This is simply hearth-money, an impost on each fireplace where food is cooked; the same tax which made trouble in old England, and was happily got rid of long ago.  But the hungry plebs of Cotrone lacked vigour for any effective self-assertion; they merely exhausted themselves with shouting “Abbass’ ’o sindaco!” and dispersed to the hearths which paid for an all but imaginary service.  I wondered whether the Sindaco and his portly friend sat in their comfortable room whilst the roaring went on; whether they smoked their cigars as usual, and continued to chat at their ease.  Very likely.  The privileged classes in Italy are slow to move, and may well believe in the boundless endurance of those below them.  Some day, no doubt, they will have a disagreeable surprise.  When Lombardy begins in earnest to shout “Abbasso!” it will be an uneasy moment for the heavy syndics of Calabria.

CHAPTER X

CHILDREN OF THE SOIL

Any northern person who passed a day or two at the Concordia as an ordinary traveller would carry away a strong impression.  The people of the house would seem to him little short of savages, filthy in person and in habits, utterly uncouth in their demeanour, perpetual wranglers and railers, lacking every qualification for the duties they pretended to discharge.  In England their mere appearance would revolt decent folk.  With my better opportunity of judging them, I overcame the first natural antipathy; I saw their good side, and learnt to forgive the faults natural to a state of frank barbarism.  It took two or three days before their rough and ready behaviour softened to a really human friendliness, but this came about at last, and when it was known that I should not give much more trouble, that I needed only a little care in the matter of diet, goodwill did its best to aid hopeless incapacity.

Whilst my fever was high, little groups of people often came into the room, to stand and stare at me, exchanging, in a low voice, remarks which they supposed I did not hear, or, hearing, could not understand; as a matter of fact, their dialect was now intelligible enough to me, and I knew that they discussed my chances of surviving.  Their natures were not sanguine.  A result, doubtless, of the unhealthy climate, every one at Cotrone seemed in a more or less gloomy state of mind.  The hostess went about uttering ceaseless moans and groans; when she was in my room I heard her constantly sighing, “Ah, Signore!  Ah, Cristo!”—­exclamations which, perhaps, had some reference to my illness, but which did not cease when I recovered.  Whether she had any private reason for depression I could not learn; I fancy not; it was only the whimpering and querulous habit due to low health.  A female servant, who occasionally brought me food (I found that she also cooked it), bore herself in much the same way.  This domestic was the most primitive figure of the household.  Picture a woman of middle