Chapter IV: Part 4

We soon gave up riding. J. tied a rope to the tricycle and pulled while I pushed. The sun was now hidden behind the mountain and the way was shady. But still it was warm work and wearisome; for before long the road became almost perpendicular and was full of loose stones. How much more of this was there, we asked a woman watching swine on the hillside? "A mile," was her answer; and yet she must have known there were at least three. Finally, after what seemed hours of toiling, we asked another peasant standing in front of a lonely farm-house how much farther it still was to the top. "You are here now," she said. She at least was truthful. A few feet more, and we looked down a road as precipitous as that up which we had come, and so winding that we could see short stretches of it, like so many terraces, all the way down the mountain. We walked for about a hundred yards, and it was as hard to hold back the machine as before it had been to push it. Then we began to ride, but the strain on the brake loosened the handle a second time. We dismounted, and J. tried to push it back into place: it snapped in two pieces in his hands. Here we were, eight miles from Terni, in a lonely mountain road in the evening,--the sun had already set,--with a brakeless machine, which, if allowed to start down-hill with its heavy load of two riders and much baggage, would soon be more unmanageable than a runaway horse. The seven miles' coast to which we had looked forward for days, was to be a walk after all. Like the King of France and his twenty thousand men, we had marched up the mountain that we might march down again. Is it any wonder that we both lost our tempers, and that an accident was the smallest evil we wished the manufacturers of our tricycle? Because they cared more for lightness than for strength,--since record-making is as yet the chief end of the cycling,--the necks of people who ride for pleasure are forsooth to be risked with impunity!

However, there was nothing to do but to walk into Terni. It was very cold, and we had to put on our heavy coats. Presently the moon rose above the mountains on our left. By its light we could see the white road,--now provokingly good, but steep and winding and all unknown,--the hills that shut us in on every side, and, far below, the stream making its way through the narrow pass. The way was unpleasantly lonely and silent. Now for an hour or more we went wearily on without hearing a sound but our steady tramp; and now we passed a farm-house within which many voices were raised in anger, while from the barn a dog barked savagely upon our coming. At times we thought we saw in the distance a castle with tall towers or an old ruin, but when we drew near we found in its place great rocks and cliffs of tufa. Once we went through a small village. The way here was not so steep, and for a few minutes we rode. Just beyond the houses three men, driving home a large white bull, walked in the middle of the road. J. shouted, that they might give us more space to pass; but they only laughed, and tried to set the bull on us with loud cries of _Via!_ Before the last died away we were walking again.

On and on we walked, all the time holding back the tricycle. But at last we began to meet more people. Men with carts and donkeys went by at long intervals, but they spake never a word, and we too were silent. Now and then we heard the near tinkling of cow-bells, and came to olive-gardens, where in the moonlight the black twisted trunks took grotesque goblin shapes, and the branches threw a network of shadows across our path. Then we came to a railroad, and we knew we were at the foot of the mountains, and that Terni was not far off. We were at the end of the seven miles' coast and could ride again. Two men just then coming our way, J. asked them how far we were from the town; but they stood still and stared for answer. A second time he asked, and still they were speechless. "_Imbecile!_" he cried, and we left them there dumb and motionless. Not far beyond the road divided, and on either side were a few houses. A woman (or a fiend in female form) sat in front of one. "Which is the way to Terni?" we asked. She was silent. Once more we asked. _Chi lo sa?_--"Who knows?"--she answered. This was more than tired human nature could endure; J. turned upon her with a volley of choice Italian abuse. It conquered her as the prayers of Saint Anthony vanquished her sister demons. She arose and meekly showed us the way.

In another minute the lights of Terni were in sight. Then we wheeled by a foundry with great furnace in full blast, by a broad avenue with rows of gas-jets, to the gates of the city, to find them shut. There was a second of despair, but J. was now not to be trifled with, and he gave a yell of command which was an effectual "open-sesame." And so we rode on through lively streets and piazza to the hotel, to supper, and to bed!

TERNI AND ITS FALLS.

