, 1876-03-24
The Normans in Sicily.
BY T. B. sTORK.


Two things in Sicily have attracted
my attention. The first is the curious
fashion people have of painting their
carts. Each cart is adorned with rough
pictures, representing some well-known
story, and accompanied by descriptive
letter-press, as the publishers would say.
l saw one cart with the story of the prod
igal son told in four scenes. Another
had the adventures of Tancred, a favorite,
popular hero of the time of the crusades.
At the top or bottom of each picture was
a little inscription explaining it, and an
nouncing that this was the crowning OF
Tancred after such and such events, or
that here Tancred fought and killed the
infdel knight. And sure enough there 1t
all was in brightest green and yellow;
there lay the slain knight on the ground,
and seated under a tree near by was Tan
cred, worn out with the struggle. Pic
lures of the Madonna also abounded. One
man l saw just waking up from a sound
sleep, having left his cart meanwhile to roll
on under the care of the Madonna piously
depicted on its sides.
The second object of remark is the bold
ness and power of the Normans, who have
covered the wholei island with their marks.
Fancy the cool audacity of a soldier OF
fortune going to the Pope and asking him
to bestow on him the sovereignty of an
island to which neither of them had the
slightest title, and which was in the pos
session of the warlike Saracens. Neither
of the precious pair, however, seemed to
worry about that. The Pope gave the ter
rible northern warrior his blessing with
much hypocritical solemnity and Roger,
the great count, sailed forth with few
hundred knights to make i. good and to
conquer Sicily. He conquered it, and
more, too. The wars and adventures of
these men among the castles and cities of
Sicily read like a romance of Dumas.
Picture to yourself Roger and his young
wife Judith sorely beset in one of the lonely
gray-walled castles that you may still see
perched away among the hills here. 1t
is the depth of severe winter, the Sara
Gems swarm about the fortress, and he and
his wife have but one cloak to cover them
from the cold. So runs the tradition.
What a glimpse of the times and Of the pri-
gives usl The severity of the winter, how
ever was the salvation of Roger, for the
Saracens undertook to warm themselves
with wine, their discipline was relaxed and
Roger, making a sudden sally, slew a
large number and put the rest to fight.
Rogers wife, the brave and beautiful Ju-
dith, whom he had seen and loved while
novice in her brothers priory of st.
Evroult in Normandy, so won her hus-
bands confidence by her conduct during
this siege, that he left her in command of
the castle, and every night she went the
rounds and saw that the sentinels were at
their posts. 1t was only at Christmas
time the year before that they were mar
ried. Her brother, the prior of St. Ev-
roult, had quarreled with William, Duke
of Normandy, and had fed to Calabria,
with herself and her sister Emma, and
there Roger made her his countess. This
is only one bit taken from a history as
dramatic and interesting as a playa
history that is full of situations and
scenes that would make the fortune of a
novelist. Now it is great battle IN the
plain under Castro Giovanni, in which
700 hardy Normans defeat 5000 Sara
Gems; at least so says their Latin his
torian. Atanother time, just as they were
advancing to attack an immense army of
Saracens, knight in magnificent armor,
and mounted on milk-white horse, rode
forth from their ranks. His lance was
tipped with golden cross, and the cry
of st. Georgel st. Georgel rent the air.
For it was the English saint that to their
heated imkginatiOns was leading them
against the enemy.
And so for two hundred years or more
this brilliant, kingly race fought br4vely
and ruled wisely in Sicily, until the last
Of the gallant line, Manfred, perished in
as tragic and characteristic scene as any
in their whole history. II was in the bat
tie of the river Galore, part of Manfred's 3
troops deserted him, and at the same in
slant, the crest of his helmet, q silver
eagle, fell to the earth. He took it as an
evil omen. "This is no accidentr' he ex-
claimed, and despsiring of success, but
with hereditary courage, he spurred his
horse into the thickest Of the fight, and
so died.
Of these tales of the olden time, of Nor
man courage and Saracenic splendor, Of
Moorish palaces and gardens filled with
lemon and orange trees, it is pleasant to
think, as you skirt the eastern edge of the
island, looking down on one side upon
the changeful Mediterranean, and on the
other up to the bleak hills Of the inte-
rior.
1t is very easy to recall the whole pic
ture, for the aspect of the country Is az
feudal and Medieval as ever. The eye
wanders over a desolate, lonely country,
the towns, such as they are, hide them
selves away in the Businesses Of the hills,
or gather like frightened chicks about
some blackened tower, once the Lords
castle, but now an empty shell, powerless
to protect them. What tale Of violence
and lawlessness it tells to see q country
with all the people huddled together in
towns or under the portfolios of q for
tressi What a contrast it presents to q
trusting English or American farm house,
with its doors and windows open to ali
comers in the broad countryside, the
owners fearlessly confident in the firm,
invisible protection of law.-LNtherdn
Observer.
GOLDSMITH AT HoME.-In 1853, in a
garret in a miserable, tottering square,
which waa annroachad nv A niOhk ~