Cary's Translation.
There is a legend that a beautiful city, once known as San Marco, which was destroyed by a landslip that took place at the beginning of the ninth century, lies buried under the gigantic rocks. At any rate, in the Middle Ages this belief prevailed, with the result that the peasants of the district were for ever digging amidst the débris in the hope of finding some of the vast treasure which tradition said had been buried with the city. The story, which possesses an almost Boccaccian touch of humour, goes on to say that on one occasion a peasant, whilst thus excavating, came across a vast boulder, on which was written in letters of fire in Italian, "Fortunate will they be who turn me over." Naturally enough, the peasant was in a state of great delight; surely this was an indication that the riches for which he sought would be found hidden underneath the stone. Calling his neighbours together, and, doubtless, promising them a share of the spoil, after almost superhuman exertions, the great rock was rolled over; but instead of finding in the cavity disclosed the treasure which they expected, they found but another inscription on the under side of the rock of a jocular and taunting nature, also in Italian, which, literally translated, ran as follows: "Thanks for turning me over; I had a pain in my ribs." As the Italian peasant, of all others, cares little for unremunerative toil, and is easily depressed by such sarcasm, we are told, "From that time forth the supposed ruined city of San Marco and its buried treasures were left in peace."
Not far from this spot, too, on the other bank of the river, is the home of another legend of a deep cavern, concerning which there is a tradition that years and years ago it was the retreat of a cruel, white-bearded hobgoblin who lived on human flesh—children by preference—and that whoever should have the courage to explore the cavern to its depths would find at the end of it the remains of the hobgoblin, and that his spirit would reward the adventurer by telling him where a vast treasure lies hidden.
Possibly the legend had some origin in the fact that the district close here was once infested by a fierce band of robbers, who plundered and robbed, not only travellers, but the people of the country round about. Towards the end of the twelfth century the band became so formidable that the then Bishop of Trent despatched a force against them and destroyed the robbers' lair, building on the spot where it was, and from whence they were accustomed to attack travellers, a hospice for the protection of wayfarers, the chapel of which was dedicated to St. Margaret.
ROVEREDO
Some dozen miles southward from Trent, down the pleasant valley through which the Adige wends its tortuous way, lies Roveredo or Rovereto, a busy and prosperous town famous for its silk culture, situated on both sides of the river Leno, and dominated by the ancient castle, which, built by the Venetians, has withstood many a fierce siege. The silk trade, that gives Roveredo its chief importance, was introduced into the town as far back as the middle of the sixteenth century, and has contributed very greatly to its continuous prosperity. Strangely enough, the principal family of Roveredo at the beginning of the eighteenth century established business relations with England, and a prosperous trade was the result.
The town is prettily situated, and from the hillside above it presents the usual characteristics of red roofs and white walls which distinguish most Italian towns. It has many charming by-ways, flights of cobble-paved steps leading up through quaint arches into zig-zag, narrow streets of great picturesqueness, in exploring which one is tempted to spend much time, particularly if possessing a camera. Its chief streets, however, are wide and handsome, notably the Corso Nuovo, planted with shady trees, leading from the railway station to the town.
Although there are seven or eight churches in Roveredo, none of them are of any great moment, but there is a good altar-piece, supposed to be the work of Giovanni da Udine, in the church of St. Rocchus, a building erected in the middle of the seventeenth century owing to a vow made by the inhabitants to do this during a visitation of the Plague if the scourge was stayed. Although not a place to stay in for any considerable length of time, Roveredo is undoubtedly worth a visit from those who like picturesque architecture, and also on account of its pleasant situation.
Arco, which is on the way to Riva, lies almost due west of Roveredo, but is reached by rail circuitously, via Mori, Nago, and Vignole, and is picturesquely situated in the midst of laurels, palms, and olives, dominated by the large and ancient castle situated on a pine-clad rock high above the town. This castle was bombarded by the French, and destroyed during the War of the Spanish Succession in 1703. The church, a prominent object of the pretty town, is of considerable interest, and amongst other places worthy of note is the château of the late Archduke Albert, which has a remarkably fine winter garden. Arco has of recent years gained some note as a health resort for invalids with a consumptive tendency and, in consequence, possesses quite a number of excellent hotels.
From Arco to Riva is but a few miles, and, if possible, these should be travelled by carriage in preference to the train, as the road lies through the most delightful meadowland, fertile, and stretching upward on either hand to the towering heights which shut in the valley. Riva, which is the Tyrolese port of charming Lake Garda, is one of the most delightful spots in all Tyrol. As one stands on the promenade, far towards the south stretches the beautiful lake, whose deep-blue waters and exquisite environment of mountains have been sung by poets and described by travellers in every language of Europe. At the head of the lake there is a very busy scene of coming and going tourist-steamers, sailing craft piled with merchandise, hay, and other produce, giving the little harbour quite a business-like air, which, combined with unusual picturesqueness, cannot fail to charm every one who comes to it.