to teU the poHceman the
story of the catch."
" Bravo ! AUow me to congratulate you on your sHU
as an amateur constable."
" Grazie," replied Peppino. " And the ladies, and the
mules, Ninu shaU be taHng you. It is now seven days
since the funeral."
" What funeral ? "
" His uncle it is dying, but after seven days it is no
matter. Now we shall be finding Ninu."
Ninu (Antonino) is a guide. That is to say, he knows
the way to the Cyclopsean waUs, to the Saracen Castle,
to the Cortile Arabo, to the semaforo and to aU the other
objects which visitors think they ought to see. A curious
thing about him is that he has scarcely altered since I
first made his acquaintance when he was fifteen, about
four years earUer than the time of which I am now writing.
This does not mean that he is stUl a child, it Is rather that
then he was already a man. He is only a Httle taUer now
than he was then, and his face is a Httle more set. There
exists between us a romantic friendship, but I do not
know how it began. When I arrive in the automobile,
he is at the gate and carries my luggage up through the
town to the albergo ; and when I go he carries it down
again. I used to give him a franc for each job. But one
day, after carrying my luggage up, he refused to accept
his franc. No. We are friends for Hfe, and the relation
ship must not be suUied by questions of money. I
acquiesced without understanding and put my franc back
into my pocket feeUng somewhat ashamed of myself. 11

Castellinaria
The following year when I went away, he carried my
luggage as usual to the automobile at the gate, and I did
not offer him anything ; we merely said good-bye and
parted like friends and equals in the presence of aU who
happened to be there. But my train did not go for an
hour or more, and, while I was having luncheon in the
refreshment room, who should appear but Ninu ; he had
come down on foot most politely to see the last of me. I
took the opportunity of saying :
" It's aU very weU, Ninu, but don't you think I might
be allowed to pay you for your labour in carrying my
luggage to the albergo when I arrived and down to the
automobUe this morning ? It needn't interfere with the
terms of our friendship, you know."
He immediately agreed and took two francs.
Peppino explains the romantic friendship by saying
that Ninu's family is under obligations to his family and,
now that. I have become a member of Peppino's famUy,
Ninu considers himself to be under obUgations to me also.
As we went along to look for the boy Peppino gave me
particulars of Ninu's late uncle, who, he said, was a man
not to be admired, a stupid man : " A man that was
worHng and worHng not only day but night also until he
died. And not to spend, not to take divertisement at
aU. It was a man who never enjoy his life, never to buy
the photograph, never to make the coUection of the stamp,
never to spend a penny in the cinematografo. He gain
plenty much money and his son shaU now be rich ; but
not to enjoy neither the son, not more than the father,
because the malady came to the son and for one year he
was — ^what is it ? — ^lottare per la vita — to struggle for his
Hfe without no satisfaction at aU. I went to the funeral
for this man out of duty, not out of respect. Better
78

Ninu
to enjoy the money and take care of the family."
" What did the uncle die of ? "
" The uncle he come home, he mount to his room, he
open the window, he faU down, he become himself one
frightfuUest tomato on the street."
" Do you mean he did it on purpose ? How shock-
ing ! "
" He was a very stupid old man."
We foimd Ninu and laid the proposition before him.
He said that his uncle's death should not interfere with
business and that he would be ready with two mules next
morning.

79

Chapter i6 The Sketching Picnic
NEXT morning there was Ninu with two mules
at the door of the albergo in his best clothes with
a rose fastened behind his ear and a smile spread
aU over his face. Edith Jones was also ready, and so was
the old lady. I thought she had come down to see us off,
but she had changed her mind ; she had come to accom
pany us and to ride on the other mule.
" You see," she said, " I thought I might as well make
the effort. I'm not so young or so active as I once was,
but Sir WiUiam said that, so long as I do not try my eyes,
exercise would be good for them. In moderation, I
mean. ' Take as much exercise as you Hke, in moder
ation.' That was his advice. ' Don't overdo it, that's
aU.' "
I assured her that I was dehghted to think we were to
have the pleasure of her company, and that no one could
caU one picnic overdoing it, I did not say anything, nor
did she, about the second mule having been originally
Intended for me. So we started and proceeded along a
rugged, narrow path, Ninu attending to and encouraging
the mules, while I divided my attention between the two
riders. " I am afraid our guide looks far from weU," said Mrs,
80

The Sketching Picnic
Jones when he was safely out of earshot, " Do you
know who is his doctor ? "
I repHed that I doubted whether Ninu had ever con
sulted a doctor.
" Oh, but that is most rash," said she. " Of course I
don't mean that he ought to go to the first doctor whose
name he sees up in the street. No ; that would never
do. He must make proper inquiries of course."
Here Ninu came back from attending to Miss Jones
and after belabouring Mrs. Jones's mule and discharging a
mouthful of foul dialect at it, left us again.
" Some one ought to speak to him," continued Mrs.
Jones. " I know so weU what it is to be without a doctor
now that my old friend Sir WUHam has passed away. I
can scarcely hope to be so fortunate again as I was in
finding him. I knew he was UI because when Edith went
to fix the appointment the servant told her he was laid
up. But he made an exception in my favour. I thought
it so nice and Hnd of him. And then at the appointment
he put some stuff into my eye, and we had to wait an hour
and a half whfle it worked ; so I took the opportunity of
telling him that in Vienna I had consulted Dr. Schloifer,
and asked if he had ever heard of him. ' My master ! ' he
exclaimed. Wasn't it strange ? Quite a coincidence. I
think the old man liked being reminded of his student
days. He was very nice and Hnd, and we had quite a
talk about doctors and their different treatments. The
obituary does not say whether he has left any family, but
he seems to have died worth a great deal of money — a
country house as weU as his town house and quite a large
place. I should not have thought my old friend would
have made so very much, for he had not the reputation of
exacting heavy fees. I found him very moderate and, as I
G 8i

Castellinaria
say, very nice and Hnd. People complained that he was
brusque in manner, but I did not find him brusque. It
is true that he wouldn't Hsten to aU I tried to teU him
about my symptoms, and I sometimes wish I had had a
second interview, but it was not to be and, after aU, he
was very nice and Hnd."
By this time Miss Jones had got on so far ahead that
Mrs. Jones could not see her and began to worry about
whether she had not faUen over a precipice ; but Ninu
presently hove in sight, coming back to see how we were
getting on, and gave us the last news which was satis
factory. " It's what I always say," continued the old lady :
" Make proper inquiries, go to a good man, follow his
treatment and you wiU derive benefit. There was Rosie
Beamish who suffered so terribly from eczema, another
case — poor girl ! Her mother told me she had tried
every doctor in London and that none of them had done
her any good. I should Hke to know which doctors she
had tried ! As soon as they asked me, of course I said
that I had heard Morris Reynolds very highly spoken of
and recommended her to consult him, and she did. He
naturaUy asked how old the child was, and when they
told him ' Sixteen ' he said, ' Very weU then, I think we
can effect a cure ; but she must foUow the treatment,'
So she had to spend  "
I was wondering what treatment Rosie Beamish was
going to be recommended to foUow, when a turn in the
path brought us suddenly to our destination and the flow
of reminiscences stopped. The ladies dismounted ; we
looked about us and became absorbed in the view and
in trying to distinguish the different buildings and
streets.82

The Sketching Picnic
"There is the Corso," said Ninu,
" Where is the Corso ? " exclaimed Mrs, Jones,
" Show me the Corso,"
" It's that long road going through the town from the
ViUa to the port,"
" I can't see it."
" You can see the sea. Mamma dear, can't you ? " said
Edith. " Do you mean the sky ? "
" They run into one another. I mean that the horizon
is hazy," explained Edith.
" But why don't you say what you mean ? You make
it so trying for me if you don't say what you mean, and
I'm trying to see the thing as it is. I'm sure I'm doing my
best." "Yes, Mamma dear."
" I don't think I'U try any more. My old friend Sir
WiUiam said I was not to try them. ' Above aU things
never try your eyes,' that was what he said. I'U just sit
in the shade here and get on with my knitting ; that
always rests them. It wiU be so much better. And I
dare say luncheon wiU be ready soon."
So we packed her up on a smooth stone in the shade
and left her.
" How distinct it aU is ! I can see the ships in the
port," said Miss Jones. " I can count the houses and
there is a carriage roUing along the marina. What is
that tower ? "
" That," repHed Ninu, " is the monastero."
" But it must be that lovely tower with the carved
wood shutters and bands of green tUes."
" Yes," repHed the boy : " that is where my aunt
Hves, my father's sister." 83

Castellinaria
" If only we could sketch the whole view from here,"
said Miss Jones.
" Ah yes," I said, " if  "
As we were neither of us ambitious enough to make
the attempt, we found shady places from which to sketch
bits of the Cyclopsean waU.
" I shall be aU right," said Mrs. Jones as we passed
her. " Please don't trouble about me."
So the rest of the morning was occupied until Ninu
became restless, which we construed into an intimation
that it was lunch-time. He had thought of everything
and had chosen a convenient and shady spot for luncheon.
He produced a cold chicken, bread, cheese, fennel, and a
bottle of wine, aU very light and Sicilian and quite enough
even with the addition to our party ; for food at a SiciHan
picnic, if it is enough for a given number, is sure to be
enough for one more — ^it is not Hke mules. There was a
caserma close by and, as we had no water, Ninu went
off to see if he could get any from the carabinieri
who occupied it. While he was gone Mrs. Jones
said :
" By the way, Edith dear, I forgot to teU you before,
but last night, after Mr. Jones had deserted us and you
had gone to bed and left me all alone on the veranda, I
had visitors — as I suppose I may say. That is, Mrs.
Smith and her daughter passed through with the Robin
sons and Mrs. Robinson introduced them ; they had been
dining with them and you never noticed them in the
dining-room. However, we had quite a nice chat and
Mrs. Smith asked me to consider It as a call. I thought
it so sweet of her, without waiting to be asked or anything.
So informal and friendly. Such nice people. So inter
esting and intelligent — both of them — people one can

The Sketching Picnic
enjoy talHng to, I don't wonder at your making friends
with such dehghtful people, Edith dear. The daughter
must be very clever because she has taught herself to
compose," "WeU, Mamma dear," corrected Edith, "hardly
taught herself. At least  "
"My dear Edith, I think I know what Mrs. Smith
told me."
" Yes, Mamma dear."
" If you would try to get out of this annoying habit of
constantiy interrupting when I am talHng, we should get
on so much better."
"Yes, Mamma dear."
" Mrs. Smith told me that Blanche took a story by
Miss — there now, I've forgotten the name ; but it was
one of those American writers and quite weU known. It
was aU about a princess. Or was it a dragon ? Some
thing of that Hnd. And I thought it such a pretty idea
when they told me. And Blanche made this story into a
play, and wrote the music for it aU by herself, and it was
performed in India by the chfldren of some friends of hers.
But she found herself constantly in difficulties owing to
not understanding the theory of music, I mean the
thorough-bass or the counterpoint or whatever it is
caUed. So she made inquiries and was told of a young
lady, a student at the Royal College of Music, who was
wiUing to give her lessons by correspondence, and she has
been working hard at it aU last winter, and when they go
to England they intend to invite the young lady to stay
with them for a fortnight, just to explain a few things
she does not quite understand ; and then she wUl be able
to go on and do it by herself. And I shouldn't wonder if
she becomes famous." 85

Castellinaria
" Mamma dear, did you arrange anything about the
music in the cathedral ? "
" Oh yes, we are to go to-morrow morning : it's a
celebration or something,
" Wouldn't it be a festa, 'Mamma dear ? "
" Very weU, caU it a festa if you like. I'm sure I don't
mind. Ah, here's Ninu back again. I think he is taking
a very long time to get our lunch ready."
Ninu not only brought water, he brought also peaches
and the carabinieri's dog came with him. About the
peaches he explained that he found the carabinieri bar
gaining with a woman who was standing at their door
with a basket fuU, She was taHng them down to the
town and they looked so fine that he had speculated in
some on our account. As for the dog his name was
" Che t'importa ? " which means " What's it matter to
you ? " and he deserved it, for he was putting his nose
into everything aU the time. Nevertheless he was a
sweet-tempered creature and made great friends with us.
Then we began our luncheon, Ninu waiting on us and
he and Che t'importa ? sharing our provisions. The
peaches were as good as Sicilian peaches can be, which is
but faint praise perhaps, for I have generaUy found these
southern peaches as hard as apples, good for cooHng but
not so good for eating raw as those one gets in the north ;
the explanation may be that I have always been in Sicily
at the wrong season for the good ones. Ninu told us
that they were grown by a weU-known brigand who was
keeping quiet just then. He lived with his sister not far
off in a house with a large garden, and the brigand's sister
was the woman with the basket. She always stopped at
the caserma on her way to market and suppHed the
carabinieri with fruit. Mrs, Jones looked shocked and
86

The Sketching Picnic
said it was most immoral, but she ate her peaches all the
same, and I beUeve that the information as to their prove
nance added a piquancy to the flavour of her dessert. As
our lunch proceeded the old lady became graduaUy
quieter and quieter and, in order to keep the conversation
afloat, I addressed Ninu. It is sometimes a Httle difficult
to interest boys, but food is generally a safe subject. The
peaches having been exhausted, I asked :
"And what did you have for dinner yesterday,
Ninu ? "
" Half a Hlo of bread," he replied, as though the
question were not worth asHng.
" But do you generaUy eat half a Hlo of bread ? " I
inquired. " Half a Hlo of bread in the morning," he replied,
" and half a Hlo of bread in the evening,"
I turned to Miss Jones and said : " He is not very big,
is he ? Do you think he could manage more than one
Hlo of bread a day ? "
" How old is he ? " inquired she.
" He must be about nineteen," I replied. " When
were you born, Ninu ? "
" During the tunny fishing, in May."
" Yes, but how long ago ? "
" I shaU be twenty on my next birthday."
" And have you never tasted meat before you ate some
of this chicken to-day ? "
" I have eaten meat four times in my life," he said.
"The first time was down at the port last year. Do
you remember, Signor Enrico, I came down to see you off
and you gave me two francs ? With part of that money I
had dinner in a restaurant, and ate roast beef."
" Did you like it ? " I inquired. 87

Castellinaria
" Very much indeed. During the year a French
family came to Castellinaria in their motor-car. I was
their guide while they were here, and they took me away
for three days on a tour. AU the time I had my meals
with them. We ate consomme, fish, and beefsteak aU
in one evening, and the same on the other days. That
was the second time. The third time was when I went
to Palermo for a week last month. In one day I ate fish
and veal aUa Genovese ; another day I ate fish and beef
steak ; and so on, but meat every day.
" And the fourth time ? " asked Miss Jones, who was
showing much interest in this food question, Ninu
turned away his head and there were tears in his voice as
he replied :
" That was when my uncle died the other day,"
" Oh, poor boy ! " exclaimed Miss Jones, " I am so
sorry. I did not know."
" We wept," said Ninu. " We aU wept. Do the
EngUsh weep when one dies ? "
" We weep if we cannot help it," I replied, " but we do
not make a ceremony of it."
" No, it was not that, I wept because of those words
which they spoke to me. They told me of my uncle's
life, of his piety, his charity, his suffering and his good
ness." " And was it all true, Ninu ? It sounds rather like
an epitaph." And I couldn't help remembering what
Peppino had told me about Ninu's uncle.
" Oh, it was all true — that was why I wept. We
were so busy weeping that our friends were afraid we
might starve, so they cooked us a dinner and brought it to
us, some broth and a beefsteak,"
Ninu spoke very well, his voice was unsteady and he
88

The Sketching Picnic
seemed stiU to be mourning for his uncle. Miss Jones
was much affected. She said :
" Do you mean to tell us that except on those four
occasions you have never in your life eaten anything but
bread untU to-day ? "
" We have spaghetti three times a week at home with
sauce made of tomatoes, and again if it is a festa."
" Then that might be four times a week ? "
" Yes, but never meat."
The heart of Miss Jones was bleeding for the poor
boy and tears of compassion were trembling on her
sympathetic eyeUds.
" How hard they work ! " she exclaimed, " and how
bravely they bear their poverty and their misery ! Do
you think I might give him a franc ? "
There was a glint in Ninu's eye as though he more
than half understood what she was saying and was pleased
to have produced the desired effect. But I held her
back :
" Let us wait tUl we return and then we can ask
Peppino what he thinks about it."
Mrs. Jones had contributed nothing to the conversation
about Ninu's food ; glancing in her direction now I saw
that she was nodding her head and was half-asleep.
Edith undertook to see that she was comfortable, so she
found her a seat in the shade, gave her a shawl and then
joined Ninu and me as we were finishing our cigarettes.
Miss Jones did not smoke — not even in moderation.
Then we resumed our sketches, but the morning had
passed and the sun had altered the Hghts and shadows on
our waU, There was, in fact, so Httle to be done in the
way of continuation that we started new sketches with
the afternoon Hght, and went on untU Ninu came to
89

Castellinaria
teU us that Mrs. Jones was asHng if it were not time to
return. Miss Jones and I congratulated each other on the result
of our efforts. We also submitted them to Ninu, who
declared that he had never seen anything so beautiful,
and begged us to give them to him ; he said that, if they
were his, h,e should have them framed and should hang
them up over his bed, one on each side of his picture of
the Madonna di Castellinaria, Somehow we did not
feel incUned to accede to his flattering request and sent
him off to make ready the mules, Mrs, Jones was
scarcely awake, but she was sufficiently on the spot to
know that she ought to appear to take an interest in what
was going on,
" I think you might show me what you've been doing,"
she said.
We handed her our sketches. She looked at them in
sUence, turned them over, looked at them again. Then
she said :
" Very pretty. And is that aU ? WeU, it does you
great credit. As for yours, Edith dear, neither of them
is perhaps quite the view I should have expected you to
choose. I have seen other sketches of yours which — ^gtiU
I must say I think — ^yes, if you were to carry them a
Httle further — finish them, in fact — I don't know that
they would be so bad. And now shaU we be getting
back ? "

90

Chapter 1 7 Science
NEITHER Mrs. nor Miss Jones appeared at din
ner, so I had our table to myself and the benefit
of aU RIsta's attention. And he was extremely
attentive. I afterwards discovered that he had been maHng
inquiries about me from Peppino, who had given me a
good character, Whfle I was helping myself to one of the
dishes, he said :
" I was not always a waiter,"
" No ? " I repHed, " and what used you to be ? "
" I had an equestrian circus."
It was a new experience for me to be waited upon by
one of those scarcely mortal beings who ride standing up
on a barebacked horse and jump through hoops. When
he returned with the next dish, I continued :
" And can you jump through hoops ? "
" No," he said, smiling modestly. " I cannot do that.
But I can ride a barebacked horse."
" Why did you give It up ? "
" It was the war in TripoU. I cannot tell you about
it now ; it is too long and there is a souffle to-night, I
must be ready for it. If you are free this evening, I wiU
teU you."
But after dinner I was caught by Mrs. Jones, who had
been dining upstairs with her daughter. She intended
to spend the evening in the veranda knitting. Miss 91

Castellinaria
Jones was not coming down and aUthe other guests had
gone out to look at the moon, which she considered a
most fooHsh proceeding. So I got Rista to postpone
our interview to some other evening, and devoted myself
to Mrs. Jones.
" When I say it is a foolish proceeding," said Mrs,
Jones, " of course I only mean on the grounds of health,
which must always be one's first consideration,"
"You mean, I suppose, that they may find it a bit
chilly after the heat of the day."
" Precisely. They are certain to take cold. It's what
is caUed — I forget just now what it is caUed, but there is a
scientific expression for when you do one thing and
another is sure to follow. Now about the moon ; as I
was going to say, I don't know whether astronomy
interests you at aU, I take the deepest interest in it myself
— always did, though I am the only one of my family
that takes any interest in science. I always read Nature,
I take it in. I find It such a resource. Besides, one must
keep up with the times. Of course you are aware of the
extraordinary influence which the sun's atmosphere has
upon the weather on the earth ? Now when certain
planets are in propinquity — I think that is what they
caU it ; but these Greek names are rather difficult to
remember ; I can generaUy manage the Latin ones
because, you see, my father was a schoolmaster  "
" Really ! " I exclaimed, " And my grandfather was
a schoolmaster." " Dear me ! " said Mrs. Jones, " that's quite another
coincidence, how very strange ! Well, and my father
taught me Latin, but he did not teach me Greek. Now
Edith was taught both ; yes, I thought it so much better.
Perhaps the word I want is transitu. Let's say it is that
92

Science
tiU we can ask Edith to rub up her Greek a Httle for us.
Very weU, then, when certain planets are in transitu the
atmosphere of the sun is disturbed, and at those times
the weather is most prejudicial to animal Hfe, Do you
remember one year lately how dreadfully the sheep
were dying ? "
" I remember reading about it in the papers. You
mean in the summer, don't you ? "
" Yes, it was the summer, I'm sure aU round us in the
country the people lost their sheep by thousands — liter
aUy by thousands. It was so bad that reaUy you might
almost say they were decimated. The reason, of course,
was that Jupiter was then in occultation — yes, I've
remembered the word now, in occultation, that's It —
and very bright he was. Every one was saying how bright
he was. I looked at him through a telescope — oh, I
know what you are thinking, but it was a warm evening, I
remember ; and besides, I took a shawl — and reaUy he
was a most beautiful object in the midnight sky, as they
caU it. Next year it vriU be some other planet, Orion I
think ; or wiU it be Andromeda ? I forget. But it wIU
be sure to be one of them, and it doesn't matter which
because the papers wiU teU us in time. AU these things
are perfectiy weU known now. People travel about the
world looking at the ecUpses, and that's how they find out
about the atmosphere of the sun and things of that kind,
and then they explain it aU in Nature."
" Astronomy is very interesting," I agreed, " but I
quite see your point that it is a risky pursuit in a change
able cHmate and, of course, health is the supreme considera
tion. If people wIU go out in the night air they must
expect to catch cold ; it is cause and effect,"
" Did you say that on purpose ? If so, it was very 93

Castellinaria
poUte of you ; because it is the expression I could not
remember just now. Cause and effect. I wonder why
I did not remember it. I was always so fond of cause
and effect — yes, and of subjunctive and objunctive too.
I'm sure they used to keep me awake night after night
when I was attending those lectures at the Royal Insti
tution." " By the by," I said, " taUdng of iUness, I trust that our
excursion to-day was not too much for Miss Jones. I
understand that she is not very strong."
" She is often like that," repHed her mother. " A
slight fatigue, nothing of any consequence. She is very
strong, never reaUy iU — at least, well hardly that. No, I
cannot say that ; and formerly, of course, she was delicate,
so deUcate as a child that the doctors aU thought I should
never rear her. But it just shows what can be done by
care and attention. And I am sure Edith had every care
and every attention, aU the best advice, every Hnd of
treatment, and medicine and baths and massage — nothing,
in fact, has. been neglected that money could procure, I
really couldn't say how many doctors have seen her ; so
many that now I am not in the least anxious, which is
just as weU because I depend so entirely upon her for
everything." Mrs, Jones seemed incHned to go on talHng and I had
nothing to do but to sit and Hsten. I was aUowed to
smoke, though at first I was afraid to begin, partly because
I remembered that she only approved of smoHng in
moderation, and I never know what people mean by
moderation when they apply it to something I want to do,
and partly because of a notice over the door. But she
wished me to be comfortable and recommended me to con
sult the waiter about the notice. I rang and Rista came,
94

Science
which rather surprised me because it was his evening out,
" Please, Rista, may I smoke ? "
" Certainly."
" But there is that notice over the door,"
Rista looked up and read It : " ' Visitors are requested
not to smoke in the veranda.' That is aU right," said he,
striHng a match. " That only appHes to visitors who do
not want to smoke."
So he Ughted my cigarette for me and disappeared.
" I sometimes think it strange," continued the old
lady, " when I remember what a number of doctors I
have had to do with. And yet I don't know, for, as I was
saying, I always had a great love of science — quite a voca
tion, as the phrase is. There was Sir Theodore Bartholo
mew, who came to see my dear husband when he broke
his leg ; a very courtly man. Sir Theodore — oh, a very
courtiy man, and always so nice and Hnd. And Dr.
Mansfield Forbes, who came to see my poor son Charlie.
I remember it was on the Saturday and he said to me :
' WeU, Mrs. Jones, it's nearly over, he can't Hve another
four-and-twenty hours: I should Hke to come to-morrow
just to see how it goes on.' And so he came on the
Sunday, merely to inquire — ^no fee, oh dear no, no fee.
I thought it so nice and Hnd of him, a man in a large
practice, such as his was, to give up his Sunday afternoon
just to come and inquire."
Here we were interrupted by Rista, who came to ask if
he should bring tea for two. Mrs. Jones always took tea
in the evening and, as I felt that a Uttle refreshment would
be welcome, I told him to bring tea for two.
" ReaUy that young man does look most unhealthily
pale," said Mrs. Jones. " I am sure he ought to change
the treatment." 95

Castellinaria
" Is he being treated for anything ? " I asked inno
cently. " Oh I know nothing about him," she repUed, " but he
does not look weU. And he is very thin — much too thin.
It is probably that excessive smoHng. But let me see.
Oh yes, I was going to teU you about Dr, Duncan Forbes,
the brother of Dr, Mansfield ; both very eminent in the
profession, I went to see Dr, Duncan with Mary Toovey
— that was another case — ^rheumatism this time. She
asked me to go with her — I suppose she thought I had had
a little experience with medical men. People do think I
know something about it, I remember Dr, Atten-
borough saying to me years ago : ' WeU, Mrs, Jones, you
know quite as much as any of us.' And I replied : ' All
that I know, Dr, Attenborough, you have taught me.'
But then I was so much interested in it that if there was
anything I did not understand I used to look it up in
the book. You may say that other people might have
done the same, but it isn't everybody .who is really
interested." She paused invitingly, and I obediently said : " And
perhaps it isn't every one who has the aptitude."
" Oh weU," she replied deprecatingly, " I would not
say that of myself,"
Here we were interrupted again, this time by the
arrival of the tea,
" Would you like me to pour it out ? " I asked,
" Oh, if you would be so kind," she said. " You see
I'm knitting. I find it such a resource and It does not try
my eyes. Not any sugar for me, thank you, I never
touch it. My old friend, Sir William, entirely forbade
it. And now I see we have lost him. Oh, I think I told
you,"
96

Science
At this point, or somewhere hereabouts, I became more
interested in my tea and my cigarette than in the remini
scences, and I am afraid I missed a good deal. At last
we were finaUy interrupted by the return of the other
guests who had finished looHng at the moon, and I was
able to leave Mrs. Jones with a lady who had drifted in
and sat beside her. In the corridor I encountered Rista
and said to him :
" But I thought it was your evening out, Rista ? "
" As you could not come," he replied, " I changed with
Luigi ; if it suits you I shaU be free to-morrow."
" AU right," I said. " And I wiU keep the appoint
ment this time without fafl. Good night."
About half an hour later I passed through the veranda
on my way to bed, and stopped to pick up the Corriere di
Castellinaria. I took it to a seat and was looHng for the
latest news from England when, through the open door
that led into the salone, I heard a voice :
"... he inquired the chfld's age, and when he heard
she was sixteen he said : ' WeU then, I think we can effect
a cure ; but she must foUow the treatment,' "
" It's Rosie Beamish," I said to myself. " If I keep
quiet, perhaps I shaU hear about the treatment this time."
The voice continued : " She had to spend — I forget
how long, something Uke eight hours every day — ^in a
bath. Fortunately she was staying with friends who
happened to have a bath and was able to do it, and in six
months her eczema was much better — ^reaUy much better.
It's true she had a return of it three weeks later, but it
had yielded to treatment. It's what I always say : Make
proper inquiries, go to the right man, foUow his treatment
and you wfll derive benefit."

97

Chapter 1 8 Poesia
NEXT morning Peppino, having an hour or so
off, took me for a walk. On the way he said :
"And how is your dolce cuore, your sweet
heart ? "
" Who is my dolce cuore, Peppino ? "
" Oh ah ! Ninu he teU me about you and the signorina
inglese. Ah ! when shaU be the wedding ? "
" You must not be In such a hurry,"
" If to form the intention, better to be doing."
" There are a good many things to be considered before
one proposes, and I have not formed any intention,"
" The signorina inglese she expect. Always the woman
it is expecting. And if the man don't be asHng, then is
the woman very hating."
" But, Peppino, she is such a poor Httle thing ; so
crushed and reduced to nothing. If I could be sure she
would say ' no ' I might chance it, just to pay the compH
ment, What do you think ? Would it be safe ? "
" The life it is the risk. Coraggio ! "
" Yes, but some risks are too serious to be taken. Now
if I had RIsta's advantages there would be no risk about
it. It woifld be a certainty."
" Then the signorina inglese accept the compliment
and refuse the marriage."
" Not at aU. I have no doubt that she would accept
98

Poesia
both, and especiaUy the marriage, if I had RIsta's advan
tages. At least she would want to. She is fascinated by
his curly golden hair, his confiding blue eyes and his
aristocratic manners."
"AU the ladies are teUing the same about Rista."
" But I was not thinHng of marriage. I was thinHng
of something you told me once."
" What was I teUing ? "
" You gave me some advice. You said, ' If to be
seeking the joy in the dictionary of the people that is
married, it is a word that is not — ^what is it ? — it is a word
that is an old expression, no longer used in that
dictionary.' "
" Ah yes," he repHed, " but with love things it is aU
different. Excuse me ; the true love it is like the — ^what
is this Httie fiery beast that is jumping in the air during
the night-time ? No, it is not like this. The true love
it is Hke the lanterna, very useful to take in the dark room.
The false love it is like the beast with the fire in his coda
— ^his tafl — ^that is escaping and is teUing : " Please come ! '
and you spofl yourself, but you don't be arriving to catch
him. And if to catch, then is he useful not at aU. Did
you understand ? "
" Yes," I repHed, " that's about It."
" Then why to don't marry the signorina inglese ? "
" Because there is no lanterna ; there Is not even a
Uttle fiery beast. I say, Peppino, suppose there were to
be a lanterna, and she told her mother she wanted to
marry, woifldn't there be an awful row ! But it's quite
out of the question. She can no longer call her soul her
own, poor Httle thing ! Do you know that she has
devoted her Hfe to looHng after her mother ? She reads
to her. And, besides, she does the flowers. Her mother 99

Castellinaria
told me so. Sometimes one meets with devotion Hke
that in EngHsh famiUes, but it is not always that the
daughter reaUy enjoys the Hfe. I did want to talk to
you about the signorina inglese all the same. I want you
to explain to her about Ninu." And I told him how poor
Ninu never ate meat.
Peppino said : " This is a thing not too difficult to
explain. This is like the devotion of the daughter."
" How can Ninu's food be Hke the devotion of the
daughter ? "
" This is the — how speak you the poesia ? Excuse me,
it is the lie. To make the poesia the truth it is necessary
not at all."
" Don't you believe it ? Don't you believe what Ninu
says about his food ? And don't you beUeve what the
signorina inglese says about her mother either ? As for
Ninu, the young ruffian told us himself."
" Of course, yes. The SiciHan shall be telling always
the poesia. Also the boy, the young man. Also the
grown man. Also the — excuse me — the signorina inglese
she tell you herself ? "
" The mother said it, and the daughter confirmed
her." " Also the English lady," added Peppino, completing
his Ust.
" WeU," I said, " I should Hke to know what Miss
Jones really thinks about this devotion."
" She is thinking what I am teUing. Look here. The
prepotenza of the mother it is not agreeable to the little,
poor thing and she can don't be moving away. Always
she must be telHng : ' Yes, Mamma dear ' ; always she
must be seeming to be in happiness, but it is happiness
not at aU, This is the poesia,"
100

Poesia
" In fact," I said, " she is leading a double Hfe, one
thing to herself, another thing to the world,"
" The poesia it is the deception. But If to be leading
the true Hfe then the mother to be very worse, plenty
more prepotenza. This is not a good thing."
" You mean to say she puts on the poesia as a Hnd of
shield ? "
" The poesia of the signorina inglese it is the conceal
ment for protection."
"And is Ninu's poesia also concealment for protec
tion ? "•
"The poesia of Ninu it is the business of the mendi-
cante — how do you say the begging man ? "
" WeU, but his going to Palermo ? Was that another
Ue ? "
" Not the Ue. Ninu was sparing the money and was
escaping to Palermo and his father was In sorrow and was
using the telegraph : " Please Mr. PoHceman be finding
Ninu.' And many days are passing without to find.
And a cousin is meeting Ninu by fortune in the Via
Maqueda : ' Please come home, Ninu.' And Is coming
home with the cousin, and the family is weeping to receive
him." " What a young devil ! "
" It is the devil not at aU. It is the boy — the young
man. It is the — how speak you this grain that shaU be
in the field ? No, not the farina, this other grain ;
excuse me, perhaps it is the orzo — the barley ; it is the
young man that shaU be planting the savage barley. Did
you understand ? "
"Yes, that would explain it. But young men grow
out of that ; he wiU settle down in time."
Ninu, it seems, picks up a good deal of money one way lOI

Castellinaria
and another in the course of the year. That is how he was
able to save enough to run away to Palermo. His father
is a pilasterer and is never out of work. They are fairly
weU off and if they reaUy do not eat meat at home, it is
only because they prefer to save the cost of it. But
nothing would induce Peppino to believe that they never
eat meat at home.
The question now arose whether I ought to pass on
Peppino's opinion to Miss Jones, He was strongly against
my doing so,
" The signorina inglese," he said, " shall better keep
the iUusione. She shaU be agreeable to make to be
flowing away the tears with sorrow for Ninu. But if to
know the true history, then to don't be flowing away the
tears ; this is not a good thing. When the tears It is ready,
then must be flowing away or shaU be coming the malady,"
" She wants to give him a franc to buy a dinner with.
What am I to teU her ? Hadn't you better come with
me and invent some poesia to support Ninu's lie ? You
would do it better than I should."
" Come on," replied Peppino.
On the way we passed a trattoria, kept by one of Ninu's
cousins, and there I spied the boy at a table in a dark
corner eating a beefsteak.
I said, " Buon appetlto, Ninu."
" Thank you," repHed Ninu ; but he looked rather
embarrassed and added, " I say, Signor Enrico, please
you need not tell the EngHsh lady that you saw me eating
a beefsteak." " Of course not, Ninu. Why should I tell her that ?
If I teU her anything it had better be something plausible.
How would it do if I told her that I saw you eating half a
kilo of bread ? "
102

Poesia
Soon after passing the trattoria we overtook Mrs. and
Miss Jones. They graciously aUowed us to accompany
them to the albergo.
" We have been to the cathedral," said Mrs, Jones.
"What a beautiful cathedral you have in your town,
Signor Pampalone ; so classical, and so many styles of
architecture, Gothic and Byzantine and Elizabethan
and  "
"Mamma dear, are you sure Mrs. Smith said Ehza
bethan ? "
" WeU, if she didn't say that, what did she say ? I'm
sure she mentioned several styles, and you must admit
that the cathedral is quite beautiful enough to be Ehza
bethan, except for the artificial flowers upon the high
altar." " Yes, Mamma dear ; I know you never approve of
them." " Of course not, my dear. But it was the singing we
went particularly to hear."
" I hope you were not disappointed ? " I asked.
" Not in the least ; it was just as I said ; all done
without any music — merely singing. I don't know that
the voices blended particularly weU, not like when those
two girls used to sing duets after dinner at Vevey with a
guitar and a mandoHne. But then of course they were
sisters, and I think sisters' voices always do blend so beauti
fuUy." I agreed that sisters' voices always do blend so beauti
fuUy. " And did you miss the organ ? " I inquired.
" No," she replied, " I did not miss anything. Blanche
Smith said they were singing in parts, and perhaps that
made a difference. I mean it is not the same as duets, is
It ? She said there were four parts, but I should say
103

Castellinaria
there must have been more than four — five or six I should
think. It sounded so rich that I didn't mind the voices
not blending. It was so — what I caU sonorous. ReaUy
it was difficult to beUeve there was no organ. Blanche;
Smith says it was one of the Latin anthems, she thinks
they are so much better. But then, of course, she's a
musician." By this time we had reached the albergo and Peppino
came In with us. The ladies began questioning him about
his life in England, asking him specially how he liked
London. Peppino always enjoys talking about London.
He said it was troublesome at first, but after a time he
managed very well,
" When I was In London and was going to this place,
the first place I live In London, where was the letter from
my mother, I take the train and the train was moving and
the guard-man he says to me, ' Now you shaU be fined
for taking the train that is aheady moving.' And I was
telUng that I don't be knowing the language of his country
and don't understand that it is prohibited to enter the
moving train. And the guard-man he was very Hnd and
was telling : ' If to be travelling around the world it is
better be learning the language before to leave the
home.' "
Miss Jones presently introduced the subject of Ninu,
intending to lead up to the food difficulty ; but Peppino,
instead of allowing her to approacli it, told her all about
Ninu's parents and relations, refe'rring incidentaUy to his
aunt in the monastero. When they understood that this
aunt was actually a nun, the ladies, forgetting all about
the interesting main subject, had to be told all about the
StiU more interesting subsidiary one.
Put shortly it came to this, that Ninu's aunt entered
104

