way one is still jolted along, just as they were centuries ago. It is the same with their houses and everything else.
If one wishes to see realised the poetic idea of men in primeval times, spending most of their lives beneath the open heaven, and only occasionally, when compelled by necessity, retiring for shelter into the caves, he must visit the houses hereabouts, especially those in the rural districts, which are quite in the style and fashion of caves. Such an incredible absence of care do the Italians evince in order not to grow old by thinking. With unheard-of frivolity, they neglect to make any preparation for the long nights of winter, and in consequence, for a considerable portion of the year, suffer like dogs. Here in Foligno, in the midst of a perfectly Homeric household,—the whole family being gathered together in a large hall, round a fire on the hearth, with plenty of running backward and forward, and of scolding and shouting, while supper is going on at a long table like that in the picture of the Wedding-Feast at Cana,—I seize an opportunity of writing this, as one of the family has ordered an inkstand to be brought me,—a luxury, which, judging from other circumstances, I did not look for. These pages, however, tell too plainly of the cold, and of the inconvenience of my writing-table.
I am now made only too sensible of the rashness of travelling in this country without a servant, and without providing oneself well with every necessary. What with the ever-changing currency, the vetturini, the extortion, the wretched inns, one who, like myself, is travelling alone for the first time in this country, hoping to find uninterrupted pleasure, will be sure to find himself miserably disappointed every day. However, I wished to see the country at any cost; and, even if I must be dragged to Rome on Ixion's wheel, I shall not complain.
