They drank my wine, I ate their bread, and we parted: they to go to
their accustomed place, and I to cross this unknown valley. But when I
had left these grave and kindly men, the echo of their voices remained
with me; the deep valley of the Enza seemed lonely, and as I went
lower and lower down towards the noise of the river I lost the sun.
The Enza was flooded. A rough bridge, made of stout logs resting on
trunks of trees that were lashed together like tripods and supported a
long plank, was afforded to cross it. But in the high water it did not
quite reach to the hither bank. I rolled great stones into the water
and made a short causeway, and so, somewhat perilously, I attained the
farther shore, and went up, up by a little precipitous path till I
reached the hamlet of Ceregio standing on its hill, blessed and
secluded; for no road leads in or out of it, but only mule-paths.
The houses were all grouped together round a church; it was dim
between them; but several men driving oxen took me to a house that was
perhaps the inn, though there was no sign; and there in a twilight
room we all sat down together like Christians in perfect harmony, and
the woman of the house served us.
Now when, after this communion, I asked the way to Collagna, they must
have thought me foolish, and have wondered why I did not pass the
night with them, for they knew how far off Collagna was. But I (by the
error in language of which I have told you) believed it to be but a
short way off. It was in reality ten miles. The oldest of my
companions said he would put me on the way.
We went together in the half light by a lane that followed the crest
of the hill, and we passed a charming thing, a little white sculpture
in relief, set up for a shrine and representing the Annunciation; and
as we passed it we both smiled. Then in a few hundred yards we passed
another that was the Visitation, and they were gracious and beautiful
to a degree, and I saw that they stood for the five joyful mysteries.
Then he had to leave me, and he said, pointing to the little shrine:
'When you come to the fifth of these the path divides. Take that to
the left, and follow it round the hollow of the mountain: it will
become a lane. This lane crosses a stream and passes near a tower.
When you have reached the tower it joins a great highroad, and that is
the road to Collagna.'
And when he indicated the shrines he smiled, as though in apology for
them, and I saw that we were of the same religion. Then (since people
who will not meet again should give each other presents mutually) I
gave him the best of my two pipes, a new pipe with letters carved on
it, which he took to be the initials of my name, and he on his part
gave me a hedge-rose which he had plucked and had been holding in his
fingers. And I continued the path alone.
Certainly these people have a benediction upon them, granted them for
their simple lives and their justice. Their eyes are fearless and
kindly. They are courteous, straight, and all have in them laughter
and sadness. They are full of songs, of memories, of the stories of
their native place; and their worship is conformable to the world that
God made. May they possess their own land, and may their influence
come again from Italy to save from jar, and boasting, and ineptitude
the foolish, valourless cities, and the garish crowds of shouting
men.... And let us especially pray that the revival of the faith may
do something for our poor old universities.
Already, when I heard all these directions, they seemed to argue a
longer road than I had expected. It proved interminable.
It was now fully dark; the night was very cold from the height of the
hills; a dense dew began to fall upon the ground, and the sky was full
of stars. For hours I went on slowly down the lane that ran round the
hollow of the wooded mountain, wondering why I did not reach the
stream he spoke of. It was midnight when I came to the level, and yet
I heard no water, and did not yet see the tower against the sky.
Extreme fatigue made it impossible, as I thought, to proceed farther,
when I saw a light in a window, and went to it quickly and stood
beneath it. A woman from the window called me _Caro mio,_ which was
gracious, but she would not let me sleep even in the straw of the
barn.
I hobbled on in despair of the night, for the necessity of sleep was
weighing me down after four high hills climbed that day, and after the
rough ways and the heat and the continual marching.
I found a bridge which crossed the deep ravine they had told me of.
This high bridge was new, and had been built of fine stone, yet it was
broken and ruined, and a gap suddenly showed in the dark. I stepped
back from it in fear. The clambering down to the stream and up again
through the briars to regain the road broke me yet more, and when, on
the hill beyond, I saw the tower faintly darker against the dark sky,
I went up doggedly to it, fearing faintness, and reaching it where it
stood (it was on the highest ground overlooking the Secchia valley), I
sat down on a stone beside it and waited for the morning.
