III.

Every one, I suppose, is subject to a trick of mind which often puzzles me.  I am reading or thinking, and at a moment, without any association or suggestion that I can discover, there rises before me the vision of a place I know.  Impossible to explain why that particular spot should show itself to my mind’s eye; the cerebral impulse is so subtle that no search may trace its origin.  If I am reading, doubtless a thought, a phrase, possibly a mere word, on the page before me serves to awaken memory.  If I am otherwise occupied, it must be an object seen, an odour, a touch; perhaps even a posture of the body suffices to recall something in the past.  Sometimes the vision passes, and there an end; sometimes, however, it has successors, the memory working quite independently of my will, and no link appearing between one scene and the next.

Ten minutes ago I was talking with my gardener.  Our topic was the nature of the soil, whether or not it would suit a certain kind of vegetable.  Of a sudden I found myself gazing at—­the Bay of Avlona.  Quite certainly my thoughts had not strayed in that direction.  The picture that came before me caused me a shock of surprise, and I am still vainly trying to discover how I came to behold it.

A happy chance that I ever saw Avlona.  I was on my way from Corfu to Brindisi.  The steamer sailed late in the afternoon; there was a little wind, and as the December night became chilly, I soon turned in.  With the first daylight I was on deck, expecting to find that we were near the Italian port; to my surprise, I saw a mountainous shore, towards which the ship was making at full speed.  On inquiry, I learnt that this was the coast of Albania; our vessel not being very seaworthy, and the wind still blowing a little (though not enough to make any passenger uncomfortable), the captain had turned back when nearly half across the Adriatic, and was seeking a haven in the shelter of the snow-topped hills.  Presently we steamed into a great bay, in the narrow mouth of which lay an island.  My map showed me where we were, and with no small interest I discovered that the long line of heights guarding the bay on its southern side formed the Acroceraunian Promontory.  A little town visible high up on the inner shore was the ancient Aulon.

Here we anchored, and lay all day long.  Provisions running short, a boat had to be sent to land, and the sailors purchased, among other things, some peculiarly detestable bread—­according to them, cotto al sole.  There was not a cloud in the sky; till evening, the wind whistled above our heads, but the sea about us was blue and smooth.  I sat in hot sunshine, feasting my eyes on the beautiful cliffs and valleys of the thickly-wooded shore.  Then came a noble sunset; then night crept gently into the hollows of the hills, which now were coloured the deepest, richest green.  A little lighthouse began to shine.  In the perfect calm that had fallen, I heard breakers murmuring softly upon the beach.