animal balks at the steeper part of the ascent, “Sancho” ran lightly
forward and began picking up wisps of the straw gleaners had dropped on
their way down the mountain. When he had a handful, he held the bunch of
fodder out temptingly, and yelled “Aaaaaa-ah-ah!” “Rosinante” snorted,
sniffed suspiciously, and with a suddenness that almost slid “Don
Quijote” over her haunches into the road, bolted forward for the tidbit.
A mouthful at a time it was given to her, and thus the hardest part of
the way was quickly passed over without a blow being struck.
“Do all the donkey-boys do this?” I asked, surprised at the humanity of
the proceeding.
“Sancho’s” reply was disconcertingly frank. “Oh, no, _Signore_. I am the
only one. I can’t afford to buy a new donkey, and if I _wear this one
out_, how can I bring _forestieri_ at Pellegrino? The other boys beat
their donkeys--yes! But then, they can get new ones every little while!”
Once above the long series of viaducts that keep the road on an even
plane of ascent over gullies and chasms, the way ceases to be so steep.
On the rocky slopes, hardy Swiss cows graze among stones that seem
incapable of yielding even thistles. When all the sparse grass is gone,
with muzzle and hoofs the hard-working cows turn over boulders of
considerable size and eagerly lick up the meager, pale blade or two of
grass they conceal, finishing the attack by calmly devouring the fat
little snails that cling to the moist earth and the under side of the
big stones--I saw this myself. The cows have a hard time of it indeed,
trudging out from the city every morning, grazing and rooting all day
among the rocks, and then going down at night to be milked from door to
door.
But the goats have an even harder time. Some are seen every day on the
very apex of the mountain, mere black specks against the sky. They
clamber up there opposite the telegraph and semaphore stations without a
thought of the journeys they must make in the evening. On coming back
into town with heavy bags, their owners drive them ruthlessly up four or
five flights of stairs to give some lazy customer as little as half a
pint of their strong, rich milk.
Near the top of this Via del Santuario is the roofless chapel of Croce,
the Cross, which projects bastion-like from the jutting brow of the
hill. Here every year a priest from the monastery on the heights,
standing where he can see the whole splendid sweep of the Golden Shell
below, a rippling sea of green and gold, returns thanks for its
fertility during the past season, and beseeches heaven for a continuance
of it for another year.
The chapel of Santa Rosalia is in the gloomy cavern to which the lovely
maiden fled to escape the temptations of her uncle’s court in Palermo; a
court full of the factitious splendor and richness of the East, with
Saracens all about and an atmosphere which, to say the least, was
probably not conducive to saintly meditation. She is a mysterious and
interesting figure, this daughter of the mighty Duke Sinibaldo and
niece of King William the Good. How could she ever have cast aside the
ease and luxury of the elaborate civilization in which she had been
reared, and come to this stalactite grotto, dripping and cold, where her
companions were no lords and ladies in waiting, but only the bats and
small mountain animals seeking shelter from inclement weather?
Exactly how long Rosalia maintained herself here in holy seclusion no
one knows, but the date of her death seems to have been about 1170. In
any event, she lay peacefully in oblivion until in 1624 some bones were
discovered in the cavern. At that time a plague was raging, the city
panic stricken, and when the bones were brought in to the Cathedral, the
plague stopped. Such a coincidence was too striking to be ignored by the
simple-minded, so Rosalia was canonized and appointed the patron of the
city, because of her gracious intervention on behalf of the people
against whose ancestors she had shaken off the dust of her feet.
Filled with that dramatic religious fervor which has found its
expression in so many wonderful pilgrimages, from the Crusades to the
present, all Palermo toiled up the trackless hill to worship before the
niche in the grotto where she died. Miracle after miracle was performed;
and to-day the whole city, whether religiously inclined or not, is
devoted to its female saint, whose relics are believed to be preserved
in a huge funerary urn surmounted by her statue, and kept in the
treasury of the Cathedral. The monument, which is solid silver, weighs
more than fourteen hundred pounds. Every year her festival is celebrated
with great pomp, a huge car, fifty feet high and as big as a house,
being dragged through the streets amid the acclamations of the faithful.
