In Italy, in the Apennines of the north, there seem to be three strata
of language. In the valleys the Italian was pure, resonant, and
foreign to me. There dwell the townsmen, and they deal down river
with the plains. Half-way up (as at Frangi, at Beduzzo, at Tizzano) I
began to understand them. They have the nasal 'n'; they clip their
words. On the summits, at last, they speak like northerners, and I was
easily understood, for they said not _'vino' _but _'vin';_ not _'duo'_
but _'du'_, and so forth. They are the Gauls of the hills. I told them
so, and they were very pleased.
Then I and my peasant parted, but as one should never leave a man
without giving him something to show by way of token on the Day of
Judgement, I gave this man a little picture of Milan, and bade him
keep it for my sake.
So he went his way, and I mine, and the last thing he said to me was
about a _'molinar'_, but I did not know what that meant.
When I had taken a cut down the mountain, and discovered a highroad at
the bottom, I saw that the river before me needed fording, like all
the rest; and as my map showed me there was no bridge for many miles
down, I cast about to cross directly, if possible on some man's
shoulders.
I met an old woman with a heap of grass on her back; I pointed to the
river, and said (in Lingua Franca) that I wished to cross. She again
used that word _'molinar',_ and I had an inkling that it meant
'miller'. I said to myself -
'Where there is a miller there is a mill. For _Ubi Petrus ibi
Ecclesia._ Where there is a mill there is water; a mill must have
motive power: .'. (a) I must get near the stream; (b) I must look out
for the noise and aspect of a mill.
I therefore (thanking the grass-bearing woman) went right over the
fields till I saw a great, slow mill-wheel against a house, and a sad
man standing looking at it as though it were the Procession of God's
Providence. He was thinking of many things. I tapped him on the
shoulder (whereat he started) and spoke the great word of that valley,
_'molinar'_. It opened all the gates of his soul. He smiled at me like
a man grown young again, and, beckoning me to follow, led radiantly up
the sluice to where it drew from the river.
Here three men were at work digging a better entry for the water. One
was an old, happy man in spectacles, the second a young man with
stilts in his hands, the third was very tall and narrow; his face was
sad, and he was of the kind that endure all things and conquer.
