As would deal with rich men only, or
tourists of the coarser and less humble kind. I entered with some
assurance, and said in French -
'Sir, I wish to know the hills between here and Lugano, but I am too
poor to buy a map. If you will let me look at one for a few moments, I
will pay you what you think fit.'
The wicked stationer became like a devil for pride, and glaring at me,
said -
'Look! Look for yourself. I do not take pence. I sell maps; I do not
hire them!'
Then I thought, 'Shall I take a favour from such a man?' But I
yielded, and did. I went up to the wall and studied a large map for
some moments. Then as I left, I said to him -
'Sir, I shall always hold in remembrance the day on which you did me
this signal kindness; nor shall I forget your courtesy and goodwill.'
And what do you think he did at that?
Why, he burst into twenty smiles, and bowed and seemed beatified, and
said: 'Whatever I can do for my customers and for visitors to this
town, I shall always be delighted to do. Pray, sir, will you not look
at other maps for a moment?'
Now, why did he say this and grin happily like a gargoyle appeased?
Did something in my accent suggest wealth? or was he naturally kindly?
I do not know; but of this I am sure, one should never hate human
beings merely on a first, nor on a tenth, impression. Who knows? This
map-seller of Bellinzona may have been a good man; anyhow, I left him
as rich as I had found him, and remembering that the true key to a
forced march is to break the twenty-four hours into three pieces, and
now feeling the extreme heat, I went out along the burning straight
road until I found a border of grass and a hedge, and there, in spite
of the dust and the continually passing carts, I lay at full length in
the shade and fell into the sleep of men against whom there is no
reckoning. Just as I forgot the world I heard a clock strike two.
I slept for hours beneath that hedge, and when I woke the air was no
longer a trembling furnace, but everything about me was wrapped round
as in a cloak of southern afternoon, and was still. The sun had fallen
midway, and shone in steady glory through a haze that overhung Lake
Major, and the wide luxuriant estuary of the vale. There lay before me
a long straight road for miles at the base of high hills; then, far
off, this road seemed to end at the foot of a mountain called, I
believe, Ash Mount or Cinder Hill. But my imperfect map told me that
here it went sharp round to the left, choosing a pass, and then at an
angle went down its way to Lugano.
Now Lugano was not fifteen miles as the crow flies from where I stood,
and I determined to cut off that angle by climbing the high hills just
above me. They were wooded only on their slopes; their crest and much
of their sides were a down-land of parched grass, with rocks appearing
here and there. At the first divergent lane I made off eastward from
the road and began to climb.
In under the chestnut trees the lane became a number of vague beaten
paths; I followed straight upwards. Here and there were little houses
standing hidden in leaves, and soon I crossed the railway, and at last
above the trees I saw the sight of all the Bellinzona valley to the
north; and turning my eyes I saw it broaden out between its walls to
where the lake lay very bright, in spite of the slight mist, and this
mist gave the lake distances, and the mountains round about it were
transfigured and seemed part of the mere light.
The Italian lakes have that in them and their air which removes them
from common living. Their beauty is not the beauty which each of us
sees for himself in the world; it is rather the beauty of a special
creation; the expression of some mind. To eyes innocent, and first
freshly noting our great temporal inheritance - 1 mean to the eyes of a
boy and girl just entered upon the estate of this glorious earth, and
thinking themselves immortal, this shrine of Europe might remain for
ever in the memory; an enchanted experience, in which the single sense
of sight had almost touched the boundary of music. They would remember
these lakes as the central emotion of their youth. To mean men also
who, in spite of years and of a full foreknowledge of death, yet
attempt nothing but the satisfaction of sense, and pride themselves
upon the taste and fineness with which they achieve this satisfaction,
the Italian lakes would seem a place for habitation, and there such a
man might build his house contentedly. But to ordinary Christians I am
sure there is something unnatural in this beauty of theirs, and they
find in it either a paradise only to be won by a much longer road to a
bait and veil of sorcery, behind which lies great peril. Now, for all
we know, beauty beyond the world may not really bear this double
aspect; but to us on earth - if we are ordinary men - beauty of this
kind has something evil. Have you not read in books how men when they
see even divine visions are terrified? So as I looked at Lake Major in
its halo I also was afraid, and I was glad to cross the ridge and
crest of the hill and to shut out that picture framed all round with
glory.