The float is also brought out in solemn procession whenever her
intercession is especially desired for the city.
No attention has been paid to the gratuitous information of a scientist
that the saint’s relics are really only animal bones. The late Andrew D.
White, in his “_History of the Warfare of Science with Theology_,” says:
“When Professor Buckland, the eminent osteologist and geologist,
discovered the relics of Rosalia at Palermo, which had for ages cured
diseases and warded off epidemics, were the bones of a goat, this fact
caused not the slightest diminution of their miraculous power.”
Certainly no Palermitan to-day would listen to any Goth who attempted to
tell him such a story as this; and even to heretic Americans, the
“scientific” attitude which delights in iconoclasm is hard to
comprehend. Why should the scientist who claims that his only wish is to
benefit humanity, take from the poor and miserable any belief that heals
them, however idle or superstitious that faith may seem to him?
[Illustration: “All Palermo toiled up the trackless hill to worship in
the grotto where Rosalia died.”]
Eventually up on the mountain a chapel was constructed whose artificial
wall meets the edges of the grotto, enclosing it completely. There is no
roof to this outer section except over the front door; and the sunshine,
falling upon the floor between entrance and choir, gives this open court
the air of a pleasant vestibule roofed only by the azure, and throws
into strong, shadowy relief the cavern beyond, with its candles
twinkling in the dusk before the altars. A handsome black iron screen
divides outer court from inner grotto; and both are paved with big,
uneven stones worn to glassy slipperiness by the knees of the devout.
The natural rock roof is weird and fantastic, covered with stalactic
pendants, colored in all the shades of brown and green by the highly
alkaline water that whispers perpetual requiem into myriad leaden
gutters which carry it to the sides, and so preserve the decorations
from destruction. Bent and twisted and angled, the gutters seem the
branches of so many dead trees sprawling high among the jumbled rocks.
At the rear of the chapel is a handsome white marble and mosaic altar,
and nearer the front, enclosed in a glass case under an elaborate and
massive shrine of highly colored marbles, is the figure of the saint
over which Goethe rhapsodized. By the light of a flickering taper thrust
between the marble bars, little by little the image within takes shape
in the gloom. The head and hands are marble, the robes gilt. She seems
to sleep naturally, a young girl of eighteen or twenty, her head easily
disposed upon the pillow, her lips just apart; exactly, as the great
German expressed it, as if she might breathe and move at any moment.
Upon her breast blaze the crimson jewels of the Cross of Savoy,
presented by Queen Margharita herself, and innumerable other tokens,
among them a huge golden heart, the gift of a Palermitan cardinal. Gold
and silver watches, jeweled rings, loose precious stones, bracelets,
necklaces, and other ornaments by the dozen lie about the glass casket
or upon the gilded robes, which are exquisitely worked with lacelike
tracery. And to one side is a gilt scepter fully five feet long.
Opposite, on the wall, a white marble slab marking the niche where the
bones lay, bears the words:
VT QVO LOCO, ET SITV D. ROSALIAE SACRVM CORPVS
ADMIRABILI OPERE LAPIDEIS THESIS INSERTVM
ANNOS FERME CCCC DELITVERIT,
QVOD MAIORES NOSTROS LATVIT, NOBIS DIVINITVS INNOTVIT
POSTERI NON IGNORARENT:
IPSIVS EXPIRANTIO IMAGO VBI IACVERAT SITA EST:
ARA SUPERIMPOSTA ANNO IVBILAEI M DC XXV
From the grotto-chapel, past a group of goatherds’ houses and through
their attendant flocks, it is only about a quarter-mile stumble to a
jutting spur which forms the highest crag of the mountain. Perched
there between the halves of a dismantled arcade of plaster columns,
stands a colossal figure of Santa Rosalia, hundreds of feet above the
sea. Lightning has beheaded the statue twice, and the two marble heads
lie in a little hollow at the saint’s feet. After the second bolt from
the heavens the Sicilians, who are not by any means a wealthy people,
put on a third head--a cheap plaster one; and though many a fierce storm
has raged about Pellegrino since then, not once has the lightning struck
the statue--perhaps the plaster head is not worth destroying.
