This was
quite a new idea of the matter to me. We had been flattering ourselves
on performing an incredible adventure; and lo, and behold, all the
world were there waiting for us.
[Illustration: _of a large multi-story hospice and other buildings in a
remote-looking mountain valley. A river flows in the foreground._]
We came up to the steps, and I was so crippled with fatigue and so
dizzy and sick with the thin air, that I hardly knew what I was doing.
We entered a low-browed, dark, arched, stone passage, smelling
dismally of antiquity and dogs, when a brisk voice accosted me in the
very choicest of French, and in terms of welcome as gay and courtly as
if we were entering a _salon_.
Keys clashed, and we went up stone staircases, our entertainer talking
volubly all the way. As for me, all the French I ever knew was buried
under an avalanche. C. had to make answer for me, that madame was very
unwell, which brought forth another stream of condolence as we came
into a supper room, lighted by a wood fire at one end. The long table
was stretched out, on which they were placing supper. Here I had light
enough to perceive that our entertainer was a young man of a lively,
intelligent countenance, in the Augustine monks' dress, viz., a long,
black camlet frock, with a kind of white band over it, which looks
much like a pair of suspenders worn on the outside. He spoke French
very purely, and had all that warm cordiality and graceful vivacity of
manner which seems to be peculiar to the French. He appeared to pity
us very much, and was full of offers of assistance; and when he heard
that I had a bad headache, insisted on having some tea made for me,
the only drink on the table being wine The supper consisted of
codfish, stewed apples, bread, filberts, and raisins. Immediately
after we were shown up stone staircases, and along stone passages, to
our rooms, of which the most inviting feature was two high, single
beds covered with white spreads. The windows of the rooms were so
narrow as to seem only like loopholes. There was a looking glass,
table, chair, and some glazed prints.
A good old woman came to see if we wanted any thing. I thought, as I
stretched myself in the bed, with feathers under me and feathers over
me, what a heaven of rest this place must have seemed to poor
travellers benighted and perishing in the snow. In the morning I
looked out of my loophole on the tall, grim rocks, and a small lake
frozen and covered with snow. "Is this lake always frozen?" said I to
the old serving woman who had come to bring us hot water for washing.
"Sometimes," says she, "about the latter part of August, it is
thawed."
I suppose it thaws the last of August, and freezes the first of
September.
After dressing ourselves we crept down stairs in hopes of finding the
fire which we left the night before in the sitting room. No such
thing. The sun was shining, and it was what was called a warm day,
that is to say, a day when a little thaw trickles down the south side
of snow banks; so the fire was out, and the windows up, and our gay
Augustine friend, coming in, congratulated us on our charming day.
The fireplace was piled up with wood and kindlings ready to be lighted
in the evening; but being made to understand that it was a very sultry
day, we could not, of course, suggest such an extravagance as igniting
the tempting pile - an extravagance, because every stick of wood has to
be brought on the backs of mules from the valleys below, at a very
great expense of time and money.
The same is true of provisions of all sorts, and fodder for cattle.
Well, after breakfast I went to the front porch to view the prospect.
And what did I see there? Banks of dirty, half-melted snow, bones, and
scraps of offal, patches of bare earth, for a small space, say about
fifty feet round, and then the whole region shut in by barren,
inaccessible rocks, which cut off all view in every direction.
Along by the frozen lake there is a kind of causeway path made for a
promenade, where one might walk to observe the beauties of the season,
and our cheery entertainer offered to show it to us; so we walked out
with him. Under the rocks in one place he showed us a little plat,
about as large as a closet door, which, he said, laughing, was their
garden.
I asked him if any thing ever really grew there. He shrugged his
shoulders, and said, "Sometimes."
We pursued this walk till we came to the end of the lake, and there he
showed me a stone pillar.
"There," said he, "beyond that pillar is Italy."
"Well," said I, "I believe I shall take a trip into Italy." So, as he
turned back to go to the house, W. and I continued on. We went some
way into Italy, down the ravine, and I can assure you I was not
particularly struck with the country.
I observed no indications of that superiority in the fine arts, or of
that genial climate and soil, of which I had heard so much. W. and I
agreed to give ourselves airs on this subject whenever the matter of
Italy was introduced, and to declare that we had been there, and had
seen none of the things of which people write in books.
