CAVA AND BEYOND
Uncle Jim had volunteered no explanation about Paestum, neither Aunt
Caroline nor Marion had spoken on the subject, and Irma had been too
busy packing to study her guidebook. So as they left Naples, as she
looked from the railway carriage, she could but wonder what was before
her. Soon passing the thickly settled environs of Naples they were in a
region of small farms. The season had been late, and the vines were not
far advanced, but there were many workers in the fields and some of the
vines trained on poles showed a certain amount of leafage. After a
while, they had passed the slopes of Vesuvius, and then began to
realize, by the panting of their engine, that they were going up hill.
"We stay at Cava for the night, and to-morrow go to Paestum. Of course
you know about Paestum," said Uncle Jim teasingly.
"I am contented with Cava," replied Irma.
At dusk the little Cava station gave no hint of what the place was. A
group of _facchini_ fell upon their baggage, the four were hurried into
a carriage, and after driving through a long, quiet street, they reached
the outskirts. Here, at the entrance of a house in a garden, a fat
landlady welcomed them with many bows. A _facchino_ with a green apron
took some bags, a diminutive _cameriera_, in scarlet skirt and pink
blouse, seized others, and soon Irma found herself in a small room
filled with massive inlaid furniture. Curtesying low, the little
_cameriera_ quickly returned with a can of hot water. Left to herself,
Irma was a trifle lonely, and she was glad when the little maid returned
to guide her to the dining-room. There she heard a strange mixture of
accents, as she entered the room. Her uncle came forward and led her to
a seat. As she watched and listened, she found that her opposite
neighbors were Germans, while beside her was an Italian lady. Now indeed
she was in a foreign country. The dinner, too, was different from the
conventional table d'hote of their Naples hotel. Irma refused an
elaborate dish of macaroni, remembering the curtains of yellow macaroni
drying in untidy places, that she had noticed from the train.
"If you don't eat macaroni," said Uncle Jim, understanding her
reluctance, "you will often have to go hungry."
In the morning Irma woke to the depressing sound of rain.
"No Paestum, to-day!" exclaimed Uncle Jim, as she took her seat at
breakfast.
"Paestum! What is Paestum?" she asked, and after that he permitted her
to eat in peace.
All the morning the rain poured in torrents, to the discouragement of
two or three parties of automobilists, who had planned a trip to
Paestum, and a return to Naples by the Amalfi road. Most of the men
wandered about the huge house aimlessly, dropping occasionally into a
chair in the sitting-room, trying vainly to help time pass more quickly
by reading the month-old newspapers and magazines on the little center
table. A few wrote letters, and a number of men and women gathered in
little groups to compare notes about past or future travels.
Marion held himself aloof from the three or four other young people in
the house. He sat in the furthest corner of the long drawing-room,
buried in a book, and he said not a word to Irma during the whole
morning. As for Irma, she spent perhaps an hour on her diary that she
had neglected for a day or two. Opposite her, at the center table, was a
girl of about her own age. Often the two paused from their labors--for
the girl was also writing--at about the same moment. Finally the other
girl broke the rather oppressive silence by asking Irma if she was on
her way to or from Naples. Learning that Irma had been in Italy hardly a
week, she informed her that she had been there all winter, and with her
parents was now on her way to Naples. She questioned Irma about the best
shops in Naples, and Irma was able to give her some addresses she
wished. She in turn told Irma of many shops and other things of interest
in Rome and Florence. Those Irma entered carefully in her notebook.
While the two were thus occupied, Marion rose and passed them on his way
to the door. When he had left the room the other girl leaned toward
Irma.
"Isn't that Marion Horton?"
"Why, yes; do you know him?"
"No. But I have heard a great deal about him, as he visits cousins of
mine. It is strange to see him in Europe. I should think he would be at
home now."
"Why shouldn't he be in Europe?"
"Surely you must have heard the story if you left New York only a few
weeks ago."
"I don't know what story you refer to," responded Irma with dignity.
"Marion is travelling with my uncle and aunt. He is a relation of
theirs."
