Part 8

We were glad to see Cività Castellana. One or two men in answer to our questions had told us we were close to it, but we did not believe them. The fields seemed to stretch for miles before us, and there was not a house or tower in sight. But suddenly the road turned and went down-hill, and there below was the city perched on tufa cliffs, a deep ravine surrounding it. Two _carabinieri_, in cocked hats and folded cloaks like the famous two solitary horsemen, were setting out on their night patrol. Vespers were just over in the church near the bridge, and along the way where happy little Etruscan schoolboys once whipped homewards their treacherous schoolmaster, little Italian boys and girls, let loose from church, ran after us, torturing us with their shrill cries. Soon their elders joined them, and we were closely beset with admirers. The town too was in a hubbub about us, and in the streets through which we wheeled, men and women came from their houses to follow in our train. At the door of the Albergo, where we were detained for several minutes, the entire population collected. We had difficulty in getting a room. The _festa_, the _padrone_ said, had brought many country people into the town, and the inns were full to overflowing. If J. would go with him he would see what could be done for us. The search led them through three houses. In the mean time I kept guard over the machine. It was well I did, for once J. had gone the natives closed upon me. Toddling infants and gray-haired men, ragged peasants and gorgeous officers pushed and struggled together in their desire to see. Every now and then a stealthy hand was thrust through the crowd and felt the tire or tried the brake. I turned from left to right crying, "_Guarda! Guarda!_" I lifted exploring hands from the wheels. But in vain. What was one against so many? A man sitting in the doorway took pity on my sad plight. He came out, and with a stick mowed the people back. Then J. returned, having found a room in the first house, which the _padrone_ had thought fit to conceal until the last.

A MIDDLING INN.

"_The good of the place is before you._"

"_But here they tarried and slept._"

The Albergo of Cività Castellana was but a middling inn. The _padrone_, in English tweed, high boots, and Derby hat, looked half cockney, half brigand. His wife wore an elaborate false front, and much lace about her neck. But they were far finer than their house. We were lodged in the garret, in a room the size of a large closet. The way to it led through another bed-chamber, long and low, in which four cots were ranged in a row along the wall. When we crossed it on the way downstairs to dinner I devoutly prayed that on our return four nightcaps would not be nodding on the pillows. Later in the evening, when we had dined, we strolled out to the piazza. To see the life of an Italian town you have only to go to the _caffè_. We went to one near the Albergo. There were two tables in it. We sat at the smaller, and at the other were four ragged boys playing cards!

Fortunately we were the first to go to bed in the garret. All through the night, however,--for the mattress was hard and I slept little,--I heard loud snores and groans, and the sound of much tossing to and fro. We rose early in the morning, but when we opened our door the cots were empty, though they had not been so long.

ACROSS THE CAMPAGNA.

"_They compassed them round on every side; some went before, some behind, and some on the right, some on the left._"

"_Here they were within sight of the city they were going to, also here met them some of the inhabitants thereof ... and drawing near the city they had yet a more perfect view thereof._"

Early as we were, the whole town was stirring when we came downstairs. But who ever knew the hour when the people of an Italian town were not up and abroad? No sooner did J. bring the tricycle from the stable, where it had been kept all night, to the Albergo, than the piazza was again crowded. On they all came with us, men, women, and children, hooting and shouting, jumping and dancing through the vilely paved streets, and finally sprawling over the walls and on the rocks beyond the gate.

There they stayed until we had gone down the hill over the bridge, crossing the stream at its foot, and up the hill on the opposite side, passing from their sight around the first curve. Soon we were on an upland and now really at the beginning of the Campagna. The morning was cold. For many miles we rode through a champaign gleaming white with frost. But as the sun rose higher in the heavens, and the yellow light, which at first was spread over the sky, faded and left a clear blue expanse above, the air grew warmer and the frost disappeared. The road wound on and on between oak woods and wide cultivated fields, and green grassy plains which gradually changed into great sweeps of rolling treeless country, like the moors. By the roadside were thick bushes of low green sage and tangled blackberries, and in places the broad flagstones of the old Flaminian Way, with weeds and dandelions and pretty purple flowers growing from the crevices. Sometimes a paving of smaller stones stretched all across the road, so that for a minute or two we were badly shaken, or else, coming on them suddenly at the foot of a hill, all but upset. Truly, as has been said, it could have been no joke for the old Romans to ride.

