ADDIO PERUGIA
September had nearly fled, yet the leaves in the Tronto garden had
hardly begun to change colour; the air, however, was now extremely
cold as soon as the sun had departed. The wine-carts which daily
thronged the streets warned us that the vintage would soon be over.
Day after day, as we looked from our windows in early morning, we saw
flocks of sheep with their attendant shepherds, and herds of goats
coming down in great numbers from the mountains. They trooped past our
windows, and took their way along the dusty road towards the Maremma.
The poor, tired herdmen looked picturesque in ragged thin trousers
and patched coats; they wore high-peaked hats, and had a sort of
make-believe appearance as they trudged along on foot behind their
beasts. Every now and then came a padrone mounted on a mule, sometimes
on a horse, with quaint trappings; he always carried a long pole and a
huge roll of green baize in front of him. We did not see any women or
children, but we were told that the shepherds take their families
along with them in these spring and autumn migrations, for they will
go back to the hills as soon as winter is over. As we watched them we
felt sadly that we too must soon say goodbye to Perugia.
One of our last walks was to Monte Luce; and, coming back towards
Perugia, we stopped and watched the sun set; as it sank behind the
purple, bleak hills the sky above them was blood-red; higher up,
stretched in long broad lines, was a mass of greenish slate-coloured
clouds. On the right these were reft, and showed a sea of golden
glory; while, still higher, clouds of paler grey sailed over a rosy
veil that stretched itself across a sky of luminous green. As we went
on, the blood-red tint paled and faded; the clouds above took a darker
hue, and loomed, with storm-laden, broken edges, over the deep valley
that lay between where we stood and the projecting bastion, a view
crowned by the weird tower of San Domenico. This stood up in startling
vividness against the almost appalling gloom that had so quickly
gathered.
Around us the view opened widely, the triple range of hills showed a
sullen grey of differing tints; on some of them, where the light was
lurid with a tawny tinge, it was plainly raining; yet, although
thunder seemed imminent in the humid clouds that hung lower and lower
over the valley, we were told that probably there would not be a storm
at Perugia. Certainly, we had perfect atmosphere and perfect weather.
The hill-city seemed to us in all ways very healthy--a place where
winter and spring, summer and autumn, might alike be spent with charm
and profit by those travellers who love the nature and art of Italy.