Irma in Italy: A Travel Story

by Annie F. Johnston

  CHAPTER VII

  CAVA AND BEYOND

  Uncle Jim had volunteered no explanation about Paestum, neither AuntCaroline nor Marion had spoken on the subject, and Irma had been toobusy packing to study her guidebook. So as they left Naples, as shelooked from the railway carriage, she could but wonder what was beforeher. Soon passing the thickly settled environs of Naples they were in aregion of small farms. The season had been late, and the vines were notfar advanced, but there were many workers in the fields and some of thevines trained on poles showed a certain amount of leafage. After awhile, they had passed the slopes of Vesuvius, and then began torealize, 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 courseyou 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. Agroup of _facchini_ fell upon their baggage, the four were hurried intoa carriage, and after driving through a long, quiet street, they reachedthe outskirts. Here, at the entrance of a house in a garden, a fatlandlady welcomed them with many bows. A _facchino_ with a green aprontook some bags, a diminutive _cameriera_, in scarlet skirt and pinkblouse, seized others, and soon Irma found herself in a small roomfilled 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 returnedto guide her to the dining-room. There she heard a strange mixture ofaccents, as she entered the room. Her uncle came forward and led her toa seat. As she watched and listened, she found that her oppositeneighbors were Germans, while beside her was an Italian lady. Now indeedshe was in a foreign country. The dinner, too, was different from theconventional table d'hote of their Naples hotel. Irma refused anelaborate dish of macaroni, remembering the curtains of yellow macaronidrying in untidy places, that she had noticed from the train.

  "If you don't eat macaroni," said Uncle Jim, understanding herreluctance, "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 atbreakfast.

  "Paestum! What is Paestum?" she asked, and after that he permitted herto eat in peace.

  All the morning the rain poured in torrents, to the discouragement oftwo or three parties of automobilists, who had planned a trip toPaestum, and a return to Naples by the Amalfi road. Most of the menwandered about the huge house aimlessly, dropping occasionally into achair in the sitting-room, trying vainly to help time pass more quicklyby reading the month-old newspapers and magazines on the little centertable. A few wrote letters, and a number of men and women gathered inlittle groups to compare notes about past or future travels.

  Marion held himself aloof from the three or four other young people inthe 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 wholemorning. As for Irma, she spent perhaps an hour on her diary that shehad neglected for a day or two. Opposite her, at the center table, was agirl of about her own age. Often the two paused from their labors--forthe girl was also writing--at about the same moment. Finally the othergirl broke the rather oppressive silence by asking Irma if she was onher way to or from Naples. Learning that Irma had been in Italy hardly aweek, she informed her that she had been there all winter, and with herparents was now on her way to Naples. She questioned Irma about the bestshops in Naples, and Irma was able to give her some addresses shewished. She in turn told Irma of many shops and other things of interestin Rome and Florence. Those Irma entered carefully in her notebook.While the two were thus occupied, Marion rose and passed them on his wayto the door. When he had left the room the other girl leaned towardIrma.

  "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 ofmine. It is strange to see him in Europe. I should think he would be athome now."

  "Why shouldn't he be in Europe?"

  "Surely you must have heard the story if you left New York only a fewweeks 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 oftheirs."

  "He is in your party? Then you must have heard----"

  But at that moment the porter brought a message summoning Madge Gregg toget ready at once for a train that would start in half an hour forNaples. This unexpected departure put all thoughts of Marion Horton outof Madge's mind. She gathered up her writing materials, bade Irmagood-by, expressing the hope that they might meet again.

  "What can the story be?" thought Irma. "Marion is sometimes queer, andyet--I do not believe he has done anything wrong." Still she felt thatfor the present it would be wiser not to question her uncle and auntabout Marion. Sometime they would tell her what they wished her to know.

  After _dejeuner_ the rain ceased, and by three o'clock the sun wasshining.

  "This was a fortunate storm that kept us here, for they say that upthere on the hills there's an interesting old monastery, such as we maynot see again. The carriage will be here in ten minutes, so run and getyour bonnet and shawl, as they used to say in old novels," said UncleJim.

  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 theystarted.

  "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 questionMarion. 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, andalmost cousins."

  The country through which they drove for a quarter of an hour was verypretty, with many trees and shrubs that looked particularly green andfresh after the recent rain, and the hilly roads were far less muddythan they had expected. From one high point they had a delightful viewof the village they had just left, circled by hills. On one was a ruinedcastle, on another the remains of an old monastery where a hermit monkwas said to live. Irma felt that now she was indeed in the old world. Ontwo or three hills she noted slender, gray stone towers, and throughAunt Caroline the driver explained that they were used for snaringpigeons.

  "From those little openings, like portholes, small white stones arethrown out, which the pigeons mistake for food, and as they swoop downupon 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 oftheir pigeon pie," said Uncle Jim.

  Now turning their backs on the lovely view, the carriage went up ahigher hill. It passed an occasional simple cottage, and they met two orthree groups of people evidently returning from a visit to themonastery. They stopped for a moment at a church in front of which was astone on which the driver said Pope Urban II had dismounted more thannine hundred years ago. A few minutes later they were at their goal, theold Benedictine Monastery, La Trinita della Cava.

