A Sicilian Village 
closes all, a simple but most effective treat¬ 
ment. Such sparing use of the volcanic 
material has its appropriateness in a village 
removed a little from the rivers of lava that 
have flowed down from Etna. One who has 
visited the ham¬ 
lets that cluster 
around the foot 
of the giant 
m o u n t a i n is 
thankful that 
Taormina has 
escaped the 
curse of black¬ 
ness that has 
been visited 
upon her neigh¬ 
bors. These 
villages are the 
most curious 
feature even of 
the strange Et- 
nean scenery. 
Their houses, 
generally of but 
a single story, 
are walled, pav¬ 
ed and some¬ 
times even 
roofed with the 
black stone. 
Their churches 
havetheirwalls, 
joints,colum ns, 
even their 
carved work, 
wrought of the 
same gloomy 
material, of so 
hard a compo¬ 
sition that their 
steps show, af¬ 
ter centuries of 
wear, scarce a 
trace of the un¬ 
wearied foot¬ 
steps of wor¬ 
shippers. Their black spires form strange 
contrasts of wild suggestive beauty when seen 
against the snowy dome of Etna. The very 
roads are black and, startling as it may be, 
one is glad to see a spot where whitewash 
relieves the oppressive dinginess of the walls. 
Nearly all of the buildings in Taormina are 
of the Gothic period. The Cloister of S. 
Caterina is an exception, and here and there 
throughout the village a bit of Renaissance 
detail crops out. The most charming of these 
is a window, or 
what was once 
A Window of 
the Casa Ciam- 
poli where an 
orange tree in 
due season 
hangs out its 
golden fruit in 
contrast to the 
blue Sicilian 
sky. This sin¬ 
gle orange tree 
brings to mind 
the gardens of 
Taormina of 
which so much 
might be said. 
With a rich soil 
and a genial 
climate small 
wonder is it that 
nature repays 
manyfold the 
easy toilofman. 
“ Every house 
has its court¬ 
yard garden 
filled with or¬ 
ange trees, and 
nespole, and fig 
trees, and ole¬ 
anders. Erom 
the grinning 
corbels that 
support the 
balconies hang 
tufts of gem- 
bright ferns 
and glowing 
clove-pinks. 
Pergolas of 
vines, bronzed in autumn, and golden green 
beneath an April sun, fling their tendrils over 
white walls and shady loggie.” 
Toiling up the hill but a few hundred feet 
from the main street a careless glance over a 
low wall brings one to a sudden halt; and if 
16 
