A lace maker, I have noticed her while she was working on the doorstep of a certain house in Gubbio, the other in the holy city of Assisi, still another on that mountainous spot called Montone. Each one of them embroidered their lace, raising it every so often towards the sun to check that cosmic design, which the job itself probably relied upon. Now I know that all the women of Umbria have taken up this profession of the spider, so that one day — all that, which the traveler considers to be early morning fog — will result in a universal tapestry, an immense exertion of feminine whim, of which the testament will be a veil over the Italian earth, the firmament that will substitute all that, which in these regions is taken for the sky.