  "Ought we to go in before Marion arrives?" Aunt Caroline's tone impliedthat she thought they should wait.

  "Marion is too uncertain, and the hours for visiting the monastery arelimited!"

  Soon the door opened, showing a pleasant-faced monk standing there towelcome them. Before they went within he halted at the entrance,explaining that a handful of churchmen had established themselves herein the very early days because on these remote heights they could becomparatively safe from marauders.

  "It is certainly a natural fortress," responded Uncle Jim, looking fromthe steep cliff on which they stood to the narrow river bed, far, farbelow. "And a few sharp-shooting bowmen up here on the hei
ghts couldkeep off any number of the enemy. Come, Irma. Can't you imagine theventuresome Lombards creeping up the ravine, only to be held back by thestorm of arrows?"

  "But it could only be for a little time. In the end I am sure that thebold 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. Theywere so few compared with the native races, and now the people here areItalians pure and simple."

  "Your theories are interesting," said Aunt Caroline, as they followedthe monk inside, "but unfortunately for them the convent here wasfounded by a member of an old Lombard family. The site was chosen fordefence, probably against marauding nobles."

  Their guide spoke clearly and slowly and Aunt Caroline easilytranslated what he said. He told them that the convent gave a school andcollege training to boys of good family, and that these large andattractive halls had been provided for them. In the library were somegood old pictures, but the most valuable treasures were the ancientmanuscripts, among them the laws of the Lombards on parchment of theearly eleventh century, and a Bible of the early eighth century. But forall this there was time for only a passing impression, and Uncle Jim wasrather amused by the awe with which Irma regarded them. On their way outthey saw a number of boys walking up and down the cloisters, arrayed inlong surpliced coats that made them look like very youthful priests.

  "They are intended for the Church," explained Aunt Caroline, "but thosesmaller boys in ordinary clothes will go into other professions. I amsorry," she added a moment later, as they stood in an ancient room,built into the solid rock,--almost the only thing remaining of theoriginal abbey, "that Marion will miss this. It is too late, our guidetells me, for us to get admission to the church, and we must bid himgood-by here."

  So, after their monk had dropped their visitor's fee in a collection boxnear the door, they went down the hills toward Cava di Tirreni. They didnot meet Marion on the way, nor in the course of their drive along theone-mile, narrow street of the little town. The arcaded shops were dingyand the houses unattractive.

  "In Italy you must get used to these squalid, rather dirty towns in theheart of a lovely country. The Italians love to herd together, clingingclosely to a habit no longer necessary for defence against enemies, asit was in the ancient times. Even in America they prefer city to countrylife," said Uncle Jim.

  The soup plates had been removed when Marion appeared at dinner. Hegreeted 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 theplea that he must repack his valise and get to bed early in preparationfor their morning start.

  During the evening Irma and Aunt Caroline joined their landlady in thedeserted dining-room to look at some of the antiques in glass casesalong the wall intended for sale. After picking them over carefully,Aunt Caroline bought one or two old iron knockers and a piece of glassthat she felt sure was Murano. The landlady's husband appeared at justthe right moment to fix the price, and from a secret drawer produced abit of old brocade that Aunt Caroline pounced on with exclamations ofdelight.

  "It won't last until you reach Rome!"

  "Oh, indeed it will. But it is for ornament and not use, and the kind ofthing I never _can_ pass by."

  After this Aunt Caroline added several other things to hercollection--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 takesome of this inlaid furniture home with me," she said. "Everything inthe house is seemingly for sale even to the bed that Madame our hostesssleeps on. Although she is married to an Italian, I observe that sheprefers '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 toexamine the lion's head at the door. It had belonged to the greatFilangeri family, as indeed did the hotel in the ancient days. NaturallyMadame had observed that this was no ordinary hotel, but a veritablepalace with ancient traditions and legends, and----"

  Finally Aunt Caroline stopped her flow of words to show Irma that themassive lion's head with its open mouth was but a flambeau holder tolight the path of guests at night.

  "You will need more than one flambeau to light your path to-night," saidUncle Jim, joining them, as they stood there reading a tablet with aninteresting inscription. "Remember that we take an early train forPaestum."

  "Paestum--what is Paestum?" rejoined Irma mockingly, as she hurriedahead of Uncle Jim up the long marble staircase that led to her room.

  In the morning, however, long before their train reached Paestum, Irmaknew all about it. The country through which they began to pass, soonafter leaving Salerno, was not closely settled. Farther on there weregreat stretches of marshes where cattle roamed about. Marion wassurprised to discover that the so-called buffaloes were quite unlike thebison, resembling large grayish oxen with a slight hump. They are thechief beasts of burden for the country people of this region. Uncle Jimexplained that the whole country here was malarious. It had a badreputation even in the time of Augustus, and on this account the name ofancient Poseidonia had been changed to "Pesto," and if you doubt me, youmay look on the map. There, indeed, Irma did find "Pesto" instead of themore classic name, yet she continued to doubt Uncle Jim's account of itsorigin--"Paestum" was evidently from "Poseidonia."