CHAPTER XXI
STRAW MARQUETERIE
ON traveling to the Adriatic coast some years ago, I stopped for several days in a little Italian town not far from Ancona. I suppose few visitors have ever alighted there; at least that is the impression I got from the profuse welcome accorded me at the primitive albergo where I put up. Just why even the slow-creeping trains of the Marche ever bothered to stop here at all I have yet to determine. With myself I seem to have established a precedent. No errand other than that of the spirit took me there. It all happened because, when journeying eastward, I had asked a fellow-traveler what there was of interest in this town, and, then, why the train made so short a stop.
“No one ever gets out here,” he explained; “there is nothing to see.”
From that moment my curiosity was aroused, for experience has taught me that the most interesting places are those which most people find uninteresting.
One of the things I found in this little town will, perhaps, dear reader, interest you, and so I will make mention of it as introduction to my subject. The room to which I was assigned by my host of the inn was, I have reason to believe, the chambre de luxe of the country-side. The high beamed ceiling was painted much after the manner of the great ceiling of the Florentine church of San Miniato al Monte, although I saw nothing of it all by the flickering candle which lighted my arrival at this medieval hostelry. In the morning a burst of golden sunlight awakened me, and in through the windows was wafted the fragrance of the grape flowers in blossom outside. My sleepy eyes followed the walls around. And then opened wide on beholding a quaintly framed canvas of beautiful freshness, the picture of a group of saints.