Inspruck.
"Oh there is sweetness in the mountain air,
And life, that bloated ease can never hope to share."
Inspruck! a thousand recollections flash across us, as we pronounce the
word!
We were there at a memorable period; when the body of the hero of the
Tyrol--the brave, the simple-minded Anderl Hofer--was removed from Mantua,
where he so nobly met a patriot's death, to the capital of the country,
which he had so gallantly defended.
The event was one, that could not fail to be impressive; and to us it was
doubly so, for that very period formed an epoch in our lives.
We had lost! we had suffered! we had mourned! Our mind's strength was
shook. Ordinary remedies were worse than futile.
We threw ourselves into the heart of the Tyrol, and became resigned if
not happy.
Romantic country! did not duty whisper otherwise, how would we fly to thy
rugged mountains, and find in the kindly virtues of thine inhabitants,
wherewithal to banish misanthropy, and it may be purchase oblivion.
Noble land! where the chief in his hall--the peasant in his hut--alike
open their arms with sheltering hospitality, to welcome the
stranger--where kindness springs from the heart, and dreams not of sordid
gain--where courtesy attends superior rank, without question, but without
debasement--where the men are valiant, the women virtuous--where it needed
but a few home-spun heroes--an innkeeper and a friar--to rouse up to arms
an entire population, and in a brief space to drive back the Gallic
foeman! Oh! how do we revert with choking sense of gratitude, to the years
we have spent in thy bosom!
Oh! would that we were again treading the mountain's summit--the rifle
our comrade--and a rude countryman, our guide and our companion.
In vain! in vain! the net of circumstance is over us!
We may struggle! but cannot escape from its close meshes.
We have said that we were at Inspruck at this period.
It was our purpose, on the following morning, to take our departure.
With renewed health, and nerves rebraced, we hoped to combat successfully,
a world that had already stung us.
There was a group near the golden-roofed palace, that attracted our
attention. It consisted of a father and his five sons.
They were dressed in the costume of the country; wearing a tapering
hat, with black ribbons and feather--a short green jerkin--a red vest
surmounted by broad green braces--and short boots tightly laced to
the ancle.
They formed a picture of free mountaineers.
We left our lodging, and passed them irresolutely twice or thrice.
The old man took off his hat to the stranger.
"Sir! I am of Sand, in Passeyer.
"Anderl Hofer was my schoolfellow; and these are my boys, whom I have
brought to see all that remains of him. Oh! Sir! they did not conquer him,
although the murderers shot him on the bastion; but, as he wrote to
Pulher--_his_ friend and mine--it was indeed 'in the name, and by the help
of the Lord, that he undertook the voyage,'"
We paced through the city sorrowfully. It was night, as we passed by the
church of the Holy Cross.
Solemn music there arrested our footsteps; and we remembered, that high
mass would that night be performed, for the soul of the deceased patriot.
We entered, and drew near the mausoleum of Maximilian the First:--leaning
against a colossal statue in bronze, and fixing our eyes on a bas relief
on the tomb: one of twenty-four tablets, wrought from Carrara's whitest
marble, by the unrivalled hand of Colin of Malines!
One blaze of glory enveloped the grand altar:--vapours of incense floated
above:--and the music! oh it went to the soul!
Down! down knelt the assembled throng!
Our mind had been previously attuned to melancholy; it now reeled under
its oppression.
We looked around with tearful eye. Old Theodoric of the Goths seemed to
frown from his pedestal.
We turned to the statue against which we had leant.
It was that of a youthful and sinewy warrior.
We read its inscription.
Artur, Konig Von England
"Ah! hast _thou_ too thy representative, my country?"
We looked around once more.
The congregation were prostrate before the mysterious Host; and we alone
stood up, gazing with profound awe and reverence on the mystic rite.
The rough caps of the women almost hid their fair brows. In the upturned
features of the men, what a manly, yet what a devout expression reigned!
Melodiously did the strains proceed from the brazen-balustraded
orchestra; while sweet young girls smiled in the chapel of silver, as
they turned to Heaven their deeply-fringed eyes, and invoked pardon for
their sins.
Alas! alas! that such as these _should_ err, even in thought! that our
feelings should so often mislead us,--that our very refinement, should
bring temptation in its train,--and our fervent enthusiasm, but too
frequently terminate in vice and crime!
Our whole soul was unmanned! and well do we remember the morbid prayer,
that we that night offered to the throne of mercy.
"Pity us! pity us! Creator of all!
"With thousands around, who love--who reverence--whose hearts, in unison
with ours, tremble at death, yet sigh for eternity;--who gaze with eye
aspiring, although dazzled--as, the curtain of futurity uplifted, fancy
revels in the glorious visions of beatitude:--even here, oh God! hear our
prayer and pity us!
"We are moulded, though faintly, in an angel's form. Endow us with an
angel's principles. For ever hush the impure swellings of passion! lull
the stormy tide of contending emotions! let not circumstances overwhelm!
"Receive our past griefs: the griefs of manhood, engrafted on youth; accept
these tears, falling fast and bitterly! take them as past atonement,--as
mute witnesses that we feel:--that reason slumbers not, although passion
may mislead:--that gilded temptation may overcome, and gorgeous pleasure
intoxicate:--but that sincere repentance, and bitter remorse, are
visitants too.
"Oh guide and pity us!"
A cheerless dawn was breaking, and a thick damp mist was lazily hanging on
the water's surface, as our travellers waved the hand to Venice.
"Fare thee well!" said George, as he rose in the gondola to catch a last
glimpse of the Piazzetta, "sea girt city! decayed memorial of patrician
splendour, and plebeian debasement! of national glory, blended with
individual degradation!--fallen art thou, but fair! It was not with
freshness of heart, I reached thee:--I dwelt not in thee, with that
jocund spirit, whose every working or gives the lip a smile, or moistens
the eye of feeling with a tear.
