In Magna Graecia The Waters Of Two Fountains
Mingle And Flow Together; How Exquisite Will Be The Draught!
I drove with my luggage to the Immacolatella, and a boatman put me
aboard the steamer.
Luggage, I say advisedly; it is a rather heavy
portmanteau, and I know it will be a nuisance. But the length of my
wanderings is so uncertain, its conditions are so vaguely
anticipated. I must have books if only for rainy days; I must have
clothing against a change of season. At one time I thought of taking
a mere wallet, and now I am half sorry that I altered my mind. But
- -
We were not more than an hour after time in starting. Perfect
weather. I sang to myself with joy upon the sunny deck as we steamed
along the Bay, past Portici, and Torre del Greco, and into the
harbour of Torre Annunziata, where we had to take on cargo. I was
the only cabin passenger, and solitude suits me. All through the
warm and cloudless afternoon I sat looking at the mountains, trying
not to see that cluster of factory chimneys which rolled black fumes
above the many-coloured houses. They reminded me of the same
abomination on a shore more sacred; from the harbour of Piraeus one
looks to Athens through trails of coal-smoke. By a contrast pleasant
enough, Vesuvius to-day sent forth vapours of a delicate rose-tint,
floating far and breaking seaward into soft little fleeces of
cirrus.
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