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Updated: May 11, 2025
When we reached the little quay we found the surf of the libeccio still rolling heavily into the gulf. A gusty south-easter crossed it, tearing spray-crests from the swell as it went plunging onward. The sea was rough enough; but we made fast sailing, our captain steering with a skill which it was beautiful to watch, his five oarsmen picturesquely grouped beneath the straining sail.
For the next three days the wind went worrying on, and a line of surf leapt on the sea-wall always to the same height. The hills all around were inky black and weary. At night the wild libeccio still rose, with floods of rain and lightning poured upon the waste. I thought of the Florentine patrol. Is he out in it, and where? At last there came a lull.
Con Veuto da greco et tramantana in poppe; literally, having a Greek, and beyond the mountain wind in the poop. The points of the compass, in Italian maps, are thus named, N. Tramontana. N. E. Greco. E. Levante S. E. Sirocco. S. Mezzoni. S. W. Libeccio. W. Ponente. N. W. Maestro. Clarke. This date ought to have been 1413. Astl. Barbot says eight leagues; other authors say more, and some less.
We leave hideous moral and physical leprosy at home, and come here to shed dilettante tears over classic tatters twenty-five centuries old! O immortal and ubiquitous Tartufe!" As Leo walked with her cousin toward the spot, where the "Cleopatra" rose and fell on the crest of waves racing before Libeccio, she suddenly laid her hand on his arm.
The scene in spite of natural suavity and grace, had become like Dante's first glimpse of the City of Dis like Sodom and Gomorrah when fire from heaven descended on their towers before they crumbled into dust. After this, for several days, Libeccio blew harder. No boats could leave or come to Capri.
For the next three days the wind went worrying on, and a line of surf leapt on the sea-wall always to the same height. The hills all around were inky black and weary. At night the wild libeccio still rose, with floods of rain and lightning poured upon the waste. I thought of the Florentine patrol. Is he out in it, and where? At last there came a lull.
May Christ receive thy soul! . . . Thy son rules in thy house. . . . I have seen the oak fall, . . . dried up by the libeccio. . . . I thought it was dead indeed, . . . but when I passed it again, its root . . . had thrown up a sapling. . . . The sapling grew into an oak . . . of mighty shade. . . . Under its great branches, Maddele, rest thee well! . . . And think of the oak that is no more!"
There is a grotto here, where an inscription tells us that Byron once "tempted the Ligurian waves." It is just such a natural sea-cave as might have inspired Euripides when he described the refuge of Orestes in "Iphigenia." Libeccio at last had swept the sky clear. The gulf was ridged with foam-fleeced breakers, and the water churned into green, tawny wastes.
There is a grotto here, where an inscription tells us that Byron once 'tempted the Ligurian waves. It is just such a natural sea-cave as might have inspired Euripides when he described the refuge of Orestes in 'Iphigenia. Libeccio at last had swept the sky clear. The gulf was ridged with foam-fleeced breakers, and the water churned into green, tawny wastes.
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