“Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long,”
burst simultaneously from the lips of Emily and Falkland, as we gazed on the barren district before us.
For the particulars of four delightful days spent in traversing the vallies of St. Martino, Clusone, and Luzerna, I shall refer you to our journals, which faithfully describe, and circumstantially narrate all that we saw and heard during our progress. I must hasten on to “metal more attractive” still, in the exquisite loveliness of San Giovanni. At La Torre we were arrested, as if by a spell of magical enchantment. There we halted during two days: visited the monument of Christina, sister of Elizabeth Smith, talked over Victor Amadeus with detestation, of the noble Henri Arnaud with enthusiasm, and were so lost in admiration of the Alpine beauties, and simple manners by which we were so hemmed in on every side, that after a week’s sojournment in this fascinating vale, we should all have been likely to forget the whole of what is called the civilized world, if certain thoughts of Turin, Selby, and Glenalta, had not been interwoven with the raptures to which we resigned ourselves. From La Torre, however, we tore ourselves (I am not so unworthy as to commit a pun amidst the mountains of Switzerland), and proceeded to Angrogna. Here we called a halt, and the result of our deliberations was, that the two girls being intent on achieving, if practicable, the difficult ascent of La Vachera, and visiting the famous Pre du Tour, it was judged expedient that they should remain quietly housed in the village of Angrogna, while some of the party, in quality of scouts, were to reconnoitre, and returning to the rendezvous, declare how far it might be possible for the ladies to realize their daring resolution.
The post of danger is the post of honour, and it might therefore be supposed that the gentlemen of our detachment were all ambitious of being heroes, and immortalizing their names amongst the brave of other days, who had vanquished or fallen near this impregnable fortress of nature’s workmanship; but no such thing, Mr. Otway honestly avowed that his love of adventure was cooled in the stream of time, and that, with the perils of the expedition he would surrender all title to a share in its glories. This was fair and reasonable, suitable to his years, and according with his generosity. But what will you say of Master Falkland, when I tell you that his youthful blood boiled not with either martial or romantic ardour? Protesting against the ungallant proceeding of leaving two damsels in the care of one knight, he sent forward Bentley and your humble servant to meet all the hazard of the undertaking. In short, George and I were decreed to be “les enfans perdus,” while Falkland, not contented with the privileges of exemption from our toils, laid claim to the rewards of chivalry, and sought in Emily’s approving smile a full ratification of his cowardly choice. Yes, Charles, if I mistake not, is no longer compos mentis; and if so, we must not be too hard upon him. I set out with George upon the most interesting perambulation I ever made in my life. We took a guide, and, followed by a peasant boy, struck out of the beaten track, and wandered for several hours through the Valleys of the Waldenses, amid pathless defiles of rock and glen, which presented such matchless variety, such astonishing contrast of the beautiful and sublime, as I should in vain attempt to pourtray with any hope of doing justice to the scenery.
On our return we gave a glowing picture of the romantic beauties which crowned our exertions, and engaged to pilot my sisters and their beaux into the defiles of the adjacent mountains on the following day, which we performed admirably, Emily and Charlotte bringing such freshness of Kerry practice to the task, that they struck our guides with the deepest astonishment. We made acquaintance in our way with several peasants, who charmed us by the ease and simplicity of their manners. All the adventitious distinctions which by introducing inequality, bring also in its train condescension on the one hand, meanness, servility, awkwardness, and presumption on the other, are unknown in the Valleys of Piémont. Here man is reduced to his elemental character: stars and garters, which glitter in the murky atmosphere of courts, and there assume the “Lux lucet in tenebris,” hide their diminished heads, and dare not radiate their sickly lustre in presence of that glorious luminary which seems to disport with peculiar rapture in this region of eternal snows, and to play off all the magic versatility of his powers, amid these giant prisms that reflect, and refract his beams in every possible variety of form and colour. Were I in love, I should grow like one of the lichens to these rocks, but as I am enabled to sing
“My heart’s my own,—my will is free.”
I prefer returning to the full tide of life, and coming from time to time to enjoy these fastnesses of nature with all the stimulus of contrast, added to their intrinsic sublimity. Emily wept as we left the banks of the Pelice on our return to Turin. Though longing to be with those who were left behind, and carrying with her the society which had lent its charms to the desert, her tears flowed as an irresistible tribute to scenes so congenial to her heart. Charlotte used to be always considered by us to live more in a world of sentiment than her elder sister, yet her eyes were not suffused; and though her pencil and her voice have borne away unnumbered memoranda from the mountains, she repassed the Porta Nuova with such transport, that I could scarcely keep her in the carriage and prevent her from running a race with the animals that were doing their best to reunite us with the group which we felt impatient to embrace.
Alas, my dear uncle has been very ill during our absence, and is much changed within these few days of our separation from him. We found my beloved mother looking pale from want of sleep, but rejoicing in the blessing of beholding the triumph of Faith and Hope, in the approaching scene which we cannot flatter ourselves is not in immediate prospect. Stanley, she says, is a celestial messenger.
Your next accounts of my poor aunt, will, I hope, be more favourable. Stanley entirely approves of your conciliating her affections by all the means in your power; and has no doubt that they are the very best handmaids to religion. He bids me say that you must not be discouraged if you cannot prevail at first. Be patient, and even five minutes seriously employed, when the heart is sincere, will not be lost.