Over and over again Catanzaro has been
shaken to its foundations. The worst calamity recorded was towards
the end of the eighteenth century, when scarce a house remained
standing, and many thousands of the people perished. This explains a
peculiarity in the aspect of the place, noticeable as soon as one
begins to walk about; it is like a town either half built or half
destroyed, one knows not which; everywhere one comes upon ragged
walls, tottering houses, yet there is no appearance of antiquity.
One ancient building, a castle built by Robert Guiscard when he
captured Catanzaro in the eleventh century, remained until of late
years, its Norman solidity defying earthquakes; but this has been
pulled down, deliberately got rid of for the sake of widening a
road. Lament over such a proceeding would be idle enough; Catanzaro
is the one progressive town of Calabria, and has learnt too
thoroughly the spirit of the time to suffer a blocking of its
highway by middle-age obstructions.
If a Hellenic or Roman city occupied this breezy summit, it has left
no name, and no relics of the old civilization have been discovered
here.
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