"_Well, keep all things so in thy
mind, that they may be as a goad in
thy sides to prick thee forward in
the way thou must go._"

"_What thing so deserving as to
turn us out of the way to see it?_"

I know little of Terni, except that in the month of October the hotel is so cold that the waiter comes into the dining-room in the morning with hat on, and wrapped in overcoat and muffler, and that there is an excellent blacksmith in the town; for the next morning, as soon as J. had had the brake mended, he paid the bill and loaded the tricycle. The _padrone_ was surprised at the shortness of our stay. Did we not know there were waterfalls, and famous ones too, but three miles distant? We could not take the time to visit them? Well, then, at least we must look at their picture; and he showed us a chromo pasted on the hotel omnibus. I am afraid he took us for sad Philistines; but the fear of another kind of waterfall was still a goad to hurry us onward. Now we were so near our journey's end, no wonder, however great, could have led us from the straight path.

IN THE LAND OF BRIGANDS.

"_But by this place Christian went
without much danger, whereat I
somewhat wondered_."

There was a great _festa_ that day, and all along the street and out on the country road we met men and women in holiday dress carrying baskets and bunches and wreaths of pink chrysanthemums. In Narni, on the heights which Martial called inaccessible, men were lounging in the piazza or playing cards in the _caffè_. For the shepherds alone there was no rest from every-day work. Before we reached even Narni, but ten miles across the valley from Terni, we saw several driving their sheep and goats into the broad meadows. They wore goat-skin breeches, and by that sign alone we should have known we were nearing Rome. We lunched at Narni on coffee and cakes, for it was the last town through which we should pass on that day's ride. It was here that Quintus, in its Roman prosperity, stayed so long that Martial reproached him for his wearisome delay. Could he come to it now, I doubt if his friend would have the same reason for complaint. It did not seem an attractive place, and when we asked a man about the country beyond, he said it was "_bruto_." We did not learn till afterwards that this applied to the people, and not to the country, and that here we ought to have been briganded.

We were now high up on the mountain,--on one side steep rocks, on the other a deep precipice. Far below in a narrow valley ran the little river Nar, and on the bank above it the railroad. It was not an easy road to travel, and often the hills were too steep to coast or to climb. The few farm-houses by the way were closed, for the peasants had gone to church. We saw an occasional little gray town crowning the top of sheer gray cliffs, like those in Albert Dürer's pictures, or an old castle either deserted or else with farm-house built in its ruins, where peasants leaned over the battlemented walls. But the only villages through which we rode were Otricoli, just before we descended to the valley of the Tiber, where we created so great a sensation that an old woman selling chestnuts--cooked, I think, by a previous generation--was at first too frightened to wait on us, and Borghetto, on the other side of the valley, where we saw in the piazza the stage from Cività Castellana, in which town we were to spend the night.

There were a few people abroad. In the loneliest part of the mountain an old man in a donkey-cart kept in front of us on a long upgrade. Interested in the tricycle, he forgot the donkey, which gave up a straight for a spiral course, and monopolized the road. J. angrily asked its driver which side he meant to take. But the old man heaped coals of fire on his head by offering to carry us up in his wagon. After we left him far behind, we passed two travellers resting by the wayside. Their bags lay on the ground, and they looked weary and worn. They gave us good-day, and where we were going they of course wanted to know. They too were bound for Rome, it turned out, and had come from Bologna. After the two gentlemen of Bologna, we overtook a group of merry peasants, coats slung over their shoulders for no possible reason but the sake of picturesqueness, and hats adorned with gay pompons of colored paper and tinsel. One carried branches of green leaves and red fruit like cherries, and as we went by he gave us a branch and wished us a good journey. Next went by an old woman, who said with a smile that we could go without horse or donkey,--a witticism heard so often it could no longer make us laugh. And then a little boy all alone came "piping down the valley wild."

We went with much content over the plain by the Tiber, where there were broad grassy stretches full of sheep and horses, and here and there the shepherds' gypsy-looking huts. It was such easy work now, that we eat our chestnuts as we rode; but beyond the bridge, on which Sixtus V. and Clement VIII. and Gregory XIII., in true papal fashion, have left their names, the hills began again. On we toiled, beneath shady oaks and by rocky places, until we came out on a wide upland. From the treeless road the meadows rolled far beyond to high mountains, on whose sloping side the blue smoke of charcoal-burners curled upward. The moon already had risen, and in the west the setting sun filled the sky with glowing amber light, against which the tired peasants going home were sharply silhouetted.

