The country through which we pass for the first hour or two after
quitting Naples does not yield in beauty or fertility even to the
plains of Lombardy. Every foot of it is tilled; the tillage is
intensive as well as extensive. Here the vine is trailed on great
rows of trees, the wide spaces between being now green with all
manner of vegetables, while the stately Italian pine lends an added
grace and dignity to the landscape. As we go further north, the
broad plain narrows into valleys hemmed in by bare and lofty
mountains, with here a village clinging to a rocky slope, and there a
lone monastery crowning a rugged crest. By noon we reach Casino, and
presently admiring eyes are raised to the giddy height where the
great abbey of that name, famed in story, lords it over all the land.
As straws show how the wind blows, so very little things serve
oftentimes to bring racial and national characteristics into clear
relief. Thus, over a plot of green in the public garden at Chiaia, I
read these formidable words of warning: I TRASGRESSORI SARANNO PUNITI
A NORMA DI LEGGE, which may be rendered: TRESPASSERS SHALL BE
PUNISHED TO THE LIMIT OF THE LAW. We simply and bluntly say: Keep
off the grass! Again, a railway ticket, on which with us are
sometimes found the words, Not transferable, bears here the blazoned
legend, La cessione e punita a termini di legge, that is to say, The
transfer is punishable in the precise manner laid down in the law.
On the other hand, the attempt of some Italian railway official to
ape your bluff Englishman, in rendering a notice graven in letters of
bronze on the window of our carriage, E pericoloso sporgersi--It is
dangerous to put one's head out of the window, comes to grief in this
ludicrous fashion, similarly cut in bronze, Don't stretch out! Ecco
Roma! We have finished our journey. Monday afternoon (Dec. 29) I
saw Cardinal Gotti. This (Tuesday), evening I go on retreat at the
Lazarist Mission House near Montecitorio, where I made my retreat for
the priesthood twenty-five years ago. Sunday (Jan. 3) is the day
fixed for the consecration. There is a hastening of events, as one
chapter of life draws to a close; and hastily I close this last
paragraph.
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