To our left rose the great height of Soracte, not snow-covered as Horace saw it, but bare and brown save where purple shadows lay. At first we met numbers of peasants all astride of donkeys, going towards Cività Castellana, families riding together and eating as they went. Later, however, no one passed but an occasional lonely rider (who in his long cloak and high-pointed hat looked a genuine Fra Diavolo), or else sportsmen and their dogs. It was strange that though we saw many of the latter, we never once heard the singing or chirping of birds. There were hillsides and fields full of large black cattle, or herds of horses, or flocks of sheep and goats. There were shepherds, too, sleeping in the shade or by the roadside, leaning on their staffs or ruling their flock with rod and rustic word, as in the days when Poliziano sung. And if there was no bird's song to break the silence of the Campagna, there was instead a loud baaing of sheep, led by the shrill piercing notes of the lambs. If it was to such an accompaniment that Corydon and Thyrsis sang in rivalry, their song could have been poetical only in Virgil's verse.

How hard we worked now that our pilgrimage was almost ended! We scarcely looked at the little village through which we wheeled, and where a White Brother was going from door to door, nor at the ruins which rose here and there in the hollows and on the slopes of the hills; and when at last we saw on the horizon the dome coming up out of the broad undulating plain, we gave it but a short greeting, and then hurried on faster than ever. We would not even go to Castel Nuovo, which lies a quarter of a mile or so from the road, but eat our hasty lunch in a _trattoria_ by the wayside, while a man--an engineer he said he was--showed us drawings he had made on his travels, and asked about our ride. How brave it was of the _Signora_ to work! he exclaimed, and how brave of the _Signore_ to sketch from his velocipede!

And after this "the hills their heights began to lower," and with feet up we went like the wind, and every time we looked at the dome it seemed larger and more clearly defined against the sky. But about six miles from Rome our feet were on the pedals again and we were working with all our might. Sand and loose stones covered the road, which grew worse until, in front of the staring pink quarantine building, the stones were so many that in steering out of the way of one we ran over another, and the jar it gave us loosened the screw of the luggage-carrier. We were so near Rome we let it go. This was a mistake. But a little farther, and the whole thing gave way, and bags and knapsack rolled in the dust. It took some fifteen minutes to set it to rights again; and all the time we stood in the shadeless road, under a burning sun, for the heat in the lower plains of the Campagna was as great as if it were still summer. As the luggage-carrier was slightly broken, we were afraid to put too great a strain upon it, and for the rest of the journey the knapsack went like a small boy swinging on behind.

Like those other pilgrims, we were much discouraged because of the way. But at last, wheeling by pink and white _trattorie_, whose walls were covered with illustrated bills of fare, and coming to an open place where street-cars were coming and going, the Ponte Molle, over a now yellow Tiber, lay before us, and we were under the shadow of the dome we from afar had watched for many hours. Over the bridge we went with cars and carts, between houses and gardens and wine-shops, where there was a discord of many hurdy-gurdies, to the Porta del Popolo, and so into Rome.

_Carabinieri_ were lounging about the gate, and carriages were driving to the Pincian; but we rode on and up the street on the right of the piazza. When we had gone a short distance we asked a man at a corner our way to the Piazza di Spagna. We should have taken the street to our left, he said, but now we could reach it by crossing the Corso diagonally. As we did so we heard a loud _sst_, _sst_ behind us, and we saw a _gendarme_ running up the street; but we went on. When we wheeled into the Piazza di Spagna, however, a second, almost breathless, ran out in front of us, and cried, _Aspetti!_ ("Wait!") But still we rode. _Aspetti!_ he cried again, and half drew his sword. In a minute we were surrounded. Models came flying from the Spanish steps; an old countryman carrying a fish affectionately under his arm, bootblacks, clerks from the near shops, young Roman swells,--all these and many more gathered about us.

"_Aspetti!_" the _gendarme_ still cried.

"_Perchè?_" we asked.

And then his fellow-officer, whom we had seen on the Corso, came up. "Get down!" he said, in fierce tones of command.

"_Perchè?_" we asked again.

"_Per Christo!_" was his only answer.

The crowd laughed with glee. Hackmen shouted their applause. It was ignominious, perhaps, but the wisest policy, to get down and walk to our hotel.

THE FINISH.

"_It pities me much for this poor man: it will certainly go ill with him at the last._"

What pilgrim of old times thought his pilgrimage really over until he gave either out of his plenty or nothing in alms? Two months later we too gave our mite, not to the church or to the poor, but to the Government; for we were then summoned before a police magistrate and fined ten francs for "_furious_ riding on the Corso, and refusing to descend when ordered."

And so our pilgrimage ended.

APPENDIX.

VETTURINO _versus_ TRICYCLE.

BY JOSEPH PENNELL.

