gradually better; they were more frequented, and the people I met
seemed more cheerful. The inns became habitable, by comparison, in an
astonishing degree. Still, so long as I remained in that part of the
country towards the Mediterranean, of which Rome is the centre, and
which is more directly subject to its influence, I found that the
appearance of the land always left something to be desired. I
sometimes fancied that these honest labourers worked as if they were
afraid to make a noise, lest, by smiting the soil too deeply and too
boldly, they should wake up the dead of past ages.

But when once I had crossed the Apennines, when I was beyond the reach
of the breeze which blew over the capital, I began to inhale an
atmosphere of labour and goodwill that cheered my heart. The fields
were not only dug, but manured, and, still better, planted and sown.
The smell of manure was quite new to me. I had never met with it on
the other side of the Apennines. I was delighted at the sight of
trees. There were rows of vines twining around elms planted in fields
of hemp, wheat, or clover. In some places the vines and elms were
replaced by mulberry-trees. What mingled riches were here lavished by
nature! How bounteous is the earth! Here were mingled together, in
rich profusion, bread, wine, shirts, silk gowns, and forage for the
cattle. St. Peter's is a noble church, but, in its way, a
well-cultivated field is a beautiful sight!

I travelled slowly to Bologna; the sight of the country I passed
through, and the fruitfulness of honest human labour, made me happy. I
retraced my steps towards St. Peter's; my melancholy returned when I
found myself again amidst the desolation of the Roman Campagna.

As I reflected on what I had seen, a disquieting idea forced itself