But to these questions there can perhaps never be an answer. Certainly
the very aspect of the Marsh recalls nothing so much as the Campagna
of Rome, in its nobility, loneliness and infinite subjection to the
sun, the clouds, and the sky, so that at evening there we might almost
think that Rome herself lay only just beyond that large horizon, and
that with an effort we might reach the great gate of San Giovanni e'er
darkness fell. It is as though in the Marsh our origins for once and
unmistakably were laid bare for us and we had suddenly recognised our
home.
CHAPTER IX
RYE AND WINCHELSEA
Out of the vagueness and loneliness of the Marsh, with its strange
level light and tingling silence, I climbed one spring evening at
sunset into the ancient town of Rye, and at first I could not believe
I was still in England. No one I think can wander for more than a few
days about the Marsh, among those half deserted churches, far too big
for any visible congregation, whose towers in a kind of despair still
stand up before God against the sea, raging and plotting far off
against the land, without wondering at last into what country he has
strayed.
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