That _all forestieri have money, so why shouldn’t they pay_? is the
logic of the Italian, and everywhere except in Sicily he carries it to
the absurdities; and even in this blissful isle an individual sometimes
forgets his geniality by turning highwayman for the nonce. A
tatterdemalion goatherd, for instance, charged me sixteen cents for a
milked-to-order pint of goat’s milk.
“Sancho” regarded the transaction with undisguised scorn. “By Bacchus,
but all _forestieri_ are fools!” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me to get
it for you? I could get all you wanted for four cents!”
Yet notwithstanding his philosophizing “Sancho” generously let me off
with only the usual gratuities.
A day or so later--with so much yet undone--grieving that we must leave
the island which had taken so mighty a grip on our hearts, we rolled
down, for the last time, through the Place of the Four Winds, and went
aboard the beautiful little _Marco Polo_.
Half a dozen Nations decorated the Bay with their colors from a score of
mastheads. Here lay a filthy little Greek tramp whose faded blue and
white stripes fluttered limply from her steam-spitting stern; there a
smutty white trading barque with gaping red seams and burnished copper,
hairy a foot below the water line with grass and moss; yonder trim white
steamers of the N. G. I. Disconsolate we sat on the promenade deck
watching the lively scene along the Scala Florio. A tiny breeze was
stirring, and the slip of new moon came staggering up the blue vault
with the rotund body of her deceased mother in her thin little
wide-stretched arms, followed at a respectful distance by a winking,
blinking satellite. Pellegrino and distant Grifone showed soft and dim
in blue and pink and gray, like the too closely cropped hide of a young
donkey.
On the wharf were tears and laughter. An eager crowd drove up in ever
increasing numbers and thronged the space about the gangplank to give
their friends a hearty send-off. Farther out a young girl sang
atrociously to a wheezy handorgan, while a small boy, cap in his teeth,
clambered over the _Marco Polo’s_ rail and begged for pennies. A
gold-laced official, with an important beard and furious mustachios,
marched aboard with as dignified a stride as his five-feet-two
permitted, and instantly the quiet ship became alive. Boatswains
bellowed gruff orders, a steam-donkey somewhere forward chattered right
merrily, and down in the hold the _ingegniero_ “turned over” his engines
to make sure everything was working properly. A serpentine hawser
slipped from its bitt on the wharf and splashed writhing into the water
at our feet--we were sailing.
But no--at this very last instant a shout from the empty Place of the
Four Winds a block away, stopped us. The heartiest send-off of all was
yet to come. Roaring and spitting fire and smoke, a huge automobile in
gray warpaint tore through the square, skidded to the edge, stopped as
though it had rushed into a stone wall, and fairly shot a young man out
upon the gangplank just as it quivered on the rise, while women shrieked
and men laughed.
His two companions were on the dock in a second, seized his shiny little
black box-trunk, swung it to and fro once or twice, and hurled it after
him with such precision that it caught the unlucky passenger in the
small of his back and bowled him over squarely. As he was rising to his
feet, white with astonishment and rage, his heavy handbag, thrown with
the same forceful kindliness, knocked him down a second time, and ship
and dock chorused happily together. Meantime the automobile panted
contentedly as the fasts were cast off bow and stern, the screw began to
revolve, and the white _Marco Polo_ slipped out into the gathering
night.
Silently we fled the harbor, dotted now with myriad dancing lights;
curtseyed gracefully out past Santa Rosalia’s statue, nine hundred feet
aloft on the crag; dashed by small clusters of lights in a shadowy
pocket of the outer hills, and were at sea again. Once more the long,
slow roll of Mediterranean was under our feet, its grateful salt breath
in our nostrils.
