But enough—I will add a few words, the history of our last evening, and say good-night.
Very noisy and uproarious was our last evening; so that till now, when all is hushed, it seemed as if instead of quitting a lonely retreat among mountains, we were escaping from the confusion and crowd of a metropolis. The peasants drank too much wine; they quarrelled with Luigi, and the fulcini were drawn. Care had been taken, however, to have police-officers near; on their appearance, all who could threw their weapons into the lake; two were taken with the arms in their hands, and hurried off to prison, which they will only leave as soldiers.
Late in the evening we paid our bill, and gave presents to the servants, usually a disagreeable and thankless proceeding. But here, all was so fair, the people so pleased and apparently attached, that no feelings of annoyance were excited. Poor people! I hope to see them one day again—they all gathered round us with such shows of regret that it was impossible not to feel very kindly towards them in return.
Good-night!
