The Aspromonte Riddle

Book summary

In The Aspromonte Riddle, Edward Lear and his pupil, Lord John Proby, embark on a painting tour of Sicily in 1847. Venturing into the wild Aspromonte Mountains, they face dangerous encounters with brigands and revolutionaries. Along the way, their journey becomes one of self-discovery amidst political turmoil and breathtaking landscapes.

Excerpt from The Aspromonte Riddle

Rome, Italy, May 1st 1847

Granville returned to England in April. Less than a month later Proby and Edward Lear, John’s art teacher, sat opposite each other, drinking red wine in a Trastevere cantina. The characteristic quarter of Rome had the reputation of being somewhat bohémien, which made it more exciting for those Englishmen of artistic bent. With the artist’s eye, Edward surreptitiously made a mental note of weathered or flirtatious faces.

On one side of the table sat the still pallid, but otherwise seemingly healthy and cheerful John Proby, and on the other, Mr Edward Lear, landscape artist and poet with a flair for nonsense rhymes. He was driven by a desire to find inspiration for his art and escape the monotony of English society.

Eleven years older than his friend, Edward had wavy, medium-length hair that was parted slightly to the side, a moustache and small, round spectacles. His expression was calm and contemplative and he was wearing a collared shirt and a waistcoat. He had taken a great liking to his companion, who, similar to himself, was somewhat introverted. Had Edward known, as he admitted years later, that his student friend was an aristocrat, he would not have chosen him as a travelling companion, but plain Mister John Proby suited him perfectly. Edward Lear was from a middle-class background, born at Holloway, north London, the penultimate of twenty-one children, many of whom did not survive infancy. His father, Jeremiah, a stockbroker formerly working for the family sugar refining business, hit hard times as a result of the economic upheaval following the Napoleonic wars, so Edward was mothered by his sister Ann, 21 years his senior. Lear and his sister were required to leave the family home, Bowman’s Lodge, and live together when he was aged four.

Maybe Lear was drawn to Proby also because of the younger man’s frail health. Edward himself suffered periodically from epilepsy, bronchitis and asthma and, along with these, he had bouts of depression, which began aged seven and continued to torment him in adulthood. He called these spells “the Morbids”.

Lear was already drawing “for bread and cheese” by the time he was aged 16 and soon developed into a serious “ornithological draughtsman” employed by the Zoological Society. This was the man whose reputation had brought John Proby to him. He was famed as the first major bird artist to draw birds from real live birds, instead of skins. Now in Rome, he needed to supplement his earnings by tutoring such aspiring artists as the mild-mannered John.

Edward took a deep breath and, overcoming his shyness, said, “John, I’m seriously thinking of moving on from Rome, in search of adventure.”

Proby looked shocked and dismayed, his posture slumped slightly and he moved his chair back a few inches, “Adventure, Edward?”

“Yes, indeed, I wish to sail south to Sicily, that land of myth and legend. My dear Proby, do you know what Goethe said about the island? I’ll tell you: ‘To have seen Italy without having seen Sicily is not to have seen Italy at all, for Sicily is the clue to everything.’

“I shall most certainly miss my lessons with you, and these, our occasional amicable encounters.”

“Good of you to say so, John,” he smiled shyly, lowering his head as he spoke, “but why don’t you come with me as my travelling companion? We can live frugally and, thus, you need not suspend your art lessons, we can paint landscapes and monuments together. Just think, we shall see sights like Mount Etna, the Greek temple at Segesta with its Doric columns… oh, but why spoil the surprises that lie in wait for us?”

John leant forward, eyes aglow, he scuffed his chair closer to the table, “I say, what a spiffing idea! When do we sail, Edward?”

Lear beamed, “I’ll require a couple of days to organise my travelling equipment and settle my affairs and we shall be ready to sail, my dear friend.”

Proby clamped his hands in his lap and stared hard at Lear, “Edward, will you do me the kindness of making a list of materials I’ll need for our—ahem—artistic forays? You are so much more experienced than I.”

“Willingly, but you shall come with me to gather them. I see no reason why there cannot be a common fund.”

“Splendid! Then, that is what we’ll do.”

There followed their painting tour of Sicily, which ended in:

(Messina and Reggio, July 15th 1847)

Lear and Proby stood shoulder to shoulder on the Messina waterfront, staring across the strait towards the coast of mainland Italy.

“Ah, John, we have trodden where the ancient Greeks once trod, we have gazed into the inferno of Etna and amplified our voices in the Syracuse amphitheatre. Why, then, should I feel dissatisfied? Yet, I am. What do you see over there?”

“A blue chain of mountains and villages spread along the opposite shore.”

“Precisely. The blue chain beckons us. It is the Aspromonte and, differently from the well-documented pathways we followed in Sicily, nobody has written in English about those arduous paths. What a view from here, my friend! Does it not set your veins a-tingle? Look, there is Reggio scintillating on the opposite shore, and Scilla on its crag, whence our guide says, in certain conditions, it’s possible to hear mastiffs barking across the straits. You can see the high and majestic Aspromonte crowned with clouds, and the pearl-pale cliffs of Bagnara. Oh, yes, adventure calls! Yet, the land of Calabria, of great pictorial and poetic interest, has had only few visitors; still fewer have published their experiences; its landscapes, apart from those of the main roads, or places close to them, have been rarely reproduced, at least by our contemporaries. Do you not share my sentiments, dear John? Do you not see that therein lies the difference with Sicily?”

