Perforce I waited.
A cloudless sky; broad sunshine, warm as in an English summer; but
the roaring _tramontana_ was disagreeably chill. No weather could be
more perilous to health. The people of Cotrone, those few of them
who did not stay at home or shelter in the porticoes, went about
heavily cloaked, and I wondered at their ability to wear such
garments under so hot a sun. Theoretically aware of the danger I was
running, but, in fact, thinking little about it, I braved the wind
and the sunshine all day long; my sketch-book gained by it, and my
store of memories. First of all, I looked into the Cathedral, an
ugly edifice, as uninteresting within as without. Like all the
churches in Calabria, it is white-washed from door to altar, pillars
no less than walls--a cold and depressing interior. I could see no
picture of the least merit; one, a figure of Christ with hideous
wounds, was well-nigh as repulsive as painting could be. This vile
realism seems to indicate Spanish influence. There is a miniature
copy in bronze of the statue of the chief Apostle in St.
Pages:
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99