We were glad to see Cività Castellana. One or two men in answer to our questions had told us we were close to it, but we did not believe them. The fields seemed to stretch for miles before us, and there was not a house or tower in sight. But suddenly the road turned and went down-hill, and there below was the city perched on tufa cliffs, a deep ravine surrounding it. Two _carabinieri_, in cocked hats and folded cloaks like the famous two solitary horsemen, were setting out on their night patrol. Vespers were just over in the church near the bridge, and along the way where happy little Etruscan schoolboys once whipped homewards their treacherous schoolmaster, little Italian boys and girls, let loose from church, ran after us, torturing us with their shrill cries. Soon their elders joined them, and we were closely beset with admirers. The town too was in a hubbub about us, and in the streets through which we wheeled, men and women came from their houses to follow in our train. At the door of the Albergo, where we were detained for several minutes, the entire population collected. We had difficulty in getting a room. The _festa_, the _padrone_ said, had brought many country people into the town, and the inns were full to overflowing. If J. would go with him he would see what could be done for us. The search led them through three houses. In the mean time I kept guard over the machine. It was well I did, for once J. had gone the natives closed upon me. Toddling infants and gray-haired men, ragged peasants and gorgeous officers pushed and struggled together in their desire to see. Every now and then a stealthy hand was thrust through the crowd and felt the tire or tried the brake. I turned from left to right crying, "_Guarda! Guarda!_" I lifted exploring hands from the wheels. But in vain. What was one against so many? A man sitting in the doorway took pity on my sad plight. He came out, and with a stick mowed the people back. Then J. returned, having found a room in the first house, which the _padrone_ had thought fit to conceal until the last.

A MIDDLING INN.

"_The good of the place is before
you._"

"_But here they tarried and slept._"

The Albergo of Cività Castellana was but a middling inn. The _padrone_, in English tweed, high boots, and Derby hat, looked half cockney, half brigand. His wife wore an elaborate false front, and much lace about her neck. But they were far finer than their house. We were lodged in the garret, in a room the size of a large closet. The way to it led through another bed-chamber, long and low, in which four cots were ranged in a row along the wall. When we crossed it on the way downstairs to dinner I devoutly prayed that on our return four nightcaps would not be nodding on the pillows. Later in the evening, when we had dined, we strolled out to the piazza. To see the life of an Italian town you have only to go to the _caffè_. We went to one near the Albergo. There were two tables in it. We sat at the smaller, and at the other were four ragged boys playing cards!

Fortunately we were the first to go to bed in the garret. All through the night, however,--for the mattress was hard and I slept little,--I heard loud snores and groans, and the sound of much tossing to and fro. We rose early in the morning, but when we opened our door the cots were empty, though they had not been so long.

ACROSS THE CAMPAGNA.

"_They compassed them round on
every side; some went before, some
behind, and some on the right, some
on the left._"

"_Here they were within sight of
the city they were going to, also
here met them some of the
inhabitants thereof ... and drawing
near the city they had yet a more
perfect view thereof._"

Early as we were, the whole town was stirring when we came downstairs. But who ever knew the hour when the people of an Italian town were not up and abroad? No sooner did J. bring the tricycle from the stable, where it had been kept all night, to the Albergo, than the piazza was again crowded. On they all came with us, men, women, and children, hooting and shouting, jumping and dancing through the vilely paved streets, and finally sprawling over the walls and on the rocks beyond the gate.

There they stayed until we had gone down the hill over the bridge, crossing the stream at its foot, and up the hill on the opposite side, passing from their sight around the first curve. Soon we were on an upland and now really at the beginning of the Campagna. The morning was cold. For many miles we rode through a champaign gleaming white with frost. But as the sun rose higher in the heavens, and the yellow light, which at first was spread over the sky, faded and left a clear blue expanse above, the air grew warmer and the frost disappeared. The road wound on and on between oak woods and wide cultivated fields, and green grassy plains which gradually changed into great sweeps of rolling treeless country, like the moors. By the roadside were thick bushes of low green sage and tangled blackberries, and in places the broad flagstones of the old Flaminian Way, with weeds and dandelions and pretty purple flowers growing from the crevices. Sometimes a paving of smaller stones stretched all across the road, so that for a minute or two we were badly shaken, or else, coming on them suddenly at the foot of a hill, all but upset. Truly, as has been said, it could have been no joke for the old Romans to ride.

