Part 7

Crossing a majestic mountain beyond Modena, we were shewn the Devil's Bridge (_note_ B.), three hundred feet above the river. We ourselves looked proudly down upon it, from our eagle height, where we enjoyed the benefit of a noble and easy road, made (as usual) by order of Bonaparte; for which all travellers ought to feel deeply indebted to him. Not that I attribute his works of this sort to benevolence rather than ambitious policy: but whatever the cause, we _voyageurs_ have great reason to bless the effect! The postillion seriously assured us, as we gazed upon the above-mentioned bridge, that it was originally built by the arch fiend, although he added, that "this had happened a great while ago." Mr. W. attempted to laugh him out of so ridiculous a belief; but he adhered to his point with immoveable gravity. I had always heard that the natives of mountainous countries were peculiarly liable to the impressions of superstition, and in this instance I had an opportunity of proving personally the truth of the remark. We regretted that time did not allow of our making a few more experimental researches into these matters: it might have been very interesting to have collected a set of legends from the mouths of the simple inhabitants; and I should have had considerable amusement in tracing their similarity to those of the Scotch Highlanders, the German, Swedish, and other fond believers in romance. The king of Sardinia was at that time building fortresses upon this mountain, and two thousand men were employed in the work.

We met some Italian officers at Modena; they were fine men, and had a far more distinguished and gentlemanly _tournure_ than, the French. It is astonishing how vulgar and gross in appearance and manner all the latter were, whom we had yet had an opportunity of remarking. I had ever thought the subalterns and captains in some of our marching and militia regiments bad enough, but they were certainly much superior to the French officers. This reminds me, that in our apartment at the inn at Aiguebelle, we saw scrawled upon the walls a fierce _tirade_ (written by some Frenchman) against that interesting work, "Eustace's Italy." We, of course, were not much surprised at the wrath therein expressed; and I myself think that Eustace bears evident marks of being under the dominion of prejudice, in speaking of the French as a nation.

Crossing another mountain, not far from Lans le Bourg, we were made doubly sensible of the prodigious altitude of our road, by comparing the different proportions of the objects around: for instance, a water-mill at work in the valley below us appeared like a baby-house, and the stream which fell from the wheel not much more important than what might have issued from a large garden watering-pot. The rocks here were all wild, gloomy, and barren.

Arriving at Lans le Bourg, where we slept, we found the inn (_Le Grand Hotel des Voyageurs_) clean and comfortable, which was a delightful change to us, after the dirt and misery of those we had lately seen. It stood a short distance beyond the little town, on the brink of a roaring torrent. The host and his wife appeared flattered at our observation of their neat establishment, &c., and told us that it was not the first time their house had been complimented as being very like those in England. The next morning we pursued our route through the same magnificent scenes, and here we first saw a giant glacier, clad in his spotless mantle of everlasting purity. At his feet (to give the reader some idea of his stupendous height and magnitude) lay a town; the steeple of its church did not appear taller than the extinguisher of a candle, which it also resembled in shape. Amid these solitary wilds the greatest variety of plants, flowers, &c. are to be found, and violets in profusion during the spring. We ate some strawberries, gathered here by the peasant children, for a large basket of which our host at Lans le Bourg paid a sum in value rather less than three English halfpence. The postillion and Christian gathered me large bunches of very fine wild raspberries, as they walked up the steep ascent. We were now upon Mont Cenis (_note_ C.), of celebrated fame. My husband collected for me a few specimens of the lovely flowers which bloomed there, and which I have since put by as relics. One plant in particular (wholly unknown to any of us) I must mention. It is a poisonous but exquisitely graceful shrub, with spiral leaves, jagged at the edges, and clusters of brilliant scarlet berries, growing in the form of miniature bunches of grapes. The postillion called it _la tourse_; but we did not feel quite sure of the accuracy of his botanical knowledge. Near the summit of this mountain we were shewn the spot where adventurous travellers sometimes descend to the town of Lans le Bourg upon a sledge, in the short space of seven minutes; whereas it takes two hours and a half to ascend in a carriage, or on a mule. The precipice looked horrible beyond description; yet the English frequently adopt this mode of conveyance during the winter: it is called _la ramasse_, and the amusement of sliding in cars at the _Beaujon_ and _Les Montagnes Russes_, in Paris, was taken from this. As we continued to climb, the effect of the sheep feeding amid the rocky ledges, upon the grassy patches of land far below us, was curious enough. They appeared diminished to the size of those little round, white, fat inhabitants of a nutshell, which sometimes run races upon a china plate, or a polished mahogany table, after dinner. I believe their names are not mentioned in the Newmarket Calender; but my readers will know what I mean. We here beheld a fatigued pedestrian, drawn up the steep path with much comparative ease to himself, by clinging to the long tail of a strong mule, upon which another traveller was riding.

