A FARM IN THE SABINE.

Press, Volume XLVI, Issue 7421, 21 September 1889, Page 6

A FARM IN THE SABINE.

Bγ A. HL M.

As we left Rome behind at that Febraary mottling the sun was shining as only * Roman eon knows how. and the train' dawdled orer the wide Campagna as phly a Roman train can. Ihe scenery Iβ remarkably like chat of the Canterbury Plains, treeless, houseless, except for the small railway stations with their clamps of blae gnms, which flourish here with as much vigour as in their far off native land. When the train stops one is struck j by the utter stillness that reigns, broken only by the pifleroni of the ragged ahep: herd boy whistling in the distance. As for the song birds, who would not rather have a dish of dainty skylarks for one's i sapper than hear them singing in the open j air? We travelled along the old Tiber for about thirty miles, alighting at a little j railway station called Poggio Mirteto—a fac simile of all the others, with the everlasting clamp of blue gams round it—just at the foot of the Sablne Bills. This was about ten miles from our destination—Mr M *s estate of Farfa. His wagonette was waiting for as, and we were soon bowling up the hill at a toe rate behind fine strapping horses, each with a plume of pheasant's feather* fastened in his head stall. Our driver was a jolly young peasant, dressed Iα coarse brown homespun, his head gear consisting of a tall pointed felt hat with a peacocks feather stuck in the brim. He spent his time alternately shouting at the horses and beaming round at us in the most good natured way, gesticulating violently with his long whip at every fresh view which presented itself. Far away in the distance loomed the great dome of St. Peter's, while in front of and around us stretched range afte? range of picturesque hills covered far and near with the dull grey blue foliage of the olives, some of them still hung with over-ripe fruit. Here and there a quaint little yellow village perched on the very

top of a hill reminded one of the " Lonely hamlet, Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest. fiange on the crest Of purple Appenine.'-' Farfa is one of these, On the Immediate top of a round hill and surrounded tfy quaint old houses, stands a huge rambling old building, until lately a monastery In; habited by no less than seven hundred monks. Th ese good people alaways knew where to build their monasteries—clear streams with plenty of fish, and soil s fertile that it would grow three crope »U at once—olives, grapes, and wheat, furnished them with abundance lor their simple tastes. Bat we are arriving at our journey's end. At aloud shout from the driver.the horses put on a freeh spurt, gallop gaily op the stony road ending in the steep street of the village, and in next to no time we are landed in the paved courtyard o* the monastery, where we are welcomed, not only by our host, bat by a little crowd of inquisitive contadini. We were conducted through long yellow corridors to a sunny little cell—once the Prior's—elaborately frescoed, and quite a contrast to the bare walls dt the rest of the building. Lunch was ready, and the noise of our closing door and advancing footsteps echoed loudly along the empty passages. The meal consisted solely of viands grown on the estate ; first came a vegetable soap, then fish fresh from neighbouring stream, and lemons from the garden; kid with endive salad and fresh oil, pepper and Chilis; brown bread and cream cheese, and then a dessert of figs, pressed when ripe and simply threaded on reeds into a long coil from which they are palled on e by one. Delicious sour wine completed the menu; "While we were refreshing our inner man, Mr M. gave as an account Of how he came into possession of this beautiful property. :

After its suppression some few years before, the monastery with its surround ing lands, consisting of some fire h.on dred acres, was put; up to auction. At these land sales a short candle is lighted* and while it burns the bidding goes on, the successful purchaser being ' the one who bids highest before the light goe 4 out. A party of unsuspecting itaUanif were at the sale of Farfa, &nA bid lazily enough, never thinking that the young Englishman was meaning business at aU till his final bid out-topped theirs altogether, and the candle went out. Sis work at Farfa is paying him well enough and he is greatly respected by his villagers who work for him at wages that would astonish our unemployed—the men earn* ing from 4d, the women about 3d a day* Their chief occupation at this season of the year is collecting the ripe olives as they fall from the trees. The fruit is then carried into the great store-room, and deposited on the floor where it lies looking most inviting—(Oh, did you ever eat » ripe olive? lam quite sure you would never eat two.)

The women make round reed baskets and fill them with the fruit; these are simply threaded on an iron rod and pressed down under a mill-stone driven by a small steam engine, and the oU runs out into vats placed to receive it. Then it is left to settle, and the clear part ig poured off, thin last process being repeated until it fs beautifully pure and transparent, when it is fit for use. The refuse from the olives serves as fuel for the engine. Mr M.'s engine was quite a new idea to the simple country people who flocked from near and far to see a mysterious affair that could do a week's work in a single morning.

We went down into the cellars and saw the great tuns of wine ready for sending off to Rome, and then to the scabies to see the horses, and here we stopped to make a sketch of Mr M.'s biga, thinking ft a splendid idea for New Zealand travelling A biga is a one-seated conveyance some' thing of the sulky kind—it consist of a light seat placed on two very large springs with a net spread for (he feet, and it ha* two wheels. These bigas are in very common use throughout the environs o< Borne. then we went into the court-yard to see the old housekeeper feed her crowds of tame pigeons, and on into the lemon garden where lazy tortoises of all sixes lay basking in the sun.

We strolled into the monastery chapel to see the far-famed Black Virgin. There are said to be only two such pictures in existence—where the second one is I quite forget. Tradition says they were brought from Damascus by the Crusaders (who also named this place after Pharpar, the river of Damascus), certainly this one bears the appearance of very early Christian art. The people ascribe miracles to it, and all the babies born in Farfa have to undergo an extraordinary ceremony. The picture is taken out of the shabby old frame, through which the infant is reverently passed. This insures good luck throughout the chfld s future life. At the top corners of the facade of the chapel crouch two hideous stone gargoyles, turning their heads slightly towards each other. A curious tradition Is connected with these creatures. It is said that deep In the ground under the angle where their glances would meet lies a treasure of untold value, hidden there by an invading force who were driven away and left their valuables behind them. To this day the villagers diligently dig for the treasure. They occasionally bring to light a skeleton or an old coin or two. and these Mr M. keep* in a cabinet in his dining-room, but the great hoard has never been discovered yet, and many are the discussions and calculations as to where the exact spot may be. What a glorious view there is up and down those valleys 1 The sun sank slowly behind the hills as we sat chatting over our coffee, seated on a heap of old olive trunks on one of the terraces. But time was flying and our Jehu was waiting, so down the hills we sped again with our faces towards Borne. ..... 4.8.M,