Poesia
the monastero at the age of thirteen ; she was now sixty-
nine, so that she had been immured for fifty-six years.
At the time she entered, her brother, Ninu's father, was
one year old and, as a baby, had often been passed in to
the monastery through a revolving doorway so that his
sister might play with him for an hour or two.
" Then do the nuns receive visitors ? " asked Miss
Jones. " Never shall a visitor enter the monastero," replied
Peppino, " never, never, never. Neither shall the woman
be going on the streets ; always inside, tiU shaU be coming
the death."
" But tiie baby ? "
" Then is necessary the blinding of the eye to the baby."
" How horrible ! " exclaimed Miss Jones. " It's bad
enough to shut the old lady up, but fancy bUndlng the
poor baby ! "
" No, no," I said, " Ninu's father is not bUnd — he
didn't mean that. Peppino, you mean that the authori
ties wink at the introduction of the baby, don't you ? "
" Of course, yes. But when to be having four years
then shaU the mother be teUIng to the bishop : ' Please
Mr. Bishop make me the pleasure to — ' how do you speak
firmare ? Excuse me, it is to make the signature, the
permesso for the entry of the old baby. Also of the lady.
Also of the man, if it is the father or the brother and the
rehgious woman shaU be sick. But if to be asHng this
person, the bishop shaU be replying, ' Yes ' ; and if
to be asHng that other person, then ' No.' Very
uncertain. It is aU — how say you ? — ah, yes ; it is aU go
and touch."
" I suppose they must be strict in a convent," said Miss
Jones. 105

Castellinaria
" It is not convento," corrected Peppino.
" Yes," I said, " I've fallen into that trap before now.
In this part of the world they call It a convent when it Is
for men and a monastery when it is for women. Every
thing is so different in Sicily."
" And this is the monastero which Ninu showed us ? "
asked Miss Jones.
" It is in the street where is the pescheria, the market
of the fish ; and the tower it is high ; and the window it is
eluded with lacework of wood heavfly laboured."
" Yes, that's it," said Miss Jones. " Can't we get the
bishop to give us a permesso, and won't Ninu take us to
see his aunt ? "
" Look here," said Peppino, " I shall be telling Ninu,
and Ninu shall be telHng the mother, and the mother shall
be telling the aunt, and the aunt shaU be telling the
abadessa, and the abadessa shall be telHng the lady :
" Please come to the parlatorlo — not to enter ' ; and the
religious woman — the aunt — shall be coming and shall be
speaking in the grille."

io6

Chapter 1 9 Rista
THAT evening at dinner I told the ladies that,
with their permission, I should leave them early
to go and keep my appointment with Rista.
" Then do take the opportunity," said Mrs. Jones, " of
finding out who is his doctor. I am sure there must be
something wrong with the treatment, or perhaps it is the
smoking. These Sicflians aU smoke too much. What
ever it is, I shaU be pleased to speak to Dr. Barrabini If
he wishes it. And there is your other friend, Signor Pam
palone ; I noticed him particularly this morning, and I
must say I think he looks far from weU. Are you sure he
is receiving proper advice ? As you are so intimate with
him you might ask him who is his doctor."
I said it was very Hnd of her to take so much interest
in Peppino and Rista, and promised to find out what they
were doing about medical advice.
Then I bade the ladies good night, and went and found
Rista in the caffe we had agreed upon. I offered him a
cigarette, and asked what he would Hke to drink. He
said he did not smoke ; he had tried once, years ago, and
it had made him sick, so he had never repeated the experi
ment. As for drinHng, he had not drunk wine for many
years and intended never to drink it again. He accepted
a cup of coffee, and I asked him whether he thought the
waiter who brought it looked as though he could jump
through hoops. 107

Castellinaria
He smfled indulgently and said : " You must not
suppose that every waiter has had an equestrian circus."
" Before you begin," I said, " please explain your name.
It is a very uncommon name for a Sicilian, Isn't it ? "
" I am not a SiQilian," he said.
" Not a SiciHan ! " I exclaimed. " WeU, I thought
your hair was very light for a Sicilian. What are you ? "
" I am a Serbian ; my home Is In Belgrade and my name
is Cristo Zoukitsh. I was born in December, and in my
country all boys born in December are baptized Cristo.
But my parents did not like me to use that name in daily
life, so they shortened it into Rista, I shall be twenty-
two next December."
" Only twenty-two ! and how long did you have the
circus ? You must have been rather young to be in
business." " I was fourteen when I left home, but I did not have
the circus at once. My mother was cruel to me. I told
my parents that if she did not treat me better I should
leave. She went on being cruel. I got up early one
morning, opened my father's desk, took forty thousand
francs [^i,6oo sterUng] and went away. I can speak
EngHsh if you like, and French. Also German, Russian,
Serbian, TurHsh, Roumanian, and modern Greek, besides
Italian." " Now I understand what you mean when you say you
were not always a waiter. You mean you were a thief ? "
" Thief ! weU, if you Hke to say thief— I don't know.
You caU that being a thief ? You must remember it was
my father's money I took. I have never taken money
from any one else. My father has a large business. He
has been carrying It on for many years. He suppHes
carpets to the Sultan of Turkey. In the time of the late
io8

Rista
Sultan he was made a Bey, that is the same thing as being
a Count, He is very rich. If I had stayed at home he
would have spent more than forty thousand francs
upon me by this time. No, my father has not lost that
money." " I suppose you are ashamed to go home now,"
" Not at aU, My father wants me to go home. He
sent me three hundred francs to go home."
" Then why did you remain here as a waiter ? "
" Me ! Go home with my father's money and nothing
in my pocket, like a beggar ! No. When I go home I
shaU pay my own journey and arrive with my pockets
fuU," " Your father's three hundred francs wiU come In useful
ia helping to ffll your pockets. Did you put his money In
tiie bank ? "
" Of course not. I sent it back to him and told him
not to insult me."
" How much money have you got now ? "
" One hundred and four francs, and it is not in the
bank. I have given it to Signor Pampalone to take care
of for me."
" When you left home at fourteen with forty thousand
francs, did not your father send the poHce after you ? "
" I don't know what my father did. I went to Paris.
I did not hear from the poHce. I did not see them. In
Paris I went to a great restaurant for supper, and there
were ladles — beautiful ladies in silk with gold and
diamonds. They came and sat at my table and ordered
supper and gave me champagne. When the waiter woke
me up with the bfll it was six o'clock in the morning and I
did not see any ladies. One thousand francs to pay."
" Rather extravagant." 109

Castellinaria
" It was the ladies' supper. I was not extravagant. I
did not understand. I was fourteen. It was a trap."
" It was hardly the way your father would have spent
money upon you. StiU it might have been worse. I do
not know whether you might have had to go to prison if
you had not paid the bill."
" Perhaps. And that is the last time I drank wine.
I went to Smyrna and there I found my circus — horses,
tents, furniture, scenery, harness, and aU the performers.
I paid them every week, and we traveUed until last year.
We traveUed in Greece, in Asia, in Macedonia, in Turkey,
in Bulgaria, in Crete and many islands and I became
friends with Maria."
"Who is Maria ?" I asked.
" Maria is a very beautiful girl and we were engaged
to be married. We embraced in the tent in the dark
after the performance every night. And then a rich
man came, and Maria went with him and left me alone.
And the war broke out in TripoU and many men went to
fight — Turks and ItaUans both — and no one was left in
the town to see or to ride, aU gone to the war. Also no
horses — all gone to the war."
" So I suppose you sold everything that was left ? "
" There was no one to buy — aU gone to the war — ^ — "
" The circus melted away, in fact," I said, " Hke the
ladies in the Parisian restaurant. Do you intend to
remain here as a waiter ? "
" No. In Sicily there is no money. I intend to go to
America. I have a brother in Ameriga with a business,
doing very well. If I had fifty francs more I would go to
London and get a place in a hotel — with aU my languages
that ought not to be difficult. Then I should soon save
enough money to join my brother in America."
no

Chapter 20 The Monastero
As Rista and I left the caffe and returned to the
hotel it began to rain, we only just got in in
time ; and in the night there was a tremendous
thunder-storm. Next morning Miss Jones and I were
comparing notes about it while we waited for Ninu
to come and take us to the monastero. Mrs. Jones had
not slept at aU, and her poor daughter had been up most
of the night Hstening to her complaints.
" My dear, you mustn't think of going to that convent
to-morrow if it's like this. And you've no umbreUa.
You've never had it mended. So rash of you to go all
these days without having it mended. Why, it might
have rained at any moment and you might have been
drenched. I do wish you would acquire a system. Now
promise me, Edith dear, that the very next time you go
out the first thing you do wfll be to find a man and have it
mended, else you'U be catching your death of cold, and
what shaU I do then ? You reaUy ought to think of me
OccasionaUy and not always be so entirely wrapped up In
yourself. It's something very like ingratitude after aU the
money that has been spent on your education and health
and advancement in Ufe and one thing and another."
Miss Jones did not quote her mother as having used
exactly these words, but I gathered that some such
speech had been addressed to her- When morning
came it was seen not only that the storm was over but
that it was a perfectly briUiant day ; so Miss Jones III

Castellinaria
was allowed out and dutifully brought the umbreUa.
As soon as Ninu arrived we asked if he knew a man who
could safely be entrusted with the job, and he took us
sHghtly out of our course to an umbreUa-mender who
exercised his mystery in part of the ground floor of a
palazzo. This artificer grasped the sufferer firmly in one
hand, and with the other behaved to It in a manner so
extremely f amIHar that aU the other umbreUas In the shop
blushed. Having diagnosed its complaint, he did some
thing like stopping a tooth, only he used wire and
tweezers. He talked the whole time while we looked on
admiring his dexterity. He told us he had five brothers
in America, one a "shoemaker, one a goldsmith, one a
barber, one a waiter, and one an artist Hke himself, that
is, a maker and mender of umbrellas. I should rather
have called him a conjurer, but, after all, artists and
conjurers have much in common. He said he had pre
dicted the storm, and he now predicted another for the
following night. An umbreUa-maker ought to know
something about the weather and, if of a cheerful tem
perament, may be expected to take a view suitable to his
business. Miss Jones hoped he might be too sanguine,
and that the Padre Eterno would kindly let us have a Httle
peace for the next night. The umbreUa-mender repHed
that rain was wanted for the country, and that the Padre
Eterno had nothing to do with it. Rain, he said, is an
affair of nature. On my asking whether there was not
some connexion between nature and the Padre Eterno,
he declared that there was none. He had read about it
in a book, a printed book, and did not beUeve there was
any Padre Eterno at all. Miss Jones looked shocked,
but he noticed nothing. His notion of God, he said, was
money. I said that I had met many of his co-reUgionists,
112

The Monastero
but that few of them expressed their creed so clearly and
so openly. In his practice, however, he did not act up
to his profession, for, when he had completed the cure
of the umbreUa, he declined to make any charge. Miss
Jones was puzzled, Ninu looked as though he held the
key to the enigma but refused to explain, and I promised
to get Peppino to put the matter straight.
After this preHminary adventure we went on to the
monastero, where we were received in the parlatorlo by
Ninu's aunt. This parlatorlo is not considered to be
within the precincts, it is scarcely more than a porch where
risitors are received. There was a double griUe with a
space of a foot or two between. In the waU on each side
of thegrflle was a revolving door or cupboard ; it was like
four corner cupboards with their corners meeting and
revolving on the join, or like those circular revolving doors
which they have in modern hotels for keeping the draught
out. The old lady appeared behind the grflle — a frafl,
timid, Httie person — and, after the first greetings, we
asked whether that was the revolving door through which
Ninu's father had been passed.
"Yes," she repHed, " and also Ninu when he was a baby."
She told us aU about the regulations of the monastero.
There have been as many as thirty nuns, but now they are
reduced to ten and as they die their places are not fiUed.
They get up at six and attend Mass, and one of the nuns
plays the organ. At nine they have breakfast — coffee,
bread, oHves, cheese. Then they work, each in her own
private room, maHng lace, sweet pastry, and artificial
flowers for the altar. At twelve they have dinner which
consists of about a pound of meat among six persons, one
smaU fish each, about the size of a sardine, and as much
bread as they like. Also they have wine, water and sweet
I 113

Castellinaria
cakes. No talHng is permitted during dinner, but some
one reads aloud The Lives of the Saiiits. After dinner
there is an interval of freedom during which they take a
siesta. From four to five they pray ; from five to six
they work ; at six they have Benedictions in chapel ; tell
their beads tiU seven, when they have supper ; and at
eight they go to bed, aU In one very large dormitory.
The abbess is a lady of birth and is spoken of as the
Abadessa Nobile. They have had nuns of great learning,
and one of them taught Ninu's aunt Latin. She has
forgotten everything that she knew before she went in.
She has never been outside the waUs, but she has looked
through the latticed windows into the street and has seen
a bicycle and a motor ; from the top of the tower she can
see the sea with sails on it and the ships unloading in the
port ; she can see the great mountain ; also she can see
the trains, but they are too far off for her to make much
of them. She has heard that a flying man is coming to
Castellinaria in about a fortnight, and she hopes to catch
sight of him when he is performing. They have three
servants among each five nuns, and it is not too many
because the rooms are spacious. They take vows of
Castita, Poverta and Clausura Perpetua. And Castita
is construed quite literally — no widow is admitted.
The griUe on the monastero side was of wood with
quite large openings, on our side it was of metal with
small openings. When we were preparing to withdraw,
the old lady put her arm through one of the large open
ings in her grIUe and seemed to expect something. Ninu
told us to put our fingers through the small openings on
our side. We did so, she reached across the intervening
space, touched our fingers with her hand, and muttered a
few words. Thus she dismissed us with her blessing.
114

Chapter 21 Goats' Milk
PEPPINO and I were in the veranda smoHng and
talking about the monastero and the crime of
shutting chfldren up in such a place and feeding
them on The Lives of the Saints tfll they die. He replied
that this is no longer done. The eldest nun is ninety ;
when the numbers have been reduced by death to four
or five the survivors wiU be turned out and given a franc
a day each. The monastero and the ground will then be
taken over by the government which has already acquired
it. That did not seem to be a satisfactory conclusion. I
said something about thwarting aU the woman's natural
instincts and casting what remains of her loose on the
world. Ninu's poor old aunt has Uved a Hfe devoid of
experiences — if that can be caUed Hfe. Even her worries
and anxieties have been reduced to a minimum. She is
hardly more than a chfld after aU these years, and wiU be
less fit to return to Hfe at seventy than she was to leave it
at thirteen. In these cases it seems that the nun is usuaUy
taken by her relations. Ninu's father wiU probably
receive his sister into his house — a legacy from the Church.
Then Peppino began : Look at the EngUsh ladles ;
look at Miss Jones, Wfll not she be turned loose on the
world when her mother dies ? And what about her
fitness for Hfe and her natural instincts ? Has not she
been sacrificed to that old woman as much as Ninu's aunt 115

Castellinaria
has been sacrificed to the Madonna ? And he would not
allow that Miss Jones could take any credit for keeping her
mother aUve.
" The old mamma it is very weU, thank you," he said,
" it is, how do you say the — excuse me, it is the Imaginary
malade, and the nurse it is necessary not at all. It is the
little, poor thing that is the suffering malade."
" Ah, you think it is the signorina who wants aU those
doctors and a nurse to take care of her. That is because
you do not know what care and attention she has had ;
aU the best doctors, aU the best advice and baths and
treatment and  "
"No, no."
" But Peppino, her mother told me so."
" Of course, yes. But it Is necessary not the doctors,
not the nurses, not the medicines ; for the signorina it is
necessary three things other. Number one, it is the
liberty ; number two, it Is the young gentleman friend
excuse me, it is the husband ; number three, it is the
baby ; or boy or girl, I do not care ; it is necessary the
baby." " Ah ! you are thinHng of Brancaccia."
" Very weU. And Brancaccia, is she unhappy ? "
" Not at all. Nor is Peppino. You are the two
happiest people that I know."
" And Ricuzzu also, and the other babies."
" Yes, yours is a reaUy happy family."
Mrs. and Miss Jones suddenly invaded the veranda
and Mrs. Jones, in a flutter, sank exhausted into a chair.
" We've been to see that dreadful Mrs. Smith," she
exclaimed, " to return her call, you know ; and there
was only goats' milk with the tea, and I do so detest goats'
milk ; they used to give it to us in that horrid hotel at
ii6

Goats' Milk
Cadenabbia and it always made me iU. I wish I had not
drunk my tea. I feel just as I used to feel at Cadenabbia.
Mrs. Smith has been recommended to take goats' milk.
I can't think who her doctor can be, not Dr. Barrabini
I'm sure. It is so excessively rude of people to have
people to tea and then not provide proper things for them.
It isn't the way I was brought up, nor any of my children.
Let them have goats' milk for themselves by aU means,
but they ought to provide something that won't poison
their friends. And then there was no bread and butter,
only sweet cakes, and you know I do so detest anything
sweet. And I was put in a chair with my face to the
Hght, and Mrs. Smith is deaf, and I had to shout to her,
and that horrid Blanche was maHng such a noise on the
piano aU the time playing her own compositions, and
Edith thinks the young lady student wfll have to stay
much longer than a fortnight before Blanche's musical
education is finished. I am so glad to get back again.
Edith, my dear, you must be more carefifl ; you do make
friends with such extraordinary people. You really must
not go about picking up just anybody you happen to meet
Hke this."
"Yes, Mamma dear."
" Of course, now, we cannot prevent their caUing if
they insist, and we shaU have to give them tea I suppose ;
but if that old lady thinks I'm going to get in a supply of
goats' milk just for her she'U find she's very much mis
taken." And as I took Peppino away I wondered whether the
sheltered life in the monastero had shielded Ninu's aunt
from ever having anything simflar to endure.
" TaUdng of goats' miUc, Peppino," I said, " didn't you
teU me that aU the mflk in CastelHnaria is goats' miUc ? "
117

Castellinaria ^
" No milk of the cow in Castellinaria. All people are
drinking the milk of the goat for the exception of the
milk of the cow coming in the box of metal from Milano."
" I wonder whether it really is the smoHng or whether
perhaps It may be the goats' milk."
" What is the smoHng or the goats' milk ? "
" Why, I wonder which it is that makes you so iU,
Peppino. And Rista. And Ninu too."
" And you too," retorted Peppino. " The old lady
she says to me : ' Poor Mr. Jones, very ill. Bad doctor
and too much smoHng. Speak to him about it, Signor
Pampalone.' "
" It seems to me we are aU in the same boat. I've
got to find out who is your doctor, Peppino. You must
not go to the first one whose name you see written up ;
you must make proper inquiries, go to a good man, follow
his treatment and you wIU derive benefit."
" Yes ; and in three weeks shaU be departing the
benefit and shaU be returning the malady. Thank you
very much."
" That sounds as though you had been Hstening behind
doors and round corners and had overheard about Rosie
Beamish." " Not behind the door, not round the corner. The old
lady she tell me in the salone."
" I believe she tells every one."
" Of course, yes."
" I should like to know how you manage about a doctor,
aU the same, Peppino ? You must want one sometimes,
if not for yourself, then for one of the family."
" When Ricuzzu Is In viaggio — how do you say ? is to
be born, I am asking to Dr. Barrabini ' Please come
quIcHy.' And is coming Dr. Barrabini. But Ricuzzu
ii8

Goats' Milk
he is coming more quicHy. ' Good-bye Doctor, please
come quickly, quicHy next time.' And next time, same
thing. Too late. Doctor no use in my house."
" So that it cannot very much matter who your doctor
is. Now about the goats' milk. The old lady thinks she
is going to be iU because of what she drank at Mrs. Smith's.
If she finds out that she has been drinHng goats' milk
ever since she has been here, we shaU want a lot more
poesia or she'U be reaUy iU ; and then she'U be too much
for Dr. Barrabini."
" Never mind," repHed Peppino. " Very good thing
for you."
" It can't matter to me," I said.
" Yes. The old lady she die ; the signorina she return
to the world, not too late. And you shaU be telHng :
' Please come ; marry me.' "
" But what was that you told me about the dictionary
of the married people ? "
" Sometimes the people that is married is buying the
new dictionary."
" Oh, ah ! You were using an old edition. That was
in the days before you asked Brancaccia to be your wife."
" Not before to ask," he said.
" WeU, it was before she agreed to be your wife, and
long before Ricuzzu was born. It was in the days when I
gave you the ring with those EngHsh words written inside :
' God decreed and we agreed.' What have you done
with it, Peppino ? "
" I fetch you the ring ? You shaU be giving it to the
signorina inglese ? "
"That would hardly do. Don't you remember you
said that the words meant : ' God decreed that we should
never marry and we both agreed,' It was to be yoiir 119

Castellinaria
non-wedding ring. Of course you can't wear it now
that you are married ; and of course it won't do for an
engagement ring, I don't mind buying another, but it
must have different words inside it. ' Joined In one by
God alone ' or ' Let Love abide, God will provide.'
Something that cannot have its meaning wrenched out of
it. It would be as well to be prepared in case I meet any
one I might Hke to give it to. Not Miss Jones, I think,"
" Yqs, Miss Jones ; and then to don't be paying for
mending the umbrella,"
" How does the umbrella come in ? By the by, you
never told me what happened about that man. Did you
see him ? Who Is he ? Why did he refuse payment ? "
" The man is teUing that you shaU don't be paying
nothing." " I don't want to pay ; it is for Miss Jones to pay."
" It is the same thing. Look here. Now I shall teU
you. Listen to me. The man is the cousin of Ninu and
don't be asHng for to pay the friends of Ninu. AU
people of my family are friends of Ninu — you and your
fidanzata and  "
" But Miss Jones is not my fidanzata."
" Ninu he tell his cousin that you shall marry the
signorina inglese. Did you understand ? "
" WeU, that's like Ninu's impudence ! "
" Ninu he see you and the singorina inglese together,
and Ninu is not a stupid boy. Ninu very intelligent.
Not blind."
" But you don't believe all Ninu's poesia ? "
"When the lady shaU be consenting and shall be
spending aU the day with the gentleman in his company
and the mother she is sleeping, then afterwards would be
the wedding, soonly ; yes, and plenty soonly,"
120

Goats' Milk
" If that's the rule here, then Sicily is a more dangerous
place than Scotland for a bachelor. And besides her
mother was not asleep aU the time. It was your idea
that I should marry her, not mine. Now if you were to
find me another Brancaccia instead of wanting to marry
me to a lady who on your own showing is a liar, or at all
events a protective colourist  "
" Ah ! but marriage makes to be changing the char
acter." " I'U teU you what, Peppino ; look here — suppose I
get this new ring and have it ready for when the monastero
is closed, and then suppose I offer it to Ninu's aunt when
she comes out."
" Bravo ! bravo ! Very good idea."
" It's as good as yours about Miss Jones, anyway. If
she were to accept me Ninu would become my nephew.
He's a dear boy, and would be far more satisfactory as a
nephew than Mrs. Jones as a mother-in-law. That Is
not saying much, perhaps, but one can't have everything."
" A very good idea. Nice wife for you. Rich ; one
franc a day. And young ; only thirteen. Bravo ! "
" She's sixty-nine."
" Excuse me ; thirteen. The years it is nothing ; the
experience it is and the annoyance that makes to be old,
not the years. She enter the monastero thirteen ; no
experience, no annoyance ; she come out thirteen.
Bravo ! "
"WeU, if she's stiU thirteen when she comes out there
wiU be time to think it over. You'U let me know when
she is free, won't you ? "
"Rista wiU know first."
" Ah, now there ! You must play fair, Peppino."
"What is this 'play fair'?" 121

Castellinaria
",WeU, I mean you must help me, you mustn't help
Rista. He is not your compare, you know. You must
not let Ninu's aunt see him before I'm ready with the
ring, or you'U spoil my chance."
Peppino understood playing fair in this sense, and, as a
good compare, to show his devotion to my interests, made
me come with him and drink a glass of wine to the health
of my future bride, the aunt of Ninu.

122

Chapter 22 The End of Rista
RISTA sent me post-cards from CastelHnaria after
I returned to London, and presently he sent them
from Belgrade. He did not teU me how he paid
for the journey — whether his hundred and four francs
moimted up to enough for that and to fiU his pockets also,
or whether his father sent him some more and induced
him to use it for the purpose intended. Two of his post
cards show him as manager of a hotel In Belgrade. They
were taken by a friend of his, probably another waiter,
and are very good photographs. He is in his bedroom ;
one shows him in an armchair in evening clothes ; the
other shows him standing in a white jacket. His general
appearance is aristocratic enough to satisfy Miss Jones,
it is easy to see that he is the son of a Count ; but there are
two disturbingdetafls ; the gold of his curly hair has come
out so dark and the blue of his confiding eyes so Hght as to
give him an expression to which I do not object, but it
does not recaU Rista to me, and I doubt whether she
would approve of the result. But there is no knowing ;
it may be that the photograph preserves and enforces
something in his appearance which she saw there and
admired and which I missed untfl the photograph revealed
it to me.
Everything he wrote to me was always very poUte,
friendly and even affectionate. He sent one card in
123

Castellinaria
French, and for aU his other communications he used
Italian ; I could not help wondering how he would have
got on had he chosen one of his other languages. When
he spoke EngHsh it was less efficient even than his French,
but I could not judge of his attainments in German,
TurHsh, Serbian, Modern Greek, Roumanian and
Russian. Here is what he wrote on three of his cards, the first
two are in ItaUan, the third in French ; I give his actual
words to show his mastery of the languages ; the letters
(IV and V) are translated from his ItaUan.
Rista to H. F. Jones
I
Carissimo Amico Ricevi ipiu cari saluti del tuo'amicho. e grazie dele
cartuline lio ricevute tute. tuo caro amico Rista de Zoukitsh.
II
riceva i piu cari saluti del suo caro amicho Rista de Zoukitsh, Belgrad.
Ill
bocou de compleman de votr ami Rista M. Zoukitsh Caffe America
Belgrad Serbia. IV
Dearest Friend,
With great pleasure I received your dear letters and your beautiful
post-cards. I have no words to thank you. I am very grateful to you and
have drunk to your good health, , My father in the time of the ex-Sultan
Abdul Hamid was made a Bei, that is to say, a Count, because he supplied
the Sultan with carpets. I remember teUing you this at CasteUinaria.
Now I have something further to tell you. Since my father did not
wish to be called Bei they have made him Barone di Prisrend, so that his
surname is now de Zoukitsh and I have the same surname and am entitled
to be addressed as Rista de Zoukitsh. Please do not forget to put the de
when you write. I desire to pay a visit to Prisrend, the ancient capital of
Serbia, but for the present I cannot leave Belgrad. Before I start' I shall
send you my address.
I must tell you that I am here in Belgrad in the capacity of Director and
Maitre d'Hotel and that the hotel is one of the first rank.
When next you go to Castellinaria please give my kind regards to Signor
and Signora Pampalone and the children, also to Luigi. I should like
124

The End of Rista
very much to be there now with you so that we might pass a pleasant time
together. I have nothing further to say. I send you my affectionate
good wishes and remain your dear friend Rista de Zoukitsh.
My acquaintance with counts and barons is rather
academic than practical, but I had picked up the notion
that the former rank above the latter. I suppose, how
ever, from RIsta's letter that in Turkey everything is as
different as it is in Sicfly, and that barons take precedence.
He continued to send me post-cards and letters, and
in 191 3 when I returned to CastelHnaria I asked Peppino :
" And what about Rista ? Wasn't all that about the
equestrian circus what you caU poesia ? "
And he told me that it was aU quite true — or nearly
so. Rista, who, he said, was the best waiter he ever had,
went to a circus in some town he was in after he had left
home, and feU in Iqye with Maria, one of the performers,
who turned out to be the daughter of the proprietor.
He joined the troupe and became engaged to this girl, so
that, although he was not actuaUy himself the proprietor,
yet, as the circus belonged to the famfly of his fidanzata,
it was fair to speak of it as his, and he was not trying to
deceive me. V
Rista to H. F. Jones
Dearest Friend,
With delight I received your post-card and your letter and I thank you.
I shaU have great pleasure in seeing you and in spending at least three
months in your company when I am on my way to join my brother in
America, and I hope soon to start. I am now employed in the restaurant
cars of the great European express trains ; please therefore address me
thus : Signor Rista de Zoukitsh
Cavaliere deUa Corona di Romania
Maitre d'Hotel de la Compagnie Internationale
des Wagons-Lits Belgrad. 125

Castellinaria
I travel about so much that I shaU be able to send you post-cards with
pictures from aU sorts of places. And I beg that you will be so kind as to
send me some from wherever you may be, because I am making a coUection
of post-cards. I send you my affectionate good wishes and remain your
dear friend Rista de Zoukitsh.
Rista went on sending me post-cards and letters contain
ing communications of this nature until he went to the
war In the Balkans, and then the post-cards took on a
mihtary aspect. He used to send a flight of five at a
time with soldiers cooHng on Christmas Eve, soldiers
resting, the King of Serbia reviewing troops, captured
TurHsh cannon, soldiers bringing up the guns, soldiers
transporting the wounded, and so on. Then he was in
hospital and I heard nothing further for a long while.
Then the post-cards began again. He was weU and going
back to the fighting. Then they stopped.
I heard nothing more, and assumed that Rista had died
for his country. ,-;

126

Part 2 : Mount Eryx

Paris

To the Countess Russell

Chapter 23 Saint Antoine
THE war being over, it was possible to go abroad
once more, and on Thursday, May 27, 1920, I
started for Sicfly, after nearly seven years' absence.
My first stop was in Paris, where Georges met me at the
Gare du Nord. We drove to the room of his friend
Fernand who was absent on a hoHday and had left his key
and the run of his room in the care of Georges. We dined
in a neighbouring restaurant, and I went to bed early.
I do not claim that in Fernand's room I found myself
surrounded with the comfort of a first-class hotel ; but
the hotels in Paris of every class were just then so fuU
that I shoifld have had the annoyance of being refused
by one after another if I had tried to get taken in any
where without giving some days' notice. I could stay
in Fernand's room tiU the Monday, when he was return
ing ; and, Georges being occupied in a bank, where he
works aU day tfll the evening, I went out next morning
and secured a room in a hotel for the foUowing Monday.
My next job was to have an interview with Cook as to the
best means of continuing my journey ; this ended in my
buying a raflway ticket for Basel, and another ticket for a
berth in the sleeping-car for the foUowing Wednesday
night. Georges and I met for the evening and dined
together at the same restaurant, and this time we found
there Marcel, another friend of his who ought to have 131

Paris
been there the preceding evening, but had had an engage
ment elsewhere. He is so much at home in this restaurant
that he helps the management when help Is required.
For the moment the management consists only of the
proprietress, who is a widow and we think has an eye on
Marcel, a barmaid, and another girl. Marcel knows
enough EngHsh to speak of himself as " the bar-man,"
and to address nie as " My dear feUow." He was in the
navy during the war and had lessons in EngHsh from a
priest, the head of a great monastery near London, but I
could get no further particulars. Marcel's work in the
restaurant was only parergon ; he earns his Hving in the
office of a firm that lets out automobiles, where he is an
accountant. He and Georges usually meet for their
Sunday outings, and on the Sunday morning we met him
again at his restaurant, this time by appointment.
" And how long did you say you are staying ? " asked
Marcel. " I arrived on Thursday, and I am going next
Wednesday," I said.
" Oh, but that's very soon. Can't you stay a little
longer ? Such a short visit."
" I am sorry, but I am on my way to Sicily, and I have
aheady bought my ticket ; the trains are so full that I
had to get it In good time."
" Let me see it," exclaimed Georges. " I want to see
my uncle's ticket."
He began to call me his uncle from England about
fifteen years ago, when we first met, and I have called
him my nephew ever since. I suppose they, all know him
well enough to understand that we are not reaUy related.
But where was my ticket ? What had I done with it ?
I couldn't find It.
132

Saint Antoine
" When did you have it last ? "
" Which pocket did you put it in ? "
" Did you leave it in your bedroom ? "
I searched and searched and found my sleeping-car
ticket, which was a sheet of paper, but my railway ticket,
which was the ordinary small piece of cardboard, was
not in any of my pockets. I remembered that while I
was getting up that morning I had taken it out of my
pocket-book, wherein I had put it when I bought it, and
put it in some other extra safe place, after writing down
in my account-book how much it had cost — a hundred
and ten francs and some centimes.
" Then you must have dropped it on the floor," said
Georges. " Now, Marcel, we wfll go back with my uncle
at once and find his ticket."
I thought of Fernand's room on the sixth floor, and no
Hft, crammed and crowded with rubbish — a dying palm
in a pot draped with a piece of cotton-velvet ; several
lucky pigs ; broken chairs ; brackets with photos in
frames ; under everything and over most things empty
boxes that might once have contained shirts ; on the
left-hand side of the mantelpiece an Egyptian woman. In
terra-cotta, taHng two pafls to a weU ; on the right-hand
side, to match, Joan of Arc Hstening to the voices. It
looked as though Fernand had never thrown anything
away since he first occupied the room. It was bad
enough to contemplate finding a railway ticket by myself
in that confusion, but how much worse would it not have
been if Georges and Marcel had come with me to crowd
the room further !
" No, no," I said, " please don't. If it is in the room
it wiU be safe tlU I return this evening ; I wiU have a
thorough search and find it then. Besides, it may stfll be
133

Paris
in one of my pockets. Let's talk of something else.
Where do we go for lunch ? "
They allowed themselves to be persuaded, and an
astute employment of bus and metro brought us to our
preordained restaurant, which was on the quay near a
bridge, and here we found Henri waiting for us.
They had allowed themselves to be persuaded, but
they could not keep off my ticket, and the situation had
to be made clear to Henri.
" I am so sorry about your ticket," he said, as we were
getting through our dejeuner. " I hope you'll find it
this evening."
" If I don't," I repUed, " I must make up my mind to
the loss and just buy another."
" A hundred and ten francs ! " exclaimed Georges.
" Yes," I repHed. " It's awful, isn't it? But it's not
so bad as it sounds — not so bad as it would have been
before the war. Then to lose a hundred and ten francs
would have meant losing over ^4 sterling : now it's only
just over ^z. So that's something."
" Behold the EngHsh philosopher ! " said Georges.
" He can extract comfort even from the war."
" If you are looHng for comfort," said Henri, " you
should remember that this wiU be a lesson from which you
will learn to be more careful In future."
" In that case," I repHed, " it seems a pity that it was
not a greater loss, for, surely, the greater the loss the
greater, and hence the more valuable, the lesson."
" If it had been a ticket for Turin or Rome or Palermo,
perhaps ? "
" Yes. I wonder for what city the ticket ought to be
the loss of which would be such a lesson that one would
never lose anything again. The fact is, I am getting old.
134

Saint Antoine
I had a Panama hat, but when I looked for it to wear it on
my travels I could not find it. Lost I And I had to
come in this one."
" Oh ! but every one loses things," said Georges. " I
lost my fountain pen the other day. And Henri lost his
way in Madagascar during the war. And Marcel has
lost his heart to the widow at the restaurant."
Here Marcel boxed Georges' ears and there was a
scrimmage. We aU rose and adjourned to another place
for our coffee. I said :
" Apropos — who is the lady who so Hndly brings me a
cup of coffee in the morning ? "
" Oh yes," repHed Georges, " that's Jeanne. She
always brings Fernand a cup, because she has a spirit lamp
and makes enough."
"Where does she make it ? Where does she come
from ? "
" She is your neighbour ; she Hves in the next room."
" Oh ! I see. Does she Hve all alone ? "
"Not exactly."
"Married?""Not exactly."
" Perhaps I'd better not ask any more."
" You can ask as much as you Hke. He's a printer."
" WeU, it's very Hnd of her. I must give her some
thing when I g9 away. What shaU it be ? I cannot
very weU offer her money."
" No, of course you can't," said Georges. " She would
not Hke that."
" If you were a royal personage," said Henri, " you
might give her a brooch with your initials in diamonds."
"And a diamond breast-pin to the printer," added
Marcel. 135

Paris
" That would be overdoing it," said Georges. " No,
you must give her flowers."
" Very weU. About five francs worth, I suppose.
There's a. shop close by. I'll get some the day before I
go."