"He is in your party? Then you must have heard----"
But at that moment the porter brought a message summoning Madge Gregg to
get ready at once for a train that would start in half an hour for
Naples. This unexpected departure put all thoughts of Marion Horton out
of Madge's mind. She gathered up her writing materials, bade Irma
good-by, expressing the hope that they might meet again.
"What can the story be?" thought Irma. "Marion is sometimes queer, and
yet--I do not believe he has done anything wrong." Still she felt that
for the present it would be wiser not to question her uncle and aunt
about Marion. Sometime they would tell her what they wished her to know.
After _dejeuner_ the rain ceased, and by three o'clock the sun was
shining.
"This was a fortunate storm that kept us here, for they say that up
there on the hills there's an interesting old monastery, such as we may
not see again. The carriage will be here in ten minutes, so run and get
your bonnet and shawl, as they used to say in old novels," said Uncle
Jim.
Soon they were on their way to the monastery, Uncle Jim, Aunt Caroline,
and Irma.
"Aren't you coming with us?" Aunt Caroline had asked Marion, as they
started.
"Oh, I'll follow; I have arranged with a donkey boy to take me."
"Is it possible that he's going to ride?" asked Aunt Caroline.
"I'm sure I don't know. There are times when it's best not to question
Marion. Haven't you found that out, Irma?" said Uncle Jim.
"I do not know Marion very well," replied Irma.
"But you ought to be great friends, you are so near of an age, and
almost cousins."
The country through which they drove for a quarter of an hour was very
pretty, with many trees and shrubs that looked particularly green and
fresh after the recent rain, and the hilly roads were far less muddy
than they had expected. From one high point they had a delightful view
of the village they had just left, circled by hills. On one was a ruined
castle, on another the remains of an old monastery where a hermit monk
was said to live. Irma felt that now she was indeed in the old world. On
two or three hills she noted slender, gray stone towers, and through
Aunt Caroline the driver explained that they were used for snaring
pigeons.
"From those little openings, like portholes, small white stones are
thrown out, which the pigeons mistake for food, and as they swoop down
upon it they are snared in nets cleverly contrived for their capture."
"That seems cruel," cried Irma.
"But it would be still more cruel to deprive a lot of hungry people of
their pigeon pie," said Uncle Jim.
Now turning their backs on the lovely view, the carriage went up a
higher hill. It passed an occasional simple cottage, and they met two or
three groups of people evidently returning from a visit to the
monastery. They stopped for a moment at a church in front of which was a
stone on which the driver said Pope Urban II had dismounted more than
nine hundred years ago. A few minutes later they were at their goal, the
old Benedictine Monastery, La Trinita della Cava.
"Ought we to go in before Marion arrives?" Aunt Caroline's tone implied
that she thought they should wait.
"Marion is too uncertain, and the hours for visiting the monastery are
limited!"
Soon the door opened, showing a pleasant-faced monk standing there to
welcome them. Before they went within he halted at the entrance,
explaining that a handful of churchmen had established themselves here
in the very early days because on these remote heights they could be
comparatively safe from marauders.
"It is certainly a natural fortress," responded Uncle Jim, looking from
the steep cliff on which they stood to the narrow river bed, far, far
below. "And a few sharp-shooting bowmen up here on the heights could
keep off any number of the enemy. Come, Irma. Can't you imagine the
venturesome Lombards creeping up the ravine, only to be held back by the
storm of arrows?"
"But it could only be for a little time. In the end I am sure that the
bold Northerners won. I don't know how it was in this particular case,
as all traces of the Lombards in this region have now passed away. They
were so few compared with the native races, and now the people here are
Italians pure and simple."
"Your theories are interesting," said Aunt Caroline, as they followed
the monk inside, "but unfortunately for them the convent here was
founded by a member of an old Lombard family. The site was chosen for
defence, probably against marauding nobles."
