A rather benign story in the shade of the olive trees of a hill town of Tuscany, far from The Jet Set (1964) and entailing only a little light adultery. The bridge is a suspension between the impregnable past and modern times envisioned by a peasant, Pietro. He wants to build it as a ""gesture. . . sign of life"" in this dusty, faded Florentine world, which has been preserved by their local Count Anfitrione. The Count does nothing except for exercising his traditional droits de seigneur with whomever is available. Then there's an American artist and his wife (who will become the Count's mistress); and the Count's wife Maria who resented being an ""ornament of his illustrious past"" and finds a more glorious present with Pietro. He's the Renaissance man, both a dreamer and a doer. . . . The most that can be said for this is that it's a relatively smooth Chianti in an old bottle in spite of hopes (the publisher's) and claims. . . . ""Who knows if another Dante might not come walking out of these very hills."" Don't give it a second thought.