To The North And
West, The Peaks Of The Appenines Are In Full Sight, Rising Over The
Spires Of The City And The Groves Of The Cascine.
Every evening I see them
through the soft, delicately-colored haze of an Italian sunset, looking as
if they had caught something of the transparency of the sky, and appearing
like mountains of fairy-land, instead of the bleak and barren ridges of
rock which they really are.
The weather since my arrival in Tuscany has
been continually serene, the sky wholly cloudless, and the temperature
uniform - oppressively warm in the streets at noon, delightful at morning
and evening, with a long, beautiful, golden twilight, occasioned by the
reflection of light from the orange-colored haze which invests the
atmosphere. Every night I am reminded that I am in the land of song, for
until two o'clock in the morning I hear "all manner of tunes" chanted by
people in the streets in all manner of voices.
I believe I have given you no account of our journey from Paris to this
place. That part of it which lay between Paris and Chalons, on the Saone,
may be described in a very few words. Monotonous plains, covered with
vineyards and wheat-fields, with very few trees, and those spoiled by
being lopped for fuel - sunburnt women driving carts or at work in the
fields - gloomy, cheerless-looking towns, with narrow, filthy
streets - troops of beggars surrounding your carriage whenever you stop, or
whenever the nature of the roads obliges the horses to walk, and chanting
their requests in the most doleful whine imaginable - such are the sights
and sounds that meet you for the greater part of two hundred and fifty
miles.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 13 of 396
Words from 3144 to 3432
of 107287
