Dorothy Wordsworth gives the following fuller account of the same person. "Thursday, 6th September. Cadenabbia.—After a night of heavy rain, a bright morning. W., M., and I set off toward Menaggio along the terrace bordering the water, which led us to the bay at the foot of the rocky green hill of the Church of our Lady; and there we came upon the track of the old road, the very same which my Brother had paced! for there was no other, nor the possibility of one. That track, continued from the foot of the mountain, leads behind the town of Cadenabbia, cutting off the bending of the shore by which we had come to this point. From the bare precipice, we pass through shade and sunshine, among spreading vines, slips of green turf, or gardens of melons, gourds, maize, and fig-trees among the rocks; it was but for a little space, yet enough to make our regret even more lively than before that it had not been in our power to coast one reach at least of the lake on foot. We had been overtaken by a fine tall man, who somewhat proudly addressed us in English. After twenty years' traffic in our country he had been settled near his native place on the Banks of Como, having purchased an estate near Cadenabbia with the large sum of two thousand pounds, acquired by selling barometers, looking-glasses, etc. He had been used to return to his wife every third year in the month of October. He made preparations during the winter for fresh travels in the spring, at the same time working with her on the small portion of land which they then possessed. Portsmouth and Plymouth were the grand marts for his wares. He amused us with recitals of adventures among the sailors who used to bully him with, 'Come, you rogue, you get your money easily enough; spend it freely!' and he did not care if he got rid of a guinea or two; for he was sure to have it back again after one of the frolics—and much more. They would often clear away his whole stock of nick-nacks. This industrious trader used to travel on foot at the rate of from thirty to forty miles a day, and his expenses from London to Como were but three guineas, though it cost him one third of that sum to get to Calais. He said he liked England because the people were honest, and told us some stories illustrative of English honesty and Italian over-reaching in bargains. This amusing and, I must say, interesting companion, turned from us by a side-path before we reached Menaggio, saying he would meet us again, as our road would lead us near his cottage on the heights, and he should see us from the fields. He had another dwelling on his estate beside Cadenabbia, where the land produced excellent wine. The produce of his farm on the hills was chiefly hay, which they were then gathering in."
The Swiss Goatherd was a boy met by the travellers at Brunnen. Mrs. Wordsworth thus wrote of him in her Journal:—"20th Aug.—... Mountains rising through vapour into the sky in front, and looking back, the two Mythen towering in great majesty. The Peasants, inhabitants of these paradisaical retreats, very civil, and seemed gratified by our eagerness in quest of the interests they live among. Young men, seated in one of these spacious sheds, making merry after having ended their diversions. The target seen everywhere. In one of the sheds as we ascended, found four goats chewing the cud, a little boy attending, all on the bench. He looked so pensive that we became much interested about him, but D. could not make him understand a single word. William gave him ½ a ——; for which unexpected and unsolicited gift the boy thanked him 'a hundred thousand times.' I afterwards gave him a second piece, and the same expression of thanks was repeated. The longer we looked at the subdued countenance of this little Boy, the more we felt for his solitary condition. Here, with those four mute companions, he had passed his day. The beauty of the scenery he was among was nothing to him; and no doubt he knew of and had heard the sound of the merriment in the vales below. When we repassed the shed, it was empty." (Journal, vol. ii.)
In Dorothy Wordsworth's briefer record of the same incident, the following occurs:—"In one of these [sheds] we found four goats (how bright in the cool shade) beside their keeper, then sitting on the bench, an elegant-featured Boy—dark like an Italian, ragged, silent, pensive, and timid. We gave him a few rapps, still he was silent; then a few more, and he pronounced in German four words intelligible to English ears, 'a hundred thousand thanks'; but his pale cheek wanted the ready smile of the beggar's. It seemed as if none of his pleasures were social, except what he might have with his dumb companions." (Journal, vol. ii.)
With this poem compare Smollett's Ode to Leven Water, and see note to l. 448 of Descriptive Sketches.—Ed.
XXV
THE LAST SUPPER, BY LEONARDO DA VINCI,
IN THE REFECTORY OF THE CONVENT
OF MARIA DELLA GRAZIA—MILAN
Tho' searching damps and many an envious flaw
Have marred this Work; the calm ethereal grace,
The love deep-seated in the Saviour's face,