A Love Story
bring temptation in its train,--and our fervent enthusiasm, but too
frequently terminate in vice and crime!
Our whole soul was unmanned! and well do we remember the morbid prayer,
that we that night offered to the throne of mercy.
"Pity us! pity us! Creator of all!
"With thousands around, who love--who reverence--whose hearts, in unison
with ours, tremble at death, yet sigh for eternity;--who gaze with eye
aspiring, although dazzled--as, the curtain of futurity uplifted, fancy
revels in the glorious visions of beatitude:--even here, oh God! hear our
prayer and pity us!
"We are moulded, though faintly, in an angel's form. Endow us with an
angel's principles. For ever hush the impure swellings of passion! lull
the stormy tide of contending emotions! let not circumstances overwhelm!
"Receive our past griefs: the griefs of manhood, engrafted on youth; accept
these tears, falling fast and bitterly! take them as past atonement,--as
mute witnesses that we feel:--that reason slumbers not, although passion
may mislead:--that gilded temptation may overcome, and gorgeous pleasure
intoxicate:--but that sincere repentance, and bitter remorse, are
visitants too.
"Oh guide and pity us!"
A cheerless dawn was breaking, and a thick damp mist was lazily hanging on
the water's surface, as our travellers waved the hand to Venice.
"Fare thee well!" said George, as he rose in the gondola to catch a last
glimpse of the Piazzetta, "sea girt city! decayed memorial of patrician
splendour, and plebeian debasement! of national glory, blended with
individual degradation!--fallen art thou, but fair! It was not with
freshness of heart, I reached thee:--I dwelt not in thee, with that
jocund spirit, whose every working or gives the lip a smile, or moistens
the eye of feeling with a tear.
"Sad were my emotions! but sadder still, as I recede from thy shores, bound
on a distant pilgrimage. Acmé! dear Acmé! would I were with thee!"
Passing through Treviso, they stopped at Castel Franco, which presents one
of the best specimens of an Italian town, and Italian peasantry, that a
stranger can meet with.
At Bassano, they failed not to visit the Municipal Hall, where are the
principal pictures of Giacomo da Ponte, called after his native town.
His style is peculiar.
His pictures are dark to an excess, with here and there a vivid light,
introduced with wonderful effect.
From this town, the ascent of the mountains towards Ospedale is commenced;
and the route is one full of interest.
On the right, lay a low range of country, adorned with vineyards; beyond
which, the mountains rose in a precipitous ridge, and closed the scene
magnificently.
The Brenta was then reached, and continued to flow parallel with the road,
as far as eye could extend.
Farther advanced, the mountains presented a landscape more varied:--_here_
chequered with hamlets, whose church hells re-echoed in mellow harmony:
there--the only break to their majesty, being the rush of the river, as it
formed rolling cascades in its rapid route; or beat in sparkling foam,
against the large jagged rocks, which opposed its progress.
At one while, came shooting down the stream, some large raft of timber,
manned by adventurous navigators, who, with graceful dexterity, guided
their rough bark, clear of the steep banks, and frequent fragments of
rock;--at another--as if to mark a road little frequented, a sharp turn
would bring them on some sandalled damsel, sitting by the road side,
adjusting her ringlets. Detected in her toilet, there was a mixture of
frankness and modesty, in the way in which she would turn away a blushing
face, yet neglect not, with native courtesy, to incline the head, and
wave the sun-burnt hand.
From Ospedale, nearing the bold castle of Pergini, which effectually
commands the pass; the travellers descended through regions of beauty, to
the ancient Tridentum of Council celebrity.
The metal roof of its Duomo was glittering in the sunshine; and the Adige
was swiftly sweeping by its fortified walls.
Leaving Trent, they reached San Michele, nominally the last Italian town
on the frontier; but the German language had already prepared them for a
change of country.
The road continued to wind by the Adige, and passing through Lavis, and
Bronzoli, the brothers halted for the night at Botzen, a clean German
town, watered by the Eisach.
The following day's journey, was one that few can take, and deem their
time misspent.
Mossy cliffs--flowing cascades--"chiefless castles breaking stern
farewells"--all these were met, and met again, as through Brixen, they
reached the village of Mülks.
They had intended to have continued their route; but on drawing up at the
post-house, were so struck with the gaiety of the scene, that they
determined to remain for the night.
Immediately in rear of the small garden of the inn, and with a gentle
slope upwards, a wide piece of meadow land extended. On its brow, was
pitched a tent, or rather, a many-coloured awning; and, beside it, a pole
adorned with flags. This was the station for expert riflemen, who aimed in
succession at a fluttering bird, held by a silken cord.
The sloping bank of the hill was covered with spectators.
Age looked on with sadness, and mourned for departed manhood--youth with
envy, and sighed for its arrival.
After seeing their bedrooms, George leant on Henry's arm, and, crossing
the garden, they took a by-path, which led towards the tent.
The strangers were received with respect and cordiality.
Seats were brought, and placed near the scene of contest.
The trial of skill over, the victor took advantage, of his right, and
selected his partner from the fairest of the peasant girls.
Shrill pipes struck up a waltz--a little blind boy accompanied these on a
mandolin--and in a brief space, the hill's flat summit was swarming with
laughing dancers.
