AN OLIVE GROVE 109 



face, a veritable composite of the faces of 

 Savonarola and John Wesley. A monk 

 comes to the gate and speaks to the 

 stranger: "What would you?" The 

 stranger "answers not, but looks at the 

 wall intently." The monk speaks more 

 kindly: "Friend, what would you?" 

 Breaking out of his abstraction, the trav- 

 eler gazes into the monk's eyes and utters 

 one word — "Peace." 



This is Dante, the exile from Florence, 

 trying to find some spot where he may 

 be allowed to rest. Held fast by the 

 pathetic figure, I follow the exile, step 

 by step, along this Ligurian shore, the 

 entire distance from Lerici to Turbia. 

 The Aurelian way of the Romans has 

 long since crumbled, and the Corniche 

 road has not yet been made ; and so Dante 

 must use the mule path, narrow, rocky, 

 and tortuous. This path I can just dis- 

 cern as it winds up and over the shoulder 

 of Monte Nero. Now a form rises above 

 the huge ledge, and the exile is silhouetted 



