There is a full moon to-night: a white mist marks the line of the Rasino; it is too late in the year for nightingales: from the valley comes a faint snatch of music, played on a shepherd’s pipe, “povera rondinella, O povera rondinella!”
VI
SCANNO
Roccaraso, October 1, 1898.
Last Monday morning, having decided quite suddenly to go to Scanno, we applied to the sindaco for horses and a guide.
“For to-morrow, yes, I will arrange everything; for to-day it is not possible.”
“Why? The weather is fine, it is only nine o’clock. If we start at noon we shall be in time.”
“Pazienza, Signori! I tell you it is not possible. The horses are at Pietro Anzieri threshing oats. The guide has gone to sell a pig at Castel di Sangro; it is market day.”
“There must be other horses. Do you mean to say there is but one man in Roccaraso who knows the road to Scanno? Even Mariuccia has been there.”
“Doubtless! many of our women went there last year on a pilgrimage. It is not easy to find a man who knows the way: it is a horrible mountain trail. I myself, Signors, born in Roccaraso, have not seen Scanno.”
“We shall start at twelve to-day, if we have to walk and take Mariuccia for a guide.”