To our left rose the great height of Soracte, not snow-covered as Horace saw it, but bare and brown save where purple shadows lay. At first we met numbers of peasants all astride of donkeys, going towards Cività Castellana, families riding together and eating as they went. Later, however, no one passed but an occasional lonely rider (who in his long cloak and high-pointed hat looked a genuine Fra Diavolo), or else sportsmen and their dogs. It was strange that though we saw many of the latter, we never once heard the singing or chirping of birds. There were hillsides and fields full of large black cattle, or herds of horses, or flocks of sheep and goats. There were shepherds, too, sleeping in the shade or by the roadside, leaning on their staffs or ruling their flock with rod and rustic word, as in the days when Poliziano sung. And if there was no bird's song to break the silence of the Campagna, there was instead a loud baaing of sheep, led by the shrill piercing notes of the lambs. If it was to such an accompaniment that Corydon and Thyrsis sang in rivalry, their song could have been poetical only in Virgil's verse.

How hard we worked now that our pilgrimage was almost ended! We scarcely looked at the little village through which we wheeled, and where a White Brother was going from door to door, nor at the ruins which rose here and there in the hollows and on the slopes of the hills; and when at last we saw on the horizon the dome coming up out of the broad undulating plain, we gave it but a short greeting, and then hurried on faster than ever. We would not even go to Castel Nuovo, which lies a quarter of a mile or so from the road, but eat our hasty lunch in a _trattoria_ by the wayside, while a man--an engineer he said he was--showed us drawings he had made on his travels, and asked about our ride. How brave it was of the _Signora_ to work! he exclaimed, and how brave of the _Signore_ to sketch from his velocipede!

And after this "the hills their heights began to lower," and with feet up we went like the wind, and every time we looked at the dome it seemed larger and more clearly defined against the sky. But about six miles from Rome our feet were on the pedals again and we were working with all our might. Sand and loose stones covered the road, which grew worse until, in front of the staring pink quarantine building, the stones were so many that in steering out of the way of one we ran over another, and the jar it gave us loosened the screw of the luggage-carrier. We were so near Rome we let it go. This was a mistake. But a little farther, and the whole thing gave way, and bags and knapsack rolled in the dust. It took some fifteen minutes to set it to rights again; and all the time we stood in the shadeless road, under a burning sun, for the heat in the lower plains of the Campagna was as great as if it were still summer. As the luggage-carrier was slightly broken, we were afraid to put too great a strain upon it, and for the rest of the journey the knapsack went like a small boy swinging on behind.

Like those other pilgrims, we were much discouraged because of the way. But at last, wheeling by pink and white _trattorie_, whose walls were covered with illustrated bills of fare, and coming to an open place where street-cars were coming and going, the Ponte Molle, over a now yellow Tiber, lay before us, and we were under the shadow of the dome we from afar had watched for many hours. Over the bridge we went with cars and carts, between houses and gardens and wine-shops, where there was a discord of many hurdy-gurdies, to the Porta del Popolo, and so into Rome.

_Carabinieri_ were lounging about the gate, and carriages were driving to the Pincian; but we rode on and up the street on the right of the piazza. When we had gone a short distance we asked a man at a corner our way to the Piazza di Spagna. We should have taken the street to our left, he said, but now we could reach it by crossing the Corso diagonally. As we did so we heard a loud _sst_, _sst_ behind us, and we saw a _gendarme_ running up the street; but we went on. When we wheeled into the Piazza di Spagna, however, a second, almost breathless, ran out in front of us, and cried, _Aspetti!_ ("Wait!") But still we rode. _Aspetti!_ he cried again, and half drew his sword. In a minute we were surrounded. Models came flying from the Spanish steps; an old countryman carrying a fish affectionately under his arm, bootblacks, clerks from the near shops, young Roman swells,--all these and many more gathered about us.