ii

No, I don't mean that," said Georges. "You
needn't buy them yourself ; she can do that. You just
give her a five-franc note and tell her It is for her to buy
flowers with ; then she can buy anything she likes."
" What a capital idea ! " I said ; " you are sure she'U
understand ? "
" Yes," said Marcel, " she will understand. That's
what we call ' the language of flowers'."
So it was settled. Then came the question of where to
go for our outing. To the country ? Ah, but what
country ? St. Cloud ? Very weU, St. Cloud. Then
we must take a bus. But the crowds waiting for the bus !
And we must join the queue and wait — who could tell
how long ? So, as we were so many, we agreed that it
would cost scarcely more if we took a taxi — Marcel
thought it might even cost less, and this opinion
commanded our respect, for accountants have culti
vated an almost Indecent familiarity with the secret
practices of figures. They can make them do or prove
anything. They even know why they never come to the
same twice running when you add them up — I mean,
when I add them up. But the taxis were all fuU, till
Georges cleverly stalked an empty one whose driver agreed
to take us to the Barriere, where we hoped for a tram.
At the Barriere, however, the trams were fuU, and It began
to rain, so we sheltered in a cafe, smoked cigarettes,
and drank vin blanc au citron tfll the shower was
over. 136

Saint Antoine
" How long is it since you were last in Paris ? " inquired
Henri. " It is now May, 1920, and I was last here in May,
1914." " A great deal of water has flowed under the Pont
Neuf during those six years."
" Let us talk about something else," interrupted
Georges. " I saw you searching In your pockets again.
Have you found your ticket ? "
" Not yet," I repHed. " I was not going to talk about
the war. I was going to say that I don't see much differ
ence in Paris except that it is fuUer than I have ever
known it to be. And the taxis, when I have succeeded
in getting one, are aU like the one we have just been in,
very rickety. And the roads aU want mending. Also
the money has become confusing. And they continuaUy
give me stamps instead of change : I don't mind that,
because I can use them for post-cards, but if I offer them
stamps to buy a ticket in the metro, they refuse them."
" It is not just," said Henri solemnly.
I was going on with my complaints, but the rain was
now over and, the trams being stiU full, we set out to
walk from the Barriere to St. Cloud, discussing as we
went the dreariness of the road. I said that we consider
our London environs to be pretty dreary, but I doubted
whether they are drearier than those of Paris.
" What does it matter ? " said Georges. " Travellers
seem to have a craze for comparing one place with another.
This place is more something than that, another place is
less something than this. Why not accept the fact that
every place is different and enjoy yourself ? I Intend to
sing this afternoon, unless you object."
" Behold the French philosopher ! " I said. " Cer- 137

Paris
tainly you shaU sing, Georges. And in the meantime you
wiU be pleased to know that I am beginning to feel happier
about my ticket."
" Have you found it in one of your pockets ? I was
sure you would."
" It isn't that ; it is this. I have just remembered that
the day before I left London I received a cheque for
£i i6s. gd. which I had not expected — what we caU a
wIndfaU. So that, though I have lost two pounds over
the ticket, I have found ^i i6s. gd. over the cheque, and
that makes me only three shillings and threepence to the
bad." " The English philosopher again ! " said Georges,
" But," said Marcel, " you haven't got it right."
" Listen to Marcel," said Georges, " he is an
accountant." Marcel began : " If it had been before the war, the
loss of a hundred and ten francs would have been over
four pounds sterling — say ^4 Ss. If you have to buy a
new ticket now, at the present rate of exchange it will
only cost you about £2 ^s., so that you will save the
difference between £4 8s. and £2 ^s., which is £2 ^s.
Now you have a windfall of ^i i6j. (^d., and that added
to £z ^s. makes £^ 19J. gd. saved."
This was consoling, and we arrived at St. Cloud In a
state of elation. We entered the park and wandered
about through the woods In the aimless fashion adopted
by hoHday-makers, meeting other parties similarly
engaged. The French are said to jeer at us because we
take our pleasures sadly. Perhaps nations do not under
stand each other's sadness, as they do not understand
each other's humour. I thought I saw more sadness on
that Sunday afternoon at St. Cloud than could be
138

Saint Antoine
squeezed out of half a dozen Bank HoUdays on Hamp-
stead Heath. It may be that for an EngUshman the
French variety is more penetrating than his own, and
that it was the quaUty not the quantity of the Parisian
sadness that affected me.
Presentiy Henri spied an empty seat and proposed a
cigarette ; every one was pleased to hear and accept this
suggestion. We sat down, and Georges began to sing.
He is not so much a singer as what they caU a diseur.
His singing voice is sufficient, but his natural instinct for
the deUvery of the words is his great gift. He speaks
them so clearly that no one can miss a syUable, and he
puts into them meanings which I should never have
found there, sometimes helping himself with gestures ;
and aU the time his appearance is so happy that the
passers-by look, Hsten, and Hnger in the hope of learning
the secret of his gaiety.
Among those who wandered by and stopped to Hsten
was a wounded soldier in a machine which he propeUed
with his hands and arms, his legs being uselessly stretched
out in front of him. He came near our seat, and Georges
gave him a parenthetical smile, and addressed to him
speciaUy the opening of his next song :
Si vous n'avez rien a me dire
Pourquoi venir aupres de moi ?
The soldier returned the smfle and cleverly evoluted
past us. Georges finished his song and started another.
The wounded soldier, having made a detour, came back
in time to receive this refrain :
Quand je vois servir une tete de veau
Ca me rappeUe ma legitime,
which Georges deUvered with an air of dedicating it to
him speciaUy as a cure for wounded legs. The soldier 139

Paris
smiled again in recognition, as though he already felt
better and, steering his machine to the left to avoid a
straying child, upset and lay helpless on the path about
twenty yards from us. In a moment a crowd had
collected, Georges was in the midst of it directing the
operations, and every one was obeying him. Marcel was
standing next me. I turned to him and said :
" I shouldn't know what to do, should you, Marcel ? "
" No," he repHed, " but Georges was a stretcher-
bearer In the war,"
In what seemed to me a very short time the soldier
was back In his machine none the worse — ^he had not far
to fall — and the child, though frightened, was not hurt.
We returned to our seat. I said to Georges :
" And so you learnt that during the war. Not a very
safe job — stretcher-bearing ? "
" I did not mind that," he repHed. " I knew I could
not be safe, but I did not like to have to stick my bayonet
into people, although they were Prussians ; so I applied
for a change." ^
" Instead of HlHng the enemy you helped to keep your
own people alive. It's a mercy you got through yourself.
Were you never hit ? "
" I had several close shaves," he repHed.
" And you were shell-shocked, my dear," said Marcel.
" Oh, that's over now. Let us talk about something
else. Has my uncle found his ticket yet ? "
" No ; but I've thought of another way of looking at
it. I'm staying with you ; that's right. Isn't it ? "
" Certainly."
" Then I am not paying for my bedroom, and it will
be altogether four nights. They would charge me at
least fifteen francs per night at an hotel, so I am saving four
140

Saint Antoine
times fifteen, that is sixty francs. Of com"se, it is only
about thirty shflHngs in EngHsh, but it helps to reduce
the loss on the ticket."
" Sixty francs ! You can get a 'lovely Panama hat for
sixty francs in a shop I know. They are in the window,
aU prices."
" Wait a minute," interrupted Marcel. " We must add
the thirty shflHngs to the £'3, 19J. gi. It makes altogether
^5 9^. ()d. that you wiU have saved over the loss of your
ticket." Here Henri said :
" If you go on 'like this you wiU soon be able to afford
the most expensive Panama in Paris."
" I don't think I shaU buy it," I said ; " I should only
lose it, and a cheap one wfll do for that. Isn't Georges
going to finish his song ? "
" What was I saying when that chfld got in the way ?
Oh weU, never mind :
A ChaiUot, mon bon homme,
On ne mangera plus de pommes."
So few are born with Georges' gift of gaiety and song
that it seems a pity to waste him in a bank when there
dre many expert accountants and others — like Marcel,
for instance — ^who can do what he is doing there just as
weU. Perhaps he would be most valuable in a hospital
— a Hnd of male nurse whose business it should be to sing
to the patients and keep up their spirits, as he sang to the
soldiers in the trenches.
It was now time to find a restaurant and have dinner
interspersed with songs, and Georges confirmed the
suggestion by singing :
Le vin, I'amour, et le tabac,
Voila le refrain du bivouac. 141

Paris
And after dinner we returned to Paris, where they took
me to a crowded place in which dancing was going on.
They were all work-people, and the gate-keeper was a
friend of Georges. I sat among the crowd at a table,
and my young friends danced in turn with any of the
girls who happened to be disengaged.
Next morning Georges called on me before going to his
office. " Have you found your ticket ? "
" No," I repHed. " I had a regular search last night
aU over the room for half an hour and could not find it
anywhere." " WeU, now I'U have another search. I came early on
purpose ; I need not go"'to the office for half an hour.
You He StiU and I'll look."
So he spent half an hour looHng in aU the places I had
looked in overnight, turning over aU the things I had
turned over, and examining the Insides of all the boxes
and ornaments which I had examined. At last he said ;
" When do you start ? "
" I leave this room to-day," I replied, " but I do not
leave Paris till Wednesday. In the meantime I shall be
occupied with those other friends I told you about. So I
shaU not see you again."
" Oh yes, those literary people. Very weU ; now look
here. It is St. Antoine who finds things that are lost.
Don't you worry ; go and buy your Panama. Here is
the address of the shop. It will be aU right. I'll tell
you what I'U do. At lunch-time to-day I shaU see a
young lady whose aunt is very devout. I will teU her all
about your loss, and she wiU tdU me where there is an
altar to St. Antoine. I will pray to him, and he will find
your ticket."
142

Saint Antoine
" Thank you very much, Georges. That wiU be very
Hnd of you ; and please make St. Antoine understand
that my train starts at 8.40 on Wednesday night, and
unless the ticket appears by Wednesday morning I shaU
have to pocket my loss and buy another."
" AU right ; he wiU do what he can, and you need not
trouble about your loss of the ticket, or the loss of the
money, or about getting old or anything else. Don't
forget to write from Italy,
Je n'ai passe qu'un mois en ItaUe,
Mais i'en rapporte un si doux souvenir
Que desormais, si longue soit ma vie 
And especiaUy don't forget to stop in Paris on your
way back. Oh yes, and I'U put In a prayer to St. Antoine
asHng him to look after you and not to let you lose any
thing else aU the time you are away. Au revoir."
" Au revoir," I repHed, and he was gone.
Wednsday morning came, but no news from St,
Antoine. So I went back to the ticket-office and was as
apologetic as I could be to the young man, hoping that if
I treated him poHtely he might perhaps give me a new
ticket gratis. I inquired whether such a thing had ever
happened before, and whether he had any technique for
the treatment of stupid old gentlemen who lose their
raflway tickets.
He was as sympathetic as I had been apologetic. It
did happen occasionaUy, he said, and even with young
people. Only last week a voyager, not yet seventeen,
returned to the office having lost his ticket for Bucharest.
Think of that ! — ever so much farther than Basel. He had
had to explain, with infinite regret, that there was nothing
for it but to buy another, which the young voyager did
H3

Paris
grumbUng. I did not grumble outwardly, but I 'followed
his example about buying a new ticket.
Georges to his uncle Henry.
Paris,
Wednesday, June 2, midnight, 1920.
My dear Uncle Henry,
I hope you will arrive safely at Bale where I am sending
this letter. As I promised you, I visited the altar of St.
Antoine in the church I spoke of, and prayed with infinite
devotion for twenty minutes, which is ten minutes longer
than ought to have been necessary. That was on Mon
day. Fernand returned late last night, Tuesday, and
this evening, Wednesday, gave me your ticket, which I
enclose. But he did not find it till 8 this evening, and
did not give it to me tiU 9 o'clock, after you had started.
He could not understand why Joan of Arc should be
holding In her arms a railway ticket to Bale. Did she
take it from you, or did you give it to her ? Now, why
could not St. Antoine have managed better ? He might
have shown it to us when we looked for it before it was
too late. Perhaps that was because he had not then been
prayed to. StiU, there was time after I had prayed to
him. Is he trying to carry on his business with an insuffi
cient staff ? That is what my bank is trying to do. It is
what aU the banks are trying to do in Paris — one effect of
the war. And it may be the same in Heaven.
Marcel sends you his love, and so does Henri, and I am,
Your affectionate nephew,
Georges.
Uncle Henry to his nephew Georges.
Basel, June 3, 1920,
My dear Georges,
Thank you for your letter and for sending the ticket.
144

Saint Antoine
St, Antoine might have played up better ; but he did
his best afterwards to make amends. This is what
happened, I undressed and went to bed in the sleeping
car, and presently woke up because the train was standing
StiU, It was getting Hght, and I wondered why we were
stopping. What time was it ? Where was my watch ?
Oh, mon Dieu ! it ought to have been in the pocket of my
pyjamas, but it wasn't there. WTiere had I put it ? I
was too much upset to think of trying to go to sleep again.
And I could not move about and look for it, because I
should have disturbed the gentleman in the berth below
me. I knew he was going to get out at Miilhausen, and
there I lay becalmed somewhere in France, unable to
sleep, and with nothing to do tlU MiiUiausen except to
grizzle. After grlzzUng for about a fortnight I woke up
again with a distinct recoUection that I had laid my watch
on my berth intending to wind it up and put it in my
pocket. It had probably sUpped down between the
berth and the waU of the carriage; but, although the
train was now moving and maHng a noise, I refrained
from looHng on the floor because of the gentleman In
the other berth. Here were two things lost already, and I
had only been a week on my travels. AU I could do was
to look about. It was Hght enough for me to observe
that there were not so many clothes hanging up. I
managed to look into the lower berth. The gentleman
was not there. Had he stolen my clothes whfle I was
asleep ? No, he had only taken his own. As he was
gone we must have passed MiiUiausen, and must be near
Basel. I got on the lower berth, reached down, and
there was my watch on the floor. Bravo, St. Antoine !
You have done better than I hoped. I wiU burn you a
candle next time I come across your altar in a church.
L 145

Paris
So you see that though he was too late with the ticket,
he heard the second part of your prayer, and was in time
with the watch ; I am glad it was not the other way
about, and send you my best thanks for praying so
efficiently. You have a saying " Jamais deux sans trois."
If I am to complete the triad of losses by losing a third
thing I hope St. Antoine wiU find it at once and not give
me another scare.
My love to Marcel and Henri, and best thanks to
Fernand for the use of his room.
Your affectionate uncle, Henry.
P.S. It seems to me that I should have made ^5 gs. gd.
just as well if I had not lost my ticket. Then I should
have saved also the price of the new one, £2 ^s., and that,
in addition, would have brought the total amount saved
up to £"/ ii\J. gd., which would have gone some way
towards buying a new watch if St. Antoine had been too
late with that and In time with the ticket. Please ask
Marcel whether this would not be the correct way to look
at the matter. I want to get it right, so that I can fill
up my income-tax return properly.

146

Basel

To Boris Ord

Chapter 24 A Lost Song
IT was in 1868, now more than fifty years ago, that I
first went to Basel. My mother had taken my eldest
brother, my elder sister and myself to Evian, on the
Lake of Geneva, where she wanted to try the waters ; we
made acquaintance with some EngHsh people there, and
returned with them to England via Switzerland and the
Rhine. None of the party took the slightest interest in
any of the subjects that interested me, and I was thrown a
good deal on my own resources.
Of aU there was to see in Basel the sight that most
impressed me was the river. I remember how it came
swirling round its great curve, and rushing through the
arches of the bridge, only a few feet below me, near
enough to give me a pleasing sensation of danger ; and
then on, past the windows of the Hotel des Trois Rois,
and down to Cologne. I had seen, in pictures of the
Adoration of the Magi, the Three Kings, magnificently
attired and cleverly differentiated — an old man, a middle-
aged man, and an attractive young black man — producing
their offerings of gold and franHncense and myrrh ; and
neither the Child nor the Mother appeared to take more
interest in the gifts than the other members of our party
took in my subjects. The pictures always had a back
ground fuU of retainers andstrange beasts which estabUshed
an oriental atmosphere, and I used to regret that there 149

Basel
were no zoological gardens in the days of the painters so
that they might have studied their camels from the Hfe
and put in better portraits.
In addition to the pictures of the Adoration, to the
Hotel des Trois Rois, and to the city of Cologne which
we afterwards visited, I had other sources of information
about the Magi — the gospels, for instance, and Twelfth
Night parties. Besides these they were mentioned in
poems, especially in one which I used to think came into
the house as a song. My mother paid (say) two guineas a
year, and we were entitled to (say) a dozen pieces of music
at a time ; we tried them over and could keep a specified
number — ^if we wanted more we had to pay extra.
I was born too late to have had much to do with " She
wore a Wreath of Roses " and " We met, 'twas in a
Crowd." I gathered a Httle something about them from
the croonings of my nurse, who, however, to do her justice,
was more addicted to " Annie Laurie " and " Adeste
Fideles." But I came in for the full flood of the kind of
ballad that used to be advertised as sung with great
applause by Madame Lemmens-Sherrington. We
retained and paid for " I cannot sing the Old Songs "
and " Strangers yet ! " both by Claribel. There was a
dreadful song called " Cleansing Fires," words by Lord
Houghton, music by Virginia Gabriel. And there were
quantities by Miss M. Lindsay (Mrs. J. Worthington
BHss), Including " Home they brought her Warrior
Dead " and " Late, late, so late." When turning out
old drawers my memory has been occasionaUy refreshed
by coming upon these and the remnants of such other
ballads as we bought under the privilege of our subscrip
tion. Not long ago I dispatched to an undergraduate
friend at Cambridge a parcel of them, and he included a
150

A Lost Song

selection in a concert designed to show to a modern
audience the radical difference that underlies the songs
of Debussy and Richard Strauss, on which they had been
brought up, and those earUer works which used to delight
their grandfathers and grandmothers.
Notwithstanding this refreshing of my memory, I did
not remember one song better than another merely
because we bought it. There was, for Instance, one
about a timid passenger which we did not buy, and yet
I have ever retained a clear recoUection of the words of
the whole of the first verse and of all the melody. The
passenger, because it was such a fearful night, wanted to
pace the deck with the pflot ; the pilot, however, decUned
his company and said : " Fear not, but trust in Provi
dence, wherever thou may'st be." These words were
the refrain, and concluded each verse ; but the usual
supplementary recommendation about keeping one's
powder dry was omitted. And yet the pilot must, one
would think, have heard the proverb which tells us that
God helps those who help themselves. It is unfortunate
that my memory should fail me as to the rest of the words.
I should fancy, however, that the ship and the passengers
and the crew must have become Involved in some tragic
end, possibly rendered more tragic by the fact that the
timid passenger had disobeyed the notice and had spoken
to the man at the wheel. I am no seaman, but my
dictionary says that a pflot is a steersman, so I suppose
he must have been at the wheel when not pacing the deck.
After the song had been returned to the music shop I
suffered great distress, because we had tried It over so
often that I could not forget those parts of it which I
have specified : they ran in my head, and I feared that I
was imperiUing the salvation of my immortal soul by
151

Basel
harbouring words and music to which I was not entitled.
And this is called being a prig.
Whether or not we bought that other song about the
Three Kings it is in none of my old drawers or boxes, and
I have never seen It since ; it is unlike the one about the
pilot in that I retain neither a word nor a note of it but
only the slenderest recollection of its purport, and some
thing about the ancient river irresistibly bearing its sacred
burden along on its ample bosom, and the water bubbhng
up under the keel of the boat as she put In at Cologne —
the bearing along and the bubbling up being, of course,
entrusted to the accompaniment. I tried to reconstitute
their voyage from Bethlehem to the Rhine, and wondered
at what point they embarked on the river. Was it also
forbidden to speak to the man at their wheel ? They
surely must have had an expert pilot to negotiate the
FaUs of the Rhine. In this particular difficulty I was
helped by a Swiss friend, a Zurlchols, who informed me
that there were two opinions on the subject of the FaUs
of the Rhine. It seems that JuHus Caesar makes no
mention of them, yet he ought to have said something
about them If they were there in his time ; and this
omission led an ingenious savant to invent a theory that
the Rhine formerly turned to the left before reaching
what Is now the Lake of Constance. I knew that Cssar
landed in Britain 55 b.c. — that, and the Second CaU of
Abraham, 1921, and the Creation of the World, 4004,
are the three pre-Christian dates which I have never
forgotten — and whatever the Rhine was doing in Caesar's
time it must have been doing much the same In the time
of the Magi. So I supposed that, having somehow got
to Italy, they traveUed up through the peninsula and,
by the diUgence road, or whatever then represented it,
152

A Lost Song

over one of the great Alpine passes with all their followers
and camels, their suit-cases and Saratoga trunks. After
crossing the S. Gottardo and the Oberalp they would
go along by the Rhine untfl it became navigable (say) at
Sargans. Or if they went by the Spliigen they would
StiU have reached Sargans ; and there they perhaps
chartered their boat — or rather their boats ; if the
pictures were right about their foUowers and their luggage
they would have had to charter a good many boats, and
even a few Noah's Arks. Then they would be rowed
along the lakes of WaUenstadt and Zurich, and would
follow the course of what is now the Limmat past Baden
to Brugg, where the Aare would faU in and increase the
water of their river. At Waldshut they would enter the
present channel of the Rhine and proceed to Basel.
Of course, I did not make up aU this journey for them
at once ; it took me some time, and was partly the result
of my own subsequent travels on the Continent. In 1 868,
when we left Evian, being aheady north of the great
Alpine passes we did not have to cross any of them ; but
we did go to the RhelnfaU ; and, by whatever route the
Magi got to Basel, we got there by train.
I had no doubt that the Three Kings when they reached
Basel put up for the night at the Hotel des Trois Rois ;
and that. In the morning. Instead of paying their blU, they
gave their name to the house. I argued that, being
Hngs, they were of course rich, and I had already come
to understand that rich people never pay more than they
need — not to pay more than you need is one of the secrets
of how to become rich, or at least of how to become
richer. I do not see that the proprietor of the hotel can
have had anything to complain of, because in the long run
his new sign must have brought his house far more in the
153

Basel
shape of custom than the biU incurred by his royal guests
could have amounted to, even supposing them to have
brought as many retainers as are shown in all the pictures
of the Adoration of the Magi put together. And I
picked up the notion that the town as well as the hotel
was named after them. Is not the word Basel derived
from some Greek word meaning a Hng ? And does not
the town use basiUsks as supporters of its arms ? In this
last circumstance I saw some kind of heraldic pun.
From Basel I imagined that the Three Kings continued
their voyage in their boats and Noah's Arks down the river
to Cologne, though why they wanted to get to Cologne I
never considered. We wanted to get there because we
were on our way to England, and there was sight-seeing
to be done. We performed the first part of the journey
by train, and I just remember Strassburg, Heidelberg,
Frankfurt, and Homburg where we saw the gambling.
At Mayence, following the example of the three royal
martyrs, we took boat to Cologne, but our boat was a
Rhine steamer. We saw all there was to be seen In the
city and the bones of the Three Kings In their dimly-
lighted cathedral shrine, each skull, encircled by its
glimmering golden crown, established themselves in my
memory, and collaborated with all that I had learnt about
them to confirm my theory of their voyage. But, some
how, I always had a recollection of having seen at Cologne
many more bones than would be necessary to form the
bodies of three kings ; no doubt the bones of their
retainers, I thought, and perhaps some of those queer
camels and other beasts of burden ; but I was not easy
in my mind about It. I continued the story, however, by
assuming that the pagan Germans had crueUy martyred
the Magi and, on coming to their senses, had repented,
154

A Lost Song

embraced Christianity, and built the cathedral over their
remains. True, the guide-book says that the foundations
of the present cathedral were not laid till 1248 ; but It
does not say how long one ought to allow for the Germans
to come to their senses, repent, embrace Christianity, and
make up their minds to lay the foundations of a cathedral.
Besides, it admits that there had been an earlier church
on the site ; and who knows whether this earlier church
did not displace a stiU earUer one whose existence was
unknown to the guide-book ?
I had never been on the Continent before 1868, but I
have been there repeatedly since, and have found other
interests in the city of Basel. Arriving in June, 1920,
early in the morning, I had the rest of the day and the
night before going on by the S. Gottardo to Milan. For
my sightseeing I selected the Holbeins. Unfortunately,
they are housed in the Museum, and If I were to write
down my favourite amusement it woifld not now be
" visiting museums." AU my Hfe long I have suspected
museums of giving me more boredom than pleasure. I
can no longer conceal from myself and others that this Is
so. It was the Musee de Cluny that revealed the fact
fuUy to me one day when I was roaming through it,
whIstUng softly to myself the lovely minuet from Le
Bourgeois Gentilhomme. I had recently been to a per
formance of that comedy with LuUy's music at the Odeon,
and the neighbourhood of the theatre had caused the
minuet to float into my head. So as I was whistUng
aimlessly about among the showcases a guardian stopped
me and said suUenly :
" Faut pas siffler."
I left the buflding at once. I knew I could not trust
myself. What is the use of a museum if one may not155

Basel
whistle in it ? It is worth while if there are Holbeins
there, but I saw none at the Musee de Cluny.
At Basel there are not only Holbeins, there are also
BockUns ; and one has to pass through the BockUns, of
which there are too many, to get to the Holbeins, of
which there are too few. The contrast reminded me of
my policeman, Mr. Beaman. He used to buy any second
hand object that took his fancy, and thus graduaUy
acquired a collection which I never saw, but, from what he
told me about It, I drew my own conclusions as to its
contents. I was showing him a snuff-box once, a beauti
ful antique silver one, and said :
" I rather like little boxes."
" Yes," he replied sympathetically, " I know. So do I.
If there's one thing more than another it's little boxes
and screw-topped jars."
I am sure that his collection resembled the museum at
Basel in containing things in wrong proportions. And
herein most collections resemble Hfe : to the wise man
the art of passing through both consists largely in avoiding
the too many screw-topped jars and BockUns, and in con
centrating on the too few Holbeins and silver snuff-boxes.
So in the museum at Basel I devoted all my attention to
the Holbeins and then departed. But numbers do tell, and
the numbers of dull, uninteresting things which I saw on
my way in and out of that museum left such an unpleasant
taste in my mouth that I crossed the road and, taHng a
seat on the terrace of the cathedral, looked down on the
Rhine with a sense of relief and gratitude.
It must have been by design that Nature placed that
terrace at Basel so conveniently near the museum. It is
another instance of the motherly love which prompted
her to plant the dock wherever the nettle has been aUowed
156

A Lost Song

to grow, and to establish Fortnum & Mason's in Piccadilly
just where it is. For in Albemarle Street, close by, Uved
the dentist who was employed by my mother to attend
to my teeth when I was a boy. After a visit to him, we
used to adjourn to Fortnum & Mason's, where I was
given a preserved apricot to take the taste of his fingers
out of my mouth. If anyone were to go exhaustively
into the question, it woifld no doubt appear that Hnd
Nature has placed some compensating contrast in the
neighbourhood of aU dentists and of aU museums. Take
a few museums for example. See how she has placed
pigeons in the front court of the British Museum ! She
has done so in order to refresh and cheer the jaded visitor
as he passes out into Great RusseU Street. At the
National GaUery she made the fountains play in Trafalgar
Square for the same purpose. She directed the Seine
past the windows of the Louvre, launched boats on It, and
taught men to fish from its embankments and bridges.
The Museum at Palermo is better stiU, and within its
waUs contains its own refreshment. You must, of course,
see the metopes from the ruined temples at SeUnunte,
which are on the ground floor, and the triptych by
Mabuse, if it is stiU attributed to him, which is upstairs.
These treasures are to Palermo what the Holbeins are to
Basel. After enjoying them you are free to take a seat
in the shady cloister, and to think over them in peace,
forgetting aU you have passed that is dusty and dead.
Then you Hnger on and dream among flowering shrubs,
and Hsten to the splashing of a fountain, while the sunUght
plays upon the papyrus which grows in the water, and
gold-fish swim round in the basin. If you keep very stiU
you may perhaps catch sight of a nervous rat, out for a
prowl, who goes running along by the raised pavement, 157

Basel
stopping short every now and then, and furtively looHng
for something which he has mislaid.
The crowning example of contrast in this kind is, of
course, the view of the Bay of Naples from the balcony of
the extremely uninteresting museum on the Vomero.
So far as I can remember no museum is endowed with
such a compensating jewel of a contrast, and no museum
needs it so much. It is one of the most renowned views
in Europe, and it deserves all the praise that has been
given to It. It is only less magnificent than that from
Mount Eryx, which I hope soon to look upon, for it is the
goal of my present journey. That view from Mount
Eryx, without any dreary museum to enhance its wonder.
Is the finest I have ever seen — a foolish figure, unless the
reader has present to his mind all the other views that I
have seen, and beUeves that I have compared them. I
have seen enough views to know that it would be useless
to compare them. Think of Richmond Hill, of Taor-
mina, of Hampstead Heath, of the Sacro Monte above
Varese, of Stirling Castle, of the terrace at St. Germain,
and of hundreds of others. What Is the use of comparing
such views ? One can only agree with Georges — accept
the fact that they differ, and enjoy oneself.
I suspect that my young undergraduate musician at
Cambridge knows all there is to be known about the uses
of variety and contrast. Perhaps he wiU interpolate in
one of his future concerts among the songs I have sent him
by Claribel, Virginia Gabriel and Miss M. Lindsay (Mrs.
J. Worthington Bliss) a couple of silver snuff-boxes in the
shape of " Archibald Douglas " by Lowe in the first part,
and " Auf dem Wasser zu singen " by Schubert in the
second. These wiU supply the variety necessary to bring
his entertainment into line with a first-rate museum.
158

A Lost Song

And, for the final view over the Bay of Naples perhaps he
wiU take me back with him to supper in his rooms, and we
shaU spend the rest ofthe evening, just we two, raiUng at
our mistress the world and settling the programme for his
next concert.
In the meantime I was looHng down on the Rhine
from the terrace of the cathedral at Basel. There it was,
StiU swirUng majesticaUy round its curve, rushing through
the arches of the bridge, and past the windows of the
Hotel des Trois Rois. This remains for me the most
absorbing sight in the city. And I thought again of my
Three Kings in that lost song navigating the stream and
putting up for the night at their hotel. But a good deal
of the glamour had vanished ; for in the Interval between
1868 and 1920 I had made the mistake of consulting the
hagiological authorities, and had ascertained that my
theory did not agree with the received views. All goes
weU at the opening of the story. The old man in the
pictures is Gaspare, King of Tarsus, and he offers gold
because he comes from a land of merchants. Melchiorre
is the middle-aged man. King of Arabia and Nubia, and
he offers franHncense because it is the product of his
country. The pleasing young black feUow is Baldassare,
King of Saba, who offers myrrh because he comes from the
land of spices. Then I ran up against a disappointment.
They did not travel straight from Bethlehem to the
Rhine. When they had finished adoring at Bethlehem
they went home again ; and this I might have known,
because St. Matthew (II. 12) says distinctly :
And being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to
Herod, they departed into their own country another way.
Some years later they were found In their own country
by St. Thomas when he went proselytizing in India. 159

Basel
This makes Tarsus, Arabia, Nubia and Saba all one
country, east of Bethlehem. I cannot help it, but it
seems to require a note. It must have been a joyous
meeting, wherever it took place, and what a surprise for
aU ! St, Thomas baptized them, which started them off
carrying the gospel to the Far East. It was there that
they suffered martyrdom, so the Germans had nothing
to do with that. Their remains would have stayed
where they were, no doubt developing thaumaturgical
properties until now, had they not been discovered and
brought to Constantinople by the Empress Helena,
But they only stayed in Constantinople until the time of
the First Crusade, when they were transferred to Mflan,
It Is a far more roundabout story, and with more stoppages
in it, than the one I had Invented for them ; and more
macabre, for it is a journey of three corpses instead of a
journey of three living potentates. Either the S. Got
tardo and the Oberalp, or the Spliigen, would have been
on their road to Basel, but I have not yet found any
tradition about their hotel there — or rather, as I now
suppose, of the hotel patronized by those who were
transporting their remains. It may have been named
after the Three Kings through the influence of Barbarossa,
for it was he who gave the bones to some archbishop who
gave them to Cologne ; and in the arms of that city their
three crowns are emblazoned. There still remained the
question as to all those other puzzling bones which I had
seen at Cologne, They cannot have belonged to their
numerous retainers, for neither the Empress Helena nor
Barbarossa would have troubled to preserve them and
bring them from the East.
It was clear by this time that I had to give up my theory
about the wanderings and martyrdom of the Magi in
i6o I

A Lost Song

favour of the accepted view, which nevertheless may have
as Httie foundation in fact ; but I consoled myself with
the reflection that it is not unusual for theories to have
to be abandoned. As an iUustration of this my Swiss
friend gave me further consolation, for when I told him
aU I had learnt he Informed me that the bottom had
recentiy been knocked out of the other theory about the
change in the course of the Rhine ; It was the glaciers
before they melted that are now thought to have gone
along the course both of the Rhine and of the Limmat.
Also he says that the name of Basel is from a Celtic word
Wasal or Basal, which means water, and was taken by the
Romans from a viUage on the site and turned into Basilea.
I must look the question up as soon as I return to London
and can put the British Museum to its proper use.
And my Swiss friend did more. He reminded me that
the martyrdom at Cologne of which I had probably been
thinking was that of St. Ursula and her Eleven
Thousand Holy Virgins. I ought not to have required
any reminding of this, because I had by that time been
to Venice and seen Carpaccio's series of dehghtful pictures
showing how St. Ursifla made a pflgrimage to Rome,
lost her way on the return journey, arrived by mistake at
Cologne and was there martyred. I had particularly
noticed these pictures for various reasons, so that I
certainly ought not to have confused the two martyrdoms.
Is it possible, I asked myself, that I had done worse and
had mixed in with the two legends the song about the
pflot ? Perhaps there was only one song and it was all
about St. Ursifla. The timid passenger, who proposed
to pace the deck with the pflot, may have been originally
the EngHsh prince, the betrothed of the saint who accom
panied her and her virgins on the pilgrimage. Had I
M i6i

Basel
Identified him with one of the Three Kings in the legend ?
Kings and princes, when used for purposes of poetry, are
easily interchanged by the young. If that happy-go-
lucky pilot was conducting St. Ursula one can understand
why her voyage had such a melancholy termination.
In any case, all that aibout the ancient river irresistibly
bearing its sacred burden along upon its ample bosom and
the water bubbling up under the keels of the boats would
do as well for the Kings arriving at Cologne as for St.
Ursula and her party. And it appears to me further that,
although the bones of the Three Kings and those of St.
Ursula and her Eleven Thousand Holy Virgins are kept
at Cologne in separate repositories, I must, nevertheless,
have managed to confuse them also ; and that is how I
came to wondering why the Magi had so many more
bones than could have been coUected from three skeletons.
It may be that In this last act of confusion I had com
mitted some kind of sacrilege. If so I sinned in
respectable company ; for my Swiss friend assured me
that Professor Owen, when visiting the Church of St.
Ursula at Cologne, was shown her bones and those of her
companions and at a glance detected among them many
remains of lower animals. Perhaps there are camels
among them after all.

