White wreaths of vapour; distant songs and the
noise of men feasting ended what had been for many, many hours - for
more than twenty miles of pressing forward - an exaltation worthy of
the influence that bred it. Then came on me again, after the full
march, a necessity for food and for repose. But these things, which
have been the matter of so much in this book, now seemed subservient
only to the reaching of an end; they were left aside in the mind.
It was an inn with trellis outside making an arbour. In the yard
before it many peasants sat at table; their beasts and waggons stood
in the roadway, though, at this late hour, men were feeding some and
housing others. Within, fifty men or more were making a meal or a
carousal.
What feast or what necessity of travel made them keep the night alive
I neither knew nor asked; but passing almost unobserved amongst them
between the long tables, I took my place at the end, and the master
served me with good food and wine. As I ate the clamour of the
peasants sounded about me, and I mixed with the energy of numbers.
With a little difficulty I made the master understand that I wished to
sleep till dawn. He led me out to a small granary (for the house was
full), and showed me where I should sleep in the scented hay. He would
take no money for such a lodging, and left me after showing me how the
door latched and unfastened; and out of so many men, he was the last
man whom I thanked for a service until I passed the gates of Rome.
Above the soft bed which the hay made, a square window, unglazed, gave
upon the southern night; the mist hardly drifted in or past it, so
still was the air. I watched it for a while drowsily; then sleep again
fell on me.
But as I slept, Rome, Rome still beckoned me, and I woke in a
struggling light as though at a voice calling, and slipping out I
could not but go on to the end.
The small square paving of the Via Cassia, all even like a palace
floor, rang under my steps. The parched banks and strips of dry fields
showed through the fog (for its dampness did not cure the arid soil of
the Campagna). The sun rose and the vapour lifted. Then, indeed, I
peered through the thick air - but still I could see nothing of my
goal, only confused folds of brown earth and burnt-up grasses, and
farther off rare and un-northern trees.
I passed an old tower of the Middle Ages that was eaten away at its
base by time or the quarrying of men; I passed a divergent way on the
right where a wooden sign said 'The Triumphal Way', and I wondered
whether it could be the road where ritual had once ordained that
triumphs should go. It seemed lonely and lost, and divorced from any
approach to sacred hills.
The road fell into a hollow where soldiers were manoeuvring. Even
these could not arrest an attention that was fixed upon the
approaching revelation. The road climbed a little slope where a branch
went off to the left, and where there was a house and an arbour under
vines. It was now warm day; trees of great height stood shading the
sun; the place had taken on an appearance of wealth and care. The mist
had gone before I reached the summit of the rise.
There, from the summit, between the high villa walls on either
side - at my very feet I saw the City.
And now all you people whatsoever that are presently reading, may have
read, or shall in the future read, this my many-sided but now-ending
book; all you also that in the mysterious designs of Providence may
not be fated to read it for some very long time to come; you then I
say, entire, englobed, and universal race of men both in gross and
regardant, not only living and seeing the sunlight, but dead also
under the earth; shades, or to come in procession afterwards out of
the dark places into the day for a little, swarms of you, an army
without end; all you black and white, red, yellow and brown, men,
women, children and poets - all of you, wherever you are now, or have
been, or shall be in your myriads and deka myriads and hendeka
myriads, the time has come when I must bid you farewell -
_Ludisti satis, edisti satis, atque bibisti;
Tempus abire tibi est...._
Only Lector I keep by me for a very little while longer with a special
purpose, but even he must soon leave me; for all good things come to
an end, and this book is coming to an end - has come to an end. The
leaves fall, and they are renewed; the sun sets on the Vexin hills,
but he rises again over the woods of Marly. Human companionship once
broken can never be restored, and you and I shall not meet or
understand each other again. It is so of all the poor links whereby we
try to bridge the impassable gulf between soul and soul. Oh! we spin
something, I know, but it is very gossamer, thin and strained, and
even if it does not snap time will at last dissolve it.
Indeed, there is a song on it which you should know, and which runs -
[Bar of music]
So my little human race, both you that have read this book and you
that have not, good-bye in charity. I loved you all as I wrote. Did
you all love me as much as I have loved you, by the black stone of
Rennes I should be rich by now.