The road over Mont Cenis is most superb: there are small houses at set distances, where dwell a regularly organized body of men, called _cantonniers_, whose business it is to keep the highway in repair, and to shelter and assist all _voyageurs_ who may stand in need of their services. This was first ordered and arranged by Bonaparte. Upon reaching level ground, near the utmost summit, we were agreeably surprised by the sight of a small lake, of the most heavenly blue (the real ultramarine colour well known to artists), situated in the midst of a little plain of verdant turf: it was quite a scene of peace and repose, all view of the surrounding precipices being shut out. From this quiet haven we descended with rapidity and ease, at the rate of seven or eight miles an hour, with only two horses; while in going up on the other side of the mountain, we found four unequal to drag us along at more than a foot's pace.

We passed by the Hospice, originally built by Charlemagne, and re-established by Bonaparte, who really put us in mind of the Marquis of Carrabas, in the fairy tale of "Puss in Boots;" for if we saw any road better than another, any house particularly well calculated for the relief of travellers, any set of guides whose attendance was unusually convenient and well ordered, or any striking improvement, in short, of whatever nature, and were induced to inquire, "by whom all had been done?" the answer was invariably, "Napoleon! Napoleon! Napoleon!" At this Hospice there is a set of monks, who bear a high reputation for benevolence and attention to travellers. A very lofty and majestic waterfall shortly afterwards greeted our eyes, grandly beautiful, though bearing no character of terror. It was the "roar of waters," not the "hell of waters," so admirably described by Lord Byron, in the fourth canto of his Childe Harold. The road here perpetually returned upon itself, in zigzag windings, resembling the principle of a corkscrew staircase, and was, in the midst of grandeur and sublimity, both easy and safe.

The Alps, on the Piedmontese side of Mont Cenis, and to whose firm bases we were now fast descending, were infinitely more stupendous, more overwhelming in their proportions, and displayed stronger features of actual sublimity, perhaps, than those we had seen in Savoy; but we all thought them less rich in sylvan beauty, and far less enchantingly romantic in their general character. Our wonder was not, as formerly, mingled with delight; on the contrary, a shuddering sensation of horror took possession of our minds, as we involuntarily turned our eyes upon the various dark gulfs, and tremendous abysses, which yawned on every side. It was impossible not to feel, at every turn, that there were but a few inches between us and destruction. At length we reached the foot of the celebrated Rocca Melone, or Roche Melon, which is allowed to be the highest of the chain, and is nine thousand feet from the base to the summit. We could now perceive a visible alteration in the costumes of the peasantry; the men came forth in coloured silk or cotton caps, with a long net bag hanging down behind, ending in a tassel: the women, in flat straw hats, lined with pink sarsenet, and jackets laced in front; exactly resembling those Italian groups of figures which I had formerly seen in the drawings of Mr. W----m L----k. I recognised them instantly as my old acquaintance, and felt myself in some measure _en pays de connoissance_. Our postillion had the true features of the Venetian Punchinello, and I almost expected to hear him squeak.

