Italy, you still may meet with humours of the road such as
travellers of old were wont to enjoy. I well remember on the road
between Perugia and Gubbio we began to realise we were indeed
traversing mountain paths. On a sudden the driver got down, waved
his arms, and howled to some peasants working in a field below.
These, on their part, responded with more arm-waving and howling,
directed apparently towards a village farther up the hill,
whereupon we were assailed with visions of brigands, and amputated
ears, and ransom. But at a turn of the road we came upon two
magnificent white oxen, which, being harnessed on in front, drew
us, and our carriages and horses as well, up five miles of steep
incline. These beautiful fellows, it seemed, were what the driver
was signalling for, and not for brigands. Again, every inn we
stayed at supplied us with some representative touch of local life
and habit. Here the whole personnel of the inn, reinforced by a
goodly contingent of the townsfolk, would accompany us even into
our bedrooms, and display the keenest interest in the unpacking of
our luggage. There the cook would come and take personal
instructions as to the coming meal, throwing out suggestions the
while as to the merits of this or that particular dish, and in one
place the ancient chambermaid insisted that one of the ladies, who
had got a slight cold, should have the prete put into her bed for a
short time to warm it. You need not look shocked, Colonel. The
prete in question was merely a wooden frame, in the midst of which
hangs a scaldino filled with burning ashes--a most comforting
ecclesiastic, I can assure you. All the inns we visited had
certain characteristics in common. The entrance is always dirty,
and the staircase too, the dining rooms fairly comfortable, the
bedrooms always clean and good, and the food much better than you
would expect to find in such out-of-the-way places; indeed I cannot