162 



May, 1915. 



American "Bee Joarnal 



Apistica," is the only book I know of 

 that treats especially of the renting of 

 an apiary on shares. 



The only bees we saw were in a few 

 dilapidated skeps, baskets, boxes and 

 kegs, at th- house of a lonhu/ino, in 

 the Roman Campagna, as we rode 

 through it after a trip upon the famous 

 Appian Way (via Appia). We had 

 visited the catacombs of St. Calixte, 

 where, for one franc each, we had been 

 supplied with a small candle and had 

 followed a young monk some 50 feet 

 under ground, among tortuous passa- 

 ges, where we met four or five parties 

 of tourists, mainly Americans. 



The contadini homes, in the Roman 

 Campagna, are ruined houses, with very 

 small windows and sometimes big 

 arches for doors. They live among the 

 remnants of the past. In the outskirts 

 almost every third house is a tavern, 

 where they sell " vino e birra." This 

 was Sunday, and the roadside inns 

 were swarming with people seated at 

 tables along the dusty road or on a 

 piazza on the flat roof, drinking, laugh- 

 ing, singing, served by barmaids. 



Lots of good looking young people, 

 but lots of dirt, poverty and rags. The 

 Roman Campagna has not been mis- 

 represented. 



On Sept. 16, we reached Florence. 

 There a number of beekeepers had 

 been notified of our intended arrival 

 and were expecting us. But through a 

 misunderstanding on my part we went 

 to the wrong hotel. So they waited 

 for us in vain, while we were in the 

 city. As a result we simply saw sights 

 for two days and went on. Florence 

 is beautiful. But of what use would 

 it be for us to attempt a description 

 when so many able writers have 

 already done it better than we could ? 



Palaces and statues, frescoes and 

 paintings; the nude, more or less 

 everywhere, not only here, but in all 

 Italy, even in the Vatican at Rome, 

 where the succeeding popes have gath- 

 ered together and carefully marked, 

 with their names, every valuable sculp- 

 ture. This strikes our American pru 

 dery as extremely incongruous. But it 

 is a matter of custom and not of 

 morality or religion. 



Away we went, down the Arno, to- 

 wards Genoa. Passing through Pisa, 

 we thought to have missed seeing the 

 Leaning Tower, but it loomed before 

 our eyes just as the train pulled out. 



At Pietra Santa, we saw endless car- 

 loads of white marble. Looking up 

 our guide book, we found ourselves in 

 the vicinity of Carrara, the source of 

 the renowned Italian marbles. Moun- 

 tains as white, almost, as snow, showed 

 on our right. Carrara ships about a 

 million tons of marble every year 

 throughout the world. Its 700 quar- 

 ries occupy some ti'jiKI men. 



We were now traveling along the 

 shore of the Mediterranean sea, with 

 hundreds of tunnels along the way, for 

 the bluffs are very abrupt. I'.verywhere 

 are villas, hotels, pink-colored houses, 

 village streets which we saw in a flash 

 as we rushed out of one tunnel into 

 another. It was very beautiful but very 

 tiresome. We reached Genoa in the 

 evening, but only remained over night. 

 We had promised to be in San Remo 

 the following day. 



We reached San Remo on the morn- 

 ing of the I'Jth. At the hotel, when we 



enquired as to the address of Engineer 

 Capponi, whom we expected to visit, 

 the manager laughed and said : "You 

 need not hunt him, he called here yes- 

 terday and twice this morning asking 

 for you. He will be here again before 

 long." Indeed, we had hardly taken pos- 

 session of our room when we received 

 a note informing us that Signor Cap- 

 poni would call for us with a carriage 

 promptly after lunch. 



Mr. Capponi, an architectural en- 

 gineer, is one of the leading men 

 of the Italian association of bee- 

 keepers. He keeps his bees in the 

 mountain, back of San Remo. He 

 took great pride in showing us around, 

 and when we thanked him he replied: 

 " Do not thank me, I am only duing 

 my duty as our members understand it, 

 and it is a great pleasure to welcome 

 you." 



San Remo is a small city of 17,000 in- 

 habitants, and mainly a winter resort. 

 It was dead, at the time of our visit, 

 only five of its numerous hotels being 

 open in the summer or fall. Aside 

 from th' olive trees still prominent 

 here, the vicinity grows winter flowers, 

 roses, carnations, etc., for shipment to 

 cold countries. Hundreds of acres are 

 devoted to this purpose, and I was told 

 that entire carloads of roses were 

 shipped to the capitals of northern 

 countries, in the middle of winter. 

 Being along what is called the " Rivi- 

 era," on the south side of the moun- 

 tain range, its bees are of a mi.xed 

 race, hybrids, or at least dark and 

 rather cross, as a rule. This is the part 

 of Italy which is called Liguria. So 

 the name formerly used to denominate 

 pure Italian bees, " Ligurians " is a 

 misnomer. I should like to have been 



A STREET I.N OLD SA.N KEMO 



