"Knowest thou the mountain and its cloudy paths? where the mule isseeking its misty way."--GOETHE.
The letter was from Wilhelm; every line breathed life's joy andgladness.
"MIA CARA SORELLA!
"Does it not sound beautifully? It is Italian! Now then, I am inthat so-often-sung-of Paradise, but of the so much-talked-aboutblue air, I have as yet seen nothing of consequence. Here it isgray, gray as in Denmark. To be sure Otto says that it isbeautiful, that we have the heaven of home above us, but I am notso poetical. The eating is good, and the filth of the peoplestrikes one horribly after being in Switzerland, the enchantingSwitzerland! Yes, there is nature! We have made a crusade throughit, you may think. But now you shall hear about the journey, andthe entrance into 'la bella Italia,' which is yet below all myexpectations. I cannot at all bear these feeble people; I cannotendure this monk-odor and untruthfulness. We are come direct fromthe scenery of Switzerland, from clouds and glaciers, fromgreatness and power. We travelled somewhat hastily through thevalley of the Rhone; the weather was gray, but the whole obtainedtherefrom a peculiar character. The woods in the lofty ridgeslooked like heather; the valley itself seemed like a garden filledwith vegetables, vineyards, and green meadows. The clouds over andunder one another, but the snow-covered mountains peeped forthgloriously from among them, It was a riven cloud-world which drovepast,--the wild chase with which the daylight had disguised itself.It kissed in its flight Pissevache, a waterfall by no means to bedespised. In Brieg we rested some time, but at two o'clock in themorning began again our journey over the Simplon. This is thejourney which I will describe to you. Otto and I sat in thecoupé–‘. Fancy us in white blouses, shawl-caps, and with greenmorocco slippers, for the devil may travel in slippers--they arepainful to the feet.
"We both of us have mustaches! I have seduced Otto. They become usuncommonly well, and give us a very imposing air; and that is verygood now that we are come into the land of banditti, where we mustendeavor to awe the robbers. Thus travelled we. It was a darknight, and still as death, as in the moment when the overturebegins to an opera. Soon, indeed, was the great Simplon curtain tobe rolled up, and we to behold the land of music. Immediately onleaving the city, the road began to ascend; we could not see ahand before us; around us tumbled and roared the water-courses,--itwas as if we heard the pulse of Nature beat. Close above thecarriage passed the white clouds; they seemed like transparentmarble slabs which were slid over us. We had the gray dawn with us,whilst deep in the valley lay yet the darkness of night; in anhour's time it began to show itself there among the little wooden houses.
"It is a road hewn out of the rocks. The giant Napoleon carried itthrough the backbone of the earth. The eagle, Napoleon's bird, flewlike a living armorial crest over the gigantic work of the master.There it was cold and gray; the clouds above us, the clouds belowus, and in the middle space steep rocky walls.
"At regular distances houses (relais) are erected for thetravellers; in one of these we drank our coffee. The passengers saton benches and tables around the great fire-place, where the pinelogs crackled. More than a thousand names were written on thewalls. I amused myself by writing mamma's, yours, Sophie's, andEva's; now they stand there, and people will fancy that you havebeen on the Simplon. In the lobby I scratched in that of Mamsell,and added 'Without her workbox.' Otto was thinking about you. Wetalked in our, what the rest would call 'outlandish speech,' when Iall at once exclaimed, 'It is really Eva's birthday!' I rememberedit first. In Simplon town we determined to drink her health.
"We set off again. Wherever the glaciers might fall and destroy theroad the rocks have been sprung, and formed into great galleries,through which one drives without any danger. One waterfall succeedsanother. There is no balustrade along the road, only the dark,deep abyss where the pine-trees raise themselves to an immenseheight, and yet only look like rafters on the mighty wall of rock.Before we had advanced much further, we came to where trees nolonger grew. The great hospice lay in snow and cloud. We came intoa valley. What solitude! what desolation! only naked crags! Theyseemed metallic, and all had a green hue. The utmost variety ofmosses grew there; before us towered up an immense glacier, whichlooked like green bottle-glass ornamented with snow. It wasbitterly cold here, and in Simplon the stoves were lighted; thechampagne foamed, Eva's health was drunk, and, only think! at thatvery moment an avalanche was so gallant as to fall. That was acannonade; a pealing among the mountains! It must have rung inEva's ears. Ask her about it. I can see how she smiles.
