“Ah,” he sighed, “if only we were on the other side of the Alps, then it
would be summer weather and I could get some money on my letter of
credit. Worrying about my finances spoils all my enjoyment of Switzerland.
Oh, if only I were on the other side.”
And there he was on the other side, in the middle of Italy, between
Florence and Rome. Before him lay Lake Thrasymene. In the evening light
it looked like a sheet of flaming gold among the dark blue hills. Here, where
Hannibal beat Flaminius, the grape vines clung peacefully to each other
with their green tendrils. Pretty little half-clothed children tended a herd of
coal-black pigs under a fragrant clump of laurels by the roadside, and if we
could paint the scene in its true colors all would exclaim, “Glorious Italy!”
But neither the student nor his companions in the stagecoach made any such
exclamation.
Poisonous flies and gnats swarmed into the coach by the thousands. In
vain the travelers tried to beat them off with myrtle branches. The flies
stung just the same. There was not a passenger whose face was not puffed
and spotted with bites. The poor horses looked like carcasses. The flies
made life miserable for them, and it only brought them a momentary relief
when the coachman got down and scraped off swarms of the insects that
settled upon them.
Once the sun went down, an icy chill fell upon everything. It wasn't at all
pleasant. However, the hills and clouds took on that wonderful green tint, so
clear and so shining. Yes, go and see for yourself. That is far better than to
read about it. It was a lovely sight, and the travelers thought so too, but their
stomachs were empty, their bodies exhausted, and every thought in their
heads was directed toward a lodging for the night. But where would they
lodge? They watched the road ahead far more attentively than they did the
splendid view.
Their road ran through an olive grove, and the student could fancy that he
was at home, passing through a wood of gnarled willow trees. And there
stood a lonely inn. A band of crippled beggars were camping outside and
the liveliest among them looked like the eldest son of Famine who had just