_From "Outing."_

Who has not journeyed through a country with his favorite author long before he makes the actual trip himself? and who, when he comes to see with his own eyes that at which he has hitherto looked through some one else's, does not find himself his best guide? Long before I came to Italy I had travelled along its highways and by-ways with many authors, more especially with Hawthorne in his "Italian Note-Book," and Mr. Howells in his "Italian Journeys" and "Venetian Life." When it was finally my good fortune to make the journey myself, I was at first lucky enough to have for a companion, not his books, but Mr. Howells himself; and I frankly confess I found him far more delightful and satisfactory in person than in print. A year later I started for the same country, this time encumbered with a wife and a tricycle. Mr. Howells could no longer be my _cicerone_: in the first place he was back in Boston,--I might add, as if in parenthesis, calling me "lucky dog" for being able to go so soon again over the well-known ground; and, in the second place, because the route I now intended to take is not described in his books. But it is in Hawthorne's "Note-Book," a volume which, as I have just said, I had frequently studied. But of course I forgot to put it in my knapsack, and so had not a chance to see it until I arrived in Rome. When I there looked into it, naturally in a more critical spirit--inspired by personal knowledge of the subject--than I ever had before, the first thing that struck me was the advantage I had had over my old master in travelling by tricycle instead of by diligence. From the little village of Passignano to Rome we had followed exactly the same road, and though we began our rides at its opposite ends, I could still easily compare the time we had made, and the comfort and convenience and pleasure we had enjoyed by the way. As this comparison may be interesting to many who intend some day to make the cycling tour of Italy, I will here briefly indicate Hawthorne's experience, principally as to time and roads, and then mine:--

HAWTHORNE'S JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. MY NOTES.

FIRST DAY OF TRIP. LAST DAY OF TRIP.

We passed through the Porta del We left Cività Castellana at a Popolo at about 8 o'clock, and quarter of eight. Road so rough, ... began our journey along the had to walk down-hill and up Flaminian Way.... The road was again. (So did Hawthorne's not particularly picturesque. The party.) Road very picturesque, country undulated, but _scarcely and, before long, a distant rose into hills_.... Finally came glimpse of St. Peter's. Began to to the village of Castel Nuovo di see, and occasionally to feel, Porta ... between 12 and 1.... the paving of the old Flaminian Afternoon, Soracte rose before Way, which is abominable. Made of us.... The road kept trending flagstones thrown roughly towards the mountain, following together, or else little blocks, the line of the old Flaminian like the Roman pavement. Coming Way, which we could see at on a stretch of it, at the foot frequent intervals close beside of a hill, and hidden with dust, the modern track. It is paved smashed our luggage-carrier, and with large flagstones, laid so loosened the machine,--more than accurately together that it is the whole trip had done. Passed still, in some places, as smooth Rignano,--usual sensation,--good and even as the floor of a _café_. Under Soracte all church, and everywhere the tufts morning. Reached Castel Nuovo di of grass found it difficult to Porta at 11. (Distance to this root themselves into the village from Cività Castellana interstices.... Its course is much farther than from it to straighter than that of the road Rome, yet we reached it one hour of to-day.... I forget where we sooner than Hawthorne did, finally lost it.... Passed starting out from Rome.) Road got through the town of Rignano--road worse and worse. Finally nothing still grew more and more but ruts and stones. Hills not to picturesque.... Came in sight of be laughed at (though Hawthorne the high, flat table-land, on thought them scarcely which stands Cività perceptible). Arrived at the Castellana.... After passing over Porta del Popolo about half-past the bridge, I alighted with J. one. (About three and a half and R. and made the ascent on hours' better time than foot.... At the top our vetturino Hawthorne.) Distance, thirty-five took us into the carriage again, Italian miles. and quickly brought us to what appears to be a very good hotel.... After a splendid dinner we walked out into the little town, etc.

SECOND DAY. OUR SECOND DAY FROM ROME.

