Part 16
Our road soon led us into a great valley, the Alps gradually closing on us as we advanced, until we again found ourselves in their gigantic embraces. The Adige, a swift but brawling stream, flowed on our left, and the country gradually lost the breadth and softness of Italy in the peculiarities of a mountain district. About two o’clock, we passed a village called Avio, where we changed horses. Here we got but one postillion, short traces for the leaders, a long whip, and a new livery,—the certain signs that we were in Germany: in fact, we had crossed the line of the Tyrol, about a league to the southward. Roveredo was a town of some importance, and here we began to see some of the independence of the Tyrolese, who paid very little attention to the printed regulations of the road. I had been furnished with a _carte de route_, with instructions to enter any complaints about speed, delays, or other failure to comply with the law; and this I did at one post-house in the presence of the post-master, who had not only made a false entry as to the time of our arrival and departure, but who was impudent and dilatory. This complaint he endeavoured to defeat by correcting his own entry. To effect this, he had asked me for the way-bill; and when I found out the object, he refused to give it back again.—Thereupon, I seized him by the collar, and wrested the paper out of his hands. For a moment there were symptoms of blows; but, distrusting the result, the rogue yielded. He menaced me loudly, notwithstanding; and when I carried off the prize to the carriage, we were surrounded by the rascal with a dozen other blackguards to back him. He refused to give us horses, and I noted the time, on the way-bill, again, before his face. This frightened him, and I believe he was glad to get rid of us.
It would seem I had adopted a mode of travelling peculiarly disagreeable to the postmasters; for, while it cost me more than the ordinary posting, they were paid less, the government pocketing the difference. This I did not know, or certainly I would have saved my money; but being in the scrape, as a _pis aller_, I was determined to fight my way out of it. I do think there is enough of Jack in me yet to have threshed the fellow, had we got to facers,—a termination of the affair that the short struggle gave the rascal reason to anticipate.
It was dark before we drove into a small city that stands between lofty mountains, one of which rose like a dark wall above it, quite _à la Suisse_. The Adige flowed through this town, which was Trent, so celebrated for its religious council.
The inn here was semi-Swiss, semi-German. When I put the usual question as to the price of the rooms, the landlord, a hearty Boniface-sort of a person, laughed, and said, “You are now in Germany; give yourself no trouble on that score.” I took him at his word, and found him honest. There was a sort of great _sala_ in the centre of the house, that communicated with the different apartments. Something like a dozen escutcheons ornamented its walls; and, on examining them, I found inscriptions to show that they had been placed there to commemorate the visits of sundry kings and princes to the larder of mine host. Among others, the Emperor, the late and the present Grand Dukes of Tuscany, and the King of Bavaria, were of the number. The latter sovereign is a great traveller, running down into Italy every year or two. The Marquis of Hertford was also honoured with a blazonry,—probably on account of his expenses. I have seen this usage, once or twice, in other parts of Europe.
The next day, our road, an even, good carriageway, led up the valley of the Adige, along a valley that might have passed for one of Switzerland, a little softened in features. There were ruined towers on the spurs of the mountains, and here and there was a hold that was still kept up. One in particular, near Botzen, struck us as singularly picturesque, for it was not easy to see how its inhabitants reached it. The costumes, too, were singular; prettier, I thought, than any of Switzerland. The men wore cock’s feathers, stuck obliquely with a smart air in their high conical hats: some carried guns, and all had a freedom of manner about them that denoted the habits of mountaineers. At Botzen we left the Adige, following a branch, however, that was not smaller than the stream which retains the name. The country now became more romantic and more wild. The châteaux were of a simpler kind, though always picturesque. The road continued good, and the horses were excellent: they reminded us strongly of American horses. We did not arrive at Brixen until after dark; but we found German neatness, German civility, German honesty, and German family portraits. Every man has ancestors of some sort or other, but one sees no necessity for lampooning them with a pencil after they are dead.
