it had
been damaged by an earthquake, the commonest sort of disaster at
Cosenza. On the front of the new edifice I found two inscriptions, both
exulting over the fall of the papal power; one was interesting enough
to copy:--

"20 SEPT., 1870.
QUESTA DATA POLITICA
DICE FINITA LA TEOCRAZIA
NEGLI ORDINAMENTI CIVILI.
IL DI CHE LA DIRA FINITA
MORALMENTE
SARA LA DATA UMANA."

which signifies: "This political date marks the end of theocracy in
civil life. The day which ends its moral rule will begin the epoch of
humanity." A remarkable utterance anywhere; not least so within the
hearing of the stream which flows over the grave of Alaric.

One goes to bed early at Cosenza; the night air is dangerous,
and--Teatro Garibaldi still incomplete--darkness brings with it no sort
of pastime. I did manage to read a little in my miserable room by an
antique lamp, but the effort was dispiriting; better to lie in the dark
and think of Goth and Roman.

Do the rivers Busento and Crati still keep the secret of that "royal
sepulchre, adorned with the splendid spoils and trophies of Rome"? It
seems improbable that the grave was ever disturbed; to this day there
exists somewhere near Cosenza a treasure-house more alluring than any
pictured in Arabian tale. It is not easy to conjecture what "spoils and
trophies" the Goths buried with their king; if they sacrificed masses
of precious metal, then perchance there still lies in the river-bed
some portion of that golden statue of _Virtus_, which the Romans melted
down to eke out the ransom claimed by Alaric. The year 410 A.D. was no
unfitting moment to break into bullion the figure personifying Manly
Worth. "After that," says an old historian, "all bravery and honour
perished out of Rome."

CHAPTER IV

TARANTO

Cosenza is on a line of railway which runs northward up the Crati
valley, and joins the long seashore line from Taranto to Reggio. As it
was my wish to see the whole of that coast, I had the choice of
beginning my expedition either at the northern or the southern end; for
several reasons I decided to make straight for Taranto.

The train started about seven o'clock in the morning. I rose at six in
chill darkness, the discomfort of my room seeming worse than ever at
this featureless hour. The waiter--perhaps he was the landlord, I left
this doubt unsolved--brought me a cup of coffee; dirtier and more
shabbily apparelled man I have never looked upon; viler coff