162

Genoa

To Henry Waldo Acomb

Chapter 25
A Ricordo of the War
I WENT from Basel by the S. Gottardo to Mflan and
on to Genoa, where I tasted the flavour of Sicily
for the first time since the war, for it was here that I
found my compare Turiddu BaUstrieri. I made his ac
quaintance at Messina in the autumn of 1908, before the
earthquake, when he was a chfld staying with his sister, a
member of the Sicflian Dramatic Company of Giovanni
Grasso. It is difficult to remember the ages of growing
boys, so my first question was :
" And how old are you now, Turiddu ? "
" Twenty-three."
" We have known each other for twelve years," I said,
" and have been compari for eleven. But something has
made more difference to you than the flight, of time.
You are more than twelve years older than you were when
first we met behind the scenes at Messina,"
" Ah yes, I have fought in the war — the war which
has aged aU of us and kept us two apart."
" And you have not only been through the fighting
and been wounded, you were also a prisoner, and that
must have aged you too."
" But not so much as it would have aged me if you had
not sent me those parcels of food from England." 165

Genoa
" I hope you received them aU, Turiddu, and the
boots." ,
" AU except the last parcel, and I did not receive that
because It came after the Armistice — after I had gone.
Let us not taUc about the war. Do you remember Holy
Week in Catania ? "
" Of course I do ; did I not put it into my book ? But
I did not put in about aU the town coming to the Teatro
BeUini to see La Zolfara with Giovanni Grasso in it.
How f uU the theatre was, and how wonderf uUy he acted !
But then you SiciUans are aU natural actors. Your
mother, for instance, how good she is ! And do you
remember how you used to come to the hotel in Catania
to see me and I used to say : ' But Turiddu, oughtn't
you to be at school ? ' and you always replied : ' To-day is
a holiday ' ? "
" Yes, and how my uncle objected and said that my
mother ought not to let me waste so much time with that
Englishman," " I remember. We were aU sitting on the pavement
outside the door of Giovanni's own theatre ; and when
your uncle said that, Giovanni's mother, Madama Ciccia,
told him not to talk nonsense and said that Turiddu would
get nothing but good from his EngHsh compare."
" Yes ; and you got up and Hssed the old lady to thank
her for speaHng up for you."
" Of course I did. I am not a Sicilian, but I know how
to behave Uke one sometimes. And do you remember,
Turiddu, how you searched my pockets for chocolate the
first time we met in Messina ? "
" And how we went and bought the Arabian Nights ?
I have read that book all through many times. We have
been together in Messina, in Naples, in Catania, in Rome.
1 66

A Ricordo of the War
Now we meet in Genoa ; it is a new town for us,"
" Being in Genoa reminds me of the last time I was
here." " When was that ? " inquired Turiddu, always polite.
So I told him about it. But what I told him was
rather about my being at Portofino, which is close by.
It was in May, 1914. I could not go to Sicily then because
I had to be back in London in June to prepare for the
seventh Erewhon dinner in memory of Butler, But I
wanted to go to Italy, so I went through Genoa to Porto
fino and stayed there for a fortnight. There were many
guests in the hotel, some EngHsh, some German, and
among the Germans two sisters, one of whom was
striHngly beautiful. They spoke EngHsh, French, and
ItaUan, besides German, and we three went about
together. A report spread abroad that the German Emperor was
arriving in his yacht the Hohenzollern to pay a visit to
some one in Portofino. The ladies told me that Lord
Carnarvon had a viUa or a castle or some Hnd of lordly
dweUing there wherein Wilhelm's father, the lamented
Kaiser Friedrich, passed some of the last weeks of his Hfe
before he returned to BerUn to die ; and it seemed that
the simple fisher-folk of this operaticaUy romantic port
beUeved it to be the wish of Kaiser WlUielm to pay a
visit to this vflla in order to drop a fiUal tear in the room
once occupied by his adored papa. But this notion, the
German ladies said, was Incorrect. No doubt Kaiser
Wflhelm adored his father's memory — aU properly
brought-up sons adore their father's memory — but they
had exclusive information ; one of theh cousins or uncles
had a friend, very high in the army, and he was now
traveUing with the Kaiser and knew why the Hohenzollern 167

Genoa
was putting in at Portofino. It had nothing to do with
the late Kaiser Friedrich. They had been told the
reason for the visit and aU about it and it was exceedingly
confidential. They might say this much, however,
without betraying any confidence — their Kaiser was
coming to visit a friend, a German Baron in another viUa,
nothing to do with Lord Carnarvon's villa ; he would
stay two hours and would take a cup of tea. This made
me feel as though here were poUtical developments going
on and I was In the know for once — or nearly in the know»
The great day came and the hour, and we went to the
house of the woman who did the washing for our hotelr
She invited us to ascend to her roof, which was flat, and
from which we had a view of the port and out to sea
where we saw the Hohenzollern lying at anchor. Next
we saw an electric launch go fussing away from the port,
and I lent the ladies my field-glasses, and they saw the
launch arrive at the yacht, and saw people get on board,
but could not distinguish much. Then the electric
launch came fussing back again and entered the harbour.
And the Kaiser stepped off the launch and on to the
landing-place. Others stepped too, but we observed
only the Kaiser. I did, however, observe something
further which I am sure I was intended not to miss. The
eyes of the German ladles filled with patriotic tears as
they gazed on the hope of their country — on him whose
noble boast it was that he had preserved the peace of
Europe for so many years, and whose only desire it was to
go on preserving it as long as it should please the Almighty
to bless his efforts.
I got back my glasses in time to have a look at this
eminent personage as he walked along the jetty. Pro
bably there was music, but my attention was taken up by
i68

A Ricordo of the War
the emotions appropriate to the great moment ; the
tears of the German ladies had infected me, and I have
forgotten . aU about the music. I remember the
decorations, but then I had watched the preparations
beforehand and had thought them inadequate. Along
the shore had been planted masts whereon the inhabitants
had stretched their humble fishing-nets as though to dry
them in the sun.
I did not see the Kaiser go away. Possibly he stayed
more than his two hours, and possibly he took more than
a cup of tea. I heard that his baronial friend had amassed
part of his wealth in some way connected with champagne.
And they told me that the Hohenzollern went that evening
to Genoa whence the Kaiser took train for BerUn.
The next morning there were post-cards on sale in the
town with fllustrations of the great event. They cost
thirty centimes each, which seemed to me a good deal
untfl I found one which showed not only the Kaiser
below walHng along the jetty, but also me on the roof of
the laundress's house looking through my glasses, which
seemed cheap for thirty centimes.
" And that," I said in conclusion, " is how I got a
ricordo of the war."
It is possible that Turiddu was bored by my long
recital. Anyhow he took an early opportunity of reading
to me an account, which he had written and hoped to
have printed in some newspaper, of his doings during the
war. If he intended to pay me out in my own coin by
boring me, he fafled. I Hstened with interest to aU his ex
periences. Perhaps I was most particularly interested when
he came to the part about his being a prisoner and about
the treatment he received from the compatriots of the
charming ladies whose acquaintance I made at Portofino. 169

Naples

To the Hon. Mrs. Richard Cecil Grosvenor

Chapter 26 Pietro
ON leaving Genoa I traveUed through Rome to
Naples where I hoped to find my godson Pietro
Lombardo. He became my godson in 1907 on
the occasion of his cresima, when he was seven years old, at
Trapani, where his father, Michele Lombardo, is a gold
smith. And simultaneously Michele became my com
pare. I was never very sure what a cresima is, but it was
done by the bishop who anointed Pietro with ofl in the
private chapel of his palace, and whfle he did it I had my
hand on Pietro's shoulder.
I had seen Pietro every year at Trapani from 1907
until 191 3 ; after that the war prevented my going to
Sicfly ; during the, war we corresponded, and I knew
that he was a Heutenant. I knew also that he was in
Naples in 1920, but did not teU him what train I was
coming by because it seemed as though that would be
like commanding him to meet me : I merely told him
which day to expect me. But I had put my penny in the
slot, and Pietro did the rest. As the porter was carrying
my luggage along the platform, a Heutenant detached
himself from the crowd, came up to me, threw his arms
round me and Hssed me on both cheeks.
Old friends who meet after an absence display their
emotions in manners as different as their characters. I
remember two brothers, EngHshmen, who, not having 173

Napl

es
met for years, found themselves sitting opposite one
another in a railway carriage on the Underground.
" HuUo, Bob," said BiU. " Is that you ? How's your
liver ? "
" Damn my Hver," replied Bob.
" By the by. Bill," said Bob presently, " how are your
kidneys ? "
" Damn my Hdneys," repHed BiU.
That is what happens, or may happen, with the ordinary
EngUshman. There is a story of how Herbert Spencer went with an
old friend for a holiday in the Isle of Wight. They had
not met for some time, and arrived the first night at a
hotel where they had high tea with chops.
" These," said Herbert Spencer, " are remarkably large
chops for so smaU an island."
Which shows that the philosopher may be betrayed into
maHng a joke. But I am not quite sure about the anec
dote ; I have lost the reference ; I wiU look it up when
I get back and am looHng up JuHus Csesar and the FaUs
of the Rhine.
The SiciHan, In a transport of effusiveness, embraces his
friend and Hsses him on both cheeks.
I knew it could only be Pietro who saluted me on the
platform, but I did not recognize him. He had no doubt
about my identity, but then between sixty and seventy
one changes less than between ten and twenty. Besides
Pietro is a SiciHan, and any SiciHan is quicker than I am,
and I think that the Sicilians in general are quicker than
the English in recognizing those whom they have not seen
for years. Once I was recognized by one who had never
seen me at all, except on a picture post-card ; he had no
idea that I was in the island, met me on a badly
174

Pietro
Ughted staircase, and knew me for certain at once.
Pietro took me entirely into his keeping ; he knew how
to get a carriage and how much to pay the porter ; he
saw me through and escorted me to the hotel. He did
not approve of my hotel — said it was " un albergo di poca
forza " ; but I had been there before and had written
for a room, so he had to submit. It was a long time before
I could find any trace of the chfld I had known in
the capable young man who was looHng after me so
efficiently. As we drove to the hotel, I said :
" How long have we known each other, Pietro ? "
He repHed : " Thirteen years. I was seven when you
became my padrino."
I said : " Do you remember how your father brought
you to the station at Trapani one year and you kept away
from the train and would not come near me ? "
" Yes " he repHed, laughing, " I was afraid you would
take me with you to London."
" I suppose you thought that your father, by maHng
me your padrino, had given you to me ? "
" Something of the sort. But I should not mind
coming to London with you now."
" It is much the same vrith me," I said. " I did not
want to take you to London then ; I wasn't thinHng of
it ; I should have been afraid of the responsibiUty. But
if you would come now, I should be ever so much pleased
to have you, and the responsibiUty would be yours. You
would look after me. I shaU want somebody soon."
" When I am demobiUzed, we wiU think about it
seriously," repHed Pietro.
Then he gave me a piece of coral which he had saved up
for me. It is to keep off the evfl eye. A sHght accident 175

Naples

had happened to the point, so that, being no longer sharp,
it could not be trusted to work as a charm ; but he
promised me that when we were at Trapani his father
should sharpen it up for me, it is his, business to do such
jobs. " And when sharpened," said Pietro, " it will operate
as weU as though it had never been broken."
" Which I daresay is Hterally the fact," I said. But I
only said it to myself. Out loud to Pietro I said : " Would
it have preserved me from losing my railway ticket in Paris
the other day ? " and I told him about that adventure.
" Of course it would," he repHed. " Nothing of that
Hnd, no loss, no misfortune, can happen to you so long as
you wear my coral when it is in working order."
"It is very kind of you, Pietro, and I accept your
present with gratitude."
So I put it into my pocket. in the hope that I might
begin to enjoy the benefit of being its possessor, although
it was in a crippled state.
The next thing was to settle where to dine, and I soon
observed that, as a conjurer forces a card upon you, so
Pietro was forcing PosilHpo upon me. He did it sHlfuUy,
and I yielded gracefuUy ; but I dare say he saw through
my gracefulness as easily as I saw through his sHU. And
next, how to get there ? The NeapoUtan trams do not
confuse Pietro ; he put us into the right one, and it was
crowded ; we had to stand on the platform outside with
about twice as many people as could have stood there in
comfort. Pietro was as much at home with the restaur
ants at PosilHpo as with the trams and managed better,
for he chose one that was not crowded. It had written
up over it the words " Asso PigHatutto," and I thought to
myself : " WeU, that is an ominous name for a restaur-
176

Pietro
ateur." For I supposed that Asso was the Christian
name of the proprietor, or some shortened form of it,
and that PigHatutto (which means " He takes all ") was
his surname. But Pietro said that they have a game with
cards caUed Asso PigHatutto — asso is the ace and sweeps
the board. It was as though the proprietor had called
his restaurant by some such name as The Beggar-my-
Neighbour — an ominous name for a restaurant. But it
was a pleasant place, and we sat at a table overlooking the
sea just as the evening boat was steaming out of the port
of Naples and starting for Palermo. And to make things
stfll pleasanter four men came, one with a voice, one with
a vioUn, one with a mandoHne, and the last with a guitar,
and they set themselves to perform NeapoUtan canzonets.
During dinner Pietro told me about his war experiences.
He joined the army on his onomastico, that is the festa of
S. Pietro, June 29, 191 7, and went to Messina ; thence
he went to Sbarre in Calabria, and so on to other places.
In October he went to Turin to go through a course
previous to receiving a commission, and there he was
continuaUy being punished because he is something of a
buffo and was always playing the fool. I did not see that
Pietro was so much of a buffo. He was cheerful and gay
aU the time, but the only buffoneria he was guilty of
was that he struck matches on the inside of his two
front teeth in the upper row. This he did as a matter of
course every time he Ughted a cigarette. They exploded
with a loud crack. He joined the ArtlgUerla Montana
and from Turin went to the front, and it was at Monte
Grappa that he won his Croce di Guerra.
And aU the time the daylight was fading and we were
going on with our dinner, while on one side of us the four
men were performing their NeapoUtan canzonets, and on
N 177

Napl

es
the other was the smooth sea whereon stealthy boats
were prowling backwards and forwards, each with a
bright acetylene lamp in front, silently combing the
water and taHng such fish as were fooHsh enough to be
attracted by the light.

178

Chapter 27 Pompei
NEXT morning, as I was getting into my trousers,
I observed a jagged gash in the cloth just below
a back pocket in which I carry a pocket-book.
This gash must have been made by some one in the crowd
when we were on the tram ; but, whoever he was, he did
not get my pocket-book, perhaps because he had not space
in which to complete his operations ; had it been one of
those pockets sewn on outside, the pocket-book would
have sHpped out and he would have got it ; but it was of
the other sort, with the real pocket In the Unlng inside the
cloth, and he fafled. It was the first time that anything
of the kind had ever happened to me in Italy. I showed
the cut to Pietro as soon as he came, and he at once con
gratulated me on not having lost the pocket-book.
" That," he said, " was because you had my coral in
your pocket."
I remembered St. Antoine and put it down to Georges'
prayer. " Surely," I said, to myself " this is the third
. thing and the good saint has intervened." But to Pietro
I said :
" Then I owe my good fortune to you. Thank you,
Pietro. You feel sure that it reaUy has begun to work,
although the coral is stfll unmended ? "
" WeU, can't you see for yourself ? "
" I admit that it looks like it," I repHed. " And now
about this gash — ^what are we to do ? " 179

Napl

es
Pietro knew and took me to the brother of his professor,
who is a retired tailor. As we went along I could not help
remembering that only a few days before, when I was In
Rome, I had been taken by an English friend to salute an
eminent Cambridge don who has retired to end his days
there, and I could not help remembering him In Naples
and wondering whether he has a brother a — no, I did not
get so far as to wonder that ; but I thought how differ
ently the classes are divided in the two countries. In
Italy, however, they caU any one a professor, or almost
any one, who is engaged In tuition. This gentleman
mended the gash in a rapid and clevei* manner and, as I
was Pietro's godfather, of course refused to take any
payment. We were on our way to Pompei when we visited the
tailor, and dropped a train at Torre del Greco where we
called on the professor's family for a snack, or a spuntino,
as Pietro called It, because it blunts the appetite (spunta
I'appetlto). It consisted of a salad of tomatoes and onions
with bread and cheese and wine, and served its purpose.
Thence we proceeded to Pompei.
The first time I went to Pompei, in 1896, I was
entranced, and wanted to stay there for weeks and find
out aU there was to know about the life of the people who
lived there ; and I should have Hked to build in St. John's
Wood a Pompeian house and to Hve in it. The next
time I went, five years later, it bored me ; it seemed as
though it would not bear repeating ; but then it was a
wet day, and Pompei is not at its best on a wet day. Now,
at my third visit, I was inclined to forgive it everything ;
not to the extent of wanting a Pompeian house to live In,
but It was quite interesting again. I should add that the
day was perfect, and it must not be forgotten that I had
180

Pompei

Pietro with me. AU the same, I do not believe it was
good for me to be so much with Pietro, because he gave
himself up to me entirely and seemed to live for nothing
but my comfort. I am sure that if I were to be con
tinuaUy with him I should grow even more selfish than I
naturaUy am.
We returned to the house of the family of the professor
for dinner, and were joined by the professor himself and
by his brother the taflor. The professor was formerly at
Trapani, where he supervised Pietro's education ; he is
now professing at Caserta, and Pietro is boarding and
lodging with the famfly during a month's leave. They
have a large garden fuU of tomatoes, with oranges and
other trees, but just now apricots were specially
prominent. They were being gathered and packed in
baskets to be sent to feed the coral-fishers. For the coral-
fishers sleep in the sea, as Pietro expresses it, meaning
that they Hve In their boats ; and a ship loaded with
provisions goes and finds them and leaves with them
canned meat, bread, wine, and aU necessary food,
including these apricots, of which some are not yet ripe
but wiU ripen on the voyage.
After dinner we went down the garden and helped to
gather and to eat apricots, and the contadino's children
were there playing with a cockchafer. They tied a string
round it and It flew about, and they puUed it back and it
flew away again, and so on. I do not think the cockchafer
was enjoying himself, but I did not suppose that God had
sent me into that particular garden on that particular
evening speciaUy to save that particular cockchafer, so I
did not interfere. We smoked a few cigarettes, and
before we were tired of the apricots it was time for Pietro
to take me to the station and to see me off back to Naples. i8i

Chapter 28 Capri
NEXT day was Sunday and Pietro came to take me
to Capri — a regular Sunday excursion. We went
down to the harbour, where we got our tickets
and boarded the steamer. No morning was ever stiUer
or sunnier, and in the sunny stiUness smaU boats rowed
about round us containing naked, or nearly naked, boys
who shouted to us :
" Chuck us a copper, governor, chuck us a copper."
We chucked, and the boys dived and came up stowing
the pennies away in their mouths, and the gUttering
drops of water covered their nakedness as with a network
of diamonds. I said :
" Don't they lose a lot of pennies, Pietro ? They
cannot get them all."
He repHed : " They get most of them."
Pietro has studied physics, and explained that however
the penny falls it will sooner or later take a flat position
and wiU then sink so slowly that the boy has time to swim
to it under the water and catch it. And it seemed to me,
as I watched them, that they did not miss more than five,
or perhaps ten, per cent.
There went by between us and one of the smaU boats a
fruit of the sea, moving slowly along just under the face
of the water — a glaucous bubble of translucent jeUy.
It must have been a couple of feet long and a foot across
182

Cap

n
at the head — ^if it was the head. Pietro said it was a
medusa. It was shaped something like a great mush
room, but instead of a stem it had a bunch of tassels
hanging down. It traveUed in a sloping position, and
its umbreUa-shaped head was trimmed aU round with a
purple edging. We caUed to one of the boys and pointed
to it. He took it up tenderly, he did not treat it as the
contadino's boys treated the cockchafer — he Hfted it out
and laid it gently in his boat, and we saw that the jeUy
it was made of was quite firm, as though the cook had
mixed in with the usual ingredients more than the usual
amount of isinglass. Before the sun had had time to do
it any harm he carefuUy replaced It in the water, and it
moved sluggishly away. It must have wondered. Per
haps it enjoyed its dive into the air as much as the Hthe
brown boys enjoyed their dives into the sea. But it did
not get any pennies.
Time was up and our steamer started for Capri,
crowded with hoHday-makers ; we disembarked a few at
Sorrento and embarked a few in exchange and presently
neared the island. Before landing we risited the famous
Blue Grotto. SmaU boats came and took us off the
steamer and rowed us in through the opening. We had
to make ourselves smaU to get through, for there was
scarcely room for more than the boat to pass. I had
heard of this curiosity aU my life but had never actuaUy
seen it, except in a ridiculous imitation at one of the
Earl's Court Exhibitions. When our boat had got inside,
the boatman rowed us up to a dark corner of the grotto,
where a boy had been planted on a ledge ; we could not
see him, but the boatman told us he was there and that,
if we gave him a franc, the boy would dive in and it would
be beautiful. It was an exercise of faith to which we
183

Napl

es
were equal, especially as we had an Australian lady In our
boat and thought that she had better see all there was
to be seen after traveUing half round the world. Then '
we heard a splash and saw a silver boy diving about under
the water among bubbles of pearl. For the Blue Grotto
is so laid out that nearly all the light in It enters under the
water, or so it seems. I might have asked Pietro, with
his knowledge of physics, to give me the scientific explana
tion ; but somehow I did not think of it in time.
Anyhow there was more Hght on the diving boy than on
anything else in the grotto, and the display was, as the
boatman had predicted, beautiful. The AustraUan lady
seemed rather dazed by the show, but I think she con
sidered it worth the franc.
There was not much to be done In Capri and not much
time to do It in. We lunched in a restaurant at the same
table with a Japanese gentleman, and Pietro bathed in
the sea. Then it was time for us to embark In our
steamer which brought us back safely to Naples.

184

Palermo

To Duncan Alexander Forbes
and his Brother
Mansfield Duval Forbes

Chapter 29 My Buffo
THE day after our excursion to Capri was our last
in Naples. Pietro took me up the Vomero and
proposed a visit to the museum of S. Martino.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast, and I went in
with him, hoping, as usual, for sflver snuff-boxes and
being put off with the most ordinary collection of screw-
topped jars. But there was the great view over the bay
as compensation.
Then we had our tickets to buy and our luggage to get
ready and to convey to the Solunto, which started about
7.30 p.m. for Palermo. This night voyage between
Naples and Palermo is one of the best bits of travelUng in
Italy. A boat goes each way every night, starting about
7.30, sometimes delayed by the loading of cargo, and
arriving about 7.30 next morning, and here again there
may be delay. I am so pleased about it, perhaps, because
I have usuaUy had the good fortune to cross in calm
weather. We sat down to dinner as the Solunto left the
quay, and came on deck again as we were clearing Capri.
After a few strolls round I went to my berth and slept as
soundly as I sleep in my own bed at home.
The next morning was briUiant. I got up, dressed,
went on deck, and found Pietro. He had not been to
bed as I had, he had passed the night lying on the tarpauHn
over one of the Ufeboats — rather comfortable, I should 187

Palermo
think. While drinking our black coffee and munching a
few biscuits we set ourselves to look for Sicily. There it
was at last, distant but clear in the sunhght, and the sea
as blue as the sea can be — regular, downright, royal blue.
We seemed to be going slowly along, but Pietro declared
that we were reaUy going fast, and perhaps we were.
Anyhow Monte Pellegrino on our right and Capo
Zafferano on our left became graduaUy more and more
distinct, and presently between them I made out the
Foro ItaUco and the Porta FeUce, many indistinct houses
behind them, and, rising above the houses, several
churches and the Teatro Massimo, We entered the
port and neared the quay. Lots of people were there to
meet us, and I looked and looked tlU at last a figure
waving his hat resolved itself into my buffo, Alessandro
Greco of the Marionette Theatre, He had seen me first
and was making gestures and telling me aU sorts of things ;
we had quite a long conversation, he on the quay, I on
the Solunto with Pietro to help as interpreter,
Alessandro went to the war and was wounded. He
came home, was nursed in hospital, recovered, and went
back to the war. He was wounded again, came home,
and was nursed again in Palermo. He sent me a photo
graph of himself taken while he was in hospital ; in it he
looks more Hke a corpse than a Uving man, and I suspected
that he had made himself up for it. I did not say so ; I
merely wrote condoling. He replied in December, 191 8,
after the Armistice, thanking me for my inquiries and
continuing thus :
I am not yet well and spend most of the day in bed. But now we can
shout " Victoria-a-a ! Viva Guido Santo ! Viva Carlo Magno ! " I
had feared that we should never meet again, that for me the world had
come to an end, and that my eyes would look on nothing but the Spectre
188

My Buffo

of Death. But now, in a moment, the Armistice has brought new life,
the sun rises once more, and hope returns. Men are fraternizing, hearts
are beating, chickens are growing up from the egg and are nearly ready to
offer their giblets to Enrico and Alessandro. How soon are you coming
to Palermo f Have you grown older or younger f Is your hair whiter
or darker ? If we do meet again, it may be only for once, but if we do,
then, oh then, I shall be content to die, and I pray that death may come to
me when we are together and I have my head in a dish of interiori di
poUo. Always your affectionate brother,
Alessandro (Buffo).
Besides his wounds he had the Spanish grippe in
Palermo and nearly died. I knew most of this, and my
knowledge helped me to understand his gestures on the
quay. He pointed to what he caUs his heroic leg, and
told me that an operation was not necessary, as had been
feared, and showed me that he was not lame ; but he had
suffered unspeakable pain. I took a letter from my
pocket, and, pretending that It was the photograph of
him taken when he was IU, indicated, with my hand
kerchief to my eyes, that I had cried on receiving it. He
understood ; his shoulders went up to his ears, he
separated his hands, and glancing towards the water still
lying between us, made a gesture which clearly signified :
" WeU, yes, of course you did ;' and there are all your
tears." Pietro was on his way home to Trapani in the Solunto,
but he had three or four hours whfle the steamer remained
in Palermo, so we took him with us to my hotel and gave
him lunch before he continued his journey*;', after which
we packed him off, and the buffo left me to rest whfle he
returned to his labours at the teatrlno.
Later in the day I caUed there and found a performance
in fuU swing. Against a background of tents, armour,
and as much of a regiment of black soldiers as could be
189

Palermo
crowded on to the stage, the Emperor Agolante of Africa
was fighting single-handed against Orlando and Don
Chiaro. I did not grasp the course of the battle because
they all killed each other repeatedly and rose again to
continue fighting after I had given them up ; so that I
was probably mistaken about their being dead, and they
were only intended to be resting. I could not ask the
buffo, because he was behind, worHng Orlando. It all
became clear in the end ; the Emperor Agolante ran
away leaving Orlando and Don Chiaro in victorious
possession of the stage. The curtain fell, and the buffo
was free to come and talk to me.
He told me that Don Chiaro is the brother of Girardo,
Emperor of Austria. I inquired how it came about that
Orlando could have for a friend the brother of an Austrian.
" I know," he repHed. " It was aU a mistake. You
and I should never make friends with an Austrian or a
German — nations with whom we can have no sympathy."
And he went on to tell me more about it ; but the
mechanical piano began to play, and a good deal of what
he said escaped me. I was like the diving boys in the
port at Naples, only that I failed to catch a larger
proportion than five or ten per cent, of the wealth of
information thrown to me by the buffo. After the
curtain had fallen again, he said :
" That portrait over the proscenium represents my
grandfather, Gaetano Greco, There is a legend here in
Palermo that my grandfather died mad because he had
the ambition to make his marionettes move and speak of
their own accord. He foresaw wireless puppets and
actuaUy got so far as to make Bradamante, the sister of
Rinaldo, exclaim : ' Oh ! ' all by herself, and then he
died. But my father says that the legend is not true."
190

My Buffo

I was incHned to agree with his father, more particu
larly because I had heard similar legends about other
marionettists in other towns.
" It is so," he repHed, " In Catania they beUeve it
of the grandfather of Giovanni Grasso, in Caltanissetta
of Don Angelo MazzaHa, in Trapani of Don Federico
Lucchesi." " It is a picturesque idea," I said. " I suppose it takes
the pubUc fancy and they repeat it."
" Yes ; but that doesn't make it true. It is Uke that
other legend that there are no honest men in London."
" Do they say that. Buffo ? "
" Yes ; they say that aU the honest men were kiUed at
the front and that only the shirkers survived. But I
know that that is not true, because there is one honest
man in London who has come to Palermo to salute his
friend the buffo."
" Thank you. Buffo, it is very good of you to talk like
that. I think I could find you a few more. You see
some of us were too old to go to the war ; they would not
have us ; so we did what we could at home."
Then the curtain went up, and AstoUo, the EngHsh
cousin of Orlando, came on in golden armour,
" I wish," said the buffo," I wish you would go behind
and speak for him. It would make the performance so
much more reaUstic."
There was a conversation among the marionettes on
the stage about some battle in which Carlo Magno
commanded his French knights when they were attacked
by the brutal enemy, and one of the paladins said :
" Ah, yes, and if AstoHo of England had not brought
his men to help, the French would have been defeated."
When this remark was made, the audience applauded 191

Palermo
tremendously, and the buffo told me in confidence that
his father had interpolated it as a compHment to me, and
the people had understood, because " Of course," said the
buffo, " every one can tell you are an EngUshman — they
have only got to look at your clothes,"
Then there came one whom both Astolfo and I took
for a pilgrim, but he was a devil in disguise. He deceived
Astolfo further by conducting him to a grotto. The
EngHsh are always courageous, so he bravely entered. It
was full of invisible devils — that is, invisible to Astolfo ;
we saw them ; the air was thick with them. They cleared
off and were replaced by a personage in the semblance of
a lady. She said ;
" Prince of England, Astolfo ! I crave of you one
favour." " Who am I," repHed Astolfo, " that I should refuse
anything to one so beautiful ? "
The lady said : " I beg that you wfll love me."
Here again, could any one, and especially could any
EngUshman, refuse such a request ? Astolfo could not,
and did not. He forgot the war, he forgot England, he
forgot his wife, his family, his duty, his honour, he forgot
aU that he ought to have remembered, and he embraced
the lady.
The devils returned and made fire in which the loving
couple ascended as the curtain fell.
I did not wait for more, because the theatre in which
the marionettes are now performing Is a smaU place,
much smaller than the theatre they were in before the
war ; and the mechanical piano Is a much more powerful
one, and I dreaded a whole performance at one sitting.
Besides, It was nearly over. So I waited in the sunshine
till the buffo was ready, and then he took me to call on
192

My Buffo

his sisters ; for they do not now Hve over the theatre,
they Hve in a house some Httle way off. He told me as
we went along that Astolfo was under a spell, and that the
beautiful lady was another devil in disguise, which I had
already suspected.
He also told me that before Italy came into the war
his famfly were maHng arrangements to migrate to South
America to join his brother Gaetano, but then Alessandro
was caUed up, so they remained in Palermo. They were
nearly ruined by the war, and had to give up the old place
and aU the puppets.
" Now," he said, " in this teatrino we are doing very
weU ; but Gildo has married and got a job in the PubbUca
Sicurezza, so that my father and I have to do it aU by
ourselves, and it means three performances a day, at five,
at seven, and at nine."
" And besides that," I said, " there is aU the prepara

tion."

" Yes," he agreed, " and the mending of the broken
marionettes, and maHng aU the dragons and devils and
the machinery."
" And I know something else," I said ; " the buffo is
always thinHng of his voice and regretting that he cannot
turn up the teatrino and go about the country singing
in opera companies and in concerts."
" That is true," he repHed, " but I must stick to this
so long as my father Hves. I did go on a concert tour in
North Italy a few months ago, however, and enjoyed it
very much."
" I hope you had great success."
, " Success, yes. But I want more practice."
At the house we were received by Carmela and Giovan-
nina. The other sister, CaroUna, has gone to live in
o 193

Palermo
Buenos Aires, where she is married. Carmela was
engaged, but has had the misfortune to lose her fidanzato,
who was HUed in the war. Giovannina is engaged to a
young feUow named Michele, who is not yet demobiUzed.
When they told me this, I turned to Giovannina and
said :
" But, my dear young lady, is this quite fair ? I under
stood that you were engaged to me. Why have you
treated me thus falsely ? "
She made some excuse about my staying away for seven
years, and I said :
" Could you not even wait till the war was over ? "
The buffo came to her rescue by saying : " There is
something about which I desire to make a suggestion. In
your books you say that our teatrino is in the Piazza
Nuova. This Is liable to mislead EngUsh and American
visitors who are thinHng of coming to a performance,
because we are now In the Piazza Beati PaoU. WiU
you be so kind as to destroy aU unsold copies of your
books and issue a new edition with a fresh chapter making
the correction ? "
" That Is a capital idea. Buffo. But if you move
again — ? Must I go on chasing you half over Palermo
with new editions till the end of time ? "
" Perhaps you had better give our address as Poste
Restante." " It wiU not be necessary," said Papa, " because I shaU
never move again. I shaU end my days in the Piazza
Beati PaoU."
Carmela now proposed that she should play me some
thing on the piano. I glanced towards the instrument,
guessed the state of things, and said tentatively :
" Is your piano in fairly good health just now ? "
194

My Buffo

" It is not quite in tune," she replied, " and some of
the strings are broken ; but if you don't mind that I
shaU be pleased to play to you, and I know you are fond
of music."
Papa Hndly intervened, and I promised to caU again
when the piano should have been restored to sanity.
There were two smaU dogs, whereas I remembered only
one, whose name was Itaha. I inquired into the causes of
the change, and they told me that these two are the
chfldren of Italia, and their names are Eritrea and Tripoli.
" You remember," said the buffo, " that they were
born in the house. Their mother died during the war.
I did not write and teU you. I should have had to say
' Our Itaha is no more,' and I could not do that for fear
of the censor. He would not have aUowed the letter to
pass. I made a coffin and burled Itaha In a corner of the
garden of our cousin. My sisters wept and said, ' What
have you done with Itaha ? You have thrown her away
in the street.' I told them what I had done, and they
visited her grave with flowers. They went every month
for a year, and then every three months for another year,
then every six months for another year, and now they go
on the anniversary of her death."
It was getting time to bring my visit to a close. I made
my fareweUs and the buffo took me back to my hotel.
On the way I said :
" I am sorry that Orlando was so silly as to make friends
with that Don Chiaro."
" Yes," he agreed. " Don Chiaro has the most charm
ing manners, and Orlando was deceived. He has not yet
found him out. But by the time you are back from
Mount Eryx they wiU have quarreUed, and you may be
in time to see the duel between them. It will end by
195

Palermo
Orlando's cutting Don Chiaro in two with his sword. La
DurHndana, from his head downwards."
" Oh ! So friends do sometimes quarrel in Sicily ? "
" They do. But you and I are not that kind of friends.
We shaU never quarrel."
" I don't think we shaU," I repHed. " And anyhow I
cannot imagine our cutting each other in two from the
head downwards."
" No, I don't think we shaU do that. You see, you and
I are a good deal Uke one another."
" Well, I don't know about that, altogether. Don't
you remember, when we were going to Catania, you said
that I took a gloomy view of life, and that I could never
be a SiciHan buffo ? "
" Ah yes ; but a great deal has happened since then,
and it is not the buffo who is talking to you now ; it is
Alessandro." " I had been thinking that you were perhaps rather
more serious than you used to be."
" And does not that make us stiU more aUke ? "
" We were always interested in the same things."
" Oh yes, we are very much ahke. I thought so years
ago when we were making The Escape from Paris. Do
you remember ? "
" Remember ! Of course I do. And our waUdng
about the streets to coUect incidents to put into it — the
barber's boy in his white jacket with the black kitten in
his arms."
" We did not have to go far to find him," he said.
" He was just opposite your hotel."
"And the suffragette with the mousetrap," I said.
" I could not get her in when it came to the perform
ance ; but we had the Cold Dawn of the following
196

My Buffo

morning, and the people were puzzled just as you said
they wpuld be."
" I have always regretted that I could not stay to see
that show. Of course you could not have got all those
people on to the stage and through the subterranean road
to Montalbano."
" It was easier for you to put them into your book than
for me to put them on the stage ; but it doesn't matter."
" No, it doesn't matter. There we are, agreeing again.
AU the same, I cannot help feehng that I ought not to be
agreeing with you that we are so much alike ; it seems as
though I were praising myself ; for you are one of the
best men I ever knew."
" That is what I meant just now about you."
"Thank you very much. Buffo — no, I should say
Alessandro. But you know there always must be this
difference. Do you remember my saying once : ' If I
were not an EngUshman I should choose to be a SiciHan,'
and you repHed : ' And if I were not a SiciHan I should
choose to be — a SiciHan ' ? "
" I wish you had forgotten that. It was rude of me."
" In so far as it was rude I forgot it at once. AU I
mean is that there must be this difference. You are a
Sicflian SiciHan, whereas I can never be more than an
EngUshman SiciUanized ; which, according to the pro
verb, is the devfl incarnate."
" No one would ever take you for any Hnd of devil,
except a stage devfl."
" WeU, Buffo, if it is your stage, and you are puUing
my strings, I shaU not object to that."
So we said " Arrivederci." I promised to see him
again on my return from Mount Eryx, and he went off to
prepare for his next performance. 197

Mount Eryx

To Miss Florence Kathleen Butterworth

Chapter 30 Compare Berto
BEHIND Trapani rises Mount Eryx, a sohtary
mountain close to the sea, about 2,500 feet high,
famous in classical times as the site of a Temple of
Venus. On its summit is the town now usually caUed
Monte S. GiuHano. It was aU very weU for Pietro, being
at Naples, to choose the Monday boat, drop me at
Palermo and proceed to Trapani ; he only wanted to get
home, but I had my buffo to see in Palermo and wanted a
few days there ; I did not, however, want seven days,
and the boat only goes on to Trapani once a week, so I
had to get there by train.
The difficulties of traveUing in Sicily since the war are
less than I had expected, stfll there are some. The want
of labour, of coal and of roUing stock, together with the
increase in the price of aU three, are among the obvious
results of the war, and I should Hke to think that all the
other difficulties can fairly be put down to the same
cause ; but I suspect that some of them may be due to my
being seven years older than I was the last time I was here.
There is a train from Palermo to Trapani which starts at
5.40 in the morning, and only one other, which starts
at 5.20 in the afternoon ; they both stop everywhere and
take, theoreticaUy, that is according to the time-table,
about six hours ; in practice they often take more, some
times much more, and they are usuaUy full, I do not
201

Mount Eryx

recognize trains that start before ten o'clock in the morn
ing, and a train which, after a long journey, arrives at
nearly midnight and then only if it is punctual, is not an
ideal one. So I took the afternoon train from Palermo
and stopped short for the night at Mazzara,
It was a slow but lovely journey. We passed through
groves of orange and lemon, among orchards of olive, by
ravines, and over bridges. There were fields of rich red
earth planted with vines interspersed with figs, and a
man leading a donkey among them. There were hedges
of pricHy pear overgrown with scarlet geranium and
diversified with agave. When nature invented the agave
she must have been dreaming of telegraph poles. She
tried to outdo them by making hers shoot up higher,
and near the top she gave them short branches, almost at
right angles, with some kind of growth on them like the
bits of ginger-beer bottle which grow on the poles and
carry the wires. When we were near CasteUamare and
close to the sea the train was going so slowly that a guard
got down, picked some flowers that were growing in the
sand-dunes, brought them back and gave them to a lady
passenger. I had heard of such a thing being done in
England, but had always thought it to be a gibe at the
railway company for not being able to go faster ; here it
was, however, actually passing before my eyes. Then we
stopped where there was no station, near a place where
people were bathing in the sea, and several passengers
got down, went and leant over the ralUngs and talked
with the women and babies who had deserted the bathers
and come to salute us.
Segesta is visible from the train sometimes. I knew
where to look for it and the Hght happened to be right.
Just for a moment I caught a glimpse of the theatre on
202

Compare Berto

the hiU and of the Greek temple below It. In due course
came Castelvetrano, which is the place one stays at for
the night when going to see the ruins of SeUnunte, and
soon afterwards we reached Mazzara. We were not late,
so I suppose aU the dilatoriness had been aUowed for in
the time-table. Next morning I went on to Trapani In
the triain which had left Palermo at 5.40 a.m.
I reaUy have nothing to complain of about the journey
or the InaccessibiUty of Trapani and Mount Eryx. I was
on my way to the Mountain to stay with my compare,
Berto AugugUaro, who is a chemist in the town on the
top, and his being my compare is one of the consequences
of the Odyssey having been writt,en at Trapani and
Mount Eryx, It works out Hke this : If a real place is
to be found which can be identified with that described
In the Odyssey as Scheria, it must have only a smaU river
and that not near the town ; there must be a low rock In
the sea off the harbour or off one of the harbours ; it
must be on a coast looHng west ; there must be a big
mountain close by ; and there must be islands. All
these features Butler found together in maps of Trapani
and its neighbourhood and nowhere else in the Mediter
ranean. Accordingly he came to Trapani Itself, where he
found many more natural features which confirmed his
view that Trapani and the neighbourhood are being
described in the poem. He made lots of friends, brought
me with him, and introduced me. After his death I
returned, made more friends, and this led to my becoming
the compare of Berto. Now, if the Odyssey had been
written in Asia Minor, and Butler had identified the
Scheria of the poem with a city in the neighbourhood of
Smyrna, I might have become compare of some one living
in a place very much more inaccessible than Mount Eryx. 203

Mount Eryx
On arriving at Trapani I looked out of the^carriage
window, and the first person I recognized was the porter,
Michele d'Amico, to whom I confided my luggage, then
Berto, who had come down from Monte St, GiuHano to
meet me, and then my godson, Pietro Lombardo.
Between noon, when the train arrived, and 6 p.m., when
the automobfle took us up the Mountain, we were over
worked ; first we had to get lunch, and then we had our
shopping to do ; it does not sound much, but the number
of friends we met and had to salute was what took up
our time and energies. The shopping was for Berto 's
children. Of course, I ought to have brought them toys
from England, but toys are bulky ; and it turned out
best as it was, because Berto knew what would please them
and chose a couple of motor-cars for the boys and a doll
for the girl. I also bought for myself five sponges which
I saw by chance In the toy-shop : they were fished up at
Sfax off the African coast, and were only five francs each,
i.e. twenty-five francs, or about eight shiUings the lot.
We clattered through the streets, past the church and
cloisters of the Annunziata, out into the country, up the
sloping roads, past the cottages, and so to PapareUa, where
we were delayed by post office business. Then we went
on up the Mountain, and the serious part of the ascent
began ; for the ascent from Trapani to PapareUa is easy
and gradual, whereas the ascent from PapareUa to the
Trapani gate on the Mountain is rapid, and the panorama
becomes more imposing and more fascinating with every
zigzag. We were met by Berto's wife, Giuseppina, who
is my commare, and by various brothers, sisters and
cousins, and also by the three children, viz. Luigi, my
godson, usually caUed Luigino, who wiU be nine in
October ; Giuseppe Enrico, usually called Peppino or
2>04

Compare Berto

Ricuzzu, who is nearly eight ; and Antonietta, who is six.
These three children constitute the reply of the Madonna
di Custonaci to the prayer offered up by the arclprete on
the occasion of Berto's marriage with Giuseppina. In
accordance with a pretty Sicilian custom they greeted me
by first Hssing my hand for respect and then kissing my
cheek for affection.

