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Updated: May 9, 2025
The joys of Calabria are not to be bought, like those of Switzerland, for gold. Sir Giovati Battista di Noia Molisi, the last of his family and name, having no sons and being come to old age without further hope of offspring, has desired in the place of children to leave of himself an eternal memory to mankind to wit, this Chronicle of the most Ancient, Magnificent, and Faithful City of Cotrone.
Its charms do not appeal to the eye of romance, and the man who would perambulate Magna Graecia as he does the Alps would soon regret his choice. One needs something of that "human element" which delighted the genteel photographer of Morano comrades, in short; if only those sages, like old Noia Molisi, who have fallen under the spell of its ancient glories.
The Esaro glides pleasantly, says the chronicler Noia Molisi. Perhaps it really glided, in his day. One might do worse than spend a quiet month or two at Cotrone in the spring, for the place grows upon one: it is so reposeful and orderly. But not in winter.
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