II san
Gottardo? Nil est! pooh! poco! Ma hesterna jo ha voulu traversar in
Val Bavona, e credi non ritornar, namfredo, fredo erat in alto! La
tourmente ma prise...'_
And so forth, explaining all fully with gestures, exaggerating,
emphasizing, and acting the whole matter, so that they understood me
without much error. But I found it more difficult to understand them,
because they had a regular formed language with terminations and
special words.
It went to my heart to offer them no wine, but a thought was in me of
which you shall soon hear more. My money was running low, and the
chief anxiety of a civilized man was spreading over my mind like the
shadow of a cloud over a field of corn in summer. They gave me a
number of 'good-nights', and at parting I could not forbear from
boasting that I was a pilgrim on my way to Rome. This they repeated
one to another, and one man told me that the next good halting-place
was a town called Faido, three hours down the road. He held up three
fingers to explain, and that was the last intercourse I had with the
Airolans, for at once I took the road.
I glanced up the dark ravine which I should have descended had I
crossed the Nufenen. I thought of the Val Bavona, only just over the
great wall that held the west; and in one place where a rift (you have
just seen its picture) led up to the summits of the hills I was half
tempted to go back to Airolo and sleep and next morning to attempt a
crossing.
