Волхв

Chapter 68

           "Hegaveaformalsortofbow,moreItalianthanEnglish;andIwentdowntherockstaircasetothepaththroughtheilexes.IhadtowaittilleveninginSubiacoforabusback.Itranthroughlonggreenvalleys,underhilltopvillages,pastaspensalreadyyellowingintoautumn.Theskyturnedthroughthesoftestbluestoavesperalamber-pink.Oldpeasantssatattheirdoorways;someofthemhadGreekfaces,inscrutable,noble,atpeace.Ifelt,perhapsbecauseIhaddrunkalmostawholebottleofVerdicchiowhileIwaited,thatIbelonged,andwouldforeverbelong,toanolderworldthanLeverrier’s.Ididn’tlikehim,orhisreligion.Andthisnotlikinghim,thishalfdrunkenloveoftheancient,unchangeableGreco-Latinworldseemedtomerge.Iwasapagan,atbestastoic,atworstavoluptuary,andwouldremainforeverso.Waitingforthetrain,Igotmoredrunk.Amanatthestationbarmanagedtomakemeunderstandthatanindigo-bluehilltopunderthelemon-greenskytothewestwaswherethepoetHoracehadhadhisfarm.IdranktotheSabinehill;betteroneHoracethantenthousandSaintBenedicts;betteronepoemthantenthousandsermons.MuchlaterIrealizedthatperhapsLeverrier,inthiscase,wouldhaveagreed;becausehetoohadchosenexile;becausetherearetimeswhensilenceisapoem.

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