"Sad were my emotions! but sadder still, as I recede from thy shores, bound
on a distant pilgrimage. Acmé! dear Acmé! would I were with thee!"
Passing through Treviso, they stopped at Castel Franco, which presents one
of the best specimens of an Italian town, and Italian peasantry, that a
stranger can meet with.
At Bassano, they failed not to visit the Municipal Hall, where are the
principal pictures of Giacomo da Ponte, called after his native town.
His style is peculiar.
His pictures are dark to an excess, with here and there a vivid light,
introduced with wonderful effect.
From this town, the ascent of the mountains towards Ospedale is commenced;
and the route is one full of interest.
On the right, lay a low range of country, adorned with vineyards; beyond
which, the mountains rose in a precipitous ridge, and closed the scene
magnificently.
The Brenta was then reached, and continued to flow parallel with the road,
as far as eye could extend.
Farther advanced, the mountains presented a landscape more varied:--_here_
chequered with hamlets, whose church hells re-echoed in mellow harmony:
there--the only break to their majesty, being the rush of the river, as it
formed rolling cascades in its rapid route; or beat in sparkling foam,
against the large jagged rocks, which opposed its progress.
At one while, came shooting down the stream, some large raft of timber,
manned by adventurous navigators, who, with graceful dexterity, guided
their rough bark, clear of the steep banks, and frequent fragments of
rock;--at another--as if to mark a road little frequented, a sharp turn
would bring them on some sandalled damsel, sitting by the road side,
adjusting her ringlets. Detected in her toilet, there was a mixture of
frankness and modesty, in the way in which she would turn away a blushing
face, yet neglect not, with native courtesy, to incline the head, and
wave the sun-burnt hand.
From Ospedale, nearing the bold castle of Pergini, which effectually
commands the pass; the travellers descended through regions of beauty, to
the ancient Tridentum of Council celebrity.
The metal roof of its Duomo was glittering in the sunshine; and the Adige
was swiftly sweeping by its fortified walls.
Leaving Trent, they reached San Michele, nominally the last Italian town
on the frontier; but the German language had already prepared them for a
change of country.
The road continued to wind by the Adige, and passing through Lavis, and
Bronzoli, the brothers halted for the night at Botzen, a clean German
town, watered by the Eisach.
The following day's journey, was one that few can take, and deem their
time misspent.
Mossy cliffs--flowing cascades--"chiefless castles breaking stern
farewells"--all these were met, and met again, as through Brixen, they
reached the village of Mülks.
They had intended to have continued their route; but on drawing up at the
post-house, were so struck with the gaiety of the scene, that they
determined to remain for the night.
Immediately in rear of the small garden of the inn, and with a gentle
slope upwards, a wide piece of meadow land extended. On its brow, was
pitched a tent, or rather, a many-coloured awning; and, beside it, a pole
adorned with flags. This was the station for expert riflemen, who aimed in
succession at a fluttering bird, held by a silken cord.
The sloping bank of the hill was covered with spectators.
Age looked on with sadness, and mourned for departed manhood--youth with
envy, and sighed for its arrival.
After seeing their bedrooms, George leant on Henry's arm, and, crossing
the garden, they took a by-path, which led towards the tent.
The strangers were received with respect and cordiality.
Seats were brought, and placed near the scene of contest.
The trial of skill over, the victor took advantage, of his right, and
selected his partner from the fairest of the peasant girls.
Shrill pipes struck up a waltz--a little blind boy accompanied these on a
mandolin--and in a brief space, the hill's flat summit was swarming with
laughing dancers.
Nor was youth alone enlisted in Terpsichore's service.
The mother joined in the same dance with the daughter; and not
unfrequently tripped with foot as light.
Twilight came on, and the patriarchs of the village, and with them our
travellers, adjourned to the inn.
The matrons led away their reluctant charges, and the youth of the village
alone protracted the revels.
The brothers seated themselves at a separate table, and watched the
village supper party, with some interest.
Bowls of thick soup, with fish swimming in butter, and fruit floating in
cream, were successively placed in the middle of the table.
Each old man produced his family spoon, and helped himself with primitive
simplicity:--then lighted his pipe, and told his long tale, till he had
exhausted himself and his hearers.
Nor must we forget the comely waiter.
A bunch of keys hanging on one side,--a large leathern purse on the
other--with a long boddice, and something like a hoop--she really
resembled, save that her costume was more homely, one of the portraits
of Vandyke.
The brothers left Mülks by sunrise, and were not long, ere they reached
the summit of the Brenner, the loftiest point of the Tyrol.
From the beautiful town of Gries, embosomed in the deep valley, until they
trod the steep Steinach, the mountain scenery at each step become more
interesting. The road was cut on the face of a mountain. On one side,
frowned the mountain's dark slope; on the other, lay a deep precipice,
down which the eye fearfully gazed, and saw naught but the dark fir trees
far far beneath. Dividing that dense wood, a small stream, entangled in
the dark ravine, glided on in graceful windings, and looked more silvery
from its contrast with the sombre forest.
At the Steinach Pietro pulled up, to show the travellers the capital
of the Tyrol, and to point in the distance to Hall, famous for its
salt works.
Casting a hasty glance, on the romantic vale beneath them:--the fairest
and most extensive in the northern recesses of the Alps, Sir Henry desired
his driver to continue his journey.
They rapidly descended, and passing by the column, commemorative of the
repulse of the French and Bavarian armies, soon found themselves the
inmates of an hotel in Inspruck.