We dined at Susa (inn _la Posta_), and found it cleanly and comfortable; the people excessively attentive and civil: in short, we looked upon it as a most auspicious entrance into Italy. From Susa to San Giorgio our driver was a regular Italian wag, and I suspected he had got a little too much of the juice of the grape in his head, by the way in which he tore along the road, to the amazement of every quiet passenger. At last we called to him, to inquire the reason of his violent proceedings. "I thought I was doing just what you liked best," was his answer; and it was with difficulty we could persuade him that we were not among the number of those English travellers who take delight in risking their own necks, and the lives of their horses, merely for the sake of "astonishing the natives!" This was the first and only instance of intoxication which we had witnessed upon the continent.

The dress of the women near San Giorgio is picturesque; a short blue petticoat, with several narrow, coloured tucks at the bottom, a high laced cap (something in the style of the French _cauchoises_), and bright necklaces, formed of boxwood beads, turned in an oval shape, and highly gilt, so as to resemble massy gold. The men all wore cocked hats. The verdure of the fields and trees here (the latter chiefly beech, olive, and lime) was delightful, owing partly to the late rains, which the people told us had fallen to the great refreshment of the long-parched earth; the whole air was embalmed with the fragrance of the limes: we had a strong sun, but at the same time, so reviving a breeze, so soft, pure, and elastic, that I never remember to have enjoyed any thing more, nor ever felt a greater degree of physical animation. This sweetly-breathing wind might (by poets) have been supposed the same which blew through the groves of Elysium. We now passed by a fine ruin of a castle, built upon a rocky eminence, and overhanging a brawling river. The peasantry in general were well looking, but we still observed several _goîtres_ among them. Nothing struck us at this time with higher astonishment than the convent of Benedictines, an enormous, massive, dark pile of building, reared upon the topmost height of one of the grandest mountains here, and frowning over the valley below. I in particular remember this with the strongest impression of wonder and admiration; it perfectly seized upon my imagination, and involuntarily brought Mrs. Radcliffe's, and other tales of romance, to the recollection of us all.

At St. Antonine, (I sometimes avail myself of the French names of these places, as both French and Italian are equally used in this country), we first saw two _paysannes_ with their hair twisted up _à l'antique_, and in long transparent veils of black gauze, which admirably suited their handsome dark eyes and eyebrows; this costume is sometimes worn over the high cap, but it then loses half its graceful effect. It struck me that if women in general were aware of the peculiar advantage and charm of a long floating veil, which thus shades, without concealing, the features, there would be but one style of head-dress in the world. In addition to these bewitching veils, the country girls at this place (St. Antonine) generally carry fans; we met several with them, made of bright pink paper, covered with gold spangles, and it appeared to us rather an incongruous implement in the hands of a village belle. Mass was performing as we passed, at a church of true Grecian architecture; upon the outside steps of which the people were kneeling with every symptom of devotion. In going through a low valley beyond this town, narrow and extremely confined by the tall hedge-rows, where the circulation of air is in consequence impeded, we felt the heat almost intolerable; and the atmosphere exactly of that heavy nature from which we have often suffered during the summers of our own country. I must tell the truth (as it is fit all respectable _travellers_ should do), and therefore am compelled to confess, that in passing over the continent, I was perpetually and forcibly struck with the defects of our English climate when compared with others. Condemn me not, ye red-hot John Bulls! remember that when the noble animal you resemble makes his fiercest attacks, he always shuts his eyes, in common with every prejudiced person.

At Rivoli, they were celebrating the fête of St. Bartholomew; many pretty women and fine spirited-looking men were among the groups of gay figures assembled there. The caps of the former were very remarkable, being composed of lace in the form of a high Roman casque or helmet; and worn over another of pink silk. The church was ornamented with flowers and green wreaths; guns were firing, and a military procession going by as we passed: some of the girls wore pea-green jackets and red petticoats, some blue petticoats and white shift sleeves, and all had a bouquet of natural flowers in their bosoms.

