deep black shadows. It reminded me of Goethe, of the romantic period:
_Kennst du das Land, wo die Citronen blühen?_
So we went tumbling down into the south, very swiftly, along with the
tumbling stream. But it was very tiring. We went at a great pace down
the gully, between the sheer rocks. Trees grew in the ledges high over
our heads, trees grew down below. And ever we descended.
Till gradually the gully opened, then opened into a wide valley-head,
and we saw Airolo away below us, the railway emerging from its hole, the
whole valley like a cornucopia full of sunshine.
Poor Emil was tired, more tired than I was. And his big boots had hurt
his feet in the descent. So, having come to the open valley-head, we
went more gently. He had become rather quiet.
The head of the valley had that half-tamed, ancient aspect that reminded
me of the Romans. I could only expect the Roman legions to be encamped
down there; and the white goats feeding on the bushes belonged to a
Roman camp.
But no, we saw again the barracks of the Swiss soldiery, and again we
were in the midst of rifle-fire and manoeuvres. But we went evenly,
tired now, and hungry. We had nothing to eat.
It is strange how different the sun-dried, ancient, southern slopes of
the world are, from the northern slopes. It is as if the god Pan really
had his home among these sun-bleached stones and tough, sun-dark trees.
And one knows it all in one's blood, it is pure, sun-dried memory. So I
was content, coming down into Airolo.
We found the streets were Italian, the houses sunny outside and dark
within, like Italy, there were laurels in the road. Poor Emil was a
foreigner all at once. He rolled down his shirt sleeves and fastened his
shirt-neck, put on his coat and collar, and became a foreigner in his
soul, pale and strange.
I saw a shop with vegetables and grapes, a real Italian shop, a dark
cave.
'_Quanto costa l'uva?_' were my first words in the south.
'_Sessanta al chilo_,' said the girl.
And it was as pleasant as a drink of wine, the Italian.
So Emil and I ate the sweet black grapes as we went to the station.
He was very poor. We went into the third-class restaurant at the
station. He ordered beer and bread and sausage; I ordered soup and
boiled beef and vegetables.
They brought me a great quantity, so, whilst the girl was serving
coffee-with-rum to the men at the bar, I took another spoon and knife
and fork and plates for Emil, and we had two dinners from my one. When
the girl--she was a woman of thirty-five--came back, she looked at us
sharply. I smiled at her coaxingly; so she gave a small, kindly smile
in reply.
'_Ja, dies ist reizend_,' said Emil, _sotto voce_, exulting. He was very
shy. But we were curiously happy, in that railway restaurant.
Then we sat very still, on the platform, and waited for the train. It
was like Italy, pleasant and social to wait in the railway station, all
the world easy and warm in its activity, with the sun shining.
I decided to take a franc's worth of train-journey. So I chose my
station. It was one franc twenty, third class. Then my train came, and
Emil and I parted, he waving to me till I was out of sight. I was sorry
he had to go back, he did so want to venture forth.
So I slid for a dozen miles or more, sleepily, down the Ticino valley,
sitting opposite two fat priests in their feminine black.
When I got out at my station I felt for the first time ill at ease. Why
was I getting out at this wayside place, on to the great, raw high-road?
I did not know. But I set off walking. It was nearly tea-time.
Nothing in the world is more ghastly than these Italian roads, new,
mechanical, belonging to a machine life. The old roads are wonderful,
skilfully aiming their way. But these new great roads are desolating,
more desolating than all the ruins in the world.
I walked on and on, down the Ticino valley, towards Bellinzona. The
valley was perhaps beautiful: I don't know. I can only remember the
<<BackPagesTo menuForward>>