"_Aspetti!_" the _gendarme_ still cried.

"_Perchè?_" we asked.

And then his fellow-officer, whom we had seen on the Corso, came up. "Get down!" he said, in fierce tones of command.

"_Perchè?_" we asked again.

"_Per Christo!_" was his only answer.

The crowd laughed with glee. Hackmen shouted their applause. It was ignominious, perhaps, but the wisest policy, to get down and walk to our hotel.

THE FINISH.

"_It pities me much for this poor
man: it will certainly go ill with
him at the last._"

What pilgrim of old times thought his pilgrimage really over until he gave either out of his plenty or nothing in alms? Two months later we too gave our mite, not to the church or to the poor, but to the Government; for we were then summoned before a police magistrate and fined ten francs for "_furious_ riding on the Corso, and refusing to descend when ordered."

And so our pilgrimage ended.

APPENDIX.

VETTURINO _versus_ TRICYCLE.

BY JOSEPH PENNELL.

_From "Outing."_

Who has not journeyed through a country with his favorite author long before he makes the actual trip himself? and who, when he comes to see with his own eyes that at which he has hitherto looked through some one else's, does not find himself his best guide? Long before I came to Italy I had travelled along its highways and by-ways with many authors, more especially with Hawthorne in his "Italian Note-Book," and Mr. Howells in his "Italian Journeys" and "Venetian Life." When it was finally my good fortune to make the journey myself, I was at first lucky enough to have for a companion, not his books, but Mr. Howells himself; and I frankly confess I found him far more delightful and satisfactory in person than in print. A year later I started for the same country, this time encumbered with a wife and a tricycle. Mr. Howells could no longer be my _cicerone_: in the first place he was back in Boston,--I might add, as if in parenthesis, calling me "lucky dog" for being able to go so soon again over the well-known ground; and, in the second place, because the route I now intended to take is not described in his books. But it is in Hawthorne's "Note-Book," a volume which, as I have just said, I had frequently studied. But of course I forgot to put it in my knapsack, and so had not a chance to see it until I arrived in Rome. When I there looked into it, naturally in a more critical spirit--inspired by personal knowledge of the subject--than I ever had before, the first thing that struck me was the advantage I had had over my old master in travelling by tricycle instead of by diligence. From the little village of Passignano to Rome we had followed exactly the same road, and though we began our rides at its opposite ends, I could still easily compare the time we had made, and the comfort and convenience and pleasure we had enjoyed by the way. As this comparison may be interesting to many who intend some day to make the cycling tour of Italy, I will here briefly indicate Hawthorne's experience, principally as to time and roads, and then mine:--

HAWTHORNE'S JOURNEY
TO FLORENCE. MY NOTES.

FIRST DAY OF TRIP. LAST DAY OF TRIP.

We passed through the Porta del We left Cività Castellana at a
Popolo at about 8 o'clock, and quarter of eight. Road so rough,
... began our journey along the had to walk down-hill and up
Flaminian Way.... The road was again. (So did Hawthorne's
not particularly picturesque. The party.) Road very picturesque,
country undulated, but _scarcely and, before long, a distant
rose into hills_.... Finally came glimpse of St. Peter's. Began to
to the village of Castel Nuovo di see, and occasionally to feel,
Porta ... between 12 and 1.... the paving of the old Flaminian
Afternoon, Soracte rose before Way, which is abominable. Made of
us.... The road kept trending flagstones thrown roughly
towards the mountain, following together, or else little blocks,
the line of the old Flaminian like the Roman pavement. Coming
Way, which we could see at on a stretch of it, at the foot
frequent intervals close beside of a hill, and hidden with dust,
the modern track. It is paved smashed our luggage-carrier, and
with large flagstones, laid so loosened the machine,--more than
accurately together that it is the whole trip had done. Passed
still, in some places, as smooth Rignano,--usual sensation,--good
and even as the floor of a _café_. Under Soracte all
church, and everywhere the tufts morning. Reached Castel Nuovo di
of grass found it difficult to Porta at 11. (Distance to this
root themselves into the village from Cività Castellana
interstices.... Its course is much farther than from it to
straighter than that of the road Rome, yet we reached it one hour
of to-day.... I forget where we sooner than Hawthorne did,
finally lost it.... Passed starting out from Rome.) Road got
through the town of Rignano--road worse and worse. Finally nothing
still grew more and more but ruts and stones. Hills not to
picturesque.... Came in sight of be laughed at (though Hawthorne
the high, flat table-land, on thought them scarcely
which stands Cività perceptible). Arrived at the
Castellana.... After passing over Porta del Popolo about half-past
the bridge, I alighted with J. one. (About three and a half
and R. and made the ascent on hours' better time than
foot.... At the top our vetturino Hawthorne.) Distance, thirty-five
took us into the carriage again, Italian miles.
and quickly brought us to what
appears to be a very good
hotel.... After a splendid dinner
we walked out into the little
town, etc.

