ll-clothed, uncrowned,
Retains the memory of the Pagan year,
When changed, yet all unchanged, Time's round
Makes the Jew Fisherman a god appear."

CHAPTER VII

RAVELLO AND THE RUFOLI

No visit to Amalfi can be considered complete without ascending to the
decayed town of Ravello, that crowns the rocky heights to the north-east
of the parent city by the sea-shore. The road thither leads along the
beach, passing between the picturesque old convent that is now the Hotel
Luna, beloved of artists, and the solitary watch tower on the precipice
which stands sentinel above the waters on our right hand. At this point we
turn the corner, and find ourselves in Atrani, lying in the deep gorge of
the Dragone and joining its buildings to those of Amalfi on the road above
the beach. Prominent upon the steep ridge that separates the two cities
stands the ruined keep of Pontone, the last relic of the town of Scaletta
that was a flourishing place in days of the Republic. A tall belfry of
peculiar and striking architecture which dominates Atrani is usually
attributed to the art of the Saracens, whom King Manfred called in to
garrison this place during his wars with Pope Innocent IV. Atrani, which
is but a suburb of Amalfi, suffered equally with the Capital during the
great upheaval of Nature that desolated this coast in the fourteenth
century, so that little of interest remains except the quaint church of
San Salvatore a Bireta, wherein the Doges of Amalfi were once elected and
crowned. This ancient building lies hidden in a sandy cove beneath the
roadway, and those who care to run the gauntlet of beggars and descend to
the beach below, can examine its beautiful bronze doors, which the
generous citizen Pantaleone gave _pro mercede animae suae et merito S.
Sebastiani Martyris_. But there is very little else to inspect, for the
interior has been hopelessly modernized.

Soon after passing Atrani we turn sharply up hill to the left, and begin
our ascent towards Ravello. The dusty white road winds upwards through a
region of carefully cultivated terraces filled with olives and vines,
intermingled here and there with orange, lemon, fig, and pomegranate
trees. As we gain higher ground, our horizon tends ever to widen, and we
behold the expanse of sea and sky melting in the far distance into "some
shade of blue unnameable," whilst the mountain-fringed ring of the Bay of