And so, played upon by an unending
theme, I ate and drank in a reverie, still wondering, and then lay
down beneath the shade of a little tree that stood alone upon that
edge of a new world. And wondering, I fell asleep under the morning
sun.
But this sleep was not like the earlier oblivions that had refreshed
my ceaseless journey, for I still dreamt as I slept of what I was to
see, and visions of action without thought - pageants and
mysteries - surrounded my spirit; and across the darkness of a mind
remote from the senses there passed whatever is wrapped up in the
great name of Rome.
When I woke the evening had come. A haze had gathered upon the plain.
The road fell into Ronciglione, and dreams surrounded it upon every
side. For the energy of the body those hours of rest had made a fresh
and enduring vigour; for the soul no rest was needed. It had attained,
at least for the next hour, a vigour that demanded only the physical
capacity of endurance; an eagerness worthy of such great occasions
found a marching vigour for its servant.
In Ronciglione I saw the things that Turner drew; I mean the rocks
from which a river springs, and houses all massed together, giving the
steep a kind of crown.
