The fame of other lands had reached them; the name of the eternal city rang in their ears; they were not colonists, but pilgrims; they travelled towards wine and gold and sunshine, but their hearts were set on something higher.
That divine unrest, that old stinging trouble of humanity that makes all high achievements and all miserable failure, the same that spread wings with Icarus, the same that sent Columbus into the desolate Atlantic, inspired and supported these barbarians on their perilous march.

There is one legend which profoundly represents their spirit, of how a flying party of these wanderers encountered a very old man shod with iron.

The old man asked them whither they were going; and they answered with one voice: 'To the Eternal City!' He looked upon them gravely.

'I have sought it,' he said, 'over the most part of the world.

Three such pairs as I now carry on my feet have I worn out upon this pilgrimage, and now the fourth is growing slender underneath my steps.