The molinar - even the molinar - was careful of his way. Twice he
waited, waist high, while the man on stilts before us suddenly lost
ground and plunged to his feet. Once, crossing a small branch (for the
river here, like all these rivers, runs in many arms over the dry
gravel), it seemed there was no foothold and we had to cast up and
down. Whenever we found dry land, I came off the molinar's back to
rest him, and when he took the water again I mounted again. So we
passed the many streams, and stood at last on the Tizzanian side. Then
I gave a lira to the molinar, and to his companion on stilts 50 c.,
who said, 'What is this for?' and I said, 'You also helped.'
The molinar then, with gesticulations and expression of the eyes, gave
me to understand that for this 50 c. the stilt-man would take me up to
Tizzano on the high ridge and show me the path up the ridge; so the
stilt-man turned to me and said, _'Andiamo' _which means _'Allons'.
_But when the Italians say _'Andiamo' _they are less harsh than the
northern French who say _'Allans'; _for the northern French have three
troubles in the blood. They are fighters; they will for ever be
seeking the perfect state, and they love furiously. Hence they ferment
twice over, like wine subjected to movement and breeding acidity.
Therefore is it that when they say _'Allons'_ it is harsher than
_'Andiamo'._ My Italian said to me genially, _'Andiamo_'.
The Catholic Church makes men. By which I do not mean boasters and
swaggerers, nor bullies nor ignorant fools, who, finding themselves
comfortable, think that their comfort will be a boon to others, and
attempt (with singular unsuccess) to force it on the world; but men,
human beings, different from the beasts, capable of firmness and
discipline and recognition; accepting death; tenacious. Of her effects
the most gracious is the character of the Irish and of these Italians.
Of such also some day she may make soldiers.
Have you ever noticed that all the Catholic Church does is thought
beautiful and lovable until she comes out into the open, and then
suddenly she is found by her enemies (which are the seven capital
sins, and the four sins calling to heaven for vengeance) to be hateful
and grinding? So it is; and it is the fine irony of her present
renovation that those who were for ever belauding her pictures, and
her saints, and her architecture, as we praise things dead, they are
the most angered by her appearance on this modern field all armed,
just as she was, with works and art and songs, sometimes superlative,
often vulgar. Note you, she is still careless of art or songs, as she
has always been. She lays her foundations in something other, which
something other our moderns hate. Yet out of that something other came
the art and song of the Middle Ages. And what art or songs have you?
She is Europe and all our past. She is returning. _Andiamo._
LECTOR. But Mr _(deleted by the Censor)_ does not think so?
AUCTOR. I last saw him supping at the Savoy. _Andiamo._
We went up the hill together over a burnt land, but shaded with trees.
It was very hot. I could scarcely continue, so fast did my companion
go, and so much did the heat oppress me.
We passed a fountain at which oxen drank, and there I supped up cool
water from the spout, but he wagged his finger before his face to tell
me that this was an error under a hot sun.
We went on and met two men driving cattle up the path between the
trees. These I soon found to be talking of prices and markets with my
guide. For it was market-day. As we came up at last on to the little
town - a little, little town like a nest, and all surrounded with
walls, and a castle in it and a church - we found a thousand beasts all
lowing and answering each other along the highroad, and on into the
market square through the gate. There my guide led me into a large
room, where a great many peasants were eating soup with macaroni in
it, and some few, meat. But I was too exhausted to eat meat, so I
supped up my broth and then began diapephradizing on my fingers to
show the great innkeeper what I wanted.
I first pulled up the macaroni out of the dish, and said, _Fromagio,
Pommodoro,_ by which I meant cheese - tomato. He then said he knew what
I meant, and brought me that spaghetti so treated, which is a dish for
a king, a cosmopolitan traitor, an oppressor of the poor, a usurer, or
any other rich man, but there is no spaghetti in the place to which
such men go, whereas these peasants will continue to enjoy it in
heaven.
I then pulled out my bottle of wine, drank what was left out of the
neck (by way of sign), and putting it down said, _'Tale, tantum, vino
rosso.'_ My guide also said many things which probably meant that I
was a rich man, who threw his money about by the sixpence. So the
innkeeper went through a door and brought back a bottle all corked and
sealed, and said on his fingers, and with his mouth and eyes, 'THIS
KIND OF WINE IS SOMETHING VERY SPECIAL.'
Only in the foolish cities do men think it a fine thing to appear
careless of money.