A boy with the dinner-gong came yam-yam-yamming down the decks. We did
not heed him. The whirling screw was throbbing a different refrain in
our ears--
“Thou art the garden of the world, the home
Of all Art yields or Nature can decree;
E’en in thy desert what is like to thee?
Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste
More rich than other climes’ fertility,
Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced
With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced.”
THE END
THE BEST BOOKS ON SICILY
Freeman, Edward A.--History of Sicily, 3 vols. A tremendous unfinished
work covering Sicily from prehistoric days to the reign of Agathocles.
Very heavy and redundant, but precise and accurate. Story of the
Nations: Sicily. By the same author, but a complete, very compact
history in one moderate volume.
Paton, W. A.--Picturesque Sicily. Very good.
Sladen, Douglas.--Sicily. A huge two-volume narration of the author’s
personal experiences. Humorous, informative, slangy, and hastily done
but superbly illustrated. An English publication; costs about $20.
Tweedie, Mrs. Alec.--Sunny Sicily. A good but limited book.
There are also several books covering parts of Sicily, or some of its
customs; these are generally to be had in the larger public libraries.
INDEX
Achradina (Syracuse), 116, 135, 147, 148.
Acolyte, irreverent, 194.
Acqueducts, 139-140, 154.
Ætna, Introd., i; 14, 85, 107, 108, 109, 111, 153,
155, 159, 160, 161, 163, 164, 188, 189, 205, 212.
Aetnean Railroad, 162-163.
Agatha (Ágata) St., 156.
Agathocles, King (Tyrant), 135, 237, 238.
Agora (Marketplace), 134.
Agrigentum (See Girgenti).
Akragas, Introd., viii; 19, 90, 91, 92.
Alfonso (Caratozzo), 95, 96, 102, 104, 106.
Amber, Catanian, 158.
Amphitheatres, Roman, 140, 154.
Anapo, 115, 128.
Angevin (Anjou), Introd., x; 74, 75, 76, 84, 209.
Antisthenes, 91.
Aragon (Aragonese), Introd., x; 71, 155-156.
Archimedes, Introd., vii; 135, 136, 138, 145, 146.
Arethusa, 120, 121-122, 151.
Arms of Taormina, 193.
Artemis (Diana), 120, 121, 122.
Asdrubal, Gen., 82, 83.
Atenasio, banker, Signor Pancrazio, 180-182.
Athens, 116, 124-127, 149, 150, 151, 236.
Augusta, 112, 113.
Bagheria, 81, 225-232.
“Beautiful Shore” (See Kalé Akté).
Beggars, 54, 55, 183, 216.
Bellini, Composer, 154.
Bell-baiting, 186-187.
Berlinas, 88.
Bits (horses’), 26.
Bourbon, Introd., xi; 62, 64, 163.
Bull, brazen, 96-97.
Byron, Lord (quoted), 264.
Byzantine, Empire, Introd., ix;
Style, 62, 201.
Cafés, 35, 36, 55, 58, 92, 110, 139.
Cala, La, 18.
Carabinieri, 106.
Carthage, Introd., iv, vii, viii; 82, 92, 223, 236, 241.
Carthaginians, Introd., vii, viii; 129, 208, 223, 234-235, 240.
Carts, painted, 25, 26.
Castrogiovanni (Enna), 108.
Catacombs, 147-148.
Cathedrals--
Catania, 155-156.
Cefalù, 219-221.
Girgenti, 105.
Marsala, 242.
Messina, 212.
Mola, 185.
Monreale, 48-52, 220.
Palermo, 42-44, 258.
Syracuse, 118-119.
Taormina, 194-196.
Trapani, 244.
Cefalù, 216-221.
Beach, 221.
Cathedral, 219-221.
Types at, 221.
Cemeteries, 47, 74, 76.
Cephaloedium (See Cefalù).
Charondas, 152-153.