Their guide spoke clearly and slowly and Aunt Caroline easily
translated what he said. He told them that the convent gave a school and
college training to boys of good family, and that these large and
attractive halls had been provided for them. In the library were some
good old pictures, but the most valuable treasures were the ancient
manuscripts, among them the laws of the Lombards on parchment of the
early eleventh century, and a Bible of the early eighth century. But for
all this there was time for only a passing impression, and Uncle Jim was
rather amused by the awe with which Irma regarded them. On their way out
they saw a number of boys walking up and down the cloisters, arrayed in
long surpliced coats that made them look like very youthful priests.
"They are intended for the Church," explained Aunt Caroline, "but those
smaller boys in ordinary clothes will go into other professions. I am
sorry," she added a moment later, as they stood in an ancient room,
built into the solid rock,--almost the only thing remaining of the
original abbey, "that Marion will miss this. It is too late, our guide
tells me, for us to get admission to the church, and we must bid him
good-by here."
So, after their monk had dropped their visitor's fee in a collection box
near the door, they went down the hills toward Cava di Tirreni. They did
not meet Marion on the way, nor in the course of their drive along the
one-mile, narrow street of the little town. The arcaded shops were dingy
and the houses unattractive.
"In Italy you must get used to these squalid, rather dirty towns in the
heart of a lovely country. The Italians love to herd together, clinging
closely to a habit no longer necessary for defence against enemies, as
it was in the ancient times. Even in America they prefer city to country
life," said Uncle Jim.
The soup plates had been removed when Marion appeared at dinner. He
greeted his friends pleasantly without explaining what had detained him.
Though Aunt Caroline gave a glowing account of their afternoon's trip,
he made no comments beyond a mere "I wish I had been with you."
After dinner he turned to his book, and soon went to his own room on the
plea that he must repack his valise and get to bed early in preparation
for their morning start.
During the evening Irma and Aunt Caroline joined their landlady in the
deserted dining-room to look at some of the antiques in glass cases
along the wall intended for sale. After picking them over carefully,
Aunt Caroline bought one or two old iron knockers and a piece of glass
that she felt sure was Murano. The landlady's husband appeared at just
the right moment to fix the price, and from a secret drawer produced a
bit of old brocade that Aunt Caroline pounced on with exclamations of
delight.
"It won't last until you reach Rome!"
"Oh, indeed it will. But it is for ornament and not use, and the kind of
thing I never _can_ pass by."
After this Aunt Caroline added several other things to her
collection--an old key and lock, and a fine bit of carved wood.
"If only it wouldn't crack and split in our dry atmosphere I would take
some of this inlaid furniture home with me," she said. "Everything in
the house is seemingly for sale even to the bed that Madame our hostess
sleeps on. Although she is married to an Italian, I observe that she
prefers 'Madame' to 'Signora.'"
At this moment the landlady approaching, invited them into the garden.
"As Madame the American lady admired old things she might like to
examine the lion's head at the door. It had belonged to the great
Filangeri family, as indeed did the hotel in the ancient days. Naturally
Madame had observed that this was no ordinary hotel, but a veritable
palace with ancient traditions and legends, and----"
Finally Aunt Caroline stopped her flow of words to show Irma that the
massive lion's head with its open mouth was but a flambeau holder to
light the path of guests at night.
"You will need more than one flambeau to light your path to-night," said
Uncle Jim, joining them, as they stood there reading a tablet with an
interesting inscription. "Remember that we take an early train for
Paestum."
"Paestum--what is Paestum?" rejoined Irma mockingly, as she hurried
ahead of Uncle Jim up the long marble staircase that led to her room.
In the morning, however, long before their train reached Paestum, Irma
knew all about it. The country through which they began to pass, soon
after leaving Salerno, was not closely settled. Farther on there were
great stretches of marshes where cattle roamed about. Marion was
surprised to discover that the so-called buffaloes were quite unlike the
bison, resembling large grayish oxen with a slight hump. They are the
chief beasts of burden for the country people of this region. Uncle Jim
explained that the whole country here was malarious. It had a bad
reputation even in the time of Augustus, and on this account the name of
ancient Poseidonia had been changed to "Pesto," and if you doubt me, you
may look on the map. There, indeed, Irma did find "Pesto" instead of the
more classic name, yet she continued to doubt Uncle Jim's account of its
origin--"Paestum" was evidently from "Poseidonia."