205

Chapter 31 Ida
THEY gave me the room of Antonietta, and I am
afraid I was a good deal of a nuisance to them,
because Antonietta had to be put up somewhere
else, and the family was necessarily squeezed to take me
in. I do not beheve, however, that I can have been so
much of a nuisance as another member of the household,
who shares with the donkey, the chickens, the turkeys
and the duck, the stable which is under the house. This
other member of the household is a monkey who has been
given to Berto. She is about two feet high when she
stands up, and her name Is Ida. Berto declares that she
is a suffragette. This cannot be merely because she is a
troublesome spinster, for he must know that there are
married suffragettes. I fancy he is making some obscure
reference to her views on things in general as evidenced
by her behaviour. She has, however, at least one pleasing
habit — some one has taught her to salute, which she does
by touching the top of her head. I offered her a fig, and
she saluted with her right hand as she took it with her
left. She wiU also do it for nothing if you merely say
" Saluta, Ida." Whether she is a suffragette or not, she
is one Hnd of vegetarian, and will not eat meat or fish ;
she eats bread, fruit, vegetables and eggs, and drinks coffee
and milk, also wine when she can get it. Unfortunately,
among her bad habits is that of stealing the eggs, and
206

Ida
sometimes she kflls a young chicken. She is, in fact,
such an intolerable nuisance that Berto intends to give
her away as soon as he can find a sufficiently distant friend
wiUing to receive her.
One day, while I was with Berto, Ida escaped and
caused great anxiety, not lest she should be lost for good
— she often escapes and they know she will return when
she is hungry — but because when she breaks loose she
spends her time cUmbing about the roof, carrying the
piece of chain, which dangles from her girdle, as a lady
holds up her dress in front of her. Part of the time she
got off the roof and was on the balcony tearing the vine
to pieces, destroying the young grapes, pulling the flowers
off the plants that are there in pots, throwing down the
pots and smashing them, and trying, but trying unsuccess-
fuUy, to get into the house through the windows and
doors ; we were aU the time also trying, and trying
successfuUy, to keep her out. In the end she was caught,
as usual, and punished by being put to pass the night in a
garden. Berto has two gardens. The one selected for Ida's
punishment is not yet complete, the other is perhaps
over-complete. He bought it for I am afraid to say how
few francs, but it was not a commercial deal— other con
siderations entered into the bargain. It is too much
overgrown with artichokes, cherries, apples, pears, fennel,
quinces, medlars, parsley, figs, and a vine on a pergola.
Besides aU which, it is one of the best sites in the town and
commands about a third of the great view looHng towards
Monte Cofano. We spent several hours in It gathering
the cherries which were just ripe and were afterwards
made into jam. The medlars are what they call winter
medlars, not ripe yet, but I think they are the same as
207

Mount Eryx

ours and not what they call Japanese medlars. We
gathered quantities of artichokes, and next day had them
with a bofled chicken. We only ate the big piece, the
best' part which one eats after picHng off all the small
pieces ; but there must have been fifty or sixty artichokes
used to make that one dish.

208

Chapter 32 Luigino
THE goats have been told to call at half -past seven.
At eight o'clock Berto comes into my room say
ing, " Buon giorno. Compare," and carrying a
tray on which the commare has placed a pot of hot coffee,
a jug of fresh frothy goats' milk, and some biscuits made on
the Mountain. Then he leaves me to get up when I
feel incHned. The scarcity of water, one of the incon
veniences of Sicfly, is not felt on Mount Eryx, because
there are springs, but water is not yet laid on in the
houses, it has to be fetched, and they have fetched plenty
for me. I wash, dress, and go out. There may be a
cloud, or there may be a tearing wind, but nearly every
day whfle I was with Berto this time it was clear and
stfll. As I wandered along through the town I saw my
godson playing in the street with his friends.
" Good morning, Luigino."
" Good morning. Godfather. Where are you
going ? "
" I am going to the balio."
" Excuse me, but you are going In the wrong direction.
Let me come and show you the way."
" That is very Hnd of you, Luigino. You know, your
streets up here are rather confusing."
" We do not find them so," he repHed with a smile.
" That is because you have Uved here all your life."
p 209

Mount Eryx

" Yes," he said with pride, " nearly nine years."
The baho is the garden which has been laid out on the
highest part of the Mountain between the town and the
castle. The only defect of the balio, if it can be called a
defect, is that you cannot see the whole of the panorama
from any one point : you have to look over the dwarf wall
on one side to see half of it, and then over the railing on
the other side to see the other half. I pointed out this
defect to Luigino, and he replied sympathetically :
" Never mind. Godfather. We will go up the tower."
He took my hand and led me through the streets,
saluting any of his friends whom we passed, and I asked :
" Why are all you boys not in school, Luigino ? "
" Because it Is too early."
" Do you Hke school ? "
" Pretty weU."
" What do they teach you ? "
" The History of the World."
" That is a large subject. Do you begin at the begin
ning ? "
"We begin with the Creation."
" WeU, you couldn't begin much earUer, could you ?
The Received Chronology says that the world was created
4,004 years before Christ, and he was born nearly 2,000
years ago ; so that you have about 6,000 years of history
to learn."
" It wIU be a long while before I shaU know it aU."
"Courage!" I replied. "You wIU have to work
hard, but you are stfll young. Is that the only subject
they teach you ? It would be quite enough if you knew
it thoroughly, for then you would know all that there is
to be known."
" They teach us also  " but by this time we had
210

Luig

mo
arrived at the castle. We knocked at the door. A man
opened to us and Luigino told him what we wanted.
He invited us in and showed us the tower. We went up
the winding stairs and out on to the roof. From here
one can look aU round and observe how the Mountain
stands sohtary near the sea ; roughly speaking, the
panorama towards the west is bounded by the sea and
the horizon, and towards the east by the campagna and
the distant mountains.
I said : " There is something over there towards Monte
Cofano which I never saw before, a new terrace and a
monument. What is that, Luigino ? "
" It is the obeUsk to the memory of those poor men
from the comune who fell In the war."
" Ah, yes ; that has been put up since I was last here,
of course. It makes me shudder when I think that your
father might have been among them."
" He wanted to go, but they would not let him. They
made him stay here and attend to the sick people."
" So he stayed and did his duty. We will look at the
obeUsk presently. Just before I left London, I was
reading a book about Garibaldi and this part of the world,
and I should Uke to try and see whether what I read
agrees with the real place. I want to see particularly
the islands."
We turned and looked towards the west. Facing us
was an immensity of blue sea and blue sky with the horizon
that divided them so high up that I was reminded of the
Ariew on a china plate. I do not know how far off the
horizon is when the spectator is 2,500 ft. up, but a
mariner could no doubt make the calculation. The sea
and the sky were both so bright and so blue and so much
aUke that if the horizon had not been there they would 211

Mount Eryx
have appeared to be all one. Above It were Innumerable
gulls cruising and diving in an ocean of sunshine ; below
it, fishing-boats and the islands floating in another ocean
of ripples. The islands in the morning Hght were
deUcate, unreal phantasms of a translucent fawn colour,
their recesses, crags, ravines and irregularities casting
shadows of saffron and amber with every detail faint but
distinct. " That book," I said, " was aU about Garibaldi and his
thousand volunteers and how they landed at Marsala in
i860." " There is Marsala," said Luigino, turning to the left.
" So it Is," I said, " on that tongue of land which runs
out to sea with the lighthouse on the point."
" That's It," he said. " I can see the houses."
" So can I," I replied. " I was there once on May 1 1 ."
" Then it was a festa," interpolated Luigino.
" Yes, it was the anniversary of Garibaldi's landing, and
the music was parading the town with the Garibaldi
Hymn and the Marcia Reale."
" I am glad they landed," said Luigino. " I have
heard my grandfather tell of their voyage."
" And I have read about It in that book. It was what
we call a near thing. They lost touch with one another
in the darkness of the night between May 10 and
II, because one of the ships went off to locate one
of the islands — Marettimo. It might have been a
catastrophe, but it came right, as so many of the smaller
misadventures came right during the great adventure of
that expedition. Now let us look at the islands and let
us begin with Marettimo."
"That is the one on the horizon."
" ' All highest up in the sea towards the west,' as
212

Luig

mo
Butler used to say, quoting from the Odyssey. Have you
come to the Odyssey yet, Luigino ? "
" What is this Odyssey ? "
" It is a poem in Greek written by a woman up here
and down in Trapani about i,ooo years before Christ was
born, that is to say, about 3,000 years ago, or half-way
through the 6,000 years covered by the History of the
World which you are learning. You would hardly have
got so far yet."
" Not yet ; and I don't think I ever shall, because
women do not write poetry books."
" She did. She was the daughter of the Hng who
reigned down in Trapani in those days. He may have
been an ancestor of yours — probably was, and in that
case she must have been one of your distant great-grand
mothers. She caUed herself Nausicaa. She went out
with her maids and did the famfly washing down by the
Tonnara di S. Cusumano, where was the nearest fresh
water she could find, and there she met Ulysses and was
Hnd to him."
" What nonsense you talk. Godfather."
" Not at aU. There is the ship of Ulysses ; you can see
it for yourself in the sea down there, just off the
point." " Where ? What do you mean ? There is not any
ship." Far below our feet on the promontory which juts out
from the Mountain and points upwards towards the
horizon and the guUs lay Trapani. Everything in the
town was clearly defined — the streets and houses, the
churches, monasteries, barracks, palaces, the railway
station, the port fuU of ships, the stores fuU of wine, of
salt, of tunnies, of ofl. 213

Mount Eryx

" You see Trapani, Luigino," I said.
"Yes, down there."
" That's right. Now look at the point, and just to the
right of it in the sea there is a something. Your ancestor,
the Hng of this country, lent Ulysses a ship in which he
went home to Ithaca. Neptune was very angry about it
and, when the ship came back, turned it into a rock, and
there it is. Doesn't that prove it ? "
" That rock Is Lo ScogUo di Mal Consiglio."
" Of course It Is : the Rock of Evil Counsel, because it
was an evfl counsel that was followed. Neptune did not
want Ulysses to get home."
" Why not ? "
" Oh, it's too long to tell you any more now."
" That's because you cannot think of any more. I
beheve you are maHng it all up."
" All right, but you'U find I'm not. You'U come to it
in time. It's part of the History of the World, though
perhaps they wiU teach it to you rather differently. Now,
about these islands. What is that one under Marettimo ?
Levanzo, isn't it ? "
" Yes ; and the one to the left is Favignana."
" I see. The one with the town on it. Very weU •
then this is what happened, and your grandfather might
have seen it if he had come out into the balio on the
morning of May ii, i860— that is, sixty years ago
the other day. Garibaldi's two ships, after they had
found each other, went past Favignana and then round
the lighthouse on the point and along the other side of
the tongue of land and— oh, I say, Luigino, look there !
What is that in the distance ? Another island ? "
" It is PanteUeria," exclaimed Luigino, jumping up and
down with excitement.
214

Luig

mo
" Now mind, Luigino ; you're not making this up, are
you ? "
" No. That is PanteUeria."
" Are you sure ? "
" Yes, yes, yes ! We must teU Papa that we have seen
PanteUeria this morning."
" It is the island of Calypso," said I, musingly.
" I wish we could see Africa," said Luigino, not
attending to me. " And Tunis. Let us look for
Tunis." But we could not see Tunis, nor anything of the African
coast, only the island of PanteUeria. So, when our excite
ment had subsided, we traced the course of Garibaldi's
march instead. First we foUowed the fringe of the coast
cut up into salt-pans and dotted with wIndmiUs curving
round from Trapani to Marsala. In the bay another
island is risible, Motya, but it is low and close to the
shore, almost lost in the sea, almost Hke the farther edge
of another salt-pan. The land on the other side of the
bay runs out to the tongue of land where the Hghthouse is.
At Marsala are the offices of the EngHsh wine-merchants
who grow their grapes in the neighbourhood and ship
their wine from the harbour. There are also SiciHan
growers and exporters of wine, among whom Florio is
the greatest, but an EngUshman naturaUy thinks of the
EngHsh ones ; and the SiciUans think of them also, and
remind one that in i860 our EngHsh ships, whfle protect
ing our vrine merchants, incidentaUy helped Garibaldi to
land. " Garibaldi went through Salemi," I said.
" There is Salemi," said Luigino, pointing out its
whereabouts. " And there," I continued, " he was joined by 800 men 215

Mount Eryx
from Mount Eryx under Coppola, one of your uncles,
Luigino." " Do you mean my uncle the Sindaco ? "
" No, sixty years ago CavaUere Coppola was not old
enough to go campaigning, even If he was born. But
it was one of his family, and there is a stone on his house
with an inscription telling about it."
" Of course there is ; I remember."
" I can see Mazzara on the coast, where I stopped the
other night on my way here."
We saw many other places, too. There was SeUnunte,
where the temples are lying in shattered heaps ; and
CampobeUo, where are the remains of the quarries, and.
where they show you a round block of stone lying on its
side StiU waiting to be roUed to the site of the temples and
incorporated in a column. That stone drum does not
know that soon after it was excavated, about 400
years before Christ, SeUnunte was destroyed by the
Carthaginians, and that is why the temple was never
finished. I wanted to see Segesta, but Luigino said that it was
hidden. He showed me the monument which contains
the bones of those who fell fighting with Garibaldi in the
battle of Calatafimi and, as it is close to Segesta, we knew
whereabouts the temple must be.
" Godfather," said Luigino, " wiU you be so Hnd as to
excuse me. I ought to go to school."
" Certainly ; but please don't leave me aU alone up
here on this tower. That man might lock me in. Let us
go down together, and you can leave me in the baho."
Thereupon we descended and found the man at the
bottom ; he spoke in dialect to Luigino who turned to
me and said :
216

Luigino

" He wants to know whether you would like to see the
WeU of Venus."
I said I would see it some other day, and we proceeded
through the baho.
" You ought to see the WeU of Venus," said Luigino.
" It is quite near, in the grounds of the castle."
" What do you know about the WeU of Venus ? Who
was Venus, Luigino ? "
" A Great Lady — una Madama."
" So she was," I agreed, " and so she is still. But some
say that she is one of the ineritable processes of nature,
imperious as the scirocco or the sunshine. And others
say that she personifies the Mystery of Birth. Up here
on your Mountain she is usuaUy caUed the Madonna di
Custonaci. Others  "
Luigino was not Hstening ; he had scampered off to
continue his researches into the History of the World.
Before turning the corner he shouted back to me :
" I'U come and fetch you in time for luncheon. God
father."

217

Chapter ;^;^ The Lizard
THE other half of the panorama was waiting on the
other side of the baho, so I stroUed across through
the garden with the roofs of the town on my left
and the castle on my right. And there, sheltered by the
castle. Is the stone prie-Dieu where the women go and
pray to the Madonna when her picture is down at Custon
aci, because from here they can see her sanctuary ; when
the picture is on the Mountain its place is over the altar
in the Mother-church, and they go there to pray.
The morning air was full of the scent of the broom.
There were hollyhocks : I brought some of their seeds
home with me one autumn and they grow in my garden
in Maida Vale. There were delphiniums, oleanders,
scarlet geraniums, and bushes of marguerites and of
scabious. Scarcely anything was moving — a few butter
flies, swallow-tails, red admirals and sulphurs. Here on
the eastern side of the balio is the obeUsk erected to the
545 men of the comune of Monte S. Giuliano who fell in
the war. It stands on a circular terrace which has been
thrown out at a prominent and almost overhanging corner
of the Mountain, and the terrace is held up by a wall. I
take my seat on the steps of the obeUsk and look about
me. I
A Hzard, not very busy thiff morning, has come out and
keeps on running about in the sunshine, stopping to listen
218

The Lizard
every now and then with his head on one side. But I
remember to have been told, or to have read somewhere,
that aU reptiles are deaf. If so, then he is only pretending
he can hear and wishing he could. Not Hke that other
reptile, the psalmist's deaf adder, that stoppeth her ears
which refuseth to hear the voice of the charmer, charm he
never so wisely ; though why, being deaf, the adder should
trouble to stop her ears has never been clear to me. Nor
do I see what she does it with, she has only one tail and
ears in the plural. The Hzard has hands and feet, and I
should Hke to see him stuffing his pretty little fingers
into his ears. But he wont do that : he is aU agog for
hearing. If he is reaUy deaf I can only suppose that he is
pretending to hear in the hope that if he pretends very
hard he may in time develop the power : developments
as astonishing have been brought about in the course of
evolution. Butler beUeved that the variations which occur in
Hring beings, and the accumulation of which results In
species, are mainly due to the desire of the organism to
vary in particular directions, and to purposive action
taken in obedience to that desire. In this way the organs
of hearing may be developed, and the power of using them
may be acquired by some Hzard of the future who wiU
bequeath them to his descendants. But my Hzard must
do more than merely pretend that he has aheady deve
loped the organs and acquired the power. I might as
weU expect to be able to play Bach's Chaconne by merely
pretending that I can. Joachim could play it, I might
argue, why not I ? I do not possess the requisite instru
ment, but then a microscopic examination of the baby
Joachim would have revealed that he was not born ready
equipped with a Stradivarius violin and a Tourte bow ;
219

Mount Eryx
nor did he make them himself ; he had to acquire them.
Anyone who ardently desires them can get them more
easily than the Hzard can acquire organs of hearing. The
Hzard must make them himself if he wants them. He is
in the position of the first violin-maker, that pioneer who
succeeded by ardently desiring, by trial and error, by
practice and famiharity. The Uzard's difficulty wIU be
primarily to make his instrument, and, as he is maHng it
as he wants it, he wiU, during the process, develop the
power of using it. The violinist's chief difficulty is to
learn how to use the instrument which ha,s been made for
him by some one else.
Joachim had lessons — at least, so I have been told.
Why, I might argue again — ^why should I believe that ?
Why may I not believe that he was lucky enough to be
born. If not with fiddle and bow complete, at any rate
with the power to use them as soon as he got them — the
gift of some fairy godmother ? I did not see him having
his lessons and, as the lawyers say, " De non existentibus
et non apparentibus eadem est ratio." It is but a siUy
maxim, drawn from the out-of-sight-out-of-mind practice
of the ostrich, and embalming a principle that is no good
as a rule of life : it appeals to the indolent, who optimistic-
aUy expect everything to be done for them with no effort
on their part, but it does not conduce to progress. Fairy
godmothers are getting scarce, and there is bad luck as
weU as good luck. If shipwreck is to be avoided, it will be
by cunning designedly taHng advantage of accident,
extracting advantage even from unforeseen misfortunes.
Luck is as the wind, an influence from outside, that
bloweth where it Hsteth and sometimes bloweth to
destruction. Cunning Is the inteUigence within the soul
of the mariner that knows how to control the rudder, to
220

The Lizard
trim the sail, to force the wind to his service and to guide
the ship into the haven where he would be.
It wiU take you many days of persistent and cunning
striving if you are to acquire the power of playing the
rioUn, possibly more days than it took Joachim ; but
with desire and effort it can be done in a man's lifetime.
Memory wiU communicate to the You of to-day what
was learnt by the You of yesterday, and by degrees you
wiU accumulate sHU. If you are a Hzard, inheriting no
organs of hearings it wiU take more than many days ; it
wiU take you many generations to develop them. Gener
ations are to the striring Hzard as days are to the student
Joachim. The knowledge gained by the successive
indiriduals who go to form a growing man can be passed
on, only sHghtly impaired, day by day, from You to You ;
whereas, the knowledge gained by the successive gener
ations which go to form a species can only be passed on
from father to chfld after it has been crossed and diluted
by knowledge coming from the mother. The child must
sort and re-arrange what it receives, and this causes delay.
There Is, however, no hurry. Nature is an oriental, and
does not distinguish between hurry and delay. Here,
as the lawyers say again, " Time is not of the essence of the
contract." I do not think that my Hzard on the steps of the obehsk
has got beyond thinHng that it would be rather nice if he
could hear, and he seems to find it an absorbing thought ;
at aU events his attention is not distracted by the riew,
he leaves that to me. And there It is, spread out in front
of me, on each side of me, and below me. Straight ahead
is the immense rocky triangular brown mass of Monte
Cofano, solemnly watching. AU is sea to my left and
land to the right, and the land part is less extensive than 221

Mount Eryx

on the western side ; the campagna here, instead of being
thirty miles across, is not more than seven or eight, but it
gets broader towards the right before disappearing behind
the castle, because the mountains which bound it recede.
Down below in front of me, between Eryx and Cofano,
Is a bay, and away to the right there are coUections of
houses on the campagna, the largest and nearest being
PapareUa, where the automobile stopped. There are the
country seats of wealthy Trapanesi who have made their
money out of tunny fisheries, out of vineyards, out of
olive trees and, especiaUy, out of salt. Another vfllage is
S. Marco, another Custonaci where is the Sanctuary of
the Madonna. There, near the shore, the land is more
dark green than brown, and that Is called Bonagia. They
tell one that the word means Good-land — Bona being
good and Gia some form of the Greek word for land. But
they do not insist on the derivation, they offer it as a
pleasing suggestion. If you prefer It you may consider
Gia as a corruption of GIta, a jaunt ; then Bonagia wiU
mean the place to spend a happy day. Or again you may
think of it as Bona Spiaggia — Spiaggia being a shore,
because it Is near the sea. Whatever may be the deriv
ation of the word, Bonagia is a favourite locaHty, and is
considered to be fertile land.
" Godfather ! Where are you ? It's time to come in.
Are you ready ? Where are you ? "
I shouted in reply : " Here, this way, near the obeUsk.
We must not keep Mother waiting. Besides," I added as
Luigino came running up to me, " I do not want to stay
here aU day mooning over a panorama in the company of a
lizard. But I've not yet finished with the view."
" You can come out again after lunch," said he.
Look at my Hzard before we go ; he has been playing

222

The Lizard
about on the steps of the obehsk all the morning. What
do you think he is playing at ? "
" He is waiting for noon, Hstening for the bells to ring."
" Who's talHng nonsense now, Luigino ? The lizard
cannot hear. He's only pretending."
" We'U ask Papa about that when we get in."
" Do you suppose that Papa knows ? "
" Papa knows everything."
We StroUed back through the balio among the flowers
and the butterflies. The scent of the broom was over,
as though its business hours were from dawn to noon.
We stood looHng over the dwarf waU down on Trapani
and up along the jutting promontory to Levanzo, to
Marettimo, and to the sky from which the guUs had gone.
The morning was passing, and the sun, shifting from the
left, was casting shadows where Hght had been, smothering
the horizon in a filmy haze, and destroying the boundary
between the two oceans of water and air. The colours
had died on the islands ; they lay dark — their ravines no
longer distinguishable — dark on a sea of burnished silver.
The houses of Trapani had lost their detail and, with the
cornfields, rineyards, salt-pans and windmflls, were taking
their noonday siesta. AU was steeped in distance, bathed
in Hght, and drenched in a stiUness that was broken only
when a goat-bell tinHed, when a bird cried, or when a
young shepherd, seated on a stone, whistled, and his
invisible mate heard him, understood, and replied.
" We cannot see PanteUeria now," I said.
" No," repUed Luigino, " nothing Is so distinct as it
was before I went to school. Why is that ? "
" You are not the only one who has had the same
experience." " But why is it. Godfather ? " 223

Mount Eryx
" You are dazzled by the light of so much knowledge
aU at once," I explained.
" Very weU," said he, politely agreeing, but not paying
much attention. He was stIU straining his eyes to find
PanteUeria again. " It seems a pity," he said.
" It Is a pity," I agreed, " and things wfll never look.
the same again ; but school will not go on for ever."
" I mean," he said, " it is a pity we did not come out
earlier. On such a day we might have seen Africa if we
had been earlier, and perhaps Tunis."
" And if," I said, humouring him and amplifying, " If
we had come out earlier still, we might have spied the
city walls and Widow Dido in the moonlight with a willow
in her hand, watching the ship of JEneas as it sailed
away from Carthage. But now that we cannot see
PanteUeria It's no use looking for Carthage."
" Godfather, why do you talk of Carthage ? Don't
you mean Tunis ? "
" This Tunis, Luigino, was Carthage. And Dido was
Queen of Carthage, and ^neas was a friend of hers.
You'll read aU about them in another poem some day."
" Did my great-great-grandmother also write this
other poem ? "
" No ; this other poem was written in Latin by a man.
It is about the wanderings of JEnens, just as that Greek
poem is about the wanderings of Ulysses. By the by,
.^neas was a son of your Madama Venus."
" Do you mean he was born here ? "
" On the Mountain, like you ? I don't see why he
shouldn't have been. His father died somewhere about
here, and they had games and sports in memory of him
and boat races in the sea down there. As to whether
jfEneas was actuaUy born on the Mountain, he must have
224

The Lizard
been born wherever his mother was at the time. He may
easfly have been another of your ancestors, and that
would bring Venus into your pedigree as another great-
great-grandmother . "
" Go on. Godfather, make up some more."
" I'm not maHng up so much as you think. Venus
was here a great deal in her time. She Hved in her
Temple where the castle now is, and she washed .^neas
in that weU in the garden."
" Oh, I say. Godfather, that shows you are making it
up ; there is no water in her well."
" Not now, perhaps, but how do you know that there
was none then ? Anyhow, we can pretend there was, and
that she washed him. This Mountain of yours has
always been rather a place for make-beheve."
" AU right, let's pretend — Hke the Hzard. And did
.^neas enjoy it ? Antonietta enjoys being washed ; it
makes her laugh."
" .^neas was born a long whfle ago ; stiU, I suppose
chfldren laughed in their baths then, just as they do now,
imless the water was too cold."
" How long ago. Godfather ? "
" Oh, I don't know, but long before your other great-
great-grandmother, Nausicaa, wrote her poem. You'U
come to it aU in time."
" Not to the washing."
" WeU, never mind about that. You'U come to most
of the rest of it as you go on. And yet, I don't know.
It seems to me that you are not proceeding with your
studies in strict chronological order, or you would have
learnt about some of these people before you were taught
about Garibaldi and about Tunis."
" I was not taught about Garibaldi. It was my Grand-
Q 225

Mount Eryx

father who told me. He remembers the landing. And
I did not learn about Tunis. Papa went there and told
me about it himself."
" Why, it must run in the family ! " I exclaimed.
" What must run in the family ? "
" Going over to Africa. It's what Madama Venus
used to do. Why did papa go ? "
" Just for an outing — a change."
"So did she. When the people saw aU her doves
deserting her temple up here and flying away across the
sea, then they knew that she had gone ; and presently,
when she thought fit, her doves brought her back from
Carthage." " Papa went in the steamer."
" People do now ; it goes once a week. It's the
steamer in which Pietro and I came from Naples to
Palermo, starting on the Monday night ; it dropped me
at Palermo on the Tuesday morning, brought Pietro here
the same afternoon, and then went on to Tunis that
night." " You don't mean to say tjiat she was reaUy carried
across the sea by pigeons ? "
" Why not ? She had to take what she could get.
Steamers were not invented — they belong to modern Hfe —
whereas doves are history — or pe;rhaps poetry ; anyhow,
they belong to a bygone age as a means of transport."
" What fun ! I wish they would take me over ! "
" You can go in an aeroplane some day, and that wiU be
nearly as much fun. Do you know, Luigino, I'm incHned
to think that to you Garibaldi and Tunis are modern life,
because you have been told about them by people who
have seen them ; whereas .^neas and Carthage are
history, because no one now remembers them personally,
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The Lizard
and you have to learn about them from those who read
them up in boob."
" Of course," repHed Luigino.
" Now I should say that Garibaldi was passing into
history aU his Hfe. His landing at Marsala, and his battle
near Calatafimi, and aU his other exploits became history
as soon as tiiey were accompHshed. If not then, certainly,
on his death he became part of history. When I was
your age I used to look upon things just in the same way.
For instance, there was Napoleon III, he  "
" Oh, come along," interrupted Luigino. " I want to
teU papa that we saw PanteUeria this morning."
Luigino has inherited from his great-great-grand
mother, Venus, some of her scirocco quahty : It is no use
trying to do one thing when he wants you to do another.
So I broke off. We looked round once more, down on
the campagna and over the sea, and then went back
through the town to the house.