Chiaramonte, Pallazzo, 71-72.
Christ of the Onions, The, 32.
Churches--
Bagheria, 231-232.
Catania, 158-159.
Girgenti, 95, 100, 105.
Messina, 211, 212.
Palermo, 256.
Syracuse, 146, 147, 148.
Trapani, 244.
Cicero, 6, 119, 145.
Class distinction, 49.
Cleanliness, 21, 243.
Climate, 6.
Coins in Sicily, Greek, 120.
Conca d’Oro (Golden Shell), 4, 55, 62, 74, 75, 78, 80, 233, 252, 254, 256.
Consuls, 58-59.
Corso (promenade), 23, 24, 86.
Corso (street), 21, 22, 177, 178, 184, 197, 203.
Crusades, The, 208.
Cuba, La, 47-48.
Cyane (Kyana), 123, 130-132.
Danklon (Zankle), 208.
Demagogues, 115.
Deserted Village, 184.
Dialect, Sicilian, 175.
Dikaiopolis (See Segesta).
Diodorus, Introd., ii, vii; 96, 109, 110.
Dionysius, 114, 129, 136, 162, 174, 201, 202, 216.
Donkeys, Sardinian, 26, 252, 253.
Drepana (See Trapani).
Dulcie, Dulcinea, 13.
Earthquake, Messina, 209.
Eggs, 33.
Elephants, 82-83.
Eleutherian Feasts, The, 141-142.
Emigration, 182, 184.
Empedocle, Porto, 93.
Empedocles of Akragas, Introd., vii; 92-93.
Enna (See Castrogiovanni).
Entrails, 24, 25, 33.
Epipolai (Syracuse), 116, 135, 136, 137, 140.
Eryx (See Mte San Giuliano).
Euryelus, Fort, 136, 138, 139.
Favorita, Château of La, 11, 62-64.
Felice (Lady F. Orsini; and Porta F.), 86.
Ferdinand IV, King, 62-64.
Festa (Festivals).
Sta. Ágata, 156-157.
San Giuseppe, 229-230.
della Madonna dei Capri, 250-251.
Sta Rosalia, 258.
Fiera di Pascua (Easter Fair), 28, 29.
Floral displays, 15, 19, 69, 88, 99, 148, 149, 169,
171, 193, 205, 221, 222, 245.
Food, 8, 24, 25, 33, 36, 53-54, 58, 94, 180, 230.
Forestieri, 24, 31, 96, 261.
Fountains, 192-193.
Four Winds, Place of, 262, 263.
Frederick II, Emperor, Introd., ix, x; 43, 80-81, 113.
Funeral, A Taormina, 197-198.
Gambling Games, 231.
Garibaldi, Giuseppe, Introd., xi; 83, 168, 187, 215, 235-236, 241, 244.
Garibaldi, Theatre Politeama, 27.
Gellias, 91.
Gelon, Tyrant, 115, 129, 135, 222.
Gesù, Sta Maria di, 76-79.
Giotto, 52, 77.
Girgenti, 90.
Giulia Guevaha, Donna (Villa G), 84, 85.
Giuliano, Mte San (Eryx), 15, 245, 246, 247, 248.
Giuseppe, San, Church of, 231-232.
Goats, 171, 190, 191, 197, 207, 250-251, 256, 261.
Goethe, Wolfgang, 75, 259, 260.
Golden Shell (See Conca d’Oro).
Grazing on Pellegrino, 255.
Greece, Introd., ii, viii, xii; 116, 123, 174.
Gregorio, 2, 10.
Greek religion, 99-100.
Greek temples, Introd., vi, xii; 27, 99-103, 140, 219, 237.
Greeks, The, Introd., iv, v, vi, vii, xii; 19, 104, 109,
133, 139, 140, 149-150, 173, 204, 205, 209, 235, 236, 246.
Greeks, famous, in Sicily, Introd., v, vi, vii; 97, 113, 141, 150.