Nor was youth alone enlisted in Terpsichore's service.
The mother joined in the same dance with the daughter; and not
unfrequently tripped with foot as light.
Twilight came on, and the patriarchs of the village, and with them our
travellers, adjourned to the inn.
The matrons led away their reluctant charges, and the youth of the village
alone protracted the revels.
The brothers seated themselves at a separate table, and watched the
village supper party, with some interest.
Bowls of thick soup, with fish swimming in butter, and fruit floating in
cream, were successively placed in the middle of the table.
Each old man produced his family spoon, and helped himself with primitive
simplicity:--then lighted his pipe, and told his long tale, till he had
exhausted himself and his hearers.
Nor must we forget the comely waiter.
A bunch of keys hanging on one side,--a large leathern purse on the
other--with a long boddice, and something like a hoop--she really
resembled, save that her costume was more homely, one of the portraits
of Vandyke.
The brothers left Mülks by sunrise, and were not long, ere they reached
the summit of the Brenner, the loftiest point of the Tyrol.
From the beautiful town of Gries, embosomed in the deep valley, until they
trod the steep Steinach, the mountain scenery at each step become more
interesting. The road was cut on the face of a mountain. On one side,
frowned the mountain's dark slope; on the other, lay a deep precipice,
down which the eye fearfully gazed, and saw naught but the dark fir trees
far far beneath. Dividing that dense wood, a small stream, entangled in
the dark ravine, glided on in graceful windings, and looked more silvery
from its contrast with the sombre forest.
At the Steinach Pietro pulled up, to show the travellers the capital
of the Tyrol, and to point in the distance to Hall, famous for its
salt works.
Casting a hasty glance, on the romantic vale beneath them:--the fairest
and most extensive in the northern recesses of the Alps, Sir Henry desired
his driver to continue his journey.
They rapidly descended, and passing by the column, commemorative of the
repulse of the French and Bavarian armies, soon found themselves the
inmates of an hotel in Inspruck.
Chapter X.
The Students' Stories.
"The lilacs, where the robins built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birth-day--
_The tree_ is living yet."
At Inspruck, Delmé had the advantage of a zealous, if not an appropriate
guide, in the red-faced landlord of the hotel, whose youth had been passed
in stirring times, which had more than once, required the aid of his arm,
and which promised to tax his tongue, to the last day of his life.
He knew all the heroes of the Tyrolese revolution--if revolution it can be
called--and had his tale to tell of each.
He had got drunk with Hofer,--had visited Joseph Speckbacker, when hid in
his own stable,--and had confessed more than once to Haspinger, the
fighting Capuchin.
His stories were very characteristic; and, if they did not breathe all the
poetry of patriotism, were at least honest versions, of exploits performed
in as pure and disinterested a spirit, as any that have ever graced the
sacred name of Liberty.
After seeing all its sights, and making an excursion to some glaciers in
its neighbourhood, Delmé and George left the capital of the Tyrol, to
proceed by easy stages to Munich.
In the first day's route, they made the passage of the Zirl, which has
justly been lauded; and Pietro failed not to point to a crucifix, placed
on a jutting rock, which serves to mark the site of Maximilian's cave.
The travellers took a somewhat late breakfast, at the guitar-making
Mittelwald, where chance detained them later than usual. They were still
at some distance from their sleeping place, the hamlet of Wallensee, when
the rich hues of sunset warned Pietro, that if he would not be benighted,
he must urge on his jaded horses.
The sun's decline was glorious. For a time, vivid streaks of crimson and
of gold, crowned the summits of the heaving purple mountains. Gradually,
these streaks became fainter, and died away, and rolling, slate-coloured
clouds, hung heavily in the west.
The scene and the air seemed to turn on a sudden, both cold and grey; and,
as the road wound through umbrageous forests of pine, night came abruptly
upon them; and it was a relief to the eye, to note the many bright stars,
as they shone above the tops of the lofty trees.
A boding stillness reigned, on which the sound of their carriage wheels
ungratefully broke. The rustling of each individual bough had an
intonation of its own; and the deep notes of the woodman, endeavouring to
forget the thrilling legends of his land, mingled fitfully with the hollow
gusts, which came moaning through the leafless branches below.
Hist! can it be the boisterous revel of the _forst geister_, that meets
his ear? or is it but the chirp of insects, replying from brake to
underwood?
Woodman! stay not thy carol!
Yon sound _may_ be the wild laugh of the Holz König! Better for thee, to
deem it the whine of thine own dog, looking from the cottage door, and
awaiting but thy presence, to share in the homely meal.
Arrived on the summit of the hill, the lights of the hamlet at length
glistened beneath them. The tired steeds, as if aware of the near
termination of their labours, shook their rough manes, and jingled their
bells in gladness.
An abrupt descent--and they halted, at the inn facing the lake.
And here may we notice, that it has been a source of wonder to us, that
English tourists, whose ubiquity is great, have not oftener been seen
straying, by the side of the lake of Wallensee.
A sweeter spot exists not;--whether we rove by its margin, and perpetrate
a sonnet; limn some graceful tree, hanging over its waters; or gaze on its