From Rivoli, we emerged into the fertile and widely extended plains of Piedmont; the distant hills, richly tufted with woods, were studded thick with white villas (or _vignes_ as they are called here), and we now entirely lost sight of those hideous _goîtres_, which had hitherto every now and then made their appearance, even in the midst of a generally handsome peasantry.

The approach to Turin was highly beautiful, through a long avenue of the finest trees; the town itself embosomed among gently rising hills, and adorned by the river Po, glassy and smooth as a mirror, and so transparent, that the banks and sky were reflected upon its breast, unbroken by a single wave or ripple. The buildings are very high, many of them extremely handsome, with white or coloured striped awnings to every window, as a shelter from the noon-day sun. Our hotel (_Albergo del Universo_) stood in the middle of _La Place du Chateau_, immediately fronting the royal palace. The streets are clean, which indeed they ought to be, since through almost all of them a stream of the purest crystal water is perpetually flowing, contributing not a little, I should think, to the health and comfort of the inhabitants. We found apartments allotted to us in the _Albergo_ of great height and size, with cove ceilings, and _en suite_; furnished with a curious mixture of poverty and magnificence, and ornamented by some exquisite and well chosen prints, from the designs of Poussin and other old masters; rather in better style, it must be allowed, than those of most English inns, where you find "Going out to hunt," "In at the death," "Matrimony and courtship," and such things, hanging over every chimney piece. But we found one annoyance here that almost disgusted me with Italy, in spite of her miracles of nature and art, and brought back the remembrance of English neatness and purity in a very forcible manner: I allude to the circumstance of the vermin, which infest even some of their most expensive establishments, and quite destroy the sensation of comfort. There are other sins also in their household arrangements, which this nation share in common with the French: suffice it to say, that both one and the other are certainly the dirtiest race of beings I ever encountered. I did not much like the smell of garlic, on entering our hotel, where the host, waiters, and assistants, all puffed their _vile rocambole breath_[5] in our face, as they bustled about, preparing for our accommodation. Neither could I relish their method of cookery, and, after the first trial, begged to have our future dinners drest _à la Française_. I know not what my friend Mr. T. would say to this, who I have heard vaunt his Piedmontese garlic truffles as one of the greatest delicacies of the table. To do the people of this hotel justice, I ought, however, to acknowledge that they seemed most anxious to please, and appeared delighted when they succeeded. Nor did they attempt to impose upon us in their charges, although they formed exceptions, in this instance, to some other Italian innkeepers, by whom we were considerably annoyed and disgusted; the system of cheating and over-rating on their parts, and of shameless begging from the lower classes, being in general carried to an astonishing excess; I must say, that we found the French far preferable in these respects. The royal residence here is a very magnificent and classical building, and _La place de St. Charles_ is also very fine. The shops are universally built beneath the refreshing shade of piazzas, which is a very necessary circumstance, for the heat of the sun at noon would otherwise overpower their inhabitants. No business seems to be done at that time, at the public-offices, banking-houses, &c. Indeed the Italians say, _il n'y a que les chiens et les Anglois qui sortent à ces heures_. We proceeded to view the principal _lions_ the next day, and, amongst others, the cathedral, which is a regular Grecian temple. The king's seat in a gallery above the high altar, very splendidly adorned, but we agreed in thinking that this style of architecture (although beautiful in itself), was far less appropriate to a place of religious worship than the gothic. In this opinion (which I remember to have expressed before, in the beginning of my tour), I am not sure however, that we are not a little tinged with the ideas of gloomy solemnity (as connected with religion) peculiar to most of the northern nations; and I own (at all events) that I am guilty of an inconsistency in taste, because I have ever been a warm admirer of the bright, soft, and smiling type under which a different mythology has represented death. The poetical butterfly, bursting from its chrysalis, and soaring on triumphant wings to heaven, strikes me as infinitely more rational than the horrible (and low) taste which we have shown in selecting the skeleton as the most proper symbol of the same great and glorious mystery! a sort of _rawhead and bloodybone_ plan, unworthy of so enlightened a people as ourselves, and which seems to answer no one purpose of religion or morality, if impartially considered; but on the contrary to be well calculated to poison the innocent minds of youth with aggravated and unnecessary terrors, and to divert their attention from the nobler truths of immortality!