Gualterio, 10, 11, 29, 30, 41, 79, 80, 84, 227-228.
Hadranos (Hadranum), 162.
Hamilcar, 70, 98, 222-223.
Hammerstein, Oscar, 200.
Hannibal, Gisgon, 70-71, 223, 239.
Heircte, Herkte (See Pellegrino).
Hichens, Robert, 77.
Hieron, King, 130, 135, 137, 141, 143, 144.
Hieron, Tyrant, 153, 174.
Himera, Introd., viii; 79, 91, 98, 129, 222-223.
Historians, Introd., ii, vii; 43, 71, 92, 98, 124, 126, 127, 144, 149, 150.
Homer (Odyssey), Introd., iii; 158, 164.
Hotels, 170.
Ignorance (Illiteracy), 64-65, 178.
Kalé Akté (Calacte), 216.
Kataneion, Katane (See Chapters on Catania).
Kephalé (See Cefalù).
Kipling, Rudyard, 63.
Krimisos (Cold Stream), 234-235;
battle of, 235.
Land ownership, 181-182.
Latomie (Quarries), 14, 115, 142, 148, 149, 151, 242.
Lebrosi, S. Giovanni dei, 81-82.
Legends, 121-122, 123, 164, 165, 166.
Lentini, Lake, 110.
Lucy, St., 156.
Macaroni, 34, 53-54, 90.
Maffiusi (Mafia), 175.
Marcellus, 136-138.
Mare Dolce, The, 80.
Marionettes, 37-40.
Markets, 30-36, 134.
Marriage, 57.
Marsala, 241-243.
Martorana, Church of, 44-45.
Mássimo, Theatre, 27, 28.
Mediterranean, Introd., i, iii, iv, xi; 5, 6, 7, 101, 219, 264.
Messana (See Messina).
Messina (and Strait of), Introd., iii; 44, 207-214.
Metellus, Consul, 83.
Metopes, 70-71, 239.
Milk, 190-191, 207.
Minstrels, 177, 199-200.
Misericordia, The, 197.
Mola, 173, 182-186, 190.
Monks, 76, 77.
Monreale, 48-55, 72, 220.
Mosaics, glass, 49-51, 60-62.
Mummies, Subway of, 47.
Museums--
Girgenti, 103.
Palermo, 67-70.
Syracuse, 119-120.
Mylæ, 215.
Naxos, 173, 174.
Neapolis (Syracuse), 116, 135.
Newspapers, 223-224.
Nicias (Greek General), 113.
Night, Noises of the, 186-187.
Normans, The (also N. Architecture), Introd., ii, ix;
43, 44, 89, 118, 173, 208, 219, 247.
Ortygia, Island of (Syracuse), 115, 116, 117, 122, 133, 135, 138.
Ovid, 109.
Palace (See Palazzo).
Palæstra, 134.
Palagonia, Prince (also Villa), 228-229.
Palatina, La Cappella, 60-62, 220.
Palazzata, La, 210-211.
Palazzo, 56, 59, 62-64, 71-72, 210.
Panormos (Palermo), 18, 224.
Papyrus, 130, 131, 132.
Parks, 19, 20.
Pellegrino, Mte., 17, 78, 86, 217, 251, 252-261, 262.
Pergusa, Lake of, 109.
Phalaris, 96, 97.
Philistis, Queen, 143-144.
Phoenicians (Phoenicia), Introd., iv; 18, 19, 123, 218, 224, 235, 238, 246.
Pigs, 184, 185.
Pindar, Poet, 97, 98, 143, 144.
Posers, professional, 176.
Primitive Inhabitants (Sikans, Sikels, Elymians, Phœnicians),
Introd., iii, iv; 69, 119, 217, 218, 234, 235, 236, 237,
245, 246, 247.
Prisoners, Athenian, 149-150, 151.
Problem, The Sicilian, 181-182.
Proserpina (Persephone), 14, 109, 131.
Punic Wars, Introd., viii.
Quattro Venti (See Four Winds, Place of).
