Later in the day I came upon a figure scarcely less impressive.
Beyond the new quarter of the town, on the ragged edge of its wide,
half-peopled streets, lies a tract of olive orchards and of
seed-land; there, alone amid great bare fields, a countryman was
ploughing. The wooden plough, as regards its form, might have been
thousands of years old; it was drawn by a little donkey, and traced
in the soil--the generous southern soil--the merest scratch of a
furrow. I could not but approach the man and exchange words with
him; his rude but gentle face, his gnarled hands, his rough and
scanty vesture, moved me to a deep respect, and when his speech fell
upon my ear, it was as though I listened to one of the ancestors of
our kind. Stopping in his work, he answered my inquiries with
careful civility; certain phrases escaped me, but on the whole he
made himself quite intelligible, and was glad, I could see, when my
words proved that I understood him. I drew apart, and watched him
again. Never have I seen man so utterly patient, so primaevally
deliberate.
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