Roused at 4 o'clock this morning; (We never got up at any such ... ready to start between 5 and unearthly hours as Hawthorne 6.... Remember nothing indulged in.) Left Terni at 11 particularly till we came to o'clock, having been obliged to Borghetto.... After leaving get a new brake made. Terni, dead Borghetto, we crossed the broad level, in low valley,--straight, valley of the Tiber.... Otricoli wide road, ten miles across the by and by appeared.... As the valley,--surface of the road road kept ascending, and as the good. Just outside of Narni road hills grew to be mountainous, we climbs up a steep hill into the had taken on two additional town. (There must have been an horses, making six in all, with a earthquake since Hawthorne's man and boy ... to keep them in time, as Terni, which he saw in a motion.... Murray's guide-book is high and commanding position, now exceedingly vague and stands in the lowest part of the unsatisfactory along this valley, with mountains all route.... Farther on [we saw] the around.) From Narni up nearly all gray tower of Narni.... A long, the way to Otricoli, with the winding street passes through exception of here and there such Narni, broadening at one point a steep descent that we had to into a market-place; ... came out hold the machine back with all from it on the other side.... The our might, riding for several road went winding down into the hours was almost impossible. peaceful vale.... From Narni to (Wish we had had six horses, a Terni I remember nothing that man, and a boy to pull us on.) need be recorded. Terni, like so From Otricoli, down and all many other towns in the across the valley, excellent neighborhood, stands in a high riding to Borghetto; then big and commanding position.... We hill up, out on to the Campagna, reached it between 11 and 12.... and up and down--good road--all It is worth while to record, as the way to Cività Castellana, history of _vetturino_ commissary which we reached between 6 and 7. customs, that for breakfast we Terrible sensation!!! (This day had coffee, eggs, and bread and Hawthorne came in two hours butter; for lunch, an omelette, ahead; but he had six horses and stewed veal, figs and grapes, and the hills in his favor.) We eat two decanters of wine; for dinner every day coffee, bread and an excellent vermicelli soup, two butter, and rolls in the morning; young fowls fricasseed, and a for lunch, a beefsteak, or hind-quarter of roast lamb, with macaroni, and fruit, _no wine_, fritters, oranges, and figs, and but fresh lemons and water; for two more decanters of wine. dinner, soup, two meats, fruit, and a _fiasco_ of wine. Distance about thirty-three Italian miles. (We carried Baedeker, and not Murray, and found it not unsatisfactory.)

THIRD DAY. THIRD DAY.

At 6 o'clock this morning ... we Left Assisi about 8. Splendid drove out of the city gate of coast down into the valley. Terni.... Our way was now through Beautiful ride over the the vale of Terni.... Soon began undulating road, past Spello to to wind among steep and lofty Foligno, not stopping in the hills.... Wretched villages.... latter place, excepting to have At Strettura we added two oxen to accidents wished us by an old our horses, and began to ascend woman we almost ran over. Then the Monte Somma, which ... is through the beautiful valley of nearly four thousand feet high the Clitumnus--grand road--lovely where we crossed it. When we came day and wonderfully fair country. to the steepest part of the (We saw no beggars.) Rode by the ascent, Gaetano _allowed us to little temple spoken of by Pliny. walk_.... We arrived at Spoleto Ate some bread and cheese at Le before noon.... After lunch ... Vene. Reached Spoleto at one; we found our way up a steep and lunched; then rode up the steep narrow street that led us to the street, through the gate at the city gate.... Resumed our other end of the city, and then journey, emerging from the city began a tremendous climb of six into the classic valley of the miles over Monte Somma, most of Clitumnus.... After passing Le which we had to walk. At last had Vene, we came to the little hard work to push. Coming finally temple ... immortalized by to the top, found the descent on Pliny.... I remember nothing else the other side even steeper. of the valley of Clitumnus, Where it was a little less steep, except that the beggars ... were we got on the machine, put on the well-nigh profane in the urgency brake, which came off in my hand. of their petitions. The city of Bad brake was the one defect in Terni seems completely to cover a our tandem. Had to walk the rest high peaked hill.... We reached of the way. In Strettura, men set Foligno in good season _yesterday bull on us. (Not quite so afternoon_. [This passage really pleasant as Hawthorne's belongs to his fourth day of experience.) Arrived in Terni at travel, but as it shows at what 8 o'clock, having walked the last time of the third day he reached few miles by moonlight,--about Foligno, I have included it with forty miles all together, of the third.] which we walked fully the last fourteen. (Made in one day what Hawthorne did in a day and a half.)

FOURTH DAY. FOURTH DAY.

I have already remarked that it (Expenses of this trip about five is still possible to live well in francs a day each.) Rode from Italy at no great expense, and Perugia to Assisi, a distance of that the high prices charged to fourteen miles, in about two _forestieri_ are artificial, and hours. Splendid coast down the ought to be abated.... We left hill outside of Perugia (up which Foligno betimes in the morning; Hawthorne walked). Crossed the ... soon passed the old town of Tiber. Visited Santa Maria degli Spello.... By and by we reached Angeli. Awful stitch in my side. Assisi. We ate our _déjeûner_, Climbed up into Assisi, where we and resumed our journey.... We stayed all afternoon, to recover, soon reached the Church of St. and to see the church. Mary of the Angels.... By and by came to the foot of the high hill on which stands Perugia, and which is so long and steep that Gaetano took a yoke of oxen to aid his horses in the ascent. We all, except my wife, walked a part of the way up.... The coach lagged far behind us.

FIFTH DAY. FIFTH DAY.