Catanzaro was founded in the tenth century, at the same time
that Taranto was rebuilt after the Saracen destruction; an epoch of
revival for Southern Italy under the vigorous Byzantine rule of
Nicephorus Phocas. From my point of view, the interest of the place
suffered because I could attach to it no classic memory. Robert
Guiscard, to be sure, is a figure picturesque enough, and might give
play to the imagination, but I care little for him after all; he
does not belong to my world. I had to see Catanzaro merely as an
Italian town amid wonderful surroundings. The natural beauty of the
spot amply sufficed to me during the days I spent there, and
gratitude for health recovered gave me a kindly feeling to all its
inhabitants.
Daylight brought no disillusion as regards natural features. I made
the circuit of the little town, and found that it everywhere
overlooks a steep, often a sheer, descent, save at one point, where
an isthmus unites it to the mountains that rise behind. In places
the bounding wall runs on the very edge of a precipice, and many a
crazy house, overhanging, seems ready to topple into the abyss.
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