“But, Maestro, I have learnt so much about landscape painting from you here in Sicily.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. However, together, my friend, we shall open the eyes of the world to the hidden wonders of Aspromonte. We shall hire a boat, Proby, to cross the strait this afternoon. We can leave a part of our luggage here and take just sufficient for a journey of a month or six weeks in that nearest province. We need to equip ourselves with letters of presentation from the most important personages of the city, who in turn will introduce us to the interior. Come, let the adventure begin!”

Despite his initial doubts and no little trepidation, John Proby, as often occurred with Edward, was swept along by his companion’s enthusiasm, which now galloped: “Over there! It is the fort of Zancle! We shall embark at once! Soon, the fort will be a mere dot in our wake!”

“Zancle?”

Edward peered disapprovingly through his steel-rimmed glasses, “Have you learnt nothing, John? Messina was named Zancle by the Greeks, for ζάγκλον means scythe because of the shape of its natural harbour. I hope I have been a better teacher than your Greek tutor of yore. Gaze below at the harbour. What colour will reproduce that lovely little boat?”

“Green?”

“Pah! Be more precise. Imagine you have to paint it.”

“Why, it is pea-green.”

“And so it is! Now wouldn’t it be wonderful if a couple eloped in it across the Strait? Surely, it’s a subject for a poem; but not a human couple like Romeo and Juliet. Nay, an animal couple, but which animals?”

“How about an owl?”

“Splendid, John! Wonderful, an owl and the other shall be a pussycat. Mmm, let’s see,

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea

In a beautiful pea-green boat… now, there’s the subject of a poem for me, well done, my lad! I shall work on that once I get back to England. For now, I’ll jot it down in my notebook and we’ll be off on our Calabrian excursion.”

Their boat was not pea-green, but Lear gazed at his travelling companion as intensely as his Owl would at Pussy in years yet to come. In his own way, he had a deep love for John Proby. Of course, he could not spoil their close friendship by declaring any such thing. As he predicted, looking back, the lemon-coloured fort of Zancle was soon far away from them, offset by the deep blue sea. Gradually, the ploughed hills around Messina uncoiled into a long chain, the heights of Taormina and the cloud-and smoke-capped Etna enclosed the scene. Although Reggio Calabria appeared close, it was not until sunset reddened the waves that they arrived and set foot on the long avenue, in front of the uniform façades of the houses built since the latest devastating earthquake, where people were taking their evening promenade.

Edward insisted on going to the Dogana, the customs office, immediately with his letter of presentation to the Director and, using an imperious tone, he managed to avoid the nuisance questions about the state of their health or finances. Preceded by porters, they made their way to the Locanda Giordano, an inn situated on Reggio’s main road, parallel to the harbour, which boasted decent rooms, where Lear obtained the largest for the sum of four carlini a day.

On returning to the Dogana the next day, Lear produced a ducal letter and begged the Director, who scanned the letter, saying, “What can I do for you? You only have to command,” to give them a letter of recommendation for Bova and other places in the interior of the toe of Italy. The Director, accompanied everywhere by his poodle, a curly brown-furred creature as faithful as his shadow, promptly promised to do so.

“When are we going to Bova, Edward?” John asked.

“First, we must paint a view of Reggio.”

“How do you propose to do that? A view of the avenue?”

Lear’s lip curled, “You can’t be serious. Here we have undoubtedly one of the most beautiful places to be found on earth, taken in its context. Rise at dawn and we shall go on an explorative expedition.”

John wondered exactly what there was to explore but realised that a speedy dawn exodus was necessary to avoid the goats. Their bells jangled as the animals filled the main street they had just walked, blocking entry and exit as people vied for the fresh milk they could provide. Edward was well informed and smiled knowingly when Proby said, “My goodness, as well we did not delay our departure.”

As they hiked into the countryside overlooking Reggio came his second lesson of the morning. He glimpsed Reggio below through a break in the prickly pear cacti and began to set up his easel.

“What the devil are you doing, John?”

“What do you mean, just look at this view. I thought I’d paint it.”

“Why so hasty? Do you not know that the true artist will wander hither and thither seeking to better his first impression. Come along with you and see whether you can do better.” They followed a winding track lined with rosettes of thick tapering succulent leaves—aloes. Still seething from his reprimand, Proby understood what Lear had wished to convey. He was tempted to risk his friend’s scorn twice more when a peremptory “Here!” settled the matter. Both men set up their easels and gazed at an almost destroyed castle, with its lovely colours, and picturesque shape that dominated the long city, the strait and beyond, the snow-crowned volcano, Mount Etna—the Mongibello . Under the castle walls lay, spread out, gardens of oranges, lemons, citrons, and bergamots, the green swathe that ran from the hills down to the beach and as far as the eye could see in either direction, broken only by the white lines of a torrent carving its dry bed with only a trickle at this time of year. It was hard to believe that in winter, the water would descend with a rushing force. In the background, John picked out the rich Sicilian vegetation: almonds, silvery green olive plantations, palm trees, cacti, giant spiky aloes and figs.