"We now advanced toward Italy, but cold was it, and cold itremained. The landscape became savage; we drove between steepcrags. Only fancy, on both sides a block of granite several mileslong, and almost as high, and the road not wider than for twocarriages to pass, and there you have a picture of it. If onewanted to see the sky, one was obliged to put one's head out of thecarriage and look up, and then it was as if one looked up from thebottom of the deepest well, dark and narrow. Every moment I keptthinking, 'Nay, if these two walls should come together!' We withcarriage and horses were only like ants on a pebble. We drovethrough the ribs of the earth! The water roared; the clouds hunglike fleeces on the gray, craggy walls. In a valley we saw boys andgirls dressed in sheep-skins, who looked as wild as if they hadbeen brought up among beasts.
"Suddenly the air became wondrously mild. We saw the first fig-treeby the road-side. Chestnuts hung over our heads; we were in Isella,the boundary town of Italy. Otto sang, and was wild with delight; Istudied the first public-house sign, 'Tabacca e vino.'
"How luxuriant became the landscape! Fields of maize and vineyards!The vine was not trained on frames as in Germany!--no, it hung inluxuriant garlands, in great huts of leaves! Beautiful childrenbounded along the road, but the heavens were gray, and that I hadnot expected in Italy. From Domo d'Ossola, I looked back to mybeloved Switzerland! Yes, she turns truly the most beautiful sidetoward Italy. But there was not any time for me to gaze; on wemust. In the carriage there sat an old Signorina; she recitedpoetry, and made: with her eyes 'che bella cosa!'
"About ten o'clock at night we were in Baveno, drank tea, andslept, whilst Lago Maggiore splashed under our window. The lake andthe Borromaen island we were to see by daylight.
"'Lord God!' thought I, 'is this all?' A scene as quiet and riantas this we--have at home! Funen after this should be called Isolabella, and the East Sea is quite large enough to be called LagoMaggiore. We went by the steamboat past the holy Borromeus[Author's Note: A colossal statue on the shore of Lago Maggiore.]to Sesto de Calende; we had a priest on board, who was very muchastonished at our having come from so far. I showed him a largetravelling map which we had with us, where the Lago Maggiore wasthe most southern, and Hamburg the most northern point. 'Yet stillfurther off,' said I; 'more to the north!' and he struck his handstogether when he perceived that we were from beyond the great map.He inquired whether we were Calvinists.
"We sped through glorious scenes. The Alps looked like glassmountains in a fairy tale. They lay behind us. The air was warm assummer, but light as on the high mountains. The women wafted kissesto us; but they were not handsome, the good ladies!
"Tell the Kammerjunker that the Italian pigs have no bristles, buthave a coal-black shining skin like a Moor.
"Toward night we arrived at Milan, where we located ourselves withReichmann, made a good supper, and had excellent beds; but Iforesee that this bliss will not last very long. On the other sideof the Apennines we shall be up to the ears in dirt, and must eatolives preserved in oil; but let it pass. Otto adapts himselfcharmingly to all things; he begins to be merry--that is, at times!I, too, have had a sort of vertigo--I am taken with Italian music;but then there is a difference in hearing it on the spot. It hasmore than melody; it has character. The luxuriance in nature and inthe female form; the light, fluttering movement of the people,where even pain is melody, has won my heart and my understanding.Travelling changes people!
"Kiss mamma for me! Tell Eva about the health-drinking on theSimplon, and about the falling avalanche: do not forget that; thatis precisely the point in my letter! Tell me too how Eva blushed,and smiled, and said, 'He thought of me!' Yes, in fact it is verynoble of me. My sweet Sophie and her Kammerjunker, Jakoba andMamsell, must have a bouquet of greetings, which you must arrangeproperly. If you could but see Otto and me with our mustaches! Wemake an impression, and that is very pleasant. If the days only didnot go on so quickly--if life did not pass so rapidly!
"'Questa vita mortale Che par si bella, a quasi piuma al vento Che la porta a la perde in un momento,' [Note: Guarini]
as we Italians say. Cannot you understand that?
"Thy affectionate brother,
"WILHELM."
Otto wrote in the margin of the letter, "Italy is a paradise! Herethe heavens are three times as lofty as at home. I love the proudpine-trees and the dark-blue mountains. Would hat everybody couldsee the glorious objects!"
Wilhelm added to this, "What he writes about the Italian heavens isstupid stuff. Ours at home is just as good. He is an odd person, asyou very well know!
"'Addic! A rivederci!'"