Capìtolo 61

gardens in the vicinity of Rome--the Lante, the Torlonia, the
Aldobrandini, the Falconieri, and the Muti--architectural wonders that
Austin had often read of, but of course had never seen; and then he
talked of Viterbo and its fountains, Vicenza the city of Palladian
palaces, every house a gem, and Sicily, with its hidden wonders, hidden
from the track of tourists because far in the depths of the interior. He
had travelled in Burma too, and inflamed the boy's imagination by
telling him of the gorgeous temples of Rangoon and Mandalay; he had
been--like everybody else--to Japan; and he had lived for six weeks up
country in China, in a secluded Buddhist monastery perched on the edge
of a precipice, like an eagle's nest, where his only associates were
bonzes in yellow robes, and the stillness was only broken by the
deep-toned temple bell, booming for vespers. Then, somehow, his thoughts
turned back to Europe, and he began a disquisition upon the great old
masters--Tintoretto, Rembrandt, Velasquez, Tiziano, and Peter Paul--with