priest came and said mass in that chapel, and it was
easy to see that this was the great occasion of the old man's life.
For forty years, he said, he had been devout; and for twenty-five he
had dwelt in this place, where the goodness of God and the charity of
the poor people around had kept him from want. Altogether, he was a
pleasant enough hermit, not in the least spiritual, but gentle,
simple, and evidently sincere. We gave some small coins of silver to
aid him to continue his life of devotion, and Count Giovanni bestowed
some coppers with the stately blessing, "_Iddio vi benedica, padre
mio_."

So we left the hermitage, left Fozza, and started down the mountain
on foot, for no one may ride down those steeps. Long before we reached
the bottom, we had learned to loathe mountains and to long for dead
levels during the rest of life. Yet the descent was picturesque, and
in some things even more interesting than the ascent had been. We
met more people: now melancholy shepherds with their flocks; now
swine-herds and swine-herdesses with herds of wild black pigs of the
Italian breed; now men driving asses that brayed and woke long, loud,
and most musical echoes in the hills; now whole peasant families
driving cows, horses, and mules to the plains below. On the way
down, fragments of autobiography began, with the opportunities of
conversation, to come from the Count Giovanni, and we learned that he
was a private soldier at home on that _permesso_ which the Austrian
Government frequently gives its less able-bodied men in times of
peace. He had been at home some years, and did not expect to be again
called into the service. He liked much better to be in charge of the
cave at Oliero than to carry the musket, though he confessed that he
liked to see the world, and that soldiering brought one acquainted
with many places. He had not many ideas, and the philosophy of his
life chiefly regarded deportment toward strangers who visited the
cave. He held it an error in most custodians to show discontent when
travellers gave them little; and he said that if he received never
so much, he believed it wise not to betray exultation. "Always be
contented, and nothing more," said Count Giovanni.

"It is what you people always promise beforehand," I said, "when you
bargain with strangers, to do them a certain service for what they
please; but afterward they must pay what you please or have trouble. I
know you will not be content with what I