227

Chapter 34
S. Luigi and S. Giovanni
WE found Berto and the commare ready for
luncheon, and also Antonietta ; but Ricuzzu
was late, and we began without him.
" Papa," said Luigino, " Godfather says that Hzards
are deaf. That's not true, is it ? "
"Eat your spaghetti, Luigino," said the commare,
" and don't talk so much."
" If godfather says so, of course it is true," replied
Berto. " Bravo Berto ! " I said. " That's something Hke a
compare. I'U do the same for you some day. But are
not aU reptfles deaf ? You must have studied natural
history at the University for your diploma."
" I don't remember. Chameleons are said to be deaf
and so are snakes."
" The Bible says that adders are deaf," said I, and I
quoted the words of the psalm and stated my difficulty
about the adder unnecessarily stopping her ears.
" It doesn't mean that," he said. " We had a man up
here in the spring, an EngUshman returning from India,
where he had been studying the subject.' Adders are
wriggley creatures, and can bite you however you hold
them : the snake-charmers are afraid to have deaHngs
with adders. But cobras can only hurt you if they can
228

S. Luigi and S. Giovanni
strike, and the snake-charmers know how to hold them
safely." " But if they are deaf they cannot hear the music."
" They don't hear it ; they see the charmer's motion
and imitate it. The charmer does not like to admit that
he is afraid of adders, so he says : ' We cannot charm
those stupid adders because they won't Hsten; they stop
their ears.' But he knows that the adders are deaf, and
knows that the people do not know it. He Is only making
an excuse for not taHng the risk. And the charme^ is
maHng the same excuse to-day that he made in the time
of the psalmist."
" I see ; haring caUed them deaf in the first part of the
verse, the poet ampHfies and explains in the second part."
" Exactly. Hebrew poetry."
" WeU, that settles snakes — or at least adders and cobras.
Now Hzards and other reptiles ; aren't they aU deaf ? "
" I cannot remember. We must look it up, and I
beUeve we shaU find that some reptiles can hear and others
cannot." " How stupid ! " exclaimed Luigino with his mouth
fuU, " they ought to be aU aUke."
".So they ought, Luigino," I agreed ; " It would save
a lot of bother if everything was aU aUke, wouldn't it ? I
should not be always wanting to look up questions in
books. One cannot afford to travel with a complete
British Museum Hbrary nowadays ; I couldn't even
afford to bring toys for you children from London."
" Another result of the war," said Berto, sympath
etically. "There's JuHus Csesar now, and Herbert Spencer
and his mutton chops and a few other questions ; I'm
maHng a Ust of them, and  " 229

Mount Eryx

" And he says," shouted Luigino, " that Venus flew
over the sea to Tunis. But she didn't, did she ? She
couldn't." "They have all done it," replied Berto. " Astarte,
Aphrodite and Venus — the doves of Venus carried her
over to Carthage."
" There ! " I exclaimed triumphantly. " What did I
say ? And papa knows everything ! You ought not to
make any difficulty about it — ^you who have seen the
Madonna being carried down to Custonaci."
" That's quite a different thing," objected Luigino.
" Not at all," I said. " It's the modern equivalent.
The Madonna Is carried up and down between Custonaci
and the Mountain just as Madama Venus used to be
carried backwards and forwards between Mount Eryx
and Africa."
" And Astarte began It," added Berto, " because she
was a Phoenician and Carthage was a Phoenician colony."
Here Ricuzzu came in, and was Invited to explain why
he was late ; but he was too hungry and too breathless
to talk, and so was aUowed to recover himself and eat in
silence. And aU the time Antonietta was behaving like
a woman of the world aged about five-and-thirty, asking
me how we got on in London during the air-raids, begging
me to take a Httle more sauce, and offering me a flower for
my buttonhole.
" There's something else you wanted to teU papa," I
reminded Luigino.
" What was that ? " he asked, looking up from his plate.
" What did we see this morning ? "
" Oh, PanteUeria ! Papa, we saw PanteUeria."
" Yes, dear, yes," repHed papa, calmly pouring himself
out some more wine.
230

S. Luigi and S. Giovanni
' Papa ! you don't understand," shouted Luigino ; " we

saw-

" Don't talk so much, Luigino," said his mother, " go
on with your dinner."
" Antonietta," said Berto, " godfather is ready for a
cigarette." It seemed like a snub for poor Luigino, but he was not
in the least put out ; he came up to me, put one arm
round my neck and said in a wheedling voice :
" Godfather, let me come out with you again this
afternoon. I want you to make up some more."
" No," said Berto with decision. " Godfather is tired
and is going to repose."
So Antonietta Ughted my cigarette for me and Berto
took me to my room. As soon as we were out of hearing
of the chfldren he began to laugh and said :
" Please don't go out. There is a secret ; Luigino does
not suspect ; " and he whispered the secret to me before
shutting the door.
Secret or no secret I am usually invited to repose after
lunch, and I usuaUy accept the invitation and retire to my
room. Sometimes I do repose — actually He down and
go to sleep — but I need not do so ; I am complying with
the spirit of the inritation if I read or write. One has to
write letters, or at least post-cards, for it is a mistake to
neglect one's correspondence. On the other hand, he
who never makes a mistake never makes anything else ;
so, as far as possible, I make the mistake of doing anything
else rather than vwite letters. On this particular day I
wrote a few post-cards, but there was not time for many
because of the secret which primarily concerned Luigino,
He had been told nothing about it or he would not have
said so airfly that I could go back to the balio in the
231

Mount Eryx

afternoon. It was that the music was coming to salute
him. It was Monday, June 21, the festa of S. Luigi
Gonzaga ; and this disclosed to me that there are two
saints named Luigi, the other being St. Louis, King
of France, whose day is August 25. My godson,
according to a Sicilian custom, was given the name of his
paternal godfather, who is Luigi, and this means Gonzaga.
June 21 is thus the onomastico of every one named
after the same saint. Consequently the music came and
played several pieces in the piazza outside the house in
the course of the afternoon. There were four clarinets,
six brass Instruments (trombones and bombardons), a
pair of cymbals and a side drum. Another Luigi lives
within earshot and was being saluted by another band, and
the two bands performed antiphonally. I did not fuUy
understand all about why there are two bands — some
political difference Is at the bottom of it, and it Is better
to keep out of political differences when one is in a foreign
country. I Imagine that my godson and the other Luigi
are of opposite parties and so could not use the same band,
and that these two bands had agreed temporarily not to
cut each other's throats by performing simultaneously.
There are also two saints called Giovanni — S.Giovanni
Battista, whose day is June 24, and S. Giovanni
Evangelista, whose day is December 27. S. Giovanni
Battista is the patron saint of compari, no doubt
because the chief kind of compare is he who holds
the baby at the font and thus becomes godfather of the
baby and compare di battesimo of its father and mother.
The compare di battesimo, if he does the thing
thoroughly, has also handed to the priest the ring at
the wedding of the father and mother of the baby, and
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S. Luigi and S. Giovanni
has thus already become compare di anello of the parents ;
and this I did at Berto's wedding.
When it was our usual bedtime on June 24 and I was
about to retire Berto recommended me not to do so
yet because a surprise had been prepared. I obediently
acquiesced and presently heard it coming. We aU
coUected in the passage as the surprise grew louder and
louder and entered the courtyard. It was a repetition
of Luigi's band playing vigorously. They came into the
house and passed us, each musician bowing to us separ
ately. To do this he had to turn the upper part of his
body sideways, instrument and aU, because they did not
stop playing or walHng until they came to the end of the
piece, and by that time they had reached the salone.
Berto pointed out to me that the bombardon players
had got inside their instruments, and he caUed them La
Guardia Nera. This was because a few years ago I had
sent him a Scotch shawl, the tartan being that of the Black
Watch, 42nd Highlanders, and Berto speaks of his shawl
as La Guardia Nera or the Quarantadueslmo Alpini.
During the afternoon of the day of our festa I had been
showing him how to put it on as a Scotchman wears a
maud, across his chest, over his shoulders, and tucked In
behind. Chairs were provided, and the commare brought a tray
of wine. One of the trombones was acting as their chief ;
they aU stood up with their glasses of wine, and the chief
trombone announced that they had brought their music
and were saluting Berto and his compare. They drank,
sat down again and played their second piece. The
commare brought a tray of liqueurs flavoured with
peppermint. I watched my opportunity, held up my
glass, and announced that I was drinHng to the health of
233

Mount Eryx
the musicians. This was appropriately received, and we
had the next piece. They played a few waltzes, a
mazurka, three or fbur NeapoUtan canzonets and
especially " Gioia Mia " which was then a favourite, a
gallop, and some pieces of an undefined nature, usuaUy _in
six-eight time in a minor key, and there was one march.
Berto and his mother danced one of the waltzes. She is
an old lady — at least, not old, sixty-eight perhaps — and
danced with great spirit and did not appear to be in the
least fatigued. During the proceedings I caught sight
of Angela, the maid, In the entrance to the house dancing
with my umbrella for a partner.
Berto told me that all the musicians are shoemakers
except one, and he is a carpenter and joiner. They are
not professionals ; they play for the love of it — that is,
they are amateurs in the original sense of the word.
Their music may have been trivial — it was ; but it was
neither clever nor was it In rag-time, and I found it
pleasant. If it had a fault It lay not in the choice of
pieces, nor in the execution, but in the conditions of
performance — the room being too smaU for the volume of
sound.

^34

Chapter 35 Cofano
EVERY day is the day of some saint, if not of many
saints ; but every saint's day does not concern us
personaUy. Consequently, there is not always a
secret or a surprise, and I am usuaUy free to do as I like.
When I am tired of reposing I come out and roam about
the town, or go to the baho again, and on the way I call
upon Berto, who Is In his farmacia maHng up prescriptions
and taUdng to his friends. Ida Is tied up In the window
of the next house", and sits there saluting and receiving
offerings of vegetables and fruit from a crowd of boys
who keep just out of reach. Sometimes a boy gets too
near and Ida leaps on him and picks his pockets. That
is how she managed to escape the other day. She has a
cord attached to her piece of chain, so as to give her more
space for her evolutions. The boys were teasing her, as
usual, and she got so wild and exerted so much force in
trying to get at them that she broke the cord.
Presently I leave the farmacia, leave Berto with his
friends and Ida with her admirers and, Luigino being in
school, I wander off alone and lose my way for twenty
minutes or so among the narrow, labyrinthine streets,
until at last I find myself in the balio again, sitting with
my Hzard on the steps of the obelisk and looking out
towards Cofano across fertile Bonagia. Not only is
Bonagia a favourite locaHty with the people, it is also a
235

Mount Eryx
favourite locaHty with a hawk who is hovering over it,
looking for chickens or anything else good to pounce
upon which he may spy in the yards and gardens. He
is about on a level with my eye and quite close. I wish I
could hover. " If I could do that, I could while away
many a weary afternoon," as Harry NichoUs used to say
in one of the pantomimes, standing Hstlessly at the wings,
watching the contortions of the serpent-man. I do not
know how to set to work to acquire the power. It would
not do to imitate the lizard and begin by pretending that
I can do it already — that would lead to a nose-diving
disaster, and I should not be able to transmit any experi
ence to my descendants. I cannot foUow Joachim's plan
and take lessons, because there are no professors of hover
ing. Perhaps the nearest approach we shaU ever make
to it will be to teach the aeroplane to hover, and probably
I shall not be here then. Besides, I should accept it only
as a pis-aller. I want to hover by myself, as the hawk
does, without any machinery, and for that I may have to
wait till I enter the life after death. But if my dead
body is to return to Its elements, it will go to pieces, and
my brain, which I use to work my memory, will go with
it, and that won't do ; for I shaU want my memory, other
wise how shaU I know that I am I ? I shall not enjoy
whiling away the weary afternoons of eternal life unless I
can remember the weariness of the afternoons of this
temporary life when I could not hover.
The hawk is taking too much of my attention, as the
Hzard did the other morning. But their movement con
trasts with the StiUness of Cofana and of all around, and
compels, me to consider them. It is true that the hawk
does not move so much as the lizard, he keeps in one place
while hovering ; nevertheless, I know that he is Hke other
236

Cofano
Hving things, he wiU not remain there for ever. The
hawk, for aU his hovering, brings into my mind phrases
about being here to-day and gone to-morrow. He knows
of other yards and gardens. When I look on Cofano,
sleeplessly watching over Bonagia, I think of the Sphinx.
The hawk makes no mystery of being on the look-out for
his dinner, and the fertility of Bonagia has something to
do with his presence here. But Cofano is an incarnate
mystery. I do not suppose that the fertiUty of Bonagia is
due to his watchful presence ; that fertlHty is more hkely
due to something in the soil or to the presence of springs.
Cofano seems to be proposing some eternal riddle which,
though essentiaUy unaltered, yet takes on a different
aspect every moment with the shifting Hght ; there is
constant change of detail within the immutablHty of his
mass. Cofano is so magnificent that he compensates for the
absence of islands. And yet there is an island, another
phantasm, Ustica, not so far off as PanteUeria and more
often visible. She hovers, like another hawk, over the
promontory of Capo S. Vito, which runs out to sea behind
Cofano and bears on its point another shimmering Hght
house to match the one beyond Marsala on the other
side. There was a summer night, many years ago before
the Ughthouses were built, when Oberon sat upon a
promontory and a mermaid was piloted past him on a
dolphin's back.
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres
To hear the sea-maids' music.
And I wonder to myself whether he sat on Capo S.
Vito or on Lilyboeum. It ought to have been one, and
it might have been either. I settle the question in favour 237

Mount Eryx
of Capo ^ Vito and try next to determine whether I Uke
best gazing on the opalescent sea to the left, on the
exuberant campagna to the right, or on the mystery of
Cofano straight ahead. LooHng down on the campagna
is like looHng on one of those views taken from aeroplanes,
it appears to be all flat ; nevertheless, as I discovered
when I drove about among its fertlHty, It is fuU of undu
lations and actual hiUs. I should Hke to draw it from
here, putting in all the fields and houses and the shadows
cast by the hiUs. I should make a dreadful mess of it,
for it is not a subject that lends itself to being sketched ;
but I should like to try. The corn has been cut, and lots
of burnt sienna would be wanted for the brown stubble,
and downright yellow to mix with it In places ; in other
places some Hnd of faint pink, and there are bare rocks
which would take a deeper pink. Then there are the
roads that wander among the fields. One is sure that
each road knows its own business and why it makes its
turns, but it is not obvious to the spectator. As with the
gestures of the people — a stranger from the north feels
sure that every movement has a meaning, though he
cannot always guess what that meaning is. These roads
would require some mixture of a greyish, yeUowish, dirty
white. I could not finish the sky or the sea until I had
been back to the shop for more cobalt ; and cobalt alone
would not do, for there are passages of a luminousness
which is not on the market. There are also passages in
the sea of a glowing green ; and near the shore, where it is
shaUow, I can distinguish something that looks Hke a
submarine landscape — a reduced echo of the campagna.
How to treat Ustica would be another difficulty : it
would give no information to show her as she appears — a
something muffled in the haze over Capo S. Vito. A
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Cofano
compromise might have to be made involving a clearer
day when she can be seen distinctly for what she is.
Cofano could not be omitted, but I should have to settle
which is his best time. Perhaps his crags and ravines
are most lovely when the evening Hght shows them up ;
but who could ever settle which is the best time for his
colours ? Golden brown, faint rose, deep sienna, radiant
green, and never the same for ten minutes at a stretch.
Another compromise might be necessary — a dangerous
proceeding, because the shadows give one away, and there
are shadows everywhere.
There in the curve of the bay, about half-way to Cofano,
is a smaU white bungalow which I should Uke to put in,
but, maybe, it would appear too smaU to be recognizable.
It is the caserma, where I once spent a night with the
coast-guards. I had gone to Custonaci to salute the
Madonna, whos# picture was then at home in her sanc
tuary, and my friend the brigadier came to the village
to meet me, took me back with him to the caserma and
gave me his bed for the night, he having to go out on
business immediately after supper and to remain out till
the morning.
I stood at the door of the caserma and watched the sun
set behind the islands. It was the death of the god. I
was awakened next morning by the completion of the
miracle : he rose again and looked in at my window. I
thought of Astarte, who, centuries ago, reigned on Mount
Eryx, set and rose again the foUowing morning as Aphro
dite. Aphrodite reigned, set and rose again as Venus,
Each in turn was tenant for Hfe of the Mountain, and the
evening came when Venus also set, to rise again next
morning as the Madonna, the present trustee of the
Mystery of Motherhood. We do not know who preceded 239

Mount Eryx

the first, but we do not doubt that she had predecessors
who fulfiUed the desires of their makers, and who reigned
up here in days long before the creation of the world
according to the chronology of Luigino. We do not
doubt that the present goddess will have successors and.
If we could guess at the course of future civilization, we
might foretell the form most Hkely to be taken by the
next one. They resemble the shifting Hghts and shadows
on Cofano ; they are of the hour, unessential, perpetuaUy
changing while the ultimate mystery remains unsolved,
the same yesterday, to-day and for ever.
The brigadier's nocturnal business was to guard the
coast all along the bay from Cofano to Mount Eryx ; he
returned just before the sun was up and, after we had
breakfasted with his companions in the caserma, he
accompanied me to Custonaci. We took leave of one
another In front of the Sanctuary of the Madonna, saying
" Arrivederci " as one does' in Sicily, promising to meet
the foUowing year ; and I returned to Trapani not
knowing that I should never see him again. But so it
was to be, for he was HUed in the earthquake at Messina.

240

Chapter 2>^ The Old Man
MY reminiscences were interrupted by the sound
of footsteps ; I turned and saw an old man com
ing from behind the obehsk. He smiled at me
and said :
" Good day."
" Good day," I repHed. " Have you come out to
contemplate this wonderful panorama ? "
" Oh ! as for that," he said, shrugging his shoulders,
" our eyes are so fuU of the panorama that we are blinded
to its wonders. No, I came to read the inscription,"
I rose and we read the Inscription together.
Butler in his Hfe of his grandfather quotes a remark
made by Dr. Parr to Dr. Butler : " It's aU very well,
Sammy, to say that So-and-so is a good scholar, but can
he write an inscription ? " And we know that Dr. Parr
was serious, because it is recorded in Boswell that when he
was requested to write an epitaph for Dr. Johnson he
modestly repUed : " I leave this mighty task to some
hardier and some abler vsriter." It was only after
repeated soHcitatlons that he yielded and composed the
inscription which adorns Dr. Johnson's monument in
St. Paul's Cathedral. And truly to write an Inscription is a
difficult thing to do — even more difficult than to translate
a good inscription into another language in such a way
that the reader cannot determine which is the better
R 241

Mount Eryx

The Inscription on the Obelisk on Mount Eryx.
Ne I'almo amplesso materno
Erica accoglie
Gli spiriti eletti
Di tutti i suoi figli
Che per i termini sacri d'ltalia
Non invano cadendo
Passarono
Dalla vita alia storia.
Translation.
Into the embrace of their nursing-mother
Eryx gathers
The chosen spirits
Of all her sons
Who falling not in vain
For the sacred frontiers of Italy
Passed
From life into history.

242

The Old Man

The Inscription in the Liceo Ximenes, Trapani.
Da queste aule
Altrici fecondi di generosi propositi
All'invito della patria in armi
Pel trionfo del diritto e della giustizia
Barracco Epifanio ; Cammarata Vincenzo
Genna Carmelo ; Mannome Giuseppe
Messina Francesco ; Sammartano Antonino
Zamueli Vittorio
Con animo precocemente virile
Corsero ai cementi
E caddero pugnando
Per rivivere nei secoli
XXIV Maggio MCMXX.
Translation.
From these halls
Wherein generous intentions are brought to fruition
At the call of their country in arms
For the triumph of right and justice
Barracco Epifanio ; Cammarata Vincenzo
Genna Carmelo ; Mannome Giuseppe
Messina Francesco ; Sammartano Antonino
Zamueli Vittorio
Assuming in boyhood the responsibilities of men
Rushed to the ordeal
And fighting fell
To hve again in the ages
XXIV May MCMXX.

243

Mount Eryx
rendering of the sense. Whfle trying to translate into
English the inscription on the obeUsk I remembered
being in Sicily once with an EngUshman who was a scholar.
After dinner the waiter brought a Uqueur labeUed
" Scacclapensieri "—which means " Thought-chaser."
My friend at once translated it "Begone duU Care."
Nothing could be better ; it overshadows the original
and is as good as Sterne's " No deceit in a bumper " for
" In vino Veritas," I cannot compete with it, but I have
done my best.
" WeU," said the old man, " and what do you think of
our inscription ? "
I had not got so far as to have formed any definite
opinion about it, and there was something in his manner
which prompted me to temporize ; so I said :
" It seems quite an appropriate inscription."
" Appropriate ! " he echoed. " It is Hke most of the
others. It promises no more than that after death we
shaU live again In the memories of our friends. There is
another down in Trapani, in the Liceo Ximenes, which
comes to much the same,"
" It would have pleased you better," I suggested, " if
the authorities had employed some one who beUeved in
the Resurrection of the Body."
" I am not sure that they have not done so," he repHed.
" Now you are puzzUng me," I said. " Do you mean
that the writer believes or that he disbeUeves in the
Resurrection ? "
" I think that he was brought up to believe in it, that
he has been reading scientific books, that he is ashamed
of being thought to hold such a beUef , and that he wishes
us to suppose that he now believes in no Hnd of life after
death except Hfe in the memories of those who survive us."
244

The Old Man
" You manage to extract a good deal out of his few
words."
" It is erident to me that he is uneasy in his mind about
his beUef. He is trying to persuade both himself and me
of something of which he is uncertain. That is not the
spirit in which to compose the inscription for a war
memorial." " What should you have written ? " I asked.
" I do not know. But I should have remembered those
who come here suffering. And I should have remem
bered that what I beheve or dlsbeUeve does not signify.
If we consciously preserve our identity after death, then
it wiU be so. If we enter into annihilation, then it will
be so. No man's beUef one way or the other can possibly
make any difference to what is going to happen to us,"
" Are you so certain of that ? " I asked, " I had a
friend who had thought much about evolution  "
" Evolution ! " exclaimed the old man, interrupting me.
" Why that is one of my subjects. The theories of the
Avriters on evolution affected me profoundly at the most
critical period of my Hfe."
So I told him of a passage which is somewhere in
Butler's v?ritings and which the Hzard had brought to my
mind the other morning. Butler thought that, although
we have no reason to suppose that man consciously
preserves his identity after death, it does not therefore
foUow that he wiU never be able to do so. Adopting the
assumption that lizards are deaf, we can admit that. If
they ardently desire and strive to hear, they may, in the
course of generations, acquire the power to do so. Simi
larly, assuming that man does not after death consciously
preserve his identity, nevertheless, if he ardently desires
and strives to do so, some future man may be born in
245

Mount Eryx

possession of the power inherited from his ancestors as a
result of those ancestors having desired and striven for
generations to acquire it.
The old man thought for a minute or two ; then he
said : " It is an ingenious hypothesis, but it ought not to
be referred to in an Inscription on a war memorial. That
is an opportunity for soothing the afflicted, rather than
for enunciating a speculative proposition. Consider for
a moment. To this obelisk come widowed girls and
weeping mothers looking for some crumb of sympathy to
nourish the hope that one day they will be reunited to
those whom they have lost. And what do they find ? "
" I see," I replied, " they are told that the fact of their
husbands and sons being dead wIU be Incorporated into
the History of the World at its proper date."
" Precisely," he agreed. " But the vridows and
mothers do not want to be told something which they
knew before. They went out looHng for bread, and they
are given this stone, in the maHng of which thirty words
have been employed."
I was silent, thinHng. Then an idea came to me and
I said : " We have an expression in English  " I
hesitated, not sure whether to go on. A look in his face
encouraged me. " We sometimes speak of ' a pious
fraud.' "
The old man in his turn sat silent and remained so for
a long whfle. Then he rose, smfled and held out his hand.
" You EngHsh," he said, " are a wonderful people. ' A
pious fraud.' That is what is wanted. Good day. I
am glad I met you. The EngHsh helped Garibaldi to
land at Marsala, they helped us to win the European
War, and you have helped me again this afternoon. Good
day." 246

Chapter 2>1 Speculations
1 RETURNED to my seat thinking of Ernest in
The Way of All Flesh :
No man's opinions can be worth holding unless he knows how
to deny them easily and gracefuUy upon occasion in the cause of
charity. The hawk had moved out of sight, gone to some of
those other yards and gardens that he knows of, to hover
now, perhaps, over some riUage on the Marsala side of the
Mountain, over Dattflo or Xitta, Spagnuolo or Paceco —
Paceco where Alessandro Scarlatti was born, if he was not
born in Trapani itself. That is another name with a
derivation. They say that Paceco is a corruption of
Pace teco, which in Latin is Pax tecum ; but they do not
teU one this with any conriction. It is offered as hardly
more than a memoria technica, as they offer the deriva
tions of Bonagia.
The hawk had gone, but there was my Hzard, stiU
running about in the sunshine and doing his best to
support the riew that Hzards can hear. If he cannot,
then as a piece of play-acting his performance was wonder-
fuUy reaUstic, and I must remember to recommend him
to Giovanni Grasso for study. In the meantime let us
pause for a few paragraphs and rest on our oars in a paren
thetical backwater of speculation. Let us suppose for a
moment that man has not the power of consciously
surviving death. Then each of us wfll personally enter 247

Mount Eryx
into annihilation. The prospect would probably be
repeUent to Luigino if he were to contemplate it ; but
to his godfather it is not so. As one grows older one
becomes less enamoured of the idea of eternal Ufe, and
more inclined to acquiesce gratefully in the idea of
departure in peace into a dreamless sleep. But it is no
use crying for the moon, and both godfather and gqdson
must agree with the old man that whatever is awaiting
us, if it is to be so, so it wfll be. There Is nothing more
to be said about it ; the idea of annihilation does not
pullulate suggestively.
Let us now suppose for another moment that man, not
having the power of consciously preserving his identity
after death, nevertheless, by ardently desiring and striving
to acquire it, will do so in the persons of some of his
descendants. Ought I to help by desiring and striving
also ? If the power is not to come till years after my
death, It will make no difference to me. For me to share
in it I ought to have begun desiring and striving in the
person of some remote ancestor, countless ages before
any recorded goddess reigned up here. Perhaps I did.
It may be that there has aheady been just so much desiring
and striving by us In the persons of our ancestors that the
result Is even now hanging in the balance, and the desire
of one more is all that is necessary to turn the scale in
time for me to be the first of those who wiU have the
power. It may come any day, as a sport comes in descent
with modification. But if it comes to me I shaU be too
late to meet the brigadier or to meet any of those who
wfll have died before me. Thus I shaU not meet many
whom I should like to meet even more than I should like
to meet the brigadier. On this supposition I shaU meet
too few people.
248

Speculations

Now for another moment let us suppose that man has
and always has had the power. Then I shaU meet too
many. I do not know whether there is any agreement
among men of science as to how long man has been on
the earth ; probably not, nor does It much matter because
any estimate must alter with fresh discoveries. I fancy
I saw some hundreds of thousands of years mentioned
recently. I would rather not know more exactly ; I
might blurt it out to Luigino, and it would only dis
courage the dear boy to be told that the world has been
in working order for so many more than his six thousand
years. Fancy having to meet after death aU those
innumerable, tedious old people who must have died
during aU those thousands of centuries ! And aU those
others who wfll go on dying, and come trooping along
after we are dead ! It does not do to think about it. It
makes me as giddy as I become after reading In astronomy
books about what there Is, or may be, beyond the Milky
Way. That old man was right in wanting controversial
questions kept out of war inscriptions.
There is yet another supposition. Not that I think
these suppositions supply any answer to the Great Riddle ;
they are nothing more than suggestions of how to look at
it in different Hghts ; they alter the appearance of it as
the shifting shadows alter the appearance of Cofano.
We might desire, and succeed in obtaining, the power in
some Hnd of after Hfe to meet a selection of those who
wiU have predeceased us, and a further selection of those
who wfll die after us. I do not feel sure that any such
plan would work. It would lead to unpleasantness if I,
for instance, desired to meet, we wiU say. Dido, and if she
did not want to meet me. " Who is this upstart ? " she
would ask ; and I could not insist. In any Hnd of Hfe
249

Mount Eryx
after death the deshes and feeUngs of others wiU have to
be considered, as they have in this life.
One or other of these suppositions may foreshadow
what wiU happen, and there must be other possibihties
which I have not thought of. Whatever happens, if it is
to be so, so it will be.
Finally, and without any supposition, in the Life of the
World to Come we shaU meet one another in a different
sense. As Butler says in his sonnet beginning " Not on
sad Stygian shore " :
Yet meet we shaU, and part, and meet again
Where dead men meet, on Ups of living men.
It is obvious that this kind of vicarious life must in a
greater or less degree faU to the lot of every one, and no
crying for the moon about it. We meet in this way before
death, and sometimes are conscious of it. It may be
anything from Fame down to Gossip. It is not even
necessary for those who meet thus to have been physicaUy
born. Hamlet meets the Three Musketeers, Uncle Toby
meets Emma Woodhouse, Candide meets Prometheus,
and they aU meet their own and each other's creators.
Only the other morning Dido and .^neas were meeting
Garibaldi and his Thousand on the lips of Luigino and his
godfather ; and Mr. George Trevelyan and Virgil were
of the company ; or if not they were close by and their
influence was felt. This is the kind of Hfe after death
that is promised by the inscription on the obelisk. The
old man condemned the writer not because he was preach
ing false doctrine, nor because he was being otiose, but
because he was unsympathetic with the suffering
mourners. There is no escaping this kind of vicarious
immortality ; but a war memorial is not the place in
which to insist on it.
250

speculations

Dr, Parr was also right when he said that being a good
scholar is not enough. To write an inscription for a war
memorial the scholar must know how to steer between
saying what he beUeves and what it is judicious to avow.
Moreover, as it is impossible to please aU, he must be
speciaUy careful not to offend the least of those who come
grieving for their loss. No war memorial that I have yet
seen solves so weU as our cenotaph at Westminster the
problem which must present itself with every record that
is put up, and yet the designer, as I have seen pointed out
somewhere, has kept his own opinion in the background ;
no one can teU from the monument what he personaUy
thinks, any more than we cg.n teU from the plays what
Shakespeare thought about the Ufe after death. To this
cenotaph come those who say that there is no Resurrection,
neither angel nor spirit. They find an empty coffin raised
on a pedestal and three words : " The Glorious Dead."
That is aU they see ; and for them the emptiness of the
coffin symboHzes the emptiness of the expectation of any
Hnd of life after death. They pass on satisfied. But
there come others who hope for more, who look up with
the eye of faith and are transported into the region of :
" Why seek ye the Uving among the dead ? He is not
here, he is risen." For these the hoUow stone upon its
pedestal becomes as the bread of life. The widowed
girls and weeping mothers drop at its base their flowers,
their wreaths of laurel and rosemary, and go home com
forted.

251

Chapter 38 The Nuns' Dinner
THE next afternoon Berto took me to caU on the
nuns, and as we went along I asked him about my
old man. I did not mention the subject of our
conversation because one does not discuss with Berto the
ImmortaUty of the Soul, I merely said I had met him
and asked who he was, Berto of course knows every one
on the Mountain, but, though I described my old man
very fully, he said he had never seen or heard of any one
like him.
The nuns were at home. They are three old ladies
who have retired from the monastero — that is to say they
have been turned out — and are living in a house by them
selves. Their monastero has been taken by the govern
ment and they receive a franc a day each. I thought of
Ninu's aunt at CastelHnaria. Suor Veronica is eighty-
eight ; Suor Rosalia, eighty-two ; Suor Beatrice, seventy-
eight. To one of the doors of the room in which they
received us a paper was nailed, and on it was written in
capitals the word " Mansuetudo " ; another door had the
words " Amore di Dio " ; and a third, " Disprezzo del
Mondo." It is true that Sicilians develop and mature early, but
these nuns were put away at the age of about thirteen,
when they cannot have developed much knowledge of
that world which they now say they despise. One may
252

The Nuns' Dinner
learn Httle in a monastery, stiU one can always learn some
thing. So I drew the, perhaps erroneous, conclusion
that they had begun to find out that they had made a
mistake, and to feel sorry that they had been in such a
hurry to leave the world ; and, having thus discovered
that they had lost their tails, they were trying to persuade
themselves and others that they despised the sour grapes.
I do not think they intended this conclusion to be
drawn. It seemed to me that they were like the writer
of the inscription in the baho, trying to persuade them
selves and me of something which they believed to be
doubtful, and that they would not have had those words
up in such a prominent place if they had felt sure of
themselves. Fancy an old lady of eighty-eight being so
anxious to persuade us that she despised the world !
When I was at school one of the masters had two rings ;
they did not appear to be of great value, stiU there they
were and he wore them always, except that he tried to
persuade us that he despised them by appearing without
them during Holy Week. Fancy any grown man not
being ashamed to let us know how great store he set by a
couple of rather trumpery bits of finery.
Berto inrited the nuns to come and dine with us on
Sunday at five, and they accepted the invitation. He told
me that he was arranging to give them brains for dinner
because they have no teeth at their age ; and he showed
me the^calf's head hanging up at the butcher's and through
a large hole in its forehead we saw the convolutions of the
brains for the nuns. To my great regret, however, the
nuns did not come to dine, they were not well enough to
go out that day. And I wondered whether it was the
fact or whether it was an excuse and they never intended
to come. 253

Mount Eryx

So, as the dinner had aU been settled and prepared,
Berto invited his father, mother, sister and brother
instead. This is what we had. Soup. Hors d'ceuvres.
Chicken and turkey from the stable cut up, stewed
t,ogether and served with potatoes and artichokes from
the garden. With this we drank ordinary wine. Roast
veal with salad from the garden. Fried rissoles of brains
with potatoes. Boiled fish. With this we drank old
wine. Lastly there was a broad, round, flat spongecake
with custard and blobs of cherry jam on top ; fruit,
coffee, ices and liqueurs.
This was my last day, and the evening was made
memorable by visits from many relations of Berto and
of his wife. The music also came to perform a final
serenade, and brought several retainers. There must
have been at least fifty people in the house. And it aU
concluded by dancing and leave-taHng and by my
promising to come again next year and to stay for at least
a month. The day following, the leave-taking was continued at
the Trapani gate of the town where they came to see me
off. The children came too and Luigino said :
" Good-bye, Godfather ; and please make up some
more stories about my ancestors to tell me next year,"
" AU right, Luigino, there's plenty more for you, so
much that I shaU have to stay longer than a month to
teU you aU,"
" I hope you will," he said, " Arrivederci."
The two arrivals and two departures of the automobile
are the chief events of the day on the Mountain and many
people were there to look on. Among the crowd was my
old man of the obeUsk. I tried to speak to him, but he
avoided me ; except for the marked way in which he
254

The Nuns' Dinner
avoided me he appeared never to have seen me before ;
he got into the automobile and sat in a dark corner. I
pointeid him out to Berto, who stiU did not recognize him.
But there was one standing by who knew him and who
told us about him. He is caUed Mimi, which is short
for Domenico, and he comes from CastelHnaria. He
would not speak to me because he never speaks to any one
if there are others present. He was formerly a priest,
but took to reading scientific books, threw up his orders
and married. His wife died in chfldbirth, leaving him
vrith one son to whom he devoted himself. This son
was HUed in the war, and Mimi has never been the same
since. He is looked upon generaUy as a crazy fool —
almost as though he were a harmless Ida, But those
few who know him better say that he is an unusuaUy wise
and kind-hearted old man, and that he avoids people and
puts on his eccentric manner because he does not want to
be bored. Just now he is traveUing round to aU the
various towns, maHng a study of inscriptions on war
memorials because he has taken it into his head that he
has been asked to compose one for CasteUinaria.
I do not know what became of him. We both got out
at PapareUa, where I was going to stay with my compare
Ugo Chizzoni, but the old man avoided me again.
Perhaps he got out there hoping to find in PapareUa a
war memorial with an inscription that might give him a
hint — something of more use than the one on the obehsk
in the baUo. It is a pity he refused to recognize me ; I
should have liked to hear his opinion about our cenotaph
at Westminster.

255

Trapani

To Otto Keith Struckmeyer

Chapter 39 Compare Ugo
Casa Barrabini, Trapani. July 4, 1920.
MY DEAR Compare Keith,
Thank you for your letter. I am dehghted
to know that you are coming to Italy, and
perhaps as far as Sicfly. I shaU be returning about the time
you are starting, and with a Httle management we might
meet in Lombardy, or perhaps in Switzerland, but
Lombardy would be better because it is Italy. If only
we could meet here in Sicfly ! Anyhow please keep me
informed of your movements, and I wiU teU you of mine.
As you wiU see by this address I have come down from
Mount Eryx and am now staying with the family of my
friend Peppino Barrabini. His father has been twice
married, first to a lady named Giannitrapani, who died
soon after giving birth to Peppino. Her father, Signor
Giannitrapani, died a few months ago at a great age ; he
was a friend of Butler, and I remember him in the days
when I used to come here with Butler, but I did not
then know anything about the Barrabini family. Dr.
Barrabini married, for his second wife, a lady named
Poma by whom he had two children, Annita and
Vincenzo. Vincenzo, who served In the war, is stiU in
the north of Italy, not yet demobilized, and the house- 259

Trapani
hold at the moment consists of Dr. Barrabini, his wife,
Peppino and Annita.
I was first introduced to Dr. Barrabini by a Trapanese
friend, some years before the war, when Peppino was in
Florence on his way to England. I returned home that
year by way of Florence where I made Peppino's acquaint
ance, and he afterwards came to London and stayed with
my sister and me in our house in Maida Vale, After
his return to Trapani I always saw him whenever I went
to Sicily, and one year he introduced me to Ugo Chizzoni,
whose mother was a Poma, a sister of Peppino's step
mother. Thus Ugo is a cousin of Annita and of Vincenzo,
though not of Peppino. Ugo and I had few opportunities
of meeting, because the war intervened ; nevertheless we
became great friends. Whfle he was fighting in the
north he sent me post-cards from the front and I foUowed
his doings. He became a captain and was taken prisoner
by the Austrians. He wrote to me from his prison camp
for food, and I sent him parcels, or rather had them sent
to him, from London. After the Armistice he returned
to Trapani, and, in announcing that he was about to be
married, honoured me by asHng me to be his compare,
or, as we should say for this Hnd of compare, his best man.
He, being an awocato, prepared the document which was
necessary because I could not go to Trapani then ; • I
signed and returned it, and the wedding took place.
This year, after being on the Mountain and before
coming here, I stayed for a few days at PapareUa with
Ugo and his wife, who are in viUeggiatura there in a
country house belonging to his wife's family. It is in a
lovely situation on the slopes of the Mountain and we
spent most of the time sitting in the shade in the garden,
looHng out on the bay with Monte Cofano in front of us ;
260

Compare Ugo

but we had to come in occasionally to get cool, for it is
hotter outside than in the house. It is a mistake to travel
so far south in this hot weather. And I have committed
another mistake in coming just now, for I only get about
sixty-five francs for one pound sterling which before the
war was worth twenty-five. I ought to have come some
weeks ago when not only was the weather cooler, but I
should have got about a hundred francs. Think of that !
Four times the pre-war value ! People complain that
the prices of things here have gone up, and so they have,
but the price of the pound sterling has gone up more.
One day, whfle I was at PapareUa, Ugo and I went to
Tangi. We drove in the donkey-cart, and the donkey
is named MusoUno after the famous brigand. We took
with us some food, and the caretaker at Tangi gave us
bread and a flask of the famfly wine ; we picnicked in the
house, and drove back after the sun had gone down.
Tangi is primarfly a hfll on the campagna ; as you look
down on it from the Mountain you would not beUeve
that there is a hiU anywhere near, and when you get to it,
it is only a smaU one. It gives its name to a coUection of
six or eight houses surrounded, or nearly surrounded, by
a waU. Each house has outbuildings and a cantina where
vrine is stored, and the rintage is the great time at Tangi.
The property formerly belonged to the six daughters and
three sons of the famfly of Poma and now belongs to their
descendants ; this is how Ugo comes to be interested in it.
Another of the houses belongs to Dr. Barrablni's wife
who, as I told you, was a Poma ; and once, while Peppino
was in England and I was out here, my visit to my compare
Berto on the Mountain was concluded by his driving me
down in his donkey-cart to Tangi, where we became Dr.
Barrablni's guests. I speciaUy remember on that occasion 261

Trapani

the prize bull which they had, an enormous creature;
Berto called him a mountain of flesh, and christened him
Mount Eryx. There was also a caper plant growing
against a waU of the house with capers on it ; I recognized
it because Butler showed me one once. This year, when
I was at Tangi with Ugo, there:was the caper plant stiU
flourishing, capers and all, but the bull had gone.
I doubt whether you fully grasp the significance of this
compare business, indeed I am not sure that I understand
aU about it myself ; but. Inasmuch as you come into it,
you ought to know all I can tell you. They have a saying :
" Gli amici dei nostri amici sono i nostri." We are
perhaps more familiar with It in its French form : " Les
amis de nos amis sont nos amis," Now, my compare and
I are something closer than merely friends, we are spirit-
uaUy members of one another's families. In this way I
am spiritually related to all Ugo's brothers, sisters, cousins,
uncles, aunts, and compari, and to aU their husbands and
wives, and he is similarly related to all mine. It may be
that I even have some kind of interest in Tangi — only
spIrituaUy, of course. I was told on Mount Eryx that I
am so closely related to my compare Berto that if his
sister and I desired to marry, such a union could not be
permitted — ^it would be almost as bad as wishing to marry
one's own sister. This I believe to be an exaggeration.
And it may be an exaggeration to say that you, as my
compare, are related to Ugo and to aU the members of his
family, nevertheless it would seem to foUow.
As to there being any relationship between Peppino
and myself, I do not feel sure about it ; I suppose there is
not, because he Is not Ugo's cousin ; but I must be related
to his half-sister and half-brother, Annita and Vincenzo,
who are cousins of Ugo. And in a few weeks my relation-
262

Compare Ugo

ship to Peppino wiU be estabhshed through his wife, for
he is engaged to be married to Pia Luna, whose mother
was a Poma, another sister of Peppino's step-mother and
of Ugo's mother, and therefore a cousin of Ugo. By a
judicious selection of compari there seems no reason why
one should not in time become spiritually a member of
half the famiUes in the island.
If and when you come to Trapani in the course of your
wanderings, I hope you wiU not neglect to seek out some
of these relations. I need not give you their addresses ;
ask the first person you meet In the Corso, and he wiU tell
you. If you ask for Peppino, you must call him Professor,
because he has passed some examination and is now
Professor of EngHsh. As soon as you tell them who you
are, and that you are a compare of mine, he and Ugo and
aU of them wfll do everything they can for you, and you
wfll never regret haring made their acquaintance.
I wiU teU you some more in a few days, next time I
write. In the meantime
I am always your affectionate Compare, Enrico.

