It was almost
the same view that one has from twenty places in Perugia, but coming
out upon it as from the bowels of the earth, framed in its huge stone
arch, it was like opening a window from this world into Paradise.
Slowly and lingeringly I left the cloister, and panted up the many
steps back to the piazza to await my companion and the carriage which
was to take us back to Perugia. The former was already there, and in a
few minutes a small omnibus came clattering down the stony street, and
stopping beside us the driver informed us that he had come for us. Our
surprise and wrath broke forth. Hours before we had bespoken a little
open carriage, and it was this heavy, jarring, jolting vehicle which
they had sent to drive us ten miles across the hills. The driver
declared, with truly Italian volubility and command of language and
gesture, that there was no other means of conveyance to be had; that
it was excellent, swift, admirable; that it was what the signori
always went from Assisi to Perugia in; that, in fine, we had engaged
it, and _must_ take it. My companion hesitated, but I had the
advantage here, being the one who could speak Italian; so I promptly
replied that we would not go in the omnibus under any circumstances.
The whole story was then repeated with more adjectives and
superlatives, and gestures of a form and pathos to make the fortune
of a tragic actor. I repeated my refusal. He began a third time: I
sat down on the steps, rested my head on my hand and looked at the
carvings of the portal.
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