sprang the knightly order of S. John; gave their name to the richest
quarter in Palermo; and owned trading establishments or factories in
all the chief cities of the Levant. Their gold coinage of _tari_
formed the standard of currency before the Florentines had stamped
the lily and S. John upon the Tuscan florin. Their shipping
regulations supplied Europe with a code of maritime laws. Their
scholars, in the darkest depth of the dark ages, prized and conned a
famous copy of the Pandects of Justinian; and their seamen deserved
the fame of having first used, if they did not actually invent, the
compass.

To modern visitors those glorious centuries of Amalfitan power and
independence cannot but seem fabulous; so difficult is it for us to
imagine the conditions of society in Europe when a tiny city, shut
in between barren mountains and a tideless sea, without a
circumjacent territory, and with no resources but piracy or trade,
could develop maritime supremacy in the Levant and produce the first
fine flowers of liberty and culture.

If the history of Amalfi's early splendour reads like a brilliant
legend, the story of its premature extinction has the interest of a
tragedy. The republic had grown and flourished on the decay of the
Greek Empire. When the hard-handed race of Hauteville absorbed the
heritage of Greeks and Lombards and Saracens in Southern Italy,
these adventurers succeeded in annexing Amalfi. But it was not their
interest to extinguish the state. On the contrary, they relied for
assistance upon the navies and the armies of the little
commonwealth. New powers had meanwhile arisen in the North of Italy,
who were jealous of rivalry upon the open seas; and when the
Neapolitans resisted King Roger in 1135, they called Pisa to their
aid, and sent her fleet to destroy Amalfi. The ships of Amalfi were
on guard with Roger's navy in the Bay of Naples. The armed citizens
were, under Roger's orders, at Aversa. Meanwhile the home of the
republic lay defenceless on its mountain-girdled seaboard. The
Pisans sailed into the harbour, sacked the city, and carried off the
famous Pandects of Justinian as a trophy. Two years later they
returned, to complete the work of devastation. Amalfi never
recovered from the injuries and the humiliation of these two
attacks. It was ever thus that the Italians, like the children of
the dragon's teeth which Cadmus sowed, consumed each other. Pisa cut
the throat of her sister-port Amalfi, and G