SECOND DAY. OUR SECOND DAY FROM ROME.

Roused at 4 o'clock this morning; (We never got up at any such
... ready to start between 5 and unearthly hours as Hawthorne
6.... Remember nothing indulged in.) Left Terni at 11
particularly till we came to o'clock, having been obliged to
Borghetto.... After leaving get a new brake made. Terni, dead
Borghetto, we crossed the broad level, in low valley,--straight,
valley of the Tiber.... Otricoli wide road, ten miles across the
by and by appeared.... As the valley,--surface of the road
road kept ascending, and as the good. Just outside of Narni road
hills grew to be mountainous, we climbs up a steep hill into the
had taken on two additional town. (There must have been an
horses, making six in all, with a earthquake since Hawthorne's
man and boy ... to keep them in time, as Terni, which he saw in a
motion.... Murray's guide-book is high and commanding position, now
exceedingly vague and stands in the lowest part of the
unsatisfactory along this valley, with mountains all
route.... Farther on [we saw] the around.) From Narni up nearly all
gray tower of Narni.... A long, the way to Otricoli, with the
winding street passes through exception of here and there such
Narni, broadening at one point a steep descent that we had to
into a market-place; ... came out hold the machine back with all
from it on the other side.... The our might, riding for several
road went winding down into the hours was almost impossible.
peaceful vale.... From Narni to (Wish we had had six horses, a
Terni I remember nothing that man, and a boy to pull us on.)
need be recorded. Terni, like so From Otricoli, down and all
many other towns in the across the valley, excellent
neighborhood, stands in a high riding to Borghetto; then big
and commanding position.... We hill up, out on to the Campagna,
reached it between 11 and 12.... and up and down--good road--all
It is worth while to record, as the way to Cività Castellana,
history of _vetturino_ commissary which we reached between 6 and 7.
customs, that for breakfast we Terrible sensation!!! (This day
had coffee, eggs, and bread and Hawthorne came in two hours
butter; for lunch, an omelette, ahead; but he had six horses and
stewed veal, figs and grapes, and the hills in his favor.) We eat
two decanters of wine; for dinner every day coffee, bread and
an excellent vermicelli soup, two butter, and rolls in the morning;
young fowls fricasseed, and a for lunch, a beefsteak, or
hind-quarter of roast lamb, with macaroni, and fruit, _no wine_,
fritters, oranges, and figs, and but fresh lemons and water; for
two more decanters of wine. dinner, soup, two meats, fruit,
and a _fiasco_ of wine. Distance
about thirty-three Italian miles.
(We carried Baedeker, and not
Murray, and found it not
unsatisfactory.)

THIRD DAY. THIRD DAY.

