SICILY, THE BATTLE-FIELD OF NATIONS 

 AND OF NATURE 



By Mrs George C. Bosson, Jr. 



LAND beloved of the gods and 

 battle-ground of West and East, 

 the later history of Sicily has 

 had much to do in making the history of 

 modern Europe. It is as peaceful now 

 as its billows of gray-green olive branches 

 typify — but so are there fires under 

 Etna's snowy mantle. 



Phoenicians, Greeks, Carthaginians, 

 Romans, Vandals, Saracens, Normans, 

 Spanish, Savoyards, Bourbons, Garibaldi, 

 Italians — these have fought and ruled in 

 sunny Sicily from 735 B. C. until this 

 year of grace. Is it any wonder that 

 Goethe declared Sicily to be "the key to 

 all" — of mythology, tradition, history, of 

 archaeology, poetry, and Nature's perfect 

 beauty ? 



The Parthenon at Athens has been 

 wrecked and crushed by earthquakes and 

 Turkish bombs, but in Sicily one may see 

 Greek temples in nearly perfect grandeur 

 yet, for wherever the Greek set his foot 

 there rose temples and statues, theaters 

 and amphitheaters, which the kindly cli- 

 mate and the hand of man have greatly 

 spared. 



But Greek or Roman matters not 

 when one ascends that old hill of Taurus 

 (hence Taormina's name), and among 

 those Corinthian columns stands in a uni- 

 verse of blue ! Blue heaven and blue sea, 

 and to the right Etna in its majesty, a 

 pearly cone against the dazzling azure ; 

 tawny rocks and a gray old town, 

 splashes of pink where almonds bloom, 

 and glossy green of lemon trees for miles 

 and miles and miles. Somehow it never 

 looks quite real, for each detail is in just 

 the place to give artistic value to the 

 whole. 



And then what memories ! The throne 

 of Jupiter, Vulcan's workshop, the 

 Titans' prison, the Cyclops' home — Em- 

 pedocles in purple gown and laurel 

 crown, and shod with golden sandals, 



walked here to meditate, and found his 

 tomb beneath the cliff ! Here sat the 

 Greek, and after him the Roman, to hear 

 the verse of Sophocles and Euripides. 

 Later came Ibrahim the Saracen, and 

 found no one to oppose his conquering 

 march save an old bishop, St. Elia, kneel- 

 ing to defend the city by his prayers ! 

 So "Allah Akbar" followed sonorous 

 Greek verse, in turn to yield to Catholic 

 devotions, when Count Roger d'Haute- 

 ville waved his victorious banner above 

 the theaters' ruins. 



MAGNIFICENT TEMPLES OE GIRGENTI 



The old walled city of the middle ages 

 crowns the hill, while out on the plateau, 

 beyond the delightful Hotel des Temples 

 and its old-world garden, the vast 

 grandeur of the amber-pillared temples 

 spreads. The billowing plain of emerald 

 seems designed by Nature for great edi- 

 fices, and in the dignity of solitude the 

 gigantic ruins stand in their topaz glory. 

 Ceres and Proserpine, Minerva and Jupi- 

 ter, Hercules, Juno, Vulcan — all were 

 worshiped here in the old Greek days 

 when Girgenti (Agrigentum) numbered 

 800,000 souls. Now solitude has suc- 

 ceeded to the throngs and silence reigns, 

 broken only by a caribiniero whistling 

 "O sole mio" or by a little goatherd's 

 singing as he cuts the cactus for his hun- 

 gry pets. Asphodels and iris bloom 

 where sandalled feet have trod, and the 

 only votive offerings are the violets 

 which the custodian's little daughter 

 shyly offers the sign or a. 



The Temple of Concord is almost per- 

 fect still, Doric in style, and of the same 

 cream-yellow sandstone of which all were 

 built. It stands on a natural rampart 

 cliff, and beyond it are the walls which 

 Virgil saw from the sea ! 



The Temple to Hercules was of the 

 same size as the Temple of Concordia 



