In Val Brembana he saw exposed the bodies of some bandits, members of a party of thirty who had been recently captured while lying in wait for passengers to the great fair of Bergamo. The Passo di San Marco was then the limit of Venetian rule, and the frontier was marked by an inn bearing on its front the golden-winged lion. The house still exists.
In descending towards the Val Tellina Coryat saw the Bergamasque flocks being driven home from their summer pasturages. Near Chiavenna the 'very sharp and rough stones' were 'very offensive to foot travellers;' on the other hand, the security of the country was such that a priest told him no robbery had ever been heard of. The passage of the Splugen is passed over very slightly. The cataracts of the Rofna defile attracted Coryat's notice, but the old path of course did not penetrate the crack of the Via Mala.
The inveterate Swiss habit of reckoning distance by hours rather than miles is justly criticised as yielding 'a very uncertain satisfaction to a traveller, because the speed of all is not alike in travelling; for some can travel further in one hour than others in three.'
At Ragatz he leaves 'Rhetia' for 'Helvetia,' and at Walenstadt Val Tellina wine, of which he has a good opinion, for Rhenish. Swiss diet he finds 'passing good in most places,' and 'the charge something reasonable,' varying from a Spanish shilling to 15d. of English money. Duvets are novelties observed for the first time in Swiss inns, and much appreciated.
In Zurich Coryat was taken to see the sword of William Tell and told his history, on which he very pertinently suggested that 'it would have been much better to have preserved the arrow.' At the Swiss Baden he was shown and properly shocked at the sociable manner of bathing, which seems not to have differed much, except in the quantity of clothing worn, from that now in use at Leukerbad. At Basel Switzerland is left, with the unexpected remark that the bridge, the established favourite of modern sketchbooks, is 'a base and mean thing.' But our traveller has already led us too far from the high-road of Val Brembana—and here we must leave him to find his way home.
After all, what impression did the mountains make on Coryat? I think we must answer, about the same as on a commonplace tourist of our own day who has sufficient sturdiness of mind to be independent of fashion in his likes and dislikes. Horror of them he has none, and their dangers he is little disposed to exaggerate.[33]
He is struck by a bold peak; he notes a waterfall; he is amused to find himself above the clouds; he likes to be able to see a good many things at once, as from St. Mark's tower, whence he admires 'The Alpes, the Apennines, the pleasant Euganean hills, with a little world of other most delectable objects.' But he has not an imaginative mind, and a few days is a short time in which to develop an intelligent taste for mountain scenery. He is at a loss in the Alps from want of familiarity. His feeling towards them may be fairly illustrated by his attitude in matters of art. He is equally embarrassed by the glorious Tintorettos of the ducal palace. These he can only note down, he cannot appreciate. What he really could understand and admire comes out naïvely elsewhere. He saw in a 'painter's shop,' near San Marco, two things which 'I did not a little admire, a picture of a hinder quarter of veal—the rarest invention that ever I saw before,' and 'the picture of a Gentlewoman whose eyes were contrived that they moved up and down of themselves, not after a seeming manner but truly and indeed.'
The neighbouring village of Olmo produced a carriage. A short drive through an open valley brought us to Piazza, the market-town and centre of the upper valley, placed on a low flat-topped brow, the last spur of the range dividing the stream of Val Torta from the Brembo. Throughout these valleys the villages, although in number of inhabitants only villages, take the air of towns. Italians, as contrasted with Swiss, are essentially a town-loving race; north of the Alps it is mere matter of chance whether the brown cottages are scattered widely over the hillsides or clustered together; the southerner is more sociable and more ambitious, having ever before his eyes the nearest large town as a model. Even in the mountains he likes his native place to boast a 'piazza,' and perhaps even a 'Corso,' a name which can be easily stuck on to the first quarter of a mile of road. He builds lofty white houses and ranges them along the sides of a narrow street, which, with its barred windows, gloomy little shops, and bright fruitstalls, might be in a back quarter of Bergamo or even Milan.
The ambition of Piazza is leading it to erect a vast church with columns and porticoes, incongruous enough in a mountain landscape. Beneath the uncompleted edifice a car-road turns off to the upper Val Brembana and Branzi. The high-road goes away to the south through a narrow rift in the hills in company with the united streams. I longed to follow it and see something more of the Bergamasque valleys than their heads. Amongst these bold hills rising so near the plain there must be a crowd of landscapes of romantic beauty, and from every brow the most exquisite views. Moreover if Herr Iwan von Tschudi's 'Schweizerführer' is as trustworthy in matters of art as with respect to mountains this region is rich indeed. In every village church there are said to be good pictures.[34] The great names of Tintoretto and Paul Veronese are coupled in the list with a host of local painters, such as Cavagna and G. B. Morone, many of them natives of the upland villages in which their works are found. But it must be remembered that hidden gems are rare, and that in remote hamlets great names are readily bestowed and seldom disputed. The real worth of these art-remains is a matter to be determined by further research. Objects of architectural interest are less open to doubt.[35] At Almenno San Salvatore is a small Rotunda of the fifth century dedicated to St. Thomas: at Almè an old and very remarkable chapel attributed by popular legend to the Gothic queen Theodolinda. In the church of Leprenno, itself of the twelfth century, is to be seen 'a costly altar brought out of England at the time of the schism under Henry VIII.'
Convenient resting-places are not wanting. At Zogno, in Val Brembana, there is said to be a 'delightful' inn; at San Pellegrino, higher in the valley, and at San Omobuono, in Val Imagna, bathing establishments described as 'comfortable and much frequented.' For the present, however, I had to turn my back on these varied attractions. Athletic companions, a Chamonix guide, and four ice-axes, all pointed towards the rocks and snows, and were only prevented from rushing straight to the Bernina or the Adamello by my assertion, somewhat recklessly made, that there were glaciers in the next valley.