...
That same night in Sora--it may have been 2 a.m.--some demon drew nigh
to my bedside and whispered in my ear: "What are you doing here, at
Sora? Why not revisit Alatri? (I had been there already in June.) Just
another little promenade! Up, sluggard, while the night-air is cool!"
I obeyed the summons and turned to rouse my slumbering companion, to
whom I announced my inspiration. His remarks, on that occasion, were
well worth listening to.
Next evening found us at Alatri.
Now whoever, after walking from Scanno over Pescasseroli to Sora in one
day, and on the next, in the blazing heat of early autumn, from Sora
over Isola Liri and Veroli to Alatri--touching in two days the soil of
three Italian provinces: Aquila, Caserta, and Rome--whoever, after doing
this, and inspecting the convent of Casamari en route, feels inclined
for a similar promenade on the third day: let him rest assured of my
profound respect.
Calm, sunny days at Olevano. And tranquil nights, for some time past.
The nightingale has been inspired to move a little up country, into
another bush. Its rivals have likewise retired further off, and their
melodramatic trills sound quite pleasant at this distance.
So tin cans have their uses, even when empty. Certain building
operations may have been interrupted. I apologise, though I will not
promise not to repeat the offence. They can move their nests; I cannot
move this house. Bless their souls! I would not hurt a hair on their
dear little heads, but one must really have a few hours' sleep, somehow
or other.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173