“Beasts of the ancients. Beasts that nobody knows. Beasts that have
horns—like certain Christians. . . .”
From the terrace of green sward that fronts this ruined monastery you
can see the little town of Corigliano, whose coquettish white houses
lie in a fold of the hills. Corigliano—[Greek: xorion hellaion] (land
of olives): the derivation, if not correct, is at least appropriate,
for it lies embowered in a forest of these trees. A gay place it was,
in Bourbon times, with a ducal ruler of its own. Here, they say, the
remnants of the Sybarites took refuge after the destruction of their
city whose desolate plain lies at our feet, backed by the noble range
of Dolcedorme. Swinburne, like a sensible man, takes the Sybarites
under his protection; he defends their artificially shaded streets and
those other signs of voluptuousness which, to judge by certain modern
researches, seem to have been chiefly contrived for combating the demon
of malaria. Earthly welfare, the cult of material health and ease—such
was _their_ ideal.
In sharpest contrast to these strivings stands the aim of those old
monks who scorned the body as a mere encumbrance, seeking spiritual
enlightenment and things not of this earth.
And now, Sybarites and Basileans—alike in ruins!
A man of to-day, asked which of the two civilizations he would wish
restored, would not hesitate long in deciding for the Hellenic one.
Readers of Lenormant will call to mind his glowing pages on the wonders
that might be found buried on the site of Sybaris. His plan of
excavation sounds feasible enough. But how remote it becomes, when one
remembers the case of Herculaneum! Here, to our certain knowledge, many
miracles of antique art and literature lie within a few feet of our
reach; yet nothing is done. These hidden monuments, which are the
heritage of all humanity, are withheld from our eyes by the
dog-in-the-manger policy of a country which, even without foreign
assistance, could easily accomplish the work, were it to employ thereon
only half the sum now spent in feeding, clothing and supervising a
horde of criminals, every one of whom ought to be hanged ten times
over. Meanwhile other nations are forbidden to co-operate; the
fair-minded German proposals were scornfully rejected; later on, those
of Sir Charles Waldstein.
“What!” says the _Giornale d’ Italia, “_are we to have international
excavation-committees thrust upon us? Are we to be treated like the
Turks?”
That, gentle sirs, is precisely the state of the case.
The object of such committees is to do for the good of mankind what a
single nation is powerless or unwilling to do. Your behaviour at
Herculaneum is identical with that of the Turks at Nineveh. The system
adopted should likewise be the same.