At 6 o'clock this morning ... we Left Assisi about 8. Splendid
drove out of the city gate of coast down into the valley.
Terni.... Our way was now through Beautiful ride over the
the vale of Terni.... Soon began undulating road, past Spello to
to wind among steep and lofty Foligno, not stopping in the
hills.... Wretched villages.... latter place, excepting to have
At Strettura we added two oxen to accidents wished us by an old
our horses, and began to ascend woman we almost ran over. Then
the Monte Somma, which ... is through the beautiful valley of
nearly four thousand feet high the Clitumnus--grand road--lovely
where we crossed it. When we came day and wonderfully fair country.
to the steepest part of the (We saw no beggars.) Rode by the
ascent, Gaetano _allowed us to little temple spoken of by Pliny.
walk_.... We arrived at Spoleto Ate some bread and cheese at Le
before noon.... After lunch ... Vene. Reached Spoleto at one;
we found our way up a steep and lunched; then rode up the steep
narrow street that led us to the street, through the gate at the
city gate.... Resumed our other end of the city, and then
journey, emerging from the city began a tremendous climb of six
into the classic valley of the miles over Monte Somma, most of
Clitumnus.... After passing Le which we had to walk. At last had
Vene, we came to the little hard work to push. Coming finally
temple ... immortalized by to the top, found the descent on
Pliny.... I remember nothing else the other side even steeper.
of the valley of Clitumnus, Where it was a little less steep,
except that the beggars ... were we got on the machine, put on the
well-nigh profane in the urgency brake, which came off in my hand.
of their petitions. The city of Bad brake was the one defect in
Terni seems completely to cover a our tandem. Had to walk the rest
high peaked hill.... We reached of the way. In Strettura, men set
Foligno in good season _yesterday bull on us. (Not quite so
afternoon_. [This passage really pleasant as Hawthorne's
belongs to his fourth day of experience.) Arrived in Terni at
travel, but as it shows at what 8 o'clock, having walked the last
time of the third day he reached few miles by moonlight,--about
Foligno, I have included it with forty miles all together, of
the third.] which we walked fully the last
fourteen. (Made in one day what
Hawthorne did in a day and a
half.)

FOURTH DAY. FOURTH DAY.

I have already remarked that it (Expenses of this trip about five
is still possible to live well in francs a day each.) Rode from
Italy at no great expense, and Perugia to Assisi, a distance of
that the high prices charged to fourteen miles, in about two
_forestieri_ are artificial, and hours. Splendid coast down the
ought to be abated.... We left hill outside of Perugia (up which
Foligno betimes in the morning; Hawthorne walked). Crossed the
... soon passed the old town of Tiber. Visited Santa Maria degli
Spello.... By and by we reached Angeli. Awful stitch in my side.
Assisi. We ate our _déjeûner_, Climbed up into Assisi, where we
and resumed our journey.... We stayed all afternoon, to recover,
soon reached the Church of St. and to see the church.
Mary of the Angels.... By and by
came to the foot of the high hill
on which stands Perugia, and
which is so long and steep that
Gaetano took a yoke of oxen to
aid his horses in the ascent. We
all, except my wife, walked a
part of the way up.... The coach
lagged far behind us.

FIFTH DAY. FIFTH DAY.

Left Perugia about 3 o'clock I covered their fifth and sixth to-day, and went down a pretty days' ride, this time by myself on steep descent.... The road began to the tricycle, in three hours and a ascend before reaching the village half actual riding time, and was of Mugione; ... between 5 and 6 we pulled up the long hill into came in sight of the Lake of Perugia, in a most easy and Thrasymene, ... then reached the delightful way, behind the town of Passignano. (He stayed diligence. there all night.

SIXTH DAY.

We started at 6 o'clock ... [for Arezzo]. We saw Cortona, like so many other cities in this region, on its hill, and arrived about noon at Arezzo.

From Arezzo, Hawthorne went directly to Florence in one day, over a road which Italian cyclers have told me is excellent, and which is the post-road to Rome. We went by way of Montepulciano and Siena, being between two and three weeks on the way. I hope this short account of about one third of our ride will convince other people that cycling is far quicker than the old posting system, far pleasanter than riding in a stuffy railway-carriage, which whirls you through tunnels, and far the best way in which to see Italy,--a country which abounds in magnificent roads, and which should be thoroughly explored by all cyclers who care for something beside record-making.

University Press: John Wilson and Son, Cambridge.

Transcriber Notes:

Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_.

Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS.

Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.

In three instances there were cases where the word "eat" appeared one expect the word "ate". No change was made.

The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate.

In the Appendix, the pages were reformatted to to make it easier to read in an electronic form.

Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted.