The monastery, which is now a Government school of forestry, is ugly and unkempt; the hotel is unattractive; the few people one meets want to sell something or take you for a drive.

But in an instant in any direction one can be in the woods--and at this level they are pine woods, soft underfoot and richly perfumed--and a quarter of an hour's walking brings the view.

It is then that you realize you are on a mountain indeed.

Florence is to the north-west in the long Arno valley, which is here precipitous and narrow.

The river is far below--if you slipped you would slide into it--fed by tumbling Apennine streams from both walls.