Quijote, Don, and Sancho, 254, 261.
Railroad about Ætna (see Aetnean R.R.).
Railroads (also Service), 167-168.
Randazzo, 163-164.
Relics, 258.
Relief Work at Messina, 213-214.
Roger, King, 43-45, 60, 72, 83, 155, 212, 218, 219.
Rome (Roman), Introd., viii, ix, xii; 27, 82, 83, 109,
116, 133, 138, 143, 204-205, 241, 246.
Rometta, 215.
Rosalia, Saint, 42, 156, 251, 256-261.
Chapel of, 259-261.
Festival of, 258.
Statue of, 261, 264.
Rosinante, 254, 255.
Sacred Band (see Krimisos).
Saints, female, 156.
Salamis, Introd., viii.
Salinas, Professor A., 69.
Salt Works, 113, 123, 243.
“Sancho,” 254-261.
Santo Spirito, Campo, 74, 75.
Santuario, Via al, 253, 256.
Saracens (Moors), Introd., ii, ix, vii; 12, 19, 41, 44,
47, 62, 72, 78, 80, 81, 96, 111, 118, 176, 205, 247, 256.
Scenery (also Railroad and Coast), 89, 90, 99, 111, 112,
114, 135, 148, 149, 155, 161, 169, 170, 205-216, 207,
215, 216, 217, 218, 221, 222, 233, 234, 245, 246.
Schools, 65, 178, 179-180.
Scláfani Palace, 45.
Scylla and Charybdis, 169, 208.
Segesta (Egesta), 236-238.
Selinus, 70-71, 236, 238-240.
Solous (Soluntum), Solunto, 224-225, 227-228.
Spanish (Spaniard), Introd., x; 21, 63, 121.
Stefano, Dukes of (also Palace), 202, 203.
Stesichorus (Tisias), Introd., viii; 154.
Sulphur (Mines; Mining), 90, 93, 107, 152.
Sunrise over Ætna, 188-189.
Syracuse, Introd., viii; 19.
Battle of the bay, 124-127.
Sieges of, 124, 136, 138, 149-150.
Taormina peasants, 175.
Termini Imerese, 223-224.
Tessere, 4, 5, 6, 87.
Theatres, 27, 36-41, 143-145, 154, 203, 204-206, 237.
Theocritus, Introd., vii; 12, 135, 176.
Theron, Tyrant, 98, 115, 222.
Thucydides, Introd., i; 125-6, 149-150, 209.
Timoleon, 135, 144-145, 168, 234, 235, 236.
Tips (Tipping), 8, 9.
Tisias (see Stesichorus).
Trapani, 243-245.
Trionfo della Morte (fresco), 45-46.
Trireme, The, 92.
Trojans at Trapani, 245.
Troubadours (see Minstrels).
Tyche (Syracuse), 116, 135.
Tyndaris, 215-216.
Tyrant (defined), 98-99.
Tyrants, 115.
Age of the, 114, 141.
Usury (Usurers), 181-182.
Venus Anadyomene, 120.
Venus, Temple of, 245, 246.
Verres, C. Gaius, 119, 128.
Vespers, Sicilian, Introd., x; 25, 68, 74-75, 84, 186, 209.
Villa, 66-67.
Vulcanological Observatory, 159.
William I, The Bad, King, 72, 73, 74.
William II, The Good, King, 47-48, 52, 74, 257.
Wine, Marsala, 242.
Xerxes, Introd., vii.
Xiphonia (see Augusta).
Zankle (Danklon, Messina), 208.
Zeus (Jupiter), Introd., viii; 103, 105, 129, 153, 235.
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
as the the insignia of his rank=> as the insignia of his rank {pg 25}
TKE NORTHERN SHORE=> THE NORTHERN SHORE {pg 215}
blinding than a Silician spring morning=> blinding than a Sicilian
spring morning {pg 42}
it causes not the slighest comment=> it causes not the slightest comment
{pg 43}