Trees grew in the ledges high over
our heads, trees grew down below. And ever we descended.
Till gradually the gully opened, then opened into a wide valley-head,
and we saw Airolo away below us, the railway emerging from its hole, the
whole valley like a cornucopia full of sunshine.
Poor Emil was tired, more tired than I was. And his big boots had hurt
his feet in the descent. So, having come to the open valley-head, we
went more gently. He had become rather quiet.
The head of the valley had that half-tamed, ancient aspect that reminded
me of the Romans. I could only expect the Roman legions to be encamped
down there; and the white goats feeding on the bushes belonged to a
Roman camp.
But no, we saw again the barracks of the Swiss soldiery, and again we
were in the midst of rifle-fire and manoeuvres. But we went evenly,
tired now, and hungry. We had nothing to eat.
It is strange how different the sun-dried, ancient, southern slopes of
the world are, from the northern slopes. It is as if the god Pan really
had his home among these sun-bleached stones and tough, sun-dark trees.
And one knows it all in one's blood, it is pure, sun-dried memory.
Pages:
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272