At fifty years old he was buried in a deserted village, never hearing
from year's end to year's end one word of friendship or phrase of
culture.

Would it be well or would it be wrong to disturb that tranquil
acquiescence in a humble destiny? He could not decide. He dared not
take upon himself so much responsibility. "In doubt do nothing" has
been the axiom of many wise men. The remembrance of the maxim closed
his lips. He had himself been in early manhood passionately
ambitious; he was only a priest, but of priests are made the
Gregorio, the Bonifazio, the Leone of the Papal throne; to the dreams
of a seminarist nothing is impossible. But Adone had no such dreams;
he was as satisfied with his lot as any young steer which wants
nothing more than the fair, fresh fields of its birth. But one day as
he was sitting with the boy, then fifteen years old, on the south
bank of the Edera, the spirit moved him and he spake. It was the day
of San Benedetto, when the swallows come. The grass was full of pink
lychnis and yellow buttercups. A strong east wind was blowing from
the sea. A number of martins, true to the proverb, were circling
gaily above the stream. The water, reflecting the brilliant hues of
the heavens, was hurrying on its seaward way, swollen by recent rains
and hastened by a strong wind blowing from the eastern mountains.

The lands of the Terra Vergine lay entirely on the south-east bank of
the river, and covered many acres, of which some was moorland still.
Almost opposite to it was the one-arched stone bridge, attributed to
Theodoric, and on the northern bank was the ruined Rocca, towering
above the trees which had grown up around it; whilst hidden by it and
by the remains of the fortifications was that which was now the mere
village of Ruscino.