Brixen stands in a mountain-basin, a town of a German-Swiss character. Soon after quitting it, next morning, we began to ascend the celebrated Pass of the Brenner, which offered nothing more than a long and winding road among forests and common mountain scenery. We had been too recently in Switzerland to be in ecstasies, and yet we were pleased. It began to be stormy; and by the time we reached the post-house, the road had several inches of snow in it. Two days before, we had been eating cherries and strawberries at Verona!
One gets to be sophisticated in time. On landing in England, I refused a beggar a sixpence, _because he asked for it_, my American habits revolting at the meanness of begging. To-day A—— had a good laugh at me for a change of character. By the arrangement at Venice, I was not obliged to give any thing to the postillions; but I usually added a franc to their regular receipts from the government. On this occasion the postillion very properly abstained from asking for that which he knew he could not properly claim. The money, however, was in my hand; but seeing that he kept aloof, I put it up, unconsciously saying, “Hang the fellow! if he will not ask for it, let him go without it.” This is the way we get to be the creatures of habit, judging of nations and men by standards that depend on accidents. Four years earlier, I should certainly have refused the postillion, _had_ he asked for the money; and now I denied him because he did _not_! I hope to reach the philosophical and just medium in due time, in this as well as in some other matters.
We went a post on the mountain, a wild, without being absolutely a savage district, before we turned the summit. This point was discovered by the runs of water at the roadside, one of which was a tributary of the Adige, sending its contributions to the Adriatic, while the other flows into the Inn, which communicates with the Danube. The descent, however, soon spoke for itself, and we went down a mountain on a scale commensurate with that by which we had ascended.
At a turn in the road, a beautiful fairy-like scene suddenly presented itself. There was a wide and fertile plain, through which meandered a respectable river. Our own mountain melted away to its margin on one side, and a noble wall of rock, some two or three thousand feet high, bounded it on the other. Directly before us lay a town, with the usual peculiarities of a mountain-city, though it had a cathedral, and even a palace. This was Innspruck, the capital of the Tyrol, and the immediate object of our journey. We drove into it at an early hour, and in time to enjoy the play of mists, and the brilliancy of the snows that still rendered the adjacent cliffs hoary.
We had glimpses of glaciers to-day, and saw an abbey or two in poetical situations. Innspruck reminded us a good deal of Berne. The palace is respectable, though not large, and the cathedral is quaint and venerable. In the latter there is a row of knights in their ancient armour, or, rather, a row of armour which is so placed as to resemble knights ranged in order. I believe the armour is that of the former sovereigns of the Tyrol.
There is also a little castle, a mile or two from the town, that now belongs to the Emperor, and was once the hold, or palace, of the Counts of the Tyrol. We had the curiosity to visit it. Certes, a small prince a few centuries since lived in a very simple style. There were the knights’ hall, a picture-gallery, and other sounding names; but a more unsophisticated abode can hardly be imagined for a gentleman. To compare any of these mountain-castles to a modern country-house, even in America, is out of the question, for nothing can be plainer than most of their accommodations. This was a little better than a common Yankee palace, I allow, for that is the _ne plus ultra_ of discomfort and pretension; but, after all, you might fancy yourself in a barn that had been converted into a dwelling.
The gallery was awful—almost as bad as that one occasionally meets in an American tavern, or that we actually enjoyed last night at Brixen. Still, the place was quaint, and of great interest from its associations. It even had its armour.
We are now at a stand. Vienna is on our right, Switzerland on our left, and the last pass of the Alps is before us. Examining the map, I see the “Iser rolling rapidly,” Munich, and a wide field of Germany in the latter direction, and it has just been decided to push forward as far as Saxony and Dresden before we make another serious halt.
THE END.
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THE SPY: a Tale of the Neutral Ground.
THE PIONEERS, or the Sources of the Susquehanna: a descriptive Tale.
THE PILOT: a Tale of the Sea.
LAST OF THE MOHICANS: a Narrative of 1757.
THE PRAIRIE: a Tale.
THE RED ROVER: a Tale.
THE WEPT OF WISH-TON-WISH: a Tale.
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THE BRAVO: a Tale.
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PRECAUTION: Edited, revised and corrected. (In the press.)
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.