263

Chapter 40 Casa Barrabini
Casa Barrabini, Trapani. July 5, 1920.
MY DEAR Compare Keith,
Now to continue where I broke off yesterday.
On leaving PapareUa the other day I came
to Trapani, and Peppino met me and brought me to his
house. While he was with us in London he became as
famfliar with our habits and customs as he is with our
language. I am sure that he could pass an examination
and become a qualified professor of them as he has become
a professor of English. We used to give him a cup of tea
in bed every morning ; it was brought to him in a brown
RocHngham teapot which, after his return to Trapaai,
we sent him for a Christmas present. Here, every morn
ing, Peppino makes tea for two in his teapot and brings it
into my bedroom before I am up. Thus he transplants
an English custom into his native town. We drink our
tea and discuss our plans for the day.
Breakfast f oUows in the dining-room, the shady window
of which looks out over a lagoon of the sea shut in by a
breakwater of rocks. In this lagoon is a bathing-place,
built on piles in the manner' of a prehistoric lake-dwelHng,
and here boys are perpetually bathing. There they are,
morning after morning, chasing each other in the water,
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Casa Barrabini
diving off the roof, playing at being Perseus and Andro
meda, pretending that there Is a shipwreck and that
they are saring Hfe at sea, drying themselves in the sun,
and diving in again. To look at them out of the window
is to anticipate what it will be when those of us who
surrive shall visit the memorial exhibition of the works of
Mr. H. S. Tuke, R.A., which will not be held, I hope, for
many years.
After breakfast we go into the town ; Peppino wants
to be shaved, or I want to buy something ; but things
never happen as we intend. One morning we met
Domenico Corona, the coachman who, nearly thirty
years ago when he was a boy of twelve, accompanied his
father down from Mount Eryx, bringing in the carriage
Butler, who had hurt his foot. Domenico had to be
saluted, and his wife had to be inquired after. And we
met the photographer vrith whom I became acquainted
on the Mountain twenty years ago, and who has been so
successful that he has been made a cavahere, and has
bought a palazzo in Trapani at the corner of two important
streets. He inrited us to luncheon for the next day.
And there was Giovannino Lombardo, one of Pietro's
brothers, now grown up ; he recognized me, but I no
more recognized him than I had recognized Pietro at
Naples. And there were Peppino's friends also. What
happens is that we meet one or two and form a group ;
lots more join, and the group swells ; some drop off,
others come ; we move away, and collect more in the
next street.
This morning we found ourselves near the shop of my
compare Michele Lombardo, the father of Pietro, and
here was Pietro and others of his brothers besides Gio
vannino ; and their mother, my commare, had to be
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Trapani
inquired after. The first thing Pietro did was to restore
to me the piece of coral which he had given me in Naples,
I told you about this in my letter from Palermo, I gave
it back to him when I was passing through Trapani the
other day, on my way up the Mountain, so that his father
might resharpen it. Pietro did not Hke my going up
the Mountain without it, but his father was not in town
that day, so I could not have taken it except as it was.
He said it was a risk ; but I repHed that the site of the
Temple of Venus must be an exceptionaUy fortunate spot,
and one must risk something. So whfle I was on the
Mountain his father resharpened the point of the coral
and he gave it back to me this morning.
" You must wear it round your neck on a chain," said
Pietro, " or a piece of string will do."
Here we were interrupted by a young man who brought
his girl to buy a ring. She was accompanied by her maid,
dressed In black and with a shawl over her head. The girl
already wore a ring and also a pendant and chain. No
business was done. The girl had a ruthless nostril and
was difficult. I was sorry for the young man ; but I
remembered the cockchafer that the contadino's children
were teasing at Torre del Greco, and again did not feel
myself called upon to intervene.
These two customers went off to see whether they
could not do better at another jeweller's. Then there
came three girls in Hght spotted musUn, with a youth
and an old woman, who chose, or rather disputed about,
various articles of jewellery. Before they had done, the
girl with the ruthless nostril brought her young man back
and Interrupted the three girls by continuing her bargain
ing about her ring. It ended in her making the youth
buy for a hundred and twenty francs the ring for which
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Casa Barrabini
Michele had originaUy asked a hundred and thirty, and
which she had sworn she would have for not more than
seventy-five. " Do you know who she is ? " asked Michele when they
had gone.
I did not, and he could not teU me because he had to
return to the three girls in spotted muslin, who had
been waiting. Pietro, however, gave me the informa
tion :
" She is the second daughter of a rich man, and last
year her elder sister flew away with an aeroplanist, and
the family did not approve because the aeroplanist is a
man vrith nothing. Her mother was so ill about it that
she nearly died. But I don't think," added Pietro with a
smfle, " that her papa can have been reaUy very angry,
because when he was a young man he flew away several
times with actresses and barmaids."
" Ah," said I, " but they don't like their daughters to
fly away with young men."
" No," agreed Pietro, " perhaps not. You see the
parents of daughters have no sympathetic dramatic
Instinct." " I know what he ought to have done if he wanted to
keep her."
" What ? " inquired Pietro.
" Why, he ought to have worn a piece of your coral
round his neck."
" He's a sceptic," said Pietro.
" WeU," I said, " I won't be a sceptic ; I'U be on the
safe side."
" That's right. Now let me put it on for you at once.
And don't you ever take it off again."
" Does Giovannino wear one ? " I inquired. 267

Trapani

"Always," said Giovannino; and he hauled up his
string and displayed his coral hanging to it.
" And father ? "
" Of course. Everybody wears one,"
" But, I say Pietro, I may take it off to wash, mayn't I ?
A piece of damp string round my neck to begin the day
with — most uncomfortable, you know."
" It is a risk," he repHed, " but if you are quick, we
wIU hope that It won't matter,"
" I shall not feel reaUy safe tlU you are demobiUzed and
come to London to look after me yourself."
" I was with you on the tram," he said.
" WeU, that thief didn't steal anything."
" No, but he cut your trousers. Don't you see — ^having
the coral in your pocket protected you from being robbed,
and, if it had been sharpened, it would have protected
you from having your trousers cut."
All this time he was carrying out the operation of
adjusting the string round my neck and dropping the
coral down inside my shirt ; and, as he was finishing,
Federico came along. One is Hable to meet Federico
anywhere, for he Is In the PubbUca Sicurezza and travels
about exercising what he calls Vigilanza (Vigilance) : that
is, he Is on the look out for violators of the law — thieves,
smugglers and others, who may be carrying on their
nefarious practices In the train.
I met him only the other day In Palermo and we went
into a caffe in the Via Maqueda for a talk and a smoke.
" Oh yes," he said to me as we sat over our coffee, " it
is not a bad life."
" Do you like so much travelUng ? " I inquired.
" Isn't it fatiguing ? "
" Not fatiguing, no. You see, criminals always travel
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Casa Barrabini
first class, and I am obliged to go where I shaU be most
likely to run across them. So It is pretty comfortable.
Vigflanza, that is our motto."
" I understand. Rather lazy. Just suits you."
" Yes," he agreed. And he leant back in his seat with
his head on one side against the waU and pretended to go
to sleep. I vrish you could have seen him with his eyes
shut repeating the word " Vigilanza " in a dreamy tone.
When we met this morning in Trapani, he told me that
he had arrived by the night train from Palermo. I said :
" I trust that you had a comfortable journey ? "
" Not very," he repHed.
" Vigflanza ? " I inquired.
" Oh no," he said. " Too many mosquitoes — kept me
awake aU the time."
We wished him a better journey back, and he passed
along. We then went to another jeweUer, to whom Peppino
had given an order for a pair of diamond earrings which
were to be a present for his fidanzata, Pia Luna. They
were about as big as a sixpence : a large diamond in the
middle with eight or nine smaUer ones round it. They
were finished, and we brought them away with us.
We took the earrings with us for Pia's approval in the
afternoon when we went to the house of her mother and
sisters where we generaUy spend our evenings. The
young ladies are busy preparing the trousseau. The Hnen
Is, I suppose, lovely, and their embroidery most beauti
fuUy executed. They showed us an open-work bed
spread which they were making, and which they said
would take them two years to complete. There were
napHns and towels with open-work ends to them, and
things to put in the bottoms of trays, and on the tops of
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Trapani

footstools, and many more elegances. We admire it aU
every time we go, and sit there taUdng, fanning ourselves
to keep off the mosquitoes, eating ices and sipping
lemonade. So you see I am leading a quiet and simple Hfe among
friends who are doing their best to look after me and make
me comfortable. Don't forget to tell me your move
ments and Beheve me,
Your affectionate Compare, Enrico.

270

Chapter 41 Favignana
Casa Barrabini, Trapani.
July 6, 1920.
MY DEAR Compare Keith,
Our meeting in Italy does not seem likely to
come off from what you say, but I am not going
to give it up yet. I expect to be in Rome on my way back
in about three weeks. I cannot say more definitely,
because I must go to CasteUinaria, and I do not know how
long that wiU take. I wfll write again.
Now I want to teU you about what we did yesterday.
It was Sunday, and we went for an excursion to Favig
nana, one of the .^gadean islands which are prominent in
the view from Mount Eryx. Our host was Gustavo
Ricevuto, a journaUst of Trapani, who had some business
in the island. We met on the quay and took the steam
boat. The sea was perfectly calm, and we had a
dehghtful voyage of an hour. When we arrived at the
island, Gustavo's friends were on the pier expecting us.
After introductions, and greetings we went off to inspect
the interesting objects of the town, and especiaUy Florio's
Tonnara — his estabUshment for catching, boiUng and
packing tunny fish. In our progress we gathered more
friends and grew into a party of about a dozen. The
tunny fishing was over for the year, nothing was going on
271

Trap

am
except the cleaning up ; but we saw enough to understand
that Florio's estabUshment is the chief business of the
place. They told us that a capital of five milHons of Hre
is sunk in it, meaning pre-war Hre. A miUion Hre before
the war used to represent about forty thousand pounds
SterUng, so that five miUion would have been two hundred
thousand pounds sterling.
Favignana, Hke PanteUeria, that other island near
Africa which Luigino and I saw from Mount Eryx, is a
penal settlement, and the criminals are of two Hnds :
first, those who have committed some serious crime, such
as murder, and these are confined in prisons ; secondly,
those who have only committed minor deUnquencies, but
have been so diUgent in wrongdoing that at last the
authorities in weariness have condemned them to a term
of banishment to the island. They Hve anywhere in the
town and have their wives with them ; they are free aU
day, but must be in by lO p.m. They are caUed coatti
(Latin co-actus) and may do as they like except leaye the
island ; they actuaUy do work for Florio when the tunny
fishing is in fuU swing.
Seeing these coatti at home prompted Gustavo to teU
us about a hotel at CastelHnaria, which used to be a rowdy
Hnd of place with a stage at one end of the dining-room
on which ladies in elegant but insufficient attire per
formed NeapoUtan canzonets during the evening. The
directors of the hotel company disapproved, discharged
the manager, and engaged another named PasquaUno
who ran the hotel tiU his death. During PasquaHno's
tenure nothing disreputable ever occurred ; the stage
was removed, and the space occupied by blameless dining-
tables ; no ladies were aUowed unless accompanied by
well-known gentlemen, and everything was as duU and
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Favignana

early- Victorian as it can be in a SiciHan hotel, " And
this PasquaUno," said Gustavo in conclusion, " was a
coatto who had served his time in Favignana," On
PasquaHno's death the only manager they could get was a
man without a stain upon his character, under whom the
hotel returned to aU its old vices.
As we were going along the street in Favignana one of
these coatti approached us. He was very ragged, dirty
and broken down. He began talHng in what he con
sidered to be EngUsh, I could not understand him, but
he condescended to explain his meaning in dialect to
those who were with me, and they told me in Itahan that
he had been in England, where he had had the misfortune
to be put in jafl. He had, however, favourably impressed
" una lorda Inglese " (" lorda " was his notion of the
feminine of the EngHsh word " lord "). She had fallen
in love with him and used her infiuence to persuade the
authorities to release him. So we gave him half a franc,
which enabled us, after he had expressed his gratitude,
to shake him off.
We were on our way to risit Florio's palazzo — an
immense buflding, ugly outside but most comfortable
inside. It was aU ready to receive him, in case he should
come with his famfly and friends ; even the mosquito
curtains were in place over the beds. The ground floor
consists of the Uving rooms ; the first floor of the bed
rooms and bathrooms of the famfly ; and the second floor
is the foresteria — ^that is, the bedrooms and bathrooms of
the guests. AU the second-floor bedrooms are numbered
as in a hotel, and there is a lounge for the guests with a
large table ia the middle for papers and magazines. On
the top of the house is a terrace. They told us there
was another half a miUion of pre-war lire locked up in the
T 273

Trapani
palazzo, and that the proprietor has not been near it for
ten years.
It was now time for the meal which in France is caUed
dejeuner, in England luncheon, and in Italy colazione.
We went to an albergo and found that everything had
been foreseen. In an upper robm was a table laid for
our party, and we took our seats. The hors-d'oeuvres
were sardines, slices of tomatoes, and so on, but no tunny,
and, as tunny in oil is the chief product of the island, it
seemed to me a topsyturvy kind of appropriateness that
there should be none in Favignana. I ventured to point
this out to Gaspare BertoUni, an accountant in Florio's
office, who was sitting next me. I did not put it as a
complaint ; I said that I had heard of tunny in oil all
my life, and had occasionaUy eaten it in restaurants in
Italy, in France, and even in London ; that I had under
stood that Florio's tunny was unsurpassed ; and that
now, being in Favignana, the place of origin of the most
renowned tunny in the world, I had wondered whether it
might faU to my lot to taste some. He accepted the
compHment and immediately had the defect remedied,
saying that they were so accustomed to tunny in oil that
they did not consider it a food worth offering to risitors.
I assured him that it was very much worth whfle and that
it was the most delicious tunny I had ever eaten.
One of our party was particularly active in maHng
things go. I had observed him before. While we were
going round the tonnara we met the postman, who
delivered a registered letter to him, and I understood
that he was the sindaco, the mayor of the place. He was
dressed in a suit of yeUow khaki, and looked cool and
comfortable ; the colour of his clothes harmonized weU
with his sunburnt complexion. At luncheon he took it
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Favig

nana
upon himself to send away the first bottle of Marsala,
not considering it good enough for us, and insisted on
our haring a bottle of another brand with which he fiUed
our glasses ; and when more friends joined our party he
fetched more chairs. I inqvured of Gaspare Bertolini
who he was, and he told me that he was the Prince of
Spadafora. They have a story, which they teU as a first-
class howler, about some visitor to the island who could
not understand why the sindaco should be a prince,
" Because," they explained, " he has a property which
gives him the title."
" Is it in the island ? "
" No ; his father came here. His grandfather was a
Palermitan." " Did the prince come from Palermo ? "
" No, he was born here."
" Oh, ah, I see now. He is the son of one of these
criminals." He was quite the brownest prince I ever lunched with,
if I may imitate a remark attributed to Oscar Browning
after he met Kaiser Wflhelm at Cambridge, The prince
changed our plates and attended to our wants and looked
after us most efficiently, not because he was not a real
prince — I am sure he would have been aware of the
smaUest pea under any number of mattresses — but
because, as sindaco, he intended that we should leave the
island pleased with everything.
Presently, as it was Sunday, the beUs began to jangle for
service and intensified the uproar caused by our party,
who were talking poUtics — my word ! didn't they talk
poUtics ! It was all in dialect, and Gaspare told me that
it was about introducing electric Hght into the Island.
It seems that Gustavo, our journaUst host, is advocating 275

Trap

am
some scheme for having this done, and then — ah then !
Favignana wiU be a first-rate town, because then, at last,
it wiU have a cinematograph. Berto's brother-in-law,
Cavahere Coppola, the sindaco on Mount Eryx, had told
me much the same thing up there. The castle on the
Mountain is in two parts : one Is Le Torri, which belongs
now to the family of the late Conte Agostino Sieri PepoH,
and the other is used as a prison and belongs to the town.
When I go to spend my promised month on Mount Eryx
next year, I am to find the prisoners all lodged elsewhere,
and the prison part of the castle turned into a casino with
rooms devoted to various entertainments, including the
cinematograph which will be a possible addition because
by that time the electric light wIU have been established.
Also he said that by next year a constant supply of water
wiU have been laid on to the houses on the Mountain,
which I should say wIU do more than even the cinema to
increase the attractiveness of the place as a summer resort.
After luncheon we strolled through the town on our
way to the pier to catch the boat back to Trapani. Gas
pare and I walked together. He had a riding-whip, and
because I said something about it he wished to give it to
me ; but I decUned, not liking to deprive him of it.
Afterwards I saw that I had made a mistake and said :
" Dear Gaspare, let me change my mind. Give me
your riding-whip, and I wiU take it back vrith me to
London and keep it as a ricordo of you and of the happy
day we have spent together in Favignana,"
He gave it to me at once. When I return I must send
him some ricordo from London and you must help me to
choose it. I am sure you would Uke him ; he is a most
friendly and kind person, and I only wish he did not Hve
in such a remote and inaccessible place as Favignana.
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Favignana

Our adieux were prolonged by our friends begging us
to come again. They promised us aU manner of enter
tainment. The boat goes and returns on Sundays and
Thursdays, and the proposition was that we, or some of
us, shoifld go again next Thursday and stay till the
foUowing Sunday. We were offered aU-night fishing,
and serenades, and as much to eat and drink as ever we
could manage — no difficulty about tunny in ofl for hors-
d'oeuvres. And if we wanted to return before the
Sunday there was always Florio's yacht which they could
borrow, or some fishing-boat would take us. We had to
promise, or we should have missed the steamer. But
when I came to think it aU over soberly and to make
further inquiries, which I did on our way back, it appeared
that Florio's yacht and the fishing-boat were interchange
able terms for the same vessel, and that if the wind was
contrary the voyage might take three hours with oars ;
besides which, it is often rough. So I gave it up and now
I must write an apologetic letter to Gaspare begging his
forgiveness for the disappointment and promising to stay
a week with him next year. I shaU not enter upon the
problem of why it wfll be easier in 192 1 than in 1920 to
stay for a week in Farignana.
Always your affectionate Compare, Enrico.

277

Chapter 42 Salt
Casa Barrabini, Trapani.
July II, 1920.
MY DEAR Compare Keith,
I have heard from CasteUinaria and am to go
there to-morrow. I am not looking forward
to my visit, because as I must have told you, my compare
there, Peppino Pampalone, went to the war and was
HUed on the Carso. His widow, Brancaccia, wishes to
see me and especially wishes me to see my godson Ricuzzu.
It will be a painful experience, but I must go ; there are
responsibilities which one cannot shirk. From Castel
Hnaria I go to Palermo, and from there take the boat
back to Naples where I may stay just to see Pietro again
— If I can catch him, but his movements are controlled
by the demobilization authorities ; he was oifly at home
here on leave. Then I shaU be at Rome rather sooner
than I expected. I still hope we may meet somewhere in
Italy, but if it is not to be, then I shaU see you next when
I come up to Cambridge after Christmas and find you in
your new rooms in Trinity.
It was just as weU we declined Gaspare's invitation, for
if we had gone we should have been at sea during a
scirocco. Of course no serious harm would have hap
pened to me because I should have been wearing Pietro's
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Sah
coral, but I am a bad sailor and should not have enjoyed
the voyage. When I say that there was a scirocco, I
mean that some one said there was ; others said that
there probably would be a scirocco next day ; others
that there had been one, but that it had passed now, and
that the wind was tramontana. There was the wind all
right, and it was pretty boisterous ; I should say it was a
scirocco and I generaUy can teU, for I am something of an
expert and have made for myself a sciroccometer which is
more trustworthy than the confficting opinions of the
natives. I herewith make you a present of it, it may be
useful to you if you come south.
When the mosquitoes by night are more than usuaUy
sleepless, and the fUes by day more than usually audacious ;
when the barbers' boys sit in their white jackets outside
their shops waiting for the customers who are too Hstless
to come to be shaved ; when the ices deliquesce before
you can eat them ; when the salt is dry In the salt-ceUar,
and the half-teaspoonfifl of ink becomes a thin crust at
the bottom of the ink-pot ; when the young lady in the
post office, or in the tobacco-shop where you go to buy
stamps, won't give you any. " Stamps ! " she says, lazfly
fanning herself, " why, you had stamps yesterday ! What
do you want with stamps again to-day ? I haven't got
any more. And besides, you must let some one else have
a chance," and you go away crushed and wondering
where the shop-people get the stamps, which, because of
the scarcity of smaU money, they sometimes give you
instead of change ; then you may know that the scirocco
is blovring.
They teU one that this wind starts in Africa and arrives
in Sicily after traveUing with tropical violence across the
Mediterranean. One would expect it always to bring 279

Trapani
with it the heat of the desert, but I have sometimes been
told that the scirocco is blowing when the wind has
seemed to me cold. This may be because it has the choice
of two routes, high or low. If it travels high it arrives
dry and perhaps cold. But if it travels low, then it
arrives hot and full of salt moisture which it has picked
up from the sea and which it deposits on one's lips, on the
plants and flowers, and on everything else that comes in
its way. Then it puts the post office young lady's hair
out of curl, and makes the salt in the salt-ceUar too damp,
but it does not bring enough moisture to dflute the crusty
ink back again into a useful fluid. One of these damp
hot sclroccos began to blow one day when Butler and I
were at Calatafimi years ago ; we coifld not continue our
sketches and had to come in. It was like being in the
pathway of some illimitable hot-house which had gone
mad and broken loose. The wind was stiU blowing next
day, and we traveUed through it to Trapani. It was stiU
blowing on the third day, and we gave up trying to walk
against it in the streets. After its three days it subsided,
and Signor Giannitrapani, Peppino Barrablni's grand
father, took us to his garden and showed us his plants
and shrubs all shrivelled up and looking as though scorched
with fire. There is no dispute about its being a scirocco
when it blows Hke this.
Whatever the wind was when we should have been
between Trapani and Favignana, if we had gone again, it
fell in due course ; the weather reassumed its normal
calm, and one day we received a verbal invitation from
Ugo to go to an afternoon reception at his house in the Via
Garibaldi in Trapani, he and his wife having by this time
returned from their riUeggiatura at PapareUa. If cards
of invitation had been sent out for this reception they
280

Salt
ought to have had in the corner neither " Music " nor
" Dancing " nor any of the usual things but " Funeral."
And just as at a reception with music the company Is
not bound to talk of musical subjects, but may discuss
any matter, however irrelevant, until the specified enter
tainment begins, so we rather ignored funerals while we
were waiting, and taUced of anything that came into our
heads. It was a crowded assembly, and included members
of Ugo's famfly, and of his wife's family, aU of them now
my spiritual relations. They took the opportunity of
thanking me for haring saved Ugo's Hfe by sending him
parcels of food when he was a prisoner in Austria. There
was nothing to thank me for so ceremoniously, because
they paid for the parcels, and aU I did was to give instruc
tions and hand over the money to the Delegation of the
Croce Rossa in London, who did the rest.
Our chattering was interrupted by sounds of approach
ing music, and we went out on the balcony. There was
the funeral coming along the Via Garibaldi, the hearse,
the bishop, acolytes, priests, candles, a brass band, and a
foUovring of a hundred or more compUmentary carriages.
It passed slowly beneath us, and was hardly out of sight
before Ugo took Peppino and me off into another room
and gave us afternoon tea. They do have regular recep
tions with tea as in London or Paris, but Ugo's tea was a
compHment to England, as represented on this occasion
by Peppino and me. He bofled the water over the gas-
stove, and made the tea, and put in the milk, and produced
what he caUed " una bionda tisana " — a blond tisane.
And there were biscuits.
I said : " And now please teU me : Whose funeral have
we been attending ? "
And they told me aU about it. Thirty years ago or so a
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1 rapani
Trapanese gentleman, named BurgareUa, took a lease
from a British company of a tract of land near the sea at
Aden. Being a native of Trapani he knew about salt-pans
and saw what could be done with the land. He laid it
out and started the works. The sea water is collected
in large shaUow pans open to the sun ; it evaporates ;
the salt remains and is harvested, and there is always a
market for it. This enterprising gentleman died soon
after starting the works which he left to be carried on by
his descendants, and they, since his death, have divided
the net profits. I am afraid to say how much these
amounted to before the war — I do not remember precisely
— ^but it ran into milHons. Let us say it was only three
miUions of lire ; that, when the pound sterUng was
worth twenty-five lire, would be ^^i 20,000. During and
since the war they have had in their payments from
England the benefit of the exchange, so that their recent
profits have reached a much higher amount per annum.
The family, they told me, had now brought their
ancestor's body from Aden, nearly thirty years after his
death ; it landed on the quay a few days before. Money
had been distributed in the town for the benefit of the
poor, and we had just witnessed the passing along of the
municipal funeral from the quay to the cemetery. They
seemed to think it rather overdoing it to make so much
of the body of a man who died nearly thirty years ago.
But on the whole they settled that if a funeral is a good
thing it is better late than never.
A few days afterwards I met Pietro's brother, Gio
vannino, in the town, and he took me to the cathedral
where the rehgious memorial serrice was in progress.
The church was aU draped in black and white, and the
organ was busy. I have never settled in my mind what
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Salt
they do to their organs to make them emit the discordant
sounds which one hears in ItaUan churches. The effect
might perhaps be attained by tuning them in some mean-
tone temperament, and then playing waltzes on them in
the remoter keys, but I am not clear about it. Or perhaps
it is only that they puU out too many mixtures. This is
more baffling than some otheir questions that have arisen
during my travels — questions that can be settled as soon
as I get back to the British Museum. Or when I come
to Cambridge after Christmas you might help me to look
them up at Trinity ; and if the resources of your coUege
are unequal to the demand, we can adjourn to the
University Library. But I shaU hardly know under
what heading to look out the reason for the unpleasant
ness of the organs down here ; it may be that I shaU
have to make friends with some hardened SiciHan
organist, and persuade him to tell me what they
reaUy do.
I have a great deal more to teU you, but cannot possibly
write it now, for a reason which you would never guess.
Yesterday Peppino and I went up on to the roof of his
house, and from there I saw a riew of Mount Eryx which
took my fancy. I fetched my things and began a sketch
at once. As I leave Trapani to-morrow I only have the
rest of to-day and to-morrow morning. Now why
couldn't Peppino have taken me up on to his roof a week
ago ? He says he did — several times. Very well, then,
why did I wait tfll yesterday to observe how fine the
Mountain loob from there ? This makes another ques
tion to be added to those others which have to be looked
up, and it resembles the one about the tuning of the
organs in this, that a satisfactory answer wiU not easily be
dug out of any library. 283

Trapani

Please let me find a letter from you in Rome with your .
latest plans and dates, and in the meantime
Believe me.
Your affectionate Compare, Enrico.

284

Vignanova

To my Sister Lilian

Chapter 43 Old Friends
SOME years ago, when staying in Florence, I made
the acquaintance of Tommaso Geraci who was estab
Ushed there in business. I was on my way south
and he begged me, if I went anywhere near Vignanova, his
native town in Sicfly, to go and see his mother, his brothers
and his sisters. The next time I went to Castellinaria,
whichis in the same province as Vignanova, neither of them
being so marked on the map, I took the train and went
over for the day. The famfly received me at once as an
old friend, and I have never been treated with greater
kindness anywhere. My experiences with them have
shown me what can be meant by the expression about
being HUed with Hndness. I went to see them whenever
I was at CasteUinaria, and the last time I was there, in
191 3, before the war, I observed in the town a beautiful
Arabian courtyard of which I regretted that I did not
make a sketch. Being at CasteUinaria again in 1920 I
remembered the Geraci famfly and the courtyard, and
thought that, if I went there for my usual day to salute
the former, I might have time to make my sketch of the
latter. I always in prerious years had made my arrange
ments with Luigi, Tommaso's unmarried brother, who
Uved with the mother. So this year, according to custom,
I wrote to Luigi, offering to come over. He replied,
agreeing ; the day was fixed, and I went, 287

Vignanova
On arriving at the station I recognized Luigi and his
brother, AureUo, who came to meet me, but I did not
recognize the young man whom they brought with them.
It seemed to me that I had never before seen those brown
velvet eyes and that smfle which displayed teeth Uke two
rows of blanched almonds, though I guessed that their
owner must be a nephew. He was Lorenzo, son of their
sister Virginia, grown out of knowledge, and I had seen
him In 1913. After the usual greetings we crowded into
a carriage and drove to Luigi's house. I was put to rest
on the sofa, the other three sitting opposite me,
" At last ! " said AureUo, " and after five years ! "
" After seven years, AureUo," I repUed, correcting him.
" Seven years, is it ? And you look just the same. Lo
stesso," " Stessissimo," said Luigi solemnly, " not a day older."
I returned the compliment, and AureUo went away
saying he had some business to attend to. I asked
Lorenzo how old he was now. He replied that he was
seventeen, I said, " Then you were only ten when last we met.
And what are you doing now ? "
He replied that he was worHng in a draper's shop, where
he will remain until it is time for him to do his military
service ; after which everything is uncertain.
" Do you remember our drive ? " he asked.
I had forgotten it, but now remembered how I had
taken him for a drive the last time I was at Vignanova.
And I remembered further that I had done this in order
to escape from the maze of compliments and kindness in
which I found myself involved on that occasion.
" Oh yes," I said, " I remember it perfectly weU."
And I fancied I detected something Hke a wink in
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Old Friends
Lorenzo's eye. This suspicion was confirmed by his
subsequent behaviour, and I began to see our drive
together as bread which I had cast upon the waters and
which was returning to me after many days.
Here Uncle Luigi interrupted our reminiscences by
proposing to show me my room ; and he took me into a
bedroom prepared for me.
" But my dear Luigi," I said, " I've only come for the
day. I must return to CastelHnaria to-night."
" No, no. You wiU stay for a week. Now that my
adorata mamma has become a saint in Heaven I have a
house of my own, I can put you up and you wiU not
disappoint me."
We settied it without quarreUing, and it was agreed
that I might be let off this time ; but I had to promise to
stay a week next year. He then inquired whether I
should like some immediate refreshment after my journey.
I asked what time we were to have luncheon.
" We shall dine presently," he repHed.
" Yes, Luigi dear, thank you. But about when ? "
" We shaU dine when dinner is ready," he said.
So as it was about half-past eleven and there were no
signs of any preparations I said that I should Hke some
immediate refreshment. The house was unequal to it,
and we had to adjourn to a caffe in the Piazza del Duomo
where he ordered three coffees. Lorenzo looked at me
critically with a repetition of that suspicion of a wink,
spoke two supplementary words in dialect to the waiter,
rubbed the palms of his hands together and sat silent.
The waiter went behind the bar, took a large cup, turned
his back to us and did something — I could not see what
— but it seemed 'to involve a prolonged repetition of
Lorenzo's gesture. Then he arranged his tray with cups
u 289

Vig

nanova
and biscuits and brought it to us. He gave Luigi and
Lorenzo a small cup each. To me he gave the large cup
which already contained something frothy and a wooden
implement. He poured coffee into the little cups and
then filled up mine while Lorenzo turned the implement.
Luigi looked surprised, as though saying to himself, " Well,
that boy ! you never know what he will do next." What
he had done this time was to draw his own conclusions as
to my powers of endurance, and to act upon them by
telling the waiter that I was to have a couple of raw eggs
twisted up into my coffee.
We then went to the house of Virginia, Lorenzo's
mother, Luigi explaining to me as we walked along that
as his adorata mamma had not yet been dead six months
the ladies of the family could not go out ; but they might
receive me in their houses. When we got near the door
Lorenzo shouted to me :
" Mind your head ! "
I ducked and saved my hat.
The houses at Vignanova are nearly aU of the same
design. Each one is built round a courtyard with stairs
open to the court. They are let in floors and the door of
each set of apartments opens on to the landing. They
teU one that this is the form of the Arabian house, and
my Arabian courtyard is a particularly beautiful example
of it.
We went up the stairs, knocked at a door, and were
received by Lorenzo's father and mother. I was put to
sit on the sofa in the place of honour ; the others grouped
themselves round, Virginia, her husband, two girls, Luigi
and Lorenzo.
" At last," said Virginia with a sigh, " and after five
years ! "
290

Old Friends
After seven years," I replied, correcting her.
Seven years, is it ? And you look just the same. Lo

stesso."