In the evening we drove upon the Corso in a _caleche_, the same sort of vehicle which we used while at Paris. The Corso is a pretty, cool, shady promenade, by the side of the river Po. The upper classes of Turin take the cool air of the evening here, every day, in their different carriages; we observed no pedestrians above the rank of the _bourgeoisie_. We met the king of Sardinia on horseback, not forming (as is usual for sovereigns in England) the centre of a galaxy of stars and ribands, but riding first, by himself, followed by an escort of five gentlemen, among whom was his brother. He looked very earnestly into our carriage, and returned our salutation by taking off his hat in a graceful and courteous manner. He is a little thin man, apparently about fifty-five, with a countenance expressive of good nature. The queen next rolled by, attended by all her suite, in an old-fashioned heavy coach and six, her coachman (big, fat, and important, sunk in his ample box) and her footmen in gay scarlet liveries, gaudily laced. The equipage altogether put me strongly in mind of that raised by the fairy for her god-daughter Cinderella, where the coach was originally a pumpkin, the coachman a fat hen, and the lackeys lizards! We saw shortly afterwards, during this brilliant promenade, the prince and princess of Carignano (who are adored by all ranks, and are continually active in every benevolent duty), and the Spanish, Dutch, and other ambassadors. The king shows himself to the populace in this manner every evening. We attended the Opera at night; the price of one of the best private boxes did not exceed twelve shillings, and the tickets of admission (being a separate concern) were about fifteen-pence. In London one thinks a box cheap at five guineas! The prince and princess de Carignano were present: the theatre is called by their name, but it is not the principal one at Turin; there being another upon a larger scale, which was shut up during our _sejour_ at that place: it is never used but during the carnival, or on some great occasion, in compliment to some foreign prince. The Carignano theatre is, notwithstanding, a handsome, spacious edifice, about the size of Drury Lane, and the scenery and machinery carried on in far better style than with us in the Haymarket. The drop curtain in particular caught my attention; it is an exquisite painting, representing the Judgment of Paris, his figure beautiful and graceful in the highest degree, and the drapery remarkably fine. The Opera (_Il Rivale di se stesso_, by Veigi) was well got up, but we were not much struck with the music, from the whole of which we could only select one or two _morceaux_ to admire: there was a clever _buffo_ (_Signor Nicola Taci_), and a very agreeable _prima donna_, whose style of singing and flexibility of voice sometimes reminded us of Catalani; her name was _Emilia Bonini_. The ballet was extremely superior to ours in numbers, and in minute attention to the accuracy of costume; but there were no French dancers among them, and it is well known how inferior in the comparison are all others. The _grotesques_, however, (a species of dancers peculiar to Italy) were wonderful for activity and strength: they consisted of four men and two women, who really appeared to think the air their proper element rather than the earth; they flew about in every possible strange attitude, but were totally devoid of grace, to which, indeed, I believe they do not pretend. I found that I had by some means formed a very erroneous idea of the usual conduct of an Italian audience. I had expected to find a sort of breathless silence, and a refinement of applause, wholly different from the character of an English set of listeners; but on the contrary, they clapped as loudly as any John Bulls in the world, and even hissed one of the singers, who did not happen to please. I have subsequently mentioned this circumstance to those who are better acquainted with the customs of Italy, and learn that I have been quite mistaken all my life in this respect. The house (as well as those in France) was dark as Erebus which I cannot approve, for it evidently does not answer the purpose of increasing the brilliancy and the illusion of the stage.