" Stessissimo," said Luigi solemnly, " not a day older."
Then one of the girls brought a tray of glasses, papa
fiUed them with the family Uqueur, which they call
rosoHo, and we drank each other's healths. Virginia
asked after my sister. Papa inquired how long it takes
to travel from London to Vignanova, and whether one
comes aU the way by sea ; and I was beginning to wonder
what was going to happen next when suddenly Lorenzo
exclaimed :
" lamuninni ! "
I was ready to take the hint, if it can be caUed a hint —
for this word, " lamuninni," is SiciHan for " Andiamo-
cene," and means " Let us now go " — but no one
moved. I put my trust in Lorenzo, however, feel
ing sure that that boy would never have thrown
" lamuninni " into the assembly as one throws a stone
into a pond ; he must be going to foUow it up.
There came a few more questions about our perpetual
fog in London, and whether it ever rains in the summer,
and at last we reached the great, inevitable, final question
whether I intended to return to London aU in one journey
or by degrees, stopping at different places by the way ;
they are most particular about this, and I always try to
satisfy their curiosity punctiHously. On this occasion,
while I was doing my best to state my information In a
new form, Lorenzo cut me short, and justified my faith
in him by catching my eye, winHng again, nodding
his head and rising. FareweU salutes foUowed, and we
went out into the sun.
I was taken next to the house of the other sister, Rosina, 291

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nanova
who is a widow, and received by her, her daughter, Maria,
her son, Carlino, and his wife. CarUno has been in the
army ; as soon as the war was over and he was demobilized
he married. We aU sat round as before.
" At last," exclaimed Rosina, smiUng at me, " and
after five years ! "
" After seven years," I corrected.
" Seven years, is it ? So it is. And you look just the
same. Lo stesso."
" Stessissimo," said Luigi solemnly, " not a day older."
Here the glasses came out and we were served with
something which had peppermint in it, and Lorenzo
produced cigarettes. CarUno then began to tell us about
his experiences during the war, and his wife and mother
looked proud of him. First he went to Palermo, then to
Messina, then to — and so on. They aU give me a Ust of
the places they went to whfle on service, but Giovannino
was the first who told me that he had been to London.
He said that London was the finest city in the world,
finer than any other city ; he did not care what the other
city was, it might be Vienna or Paris pr New York, that
did not matter, London was finer than any of them. In
London he lived near the theatre. He could not teU me
which theatre and, indeed, seemed surprised to hear that
we have more than one in London ; nor could he teU me
the name of the street, but it was a street many kilometres
long, and in any town in Sicily it would be caUed Corso
Vittorio Emanuele ; he did not care which town in Sicily
-^Palermo, Siracusa, Caltanissetta — such a street would
be caUed Corso Vittorio Emanuele. He had also been
to Vienna, Paris and Trieste ; and to aU these places he
went for the same reason, namely, because he was in the
cavalry, which appeared to me insufficient, but it brought
292

Old Friends
him to his subject— the ItaUan cavalry, the finest in the
world, finer than that of any other nation, he did not care
what the other nation might be — EngHsh, nix ; French,
nix ; German, nix.
" And were you never wounded, CarUno ? " I asked.
" Never. ShaU I teU you why ? Because we SiciUans
do not know fear."
I thought of Sir Galahad in Tennyson's poem which
we read at school :
My good blade carves the casques of men.
My tough lance thrusteth sure.
My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure.
On this one of my schoolfeUows used to comment, " I do
not dispute that Sir Galahad's heart was pure. I reserve,
however, the right to form my own opinion as to the taste
which permitted the inclusion of the remark in an auto
biographical statement. Nor do I dispute that his
strength was as the strength of ten. If so, however, it
must have been not for the reason he gives but because
he was ten times as strong as any one man. That would
work out right. Probably he Intended to say, ' Besides '
instead of ' Because.' I should have had no objection to
his being irrelevant, but he ought not to be illogical."
Simflarly with CarUno. I beUeved that he was not
wounded ; if he had had a wound he certainly would
have wanted to show it to me ; but the reason for his
haring none must have been that the missiles went another
way. Like Sir Galahad, he ought to have said " Besides "
instead of " Because."
" I was never wounded. Besides we SiciUans do not
know fear."
And 'he cannot have been right in saying that he went 293

Vignanova

to aU those places he spoke of " because " he was in the
cavalry. Some other Sicflian soldiers must have been to
some of those towns besides the cavalry. He deUvered
his words : " We SiciUans do not know fear " as the
paladins deliver their speeches in the teatrino, and I said
to myself : " This may be patriotism, but it is patriotism
gone mad. I don't believe he ever went near the front.
He is very ready with his words, but I don't beheve he
has ever been outside Vignanova, It is only talk. The
readiness is all."
Maria had left us to proceed with her bread-maHng in a
back room and I was beginning to think that CarUno's
reminiscences ought to be bringing us near the Armistice
when suddenly Lorenzo, who either thought so too or
read my thoughts, again exclaimed :
" lamuninni."
" With pleasure," I replied ; but again no move was
made. It was only a preliminary announcement as
before, meaning that a change was imminent. It led
directly to thd questions about my journey and my pro
posed return, Lorenzo caught my eye, winked, nodded,
rose and we went.
We took a stroll to the Vflla, that is the Municipal
Garden where the band plays on Sundays, Thursdays and
festas, and whence there is a view over the sea. We
deplored the heat and agreed that, with the sea so near, it
was fresher than in the town ; and graduaUy we wandered
back. While we went along Luigi proposed, as though
it were a new idea :
" Shall we visit the family of Alessandro ? "
I had foreseen that this would have to be done and
now understood that it was not a new idea — that we had
been to the ViUa merely to waste time. While we were
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Old Friends
in the houses of his mother and his aunt that sympathetic
Lorenzo had hurried on the performance of the pro
gramme. We ought to have gone to Alessandro's family
immediately after Rosina, but we were in advance. I
regretted the waste of precious moments during which I
might have got a window or some corner of my Arabian
courtyard, but I was as powerless as a man going over
Niagara. We stroUed back to a house which we had just
passed, went in at the porte-cochere (" Mind your head,"
shouted Lorenzo again), upstairs to the second floor and
knocked, A woman in a night-gown opened the door
sHghtly, looked at us, and apologetlcaUy saying : " One
moment " disappeared, shutting the door again, " StIU
too soon," I said to myself. It was a strange feeling,
because it is seldom that one is too soon in Sicily.
For instance, my train that morning ought to have started
at 8.20 ; it did not have to come from anywhere, Castel
Hnaria was the terminus, but it was not ready, the engine
had to be mended first and we did not start till 9.40. It
made up some of the time on the journey and arrived at
Vignanova only one hour late.
The woman who had opened the door was Nina,
Alessandro's wife ; she now appeared again, properly
dressed, vrith the last baby, aged eight months, and let us
in. We sat round a table this time. Alessandro's eldest
daughter, Adriana, the second of his six children. Is a girl
of Lorenzo's age, seventeen, of quite extraordinary beauty.
Her face is of the pointed oval type, pale, with a perfect
nose, and the nose is where these beauties sometimes fail ;
black eyes ; long, fuU, black eyebrows ; quantities of
black hair arranged as for a festa ; and a friendly, happy,
contented smfle like sunshine after rain.
During my reception some one disappeared with 295

Vig

nanova

Instructions mysteriously given in dialect. Lorenzo
unostentatiously rebuttoned one of my shirt cuffs which
had become unfastened without my observing it ; and he
did it without asking permission or saying " Excuse me,"
as though it was his department to look after me. The
lovely girl brought a tray of glasses. While they were
being fiUed I heard sounds as of some one approaching
from the fioor below, and a magnificent lady in a pale blue
muslin dressing-gown, with lots of buttons, burst into the
room. " At last," exclaimed this personage, taking my hand ;
" And after five years ! "
" After seven years, dear Lady," I repHed, correcting
her. " Seven years, is it ? " said she. " And you look just
the same. Lo stesso."
" Stessissimo," said Luigi solemnly, " not a day older."
While we drank our rosollo we talked about one of my
previous visits when we aU went for a picnic in the
country. I was glad the conversation took this turn
because I was thereby reminded that this overwhelming
creature was the sister of Nina, and also the owner of the
house to which we went for our picnic. I regret to say
that I had forgotten her ; perhaps the fresh young beauty
of her niece had destroyed my memory of her matronly
charms. She now led the conversation, asked aU the
proper questions about my journey, and displayed inteUi
gent interest In the population of London, almost weeping
when she referred to the perpetual fog in which we live.
Nina did not say much, she was occupied with the baby,
Lorenzo perfectly understood that it was a pleasure to me
to gaze upon the beauty of his cousin Adriana, and delayed
his exclamation of " lamuninni " until I had begun to
296

Old Friends
fear he was overdoing it and that we should be turned
out. However, aU ended well and we got away without
trouble. As we went along in the sun I wondered what was
coming next, and whether I should not soon be too hungry
to sketch even a part of a doorway, and we wandered off
down a road which had not yet been taken by the parish and
arrived at a stabiUmento, a great courtyard with a weU
and fig-trees, a rambUng vine and shady cloisters. Here
we found Alessandro himself with a towel round his neck
being shaved. " Too soon again," I thought, but perhaps
not, and anyhow it did not matter. His reception of me
was mixed. In the first place, he was overwhelmed with
joy to see me again.
" At last," said Alessandro, " and after five years."
" After seven years, Alessandro," isaid I, correcting
him. " Seven years, is it ? " he repUed. " And you look
just the same. Lo stesso,"
" Stessissimo," said Luigi solemnly, " not a day older,"
That was aU very weU, but when Alessandro understood
that I was going back to CasteUinaria that evening he was
quite cross, that is he appeared to be. Of course he was
only acting, but he did it so weU that I felt bound to
repeat my promise t^ Luigi and to say I would stay for a
week next year. So I was forgiven, and he sent a man off
to a dark alcove in the cloister to fetch some vermouth.
There was no sofa in the stabiUmento and I was put on an
ordinary chair. I told Alessandro that we had been to
salute his famfly and congratulated him upon his daughter
Adriana. He received my compHment as though it was
the first he had heard of her being anything unusual ; but
poHtely, as though he remembered that there is no
297

Vignanova

accounting for tastes. I suppose this is the correct
behaviour for fathers, but if I had such a daughter I should
not be able to conceal my pride and deUght in her beauty.
While we were talking and drinking our vermouth a
smaU dog strolled across the doorway.
" Come here, Fritz," said Lorenzo.
And Fritz obediently came in.
" Eat a piece of bread, Fritz," said Lorenzo, holding
out a piece to him.
And Fritz ate the bread.
" Drink some wine, Fritz," said Lorenzo, offering him
his glass.
And Fritz wouldn't touch it ; he turned away, went
out and continued his stroU.
They told me that when Fritz was a puppy he one day
drank some wine and It made him drunk ; he was so much
disgusted with the result that they have never been able
to persuade, him to touch wine since.
The absence of a sofa made no difference to the ques
tions about the journey ; they were the same, including
the final question about whether I was proposing to
return all in one unbroken journey, or with stoppages.
This Interview was concluded not by Lorenzo's exclama
tion but by Luigi's leaving us, and saying that it was
dinner-time. I looked at my watch and wondered how
it was that I felt so weU in my inside notwithstanding
that it was 4,15 and I had been existing since dinner last
night on coffee, two eggs, rosollo, peppermint and
vermouth. The pain of parting with Alessandro was
alleviated by his remark that, although I was returning to
Castellinaria that evening, nevertheless we should meet
again before the train started. Lorenzo took my arm
and conducted me with extreme care, perhaps thinHng
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Old Friends
that I was faint, back to Luigi's house where we found
that things were moving. Luigi was not visible. I
supposed he might be superintending, and hoped he was
hurrying the preparations for the dinner. At five o'clock
he brought AureUo into the room and also Aurello's
daughter who had come for the day and was the person
who had been superintending the preparations. She
said that aU was ready. Lorenzo went home to his own
dinner and we adjourned to the dining-room. Dinner
was on the lines of the normal SiciHan dinner, spaghetti —
that is, thin macaroni — ^with tomato sauce and melan-
zane, which we caU egg-fruit or aubergines, sUced and
fried ; fish, with apologies for there being no meat in the
town to-day and only this inferior Hnd of fish, and it was
not at aU inferior ; chicken stewed in tomato sauce ; and
cakes vrith aU sorts of things in them, including almond
paste, jam and sugar ; Marsala to drink and coffee after
wards. Knowing the customs and that a room had been
prepared for me, I said I should like to repose, and was
shown into my bedroom. It may be that I had eaten
too much, but then I had waited a long time for it ; any
how I took off my shoes, lay down on the bed and slept
untfl Lorenzo came bringing back my shoes which he had
purloined without my being aware of it. They were
only dusty, as it does not rain during the summer ; so,
not having much to do to them, he had put in new laces.
He said it was past seven and time to get up ; we were, I
imagined, nearing the next item on the programme.
I got ready and we went to the piazza, and sat outside
the club under the portico where Alessandro found us, as
promised. He brought with him his son Michele, a
youth a year or two older than his beautiful daughter.
We did not see him at the house nor in the stabiUmento 299

Vignanova

because he is engaged in business during the daytime.
He, Hke his cousin CarUno, had been through the war and
also in the cavalry and gave us some of his experiences.
First, he went to Palermo, then to this town, then to
that, and so on. What I Hked best was his showing us
how the Italian cavalry worked. To see Michele kiUing
an Austrian would be a valuable lesson in gesture to any
one capable of profiting by it. We were all sitting round
eating ices and smoking cigarettes, and quite a crowd of
friends and neighbours collected while he went through
his performance. First he glared at his enemy, then held
his lance in rest, then glared at him again ; then, with a
noise like tearing calico, he plunged his lance into him ;
at the same moment he enharmonicaUy became the
Austrian, his tongue loUed out, he uttered guttural
sounds, his eyes dilated, his head feU back. He was not
like Georges in Paris, he had no objection to killing people.
Nor had he any more objection to repeating his gestures
than his cousin had to repeating his swagger. He must
have poHshed off a dozen Austrians at least for our
benefit ; aiid I was so pleased with him that I did not
notice that my cigarette had gone out tiU Lorenzo
relighted it for me.
After Michele's reminiscences I was introduced to
some of the friends who had collected round us, and they
aU duly inquired how long it was since last I was in Vigna
nova, how long it takes to travel from London to Sicily,
and whether, when I returned, I intended to make the
journey aU in one or to divide it by stopping now and
then on the way.
Then we sent a joint post-card to Tommaso in Florence
to tell him how much we had enjoyed our day together
and to show him that we had been thinking of him.
300

Old Friends
After which I was taken to the station. The train, unUke
my train in the morning, was punctual. It came at
22.35 *^^ deUvered me at Castellinaria at 23,20. They
told me that sometimes it is late — so late as not to arrive
at CastelHnaria tiU six the next morning. If we had had
to spend five or six hours waiting in the station I wonder
whether Lorenzo's resources would have been equal to the
strain. Mine would not.
And my sketch of the Arabian courtyard ? This
chapter is aU I have to offer, and it must do duty till
next year when I return and spend the promised week
with Luigi in his house.

301

Palermo

To Sebastian Sprott

Chapter 44 Carmelo
IT was Saturday morning In Palermo, and I had made
arrangements to leave next day In the steamboat for
Naples. Ambhng along the Via Maqueda, I left the
shade and was crossing a broad open piazza when a young
man rushed out of the darkness of a caffe and embraced
me in the midst of the sunshine. It was Carmelo,
Giovanni Grasso with his SiciHan Dramatic Company,
including Carmelo, had crossed from Naples In the night
and was to open that evening with Feudalismo. Carmelo
took me back to his caffe, gave me a cup of coffee, and
introduced me to his father-in-law, who, after saying
that he had heard of me, took this opportunity of con
sulting me about the future prospects of his brother who
went to the war and served as cook in the Croce Rossa
Itahana ; there he made the acquaintance of a number of
EngHsh officers who aU thought very highly of him both
as a man and as a cook.
" And you must know," said Carmelo's father-in-law,
" that my brother is exceUent in both capacities ; indeed,
it would be difficult to determine whether he Is more
exceUent as the one or as the other."
I was wanting to talk to Carmelo, to hear what had
been happening to him and to aU the members of the
company, how long he had been married, how many
chfldren he had, and what was now his position. But no.
x 305

Palermo
We must proceed with the man-cook. The point was
this : could not I, as an EngUshman, exert myself to find
in London for Carmelo's father-in-law's brother some
position worthy of his great talents ?
I protested that, although I prefer to have my food
properly cooked, nevertheless, whatever Carmelo might
have said about me, I have but Httle practical knowledge
of cooHng. I can make toast and bofl an egg ; but my
roasting of meat and frying of fish would hardly go down.
and as for made dishes — I should not know what to make
them of.
No, no, that was not necessary. He wanted me to find
some employment. It would be a great thing for his
brother to be estabUshed in London. Surely I could see
that !
I saw that, but had no idea how to bring it to pass.
" Surely you must have friends who are in want of
cooks ? "
" Sq I have — ladles. And they generaUy object to
risHng the loss of the fare to London and back of a cook
who proposes to come from, say, Devonshire to be inter
viewed. What would be the fare from Palermo to
London and back in case my lady friends did not come to
terms with your brother ? "
Carmelo's father-in-law did not know, nor did I.
" But why," I proceeded, " should not your brother
apply to some of those EngHsh officers who have already
had experience of his gifts and who think so highly of
him both as a man and as a cook ? "
"Ah there! That is just it. Unfortunately my
brother did not have the activity of mind to think of
asking any of them for his name and address."
I saw no more of Carmelo's father-in-law after that
306

Carmelo
confession, and came to the conclusion that my inspiration
about his brother's officer friends had saved me.
Carmelo hailed a victoria, and we drove to the next
street, where the theatre was. Sicilians walk as little as
possible ; in the summer the heat is not merely excessive,
that could be stood for a time, it is continuous, day and
night, and this persistence Is what gives it the
rictory. We entered the theatre by the stage door and found
Carmelo's wife and baby, a girl a few months old named
Checchina. I gave her my keys to play with, and Carmelo
said :
"Oh don't do that, she'U only put them into her
mouth." I repHed " Yes, I know. I always give babies my keys,
and they always put them into their mouths."
So I gave Checchina my keys, and she put them into
her mouth, and took them out, shook them, laughed at
them, and put them into her mouth again while we
talked about things in general. Carmelo is now the
macchinista to the company, which means that he sets
the scenery. He has two assistants, who were aheady at
work on Feudalismo for the evening, and presently we
joined them on the stage. Carmelo gave me a chair
and attended to his work.
I kept on thinHng of Checchina and my keys. I
wonder why it is, I said to myself, that the Holy Child
never puts into his mouth the shining boxes and vases
offered to him by the Three Kings in the pictures of the
Adoration of the Magi ? He must have done so in real
Hfe ; but I do not remember to have seen him doing so
in any picture. If the artists are right, then when King
Melchiorre, we wiU say, returned home and went to bed
X* 307

Palermo
that night, a conversation on the foUowing lines must have
taken place :
King Melchiorre. " You remember, my love, that
golden vase encrusted with jewels ? Well, I opened it
to show the franHncense you had packed so neatly
inside  "
The Queen. " I didn't pack it myself, I got CoUins to
do that ; she is a capital packer — one of the best I've ever
had. But go on."
King Melchiorre. " WeU, I offered the Ud to the baby
to play with. He looked at it and seemed pleased with
the jewels ; he held out both hands, but he did not take
it." The Queen. " Not take it ? But didn't he put it into
his mouth ? "
King Melchiorre. " No, he did not even touch it."
The Queen. " What a remarkable Baby ! AU our
children always put everything into their mouths'. There
must be something unusual about this Child ; I've said so
aU along — ever since we saw his star in the East."
King Melchiorre. " My dear, we didn't. We saw
his star In the West ; we were in the East."
The Queen. " WeU, isn't that what I said ? We in
the East saw his star."
King Melchiorre. " Oh that's what you mean ! It's
rather an involved way of putting it, isn't it ? "
The Queen. " Of course, if you're going to be disagree
able — What is the matter with you ? Your outing
doesn't seem to have done you much good."
And so on — leading to one of those lovers' quarrels
which, with their redintegrations, do so much, if I have
been correctly informed, to reheve the tedium of enforced
monogamy. 308

Carmelo
Of course Melchiorre and his queen had not yet reaHzed
what had actuaUy happened at Bethlehem, or they would
not have taUced Hke that. But I think that no such
conversation can have taken place because the Baby must
have put the things into his mouth ; and the painters
were not aUowed to say so because the conventions for
pictures of the Adoration were dictated by the priests,
who, of course, were unmarried. StiU they need not
have been such unobservant old bachelors.
And Carmelo and his men went on hammering, and
the scenery for Feudalismo went on taHng shape. The
background was finished — the interior of a miU with bags
of flour on the floor, sieves hanging up, and implements
lying about. There was a griUe through which Giovanni,
as Vanni the Shepherd, was to look, and a practicable
door through wliich he was to burst and conclude the
last act by punishing the perfidy of the cavahere. He
does this by holding him down, forcing his head back,
and biting his throat tiU you see the blood come. But it
is not reaUy blood. It is the cavahere's red tie which he
has been wearing aU the evening, and you did not notice
it tfll the action puts blood into your mind, and you
beheve for the moment that it has just begun to flow.
Another opening appeared in the background with a
turn to the right, so that it made an alcove. There comes
an emotional moment in the play when Vanni and his
wife, Rosina, are having supper — or rather, are sitting at
the supper-table ; the strain is too great for them to eat ;
they have just become aware of the facts of the situation,
Vanni bursts into tears and cannot bear to be seen crying
at table ; he staggers off to the alcove and faUs on the
floor in a heap, with his back to the audience, heaving
and sobbing and breaking his heart. One evening, when 309

Palermo
they were doing the play in London, I was behind, close
to the exit from the alcove, hidden from the audience,
but Giovanni, whose face was turned away from them,
saw me. He smiled at me through his tears, nodded his
head, winked, and said " Buona sera, Enrico ! " aU the
time continuing his throbs and the heaving of his
shoulders. I thought of Le Paradoxe sur le Comedien, and of how
the author labours his point that the actor does not reaUy
experience the emotion he portrays, until long after the
reader has wished to stop him by exclaiming : " The
Court is with you. Monsieur Diderot."
' And StiU Carmelo and his men went on nailing and
nailing, leaning finished bits of scenery up against the
waU out of their way, and hammering and hammering
again ; and people came in and interrupted with messages,
and we sent off messages in reply ; and the mosquitoes
began to be troublesome ; and it got to be nearly five
o'clock. Soon the work was finished, and Carmelo took
me round to the entrance and left me in the room of the
door-keeper, whose wife was mending Hnen, and Carmelo's
wife was helping her, while Checchina lay asleep in the
middle of an enormous bed with my keys still grasped in
her hand. Here he left me while he went and took off
his overaUs and cleaned himself. Presently he returned,
we detached my keys and proceeded to dinner.

310

Chapter 45 Feudalismo
WE returned to the theatre for the evening
performance and found ourselves in the midst
of all the company. I had seen none of them
since last they were in London before the war, and, as
they had not aU come to London, there were some whom
I had not seen for a stfll longer time. Carmelo stood by
me, and if I did not remember the name of any of them,
he prompted me. The children had grown up, and of
course I did not recognize them ; they were now acting
with the rest. In the midst of them was Giovanni. As
soon as he saw me he shouted :
" Ah, Enrico ! Bravo ! "
He came up to me, put his two hands on my shoulders
and said :
" The four quarters of the globe are five in number, and
they are the three foUowing : — ^Enrico, Giovanni."
I repHed : " Bravo, Giovanni. You have not forgotten
our supper under the stars."
" Giovanni can never forget his brother Enrico. And
for how long are you here ? "
" I leave to-morrow for Naples."
" But you are coming to see me play to-night ? "
" I intended to leave Palermo last Wednesday, but I
saw the notices in the town : ' On Saturday the Com-
mendatore Giovanni Grasso  311

Palermo
" Oh come, come ! Drop the Commendatore. For
you I am always ' Giovanni.' "
I began afresh.
" Lsaw the notices announcing that my dear brother
Giovanni with his SiciHan Dramatic Company would
open on Saturday with Feudalismo. How could I leave
on Wednesday ? How could I leave without coming to
see you once more as Vanni ? "
" Thank you ! thank you ! "
Then he turned to the company and shouted to aU
who might be within hearing :
" This is Enrico, and he is as free to come in and go out
and return again as any other member of the company."
But this does not include my having a seat, because the
acting company and the management of the theatre are
not the same. If I want a seat among the audience, I
go to the box-office and buy one Hke any member of the
public. Thinking I should Hke to see Giovanni from the
front, as I had not seen him for so long, I went to the
place where tickets were being sold,. There was a crowd,
and it appeared hopeless to expect to get through.
Nevertheless in some mysterious way I had no difficulty
in getting absorbed among the strugglers, and in an
unexpectedly short time was interviewing the man. I
took what he handed to me and paid a lira and a half. All
I bought, however, was a ticket giving me the right to
enter the theatre, which Giovanni had aheady given me
gratis. The ticket man had nothing more to sell ; the
seats were aU disposed of. I turned and found that there
was still a crowd ; it had closed up behind me, and I was
confronted with the difficulty of getting out through it.
A voice shouted : " Let the gentleman pass. Don't you
see he wants to get out ? " " Very kind," I thought ;
312

Feudalismo
and again, mysteriously the crowd let me through. I
had not gone ten paces before I seemed to be waking from
a dream and was impeUed, automaticaUy, as the natural
thing to do, to ascertain whether that pocket-book, which
the NeapoUtan tram-car thief had failed to steal, was stfll
in that back pocket of my trousers. It was gone. The
Palermitan thief had not cut my trousers ; he had just
abstracted the book. " No good doing anything," I said
to myself. I had not looked at the people round me, and
should never have recognized any one. Fortunately
there was no money in the pocket-book — only my diary
to date, a few appointments for the rest of the year, some
addresses, cards and photographs such as one accumulates
on a journey, and rough statements of accounts. " I
shaU want some of those addresses," I said to myself.
" And those accounts, though they are incomplete and so
confusing that I don't understand them myself. If the
thief can make anything of them, I hope he will com
municate the result to me, even if he does not restore the
book. After aU, it is the diary that matters most."
I have kept a diary nearly aU my Hfe — only three or four
Unes a day, but I have come to rely on it ; It is my
memory. The only time I was ever robbed before was
in my own native London, just after the war had begun
and before aU the pickpockets had joined up. lago says :
" Who steals my purse steals trash " ; but that depends
upon how much there is in it at the time, and my purse
had about three pounds in it when that pickpocket stole
it. If lago intended us to understand that, however
much money his purse had in it, money Is, after aU, filthy
lucre — dirt — then he was anticipating the ingenious man
who defined dfl-t as matter out of place, money being
usuaUy in some one else's possession. But (to continue 313

Palermo
in the lago manner) he that filches from me my good
memory for more than half a year robs me of that which
not enriches him and makes me poor indeed. And this
Palermitan pickpocket had robbed me of the slipperiest
part of my memory, for as one grows older one remembers
most vividly the things that happened years ago and
forgets most easfly the things that happened yesterday.
This had often appeared to me disputable ; I now began
to realize its truth, though I did not suppose that by
to-morrow I should have forgotten the loss of my pocket-
book. In the meantime I kept on repeating to myself : " No
good doing anything ; and especially I must not tell
Giovanni ; it would be like accusing his managers.
Naples ought to have been a lesson to me ; but some
people wiU never learn."
By this time I was back behind the scenes again and
had found Carmelo, who having no part in the play was
free to talk to me. Besides talHng to Carmelo, I had to
attend to Feudalismo, and to observe as much as I could
of the acting through any cracks which he and his men
had left In their scenery. But I was too much pre
occupied by my loss to give proper attention to the play.
I must not tell Giovanni. That, however, was no reason
for not teUing Carmelo, and I wanted to teU some one.
So I told Carmelo.
" You take it very easily," said he. " Why don't you
curse the whole island and aU its inhabitants ? "
" Why should I ? " I replied. " These things happen
in every country ; pickpockets are Iflce microbes, always
about ; one can take precautions, but no one is safe. It
was my own fault. I, an obvious EngUshman— you've
only got to look at my clothes, as the buffo said— go,
314

Feudalismo
practicaUy carrying my pocket-book on the end of a fork,
into one of the most Ukely crowds in the city and shut my
eyes ; naturaUy some one takes it."
" WeU, if you put it Uke that ; but  "
" Besides," I continued. " Why curse the island and
aU its inhabitants ? The logical attitude is not to blas
pheme but to be thankful that there was no money in it."
Then it flashed into my head that this was the third
loss, first the raflway ticket in Paris, then my watch in
the train, now my pocket-book which St. Antoine had
saved for me in Naples. I suppose he thought he had
done enough. I began to teU Carmelo about my mis
fortunes when another thing flashed into my head — I was
not wearing Pietro's coral ! I had taken it off to wash that
morning, and had left it in my room at the hotel. I
coiJdn't make such a confession to Carmelo, nor to any
Sicflian ; and especiaUy I must never let Pietro suspect.
My mind was so occupied with this disturbing reflection
that I did not hear what Carmelo was saying, though I
was dimly aware that he was taUdng. I now turned my
attention to him :
" We might try S. Antonio," he was saying. " But
this is a robbery, which is not quite in his Hne. It's not
the same thing as an ordinary loss."
Then an idea struck me. " WiU the poUce help ? " I
asked. " The poHce ! " said Carmelo with contempt. " The
Mafia, if you like."
" I have not the honour of the acquaintance of any
Mafioso." Carmelo was silent.
I said : " Do you think that S. Antonio is in league
with the Mafia, and if I go to his altar, teU him aU about 315

Palermo
it, and offer him twenty francs, he will do the rest ? "
" You can try," said Carmelo.
" I shall not have time ; I leave for Naples to-morrow
evening." " We shaU be here for a month," said Carmelo. " I'll
do what I can for you."
And so, hoping for the best, I left him.

316

Chapter 46 Addio BufFo
SUNDAY morning came, and there was not so much
to do as I had thought when talking to Carmelo ;
after I had bought my ticket by the night boat for
Naples and finished my pacHng, I only had to take leave of
the buffo. I went to the marionette theatre and found
him preparing for the first performance.
" I'm going away this evening. Buffo, and I've come to
say good-bye."
" You wfll miss a great deal. Orlando has now kiUed
Don Chiaro and is on his way  "
" I cannot wait for it. I am very sorry. I have some
thing to teU you before you teU me any more about the
story. You know I cannot go on coming to Palermo
every year for ever. There must be a time which wiU be
the last, and it may turn out to be this time. I am only
sixty-nine as yet, but . . ."
He interrupted me : " So that by tuning your mando
line a Uttle sharp, you can almost say that you have
aheady attained the three -score years and ten which
people talk about."
"That's it. Not that I am thinHng of dying just
yet, there are several things I want to do first, but you
know . . ."
" I know. Few people live to be ninety, and even if
you succeed in Hring another twenty years you wiU be
317

Palermo
getting feeble before you've done it, and everything wiU
be more difficult."
" Just what I was going to say. Now the process of
getting ,old is the process of lightening the ship — of
throwing overboard those things which life has taught
us are not indispensable. Putting aside abnormal
people . . ."
He interrupted me again : " What is the matter with
you ? You never talked like this before."
" I have had a warning."
" Oh, weU, if it comes to that, I've had a warning.
Several warnings. You cannot go through aU that fight
ing, and be wounded twice, and nearly have your leg off
without feehng that you've had a warning. And I'm
only half your age."
" By the by, Buffo ; why didn't they amputate your
leg ? I'm very glad they didn't; but what was the
reason ? "
" Because I would not let them. You had promised
to come to Palermo again after the war, and I thought
to myself : ' If I have my leg off, Enrico wiU say " Where
is my buffo ? That is only part of him come to meet
me ; where is the rest of him ? " ' "
" That was quite right of you. Buffo. But I hope that
keeping it on is not much trouble to you."
" It does hurt sometimes. But I was going to teU you
— Besides those warnings, I've had another. Last night
Malagigi appeared to me."
" What ! Malagigi, the Emperor of Magic ? "
" Yes ; the cousin of Rinaldo,"
" He died in a grotto in Asia, and I saw his skeleton
rattle up out of his tomb and give his posthumous instruc
tions to Guido Santo and Argantino,"
318

Addio Buffo
"That's right. WeU, Malagigi appeared to me last
night in a dream and said : ' Enrico wiU come to-morrow
to salute you for the last time. Be prepared.' I might
try to make things easier for both of us by saying that I
am sure you wiU return to Palermo and see Monte Pelle
grino again next year, but after what Malagigi said last
night, and after what you have just said, I do not Hke to
do so."
" Perhaps he only meant the last time for this journey,
not the last time for ever."
" Perhaps. That's the worst of these magicians and
dream people ; they are so fond of leaving loopholes."
" Anyhow we can hope that I shaU come, and I wiU try
and stay longer, and we wfll make another ' Escape from
Paris ' together next time, won't we ? "
" You have not been so long as usual this year. Which
day did you arrive ? "
"I do not know. Oh, yes, Ido. I can just remember.
The day you met me on the steamer was June 15.
But you must be careful how you ask me questions
Hke that, because I am losing my memory. That is what
I wanted to teU you. You know, when one loses one's
memory, it is the beginning of the end."
" Nonsense. Your memory is aU right."
" It has begun to go. Try asHng me the birthdays of
the Royal Famfly. Or, look here, ask me how many
ecHpses we have aheady had this year, and how many
more are due before December 31, and which are
risible and which invisible at Greenwich, and you'U find
I cannot teU you. This time yesterday I could have
told you in about half a minute — also the rates of postage,
foreign as weU as inland. But not now."
" This is getting serious," said the buffo sympathetic- 319

Palermo
ally. " It is the inabiUty to remember things Hke this
that turns one's hair grey before its time. Now, if you
were one of the paladins, I should know what to do about
it." " What should you do ? "
" Send Astolfo to fetch back your lost memory
from the moon, as he fetched back the lost wits of
Orlando." " It is most awfuUy good of you. Buffo, and I wish you
would. It may save him from faUing a victim to the wiles
of some sorceress disguised as a pilgrim. And what with
that, and Carmelo's talking to S. Antonio, I shouldn't
wonder — Oh, yes, and the Mafia — why, I shouldn't
wonder if I found my pocket-book waiting for me as soon
as I get home."
" Now what is this ? What is aU this about Carmelo,
and S. Antonio, and pocket-books, and the Mafia ? "
Then I realized that I had not yet told him specificaUy
what had happened in Giovanni's theatre the preceding
evening. " I am very sorry about this," he said, when he had
heard my story.
" There Is some hope, and you are probably doing aU
that can be done. I wiU send Astolfo to the moon this
very evening. And Carmelo wiU be visiting S. Antonio.
But he must not make any mistake and go to the wrong
one." " Are there two ? "
" Certainly. He must not go to S. Antonio in the
Desert. He had temptations and goes about with a pig ;
he is no use for recovering lost property. He must pray
to S. Antonio of Padua."
" What does he go about with ? "
320

Addio Buffo
" With the Chfld Christ on one arm and a lily in his
other hand. He'U find anything for you."
And I began to wonder whether perhaps Georges had
gone to the wrong one in Paris ; if so that would explain
his failure with my losses.
" I must warn Carmelo," I said. " I'U send him a
post-card before the boat starts this evening. These
double saints make traps for us poor ignorant believers."
" Yes," he agreed, " it's Hke caUing up the wrong
number on the telephone."
" Anyhow," I said, " there is always the Mafia. Do
you suppose that Carmelo wiU be able to do anything
tiiere ? "
" It's your best chance ; he is just the sort of person to
work it. You see, these thieves meet together and share
their plunder. When your thief shows that he has only
got papers — no money — ^he might perhaps give up the
pocket-book for a recompense."
" Who is he to give it up to ? Carmelo ? "
" Carmelo may be able Vo manage something. He is
more likely to succeed with the Mafia than with
S. Antonio."
" If anything comes of aU this," I said, " if I ever do
recover my pocket-book memojy, I shaU take it as a sign
that I am not so old as I sometimes feel — or rather that I
am not so near the end as I sometimes fancy. And if
nothing comes of it, then, whenever it shall please the
Padre Eterno to complete the work begun last night by
that thief in the theatre  "
" Ah, but when the Padre Eterno does that, he wiU
take with your memory the power of grizzHng over the
loss of it."
" So he wiU, Buffo. That is a comforting reflection. 321

Palermo
But what I was going to say is that with the last remnant
of my memory I shall be thinking of . . ."
" Stop," he said, laying his two hands on my shoulders
as Giovanni does when he wants to be impressive, " I
know what you were going to say, and you need not say
it. I know that as long as you remember anything, you
wiU remember me ; and you know that it is the same with
me — as long as I remember anything, I shall remember
you." " You are quite right, Buffo ; but it is a satisfaction
sometimes to put into words an idea that is floating in
one's brain. And this, now I think of it, is what you
have just done instead of letting me do it."
" It is what all artists are doing all the time," he repHed.
" It is what you are doing when you write your books
about your travels."
" Yes, and it is what you are doing in the teatrino."
So we both laid our hands on each other's shoulders
again, embraced In the Sicilian manner, and parted — to
meet again ? Who knows ?

Postscript
Carmelo to Enrico.
Palermo, August, 1920.
My dearest Enrico,
It is now some time since I had the pleasure of writing
to you. I am quite well and hope that you also are
enjoying good health. I often think of the happy time
we spent together in Palmero, and of all we said to one
another, and of aU we did together ; and I look forward
to the day when I shall next see you — ^perhaps in London,
322

Addio Buffo
when the company comes there again, which ought not
to be very far in the future.
I spoke of the loss of your pocket-book to a friend of
mine who knows some of the Mafiosi. He told me that
he was present at the meeting when the thief who stole
your pocket-book produced it to the others. None of
them would beheve what he said. They accused him
of having taken the money out. There was a fight,
and your thief was wounded. He was so angry about
being wounded for doing his duty and for speaking the
truth that he revenged himself by burning your pocket-
book. So you wiU never see it again ; but you have the
satisfaction of knowing that he was punished, for he was
woimded rather severely.
We leave Palermo to-morrow. I wiU write to you
again as soon as I can, and if we go to America, I will
bring you back a ricordo from that country.
My wife, my mother-in-law, my father-in-law, and
Checchina, aU wish to be remembered to you, and I am
always your affectionate friend Carmelo.

323

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